Tricks of the Trade
“Mobile, keys, Carte Orange; six-pack, lube, cock… everything in place.” In scanty full gear, Mark slung his brown duffel coat on and headed for the door. He half-opened the door, switched the lights off and groped in his pocket for condoms. “Mobile, Carte, lube, rubbers…” he tucked his hand in his pants and stroked his penis upright, “cock.” His manmeat was already getting thick, as in anticipation of what was to come. He was not used to wearing a jockstrap, but this was a requirement, and he was somewhat getting a funny feel which in a way pleased him.
He walked along the hall and down the stairs swiftly, and got out of the building and into the strong cold mistral. He slid one key down either secret pocket along the hemline of his coat, fastened his collar and walked in the direction of the nearest metro station. He was to ride for about twenty-two minutes, let alone the two connections, then get off atMontmartre. A mere two blocks from there was his final destination tonight.
Dong went the bell, shortly after which Laurent (for some reason he had insisted on being called Lorenzo) emerged into the porch clad in a thick cheap mauve robe loosely open over a flannel shirt and matching pants. He was wearing slippers; oh how Mark hated slippers! Two miss-kisses, French-fashion on either side of Lorenzo’s warm face, as Mark nearly pushed past him into the half-light of the old building. “Hi, love,” welcomed Lorenzo. “Ah, Love would do for an extra hundred francs, as well as Lorenzo and any further puppy talk,” murmured Mark. Lorenzo’s falsetto sank to a whisper “Or-gright zen, an extra hunzred it will be.” Lorenzo nodded in the direction of the stairs, and Mark followed silently, his hands still thrust deep in his pockets.
As they entered the flat, the air was warm and cosy, and there was a smell of patchouli. Mark flung his duffel onto a chair and took a first deep breath in the dimly lit sitting-room. “Coffee or tea, lovey-dovey awhile, roll one down, stab the poof up his sad arse, a sip, a second fuck if anything, and off home safe you go,” Mark kept thinking to himself. Good old Lorenzo seemed to have thought otherwise; he produced a deep dish brimming with chocolates, candied cherries and chocolate-smothered bunches of raisins. “Coffee?” he offered. “Dark, please,” Mark replied as he pretended to be delighting in the treat which, lavish though it was, made the inexperienced hooker feel awkward.
Despite anxious expectations, time danced away into the night, bite after bite, and sip after sip of a tickly amber liqueur Lorenzo had brought along with the coffee. Mark loosened up, resolved to enjoy the sojourn, and got closer to his host. Lorenzo smelled of baby oil, and certainly he tasted soft and sweet, as Mark licked the side of his neck up and down and into his ear. Lorenzo felt faint shivers down his spine as Mark nibbled on his earlobe, and Mark himself felt a twinge in his groin. He gestured for the man to get straight down to business, as he unzipped his jeans and let his rod pop out in all its glory for Lorenzo to have.
Something must have got badly wild along the way, for not long after he found himself riding Lorenzo as he held a firm grip on the brass bars on the headboard. In a split second that felt elastic, Mark leant his head backwards while he thrust deep into Lorenzo’s quivering body. The old body let go of him, plopped down onto the mattress, and he himself passed out.
When he came to, he found himself face-up, his wrists and ankles tied tight spread-eagled to the bars at the head and foot of the bed. He must have slept it off for a nice while, for Lorenzo had had the time to change into net stockings and a fluffy wig done into a bouffant. “Oh, zhere you are, Love,” whispered Laurent as if to himself. Mark still felt numb from drinking, and he mumbled “What’s this now?” “Shh…” winked Laurent through thick fake eyelashes. “Lorenzo will now show Marky some nice tricks,” he spurred as he fastened a strap-on dildo round his fat hips below his tired old cock.