The Hottest Restaurant in Albania

The  Hottest Restaurant in Albania

 When Dritan Faja turned 18, his slender, stylish grandmother, Flutura, took him to dinner at Venezia, one of the best restaurants in Shkodra, Albania. She ordered a bottle of Veuve Cliquot to celebrate. They clinked glasses, toasting the happy occasion.

Then Flutura broke the news to him: Dritan had to get a job. He could still stay in her big apartment in the center of town until he got on his feet, but everything else was up to him. Dritan’s ears started to ring. He didn’t know how to do anything except play with his Xbox and watch TV.

“What kind of job can I get?” he asked.

Flutura raised Dritan and loved him, but she knew he was lazy and unfocussed. She didn’t care that he was gay; she figured that out when she first saw him in in the nursery. He was a beautiful blond baby and now he was a beautiful boy, but there were limited career paths for beautiful, lazy boys in Albania.

She looked around Venezia’s tasteful pastel dining room. All the waiters were young and handsome in their snappy black and white. Even the bus boys were fetching. One of them scooped up their salad plates and walked away. Flutura pointed at him.

“That’s a busboy. Do you think you can do that?”

Dritan shrugged. Flutura marched into the kitchen and when she returned to the table she said, “You have an interview with the manager tomorrow.”

It was just after noon, early for Dritan, but Grandmother Flutura had insisted he not be late. He stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, staring himself down. He finger-fucked his thick sandy hair. and admired his hairless chest and his ribbed abs. He was lean, 5’10 and weighed 160 and standing there naked gave him a boner.  No time to do anything about it.

He put on this best white shirt and a new pair of black pants that covered his ass like a glove. His ass was a thing a beauty and he knew it: high, round and eye-catching. It bounced when he walked. Each perfect butt cheek seemed to spring with a spirit of its own. It was the kind of ass that made you want to do something; whistle at it, hoot at it, kiss it, munch it or fuck it.

He had a 3 p.m. appointment with Kreshnik, the manager. When he got to  the restaurant, he hesitated and sat on a bench across the street. What is a bus boy? He googled it on his phone. Alec Baldwin and Bradley Cooper had been bus boys. If they could do it, so could he. 

He stood, finger-fucked his hair again, squared his shoulders and crossed the street. He had been told to go in through the alley, past the dumpster and through the kitchen door.

The kitchen was steamy and fragrant with spices; the chef and sous chef were busy prepping for dinner. They were both about 30, beefy and dark with long hair tucked under their caps and tattoos on their thick arms. The three dishwashers were dark, wiry teenagers. Dritan asked for Kreshnik and got five glum nods to a black steel door in the corner.

He knocked.

“Wait!” a gruff voice shouted from inside. Dritan waited. One minute. Two minutes.

Kreshnik held the door open and motioned to enter. He was a big man in his forties with a big stomach and a fat cigar in his mouth. His hair was dark and curly and he had a thick mustache. He locked the door behind him and sat behind his big metal desk. He indicated with a wave that Dritan should stand in the center of the room.  His dark eyes lit up.

“Ever work in a restaurant?” Kreshnik asked and puffed on a fat cigar. 

 “No.” 

“You are eighteen?” Another puff of cigar smoke. 

“Yes.”

Dritan got the job.

Busing tables didn’t require a lot of brain power, but Dritan had to be on his toes, clearing tables, setting tables, getting water, putting out bread and condiments and answering questions. The restaurant was busy every night and the waiters made good tips. It would be two months before they would share a small portion of their tips with him.

The waiters and other bus boys were cool to him. He couldn’t figure out how to crack their code. The two burly chefs were cool to him too. Every evening before dinner service they made a big delicious pot of pasta and meat for the staff supper. When Dritan held out his plate he got a blank stares and a small scoop of pasta but no meat. Dritan sat in a corner, near the dishwashers, and ate alone.

Everywhere he went in the restaurant, Dritan was followed by a cloud of smoke. He would get the whiff and there was Kreshnik, studying him and puffing on his cigar. Was he doing something wrong? He carried a bus pan full of dirty dishes from the dining room to the kitchen and left it by the dishwasher. A puff of smoke. Kreshnik tapped him on the shoulder.

“Come to my office.” Dritan followed.

Kreshnik waved Dritan into the center of the room and locked the door behind them. Then, he lit a big new cigar as he settled behind his desk.

“Do you like it here?” Kreshnik asked.

 Dritan nodded.

“Good. Good. Now I want you to turn around. Slowly.”

Dritan complied. Do bus boys have to do a lot of turning around?

“Hmmmm. Again.” Kreshnik commanded. He reached behind him to a box of cloth napkins. He took one, waved it at Dritan and threw it into the center of the room.

“Pick that up!” Kreshnik barked and then added, “Nice and slow.”

Dritan understood instantly. This was a show. Good. He made his butt cheeks jiggle as he bent over. When he faced Kreshnik again, the fat man had a satisfied smile on his face and sucked on his cigar like it was a Popsicle. Dritan’s ass twitched.

“Again. Please,” Kreshnik said in a gentler tone.

Dritan turned around even more slowly and jiggled his cheeks again. 

“Very nice.” Another puff of smoke. “I like the way you do that.” 

“Thank you.”

“How much do you want to keep this job?” Kreshnik asked. He put one stout leg on his desk and rubbed his crotch where there was the outline of a short, very fat cock with a giant head on it.

Dritan shrugged. He didn’t really want the job, but he needed it.

He looked at the pictures on the desk: a fat woman with blonde hair, two chubby boys with glasses. He heard the clang of pots in the kitchen outside.

“I want to make money," he said. "More money.” 

“How much?"  Kreshnik exhaled more smoke.

Dritan shrugged again. Now what?

Kreshnik tossed a 20 lek coin on the desk and smiled at Dritan. Dritan looked down at the coin and when he looked up again Kreshnik’s fat cock was out. Its head was enormous.

The man was ugly, but the cock was beautiful and pink. He pushed himself away from the desk and nodded at Dritan; down to the big cock and then a tilt of the head to come over.

Dritan approached, picked up the money and when Kreshnik nodded, down, Dritan got on his knees and shuffled the few feet to the fat cock. His green eyes were locked on Kreshnik’s black eyes.

He wanted him to know, I am doing this for you, sir. I want the money. You are very lucky.

Kreshnik wavered momentarily then with a nod, agreed to the implied terms, He leaned back and puffed on his cigar.  Its stench was intoxicating. Come and get it, pretty boy.

Dritan put his mouth on the cock. He struggled to get the whole head in — it was an enjoyable struggle. Kreshnik sighed with pleasure. Good.

It was just the right size to keep in his mouth, tongue it a little and move gently up and down. He pulled Kreshnik’s pants down over his fat, hairy thighs to his thick ankles. His balls were pink, tight and fuzzy. It was easy to go all the way down to them.

Kreshnik ran his fingers through Dritan’s silky, sandy hair.  Dritan shuddered. It felt nice. It felt like he owned Kreshnik and he liked that feeling. He cupped the fat man’s tight balls in his hand, and felt the juices grumbling inside them. Dritan lifted his head to get some air and Kreshnik gasped. He tenderly touched Dritan’s cheek and did his version of a smile: gratitude.

Dritan went back to work. He wanted everything this fat man and his fat cock had to give. This fat cock that filled his fat wife. This fat cock that shot baby-making, life-giving juice. Dritan wanted every drop of that juice.

Kreshnik whimpered like a pony and the juices leaked out of the big head. Dritan drank them down and wanted more. He looked up at Kreshnik’s face. His eyes were closed and he was in a happy trance, whimpering.

Dritan owned him.

The first shot hit the back of Dritan’s throat, surprising him. He didn’t gag.  The cock was just the right size so that he could enhance the juice spasms with his surprisingly nimble tongue. More baby juice and then more.

Dritan heard himself groaning as he gulped.  Down below, his pretty cock was shooting his own boy juice into his briefs and through to his new black pants. He went cum-blind between the two loads gushing into and out of him.

The tide of Kreshnik’s giant load was ebbing and his cock relaxed. Dritan kept it in his mouth.  Its girth was satisfying, like a big fat, salty lollipop. He stayed that way for a long time. He was happy.

Kreshnik brought Dritan into his office several days later, for special coaching and a financial incentives program behind the locked door. He had Dritan get naked when he sucked him off. The beautiful body kneeling before him; the remarkable ass in the air, the smoky green eyes looking up at him. Kreshnik was a goner.  He came up behind Dritan and rubbed his stiff, fat meat against and around the boy’s tight pink hole. Nice, very nice.

He put down his cigar, spit on his cock and slowly, gently, wedged the swollen head into Dritan’s quivering boy hole. Then he stood still and let Dritan ease himself onto the stout, throbbing pole. Soon its width and length popped all the way into him with a satisfying squeak. It was a perfect fit.

Kreshnik pulled out, cleared away the family photos and lay Dritan on his back on the desk with a tablecloth underneath him. Spread out before the sexy fat man, his perfect legs on Kreshnik’s shoulders, Dritan showed off his tight, pink fuck hole.

Kreshnik poked at it with his big cock head before he plunged in and rocked Dritan with his thick sausage. Kreshnik liked seeing the boy’s pretty cock get hard while he got fucked. Dritan discovered that if he pinched Kreshnik’s nipples, it made that thick sausage even harder and thicker.

He liked laying back and having the sexy fat man plow into him. The girth of his tool and its strokes hit him in just the right spot.  He discovered that If he squeezed his ass just the right way and arched his body, he could have a joyous hands-free orgasm which made Kreshnik shoot his baby juice into his hungry ass.

The two brawny cooks watched as Dritan entered Kreshnik’s office all bright and shiny, and left rumpled, with his shirt buttoned wrong. They nudged each other as Dritan’s butt cheeks bounced away from them; that was Grade A Rump Roast and they knew just how to season it.

Fatos  and  Fisnik looked like  brothers,  but they were cousins from the northern mountains where the rugged tribes resisted the Ottoman Empire. Their big hairy chests burst out of their tunics and their long, dark hair was tucked under hair nets and caps on the job. Their big asses filled out their cook’s pants and their bulbous country packages flopped around in those pants like trout in a net.

One afternoon as Dritan squeezed out of the office, Fatos and Fisnik stopped him. They stood on either side of him, their massive arms around his shoulders. They reeked of garlic, oregano, testosterone and good honest sweat. It made Dritan a little dizzy.

“Talk to us, pretty boy. We don’t know anything about you,” Fatos said. Fisnik put Dritan in a headlock and mussed his hair.

"What do you want to know?" Dritan said, from within the squeeze.

Fisnik brought his nose close to Dritan's exposed throat and sniffed deeply. "Hmmm…You smell like sex, you bad boy,” Fisnik said. He patted Dritan’s sore ass.

The cousins led Dritan to the alley and stood next to the dumpster.  They were side by side, with their arms over each other’s shoulders. They took off their caps and their long dark hair spilled out and made them look instantly younger and softer.

“Get on your knees, pretty boy,” Fatos said. Dritan smiled and looked deeply into their faces.

“I will do this," he said. "I am happy to … BUT, I want more food on my plate. And meat.”

Fatos and Fisnik nodded slowly. Dritan got on his knees.

“Now," he said. "Let’s see about this meat.”

He tugged down their zippers and pulled out their cocks. Fatos was hard and big. Fisnik was halfway there, so Dritan took his hefty, rosy rod in his hand and massaged it. He ran it across his eyebrows, tickled it with flickering eyelashes.   He rubbed it across the bridge of his perfect nose and then across his lips.

Now, it was hard. He put it in his mouth and sucked. Fisnik’s pubic hair crackled and smelled of olive oil, basil and man funk. Fisnik’s knees buckled. He had his head on Fatos’ shoulder and he nuzzled his cousin’s neck.

Fatos kissed the top of his cousin’s head, as he stroked his own cock and then nudged it toward Dritan. Dritan wrapped his free hand around it and stroked it.     The shaft was thick and the head was small and pretty. His other hand cupped Fisnik’s big balls.  They tightened in his grip.

Dritan let Fisnik’s meat slide out of his mouth and the cook gasped as his glistening cock pulsed in the air. He put Fatos’ cockhead in his mouth and ran his tongue around it. He inched his mouth down the solid shaft going as far down as he could.

Fatos clamped a big paw on Dritan’s head and tried to push it down further, but he gagged. He kept the substantial and satisfying shaft where it was and let his nimble tongue run up and down its length.

Dritan was being pulled to his feet. It was Fisnik. He unbuttoned Dritan’s  shirt, undid his belt, pulled down his pants and his briefs in one move. Dritan watched as Fisnik carefully folded his clothes and left them in a neat pile on the dumpster lid. He slipped off Dritan’s shoes and put them on the dumpster, then he pulled off one of Dritan’s black socks, sniffed it and put it in his pocket.

Dritan looked at him quizzically. Fisnik put a finger to his lips.

Fisnik turned Dritan around, his head toward Fatos pulsing shaft. Dritan put it back in his mouth. Then Fisnik ran his hands over Dritan’s lean back with its smooth, milky skin. He cupped the gorgeous, firm ass cheeks in his big mitts.

“Yes!” he murmured and knelt down to plant a kiss on each lovely cheek. When he stood up again, his rock-solid cock was poised right at the entry to Dritan’s pink boy hole. He spit a big gob onto the juncture of Dritan’s ass crack and  his  own  vibrating  man  meat  and eased  himself  into  the  busboy.  Dritan groaned with pain … and with pleasure. The vibrations of the groan hummed around Fatos’ firm cock embedded in his mouth. A little shot of pre cum painted Dritan's throat.

Dritan was naked in an alley next to a dumpster getting stuffed on both ends by two brawny cousins. A tastu new item was being created for the Venezia menu, Albanian Mountain Man Sandwich with Dritan Filling.

Fisnik pounded Dritan’s helpless ass, making Dritan groan deeper and louder. The groans reverberated around Fatos’ thick meat and he shuddered. His cock swelled and pulsed, then poured gulp after gulp of his sizzling juice down Dritan’s throat. Without touching it, Dritan’s rosy pole sprung to full attention and exploded with his boy nectar that hit the ground in hot splashes. His contracting butt hole squeezed around Fisnik’s buried cock and massaged his mountain man essence into giving up hot spurts into Dritan’s smoky interior.

The trio seemed frozen in this meat and muscle tableau set against the green dumpster. They thawed and blinked.

Dritan stood. The cooks pulled up their pants. They each kissed him on the cheek. Fatos patted his head and Fisnik patted his ass.

“My sock?” Dritan asked.

Fisnik took it out of his pocket, sniffed it and put it back in. “I’ll give it to you later, little one,” he said. He smiled and added, “Maybe.”

It was 4:45. It was time to get back to work. Fatos had a big pot of linguini on the stove and Fisnik had a pan of fat, fragrant meatballs simmering for the staff supper, which happened every day promptly at 5 pm.

The staff lined up at the long stainless steel table. First the headwaiter, then the other waiters, then the bus boys, with Dritan last in the queue, followed by the dishwashers. Kreshnik was served whatever he wanted with extra everything, whenever he wanted.

Dritan got the usual blank stares from the waiters and the cold shoulder from the other bus boys. The dishwashers were just a bit less frosty.

When Dritan got to Fatos and his steaming, perfectly seasoned linguini, he got a smile from the burly mountain man and a heaping ladle full of pasta.   When he inched up to Fisnik, his fuck hole blinked involuntarily. Fisnik’s face spread in a big smile: he had dimples and a gold tooth. He piled three big meatballs on Dritan’s plate and winked at him.

Dritan took his loaded plate to his usual corner, set it on a counter next to the sink and stood, breathing in its intoxicating perfume. He wanted to take his time working his way through his delicious bounty. The first bites of a tender meatball made him swoon, oblivious to anything else. It was worth fighting for, worth fucking for.

There was a swoosh and a shadow behind him. Something, someone scooting in and away and he felt a gentle nudge on his ass. Something had been slipped into his back pocket.

It was his sock.