Chapter E
Full Froth Forward
Flint on the phone with Captain James, the morning of May 25th
James: Finally you pick up. Where have you been?
Flint: I am surveilling a place upstate. Stayed up all night. Had to keep quiet. I have tracked a person here who very likely is connected to Nels, the disappeared subject. This is a strange building. The map does not show anything nearly as elaborate as this mansion, castle, whatever it is. Yet there it is. Stone, lumber, marble and all. Few windows too. Isolated from the world in many ways.
James: Well I have good news for you! Nels has been found. Alive and well. Just like I predicted he’s all snug and cozy in the Midwest.
Flint: That does not add up.
James: He called me late yesterday. He had heard troubling reports from friends and fellow students that ‘some angry detective’ had been running around harassing them. He realized there had been a misunderstanding, so he reached out directly to me, gave me his story and it was just like I said.
Flint: That call could have been faked, right? How did you verify the statements?
James: Trust me. First, if you look at his social media profiles, they are like straight out of a recruitment poster for gay Midwestern life. Nels is posting images of the smooth and frothy lattes he makes. Heart-shapes in abundance. And then he and his well-groomed, fit gay buddies are featured, healthy cheeks, wide smiles, and flawless skin of the full multi-racial spectrum. In one picture, there is a pretty Latino guy who kisses Nels on the cheeks. They even wear matching knitted sweaters! A picture so wholesome it belongs on a convenience store greeting card. Boyfriend I bet. Also, Nels’ landlord has confirmed that the rental contract was recently cancelled by Nels, with a new address given in some little town far from the oceans, surrounded by wheat, forest, pickup trucks, and cheap real estate.
Flint: Still, all a bit too convenient. We should run a geolocation analysis on the images. Doctor Paul in the forensic lab will know how. Frothy lattes and smooth Latino boyfriends are not unique to the Midwest, after all. At least the local detective should drive to that address and confirm in person that the story checks out.
James: The story checks out. Get it! How much of your time has you wasted already on this? You have sufficient reasons to terminate your efforts within the parameters of the service manual. Write and submit a report within a week or two. Why continue?
Flint: I need to get my hands on Nels. I mean, I need tangible evidence, not just some digital stuff. Real-world events do not add up. I insist that the investigation continues.
James: What is wrong with you? Do you have the hots for this guy, or what? Do like a normal person. Scroll through his naughty pictures, jerk off, wipe the cum off his pretty smirk on the screen and carry on.
Flint: That’s not it. Duty compels me…
James: Just shut up! I don’t like to do this. You’ve been a good detective, a loyal foot-soldier. But as part of Nels’ call, I also learnt that you spanked one of his friends, a guy by the name of Martin. Supposedly you whacked his naked buttocks all rosy and sore in what I assume was a bad-cop interrogation routine. What possessed you? That’s not how we do things, no matter how much we wish to punish an obstructionist.
Flint: It wasn’t punishment. It was command and direction. Order and structure are not created by yet another committee meeting of a review board to add another twenty-odd lines of rules and standards to a manual. Martin needed firm, tangible, manly direction. It was for his good above all else.
James: So you confess to it. Damn it, Flint, I thought you guys had apps to blow off steam like the rest of us. You are lucky Martin did not bring charges. The gutter press would love to show pictures of a spanked boy's booty next to your rough and rugged mugshot. I give you an ultimatum. Take this day off, stick your dick into whatever you need, within the limits of the service manual of course, and return tomorrow for a new assignment that does not involve any pretty boys. If you don’t, then I will begin the termination procedure of your employment, and the cause will be the spanking session you confessed to. Time for words is over, Flint. It’s real now!
Flint’s journal, Entry, 25th of May
I will be brief. I am about to engage in risky action. I commit to this journal what might very well be my last thoughts as a free man. Though, what good have I done with the freedoms of my current lot?
My superior at NYPD, James, was contacted recently by a person who claimed to be Nels. The story is that Nels moved to some Midwestern town to live the cute and cozy gay ex-urban lifestyle. His social media profiles have been updated to sell that story.
Sure, the pictures look to be genuine. They feature Nels, happy and smiling, that moody and forlorn gaze nowhere to be seen. He even radiates a kind of manly confidence and courage. I like to fuck him now more than ever.
The Latino guy who is prominently featured is as much a full-blooded bottom as Nels, any top capable of erection can tell that. A real cutie. There is clear affection between them. They may even have sex at the same time. But without a doubt, there will always be a dominant top, if not several, involved as well. Two boys like that cannot help themselves.
In other words, I am only shown a partial image, half-truths at best.
It is all too neatly ordered, too stereotyped. Their identical knitted sweaters may fool idiots like James, but I recognize them as part of a performance. They are too kitschy in appearance, but at the same time, made of top-quality fabric if you look closely enough. These are all layered signals and appearances — visible to some, hidden to others. It is genius.
Nels is also the kind of guy who does things loudly and rebelliously. Comfort is not his style. Cozy is not his element. In short, these images are meant to camouflage what Nels is truly up to, what his powerful, sparkling, fit, fuckable spirit and body are doing in the real world.
I need to get hold of him. Feel his joyful force under me. Make him moan as his sweet butt hugs me, body and soul.
I am sufficiently self-aware to know that I am crazy horny. I spent the last fifteen hours hidden near this castle, looking for movements and signs. That strains the body and mind and makes me desire release.
This time, however, the natural stirrings within a man on a high-stakes hunting mission were further compounded by what I witnessed less than an hour ago. What I saw removed any last doubts I had. Nels’ butt is inside these walls — knitted sweaters and frothy lattes on social media be damned.
It was early in the evening when I saw through the binoculars a door open. The place had remained calm ever since I had tracked Doctor Matthew here. The architecture was peculiar and intricate with gates, angled corners, pathways and trees that obscured the size and structure of the place. My hidden spot among some bushes provided little insight.
Until that door opened that is. Two men exited and walked a few feet away to an arbour. The leafy and secluded alcove offered the pair privacy. Though not from me. I had a perfect view from my somewhat elevated position relative to theirs.
Thank God for that. Because what they did was beautiful and filled me with courage and made my balls heavy with purpose.
One of the men was a young Asian man. Exquisite looks, firm and tender in all the best ways, tan and smooth, the kind of body any half-decent man would want to lick all over. A natural-born bottom boy if such a thing exists (it must, my faith in this world depends on it). And to make it all the more alluring, the boy wore nothing but a thin and delicate loin cloth in red embroidered fabric.
Had that boy been alone I would have grabbed him, interrogated him, and tickled all possible confessions from him, stretching back to his first cock-sucking experience if need be. If Nels was in the castle, I knew how to make that boy sing.
However, walking next to the boy, his arm around the naked shoulders, was a bigger guy. He was not some gym body guy, rather he carried himself in a way only a man with grit and abundant physical power could. Something in the gait and the way his feet landed on the ground. Perhaps I could best him in hand-to-hand combat, but it would be close and bloody. Enough time would pass for either of them to sound the alarm. As much as I wanted to pull that boy in among the bushes and with my hands, arms, mouth — dick if needed — carefully drain him of information, I had to put that option aside.
Fate gave me the second-best option.
The pair of men had barely reached the arbour before the boy threw his arms around the neck of the big guy, pulled himself up and kissed the man. The big guy placed his right hand on the naked butt of the boy and squeezed the boy firmly and lovingly. With two fingers already fondling the most delicate part between the buttocks, the big guy licked and kissed the face and neck of the boy.
The boy squirmed reflexively and did not attempt to keep his loincloth on as the big guy tugged at it. The big guy placed the boy carefully on the grass and licked and sucked on every piece of exposed boy. Every nerve-ending on that boy had to tingle. The big guy knew his stuff. With only a few fingers and his mouth, he established beyond any doubt that he was the dominant one. The boy knew he was overpowered. The man felt the trust of the submissive boy at the bottom. This was experienced foreplay.
In a matter of minutes, the boy on his back folded his legs backwards and he was exposed, ready and willing. I could not quite see the butthole, but I knew from just how the boy moved, his arch, his fit body and by how the big guy breathed deeply, that the sight was delicious. Some butts can make the most hardened man tender, the most exhausted man invigorated and battle-ready, as its warmth and grip reach through the body and into the soul.
I am getting poetic here. Indulgent. I suppose I am writing this to explicate my reasons for the risk I am about to take. At its simplest, that bottom guy fits all the parameters. He and Nels had to be compatriots or brothers of the same order. Any man of power whose designs had use for one would have use for the other. It is textbook Bayesian inference. Supremely fuckable boys are wonderful creatures men like to get their hands on, so see one such boy and it increases the probability that another such boy is nearby because a powerful man has gathered them both and brought them under his command.
“Wait. We can celebrate our victory. But more tasks await tonight. We cannot exhaust ourselves yet, we need to be ready to serve the Sovereign,” said the pretty boy when the big guy began removing his clothes.
“Dutiful. Good boy. Once inside your ass, I cannot pull out, that’s just the law of nature. So you’re right,” muttered the big guy before he leaned in and kissed and licked the boy’s butt and balls.
My dick was throbbing at this moment. My body craved to see that boy impaled on the thick man meat that no doubt lived within the pants of the big guy. My frustrations reached painful levels. As if I possessed mind powers I aimed commanding thoughts in their direction. “You cock-hungry boy, you need dick in your mouth, go for it, full industrial-strength slurping gagging suction, no less. Your skin needs to rub up against his coarse fur, you need to be tickled into a full-body orgasm. Come on, submit to it! Drive him mad with domination desires. Use that butt!”
Maybe it worked? Maybe they followed some grand design oblivious to my frustrated attempts at mind control? Anyways, the naked boy licked his lips and looked at the crotch of the big guy. “Just a little. Just the tip. A teaser…” he said. The big guy, unable to deny such a coy request, unzipped and allowed his erection to swing out.
The sucking began. Or worship, rather. The full-blooded bottom, as full-blooded bottoms are known to do, wrapped his tongue around the large head and moved his lips up and down, clockwise and counterclockwise, to the left side and the right side. I saw in the binoculars the pouting, moist, lubricated lips move so delicately along the shaft I could feel my balls tighten and grow heavy. I was witnessing a true cock connoisseur, a true savant of the male anatomy and physiology, acting according to his instincts.
Images of Nels pretty face and pink lips clasping around my dick forced themselves into my consciousness. It was impossible not to picture sweet Nels doing his expert cock sucking when I witnessed his brother do the same to this big and well-endowed man in the arbour.
The boy laughed and let go. “Tonight. We must save it for tonight. It must come to fruition. The Sovereign has to be right,” he said.
Talk about willpower. If I had a boy of that calibre moisten my dick, I would have had to spread his ass and drill him good. Or at least spank him for being such a cock-tease. Regardless of how, had I been treated that way, his happy yelps and butt would be required.
They stood up and they dressed again. As they walked back towards the door I saw those sweet tanned perfectly rounded buttocks. The big guy slapped them with strong affectionate force — strong love.
That pair of buttocks reminded me that I had not fucked a boy butt silly in a while. Martin, Charlie, Ganesh, and Luke had all in their way teased and excited my soul and urge to dominate. And through words and recollection, Travis and Nate from the State Department had made my mind throb even more for the sweet feeling of boy butt.
And Nels, of course. Always and everywhere Nels. That boy was in my soul driving me crazy.
I redirected my binoculars to the door. On the keypad I saw it clearly: 4777. That was the code the big guy entered. The door opened and they were gone.
As I often do when faced with a decision, I rolled over and looked at the sky. Here follows my deduction and determination.
First, I have obtained the code to enter the castle. With no surveillance cameras visible, I should be able to at least enter the place unseen. Whatever waits inside, I have to deal with it as it comes.
Second, the three persons I know are inside are all consistent with the hypothesis that Nels is inside those walls, or at least has been. Neither of them nor their actions prove that fact, but together they make it a great deal more likely.
Third, I vaguely recall mentions of ‘the Sovereign’ in Nels communications. And here pretty Asian boy had been talking about ‘the Sovereign’ as well. Whoever that codename denotes, it is uncommon, so its co-occurrence suggests a connection.
Fourth, I am on the verge of being fired. There are no reinforcements to call upon. As far as James is concerned, Nels is making frothy lattes in the day and enjoying a double-headed dildo with his Latino boyfriend in the night somewhere in the Midwest. It is up to me alone to take action.
Fifth, I need Nels. Not some stylized two-dimensional version, but the complete thing, stripped bare, sparkling, pushing, moving, gripping with all his awesomeness.
Ergo: once I put pen and notebook aside, I am going in. That castle compels me. That’s where I need to stick my dick, full commitment.
