Pyotr prepared and served dinner for us that evening. That he did so with no help had left me more than a bit surprised as there were sixteen of us at table and only the one of him. I decided I would learn what more the young Petrograder was expected to do in his employment with the Russian Trade Commission as soon as Brett and I had him in bed.

Dinner also gave us our first opportunity to meet the ten young men we had watched play football that afternoon. As expected, Richard was quite ready to become reacquainted with the monster Maxim had between his legs; he had managed to set himself beside the Russian, and it appeared that he had his hand in his crutch.

The Russian glanced over at me and, his eyes twinkling, smiled. "The English stay so hungry, you know. Are you and the pretty one beside you also hungry? Maxim will struggle to feed all of you if he must."

I smiled back. I understood what he was offering - if I were to believe Ilyich, this lad had sixteen inches of Russian cock he was willing to share around. I wasn't a virgin; but it had been several years since anyone had spread my arsecheeks for me. I also couldn't remember ever being a size queen. In fact, the thought of sixteen inches with its girth near my arse threatened me with a coronary.

"I think Brett and I will pass, old lad," I told him and indicated Richard with my head. "But I also think there's at least one Briton here at table who would like to try to keep you completely occupied this evening."

He accepted the rejection easily. "You have good exercise regimen, English-"

"Phillip," I introduced myself.

He nodded. "Phillip, I see your muscles. What gym is yours?"

I sniggered. "No gym, Maxim. I find they distract me. The eye candy can be an overwhelming distraction-"

"Then what kind of regimen do you maintain?"

"I skull every morning for an hour - when I'm in London."

"You row the boat?" I nodded. "And you look like that?" He freely studied my body for several moments before shaking his head slowly. "Perhaps you will introduce me to this skulling. As you have said, there is often too much eye candy at the gym for me to exercise for myself-" He laughed. "Too often, I am posing, instead of exercising, yes?"

I nodded. We understood each other well, this Maxim and myself. I was also finding myself beginning to like him, which bothered me. If there was a Russian heroin ring and this Maxim was a part of it, I would be in a potentially embarrassing position.

I forced that awareness away and found myself watching young Pyotr finished clearing off the table. I again wondered why he was working alone. Richard Bell did not appear to find his lust for the Russian as embarrassing as I found my liking him. "I want you to shag me," he told Maxim aloud.

His impetuousness immediately pulled the Russian into it. "I remember you from that drag club Ilyich likes so much," Maxim told him and smiled. "Yes, you are good," he said and stood, his erection already tenting his shorts. "Come," he told Richard before turning back to me and shrugging, his hand falling to the Irishman's arse.

Richard ground his bottom against the hand and grinned lustifully at everyone as he glanced around the table.

"That boy is such a slut," Brett whispered at my ear as the two men left the table. There was a momentary pause as he licked down my neck, then his lips were again at my ear. "The blond English boy seems all alone now that Richard has Maxim between his legs, Phillip," he told me. "Why don't you take him somewhere and pump him good while I help the Russian Cinderella clean things up around here?"

"You want me to shag this lad, and you were calling Richard a slut?"

"Hey! This one is a serious slut. He does it so everybody can watch-"

"He may; but I don't," I growled.

"So, let him find a spare room. There are enough of them in this old house."

I pulled back slightly and gazed at the American who had so completely captivated me. "You really want me to do it with him?"

"You're here for information, aren't you, Phillip?" I nodded. "Then, get the damned information. I've already told you the lock doesn't go on your chastity belt until next week-" He grinned. "Enjoy all the strange you can get, honey - while you can. There ain't going to be no more for you after Monday."

Brett pushed his chair back and stood. Nodding to Ilyich and smiling back at me, he started for the kitchen and young Pyotr.

I forced a smile to my face and glanced across at young Mick. I found him studying me - like a raptor studying his prey. His facial features were sharper up close than I had expected from the afternoon. But his blue eyes held a hunger that I only barely understood. His soft blond curls made the complete package attractive. "Your boyfriend likes to keep you close," he observed, choosing his words carefully.

"We're both like that," I answered, admiring this Mick's slim, tight body. His accent was East Anglian and I wondered if a farmboy might be a better than what I had known. "But we still keep the relationship open so either one of us can take advantage of an opportunity when it presents itself." I watched the blond lad digest my answer. "Do you know the house well?" I asked when he had finally nodded.

A grin slowly began to form across his lips and move up his cheeks. "Pretty well," he answered. "Would you like a guided tour?"

"That could be nice," I admitted, my lips twitching and threatening a smile as my cock threatened to expand in my pants. I harboured no doubts as I stood up. Brett had already given his permission. Besides, this was the lad whom Trell had probably watched selling drugs at the leather club.

I did want to get to know him close and personal. At least once. Knowing him sexually worked quite well for me - even if it was a bit closer and more personal than police procedures called for. In this lad's particular case, I suspected that I could most easily get past his defences if my cock was properly buried deeply enough in his arse.

We came together at the end of the table. "Follow me," Mick said and, his gaze glued to my crutch, licked his lips. He turned and led me out the door into the main hallway. I smiled at how tight his jeans were across his buttocks. Behind us, the others were beginning to pair up, in search of the evening's first encounter.

"I hope you know how to treat a horny arse," he mumbled as we entered the re-designed great hall.

"I've been known to elicit moans of pleasure now and then," I told him. His fingers spread across the crutch of my jeans, finding the outline of my already tumescent cock. "Are you always this hungry?" I asked, thinking of him taking the Russian that afternoon.

"I'm always hungry for dick," he said and met my gaze with his. "The bigger the better. The more the better too. Come on, let's find a bed. I need a shag bad right now, mate - and, from the feel of things down there, you're just the bloke to give me a good one."

He took the flight of stairs two at a time and did not look back to see if I remained behind him. I followed him more slowly. "Shit! You're slower than that Ilyich, mate," Mick growled from the landing at the top of the stairs. "You'd better be as good as he is," I heard the blond mutter under his breath then.

His erection was spread across his crutch, his jeans highlighting it as he watched me climb the remaining steps to him, his tight t-shirt highlighting his nipples standing out from his pecs. "Thinking of me?" I asked playfully as I arrived at his position and reached out to trace the outline of his cock through the denim.

"Thinking of what you can do for me," he answered and grabbed my hand. "There's a bed in this room," he told me as he led me into the nearest room to the landing. "It'll do just fine."

I turned to him as he pushed the door closed behind us. My hands went to his elbows. I had pulled him almost to me when he stiffened. "Let's get naked, Phillip. I don't really care about that foreplay stuff. I've got this real itch, mate - and it's going to take about eight inches minimum to scratch it."

He pulled back and smiled as he pulled his shirt from his jeans. "We can kiss and stuff after you're shagging me, okay?" He pulled the t-shirt over his head and dropped it beside us. "I'd like it then - when I've got you where you're making me feel good."

"Do we have condoms in here?" I asked, redirecting my thoughts to the necessities ahead. I hadn't thought to bring any from London with me.

Mick laughed. "Mate, the bedside cabinets have anything a bloke can want - from party drugs to lube and condoms ... Whatever you want-"


"Grass, Ecstasy ... You want something stronger, just tell me and I'll get it from Ilyich." He stepped between my feet and put his hands around my waist, pulling me to him and beginning to rub his crutch against mine. "Only, you've got to wait to do that shit till after you've fucked me. I want the man, not the chemical, scratching my itch."

"I've seen you around the clubs, Mick," I told him, both of my hands kneading his bottom through his jeans. "What I've heard is that, if I want something, you're the lad to see."

His fingers found the button holding my own jeans in place on me. "Not now!" he growled and his fingers worked the button out of its hole at my waist and quickly pulled my zip down.

He smiled at me as his hands travelled across the face of my jeans to my waist. There, his fingers slipped under both the denim and the cotton of my pants and moved to hold my arsecheeks. "Let's get these down so I can see what you've got," he mumbled and, kneeling before me, shoved both jeans and pants onto my thighs.

"Yeah!" he breathed. "So bloody nice!"

"I thought you were supposed to have an itch, lad," I told him.

"I do." He wasn't taking his eyes off my erect cock.

"You must not want me to scratch it then."

That caught his attention. Mick pulled his gaze up to mine slowly, almost painfully. "God! I need this-" he groaned.

"I can't do much for you as long as you're dressed," I explained to him.

He blinked and pushed himself to his feet. He ripped his jeans open and began hopping from one foot to the other, trying to work the denim down over his legs. His gaze never left my body. "Get on the bed!" he commanded as he finally got one leg free of the cloth.

I sat on the bed and pulled myself into its centre, watching the blond lad from East Anglia as he finished stripping himself. Mick reached for the bedstand and pulled the drawer out hard. "We don't really need lube," he said to himself as he grabbed several foil packets and turned back to face me. A hungry leer spread across his face when he saw that my erection had not flagged. "Oh, yeah," he groaned and sat on the side of the bed, leaning across to reach my crutch. "So nice." His fingers closed reverently around my shaft as he pulled himself closer.

He brought one of the condom packets to his mouth and, using his teeth, tore away one side. He smiled up at me as his elbows reached my hip and he pulled the condom out of its foil with his lips. "It won't be long now," he mumbled, almost as if he was reassuring me. He raised his leg and brought it down between mine at the knee. His dick pressed hard against my knee as he placed the flat surface of the rolled-up condom against my knob-end.

"I'm going to ride you, mate - if that's okay?" he asked, slowly grinding his prick against my knee. I nodded, watching the latex stretch past the flange of my cockhead under his guidance. Mick hurriedly unfurled it down along my shaft. "You just lie back and leave everything to me then." He chuckled and said: "I'm going to show you a real good time."

It was all Mick's show at this point as far as I was concerned. Any question I might ask could pull the lad out of his sexual anticipation and into ugly suspicion and possible hostility. Being naked in bed with him and moments from engaging in sex with him did not make for the controlled environment that police procedure called for when questioning a suspect. I reckoned to wait until the blond lad was astride me and impaled to his satisfaction before I asked him what the weather was like, much less something more pertinent.

He lifted his knee from between my legs, his dick leaving a glistening string of pre-come on my thigh following after it. He straddled my legs, forcing them together with his, and bent forward to take my prick deep into his throat. His head bobbed several times on my covered pole before he sat up on his knees and began to inch along the sides of my body until he had reached my ribs.

"Are you ready for this, mate?" he growled as he aligned his arsehole with my prick. "I'm going to be the best shag you've ever had." He began to sit down and the tip of my cock pressed against his entrance. "I'm going to make you think only of me."

I was thinking of him - even in the way he was seeking to imply as he impaled himself on me. Mostly, however, I was trying to put together an approach to question him under a most unusual circumstance.

"Oh, yeah!" Mick groaned as his bollocks landed in my pubes. "Just the way I like it - thick and long."

"You do this a lot - at the clubs?" I asked as his muscles flexed and worked the length of my prick.

"Yeah." He began to move on me, lifting himself a good six inches off of me and falling back on them. "I've got to have dick four or five times a night, mate - oh, Christ! Yeah!" he groaned. "That means the clubs for me - they're the only place I can find that much fresh cock when I want it."

"I see you at the clubs, but I haven't seen any of the sex," I grunted as he began to tweak my nipples. He was already prummelling himself on me.

"You haven't looked over the back rooms then," he gasped. "Every one of those clubs has at least one room - from back in the days all the clubs had sex rooms. Most of them aren't even locked-"


"Yeah. You can fuck bareback, shoot up, anything - in those rooms." He ground his bottom against my bollocks. "Oh, shit! Shag me good, mate." His knees pressed harder against my waist. "I need it so bad."

I pistoned in and out of him for several moments then, giving him what I knew he wanted most. The blond East Anglian surrendered to his growing sexual appetite, his face becoming lax and his tongue lolling from his mouth as we together fucked him on my prick.

I quickly became convinced that Mick had one well-trained and accomplished bowel. It gave a virtuoso performance of playing my prick - even from my first movement into the boy. I stayed on the cusp of orgasm as he wiggled and ground his arse against and on me, and as he lifted and lowered his bum on my prick, his muscles flexing, gripping, and claiming me each time I re-entered him.

His erection bounced hard against my belly, his foreskin pulled back to expose his knob-end - each time his arselips had taken all of my prick that they could, each time his bollocks pressed into my pubes and he squirmed his sphincter against the base of my cock.

I knew I had to get more information from him than the little that I had. I couldn't see the middle of a fuck being a functional time to continue questioning him, however. I for one was enjoying myself too much to plot a line of questioning; I also suspected that he was too deeply submerged in the sexual pleasures washing over him for him to be coherent enough to answer questions.

I was surprised, however, that most of London's clubs had backrooms, or still had them. I had heard of them, of course - but in the context of the wild old days of the 70's and early 80's, before we had found AIDS and knew what caused it. Those had been days I could not even imagine. Impersonal, indiscriminate orgies spreading the bowels of building after building - like a tide of never-ending pleasure.

Only, it did end. It had ground to a stop long before I even knew my sexual orientation. Owners had agreed with the government and closed the sexual freedom down. But it had been too late.

Those young men who had partied through the backrooms that spread across London hadn't lived to see the first cocktails that would have prolonged their lives. They were already infected by the time the rooms and that whole way of life came to an end, their immune systems were already destroyed. Even a touch of the flu had been enough to push most of them into their coffins, other minor illnesses took out the others.

Now, I knew those rooms still existed. And they were available to any who wanted to use them. What were Mick's words? They were there for anyone to fuck bareback or to shoot up.

The government provided methadone and clean needles to heroin addicts. But the addicts had to ask for them. They had to identify themselves to the government and surrender their privacy, exposing themselves as addicts. Of course, they ceased being criminals once they were on a methadone programme; but few young men were willing to expose themselves that completely - if they even understood that they had lost control of their lives.

Heroin gave its user a sense of well-being and even euphoria the moment it entered the system. It was being introduced into the gay world of London and I understood that easily meant that the new users could well be having unprotected sex in the early throes of well-being spreading over them. The possibilities of a new AIDS outbreak in the gay community seemed even more likely than the occasional heroin overdose that I had already seen. It was enough to frighten me.

A frightened Phillip Goodson could well keep his erection if he was already in a sexual situation - but he was not likely to have an orgasm.

I was pulled from my thoughts by Mick losing his rhythm. I focused on his face and saw that it was screwed up in the rush of pleasure coursing through his body. At that moment, something wet and thick splatted against my chin and began to ooze down my jaw. My gaze dropped to his dick and I watched his second rope of jizz blast out of his cockhead and rocket over my head. He gasped and threw his head back as he continued to ride me.

His cock jerked untouched between his legs. A third, fourth, and fifth volley pushed out of him and landed on my chest, settling into the valley between my pecs. He sat on my crutch then, my cock buried inside him. His body still twitched and his anal muscles spasmed along my shaft as he drew laboured breaths, his sides and chest heaving hard. His fingers found my sternum and began to spread the puddle of jizz that had formed there.

"Bloody hell!" he managed to gasp. "I really blew a load, didn't I, mate?" He leant forward from the waist, holding my hard cock still in his bum. He smiled as his face came close to mine. "Don't worry," he offered, "I always clean up my messes." His tongue out, he dove for my chest and started lapping his spunk up.

A moment later, he looked up to find me watching him. "All cleaned up, mate," he said smacking his lips. "Is that okay?" I nodded. "You didn't come, did you?" I shrugged. A wide grin grew across his face as he contemplated me. "Bloody okay!" he yelped finally. "That means another one, right?" I shrugged again. "You treat me better than that fucking Russian, mate." He kissed me quickly on the lips and sat back up, wedging all of me inside him.

"Let's roll over," I suggested. I wanted some active involvement in our shag, if we were going to have another one.

"On my back?" I nodded. "My ankles behind your neck?"

I nodded. "Is it all right with you?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," he answered slowly and looked up at me appreciatively. "Fuck me all the way to Folkstone, mate. I'm ready for it." He laughed. "I'll even let you pound me through the chunnel - if you've got the stamina for it."

"Let's see if I can't show you a good time," I suggested. He put the palm of one hand flat on the bed and waited for me to move. When I began turning my hips toward his hand, he put his weight on it and we rolled over until he was lying on the bed with me between his legs and my cock still embedded deep inside him.

"I could use a kiss right now, mate." Mick lifted his head to meet mine. Our lips met and his tongue darted between my parted teeth.

We lay there locked in our kiss, his knees pressing into his chest, his arse raised off the mattress, my cock buried to my pubes in his hole. I felt nothing for the man I was kissing. There wasn't even the companionship I felt toward Richard or the police officers in this house with me. Still, my cock was hard, embedded in a hot, horny arse, and there was no resistance anywhere to me mindlessly fucking the blond East Anglian beneath me. I had slipped back through a hundred million years of evolution and everything that was still me existed in my engorged cockhead.

I began to fuck Mick with long, slow strokes as our tongues continued to duel for supremacy.

His muscles grabbed my cock, milking it, as I pulled out from him. He opened up to allow me to fall into him, his arse bucking up to claim my cock even before I could reverse my rhythm. His fingers became claws grasping my buttocks and directing my movement in and out of him.

"Fuck me harder!" Mick groaned, breaking our kiss. "Christ, mate!" His eyes were glassy as they met mine and stared through me, his hands still grasping my arsecheeks. "It feels so bloody good!"

My strokes became shorter and quicker as I prummelled his arse. My bollocks soon tightened and were riding my cockshaft. Mick's head lolled from side to side, his eyes closed and his lips open. His dick rode hard against my belly as I ploughed him. His hands were now fists beating a hard, fast tattoo on my buttocks.

I pushed everything I had into him, even as my prick grew harder. I sucked in air in sobbing breathes as my bollocks erupted into the condom that covered me. Under me, I felt a surge of hot wetness hit my belly and then begin to spread. Mick was coming too.

I collapsed against him, my dick inside him playing out the rest of my orgasm on its own. His hands cupped my buttocks, holding me against him. I sought to catch my breath.

"That was good," I was finally able to say between gasps.

"Yeah. You're one of the best, mate."

"You do this often - in the backrooms at the clubs?" I asked as I rolled off him.

He snorted. "Enough."

"I hope you stay away from the bareback shags you mentioned," I told him as his finger traced my jaw down to my neck.

"I like to live. But some of those blokes-"

"Are they the ones who shoot up too?" My fingers went to his bollocks and began gently to explore his groin.

"Most of the time, I reckon." He took a deep breath. "If they're big enough, I put a condom on the thing and mount it. I get mine and stay safe. But they're pretty far out of it, mate - you know, wherever the fuck opium takes you. There are some lads who really get off on taking avantage of a pretty bottom, especially without the feel of latex. And the blokes don't care - they're flying high."

"You deal it?"

I felt him stiffen beside me. "Why're you so interested?" he asked suspiciously.

"I like what money buys," I answered quickly and chuckled, "and I've found that government cheques don't go that far."

I felt him relax as my fingers reached his navel. "That's a good attitude. Talk to Ilyich about it - he may know about something."

"Ilyich reminds me too much of a grumpy old granddad. Maxim would do, wouldn't he?"

Mick laughed. "Maxim? That boy's only good for one thing - even if that prick of his is as big as it is." He wiggled his bottom against the mattress. "And feels as good as it does. He does know how to give a lad a damned good shag, though-"

"He's not involved with Ilyich?"

"Not bloody likely. Oh, he's the straight man with that Trade Commission - he's Ilyich's second in command there. He may even do most of the work, but the old man's the boss with the legitimate stuff too. I think he used to be some big wheel with their spy operation back when they were communist."

"So, it's just Ilyich who brings the drugs in?"

"Yorstovich keeps an eye on us English boys - him and that Myransky. They're close mates and are the ones we buy from." He shrugged. "You can talk with either of them too - but you'll still have to get past Ilyich to get on board."

"Which ones are they?" I asked, unable to place faces with the names.

"Yorstovich was the captain of the blond team this afternoon. Myransky took over the brunettes whilst Max fucked me."

"They're Russians then?"

"Yeah. There's four of them, including Ilyich. Five if you add in that cute little queen Ilyich gives all the shit jobs to-"


"Him. He's only been here a month. Graduated from some weird school where they're supposed to learn to be more English than the English. They've got another one to make little Yanks out of their batch of Russians. Ilyich hates him. He fucks him over ever chance he gets."