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Lost Part 3 Archibald Young Thus it was that Victor took Paul back to his family's holiday home, back to the ordinary life from which he had become lost in so many ways on that fateful, wet night. Paul had showered and scrubbed himself clean, climbed back into his ordinary clothes, and gone down into the huge hallway of Victor's mansion. Victor was dressed in a business suit, suave and elegant. Paul felt a little shy as he got to the bottom of the stairs, but his worship of Victor were just as strong, and even though he was dressed as a normal boy he instinctively ran up to the older man and kissed him gently and briefly on the mouth. Victor smiled. "Be careful, darling boy, that your lips don't get even more juicy," he said, as he opened the front door, "or your stepmother may suspect things!" "Well, I could have been kissing a girl at the party I never went to, couldn't I?" Paul answered as he walked out towards the car. "Rather than kissing a dirty old man." Victor laughed. "Quite right, Paul!" Paul's humour hid his real feelings. He was leaving his newly-found sexual god and the luxurious temple of pleasure, and going back to boredom, banality, triviality and tedium. Although it was not going to last very long, he was dreading it. As Victor drove the short distance to the cottage they were both silent. They pulled up just short of the house. Victor turned to the sad boy. "Listen carefully, Paul. I will have a contract for your.. work experience made. It will not be from the mysterious Mr Ford, but his friend, James Croft. You met him this morning over breakfast at... Mr Ford's house, remember? He took a shine to you and when he heard you were at a loose end suggested you come and work on his estate. The duration will be nine months, but you would be free at weekends to go home if you wanted. The name on the contract will be his. The address will be his, too. Of course neither exists, Paul. If you accept the contract and return it, it will come to me. Arrangements will be made for a start date- you will come by train to a station given to you in the contract. This will be a station near the address on the contract, but some way from here. A car will pick you up and drive you to my house. I may not be there, Paul, but Emil will take care of you until I get back. Paul, do you agree to these terms?" Paul did not hesitate for a second. He wanted this to happen so badly- wanted to go back to Victor's mansion, the wonderfully sensuous women's clothes, the huge grounds, the vast mirrored bedrooms, the perfumes, the make-up, the jewellery, the soft carpets, the silk sheets, the scented furs, and above all the sex- with Victor, with Emil, with any man who wanted him. "Yes, I do," said Paul, clearly. The words clanged into his very soul- they solemnised a perverted, homosexual marriage between the novice boy and the wicked old man. This was not lost on Victor, who smiled. "What's your home address, Paul? I shall have the contract sent there." Paul gave him the address. Victor seemed not to need to write it down. "Will it take long?" asked Paul. "We will go home tomorrow." "Within a day or two, Paul," answered the man, smiling with satisfaction at Paul's urgency," but you will have to wait a bit longer for the actual offer. One thing I ask, Paul, is that you try and abstain from sex- even playing with yourself- as much as you can until then. Will you try, Paul?" Paul nodded. He felt so bereft at that moment that sex was the last thing on his mind. "Kiss me, Paul, one last time." And they kissed, wetly and passionately across the leather seats of the powerful car, their hands roaming over each other. Victor broke the kiss. "Until we meet again, Paul." "Goodbye, Victor," said Paul and left the car. He walked down the lane and turned into the cottage garden. He heard the Bentley pass by just as he knocked on the door. Paul's family had been completely unperturbed by his sudden absence. His stepmother's enquiries were perfunctory, his lie about the work experience greeted with approval (and, he thought, some relief) and very soon he was in his room, lying on his bed, and replaying all that had happened to him since he had left the room less than 24 hours before. ****** One afternoon three weeks later, Paul was in a train headed out of the city. It was raining, and gloomy clouds hung low in the sky. Outwardly he looked like any other young man- perhaps a little fay, a little feminine. His hair was newly washed, longer by three weeks, tumbling to his shoulders now with a hint of a curl at the end, but tied back. He had stopped biting his nails- they were longer. But under his jeans, light jacket, and t-shirt he was wearing his secret stockings and suspenders, and some skimpy black lace panties that he had stolen from his stepmother. He had done as Victor asked, and not masturbated once since they parted, despite the powerful memories of his night in Victor's house. These memories invaded his dreams, but no longer in the frightening way they had that morning. They even led to emissions- wet dreams- twice. Despite these he still experienced a crescendo of excitement, both sexual and general, as the day for his departure drew near. Now he was super-excited- by the feel of the sheer nylon on his legs, and the anticipation of where he was going. His jeans contained a full erection the whole of the train journey. Once, he caught a man looking at him with interest as he passed by his seat. Although thrilled by this, Paul was not yet ready to take up such offers. With him was his backpack with changes of clothes (that he knew he would never wear), and a box of chocolates that his stepmother had insisted he take for the kind Mr Curtis. At the station a rather fat man in a rumpled suit came forward. "Master Paul?" he asked. Paul nodded. The man took his rucksack. "I am Otto," he said, and shook Paul's hand. His hand was slightly sweaty, his handshake limp, and one finger was curled so it stayed between their palms for a second. Paul did not then know what this meant. Otto showed him to a small saloon car, and Paul got into the passenger seat. The rucksack went onto the back seat and they were off, down country lanes and then onto a major road. "How far is it?" asked Paul. "About an hour, sir, but we'll change cars soon." "Why?" "Master wanted you to be comfortable, but not to create a scene at the station with a big car." Paul felt a little thrill at this consideration. He was enjoying the secrecy, the covert way in which his assignation had been planned. There was a tiny frisson of fear, too. Each precaution would make it difficult for anyone to trace what had happened to him if he simply disappeared and was never seen again. But a big part of him felt delighted at the idea of disappearing: if it meant disappearing into Victor's luxurious and depraved world. The car pulled off the main road and into a lane. A short while later it came to a farmyard, and Otto parked beside a huge black american car. The rear windows were all mirrored, so he could not see inside. "Here we are, Master Paul." They got out of the small car and Otto opened the back door of the limousine. It was dark inside; the interior seemed to be entirely black- thick black carpet, black leather upholstery, with golden fittings. "Would you mind leaving your shoes outside, Master Paul?" said Otto as Paul approached the door. Paul kicked off his trainers and bent down to step into the limousine. It was very warm inside. The mirrored windows let in very little light, and it was gloomy inside. He gasped as he turned towards the rear of the huge compartment. He had never been in a limousine before, and he surely had not been in one like this. The first thing he took in was the smell- the rich smell of real fur mingled with expensive perfume, and the unmistakable and arousing tang of semen. There were two large armchair-like seats on his left, both of them upholstered in black leather. Between them was a black leather hold-all, unzipped but not open. On the thick black carpet in front of the only, wide seat that spanned the car on his right was a huge bearskin, dyed black, but without the animal's head. The seat itself was entirely covered in black sheared mink fur. Over this was draped a large black satin throw, apparently lined with dyed black fox fur, and in the dim light coming in from the windows, the open door and the courtesy lights on each side he took in an amazing sight. Victor's butler Emil, completely naked, was sprawled on the fur with the throw pulled up over his thighs to his groin, and rising from the mass of soft black hairs was his erect penis, which he was slowly masturbating. Above this Paul took in his taut six- pack, his rippling pecs, and then his handsome face, smiling warmly. "Welcome, Master Paul," said Emil in his deep voice. "Master asked me to make sure that your journey back to him was... comfortable." Paul's legs gave way in shock, and he fell onto his knees on the sumptuous bearskin. The door shut behind him. "Would you like to take your clothes off, Master Paul? I think you will feel a lot more comfortable." Paul was trembling with astonishment at being so swiftly plunged back into the delirious, sexually and erotically charged homosexual world into which Victor had so cunningly inducted him a few weeks before. Here he was after weeks of abstinence and longing for sex, in a huge car, on a thick bearskin in front of one of the most beautiful man he had ever seen; the man was swathed in sexy fox fur, and presenting him with the same stupendously lovely erect penis that he had so deliciously enjoyed that first electrifying morning in Victor's garden. "Emil!" Paul burst out. "yes!!" As he yanked off his jacket and T-shirt he heard the car start and felt the car begin to move. He pulled down his jeans, pulled off his socks, all the time staring at Emil and especially his wonderful cock, which Emil was now knowingly stroking with the black fox fur, as he continued to smile his dazzling smile at the blonde boy in front of him. In a flash Paul was naked apart from stockings, suspenders and the delicious, frilly panties over which his erection was poking up along his belly. Knowingly, he undid his long, blonde hair, so it tumbled enticingly onto his naked shoulders. "Oh, Master Paul, you do look lovely!" said the man. "Please come here." Emil opened up the satin revealing his whole body, pale against the black fur and satin, fabulously priapic; an invitation to the boy to join the man on the huge soft seat for mutual pleasure. It was an invitation that Paul would never now refuse; he crawled forward as Emil lifted up the throw and then Paul was sprawled along the man's naked, firm body as Emil brought the throw down, the thick, soft fur against their bodies, and at the same time turned a golden switch which plunged the rear of the car into semi-darkness. There followed, for Paul, a glorious moment of reconciliation with himself and his true nature as he was enfolded at last again in the arms of a man, a homosexual man, and especially a physically beautiful one. He had not realised until that moment how his body had yearned for the touch of another's, skin against skin, erect penis against erect penis, as Emil's strong arms enfolded him in the dark, perfumed compartment. And now it was Emil's mouth he was kissing, fervently, moaning with lust, their tongues entwined as Emil's hands swept over his naked torso and down to the top of his nylon stockings, and then up to his already aching penis. His hands were all over Emil's strong back as they kissed and writhed together in the fur, as the car gathered speed towards their destination. At some point Emil broke the kiss and turned on the dim lights again, and then kissed Paul's ear and started masturbating the boy. Paul's hands were inside the fox fur on the man's straining erection. "Master Paul," he whispered, "will you suck me again?" "Oh, Emil, I want you to fuck me!" responded Paul, panting with desire. "Ah, Paul, I would love to, but I cannot do that- I would hurt you. Master would never forgive me. But he has asked me to give you something to put... inside you. It will help you get bigger, so later on... I could fuck you." Paul nodded. "Anything, Emil, anything". And Paul pulled the fur down the man's body and then folded it in so that he could grasp Emil's cock with the fox-fur and started masturbating Emil properly with the fur, and kissing his smooth, muscular thighs while the man turned, pressed a golden button, and a drawer opened noiselessly beside them. He took out a red, velvet-covered box and opened it, showing the contents to Paul as the boy continued to masturbate him. There was a series of glass items looking like bottle stoppers of different sizes. "These are called buttplugs, Master Paul. You put them inside you and keep them there all day. They stretch you slightly, but don't hurt. When you are used to one, you change to the next size up. Would you like to try one?" "Yes, please!" said the willing boy. Emil took one- not the smallest- out, and then smeared some gel onto it, and handed it to Paul. Paul reached down with one hand and slid it between his naked buttocks, past the skimpy panties, so it touched his anus. "Mmmm, it feels lovely and cool!" He smiled up at Emil, past the erection he was rubbing through the fur, then pushed it into himself. "Oh!" he exclaimed with a start of pleasure as the cold, slimy glass stretched him, and then slipped in properly, coming to rest with the wider handle outside his anus. "Oh, Emil, it feels lovely!" Every movement of the car, his naked buttocks or legs caused the object to signal its presence inside him, touching parts of him that he remembered from sex with Victor. His penis became even stiffer with pleasure, and the combination of the massage in his rectum and the vision of Emil's cock in his fur-covered hand washed out every thought in his brain apart from one. With one had he started pushing the buttplug slightly in and out of himself, a thrilling reminder of sodomy with Victor. He had to suck Emil's cock again. And so he did. And masturbated it with the fur. And once again, after a short time, Emil climaxed into the boy's mouth. And once again Paul drank the man's luscious, slimy semen. And once again Paul spurted uncontrollably into the black fur on the seat, for the first time having an orgasm without touching his penis, pushing the buttplug in and out of himself in pulsing sexual ecstasy. **** After their orgasms Emil had got off the seat, knelt down and licked the mink fur clean of Paul's jism. Before rejoining the boy on the huge seat, Emil had smiled wickedly up at the boy. "Otto will be pleased with us for leaving his car as we found it!" Paul laughed, and drew the man to him as he returned into his arms, and they kissed again, Paul's semen on Emil's lips, and Emil's on Paul's. The rest of the journey Paul, semi-naked, lay entwined with Emil, completely naked, in the scented furs in the back of the huge, smooth car. Of course the man and boy kissed now and then, and of course they fondled each other's penises and balls, and of course they stroked each other. They did not talk. Paul felt his every movement transmitted to his anus and rectum- a delightful reminder of the feel of a man's cock inside him, the epitome of being loved by a man. Paul knew that he was again in love, for the second time in a month, with a different older man. He was still massively in love with Victor. He felt full up, replete with the love from both older pederasts. But there was a strong, third aspect of love in Paul- the love of the very life that Victor and Emil lived, and that Paul had glimpsed on that fateful night in Victor's mansion, a life that he was now already living, and in which he was to be immersed for at least nine months. After about ten minutes of sensuous canoodling with Emil under the fur, Paul started to feel slightly carsick and sat up so he could see out of the window, leaning back against Emil's naked, smooth, muscular chest. It was amazingly erotic to feel the buttplug in his anus, Emil's muscular body on his naked back, Emil's hands on his semi-erect penis, Emil's cock, also semi-erect, pushing against the plug in his anus as Paul gently wiggled his buttocks, all the time enveloped in the softest, scented fur, watching ordinary life outside the window- people walking around, shopping, driving past. At one point their car pulled up at traffic lights and another car- open-topped, pulled up next to theirs. The driver was a young man, muscular under a thin t-shirt, and Paul could see his hairy strong thighs rising up to his shorts. Emil was watching, too, his face buried in Paul's blonde hair at his soft cheek. "Oh, Master Paul, isn't he lovely?" whispered the man. "Wouldn't you like him in here with us?" Emil was gently masturbating Paul, who could feel the man's erection hardening between his buttocks. "Mmm, yes!" said Paul, licking his lips, and wiggling his buttocks even more. A thrilling thought erupted into his mind from somewhere deep inside him. "Shall we try and get him in here? We could...we could rape him together!" Just then the lights changed, and the sports car accelerated away. Paul laughed out loud at what he had said. "Just got away in time!!" He giggled. Emil was wide-eyed with admiration. Where had Paul's depravity come from? It was as if some dark seed from the night of sexual discovery in Victor's house had taken root in the boy and started to grow of its own accord over the following weeks, not nourished by sex but by his sexual suppression. The vice Paul had felt radiating from Victor, from Emil, from the luxurious lifestyle he had tasted, from the exorbitant wealth manifest in the vast house and its furnishings, from the reek of money, power and sexual electricity had invaded the previously innocent, lonely young cross-dresser, and, without release, had oozed everywhere within his slim, smooth, enticing body. And when Paul had stepped into that black limousine, and into that black fur-swathed, perfumed luxury, and seen Emil's beautiful cock, this dark thing within him, exultant, had risen into his consciousness like a hungry vampire, and had looked, through Paul's beautiful blue eyes, at the man in the car as prey to his re-awakened lust. Paul turned to Emil, his eyes bright, his cheeks flushed with excitement, and they kissed again, the boy ravenous for Emil's tongue and mouth, the boy's hands again all over the naked man as they were once again entwined. The man and the boy heard the sound of rain start, the swish of the tyres. There, in the sumptuous car, nausea now forgotten, Paul was lost in a trance of sensual delight as he and Emil twisted together and so was taken by surprise when he heard, above their moans of pleasure and the rustle of satin and fur, the sound of the tyres on gravel. They had arrived. The car stopped. Paul disentangled himself from Emil and sat up. Emil lay back, once again stroking his semi-erect cock. Paul leant forward and kissed its tip. "We're here!" he said, eager to enter Victor's house again. He reached for his clothes on the floor, feeling the buttplug move deliciously inside him. "Master Paul, there's something for you to wear in that bag," said Emil. Paul knelt on the bearskin and opened the bag. On top of the butler's shoes and uniform, carefully folded, was a black angora roll-neck dress, incredibly soft, lined in satin. Beneath that was a pair of black leather bootees, trimmed with fur. Paul pulled the soft dress to his naked torso and revelled in its feel on his skin. Emil was masturbating properly now, watching the blonde boy dressing in front of him, watching the dress sliding up Paul's long, stockinged legs to his erection poking out on top of his silky panties, and then over this and up his smooth, slim body. Paul slipped his arms into the soft dress. "Zip me up," he said to Emil, as he turned away and pulled his long hair to one side. His tone had changed. He was no longer Emil's lover. He was Victor's possession and thus now Emil's master. Emil stopped pleasuring himself and obeyed. Something about the change in Paul made Emil forgo the any further contact with the boy, who now slipped on the bootees and zipped them up. There was the sound of the car door shutting and the crunch of footsteps. The door opened. Otto was standing there, miraculously fully dressed as a chauffeur, in a grey uniform and peaked cap, with grey boots and leather gloves, holding a large umbrella over the car. Paul turned to Emil and smiled. "Thank you, Emil." "My pleasure, Master Paul," he replied, grinning at the boy's sudden warmth again. Then Paul stepped out of the car onto the gravel in front of Victor's front door, which was open. For a moment he felt a sudden pang of fear. He was about to willingly walk into the house where awaited a complete revocation of his former life as an adolescent, heterosexual boy. He was at the threshold of a house devoted to forbidden sex between men and boys, to luxury, to pleasure, and to depravity that he was as yet too young to even imagine. Most of all, by walking into that door he was committing himself to the greatest relationship he was ever going to have, a relationship with an older man rooted in pure, homosexual lust- on his part lust for the suave, older man who would pamper him and indulge all his sensuous and sexual whims, on Victor's part lust for the feminine, slim, beautiful boy he had already seduced and in whose continued corruption he would delight. Paul paused, heart racing, and straightened the dress, which was very short. As he smoothed it over his buttocks he discovered the slit there that he remembered from the clothes he had first worn when Victor came into the room and caught him. His fingers slipped in and slightly moved the plug in his anus. A surge of sexual joy filled him, and at the same time an almost cinematic image of Emil's penis rising from the furs in the car filled his young, suggestible mind, and he was sure. He was sure he wanted to do this- more sure than anything else he had ever been faced with in his hitherto empty young life. He wanted to walk into that door, a long-haired, beautiful blonde boy, dressed in a beautiful and alluring dress that was made for anal sex, in stockings and high- heeled bootees, his anus tingling with pleasure from the glass plug nestling between his pert buttocks, his erection tenting against the satin. He wanted to hurl himself into whatever sumptuous experiences, known and unknown, that lay within. Filled with sexual joy, he smiled to himself as Otto walked him to the entrance porch under the umbrella, and then Otto stopped to let him go inside. Paul turned and smiled at the fat man, fully aware of the impact he had on him. "Master is not home yet, but Erica will look after you until he comes back tonight," said the man, frankly ogling the vision of homosexual availability that Paul knew he now presented. "Thank you, Otto, for a lovely....smooth journey." "My pleasure, Master Paul." And Paul turned and for the second time in his life entered the house in high heels and a pretty, soft dress, the huge house full of memories of sexual delights and the promise of many as yet unknown ones in the months to come. ***** Standing just inside the open door was a fat, middle-aged man, dressed in a long gold silk caftan, with a filled-out, moonlike face, a big nose and fleshy, thick lips. He was completely bald. His face was made-up, with huge false eyelashes, wild crimson eyeshadow, thick black mascara, rouged cheeks and glossy, painted crimson lips. He was wearing long, gold earrings and a matching necklace. He held out a jewelled hand, sheathed in long crimson satin gloves. A cloud of strong perfume wafted from him. "Welcome to Cheston Manor, Master Paul. I am Erica. I'm the housekeeper." He had a high-pitched, simpering, lisping voice. Paul was astonished by this vision. Erica was a frankly ugly man, but the outrageous makeup and clothes, not to mention his overwhelming perfume, radiated an animal energy. A few weeks ago Paul would have turned away from this man's ugliness, his excessive makeup; a caricature of a queer. But his own initiation into Victor's degenerate world of vice, through this very doorway only three weeks before, had profoundly changed him. Even though he had never come across anyone who shouted their homosexuality as loudly as Erica, the man's gross appearance filled him with joy; Paul felt that Erica guarded a portal into a heady world of extraordinary new sensations, experiences and sexual excess, and that Erica was the perfect sentinel for his passage through. Paul smiled, and shook Erica's gloved hand. "How do you do, Erica," he said. "This is the first time I have heard the house's name." Erica held onto his hand and walked into the hallway. The butt plug moved delightfully in his anus. His cock remained turgid. "Victor has told me all about how you met, dear boy. Do you remember coming in here that first night?" Paul laughed. "I will never forget it." Paul took in again: the flagged hallway, the skylight above, the oriental rugs on the stone floor. He turned to look the staircase curving away and up to his left and its thick red carpet. The staircase up which he had walked on that fateful night of surrender to his deepest, hitherto unknown desires. "Victor will be back later. He asked me to look after you, to help you get ready to meet him. "Thank you, Erica," Paul answered. Erica turned to look at Paul. "Ooh, I see you've had an enjoyable journey with Emil, haven't you, darling? Well, let's get you cleaned up and prettified, shall we?" Erica, still holding his hand, took Paul to the end of the hallway. There was a pad next to a door, and Erica touched it, twice. "Touch the pad, Paul." Paul did so, then Erica touched it twice again. It beeped. "You are now free to go anywhere in the house, Paul. Try it." Paul touched the pad, and the door opened silently, and lights came on as they entered. The large room they entered was the antithesis of the hallway. Instead of grey flagstones, oriental rugs, modern paintings, here was a cream carpet entirely of a short fur, and silver walls covered in large mirrors. A large pink velvet ottoman sat in the centre of the room, over which another white fur throw was tossed. There was no widow. Diaphanous gauzy pink drapes hung from silver chandeliers onto rococo furniture. There were small glass tables here and there, on which were bottles of various shapes and sizes, and on one wall was a large dressing table with a mirror surrounded by spotlights, on which were more bottles and containers, and hairdressing equipment. There were paintings on the wall- Paul gulped automatically when he saw them. They were of naked, muscular men, with erections, gazing at the painter with suggestive smiles or even leers. Most of them were holding their cocks, some glistening with oil, one or two with semen oozing from the glans. The perfume in the room was Erica's- rich, almost overpowering, and the pictures and the scent seem to amplify the erotic charge that Paul was already feeling. "Do you like my boudoir, Paul?" said Erica, following Paul's gaze. "It's lovely!" said Paul. His cock was now tenting his soft black dress as he felt the impact of the images directly in his slim, wanton being, now so aroused by sex- with Emil in the car, and now these pornographic pictures of beautiful men. "Mmm, darling, I can see you like them!" chuckled Erica. "But we have to get you ready for when Victor comes home, don't we? Come on, let's go to the bathroom." Erica led Paul across the room to a door, and they went in to yet another huge, warm bathroom. Erica let go of Paul's hand and went over to a large, free-standing bath and started running it, pouring something in from a bottle. He then came over to Paul. "Let's get you scrubbed up", he said, coming behind him and unzipping the black angora dress, and pulling it down off his shoulders. He then carefully eased the soft material forward over Paul's erection, without touching it, and let it slide down Paul's stockings to the floor. Paul was intensely aroused by the overwhelming sensations- the smell of extravagant perfume, the feel of the satin lining of the dress sliding off his body, the breathing of the outrageous queer behind him, the sights of luxury that he knew filled the great house, and the thought of being prepared for Victor's homecoming. "Mmm, I can see why Victor likes you so much!" said Erica, as he carefully pulled down the semen-soaked black panties, unclipped the suspenders from Paul's stockings and rolled them down to the tops of his bootees. He pulled his kaftan up, revealing pink patent-leather high- heeled boots, knelt down and took Paul's bootees off, so all that Paul was now wearing was a suspender belt. "Let's get this out of you for the moment," he said, and gently grasped the butt plug and twisted it from side to side as he pulled it out of Paul's anus, and put it onto a glass table next to him. The feeling of it coming out was almost as lovely as it going in. Still kneeling, with his satin-sheathed, jewelled hands he gently turned Paul to face him. Paul's erection was right in front of Erica's grossly over-made-up face. "You're gorgeous, darling!" Erica said, and with his crimson, fleshy lips, planted a kiss on the tip of Paul's cock. Reaching round, he unclipped the suspender belt, letting it fall. Then he got up, surprisingly agile, and went over to the bath, which was filling with bubbles, and checked the temperature. Paul could not believe what was happening. This is what being pampered felt like. He could not remember feeling this cared-for, and without any sense that he had to pay any sort of costly or unpleasant price for this. Although the feeling was sexually exciting, Paul now knew that Erica had no designs on him. He also realised that Erica's ministrations were really Victor's, transmitted by his servants: first Emil pleasuring him in the car, and now Erica's pampering of him in the boudoir, to which he was now yielding completely. Erica peeled off Paul's jewellery and gloves. Paul could see that Erica's hands were strong. "Now it's time for you to learn something lovely, Paul. Have you heard of a douche?" "No," said Paul. "Come over here, to the toilet." Erica pulled out a long hose with a nozzle shaped like a small erect penis, and a press-button tap, and explained how to use it. As instructed Paul greased the nozzle and eased it into his anus. It felt lovely. "You like that? Mmm, Darling, you're a natural! Push it in and out a bit- enjoy it, darling." Paul loved the way the instrument made him tingle all over as he obeyed. His own erection began to stiffen again. "OK Paul, you're not supposed to enjoy it that much!" Erica laughed. "You need to wash your pretty little boy-cunt out, so turn on the water. Fill yourself gently, but as much as you can hold." The shocking phrase made Paul's heart lurch. He tentatively filled his rectum with the warm water. It was exactly like the feeling he had had when he was first fucked by Victor, bit not so abrupt. He could not hold it long, and it exploded back into the toilet. "Again," said Erica. And he did it again, and several times until the water coming out was clear. "Put just a little in now, and then bend over." Paul did so. He could hold it easily. He turned to see Erica putting on a rubber glove and then he felt Erica's hands on his buttocks, and a greased finger push into him and sweep around his rectum. The warm water started leaking out around Erica's finger, and the sensations produced brief a wave of sexual pleasure. Then Erica withdrew his finger and made him douche again a couple of times. "That was fabulous, dear boy! Now, come onto this mat and let me look at you." He sat down on a fur-covered pouffe and Paul stood in front of him. Erica was looking all over him for something- his face, in his armpits, his arms, legs, between his buttocks. "What are you looking for?" asked Paul. "Any hairiness, dear boy. Victor would like you as smooth as you can be. You're lucky- being blonde, your pretty little hairs don't show." Finally Erica looked at Paul's pubic hair and balls. "This is the only place we need to do anything about, you delicious little sissy." Another word that sliced into Paul's already sexually fevered consciousness! Erica put some cream over Paul's pubes and rubbed it in. "Sit down, sweetie, and wait for it to work." He indicated a small pink satin armchair. "Are you enjoying this, Paul? Do you like all this preparation? I think you know exactly what you're being prepared for, don't you?" Paul smiled, happy. "Yes, Erica, I love it!" He ventured a question of the outrageously made-up man. "How long have you lived here?" Erica seemed quite eager to talk. "Years, Paul. I'm Victor's uncle, you see, and he looks after me, so I help him around the house. He is a lovely, lovely man, Paul- you are so lucky to be his... his favourite." The thought that he was Victor's favourite boy was thrilling. "You can probably tell from this room, and," he laughed, "these paintings that, like you, I like men, darling. Victor brings them to me- here, and into my bedroom. I know they're rent boys, that they do if for money, but they get a lot of money, and some of them come back again, so they must like it enough. I know I do. Anyway, when I'm not busy being fucked by or sucking off hunky men I help Victor with... well, the boys he brings here. I am very talented, dear Paul. I make clothes for them, I help them get ready, like I am doing for you. I run the house- I find the staff, I choose the furnishings, I buy the furs. I love furs, Paul, and Victor tells me you do too, don't you?" Paul nodded, eyes wide with surprise at how open Erica was about his perverted, depraved life. It was amazing to talk with a man who appeared to have no secrets. "Obviously, everyone at the Manor loves fur- because Victor does. He like lots of other things, too, sweet little boy, but that's for another day. Right now we have to peel off your fur! Come over to the toilet again." Paul went over and Erica scraped the cream off Paul's pubic area. Off came what little hair he had; it didn't hurt at all. "It'll grow back again, darling, but if you want we can put a stop to that one day. You can have your bath now- in you go, darling!" Paul went to the bath and climbed into the silky bubbles. It was perfection. As he sank back, Erica came ran more hot water in, and then and sat on a stool at the head of the bath, slipped his arms onto Paul's shoulders, and began to massage his shoulders and neck, firmly and expertly. Paul melted into his strong, soothing fingers, and leant back into them, his eyes closing in bliss. After a while Erica said "Sit up, dear boy- time to wash your pretty hair" So Paul's hair was showered, shampooed, rinsed and had conditioner rubbed into his scalp, then rinsed again. "Now stand up." Paul stood in the bathwater, while Erica soaped him over, including his puibic area, washing off the remains of the cream. His strong, soapy hands began to wash Paul's penis, which began to stand attention. "Ooooh," said the outrageous man, "you don't mind, do you? Anyone will do for you, pretty Paul!" Paul could not help but laugh. "I can't help it! You have lovely hands!" he said to the old queer. "I know, Paul darling, I know!" laughed the queer old man, leaving the bath and picking up a huge towel from a rail, "but you are not for me. You are for the Master, for my lovely Victor! So sit down and rinse yourself off, and then we'll get you dried." Erica then greased Paul's buttplug and gave it to him to put it in again. It slipped in easily, and once again sent shivers up his spine. Then Paul was wrapped by Erica in an unbelievably soft, huge towel, and rubbed dry. The man's very strong perfume and his closeness was both disturbing and exciting. When his body was dry, Erica brought a tape measure and measured every inch of his body, writing the measurements into a little black book. Then he laid Paul on a towel on the ottoman and massaged his whole body with delicately scented oil. Then he took Paul's hand and led him to the dressing table. There he was sat naked on the soft fur pouffe, his plug giving him little shocks of delight every time he moved, while Erica cut the front of his hair to give him a sweet little fringe. He could just see his erection at the bottom of the mirror, rising from a totally smooth pubic area. Then Erica dried all of his hair, at one stage using tongs to give the long ends and his new fringe, delicious little curls. Paul watched Erica's work on his hair with admiration and increasing wonder at the seductive femininity that emerged in the mirror. Paul was being transformed into a beautiful, sexy girl before his very eyes. "You have such silky hair, Paul sweetie," said the garishly decorated man, stroking the blonde locks as they tumble to delicious curls on Paul's naked shoulders "It's a delight to work with. Now for your nails, darling." Erica trimmed and shaped Paul's fingernails, and then added a dark red gloss. Then, while they were drying, he knelt down and did the same to Paul's toenails. Another step in Paul's transformation was complete. "And now, your makeup, sweetie!" lisped the old queer. Having Erica's fleshy, painted face so close to his was at first a little off-putting to the young boy. But as Erica worked, and stood away now and then to look at the results, Paul was transfixed. In all the time he had been experimenting in his mother's clothes and putting on makeup himself he had never produced a result as sensational in its sensuous feminine attractiveness. Finally, Erica stepped back, so Paul could see his face, fully made up. It was sensational, and Paul's penis stiffened when he saw the vision in the mirror. Dark blue eyeshadow above and below his beautiful pale blue eyes; long, thick mascara'd eyelashes and gently highlighted eyebrows; subtle shading on his already feminine, oval face; and finally the glossiest dark wet lipstick, his mouth lined and accentuated in a way that shouted "Put yourself in here- your tongue, your finger, and especially, please, your cock!" "Paul, darling, you're a dream to work on. You look so exquisite now I almost want to fuck you myself!" Paul was also entranced. He looked right and left, played with his hair, pouted, licked his lips, made a kiss: Erica was right. He was exquisitely beautiful. Erica glanced at a jewelled clock on the dressing table. "Victor has asked you to join him for dinner. It's time for us to get you dressed. Let's go upstairs. Put this on; we can't have you parading naked in front of the servants." Erica handed Paul a short pink silk dressing-gown with flounced hem and sleeves. "Are there many servants?" Paul asked, savouring the sensation of the silk as he drew it over his creamed, scented and smooth skin. It was a little small and did not tie completely at the front. His erection pointed out through the frills of pink silk, and the lower parts of his buttocks were naked. "Darling, there are plenty. They will do everything for you- you won't have to lift a finger." Erica took his hand, and he walked barefoot with the man back into the hall towards the stairs. The plug danced in his anus. He caught his reflection in the large mirrors in the hall- a beautiful vision in pink silk, painted nails, painted face, soft, lustrous blonde hair, erect penis. It was a thrilling image to which those lonely times in front of his mirror at home were just a poor prequel. They went up the stairs and Paul recognised the door that Victor had first taken him to, but they passed that and, heart thumping, Paul realised he was going back into the fabulous room in which he had spent hours dressing and preening before finally seeking out his seducer. Erica pulled him in. It was just as he remembered it- hung with tapestries. There was no fire this time, but otherwise the room was the same: the plinth at one end covered by polar bearskin, the huge, satin bed, and here were the vast gilt mirrors, especially on the ceiling. Erica took him over to a wardrobe and opened it. It was the one Paul remembered, full of evening gowns and very sexy dresses. Erica flipped a few gowns along and then pulled out a hanger. "Try this one, sweetie." Paul was amazed. It was the very dress he had been wearing when he was caught by Victor- the dress in which he had been driven to the phone box, in which he had told his stepmother that first lie, the one that led to all the other lies, the wonderful lies that had allowed him to return to this fabulous room, this fabulous house and eventually that fabulous man. "I wore this when... when Victor caught me," said Paul, holding the black velvet. "Yes, I know, darling," said Erica. "Victor told me again and again how stunning you were in it, all flustered and excited. He'd love it if you wore it again." Paul was looking at all the other lovely gowns in the wardrobe. "Oh, don't worry about all these- they are all for you, Paul. They'll be here whenever you want them. And I'll make dresses for you, whenever you want." "How did you know my size?" "Victor said this dress fitted you perfectly" "What shall I wear with this?" "I suggest, dear boy, that you wear exactly what you wore that night. You captivated Victor, and so he captured you!" So Erica fetched Paul black silk stockings and suspenders, and then helped him wiggle into the tight little velvet dress, his anal plug loudly signalling every movement to his yearning body, answered by his stiffer and stiffer erection. And when he was finally sheathed in velvet he once again slipped his fingers between his buttocks to feel, through the fur-trimmed slit, the glass handle of that delicious object inside him. "Do you remember what shoes and jewellery you wore?" Paul picked out the little same black stiletto bootees her remembered, trimmed with black fur, and came over to a dressing table and found the same diamante clip-on earrings, with matching bracelet and choker. Erica helped him on with these, and then watched the boy turn in front of the huge mirror, entranced by his own sexual power, one hand on the bulge at the front of the dress, the other playing with the plug in his anus. "Darling boy, you have exquisite taste. You look like the most expensive femme boy that money can buy. I think you are ready to meet Victor again. He'll be in the library- I think you know where that is. There's just one thing more before I pack you off. Leave your plug with me!" Paul laughed. He bent forward, found the plug handle amidst the fur, silk and velvet, and eased it out of him. Erica took it. "Off you go, precious. Have fun!" "I could kiss you, Erica," said Paul. "You'll mess your lipstick, darling!!" laughed the old queer. So Paul did not kiss him, and left the gorgeous room. Paul's heart was thumping with excitement. He was going down the stairs of the huge, luxurious mansion to see his Master again, longing to see the older man's reaction to the new Paul, the highly sexualised, confident, stunningly beautiful, gorgeously dressed and highly aroused man-loving transvestite, prepared by his Uncle just for his enjoyment. Paul clipped across the hallway to the library and went in. ***** Victor was in the same smoking jacket as on the first night, drinking and reading by a large fire. Next to the fire was a velvet chaise longue covered in a huge red fox fur. Victor stood up as Paul walked towards him, the scented velvet swishing against his silk-sheathed legs. Victor put down his drink as the boy walked straight up to him, stopping very close. Victor's eyes were sweeping up and down the obviously sexually aroused, wanton, beautiful boy in the skimpy velvet dress, savouring the perfection of his make-up, the slimness of his body, the scent of his perfume, the sight of his lustrous, long blonde hair, and the bulge in the velvet at the front of the dress. "Welcome back to Cheston, Paul," Victor said, almost purred. "I've missed you." Paul felt his legs start to tremble slightly at the sound of the man's thrilling voice. All his yearning being was pouring through his beautiful eyes at his Master's face. For three weeks he had thought about nothing but this moment. This moment when, douched, scented, made-up, jewelled, sheathed in velvet and satin, his blonde hair tumbling softly onto his naked shoulders, he was at last in the presence of the man who had captured his soul, and ready and gloriously willing to be taken, in every sense, especially physically- to be held in his strong arms, to be kissed by his cigar-scented lips, to have his thrusting tongue in his mouth, and then to have his body penetrated, filled, stuffed, packed, crammed and jammed full of the man's wonderful long cock. Paul could not speak. Victor knew what to do. He scooped the boy into his arms, drew his trembling body to his, and kissed him on the lips. It was a gentle, tentative kiss between the man and the boy at first. Paul whimpered with joy and melted into Victor's firm grip, and the kiss went on. And on. And on. And became stronger, urgent, wet, tongues entwined, until their bodies were writhing together with mutual lust. And so, after Victor had swiftly dropped his trousers on the thick carpet, magnificently erect, he actually picked up Paul bodily and carried him to the chaise longue and put him down on top of the soft furs and turned him so he was on all fours. In a second Paul felt Victor behind him on the furs, Victor's hands on his semi-clad buttocks, and, at last, the hot tip of Victor's prick pushing through the wonderful slit in the dress and straight onto his creamed, oiled anus. And then Paul's deepest desire was at last satisfied as his master buggered him there, on the soft fox furs in the library of Victor's great house, thrusting into the boy's willing body. Above the crackling of the fire could be heard a crescendo of Victor's groans of sexual hunger and Paul's cries of pleasure as the long-awaited sodomy continued to its glorious climax, for both man and ravished boy. **** Thus was Paul's return to the great house of Cheston Manor. After sex, Victor dressed again and he and Paul adjourned, arm in arm, to a small dining room for a delicious meal, served by Emil. They sat very close, side by side as they ate and drank, whispering almost entirely about sex, between men and men, men and boys, or boys and boys. Paul was asking question after question, and Victor's answers were incredibly arousing to the now debauched boy, so their talk was frequently interrupted with long, wet kisses and caresses; of Victor's erection through his open trousers, of Paul's with his velvet dress lifted high above his silk-stockinged thighs. For dessert Emil presented them with two chocolate mousses, and on top of each was a concoction of whipped cream and something else. Paul smelt it and then smiled. It was semen. Victor and Paul then ate this like lovers, each spooning the delicious sweet into each other's laughing mouths. Of course they were both now priapic again, and more luscious sex between man and scented boy was inevitable. But first Victor had one more thrilling task for Paul. There was a phone on the next table, and Victor brought it over. He pulled Paul onto his lap, and then once again slid his now hard cock into Paul's anus as they kissed, Paul rubbing his own erection against the man's firm belly. "It's time to ring your step-mother," he said, smiling wickedly. Paul was filled with unholy joy at the deception. He smiled wantonly, kissed Victor wetly as the man's penis rose and fell in his eager body, and then dialled his home. His stepmother answered, and Paul then told her about the boring journey, the cold room above the stables, the other work-experience lads, the friendly cook, and that all was well. As he lied and lied, Victor's love for him grew and grew like his prick; as for Paul the thrilling sensation of being buggered was almost too much. His stepmother noticed one of his sharp inbreaths of delight at a big thrust from the man's penis in his rectum, and asked him if he was OK. He managed to convince her that he had choked on a biscuit. By this time Victor was almost laughing out loud so Paul brought the call to an end, promising to ring again after the first full day at the estate. As soon as he put the phone down Victor and he burst out laughing, and then fell to kissing rapturously as Victor carried on thrusting into Paul's rectum. Then Victor said "We can be much more comfortable than this. Come to bed." And so they disengaged, and walked arm in arm through the massive house to Victor's fabulous bedroom for a long, delightful night of forbidden homosexual pleasure.