The Pink Palace Hotel

"Ah, a new face," observed Charles, Le Chef d'hôtel, addressing himself to a young man hunched up in a corner of the bar.

"So what's it to you?" replied the stranger curtly.

"I'm the unofficial, unelected welcoming committee chairman, for want of a better title," said Charles equanimously.

The stranger allowed himself the semblance of a smile. "How many are on the committee?"

"Just me," answered Charles unabashed. "You look as though you might like some company."

"Yeh, a redhead or a blonde with big tits would do nicely."

"A fifty year-old running to fat and sporting a big prick won't suffice then?"

Thoroughly upstaged the young man gasped. "You serious?"

"Well, you are in what the local vernacular describes as a Poof's Palace."

"You mean, the place is full of queers?"

"The word is somewhat derogatory coming from a young stranger whose accent rather suggests his origins are far distant. I would suggest you ameliorate your language if you have any expectation of becoming a guest in my establishment. However, the place is full of queers as you so rightly have observed. Got a problem with that have you, son?"

"I must get out of here," said the young man in somewhat of a panicky voice.

"Why the haste?" questioned his elder. "Do you think that homosexuality can be caught just like a common cold?"

"No, of course not," admitted the young man. "But I don't belong in this company."

"Who says? We'll be delighted if you have come to stay with us. We want to make you feel welcome."

"But...... But, I might be molested?"

"No way. If you were to have a physical dalliance with anyone here it will be entirely of your making. You have my word on that." Charles was emphatic.

"Still, I think I ought to go."

"Go where? You will be lucky to find anywhere else at this time of night round here - apart from a couple of really expensive places. With respect, their prices don't seem to be within the scope of your budget."

"How do you know what my budget is? Appearances can be deceptive."

"Your dress is hardly in the vogue of The Ritz or The Savoy," replied Charles diplomatically. The young man's scruffy and down at heel shoes were a further giveaway.

"Yes, well, I'll give you that," the young man conceded. "I'm down here for a job interview," he justified unnecessarily.

"Down from where, may I ask?"

"Whitehaven in Cumbria. Do you know it?"

"I know of it," said Charles unimpressed. "Didn't the town get roughed up by an American sloop a couple of centuries ago? So how did you come by The Pink Palace? We are not exactly on the beaten track?"

"You were recommended to me," said the young man in a cautious voice.

"May I ask whom by," enquired Charles amiably.

"A black guy in a smart suit. Said his name was Devon. I bumped into him at Euston Station."

"More likely he bumped into you," said Charles under his breath. "We all have to start somewhere," Charles consoled out loud, attracted to the boy's naivety as well as his fair hair, green eyes and athletic body. "Care for another beer?".

"Well," said the boy hesitantly.

"You are old enough to drink beer, I take it?" Charles said jokily.

"Yes, of course, I'm nineteen." came the hurried response. "It's just that I have this interview tomorrow...."

"And you want to keep a clear head," said Charles finishing the boy's sentence and not believing a word of the excuse. He played along with it nevertheless. "What time and where?"

"Near Blackfriars Bridge. Two o'clock." The hesitation in his answering was noticeable.

"Oh, you've bags of time. You won't need to leave here until mid-day. Come into the Snug and I'll buy you a beer."

The Snug was a small bar at the back of the main lounge bar connected by just a hatch through which orders could be placed and drinks dispensed. "What's your name son?" Charles asked offhandedly.

"Steven."

"Mine's Charles. What's your poison, Steven?"

"A pint of lager please."

Charles gave the order to a barman through the hatch and added "a large one" for himself. He pointed to a settee where Steven dutifully sat to one side. Charles waited for the two drinks to be delivered through the hatch before shutting the hatch doors and delivering the two glasses to a handy small table. He then plonked himself down on the settee right next to his guest.

Steven felt vaguely uncomfortable at first in sharing a perch with the older man and where their bodies were just about touching.. He reasoned that Charles was even older than his father and that seemed to make him relax a little. He took a big quaff of his lager, taking the edge off his thirst, and the conversation, almost all about inconsequentials, flowed easily. Steven felt flattered that the older man was taking such an interest in what he had to say. It made him feel worthy. Certainly more when compared with the type and nature of conversations he was used to at home.

Very soon he found himself fighting off drowsiness to the point of trying hard to stay awake. It had been a long day after all, travelling by train from the North, taking in some of the famous sights of London followed by the search for the accommodation Devon had recommended. He fought on as long as he could, chatting less, listening more, until he could not keep his eyes open any longer.

When consciousness slowly returned Steven first became aware that the room was brightly lit and he was lying face down on a bed; a double bed with a pink under sheet. It smelled strangely perfumed. He wasn't lying flat as his lower stomach seemed to be raised in the air so he was virtually on his knees. There was something big and round in his mouth secured by a gag.

"Awake at last," said a voice that was unfamiliar. "We are waiting to begin."

Steven was in no state that far to ask the question "begin what?" He was still befuddled. He felt something soft and warm press against his arsehole.

"Remember he's a virgin," said a different, vaguely familiar voice. "Go steady."

Steven felt the pressure on his sphincter grow stronger and stronger. In a flash it came to him. The place was full of queers and he was about to be arse-fucked. 'Raped' was the single word for it. Instinctively he tried to shout, but the ball in his mouth reduced him to muttering little more than a gurgle. What was more, he discovered he was trussed up like a Christmas turkey and he appeared to be naked from the waist down..

The pressure on his sphincter mounted further as the conquesting penis pushed harder and harder. He could feel the excess of what he later learned to be lubricant, running down the back of his thighs and ne could hear the unmistakeable gasps of pleasure from his assailant. For a moment it was a stale mate, but then the head of the alien cock broke through and the young man was skewered, his virginity gone forever.

Minutes of inaction passed and the initial pain lessened. Then two more minutes with just the slightest of movement. Was the aggressor savouring the moment? Did Steven experiencing the slightest twinge of a thrill at being so abused - and the centre of such poignant attention?

Unexpectantly the head was pulled slowly back and out. Was that it? Surely it couldn't be. Please let it be. No, more cool, slippery lube was squirted through Stevens slowly closing sphincter and and fingers help to spread it and feed it into

Steven's punctured arsehole. As if an act of triumph the anonymous hand finished by giving Steven prick a couple of gratuitous wanks.

"He's semi-hard," said the deep voice that Steven was by then certain to be the portly Charles, and the owner of the hand. "He'll get to enjoy being a faggot if that's the case."

"Where did you find him?" asked the other man slipping his cock back into position.

"A guy who scouts the stations picked him up today. Saw him as a runaway straight away and sent him over to me. I pay him commission for services rendered, of course."

"He's listening you know?" Steven guessed that the "he" referred to him.

"No matter," said Charles lightly, "he won't be going anywhere - not by the time we have finished converting him here. Now, are you going to finish taking his cherry or what? You are paying enough for the privilege after all."

Simon could hardly believe the two men were talking so openly in front of him as he was being effectively raped. He simply did not think to try to holler the place down. Instead he gritted his teeth as the man's penis pushed back into him and started to make very small fucking movements.

The intruding penis made slow advances as far as Steven could tell. The initial pain ameliorated into a "discomfort" and then? Steven started to became appalled to feel the traitor of his own penis slowly getting harder. A hand curled under him and cupped his balls in its warm palm before moving along to gently wank him. "Fuck me," he heard Charles pronounce, "the little fucker's as hard as a stick of Blackpool Rock."

"So am I," said the other man with his prick already half in Steven's man cunt. "This is awesome."

"And a privilege," Charles countered. "Not many of us get to fuck a virgin male's cunt. And one so young too. Make the most of it whilst you can. It seems that the faggot here is getting to like it."

"The boy's listening to everything we're saying about him isn't he Charles?"

"I expect so. Don't worry about that. He'll be converted soon enough."

"Are you sure? Suppose he goes to the police and blabs to them in the morning?"

"He won't. And even if he did they won't take much notice. They are used to runaways crying wolf."

These words, spoken clearly in his earshot, perhaps deliberately so, made Steven realise he had appeared to have acquiesced to what was being done to him thus far. His attempts then to remedy that situation were largely thwarted thanks to the ball gag so rudely stuffed in his mouth. He was not empowered to shout. All he could manage was an ineffectual sort of nasal humming.

By the time his aggressor's penis was in him far enough for him to feel his sphincter stretching more, trying to adjust the thicker root of the man's prick. Steven felt close to the point of exhaustion, both mentally and physically. Nevertheless The man started to fuck him: starting with short pushes forward followed by equally short pulls back.

Steven felt the physical pain beginning to ease to almost a point of numbness and amazingly he experienced the faint tentacles of pleasure too. He was not about to analyse then and there, but he had had a loveless time from adolescence onwards. His parents were not bad people but overtly religious and members of a church that allowed and encouraged God to hoover up most of the affection that His adherents would normally share with each other. In that godforsaken hotel bedroom Stephen had been actually the sole subject of the desire of two other human beings. That was an unlikely turn-on for him.

Eventually the man's strokes became longer and more urgent as he gasped and grunted. Did Steven actually feel the geyser of hot sperm that exploded inside him? If not, he imagined that he did and that was good enough. His tormentor collapsed upon him near enough and his heavy breathing was almost aphrodisiacal to

the young Cumbrian boy.

As the penis inside his arse shrank its owner stirred and began to pull away. There has been a huge concentration of effort to get the penis inside Steve's virgin anus, powerful surges of pain and pleasure for it spurt its cargo of semen, for it just to then slither out like a spent, slimy slug.

Steven distinctly heard Charles chortle, "he's fucked now, in more ways than one. Get that first load of spunk in them and they're never the same again. And I know the way this one's going already."

The man (Steven would never get to know his name) rewarded the boy with a playful slap on his arse and the words, "Thanks mate. You'll make a good faggot." Steven heard him get dressed and slip out of the door after a farewell to Charles and the words "I'll settle up with you soon."

Charles untied Steven and released the ball gag. The boy rubbed some circulation back into his arms and legs, making a bigger job of it than was strictly necessary. He needed time to formulate his next words and actions.

"I am going straight to the police," was what he eventually threatened. He tried to inject real passion into those words, but they came out with a lack of strong conviction.

"Go ahead," invited Charles nonchalantly. The Pink Palace is a gay club and hotel. Our gay boys and girls are always having tiffs. The police take no notice. And they are sick of stories of young men like you consenting to sex and then changing their minds and crying "rape" after the deed has been done. You will waste hours making a statement that will end up in a bin, and you'll lose the offer of a square meal and a bed for the night here. There's a shower room beyond that door yonder," he added, nodding in the appropriate direction. "You might want to clean yourself up ready for some food. Ever used a douche?"

Dilemma. Should Steven search out the police station with the prime evidence still seeping out of his anus, or did he acquiesce to some degree to what had befallen him? Here he was in the vast city of London, alone, knowing no-one, nowhere to go, and yet with the offer of a warm bed for the night. And some food too? Could he perhaps make the police station his first port of call in the morning?

He chose the shower and the douche - the first time he had ever used one. He would claim some success with it, liking the new sensations it offered. Carefully folded with a set of towels he found a smart pair of blue slacks and a trendy shirt in the place of his own well-worn garments. No underpants though and pumps without socks. He made use of some shaving equipment, aftershave and body lotion. He looked a far cry from the scruffy fellow that had arrived at The Pink Palace hours earlier. Apart from a sore anus he felt good physically.

Meanwhile Charles must have been keeping the bathroom door in his line of sight as he was onto Steven as soon as the young man appeared. "Ah, that's better. You look ravishing. Don't worry about your phone. It's locked in the office safe for the night."

To be complemented as to be ravishing from an old gay roué like Charles would perhaps have been an insult to anyone other than an impressionable young man. But it gave him a little confidence boost when one was very much needed. And especially so when he was introduced to a pretty girl who Charles described as his

niece, Zara. She was sitting at a table for two in the hotel's restaurant with no-one occupying the vacant seat opposite her.

She was wearing a tight pencil line navy skirt that was short enough to display much of her thighs the way she was sitting. Did Steven glimpse stocking tops as she shifted in her seat? Three inch patent leather shoes showed off her legs to their best advantage. A simple white shirt hinted that her breasts were small and her short hair was cut into a sexy urchin look.

Was Zara another set-up engineered by the provenly devious Charles?

"Ah," said the girl with a bright welcoming smile on seeing Steven and her uncle approaching. "You're here at last. It's not advisable to keep a girl waiting you know."

"I had no idea......," Steven stammered an improbable apology. as Charles moved off.

"Never mind. You're here now. What have you been up to? Anything exciting?"

The boy blushed a bright beetroot colour. "Not really," he stammered.

"Oh, you've had a secret tryst I bet," she replied casually. "It's all sex, sex, and more sex at the Pink Palace. If you don't know it now you will soon find out."

Steven started to feel his penis reacting to the imagery of her words. His eyes were drawn to the small curve of her pert breasts and they lingered perhaps a second too long. The raw edge of his very recent ordeal seemed to be blunting his good manners.

Zara made a point of glancing down at the small profile of her breasts and then lifting her eyes to engage Steven's and to hold them there. It was most definitely invitational.

Steven blushed yet again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...."

"If you don't fuck me tonight I shall be very, very disappointed," said Zara, still holding direct eye contact. "And my uncle will be too I'm sure."

Steven gave thanks that he was sitting down and that his rapidly expanding penis was hidden from view. "Wow," was all he could trust himself to say at that moment. Thankfully the bartender/acting waiter appeared at the table with order pad in hand and attentions were diverted.

A little later, in the silence as they both chewed on their food, Steven admitted to himself that the situation was entirely bizarre. Only hours earlier he had been forcefully raped by a man who was paying for the privilege of doing so, to the owner of a hotel catering to a promiscuous sector of the gay community. Instead of going to the police and raising the roof about the indignity he had suffered, here he was, sitting on one cheek (owing to the soreness of his assaulted anus), chatting up the niece of the man who had him raped.) And what was now in the forefront of his mind was his intention of soon shagging the sexy Zara, good and fucking hard.

And, amazingly, she seemed well up for it too. This was London after all - not peaceful, rural Cumbria, where he was born and raised.

On one side of the restaurant was a wall the upper half of which was composed of a line of windows with a corridor on the far side. A steady stream of people walked along that corridor and it seemed natural that they would gaze into the restaurant as part of their journey. Steve soon noticed that his dining companion was the source of much interest for these wandering eyes. Zara seemed oblivious to the effect she was having. Nothing strange about that - beautiful women usually learn to avoid direct eye contact in such situations.

But on a couple of occasions, when a stray man headed for Steven's table, one glare from Zara had them change their minds before they even got close. Steven felt like the cat that had got the cream. It seemed that Zara really fancied him.

They skipped a sweet and coffee at Zara's suggestion. She seemed as anxious to fuck Steven as he was her. She eventually grabbed his hand and led him up the hotel's main and impressive staircase. She made it plain that she had the "hots" for the "young stallion" and by the time they stopped at a bedroom door on the third floor Steven's erection had him standing less than vertical.

Although the room was in the hotel itself and not in the private quarter, "it's my choice," Zara explained. "I don't want my uncle to see whom I choose to sleep with," she admitted disarmingly.

Her room was overtly feminine. Pink was the dominant colour; bedspread, pillows, walls and umpteen feminine knick-knacks. In surprising contrast Steve glanced at the several pictures on the wall which were extremely pornographic by Cumbrian standards; depicting men fucking men in a variety of contortions.

And still he penny did not drop.

The door had hardly been shut and locked when Zara turned, fell to her knees with her hands making for the zipper on Steve's clean slacks. He was certainly not going to argue with that. He wrenched off his shoes and virtually trampled his slacks off. Not wearing underpants meant that his penis stood readily to attention. He pulled back his foreskin and had the upmost pleasure in seeing and feeling his penis being devoured by Zara's ruby red lips. She sucked and tongued and licked at the same time as massaged with her left hand and cupped Steven's balls with her other hand. Such an all-out assault was bound to result in the boy coming very quickly and with an orgasm that was off the Richter scale. Steven's prick violently shot out more semen than he could ever imagined that his scrotum could contain.