After he had swallowed and regained some of his wits (what there were of them to begin with), Mason Verger grinned up at Dr Lecter and said, "I bet you'd like to do this to Will Graham, wouldn't you?" And he fell into another bout of crazed laughter.
The doctor allowed himself a wintry smile. "I suppose I would," he conceded. He had nothing to lose by telling the truth. "In some ways, he deserves it more than you."
"Because he's a bad boy?"
"Because it's the Nectar of the Gods. Hold still – there's more to come." He pressed on Mason's lower lip as the rich kid's pout curled in delighted anticipation, blue eyes as round as coins staring up at him in wonder. A small spurt, then a golden jet came pouring out of the end of Dr Lecter's semi-hard prick.
Mouthful after mouthful, Verger swallowed, gasping, spluttering, nostrils wide, eyes misty, two small streams running constantly from the corners of his mouth. The sight of Dr Lecter's bare chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm, so calm, so controlled, was a goad to him, made him want to show the doctor how bad and how weak he was. The contraction in the lower half of Dr Lecter's belly, again a constant as the doctor forced his body to sustain a steady stream of humiliation, made Verger want his own body to spasm, enjoying the contrast between tension and release for as long as his muscles could take it.
"That's enough for now." Dr Lecter removed his penis from the brat's mouth and shook it so any leftover drops spattered the pale face. His prick hung there from his fly, large and veiny but defiantly soft.
Verger had a worried look. The spectre of disappointment hung over him. He felt as if his favourite toy could be taken from him at any moment.
Dr Lecter crooked his forefinger and put it under Verger's chin. "Tell me, Mason, is your prick hard?"
He decided to let him in on a secret. "Look at my nipples. Are they hard? My nipples are always hard when my prick's hard. That's one of those peculiarities you need to know about me for next time."
As if there'd be a next time.
The doctor tipped his head to one side to look harder at his naked form. "Yes, you're right. They're sticking right out. I suppose you like to have them sucked?"
Verger worked his tongue along his lower lip as he twisted those sensitive points right in front of the looming psychiatrist.
Dr Lecter smiled again, the unusual and sensuous shape of his lips emphasizing his amusement. "I'm sure you do. But right now, perhaps you'd turn around for me."
"Why? I mean, it's not as if you're ready to do anything. Are you sure you wouldn't want me to give you a helping hand?"
"That won't be necessary. I know how to make myself hard."
Verger's mind raced with images of ways Dr Lecter might make himself hard. How matter-of-fact he was, how robotic. Yes, that's what it was going to be like; like being fucked by a perfect sex robot. He was beside himself. If he hadn't made sure he'd gone to the john before this encounter, he'd have felt his bowels loosen with excitement.
"Oh, I almost forgot – I have a small gift for you." Dr Lecter went over to his desk and returned – dick swinging like a pendulum, of course, counting down the minutes until Verger's moment of ultimate pleasure was reached – with a ball gag.
"Is my conversation annoying you, Hannibal?"
"You have to agree, Mason, you're an infuriating individual at times but, no, that's not why I have the gag." Without more explanation, he slipped the ball into Verger's mouth and used the strap to fix it in place. Then, he stepped back to get a good look at the rich boy's face as he clamped his hand around his throat, adjusting his grip until he found the perfect position. "Hm." He began to apply pressure. Just a little pressure. Then, as Verger's colour began to change, just a little more.
Verger was flushing red, the veins in his neck becoming prominent. Then, finally, he began to drool, a thin line of spit appearing at the bottom of the ball and a whitish trickle descending from one corner of his mouth. He struggled to swallow, the powerful taste of Dr Lecter's piss rising in his throat once more.
"Yes, very good," said the doctor. "I require you to drool throughout this experience."
Verger nodded in compliance, saliva now beginning to drip onto his chest.
Dr Lecter gave his neck a final shake then let go, indicating with his forefinger that it was time for Verger to turn around.
Oh, joy! When he turned, he found himself facing an onyx screen polished to such a degree that it was almost a mirror. There he was, naked on all fours, drooling as Dr Lecter pulled on latex gloves and brought a large tube of lubricant to bear upon him. "You have a lovely anus, Mason," said the doctor as he parted his cheeks, "a perfect pink asterisk. You've clearly looked after it very well." The scratch of the spout then the coolness of the gel bulging against his entrance. Dr Lecter's clever fingers working him open with the perfect combination of efficiency and dispassion. Two fingers probing and scissoring, then the fingers of both hands brought into play, forefingers pulling at the sides and making his hole gape. Dr Lecter's head tipping this way and that as he considered the red, pulsing chute. How glorious to be spread open and stared into! Then the psychiatrist was bringing his lubed hands to bear upon himself. In dark reflection, Verger watched him reach behind himself and perform some violent motion as he tipped his head towards the ceiling, the tendons in his neck straining. The next thing he knew, something was bumping against his ass cheeks. Dr Lecter was hard.
"Oh, do it, fuck me now!" was what Verger thought he said but all that came out was garbage and an accompanying spray that struck the black mirror.
"Good. Very good," said Dr Lecter as he pressed the head into his rectum. "Relax for me, Mason."
The prone man groaned and let a short stream of his own piss run out to show Dr Lecter how relaxed and very naughty he was.
"You may piss and drool as much as you like. The more of a mess that you are, the harder you'll be fucked. The harder I'll come." And with that, the full length of him pushed up inside his patient.
Verger's mouth would have been an "o" whether he'd had a ball gag in or not. He lifted his head, eyes squeezed shut and tearing. The lubricant had done its strange work, allowing a foreign object to penetrate an ill-suited space with surreal ease. Dr Lecter's prick felt huge and smooth and indisputable buried inside his chute, and when it began to move with that relentless pounding, Verger began to shake. He quailed in the path of the juggernaut.
But Dr Lecter was ready. He placed one hand on Verger's hip and the other underneath him, palm splayed over his stomach, supporting the shaking man. "Let go," he urged. "Let everything go."
Permission. He hadn't known he needed it until now. He looked at himself in the polished mirror and saw a wreck of a man, a formless marine invertebrate, kept up only by the mount of Dr Lecter's ever-present rod. His own dick flopped around uselessly as his master's owned him. Things were too intense for him to focus on orgasm. If it happened, it happened; if it didn't, well, there was so much for him to enjoy without it. The animal of a man fucking him, the sweat, the helplessness, the strain, the glory. His skin was on fire; no his skin meant nothing, there was only the moment, the eternal moment. And all the time, he knew that Dr Lecter's eyes were upon him, plotting every variable, every quirk. He was hardly aware when his body gave up on him and he began a muffled wailing. If he'd had the presence of mind to contemplate his own reflection, he would have seen a face full of fever, drenched hair plastered to it, his mouth an agonised maw barely visible beyond a frothy cloud that rained perpetually. Then his master's hand was burying itself in his thick hair, using the traction to ram his head backwards and forwards with every thrust. It couldn't go on. He would die, he would die!
And then the violent motion ceased, replaced with a subtle vibration that increased as Dr Lecter strove to find his sweet spot, bringing a hand around to work the cock that had not been ready and was now ready as a starting pistol. He fired; his cum spurted. Dr Lecter filled his rectum with his own cum, hot as magma passing from deep chamber to deep chamber, as it was, and timed to perfection.
It seemed there were noises in the room; his own cries perhaps. He was recovering, lying down on his side although he didn't know how he had got there. The ball gag was gone but he had not been cleaned up. He lay in a pool of his own piss, spit and cum while another man's semen leaked from his behind. It was heaven to be a hot mess – for now. It would not be long before it paled to his stomach and a shower became all he desired. He sighed. Yes, he would let himself enjoy it for now.
He climbed out of the shower. He was alone, Dr Lecter in a distant part of his home, doing God only knew whatever it was he did when he was alone. It was hard to imagine Dr Lecter doing anything alone. He was such a perfect manifestation of cold male supremacy, an inner life seemed superfluous. Verger didn't care about that anyway.
He dressed and was making for the door, shrugging on his fur-collared white coat when the psychiatrist appeared from some antechamber. His eyes fixed Verger's in an instant. "Did you enjoy that, Mason? Was it a good suggestion? Perhaps, next time I have a suggestion for you, you'll be just as willing to try it?"
Verger grabbed Dr Lecter by the lapels and kissed him. The doctor barely responded though his bulging cheekbones were a taunt, as ever, like the curves of a blessed girl, strange and attractive on this otherwise angular man. Verger smirked as he backed off, tossing his blond curls this way and that. "Well – alright, then. And what person in their right mind wouldn't be ready for one of your wicked suggestions?"
Oh, yes – Dr Lecter could have no doubt that he'd be ready.