Escape to Girne Ch. 02: Into Fire

"How do you like my yacht?"

"Your yacht?" I asked, not quite keeping up with his change in topic. Part of being slow on the uptake was that he had taken a foot out of his sandal and was moving his toe up one of my calves. I looked around to see if we were being observed, but the light out here was very dim, dominated by flickering candles, and only the Egyptian at the entrance of the building seemed to have his eyes locked on us—and I seriously doubted that he objected to anything that his employer would do.

"Your yacht?"

"Just here beside us. The Chankaya—that's a Turkish wine. Very sweet and mellow, just like my yacht."

"Yes, I know . . . about the wine. It's a very nice yacht," I said. And indeed it was.

"I would like to take you sailing . . . in my yacht someday."

I'll just bet you would, I thought. "That would be great. I love sailing. I like riding too. You have a boat to sail in, Mr. Fikret. Do you also have a horse to ride?"

"You would come with me?" he asked in a husky voice. "I indeed have something you could ride. You would come for me? Ergon has told me that you have special interests—needs. I have special . . . needs too . . . and special techniques. Do you enjoy restriction and pain, Mr. Clarke?"

"What do you think?" I asked. His foot had reached my crouch. I moved my free hand under the table and grasped the foot, holding it close to my basket and rubbing it up and down and crushing his heel into my balls, rather than pushing it away.

"I would love to show you what we are doing in restoring the house you sold to me," I said. "Perhaps—"

"I think you might enjoy more seeing the villa I built behind your house," he responded. His voice was low, gravelly, and his eyes were flashing sparks. "I have interesting things at my house—toys—that I doubt you have outfitted your house with yet." He had been grinding his foot into my groin, but now he had worked his toes into a leg hole and under the thong pouch. He managed to grasp one of my balls between his big toe and the next joint and was distending it. I involuntarily grunted and moaned, looking around to see who could see us and was looking. No one. There was pain mixed in with the pleasure of the maneuver and arousal in just the thought of what he was doing in a restaurant full of people.

Penance. The need for punishment to assuage the guilt—to the extent ever possible. My mind raced to the memory of Peter covering me, close, filling me and pumping hard and deep.

"Ah, your dick is hard, Mr. Clarke," Fikret said, the smile on his face transformed into something cruel, finished now with double entendres and teasing phrases and signals. I knew he wasn't just speculating; he was running his toes along the side of my stiff shaft. I gave a little jerk when he got the shaft between the two toes he'd worked my balls with.

I leaned back in my chair, scooted my buttocks to the edge of the chair so he knew I wasn't withdrawing from him, and gave him a level stare. "Are you going to fuck me with your toes right here?"

"Not here, but I think you do want me to fuck you hard. Ergon says you want it rough. I think Ergon does not know what rough is. But I know what rough is, Mr. Clarke. I think of what I do as more testing the limits of endurance. Do you believe that, Mr. Clarke? Are you afraid of that?"

"Yes," I answered, my voice breathy. "I am afraid, yes, but that arouses me. I believe you may be right that Ergon doesn't know what some men need. I have tried Ergon, and he has tried—but I'm afraid he isn't—how did you put it?—testing enough. I hear you might be. That's why I asked to be introduced to you."

"I am going to fuck you as you may like then, Mr. Clarke." The grip on my arm was tight, painful. The grinding of his foot in my crotch was taking my breath away.

I turned my eyes to look fully into his face. "Yes, I just think you might give me what I need."

I might have said, "I thought you'd never ask," but, god, the man was sure of himself. He wasted no time—and he did more declaration than asking. The way he was licking his lips and staring at me, I believed I was what he needed too.

* * * *

My eyes were watering and I was gasping for breath and groaning from deep inside me. Fikret had me up against a wall, just inside the entrance to his villa. My running shorts were off, and he had laughed when he'd seen the black mesh sock thong. He had a fist grip on my balls, squeezing hard and pushing my back against the wall. His face was pressed into the hollow of my neck and he was sucking me hard there. I yelped, not just because he had bitten me but also because the vice hold on my balls had tightened.

"Suck it," he muttered.

His hands were on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees, and then unzipping his fly. The thick cock that emerged was more than half hard and had a thick gold PA in the cockhead that clicked against my teeth as I gave him head while he gripped my hair and yanked it mercilessly.

He let me break away from him, and I started to flee, but he was herding me like a sheep—up the stairs to the next level. But I only made it half way up. He was on top of me, pulling at the waistband of the thong, snapping it. His cock was inside me before the thong had fully fallen away, but I was still too tight—there having been no preparation—for the thickness of him to get all the way in. So he was pumping shallow, his cockhead punishing my prostate. He seemed to know just where to find it. He didn't have to tell me that he wasn't using a condom.

The black Egyptian bruiser, having parked the old Mercedes sedan I'd been driven up here in, was standing across the foyer, looking at us, expressionless. But he had a hand on his basket.

Fikret got in deeper as he pumped and I opened to him, settling down to the situation, beginning to move my pelvis with his thrusts. I felt the gush of him inside me and strong, pressing fingers at each side of my neck.

Stars flashing before my eyes. And then nothing.

* * * *

I came to, naked and flat on my belly, on a large bed in a room that was semidark, lit by lamps in the four corners of the room. My right wrist had already been tied off to leather restraints anchored on the right side of the bed, at the corner of the headboard. Black hands with paler palms were pulling my left arm up toward the top of the bed, where a restraint issued from the left corner of the headboard.

My eyes focused on the midsection of a man's torso. Dark brown. He was naked and thick of torso, but not fat thick. Muscular thick. The cock was long, in erection, but not set with a thick metal PA ring. The Egyptian, not Fikrit. As he tied off my left wrist, I was able to look beyond his hip. Fikrit was sitting in a club chair against the wall, about ten feet away. He too was naked, other than the gold necklace and medallion, and was smoking a cigarette with one hand while intently watching me. What was it with these Turks and their smoking no matter what, I thought somewhat nonsensically considering the situation.

As I had envisaged, his body was covered with black curly hair, more mixed with gray on his head and chest, though, than down his arms and legs. His pubes were trimmed to tight curls. His thighs were spread and he was cupping hairy balls. My eyes went to the curly hair, jet black on his inner thighs, and the image of years ago, licking the young Turk—Tahir's—thighs up into his balls, taking in the heady musky scent of him, caused me to moan.

Misinterpreting my moan, Fikret spoke. "Yes, you may consider this an interlude, Clifford. May I call you Clifford? We seem to be too well acquainted now for me to be calling you Mr. Clarke. Ahmed is going to fuck you now, while I watch and regain my strength. You'll enjoy him, I think. He can be very inventive."

I would have given him some sort of a smart answer, but I was outfitted with a ball gag and couldn't say much of anything.

Ahmed—for obviously that was the hulking Egyptian's name—climbed up on the bed and straddled my back. He was turned away from me, though. I felt him pulling my legs up, high, on either side, which caused my back to arch and my buttocks to roll up. Then I felt my ankles pulled around to the back of his neck and bound together in some sort of ankle cuffs. After using his hands to set the head of his cock just inside my hole—opened earlier by a much thicker cock—he grabbed my knees and started sinking the cock inside my hole, entering me from the reverse angle of most of the fucking I took and giving entirely new walls a taste of the attention.

I groaned as he pushed down inside me, deeper and deeper—deeper than any man had mined me other than Peter. He began to pump. Slow at first but faster and faster. Pile driving me. Fikret rose from his chair and walked to me. Reaching down, he untied the ball gag and pulled it out of my mouth.

"You can scream now," he said.

His eyebrows went up and a slight smile appeared on his lips when I did start screaming, although not screaming what he possibly thought I would. "Yes. Yes! Fuck me! Harder! Deeper. Punish me!"

"Oh, we will punish you, Clifford," Fikret said and went over and sat back down in the club chair, took a drag on his cigarette, and cupped his hairy balls again. He was in fuller erection than he had been before.

Ahmed wasn't wearing a rubber either, and when he came I could feel the buildup of his cum and that of Fikret's deep in my channel. Sometime during the fuck, he had grabbed my cock and given me relief, stroking me to an ejaculation much before he came.

I lay there, panting, when he was finished, while he untied my ankles and let my legs fall, both of them nearly numb from the position they had been in and the time they'd been in that position. He didn't leave them free, though. He spread my legs and tied them off at the ankle again at the corners of the foot of the bed, leaving me spread-eagled.

I was panting and still moaning. A thick bolster was shoved under my belly, raising my buttocks in the air.

Fikret had left my line of sight after Ahmed had come and while Ahmed was readjusting my position. I knew when he had returned though, as he was astride my hips, his cock resting on and throbbing against the small of my back. I felt something freezing cold between my shoulder blades and then it was moving around my torso and across my buttocks and up and down my thighs.

I moaned.

It came back up my torso, into my pits, and then around to my neck, I turned my head, and when it was pushed between my lips, I discovered that it was a glass dildo, one that obviously had been taken from a freezer. I sucked on the oversized head of it, while Fikret's own cock rubbed up and down on the small of my back.

"Please," I moaned, when he pulled the dildo out of my mouth.

"Please what?" Fikret asked in a low, guttural voice. And he laughed before I answered.

"Please don't make me wait. Fuck me," I murmured.

He didn't answer. I didn't get the impression it was the answer he wanted. I supposed he wanted fear and for me to beg him not to proceed. But we were well beyond that. And I had come for what I knew he'd give me.

The dildo was gone. "The freezer again, Ahmed," I heard him say. And then I felt his weight come off me, to move down to my legs. His mouth was at my hole and a hand was pulling my dick between my legs. He spent several minutes working my hole, cock, and balls, while I writhed and murmured both my pleasure and my want for him to stick his cock back inside me.

He didn't stop until I'd come and then he was moving up my back again, hovering over me like he was going to do pushups on my back. The cockhead was pressed at my hole, moving inside but just to where the bulb was buried. He was revolving that, just inside me.

"Oh, god. Oh, shit!" I cried out. "Fuck me, fuck me, FUCK me!"

"Shut up," he growled, and I felt the ball gag being forced back into my mouth. Then the glass dildo was back, freezing cold again. He started pushing it inside my channel, and I squirmed and fought against the restraints—fruitlessly. It went in deep and he stroked hard with it. There was a pause, with it deep inside me, before I felt him entering me too, under the glass dildo.

I can take this, I screamed inside my head. I've been doubled before.

With a groan, I went more up on my knees, spreading my legs wider, trying to take the second cock inside. He began pumping hard and I collapsed under him with a long, drawn-out, deep moan. As I adjusted, though, I pulled up to my knees again and started involuntarily moving my pelvis in the rhythm of the fuck.

As he was ejaculating in three strong gushes, the fingers went to the side of my neck again and I blacked out.

I was being dumped, the black thong stuffed in my mouth, my T-shirt, sandals, and running shorts dropped beside me at the gate from my parking apron in the alley that led into my back garden. A dark presence was leaning over me. Ahmed, the Egyptian. The thong was pulled out of my mouth, to be replaced with his cock, and he face fucked me there, in the dark, me in nearly a fetal position and pressed up the wall of my parking apron. I gagged and took it, swallowing his cum and then cleaning his cock in my mouth before he left me there.

Ergon must have been aware I'd been returned to the house and must have been waiting for me. He nearly carried me up the stairs to my garage flat and sat me on the bed, attending to my bruises with salve. Not asking any questions. Not needing to ask any questions. The look on his face frowning, but not daring to criticize, although it was obvious he wanted to. Then he lowered me onto my side on the bed and stretched out behind me, holding me in his arms and rocking me gently. I doubt we had sex. I went to sleep before any was even hinted at.

I woke in the night, not long before dawn. Ergon was gone. I groaned as I sat up in the bed. Not at all ready to finish this night off, but knowing I had to. I was on a mission.

I got out of bed, pulled on just the running shorts, and padded downstairs barefooted, out into the alley, and up to the porch of Fikret's villa. The door was unlocked and I pushed it open. Ahmed, dressed, was sitting in a chair in the foyer. He had been dozing, but came to full awareness as soon as he heard the door opening. He gave me a surprised look. I pointed toward the second level. His look flashed to amazement and then to amusement.

"The shorts," he said.

"Upstairs," I responded.

"Not with anything on that could conceal a weapon," he said. No doubt he suspected that I'd come back to seek revenge for the treatment Fikret and he had meted out to me. But he couldn't have been more wrong—at least not for tonight. I stripped off my shorts, handed them to him, and turned my head to the stairs.

"Go on up," he said.

I found Fikret on the bed, naked, his back propped up on pillows. He was stroking a Luger pistol—there was a cloth on the bed beside him with gun cleaning supplies and loose bullets laying on it—and he was smoking a cigarette.

He gave me a quizzical look when I entered the room, but he said nothing. As I climbed onto the bed, I saw that he immediately was going erect. I already was, clearly signaling to him what I wanted, what I had come back for, what I said I would endure with him. He put the cigarette in an ash tray on his nightstand, but kept fondling the Luger.

Fikret reached over, opened the bedside chest drawer, and took out a pair of handcuff restraints. I positioned myself on his pelvis, held his cock erect with my hands, and sank my channel on the staff. Saddled, I reached my hands out, holding the wrists together so that he could put the restraints on them.

He laid back and smoked and looked somewhat amused at me while I rode his cock, raising and lowering myself and alternating with moving side to side and then corkscrewing myself, slowly watching him begin to smolder and the cruel aspect of him to take over. He snuffed the cigarette out and lifted the cool barrel of the Luger to my cheek, stroking me with it as I slowed my rise and fall to meet the rhythm he was setting with his strokes. He moved the barrel of the gun to under my chin. I winced when I heard the click in the gun's chamber, but the pause in my fucking myself on his cock was almost imperceptible.

"We could be playing some Russian game here," he said in a low, gravelly voice. His other hand encircled my cock. Another click. Anticipating it, I controlled my wince, but I couldn't control everything.

Another laugh. "Went right hard for that, didn't you? You like this game."

He slid the barrel of the Luger across my cheek again and when he pressed it at my lips, I opened to it and sucked on the barrel. Another click and I shot my load onto his chest.

Then, with a deep growl and in one heave, he pushed me off him and onto my back, slapped my thighs open, thrust inside me, and started banging me hard and deep. He obviously liked this game too.

Before I left him, I lay below him, licking the curly black hair of his thighs, moving ever closer to his center, sniffing his musky scent, until I swallowed his hairy balls and sucked and moved them around in my mouth. Just like I'd done years earlier with the young Turk Peter and I had taken up to the villa in Bellapais. Just as I had done with Tahir. Tahir Fikret, who I knew to be Fuad's son. With a lurch, Fuad slathered my cheek with his wad. I tongued up the side of his shaft and closed my mouth over it.

Now it was Fuad who was moaning and playing to my Russian tune. In my mind I heard a loud click.

After a few minutes, as his breathing returned to normal—but mine wasn't—he asked, "Are we done here?"

"I hope not. Punish me now. Punish me hard," I whispered in a raspy voice. It was what I truly sought. I couldn't be punished enough for the hell that I had sent Peter into.

When Fuad had me spread-eagled, belly to bed, bolster under my belly, and tied off at all four corners, he opened the bottom of his nightstand and took out a flogger.

He was on his knees between my spread legs, breathing heavily again.

At the first crack of the flogger, I flinched, straining against the restraints, and cried out. "Yes! Again and again! Punish me!"

He stroked my buttocks again and again until they stung and burned. My eyes watered and I gritted my teeth, but I called out, "Again. Please again." Two more strikes on either side and it stopped and I felt his cooling tongue running over the swollen flesh, moving ever closer to the center of me until I felt the palms of his hands pushing my cheeks apart and his tongue enter my channel.

I moaned deeply. "Don't stop. Punish me more. But fuck me too," I pleaded.

He pushed his knees into me, his breath labored, his cock entering my channel. He began pumping as soon as he was buried inside. Each thrust of the cock was accompanied by a strike of the flogger on my shoulders or my thighs.

He was following my directions now.