Lexington Black

by Savannah Smythe

  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.

  CHAPTER 10 - Queen Caressa Gives Approval

  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 ta
ke 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.'

  'Thanks,' Rob said faintly. 'He didn't have to do all this. He really didn't.'

  'No, but he wanted to.'

  'He's a generous man.'

  'Only to those he likes and admires, Mr. Martyn.'

  Rob didn't have a lot to say to that. He fought the desire to gawp like a tourist as he was driven into the heart of Manhattan. Ty negotiated the Holland Tunnel, eventually driving into an underground parking lot under an immense black glass building. Rob caught a glimpse of the sign over the entrance saying "Black Tower."

  The concierge promptly handed over the key and smiled at Rob, saying "welcome to Manhattan."

  Up on the 49th floor, Jonathan gave him a whistle-stop tour of the apartment. And what an apartment it was, with a swooping view down to 5th Avenue, warm blond wood floors and comfortable brown leather couches, a bed the size of a swimming pool and large kitchen fitted with all the latest technology. He had never been in such an overtly luxurious place before in his life. It made the five star hotel he and Sandy had stayed in on their honeymoon look like a youth hostel.

  'There's one more thing,' Jonathan said. He led Rob to another door which he unlocked and opened. It led to a short flight of stairs heading up to another floor. Jonathan went up them and Rob followed him. Within a few moments they were out into bright sunshine and tropical heat.

  'This is the pool deck,' Jonathan explained, as though Rob had not already noticed the shimmering square of blue water that seemed to drop off the edge of the building into the street below.

  'Wow,' Rob said stupidly.

  'This is also an alternative entrance to Mr. Black's penthouse suite. He only gives this key to certain guests.' Jonathan smiled and held out the key to Rob, who took it slowly. 'Use the pool whenever you like. Mr. Black says you're to make yourself at home here.'

  Rob nodded. 'I appreciate it.'

  As Jonathan showed him around Lex's two storey apartment, he began to feel more and more out of his depth. Jonathan explained that the apartment Rob was in was actually one of two suites on the 49th floor. Lex's living space took up the whole of the floor space above, and was positively palatial in comparison to Rob's. The decor was a mix of 1970's Bond movie set and 21st Century chic, with curvaceous edges and black marble floors, flecked with sparkling fragments which could have been diamonds, and a glossy black and white kitchen with an enormous white work surface which ended in a large circular eating area.

  Rob stood in the middle of the floor and looked around him. A massive, modern chandelier hovered over the living area, which looked out on the pool. Otherwise, there was minimum clutter, the emphasis being on clean lines and unsullied floor space. Four large white leather sofas surrounded a thick red rug, on which stood a large glass coffee table, held up on curved chrome legs. After consideration, Rob decided it was definitely more Bond than Austin Powers.

  He went back down to his own apartment with Jonathan, who asked him if he needed anything else. Rob didn't. What more could he possibly want after all that overt luxury? He was ready to be on his own so he could digest just being there and possibly get some sleep before meeting Lex that night. He didn't want to fall asleep on him again.

  After Jonathan left, Rob explored the apartment more fully. He found his battered suitcases in his room. They looked shabby on the thick cream carpet so he quickly emptied them, put his clothes away in the walk-in closet and kicked the suitcases into a cupboard, gratefully shutting the door on them. He wouldn't think about when the time inevitably came to get them out again, and plummet him back to reality.

  In the kitchen he stood in front of an enormous larder fridge. He had opened ten cupboards before locating a glass but now he poured crushed ice and water into it, just because he could. Whilst drinking it, he opened the fridge, just out of curiosity. To his surprise, it had already been stocked with milk, orange juice, coffee for the coffee machine, a bottle of red and bottle of white wine, butter, eggs, bacon, pastries, and a note in front of it all saying "Welcome to New York. I bought in a few items to get you started."

  It then listed a couple of nearby grocery stores before being signed off with an extravagant "L."

  Rob was grateful, but right then all he wanted to do was catch up on the sleep he had missed overnight. He had never been a relaxed flyer, even when travelling First Class. The bed was enormous and looked very inviting. He sat down on it, bouncing gently to test its firmness. Very nice. He lay back and closed his eyes.

  *****

  He woke with a start, and was alarmed to see that it was four o'clock in the afternoon. Jetlag had never suited him very well, but he suspected that it would work in his favour this time. Lex had warned him about the late nights with his strange friends, all of whom wanted to meet him.

  He stood for a long time in the cavernous shower, letting the hot spray wake him up. He felt disorientated and a little stoned as he dressed again and went down onto the street to find something to wear for that evening. The concierge directed him to Bloomingdales, five blocks distant.

  Two hours later, he was back at the apartment, getting ready to go out. He had been reliably informed by a helpful local that the Blue Bayou was a Texan bar, so he had bought a Western-style checked shirt and snug-fitting blue Levi's, and tried on the Stetson he had found in a vintage store. He didn't want to appear over-dressed but wanted to fit in. Finally pulled on his battered but clean brown leather boots and left the room.

  Out on the street he looked back to commit to memory the building he was staying in. Black Tower soared, an unmistakable gleaming obelisk of iridescent glass. He walked down four more blocks until he reached 54th Street. He could see the Blue Bayou from the intermittently flashing blue neon sign. Saxophone music poured into the street as the door opened. He went in and looked around.

  Everyone was wearing black clothes and disbelieving expressions as he walked in. Mentally, he made a note not to trust people who were too helpful in the future. He was aware of the looks as he tried to see where Lex could be. Catcalls of "yeehaw" and "where's Tonto" followed him as he moved closer to the bar. The urge to remove the Stetson was almost overwhelming but he didn't want anyone to think he knew he had made some god-awful fashion faux pas. This is how I roll, his stance said as he sauntered, Clint Eastwood-style, towards the bar. Inside, he was shriveling with embarrassment.

  'You lost?' The bartender looked pitying at him.

  'I'll have a beer please,' Rob shouted above the crowd.

  A wolf-whistle from close by was followed by a hoot of laughter. He turned his back on them and tried to look moody rather than self-conscious.

  ******

  Oh. My. God,' Caressa said dramatically. 'Who's the extra from Brokeback Mountain?'

  I was used to the dramas of Caressa. She lived her life at breakneck speed, swooping from deep lows to stratospheric highs like a peregrine falcon on high grade cocaine. I had been trying to fix her up with a man who could calm her down for years but so far, no-one had been good enough for her. So her look of greedy lust seemed promising as I turned to look at who had caught her attention.

  At once, I saw it was a no-hope. Hell would freeze over before Caressa dug her pink glittery talons into the prime beauty
who had just entered the bar. He was even more stunning than I remembered, his hair mussed up as if he had slept in it, a bemused expression on his face.

  But what in the hell of holy fuck was he wearing?

  I hadn't expected him to stroll in, looking like a cowboy porn star. The check shirt was open to reveal pale skin barely smattered with silky dark hair and those tight blue jeans hugged his pert backside perfectly. Even the hat looked cute, with his brooding dark eyes and sexy tortoise-shell spectacles. I was sprung, and would be all night.

  'That's Rob Martyn, and he's mine, Caressa.' I fixed the tall queen with a look. She quailed sarcastically.

  'Ooooh, okay, hot shot. I get the picture. He's pretty, though. Very, very pretty. Let's hope he doesn't have European teeth,' Caressa murmured bitchily. I did not deign to reply.

  Rob was being given a rough ride by the usual crowd, sizing him up, leering at his divine ass in those tight jeans. He just lifted his chin and walked determinedly up to the bar. When he asked politely for a beer, I heard Caressa spurt her cocktail back into her glass.

  'Rescue him, Lex. You're being cruel.'

  'I just want to see what he does.'

  I watched Rob perch on a stool and look around. He was checking out the crowd, his self-consciousness giving him away. From the left, I also saw a butch homo begin moving in. It was time to stake my claim.

  'Rob!' I raised my hand. Rob saw me and his smile made my heart flip over. I had a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation as he walked towards me. Should I kiss him hard on the lips, like I so desperately wanted to do? Would that be too much? Would a hug be enough or too lame?

  He was in front of me, his eyes shining, yet he seemed as awkward as I felt. Caressa was watching us closely.