This story is a work of complete fiction. Any resemblance of characters to real persons and reality is a coincidence. This story eventually includes descriptions of sex between adult males. If you are a minor, if this material is illegal where you live, or if this material offends you, please don't read it. Please donate to Nifty. Find the donation button on the Nifty web site to help you to pay your share of their expenses to provide these entertaining stories for you. All rights reserved.
David's Contribution: New Friends-Chapter 4
The household's honeymoon ended. All four of the policemen were given blanket invitations (pun intended) to visit Eric and Randy in Portland when they could.
Eric was already planning to visit Bryan's fabulous ass in the future, tactfully keeping those thoughts to himself. Randy dreamed of Donnie's skill as a top.
Donnie's signature move was 'the rice planter'. He would place his bottom guy in the hands and knees position, bottom high in the air, then stand on the bed with his feet just to the side of his bottom's thighs and bend over his bottom like a person planting rice, fucking them hard at the same time.
Donnie's fingers touched the mid upper back of his partner, outstretched so that his upper body weight was supported on the ten finger pads of his hands on his partner's back. In this position, his cock made direct, hard contact with the prostate gland in his bottom, thrilling them no end if their back was strong enough to support the ten finger pads on their upper spine. Donnie wasn't a small man.
Andrew and Cole were the spice in the cake. Eric wasn't sure that Andrew's size and dominant, directive personality was his cup of tea. Randy thought Cole was a little bland, balanced nicely by his enormous cock, however. Randy wouldn't kick him out of bed anytime soon.
On the flight home Eric and Randy separately pondered the state of their marriage and decided they had chosen the right life partner for themselves. The others were fun to play with, but neither Eric nor Randy was in love with anyone but the other.
Henri and Pierre, for some reason, were off limits to both for some reason. It wasn't the French nationality or the employer/employee taboo so much as style.
Henri and Pierre lived for sex just like any man, but 'how' they did it, the style, was as important as the final goal and God forbid any rough sex should appear when they were 'at it'. Donnie's rice planter position was definitely not their style. Their style was a detailed inch by inch appreciation of warmth, pressure, and smell.
Pierre's trademark move was to slowly insert the tip of his cock into Henri, slowly dilate the sphincter muscle, gently push to the hilt, then completely withdraw and repeat over and over.
Sometimes Pierre would interrupt this with oral sex, either taking Henri into his mouth or inserting his cock into Henri's mouth, sometimes turning into a sensuous, genteel soixante-neuf so that Henri's mouth could pleasure Pierre's anus at the same time.
From what they had heard and seen, Eric and Randy considered their secretary's couplings to be close to a clinical visit rather than raw, rough physical passion. They also kept those opinions to themselves.
Portland (Hillsboro) was cool and it rained steadily as they left the jet for the limousine. Security ahead and behind along with off-duty Portland police cleared the way as their motorcade headed down Highway 26, took the I-405 north a little way, then exited to the Pearl district.
They were home.
The household was ready for them. Randy retreated to the library, Henri to his desk and Eric to his office. Ten minutes later, Eric poked his head in through the library door.
"Are you OK?"
"Get over here."
"Ooooh, I love it when you do butch... "
Eric took Randy into his arms and gently kissed him. "I just wanted to kiss my husband and tell him he's the greatest thing that ever happened to me. Thank you for taking me on. I'll try to be the kind of guy you expect and want to be with."
"When we had sex with those other guys, it seemed strange. They got me going, you know, made me hard, but people can get hard fucking a watermelon."
"When the sex was intense," Eric said, "I felt occupied and stimulated. It felt great... and then my head thought about you."
"That thought made me come every time." Eric continued, "Thinking that you might get a kick out of watching somebody giving their hole to me, your husband, somebody receiving and getting off on your husband's orgasm, watching from the side outside the action to see how I look when I come , watching another guy push the same buttons you push, knowing you were pretty much inside the guy's head, knew exactly what he was feeling, the acceptance of me topping, the invitation to me expressed by open legs... talk about hot!"
I love you, Randy, my man."
"I love you, Eric. Don't worry about being anybody different than you. There's a big difference and a big connection between love and fucking. When you are physically driving in and out of someone else, I see how it makes you feel. It thrills me to see you fuck and come. I know I also can make you feel that way and it's always fun to watch."
"It turns me on and makes me get competitive to be next in line and improve my own game. At the same time, I'm aware that fucking involves a connection between two people, sharing an intense climax, and I would be a fool if I didn't think about the possibility that perhaps, one day, those repeated close encounters could lead to an attachment that might change our relationship, possibly for the worse.
"So, yeah, I can be happy for the extra-curricular sex that you do, happy that I can sample at the 'farmer's market' too. At the same time, I tell myself to be a little cautious about my behaviors. I don't want to change what we have right now or ever except for better."
Eric kissed his husband again, then some more, then holding hands they walked to their bedroom, undressed, lay skin to skin for an hour before Eric's cock told him that nestling against Randy's smooth, hairless crack was now the open door to intense pleasure within.
Eric's hand had been roaming around Randy's flat, muscular stomach and caressing his husband's balls and cock. Randy hadn't been sleeping either. His ass had actively moved up and down, rubbing Eric in all the right places.
Eric and Randy's minds now went into low gear. The ancient core of their brains that governed reproduction, the sex necessary to achieve new generations of humans, and provide the pleasure needed to face another day, an uncertain future, kicked in.
Randy's ass trapped Eric's cock which had already come to the door of the trap knocking for admission. Randy opened his hole and his husband swam into the intense pleasure they needed both to receive and give to the other.
"I believe," Eric said after they came, "this ass is mine. Since it is, do I get to play with it tonight too?"
"Play your cards right, mister, and you can do more than just play with it. There's a decent chance you can claim it again, maybe breed me if there's enough time before mama comes home."
Eric was so turned on by that speech he turned Randy over on his hands and knees and rode him 'cowboy', whooping and hollering, waving his imaginary cowboy hat round and round like a rodeo rider glued to the bull, a tiny part of his brain listening for the front door lock to click, a sign that mama was home, providing a delicious urgency to speed toward their climax.
When Eric returned to the office, he remembered that he had to respond to Andrew's request for support for quantum computing in law enforcement. He looked at a few YouTube videos to begin his acquaintance with the subject, became convinced that there was significant risk and significant benefit to the project.
The error-correcting computing time and energy that quantum computers had to include were different from classical computers, which used very little time and energy correcting errors in contrast. If the quantum computer was big enough to do a lot of work, the error-correcting burden on that computer became even larger.
All of that in addition to the difficult tasks of cooling the quantum computer to near absolute zero where electrons didn't jump around much resulted in technical difficulties that current classical laptops and iPads and desktops could ignore. Applications existed, however, that lent themselves well to quantum computing and couldn't be performed on a classical computer in time to be useful.
Eric picked up the phone and called Andrew.
"Hey, how's the weather over there? Yeah, I'll bet. I guess it will be the same tomorrow too."
"I called to give you my decision about the quantum support. I've decided to support it with a few conditions. I will place 100 million USD in a trust that will return to the trust entirely after the first quantum computer enterprise is commercially viable."
"In addition, I will place 10 million USD in a second trust for each 5 million USD that another corporation or individual donates... as seed money to encourage others to support quantum computing... up to a second total of 100 million USD. I expect the interest per year in good years to be as much as 10 million USD or 10%. That may decrease drastically in a recession."
"The recent tariffs on Chinese goods may or may not lead to a recession. That danger is real. Our Midwest farmers are already wondering about the patriotism of the jerk who applied the tariffs and wisdom of those tariffs taking away the bulk of the US soybean market."
"The conditions are that you become the head and chief watchdog of the funds, the functional CEO of the trust board; a substantial salary and benefits will be provided."
"Second, Bryan must accompany you to serve as controller of the trust. I sense that he is also honest and has a nose for sniffing out frauds as do you."
"Transportation and housing and access to the jets will be provided to you. The headquarters will remain in Portland. Board meetings will be at the Kauai house once a month. You can live in Hawaii or Portland, your choice."
"Randy, Henri, Pierre and I will attend board meetings too and the usual suspects, Donnie and Cole. After the board meeting, we can lunch and if everybody wants, we can play too. That's not a condition, obviously, just an opportunity for social interaction."
"How about it? The salary for both of you will be twice what you are making now with enough benefits including pensions and 401Ks to make it attractive."
"You had me early on, Eric. We'll do our best to make ya proud. I know this is a business call, but I didn't get the chance to tell you that the play time was special. I watched you enjoy Bryan."
"You are an elegant top and I hope to see your good-looking cock in his ass again soon." Andrew's voice began to sound pinched and hoarse, becoming slower and strained.
"He's a sweet guy in addition and perhaps ten years younger than I am. If I die before he does, I hope you and Randy will take good care of him, maybe learn to love him too like I learned to love him."
Andrew's voice began to sound pinched and hoarse, becoming slower.
"He didn't know what I did when we met. We met at a small motel in Hollywood and had fun exploring with the naked guys in the pool. The pool had little alcoves with mats... "
Eric began to cry, then sobbed his heart out. "Andrew, I... " The silence at the other end of the line was loud and empty.
A desk sergeant came on to the line. "We're having trouble here with Andrew. Looks like a heart attack. Who is this?"
Through his agony, Eric was able to tell him his name and after a few minutes he could hear sirens in the background and voices yelling orders and then... silence again. Eric hung up and called Bryan.
"Bryan, I need to tell you something. I have bad news. First, call the desk sergeant and then call me back."
That was a long telephone call.
After the funeral, Eric and Randy collected Bryan and took him back to the house at the top of the hill in Lihue. The day, full of celebration for Andrew's life ('lives', from Eric's viewpoint) was over. The three men sat around the pool in the warm evening with brandy and cinnamon rolls.
Bryan had already accepted the challenge of taking on Andrew's new commitments in Portland. After briefly considering an offer to live with Eric and Randy, he said he preferred to live alone in Portland for a time to reach a new equilibrium in his life.
"Getting through this will be some kind of process for me; a period of time where I need to think about things in my own space without distraction."
When the sun set, the three men went into the house. No one spoke. As if automatic and pre-planned, they went into the bedroom and shed their clothes, heading for the shower, where the soap and warm water was both refreshing and comforting after the hot, humid day and the stresses of the funeral celebration and interment.
They had buried Andrew in a mausoleum above ground at eye level, a gorgeous marble wall with niches for flowers and a brilliant blue label engraved into the marble.
Eric could not have understood or explained what he felt. At some level he understood clearly that Andrew's body was in that tomb, but whatever it was that made Andrew unique was not. He didn't believe in the concept of a 'soul'... that was a Greek idea first conceived by the Greeks some hundreds of years before the common era.
The Romans took up the idea and the Christians from the Romans and so on. Eric was sure that the information in some form that made Andrew unique existed somewhere, waiting for something. He didn't understand why he believed it.
But he did.
The three men headed, together, for the bed where they had last interacted with Andrew. Bryan was in a state of mild shock still, but in need of the comfort that Eric and Randy wanted to give him. They sensed that words were secondary to action right now.
Randy and Eric turned Bryan over on to his stomach and applied massage oil. They gave him a gentle four-handed massage, neck, head, shoulders, arms, elbows, hands, ass, balls, thighs, legs, feet...cock underneath, alternately ducking under him to suck Bryan's cock until it was engorged and hard.
Then they turned him over on to his back: neck, chest, abdomen, thighs, legs, feet, shoulders, arms, elbows, hands, Randy's cock into his mouth for Bryan to suck, Eric's finger into his ass with lube, a thrilling moment, followed by Eric's cock slipping into Bryan's ass for the second sex session of their acquaintance.
Eric kissed Randy as he fucked Bryan, then kissed Bryan deeply also, eventually ejaculating into Bryan, his cry stifled by Randy's kiss again.
Bryan still needed comforting. He scooted over a bit and found Randy's ass. He 'glued' his mouth to Randy's hole and spent the next half-hour pleasuring Randy's it, coming up for air sometimes.
By this time, Bryan was on his hands and knees with Randy's ass high in the air. Eric inserted his still hard cock once again into his perfect ass and now partially dilated hole and just held his position deep without thrusting.
Randy came and the cries of passion triggered a response in Bryan to add his load to the sheets. The men slumped to the bed, not caring whether they lay in wet or dry spots, holding each other, tenderly touching their lips to patches of shoulder, neck and back.
Just before jumping into the pool, Eric asked a footman to change the linens on the bed. They returned to the bedroom to soft, cool, clean sheets and fragrant, warm outside breeze blowing over them, a classic Kauai breeze, blessing and comforting them naturally.
They awoke to cooler sunshine the next morning and sleepily talked about the work in Portland at the new trust, the need to find a building, staff, to outline goals, to recruit venture partners, to find a business model that used funds wisely, the need to develop an intelligent database of quantum computer scientists for an advisory board, a database of quantum projects around the world, various government and industry leaders in quantum computer development including IBM and Google so that a newsletter and request for 'bids' or applications for funds could be submitted to a website...a lot of work suggested itself.
They met Pierre at breakfast sitting eating a croissant, Henri almost on his lap. Eric asked Pierre if he would be the liaison between the quantum trust and Henri.
Pierre was thrilled to be of use. "I will do my very best," he replied with a smile, "to keep Henri informed of many things." Henri just blushed and wriggled his butt on Pierre's lap.
Pierre was to be useful on this project. His strong language skills, diplomacy, social skills and charm were to influence many decisions.
Bryan's home in Portland perched high on the east side of the west hills, overlooking the city, the Willamette river and East Portland. He had an excellent view of Mt. Adams and Mt. Hood on clear days and the foothills of the Cascade Range.
Eric and Randy had insisted that the quantum trust building have a pool, showers, gym and a roof garden with bamboo growing like crazy.
Bryan's office was massive, with a small kitchen, work room, computer room large enough to sit down and watch overhead monitors as well as the powerful desktops all connected to the Schuyler mainframes now scattered across the country.
Fiber-optic cables had been privately installed to connect those to the backbone of the Internet and powerful VPN software protected the routers and access to the backbone by design and the VPN access passwords were changed daily from a one-time cipher book, with long passwords generated at random, printed in three books, flown by bonded couriers: one to the VPN headquarters, one kept locally, and one sent to the mainframe office.
There was a footman assigned to the building on all shifts. Cole and Donnie were hired to be in charge of security for the building and were delighted to see Bryan again every day.
Cole, Donnie, and Bryan flew on one of Eric's jets from Portland or Hillsboro to Kauai each month for the board meetings and resumed their social life with Eric and Randy at the Lihue estate on those weekends.
One morning Eric received a call from the Manhattan security chief.
"Bad news, I'm afraid," he told Eric. A Gauguin is missing from basement two. The computer last registered it on Monday. This morning the computer flagged its environment status which means the argon gas tube had been disconnected to the case. Security checked the case. It's empty as expected."
Eric thanked him and hung up. He immediately called Sotheby's and Christy's and called a number his mother had given him years ago, a hot line for collectors warning them the painting was missing.
This private network worked most of the time. Collectors tended to band together. They all hated stolen art, especially when it was theirs, but liked the network in case they ever needed it.
Eric's second call was to another number his mother had left him for trouble like this. A man answered in France and listened.
"I will meet you at Teterboro 8 hours from now. Time is important as you know"
The head of Security at the Louvre had been a friend of the Schuyler family and then the Lodge-Miller family for all of his life after age 24 when he joined the Louvre security staff.
Eric called the travel office.
"This is Eric Lodge-Miller. Code 10. I repeat, Code 10. Email confirmation follows." He hung up and texted Randy: 'Please come here quickly'. Randy flew into the office, his face serious.
"What's going on?"
"There's a painting missing in Manhattan. I need to fly to Teterboro ASAP. The travel office is re-routing a jet to PDX. Can you come with me?"
"Sure. There are emergency bags packed for both of us. I'll have a footman take them to the door and tell security we're leaving as soon as the limousine and security can get the car to the door. Bring your laptop, dear."
On board Raspberry, the crew received urgent orders to divert to PDX and the fueling and provisioning offices on the ground alerted to the emergent flight. They were scheduled to land in about 25 minutes, the f/p process would take an hour at PDX, perhaps less, and the tower personnel were ordinarily attentive to emergency departures.
They double-checked with Henri, who decided to come along, and told him that the plane would not depart for possibly an hour and thirty minutes max.
Henri relayed the message to Eric, who was frantic to get feet on the ground as soon as possible. He thought of people he knew in Manhattan. On an impulse, he called Eduardo and Rodney. They had to have friends or connections or something. Pay dirt.
Eduardo was home on his day off.
"Are you sure the guy that called you wasn't in on it. He said that 'Security' checked on the case. He did not say that 'He' checked the case. He said the case was 'empty as expected'. He did not say the case was 'empty as suspected'."
Rodney grabbed the phone, "Are you bothering my boyfriend again?"
"I sure am. Are you setting him on fire?"
"I sure am."
The precision thinking of the ex-physician, now a sauté cook, stunned Eric. He hadn't considered the phrasing carefully, the wording and the expanded possibilities. He recalled that the security guy that did the background checks for employees had been hired two months prior to the hiring date of his chief of security. Had they been working together? He began to call the security office again in Manhattan and immediately hung up. This next part required thought, careful deliberate thought. His next call was to the Police Commissioner.
They spoke for a few seconds only. The solution proposed by the Commissioner was simple. It reminded Eric of a story he had heard over and over in his childhood, had horrified him then, not so much now.
The Commissioner wasn't a fan of art thieves. Major heists discouraged tourists and his boss the Mayor liked tourists and the money they brought to the city. The Mayor liked peace and quiet. He had told the Commissioner to solve problems without his input unless he was unable or unwilling or thought a political situation might occur that would impede re-election... the Mayor's re-election.
"Don't bother me with details I shouldn't know". The Mayor had emphasized this on multiple occasions.
NYPD's finest appeared at the Schuyler museum, no longer designated a campus, and arrested the chief of security, charging him with suspected art theft. A separate team arrested the security official responsible for background checks of all employees at the museum. The two men were not allowed to communicate and held separately. Eric, by now in the air hurtling toward Teterboro, appointed new personnel to the posts. He appointed Janell Russell as Chief and her life partner, Gretta Vicdottir as background check officer.
Ms. Russell sent out a memo to all security notifying them of her take-over as Chief. She then sat in the Chief's office and thought. Not many of the security people were aware that each painting had an RFID chip embedded in its frame. She pulled up the tracking information about the Gauguin. That data had been erased.
She then pulled the backups for the last few hours of the previous Chief's stay there and found a backup trace file. It showed the Gauguin had gone out the front door at 0700, 4 am Pacific time. The file ended there. She saved the file. She quickly called a detective at NYPD that she knew and asked him how he would find an item with an RFID walking down the street.
He told her there was a Manhattan-wide network of RFID sensors and if she could give him the RFID sensor number, a combination of letters and numbers and symbols, he would enter it into the police computer.
"Here's a hit on 5th Avenue!" The detective was immediately excited... and here's one five minutes ago. It's at the Gregg Museum right now! We'll send agents in plain-clothes and call their security."
"No thank you. My partner and I will ride up there and retrieve that which is lost. Who will suspect a couple of ladies arriving to see the masterworks of the Gregg?"
"Don't whisper a breath of this until we talk again. If you need authorization, text Eric Schuyler. His number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. He's on a Schuyler jet heading to Teterboro. He'll back me up."
"Your funeral, lady. Good luck!"
Janell and Gretta, dressed as matronly as possible to hide the plastic darts and tasers under their clothes, slipped into the Gregg. They purchased tickets, talked about the weather, didn't feel a vibration from their pocket RFID sensors, preset by the Schuyler computer, exclaimed over the Titian on display, expressed dismay that no Rembrandt appeared on the wall and loudly discussed Janell's fake niece's wedding plans. They passed near a staff door marked restoration department. No vibration. They found the conservation department, and both felt a resounding vibration from their portable instruments. The door was locked, but a moment with a device made for the purpose opened the door and they entered. Only one person was in sight. The man shouted at them.
"Get out! Only staff are permitted here. Get out!"
"Tell you what, sir. You have a Gauguin here that will land you in jail for the rest of your life. If you would like to escape having a vicious roommate for the next 30 years or so, let's work out a deal."
"How about you give us the picture and we'll give you a tickle and show you the real thing. Gretta here has breasts that outdo Gauguin's pathetic attempts by a good deal. We'll tell the cops you were eager to cooperate."
"Get out, I say. Get out. I'm calling security."
The man fell backward, a dart in his hand laced with a substance that gave him instant intense pain unrelated to the hand wound.
"Wrong choice, sir. ID please. Gretta picked the man's wallet from his pocket and quickly photographed everything in it. She dusted the cash for prints, finding ten thousand one hundred-dollar bills in a cardboard box on the table. She dusted a sample of those for prints as well.
Janell noted a FedEx package ready for shipment standing on the floor next to where the man had been standing. The RFID instrument was vibrating like crazy now. She took a picture of it and faxed it to Eric along with developments summarized.
She called the detective and asked him to quietly come to the conservation office at the Gregg. In short order the place was flooded with cops.
Before they arrived, Gretta had taken the FedEx package and had walked out of the museum to the parking lot and stashed the package in the car.
She asked Eric to talk to the Commissioner to clear the removal of the picture from the scene, knowing that it might give offense to the detective and his team. Eric made the call and received absolution.
The commissioner modified his plan a little and called the detective. The detective, Gretta noted, wasn't thrilled by the call and wasn't particularly happy about the ladies' intervention but did his duty and arrested the 'conservation' guy.
That night, a private plane bound for Florida left La Guardia. Its markings were non-existent, and it landed at a small airstrip near Miami. The three 'gentlemen' were reunited with two plain-clothes detectives in the back of a very large helicopter with both sides open.
The flight to the Everglades National Park was short enough. At a specific GPS location, the helicopter hovered, and a brief conversation took place between the detectives and the three men.
"We are now going to ask questions about the painting. The file of RFID traces disappeared early this morning. Both of you were on duty then and the record of who dumped what is backed up each second, so we now know who dumped the file."
"It stands to reason that whoever got rid of the file wanted it dumped and probably was involved in the theft."
"Right now, just below us is a section of everglades where tourists flock to see a whole crowd of alligators. What they don't see are the Burmese pythons that have grown to monster size eating whatever the alligators don't eat and sometimes the baby alligators as well."
"If a human was to fall into that nest of animals from height, say from a helicopter at 300 feet elevation and sustain a broken leg, say, or a broken pelvis, or other injury such as a broken back, that human would have a real time trying to escape the animals, the hungry ones.
"We ask the tourists not to feed the alligators, so some are hungry all the time, not by design of course."
The smell of feces and urine began to fill the helicopter.
"Now that you have anointed yourselves with potent body odors, the alligators and pythons will be able to find you quicker. You are handcuffed. One push and down below you go. If we get a better offer or better information, we might be able to come to an arrangement. If not, we begin with one man at random and go from there until all of you scream your way to earth."
It took just ten minutes to gather all the details from the three men, recorded on tape, then handwritten notes from each confirming their statements were not coerced, signed, dated, notarized right there.
The 'conservation' guy at the Gregg was the mastermind for a Swedish art collector who wasn't particular about the details of how he acquired paintings. The guy at the Gregg got acquainted with the Schuyler chief of security at a 'gentleman's club' bar in the Bronx prior to his being hired on at the Schuyler and they had recruited the third background check guy to infiltrate the place first.
Eric, delighted at the recovery, reviewed Janell and Gretta's salaries in a positive way. The ability to delete RFID files was limited to Eric himself with his fingerprint along and retinal scans of both of Eric's eyes. Computer alerts for environmental changes such as a discontinued gas line were now sent directly to both the chief of security and Henri.