Patience in Cape Verde

The next incident in what I came to realize was my spiral down into degradation, occurred two nights later. I awoke in the night slightly gaseous and knowing that all I needed was a glass of milk, as this was what had always worked before when my stomach was slightly off—the cook was an excellent one, but the Portuguese-based food that was being served was slightly more spicy than I was used to.

I had already found and drunk the glass of the milk from the refrigerator in the kitchen when I heard the sounds—quite similar to those of the other night. The sounds of sex. I was drawn to the sounds, which seemed to be coming from the lounge just a short distance away in the wing facing the sea.

They were mere shadows, but it unmistakably was the form of two men, one large and one small, having sex on the carpet in the middle of the lounge floor. The smaller man was on his belly, stretched out on the floor; the large man was crouched over the smaller one, at the level of his pelvis. He was on one knee and the other leg was thrown across the smaller man's pelvis. One hand of the large man was holding down the thigh of the smaller man and the other hand was palmed between the smaller man's shoulder blades. The larger man was fucking down between the smaller man's buttocks at a side angle. The sounds I heard were the sounds from the smaller man of his taking. They were sounds of acceptance and enjoyment. I couldn't readily identify who was there—and I didn't want to suppose. I didn't want to know. Still, I felt the shock of discovery—of being an unwilling voyeur; of hearing and seeing what wasn't meant for me—and then the greater shock of realizing that I was finding this arousing sank in. I was fisting my cock, which was engorging, and I suddenly was aware that I was naked. I turned to leave, only to find that the cook, his stare a leer of lust and interest, was hunched in the shadows, at the door that must lead from his quarters into the kitchen, his eyes glued to me. I blushed in embarrassment, his presence galvanizing me, and I slipped out of a doorway into the center court and ran for the stairs in the far corner of the villa and then to my room. I closed the door firmly behind me and buried myself in the soft bedding. And, once again, I got very little sleep that night.

I wasn't so much disturbed by what was going on in the house—my mind had worked that out early on, especially when no women surfaced in attendance. But I was partly disturbed that I was exposed to it and that I felt so isolated and unable to leave the situation. And I was mostly disturbed because of its effect on me. It was arousing. I had worked so hard to sublimate all of my inclinations in that direction. And here my body was fighting with me for control, wanting to succumb to the temptations. The only saving grace was that I didn't seem to be a focal point of Klaus's attention.

I sat up in the bed, adrenaline rushing from having admitted it. I knew that Klaus Gehler was the center of this taking. I admitted for the first time that the sounds of sex the other night had been coming from his bedroom—must have been coming from his bedroom. And, despite the shadows, I knew that the man in control of the sexual encounter tonight was Klaus Gehler. I just didn't want to think of him that way—as a sexual predator. But, no, I had to admit that wasn't quite right either. I increasingly was thinking of him in sexual terms. And as being desirable.

I buried my head under pillows and tried to steady my breath. I very definitely was deeper into a situation that I found disturbing and threatening than I wanted to be. I told myself I must fight it hard.

The next afternoon, Gehler told me that we would take a couple of hours respite from the dictation—that he planned to take a nap and perhaps, after a lunch in the breakfast room, alone because he was more sleepy than hungry, I might like to explore the park on the landward side of the villa. He said he thought I had not had time to walk those gardens yet, and he was correct in this assumption.

The park was more intricately landscaped than I had assumed at first. There were several hidden gardens, set off by dense foliage along the sides and at the corners, just inside the outer walls.

Once again I heard them before I saw them, and I should have just turned and gone back into the villa. But I didn't. I was compelled to follow the sound. Gehler was sitting, naked, on a stone garden bench. Facing him, also naked, and suspended over his lap, was Miguel, the small, young Portuguese gardener. Gehler was holding Miguel's left leg up high under his armpit, giving me a clear view of his cock pumping up into the young man's ass. Miguel was transfixed. His eyes were closed, and he was fairly purring and moaning in pleasure as he moved his hips in rotation, providing much of the motion that moved Gehler's thick cock up and down and from side to side inside his ass. Gehler's body was magnificent. Powerful and well-muscled, his belly flat, barrel chested, with hard biceps and thighs.

The two were kissing deeply when I first caught sight of them, and then Miguel took his lips from Gehler's and moved them down to Gehler's left nipple. I gasped at first seeing that Gehler had a silver nipple ring in his right nipple. This was so incongruous with his elegant, distinguished persona that this, more than the sexual act they were performing, aroused me.

I gave a little cry, having no idea if they heard me—and if they did, it didn't interrupt the rhythm of the fuck one iota, and fled back to my room. And, I'm ashamed to say, I lay, writhing on my bed, masturbating myself to climax, thinking of that nipple ring.

If the man tried anything like that with me, I would leave immediately, I told myself. I would swim away from the island if I could find no gate in the stone wall on the land side. I would not be used the way that Gehler had used both Miguel and Jolo. Yes, I admitted to myself. I knew in my mind that the small figure Klaus had fucked in the lounge on the earlier night had been the house boy, Jolo.

Another week passed by, and, although I heard Jolo being taken in Gehler's room on occasion at night, Gehler had made no move to take me. I at first was relieved. Then as the week wore on, I wondered why. I was better looking, better formed than either Jolo or Miguel. I wondered why Gehler had made no move on me. What was wrong with me? It all seemed so peculiar, especially since, after working the incident in the garden over and over in my mind, I had come to the conclusion that Gehler had wanted me to see what I saw. He had suggested I take that stroll in the park; he had said he would be napping, which he obviously wasn't doing.

And in the nights, especially on those nights I could clearly hear Gehler having his way with Jolo—or maybe Miguel—in the room adjacent, I found I couldn't sleep—that I couldn't calm down enough to sleep until I had exhausted my mind and my body. I took to masturbating to the sounds of the sex in the room adjacent. I had always masturbated to release sexual tension, of course. I just had not experienced sexual tension every night before now. And when my mind was drifting off—and even in my sleep—I conjured up the spectacle of Gehler fucking Miguel in the garden. And, oddly, I focused on that silver nipple ring, suggesting deeper, darker aspects to Gehler. Thoughts in this direction were disturbing. But increasingly they were arousing and compelling as well.

I found that during the day, as I was taking dictation from Gehler, I would look up at him. And I would see him undressed, fucking Miguel in the garden or Jolo in his bed or on the floor right where I was sitting. And I would go hard. Toward the end of the week, I was thinking of Gehler fucking me in the place of Miguel or Jolo. I resisted the image as long as I could, but slowly and surely I gave in to my arousal. And all of this paralleled the transition from fear that Gehler would make a move on me to questioning and experiencing rising confusion and ire that he had not.

I was thus in a state of high anxiety and arousal on the night that I found Gehler taking the Spanish seaman, Estaban.

Once again it was something that awakened me in the middle of the night. The cries were loud and they signaled pain—but they also were steeped in passion. And I knew enough Spanish to know that whoever was screaming out was begging for more.

The sounds were coming from the center courtyard side of the bedroom wing this time. I took up my shorts and pulled them up my legs and over my hips and padded out on bare feet, to the balcony across the hall above the courtyard. Light was streaming into the courtyard, and I was surprised to see that it was coming from the now-unshuttered windows into the courtyard from what had been the closed room on the ground floor of the east wing.

I moved silently down the stairs in a corner opposite to this room and then glided stealthily through the heavy foliage in the courtyard until I was positioned where I could look into the forbidden room. I nearly fainted at would I saw.

The room was a veritable SM chamber of sex, outfitted with more sexual bondage and torture equipment than I ever knew existed.

The Spaniard, Estaban, was suspended from a beam in the ceiling by restraints that stretched him out and barely enabled him to touch the floor on the balls of his feet. He was naked, glistening with sweat, his cock hard and bent up from his body in an arc. He was swaying and writhing under the hard, but not too hard, lashing a naked Klaus Gehler was giving him on his legs and torso and buttocks with a multithonged leather whip.

Gehler's cock was hard as a rock too and was one of the longest and thickest ones I'd ever seen. And I felt my cock go immediately hard too at seeing that he had a thick Prince Albert ring pierced through the glans of his cock.

Estaban's chest and arms and thighs and butt cheeks were covered with thin, red welts. And he was crying out for Gehler to fuck him. And I hadn't been standing there in the shadows, trying not to let my shorts fall and stroke my cock, but not succeeding in the effort, when all of my defenses melted away. I shocked myself. I was totally confused and ashamed of myself when Gehler moved to behind Estaban and thrust his cock up inside Estaban's ass and lifted Estaban's thighs with his strong hands to give him deeper purchase and started pumping him hard. And I was confused and ashamed because I was wishing that it was me rather than Estaban who was being fucked by Gehler.

I turned eventually and fled back to the safety of my room again. And again, as I got to the corner staircase, I saw the bulky German cook, Gerhardt, standing in the shadow of the kitchen door and watching me. And he had a stubby but extraordinarily thick cock pulled out of his pajama bottoms and was stroking it.

Gehler carried on his by-day pretence for three more agonizing days. Letting me smolder in the imaging of him taking me, letting all of my defenses melt away into the desire to be writhing under him. In the daylight, he continued to be the distinguished, elegant, no-nonsense international financier of late middle age, seemingly focused on his business needs, me just any scribe, not better than any other. Only there to take his dictation and key his correspondence into the computer, print it up, and prepare it for dispatch the next time Estaban took the launch out.

I still felt trapped on the estate, and on the small island, accessible only by a motor launch controlled by Estaban, who was controlled by Klaus Gehler. But it wasn't the physical entrapment that was tearing me apart. It was the sexual need that Gehler had aroused in me. Something that went far beyond Stefan's attempts to break down my defenses. My defenses were long gone now. I ached for Gehler. I fantasized my taking by Gehler, and this fantasizing increased by day until it was all consuming.

Thus, I had no defense, no hesitation, no internal struggle on the night that I heard Gehler softly call my name from beyond the French doors of my room. I rose from the bed, naked, and went to the French doors. He was leaning back on the balcony rail, also naked, hard, magnificently ready for me. He extended his arm toward the open doors into his room, and I slowly padded through the door and over to his massive bed and, trembling almost uncontrollably, lay down on the bed, stretched out, my back to the French doors.

I felt him come down on the bed behind me, stretched full length behind me, close. I could feel his throbbing cock pressing at my back. I felt the coolness of the lubricant and jerked and let out a little cry of pain and surprise as he worked that inside my channel with thick fingers. He was kissing me in the hollow of my neck, and the fingers of his other hand were running through the hair on my head. He palmed my head and turned it to his face and opened my lips with his.

His tongue became more insistent, more possessive, searching deeper in my mouth. I wanted to escape him, but he held me fast. And then I felt his bulb at my entrance and he was pushing in. I wanted to scream in pain and invasion, and I began to struggle against him, but he was too strong for me. He wouldn't give up possession of my mouth, and I was having trouble breathing. I writhed against him, arching my back. But now he had one hand under my chin, pulling my head back toward him, holding me in a locked embrace. His other hand was palming my belly, pulling my channel onto his cock.

The pain was intense, but so was the wanting and the pleasure and relief that it finally was happening. I could distinctly feel the silver cock ring rub against my channel walls as it dug inside me, and I was panting hard, even though he still had possession of my mouth and was making it difficult for me to breath. I never could imagine that a tongue could get that far into my mouth. Realizing that my writhing wasn't helping, I widened my stance as much as possible, willing my channel to open to him. He was going to plow me regardless now. His long, thick cock continued to invade, to stretch me and move to new depths. Relentlessly.

I knew he was taking his time, waiting for me to adjust. Being as gentle as he could be. I'm sure he knew that this was my first time. I was so sure he would be sensitive to my needs.

But then his own lust and desire took over. He pulled his tongue out of my mouth, and turned me on my belly, without losing the several inches of purchase he'd gotten inside my canal. He pulled me up on my knees on the bed with that palm on my belly, crouched over my hips, and thrust hard inside me. I yowled and widened my thighs. He then fisted my hair and bowed my shoulders back toward his chest, and went into long, deep stroking into me, continuing doing so long after he had bottomed inside me, and long after my knees had gone out from under me and I had collapsed onto my belly. He was riding my hips hard and relentlessly. And I was making all of the sounds of full-throttled taking that I had heard coming from this room on my first night on the island.

I was whimpering and sobbing when he was done, and he just lifted me up and slung me over his shoulder and returned me to my bed to suffer throughout the rest of the night—and, incongruously, to long for his cock to be buried inside me again.

For three days and night, we maintained the pretense. During the day he was all business, but business with a friendly, fatherly smile. And he was attentive to my every need and solicitous of my opinions. He said nothing about the nights during the day, and neither did I. I said nothing because I was afraid he wouldn't be there inside me in the night if I spoke of it in the day. And each night he visited my bedroom and fucked me, in a different position, but always with an intensity that took my breath away and left me begging for more.

On the fourth night, he lashed my wrists to rings in the headboard of my bed. And when he was finished with me, I was visited, first by Estaban, who fucked me hard, and then by the cook, Gerhardt, who fucked me even harder—no one coming to my aid at my howls of being taken like this.

The next afternoon, Gerhardt bent me over the kitchen table and fucked me again. And in the twilight, Estaban chased me down the pathway, reaching the launch as I did, and pushed me down on my back at the bottom of the boat, roughly forced my thighs apart and sank his knees and his cock between them. By now I didn't care. I was wanton. I wanted the fuck, whether from Klaus or Gerhardt or Estaban, it didn't matter. I wanted a strong dick moving inside me for as long as possible. I had shed the days when I had to pretend not to care, not to want to be fucking with a stud of a man. I wrapped my hand around Estaban's cock, trembling at the feel of the veins popping out on it and helped guide it inside. And I purred and ran my hands along the new welts in his sinewy arms and into the curls of his chest hair while he kissed the insides of my channel with those ropy veins of his cock.

In the following days, I sought out first Jolo, in the laundry room, and then Miguel, in a flower bed, and I showed that I could fuck cries of passion out of a man too. Now, when Klaus or Estaban or Gerhardt left my bed at night, Jolo would creep into it and receive what I had so recently been given.

On the eighth night, Klaus introduced me to his room of toys on the ground floor of the east wing.

After he returned me to my bed, he came down behind me, entered me in a side split, kissed and tongued the thin, red welts on my shoulders, and gently stroked deep inside me. He put his lips close to my ear and said, "Stefan arrives tomorrow. He wants to know if you will let him fuck you now."

I murmured a "Yes, of course," and moaned at the feel of the silver cock ring rubbing against my channel walls deep inside me, never wanting it to leave me.