The Story of Rolf and Erik Pt. 01

(Although it features hardcore scenes, this novella is meant to be a plot-driven character study, exploring the dynamics in male intergenerational sex)

***

CHAPTER 1

At twenty one years old, Erik had short blond hair, a very white complexion, and everything in his long face was regularly shaped. The thin mustache he had over his lips was hardly visible because of its light color. His body was slim and wholesome, and the well defined muscles indicated regular physical exercise. His chest was slightly hairy, but the rest of his skin was milky and smooth. What immediately caught attention, however, was his eyes. They were blue, with a gaze so deep and intense that they looked faintly tragical. He maintained a calm expression on his face almost all the time. There was something odd about the sight of such a pristine looking boy down in the den where he actually was at the moment.

The club was the seedy underbelly of Stockholm, and possibly one of its most democratic institutions. Any type of male would be seen entering: white collar as well as blue collar; young or old, beautiful or ugly. Some had huge tattoos, and there were many of foreign extraction, especially from the Middle East. As soon as they had passed the entrance, the men removed most of their clothing in the cloak room, and then went around half clad, in various degrees of nudity. There was no distinction of class, age or race, just a crowd of anonymous males all united by the urge for rough anonymous sex. The air in the dimly lit concrete basement reeked of sweat and semen, covered up by a pervasive lemon grass flavored solvent. Most cubicles had rubber mattresses, and the sound of primal grunts out of stone age was heard through the pumps of techno music.

The reason for Erik's presence in such a place was that he was becoming a true sexual masochist. Sex had become to him like a cult was to some others, a worship that demanded absolute renunciation. He needed it to feel like a crucifixion, a martyrdom. Images of St Sebastian pierced by arrows and Jesus on the cross would sometimes pass through his mind as he worshipped his master's manhood. Submitting and enduring was a never ending challenge to Erik, a victory over his own ego. Being objectified freed him from his own desires and responsibilities. That was the secret meaning behind the mesmerizing blue gaze. As unexpected as it would be in such an inferno, Erik's soul was selfless like a saint's or a soldier's, ready and willing to sacrifice everything.

Down on his knees, the boy was naked except for a black leather jockstrap, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. Towering over him was his master Kurt. In his mid forties, Kurt's features had something of a devil. He had dark hair, large ears, wicked green eyes, a thin mouth circled by a mustache and a pointed goatee. The typical expression on his face was a mean smirk. His body was only moderately muscular and hairy though. He was wearing the same leather jockstrap as his boy, but also had black leather boots on. Kurt was pinching the boy's nipples with clamps, while a white haired man was sitting behind, inserting a dildo in Erik's anus. Erik looked up to Kurt all the time, trying to remain impassive, but when the pinches and thrusts were too hard on him, he had to release faint gasps. Kurt responded by passing his tongue on his lips in delight. In the shadow around, two other men were watching and beating off.

A rough looking hairy man with shaved hair and a thick black mustache came forth, pushing through the onlookers. He had a towel around his waist and flip-flops on his feet, and looked definitely Middle Eastern, probably Turkish. He looked at Erik, then at Kurt, understanding that the latter's approval was necessary. Almost fully naked and vulnerable, Erik's white body was now traded as a property item like on a slave market. Kurt looked back at the Turk, then cast his eyes down nodding. He removed the clamps from Erik's nipples, and made a gesture to the white haired man behind, meaning he had to pull out the dildo from the boy's anus. He stepped aside himself as the Turk passed in front of him, letting his towel fall down at his feet as he pulled his legs apart. The man presented a massive cock with heavy hairy balls in front of Erik's seraphic face.

Erik submissively took the Turk's cock in his mouth, concentrating on it, carefully bobbing on his head back and forth, his lips swallowing the thick shaft like hard candy. He looked up with his deep blue gaze, to which the man responded with an angry frown. Then the Turk hurriedly pulled out, in a gesture that meant he wanted to rush and fuck the boy's ass. Kurt had just had time to remove the handcuffs from Erik's hands. Erik's wrists and arms were slightly aching, but his hands would not be free for long. The master pulled down the boy's jockstrap, stripping his crotch of its last protection. Erik arched his back and pulled his legs apart, now sitting on all fours.

Kurt fumbled in the black leather sack where he carried all his material, and produced a condom. He had a candid grin while handing it to the Turk, who looked pissed, but understood this was the condition for entry. Then Kurt looked back in the sack again, smiling theatrically as though he was a magician pulling tricks out of a hat, and then took out a bottle of lube as the Turk was clumsily putting the condom on. While the thick brute was hurriedly oiling his shaft, Kurt got on his knees, undid his own jockstrap, and pulled it down his legs. His long thin cock rose up in the air, and he slapped it on Erik's face.

Even though the boy's expert attitude wouldn't let it know, it was actually the first time that Kurt was taking Erik to such a club, after he had insisted for a long while. From the start, Kurt had always been pushing Erik's barriers further, that was the name of the game between them. Erik had known he would end up down here, as it was the logical next step in the progression of their relationship. Kurt was now looking beyond the boy's head, savoring the sight of the Turk's big tool plunging back and forth between the youthful white buttocks, and relishing on the boy's full acceptance of his role.

The Turk was now fucking Erik brashly in doggy style, loudly slamming his slick young butt. He gave Kurt a primal look of satisfaction, while the boy obediently looked up, with almost no gagging reflex as his master was deep-throating him. The spectacle of the three entangled bodies must have been hot to watch, because there were now six or seven men standing around looking, several of them masturbating. The Turk was first to cum, and uttered primitive grunts, giving Erik's backside three or four raging humps before pulling out. After he had finished, he stood up and took out the condom full of sperm, which he threw into the waste basket. He put his towel back around his waist, gave Kurt a quick nod and disappeared almost instantly.

Kurt pulled out shortly and stood up again, his legs apart. He made a gesture to Erik was meaning he was to get back on his knees and beat off. Erik had tried to remain silent and stoic like a brave soldier, but couldn't delay his orgasm when Kurt pinched his nipples, which happened to be his soft spot. The boy's juice seeped in little jolts on the mattress. He uttered faint unarticulated moans as Kurt's cock was starting to unload in his mouth, before pulling out and splattering white cum all over his pretty face. Kurt kept his mouth shut, while uttering assertive hums of satisfaction. His mouth dripping with semen, Erik looked up to his master, his blue eyes were begging for sacrifice. Kurt spat into Erik's open mouth, grinned at him viciously, passing his tongue over his lips as he always did to show his appreciation.

In the showers, Kurt complimented Erik with oily smiles for the quality of his public debut as a sub, as it was indeed his first time at the club. Erik responded with a benign look, although he could barely hear Kurt's dirty whispers through the shower's downpour. It took a while to dress back up, as the cold outside was biting. The two men went out together before parting, now hardly recognizable under their heavy waistcoats, boots, gloves and winter caps. Kurt grinned at Erik while waving goodbye, then went the other way with his black leather bag hanging heavily around his shoulder.

During his sessions with Kurt, Erik totally lost sense of time, waking up from them numb and empty. The crisp winter air tickled his nostrils and cheeks, and was most welcome after the club's stuffy heat. He took long breaths of cold air in his lungs, which felt purifying. It must have been five o'lock in the afternoon, but the night had already fallen on the city while they were inside. Erik tried to figure out the date and checked on his telephone. Tomorrow would be New Year's Eve, and he remembered he would go eat at his mother's, before celebrating at his old friend Astrid's.

The boy was hungry as a wolf and stopped at a salad bar. He ordered a huge portion that would have been enough for two people, slushing it all down with a gallon of hot tea. Then he walked home to clear his mind, which took an hour. He went on the central footpath of Valhalla avenue, passed Stockholm's olympic stadium with its fascistic looking architecture, then turned left into Tessin park, deserted in the winter evening. When he arrived at his student home, he went directly to his room. For a while, he lay in bed awake in the dark, reviving the images and sensations of the day.

When was left alone with himself after his sessions with Kurt, Erik sometimes felt like sobbing, but had always managed to hold back. He had moments of doubt, sometimes wondering why he was going through this repeated ordeal. But he took pride to serve and endure as though it was his sacred duty, regardless of his human instinct to escape. Submission, humiliation and sometimes pain had become the ingredients and the conditions of his pleasure. Each and every of his mental barrier was only there to be pushed further, and there was nothing and no one to stop him.

CHAPTER 2

11 PM was the time Camilla would disappear upstairs into the bathroom. It took a good half hour before she removed her makeup, showered and brushed her teeth. After her ritual was completed, she would go straight to bed, and fall directly into slumber. Reading a few pages was not even necessary for her mind to disconnect. Rolf knew by heart each and every sound of Camilla's bedtime routine, and once it started, he knew he had the whole house for himself. It would soon be a year that Johan, their eighteen year old son, had left their home on the suburban island of Nacka, to study data science in Uppsala, a hundred kilometres to the North.

These past months, Rolf had developed his own bedtime routine. He remained downstairs in the living room and turned out the lights. Then he sat in front of his computer, put on the headphones and made sure he had a box of kerchiefs placed on the side of the table. And quite expectably, he watched porn, often up to a whole hour, carefully picking up his favorite stuff before finally pulling down his pants and masturbating. After that, he would clean up himself carefully, cautious not to leave any trace. Then he would sit a while in front of the screen, only source of light in the dark living-room, and let his mind go astray before he became drowsy and eventually joined Camilla in bed, as she was completely asleep.

At the age of forty-seven, Rolf was reasonably tall, standing at 1,82, and his stocky body was strong and always getting more muscular from regular workout. His chest, arms and legs were hairy, but he just didn't think that was sexy at all. His hair was originally a light brown, but had darkened with age, and then started to mix with grey. Even worse, he had been losing it at a fast pace since the change, and his forehead was now completely bald. He kept it almost shaven, and had compensated the loss with a thick beard, now salt and pepper. He didn't like the way he looked, and would rather have remained the handsome young man he had once been. What mattered to him, first and foremost, was to maintain himself as fit as he possibly could. That was how he measured his resistance to the effect of time.

Rolf had unknowingly become the incarnation of mature masculinity, and the adjective that would have best described his physique was "beefy". His eyes were a greyish blue, which gave his glaze a chilling wolfish feel. He knew that he intimidated people around him, especially more so as he was not the talkative kind. It was practical in a way, because it kept others hat distance, and behind his gruff and bulky looks, Rolf was basically shy. When a woman in his working team once made an overt pass at him, he was actually shocked and had turned her down bluntly. Rolf did feel confusedly that he could somehow be attractive, but he actually no longer clearly knew who himself was attracted to. The fantasies he had on his mind pictured young beautiful couples, but he was not yet aware that he was focusing on males at least as much as on females.

Until a few years back, Rolf's life had been almost desperately normal. Decades ago, he had grown up in your typical small-town, and had been just your typical all Scandinavian boy, popular, sporty and good looking. He had typically moved to Stockholm for study. As he was a beautiful beast back then, he typically had had a string of girlfriends, before he was introduced to Camilla at a party. She was three years younger, and had impressed him immediately, not only because of her majestic cold beauty, but because she appeared to him as superiorly intelligent, almost too brilliant for him. She had once told him "he was a rough diamond she would polish". But she held on to him at his own amazement, and their first and last baby was typically born before he pushed 30.

Camilla had quickly lost interest in being both a spouse and a mother. She worked in financial audit, and had become totally career driven, climbing up the ladder in her company at a staggering pace, soon earning more than her husband did. She regularly came home late, and when she didn't, she brought her work back home. The icy young beauty had turned into a business minded iron lady, scrutinizing her files behind her glasses after dinner, although she always stopped at 11 sharp. The first years, she would still want Rolf to have sex with her though, but it always followed the same strict routine. Always lying on her back, she would close her eyes, bite her tongue and fondle her clitoris during intercourse, then invariably fell asleep afterwards. She used him somehow as an impersonal sex machine.

Rolf had always looked up to Camilla with admiration, like a dog looked up to his master. Even though he took little satisfaction in the bedroom, he felt grateful he had such an exceptional woman as a wife, as he thought of himself as ordinary. At work, he quoted so often anything his wife had said or done that he was soon nicknamed Columbo. Rolf had gradually taken care of most domestic tasks. He was the orderly kind, and gifted with his hands too. He prepared the meals, for which he had a talent. But since the birth of their son Johan, the biggest driving force in Rolf's life had been fatherhood.

Already when Johan was a baby, it was Rolf who most often would wake up at night. It was Rolf proudly pushing the pram, while Camilla was busy talking on the telephone. When Johan started to stand on his feet, Rolf would teach him how to walk. He would hug him in his mighty arms, take him on his shoulders and make him jump up in the air, suddenly catching him back, which never failed to make the little boy jubilate. Rolf was an introvert, but whenever he was with Johan, it was as though another personality took over. Deep down, Rolf was even more proud of the smart and playful child Johan had become than he was of his wife. Camilla's involvement was minimal by comparison, and focused on the quick and orderly execution of domestic tasks and hygienic chores. She was sometimes irked by the complicity between father and son, but it was not her priority. When Johan asked her for anything, her typical reply was he should better ask Daddy.

The most magic moments were the holidays, ritually spent in Rolf's native region of Dalecarlia in Central Sweden. Johan started skiing and swimming at four years old, then came fishing and boating. As Rolf enjoyed boating very much, Camilla's high income allowed the family to buy a motorboat, and then a small cottage on an island in the Stockholm archipelago. The island consisted mainly of large flat granite rocks mostly covered with pine trees, with only four houses. It was only accessible by boat in summertime, and everything had to be brought from outside. Rolf and Johan loved getting up early to get there, driving the motorboat from the outskirts of the city to the island, that felt so far away from everything. They would spend the whole day there, swimming in the cool water of the Baltic sea, alternatively fishing and roaming the neighboring islands by boat. Whenever Camilla came along, she would remain the whole day lying on the flat rocks to get a sun tan.

But when Rolf had just past 40, his already poor sex life with Camilla came to an absolute standstill. The easy explanation she would always come up with is that she was tired after her busy workdays. Rolf's mind was more focused on action than reflection, and he sketchily concluded that he was being pushed back because he was repulsive, both physically and mentally. He had always looked up at her, and feared he was not good enough for her. He could not imagine cheating on her at this point, even less so as his self confidence had suddenly been hit. As Johan got into his teens, Rolf started feeling uncomfortable when they were bathing together at the island. He became obsessed with the perspective of his predictable upcoming development. This concern got all the more invasive that his own sex life had come to a stop. The discomfort was such that it extended rapidly to all the time the three of them spent together.

As time went by, Johan was turning into a handsome young lad like Rolf had been in his own youth, while himself was balding and greying, suddenly afraid of the years to come. Rolf gradually drifted apart from Johan, avoiding his company, wary of either catching attention or showing curiosity. He had the impression of being a a dirty old man. Johan did not express any surprise at the change, as though he understood everything. He became introverted himself, and either spent his time with his own friends, or behind his computer desk. His grades at school fell down a bit, but it was after all typical behavior for a teenager, so that nobody around found it alarming. As Camilla had always been aloof and self-absorbed, family life became restricted to mere cohabitation with minimal communication.

Rolf was distraught, and thought of every possible way to get some help. He saw a psychiatrist, and had the biggest trouble putting words on his situation, which he thought was unspeakable. The doctor was little help, hardly saying anything himself, only taking notes and nodding. As it was painstaking and seemed to lead nowhere, Rolf quit after a few sessions. He even thought of resorting to prostitution, but would not take the risk. Paying for sex was considered as a criminal offence in Sweden, and even though the law was not easy to implement, it was too much of a danger to face for Rolf's cautious personality. So his mind underwent a sort of inner retreat, caught between the fear of ageing and the physical and mental isolation, as his sexuality suddenly appeared to him as uncertain, shameful and dangerous.

For all his sturdy good looks, Rolf's only outcome to release his carnal instincts was now reduced to masturbation. His own bathroom time was in the morning. He still always woke up with vigorous woodies. Once he locked up the door, he would run the water to make some cover noise, then worked his penis with his robust hand until he released himself. All the energy Rolf could not release in a proper sex life, he invested into sports and working out. After his daily handjob in the bathroom, Rolf would exercise in the living room, following an elaborate training program before breakfast. He would swim on Saturday mornings, and run on Sundays. Twice a week, he worked out at the gym, usually after work. And the results were showing.