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Clean Sweep:


The Further Adventures of Clive,


the Leather Hairdresser


Author: NA27

Fandom: Original

Pairing(s): Clive/Trenton

Warnings: Dom/sub relationship, non-con, underage, spanking and shaving

Spoilers: none

Summary: The path of True Love is never smooth.


That goes double if you're an underage boy in love with a rampanatly sexual Dominant who just happens to run a hair salon.


Trenton Vittelli meets Clive when he is only fourteen, just beginning to awaken to his own sexuality. Love at first sight, at least on Trenton's part. Clive isn't exacty uninterested, but his scruples are toughter than the leather he wears, and he won't touch the boy till he's of age.


In the meantime, Clive encourages Trenton to explore the world, and life. On a trip to Paris, there are some very unpleasant results.


Will Trenton and Clive finally find true happiness? As Clive would say:


"Good God, Precious, I'm not going to tell you! Read the damn thing."

Nominated Category:

Best Original Fic - Slash


Chapter 1: Jailbait


His name was Trenton Vittelli, and he first met Clive when he was fourteen years old. He and his mom had moved into Metropolis about a year before, migrating in from the suburbs when the upkeep on the house had become too much.


Trenton's father had died when he was nine, and Mom had tried running her own little hair salon in the garage. They'd limped along on what she could bring in and Dad's pension, but then last year the zoning commission had gotten pissy. Some of the neighbors (the same one's who ran garage sales every weekend) complained about having a commercial enterprise in the neighborhood, and Mom had to shut down. Whatever job she could get, the salary seemed to get eaten up in transportation expenses, uniform costs, etc.


The house started falling apart, and she would have had to dip into Dad's insurance money to fix it. There was no way she was going to do that: she had tagged that money for Trenton's college.


Trenton told her she didn't need to worry--he fully intended to get an athletic scholarship. His Mom thanked him, but said she wasn't sure how many swimming scholarships there were out there, and they'd hang on to the money, just in case. So they moved to the city, took a small apartment in a run down, but respectable section of town, and Mom went looking for work. She was thrilled beyond belief when she got a job at Attitudes. According to her, it was the salon. Rather peculiarly for it's time, it catered to both men and women, and it had The Rep. That meant that it was the chic place to have your hair done.


Oh, there were the more high toned, snobby places. There you practically had to present a family tree to get an appointment. Attitudes was different. You never knew who you'd find there, said Mrs. Vittelli. She went for an interview in the morning and ended up working the afternoon on a trial basis. By the time work ended she had washed or cut or permed an actress on hiatus from a top tv show, an editor for a major publishing house, a baker who promised her a recipe for brownies that were guaranteed to send anyone into chocolate overload, and a bag boy from the local deli who showed her a rather raunchy tattoo on his hip. She was ecstatic, they were happy with her work, and she was hired.


The best thing about Attitudes, his Mom confided that first evening, was the owner, Mr. Clive. Well, Clive. He didn't seem to have any other name, so he said there was no use for the title. Clive was just fascinating, to hear her tell it. He supervised everything, but only took care of a small number of exclusive clients himself. *Must be nice*, Trenton thought. Anyway, if his Mom liked him, he must be okay.


Mom had been working there three months when Trenton first came down to walk her home. They lived only a few blocks from the shop and she usually walked home on fine days, but the days were getting shorter. Dark came more quickly, and Trenton didn't want her walking home alone in the dusk.


The front part of the store was empty when he came in. A muted bell announced his arrival. He could see the last customer in back, having her hair carefully arranged by a narrow little redhead. The cosmetologist glanced at him and called. "Clive? Someone came in, and I'm past my wrists in Clara's hair. Could you...?"


"Certainly, ducks."


A man came out of the back and sort of flowed up to the front. He halted behind the counter with a polite smile, and Trenton tried not to gape. He was wearing tight suede pants that were almost the same dark gold color of his thick, wavy hair. He wore an open vest of the same material, showing a smooth, well muscled chest. The only variation in color of his attire was the shiny, knee high black boots. This guy only needed a scimitar on his hip to look ready to swash some serious buckle, but somehow it didn't look in the least ridiculous.


Clive waited patiently while the boy on the other side of the counter took a good, long look. That was fine by him, it gave him an opportunity to do the same, and the view was very nice. Mid to late teens, he judged. About five-seven, around Clive's own height, but bound to get taller. He had a lean, lanky build, but carried himself gracefully. Large hands and feet (oh, what the old wives tales made of those measurements). He had a handsome enough face, moving slowly out of the realm of puppyishness, and quite extraordinary lime green eyes. Oh, and the hair.


Clive caught himself before he sighed. It was such a beautiful, thick crop of lush mahogany brown curls. With the right light you wouldn't be able to tell if it was brown, blonde, or red. Oh, he'd like to get his hands on that hair, and maybe the body it was attached to. But of course, that all depended. Since the teen angel didn't seem inclined to say anything, Clive said, "Well. And who's little boy are you?"


Those pretty, pretty green eyes blinked. "Uh, Lynette Vittelli's."


Clive started. "You mean you're little Trenton?"


Trenton groaned. "Has Mom been doing her baby boy thing again?"


"She has. I would have expected you in jammies with feet on." Clive came around the counter and offered his hand. "I'm Clive."


Trenton shook hands. "I came to walk my Mom home." He craned his head, peering at the interior. "Where is she?"


"She's just finishing rearranging some stock in the back. She'll be out in a minute or two. Have a seat."


He gestured toward one of the nicely upholstered chairs in the waiting are, and Trenton dropped into one. "Man, these are nice, not like those plastic racks they have in most places these days."


Clive arched an eyebrow disdainfully. "Please. I don't buy anything unless I can afford something decent. There's no need to settle for crap when you can buy all right and work your way up to fabulous. Would you like some coffee?" He went to a small coffee station. "Last pot of the day, and relatively fresh."


"Uh, sure."


Clive regarded him with the barest hint of a smirk. "How do you take it?"


Trenton hesitated. What was the most mature way to drink coffee? "Black," he said decisively. Clive poured two cups, and handed him one. He sipped the dark brew, watching Trenton.


Trenton took a small sip. He managed not to spit it out, but only barely. Clive took the cup away, laced the brew heavily with creamer and sugar, then handed it back. Trenton sipped again, and sighed with relief. "Silly move, Trenton. When you're inexperienced about something it's better to confess it than to try and bull ahead and fool someone." Clive settled into the chair next to Trenton, and slumped comfortably, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles. The leather of the boots squeaked quietly. "What school do you go to?" he asked casually.


"Laniard." Trenton took another gulp of the coffee. It tasted pretty good fixed like this.


Clive's eyebrows went up. "Ah, the junior high."


Trenton wanted to slap himself. "I mean Metro High. I used to go to Laniard. I start Metro in a couple of weeks."


"Hmm." Clive tilted his cup to get the last few drops, then licked his lips. "Fresh-man, huh?" The way Clive said that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "So, what are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"


"Almost fifteen." *Well, in six months.*


"My, you young ones grow up so quickly these days. I must admit..." Clive's gaze raked over the lanky teenager. "you're remarkably mature for your age. Physically, that is. I would have thought you were at least sixteen, maybe seventeen at a stretch."


"I've had people tell me I look eighteen," he said proudly. Well, some of his friends had said that.


Clive was shaking his head. "They're fooling themselves. You ought to have UNDERAGE stamped on your forehead."


Trenton felt unaccountably hurt. "Why?"


Clive stood up. One boot nudged Trenton's tennie-clad foot. "To protect the adult population from embarrassment and possible federal prosecution."


Trenton scowled in confusion. "I don't get it."


Clive sighed. "That's what makes you so dangerous, dear." He leaned over and whispered in Trenton's ear. "You're jailbait, Lynette's baby boy." Then he walked toward the back calling, "Lynn, hon, your handsome little offspring is here. Come and get him before he gives the not-so-innocent a heart attack."


Trenton felt confused, and thought that maybe Clive was laughing at him, a little. That didn't stop him from admiring the way those suede-painted haunches moved. Clive must work out, he decided.


His mother came to the front, pulling on her coat. "Sweetie, you didn't have to do this. Clive would have seen I got home safely." They both glanced back. Clive, leaning in the doorway to his private station, lifted a hand and wiggled fingers at them cheerfully. "He's such a dear man."


"Yeah, he seems pretty nice." Trenton held the door for his mother to pass through, preparing to follow her out. As she stepped onto the pavement, he said, "Mom, what does jailbait mean?" He ran into her when she stopped abruptly.


Chapter 2: Revelation


Trenton made it a point to walk his mother home from then on. Any time he wasn't busy with swimming practise or absolutely snowed under with homework, he showed up at the shop around closing time. He was doing it for his Mom, of course. The fact that Clive was usually there, and usually spent a few minutes talking to him, was totally irrelevant. Totally.


Trenton quickly came to the conclusion that Clive was the coolest person on the face of the earth. He could talk about absolutely anything--sports, music, movies... Of course, there were times that Trenton felt like Clive was speaking a different language.


Once Trenton found out that Clive had cut the hair of a star who was now playing the lead in the hottest western on tv. Clive had said dismissively, "Gorgeous, but a real bitch." This had confused the hell out of Trenton. After all, this was an actor, not an actress. He'd mentioned that, rather hesitantly, to Clive, and had received a smirk. "You don't have to have boobs to be a bitch, darling. Believe me, Miss Thing qualifies."


Clive's wardrobe was a never ending source of awe. There was a steady stream of denim, leather, suede, and silk. For awhile, during the colder months, there were flannel shirts, but always worn unbuttoned over a bare chest in the shop. Clive called it 'getting in touch with my inner lumberjack'.


When he actually was fifteen, Trenton got up enough nerve to ask Clive where he bought his leather. Clive regarded him thoughtfully. "I could tell you, Trenton, but it's rather expensive. Aren't you saving?"


Trenton blushed. "Well, yeah--for college expenses. Even if I get a scholarship, there's gonna be extras. But I thought, maybe one pair..."


Clive shook his head. "You shouldn't. It's not really your style."


Trenton felt bewildered, as he often did with Clive. "I didn't know I had a style."


"Certainly you do. It's 'clean cut, wholesome young stud next door'. You're doing fine with the jeans, tees, and shorts. I even think one of those rather hideous Hawaiian shirts would suit you." Clive smoothed a hand consideringly over Trenton's shoulders. "No suits and jackets, though. Not unless it's one of those candy colored prom formals." His hand slid down Trenton's chest. "I think you'd look rather delicious in one of those. Enough to make a prom queen... of any persuasion... breathless." He gave the frozen boy a pat before stepping away. "Let admirers give you the leather, and save it for special occasions."


Well, that made no sense. Clive had refered to him as a 'stud'. Trenton hardly felt qualified. Sure, he'd started dating recently, but it was no big thing. He dated because that was what guys his age did. The 'saving for college' thing was a good excuse not to date too often. If a guy was on a budget he couldn't be reasonably expected to spend too much time escorting a girl around. And as for letting admirers buy him anything...


Trenton never met a girl that wanted to spend money on him. Truth be told, he didn't really enjoy the dating too much. He didn't like having to make all the decisions about where to go, what to do, what to eat--but that was pretty much how things were set up. That's what all the manners books and social ettiquette films said--the guy was in charge. The girl might make a suggestion, but meekly accepted his directives.


Trenton just didn't feel comfortable telling someone else what to do. Maybe that was why he went along with what Clive had pronounced, and didn't try to go changing his wardrobe.


The months flowed by. Trenton passed fifteen and started edging toward sixteen. He went to school, practised swimming, studied, made a few good friends. Some Saturdays he would take his books down to Attitudes, sit in one of the chairs in front, and study. He became well known to the regulars, and was greeted affectionately by men and women alike. He was sort of adopted as a mascot.


Trenton got kind of curious about Clive and his 'special' clients. There seemed to be no set pattern to who Clive accepted into his private station. There were men and women, young to middle aged. Even one lady that Trenton would have classified as elderly, who had the most beautiful silvery white hair Trenton had ever seen.


They'd disappear into Clive's station. After awhile they would emerge with fabulous hair and a rather dazed, but happy, look on their faces. Clive would always be in a fantastic mood afterwards. Once or twice he even pinched Trenton's cheek playfully.


One day when Clive had taken a pretty redhead back, Trenton had taken the excuse of watching his Mom work to go sit back near the station. She was working at a place right by the entrance to the mysterious sanctum, so Trenton had a good excuse to be close to it. He leaned his head against the wall in an attitude of bored waiting, pressing his ear to it.


You couldn't hear all that much over the salon chatter, running water, and hairdriers, but you could hear enough to tell that more than haircutting was going on in there. Simple cosmetology could not evoke such grunts and moans. The little redhead came out with a new shag hairdo, a bruised looking mouth, and a dreamy expression.


Trenton peeked into the private room after she left. Clive was standing in front of the far mirrors, smoothing wrinkles that hadn't been there before out of his leather pants. He caught Trenton's eyes in the mirror, and winked at him.


Trenton sat back with a huge blush rising in his cheeks. Wow. Clive had actually 'done it' with that woman back there, in broad daylight. Imagine, having sex in the middle of the day. Imagine Clive having sex in the middle of the day. The very thought made Trenton get stiff.


Which was why he was glad he had a textbook to open across his lap when Clive strolled out. He patted Trenton's flushed cheek. "Better than the Saturday matinee at the Starland, hm?"


Trenton ducked his head. "I wasn't... uh... I was just sitting here, and..."


"Don't sweat it, pet. Anyone who goes back into that room knows that there's going to be specualtion on the outside."


Trenton's face was about at hip level. There was a small wrinkle in the satiny black leather just where the hips began to curve into the ass. Trenton pointed, fingertip not quite daring to graze the material, and whispered, "You missed a wrinkle." Then, near horrified at his own boldness, he quickly bit the offending fingertip.


Clive stared down at him, watching him nibble his finger. The hairdresser's tongue darted out briefly to wet his lips. "Thank you so much for pointing that out, Trent." He carefully smoothed away the wrinkle. "There. That better?" Trenton nodded silently. Clive touched his fingers under Trenton's chin, lifting it lightly. "Very conscious of the little things, aren't you, dear? That's good."


Trenton had to hold himself to keep from leaning into the touch. And, somehow, he thought that Clive knew that, and it pleased him. That made Trenton happy, to think that Clive was pleased with him for any reason, because Trenton was fairly certain that he was in love with Clive.


This confused him a lot. He didn't think he was queer. He liked girls well enough, but didn't get horny excited over them like the other guys. He could admire a nice rack or a good set of legs, but it was more on an aesthetic basis than a hormonal one. He didn't find himself getting all hot and bothered by his friends and the other guys in the gym locker room, either. He liked looking more than he did with the girls, but the guys...


They were just too much like himself. It was confusing. 'Sex Ed' didn't help much. It was mostly warnings about using protection, or better yet waiting till you were married. They showed scare films about what could happen to you if you got a disease and didn't treat it. Yuck. In one of the films about 'sexual developement' it was mentioned in passing that boys and girls often went through a 'crush' stage where they might become infatuated with one of their own sex, usually in a kind of hero worship relationship. But don't worry. These are a natural stage, and you will soon transfer your affections to a more suitable person. When you mature, your attentions will fixate naturally on a suitable mate.




This seemed so odd that he'd mentioned it to his mother. Ever since the 'jailbait' incident, Mrs. Vittelli had known that Trenton needed a male authority figure to talk to. She was a liberal and well informed woman, but there were some things that her generation just didn't discuss with their children, especially not mother to son, so she encouraging him to talk to Clive.


Clive, ever honest, had gently explained to her his interests. She'd nodded, and told him that she wasn't quite as middle-American blind as he seemed to think. She trusted him to be an honorable man, and if her son came to him with questions, she trusted him to be honest, and not take advantage. Of course, she went on, when Trenton was old enough to make up his own mind... She shrugged. There hadn't been any girlfriends hanging about. Her son was a sweet, decent, kind boy. If he wasn't interested in girls, she could deal with that, perhaps better than Trenton himself could.


One afternoon just after his sixteenth birthday, Trenton was helping by sweeping up the floors at Attitudes. There were few customers. Clive was flipping through a new hair design magazine, muttering to himself and making notes on a legal pad. Trenton looked up when the bell over the door jingled, and stopped dead when he saw the new customer.


They had male customers, all right, but this was the most masculine male customer he'd seen. The guy must've been six foot three, and two-twenty or two-thirty of muscle. Just muscle and sinew, all packed in tight and hard. He was wearing a gym outfit of shorts and a tank top, and there was just so much of him there--slabs, and plains, and bunches. Look in the encyclopedia under 'bodybuilder' and you'd find his picture.


He went to the counter and slapped it with a hand roughly the size of a dinner plate. Clive looked up sharply at the sound, a frown on his face. It melted into a grin when he saw the big man at the counter. "Tuscon! You musclebound bastard!" He hopped up and went around the counter.


Clive and Tuscon did a variation of the slap-hug-grab-yer-ass-damn-it's-been-ages greetings. At one point the bodybuilder lifted the smaller hairdresser clean off his feet. Clive just laughed. When he was set back down, Clive grabbed his arms and shook him, then ran a hand over the dark, half inch stubble that covered the man's head. "Getting kinda shaggy there, Toose." Trenton watched in stunned amazement as Clive casually hiked up the man's tank top and ran a hand over his massive chest. "Pelt's starting to grow in, too."


"Yeah, that's why I'm here. Got a contest tomorrow, and I was hoping you could fit me in."


"For you, of course. Step on back to the station and I'll get what I need." Clive went back into the storeroom, and Tuscon headed for his private station. Trenton had stepped to the side to allow passage, and was watching him, open mouthed.


Tuscon noticed. *Well, well, well.* He stopped near the boy with the broom. This was worth taking a moment over. He regarded Trenton closely. *Ooo, that's a sweet little mouthful of white meat. I didn't know Clive went for 'em that young.* "Hi, kiddo."


Trenton gulped. His voice was faint. "Hi."


"You Clive's... friend?" The boy nodded. Tuscon reached out and slowly drew his finger down the center of the boy's chest, letting it come to rest on his waistband. "You just Clive's friend, or do you make new friends?"


Clive came out of the storeroom carrying a box of supplies. He frowned when he saw the pair, and went to them. Trenton was staring at Tuscon, mesmerized. Tuscon was practically licking his lips, and about a half minute away from digging his hand into the boy's fly. Clive said, softly but clearly, "Tuscon, take your hand off the pretty little chicken."


Tuscon's hand dropped away. "Aw, Clive..."


"I'm doing you a favor, moron. He's sixteen."


Tuscon blinked, then said sadly, "Aw, shit. Ain't it always the way?"


"Don't worry--I'll make it up to you. Get in there." As Tuscon went back into the station, Clive said gently, "Trenton, darling, close your mouth. You might have more than a fly get in, if you catch my drift." Trenton's mouth snapped shut as he turned scarlet. Clive shrugged. "Don't let it bother you, pet. Tuscon has that effect on a lot of people. He's a dear, but much too impulsive. I keep telling him he has to check IDs if he doesn't want to end up pumping iron in jail on a statutory charge."


Clive went back into the station, shutting the door. Trenton finished sweeping, but after he finished he couldn't resist going back and sitting by the door again. There were fewer customers today, and most of them were up near the front of the room. That meant that... um... accoustics were clearer.


"There... once again your scalp approaches baby's butt status."


"Thanks, Clive. Not a nick, as usual. You're the only person in the world I'd trust near me with a cut throat razor." Trenton shuddered. "I had my legs and back waxed in Frisco last week. All I really need is the arms and chest."


"I'll be the judge of that. Strip." Clive's voice wasn't friendly and jocular anymore. It was hard. Tuscon didn't protest. The door was too thick to hear the rustling of clothing, but Trenton assumed that Tuscon was taking off his clothes. Trenton couldn't himself imaginge disobeying Clive when he used that tone of voice.


Trenton heard the muted clunk of Clive's boots, and imagined him walking around a stripped Tuscon, examining him. He started to get a hard-on, and crossed his arms over his lap.


"Arms, yes. Chest, yes. Have to have all those nice muscles show up clean and clear when you oil up and pose for the judges, don't we? But what about this?" There was a moan that made the hair on the back of Trenton's neck stand on end. "You can't have that kind of stubble, Toose. Not with that obscene little posing pouch you use during competition. I'd be ashamed if anyone knew I let you leave here like that. And what about your balls?"


There was another groan, longer than the first. Tuscon, when he spoke, didn't sound as brash as he had talking to Trenton. "Please Clive."


"What did you call me, Toose? You know the rules."


Breathless. "I'm sorry, sir. Please, sir."


"Please what?"


"Please keep doing that."


"Maybe if you behave yourself. Lie down and spread your legs."


There was the creak of Tuscon climbing up on Clive's leather upholstered chair/table. There was a barely audible hissing sound. Trenton was at a loss at first to place it, then he remembered what he'd glimpsed in the box Clive was carrying. There had been several cans of shaving cream. There was silence, but a loaded silence. Once Clive said, "Tuscon, stop fidgeting. You're going to make me regret not tying you down. Next time you'll be trussed tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey."


"Promises, promises." The other man's voice was thick.


There was a smacking sound. Clive's voice was stern. "I mean it, Toose. You don't want any fresh cuts when you go on stage tomorrow, do you? Now hold really still while I get around your nipples, if you don't want to lose one."




"Yes, yes, I'm joking. Big baby." Trenton strained his ears, and imagined that he could hear a rasping scrape. "Done. Now to get rid of those pesky old pubes." The hissing sound again. "Relax, dear, I'm going to be using disposables on this. I'd practically have to try to cut you with them. Okay, Toose, you know the drill. Hold yourself up out of the way while I work."


Silence again. Trenton's mind was working overtime supplying details, though. The crossed arms weren't cutting it. He grabbed a towel and dropped it in a wad on his lap for camoflage.


"Tuscon, don't you dare play with yourself while I'm doing this. I said these things weren't risky, but it's still possible for you to give yourself an impromptue vasectomy if you move too hard at the wrong time." Trenton was sweating with horror and arousal. He shoved his fists down on the towel. "There. Here, wipe yourself off while I get the oil."


"Sir, are you gonna...?"


"Shut up, Toose. You need this to make sure the skin isn't irritated, you know that." A moment of silence. "Of course, it also makes it easier for me to do this."


There was a long, shivery moan, more silence, then another moan. "I'm ready, sir."


"You're ready when I say you're ready, and I want to get another finger up in you to be sure you're stretched out nice and open. All that weightlifting keeps you wound up tight, Toose. It'd be like trying to fuck my way through a brick wall if I didn't loosen you up." More silence, than a smack. "Turn over, and spread."


Trenton leaned his head against the wall, huddling his body toward it. He grabbed hold of the chair arm, because if he didn't he was going to grab his cock and start beating off right there in public. There was an animal growl, and a wet, meaty sound. It continued as a steady smacking, mingled with groans and faint words. Trenton lifted his feet off the floor, curling up in the chair. His prick was trying to poke a hole in his pants.


"Aah, damn. Oh, fuck me, sir. Fuck me hard!"


"You don't have to ask, honeybun. Lift your ass. Yeah, like that." The tempo of the slapping increased emphatically.


With a groan, Trenton bolted for the men's room. Inside, he barely managed to lock the door before falling to his knees. Ripping open his fly, he hauled out his weeping, straining cock and masturbated furiously. He came in about a minute, spraying the tiles with thick jets of semen. After he emptied his balls, he collapsed over on his side, panting, staring off blankly.


*That's it,* he thought dazedly. *I'm gay.*



Chapter 3: Discovery


Trenton lay there for several minutes, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. It almost had, when a knock on the door sped it up again. "Trenton?" It was Clive's voice. Trent's heart kicked into overdrive.


"Huh?" Trenton struggled back into a sitting position.


"Are you okay in there?"


"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine."


"You don't sound fine. Open up."


Complete, paralyzing terror hit Trenton. He looked at the puddles and runnels of spunk spread on the tile floor before him. Maybe he could convince Clive it was hair conditioner? No, probably not.


"I'm okay. What's the problem?" He stretched and caught the end paper towel dangling from the roll hanging by the sink. Jerking, he managed to pull the roll off the spindle so that it bumped off his head and rolled across the room. Swearing under his breath, he ripped off several towels, wadded them, and started trying to wipe up his come.


"Your Mom says you ran in here like a scalded cat. Are you sick?"


"No, no. Nothing like that." He scooped and wiped frantically. Fuck! The shit was harder to wipe up than raw egg. It just seemed to scoot and smear.


"Trenton, you sound really off. I want you to open this door right now."


"Can't right now. Give me a minute." One handful of towels went in the trash. Trenton grabbed some more, hastily jerking off a long streamer. The roll spun and danced. He scrubbed the floor wildly.


"Can you open the door?" Clive sounded concerned. "Trent, you're scaring me."


"No problem. No sweat," Trenton babbled, stuffing the dirtied paper towels in the trash, nearly filling it. He staggered to his feet, grabbing up the paper towel roll. Looking at the spindle, he realized that there was no way in hell he was coordinated enough at the moment to put it back, and instead slammed the roll down on the counter.


"I swear, if you don't open this door, I'm gonna kick it in! I can, Trenton. I've done it before."


"Cripes, hang on!" Trenton was reaching for the lock when he realized that he was still unzipped, cock dangling free. "Fuck!" He stuffed himself in and zipped up, reaching for the door.


He got it open to find Clive braced against the opposite wall, leg cocked up, ready to kick. Clive lowered his leg and stepped in quickly, grabbing Trenton's arms. He looked the boy up and down, turning him roughly to scan for damage. Then he grabbed Trenton's face, brushing his hair up out of his eyes, and stared into them.


"Your pupils are dilated." He leaned close, squeezed Trenton's jaw so that his mouth popped open, and sniffed. "No booze, no pot. Trenton, did you take anything?"


Trenton tried to shake out of Clive's grasp. "No! Geez, you think I'd do that?" He didn't escape--Clive had him too tight. He was probably going to have bruises. The thought of Clive leaving a mark on him, his mark, made his cock twitch again, and he bit his lip to stifle a moan.


Clive went still, looking at him in surprise. He said slowly, "No, Trenton, I really don't think that." Clive watched the way the boy's teeth were mauling his lush bottom lip, and said, "It's not that I don't trust you, but you worried me--rushing into the bathroom like that, so distressed, and not wanting to open up, and then acting mysterious and embarrassed. There's only three possibilities I could come up with. You were sick, you were drinking or doing drugs, or you were..." He smiled slowly.


His eyes flicked to the shiny spot on the floor. Trenton froze. Clive released his hold on one arm, bent over and extracted a paper towel between thumb and forefinger. He held it up and examined it, giving it a little sniff. His smile expanded as he dropped it back in the wastebasket. "or else you were indulging in a bit of spontaneous self abuse. Really, Trenton, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Perfectly natural, especially at your age."


Trenton slumped. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or defeated. "You won't tell my Mom, will you?"


"No. Let's just blame it on that hot dog you had for lunch. You really shouldn't have chili, relish, and sauerkraut, you know."


"Thanks Clive."


"But that does leave me with one question."


Trenton eyed him apprehensively. "Yeah?"


Clive's grip on his arm loosened. He slid his hand down, till his thumb stroked the tender skin at the crook of Trenton's elbow. "Exactly what it was that inspired such desperate measures? You should be about past the spontaneous boner when the breeze blows stage. What got you so hot and bothered, Trent?" Trenton couldn't speak. He stared at the thumb smoothing over his skin, then looked up at Clive silently.


Clive searched the beautiful green eyes, glazed into mint crystal, and nodded. "We need to have a talk, Trent. Ask your mother if you can stay over and have dinner with me. I'll see that you get home."



Chapter 4: Discussion


Clive put Mrs. Vittelli in a cab after they closed the shop, kissing her cheek. "Don't worry, I won't keep him out too late."


"I'm not worried, Clive." She gave her son a kiss. "Honey, are you sure you're okay? You usually have such iron digestion. Maybe that hot dog was bad. I don't want you eating from that stand anymore."


He nodded meekly. "Yes, Mom."


"Clive, don't let him overdo it. Feed him something bland, just in case."


Clive put a hand on Trenton's shoulder. "Don't worry, Lynette." He squeezed lightly. "I'll treat him like my own."


Mrs. Vittelli didn't notice the stare her son turned on the older man. "Good. You have your key, right sweetie? I'm going straight to bed after supper. I'm worn off my feet."


They waved the woman goodbye. Clive zipped up his black leather (naturally) jacket, then reached over and pulled the zipper on Trenton's windbreaker the rest of the way up to his chin. "And if you were mine, I wouldn't want you catching cold. Come on. There's a nice place nearby you ought to get familiar with."


As they walked, Trenton kept shooting glances at him. Finally he said, "Um, Clive? About this afternoon--I'm sorry I ..."


"Not right now, Trent, my love. Even I don't generally discuss masturbation on the street. We'll have plenty of time to talk when we get where we're going."


Trenton wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He'd been secretly hoping that they might go back to Clive's place. The thought left him breathless. He certainly hadn't expected to be taken into a club. The small neon sign over the entrance said 'Lavender's Green'.


The place was almost empty inside--it would be a couple of hours before the evening crowd started to arrive. Clive led him over to a bar, where a slender man with salt and pepper hair was setting up drink garnishes. The man stopped when he spotted Clive, a grin splitting his face.


"Hairman! Haven't seen you for weeks."


Clive shrugged apologetically. "Busy, busy, Toddy, m'man. Can't be quite my idle self since you-know-who went home. Still get a steady stream of business thanks to her."


"Knowhacha mean. It's not as simple since she started that mixed drink craze. But it's fun, and more profitable. What can I do for you and..." He trailed off, eyeing Trenton dubiously. "Clive, is he with you?"


"Yes, he is, and don't get your knickers in a twist. None of that is going on, you gutter minded drink dispenser. He's the son of a friend, and we need a cozy place for a man-to-man talk. And don't you dare laugh, or I'll do something the unpleasant sort of nasty to you."


"Oh, hey, no! Who'd be better for a man-to-man than you, Clive?" Toddy said in a conciliatory tone. "But, uh, isn't he a smidgen on the... uh..."


"He's a sixteen on the quail scale, and he's not here to be besotted or debauched. I'm not going to risk your license, Toddy. I just want to get supper back in the kitchen. That's considered private sector, so there'll be no problem."


"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place? Sure, go on back. Tell Elise that it's on the house." He gestured toward some swinging doors in the wall at the back of the bar.


Trenton followed Clive through the doors. They emerged in a good sized kitchen. An enormous black woman was tending several steaming pots on the stove. She tossed down her spoon with a squeal when she saw Clive, and enveloped him in a mammoth hug. "Where you been, pretty man? How you 'spect me to get along without a regular dose of your sunshine?"


"Sorry, Elise, darling. How are the braids holding up?" He examined the woman's hair critically. It was done up in dozens of small braids that gradually blended in back into one large one. "Very nice. You come back and see Trina when you need them done again."


"Wouldn't go nowhere else. So..." she beamed at Trenton. "Who's this cute lil' thing?"


Trenton rolled his eyes in a combination of good nature and exasperation. "Everyone keeps calling me little. For heavens sake, I'm grown up. Almost."


Elise's chuckle was as dark and smooth as her skin. "Oh, that's a youngun all right--getting his back up about bein' called little."


"He's just a friend, as in really just a friend," Clive said firmly. "We're going to borrow your table for awhile and get supper, if you have enough to spare."


She planted fists on ample hips and looked at him sternly. "Have enough? Clive, you tryin' to insult me?" She snorted. "Have enough. Tonight we got spaghetti with meat sauce. Even put in some mushrooms for the fancy crowd. That do you, or I could make you some hamburgers?"


Clive was taking off his jacket and hanging it on a wall peg. "I'd say go for the spaghetti, Trent. You won't regret it."


"Okay. That would be great. Thank you, ma'am."


Elise laughed again, and pinched Trenton's cheek. "And he's polite, too. He's lots nicer than some of the one's I seen you with, Clive."


Clive was unzipping Trenton's windbreaker. "We're not together, Elise." He pulled off the windbreaker and hung it up. When Trenton looked at him, he said, "Well, I'm sorry, but if you're going to just stand there like a doll, you're going to be treated like one. Sit down." To Elise he said quietly, "You know me better than that. Look at him."


Her expression was affectionate, but shrewd. "I done that, Clive. You're a good man, but you ain't nothin' but a man." Trenton was amazed to see a faint flush creep up Clive's cheeks. "You go on and help yourself to whatever you want to drink from the fridge while I get your plates." To Trenton she said, "You want garlic bread, honey?"


"As much as you'll give me."


She nodded approval. "I just love a boy with a good appetite," and began to prepare the plates.


Clive said, "Go on and have a seat, Trenton." Trenton sat at the well scrubbed table. It was considerably bigger than their kitchen table back home. At one end there was a bowl of freshly sliced mushrooms, the knife still on the little wooden cutting board it rested on.


The hairdresser opened the refrigerator, rummaging inside, and pulled out a beer. "What do you want, Trent?"


"I'll have a beer, too", he said nonchalantly.


"In case you've forgotten, dear boy, and I'm sure you haven't, the legal age to drink is currently eighteen. If you wait till you're legal, you're going to be terribly thirsty. Might I suggest a soft drink?"


Trent sighed. "Any rootbeer?"


"Yes." Clive retrieved another bottle. "You do strike me as a rootbeer sort." He pulled a pocketknife out, unfolded a church key, and opened the bottles. He sat, handing Trenton the rootbeer, then taking a sip of his own beer.


Trenton drank. It tasted good, sweet and fizzy, but he felt he should complain on general principles. "I don't see why I can't have a beer."


Clive smiled, but his eyes were serious. "Trenton, perhaps you are mature enough to handle one beer. But the majority of young men your age are not. They wouldn't stop at just one, They'd... mmmm... overindulge. So the government and the adults of the world, in their infinite wisdom, have set up restriction to protect the majority of the youths in our population. To be fair, the ones who might be ready, just have to wait." He took another pull on the beer. "That's how it is with a lot of things, Trent. Not just booze."


"I could handle it."


Elise set heaping plates of pasta and sauce before each of them, dumping cutlery beside the plates. Then she added a plate piled high with steaming chunks of Italian bread that shone bright, greasy yellow with melted butter, and smelled deliciously of garlic and Parmesan cheese. She ruffled Trenton's hair and said, "Just let me know when you want seconds," and went back to her stove.


Clive took a chunk of bread and tore off a mouthful, groaning happily. Voice muffled, he said, "Elise, when I get far enough ahead, I'm going partners with you in a restaurant. No backing out." He was answered by laughter. "Trenton," Clive shook the crust at him emphatically. "you can't be so selfish."


"Selfish how? I mean, I know it won't hurt me..."


"Have you thought about how flaunting the laws too terribly would hurt others? If you were to have that beer, and someone found out, Toddy could lose his license, even go to jail That would mean LG would shut down, and a lot of people would lose their jobs--Elise, Tinkerbelle, Betty, the band... I could get in trouble, too. And people would whisper about your mother, letting you get into such mischief."


Trenton had been about to fork up some spaghetti, but now he lowered his fork. "But that wouldn't be fair!"


"Life isn't fair, my little innocent. Sometimes we just have to wait."


Trenton sighed, poking dispiritedly at his spaghetti. "We're not just talking about beer, are we Clive?"


"I knew you were a bright boy. Eat that, don't play with it. Food play can be fun, under the right circumstances--with the right person." He closed his eyes for a second, lips quirking, as if remembering something, then looked at Trenton again. "But not at the table."


Trenton shook his fork at Clive. "There you go again. You keep saying things that make me think there's a whole 'nother world out there that I'm not allowed in. I'm getting kinda crazy, Clive."


"That's the natural state of teenagers." Clive started eating. Between mouthfuls he said, "Look, Trent, you really should be clear in your mind about some things. Your sexuality is one of them. Your Mum thinks I might be able to help you sort yourself out, so talk to me."


Trenton started eating, too, mainly as a way to avoid answering. He wasn't allowed. "I mean it. Don't make me get stern on you." He cocked his head, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Or would you like that?" Trenton stared at the table, fingernails nervously scratching the smooth surface. "Talk."


"I'm gay." Trenton slanted a green glance at the older man.


Clive took a swallow of beer. He seemed to be pretty calm about the announcement. "Is this a long standing certainty, or a revelation? Has the conviction grown gradually, or did it... um... come in a blinding flash?"


"Kinda both, I guess. I've been noticing that I've been noticing guys. If you know what I mean."


Clive nodded. "I'm familiar with that. But you have been dating girls, haven't you?"


"Well, yeah. I have some girl friends, but they're not girlfriends."


"Have you done anything about it?"


Trenton flushed. "Kinda personal question, Clive."


"Yes, dear," he said blandly. "I'll be downright fucking rude if I'm trying to help someone I care for."


"I'm sure Mom appreciates it."


"I'm not talking about Lynette, honey." A huge grin split Trenton's face, and Clive shook his head. "Oh, no. Not the 'he likes me, he really likes me' look."


"But you do?"


"Of course I do. God, child, I'm not made of wood. I have a pulse. But I said I care for you. Yes, I think you're yummy. Yes, I'd like to take you back in my station, chain you to the wall..." At Trenton's wide eyed stare he grinned wickedly. "You thought those hooks in the wall were just for coats, didn't you? Chain you to the wall and ravish you insensate." Trenton shivered, despite the warmth of kitchen. "But I care about you enough to resist forbidden fruit. For both our sakes."


Feeling exalted now that he had an admission, Trenton started to shovel down his food. "Okay, I can tell you. You're what made me realize I'm gay. I liked you since... since... since before I knew what liking someone was."


"And that's the problem."


"I don't see any problem ."


"And that's because you are so heartbreakingly young and innocent."


Trenton snorted. "Clive, if you'll remember the state of those paper towels this afternoon..."


"I'm not talking physically, little stud muffinlette. You say you've been fixed on me since you really started thinking about sex." Trent nodded. "That won't do. You need to look around to see what's available. I care about people, deeply. It's even akin to love, but it's not soul mating. Who's to say? It may happen someday, but right now I'm not in the least exclusive."


"I know that. Sheesh, Clive, I've seen the number of people who go back in your private station. I'm not stupid. I can deal with that. It doesn't hurt me knowing you're with other people. It just hurts me knowing I'm not with you."


Clive wiped a piece of bread over his now bare plate, capturing the last of the sauce and popped it in his mouth. "Believe me, treasure. You're not the only one aching. For heaven's sake, will you eat? You'll give Elise a complex."


Elise's voice floated back over her shoulder. "No he won't. Ain't no insult to me if the boy don't eat because he's lovesick."


Clive raised his voice. "Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves."


"You ain't discussin' me."


Trenton, who suddenly found that he was ravenous, finished his pasta in a few gulps and took his plate over to the stove. "Could I have some more, ma'am?"


She took it and began piling it again. "You can have all you want, baby. And call me Elise, save ma'am for your mama."


"I'll try, but it's not easy. Mom's a bear for being polite."


Elise handed over the laden plate. "Well, she's raisin' her a good boy. You gonna make somebody real happy someday."


Trent scowled. "I'm beginning to wonder."


They heard Clive call, "You know, the acrostics in this kitchen are really rather marvelous."


Elise laughed indulgently, nudging Trenton. "Just don't be so impatient, honey." She leaned over and whispered in Trenton's ear. "Clive... he's worth waiting for, ain't he?"


Trenton went back to the table. He managed to scoot his chair a little closer to Clive when he sat down. Clive went to the fridge and got himself a second beer. He watched Trenton working on his second plate of food, and said, "All right, Trent, let's lay the situation out. You find me attractive, as well you should. I find you attractive, which is perfectly logical. However, you are only sixteen, and I am roughly twice that. Now, in ancient Greece, this would not have been a problem. Here and now, it is."


"But couldn't we...?"


Clive made a shushing motion. "We've gone over that. Consequences to others, remember? Not to mention the fact that I wouldn't relish doing jail time. This wouldn't be a secret affair, Trenton. Don't you think other people have already noticed?" Trenton hadn't thought about that. It brought a blush to his cheeks. "Yes, like that. Lord, precious, you color up like an American Beauty rose sometimes."


"Another factor. In case you haven't noticed, Trent, I like my sex with frills. I'm a Dom. To further your education, that means Dominant. That means I call the shots--all the shots. My partners are sometimes playful mundanes, but usually they're true subs--submissives. That means they do exactly what I tell them. Anything."


Trenton suddenly felt overheated. Submission? Turning over complete control? Total surrender of body and self, not having to give any directives or orders, just experiencing? His nipples got hard at the thought. His hand was cool and damp from gripping the chilled rootbeer bottle, and he pressed it to his forehead, and across his closed eyes.


Clive noticed, and pursed his lips. He said softly, "Yes, I had a suspicion. The other problem is that I play hard, Trenton. The concept of a virgin is very sweet, very appealing. But after the length of time this particular little dance has been going on..."


He put his hand on Trent's knee, squeezing. "When this happens, and notice I said when, not if, I'm afraid I might be too... emphatic for you as a virgin, Jade Eyes. You need to get some experience under your belt." He smiled. "Horrid pun intended."


"You mean you want me to have sex with other people?"


"I think you should. Seek out someone closer to your own age. When there's a smaller age span, it isn't viewed quite so baldly. More simple diddling than corrupting."


"But I don't want anyone else."


Clive snorted. "Trent, I may be devastating, but I am not the only desirable man out there. Look, I'm not touching you till you're legal, and that's that."


"Okay, I'll look. But when I'm seventeen..."


"What happens, happens. Nothing till then."


Trenton had worked his way to the bottom of his second plate. All that was left was one long, tomato coated strand. He picked it up by the end and held it high, dangling, catching the end. He lowered half of the strand into his mouth, the closed on it, letting it drop. The strand dangled, and he sucked it slowly up into his mouth, with a muted slurping sound. Clive watched, mesmerized, as the white strand slowly disappeared between Trent's pursed, pouting lips. It disappeared, leaving his mouth smeared with tomato sauce, which he slowly and sensually licked off. Clive sighed. "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"


Trenton grinned.



Chapter 5: Decision




"Paris!" His mother clapped her hands. "Isn't it exciting? Just think, Trenton. Nine whole months in Paris, France."


"I don't want to go."


Lynette Vittelli almost drooped in surprise. "But Trenton, this is such an opportunity. Most boys would give their right arm to be an exchange student in Paris."


"Well, I'm not most boys, and I wouldn't be much good as a swimmer without my right arm, would I?" he said stubbornly.


Mrs. Vittelli tried to be reasonable. "Look, baby, we signed up for this when we moved here, remember? You're lucky to get it. The only reason they're offering at this late a date, and you going to be a junior, is that the one they'd chosen came down with hepatitis. You're next in line. If we don't respond soon, they'll move on to the next candidate."


"Let them, and good luck to them. I don't want to go. Everything I want is right here in Metropolis."


"But it would look so good on your record. It would be a big boost toward that scholarship."


"No, Mom. Maybe I can get a job to help pay tuition if the scholarship doesn't come through. I could take courses at city college at night."


"Trenton! After all we've been through to get you into a good school..." She was starting to tear up.


Trenton sighed remorsefully, and hugged her. "Look, Mom, let's drop this for now, okay? What did you come down for?"


They were at the high school pool--the swim team had a training session earlier that evening. As was his habit lately he'd stayed over to practice on his own. He was getting better and better. The coach was excited. He was talking about Olympic trials next year.


"Oh." She fumbled in her purse and brought out a large manilla envelope, stuffed with paper slips. "I wanted to get you to take these receipts and invoices back to Attitudes for me. I was organizing them for Clive, and was supposed to bring them back, but Tinkerbelle invited me to the movies, and I'd really like to make the next showing. Clive is working late on the books, so you could just drop these off."


*A chance to be with Clive. Alone. At night.* He kept his voice casual as he took the envelope. "Sure Mom. No prob. Have a good time at the show." When she left, he did five more quick laps to burn off the energy caused by his nervous excitement.


The last couple of weeks had been kind of weird. Ever since he found out that Clive found him sexy it had been driving him nuts. In consequence he had been driving Clive crazy. It was only partly intentional. It was just hard to be around the other man without becoming exquisitely aware of his own body and its reaction to the object of his, he now knew, requited lust.


His nipples would get hard when Clive laid a hand on his shoulder. He had to give up tight jeans in favor of baggies because he was half hard all the time, just being around him. Those were the unconscious things. Sometimes he... did things, just wanting Clive to react. He needed to know that he noticed, that it mattered to him. But Clive had been good to his word so far, and nothing had come of it. Despite the talk they'd had, Trenton wanted... needed to make the older man lose control, and take action.


He toweled off sketchily and changed into his street clothes, locked up, and headed for Attitudes. It was deserted downtown. Attitudes was locked and darkened when he arrived, but there was a light shining from Clive's office far in the back. He rapped loudly.


Clive stepped out of the office, looking toward the front with ominous inquiry. When he saw Trenton his expression relaxed a little. He came to the front and opened the door. "Your mother just called to say you'd be here. Come in."


He locked the door behind them and led the boy back to his office. "You have something for me?" Trenton handed over the envelope, and Clive checked the contents briefly. "Yes, all in order. Your mother is a woman to be valued above rubies. I must give her a raise. Now then..." He dropped the envelope on the desk. "What's this about not going to Paris?"


Trenton groaned. "No! Don't tell me she enlisted you, too?"


"And why not? Mothers use all means at their disposal when it comes to the welfare of their children. That's as it should be. I will state this plainly, Trenton--if you let this chance slip by, you are an utter fool."


He scowled. "Well, thanks a lot, when you're..." He bit off his words.


Clive's eyebrows rose. "When I'm what, Trenton?"


"Being so in my business," he mumbled.


"You were about to say 'when you're the reason I'm not going', weren't you, Trent? No. I will not be used as an excuse for you to avoid going out into the world and experiencing life."


Trenton was stung. "That's not true!"


"Isn't it? You say you've been fixed on me since your hormones started to kick in. You think of me as a known quantity. You feel safe with me. Trenton..." He leaned down close to the boy and said softly, "you are so very wrong about that. You don't know me. Not yet."


Trenton could barely breathe. "Then teach me."


Clive blinked slowly, and his hands twitched, but then he took a half step back, turning away. He just stood like that for a moment. Trent thought that maybe if he did something, touched him, it might be enough. It might get him what he wanted, but it would defeat his purpose, because what he wanted most was for Clive to make the first move.


When Clive turned back he said harshly, "What have you been doing to your hair, Trenton?"


"Huh? Nothing."


"Oh, you've been doing something." Clive reached out one finger and gingerly lifted a strand. "Look at it--limp, lifeless, dull. And.." He leaned a little closer and sniffed, then made an angry face. "Chlorine! I can smell it from here! Trenton, you've been swimming without a bathing cap, haven't you?"


Trenton regarded him, round eyed. "Just the last few times."


"Damn it!" Trenton flinched at Clive's roar. "How dare you do that to yourself, boy? What have I told you about that? Those chemicals are sucking the life right out of your hair!"


Oh, crap! Trenton hadn't been thinking. He'd just been so distracted these days. He said meekly, "I'm sorry. I forgot."


"That's no excuse! It's a fucking crime to abuse hair as beautiful as yours so callously." He grabbed Trenton's arm and jerked him up out of the chair, dragging him out into the shop.


"Clive? What're you..."


"Be quiet." He shoved Trenton into a chair at one of the back shampoo stations, flipping on the area light. "You're getting a wash, condition, and hot oil treatment this very minute."


"But I can wash when I get home, and..."


Clive was behind him, and suddenly his hands were in Trenton's hair, gripping tightly, and he stared into Trenton's eyes in the image reflected in the mirror before them. He said, very slowly and precisely, "Trenton. I am very angry with you right now. You will sit quietly while I try to repair the damage you've done. Do you understand me?"


Protest died, and his cock twitched. He said meekly, "Yes Clive."


Clive snapped the chair around and lowered it till Trenton's head was draped over the sink, then he began. He shampooed Trenton's hair twice, his fingers working the lather strongly into ever millimeter of scalp. He rinsed till Trenton's hair squeaked between his fingers, then he slathered on cool, herbal scented conditioner. After cleaning his hands, he said ominously. "I'll be back in a moment. I don't want to find you moved one inch." Trenton stayed as still as a rock, letting the conditioner marinate into his hair, feeling the blood pulse in his crotch.


Clive came back carrying several amber colored plastic tubes. He switched on what looked like a small crock pot, and dropped them in, then he leaned against the wall and just watched Trenton. Trent started to say something, and Clive frowned. Trenton closed his mouth without speaking.


Clive checked his watch, then rinsed out the conditioner. He dropped a towel over Trent's head. "Dry." Trent tousled his hair, then hung the towel around his neck. Clive felt his hair, took the towel, enveloped Trenton's head in it, and rubbed so vigorously Trenton thought that something might shake loose. Then it was back over the sink.


Clive nipped the tips off the tubes with a wicked looking pocket knife, squeezed the contents into Trenton's hair, and massaged it in. He was a little more gentle this time--a little. Finished, he once again leaned back against the wall, waiting for the oil to soak in, watching Trenton.


Trenton watched Clive right back. He looked grim. He kept working his hands together. The oiled flesh made little smacking, hissing sounds in the silent salon, and Trenton was growing harder by the minute--and so was Clive. He couldn't hide anything in the skin tight red leather pants he was wearing this evening, and he didn't seem concerned about it.


Finally Clive shampooed the oil out of Trent's hair. Toweling it roughly again, he examined it closely. He stood close behind Trenton, running strands experimentally through his fingers, bending forward to sniff. He grumbled, "All right. I think I caught it before there was any serious damage. But don't you ever do that again."


Trenton's voice was as soft and humble as he could make it. "I won't." Then he said, even more softly, "Thank you, sir."


Clive's head snapped up, and his gaze met Trenton's in the mirror. Trenton shivered as Clive slowly bared his teeth. He was getting his first look at Clive as a Dom. Clive suddenly reached around and grabbed the boy's collar, hard.


"Are you playing games with me, little boy? You'd better be fucking careful, because I play hard." He let go and spun the chair back to face him so fast that Trenton was dizzy, grabbing the arms. Clive stopped the chair with a jerk that threw Trenton against its side. Before he could get reoriented Clive was looming over him. A leather clad knee slammed into the chair next to his left thigh, and Clive's hands came down heavily on his shoulders, pinning him in his seat. Trenton stared up at him, shocked. He'd wanted a reaction, but this...


Clive's eyes were hot, dark pools, his expression fiercely intent. He said, "Do you think I don't know what you're trying to do, little virgin? I've noticed all the things you've been doing lately. You want me to notice, don't you? The way you accidentally brush almost everything you're going to hand me against your crotch first?" Clive's hands slid up and encircled Trent's throat. He pressed. Not enough to choke, but enough to let the younger man feel his strength. Trent went totally limp, gazing up at him in mute submission. He felt Clive's hands tremble. "The way you handle my leathers, stroking them, rubbing your face in them." His hands slid down to Trent's chest. The cloth was peaked over his nipples, and Clive's fingers settled there. "The way you keep licking the necks of your soda bottles, looking at me."


Clive pinched roughly. Trenton's head dropped back, his mouth falling open with a mewling noise. Clive snarled. He bent quickly and claimed the boy's mouth in an almost brutal kiss, forcing his tongue in roughly. Trenton moaned, arching up to him. His veins felt filled with liquid fire as the older man explored his mouth with ruthless diligence, seeking out every crevice, lapping thirstily at his saliva, sucking and biting at his tongue. He was beginning to feel light headed when Clive tore his mouth away, leaving them both gasping.


A large, hard hand slid down his belly and covered his straining fly, then squeezed, almost hard enough to hurt, but not quite. Then time seemed to stop. They both remained still, breathing hard. Clive stared down at him again, and said, "It's not gonna happen, Trent."


Trenton blinked, dazed and confused. "But..."


Clive shook his head. "You want me to lose control. I'm not going to--not this time. I'm all about control, Trenton. It isn't going to happen tonight, and it isn't going to happen any time soon. I'll tell you what you're going to do." He gave Trenton's crotch a firm stroke, and the boy whimpered in pleasure and frustration. "You're going to Paris. You're going to spend your junior year in France. You're going to find a nice boy close to your own age and have sex--lots of sex. You're going to turn seventeen, and you're going to come back here," another stroke, and Trenton's toes curled in his sneakers. "to me. Then we'll finish this."


He pulled Trenton out of the chair, supporting him when his knees were shaky at first, and marched him to the front door. He unlocked it and steered the boy out. "Now, go home."


Face flushed, almost crying with anger and thwarted lust, Trenton, voice breaking, said, "Why do you think I'll do what you say?"


Clive grabbed his chin and kissed him again, out there on the dark, empty street. Kissed him till Trent's rage and defiance melted into bewildered pliancy. When he pulled away, Clive said simply, "Because you're a submissive, and I'm your Daddy." Then he closed and locked the door.


Trenton stumbled home in an emotional fog. He went to bed and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Then he masturbated, hard, and came crying out Clive's name.


Lynette Vittelli tiptoed in around midnight, trying not to wake her son. She'd stayed to see a second feature, hoping Clive would have time to talk some sense into Trenton. As she was making her way to her room, she heard her son call out quietly, "Mom?"


She went to stand in his doorway. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I tried to be quiet."


"It's okay. I wasn't sleeping. Mom? I decided to go to Paris."


Lynette sighed in relief. "Praise be. I guess Clive talked you into it."


"You could say that."


"Thank goodness. I'm so glad he got you to see sense. I don't know what I'd do without him. Goodnight, baby."




She turned to go, and didn't hear him whisper. "I don't know what I'd do without him either, but I guess I'll have to try for awhile."


Chapter 6: Taking Flight


Mom hadn't cried when she saw him off at the airport. He was grateful for that. Trenton managed not to cry till he got on board, and could disguise it by pretending to fiddle with his audio headset and in-flight magazines. God, he felt stupid, but he'd never really been away from Mom, not even for summer camp, or anything.


Then there was Clive.


While Mom was checking his luggage Clive had taken him to the airport store to get a dose of Dramamine (just in case, since Trenton had never flown before), a toothbrush (which he'd forgotten), and snacks. After making their purchases, Clive had grabbed him by the shirt front and hauled him into the men's room. After making sure that it was empty he leaned back against the door and pulled Trent into his arms.


He wound his fingers in Trenton's curls, staring deep into his eyes. "You're scared, Trenton--that's understandable. The world's a big place, and it must seem like you're standing on the rim of the Grand Canyon, about to leap off."


Trenton swallowed hard, blinking. "Yeah."The green eyes were even brighter than normal, unshed tears close to the surface.


Clive sighed. "You're so young. Don't worry, Trent. When you make that leap, you won't fall--you'll fly." He kissed the boy gently, chastely. "You'll be back in June, and I'll be here."




Clive kissed him again. This time he pushed the boy's lips apart with his own and spent a moment gently stroking his tongue in the soft, moist cavern of his mouth. He pulled back and said, "Sworn." Then he rubbed his thumb over Trenton's chin. "Stubble. Gonna have to start shaving more than three times a week now, kid."


At the gate, Trenton offered his hand to Clive. Clive took it and pulled him into a quick hug. Nothing like the embrace in the men's room, but warm. Trenton exchanged a longer hug with his mother, then boarded the plane. He didn't look back down the little corridor, because then he would have been tempted to run back. Clive wouldn't have liked that.


The trip was uneventful--he didn't need the Dramamine. He spent his time napping or studying his French grammar one more time. Trenton had three years of French, but he knew he was still going to struggle. Memorizing vocabulary and stringing it together was one thing, actually speaking the language was another.


His host family met him. Their own daughter had taken a plane to America an hour earlier to spend her senior year in an American school. The Bienvenues had another daughter--Chloe, ten--and a twenty year old son away at university. For the duration of Trenton's stay Chloe would have Anatole's room. Trenton would occupy the room that had belonged to the sisters. It had twin beds, and Anatole would share it with him on his weekend visits.


They were genuinely nice people, and did their best to make Trenton feel at home, cooking hamburgers for him on his first night. He ate enthusiastically, even though he found the grainy brown mustard a little odd after the bright yellow, tangy condiment he was used to. He settled in fairly well. Chloe stared at him and giggled a lot, but he supposed that was pretty normal for any ten year old girl, not just a French one.


School was interesting. It was weird, having to wear a uniform. Madam Bienvenue made him blush, telling him how handsome he looked in the pale fawn trousers and blue blazer. Chloe giggled some more. He thought that he would probably do well in his classes. The teachers made extra effort to be sure he understood them. The other students, most of them anyway, were friendly enough.


Trenton studied them rather closely that first week. Nice looking guys, he supposed, but he didn't spot anyone that made his heart race. Any way, how was he supposed to tell if someone would be open to... well... He wasn't even sure what. It would be an awful scandal if he approached someone who took offense.


Trenton began to think that he was going to spend the semester doing his studies, going to the movies, and wanking off. He'd just have to make up a plausible lie for Clive. Then he thought, why kid himself? He could step off that plane with a sworn affidavit from someone claiming to have screwed his brains out and Clive would take one sniff of him and know he was still a virgin.


The second week went much like the first. The Bienvenues went to bed early by Trenton's standards. That Friday the entire house was asleep by eleven. They kept the house rather warm to suit Trenton, so he'd stripped down to his jockeys. There was a nice CD player in the room, so he put on some earphones and lay down to listen to some tunes. He didn't really intend to go to sleep, but somehow he nodded off.


He was having a wonderful dream about Clive bending him over the counter in his private station, while his hands were handcuffed behind his back, when something awoke him. He didn't wake up all at once--he sort of drifted toward consciousness.


He thought he'd felt a touch, though considering the dream he was having there was no telling. In any case the touch, if there was one, was much lighter than anything Dream Clive was doing at that moment. It was a feather-soft grazing of one nipple, which brought it to straining firmness. Trenton shifted slightly, muttering pleased nonsense syllables under his breath.


He rose closer to consciousness with the second touch, which made his other nipple match its twin. Finally he was awake, and aware of two things: the CD had stopped playing, and he was hard inside his underwear. He yawned, and opened his eyes to find a very handsome blond man of about twenty standing close beside his bed, smiling down at him. Trenton blinked, gaping a little. The blond's smile widened to a blinding grin. "Well. What a nice surprise to find waiting in my bed."



Chapter 7: Roommate


Trenton pulled off the earphones. "Scuse me?"


The older man gestured at the window. The bed was against the wall, and the window was near its foot. "I always sleep in the bed by the window, when I have a choice," he said calmly.


"Oh. Geez, I'm sorry." Trenton sat up. "I didn't know. I can move."


The other waved dismissively. "It is nothing." He inclined his head graciously. "You are the guest. You must have first choice." He held out his hand. "I am Anatole."


Trenton shook hands. "I'm Trenton Vittelli, the exchange student."


"Of course you are." Anatole seemed to be appraising him. "You are younger than I expected."


Trent felt defensive. "I'm almost seventeen."


"So old? But the exchange students are usually seniors, n'est pas?"


"Not always. Anyway, the one who was supposed to come got sick. She got hepatitis."


"Quel dommage." Somehow, Anatole didn't really sound sorry. When he saw Trenton's skeptical look, he shrugged in a peculiarly Gallic gesture. "I wish no one illness, but I am glad you came instead. I have sisters. It will be nice to have another man to speak to."


"I don't think your parents were expecting you."


"They knew I would come, but sometimes I do not arrive till Saturday." His eyes twinkled. They were very blue, Trent noticed. "How lax of them not to warn you that a strange man might come creeping into your room. I might have frightened you into a fit."


"I wasn't scared," Trent protested. "You just startled me."


"Yes. I suppose I should not have touched you." Trent started. Anatole continued smoothly. "You seemed to be having a rather vivid dream. No doubt my hand on your arm became a part of it."


Mention of his dream suddenly reminded Trenton that he was almost naked, and still completely aroused. He dragged the sheet over his crotch in what he hoped was a casual manner, saying, "I guess. I really don't remember it." *Oo,Trenton Vittelli, you liar! You could write a thousand word essay on how Clive's leather pants felt when he shoved his thigh between your legs.*


Anatole nodded. "Well, I hope you do not mind if I retire now. We will have many hours to talk while you are here, oui?" He began to unbutton his shirt.


"Uh... yeah. Sure. I'd like that." He finished the sentence just as Anatole opened his shirt and slid it off, revealing a nicely cut torso. There was a thin dusting of golden hair across his chest, swirling around pale copper nipples, which were hard.


*Oh, crap, Trenton!* The thought was frantic. *Look away! Don't leer at the host's son.* He dropped his gaze, but that didn't do any good. He just noticed that Anatole had a six pack almost as well defined as Tuscon's had been, and there was a thin trickle of that same yellow hair running from the shallow dent of his navel to disappear under his waistband.


Anatole started to unbuckle his belt, and Trenton lay back down quickly, closing his eyes. For good measure, he laid his forearm over them. Anatole chuckled softly. Trenton heard the muted pop of a snap, then the rasping purr of a zipper being lowered. There was the rustle of cloth.


When he spoke, Anatole's voice was closer than Trent would have expected. "I hope you don't mind, but I sleep in the nude. I suppose I should wear something in case of fire, but they just seem to strangle me." Trenton grunted, noncommital.


There were padding footsteps. Trenton remembered seeing a pair of shoes and socks tucked neatly by the other single bed. Anatole must have removed them when he came in, so as not to disturb the household. He had been able to move very quietly. There was a click, and the red wash across the back of Trent's eyelids went black, signaling that the lights had been turned out. More padding footsteps, then the rustle of bedclothes, and the sound of a body settling into bed. After a moment Trenton said hesitantly, "Good night, Anatole."


Again there was a chuckle. "Sommeil bien, peu Americain. Plaisants reves"


*Sleep well? Oh, fat chance.* Trenton peeked miserably under the sheets at his erection. *Terrific. Cock like a rock, and not a damn thing I can do about it with him in the room. It's going to be a long night.*


He lay there for awhile, staring up at the shadowed ceiling and feeling sorry for himself. After a while, his hard-on began to flag a little. That was, until he heard the noises.


At first he just thought Anatole was having trouble getting comfortable and settling down. There was a rustling of cloth, the sound of a sheet sliding against bare skin. Trenton glanced over at the other bed, though, and the man didn't seem to be tossing and turning. He was lying on his back. Then Trenton noticed the slow, steady motion just about his groin. A lump beneath the sheet rose and fell.


*Son of a bitch! The guy's jerking off! With someone else in the room, right here. Right here...* A soft sigh drifted across the room. *Sounds like he's having fun.* Trent's prick was suddenly hard as a stone again. *Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.*


He lay there, very still, listening and watching as Anatole pleasured himself. The movement under the sheets speeded up, and suddenly Anatole rolled on his side, away from Trenton. The boy had been hoping that the sheet might be dislodged by Anatole's increasingly vigorous self caresses. Now his wish was granted.


The cloth slipped as he turned, and Trenton was presented with a view of an ass so perfect that his breath caught in his throat. Two perfect globes, split by a narrow crease, gleamed in the pale moonlight that fell through the window. Anatole crooked his upper leg at the knee, planting his foot flat on the bed, reached back, and pried his cheeks apart. One finger traced down the open valley.


Trenton swallowed hard, and his own hands crept to shove down his shorts. His cock sprang free, so rigid that it almost slapped against his belly. Anatole was preoccupied. Surely it would be safe...? His hands closed around himself, and he began to stroke.


The room was dim, and Trent could not see certain details. He couldn't actually make out Anatole's asshole, but when his hand moved, and one finger disappeared, he knew what was happening. Anatole groaned happily, and Trent had to stifle an answering groan.


Trenton masturbated, watching as Anatole finger fucked himself. The older man began to pump more strongely. Soon he worked a second finger into himself, and shoved them in and out almost ruthlessly. Trenton marveled. Wouldn't that hurt? Apparently not, judging from the lustful grunts the Frenchman was making.


Anatole shoved himself back onto his probing fingers, then surged forward into his own caresses. Trenton was sweating, trying not to pant too loudly. *How can he not hear me? Maybe he thinks I'm having another dream. Oh, crap, this is like a dream--a wet dream.*


Suddenly Anatole stiffened, and gave a soft cry. His fingers dug deep, twisting, and his hips bucked. *He's coming.* Trenton's hand worked frantically. He'd always been quiet when sexing himself, mindful of his mother sleeping in the next room, but a small whine escaped his throat. The thought of Anatole having his orgasm, shooting hot, sticky semen all over his hands, sent Trent over the edge, too.


His body bowed, hips lifting off the mattress as he thrust into his fist, and he erupted. His balls emptied in two pulses so strong they were almost painful, splattering his belly almost up to his chest with his spunk.


Unable to lie there and enjoy the afterglow, Trent hastily skinned his jockeys off and used them to wipe himself. He then wadded them up, and stared at them for a moment, perplexed. What on earth was he going to do with them? After a moment's thought he dropped them in the wastebasket that was next to the bed, moving a few papers as quietly as possible to cover them. Anatole started to shift onto his back once again, and Trenton quickly lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to make his breathing deep and even.


Anatole lay on his side and studied the boy lying on the other bed. *Je pense qu'il a supposé que je ne le noterais pas masturbating. Comment doux. Il est un innocent, je pensent. Ne serait-il pas beau pour l'enseigner?* He smiled to himself in the dark, and his lips moved without sound, forming the word, "Trehn-tonne." He drifted off to sleep, well satisfied and very much looking forward to the next few months.




n'est pas?--not so? Or, is it not so?

Quel dommage--What a pity.

oui--yes (Duh)

Sommeil bien, peu américain. Plaisants rêves--

Sleep well, little American. Pleasant dreams.

Je pense qu'il a supposé que je ne le noterais pas masturbating. Comment doux. Il est un innocent, je pensent. Ne serait-il pas beau pour l'enseigner?--

I think he supposed that I would not notice him masturbating. How sweet. He is an innocent, I think. Wouldn't it be lovely to teach him?



Chapter 8: Attraction


Trenton woke up again and stretched luxuriously, eyes still closed. He smiled sleepily, remembering what he'd done, and seen. He thought it was particularly appropriate that voyeur was a French word.


"Vous ressemblez un chat." A little startled, Trenton opened his eyes to find Anatole, fully dressed, standing over him once again. Damn, the man could move quietly. "Bonjour, Soleil. Avez-vous bien dormi?"


"Pretty good." Trenton suddenly realized that sometime during the night his sheet had slipped. It was low on his belly. In fact, a thin line of brown curls marked where his pubic area lay, barely hidden. He snatched the sheet up to a more decent level.


Anatole shook his head. "Aucun besoin d'être timide." He shrugged. "We're very informal here, Trehn-tonne."


*Wow. I didn't realize my name could sound so sexy.* Anton stood there a moment more, and Trenton fidgited. At last he said, "So I'm like a cat, huh?"


"Un grand, fauve chat," Anatole agreed. He turned and headed for the door. "No need to hurry. Maman does not cook breakfast on the weekend. We must fend for ourselves."


Trenton waited till he had gone, then got up quickly and slipped on the robe his Mom had gotten him as a going away gift. He hadn't figured on using it, but he was a little sticky *big surprise, Trent*, and wanted a shower before he put on fresh underwear.


He chose his clothes then, after a moment's hesitation, dug his soiled underwear out of the wastepaper basket. Madame Bienvenue occasionally tidied the room, and he'd dig his own grave so he could die of embarrassment if she found such an item. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do with them, but he tucked them inside his fresh clothes and carried them out to the bathroom.


Trenton showered quickly, mindful that he didn't use up all the hot water. That done, he stood and studied himself in the mirror critically. A cat, huh? Well, there were the green eyes, of course. And he'd been starting to get some cheekbones in the last year. The last of the puppyfat was finally burning away with all the exercise he got swimming, he supposed. *Lots of changes in the last year or so. Now I have bushes in my pits, and I'm getting a sprinkle on my arms and chest.* He frowned. *Legs are still almost as smooth as a girl's, though. Oh, well, less drag in the water.*


He rubbed his chin and jaw experimentally. Yes, there was stubble. It was growing in a deep reddish gold. Weird. He would have thought it would be the same color of his pubes, but they were darker brown. He tried to decide if it was growing faster than it had been. Must be. He'd shaved yesterday. Clive must be right, he'd have to start shaving every day now.


The thought pleased him. *One step closer to being a man. One step closer to Clive.* He shaved, then dressed. Then he contemplated the now tacky undershorts. What the hell was he going to do with them? Wash them in the sink? Then how would he explain sopping underpants in the laundry? Maybe if he smuggled them into a load that was about to be done instead of leaving them in his hamper...


He wadded them up tight and stuffed them in his pocket, then went downstairs. The smell of bacon frying wafted up to greet him as he descended, and he sniffed hungrily. As Anatole had said, he'd noticed that Mrs. Bienvenue slept in on Saturdays, and he'd become used to toast or cold cereal for breakfast on those days. But he was really hungry this morning, and the idea of a full breakfast made his mouth water.


Chloe was at the table, working her way through a bowl of candy colored cereal. Anatole was taking a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. "Est un ok d'omlette de fromage ?"


"Better than good." Trenton sat at the table, and helped himself to a piece of bacon from a plate piled high with thick strips.


"How many eggs?"




Anatole smiled. "Vous appréciez votre nourriture. Sont tous vos appétits si chaleureux?"


Trenton wasn't quite sure what he meant, but he answered, "I guess so," agreeably. He watched as the older man whisked eggs and poured them into a shallow, sizzling pan. He took a package of grated cheese from the refrigerator, then tipped the pan, lifting the eggs with a spatula so that the raw matter ran under, to be cooked in turn. Finally he sprinkled the eggs with cheese and herbs, folded it neatly, and slipped it onto a plate. He did all this with a confident ease that Trenton couldn't help but admire. He didn't cook. His mom told him that he was a hazard in the kitchen. He'd either have to find someone to cook for him, or live off of sandwiches and take out when he moved out on his own.


*I ought to learn. I bet Elise would help me. She's bound to like the idea of a man who can cook as well as eat. Then maybe I could make dinner for Clive sometimes.* The cozy domestic scene this called up convinced Trenton. He was going to learn to cook, and cook well.


Anatole set the plate down in front of Trenton, and got himself a cup of coffee before sitting beside the boy. He watched as Trenton devoured the eggs. "It is good to see my cooking appreciated. Chloe..." he nodded at the little girl, who stuck her tongue out at him. "That brat prefers a bowl of sugar lumps to a decent omlette."


"Then she's not much different than I was at her age." Chloe gave him a brilliant, though milk coated, smile as she took her empty bowl to the sink. She giggled at him again, then left.


"Je pense que Chloe est dans l'amour avec vous." Trenton blushed, and Anatole continued. "It's perfectly natural. Vous êtes très beau. Vous devez briser des coeurs, droite et à gauche."


Trenton was mopping up the last of his eggs with a piece of toast when Anatole reached over, hooked a finger in his pocket, and dragged out the underwear. Trent froze, turning a little green.


Anatole studied the jockeys, then said, "Trehn-tonne, do you always carry underwear about with you?"


"I... uh..."


Anatole shook his head. "Why didn't you just leave them in the hamper? You don't think Maman will be shocked by a few stains, do you? She had to wash my things while I was growing up, you know." Anatole took the garment to the laundry room and returned.


"I just don't want anyone to think I'm a perv." Trenton mumbled.


"Why would we think that? I would more likely think you odd if you didn't pleasure yourself occasionally." Mr. and Mrs. Bienvenue, dressed but yawning, came in then. They greeted their son with pecks on the cheek and affectionate murmurs. Anatole obligingly began to fix breakfast for them.


"When did you get here, son?" his father asked. "You must have gotten up at the crack of dawn."


"I arrived last night, Father, and let myself in. I am afraid I startled poor Trenton."


"I'm hoping you can spend some time with the boy, show him around. Your mother and I can't do much right now. We made a lot of obligations when we thought there would be no exchange student this term. We can't back out now."


"Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to spend some time with Trehn-tonne. What would you like to do today, mon ami?"


"I need to find a pool where I can practice regularly. I'm on the swim team, and I promised my coach I wouldn't slack off. He thinks I have a chance of making the Olympic trials. I just need to shave a fraction or two off my time."


"Bon. There is one nearby. And some time later this year, perhaps you can spend some time with me at the university. My club has an excellent pool there."


"Great. I'd like to see how a French college is different from an American one. What are you studying?"




"Cool. I wish I was creative."


"I'm sure you have your talents. Perhaps you just haven't discovered them yet."


"I'm glad you came home this weekend, Anatole," his mother said. "Your father and I are going out with the Cloissanelles this evening, and Chloe has a sleep over with one of her little friends. Now Trenton will not be alone."


Anatole glanced at the boy. Trenton was just finishing a glass of milk, and he had a thin mustache of the white liquid. As Anatole watched, the boy's tongue darted out, cat like, and licked it away. He smiled. "I think I can keep him amused."


French translations:


"Vous ressemblez un chat." You look like a cat.

"Un grand, fauve chat," A big, tawny cat.

"Bonjour, Soleil. Avez-vous bien dormi?" Good morning, Sunshine. Did you sleep well?

"Aucun besoin d'être timide." No need to be shy.

"Vous devez briser des coeurs, droite et à gauche." You must break hearts, right and left.

"Est un ok d'omlette de fromage ?" Is a cheese omlette okay?"

"Vous appréciez votre nourriture. sont tous vos appétits si chaleureux?" You enjoy your food. Are all your appetites so hearty?

"Je pense que Chloe est dans l'amour avec vous." I think Chloe is in love with you.

"Vous êtes très beau." You are very beautiful.

"mon ami" my friend

"bon" good



Chapter 9: Building Trust


It being a Saturday, the large public pool was crowded. Trenton resigned himself to not being able to really practice, and knew he'd have to get his serious training in on weeknights, when it would be quieter.


Anatole sat on the edge of the pool, dangling his legs in the water and watching the young American disport himself. Trenton moved like he'd been born in the water, as if it were his natural element. You'd almost expect a great, shining fishtail in place of those long muscled, strong legs.


Trenton swam over, cutting cleanly through the water, and hoisted himself up to sit beside Anatole. "You aren't gonna swim?"


"Not today. I've just enjoyed watching you." Trenton pulled off his bathing cap, shaking loose his curls. "Why do you wear that hideous rubber thing?"


"First off, it helps cut down on drag. Second..." He blushed. "My... uh, my friend, Clive--he's my hairdresser. He'd skin my butt if I let the chlorine damage my hair."


"And you do what Clive tells you?"


The blush deepened. "Yeah, pretty much."


Interesting. *I think, perhaps, you are susceptable, Trenton. Bon. We shall see tonight.*


They spent the rest of the afternoon at the Paris zoo. Anatole delighted in the simple joy that Trenton took in this expidition. At the big cats exhibit, Trenton seemed most fascinated by the American mountain lion. He leaned against the rail, staring down into the enclosure, lively green eyes tracking the beast as it swaggered about its pen. "You like this one, eh?"


"Pumas are kewl. He reminds me of Clive. Clive's hair is just about that color, and he moves like that. Kinda just glides. Got the attitude, too. He's large, and in charge. The lion's s'posed to be the king of beasts? Fuck that."


*Clive again. What on earth was this Clive thinking of, little one? Letting you out of his grasp for an entire year. Ah, well, his loss, my gain.*


They moved on to the small animals exhibit. At the otter pond, Anatole pointed to one small gold-brown animal frolicking in the water. It spiraled and flipped, seemingly boneless, flashing through the water. "Look, Trehn-tonne. There, that is you."


"Yeah?" He grinned. "Wish I could swim like that." As he spoke the otter oozed out of the water and leaped on another otter. They began rolling on the ground, thrashing and squealing. Alarmed, Trenton cried, "Shit! They're fighting! Call the zookeeper!"


"Calme vous-même."


"Whataya mean, calm? They're gonna kill each other!"


"Trehn-tonne, they are not fighting."


"But they..." He looked closer at the animals, and a huge blush spread up his cheeks. "Oh. Oh geez, I'm so embarrassed."


"Don't be."


"It's just... all that noise. It sounded like they were hurting each other."


"It is that way sometimes. You are always quiet when you fuck?"


Trenton jerked, staring at Anatole. But the older man was looking at him with a bland, open expression. *Crap, what am I gonna say to that? I don't want to look like a stupid fucking virgin. Which is what I am.*


Suddenly Trenton could almost taste the acrid burn of black coffee, and he heard Clive's amused voice echoing through his mind. *Silly move, Trenton. When you're inexperienced about something, it's better to confess it than to try and bull ahead and fool someone.*


Trenton looked down at his hands, working on the guard rail, and mumbled, "I wouldn't know." Trent was relieved when Anatole's only answer was a hum.


Anatole wanted to stop at a drugstore on the way home. Trenton skimmed through the magazines while he waited for his new friend to make his purchases. Wow, they had the adult magazines out here instead of behind the counter, like back in the states. They were on the top shelf of the rack, and there were decency screens that only showed the titles at the top.


His glance fell on one title. 'Chaud et Dur.' He glanced around quickly. No one was watching. He slipped the magazine out of the rack and placed it inside an open magazine on sports, then the riffled the pages quickly.


He had known these sort of magazines existed. Well, rumor had it that they did, anyway. His friends at school had passed around a few skin mags, but they were nothing but women. Trenton had felt mild interest, and had pretended the same sort of drooling reaction his friends had shown. But this...


Nothing but men, either naked or barely dressed. And it wasn't just nude portraits. In some of these, they were touching each other--really touching. Trent came to a centerfold, and carefully unfolded it.


He almost moaned. *Holy shit! Those guys are doing it! I mean, they're not just posing there. Gah, doesn't that hurt? I dunno, the look on his face... I don't think that's pain...*


"Do you want that?" Trenton gasped, hands closing convulsively on the paper, turning to see Anatole standing behind him, paper bag in hand. "Really, Trehn-tonne, be careful. If you tear it, you must buy it." He gestured at the magazine. "If you do not have money with you, I will pay." He smiled a little crookedly. "For both of them."


"No, thanks. I was just curious." He stuffed them back in the rack.


Anatole's eyes twinkled. "En dépit du proverbe, la curiosité ne détruit pas toujours le chat. What would you like for supper tonight?"


Chloe had left for her friend's house when they arrived, and the Bienvenues were preparing to leave. Mrs. Bienvenue pressed a kiss on her son's cheek. "We will be late, my love. The Cloisonelles wish to visit a new club, and they may very well wish to close it down."


"Enjoy yourself, maman."


Mrs. Bienvenue glanced at the exchange student, who was fiddling with the radio, most likely looking for American rock and roll. She whispered, "I am glad you like him, Anatole. He is a sweet boy, and I think he has been lonely."


Anatole smiled, and assured her, "He will not be anymore." Trenton had found some music to his liking, and had begun to dance. It was subdued, only subtle shifting of his hips and shoulders, feet barely moving. Anatole watched the minute swaying of his tight ass, encased in clinging denim. "I will see to that."


That evening Anatole watched as Trenton devoured a huge bowl of onion soup and half a loaf of bread. "Honestly, Trehn-tonne, where do you put it? And you scarcely have a spare ounce on you."


"Naturally high metabolism, plus the swimming. I get it from my dad. He ate like a Clydsedale, never exercised, and was a rail."


"Lucky boy. I should hate you." He watched in amusement as the boy used his finger to scoop from his bowl a long, ropey strand of melted cheese. He tilted his head back and dangled it to his mouth, tongue darting out to capture it and draw it in with a satisfied slurp. As Trent licked a smear of grease off his lips, Anatole felt his cock stir.


Trenton caught his look and saw the humor, but missed the lust. He grinned, half apologetically. "I know, I'm a pig. I swear, I don't act like that around your parents."


"It's all right. I'm glad you feel that comfortable with me."


Replete, Trenton stretched out, slumping with his long legs sprawled. "So, what kind of art do you do mostly?"


"Well, we work in many mediums. I do mostly charcoal sketches, and oils. Would you like to see my studio?"


"Yeah. Is it nearby?"


"Very. It is in the attic. Come along."


He led the boy upstairs, and to a door at the end of the hall that he'd never explored. Anatole unlocked it, explaining, "This is my sanctum." They went up another short flight of stairs, and into the attic.


It was big, extending over the whole house. Anatole pointed out a hugh skylight. "During the day, the light is marvelous." He pointed to a couple of photographer's lights on stands. "At night, I use those."


Trenton prowled the room, examining everything. There were shelves lined neatly with art supplies and brushes. Somehow he had thought that any artist's studio would be messy, but this place was tidy and comfortable. The walls were lined with tacked up sketches, and canvases leaned against the wall.


"Wow. Anatole, these are great. I'm not just trying to flatter you, either."


The older man shrugged. "I am not so bad. I will never be famous, but I will be able to support myself, perhaps gain a small reputation. It is enough that I enjoy what I do."


Trenton was examining a portrait of a dark haired man of about forty. He was extremely handsome, his features almost unbelievably perfect. It would have looked like the portrait of an angel, if only the mouth hadn't been a little cruel, or the eyes had not been quite so ruthless. Anatole said, "Do you like that one? It is a good friend of mine--Gervase."


"He looks... He looks kinda like a hard guy." Trenton said carefully. He didn't want to say 'dangerous', if this was Anatole's friend.


"Perhaps a bit. He is very strong willed. Trehn-tonne, you know, you are not the only one who needs to practice. I was wondering, would you pose for me? I would like to sketch you."


"Sure. Maybe you could do one I could send to my mom?"


"Certainly." Anatole went to the shelves for his sketch pad and pencils. *But not the one I am planning to do eventurally, little one. She would hardly want a nude.*


French translations:


"Calme vous-même." Calm yourself

'Chaud et Dur.' Hot and Hard

"En dépit du proverbe, la curiosité ne détruit pas toujours le chat. Despite the proverb, curiosity does not always kill the cat.


Chapter 10: Seduction


Anatole seated Trenton on a small couch, and fussed with the lights till he was illuminated to his satisfaction. Then he sat at the other end of the sofa, and began to sketch quickly in charcoal. "Turn your head just a bit, Trehn-tonne. Now, lift your chin. Yes, like that."


Trenton sat placidly while Anatole sketched. He was comfortable, following directions, obeying orders. Anatole ripped off the sheet, had Trenton tuck his chin and look down, and sketched again. When that drawing was done, he said, "Your collar bothers me. Take off your shirt. I want to get your shoulders in."


Trenton obligingly pulled his T-shirt off and draped it over the back of the sofa. "Put your elbows up on the back of the sofa, mon ami. Yes, just let your hands dangle like that, and put your head back. I want to get the way your throat arches."


Anatole's hand worked rapidly, drawing and shading. *Mon Dieu, he is delicious. I only hope he is not too skittish. I'm going to eat that boy alive.*


He stared at the sketch. "I am not quite satisfied with this one. It lacks something. It needs a more erotic edge to give it sophistocation. I know..."


He leaned toward Trenton, and the boy was startled when he touched the flat disk of his left nipple and rubbed gently. "What are you doing, Anatole?"


"I need some contrast to the flat plain of your chest. I'm getting your nipples hard." He pinched lightly, and Trenton drew in a deep breath, green eyes widening. The nipple stiffened into a small peak. "Much better." Anatole licked his fingertips, and teased the right nipple into equal erectness. "Yes. Perfect." As if as an afterthought, he said, "You do not mind, do you Trehn-tonne?"


"I... I guess not."


"Bon." He made quick motions on the paper with his charcoal pencil. "There, it makes the picture. You see? What do you think?"


Trenton examined the picture. It showed his upper body, with his elbows hooked lazily over the back of the couch. His head was tipped back, and his throat was a pale, vulnerable arch. His nipples were blatantly erect. His eyes were half closed, and there was a dreamily sensual expression on his face.


He was a little embarrassed by the sensuous nature of the image. "I think I look like a slut."


Anatole laughed. "A wanton, perhaps, but not a slut. Now, take off your pants."


Anatole was busy tearing the sheet off the pad, as Trenton looked at him with disbelief. "Excuse me?"


"Votre pantalon. Enlevez-le." When the boy hesitated, Anatole let a little annoyance creep into his tone. "Really, Trehn-tonne. I cannot do a proper life study with you muffled up like that. Devenez nu. Maintenant."


Blushing furiously, Trenton stood up and toed off his sneakers. He was too embarrassed to look at Anatole, which was why he missed the hungry way the older man watched as he opened and lowered his jeans. They joined the shirt on the sofa back, and he hesitated there, standing with a grace that belied his nervousness.


Anatole licked his lips, and said, "Également les sous-vêtements." Still the boy hesitated. "Trehn-tonne, why are you so shy? There is no one here except me. Go on."


Trenton bit his lip, teeth working at the rosy plushness, and finally hooked his fingers in the waistband of his shorts, then drew them down. Anatole's lips parted unconsciously. The boy's cock was impressive for one so young--a man's member. And it was half hard, lifting slightly from the silky brush of red-brown curls below his abdomen. The Frenchman twitched as he imagined how it would taste, how it would feel in his ass.


He kept his voice steady. "I want to do a standing sketch. Stand straight, Trent. Now, clasp your hands behind your head, and tilt your chin down. Yes, look at the floor." Anatole worked rapidly. Beautiful. He might be able to get a series of pictures out of this that he could sell to one of the finer gay sex magazines. Of course, he'd have to claim that the model was of age, but what of that?


Next he had the boy kneel upright, legs braced wide and hands clasped behind him, back slightly arched. His genitals were presented as if for the delectation of the viewer. Oh, and he was thickening nicely. There was a faint sheen of sweat breaking out on his body.


Finally he had him get back on the sofa. He directed Trenton to half recline, with his head and shouldera on the sofa arm. His inside leg lay straight, propped before him, but his outside leg dangled off, foot resting on the floor. Anatole had a clear view up his body from his seat at the opposite end of the couch.


Trenton felt utterly open, and vulnerable. He was about to die from embarrassment, too. He was excited. His dick was as hard as it had ever been in his life. Anatole didn't say anything. Maybe models got hard ons all the time.


Anatole laid aside the sketchbook and pencil, sighing. "A good beginning, Trehn-tonne. I'll want to do you in pastels, and eventually in oils. You are an excellent subject, very patient." He laid a hand on Trenton's thigh. "Vous êtes très beau."


Trenton's breath caught in his throat. Anatole was smiling at him, his blue eyes sparkling. *Oh, geez. I think he doesn't mean that just as an artist.*


Anatole stroked the American's leg softly. "You are hard, Trehn- tonne."


Trenton swallowed. "Yeah."


"Would you like me to take care of that? Je puis vous sucer."


Trenton had thought he was fully aroused. At these words, though, he felt more blood pulse into his rigid cock. Anatole's hand moved on his leg, long slender fingers kneading. "I... don't know. I never... I haven't..."


"Sh. It's all right. Je veux vous faire l'amour avec ma bouche. Relax, ma petite bonbon." Anatole shifted, turning to kneel between Trenton's spread legs. He bent down and took Trenton's cock in his hands, then licked the very tip.


Trenton gripped the sofa cushions, crying out, "Oh, goddam!"


Anatole laughed. "I can see you will be an apreciative lover." He bent again, this time taking the head in his mouth and sucking it softly. The boy moaned as he slid down slowly. He paused with the shaft half buried in his mouth, and sucked again, teasing the vein underneath with his tongue and stroking the lower half.


He looked up the length of that gorgeous swimmer's body and met Trenton's stunned green gaze. The boy's mouth was open, and he was panting lightly. So wonderfully sensitive. Anatole was gratified that he hadn't come yet. His own first blow job hadn't lasted more than two minutes before he'd shot his load.


He began to give the exchange student slow, thorough head, relishing the clean, salty tang of his skin and the slightly bitter flavor of the precome that had started to ooze from the slit.


Trenton stared down in disbelief at the blond head bobbing up and down at his crotch. *I dozed off on the sofa after supper, and I'm having a wet dream. That guy isn't really sucking my cock, and I'm gonna wake up with come all over my shorts, and how am I gonna get up to my room without Anatole seeing, and oh shit he really is doing it...*


The pleasure was like nothing Trenton had ever felt. Hell, nothing he'd ever imagined feeling. His toes were curling. He had fire running through his veins instead of blood.


Anatole was enjoying himself immensely. They boy was making little whimpers. He felt questioning fingers touch his hair. He expected to be gripped, and guided, and was prepared to push the hands away. But Trenton just stroked his hair gently, murmuring, "Thank you. Oh, thank you." Anatole was genuinely touched, and aroused. He sped up, intensifying his efforts.


He couldn't stay still any more. With a little grunt, Trenton thrust upward. Anatole immediately grabbed his hips firmly, pinning him to the cushions. Trenton whined in the back of his throat. "'Tole, pleeeeeease!" Anatole pulled off his straining prick, leaving it to sway in the cool air, spit slick. "Oh, fuck, don't stop!"


"Patience, little one. This is worth waiting for." Anatole concentrated, relaxed his throat muscles, and swallowed Trenton's erection to the root in one smooth downward stroke. Then he gulped.


Trenton screamed, back arching convulsively. His orgasm hit him like an avalanche, and his brains seemed to pour out with the hot jets of sticky cream. Things actually greyed out for a moment.


When he could think and see again, he looked down. Anatole was still crouched between his legs. He was licking Trenton's softening dick clean, gently massaging his balls in an effort to get every last drop of sperm from his young lover.


Satisfied at last, he lay his head on Trenton's thigh, sighing. "Nectar, ma petite." He grinned up at the dazed boy. "And admirable control for a virgin. You will be quite the stud." He sat up. stretching.


Trenton watched him, then said, "'Tole?"


"I like that, the little name. 'Tole. What is it, sweet boy?"


"You... uh... you haven't... I mean, I came but, you didn't. Did you?"


"Not yet." His smile was seductive, his eyes heavy lidded. "Would you like to make me come Trehn-tonne?" The boy nodded silently. "Very well." He stood up and offered his hand. "Come downstairs. This couch is much too small for what I want."


French Translations:


"Votre pantalon. Enlevez-le." Your pants. Take them off.

"Devenez nu. Maintenant." Get naked. Now.

"Également les sous-vêtements." Also the underwear.

"Vous êtes très beau." You are very beautiful.

"Je puis vous sucer." I can suck you.

"Je veaux vous faire l'amour avec ma bouche." I want to make love to you with my mouth.

"ma petite bonbon." my little sweet.



Chapter 11: Reluctant Agressor


Anatole led Trenton naked down the stairs to their bedroom. Once inside he gently directed the boy to sit on his bed, and began to strip. He moved slowly and sensuously. As each section of his body was bared, he stroked it, staring at Trenton. The rapt look on the boy's face was gratifying.


When he was nude he spread his legs and touched himself slowly, teasing his cock to full erection. His voice was throaty. "Do you want me, Trehn-tonne?"


"Yes." His voice was barely a whisper.


"I gave you what you wanted. Will you give me what I want?"




"My good boy. Up in the bed, sweetheart." Trentonne obeyed, stretching out. Anatole moved over him on his hands and knees. Then he lowered himself, stretching his body along Trenton's, covering him.


"Just this for a little, oui?" He moved against Trenton. Their cocks slid together, and the boy groaned, pushing up at him. "Yes, sweet--like that."


He thrust slowly and steadily, and the boy writhed beneath him. So supple, back arching so gracefully to lift his hips. Anatole relished the different textures of the experience: the silky crinkle of pubic hair, the firm velvet of hard cock, the satin slide of skin on the abdoment, wet with pre-come.


He reached between them, grasping both staffs, holding them together for even firmer friction. Trenton was straining upward, pushing hard. Anatole measured the glazed look in his eyes, and judged he was ready.


He stilled for a moment, while the boy continued to hump up against him, and reached to open the drawer in his nightstand. Trenton hesitated when he saw Anatole remove the paper sack he'd gotten at the drugstore. The older man dumped the contents on the nightstand. It was a tube of lubricant, and a box of condoms.


When Trenton looked back up at Anatole, he smiled, and stroked the boy's face. "Yes. I am afraid I planned this seduction. Very wicked of me, I know, but you are simply too hot to resist, Trehn- tonne."


Anatole opened the tube and squeezed gel into his palm. Trenton's head was buzzing. This was more than he had expected for his first time, but if that was what Anatole wanted, then it was all right with him. And he'd have to do it sooner or later anyway, to be ready for Clive.


He was mentally prepared, so it came as a surprise when Anatole did not touch him. Instead he reached around, and began to prepare himself. There was a look of sensual concentration on his face as he worked a finger into his ass. "Patience, little one. It will not take long. I will soon be open for you."


"'Tole, I thought... I thought you were going to..."


Anatole smiled down at him, finger working steadily. "No, Trehn- tonne. I do not top. It is not in my nature. I want you to fuck me. Can you do that?"


"I... guess. You're sure?" The idea of fucking Anatole was intriguing. In fact, it was damn hot. But there was still a corner of Trenton that was disappointed. After the studio, he'd thought for sure that Anatole was going to take charge.


Anatole sighed, working a second finger in alongside the first. "Oh, yes, very sure. You have a lovely cock, Trehn-tonne. I want to feel it inside me."


He reached for the box of condoms, extracting one and opening it. "Let me prepare you, dear one." He fitted the little latex circlet over Trenton's rigid cock, and slowly rolled it down. "Ah, you see? Almost snug. I should have gotten the larger size." He annointed Trent's dick with more of the lubricant, and slicked it thoroughly. Trent sighed, and pushed into his grip, but he released him, smiling. "None of that. You come only in my ass, Trehn-tonne."


He moved off the boy, positioning himself on his hands and knees. "Like this, Trehn-tonne. It will be easiest, for your first time. We can try different positions later."


Trenton trembled. First time. He meant there would be other times. Maybe... maybe he would get what he wanted, eventually. People changed their minds. In the meantime, there was a perfect ass being presented to him.


Trenton knelt behind Anatole and stroked the smooth, firm globes of his ass appreciatively. He gripped them, and hesitantly pulled them apart, exposing the small, puckered hole resting inside. He pressed gently with his thumbs, testing. Anatole sighed, and he stopped. "No, Trehn-tonne, you need not hesitate. I am ready for you. Come inside."


Trenton moved closer, fitting the deep pink head of his cock against the opening. He was shaking with anticipation. He pushed with his hips, feeling the slight resistance. Then the resilent ring stretched. Eased by the lubricant, he slid in a couple of inches.


The heat was incredible, and he lost it for a moment. With a grunt, he bucked his hips hard, and thrust deeply. Anatole gasped in pleased surprise as the thick cock filled him, scraping over his prostate. "Mon Dieu!"


"I'm sorry," Trenton groaned. He was sweating, holding on to Anatole's hips. God, he was so tight, and Anatole wasn't a virgin, apparently had done this a lot. Was he going to be able to do this when his turn came? How would he feel to Clive?


The thought enflamed him. The idea of being tight for Clive was so hot that, for a moment, he didn't worry about whether or not he was hurting his partner. It didn't matter, though, because Anatole was saying breathlessly, "No, no. It's good! So good. Fuck me."


Trenton began to move. He pulled back a little too far the first time, and slipped out. Anatole bit the pillow to stifle laughter as he swore and moved back into position. He certainly didn't want to discourage the boy, and he was doing very well for his first time. The desire to laugh completely disappeared when Trenton inserted his dick again, with a very authorotative thrust.


After that first time, he knew enough not to draw back so far. It was heavenly. The thick young cock filled Anatole perfectly. And the boy, thoughtful little thing, reached around and stroked his prick, instinctively matching his carresses in time to his pumping.


It went on for long minutes. Anatole was humping back to meet his strokes, making a constant whimper of pleasure. He could feel the tension rising in his young lover, as his thrusts became even stronger.


Trenton's voice was hoarse--ragged. "'Tole, I can't last much longer. I... I need..."


"Let go, petite. Give it to me as hard as you can, I can take it. I want it!"


Trenton gave a low cry and began to lunge against him. Every stroke carried him to the limit of Anatole's capacity, jarring him. Anatole's arms gave out, dropping his face to the mattress, and he turned it aside so he would be able to breathe. Shit, the boy was good! Not many could do that to him.


Anatole gripped his own cock and brought himself to orgasm with a few hard strokes. He shuddered as he shot his load, feeling himself clench around the boy who was fucking him. He deliberately squeezed, using trained muscles to milk the boy's embedded cock.


Trenton cried his name, and stiffened. Anatole smiled as he felt the warm pulse deep in his guts, evident even through the latex sheath. The boy must shoot like a rocket. Trenton thrust a few more times, moaning as his seed emptied.


Then he reached down and put his arms around Anatole. Trenton pulled the older man up into a kneeling position, holding him, and tenderly kissed his neck, shoulders, back. Anatole reached back blindly, running his hands through Trenton's sweaty curls. What a sweet, grateful boy.


After a moment, Anatole disengaged himself gently. He stretched out on his back, and pulled Trenton down to lie beside him, snuggling the boy into the crook of his arm. "Wonderful, my friend. I am honored to be the first to have you like that."


"I did okay? I was afraid I wasn't making it good for you. I mean..." he was blushing. "I got kinda carried away, there."


"Exactly what I like, Trehn-tonne. It is very exciting, to know that you can inspire that in a man."


"Yeah. I almost did that to Clive, once. But he was determined not to touch me till I'm seventeen. I want to do that, though. Make him lose control."


"I'm sure he will." *In any case, I'm sure Gervase will. He's going to love you, petite.*



Chapter 12: Home Front


Dear Clive,


Bonjour, and all that. Sorry I haven't written before. Actually, I did write before, but it sounded so stupid and sappy that I tore up the first three letters. I'm letting this one slip through, cause I don't want you to think that I didn't care enough to write. Eh, and I just sounded sappy anyway, didn't I? Oh, well. Don't tell Mom, but I'm kind of homesick.


I'm practicing my swimming regularly, and I think I'm getting faster. Olympics, here I come!


Things are going good. Classes are easier than I expected. So much for how our school system is all inferior. Of course, Anatole says that's just because I'm particularly smart.


Oh, yeah, Anatole. He's the son of my hosts. He's twenty, and going to college, but he comes home on the weekends. He's an artist, and he's really good. I'm sending you and Mom some sketches that he made of me. I guess I don't have to tell you not to show Mom yours. Maybe you can guess by the picture that I'm not quite the same as I was when I left.


Mom told me she wanted me to go to Paris because I would have experiences I would never forget. Well, she's right. You told me about getting experience, too, right? Well, both you and Mom should be happy. That's all I'm gonna say about that. (BIG grin)


Next weekend I'm going to stay with Anatole at his apartment, and he'll show me around and introduce me to some of his friends at school. I'm looking forward to it. He says there'll be some sort of party Saturday. I know, I know. I won't drink anything. Even though some LITTLE kids drink wine over here. Did you know that you could make me behave even transatlantic? (big, wide, EVIL grin!)


Gotta go now. Anatole wants to take me shopping for a new shirt for the party.


Miss you,




Clive looked at the letter fondly. "Miss you, too, baby boy," he murmured. He was back in his office, with his feet up. It had been a hectic day, as usual. Some silly twat had insisted on trying to go from deep brunette to platinum blonde, and had taken offense when Clive flatly refused to allow it.


"Why not, dear lady? Because your hair is already the texture of broom straw, and the poor shit might just give up and fall out in handfuls, and I am not going to be responsible for the mistake that finally sends you screaming to a personal injury suit lawyer, that's why not. With plenty of hot oil therapy and a regime of the right conditioners, I might be able to bring it from broom straw to wire haired terrier coat, but I doubt it." She'd done the best imitation he'd ever seen of a landed carp, eyes bugging and mouth flapping, then left.


It was getting harder and harder to suffer the fools in this world. He sighed, looking at the letter again. People like Trenton made it a little easier to bear. He really did miss the boy. Not just for the lovely, maddening sexual tension that hummed between them, either.


He regarded the cardboard mailing tube that arrived with the letter, and found himself smiling. Big grin, huh? "Trenton, what have you been up to?"


Clive unsealed the tube and extracted two sheets of sketch paper, rolled up together. He unrolled them, and the inner page was blank, a buffer to keep the drawing from smudging, he supposed. He stretched the pages to uncurl them, then removed the cover sheet...


And caught his breath.


His feet hit the floor.


"Oh, dear God."


It was a nude charcoal sketch of Trenton, lying at his ease on a sofa, propped against its arm. The point of view was from the foot of the sofa, looking up the length of his sprawled body, one leg dangling casually to the floor. His hands were folded peacefully across his flat belly, and his face, adult features just emerging from the blur of childhood, held an expression of lazy sensuality. He was erect, his cock arching proudly against his hip.


Clive stared, his mouth going dry. He'd known Trenton was beautiful, but this... His hand trembled slightly, and he whispered, "And I sent that out among millions of horny Frenchmen? What the fuck was I thinking of?"


He studied it more closely, picking out details. The shadow of his navel, the emphatic points of his nipples. He felt himself begin to grow hard, and quickly rolled the picture back up. "I will not beat off looking at that picture." A pause. "Not here, anyway."


He carefully slipped the picture back into its shipping tube. This was going to be framed, and hung in his bedroom. And Lynette Vittelli was most assuredly not going to see it.


Clive put on his jacket and made his way to the front of the salon, letting himself out. As he walked, he reflected. He'd done the right thing, of course. Trenton had needed a little distance to put things in perspective, to be sure that he really wanted what Clive had to offer him.


Clive had needed perspective, too. This separation was showing him just exactly how badly he wanted the boy. As Clive had told Trenton, he wasn't exclusive, but he did tend to have favorites, and Trenton was definitely one of those.


The boy hadn't even been gone two months yet. He wouldn't be back till the end of May, and it was only November. Trenton couldn't afford to fly home for Christmas or New Years. Clive indulged in a bit of self pity, imagining what he could have done with a little mistletoe.


Once home, Clive stretched the paper out, and weighted it down to uncurl it. He set a pot of coffee to drip, and went into the bathroom. He'd managed to buy the building a couple of years ago, and had treated himself to this extravaganza to celebrate: lots of mirrors, lots of marble counters, and a shower and bathtub, both big enough for two. Good, clean fun.


Clive stripped and examined himself critically in the mirror. Still good, still taut. He'd been blessed with good material to start with, and had developed and maintained it. He did it for himself, but as long as there were men around like Trenton Vittelli there was an added incentive.


Clive turned the shower spray on to lukewarm, and stepped in. He scrubbed quickly and efficiently, then washed his hair using his favorite shampoo. He allowed himself a little scent in this one, natural herbs.


Unsurprisingly Clive took a good bit longer to wash his hair than he did the rest of his body. He savored the rich, soft lather, working his scalp strongly, then rinsed, and conditioned. While he let the conditioner work its magic he squirted a generous glob of the creamy stuff into his palm, and began to slick it on his cock. Few things in the world were a better lubricant for jerking off in the shower.


He didn't have to do this--companionship was just a phone call away. Clive wasn't overly vain, but he had a sense of his self worth, and he never lacked playmates, but tonight, he only wanted Trenton. Since Trenton wasn't there, he'd have to have him like this.


Clive closed his eyes and stroked himself firmly. First he thought of Trenton as he'd already seen him: the awkwardly graceful teenager shifting before his counter and staring at him with those extraordinary green eyes. Watching the long muscles in his thighs flex below the hem of his ragged shorts as he squatted to sweep hair cuttings into the dustpan. The look on the boy's face reflected in the mirror as he'd sat there, hair damp, saying, "Teach me." Clive started to get hard.


Then he moved on to fantasies, to what might be. Would be, if he had any say in it. Slowly stripping the boy, gradually baring that long, lean body. Watching him sink to his knees, looking up into Clive's face with that look of perfect acceptance and submission. He'd been so close to just taking him that night they'd talked about France. Trenton would never know how close.


Clive let his fingers glide smoothly, pausing to squeeze every now and then. In his mind, Trenton lowered his head, then bent forward and lapped softly at his cock head, pink tongue swirling over the darker pink knob. Then he parted his sweet lips and took Clive into his mouth.


The man moaned, head back, hand moving quickly. He dragged his nails, imagining the more intimate rasp of teeth, bordering on pain, and came, gasping the boy's name. He watched the viscous strands of sperm swirl down the drain, and rinsed the conditioner out of his hair, feeling marvelously relaxed. Actual sex would have been better, of course, but this would serve till Trent's homecoming. Clive grinned. Homecoming. What an appropriate term.



Chapter 13: 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."




"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."


Chapter 14: Pursuit


"Trehn-tonne, this is my good friend, Gervase Underhill."


Trenton eyed the older man uncertainly. Anatole hadn't said anything about spending the day with anyone else. Still, it was to be expected. Trenton couldn't ask Anatole to give up his friends just to keep him company. He offered his hand. "How do you do, sir?"


Underhill shook his hand. "Sir? Please, dear boy, you make me feel ancient. Call me Gerry. Anatole tells me that you're from Metropolis."


"Yes, sir. I mean Gerry."


"Fascinating city. I'm due there on a lecture tour sometime next year. Perhaps I'll be able to drop by and say hello."


"Sure, I guess so." Trenton knew that he didn't sound too enthusiastic, but, well, he wasn't too enthusiastic. He had the same reaction to Gervase Underhill in the flesh that he'd had to his portrait--he got the feeling that this man was not entirely safe.


The Bienvenues had dropped him off on the sidewalk in front of Anatole's apartment, and Anatole had been watching at the window. He came down and greeted his parents before they drove off, then escorted Trenton upstairs, and Gervase Underhill had been lounging on the sofa when they entered. He got up and came toward them quickly, and Trenton felt a trickle of unease when he saw the look in his eyes. Somehow it was just too eager for this situation. He had to fight the urge to take a step back.


"So," Anatole clapped his hands together. "First, lunch I think. Then what shall we do till this evening?"


"There's an American movie playing at the cinema downtown. How about that?"


"Okay, sounds good." Trenton missed movies. He'd usually gone at least once a week back home.


They ate lunch at one of the innumerable cafes that spread throughout Paris. Gervase requested a booth. Trenton was a little nonplused when Gervase sat on his side. He found himself scooting away an inch at a time till he was snugged into the corner. Gervase sat much closer than was comfortable for the boy. He found Gervase's leg pressed along his own, his shoulder jostling him. Trenton was a little puzzled. He'd always heard that Englishmen were aloof and standoffish.


Worse than the invasion of personal space, Gervase was a toucher. He kept putting his hand on Trenton's shoulder, or arm, or back, to press a point, and the hand lingered just a little longer than he was comfortable with.


It was a relief to go to the theater, though it was a little alien. The candy selection was different from what he was used to. The posters were mostly in French, and some of the movies advertised featured actors and actresses he'd never heard of. But the smell was right--the popcorn and hot butter sauce, and the slightly musty smell of upholstered seats that probably weren't cleaned often enough, and chilled air.


Gervase had seemed amused by the large bucket of popcorn he bought. "After that lunch you put away, I don't know how you'll manage it." He'd patted Trenton's flat belly as he said that, and Trenton found himself twitching away.


Trenton sat between the other two men, crunching his way through the popcorn while he waited for the movie to start, and they spoke across him. When the lights went down, Anatole said, "Trehn-tonne, you must be very quiet during the movie. I know sometimes Americans like to talk, but that is frowned upon here. If you must speak, do so in a whisper, please."


"Sure, Anatole. I'm not that inconsiderate."


"We didn't really think you were, dear boy," Gervase murmured. "but you young Americans can be so boisterous sometimes. You can't really help it. All that healthy energy just oozes out." Trenton stared at him, and ate another mouthful of popcorn.


The film was pretty interesting. It was a caper movie about a bunch of guys who'd known each other in the army getting together to rob a casino in Las Vegas. Somehow you were in sympathy with the guys, because they all seemed to have been screwed over, one way or another, and it was made out like they weren't really robbing any one person, but sort of a big, impersonal corporate monster, who wouldn't really miss it. Of course things went wrong, and people got killed. No one ever seemed to just get away with anything in the movies.


When Gervase's knee nudged his Trenton didn't think much about it. The seats were pretty narrow, and when the other man laid his arm across the back of his seat Trenton just assumed that it was because he had been hogging the arm shared between their seats. Then he noticed that Gervase's hand had somehow made it's way from the seat, down onto his shoulder.


Trenton frowned to himself, sitting a little stiffly. He wouldn't have minded if Anatole had done it. After all, he and Anatole were... Well, they were close. But he didn't know this man and he wasn't sure he even liked him. He just seemed way too familiar, way too fast, but he wasn't sure exactly how to react. He didn't want to seem rude. He had no idea that Underhill was counting on this.


The hand started to move. The fingers flexed, massaging his shoulder. Trenton glanced at Gervase, but he seemed engrossed in the film. *He must not even notice what he's doing. It's like drumming his fingers or tapping his foot, I guess.*


He wasn't able to tell himself that when the hand settled on his thigh and squeezed. Trenton looked down at it in astonishment. The long, elegant fingers splayed across the firm column of his thigh, scratching lightly at the denim of his blue jeans. He looked up at Gervase, and this time he wasn't watching the screen--he was looking directly at Trenton.


Gervase stared into the wide green eyes. Oh, such a look of shocked innocense. It made him hard. The boy shook his head firmly. Gervase only smiled. He moved his left hand to the back of the boy's neck, working his fingers up into the soft auburn curls at the nape. He started to slide his right hand down along the inside of the boy's thigh.


Trenton moved suddenly, giving his entire body a brisk shake that threw Gervase's hands off. Anatole frowned at him, and whispered, "Trehn-tonne, what is wrong with you?"


"Nothing. Dropped some ice in my lap." He rattled his cup suggestively, and looked pointedly at Gervase. "Almost spilled the whole thing."


Gervase's lips twisted in an ironic smile, and he whispered, "Be careful, dear boy. You wouldn't want to do anything that might cause yourself discomfort." He kept his hands to himself the rest of the movie, but Trenton caught him studying him every now and then.


*I can't believe that,* he fumed to himself. *I don't even know the guy, and he's groping me in the movies. I hope Anatole didn't notice. I mean, I know we're not going steady or anything, but I think him and Gervase are kind of together. I don't want Anatole to get his feelings hurt and maybe think I was trying to flirt with his guy.*


When the movie was over it still wasn't time to go to the party. After some discussion they strolled the streets, window shopping. They located an old book store and Trenton was eager to explore it. Inside it was deep, narrow, dim, and dusty; fascinating to Trenton. The three split up to pursue individual interests.


Trenton eventually found himself in the very back corner. He'd located a stack of old American pulp magazines--Spicy Detective, Racy Adventures, Horror Tales... He became absorbed, flipping through them, so absorbed that the hand on his ass made him jump and squawk. He whirled to find Gervase smirking at him. Trenton reacted with instinctive anger, slapping him across the chest with the magazine he was holding, but he kept his voice low when he hissed, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"


"Just offering a gesture of admiration, Trent. You have a lovely arse."


"Well, quit it. I don't appreciate it."


"Oh, come now, Trent. Don't pretend that you're offended by having a man show sexual interest in you. I know my Anatole. He hasn't let a darling thing like you slip by when you've been sharing sleeping quarters."


Trent blushed furiously. Surely Anatole hadn't been talking about what they did? He'd never asked the Frenchman not to, but still... He wasn't ashamed of the fact that he was gay, but he wasn't ready to start spreading the word to the world, either. He would choose who knew when he was ready. Maybe Underhill had just worked things out for himself. In any case, Trenton was definitely not interested in the older man. He could admit that Gervase was attractive in a purely physical way, but there was something about the man that just made Trenton feel cold inside.


"I'm not interested in you, okay?"


"Oh dear, now my feelings are hurt." Gervase didn't sound the least offended. What bothered Trent was that he didn't look very discouraged, either. "But I'm very, very interested in you, Trenton. I think you're absolutely luscious, especially when you blush like that. I'd wager that you blush..." He reached out and trailed a finger from the hollow of Trent's throat to the center of his chest "...all the way down to here."


Trent knocked his hand away. "Stop it."


"Trenton," Gervase moved in closer, and Trenton backed up till he came up against the wall. "Trenton, why play coy? I know that Anatole can't give you what you want. I can."


"You... you don't know me. You don't know what I want."


"Oh, but I do. You want to be taken. You want to be consumed, and you should be. You were made for submission." Gervase voice was low and intimate. "Let me have you. I promise I'll take you places you never imagined."


He was crowded close to the boy now. He reached down, and Trenton felt his hand cup his fly. Trent couldn't breath. It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air, and he was suffocating. He gave a sudden, desperate shove. Gervase hadn't been expecting it, and he stumbled back. Trenton was away in a flash, supple young body slithering past him. He ran up the aisle, almost falling against a table of used paperbacks in the open area of the store.


Anatole, near the register, saw him emerge, and saw his agitation. *Ah, Gervase has not had much success, I think. He won't like that.*


Trenton saw Anatole watching him, and quickly picked a book up off the table and brought it to the front. "I found something I've been looking for."


Anatole examined the book, his eyebrows lifting. "The Care and Raising of Hamsters. You did not tell me you had a pet, Trehn-tonne."


"I'm planning to get one when I get home."


Gervase emerged from the stacks and strolled to the counter. Trenton immediately put Anatole between himself and the Englishman. The older man's expression was bland, but there was a certain tension to his stance that Anatole recognized. Oh, dear, he was determined to have the boy. Anatole would have to try to work on him a bit at the party. If that didn't succeed, well... He and Gervase had discussed that.


The party was at the apartment of one of Anatole's university friends. Trenton was excited, even after his upset with Gervase, because this was his first 'grown up' party. The little place was crowded, noisy, and smoky when they arrived.


The cool thing was how quickly he was accepted. They didn't look down on him as a kid. Some of the guests were only a couple of years older than himself, just starting out at the university. Since he could speak good French and there were a number of people who wanted to practice their English, he had no problem communicating. He scarfed cold cuts from a pretty fair buffet when he had the chance. He was offered wine, and turned it down in favor of a coke, but Anatole teased him about it, and that got the others teasing him about it. Finally he broke down and accepted one glass of wine. He didn't really like the taste of it, but it didn't seem to do him too much damage. He just felt a little more relaxed.


The crowd thinned out, and someone put on some records. There was room now, and Trent couldn't resist dancing a little. He danced with a tiny blonde girl till a very tall brunette girl dragged her away. Trent watched them go, just a little bewildered till he realized that it wasn't just guys who could be interested in their own sex. As that revelation came to him, a dark freshman, a boy, tapped him on the shoulder and asked him to dance. Trent hesitated for a moment, but saw that Anatole was dancing with another man, so he shrugged and agreed. It wasn't like they were doing cheek to cheek.


He danced happily, bobbing and shimmying with the beat, really enjoying himself, till he made a turn and saw Gervase watching him. Suddenly he felt awkward and selfconscious, and he begged off the rest of the song, saying he felt light headed. He went and sat off to one side on a small love seat.


A few moments later, Anatole came and dropped down beside him. "Are you enjoying yourself, Trehn-tonne?"


"Yeah, Tole. Your friends are cool. I like them."


Anatole regarded him. "You like Gervase?"


Trenton picked at the sofa arm, and mumbled. "He's all right."


"He likes you--very, very much. But he seems to think that you do not like him."


"He... he's pushy, Tole."


"A bit forceful, yes. He's very strong willed, but isn't that what you want, Trent? I've listened to you talk about your Clive."


"That's different."


"How so?"


"I... he... Clive knows me. I know him. I feel safe with Clive."


"Oh, but Trehn-tonne, safe is so boring. Why don't you reconsider Gerry? If you like, we could have a mènage."


"A what?"


"Sweet little innocent. A mènage a tróis. Three in a bed."


Trenton almost squeaked. "You mean both of you? At once?"


"Yes. It would be very hot, Trent." He stroked the boy's arm. "We could both have what we want. Gervase is quite virile."


"Tole, I couldn't do that. I couldn't. That man... I'm sorry, I know he's your friend, but he makes me uncomfortable. He looks like he wants to bite me or something."


Anatole laughed. "No, Trehn-tonne. He doesn't want to hurt you. He just wants to fuck you."


Trent shook his head. "No. No, I don't want to."


"You're sure?"


"Tole! Yes, I'm sure. Geez."


Anatole shrugged. "All right, then. But you're missing out."


"I'll live."


"I think he's ready to go. I must say good-bye to him. One moment."


Anatole went to where Gervase was gathering his jacket. "I saw him shaking his head. No luck, eh?"


"Not very adventurous, our Trehn-tonne. I am afraid we will have to resort to subterfuge if you are determined to have him."


Gervase stared back at the boy sprawled on the love seat. Trenton caught his look and looked away, crossing his arms defensively on his chest. Gervase followed the smooth column of his neck down the long torso, and came to rest on the tempting basket displayed by his jeans. "I want him, Anatole."


"Very well, my pet. I'll try not to be long." He gave the older man a kiss and waved him out the door. Gervase gave Trenton a last smoldering look, then was gone.


Trenton heaved a sigh of relief when the professor left. There weren't too many people in the world who had managed to unsettle him that much in such a short period of time. There was something very predatory about Gervase Underhill. He wondered why Anatole didn't seem to be aware of it. It couldn't be because he didn't care, could it?


"Well, Trehn-tonne, I'm sorry you didn't get along with Gervase, but not everyone can be to everyone's taste, I suppose. But you know, I must thank Gervase for one thing, in any case."


"What's that?"


"He made me realize that I am depriving myself of a great deal of pleasure. Trent," he put his arm around the boy, pulling him close. "would you like to try something a little different tonight?"


Suddenly Trent's heart was pounding. *Don't get your hopes up, Trent.* "Like what?"


Anatole rested his chin on Trenton's shoulder, gazing at him. "You don't want Gervase," he murmured. "but would you consider letting me fuck you?"


Trent's mouth went dry, and he swallowed. "I thought you didn't do that."


"I haven't." He stroked Trenton's cheek. "But you, Trehn-tonne, you are enough to make me curious. I think I would like very much to top you, little boy. Would you like that? I think I would like to have you sweet and helpless, blind folded, tied to my bed, to do with as I will."


"Oh, man," Trenton whispered. His eyes were wide. "Do you mean that, Tole?"


"Yes. Could you do that? Could you surrender yourself? Submit yourself? You haven't before, I know, but you want to?"


"Yes. I... yes, Tole."


Anatole smiled gently. "My good boy. Then we will go back to my place, and you will be mastered, Trehn-tonne, I promise you that."



Chapter 15: Betrayal


Trenton was almost shaking with anticipation by the time they reached Anatole's apartment. Anatole didn't turn on any lights, leading him through the darkened apartment to the bedroom. When he switched on the bedside lamp Trent saw that the top sheet had already been stripped off the bed, and his heart started to pound. Anatole must have been planning this.


Anatole kissed him softy, and murmured, "Get undressed." While Trenton stripped he opened the drawer in the night stand and removed a tube of lubricant and a condom, laying them on top. Then he went to his dresser and rummaged in it. When he returned to the bed he was carrying two long black scarves.


Trenton stood before him naked, and Anatole examined him appreciatively. It was no wonder that Gervase lusted after him. He almost made Anatole wish that he, himself, were a Dominant.


Anatole laid the scarves on the bed and stripped out of his own clothes, then picked up one of the scarves and carefully folded it into one long, narrow rectangle. "Turn around, my sweet." Trenton obeyed.


The soft black cloth settled over his eyes, blocking out all light, and he felt Anatole knot it behind his head. "There. Can you see anything, Trehn-tonne? Any light? You must be honest with me."


"No, Tole, nothing. It's pitch black."


"Bon. Now."


Trenton gasped as a whisper soft touch floated down his torso. His nipples peaked immediately at the sensual slide of chiffon. The smooth material was dragged all over him: shoulders, back, belly, legs, cock... Oh, yes, his cock! It was crazy making, that gentle slide. He got hard quickly.


"You like that, ma petite." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.




"Yes, Master."


Trenton trembled. "Yes, Master."


He felt Anatole's hand on his cock, stroking firmly, and pushed into the grip. There was a stinging slap on his ass that made Trenton yelp. "Did I say you could do that?"


"No, Master. I'm sorry."


"Hands behind your neck, and bow your head." Trenton obeyed. "Better. You look properly humble now. Stand there, Trehn- tonne. Do not move. If you remove the blindfold, I will punish you severely." Trenton thought that Anatole left the room for a moment, but he couldn't be sure with the thick carpeting. Trent waited in darkness.


In a moment, he felt a light touch, a finger running down his spine, from the top to the small of his back. Hands slid around him from behind, gliding over his chest, plucking at his nipples. He heard Anatole's voice behind him whisper, "Stay very still, pretty slave."


It wasn't easy. Anatole's touch had never been so firm and authoritative. Trenton's submission and vulnerability must have made him bold. The hands roamed his body with impunity: stroking, caressing, pinching. They found sensitive areas that Trent hadn't even been aware he had. Through it all, Trent held the desired position. But his cock was as hard as stone, and his knees were trembling when the hands finally took hold of his arms and guided him till his legs bumped against the bed.


"Lie down, pretty slave. On your belly." Trenton obeyed, feeling his way carefully, and settling on the mattress. "Now, grip the bar before you with both hands." Trenton reached over his head and found the post, wrapping both hands around it. He felt the second silk scarf winding around his wrists. In a moment he was tied to the bed. "Test your bonds." Trenton tugged experimentally, then harder, and there was no give.


"They hold firm, Master."


"Very good. I will prepare you now, my innocent one. Open your legs." Trenton spread his legs as wide as he could. He felt the hands again, on his buttocks this time. The cheeks were pried apart, then he felt a soft, wet touch on his most intimate spot.


He gasped, "Tole!"


The touch stopped, and Anatole said sternly. "Be quiet, slave. You may make noise, but you may not speak." The touch returned, probing, and he knew that Anatole was using his tongue.


Trenton gave a heartfelt groan, giving himself over to the sensation. It was fantastic. He humped slowly against the cool sheets beneath him, stimulating himself even more. Again the touch stopped. "You like that, don't you, ma petite?" Trenton started to speak, but then remembered his orders and nodded instead. "Good, good."


Gervase's POV


By the time Anatole came out to let me in, I was almost ready to burst. I stripped quickly in the living room, and we went into Anatole's bedroom, moving quietly. Trenton must not hear anything that would make him suspicious.


God, he was so hot: standing there naked and blindfolded, hands at the nape of his neck, head tipped down submissively. I finally got to touch him as I wanted to. His skin was so soft. He was just beginning to grow his body hair, and it was still soft, almost downy. I ran my hands over every inch I could reach.


Then we got him to lie down, and I tied him to the bed. Yes, I did it. That wasn't something I'd allow Anatole to do. From here on in, Trenton Vittelli was mine.


I tasted him, spreading his sweet ass cheeks and pressing my face to the crevice. He was very clean, and his flesh tasted fresh, with only a hint of musk. It was a pain to stop whenever Anatole spoke to him, but then Anatole could have hardly done that while he was tongue fucking the boy's ass, could he?


I returned to my delicious task. I licked lavishly, teasing around the tiny hole, then worked my tongue deep inside. Soon the boy was moaning and humping, rubbing himself against the bed, and pushing back eagerly for more of my attention.


*I wish he knew it was me. I wish this reaction was for me, not Anatole. But we can't have everything, can we?*


I couldn't resist the temptation of that maddeningly innocent body for long. I was so hard it almost hurt. My cock was oozing a steady drool of clear precome, and I quickly slicked it over my prick, so the friction in the condom would be more pleasurable. Anatole silently opened a rubber, kissed the head of my prick reverently, and rolled the little sheath down over my prick.


I held out my hand, and he spread lubricant on my fingers, so that I could prepare Trent for my pleasure. As I knelt on the bed between his wide spread thighs, he trembled, lifting his head blindly. Anatole stood as close to me as he could, so his voice would come from the right position. "Ready yourself, sweet boy. I am going to open you now. Relax. I will be sure that you are well prepared." Anatole gripped my shoulder, looking at me with a little anxiety, and I nodded to assure him. I had no desire to hurt the boy--I just wanted to fuck him.


Again I spread his cheeks apart. I stroked down his crack, coating him generously, then paused as his anus. He twitched in apprehension, and anticipation. But he said nothing. Oh, he was such a good boy.


I ran my finger around the muscular opening, massaging it till I felt a bit of the tension ease out. Then I carefully, slowly, sank the first finger into him. He whined quietly, but it was clearly as much pleasure as discomfort. I didn't stop till I had my knuckles against his ass. Then I slowly fucked in and out, giving him a taste of what was to come.


His breathing speeded up. He'd gone still, but soon he was once again moving, hips undulating smoothly as he masturbated by rubbing on the sheets, and impaling himself on my probing finger. Delighted, I slipped the second finger in a little more quickly. The whine was higher pitched this time, and his brow wrinkled above the blindfold, but again he remained stoic.


I decided to reward him. I carefully turned my hand, and felt till I found the spongy knob of his prostate, then glided my fingertips over it. Trenton gasped, going rigid, head back, soft mouth open. I did it again, watching the flush spread over his cheeks and down his throat. He moaned, pushing back at me. I could feel that I was baring my teeth, and I gave him what he wanted. I pushed in very hard, and rubbed firmly, over and over. His body jerked helplessly with pleasure, and he made quiet sobbing sounds.


I made a gesture at my lover. I wanted to hear the boy. "You may speak, Trent."


"Fuck me. Please, Anatole, please! I'm going crazy!"


"Is that what you want, pet?" Anatole knows what I like. He was determined to draw the boy out.


"Oh, God! I need it, Tole. I need you inside me."


"You shall have me, pet." Then...


Ah, he meant well. But it was such a stupid thing to do! Perhaps if Trenton were less bright, we still might have gotten away with it. He would have had a nice little experience with 'Anatole', and I would have had a piece of ass to remember, and no one would have gotten hurt.


But Anatole wanted to raise Trenton up a little, so I'd have a better angle to drive into his ass. An admirable purpose, but he'd forgotten that I was gripping Trenton's hip with one hand, and working two fingers of the other in his ass. So where the hell did the hand that slipped the pillow under him come from?


His head went up immediately, and I could see confusion, even with the blindfold. "Tole? What... Your hands..."


Anatole saw his mistake at once. "Relax, Trehn-tonne."


"But I don't understand. You couldn't..." I could also see the dawning horror. "Is... is someone... else...?" The wonderful pink flush deepened to red. His voice was very small. "Tole?"


I gritted my teeth. Well, no more time for foreplay. "Fuck."


I'd only thought he was tensed before. Now it was as if he were carved in sun heated marble. "Gervase?"


"Yes, boy, Gervase. Now, be quiet, and enjoy this."


"No!" It was a shriek, and he started trying to kick. I was going to have to hurry, dammit.


I pulled out, hoping I'd gotten him loose enough that he wouldn't tear, and I wouldn't chafe, grabbed both his hips, and rammed myself home. He screamed, and I felt a momentary sorrow that it had to be this way. I would have preferred to seduce his cherry away, but he would be stubborn. But the sorrow was, as I've said, momentary. It was burned away by the hot, velvety grip of his virgin ass. He was tighter than any cunt or ass I'd ever been in.


I couldn't control it after that, even if I'd wanted to. I pounded into him, pummelling him with my body. He cursed me, and Anatole, and eventually his friend Clive, for sending him to Paris. Sending him into this. And he cried. He might be moving toward manhood, but he was still very much a boy, and he was hurting, spiritually and physically.


Anatole was stroking Trenton's sweaty curls as I thrust into him, whispering words of apology and explanation. Waste of breath, of course. The boy tossed his head, jerking away as if the caresses were loathsome, refusing to be comforted.


When I came it was as intense as anything I've ever experienced. My orgasm started in my balls, and spread through my body, up and down. Every square inch of my being buzzed with the heated tingle. I gushed hot sperm into the enveloping condom, wishing I could have risked going in bareback. I would have liked to have the boy feel my seed coating his insides, my sperm oozing from his ass when we were done. But you don't do that in this day and age, especially not if the passive partner is under age, and being raped.


I pulled out, careful not to let the rubber slip off. Anatole quickly stripped it and disposed of it. Then he went to the bathroom for a warm, damp rag as I caught my breath. I idly massaged Trenton's ass cheeks, his back, his shoulders. He was quiet again, just shaking. "It's all right, Trent. See? It's over now, and you're none the worse for it, are you? This was what you wanted, after all."


Anatole came back and cleaned me. I got off the bed, and Anatole tenderly wiped Trenton down, whispering to him. The towel came away from his ass with blood on it. Not a huge amount, but more than I would have liked. Anatole was a veteran, and could handle a little damage. But the boy...


I fetched my clothes from the living room, and began to dress. I watched Anatole, sitting beside the still bound boy on the bed, hugging him reassuringly. "It's all right, pretty. It always hurts a little at first. If only you would have relaxed, Gervase could have been so good to you. But next time, yes? Next time it will be only pleasure for you, sweet Trehn-tonne."


"I want to go now." His voice was barely audible.


"But Trehn-tonne, it is late. You have been through a lot. You should rest."




Anatole untied the boy's hands. Trenton sat up slowly and took off the blindfold. His expression was blank, but his eyes were wounded. He looked from Anatole to me. His clothes had been neatly folded on the night stand, and he started to get dressed, not looking at either of us again, not saying a word. When he was clothed, he stood up, staggering a little. Anatole moved to support him and he finally showed some sign of life. He jerked away so abruptly that he almost fell. My lover took the hint, and let him make his own way to the living room.


I was a little worried when I saw him picking up the phone. "Trenton, think carefully before you report this. You really won't be able to prove it wasn't consensual, you know. You came here expecting to get fucked, and you did--it just wasn't by who you thought it would be." He stared at me, the receiver in his hands, and dialed. When I heard him ordering a taxi, I almost wilted in relief.


He collected the bag that held the few things he'd brought with him, and went to stand by the door, waiting. The cab came quickly--there wasn't much business that time of night. Trenton opened the door to leave, then turned back to us. Anatole made one more attempt. "Please, Trehn-tonne, stay. You can have the bed. I will sleep out here. Gervase will go home." I nodded. Why not? I'd gotten what I came for.


Not looking right at us, he said dully, "I'll sleep in the studio. Or you can. I don't care. I can't go home right now, but I don't want you near me any more." He did look at Anatole then. His voice was soft, almost wondering. He wasn't used to the emotions he was feeling now, hadn't known he was capable of them. "I hate you." He closed the door quietly after himself, and a moment later we heard the taxi drive away.



Chapter 16: Avenger


Trenton had never felt so numb in his life. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The numbness was emotional. Physically, he was in pain. He knew that Gervase hadn't been deliberately rough with him, but he still hurt. His ass ached something awful, and he could feel a thin trickle of blood oozing into his underwear from his ravaged asshole.


He curled up on the back seat of the taxi, shaking. The cabbie watched him in the rear view mirror, and silently turned up the heater, hoping it would help the boy. He had no idea what the child had been through, but judging from the look on his face, it hadn't been pretty. He waited for the boy to say something, to ask to be taken to the hospital, or the police. But he didn't. He only hugged himself, and shivered, and, occasionally, made a little whimpering sound that tore at the grizzled hack's heart. Feeling helpless, the old man drove the boy to his destination.


When they arrived the boy climbed out slowly, moving as if he were in pain. As he took the fare, the cabbie asked gently, "Serez-vous bien?" The boy only looked at him with sad, old eyes and shook his head, then turned and went into the building.


Trenton went upstairs to the guest bathroom, passing through a darkened house without bothering to turn on the lights. In the bathroom he stripped, dropping his clothes to the floor heedlessly, thinking vaguely that he should burn them.


He ran a bath as hot... well, hotter than he could stand it. He had to lower himself into it an inch at a time. By the time he was sitting fully in the bath, his skin had begun to pinken. He sat, huddled in the steaming water, till it cooled to hot, then tepid, then cold. He pulled the plug, let it drain, and refilled the tub.


Trenton did this twice more. Finally he took a bar of soap and the bath loofa, and scrubbed himself thoroughly, thinking all the while that it was no use. He was never going to be able to get the smell and feel of Gervase off his skin.


He left the last bath water and walked, naked and dripping, into his room. For a moment, he stood there in the darkness. Moonlight slanted through the crack of the curtains, falling on the bed on the other side of the room: Anatole's bed.


Trenton stared at it. That was where he had fucked someone for the first time in his life. That was where Anatole had taken him in his hands, and in his mouth, and in his ass, and drawn such sweet sensations from his body that he thought he would die. That was where Anatole had told Trenton he was special, he cared for him. That was where Anatole had lied.


Something inside Trenton snapped. With a cry he threw himself at the bed, dragging the mattress from the frame. His body screamed in protest at the sudden vigorous activity, but he was beyond stopping.


He broke the headboard with several kicks, his legs powerful from the hours upon hours of swimming. He stripped the sheets, and tore them to shreds, stamping on them, and he only stopped when he realized that he was weeping, and muttering, "Clive... Clive...Clive..."


Finally exhausted, he crawled into his own bed, and stared up at the ceiling. What was he going to do? There were still months of his term left.


He stayed there, scarcely moving except to go to the bathroom once or twice. Dawn came, the day passed, night came again. It passed also, and Trenton lay in bed, eyes open, not moving. A little after daybreak, he heard the Bienvenus return. He heard their irritation, and then growing alarm when they discovered that the front door was unlocked. Then one of them discovered the tub of cold, scummed water, and the pile of clothes... and the bloody underwear.


Voices rose in alarm. He heard Mr. Bienvenu directing his wife and Chloe to go to the neighbor's and call the police. They left, and Trenton heard the cautious approach of footsteps. He closed his eyes, but could find no energy to do anything else.


The door to the room opened. He heard Mr. Bienvenu's gasp as he took in the destruction. Then his voice was sharp, "Trenton!" Trenton didn't move, didn't respond. There just didn't seem to be any reason. Then the older man grabbed him to shake him.


Trenton had a vivid flash of rough hands, fingers sinking bruisingly into the flesh of his hips, and he screamed, throwing himself away from his startled host so violently that he crashed into the wall. The force of his landing shoved the bed away from the wall and Trenton fell back behind it in a tangle of sheets. Mr. Bienvenu was trying to speak to him, trying to get some sense of what was happening. But the boy crawled under the bed, cocooning himself in the sheets, weeping.


The policeman managed to coax him out. Finally Trenton was seated on the bed, wrapped still in the sheets, a brandy pressed into his hands. He touched the glass to his lips occasionally, to make the adults happy, but he didn't drink.


Very little else made them happy. Trenton just couldn't (wouldn't) tell them anything. The policeman consulted with the Bienvenus. Trenton refused to go to the hospital. "I'm all right," he repeated every time someone asked him. "I just need to sleep."


They didn't doubt that, looking at the boy's haggard face. Finally one of the paramedics sat with Trenton, speaking to him quietly. "Boy, something happened to you. I saw the underwear." Trenton stared at him dully. "Maybe you don't want to think about it now. I can understand that. But you have to be looked at. Something could be torn up inside."


"I stopped bleeding."


"You need shots, and a blood screening."


"No, I don't. He used a condom." The paramedic winced. "Whoever he was."


He finally agreed to go, only because they threatened to strap him to a stretcher, and have him spend some time in a locked ward, under observation. It was just as well. By that time the moving around had started the bleeding again. The doctor ended up giving him an anesthesia, and putting in a few stiches


Mr. Bienvenu, while this was going on, called his son. "Anatole, what the hell happened? Why was Trenton here at the house alone? Do you know what happened?"


His son sounded strained. "No, father. Is something wrong?"


"Wrong? The house is broken into, furniture destroyed, and that poor American boy was assaulted."


"Trehn-tonne? Is... is he all right?"


"No, Anatole, he is not. The boy is practically a zombie. He won't tell us a thing, but the medics say it looks as though he was raped. Can you believe it? Dear lord, I was responsible for him, and this happens! What can I tell his mother? The break in is nothig, but the boy... Anatole, why wasn't he with you?"


"It's silly, really father. I can't even remember now what we quarreled about. But he was angry, and he's more headstrong than you would think. He insisted on going back to the house. Children of that age stay alone all the time in America. I thought he would be safe."


"Well, he wasn't. Oh..." Mr. Bienvenu sighed. "Don't blame yourself, son. It wasn't your fault. I'll speak to you later." He hung up.


Anatole stared at the receiver in his hand, then set it gently back in the cradle, put his head down on the table, and began to cry.


Trenton knew that he was causing trouble. He was going to mess things up, after all the work and worry his Mom had been through to get him here. But he just couldn't bring himself to care. He lay staring at the ceiling until they prodded him out of bed. Then he sat and stared, or simply held his face in his hands. He ate only when they threatened to put a tube down his throat.


Several days passed, he wasn't sure how many. When he thought at all he wondered if he should have someone bring him his lessons, so he wouldn't fall behind, but it was too much trouble.


The doctors tried to talk to him. The police detectives tried to talk to him. The nurses tried to talk to him, too, but that was more from their hearts than a sense of duty. It was wrenching to see the once vibrant young man fading away, sitting in the corner like a silent ghost. Trenton had gotten very good at ignoring them.


That was why he ignored the voice at first, turning his face away when someone said, "Trent?"


Another voice, one of the doctors, said, "You see? It's no use. He's unresponsive. We need your permission to medicate him."


"Over my dead, gorgeous body. The boy doesn't need any chemicals in his system to screw things up further. Trenton!"


"He won't respond."


"Oh, he'll respond to me, all right. Trenton Vittelli! I don't know where you've gone, but you get you fine little butt back here, right now!


Trenton blinked in confusion, and turned toward the voice. He blinked again. Dark gold hair, warm brown eyes, leather... "Clive?"


A hand, big and gentle, touched his face. "In the flesh, baby boy."


Without another word, Trenton reached for him. The older man pulled Trenton up into a bear hug, then sat in the chair the boy had just vacated, pulling him on to his lap. He stared cooly at the open mouthed doctor. "You can leave now." The doctor left.


Trenton's arms went around Clive's neck, his face buried against his shoulder, rubbing on the leather of his jacket. Clive didn't say anything else. He just held Trenton, and waited. Finally the boy gave a soft, shuddering sigh. "I missed you."


"I missed you too, precious. I've damned myself ten different ways for letting you come over here, and that was before this happened."


"What are you doing here?"


"Baby, did you think for a second that I wouldn't come? I'd have been here sooner if the fucking idiots had called. Your Mom is next of kin, but I was listed as your emergency contact, and those fuckers waited almost a week before they called up and admitted something was wrong. I was on the next plane out of Metropolis, and let me tell you, I pulled quite a scene to get on it. They'll remember me for a long time at the airport. I'm also advising your mom to find someone to sue."


"I... I'm glad you're here. Can I go home?"


"Of course you can, lamb, as soon as I can arrange it."


"It may take a while. I don't think the police want to let me go till... till I tell them something."


Clive took hold of Trenton's chin, lifting his face so that their eyes would meet. "You don't have to tell them anything, if you don't want to, darling. These things are nasty. I have a good friend who barely escaped a similar incident. Well, only halfway escaped it. Her other friends told me what she went through afterward. She didn't want to go to the police, either. It was taken care of privately."


His eyes glinted, and he gave Trenton a soft smile. "I'd like to take care of this privately, too."



Chapter 17: Retribution


"Now, then, precious." Trenton gasped, clinging to Clive as he stood up and carried him to his bed. He deposited him, and gently disengaged the boy's arms from around his neck. "I'm going to go and..."


"Don't leave me!" Trent grabbed at him again.


"Oof! Please, dear. I was about to worry about the fact that the doctors say you haven't been eating, but you still seem nice and solid." Again he eased the boy's arms away. "I'm only going out to get you some decent food. Why anyone would be expected to thrive on hospital food is beyond my comprehension. I'll be back shortly. I intend to spend the night in that rather purgatorial looking bed over there."


"I don't think the rules..."


"Trenton." Clive laid a finger against Trenton's lips, shushing him. "Dear, do you think I give a flying fuck about their little rules when it concerns you? Any way, I had a little talk with the Head Dragon In White already. The nurses are all quite in love with you, sensible things. Now then, what would you like?"




Clive smiled. "I notice the plural. I think you may be all right." Again he stroked the boy's cheek, and his brown eyes were serious. "I'm going to do my damndest to make it so, anyway. Now, it may be an hour or two. I'm not sure how lucky I'll be locating your supper. I know a type of French." He wiggled his tongue briefly at Trenton, who giggled, startled. "but it's not exactly what you'd call text book approved."


Clive left Trenton. As soon as he left the room his pleasant expression turned grim. He went to the nurses' station, and found the stout old nurse who ran things with an iron hand. "He's better. A long way from good, but better."


She nodded. "Good, monsieur. We were worried about him. You are...?"


Clive looked at her levelly. "His lover."


The woman's eyebrows raised, but she nodded again. "And you will see to the animal who did this to him?"


"Oh, yes."




"Is there anything you can tell me about this mess? The police don't seem to have been much good, so I'm not going to waste my time going to them."


She thought. "Well, from what I hear, they boy was supposed to be spending the weekend with the son of his host family. There was something about a quarrel, and the boy returned alone to the house. The attack occurred some time Saturday and the family returned Monday to find him like that, poor child."


Clive frowned. "That doesn't sound right. It doesn't sound like Trenton--he's one of the most easy-going, scrupulously polite people I've ever known. It doesn't make sense."


The nurse shrugged. "It is what has been told. The family... Well, the parents. The little girl is too young. They have been by to see him several times, though he did not really seem to notice them. It was even worse with the son."


Clive's eyes narrowed. "Yes?" His tone was casual.


"He only came once. Trenton ignored everyone else, but he actually turned away from Anatole. Put his pillow over his head. I thought the poor young man was going to cry. He seems to feel terribly guilty about allowing the child to go back to the house alone. I heard the parents and police trying to convince him that there was nothing he could have done. He couldn't have known this unfortunate incident would happen."


"Of course not. Anatole, you say? Bienvenu?"




"Thank you."


The nurse might have been a touch worried if she had noticed that Clive was thoughtfully tapping a fist into his palm as he walked off toward the public telephones.


A little while later, Clive stood on the doorstep of Anatole's apartment. *God bless Alexander Graham Bell. Without him, we'd have no telephones. No telephones, no telephone books. No telephone books, and finding people would be so much more time consuming.* Clive once again consulted the sheet of paper he'd torn from the telephone book at the hospital. Lots of Bienvenus, but only one Anatole Bienvenu. Marvelous. Saved him a lot of time wandering about. He wanted to get back to Trenton as quickly as possible.


Clive went in and found the indicated apartment. He rang the doorbell. *You will not go off on whoever opens the door, Clive. You will get information first. I feel like just kicking anyone's ass on general principle, but I really should make sure it's the right ass.*


A good looking blond answered the bell. He regarded Clive with shadowed eyes, which were slightly bloodshot. He'd been crying lately. *Hm. Guilt? Anyone who did something like that to Trent, I wouldn't expect them to feel guilty about it. I'd expect any bastard capable of that to be gloating. But he must know something.* "Anatole Bienvenu?"


Anatole eyed the leather clad man standing on his doorstep. Normally, his pulse would have been racing in hopeful anticipation. But, since last weekend... "Oui?"


"I'm Clive."


So simply stated, as if Anatole would know, of course, who he was. And Anatole did know. Clive--Trenton's friend. The man Trenton was in love with. Anatole flinched, and it told Clive all he wanted to know.


Clive pushed his way past Anatole into the apartment. "Shut the door, sweetie. We need to have a talk." Anatole obeyed, as the older man unzipped his leather jacket.


Anatole studied the American. Trenton had said that the mountain lion at the zoo had reminded him of Clive: sleek, golden, proud, 'large and in charge'. Yes, all of those things. And terrifying in his implacable beauty. Anatole knew that he was looking at a leather-clad angel of vengeance, and he found himself trembling.


Clive studied the young man. No, he hadn't done the actual assault. He was clearly a submissive, and they very seldom committed aggressive acts, unless prompted by a Dominant. That seemed the most likely scenario. Clive crossed his arms and said, "Trenton."


Anatole flinched, cementing his guilt in Clive's eyes. "He will be all right?"


"Oh, yes, eventually. I'll see to it. But what happened to him was very, very nasty."


"He... he told you?"


Time for a calculated risk. "About you and your friend?"


The blood drained from Anatole's face and he groped his way to a chair. "I meant him no harm," he whispered pleadingly. "Gervase swore he would be gentle. He tried, I'm sure he did, but Trent kept fighting him. I never would have believed he would be so stubborn. He'd been so... so pliant before."


"So you thought it would be all right to pass him around, like a box of candy?" Clive's voice was cold.


Anatole looked anguished. "It wasn't like that! He wanted it, he told me so himself. He wanted to experience what it was like to be taken, to be mastered."


"But not by Gervase."


Anatole dropped his head in his hands. "No, not by him. We never intended for Trent to know. With the blindfold, he should have suspected nothing, but I made a mistake, and..." Anatole laughed raggedly. "He really is a clever boy, you know?"


"I know. Trenton thought that you would be making love to him. Then, when he couldn't see, you brought in your friend. He's not a weak boy. I would have expected more bruising. Why didn't he fight back? Did you hold a knife on him? A gun?"


Anatole looked horrified. "Mais, non! The hands were tied, you know? As part of the play... You... do know?"


"I do now!"


Anatole gaped. "Trenton did not tell you?"


Clive smiled coldly. "No. Trenton won't talk about it. He's hurt too deeply. I figured this out on my own." He bowed slightly. "With your help."


"Mon dieu. I have betrayed again."


"I just need the last name of your..." Clive's lips twisted. "friend."


"I... I cannot. Oh, dear God, I have done enough already."


Clive walked over to Anatole and leaned over him, crowding him back in the chair. He poured every ounce of intimidation he possessed into the stare he directed into the eyes of the cringing man. His voice was very soft. "You might as well tell me, Anatole. I'm willing to wait here till he shows up, because he will show up. You're his bitch, and his kind can't stay away for long. Or, if I'm in a hurry, I'm sure that lovely, nosy little old lady I saw peeking at me from the window of the apartment across the hall will know who Monsieur Bienvenu's friend is."


There was the sound of a key in the door and both men looked toward it. It opened, and Gervase Underhill entered. He frowned at the scene before him as he shut the door. It looked as if his submissive was starting something without his permission. That wouldn't do.


"Exactly what are you doing with my boy?" He came farther into the room. He measured Clive with his eyes, and made the mistake many people did. He thought that since Clive wasn't all that tall and hardly bulky, he wasn't a threat.


Clive moved away from Anatole, having completely lost interest in him. He walked slowly toward the bigger, dark haired Englishman. "Gervase Underhill?"


"Yes. I'll ask you again: what are you doing with my boy?"


"Not nearly as much as you did with mine."


Gervase never really saw the first blow coming. A huge pain exploded in his face, and Clive was drawing back his fist for another punch when he realized what was happening. Shit! The hairdresser who'd pushed the boy into coming to Paris! This was a hairdresser?


He didn't really have time for any more coherent thoughts on the subject after that. He was too busy trying to keep Clive from killing him.


Gervase wasn't really a brawler, but he'd been in a fight or two, and some fairly rough ones. He'd never experienced anything like Clive, though. The smaller man fought with a ferocity that seemed hot, and cold at the same time.


Gervase managed to land a few token blows, but the American hardly seemed to notice them. It didn't take Clive long to have him down on the floor. There, he straddled him and worked steadily, pounding blow after blow into face and belly. There was the crunch of breaking cartilage, and Gervase thought vaguely that it was going to take more than a simple setting to take care of that broken nose, that he'd better start thinking of plastic surgeons, and perhaps he should be grateful that he hadn't gotten a bone fragment to the brain.


Other muted cracks signaled broken ribs, and he knew that he was going to be pissing pink for a week from the pounding his kidneys were taking. And, finally, it occurred to him that he very well might be in the process of being beaten to death...


Then it stopped. The weight lifted from him. He could breath, through his mouth. Luckily he hadn't lost any teeth, though some were definitely loose. He could hear Anatole sobbing somewhere out of sight.


A strong hand took a painful grip in his hair, dragging his head up. Though his eyes were fast swelling shut, he could still see. Clive's eyes were like chips of ice, and his voice wasn't any warmer. "I'm letting you live, you piece of shit, and believe me, it's not through any sense of mercy or belief that you can be rehabilitated. It's not because I'm worried about going to jail, either. We both know that the cops would just mark this off to a couple of fairies having a fight over a 'girlfriend'. I'm letting you live because if I killed, you Trenton would insist on testifying on my behalf. I'm not going to make him tell what you did to him in open court. He's been through enough already. If you have any sense at all, you'll tell the police that you were attacked by some queer bashing skinhead in the street and staggered here for help. Because, Gervase, even if I am arrested, I can always make bail--and get out."


He let Gervase's head drop back to the floor with a thump, and walked away. He wanted to get back to Trenton. He had promised the boy hamburgers, and he still hadn't been able to locate a McDonalds.


Chapter 18: Recovery


Trenton tried not to feel anxious while Clive was gone, but he couldn't help it. To take his mind off it, he took a shower while he waited. The hospital staff had been threatening to hose him down. After that first cleansing scrub back at the Bienvenu house, he hadn't been able to stand the thought of touching his own body. And, since he especially hadn't been able to stand the thought of anyone else touching him sponge baths had been out of the question.


But Clive was here now. He had a reason to care about himself again. So he took a long shower, scrubbing carefully, but not too roughly. He washed his hair, wishing for something other than the generic shampoo the hospital provided, knowing how particular Clive was about that sort of thing. He conditioned his hair, too, letting it soak in for a good, long time before he rinsed it clean.


The nursing staff was delighted with this show of life in the till now almost catatonic Trenton. They whispered among themselves that it was the blond American who had made this change, and wasn't it a fine thing? It would be a shame, though, if such a pretty boy were not at least bisexual.


Trenton was in a fresh gown, climbing between fresh sheets, when Clive returned bearing large paper sacks that smelled temptingly of beef and onions. Trenton felt his mouth start to water, but honestly couldn't say if it was from the thought of food, or the simple presence of Clive.


Clive stopped in the doorway, looking at Trenton. The boy looked freshly polished. His hair (which had been limp and lifeless the last time Clive saw him, much to his sorrow), was once again curling softly in burnished ringlets, and his skin had the pink, healthy glow of someone fresh from a hot shower.


Clive walked over, sat on the bed beside him, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "You're looking much better, precious. Have you decided that this old world is worth exploring a little longer?" Trenton nodded. "Good." Clive caressed his hair, running his fingers sensuously through the silky strands. "because I intend to be your guide, for as long as you'll allow."


Trenton threw his arms around Clive, hugging fiercely, burying his face against the cool leather of his jacket. "Do you mean it?"


Clive embraced him, rocking him lightly. "Trenton, have I ever lied to you in all the time you've known me? I've always been very frank about my feelings." He pushed the boy back a little, and stroked a damp curl off his forehead. "I still can't promise I'll be exclusive, but I do want to be with you, in every way possible. The thing is, dear boy..." Trenton winced at the words, and pulled away abruptly, falling back on his pillow. "Trent, what's wrong?"


"Nothing." His voice was strained, and he didn't meet Clive's eyes.


Clive frowned. Taking Trent's chin in his hand, he turned the boy's face toward him. In his calmest, most controlled Dom voice he said, "Trenton Vittelli, you will tell me what I did to suddenly make you freeze up. How can I do what I have to if you won't communicate with me?"


"It's nothing you did, Clive. Not on purpose, anyway."


"It has to be something, lamb. You were doing so well, then snap--you're marble again."


"It's just..." Trenton swallowed. "Dear boy. He... he called me that."


Clive's expression blackened. "Well," he said quietly. "Bang goes a perfectly good endearment, because an asshole misused it. I won't call you that again, Trent, not if it has bad memories for you."


"Thank you."


"Sweetheart." Trent smiled faintly. "Now, if I remember your appetite correctly, you should be about half-past starved." Trent sat up as Clive rolled the little table-tray over and fitted it across his bed. He began to unload the bags. "I brought two for you, and two for me. I worked up an appetite, also. I didn't know if you wanted fries or onion rings, so I got both. A chocolate malt for you, because I need to fatten you back up..."


"I was not fat. Swimmers don't get fat."


"Touchy, touchy." Clive was secretly delighted at Trent's show of spunk. "And a vanilla for me, which is the only thing in life I like plain vanilla." Trenton giggled faintly, and Clive felt his heart swell. He was going to be all right. Clive would see to that.


Trenton had unwrapped the first burger and was peeking under the bun. "Any ketchup?"


"Of course. But you have to ask for it these days."


He handed the little foil packet to Trenton. Trenton took it, but suddenly grabbed his wrist and peered closely at Clive's hand. There was bruising on the knuckles, and the skin was torn in a couple of places. Trenton looked up at his friend with a silent question on his face.


Clive said quietly, "It's nothing for you to worry about, love. I just took care of something."


"Are you gonna be in trouble because of me?" The boy's voice was tremulous again.


"No, Trenton, I seriously doubt I'll be in trouble. The other person involved isn't permanently damaged, though he will have to eat through a straw for a while, and he won't have quite as much luck picking up pretty boys in the clubs. He isn't likely to make a fuss about it. He's a shit, but he's not that stupid. And anyway, if I did get in trouble, it wouldn't be because of you, lamb. It was something I chose to do."


Trenton relaxed a little, and took a bite of his burger. His face lit up. "Hey, grilled, not fried!" He started to eat hungrily, and Clive, toying with a french fry, watched him, smiling fondly.


Trenton finished his meal, eating everything, including most of the fries and onion rings, and half of Clive's malt, which was happily surrendered. Then they watched television for awhile, Trenton translating for Clive. But soon he was falling behind on the translations due to jaw-cracking yawns, and Clive turned off the set. When Trent started to protest, Clive said firmly, "No. You may listen to the radio. Perhaps that will help you sleep."


Clive was leaning over him to reach the radio on the window sill when Trenton murmured, "Yes, Daddy." Clive froze in the act, then slowly lowered his arm till his hand rested on Trenton's sheet covered chest. The boy place his hand over Clive's, fingers drawing tiny circles on the back. Trenton whispered, "Clive?" No response, except for the slight tremor he felt in Clive's hand. Trenton slid his hand up Clive's wrist, tickling at the sensitive skin on the inside of his forearm. "Please, sir."


Clive took hold of Trenton's hand, kissed his palm, and firmly moved it back to his side. "Not tonight, precious."


Trenton's face fell. "You don't want me."


"It's not that."


He turned his face away. "After what happened with Gervase, I don't blame you."


"No!" Clive took Trenton's chin in hard fingers, turning him to gaze into his eyes. "You will not say that ever again, Trenton Vittelli, do you understand? As far as I'm concerned, you're the same as you were when you left Metropolis. Not want you? God, boy, I crave you, but not now, Trent. Not till you're better. Not till you've healed a little."


"The doctor said the stitches would be disolved by now."


'That's not what I meant, and you know it. You have to heal here," He laid a hand on Trenton's head. "And here." His hand rested again over Trenton's heart. "Then, little boy, then I'll take you, when you're ready to be loved. When you've stopped hurting yourself."


"How long?"


Clive pressed a kiss to his forehead. "God, I don't know, Trent. I'm not a fucking psychic." The words were rough, but his tone was gentle. "Soon, I think. Just let it happen, all right?"


"All right."


"Now, go to sleep." Clive turned off all the lights in the room. He left the bathroom light on, and the door ajar. For a long time he sat in the chair beside Trenton's bed, watching as he drifted into sleep. He didn't move until he saw the tiny movements under his eyelids that signalled deep sleep.


Finally he got up and stripped down to his underwear: black silk jockeys, special ordered. It wasn't easy to find anything but boxers in silk, but most of Clive's wardrobe was simply too tight for boxers, though he did find them erotic, if he was in the right mood.


Clive climbed into the bed on the opposite side of the room, grumbling about the coarseness of hospital sheets. *Must have a one-twenty thread count at the best. I miss my 200 counts. If Trento was going to be staying here any longer, I swear I'd get some for him. These can't be comfortable for that delicate skin.*


Clive settled in, sighing. *You old hypocrite. You know damn good and well that you'd like nothing better than to turn him over your knee and raise a pink flush on that delicate skin.* Clive smiled in the dark. *Well, it isn't as if he wouldn't enjoy it, also. I imagine he'd have a juicy hard-on before I was through with him. Of course, ideally he'd lose that hard-on before the scene was over.* Clive felt an incipient warmth in his crotch. *I've got to stop thinking of things like that.* He forced his mind to safer considerations, like reservations for their flight home as soon as the doctors released Trent.


He fell asleep.


Clive awoke some time later to find that he was no longer alone in the bed. Trenton had crept in beside him. The young man was curled against Clive, an arm thrown over his chest, and a leg thrown over his legs. He was sound asleep.


Clive lay very still, not wanting to disturb the boy. This wasn't sexual, Clive knew that. Trenton was seeking comfort and security. Well, Clive could give him that. He gently eased an arm under Trent, pulling him into an embrace. The boy murmured sleepily, but didn't wake up. Poor kid, he was exhausted from the strain of the past week, and now his mind had taken over and shut down for some much needed rest.


That was all well and good, but it was a little stressful for Clive. Despite his good intentions, having such a sweet, beautiful young man practically wrapped around him while he was nearly naked (and Trent not much better in that obscenely inadiquate hospital gown. Imagine, opening up the back. Were they trying to give him a heart attack?) was having its effect--he was getting hard.


*No, Clive. You swore to yourself and to him, not before he's had some time to pull himself together. He's too vulnerable right now. It would be too much like that shit taking advantage of him.*


His cock insisted that Trenton had wanted him a ong time before he came to France, so what was wrong with acting on the boy's desires, and his own? Clive argued with his rebellious organ, laying out all the reasons why he couldn't possibly have sex with the delicious creature snuggling so close. He didn't have much success. Pretty soon he was so hard that he ached, his jockeys were strained to the limit, and they were getting quite damp.


Finally he decided that something had to be done, but Trenton would only be involved in a very peripheral way. Since his left arm was cradling the boy, he slipped his right hand down into his shorts and started masturbating.


Clive stroked himself slowly, closing his eyes and imagining that it was Trenton's hand on his prick, Trenton spreading the slick pre-come over his cock head and down his shaft, Trenton rubbing and squeezing. Unconsciously, his arm tightened around the boy, and Trenton opened his eyes.


He lay very still, taking in what was happening. He'd been half asleep when he'd come to Clive's bed, afraid to be turned away. But Clive had only sighed in his sleep as Trenton stretched out beside him, and Trenton had quickly fallen asleep himself, soothed by the nearness of the man he loved. That was all he'd wanted. But to wake up to this...


As Trenton watch, Clive pulled his hand out of the slit where it had been busily working, and pushed his jockeys down as far as he could, lifting his ass. He managed to get them down over his hips, and his dick sprang up so vigorously that it almost slapped his belly. Trenton's mouth dropped open softly, and his eyes became dreamy. It was the first time he had seen Clive naked. The only thing he wore was the jockeys, tangled now far down his thighs.


In the dim light spilling from the bathroom Clive almost seemed to glow. His skin was the color of pale honey. Trenton knew that he spent time on the roof of Attitudes, and his own place, sunbathing. Nude, apparently, because there was no tan line.


His pubic thatch was short, but lush, a darker gold than his hair. His prick rose from it majestically. Clive liked his trousers tight, and Trenton had known he had a good sized package, but this... The thought of taking that into his body made Trenton twitch mentally. Whether it was anticipation or mild dread, he couldn't say.


Clive's hand moved back up to grasp his own hard-on, and he began to pump firmly. Trenton watched, fascinated, as the older man pleasured himself. His glance returned to Clive's face. He was flushed, eyes pressed tight shut. As Trenton watched, he bit his lip. Then he silently formed one word: Trent.


It felt so good. Clive was approaching climax. He grunted softly, hips lifting to push his swollen flesh even more firmly into his grip, imagining the look of sweet acceptance and desire on Trenton's face.


His hand was pushed away, another taking its place. His eyes flew open, startled, and he found himself gazing into green pools. Trenton was up on his elbow, leaning over him. A quick glance down to his crotch, and Clive saw the boy's hand wrapped tightly around his erection, working with smooth assurance. He gasped, "Oh, God, Trenton! I didn't mean..."


Trenton put his face against Clive's. He didn't kiss him, he only held his cheek there against Clive's cheek, and whispered, "Please, sir. I need this. Please. Just this, I won't ask for more."


He heard the yearning in the boy's voice. Clive let himself relax, giving himself over to the sensations. Trenton's long, slender hand caressed him with firm gentleness, sliding on the passion slicked flesh, squeezing at just the right time, in just the right place. He was so close... He panted, "Trenton, more. Give me more."


Trent understood. His motions became more rapid and a little rough, tugging at the hardened dick strongly. When he brought his other hand down and gripped Clive's balls tightly his lover spasmed, crying out his name as the hot sperm fountained out. It bathed Trenton's hands, and slicked Clive's heaving belly.


Clive lay there, near stunned, panting. Trenton had moved down in the bed, and he was lapping the spunk off Clive's belly like a kitten. When he tried to move down to the sticky, softening cock, Clive pulled him up. Ignoring his small protests, he held the boy tightly. At last Trenton quieted, laying his head on Clive's chest.


Clive stroked the dark curls. At last he said quietly, "That shouldn't have happened, Trenton, but I can't regret it."


"Clive?" The boy sounded bewildered. "I... didn't get hard."


Clive chuckled. "Oh, don't sound so apologetic, sweetheart. You haven't been well. That's part of why I tried to tell you to wait. I told you it's too soon. Don't worry..." He tipped Trenton's chin up and kissed him. "You'll be a little stud stallion once you've been rested and fed up a bit."


Trenton's hand was creeping down Clive's torso. "Maybe later?"


Clive firmly removed Trent's hand. "No, and I mean it." He kissed Trent again. "The next time we have sex, precious, it's going to be..." Clive bit his lip, studying the boy who was gazing up at him. He stroked Trenton's cheek with one finger. "I'm going to fuck you next time."


Trenton shivered, pressing his face against Clive's throat. Clive's lips pressed to his ear. "It's what you want, isn't it, dear?" Trenton nodded silently. "I'm warning you, Trent--I won't hold back." He smoothed his hands over the boy's back, through the slit in the hospital gown. "I'm going to do a full scene with you. All of it." His hands cupped rounded buttocks, squeezing. "I want to put a nice pink flush on this before I go inside. Will you be able to take it?" His lips pressed more firmly, and the tip of his tongue flicked out, caressing the curve of the ear. "Can you take all of me, little boy?"


Trenton moaned. "Yes, Clive. Yes, sir. I want to. I've wanted to a long time."


"Then you will, and soon. But not now. Rest, sweetheart. Rest, and be strong for me." Trenton shivered again at Clive's dark tone. "You'll need to be."



Chapter 19: Home Sweet Home


Clive was as good as his word. He got Trenton on a flight back to Metropolis the next day, having cowed the single psychiatrist who'd dared to suggest that perhaps the boy be kept for observation a little longer, now that he had come out of his funk.


On the plane, Clive settled Trenton with a blanket and pillow, and insisted that he try to nap. It was easier than Trenton would have expected. He still hadn't gotten his full strength back.


He woke up a while later. Clive was reading a magazine, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. Trent didn't make a noise, but somehow Clive sensed he was being watched, because he glanced over. Snatching off the glasses, he hastily tucked them in his shirt pocket. "Say anything about that and I'll spank you the bad way."


Trent smiled. "Why? They make you look even sexier. I didn't think that was possible."


"Hmph. Well..." Clive couldn't help smiling back at him. "How are you? We'll be landing soon."


"I'm okay." He hesitated, then said, "Clive? What does my Mom know?"


Clive sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I told her you were mugged, badly."


"Thank you."


"I didn't like lying to her, Trent, but she would have been frantic, what with you still over there. I figured that if she had to know, it would be better if you were standing before her, manifestly whole." He laid a hand on the boy's arm. "Dear, I won't push you, but I think you should tell her. Not right away, but someday."


Trenton looked away. "I can't."


"You can't right now. But I'm going to introduce you to someone I know who went through a somewhat similar situation. You can talk to her. I think she'll be good for you." He smiled. "Lord knows, she always lifts my spirits. And maybe she can show you that there can come a time when you will put this behind you."


"If you say so," he said doubtfully.


"I do. Now, buckle yourself in, lovey. We're getting close. Lord, I love these seatbelts. Did you know that you can put them right across someone's arms and just have them trapped?"


"You would think of that."


"Yes, I would."


The landing went smoothly, the disembarking went smoothly, the ride to his home went smoothly. Things sort of fell apart from there. He had determined that he wasn't going to cry, for his mother's sake. But when she opened the door, she made a little choking noise and grabbed him, and Trent lost it. He spent the next half hour wrapped in her arms, blubbering.


She didn't ask him what had happened, thank God. She was just happy that 'my baby wasn't marked up by that animal'. *Not physically, Mom.*


Arrangements had been made for him to finish the rest of the year with home schooling, and he was assured that it would not be held against him on scholarship consideration, but Trenton politely refused.


"Baby, you're still shook up. You need some time to yourself."


"I've had time to myself, Mom, and it didn't do me any good at all. I need to be with my friends, in a familiar environment. I want to get back on the swim team, if the coach will have me. I might even be able to compete a little, if it isn't too late in the season."


The coach was happy to have him back, and there were still several competitions left to go. Trent started training ferociously. What time he wasn't sleeping or in school, he was at Attitudes, helping out or just watching the cosmeticians work. Trent was considering a career in cosmetology. His student advisor was having fits, but his mother didn't seem to mind. "Whatever will make you happy, dear. It's a good living, and you can always go back to school if you change your mind."


He'd been afraid of Clive's reaction. The older man had been so adamant about Trent making the most out of his opportunities, and all his teachers had frankly told him that he was being ridiculous. But Clive had nodded. "Yes, I think you have the right touch for it, Trent. You attend a good school, then you can apprentice here. I'll turn you into a hair wizard in no time. And, if it's what you want and you take to it, we might discuss a partnership somewhere down the line."


Trent was overjoyed at the prospect. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to intertwined his life as closely as possible with Clive's.


The only dark spot was that he still hadn't really gotten over the incident in Paris. He woke up several times a night, sweating and moaning. He'd find himself just staring into space at odd moments.


Trent wanted to become physically intimate with Clive. He felt that Clive's touch could wash away the memory of what Gervaise and Anatole had done, but Clive kept putting him off. "You're not ready yet, precious.




"Soon. My friend will be in town tomorrow, and I want you to talk to her."


"Okay, but I don't know how much good it will do."


"If nothing else, you'll have a good time."


"Who is this, anyway? Anyone I've met?"


"Mm, no. She went back home right before you arrived in the city, and she doesn't make it back nearly as often as I'd like. Her name is Scribe."


Trent sat bolt upright. "Scribe? You're kidding me!"


"No, dear--Scribe."


"The Scribe?"


"There's only one, God bless her."


"That's right, you did her hair while she was here, I remember now! God, I had such a crush on her! I had her poster on my wall. That was before I... uh..."


"Yes, dear. She'll be by tomorrow. I'm going to ahem do her, then you two can go have a nice talk."


Trent waited anxiously the next day. Half a dozen times he checked in the mirror to be sure his hair was right, and he hadn't suddenly grown a smudge on his nose. A little before noon he was sweeping up a small scattering of clippings in the back when he heard the bell over the door tinkle, and a lilting female voice called out, "The triumphant return!"


There were squeals and a general stampede toward the front of the store. Trent quickly dumped his pan of trash, tossed the broom at a corner, and hurried up to join them.


Since he was taller than most of the staff or clientele he got a good look over their heads. Clive was wrapping himself around a plump woman who looked not much younger than his mother. There was no mistaking those curls, those bright blue eyes, or that impudent smile--Scribe, in the flesh.


"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm a snark for waiting so long to visit. Bettina, hey! Grown a brain yet?" The jibe was in such a good-natured tone that it was obviously not meant to hurt, and Bettina (who hadn't grown a brain any time lately) giggled in response.


"All right, everyone, back to what you were doing!" Clive ordered. "Angela, get that rinse out of Mrs. Donatello's hair before it goes from Autumn Embers to Burning Down the House. C'mon, sweetie, and I'll introduce you to the boy I was telling you about."


The crowd melted away, and Clive led Scribe back to where Trenton was waiting. "Here he is, precious. My very good friend, Trenton Vittelli. Trenton, hon, I'm sure your tonsil scars are fascinating, but close your mouth. Scribe can look at them later. If I know her," he gave her an arch look, "the wench may decide to explore them personally with her tongue."


"Clive, he's a baby."


"I'm seventeen," Trent volunteered. Clive looked at him. "Almost. Geez, Clive, it's next week. Cut me some slack."


"Hi, Trenton." Scribe shook hands, giving him a peck on the cheek at the same time. "We're going to have lunch later at Lavender's Green, if that's all right with you."


"That's fine. I love Elise's cooking."


"She knows you're coming, Scribe. I think you're going to have about eight of her specialities to choose from," Clive told her.


"So who's going to choose?" She laughed. "I want them all."


"That's my girl. Trenton, you just have a seat while I take care of her. Oh, precious..." Her hair was almost to her shoulders, a thick mass of dark brown curls. "You've been letting it grow for me!"


She nodded. "Well, it's been almost a year. You know I don't let anyone else cut my hair, Clive. I have greater respect for my butt, after that time I let someone else trim the ends." She gave him a mock accusatory scowl. "I couldn't sit properly for two days."


"It was your own fault. I warned you."


"Yeah. On the plus side, you did kiss it to make it better." She offered her arm. "Shall we?"


Clive took it. "We most certainly shall." Just as he was closing the door, Clive said, "Trenton, pet, go sit at the front."


"Aw, Clive! Do I have to?"


"Yes, you do. I don't want your head muddled when you go talk to Scribe this afternoon. You can play audio voyeur some other time, and stop looking so innocent. Hmph, like I don't know you put your shell like ear up against the wall sometimes." He smiled. "That's part of the fun. But not today. I want a little private time with Scribe."


Behind him, Trent heard Scribe say, "Hey Clive, you never did demonstrate that rope you wove out of my hair."


"That's right, I didn't. Well, we'll just take care of that little oversight today." He shut the door, and Trenton trudged up to the front to sulk.


The counter girl handed him a magazine. "Settle down, it'll be at least an hour. He takes his time with her."


Trenton tried to keep his mind on the magazine. It wasn't easy Especially when there'd be a particularly sharp yelp making its way up from the back station.


About an hour later the door opened, and Clive and Scribe strolled out. He had his arm around her waist, keeping her against his hip as they came up to the front. Her hair was once again the short cap of crisp curls Trenton was used to seeing, red highlights glinting under the overhead lights. Her face was pink and glowing, and they were both a touch breathless.


At the front she tried to pay, and he refused. "Just promise to come by for supper tonight, dearest. That's all I want."


"Uh huh." She sounded skeptical. "So, what? Should I bring dessert?"


Clive kissed her cheek. "Don't be silly. You know very well that you are dessert."


"Oh, yes. Silly me." She turned to Trenton. "Ready to go, Trenton?"


"Yes, ma'am."


"Ma'am? Oo, I just aged ten years. C'mon, Trent."


They walked over to the club, which was almost deserted at this time of day. Toddy wasn't in, but Tinkerbelle was, and she greeted Scribe with the usual squeal and kiss. "Toddy is gonna be so mad he missed you! He'll have Clive spank your butt."


Scribe grinned and rubbed her rump. "Too late. Tell him I'll be back in before I leave. I have a few more drinks for him. Tell 'im I'll teach him how to make a Dirty Slut and a Tongue Kiss."


"He'll die from happiness."


They went back to the kitchen, and both were promptly enveloped in a mammoth hug by Elise. "Two of my favorite people! Both of y'all eat fit to warm a person's heart. But you, baby," she held Trenton out to arm's length, shaking her head. "don't you try and tell me you just been losing your puppy-fat. You ain't been eatin'. You're not gettin' out of here without at least two plates inside you, hear me?"


They sat down with plates overloaded with meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans ("Done." Scribe said, "as God intended for them to be: boiled soft with lots of bacon and onions."), smothered squash ("I'll have these heathens eatin' this yet," Elise vowed. "Now I can tell 'em that Scribe likes it. That'll make it fly out of here.), and various other dribs and drabs.


Scribe shook her fork at him as they started. "I am direly interested in your problem, Trent, but let's save it for after lunch. Elise's food deserves maximum concentration."


She did talk during the meal, though. Trent had a lot of questions to ask her about her home dimension, and she obligingly told him everything he wanted to know. Yes, women really did wear pants almost as much as men. Women really did go bra-less on a regular basis in public without inspiring riots. There actually were such things as nude beaches. Many gay people were completely open about their lifestyle choices, even publishing magazines solely dedicated to it. And there were no superheros. "Some people will argue with you about some of the sports stars. I'm sorry--Michael Jordan can jump like a crazy sunuvabitch, but he cannot fly. Case closed."


When they were done, they both got sodas and went out to a small, secluded booth in the main part of the club. Tinkerbelle agreed to run interference for them, keeping away any Scribe-fans that might show up.


Sitting across from him in the booth, Scribe said, "Where shall we start?" Trenton got very quiet, looking at his hands as they lay on the tabletop. Scribe said quietly. "It isn't easy to talk about, is it? I'm going to guess that you haven't really told anyone about it, not even Clive."


He shook his head. "No."


"I won't push you, Trent, but I will say that it helps. I'm not advocating going to the cops. That isn't for everyone. And, from what I've heard from Clive, that might be a bit awkward, what with the international thingy. Just to start with, could you tell me what happened?"


Trenton took a deep breath. "I... there was a guy in Paris. He... we were together, you know?" Scribe nodded. "I'm not saying I was in love with him. I wasn't. I love Clive." He hesitated, looking at her shyly from under lowered lashes.


She smiled at him. "What a sensible person you are."


"Like I said, I didn't love him. But we were close, and he cared about me." Trenton's face fell. "I thought he did, anyway. But he had a boyfriend, and when I met him, he wanted to... you know. But I didn't want to. He scared me. I mean, he wasn't ugly, or anything, but he was... intense. And not in a good way, like Clive. Can you understand that?"


"I can understand that very well. I've had a run in with a bad-kind-of-intense person myself."


"We went to a party. I got a little drunk, and I went back to my friend's apartment, 'cause he said he wanted to... to make love." Trenton was blushing furiously. It wasn't quite like talking to his mother, but he was still embarrassed. But so far Scribe had shown absolutely no judgement or dismay. "We were going to kind of, you know, play? With a blindfold."


She smiled broadly. "Ooh, yesss. I know about those games."


"So I put on the blindfold. And he kinda... tied me to the bed."


"Aaaannd those games, too."


"And it was great. But then... Then it went bad." Trenton closed his eyes. "Y'see, it wasn't him. It was the other guy, he snuck in and... did it. And he wouldn't stop." He was silent for a minute, then said quietly. "I was stupid, and I got screwed."


She took his hands, holding them firmly, then kissed them and said softly, "Baby, you were trusting, and you were raped." Trenton flinched, and she said steadily, "That's the right word for it, Trenton. Not screwed, not fucked, not humped, not even used--raped. It was a violation of both your body, your spirit, and your trust, and it was totally and completely beyond justification. It doesn't matter that you were drunk. It doesn't matter that you were sexually active before. It doesn't matter that you went to that apartment intending to have sex. That man knew you didn't want to have sex with him, and he tricked and manipulated, and coerced you." She reached across and touched his cheek, and said clearly, "It was not your fault."


His eyes were full of pain, but he wanted so desperately to believe her. "How can you know that?"


"Because what happened to me wasn't my fault, either. I attracted the attention of someone I wasn't interested in having sex with, too. She was intense, and scary, and very determined. You got a little drunk? Honey, I was three sheets and a bedspread to the wind that night, and it was on drinks she bought me. You feel silly? How do you think I felt? I already knew the woman was on the prowl. I just figured I was safe here, out in public." She smiled sadly. "Like you figured you were safe with your 'friend'." She took a deep breath. "I made a mistake. I went into the back, alone. I let myself get trapped. She came in after me, and she attacked me."


Now it was Trent who touched her hand soothingly. "I didn't know women could do that to each other."


Scribe said quietly, "You have to stop thinking of it as a sexual thing, Trenton. It's an act of violence. It's a power play. The people who do it get off on controlling and forcing. If someone offered themselves freely, that wouldn't be what they wanted. It's like being beaten--it's just more personal. I was luckier than you were. Clive and some of my friends were there and stopped it before it got as bad as she wanted it to be, but it was still pretty awful."


"But I didn't handle it as well as you did. I fell apart."


Scribe laughed softly. "I fell apart like a jigsaw puzzle when you try to pick it up by the edge, honey. I was just lucky enough to be surrounded by good friends who scooped up the pieces. Tell me, Trent. Were you kind of numb afterwards?" He nodded. "Was the first thing you did clean yourself?"


He blinked at her. "How did you know? I'm lucky I didn't scald myself to death. I just couldn't get the water hot enough."


"...to boil away the dirt. I know. We're both lucky that hot water heaters in this world aren't as efficient as they are in mine. I looked like a well-done lobster. Plus I used a bath brush on myself, in rather intimate, delicate places." He winced. "Yeah. And it still felt like I had her hands on me."


He paled. "You do know."


She nodded. "And then you don't want to talk to anyone, you just want to crawl into a corner and hide, possibly forever."


"You too? But you didn't almost destroy yourself through your stupid neglect, like I did. If the Bienvenu's hadn't come back, I'd probably have starved to death eventually."


"You're right, I was much more pro-active--I tried to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills." When he gaped, she said, "That's right. I told myself I just wanted to sleep, but when you want to sleep forever, Trent, what else is that but suicide?"


"I don't understand. You're so alive. You have so much to live for, so much going for you, so many people who care about you."


She reached over and grabbed a handful of his hair, shaking his head gently, saying, "Point! Point! Message! Who else does that description remind us of?" He laughed, and she said, "That's more like it. Okay, this counseling session is about over. It's not a cure-all by a long shot, but I think you're on the right path. Okay, repeat after me: Something really bad happened."


"Something really bad happened."


Her voice grew quieter. "I was raped."


He swallowed, but whispered. "I was raped."


"It wasn't my fault."


His voice was stronger. "It wasn't my fault."


She nodded encouragingly. "And I'm not gonna let that bastard ruin one more second of my life."


"I'm not." Trenton banged his fist on the table. "I'm not!"


She leaned across and kissed him. "Good boy! Whoa, Clive got himself a live wire this time! I'm gonna tell you a secret." She leaned over and put her lips against his ear. "Wanna drive him crazy? Hum."


Trent eyed her dubiously. "Hum?" She nodded. "Any particular song?"


She giggled. "Come To Me, My Melancholy Baby, or Hurts So Good might be appropriate." She slapped her own hand. "Bad Scribe! Bad!"


"You're crazy. I like you."


"Thank you, darlin'. No particular song, and don't just start doing it. Wait till a particular point in the proceedings. I think you'll know when." And that was all she'd say about it.



Chapter 20: Happy Ending


Trenton had his seventeenth birthday on a Thursday. Clive was out of town, doing hair for a fashion shoot. They'd offered an absolutely obscene amount of money, and he'd decided to take it and use it to give bonuses to the staff.


Trent hadn't mentioned it before he left. He had rather hoped that the day would have been significant enough for Clive to remember it without being reminded. Anyway, he had a swim meet the next day, and he was concentrating on that.


His mom fixed a cake, and some of his school friends came over. He got teased a lot about attaining such a grand old age. When they left, his mother gave him a big box, in shiny black paper tied with a silver bow. He examined it, then looked at her curiously. "From Clive," she explained. "He asked me to give it to you."


Trenton carefully unwrapped the paper and opened the box. He just stared into the box for a moment, then reached in and reverently lifted out the garment that was inside. It was a leather jacket--not black, but a warm brown that Trent knew instinctively would look good with his hair. It had so many zippers, chains, and buckles that he gave up trying to count them.


"Oh, my!" said his mother. "Trenton, isn't it beautiful."


"Yes." Trenton stroked the soft leather, then held it to his face and inhaled deeply, letting the scent flood him. He smiled at his mother. "Clive tried this on."


"But how can you tell, dear?"


"I can smell him on it." *Let your admirers give you leather,* Clive had advised. That night, Trenton lay on his bed, dressed in the jacket, and nothing else, and masturbated. He whispered to the ceiling, "I'm seventeen, Clive. Did you forget? Please don't have stopped wanting me."


Friday he concentrated on the swim meet he had that afternoon. It ran long, lasting into the evening. He did well. He won two of his races, and came in second on the last. After he was finished, he sat on the sidelines, wrapped in a towel, listening to his coach while his mother stood behind him, proudly fingering the ribbons he'd won.


"Fantastic, Trent! You beat the state record on that freestyle! Just a couple of points off the national record on all of your events, and I think you could be world class with just a little more of an edge."


Trenton, tired, shrugged. "I don't know what else I can do, coach. I'm busting my nuts already." He glanced at his mother apologetically. "Sorry, Mom."


"I'll tell you what you can do--invest in some depilatory. Use your razor on your pits instead of just your face. Cut down on the drag, Trent. I know you boys feel a little embarrassed doing that, but it really helps, and you know it. I've suggested it before."


"I didn't think I really needed it. I'm just now getting body hair, and you want me to get rid of it?"


The coach sighed. "Trent, I don't want to have to make it a requirement for you staying on the team, but if I have to..."


"I think I can persuade Trenton to see reason."


Trenton's head jerked around at the familiar voice. Clive was coming down out of the stands, wearing a jacket that was, except for the ebony color, the twin of the one he'd given Trenton. He gave Lynette a peck on the cheek. "Hello, pet. Got back a little earlier than I'd expected, so I came down to watch your baby boy's triumph."


He ruffled Trenton's curls, then nodded approvingly. "Still wearing your cap during practice, I see." Clive smiled at the coach. "So, am I to understand that you are suggesting a clean sweep? All the body hair?"


"Well, he could just trim his pubes, but other than that, yeah. I think it'll give him that extra edge he needs to take him over into the international arena. I truly believe he could make the Olympic team next year."


"Well, then, it's done."


"Clive!" Trenton squeaked. "Don't I get any say?"


"No, you do not."


"But I don't want to shave my body."


"You won't--I will."


Trenton blinked. Clive returned his gaze calmly. "Oh. Um. Okay."


"Good. Lynette, dear, could you loan him to me for the night tomorrow?"


Lynette looked from Clive to her son. Trenton was blushing. *Oh, my. Well, it had to happen sometimes, and Clive really cares about him. He'll keep him safe.* "That would be fine, Clive. I just need him to help with the shopping tomorrow afternoon."


"Certainly. Trenton," Clive's eyes were dark. "Come to Attitudes tomorrow evening around nine, and bring whatever you'll need till Sunday morning." Trenton nodded.


Trent headed for the locker room to change, and Clive walked with him. Just outside the door, Clive paused, taking Trenton's arm. He said quietly, "Trent, we've both been waiting for this for a long time, and I have to be sure that you are sure. I'll spell it out for you: I intend to have you as many ways as I can manage. I like it rough, but I won't hurt you any more than is necessary to bring you pleasure, you have to trust me on that."


"I trust you."


"But you're still so vanilla pet, that I don't think you know what the sort of scene I have planned entails. There'll be the shave. Your coach may allow you to keep your pubes, but I won't. It all goes. And when you're as smooth as a baby, the fun really starts."


Trenton swallowed. Clive smiled, and continued. "Leather straps, ropes, chains. I have quite a selection. They'd all look good on you. As for the discipline part, I think we'll stick with my bare hand this first time. I'll want to put a nice blush on your ass before I fuck it."


Trenton closed his eyes with a tiny whimper. "Oh, yes, darling. I'm going to fuck your ass, and that beautiful mouth of yours. And I don't see how I'll be able to resist tasting you myself."


"Clive, please. I'm in my trunks, and I'm getting hard. Someone will see."


He felt Clive's breath brush his ear. "You have to be certain, Trenton. I don't want any turning back, once we start."


"I won't. I want this so bad."


"Just remember, whatever I ask you to do, I care about you deeply, and I respect you. Don't come to the shop during the day tomorrow. Wait until the appointed time, and then... be ready." He stroked the boy's cheek softly, gazing into his eyes. "We're going to be good for each other, Trent." Then he left. Trent showered with cold water.


For approximately the next twenty-four hours, Trent alternated between being in a haze, and moments of hyper-clarity. It was really going to happen. Clive was finally going to... going to... everything. Which was exactly what Trenton wanted. He wanted to be able to surrender and submit to someone he knew cared about him, and would look after both his well being, and his pleasure with equal attention.


Finally Trent took the small overnight bag he had packed the moment he returned home on Friday and headed for Attitudes. Everything except for a restaurant far up the street was closed, and that one was shooing the last patrons out as he passed. Attitudes was locked, of course, and dark. Totally dark, this time, no light coming from Clive's back office.


Trenton reached to knock but halted, hand raised. Clive rose from where he had been sitting in one of the waiting area chairs, a shadow among shadows. The reason Trenton hadn't been able to see him was that he was in head-to-toe black. Clive stood on the other side of the door for a moment, staring at him. His expression was stern. He did not smile. Trenton felt heat kindle in his belly.


Clive unlocked the door, and opened it. "Why are you here, Trent?" His voice was calm, quiet.


Trenton felt confused. Why was he here? He had been dreaming about this since he was fourteen. He studied Clive, looking for a sign of how he was expected to act. He didn't know that by doing this, by instinctively seeking to please, he was showing himself as a true submissive.


Trenton considered. Why was he here? What did this mean to him? At last he said simply, "I'm here to give myself to you."


Clive nodded. "Any other response and I would have sent you home. You're ready. But one thing must be clear. When you step across this threshold, for the rest of the night, you're mine. Mine to kiss, cuddle, spank, lick, or fuck as I see fit. Do you agree? Think about it, Trent. Don't just say yes. These are games, but they're fucking serious games."


Trenton thought. He lowered his head, not looking at Clive, and said, "I'm sure, Master."


He heard Clive's breath hitch slightly. "Take three steps forward, and don't look up." Trenton did as he was told, moving not an inch more. Clive shut and locked the door, then stood behind him. "Drop your case." Trenton started to bend to set it on the floor, and he said sharply, "I said drop it! Is this how you're going to listen?"


Trenton dropped the bag quickly, bending his head. "I'm sorry, Master."


"Just pay better attention, boy. I'll be very clear with my orders. Now, stand still."


He didn't touch Trenton, but he moved up so close behind him that the boy could feel the heat of his body. They just stood like that for a long moment. Trenton started to shiver. He had to bite his lip to keep from making any noise when Clive's hands settled lightly on his shoulders. He could feel warm breath against the nape of his neck. Then there was the silken brush of lips, and the light scrape of teeth as Clive, very gently, bit him. Trenton's eyes closed automatically, and he moaned.


"Your safe word will be swan dive. What's you're safe word, Trenton?"


"Swan dive."




"Swan dive."


"Remember it. Use it if it gets too much for you. Now, are your eyes closed, Trenton?"


"Yes, Master."


"Keep them closed." His hand was taken, and he was urged forward. He moved slowly, but without hesitation. Clive would keep him safe. After a little they paused, and he heard a door open, then they moved forward again. Again they paused, and the door was shut. Trenton knew they had to be either in Clive's office, or his private station.


"Open your eyes."


It was the station, as he'd hoped. Trenton had been dying to put it to 'special' use ever since the day Tuscon had come in. He'd listened to the sounds of hard, Dominant sex coming from this room, and realized that what he wanted more than anything else in the world was to have Clive do to him exactly what he was doing to the big bodybuilder. Now his wish was coming true.


But the place looked different from all the glimpses Trenton had over the years. He supposed it had been the flourescent lights: they always gave a place a sterile look. All the overhead lights were off. The room was lit by dozens of candles of all shapes and sizes, sitting on counters and shelves. The mirrored walls and ceilings reflected the lights, so that the room was filled with a golden shimmer.


Trenton finally got a good look at Clive, reflected in the mirror, and his heart almost stopped. Clive always looked hot, but tonight he was enough to cause spontaneous combustion. He wore skin tight black leather pants tucked into knee high boots of the same color. His long-sleeved shirt was of black suede. His skin and hair seemed to glow.


"I want you to take you clothes off, all of them. Do it very slowly. Hand each garment to me as you remove it."


Trenton toed off his sneakers, handing them back to Clive. He didn't turn around. He hadn't been given permission. He pulled the T-shirt off, dragging it inch by inch up his back, then over his head. Clive was watching every movement with the intensity of someone considering a life or death proposition. Before he had the shirt off, Trenton's nipples were hard. He handed the garment back to Clive, who folded it neatly, and set it aside. "The pants, Trenton. If I have to wait on you, you'll suffer for it."


Trenton undid the snap on his jeans and pulled down the zipper. The metallic rasp was distinct in the quiet room, and Trenton realized that it was one of the sexiest sounds in the world. He pushed his jeans down, stepped out of them, and handed them back to Clive, then just stood there.


Clive didn't smile, but his eyebrows lifted as he folded the jeans and put them away. Trenton was now totally naked. "No underwear? You surprise me, Trenton."


"I'm sorry, Master."


"Oh, no, I'm not displeased. Quite the contrary." He reached around Trenton with one hand and gently rubbed his right nipple. It stiffened even further. "It isn't often one finds a virgin with such marvelously slutty sensibilities."


Clive moved up behind Trenton, taking him in his arms, and Trent leaned back against him, his eyes drifting shut. He could feel the different textures: leather, suede, and the velvet of Clive's skin, as his soon-to-be lover shifted slightly. He felt Clive's lips against the nape of his neck as the other man murmured, "I hope you're well rested, love, because I'm going to wear you out."


His hands smoothed over the front of Trenton's torso, stroking his chest, sides, and abdomen. Clive never dipped any lower, but Trenton's cock started to rise even without direct stimulation. God, it was marvelous. He didn't have to do anything but experience, and this was how Clive wanted it, too.


He swayed when Clive stepped back, and opened his eyes to find the older man smiling at him softly in the mirror's reflection. "Go lie on the table, pet. On your belly, to start with."


Clive's special chair had been lowered and opened till it resembled nothing more than a padded massage table. It was covered with a large, white bath sheet. Trenton got on it, and Clive slipped a pillow under his chin, allowing him to fold his arms over it. He pulled a small wheeled table close to the platform, saying, "This will take a little while, Trenton." He stroked his hand down the boy's back. "You're going to have to be very patient, and very still. I'm going to be using this."


Trenton gasped when Clive opened the straight razor. It was five inches of gleaming, lethally sharp steel. Clive's voice was calming. "Don't be afraid, precious. I'm very good with this. If you're just a good boy, and very still and quiet, you won't get a scratch or a nick. But you have to trust me, Trenton. Do you trust me?"


Trenton swallowed. He knew that all he had to do was use his safe word, and Clive would stop. And Trenton would probably never get this opportunity again. The idea of that sharpened steel moving over his balls frightened him, but it aroused him, too. "I trust you, Master."


"Do you know your safe word?"


"Swan dive."


"Are you ready to begin?"


*Begin? Oh, man, I'm half-way there already.* "Please, Master."


Clive went to the sink, and returned with a basin of steaming water. He sponged down the backs of Trenton's legs, then applied shaving cream. Trenton didn't move, though it was cold. Then, at his ankle, he felt the first, light rasp of the razor. Clive made a long, smooth stroke, up to his knee. He wiped the foam on a towel, wet the razor, and repeated the process. Pausing, he ran a finger down the smooth trail he'd left in the foam. "Oh, yes," he purred. "You're coach is going to be very pleased, Trenton. You'll just cut through the water once I'm done with you." He gave a low chuckle. "If you have the energy left to swim."


Clive efficiently shaved the backs of Trenton's legs, all the way up to where the curve of his ass started. He was as good as his promise: Trenton felt the edge of the blade, but it never split or scraped the skin. When his legs were done, Clive sponged him down and dried him off, then stroked his back consideringly. "You don't need it here. Maybe later in life, but not now."


"Shall I turn over, Master?"


"Did I tell you to turn over?"


"No, sir. I beg pardon."


Clive slapped Trenton's ass. "I still have this to finish."


"Sir?" It came out as a squeak.


Clive parted Trenton's cheeks, running his fingers along the upper curves of the crease. "There isn't much here, but I intend to get it all. I'd really advise you to be calm now, Trent." It wasn't easy. The shaving cream wasn't any warmer. But the razor moved with the same precision, and soon the cleft of Trenton's ass was pristine. "Now you can turn over."


Trenton did. Clive was replacing the water with fresh. When he set the bowl on the table, Trenton saw that there was a massive erection straining at the fly of his pants. Clive noted his gaze, and smiled. "Yes, things are progressing nicely, but we don't want the festivities to end too soon, so I think precautionary measures are in order."


He went over to his 'toy cabinet', and pulled open a drawer, rummaging. He returned with what looked like a handful of thin leather straps with snaps at various points. He showed them to Trenton. "Have you ever seen one of these?"


Trent shook his head. "What are they?"


"These are one of the most sensible, practical inventions man has ever come up with--they're cock rings."


Trenton's mouth went dry. "What... what do you do with them?"


"I'll show you." Clive reached down and gripped Trenton's cock firmly. The boy moaned, and Clive said quickly, "Don't move, Trenton! I know you want to try to push into my hand, but don't!" The boy subsided. "Good. Now then." He wrapped one strap tightly around the base of Trenton's erect prick, snapping it in place. A second strap went down, then up, nestling between Trenton's balls, lifting and separating them, holding them snugly. Clive stroked Trenton's cock twice, then let it go. It didn't lie back flat. It hovered. "You see? The constriction will keep you from orgasm until it's released. You can stay hard for... oh, a long time. I don't think it's actually been measured. Possibly hours. Now..."


Clive pushed the other set of straps into Trenton's hands. He did something with snaps at his fly, and pulled away the crotch of the pants. His cock and balls were freed, while the rest of his clothing stayed in place. It was more erotic than anything Trenton could have imagined. Clive moved in close. "Put that on me." Trenton's hands were clumsy, shaking as he fastened the straps around Clive's erection, but the older man didn't complain. Trenton knew enough not to touch Clive any more than was necessary to do the job, then lay back. Clive stroked himself a couple of times. "Now, pet, we can proceed."


He shaved the front of Trent's legs with the same care, then his arms. After each section was done, it was sponged and dried. Trenton was getting the equivalent of a bath. He'd never felt so clean before. The absence of hair really made a difference. Plus, the newly de-nuded skin was incredibly sensitive.


Clive used a small pair of scissors to trim the hair in his pits before shaving them. "Too much drag on the razor, otherwise." Clean pits was a really weird sensation: he'd gotten used to the hair. Then Clive shaved his chest. Trenton watched as the blade skirted around the firm points of his nipples. They seemed to grow even harder as Clive progressed. Clive even shaved his belly. "Might as well be thorough, dear."


Then it was time. Clive got the nail scissors again, and leaned over his lower body. He laid a hand gently on Trenton's quivering abdomen. "Just relax, Trenton. I'm going to take good care of you." He caressed Trenton's straining prick, then his heavy balls. "I love you. I would never endanger you. I would never really hurt you."


"I know."


Clive slowly clipped away the pubes till there was only a quarter inch of stubble left. Trenton managed not to flinch this time when the cold shaving cream bathed his crotch, coating his balls. "I'm going to get the trickiest part out of the way first, so you can enjoy the rest of it." Clive started to shave his balls with minuscule, gentle strokes. Trenton couldn't watch this, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Almost done, pet. Just a little more. There, those are done. Now just the groin..." Clive finished it off neatly.


Trenton felt a warm cloth wiping away the last of the foam, and Clive said, "You can open your eyes now, baby." Trenton did, to find Clive smiling down at him. Clive leaned over to reward him with a deep kiss. "All done. You're as clean and sweet as a newborn baby. You were very, very brave, pet. Even Tuscon acts up more than you, and I use disposables on him, and he's used to it. Now, I need to get some oil on you, so your skin isn't irritated." He indicated two bottles on the table. "You have your choice: vanilla or honeysuckle?"


"Honeysuckle, please."


"Good choice. Stand up." Clive poured oil into his palm, and rubbed his hands together. "Face the wall, Trenton. I want you to watch this. Don't close your eyes." Starting at his ankles and working up, Clive worked the oil into Trenton's legs. Then he paused, getting more of the slippery fluid, and worked it into Trenton's upper body: chest, shoulders, arms, neck, belly. The area that would be covered by swim trunks, he studiously avoided.


As he was stroking Trenton's belly, the boy moaned. "Please, sir."


"What, boy?"


"Please touch me."


"I am touching you, Trent. But I suppose this is what you want." His greased hand engulfed Trenton's aching cock, stroking. Trenton whimpered, throwing his head back. He'd never been so engorged, and he felt super-sensitive. "Yes, it's very nice, isn't it? But there's so much more for you to experience." Clive pumped lazily, licking a trail across Trenton's shoulders "And it's the first time for you, for all of this. That makes it even more delicious. But it is time to begin getting you ready, my love. Bend forward a little and brace on the counter."


Clive went to the cabinet again. When he came back, he looked at the boy's expression, and smiled. "No, baby, I'm not going to fuck you yet. You want it though, don't you?" Trenton nodded. Clive hefted his cock, displaying it. "You want this in your ass?" A clear drop of precome glistened at the slit, and Clive spread it over the glans with his thumb, teasing himself.


"Please, sir." Trenton whispered.


"Soon, precious, soon. But I have to get you ready." He coated his fingers again with oil. "I want you to reach back, take hold of your buttocks, and spread them wide for me." Trenton obeyed, blushing hotly at being left so open before his lover's gaze.


"You're very beautiful, Trenton," Clive said quietly. Trent shivered as Clive stroked the length of his crack. "Who do you belong to?"


"You, Master. I belong to you." He gasped as Clive slowly slid one finger up inside him.


"It's going to ache some, Trent, but is there any real pain? You know what I mean. Are you all right?"


Trenton knew that Clive was referring to the injury he had gotten from Gervase. He wanted to be careful not to do anything like that. "Yes, sir. It does ache a little, but it feels so good."


"Mm, well, let's have some more of a good thing, then." Clive pressed a second finger in beside the first and pumped them gently, wiggling them to stretch the muscular little ring.


"Can I push, sir?"


"No, not yet. Wait." Clive held up something. "Another toy I expect you haven't encountered before." It was a short, conical hard rubber device, tapering from a two-and-a-half inch base to a rounded one inch tip. "It's called a butt plug."


"You... you're going to put that in me?"


"Oh, yes. It's only three inches. After all, Trent, you're planning on taking something much larger later on. This will just get you adjusted before I mount you." Trenton shivered. God, what it did to him, hearing Clive talk so calmly about all he had planned. "I'll insert this, and you'll hold it till I'm ready to fuck you. By then you'll be nicely opened, but still tight inside. No tearing, Trenton. Now, take a breath."


Trenton breathed deeply. He felt the plug nudge against his slightly stretched hole, then Clive pushed, working it in. It was thicker than the fingers he had used, and Trent whined a little. "Steady, boy, almost done. There, it's in." Trent's ass muscles started to clench around the alien invader, and Clive said, "Don't push, boy. It might work its way out."


Clive went back to the cabinet and returned with a couple of red silk scarves, which he draped over the end of the table before sitting on its edge and patting his lap. "Come put yourself over my knees, Trenton."


Trenton lowered himself across Clive's lap. He felt the smooth brush of Clive's suede shirt against his side, and the slick leather of his pants under his chest and thighs. Trenton's hard-on dangled between Clive's thighs, and Clive's own erection prodded slickly against Trenton's belly. Trent's breathing became ragged.


Clive stroked Trenton's back and ass. "I'm going to spank you now, Trent. You have to understand that this isn't a punishment. You haven't done anything wrong, pet. It's just part of my love-making. There will be some pain, but the feelings it raises are so special. Are you ready?"


"Yes, sir."


Clive gave Trenton's left buttock a small, brisk slap, then his right. It wasn't bad, just a tiny sting. Clive kept doing it, setting up a tingle in Trenton's flesh. Then the force increased. It started to really smart. "Look at yourself in the mirror, baby. See how pretty your ass is." Trenton saw that the skin of his butt was flushed a gentle pink, the blood drawn to the surface by the spanking.


Clive continued to spank, the force of his blows increasing till he was smacking Trenton with a sound like a ruler slapping on a flat surface. Trent's ass went from pale pink to rose. He was jounced each time Clive's palm landed. His cock swayed, bumping Clive's erection, and the inside of his thighs. Clive's prick stabbed at his belly. And the plug...


It was moving inside him. Every little motion he made, it would shift slightly. He felt like he was going to go insane. He wanted to come so badly that he couldn't stand it. He realized that he was crying, tears dribbling down his cheeks, but it felt so good.


"Please, sir," he sobbed. "Please fuck me. I need it."


"No, Trent. You just want it. In a minute or two, though, you're going to need it." He drew back and cracked Trenton's ass with all his might. Clive was a strong man. Trenton howled, and humped against him. Clive didn't try to stop him this time. He continued to rain full force blows on the wildly pumping ass, watching it turn a glowing red. Finally he stopped, grabbing Trenton's hips to still him. "Trenton! Calm down, baby!" Trenton sobbed, continuing to thrust. Clive grabbed a handful of his hair, roughly pulling his head up. "I said stop!"


Trenton went still except for an all over body tremble. His eyes met Clive's in the mirror, bright with tears and lust. "I'm sorry."


Clive released his grip on his hair, and stroked his back soothingly. "It's all right, pet. I understand. It's all so new to you. I'm going to take care of you, I promise. How do you want me to fuck you?"


"Any way you want, sir. I just want your cock inside me."


"That was the proper response. You really are a natural submissive, Trenton. I'm very lucky. Of course," he smiled. "You're lucky, too, because I'm a natural Dominant. Get up, and lie back on the table."


When Trent arose, Clive got up to clear his way. Trent lay down on the table, as instructed. Clive picked up the scarves. It was a measure of Trenton's trust that Paris, Gervase, and the other silk scarves never entered his mind.


Clive knotted a scarf around Trenton's right wrist, and secured it over his head to a ring set in the table's corner. Then he did the same with Trenton's left wrist. "Are they too tight, Trenton?"


"No sir."


"Do you need a drink of water? Get it now, because there'll be no stopping till this stage is done." Trenton nodded, and Clive brought him a glass of water, with a straw, holding it while he sipped. Clive finished off the last of the water himself before putting away the glass.


Then Clive went to the foot of the table, and lowered it even farther. He reached down, and began caressing Trenton's feet. "Did you know, you even have sexy feet? I suppose all that time in the water keeps them nice and soft." He worked his way up Trenton's legs, touching the backs of his knees. When he came to Trenton's thighs, he said, "Spread you legs wide." Trenton obeyed, and Clive knelt in the V. Trenton started shaking.


"Calm, baby, calm. We're almost there." Clive crooned, stroking his inner thighs sensuously "Lift your legs, and let me put them up on my shoulders." Trenton lifted. Clive grabbed his ankles, and settled his legs securely, then knee walked closer. Trenton rolled back onto his spine at the advance, and his ass was brought up into position.


Clive paused, stroking the glowing flesh of Trenton's butt gently. "Do you want me to use a condom, Trenton? I will, if you want me to, but I had myself checked over when we got back. I'm clean, and I know you are."


"No, please, sir. I want to really feel you."


"Oh, you'll feel me, Trenton. You'll feel me."


Clive gripped the butt plug, and eased it out of Trenton. The boy groaned softly, a little from pain, but mostly from a sense of loss. Clive massaged his own cock with his greased hands, then prodded Trenton's relaxed, slightly open hole experimentally. The boy moaned, and tried to push onto his finger. "Nice and slick. Good." He unsnapped his cock ring with a groan of relief. "Now. I'm going to fuck you into next week."


Trenton felt a hot, smooth nudge at his back passage, then Clive slid into him. The boy moaned as the massive prick slowly pressed the tight walls of his channel apart, delving into him. "So big," he moaned.


"Do you need me to stop, Trent?" Clive paused. "Do you need to use your safe word?"


"No." Trenton tried to push up and capture more of Clive's prick. "More."


"Thank God, darling. I would have exploded." Clive pushed harder. "More, yes, baby. All of it. Take all of it." Trenton's breath was hitching when Clive finally came to rest, completely embedded in his body. His knees were pressed up almost to his shoulders. "Wait. Get used to it, precious."


He stayed over Trenton, looking down into those beautiful jade green eyes, seeing the heat and need, and love. Yes, love. Not the slavish adoration he sometimes got from his submissives, but something deep and sweet. "Oh, God, baby." he murmured.


"I love you, Clive."


Clive moaned, pressing a kiss to Trenton's leg, and started to fuck him. He moved slowly at first, drawing back till he was almost out of him before sliding all the way back in. Trenton undulated beneath him, easily finding his rhythm. After a couple of minutes, Clive edged even farther forward, tilting Trenton's pelvis at a slightly different angle.


His cock head passed over Trenton's prostate at the next thrust, and the boy arched, crying out his pleasure. Once he had the angle, Clive hit it again and again, increasing the speed and power of his thrusts.


Trenton shook his head, in a sexual daze as the waves of heat and ecstasy passed over him, radiating from his cock and his ass to bathe his entire being. He was going to blow apart at any minute. "Please, Master. I want to come. Please."


"All right, Trenton." Clive unstrapped the boy's cock ring, and Trenton almost screamed with relief. It had become a pleasure/pain during the last few minutes. Clive's still slippery hands gripped his swollen, hot flesh, stroking firmly. "Come for me, precious."


Trenton couldn't hold it back any longer. "Clive! Master..." It started as a shout, as he bucked up, his spunk exploding in a white hot gush. It died to a mewling whimper as he jerked, and Clive milked the last of the sperm from him. "Master," he moaned. "You, too. You come, too." He bore down with his aching ass muscles, squeezing the dick that was slamming in and out of him.


Clive stiffened at the sudden rippling of untrained, but strong, muscles. "Fuck!" He rammed into the boy so hard that he bent his knees up around his ears, then continued with short, brutal strokes that drew grunts from his partner. Then he came, flooding the tight back passage with his semen.


As he held himself there, trembling and catching his breath, Trenton craned his neck. He couldn't quite reach to kiss Clive, but he managed to lick his chin, whimpering softly. Clive laughed, and careful lowered the boy's legs, pulling free of his body. He reached up and untied each of Trenton's arms, pulling them down and massaging his wrists.


Still lying on Trenton, he whispered. "Scene's over, little boy. Did you have fun?"


Trenton replied by putting his hands on either side of Clive's face and kissing him deeply. "I think I've been pretty much spoiled for anyone else."


"I should hope so." Clive sat up, and pulled Trenton up till he had the boy sitting on his lap. Trenton cuddled against him, his arms around Clive's neck, and his head on his shoulder. Clive stroked his back, his hair. They just sat quietly for a long time. Finally Clive said, "I've never had anyone be so open and generous, Trent. I love you, too."


Trent rubbed his cheek against Clive's. "I'm glad you waited to say it. I think it's easy to say it when you're having sex, but harder when you're just... together." He pulled his head back, saying anxiously. "But I meant it when I said it."


"I know you did, precious. I've known it for some time. This is just the first time either of us actually put it into words. It isn't all that easy for me. I've told plenty of people I desire them, I want them, even that I care about them. But I never said I love you. Not till now."


He cupped Trenton's face, gazing into his eyes. "This won't be a stroll in the park, Trent. Our group is pretty liberal, and your Mom doesn't have any problems with this, bless her. But you have to realize that there will be people out there who will say nasty things, hurtful thing. About both of us, but mostly about me, because they'll see me as taking advantage of you."


"They're wrong!" Trent burst out. "I want you, Clive."


"I know, lamb. But I'm more than twice your age, and I'm a Dom. Some automatically see us as users. I just want you to know what you're getting into."


Trenton sat up a little straighter, grabbing Clive's face again. His voice was firm. "I've had three years to think about this, Clive. How many teenagers do you know who can concentrate and plan and work for anything for that long?"


Clive bit his lip, smiling. "Not a hell of a lot."


Trenton nodded. "I'm not backing out. You'll have to kick my butt out to get rid of me. And if you did, I think I'd do something soppy like hang around and moon over you."


Clive rolled his eyes. "God, we can't have that."


"Then you'll have to keep me."


Clive smiled, tightening his hold on the boy in his arms, and kissed him softly. "Yes," he murmured. "I guess I'll have to keep you."

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