Moor End House .9

Wednesday
I called Simone, ‘I need a favour’.
‘Already? What happened to your boy?’
‘Tart! That’s why I need the favour’
‘Then ask and you may receive’
‘Do your folks still have that cottage?’
‘Oh I see, dirty weekend already. Bit remote for you though isn’t it? Hardly Paris’
‘Au contraire mon petit choufleur, it’s just the job. Can I borrow it for a night or so?’
‘I’ll have to check when its free although it’s out of season so I imagine it’s free of the orange kagoul crowd so you should be ok’
‘Did I ever mention that you’re the most treasured and favourite of all my friends?’
‘Never quite enough sweet cheeks but honoured as always’

Thursday night.
‘Marcus, it’s Josh. I want you to come away with me tomorrow? Just a couple of nights’
‘Hi, how’s it…away? Sure. Yeah, I mean, where to?’
‘Some place I know, bit out of the way but you’ll like it. Get a cab, I’ll settle with him when you rock up. It’s a sat nav job.
I gave him the address
‘Ok, cool, I think’
‘And Marcus…’
‘Yeah?’
‘…do you still have that wolf suit?’

Friday night.
Moor End House. Twenty odd miles of progressively narrowing roads and lanes. A private drive takes off and climbs along the wooded side of a small valley for a couple of miles emerging out just below the moors’ edge. One late Summer, James, Simone and myself had spent a drug addled fortnight here playing at being Byron, Shelley and Mary. Cue history lesson, stay awake at the back…it had, apparently, been built by the local landowner for the manager of a proposed quarry venture back in eighteen something or other. The manager had absconded with the initial investment and payroll money nearly bankrupting the landowner. The house, with a great deal of land had been sold, finally being inherited by Simones’ folks as a family retreat.

It was typically Victorian, nicely suiting my gothic sensibilities and from the sweeping approach out of the darkness of the trees it had the grand elevated appearance of an old rectory. Inside the rooms were high ceilinged and sparsely furnished but it had a  comfortable lived in charm. Distressed boards, antique rugs and well worn in furniture that sort of thing. I had brought seafood and bread which we ate picnic style in front of the open grate fireplace, washing it down with a crisp Saivignon Blanc.

Marcus had lost some of his controlled swagger and was cautiously polite, I sensed a nervous energy moving beneath the surface, an eagerness to talk.
‘I liked your story by the way’
‘Thought you might’
‘It turned you on didn’t it? Telling it to me I mean’
‘It did. It was the first time straight sex had flicked my switches but it was more him though, a lot more him…70/30 maybe 90/10’
‘So how come only the one more time?’
‘That’s the bit I lied about, we did loads but that was were it stopped’
‘Because of the scene?’
‘Perhaps. He went a bit weird after that. I think it was springing it on me the way they did that got him off’
‘Hard one to top I suppose’
The euphemism brought on a mutual fit of childish giggling.
The wine was kicking in nicely, I stuck a couple more logs in the grate. The flames took them quickly and the fire roared, throwing long shadows dancing up the walls.
Marcus, glass in hand stood up and walked to the big front window.
‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot you know’
‘Ditto’
‘I had hoped you’d call me sooner’
‘Well, we’re now here aren’t we?’
He turned, his eyes caught the flames and he was back to being the predator looking down at me from across the room.
‘We are…’, he placed his glass down, unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off, ‘…here’.       It slid off him onto the floor. He raised his hands to himself moving them down the flanks of his body in a V shape to the buckle of his belt. He was Narcissus, Hylas, a male principle in a Waterhouse painting and all of the light in the room seemed to be playing for him, working with the sublety of his movements, staging an act or was it ritual? Shadows thrown played with those of his own body forming a new creature of guttering light and dark emphasis. A slow devilish smile cut across his face. My vision was shifting in and out of focus. The room swam. I blinked and blinked again. ‘Marcus…’
‘You’re going to tell me how beautiful I am?’                                                                                     ‘Do I need to?’ He stepped forward out of his jeans, I could see he was naked but couldn’t make sense of the shape of him against the room. He was the room. The firelight was quickening, its’ flashes cutting forms into jabbing, changing shapes.
‘Strange, beautiful or both?’
His voice, (it was his voice?) came softly from everywhere at once. It was in my head before I heard it. His tongue was at my ear but he was still or at least what I thought was him, was still there in front of me. Sudden surges of heat spread up though my body, pulsing, wave after wave. ‘What’s…’
‘Relax Josh, just fall back into this, let go’
My mind came together in one word, acid, this was fucking acid. Jesus, the little fucker spiked my fucking wine. Outside of my gathering thoughts I heard his cocky laughter.
‘Well done Josh, you got there, you’re tripping, we both are’
I couldn’t stop myself laughing, the movement in my diaphram causing ripples to spread out around the room. I knew to keep things slow, keep it in balance. I focussed on Marcus, pulling my sweater over my head, losing the t-shirt, feeling the cotton move over my skin. Every nerve in my body felt softly alive. I needed to be naked. ‘C’mon, c’mon, I’m waiting for you’, Marcus just standing there goading me, legs braced apart leaning back, stomach tensed, trailing his fingers over himself. I felt how much he was loving it, the excitement in my stomach translating into waves of sensation making me feel what he was feeling. Our eyes met ‘Tune into me Josh, feel this’. One hand slid down over his stomach and along the curving length of that perfect dick. The sensations were instant. Heat flooded my heavy cock and it throbbed upwards against its own weight feeling every soft stroke of his manipulation. Sinking to his knees he was working himself up with ecstatic little gasps and moans, his face a contorted mask of  lust. Watching him, mesmerised by the incredible beauty of  this physical spectacle, his body coiling around on itself, the knotted muscles of his torso I gripped my stiff pole around the base. Crazy electricity was flooding my mind with reflected imagery from my own imagination, the scene was a painting, we were Waterhouses’ creations, satyrs, drowning sailors, hapless heroes lost to lustful temptation in a wild forest. Marcus locked around me finding friction against my body. I gripped the round hard swell of of his cheeks and fastened my teeth into his side. Lifting him my mouth found his dick, tongue rubbing under its head he forced it further into my mouth and began a slow measured fucking motion. The noises he was making were pure pornographic, driving me crazy, moaning, pleading with me for more, delicate gasps until he withdrew moving down onto all fours. I was shaking, my quivering cock had his attention and he moved to it, holding it aside and lapping at my balls. They looked massive next to his fine features and the desire to just ram my cock between that model perfect pair of lips and splash him with an explosion of come was powerful. I played it on his tongue until I got my mojo straight. ‘You want this Marcus?’  Without answering he climbed over me and arms around my shoulders limbered himself over it.

I fucked him from beneath, pressing against the deep root of his dick with my fingers. I put him on all fours and brutally pounded it into him while I pulled at his nipples, biting into his shoulder. My cock felt huge and I told him so, ‘Are you feeling it now?’ I had my hand around his dick and I could feel it’s crazy pulsing as he started to come. His deep groaning reverberated through his body and down around the base of my pole. ‘Fuck it, let’s go’, I rammed harder, he was fucking my hand and bucking back against my balls.       I felt the strike come and pulled out of him, jetting my hot cream over him. I dragged him quickly over onto his back and as he pumped himself dry beneath me splashed a second gush of pearly white come over his cock and balls. He was smiling, eyes closed, ‘That all you got?’  I leaned down into his neck and ran my tongue along and up to his ear, ‘That’s just the beginning’.