Only One Draw Ch. 02

Washington, D.C., has always had a robust, well-defined, red-light district and, within that, a haven for exercise of the gay lifestyle. It just hasn't stayed in one place. For most of the twentieth century it centered at the Gayety Theater and the corners of 9th and I Streets Northwest, nine blocks up from the Washington Mall. Then the assassination of Martin Luther King led to the April 1968 race riots and the porn entertainment center of the city was burned down. The gay district moved across the mall and toward the river to O Street in southwest Washington, and remained here, centered around the Follies and Ziegfeld-Secrets and a half dozen other gay men's clubs and theaters on a short block not far from where the Anacostia River entered the Potomac. The "O" of O Street became sort of a cocksucking in joke in the active gay community. This area was leveled in 2006 for construction of Washington's National's baseball stadium, and once more gay life in the nation's capital was seeking a center. That center has been found, if more loosely than in earlier incarnations, in the Dupont Circle area, in the northwest area, not far from its original center.

In addition to the usual theaters, gyms, dance clubs, and saunas catering to gay men and lesbians, a few new clubs have opened up catering to trans people and to those who have fetishes for trans people. One of these is Cherice's on U Street, some ten blocks above Dupont Circle in the trending Adams-Morgan area. It was here, at 9:30 on Friday night, that the big, black Capitol Cab Company cabbie Dex, whose parents had immigrated here from the Caribbean, picked up an Arab, complete with white robe and head covering, and the young woman he was with, who, obviously to Dex, with a little trans fetish of his own, was a T-girl.

Dex didn't often come into this area to cruise for taxi fares, as it aroused him in ways he knew weren't good. He had a fetish for young men, and especially androgynous-looking ones who were more beautiful than handsome and were small and moved like a dancer. As fully transformed T-girls became more numerous, Dex's interests went in that direction too, although he lusted for them in any stage of their pretense or transition.

The U Street area was known as a gathering place for trans people and Dex had a problem keeping his hands off them. He had just been on the other side of the Mall, picking up fares at that art place on D Street, Artechouse. He'd picked up a fare--an older guy and a younger one. The younger one wasn't trans, Dex didn't think, but he was a real honey, androgynous in several ways, and obviously he was gay, because the older guy had his hands all over him on the ride uptown to Farragut Square and they'd kissed. That had gotten Dex's juices going, and the next thing he knew, he was cruising the trans club area over on U Street--and he was looking for more action than giving someone a ride to their destination. He wanted to ride a T-girl--hard.

Dex drove the Arab and the T-girl into the embassy area of Kalorama to the south and dropped the Arab off near the Syrian Embassy on Wyoming Street. The Arab paid his fare and that of the T-girl to take her back to the Dupont Circle area.

The T-girl had been going by the name of Nicola since her full transformation, having been Nick Ames in an earlier life. Dex didn't drive her to the address given. He headed in the direction of Dupont Circle, but before getting there, he turned into an abandoned gas station on 19th street, drove around to the back of the building, and stopped the cab.

"This ain't the Tanglewood Club, honey," Nicola said from the backseat of the cab.

"No, it ain't," Dex said. "I want your fare in something other than money. Get out of the cab, stand against that wall over there, and lift your skirt."

"I ain't getting' out of this taxi until you take me to the Tanglewood, like you were told to," Nicola declared indignantly.

"Yes, you are. I don't want the back of my cabbie messed up, and, like I said, we're workin' the fare out in somethin' more than money." Dex hopped out of the front seat, jerked the back door open, and pulled the T-girl out. Nicola went down on her knees on the pavement.

"Stop that; you'll run my hose," she squealed. Dex grabbed her under the arms, hauled her up, frog-marched her over to the back wall of the abandoned building, slammed her back against the wall, and forced her down her knees again.

She cursed and struggled against him, as he unzipped himself. He pulled his cock out and growled, "Suck it, bitch, and do it good, or I'll beat the crap out of you."

Nicola wasn't terrified out of her mind--yet. This wasn't all that unusual in her world--at least not yet. This wasn't the first black cock she'd sucked. Whimpering, she took the big, black cock in her mouth and gave the cabbie head. Before she brought him off, Dex pulled out, lifted her, and turned her, face to the wall.

"Gonna collect my taxi fee now. Take it. Give me trouble and I'll cut you," Dex growled.

"Don't hurt me. Be good to me, sugar," Nicola whimpered, as Dex palmed her belly and pulled her pelvis and legs away from the wall. Nicola assumed a familiar stance, pressing her cheek into the bricks and raising her arms, palms against the wall, butt jutting out. She figured it was less of a hassle to let him fuck her than it would be to fight with him. Besides, he had a very nice cock and this was sort of an arousing situation for her.

The black cabbie ran his big hands up under the hem of her cocktail dress and moved them up her legs. He was surprised to find she wasn't wearing panties. He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, finding, pulling out, slitting, and opening a condom packet.

Nicola gave a little gasp when he penetrated her ass. He was big and thick--bigger than the Arab had been in the back room at Cherice's. As, covering her close from behind and above, Dex fucked her in the ass, he let his hands roam around her body. In addition to being surprised to find she wasn't wearing panties, he was excited to discover she had been fully transformed. Instead of a dick, he found she had a slit. A shiver of arousal went through him. His favorite. He didn't encounter many of them.

"Ah, got me a real pussy boy," he growled. He explored her folds and snatch with his hand, rubbing the vestigial penis at the top of the slit and getting his fingers inside her. Nicola moaned and shimmered for him, reverting to her rent-boy stance, not yet sensing the danger. He was just a big black body wanting to fuck her ass and play with her newly acquired pussy. Nothing new in that. She had a thing for big, black boys with monster cocks.

He turned her against the wall, putting her knees on his hips.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck," Nicola squealed, as Dex penetrated her in the second orifice. For some reason this made a difference to Nicola. She fought him. "Not there. The ass is OK, but not there, you black bastard," she hissed. "You're too big. That's just for finger play." She lashed out at him with her long fingernails.

Giving her no heed, Dex held her close and pumped her hard and vigorously, stretching her snatch to the limit. She beat on him with her fists and scratched at him with her nails, to no avail. This not working, she buried her teeth into his throat.

Giving a howl of "You bitch!" Dex loosened his grip but didn't give it up entirely. He drew his hand back and shot it forward, punching the T-girl in the mouth. Then, instinctively, having been a street fighter all his life, Dex sank his hand into a pocket again, pulled out a switchblade knife, and clicked it open.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Dex was standing away from the wall, panting, and holding an open switchblade in his hand that was dripping Nicola's blood. He was angry as all hell; he hadn't even had time to shoot off yet.

"I told you not to mess with me or I'd cut you," he growled. He stood there until he's regained control. When he had, he rolled the condom off his cock. He hadn't come; she'd denied him that. His need was still welling up inside him. He was about to throw the spent rubber down on the ground where he saw other used condoms were scattered, but then he thought better of it and jammed it into a pocket as he zipped himself up, closed the switchblade, and put that away.

On his way back the cab, he was thinking, "That's why I didn't do you in the back of the cab, bitch. I didn't want to get blood on the upholstery."

He was still keyed up, but he didn't want to be seen back in the U Street area tonight. He decided to go back to D Street and see if there were any trans honeys leaving whatever was going on at Artechouse tonight. If there'd been one young bombshell gay guy there tonight, there might be some T-girls too--and maybe another one with a pussy for him to fuck. There were more and more of them showing up in the city.

* * * *

Toby Drake was given the personal tour of two floors of the Farragut Art Gallery by its owner, Corwin Case, that night, the two of them walking from one small gallery to the next, with Case turning on lights as they entered galleries and turning them off as they left. There was one large gallery in the front, directly off the street, but behind that were a series of smaller, theme- or artist-specific rooms. One of the rooms featured Griffin Gould's techno-cityscapes. It wasn't just wall art that was featured in the gallery. Case also dealt in oriental furniture, much of it antique, and oriental art objects. These were tastefully scattered around the gallery rooms.

They went up to the second floor.

"Galleries in front and my in-town apartment at the back," Case said. "The art up here is more specialized to the tastes of my major buyers, and some of it, as you will see, isn't shown to just anyone."

Toby could see why. As they moved further away from the front, from one gallery to another, and Case turned lights on in entering and off in leaving, the art became more explicit and moved into the pornographic. At last they arrived at the male nudes and sex artwork. The room was about eighteen by twenty feet, the walls covered in a beige grass cloth. The plush carpet under foot was mauve. Track lighting highlighted each of the drawings and paintings. A brown leather-covered ottoman of a good size sat in the center of the room. The oriental furniture here appeared to be antique and went to the sexual torture theme. A rosewood prayer bench with stocks for the neck and wrists centered one wall. Opposite of that was an X-frame, the Chinese version of the Saint Andrew's cross, the beams intricately carved. A stock-like contraption, Toby having no idea how it would work, centered on another wall.

The artwork was all of male nudes, some just in provocative poses, others of men fucking. The room before this had been what Case called his "pillow-talk art room," presenting male versions of Shunga, the ancient Japanese woodblock art dating back to the fourteenth century, of men in a sexual embrace with other men. These weren't nudes, but they were all the more provocative for that. They were prints in which billowy silk robing was used to accentuate areas of the body that weren't clothed, focusing on men fucking other men. The effect was made more sensual than if the figures had been completely naked. Toby spent significant time looking at these in detail and, surprisingly, found them more arousing than the more graphic works of naked men fucking.

The room they now were in provided very explicit art.

"Please make yourself comfortable," Case said. "There's a chair over there where you can place your clothes." This was an obvious indication that Toby was to strip here and begin to earn his rent-boy fee. Case specified just how far down Toby was to strip. "I wish to see you down to the lady bits. I'll get us something to drink as we discuss the art in this room." He had made a few comments on the art in every other room, but it was evident that the art in this room was to be discussed in more detail as a form of foreplay.

When he was gone and Toby had stripped down to the black lace bra and panties he had been told were part of the preparation for this assignment--with cross-dressing and cosmetics being about as far as Toby went into the trans world in his services--his first attention went to the sex equipment. They were antiques, but were they still in use? Would they be in use tonight?

If so, that was part of the service, with any damage done being added to the fee.

Next, he circumnavigated the room, looking closely as well as from a distance at the artwork. Some of it he suspected as being Griffin Gould's work, not because he'd seen the man's nudes before, but because he'd been told what to look for--finely lined drawings with colored charcoal shading, the focus being on the genital area. The signature was discreet. Whereas the landscapes downstairs were boldly signed "Griffin Gould," his nudes merely had a "GG" worked into the edge somehow. The nudes were quite a contrast from his techno-cityscape oils. It was just as skillfully done, though, and, like the cityscapes, which had a built-in surprise of changing time of day depending on the angle in which they were viewed, the nudes had a subtle surprise of their own. They all gave at least a hint of being in the trans world.

All of the Gould drawings were of a single male--all young, androgynous males. Some were explicitly trans, the pose focusing on the surgically provided female genitalia. Some were more subtle, having the T-girl clothed in panties, bras, slips, or other lingerie. And some of it was more subtle yet, the pose only giving a hint of the androgynous but having a slip or bra in the frame. Even though these were of a single figure, Toby got a sense of a connection with the Shunga art style.

With a minimum of strokes, the artist had fully captured his model. Toby recognized Natalie, who he had just talked with at the Artechouse exhibition and who had told him she'd posed for Gould, so that didn't surprise him. What did surprise him--and momentarily distress him--though, was that there were two Gould drawings of the T-girl Liam--Liam Hathaway--who Toby knew, but couldn't reveal, had recently been murdered. Liam had started the transformation process, with the breast augmentation, but hadn't gone farther than that--and the cross-dressing--yet. There was a third model of the Gould drawings who Toby recognized but could not identify. He was sure he'd seen the young man--or woman--and recently, but he couldn't quite put a name to the individual. It wasn't someone he knew well. Of that, he was sure.

Before he could dwell further on Liam having been one of Gould's models, though, Corwin Case returned, carrying a tray with a martini shaker and two glasses on it and with the string of a shoe bag looped over an arm. He was wearing a blue silk robe with oriental designs over it--and, as far as Toby could discern, only the robe. He was a tall, handsome man, tending toward the flesh spread given to men of his fifties age bracket. But he was still muscular; he had good body tone at an age when most men were sagging. He didn't hunch over; he stood tall and proud of himself. His robe opened enough as he walked for Toby to see that he was in erection. His cock wasn't thick; it was on the distinctly thin side. But it was extraordinarily long. This came as no surprise to Toby. He'd seen it before. He'd sheathed it before. He been cross-dressed for the man before in a sexual encounter. That had been in a hotel room, though, not here, on the man's home ground--not with the hint of something more kinky and demanding than cross-dressing and a doggie or missionary fuck on a hotel bed.

Case put the tray down on an antique credenza with phallic protuberances centered on the top surface of sides, which Toby had easily been able to imagine could be used as impaling dildos for someone stretched out on top of the credenza, held in place by the dildo up their ass, while a sex partner hovered over them, working them over in inventive ways. The phalluses were curved a bit toward the center of the table and Toby could well imagine how they would fit in either cunt or ass. He poured two drinks into the glasses, but before handing one to Toby, he extended the shoe bag.

"Here. Please put these on. I checked with the escort service on the size you'd need."

Toby took a pair of red satin spike heels out of the bag and slid them on his feet. He stood there in the black lace panties and bra and slowly let his nearly platinum blond hair down to cascade to his shoulders. Case sucked in air. With slitted, lustful eyes, the gallery owner took the small, perfectly formed body of the rent-boy in, perpetually boyish, looking too young, too innocent to give a client what he wanted and demanded in both companionship and sex, but totally sexy at the same time. Case well knew that the young man would give him total, fully satisfying sex. While fresh looking, there was more than a hint of the young man's leaning, in addition to his willingness to wear a bra, panties, and heels for a client. His fingernails and toenails were painted silver and he had hardware--a small ring in his eyebrow and one in his navel--and a tattoo of a gecko, a small lizard, on his lower belly above the right hip, peeking out just above the dipping waistline of the panties, making a man ache to slide his hand below the waistband.

"Gorgeous," Case whispered. His hands were shaking as he handed Toby one of the glasses. Toby took a sip and almost immediately felt the effect of whatever had been added to mellow him out. He wasn't pleased that he wouldn't be in full control of his faculties, but he wasn't surprised either. He had been similarly drugged in the hotel room on his first assignment with Case, and the man had totally used his body then, leaving him bruised and exhausted, but sexually satisfied. Toby just had to rely on the client fully understanding the limitations of what his contract with the escort agency permitted. If the client went beyond the limits agreed to, the client could wind up with broken legs or exposed to the public in some way that didn't come back to hurt the escort agency.

Case reached out to touch Toby on the gecko tattoo, but Toby stepped back, whispering, "Not yet, I don't think. Not unless you don't want to savor a buildup."

Smiling, Case said, "Of course," just now remembering that the gecko covered the young man's erogenous point and that touching it would initiate wild sex. And the young man was right. This hadn't all been set up just for a quick, wild ride. Instead of going to the tattoo, the outstretched hand went to sliding into the fall of hair down Toby's back and to cupping his head and pulling him in for a deep kiss. Toby didn't resist this, opening his mouth to take the man's tongue. His other hand slid down Toby's back, under the waistband of the panties there, down through the crack, his finger reaching for, finding, and penetrating the young man's anus. Rather than resisting, Toby rolled his buttocks up to give the man deeper access, which Case took. There was no question that Toby was his for the taking.

"Shall we examine the artwork more closely?" Case said, with a smile, when he pulled out of the kiss, satisfied that, although the young man had denied him a touch of the tattoo, he wasn't denying surrendering to the man's sexual lust. He picked up his glass from the credenza, tossed off the drink, put an arm around Toby, his hand pulling from deeper down the rent-boy's back, palming one of the young man's butt cheeks, and began guiding him around the room. A bit weak on his feet now, Toby was being supported in the walk as much physically as sexually.

* * * *

The three pieces of sexual torture equipment Toby had spied in the room weren't the only ones there, and none of them were what Case used with Toby. Case did, though, use a piece of sexual torture equipment with Toby.