Chapter Two – LIVE AT THE FALCON
A WORD FROM YOUR AUTHOR: "A warning to those who regularly read these evil, perverted stories. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SHAMELESS HETEROSEXUAL NAUGHTINESS. If such behaviour offends or revolts you, please skip most of the last page. To the rest of you happy degenerates, enjoy!" xx. Sadie
THE MORNING AFTER:
Rayne needed to sleep after the rigors of his enema-induced multiple climax. Ant curled up with him under the duvet for a while, holding the beautiful young man in his arms until his breathing slowed and steadied. However he could not relax. Once he was sure that Rayne was sound asleep, he got up again and wrapped the quilt snugly around his delicious new house-boy, then pulled on some clothes.
It had stopped snowing outside and once he came up on deck he took a long breath of the damp, cold London air, wishing they were somewhere warmer; somewhere he could sail out onto the open ocean and drop anchor to screw Rayne, naked on the decking in the balmy sunshine. The kid needed some sun on his skin. He was pale as milk. Warmth and light would help to heal some of those nasty bruises on his skinny arms and lean thighs.
As he walked along the embankment Ant was in a kind of reverie. He wanted to tell everyone he met about the fantastic sex he and Rayne had enjoyed last night and how this gorgeous boy was still sprawled naked in his bed, waiting for Ant to come home and fuck him some more.
At the shop, he rummaged around vaguely, trying to find something that his young guest might eat without turning up his pretty nose. He had never cooked for a vegetarian lodger and had no idea where to start. Since the kid had already attempted milky tea, he decided that Rayne was probably not one of those militant veggies who would not even sit in the same room as a pat of butter and bought cheese, pasta, tomatoes and chillies, and a large bag of apples. The girl at the checkout was one of Mr Gulati's casual assistants, a big, bottle-blonde Ukrainian immigrant who never met the eye of anyone that came to her till. The pink checked overall she wore was almost too small, stretched tight across her voluminous breasts and big, round arse, straining the buttonholes until they looked ready to pop open.
Ant speculated idly that she was nude beneath the coverall (or coverlittle!). There was no telltale bra line and he could not imagine how she might have squeezed a layer of clothing between the polyester garment and her milky skin. He could see her nipples, pressing prominently against the pink and white material. His cock stirred in his pants as he imagined how her huge, white tits would spill over the counter if the buttons burst from their overstretched holes. He wondered if she would even notice she seemed so immured to everything else around her.
As she checked his shopping through with her customary ennui, he contemplated how it would feel to have her big, bare breasts spilling out of his hands as he thrust himself into her plump, wet pussy from behind. Would she even acknowledge his presence as he forced her over the counter and pounded her with his cock (which was almost unbearably hard again now)? He wondered if Rayne would like to do her too and the idea of his gorgeous new companion on his knees, eating her plump wet cunt in the shower as Ant fucked her from behind almost made him cream his pants.
"Five pounds twenty five," she said atonally, breaking into his fantasy, one ringed and taloned hand outstretched for the money. Her nails were long and candyfloss pink. Her gaze was fixed on the till readout.
Ant fumbled for the cash and stuffed his shopping into a carrier bag as she got his change.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked her as she dumped the money in his hand.
She actually looked at him for a moment; a blue-grey gaze that swept him like an arctic wind from his crotch to the top of his head. Then, in a husky monotone, she dismissed him.
"Get lost!"
Back on the boat he found the young man awake, his hair already damp from the shower and wished privately that he had delayed his trip to the shops for a while so that he might join Rayne under the cascade for some more water sports. The boy was now perched up in the bows smoking a roll-up, gazing out at the river with a curious yearning. His clothes had dried out overnight for he was dressed and wrapped in the throw from the galley sofa. He glanced over one skinny shoulder as Ant climbed back on board and flashed a smile that did not reach his beautiful eyes before returning his attention to the scene beyond the prow of the boat.
"Are you okay?" Ant dumped the shopping and scrambled forward to lean on the bow rail beside him. Rayne blew out a long plume of smoke; chin tilted upward slightly and eyes half closed.
"I'll live," he exhaled huskily.
"Not for much longer if you carry on smoking those things without a roach," Ant pointed out.
"Who made you my mother?" Rayne did not look at him. Long black lashes shielded his ice green gaze as he surveyed the cold, dark waters of the Thames.
Ant shook his head in disbelief. How could this kid be so gorgeously hot one minute and yet so completely distant and frigid the next? He was a total mystery, and one that Ant was determined to unravel.
"Are you hungry?" he wanted to know. "Only I though I could cook us dinner tonight. I hope you like pasta?"
Beneath him Rayne sucked steadily on the crumpled cigarette between his fingers then removed it from his mouth and seemed to contemplate it for a moment as if it might answer the question for him. He breathed out the words in a wreath of smoke.
"Very domestic all of a sudden, aren't we?"
Ant experienced a little twinge of irritation. What was it with young people these days, first the girl in the shop and now Rayne Wilde? They were so bloody antagonistic.
"I have to eat, even if you don't. If it were down to me, I'd just put a steak on the grill pan and be done with it, but madam won't eat that, will she? Oh no!"
That had some effect. Rayne looked up at him again, somewhat quizzically. His pale face was almost girlish beneath the tumble of blond-tipped fringe, framed in that soft, woollen throw. All Ant could suddenly think about was the way those full, bloodless lips felt wrapped around the shaft of his cock. He got another hard on right away and pushed his hands into his coat pockets, drawing them together over the offending protuberance. It simply refused to stay dormant this morning. The boy frowned slightly, though probably not at the bulge in his pants, as he had not taken his eyes off Ant's face. He looked slightly perplexed, as though the outburst had come as a surprise to him.
"Pasta's fine," he said at last, with a shrug of his shoulders as he looked away.
Ant was about to give up on him and go back inside. It was still bloody cold up here, even with his coat on but he glanced back once as he made his careful way towards the hatch.
