Floating onto Film

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.

Big and thick.

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.