A Life of Yes

On to Cyprus

It didn’t take even an hour to fly from Istanbul to the Ercan “International” Airport in northern, Turkish, Cyprus the next day, but we sat for an hour and a half waiting to take off in Istanbul. So, I had plenty of time to survey the damage done by Altan Tilki the previous night, to worry about my concerns on what these demanding fetishes were that Tilki said I would be subjected to in this Kibris Delight movie, and to wonder how much longer I could continue saying “yes” to every question and demand made of me. Surely there were limits to what I could and would take.

I was met by a crew of three at the small, functional Ercan International Airport, the “international” name being a bit questionable as flights only came from and went to Turkish mainland airports. The men meeting me were Turkish, and they were quite different from each other beyond each having a body to die for that I’m sure was highly photogenic in pornographic films. The filming started as I was walking down the stairs from the airplane on the tarmac on the dusty Mesaoria plain covering the central area of the island of Cyprus, divided more loosely now than in years past between the Greek Republic in the south and the Turkish dependency in the north. The filming was rolling on almost continuously the whole weekend I was there, yes, including when I shaved, took a piss, and sat on the toilet. There was no telling what would be boiled down to six scenes in a two-hour movie.

The man in charge, in his late forties or early fifties, was a handsome, hirsute, beefcake man named Kadir Solak. He was ever smiling, stocky, but heavily muscular and overpowering. His body hair was salt-and-pepper in color and was profuse on his bulging chest, his thickset, but hard belly, his forearms and thighs. Accompanying him in greeting me was his opposite, Edric Karga, a sultry, dark young man in his late twenties, who was unsmiling, more smoldering than mean looking, and more sexy and beautiful than any young man had the right to be. Kadir was gregarious; Edric was silent. His body was lean and wiry, but it was hard as steel. Kadir was as bald on his head as he was hairy of body, whereas Edric had a rich flow of jet-black head hair tied back in a ponytail now, but often flowing down to his shoulders during sex.

Following us around at a distance was the cameraman, Tari Balik. He was the balance of the two other men in age and body style. He was in his mid-thirties. He was muscular but neither body-builder bulging like Kadir was nor slender and wiry as Edric was. He was the technical expert of the three, most often the man behind the camera. If I’d thought he was just there to do the filming, though, I was mistaken. He always was moving about, making the shot the best it could be. I was to find that he was heavily tattooed and was the combination of Kadir’s thickness of cock and Edric’s length and, although he got into the action less than the other two, he did get into the action.

When Tari fucked me, he made love to me. Kadir and Edric screwed me, Kadir with joyful abandon that concentrated on his own enjoyment, Edric with cruel mastering that concentrated on conquering me and taking his trophies.

I wasn’t the same young man getting off the plane in Cyprus as I had been in Istanbul. In Istanbul I was casual elegance. In Cyprus I was rent-boy fuck me. I had arrived in Istanbul a golden blond, smooth bodied, blue-eyed all-American college student type. When the plane touched down at Ercan, I descended from it a red-headed, green-eyed, five-o’clock shadow chinned, bad boy with the tattoo of a gecko low on my belly near my left side. The tattoo was temporary. It would fade in a week on its own, I was told. The green eyes were contacts. Altan Tilki had shampooed in the red himself the night before, being aroused while tinting my pubes and putting me on all fours on the bathroom floor and fucking me like a dog. I was still dressed in Standish’s menswear line, but when arriving in Cyprus I was in low-rider tight jeans and a half-cut T-shirt from his special, private collection that left my belly, and its gecko tattoo, exposed. All of the clothes, such as they were, that I wore for the filming were from Standish’s current line—the sexy one he advertised in limited venues.

The filming continued with the three of us, Kadir, Edric, and me sauntering to the car, a large salon sedan, with me between the two men, each of the men with a hand on one of my butt cheeks. That I didn’t shrug them off signaled to anyone viewing the movie that they would fuck me on film without any resistance from me.

Edric fucked me in the backseat of the car during the fifty-minute drive west across the Mesaoria, over the Kyrenia range of mountains in the north, and up the northern slope of the mountains to a villa perched over a panoramic view of the ancient harbor town, complete with a Byzantine harbor castle wrapped inside a crusader fortress. Tari Balik filmed the fuck from the front seat of the car.

The Turks called the harbor town Girne and the Greeks called it Kyrenia. Kadir drove, taking amused and lusty looks into the backseat, grinning and popping his tongue in his cheek for Tari, hanging over the passenger seat to film, as Edric overpowered me with kisses and fondling in the backseat, tore my clothes off, and put me on my back under him across the seat. He was being rough and I struggled with him at the beginning, as he told me in whispers he wanted me to do. He slapped me across the face and muttered, “Bana deligini ver. Bana deligini ver.”

Kadir laughed from the front seat. “He wants your hole, Lee. He’s telling you to lay back and let him have your ass. Lay down nicely for him, give him your hole, and he won’t be as rough. It’s all good for the camera either way. We want you looking good for the rest of the film, though. Edric can get rough when he’s excited.”

Edric slapped me again and, surrendering, with a moan, I lay back, spread my legs, raised my pelvis, and arched my back when, after spreading me open with his fingers, he thrust one of the longest cocks I’d ever seen inside me. I lay there, vulnerable and open to him, whimpering, begging for mercy from the camera, as he pounded the hell out of me.

“Onu kamera icin iyi fuck, Edric,” Tari called into the backseat.

“Iyi davranislar gosterin cocuklar—Show good manners, boys,” Kadir called out. “You know English. Use it. Tari was urging Edric to fuck you good for the camera, Lee. I know Edric will.”

And Edric did fuck me well.

He was cruel and expert, pulling all of the sounds one would want to hear from a young man being ravished, out of me. He put it in deep and when I opened to him, he exploited my vulnerability, fucking me hard and pushing as deep as he could inside me as he gripped me with his strong hands and legs, punishing me as he fucked me. His buttocks rose high, the bulb almost coming to the surface, on the withdrawal, and he dove deep on the thrust, bouncing me off the cushion of the seat, pulling a deep groan and gasp out of me on the thrust and a moan on the withdrawal.

I had already been told that men who watched such movies liked to be able to see the moment when the bottom gave it all up and either went docile and limp for the fuck or intensely became one with the coupling. Having discerned that Edric liked to conquer, I relaxed, with a whimper, opened entirely to him and let him take what he wanted.

“Yes, yes,” I murmured. “Fuck me good.” He did.

They also, I was told, wanted to see the cock buried in the hole, spreading it, and what could be seen of the root lengthening and shortening to show the anal fucking was genuine. They didn’t, in those days, want to see evidence of a condom. Edric barebacked me and Tari came in close to capture all that movie patrons would like to see, including withdrawing to the surface for the cum shot and pushing of the cock inside again.

When Edric shot his load, he bit me on the nipple, causing me to cry out in passion and pain, which the camera loved. I was the innocent and he ate me up alive, with a cruel smile and flashing eyes. He knew just how to position us to provide the best angles for the camera. The camera was ecstatic.

Once in the villa, Kadir took me to a large king-sized bed in a room set up like a Turkish harem, leading me there naked from the car, and fucked me in a missionary position that had him kneeling between my thighs and lifting my pelvis up to him, my torso streaming back onto the bed, my arms extended straight from my body in a cruciform “I surrender all” position, an attitude of total surrender that had been set with Edric conquering me in the car. The incongruity with the harem motif of the room was that there were spotlights attached high on the walls just below the ceiling and trained on the bed. This told me that at least part of the movie would be filmed on this bed. Indeed, Kadir taking me this first time might wind up in the movie.

When Kadir pulled an ejaculation out of me and he had come as well, bringing his thick cock to the surface, gushing cum, and then sticking it back in for renewed slow stroking—this was a barebacking film; the timing was 1980—he took the camera from Tari, who came down onto the bed on his side, pulled me into him, guided his cock inside me, and made side-splitting love with me with much undulating of both of our pelvises in rhythmic unison with deep mouth kissing.

I was both surprised and well warmed up, and thus quite receptive, when Tari came into the action. In these initial fucks, the three men established their own territory in how a scene would spin out. Edric and/or Kadir would conquer me, and Tari would comfort me.

And so the saga of Kibris Delight started.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a tutorial on sucking cock and taking cock for the camera. I had had no idea that so much was involved in being filmed being fucked—such specialized positioning to please the camera the best. I, of course, had very little experience in being fucked for the camera at all, but I did have considerable training in stage work, so I found that part understandable. The session also involved considerable instruction in giving head on film to the three men, so I was totally acquainted with their shafts by the time dark was coming on. They didn’t fuck me during this training, though, taking the instruction up to the point of penetration but not completing it.

“We want you fresh,” Kadir explained in his heavily accented, but very British speech. Of the three, Kadir Solak was the only native Cypriot and Cyprus had once been a British colony. He spoke English better than the other two, but they spoke it quite well enough too, I decided, since all I’d learned to say in Turkish thus far was evet—yes.

When he said “Do you understand?” now I answered with the key word I’d learn to say from the beginning.

“Evet.”

In the gathering dusk, they drove me down to Girne harbor, where we ate under strings of lights right on the edge of the harbor wall, with small yachts and fishing boats bobbing beside us. We feasted on roasted lamb and potato wedges, fresh grilled fish, village salad, mountains of peasant bread, and bottle after bottle of Efes beer. Such interludes would be atmospheric subscenes in the movie and Tari bounded around filming the scene when he himself wasn’t eating. The scene was laced with kissing and fondling as well as lustful and intentional looks with the eyes. Ours wasn’t the only table where this was going on.

The harbor was crowded—it was a Friday night—and many men stopped at our table to greet the three men I was with. Everyone seemed to know everyone else—except for me. The men coming by didn’t ignore me. They smiled at me; they leered at me; they gave me suggestive looks; some of them popped their tongues in their cheeks, which I think was an expression of “I see a delectable little whore.” All of it went on film. All of the men, of varying ages from twenty to sixty were very fit and were hunks. Some were obviously workmen; others were businessmen. All were extremely friendly. At some point Kadir admitted to me that the visits had been prearranged. The men had signed releases to be in the film.

“Will they do more in the film than visit us at the dinner table?” I asked.

“Quite possibly,” Kadir said, with a smile. “We shall see how the filming goes.”

When we returned to the villa and its stone terrace, which was larger than the villa itself and overlooked the night-lit town and the sea, it wasn’t just the three of us. Five or six of the men who had stopped at our table gathered on the terrace of the villa as well. My question was quickly being answered, so I was prepared for what was unfolding. Some of the men stopping at our table slipped money to Kadir, so it was evident that they expected something worthwhile to transpire.

For the next two hours after we returned, I sat or lay on a divan in the middle of the terrace, as naked men gathered around me and I gave head and was fucked repeatedly by more men than I could keep track of. All of the activity was captured on film by Tari. Kadir and Edric both took their turns. Tari, who was filming it all, did not. But it was Tari who slept with me in the big bed that night and who soothed and slow fucked me to sleep. Tari was the one to give me comfort for what the other men did to my body.

The first day of a three-day filming weekend closed with three scenes and some filler already in the can. Ominously, before he saw me off to bed, Kadir told me that the tame, conventional sex beginning of the film had been shot and now it would move into the rougher, fetish scenes Nigel Standish had told me would be the focal parts of the movie. The film was to be about my spiral down into fetish degradation. I shuddered to think what was coming. So far I was learning to enjoy it. There were a lot of hunky men paying attention to me, wanting something from me that was easier and more pleasurable to give with each successive coupling, taking it from me in a way that made me feel like they couldn’t get enough of me.

“Can you give me an example of where this film might go?” I asked Kadir. “Tonight I sucked off or was fucked by what? eight men? How can it—?”

“The eight men fucked you here, on this beautiful terrace overlooking Girne, under the stars. This was a romantic setting even though there were many men. What this could move to is you leaving a tavern in the town, entering a dark, narrow street, and the eight men coming upon you there and passing you around, taking you hard and sharing you roughly on a dark night in a narrow, cobble-stoned street.”

Oh.

Turkish men are primeval animals. And I mean that in a good, way. I found I was particularly aroused by self-possessed men like Edric who just took it as by right and tore it out of their prey. Once I had adjusted to his macho approach, I couldn’t get enough of him. I scared myself on the discovery that cruelty heightened my arousal, but there it was.

* * * *

Kadir was right. The next day, Saturday, got into the kinky and the more demanding. Two weeks before this I’d had no idea what some of this sex fetish was. I certainly wouldn’t have believed I could manage it. I didn’t think Kadir had been told how much of a neophyte I was. He treated me like I was a seasoned rent-boy who had no qualms about being fucked by anyone and everyone he put on me and in any position.

It started late in the morning. That’s when I got up, rousted out of bed by Kadir, who pointed out, truthfully, that I’d slept the morning away. It was partially his fault for what he, as director, had had me doing the previous day. Right off the bat, though, we were into the kinky.

Tari was already out of the bed and ready with the camera. Kadir let me go to the bathroom but the next scene picked up right there. I was standing at the toilet, pissing into it, when Edric came in and saddled up behind me. Tari was in the doorway, pointing the camera at us. Edric came in close, reached the hand on the other side of my body from the camera—always mindful of the sightlines—cupped my balls, wrapped two finds around the root of my cock, and held it as I arced piss into the bowl. Then he was down on his knees behind me, with me leaning over the toilet, palms of my hands pressed into the wall behind the toilet as he ate out my ass and pulled my cock through my thighs and milked it. The camera whirred as he then stood up, covered me from behind, thrust inside me, and fucked me in a doggy position. Since this was being filmed, he gave the camera a shot of him pulling out of me, arcing his cum on my hole and then thrusting inside again for a few more strokes.

The scene wasn’t over when he was done, though. Kadir came into the bathroom and ushered me into the shower. We fucked under the cascading water, my back pressed to the tiles of the shower wall, my knees hooked on Kadir’s hips, and my arms around his neck, as he fucked me against the wall. Edric stood nearby, at the edge of but within the camera frame, watching us and stroking himself again, replacing Kadir for seconds with me after Kadir had come.

Kadir didn’t join us for lunch on the terrace of the villa, which Tari, of course, intermittently filmed, because the older man was reviewing what had been filmed the previous day and this morning. When he did come out he was dressed in an elegant suit, looking very dapper, and pronounced all of the footage he had reviewed as very good.

“Perhaps this will be a longer movie than two hours and will include more than six scenes,” he said. I knew that four scenes of my taking in various ways had already been filmed along with some filler material. I had thought perhaps we were coming to an end and the more demanding scenes Kadir had referred to may not take place. It seemed I may have been wrong.

“I will have to consult on this with Altan Tilki in Istanbul,” Kadir said. “And speaking of the clothing manufacturer, it is nearly time for us to drive down to the Dome Hotel for the fashion show. I want to do some fashion shots for Nigel in the harbor before the show.”

Ah, the fashion show, I thought. The nominal reason I had come to Cyprus, what was stamped on my entry card as the reason I was here. There was to be a fashion show of Nigel Standish’s clothes at the Dome Hotel at the other end of the Girne harbor from the castle today. Edric went into the villa and he too returned looking like a fashion model himself. Tari remained a laid-back cameraman.

The clothing shots on the stonework in Girne Harbor went off without a hitch, and I suppose the fashion show was a success. Kadir played the fashion king and I walked the runaway in everything from formal evening wear to the skimpiest of male bikinis, not much more than a belt and a sock. That said, I was received as well, if not better, than the other models, being the only one brought in from off the island. The other models were all Turkish. I was the exotic one in the show. There were two more cameramen besides Tari, and they did full, artistic coverage. Kadir said that film from the show, especially of me, would be excellent transition material for the rest of the movie we were shooting as would be the still fashion shots on the quay and the ramparts of the castle.

Kadir came backstage at the end of the show. He only briefly congratulated me on my part in the show. He was more concerned about what was to happen next. “Leave that bathing suit on. You can put a T and jeans over it. We are going right on to the next scene.”

We went to a deserted beach near Girne, there being a great number of pocket beaches on the northern Cypriot coast, in two separate cars. Tari drove me. I stripped down to the sock bikini in the car, and he followed me, me carrying a large beach towel, down to the beach, filming me the whole way. He filmed me going into the sea and coming out and lying on the towel.

I had lost track of the other two men, who had left the Dome Hotel in another car. I didn’t know where they had gone until I—and the camera—watched them rise from the sea, naked, and deliberately walk up the beach to me and come down on the large towel on either side of me. Kadir embraced me and took me into a kiss while Edric ceremoniously teased the camera by slipping the bikini briefs off my legs. They spent some time embracing me between them and fondling me as the camera took it all in. Kadir sat back on his calves above me, with my head in his lap, giving him suck, while Edric pulled me up to my knees, mounted me from the rear, and fucked me.

When Edric was done the first time, he pulled me up and set me down on Kadir’s cock, facing him, and pulled my torso back and knelt over my face. Kadir fucked me then while I cleaned Edric’s cock and made him hard again. And then came the new, taxing, part. Edric pushed my torso back up to where my chest pressed into Kadir’s, moving me without Kadir losing purchase of his cock inside me. Then Edric came behind me, worked his cock inside me above Kadir’s, and the two men double fucked me, rocking us back and forth, while Tari covered it all in film and I looked taxed to the limit without needing to do any acting at all.

It was the first time I had ever been double penetrated. It was heavily taxing—I hyperventilated and whimpered and seriously feared I would be split and ruined inside. I sobbed and begged for mercy that didn’t come—but, despite everything, it was also greatly arousing and I came before either of them did—twice before they were finished.

Thus ended the fifth sex scene captured by the camera. They drove me back to the villa and let me rest then.

Now, after having been double penetrated for the first time in my life and taken—and survived—in a way that I think I can safely say most men submissive to other men never had or would experience, I wondered what could come next that would be more taxing.

We had just begun, though. We were only halfway through the time allotted to the filming and surely we were near the end, I thought. Not true. What came next built on what they had done to me that afternoon.

Dinner was served on the villa terrace well after dark. Cypriots didn’t usually get going with the dinner hour until 9:00 p.m. or later. The men didn’t wait this long, but it was well after 8:00 when they started digging into a mixed grill dinner with dishes that kept on coming. This night was wine night rather than beer night, followed by Cypriot brandy night, followed by shots of Johnny Walker Red. I avoided getting drunk, although I was certainly mellow when, close to 11:00, Tari went to his camera and moved around the periphery of the terrace flipping on the strobes lighting up the divan, and Kadir and Edric, neither of whom were as tipsy as their imbibing of drink justified, lifted me from my seat at the dinner table and carried me to the divan. As they moved, they unbutton and unzipped, both themselves and me. Slow-beating music was drifting in from somewhere.

They were going to fuck me on the divan. This was a new scene. I knew that. I just didn’t know how they were going to do it. Kadir sat on the divan and took me onto his lap. Edric was moving around setting the scene up. Since it was Edric, I knew the fuck was going to be nasty and testing, and I was right.

He tied my wrists behind my back. My right leg stretched out over Kadir’s lap and was bound in a cuff at the back corner of the divan. My left leg was pulled back and cuffed at the base of the corner of the front of the divan at the opposite corner from where my right leg was cuffed. My buttocks were on Kadir’s lap, my pelvis tilted up, my hole, still gaping open from the afternoon’s double penetration was clearly revealed to the caress of the camera Tari was holding. Kadir had an arm around me, with my bound arms immobilized behind that.

He was kissing me on the lips to take my attention away from what Edric was now doing. But I peeked and tensed and then began to writhe against my imprisonment. But I was too enslaved to escape what was going to happen. While Kadir was trying to distract me, Edric had brought forth a can with grease of some sort in it and he was greasing up his hand.

As I writhed and howled for the next half hour, Edric built on the double penetration act of earlier the day and worked at fisting me—at getting his hand up to his wrist inside me and opening and closing his fist once it was inside me. Throughout the ordeal, Kadir was whispering encouragement in my ear and stroking my cock off with his hand and Tari was moving around with the camera and getting it all on film.

When Kadir told Edric we had done this enough, he told Edric to stop and freed my ankles. He didn’t free my wrists. He moved me to my back on the divan, spread and bent my legs, came in between my thighs on his knees, worked his cock inside me, and fucked me. I lay there, my arms over my head, my wrists bound, and hooked at the edge of the divan over my head, and, exhausted and half in shock, I took the fuck. I would have no trouble taking Kadir’s cock after what I’d already taken that day. After he was done, Edric fucked me. And then after he was done, Tari had stripped and he turned over the camera, climbed up on the divan, and he did me as well. They got nearly an hour of coverage from that one scene.

When they were done, Kadir had to take me, semiconscious and totally collapsed, in his arms and carry me from the terrace into the villa, all of which, of course, was covered by the camera. He declared that exit was high drama that the viewers of the movie would love. He said that what the imaginations of the viewers would construct on what happened to me when I was carried into the house was as good as graphically showing them a sex scene there. Before we left, though, they filmed a scene of me leaning into the door frame from the house side of the terrace in the darkness and staring into the camera, while Kadir was saddled behind me, only his shadowed face showing over my shoulder and his hands fanned out on my belly as he fucked me from behind and my face revealed to the camera that he was working deep inside me. That scene was spliced into the film behind the footage of Kadir carrying me into the house and became, I’m told, a favorite scene in the movie. The next scene in the movie would start with a short segment of me lying stretched out on a bed on my belly, an arm dangling over the side and an expression of total exhaustion, eyes slitted, on my face, again building in the viewer’s imagination all that had happened to me in that bed before then.

That night, they let me sleep alone on a single bed in a small, servant’s room beyond the kitchen. I went to sleep thinking that surely this was as taxing as the scenes could get.

I was wrong.

* * * *

Kadir and I took breakfast, prepared by Tari, on the terrace on Sunday morning. I was told that Edric was off making preparations for the day’s activities.

“I have spoken with Altan Tilki,” Kadir said. “I sent him clips from what we have filmed already and he was delighted with them. Does that please you, Lee?”

“Yes,” I answered. When I said that, I realized that I hadn’t said “yes” for days to what was transpiring. I hadn’t received an opportunity to have a choice. They had rushed me into this nonstop sex. Just to think that three weeks earlier I had been a virgin just fantasizing about doing it and now I’d done more than I could ever have conjured up in my fantasies. I had the perpetually sore ass to evidence that.

“He agrees that we already have enough footage for the movie we planned.”

I wasn’t surprised. Strangely enough, though, I wasn’t exhilarated. When I’d gone to my bed the previous night, I certainly felt like I’d had enough—for now at least. It was all happening too fast and the sex was overwhelming. Kadir had flattered me, saying I was a natural for it and was taking it wonderfully well. The previous night I had wanted to lash out and tell him I felt they were raping me. But I’d awakened this morning wondering what more there was that I hadn’t experienced yet and I had opened my eyes with my cock erect and had stroked myself off fantasizing about “What next? What more? Is there any experience I’ll be left not having had?”

Kadir reached over and cupped my chin and turned my head for a deep kiss. As we kissed, his hand went to my bare chest and he stroked one of my nipples, causing me to give a low moan and start to pant. I was such a slut; they were making a slut out of me. But then, that was the theme of the film, wasn’t it? My thighs were trembling and I let them part, anticipating Kadir’s hand going lower, taking possession of me, and then lower yet, his fingers finding my passage and entering me. Followed by covering me and penetrating me with his hard cock.

But he went no further. He gave a low laugh and pulled away from me. “I have an idea that I broached with Altan,” he said. “We’re already here and we have more than enough good coverage and plans for more. I suggested that we use the rest of our allotted time here to gather more footage and that there be two, not one, movies as a result.”

He paused and looked at me, and then said, “Would you like to know what else we had planned to introduce you to, Lee?”

I hesitated. This was the point at which I could say, “Enough, it’s time to go home. I have experienced more than enough for now.”

He continued, though. “Altan approved more money to do a second film. He is offering you $3,000 more, a total of $8,000, for the same amount of time already contracted. It will just mean more scenes than you originally thought we’d do. Do you wish to continue, Lee?”

“Yes,” I said. So, we were back to Marcel’s “Just continue saying yes” advice.

Kadir smiled, stood, offered me his hand, and when I took his hand, he raised me from the table and guided me over to the divan. He lowered me onto my back on the divan, stripped my athletic shorts off my legs, ran his fingers between my thighs, coaxing me to spread and bend my legs for him. He laughed when I automatically and voluntarily did that. He inserted a pillow under the small of my back, tilting my pelvis up.

“Simdi seni tekrar sikecegim,” he murmured. “I wanted you to hear it in Turkish. I told you that I’m going to fuck you again now.”

“Evet—Yes,” I answered, back into my routine of assent.

Taki grabbed a camera and started filming as Kadir climbed up onto the divan, ran an arm under my waist to lift my pelvis higher, as my torso streamed back onto the divan, pushed his knees between my spread thighs, and started working his thick cock inside my passage. I lifted my leg to hook my ankle on his shoulder, being careful to make sure it was the leg on the other side of Kadir’s body from the camera. He was going slow, making this taking sensual, languid, until, eventually, in the heat of shared passion, I arched my back, cried out, “Siktir et beni!—Fuck me!” and we let loose and were pounding each other to a mutual release and collapse.

Taki turned the camera off as we cooled down and he waited for Kadir to regain his heat, and then he turned the camera on again, with us in the position where we’d stopped, to give the viewer the impression we moved directly from one releasing fuck to the next one.

“Evet, evet, evet,” I whispered, as Kadir nuzzled one of my nipples. I gave a long, low moan that would be audible to the camera. He turned me, belly down, and the camera zeroed in on my hole, blossoming open for the dick as it slowly penetrated me, to show how thick Kadir was, how hard he had to work to get inside me.

“Bana acik. Iceri girmeme izin ver—Open to me. Let me inside,” he growled, and I gasped and groaned for the camera as he forced his way inside. To show I was into the fuck, I got my knees under me and raised my buttocks high to take the cock. When the cock was buried inside, the camera panned back to get the full picture of the heavy, muscular Turk on top of me, his hips moving. I set my hips in motion too, rolling with Kadir slow thrusts inside me. It might as well look $3,000 worth of great for the movie camera, I decided.

“Evet, evet, fuck me, beni becer—fuck me, bana horoz ver—give me the cock,” I murmured, showing that Taki had been teaching me some useful Turkish phrases. I turned my head so that Taki could get close shots of my expressions, which were revealing how thick Kadir was. Then, to ensure the camera captured what I said, I cried out, “Evet, evet. Beni becer. Bana horoz ver.”

My arms were draped over the side of the divan, my hands gripping the bottom edge of the frame, flexing in rhythm with Kadir’s thrusts. The camera was right there to catch the moment he started to pump me, the moment I came as I moved my pelvis with his in the slow dance of the fuck and stroked myself off with my hand, and the moment when Kadir breeded me, pulling his cock back to reveal the glans, the pumping of his ejaculate into my hole, and his thrust back inside to slide through the lubrication of the cum inside my channel.

At that moment, I arched my head back, let my eyes roll up into my head, and cried out, “Evet! Evet!” I wasn’t acting for the camera.

Porn Star King of the Castle

“We are going up to Buffavento Castle,” Kadir told me. “This will be a demanding fetish scene, but you’ve already done some of it and the rest won’t be as demanding as it appears on film,” he said as we got into one of the cars.

Edric had returned to the villa and apparently one of the errands he’d been off on was to arrange for us to have private time in the section of Buffavento Castle that Kadir wanted to use for filming. He told me that Buffavento was one of three twelfth-century Crusader castles built along the summit line of the Kyrenia Mountains when Richard the Lionhearted owned the island. Buffavento and St. Hilarion castles were on either side of the pass through the mountains from Girne to the Mesaoria Plane, where the island’s capital, Nicosia—or Lefkosa to the Turks—was located. Buffavento was the closest from our mountainside villa and the lesser visited of the two.

Kadir did ask me if I was good with this, and I answered “Yes.” He was already handing me into the car and he wasn’t specifying what fetish sexual acts were involved. I still had the vision of three-thousand additional dollar bills before my eyes.

Perhaps I should have given his question of my willingness to proceed more consideration. They hung me, naked, from an iron ring in the middle of a stone archway high in the castle overlooking the slope of the mountain down through the abbey town of Bellapais and on down over the castle town of Girne and to the Mediterranean Sea. As I hung there, with Tari moving around filming the action that included scenic shots, Edric whipped me with a leather multithonged hand whip—perhaps a bit more enthusiastically than Kadir had suggested would happen—and then Edric, in front of me, and Kadir behind me, with the two of them holding my legs straight out from my side, fucked me together in a double penetration fuck.

Kadir was right that I’d been double penetrated the previous day, but I certainly hadn’t been hung from a hook and whipped beforehand. But when it was done, it was done, and Kadir gushed about what a cinematic victory this would be. He said that the scene itself would be viewed over and over again—and if I was worried about being recognized in the film, remember that I temporarily was a redhead with green eyes and that having a distinctive tattoo, like the temporary gecko design on my lower belly, focused attention to it and away from the rest of my features.

What scared me was that being hung and whipped aroused me. And I endured the double-penetration fuck better the second time than the first. By the time I left Cyprus, it would be something I didn’t shy away from or couldn’t relax to.

Scheduling privacy in the upper ruins of the Buffavento Castle wasn’t the only arrangement Edric had worked on that morning while Kadir was fucking me for the camera on the divan on the villa terrace. We didn’t go right back to the villa that afternoon as the shadows were lengthening. We went to the stone-floored central town square of the mountain town of Bellapais, where the ruins of a large abbey held up the down slope and the Tree of Idleness coffee shop spilled out onto the street on the opposite side of the square.

Ever the shot director, Kadir was ecstatic that we were arriving at the square just at the time when the shadows would make love to the film. The scene was explained to me before we entered the square. The outside café tables, as they always would be, were occupied in the evening by mostly elderly Turkish men, drinking their sluggish coffee, smoking their fat hand-rolled cigarettes, and joking with each other about which of them had the hardest-working wife while they lingered in the coffee shop.

All wasn’t what it seemed this evening, though. Earlier in the day, through Edric’s efforts, an auction was conducted over which of them would fuck me in a scene. Although Turkish men typically would fuck anything that had a hole, on this evening, the ones congregating in the square were older men who were aroused by younger men.

Following Kadir’s direction, I walked slowly into the square and to the group of men sitting haphazardly around, drinking their coffee, smoking their cigarettes, and conversing among themselves. As I approached, all eyes turned to me. I walked into the midst of the group and stopped by a table, where a well-seasoned Turk in his sixties sat looking at me. I stood there for several seconds, looking down into his weather-beaten, strong-featured face. He reached out and cupped my basket, running his fingers down the length of my hardening cock within the material of my jeans. I leaned down and we kissed. Then he rose, took my hand, and led me to a shadowed doorway within view of all the other men.

We stopped in the doorway, the older man close behind me. He embraced me from behind, slowly unbuttoning, unbuckling, unzipping and slipping my clothes off until I was naked, in his embrace. He nuzzled his face into the hollow of my neck, and let his hands glide over my chest, down to my belly, and eventually possessed and slow-stroked my cock. He remained fully clothed. When he went on his knees and buried his face in my buttocks crack, I jutted my butt out at him and raised my arms to grab the top corner of the doorframe.

When he stood, he turned enough to the camera to show that his loose trousers buttoned rather than zipped. He slowly unbuttoned himself, reeled out a commanding cock, and worked his shaft up with one hand while he continued to glide his other hand over my torso and down to my cock, then he worked my shoulder blades and the back of my neck. I turned my face to him and we kissed on the lips. I pulled away from the kiss to arch my head up and cry out as he cruelly thrust his cock up into me, grasped my hips with his hands, and fucked me hard. I stroked myself as he fucked me and arced my ejaculation through the doorway before he pulled out of me, came up the small of my back, and then pushed his shaft back inside me and fucked me some more. Bending at the waist and doubling over, I went to the ground on the threshold of the doorway, as the old man came down on top of me, covering my naked body with his clothed one, his buttocks still rising and falling in the fuck, me surrendering totally to him. Old age conquering all.

As it was getting dark when we got back in the car for the short ride down the side of the mountain to our own villa below Bellapais and above Girne, Kadir was talking about this scene having been artistically perfect and would be yet another one that would burn up the Internet subscription sites as a solo scene. Thus far, he said, the day had been perfect. I didn’t pay much attention to Kadir on this point then, but sometime later, after the movie had been released, reviews of the film I saw singled this scene out as being stimulating in the contrast it depicted of grizzled age, mostly clothed, debauching the nakedness of a milky-skinned youth. I was praised for my expressions in surrendering to the old man’s cock.

“Wait until this evening. This will be the height of our fetish treatment in this movie,” Kadir said.

I probably should have let that sink in better. My own thoughts were with the contradictory nature of the scene I’d just been in. The man in the square was old as sand and ugly as sin, but boy did he know how to fuck. He must have been a real pistol in his younger years.

* * * *

I suffered, oh how I suffered in the last scene of the day, performed on the same divan on the villa terrace as the first scene of the day and with the same demanding cruelty of the last, fisting, scene of the previous night.

Kadir and Edric introduced me to the cruel fetish sexual art of sounding. At least while they subjected me to the torture of it, suddenly $3,000 extra in fee was not nearly enough. When it was over all I could think of was . . . Wow!

I was immobilized in the same position I had been on the divan before, astride Kadir’s lap as he sat on the divan, with one exception—I wasn’t just on his lap; I was sheathing his fully buried, throbbing cock. Other than that, it was the same positioning as the previous evening, me crosswise on his lap, my right ankle secured to the back corner of the divan, and my left leg bent off the front of the divan and secured at the base of the front opposite corner. My wrists were bound behind my back, and Kadir’s left arm was embracing my back and keeping my arms out of the action.

Edric sat in a patio chair facing us on the divan and fucked my urethra—the piss slit of my cock—with a succession of graduated steel wands, in the technique they told me was sounding. They told me it wouldn’t hurt as long as I remained totally still and that the feeling would be incredible—something like I’d never felt before, having my cock fucked with ever-larger steel rods until Edric sensed I was ready to blow, and then he pulled the rod out. I ejaculated in a strong arc of cum and a cry of release. While Edric fucked my cock with the rods and with a cruel smile on his face, the camera whirred, taking every grimace on my face and catching every deep moan and unheeded plea for mercy. Kadir got his right hand into the film. He played with my balls, weighing, rolling, and squeezing them and lacing his fingers through them and distending them.

When I’d come the first time, Edric leaned over and took my cock in his mouth, sucking it until I had hardened again. And then he took the last wand he’d slowly sunk into my urethra passage and sounded me again, moving the wand in and out, a bit deeper with each “in”—slowly twirling it when it was in deepest. The wands progressed in size until I’d come a second time. The action paused for me to recover, and then I was sounded a third time with ever thicker wands.

My balls were aching from the draining and I was close to sobbing when I came, a mere dribble, the third time. Edric backed off, taking the wands away, and Kadir raised and lowered my channel on his cock until he too came.

Kadir claimed another magnificent, scintillating scene was “in the can,” and he sent me off with Tari to the narrow bed in the small room beyond the kitchen, where Tari covered me and slow fucked me to sleep.

As Tari was helping me into the villa, Kadir said, “Last day tomorrow. But your plane doesn’t leave for Istanbul until very late in the afternoon. We have time for another scene. It’s gay men’s day at Rita’s-on-the-Rocks. We’ll go swimming.”

Yeah, whatever that means, I wondered. It didn’t sound as taxing as my Sunday had been.

And, as if he’d read my mind, Kadir said, “Tomorrow won’t be as demanding—maybe. We’ll see who shows up to the pool. We’ll close the second movie on a more conventional note. Maybe a bit of romance, if we’re lucky. We always like to have a tender love scene in our movies.”

That certainly would be something different from the rest of the movie, I thought.