The Mystery

Part One.

I managed to make a fairly decent living from my regulars. Reverend XXXX of All Saints was perpetually trying to save my soul and regularly lectured me on the rewards of a life of sin. In his case my reward was seldom less than five shillings a week. He was of the opinion that if he gave me a surfeit of sin I would eventually weary of it and amend my ways. And so, twice a week, I would attend him in the vestry. On Fridays he would pray for me as I stripped him of his vestments and he would then demonstrate exactly what it was that made God so angry with the residents of the cities of the plains. On Sundays, he had me hide myself in the pulpit, where, when it came time for him to deliver his sermon, it was my task to stimulate him to an excess of oratory. I often wondered what the prim and dour black swathed matrons of his congregation would say if they knew the real source of his impassioned and tearful injunctions to repentance. But, for all his pious hypocrisy, I quite liked my reverend gentleman. He was always kind and considerate and beneath his cassock he had a fine body and a fairly hefty cock.

Another regular, and a much more entertaining and generous gent, was Sir Simeon Swithens, the society portrait painter. But again, beneath the surface of respectability: he numbered our own dear Queen among his admirers; there was a vein of venality as wide and as deep as the Thames. I first began posing for Sir Simeon when I was little more than a nipper, still learning my trade so to speak. He picked me out of the gutter and fed me and washed me and made me stand for hours on end in ridiculous poses while he scratched away at his easel. Many of the grandest drawing rooms in England have my angelic features gazing down from their walls. It was boring work, just standing there in his studio wearing nothing but a pair of winged sandals, but it paid well. The change came when my voice broke and my cock began to grow and develop a mind of its own: then I began to get more interesting work. Sir Simeon did a nicely profitable line in what the detestable French call "Poses Plastiques" which he executed with a camera. Most of his photographs were of biblical subjects; Susannah and the Elders, Solomon and Sheba, that sort of thing, or they were of Greek and Roman stories. The first one that I took part in was Abraham and Isaac, I was Isaac and a local carter, Ned Wiggins, was Abraham. The photographs were of the part of the Story where Abraham prepares his son for sacrifice. Ned had to strip me and bind me as I struggled against him. Ned was a big chap, as you might imagine a carter would have to be, and it was not long before we were both sporting aching cockstand's, much to the delight of Sir Simeon! Ned teased me, I provoked Ned, one thing led to another and before you could say "Jehovah" Ned had cast off his robes and had his cock as far down my throat as it could go.  Sir Simeon could not have been more pleased. I could not get enough and dear old Ned ploughed my throat and later my arse like a steam engine.  The photographs were popular and more followed; Achilles and Patrokolos, Zeus and Ganymede, Herakles and Hylas. I was now earning gold Sovereigns instead of Shillings, and then I met Pyke.

Pyke handled the distribution of the photographs for Sir Simeon and paid the studio a visit one day while I was working and asked to be allowed to watch. And watch he certainly did! He never once took his eyes off me, even when Sir Simeon was talking to him. I might almost say that he mentally undressed me were it not for the fact that I was already naked and had he not been so devilishly handsome I would have found his attention irksome and distracting. As it was however, I was provoked to show off to excite him further. Sir Simeon could hardly keep up with my contortions and dear Ned pronounced himself "Knackered" after his third spend in only an hour. Teasingly, I asked whether Sir Simeon's guest would be prepared to stand in for Ned while he was indisposed. To my surprise and delight, Pyke agreed. The next role was to be Jonathan and David, Pyke was to be Jonathan in languid repose on a divan, while I as David played upon a harp and sang to him in an attempt to dispel his ennui. I watched Pyke disrobe with all the frank hunger that he had displayed towards me earlier, a hunger that only intensified as he slowly and deliberately revealed his naked perfection. Where dear Ned was coarse and ill-defined Pyke was lean, sleek and perfectly proportioned, his pale skin, stretched tight over firm muscle, held the indefinable bloom of youth and vigour. He turned his back on me to remove his trousers revealing as he did the glory of his arse, which was pert, smooth, and of a shapeliness that almost made me gasp aloud.  He snatched up a short kilt and wrapped it around his slim waist and turned towards me with a maddening smile and, suddenly, became the character.

"My soul is troubled beloved," he whispered to me while stroking my cheek, "I pray you, play upon your harp that I might have some ease."

And with that he draped himself upon the divan with an arm behind his head waiting for me to begin. I sat at his knee and strummed away at the tuneless harp while my eyes were fixed firmly on the tented bulge of his kilt. I sang some ridiculous music hall ditty while Sir Simeon called out directions to us from beneath the hood of his camera. Eventually Pyke wearied of play-acting and my singing and took the harp from my grasp, he let it fall to the floor and engulfed me in his embrace. The rest of the afternoon was lost in a lubricious welter of sensation as Pyke and I explored each other to the fullest extent and I fell hopelessly and willingly under his spell. Pyke, it seemed knew me better than I knew myself and rode me with all the skill of a trained horseman, coaxing and goading me to climax after climax, eventually even giving directions to Sir Simeon on the placing of his camera for the most effective image. Afterwards I understood the difference between a mediocre fuck and a really good fuck, and what is more, so did Sir Simeon. Dear Ned was relegated to shagging the drabs and I played a more active role in choosing the subject and my partners.

Under the combined influence of Reverend XXX and Sir Simeon I began to change. I refined and eventually lost my cockney accent, my vowels became more rounded and my vocabulary expanded exponentially. Under Pyke's tutelage my dress and manners were refined and I began to be introduced to more discerning and demanding gentlemen. My photographs were in considerable demand not just in London but also in Paris and the wider continent.

Why then, you might ask, was I kneeling here in this foul and squalid East-end alley preparing to suck some ill-tempered coster's pathetic prick? Is it a case of the dog returning to his vomit? I certainly did not need the shilling I had been paid.  Was it perhaps that I needed the occasional reminder of where I had come from in order to fully appreciate where I now was; just as we need the experience of night to make sense of daylight or the experience of love to experience hate? It could have been all those things or possibly none of them. The plain truth of the matter was that I liked a bit of rough now and again. I enjoyed the squalid furtiveness of turning my tricks for pennies in the back streets of east-end slums. It turned me on to be pawed by work-hardened hands with dirty fingernails. The sex was basic, fast and utterly anonymous. There was no civilised conversation or elaborate set up; I was paid, I was used and I was forgotten.  Perhaps this comes closest to the reason, it was the contrast between a quick hard fuck and the sordid notoriety I had lately begun to acquire. I could take my pick and name my own price; my control of the situation was complete. In the East- end however, I was never sure when control might be brutally wrested from me.


"Get to it boy", was the guttural command as rough, calloused hands gripped my slender shoulders and forced me to my knees. I couldn't see his crotch in the darkness of the alleyway, but I could certainly smell it; stale piss, tobacco and grease.

"C'mon, look sharp, I aint got all night!"

 Trying not to inhale I screwed my eyes shut and fumbled for the buttons of his fly. His prick, when I found it, was already hard but scarcely filled my fist. This was going to be an easy one, thank God. I opened my mouth, took a deep breath and set to. He groaned in satisfaction and the ecstasy of relief as I swallowed his pitiful little prick to its root. No more than a dozen thrusts later he withdrew and was buttoning himself again. I spat his come noisily onto the filth of the alley floor and rose to my feet. There were no thanks from him. I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and spat again. He nervously looked along the alley, turned swiftly on his heels and hurried away shoulders bowed, still fumbling with his flies.

"I'll wager that you wish they were all as easy as that" The words came from the inky depths of an entry in front of me, the voice was familiar.

"Pyke! How long have you been there?

"Long enough Johnny my boy, long enough."

I could just make out the elongated shape of his hat as he stepped closer. A Lucifer rasped and flared into sudden brilliance and briefly gave me a glimpse of his face. The lantern jaw, bright, jewel like eyes and thin, elegant nose. He was smiling. He touched the Lucifer to the stub of a cigar and then flicked it away. The cool night air was suddenly rich with the scent of his exhaled smoke. I was not sure whether I was annoyed that he had been watching me at my work or whether I was pleased that he was keeping an eye out for me. I decided to put on a cold front and took a step backwards. The wall was at my heel.

"What are you doing round here, and why are you following me Pyke?"

He took a long drag  on his cigar and I was surprised to notice that his eyes were glittering not a hands breadth in front of my face.

"Ahh, and why should I not want to keep an eye on so rare a gem as my little Johnny boy?"

The palm of his hand was suddenly warm on my cold cheek.  A thaw spread rapidly through me and my arms moved of their own volition to encircle his waist and pull him closer. His cock was fully hard, but then, Pyke seemed to have a perpetual cockstand.  He ground his hips against mine as slowly and gently he stroked my lips with the tip of his tongue. He smelled expensively of tobacco and brilliantine and also vaguely of roses. Beneath my fingers, the fabric of his shirt was smooth and crisp with starch and his body felt as hard and as hot as a cast iron stove.

"Oh dearest Lord! How I pray that mine was the only taint I would ever taste on these sweet lips."

Damn him! Pyke had the devil's own knack of knowing exactly the right thing to say. He also had nimble fingers and very nearly had the shilling from my last punter out of my pocket.

"You're a smooth one Pyke, I'll give you that.

We laughed as I struggled to pry the coin from his iron grasp.

"But you've been so busy this evening you are hardly going to miss it."

"Have you been following me all night?" I asked incredulously.

"No, not all night. I lost you for an hour or so when you went off in that Hansom cab. Besides, am I not worth your shilling?"

 He slid his free hand across my backside and pulled me closer still. I was his, we both knew that, but he still enjoyed proving the point. I gave in.

"Here then, have it if it means that much to you, but mind, I shall expect full measure of that fat sausage of yours in return."  He laughed and pocketed the coin.

"Ahh my dear sweet Johnny, you shall have all the sausage you could wish for. But first I have a very profitable little commission for you."

"Oh no, Pyke not now please, I'm done in. I couldn't suck another cock tonight if my life depended on it"

"But I thought that you wished to dine on Sausage?" He said with a wicked smile and a wriggle of his hips.

"That's not work, that is pleasure and there's a difference."

"But you said that you were done in. I would not want to be accused of imposing myself upon you if you are too tired." He traced the line of my jaw with the tip of his tongue. "Even though I have not spent all day and my sack is full to bursting." He disengaged from me. "I suppose that I will just have to find some street boy who isn't quite so busy to bring me off." I reached out and grabbed his cock. Lord, but it was as hard as steel.

"Oh no you don't Pyke! I paid a shilling for this and I want my money's worth!"

Later, in his rooms, I luxuriated in swathes of crisp white bed linen. Pyke lay next to me taking occasional puffs from a slim cigar. My arse was on fire, as was my heart, we were both slick with sweat and come. No other man I had known, and I had known quite a few, could fuck like Pyke; with that unique combination of energy, passion and inventiveness. Most men who had fucked me were content to have me face down for a few minutes while they humped themselves dry.  Not so Pyke. There were times in our lovemaking when I scarcely knew who was fucking whom and, for as long as it continued, I could not have cared less. I found a place for my head in the crook of his arm, with the solid mass of his biceps beneath my cheek.

"You said that you had a commission for me." I murmured. He paused in his contemplation of the swirls of cigar smoke and looked at me.

"Not you, Johnny boy. Us!" He grinned, showing an even row of perfectly white teeth. "A certain Noble Lord of my acquaintance..."

"Us?" I interrupted, taken a little by surprise. "You mean, together?"

"That's right, Johnny boy, together."

He paused. The languor of sex dissipated and I felt an instant stab of jealousy. I knew that Pyke fucked other men, as did I. But that was different, it was business. It was entirely natural that a man with Pyke's drives should feel the need to unburden himself with a frequency other men could only aspire to. But the thought of lying in the same bed while he fucked someone else, noble or not, was more than I thought I could bear. But before I could speak further he placed a silencing finger against my lips.
"Shh!" he admonished. "If I may continue? The Noble Lord is shortly to entertain visitors from overseas and naturally is desirous of creating a favourable impression of the cultural achievements of our fair land. To this end he has commissioned an 'entertainment' to be laid on for his guests in the form of a living tableau. The subject of the tableau is to be 'Hadrian and Antinuous', and is intended as a complement to the guest of honour whom, I am told, claims some descent from the Roman Emperor of that name."

"A tableau?"

"Indeed, a 'Tableu-vivants' as the French have it. Think of it as acting. I shall play the part of the Emperor Hadrian and you Johnny shall be my favourite, Antinuous."

"I have never done anything like that before, what will I have to do?" He laughed a little at my puzzled and worried expression.

"There's nothing to it really. You will be dressed suitably in an antique costume, as will I. And since the Emperor is divine you will willingly sacrifice yourself to my desires. Easy!"

"You mean I am to suck your cock while they watch?" He gathered me closer to himself.

"Oh, but my desire for you runs far deeper than that my sweet Antinuous. Our performance must drive his lordship's guests into paroxysms of lust, for, it is his lordship's intention that his guests should be thus inspired to indulge in a little priapic worship of their own."

"Pri - what?"

"Priapic: Of, or pertaining to, Priapus. A pagan god with cock as big as my arm!" He smiled at my look of astonishment. "I thought that would grab your attention. It is going to be a very grand affair and besides, you are to be paid ten guineas for your part in the entertainment, plus a handsome bonus if our performance has it's intended effect. What do you say, are you in?"

 I was in a quandary. The money was tempting, certainly. But although I had been fucked while someone else watched, it had always been a single person, not a whole roomful of Nobs.

"There will of course have to be a period of intensive rehearsal." He said as he shifted his bulk to lie on top of me and pressed his stiffening cock between my thighs. What could I do? Greed and lust had befuddled my senses. I agreed.

Pyke was as good as his word and for the whole of the following week he drilled me on Ancient History, and also on the bed, and on the floor, and on the tabletop. He fucked me from behind, from in front, lying side-by-side, standing up, sitting down. He even had me straddle him and fuck myself on his prick. He tied me up with rope and fucked me; he ripped my clothes from me and raped me. I have never met a man so perpetually ready and able to fuck as Pyke. And come? I must have swallowed gallons of his hot, salty fluids. He usually spent at least twice in my mouth before proceeding to fuck me and fill my arse with yet more of his hot, sticky spend. He was by turns savagely passionate and unutterable gentle. Until, he reached the point where my body became a finely tuned instrument, which he played like a virtuoso. We made love in the morning, through the afternoons and into the evenings. Twice in the middle of the night I awoke to find his persistent penis pressing for entry into either my mouth or my arse.

All too soon the week was done and we boarded a steam train at St. Pancras Station and set off towards the wilds of the countryside where our audience awaited us.
His Lordships estate was vast and the house itself was even bigger than the railway station we had just travelled from. I had expected his lordship to be an elderly gentleman. I don't know why, for nothing that Pyke had told me had given me the impression that he wasn't. And so I was surprised to find that he was in fact no more than thirty years of age. Tall, strong of limb and broad of chest, he had thick dark hair, mustachio's and deep lustrous brown eyes. I was impressed.

"Ahh, Pyke!" His lordship advanced across the cavernous expanse of the hall to greet us, hand extended. He favoured trousers that complemented his muscular thighs and emphasised the intriguingly generous bulge between them. I was more than impressed. He took Pyke's hand and shook it vigorously as we both made our bow. "Glad you managed to get here before the rest of the party." He then turned towards me. "And this charming young fellow is to be our Antinuous, is he?"

"Indeed My Lord. May I present Mr. Jonathan Follet."

His lordships hand was warm and dry and clasped my own with a firmness that was only just short of uncomfortable. As I bowed a second time I could not help but notice that the generous bulge in his trousers was somewhat more pronounced than it had been as he crossed the hall. He released my hand, took a couple of steps backwards and with his arms folded across his chest, frankly looked me all over.

"I must say Pyke, you have excellent taste."

"Thank you My Lord." Pyke answered smartly.

"Would you mind Mr Follet, err Jonathan, if I may? Would you mind turning around and raising the tail of your coat?"

I did as I was asked and displayed my arse for his lordships inspection.

 "Ohh, I say!" His lordship growled and stepped closer to squeeze and caress the cheeks of my arse.

 I felt a little like some prize animal being inspected at a market and noticed that my cock stirred into life at his touch. When I turned round again to face our host I noticed that his throat had become a little flushed and that his cock had lengthened and thickened considerably.

"Damn me," he said massaging his swelling organ with the flat of his hand. "It seems as though anticipation is getting the better of me."

 Pyke discretely tapped my shoe with his.  But I didn't need the prompt. I clenched the cheeks of my arse and pushed my hips forward a little to emphasise my own cockstand.

"Perhaps, if your lordship has a few minutes to spare, I would be happy to assist...?"

"Ehh what? Oh, no, dear boy. Thank you but it's probably better to keep the powder dry for this evening, what? Damned tempting though, eh Pyke?" He added with a broad grin.

 He turned swiftly and began to walk away, calling over his shoulder.

"Everything has been arranged according to your letter Pyke, perhaps you would like to inspect the arrangements? Follow me."

 We dutifully followed, through several enormous rooms, until at length we found ourselves in an austere columned room. A small curtained stage had been set up at one end, before which were rows of gilded chairs set in a semi-circle.

"There is a another room behind the stage," his lordship began, "The costumes are in there and I have gathered together several things that I thought that you might wish make use of in the way of properties."

 His lordship was at my side and towered over me, he again took my hand.

 "And if there is anything at all that you need, please don't hesitate to ask."

I looked into his dark liquid eyes and knew that at all costs, I had to have this man!

"Your lordship is very kind, thank you." I said a little nervously. "Errm, there is one thing..." I swallowed and reached out to stroke the length of his cock with the back of my fingers. It was bone hard, the ridge of the helmet being particularly prominent. He laughed out loud, clearly delighted by my cheekiness.

"Later lad, Later. First we had better get you settled. I have given you rooms directly above here, I hope that they are not too uncomfortable. This way!" And with that he led us out of the theatre.

The rooms were adjoining and were spacious airy and clean. I was looking out of the window when Pyke opened the connecting door.

"Well, it looks like you might have made quite a conquest there, Johnny boy. This weekend could turn out to be even more profitable than I thought."

"Conquest? What do you mean?"

"Come now Johnny, I'm not blind and neither are you. Old Lord Moneybags can scarcely keep his well-manicured hands off you."

 I smiled, a little embarrassed by his frankness.

"He can be a little excitable at times, but this is the first time that I have ever seen him get a cockstand just by talking to someone. There's a fair few quid here for you if you play your cards right my lad, which could well afford you the luxury of being less dependent on your clients."

 Pyke stood behind me and slipped his arms around my waist. Resting his chin on my shoulder he continued.

 "A fine aristocratic cock has his lordship, much bigger than mine, think you can handle it?"

 At that moment His Lordship's cock and the intriguing bulge it made in his trousers was, it must be said, uppermost in my mind. I leaned back into Pykes familiar embrace, excited and nervous.

"Have you fucked him?" I asked.

"Me? No lad. He's not my type. I like 'em young and blonde, like you." He nibbled playfully on the lobe of my ear. "A tip for you. He has the balls of a horse and he likes having them stretched and squeezed hard. Remember that and I am sure that he will be yours to command. But I wonder, will you still have time for Pyke when you are a rich man's boy?"

I turned in his arms, held his face in both my hands and pressed my lips against his.

"Before I am anyone's, I am yours Pyke, always." He sighed and smiled and cupped the cheeks of my arse.

"Oh, I say!" He said, mimicking Lord Henry, and we both fell laughing onto the bed.