Frederic S. Miller Museum of Art. 2 By Bald Hairy Man
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have comments send them to winarch47@yahoo.com
I can strongly recommend against getting shot. When I fell after the shot, I broke a leg. Not being killed was good. Having your shoulder being almost vaporized was not good at all. Once and while death seemed preferable to the pain. It struck me as odd that I could be in such pain with nonfatal wounds.
The hospital doctors and nurses were exceptional. They saved my arm and mostly rebuilt my shoulder. The doctor described it as a glue and masking tape job. My wife returned from vacation and was helpful. She and Freddy Miller both had money and connections. Finding specialists was not a problem at all.
Tim, the new registrar, became the acting director. Maxwell became the new director of security. Sally Bell Miller went away one night without leaving a forwarding address. When I told Dan about that, he was interested. "That is what in the detective business is called a clue."
Ellen, my wife, became Freddy's official hostess. Ellen was intelligent and quite pragmatic. The museum was in the news and in distress. Ellen immediately thought this was a fund-raising opportunity. She was superb in that position. She was beautiful, wealthy, well-educated, and personable. She kept her nymphomania under control except for the most important donors and contributors.
Freddy Miller loved her. She knew Freddy needed affectionate friendship and support, not sex. Ellen had common sense. When she met his grown children, they found the mother they never really had. Ellen told them that she was wealthy and had no desire or need for additional money. She would not accept any gifts from Freddy.
I was out of the hospital in three weeks. Ellen provided a therapist for me at the house. One of her former lovers was Biff, a buffed, physical therapist-nurse. While he was an ex-lover, he was also an excellent therapist. He was a straight shooter and told me what and why he was doing what he was doing. He explained why it hurt and what he was trying to achieve.
Biff was a nice guy. When he met Maxwell, they immediately became friends. While Biff had a long, non-platonic relationship with Ellen, he was bi. His cock was comfortable in any tight dark hole, male or female. Maxwell and Biff were both well hung, very masculine tops who were attracted to each other.
My right shoulder was damaged. When I used my left hand too often, my right shoulder hurt. I tried to jerk off, but it was painful. Biff and I had a conversation about it. He offered to help.
He gave me a blow job. It was a gentle, slow, and careful process. I was afraid it might be so gentle it wouldn't work. That was not a problem at all. His tongue caressed my cock and specially my knob to an orgasm. I shot off and realized Biff was into sperm big time. He continued to caress it until he took every drop. Biff told me my ejaculation rate was good and it gave him a chance to savor my sperm.
I asked if that might be due to the multiple meds I was taking. He said that might be true, but there was a slight taste of relief in my sperm since I was finally draining my balls. He told me that Maxwell gave me a good review of my sexual skills.
"He said you shot good loads," Biff said. "He also liked your ass. He liked it more than he let on. If I told you I was trying to figure out how to fuck you without hurting you, would that bother you?"
"I would be glad to help you in your efforts," I said.
Maxwell provided direct contact between the museum and the art thievery investigation, as well as the local police. Dan had been blindsided by the attempted murder. Art thieves rarely injured people. Once and a while a guard was injured. Dan thought the attack on me was an assassination, not a robbery. There was something bigger than stolen paintings involved. He said a client would never be attacked again under his watch.
The museum staff was shocked. You don't work in a museum for wild adventure. Dan's new security staff were big, scary, and comforting. They responded to every concern and worry. The ladies began baking cookies for them.
While the staff was not into adventure, the search for missing paintings moved forward quickly. The staff had obsessive and anal-retentive tendencies, so they started tracking down information on every missing work. For truly obsessive people, there is no difference between a minor detail and a major detail. Everything is important. Dan loved this. Something minor and insignificant could be important.
Phillip Winter, the previous director, was a major suspect in case. Dan described him as an asshole's asshole. His appointment was a testimony to Sally Belle's nagging skills.
Freddy Miller was embarrassed. He had let her influence him just to stop the 24/7 nagging. In contrast, Ellen was into action, not nagging. She had a good relationship with Freddy's staff. The staff thought the wicked witch had melted when Sally Belle left town. Ellen made friends with the staff and got the lowdown on Sally Belle and Philip. Phillip had gambling debts, and the staff knew where and with whom he gambled. Maxwell sent all that information to Dan.
I was sort of working. I made Tim, the acting director and delt with other staff members on the phone. We worked well together.
I discovered that Biff's combination of therapy and fornication was more attractive than I could have hoped. He had a small friend, Jamie. Jamie was five-four, muscular and agile. He was a physical therapist, but more importantly he was a bottom.
When I was on a matt on the floor, Biff would suck me to an erection, and then Jamie would straddle me and impale himself on my cock. He said I was bigger than he was used too, but that just meant he was closer to heaven. I'm not sure that was possible, but I suspected he has a prehensile asshole. We only connected cock to ass, Jamie floated above me, so there was no stress on my body.
I felt a great sense of relief to feel every inch of my cock slide into Jamie's ass. I could feel him squirming, searching for my knob's good spots in his ass. A little later I realized he was hunting for places that pleased his cock. I didn't feel like an invalid. Jamie was looking for the perfect place to force me shoot off.
"I can't hold back!" Jamie cried. "Fill me up!" A second later I felt the first volley of multiple ejaculations and watched him react. It was wonderful.
A few days later Biff figured out a way to fuck me without hurting me. He got Jamie to hold my broken leg up and hold the other leg to the side. It was an ungainly position, but my hole was available.
"I'm a big boy," Biff said. "Do you want it?" I said yes. He eased his oversized tool into me carefully. He and I knew he would get it all into me.
"Damn, you're tight. It's beautiful," he said. "You're a better fuck than your wife, and she was damn good."
Jamie held my legs in a comfortable position as Biff fucked me. It was odd to be fucked by my wife's former lover.
"Ellen didn't like for me to shoot off in her," he said. "Are you squeamish?"
"Not at all," I replied.
"He fucked me for another five minutes before he shot off. I knew it would be good, but I was better than I hoped.
Biff and Jamie switched places so Jamie could fuck me. The phrase, "butterfly kisses" came to mind as he delicately nudged his cock into me. It was lovely. Slipping into my ass through Biff sperm was good for Jamie. He shot off machine gun style with forceful ejaculations. He later told me that he didn't know if he was fucking me of mixing his sperm with Biff's load. It made no difference to me.
My leg healed much faster than my shoulder, so I was able to get back to the office. I only worked in the afternoons so Biff could continue working with my shoulder in the morning. The museum was a happy place when I returned.
Problems could drive people apart or bring them together. We all had a common goal and the staff worked together. Tim, the acting director was intelligent, helpful and a hard worker. I was doing what I could. Freddy and Ellen were the public face of the museum, and both did fund raising and increased donations of art.
The investigation progressed and expanded. Dan told me that the missing art at the museum was the tip of an iceberg. There was an organization victimizing small to moderate sized museums. They were too small to have high powered security operations. They often paid their staffs poorly. Selling a painting from the storage room for a few thousand was tempting.
There were small museums that didn't know what they had. Small museums might have a painting left them in a will. You might assume it was a copy of a well-known artist. If you were into western art, you might not notice the Dutch landscape in your collection. After exchanging a thousand bucks, the painting would be on its way to New York or Europe. No one would be the wiser.
Storage spaces in major museum are usually orderly. In smaller institutions often janitorial supplies co-existed with art storage. Paintings were stored where they fit, not where it can be found. Substantial portions of the collection are lost or inaccessible.
Dan found something called the Artisan Insurance Company. The company claimed it could provide economical insurance for museums. The firm required a detailed inspection of museum including galleries and storage areas. The Artisan appraisers visited the Miller Museum. Dan discovered the company only existed on paper. After the visit by the appraisers, most museums did not notice the company did not submit a proposal.
Dan had connections to other security companies. He discovered the Artisan Insurance Company had visited 127 museums. Many had not been robbed, but they were also unable to tell if they had been robbed. They didn't know exactly what they had and couldn't find it anyway. Dan's operation was under the radar. He had front companies that would take the credit for finding and returning stolen or misplaced art works.
With Maxwell in charge of security at the Miller Museum, we were immune to most security problems. Maxwell and Dan had collected photographs of men and woman who were or were suspected of art theft. These were in a phone application that each museum guard had on his cell phone. The guard could take a picture of a suspicious person, send it to the main program. The program then compared it to known thieves and let the guard know if it matched in thirty seconds.
While the museum retained all if its guards, Maxwell added what was referred to as the Thug Team. Every guard had a button on his phone that would call in the Thugs if they were uneasy of threatened. The thugs would be there in a minute. The Thugs were not petite men and women. Their appearance was enough to intimidate a drunk, or mentally ill person. They rarely had to do anything other than intimidate. If more was needed, the situation was resolved in a minute or less. They all wore body cams, so the problem was recorded.
After four months, I returned to work full time at the museum. Tim became the Associate Director. Maxwell was still the head of security, but much of his work was with Dan. Freddy Miller and Ellen were on a roll having a great success marketing and fund raising for the museum. That was good for me. I gave me more time at the museum. I liked to work on new acquisitions. I worked at finding works that related well with our existing collections.
By this time, my broken leg was fine, and my shoulder no longer hurt much. I was careful, but it wasn't continuously in pain. Biff became a freelance physical therapist who did house calls for four days a week and worked for a free clinic one day a week.
My house was an older mansion. It was not quite a mansion, but it wasn't a suburban ranch house either. It had a carriage house. The carriage house hag room for one 1920 era automobile, and two apartments. These were to have been servants' quarters but were always rental apartments. The family over built the house and the needed the rental income. Maxwell lived in one of the apartments and Jamie lived in the other apartment. Ellen found an unemployed chef, Marco Vespucci, to live in the maid's room and do the cooking. Marco was partially blind and couldn't work in a restaurant anymore. He was fine in a small kitchen.
Marco was an excellent cook, and obsessively neat. Everything had to be in the exact same place. He was into fresh produce and since the local produce was rarely fresh enough, he rescued the former vegetable garden next to the kitchen. Jamie was a farm boy. He helped Marco in the garden in his spare time.
I was busy, so I saw Marco only at breakfast and dinner. He spent summer evenings in the garden with Jamie. Marco didn't seem to have a sex life. Jamie had a warm spot for Daddies. A month late Marco had a sex life as Jamie introduced him to alternative sex. Marco's blindness was hereditary. He would not pass it on to his children, so he never married or dated.
Marco had to go to an uncle's funeral in a town a hundred miles away. Maxwell provided a man to drive him and help as necessary. The man did it on an off-duty day, but I reimbursed him for the time.
Jamie came to me and told me that he thought I might like Marco, and he was sure Marco would like me. "He thinks of me as a kid. I think he's ready for man sex," Jamie explained. "Are you getting tired of him?" I asked.
Marco is a big guy," Jamie said. "He thinks I'm delicate, I think he would like some man sex." I didn't exactly agree to anything, but things happened.
Marco was working in the garden on a hot day in the evening. He was sweating like a pig when he came in the house complaining he was stiff.
"You need a nice long shower," I said.
"I have a tub in my room," he said.
"I have an oversized shower in my room, you can use mine," I said. Marco never went up-stairs. "I will guide you there and share the hot water. I need a shower too." He eventually agreed to join me.
I had never been a guide for a blind man before, but I helped him. The main stair had an oriental rug runner. That was stair camouflage for Marco. I counted steps for him and made a mental note to change the carpet. I warned him of the landing, and we made it to the top. I helped him undress in the bedroom, and we went to the shower.
The shower was done in black and white, checkered, marble tiles. Even with his dim eyesight he could see that, and the black marble baseboard was good too.
"I'm embarrassed," he said when I got the water going. "You can see me, and I can't see you."
"Marco, you are a good-looking man if you like masculine men," I said. "You are well equipped too."
"You like that?" he asked.
I sure do," I replied. I took his hand and let him feel my cock.
"Did Jamie tell you about my interest?" I asked.
"He told me about you. He said you are a good guy and lots of fun," Marco said. "What did he say about me?"
"He said you are a better man than you are a cook, and you're a great cook," I said. "He said we would get along well," I reached over and fondled his balls. His cock was semi-hard.
"Do you want to play a little?" he asked.
"I want to play a lot," I replied. We finished showering, dried off and went to my bed.
I took the lead and went for his cock as soon as he was on the bed. I was his employer, and I didn't want him to think this was a part of his duties. I could taste precum. His knob was big, and his slit was wide. I worked my tongue into the slit as tasted the goo as it oozed out.
"Sorry about that. It's messy," he said.
"Marco, oozing and shooting messy stuff is what I'm here for," I said. A little later he said he was getting close.
"If I sat on your cock, would you object to making a rear delivery?" I asked.
He made an emphatic reply, "Shit no!" and added, "Be careful about your leg!"
I coated his cock with lube. Took a snort of amyl and impaled myself on his cock. His thick man shaft popped past my sphincter easily, assaulted and conquered my prostate, and slid in deep. The thickest part of his cock was sharing the same space as my prostate. Every other movement left me breathless.
"I've never been in a guy's ass before. Is it always this good?" Marco asked.
"I'm not sure. I think we should fuck me a hundred more times to find out," I said.
"I'm afraid I'm going to shoot off," he cried.
"Christmas is coming early and Santa's leaving his present at the back door!" I said.
He shot off. With each ejaculation I could feel his sperm tickling my prostate as it raced deeper into my ass. Time stopped as he pumped rhythmic explosions of sperm deep into my body.