Do You Trust Me?

"You'd best show me that grotto now," Brett said in a hoarse voice after they'd been sitting in the car for twenty minutes.

"On your hands and knees on the blanket," Brett had said when they'd entered the grotto and he had spread the blanket nearly to the edge of the tidal pool they had had to slither past to get to the rear, sandy-bottomed portion of the cave. He'd put the lantern down on the edge of the pool, and the reflected light on the water of the pool bounced off the uneven ceiling of the cave, sending undulating waves of blue around the small grotto. "You may rest your chest on the blanket, but keep your ass raised. Yes, like that."

He spent some time initially crouched behind Angelo, with an arm wrapped around his waist and palming his flat belly, while his other hand snaked between Angelo's thighs and milked his cock and pulled on and fondled his balls. The American's tongue mined Angelo's entrance, loosening and opening it to him. Angelo moaned and groaned at the attention in a volume that increased when Brett moved his mouth from the entrance to swallow Angelo's cock, which had been pulled back between his legs. Angelo's virginal cries of being sucked by a man for the first time reverberated around the small cave.

Angelo came down the American's throat, and started to collapse onto his stomach. But Brett held him in position with the hand palming his belly. The blond gave a low, guttural laugh. "No, this is the right position for your first time. You will be open, and I can fuck you deep. I will take you for a walk on the clouds now. God, you've got a beautiful body. And you taste sweet."

The American rose and covered Angelo's body close from behind in a crouch. Angelo cried out and writhed as the cock slowly entered him. And withdraw a bit and then invaded farther. Out and in farther.

"Shit. I don't think I can . . ." Angelo pleaded.

"Shush, shush, we're taking it slow. You're so tight. You didn't lie. So tight and so, so sweet."

Angelo whimpered and said that perhaps they should . . . "Oh shit, oh Fuck!" he cried out as Brett began a slow pump. And then faster and deeper. Faster yet. Slap, slap, slap, balls hitting balls. Angelo panting and groaning, his begging for mercy slowly transitioning into begging for more attention.

When Brett tensed and jerked, and came, they held for a moment, the American breathing hard and Angelo's wind hissing between his clinched teeth, his body jerking periodically in a dry sob. Brett slowly turned and rolled to the ground so that he was stretched out on his side and Angelo was cuddled into his chest.

"A few minutes, and they we will make love more than sex," Brett murmured.

Angelo wheezed his fluttering response of being overwhelmed and totally taken. After a bit, Brett raised Angelo's leg and turned toward him, giving his cock deeper purchase. The staff was hard again.

"Do you want me again?" Brett whispered.

"Yes, oh, yes," Angelo murmured.

Later, when Angelo was almost asleep, Brett pulled himself up—and then Angelo—and he supported Angelo with one arm and carried the lantern with the other as they mounted the steps up to the lower-level terrace.

"I'll just be a minute," the American said. When he came back, he was carrying four frosted bottles of Moretti beer. The two stretched out on patio chairs, naked, and watched the stars in the clear sky.

Half way through the first beer, Brett stood up from his chair and turned to where Angelo was sitting in his chair.

"I want to fuck you again," was all the American said. He reached down and gathered up one of Angelo's legs in each arm and raised and spread them. Angelo threw his head back and watched the stars over head and moaned, as Brett lifted his buttocks off the chair cushion, split his butt cheeks with a hard cock, and slow fucked him to a second ejaculation for the evening. Angelo clutched Brett's butt cheeks with his hands and groaned and grunted and begged him to fuck deep and to take long strokes. When Brett was done he lowered Angelo's body and returned to his chair and picked up his beer bottle and took another swig.

So, this is how it is, Angelo thought. How simply and natural—and satisfying it was.

Only when they were close to the end of the second beer each did Brett speak again. "You will be in my bed tonight."

"Yes," Angelo answered.

The beers finished, they entered the villa and Angelo followed Brett up a curved staircase of stone treads. This put them in a long hallway. Half way down the corridor, on the sea side of the house, a door was open and a soft light spread out onto the hallway floor. The two silently approached to pass by and Brett put a finger to his lips and gestured toward the open door, indicating that he wanted Angelo to see what was inside.

What was inside was a large bedroom, probably the villa's master bedroom, well appointed in rich furnishings with a definite masculine appearance.

Sitting on the end of the bed, showing to the door to the corridor in side angle, was the Greek tycoon, Doran Kokinos. He was naked. Short and stocky, with coarse features and covered in black curly hair, he looked almost like an evil gnome. But the whole package fit together as more solid than fat, even though he tended to the rotund, and there was no questioning that the man exuded power and charisma. Sitting in his lap, leaving no doubt that his ass was skewered on the Greek's hard phallus, was Guido, facing away from the Greek, the balls of his feet pressed into the thick carpet on the floor.

Angelo involuntarily sucked air when he saw the tableau. It wasn't because he was shocked at seeing Guido being lap fucked by the Greek, although that, indeed, was a surprise. It was because of what was sticking out of Guido's hard, erect cock. The end of a thin steel rod protruded from Guido's piss slit. The Greek was holding the young man's back to his hairy chest with one hand cupping Guido's chin. The Greek's other hand was manipulating the steel rod, revolving it a bit in Guido's piss slit and slowly pushing it in and then pulling it a bit out and then back in, perhaps a little deeper than it had been before. A rolling table had been pulled up on the other side of the pair beside their legs. Angelo could see that there were other, graduated in size, steel rods arranged neatly on the table top.

Guido was trembling and whimpering, but he wasn't objecting or trying to get away.

"It's a very delicate procedure," Brett whispered into Angelo's ear from behind. "It's incredibly sensual, but you have to hold perfectly still. The ultimate fuck. Being fucked in two holes at once."

Angelo shuddered. Brett was standing very close behind him, encircling his torso with strong hands. The fingers of one hand thrumming one of Angelo's nipples. "The rods are called wands," the American whispered. "The sex act is called sounding. Have you ever seen—?"

"I've never . . . even . . . . heard of . . ." Angelo answered in a low, stuttering voice that Brett would barely hear and that just sort of wafted into a silence that Angelo couldn't feel.

Guido gasped as the steel rod was completely withdrawn from his penis. Then he whimpered as the Greek's fingers picked out one of a larger size—and gasped again as it was being slid into his slit.

"You're hard again," the American whispered in Angelo's ear. "You like what you see. Maybe you want it too."

"Noooo," Angelo whined. But he couldn't deny he was hard again—from watching this act that he hadn't, in his wildest dreams—known existed. He felt Brett hard again too, at his back.

He didn't object as the American raised his torso with hands gripping his waist and settled his channel on a hard cock again. Angelo was suspended in front of the American who crouched down a bit to keep them in balance and then begin to slowly raise and lower Angelo on his cock as they both looked into the room.

Guido was receiving the fourth graduated wand inside his piss slit, when he began to moan more loudly and to declare that he was close to coming.

Angelo did come then himself, shooting out onto the plush carpet of the bedroom. When he looked up at the bed again, Guido was burbling cum around the sides of the buried wand and down onto this thighs. The Greek extracted the last wand and placed it carefully on the tabletop. Then he rose up on his feet, forcing Guido up on his as well, and Guido just bent forward, grabbing at his ankles with his fists. Holding Guido's hips in his hands, the Greek started to pump him from behind.

Angelo was too weak to move and would have collapsed on the floor himself if Bret wasn't holding him at the waist. The American gathered up the Italian youth in his arms, though, and carried him off to what proved to be his own bed in his own bedroom down the hall.

* * * *

Angelo had been so hyper about how quickly and deeply he had been dropped into male-on-male sex when Brett wanted to go to sleep that the American had suggested that the Italian take a sedative that he offered. This had immediately worked and had kept Angelo so under that when he woke, he discovered he no longer was in Brett's bed but was in a private gym of some sort, with a lot of fancy exercise equipment around. He himself was lying on his back, naked, on some sort of vinyl cube affair and Brett, also naked, was hunched over him, fiddling with some sort of band around his wrist, attaching it to a bound ankle. His ankles already were pulled back toward his waist at the side of the vinyl cube and cuffed to the side of the cube—and his buttocks were raised at the end of the cube.

"What?" Angelo mumbled, still half dazed.

"Do you trust me?" Brett asked. "You must trust me. This is for you. You said to me once that you wanted to leave here. Maybe go to America. We talked about films. Do you want opportunities?"

"Yes, but . . . why am I bound? What are you . . .?"

Brett was attaching Angelo's second wrist in a cuff to the cuff of the ankle already pulled back at one side of the cube.

"You want me to fuck you again don't you?"

"Yes, please. But . . ."

"Lay there and enjoy it as well—and as vocally—as you did in the grotto. We're being watched. You need to trust me."

Brett disappeared from Angelo's sight between his legs, although one of the American's hands remained encircling the Italian's cock and stroking it likely.

Angelo began to moan as he felt Brett's lips and tongue start to work the rim of his hole.

"Oh, fuck. Oh shit yes. Fuck me," Angelo was mouthing when Brett was crouched over him, his hands working Angelo's nipples and his cock working Angelo's ass. Angelo was moving his hips and raising and lowering them with leverage off the balls of his cuffed feet at the side of the cube to help maximize the still-engaged withdrawal and then the deep plunge of Brett's cock inside him—again and again and again. They were working as one unit despite Angelo being held totally captive by the cuffs.

Angelo was crying out that he was about to come, when Brett stopped and held him close and motionless. "No, you're not," he whispered in Angelo's ear. "Not yet. Stay with me here. This is important to you."

After Angelo's moment of explosion had passed without an ejaculation, Brett raised off him, although still encased in his channel, and reached over a pulled a small, rolling table toward him.

Looking over at that, Angelo's eyes opened wide. "Nooo, pleassse," he pleaded. He began to squirm as violently as his bounds would permit, as Brett held his hard cock firmly and waved a thin sounding wand over the glans.

"You will take this even if we have to give you a sedative again to quiet you down," Brett said in a firm voice. "We are here to please Dodo, and he will get what he wants. If you don't fight it, you will have pleasure as well. If you do fight it, you may be ruined. Do you understand? You must trust me. This will be unbelievably arousing to you. The ultimate fuck. You take this well, and you have a bright future. Are you going to settle down?"

"Please don't. Please let me go."

Brett was holding Angelo's cock firmly and the cold tip of the wand was at Angelo's piss slit, moving around the hole, caressing the rim of the entrance.

"Relax. This needs to go in at the right angle, if you don't want to be ruined. Lay back and enjoy it. But Dodo must know that you will be totally ours. Doors will open to you, but only if you give over total control."

With a sigh of resignation, Angelo collapsed into the vinyl cube. But he was arching his back again, panting heavily, and straining at the cuffs on his ankles and wrists when the American pressed the tip of the wand into the slit opening and then moved it deeper.

"Oh fuck, nooo," Angelo moaned.

"Relax. Breath normally. You'll love it. It's already in. There's nothing to fight anymore."

Angelo panted and moaned, but he did relax back into the cube. He gasped as Brett brought the wand out and then pressed back in. Out and in; out and in.

"Ahhhhhhh."

"Enjoying it now, aren't you?"

Brett released Angelo's cock, leaving the wand buried inside. He laced his fingers through Angelo's balls and distended them. His other hand went to roaming Angelo's chest. "You have such a beautiful body. You deserve to be in films," the American murmured. He began to pump Angelo's channel with his cock.

Ten minutes later, the bulb of Brett's condom filled out inside Angelo, and he pulled out.

Now what? Angelo thought. Does the wand come out?

Now what was Doran Kokinos appearing from the shadows and taking up the station the Brett had withdrawn from. And, yes, the wand came out. But only to be replaced by a thicker wand. Doran's cock was thicker than Brett's too. Not as long, but quite definitely thicker, and Angelo only having been taken by Brett this far tensed his body, arched his head back, rolled his eyeballs up toward his eyebrows, and whimpered a low and ineffective plea to be released as a thicker cock worked hard to possess his channel and a thicker wand worked its way into Angelo's urethra tube.

Kokinos, for all his gnome-like ugliness and coarseness, was a far more masterful cocksman and sounding manipulator than the American was. By closing his eyes and just going with varied rhythms and angles of the Greek's cocking, the working of his free hand on Angelo's body, and the off-beat probing of his piss channel with the thicker wand—and the even thicker one after that—Angelo was lifted to new heights of arousal that he could not deny had him dancing on clouds.

After twice begging for release and being denied, Kokinos let Angelo come during the fourth stage of the wands. The Greek had not come, however.

He called Brett over and told him he could release Angelo. "You may have him for the day. Teach him the positions you know I like. He will do very nicely. He will be in my bed tonight."

Brett released an exhausted Angelo, slung him over his shoulder, and took him out of the exercise room en route to his bedroom. As they were leaving, Angelo lifted his eyes from the floor and caught a glimpse of Kokinos, his thick cock still hard and curved up, approaching another apparatus. Angelo saw Guido, his legs raised and spread wide, cuffed at the ankles on frame. He was naked, on his back, and his cock was standing straight up—with two wands protruding from the piss slit. Angelo heard the other young Italian fisherman cry out, as the Greek moved between his legs, thrust his hips forward and up, and began to pump.

That night, although smaller than Angelo, the Greek was solid muscle and much more powerful than young Italian. He slung the younger man around in countless positions—more than Brett had shown Angelo over the afternoon—and showed over and over again throughout the night that he could come again and again—and could make Angelo do so as well.

At first Angelo was disconcerted by the flashes going off around the bed periodically in a constant rhythm, but he grew used to it—just as he increasingly became addicted to the Greek tycoons expert fucking. By dawn, when the Greek told him that Brett would drive him back to his boat in the Positano harbor, Angelo didn't want anything as much as the Greek's cock inside him, working its magic.

* * * *

Brett dropped Angelo off in the Positano harbor late the next morning, and Angelo hobbled home rather than to his boat, almost not being able to mount the steep-sloped cobblestoned street to his building because of the glorious soreness in his channel and the aching of the leg muscles he'd used to keep his legs spread during the previous day and night, muscles he didn't normal use in his fishing.

Before he went up into the town, however, he checked Guido's fishing boat. It was still in the harbor, and Guido wasn't in it.

Angelo slept most of the day, only managing to get up in time to make his set at the café. Neither the Greek nor the American nor Guido showed up at the café. Only the flirty Luciano fluttered around, teasing a couple of middle-aged male tourist existed at the café to remind the lifestyle that Angelo had fallen into. He surprised himself by thinking of the Greek and his cock—and the sounding—more than he did about the American. So, it wasn't the beauty of a well-toned, young body that was attracting him. It was the mystery of the sounding and, above all, the mastery of a cock wielded by an experienced lover.

The next day, Angelo took his fishing boat out. He had to. He had to put food on his table. He went north rather than south, willing himself to do necessary work.

When Brett had left him off in the harbor, he said that he would come for Angelo when the Greek wanted him. Angelo assumed that would be the next day, but it wasn't. And it wasn't the next day either. On the afternoon of the second day, on which Angelo took the fishing boat south, to the fishing ground off Kokinos's villa to spend more of the day with his binoculars than with his net, but not seeing any activity at the villa, Angelo checked out Guido's boat again. It still hadn't left the harbor.

And this time Guido's boat at a "For Sale" sign on it.

"What do you know about Guido?" Angelo stopped at the fish market by the pier where Guido's boat was lashed up. "His boat as a 'For Sale' sign on it."

"I don't know. I haven't seen Guido in days. But I've heard that he already has left Positano."

"Left Positano?" Angelo was bewildered.

"Some say he has gone to Cyprus."

"To Cyprus? What's in Cyprus?"

"Well, his lawyer—who is trying to sell the boat—says that Guido is going to be in movies."

"In movies? Movies film in Cyprus?"

"One supposes, but I don't know. I just know that Guido's family has had that boat for generations, and I think he must be crazy to be selling it and leaving our little slice of heaven."

Angelo gave the man a dull look. Could he be serious, or was he poking fun? Not want to leave Positano? It had been Angelo's dream for years to leave Positano—and even to be in movies. And now Guido was already doing it? Before him or rather than him?

Even though it was late in the afternoon and it would be dark before he returned, Angelo climbed the hill to his home, took his motor bike out of the shed in the garden at the back, and drove the coastal road south.

No one answered at the gates of the Kokinos villa and, although Angelo found a place that he could scale the wall and get into the compound, there was no sign that anyone was there.

Forlorn, Angelo putted back to Positano and, over the next three weeks, did what he could to return his life to normal. Of course he no longer could return to what he had known as normal before he found man-to-man sex. Guido's lawyer had been making oblique suggestions to him for a couple of years. He was in his late forties and not bad looking, and he kept himself in trim condition. He had, in fact, been a bone of contention between Angelo and Guido. Guido had been willing to lay under the man, but the lawyer had made clear that he preferred Angelo. And yet Angelo had pretended that there was nothing on offer that he was interested in.