Last thing. And always the chore Tyler hated the worst-getting his tux tie worked right. It wasn't helping that he was crouched over the galley counter in the Lucky Card's cramped main cabin or that his hands were trembling from the risk he was taking. He had to get himself into this monkey suit quietly because he didn't want to wake Axel, in the other cabin.
They had had quite a row over what Tyler was about to do-risk the twenty-five-year-old Southern Cross 39 sailboat that was both his pride and joy and his home. He and Axel had fought over Tyler using the Lucky Card as a stake at the grand Monte Carlo Casino to raise the money he needed to sail back to Fort Lauderdale. He supposed he could always break back into racing cars when-and if-he could get back to the States. He had done well in that, mostly because of the risks he was willing to take. Then, in the heat of the argument, Axel had come down on Tyler on the berth, encased him in his arms, and fucked him as Tyler wrapped his arms around his Austrian lover. After they'd tired each other out, Axel had told Tyler he'd give him the money he needed, that he could afford it.
But as a matter of pride-and because flying by the seat of his pants like this was how Tyler floated through life-Tyler refused. Then they'd fought again. And fucked again to make up.
Tyler had agreed to think about it. And he had thought about it until Axel went to sleep. Now he was working on getting his tie properly fixed so that he'd look like "somebody" when he entered the casino and put the Lucky Card at risk.
He paused on the dock after stepping off the Lucky Card, looked out beyond the marina at the magnificent set of buildings that housed Monte Carlo's casino and the principality's cultural icons, the Grand Théâtre de Monte Carlo and Les Ballets de Monte Carlo, and fought the intimidation of such an imposing setting. He turned and took what he hoped wasn't his last look at the Lucky Card as its owner, squared his shoulders, and strolled more nonchalantly than he felt along the dock, practicing the posture that he knew would give him entry to the posh casino. He looked good-very good-and confident and wealthy, and he knew he did.
* * * *
The evening wasn't going well for Tyler. He had won some and lost some during the early part of the evening, winning enough to entice the overconfident gambler he was to remain and losing enough to discourage him from cutting his loses. At this point he would have enough for a few more days on the continent, an airplane ticket home, and enough to carry him for a couple of months while he looked for a dream-ending job in the States-but without the Lucky Card.
He gravitated toward a European roulette table more, he probably didn't realize, because of the croupier at the table he eventually landed at. The young man, perhaps not much older than Tyler's own twenty-five, spoke French but had the dusky skin of a North African. Tyler thought that he perhaps was from Morocco or Algeria. Wherever he was from, he was naturally sexy and sultry. Deep bronze skin, black curly hair, and fluttery eyelashes. His big brown eyes had a well-practiced aspect of knowing he had strong powers of seduction-and that he turned his attention to men. Indeed, it was apparent to Tyler that the croupier, who was identified on his name badge as Harun, had caught-and held-Tyler's attention from across the gaming floor and that the young man's mystery and charisma had been enough to pull Tyler to his table.
Harun was controlling the wheel. Another croupier was operating the paddle that either pulled the losing chips off the felt-top table into the house pot or delivered the winnings. A chef de partie-game supervisor-hovered over the table, making sure all was in order. The latter was dressed in a tuxedo but there was little camouflaging that he was a glorified bouncer, here to keep the players under control.
Tyler sat next to an elderly matron dripping in diamonds and wearing a lavender silk evening dress with a plunging neckline that should have been a turtle neck at her age and in her emaciated condition. He recognized his mistake almost immediately, as she turned her face to him and gave him a sly look with a wink. One claw-like hand went immediately to his thigh and the other one raised above her shoulder and she snapped her fingers.
"A drink of the young man's choosing," she cackled to a waiter who had instantly appeared. "And another martini for me." She made sure that he saw her adding a few of her high-end chips to his pile and give him another wink.
Tyler said nothing, but neither did he push the chips back. If she thought this had bought him, she was very much mistaken, but he welcomed the free drink and he saw her for what she was-an addicted gambler. Her brief misunderstanding that he sat next to her as some sort of gigolo she was acquiring arrested her attention only momentarily. Her attention went immediately back to the table when the croupier named Harun called out, "Faites vos jeux"-place your bets-and tossed the bead into the spinning wheel.
Tyler had sat too late to enter the game yet, which gave him time to look around the table. He had drifted here completely absorbed in Harun, the croupier. Now he saw that the old crone had every reason to believe he was coming on to her. The table had eight seats, four to a side, and only the old woman was on the side where he sat. He easily could have sat down leaving a chair between them.
Three of the chairs across the table from him were occupied, or more accurately, two and a half of them were. A young punk-looking man, probably a rock star and nearly recognizable to Tyler, was in one chair, and a gorgeous, but model-thin and vapid-looking blonde, half on his chair and half on the one next to him, her arms draped around him and her face nuzzled into the hollow of his neck, occupied the one-and-a-half chairs. One chair away from them sat a hulking Greek. He looked every inch the shipping magnate who had acquired his empire by hard work from the deck of his first ship and who now covered what was still a rough, no-nonsense, peasant in the trappings of great wealth.
Although the rock star was as engrossed in the game as the old biddy was, and the blonde was totally focused on the rock star, the Greek seemed to be almost off-hand in his placing of his bets. His eyes, hooded and knowing-almost undressing Tyler where he sat and speculating and assessing what the young man was doing there and what his desires and vulnerabilities were-kept moving from his chip pile to the betting numbers on the felt table top and then to Tyler.
The man was what one politely would say was mature-probably in his mid-fifties-and ugly when each aspect of him was considered separately. He also was hairy, although this didn't tot up against him in Tyler's mind. But the package was commanding, mysterious, and intriguing in its own way, and the man exuded power and domination. Tyler felt like the man's eyes were stripping him in every way. But that was precisely the sort of man who aroused Tyler. If he commanded Tyler to strip and took him right here on the top of the roulette table, no one in the casino would intervene, and Tyler knew he would let him do it. The looks the old Greek gave him told Tyler that the man wanted to fuck him.
And this was even without the presence of the swarthy, big-bodied bodyguard standing behind and to the right of the Greek's chair, with his glowering eyes scanning back and forth across the casino floor.
"Rien ne vos pois"-no more bets-rang out in Harun's deep baritone, and even the Greek looked away to see where the bead landed in the wheel. The Greek moved his arm off the surface of the table as the second croupier paddled the chips over into the pile in front of him, showing no reaction at the small fortune that had been added to his larger one, evidently taking victory as his due.
Tyler started off cavalierly, betting plein, his bet going on a single one of the thirty-six numbers, which would afford him the biggest pot win but at thirty-five-to-one odds. He had no luck at these odds and hedged his bets with a "square," a carre, in which he placed the bidding chits at the adjoining corner of four numbers and thus bettered his odds fourfold of winning something. He did better at this, but after not much more than an hour, he was reduced to going with a colonne-a full column bet. Dwindling success at this about wiped him out.
The rising of the elderly woman from the table, and her murmur to save her seat while she was visiting the ladies room, served to snap Tyler into the realization that in one more spin of the roulette table, the odds were that he would be totally wiped out. No more time in hotels or restaurants and no plane ticket back to Florida.
He stood up from the table. The chips he had now were barely enough to cover getting back to the States. The Lucky Card was gone. He smiled bitterly with the thought that, in recognition of the boat's name, he should have tried his luck with cards rather than the wheel.
The Greek spoke for the first time. "Surely you're not leaving, young man. The evening has barely begun."
"You have all my chips," Tyler answered bleakly, trying to maintain a tone that salvaged his dignity.
"Not all. And I have enjoyed your company. I have enjoyed looking at you and dreaming of what might be."
So, he was right, Tyler thought. The man wanted to fuck him. He just looked down at the pile of chips mounded up in front of the Greek. The Greek was fondling them, running them through his hands, making love to them with his beefy fingers.
The game had gone on around them. The old lady was momentarily gone and Tyler and the Greek weren't placing bets but rather were staring at each other across the table and speaking in low tones that no one seemed to hear. If the croupiers and chef de partie were listening, they made no sign of it, in keeping with their professional training. The rock star only had eyes for the numbered squares on the table top and the spinning of the wheel and ears for the sound of the bead bouncing around in the wheel. The blonde, more than half drunk, and virtually draped on the tattooed arm of the rock star, only had eyes and ears for him.
"I could return the stake you came in with," the Greek said in a low voice, his eyes looking intensively into Tyler's face. "What did these funds represent?"
"My sailboat. I sailed it from the States three months ago."
"Is it a beautiful sailboat?"
"Yes," Tyler answered. "It's a thirty-nine-foot Southern Cross, built in 1986. It carried me across the Atlantic without a groan." The Greek's question brought tears to his eyes. He should have listened to Axel. He didn't fully understand what the Lucky Card meant to him until he had foolishly lost her.
"I have no use for a sailboat, beautiful or otherwise. I have a beautiful yacht of my own. But there may be something else you have, something equally beautiful, that I might have use for. I could give you your sailboat back-if you promised not to gamble it away again-in exchange for something I wanted."
"And what would that be?"
"I think you know. I would like the use of your body for, say, a week."
"The use of my body." Tyler looked around the table again. The croupiers and chef de partie were supposedly intent on their jobs-keeping the roulette table in action. And the rock star, whose attention also was absorbed in the game play, himself was betting enough to justify keeping this table open. The old crone was on the other side of the casino floor, liberating a martini from a tray and making small talk with a young, quite presentable waiter.
"You mean sex." He said in a resigned voice.
Picking up on the resignation, the Greek smiled and said, "Yes. Just the use of your body; you would not be damaged permanently. And you would not lose your sailboat. I believe, in watching you-especially how you have been watching the croupier here-that you even would enjoy the week."
"Starting when? Tomorrow?"
"I would need to go back to the boat to pick up some things."
"Omar will accompany you," the Greek said, gesturing to the silent, heretofore unseeing bodyguard hovering behind his chair.
When they reached the gates where the dock of the marina split out into the walkways to the boat slips, Tyler told the bodyguard to wait at the gate and he would return in a few moments.
In the time it had taken him to walk from the casino to the marina Tyler had decided not to go through with it. The Greek was intriguing, but there was something about him . . . something that made Tyler feel he was dangerous and more of a risk than even Tyler wanted to take. He decided that, if he could, he would push the Lucky Card away from the pier when he got there and try to get it out into the harbor before the bodyguard could react. It was a cowardly act and something bred completely by panic. Tyler didn't consider himself a thief. And he didn't have the deed back to the sailboat. The Greek had said he would redeem that at the casino's cashier's office and have it for Tyler when he and the goon returned.
When Tyler got to the slip where he'd left the Lucky Card, though, the sailboat wasn't there. Stricken and confused, he looked wildly about him. Perhaps in his nervousness with the whole deal, he'd misjudged where Lucky Card's slip was. But, no he hadn't. It should have been right here. And there was something here. Two duffle bags, sitting on the pier. His duffle bags. Filled with his clothes.
The things he told the Greek he was coming back to fetch, not intending to fetch them at all.
The sailboat-and Axel-were both gone.
The goon had followed him out onto the walkway to the slip. Tyler turned toward the land. The man was so big he took up the full width of the pier. There wasn't much of a question that Tyler was going to pick up his duffle bags and follow the man back to wherever the Greek wanted him.
Even though he had been about to cheat the Greek and give him the slip, Tyler still felt stinging anger and frustration that Axel had done the very same thing to him. He'd taken Tyler's Lucky Card and deserted him. Tyler was in no mood to consider that, at least until he gave the Greek what the Greek wanted, the Lucky Card wasn't Tyler's-it belonged to the Greek. After he had redeemed the papers on the boat, then Tyler could start to track down Axel and what then really would be his property again.
* * * *
Deflated and abject, Tyler stood, naked, in the main bedroom cabin of Cosmo Eracules' sleek yacht moored off of, but in sight of, Monte Carlo.
"Turn, please, and bend over and spread your cheeks for me, please." Fully clothed in his tuxedo, now smoking a cigar and hefting a snifter full of brandy, the Greek inspected Tyler from across the room. "Very nice. Better than I expected. The deal was for whatever I wanted, for a week starting tonight. You do accept that, right?"
"Right," Tyler said, not really caring at the moment. His world had crumbled anyway. Axel had become his rod, the steadying influence in his life. And now both he and the Lucky Card were gone. It didn't matter much if Tyler got the deed back to the Lucky Card. It wasn't here and he had no means of tracking it-and Axel-down. At least that's how he felt at the present, darkest moment.
Tyler had met Axel Schmidt-or that was the name Axel had given him-in Portugal two weeks earlier. Some mail Tyler had seen while they were together had suggested that Axel really was a Hapsburg. They had both been staying at a B&B, Romantik Villa, on the Portugal coast in the village of Algarve. Tyler was in Algarve for thrills. He was forever taking risks, pushing himself to the limit. Crossing the Atlantic by himself in the Lucky Card had been one of these risks. Now it was cliff diving, also called tombstoning, off the Algarve cliffs, one of the most popular-and dangerous-locations for this activity.
They had met in the courtyard of the gay-friendly Romantik Villa, overlooking the ocean, over breakfast, the villa owners being both discreet and adept at matching their guests who had not come otherwise attached. Tyler usually lived on his boat, which was slipped down in the Algarve marina, but he occasionally took hotel rooms on land while he did a thorough cleaning of the boat-and of his clothes and himself-before moving on to the next promise of a thrill. He also occasionally sold his sexual favors to add to his income while he stayed in these hotels. He had picked the Romantik Villa specifically for this possibility.
He'd already jumped off the cliffs into the ocean twice the previous day. It satisfied him and he planned to do it twice more this morning from a higher cliff into a smaller patch of water before sailing down to Gibraltar and then into the Mediterranean. He had spent the previous afternoon and evening cleaning the sailboat and at a Laundromat, spending two nights in the Romantik Villa's smallest room.
Axel was in the master suite. He dressed for comfort-which today was only in a T-shirt and shorts, with sandals, no socks. Tyler wouldn't have said he was handsome-a protruding jaw precluded that-but he was tall and lean, while still being well-muscled, and was maybe five years older than Tyler's twenty-five. A German or an Austrian. Tyler didn't know which, so he settled on German-but he later found Axel was Austrian when he bridled at being called a German. He was big boned, with big hands and feet and a bit stooped and walked with a bit of awkwardness. Tyler wouldn't-and never did completely-associate Axel with wealth. He moved with a diffidence and shyness that tagged him as hands-on working class.
Tyler, who was model-handsome, and giving off the false air of wealth and of supreme confidence, had, at first, bristled a bit when the villa's owner asked him if Axel could be seated with him, but he slowly warmed to the conversation of the Austrian, which was straightforward and knowledgeable on any topic that came up.
And he was to find that a protruding jaw didn't show in the dark and actually had some advantages when giving head.
"I do it, I guess, because I enjoy the risk," Tyler had said to Axel's question about why he dived off the Algarve cliffs and planned to do it again from a greater height.
"But it seems so dangerous, and you aren't really trained for it, are you? I hope it's not a self-destructive impulse, because you are much too beautiful a young man to be risking yourself like that."
"I suppose that there is some obsession with danger involved," Tyler answered. "I was a racecar driver before deciding to buy a sailboat and cross the Atlantic-which was one of the greatest challenges I've experienced. And as soon as I mastered racing cars, I guess I lost interest in that. But what brings you to Portugal, Axel?"
"I'm traveling across Europe, fucking young men, looking for one to take home to the family castle, I guess."
Tyler laughed at that, taking it for a joke-not only the image of this gangling, shy man cavalierly fucking other men but also the mention of a family castle. But when he looked up, Axel was giving him a level, calm stare.
"You said you couldn't leave Algarve until you found a replacement monitor for your sonar," Axel said. "I know where you can get one, and I'll go buy it for you if you'll come up to my room after breakfast and let me fuck you."
Tyler was speechless. The man was talking about wanting to fuck him so openly and in such a straightforward manner.
"You do let men fuck you, don't you? This is a gay hotel, and there are only three options on that: bottom, top, and both ways. You are much too young and beautiful just to want to be near the players. Henri said he was sure you would be a bottom when he suggested we breakfast together-and that you'd be submissive in sex. He also said that you probably hadn't been fucked in a while and needed it. I have found that Henri was quite observant in these matters. He's been right in every other young man he's selected for me to fuck. I assure you that I'm very, very good. If you want a second opinion, feel free to ask Henri. If you don't like the first fucking, we needn't do it again, of course. That said, I usually make a man come more than once in a session. I have a very big cock."
Axel proved to be very, very good indeed. He was horse hung and strong as an ox and with great stamina. He first fucked Tyler standing up in the middle of the room, with Tyler's knees hooked on Axel's hips, Tyler's hands locked behind Axel's neck, Tyler's torso cantilevered back from Axel's chest, and Axel's eight-inch cock working Tyler's channel deep up into him. Axel fucked Tyler to three separate ejaculations each, using the full coverage of the bed and several different positions, always with Axel using his strength to manipulate a willing and moaning Tyler just as he wanted him.
The sun had passed its zenith and was sinking back toward the ocean when Axel was finished ravishing Tyler's body, and the younger man was just lying there on the bed, in Axel's embrace, panting and groaning, totally satiated and exhausted.
"It's getting late," Axel said. "We must get to the shop for the sonar monitor before they close and then to a café I know on the waterfront."
"I haven't done my dive."
"That was in my plans-that you not do the dive," Axel answered. "You are too beautiful to be endangering your life like that. I think you'll agree that riding my cock is a lot less dangerous than jumping off a cliff into the ocean is."
"I'll just find some other-"
"Not if you let me sail with you. You may be the one. I haven't decided. You will let me sail with you this evening, won't you? I'll fuck you like I just did all across the Mediterranean. You won't have the energy to take risks with your life."
Tyler was surprised Axel asked-and not surprised when Axel just assumed then the answer was yes. Axel's cock was still inside him-still mastering even though flaccid. But it wasn't really flaccid, and it was regaining strength and length and girth as they lay there.
"I think it is not too late after all," Axel murmured. "I think we have time for me to fuck you again."
Tyler didn't object to that. Or to Axel sailing with him. Somehow he found comfort in someone else making decisions, protecting him-and in that eight-inch, thick cock.
The memory of Axel returned a bit of steel to Tyler's spine there in the cabin of the Greek, and he said, "The Lucky Card. Her papers. You said-"
"All in good time," Cosmo answered, keeping his voice low and commanding. He had already discerned that this young beauty needed someone to take command of him and that he gave in to that. "A week of your body belonging to me and you'll get the papers for the Lucky Card back. In fact, in a couple of days, I've give them to you to hold. You aren't leaving me in that week's time anyway."
It wasn't voiced menacingly, but it sent chills up Tyler's naked spine anyway.
"Perhaps we can now begin."
Tyler looked up, expecting to see the Greek make some sort of move to undress or at least bring his cock out, but the Greek was still sitting in the shadows, smoking his cigar and drinking his brandy. Tyler almost immediately realized that they no longer were alone. His eyes opened wide when he saw who had entered the cabin, naked and looking glorious. Harun, the Moroccan croupier at the Monte Carlo Casino was standing there, just inside the cabin door, smiling at Tyler.
"Harun, I would like you to put our guest, Tyler, through the paces now. I would like to see what my investment is really worth."
"I don't understand," Tyler murmured, still lost in surprise, although feeling himself go hard at the sight of Harun's gorgeous dusky body, in near full erection.
"May I remind you that I own your body for a week, Tyler, and that you knew that it would involve sex. It is not I who will possess your body. For now it will be Harun. Do you really object at the change in your expectations? I will be content sitting here and observing. For now, I want to know what you can do with a man-and what you will do for him."
Harun walked up close to Tyler, put a hand on the back of his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. Simultaneously, he wrapped his other hand around both of their cocks. The kiss went on until Tyler raised his hands to the back of Harun's head, held him close as he opened his mouth from a tonsil-swabbing version of the kiss, and started moving his hips in a motion that rubbed his cock against Harun's in the Moroccan's loosened fist.
Tyler now was Harun's to do with as he wished, and both of them knew it.
Coming out of the kiss, Harun sank to his knees in front of Tyler, opened his mouth over Tyler's cock, and grabbed Tyler's hands in his, holding Tyler still except for a slow movement back toward the foot of the bed. When they'd arrived there, Harun pushed Tyler onto his back on the bed, grabbed Tyler's thighs, rolled the young American's pelvis up, and moved his mouth to rotating between Tyler's cock, balls, and asshole.
Tyler was moaning and begging for it when Harun stood, rolled a condom onto his erect cock, and began working the cock into Tyler's channel. Harun fucked him in various positions, from the vanilla to the exotic, including with Tyler on his shoulder blades on the carpeting, his thighs pushed over his head, and Harun standing, reversed, over him and pumping down into his channel. Tyler stayed with the Moroccan in every position and stroked back at him whenever directed to do so. When they ejaculated, Harun was lying on his back on the bed and Tyler was riding his cock, actively engaged in the fuck.
Tyler was left on his belly on the bed, his extremities haphazardly akimbo, his tongue lolling, and his eyes swimming in satisfaction. Yes, this was better than having sex with the Greek, as Tyler had assumed would be the case. But in Tyler's current state, the Greek looked good to him. Hell, the whole crew looked good to him.
"What is your assessment, Harun?" the Greek asked. Harun now was standing at the foot of the bed, cleaning his cock with a wet washcloth.
"He will do with the best clients," Harun answered.
"I agree. He was impressive."
"The best clients? What do you mean?" Tyler had suddenly come alive.
"When I told you I owned your body for a week and that it involved sex, just as I didn't say it involved me, I didn't say the sex would be with just one man. For the next week you will be lying under many men. You didn't think that you were worth the price of your sailboat with just me fucking you, did you?"
"I don't understand. You mean you intend to sell my body for a week. Whore me out?"
"Precisely. Did you see the name on my ship when you boarded-The Apyko? Do you know what 'Apyko' translates to in English?"
Tyler didn't answer, so the Greek continued.
"We have been watching you, you know. You were pointed out to me, and we've watched you. You are living with a man on your sailboat in the marina, aren't you?"
"And that man fucks you, sometimes twice a day, doesn't he? Whenever he wants you, you lay down and open your legs for him. I have seen here that you are hungry for it-for another man's cock."
Tyler didn't answer. That wasn't the way it was. Yes, when Axel wanted to fuck him, Tyler let him . . . but it wasn't the way the Greek made it sound.
"So, men fuck you. You like men fucking you. If I'd told Harun not to fuck you, you would have been devastated. He is a rich man, this Austrian of yours-a very rich man with a title. He gives you things-for you letting him fuck you. We have checked. So, you already are prostituting yourself. The Austrian is keeping you. You already are selling your body for money. You don't think that I bother with young men who aren't already prostitutes, do you? You willingly sold your body to me. The deal just isn't quite what you expected. I'm sure you will adjust. I'm not asking you to do anything different from what you already do-just, perhaps, a bit more often-and with men of my choosing."
Tyler wanted to scream that the man was wrong, that Axel wasn't keeping him. But the fact was that Axel had paid for everything from the day they had met.
"And the meaning of 'Apyko'?" Eracules continued. "An Apyko is a procurer. A pimp, if you will. And that's me-I'm a premier-class procurer for those who can afford a special service. For the next week you will be part of that service."
"I will not," Tyler answered indignantly. "I won't willingly go with multiple men, and you can't make me."
"Oh, I think I can, Tyler," the Greek said with an evil little smile. "You may go back to the casino now, Harun. Thank you for attracting this morsel to our web. And ask Omar and the others to come in now."
Omar and the others?
As the luscious Harun backed out of the cabin, the burley bodyguard from the casino and three other hulking men-members of the Greek's ship crew-crowded into the cabin. They were all naked and in erection and all but Omar, the bodyguard, were grinning. He had a mean look on his face.
The realization hit Tyler that his silent joke that he was in the mood to take on the whole crew was about to become reality. He scrambled up toward the headboard of the bed. There really was no place to go, though.
"You and the men may work him over as you please, Omar. Don't damage him or leave marks. And as for you, Tyler," the Greek said, as he stood and walked to the cabin door, "Any time after the first hour that you want to pledge that you will live up to your contract for the week-any man, any place, any way-just let Omar know."
As the Greek left the cabin and shut the door behind him and Tyler's protests of horror found loud voice, Omar strode over to bed, grabbed Tyler's ankles and pulled him to the foot of the bed, spread-eagled his legs, and thrust his cock inside Tyler's channel, the channel already opened well by Harun's cock. One of the other men straddled his shoulders and forced a cock between his lips, stifling off his objections and reducing him to groans and sobs.
It was less than a half hour later, after three of the four had had him in quick succession and had moved to the back of the line for the next round that Tyler cried out his willingness to cooperate. Omar didn't hear him, though, until the full hour was up.
And even then, after saying he heard Tyler, Omar let two more men fuck him again, reducing Tyler to a moaning wreck with no fight or sense of control left in him.
The last of the goons out of the cabin, Omar, turned out the lights and Tyler rolled over on to his side, gathered himself up into a fetal position, and, eventually slept. He wasn't too happy with himself-because he had enjoyed the gang bang most of the way.
When he first woke, it was pitch black in the cabin still and the ship was moving. He had the brief sensation that he should panic at the knowledge that the ship was under way, but he really was just too exhausted to care. When he next woke, the ship no longer was moving and it was light in the cabin. He struggled up from the bed and went to a porthole, to find that the ship was now standing off an entirely different kind of coastal city than Monte Carlo. This was an Arab city, with pencil minarets piercing the blue, cloudless sky. The dominant colors of both earth and buildings were tan, white, brown, and ochre.
The cabin door opened, and the Greek, Cosmos Eracules, entered.
"Where are we?" Tyler asked. "And have you come to return the papers on my sailboat?"
"I have come to ensure that your pledge of cooperation to Omar last evening is to hold-whether I have to arrange another convincing session."
"I will cooperate. You said a week."
"Yes, but then you, no doubt, will want to work off the trip back to where your sailboat is."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we are standing off Algiers, in Algeria. You will spend out your week in a gentlemen's club here. But I believe I'm not presuming too much to think that you don't want to just be left in the club. That you'll want transportation back to Monte Carlo."
"Of course," Tyler murmured, with a shiver at the thought of being abandoned in an Algerian male brothel, high class or not.
"Transportation will cost you, of course. A sail to Tangiers, in Morocco, will cost a week in a Tangier's club. And then to Valencia and Barcelona, in Spain, and Marseille, in France. I estimate that in less than six weeks, you'll be back in Monte Carlo, reunited with your beloved sailboat."
"Six weeks as a male prostitute? You can't do that."
"Indeed I can," Eracules said as he moved back to the cabin door. With a harder voice, he continued. "If you chose to be a problem, I could have you tossed overboard right here and no one would ever know what happened to you. The crew wouldn't want to do that without being paid, of course. I'd have to give you to them for a couple of days first. And knowing what would ultimately happen to you, they wouldn't be as reserved as they were with you last night." And then in a softer tone, "You aren't a prisoner here, of course. You may have the run of the ship. If you wish breakfast, you may want to clean yourself up and come to the main cabin within the half hour."
When Tyler stumbled out of his cabin and found the main cabin of the large yacht, he found that he was only one of a half dozen young men who the Greek had procured for this trip.
* * * *
The setting was opulent. Tyler might have thought himself to be in the lounge or adjoining smoking room of a London gentlemen's club, if he had any idea what such rooms were like. A few European "members" were scattered about in evening wear, but most of the members of this men-only establishment were Arabs. Some were in European evening wear, but many were in the traditional stark-white robes of the Middle East. Tyler initially had wondered how the Arab men decided which style to wear until he learned that the more anxious of them went with the robes-with nothing under them. They could have him on his back on a bed and their dicks inside him within seconds of hearing the door click shut behind them.
One would think that the men in this club would be in conversation with each other on topics of politics and making money, but they all were focused on a dozen younger men, filtering among them, some serving drinks or savories, all stripped to the waist in the fashion of the Chippendale men of American male strip clubs.
Tyler was in such garb himself and was standing in a circle of club members who were ogling and floating around him, quietly bidding against each other.
But the master of the house cut through this swirl of men and applied an iron grip on Tyler's wrist. "Come with me. Your evening has been arranged."
Tyler was escorted up the stairs. He knew where this was going. This was only his third night in the gentlemen's club, but he had already been escorted up these stairs eleven times. At the end of each climb had been a small but well-appointed bedroom, with bathroom attached, and an Arab pulling a robe over his head, or half-dressed middle-aged man struggling out of his tux. Some had barely been able to penetrate him without ejaculating. Some, though, had been cruel, taxing, and long-lasting.
When he was led into the room, his first thought was that at least the man was in good shape and younger than any of the others Tyler had entertained in this room. He had his back to the door and was stripped to the waist.
When he turned, Tyler gasped, but at an eye signal from Axel Schmidt, he quickly gathered his wits about him and, to the best of his ability, didn't reveal that he knew his client for the next hour or two.
When the master of the house had withdrawn, Tyler began to speak, but Axel said in what was almost an angry voice, "Shut up and come here."
Tyler meekly walked over to Axel, who embraced him, and, after a deep kiss and the unzipping of Tyler's trousers and retrieval of his cock, moved his mouth to Tyler's ear as if sucking and biting on his earlobe. "We must assume the walls have eyes and ears. I've come to retrieve you."
"But the place surely is heavily guarded."
"I have men in place-you wouldn't believe what it cost to get a pass for each man into this brothel. I can summon help and we can leave together. But to put them off guard, I am going to fuck you."
"Yes," Tyler answered in almost a whimper.
After they had rolled on the bed in Axel's mastering and ravishment of Tyler that wasn't much harder than he normally would do-and that Tyler melted to-Axel stretched out along Tyler's body and the two murmured endearments with each other-interspaced with information.
"I saw them put you on the Greek's ship, and I followed you across the Mediterranean," Axel whispered.
"You followed me?"
"Yes. I've decided you're the one. I'd follow you to the ends of the earth."
Tyler trembled at that. It might not have meant much to him a couple of days earlier. But now-in its demonstration-it meant the world to him. "You followed me in the Lucky Card, didn't you?"
"Yes. I acquired the muscle here to extract you. That took a couple of days."
"When I returned to the marina in Monte Carlo, you had taken the Lucky Card."
"Yes. I knew you'd gamble it away. Moving it was the only way I could think of to save you from yourself."
"But I don't own it anymore. The Greek procurer has the papers. He won't give them to me until he doesn't want me whoring for him anymore."
"No, he doesn't have the papers. After I moved the sailboat, I went to the casino. You were still playing. I went to the cashier's office and redeemed the papers."
"You paid for the Lucky Card?"
"Yes. But you may have the papers back. I won't hold that over your head to make you come with me-back to Austria. I want you to come with me."
"I can't let you pay for the Lucky Card," Tyler whispered.
"I intend for you to pay me back-on your back-in sex trade. But with me as the only customer. You were going to buy it back with sex anyway. Again, I want you to come to Austria with me. I want you to come in Austria for me-many times."
"Yes," Tyler answered with a sigh. Not only did the man completely control him in a fuck and have a horse hung cock, but he was masterful in Tyler's life too-and he had come for him.
"This wasn't so horrifying for you, was it? In some ways you enjoyed the adventure and the risk of it, didn't you?" Axel murmured.
Tyler didn't answer. He had to think about what Axel was saying. And, thinking about it, he couldn't deny a certain truth in what Axel said.
"Have you ever climbed an alp?"
"No," Tyler whispered.
"There are alps in my backyard. Climbing them can be a great risk. If you come with me, I'll take you climbing on the Alps. We'll put the Lucky Card in a marina in Nice. You can take her out any time you want."
Tyler sighed. "I've already said yes, that I'll come with you," he said. But the danger of climbing the Alps sounded good to Tyler too.