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Book VI: Serving Selflessly
By Ganymede
Note to German/Austrian readers: Obviously, you speak and read English if you are reading this. Please consider the accenting of speech as artistic license, and do not take offense. Similarly, for authenticity and artistic license, mention is made of various ethnic and religious issues, from theology to certain practices. No disparagement or offense is intended.
Two sports cars departed beautiful Bolzano in Italy’s South Tyrol province after breakfast; an Aston Martin Vantage S and a Porsche Panamera, both engineered for alpine roads, underutilized on an Italian autostrada. By Brenner, Daniil had overdosed on rugged mountains, scenic gorges, towering pine forests, and electric-green meadows. He texted Christoph in the car ahead while they queued at the Brennerautobahn Grenzübergang.
“Christo says you drive like his mother,” Daniil guffawed. He poked at the virtual keyboard.
“Tell Christoph I was in top gear all the way. Saving gas.”
Prince Johannes lowered his window, signaling to a guard, gesturing behind to indicate the Aston Martin was traveling with him. The guard beckoned them on.
Daniil resumed. “You drive slow, Dad. I told him… ”
He held his iPhone so his father could read before he accelerated to autobahn cruising speed.
“‘Vous voulez pas billet excès vitesse,’” Bruce read.
Horrendous grammar, yet Daniil’s progress was impressive. Remarkable what five days of French immersion could achieve.
“I definitely don’t want a speeding ticket. You’d have to drive, sitting in my lap.”
He leered at his son. For good reason, they’d spent the night in separate beds, the first time in nearly two weeks. For the same reason, they were both late falling asleep, even later leaving the hotel the next morning, a delightful boutique inn with a spectacular view of the Dolomites.
“The Romans built a road right through here,” Daniil announced, turning in his seat.
The famous Brenner Pass looked ‘tame’ from the autobahn, low hills, more meadows, sweeping bends as they rocketed deeper into Austria, Prince Johannes’ red Porsche a mere hundred yards in front.
He returned to gazing at elevated roadway, aqueducts, and white-capped peaks, whenever he wasn’t exchanging selfies with Christoph, including an occasional glimpse of a little penis poking through a sneakily opened zipper.
“Mom would have a cow if she knew you’re doing 140! That would be in miles, not kilometers!”
“I just keeping up with Johannes as it is.”
“Mr. Ed would say you’re driving way too slow.”
“What would he say if he knew what you did in the shower last night?”
“I didn’t hear you complaining about doing Christoph in the bath tub.” Daniil flicked through his emails. “Anyway, I already emailed him... Whoa!”
He held up his iPhone, Christoph’s erect penis filling the screen.
“That boy has no shame at all,” Bruce chuckled, peeking quickly.
“Here’s what Mr. Ed said....
’Dearest Skippy,
To think your dear father and Johannes have gloriously conveyed you to the hula-hoop pinnacle without me. On your previous important occasions, I spent my desire alone, yet know I would’ve loved to assist in each sacred joining. The more often a man turns within you, the more you will rock and roll, an essential skill for catamite proficiency. And last night, your first night alone with another man. That it went well is a sure sign of eminent aptitude.
Serving selflessly now confronts you, the final step before your formally address the principal. Since arriving here yester-morn, the titillating Claire has busied herself preparing to continue your noble training. Be warned; for a selfless catamite, your discomfiture must disappear henceforth. She has plans for you, my boy!
As you well know, to serve selflessly, a catamite also must offer all without restraint, notwithstanding the singular exception you have reserved for your dear father. An apprentice in the Union of Eros must be competently skilled, more so for a House catamite who is as gifted as you are. First and foremost is seduction, since it precedes pleasuring of any kind. My good friend, Konrad Fritzl, will assist Claire in refining your allure. Think of Harry Lime and you’ll have a grand time.
While my role as godfather and EU master is secondary and supportive in this regard, it will be my great joy to instruct you in equestrian techniques. That said, I eagerly await your arrival at romantic Hallstatt. You can’t miss Konrad’s villa, pink roses all over.
Your starry-eyed Master Ed.’”
“Wordy old fart, isn’t he?”
“Mr. Ed spelled ‘principle’ wrong again. You think he’s testing me, Dad?
“Perhaps; he enjoys playing brain games… Equestrian techniques, now that does sound interesting.”
“I guess he's going to teach me to ride a horse,” Daniil enthused. “Giddy up and all that.”
“Giddy and riding for sure; however, I'd be surprised if you're on a horse.”
“I’d be happy riding a Shetland pony, Dad,” he crowed.
oUo
They were well past Innsbruck when Daniil finally put away his iPhone and again immersed himself in scenery, rolling meadows, distant mountains, encroaching gorges, great slabs of rock reaching to the sky, more mountains, more meadows, and Lake Chiemsee.
They skipped Salzburg, leaving it for the festival in late July. Finally, they were off the autobahn and onto the narrow B166; it was like driving through Vermont, or Maine; kilometer after kilometer of quaint houses, cows, stone walls, pine trees... Ahead, jagged peaks met the sky. Then, a small greenish pond on the left...
“Lake Hallstatt.” Daniil was unimpressed “Boring; huh Dad?”
Except for the encroaching mountains, it was like any little lake in New England. In fact, he was of the mind he much preferred even the smallest and drabbest of Scotland’s lonely lochs. A few more bends, and he realized the pond had been a wide, slow-moving section of a river, mere prelude.
Soon, there were parking lots to the side, and signs to Österreichische Romantikstraße.
He pointed. “Austrian Romantic Road.”
It didn’t look romantic, not with clouds boiling over the peaks—it seemed rather threatening. His father turned left at the junction. Not far, there were glimpses of a lake through the trees. Granite-sculpted mountains came right down to the shore.
“Awesome, huh Dad?”
“Worth the drive?” Bruce teased.
“Oh yeah!” Daniil grinned. “I wanna get laid here.”
“Should I pull over? Slide in for a quickie?”
He punched his father’s arm. “You were supposed to stay close to their car so we didn’t get lost.”
The last time they’d seen the Porsche Panamera it was six cars ahead, nearly out of sight. Now, nothing but empty road. They zipped under a few overhead roofs, intended to keep avalanches from blocking the road; then, into a long mostly straight tunnel. They emerged into setting worthy of Tatzelwurm, mountains, gorges, cowering cliffs, breaks in stone retaining walls providing access to and overlooks. Meanwhile, clouds were darkening, drizzle setting in.
“We could do it in the rain. That’d be romantic,” Bruce teased.
“You’d fog up the windows with all your grunting, and you’d get your spunk on my seat.”
He grinned and kept going, into another tunnel. It seemed endless until they rocketed into daylight.
“How boring is that!”
Their first view of Hallstatt (link to Wikimedia) wasn’t the tourist brochure image; instead, fences, houses, buses, traffic signs, bars, stores... It was modern, neat, and spotless, like any town, anywhere in Austria or Germany, or Switzerland.
Bruce checked the rear-vision mirror and slowed, looking for a place to stop. Daniil was back on his iPhone, texting Christoph for help.
“He says... ’Papa say go back froo tunnel...’ Froo!” He grinned. “Good thing he sent his GPS position.”
He held up his phone, the route marked.
oUo
“What’s the deal with the pink roses, you think?” Bruce inquired, increasingly uneasy.
There were tourists wherever he looked, a veritable horde of them. And Bundespolizei, Federal police in dark blue uniforms and unassuming berets; he could feel their eyes on him.
“It pays to advertise. Konrad advertises his psyche to the world,” Prince Johannes replied, making a surreptitious two-finger gesture to an officer.
Shortly, they turned into a busy little square of steep-roofed houses. Villa Fritzl was a beacon, painted pale pink with pink roses cascading from window boxes.
Bruce turned to make sure the boys weren’t falling behind. Daniil and Christoph were in deep conversation. His son dragged a wheeled suitcase over cobblestones, Christoph lugging his chamois-soft travel bag—they’d switched luggage again. He waved anyway, pointed at their destination. It was crammed between a cream-hued duplex, and a puritan-white chalet-style house with ivy all over.
“No mistaking Konrad’s gay as a goose,” he mused, of the mind that most gay men were closer to lesbians than boy lovers.
“Konrad? Hardly. He’s most definitely one of us. He’s also a consulting psychiatrist, quite famous in fact. ‘Empowerment begins with compassion, nurturing and unconditional love.’ He’s written a dozen books on the subject.”
“He should consult with my wife. Suppress the individual by indifference and neglect.”
“Joking aside; combine empowerment with discipline and Konrad’s the ideal Master. Boys will do anything for him.” Prince Johannes gestured to Christoph and called, “Tell Skippy to watch the cobblestones, always slippery when wet.”
He ascended the pink-marble threshold and pressed a button. A cymbal resounded within. Moments later, the ancient plank-wood door swung back on huge iron hinges.
Edwin beamed. “Finally!”
Daniil whooped and ran, skirting a granite fountain, bicycles, tourists, planter boxes, seats, strollers... He dropped the wheeled suitcase and leaped into Edwin’s arms.
Bruce gulped, took a breath, telling himself not to be envious as he watched his son hugging with the kind of frantic desperation reserved for lovers who’ve been apart too long.
“It’s a good thing they’re close,” Prince Johannes remarked to Bruce. “With Konrad’s counseling, sharing selflessly will be a natural progression for him.”
“Was it the same with Christoph?” Bruce kept his voice low.
“My favorite philanderer. They all do it, the sooner, the better. A bit hard on you, though, accepting Daniil’s dalliances. Once you accept Edwin’s an important part of his life, the easier it will be with other men.”
Unaware, Edwin and Daniil separated enough to gazed at each other.
“Am I wrong in thinking my little homosexual is glad to see me?” Edwin teased, one hand pawing Daniil’s long hair.
“Overjoyed, I’d say,” Bruce said with surprising equanimity.
Daniil nodded energetically. Giggling, he jammed himself against Edwin’s torso, muttering...
“I really missed you... The whole way here, all I could think about was how much...”
He smooched Edwin’s neck, wriggling, and pulling himself higher until he looked directly into his godfather’s eyes.
“... I love you,” he whispered.
Edwin smiled, his left arm binding them together, his right hand now cupping Daniil’s small bottom, squeezing gently, swiftly determining the plug-situation was to his liking. Bruce gaped, breathing a sigh of relief as Prince Johannes quickly moved to conceal them from onlookers.
“My Skippy’s been plugged since he left Bolzano, I hope?”
Daniil nodded along with his father, slender legs clamping around Edwin’s middle, grasping his godfather’s forearms before leaning back. Positioned like that, the plug wedged upward, pressing into his juvenile gland.
“Oh my, look at your tan. Positively radiant!”
No man could resist temptation like that. Edwin eased him lower, watching with glee as pressure increased, enough that Daniil groaned. Then, releasing his grip, Daniil went all the way down for his enthusiastic admirer, arching his back like a circus acrobat, his golden-brown curls dangling. Beautiful boy-belly exposed to the village of Hallstatt as his fleecy Medusa-sweater pulled up.
Edwin lewdly licked his lips. “What a scrum-diddly-unctuous tummy...”
“That would be umptious!” Daniil shot back.”
It was all Bruce could do to watch, on the verge of flinging himself forward to save his son’s head from hitting the cobblestones. Then, the last thing he expected; Daniil giggled and shook his head, looking upside down at him and a very amused Christoph. Showing off his lithe young body without his mother to stop him, his sexuality was no longer restrained, gay, proud, and liberated.
“Tell me, is that your father’s spunk or mine, I see in your bellybutton?” Prince Johannes taunted, peering down.
“Claire said to use lanolin so he’s softer.” Bruce reddened. “Shouldn’t we go inside?”
Edwin clasped Daniil’s hands with his left hand, not pulling, letting him do the work lifting himself up, lean belly muscles straining until the boy was sitting up, again hugging him.
“When it comes to riding a stallion, there’s nothing more important than nice strong tummy and thigh muscles. Isn’t that right, Christoph?” he teased.
“Persistence, too,” Prince Johannes added. “The last thing you want is a boy getting tired before he’s done.”
Still hugging Daniil, Edwin carried the still-giggling boy across the threshold, leaving his father to lug in both travel bags and a computer bag. They stopped in the hall, a grandiose gilded stair, checkerboard white-and-red-granite floor, a massive gilded-frame with a pastoral oil.
“Welcome to the Elysian Fields,” Bruce remarked, peeking into a drawing room.
The pastoral theme continued with naked boys cavorted in glowing technicolor, brilliant light and contrasting shadow.
Claire bustled out of the next pedimented doorway. “About time you arrived!”
“Mum, what’s Elysian Fields mean?”
“And hello to you, too, Master Daniil. Classically, it’s a rustic paradise for heroes immortalized by the gods. Think of it as a blissful state enjoyed by us mortals.”
“With an abundance of pretty boys to be had for a farthing.... Finally, I get to meet the newest catamite.”
A man’s voice, suave with a smooth honeyed tone that made even severe words melt like chocolate in the sun. He followed Claire, rail-thin and tall, with mousy-brown hair.
Daniil grinned at Edwin. “You’re right. He’s Harry Lime in The Third Man, exactly.”
Edwin shrugged in response to Bruce’s apparent surprise.
“He found the TV series on YouTube. Made me watch every darn one. I hear the theme song in my sleep. You know what that’s like, waking up at two a.m.?”
“Michael Rennie, I am not!” Succinct, not terse. “I‘m honored that Edwin expects me to be his Precettore della Tentazione, though.”
“I fear Italian is still over Daniil’s pretty head,” Edwin interjected. “This is Konrad Fritzl. Grand Master Konrad to you, Master Daniil. Henceforth, he is your Tutor of Temptation.”
Daniil muttered, “Oopsie.”
“Well, get off your eagle, young Ganymede, and let’s have a look at you.”
‘Ganymede’ dismounted, inelegantly sliding down until his feet hit the floor. He stepped back, nervous as the man looked him over with a disdainful eye.
Claire appraised, too, an open admirer of tanned tarts. No wonder she was more cheerful than usual.
“Perhaps they should take off their clothes before lunch?” she suggested slyly.
Daniil scowled at the suggestion, shaking his head.
“The first rule in the House of Fritzl; catamites must be naked at all times.” Master Konrad turned, his gaze on... “Meister Christoph?”
Christoph already had his Armani slacks unzipped; class and style, no pizzazz.
“Es tut mir leid, Meister Konrad.”
“Sprechen Englisch!” Master Konrad snapped. “And the second rule is?”
“Master Konrad, I forget to tell him ze rules. I am sorry.”
Master Konrad switched to Daniil. “Well, catamite; now you know my first two rules, what are you waiting for? Everything off, including your socks.”
Daniil hastily kicked off his sneakers, yanked up his Versace sweater.
Master Konrad flung up his hand. “Stop!”
He stepped up to Daniil, overbearing, snooty, aloof. Reaching a sinewy arm, he lifted Daniil’s chin with a single thin finger.
“A House catamite never strips. If you want to act like a slut, you don’t belong here.”
Daniel gulped. “I’m sorry, Master.”
“First and foremost, a catamite always seduces! With a pretty boy like you, what you hide is as important as what you reveal. Entice me, beguile me, and especially, surprise me.”
Daniil gulped again at ‘surprise me.’ He decided on the spur of the moment. He fumbled at his front, pretending shy while slyly unfastening the metal button and unzipping, silently wishing he’d worn sexy Medusa track pants, not French-fashionjeans. Meeting Master Konrad’s amused eyes, he revealed a glimpse of red; no briefs in the way. Then, with a naughty giggle, he parted the front and exposed his small red purse. The coup was his startled expression, ‘how did that happen?’
Master Konrad applauded. “Bravo, my boy; the last thing I expected...”
He stooped to examine, gauging size and shape through soft lambskin, noting the House of Stirling medallion.
“I assume Hellene is still of the same mind, Edwin?”
“We’re both of the same mind. However, if there’s no better choice.”
Master Konrad fluttered his fingers, dismissive and patronizing, demanding the rest. “There is no other choice. The principal requires a House cat.”
“What is crucial to one, is seldom inconsequential to another.”
Sensing that he was the subject of an awkward discussion, Daniil glanced at Claire for direction. She nodded for him to continue. With a forefinger and thumb from each hand plucking at thin leather cords, he lifted off his purse, and waited.
“Surprisingly delightful,” Master Konrad licked his lips purposefully, clearly pondering potential.
“Daniil finds attention even when he’s not erect,” Claire remarked.
“As it should. A little penis is a precious treasure; both delicate and delectable.”
“Master Konrad, my father said if a boy must be circumcised, this is the way,” she added.
“Anything but the crude clip and snip of a mohel’s device!”
The gaunt man gestured at Daniil to turn side on. He nodded thoughtfully, glanced at Christoph, now obliviously naked, standing beside his father.
“The style is perfect for Prince Christoph.”
Bruce smiled. What Daniil lacked in length, visual impact more than compensated for.
Prince Johannes nodded agreement, not eager, conceding, “Exotic is a fair exchange.”
“When he was three, his foolish mother decided circumcision socially desirable,” Edwin explained. “She wanted the Gomco standard; trimmed at the rim.”
Prince Johannes fumed. “What? She wanted to cut off the most sensitive skin, surely not?”
“This way, Daniil retained his foreskin. That was my primary goal,” Edwin interjected. “It’s particularly sensitive, not a hair trigger. Responsive to the slightest stimulation.”
He ignored Bruce’s consternation and winked at Daniil; more secrets shared.
“He’s lucky you prevailed!” Master Konrad gestured again at Daniil to undress. “Now, boy, not in an hour.” He confronted Claire. “It’s decided. Christoph must satisfy the Covenant.”
“The cutting is around; that’s enough for circumcision.”
“And this?” Konrad gestured at Daniil’s middle.
“The desire for Christoph’s to be lower or higher is neither here nor there, despite the principal.”
“Perhaps Master Edwin can come up with a way to satisfy both principal and principle.”
oUo
Lunch was served in the conservatory, a small glazed pavilion overlooking Lake Hallstatt, gloomy grey and endlessly drizzly, empty except for a tourist ferry chugging back and forth. Under Claire’s supervision, and Konrad’s approving eye, Daniil and Christoph ate Kasnocken (cheese dumplings) and Weißwurst (white sausage) sparingly. They were; however, each allowed a glass of Primus Pannonicus (a charming Rosé from Burgenland) and a small slice of Sachertorte, chocolate cake with apricot jam filling and whipped cream, a celebration of they-weren’t-sure-what.
Finally, Master Konrad stood, a poignant moment studying his guests before silence settled.
“For a psychologist to be truthful is like a Freudian slip run amok. However, I’m awed. Actually, I think I’m hopelessly in love after sharing the delightful company of these two beautiful boys. For an hour, they have charmed me; indeed, beguiled me.” He glanced either side. “I envy your fathers. I know they are very proud.
“Now, to schedule. Johannes, Bruce, and Christoph will prepare for tonight. Edwin and myself will continue Daniil’s instruction in the Arte della Tentazione. I, personally, will instruct him in teasing and foreplay. Edwin will introduce him to the traditions of Eros. Guests will arrive at six p.m. Dinner will be served at seven o’clock. Afterwards, Claire’s arranged a demonstration of Faithfulness. And beginning at nine p.m., the big event.”
Claire looked around the table, stopping on Daniil. He nodded meekly, a little annoyed, yet resigned to another test—such was the role of the junior catamite.
“Faithfulness is the Seventh Virtue. I must be loyal to my man, steadfast in affection and allegiance. Faithfulness is being conscientious in all that I do, adhering to the standard expected of a House catamite, and fulfilling my promise and duty to serve Eros.”
Konrad applauded. “Seldom stated so eloquently! And the position; the obsolete version of Cassius de Monfort?”
“He who is served doth lieth upon his back, his Ganymede verily sitted upon his horn.”
“The position and the movement,” Edwin interrupted, brusque for effect.
“Perchance by riding, his Ganymede doth balance and apply his thighs to pummel in the manner of jockey upon stallion.”
Master Konrad escorted Edwin and Daniil to his library. It was on the second floor, overlooking the square. Only a few tourists braved the rain, yet he still drew the curtains before Daniil was allowed to wander about, looking at his art collection; homosexual Ancient Greek Gods, considered ‘depravities’ in the Victorian era.
Daniil stopped before an etching of a monster, half bull and half man, plowing the behind of a lithe young boy, deep in a labyrinthine cave. The clever artist had incorporated the entrance through a columned portico.
He turned as Master Konrad approached. “It’s the Minotaur, isn’t it, Sir? At the Palace of Knossos. I can tell from the columns; they’re Egyptian-influenced, because of the Phoenicians.”
“Phoenicians you say?”
He grinned. “My dad says the Phoenicians were very innovative. They anticipated the Doric Order, only they built with wood so there isn’t much left after 3,000 years.”
Accustomed to other catamites barely knowing the myth, an impressed Master Konrad guided Daniil to an antiquated cow-leather couch well-suited to psychiatric counseling. He sat in the adjacent armchair, a likeness to Herr Freud not lost on Edwin.
“The Phoenicians also brought pederasty to Minoan Crete. I’m sure Claire has told you that riding the bull was considered a great honor. It is proof of Faithfulness, a rite of passage from passive participant to active partner. The tradition continues, does it not, Master Edwin?”
“Indeed, it does. Riding marks your transition from compliant to counterpart.”
Master Konrad leaned forward, taking Daniil’s small hand.
“You are wise beyond your years, Daniil; however, for a House catamite, you are still a novice. I’m to instruct you in temptation, and with Master Edwin’s assistance, to ensure you have a modicum of proficiency.”
“Thank you, Master Konrad.”
“To begin, there are three types of men. Men who desire to bed you; men who don’t know they want to bed you; and men who will never want to bed you. The first are ready, willing, and able; the second require seduction; and the third sadly will always prefer the lesser gender.”
“What about Hellene?” Daniil mused, saying it aloud before he could stop himself.
“She was one of those precious boys unmanned before puberty. They cannot become men.”
He looked confused. “They remain boys forever?”
Edwin intervened. “They remain passive, Daniil. For some catamites, it is an appropriate outcome, a small loss to achieve their higher purpose.”
Master Konrad resumed. “Of the men you bed, some will prefer a compliant boy who eagerly accepts penetration. Other men enjoy both giving and receiving, albeit in varying degrees. And the rest...” He nodded to Edwin.
“They prefer a boy to be compliant, or an equal partner as the situation warrants,” Edwin explained. “One role is neither better nor worse than the other, merely reciprocal aspects of the Spirit and the Nine Virtues.”
“I don’t understand. How can I be your equal? You’re a master.”
“By riding your master, Master Daniil, you demonstrate Faithfulness. With him within you, you join as equals.”
“It would be my great pleasure, Mr... Master Edwin.”
Edwin smiled, an eyebrow uplifted. Humbled, Daniil regarded Master Konrad.
“Faithfulness must wait. Your first lesson is to seduce Master Edwin. Two minutes should be ample.”
A smile slowly appeared on Daniil’s face, his eyes bright, even gleeful. Purposefully, he licked his lips, eyes wide open, no shame, a nervous quiver, aching hard, his entire body and being exuding sexual desire.
“Finally,” he whispered.
Edwin found it impossible not to laugh. “Dear boy, how can you possibly seduce me? I love seeing all of you; however, with not a stitch on your body, every delightful charm is fully and completely revealed. Plus, I’ve seen you naked before, quite often in fact.”
Confronted, challenged, rejected by his long-time admirer, a flustered Daniil reacted.
“You don’t get excited from seeing me?”
“A boy becomes ordinary when everything is familiar. Like old sneakers, your desirability fades like the sunset.”
“But I’m not allowed to wear anything. Claire said I have to be bare while I’m here. Entirely; not even my pouch.”
Konrad gestured empty-handed. “What, then, remains to be discovered? Is temptation solely under your clothes, catamite?”
“Remember, the art of seduction....” Edwin prompted.
“A deliberate revealing of my sexual self. Anticipation is key...” Daniil struggled, resisting the urge to ask for help.
“... Nothing is inside. Everything is outside.” Konrad stroked his lip.
“Where is emotion; inside or outside?” Edwin posed.
A clear hint, yet Daniil shrugged again, embarrassed, not certain of anything.
“Take a moment to collect your thoughts. Claire wants you naked so you have no shame,” Konrad went on. “No matter what, after a few days here, you will never be embarrassed again.”
“I'm not embarrassed in front of you, Sir. Or Master Edwin; he’s seen me lots of times.”
“And I've seen enough boys not to care whether you're bare or dressed to the nines.” Konrad chuckled. “Now, what is emotion?”
Daniil caught Edwin’s eye. “Emotion is how you feel about something or someone. Like love, or fear, or happy.”
“Is it inside you, or outside?” Konrad pressed.
“Like with happy... The private part’s in my head, and the rest of me reacts, unless I control myself.”
The men shared a smile.
“Listen to your feelings. How do you want Master Edwin to feel when he looks at you?”
“Subtlety is key,” Edwin added quietly.
Daniil stalled. “Like he felt before, in Connecticut. Curious to start off... He was always awed when he saw me.”
“Ah! To think I was there when Conte Morosini told little Tadio that wondering and wonderful go hand in hand,” Konrad said. “The issue is anticipation, Daniil; imagining what is to come; which is why undressing is so important.”
Edwin tag-teamed. “However, dear Daniil, once you’re naked, all you have left is to reveal your inner self, your thoughts, your memories.”
“Spark the right emotion and seduction is easy,” Konrad concluded.
Daniil thought about it. He smiled slightly, licked his lips, meekly looking at Edwin.
“Remember that time in your garage...” He sidled closer, determined yet timid. “We were working on your Jag. You wanted me to show you my hiney hole...”
“I wanted to see how big it was.”
He looked in Edwin’s eyes, love and lust, though not like his father’s. “I leaned over the car door. You said you hoped it would never look like a starfish.”
Unexpected, agitated, Edwin took a breath. “You’re at that stage when it’s easy to do.”
“We’d talked about virginity during breakfast.” Daniil smiled. “How a man went inside a boy.”
“My point was your dad didn’t know what to do; I do.”
Daniil shifted on the couch, kneeling, leaning over the backrest with his hands parting his cheeks, assuming the inspection position.
“Do I have a starfish, Mr. Ed?”
Unable to stop himself, Edwin stepped closer, dropping to his knees. Like splitting a peach, one hand per buttock parted the gap. There was no dimple defining the cleft, no gaping hole of a vulgar street whore, no ugly starfish exaggerating the pucker. Instead, he peered into an oval-shaped funnel. Adrenaline surged mightily. Years of pent-up desire blossomed in a moment.
“Oh my! I never imagined... Used, yet it’s absolutely perfect... So smooth.”
Konrad stepped closer, looking over his shoulder as he touched the delicate verge. Both men fell silent, admiring cinaede ano est (catamite’s anus).
“It’s deeper than the photos,” Edwin observed, awed as Daniil exerted control, pushing out.
Konrad looked into Daniil’s minimal, yet enhanced portal, a divine core beyond.
“Oh my! .... a truly beautiful posterula. Will you fit?” (posterula, Latin, diminutive of postera back door)
“I insisted on Claire doing the stretching for a reason,” Edwin explained. “Better elastic than drastic.”
Konrad proffered a playful pat on Daniil’s rump. “Small and tight, my boy. There is never a more precious gift for the principal.”
Claire and Bruce faced a very different issue with Prince Johannes, planning his son’s circumcision, a regal event to be held in Konrad’s imposing Kaiser Wilhelm II Smoking Room. They circumambulated, discussing options, locations, and Eros tradition. Antlers and boar heads were all over the walls, a ponderous dark billiard table, planked floors with cowhide rugs.
Germanic royalty tended to go overboard, whether art acquisitions, fast cars, or cuisine; yet Prince Johannes insisted on simple, sufficiently ceremonial it would not be forgotten, with dignity essential to his son’s status as Baron of Auersperg.
“The guests will arrive in time for dinner. The repast will be apropos Austro-Hungarian.”
“Not too fancy,” Claire said.
A hopeful glance at Christoph revealed a boy seeming more interested in Konrad’s collection of miniature bronzes, Italian and French pederasty. Doubtless he had more on his mind.
“His heritage tends to extravagance, on his mother’s side,” Prince Johannes elaborated. “Given his principal is kosher, a buffet will be most suitable; plus you can guide Christoph’s choices.”
“I’ll avoid fattening either of them,” Claire agreed, a knowing smile at Bruce. “Tonight’s menu notwithstanding.”
“Gulasch, both beef and lamb,” Johannes went on. “Germknodel, Selchfleisch, Beuschel, Marillenknodel...”
“Nothing spicy. Catamites with upset tummies are never much fun.”
“Dumplings will be fine, but beware the Rindsuppe; Konrad’s chef favors hot paprika. As he said, the actual ceremony will be 30 minutes or so after dinner. We’ll retire here. Both boys will have their desserts afterwards. Claire, as soon as their masters release them, you will take the boys to Konrad’s bedroom to prepare.”
Bruce hesitated, uncertain of his place. “With Faithfulness to follow dinner, it would be best to give Daniel a flush beforehand.”
Claire nodded agreement, her gaze drifting back to nine little bronze statues, the Sacred Virtues, all of them highly detailed.
“A thorough colon cleansing is best. So far his experience is limited to the usual positions. The last thing he wants with an audience is leakage.” She turned to Johannes. “Shouldn’t Christoph be shaved for his ceremony?”
“I’d prefer le dépilatoire?”
“I’ll do it when I rinse him after dinner. Fifteen minutes will be ample.”
Johannes stalked to a glass-fronted, pedimented armoire of billiard paraphernalia, cues, balls, racks... He opened a drawer, lifted out a tooled leather satchel, upended it.
“Given that I chose the style, I agreed to the principal’s request that he wear this.”
He returned, holding up a traditional Ashkenazim Tallit, a small rectangular shawl, white, black, and gold stripes, tasseled fringes. Claire exhaled, her intent obvious.
“It could be worse, Claire; he wanted Tefillin Peshutim.” (a pair of black leather boxes containing Hebrew parchment scrolls bound to a boy’s arm and head)
“It’s not a Bar Mitzvah,” she remarked coldly. “Sometimes, I think Eros bows too low.”
“They serve the Union. Christoph, undress please.”
Obediently, Christoph unfastened suspender buttons, lowering mid-thigh-length leather lederhosen emboldened by silver embroidery on the front. He kicked off fuzzy slippers, extricated lederhosen past bare feet, and slipped off his silky white shirt and catamite panties.
“Master Edwin has asked that Daniel be naked, but Christoph, too?” Claire murmured.
“I don’t bow to bankers. He’ll wear nothing that is not required for the principal.” Johannes’ tone was severe; give no quarter.
However, he smiled at the riveting center of attention. His son was shameless, erect, standing naked by the billiard table. He nodded approvingly.
“Tradition requires it must happen; however, my son’s circumcision will be a rite of passage, like riding the bull.”
He draped the Tallit over his son, like a serape it covered his neck and shoulders and extended down his back. Bruce gaped, entranced by blond beauty, bare and brown.
“What about his willy afterwards, if all he wears is that?” Bruce put forward; eyebrows raised pointedly.
Prince Johannes scowled. “I want everyone to see what he loses. According to some, it’s a small price to pay.”
“I realize it’s not my place, Master Johannes... The Principle of the Principal is precise. All catamites sacrifice in their union with Eros; some more than others,” she said.
“No matter if a boy loses a little or a lot, Eros is served. It is my prerogative; they will see Christoph before and after.” Johannes gestured abruptly.
Christoph retracted his foreskin. Claire stared, on the threshold of groaning aloud.
“I’ve always said it looks like a little strawberry is stuck on the end,” Johannes said, his voice breaking, unable to look at Christoph.
“Papa, it’s my choice!”
“I said I wouldn’t make a fuss. I didn’t say I would give you up without a fight.”
“Tangy strawberry or minty fresh helmet, both have advantages.” Bruce’s joke died in silence.
At Èze, he’d suckled both boys to his heart’s content, disbelieving that he could find another boy’s stiff penis as enjoyable as his son’s. He’d practiced until Christoph writhed and wriggled his way through multiple orgasms, until cut and uncut became irrelevant. One boy’s sleek shiny stalk capped by an exposed helmet, or the other boy’s glowing red glans and bountiful skin; was one more tender, or more succulent? It was impossible to tell the ultimate delicacy.
Christoph smacked his penis irreverently. “I think Simon’s villy is très ordinaire.”
“Different willies, different tastes,” Claire teased.
Christoph wasn’t buying it. “Daniil has sporty cock. When he put in ze hole, is so tight everything move, not just ze head. I suck, he is sweet, never sour. For me, zat is special.”
Bruce was taken aback. He’d watched Daniil orally sex with Christoph; but anally?
“Daniil’s only done anal with Simon.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Claire interrupted. “They all do each other. His first time inside Christoph was at Neverland. You were too busy sucking Simon to notice.”
Talking openly about catamites’ intimate relationships with each other and other men was something she intended to encourage.
“Be glad he’s a catamite, Bruce. Nowadays, most boys are so worried about anal sex, they won’t try it. Hellene says gay men are nearly as bad,” Claire went on.
Johannes fixed his gaze on Bruce. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t apply to Jews doing boys.”
“Arabs, ze vill give anything to sodomize a boy like Daniil,” Christoph murmured.
“But at what price, mein Schatz.” (darling)
oUo
Christoph took a deep breath. He stood, ankle deep in the bath, an antique copper tub on a bronze stand. No stranger to enemas, he bent forward, hands on his buttocks and opening his cleft. Relaxing as Claire inserted, then he clamped on the black rubber tube; his eyes closed as warm water flowed, concentrating on the filling sensation.
Daniil perched on the other end of the tub, legs dangling over the mosaic-marble floor as he waited his turn.
“Only Skippy get ze deep flush?” Christoph muttered.
“He’s having sex; you aren’t,” Claire remarked, withdrawing the slick tube with a deft jerk of her hand.
Despite dribbling down slender tanned legs, Christoph grinned back at him. “You use die Klistierspritze, vot your Mr. Ed bring.” (enema syringe/pump)
Confused, Daniil muttered, “What’s he talking about?”
“Ein Dickdarmreiniger! Lucky you.”
No better informed, he glanced at Claire. “My turn now, Mum?”
“You’re eager! Okay, on the bench with you.”
An old carpenter’s bench in a bathroom made no sense at all, even to a boy from antique-filled Connecticut, where similar benches could still be found in many woodwright shops. It was sturdy and stable, German oak, the Mercedes of work benches, heavy dark wood with tongued joints, square holes for pegs; leg, shoulder, and tail vises.
Daniil boosted himself up, not worried about splinters—it was smooth and varnished.
Claire placed Mr. Ed’s ‘gift’ beside him. It resembled some sort of gardening tool with a piston-pump and reservoir, daisy decorated in vivid color. It was early Meiji era, a self-administering enema syringe.
“It’s from when the samurai still wielded power in Japan,” she explained. “Our Union of Eros is their ‘Shudō,’ (The Way of the Young).
“I sit on it, right?”
‘It’ was a vertical ivory shaft, a finger-sized nozzle attached to a brass tube extending from the pump. Having already filled the reservoir, she primed the pump, ejecting a small dribble of soapy water. She clasped the now-slippery shaft, getting soap on her fingers.
Daniil lifted his haunches up from the bench; a quick swipe beneath him and he got into position. She aligned him, holding him steady, poised over the protrusion.
“Go down slowly,” she warned.
The top of the shaft pierced his anus, inducing a groan from the recipient as he carefully descended.
“Now, I pump?”
With her hand on top of his, Claire gave the pump knob a gentle push, ejecting hot soapy water. Suddenly, Daniil giggled.
“It squirted right up me, Mum. Way up inside.”
“Silly Skippy. It’s supposed to,” she chuckled and slapped his slim thigh. “Christoph, why don’t you tell him?”
“Ein Dickdarmreiniger, is for vhen you turn ze bend, ze colon sex.” (colon cleaner)
“If you’re all clean inside, Mr. Ed won’t need to worry about you leaking,” she said, quivering with anticipation. “Riding is much nicer that way.”
As calm as can be, she continued, playing to her innermost fantasy, imagining precious Daniil subdued by his Mr. Ed, not kind or gentle, domineering like her. After this, he’d sodomize Bruce’s pretty son at every opportunity.
“I’ll pump. You move up and down on it. Swivel your hips around like you’re riding a horse. Make it go in and out. Just pay attention. Your first discharge will be messy.”
“How many times, Mum?”
“Only three, no matter how much you like it squirting inside.”
oUo
With a catamite in each hand, Claire paused outside the Grand Smoking Room. Above the arched door was a replica insignia of Friedrich Wilhelm Viktor Albert, German Emperor and King of Prussia.
“May I beg your indulgence,” Konrad boomed over the babble of voices, mostly German, Italian, and French. “It is with great delight I request your attention. This evening, we gather to celebrate our sacred Union with Eros.”
Voices faded to a murmur of approval as men turned toward the door.
“I am honored to present our newest recruit. This gorgeous naked boy beside me is Daniil James, Catamite and Consort, parastatheis of Master Bruce, father and son of the House of Stirling.”
“Der Spitzname des Schönling ist?” someone called. (The nickname of the pretty boy is?)
From across the room... “Bubi.” (Pansy)
“His nickname is Skippy,” Johannes countered. “Though he is, most certainly, a very pretty pansy.”
Konrad paused for applause, chuckles, and muttered acclaim.
“This evening, Daniil also attends his favorite playmate and best buddy as he takes his next step, the most important commitment a catamite can undertake. I speak, of course, of our dear Christoph, Baron of Auersperg, son and Catamite Consort of Prince Johannes Friedrich Wilhelm von Wittelsbach of Hohenlohe-Auersperg. Christoph is a selfless servant of Eros, and very familiar to all of us, I’m sure.”
Released from her matronly duties, Claire was overwhelmed by ornament, the Smoking Room redecorated since her last visit only a few hours earlier. Now, huge ceramic vases sprouting white lilies adorned the room. The pièce de résistance was a reception throne, Austro-Hungarian, awe-inspiring regal crimson and gold with long tassels all but hiding the legs and gilded lion’s feet. Each armrest incorporated a gold-leaf-encrusted sphinx.
Prince Johannes held out his hand, two fingers extended, beckoning for Christoph to approach and take the place of honor, a throne once seating the Archduke.
Behind the throne, a gilt-framed painting dominated the wall adjacent to the billiard table. It celebrated Christoph and Prince Johannes. Father and son, both naked, seemed larger than life in Austrian Arcadia. No rustic verdant meadows and contented cows; a dramatic composition of Teutonic Valkyries, gallant steeds, an eagle soaring through towering mountains... Up close, virile was blatant in superlative detail.
“Daniil, catamite of the House of Stirling, are you ready, willing, and able to please and pleasure your sponsor and patron?” Konrad continued.
Bright-eyed and excited, Daniil gazed adoringly at Edwin. “It is my great honor, Master Konrad.”
Powerful colors, sheer size—almost floor-to-ceiling, and mimesis, imitating reality that stared Claire in the face. She stepped back, noting Prince Johannes’ affectionate expression, anything but oblivious to his beloved. No less love was apparent in his very infatuated son. Simultaneously, she saw their mutual commitment, devout zeal, the blending of spirit and carnal desire without physically merging, everything the Union of Eros advocated, and more. They were truly in love; there was no getting past it.
Behind her, Konrad droned on.
“.... there are some who believe the Seventh Virtue is chastity; that abstinence in the proof of faithfulness. Our ancient traditions hold to the contrary. Faithfulness is self-denial to attain devotion to Eros and our Union, the result of serving selflessly, and sacrificing that which is dear to us.”
Claire turned from the painting as Konrad raised his hand, two fingers extended.
“For your edification and entertainment, our ‘Bubi’ will now demonstrate the Seventh Virtue with the Imperial Tiberius.”
Edwin, now attired in the purple toga picta of a Roman emperor, stepped forward.
“I am Caesar Tiberius. I come before you to pedicate the pansy.” He bowed, evocative flair as laughter and applause resounded. “To wit, tonight I relive my pederastic deeds with the assistance of Master Gerhart, better known outside our realm as Professor Hoegner.”
He ahemed for effect and attention, a knowing wink to draw Daniil toward him.
“Pedication will begin with a brief reading from Tacitus’ Annals... Or should I say Anals, for I have enjoyed the posteriors of many catamites over the years.”
The lights dimmed. Master Gerhart, attired in Senatorial robes, began.
“Fellow Senators and citizens of Rome, the great Tiberius,
“... ‘in shame at the sins and lusts whose uncontrollable fires had so inflamed him that, in the kingly style, he polluted with his lecheries the children of free-born parents. Nor were beauty and physical charm his only incitements to lasciviousness, but sometimes a boyish modesty and sometimes a noble lineage...’” (Tacitus, Annals VI 1)
Master Gerhart bowed to ‘emperor’ Edwin with a flourish, and continued,
“...in preparation for an impending sacrifice, Caesar Tiberius did lieth upon a rostrum of great decadence, intending consecration by posterior coupling. The catamite eunuch, Danilus, desirous of indecent connection, did offer himself, ready, willing and able to pleasure his master. However, Tiberius, having partaken of honeyed mead, was incapable of penile protrusion, thereupon, the little capon did mount himself upon the stalwart steed, thereby proving a remarkable staying power.”
“An excellent benediction!” Konrad applauded. “I offer my rostrum for consecration, a coupling befitting the Emperor, Tiberius.”
He gestured at the billiard table, now piled with musk-perfumed damask-covered cushions, black and gold, pink and crimson. Edwin drew Daniil to elegantly temporary stairs, ascending hand-in-hand like bride and groom. Baroque splendor abounded, while lute and flute played harmonious Weiss’ Sonatas.
Edwin, prone to exaggeration, divested his emperor’s richly embroidered purple toga with aplomb. Only a scant loincloth remained as he turned solemnly to take Daniil’s hand. He was shaved and oiled, arms, legs, front, and back, as was the custom of masters performing, whether exhibition or sacred ceremony.
Bruce stared, envious and surprised. His friend from college was evenly tanned, with musculature befitting a much younger man. No wonder, his son gazed up, a little boy enraptured by the man beside him.
“Oh my! Edwin’s outstanding for his age,” Claire remarked.
Not overly over-weight, Bruce muttered a caustic ‘yes he is’, hoping she would leave it alone.
With a brazen leer at Daniil, Edwin denuded, dropping his loincloth. Devoid of hair, with rose-gold-hued makeup and a shiny luster, his uncircumcised sex was not only prominent; it befitted an emperor. Bruce tried to tell himself that without the foreskin, it was no larger than his own; however, Daniil’s mesmerized expression disturbed him greatly.
After posing for photos, Edwin was soon prostrate upon pillows. A sideways peek at Daniil’s father, lurking behind vases of lilies, he licked his lips like a prearranged sign. Immediately, Daniil grinned and knelt between outstretched legs. He gave a casual brush over his own hard penis before leaning over Edwin as he pointed it down.
“I’d say they’ve played sword fights before,” Claire taunted.
With their hands out of the way, the little boy wriggled into place, big and small erections aligned, play-humping each other. Limber by nature and training, Daniil glided up, down, and side to side, draping and sliding tender skin, barely touching. Man and boy jabbed in sweaty collusion, evoking tantalizing giggles and heartfelt groans. Enthralled, Bruce stepped closer, stopping a mere arm’s length from the rostrum.
Nearby, a recently arrived guest whispered with the elderly Master Antonio. He was dark-haired, tawny skinned, eyes like obsidian; his accent was Eton and Cambridge, each word chosen carefully.
“There is little I would not bestow on a splendid boy like him, Antonio. And his khitan; it’s unique; in fact, inspiring.” (circumcision)
Conte Antonio Morosini was Christoph’s godfather and sponsor. “I’m told he is different in many ways, Nadim... Truly special, yet sadly, the other matter will set him apart in a way some men find objectionable.”
“Be glad his principal is not Nigerian. To me, ein Kapaun is a blessing...” (A capon)
Master Antonio nudged an elbow, seeming accidental, a slight shake of his head with a gesture aside.
“... his every wish would be my greatest pleasure to fill,” the man whispered.
Already an admirer of Daniil, if only by hearsay, Master Antonio regarded the oil sheik, a businessman in the tradition of the Holy Prophet, Himself.
“It is your right to take. Eros presumes a sacrifice for serving selflessly,” Master Antonio confided, an aside nod at Christoph seated on the throne. “Tonight, my godson gifts his prepuce for his principal.”
“His father agrees?”
“Christoph’s small loss is a Jew’s great joy.” He turned away, gestured at the rostrum, at Daniil. “His gift is more consequential.”
“His sacrifice is large in magnitude, yet warranted. With eggs, the boy is a pimply youth in a few years. Without, my faith believes the result is imperfect over what Allah makes perfect. However, to me, what is perfect is prolonged.”
They turned their attention to the rostrum, Daniil and Master Edwin putting the ‘kiss’ in baiser français; surprising what a nine-year-old catamite could achieve if he put his heart into it. Boy-spit, Cupid lips, a little wriggly tongue that wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Daniil soon segued to other pursuits...
“Such bravado from a House tart,” a British voice acclaimed.
“Show zem, Skippy. Suck ze balls off his villy,” Christoph teased even as his father ahemed a warning of decorum.
Bruce held his breath as Daniil lowered his head, ingesting the darker-skinned scrotum, uncertain. It bothered him, yet he was very proud of his son, barely nine years old and already a highly accomplished catamite serving the Union of Eros.
‘I love you,’ he mouthed, meaning it in every sense.
Claire sidled closer, touched his arm, a slight shake of her head to signal ‘don’t look.’
“Be careful. Daniil’s principal is standing next to Conte Morosini.”
A moment of panic before Bruce nodded, peripheral vision hard at work. The man was staring blatantly at his son, making no secret of it. A faint smile formed, an appreciative and thoughtful nod as Daniil laved the plump pouch. Shameless, energized, wanton, concentrating of giving pleasure to the other man in his life.
“... indefatigable, isn’t he?” Konrad declared from Bruce’s other side.
“Daniel’s skill went up a notch after Neverland,” Bruce conceded, fighting the urge to confront the man standing nearby.
“I’m envious,” Konrad went on. “Daniil’s a little cock sucker par excellence!”
Untiring, unrelenting, now licking the thick gilded shaft; not vain, vigorously applying himself to the task; Daniil’s curly head rhythmically rising and lowering, erratic trembles when Edwin’s erection rammed deeper, inciting a pharyngeal reflex by playing tag with his tonsils and uvula.
“He’s come a long way. No panic at all, even if it’s blocking his airway,” Claire murmured.
Bruce smiled fondly. “He began going down on me like that after Lord Handley’s party. One of the other masters got him started. Master Roland, if I remember. He owns a grocery chain, or some such thing.”
“Roland’s the go-to expert for fellatio,” she explained. “Simon was much better at it after a weekend aboard their yacht.”
Although he’d never say it aloud, Bruce still relished his first time with Simon. He used his mouth and the start of his throat, a succulent massage that was infinitely better than Daniil’s wriggly little tongue and wet lips.
“I asked Roland to give Daniel a few hints on oral technique,” she added.
“He’s certainly inspired for his age,” Konrad observed. He lowered his voice. “Not like Christoph, though. I’ve seen him do things... He sucks his father and me at the same time; and he swallows, no matter how much. Unbelievable!”
Daniil straddled Edwin, his knees either side of the man’s flanks. He reached behind, grasped the thick crimson-gold-hued erection and placed the bulbous head between his buttocks.
Bruce held his breath. Having been in a similar position, he knew all too well what his son was feeling. Poised to penetrate, there was no getting past the sensation of Daniil’s little anus expanding to accept his helmet, stretching wider as he strained down, making himself relax. Everything short of forcing the entry; it was painful and unnecessary.
“Slowly... let your portal adapt...” Claire coaxed upon seeing Daniil’s grimace.
However, what disturbed Bruce was his son’s preoccupied expression immediately after, teeth and eyes clenched, yet clearly enjoying the building pressure.
“You can tell when a boy relishes penetration,” Claire remarked, not oblivious to Bruce’s stare.
Momentous entry finished with a soft sigh. Daniil smiled slightly, knowingly, eyes downcast, savoring another man’s initial possession, his father watching as he slowly sank down on Edwin’s erection.
“He’s pre-lubed,” Claire whispered to Bruce. “Christoph used so much Anal Eze he’ll barely feel it.”
“I thought Handley House eschewed unnatural sodomy?”
“The Union of Eros allows neither stimulant nor desensitizer; however, exhibitions are exempt for performance and education.”
“Reduced sensitivity spurs a boy to greater effort, plus it delays ejaculation,” Konrad added. “Daniil’s about to have the ride of his life.”
Bruce gulped as his son lifted up, the engorged glistening shaft sliding out of his anus. Shy little Daniil paused, poised above Edwin’s burnished-gold member, readying himself or delaying until he had everyone’s attention. He squatted with dignity, practiced ease, balancing with his hands braced on Edwin’s chest.
“Ich glaub mich knutscht ein Elch!” (I can’t believe it!)
Unaware of his amused audience, Daniil sank down until he was sitting on Edwin’s groin. “Autsch!” escaped his lips. (Ouch!)
“Good boy,” Bruce murmured. “Now, lift up and do it again, all the way in one go.”
The next impalement was hesitant, the following one smoother, yet slow. Claire nodded, not encouragingly, sending a message—focus on rhythm. Up and down; concentrating, taking his time until his rectum adjusted; then, Daniil swiveled his little pelvis, settling lower, agitating his core against his godfather’s erection, no intruder, a welcomed visitor.
“Your son shares the joy of boys through the ages,” Konrad remarked.
“Divine rapture with his godfather,” Claire admired.
Daniil lifted again, not nearly as far, rotating more frantic, twitching as the bulbous glans churned his immature sex gland.
Reduced to mere steed, Edwin groaned as Daniil’s training took over, rectal muscles rhythmically squeezing his shaft, mucous and preseminal juices churning as his audience chanted.
“Fick ihn, fick ihn härter! Fick ihn, fick ihn härter! Fick ihn, fick ihn härter.“ (Fuck him, fuck him harder)
Edwin picked up the chant. “Fick meinen Schwanz, Junge. Scheiß drauf.” (Fuck my cock, boy. Fuck it good.)
After spending only a handful of days with Christoph and his father, Daniil had learned enough German to grin down at his godfather.
“Reite ihn! Beweise, dass du ein Katamit bist,“ Konrad snickered. (Ride him! Prove you're a catamite.)
Daniil braced himself, using his thigh muscles to thrust, pulverizing his little bottom against his steed’s very erect penis. Faster, harder, driving himself to the limit, unaware of his awed audience, even his very-impressed father, all but overcome.
With his father preoccupied with Conte Morosini, Christoph egged him on. “Ze Fickteufel... suck vith ze ficken.”
Wondering what he meant, Daniil was a cowboy riding a bucking stallion, thrusting wildly with his right arm held high. He felt slippery behind him, gaping wide, the thick slick shaft sliding, adult pubis slamming against his butt, wedging into his cleft before it was yanked out.
“The ‘teufel’ in ‘Fickteufel’ suits him,” someone exalted.
Claire called, “My sweet Daniil, a fuck fiend; who would believe it?”
“Daniil is ze demon; ze dick devil!“ Christoph shouted, not about to be left out. “Ride him harder!”
“Skippy’s cumming!” Edwin shouted. “We both are!”
Daniil shuddered as spurts erupted deep in his rectum, unable to feel more than a throbbing glow and the dulled sensation of Mr. Ed’s member jerking. However, the man was quaking beneath him, arching up enough that his knees were no longer touching..... He fainted.
oUo
“It’s been my experience that a pretty boy needs a firm hand to thrive.”
Edwin glanced around; the billiard table now cleared, masters playing pool, other masters with crystal snifters with amber Scotch in hand, placing a €500 Euro bill in a bronze Ganymede and Eagle bowl before taking a card from a table. The prize was Julien, a little boy from Romania, attractive, curly brunette. His eyes were closed, a knowing smile on his fine-featured face, at best a common tart by Claire’s definition.
“Speaking of pretty boys, he can’t be more than eight or nine…” Edwin forced himself to look away. “As gentle as Daniil is, we need to be careful. Very careful,” Edwin confided.
“I’m depending on you, Edwin,” Bruce said, gently stroking his son’s sweaty brow.
He worried about being separated from his son, just a couple of days remaining at Lake Hallstatt. Then, they’d be apart until Shrove Tuesday, the last day of Venice’s Carnivale.
“A week apart will be ample,” Edwin whispered. “Just long enough for him to get used to other men.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
“He serves the Union or Eros, Bruce. It doesn’t mean he’ll stop loving you. If anything, he’ll love you even more.”
Daniil came to with a weary yawn, cradled in his father’s arms, a small luxurious blanket over him. It smelled new, warm, secure… starring
“So soft,” he murmured.
His eyes flickered open to find his face snuggled in mysterious dark blue.
His father’s fingers pushed away blanket, brushed locks from his forehead, lovingly stroked his cheek. Another finger stroked his lips—Mr. Ed—his signet ring was a beacon, now that he knew about catamite rings. His father wore the House of Stirling ring, with the GlenIolaire crest.
He blinked as awareness returned. The blanket was so soft it seemed to air-brush his bare skin. The color exactly mimicked his Aston Martin Vantage, like the embroidered winged insignia in golden thread. There was squiggly lettering, too, big and bold in gold: ‘Καταμαίτης της Ένωσης Έρωτα’ (Catamite of the Union of Eros)
“So soft,” Daniil muttered, little fingers exploring the shiny fabric, finding his embroidered name; ‘Daniil James Stirling.’
“It’s alpaca and silk,” Bruce said. “A special gift from Mr. Ed. It goes with your car.”
“A serape for my beautiful seraph to wear at his Sacrifice,” Edwin teased. “You’ll find all sorts of other uses for it.”
“I can’t imagine what.” Already back to giggly gleeful boy, toying with innuendo. “Thank you... for everything.”
Edwin gazed down at him, a hand reaching under the blanket, a loving caress of bare soft skin before clasping his hand. How many times had he looked into Daniil’s eyes, seeing affection, unrequited love. He sensed the boy’s turmoil, awareness of his sexual role reducing confusion, another mystery continuing. Struggling. His mother didn’t help.
“No matter what happens, I’ll always love you, Skippy,” he whispered.
He was about to say more when Konrad clapped for attention.
“We have ten cards still on the table.” He paused. “Please remember that Julien is an orphan. All of your contributions will go to his account in the Eros Fund.”
Edwin leaned close to Daniil. “I commend thee, little catamite; you aroused the rod of Caesar Tiberius to prodigious excretion.”
It took Daniil a few moments before panic arrived. “I need a handkerchief or something. I don’t want to leak...”
The thought was abbreviated as he recognized a familiar, if dulled sensation—he was plugged; likely Claire’s doing since she’d retained his L’ Entraîneur after his flushing. The hand cupping his crotch could only be his father’s, a finger extended to make sure the plug stayed in him until his muscle regained its usual strength. Relieved, he smiled.
“Seeing you astride my prong of passion made all of my dreams come true,” Edwin crooned. “I’ve never known such joy.”
“Was I good?”
He was met with two very agreeable nods.
Konrad clapped again, drawing attention. “We are down to one card. Last chance for Julien to choose you.”
“I’ll take it,” Edwin called, generating a round of applause.
“Master Antonio, will you hold the other cards for Julien to pick from? Remember, to write you name on the card before you hand it to me. Tthe winner will be notified in private. Thank you again for your donations to the Eros Fund. Now, to tonight’s ceremony...”
“Five hundred euros for one chance in fifty-two?” Claire chided before turning away.
“I’m envious, Dani-boy,” Bruce admitted. “I’m just glad it was Edwin who taught you Faithfulness.”
“I can still feel the fullness...” Daniil caught himself a moment too late.
“I hope so. You were incredible.” His father tousled his head. “I worried about how hard you were doing it. I didn’t realize....”
“... how much nicer it is. Buggering a boy properly is a big step. Not every night, just when he needs a man’s vigor,” Claire remarked, rather offhand.
“Did you enjoy your first riding lesson?” Edwin teased.
Daniil nodded. “I tried to do it hard, like Christoph does with his dad.”
“Wait until you’re dropped; that’s hard,” Claire snickered.
Daniil craned his neck to see her, hidden behind Bruce’s shoulder. She winked at him.
“Where’s Christoph?”
Claire directed his gaze to the opposite side of the rostrum. Christoph sat on the ‘throne’, the seat now draped in white satin. His wrists passed between sphinx legs, hands clasping l, silk ribbon securing his forearms to the sides of the arm rests. More ribbon secured his wide-spread legs, knees reaching to the sides of the throne. With his Tallit lifted up, everything was exposed.
His adoring father knelt on a crimson cushion, a solemn supplicant before his son. Less solemn was his gentle fondling of his son’s penis, deliberately stimulating a short, yet very firm erection. Each up and down motion fully retracted and restored his foreskin, working it back and forth over the plump little glans.
On his right side was a man in an impeccably tailored black suit and Yakama.
“Herr Midas, I presume,” Daniil murmured.
“Aaron Rothsman. The third son of Rothsman and Sons, Zurich. He’s a billionaire many times over,” Claire whispered back. “The other man is a doctor. Unless there’s a problem, he’ll supervise.”
“Prince Johannes, it is my great honor to convoke your son’s Sacrifice,” Konrad began. “His sacred act is neither atonement nor penance. His sacrifice is an offering to honor the Gods, and to thank them for his union with Eros.”
He smiled at Christoph, his nozzled-foreskin stretched enough that his glans glided in and out.
“As Christoph’s sacrifice is made, let us remember those boys who have preceded him. Reflect on a love so strong that his sacrifice bonds him to his principal, as it binds all men and boys.”
Konrad made the two-fingered sign, held aloft for all to see.
“Christoph and his father have chosen Master Frank’s ring and clamp method. I am told Master Edwin went to great lengths to advocate it for Daniil’s circumcision. As you’ve just witnessed, the result speaks for itself.”
Daniil and his father exchanged smiles. When they looked again, Prince Johannes was sliding a small stainless-steel ring down his son’s penis. Like a catamite ring, it pushed excess skin before it, leaving his glans and stretched inner skin exposed.
“About there is good, Papa.” Christoph’s waver was audible.
“You’re sure, my darling?”
Christoph’s nod was confident. To be sure, the ring was down a long way, as far as Daniil's circumcision, close to the base where penis met pubis.
Then, Prince Johannes worked the excess skin over the ring. The clamp was a stainless-steel mate for the ring underneath, a tiny hinge and a lever on the opposite side. He placed the clamp, ensuring the skin underneath was without wrinkle. A final check that the ring and clamp were aligned, tight and high on the stiff little shaft; and he closed the lever, locking it into place.
Christoph flinched, and smiled.
“So that’s why Claire covered his willy with Anal-Eze,” Daniil murmured.
As Eros Union ceremonies went, it was stylish, hardly extravagant.
