Floating onto Film

I held, jerked, and filled the bulb of the condom. Shelley dug her fingernails into my biceps, murmured “Oh, baby, baby,” and wiggled her butt to get every last jerk and drop out of me. I came again in a lesser spurt, groaned, and rolled away from her into a sitting position facing the full-length glass doors out onto her Nicosia embassy-housing apartment house, looking to the north to the ridge of the Kyrenia Mountains. I’d managed it again, giving the station admin officer, Shelley, forty if she was a day to my twenty-four-something station logs officer, something to spread around the embassy gossip mill. Whispers of Shelley fucking me—more her fucking me than me fucking her; she was a sexual piranha—would help prevent any rumors of Felix Untermeyer, the station deputy chief, fucking me.

I reached over to the nightstand, coaxed a cigarette out of the pack, lit up with my lighter that lay between the cigarette pack and the box of Trojan Magnum XLs, and took a drag. From behind me, Shelley cooed, “What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon. You’re a lover. There are takers and lovers. You’re a lover.”

I think that was her way of saying she had to do most of the work, but that I had enough cock for her to satisfy her for the moment. She was certainly right there—about it having shot my Saturday afternoon. I had meant to be playing tennis at the Eleon club, on its clay courts, this afternoon and then to use its pool, strutting around in my Speedo, ogling and being ogling, knowing I was the best I could be at twenty-four. I’d been the most desirable man, sexually, if not in access to power, to land among the single ladies at the embassy since I’d arrived. It turned out I’d been landed by Felix instead. Then I had to let one of the ladies catch me so that Felix and I weren’t caught. The irony is that Felix’s wife, Ann, was one of the ladies who had done everything she could do to screw me.

Shelley rose up from the bed, settling in behind me and putting her arms around me. One hand went to my cock, pulling the condom off, which she dropped on the floor. Then she stroked my cock and buried her face in my throat. I was thick and long; I knew that was what she liked best about me. She was a buxom bottle blonde, not quite beautiful, hard as nails looking, actually, but she had big tits. I’m sure she and her girlfriends thought she’d won the lottery with me because of the tits, so I spent a lot of time playing them to keep that notion going. They were pressed into my shoulder blades now as she kissed my neck and stroked my cock.

“I’ve heard you’re taking three days and going to the beach,” she said.

“Yes, maybe,” I answered, making it sound tentative because I assumed she was building up to saying she would go with me, and getting away from her was one reason I was going, although it wasn’t the primary reason.

“South or north to the Turkish side?”

“South, I think,” I said. “I’ve been going mostly north. I want a change.” And that was the truth. I’d usually gone to the beaches around the old harbor castle down of Kyrenia. I’d gone for the Turkish men and because you could do more on the Turkish side without being detected. I wasn’t in the mood for them now, though. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for another man for some time. Felix had pretty much bowled me over. He was a good bit older than I was, married, with a couple of kids, but he was the ultimate spy—a smooth talker, fit, handsome, but a will of steel and a talent for getting what he wanted. He had wanted me and he had gotten me.

“Great,” she said.

And here it comes, the wheedling to come with me, I thought. But I thought wrong.

“If you’re going south anyway, maybe you could take the Untermeyers to the airport for their departure. You could take one of the station cars and just go on from Larnaca to wherever you are vacationing.”

Larnaca was where I was going to vacation. It had a seaside boulevard that reminded me of the towns along the French Riviera—sandy beach on the Mediterranean, bracketed by a marina to the east and an old fort to the west, with the beach backed by a long of palm trees, the boulevard, another line of palm trees, the paved area of outdoor cafes, and then the line of hotels, businesses, bars, and restaurants. Larnaca too, however, was where Cyprus’s international airport was. And it was where Felix Untermeyer and his family would be emplaning to leave Cyprus for a new posting in Australia.

Felix was leaving me. That affair was over. The three days I’d put in for was to be out of town when Felix cleared out and then have a couple of days to recover from his leaving. I’d never fallen for anyone like I had for Felix. He had owned me totally.

And now Shelley, the station admin officer, wanted me to drive him and his family to the airport for their departure. Shit. Fuck.

“Sure, I can do that, honey,” I said.

“Great,” she murmured, but she already was on the move, coming around me, slithering to the floor to kneel between my thighs. She laced her fingers through my balls, and I grunted as she rolled and distended them. Her mouth came down over my cock, and she started to give me head. She was a pro at giving head. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that she was.

I put the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand, and reclined back onto the bed, propped up on my elbows, arching my head back, and closing my eyes. I imagined it being Felix sucking me off before turning me onto my belly, mounting my ass, penetrating, and fucking me to heaven.

In that way, I managed to go hard again. Shelley knew how to get a man hard again—and maybe again and again. This might be a long session.

“Oh, baby, you’re so good at this,” I murmured. I did lie to her about how much I liked sex with her, but this wasn’t one of those times. She was really, really good at cock sucking.

Shelley rolled another Trojan on my shaft, climbed up onto the bed to straddle my lap, and descended onto my cock. As my cock slid into her folds and then deeper inside her, I embraced her waist in my arms, letting her fuck herself on the cock. I buried my face in her breasts and sucked on the nipples, one after the other. I knew that’s what she believed I liked about fucking her—being able to play with her huge jugs. And I knew that the positions we’d used and the number of condoms we’d used would be the talk of her cafeteria klatch on Monday. After this she’d want us to do it in the bathtub too.

Just as long as the talk wouldn’t be how “down” I was that the Untermeyers had left the embassy community. They’d known it wasn’t Mrs. Untermeyer’s passing that I would mourn. I’d pretty directly rebuffed her in public when she, drunk, groped me and made a bald proposition—not that she was the only woman at the embassy who had done that. The only good thing about spiking Shelley now was that she’d keep the other woman at bay. She’d devour me, but she’d stake what she believed was her territory against all the rest.

And, with Felix gone, there were no other American men at the embassy who attracted me. There was a Greek Cypriot groundskeeper, Sophocles, who did so, but to go under him most certainly would cause a stir in the ranks. He was doing the ambassador’s son.

* * * *

On the morning I was to drive the Untermeyers to the airport I almost was late. I had the embassy groundskeeper, Sophocles, two years younger than I was, all muscle, and the looks of Adonis, on his back on my bed, and I was riding him in a cowboy and lost track of time. There had to be something after Untermeyer. Sophocles had promised to be discreet, and I was being “what the hell, I wanted something to tell Felix about his replacement at the last minute as he was getting on the plane that would shake his control and smugness.”

“Felix, the reason I was a bit late in picking you up this morning was because I was busy riding the cock of that embassy gardener, Sophocles—you know, the one who is younger, more muscular, and better looking than you. No, I don’t think I’ll miss you. Sophocles will be fucking me morning, noon, and night for the rest of my tour here.”

As it turned out, Felix acted like he didn’t give a shit. He was moving on with no regrets. That didn’t improve my mood any as I watched the plane rise into the sky.

Although I’d told everyone I was going to vacation in Larnaca, I hadn’t really made up my mind where on the south coast I was going to vacation and I hadn’t made any room reservations. It was low season and I was a diplomat—and an American. The resort hotels would find room for me. I was wiped out after putting the Untermeyers on the plane, so I decided to start off at Larnaca, where the airport was located, anyway. That French Riviera-type waterfront called to me.

I drove into the center of the city and to the marina, where there was parking for cars with diplomatic plates. I had my Speedo on under my trousers, so a quick strip down at the trunk of the car and fishing out a T-shirt, sandals, a baseball cap with the American Embassy Nicosia logo on it, and a beach towel was all I required before I was walking out on the sand between Athenon Boulevard and the beach. I picked out a spot, laid out the towel, stripped off my T-shirt, and sat, watching the world go by and wishing that I could get off of it. I’d recover, I knew, but it would take time. The worst was that I’d probably have to keep up pretenses with Shelley. It also had been unwise to fuck the embassy gardener. I sat contemplating how I’d clean that up to keep it from becoming known. I had to smile, though, Sophocles was a real hunk and the fuck had been good. Very good.

As I sat there, people went by. Women and some men cast their eyes in my direction. I was aware I was eye candy on the beach. I’d been eye candy since I was a teenager and I kept myself in great shape so that I could continue to be eye candy for as long as possible. I didn’t care if I was being ogled. I looked back with interest if I was interested. I’d come away for these three days to get away from the embassy. I hadn’t pledged to anyone or myself that I would be celibate for those three days.

Greek Cypriot men contributed more than their share of male beauty to the world’s supply of that. Several men passing me, and particularly ones in their late thirties and their forties, looked like gods to me—Mediterranean olive coloring, dark hair and eyes, magnificent muscularity, exuding an air of confidence and command, and openly showing interest. Many were hirsute, which I found arousing. The best of them were arrogant and cruel in bed.

The third time a man in his late forties, solidly built, a Zeus rather than an Adonis, passed by me, I looked directly in his eyes and flashed him a warm smile. He was dark-haired but starting to go gray, swirls of salt-and-pepper curls covered his chest in thick enough matting that I had to look at him closely to see his nipples, which were puffed up and had ring piercings. He was in a Speedo, as I was, and it left little imagination on whether or not he was hung. He was.

He paused, a hand, with a thick-stone ring on the middle finger brushed his crotch, and I could see him pop his tongue in his cheek, a signal I had learned as an expression of sexual interest in Cyprus. I smiled back, and he turned and walked on. I didn’t pop my tongue, though. That was a signal by a top here, and I wanted it to be clear that, for men, I was a submissive. The code on this here was that the top declared dominance and, if interested, the submissive, followed. And, if you were a tongue popper, you were an arrogant son of a bitch.

Telling myself I was tiring of sitting on the beach alone, I rose and walked toward the old fort at the western end of this stretch of beach. It was the same direction that the sexy Cypriot had sauntered. I didn’t see him during my stroll, though. When I reached the fort, I went in. I saw him up on the battlements, looking out toward the sea.

I looked around for a staircase to go up there, but by the time I reached the battlements, the man was gone. I told myself that I wasn’t following him anyway. I had no idea what I would say or do if I came close to him. If I was signaling I’d submit to him, though, this is how this would go in Cyprus, I had found. I would follow him and he would see that I had but would reposition himself. Then I would follow him again, which would establish the connection.

He wasn’t there on the battlements when I found my way up there. But then I saw that he had descended to the ground again and this time, he was looking up at me.

He aroused me, I had to admit. He was probably twenty years older than I was, but I had been initiated by older men. Felix was nearly fifteen years older than I was. I found handsome older men in fit condition sexy. I was submissive. I wanted to be controlled. The truth be known, I wanted my sex partner to be a bit cruel too. Felix had fit that bill.

While I was on the battlements, the wind took my cap away. I didn’t care all that much. I had brought a couple of others and the embassy caps were easy to come by. I descended to the ground, but, once more, the man wasn’t anywhere to be seen. After seeing all there was to see in the fort, I walked back up the beach, half way to the marina in the east, and then crossed the road and found an empty table at an outdoor bar in front of a hotel.

“I believe you lost this in the fort,” a rich, baritone voice, speaking English in a refined English accent said. I turned to find my sexy Cypriot Zeus standing there, my embassy logo cap in his hand. He was still in his Speedo and sandals, but he’d added a white cotton shirt, flared open. He had a gold medallion nestled in the curly hair in the curve of his pecs. I didn’t remember whether he had that on before. The rings were still there in his nipples.

“It says American Embassy Nicosia,” he said, “So, you must be from the American embassy here, no?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I am.”

“You are a beautiful young man,” he said. “My name is Costas. You followed me to the fort. I teased you by leading you around. But you followed me. Do you mind if I sit at your table and buy you a drink before . . .?”

“No, not at all. That would be very nice,” I answered. Should I tell him that I wasn’t really following him to the fort—that I wasn’t falling into any signaling pattern. I decided I wouldn’t, not least because it probably wasn’t true. I trembled at hearing the “before,” though. He obviously thought I had completely the mating dance.

Instead, I said “I’m Craig.” He hadn’t given me a last name, so I didn’t give him mine. If this was a sexual hookup, and I was rather certain it was, we probably should keep it on a first-name basis—at least for now.

It, of course, was a sexual hookup. We both seemed to understand that from the beginning just as I understood from the beginning that he was taking command.

He flagged a waiter over and ordered drinks for us both. He took the chair beside me, both of us looking out toward the Mediterranean through two lines of tall palm trees, rather than the chair across from me. When the waiter left, he said. “You were following me just now. You are thinking that you want me to lay you, I think.”

“I wasn’t consciously thinking that,” I answered, “although you seem to appear to be a man who other men would happily follow.”

“You do let men lay you, do you not? I would be unhappy to waste effort to putting you under me.”

I laughed. “I’ve been known to lie under men, yes.”

“And you are still here, talking with me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You must be what, twenty-five,” he said. “Young to be a diplomat.”

“Twenty-four,” I said. “This is my first posting, and I’m more of a clerk than a diplomat.”

“A very fine-looking young clerk, though. There is a lot of promise there . . . in you.”

“In the diplomatic field?” I asked.

“Perhaps in that as well.” I didn’t ask him what field he had been speaking of. I didn’t have to. Our first drinks had arrived and Costas paid for them, leaving a thick wad of bills on the table top. Was he taking me for a male whore? Did he think I expected to be paid? I wondered how much I should go for.

When the waiter left, Costas placed a hand, the one with that ring with the huge stone in it on his middle finger, on my knee. While we had been waiting for the drinks, he had lightly touched my forearm. I hadn’t shirked away from either.

“I rather had hoped you were following me—to the fort. If a young man goes with me, I would lead. He would have to follow.”

“I am a follower,” I answered.

“You say you are twenty-four. I am forty-six. There us more than twenty years difference.”

“I have always followed older men,” I answered. “I’ve almost always found that they know how to lead.”

We chatted for a few minutes, each finding out a bit more about the other, but not much. I found that Costas owned a film company, filming what I didn’t ascertain. It was called Sun Studios and operated out of a villa he owned on the coast, west of the airport from here.

“I’ve kept the name in English. We all speak English here, and having it Sun Studios in English makes it sound international, don’t you think?”

I agreed that I did. I told him I’d gone to Stanford, in the United States, through a masters in international relations. I’d gone on a tennis scholarship and held several collegiate medals in that sport. But my family were diplomats—intelligence agents, really, but I couldn’t tell him that—so I was pressured to go into the family business. He said that there were young men at his villa who played tennis and there was a court near the villa. He didn’t go further on that topic, but he really didn’t have to. I didn’t tell him anything about my work in the embassy.

He asked me again, “Have you really lain down for men twenty years older than you?”

“In deciding who to have sex with, age doesn’t really occur to me,” I said. “Hardness, experience, and stamina do.”

“And how much they pay?”

“Hardness, experience, and stamina are what is important to me,” I repeated.

“And size? You like men who are megálo kai pachý—big and thick?”

“Size is a factor too,” I admitted.

He took my hand and placed it on his crotch under the table. He was both big and hard. I knew he would be.

“Megálo kai pachý?” he asked.

“Megálo kai pachý,” I confirmed, giving him a smile.

Our drinks were finished and Costas signaled for refills. “Yes?” he asked, giving me a questioning look. “I, of course, will pay.”

“First, let me ask. You asked if I was following you. Let me ask you why you stopped in front of me on the beach. What it meant when you popped your tongue in your cheek.”

He laughed. “I was telling you that you are a handsome, desirable young man. I was asking you to follow me, if you wished me to cover you. You followed me.”

“Desirable? You want to fuck me? We aren’t just teasing each other here? Passing the afternoon in light banter.”

He laughed again. “You Americans can be so direct. Yes, I want to fuck you. I want to have sex on you. Not necessarily with you. That would have to wait until we knew each other better. I want to take my pleasure—my sport—on you. to command and control you. To have sex on you, be inside you. I have quite a big cock, and you should know that I can stay hard forever. Don’t let my age fool you. I can satisfy a young man, but it would be for my pleasure. I don’t want to make love with you. I want, as you said. to fuck you, to screw you. To be clear, if you go with me, I am the master and you are the slave and I take you for my pleasure alone. Now, would you like to have another drink, or are we finished here?”

We had another drink. He divided the wad of money he’d put on the table and handed the largest portion of it to me. I put it in my pocket. Being paid for it—being his whore—was arousing to me, I was finding.

He became freer with his hand under the glass top of the table when others didn’t appear to be looking. I was looking though. The sun was descending, its reflection setting the Mediterranean spread out before us ablaze. We could be freer with our foreplay. I gasped and jerked as the fingers of his right hand pressed in under the leg hole of my Speedo, and he closed them around my balls and squeezed.

I looked into his eyes and endured.

“There is pain in pleasure,” he murmured. “Do you agree with me in that, Craig?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Do you understand what I mean when I say I want to screw you rather than make love to you?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s—”

“That’s fine,” I answered. That, in fact, was perfect. I was in the mood to be fucked, not romanced.

The pressure eased and he withdrew his fingers. “Now, shall we have another drink or shall I take you to dinner?”

“You are leading,” I said. “I follow. Don’t ask me what I want anymore. Do what you want. Take what you want.”

He smiled. “Dinner then, I think . . . for now. There’s a good seafood restaurant nearby.”

As we were getting up from dinner, it having been established that I hadn’t booked anywhere for the night and that I would follow him out to his villa in my embassy car, Costas turned to me and said, “There on the beach, when I stopped and stood in front of you?”

“Yes, I knew then,” I interjected, “that if you wanted to fuck me, I would go under you. If I had caught up with you in the fort and you wanted to fuck me there, I would have lain down for you there.”

He laughed. “So, the money I’m spent on you . . .”

“I don’t let a man put his cock in me for money. I let you pay for everything so that we both understood that you are in full command and control. I am a total submissive in sex. Use me as you wish. I may be a slut, but, until now, I’ve not been a whore.”

“But you have taken my money and you will be a whore for me tonight?”

“Yes, if that is what you want. You have said it. You will be the master and I will be the slave.” I didn’t want to make any decisions. Just for a while, I wanted to just float along into the “whatever.”

* * * *

“Come with me. Let’s go out on the beach.” He took my hand and we crossed the palm-tree-lined boulevard and went out onto the sands. There were people out there, on the beach, at this time of night. Cypriots eat late. It had to be nearly midnight now. The cafés across the boulevard from the beach were still full. The beach still had people on it, mostly couples, and some were necking, having come from the cafés to the shadows explicitly to neck. But none were fucking. I wanted to point out that if he wanted to fuck me now, the beach probably wasn’t a good idea. But I’d just told him he had total control. So, I just followed him.

We walked west along the beach, to the marina. We entered that, past the parking lot where I’d parked the car with the diplomatic tags. He knew the numbers to punch the keypad to get the gate to the piers open, so he must have a boat in this marina. He walked me down the pier, past a series of boat slips and then turned right and led me along a smaller pier and handed me on to the stern of a sleek sailboat. The bow was facing the waterfront, painted with shimmering lights at this time of night.

He did want to fuck me, and this is where he first did it.

It obviously was his sailboat, as he rummaged around in a locker and came up with joined wrist restraints. I shuddered at the thought of being restrained, but I said nothing. I had turned everything over to him.

“Strip off your T-shirt and Go down on your back below the mast here,” he said, and when I did, a patch of decking in front of the mast being covered in padded vinyl, he raised my arms and restrained my wrists together behind the base of the mast. The padded area sloped a bit toward the bow, so, from where I lay stretched out on my back, bound to the mast, I could watch the Larnaca beach area and waterfront. Costas pulled my Speedo off my legs.

“Show it to me. Become totally vulnerable to me,” he commanded.

I knew what he wanted. I spread and bent my legs, placing my feet flat on the decking. I used the leverage of my feet to raise and roll up my pelvis, showing him my hole. He thumbed it and it opened to his touch. He used two fingers to spread it and he leaned over and blew on the hole. I moaned for him. He tested it with a finger, penetrating me, and I moaned deeper. He leaned over and applied his tongue to it while fingering my balls and then stroking my cock, and I panted and groaned for him. He took his time, heightening my arousal. I was his. Total surrender.

Gently taking my legs and straitening them out, he stretched out over me, exploring and fondling my naked body with his hands and his lips until I was arching my back, rocking against his attentions, and begging for his cock.

“Yes, take me. Fuck me. Screw me. Own me.”

He kissed down my body to where he was crouched below me. He raised and spread my legs again, moving them to drape over his shoulders. He ran his hands under my buttocks, elevated and rolled my pelvis up to him, and, as I writhed under him, begging him to fuck me, he thoroughly ate me out and brought me to an ejaculation with his mouth. Exhausted, I collapsed when I came.

But he wasn’t ready yet. He had lubricant stashed somewhere. He returned to fingering my hole with well-greased fingers and hand, and slowly possessing my channel with his searching, stretching, opening fingers, going up to the knuckles. As my pelvis churned against him, he punished the rim of my entrance with the big stone of the ring on the middle finger of his right hand.

“Steady, steady,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Take it. You said anything. I want it all. Surrender totally to me.”

I gasped as the knuckles breached my sphincter, and then he was in, stretching, opening, fisting me.

“Relax and take it,” he murmured and when I let my body go limp, I found I could, indeed take it. He was in to the wrist and he worked me for several minutes as I panted and groaned and nearly sobbed.

He withdrew with a “There, I think you should be ready.” He was standing above and below me, between my spread thighs, blocking the lights from the waterfront. He slipped off the Speedo he’d been wearing. The shirt had come off sometime before. In that spotlight he looked like a satyr. I only now saw that his legs were a bit short for his muscular, hirsute torso and that they were slighted bowed. What I couldn’t take my eyes off of was his erection. It was oversized for a man of his stature, heavily veined, thick, long, and curved upward from his body.

Megálo kai pachý.

I believed him now in what he had said about needing to open me up well before he fucked me.

“I don’t use rubbers,” he declared. “The other men do, but I don’t.”

The “other men?” I wondered, although I didn’t have long to dwell either on that or on the fact he was going to bareback me. About that, I really didn’t care at this moment. I ached for him to get on with it, to be inside me, even with that monster cock he was showing me.

I was open now. He came down on his knees between my thighs, his hands went under me to grasp and spread and lift my butt cheeks, and, as I gasped and grunted and cried out to top of the mast, he entered me in one long, thick, slide to the quick of me. He held ever so slightly for me to yield him the last couple of inches, and when I had, he fucked me in long, virile, vigorous strokes—and forever.

He grasped my ankles and wishboned my legs, raising and spreading them in a V from our bodies. After what seemed to be an eternity, he hooked my ankles on his shoulders, leaned down into me, and stared into my eyes. The gold medallion on the chain around his neck swayed in front of my face, and I took it into my mouth and sucked on it as he thrust inside me, his hands moving all over my body. At length, his hands went to my throat, and without missing a beat of the fuck, the medallion was jerked out of my mouth and I was gasping for air. The hands clutching my throat were working me, controlling my breath, as the cruel cock was working me inside. Air cut off until I was seeing stars and the pressure was released, allowing me to gasp and suck air. The cruel, curved cock, discovering and rubbing and testing every square inch of my channel walls.

I don’t know how long he pumped me, but it was inhumanely long. As he continued the rhythm of the thrusts, I turned my head toward the waterfront and watched the lights in the cafès slowly go out. Still he fucked on. I came twice before he ever did.

Costas let loose of my throat as his torso was raised. His fists dragged down to my pecs, pressing in there, His back and head arched and he let out a long hiss to the dark heavens as he jerked and came, jerked and came, held, and then jerked and came again, flooding my channel with his cum—three loads, no rubber.

He went back on his haunches, still inside me, giving me a cruel smile. I smiled wanly back at him. It had been more of a fuck than I had anticipated. There was nothing old about him. He was inside me, not going flaccid, despite what must have been over a half hour of stroking. I struggled to raise my torso, having difficulty with that as my wrists were still bound over my head on the other side of the base of the mast. He slapped me across the mouth, and, surprised, I fell back.

“I didn’t tell you to try to get up. We aren’t finished yet.” The heel of his right hand pressed into my sternum and held me to the pad. His left went to my balls, his fingers lacing into them, and he squeezed and rolled and distended them, causing me to sob and pant and my eyes to water. Once more I was writhing under him, this time in pain. He suddenly stopped and grabbed my cock, which embarrassingly, had gone hard under his cruel treatment. I arched my back and moaned as he quickly stroked me off again.

The second I came for the third time, he was positioning himself hovering over me again. He was still inside me, hard. Crouched over my prone body, he fucked me again, taking as long in the stroking as he had the first time. Giving me three more loads. He’d never gone soft.

The waterfront cafés were all dark and the rest of the world had gone to bed before he was finished with me.

* * * *

Costas’s Porsche Boxster was parked right next to my embassy car in the marina parking lot, which confirmed that the sailboat we’d fucked on was his, as the lot was reserved for boat owners and diplomats. I followed him west, beyond the airport, along the coastal road for about fifteen minutes before he turned into a drive toward the sea and we dipped down to a large stuccoed villa with a red-tile roof—thus no different from all of the other beach villas along the shallow cliffs down to the beach.

Costas whispered, “Shhh, the men probably are sleeping,” as we entered the villa and he gave me a quick tour of the living area, leading me out to the upper story of a stone, two-story loggia with arched columns that spanned the villa on the sea side of the structure. Out on the porch, we were looking down onto a stone terrace, with a swimming pool, with lit-up underwater lighting and a short cliff drop off beyond that to sand and sea.

Once again he’d referred to “men.” At the railing of the loggia, looking down into the terrace I counted at least two. Two men were on a lounge bed beside the pool, one stretched out on the other and fucking him in the missionary position. I wondered how many more men there were somewhere around here.

I didn’t have time to contemplate that further, as Costas was coaxing me over to a reclining couch, stripping me of my Speedo again, laying me on my back, running his hands up the insides of my legs to coax me to open them, and laying me again. He fucked me nearly as long after 2:00 a.m. here on a reclining couch as he had on the sailboat. The man had to be a superhuman, sexually, or have access to extremely powerful enhancement drugs. In all, he pumped me for some four hours, remaining hard the entire time.

It was close to 4:00 a.m. when he helped me off the couch and to hobble into the house and to a small bedroom with its own bath located beyond the kitchen, and thus probably a servant’s room, where he left me—mercifully considering how long he’d been fucking me—to shower and sleep by myself.

* * * *

The answer to the “men” question was that there were lots of them—about a dozen—most of them around my age and hunks, and they were all swirling around on the back porch when I struggled up sometime after noon on the next day. There were standing light poles and cameras facing couch scene settings dotted here and there all around the villa, both inside and out.

Costas hadn’t let me pause to take my suitcase out of my car the previous night, and my T-shirt and Speedo had been left on the loggia. All I found to wear in the bedroom was a blue satin robe that came to below the knees but didn’t close entirely in the front. That didn’t distress me too much. I had the distinct impression that clothing was optional here and, frankly, I wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by my fitness or equipment. I wore the robe, loosely draped over my shoulders. to follow the hubbub out onto the loggia. When I arrived, I found that I was overdressed.

Most of the dozen men on the porch were naked. Two of them were vigorously screwing under the glare of lights on stands on a reclining couch at the far end of the porch—not the one Costas had screwed me on earlier that morning—and several of the other young men were moving around the fucking pair, recording the on video camera.

So, this was the Sun Studios at work, I thought. I was on a movie set.

“Oh, there you are, Craig. Come on out and have some breakfast. You look a fright. We’ll have to do something about that. The cameras won’t love you in this condition.”

Costas, in a dressing gown, was sitting at a patio table with a big hulking, hirsute guy in his forties, who was heavily muscular and tattooed, but also beer bellied. He too was in a dressing gown. In both cases, those covered the shoulders but didn’t do much below the waist. The Slavic-looking man was almost as hung as Costas was, although this is the first I saw of Costas not in erection.

Cameras? Loving me?

Costas popped up from the table and handed me two pills and a glass of water.

“Breakfast?” I asked.

“Breakfast—after Nikolay fucks you.”

Nikolay? Fucks me? I downed the pills and immediately my body went in two different directions—my mind slowed down and I felt that nothing in the world would bother me. My body perked up, every sensation, even the breeze coming off the sea, made my skin tingle and aroused. Both Costas and Nikolay—I had guessed right about the Slavic identification—had reached over, each to cup one of my butt cheeks under the flimsy robe I was wearing, and I began a low pant and started going hard. Each of them was pulling my buttocks open and finding and entering my hole with their fingers. Nikolay murmured a “Новый мальчик? очень милый—A new boy? very nice.”

“Nikolay here is one of the Sun Studios investors. He has his own subscription services taking in his initiation of all the new men at Sun Studios. Your first film will be with him. Don’t worry, it’s just for private subscription services.”

Nikolay initiates? All the new men? So, am I one of Costas’s men now? My first film? So many questions were arising. but, because of the pills, I didn’t seem to give a shit. I didn’t even bat an eye that the Russian was going to fuck me on a subscription video.

The big Russian was standing behind me, lifting my robe off my shoulders. I looked down to see both my robe and his dressing gown float to the tiles, entwining themselves together as they went down. I could feel his erection poking against my back. A big mitt palmed my belly. “Милый. Красивое тело. Просто жду, когда меня трахнут—Nice. A beautiful body, just begging to be debauched,” I heard him mutter. I couldn’t understand a word he said, but I didn’t give a shit. I asked anyway.

“What did he say?” I asked Costas and the Greek told me, using the word “debauched.”

“He thinks you’re virginal,” Costas added.

I laughed.

“I think on that lounge bed over there, Nikolay,” Costas said, pointing to the reclining couch where he’d covered me in the night. Lights were beaming down on the scene and a couple of young guys carrying video cameras were standing by. “Nikolay is going to fuck you for the cameras, Craig.”

Fine.

“What do you say to that, Craig?”

“Whatever you want, Costas,” I replied. He smiled. Right answer.

The fuck scene on the other couch was still going on, with two naked Adonises moving around the couch, filming the scene with video cameras. Two others were picking up video cameras and stationing themselves around the couch Nikolay guided me to. Other beautiful men were moving about, doing this or that. Nikolay put me on my belly, stretched out on the reclining couch.

“Shall I fight it on camera or submit easily to it?” I asked Costas.

“I think the action can pick up after you’ve struggled and lost. Be vulnerable for it. I liked fucking you while you were vulnerable.”

I let my arms dangle off the sides, and two naked hunks came up on either side and put my wrists into restraints there. Nikolay was below me, slobbering in my crack. Every touch from him sent electricity through me and I heard myself moaning.

The big Russian was going to fuck me for the cameras. My first porn movie. “Debauched” the man had said. Yes, that was it. That was what I was seeking—what Costas had done with me the previous evening. I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted any big-cocked man to fuck me. I wanted Felix, but Felix wasn’t here—would never again be here. Nikolay was here. I wanted Nikolay to fuck me. I didn’t give a shit about the cameras. I wanted that big shaft of his inside me—any big shaft would do as long as it possessed me, stretched me—made me feel its power and command. I wanted to be totally submissive for a man. I wanted to be debauched.

I cried out a “Yes! Fuck, yes” as, holding my hips between his strong, calloused hands, the Russian entered me strongly and began to pump me. He fucked me, mounted on my tail, palms pressed into my shoulder blades. One of the “men” had handed him a slit gold-foil Magnum condom packet and took it back empty. I gasped, arched my back, and looked directly into a camera, showing my pain-passion, as he penetrated. And I raised my ass to him, taking him thick and deep, Nikolay reaching under and stroking me off, to first, my coming, and then his. All the time two video cameras were slow-dancing around us, getting the fuck filmed from all angles.

No sooner was his weight coming off me than hands, many hands—the “men”—were lifting me off the couch and carrying me to one of the patio tables. They laid me on my back on the table. Condom packets were handed around like candy and I heard the slit packets hit the tiles. A man each grasped my extremities—two arms, two legs—which tingled arousingly to the touch. My torso shimmered. My cock stood straight up. Four men at my extremities, waiting their turn. Two men circling the table with video cameras whirring, their cocks sheathed and in erection, the filmers awaiting their turn as well. Costas standing between my thighs, grasping my waist.

I cried out and arched my head back as he thrust up inside me and began taking the first turn. Yet another hand enclosed over my cock and started stroking. When I arched my head back, I found Nikolay there, erect again. He took my head in his hands and stroked my cheeks with his thumbs as I took his shaft in my mouth and gave him suck.

The cameras whirred.

Just for private subscription services? What a crock. This would be all over the Internet. I’d regret this someday. I’d be drummed out of the Cyprus embassy and out of the Agency—just as quickly and effectively as I’d lost Felix— . . . someday.

But, for now, I didn’t give a shit.

Costas jerked and came, jerked and came, and then came again, lathering up my insides for the rest of the men. He pulled out to be replace by Man Two—of countless many.