Dancing with the Matadors

That didn't stop Senhor Mendes from touching me and squeezing my knee or running the back of his hand up my cheek while he talked with my father-in-law. But the forwardness of the attentions paid to me were subsumed in him doing exactly the same with the small army of young men who were serving us our dinner. Anyone coming with reach of him had their bottoms patted or a hand run up the hem of their white shirt, and the young men just wiggled their butts and smiled for their benefactor. Mendes had established a specialized world of his own in this palace. It was a world in which I was being enfolded within his sexual privilege and control. I'm sure what he was doing to me was seen by him to be done by right--and with the sufferance of my present father-in-law.

Immediately after dinner, Mendes and my father-in-law withdrew to the impresario's study to discuss their business deal, which left Juan Falcao and me at the table. I expected him to excuse himself and leave--to go meet his fans--but he didn't. Instead, he suggested we withdraw to a lounge and he'd put some music on.

"Do you dance, Jai?" he asked. "You move like a dancer."

"I've had some lessons, yes," I answered, but then as he started swaying to the music he'd put on, and I added, "but I don't dance like you do. In the ring this afternoon, you looked like you were dancing with the bull--teasing it, but coaxing it to dance with you. And the bull did. I was delighted. I think everyone in the ring was."

"Yes, you have to be a dancer to be a good matador, Jai. The bull isn't your adversary in the ring; the bull is your partner--your dance partner. Come, dance with me."

"Dance with you?" I asked. "Two men dancing together?"

"Certainly, and why not? There is much that two men do with each other in this house. There is no one here to see us. There are no women here to dance with, and I want to dance."

I was embarrassed at the offer and the contact with such a beautiful man, but I also was transported. I rose and went to him and we danced, close together. As was natural, he held me in his arms and he led in the dance. It was like this, the two of us dancing to the waltz music, that Senhor Mendes and the baron found us when they returned.

Juan had just whispered, "You are a beautiful boy; I know you are a man now, but to me you are a beautiful boy. Now, though, you are free to do as you like." He then kissed me lightly on the throat, but I don't think my father-in-law and Senhor Mendes saw that as they were coming into the room. Mendes didn't seem to see his matador and the youth he was trying to cover dancing together as anything to be upset about, but my father-in-law was visibly angry. Juan immediately pulled away from me and went over to a bar and fixed himself something to drink.

Red faced, I said that I was tired and perhaps should retire to my room early. None of the men objected to me going. Senhor Mendes and Juan spoke to each other in Portuguese, but the tone was friendly. My father-in-law had a smile on his face for the other men but turned to me briefly and scowled as I fled the room.

Buck Thornton was the only one who didn't seem pleased. We weren't there to make any business deals with a pretty-boy Spain matador, he said later in my room, when he was slapping me around. I was there to impress Mendes, he admonished me.

"You didn't tell me I was here to give myself to a fat, old man," I said. Thornton slapped me again then and said, "Your job here is to make him think he is a sexual god."

I'd gone straight to the tub when my father-in-law left me. When I dried off, I wrapped a fluffy robe around myself that had been hanging on the back of the bathroom door and came out to the bedroom. The lights were turned down low and the ceiling fan was languidly turning overhead. I went to the dressing table and sat down at it, looking at myself in the big mirror on the wall behind the table, looking to see if there was any damage to my face from Thornton's slaps. There wasn't. He liked to get physical in sex but that meant he was an expert in enjoying it but not going too far--not letting evidence of it show. As far as I knew, my wife had no idea what went on between me and her father at the ranch in Texas. Of course she was obsessed with her baby by another, absent, man. I didn't really exist for her other than a ticket to hold her head up in Texas society.

It took me the longest time to realize that the matador, Juan Falcao, had come into the room while I was soaking in the tub. The first I became aware of it, I saw him, in the mirror, standing behind me. He was wearing a fluffy robe, just as I was, but it was unsashed and flared open. What I could see revealed was hard-bodied, tanned flesh. He was a decade older than I was, but probably fifteen years younger than my father-in-law, the man regularly covering me, and probably twenty-five years younger than Senhor Mendes, who my father-in-law was intent on giving me to.

To me, Juan was a young man. His body was magnificent. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. He had the sleekness and tight musculature of a man who was an active bullfighter. There were scars from encounters with the bulls, as well, but that only added to the mystery and sexiness of him. When he'd seen that I had noticed him and hadn't bolted from the bench in front of the dressing table, he put his hands on my shoulders and leaned down and kissed me in the hollow of my neck.

"I enjoyed dancing with you," he whispered.

"I too."

"There are more intimate forms of the dance, you know?"

"Are there?" One of his hands, the fingers long and sensuous, glided down onto my chest and palmed one of my breasts. I gave him no resistance, only sighing and leaning back into him. I'm sure that told him I would let him fuck me.

"You left us early this evening," he murmured.

"I understood you would be leaving--to celebrate with your fans--after supper. I thought the evening would be too dull after you were gone."

"I didn't leave."

"So I see," I answered. "Your fans are celebrating without you?"

"They could be. I don't give a fuck if they are. I stayed because of you."

There didn't seem to be a need to say anything else after that. He brushed my robe off my shoulders with his hands, and it cascaded to the floor, surrounding the bench I was sitting on. I was naked now. Before putting his hands back on my shoulders, he shrugged out of his robe as well. When the hands came back, they glided down my chest, hesitated on my pecs again to rub my puffed-up nipples briefly, and then moved on down across my belly and into my trimmed patch of pubic hair. I felt him hard and pressing into my back between my shoulder blades, needy and insistent.

As he had done earlier, he whispered to me, "You are a beautiful young man to me," this time adding, "I must be inside you."

"Yes," I whispered. "Dance with me like you did with the bull. Fuck me. Take what you want."

"You have been with a man before? Do you have experience?"

"Yes."

One of his hands encircled my erection and stroked me. I moved one of my hands back between us and returned the favor. I turned my face to his and we kissed... deeply.

Like the smooth dancer he was in the bullring, Falcao raised me from the bench with an arm encircling my waist. He somehow had the bench pushed aside and we were standing there, in front of the mirror, my body pressed into his, his arm encircling my waist, holding me close. The insistence of him was pressing at the small of my back, his face was buried in my throat, and his free hand stroked my cock. He wasn't a tall man, but he was taller than I was. He was olive-toned and slender and dark. I was boyish and berry brown--exotic to him with my partial Indian heritage. I lay comfortably, relaxed, in his embrace, watching the two of us in the mirror while he possessed my throat with his lips, his silky black hair brushing my shoulders, and stroked my cock.

I gave a little cry but offered no resistance when he lifted me with the strength of the arm around my waist and settled me back down on his cock, the hardness of him allowing him to put himself in position, breach my entrance, and then pull my channel down on the shaft.

"Open to me. Take it," he murmured. Then, he emitted a long "Ahhh," as I did and he easily penetrated and stretched me. He gasped and sighed as my channel muscles undulated over and squeezed his invading shaft. I had enough South Asian in me to have discovered some of the special techniques in taking a cock.

"Yes, yes, yes," I whispered. I raised my feet, hooking my ankles on his calves, and moved with him as he fucked me--as we fucked each other. I flung my arms back, locking my fists behind his neck, and there I was, both of us facing and looking into the mirror, my body hanging on his, back arched and belly projected forward, him holding us both up with the strength in his legs and arms.

"Você é tão flexível. Seu corpo é lindo," he whispered.

"What? I don't understand."

"I said that you are so flexible. Your body is beautiful. I am in lust in being inside you."

With the strength of his arm, he raised me and lowered me on the cock, achieving new depth each time--raised me, lowered me, raised me, lowered... He paused, revolving my channel on the shaft, exploring each crevice of me, making me sigh and groan. No man had made love to me as the matador was. Raised me, lowered me.

"I fuck you good, no?"

"You fuck me good, yes."

The man was strong, and virile, and increasingly vigorous. He stretched me and fucked me deep, picking up speed and intensity. I gave him whatever he wanted. He took what he wanted. He moved us to the bed, putting me down on my back at the foot of the bed, holding my legs raised and spread with a grasp of my ankles, crouched between my thighs, and fucked me while leaning his face down almost to mine, capturing every reaction showing in my eyes to what marvelous work his cock was doing inside my channel, his long, silky, black hair cascading onto and swaying against my shoulders.

"É adorável. Leva-o tão bem."

"What? What are you saying?"

"You're lovely. You take it so good."

And he fucked me in a side split on the bed, exhausting me, coming deep inside me, and staying in me as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke with a start, in an entirely different world. Falcao was gone, but I still was being fucked. I was on my belly and a heavy man was on top of me--a very heavy man. He was inside me, pumping hard, stretching me even more than Falcao did and even Thornton did before that. He was sweating and fat and smelled of the garlic our supper was laced with. He was grasping my wrists in his fists, holding my arms over my head, immobile. He was too heavy for me to get out from underneath and it was all I could do to breathe as he panted in my ear, chewing on my earlobe, and fucked me and fucked me and fucked.

But, fuck, he was a master with the cock.

I was being fucked by Enrique Mendes. Sometime in the night, he had exchanged places with Falcao. It had all happened smoothly without waking me. I realized that this meant Falcao had just been sent in to prepare me for Mendes, to exhaust me and to be there for Mendes to take over and get what he'd wanted since he'd visited us in Texas.

I also realized that he was doing this with my guardian's blessing. Thornton was aware of this and expected me to cooperate with it. When I realized what was happening and that it was going to happen without my cooperation or with my acquiescence, I gave in to it and let the man have his fuck. He was in, deep, stretching me to the limit and he held me securely in his grip. He already had me; there was little use in struggling against him. When I murmured that he was smothering me, I was able to get through to him, and he took more of his weight on his elbows and his knees.

Then he rose off me and stood at the foot of the bed, holding me, belly down in front of him. That's when he seriously moved into his fetish, grasping my hips between his beefy hands, digging his fingers bruisingly into my flesh, moving to be able to touch the fingers of his hands in spanning my narrow hips, holding me securely, tightly in place, positioning himself between my hips, penetrating me deep again in the ass, and fucking, fucking, fucking.

After that, it wasn't so bad. He was big inside me and knew how to stroke, in an offbeat rhythm, to take me up into the clouds of completion. I settled down and concentrated on the shaft expertly working my channel. I managed to reach my cock with a hand and stroke myself off, and I came for him twice.

"Ah, sim, agora é bom para ti. Agora quer a pila do Enriques."

"What? What did you say?"

"I said now it is good for you. Now you want Enriques's cock."

I couldn't say he was wrong.

By the finish--his finish; he'd been able to bring me off more than once--he'd lost his own nervousness and the sweating had stopped. I'd had the same garlic dishes he'd had at supper, so that wasn't onerous either. The rolls of fat just became his problem in adjusting to enable deep penetration. I appreciated the deep penetration when it was achieved.

In the night, he fucked me again, and this time he didn't need guile or forceable embrace. I surrendered to him, acknowledging his privilege and control in his own house. He rolled me onto my back, grasped my ankles, raised and spread my legs, and kneed his way in between my thighs. Arching my back, stretching my arms out in a sacrificial position, and raising my pelvis to him, I gave no resistance as, whispering, "Doce menino. Menino bonito--Sweet boy; beautiful boy," he penetrated and fucked me again.

I even gave him more in the morning. He suggested we shower together and I suggested that, instead, we bathe in the oversized tub together. I realized then that I had been given a superior room with a large soaking tub by design--by a design that my father-in-law had known about and acquiesced in. Fucking in the tub helped me accommodate the man. I could take him more easily clean of sweat. He lay back in the large, marble basin, smoking a cigar and luxuriating in the attention, as I saddled myself on his pelvis in the tubful of soapy water and created waves by fuckin myself on his cock.

That was the nicest thing about him--his thick, long cock. I made the most I could of the situation. I knew now that the young men buzzing around him, letting him take liberties with them, weren't doing it all for money--they were also doing it for the high quality of his cocking. When I'd dried him off, given his shaft some sucking work with my mouth, and he'd pulled on his robe and left my bedroom--the bedroom he was hosting me with--I went back to bed, closed out the world, and slept for three more hours. He left satisfied. I remained, bruised, used, but, even at nineteen, much more world wise than I had been before I left Texas.

* * * *

When I came downstairs in the morning, my father-in-law and Senhor Mendes were still at the breakfast table, but they clearly were finished eating. I could see that my father-in-law was beaming as I gathered food from the sideboard.

"We are about to sign a contract on my farm providing bulls for Senhor Mendes's bullfighting, Jai. Then he's taking me to inspect where they keep the bulls before they go into the ring. We will be looking at some land near there while we are out. You are to stay here. Enrique wants to take you out on his boat this afternoon."

I'll just bet he does, I thought, as I sat at the table and the two of them rose to go into Mendes's study. I presumed that the "looking at some land" would take time. Thornton had already told me that, if we got the contract, we most certainly would have to buy land here in Portugal. We'd have to be able to convincingly claim the bulls were raised in Portugal and we'd need someplace to put them for a short time before they entered the ring after shipping them from Texas. It would all be terribly illegal and hush-hush, of course. I suspect that the underhanded nature and risk of all of this was what enticed Buck.

As they walked off, the Portuguese bullfight promoter gave me an "I'll eat you up" look and said, in broken English, "Just the two of us on the water. We will have such enjoyment." He reached over and touched me affectionately on the cheek before ushering my father-in-law away. Already he was treating me as his property. Thornton pinned that down as they were moving off.

"Enrique has asked if you can stay on for a week or so after I've returned to Texas. You're on your school summer holiday and are working on my dime, so I agreed."

Such a holiday, I thought. I wondered if the actual number of days the man would have complete access to me had been closely negotiated in their bulls deal. I went on to replay what my father-in-law had said about the deal as I was gathering my breakfast. He had referred to it as his deal and his business. When he was explaining to me that I would have to let the man paw and fuck me, he had referred to it as our deal and our family business. The deal was done; I no longer had to be considered a partner in it--just an element in the negotiations.

I ate in gloom and then, not being able to stand roaming around in Mendes's palace, waiting for him to return and fondle and fuck me, I went for a walk in the city. Senhor Mendes and Thornton were still holed up in Mendes's study, celebrating their new alliance, when I left. They would not miss me for hours.

* * * *

I walked north along the Campo Grande, through a park running between the legs of the avenue, winding up, when I was tired and thirsty, sitting on a low wall by what I was told was the Alvalaxi shopping center. There was something of a square through which a road ran in front of me and a line of cafés with covered outside seating on the other side. As I sat, many of the men passing me by gave me the eye. A line of soldiers went by more or less in formation and two of them turned their heads toward me, one of them giving a wolf whistle and the other popping his tongue in his cheek.

Across the shallow square I noticed another man, at one of the café tables, watching me too. He was a handsome man, but not young. He had a fine head of wavy, dark hair, but it was shot through with gray. He was well-dressed, in khaki trousers and a white, well-tailored long-sleeve shirt, rolled up to the elbows, revealing tattooing covering both forearms. The shirt was open almost to his navel, showing a hard body with more tattooing. He also was muscular, looking fit and commanding in attitude. Although mature, he exuded sexy. I tried looking away, but he was such a good-looking man, with an air of confidence about him that I kept looking. I wondered how old he was--perhaps in his late forties.

As I watched, I saw him call a waiter over and both of them looked across the street at me. The waiter nodded and came over to me.

"O homem do café deseja que você se junte a ele." I presumed the waiter was speaking to me in Portuguese.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," I answered. "Do you speak English? I don't speak Portuguese."

"Ah, yes, doesn't everyone have to speak English these days?" the waiter said and laughed. "I said that the gentleman in the café, drinking coffee, is asking if you would join him."

"Join him?"

"Yes, if he finds you pleasant in sharing a coffee, he would like you to service him." He then named a price the man was willing to pay. I was beginning to understand.

"You do know why young men and boys sit on this wall, don't you?" The waiter was giving a little smile.

I understood why now, yes. And I thought, why the hell not? The money being offered was quite generous. My father-in-law wasn't giving me anything for pimping me to old, ugly men. And this man was not old and ugly. I'd surrendered to Senhor Mendes last night and this morning--this morning he'd just laid back and I rode his cock, doing all of the work myself. And he didn't pay me. If I was going to be pimped, I might as well get the benefit from it.