Very rarely does politics take public holidays into account. You can imagine, then, that Valentine's Day is nothing special in terms of my job. Instead of wondering who my secret admirer is, I'm working on the next press statement for my boss.
This year was special though. Russell Crowe was at my beck and call, my helpless slave if I so wished. All I had to do was say the magic word and he'd come running. After the Halloween episode, our relationship had been a little strained, but I managed to improve it. I innocently told him that it what he had done was understandable, since a lot of straight guys had difficulty expressing their homosexual desires. That salved his conscience, although technically he had done nothing wrong.
I sat at my desk in my office. It was ten o' clock in the morning and I'd done hardly anything since I arrived at six. My eyes stared at the half-typed letter on the computer screen, but my mind was pretty much elsewhere.
I wanted to be with him tonight, no question. But how did I want him? Subdued submissive? Rough like last time? Or maybe, for this one night, I could make him believe that he did love me, and whatever we did tonight would be more than just fucking. I wanted him to make love to me.
Sighing, I started to type. What good would faking it do? In any case, he probably had a date fixed up with some glitzy celebrity that would get him plenty of media attention. He's definitely getting big now, already a big hit with most of Australia. I hit the space bar hard.
Who gives a shit who he's got lined up, I thought to myself. I could make him chew his fingers off, nevermind break a date!
I finished typing and started printing the document. Sure I'd made him break a date before, but this time it seemed unethical. I don't know why, maybe because this time it was more than just sex I wanted.
As I got up to fetch the letter from the printer, the solution struck me. Why not implant a suggestion in his subconscious that will make him think about me endlessly today, and see what action he takes?
The more the plan unfolded in my head, the more I liked it. In a way, all I would be doing was prompting him. There was a chance that he'd do nothing and I was prepared to risk it because anything he did do would be of his own accord. That would make it feel special. Smiling, I reached for the phone.
The door flew open and in rushed our chief of staff Johnny Altierri. He was in his thirties, tall and intense-looking, with the whole dark hair and eyes thing going for him. I liked him for his enthusiasm and his dirty sense of humour.
There was no enthusiasm or humour today, as he slammed a newspaper down on my desk. "Read that!" he shouted, stabbing his finger at the front page article.
I put the phone down and picked up the paper as Johnny paced back and forth with an air of drama only an Italian could pull off. The photo on the front page was one of our boss. The headline screamed, "Leading Politician Caught With Underage Prostitutes."
"Holy shit!" I gasped.
"Tell me about it," Johnny snorted. "He's in police custody as we speak. This is bad, Shane, real bad."
This time, he wasn't exaggerating. The boss had been arrested in a brothel with two fourteen year-old girls, snorting from a fifty-gram pile of cocaine. I could already see my Valentine's day dreams heading for the rocks.
* * * * *
By twelve o'clock, the situation had turned into a nightmare. My office was a mess of faxes, printouts and messages. Worse than that, the phone line was jammed with incoming calls. I wouldn't have been able to get hold of Russ even if I had time to try.
The more work piled up, the more I thought about him to the point where I even considered jerking off in the office. I wanted him so bad.
I had to wait for a call from the boss' lawyer to tell me what exactly was happening and what charges had been made. Then I would have to conjure up some inventive statement that would put as best a light on the matter as possible. In the meantime, journalists were jostling for a place on the switchboard, only to hear me say no comment would be made at this moment. I really hate this job sometimes.
* * * * *
It was going on eleven when I returned to my appartment that night. After hours of hard work, I had managed to diffuse what had been a publicity nightmare. I needed a raise, I decided, or at least a week's vacation.
I opened my front door and stumbled in wearily. I knew immediately that something was wrong. A cool breeze caressed my warm face. The doors to the balcony were open. Music played softly - the Metallica version of Loverman. The lights had been dimmed, a table set for two.
As I walked forward, strong arms wrapped themselves around my neck and shoulders. The scent of Old Spice filled my nostrils. I didn't struggle against the intruder - his grip wasn't agressive, but strangely comforting. I knew it was Russ.
"What're you doing here?" I asked. I couldn't think why he'd done all this since I never had chance to implant a suggestion today.
"I'm your loverman," he murmured, running his lips down the side of my neck. I sighed at the feel of his stubble against my skin. His hand slid under my shirt and stroked my belly. My body went limp in his arms.
He undid my belt and tugged my trousers and underwear down around my ankles. I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of them as his hand brushed round my erect cockshaft. He guided me back against the wall and pressed close against me, gazing into my eyes as he unbuttoned my shirt.
He was dressed head to toe in black - black jeans and a black Armani shirt over a black T-shirt. For the first time ever, I was afraid of him. It was his intensity. The intensity of the situation, the intense sexuality he radiated, but above all, the intensity in his eyes. He scared me - and it turned me on.
I stood naked before him, waiting. I've never felt so self-conscious before. My cock poked at my belly-button, red and unabashed. Russ looked up and down my body for a moment then silently led me by the shoulder to the bathroom. The tub was filled.
"Get in," said Russ. I tested the water with my toes then climbed in. Immediately the hot water began working on my tired body. Russ was kneeling beside the tub, just watching me. Like a father bathing his son.
A horrible thought popped into my head. What if he knew that I'd hypnotised him? Maybe he'd gone to a shrink or something to discuss his unexplained sexual interest in me, and the doctor had found my suggestions? Under the water, my body shuddered. What would Russell do if he found out?
I jumped as his hand brushed my cheek. It ran down my neck, over my chest and onto my belly. Despite my fear, I nudged my cockhead against his hand. He grinned knowingly and began to rub my erection under the water.
With his other hand, he began to soap my neck and shoulders, massaging the tense muscles between his fingers and thumbs. I sighed contentedly, slumping back. His hand was pumping my cockshaft up and down slowly. I could feel the orgasm building around the base of my penis.
Russell suddenly removed his hand and stood up.
"What's wrong?" I asked, a little crabby about the delayed orgasm.
"Nothing," he replied. "I'll be waiting for you in the bedroom."
With a dirty grin and a wink, he was gone. I couldn't believe this was happening. We'd never done anything unless Russ was either drunk or in a trance. Now he's sneaking into my apartment and climbing into my bed without even a word from me?
After washing and drying myself, I stepped out into the hallway. The ambiance had changed again. As I walked towards the light at the end of the passage, the low, dirty bass riff of Feed My Frankenstein rang through the apartment.
I took a deep breath then pushed open the bedroom door. Russell was in bed, propped up against the headboard. I could see the outline of his erection underneath the sheets. He lifted them up, smiling invitingly.
I slid in next to him. We started off lightly, just kissing gently while he stroked my arm. With each passing moment, our urgency increased and soon we had each other's dick in hand. Russ went down on me first. I watched silently as he lavished my throbbing shaft with his tongue.
When he released it, I moaned in protest. He rolled my onto my stomach and straddled my thighs. I heard the crackle of the cellophane condom- packaging and turned my head round to watch him slide the latex over his thick length. He lubed it up then used his fingers to spread a little on my asshole
I shuddered at the cold, squishy sensation, feeling my anus tighten against the intrusion. When I felt his cockhead push into me, I bit the pillow hard. The rest followed slowly until he was fully inside me.
His hands gripped my shoulders tight with each thrust. Every time, he drew his cock almsot completely out then slid it back in. My ass muscles gripped at it, as if unsure whether to pull it in or push it out.
Russ reached underneath me and cupped my burning prick in both hands. I was in a state of sexual bliss, only conscious of sensations within my body. My sense of time had vanished. I wasn't sure if he'd been pumping for five minutes or ten when he collapsed forward on top of me.
He nuzzled my left ear, murmuring how amazing I made him feel. His penis was still hard inside me, nudging forward occasionally. My own was still in his hands, coming closer and closer to a climax.
I moaned loudly as a hot wad of jism burst out of my cock onto the bed. My voice died to a whimper while I felt his hands massaging every last drop out. All the time, he told me he loved me.
That night I slept peacefully in Russell's arms, my head nestled on the crinkly hairs of his chest. I don't know what this'll lead to, but I'm hopeful. When a possibly one of the straightest guys comes round on Valentine's Day to sleep with you, completely sober and conscious, you can't help but see a glimmer of hope in the distance.
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Trick For Treats |