After the late October night had fallen, large torches were lit in the Lake Geneva waterfront park across the Quai du Mont-Blanc from the Hotel Beau-Rivage Genève in Geneva, Switzerland, to light up the street performers who had taken over the park to entertain those on the terrace of the hotel. There were wandering minstrels, acrobats, a man on stilts, more than one accordion player dueling it out, and a particularly handsome young juggler in tight britches and a billowy white cotton peasant’s shirt. The juggler caught the attention of a dark-haired, tall, slender, patrician man in his thirties equally as handsome as the much younger street juggler. The man, rising from a table on the terrace and coming to the balustrade to observe the street performers was dressed all in black silk and was protected against the gathering chill of the dark evening by a full black cape.
The man was carrying a black cane capped with a silver lion’s head, which he raised, pointed at the young juggler, and urged the young man forward. He held gold coins in his other hand, which glittered in the light of the torches. Even from here, the juggler, the Swiss-national Julian, could tell that it was more money than he could earn in a fortnight on the streets of Geneva in performing as a juggler and selling himself to men. Julian crossed the street to stand below the raised terrace. The tall, dark man, cloaked in black let two of the coins drop. Julian snatched them out of the air. The man showed him more coins but held them in his hand.
“I am Ricardo, the man said, in passable German. Are you hungry, young man?”
“I am always hungry, Sire,” Julian answered, flashing a smile. “Do you have a hunger to—that I could assuage for the rest of those coins in your hand?” Julian was accustomed to approaches like this in the men of wealth who showed interest in his juggling. He well knew it wasn’t the juggling they really were interested in. For gold coins he was more than willing to assuage their need and desire.
“I have not supped yet,” Ricardo said. “I do not like eating alone but I do like eating in my own rooms. Would you like—to earn these other coins—to sup with me in my hotel rooms here.”
“I would be honored, Sire,” Julian answered. There was nothing strange in Julian’s experience with this approach to an assignation.
“You would be more than honored, young man,” Ricardo said. “You have two coins there. Not enough to juggle. Here is another. Juggle them for me.” He dropped another gold coin, which Julian snatched out of the air and juggled with the other two. “What would you do for the rest of these coins?” the man asked.
“Whatever you desired,” Julian answered.
“I desire much,” the man said, flipping another gold coin, which, smiling, Julian deftly melded into the stream of coins he was keeping in the air.
* * * *
The hotel room was dark, lit only by two small guttering candles on the dresser, the light of which reflected off the French doors out onto the hotel balcony of the Beau-Rivage Genève looking out over the midnight blue, lapping waves of Lake Geneva. The weather was unseasonably warm this last day of October, and the people of the city had taken to the streets in celebration, festivities that extended late into the night and provided a background of end-of-season gaiety beyond the French doors of the hotel room. The bed was in shadows. The mirror over the dresser was covered in black crepe, giving the impression that the room’s occupant was in mourning.
The room would appear, on first observation, to be empty, but it wasn’t empty. Low moans and groans were coming from the bed, the lower part of which was covered by a black cape, only able to be discerned in the darkness of the room because it was moving, undulating; what it covered was rising and falling. Hands of spread arms moved out from underneath the cape high on the bed. They grasped at the bedspread, sinking into the silken material, clutching at it, the fingers of the hands flexing in rhythmic open and closing. Two other hands emerged from the top of the black cape, hands of steel closing over the wrists of the smaller grasping hands, pulling the arms back underneath the undulating cape. Sounds of deep moaning and of humming were emanating from under the cape.
Julian’s clothes—the tight britches, the cotton peasant’s shirt, and his undergarments, along with his shoes and stockings, were bunched on the carpet on the foot of the bed. His naked feet dangled just above the carpet, peeking out of the bottom hem of the spread black silk cape. His toes were scrounging up and releasing to the same cadence as the fingers of his hands, both gauged to his moans and groans.
Under the covering of the cape, Ricardo, fully dressed, was covering the young street juggler, Julian belly down on the bed. Ricardo was fully dressed other than his shirt being flared open to provide the feel of his slightly hirsute chest on the smooth naked back of the young man and the fly of his trousers unbuttoned to accommodate the release of his cock which was buried up the young man’s anal passage, istanbul travesti pumping Julian to the cadence setting the bunching of the young man’s fingers, the scrunching of his toes, and the release of his moans produced by the thrusts of the man’s cock.
Julian was accustomed to being taken by a man, but rarely as fully or sensually as this man was devouring him.
Ricardo’s booted feet were planted in the carpet at the foot of the bed, providing leverage for his thrusts. He nuzzled his face into the hollow of Julian’s neck and kissed and licked him there, coaxing the young man to tilt his head and stretch the side of his throat to the older man’s lips and teeth.
“Mierda. Fuck,” Ricardo muttered, letting out his breath as he heard a rap on the hotel room door.
“This is the concierge. You have a carriage waiting down at the entrance, Vizconde dela Fontayne. You asked us to inform you when it had arrived.”
“Sí, viene. Yes, coming,” Ricardo called out, muttering again. “Fuck. I forgot.” Then he added, speaking to Julian, trapped under him, “Get up and dress when I have finished you. Come with me tonight. I think you will enjoy the party—and that the party will enjoy you.”
He didn’t rise and free Julian immediately, though. His thrusts became more vigorous. He fucked the young man hard, coming then in only a couple of more minutes, pulling off the young man, and going to the washbasin to sponge himself off, as Julian, groaning, rose from the bed from underneath the cape and gathered up his clothes.
Going to a party? At this time of night? Julian sensed this would be a very long night indeed. Having four gold coins in his pocket, though, and knowing that the strange, but virile, big cocked man in black was holding out four more kept Julian at the man’s command.
As Ricardo impatiently watched Julian dress, he flipped him two more luring gold coins, which seemed to gleam, as the only strong points of light in reflection from the street beyond the French doors, as they tumbled through the air, to be deftly caught by the young juggler and tucked away in his pocket. The Spaniard showed that there were several more coins for Julian to have as long as he remained compliant.
It was more than the coins that were holding Julian to Ricardo now. The man was a master of the fuck. Julian wanted more from him. Julian wanted to give all to Ricardo.
* * * *
The venue for the All Hallows Eve party wasn’t far away from the hotel. The carriage proceeded toward the venue, with Ricardo and Julian staring at each other with lust in Ricardo’s eyes and a bit of coyness in Julian’s on benches across each other in the darkness of the interior, Ricardo seen only amid the blackness of his attire by the oval of his face and the luminous of his eyes. He lifted his cane, the silver lion’s head catching and reflecting such light as entered the carriage, catching Julian’s attention with it. The young man’s gaze followed the bobbing and weaving of the silver knob and he became mesmerized by it, falling almost into a trance.
The expanse between the facing benches in the carriage was narrow, and Ricardo’s knees were pressed between Julian’s legs. Ricardo ever so slowly widened the stance of his knees, opening Julian’s legs. The young man yielded without opposition. The man reached over the short distance between them, unbuttoned Julian’s fly, pulled the young man’s cock out and stroked him. Sighing and giving a low moan, Julian slouched down in the seat and rolled his pelvis up. He was yielding to the man in everything. Ricardo pulled the young man’s britches down and off his legs, and then leaned over, captured Julian’s eyes with his, and moved the silver head of the cane into position at the young man’s hole, and pressed in.
Julian jerked and groaned as the head of the cane penetrated. And then he relaxed back into the seat, his eyes possessed by Ricardo’s, as the Spaniard fucked him with the cane and stroked his cock. Ricardo nuzzled his face into the hollow of Julian’s throat and kissed him there. He pulled the cane back, put it down, unbuttoned his own britches, and came up on his feet, putting his cockhead in position.
The young man jerked, gave a little cry, and his hands went to gripping Ricardo’s biceps, Ricardo’s face buried in this throat, as the Spaniard’s cock thrust up inside him and began a slow pump. The fuck that had been suspended in the hotel room was suspended once more at that point, as the carriage had arrived, had stopped, and the coachman was opening the carriage door.
Ricardo gave a little cry and lurched back into his seat, throwing the hand he’d been stroking Julian off with up to shield his eyes from the light entering the carriage from the torches placed on either side of the land entrance of the villa hovering over the southern shore of Lake Geneva.
Julian lay, panting and sprawled on the facing bench, one hand reaching down to pull his britches back up after he checked to ensure the gold coins still were secured in the trouser pockets and the other hand reaching for his throat and istanbul travestileri drawing away with a trace of blood on them.
In the surprise of the arrival and opening of the carriage door, Ricardo had bitten him in the neck, drawing blood.
* * * *
They had arrived at a villa overlapping the southern shore of the lake beyond the city of Geneva, with just a gleam of the city lights reaching them. They were at the foot of a mountain, which loomed over the villa and overshadowed it day and night, making this seemingly endless night one of total darkness other than the moonlight reflecting off the crests of the waves in the lake.
The room they were ushered in was a large reception chamber with open French doors leading out to a stone terrace extending out over the waters of the lake. The only illumination in the room was provided by two torches set with a raised platform between them at one end of the room. The room already was aswirl with black-clad men, moving about in the shadows of the room. Moving between them, serving them from trays, were comely looking young men, dressed, as Julian was, in tight britches and billowy cotton shirts, open almost down to the navel and showing up well-formed torsos. A string ensemble was playing off to the side of the platform.
Ricardo and Julian weren’t the last to arrive. As a hush fell over the room, a man of muscular physique and commanding presence rolled into the room in a wooden wheelchair. Several of the men went directly to him to establish their presence and welcome him to the party. Julian heard someone whisper, “The graf has arrived. Graf Gideon von Hohenstein.” His arrival seemed to mark the start of some phase of the All Hallows Eve party, as a young actor appeared on the platform and the swirl in the room stopped, with all men turning their faces to the young man who began reciting an epic poem in an ancient Germanic language of a prince named Vlad who lived high in the Carpathian mountains. Julian understood very little of it, but in the trance Ricardo had put him in in the carriage and the mesmerizing atmosphere of the party, he was lost to the cadence of the reading.
He hardly noticed that Ricardo had drifted away, following one of the comely young serving men and that the graf, handsome in a rugged way, with strong facile features, a pointed chin beard, long, black hair, and piercing black eyes, had rolled up beside him and had moved a black-silk clad arm around him and cupped one of Julian’s butt cheeks, which he was stroking with his thumb. The man’s other hand was brushing across Julian’s basket.
The actor was replaced by a young male singer, who was accompanied by the string ensemble. His song was a dirge in the same ancient Germanic language of the poem recited before him and it was delivered slowly in a strange, exotic, and erotic half tone. Holding Julian close to his side, the man in the wheelchair unbuttoned the young man’s fly, pulled his cock out, and stroked it. In somewhat of a trance that made all of this seem both benign and arousing to him, Julian yielded in everything with a hint of resistance.
The singer was replaced by a sex performance, the string ensemble continuing with the same tune they had been playing for the singer. A large, muscular man was manhandling a smaller, younger one on the platform in slow motion, both of them naked. The scene built to the larger man fucking the smaller one in a standing bully fuck. During this performance, the black-clad men in the room were pulling the younger serving men to them and fondling and kissing them. The man in the wheelchair, Gideon, had turned Julian half to him, and he was leaning over, had taken Julian’s cock in his mouth, and was sucking Julian off. The street juggler, still in a half trance, held for the man—and as the act came to an ejaculative conclusion, he came in Gideon’s throat.
As Gideon was sitting back up in his chair, Ricardo appeared at Julian’s side. He was carrying a basket of apples. “It is your time on stage,” he said to Julian as he put the basket down and pulled Julian’s shirt off his back, leaving the young man’s perfectly formed torso exposed. Julian didn’t question the summons. He took up the basket of apples, went up on the platform, and performed his street juggling act.
After that, the next phase of the party—the auction—began. Julian returned to the shadows of the room to stand between Gideon in the wheelchair and Ricardo at his other side. One after the other, the young serving men were brought up onto the platform, stripped, and auctioned off to the black-clad members in the audience, who, upon winning, led their prize off. The black-clad men would return after a while, but as far as Julian could see, the purchased serving men never did. To his surprise, Ricardo bid on, won, and led one of the young men off toward a staircase that led to an upper floor of the villa.
Soon after, a burly coach appeared at the graf, Gideon’s, side. He spoke across the man seated in the wheelchair to Julian, saying, “The graf wishes to leave now. Could you help hoist him travesti istanbul into his carriage.”
Julian accompanied Gideon and the coachman out into the dark drive on the land side of the villa.
“Hoist from inside the carriage,” the coachman said. Julian entered the carriage and helped pull Gideon up into the interior darkness and off the wheelchair and onto the bench seat. Before Julian could exit the carriage, though, the vehicle lurched into motion and headed out of the villa drive and onto a road snaking up the mountain.
The graf’s intentions were obvious and Julian did not struggle with him, As the carriage continued its journey up the mountain in the endless night, Gideon stripped Julian of his clothes, unbuttoned and flared his own trousers, pulled Julian down into his lap and onto his shaft, and fucked the young juggler, assisted by Julian leveraging on his feet on the carriage seat. The man was huge, and Julian suffered in passionate pain and ecstasy as Gideon held his waist between strong hands and raised and lowered in him on the cock.
The man also was virile and vigorous. As the carriage climbed the mountain, Gideon fucked the young man in endless positions, both facing him and facing away from him, and putting Julian’s ankles on his shoulders, with the young man’s forehead and fists on the floor of the carriage, and pulling him on and off the shaft. In each position, the graf came, never losing his erection, breeding the young street performer deep again and again. The man was a monster and Julian his yielding toy.
It seemed the night and the taking would never end until, at last, they reached the portcullis of a small stone castle hugging the shadowed side of the mountain.
“You must be starving,” Gideon murmured, as he released the young man at last in the courtyard of the castle. “We must sup before I take you to my bed and have my fill of you.”
Moaning, puddled on the floor of the carriage, all Julian could think of beyond what being bedded by the supposedly crippled man meant in addition what already Gideon had done with him was to keep contact with those gold coins in his trouser pockets. Pale, young, and lethargic male servants pulled him, naked, from the carriage, and carried him, in the wake of Gideon’s rolling wheelchair, into the castle. Julian clutched his trousers, bearing his hard-earned gold coins, to his belly as they carried him off, the cum of two men dribbling down his inner thighs.
Ah, but what magnificent and strange men these were.
Julian, indeed, was hungry. He had no idea how long it had been since he’d supped with Ricardo at the Hotel Beau-Rivage Genève. Night had already descended then, but this, the longest night, seemed to go on forever. They supped at a long table, in the near dark, Gideon dressed in black and glowering at one end of the table, and Julian, naked and already total fucked, diffidently seated at the other end.
Afterward, Gideon rolled away from the table, and said, “So, shall we to bed?”
Julian didn’t answer. He had no control of this to venture an opinion. He helped load Gideon onto the platform in a tower that servants pulleyed by manual power to an upper story and a huge, dimly lit bedchamber, with a balcony over the abyss, the sparkling lights of Geneva far below, and left the two, Julian, naked, and Gideon, dressed in black and sitting in his wheelchair, alone.
Gideon pulled off his black silk vest and shirt, revealing a magnificently muscular hirsute chest, with swirls of curly black hair, wheeled over to a table on which a basket of ripe peaches sat, and said, “Perform for me, please, as you walk toward me.” He unbuttoned his trouser fly—his lap had been covered by a blanket—and pulled out the thickest, longest cock, in half erection, that Julian had ever seen. The young man had already felt the stretching measure of it, but he gasped now to see what he had sheathed—and, without a doubt—would sheath again.
“Here, juggle these for me,” Gideon said, as, one after the other, he tossed four ripe peaches to Julian, who deftly pulled them out of the air. Gideon took up another peach as Julian juggled the four, moving, as directed, slowly toward Gideon, in his chair. The graf bit into his peach, letting the juice run down his chin, his lustful eyes locked onto Julian’s.
When Julian reached the wheelchair, Gideon pulled the young man roughly down into his lap, positioning his now-fully erect phallus at the man’s anal opening. Julian howled as Gideon pulled him down onto the shaft and continued crying out and writhing as Gideon cruelly raised him and slammed him down on the cock again and again, more brutally and insistent than he had done in the carriage.
Rising out of the chair on thickly pelted, bowed legs, and cloven feet, Gideon turned Julian toward the bed slammed him down on his back at the foot of the bed, sending the peaches, not as bruised as Julian, scattered across the carpet below the bed. He grasped the young man’s ankles and raised and spread his legs. Covering Julian closely from above with his hirsute satyr’s body as he fucked the young man’s passage hard, fast, and deep, Gideon’s face nuzzled into the hollow of Julian’s throat and he did what he’d wanted to do all night—his teeth sliced into Julian’s carotid artery and the vampire satyr began to feast on the young man’s blood.