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Heidelberg, Germany, 1905
“What do you see, Varick? Where are you going?”
I put out a restraining hand as the Baron von Richthoven brushed past me and out into the corridor of the first-class carriage of the train. I followed him as he moved toward the steps down to the platform of the Heidelberg rail station. The train had stopped here en route from where we started in Berlin—leaving hurriedly—and where we were headed in Munich. It was a time of retreat, and Varick had chosen his secret hunting chalet near Füssen, the Bavarian Alps, as his place of hiding—and hunting—at least for now. I had accompanied him to try to protect him from himself and because I didn’t have any other choice.
“I wouldn’t suggest leaving the train, Varick,” I called out to him as he was doing just that, his black silk cape billowing around his tall, trim body. “We have no idea how long the train will stand at this station.” I was speaking to his back, as he moved along the platform, his attention riveted over to the shadows of an iron column three tracks down that was helping to hold up the canopy over the concourse separating the end of the tracks from the station building. His gold lion-headed walking stick provided a staccato beat to his progress. He was an imposing man, dark and hawk-like while still being uncannily handsome. He still was in his forties—or so at least it appeared—although looking somewhat younger, and, as I well knew, he clearly was charismatic.
Neither that nor his title had kept him out of trouble in Berlin, however.
Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks and I almost ran into him. “There. Over there. See him, Otto?” He was pointing with his stick toward where his attention had been focused ever since he stood in our train compartment and gazed out of the window.
“No, Varick. You promised restraint. No more at least until we reach Füssen. You will have more free rein there to do as you wish, as you need.”
The young man—I knew it was the young man who Varick was focused on—was beautiful. His smile was radiant as he looked up into the face of his companion who had pulled him close into an embrace—obviously a farewell embrace. The young man’s curly blond hair was tussled and, in the beams of light filtering through the translucent glass canopy onto the platform, it looked like his head was swathed in a halo. He wasn’t tall, but he was perfectly formed. His clothes were those of a student, albeit an affluent one. Heidelberg was the home of a major university. It was at the end of a term, and it could be reasonably speculated that he was a student returning home and bidding farewell to a lover.
It didn’t take much to assess the lover judgment. Before Varick had pulled up, the two men had been kissing there in the shadows. The taller man was cupping the young blond god’s buttocks with his hands, squeezing them, and, briefly, the blond had raised a leg to hook his knee on the taller man’s hip. If they could have done so without causing a scandal, they would have been fucking.
“Only if he is taking this train,” Varick murmured to me. “That will be a sign that I can have him.”
“You’ve had rather too many signs of late, Varick,” I responded. “That is why we are on this train.”
“You presume too much,” Varick said, suddenly turning to me, his expression changed. Seeing the other Varick in him, I shrank away from him, but he reached out, his hand suddenly clawlike, and pulled me back to him. “You chose to come with me in this exile. You chose to share this with me. Only if he rides the train. Only if he wants it.”
Varick pulled me back to the train and we stood on the platform by the door up into the area separating first-class from second, positioning ourselves on the platform as if we were stretching our legs to break the journey.
My heart both sank and doubled its beat as the young blond man approached. He was taking this train. As he approached, his eyes locked onto those of Varick’s and I groaned in the knowledge that that was all it took. Varick was of a mesmerizing stock, his piercing violet-hued eyes able to capture, disrobe, and ravish the susceptible at will. The young blond’s answering radiant smile marked that he could be possessed. When he turned and mounted the stairs into the train, Varick followed the blond closely from behind. I followed as well, no less a captive of Varick’s stare than anyone else with my proclivities.
At the top of the stairs, the young man turned as to enter the second-class compartment, but Varick laid a hand on his arm and said, in low, melodic voice, “Perhaps you would join us off to the right here. We are in the first-class carriage. You would be more comfortable and there is plenty of room in our compartment. We would enjoy the companionship.” His hand then went to the young man’s buttocks, squeezing one of the well-rounded, firm orbs, and steering him to the right.
The student smiled at Varick, and with a quiet, “Danke”—thanks—”I would appreciate that,” and without so much güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri as a flinch for the hand still palming his buttocks, turned to the right. With that, I knew he was lost. It probably would have been better in the long run if I had accepted that and capitulated to the inevitability of it.
Few of the first-class compartments were occupied—none in proximity to ours. The young man sat in the seat facing the one that Varick and I occupied, and we said little until the conductor had been through, Varick had smoothly paid the difference in the ticket price for the student, and the train had started on its onward journey.
It wasn’t lost on the young man that he was being paid for.
“Perhaps you can pull the curtains to the corridor, Otto, and give us more privacy.”
Varick wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were holding the blue eyes of the beautiful young student with his. The young man didn’t stand a chance. He wasn’t even fighting it—pure innocence and openness. He knew. He just didn’t know the all of it—not by a long shot. After pulling the blinds down on the windows looking out into the corridor, I shrank back in the corner of the seat and watched it all unfold, both horrified and fascinated.
The conversation started with minor chitchat. Varick—the Baron von Richthoven—who had been residing in Berlin, was heading for a vacation at his hunting lodge in the Bavarian Alps. I, Otto Gensler, his lawyer, friend, and, I suppose, his protector, was accompanying him. All so natural and benign. All true, but not nearly as benign as it sounded. “Vacationing” was more like retreating three steps ahead of the mob bearing pitchforks, and the hunting lodge rather than the Castle in Mecklenberg being the goal more because of its remoteness and secrecy than anything else—Varick could have his way longer and with complete privacy in at the remote hunting lodge in Füssen than in Mecklenberg.
“So, you are a student at Heidelberg?” Varick asked.
“Yes,” Stefan Heinz answered, for that was what we’d ascertained was his name. “I am Austrian. My family lives in Saltzburg. That is where I go now. The school term is over.”
“And you are studying art at the university?”
“Yes,” Stefan answered Varick, in surprise. “But how did you—?”
“You are carrying art supplies. I would bet you even model for the classes, don’t you?”
“For extra money, yes. But, again—?”
“You are a beautiful young man. I can’t conceive that your teachers would not take advantage of that—and of you.”
I have no idea how Varick was able to do it—to so quickly strip a young man down with words like this, with the stripping to continue to the emotions and then the physical. But it was his gift—or his curse. I continued to struggle with which one it was. In any event, the young man was walking right into his web.
“Yes, well . . .”
“I’m sure that your teachers take full advantage of you,” Varick honed in.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Stefan answered, but his blush conveyed otherwise—and the saucy expression he gave indicated that he wouldn’t shrink from the ever-stripping discussion. In my imagination—soon to be reality, I knew—every phrase Varick’s soothing voice caressed the young man with stripped off an article of the man’s emotional shield and then his clothing until the young man was naked, open, and vulnerable. legs spread and bent, pelvis raised to receive the thrust, head turned to the side, throat exposed, vein throbbing. Inevitably, Varick would be inside him, both emotionally and physically.
Why don’t you rise and run? I wondered, the warning screaming through my brain so loud that I’m surprised he didn’t hear it. But of course he didn’t do that. He already was captured in the web. Already the mesmerizing and impossibly handsome, dark and mysterious, baron sitting beside me had his legs open in a wide stance and a hand stroking his crotch, exhibiting a clearly discernible line of his extraordinarily long and thick cock down the inner surface of his thigh. The young man, sitting across from him couldn’t miss that. In fact, his eyes, when they were able to tear away from Varick’s had been flitting to Varick’s crotch even before Varick laid a hand there.
“You lay under men, don’t you? Probably for money to augment your family’s allowance. But I suppose you lay under your art teacher for some thought of love or something like that. I, we”—I lurched a bit at being brought into this scene by him; I had been trying to play the pure voyeur—”saw you in the shadows on the Heidelberg station platform. That was your art teacher, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Stefan said. He tried momentarily to look away, and I even saw his muscles—his very nicely formed muscles—tense as if to rise and flee, but he didn’t flee, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from returning to ogling Varick’s crotch. All forms of subterfuge discarded, the baron had his cock out now, slowly stroking it as he spoke in calm, smooth, mesmerizing tones in stark contrast güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri to his angry, upcurved, thick, and long erection.
“You are paid to model in the nude, are you not?”
“Yes,” Stefan answered, his voice breathless.
“And men pay you to cover you.”
A slight pause, and then, almost a whisper, “Yes.”
“But your art teacher doesn’t pay, does he? With your art teacher it’s love.”
Stefan didn’t answer, but his eyes were locked on Varick’s stiff, oversized cock.
“I would not ask for love, Stefan. I will pay. All you have to do is say ‘yes.'”
“Varick,” I muttered.
“All you have to do is say yes.” He ignored both my utterance and my restraining hand on his forearm. “For a start, five marks to see you as the art students see you, in the nude. Say yes to that, Stefan.”
“Yes,” Stefan said, standing and slowly, sensually disrobing. There was no chance of misunderstanding that the student knew where this was leading. Varick wasn’t the only one who sucked in his breath, gave a little gasp, and murmured a “beautiful,” when Stefan was standing there for us, in the nude. I was equally as moved. And it didn’t go unnoticed that the young man was in erection, albeit one that couldn’t compete with Varick’s.
I was in erection too. I wanted him as much as Varick could want him.
“Ten marks to service me and twenty-five to let me fully possess you. Say ‘yes,’ Stefan.”
“Varick,” I muttered again, once more laying a hand on his forearm. “You promised. Restraint at least until safely at the lodge.”
“Shut up, Otto. You want him too. He will agree to it. He wants it,” Varick retorted as he shook my hand off, already metamorphosing from the man into the monster. “Say ‘yes,’ Stefan.” The voice was hard, commanding.
“Yes,” Stefan whispered as he sank between Varick’s spread legs and took the throbbing cock into his mouth.
I don’t know why I bothered to struggle with it. The young man was lost from the moment the baron’s eyes captured his outside the train. He had offered no hint of desired resistance from that point. He turned right rather than left. He didn’t shrink from Varick’s possessive hand on his buttocks. He turned right, fully knowing where it would lead him, already having said “yes” in his mind. He didn’t even flinch when Varick freed his staff and stroked it. He would have done it without the money.
I shouldn’t have cared about—for—him, but I did.
As Stefan’s mouth came off the cock, Varick was holding a silver flask out to him. “Here. Drink from this. It will help you sheath the shaft.”
Varick wasn’t even pretending that the flask didn’t contain a drug. As he swallowed from the flask, the young man’s eyes latched onto Varick’s with a worshipping expression, Stefan didn’t even pretend that he wasn’t going to be penetrated, violated, fully possessed.
While I watched, scrunched down in the seat, my own cock freed and in my hand, Varick fucked the young man in the seat directly across from me. In the first taking there wasn’t much to see. Stefan, sitting, was pressed into the back of the seat, his finely muscled, alabaster legs spread and raised, hugging the baron’s waist, as Varick, his cape covering the two torsos otherwise, hunched between Stefan’s thighs. All other connection was underneath the cape. The undulating of the material of the cape and Stefan’s groans, small cries, and moans provided the evidence that Varick was fucking the young man. Stefan’s toes curled and then released in the rhythm of the fuck. His eyelids fluttered and he grimaced, and he cried out with each thrust. Knowing Varick’s cock, I knew the young man was taking it hard and deep. I also knew that Stefan had a great familiarity with men’s cocks to be able to take it like this at all.
As I watched, Varick’s right hand rose up from inside the cape, cupped the back of Stefan’s head, and pulled the young man’s face in for a deep kiss on the lips. After a breathless eternity of this connection, Varick pulled his face away. The eyes of the two were locked—Stefan’s in dreamy surrender and, I have no doubt, Varick’s in victory. Varick’s hand pulled Stefan’s head into the young man’s left shoulder. Without a skip in the rhythm of the fuck, as evidenced by the undulating of the cape, Varick’s tongue went to the exposed and stretched throat. The tongue momentarily licked at the flesh and protruding vein there and then Varick opened his mouth, showed his fangs, and sank them into the young man’s throat.
Stefan gave a little cry and struggled ineffectively and weakly but settled down quickly to low moans and the gentle sound of suckling as Varick fucked and fed.
“Varick,” I called out softly after a few moments where only the sounds of feeding and sighing could be heard. “Enough. No evidence on the train that would point south.” I wanted to say more. I wanted to say that this one was special—special to me, for reasons I couldn’t verbalize. But I knew that, with the güvenilir bahis şirketleri baron, it had to be about him—about his preservation.
He didn’t answer, and he didn’t completely comply, but he changed positions. He switched so that he sat in the seat and Stefan was in his lap, facing me. His legs streamed behind Varick’s hips on either side, his knees pressed into where the seat met the lower back, his calves running up the back of the seat. He was leaning forward, the heels of his hands on Varick’s knees, telling me that he hadn’t lost all strength in his body . . . yet. Varick was holding the young man’s waist and pulling his passage up and down on the cock. Stefan’s face was an exhibition of dreamy ecstasy.
I saw no harm in Varick just fucking the young man and having a taste, so I settled back in my seat and watched, my own cock in my hand, my thoughts vicariously of me being in Varick’s position in the fuck.
Varick stopped manipulating the young man’s body when Stefan took over the rise and fall on his own. One of Varick’s hands palmed Stefan’s chest and pulled the young man back into Varick’s chest. The other cupped his chin and turned Stefan’s face to his for a kiss.
I almost missed that Varick had gone back to feeding at the young man’s throat—and I would have missed it if I hadn’t noticed that Stefan was losing his strength. His hands had slipped off Varick’s knees and he was just hanging there. I could barely see the pupils of his eyes for the whites. The expression of ecstasy was still there, but the look was glazed, fading. I knew it was just a matter of time now.
But I waited for Varick to have his moment, his release, coming in a little cry of his own, a jerk of both his and Stefan’s bodies, a gasp from Stefan and look of wonder floating across the young man’s face. I knew it wouldn’t just be a coming; it would be a warm flood of complete possession and an afterglow of peace—eternal peace for some.
Not for Stefan, though, I hoped.
“More than enough, Varick,” I called out. “Not here. Not now. How would we evade discovery?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Otto,” the baron side, icily as he took his mouth away from Stefan’s throat. But the important thing is that he had taken his mouth away. “I am being piggish again, aren’t I? Here, you may have a taste. Enjoy.”
He pulled Stefan off him and laid the young man down along the seat, as he rose, readjusted his clothing and returned and sat next to me on the seat. “I said enjoy yourself,” he said, turning to me, his eyes flashing and the tone of his voice one of irritation. I knew it wasn’t a polite offer or a request—that it was a goad and command, that he was reminding me that I was no better, no different, than he was.
“I just think—” I started to say, not really knowing what I thought—or why I thought it.
“No, no. You are quite right. This one is worthy of taking home with us. But taste. By all means taste.”
I moved across the carriage and gathered Stefan up in my arms as I sat in the seat. I was cooing to him and whispering sweet nothings. I had no idea why I was doing that. I had no realization that I was as lost to Stefan as Stefan now was to Varick. I rocked him back and forth as he continued to moan softly. As he rebuilt strength, he raised his arms, embracing my neck. Our faces were close together and the kiss came naturally. His hand going to my still-exposed cock also seemed natural.
“Take me. I want you to fuck me too,” he murmured.
How could I refuse? I turned his body on the seat so that he was lying on his back, his head and shoulders raised on the thick pillows provided with the compartment. Winding an arm under his waist, I lifted his pelvis and, positioned myself, kneeling, between his thighs, I slid easily inside him. He gave a little jerk, but took me easily. He was still dilated from Varick’s thick shaft, wet deep inside from Varick’s cum. It was all natural, easy. I pumped him slowly. In, out; in, out. I luxuriated in how easily and fully he opened to me, taking me deep inside his soft, sweet core.
We continued kissing until I turned his head, exposing and stretching his neck. All very natural, as was my licking his throat and finding the throbbing vein, sinking my fangs into it, and beginning to feed.
I understood restraint, though. I released my seed quickly and immediately stopped suckling at his neck. I only gave myself a taste of him. In that taste, though, I was even more lost to him than I had been before. He was a sweet fuck. He opened completely, trustingly, to me, and I took him tenderly, appreciatively, but fully, steely hard and throbbing skin rubbing against tender channel walls, giving and receiving loving attention. As open as he was, he pulled me in deep—in keeping with our kind, I was nearly as hugely endowed as Varick was. His passage muscles caressed and undulated over my shaft, denying me nothing in girth or length. I indeed, was horse hung. Still, Varick was a monster to my merely especially gifted. If he accepted Varick like this and Varick was in one of his moods, I knew he’d tear the young man asunder with the massiveness of his endowment. Varick, in fact, was given to such moods, which was a primary reason we were escaping south. I couldn’t help feeling protective of the young beauty.
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