Death on the Rhine Ch. 04

“Well, look who we have here.”

Clint Folsom knew without even looking up that Inspector Sigmund Frist had recognized him.

“Hello, Sig,” he answered, gesturing for his old acquaintance to take a seat in one of the velvet-upholstered barrel chairs in the Alexander Lounge. It was after dinner on the MS River God. The ship was still tied to the dock at Rudesheim, preparing for the run through the most scenic, castle-crowned section of the Rhine late the next morning and into the afternoon.

Folsom had returned from the afternoon romp in the vineyard a little bowlegged but still horny. He had been ridden doubly and well, but he was in the mood to fuck something himself now. The cute little waiter, Tiho, was the first to cross Folsom’s path when he returned to the ship, and he didn’t seem to mind in the least when Folsom drew him into his cabin and began to kiss him passionately.

Tiho himself made the first serious move when he opened his shirt and bared his breast and offered Folsom two pert little nipples with silver rings through them. Folsom ravaged them with his lips and teeth as he hunched over the waiter who had been backed up to the table between the benches. Tiho was making little yipping sounds and murmuring in some sort of East European language. Folsom certainly hoped the young man was voicing his pleasure, but he didn’t much care. He wanted to get sucked and then to fuck something.

Folsom stripped Tiho’s pants off and then his own, sat the waiter up on the table, reversed him, and forced him down on his back, his head at the end of the table facing Folsom. Then he braced his thighs against the table edge, took Tiho’s head between his hands, and fucked down into the waiter’s mouth until his cock was throbbing, full, and dripping.

Folsom then turned, unclipped one of the raised beds at the side and brought it down over the bench. He gathered Tiho up in his arms and turned him and put him down on the bed, sideways on his butt, spreading his legs wide. Tiho watched him in awe as Folsom struggled to roll a condom on his horse-hung cock and then pushed his legs out as wide as he could and arched his back as Folsom thrust inside his puckered hole.

Tiho screamed in surprise at the invasion, but his hole was slack and well used and he immediately mustered his English capability to let Folsom know that his efforts were appreciated. Folsom rode Tiho hard and long, trying to dispel all of the frustrations of his loss of his lover and his pursuit of Meister across Europe. And Tiho rode with him, expertly meeting his thrusts with counterthrusts of his own, well versed in the type of servicing required of the crew on such a voyage as this.

Spent and exhausted after a prodigious release of semen in an orgasmic death, Folsom turned Tiho in the bed when he had finished him and stretched out beside him. The American hugged the East European morsel to his breast, as the well-fucked and even-tempered lad hummed lullabies to the troubled passenger. When Folsom’s eyes closed and his breathing became regular, Tiho unentangled himself and tiptoed out of the cabin. He had enjoyed this fuck. It wasn’t like what that bull of a German did to him. That one made him want to kill.

Folsom had slept in his cabin until dinner, moving then straight to the lounge for drinks. He would have offered to buy the German policeman a drink, but Frist was already hefting an industrial-sized scotch and water. “I haven’t seen you before on the ship,” Folsom said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Folsom warily neglected to say that he’d already seen Frist earlier off the ship up the hill in Rudesheim, having an argument with Bruno Meister. He was very afraid that Frist was going to be taking Meister out of circulation for some other crime before Folsom himself could bring Meister to justice for the murder of his partner.

“No, I just joined the cruise here in Rudesheim,” Frist answered. “There are too many inquisitive eyes in Mainz. It would have been unseemly for me to join the cruise there. This cruise has quite a reputation.”

“So, you aren’t here on business?” Folsom queried.

“No, pleasure,” Frist responded. “And you? Are you here to track some dastardly criminal to ground? Or are you here to get fucked?”

The questions lay there in bold outline. Not even Folsom’s own police department in New York knew he was here to track Bruno Meister down and kill him. How likely would it be that his intent would be negated if he told a senior German police official what he was doing here? And, indeed, could Frist already know and just wanted confirmation before he stepped in to prevent Folsom from taking his revenge?

“Pleasure, just like you,” Folsom said after a pause, trying to muster up a broad smile for Frist. His smile wasn’t as broad as Frist’s was, though.

“And could perhaps your pleasure be my pleasure too?” Frist asked.

“Perhaps,” Folsom responded. He answered thusly only partially to put Frist off the track of why he really was here. He also well remembered what a skillful lover the German policeman had been.

Frist sat there for a few minutes, swirling his scotch in front of his face, drinking in Folsom over the rim of the glass. “You look better than ever, Clint,” he said at length. “You have yet to reach your prime, I think. Have you been well fucked since we last were together? Someone special in your life? Someone here on the cruise with you?”

“Not here on the cruise. But, yes, yes, there was someone in my life. But now that’s over.” Frist was either being very coy, or he really hadn’t either heard about the murder of Brad Roberts or was unaware of any connection between both Folsom and Bruno Meister. There was no question that he knew Meister however. Their argument at the café in the town that afternoon had made that clear.

“And it ended sadly?” Frist asked in a low voice.

“I think you could safely say that,” Folsom said and took a deep pull on his drink.

“I would very much like to fuck you again,” Frist pressed in a low, hoarse voice. “Would that be possible—for old times sake? I think I was able to give you pleasure.”

“Yes, yes, you did. Perhaps. That’s what this cruise is all about.” Folsom decided he needed to fully maintain the cover of having taken this cruise for the hookups.

“Have you been in the club downstairs? In Hephaestion?” Frist asked.

“Club? There’s a club downstairs?”

“Yes. The stairs are just over there beyond the bar. I think it might put you in the proper mood. It’s the very heart of this cruise. Come down there with me now—and then later we can go to my cabin.”

Frist tossed off his scotch, stood, and held out his hand to Folsom, who also stood and meekly followed his German counterpart down into the club named for Alexander the Great’s male lover. On the way to the stairs, they passed the bar, and the masked blond bartender on duty there gave Folsom a smile that seemed to claim intimacy. Folsom wondered if this was his lover of the previous night, and he smiled back in encouragement. He would like to have more of what that guy had given him.

Frist drew close to Folsom as they descended the stairs. Half way down he stopped and pulled the younger detective to him and kissed him deeply as he inserted one hand inside his shirt and tweaked a nipple and cupped his butt with the other one. Folsom’s cock gave a lurch in memory of how Frist had seduced him at that police convention earlier and had, first, made gentle love to him and then had ridden him hard and long in a second wild fuck. Folsom knew that this would be one night of many orgasmic deaths in which he could become lost to the pain of this world.

He had no idea how orgasmic his night would be.

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