Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

Raili was spread-eagled, belly down on my bed, arms and legs pulled to the four corners of the bed and cuffed there. I stuffed several pillows under his belly, which pointed his deliciously mounded butt cheeks toward the ceiling. And I'd spent some time eating his ass out, pulling his cock and balls through his legs and sucking them, and milking his cock to an ejaculation while I lapped at his asshole.

He spent his time moaning, groaning, and egging me on, telling me of the pleasure I was bringing him—and begging to get on with the cocking phase. If he was pretending, he was a great actor. Once I got started, of course, it wouldn't matter that much if he was enjoying himself or not. I was besotted with him. I had to have him six ways from Sunday.

When his begging for the cock became really believable, I crouched over him from above, encircled his waist with an arm, mounted him and gave him the length and girth of me deep and hard. He murmured the pleasure of feeling my silky chest hair rub across his back. My dog tags dangled down to beside his face—I'd notice later that they were bent and had teeth marks of them—and he turned his head, took them into his mouth, and sucked and teethed them and pounded his ass to a bareback ejaculation. I had condoms in the nightstand now, but, after the session in the back of the van, it seem superfluous to use them.

Besides, he said it had been the first time he'd taken it skin on skin and he didn't really want it from me any other way again, the devil may care.

I felt every inch the devil. I was supposed to protect prisoners from police predators and the condemnation of the public. But then, he wasn't really a prisoner, other than the handcuffs, I wasn't denying I swung this way, and he gave every signal that he wanted it. Or was I reading this just to support what I'd wanted to do—and then done?

Other than sex talk, we didn't speak about anything in particular or meaningful until the second fucking after I'd taken him to the kitchen and fed and watered him after the first time. I'd kept him handcuffed in some form throughout. I hadn't pitched him on what I had in mind yet.

I took him more intimately the next time on my bed. I fucked him in a side split, his wrists handcuffed together to the headboard and his ankles handcuffed together. My thighs split him, and I held him close to me, stretched along him from the back, our mouths meeting in a lingering kiss, and my dick slowly mining his ass.

"Can we dispense with these bindings now," I asked in a murmur after we'd both come. "You don't want to sleep bound like this, do you?"

"Yes, take them off. This key must go to one set," he answered, pushing a small key out of his mouth.

"You had a key all along," I said, surprised. "You could have taken the cuffs off any time back in the van."

"Yes. I got them out of your trouser pocket. I wasn't sure of you. But then, quickly, I was."

I freed his wrists and ankles. The binding hadn't been my idea—not from the first. Raili had demanded it. He'd said he didn't want me fucking him if he couldn't feel the pleasure of being incapacitated and taken advantage of by a police officer—just what I was here in Kenya to make sure a young man didn't have to feel.

"What now?" he asked of me in the gathering dark as I held him close, my dick going flaccid inside him, but still inside him. "Do we go to the police for booking now on the charge of being a homo and letting my house be burned down—and maybe assaulting a police officer?"

"I haven't arrested you . . . and we've already established that the handcuffs were your fetish, not mine. You have two choices. In the morning—I can't bear to let you out of my bed tonight—in the morning I can drive you anywhere you want in the area, let you off, and make any reference to arresting you disappear."

"Or?"

"Or you can stay with me and I'll help you with your gay rights journal."

"Help me with my journal? How? The printing press was destroyed? And why? It's against the law. You're a policeman."

"I'm a British policeman, not a Kenyan policeman, and I was sent here to try to help get rid of the effects of this antigay law. I'll help you, but I suggest some changes. Don't put the journal out in paper. Distribution is a high risk. Use the Internet like everyone else does. Run a Web site."

"A Web site? How could I manage that in Kenya?"

"By using the Kenyan government. We can put the site up under the government's nose—on a government server. I could make it one of my programs. I could say it's a homosexual sting operation and that I have all the manpower I needed to run it. No one would even look at it from the government standpoint. The only sticking point is that someone else would have to provide the changing content. I couldn't do that. I could run the Web site right from here, this house. Right under their noses. They'd never look for the source here. If you continued to do the content, though, you'd have to do it from here. And that would mean—"

"Yes."

"Yes what?" I asked.

"Yes, I'll happily stay here—in your bed—for as long as you want me."

I wondered if Raili always, for as long as we were together—would be able to get to the point faster and better than I did.