Cry Down the Mountain

We spread the blanket out under a tree, on the edge of the flat area that had once been the jousting field, below the ruins of Saint Hilarion Castle on the heights of the Kyrenia Range overlooking the northern coast of the Mediterranean in what was now Turkish Cyprus. I had picked up the young Turk as I was driving up the mountain in the UN sedan I was using to search for one of our lost soldiers. I was a military policeman in the Danish contingent of the UN peacekeeping force on Cyprus. Max had been gone and out of touch since the previous night. He had last been seen in the harbor down in Kyrenia, the ancient Byzantine castle town the Turks called Girne.

The young Turk--he told me his name was Errol--was a soldier from the base down the slope from Saint Hilarion's, one of a chain of watch castles that had been built along the summits of the Kyrenia Range in the time of Richard the Lionhearted. Errol's officers would skin him alive if they knew he was cavorting with a UN military policeman. They'd do no less just to learn that he was off the base for anything but carrying out explicit orders.

I could tell he was a soldier from his uniform. Otherwise, I wouldn't have thought him old enough to be in the military. I guess they took them young in the Turkish army. He'd said he was from the Turkish mainland, not from here, in Turkish Cyprus. He was small and trim, olive-complexioned, cute as hell, with a shy smile and curly black hair, a lock of which dangled down from his forehead, seeking to hide his left eye. His eyes were dark and flashed an interest I understood only too well. I'll bet he was the pet of his barracks.

Cyprus was the land of men who either fucked hard or opened their legs and begged for it. I had found that more than the normal percentage of them would go either way--that for them sex was sex was sex. I'd been told that young Greek men could cover and get sucked by Greek gay boys with no one considering they were being gay as well, going, I guess, back to ancient Greece, where it was accepted that pederasty was an honored teacher-student relationship. I wondered if it was the same with Turks. I thought about that, because I could go either way myself. A hole was a hole was a hole--although I did prefer a young guy's hole.

The young Turkish soldier batted his eyelashes at me when I pulled up beside him, on his bike, coming up the mountain to the castle. I'd been told Max might be up here, at the castle. He'd been carousing in Kyrenia with a group of Turkish Cypriots, and I'd gotten a picnic meal down in the city to bring up here with me to take a break in looking for him.

Errol had asked me if I was a UN soldier, which I clearly was unless I'd stolen a UN-marked car and a UN contingent uniform, and he was impressed that I was Danish. Being Scandinavian in Cyprus got you to at least second base with your prey. He also said he was impressed that I was a bulked-up Dane. He said I was handsome. He also said he was lonely being away from Turkey.

He didn't ask me how big my dick was, but I knew that's the question he really wanted to ask.

"I shouldn't be talking to a UN soldier," he'd said, looking nervously around.

"Well, follow me, and we'll go where no one will see us talking--or doing anything else," I'd answered.

I'd figured he was fifty-fifty whether he'd follow me on his bike. He did.

He lay back on the blanket after we'd eaten and finished off the second bottle of Chankaya wine and, after I'd answered the size question for him, gave himself to me. There'd been no need for seduction. He'd made himself naked when he'd lain back on the blanket, and he put himself in position, on his back, legs spread and bent, feet pressed to the blanket, pelvis rolled up. There'd been an unspoken meeting of the minds where this would go when I stopped to talk to him. He looked the type I liked to cover and I'm sure he dreamed about bulked up, hung Danes. I was both. I had exposed what I was hanging to him while we were eating--just unzipped myself, hauled it out, an gave it a couple of strokes--and he hadn't gotten on his bike and peddled away.

Taking my mouth away from between his buttocks cheeks and moving to swallowing his cock, I moved the wicker basket the food had been in over under the small of his back, elevating his pelvis. He was moaning shallowly and panting lightly. There was no resistance. It was all need and surrender.

I ran my hands up his inner thighs and spread them in position again, bending his legs, and setting the soles of his feet down on the blanket, putting him back into the missionary position he'd gone into himself, while we were drinking wine, to signal his willingness. He gave over completely to my maneuvering. This was remarkably easy and he was one sweet piece. I licked up his belly, stopped to worry his nipples and then on up to his waiting lips, as I put myself in position between his thighs.

He arched his back and cried out, "Çok büyüksün!--You're so big! Danimarkalılar canavar boyutundadır--Danes are monster sized." as I entered him. I took that as a compliment. I also wondered how many Danes he'd given himself to.

Yes, I am. You came on to me because I was a muscled-up Danish soldier. And you're going to love it, I thought, as I begin to pump him.

There was every sign that he loved it. He dug his fingernails into the tips of my shoulders and put his hips into motion, going with me. We were fucking. He dilated nicely, stretching to my specifications, confirming to me that he was the pet of his barracks. He wasn't a virgin. He did this regularly. He knew exactly what to do. He lifted his legs to hugging my hips with his knees and rocked with me in the fuck. He was fully open to me, vulnerable--surrendered and soon conquered.

"Sik beni. Sik beni. Sik beni sert, seni büyük canavar!--Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me hard, you big brute!" he cried out.

I complied, taking, first, Errol, and then me to an ejaculation. My release was quite satisfying. I hadn't had it for a couple days. Three loads. No rubber. This young Turk was a sweet peace.

Errol lay there, under me, as we both focused on me going flaccid inside him, both of us panting.

"Böyle bir kaba. Ne kadar kaba--Such a brute. Such a brute," he kept whimpering, but we both knew it was a brute he had wanted. He had moved with me in synch with the fuck and had lain there, relaxed in my arms, sighing, as I'd shot my load, again and again, deep inside him. He'd reveled, I knew, in being topped by a big, bulked-up Dane. Something that must rarely have happened to him, if ever before.

"Çok büyüksün--You're so big," he was murmuring, a whimpering tone enveloped in the whisper. "Büyük kaslar. Büyük bir canavar--Big muscles. A big brute," he added, his trembling hands gliding over my bulging pecs and going to my big guns. It required a great body and forcefulness to be a UN contingent MP. He wasn't complaining. I could tell that he melted to a bulked up, cut body. He'd kept referring to my blondness too and the blue eyes. He'd said he'd never been done by a Dane before, and he'd said it like he couldn't wait for it. I hadn't waited long before putting him under me. There had been no hesitation, no resistance.

"And you wanted it," I responded, nuzzling his throat with my lips. So young, so vulnerable. Such a sweet piece.

"Evet. Evet. Beni tekrar sik--Yes. Yes, Fuck me again," he said, his hands clutching my buttocks to him.

I laughed, preparing to do just that.

It wasn't until then that I heard it--the cry echoing down the mountain from somewhere within the stone walls of the Saint Hilarion Castle ruins. I think it must have started early while I was concentrating on fucking the young Turkish soldier.

What only now hit me as peculiar, though, was that the plaintive call wasn't in Turkish, or Greek, or even English, which was widely spoken on Cyprus. It was in Danish.

"Hjælp! Hjælp mig! Min Gud, nogen hjælpe mig!--Help. Help me. My God, somebody help me!"

* * * *

It took Errol and me nearly twenty minutes after we'd gotten up to the castle ruins to find him. We finally located what must have been the deepest dungeon in the castle. It was still a torture chamber of sorts. In this case, judging from the equipment here, this was someone's rough sexual games chamber.

He was hanging on a Saint Andrew's cross, facing the damp and mossy stone wall of the dimly lit chamber, daylight filtering in from arrow slits in the downslope wall side of the castle. He was just hanging there, naked and slumping to the extent his bonds permitted. A gag he'd finally gotten loose and out of his mouth was hanging from an ear. There were angry, bleeding welts crisscrossing on his back and thighs.

I'd found Max, my missing Danish UN soldier.

Errol was milling around at the entrance into the dungeon, looking nervous and like he wanted to be anywhere but here while I was taking Max off the X-frame and checking him for damage. I could understand the Turkish soldier's consternation and I didn't exactly need witnesses for what would, if publicized, be a sticky international incident involving the Danish contingent no matter what had transpired here, so I sent him away. I regretted that I'd probably never see him again or have the opportunity to enjoy him, but I'm sure he was in hot water with his superior officers just for having been gone for so long. The Turks kept a tight rein on their enlisted soldiers sent here from the mainland. He quite evidently had been sent on an errand of short duration, and short had become long some time ago.

"Thanks, Sergeant Andersen," Max said when we were alone. The civilian clothes he had been wearing were nearby and he reached for his white T-shirt. I brushed his hands away, though, and handed him his shorts instead.

"No, I have a towel in the car you can put around you. You put on that T-shirt and you'll bleed through in a matter of seconds. Then it will get everywhere. You know me?"

"Everyone knows you, Sergeant Andersen--and what they can come to you for."

"You can call me Jorgen," I said gruffly. I took another look at him. He was a handsome young soldier--Danish through and through, with his blondness and blue eyes and winning smile. But, although he had good muscle tone and was hard-bodied, he was very slender, with narrow waist and hips and quite pert buttocks mounds. His cock was long, but not unusually so, and not thick. His body was almost boyish. I gauged him to be no more than twenty-two. My cock saluted him. I wouldn't throw him out of bed.

"How did you come to be here? And how long have you been here, hung on that contraption? Who did this to you?" I was full of questions and hit him with all of them at one time.

"I don't know much," he said, looking sheepish. "I'm afraid I got plastered last night and lost track. I don't even know where I am now. Am I still in Kyrenia?"

"No, you're in the mountains above Kyrenia, in the Saint Hilarion castle ruins. You have no idea how you got here?"

"No, the last I knew I was at the harbor, in Kyrenia, drinking with a guy from the Merit Park Casino. The owner of the casino, he told me. That's where I went to gamble. He said he'd take good care of me."

"And maybe he did. Which restaurant?"

"I think it was called the Trypiti Restaurant, right on the harbor, next to the water. I met the owner of that and I had drinks with him too."

"And?"

"The last I remember I was with him. His apartment is above the restaurant. We were fucking. He was fucking me. He was rough. Had my wrists tied to the headboard. Worked me with a dildo before putting it in. He knew how to fuck. That's the last I remember. I think the casino owner was sitting across the room, watching us. I'm not sure about that, though."

"You agreed to the fuck?"

"Yes. You won't... from what I've heard about you, you won't tell, will you?"

"We'll see. I'm on duty--and my assigned duty is to find you. I've got to take you in. You agreed to the bondage too?"

"Yes, that too. I've heard you--"

"And did the casino owner fuck you too?"

"Yes, at the casino, before he took me to the harbor for something to eat. Hey, does this really have to be reported? I've been in trouble before. I don't want to have a big deal made out of this. I got into this myself."

"I was sent looking for you, Max. Something has to be reported. And I'll have to take you to the hospital. You've been brought here and left here, and your back is a mass of blood. You've been assaulted."

"I did it willingly in Kyrenia," he said. "I'll do it with you if you let this blow over."

"We have no idea how much you were assaulted here or if you were left to die here, Max. Whoever did this could come back or not--which means we should move on out of here." I suddenly felt the loss of my pistol, which I'd put in the glove compartment of the car when I figured I'd be doing the Turkish soldier. I didn't want a gun to be near that. I did have my knife strapped to my calf inside my boot, but I didn't know if that would be enough if Max's assailants come back.

"You don't want to do me?" he asked. "I'm not good enough looking?"

"You look just fine--other than the damage, Max. Let's get out of here. We can discuss this down in the car. It's parked in the field below the castle."

He'd gotten his shorts on. "No hospital, please. And a toned-down report. I got drunk on my tail and you found me. It doesn't have to go beyond that, and it isn't a lie. I'd do whatever you want. I've heard about you. I'll give you a good time."

"You're in no condition to do anyone a good time, Max. You need those cuts on your back taken care of or they'll get infected."

Down in the car, I gave him a thick towel to wrap around his torso and soak up the blood and ooze, put him in the passenger seat, and came around and climbed behind the wheel. He turned to me and cupped my head with one of his hands, putting our faces together. As he went into a kiss, he unzipped me with the other hand, and freed my cock. Despite my better judgment, I let him kiss me and stroke me. And then, leaning back in the seat, I let him move his face to my lap and give me an expert blow job.

He was right. He could give me a good time.

"That isn't just because I want you to help me," he said, after I'd come and he'd cleaned my cock with his tongue.

"And I didn't sit here for it as any part of doing a deal with you," I answered.

"So, maybe we could--"

"We'll see. We have a problem to work on now, though. Let's concentrate on that."

"So, you find me--"

"Yes, you're sexy as hell, Max. We need to work you out of this situation now, though."

"That sounds good to me. Thanks."

Afterward, I drove to where I'd checked in for the night, not knowing how long this "look for the wayward Danish soldier, Max" assignment would last. I had a favorite holiday village west of Kyrenia near the sea, the Fairmont Holiday Village on Cevre Yolu Road, and that's where we went, after I'd stopped at a drugstore and bought two bottles of disinfectant salve and a mile of rolled bandages. I had EMT training, so I could do what needed to be done with Max's wounds. They looked worse than they were. No flesh had been stripped away.

At the holiday villa, more like a motel room, with a mezzanine sleeping room, facing the sea through a two-story wall of window, I dressed Max's wounds and then, at his insistence and overcoming my resistance, he showed me that he was still in condition to give a man a good time in more ways than one, that he didn't have to be on his back to ride a cock. I lay on my back on the bed, and he mounted my loins, descended on my cock, and fucked himself, rocking on me languidly.

Afterward, he just stretched down on top of me, his back facing the ceiling, and we slept. When I woke, with golden highlights of a sundown kissing the surface of the Mediterranean outside the villa, Max was gone. So was the knife I usually had strapped to my calf. My gun holster had been moved. But the pistol, thank goodness, was still in the glove compartment of the car. Out of habit, I'd hidden the car key in the compartment in the well of the UN sedan's wheel, so the car--and the pistol--were still here.

I showered, dressed, and went back on the hunt to haul Private Max Hansen back to the Danish UN contingent barracks. Having to find him again wasn't making me prone to help him avoid charges, but I guess he figured that he'd involved me to the point of us having sex, so I had to go light on him for my own good. On that, he might have been right.

* * * *

I was in the same position that Max had been earlier in the day. I was on a bed in the penthouse suite of the Merit Park Casino and Hotel perched on the rocks at the Mediterranean Sea waters' edge to the west of Kyrenia. The casino's owner, Mehmet Ergon, was crouched between my thighs, hovering over me, pressing the heels of his hands into the hollows of my shoulders to hold me down on the bed, and gazing down into my eyes, as he fucked me. I was versatile and sometimes took cock, usually in a flip-flop like this was. Often I took a thicker cock, though, so this wasn't too onerous.

When I awakened in my vacation villa a couple of hours previous to find that Max Hensen was gone, I doubled my work assignment. I not only had to find him again and take him back to the UN base, but I also needed to find out who had bound him to the X-frame in the dungeon at Saint Hilarion and abused his body. I guess there was a third, pressing problem too. Max took my knife and probably would have taken my service pistol if he could have. I had to consider that he hadn't been straight with me on not knowing who had put him on the Saint Andrews cross and whipped him--and who knows what else? Maybe he was out for revenge. If so, this could get very ugly in terms of an international incident.

So, I showered and dressed--in tight jeans, my black service boots, and a tight mesh athletic shirt, showing off what I knew was an attention-getting torso. Then I drove to the casino and wandered around the floor, playing the slots for a while and finally settling at the roulette table. This is where the casino's owner, Mehmet Ergon, found me and settled up on the stool beside me. I had figured this was the quickest way to smoke him out, and I'd been right. I knew that Max had been used as a bottom. That meant whoever I was looking for in tracking Max down again would be a seeking top. I was versatile. It was clear that, if I was going to find and retrieve Max and who he probably was coming after, I was going to have to play bottom. And I didn't know specifically who I was going for. Max knew who had fucked him before he was drugged and hung in the dungeon at Saint Hilarion. He didn't know--or wouldn't tell me--who had done him there.

"You're a big one, aren't you?" Ergon said. We both spoke English, the only language we found in common. "You're a beautiful man, which is good for business. Let me stand you a drink and some complementary chips."

I accepted chips and the drink, and the next drink too, while I played the wheel and Ergon played me. He was a handsome man, of a fascinating mix--he was hirsute and swarthy, dark and handsome in a foxy way. What was fascinating, though, was that he exhibited strains of being rough and crude while dressing elegantly and moving smoothly. I could tell he was a mobster with money and standing in this region. Max had spoken of having given in to him easily in having sex, under very similar circumstances as we were relating now, and I could see how that could be.

There was a third drink, after which he figured it was safe to tell me that he had a fetish for hunky blond Scandinavians and that I more than fulfilled that dream. He'd been touching me, and by the time of the third drink, he'd copped a feel below the roulette table and I'd smiled at him, rather than punching his lights out, which he obviously took as interest and availability. That's how I wanted him to take giving him liberties.