Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

After Steve had surprisingly (to Philip) fucked himself on Philip's cock on the balcony, he rose from Philip's lap.

"You have no end of surprises in you, do you?" Philip asked.

"It's all a progression, a conditioning—all by my schedule, my personal rules. And, trust me, you will not leave here before you've been royally fucked. It's late. I'll go fix us an omelet for dinner. You want a glass of red wine? You'll be staying here the night."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes . . . thanks," Philip answered, still confused that it was Steve who had his channel spiked—and aroused at what the man was promising was to come. And not just by what he said—also by the confident way he strutted around in the nude in his apartment, and with what was swinging between his legs. Philip would have to think about all of this. Perhaps he was more aroused by this strange approach Steve was taking than if he had just fucked him in the hotel room. Above all because now he'd seen—and handled—the man's hard cock, and now he knew, with a shudder, that he would be taxed to his limits when he had to sheath it. Sometime. Unless the man was just toying with him. He certainly had been toying with him.

Philip got up from the chair on the balcony after a few minutes and entered the living room which, in one longer-than-wide space ran into where the dining table was and then to the open kitchen beside the entry door. The eleventh-floor residence at Park Apartments on Oxford Street did have a bedroom and bath in another room. The apartment was small, but Steve had said he lived most of the time elsewhere, and Philip thought this place still was probably expensive. It was more than a hotel room; it was high in the building, and it had a spectacular view toward the city center and Circular Quay where the Sydney Opera House reigned.

Retrieving his glass of wine from the counter between the kitchen and the dining area, Philip started to make a survey of the room. He was still wearing just the open dress shirt Steve had sketched him in. His first stop was at the easel where Steve had been working. He had to admit that Steve had a great deal of artistic talent and had captured him—flattered him even—with a minimum of strokes of the charcoal. If anything, the artist had been generous with the hang of his cock. The sketch was sexy and arousing in its own right. The artist had a talent for focusing on the physical aspects of sex without losing the features that made the individual recognizable.

That led Philip to pay more attention to the rest of the room. He had been so focused on being fucked when he'd come into the apartment that he hadn't paid much attention to the furnishings and decor.

The furniture was spare but obviously of high quality. And the walls were covered with other charcoal sketches—all of other young men, like him. But there many different men were depicted. Gorgeous young men. And the sketches seemed to come in pairs for each of the young men, one an artistic pose like Steve just had done of him, and a second one of the young man in dishabille, sometimes entwined in sheets and other times just a heap on the floor. These, though, were just as sexy looking as the formally posed ones, maybe more so because of the sense—almost a smell—that came off of them of musky sex. And there was a quality about them that made Philip feel exhausted, spent and just a bit apprehensive. They made him conscious of a catch in his breath.

These young men had been sketched after being fucked totally. Fucked by Steve. Maybe fucked again after a quick sketch was done.

At one point, while standing and looking at one of these sketches, Philip had to put his wine glass down on a table, he was trembling so much. The young man looked like he had been fucked to within an inch of his life—and yet there was a sublime, if exhausted, smile on his face as if he would volunteer to die that way given another chance. What, Philip wondered, about the sketch led him to think of the fuck as having been cruel and totally taxing? Then he thought he saw it. The sketch of the young man was from his feet looking up his torso to a face of blissful exhaustion. The view was between spread and bent legs. His hole was gaping, not yet closed, sketched immediately after the cock's withdrawal. And he had been reamed extraordinarily wide. Big splotches of cum still glistened on his belly. Philip looked up and down the walls, suddenly concerned whether there had been another chance at this heaven for that young man. But he saw no more sketches of him.

He moved into the bedroom. There he found a large-sized platform bed and more sketches on the walls. Look as he might, though, Philip couldn't find any more than just those two sketches of each of the subjects. It was almost scary. In each instance the second sketch gave off the vibe that the young man had just been taxed to the limit—but would beg for more, given the opportunity. More gaping holes, more prodigious globs of cum. And yet there was no evidence there had been further sketches of any of them. It was disturbing to Philip. When—no, if—Steve got around to fucking him, would it be satisfying and a memorable experience encouraging more encounters with more men, or would he become a sex slave to a single man who showed him what sexual divinity was but who left him incapable of being satisfied by any other man? His mind kept going back to the length and thickness of that cock and to the evidence that Steve would be a cruel and expert lover.

And to those gaping bung holes after Steve had reamed them.

He shivered at the realization that he loved the idea of such an encounter, and scaring him at the prospect that it would ruin him for full pleasure from other men.

He obliquely broached his concern with Steve while they were perched at the kitchen counter and eating their omelets.

"What's in this omelet?" Philip asked.

"Left to right."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I stood at the refrigerator and took what seemed to fit from left to right. Luckily I found eggs."

"Ah. Well, it isn't bad."

"Most any food isn't bad after sex," Steve said. "And before more sex."

"Speaking of sex. All those sketches on the walls. Those all guys you've brought here and fucked?"

"Yes. You should see the walls on my house in Brisbane."

"But you fucked them, right? It was you who put them in the condition of those second sketches?" These were questions Philip really wanted to ask. Not just had Steve been the one to ream them that way but also was he really a top? It was disturbing that he hadn't fucked Philip yet. Why had it been Steve on his cock? Everything else but the reality so far pointed to Steve being a piledriver. Was this just a mad game? Was some mad rapist confederate lurking around in the shadows somewhere? Someone physically repulsive?

"The evening is young. Eat your omelet. It will give you strength."

"There are only two sketches of each. Were they drawn on the same day?"

"Yes."

"But only the two?"

"I should have warned you. I'm a first and only sort of guy," Steve said. "It seemed from how much you were on the make for casual sex at the bookstore that you'd be cool with that. I just do a guy the one day. But I totally do the guy."

"Was I that obvious at the bookstore?"

"Sure were. And you're that obvious now. You want me to fuck you right now, don't you? You want me to prove that I can fuck your brains out. Even though what we just did was great at the time, you won't be satisfied until it's me plowing you. Until I ream you a wider one."

"Yes," Philip admitted.

"Sorry. It's on my schedule. At my whim. If you weren't showing you wanted it so bad at the bookstore, I probably would have just moved on."

"Really?" Philip asked, surprised.

Steve took a minute. "OK, not really. I really did want to sketch you. And not just the first one. I want to sketch the second one. And I think you're going to be a real nice lay when we get there. But more than just this once? I don't think so. When you fly away to L.A. in that Delta jet of yours, this will just have been an interesting encounter—one from which you will be humming and can't close your legs when you walk down that airplane aisle. It will be interesting for me; I hope it will be interesting for you too."

"That's it? I don't even get my own version of the sketch?"

"No. I got my rules. I sorta broke them for you, but you have such a great look. And your cock did me good too. I don't really know yet if you're a good lay."

"You broke the rules for me?"

"I don't knowingly do rent boys. I like them fresh or gently used."

"And do they stay gently used?"

"No. I fuck them silly and ream them a wider rectum and colon. I like to stretch their canals myself. You've seen some of these sketches. You can figure that out yourself."

"I'm not sure. I think you were generous with my cock in the sketch you just did of me."

"You measure yourself short, then. Pun intended. I sketch with integrity. Even in the 'second' sketches. I sketch what's there to see. I saw you looking real close at some of them. Does that scare you?"

"Yes, a little." Which was a lie. It scared Philip more than a little. But it aroused him even more. He was already hard. He felt his juices stirring.

"Good. It's supposed to."

"Do you always talk to your men so openly about this on that one day—the day you sketch and do them? They can't all want to hear you are going to ream them wider. Although when they see you naked, they must realize that's going to be the case."

"No. You're the first one I've gone this far with in what I say. I stop when I sense they can't take any more of the truth. But I do them just the same. You are different from the others. Maybe it's because you are a rent boy. I have sensed from the beginning that you want this—all of this. But it isn't all I want. There is fear in their eyes before I stop telling them what is happening and why. I need that and look for that. I haven't seen that in your eyes yet."

"And you think you can't do that with me—ream me a wider one? Master me totally in that way? I'm an escort, not a rent boy, I'll repeat. I think there's a significant difference in fee structure and services. I make entirely too much from it to be called a rent boy."

"I'm gonna make you cry, Mate. It's in the rules. I don't know about stretching your rectum and colon, though. And that's why I should really be doing this by my rules. Reaming fresh channels is the thrill for me. I want them tight and to leave them big enough to drive a ute into. But I'll plumb you deeper than a fresher guy. We'll see how much you can take. No one has taken it all yet. I'm going to give it all to you whether or not you beg me to stop. Does this make you want to head for the door?"

Philip looked away and took a long drag on his wine. But he showed no inclination to head for the door.

"Ah, two hands on the wine glass, you're trembling so bad. I've reached you at last. And I bet you're ready to come right here and now. I bet you could come with me just telling you what I'm going to do to you."

"Yes," Philip whispered.

"Look at me."

Philip turned his head back toward Steve.

"I see it now. A trace of fear."

"Yes."

"Come to my bed now."

"Yes."