Lexington Black (13 page)

First I unfastened the remainder of the
buttons on his shirt and opened it to expose his tight pink
nipples. On impulse I licked one of them. He tasted divine,
whimpering at the indistinct administrations of my tongue. He
shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the
floor.

His body was a revelation, hard and as
muscled as my own, a smattering of silky hair over his chest. His
broad shoulders suggested power that came with maturity and
experience. I shivered at the thought of being at his mercy. I
unfastened the button and slowly pulled down his fly, letting the
swell of his cock push through the opening, barely concealed in
black silk boxer shorts. He was packing some serious heat. It
radiated from him, his need almost knocking me backwards with its
intensity.

He eased out of his jeans and stood before
me, stroking my hair. His cock tented the fine silk. A small patch
of damp at the top told me he was already highly aroused. I played
my fingers over that fine ridge, feeling him shiver with lust. He
peeled the boxers down over his massive cock and hooked them under
his balls, which were huge, tight and full. I gulped as I thought
of that monster going inside me. It looked as if it would split me
in two.

'Why don't you taste it?' He murmured,
guiding my head down towards his cock. The head was dark purple and
rounded, like that of an obscene funghi. The slit at the top was
gaping open and smelled of musk. I knew that kind of desperation.
It was the cock of an over-stimulated man who could blow at the
slightest provocation. His breath was coming thick and fast and the
grip on my head increased. I waited a second more before swirling
my tongue over the distended tip. Then it was a slow-rolling dance
around every vein, every ridge of flesh. Mr. Martyn's cock was very
fine indeed, thick and long and very responsive, pulsing every time
my tongue curled around it. He was moaning quietly, rocking his
hips, his hands trying to guide me to take him in my mouth. A rush
of sweet pre-seminal fluid leaked over my tongue. I slid my lips
down, down, squeezing and undulating my mouth muscles as I did so,
until the head of his cock hit the back of my throat. I pretended
to gag, calculating it would only inflame him further. He grabbed
my head and thrust his cock hard into my mouth, forcing me to take
him to the root. I knew he had lost control, grunting like an
animal as he plundered my mouth, stretching my lips so much they
hurt. I held onto his buttocks and encouraged his thrusts, and when
he felt my fingers digging in and pushing him further down my
throat he lost it completely, filling my mouth was thick wads of
semen. I swallowed and swallowed but it still seeped from my lips
until my face and his balls and boxers were a sticky, glistening
mess.

He pulled away and collapsed back on the bed,
breathing heavily. He pulled me on top of him and kissed my mouth.
Greedily he licked up the remains of his orgasm.

It was strange, but I had never fantasised
about Mr. Martyn being subservient to me, sucking my cock, allowing
me to fuck him blind. I always wanted to be the submissive one. He
understood that as well. Our roles as pupil and Headmaster still
stood, even in the bedroom. Eventually he moved to a sitting
position and looked at me, sprawled beside him.

'You're a good cocksucker, Lexington. I can
tell you've been practicing.'

'Yes, sir.'

I watched the shadows of lust drift over his
face as he ogled my tanned, firm body. My cock was as hard as it
had ever been. He stroked its length and cupped my balls, tight
with seed.

He lay next to me, running his hand over my
body, marveling at the softness of my skin, the definition of my
muscles, the hardness of my manhood. He showed me every erogenous
zone, setting my body alight with lips, tongue and fingers. When he
teased my nipple with his tongue, a lightning bolt of feeling
zinged straight down to the tip of my cock. As he lavished
attention upon them, I knew I was capable of coming just from that
stimulation alone. I strained and panted, pleading for him to
release me from this exquisite torture.

Instead, he turned me over so that I was on
my front. My erection pressed into the mattress.

I mumbled with pleasure as he ran his large
hands over my body. I purred under his touch, undulating against
the mattress. He positioned my hips so I was kneeling, my ass stuck
in the air, and kneaded my buttocks before peeling the briefs down
to my knees. In that position, I could hardly move, my legs
restrained by the stretched cotton.

As he parted my cheeks and gave my crack a
good, slow lick, I nearly passed out with the pleasure. He did it
again, this time flickering against the puckered hole of my anus.
My hips were pumping and the desire to fuck anything that moved was
nearly uncontrollable, but I could not move, trapped as I was by
the restraining briefs and his forceful hands.

I felt his hot breath on my sensitive flesh
and the scalding heat of his tongue as he probed my hole until it
was slick, treating my crack to long, slavish licks, tickling the
underside of my balls as I thrust into thin air, trying in vain to
stimulate my overheated cock.

'Fuck me,' I gasped wantonly. 'Sir, please
fuck me.'

'Not just yet.' He turned me over and
blindfolded my with his tie. 'I don't want you to see this. Just
feel.'

I moaned loudly as he licked slavishly at my
balls. Then I felt scalding heat cover my cock.

'Oh god,' I moaned, thinking surely I would
explode within seconds, but he anticipated my rising need to come
and drew back, concentrating on my nipples, my fingers, my neck. He
breathed in my scent and tasted my sweat. I could feel his cock
brushing against me as he moved around. It was as hard as it had
been before.

'Please, Sir, fuck me,' I pleaded but he
murmured that I had to wait. Eventually he guided my hand down to
my crotch.

'Touch yourself,' he commanded.

So I did, because I was good at that. I had
done it so often before. My hips lifted against my hand as I jerked
off slowly, every pulse of pleasure showing on my face. I knew he
was watching me, visually lapping me up.

'Please sir, make me come,' I begged, so
turned on I could no longer move.

'I think you're ready.' He removed the
blindfold so I could see him, naked and kneeling above me, his
great cock rigid with lust. He put his fingers against my lips.

'Make them wet.'

I sucked his fingers into my mouth and saw
his cock leap in response. He took them out and turned me so I was
kneeling on my front. He played his fingers over my backside before
kneeling behind me. His tongue delved into my hole again, pushing
further until I opened up for him. Nothing could compare to the
feel of that wet tongue thrusting deep inside my ass. Finally he
withdrew a little, spat on his fingers and liberally soaked my
hole, widening the opening just a little more.

I was ready for him. When he reared above me,
I was too aroused to be intimidated by his massive cock.

'Try to relax,' he said. He sounded so calm,
yet I could feel the tremour in his body as he restrained himself
from pushing hard and potentially hurting me. I took a deep breath
and forced myself to relax, and my tight rectal opening parted to
let the bulbous head slip inside.

I heard him catch his breath. His breathing
was ragged and I sensed how hard it was for him to hold back. I
arched my back and pushed back at him, forcing more of his cock
inside me. In the mirror, his face was flushed and animalistic with
desire. I don't think I had ever seen him look more stunning than
he had right then.

'Please, sir,' I begged, as he continued to
torment me. 'Do it.'

He thrust into me then, unable to stop
himself any longer. My scream of pleasure was muffled in the pillow
as he forced my face down onto it. I was in sweet agony, burning
with it, almost tearing the sheets as the sting warmed slowly to a
wonderful erotic ache, one that I wanted again and again. He fucked
me with a slow, voluptuous rhythm until his lust took over and he
was pumping into me like a crazy animal, whilst I thrust back at
him with every ounce of energy I possessed. When he came, his cock
swelled inside, shooting hot gouts of semen deep inside me. After
two strokes I came as well, over my stomach, the sheets, the
pillows, unintelligible words dripping from my lips. We collapsed
in the middle of the sticky, rumpled sheets, still jerking, pulsing
and dripping, sated and exhausted.

******

By the end, the room stank of sex and sweat,
those aromas I've swilled around in most of my life but not with
such poignant, lascivious pleasure. We couldn't keep our hands or
mouths off each other. The bed sheets were ruined, our bodies
marked with bites and smears of bodily fluids. He was my king, my
devil incarnate, and I knew it could never be repeated.

During one heated session, I asked him what
his wife would say about the marks I had left on him. Marks he had
demanded I leave.

'She won't see them,' he shrugged.

I didn't ask why. I wasn't interested in his
marital problems. It was just a shame that such a rampant animal
was stuck in a loveless, dry marriage.

He did talk about his monthly trips up to
London, though. The men he met for sordid encounters in parks or in
bar toilets. It was a drug, luring him up there with the promise of
a few moments' gratification. It reminded me of my days cruising in
LA, only I was the one the older men all wanted. Then he told me
about the last time, when he had recognised a Melville boy on the
King's Road.

'Did you fuck him?'

'I'm not an idiot, Lexington. I told him to
go home and not do anything that stupid again. He didn't know I was
cruising but it was obvious he was. He looked terrified when he saw
me. I only wish ...' His eyes glazed over. 'I should have actually
escorted him home. Talked to him. Asked him why he thought he
needed to do something so dreadful, but I didn't. I just gave his
some money for his fare and went straight home in a cold sweat,
thinking how nearly I had been caught. I haven't done it
since.'

It explained why he was so desperate for my
cock. He must have been gagging for it, as the English so
charmingly put it. I wondered who the boy was, but when I asked, he
wouldn't say. A shadow passed over his face as he shook the subject
away. If I had been less self-absorbed, I might have sensed the
tragedy waiting round the corner. As it was, I was totally focused
on the demands of my cock.

He left when the night was still dark,
bruising my lips with a hard, violent kiss. He made no promises and
I didn't expect any. Even at eighteen I could see that our
assignation had been a one night stand. He had a wife, children,
and a career. He would not give those up however much he had
complained about them when we were in bed together.

By the time I reached New York, I was happy
to have left England. He had fulfilled my fantasies but we had
nothing in common apart from a rampant desire to fuck. Years later,
the memories of our night together still had the ability to bring
me off with the slightest touch. God, he would have been
magnificent when he was younger. It was a long time before I could
accept that the person I was really looking to spend the rest of my
life with was someone who looked just like him.

As the plane circled New York on Wednesday
morning, Rob had his first view of the city. Even from above, it
looked exciting, with its jumble of old and new skyscrapers, the
early morning sun sparkling off the facets of the Chrysler
Building, the Hudson meandering away towards the distant
mountains.

As soon as Rob had taken off the previous
day, he felt an enormous weight lifting from him. He was free. Out
of that damned hovel, away from the expectations of family, the
guilt of having a job that was too easy for his capabilities. He
was above all that, and he felt the same as the plane turned its
nose and headed for JFK.

In the Arrivals Hall, a perfectly groomed man
with blond hair and a black pin-striped suit greeted him. He looked
like an old-fashioned English butler.

'Mr. Martyn? I'm Jonathan Freeman, Mr.
Black's Personal Assistant. He wanted me to escort you into
Manhattan.'

'Thank you.' He shook the man's hand. He
looked effeminate but his handshake was like an iron clamp. Rob
fought the desire to wince.

Jonathan gave him a warm smile. 'Did you have
a good flight?'

'First Class was very comfortable, thank
you.'

An enormous black chauffeur was already
loading Rob's two tatty suitcases into the back of a very long
stretch limousine. He treated them with the same respect he
presumably would give Louis Vuitton luggage, his dark face
immobile.

'This is Ty,' Jonathan said. 'He is Mr.
Black's chauffeur and helicopter pilot. He's at your disposal, Mr.
Martyn. Anywhere you wish to go, he will take you.'

'Right.' Rob looked nervously at the man
mountain now holding the door open. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome,' Ty said, in a rich Jamaican
accent.

Jonathan sat next to Rob, opened a leather
case and gave him a new iPhone 6. 'Mr. Black wanted you to have
this. It has Mr. Black's numbers programmed into it, both mobile
and office, mine and Ty's as well.'

'But I ...' He decided not to argue, and took
the phone. 'Thank you,' he said again.

'And Mr. Black also thought you could use
this.' Jonathan handed over another slim box. Rob opened it to find
a new Apple Mac Air.

'Good grief,' he said. 'He didn't have to
...'

'It's all set up and ready to go,' Jonathan
said briskly. 'I've got one and it's very easy to use, but if you
have any problems, just call me.'