Chapter 7 – Chapter 7
An hour later an eerie darkness and a heavy silence had descended with just the hint of sex in the night floating through the lakeside palace. Terry and Jimmy Chin were in Terry's bed, the young viscount on his back, his arms raised and separated, his wrists restrained to the corners of the headboard. His legs were spread and bent, his heels being used as leverage to help with the thrusting. Chin hovered between his thighs, in a pushup position, palms pressing into the mattress on either side of Terry's shoulders and back ramrod straight down to his feet pressing into the sheets on his toes, rising and falling, fucking his master-by-day deep, being Terry's master at night as he so often was. And doing it as Terry liked to have it done.
Terry heard the squeak of the door to the corridor as it slowly open. Chin was too much into the grunting of his efforts to service the young viscount fully and well to have heard. The light in the corridor, via dimmed gaslights on the walls, was brighter than in the room, where moonbeams barely filtered into the room through two large French doors out onto a balcony. Terry could see that there was someone out there, obviously with the intent of entering the room, probably to enjoy themselves with the English slut who couldn't seem to get enough and was open to the cock of almost any man.
The figure silhouetted in the dim light from the corridor was tall and bulky: the promised visitation by the German military industrialist, Otto Merkel? Perhaps Drago Corvius, who had been nosing around Terry as the party was closing down, and Madeleine obviously wasn't going to be in his bed that night, with the prospect of a second go at Terry? Or maybe it was the Baron Luderman himself, wanting more attention from the guest he cajoled to visit him at Chiemsee Lake. The detective, Halterman? That would be very nice.
Whoever it was, he saw Chin doing his calisthenics on Terry's body and withdrew.
An hour later, in a bedroom in the third-floor servants' quarters, Mustafa, riding the young policeman, Hans, from above and behind in the doggy position, with Hans on his belly, his hands raised and grasping the rungs of the brass headboard, and panting hard and huffing and puffing as the size and vigor of the Turk, gave a grunt and a jerk and released his seed. Another jerk and a release, and then a long sigh from them both, Mustafa rolled off the bed and went into the adjoining bathroom, took a piss in the toilet, and turned on the water in the shower.
While he was gone, the door from the corridor opened, and a caped figure glided in. He saw the naked body of the handsome young policeman stretched out, belly down, on the bed, and, teeth flashing, he attacked.
Hans only had time to turn and open his eyes in horror at the black-caped figure descending on him before he was punched in the face and fell back on the bed in surprise and shock. He tried to rise again, but his attacker slapped him hard across the face, both from one side and then the other. The young man collapsed under the onslaught, as his assailant grabbed his wrists with both hand, forcing the young man's arms above his head, inserted himself between Hans's thighs, mounted, and penetrated, and fucked him hard and deep. Though in shock, the fuck was a good one, so Hans gave in to it.
Coming out the bathroom, toweling himself off, Mustafa saw the assault in progress, gauged Hans's cries to mean that this was not a willing fuck, although at this point, it was, and went into action. He threw himself on the assailant's back, his strong hands going to the man's throat and squeezing hard.
In a short time, Drago Corvius had been dragged off of Hans and the bed and lay dead on the floor.
"You best get dressed and go find your detective," Mustafa said, standing over the body, his hands still flexing and unflexing from the exhilaration of having done their worst. If asked, he'd admit that he never did like Drago Corvius—too slimy by far, Mustafa thought.