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  • Otto and siggi

    • I lay naked on the bed tied up and unable to move. My hands were tied to the headboard and my feet to an overhead trapeze. A pillow had been wedged under my butt, and my ass had been well lubricated, ready for what was to come.

    Otto was in the next room talking on the phone, and Siggi was in the bathroom searching for condoms. I was helpless and in their power, but did care? No! I just kept laughing and laughing. Not at my situation, which was, I suppose, not laughable in the slightest. No, I was laughing for no reason at all. Everything my senses told me struck me as funny. I wondered what they would do if I continued laughing all the time they were fucking me? I wondered what it would feel like to fuck a laughing man. Would it be like riding a bucking horse? That image sent me off on another fit of laughter.

    I tried to think back to our meeting earlier that day at the Caf Blaue Rose, and even that seemed funny. Floating in a dream world I concentrated with all my will to remember how I came to be strung up like this. Bits and pieces emerged; then between new bursts of laughter, my mind began to put it together.

    ***

    Yes, that was it: the afternoon traffic was surging along the Kaiserdamm when I emerged from the U-Bahn station, weary from trekking from gallery to gallery. I was looking for the Caf Blaue Rose and a cool glass of Berliner lager. Herr Tiedemann in Hamburg, who'd given me a list of Berlin galleries that specialized (he said) in gay art, had told me not to miss the Blaue Rose. With an obscene gesture he said it was popular with the gays in Berlin's fashionable Charlottenburg district. But when at last I found the caf it seemed to be full of nothing but old ladies, straight-looking couples, and no gay people at all. Exhausted, I fell into a chair at the first outdoor table and waited for the waiter.

    Suddenly it began to rain. I snatched up my portfolio, my umbrella and my jacket and headed inside. Just as I was approaching the door I spotted two men sitting at a table under the awning. One of them jumped to his feet, smiling, and said, "Would you like to share our table, sir? You should put your things here where they will stay dry."

    I hesitated at first, then thanked him and took a seat. The young man was handsome, tall and slim, and probably not over 30 with a mop of curly black hair and just a trace of a Van Dyke mustache. His companion was an older man, stocky and distinguished- looking, with a crew cut, graying at the temples. Neither man made any attempt to start a conversation until the waiter arrived. Then they suggested I try a Berliner Weisse. I nodded and said, "Ja, bitte" to the waiter.

    The silence that followed seemed awkward, so I cleared my throat and said, "Very nice of you fellows to let me sit with you."

    The young man smiled and said, "we saw you, and I said to my friend, Otto, here, 'may we ask that handsome American man to sit with us perhaps'?"

    "And what did Otto say?" I asked, wondering how they could tell I was American.

    "I said, of course he may," said Otto, and he gave me a wink.

    The waiter reappeared with my beer, and I took a good long swallow. It was light and cool and a bit sweet.

    "Do you like it?" said the young man.

    "Very much," I answered. "And by the way, my name is Stephen."

    "I am Siggi, and you already know my friend is Otto." said the young man as we shook hands.

    After a pause Siggi said, "So! What do you have in such a big - how do you say, suitcase?"

    "Portfolio," I answered. "Oh, pictures mostly. Samples of my work. I'm a graphic artist. I'm in Berlin calling on galleries trying to sell my work."

    "Really?" said Otto. "And how is that going?

    "Terrible!" I answered. "My friend in Hamburg thought I'd do well here, but so far all I've sold is a couple of gicles. Gicles are copies that look just like original paintings but are less expensive."

    "May we have a look?" said Siggi.

    "Well," I answered, "perhaps not here. Not in public. You see, I specialize in - how shall I put it - rather intimate scenes. Usually I show my things privately."

    The two men exchanged glances. "That's very interesting," said Otto. "Maybe you would favor us with a private showing, yes?"

    "Why, yes, of course," I answered. "But you should understand beforehand my art is what is called 'gay art'. You might find that offensive."

    Siggi didn't understand the English word, "offensive," so Otto translated for him.

    "Not in the least!" said Siggi.

    ***

    Otto asked where I was staying. I didn't want to confess I had taken a small room in a seedy hotel in Moabit, a workers' quarter. The room looked out into a dark courtyard and smelled of stale beer, onions and cabbage. So I told them I was staying with a friend in Schneberg, which was far, far across town.

    "So could you come with us now?" Otto asked. "We live nearby. We will invite you for supper. It will be just kaltes Essen, if that is okay. Cold supper. Abendbrot, as we say."

    "Yes, that would be very nice," I answered. I actually liked cold cuts and bread very much, and I had a good idea Otto's Abendbrot, "evening bread" would be substantial, maybe even elegant. Besides, I thought, this Otto looks rich. He might buy something. And as for that young man - he is not only gay, but also as sexy as the come.

    We made our way along the Kaiserdamm for a couple of blocks, then turned into the Meerscheidstrasse and then turned again into the shady Fredericiastrasse, where Otto punched a code into an elevator entrance. Soon we stepped into an elegant marble hallway on the top floor.

    The apartment (or condo, actually) was spacious with a view of a courtyard full of trees and flowers. The rooms were furnished with rich Persian rugs, marble and glass tables, and leather sofas and chairs. On one wall hung a floor-to-ceiling print of Michelangelo's "David". I noticed that everything about the apartment gave off the preoccupation with male sexuality - from the phallic shape of the lamps to the erotic sculptures and objets d'art scattered everywhere I looked. One small bronze sculpture portrayed two muscular wrestlers - except that they were nude with oversized erect penises. Though it was all very tasteful, it was all supercharged with sex. It was what I thought a high-class male brothel would look like.

    Siggi, who had changed into shorts and a t-shirt, handed me a glass of beer and busied himself in the kitchen. Otto flipped a switch and soft, Classical music filled the room. Then he disappeared long enough to slip into loose-fitting lounging pants with a peasant vest open down the middle of his chest. With a sigh he sank into one of the leather chairs.

    "It's warm this evening," he said. "Please feel free to remove your tie and make yourself comfortable. We will look at your pictures after we eat, I think."

    "As you wish," I answered, and sipped my beer. Otto watched me as I cast aside my suit coat, pulled off my tie and unbuttoned my shirt.

    I could see Otto's bare chest was covered with fine gray hair, and when he moved, his vest opened to show his still handsome pectorals and firm abs. "You say your art is 'gay art', yes?" he asked. "Does that mean pictures, um, yes, of men together? Like men having, well, sex together, perhaps?"

    "Yes," I said, "I've done drawings and paintings like that. Even orgy scenes. And also of men alone - masturbating or maybe just admiring themselves. It's meant to be erotic, of course. But also to portray the beauty of the male form. For me, beauty and eroticism are inseparable."

    "Ah, that is a very - how do you say? - a very exciting combination, I think," said Otto. "Beauty and the - Erotik. I should think people would stand in line to buy your pictures, then?"

    "I wish they did," I answered. "I've done fairly well in a few cities. London was especially good. Also Dsseldorf. And Basel was okay. And Amsterdam, of course, was good. The gallery owners there seemed to like my work. If it sells, they like it."

    Otto started to speak, but just then Siggi called us to dinner. The table was set with several dishes of cheeses and cold cuts such as Schinkenwurst, Teewurst, Leberwurst, Salami, Jagdwurst, a variety of bolognas, and Lachs en gele, and liver pt, and various kinds of herring, and baskets of rich, dark bread, aand crusty French bread, and a large salad of cooked and fresh vegetables, and another dish of potato salad. Tall glasses of Pilsner gleamed in the evening light, and tiny glasses of Schnapps stood by each place. Otto's Abendbrot was indeed substantial and elegant.

    I soon learned Otto had a well-paying job with the government, while Siggi, whose real name was Siegmund, worked as an underling in a bank. Otto's English was faultless, and his German very clear and precise. I found out he came from an old Prussian family in Mecklenburg to the north of Berlin. His every move bespoke education, privilege, and money.

    Siggi, on the other hand, spoke workable, but faulty, English, and his German was difficult for me to understand. He came from a poor family in Bargtaheide, near Hamburg. Even I, a foreigner, could see he was unable to conceal his working class background. On the other hand, he was a beautiful young man with handsome features, and he radiated an intense male sexiness that at times took my breath away. It seemed clear that Otto was keeping him. And for his part, Siggi obviously enjoyed playing the role of obedient servant - and no doubt also as provocative lover.

    Something told me I would not only witness but probably also take part in their sexual intimacy - be it refined or savage - and I suspected I had invited up for that reason. But I wondered why they had picked me. I was not handsome. Still, I did have a well-developed athletic build, and they had spotted the fact that I was gay. And I had a portfolio full of erotic art that would act no doubt as an aphrodisiac. I hoped I could handle whatever might lie ahead.

    **

    After dinner we sat, the three of us, on one of the leather sofas and I showed them photographs of my paintings as well as the drawings and reproductions I had brought with me.

    "That's hot," said Siggi, pointing to a couple clinched in a bout of 69. Otto, on the other hand, gazed longingly at a young man in the final throes of masturbation. His finger traced the line of semen dropping from the young man's cock to form a sizeable puddle on his belly.

    "Yes, he said. "They are all hot. And I must have this one. How much is it?"

    "It's yours," I said. "No charge to friends." (It was, after all, just a copy. I had other copies at home.)

    It was obvious that both Otto and Siggi - but especially Otto - was becoming greatly aroused looking at my drawings and photos. He pressed against my leg forcefully. Meanwhile Siggi asked if I had any pictures of a boy fucking another boy. I showed him several.

    I must say at this point, my pen-and-ink drawings consisted of simple outlines of the faces and bodies of young men with oversized cocks and balls, which I had drawn in the greatest detail. My intention was to draw attention to the peculiarities of each organ - with every wrinkle of a foreskin, every vein of a shaft, every shading of a testicle, every tuft of hair clearly delineated. From the shine of a wet cockhead to a tiny drop of sparkling precum to a copious flow of semen, it was all there.

    "And do you have perhaps a self-portrait showing yourself masturbating?" said Otto.

    "No," I said, taken unawares. "I never thought of doing that. I suppose I could do that easily enough. Look in a mirror."

    "I would like such a picture also," said Otto, becoming more and more animated as we looked at the photos of other subjects. He ran his finger over the pages as if he were touching the figures themselves.

    Then suddenly he smiled and leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and said, "Stephen! I want to talk with you about your art."

    "Of course," I answered, not certain what was coming.

    "This is what I think," he began. "Your drawings are wonderful. But you are wasting your time going from gallery to gallery trying to sell them. I have friends - I know people who can do that for you. I would like you to think about staying in Berlin for a while. We can find you a studio - an atelier, perhaps - where you can work. Maybe one with an apartment attached."

    "I might like that," I said, "but I doubt if I could afford it."

    "Yes," he answered, "you can - with my help." Such places are cheap here, especially in the East. You could devote yourself to creating more Erotik, yes? Your pictures must be collected in a book. And sold privately. Many would pay dearly to have them. And I know many galleries of very high-class standing - private galleries -- that would gladly show your paintings. Will you consider it?

    I thought for a moment, but only for a moment. "Of course I will consider it. Otto, it would be the chance of a lifetime."

    Otto threw his arms around me and said, "Good! It is done, then. And also, you could help me with my films. I make - Erotik films. And I need an artist to help me. For design and montage."

    "Whatever I can do," I answered. "Whatever."

    Looking down I realized in the excitement Otto's erect cock had slipped out of the his fly and he was slowly masturbating as he gazed at the images before him. Siggi meanwhile had unbuttoned my shirt and pants and was caressing my chest, my belly and soon began gently stroking my hard erect cock.

    Then he paused and took out a small leather bag and a cigarette paper. Soon a wisp of perfumed smoke was rising from a freshly rolled joint, which he handed to me. I sucked in the intoxicating smoke and instantly felt as if I were flying -- dizzy and disoriented. Otto took a puff and handed the joint back to Siggi.

    I giggled and said, "What is it?"

    "Turkish hasheesh," said Siggi. "The best. Do you like it? I know a man in Kreuzberg, a Turk."

    "The best for our American artist friend, Stephen," said Otto. And then he, too, chuckled. It was the first time I had heard him laugh.

    The drug overwhelmed me and sent me off into a delirium in which I seemed to be floating from room to room, and after a while soaring with Siggi supporting me on one side and Otto on the other. Our clothes melted away like butter in a skillet and fell dripping at our feet. I heard Otto say in German, "My God, look at the size of his cock!" Siggi sucked in his breath and muttered something like, "Um Gottes Willen!"

    The two men, naked now, helped me climb onto a high bed in the bedroom. The walls and ceiling were covered with mirrors and strange spotlights, and above the bed was suspended a sort of leather and rope trapeze. Next to the bed was a large rocking chair - with no arms. The sight of an armless rocking chair struck me as the funniest thing I had ever seen, and I doubled up in laughter every time I looked at it.

    Otto stretched out on the bed next to me and began caressing my chest and legs. His body - that of a former Olympic athlete - was still handsome and fit, though he must have been approaching 50. Siggi, not yet 30, seemed to glow in the dim light: his alabaster skin was almost hairless except for his armpits and the shadow of a beard and a patch of coal black pubic hair - and of course the silky black locks that fell around his face.

    Siggi worked quickly to fasten my wrists and legs in leather cuffs attached to the bed and the overhead trapeze. Next, as Siggi gently masturbated my penis, he rubbed lubricant into my upwardly exposed asshole. Otto lay beside me slowly jacking his fat uncut cock, and when he pulled the thick foreskin out over his glans, it formed a pointed spout like on a teapot, even when it was erect.

    "What are you going to do to me?" I asked, still giggling on and off.

    "Siggi wants to fuck you, my Stephen. And I will watch. Perhaps I will lick your balls, but mostly I like to watch. You see, I cannot take Siggi any more in my Arschloch, my asshole. So I will watch That is my pleasure."

    ***

    And so I am lying here, tied up and waiting to be fucked, while Otto takes a phone call and Siggi searches for his condoms. One thought consoles me: Siggi's cock is average-sized and therefore less likely to hurt me. Also, he has the decency to use a condom.

    Otto has come back apologizing for the interruption.

    "It's okay," I say. "I'm not going anywhere."

    With that, Otto laughs heartily, a surprise since he is usually quite serious. He pushes another pillow under my butt to make me more comfortable and curls up with his face an inch from my upturned balls. "Beautiful balls," he mutters. So full and hard." Then he begins licking my balls and playing with my cock. This restores his erection, and in my euphoric state - from all the alcohol and hasheesh - I find his gentle tongue and finger stimulation very exciting.

    When Siggi at last returns, he has a bright blue condom rolled tightly over his erect cock, Otto laughs anew. "Not those blue ones!" he said. "I thought I got rid of them."

    "All I could find," said Siggi as he moved close pointing his cock directly at my waiting ass. "I will be slow and gentle," he said. "You will say if my Schwaenzlein - my cock - if it is pain, yes?" And he carefully begins pushing his penis into my ass, stop and go. Because of my flexed position with my knees pushed back towards my shoulders, his penetration doesn't hurt. In fact as his penis fills my ass, I feel a sweeping pleasure. He makes a few easy thrusts, then Otto draws himself up close and runs his hand between Siggi's legs to fondle first Siggi's, then my balls and cock.

    As Siggi continues thrusting into me, I study his face and how it registers every twinge of pleasure. Though I don't consider myself a "bottom", I am beginning to really enjoy the sensation of his cock filling my ass. When he pulls away I wait for the next thrust. I feet a rush of pleasure each time I look at him, especially his hair and his deep black eyes. But suddenly Siggi stops.

    "I think I am tired," he said. "I think I would like better the chair."

    And he immediately withdraws from my ass. Then reaching up he undoes the wrist and leg restraints and says something to Otto.

    "He wants you to sit on his lap. In the chair."

    Anything would be preferable to the being tied up, so I say, "Sure!."

    Siggi moves to the rocking chair and pats his lap, but as I straddle him he pulls my hips up to his face and begins sucking my cock. My hands, suddenly freed, find his hair, which I gently stroke. As he sucks me I almost cum and even start moaning. Otto immediately grabs my cock and squeezes it hard to stop the orgasm. Then I settle gently onto Siggi's lap allowing his hard erection to return to its home in my ass. Otto has put my shoes on my feet in the meantime. "So you will not rock over your feet." he says. Then he pulls up a chair beside us.

    I realize almost at once that Siggi is the one who is immobilized now and no longer able to thrust his cock into my ass. I alone am able to rock the chair. I am totally in control, and with each movement I can make his penis move back and forth in my ass - fast or slow, according to my whim.

    We are so close to each other, Siggi and I, that he can easily kiss and lick my chest. He sighs as he traces the bulges of my ample pectorals with his tongue and sucks at my large dark nipples. At times he buries his face in my armpits and licks them vigorously, which sends chills through my body. I am becoming more and more excited - more vividly alive - with each of his kisses and nibbles. I can feel his cock, hard and throbbing, probing the recesses of my anus, with the tip of his glans, rubbing my prostate. Soon my own glans is oozing a stream of precum, which brings me a tingling pleasure - not like the convulsion of an orgasm, but more like what I imagined a woman might feel as her pussy grows wet and open in anticipation of the brutal invasion of a man's hungry hot organ.

    Otto has lighted up a second joint, which he passes around to Siggi and me. It seems to heighten my pleasure each time Siggi gently masturbates me, but I no longer feel in danger of cumming because I am in total control now, I the interloper, the flesh-and-blood aphrodisiac to these two men so alive now and approaching a sexual frenzy that only I can resolve.

    Siggi is mumbling something to himself in his dialect, swallowing noisily and struggling to fuck me, but he is in my power and can only wait, groaning, if I stop the motion of the chair to tease him. Otto sees this happening, and he responds by groaning and saying strange things to Siggi in a German I cannot understand - perhaps a private language of their own - that must be loaded with raunchy words that drive them ever higher into their ecstatic, but powerless frenzy.

    As for me, the motion of the chair brings me something like an ever-increasing wave of pleasure that spreads all over my body - like the feeling of an approaching orgasm that resolves itself ever so slowly. It isn't limited to my penis but feels equally as strong in my balls and my ass, all through my body, even in my breasts with their stiffly upturned nipples. I have never felt anything like this before.

    Otto has moved to the bed close beside us. He is still stroking, but a little faster now. Then he pulls his legs up to his chest exposing his hairy balls and asshole. On a whim I reached out and gently rub his ass, and this seems to send him into a higher state of pleasure. He lets out a sound like, "ayeeee!". As my hand moves to his balls, he responds by filling his right hand with saliva, then taking my cock in his hand, he squeezes it first gently then tightly, moving it around ever so slightly from the base of my shaft to the tip of my cockhead. The pleasure is overwhelming, but the tightness of his grip prevents my cumming.

    Siggi is obviously suffering an agony of almost-but-not-yet exploding orgasm. "Bitte! Bitte! Bitte!" he cries out, "Please, please, please", begging me to let him cum. He whispers something into my ear, and Otto translates.

    "He is desperate to cum! He can't stand it any longer! But he wants you to cum so your Arschloch, your asshole, will squeeze him, so, over and over again! That is what he waits for."

    I realize we need to rock faster. As we speed up, I can see the unmistakable look on Siggi's face of the breaking orgasm - the open mouth, the rapid breathing, the staring eyes. Sweat pours out of his skin and my skin, and I take over stroking my own cock. Near, near, near! Who will erupt first? Will it be me, the man in control? Or will it be Siggi, his head tossing from side to side? Or maybe Otto, beating off madly beside us and crying insanely as if he were in pain?

    Yes, it is me - I can hold it no longer. I want only to cum. My whole pelvic floor contracts as I feel the pressure of my rising ejaculate - up, up, up - my cock tight and hard now and feeling ENORMOUS in my clinched fist - pumping, pumping, faster, faster, bent forward, bent backward, bent to the sides, my foreskin snapping over the cockhead and jumping back tight with each lunge of my wrist. Then the hard pressure within and then the overwhelming thrilling BANG! of cumming - cumming at last and a jet of hot white semen bursts up out of my penis as I yelp and cry out, "Ohhhhhh!"

    My ass contracts tightly around Siggi's penis. It contracts again and again and he, too, cries out, and with that Otto suddenly jumps to his knees and - jacking himself violently he cries out, "Bitte! Gott, bitte!" - "Please, God, please!"

    I find his asshole with my cum-covered finger and thrust it just inside his sphincter, and that sends him off, YES! and he yells out and sprays a long rope of cum over Siggi and me, again and again, his body doubling over and his cock spurting out yet another stream of white hot semen -- Otto's semen -- that mixes with my semen on Siggi's sweat-drenched belly, and then Otto wipes up a handful of it and presses it to his lips, and smears it over his chest, gasping for breath, his eyes burning hot, his body soaking wet, as Siggi and I - flushed by our afterglow -- grow calm.

    ***

    After Siggi has carefully cleaned us up with warm, wet towels, we stretch out on the bed exhausted. And locked in one another's arms, as night closes over us, the three of us lie motionless and quiet, listening to one another's measured breathing, feeling one another's beating hearts.


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