Yielding Thief

Then Jamie went back into the front parlor, seeking a brass bowl he had seen earlier. It might dent but it wouldn't break. He picked it up, walked out to the entrance foyer, lifted the bowl over his head and slammed it down on the stone floor of the entrance hall. He stood there, waiting.

The wavering light of a candle appeared at the top of the stairs to the second floor, casting an eerie glow down into the foyer. Jamie stood his ground, taking on what he thought would be a look of confusion and indecision laced with fear.

"Who's there? What's happening?" a gruff voice sounded out and Graves, holding the candle aloft, came down the stairs scantily clothed in a voluminous nightshirt and leather slippers.

"Please, sir, I meant no harm," Jamie called out in a tremulous voice.

"Who are you? What are you doing in my house?" Graves's explosive anger was assuaged a bit upon gazing on the figure of the eighteen-year-old youth. He was beautiful in Graves's eyes. Just what the man liked and was attracted too: small; golden-red curly hair; a perfectly formed, trim body; mesmerizing hazel eyes; an attitude of embarrassed, vulnerable diffidence. Full lips. More pretty than handsome. Of a size that Graves liked and could easily physically control. The youth looked fresh, which aroused the senator greatly. When he hit the bottom of the stairs he was right there, close to the youth, who, taking on the aspect of a deer caught by a beam of light, didn't move.

"Please, sir, don't take me to the coppers. I can't go to the coppers again. I'll do anything you want. You can punish me yourself." He went down on his knees in front of the man and reached out and touched him on the thigh through the material of the cotton nightshirt.

Graves's head was spinning. The youth was asking for punishment. Ways of pleasant punishing such a youth had already been running through his brain. The youth was beautiful. He was touching a leg, making Grave harden. "Anything I ask?"

"Anything," Jamie whispered, his hand moving up the man's thigh and then to his core. The material had come up with the hand, exposing the man's thigh almost up to his crotch. Graves was breathing heavily. He put the candle down on a side table within reach and ran his fingers into Jamie's reddish-gold curls.

"Anything?" he repeated. "Do you understand my meaning, young man? Have you ever felt the sting of the whip?"

"Yes, it has been a hard life, sir."

"And the thrust of the cock?"

Jamie didn't answer immediately, but after a short pause he did. "I have not been with men before, sire, but I have thought of doing so. If that is what you want..."

He moved his hand under the raised hem of the nightshirt and pulled the material up to Graves's belly, exposing his shaft, which was moving quickly to a full erection. Emitting a ragged sigh, Graves ran his other hand into the hair on the other side of Jamie's head and drew the young man's face into his crotch.

"But the taste of the cock mayhap?"

"Yes, sire, that I have." Jamie opened his mouth to the cock. The sucking began. When Graves insisted the youth take the shaft in his throat, Jamie gagged, but he took it--and took it and took it, sliding his teeth along the sides of hard rod and feeling the man shudder in pleasure.

Graves reached down and pressed Jamie down on his back on the floor of the foyer. He stretched his body over Jamie's, his cock at the level of the young man's mouth. Pressing the palms into the stone above Jamie's head, he used the leverage of his knees planted on either side of Jamie's hips to raise and lower himself, moving his shaft in and out of Jamie's throat. The young man raised a hand to the older man's balls, laced them in his fingers, and rolled and distended them. Graves moaned his pleasure. If he'd thought about it, he would not have believed this was a virginal young man, but Graves wasn't thinking--he was feeling and enjoying. He particularly enjoyed the gagging sound the youth made when he sent his cock deep into the lad's throat.

When Graves wanted something more than that, he picked the youth up in his arms. "You did say anything I wanted."

"Yes, sire," Jamie answered in a diffident voice.

Taking the young man up in his arms, Graves started up the stairs with him. Halfway up he was overcome with lust. He lowered Jamie to the stairs in front of him, the youth facing down into the carpet-covered treads. Jamie's cheek was pressed into one of the steps by Graves pressing down on his head with one hand. The man used his other hand to pull the young man's trousers and underlinen off his legs; mounted him from behind and above; and fucked him in long, hard strokes, reveling in how tight the youth's passage was and how much the young man cried out in violation and writhed under him.

"You said anything," Graves growled, and Jamie subsided into pants and sobs.

Graves took the small eighteen-year-old youth as if he were a virgin to anal penetration, and Jamie received the cock as if it were his first time. Graves delighted in this scenario--even that they were fucking on the stairs--and Jamie wanted the man to have the pleasure. He wasn't a virgin to men, of course, but he remembered how it had felt and how he had reacted that first time, given to a paying man by his father just a few months earlier, and he played his reaction to Graves's pleasure as he remembered that first time.

When he was done with the youth on the stairs, Graves picked him up in his arms and carried him up to his bedroom. Jamie lay in his arms, his own arms and legs dangling from his trim, lightly muscled body, moaning the feigned loss of his virginity, and just lay where put down on the bed, watching Graves moving around his bedroom, opening closets and drawers. The man returned to the bed with the equipment of his fetish, and, within a few minutes, Jamie had been hogtied and rendered completely defenseless. His wrists were lashed to his ankles with leather straps on either side, his elbows were lashed to his knees, a bar had been attached to the lashings that kept the youth's legs spread, and a gag was in Jamie's mouth. The youth was positioned at the foot of the bed, his cheek and chest pressed into the sheets, and his buttocks raised in the air. Graves had also brought out a leather hand whip with multiple leather strips.

The man stood over the bed, looking down at Jamie, who was trembling and whimpering behind his gag, and pulled his nightshirt over his head. He was in half erection again and had a muscular body for a man his age. He picked up the whip, raised it over his head, and brought it down on Jamie's back, buttocks, and spread thighs repeatedly until he was in full erection. Jamie twitched and cried out through his gag and writhed as best he could in his immobilized position. He was no stranger to being beaten, but he exhibited as a virginal youth who had never been put in this position before. He, in fact, had been whipped before and was conditioned to endure it.

When he was in full erection, Graves climbed onto the bed, hovering over Jamie's back, thrust up inside him, murmuring with pleasure how tight the youth still was and how reluctantly the passage stretched to his need, and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

Freeing Jamie from the hogtied position afterward, Graves rebound the youth's wrists together and then his ankles together and pulled him up onto the bed. Stretching out beside the youth, the man dozed off and snored. Just before dawn, Graves woke and nudged the youth awake.

"I'll untie you now and you may be off--as long as you've stole nothing from me."

"I haven't, Sir, I promise," Jamie answered in a wavering voice.

"You are to be gone and not come back, and we will not mention this to anyone."

"Must I really be gone and never come back, Master?" Jamie asked. "I wish to come back. I wish to stay. I wish to please you and be pleased again--and punished."

"You wish to stay and have me cover you again?"

"Yes, Sir, it is my greatest wish."

"Here, then, I will unbind you."

"Just the ankles, Sir, please. Leave my hands bound... and let me ride you. And use the whip, please. I have done you wrong. Punish me."

Only his ankles unbound, Jamie straddled Graves's hips as the man lay on his back, holding his reengorged cock in position as Jamie slowly settled and descended on it. Then, as Jamie rose and fell on the cock, Graves picked up the whip and flicked it against the youth's bare chest, belly, back, arms, and thighs. The youth writhed on him and called out, "Yes, Yes, Master. Punish me! Fuck me!" Graves was happy to comply.

When the butler returned in the morning light and moved around Graves's bedroom, opening the drapes on the window, he spied the two figures on the bed--the large master encasing the small youth in his arms. The butler wasn't surprised. He had known a long time before the mistress did what the true nature and appetites of Graves were. He just sniffed and left the room, descending the stairs to move the spent candle on the side table in the foyer and then went down another flight to tell the cook there would be another for breakfast--and, quite possibly, for an unknown number of meals after that--and that she would keep anything she saw happening in the house to herself if she wanted to keep her job here.

* * * *

Jamie was lurking at the back of the entrance foyer the next morning when Frank Lampere arrived, asking to speak with Senator Graves. While the butler, sniffing his displeasure all the way and giving Jamie the evil eye as he passed, went to announce Lampere's presence to Graves, who was at breakfast in the dining room, and to ask whether the master would receive Lampere, Frank slipped the papers stolen the previous night back into the hands of his son, Jamie, who slipped back in Graves's study to put them back where he'd found them.

To the butler's surprise, Graves said he would speak to Lampere, and, to the butler's satisfaction, when he ushered Frank into the dining room, Graves's first comment was, "How dare you visit me in my residence." It wasn't a question. Graves had very carefully kept the aspects of his life separate and thus was understandably displeased when the brothel's manager showed up on his doorstep in the daylight.

The butler should have stayed around, though, as Graves was rather quickly rocked back on his pins.

"The authorities did what?" he asked when Frank told him why he was visiting.

"They raided the house last night, sir. I will have to shut it down for a while. But don't worry, I hid all of our records. Your name did not come up." It was a bald-faced lie, of course. The authorities were well paid off. No one had raided the brothel. Frank wanted to take a vacation from the Washington, D.C., male brothel business and had other plans in train.

"Then why is that my concern that you should visit me here?"

"I am informing our major patrons and I felt this needed to be done by me, personally and directly. to limit who would know of any connections. I'm sure that, upon reflection, you will agree with that manner of caution."

This mollified Graves until Frank continued. "And I will be out of a paid position until the heat settles. I believe you need a butler at your country estate in Middleburg--that your wife has left you and taken much of your staff with her."

"I see no reason why I should--"

Interrupting him, Frank gave him the reason, which included not only the records he had on hand from the Oscar Club but also information on Graves and some of his business and personal needs activities he wouldn't want to be made public, information Frank had gleaned from the papers his burglar son, Jamie, has passed out to him the previous night.

Frank, of course, got the job. He winked and nodded to Jamie as he left the house, the door being held open by a seething butler. But Jamie paid the price of the successful blackmail of Graves within the hour, when a festering master took the eighteen-year-old youth to an attic room, where there was a wooden X frame, with leather restraints nailed to it. Here, Graves bound the youth, body to the beam and vulnerable buttocks jutting out to serve the man's pleasure, and flogged and fucked him until the tension had drained from the master. If he'd known what part Jamie had played in all of this, though, he of course would have been more brutal that he was.

* * * *

Graves's country house in Middleburg was more a hunting lodge, quite masculinely outfitted out, than plantation retreat. His wife never had been there and never had the desire to be there, so Graves had been free to maintain it to his pleasures and to only invite other like-minded men there. The men like of mind to Graves were mainly interested in tying up and buggering eighteen-year-old youths. So, that was what they did there. The stone chamber basement of the house was fully outfitted for such activities.

With this in mind, it didn't take Graves long to realize that Frank Lampere was just the butler he needed to oversee his Middleburg house, and very soon after Lampere set up shop there, Graves was going to the country every weekend, as were many of the men waiting for the Oscar Club to reopen. The young male prostitutes who had done service at the Oscar Club also moved to Middleburg--as did, of course, Jamie, who Graves took back and forth between Washington, D.C., and Middleburg for his own pleasure.

Jamie minded more in the performance of pleasing Graves, always acting in part the put-upon virgin when Graves put him to the bindings and the whip and the cock, but the lad actually had been well trained and heeled to the role before he ever came in contact with Graves. Besides that, he was most aroused himself when he was most cruelly being used.

The butler and youth maintained their distance while Graves was in residence in Middleburg and never revealed they were father and son. Neither planned for the arrangement with Graves to be permanent, however, but used their time at both the Georgetown and Middleburg houses identifying what was of value to steal and how soon it could be stolen without detection. The pickings really weren't as good as they would have wished. Graves's estranged wife had had first selection on what was in the Georgetown house and the hunting lodge in Middleburg had never been augmented in expensive trappings. Still, the Middleburg estate had been in Graves's family for centuries, so there were items there of immense value. Frank and Jamie just had to ferret them out, identify them, dust them off, determine their potential value, and figure out how to get them fenced is such a way that the sale couldn't be traced back.

Lampere quickly had his young men set up in the Middleburg house and so Graves had a party within three weeks of this arrangement. He let Lampere invite the male guests, all who paid richly to be able to attend, some of which was raked off by the butler. Lampere had better records of the patrons of the Oscar Club than Graves's memory managed in view of the long habit of the patrons being purposely blind to who was doing what to what youth in the adjoining bedroom at the club.

One of the guests the weekend of the only party that materialized was Shelden Sinclair from the neighboring estate. During the mingling hour while the guests were mingling with the youths and writing their bids for their choices to be adjudicated by Frank Lampere for later playtime in the basement chambers, Jamie, who wasn't on offer, was in the cloakroom assessing what valuables the patrons had left with their coats there and what they might not miss until the next day. That's where Shelden Sinclair found him as the young, handsome, muscular banker decided to roam about before deciding who to bid for and how much to bid. Coming upon Jamie, though, and assessing him to be the fairest of the offerings--and being an arrogant man--Sinclair merely took Jamie up in his arms and swept him away to the most remote bedroom he could find in the house.

Frank had already outfitted the bedrooms in the necessary supplies for the debauching of young men, so all that Shelden Sinclair needed in the bedroom he found there was at hand. Jamie, eyes flashing in feigned fear, the youth being game to be taken by this handsome young banker even though Sinclair was not to know that, was stripped, gagged with a scarf, and bound at the wrists with his arms raised over his head and held to the brass rails of the headboard of a canopied bed. Shelden Sinclair posed the trembling and seemingly immobilized by shock youth on his back on the bed, legs bent and spread, feet flat on the damask bedspread, and pelvis raised by a bolster under the small of his back. The banker found a pot of scented grease conveniently placed on the table next to the bed.

For fifteen minutes, Sinclair worked hard to bury his fist in the young man's anal passage, while Jamie writhed under him, screaming ineffectually through the scarf gagging his mouth, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head, his body shuddering, not all of his reaction being feigned--his own cock, however, engorged to throbbing lust. Managing at last to breach the youth's sphincter muscle with the heel of his hand, the randy, cruel banker spent the next twelve minutes fisting the youth to Sinclair's great arousal and interest. Despite the imposition and pain, Jamie was game for this form of taking and five minutes into the stroking of the fist, he was rocking his pelvis to match the rhythm of the thrusts of the fist and groaning through his gag. The replacement of the fist with the man's hard shaft was almost anticlimactic, as the youth had collapsed in exhaustion and total surrender. Eight final minutes of hard, deep thrusting and Sinclair ejaculated in great satisfaction. Untying Jamie's wrists without a word of praise or encouragement, Sinclair left him--and left the party as well, having been satiated at least for the moment.

Graves and Jamie returned to Washington, D.C., for the week, where Graves used Jamie on three occasions--cruelly but not as cruelly or totally as Shelden Sinclair had. They returned to Middleburg on the next weekend. Within an hour of arrival, Graves took his horse out riding, the horse threw his master into a rocky ravine, Graves's neck was broken, and he expired on the spot.

By nightfall, Frank and Jamie had the treasures from the hunting lodge they had preidentified and valued gathered in a wagon and Frank, taking the master's two best draft horses was driving the wagon into the dusk. Jamie wasn't with him. Jamie was walking over to the neighboring estate, where the butler let him in to, sobbing, inform Shelden Sinclair of the demise of Graves and Jamie's own resulting bereft state. As Shelden Sinclair was comforting the youth, Jamie was looking around at the likely treasures he could steal as he was leaving this arrangement. Shelden Sinclair was unmarried, but his family had been more style and treasure conscious over the centuries than Graves's had been.

Jamie was, in fact, planning that his sad tidings visit to Shelden Sinclair's would not be a prolonged one. It would only be long enough to assess the worth of the house's furnishings and arrange for transport with his father, Frank. But Jamie needed to coax an offer of shelter and board from the randy banker. Shelden Sinclair didn't disappoint. His comforting segued into touching and fondling and kissing and a few sharp slaps to the youth's bare rump before sitting in a velvet chair with Jamie kneeling to him and sucking his cock erect followed by Sinclair picking Jamie up, carrying him upstairs, laying him on a bed, binding him, laying into him with a whip, and fucking the hell out of him, all of which Jamie stoically endured--and even enjoyed a bit--as he planned his next move and eyed a particularly lovely gilded mirror across the room.