Saving Blake's Chocolate

Mason's right hand glided down Ken's belly and under the waistband of the bikini briefs.

Ken gave a little gasp and began to moan as he moved on the fingers of the hand that had found the vestigial penis that had been moved to the top of his folds. The fingers sank into the cunt.

"I've never fucked a trans male-to-female before," Mason whispered.

"Yes, yes, fuck me," Ken moaned, moving on the fingers that had entered his surgically provided cunt and were spreading him. He turned his face for a lingering kiss with the older man, who held him securely and worked his transformed body.

Mason leaned over Ken and pulled the bikini briefs down to the young man's knees. Ken did the rest in working the bikini off his calves. In doing so he raised his buttocks a bit off the bench. He was still gripping the bar bell rod.

He cried out as Mason grasped his hips as Ken them raised off the bench and moved up and under him, sliding his erection into position and thrusting up into Ken's cunt.

"Oh, shit. FUCK! Fuck me, Daddy!" Ken cried out as he writhed against Mason, making some effort to pull away from him. But Mason was the stronger of the two. Standing up from the bench and bringing Ken up with him, the younger man's body parallel to the bench and his arms extended, his hands hanging onto the bar bell rod for dear life, Mason hooked Ken's knees on his hips. Ken was entirely in his control now. If he let go of the bar, his head and chest would fall to the bench, but the older man would still be lodged in and in control of his anal passage.

Sliding his shaft in and out of the young man's manufactured cunt as Ken cried out in ecstasy, Mason fucked Ken vigorously to his release.

Afterward, he carried Ken into the suite's bedroom, lowered him on the bed on his back, and, grasping Ken's ankles and spreading his legs, mounted and penetrated him again, fucking him in the missionary position. For much of the night he experimented in all the positions in which he could fuck an MTF trans in the cunt. And when he grew bored with that, he fucked Ken in the conventional male-to-male way: in the ass.

Ken objected to none of it. Mason was a handsome, bear of a man, and he was both virile and hung.

Lying there on his back, as dawn was creeping in through the walls of glass tinged with the orange glow of the "Mason's Premier" sign just above the penthouse, and Mason was in the shower, Ken checked to see if he felt any guilt. He didn't--not as long as he keep his business out of Mason's hands. This was more of a favor he was doing to the New York Philharmonic. Mason was a big donor. Susan Altman had asked Ken to keep Mason happy. The older man was whistling when he went off to the shower. Ken would take that as mission accomplished.

Mason came back into the bedroom with a towel around his waist. Ken was on his back on the bed, his legs bent and spread. His right hand was diddling the vestigial penis at the top of his cunt.

"Shit, I wish you didn't do that," Mason said, letting a long, heavy breath out.

"Do what?"

"Look so fuckable." The towel dropped. Mason was going hard again. He took long strides back to the bed and came down between Ken's spread legs. He laced his arms through the young man's legs, holding him to the bed, as he attacked Ken's penis clit and cunt folds with his mouth.

Ken writhed under him, fighting to free himself, begging Mason not to attack his cunt so forcefully, but Mason gave him no mercy, sucking and teething him until, with a shudder, Ken exploded in an orgasm. Then and only then, Mason came up on his knees, moved up Ken's body, positioned the bulb of his hard shaft between the folds of the young man's manufactured cunt, plunged inside him, and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

* * * *

"So you said you'd never before--"

"Yes, it was great. It was all I imagined it could be," Mason said as they sat on stools at the kitchen bar in the morning. They were both wearing half-length silk robes and nothing else. Mason had put a breakfast together for them as Ken was showering.

"So, you are selling the candy company," Mason said as they tucked into breakfast.

"Yes."

"It's an old company. Are there no regrets?"

"I am the last of the line. I'm not going to have children--not just because I'm gay. Because I've transformed. It wouldn't be possible now. There's no one to leave the company to. There are no regrets as long as the company's name isn't sullied."

"And that's what you think I'd do if you sold the company to me. You think I would besmirch its name."

"You'd give it your name. You do that with everything you buy. I won't say that you'd besmirch the name, but, yes, I'm afraid you'd bring its reputation down a few notches. I'd rather it just disappear. I think my predecessors would agree with me on that. My father flatly said so."

"Fair enough. But what will you do now? You've grown up with the business. And would you ever consider settling down with someone?"

"Now? You know what that is. I'll play the cello in orchestras. Most of those in the New York Philharmonic have that as their full-time job. Some of them teach too. I already have money. Adding what I'll make from selling Blake's will set me up for life. Again, I have no one to pass an inheritance on to. I might as well spend it all myself. And as far as settling down, I'd have to find the right man. It would have to be someone who sacrificed for me--who put me at the center of their life. Someone who didn't put their name on me as they do on everything they own."

Ken had sensed that Gideon had a deeper interest in him than just a one-night stand, but he needed to head that off now before Gideon got his hopes up--and before Ken became more attracted to the man than he already was getting.

"Again fair enough. There's something else I was wondering," Mason said.

"What?"

"If your company isn't going to make Valentine's Day Chocolate boxes this year and you won't let me buy your company and do it, there are going to be a whole lot of folks in New York and beyond who are going to be angry in mid February. I'll be off on vacation. But are you going to stay in the city and take the heat for that?"

"Maybe I'll go on vacation then myself," Ken said. "Or is this an opening to--?"

"Yes, perhaps we could vacation together. I'm opening a new business then. You could come with me."

"Sorry. I don't want to have anything to do with your businesses. This was nice, but I think I should get dressed now and leave."

He got up from the stool, but Mason said, "I don't think so. Not yet." He grabbed for Ken, tore off the silk robe, put the young man on his knees on the barstool, and, standing behind him and holding Ken in place with one hand palming his belly and the other clutching his throat, pulling the back of Ken's head into the older man's hairy chest. Thrusting up inside Ken's cunt, Mason fucked him one more time for the road.

Loving the forceful attentions of an older man, Ken lay docilely in Mason's grip and let the man take what he wanted.

* * * *

Ken spent the next couple of weeks, during which he didn't see Gideon Mason again, tidying up the family business and getting the factory transferred. It had been sold to a consortium, working solely through their lawyers, that seemed only interested in getting hold of the facilities. The transfer included the candy formulas, but no one actually asked for them and Ken didn't turn them over.

During this time that he really needed a vacation--to some place warm, preferably and some place that would make him feel totally free--weighed on his mind. Gideon Mason had pushed the idea of being out of New York when his former customers learned there would be no Blake's Chocolates for Valentine's Day, so ads for resort on one of the Florida keys that kept coming up on his Internet take pushed at him until he made a reservation.

The Blue Routon Resort on Boca Chica Key, nearly all the way to Key West, was ideal. It was private, tucked away, listed as gay-servicing, and it featured nudity. Ken was obsessed with his body. He had transformed it to make it perfect in his mind, and he didn't mind at all sharing the look of it with others. He gymed incessantly. It was his body that had attracted Gideon Mason. Ken had bared it and let men use it so openly at the Apollo Club that he had attracted Mason.

Of course, it seemed like Mason was only interested in using Ken in his transformation the one night after the concert at the Lincoln Center, but Ken was used to that too at the Apollo Club--being treated as a novelty--used once and never again. That had mostly been fine with Ken, but he had fallen for Gideon Mason. To him, though, Mason's primary interest was in buying Blake's Chocolates, and, when he couldn't have that, he lost interest in Ken. The only thing that mitigated against this was that the New York Philharmonic had put Menotti's Fantasia on its spring program, with Ken playing the cello solo. Either Mason, as a major Philharmonic donor, had arranged that for Ken or Van Zweden had put the work on the schedule for reasons of his own. Ken didn't want to even think which that was, so he hadn't asked.

The Blue Routon Resort owned an island--not much more than a sandbar with a line of trees on the ridge--off the Boca Chica Key to the west, where they established a nudist beach. This was perfect for Ken's needs. Valentine's Day fell on a Wednesday that year. He booked for that night and a night at each side. He read that the temperature didn't, on average, go above 77, but that was a lot warmer than New York was in February, and he slipped a couple of Speedos in his suitcase with a hope it would be warm enough to swim and in case he wasn't permitted to do it in the nude.

As it turned out, his hope held out. Boca Chica Key enjoyed temperatures in the low eighties for the three days he was there. And he could go nude both at the resort beach and it's off-shore beach. The downside was that he was going to be pretty much alone.

When he reached the resort in the early afternoon of Tuesday, hot and exhausted from maneuvering the narrow highway running down the spine of the keys from Miami airport, it was the sound of the hammering of construction.

"Sorry," the reception clerk said. "The resort has been sold and is being refurbished. The workmen will be here through this afternoon but won't come back until next week. Perhaps you'd like to be taken out to the beach at the island this afternoon. That will be more tranquil."

"The place looks deserted. Will you come out to the beach with me?" Ken tipped his sunglasses down and looked the clerk up and down, signaling approval. The clerk was a movie-star-handsome bleach blond surfer type in his late thirties. He was nude. Heavily tanned, no lightened area suggesting he hadn't worn a suit to get a tan, and he was hung. He also had gone into an erection as Ken approached the reception desk. There was every reason to believe that Ken interested him sexually--but that, of course, was before Ken's sexual secret had been revealed.

"Alas, I can't this afternoon. I have to hold down this desk. But perhaps we could meet this evening after dinner."

"I'm looking forward to it. And, yes, once I freshen up and get comfortable, I'd like to go out to the island. I'm not interested in enduring the construction noise."

Hector has a boat ready to go there. Just go out onto the pier when you're ready.

Hector was Cuban, probably in his early fifties, all muscle and leathery tan and rugged, good looks clinging to "intriguing" having once been thuggishly handsome. Hector ogled the naked Ken all the way out to the island as they plowed through the water in what essentially was a rowboat with an engine hanging off the back.

That Ken was MTF trans obviously excited, rather than disturbed Hector. He was wearing just athletic shorts and flip-flops and it became quickly evident as they moved through the water and Hector, knowing his way to the island without aid, ogled Ken rather than watching where he was going. He landed perfectly on the beach with a strong, incoming push of the surf and sat there in the boat, shorts pulled down in front, stroking a nicely plump cock while Ken set his towel out on the beach and swam for a short time in the sea.

When Ken came out of the water, Hector was still in the boat, pulling on his meat, and giving Ken the eye. Rather than walking to where he'd laid out his towel, Ken slowly walked to the boat. With no resistance from Ken, Hector laid the young man in the bottom of the rowboat, at the bow, with Ken's arms hanging over the sides of the boat and his buttocks raised and resting on the slat seat. Hector crouched over him from above, clutching Ken's throat to hold him in place at the bow of the boat, mounted him from in front, slid his plump cock between the folds of the young man's surgically supplied cunt, and plunged deep inside him. Ken gasped and gave a little lurch. He squirmed, but Hector was too strong and he was well saddled.

Grasping Ken's ankles and putting them on his shoulders, the gnarled Cuban showed Ken that he could pump him for over half and hour, edging him, until after Ken had come from masturbating himself and Hector could hold his jism no longer.

The sun was coming down when they returned to the resort. Ken ate alone in the resort dining room, although Chuck, the desk clerk, showed up to eat dessert with him. Shortly after, Ken was dessert for Chuck in Ken's room. The surfer guy fucked him through the night.

So far it was a pretty nice vacation. Ken hadn't been fucked that well and often since Gideon Mason had taken him to his penthouse apartment in the Mason Premier hotel in Manhattan.

* * * *

Ken woke up briefly in the half light with Chuck telling him he had to go to work. That was fine with Ken. He'd been satiated with the sex of the night and had been thinking of Chuck as more of a convenient cock than a lover of any sort. With both Chuck and Hector, Ken could feel the release that he sought in a vacation--an encounter, not any sort of relationship--and he could be content that his sex partners felt the same.

The next time he was awakened was by the sound of hammering and men cussing on the roof above his head. So, Chuck had lied about the workmen not coming back today. That didn't last long, though, so maybe they'd just had a little more to do on their weekly schedule here and hadn't bothered to tell Chuck. He was the reception clerk, not the manager, Ken didn't think. Chuck was too loose to be in charge here.

And, speaking of reception clerk, the final time Ken woke, near noon, it was at the sound of Chuck's voice bringing another resort guest upstairs to the room next to Ken.

It was the 14th of February, Wednesday, Valentine's Day, and Ken was virtually alone at the Florida resort rather than going to the usual round of parties in New York. Heart-shaped boxes of Blake's Chocolates were always featured at these parties. Not this year.

He hadn't thought he would feel the loss of that, but he did.

He wasn't sure he was up to seeing people much this day, so he called down to the kitchen and asked them to prepare a lunch and send it up. Chuck delivered it, quietly, not mentioning how he had dominated Ken in the night. Now he was a paying guest at the resort. The reception desk clerk wasn't to relate to him too intimately.

"What was the commotion on the roof this morning?" Ken asked as he moved out to a balcony overlooking the water, where Chuck was laying his lunch out on a table.

"They forgot to do something yesterday that had to be done because the new owner of the resort was coming today. They had to make a change on the roof. I hope they didn't disturb you too much."

"No, it was OK," Ken answered.

After lunch he decided to use the beach at the resort rather than have Hector boat him out of the resort's private sandbar. He knew that Hector would cover him if he did that, and he wasn't in the mood. Valentine's Day was for romance, not sweaty sexual release.

He went to the beach in the nude, taking just a towel, which he draped on one of two lounges set under the cover of a large umbrella near where the sand met the grass. He swam in the sea for a while, trying to exhaust himself. He was in a mood and was second guessing his life. Had he made the right decision to close the business? Was there something wrong with him in only taking relationships so far? Was he afraid of settling down with just one man? Was he lonely?

The quiet of the nearly deserted resort was putting him in a mood.

As he walked out of the surf, he saw that the second lounger was occupied by a nude older man. Something made him look up at the roof of the resort building and elicited a laugh from him. A large, tacky neon sign, duplicated so it could be seen from land and sea alike, blared out "Mason's Bare All Resort." His eyes lowered back to establish the realization that the man in the lounger was Gideon Mason.

Awareness flooded in. Of course. The questions about vacationing at Valentine's Day. The "push" advertisements for this place in his Internet feed. The change of ownership of this place. Gideon Mason wasn't giving up in pursuit of him.

The realization of this was exhilarating, and Ken realized he wasn't irritated. He was flattered. And he was aroused. He'd already sold the family business, so Mason, who would obviously have known he had, wasn't pursuing him for that. He was pursuing him for himself.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Gideon said, his smile broad.

"Yes, fancy that," Ken answered. It was then that he looked down on the lounger where he'd put his towel and saw the heart-shaped candy box. It was a Blake's Chocolate box.

"Where did you find that?" he asked. "We sold out of those chocolates last year."

"Those aren't last year's chocolates. Those are this year's," Gideon answered. "Today, all over New York City and beyond, people are expressing thrills that they are receiving a box of Blake's Chocolates again this year."

"You. You're the one who bought my company, aren't you?"

"Bingo."

"How could you make my family's chocolates? You didn't get the formulas. Have you demeaned my product?" Ken experienced a flare of anger.

"No. These are the same chocolates. Otto Merkel knew the recipes. Your nondisclosure agreements only said the chocolates couldn't be sold in any other name than Blake. These are the same. Take a look at the box. These are sold as Blake's Chocolate. These aren't packaged as Mason chocolates."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"I'm saying I want you and I want you on your terms, Ken. You yourself said how important it was to me to have my name on everything. You weren't wrong. I don't have my name on my company making Valentine's Day chocolates. I have your name on that. Doesn't that tell you how much I want you?"

"But you can't make a profit on that," Ken said. "You can make and sell chocolates, yes, but the reason I sold the company is that we couldn't maintain high quality and make a profit anymore. You'll lose money."

"The loss will be covered by my other companies. Otto is ensuring the high quality standards will continue to be made. I'm make a bid for you personally here, Ken. And to show how important you are to me, I've not put my name on this product and I am willing to run this company at a loss. But people will still be getting the same Blake's Chocolates for Valentine's Day. I want you--on your terms, Ken. Can you consider coming to me under those circumstances? And, for now, as soon as you booked, I had reservations here closed. It will be just us at the resort for a couple of days."

"I'm not easy, you know," Ken said.

"For shit's sake we've already fucked, Ken--several times."

"And I'm not a rent-boy. I wouldn't be going with you for the money."