On the drive to his condominium, Trey became increasingly agitated by Damon's sullen posture. He had expected that his youthful friend would assume a posture of compliant gratitude. After all, had he not invested his energy, good sense and also his inheritance to save him from a precipitous situation, however embarrassing his imposition of the moment had been? So as soon as they arrived at his penthouse on the topmost floor, he tore off the coat, on loan to the younger man, and pulled him into the bathroom.
"Get rid of the gunk," Trey ordered.
Damon remained inactive and interpreting this as a demurral, Trey assumed the uneasy task himself. He pushed his friend's head under the faucet and scrubbed his face of the uncomely mask. He made no attempt to be gentle and had no desire to pity the boy's winces. The soap smarted Damon's eyes and he yelled. Trey remained unsympathetic.
Neither exchanged words for a long time afterwards. Damon sat sulking on the plush white leather sofa, arms folded defensively across his chest, while Trey went away to make coffee. It would have been a cooling off time that would have benefited both of them. But the circumstances surrounding their latest tiff were too explosive and this was just another adjunct to the string of spats they had been having.
"I'm a big boy; I make my own decisions," Damon suddenly said, vanishing into the sleeping quarters they shared together. Trey could not ignore the trail of peeved hostility that was left lingering in the living room.
Ignore the child, he told himself. They were all children and wanted to be cooed over. He believed Damon was playing up to get a spanking, but he himself was raised on more pedigreed habits and restrained manners. This was not to say he had no proclivities, only subtler ones. Damon was attempting to sabotage his gentler dotage. He was not called to give Damon freelance lessons on restrained indulgences or correct his excesses either, and so he was not going to dignify Damon's whining with a response or explanation.
Two hours passed before Trey decided to make a friendly overture to patch up with his roommate. He heard a scraping sound in the bedroom, and dispensing with the formality of an advanced warning or knocking, he entered. He found the sweet-faced adolescent on the bed, his bathrobe lying in a clump below the bed.
Lain down on his back, Damon was once again naked. He was balancing his heels in the air on his left arm. With his smooth bottom raised and spread, he revealed a white tan line that contrasted with the dark pink of his round and full scrotum and his tight anus. His penis was already hard and long, twisted upward to rest on his lower abdomen like a sleeping snake. In his right hand, he held tightly to a switch. Expertly he was imposing the switch on his bare exposed bottom. Over and over and over again, he lashed himself until real tears flowed.
"Stop it," Trey exclaimed. He snatched away the switch and instantly put a stop to the boy's self-flagellation.
The latter rolled to his side, clamped his arms around his drawn up knees, and wept.
"I was starting to enjoy myself, _d_a_m_n_ you to hell," he sobbed. "If you can't ....won't ....give me what I want, then stay out of my choices."
"What I saw tonight," Trey said defensively, "was a very frightened boy who got more than he could handle. You were screaming in pain, so don't you deny that."
"I wasn't frightened," the tormented boy sobbed, sounding a little less harassed. "But what do you know? You don't understand anything. So now you're poorer, and I'm still broke. I could have made enough tonight to pay for my tuition."
Ignoring the display of self-pity, Trey took the switch and tossed it back into the closet. He went around the room, collected all of Damon's toys, the handcuffs, the razor strop, the rattan cane, the rubber _d_i_l_d_o_, accorded them the same status as the switch, and then locking up the closet, he retained the key in his jeans pocket. Next, he turned Damon on his back, stretched out his legs, pulled up the comforter over him, and left the room. He would sleep out in the living room tonight, he told the stunned youth.
"Harith is not going to be pleased his favorite son parted with his inheritance," Damon yelled after Trey, seething hurtfully, "he may disown you!"
Trey shut the door on the ever-widening chasm.
Some time in his sleep, Trey thought he heard something whispered into his left ear. He had been too tired to rouse himself fully. Nor could his heavy eyelids have co-operated had he tried. But the message had sounded like Damon was going to school now.
When he finally managed to open his eyes, Trey got up and checked on his friend. He found Damon's bed empty. Unmade as always, it was an untidy nest of twisted sheets and comforters. He would be in college, now, Trey thought, remembering the early dawn message, so perhaps they might get to talk in the evening. There would be time for them to find and establish a mutually agreeable term for a truce and a more peaceful co-existence. But at 10 P. M., with still no sign of Damon about, he decided to return to the club.
A tableau vivant of barely legal nude bottoms and genitals had been gainfully exploited for the audience tonight. Yelling above the loud music assaulting his ears, Damon rejected the first offer of _s_e_x_. The principal profferer guffawed good-naturedly and allowed Damon to re-join the cast on the stage. Wearing only lace-up Doc Martens boots in place of the colorful g-strings tonight, the dancers gave a pseudo dance and dramatic repertory but the rendition had been so visually homogeneous that once more the cast drew an appreciative ovation from the crowd.
Damon had hoped for a repetition of the previous night's feat and bag himself a nice tip. But the honor of a solo encore fell to Nik this time. Gloomily Damon retreated to the dressing room, but he promised himself that he would show distance from the usual backstage bitching over the audience's decision. On his way out, someone pinched his bare bottom.
"Don't look so glum, little girl," a man in his fifties said to him, "in my book you were the best. Very spunky. I like you. You're just a bit better at dancing than mimicry."
"Excuse me?" Damon said, eyebrows raised in perplexity.
"Oh, I'm referring to your work last night," the man explained, drawing the smoke from his cigarette deep into his lungs. "You're a _d_a_m_n_ mile better at dance than drama."
"Oh."
"Don't look so disappointed. You'll have your day again, soon, I'm sure," he assured the youth, extending a hand to him. In it were three bills.
"That's a lot of money," Damon said.
"I know. But you're worth it," the man replied, curling up his lip to reveal nicotine-stained teeth.
Damon nodded and took the money. Exercising a rehearsed nonchalance, he tucked it deep into his Doc Martens boots. They proceeded up the stairs.
A messy arrangement of male bodies, mostly piled one atop another, a polyphony of throaty groans, and a nauseating waft of unnatural men's fragrances mingled with the natural odor of man juices greeted Damon and his chain-smoking patron upon their arrival on the stair landing. They had arrived at the first floor room so-called the 'Dream Room' because one was able to realize one's fantasy here.
Damon recognized a number of his colleagues pinned under the rotund bodies of the patrons. He could dimly make out, at one corner, the slender outline of the lovely hermaphrodite Thuy's nude body; his/her talented mouth was engaged in a conversation with the thick penis of a stout man. On top of the bar: he recognized Jins, his legs spread and trembling in wild excitement in the air while another stout man made acquaintance with his anus. At the far end: he discerned from the train of contorted bodies that a number of orgies were taking their course. The players were always changing, the means employed also, but the end was always the same. He knew what it was that the customers wanted. It had always been this: their idea of great _s_e_x_ was to draw blood from the virgin anus of one of the boys.
The door of a private room was now closed on the chain smoker and his youthful escort. It was a small room with a single bed, a nightstand beside it and a closet. It was cheap looking but would have to do for the minimal fee that was transacted for the privilege of a little privacy.
Damon approached the bed and prepared himself for penetration. He lay himself across the mattress and raised his buttocks, spreading himself wide enough to titillate the customer with an inviting crack.
"No, just a minute," the patron said, his eyes riveted to the scrotum and scanty hair that hung between Damon's spread thighs.
Damon and his generous client engaged in a brief consultation with each other after which the young one left the room. Twenty minutes later he returned and knocked on the door. The patron, Guy, opened it. He smiled, pleased with what he saw. Damon had donned a schoolboy's uniform as instructed: white shirt and tie, short shorts held up by a thin belt, socks and sandals, and toting a satchel. In this get-up, Damon had transformed himself into a cute and helpless mannikin of his former self. Delighted with the outcome, Guy invited him in.
Damon entered with a shy expression of thanks to 'Dad' and sat down immediately on the bed. He turned in his toes nervously, tapping his sandals on the floor.
"How are you? How's your mother doing?" asked 'Dad', sitting beside the youth.
"Fine, sir," Damon replied.
"Let's have a look into that satchel of yours," 'Dad' said. "Have you been doing all your homework?"
Damon handed his 'father' the schoolbag. Guy did a quick spot check, and finding what it was that he was looking for, pulled out the plastic baggy. A scowl was put on in place of the smile.
"What's this? Come over here, son, and stand in front of me," 'Dad' ordered in a mock patriarchal tone.
Damon obeyed, standing before Guy. He trembled; he was so impeccably convincing at his role that it excited Guy and compelled him to keep pace. He felt his penis growing and it was hurting to be constricted between his thick thighs.
"Have I not warned you of the consequences if I found you messing with this stuff again?" he quickly asked his boy.
"I'm sorry, daddy. I can't stop myself. I think I need help." Damon's eyes twinkled.
Guy said that he concurred completely with his last statement and help was going to be immediate.
"So I want you now to take off all your clothes," he ordered Damon, "but leave your underpants on for the time being."
Damon removed his uniform, piecemeal, so as to tease, and slowly so as to prolong the seduction. Now he was standing in his white boy brief. He clasped his hands over the bulge visibly outlined by the thin fabric of his cotton brief. His face wore an endearing color of beet.
Guy pulled his boy over his laps and apprising in sternness that he was going to spank him till he remembered his promise to not use drugs again, he raised his hand up and then allowed it to fall again squarely on both of Damon's bottom cheeks. Five smacks followed their antecedent. The enfant terrible of the strip chorus did the dance of his career on the happy client's navy pinstripe trousers.
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! Damon squirmed, his penis hardened and impaled against the big man's thighs. Consciousness of the boy's enlarged penis excited Guy all the more and the spanking proceeded with increased vehemence. Then at just the right time, Damon let loose a shrill cry.
"Didn't I warn you to not to scream? Now you're really going to get it," Guy warned.
He pulled the youth up and swiftly pulled down his brief. Grasping the naked boy's penis and testicles in his palm, he pulled him towards himself and spread him over his knees once more. He took a moment now to knead the sore cheeks and under the boy's stomach, he squeezed the genitals in circular movements in his palm. Reaching next for the hairbrush on the nightstand, he resumed the torment to Damon's bottom for about ten minutes. Waves of red, black and blue were transposed on the pink canvas of Damon's bottom cheeks. Tears flowed down his facial cheeks. He had to muffle his cries to avoid a more severe spanking. He had had enough, he felt.
The entire experience was proving to surpass Guy's expectations. But now he was feeling some discomfort over the confinement of his penis within his cloaked hips. He stopped the spanking for a while to unzip his fly to give his entrapped meat release. This accomplished with little regard for finesse, or for the patience to savor the moment, he grasped the nape of Damon's neck and forced his wet lips upon his penis. Damon sucked his father's massive meat hungrily and half an hour thence, felt the latter's semen spurt into his throat in a forceful jet. The big man let out a loud moan as a battle cry on all the months of waste and emptiness.
Father and son traded places afterwards; when it was close to the end, it was the son's virginal hole that was rimmed and then deflowered.
Outside, unbeknownst to either of them, a lone figure shifted uneasily in the shadows. He cast his eyes from the crack made by the slightly open door. He had not come here tonight to act like a common voyeur and he knew that what he had done was grossly invasive. But he had seen more than he needed to realize that he had arrived at an irresolute impasse in his relationship with Damon. He would be naïve to continue denying it. He knew Damon had made his choice and he was no more able to change it than understand it. Damon was right, Trey told himself, he did not understand any of it. But it was no longer a relevant requirement, now that he knew what he must do.
Back at the penthouse, he cleared out his things.