Pleasure Thieves

Just a rough uncut stone." Harry's prick was supremely erect. He did not move to touch Phillip, but his penis declared his awareness of the male caress. His prick was high and free, curving subtly like an unstrung bow. "You've got a fine cock, Harry." It stretched bigger than Phillip's hand span. He moved his fingers into the hidden valley where the rod and balls joined. "Your cock is the best part of you.

Better than your mind, or your diamonds, or your courage." His fist moved tight over the satiny skin. "Why don't you let me put my inferior member into you, and still hold on to this precious stone?"

Harry nodded like a much used woman. At first he'd resented being buggered. It had been just a game for him to stick his hungry flesh into Phillip and see how much Phillip could hold of him. But Phillip had sucked him all in, absorbed the throbbing erection with the ease of a Anonymous The Pleasure Thieves Page 6

child swallowing a gumdrop. He had used Phillip like a cunt, setting him on his knees and pounding into his unexpressive back. Now he could be a cunt for Phillip, and it was all the same, like faces in the funny papers that you could turn upside down. The beard became the hair, and the chin became the bald head. And the two men were the same backwards or forwards, prick in or prick out, asshole stuffed or empty. They ate together, worked together, came together. Soon they'd be out, Harry in a month, Phillip a week before him. They'd never see each other again. Harry didn't know how Phillip had been pulled into jail. Probably fucked little boys, elegant little boys, elegant little prep-school boys. A man of the finest tastes. But he'd take off to another world and Harry would go back to cracking the biggest safes in the country; for a while they could be cunts for each other.

"Turn around Harry, don't make an old man, I'm almost dust now, do all the work."

Harry was hot now, his mouth open to let the air rush out that was filling the cavity of his chest. He got doglike on all fours. Phillip held on to his immense penis, Harry had to swing his leg over Phillip's head, the only exercise of the day. "We should be in the Olympics." His voice shook.

"We'd win Harry." Phillip was shoving his untouched prick into the raised behind. "We're pretty good at this. We're fucking perfect." He was pumping his body back and forth, seeing it sink into Harry's dark hole, and then come out all the way to the tip, dry and palpitating.

"We'd win, we'd win," his voice mocking the rhythm of his body. He pumped his loaded hand. "Make it this time, make it this time, Harry."

The two bodies were silent and pounding. No footsteps of guards, no jangling of keys. Just the usual uninterrupted before-dinner fuck. The stomach and back slapped urgently, and when Phillip felt the cock grow mutely rigid in his hand, then the first few drops of sperm on his fingertips, he released himself into the swinging ass. The men fell away from each other and lay panting on the narrow cot. As always, Phillip spoke first.

"Was your visitor beautiful?" he asked.

"Yes, she was beautiful."

"Very beautiful?"

"She had eyes like emeralds," and the two men laughed mirthlessly.

CHAPTER II

An elegantly dressed elderly woman sat before a mirror in an exclusive custom jeweler's salon admiring an extravagant pear-shaped necklace placed around her well concealed neck. The thin masculine hands that took the glittering string form the black velvet box belonged to the dapper proprietor, Boris Novak.

"Or," he reached for a white placard on which there was a meticulous representation in India ink of a replica size necklace, "without pendant."

She studied the gems for a second while the jeweler showed a detached, respectful interest in the design. "That is really very nice.

What would the piece come to?"

"With pendant, I should say about forty carats, Madame Rothman."

She smiled and turned to the glass again, "I suppose it might be cheaper to buy a new neck, Monsieur Novak?"

"Madame Rothman, everyone has a neck."

As he spoke, a young man, dressed very much like Monsieur Novak, approached them across the deep-piled carpet. His place in the salon was definitely subservient; with his immaculate tasteful dress, it was hard to imagine that he had another interest besides his duties at the Salon. He hummed softly, to warn Monsieur Novak that he was coming across the room. The dapper proprietor made all his employees hum so that his elegance would not be shattered by a surprise approach across the thick muffled rugs. Neurotic, he admitted, but with the refined tastes and delicate sensibilities that accompanied his character, necessary.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur Novak," the young man courteously interrupted, "but you have a very urgent call."