Do You Trust Me?

Angelo now surprised the man, though. He came to his door on a Saturday afternoon when Angelo knew that the lawyer's wife and their housekeeper were in Salerno buying goods they couldn't find in Positano. Angelo had taken him by the hand and led him to the man's bed and let the lawyer fuck him. Over the weeks, the lawyer had regularly been appearing at the café in the evening and had gone to Angelo's rooms and fucked him and then gone home to his wife. It was something, but not really enough for Angelo. The man did not have the imagination nor the demanding nature of either the American, Brett, or the Greek, Doran Kokinos.

But it was something, better than nothing. And the lawyer was totally smitten with his good luck.

* * * *

"Strip. This man is going to fuck you. And if he likes you, he will make you a film star."

"A film star?" Angelo asked.

"Yes, he is a film director. From Cyprus. He makes men's art films," Doran Kokinos answered. "He can take you to Cyprus and put you into films."

Angelo's mind ran to Guido, who had not returned to Positano. The mention of films and Cyprus had told Angelo that this, no doubt, had been where Guido had gone. He also now clearly understood what was happening here. It wasn't just the man—another tall Greek, hefty but not fat, with wavy black hair on his head, and black hair curling around and down his chest too—although not as much as Kokinos had—and a face that only a mother could love, but arousing in a thuggish way—and Kokinos and Angelo in the exercise room in Kokinos's villa. Off to the side, the fluttery waiter from the café, Luciano, was cuffed to the vinyl cube, and Brett was fucking him and introducing him to the sounding wands. The little slut was bawling like a baby, but he wasn't convincing. He was loving the attention and every other man in the room knew it.

The film director walked around Angelo when he was stripped, gliding his hand over this, gently prodding that. He laced his hands through Angelo's balls and brought the young Italian close in to his body. They kissed and then the director went down on his knees before Angelo and gave him a blow job that was expert and had Angelo panting hard and ejaculating when the director told him he was free to do so.

Then it was Angelo's turn to go on his knees and open his mouth. Brett and Doran had already taught him how to do this, and Angelo clearly understood that they had been testing and training him three weeks earlier. They had been recruiting here. No doubt they recruited elsewhere as well.

"Down on all fours," the director commanded before he had come. Angelo went down on an exercise mat. Brett came over to join them. Doran had taken over at the cube, and had a thicker cock inside Luciano and a thicker wand in the young man's penis. His penis was small, but most of the wand had disappeared inside him regardless. Luciano was quiet now, his head lolled over to the side, a trapped expression on his face.

Brett went down between Angelo's legs. A hand encased Angelo's cock, and Brett's tongue and lips went to his rear entrance. The director stood in front of Angelo, feeding his cock into Angelo's mouth.

When Angelo's channel was ready, the director took him in multiple positions, Angelo being taken through the paces of the positions that he now realized that Brett and Doran had been teaching to him just for this very moment. Angelo wondered what their finders' fees would be. But he found that he didn't care anymore, not really.

The director was both thicker than Doran and longer than Brett, and he fucked Angelo without mercy, suggesting—even though no offer had been voiced as yet—that he needed to know what Angelo's limits were, if any. Angelo almost reached those limits when the director laid on his back on the mat, brought Angelo down on his cock, pulled Angelo's torso back to where he was lying on the man's chest, and then Brett knelt between their legs and fed his cock into Angelo as well and started pumping.

When they finished, the director pushed Angelo off his body and disappeared for a few minutes. Brett was still crouched next to Angelo.

"Is that all?" Angelo whispered.

"He specializes in movies with sounding in them," Brett murmured back. "You must trust us. You wanted to get out of Positano and even wanted to be in movies. You trust me, don't you?"

Trust you? Angelo thought. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you.

But then the director was back and Angelo was being lifted and laid on his back on the apparatus he'd last seen Guido on. His legs were being raised and spread and cuffed on a frame. And Brett was rolling the table with the sounding wands on them over to the apparatus. Doran had already released Luciano from the cube and carried him away, no doubt to his bed for further conditioning. The director picked up a thick wand—a thicker one than Angelo could remember having been used on him before. He moved between Angelo's legs and Angelo gasped and arched his back as long, thick cock slid up into his channel. The man smiled a wicked smile and lifted the wand.

Angelo set his jaw, trying not to cry out, although the director had told him that he could—that it was something that would be good in the films. It was the best opportunity he was likely to get to come anywhere close to achieving his goals. Yes, he would tell these men he trusted them, if that's what it took.