Fomenting a Coup

So, Nick was deciding that the guy he'd met at the Monaco Principality youth hostel had been right—that the steps of the Cathedral of Our Lady on the edge of the Jardins Sant-Martin park was as good a place as any to pick up men good for the day's expenses. And Nick's resources were down to the point of selling his body, which he was willing to do and had done before during his European adventure. Such a guy was standing in front of him now, looking rough at the base but candy coated. He was expensively dressed in tailored clothes covering a muscular, hard-as-steel body. He maybe was in his early forties and looked thuggish, but thuggish in a handsome, arousing way—and he looked like money. Nick gauged him to be Slavic. He was probably organized crime, Nick thought, which would be an addition to Nick's European adventure. The man was standing there, in front of Nick, all-American sunny blond, with a friendly smile on a handsome face and sculpted body, a glorious nineteen.

Nick had taken a year off after high school and before entering Penn State, where all his people went and where he was promised an athletic scholarship when he was ready for it to play tennis. Before he settled down to that he was bumming around Europe for a year. They had a name for it—the gap year. His expenses had outrun the money his family was regularly wiring to him in France and he was sitting it out in Monaco, waiting for the money drafts to catch up with him. He needed cash, though, and he'd let men—and a few women, although men proved to be a quicker and less entangling proposition—use his body before in Europe on this gap year adventure—and not always because he needed money at the time—so here he was, lounging and posing on the steps of the Cathedral of Our Lady. Being free to be casually gay for pay was part of the adventure.

The man, swarthy under the elegant clothes, although not uncomfortably so, black, curly hair, with hairy forearms and tufts of curls at his neckline, and what was probably a perpetual five o'clock shadow at his jaw line and on his cheeks, was giving Nick a piercing stare. Nick was dressed as if he was biking and had stopped at the cathedral for a short rest—neon-blue skin-tight Lycra biker thigh-compression shorts and a peel-off Lycra jersey. He'd dressed to be noticed. There was no bike in sight, though. He couldn't see bringing one to this audition and worrying about what to do with it if he went to a hotel room with a man. He did bring his tennis racket to give some credibility to being in athletic gear.

There was no trouble figuring out what the man wanted. He had one hand floating in front of his basket and the other one holding a wallet. He wanted sex and he'd pay for it. There were other young men on offer here, but it was clear that Mr. Swarthy wanted Nick. Nick came down the steps and held out his hand. The man reached his out, but as their hands connected, he slipped his thumb under, rubbing it against Nick's palm in what Nick had learned was a sign of a seeking top. Nick loosely wrapped his fingers around the thumb, in a signal of a yielding submissive, and, just like that, an understanding was established.

"Alexsei," the man said, the accent Slavic. So, Nick had guessed right on that.

"Ned," Nick answered, having already learned not to reveal his true name at the beginning of a hookup. The men expected that. They certainly didn't give their real names. The john looked like an Alexsei; the name fit the look. Nick was almost reluctant to hook up with him. He looked like he could be real rough. Nick got a little extra jolt out of rough, but he was having second thoughts, having quickly assessed the man as organized crime. Sometimes, Nick realized, his fantasies ran ahead of his common sense. He was about to back out, when the man took control with a commanding voice.

"You come with me for coffee or beer or wine." Alexsei said, not posing it as a question. "Just up the street here." He pointed to the Allée Jean Paul II, running up the side of the cathedral inland.

"Yes," Nick answered.

"You are American? Or Canadian?" Alexsei asked, as he forcefully took Nick's hand in his left hand and swung his right around to Nick's right hip, already seeming to take possession. It was as if he sensed Nick was having second thoughts and wasn't going to allow for those. He already was being boldly assertive. Anyone who observed the two at the foot of the cathedral stairs would know that the Slav was going to fuck the smaller American blond. He stroked Nick's hip with the tips of his fingers. "Nice. Narrow hips."

"American," Nick said as his thoughts went to the probability that this man was hung. It was his experience that men with big cocks expressed interest in his narrow hips when they spoke to him about sex. It was a giveaway on their size when they did so. Nick gave a little shiver of anticipation as the man guided him up the street beside the cathedral. They were headed to a sidewalk café just inside the Rue des Carmes at the back edge of the Cathedral. It was a slack period of the day and they found a small table, with seats across from each other just in from where the awning blocked the sunlight.

What was it with johns and narrow hips, Nick had once wondered. He'd been given an answer for that, though, and those who had this fetish always seemed to be big-cocked men. They all seemed to like his narrow hips, to the point that some mentioned them, sometimes as they were entering him and holding his hips between their hands, remarking how they liked seeing their big cocks split the difference and his hole blossoming open to take them in. They all expressed surprise and appreciation that the seemingly virginal young man had a hole that would open so well and quickly to the cock. From that point forward they'd treat him like a seasoned whore.

Not that he had much experience with this, of course—at least before his European trip. He wasn't promiscuous, or hadn't been before reaching the Continent. He just needed more money for Europe than he was being sent. And, truth be told, he found prostituting himself to older men to be exciting. He found that playing tennis gave him access to men with money and the opportunity to be ogled and propositioned in locker room showers. Nearly all of his sexual experience had developed during this gap year in Europe, but it had been a rapid development.

They ordered, the waiter being attentive and limp wrested, making up to Alexsei, obviously not caring about whether the two were in negotiations in his café. As they ordered their coffees, Alexsei taking control and ordering for both of them without consulting with Nick, Alexsei palmed the waiter's butt and talked suggestively to the young man, and the waiter simpered for him. Alexsei obviously was a player and had a lot of self-confidence about what he could get if he wanted it. That just added to Nick's interest and arousal, though.

Nick wondered if Alexsei had been in this café before and if he'd already fucked the waiter—probably so from the way the two interacted.

"How old are you?" Alexsei asked, giving Nick a hard look, after the waiter had flounced off to get the coffees.

"Nineteen," Nick said.

"I'm not sure I believe you. You look more like sixteen to me."

"And you wouldn't be interested then?"

"Of course I'd still be interested," Alexsei said. "But the arrangement would be a bit different then."

"Well, I am nineteen," Nick said. He was.

"Can you prove that to me?"

"Yes, if you don't look too hard at the name and address. I have a Stateside driver's license."

"Let me see it. I will just look at the birthdate."

Nick produced his billfold, opening it to his driver's license and showing it across the table. "Hey," he exclaimed, as Alexsei grabbed the billfold out of his hand and pulled it out of Nick's reach. "Nicholas Vanderver, with a Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, address. And, yes, it's your photo—very handsome—and you are nineteen, as it says."

"Give that back to me," Nick said, reaching out, but Alexsei pocketed the billfold. Nick decided not to make a scene about that—at least not yet. "Did you want me to be underage?"

Alexsei laughed. "No, I just wanted to have something to hold so that you would do what I want. Don't worry, I'll give it back when you've given me what I want. It wouldn't matter if you were sixteen. We're in Monaco. The age of consent here is fifteen. But I don't want a boy; I want a young man. You may have your billfold back when I am satisfied."

"And when will that be?" Nick asked.

"When I have fucked you for the second time because you gave me good sport and satisfaction the first time."

* * * *

The Hotel de Vedel was a small, seedy hotel on the Rue de Vedel, right around the corner from the café on the Rue des Carmes. You wouldn't have known it was a hotel, only having a small lobby on the shopfront level, unless you were standing in front of its door and looking at the sign painted in small, elegant letters on its glass door. It wasn't advertising for clientele that didn't already know about it and what it was offering.

There were only eight rooms and no café or bar. The hotel rooms rented by the hour, at steep rates, and were normally rented for trysts of men with other males. The rooms were small, but functional, the luxury being that they all had en suite baths so men using the rooms wouldn't encounter other men they might know in hallways to communal baths.

Alexsei had his knees between Nick's thighs and an arm wrapped around Nick's lower back, holding the young man's pelvis off the bed, as Nick's torso reclined back on the bed. The young man was largely immobilized in this position. Nick moaned and ran his hands through the heavy, black matting of Alexsei's chest. As the man stroked Nick's cock with his other hand, Alexsei readjusted a bit, rising on his knees. The hand left Nick's cock and was positioning Alexsei's bulb at Nick's hole. Nick groaned, jerked, and dug into the other man's chest hair as the thick cock entered him and slowly, but persistently, moved up inside him—in, back, in deeper, back a half inch, in deeper.

Nick's hand glided down Alexsei's torso matting and into the man's thick pubic thatch. He dug into the coarse, curly hair there and pressed his thumb into the root of Alexsei's shaft. He knew that this gave a man's cock a shot of pleasure and a boost in size, which, as Alexsei shuddered, it did in this case, as well. The young man had learned more than a few tricks of the trade as he fucked his way across Europe. Nick was panting, every fiber of him concentrating on the thick cock—thick as he had known it would be—invading and stretching him. He knew how to bring out the arousal in men even though he, by no means, was a professional. Having helped get them into the rhythm of the fuck, Nick lay back, extending his arms out in a sacrificial position, giving himself entirely to the man. He knew that men liked this form of surrender. And Alexsei obviously did, as he thrust, thrust, thrust.

A face loomed above Nick's. It wasn't Alexsei's face, but lips brushed on Nick's and then pressed. Nick opened his mouth to the third man's deep kiss as Alexsei thrust, thrust, thrust inside his channel. Nick had been nervous when Alexsei had introduced the other young man. He was still nervous, but it aroused him. He took the kiss hungrily, as Alexsei's cock continued to stretch and test his passage.

Later, Nick was lying on his back on a queen-sized bed that took up much of the hotel room. His legs were spread and bent, his buttocks raised on a pillow. He lay, eyes a bit glazed, massaging his throat, which Alexsei had been gripping, controlling Nick's breathing, while he fucked him in a missionary position. The waiter from the café was lying on the bed beside Nick. Alexsei was on top of the waiter, fucking him. The waiter was writhing under him, gasping for breath as he could, because Alexsei was choking him just as he'd choked Nick. He was pistoning the waiter's passage too with a very vigorous, hard-as steel cock. Alexsei's body was hard as steel as well—muscular and hirsute, like a big bear. He was strong as a bear too. Nick was lying there, panting and trembling, having been fucked roughly and totally—waiting to be fucked again.

The waiter was getting it now.

The foreplay hadn't been with Alexsei. He sat there, by the bed, naked and stroking his cock, watching Nick and the waiter kiss and fondle and sixty-nine, at Alexsei's direction. When the two were sexed up, hard, and starting to decide who was going to try to do the other, both of them being submissives, Alexsei had climbed up on the bed, chosen Nick, put the young man under him, on his back, and thrust inside him, as Nick arched his back and cried out to the ceiling. Alexsei had ridden him hard.

It had been like being fucked by a bear. He was strong and hairy. He embraced Nick tight with his arms, the man's thick cock taxing Nick's passage walls. Not giving the young man time to open to him, stretching him and punishing the walls, moving fast and deep inside him. It was as Nick had surmised—the man wanted to conquer a narrow passage, to force it open with his thick cock. The man wanted to punish his prey.

Thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. As Nick adjusted, he willed the muscles of his passage walls to undulate over the punishing shaft, working to settle it down into a calmer rhythm. And it did settle down and the two were working together in the natural rhythm of the fuck. They were fucking good, both of them into it, Nick enjoying it as much as Alexsei was, when the big man's hands went to Nick's throat, and the young man slowly sank into worrying more about getting his next breath than about the rhythm of cock moving inside him.

When he was finished with the waiter, Alexsei moved back over to Nick, flipped him onto his belly, his lower belly on the pillows that raised his buttocks. Muttering, "Such nice slim hips," Alexsei grasped those hips between his hands, split the difference, and thrust inside Nick's passage again. Alexsei's knees were dug into the mattress, and he was using the leverage from them to drive hard. The man had the stamina of a god. His hands slid up Nick's trim torso, pausing at the young man's pecs to worry his nipples, and then went to the young man's throat. His thumbs were pressed up under Nick's jaw.

Nick's face was turned toward the door out into the corridor. There was another door on a side wall, giving access, when unlocked, to the neighboring room. Nick was seeing stars, close to blackening out, as the door opened and two burly men—both Slavic looking—came in. Nick heard the waiter on the bed beside him, mouthing off in French, getting hysterical, as the two men went around the bed to him, and then Nick blacked out from the pressure of the thumbs digging into the soft tissue under his jaw.

* * * *

"He has papers—for international travels?"

"Yes, of course."

"Legitimate ones?" Doug Taney asked. He was sitting on the terrace of the brothel above the private beach east of Tangier, Morocco. He was American, forty-five, very distinguished looking—tall and slim, but well-muscled. His features were movie-star handsome, his auburn hair wavy, with graying sideburns. He looked very wealthy, highly confident. He was traveling on a diplomatic passport.

Mahmud Paradee, half Arab, half Indian, all business, gave a little laugh. "His papers are convincing enough. He's Derek MacGraw, Canadian passport, but, as you requested, American."

"Provenance?"

"We acquired him through a Russian operation. We don't ask. And if the talent wants to talk about it when they get here, they are punished until they don't want to talk about it anymore. He's nineteen. I saw original documentation when I purchased him—everything but the birthdate and photo blanked out, of course."

"He looks younger."

"For which men here have paid more. If they don't ask, we don't tell."

"He's not a virgin?"

Paradee snorted. "He is every Tuesday and Thursday. He's very convincing. He loses his virginity very dramatically upon request. I've taken it several times myself." Paradee laughed and Taney produced a thin smile. Paradee would not have been as forthcoming on the origin and sexual experience of the blond young man they were watching down on the beach, Nick Vanderver, who was documented as Derek MacGraw, if Taney was just considering buying the young man's time. He was dickering on buying the young man' body to take away permanently.

They both looked down onto the very private beach, rocks going down to the Mediterranean on either end of the narrow strip of sand, with tall fencing running to and into the sea along the tops of the rocks on either side. The young men were either playing an abbreviated game of soccer on the sand or were swimming in the sea or lounging on towels on the sand. A few patrons were on the beach as well. A couple of them were fucking the young men on beach towels, with no one paying much attention.

"I had expressed interest in one who could play tennis."

"He plays very well. The best of any of the young men who play here," the brothel master answered.

On the terrace, where Doug Taney sat and Mahmud Paradee hovered, sat a line of other men, some in Arab dress, a few in business suits, looking and selecting.

"Do you want—?" Mahmud murmured, licking his lips.

"Have him brought up to a room," Taney answered, maintaining his thin smile. "I'll decide when I've put him through his paces."

* * * *

Doug Taney stood in the bathroom door, naked and slow stroking his cock, as he watched Nick preparing to be fucked. Taney had a good, well-cared-for body and a nice-sized cock. He had told Nick he wanted to watch all that the young blond with a perfectly formed body was doing.

"Are you sure you are nineteen and not younger?" he asked.

"If you want me to be younger, I will be younger," Nick said. He'd been told to please the men they put him with, or they'd dispense with him. Nick believed them.

"You'll be whatever I want?" Taney said.

"Yes," Nick agreed.

"I want you to be a virgin."

Taney watched Nick brush his teeth. He watched him trim his bush and his pits with an electric razor. He watched him piss and douche and shower.

"And now?" Nick asked, giving the man a querying look. He'd prepared as he'd been told.

"Now I want you to be the virgin—a young man in a hotel room, thinking he's alone, but a man who he's had a drink with down in the hotel bar but left, has followed him to get what the young virginal man wouldn't agree to give him when they were conversing at the bar. I have paid the hotel people to look the other way and they have given me a key to your room. We are in Morocco. I am bigger, stronger, more experienced than you are. There is no one here to protect you or to give you justice for what I'm going to take from you."

Doug watched the surprised, fearful look in the young man's eyes when he strode across the bathroom as Nick was toweling off. Seeing Doug coming at him, Nick tried to dart past him, but Doug reached out, grabbed the young man's arm, and spun him around. He slapped Nick hard across the check, and as Nick was spinning away from that, Doug punched him in the belly. Nick dropped to the floor of the bathroom, doubling up into the fetal position and whimpering.

"Take it, bitch," Doug growled, reaching down and grabbing and handful of Nick's hair, and pulling the young man up onto his feet.

"Give me your ass." He put a strong arm around the young man's belly and bent him over the toilet. The wall behind the toilet was mirrored, and Doug looked into it to watch Nick's expression of surprise, fear, horror, pain, and sustained suffering as Doug ran his fingers into the shoulder-length hair on Nick's head, tighten his grip, and arch Nick's head back so the two could latch eye contact as Doug forced his cock up inside Nick's passage and started to pump him.