The Middleburg Riding Club

"I'm Greg Grayson," he said as he gave me a hand assisted in coming off the horse. "And you, I already know, are Trent Chandler, working for Senator Standish."

I nearly swallowed my teeth. Not just an employee here--the owner of the Grayson Inn, or at least in the family.

The tour went very well and was more extensive that just following the grapes from the vine to inside the wine bottle. I showed that my expertise was in managing the process, and he seemed happy to adjust to emphasizing the financial and management aspects of the business, including distribution. As we walked, he guided me around with his strong, callused hands, sometimes on the butt, being familiar with me in ways that kept me hard during the tour. Was he going to fuck me? Yes, he was, if he wanted to.

"That's our shortfall here, I'm afraid," he said. "We have several complex operations going and not enough managerial expertise to handle it all. I'm more of a hands-on worker."

He certainly could do the hands-on work with me, I was thinking. He was a hunk and a half. The working man's clothes added to the arousal of the man. The woodsy smell of him and honest sweat were clanging my bell of desire. I loved the tats and the nipple bars were sending me into flights of fantasy, all of which resulted in him being on top of me and inside me.

"You seem to be well versed in the type of expertise we short of here. What is it you do for Senator Standish--I mean beside the obvious?"

"The obvious?" I asked. "I'm his public affairs chief, but my college education is in hospitality management."

"That sounds like a fancy title for something we could use around here--managing a brothel." He laughed.

My, were certainly were being open and honest here, weren't we?

"Is that what the Middleburg Riding Club is--a brothel for rich men?" I asked.

"The senator brings young men out here for only one purpose. And he sends them out riding with men like Charles Langden for the same purpose. Let's be straight about one thing. You are one of the senator's boy toys, aren't you? Your obvious service to him is taking his cock and any other cock he designates, isn't it?"

"Yes, so what?" I said, sticking my chin out.

"No problem with me. And, yes, the riding club is a high-class brothel. Mostly it's a bring your own partner at this point, but I've been thinking of putting a stable of young men in. Some of the young guys working already are available. Are they both good cocksmen--Standish and Langden?"

"Aren't you making assumptions about what the man and I did on our ride?" I asked, suddenly not that wild about being taken for granted.

He laughed. "I was down by the stream before coming up to the winery. I saw the old man fucking you like a dog."

Oh.

"He put you on the ground on all fours. You went down without objection. He mounted you and fucked you like a dog and you held for it. So, no I'm not making assumptions about what you did and would do. I know exactly what you're doing here. You're doing whore duty for the senator. Not much escapes me at Grayson's. I manage it all. I probably know more about who Standish has signed up to fuck you here and when then you do."

Oh, again. So that answered that about whether he knew what happened with the riding club men. He knew everything that happened here. "Good enough," I said.

"What's good enough?" he asked.

"The senator and that man down by the stream--they fucked me good enough." I gave him a level, "so what?" look. I wasn't going to be shamed by the man. I didn't really care if he knew I laid down for men, if there were a chance that he was a man who fucked other men.

It appeared he was.

"Yes, I can be a whore," I said. "There's a better job at stake."

"So, are you going to be a whore for me too? I quite fancy your type."

There it was. And now that it was out in the open, it became not an "if" for me but a "when." And I didn't have to be in a hurry on that.

"I best get the horse back to the stable," I said. "The senator will be expecting me at the hall." I didn't really fancy being taken as a whore--even by someone I was aching to take me. Being considered a sex partner was fine. But I'd have to think hard about being just a whore. It was a dismissive term.

"Not much a chance of the senator expecting you. By my schedule he's fucking that other young guy in your office, Boyd Bradley. I gather the two of you are vying for the same job promotion. That's quite convenient for good old Senator Standish."

I didn't answer, but I also didn't move away from him. He was just too gorgeous to look at.

"It's a beautiful day," he continued. "It's a day to revel in the vineyards. I have a blanket in the office, let's say you take the horse back to the stables and return to the vineyard. By then I'd open us a couple of bottles of wine, found some glasses, and we could go out into the vineyard, between the rows, and get better acquainted."

"The sounds like a plan. But I want you to know that I'm not a whore. I don't do any of this for money."

"Money, position... they are the same thing. I do it for pleasure. If you come with me, I'll treat you like a whore. That's how I like to take my men."

"That's good to know," I said, as, at last, I signaled to the horse that it was time to go back to the stables.

Grayson was a master cocksman. He put me completely under his control. He was strong and knew exactly what to do to a man who had had a bottle of excellent wine. We both got naked, he devoted a fourth of a bottle of wine in pouring it over my chest and licking it up down to my cock, which he devoured while his fingers found, invaded, and stretched my channel. The stretch preparation was needed because he was hung like a bull.

He encircled my waist with a strong arm, and lifted my hips off the blanket, with my torso streaming back toward the ground. This put my pelvis in a perfect position for his entry as he hovered over me. He locked his eyes on mine to savor my expression of pain-passion-pleasure as he entered and spread me open and then fucked the shit out of me.

I cried out, "Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Goddamn you're huge. And the bead... the bead. It's killing. Slow down. Take it slow." He didn't take it slow. He treated me like I was a seasoned whore. He took and took--whatever he wanted. It was glorious.

He relentless pressed in with the cock, moving into the very core of me, mastering me, killing me at the core. I had found he had a large gold bead pierced in his mushroom cap as I gave him head while we were moving into the fuck. It clicked against my teeth as I sucked him off and it amazingly, could be felt as it slid deep inside and then, when it was in the very quick of me, kissed and caressed my channel walls in its in-and-out motion. The muscles of my passage walls shimmered and rippled as the bead dragged across them.

Well into the stroking--the man could fuck forever--he changed our positions. He was sitting on the blanket, his knees drawn up and he held me, cantilevered out from the front of his body, my legs streaming back around his hips, his strong hands gripping my wrists, and my torso arced out from his chest.

"Dig your toes into the ground," he barked. "Fuck yourself on it. Be my whore."

I did as he commanded and, from the leverage of my feet, moved back and forth on the cock.

"The bead, the bead," I gasped while panting. It was driving me crazy. "Come inside. Unload inside me," I begged. The one crucial thing we had forgotten to bring into the rows of grape vines was a condom. Neither of us let that stop us.

"Be my little whore," he growled.

And I was his little whore.

He did come deep inside me, blasting me once, twice, three times, before, with a sigh, he released my wrists and lowered his legs and I collapsed on him, lying there, gasping and panting and moaning.

"That was a good one," he murmured. "We'll rest and then give it another go."

No that wasn't a good one screamed through my brain. That was a great one--maybe the best I'd ever had.

He lifted my body, pulling me off his cock, turned me, and nuzzled my face into his crotch. I opened my mouth to the now-flaccid, but still formidable shaft, and we cooled down to the sound of the gold bead clicking against my teeth.

Afterward we polished off another bottle of wine while discussing the operations of the inn, winery, and brothel, and then he put me on all fours, mounted me, and rode me hard and long.

"I liked watching the old man take you this way," he said as he moved me into position and mounted me. I liked him doing it that way more than I liked the old man's doggy fuck. He certainly rode me longer.

If he'd asked me again whether Chaz was a good cocksman, I would have had to say that, compared to him, Chaz was shit at fucking a man doggy style.

* * * *

Our rooms at the hall were strung out with Boyd's room on one side of Standish's and mine on the other, all conveniently with shared interior doors as well as individual doors to the hallway. When I returned to my room, the door into the senator's was fully open. He was standing at a window just inside the door, wearing only an open silk robe and with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of amber liquid--he did like his double malts--in the other. He was leaning into the window, watching something out on the lawn, but I was sure he knew I returned and was watching him.

The senator had a great body for a man his age, and I knew, from experience that he was virile--that he could get it up quickly on reload and keep it up. He was half hard now.

Beyond him, I had a full view of his queen-sized bed. The sheets were tussled, and Boyd Bradley was stretched out on the mattress, face toward me, an arm hanging off the side of the bed, a study in sheer exhaustion. His eyes were open but glazed over. I wasn't surprised. I well knew that Standish could do that to a young man. A couple of pillows were under his belly, raising and tilting his hips. His hole was gaping, dripping Standish's lust. And there was something else on the bed--a horse-cock-sized-and shaped dildo. Brad had been worked over with the daddy of all dildos.

Standish turned his face toward me and smiled. I snorted, turned away from him, and went into the bathroom to shower the glorious sex with Greg Grayson off my body. When I came out of the bathroom, with just a towel around my waist, I went to where I could see into Standish's room. He was on the bed now, naked, his silk robe in a puddle by the bed. Boyd was in the same position I had last seen him. Standish was mounted on his hips, the palms of his hands pressed into the younger man's shoulder blades. The senator's pelvis was rising and falling as he gave the younger man deep fuck. Boyd's eyes were flashing pleasure now--and perhaps a slight hint of "see what I'm giving him and you aren't" look at me. The senator's face was turned toward me too, and he was showing a smile of deep satisfaction as he pumped the younger man with long, deep strokes.

As I was turning from the door, I saw Standish pull out of Boyd and pick up the dildo. I walked away from the door between our rooms. I wasn't about to be cowed by this or to let Boyd command the field. I pulled my towel away and let it drop on the floor. Then I sat on the side of my bed, directly facing the open door into Standish's room, grasped my cock and stroked myself off in the same cadence of Standish's stroking of the dildo in Boyd's ass.

I timed my release to coincide with Boyd's climax. It wasn't Standish and Bradley I was thinking about, though, it was Greg Grayson, fucking me like I was a whore--and with a cock that was every bit as nice as the dildo Standish was using on Boyd.

* * * *

The dining room of Grayson Hall was not large, but it easily accommodated the men who were there. Standish, Boyd, and I were seated at a table for four. Three other tables, set for two, were occupied. I recognized two of the older men at the other tables, but hid the recognition. I was surprised they were members of the club, especially as one of them was wearing a clerical collar, but I wasn't surprised that they had the wherewithal and political clout to be members. The third one looking like a South American senior diplomat I vaguely remember seeing before, and probably was. Seeing who was seated with them brought back a comment Greg Grayson had made earlier to me about the staff. The two car valets from the inn and the hall who I'd seen earlier and the bellhop from the inn were seated with the other men in the dining room. The young men were expensively and tastefully dressed. I was sure that the older men they were dining with would enjoy unwrapping and fucking them upstairs after dinner. They seemed to be quite comfortable with the men. So, I thought, Grayson already has made a start on providing male whores in this brothel.

Grayson was there too, floating through from time to time, supervising everything. The transformation in his appearance was astonishing. He had moved from husky field hand to tattooed and pierced satanic stud having his way with whomever he wanted to spike, to this, tonight. He was elegantly dressed in a tuxedo. He was gorgeous, and he moved like the maître d' of a five-star restaurant.

Boyd was watching Grayson move whenever he showed up and there was little question that he wanted the man. I felt a twinge of possessiveness. I didn't go anywhere with it, though, because our fourth was entering the dining room.

"This is Horace," Standish said, all of us standing for the new arrival. "He works in defense contracting, and his firm is very generous to my reelection funding." Standish was speaking directly to me. I knew what he was saying. I was charming--and suggestive--to Horace during dinner. He was smitten and touchy-feely. Boyd disappeared after the dessert course was served, and Standish pulled away from the table soon afterward, leaving just Horace and me at the table. I knew what was expected of me.

After coffee and cognac, I rose from the table, as did Horace, and without further discussion, we left the dining room together and he followed me up the stairs to the bedrooms. He placed a hand possessively on my buttocks as we mounted the stairs. I knew it wouldn't be long before he would mount me.

As we approached the stairs, I could see down the side hall, in the shadows, that Greg Grayson had Boyd plastered up against the wall. Boyd's trousers and briefs were puddled on the ground and his legs were hooked on Grayson's hips. Grayson's jacket was off and his tux shirt was flapping open, exposing his magnificent chest. Boyd was sucking on one of his nipple bars and Grayson was fucking Boyd in long, deep strokes.

A jolt of jealousy flashed through my body, but I didn't have time for that. I was auditioning for a job. At least if, and while, Boyd was with Grayson, he wasn't contributing to his campaign for Standish's position opening. I was on a relevant mission now--to be a whore for Standish, to keep that defense contractor funding flowing into his campaign chest. And there was no use getting possessive of Greg Grayson. He was a master stud; he'd do as he pleased and all of his men could just lump it if they wanted to feel that gold bead destroying them in the core. And once you'd been fucked by Greg Grayson, you were his. Boyd was as much his now as he was Standish's toy.

The door to Standish's room was open but his room was dark. From the moving glow of the lit point of a cigar, though, I could tell that Standish would be sitting on the side of his bed, watching Horace fuck me on my bed. Standish like to watch almost as much as he liked to fuck.

Horace was a big, fat man, a virtual walrus, and, as a sex partner, he was better to take in the dark than the light, but he had a cock and an erection and he knew what to do with it. He fucked me missionary style on the bed, thankfully supporting most of his weight on his knees as he knelt between my open thighs, held my legs spread and raised with hand grips on my ankles, and thrust hard and vigorously to a half-way decent gush of cum into the bulb of his condom.

He was good with just the one time and then was dressed and gone, lingering a bit to enjoy the view of me, naked on my back on the bed, looking both sexy, I'm sure, and exhausted. I, in fact, was tired, but not from Horace's efforts, as skillful as they were, somehow managing to fuck me deep and at length despite the rolls of fat. But it had been a long day and evening in the giving sex department. I truly earned the title of whore on this day.

But my sex day wasn't over.

When the door to the corridor clicked shut in the wake of Horace, the light came on in Standish's room. He was reclining on his back, a one-quarter turn to me. He was naked, stroking his erection, and looking, expectantly at me.

I sighed, rose from my bed, and moved, with a strut, into his room. I saw that the door to Boyd's room was shut--and, I hope, locked. My auditioning wasn't over, but, what Standish didn't know was that the auditioning didn't mean fuck to me anymore.

I climbed up on the bed, turning the senator onto his back and pressing his legs between my knees. I lowered my face, brushed his hand away from his erection, took his shaft in my mouth, and gave him deep-throated attention. He moaned, lying back on the bed, and taking my head in his hands, holding my head close into his crotch, enjoying the blow job, and running his fingers through the golden curls on my head. He struggled a bit with me when he realized I was going to take him to climax with my mouth, but he eventually gave up and emitted a long, deep groan as he released his seed.

I licked and nibbled up his body, moving up to where I was saddled on his chest, taking my time because he needed to recover and engorge again. My own erection pressed at his lips and he took me in and sucked me to a release. He was hard again after this, and I moved into a cowboy position, facing him, lowered my channel on his shaft, and, while palming his pecs as I'd seen him do with Boyd earlier in the day, I rose and fell on his cock, giving him another release.

As I rode Standish's cock, I heard the dreaded sounds coming from the room next door--Boyd's room.

"God, no, not so fast. Give me time. Shit! Fuck! The cock bead. You're killin' me. Oh, you big, beautiful fucker. FUCK. Yes! Fuck me! Fuck me hard. Treat me like a slut! Shit, that bed in the bulb! Shit. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" The mouthing off subsided into groans and grunts and the sound of the headboard on the bed next door rhythmically bouncing off the back wall.

I had no doubt that Boyd and Greg Grayson had moved from the downstairs hall to Boyd's room and that Greg was getting whatever he wanted again. I could be jealous, but I wasn't going to change Grayson.

Standish did voice a "What the hell is that?" but I soon had him concentrating and maintaining his own thrust cadence.

We then stretched out against each other, sighing and panting low, continuing to fondle each other with our hands. I had every reason to believe that I could bring him to another erection. I was working at it with my hands and he was letting me.

"I want you to take on the deputy chief of staff duties when we get back to Washington," he whispered into my ear as a stroked him with my hand.

"You're offering me the job?" I asked. I was surprised that it had been this easy.

"Yes, there really was no question of it. I just needed you to help me pin down some obligations this weekend."

Just pinning down some obligations? Was this what I was supposed to do for him in the new job--for as long as I was desirable to men and then he'd dump me for someone younger to pimp for favors? I didn't need to dwell on this, though. I'd already made up my mind.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. "I already have another job."