In At

"I'm sorry, my wife has delivered an ultimatum. Family only for Christmas. She apparently has a major announcement to make. I'll go up by plane. Emmet can drive you up in the Jag on the 27th and then bring us both back down after New Year's. I won't be able to stay at Brambleton long then, though. The winter is a busy season from me in Philadelphia. I hope you won't be too upset being here alone."

"No, of course not, Archie," Matt answered. The two were sitting in a small pool of candlelight at one end of the massive table in the cavernous dining room of Brambleton. And it was, in fact, fine with Matt—or so he thought at the time. Judge Atherton spent hours alone in his study, working away at who knew what—he supposedly was retired, but he seemed to be putting in a full day's work with paperwork. And, although they slept together in the same bed, the judge, being content to have a young man to hold in his arms, only asked for anal sex a couple of times a week now. In the last few days, he had been wheezing through that. Other than that, it was mostly hand jobs or blow jobs. Atherton still liked to get it off at least once a day—and Matt had grown used to more often than that. In fact, Matt was getting antsy for more active sex than that, although Brambleton itself was commanding much of his arousal.

Matt was in the burned-out wing testing supports and beams when Emmet, the chauffeur, came back from taking the judge to Dulles airport for a commuter flight to Philadelphia the next day. Emmet appeared at a door from the garage forecourt at the back of the house and cleared his voice to get Matt's attention.

"The judge's plane took off a half-hour late, but it's probably already in Philadelphia now," Emmet said in a rich, deep voice. In many ways Emmet reminded Matt of Dashad. He was probably in his early thirties, a black man—much darker skinned than Dashad—and handsome as mixed-race men from the Caribbean islands often were. Where he reminded Matt of Dashad the most, though, was a manner that appeared diffident on the surface and at first blush but had a backbone of steel and authority underneath it as well as in having a physique that was big boned and heavily muscled without being fat.

"Thank you, Emmet. Archie says you'll drive me up on the 27th."

"Yes, sir. Four days from now. And, if there's anything you need—anything I can do for you—before then, let me know. I'm a good driver."

Matt looked up sharply, and saw the look that the last comment had suggested he might get—a somewhat knowing smirk. Emmet, like all of the servants, of course knew exactly what Matt's status was at Brambleton. For the first time, Matt saw Emmet as a possible source of relief for the itch that the judge was unable to scratch.

"Thanks. I think I'll manage OK. With Archie gone, I can do a lot of measurement and study in the house that I didn't want to get in his way with."

"I know the master planned for both of you to be away for Christmas, so there are no decorations or anything. No tree. There are boxes of lights and ornaments, though, and I could bring in a tree, if you like."

"No, I wouldn't want you to go to any trouble, thanks," Matt answered. But having said that, it suddenly hit Matt that Christmas was in two days. It had always been a happy holiday for him, and the decorations always helped make it special. He, indeed, would miss not having any of the trappings.

"Yes, well," Emmet was clearing his throat. "I have a tree up in my apartment behind the garage, so if you feel in the need for some Christmas spirit, sir . . . or if there's anything else you need without Judge Atherton being here to do for you . . ."

Matt looked at Emmet directly. It was clear he was making an offer. It wasn't the least bit hard to tell. The look in his eyes said it as much as the innuendo did. He was a beautiful man, with a powerful body. And he achingly reminded Matt of Dashad—even more so now that he was establishing the proposition. But Matt wasn't sure what he wanted. He had been so steeped in studying the architecture and restoration needs of the house that he hadn't thought much about sex, and when it occurred to him that he was missing something in that department, he'd brushed the thought away. He was aware that he was too greedy in wanting it all.

What he had with the judge had almost become routine and wasn't what he called invigorating. He'd gotten that from Perry and William Henry, but they appeared in the past now.

"Uh, thanks, Emmet, I'll keep that in mind."

"Just one thing, sir."

"Yes, Emmet, what is that?"

"Everywhere but my apartment, I work for Judge Atherton . . . and his guests. But in my apartment, on my own time, I am master."

"Uh, yes, of course, Emmet. That's as it should be."

"And I am a good, but very demanding master."

"Uh."

"It's just that I don't want there to be any misunderstand, sir. I wouldn't want anyone to come to my apartment without realizing how it would be."

"Thank you, Emmet. I think I understand . . . perfectly. I doubt I'll have the need to see your Christmas tree, though."

"As you wish, sir," he answered, although he didn't sound convinced, and perhaps it was because he could see Matt trembling. But he turned left.

And keep Emmet's offer in mind he did through the next day. And as chance would have it, part of his uncertainty was answered when he saw Jaime, from Ravensworth, almost stealthily come around the side of the garage the next afternoon and enter an open bay.

Curious, Matt quietly approached and peeked through a side window in the garage. Jaime was kneeling in front of a mostly naked Emmet—only wearing boots and a shirt open and pulled back at each side to reveal a magnificent body and proud cock and balls. Jaime, already nearly naked himself—only in his open shirt and shoes as well—was sucking Emmet off.

As Matt watched, Emmet pushed Jaime's mouth off his cock and rolled a condom on it. Then he lifted the smaller Jaime with hand grasps under the Hispanic's armpits; turned him toward the trunk of the Jaguar salon car, which Jaime reached out for with his hands, planting the heels of his palms on the shiny surface of the car. Grabbing Jaime's hips in broad hands that permitted him to grip and spread the butt cheeks, Emmet lifted Jaime's feet off the floor of the garage, positioned his condomed cock head at Jaime's spread hole, and worked his way inside as Jaime writhed his body and voiced cries of welcome that easily reached Matt's ears through the window. When Emmet began to pump him it was with strong, vigorous strokes.

Matt realized, the memory of cocks that big and black and vigorous flooding in his mind, that he had almost achingly been missing this. He wanted what Jaime was getting. He almost had to put his hands over his ears because the sounds of Jaime enjoying what he was getting were almost too much for him to bear.

Matt returned to the house and tried to throw himself wholly into his architectural studies and measurements. But it had been entirely too long since he'd gotten a satisfying fuck like Jaime obviously was getting in the garage, so Matt just couldn't get that out of his mind. It was almost an hour later that Matt saw Jaime stumbling out of the garage, a sloppy grin on his face. Matt's cheeks flushed with envy.

He held off through that day and into the next. But now it had been brought to his attention that Christmas was here—it was Christmas Eve now—and that the house was dark and undecorated, Matt's surroundings and his loneliness at this time of year—and the uncertainty of what the future held for him—drove Matt to raid the cellar for wine, the refrigerator for cheese, and the larder for crackers as it became dark, and then to walk over to the small apartment Emmet had behind the garages. He had pulled on a tight T-shirt and tight jeans, not bothering with underwear.

Emmet met him at the door of his apartment, barefoot and dressed only in sleeping trousers. He had the perfectly cut chest of a bodybuilder, and the gold medallion on the chain around his neck nearly disappeared in the cleavage separating his pecs. One arm was covered in an intricate sleeve tattoo that nearly faded into the darkness of his skin but that, thereby, begged for closer inspection.

Behind him, taking up nearly a fourth of the small living room, was a Norfolk pine tree, with large-bulb, old-fashioned lights on it, a popcorn chain, and what looked like they might be homemade ornaments. The rest of the room was lit with the soft glow of tea candles. Matt almost teared up from the hominess of it—not much different than the trees his parents had put up and decorated with what they could scrape together.

"I find I do miss a tree. I thought you might share yours with me for a couple of hours," Matt said, embarrassed that his voice sounded hoarse—as if it revealed the want that was gnawing at him. "And I brought some food and wine, if coming isn't too much of an imposition."

Emmet gave him a smile and a penetrating gaze. Matt felt that the man could look through all the pretense and knew exactly why Matt had come. His gaze dwelled below Matt's waist, where Matt felt himself half hard already and the line of his cock showing. He was sure that Emmet knew he wasn't wearing briefs.

Emmet proceeded to show that, indeed, he did know why Matt had come, and, honing in on a weakness of Matt's, he took full, assured controlled. "You didn't come just for the tree, did you?" Emmet said in the deep, rich baritone of his. His hand had moved down to the bulge in his crotch.

"No, not just for the tree," Matt admitted in a voice that was more of a sigh than a statement. It was almost a relief that there would be no awkward moments of pretense and dancing around what Matt wanted.

"By all means, come in. You may put the wine and food on that table by the sofa. We'll fuck right here for the first time. I like it a little wild at first. I think you like it that way too."

Matt brushed past the hulking body of Emmet, seemingly even larger and commanding in this small room, and placed the wine and the cheese and box of crackers on the sofa side table. His hands were shaking so tremulously that he would have put what he was holding down anyway. He heard a rustling sound and looked up in time to see Emmet's sleeping trousers tossed around his side and onto the sofa.

Emmet was close behind him, embracing him from behind. Emmet's fingers were snaked up under the hem Matt's T-shirt and cupping his pecs and pulling Matt's shirt off his back and tossing it on top of the sleeping trousers on the sofa. Emmet was kissing the back of Matt's neck, while Matt softly whimpered and raised his arms to cup the back of Emmet's curly haired head with his hands.

"I hope it's OK," Emmet murmured. "I like to do a fast fuck first." He said it in such a way, though, that it wasn't really offered for discussion.

"Yes, oh yes," Matt answered in a breathy voice.

Holding Matt's torso close to his chest and cupping one of his pecs with one embracing arm, Emmet worked Matt's belt and zipper, and Matt felt his jeans slide to the floor. The free hand went to cupping his balls and then encircling his cock and slowly pumping him. Matt turned his head so that they could go into a kiss, and Emmet forced his hardened cock between Matt's thighs. The cock bulb pressed into the base of Matt's balls. Emmet began to dry fuck Matt between his thighs, rubbing the top of his hard cock over Matt's hole, again and again.

Matt sighed and shuddered at the size of him. It was the blackness. None of the white men who had taken Matt had what the black men had given him.

They stood there for half an eternity, Emmet dry humping Matt and Matt melting at the attention. In a whimpering voice, Matt whispered, "Fuck me. Please fuck me. Put it inside me."

Emmet gave a low, guttural laugh in answer. "The old man can't do you well, can he? God, I can tell you're ripe for it. Cute piece like you needs more of a man than the judge is."

"Yes, what I need is a black man," Matt whispered. "Give me what a black man can give me."

Not taking umbrage at that, Emmet laughed. "This black man sure as hell can give you what you need." He freed Matt's cock and reached over and opened the drawer of the stand next to the sofa, revealing packets of condoms and a tube of lube. Emmet crowned himself with one hand, which he then got slicked up with lubricant and worked Matt's hole open without losing the grip on Matt's torso that held him close to Emmet's chest.

"Climb it now," Emmet muttered. "Show me how much you want it. Lock your hands behind my neck"—and Matt proceeded to move his hands down from cupping Emmet's head until he could lock his fists behind the black man's thick neck—"and arch your back and roll your ass up."

As Matt moved to do that, Emmet moved the arm encasing Matt's chest down to encircle him at the waist. He lifted Matt off the floor with that arm, and his cock just slid into Matt's crack and was entering him. And entering him and entering him and entering him.

"Shit, opens right up," Emmet muttered. "You do like the big black cock, don't you?"

"Umm, um, do me good," Matt whimpered. "Fuck me deep." He gave a little cry and started to move his hips with the rhythm of the answer to his begging for a deep fuck.

A few minutes later, Emmet twisted Matt around on the cock to where Matt was facing him, and commanded, "Your ankles on my shoulders. Arch your back and reach for my ankles with your hands," and Matt was draped in front of Emmet's body and Emmet was jack hammering down into him.

Matt was trembling and shuddering and obviously having trouble holding this position, so Emmet then pulled Matt's torso back up to his chest and slowly knelt down to the floor, not losing purchase in Matt's channel, and fucked him missionary style on a deep-pile throw rug in front of the Christmas tree.

After they had both ejaculated and had cooled down, Emmet rose from the rug, leaned down, gathered Matt up, and carried him into his bedroom.

Matt assumed Emmet was going to let him rest on the bed, and he felt good—but not satisfied to the degree that Dashad could satisfy—even though more "done" than Judge Atherton could manage. But he assumed incorrectly. Emmet laid him down on his side, with his hip at the edge of the bed. He lifted Matt's leg so that it ran up his torso, palmed Matt's belly with one hand grabbed a pec with his other one, and slid inside Matt's channel and began to pump hard and deep sideways, while Matt whimpered and writhed under him.

"Yes, yes. God, yes," Matt called out in ecstasy.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Emmet muttered. "Black cock. I could see it in the way you looked at me. You take the white cock of these rich bastards around here, but you've had black cock before and it's what you really want."

"Yes, yes, it's what I want."

"And I don't have to fuck you, do I? You want it so bad you'll do the work."

With that, he manhandled Matt up into the center of the bed, laying on his back, and pulled Matt over him. He held Matt suspended in the air over his body with strong hands at his waist. His cock was as erect and proud as a flagpole—but a good bit thicker. Matt's face was above his, looking down, and Emmet was assured by the look of need and want in Matt's eyes.

"Black cock. Big black cock. From a chauffeur. You couldn't fool me. You may want something from these white guys you're servicing—money and possessions—but what you really need and want is black cock—from a chauffeur."

"Yes," Matt murmured.

"Say it. What do you want from me? Why did you come here tonight?"

"I want your big black cock," Matt croaked. "Fuck me with your big black cock."

"Fuck yourself. Plant your knees on either side of my hips and take the cock."

Facing Emmet's head and kneeling on either side of his hips, Matt panted as he lowered his channel on the cock. When he'd bottomed, Matt leaned back, hands buried on either side of Emmet's meaty calves, supporting his arched torso, and moaned at the throbbing fullness of the feeling inside his channel.

"Any of these rich white bastards got what I've got? Any fill you like I do?"

"No, none of them," Matt groaned.

"Fuck yourself now. And you can take it slow. We've got all night." He locked his fists behind his neck and started to move his hips up and down, seeking and finding the rhythm of Matt moving his channel on the cock. Matt groaned and moaned and gasped and sighed. And if you listened to him closely you could almost hear him purring.

This time after they were done, and were still panting and sweating, working on cooling down, Emmet asked, "You ever had it better than that?"

"Not from a single guy," Matt answered, lying but not wanting to sour the mood. Dashad still could do it a bit better.

"Whatta you mean. You've done it on a string?"

"Yes. At UVa."

"All black guys? All hung?"

"Yes. Football players."

"You're such a slut," Emmet answered, with a laugh. "Maybe I can get some guys together."

Matt just sighed and snuggled closer into Emmet's arms and reached for his cock.

Matt spent the next three nights, until the morning of December 27th, in Emmet's bed. He was still purring as they climbed into the Jaguar for the trip up past Washington, D.C., and Baltimore on I-95.

At the last rest stop on the highway before reaching Philadelphia, Emmet pulled into a remote parking slot, unzipped his trousers, and pulled Matt's head down into his lap.

"This is just for you to remember what cock you really want."

The cock Matt really wanted was Dashad's. He knew that now. But Dashad wasn't here and Emmet was.