Massage Me.
By Alex Carbine
Chapter Eleven.
And So To Bed....
I had phoned earlier down to the Restaurant so we had a booking. When we turned up at the restaurant entrance desk holding hands, the Restaurant Manager's eyebrows rose a couple of inches, then he smiled his professional smile. "Would Sir like a Private Alcove this evening? Something out of the way, with a view, perhaps?"
"Yeah we don't want the other guests getting a hard-on when they see us, do we?" interjected Art before I could answer. I gave an involuntary laugh and the Manager genuinely laughed as well. "Quite so Young Sir. And if I may observe, Young Sir, your attire tonight will turn several heads." "Probably them Stewards there, for a start," answered Art, nodding over to a couple of Stewards at a service table. One of the Stewards gave a discrete but camp hand wave back. Art's gaydar was operating in overtime, obviously.
"Thank you," I said to the Manager. "It will be just the two of us, and your offer of a secluded table with a view is most generous. And to keep the Young Sir happy, maybe you can arrange for us to have those two for our individual Service tonight? It's a Special Day for him, you see." The twenty pound note I slipped him completed the deal. The Manager waved to the two Stewards, and they came over to the Entrance Desk. "You two have been asked for especially to 'look after the needs of' Mr. Carbine and his Young Companion this evening. Mr. Carbine says that it is the Young Gentleman's Special Day. Please conduct them to the Balcony Table No 14. and make sure they are not disturbed by anyone other than yourselves." Turning to me he added, "I am sure that Anton and Marc will look after you admirably tonight. Enjoy your meals. If you will follow them they will show you to your seats." Then he turned to the Stewards who were standing to attention, bewildered, and just said, "Go!" and they gestured for us to follow them.
The Balcony Table was indeed secluded. It was like sitting in a private dining room, with an astounding view of the Thames River on two of our sides. Each of us had a river backdrop that the other could see. Anton and Marc stood behind the chairs, and Art watched as I sat and the chair was pushed in toward the table. He began to sit and his steward pushed the chair in, almost making Art lose his balance. My steward took my napkin, shook it open and laid it across my lap. Art allowed his steward to do the same. Menus appeared and were given to each of us, then the stewards melted into the background. "Fuckin' posh, innit?" observed Art quietly, probably looking more at the prices than the list of foods.
Having talked between us as to what we would eat, Anton approached me and asked, "Have you decided on your order, Sir?" I took another look at the Menu and before I could answer, Anton spoke again. "I am told The Chicken is very tasty tonight Sir." Quick as a flash Art chipped in, "Yeah! But that won't be until well after the meal, Sunshine!" I heard Marc, who was standing at the service table, try to suppress a snort of laughter. Art was laughing and I looked up at Anton, who was smirking to himself as well. "Very funny," I laughed to Art. Then I said to Anton and Marc, "Please understand that Art and I ARE more than just acquaintances. Art's gaydar noted you two as 'friends of Dolly' when he saw you, and I trust that what you see and hear tonight will go no further than this balcony." I let that sink in for a moment. "Do you have any questions?" I asked them. They shook their heads, mumbling "No, Sir." "OK, let's get on with the fun then. We will not have any starters. Art and I will both have rib eye steaks with the double fried potatoes, and Yes, Anton, I probably WILL be tasting the Chicken AGAIN tonight, if I'm lucky." "Understood Sir," he said closing his order pad. "Oh," I added, "And can we have a bottle of a nice South African Chardonnay. Nothing more than 20 pounds. And put a couple of drinks on the bill for yourselves, but don't get caught drinking them. Now go!"
We enjoyed our meal together. I discovered it was the first time that Art had had a steak served like that. Before, it had been either mince or burgers. And he had no idea of the sweets, so I ordered a Panna Cotta, and he ended up having three, falling in love with the creamy vanilla taste. "Bit like me," he told Marc, casually, as the steward was clearing the table. "You know, thick and creamy, and you can't get enough of it in yo' mouth." Anton and Marc gave us the best of their service, there when you wanted them, and invisible the rest of the time. We ordered a pot of coffee, and whilst we waited, Art leaned over the table and we kissed. A cough alerted us to the arrival of the coffee, and when I ordered liqueurs, I told the two that they could get two for themselves and join us, now we had finished our meal. The Head Waiter came to us and asked "If everything was to our usual high standards?" and my affirmative reply also asked him if Anton and Marc were finished working in the restaurant for the night. "I am sure there is nothing that cannot wait until the morning," said their Boss amenably, and when Anton and Marc returned with our drinks, they asked what I had said, as they had been stood down on service for the rest of the night, apparently something that was unheard of.
I invited them to sit and they sat either side of Art, slightly nervous as they were sipping their liqueurs. To put them more at ease, I told them that I too had been a 'winger', waiting table in a 1st Class restaurant that was on a ship, when I was young. I was able to understand what it was to push a tray for a living. When they asked Art what he did, I just answered quickly for him that he was in the 'entertainment' business and left it at that. Art, for once, did not elaborate.
The coffee and the liqueurs went down well, and we had another one all round. I seemed to be talking mainly to Anton, and Art was busily chatting with Marc. When our chat came to a natural lull, Anton said pointedly to Marc that they had better go, and they both thanked us for letting them join us. I told Anton to load the bill with a sixty pound tip that they were to split, and thanked them for their service, which we both appreciated. Art waved to Marc and he bent down for Art to say something in his ear, and then the two left us.
We sat finishing the dregs of our coffee and drinks, and then I suggested we retired up to the apartment. Art smiled and said, "And Now For You I Kill-ah Ze Chicken!" in the voice of the Swedish Chef on 'The Muppet Show'. As we left the table I asked him what he had said to Marc before they went. "I told Marc that he was welcome to meet up with me again." "That's nice," I said. Art looked at his watch. "In your apartment in about ten minutes from now," he said.
"No I don't mind. Why should I? It's your Special Day after all. Anyway, my 'Little Chicken' we both know that tonight is probably going to be our last. I've got my work to go back to. You have your Mates to go home to. I'm only sorry that they have not shared some of the day with you, but truthfully I'm glad they weren't here." We were by the lifts waiting for it to arrive. I was answering his simple question, as simply as I could, no frill. Art put his arm round my back, and nuzzled my neck. "From the moment I met you, Art Jeffries, I liked you. And today I have found that I have a deep feeling for you. I don't want to lose contact with you, but I know I can't change things for you. You said earlier that 'you were a bum boy, always had been and always will be'." The lift opened to show it was empty. We stepped in and Art pushed the button for the ninth floor. I kissed his nose. "I would love to help you do something else, if that is what you want to do, and it genuinely makes you happy. But I know very few people for whom a change like that has made them feel anything but remorse. It seems that the grass really is greener, when it's out of reach." The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. "Best foot forward my friend, we have a date to meet."
The liqueurs I ordered had been delivered, when there was a knock at the door. Art let a rather shy Marc in, and it was obvious he had never been in these apartments before. I had opened the french windows onto the balcony outside, and we sat around a wrought iron table sipping our respective drinks, chatting over the sounds of London's old river at night. The rapport between Art and Marc was obvious, and I sat quietly listening to their chatter as they talked of nothing, at first Art covering Marc's hand on the table, and then later as they chatted on, their hands linked, their knees touching.
The evening air was still and warm. I excused myself and when I returned I was wearing a Hotel Bathrobe, and they were kissing. I sat opposite them and Art looked at me, giving a thin smile. I openly smiled back, and moved my knees apart to show him my erect cock poking up out of my lap. Art said something quietly to Marc, I could not hear what, but Marc then looked my way and saw I had a hard on, and he nodded to Art. They stood up and both stripped unhurriedly in front of me. Their cocks were hard as well, by the time they had removed their underwear, bits of solid protruding flesh, nodding and swaying as they moved.
By the light of the balcony wall-lamps, I could see that Marc was not circumcised, his foreskin up and covering his helmet. Art's cock was already leaking, and his clear cum glinted in the wall-lamp's glow, like a diamond catching the light, in his piss slit. My cock was also leaking pre-cum, and I stood up, holding the robe open so that they could see the size of my cock and the ring of pewter that encircled it and my balls. Marc said something to Art, and again I just could not hear what, but Art's answer gave me a good clue. "No. The first seven inches don't hurt. It's always the last inch that makes it worthwhile!" and they laughed out loud, both of them. My cock grew even harder with the anticipation of the coming evening's sport, my twitching cock pumping so much dribble that by this time it was dripping like spider gossamer off my balls.
I went inside into the Lounge and sat down sideways on the sofa, my back supported at one end, my right leg hanging off the seat so my right foot was on the floor. The two boys came in giggling Marco first, chased by Art who was trying to grab his bum. Stopping in front of me, Marco turned to face Art. I watched as they kissed, Marco's hands holding Art's head, Art hands holding Marco's buttocks. As their tongues enmeshed, so did their cocks, trapped between them, tangoing in each others' juices as their bodies moved slightly from side to side. Holding Marco, Art made the both of them rotate so that I, laying on the sofa, could admire Marc's brown hole that Art was showing me as he held Marc's bum cheeks apart. I started wanking my hard-on, looking first at the promised land, and then up at Art's face. His eyes were on me as he smiled and slowly nodded back to me.
Then Art broke away and dropped to his knees, taking hold of Marc's uncut cock. As I watched, his hand drew the foreskin back, revealing the large purple mushroom on the end on Marc's seven inch stalk. Art looked to make sure I was watching then turned his attention back to the cock in front of his mouth. Marc pushed slightly and it slid in between Art's parted teeth and lips. Art took it deep to the back of his throat, his lips encircling the rigid shaft right down to the base of the cock, so that Marc's balls hung on and over his chin. I could see the outline of Art's Adam's apple moving up and down his neck, and could only guess as to the sensations Marc was feeling as Art's throat massaged Marc's helmet.
Then Art pulled his head off Marc's prong and lay back on the carpet, pulling Marc down to join him. As they kissed again, Art laying on his back, Marc on all fours kneeling over his hips, Art pulled Marc's bum cheeks apart again just to give me a glimpse of Marc's sphincter, before sliding one of his fingers into it, up to the knuckle. Marc's head rose up as he gave a long sigh of delight at the new intrusion. I stood up and walked quickly into my bedroom, returning with a bag of toys, playthings that I always travelled with, both for my own use and for use on others. The two were still kissing as I sat back down on the sofa, my balls hanging over the front of the seat cushion, my cock as hard as ever. I looked into the bag, rummaging for the particular toy I knew was there.
Leaning forward, the stiff 'Christmas-tree' like shape of the anal beads a dagger in my hand, I put my left hand on Marc's buttock and guided the toy with the other. Made up of twelve black rubber balls of increasing size about 1 inch apart on a central shaft, the first two beads entered Marc's ass easily. Dribbling lube from his darker fleshed hole to my hand, I then started to introduce each ball into his orifice, hearing a satisfying plop as it was accepted past his ring muscle. When all but four balls had disappeared I knew from experience that Marc and I would have to work together to complete the task. As I put pressure on the shaft, the next ball slowly was engulfed by the crinkly flesh, which closed after it tightly onto the black rubber shaft gap before the next ball. Just three to go, the last measuring 2 inches (5cms) across, and it and the remaining two were shaped more like an oval than a round ball, to enable a slight easing to their introduction, given their thickness. I watched as the third to last ball slid in, the fleshy hole stretching most of it's wrinkles away to accommodate its' passage. Then the penultimate was taken in, and I asked if Marc wanted a rest, to continue, or had had enough. He echoed Art when he said, looking down into Art's face, "It's the last one that makes it worthwhile." As I pushed the shaft handle hard to make it slide in, Marc and Art kissed, I think so that Art's mouth would smother Marc's cry of pain.
I sat back on the sofa, my dribbling cock pointing into the air, feeling very excited, and looking at the six inch (15 cms) ribbed handle that was sticking obscenely out of Marc's bum. In my bag I had another similar toy, but that was a solid 12 inch (30 cms) black dildo in the shape of a cock, with an enormous head on it that you have to take first, before the 2½ inch (6cms) veined shaft follows it all the way down to the handle. It looks like a short Star Wars light sabre, and feels like it too.
Marc moved off Art and the two arranged themselves so that they were side on to me. I watched as Marc, on top, sucked Art's cock beneath him, whilst Art slowly pulled the beads out, licking round the hole as it shrank round each emerging ball. The sofa back supported my head and my legs were straight out in front of me as I wanked my slick lubricated cock, an erotic foreground to the sight of the two boys sucking each other.
As if it had been agreed earlier, Marc now stood up to stand with his back to me, between my out-stretched legs. Then bending down he held his cheeks apart to show me his red, inflamed anal ring, letting me see the red interior of his love tunnel, before reversing back, still bending, for me to lick and kiss his wound. I took hold of his hips and pulled myself into him, my nose squashing against the base of his spine, my extended, pointy wet tongue slipping into the ring of fire that I had injured, time and again lapping at his flesh until my jaw muscles ached.
He then straightened and put his legs either side of mine, and, guiding my cock with a hand, he sat down onto me, his stretched love glove slipping onto my straining cock, until he had all of me inside me. I reached round his right hip and took hold of his stiffness, starting to wank him as best I could as he raised and lowered himself on my erection, using his legs to manoeuvre himself. Art was standing watching this, and he climbed up onto the sofa, so his legs were either side of my hips, and facing me, guided his cock into my mouth. Then, with his hands on the back of the sofa to balance himself, he commenced face fucking me, his 8 inches (20 cms) scything in and out of my lips as he extracted the maximum sensation from my mouth. Between the boys, I was in gay heaven, with one boy working my cock and the other my mouth. Obviously Art's brain was working along the same rails as mine, for he withdrew his cock and dismounted the sofa.
Marc stopped his up and down movements and sat fully down on my cock. Art rummaged in my toy bag out of my sight on the floor, and came up with a long, thick, double ended pink cock shaped dildo. At his instruction I lifted my legs up off the floor, bending at the knees. I felt Art push one end of the dildo into my anus and it slithered in a few inched. Then I lowered my legs back to the floor, with my feet 18 inches or so apart.
This time when Marc started working himself up and down on my cock, he held the rest of the dildo in his hands, so that he was able to shaft my hole as he bounced on my cock for his and my gratification. Art climbed back onto the sofa as before, and the three of as worked ourselves hard to a joint orgasm.
Marc was unsurprisingly first to cum, still ramming the dildo into my hole with both hands, but his cock spurting his cum in curving jets onto the carpet in front of him. His cumming made him clench his ring round my shaft and that was enough for him to trigger my cumming into him, deep in his bowels, my sperm washing the inside of his tube, his movements suddenly easier as he slid up and down on my spunk coated shaft. Art then came in my mouth, his erection geysering hot cum into my mouth as he wanked the base of his cock to milk the contents of his balls out into the open.
Marc then got off my cock and went onto all fours on the carpet, panting for breath. Art climbed down and went behind Marc, and I watched him as he sucked and swallowed my spunk out of the Waiter's bum hole, licking the sphincter so that my cum coated his tongue white. Having asked what each wanted, I ordered our drinks from Room Service, and Marc disappeared into my bedroom with the door closed, so that the Duty Staff would not see him.
After the delivery, he joined Art and myself and we talked of in-consequences, well fucked, sore and happy. When we finally went to bed, Art was on one side of me and Marc was the other. When I woke in the morning it was because Marc was fucking Art's bum. They were both on their sides and I turned and looked into Art's face as Marc pounded his him as he lay with his knees bent, thrusting back at Marc with his body. "He's was only after your bum, you know," I said and kissed his jerking nose.
As usual I ask you, dear reader, that if you have enjoyed the story, to let me know. Make suggestions, whatever.
You can contact me at alex.carbine@sky.com
All e-mails answered. Thank You.