Part Thirteen
Machinations

Note: All conversation between Anatole and Gervase is in French.

Anatole was working on a sketch of a rather ordinary bowl of fruit. These exercises were tedious, but they had to be done. He supposed that even concert pianists still occasionally played scales to keep themselves limber. He heard the key in the lock and smiled to himself, but did not look up as the door opened.

Footsteps approached, coming to a stop behind him. Large hands gripped his shoulders, and a warm mouth touched his neck, nibbling. He sighed, and reached back blindly, his hand finding a lean cheek. "Hello, my love."

"You didn't look to see who it was."

"You are the only one with a key, you know that."

Gervase Underhill came around to sit opposite Anatole. "How are your parents?"

Anatole watched him fondly. The Englishman was almost twenty years his senior, and taught English as a second language at the university. They had been lovers almost since Anatole's arrival at school, two years now. "Much the same. How was your weekend?"

"Boring as hell. The clubs were absolutely dead, not a soul worth talking to, much less fucking."

Anatole cocked a disbelieving eye at him. "So you remained celibate?" It hardly seemed likely. Gervase had a high sex drive. As attractive as he was, even at the (for the club scene) relatively old age of forty, he never lacked for partners.

He shrugged, his powerful shoulders lifting. "I didn't say that, but it wasn't anything to remember. They're all so jaded these days. Where are the sweet, dewy youths?" He sighed melodramatically.

"Poor Gervase, so deprived. I believe I can cheer you up." He pushed a manilla folder toward him. "Tell me what you think of this."

Gervase took the folder and flipped it open. There was a portrait in pastel chalk on top. It was the face of a youth just emerging into adulthood, the childish plumpness giving way to adult lines. His hair was a mass of thick curls and waves, red-brown with gold glints. His eyes were the most extraordinary, vibrant green. What an imagination Anatole had. "Nice."

"Just nice? I know what you are thinking, but his eyes really are that green."

"What? Anatole, do you mean to tell me he actually exists? You know him?" Gervase went to the second page. It showed the boy from the waist up, bare chested, leaning back in his seat. The third made him wet his lips. The boy was nude, on his knees, hands behind his back. He was perfect. All that was missing was a collar, maybe a nipple ring. "Anatole, have you been holding out on me?"

"If I wished to deprive you, I would not be showing him to you. That is the American exchange student who is staying with my parents this year. Trehn-tonne Vit-telli, from Metropolis."

"Trenton. Anatole, is he really this hot? I mean, you're sure he's not a pimply faced little weed, and this is wishful thinking?"

"Would I tease you like that, my darling? No, he is exactly as you see him, but in warm, living flesh. And he tastes absolutely delicious."

Gervase swore softly. "You fucker. And you didn't bring me any?"

"What?" Anatole teased. "I am not allowed to have a lover all my own?"

"Not one that looks like this, you're not. I want a piece of him."

"Of course you do. I knew the moment I saw him he would be perfect for you. He's so naive that I practically had his cock in my mouth before he realized what was going on."

"That inexperienced, huh?" Gervase was obviously intrigued. "I like that. I like them fresh."

"Fresh? Gerry, I was the first one ever to lay hands on that delectable body. He is practically pristine."

"You're shitting me!" Gervase stared at him in astonishment. "In this day and age?"

Anatole shrugged. "He's a bit young for his age, and shy. Oh, he knows what he wants. He's in love with someone named Clive, an older man. But this Clive is burdened with scruples, and refuses to touch the little sweetmeat till he reaches the American age of consent."

"Stupid fucker."

"That's what I said. Gerry, I drank him, and he fucked me. Very well, too, I might add, but that was all. He's never been fucked."

The older man dropped the pictures and said slowly, "Do you mean to tell me that he's still cherry?" Anatole nodded. Gervase groaned. "Oh, damn, Anatole. I'm getting hard just thinking about it. I've got to have him."

"So you shall, my precious."

"When?"

"Impatient. He will be here next weekend. My parents are going into the country to visit friends." He smiled. "They couldn't very well leave the boy alone, and I told them that I needed to study for an exam, so they are dropping him off here. You can spend the day with us Friday, and there is a party that evening. You can try your hand at seducing him. It may take some wooing, though. I think he's the romantic type, and will be reluctant to 'cheat' on his friend."

"Think so? He had his cock up your ass didn't he?"

"Gerry, he's young. Often the hormones override the brains, but it's no guarantee. He saw your picture, and I think you frightened him a little. He said you look dangerous."

Underhill's voice was soft. "Only when I don't get my way."

"Yes, pet. But you must be careful with this one. He is only sixteen, and a foreigner, after all. This must be handled delicately, or such a stink it will raise."

"Don't worry. If persuasion doesn't work, there's always deception."

"You are such a wicked bastard, Gervase."

"I love you, too, Panderer."

Anatole laughed, putting aside his sketch. "I'll want to watch."

"I expect you to. Now, come here, slave."

Anatole's eyes sparkled. God, he loved this man. No one could control him, make him feel like Gervase. He stood up, only to kneel at his lover's feet. "What would my Master have of me?"

Gervase studied the blond beauty kneeling before him. Anatole lived for this, and he was good at it. Gervase had known from the moment he saw the Bienvenue boy that they were going to be lovers. The need in his eyes had been too naked to mistake. That first class day, he had invited him to his office to discuss his art. In ten minutes they were rutting frantically, Gervase pushing Anatole's face into the musty cushions of his office couch, the ones that were already stained with come from other 'counseling sessions'. The boy hadn't been virgin by a long chalk, but he was hot and eager. Things had worked out well. Now both had a steady fuck partner, but were free to pursue others.

Gervase had a circle of friends who were always happy to have a share of Anatole's ass, and Anatole was generous about bringing him the freshmen he seduced. But this Trenton... Oh, he was special.

"You were sold to me as a virgin, slave. Is that true?"

Anatole took his cue. He trembled, gazing up at Gervase through thick, dark lashes. "Yes, Master. I have never known the touch of man or woman."

"Remove your clothes, but don't stand."

Anatole stripped, never rising. First his shirt, letting it slide teasingly down his arms in mock modesty. Then he opened his pants and pushed them, along with his shorts, down his thighs. Sitting back, he removed them completely, along with his shoes and socks, then knelt again. He was erect, cock quivering in a thick arch.

"Touch yourself." Gervase opened his fly as Anatole began to rub and pinch his own nipples, teasing them into firm points. The older man masturbated slowly as he watched the student caress himself. Anatole stroked his cock, and reached down to fondle the furry sac of his balls. He put his head back, eyes closed, reveling in exposing himself for his Master.

"Come here." Gervase's voice was rough. Anatole flowed to his feet and went to him. The teacher took hold of the young man's cock and roughly smeared the pre-come that was drizzling from his cock head down his shaft. Turning him around, he said, "Keep pumping yourself. Don't stop."

Anatole realized that he was going to do him dry, and his asshole clenched in dread and anticipation. He made no protest as Gervase spread his cheeks, and tugged him down. He felt the barest touch of hot flesh against the puckered skin of his anus, then Gervase jerked him down, hard.

Anatole shrieked, his body going rigid with agony. It was rather like being a virgin--it certainly hurt as much as it had his first time, and it was just as hot. Gervase's thick meat felt like it was splitting him in two. Gervase groaned. Anatole's body was almost painfully tight. It was like being caught in a velvet covered vice.

He began to bodily lift and lower the blond man, fucking him up and down on his straining pole. Anatole was not small, but Gervase managed him easily.

Gervase's cock rammed Anatole's prostate, and he wailed afresh, his hand moving frantically on his own cock. The burning pain melded with the warm pleasure, till one was indistinguishable from the other.

His Master rammed him down all the way, spiking the willing slave on his dick. Knocking Anatole's hands away, Gervase grabbed his throbbing hard-on and stroked brutally. "Squeeze!" He demanded. "Suck me with your ass."

Whimpering, Anatole flexed the muscles of his back passage, milking the hard flesh buried in his core. Gervase bit his back as he came, filling the tight channel with hot seed. A moment later Anatole came when Gervase gave his scrotum a twist, splashing the floor for several feet with his spunk.

Gervase's softened prick slid out quickly at that angle. He noted a smear of blood on his cock, and said, "Anatole, dear boy, you'd best use a medicated enema tonight. I think I tore you a little."

"Yes?" Anatole did not sound concerned. "Perhaps you are right. You'll have to be more careful than that with Trehn-tonne, my dear. You do not want to leave traces."

Gervase smiled. "Don't worry. I think I can control myself enough to be cautious. He's worth it."