Bellapais Villa Munro Possession

I wandered cautiously into the hallway and stepped nervously up to my bedroom door and looked in. Wary of what I might find in there. But it was him, Kamil, sitting naked on my bed, gazing at me broodingly as his fingers worked the strings of the guitar resting across his thighs. Then his eyes dropped to the instrument and his fingers moved over the strings as he continued to play. I soon realised that he played well. And as he finished one tune and started another, I knew he played much more than well.

He had me riveted and his playing became more and more sensual and complex, his hands, with their long beautiful fingers seeming to be part of the guitar. He looked up at me again, "Undress," he whispered. And as I undressed he watched me with his brooding look of concentration as he played and I removed my clothes to the music.

As I undressed, I moved to his music, touching myself in response to it, running my hands over my skin. Pinching my nipples and stroking my manhood as I removed my clothes and lay them neatly aside, wanting him to see me and want me. Wanting those long supple fingers exploring me and playing a tune on me. My body was shivering and my cock standing ready as I finished and stood there naked, his big dark eyes and his music caressing me better than my hands could. I wanted him to take me and moved closer, stroking myself, seeing his eyes move to my tool and rest there as he played more slowly and sensually, and I stroked myself. I wanted him to fuck me while he played and couldn't understand it was impossible.

I came with a huge shudder, cum riding up my belly and chest in bursts and he stopped playing suddenly and set the guitar aside. I fell to my knees between his spread thighs. He was already hard and dripping precum as I took his cock up and fed it to my lips. If I hadn't already cum I would have then, discovering that he had been hard and dripping behind his guitar, as I had stroked myself off to his eyes and music.

I had barely got the taste of him and cupped and weighed his balls in my hand before he was lifting me and pushing me onto the bed on my knees and I knelt and widened my thighs for him dropping my head to the pillow.

"Fuck me," I begged him, reaching back to spread lube around my hole, his fingers taking over and working it inside me.

I was still young and was hard again as I moaned and moved my hips to fuck myself on his fingers, my free hand stroking my own cock as he was palming my belly, holding me steady, ready for him.

He entered me more easily this time, and I was moving with him and moaning from the beginning, not controlled by his eyes and the look in them, as I had been on the first night. But he came quickly and I needed more of him. I rolled over and knelt before him and began to lick at his body, but he pulled back frowning.

I looked up at him, at his serious look, "Don't think so much," I said panting.

He looked back at me uncertainly, and I realised that in what we were doing, he was incredibly naïve. That I was the first man he had fucked. Stupidly I thought how could I not have known that immediately. Because, the first time he had controlled me so easily and I had not been thinking of anything else.

I leant in again more gently and played each of his erect nipples with my lips, then moved my mouth up and to his neck, his ears, his lips, wanting to hear him moan. He was reluctant to kiss, but I teased his mouth and finally he relaxed and I darted my tongue in between the pink fleshy pads of his lips. But just enough to run along them before I moved my head down again and ran my lips over his chest, and down, playing at his belly, nuzzling his pubes and his treasure chest, nuzzling his half hard cock into my mouth. His hands gripped my head as I knelt, bent over before him, and I heard a faint noise escape him. I released his cock and took his balls into my mouth, sucking on them one at a time and he definitely moaned.

When he was long and hard again he pushed me back and I rested my feet on his shoulders, opening myself up for him. This time it was him who lubed up my hole, though it barely needed it, still being open and slick with his cum from earlier.

His long flexible fingers exploring inside me hit the right spot. "There, yes," I gasped, wanting him to know he had rubbed over something I wanted rubbed over. "Again."

He was a fast learner, and I saw a small smile cross his face as he fingered my ass and my cock hardened and dribbled for him.

Then I was looking down and watching him feed his manhood slowly into me, knowing I could never get enough of it.

Kamil gripped my thighs as he plowed me, and I ran my hands over his belly and chest. We came together him pulling out this time and his cock jerking and spouting cream over my belly and chest as mine did. He locked his eyes on mine as we both recovered, my feet still on his shoulders. Then he lent in and kissed me briefly.

"I will be back tomorrow," he said, kissing me when he left.

But I didn't see him again that weekend. And on Monday morning I took the last ferry I could back to the city of Mersin on the Turkish mainland.

When I went to buy a ticket on the ferry the next Friday afternoon, I was told it was full. I argued, and eventually the manager made them sell me a ticket, but I knew something was up.

When I arrived at the island, I was sworn at and my car spat on by the deckhand as I drove off the ferry, and I hurried up to my villa, worried about what may have happened. When I got there, I was relieved to find that things seemed normal and I unlocked the doors and hurried through the courtyard and into the house to find that it was just as I had left it.

But I had barely finished inspecting the villa when I heard a car pull up outside and the sound of footsteps.

I walked back out to the courtyard and saw three men coming towards me, and the youngest one was holding an old shotgun slanted across his body. They stopped, and the oldest one stepped forward.

"You will be on the next ferry," he said in broken English, "And you will not be back. Ever. "

"What's happened?" I asked.

But they just stared at me venomously, and the shotgun was lifted. I would have run if I'd had anywhere to run, but the only way out of the villa was through the courtyard door they were blocking. Another car had pulled up outside then and there were fast hurried footsteps and Layla, my landlady, was suddenly framed in the entrance from the lane.

"He is leaving," she said loudly. "I will help him get his bags. Wait outside."

Layla was far from her usual calm self. But the men went grudgingly out to stand just outside in the lane.

"You must go," she said, running into the house and pulling my bags out of the cupboards.

I threw what I could into the bags I had there and we carried them out to my car and put them in the boot, under the malevolent gaze of the three strangers.

I knew enough about the way the island really worked to be afraid, and I left what didn't fit into my bags and let myself be helped to leave.

When I tried to ask Layla what had happened, she only said "Not now, not now. There is nothing I can do."

I drove myself to the ferry, only stopping in Bellapais to slip into Sami's café in the square below the villa and grab Mustafa frantically by the arm.

"What has happened?" I asked him, fearfully. "Is Kamil all right?"

Mustafa looked at me, half sorry and half frightened. "Let go," he said angrily, shaking my hand off his arm. "You took the wrong one home," he said. "You have caused big trouble for him, and for you. You are lucky it is not twenty years ago."

"Who is Kamil?" I asked .

"Go. Go," was all he said, pushing me roughly out onto the street.

I came back from my memories, staring blankly into the gloom of Mustafa's current British Club café in Kyrena Harbour, remembering how I had caught the next ferry back to Mersin, shattered that I might never see the villa, or the island again. Or Kamil. And not only might I never see them again, I had felt I was cut off forever from any escape from the impersonal bustle of the Turkish mainland. I had lost my private paradise, as well as the dominating lover who played so passionately on the guitar.

After years of thinking about, and pining for the carefree Turkish Cypriot way of life I had discovered in Lawrence Durrell's villa, I had finally returned to Northern Cyprus and renewed that love affair. But I had never seen Kamil again.