Descent to Vincenzio

“Beautiful. Very sexy. Sensual. The rocking horse position now, please.”

Fifty-year-old, slim, elegant, movie-star handsome Emberto Ricci, owner of the Arno Art Gallery in Florence, Italy, near the Gallerie Degli Uffizi art museum on the banks of the Arno, sat on an ottoman near the four-poster bed of the master bedroom of his elegant flat above his art gallery. He was watching his young amante maschile—male lover—Mateo, fuck the young American tourist, twenty-year-old Jason Sands. Emberto had found Jason, who had said he was a university student taking a cultural gap year journey and who Emberto had called an angel, roaming the Gallerie Degli Uffizi.

The sensuous, well-muscled, but slender, blond body of the handsome young American was repositioned to lying, belly down, on the bed, his ankles hooked on a bolster, and his torso in a bow. The younger, nineteen-year-old, more muscular, sultry, dark-haired Italian youth, Mateo, stretched over Jason’s back, putting the American in a full Nelson hold that had Jason’s arms reaching, artistically, toward the Italian Renaissance-painted ceiling of Emberto’s art-filled old-world townhouse. Mateo’s ankles also were hooked on the bolster and, as directed, cock buried in Jason’s ass, he rocked the two, as one elegant unit, like a rocking horse, letting the rocking action control the fuck.

There had been very little seduction needed. The American youth seemed anxious to sample men while on his European adventure. He hadn’t even brought up being paid. After a bit of chit-chat, establishing their shared interest in good art, Emberto had said what he was interested in engaging the American to do and Jason had fallen right in with the plan.

Emberto, ever aware of the artistic arrangement of everything, had set the pose of the beautiful, joined, rocking young bodies. He, like the young men he was watching fuck, was naked, although he had a Japanese silk robe hanging off his shoulders. He was sitting, legs spread, robe flared open, on the ottoman, leaning in toward the tableau of the two young lovers, and was stroking his cock. It usually was him under Mateo, who he had acquired from a construction site and was training in the visual arts, but on occasion, like now, he’d see another young man he would like to see under Mateo and imagine it was him, Emberto, at a much younger age.

Jason had been such a young man, encountered at the premier Florence art gallery. He was an angel, a beautiful young man. It didn’t matter that he was an American. He had elegance and grace and Italian Renaissance beauty. Emberto collected art of beautiful young male nudes; he produced art photographs of them as well.

Jason said he was taking a gap year in his studies at Princeton in the United States—that he was studying art and rebalancing his life after not having made the U.S. Olympics gymnastics team. His ancestors had come from the Florence area of Italy, so here he was. He was all of the beautiful things Emberto loved and admired—and wanted to possess.

Over coffee at a café on Lungarno della Grazie, running along the banks of the Arno, between the museum and Emberto’s own art gallery, Jason admitted that he was gay and, although his family could afford his trip and thought they were paying for it, Jason was making his way across Europe from one art center to the other by letting men pick him up and cover him for the time they spent together.

“So, you’re saying we should be talking the price for your making yourself available to me this afternoon?” Emberto asked. He pulled his wallet out and placed it on the table to show that he was willing to pay and to negotiate a price for Jason’s body.

“Not at all,” Jason said, covering Emberto’s hand on his wallet with his own hand. “Please don’t misunderstand. I let men pay my way when I am with them as they seem to want to, not because I can’t afford to travel and take care of myself. I told you I was a submissive. I think it is part of the role of a submissive to let men take care of him, and the men I go with seem to agree. But it’s only when the two are together and enjoying each other’s company. I don’t go with men to make money or if I am not enjoying their company. I’m not a prostitute. I do enjoy sex with a fascinating man, though.”

“So, you are a submissive to men you would enjoy?” Emberto asked.

“Yes.”

“And you could think of me as sufficiently fascinating? You could be submissive to me?”

“Yes, of course. You most certainly are a fascinating man.” Jason gave Emberto a level smile, leaving his hand covering Emberto’s on the man’s wallet. Their conversation continued comfortably and on a more intimate level.

Yes, he thought Emberto was a handsome man. Yes, he would love to see Emberto’s art gallery and what the older man had done with his flat above.

“I am an artist as well as a gallery owner,” Emberto said. “I photograph beauty—the beauty of men’s bodies. The beauty of them in motion, melding together. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Yes, Jason could understand that.

“Could you enjoy having your body being worshipped—by someone other than me? Someone more your age and your level of beauty? And being immortalized on film?”

Yes, Jason could see the art in that, and he found it intriguing.

“You are a beautiful young man, Jason. And you say you were a gymnast. You would be very flexible and fluid in motion, I am sure. Being submissive to me might be different from what you would assume. I have this young lover, Mateo.”

“You cover him?”

“No. He covers me and he arouses me by covering other young men while I photograph them coupling together while I watch.”

“Ah.”

“You would be averse to—?”

No, Jason would not be averse to going under Emberto’s amante maschile, Mateo, for Emberto to enjoy watching—and to photograph and paint, as he liked. Yes, Jason had kept up his gymnastics and was limber, and, yes, he enjoyed taking unusual sex positions.

Emberto paid for the coffees. As he extracted the money, he pulled out a wad of high-denomination euros and extended them toward Jason. The young man smiled, shook his head, and gently pushed Emberto’s hand back.

“I’m traveling to appreciate art,” he said. “I do not have to be paid to become art or to enjoy an interesting afternoon with a man I find fascinating.”

“You are a refreshing young man, Jason. May you always maintain beauty and rise above the ugliness that is in life.”

“So, if I go with you, you will not think of me as a prostitute?”

“Oh, my, no. I will think of you as a fellow artist—and as an angel worthy of being in Florence.”

They rose from the table, and Emberto guided Jason to the art gallery, where, in one of the backroom galleries, he showed off paintings and photographs of young men fucking in elegant poses. Jason had been impressed not only with the high quality of the paintings but also the inventiveness of the poses. The rocking chair position was a favorite of his.

“Yes, I could do that,” Jason said when asked. And, so, he did it with Mateo, as Emberto sat, naked except for the Japanese robe hanging from his shoulders, on his ottoman and, after putting his camera aside, stroked his own cock.

“Now, I would like to see your lovely cock appearing and disappearing in this luscious young man, Mateo,” Emberto said. “Perhaps the position of the stiff-incline pushup.”

Mateo kicked the bolster away as Jason went fully prone under him on his belly and stretched out in the position of the cross—his legs together and his arms stretched straight out from his shoulders.

“Face me, please, Jason.” Emberto said. “Yes, good.” Jason’s cheek pressed into the creamy silk bedspread as Mateo stretched on top of him, holding himself off Jason’s body with his fists stiff-arming the bed on either side of Jason’s chest. His body was a board-straight incline hovering over the American’s body. His cock was buried a few inches in Jason’s ass, but the impressive length and girth of it could be seen linking the two bodies.

“Very good,” Emberto said, firing off a couple of camera shots. “Now, take the lad to a completion.”

Mateo commenced his pushup fuck—up, down, three-quarters of the length of the magnificent cock appearing and then disappearing—Jason’s eyes took on a dreamy “I’m being taken well” expression, and, after firing a couple more camera shots, Emberto settled down to stroking his cock and working to time his release with that of the young men.

After they had all come, Mateo disappeared to his own quarters and Emberto guided Jason into his marble-clad bathroom. Jason was submerged into a bubble bath in the tub and Emberto knelt beside the tub, kissing the young American on the lips and slowly jacking off the young man’s cock under the water.

“Where do you go from here?” he asked Jason.

“Do you wish to bed me after all?” Jason asked. “You can, if you like.”

Emberto laughed. “I have taken you in my art. That is enough. I mean, where do you go from here on your European adventure?”

“From here it’s to Milan.”

“Be sure you take in the Museo Poldi Pezzoli and the Museo de Novecento,” Emberto said.

“On my list,” Jason answered.

“And if you have the chance and a man with culture and money, you must go up to Lake Como while you’re in Milan. Go to Bellagio, go to the silk museum there, the Museo della Seta Como, and stay at either the Villa d’Esta or the Il Sereno. They are boutique hotels well worth the stay—especially if you have a handsome older man with experience and variety to bed you there.”

“I can’t always find a man of culture and money wherever I go.”

“Speaking of which,” Emberto said as he took his wallet out and extracted the same wad of high-denomination euro bills and handed them out toward Jason.

Jason smiled and said, “I enjoyed the day. I can manage from here, thank you.”

Putting the money away again, Emberto smiled and said, “You truly are a beautiful young man—in depth. As long as you have your beauty and your fantastic body, always insist on the best. Where do you end your Italian sojourn?”

“In Venice.”

“Ah, yes, always move up in culture and elegance, Jason. That is a good place for you to leave Italy.”

“I’m not sure there’s any room to go up from here,” Jason whispered, his body making waves in the water as he was rocking his hips, close to coming off in Emberto’s hand.

“Always strive for that—not only in art but in letting a man make love to your body,” Emberto murmured. “Never let men bring you down, degrade you. Now, come for me, you beautiful boy, dry off and dress, and I will drive you to the train station.”

Jason did as directed. He came in the older man’s hand, under water, and Emberto and Mateo drove him to the train station in Emberto’s Maserati Ghibli S Q4.

The last thing Emberto said was, “Always have an eye on your art and elegance, Jason. Demand the best. Always upward. Never let the men take you down. Don’t become just a toy of a man or a vessel for his selfish lust.”

“Yes, sir,” Jason said, amused and confident that he could take care of himself in this world.

* * * *

Jason hadn’t done any preparation for arriving in Milan. He hadn’t done so all across Europe and he didn’t do it when he arrived at the Stazione Centrale—the Central Train Station—on the Piazza Duca d’Aosta in the northeastern quadrant of the city. When Jason had asked Emberto where the gay district of Milan was, he’d been told there wasn’t really one, that Milan, as the fashion house capital of Italy, and second only to Paris in Europe, was a city in which the gays fit in and didn’t need their own district. If there was a general district, it was called Porta Venezia, but that there were plenty of gay establishments just south, into the city, from the train station Jason would arrive at in Milan.

So, Jason did what he did in all cities to start getting into swing of things—he relied on his sexy looks and his ability to look like he needed a handsome man’s help and attention. He walked out of the station, heading south, and stood on a street corner, gazing into an unfolded map of the city, and looking perplexed. He had no plans other than to see art museums and to have meals and some place to sleep—and someone interesting and accomplished to sleep with—but, beyond having the names of a couple of museums, he had no referrals to restaurants or hotels.

His method worked as well in Milan as it did in any other European city. Along came a fashionably dressed, good-looking, dark-haired man of Jason’s age, introducing himself as Cristian Carlucci and saying he was more than willing to help Jason out.

“Sembri perso. Posso aiutarla?” the young man asked Jason, and then when Jason looked confused and said, “Pardon?” Carlucci repeated in English, “Ah, you don’t speak Italian? English, perhaps?”

“Yes, sorry. I only speak English. I was trying to see how to get to the art museum, the Museo Poldi Pezzoli, from here.”

“It’s not far, but not too near either. Are you English or perhaps American? A visitor to Milan for the first time? May I help you with directions? Or I could guide you there, if you wish.”

Jason smiled at Carlucci, who was a handsome young man, and, if clothes were any guide, a wealthy one as well. Carlucci smiled back. Before Jason could answer, Carlucci said, “That museum is our premier art institution. Are you an artist or studying art?”

“I’m studying the history of art, taking the year off to see where the best of it came from,” Jason answered the last question first, with a smile. “I’m American, in the middle of my college years at Princeton University. And, yes, I’m a tourist here. I just arrived today. I’m totally lost, and if you can point me in the direction of this Museo Poldi Pezzili and can tell me how to then get to the Museo del Novecente, I’d be very grateful.”

“I am a student too. Here in the Polytechnic University of Milan, and I think, if you are happy with me as a guide, we should find a café to sit in and talk about your itinerary before you start your journey through the city. Do you have someplace to stay tonight? You can’t see what there is to see in Milan in a day.”

“Yes, a café would be very nice, thank you. And, no I haven’t thought ahead to where to stay for the night. I can afford a hotel, I think. But you were going somewhere, weren’t you? I don’t want to keep you from where you needed to be.”

“I have no plans. Just a fitting. But I can do that some other time. Here, there’s a place nearby we can have a coffee and discuss what you want to see. I’ll be happy to guide you there.”

“A fitting?”

“Yes, I mostly pay for my college by modeling men’s fashions. Milan is the fashion capital of Italy, you know.”

Ah, that explained the expensive clothes, perfectly fit. Good genes explained the gorgeous body. “A model. I should have guessed,” Jason said. “You look like a model.”

“So do you,” Carlucci said, with an appreciative smile. “I’m sure it was your looks that made me notice that you needed help.”

“You notice men you find good looking?” Jason asked, beginning to determine if there was a fit here.

“Yes. It is a habit of models. Here, around the side of the train station, on the Via Giovanni Battista Sammartini, is a place we can get refreshment at—the 23 Club.”

“The Via Gio . . . my, that’s a mouthful. Is that the café up ahead? It looks closed.”

“It will be open for us,” Carlucci said when they were standing in front of the bar. “They will be open for coffee for me. I have rooms upstairs here—to go with my other job.”

“Your job as a fashion model?”

“No, another job than that.”

“But this looks like a gay club,” Jason said, looking over the poster boards on the front of the building façade.

“Yes, it is,” Carlucci said, turning and putting a hand on Jason’s cheek and touching the young man’s full lips with his thumb. “You mentioned having a mouthful as we approached. Your lips look very kissable. Or have I misjudged your preferences?”

“No, you haven’t misjudged,” Jason responded.

They went into the clutch, up against the wall, as soon as they entered the darkened club. They kissed and fondled. As they did so, Cristian managed to get them both unzipped and handed their cocks together, frotting them. The fondling went on for some time before Cristian laughed and pulled away.

“No one is taking the move. We are both submissives, aren’t we?” he said.

“Yes, apparently so,” Jason said. “So, you never top?”

“Not unless I’m being paid for it. And you?”

“I haven’t,” Jason said, with regret. Cristian seemed to see, appreciate, and share Jason’s regret, which took any sting there might have been out of the situation. “Sorry,”

“Don’t be sorry. We can still enjoy the day. You can still spend the night in my rooms upstairs, if you wish. I still am happy to welcome you to my city and to show it to you. Now, shall I turn on the lights and find some coffee for us? Bring your map over to one of those tables over there and we shall see what we shall see.”

They did manage to get to both museums and Sforza Castle. Cristian took Jason to a few art galleries too. In one of the private gallery rooms of the type of gallery Cristian took him to, they were standing in front of an art photograph enlargement of two young, athletic men having sex in an atmospheric setting with strategic shadows.

“It looks like an Emberto Ricci,” Jason said.

Cristian leaned over to looked in the bottom right corner of the art work. “It is. Do you know him?”

“Yes. I just visited him in Florence. Casually. We’re more acquaintances than friends.”

“Did you pose for him? You are as beautiful as either of these young men.”

“Yes, similar to that. And with that man there. That is Emberto’s young man, Mateo.”

“Did you let Mateo cover you like that for photographs?”

“Yes.”

“It looks like an interesting, exotic position.”

“It was.”

“Do you go with men casually?”

“When I find them handsome or intriguing. And when I find that they aren’t another submissive, as I am.” The two men laughed, remembering their fumbling earlier in the day.

“Interesting. You have told me that you would like to visit Lake Como while you are here. I don’t have an automobile, as I told you. But perhaps I can help you get there. If you are willing to be friendly with a man—a very sexy man—one who has a very nice Alfa Romeo sports car—I could make a call.”

“That sounds interesting,” Jason answered. “The positions he takes . . . are they—?”

“He is very inventive—and athletic.”

* * * *

“Is this your apartment?” Jason asked when they climbed two flights above the 23 Club. “It’s very nice. Very nicely decorated.”

“No. I live elsewhere. I said I had other work than the modeling. I work for a high-end escort agency. I go with men for them. If they haven’t determined we would go elsewhere for sex, this apartment was available. Does that disturb you?”

“No. I have no problem with that,” Jason answered.

“This is where I bring them if they don’t have somewhere they want to take me. The escort agency rents it and schedules it out. I make quite a lot of money with this work. You seem so loose with this, Jason. Are you a prostitute too?”

“No. But I go with whoever I want to.”

“I recruit for the agency too. The man I have called and who might be interested in driving you to Lake Como tonight is one of my bosses. His name is Giorgio. I thought that you, perhaps—”

“Would work for an escort agency?” Jason asked, and when Cristian nodded a yes, he said, “I don’t think I’d want to do it for money. I take men’s money to entertain me when it entertains them as well, but it would have to be my choice of men. I would want to be with the man—my choice—to be with him, not to make money from having sex with him. If he spent money on me while we were going to have sex, that would be fine. I’ve never really needed to make money—to open my legs to men to be able to survive and pay my bills—not that I have any problem with those who do. But the men I let fuck me is by my choice based on wanting to have sex with them.”

“I don’t really see the difference. But that is the bell for this apartment. Giorgio must be here now.”

* * * *

Until they got into the sex, Jason was charmed with Cristian’s friend, Giorgio, and would have found it hard to believe that the man, in his early thirties, muscular, good-looking, and as well and expensively dressed as Cristian was, was a pimp and recruiter for an escort agency. He knew the art world—and wines—being glib with Jason on art and fascinating in what he could impart on wines. He literally talked the pants off Jason as they sat on the sofa, with Cristian in a chair across from them, contributing to the talk but not to the sexual seduction, drinking wine and smiling with them.

The more wine they drank and deeper the conversation sank into the art Jason and Cristian had seen and studied that day, the more comfortable they got with each other and the more free Giorgio was in touching and fondling and moving close to—and eventually more or less on top of Jason.

Forty-five minutes after Giorgio entered the apartment, Jason was reclining into the corner of the sofa, back against the arm, his right leg running along the bottom cushion line, and his left leg bent, his toe on the carpet in front of the sofa. Giorgio was nearly reclining on top of Jason, his lips on Jason’s throat. At forty-eight minutes and forty seconds, they were in a deep lip lock and Giorgio was unzipping Jason’s trousers with his right hand. Twenty seconds after that they were still kissing and Jason’s hard cock was being aired and Giorgio was slow stroking it.

At that point Giorgio suspended the progress of what undoubtedly was going to be a fuck long enough to check the scoring. “Cristian says you want to go to Lake Como.”

“Yes,” Jason answered. “I was told there were some places I really needed to see there since I was in this part of Italy.”

“In Bellagio?” Giorgio asked.

“Most of the places are in or near that, yes.”

“I could take you there tonight. There’s a party on the lake near Bellagio. But you’d have to do some stuff for me in exchange.”

Jason didn’t answer, but they both knew Giorgio would tell him what Jason would have to do and Jason was busy panting and coming close to hyperventilating. Giorgio was an expert. He was working Jason’s cock like a master, bringing him close to release but backing him off only to build him up again. and his lips were all over the young man’s throat and lips. Jason was being held down by sculpted muscles of pure, tanned sexiness, and his body knew it and was shuddering from the attention. Giorgio took his hand off Jason’s cock long enough to guide the young man’s left hand to his crotch, where Giorgio had already unzipped himself and flared his trousers. He wasn’t wearing briefs. He put Jason’s hand on his cock and moved his own hand back to Jason’s cock.

“You have to be at the party tonight as a player—as a bedding partner—talent—for some of our best clients.”

“I understand,” Jason whispered.

“Before I can show up with you, I have to know if you can perform and deliver.”

“I understand,” Jason repeated in a murmur.

“Showtime,” Giorgio declared. He smoothly pulled Jason’s T-shirt off his torso and his trousers and briefs down and off. Jason was naked other than his socks. Giorgio rose from the sofa, pulled his clothes off and posed so Jason could see what he was going to get and could gasp, which the young man did.

Giorgio came back on top of Jason and kissed and licked his way down the young man’s torso and into his bush. He spent time preparing Jason by sucking his cock and balls and, bending Jason’s knees up into his stomach, rolling Jason’s pelvis up and eating him out—opening the young man’s passage. Within seconds of coming for Giorgio, what Jason was going to get of the older man’s shaft he was getting in the throat. He was draped further over the arm of the sofa, his head arced back, and Giorgio was standing behind him, feeding his cock into Jason’s mouth, massaging the young man’s throat to feel how the cock was working inside him with one hand, and gliding his other hand around on Jason’s chest and belly, giving him nipple play.

When he was fully engorged, Giorgio hauled Jason up, put the young man over his shoulder, and carried him into the bedroom. When Cristian had finished his wine, he stood and walked to the door between the living area and the bedroom and leaned up against the frame, watching Giorgio fuck Jason. What he could see was Giorgio crouching over the foot of the bed, the view of him from the back magnificent, with heavily muscled biceps and shoulder muscles, his torso tapering down to a relatively narrow waist and then flaring out to bulbous glutes and then down to muscular legs. V’ing out from the man’s clutching and releasing buttocks cheeks, were Jason’s slender, lighter-colored legs, spread and raised at an enticing angle, toes pointed. Jason was babbling the song of the well fucked.

Cristian wondered if Giorgio could work his magic again and then laughed as he watched Jason’s legs come down to wrap themselves around Giorgio’s waist and the young man’s hands come around to clutch at Giorgio’s shoulder blades. The older man’s thrusting increased in intensity and the two on the bed were colliding violently.

“Yesss. Fuck, you’re big! Give it to me! GIVE IT TO ME!” he heard Jason cry out as Giorgio gave it to him.

Cristian watched for a couple of minutes more and then turned and went into the kitchen to prepare a dinner for three.

He was humming, but he couldn’t drown out the cries from the bedroom—“Shit. Fuccck! You’re killing me. Yessss! Oh, God, you’re in so deep”—even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t. Giorgio indeed was working his magic. The new guy Cristian had found and brought to Giorgio was a real honey, and he knew how to take it and how to express his appreciation for getting it. He’d be a goldmine if he agreed to sign on with the escort agency. There was a finder’s fee for recruiting new talent, and this guy was just so sexy—and he seemed ripe for it,

An hour and a half later, Giorgio and Jason were zooming along northward in a 2019 Alfa Romeo 4C sports roadster on the hour-and-forty-minute drive toward Bellagio on Lake Como. Giorgio had been pleased enough with Jason to offer him an escort agency contract on the spot. Jason had seemed coy about the possibilities of signing one, mumbling something about needing to go on to Venice after this, but his mind was actually too muddled from a masterful fuck to think straight about much of anything.

A bit of concern was pressing in on his mind, but he couldn’t figure out why. Yes, this was more than he’d gotten into before, but this had been his choice, and although they’d been talking prostitution, he’d remained above that. What he’d let Giorgio take was just in exchange for being able to see Lake Como—as was anything that happened at this party they were going to. Wasn’t it?

* * * *

The longest Jason got to be in Bellagio was the few minutes it took for Giorgio, at a bit after 11:00 p.m. that night, to nose the Alfa Romeo into a left turn onto the Via Degli Acquaroli road at the base of the peninsula into Lake Como that Bellagio occupied. He was heading west to the shores of the finger lake, turning south again along the shoreline. After a couple of miles, he turned into a drive with high brick columns on either side and an open double iron gate, manned on either side by thug-looking men with machine guns.

The Alfa Romeo was waved through the open gates, and Giorgio, obviously knowing where he was going, drove down a short drive lined with funeral Cypresses toward a large, Italianate structure set just above the rock riprap margin leading down to the lake. At the turning circle in front of the three-story mansion, all lit up at this hour with music and the sound of men-only conversation emanating from it, Giorgio turned right into a parking area stuffed with expensive-looking cars and surrounded by a high brick wall. He came to a halt, motioned Jason out of the car, and, when a valet appeared at Giorgio’s door, said, “Non c'è bisogno. Resterò solo pochi minuti.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked, as he drove on toward a parking apron. “I told him I didn’t need valet parking—that I’d only stay a here a few minutes,” Giorgio answered.

They were met at the front door of the mansion by a male “madam,” statuesque, quite heavy, and quite heavily made up, in a gold Japanese kimono. The flamboyant man himself was some form of Asian. He was perhaps in his late forties and much more “interesting” in appearance than attractive. He certainly was attention getting.

“This is Niccolo,” Giorgio told Jason. “He will take care of you from here.”

“Giorgio, chi è questa bellezza che mi hai portato? Sarà uno dei preferiti. Vieni, lascia che ti presenti degli uomini. Fai quello che vogliono,” Niccolo said.

“Jason non parla italiano, Niccolo. È un Americano,” Giorgio responded. “Uno studente d'arte, che viaggia da solo. È molto rinfrescante e molto sottomesso.” I have told Niccolo you are a university art student, traveling from America, Jason. He has complimented your beauty, and has told you to mingle with the men here and give them whatever they want. It is what you contracted for in my bringing you to Lake Como.

Jason didn’t think of it as a contract, but what he asked was, “Is this a male brothel, Giorgio?”

“Ah, a young American,” Niccolo said, in English, breaking in and taking Jason by the arm, pulling him into the foyer of the building, with its grand staircase leading up to the second level and beyond. Jason could see that the public rooms on the first floor were crowded with men—older men standing close to younger men, each with glasses in their hands, each close enough for intimate touching. Small groups of men continued up the staircase. “Giorgio tells us that you wish to experience the delights of the lake and that you will be spending the night with us. He also said you were a submissive to men and quite casual about it. You are a beautiful young man and will be a favorite here.”

Yes, this was a male brothel, Jason thought, as Niccolo drew him into the foyer. Jason looked around, half thinking he was getting in over his head and of asking Giorgio to take him back to Milan. But Giorgio already was gone.

Resolved, still, if a bit shakily, he was convinced he could handle this, although it was a bit more challenging than where he had ever gone before. Jason allowed himself to be drawn into a large lounge, given a drink, and introduced into a group of smiling, older, and expensively dressed men. He was going to be fucked. He had accepted that much. This was still in the realm of his choice, not really being a prostitute. Wasn’t it? He was, by all accounts, in a male brothel, with young male prostitutes scattered about the rooms and older men clients ogling, touching, and taking them upstairs. That was them, not Jason. He was here short term, trading sex for travel movement and experiences. That wasn’t the same at all as selling his body for money.

As Jason was shown from group to group and shown off, he first sensed and then observed that he was being watched from across the room by a satyr-like, dark, swarthy man in his fifties, who was staring at him, making him feel that the man was undressing him with his eyes and would be interested in laying him on a table right here in the crowd and do so as the other men watched. The other men, indeed, seemed to give him deference and Niccolo went to him from time to time to whisper something before he went off. Most of the other men—the patrons—in the rooms were dressed elegantly, some even in tuxedos. The man watching—more glowering—at Jason with dark, piercing eyes, stood out in dress. He was wearing tight black-leather trousers, over black leather boots, with a billowy, loose white cotton shirt over it. The shirt was open almost down to the navel, revealing a swarthy, muscular torso, with a black leather harness criss-crossing it. The man achieved the appearance of both malevolence and sexiness. The man’s eyes followed Jason up the stairs when he was ascending them under the guidance of a tall, gaunt man, in a priest’s cassock.

A half hour later, Jason was bent over a bed on the second floor, the priest standing close behind him, his cassock unbuttoned and flaring, his claws grasping Jason’s hips, as he fucked the young man in a doggy position. The man who had been ogling Jason brazenly opened the door to the bedroom after the priest had Jason in position and started fucking him and lounged against the doorframe for several minutes, watching the coupling. At some point he withdrew, and when Jason and the now-robed priest came back downstairs, the satyr-like man was nowhere to be seen.

Another half hour later Jason was on the third floor of the mansion—the upper two floors housing bedrooms. He had been guided up there by two men this time. He was straddling one older, somewhat overweight man, Paolo by name, he’d said, who has lying on his back on the bed. Jason was on top of him, facing him, his palms pressed to the man’s meaty pecs, and riding Paolo’s cock. Jason had come upstairs with two men. The other was taller, thinner, and even older than Paolo. He’d introduced himself as Roberto. He seemed the richer and more cultured of the two and was sitting by the bed, as naked as the other two, drinking brandy from a snifter, stroking his cock with the other hand, and quite attentively watching Jason ride Paolo’s cock.

At length, though, the brandy drained, Roberto placed the snifter on a small table, climbed up onto the bed behind Jason, reached around Jason to palm the young man’s belly with one hand, and placed the bulb of his erection at Jason’s hole above where Paolo’s shaft was buried. Jason cried out and writhed as Roberto penetrated him. Paolo lay still, his hands holding Jason steady at the waist, while Roberto, palming Jason’s pecs, took his turn fucking Jason, Paolo’s cock still buried in Jason’s hole. Jason had never been doubled before.

Jason was being doubled now. Once again the satyr-like man in black leather showed up in the doorway to lean into the frame and watch Jason being doubled. And once again, when the fuck was over, the man was gone.

The young man was woozy from drink when Paolo and Roberto fucked him in the third-floor bedroom of the brothel. It had helped keeping him loose and able to take the two cocks. When they left him, they left a nearly full bottle of scotch, which he finished off and drifted off into a liquor-induced, gut-pained stupor.

Jason didn’t wake until morning, and only did so then when Niccolo, the heavy Chinese madam, rolled over on top of him in a different bed—Niccolo’s own bed—coaxed Jason’s legs open, and, pressing Jason almost immobile to the mattress with his weight, penetrated and fucked him.

“Tomasso will take you back to the other room, where you can shower and dress,” Niccolo said when he rolled off Jason. “You did very well last night. Roberto spoke highly of you and wants to use you again.”

“I’m here to see a few things at Lake Como—like the silk museum,” Jason said. “Then I want to go on to Venice.”

As if he hadn’t heard him, Niccolo said, “The barrage will take you to The Glass House near Colico this morning. I will meet you down at the dock to see you off.”

“The Glass House?” Jason asked, but Niccolo had already left the room.

After showering and dressing, Jason was accompanied down to the dock by a burly man who didn’t smile and obviously was not to be toyed with. Niccolo was at the dock. Two men—obviously other passengers, as denoted by their expensive clothes—were seated in the barge.

“You did very well last night. I was right that you will be a favorite.” Niccolo said.

Will be? Jason thought.

“You have earned this,” Niccolo said, extending a wad of high-denomination euro bills.

“Sorry, I can’t take that,” Jason said, holding up his palms, not accepting the money. “I don’t do it for pay. I’m not a prostitute. I just made a deal for transportation here. Giorgio will be picking me up again this evening, I think—after I’ve toured Bellagio.”

Niccolo laughed, and as the thug who had brought Jason out of the mansion turned him to the barge, Niccolo stuffed the money in Jason’s pocket. “That’s not the way it is going work, dear,” the man said as the barge moved away from the dock.

Jason sat between the two men in the barge. They introduced themselves as Renzo and Emilio. They were both beautiful, beefed-up body builders with magnificent, muscular bodies. As the barge moved northeast on the northern finger of Lake Como, the two men touched, kissed, and fondled Jason’s body. By the time they docked at The Glass House, Jason was reclining between the two men. All of them had their cocks out of their flies. The two men were sharing Jason’s lips and each had a hand wrapped around the young man’s cock, and Jason had a cock in each hand.

Across from them, sitting and watching them, ensuring that Jason was behaving himself with the house clients, was the serious-aspected thug who had become Jason’s babysitter.

Although it was very arousing to him, this had not been Jason’s choice. He couldn’t pretend that he had chosen this—or that he didn’t have money in exchange for sex in his pocket.

* * * *

As they drew close to The Glass House, the two men who had been working on Jason, Renzo and Emilio, withdrew their hands from him and started readjusting their clothing. Jason looked along the shore of the lake and saw it, a structure unlike anything else on the lakeshore, jutting out over the rocks as if it was floating above the water. It was a cube, two stories of glass walling on a rock-walled base at a point of land that projected into the water. All of the walls, both exterior and interior, were of glass. One small, landward section on the second floor was glass brick, presumably where the bathrooms were, but otherwise the building was completely transparent, leading the eye back to a mound of earth on the landward side of it, protecting it from the lake rim road. This was arrestingly different from the classical architecture of most other buildings and villages on the lakeshore.

“That’s stunning,” Jason exclaimed. “So open, revealing everything inside.”

“Not so open,” Renzo, one of the men beside him, said. “It has its secrets.”

“I wonder—” Jason started to say.

“You won’t wonder for long. That’s where we’re headed. The Glass House,” Renzo said.

“It’s fantastic. Just seeing this has made my trip to Lake Como worthwhile. But headed there? Why?”

“Why, because that’s where Renzo and I are going to fuck you—for all the world to see and appreciate,” Emilio chimed in. “The other boats are already beginning to form.” And, indeed, several small yachts and speedboats were gathering in that part of the lake.

“The house belongs to Vincenzio Attacun,” Renzo said. “He’s a shipping magnate in the Eastern Mediterranean, who is half Turkish and half Italian. He rents it out for a select clientele of those with particular needs. He owns the brothel you came from and the privately used hotel there, directly across the lake.”

“I’m not connected with the brothel,” Jason said, but the men weren’t listening to him. The barge had reached the dock of The Glass House, and the three men were manhandling Jason along the dock across the driveway and into a door in the rock wall the two stories of glass rested on. Garage doors were at the left of the door, under the mound of hill that divided the house from the rim road.

Renzo and Emilio stripped into the rock-walled foyer and undressed Jason there as well. They guided him up a sun-drenched staircase into the two stories of glass above. He was given a short tour of the living, dining, and kitchen area on the first floor, with all partitions being clear glass and the furniture white and low-silhouetted and then the upstairs, two bedrooms, each with a glass-block walled bath set toward the landside hill, the glass opaque enough to cloud up detail but translucent enough to allow light through and to see figures.

After a cursory display, the two muscular and hung hunks took Jason over to the master bedroom wall facing and floating over the lake. Several more boats had gathered out there and Jason could see that men were on the decks, with binoculars—binoculars trained on the master bedroom of The Glass House.

Before he knew it, Emilio had snapped velvet-lined cuffs on Jason’s wrists. The two men stood away from each other at the window then, with Jason between them, and they started propelling the young, naked man between them, getting rough with him. They slapped him and tossed him and grabbed at his balls and squeezed, and pulled him to them for rough kisses on the lips and fists to the chests. He bounced between them like a beach ball, confused and frustrated as the two men worked themselves up into very visible and huge erections. The men in the boats followed this play with their binoculars.

Jason staggered and would have fallen, but the two men came close together, holding Jason between them, and kept him upright with their hands.

It was showtime. Renzo, behind Jason, encircled the young man with his arms, lifted Jason’s body up, and when he settled it down, Jason gave a gasp and a groan. He was being skewered on Renzo’s long, thick cock. In front of Jason, Emilio was grasping the young man’s legs and raising and spread them. The beefy Italian nestled himself between Jason’s spread legs, put his cock into position at Jason’s hole above Renzo’s already-buried cock and, as Jason panted and cried out, Emilio worked his cock in above Renzo’s, and the two men were double fucking Jason in a standing double penetration.

Jason had handled his first double penetration the previous night. He was able, writhing and crying out, to handle this one as well, performed in the glass cube floating above Lake Como. As Renzo and Emilio fucked Jason between them, the barge that had brought them here maneuvered between the boats below where men were training their binoculars on The Glass House and stroking themselves and the thug who had guarded Jason in the lake journey collected the “watcher” fees.

Later, as Jason lay panting on the white-clad king-sized bed in The Glass House master bedroom, the boats on the lake below were dispersing, and as Renzo and Emilio, clothed once more, were boarding the black barge en route to who knows where, the bodyguard entered the room. From the bed, Jason had watched the morose man ascend the stairs from below—the floors of the house were transparent acrylic as well.

“Now I take you to Vincenzio and you discover the secrets of this house,” the bodyguard said, the first complete sentences he’d had ever said to Jason.

The secrets of the house? The house was all glass, as transparent and open as you could get—the sex performance Jason had just been part of emphasized the openness of the house.

But about Vincenzio, Jason had an inkling—and his surmise had been correct. Standing in the rock-walled foyer on the ground floor of the house, wearing just what had been under his clothes of the previous night—thigh-high black leather boots and a black leather harness on his chest—otherwise naked and in full erection—and flicking a riding crop against the leather of his boot, looking malevolent, satyr-like, and foxy sexy all at the same time, stood the man who stood out at the previous night’s party at the Bellagio brothel and whose eyes had lustfully followed Jason about the room.

So, this was the owner of The Glass House, but what was the house’s secret? Jason immediately found out. Vincenzio led him into the rock-walled ground floor under the glass cube, the foundation of the building. In stark contrast to the transparency of the house above, this was a medieval chamber of rock floor, walls, and ceiling, with only horizontal, barred slit windows high on the walls.

Vincenzio bound Jason, extended wrists and ankles, to a St. Andrew’s cross, facing the rock wall, and lightly beat him with the riding crop on the bare back, buttocks, and thighs, pulling in close to bring his hands around and give the young man tit play as he brought his mouth to Jason’s ear and said, “Just a taste now, I don’t want to damage the goods. You have appointments back in Bellagio for tonight.”

“I’m not one of your boys,” Jason responded. “You have me wrong. I’m on my way to Venice. Last night was just to pay Giorgio back for bringing me to the lake.”

“You most certainly are one of my boy’s now, and I want to know what you will do for a patron. I don’t think you’ll ever see Venice.”

With that, he placed a hand on Jason’s belly, jutted the young man’s hips back, mounted and penetrated him, and fucked him hard.

After fucking him there, Vincenzio took an exhausted and thoroughly cowed Jason off the X-frame and carried him to the back corner of the chamber, where he dropped him on his back in a black leather sling suspended from the ceiling by chains. Jason’s buttocks were set on the front edge of the sling, and Vincenzio bound his wrists and ankles high up on the four chains suspending the sling.

There, Jason watched in horror as a grinning Vincenzio greased up his right hand and then the young man writhed and cried out in frustration, pain, and to his surprise and chagrin, in arousal and a dancing-on-the-clouds sensation of supreme sexual release and satisfaction, as the satyr took a half hour to work his hand into Jason’s channel and fist fuck him while he jacked Jason off with his greased left hand. Jason had never had such a high-arcing complete release as this gave him. Laughing, Vincenzio pulled his hand out, moved into position, grabbed Jason’s hips, penetrated him, and fucked him to his own second release.

This, most definitely, had not been by Jason’s choice. He had never contemplated ever doing anything like this. It shocked and disturbed him, though, that somewhere in the center of all that humiliation, enslavement, and pain, he had experienced sexual pleasure and release that had never spiraled him so far into the heavens.

* * * *

The house had yet another secret. Behind the garage, under the earthen mound between the house and the road, was located another bedroom and bath, no doubt meant as servant’s quarters. Here there were a couple of double beds, each with leather leads and restraints leading from the four bedposts and also dropping from the ceiling at the head and foot of the bed.

It was here that Vincenzio took Jason, laying him on his back, binding him to one of the beds by wrists and ankles, and leaving him there, with a terse, “Again, later,” as he looked up at the restraints hanging from the ceiling, “and then back to Bellagio for your evening appointments.” Jason heard Vincentia talking to the bodyguard in the foyer, telling the man to drive him somewhere. Jason heard the garage door go up, a car being pulled out, and the garage door lowering again. And then nothing . . . silence.

The restraints on the bed were meant for sex, not sure imprisonment. A bit of pain and persistence and Jason was out of them, in the foyer, putting on his clothes that had been left there, folded on a chair, and was out the door and onto the road. He could see a lakeside village off the east and that’s the direction he walked. He was still groggy and shaky though, and thirsty. He stopped at a lakeside café for a coffee and to gather his faculties and plan his escape from there. There was a newspaper on the café table and he picked it up to look at the photos and pull himself together. What he saw on page 3 took his mind to the previous evening.

And there, walking past the café, beside the lake, was the very man of the photo.

“Roberto?” Jason called out. “Or is it Alonzo? Judge Alonzo Kardi?”

The tall, middle-aged, distinguished-looking man who was passing by on the pedestrian walkway between the covered outdoor area of the café and the shore of Lake Como did a double take when he heard his name called. He clearly recognized who Jason was when he turned to see who had called him by the name. He hesitated but only until it sank in that Jason had called him by his real name as well. He walked over to the table, looking resigned, and sat down.

“You,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you again until this evening.”

So, Jason now knew who at least one of his appointments at the brothel in Bellagio was to have been this evening. Roberto, the reticent, yet authoritative figure from the previous evening who had sat off to the side and watched but had eventually saddled up to Jason and participated in a double penetration fuck, was also a judge.

“Nor I you,” Jason answered.

“How did you learn who I was? Are you going to blackmail me?”

“I just learned, by chance.” Jason showed the judge the photograph of him in the newspaper.

“Ah, I suppose it wouldn’t be a good idea to meet in Bellagio this evening,” Kardi said. He was looking increasingly miserable as the situation sank him. He’d sent many a man to prison for engaging in the behavior he’d done the previous evening.

“I guess not. I’m not employed at that—that place—we met last night. I’m just an American tourist touring Italy. I just want to get to my next destination.”

“And where’s that?” Judge Kardi asked, looking a bit more hopeful then.

“I don’t think you want to know. But do you have a car here? Can you take me back to Milan? If so, I could travel on from there and none of this need ever be mentioned to anyone again. You’d never see or hear from me again. After a few days I wouldn’t even be in Italy any longer.”

This gave the man confidence. “Yes, certainly. I can drive you to Milan. That’s where I come from and there’s no reason to remain here for tonight now. But I’m not sure I wouldn’t want to see you again. I was looking forward to tonight. We could do tonight in Milan.”

Jason almost laughed. The man had just been viewing his career—and maybe his life—finished for what a few minutes later he was still saying he wanted to do. Well, OK then.

“I am not with the brothel in Bellagio,” Jason said, “But I could spend the night with you in Milan. It would cost you, though.”

“How much?” Judge Kardi asked, brightening up. Such negotiations were routine with him.

Jason named a price—a high-end prostitute’s price. He would be making the choice once again, but maybe he should rethink this prostitution angle. Maybe Cristian had been right. Maybe there wasn’t a difference between doing it for favors and doing it for money.

What was important was that Vincenzio had not been correct—and Jason shuddered at the thought of the satyr who had used him so fully, and his thoughts were all negative. Jason was going to get to Venice after all.

 

To be continued.