The year was 1901; the final year of my music studies at the conservatory.
Franz was about ten years older than me and occasionally visited our class to lecture or give instruction as he was too young to acquire the position of a professor at the time, though he was on good terms with all of the teachers and many of the students. A respected young conductor, he was a mentor of sorts to me, having already achieved the status I could only dream of someday nearing.
I rather looked up to him but he had always treated me as an equal, despite the differences in our age and social standing. Somehow his status was never an issue between us, or at least he never gave me cause to feel that it was, and I was immensely proud of the fact that I had earned his respect at such a young age.
He had seen potential in me and it was as though he had already given me credit in advance for the greatness he was certain I would inevitably achieve. We’d always got on quite well as colleagues, and over time we’d developed something akin to a professional friendship.
He was a handsome, accomplished man of about 30 and was married to an attractive woman from Salzburg who was a couple of years his senior. I’d met and spoken to her on numerous occasions when I’d had the honour of being invited to dine with them at their beautiful home in one of the nicer parts of the city.
In comparison, the scruffy 25m ² behind the Westbahnhof I returned to every evening was a constant reminder to me of my lowly position in society, at least for the time being.
I would never have dreamt of inviting any of my peers back to my modest dwelling, let alone the great conductor himself. But as chance would have it, one evening after attending a spectacularly performed Handel concert, he invited himself. It was not the only surprise fate had in store for me that night.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Our first stop after the performance was a local Kaffeehaus where we had a satisfying go, as usual, at picking apart each detail concerning the orchestra, good-naturedly finding fault where we could. He’d already ordered his second cup of melange and I was still working on my first. The man loved his caffeine and was a regular at half of the cafes around the city.
After having finished our coffee, we moved out into the unusually warm October evening, chatting all the while—him doing most of the talking and myself agreeing or contributing when appropriate. Despite our being jovial with one another, you should probably be aware, as I was, that the fact that he was older and more accomplished than me played something of a power role in our relationship. Although we were friends in our private time, to me he was always my teacher in the first line.
We’d not agreed on a set destination, opting instead to amble aimlessly along the streets and through the parks of Vienna. It was only when I heard him say “You live around here, isn’t that right, Gustav?” that I realised we’d happened upon the vicinity of my street.
I’d been so engrossed in our discussion I hadn’t paid attention to where we were going. Somewhat ashamed, I nodded.
Without a hint of sarcasm or judgement Franz exclaimed, “Well then, you shall have to give me the grand tour!” and began walking toward my flat. Hesitantly I followed suit, silently cursing myself all the while for having let us end up here.
Somewhat reluctantly I welcomed him into my little home, apologizing for the state of my cramped quarters. He quipped about his own humble beginnings and said something about great men having to start somewhere. This pleasantly surprised me and put me at ease.
I rummaged through my tiny pantry, coming across an expensive bottle of schnapps I’d been given by a fellow student from a wealthier background on my last birthday but had never opened, so I could at least offer him something. There was not a morsel of food in the flat.
He seemed to pay no mind to my underwhelming abode and while I poured our drinks our discussion instantly picked up where it had left off.
We drank to our friendship, to what he termed my “brilliant future” and nearly everything else he could come up with to toast. The clear liquid burned my throat and warmed my belly. I was soon feeling relaxed and content, and finding it much easier to chat animatedly with Franz.
We carried on conversing well into the evening, pleasantly passing the hours. With a few drinks inside us, the barriers between us gave way to a comfortable frankness usually shared between good friends of considerable years.
The sun had long since set and evening had fallen. Franz was on the subject of the fairer sex by the time I’d got up to light the lamp. Its glow bathed the room in the dimmest of light, but it was rather cosy. We’d got through about half of the liquor by now, the subject matter of our conversation growing progressively raunchier the more we drank.
His inhibitions dulled, he meandered onto the topic of sex. And although an unorthodox area for our discussions thus far, it was not at all unwelcome or unpleasant. Soon he was boastfully regaling me with tales of his conquests during his years at the conservatory, some in subtle terms, others in surprisingly forthright detail. This adds a whole new dimension to the man,
I thought as I listened to his portrayals of an oversexed youth so similar to myself, and I could effortlessly picture the scenarios he laid out for me.
He then probed me about my own adventures, asking me whether the girls at the conservatory were as sex mad as he’d known them to be during his own studies. I blushed slightly at the bluntness of his question. It instantly summoned back images of my own hours with those very girls and I felt a stirring in my stomach. I muttered a hushed reply that I did not know.
“Ah, you are a dark horse, Gustav!” he replied with a broad smile. I was struck by an intense look of tenderness in his eyes I’d never seen before. Not knowing what to say, I simply smiled back and had another drink, which he did as well.
It all happened so suddenly I barely had time to react.
His drink still in his right hand, his free left hand fell to his crotch and he began rubbing himself as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was only then that I became aware of his aroused state, of the clear outline of his erection straining against the material of his trousers. I felt a sort of subdued awe at his shamelessness regarding his arousal, and I felt my own body swiftly responding in turn.
It was unreal. My cock automatically stiffened in response to the anticipation of sex.
Fuelled by a mix of curiosity, lust and intoxication, Franz grew bolder.
He said it softly, but the tone of his voice rather urged more than asked me to comply.
I was confused and flustered, my pulse quickening. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. It was more like a strange dream in which the dreamer knows he is dreaming. Feeling hot and uncomfortable I obediently moved closer to him, averting his gaze.
There was a moment of silence. Franz nipped at his drink and set it down on the table. Then, taking mine from my hands, he set it down next to his. Our eyes met briefly.
“Give me your hand,” he said, lowering his gaze to indicate where he meant (as though it were necessary).
His voice was quite calm. Not believing I had understood him correctly, my puzzled expression must have betrayed my bewilderment.
“Christ, Gustav, don’t be so uptight,” he countered, slightly impatient.
He sounded a bit tipsy but was still his lucid self.
His eyes fell on mine, a slight grin adorning his face as he slowly undid his trousers, freeing up his rigid erection.
“Here. Touch me,” he repeated.
Hesitantly I reached out my hand and brought it to his proud erection. It was incredibly hard. And hot. It responded immediately to my touch. It was the first time I had touched another man’s cock. Strange sensation though it was, it was not at all repulsive to me.
I heard his breath escape his throat in a quiet moan of pleasure. Though my focus was fixed on what I was holding in my hand, I could feel his eyes upon me.
My mind was spinning slightly now from the alcohol and the rush of blood forced to my head from my racing heart. Some distant but present part of me found this undeniably arousing and I was struggling to come to terms with that.
His hand closed around mine and began slowly moving it up and down the length of his shaft. I silently consented and he left me to it.
I carefully began pleasuring him as I would myself, my fingers wrapped tightly around his foreskin, moving my hand steadily up and down and hoping he was finding it pleasurable.
Franz breathed deeply and sat back, seemingly enjoying it.This is a lot more difficult than it looks,
I recall thinking to myself. I’d instructed girls in the proper ways of manual pleasure on several occasions, guided their movements in such a way as to insure the utmost gratification for myself. Finding myself now in a position where I had to give pleasure to another man was, however, a different matter altogether. As uncomfortable as my position was, Franz was my mentor and I wanted to please him.
After some time he stopped me and told me to have another drink. He pressed the glass into my hand and took over where I had left off, steadily stroking himself. Feeling somewhat affronted, I emptied the contents of my glass in one go, praying the liquid courage would hit me soon.
Franz finished off his drink as well and poured himself and me a new one before settling back into the corner of the sofa. His hand was resting between his legs again, idly running his fingertips along the length of his cock, all the while looking at me but not saying a word. His erection had subsided a bit and so had mine. For a second I wondered if he had noticed my arousal, then decided I didn’t really care if he had.
“You ever had a girl play with you, Gustav?” Franz asked, a little smile gracing his handsome face.
The sexual tension returned again in a heartbeat, only this time I didn’t feel as uncomfortable. In fact I found it rather pleasant. Arousing even.
The last shot of schnapps had gone straight to my head and was doing its work brilliantly. I merely smiled and lowered my gaze in reply.
“I’ll bet you have,” he purred, his eyes studying me… analysing me.
“And? How was it?” he coaxed, genially. “Did you like it?”
I could feel his eyes on me, challenging me to meet his gaze.
Summoning up my strength, I met his glance and held it.
I felt a sudden lurch of desire as I realised how attractive Franz was. It was not entirely dissimilar to the feeling of falling for a girl, I remember thinking with amazement.
“The best is when a really beautiful girl takes you with her mouth,” Franz continued as if talking to himself, lost in his own thoughts. His eyes held mine firmly, as if he were trying to see through to my soul, before dropping down to my lips. He’d resumed absent-mindedly running his fingertips up and down the length of his cock, which was now fully engorged and an angry shade of purple.
His words were audibly breathy now.
“Have you ever had a girl suck your cock, Gustav?” His eyes travelled over my face and up and down my body. My heart was pounding. I was hard and wet now, and dying for release. I couldn’t believe how turned on I was.
Swept up by the lust in his voice and his words I nodded yes.
Franz responded with another little smile and tightened his grip around his rigid cock, clearly enjoying the mental picture of a pretty young student going down on me.
“I knew it,” he replied with a grin. “A handsome boy like you, the girls must be throwing themselves at your feet.”
Both flattered and embarrassed, I turned my eyes from his once more.
“Beauty is not a sin, my boy,” Franz said, reaching out and stroking my face.
His eyes lingered on mine for a moment as though trying to communicate something that could not be put into words. Then he picked up his glass and drank eagerly. Wishing to numb my senses and to relieve myself of the burden of rational thought, I did the same.
Replacing his empty glass on the table, Franz commented that he was beginning to feel the drink and settled back again, closing his eyes briefly. Setting my now empty glass down, I rubbed my swollen, aching cock through my trousers. It was so hard it hurt to touch it, so I stopped.
I looked over at Franz, who was still standing proud and had resumed staring at me intently. Without a word he called me to him again and I obeyed. He grabbed me firmly and put his mouth so close to my ear I could feel his lips forming the words. Smell the alcohol on his hot breath. I felt my body tense up.
“Stop. Don’t fight it.”
Before I could fully understand what he meant he had turned me over, roughly and with an urgency which communicated to me that his intentions were not to be questioned. I was too numb and excited to feel scared, though my pulse raced at the thought of what he had in mind for me. He was pulling my clothes off of me and I could feel the familiar sensations of wild, unbridled arousal rising within me.
A gentle cry escaped my throat as he pushed me against the arm of the sofa. I remember clinging to it, feeling my heart fluttering wildly like a caged bird in my chest as I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. He pinned me down with his body so I couldn’t move. I didn’t know if I wanted or was ready for this, but I didn’t attempt to fight it, and instead quickly braced myself for my fate.
Fumbling amateur that he was, he clearly had no clue as to what he was doing and was acting impulsively on pure lust. Consequently, what stands out most clearly in my memories of the experience was the sheer and utter pain of it. His rigid member wet with only his saliva, he pressed it to my anus. I jerked as the discomfort hit me, inadvertently backing toward him as he drove the head of his cock past my ring. It was excruciating.
Before I could recover from the initial pain he had thrust himself deep into me, penetrating me roughly, taking my breath away. The pain was blinding. I felt as though my insides were being ripped from my body. A second, opposing sensation immediately overcame me and I became very aware of my own nagging erection, pressed uncomfortably against my stomach.
I was intoxicated by the alcohol. Overwhelmed by the acute agony and the shock of being fucked by another man, the reality hit me. He was a role model to me. He was a married man, for Christ’s sake! No, this couldn’t be happening.
I weakly struggled to pull my thoughts together as, somewhere far away, I was aware of his weight on me; of my wrists being pinned down by his hands; of him now moving in and out of me steadily in long strokes, boldly having his way with me.
All my other senses were dulled, taking a backseat to the physical pain I was struggling to disconnect from. From somewhere far away I could hear the sound of laboured breathing and after a few moments I realised that at least half of it was my own.
Passively I laid there where Franz had thrown me. The pain was gradually fading into a dull throbbing ache as my body adapted to the onslaught and I willed myself to surrender to the pleasure of what I was experiencing.
My entire body felt numb and warm. The heat produced by my pounding heart and remorseless arousal was so intense, I was now lightly perspiring and I was certain that Franz was as well, despite the coolness of the room.
His thrusts were relentless and showed no signs of letting up. Perhaps it was the drink, or maybe the man was just blessed with inhuman endurance. All I know is that it felt like he’d been fucking me for hours. I had no concept of how long it had really been.
There was no tenderness in the act. No affection. Just sex for its own sake.
The friction of his movements as he pounded into me was fast pulling me closer and closer to the edge. A newfound energy surged through my body and every nerve in me was switched on. I began to moan lightly, only partially aware that I was doing so. I was powerless to do anything but react. Soon I felt my temperature rise further and my muscles tighten as wave after wave of pleasure seized me and an unusually vocal orgasm was wrenched from my body. I’d never felt so uninhibited or come so hard before in my life.
This served to intensify Franz’s passion, and the rhythm of his thrusts increased, his strokes becoming noticeably harder and faster. He was getting closer. He didn’t try to contain his cries as he came inside me. I couldn’t feel anything at that point but I knew he had finished.
His cock still buried deep inside me, he collapsed on top of me and waited for his breathing to return to normal. That was the last thing I remembered.
Physically and mentally exhausted, the room faded to black.
The next morning I awoke curled up in the armchair with a quilt around me. I was naked, my head was pounding and it was cold. I wrapped the blanket more tightly around myself as Franz appeared from the kitchen with a glass of water. He gave me a warm little smile and told me to drink.
“I went to the bakery,” he added. “There’s fresh bread in there if you’re hungry.”
It was as though nothing had happened. For a moment I half-wondered whether last night had all just been a strange dream, but the aching all over my abused body quickly put that theory to rest.
After we’d had breakfast and Franz left, I washed and dressed. I desperately needed affection after what I’d been through. The young woman whose arms I slept in that evening was speechless at the sudden change in me. No sex for once. We just kissed and held each other.
Franz and I never spoke about what happened that night. It was neither shame nor denial. It was just something that had happened and that we silently agreed not to make a big deal about.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.