The Glass House Ch. 01

I was deep inside him, raw flesh in no-longer virginal passage. He had stretched to my need and, both having been possessed and having come, Gino realized the game was up and went with the fuck. I let his legs down and, legs bent and feet flat on the mattress beside my knees, the young man went with me, breathing hard, moaning deep, moving his hips with me, rocking with me, working with me in the taking and milking of the cock. His hands glided up my chest, dwelling on my pecs, before moving around, to my biceps and there his fingers pressing, releasing, pressing, releasing, in the rhythm of the fuck. I had him. He was mine.

It was Gino's victory as much as mine. I had taken his virginity, but like me at the same age, he had wanted to be divested of it. It had become a burden to him.

When I fucked him again later, putting him on all fours; covering him from above, his face looking openly and honestly out into the world of Lake Como through the transparent glass; and mounting and penetrating him in a doggie fuck, we fit perfectly and moved into a coordinated rhythm and harmony of moans and pants like we had been lovers for years. All would be fine with Gino.

After I breeded the young man in the position of the dog, he turned onto his back as I climbed off the bed. He lay there, lightly panting, legs spread and arms akimbo, vulnerable, open, looking at me with the eyes of worship--an adherent now. Well, I knew the attitude of one who believes and worships. His eyes followed me around the room and into the en-suite bathroom, where I stood at the toilet, taking a piss, and to the shower. I came out and stood at the foot of the bed, naked, drying myself off. His eyes never left me. I dropped the towel, grasped my cock, and stroked it. Gino raised his arms, his hands grasping the rungs of the headboard. He spread and bent his legs, placing his feet flat on the mattress, using them as leverage to raise his pelvis and roll it up toward me. Never did his worshipful eyes leave me.

"Per favore--Please," he whispered, offering himself to me again, fully surrendering to me.

I laughed, moved onto the bed between his sacrificial spread thighs, put myself into position, and slid inside him. Immediately, his shapely young legs spread and raised, by his own volition, into a V for victory.

"Sì, sì, sì!" Gino cried out, as he set his hips into countermotion to my thrusts.

Yes, this young man was mine indeed--or any man's who Gino now fancied. An assured convert to the world of men-in-men. He, like The Glass House, was unabashedly open to the world. He was what he was.

"Perhaps it's time you saw the rest of the house," I said.

"The rest of the house?" he asked.

"Yes, it has a secret. I have paid you well for the photos I have taken so far. There is a special clientele for other photos, though, that I can pay so much more for."

Then I took him down to the ground floor of the house, to the rock walled, ceilinged, and floored chamber under the glass cube that contrasted so much with the transparency of what rose above it. Down here, in the foundation of the building, dwelled a sexual torture chamber with all of the equipment, implements, and toys needed to use a young man fully.

Gino whimpered, but he did not resist, when I bound him to the St. Andrew's cross by wrists and ankles, facing the rock wall, and photographed him. He whimpered even more and moaned when I picked up a hand whip, but again, he did not resist. I gave him merely a taste of that side of the life, but from his cries of passion I knew he would want more.

* * * *

I gave Gino a coffee at the café where we had met, the two of us sitting amicably and watching the world go by, Gino sitting somewhat gingerly forward in his chair for reasons we both knew. I knew Gino saw the world in an entirely different light now, assessing every man who passed by him as a prospect with a cock--and perhaps, with a hand whip or a riding crop. I knew that because I had done the same after my first time--when I was the same age Gino was now.

"Tomorrow afternoon," he said, turning his gaze, still worshipful, to me. "I could come tomorrow--"

"Is there no one else, a man here, who you have looked on with favor?" I asked. I was an encounter man, not a commitment man, and, besides, I would be returning to New York in a few days.

Gino looked a little embarrassed and lowered his eyes. "There is Primo, a handsome farmer from San Rocco. Ten years older than me, I think--very muscular. He works hard in the fields. I am somewhat afraid of him. He is a hard man."

"But now you have discovered that you are drawn to hard men?"

"Yes," he said, somewhat reluctantly admitting that, even now.

"And have you and this farmer--?"

"Just petting. Nothing more."

"But he asked you for more?"

"Yes," Gino answered, hesitantly and shyly.

"He's asked you for much more?"

"Yes."

"And you wanted to give him more?"

"Yes," he admitted, again almost reluctantly.

"Go to your Primo, Gino. Be with him. Give him whatever he wants. He will worship you."

As I was returning from the café, where I had left Gino to contemplate his new, freer world, I saw that a runner had stopped at the gate of The Glass House and was looking at it with wonder in his blue eyes. He was a beautiful young man--eighteen or nineteen, I reckoned. He was blond, well-muscled, a gorgeously proportioned body in his athletic shorts and T-shirt. There were signs even if I hadn't already assessed him. He had pierced ears with diamond studs and his fingernails were polished. I raised my camera and clicked off photos as I approached. I stopped at the gate--between where the young man was standing and The Glass House.

"Stai facendo un sacco di foto con quella macchina fotografica," he said, and then when I showed I didn't comprehend, he repeated in English, "Oh, you don't speak Italian. English perhaps? I said that you were taking a lot of photos with that fancy camera of yours."

"I couldn't help it," I said, giving him my rendition of an "I'm interested in you" smile. "I'm a men's fashion photographer. I can't help taking photos of gorgeous young men."

He smiled, obviously pleased. "Is this your house? It's wonderful--so open and 'out there.' Open to the world. No apologies for what it is."

"Yes, I think you understand it fully," I said. "A young man of a house among stodgy old men of traditional lakeside mansions, comfortable with itself and its desires, opening its legs and raising its tail to the world." I was taking a chance, but I was good at gauging the interests of other men.

He gave me a strange look and then smiled and gave a little laugh. "Yes, that's a perfect way of describing it."

"Would you like to come in and tour it--to discover the delights that such a house can offer?"

"Yes, I'd love that."

I lifted my camera. "How about a shot of you against the house?"

"Certainly," he said, the two of us changing positions. As we brushed past each other, I placed my hand on his forearm and our progress was arrested. We stood there, close, looking into each other's eyes. All I needed to know conveyed between us in that gaze and him not shrinking away from my touch. Just to be sure I dropped my hand to his hip. No resistance there either. Subtly, or perhaps not too subtly, my fingers pressed in under the waistband of the athletic shorts--even under the elastic band of his jockstrap, to touch him on the hip bone, flesh on flesh. There was no defensive reaction. We broke contact and he stood by the gate, in front of The Glass House, as I backed up to the street curb and lifted the camera.

"Perhaps without the T-shirt," I said. "You're such a sexy young man."

He immediately pulled the T-shirt over his head, posed, and smiled. "Is this an audition for a men's fashion shoot?" he asked.

"Absolutely," I answered. This was going to be so easy. I pushed the envelope. When I came close to him and he turned again, I slapped him across the face. He gave me a shocked look and a hand went to his cheek. I fired off another shot of him in that pose. "You are even more attractive in shock and a bit of pain, giving an open, genuine response. Does a bit of pain frighten you?"

"Yes, a bit," he answered. "Just a bit. It's also a bit exciting."

"You still want to come into the house with me?" I asked.

"Yes," he responded.

When I came out of the bathroom, Luca was on his back on the bed floating above Lake Como inside the wall of transparent glass, naked. When he saw me, also naked, at the foot of the bed, in erection, he smiled, spread his legs, put his feet flat on the mattress, pushing up on the soles of his feet, elevating his pelvis, offering himself to me. Spread and totally open to me.

Yes, it was easy.

"I take more specialized shots for a discerning clientele," I said. "It can be very profitable for a young man like you. There's a chamber in the base of this house with special equipment that helps some men with their arousal fantasies. Perhaps after we finish here--"

"Yes, fine," Luca said.

"There will be a bit of pain--but, as you said, excitement."

"Yes, fine," he repeated.