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The following Friday I received a note from Patrice saying he was in town and asking whether I was free to take lunch with him. I was travelling home in two days’ time, so I arranged to meet him at the Grande on Saturday afternoon. When I arrived at the hotel restaurant at half past one he was already waiting. Having met him only once before—and that in a darkened house where everyone was naked—it took me a moment to recognise the tanned, well-groomed and exquisitely dressed young man in the light of day. It was his seductive smile that gave him away. One doesn’t easily forget a smile like his.

We got the small talk out of the way and settled at our table. He had been visiting his parents in the south of France, he said, and had just arrived in Vienna three days ago. The conversation then veered in the direction of the party and the numerous couplings that had occurred as a result, at which point Patrice laughed softly, cocked his head and said, “Mind if I ask a stupid question?”

“Go on,” I urged.

“Did we…?”

As soon as I’d grasped what he was asking I nodded slowly. “In our host’s bed, no less. Don’t you remember?”

He lowered his eyes, his countenance taking on a look as close to one of embarrassment as such a countenance could manage.

“I wasn’t myself that night. I tend to overindulge at Wolfi’s little gatherings and I regret to say I can’t recall much of that weekend.”

We were halfway through our strudel when the first lull in the conversation came. It was Patrice who finally broke it with another confession.

“I like you, Gustav.” He gave a little sigh then locked his eyes on mine and leaned in close. “I want you.” His voice was low and breathy and set my nether region aflame. “Properly, I mean. Come home with me.”

In the cab back to his place, he leaned in close and caressed my cheek. His ragged breaths hot against my ear made the little hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. I closed my eyes as the tip of his tongue danced seductively over the curve of my ear, filling me with a desire for more. My cock felt solid as stone. He put his hand on the bulge between my legs and squeezed it. When his mouth fell upon mine I kissed him back; shuddered as his cool fingers slipped down the front of my trousers, where they immediately made contact with my excruciatingly engorged glans. Eyes darting to the window as the thought of being discovered in flagrante made the blood freeze in my veins, I wondered exactly how far he meant to take this.

He didn’t leave me wondering long, for only seconds later his nimble fingers were unbuttoning my flies. His hand closed around my shaft and, much to my alarm, he began to stroke me.


“Draw the curtain,” he purred into my ear before inserting his tongue into it. Rather than protest I followed his suggestion, though it did nothing to calm my nerves. When I settled back into my seat he shifted positions and bent his head over my lap. Before I could object he had taken my entire length into his mouth and set straight to work sucking it. Overwhelmed, I rested my hand on his head in what must have seemed an approving manner, when in fact I was out of my mind with shock. His hand worked its way further down between my legs and I gasped as he gave my testicles a squeeze before gently cupping and playing with them. A soft little moan from him betrayed the urgency of his own arousal but he kept his entire focus on pleasuring me.

We must have been nearing his street by that point, for his movements began to pick up in pace and his sucking became harder. As he was clearly determined to finish me off, I closed my eyes and willed myself to relax just enough to oblige him for both our sakes. Despite my nervousness (or perhaps because of it) my orgasm was phenomenal and I spent copiously into his mouth, every last drop of which he drank down like fresh milk.

The carriage came to a halt less than a minute after we had finished arranging ourselves and Patrice paid the driver, who tipped his hat to us before urging the horses onward.

We passed through the entrance of a grand old building and walked up a flight of stairs. Patrice unlocked the door to his flat and called out “Maria?” in the direction of the kitchen. Receiving no reply, he turned to me and pulled me to him, his eyes taking me in before he moved in for a kiss and simultaneously slipped my coat off.

Glancing over at a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, he gave me a mischievous look that said, “Shall we?” At once my knees turned to jelly and my stomach clenched. I was powerless to resist him even if I had wanted to.

He walked ahead of me, holding my hand. I pressed his palm to my aching groin and his fingers gave me a gentle squeeze. His bedchamber was grand and tastefully ornate, the large wooden bed the centrepiece. My trousers were the first to come off and I was only too happy to be out of them. Halfway though undressing himself Patrice paused to kiss me, holding my face in his hands before letting one fall down the front of my body to grope my balls. They were still tender from the attention they had received only ten minutes previously but the discomfort was not enough to keep me from becoming helplessly aroused.

By now Patrice was sporting a proud erection of his own, which he shamelessly unveiled before grabbing me for another bout of hard kissing. The things his tongue did to mine made my head spin and before I knew where I was he had me up on the bed and was pinning my naked body down with his. His mouth broke away from mine and strayed to the side of my neck while his hands explored my body.

I was hard and wet and wanted him, but the power of speech had abandoned me and all I could do was lie there beneath him, writhing and gasping for air. Every inch of my skin responded to his electric touch and I tensed each time his hand slid between my parted thighs to caress my throbbing sex. Though he can’t have been more than a year or two older than me, I felt terribly young and inexperienced compared to him. His expertise rivalled even that of Christian and I was certain the two had been intimate at some point in the past, though my brain reeled at the thought of what it must have been like for two forces of nature such as themselves to lock horns in sexual combat.

Still panting and hot, I closed my eyes and surrendered to the sensation of slipping under water as his fingertips claimed possession of my defenceless opening. His breathing grew heavy and he cursed softly before withdrawing. I opened my eyes to see him looking about the room, evidently in search of something. He cursed under his breath a second time before offering me an apologetic look and excusing himself. With that he leapt off the bed and ran out of the room, leaving me baffled and breathless where I lay. He reappeared some seconds later, having procured what he was after. There was nothing in his hands but his fingers were coated in a slick substance and poised for action. He’d found something suitable in the pantry, no doubt, though I couldn’t quite place the sweet smell. Whatever it was, it worked like a charm. His fingers slid into me with ease and the pain was minimal.

He appeared to be as eager to get on with things as I was, and after he had given me a brisk fucking with his fingers he rolled me over and grabbed one of the cushions to shove under my belly. My bottom was slightly elevated and ideally situated for the attack. My heart raced with anticipation and seconds ticked by, silent save for the sound of our breathing. I started when he touched his oily fingertips to my entrance; my cock twitched and drooled onto the cool fabric of the pillowcase. I had been pierced by Patrice’s arrow before, so logically I ought to have known what to expect; and yet the sober Patrice was so very different to the one I’d met at the party that it was like being taken by a stranger.

He was an exquisite lover; gentle, but not excessively so. He penetrated me with just the right amount of force to cause me a little pain without seriously hurting me or detracting from the pleasure of it. My ring gave way to his determined thrusts and before long his staff was buried to the hilt inside me. He then paused to gather his strength and softly utter a few words in French before turning his attention back to my ass. Then he fucked me with such passion that it took my breath away. My weak fingers clutched at the bedclothes as I attempted to brace myself and my entire body jerked with the force of each thrust.

“Ah, that’s lovely,” he sighed and touched his lips to the back of my neck.

His slick pole drove into me deep and hard, hitting just the right spot. Again and again he uttered his breathy praises for my body and posterior.

I was no match for the assault. My every muscle tightened as the waves of pleasure came in more rapid succession and I began to whimper and moan, the stimulation proving too much. Seconds later my body was wracked with blissful little spasms and I came onto the soft, inviting fabric of the pillow beneath me. My debonair attacker responded by muttering a few more guttural words in his native tongue then he threw all his weight into the last desperate thrusts until a loud orgasm brought our immoral duel to an end. He pulled out at once and fell onto the bed, sweaty and utterly breathless. His hot, moist fingers touched my chin and he kissed me.

We lay there on our backs, pulses gradually slowing to normal speed, and he offered me a cigarette which I accepted with one of the few French phrases in my vocabulary. This made him turn his head and smile. The warmth in his eyes could melt glaciers.

“Stay the night,” he said.

I would have been only too happy to accept the invitation, and told him as much, but my train was due to leave first thing in the morning and I hadn’t even begun to pack. To this he heaved a regretful sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Dinner, then.”

It was still light out. The evening was a good four hours off at least. “Dinner,” I agreed, only too happy at the thought of wiling the remainder of the day’s hours with him, and he rewarded me with another kiss before returning to his cigarette.

“Going to see a girl back home?” he asked.

I exhaled a white cloud of smoke. “Just family.”

“Haven’t you got a fiancée?”

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “Have you?”

Patrice smiled thoughtfully to himself. “Father is always on the lookout for suitable matches for me. Mother is even worse. Matchmaking is her main reason for living. They’re hoping to announce my engagement before the year is out.”

I sympathised with him, for I knew he was making light of the pressure he was under to produce an heir for the family.

“Strange, isn’t it?” I contemplated aloud, “To think that we shall someday be fathers. Husbands,”

“The notion is not without its appeal,” Patrice replied, putting his cigarette out. “But I could never enter into matrimony with someone who didn’t share my views on all things. Including sexual matters. I would happily give my wife children, a grand home and the freedom to pursue everything her heart desires, but she would have to accept the fact that I see other people. I could never limit myself to just one person for the rest of my life; I fail to see how any man could.”

I saw his point, but could not help thinking his expectations a tad unrealistic.

“It was only recently,” he continued, lighting another cigarette, “that I found out my own father harboured a secret penchant for sodomy himself. Gentlemen and ladies alike. To all outward appearances he’s as straight as an arrow. And my parents’ marriage is one of the soundest and happiest I know.”

The ways of the upper classes never failed to surprise me, despite my constant exposure to them.

“I’ve been a lifelong worshipper of the fairer sex myself, but you don’t spend the formative years of your late teens in boarding schools without coming into contact with buggery in one form or another. That’s where father developed the taste for it, I’m sure. I know it’s where I did.”

He had turned onto his side by this point and was letting his fingers roam down my navel as he spoke.

“A marriage could never work unless I found a woman broad minded enough to let me indulge in the occasional boy.”

The back of his hand caressed my sheathed sex, awakening it from its slumber.

“You’ve a beautiful cock,” he said. “Care to swap roles?”

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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