Liaisons

By Habu

In this steamy novella of non-stop fetish gay male sex, the plans and needs of charismatic and dominating Austrian munitions manufacturer, Baron Josef von Holst, in the 1920s lead to the subjugation to his purposes at a Venice resort beach hotel of Lady Elizabeth Winslow and her son, Paul. Von Holst’s first-time taking of Paul Winslow leads the young man down an ever-more intense road of male, no-sex-act taboo, escort service prostitution until, in the war-torn Europe of 1941, Paul becomes determined to save his mother from the clutches of the baron and the increasingly sinister and intolerant German war machine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Feb 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925190656

Habu

Habu is one of the pen names of a former supersonic spy jet pilot, intelligence agent, male model, movie actor, and diplomat. A wild youth in South East Asia was spent enjoying whatever sexual opportunities came his way, and much of his gay male writing is about recalling incidents from those days and inventing ones he’d perhaps have liked to experience. He now leads a very quiet and ordinary life.Check out our blog and get free stories. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated.

Book preview

Chapter One: Falling into the Baron’s Plans

January, 1924, the Baron’s Austrian Mountain Chalet

The snow had started to fall fast and furiously when Lady Elizabeth and her son, Paul Winslow, descended from the first-class compartment. Their journey on the rail trunk line from Salzburg had ended at the one room station of the village at the foot of the mountain on the Austrian side of the Italian Alps. A sleigh with the baron’s coat of arms on the side was waiting for them, its two massive horses standing impatiently, pawing the snow and emitting clouds of steam from their nostrils. They were both Black Forest stallions, with sleek burnish-brown coats and golden manes. Both were in heat, showing huge, pink erections between their hind legs, and Lady Elizabeth blushed, turned her head away from them, and looked up the mountain toward where another stallion, Baron Josef von Holst, awaited their arrival.

Elizabeth had almost not come. The last time she’d seen the baron was at a resort beach hotel near Venice. He had taken much for granted and far too many liberties with her—but that he had was what had made her come to him for a ski week at his mountain chalet. He’d been so masterful, and she burned for him. She turned her eyes back to the pawing stallions, now letting their need and intention burn through her body.

He had invited her here, to his mountain chalet, on the pretense of giving her son, Paul, ski lessons, but she knew he’d invited them because he wanted to pursue a relationship with her. She’d be a great catch for him. And, in turn, he’d be a great catch for her. She was somewhat at loose ends since her divorce from Lord Aynsley. She was an American and no longer in his set. But whose set was she in in England? She hardly could be ignored. Could she? she wondered, worried now that she might be. She didn’t want to go back to Boston in defeat. And the Aynsleys would never let her take Paul back across an ocean. She couldn’t be separated from Paul. He was her whole world.

Of course, the Baron Josef von Holst could become her whole world without any objection from her. She stared at the pink erections of the Black Forest stallions, as the sleigh driver stowed away their luggage. Ah, the baron, she thought. A stallion in his own right; capable of an erection to rival those horses.

Paul had been silent and brooding for nearly the whole trip. Did he suspect that the baron had assaulted her, compromising her completely, and that she had succumbed to him and wanted more? There was something in Paul’s behavior that was troubling. She wouldn’t think of that now. They were here, at the foot of the mountain, a snowy ride away from a week at the baron’s mountain chalet.

Josef met them at the door of the chalet, all smiles and charm. No one would have known that he had attacked this woman like an animal in heat in the gazebo of a Venice beach resort hotel, nailed her to the cushions with his hard cock, and pounded her into submission, and yet that she had come to him when he called. And had brought her handsome son.

In the background as they moved into the chalet’s foyer, Elizabeth and Paul could see another familiar figure—someone they had agreed reminded them of the Grim Reaper: Giuseppe, the bishop of Milan, swathed in his black cassock.

You remember the bishop of Milan, I assume, the baron said. We all met in Venice last August.

Of course, how are you, Your Grace? Elizabeth said, extending her hand, which the cleric took, brushed his lips against, and dropped.

Quite fine, thank you. The bishop was answering Elizabeth’s question, but his eyes were on her handsome son, with his perfect body, blond curls, and lowered eyes of the long lashes. Just perfect, he said, as the baron was saying that they were just in time for supper to be served and that they could take drinks in the lounge in front of the fireplace later.

* * * *

The bishop, sitting beside Paul in front of the fire in the lounge, had been whispering to the young man in French as Paul’s mother and the baron had been carrying on a more vocal conversation—in affected British English, despite neither being British—in chairs facing the fire at an angle.

It’s late and the trip today was tiring, Lady Elizabeth said, as she rose from her chair. I think it’s time that I turned in. No one argued the point with her. She gave Josef a meaningful look, smoothed down the silken flanks of her dress, and rustled out of the room, down the corridor to the bedrooms.

I think I shall retire too, the baron said, as he rose and followed the woman.

The two, the bishop and the young man, sat, watching the fire in awkward awareness, as they could hear the sounds from the bedroom passage, where Elizabeth hadn’t progressed very far before the baron overtook her, turned her belly to the wall, pulled up her skirt and petticoats from behind, jerked down her undergarment, and entered her with a strong upthrust. He cupped her chin and pulled her lips to his, while his other hand ripped at her bodice and freed her breasts to his squeezing hands. Far from fighting him, Elizabeth jutted her buttocks out to receive his vigorous thrusts more deeply and returned his kisses passionately, the images exploding in her brain being of massive Black Forest stallions in heat and the baron’s stallion’s cock moving inside her.

Back in the lounge, the bishop put an arm around Paul’s back, the long, black-painted nails of his long, slender fingers accentuated on the stark white of Paul’s billowy broadcloth shirt at the shoulder, and pulled Paul’s body ever so slightly into his body. There was little reaction from Paul, but he didn’t resist the closer positioning of the priest’s body. Throughout the conversation, he’d been looking demurely down at the hands folded in his lap and had answered Giuseppe’s lengthy whispers in short, murmured words and phrases. The bishop brought his lips closer to Paul’s ear and urgently whispered something. Paul shrugged slightly, but he turned his face to the bishop’s to accept Giuseppe’s possession of his mouth. The long, black-nailed fingers of the bishop’s free hand started working the buttons on Paul’s shirt.

The bishop had Paul’s shirt open and had snaked his hand into the opening and was scraping his fingernails across and up and down Paul’s chest and was playing the young man’s nipples. Paul moaned, his chest muscles rippling under the attention of the fingernails. The bishop explored Paul’s throat and chest with his lips and hands long enough that he was making headway in enticing moans and deeper kisses on the lips from Paul, and giving the baron time to reappear, clothed only in a dressing gown. The bishop reached around and down and, putting a hand under Paul’s thigh, enticed the young man to turn his buttocks on the sofa, bringing his right leg up to bend and lie against the back of the sofa.

Sitting across from them and watching intently, the baron let his dressing gown drape open and took his cock in his hand.

The bishop glided his hand up and down Paul’s trousered leg, with each down glide coming ever closer to the young