Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

The baron asked Terry to stay with the body of the young valet while he went to call the police. "The nearest police unit is in Garmisch," he said. "It will probably take them time to get here. I don't think we should do anything with the body until they arrive."

He hardly needed to tell the viscount that as often as Winter had been involved with dead bodies in his young life. While the baron was gone, though, he, after pulling his undergarments and jodhpurs back on, did a cursory look at the body, using a thick strand of hay to touch the body here and there. As he suspected, there wasn't much blood left in this body. Yet, it didn't appear that he'd bled out on the floor of the loft.

"Not again," Winter said, with a sigh.

When Luderman returned, he brought the Turkish houseman, Mustafa, with him. The horror of the situation didn't keep the Turk from giving Winter lustful looks—or from the young viscount returning them. As a satyriasis, he cultivated good cock wherever he could find it. His coupling with the baron had been interrupted, and Terry was hot for someone to cover him—with the hunky Turk being a likely candidate. He looked to Terry to be very commanding and cruel, which was what the young man liked the best. There was every evidence that the houseman had been apprised that the viscount craved cock and would be an easy lay for someone as well-endowed at the Turk was.

"The police said it would be a few hours for the inspector on duty to get to us," Luderman said. "He's out on another case. They asked that we get everyone into the lounge and hold them there, not telling them what the issue is until the inspector arrives."

"They won't suspect something's wrong?" Terry asked.

"I don't think so. We gather for drinks and entertainment at about this time every afternoon. We can get focused and intent on discussing opera. They are a self-absorbed lot. As long as we keep the drinks and canapes coming, they won't know anything's wrong—or care as long as it just involves the servants. I've told them you're coming. Most of them know who you are and are interested in you. They know that your coming means we have an accompanist for the singers too. That's what we'll feature this afternoon."

"And how will they be gotten into the lounge?"

"We'll leave Mustafa here with the body and you and I can split up the house—me downstairs and you on the bedroom level, to guide them all to the lounge. The call for drinks alone should get them there."

So, that's what they did. Winter left Mustafa with the body with a bit of regret, as he'd hoped for a short, satisfying losing wrestling match with him, especially in light of his tryst with the baron having been interrupted. As a satyriasis, the young viscount was quick to check out possibilities and equipment with every man he came in contact with. The baron was a known commodity to him, they had fucked all over Europe when he was a ballet dancer and Baron Luderman was an impresario.

When he had arrived at the villa, Terry had checked the other men out. The butler was dismissed immediately as far too old, straightlaced, and sour. Mustafa had been an obvious "yes." He was a hunk, he'd given Terry the eye, and the viscount had discerned movement at a protruding crotch of the Turk when they were introduced. Even the baron's prospective son-in-law showed promise and interest, which Terry returned, when they were introduced—and this even though Madeleine Luderman was hanging onto the opera singer's arm. It looked to Terry that the main reason the baron had asked him to stop by—to check out Drago Corvius's preferences would bear out the baron's suspicions.

As he was moving down the bedroom hall, Terry wondered if the baron was getting as good an entertainment—and shock—as he was. In one bedroom, he found Frau Vetterman, in a black corset, high-top black boots, and black gloves, standing over a slightly pudgy dark-haired man in his forties, who was bent over the foot of a bed, naked, arms outstretched in a cruciform position, and grunting as the dominatrix flicked his buttocks with a riding crop.

The man looked around in embarrassment as Terry calmly invited them to the lounge, whereas the housekeeper showed no sign of surprise or remorse at all. Her glare at Terry revealed her assessment that he was of no sexual interest or possibility to her at all and, more damning from her position, she had discerned that he would willingly go under the lash for man as this man was going under the lash for her.

He was even more surprised by finding the baron's daughter, Madeleine, stretched out on a bed in another room, with a voluptuous and siren-like woman, perhaps in her forties, lying beside her, embracing her, with her face buried in Madeleine's throat and the fingers of her other hand moving from cupping her breasts to being buried in the young lady's cunt, rubbing her clit and plunging fingers inside her. Both women were naked and were writhing against each other, Madeline doing most of the writhing. Madeleine looked even more pale than she had that afternoon. She was emitting low, guttural moans and holding the other woman's hand between her legs with one of her own hands.

When Terry announced they were expected in the lounge, Madeleine didn't respond—she just lay there, half conscious, a dreamy look on her face. The other woman, though, sat up in bed, cupped her voluptuous breasts, and gave a saucy look at Terry. She languidly stood from the bed and was shrugging into her dress as the young viscount continued down the hall.

The next bedroom door he opened revealed the naked backside of a man in his fifties of military bearing, bald, and chunky but muscular, standing at the foot of the bed and holding the maid, Katie, naked and trussed up, to the mattress. He'd tied her wrists to her ankles with rope and had pillows under her belly, bringing her rump to the edge of the foot of the bed. He was leaning over her, one beefy hand pressing her cheek to the bed with a grip on the back of her neck. Her pelvis was raised to give Terry a good view of what the soldier type with a ramrod straight back was doing to her. The man had a thumb in her ass, his other fingers splayed over the small of her back, and he was fucking her in the ass, pressing in under the stretch of his thumb, with a thick-rooted cock.

The maid was gazing out at the wall by the bed with a wide-eyed stare. She was looking stoic, though, taking the ass fucking in silence like it was just one of her duties at the villa. And perhaps it was. The baron ran a household that was more bordello than residence. That was a major reason that Terry visited him regularly. Terry didn't announce what the two were supposed to interrupt that to do. He just quietly shut the door and moved on down the corridor. From the vigor with which the old man was fucking the girl's ass, though, Terry thought they probably were close to climax. He'd stop back a little later to announce drinks time.

He reviewed the position the old man was taking on the maid in his mind. He didn't think he'd ever been put in a position like that. He thought he might like to try it—maybe even with the man fucking the maid, if he was bisexual. Terry didn't mind who else a vigorous, inventive, commanding man fucked as long as he fucked Terry.

His last stop didn't surprise him at all. His chauffeur, Jimmy Chin, had already gotten busy with his own pleasures. Terry peeked into the dressing room off his bedroom to find that Jimmy was sitting, naked, on the side of the divan and a young man, in his mid-twenties, auburn haired, small, cute, with effeminate movements, was sitting in Jimmy's lap, also naked, facing him, and Jimmy, grasping the young man's waist between strong, bronze hands, was lifting and lowering the young man on his cock. Terry well knew that his chauffeur had a champion-length shaft, so he wasn't surprised at the groaning and moaning the young man did. He was taking the shaft deep.

He looked up to see that the opera baritone, Madeleine's fiancé, Drago Corvius, was standing across the dressing room, in the doorway of the bathroom, and watching the fuck on the divan. He had his fly open and is erection in hand. As closely as he was watching the young man rising and falling on Chin's cock, it was obvious that Corvius wanted to fuck the young man himself.

That answered the question of how broad the baritone's sexual interests were.

He looked at Terry and Terry looked at him. Neither withdrew for the next moment or two as the bouncing motion on the divan increased in intensity, the young man leaned back, grasping Chin's knees, and panted hard, rising up into the clouds of ecstasy.

Terry turned and walked into his bedroom, he moved to the foot of the bed and stood there. Corvius walked through the dressing room and into the bedroom, pulling up behind Terry. He placed his hands on Terry's hips and leaned into him.

"I've heard about you," he said. "A male nympho, I'm told. Can't get enough, and well worth the ride."

"That's what you've heard?" Terry asked, not pulling away. "Do it."

Corvius laughed. "I didn't know you would be this easy."

"Fuck me. I need a cock."

The opera singer reached around and fondled Terry through the material of the crotch of his jodhpurs. What he found only egged the dominating opera singer on.

"Lean over on the bed and extend your arms." It was the same position Terry had seen the middle-aged man in just now with the housekeeper dominating him. The baron hadn't completed Terry. They had been interrupted by finding the valet dead in the stable hayloft. Terry bent over the bed and extended his arms to the side. Corvius reached around and unbuttoned the waistband and the fly of Terry's jodhpurs. Those, and his undergarments were pulled down and off his legs. Corvius went down on his knees behind Terry, his mouth going to Terry's hole, one hand palming the young viscount's belly to hold him in place, and the other milking the young man's cock.

Terry moaned appreciatively at the attention.

After a few minutes, the tall, muscular man rose over Terry from behind and on top. He put his erection in position; mounted the young, moaning viscount; penetrated; and quickly and efficiently fucked Winter to a mutual ejaculation. It was all over in a few minutes. Terry was still lying there, in that position, on his belly on the bed, feet on the floor, when Corvius was gone and the young man Chin had fucked had scurried behind him as well.

When Chin entered the room, he helped Terry up and dressed in afternoon clothes. "Are you all right, My Lord? Your tensions assuaged? You don't need my cock?" He was standing behind Terry and reached around and palmed the young man's lower belly, ready to be of service as Terry required.

"Yes, Jimmy, thanks. No need for you at the moment. I've been satisfied for now. We're supposed to all be gathering in the lounge," Terry continued. "You need to go down with me."

"What has happened?" Chin asked. He wasn't asked about the circumstances of Corvius having fucked Terry—there was nothing new or unusual about that scenario. Terry let—no, begged—any half-decent and well-hung man to fuck him. But the Chinese-Russian chauffeur recognized how unusual it was that he be asked to be in attendance in the entertainment rooms.

"There's been a death," Terry said. He kept nothing away from Chin.

"Of course there has," Chin said, with a sigh.

"A murder."

"Of course. But no, don't put that collar on yet, My Lord. You are bleeding at the throat. I'll have to do something to stop the bleeding."

"Well, fuck," Terry said. "That bastard. He bit me while he fucked me."

"Yes, it seems so, Sir. That's a most peculiar bite mark, sir, if I say so. Somewhat like in Montevideo."

Chin had saved Winter in the nick of time in Montevideo. "Where did the baron say Corvius was from—and what sort of name is Drago?"

"Romanian, I believe, My Lord. And I think 'Drago' is a form of 'Count.'"

"Isn't Transylvania in Romania?" Terry asked.

"Yes, My Lord, I believe it is. There the bleeding has stopped."

"Good. We'll say nothing more of this for the moment. But we'll need to be observant. These matters can easily get out of hand."

"I understand, sir. I'll put a plaster on it and, with the collar over that, no one will notice. Then we best being going downstairs as requested. Was it a gruesome murder, Sir?"

"He was bound, whipped, and, I think fucked. And I think the body had been almost completely drained of blood."

"Had it, Sir? Nothing new for us, though, I think."

"Yes, but still very unusual. A bit disturbing—and a delicate matter." His thoughts went to remembering the view of the siren suckling at Madeleine's throat, and he wondered if Corvius suckled there too. Madeleine was very much paler than she'd been when Terry last saw her—and so docile. Terry remembered her as being fiery. He had liked her that way. Not that he'd ever had any desire to fuck her.