O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Another Nick and Noah 6-9

by Iainlthr

Chapter 6

David stayed with Patrick, comforting him, while Nick and Noah began to circulate amongst the other guests, suggesting that it was time to leave. Most took the hint, some even gratefully, and before long the house was empty again. Joe and Frank had been told of the drama between Patrick and his twin and the six men gathered again by the pool.

"An identical twin?" Joe marvelled. "And you never speak?"

"No," Patrick confirmed. "We have almost nothing in common."

"Did you know, Frank?" David asked.

"Yeah, but since Patrick and Sean don't see each other, we never mention him."

"Incredible," muttered Nick.

"I think it's such a shame when families argue," Noah said sadly.

"Or when they can't accept each other," Nick added. "You would have thought that if anyone would be able to accept you and forget the `gay' issue, it would be a twin brother!"

Frank's eyes widened at that comment, but he said nothing, simply looking hard at Patrick, who ignored him. After a long, quiet evening lost in their own thoughts, the various couples made for their bedrooms, to try to sleep.

***

Wednesday morning dawned bright and clear, and it seemed as if the new day brought with it a lifting of spirits all around. Now that the funeral was over, the need for any immediate action had passed, and when Frank and Patrick joined the four older men for breakfast they appeared quite at ease, even smiling and joking with each other.

"We are going to head into the city," Patrick announced. "Frank needs to get some things done at his apartment, and I have a few errands to take care of as well. We'll stay in town overnight, so I'll see you tomorrow sometime."

"Not us," David said. "Joe and I are flying back to Sydney today. We have to get back to work."

"Oh, okay," Patrick said. "I'm sorry you can't stay longer."

"Nice to meet you both," Frank added. "It would have been better in other circumstances ..." A momentary cloud passed over the group, but moved on. "What about you and Nick?" he addressed himself to Noah.

"Uh, we thought we'd stay on a bit longer," Noah said slowly.

"In case the cops want us for anything else," Nick added quickly. "Besides, we haven't had much chance to do the touristy things around here, so we might as well hang around."

"That's if it's okay with you?" Noah offered to Patrick quickly.

"Of course," the younger man beamed. "Love to have you guys stay around. Maybe we can do a better job at being good `hosts', now that things have calmed down," he grinned with a suggestive wink.

Noah looked sideways at Nick in surprise, but ignored the implied offer. Patrick continued. "Well, we'll get moving now. I guess we'll see you guys tomorrow," he said to Nick and Noah. "And please, stay in touch," he added to David and Joe.

"We will," David assured him, as the couple left the pool area, making for the garage.

"He seems very `up'," Nick noted.

David nodded. "Yes, more than I would have expected."

"What time is your flight?" Noah asked.

"Not until 3.00," answered Joe. "We'll need to leave here by about 11.30 to give us time to drive to the airport, hand back the car and check in."

"Do you want us to come with you?"

"No, of course not. Besides, how will you get back?"

Nick smiled. "I suspect that we may need to rent a car for ourselves, if we're going to stay for a bit. Otherwise, we have no way of getting around."

David looked at his friends carefully. "On a more serious note," he said, "Do you have any thoughts on what happened, on who might have murdered Wes?"

"I think it's fairly obvious! It was either the nephew -- Patrick's twin -- or Phillip," Nick said. "Sean hated both Wes and Patrick, and if he's after money from the Estate, then he has the perfect motive. And Phillip, well, he certainly seems to have plenty of motive as well, since he seems so bitter about the break-up, and the way Wes treated him. So if I were the police, I'd be very carefully investigating both of them."

David sighed. "I just can't believe that Phillip would kill him. They were so much in love. I know it really hurt them both when they broke up, and I know that jealousy can be a major factor, but I still got the impression that Phillip loved Wes, that he would want to get back together rather than kill him and kill off any chance for them."

"There are still the other possibilities, too," Noah added. "It seems to me that we have four real suspects. Apart from Phillip the ex, and Sean the nephew, the neighbour who wanted to do this real estate deal -- he seems to be in a much better position, or at least much more confident, now that Wes is gone. If there is as much money to be made as he seems to think, then that's a real motive."

"That's true," Joe said thoughtfully. "It needs looking into as well."

"And there is also the guy Patrick mentioned -- the one who came around a few times, arguing about repaying money Wes had lent him. What was his name?"

"Terry!" Nick jumped in. "Terry Michaels."

Noah nodded. "This Terry Michaels guy could be a suspect as well. From what Patrick said, he was very angry with Wes. I know Patrick seemed to brush it off, but if he owed Wes a lot of money, and Wes was pushing for him to repay it, then he had a damned good reason to want Wes out of the picture."

For the next hour or more, the four friends sat and debated the various suspects they had identified, trying to reason out motives and methods by which any one of the four possibilities could have murdered Wes. It was obvious from the beginning that David could not accept that Phillip was the guilty party. He argued strenuously in favour of the fact that Phillip was too much in love with Wes, and that killing him would destroy any chance of a reunion. Nick disagreed vehemently. The more David said, the more Nick spoke out against him, maintaining that jealousy was the strongest motive of all. Nick was certain that Phillip had succumbed to the rage of a jilted lover, and had murdered Wes in revenge for being cut out of his lover's life.

Joe still believed that the neighbour, Petersen, was the most likely candidate. As he pointed out, calmly and logically, the man had no emotional connection to Wes, and was out to make money -- a lot of money, or so he claimed. As Joe saw it, that was the perfect situation to lead to murder. Petersen would remove the major obstacle to his plans, and count on the bereaved nephew wanting to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

Noah chuckled as Joe finished his analysis.

"What's so funny?" Nick demanded.

"It occurs to me that we have four suspects, four `investigators', and four different opinions as to the most likely," he explained. "Some detectives we would make. I think Patrick's brother, Sean, is the most likely murderer. He hasn't seen or spoken to his uncle or his brother in years. He hates them both, and probably sees Patrick living here in a mansion, living the life of wealth, while he gets no share of it. His hatred grows and grows until he wants to kill them. I wouldn't be surprised if he may even have killed Patrick as well, if Patrick had been here that night. And as an added bonus, once his uncle is dead, there is a real possibility he will inherit quite a bit of money."

For a short time, the other three nodded understandingly, thinking about Noah's proposition, but before long the disagreements surfaced again as each of them stuck to his original diagnosis. Finally David spoke out, calling a halt to the discussion.

"This is getting us nowhere," he said with a wry chuckle. "And Joe and I need to finish packing so we can be getting home."

Noah laughed with him. "You're right. I think we need to call Bob Moran, tell him our theories, and let the police do the official investigating."

David raised one eyebrow, grinning. "Are you sure that's all you want Bob Moran to investigate further?" he said in a lusty question.

Noah reddened, but managed to sound indignant. "We promised the good detective that we would keep him up to date with anything we found out, and that's all I'm suggesting," he said, pretending to pout.

"That's absolutely right!" said Nick, coming to his partner's defence, but grinning nonetheless.

Joe stifled a chuckle. "I'm sure it is," he said. "Still, if the police officer wished to show his gratitude for your assistance, I'm sure you could think of ways to accept his `generosity'!"

It was all Nick could do to stop from getting an erection at the thought. "That's true too," he said. "And I'm sure his slave, `punk', could help me out while Nightstick looks after Viking!"

All of them chuckled easily at the idea, and Noah winked at Nick as he imagined the possibilities.

***

When David and Joe had gone, Nick and Noah found themselves again by the pool, seated in the over-sized lounge chairs. Their thoughts about getting around now that David had returned the rental car, came back to them.

"We really should get a car," Nick decided. "Otherwise we're basically stuck here, and there's no public transport as such."

"Yes, you're right," Noah agreed. "Wes' car is in the garage, but I don't think I want to take it. Even if Patrick agreed, it wouldn't feel right. I'll call a couple of rental places and see what we can arrange."

"I have a better idea!" Nick said suddenly, his eyes lighting up. "How about a couple of bikes?"

"Bikes!?!" Noah asked, disbelievingly. "Are you joking? Do you know how dangerous it can be getting around on a motorbike? Not to mention the problems with wet weather -- something for which Melbourne is famous! Neither of us have ridden a bike in years. It would be lunacy!"

"No," his man grinned wickedly. "It would be fun. Come on, Noah, live a little. You're sounding old and conservative."

"That's because we ARE old and conservative!"

"No, we're just plain boring! It's time we had some fun, took a few risks, maybe became a little less `conservative'. I know for damn sure that we're not conservative when it comes to sex, so how about we have a bit of spice out in public." Nick stopped for a moment, warming to his own idea. "Please, Noah, call it a holiday whim, but let's do it. Imagine the wind in your face, the roar of a bike on the road, the throbbing power of the engine between your legs ..."

With his last comment he grinned lustily, running a teasing finger along the inside of Noah's thigh and up until he found what he sought, the hardening tube of an erection.

Noah laughed. "You'll probably get us killed, but since you put it that way, alright!"

Nick threw his arms around his man, and kissed him long and hard. Noah thought they were about to get into some serious making out, but Nick suddenly stood up again, reaching for the telephone. He was determined to rent a couple of bikes before his mate changed his mind.

Twenty minutes later, Nick snapped his phone closed with a triumphant expression on his face.

"It's done!" he stated. "I've arranged a week's rental for two bikes, with an option to extend it if we want. They're identical Harley Davidson 1450 Superglides, black. Only difference between them is that I got them to include a Sat-nav system with one, so we can find our way around without any problems. The rental includes helmets and leathers, and they'll deliver them right here for us. Should be here in about two hours," he said.

Noah simply shook his head from side to side. "I hate to think what this is gonna cost us," he laughed. "Still I suppose I can't deny you your toys while we're on holidays."

Nick was almost beside himself with excitement, and his anticipation spread to Noah, so that by the time the bikes arrived, on a trailer, all fuelled up and ready to go, he too was practically itching to get out on the road. The guy who delivered the bikes checked their details and gave them a few hints, but apparently satisfied that they knew what they were doing, he left them to it.

The helmets and bike leathers that had come with the rental were, as specified by Nick, un-emblazoned jet black. When Noah went to pull on his suit he found it extremely tight, too tight to be worn over normal clothes in fact. It quickly occurred to him that the only way he was going to be able to get into the leathers was to wear nothing underneath, and even then, they would be skin-tight.

"What size did you tell them I needed for these?" he asked in an irritated voice, holding the dark hide towards Nick.

His man smiled guiltily. "A size smaller than you usually wear," he said in a whisper. "Same for me."

"But why?" Noah looked perplexed.

Nick said nothing, but stripped off right there in front of him. He pulled the one-piece leather suit up his legs and slid his arms into it, tucking half an erection into one leg before zippering the combo closed. Before he straightened up, he pulled gloves over his hands, and slipped his feet into a pair of harness boots and tugged the helmet over his head. Then he stood up, put his hands on his hips, and turned to face his man straight on.

Comprehension hit Noah between the eyes, almost as hard as the spectacle presented to him. And hard was what he became, instantly. Nick was clad in body hugging leather, the tightness of the suit accentuating every muscle and curve. He looked fantastic.

"Holy fuck!" Noah whistled.

"That's what I was hoping for," Nick grinned.

"Are you sure you want to go out on public streets like that?" Noah asked, suddenly uncertain.

"Absolutely! No-one knows us here, and even if they did, they wouldn't recognise us with the helmets. And if they do recognise us, well, so what? Like I said, it's about time we became a bit less conservative. Think of it as coming out all over again!"

Noah laughed. "I knew there was a reason why I love you," he said, holding Nick in an embrace, before following his example and stripping away his everyday clothes to replace them with the bike leathers. "God, these feel so good!" he exclaimed. "It's almost a pity to go out riding -- I'm feeling so horny right now."

Nick bellowed. "Later," he promised. "Let's get a feel for the bikes right now."

Together they mounted their machines, kicking the mechanical steeds into life, and gingerly manoeuvring them out of the driveway and onto the narrow, quiet residential street. They made their way carefully down from the hills until they met the freeway, turning left and heading south-west. Once on the open road, they picked up speed, getting used to the cycles and re-accustoming themselves to riding after so long. When the motorway came to an end, they reversed direction, swinging around onto the opposite carriageway and heading east and north again, opening up the bikes and themselves to the wind and roar as they followed the road from McCrae, past Arthur's Seat and Dromana and onto Moorooduc. As the highway narrowed again, they slowed, then stopped, pulling off to the side.

"Wow, that was fantastic!" declared Nick.

"Yep, it sure feels great to be out on the road, especially in this outfit," Noah agreed. "You look so good, riding along in that leather, mounted on that bike. I've had an erection since we left Wes' place, and it's still not going away!"

"Hold that thought," Nick chuckled. "Let's head back, and maybe we can do something about your problem. Especially since I seem to have a similar problem," he added, standing and facing Noah so that his man could clearly see the tumescent log outlined by the clinging leather at Nick's groin.

Again, they turned around, riding back down the Mornington Peninsula Freeway until they found the now familiar exit. Throwing caution aside, they raced each other through the narrow streets and up into the hills to Wes' property, finally silencing their throaty steeds at the front door and dismounting. Leaving the bikes where they stood, the men leapt up the stairs to their room, laughing like two naughty schoolboys as they did.

Within the privacy of their room, their excitement found its release as they crashed into each other, kissing hard and groping at taut bodies encased in skin tight leather. Nick threw his arms around his mate's torso, his hands running up and down Noah's back, across his lover's shoulders and down over the rounded orbs of his arse, squeezing and gripping at them hard. The earthy scent of the hide filled his nostrils as his hands stroked the smooth texture of the black suits they wore, the leather screeching occasionally as he and his man ground their bodies together.

Noah found himself a little incapacitated with Nick's arms around him, but he happily attacked his lover's mouth with his own, suckling on Nick's tongue and nibbling at his lips as they kissed fervently. His arms were trapped between his own body and his mate's abdomen, and he quickly found the straining bulge of the other's groin. Kneading the long tube that was Nick's cock, and cupping his balls in one hand within their slick black covering, Noah eagerly massaged his man's genitalia, exciting both of them even more.

Breaking the connection between them, Noah licked his lips and moaned softly to the feel of Nick's hands on his arse, then lowered himself to his knees, sliding down along his man's leathered body as he went, until his face was level with the straining hide at his lover's pelvis. Now that his arms were free, they wrapped around the other man's legs, Noah sliding his hands up and over the solid cheeks of Nick's butt as he licked and chewed on the bulging log of leather-covered flesh presented to him. He could feel his man's fingers in his hair, caressing his neck, and sliding down over his shoulders as he eagerly nibbled and sucked at the hidden delight of his lover's rampant erection.

Nick looked down, drinking in the vision of his lover kneeling before him, driving him wild with the attention Noah was paying to his cock and his nuts. From neck to ankles, his lover was clad in the tightest shining black leather, and Nick could watch every ripple of muscle in Noah's shoulders, could trace with his eyes every line of his mate's frame, accentuated by the glimmering darkness of the envelope of hide. He wanted to touch that beautiful body, to feel every inch of Noah's leathered form, but leaning forward meant removing his cock from the reach of the talented mouth at his groin which was imparting so much pleasure. Still, he wanted it. Indeed, he wanted more than that, he wanted Noah!

He lowered his hands to his lover's shoulders, and gently coaxed the tall blond from his position on the floor, lifting him until they stood together again, kissing once more. Then Nick found the zipper tab of Noah's suit, and slid it open quickly, pushing the leather away from his man as he stripped Noah naked with a sense of urgency. Noah reciprocated, undressing his mate happily, releasing Nick's prong so that it sprang up and out, proud and full, the hole wet with pre-seminal oozings.

Nick pushed his man back onto the bed as he dragged the suit away from Noah's legs, finally leaving him naked. He allowed himself a short moment to savour the view of his tall, blond lover prostrate and panting, his long cock throbbing in anticipation, then he shucked off the rest of his own coveralls and stepped forward quickly, kneeling on the bed between Noah's legs. He leaned over his man, lowering himself until their flesh connected from chest to groin. Noah instinctively raised his knees, wrapping his thighs around Nick's torso as he welcomed his man onto himself.

The smell of the leather was still heavy on Noah's skin, its exciting aroma filling Nick's senses as it now combined with the scent of musky arousal and masculine perspiration. The sheen of sweat on both men allowed them to slide against each other, and each ached with need.

Noah lifted his head slightly, his lips against Nick's ear.

"Fuck me, stud!" he commanded in a lusty whisper.

Nick simply nodded, adjusting himself slightly, until his cockhead nudged against the tender indentation that was his lover's anus. With the copious pre-cum flowing from his cock, Nick smeared a natural lubricant over Noah's winking hole, lined his prong up against that pink fleshy target, and began to move inward. He felt the resistance of his lover's muscle, and pressed again, opening that ring slowly but surely as he penetrated his man.

Noah fought to relax himself, ignoring the slight pain as Nick's prong pried him open and slid through his sphincter. Suddenly that discomfort was gone, replaced by the incredible sensation of being filled with living flesh, of being impaled upon a sword of satin covered steel, hot and throbbing, which skewered its way into his gut, filling him with absolute pleasure.

"Fuck me!" Noah hissed again, "Fuck me now, and fuck me hard!"

"You bet I will, handsome," Nick answered in a voice full of lusty excitement. "I'm gonna pound your sweet arse! I'm gonna fill that hot hole with cock and make you beg for more!"

With that, he drove himself hard and fast, deep into his lover's bowel, plunging his thick manhood to the hilt in the squelching, warm innards of his mate until his nuts slapped against Noah's upturned cheeks. Lifting back momentarily, the swarthy Greek ploughed his way in again, establishing a feverish motion of rutting strength as he powered into his fuck, taking possession of Noah's body and filling it with his own.

Noah pushed back against the relentless pile driver of Nick's thundering masculinity, clenching his ravaged rectum around the invading pole whenever it began to withdraw, before opening yet again to its inward spearing. He trembled with the joy of being fucked with such ferocity, and matched his man's intensity thrust for thrust as they rutted in animalistic abandon, humping and gasping together as a single sexual beast.

Half an hour later, Nick withdrew himself from his man and collapsed as Noah shook one final time, his torso covered in the slimy jism of his ejaculate. With a sigh, he turned to his lover.

"Well that was fast and furious," he declared.

"Oh, Noah, I'm sorry," Nick said. "Was I too quick?"

"No, no, I didn't mean that. I was just as anxious. I guess it was the newness, the excitement of the bikes. But fuck it was good!" he grinned.

Nick laughed too. "It sure was! And we have a whole week of that."

"Well, maybe not quite as fast as today," Noah sounded doubtful, and Nick swatted his arm playfully.

"The bikes I mean," he said. "I'm sure the sex will slow down a bit as we get used to the sensation of riding again."

Noah surveyed the crumpled leather suits thrown on the floor of their bedroom. "It's a pity they are one-piece," he mused. "I'd love to make love still wearing them, but I suspect they'd get in the way."

"I guess so," Nick answered. "Besides, we have plenty of leather wear for sex already ..."

"Yes, but it's all back in Sydney."

As one they grinned at each other, and collapsed back onto the bed, recovering from their exertions.

***

The following day, Nick and Noah set out again on the bikes, exploring a little, and letting the wind take them. They rode without any real destination, simply following the roads around the Peninsula. South and west they went, through Rye and out to Portsea and the end of the road in that direction, where the mouth of Port Phillip Bay opened into Bass Straight. East they headed then, across the hills to Shoreham, then north through Hastings and around Warneet until they hit the South Gippsland Highway. Riding their Harleys, free as the wind, the two men felt so alive, so exhilarated, and so aroused. They eased off the road and pulled up, grinning widely at each other, in a service station where the Highway veered to the right at the turn-off into the town of Lang Lang, but they stayed astride their machines. Whenever they stopped for a break, to chat to each other or share their feelings, it took them several minutes of relaxation before they could dismount, unless they wanted to exhibit very obvious erections to anyone nearby.

Back on their roaring mounts, Nick led the way as they rode south. At the interchange between the South Gippsland and Bass Highways, he continued straight on along the Bass. A destination had come to mind, but he said nothing to Noah. The two were not great motor sports fans, so Nick's idea would not cause any real excitement, but since they were on throaty, powerful bikes, he figured they should at least ride by the place he had thought of. So he headed himself and his man past the Coronet Bay turn-off, and through the tiny village of Bass, then around the round-about and right onto Phillip Island Road. Without stopping to see whether Noah had guessed where he was going, Nick continued west through San Remo and across the bridge onto the Island at Newhaven, following the main road a way, then veering left when he saw the sign he was looking for. Only a minute or so later, he pulled off the road, and swung around as Noah pulled up beside him.

"So, what do you think?" he asked expansively, waving an arm away to their left, across the fields and silent pavement.

"A racetrack?" Noah asked, confused.

"Not just any racetrack," Nick remonstrated. "It's the Phillip Island Grand Prix Track. This is where they hold the Australian Motor Cycle Grand Prix!"

Noah laughed. "I know, Nick, I was just teasing. But please tell me you don't want to race around on it?"

"No," his man grinned sheepishly. "I don't even know why I headed this way. It's just that we were on the bikes, and I thought of the bike races down here, so I figured we could ride by."

"Just as good a reason, and just as good a destination, as any I've had," Noah smiled. He climbed off his bike and took a few steps towards the fence where he could see the sweeping curve of the track.

Nick let out a low whistle. The tight black leather encasing Noah's body hid nothing, and Nick felt yet more stirring in his groin at the sight of his mate's magnificent form clad in shining hide, out here in the open fields. Despite his quickly developing erection, he too stood up, removing his helmet to better admire the view.

Noah turned around and spotted his man. Pulling the helmet away from his head, he noticed Nick's excitement, and his own masculinity sprang to life, pushing vainly at the dark suit he wore. "Fuck you look hot!" he said simply.

Nick looked around them. On this Thursday afternoon in autumn, there was no-one in sight. The track appeared deserted, the open land around it empty. He crossed the space between himself and Noah in two steps, threw his arms around his man, and kissed him passionately.

Noah stiffened for a moment, also trying to look around. Silently praying there were no on-lookers, he surrendered to Nick's embrace, returning the kiss. Quickly, the lovers were locked together, gloved hands exploring leathered bodies as they kissed hard. Nick's hand found the swollen tube of Noah's cock and squeezed at it through the protective gear. Noah ran his fingers down Nick's back and over the rounded mounds of his arse cheeks before following the curving hide to the point where his legs met his butt, rubbing hard at Nick's nuts enveloped in the leather. They allowed themselves some time in this position, kissing and groping, before separating reluctantly.

Almost as one, they both surveyed their surroundings guiltily. Still the area seemed free of any other people.

"Holy shit, that's a turn on!" Nick declared enthusiastically. "Out here in the open. You make me so horny, I could make love to you right now."

Noah grinned wickedly. "Me too, stud! But as exciting as that thought is, I don't know that we should. At least not today. Maybe that's something we could look into some other time?"

"Mmmm!" was Nick's only response, as they held each other again in a short embrace.

"We should be getting back," Noah observed reluctantly.

"Yeah, I guess," Nick answered, unable to take his eyes off the sight of his mate. But he acknowledged that the afternoon was waning, and with yet another squeeze at Noah's manhood, he turned back to the bike.

Together they retraced their route off Phillip Island, and made their way back to Wes' house at Arthur's Seat, pulling the bikes around the house and to the front of the garage this time. Parked there was Patrick's car, and as the cycles fell silent, Nick turned to Noah, taking off his helmet, and cursed.

"Fuck! We should have realised Patrick would be back by now. I was hoping for a bit of fun after our ride."

Noah blushed. "So was I, but we can't ignore him. He is our host now, after all. Are you, umm, `ready' to go inside?" As he spoke he looked pointedly to the spot between Nick's legs.

It was Nick's turn to blush, as he nodded. "I will be. The fact that there is someone else here has kinda killed my excitement," he confirmed.

Feeling a little self-conscious now, the pair entered the house through the back door, calling out for Patrick as they did so. As they walked into the kitchen, they were greeted by a long, low whistle. Frank was at the counter, making coffee.

"Shit, guys, those outfits don't leave much to the imagination!" Frank stated in a near whisper filled with admiration. He looked around quickly, then back at the two, openly drinking in their entire bodies. "Patrick's out by the pool. Um, I think you should probably get changed before ..."

He didn't get to finish. At that moment, Patrick breezed through the other door. "Hey, where's that coffee?" he was calling, but stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening then his face twisting into a grimace as he examined Nick and Noah in their body-hugging hide.

"What on earth?" Patrick looked them up and down with obvious distaste. "Why the fuck are you two dressed up in that shit?" he demanded loudly.

Nick stuttered, too surprised to speak. Noah recovered faster.

"Hey, Patrick, sorry if we've upset you. We hired a couple of motor bikes for a few days. These were the riding suits that came with them,. I know they're a bit tight, but we didn't get much choice." He looked at the other man for any sign of reaction. "We've just been down to Phillip Island," he added, a little lamely.

Strangely enough, that last comment seemed to mollify him a little. "Oh, the races. I didn't know you guys were into motor sports," he said, still disapproving.

"Umm, yeah, we've always wanted to go and have a look at the track," Nick lied quickly. "We'll go and change, and come back for a drink with you, if that's okay?"

Patrick's ire ebbed away. "Yes, of course it is. See you by the pool when you're decent again." With that he took his coffee, and headed outside, closely followed by Frank, who risked a look back at Nick and Noah, and shrugged his shoulders as he shook his head.

"Wow!" was all Nick could say.

"Wow, indeed," Noah agreed.

The two men quickly changed, and dressed now in denim jeans and comfortable shirts, they found Patrick and Frank by the pool as promised. Unsure of the reaction they would get, Noah began carefully.

"Uhh, Patrick, I'm sorry if we offended you by walking into the house in the riding gear. We didn't realise you would be home yet."

"That's okay," their host answered evenly. "I understand now, if you're into bike racing and all that. Have to admit I've never been able to get interested in racing of any kind myself, but each to his own!"

Nick was amazed by the change. Patrick seemed a completely different person from the man who had met them in the kitchen only a few minutes earlier. "Well, we're still sorry about it," he stated, trying to sound friendly. "We'll try to make sure we dress more, umm, 'concealingly', from now on."

Patrick grinned, a mischievous kind of grin. "Hey guys, you can dress as `un-concealingly' as you like. I'm not at all worried about that. In fact," he nudged Frank gently as he lowered his voice, "You can run around naked if you want. I'm not going to pretend either of you are hard to look at!"

The tone of his voice, and the look on his face, made it abundantly clear that he was quite serious. Even that, if they were interested, he and Frank would probably be interested in some `mutual' fun. Nick's look of confusion was complete.

"Then why ...?" he began.

"It's the whole leather thing," Patrick said, becoming annoyed again. This mercurial side of him was new to Nick and Noah, and neither of them felt comfortable with it. "I can't understand this fascination some guys have with leather. The whole leather/sex scene with the kinky outfits and the silly games. Why anyone would want to wear all that shit when they're having sex is beyond me, and the way some people go on about their leather gear and their weird fetishes really pisses me off. It's not just stupid, it's downright sick!" he declared, his irritation speedily growing into anger.

"Uhh, right," Nick said, unsure of how to respond.

It was Frank who saved the moment. "Let's forget about it," he said soothingly. "Nick and Noah were just out for a ride on their bikes. No sex involved. You want a drink guys?" he asked.

"Yes, please," both answered quickly.

As suddenly as Patrick's mood had darkened, it lifted again, and for the rest of the evening he chatted happily to the others, as if nothing had happened. Almost too happily, it seemed to Noah. He had expected Patrick to still be feeling down about Wes' murder, but it was as if that had been swept away and forgotten.

Later that night, the urge to make love had all but vanished as Nick and Noah lay beside each other in bed.

"Patrick really is hard to work out," Nick observed.

"Yeah, he sure is," Noah agreed. "There's something that just doesn't add up with him, with the way he's been since the funeral."

"I know what you mean," Nick said. "Maybe he's in some kind of denial. It's almost as if he thinks Wes has just gone away for a while, and will be back in a few days. And all that carry on about the leather!"

"Absolutely! I'm glad he doesn't know the truth about us, and David and Joe. My guess is that if he feels so strongly, we could find ourselves looking for somewhere else to stay. There has to be something more to that as well. You don't develop that kind of dislike, that kind of hatred, for no reason."

Nick nodded, but said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

***

The next morning Patrick and Frank were up soon after Nick and Noah. Patrick's mood had changed again. No longer was he so bright and cheerful. Nick looked knowingly at Noah, as if to say he had been right -- that Patrick was trying to deny Wes had died, had gone for good. The two of them felt like getting back on the bikes and heading out once more, but were very reluctant to appear in the riding gear while Patrick was in the house.

Just after 10.00, Noah's phone rang. It was David.

"Hi Noah, just ringing to see how you're getting on, and to let you know we got home safely, and Indiana is back with us again, although I think he's getting concerned that you two haven't been around for a while."

"Thanks, David. We're okay, but not sure how Patrick is handling it. He seems to be having some serious mood swings."

"That's understandable. I don't know what to suggest, except maybe to let him go through them, work it out himself, at least for a while. He needs time, more than anything, I think."

"Yes, you're probably right," Noah accepted.

"Have you `seen' Detective Moran again?" David asked. His implication was clear.

Noah chuckled. "No. we've been busy since you guys left." He went on to tell David all about the bikes, and the exploring they had been doing. He intentionally avoided referring to the way the bike leathers made him and Nick feel when they wore them.

"Sounds fantastic," David enthused. "But I think you should be talking to Bob again as well. Even if there's no sex involved, at least keep him up to date on your theories about the murder."

"You're right," Noah agreed, "We've been remiss in that. I'll call him today. Not sure when we'll be home, but we'll keep you informed."

"Okay, mate, see you later. Say hi to Nick for us."

Noah repeated the conversation for Nick, and they both acknowledged that they should have been in contact with Bob Moran; that they had forgotten the very reason for staying in Melbourne when they rented the Harleys. Noah found and dialled the cop's mobile number.

"Detective, it's Noah Sorensen," he said when the officer picked up.

"Noah, hi, how are you?" Bob answered. He sounded genuinely happy to hear from them.

"Fine. We thought we should talk to you now that the funeral is over. Bring you up to date on what we know and what we think. Do you have time to talk now?"

"Umm, yes and no," Bob said slowly. "It would be better if we spoke face to face than by phone. I'm stuck in the office this morning, but I could probably drive down later, be there by around 4.00?" He didn't sound all that enthusiastic about the trip out of town on a Friday afternoon.

"What if we come to you?" Noah offered.

"You have a car?"

"Err, we have `transport'," Noah replied.

Moran's voice brightened noticeably. "I have a much better idea then. Why don't you come to my home? I'll be finished here by 5.00, so anytime that suits you after that would be fine. We can sit down and go through whatever you have, and I can fill you in on what I know."

"Okay," Noah said evenly.

"And Noah," Moran added, "Don't plan on going back down the Peninsula tonight! Once we get `business' out of the way, I think you guys will like what we have planned by way of `pleasure'!"

Noah chuckled evilly. "Now that sounds much better. Give me your address, just in case we can't remember exactly how to get there. We'll see you around three!"

Nick had been listening in as best he could, and as Noah hung up, it was clear from the twinkle in his eye that he had some idea of what the evening might hold.

 

Chapter 7

Frank and Patrick were still sitting around, and giving no signs of moving, when Nick and Noah found them again after their conversation with Detective Moran. After the way Patrick had reacted to seeing the boys in their leather bike gear yesterday, both were reluctant to repeat that experience.

"Patrick, I hope you don't think we're using you as some kind of hotel," Noah began cautiously, "but we thought we'd go into the city tonight, and stay with some friends, if that's okay? We don't want you to think we're deserting you."

`No, that's fine," Patrick answered. "We're going down to Portsea anyway, and probably won't be home tonight either."

"You feeling up to going out already?" Nick asked with surprise.

"Of course," the younger man answered with a wry grin. "It's Friday night! You can't sit around at home on a Friday night."

"He'll be fine," Frank added. "We both need a bit of a lift, so a little partying will do us good."

"Okay then, if you're happy with that," Noah said. "We're riding into the City. We'll leave here about 4.30." he was trying to prepare them for himself and Nick appearing in the bike leathers again.

"No problems," Patrick acknowledged nonchalantly.

Fortunately, Frank picked up on what Noah was saying. "We might even go out for a late lunch -- there's a nice restaurant up in Dromana," he said smoothly.

"Yeah, that'd be nice," said Patrick.

Noah breathed a sigh of relief, silently nodding to Frank in thanks.

Soon after the two younger men had gone, Nick and Noah readied themselves for their night with Nightstick and Punk. Noah picked up a backpack, looking at it in confusion.

"What's that for?" Nick asked.

"Um, I suppose we should take some street clothes," Noah explained. "Otherwise, the only things we'll have are the riding leathers."

"Somehow, I doubt we'll need anything else," Nick chuckled evilly. "In fact, with any luck, we won't even need them, except to get there and get back!"

Noah smiled with lusty anticipation. "Even so, I think we should throw in some street clothes to be on the safe side. Do you remember how to get to Bob's home?"

Nick thought for a moment. "I could probably find it, although I wasn't taking that much notice, since David knew exactly where he was going."

"I have the address anyway. Here, program it into that Navman, and you take the lead. I'll follow close behind, but keep an eye out for me, especially when we get into the City."

Just before 4.30 that afternoon, the two mounted their Harleys and kicked them over. Yet again, the feel of the leathers on his body and the sound of the roaring motor, combined with the throbbing bike between his legs and the anticipation of the coming evening, had Noah's erection straining at his groin. He glanced at his mate, and instantly knew Nick felt the same way. With a `thumbs-up' sign, they set off together, riding side by side down from the property and onto the Mornington Peninsula Freeway as they headed north.

Noah had felt confident enough about finding their way into the city, but was still grateful for Nick having the GPS navigation guide, particularly when the freeway became the Moorooduc Highway, and even more so when the `highway' shrank to a single carriageway. He felt more at ease when that road led onto the Frankston Freeway, and the pair pushed up their speed once more, but before too long, Nick was slowing and taking an off-ramp, turning right onto Thompson's Road. Noah was confused now. He remembered the trips before, with Wes and with David, had not been all freeway conditions, but being by themselves made him concentrate so much more on where they were going. He shrugged, and assumed Nick was following the pre-programmed directions of the sat-nav.

They swung left onto Dandenong Road, the surroundings still looking decidedly rural, but then the road led directly into the South Gippsland Freeway, and Noah relaxed again. Through the interchange with the Monash Freeway, and now they were heading west and north into the city at speed, the bikes humming and the wind whistling by them. Noah settled back and enjoyed the ride. In through the suburbs they raced, the traffic growing heavier and the high rise of downtown Melbourne rising up to meet them. Not too far from the city centre, Nick led them off on the Yarra Boulevard exit, swinging around to the right and back over the freeway, before turning left into the close streets.

It all looked different in the daylight, and Noah realised that without their guide, they would never have found their way back to Bob and Peter's home. He ducked and weaved as Nick turned right, then left, then right again, making his way through Richmond. Finally, just on 6.00, they turned into a tiny street, and Noah recognised the building with the heavy steel door, where they had come just under a week ago. With a guttural roar, the bikes slowed and fell silent as Nick and Noah dismounted, parking their steeds almost at the door itself.

When Bob Moran opened the door, he stopped, staring at the sight before him, and let out a long whistle. "Holy fuck!" he said at last, to the two black leather visions before him, one tall and lithe, the other short but powerful. He looked past them for a moment, seeing the Harley Davidsons. "Nice!" His eyes returned to the bodies in front of him, travelling slowly but appreciatively up and down each.

"Are you going to ask us in?" Nick said at last, lifting his helmet off.

"Nope. I'm just gonna make you stand there while I enjoy the view."

Noah laughed, removing his headgear. With the helmet in one hand, he ran his other tantalisingly down his abdomen and pointedly grabbed at his own cock through the leather. "This the view you're after?" he hissed. "Maybe it would look better framed in a pair of chaps ..."

The lusty detective chuckled, now stepping back to admit his friends into the house. As they seated themselves in the living room, he continued to marvel at their clothing. "You guys look so hot in that! And riding around on Harleys? Now that's living! I don't know how I'm going to be able to concentrate on the `business' side of things at all ..."

Noah looked concerned. "Do you want us to change?" he asked. "We brought some street clothes."

"No, not at all," Bob answered. "I'm just getting ahead of myself. Stay as you are. It certainly should be one of the more enjoyable interviews I've ever done! Peter won't be home until about 7.30, and we don't play around without each other, so nothing's gonna happen until he gets here anyway."

The three friends grinned like school kids, both Nick and Noah feeling complimented with Bob's reaction. But they did their best to put the anticipation of what was to come later aside, as they settled down to discuss the issue of the unsolved murder which had brought them together.

Nick relaxed into the lounge, a drink in one hand, and let Noah take the lead in recounting their theories to the cop.

"As far as we have been able to work out," Noah began, "there are four real possible suspects."

"Oh, and who are they?" asked the detective, opening a writing pad and readying himself to take notes.

"First one is a guy by the name of Terry Michaels. We're a bit hazy on the details here, but apparently he owed Wes quite a bit of money. Wes had loaned it to him some time back to cover debts from illegal casinos. When Wes started asking for the money back, and refusing to give him any more, he started making threats. He's been to the house several times, and on at least one occasion, he threatened blackmail -- told Wes he would `out' him -- if he didn't do what Michaels wanted. Wes laughed him off. We don't know what the relationship was between them -- Patrick, Wes' nephew, seems to think they may have been lovers, or at least fuck-buddies, at one time. We guess that his motive would be not having to repay whatever money Wes lent him."

Bob Moran smiled, a mirthless grimace of a smile. "I knew about Michaels," he said quietly. "Patrick mentioned him in our first interview the day after the murder. But we can rule him out as a suspect."

"Already?" Nick asked in surprise.

"Yeah. Wes was killed on the Sunday night, but Terry Michaels committed suicide the day before. An overdose of sleeping pills. He left no note or anything, but it seems he owed a lot of money to a lot of people, not just Wes Arrows-Smith." The detective shook his head.

"I'm glad Wes didn't know that," Nick said sadly. "He might have tried to blame himself."

"So who else do you have?" Bob asked Noah.

"You probably know about this one as well," he replied. "Patrick would have told you about the neighbour, Petersen?"

Bob nodded.

Noah continued. "All we know about motive is that he claims Wes was standing in the way of some kind of property deal which was supposed to make both of them a lot of money. He'd been to the house arguing with Wes a few times. He showed up again the day before the funeral, demanding to see Patrick. He assumed Patrick was Wes' Executor, and wanted to talk to him about this `great deal'. Patrick wasn't there at the time, but that didn't stop Petersen from launching a spiel at us about how Wes was too stupid to see what was being offered, and how he was sure that Patrick would be far more sensible and far more ready to talk business. In the middle of all of that he managed to make a few homophobic comments. It seems to us that he had the motive -- getting rid of Wes to make this deal go easier, as well as a bit of anti-gay hatred to spark it."

Detective Moran smiled. "You're right, Patrick did tell me about him. And I agree with your assessment, although I didn't know about the visit before the funeral. I'm still looking into him as a possible killer. His motive is there alright, and he doesn't have an alibi for that Sunday night. Living so close, he could easily walk into the house without being seen by anyone else, and he could also tell fairly easily if there were anyone else at home."

"Then there's the ex-lover!" Nick declared. "I think he's the most likely one."

"Michael's? But he couldn't have ..." the cop began.

"No, not Michaels, he was just a one-time thing, if at all. Wes's lover, Phillip. They broke up a little while ago," Nick explained.

"Oh, I see," said Moran thoughtfully. "I haven't heard of this one at all."

Noah began to explain the story, that after several years together, Wes and Phillip had separated, at Wes' instigation. He recounted both David and Patrick's information of Phillip's bitterness, and his attempts to get Wes to see him again which had been in vain. He repeated Wes' comments that Wes had caught Phillip cheating, and that Phillip had been angry and threatening. He also relayed what David had told them about how Phillip believed he deserved better than the way he had been treated by Wes, and the fact that he refused to come to the funeral, or to forgive Wes for what had happened.

Nick jumped in again now, convinced Philip was the guilty one. "So you see, he had the oldest motive in the world -- jilted love, and jealousy. I think he got so angry, felt so betrayed, that he realised they were never going to reunite, and he went around to the house that night and killed Wes. It would explain why nothing was taken, and it would also explain why there was no sign of a fight, or a break-in!"

"Well, we know there was no need for whoever did it to break in. The house was unlocked. But I'll certainly look into this development. Do you have his full name and address?"

Noah nodded and the cop scribbled them down, thinking hard.

"You said there were four suspects?" Bob asked again, looking to Noah.

"Yes, and my personal opinion is that the final one is the most likely," Noah said.

"And that is?"

"Wes' nephew."

"Patrick?"

"No, his other nephew, Sean." Noah looked at the surprise on Bob's face, and went on quickly. "Patrick has a brother -- they are identical twins. Sean showed up at the wake. He came up to see Patrick and the two of them argued. We couldn't hear what was said, but we could see them, and it was a very heated argument indeed. So much so that Sean slammed a glass down on a table with enough force to smash it, and stormed out. When we asked Patrick afterwards, apparently Sean told him that he had waited all this time, and now wanted to make sure he got his share of Wes' estate. Patrick tells us that Sean hated both himself and Wes, and that they had had nothing to do with each other for years. I got the impression that Sean's feelings towards them come from his not being able to accept that his brother is gay."

As Noah finished with that last comment, Bob looked up in amazement, letting out a gasp. "What?" he said in disbelief.

"We think Sean couldn't handle the fact that his twin brother was gay," Nick said. "And when that twin went to live with their gay uncle, it was all too much. Noah thinks Sean killed the uncle out of a mixture of emotion over the whole gay issue, and greed because he wanted to get his hands on a share of the money."

"Did Patrick tell you Sean hated him because he was gay?" Bob asked carefully.

Noah looked uncertainly at the cop. "You don't seem so surprised, that there is a twin," he observed.

Bob sighed, rubbing his face. "No, I'm not. I knew about the twin brother. I was a bit surprised you knew about him, although I didn't know he went to the funeral. But this is important guys, please think about it before you answer -- did Patrick tell you Sean hated him because Patrick was gay?"

Both men stopped, trying to remember the day of the wake, the argument between the brothers, and Patrick's explanation afterwards. Everyone had been in shock, both at the argument itself, and the sudden appearance of an unknown twin. Eventually, it was Noah who spoke up.

"As I remember it, he didn't actually say those words. He said that Sean didn't want Wes to take Patrick in at the time. He didn't really elaborate on that, except to say that Sean made some awful comments about the reasons for Patrick moving in, and that Wes ordered Sean out of the house and told him never to come back. Patrick just said that Sean hated both Patrick and Wes. I think Nick made some comment about Sean being homophobic, and Patrick just ignored it, or let it slide. He was pretty upset at the time, and we didn't push him any more about it."

"How did you know about Sean?" Nick asked. "David was an old friend of Wes, and even he didn't know Sean existed."

Bob laughed, but it was a sarcastic kind of laugh. "Sean Feldman!" he said at last. "Sean very nearly led to me being dropped from this case."

"What?" exclaimed Nick.

"Why?" Noah asked, curious now.

"You may not remember, but when Patrick arrived home that night, the night of the murder, I was amazed when I first saw him."

"I do recall you being a bit taken aback," Noah said. "I wondered why then, but you seemed to get over it fairly quickly."

"Yes, well when Patrick walked into the room, for a second I thought it was Sean. They look so alike. I know Sean, and for your benefit Noah, I can assure you he isn't the murderer."

"But surely, just because you know Sean doesn't exclude you from investigating his uncle's murder?" Nick reasoned.

"No, but you were right in thinking that, for a few hours at least, he was a suspect -- until I could confirm that he was nowhere near the house that night. Only then could I continue."

"I don't understand," Noah questioned. "Just because Sean was known to you, even if he was a suspect, doesn't exclude you, does it?"

Bob laughed again, this time with more mirth. "Noah, I know Sean Feldman in the same sense that I know you! Or to be even more specific, in the same way that I know Nick. His `Master' name is `Rammer', and we share each other's `boys' quite often. Last weekend, when you guys all came here, do you remember we told you that our regular play partners had gone out of town?"

Both Nick and Noah nodded.

"That couple, probably our best friends, are `Rammer' and `Cumslut', or Sean and Will, in polite company."

Noah sat silently, lost for words. Nick sputtered a second. "But why would Patrick tell us he was homophobic?" he asked.

"He didn't, did he?" Bob reminded him. "You suggested Sean was anti-gay, and Patrick let you assume it. That's why I wanted you to be so careful in remembering what Patrick said. If Patrick had lied outright, I would have been very curious as to why, but he didn't. And I do know that Sean and Patrick dislike each other intently. I asked him about it as soon as I could -- like I said, I needed to be sure he wasn't a real suspect."

"So he has an alibi, then?" Noah asked, still trying to grasp this new revelation.

"Oh yeah! On the night of the murder, he was at a `party' from 9.00 pm until well after 4.00 in the morning, down in Geelong. There are over 20 people who can attest to it, and I checked with several of them, much as it hurt to do it, since it felt like I was doubting my friend's word."

"Then what was the argument about at the funeral? For that matter, why did he even bother to come to the funeral, if he hated Patrick and Wes so much?"

"I don't know the answer to that. I haven't seen him since the funeral, and I didn't know he was going, but maybe you can ask him yourself."

"Come again?" Noah looked truly stunned this time.

"This is one of those rare occasions when business and pleasure start to mix, and I don't really like it," Bob sighed, then grinned evilly. "If you guys are up for it, Peter and I were planning to take you along to a `party' tonight -- the same kind of party Sean was at the night his uncle was killed. Perhaps the better term is `orgy', since that's what it is. We know a few people who like to arrange a regular group session in a smallish warehouse over in the docklands near Port Melbourne. They rent this place permanently, and it's fitted out with slings and benches, St Andrews crosses and all kinds of toys. The place is amazing, and everyone who goes chips in some money to help cover the costs. Once inside, it's basically a free-for-all leather orgy. Everyone there is invited by someone who has been before, so it's very much a private affair, but on a good night they can get as many as forty guys in the place."

Nick's excitement had risen quickly as Bob spoke, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he chuckled now. "Sounds fucking hot to me," he exclaimed.

"And Sean and Will are going along tonight as well," Bob finished. "We spoke to them yesterday about it. And I am totally convinced he had no part in his uncle's death."

Noah sat thoughtfully, the perplexed look on his face slowly giving way to one of acceptance. "Well, if you're convinced, then I'll accept it," he said. "So we only have two suspects then."

"There is another suspect," the detective corrected him, "But I wouldn't have expected you to have heard of her."

"Her?" asked Nick in surprise.

"Yes, a Sarah McInness. She is one of the directors of Wes Arrows-Smith's main holding company. There has been quite a lot of animosity between the two of them for some time now, with Wes fighting her at every turn. She wants to do a lot of re-organisation within the company, which will mean increasing profits, but also requires almost a hundred employees to be dismissed. Wes wouldn't agree with it, and since he has controlling vote, she's been prevented from doing it. From what I've been able to find out, the arguments have degenerated into slanging matches, and this woman had abused and threatened Wes several times in front of staff and other directors. He even had her forcibly removed from his office by security personnel once, so she certainly has the motive for wanting him out of the picture."

"Uhh, we don't know anything of Wes' business interests," Noah muttered.

"No, I realise that. But I think you deserve to be kept in the picture on all possibilities, especially since you've been so open with me," Bob said.

"Thanks, Bob, we appreciate it," Noah said seriously. From the corner of his eye he spotted Nick, still squirming in the bike leathers, his partial erection plainly visible. Noah felt his own stirring, and he was certain the cop was still enjoying the view of both of them in the shining, skin-tight black suits. He let his own stare travel over the business-suited but powerful body of the detective, licking his lips. "And this orgy sounds like the perfect way to end the week," he added huskily. "Nick and I have been in leather for the last two days ..." he indicated their bike gear, "but not the kind we really like. I was hoping to change that tonight!"

"Oh yeah!" the detective said, excitement filling his voice now as well. "Trojan, Viking, help yourself," he said, pulling open the door to the closet where all of their leather gear was stored. "'Punk' should be home any moment. I'm going upstairs to put all of this police work away, and then I'll be down to get changed as well!"

When Peter let himself into the house, he found his Master Nightstick, Master Trojan, and fellow slave Viking, sitting there waiting for him, all bedecked in fantastic, skin-tight polished leather.

"Now this is a welcome worth coming home to!" he declared with a grin. "And those bikes out front -- are they yours?"

Nick nodded happily. "For the time being they are, Punk," he replied.

"Fantastic! Did Bo ... err, did Master Nightstick ask you about tonight?"

"I think he mentioned a little `get together' with some friends," Noah said off-handedly. "Something about a party in Port Melbourne?"

"Umm, I think it's a bit more ..." the man started, but Nick interrupted him with a laugh.

"A full on leather orgy with maybe 30 other men? You can't possibly think we'd turn that down?" he chuckled.

Peter grinned from ear to ear. "Give me 5 minutes, and `Peter' will be `Punk'. But the `party' won't get started for another hour -- what are we going to do until then?"

"I'm sure we can think of something," Nightstick assured him. "Just go and get ready for tonight, boy."

"Yes, Sir!" he said enthusiastically.

Within minutes the business-suited Peter had transformed into the leather clad Punk, eagerly rejoining the group, his anticipation evident at his groin. Nightstick cast an appraising eye over his `boy' and nodded his approval before leading him and the other couple into their play-space.

The large room was just as Nick and Noah remembered it, dark and quiet, but filled with a sense of warm, waiting excitement. It was as though the very walls welcomed them into a world of fantasy and lusty arousal, hidden away from reality outside. Candles flickered in several places where Bob had lit them earlier whilst they waited for his partner to change.

Nightstick took control immediately. The anticipation of the planned orgy ahead, and the waiting all afternoon for his friends to arrive, had left him aroused and keen to play. Being able to forget about the harsh world in which he lived and worked, to immerse himself in the fantasy of masculine leather and hard fucking, also made this dark play area an inviting and wonderful release.

"Viking, Punk, over here!" he ordered, taking up a stance of dominating power, his arms crossed and his legs spread wide, the leather encasing his body glimmering and rippling with the tensing of his muscles. The Master indicated the wide double slave bench beside where he stood, and both bottoms hurriedly moved toward it.

Nick grinned. He too could feel the urgency of anticipated need, delighted at the growing tumescence at his groin and the sight of the two leathered bois jumping to obey. He turned quickly to the shelves along one wall and grabbed a toy -- a double ended dildo of black latex, very long. The thing was almost a metre in length, and none too thin either, complete with fake cockhead and ridge at either end, and artificial veins raised and twisting along it.

As the two subs approached the bench, Nightstick nodded to his colleague, smiling at the sight of the double ended dildo. He pushed each of the slaves forward in turn, getting them to straddle the upholstered shelf, facing away from each other with their arses no more than 30 or 40 centimetres apart. Trojan moved to help now, and the two Masters quickly shackled Viking and Punk by wrists and ankles to the rings set into the equipment for that very purpose. In this position, the subs lay along the bench, face down, their chins level with each end of the leathered platform. Whilst they were restrained and unable to get up, they could still slide back and forth, rubbing themselves against the dark hide, quickly becoming slick with the juice of their own pre-cum.

Trojan and Nightstick stood and surveyed their handiwork, facing each other from opposite sides of the bench, both at the mid-point between Viking and Punk. Grinning evilly, Nightstick lifted the double headed dong once again. His fellow Dom smiled lustily and licked his lips as he scooped a large handful of creamy lubricant from a container nearby. Almost lovingly, the Masters greased their toy from end to end, paying close attention to the oversized flaring cockheads at either extremity. The dildo was flexible yet more than firm enough for its purpose, thick and black and now glistening in the orange glow of the candlelight as Master Nightstick lay it across the opposing arses of the slaves.

"You ready for this, boy?" Trojan asked of neither in particular.

"Yes, Sir!" the two leather clad men shackled to the bench chorused.

Trojan chuckled lustily, taking one end of the latex prong and nudging it against the puckering hole of Punk. As he did so, Nightstick replicated his movements, pressing the other tapering black phallus into Viking's spread arse crack and holding it against the winking target of his anus.

With a nod at each other, the Masters simultaneously began to feed the solid, rounded heads of the dildo into the waiting slave arses beneath them. Flared artificial glans prised open resisting sphincters and forced their way through rings of muscle which initially fought the penetration, then opened to welcome the invading length of latex.

"Fuck, yeah, ..." gasped Punk.

"Oh yes, Sir, fill me up!" hissed Viking.

Master Nightstick grunted in approval. "Take that cock, boys," he demanded as he and Trojan thrust the remaining shaft down and into their writhing slaves.

As the flexible toy straightened out, Nightstick stood back and admired his handiwork. As if responding to some unspoken command, the two subs began to slide as far as their restraints would allow, backing into each other and driving the dark rubber schlong deeper into themselves, until their opened arseholes were only centimetres apart, connected by a single, solid shaft of veiny black thickness.

Nick mumbled a wordless approval as he stared at the joined subs, gleaming black leather and glowing white flesh forming a single, groaning entity, attached at the arse by the long toy. Standing between them, and over them, his mate Nightstick was the epitome of powerful leather, his muscled legs encased in gleaming hide, his defined torso crossed with black straps and harnessed in polished chrome. He felt his dick straining hard against the pouch of leather he wore at his groin, and allowed himself the delight of reaching out and running his fingers slowly down Nightstick's abs and along the outlined tube of masculinity tightly held in place by the other man's codpiece.

His colleague looked up and whistled. "Fuck, Trojan, you look hot tonight!" he declared, whistling.

Nick responded with a nod of thanks, and let his hand fall away from Nightstick's cock, to grasp instead the short length of dildo still visible between the two groaning slave between them. Twisting the rubber around, and moving it from side to side, or lifting it a little before pushing downward, he elicited a symphony of moans and calls from the slaves he was teasing, as each of them begged for more and slithered along the bench, struggling against their shackles as they sought to impale themselves further onto the solid mass connecting them.

Watching excitedly as Trojan played with their subs, Nightstick found some inspiration. Backing away from the trio, he retrieved a pair of handcuffs and a length of silver chain from some shelves in the dungeon, and approached the slaves again. Quickly, as the other Master looked on in growing understanding, he clasped one wristlet from the cuffs around the girth of the dildo, closed the other shackle and fed the chain through it, taking one end for himself and handing the other to Trojan. Now the two dominant men could, by pulling at the chain, move the artificial prong lodged within the bodies of the subs, and ignite yet another round of gasping moans each time they did.

He raised an eyebrow in question at his friend, and Trojan responded by inclining his head toward Viking's end of the bench. Nightstick nodded and the two men moved to position themselves at either end of the bench, still holding and tugging at the chain. Once in place, Nightstick ripped away the leather pouch covering his manhood. He held the chrome links in his left hand, and with his right he grasped the leather hood covering Viking's face, lifting it up. The slave's mouth opened involuntarily, and the Master fed his mighty, throbbing rod of flesh into that waiting cavity, sinking the full length of himself deep into the wet heat of the sub's gullet.

Noah had been aching with pleasure as he lay prone on the padded bench, his wrists and ankles locked in place, his steel hard cock leaking pre-seminal oozings which simply increased the sensations as he slid along the supporting rail, back and forth. The thick shaft of the double prong filled him, scraping over his prostate regularly and riding in and out of his bowel with every movement he or Punk made. When his Masters began to lift and press at the rubber, it caused the head of the cock lodged in his belly to move around, imparting a new world of electrifying sensations into his innards and flooding him with lusty joy. He knew that the other end of the thing was sunk into his fellow sub, and somehow the knowledge that Punk was attached to him, was experiencing precisely the same sensations he was, made it even more arousing and exciting.

When he felt Master Nightstick lift his head up, he knew what was coming. The sight of that massive prick, waving in his face, droplets of silver manjuice leaking from its eye, made Viking tremble with anticipation. His mouth opened wide, but just as the monster cock thrust forward, the slave felt the dildo in his arse yanked upward causing him to clench involuntarily. The result was that as the long tube of muscle and flesh was forced into his throat, he choked on it, struggling for air. Instantly it was withdrawn, and Bob's concerned voice was quiet in his ear.

"Noah? Are you okay?"

"Yes, Sir," he answered softly. "Just took me by surprise. I'm sorry!"

"Are you sure?"

The slave's voice firmed again, and he begged more loudly now. "Yes, Master Nightstick! Feed me that cock please Sir. I want it now!"

"Good boy, Viking!" the dominant man hissed approvingly.

This time Viking was ready, and as the hot pole of satiny flesh lunged at his face, he held his gag reflex and swallowed it all, his teeth tracing along the veiny shaft as his lips locked around Nightstick's trunk and he suctioned at the log which began to piston in and out of him.

After his first assault, Bob tried to take things a little more easy with Viking when he began to fuck his face again, but there was no doubting the eagerness of the slave's sucking and swallowing, and as murmurs of delight escaped the face into which he thrust himself, Master Nightstick resumed his eager pounding, his cock sinking completely into Viking's neck, his balls slapping against the slave's chin as he fucked eagerly at that leathered head while he happily played with the dildo ravaged arse.

Looking up, Nightstick could see that Master Trojan was doing the same with Punk -- slamming his cock into the sub's mouth as he pulled at the chain which manipulated the toy protruding from and connecting the two men between them. Watching his fellow Master spurred him on, and knowing that Trojan was watching him, made him even more aroused. For a long time, the two Masters fucked and yanked at their willing subs, building up their own excitement and pushing each other to higher kevels of enjoyment.

It was Nick who brought this connection to an end. He could feel himself getting close to his peak, and didn't want to explode too early, he figured there was a long night ahead of them, with plenty of time for climax -- hopefully several -- and he intended to share them around at the `party' they were going to. Reluctantly, he wrenched himself from Punk's glorious orifice, and allowed the chain to slacken in his hand.

"Nightstick," he hissed at his mate. "I think we can get a little more `creative' than this ..."

"Oh yeah?" came the answer in lusty tones. "What do you have in mind, Trojan?"

Replying with only a wink, Trojan moved to unlock the bindings on Punk's wrists and ankles. Master Nightstick followed suit, releasing Viking, curious to see what his colleague was up to.

As the two subs were freed from their restraints, Master Trojan grasped the greasy prong and slid it noisily from first Punk and then Viking with a wet slurp. Examining the toy first with a smile, and then each of the slaves, he indicated an adjacent platform with a nod of his head.

"Get onto that, boy!" he ordered. "Punk, on your back! Viking, kneel over him!"

The area Trojan pointed to was no more than a large raised square, about three metres to a side and a metre above the floor. It was padded with some kind of cushioning material and then covered in what appeared to be black leather. As the hide-bound subs moved toward it, the Master stepped up onto it as well, pointing to where he wanted Punk to lie on his back. With the slave in position, Trojan knelt over him, his testicles dangling on the other's face.

"Come on, Viking, kneel over him, I said," he barked. "Now suck my cock! Punk, you can work on my nuts -- I want `em licked and wet!"

Quickly, the two subs fell to their assigned tasks. Viking eagerly suckled and slurped at the waving sword of manflesh presented to him, his knees on either side of Punk's hips, their cocks mashed together and stimulated by every movement either of them made. Punk licked and swallowed the low hanging balls draped over his head, his nose buried in the crack of Trojan's arse as he breathed deeply, aroused even further by the musky man-scent of the Master he serviced.

Master Nightstick had watched the trio take their place with interest. As the two began to service Trojan, he felt his own erection growing again. From where he stood both Viking and Punk were presenting their arses as inviting pink targets, already greased and obviously in need of filling. He climbed onto the platform behind the two, facing Trojan, then knelt and reached for the double-headed prong his fellow Dom still held.

"I think I can find another use for that," he muttered to his friend with a grin.

Master Trojan chuckled back. Using some of the residual lubricant still coating the shaft of the rubber, Nightstick smeared his own sword with one hand, grasping the plaything in the other. He moved in closer and aimed his prick at the entrance to Punk's arse while he nudged one end of the dildo into Viking's anus. With a grunting effort, Nightstick slammed himself into the bottom slave and at the same time shoved the artificial prong hard and deep, upwards into the other sub's bowel.

"Unnnhh ..." mumbled his partner around the fleshy orbs filling his mouth.

"Arrgghh!" hissed Viking, momentarily distracted from his attention to his man's meat.

Trojan permitted Viking only a second before he roughly clasped his hands around the hooded leather head, and forced it back down onto his slimy prick. Nightstick gave no quarter to either as he began to pump himself and the long rubber prong into the two subs simultaneously. A chorus of hisses and groans, mumbled obscenities and gasping breaths engulfed the four as they humped, fucked, sucked and licked at each other greedily.

Both subs tingled with delight as they worked to obey their Masters, Punk sucking at the rolling nuts of Master Trojan whilst his arse was pounded by his man's scalding poker of cock. Viking writhed around the invading tube of black latex wielded by Nightstick as he swallowed Nick's throbbing prick eagerly, suctioning on his mate while all the time his own prick slid back and forth against his fellow slave's slimy manhood.

Aroused intensely by the sight of the two men eagerly working on Trojan's genitalia, Nightstick threw himself into the act of fucking their leathered, sweaty bodies. After some time fucking his partner and shoving the large toy into Viking, he changed position slightly, reversing the mix, so that his thick, glistening cock now disappeared into the hungry hole of Noah's rectum, and Peter's arse felt the assault of the double headed dildo.

For easily an hour, the four men became as one, a heaving knot of muscle and leather. The sound of their heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin filled the dungeon as they fucked hard and fast, pounding and cursing with growing ecstasy. With his turgid weapon buried deeply in one or other of the subs, Nightstick felt his peak approaching, and although he tried to slow himself, he knew he could not continue for much longer without exploding. Reluctantly, he whipped his rod out of the glorious wet heat of Punk's chute, and this time instead of swapping it for Viking's hole, he took the other end of the dildo, bending it around, and inserting it into his boy.

Able to relax a little, he sat back on his haunches, tweaking the toy by holding it in the centre of the shaft and using it to fuck both slaves at once. Each time either of them responded, it sent more movement and pleasure into the other. Trojan looked down and smiled in appreciation.

As Nightstick watched Trojan being serviced by the two slaves, he was tempted to forget the party and simply stay at home with these incredibly hot men. But he had promised them an orgy, and he suspected they may be disappointed if they missed out. Slipping out of the dungeon to check the time without them noticing, he found it was almost 9.00 pm already. He returned to the musky, man-scented arena of leather, and in a commanding voice, ordered Punk to move away from Trojan's body.

The slave reluctantly obeyed. "You too, Viking!" he said firmly, removing the toy from each of the slaves with little gentleness. "Trojan, if we're going to take these pussies to this orgy, we should be moving soon, my friend!"

Nick looked up sharply, his concentration shifting to the other Master. "Oh, yeah, I'd lost track of the time, Nightstick. You're right, we don't want to miss a chance to share them around."

"Do we have to go far, sir?" Noah ventured, suddenly wondering how they were to get to the warehouse where the orgy was to take place.

Before Bob could answer, Peter spoke up. "If I may be so bold, Master," he began. Three sets of eyes turned to him. "Umm, Master Trojan and Viking have the most fantastic bikes right outside the door. It would be an incredible high to ride over there, in our gear, and roll up on those machines!"

Nick was quick to answer. "Fuck, yes!" he said eagerly.

Noah looked less sure of the idea, and turned to the other Master.

Nightstick stood, thoughtful for some time before he spoke. "Guys, let me slip out of character for a moment. I'm a cop, so I need to be a bit discreet about what I do, especially in public. Riding through the city on a Harley Davidson, in chaps and harness, with three fucking hot men all dressed similarly, en route to a leathermen's orgy, could be kinda hard to explain to my superiors ..."

"I understand," Noah sympathised.

"Yeah, me too. I wasn't thinking ..." Nick began, while Peter simply looked very disappointed. But before any of them could say anything else, Bob went on.

"Having said that ..." A massive grin began to form on his face, and his eyes positively sparkled with excited anticipation. "It would also be one of the hottest, most exciting, and daring things I could imagine! If we stick to back streets, stay off the freeway and main roads, it'll take a bit longer, but I'm prepared to take the risk if you are?"

Nick practically jumped with joy, and Punk's face lit up instantly. Noah's smile, slow to start, soon split his visage as his cock swelled to full proportions.

"Okay, Sir, let's do it," he laughed.

"Okay! All we need to take is some amyl. They have more than enough toys and everything else there. I'll sort out some money for them with one of the guys who organises things later," Bob said, becoming Nightstick once more. "Trojan, I think these two need to make the journey with butt plugs keeping their arses from closing up, don't you?"

Nick nodded evilly. "Absolutely. Their holes are gonna get some real work tonight, so we owe it to the other tops to ensure they're properly prepared."

The two masters ordered the slaves to bend at the waist. Viking and Punk both obeyed, each of them a little concerned at riding too far, plugged as they would be, but at the same time thrilled with the excitement of being treated like this in public. Black rubber stoppers were inserted into each of them, and their Masters checked the toys were firmly in place, landing a few light slaps on bare cheeks to settle them in.

Collecting what supplies they needed, Nightstick led the way out of the dungeon, cautiously checking outside, before ushering the others from the door and locking up. Without asking, Noah surrendered his bike to Bob, and climbed on the pillion behind Nick. Nightstick mounted the bike easily, and Punk slipped in behind him. There they were, two couples, garbed in shining chaps, polished boots, harnesses and jackets. Both Masters wore their cod-pieces over their genitalia, while their slaves pushed close in behind them, naked and erect pricks nudging the bare flesh of their dom's backside. In a concession to prudence, Punk and Viking removed their hoods and collars, dropping them into the panniers alongside the caps of Trojan and Nightstick, and the two masters donned the black helmets for their ride. By law, the slaves should have been wearing helmets as well, but they had none; another reason to stick to the quieter streets on their journey.

"Stick close to me," Nightstick ordered. Nick nodded understanding as they kicked the powerful metal steeds into life. With a low, throaty roar, Nightstick wheeled his way out onto the narrow street, and Trojan and Viking followed. The fastest, most direct way for them to get to their destination would have been directly west, straight through the city centre, then south to the docks, but not tonight. That route was too well lit, too popular. Instead, with his heart racing and his cock throbbing, Bob zig-zagged his way across the residential lanes of Richmond, heading south. The river presented a difficulty, and there was no alternative but to venture onto the busier main road and across the bridge onto Chapel Street, before again seeking the darkness of the back roads. To the occasional vehicle or pedestrian who looked at them, they probably appeared simply to be a pair of riders with passengers dressed in black. And for those who took a closer look, who noticed what they were actually wearing, well hopefully they would simply gawk and forget it.

Their next obstacle was crossing the busy south-eastern artery of St Kilda Road. The adrenaline pumped through Nightstick's body, his skin tingling with fear and excitement. Throwing caution to the wind, he steered himself and his companions onto Toorak Road, crossed St Kilda Road and followed the Kings Way past the north-east corner of Albert Park, cars, trucks and pedestrians all around them. As soon as he could, he turned left off the main road and into the darker streets of South Melbourne, finding some degree of anonymity once more, from there it wasn't so bad as he twisted his way west and north into the warehouse district. With a feeling of exuberation at having succeeded, he opened the throttle some more, Nick following close behind, and roared his machine along the last hundred metres, to pull up in a parking area at one side of the warehouse where they were expected.

"That was unbelievable," he hissed excitedly to his companions as they dismounted. "I don't think I've ever had a buzz quite like that! I'm on such a high, and ..." he turned to his slave, before grinning at the other two with a glint in his eye, " ... and so horny! Every bottom in this place is going to get a serious fucking tonight, and that's just from me!!!"

Nick laughed out loud, and the two slaves smiled widely. All of them shared the rush and the thrill of what they had just done. They felt so alive, it was incredible. A small group of admiring leathermen started to gather, examining their bikes, and checking them out as well. Nightstick introduced two or three acquaintances to Trojan, by their `play' names of course, and they quickly secured the bikes before making their way into the warm cavern of blackness that was their space for the night.

 

Chapter 8

Nick and Bob stowed the helmets in the bikes, and replaced them with master's caps while Peter and Noah eagerly donned their respective hoods. Bob, or `Master Nightstick' as he was now, led the others towards a small but heavy steel door in the side of a nondescript warehouse. There were no signs or markings to indicate what the place was, nothing but a dull globe hanging loosely, and almost ineffective except to indicate that the entrance existed at all. He gripped the handle and heaved at the door which swung open slowly but silently, and beckoned his friends and Peter into the small anteroom within, only slighter better lit than the area outside.

A tiny space it was, filled with soft red light from a lamp high up on one wall. To the right of where they had come in was another, equally solid, steel door and to the left a glassed window like some kind of ticket-seller's booth, inhabited by a young man chewing gum and looking slightly bored.

"Security," Bob muttered to Nick and Noah. To the man inside the alcove, he spoke warmly. "Hi Tim, good to see you again."

"You too, Nightstick, Punk," the man replied, nodding at Peter as well. "Brought some friends with you?"

"Yep. This is Trojan, and Viking," Bob answered, indicating his mates. "Busy in here yet?"

Tim grinned widely. "Not yet, mate," he said, "but it's looking good for heating up soon!"

With that, he pressed a hidden release, and a buzzing click announced that the door opposite him was unlatched. Peter pulled at it quickly, and as it swung open the sound of muffled background music and lowered voices floated out on a wave of warm air and musky scent. The four friends made their way inside, letting the door thud closed behind them. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, a vast room of leather delights was revealed.

At least a dozen slings hung from the ceiling, lined up along one long mirrored wall. Some of the slings were simply `out in the open' whilst others were enclosed in cages of metal bars or chain mesh fencing. Near the opposite side of the massive space, the boys could see a number of St Andrew's Crosses, the giant `X's covered in padded black leather, most fastened to the wall, but several supported by steel frames which allowed them to be swung end over end, and all of them fitted with straps and buckles to restrain their cargo of human toys. At regular intervals along both walls and throughout the vast room were `toy boxes' – open cabinets filled with butt plugs and dildoes, paddles and whips, blindfolds, handcuffs and more.

Master Nightstick led his boy and their friends into the area, sauntering the length of the room, as Trojan and Viking eagerly inspected the various facilities, and cast more than a few appreciative glances at the other leathered men already milling around in the space. The centre of the warehouse was furnished with a collection of areas for other `activities'. There were large leather sofas arranged around low tables for relaxation; three or four gigantic flat spaces covered in dark hide, looking like oversized square beds but without pillows or headboards, at least four metres to a side and able to accommodate 8 or 10 men at a time. Interspersed among these were slave benches, black and gleaming, some high, some low, in many varying shapes and configurations to cater for the wildest imagination. Some areas had nothing but large metal rings set into the flooring, directly above which hung long, sturdy chains adorned with wrist cuffs. There were more enclosed places, some appearing to be inspired by prison cells, others reminiscent of horse stalls.

At the far end of the building, one corner was walled off, creating another, still large, room, about 15 metres wide by 20 metres long. As they watched, two of the `party-goers' pulled open a door to the area. From where the four friends stood, they could see yet another door inside the first. Noah raised his eyebrows in a question.

"That's the black room," explained Peter. "Completely dark, no light whatsoever!" He grinned happily.

The corresponding corner area contained toilet cubicles and shower stalls, a large supply of towels clearly visible. Next to that, another dimly lit area was walled off from the rest of the place, but with only waist high walls. Inside those walls the entire place was tiled in dark blue, with a couple of over-sized bath-tubs, and several raised areas like benches surrounding a central pit.

"Water-sports," Nightstick explained.

"They've thought of everything, haven't they?" Nick exclaimed.

"Certainly tried to," his fellow Master agreed.

Noah whistled. "This place is fantastic," he stated quietly but firmly. "You could be as intimate or as exhibitionist as you wanted in here!"

"Absolutely!" Punk agreed.

The group of four slowly made their way back toward the entrance. Up at that end of the cavernous building, a bar had been set up with drinks and snacks available, a row of high stools nearby and yet another lounging area adjacent to it.

As they approached the bar, they were greeted with a deep voiced salutation.

"Nightstick, Punk, how the fuck are you?" said a tall young man garbed in leather from head to toe, his body sinewy and fit. Nick gasped momentarily when he caught sight of the face beneath the cap, but Master Nightstick answered warmly.

"Rammer, it's good to see you again, my friend. You too, Cumslut," he nodded to the other's companion.

This time Nick's whistled appreciation was clearly audible. Rammer's `boi' was huge. A giant of a man, standing easily six and a half feet tall, heavily muscled with impossibly broad shoulders and legs like tree trunks, encased in a pair of leather chaps and a full body harness which must be re-inforced to keep it from tearing open under the pressure of the iron body over which it was spray-painted. A huge cock, easily nine inches long, and thick, swung at his groin, crowned by a gleaming silver Prince Albert.

As Nick's jaw fell open, Noah ran his eyes up and down each of the men, but lingering on Rammer. There was no mistaking him as Patrick's brother, an identical twin, but seen in this setting so completely different from their host back down on the Peninsula.

"Meet some new friends of ours," Bob said amiably, gesturing to Nick and Noah. This is `Trojan', and his sub, `Viking'. They're down from Sydney," he said casually.

Rammer smiled warmly, shaking hands with each of them and lustily appraising Noah with his stare. There was no recognition of either of them in his eyes, and Noah guessed that he did not recall them from the day of the funeral. In fact, he wondered if Sean had even seen them that day, with everything else that had happened.

"Welcome to Melbourne guys," he said with a chuckle. "I hope you enjoy our ... `hospitality' ...!"

Nick chuckled lustily. "I'm sure we will, Rammer," he replied.

Cumslut grinned as well. In a voice surprisingly soft for such a large man, he murmured throatily, "Looks like you might be already enjoying it, Master Trojan, Sir!"

As he spoke he casually reached out and ran a finger slowly but sensuously down Nick's abdomen and traced the outline of the thickening cock within Trojan's codpiece. Unperturbed, flattered even, Nick's only reaction was to take yet another long, hard look at the muscled form of the sub standing in front of him, before winking obviously at both Rammer and Nightstick.

The room was beginning to fill with men, all of them bedecked in gleaming, skin tight leather. There were at least 25 there already, some alone, some in small groups or couples. One of the slings was occupied and becoming the centre of attention for a group of three others as the guy lying back in the leather platform slowly jacked himself off. Nightstick looked around appreciatively.

"Looks like it could be a good night," he noted.

"Mmmm," Rammer agreed, his hand falling to Noah's arse as he squeezed at the rounded flesh of the sub's buns. "And I predict that you and your slave will be in for some extra attention, Trojan," he added. "New meat, and all that, you know!"

Noah grinned widely. "I hope so, Sir!" He enthused, taking the opportunity to close one hand around the full leather pouch at Rammer's groin, while pinching lightly with the other at the Master's left nipple.

"I like that, Viking," Rammer responded huskily. "A sub with some spirit, who knows what he wants!"

"So what are you waiting for, Sir?" Noah asked boldly. Rammer looked to Nick with a raised eyebrow, but Master Trojan simply laughed.

"We're not here to swap recipes!" he hissed.

Without another word, Rammer spun Viking around and began to march him away from the bar area, heading for one of the unoccupied slings about half way along the left wall. Nightstick, grinning evilly, followed his friend. Trojan looked at the two slaves with lust-filled eyes. In a deep and menacing voice he spoke to both.

"What are you pussies waiting for? Get moving. We are going to need some servicing while Master Rammer is busy with Viking." He pointed in the direction the others had gone.

"Yes, Sir!" the two chorused, quickly obeying as Nick followed them, admiring the rounded buttocks and thick legs of the two subs he fully intended to use and enjoy.

When they caught up with them, Master Rammer was pushing Viking back into a sling that hung in a large open area. As the slave's feet lifted from the ground, he moved to one side and quickly attached cuffs to each of Viking's wrists, securing them to the supporting chains. Then the sub's boots were slotted into stirrups on the other support chains, and ankle cuffs ensured they stayed in that position. Stepping back to survey his handiwork, Rammer spotted the butt plug already lodged in Viking's arse.

"Hey, you guys really did come well prepared," he commented.

"We were playing at home before we came," laughed Nightstick. "Didn't want them to close up on us!"

Rammer chuckled, and reached for the base of the plug as Viking lay back into the sling, his arms and legs restricted in their movement, the scent of lusty leather all about him. The Master pulled tentatively at the toy, then slid it out of his body.

"Oh boy, a lubed and waiting hole!" he declared to no-one in particular as he slid first one and then a second finger into Noah's body. With his other hand he eagerly unclasped the heavy leather codpiece restricting his manhood. A long, thin tube of meat sprang forward, throbbing with blood and quickly growing to full tumescence. Aiming himself at the winking target, Rammer wasted no time with niceties, but plunged himself into the slave's body in one pounding movement, spearing his cock deep into Viking's bowel as his balls slapped against the upturned bare flesh of the sub's butt cheeks.

Viking gasped with delight as he was skewered by the dagger of flesh and he and the sling rocked backwards before crashing again even harder onto that living sword. With his body opened and held in place, he trembled as the muscular frame of Master Rammer stood between his legs and that long cock ploughed his arse. The gleaming black of his chaps framed the dark leather of the dom's vest, harness and gauntlets. The white of Rammer's flesh offset the inky shades of his cap and chaps as he fucked long deep strokes into Viking's hole, and Viking exhaled breathy gasps with each thrust he received. When the Master gripped at his harness with one hand, and wrapped the other around his steel hard prong, delivering a faster, more powerful fucking, Noah could not help but hiss out loud.

"Oh, yes Sir! Fuck me, Sir. Fuck me hard and fuck me long, Rammer!"

While Rammer did exactly that, Nightstick moved to the head of the sling where he could look down and along Viking's body. He had a good view of the two leathered men fucking earnestly, gleaming hide and glistening flesh interlocked. He rubbed his swollen but yet encased cock against the top of Viking's head, the leather of his cod squealing against the leather of the slave's hood. Whilst Rammer grabbed and fucked at the body on the sling, Nightstick leaned forward and reached over, pinching hard at Viking's nipples as he ground his masculinity against the hide bound cranium.

"That's it, Rammer," he whispered. "Fuck that arse. Fuck him hard and make him beg for more. Take that cock, Viking. Open that fucking hole and feel his cock inside you, boy!" All three were even more seriously aroused by the encouragement Master Nightstick urged.

Nick stood silently nearby, his excitement building quickly as he watched his colleagues work on his mate. Without taking his eyes from the scene before him, he barked at Cumslut and Punk where they stood, also watching the action on the sling.

"You two! Service me!" was all he said. Punk quickly dropped to the ground, prostrating himself before Master Trojan and licking eagerly at his boots. Cumslut straddled the other slave, his teeth attacking Trojan's hard, erect tits while his hands groped at the stretching envelope of hide which contained the Master's dick and balls. In his hand Nick held a short soft leather paddle, which he used to lightly stroke each of the slaves attending to him. He tingled with the physical sensations and the seriously erotic sense of power he felt at being in control of the two strong but compliant men caressing his body with mouths and hands.

After rutting into the slave on the sling for some time, Rammer pulled back, unwilling to peak so soon. A look passed between him and Nightstick, and without further words, they changed places, Rammer now pulling at Viking's chest while his glistening, slimy cock rubbed against the side of the slave's head and down onto his neck. Nightstick happily took his position at the base of the sling, freeing his achingly hard prick from it's leather scabbard only to instantly bury it deep inside the wet, squelching innards of Viking, before enthusiastically falling into a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts as he took possession of the sub's compliant chute.

While the other two Masters shared his boi, Nick continued to enjoy Punk and Cumslut. As Nightstick began his extended fucking of Viking, Trojan turned the huge sub around and eased his spit soaked shaft into the man's sphincter, revelling in the sensations as he felt the initial resistance give way and the hot moist hole swallow his manhood. At the same time, Punk was on his knees beneath the pair, licking and chewing at both sets of testicles, gnawing on Cumslut's massive tool, or biting up into the sensitive skin of Master Trojan's perinaeum as best he could whilst both men shuddered and rocked in copulatory embrace above him.

When Nightstick felt himself approaching a peak, he followed Rammer's lead and pulled back, withdrawing his wet, turgid weapon from Viking. But the slave wasn't left empty for long, as Rammer once more entered him, this time preferring slow strokes and rotating his hips to probe every part of the slave's rectum as he happily explored the muscled, leather bound body lying open and welcoming on the sling.

"Holy Shit, Trojan, this hole is fucking hot!" he exclaimed. "Thanks for bringing him along to share."

Nick laughed low and soft. "You better believe it, Rammer," he said. "I think I'll take some of it as well, now that you've reminded me," he added, pulling his cock from Cumslut with a slurp, and stepping out of the knot of bodies that he and the two subs had formed. As his fellow Master stepped back from Noah's body, Nick took his place, sliding easily into the opened and ravaged canal of his partner. With the ease of long practice, he ploughed Noah just the way he knew his man loved, a mixture of slow, deep insertions and hard, teeth rattling crunches. With the others standing beside him, each of them being licked and sucked by the other slaves, Nick lowered his body over his man, his head dropping close to Noah's ear.

"Noah, are you okay with ... this?" he whispered.

So softly that only Nick could hear, came the reply. "Nick, you know you're the only man for me, the only one I love ...?"

Nick nodded happily.

"Tonight isn't about love. This is about hot, raunchy sex, and lots of it. I'm loving it, and I want more. As much as I can get. Go off and find yourself a crowd of slaves to service you. I don't think I'm going anywhere ..." he rattled the cuffs around his wrists for emphasis, " ... and I like it like that!" He grinned from ear to ear.

His partner chuckled again, giving an extra hard thrust and sinking himself even deeper into Noah's body.

"I love you, `Viking'," he hissed.

"Ditto!", Noah muttered, then gasped as Nick withdrew from his body.

"He's all yours, Rammer!" Nick said as he stepped back. "And it looks like you've got an audience ..."

Nick was right. Several other men had gathered around them, watching interestedly as the three Masters had taken turns fucking Viking. Some of them lazily stroked their own cocks as they enjoyed the exhibition.

"Thanks, Trojan," Sean grinned as he eagerly slid back inside the slave. "I'll `take care' of him – I swear!"

Master Trojan happily nodded, then looked to the other subs again. "Punk, Cumslut, get your sorry arses over to that bench!" he commanded, pointing to one of the slave bench combinations a short distance away. "I think I'm gonna take a whip to both of you. You want to help me out, Nightstick?"

As the pair scurried to obey, barely able to conceal their grins, the other Master declined.

"Thanks, Trojan, but keep them all for yourself for now. I see a couple of guys over by one of the St Andrew's crosses who look like they could use some help." He sauntered away in the direction he had pointed, his slickened cock leading his taut and leathered body into the dimness.

Nick took little notice as his mate disappeared, but followed Cumslut and Punk to the bench. Bending them over it side by side and securing their wrists and ankles firmly, he strutted around them in a lazy circle. He'd collected a cat-o-nine made of kid leather from a `toy-box' on the way, and every so often he landed a soft blow across one or other of the sub's shoulders, back or buttocks. In a low but menacing voice he told them what useless pussy fags they were, and soon had both of them begging to be used and punished. So he obliged. With the whip still in one hand, he fucked first Punk, and then Cumslut with powerful, pile driving thrusts, slamming himself into the boi in question for no more than a few minutes at a time before pulling out to ravage the other, all the time raining down a volley of relatively gentle, but very audible, lashes onto their leathered bodies.

The power he felt, the control he held over these two men, with both of them begging to be used and abused by him, was so unbelievably erotic, that Nick knew he could not keep fucking either for any length of time, or his body would not cope with the sensory overload, and he would soon be exploding. Yet he certainly wasn't going to give up on this whole scenario – it was driving him wild with excitement. As a variation, he began to circle the slaves, first fucking them, then driving his meaty cock deep into their throats, fucking both at each end, and still slapping and abusing them. The more that they begged and whined, the more exciting he found it.

Yet the slave bench, which had at first seemed like such a good idea, began to annoy him. It was too restricting, forcing him to walk around or lean over the fixed and unyielding equipment. Not far away was one of the large platforms, a gigantic, square `bed' covered in leather. There were no other people on it, yet it seemed to have something spread over it. Leaving the subs for a moment, Master Trojan investigated, and returned to his slaves with a grin on his face.

Quickly releasing the restraints of the two, he pointed at the raised square. "Up on there, both of you!" he ordered. As they followed his commands, he collected several differently sized dildoes from a cabinet before joining the subs.

The equipment Nick had found on the bed was a set of chains, laid across it, with cuffs and clips at various intervals. Happily, he shackled each of the slaves to the chains, giving them a reasonable degree of movement, but effectively making them his captives, unable to get too far from him. With each of them kneeling on the platform, Master Trojan climbed up and stood over them, ordering them to service him. Instantly, he had both Punk and Cumslut licking at his feet, clawing at his legs, and desperately trying to suck on his cock, his butt or his nipples. He issued curt instructions from time to time which they jumped to obey, and revelled in the sense of power and control that he felt.

>From time to time, without warning or notice, Nick would simply lower himself down, and slam his cock deep into the bowels of whichever of the subs happened to be closest. Fucking them with abandon for anything from thirty seconds to ten minutes, he would then wrench his masculinity from their suctioning holes just as unexpectedly, eliciting gasps and groans of both delight and frustration from the leather clad hunks he possessed and used. All three men were so taken up with their `game', and so immersed in the erotic role play, that they did not realise they had become something of an exhibition themselves, until another sub dared to climb onto the platform, prostrate himself before Master Trojan, and beg in a deep, respectful voice.

"Please, Sir, may I join you?"

Nick looked at him with surprise, before noticing others as well. There were four more subs standing and watching the proceedings, all of them with hungry looks on their faces. Just off to one side, and slightly back from them, stood another man, tall and broad shouldered, a cap on his head, mirrored glasses on his face, and in his hand a leash. Attached to the other end of that leash was a `boi', wearing nothing but a hood, collar, and boots. The `dog' was on his hands and knees, and waited patiently whilst his `owner' occasionally flicked at the tether connecting them.

"Sure thing, boy," he replied in a hiss. "All of you can get up here and service me!" he declared, sweeping a lust-filled gaze across the gathered slaves. Looking directly at the other master, he added, "I'm happy to share if you'd like?"

"Thanks, mate, but I'm fine just watching, if that's okay with you," responded the other.

"Not a problem," Nick answered with a grin. He was now the centrepiece of a writhing mass of leather and flesh as seven men hung on his every word, and competed with each other to lick at his boots, legs and crotch. Aroused beyond measure by the power he felt, and by the position he found himself in, Master Trojan enthusiastically resumed his play. His cock was granite hard, dribbling pre-cum and glistening from the juices of the bodies he thrust it into at will. With so many holes begging to be used, he wielded dildoes in each hand, sometimes fucking three slaves at once with his own meat and the artificial prongs. At other times he simply stood tall, his arms crossed and his tool pointing skywards as the eager collection of men beneath him begged, licked and serviced him. It was at those times when he felt the greatest sense of control, and the highest degree of arousal.

During one such stance, his eyes travelled away from the platform where he stood, and found the other Master and his `dog-boy' now close by. The tall man had settled his `pet' onto one corner of the raised leather area, and was slowly but continuously fucking him, pulling at the lead and dragging the dog's neck backward from the collar in time with his long penetrations, while all the time watching Nick's actions with intense concentration. Trojan found this new attention even more erotic as he delighted in being not only in control of the slaves, but on exhibition and being enjoyed.

***

Bob had left Nick to his own devices with Punk and Cumslut, not because he wasn't interested in using the pair, but more because he felt that he should let his colleague act out one of his stronger fantasies. Besides, as he had commented, there seemed to be something interesting happening over on the other side of the room at one of the St Andrew's crosses set up there. It was one of the pieces which stood away from the wall, supported on a pivoting axle and covered in cushioned leather with buckle-style restraints not only at the position of a slave's wrists and ankles, but also where his chest, waist and thighs would be. And they were being done up as he watched, a thick set Master, naked except for a full-head hood, a basic four strap harness and over-the-knee boots, was strapping a slave into position against the black X.

"You want a hand?" Nightstick asked as he came up beside the pair.

The other Master looked him up and down through the eye slits in his hood. "Sure," he muttered. "Make sure he's bound up nice and tight! I don't want him coming loose halfway through!"

Nightstick nodded, and set to the bindings on the slave's left side while his colleague finished off the others. The slave was clad in a full body suit of shining rubber which clung to his frame like a second skin. From a distance he could have been naked, with gleaming black flesh, it was fitted so snugly, except for the smallest of slits near his nose to allow breathing. Other than that, he was completely enveloped, and would be not only blinded, but probably unable to hear much either. Even his cock and balls were encased in tailored rubber, his dick hard and getting harder with each tightening of the restraints around his body.

With the rubber clad man fully shackled to the cross, his Master once again checked all of the bindings, then, satisfied they were sufficiently tight, clicked the anchor pin holding the equipment upright, and swung his sub end over end, until he was hanging upside down. The slave's latex encased genitalia were now at face height, his prick pointing at the floor and harder than ever. The dom reached to one side, and picked up a ball parachute, quickly snapping it around the base of the black scrotum and letting the attached weights drag down along the throbbing penis.

Nightstick was fascinated by the gear, and the way the Master used his sub. A questioning look as he wrapped his fingers around the rubbered cock was met with a nod, and he began to slide his hand up and down the boi's cock. The entire suit seemed to be coated in a fine layer of oil, making it incredibly slippery, almost frictionless, and Nightstick's grip soon had the wearer trembling with arousal.

"This is the best part," the other Master hissed at him conspiratorially. He swung the cross through a few more degrees, to bring the slave's arse into clear view. Without any hesitation, the top put his hands on his sub's butt cheeks and spread them, revealing his anus. He pressed two fingers into the man's body, then withdrew them, and guided Nightstick's hand up to the same point.

"Rubber – all the way in!" he announced. Curious and aroused, Master Nightstick slid a finger tentatively into the beckoning hole. Here, the oil or whatever it was, was thicker, the slickness complete. To his surprise, Nightstick found that the other was right, all he could feel was the rubber suit, even inside the bottom's arse.

The master moved the cross yet again. "Fuck him!" he said to Nightstick as the sub's sphincter swung down level with Nightstick's cock, his body suspended face down and the weights on the parachute dragging his nuts toward the floor.

Nightstick leaned into the slave, his hands on the solid legs of the equipment. He positioned his cockhead at the black opening and began to press forward slowly.

"No, hard and fast!" came a guttural command from behind him, and the other top shoved him in the back, forcing his cock deep into the cavern of the sub's body.

The sensation was like nothing Nightstick had ever known before. The heat inside that rectum was intense, the rubber sheath into which he thrust his rod incredibly tight, yet so smooth, so slick that he slid in and out effortlessly. He could feel the bottom flexing his sphincter around his probing prong, yet there was none of the usual juicy wetness surrounding him. As he fucked into the slave, enjoying these strange new sensations, the other Master stood beside him, and produced another black latex cock-sheath. He pulled it over his own cock and balls, and it fit just as tightly as the suit his sub wore. Still watching Nightstick fuck his boi, he began to fuck his own fist slowly.

"You wanna be the meat in our sandwich?" the man muttered low and lustily.

To reassure himself, Nightstick reached out and felt the other cock. Sure enough, it was coated in the same invisible but incredibly slippery substance that was all over the sub's body suit.

"Go ahead, friend," he smirked.

Immediately, the other was behind him, arms reaching around his torso as the solidity of a long, hard rubber coated cock nudged at his rear. Without letting up in his fucking of the suspended man tied to the cross, Nightstick willed himself to relax, and nodded acceptance to the other Master poised and waiting at his hole.

A whole new experience revealed itself as Nightstick was penetrated hard and fast by the man. There was the usual momentary flash of discomfort he felt on entry, but the blade which speared into him was so smooth, so slick and so slippery, that it was almost as though he were not being fucked at all, yet still filled and prodded inside. The other top began to pound at him earnestly, forcing him harder and deeper into the slave at the same time, and Nightstick bounced between the two in pleasurable ping pong. His cock slipped in and out of the rubbered body, his innards prodded by some indescribable object. Yet all he could really feel was the solid thwack as the top's pelvis crashed against his butt cheeks, and his own hips slammed into the rubber suit encasing the sub. Looking down, Nightstick could see the weights hanging from the ball parachute swinging wildly, and pulling the boi's nuts with them. A muffled groaning came to his ears, and he realised that the sub was begging for more, as best he could through the all-encompassing rubber.

***

Noah was in paradise. To be more accurate, Viking was in a sling; but it all came down to the same thing. As Nick had pulled out of him and Rammer's cock had filled the void he left, Noah was dimly aware of their parting conversation.

"He's all yours, Rammer! And it looks like you've got an audience ..."

"Thanks, Trojan, I'll take care of him – I swear!"

Unable to move much with his wrists and ankles firmly shackled to the sling's supports, he lifted his head enough to see that there were at least three, maybe four, men standing not too far from the sling, closely watching as Rammer, Nightstick and Trojan had alternated with each other in filling his hungry arse with themselves. As his head fell back onto the leather platform, his heart raced at the thought of being watched, of being fucked so openly and being so closely examined at the same time. He began to realise that he really liked being an exhibitionist, but that thought was easily driven from his mind when Master Rammer whipped his long cock out of Noah's arse once again, and replaced it with a thick, ridged dildo.

"Oh, fuck, yes, Sir!" Viking gasped at the new intrusion. "Use that hole, Master! Please!"

Rammer laughed loudly, with an evil hiss. "Don't worry, Viking, it – you – are going to get used and abused tonight!"

"Yes, Sir," the sub responded, his heart racing with anticipation as his arse ached from the pounding it received through the thick black toy in Rammer's fist.

As the solid latex dong filled his body, Viking felt Master Rammer's hands explore his skin, running across his chest, down his abdomen, and gripping his achingly hard cock. His balls were squeezed and pulled, his nipples pinched and his shoulders gripped hard as he shuddered with delight, swinging back and forward on the sling, his eyes drinking in the vision of the leathered god who took control of him in this warm, musky place. He hissed obscenities at his top, begging for more and gasping with pleasure as his sphincter was ravaged by toy and cock, then toy again in ecstatic alternation. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the delight visited upon him, his entire nervous system racing and alive with the pleasure he received.

Suddenly, he sensed another presence. Opening his eyes again, he found men – hot, powerful, leather men, surrounding him, pressing in toward the sling, staring at him and Master Rammer as they rutted together in the dark heat. All about him was leather, chrome and flesh. Faces leaned over him and cocks throbbed beside him as muscled chests bound in black stripes of hide filled his vision. He felt Master Rammer wrench the toy from his body, and once again the searing heat of Rammer's long sword pierced his sphincter and jabbed into his gut.

"Fuck him, mate ..."

"Shove that cock into him ..."

"Take his cock, boy ..."

"Use his tight white arse, man ..."

A symphony of hissed and urgent whisperings floated down as the ring of Masters closed in on the two of them and urged Rammer to pound Viking harder and faster. Noah writhed in ecstasy, his manhole punctured a thousand times by the ferocious spearing he received from the dominant man between his legs.

"Holy Shit!" Rammer swore through clenched teeth. "I don't wanna cum yet ..." And almost reluctantly pulled back again, his wet and dripping prong bouncing in time with his heartbeat. He turned to the man immediately to his right.

"You fuck him!" he hissed.

"Fuck yeah!" replied the other, quickly pressing his cockhead up against the winking entrance to Viking's body. Positioned to his satisfaction, the top leaned in a little to grip the harness around Viking's chest, then pulled it, and it's wearer, hard back onto himself, his thick meat driving deep into the unresisting heat of the sub's bowel. The man began a rhythmic pistoning in and out of Noah, always pulling at the harness, using it for leverage to drive himself as deeply into that glorious hole as possible.

Lying back into the sling, being slammed by this stranger's cock, Viking ached with pleasure. The faces, the bodies and the leathered muscles were still creating a cocoon of dim heat as he surrendered his body to the jabbing joy of the fleshy sword which filled him. His arms and legs were held in place, unable to move, but he swivelled his head from side to side, drinking in the view as best he could. He caught sight of Master Rammer, standing close by his head on his right side.

"Okay?" the other man mouthed silently, his eyebrows lifted in question.

"Fuck yesss!" Viking grinned back at him, causing his concern to evaporate, replaced by delight and lust.

Rammer stepped up closer to the rocking black platform and its human cargo, his cock still glistening and wet. He took himself in hand and slapped his juicy meat across the slave's face. Viking was taken by surprise, but as the dom went to swing his prong a second time, he opened his mouth, trying hard to capture that tasty log. Rammer happily obliged, feeding his long, throbbing prick to the eagerly suctioning throat. As the other Master fucked Viking's arse, Rammer fucked his throat, and the chorus of muttered urging increased in volume and frequency.

After some time in this position, one of the other tops became impatient with the man still thrusting steadily into Viking.

"Hey mate, give someone else a taste of that sweet man-pussy," he whined, pulling the other man away as the sub's arse surrendered its throbbing pole with a slurp. Without waiting for any invitation, this new top slid into the still open chute in an easy movement, and as Viking's rectum swallowed his rod, the Master groaned with pleasure. This guy preferred full strokes when he fucked, and soon Noah was being filled and then emptied before being filled again as his fucker pulled completely out of him with each back stroke, before driving in again with ever increasing need and power.

The top he had displaced moved to the opposite side of Viking's body from where Rammer stood, standing close into the slave and waving his cock over the boi's head. Rammer looked him in the face and nodded a smile, which he took as all the permission he needed. Soon his cock was jousting with Master Rammer's for a chance to stab into the slave's face, and from time to time they managed to get both cockheads into that open, sucking jaw. The rest of the time they alternated between being sucked and wiping their slippery manhoods across the sub's face and neck.

Several of the other Masters – as far as Noah could tell there were at least four more men in addition to those who were already fucking him – began to jerk themselves off, fisting their cocks over his body and crowding closer and closer into him. Rammer took a break, stepping back, just a little.

"Hey guys," Noah heard him say. "No need to hurry. We got all night, and this slutty whore ain't goin' anywhere! Plenty of time for anyone who wants it to get a piece of the action!"

Noah's heart skipped a beat. Not from fright or fear, but from the sudden soaring sense of anticipation and arousal. He was going to be fucked by all of these hot men, gang-banged here in this sling, and the idea was so hot he shivered with delight. A throaty chorus of chuckles and approving grunts surrounded him as the gathered tops happily awaited their turn to use his body.

For what felt like hours, Viking was ravaged by an unending parade of men in varying states of leathered garb. He was fucked hard and long, slow or fast, probing or pounding. As soon as one guy had finished with him, another took his place so that the slave's arse was never empty for more than a few seconds, and he loved it. And when they had finished with his sphincter, most of them moved around to fuck his face as well, or simply to stand and masturbate over his body. His face, chest, stomach and pelvis were covered in a thick coating of the combined jism of uncounted testicles. Of the original group, some stayed, watching and waiting for a second or even a third chance at filling him, whilst some disappeared only to be replaced by other, newer cocks. Only Master Rammer remained the constant, always there, always watching, sometimes fucking him again, or thrusting into his gullet, but never leaving Viking alone.

Some of the men who fucked him did so quickly, pulling out with a gasping roar. Some lasted for a long time, until they too spasmed and shot their essence into him, or else were pushed aside by whoever was next in line and becoming too impatient. Viking was certain his arse was leaking a river of cum, surely he could not contain all the jizz being deposited into him, but that didn't seem to deter the line of men who moved up to fill his thoroughly stretched hole with their masculinity.

The gasping, breathy urges and slick, slapping jerks of the watching men combined with the wet slurping of fucking rut into his body, and the squeaking rattle of leather and chains to fill Viking's ears as the musky aroma of sweat and leather mixed with a good dose of amyl to invade his nostrils. His vision was filled with glistening, sweaty flesh and gleaming lack leather while his body shook and shuddered beneath the constant penetration and his innards filled again and again with the satin coated steel of so many cocks. Noah was amazed to find that even after so much abuse, his arse was still sensitive, and still delighting in the pounding he received with each new invader. He was close to exploding innumerable times, fighting to hold back, anxiously forcing himself to think of something else until his ardour had cooled enough to fall back into the indescribable bliss of being the centre of this maelstrom of masculine mating.

It was only after several minutes of feeling somehow exposed, that Viking realised the crowd had dispersed. He was till being fucked, a long, strong poker of flesh riding over his prostate and filling his innards, yet he opened his eyes to find the tops had moved on. Dimly, he heard a voice from somewhere calling him.

"Viking? Are you okay mate?"

Looking down between his own legs, he found the smiling face of Master Rammer. He nodded. "Yes, Sir."

It was Rammer's cock that filled him now, but a slow, almost leisurely humping rather than the furious fucking he had known for the last – what – hours? Days? Weeks? It could have been any, Viking had lost all track of time. Now he let himself be lured into bliss, taking that cock and writhing in ecstasy as Master Rammer slid his hand up and down the slave's prong. With a gasp and a shudder, Viking surrendered to his orgasm, his nuts contracting and his jism fountaining across the already cum encrusted flesh and leather of his torso just as he felt the long shaft of his fuck buddy tense and explode, adding even more seed to the copious amount deposited within him already.

Easing down from the heights, he smiled gratefully at Rammer, who grinned back in appreciation and sated desire. As he untied the shackles, and helped Noah to stand, Master Rammer hummed tunelessly to himself, obviously still enjoying this immensely. When Noah finally looked up, he saw Nick, followed closely by Cumslut and Punk, walking towards them.

"Hey, you alright?" his partner asked.

Noah beamed at him. "I'm fucking fantastic, Sir," he declared happily. Master Nightstick seemed to appear from nowhere to rejoin his friends.

Cumslut looked around in the dimness. The party was breaking up, the number of participants dwindling. "Looks like it's time to leave," he observed to no-one in particular.

Rammer swung around slightly, taking in the scene. "I think you're right, Cumslut," he concurred. "It must be late."

Slowly, coming back to reality from their respective nights, the other three acknowledged that Rammer was right. With varying degrees of tumescence, Nightstick, Trojan and Punk stood nearby, remnants of their orgasms still dribbling from semi-hard pricks, beads of sweat covering the sheened flesh not coated in glistening, if stained, leather.

"What a night!" Nick declared. "You guys really know how to throw a party."

With all six men in a small knot, it seemed they were among the last of the participants still there. Cumslut looked at the other five men surrounding him, drinking in once more the incredible sight of muscled sweaty bodies, glimmering in leather and oozing masculinity – literally.

"It's a pity it has to end," he said wistfully.

"You got that right," Sean agreed, as he groped Noah's butt cheek, and squeezed Bob's cock, at the same time ravaging Nick's body with his stare. Incredibly, despite what they had just finished, all of them twinged again, and their pricks all jumped with the onset of more excitement.

"Maybe it doesn't," Nightstick whispered low and lustily. "There's always our dungeon back at home ... ?"

Rammer hummed. "Oh fuck, yeah," he hissed. "I'm up for it if you guys are."

Nick threw a questioning glance at Noah, who grinned mischievously.

"Holy fuck, you guys are insatiable," muttered Peter with a chuckle.

"Is that a problem?" Nick asked with genuine concern. None of them would push anyone into something they didn't want to do.

"Not for me, Sir!" Cumslut growled

Punk hissed again. "Or me. I'll take all three of you, Sirs, and beg for more!" he said in a guttural offer too good to resist.

"That's what I'm here for," Viking observed. "Just a hole to be used and filled, Master!"

Nightstick laughed again. "Sean, Will, we'll see you at our place. You got your car?"

The others nodded.

"Then what are we standing around here for?" He led them out of the building, asking a group of four men standing by another car if they knew what time it was.

"Almost four," one replied.

"Perfect," he said to Nick. "At this time of the morning, I think we can roar our way right through town on these machines, leathered, sweaty and covered in cum! What do you think?"

Nick simply laughed, throwing his leg over the bike and kicking it into life.

The ride back to Richmond, through the empty streets of Melbourne at 4.00 am on a Saturday morning, was even more exhilarating than the journey over on the previous night. Bob and Nick opened up the monster bikes, and roared through downtown, the wind in their faces, the reek of mansex heavy on their bodies.

"In-fucking-credible!" Nightstick declared as they stepped away from the machines.

Sean and Will were not far behind, and soon the six of them were once more groping at each other as the urge of heady passion enveloped them and the welcoming blackness of Bob and Peter's dungeon lured them into it's warm embrace. Yet once they were inside that welcoming dimness, none of them seemed overly enthusiastic about renewing their passionate couplings. The exertions of the evening had taken their toll, and all six men seemed happy to simply lie about with each other, caressing and groping, trailing fingers and lips across sheened skin, merely enjoying the company and the intimacy.

"None of you are leaving for a while yet, are you?" Nightstick asked in a low voice.

The other five men looked at him in surprise.

"Have you changed your mind?" Rammer asked incredulously.

"Not at all! But it seems to me that we could use a bit of recuperation before we really get started again. I'm just offering a drink and some talking for now, as long as nobody is driving anywhere."

A feeling of relief, mixed with a curious and surprising sense of anticipation, a thrill of promised things to come, ran through the others, as they assured their host they would stay. Nightstick went to the kitchen for beers all round, and Peter followed him, helping carry the drinks back to their friends.

"This is a great play space," Nick commented to Rammer and Cumslut while the others were out of the room.

"Oh yeah," the other Master agreed. "We play with Nightstick and Punk fairly often, and usually in here. They've done a great job on it."

"You're from Sydney, Master Trojan?" Cumslut asked Nick.

"That's right."

"Do you have anything like this?"

"We have a playroom of our own, downstairs in the basement. Not as well equipped as this, but comfortable enough for us and a few friends," Nick answered.

"What about you, Sir?" Noah joined in. "Do you have your own area?"

"Not really. We've converted a bedroom for just us – set up a sling and made it perfect for us, but it's not really big enough to accommodate a group. You have some regular fuck-buddies you play with at home?"

"Uh huh," Noah confirmed. "In fact, that's how we got to know Master Nightstick and Punk. We play quite often with Master Sabre and his boy Eagar. Sabre used to live here in Melbourne. He knew Punk. He introduced us a couple of weeks ago.

At that point, Nightstick and Punk rejoined the group.

"So why are you in Melbourne?" Rammer was asking. "Are you staying here long?"

Nick stammered a little. Things were getting very close to home now, as they stood here, talking with Patrick's twin brother, who obviously had no idea who they were.

"Beers!" interjected Nightstick quickly. The six of them relaxed on the soft leather covered mattress, sipping their drinks in a slightly awkward silence.

Bob Moran figured it was time for the whole story to be told.

"Sean, Will, I guess you should know a bit more about our guests, now that we've, umm, been `intimate' with them."

Sean laughed. "That's one way to put it. But what does it matter? You seem like nice guys – what more is there to know?"

"Sorry if we haven't been completely upfront until now," Bob went on, "But the circumstances didn't really allow for small talk before. Trojan and Viking are Nick and Noah, friends we met recently through an old friend of Peter's by the name of David ..."

"Is that the `Sabre' you mentioned?" Sean asked.

"Uh huh," Nick nodded.

Bob went on. "But I actually met them a week earlier – as part of an investigation I was called into." Both Sean and will appeared curious, but said nothing. "Actually, they were, or even still are, guests of Wes Arrows-Smith. They were staying at his home the night he was murdered!"

"What the ..." Sean looked stunned. Will's eyes widened considerably, and he suddenly seemed very concerned as he watched his man's reactions carefully.

"Please don't be angry," Bob said quickly. "We would have told you earlier if there had been an opportunity."

"Now I recognise you," Sean blurted out. "I thought you were familiar, but I just couldn't place you. You were at Uncle Wes' funeral."

That's right," said Noah, slowly.

"Sean, they had nothing to do with what happened." Bob moved to his friend, gripping his forearm. "Nick and Noah simply happened to be there doing a favour for David – Sabre – from Sydney. He knew Wes quite well. After the murder, I asked them to stay on a bit, to see if they could help me with my enquiries."

"What about my brother?" Sean asked quickly. "Does Patrick know ... about this?" he waved his arms around the room. "Does he know where you are, what you get into?"

"Not at all," Nick responded instantly. "We told him we were visiting some friends in the city for tonight. That's all."

"We got the impression that your brother doesn't particularly like leather," Noah added. "He made some comments about our riding gear when we rented the bikes!"

"That's an understatement!" Sean cursed. "Patrick detests leather, and detests anyone who is `into' leather, in any way shape or form."

Noah spoke in a quiet, apologetic voice. "Sean, we're sorry if we've upset you. There was no intention to deceive, no ulterior motive. We were just looking for a good night out, and Bob and Peter asked us along,. It's sheer coincidence that you were there as well."

"It's certainly a small world!" Will observed in a low voice.

Sean simmered for a few minutes, sipping at his beer, his eyes down. But slowly his tensed frame relaxed, and his face lifted, his eyes re-appraising the two men from Sydney, and seeking reassurance from his friends. Bob's face was a study in concern and sympathy.

"Sean, I would have told you earlier, but we kinda ..." his voice trailed away.

The younger man recalled their initial contact the previous evening, and the slightest trace of a smile swept over his lips. Again he looked at Nick and Noah, looked at them hard. He remembered what they had shared in the last hours, and he grinned openly.

"Oh, fuck, it doesn't matter. I can hardly be angry at you if you had nothing to do with it. And fuck knows I can't stay mad at anyone who is as hot you guys are. Shit, I'd forgive anything for more of what we've done tonight!"

Nick chuckled throatily. "I think we can both say a huge thank you for that – the fucking sex I mean, as well as for not getting upset."

"You know, it might help to talk about how you feel, openly, mate," Peter added. "These guys were there, but they're not involved. And you don't have to hide anything from them!"

"We've got nothing left to hide!" Sean laughed this time, his arm around Will, drawing his lover into himself. "Did Uncle Wes ever mention me?" he asked suddenly.

"No, but then we only met him the day before he was ... you know," Nick stammered.

"The first we knew of your existence was when you were arguing with Patrick at the wake," Noah offered.

"Bloody Patrick!" Sean stated vehemently. "Sometimes I could just hate him!"

Nick looked sideways at Noah, but it was Noah who spoke.

"That's strange, because Patrick told us that you do hate him. That you have hated him for years. And that you hated your uncle as well."

"No, not at all," Sean sighed tiredly. "I didn't hate them. I was angry with Pat, furious even, because of the way he used Uncle Wes. And Uncle Wes fell for his lies, wouldn't listen to my side of the story. He forbade me to come to the house, refused to take my calls. He didn't want anything to do with me, and that hurt, because it was all Pat's doing."

"What did happen all those years ago, Sean?" Bob asked. "I want to know as your friend, not as a cop. Whatever you tell me will stay between us if you want. You never mentioned him and we've known you for years. When I met Patrick the night of the murder, I nearly fell over with shock. I thought it was you until he introduced himself."

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't seem to be any point in telling you about him. We never spoke, rarely even saw each other, unless accidentally in a bar or a club somewhere. Even then, he usually ignored me."

Will twisted in Sean's arms. "Tell them your side of the story, hon," he urged. "otherwise, all they have to go on is whatever lies Pat has fed them."

"There's not that much to tell," his lover went on. "Pat is a user. He didn't really care for Uncle Wes, he was just out for whatever he could get from him – a nice home, plenty of money, fancy cars. If anything, he thought Uncle Wes was just a sad old queen, too conservative for his own good. Before he went to live there, back when we still talked, he used to brag that he could get the old guy to give him anything he wanted, and he didn't even have to put out – like a sugar daddy without the tacky sex.

"When Pat moved in to Wes' house, I used to see him around town, spending up big, making a name for himself, chasing all the pretty young twinks. I tried to warn Uncle Wes, tried to tell him he was being used. Pat showed up that day, and accused me of trying to rape him! Can you believe it, my own brother! Wes was furious. He wouldn't listen to me, told me I was the one trying to use him. He told me he was disowning me, that he never wanted to see me again. It was just like with our parents all over again. Being rejected by one family is hard enough, but being rejected by the family who took you in after the first round is just unbearable."

"But why wouldn't Wes listen to you – if he accepted you when your parents threw you out. Surely he must have had feelings for you?" Nick asked, dumbfounded by what had happened to this young man.

"Patrick, I guess," Sean answered. "He knows how to talk the talk, knows what to say, what people want to hear. He can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be. My guess is that from the moment he went to live with Uncle Wes, he would have been undermining me, slowly chipping away, convincing Wes that I was evil."

"Why on earth would he do that? I thought you said the two of you were still talking back then?" Peter asked.

"No, we stopped speaking before Pat went to live there. One of the reasons he went to live with Uncle Wes was because he got hurt, hurt badly. He blamed me for that. It's also why he hates anything to do with leathermen."

"What happened?" Noah prompted.

"It all goes back to home. Obviously, we grew up together. We shared everything, as twins do. And I think we both realised we were gay at around the same time. So when we came out to my parents, we did it together – supporting each other I suppose. Maybe we hoped they couldn't be too mad at both of us. But we were wrong. They threw us out on the spot.

"Luckily, we were old enough to fend for ourselves. So we moved into a tiny flat in St Kilda, the pair of us. We still did everything together, but we started to find that we had slightly different tastes. I worked out fairly early that I had this thing for leather and men in leather. I was a natural top, and dominant, and I started getting some gear together, going to leather bars, meeting up with master/slave type guys like myself. Patrick, on the other hand, liked nothing better than a pretty young face. He went after the gorgeous ones who wore the designer clothes and drank the right cocktails, ate at the right cafes, and danced in the right clubs.

"I used to drag along with him some nights, but didn't really enjoy that scene. Same for him. He would tag along to the leather bars I went to, but wasn't really interested, and bit by bit we started going out alone. One night – it was a Thursday – he didn't come home. Not that it was unusual for him to stay out all night, but rarely during the week. I wasn't too concerned, but when he still hadn't come home by Sunday afternoon I was starting to get seriously worried. He showed up Monday night, aching and bruised, shivering and crying."

"He was beaten up?" Nick asked quickly.

"Kinda," Sean muttered. "He told me he had gone out looking for me on the Thursday night, wanted us to be `the twins' again. He tried several places, drinking more at each place while he looked for me. At some S&M club in Fitzroy, he was still drinking, and decided he wasn't going to find me, when some guy offered to give him a lift home. But instead of taking him home, this guy took him somewhere – he said he lost track and has no idea where it was – and dragged him inside. I was never able to work out whether his drink had been spiked, or if maybe he had gone willingly to begin with. You could never tell with Pat.

"Anyway, when they got inside this place, there were three other men waiting. Pat says he was tied up with some rope first, then chains and shackles – hand and ankle cuffs. They stripped him, and dressed him in a harness, put a collar around his neck, a gag in his mouth and a full hood over his head, and from then until Monday morning these three guys, maybe more, he thought; used him as their slave. The way he tells the story, if he struggled or tried to protest they whipped him or slapped him around. He said they fucked him, they used dildoes and plugs on him, they hung him upside down and took turns at abusing him."

By this time, Sean was near to tears. He stopped and took a deep breath, looking around at his friends, and himself. "For any of us, I'm guessing it would have been one hell of a hot session, but we all consent and want it. Pat didn't. he hated it. When they finally let him go, he was dumped in a laneway in Abbotsford with his clothes thrown on top of him. That was Monday afternoon. He dressed himself and came home."

"So he was raped," Noah said simply. "There's no other word to describe it."

"I guess so," Sean agreed.

"And that's why he can't stand anything to do with leather?" Peter asked.

"Partly," Sean muttered. "He got over the `attack' or whatever you call it, but it took him a long time to get up the courage to go out alone again. But what drove us apart was that he seemed to think that as a result of what had happened, I should stop going out to leather bars too. When I told him that what happened to him was wrong, but wasn't a true indication of the scene, and that I was who I was, and I was still into leathermen and not going to change, that's when we fought. And that's when he told Uncle Wes what had happened. He swore to Wes that he was psychologically damaged by the attack, and Wes insisted he move into the house down at Arthur's Seat."

"So as far as we can work out, Pat convinced Wes that Sean was pure evil, because he was part of the leather scene, part of the scene that had abused and hurt Pat that weekend," Will finished for his partner.

"That's awful," Nick said softly, verbalising the thoughts of all in the room.

Sean managed a weak smile. "I could use another drink after telling that story?" he asked.

Peter stood quickly. "I'll get them – another for everyone."

Bob moved to his close friend, managing to include both Will and Sean in a hug. "I'm so sorry, mate. I had no idea what you had been through back then."

Noah looked at the young man with concern and pity. "Sean, tell me to butt out, if you want ... but why did you bother going to the funeral?"

"Because Wes was still my Uncle. I wanted to pay my respects. And I guess I was hoping Pat may have changed, just a little, been ready to talk to me."

"Is that why you argued with him?" Noah pressed.

"I guess it was. He told me I wasn't welcome there, that it was his home now. He told me he never wanted to see me, told me to get out of the house – again!"

"Patrick told us that you were demanding a share of Wes' Estate," Nick said in surprise.

"Well, he didn't lie to you on that. I did say to him that I wasn't going to let him just take all of Uncle Wes' money, that I wanted my share. Of course, he refused, told me I wouldn't see a cent." He looked around at the surprise on the faces surrounding him. "I don't really want or need the money," he explained. "But after what Pat has done, I just wanted to try to stop him from getting it all. He used Uncle Wes while he was alive, and it seems to me that he's is just going to keep on using whim even after he is dead."

The six men lay back where they were, drinking silently. But the silence was not an uncomfortable one. Somehow, together as they were, garbed in their leathers and cocooned in the dim warmth of Nightstick and Punk's dungeon, they felt safe and protected from the harsh reality of the world outside. Here, in this place, still sticky with the residue of lusty sex, they were united and empowered by each other and themselves.

Breaking the silence, Sean turned to face the cop. "Bob, I told myself I wouldn't ask, since I didn't want to push our friendship into `business', but after all of this coming out – well, do you have any suspects?"

Still in his Master's wear, detective Moran grinned. "It's not stretching our friendship. If I have any concrete information I'll tell you. At this point, there are three real possibilities that I'm looking at, and the most likely seems to be one that Nick and Noah brought to my attention."

"Seriously?" Sean looked at the pair again. "Are you guys cops in Sydney or something?"

Nick laughed. "No way! We just seem to get ourselves mixed up in things, and we have a knack for finding out stuff the cops don't get to hear. We're doing what we can to help Bob with his investigation."

Moran laughed too. "In fact, Sean, they don't always get it right. Yesterday afternoon, Noah was suggesting to me that YOU were a serious suspect! But that was because he didn't have all the facts available – and hadn't heard your side of the story."

Noah blushed so deeply his discolouration could be seen even in the darkness. "I'm sorry, Sean," he stammered.

"It's forgotten," Sean laughed, then lowered his voice to a lusty whisper. "Although, I don't know that I'm finished with `punishing' you yet!"

That brought a round of approving murmurs from all of them, including Noah, and more than one of the men felt that familiar twitch in his groin.

"You know," said Will, "I always wanted Sean to be able to tell his story to someone else; to be able to get it off his chest. But I thought it would be a psychiatrist, in a sterile office. I never expected it to be told to a group of the hottest leathermen I've ever met, lying back in a dungeon, dressed in leather like this," he grinned as he waved his arm around to encompass them.

"It's better this way," Sean said, almost to himself. "It's better shared with friends."

"And better put aside, too," Bob added. "Not forgotten, but left in the past, so you can get on with your life. In some ways, I'm surprised that what happened to Patrick didn't make you want to turn your back on the leather scene."

"Never," Sean affirmed. "I know what happened to him was wrong. But I also know that it's not what really happens. It's not the way we play. I am what I am, and I like it!"

"So do I!" stated Will, his hand sliding down Sean's abdomen to close around the long fleshy tube of his Master's cock.

 

Chapter 9

Sean lowered his voice to a lusty whisper as he leaned over toward Noah. "I don't know that I'm finished with `punishing' you yet!"

That brought a round of approving murmurs from all of them, including Noah, and more than one of the men felt that familiar twitch in his groin.

"You know," said Will, "I always wanted Sean to be able to tell his story to someone else; to be able to get it off his chest. But I never expected it to be told to a group of the hottest leathermen I've ever met, lying back in a dungeon, dressed in leather like this," he grinned as he waved his arm around to encompass them.

"It's better this way," Sean said, almost to himself. "I am what I am, and I like it!"

"So do I!" stated Will, his hand sliding down Sean's abdomen to close around the long fleshy tube of his Master's cock.

As Sean hardened quickly, Will became Cumslut again, and knelt in front of his man, licking slowly along the lengthening log of flesh. The others watched for only a few seconds as each of them felt their urges rise once more. Noah was the first to move. He looked at Nick, gave him a knowing wink, then sidled over to where Rammer and Cumslut were lying.

"Are you going to keep that all for yourself, boy, or can I share?" he muttered to his colleague. "I think your Master said something about needing to punish me some more."

By way of reply, Cumslut simply grinned at the other slave and made room, so that as he suckled on Rammer's nuts, Viking swallowed the throbbing pole of the Master's masculinity deep into his throat.

"Now that's what I like!" Rammer nodded to the other Masters. "Willing, determined slaves."

"We certainly seem to have that," Nick agreed. "And very talented too, if the way Punk and Cumslut serviced me earlier is anything to go by."

His fellow top grinned again. "Mmm," he nodded thoughtfully. "I think maybe it's time that they `serviced' one another – yours and mine seem to be made to fit each other!" he winked.

The two slaves just smiled. Noah took another long look at Cumslut. The man was massive, and his gigantic cock swung easily between his legs over huge round balls. That ten inch piece of man meat was unbelievably thick from root to head, and the silver ring piercing its point was a little tarnished with cum and juices, but still sparkling in the dim light.

"Hey Trojan," Rammer murmured lustily. "You ever see an unswallowable cock meet an insatiable hole?"

The other Master laughed evilly. "Not yet, my friend, but I guess we're about to try!"

Viking's heart jumped at the words, and their meaning. He looked at his fellow sub with an appraising, needful stare, and Cumslut returned his look knowingly, that massive tree trunk growing into life again, thickening even further as it lifted itself to point at the ceiling.

"On your back, Viking!" Master Trojan ordered. "Spread those legs and show us that hungry arse of yours."

As Noah lay on the floor, his own cock springing to attention and his hole twitching, Master Rammer pushed his slave onto his knees between Viking's legs.

"Now, feed that slave meat of yours into him!" he ordered gruffly.

"Yes, Sir!" the sub responded enthusiastically, pressing forward until the hard, warm head of his cock with its cooler steel adornment was nudging Viking's winking target.

As the two subs moved together, Cumslut kneeling over Viking, all three tops gathered closely around them, hissing orders and barking commands at the slave duo.

"Fuck his arse, Cumslut!" Trojan demanded.

"Take that huge cock, pussyboy!" Rammer instructed Viking.

"Yeah, let his log fill your hole," Nightstick added. "C'mon, boy, shove that tool into his tight mancunt!" he muttered at Cumslut.

Aroused and excited by the encouragement, Cumslut edged forward, the glistening metal of his PA pressing into Viking's soft and opening chute. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question directed at his fellow sub.

Noah toked deeply on a bottle of amyl thrust into his hand by Nick, and nodded assuringly at Cumslut as his head lolled backwards and his arse relaxed to accept the living snake of flesh covered rock that was Cumslut's manhood.

"Fuck me, man!" he hissed. "Fuck me hard!"

Cumslut obeyed. Feeling Viking's body yield to his advance, he lowered himself down over the sub beneath him, driving himself into Viking's body in a steady penetration that stopped only when his nuts came to rest against the other's upturned butt cheeks. With a grunted `unnhhhh', he bottomed out, his cock enveloped in the searing vacuum of Viking's gut, his harnessed torso mere centimetres from the hide-bound straps enclosing the other sub's frame. In his ears, a chorus of muttering approval.

"Hot damn, boy!" his Master Rammer declared.

"Fill that sweet arse with your meat, Cumslut," whispered Nightstick.

Trojan agreed. "Oh yeah, open him and fill him," he murmured.

For his part, Viking gasped out as his body struggled to accommodate the thick pole invading it. "Holy fuck," he hissed up at the slave covering him. The pain of penetration subsided into mere discomfort at being so thoroughly filled, and that was quickly replaced by the incredibly pleasure of having Cumslut's throbbing prick and cool steel nudging deep into his gut. He flexed his sphincter around the impossible girth which held it open, and looked up into the other's eyes with greedy lust.

"Please, man," he hissed. "Pound my arse with that fuckpole of yours."

His fellow sub smiled back, matching lust for lust, excitement with desire. Pulling back just a little, he delighted in the suction from Viking's body and the gripping of the other's ring around his shaft. Driving his powerful fuckmuscle inwards again, he felt Viking relax to accept his assault. The squelching wetness of Viking's rectum aroused him incredibly, and the muscle closed around his shaft seemed to milk him; while the dragging of the PA ring in his cockhead against the walls of the other sub's chute shot shivers of electric pleasure through his entire frame. The feel of chaps and harness against his skin and the sight of similar shining leather around his mate enhanced every sensation. Again he withdrew, slightly further this time, and again he thrust forward into bliss.

"Don't make `lurv' to him, boi!" Master Trojan's deep voice commanded loudly, inches from his ear. "Fuck him, and fuck him hard. That's what you were told to do!"

"Yes, Sir," he replied enthusiastically, reefing his pelvis backward until only his cockhead and its chrome jewellery remained within the man below him. He glanced down at himself, the pulsing length of his own shaft glistening with Viking's juices, then back up along the sweat-sheened body of the man he was fucking, and slammed himself in again. Liquid heat engulfed his manhood as he thrust deep into the cavity of his fellow sub, burying himself to the hilt and readying himself for another glorious withdrawal.

Slap! A gloved hand landed hard on his bare arse cheek, making him involuntarily shove himself even further into Viking's body.

"Pound that pussy hole, Cumslut!" ordered Master Nightstick, his voice deep and close, full of menace, his hand raised for another slap.

In happy and excited obedience, Cumslut found his rhythm, pistoning in and out of the other slave in long hard strokes, his arse tingling in time to his fucking as the Master lay several more whacks upon his firm round butt with each thrusting penetration.

As Nightstick knelt beside the rutting pair of subs, enjoying the view of the coupled bois and the feel of Cumslut's firm arse beneath his glove, his colleague, Rammer, stood above the little group. Becoming aroused by the action below him, Master Rammer unsnapped his leather cod to reveal his rapidly thickening weapon, a droplet of shining manjuice already forming at the tip. He lowered himself over Viking, straddling the slave with his knees on either side of the sub's shoulders. While slowly stroking his own cock, he watched the leathered bodies gasp and rut in the near darkness.

"Rim my arse, boi!" he ordered, lowering himself further until he could feel Viking's tongue licking up at the sensitive skin along his crack. The feathery touch of that talented muscle was eroticism personified, and as Rammer settled himself into a comfortable position where Viking could lick at his hole, he gripped the black hood encasing Cumslut's head and directed the other slave's mouth down onto his rampaging erection.

"Suck, rim, you shitty slaves," he ordered in a guttural hiss, instantly obeyed by the eager subs even as they continued to be joined themselves, Cumslut's huge pole still fucking in and out of Viking's wet but willing rectum.

The three quickly became a grunting triptych of slurping, quivering sex as two slaves sought to pleasure the one Master whilst humping at each other.

Master Nightstick toyed with the idea of ploughing his hard and aching cock into Cumslut's arse whilst the sub was fucking Viking, but decided that Rammer was doing enough `punishing' of those two for now, and he stood and turned back to the centre of the dungeon play space, finding his mate Trojan standing arms crossed and legs spread wide above a grovelling Punk, who was eagerly licking the Dom's balls through the tight, soft leather jock in which they were encased.

The sight of the two men, one tall and commanding, the other prone and subservient, both geared in tight, shining leather with glistening pinpoints of light where the silver of chrome adornments caught the flickering candlelight, was incredibly arousing. A representation of completely masculine sexuality presented itself to him in the form of his friend being serviced by his lover, and Bob's heart ached with pride and joy as his alter ego, Master Rammer, approached the pair with quickly growing lusty excitement.

"Trojan, if it's okay with you, I think we can share this little slut ..." he hissed.

Nick nodded with an evil grin. "Oh yeah, that's fine with me," he agreed.

"Punk," he ordered gutturally. "On your feet, boy!"

As the sub hurried to obey, Master Nightstick ambled up to a sling, languidly floating in the dimness close by the trio. He adjusted the head of the suspended leather platform with practised ease, lowering a removable section from it, before returning his attention to the waiting slave. Seizing Punk by his harness, the top pushed him firmly back onto the smooth expanse of hide, its supporting chains clinking with the motion, in time with the creaking of the leather as Punk's weight lowered into its embrace.

Nightstick expertly lifted the sub's feet into stirrups suspended from the steel chains, forcing Punk's legs wide apart and exposing his soft, winking anus to clear view. At the other end of the sling, black leather cuffs similarly hung from the silver metal links, and the Master strapped them tightly around his slave's wrists, checking the buckles were secure. Punk now lay on the sling, exposed and restrained, his arse just extending beyond the baseline, his body inclined slightly downwards so that his chest was just lower than his pelvis, his head lolling backwards and down into the gap in the black platform.

The captive, leather clad boi floated open and helpless between the two Masters, about a metre above the floor. Nightstick smiled invitingly at his colleague.

"Which end do you want, Trojan?" he asked.

Nick whistled softly. "Makes no difference to me, mate. I'm figuring we'll be taking turns fucking this Punk, top and bottom," he hissed.

"You got that right, my friend," Nightstick replied. "Come on in, and welcome to him!"

With that he moved to stand between the upended legs of the sub, slowly leaning forward and running his hands along the sides of Punk's body, sensing the involuntary shivers of anticipation in his man. He searched out and found the twinkling of excited pleasure in eyes peering out from slits in the shining black hood encasing his boi's head, and permitted himself a smile of satisfaction before sliding his palms back down over bulging pecs and ridged abdomen. The top appreciatively squeezed at the straining bulge of leather jock at the centre of the `V' formed by the sub's thighs, and felt the smoothness of black leather stretched around Punk's muscular legs.

Movement at the other end of the sling drew his attention back up, as his friend Master Trojan assumed a dominating stance behind Punk's head. With his arms crossed on his chest, Trojan stood with legs apart looking down at the boi, his long thick cock jutting upward from the triangle of black leather at his groin, a glistening drop of pre-cum at his slit. Punk rolled his head back and the other dom inched forward until the restrained slave was licking eagerly at leather enveloped balls, the long shaft of Trojan's manhood arcing over the slave's neck.

Master Nightstick ached at the sight of his boi being dominated by another. His meat strained within the confines of the cod-piece he wore, and he happily unsnapped the top of the covering so that his prong leapt out at full erection, centimetres from the inviting hole of Punk's rear.

"I think he's ready to be spit-roasted, Nightstick," came the muttered whispering of Trojan's voice.

"Fuck, yeah!" Nightstick agreed. He greased his steel hard pole with some lube, and worked more of the cool gel into Punk's arse with two fingers, opening him up a little; not that the boy needed it after the hours they had spent at the warehouse that night.

Trojan watched his friend prepare himself, and hawked a large gob of spit into his hand before fisting it over his own throbbing weapon. Another mouthful had him wet and slippery as he looked back to where Nightstick was positioning his cockhead against the yielding flesh of the sub's sphincter. Nightstick reached up and took a firm grip of the harness straps surrounding Punk's chest, while Trojan backed off a little to aim his slicked dagger at the slave's throat while he held the boi's hooded face with both hands.

The two Masters looked at each other for a moment before Nightstick nodded.

"Now!" he hissed.

As one, each of the tops slammed themselves into the body of the man suspended between them. In unison, they filled his throat and his arse with cock, driving hot, hard flesh into his holes. Trojan held the leathered sphere of Punk's head between his palms as he speared himself deep into the wet constricting throat. Nightstick yanked hard on the harness, using its leverage to thunder his long manmeat into the heated, squelching innards of Punk's rectum. By unseen signal, the two men withdrew together, and again punched their raging members into the slave beneath them.

If Punk could have done so, he would have gasped and cried out with the pleasure and the pain of being so forcibly fucked by both men. But his mouth was filled by Master Trojan's pistoning sword, and all he could do was fight the urge to gag as he surrendered to the bliss of being totally controlled by two powerful Masters.

Nightstick and Trojan humped hard and fast into Punk, using his body for their pleasure. Unconstrained, the dominant men grasped at harness and hood, hauling the restrained and defenceless sub further onto the twin poles of man-muscle filling his hungry holes. Thrusting deep and powerfully into the slave's orifices, they took possession of his very being; owning and abusing him as they fucked him for the toy he was.

"Switch!" called Nightstick in a strangled hiss as he reefed his cock from the suctioning cavity of Punk's rectum. Trojan responded with a grunt as his own prick slurped out of the boi's throat and the two exchanged positions. Waiting for each other, they positioned themselves at his rear and mouth, their prongs glistening with bodily fluids and lubricant, twitching in the air as they trembled with anticipation.

"Okay," Master Trojan announced quietly but authoritatively. "Fuck him!"

And they did – again. Driving long hard poles of muscle coated with slickened flesh into already ravaged holes at either end of the sub's body, they resumed their thundering copulation. Once more, the compliant slave suspended in the sling became no more than a plaything they used for their own enjoyment as his body was penetrated powerfully in frenzied fucking.

Suspended and restrained as he was, Punk could do little but accept the rampaging attacks visited upon him by Master Nightstick and Master Trojan. Yet he had no desire to resist or to protest. His entire being ached with the pleasure of surrender. He shuddered with ecstatic joy as two massive and powerful men used him for their rough, masculine desires. An animalistic grunt was forced from him with each thrust of pelvic muscle that slammed into his body, as his need and desire to service the dominant males pounding into him was accepted and satisfied. His senses were somewhat dimmed, but that only served to increase the sensation of being used and controlled which he craved so much. With his head dropped backwards over the gap in the sling, he could see nothing but the blurred gleam of black leather as the muscular legs encased in chaps at his head rocked back and forth, shoving slickened cock down his throat. The only sound to reach his ears was the softened sexual symphony of clinking steel, screeching leather, slurping fleshy slaps and hissed whispers of semi-vocalised desire uttered by his possessors.

The aroma of sex was all-embracing. Punk's mind, although diverted constantly by the continual fucking he received, registered the strong and exciting mix of masculine musk and sweat, the glorious earthy smell of polished leather, and the sweet acridity of amyl, all combining to heighten his arousal. But it was the filling of his body, and the contact of leather on leather, flesh on flesh, which drove him wild. Hazy as he felt in some ways, he clearly knew which of the mighty men he served was using his mouth or his arse at any given time. Whilst they changed position several times in order to happily share the abuse of his body, Punk easily identified the two distinct men, and their respective masculinities.

His own Master Nightstick was longer, and Master Trojan somewhat thicker, in endowment. When his sphincter felt stretched and protesting, while at the same time he had to constantly fight the urge to gag with the length of heated flesh that assaulted his throat, he knew Trojan was fucking his arse and Nightstick held his face. When they swapped, his lips were forced open wide and he could barely move his tongue around Trojan's thickness, and Nightstick's glorious length seemed to go on and on forever into him, nudging right to the pit of his stomach. Yet no matter which of the powerful doms took whatever position, Punk revelled in the indescribable pleasure of being completely filled and totally possessed by two huge cocks attached to two muscular Masters. Each and every thrust of rock-hard prick into his body filled him with joy, shooting bolts of ecstatic electricity throughout his being as he trembled with delight and ached with arousal, the epicentre of pure, masculine lust.

Close by the trio in the sling, close enough to share the excitement of each grunt and hiss, Master Rammer continued his domination of Viking and Cumslut. The two subs almost fought to please and service him while they fucked each other. Viking's talented tongue tantalised Rammer's rim, the slave eagerly licking and slurping at his arse and making him shiver with pleasure. At the same time, Cumslut swallowed Rammer's thick meat into his suctioning throat, driving his own face down onto the Master until his nose was buried in Rammer's pubic hair, his chin crushing against his Master's nuts, where he held himself as long as possible, massaging that shaft with gums and tongue until he needed to back off for air, before vacuuming it back into himself again.

And as the two subs pleasured their one Master, they rutted like the animals they were. Cumslut's massive prong, thick and lengthy, was sunk deep within Viking's greedy wet chute. The larger slave shuddered with the sensations assaulting him as his giant pole was gripped and massaged by the roiling wet heat of Viking's gut. Whenever he pulled back, he felt his colleague clench around him, unwilling to surrender the log that was lodged within him, and with each inward thrust Cumslut felt Viking open to him, swallow his masculinity into that scalding scabbard of moist, clinging innards.

Viking, for his part, trembled with pure pleasure. His mouth attended to Master Rammer's arse with delight, exploring and caressing the hairy, musky crack and dark winking hole. And his own sphincter, after recovering from the initial shock of being assaulted by Cumslut's huge weapon, ached with the joy of being so completely filled and fucked. The sub happily permitted himself the pleasure of running his hands slowly along the leathered contours of the dom's thighs, down muscled calves and over the smooth blackness of boots. His own boots were in the air, resting on his fellow sub's shoulders as Cumslut's body jack-hammered away at Viking's rectum. Viking growled with lusty approval as the sheer magnitude of the other's giant cock, and the added joy of the scraping steel PA, delighted him. He could feel his sphincter muscle stretch wide to accommodate that thickness, and he swore his gut resisted each and every one of the eleven inches of satiny steel which tore into him, opened him up, and thundered jolts of heated ecstasy into his frame with every thrust.

"Enough, boy!" came a muffled command from somewhere above him.

Viking was momentarily confused, then suddenly Cumslut withdrew his prick amid a slurping, sloppy squelch of protest from Noah's bowel. The instantaneous emptiness was almost painful. An aching empty void where his body had been filled with vital living flesh only seconds earlier. But Viking had no time to dwell on his loss.

"On your feet, slave!" an order was barked down at him from the powerful Master who lifted away from his face and pointed at him.

"Yes, Sir," he barked, hurrying to obey.

Rammer led Viking and Cumslut, both still dripping with the residue of their sex, across to the sling where his colleagues Trojan and Nightstick were still plundering Punk's arse and mouth. Collecting sets of handcuffs from a shelf on the way, he secured Viking's wrists to the chains supporting the sling so that the tall blonde sub was now shackled with his arms in the air, standing side on to the grunting, sweaty trio rutting at each other on the leather platform. Shoving Cumslut roughly in behind Viking, Master Rammer again cuffed the slave, Cumslut's hands immediately above and over those of Viking. As a result of this bindings, the two standing slaves were pressed against each other, Cumslut's body matched up against Viking; chaps against chaps, harness against harness, flesh on flesh. The larger, more solid Cumslut entirely obscured Viking's body, his chest against Viking's shoulders, his cock riding up into the crack between Viking's butt cheeks.

With the two subs now effectively locked together against each other and almost leaning over Punk as Trojan and Nightstick maintained their assault on him, Master Rammer allowed himself a moment of lusty observation as he surveyed the group of five strong, leather clad men, bound together in the throes of animal sex. He grunted, laying a gloved hand on the creamy, firm flesh of Cumslut's backside.

"Fuck that tight white arse again, boy!" he demanded.

Cumslut grunted. "Yes, Sir!" his response was guttural and enthusiastic. Viking tried to assist by standing higher while his fellow sub bent at the knees, doing his best to guide the silver ring at the head of his aching, trembling prick toward the target that was Viking's arse.

Master Rammer watched in amusement as the two slaves tried valiantly but in vain to comply with his order. Shackled as they were, and greasy from their earlier coupling, despite their best efforts the two could not seem to connect such that Cumslut might slide his prick into Viking without assistance. They slid up and down against each other, exciting both in the process, but simply unable to make that vital connection.

Pretending annoyance, Rammer moved in behind Cumslut himself. A gloved hand landed a stinging slap on each of the subs' butt cheeks.

"What the fuck are you girls playing at?" he demanded. "I said, 'Fuck him!'".

"Sorry, Sir," each of them mumbled, still trying to obey his order.

Rammer's hands travelled up along Cumslut's back, then he reached around and felt his way down Viking's body as he pressed himself into his slave. Finally reaching in between the two, his right hand gripped and guided Cumslut's cock into position as his left parted Viking's cheeks to reveal the entrance to the slave's body. As the massive cockhead nudged against the winking, vulnerable hole, Master Rammer slammed his own pelvis hard into Cumslut's backside, forcing the two men together as that giant prick finally found its way into the waiting sphincter.

"I said Fuck him!", he declared loudly, as both subs gasped and grunted with the sudden resumption of the coupling.

They did their best to comply. Although restrained at the wrists so that each was standing and spread-eagled, the slaves sweated and groaned again as they fucked. Viking found the position awkward, with his arms held high and his legs apart, and it also meant that his cock flailed up and down with each crunching jab from the giant prick embedded in him. Droplets of pre-cum spattered from his cockhead in an arc which followed the motion of his prong as it slapped upwards against his abdomen, then down hard onto the flesh of Punk where he lay on the sling, before flying up again. Despite the discomfort, the position was also turning him on incredibly. With another sub fucking deeply into his arse, he was left almost helpless by his restraints, yet stood beside and above yet another slave who was being heartily fucked by two powerful Masters, so close that his dick was slapping against the flesh of that other slave in time to the pounding his arse took from the first sub's cock. The entire scene was bathed in a dim light which emphasised the leather and sweat on the copulating bodies, and Noah was electrified by the situation he found himself in.

As Viking revelled in his defenceless but ecstatic stance, Cumslut obediently thrust his raging erection upwards and into the other's hole. The angle of their joinder made it difficult for him to get much strength into the fucking, but he was more than compensated by the proximity of his friend, lashed together as they were. He was careful not to withdraw too far lest he slip from the other sub's rectum and be punished because he was no longer inside him, but the sensations he felt ensured he remained hard as steel, and so keeping himself inside Viking's arse was not impossible. But if he had any doubts about being able to maintain this position for long, they were soon dispelled.

With Cumslut fucking up and into Viking, Master Rammer decided it was time for him to join in the serious action. Standing behind his mate, he admired the musculature in Cumslut's legs and back. He moved forward, sliding his glistening masculinity up and into the crevice formed between the two mounds of flesh that were the slave's butt. He pressed himself downward, until the knob of his prick was kissing the flexing sphincter of the sub, and fell into the rocking motion as Cumslut continued to hump into Viking. Awaiting his opportunity, he positioned himself carefully, and as Cumslut backed out on one of his strokes, Rammer shoved his own cock into the beckoning muscle of his slave just as Cumslut thundered into Viking once again.

A crescendo of grunts, curses and gasping obscenities escaped from the group of men. Master Rammer sighed with deep satisfaction as his tool buried itself deep into the squelching, ravenous gut of his powerfully built mate. Viking instantly knew what was happening behind him, as the additional strength of Rammer's thrusts into Cumslut prompted a doubling of the effort with which he in turn gouged Viking's greedy sphincter. Cumslut was the meat in their sandwich, and he gasped for delighted breath as his body was crushed between the two men, his throbbing pole forced deep into his fellow slave while at the same time his bowel was filled and fucked with force by Master Rammer's demanding tool.

Punk could not see what was happening above and beside him, but he certainly appreciated the intensified attack it engendered upon him, as both of the Masters who were using him slammed their weapons harder, faster and deeper into his holes in response to the erotic sights and sounds of the triple fucking taking place so close to them.

Master Trojan had his thick, meaty prong buried deep inside Punk's gut when Rammer launched the attack upon Cumslut and Viking. The sight of his own boy being humped hard by the other slave, driven in turn by his fellow Dom's thundering penetration of the sandwiched sub, was incredibly arousing. Combined with the already intense pleasure he was taking from using the boi who was skewered upon his own cock, the fucking that was happening beside him spurred him into pounding harder and faster into Punk.

As Trojan's rampage into his slave increased, Master Nightstick revelled in the sound of wet slapping flesh on flesh, and the squeal of leather against leather. Punk's mouth and throat enveloped and massaged his long, driving dong with each inward shove, and bolts of electric ecstasy shot through him with the sight of the sweaty, leathered rut all around him. He too powered enthusiastically into the object of pleasure he and Trojan shared – the shuddering, muscled body of his partner, and very quickly the six individual men became a single, animalistic mass of writhing, glistening passion, moving as one to the unheard beat of natural urges.

For what length of time the group maintained their frenzied conjoinder, no one member could say, but it was Cumslut who succumbed to his climax first. With both his arse and his cock being serviced in such a way as to drive him wildly into abandon, he fought the growing explosion as long as he could, but with a roar of pure pleasure and a spasm which engulfed his entire body, he reached his peak, clamping his ring like a vice around Rammer's cock and pumping voluminous loads of sticky cream into Viking's body.

Cumslut's orgasm set off a chain reaction amongst his friends. Viking followed his colleague into oblivion, the river of cum injected into his chute, and the swelling of Cumslut's already massive cock inside his sphincter, pushed him beyond his limit. A strangled gasp escaped his lips as he pushed back hard against his fucker and shot a fountain of ejaculate up and over Punk's abdomen as it lay suspended before him. The sudden, combined resistance of both slaves as they pushed back onto his manhood caused a rush of sensations throughout Master Rammer's body, and he joined with the subs in surrendering to pure bliss, his essence filling the suctioning cavity that was Cumslut's bowel.

It was the sight of Viking's ejaculation spouting up and over the boi he was fucking which finished Master Trojan. Cursing with pleasure, he crashed himself one last time into Punk's body, releasing a river of salty seed which flooded into the sub's gut. Nightstick watched in awe as one after the other his playmates reached their zenith. When Trojan fucked Punk so hard with his final thrust, it forced the boi's throat even further back onto Nightstick's masculinity.

"Holy Fuck!" he whispered gutturally as he began to pump thick, viscous cum into Punk's stomach. Punk felt the last thrusts coming from both of the men he serviced, and he swallowed again and again as his Master filled his face with juice. Feeling the shuddering explosion of two climaxes as they took place inside his body was unbelievably erotic, and the slave barely even realised that his own ejaculation was adding to the spasms of release taking place on the sling as he spunked a substantial volume of gooey jizz into the lake of cream already formed upon his own abdomen.

A good five minutes passed before any of them felt strong enough to begin the process of disentangling the intertwined bodies. Eventually cocks were withdrawn from arses and mouths, slaves were unshackled and helped to stand upright for a brief moment, before all six collapsed together, legs and arms thrown over each other in a gasping, glistening heap of sweat and leather on the floor of the playroom.

"Fuck me dead!" Punk exclaimed.

"Oh yeah!" Viking agreed, to the exhausted chuckles of the others.

*******************

Nick and Noah arrived back at the house on the Peninsula quite late on Saturday afternoon. They had shared an afternoon lunch with Bob, Peter, Sean and Will when all eventually surfaced after their marathon session the night before, but Sean and Will needed to leave soon after, and Bob and Peter had a previously arranged dinner engagement they couldn't cancel, so Nick and Noah donned their bike leathers, to much cat-calling and suggestive comment from the others, climbed onto their bikes, and headed out of town again.

Fortunately, Patrick and Frank weren't home when they arrived, and they were able to get inside still wearing their suits without seeing anyone. In the kitchen, they found a note from Patrick, letting them know that he and Frank were going out for the evening, and wouldn't be back until late. The note also let them know that Mrs Fitzgibbon had taken that afternoon and the following day to travel into Melbourne, so they were completely on their own. The weather had turned a little cool, so the boys happily remained in their leathers, settling on the patio with a light beer each.

"So Phillip is the most likely suspect, just as I thought," declared Nick, as their conversation came around to the subject of the murder yet again.

"It looks that way," Noah agreed. "Bob said he would probably be down here to interview him on Tuesday or Wednesday."

"I think we should try to talk to him first," Nick stated.

"What? That could be interfering with the official investigation. Besides, why on earth would he talk to us? He doesn't even know us."

"Yes," Nick agreed, "but you know no-one ever tells the cops anything, especially once they realise they are a suspect. If we can get him to open up to us, he's more likely to let something slip to us than he is to the police."

Noah chuckled. "And just how do you think you are going to get him to open up to us – two complete strangers?"

Nick pouted. "I didn't say it would be easy, but I think it would be good if we could manage it."

His partner sighed, looking at the long face on his man. "Okay, Nick," he relented. "We'll try to get him to talk to us. But we need some `in', some reason for going to see him, something which is going to make him feel at ease enough to talk to us."

Together, they sat in silence, wracking their brains for an excuse to visit Phillip that would set the other man's mind at ease with them.

"We can hardly claim to be friends of Wes," Nick noted. "Firstly, it's a lie he'll know about, since they were lovers; and secondly, I don't think that would help him open up anyway."

"No," Noah agreed, "We need to something that will ring true to him."

"What about David?" Nick suddenly asked excitedly.

"David? How do you mean?"

"Well, David was friends with both of them."

Noah looked doubtful. "Maybe, but Phillip got angry when David went to see him the day before the funeral."

"Yeah, but that was the day before the man he loved was to be buried," Nick repeated. "What if we tell him that David asked us to check on him, that David was worried about him, now that it's all over. Maybe he will have calmed down a bit, be ready to talk?"

Shaking his head, Noah disagreed. "I don't think it will work."

"Come on, Noah," his man pressed. "It's the best chance we've got. In fact it's the only idea either of us can think of."

Reluctantly, Noah had to acknowledge that Nick was right. There was nothing else they could imagine as a way of breaking through with Phillip. Eventually he agreed.

"Okay, we'll give it a try. I just hope it doesn't set him even more in stone, make it more difficult for Bob Moran to get anything on him."

The last of the daylight was slipping away, and Nick jumped up. "Okay then, let's go!"

"What, right now?"

"Why not. If he's at home, we can make like old friends, see if he'll have a drink and a chat – that always helps!"

Still not convinced, Noah followed as Nick led them out of the gate again, riding down to the main road and re-tracing the steps to Phillip's home. Luckily, it was easily re-found from their limited knowledge of the area around Portsea. They curbed their bikes on the street outside, removed their helmets and gloves, and knocked politely on his front door.

There was no reply to the first knock, and Nick tried again, a little louder. A light could be seen in one of the windows, but no indication of whether anyone was at home. They were about to give up when a flicker of curtains gave away the fact that someone had spotted them from inside. Nick was ready to knock once more, when the door opened to him, and Phillip stood there in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt.

"Hello," he said cautiously, "Can I help you?"

Noah spoke first. "Hello," he said. "We're sorry to disturb you, but our names are Nick Giannis and Noah Sorensen. We're friends of ..."

Phillip interrupted him. "So you're Nick and Noah. I know who you are – the guys from Sydney who have been staying at Wes' place!" He stepped back just a little, surveying the two leather clad men at his door. "What do you want?"

Nick stood there, mouth open in surprise. Noah recovered quickly. "Umm, we're actually friends with Wes' friend, David ..."

"Yeah, I know David. He came to see me a week ago. I'm afraid I wasn't very polite to him."

Grasping that as an opening, Noah pressed on. "That's okay. David understood that you were upset about what had happened, and he didn't take any offence. In fact, he asked us to call around if we had time, to check if you were okay. He was quite concerned about you."

Nick tried to stifle a grin at just how well his man could make up a story when he needed to. But the tale seemed to work. Phillip relaxed a little, seemed less defensive.

"So you two are `friends' of David?" The emphasis he put on the word `friends' suggested he thought Nick and Noah were much more than that. "He always did have good taste when it came to picking the lookers!"

Ignoring the comment as best he could, Noah tried again. "As a favour to David, really, we just wanted to make sure you were alright, that you weren't feeling too depressed ..."

Phillip seemed still undecided, standing at his door, his eyes undisguisedly exploring their bodies. Nick realised that Noah wasn't getting anywhere being too coy, and guessed that a slightly different approach could work. He stepped forward a little, making sure the light fell on his suited frame. He dropped his thumb to his waist, his fingers spreading so that, as he was well aware, the `v' formed by his thumb and finger framed and emphasised his cock.

"Perhaps we could come in and , umm, ... `talk' ... with you about it?" he offered as suggestively as he could.

Noah glanced sideways in surprise, then looked back at Phillip, only to catch him involuntarily lick at his lips, his eyes now firmly fixed on Nick's prick! He seemed reluctant still, and looked back into the house quickly, as if checking whether there were someone else behind him, before returning his gaze to the two muscular, leather clad men at his door. `If this worked ...', Noah told himself.

"We, ahh, ... know ... David very, very well," he assured Phillip in a near whisper filled with innuendo.

That seemed to convince the man. He stepped backwards, opening the door fully. "Then maybe you should come in," he replied in a throaty voice.

Taking up his invitation, the two followed him into a living room, seating themselves on lounges in such a way that their legs were spread and their bodies on show. Phillip sat on a single seater between them, his head swivelling from one to the other as they began to speak.

"How did you know who we were?" Nick asked.

He smiled, tapping the side of his nose. "This is a small town, guys. I have my ear to the ground."

Noah took a new approach. "So you know David, too?" he asked softly.

Phillip grinned. "Not as well as I suspect you two do! I would have liked the opportunity to get to `know' him better, but I was with Wes then."

Leaning back and spreading his legs, knowing this position showed him in his best light, Nick said in a voice laced with lusty emphasis, "So what stopped you and Wes from getting to `know' David together? It worked for us, I can assure you!"

"Ha! I only wish!" Phillip became angry again, looking at neither of them but staring off into space. "Bloody Wes! He would never even consider anything out of the ordinary. He couldn't see the difference between love and sex, wouldn't listen to what I was trying to explain." His voice rose, almost to a shout now, but he was speaking to the air, not to Nick and Noah. "The bastard made up his mind, and that was it, I was damned for all time. I loved him and I hated him, both at once!"

"Hey," Nick offered, trying to keep him on side. "That was a bit unreasonable, wasn't it?"

"Unreasonable?" Phillip exploded. "I'll tell you unreasonable! One mistake, one little error! You think he could forgive that? Well, maybe he could, if I'd lied to him, but no I tried to tell him the truth, to explain to him, and get him to join me because I loved him. And what I got for my trouble was nothing. No understanding, no consideration of the years I had given him. God I hated him!"

"Enough to kill him?" Noah asked quietly but firmly.

"What?" Phillip rounded on him. "You think I killed him? I loved him."

"Where were you the night he died?" Nick said, diving into the confusion in Phillip's head.

"Umm, here .." he muttered.

"Can you prove it? Was there anyone else here?"

"Maybe," the other man had quietened again, becoming defensive.

"I doubt it," Nick snorted derisively. "I think you were so angry about the way Wes had treated you that you killed him in a fit of rage, or revenge, or whatever."

"You have got it so wrong!" Phillip wailed. "I don't have to explain myself to you two ..."

"No, but you will have to explain it to the cops," Nick said coldly.

"That is enough!" shouted a voice from the next room, bringing Nick and Noah to a sudden, frozen halt. Phillip shook his head and cursed.

A handsome young man, wearing nothing but a loose towel around his waist, burst through the door to confront them.

Nick's jaw dropped and he simply said "Fuck!?!"

Noah could barely speak as well. He stammered and stuttered before finally getting his mouth to work again. He looked at the other man with a question. "Frank?" he said.

"You guys are so wrong!" Frank almost shouted in anger. "Why couldn't you leave things lie? Phil didn't kill Wes. He couldn't have. He loved him too much. And he was here the night Wes was murdered. Here ALL night." His voice lowered then, almost to a whisper. "With me!"

"Holy shit!" Nick exclaimed.

"The two of you?" Noah asked quietly, still stunned.

Both men nodded. "With Patrick?" Noah almost whispered.

Phillip became animated again. "Give me some credit," he said scornfully. "Wes was my lover. Patrick was like our son. Of course I didn't sleep with him!"

"But I thought Patrick and Frank were together that night?"

Phillip slumped down into a chair again, and Frank perched on the arm next to him, but there was no sign of affection, merely support.

"Patrick and Frank came here together, but Patrick left. We never had sex – it was unthinkable to either of us. But I needed some release, just like everyone does, and Frank is damned good in bed. Patrick left us together, and went out."

"Out where?" Nick demanded.

"Playing his little games, buying and selling!" Phillip said wryly.

"Phil!" Frank said in a tone of urgent warning.

"What are you talking about? What games?" Nick asked. His voice was now cold as steel.

"It doesn't matter," Frank assured them.

"Oh yes it does," Noah answered. "If Patrick wasn't with you, he's lied to the cops. That isn't going to look very good for him at all."

"Only if you tell them," Frank noted sarcastically.

"So you tell us where he was that night," Nick spat back.

It was Phillip who answered, with a sad smirk. "Patrick was out dealing with tina." He said simply.

"Tina? Who in the fuck is Tina?"

Frank laughed derisively. "God, you are out of touch, old man! Tina isn't a person. Haven't you ever heard of ice?"

Nick still looked confused. "Ice?" he repeated, looking to Noah. His lover suddenly understood.

"Crystal Meth, Nick," he said sadly. "Patrick is a drug dealer!" Turning to Frank again, he asked softly. "That's where he was that night? Out dealing in crystal meth?"

Frank nodded. "Of course he couldn't tell the cops that, so he told them we were together all night. As soon as I got a chance, I came here to tell Phil what had happened, and what we'd told the cops."

"Did Wes know about it?" Nick asked suddenly.

"Of course not. Wes was so straight, he never suspected a thing about Patrick. Not about the drugs, not about the orgies, nothing."

Noah shook his head. "And Patrick didn't care that you two were having sex?"

"Why would he?" Frank asked. "It's just sex. Phil needed someone to help relieve the tension. I love Patrick, and he loves me, and we both know it. It doesn't matter who we have sex with – as long as we know and trust each other."

"That's about the first intelligent thing you've said all night," Nick remarked bitterly.

"It's a pity Wes couldn't see the same thing!" Phillip muttered.

"Is that what you broke up over?" Noah asked, his tone softer now, more compassionate.

Phillip nodded. "Guys, I know how bad this looks to you as complete outsiders, but I'm not the slut, or the evil monster you probably think. I really did love Wes, with all my heart. But Wes was very conservative, in almost every way. From time to time, I'd get the urge to try something different in bed, but he wouldn't consider it. Our love making was as boring and predictable as the worst stories you've heard about old married couples, if it happened at all. I had a couple of flings on the side, and then I met a guy who took me to an orgy."

Nick raised his eyebrows, glancing at Noah, who motioned him to keep quiet. Phillip went on.

"I guess it wasn't much of an orgy really, just three of us, but it was the `kinkiest' thing I'd ever done! When I went home, I tried to bring up the possibility of something similar with Wes, but I thought he was going to have a heart attack just thinking about it. There was no way he would even begin to consider it. So I kept going out, and meeting other guys, and coming home to him for our regular little romp in bed with the lights out.

"The problem came when for some unfathomable reason Wes came home early one day. He never did anything outside his normal routine, and I was with a guy I'd picked up at the beach. We were getting into it in the pool at home, and Wes wasn't due back for hours. When he walked in and caught us I thought the world was going to end. I tried to explain my feelings, my needs. I tried to tell him that it was him I loved, that the sex with someone else, was just sex, but he wouldn't listen. He told me that the only way he could forgive me was if I swore to him I would never see this guy, or anyone else, ever again. I couldn't do that, so I told him the truth – told him that I enjoyed sex with other men, even several other men at the same time. I told him I thought it would be good for us if he joined in. I tried to explain that there was a huge gap between sex and love, but he closed his mind and that was that. He never spoke another pleasant, civil word to me from that day until he died!"

Nick, always the emotional one of the pair, melted. "Phillip, I'm so sorry," he said sincerely. "We had it all wrong. And we can sympathise ..." he looked to Noah and found the support he was after. "Noah and I understand what you mean. We play around with others, but we also understand the difference between sex and love. Love is what we have together, and sex is what we enjoy with other people."

Frank looked at them both with new eyes. "So your comments when you first arrived, the flirting you did, wasn't just an act?" he said hopefully, a little excitement creeping into his voice. "I told Patrick you two were hot, told him we could have some fun with you!"

Noah laughed. "No it wasn't an act, but in case you're thinking of more, I don't think here, or now, or with either of you, would be a good idea," he said firmly.

"Oh, I guess not," Frank accepted with disappointment. "Pity! And I'm sure if you change your mind, Patrick would be more than interested, as long as you don't wear those suits," he said, pointing at the bike leathers.

"Umm, I suspect that our tastes, and Patrick's tastes, vary considerably," Noah commented without explanation.

The couple made their apologies, and left Phillip and Frank alone again, as they rode back to the house. Exhausted from the previous night, and the encounter with Phillip and Frank, they stripped off the bike gear, and sat in cloth robes for a short while sipping at a night-cap, before making their way to bed and sleeping soundly.

***

The next morning, Nick and Noah woke to find Patrick and Frank together on the patio. Hiding their surprise, they joined them, making small talk and avoiding all mention of the previous evening. It was Patrick who brought up the subject, with a very innocent comment.

"How was your Friday night, guys?" he asked. "Must have been a big one, cause you two were long asleep by the time we got home."

"Umm, yes, it was," Nick confirmed. Noah looked hard at Frank, who shook his head just slightly, letting them know he hadn't told Patrick about the previous night's conversation.

"Shows you're getting old!" Patrick went on. "When you can't keep going as long as you want to. If you ever want some real stamina, something to keep you `up' and running for hours, just let me know," he winked.

Nick couldn't believe how openly he was intimating he could provide them with drugs, but he did his best to ignore it.

"You going out on those bikes again today?" Frank asked.

"No, it's that old age Patrick mentioned," Noah answered with only the slightest hint of sarcasm. "We thought we'd hang around here, relax and recharge the batteries. I guess we should really be thinking of going home soon. We must be wearing our welcome thin by now?"

"Not at all," Patrick declared graciously. "Seriously guys, I'm no good as a host, I know that. And you have been the perfect guests – around when I want to talk, but out on your own without needing me to be there. Stay as long as you want!"

"Thanks, Patrick," Nick said, and meant it.

For the rest of the morning, the four sat and chatted amiably. Once again, it occurred to Noah that Patrick was a charming man. Frank too, and as a couple they were wonderful company. Yet now he found his opinion clouded. He couldn't forget that Patrick was dealing drugs. Ice at that! It was a serious matter, and one neither he nor Nick could ever condone. It saddened him, and it made him suspicious of everything the younger man said and did.

The weather turned warmer that afternoon, and the pool became a focal point for the group, as they swam naked and lazed around in the water. The suggestive comments and barely hidden innuendoes came thick and fast from both Patrick and Frank, but Nick and Noah ignored all. Eventually, the younger men tired of their games, and announced that they were going into the village for something to eat.

"You want to join us?" Frank asked, raising an eyebrow hopefully.

"No, thanks," Nick replied. "I think we'll have an early night!"

"Old age!" Patrick repeated.

When they had gone, Noah took Nick by the arm and led him up to the bedroom in silence.

"Thank you!" he said solemnly.

"For what?" Nick smiled.

"For being who you are, and for us being able to share everything, and understand what is important. I feel so sorry for Wes and for Phillip, that they couldn't find that!"

"Yes, I know," Nick said sadly. "It makes me appreciate just how lucky I am!"

To be continued?

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