A Question of Restraint

The baron had fucked Stefan again en route from Munich to Füssen. He had restrained himself from taking any more of the young man’s blood, but that didn’t stop him from crouching between Stefan’s raised and spread legs, the young man’s knees hooked on Varick’s hips and his hands clutching the baron’s biceps, his fists opening and closing to the rhythm of the thrusts. The young man obviously was aware enough to enjoy the cock working deep inside his ass. Varick’s cape covered their torsos and undulated with the fuck. Stefan’s head was turned and he was watching me, his eyes seeming to gleam in the darkness of the carriage, his gaze one of ecstasy and triumph that it was him and not me that Varick was fucking.

The young man wasn’t unaware of the dynamics playing here. He was accepting the dire risk he was taking. Still, I don’t think he was fully aware where this was headed. Like most young men his age, he believed himself indestructible—and he placed a high value on personal pleasure. To him, this was high adventure and never-before-experienced ecstasy. He wouldn’t be the first young man to learn that it went terminally beyond that.

I lay across the opposite seat, barely conscious, my mind in a swirling haze, straining to feel the next breath that came to me in a low pant. Unlike Stefan, I knew where this ultimately was headed.