Free Pottery

"You know what I want, Karamat, but pottery is what is paying for this stay at your hotel. It isn't really necessary for you to get me a driver. I can get a taxi."

"No problem; they want to send a car for you," Karamat said. He couldn't seem to lose that lopsided grin. "I'm sure they will enjoy serving you."

He went into the office of the hotel to make a telephone call, and I went back to my villa to rest until the driver came for me.

It had been a tiring day. I hadn't gotten much sleep and was gloriously sore, but walking down in the castle harbor town of Kyrenia had helped me exercise muscles back into shape and deaden any pain I had experienced. I just wasn't used to so much sex of that intensity—and from two different men—in that short a period.

In Kyrenia I had moved from one souvenir or gift shop to another, seeking local-made pottery Avis would like. There were some vividly painted scenes of ancient Turkish warriors done on large display plates that I found were made in mainland Turkey, and I managed, with the help of the shop here, to order a shipment of those by telephone to be shipped directly to Atlanta.

But other than that, there was disappointingly little. That was with the exception of the unusual coffee mug I had found. It was of a tan earth color, rough pottery on the outside, with geometric designs etched into it while the pottery was still wet—obviously by hand or a stencil roller but by a deft hand. Only the inside and lip of the cup were glazed before firing. I had found a few bowls of this and a set of wine glasses and a water pitcher, as well. I'd only bought the cup, though, so that I could show it to Karamat. The shopkeepers I'd asked concerning the origin of the pottery were only willing to obtain it for me. But I didn't want a middleman on the payroll or I wouldn't have come here directly.

I was dozing in my room when the telephone buzzed and Karamat was summoning me to take my ride to the Kemal pottery.

As I walked up to the hotel office, I saw that Karamat was talking with a young Turk, who, it seemed like all of the Turkish men here, was handsome, dark and sultry, and built like an athlete. He had a slightly thugish look to him, like anyone who went with him would be used roughly, which gave me chills. He also cast on me the same speculative smile I'd seen others do since I came to Cyprus.

"This is Rafat," Karamat said. "He will take you to the pottery." They had been speaking with their heads close together as I approached. They both looked up and gave me brilliant smiles when they sensed I was there. They both were in shorts and droopy athletic Ts, with deep cuts in the armholes, showing thick matting of black hair in their pits, and curly hair cascading out of the dip in the neckhole. Such revealing wear seemed to be the casual apparel of choice in Turkish Cyprus. They both filled their clothes out very well—the mature, Zeus-like Karamat and the young, Apollo-like man talking with him.

Rafat and I were soon scuttling along the coastline on a bad road in an old Holden with so many knocks and squeals that I had to concentrate hard on what the young man was saying. I was watching his hands on the wheel, although his hands didn't spend much time on the wheel. He was being very expressive with them. They were good, sensual hands. The fingers were long, with curls of dark hair above the knuckles. He touched me a few times while we were driving and he was gesturing and even ran his hand down my chest once when he had flung his hand out, protectively, when we had taken a curve in the road hard.

"You stay at Karamat's hotel, yes?"

He damn well knew I was staying there. "Yes."

"Karamat, he treats you well, yes?"

"Yes, he's very hospitable." I knew what he meant by that. He'd put his hand on my thigh and squeezed as he shot me a brilliant, knowing smile. "And he's a master at what he does." I wanted Rafat inside me, and I wasn't going to be in Cyprus long enough to beat around the bush about it. He'd left no question what he wanted from me.

"You like hairy men?"

"Yes, very much so. And men who take what they want."

"Good," he said, flashing a big smile at me. "Karamat said you were very enjoyable."

Rafat let me off at the front door of a squat stuccoed building with picture windows on either side of the entry. Bars covered these windows. It had the look of an old, disused army barracks about it. Rafat urged me to go on in and look around in their showroom while he parked the Holden behind the building.

I entered the showroom to find, standing behind a counter—Rafat. Although he was quick to point out that he wasn't Rafat, but Selat, the twin of Rafat.

"Please, please. Look around. Uncle Karamat told us what you were interested in—and what you were looking for in pottery wholesale. He say you like the half glaze ware."

"Yes, that intrigues me. I don't think I've ever seen any pottery like that. It's just glazed on the inside." "Uncle" Karamat, I was thinking. He hadn't told me they were related. Perhaps that was why he'd given me such a sloppy grin when I'd shown him the coffee mug.

"Yes. That makes it cheaper. But we find many tourists like it—even better than our more artistic, full-glazed pottery. But, please, look around. We make you a very nice deal. Yes, very nice indeed. Uncle Karamat tell us what you like."

I knew he wasn't talking about pottery any more, not really. I felt myself going hard—especially as Rafat had just entered the showroom. Seeing the two of them together was very arousing.

As the two talked to each other in whispers and undulged at furtive looks at me, I wandered around the store. The half-glazed pottery, indeed, was very enticing—as were many of their fully glazed and decorated pottery pieces. They had pottery with vine leaves either etched into the raw clay or painted on the surface that would, I believed, sell very, very well in Buckhead. Yes, very enticing. I looked at the twins, standing there and smiling at me, proud of their work and hopeful of its sale. They were very enticing too.

"Are these all the samples?" I asked. "Any more somewhere?" I couldn't hide that I was looking for some place more private than the showroom.

"Yes," Selat said, with a broad grin. "We have more. And a very special collection in the back. You come back and see?"

"Yes, please," I said. Selat ushered me toward a doorway covered with a beaded curtain. I saw that Rafat was at the shop door, locking it and turning the sign to "Closed."

The room Selat led me into was not large. Three sides were lined with shelves, containing pottery. A double bed was set against the fourth wall, between two shuttered windows.

My eyes went to the double bed and lingered there.

"Selat and I take turns sleeping here at night," Rafat said. "For protection of the shop. We also fuck here."

I turned my gaze toward Selat, being slightly embarrassed that the young men were so openly hitting me and were so assured. Of course, I had given them every reason to be assured.

"Perhaps this pottery will interest you," Selat said, as he led me over to one wall.

Arranged on the shelves, using the half-glazed technique were a dozen or more cups, bowls, and pitchers.

"Pick one up," Selat said. "Examine it closely. I think that you'll like it." Rafat was standing close behind me. As I picked a cup up—and then almost dropped it as I saw the images etched into it—I felt his hands go to my hips.

I shuddered. The cup was covered with homoerotic art. Like ancient Greek urns, men straddling men on couches. Fondling, sucking, fucking.

I picked several pieces up, all the same, plus some of stylized hard penises.

"You find them interesting?" Selat asked. He was very close to me now too.

"Very interesting, yes," I replied. "But not really what I can sell in Atlanta—at least not in my shop. You have much more—out in the showroom—that I could use, though."

"But perhaps we have something you would want, could use, more privately," Selat said in a low voice. "We can give you a very good deal—a very good deal for someone who was a good friend of Uncle Karamat's—and, we hope, of Rafat and me too."

Rafat had his hands running up under my T-shirt, to my pecs.

"Let's see what kind of deal we can make," Selat said. He took the bowl I was looking at out of my hand and gently returned it to the shelf. Rafat was pulling me over into the center of the room.

"We fuck you now, yes?"

"Yes," I answered breathlessly.

"Both together?"

"If you want."

They sandwiched me, Selat in front and Rafat in back. They had already shucked their own Ts. Rafat pulled mine over my head as Selat unbuckled my belt, unzipped me, and let my shorts hit the floor. Rafat was embracing me from behind and moved a hand to cup my chin and turn my face to his for a deep kiss. Selat pulled my briefs down off my legs and he followed them down, going down on his knees and taking my cock in his mouth. Rafat went down on his knees too and he was working between my crack with his mouth and fingers.

I had to grab their heads, Selat's with one hand, and Rafat's with the other, to maintain my balance.

But I didn't have to do that long. The two stood, stripped off their own shorts and briefs, and began working me between them. I could feel both of their cocks between my thighs. For a brief moment, I thought they were going to take me, together, standing there. I had given permission for that, but I'd thought it would be something we'd work up to, if it happened. Selat had already raised one of my legs against his thigh with a hand under my knee. I felt he was on the cusp of pulling the other one up and settling my channel on his cock—with Rafat's right there as well. I moaned, scared, but half wanting it. But when I was sure that was going to happen, they were moving me, toward the bed.

They had me on my back at the end of the bed and were tag-teaming me. Taking turns holding my legs spread and fucking me and feeding me their cocks while kneeling above my head. Every five minutes or so they would switch positions. They occasionally showed concern that maybe I had had enough. They didn't volunteer to stop altogether, but they assured me that they could finish me if I was growing weary. Fascinated by being taken by hunky twins, though, I encouraged them to fuck on.

One of them pulled out of me—I no longer remembered which was which—but rather than switching, the one at my head started working underneath me, until I was full on top of him and his hard cock was pushing up under my ball sack. The brothers worked together to get his cock inside me and then he crossed his arms tightly across my chest, right under my pits, which drew my arms up to where they were effectively trapped.

Then what I had both feared and hoped for before was happening. The other twin was working his cock inside me on top of his brother's. I panted and whimpered, surprised that I could take them as big as they'd both gotten.

"Can you manage?" a voice in my ear whispered. "I can tell Rafat—"

"No, please. Don't stop. I've never . . . but I want . . ." So the one on top was Rafat. The one under Selat.

And then Rafat began to pump, and I zipped right to heaven. I was spouting in no time and Rafat pulled out of me long enough to lean down and clean my cock with his mouth. And then he was inside me, pumping again. Selat was moaning now as well and the brothers kissed over my shoulder and then each, in turn, kissed me.

When I opened my eyes, there was another man in the room. A near duplicate of Karamat. He pulled his T over his head. The same hairy barrel chest.

"Our father, Kemal," Rafat said. "This is his shop. He can give you really, really good deal."

"Yes," I answered. I knew what he was asking.

Rafat's face and cock disappeared and now it was Kemal staring down in my eyes, Kemal entering me, Kemal—thicker than Rafat—pumping me on top of Selat's buried cock.

"Kemal says you are A number 1 good fuck," Selat said afterward, sitting beside me on the bed I was still laying on, panting and recovering. Selat was smiling broadly.

"The three of you were great too."

"Kemal, he doesn't speak English. So I ask for him. He says you can have two boxes—like that one over there—full of the pottery of your pick, for free—you just pay shipping and handling."

"That sounds good," I said. My mind was contemplating how much I had made on that marvelous fuck. I felt the need to close the deal before these guys figured out that I should be paying them for the cocking.

"You might want better deal—three boxes," Selat said rather haltingly.

"For what?" I asked.

"If you stay here, the night, with Kemal. And let him do whatever he wants with you."

Kemal was standing inside the door with the beaded curtain. His body was still beautiful to me. His smile was too. He was holding several lengths of nylon rope in one hand.

Ah, Avis, I thought, the deals I must make to keep your boutique shop profitable.