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I was about at the end of my rope, my bumming through Europe on my university gap year trip was threatening to crash in the Santa Lucia seafront section of Naples, Italy. I’d left my bag at the desk of the Hotel Rex on Via Palepoli to pick up later, when and if I could scratch up enough to continue my stay in the hotel. I was almost down to bottom, though.
It was time to fall back on what had gotten me across Europe so far.
I went out to the Via Nazario Sauro, the seafront avenue on the Mediterranean, late Saturday morning, and crossed the road to the walkway along the beach. There was a wall I had heard about that one could sit on to attract attention and, for a young blond, good-looking, cut guy like me–or a female version of me–to attract seeking men with money to spend for sport. I sat on the wall across the avenue from an outdoor café under an awning. I smiled at those passing by, and I waited.
In time, I noticed two men sitting at a table in the café, at the sidewalk edge, drinking coffee and talking but also looking over at me, giving me the glad eye. One of them was a gray-beard, but an executive or academic type, with a distinguished aspect, very good looking, tall, trim, and elegantly dressed. He had to be in his late fifties. Sitting across from him was a young, stockier, more muscular dark-haired man. He had more of a thuggish, dangerous look, but on him it also looked good. He couldn’t be older than his early forties, I didn’t think, and there was more than half of something African in him. He was a chocolate brown, a creamier brown than would come from the sun.
There was a third chair at the table. It wasn’t long before the men saw that I was looking at them looking at me. It was well known, I had been told–and it had worked for me before–what someone was offering when they sat on this wall by the sea, sitting facing in, toward the city rather than out toward the Mediterranean. There was little chance the men at the table didn’t understand why I was there and what I was offering.
They smiled at me and I smiled back. The older of the two, the gray-beard, raised two glasses, which I took as an offer of a drink. It was close to noon. I had no idea where my next meal was coming from or anything beyond that. I could convince myself I was thirsty as well.
I crossed the avenue and sauntered up to beside their table.
“Sei un bel giovanotto. Vuoi sederti con noi? Possiamo offrirti da bere?” the older man, obviously the man who took the lead, said to me, smiling.
“Mi dispiace,” I said. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian well. Do you speak English?” It was embarrassing, but all Europeans spoke English better than most American travelers spoke anything else.
“Ah, English,” gray-beard said. “You are English?” There wasn’t anything wrong with his English. He spoke it as elegantly as everything else about him seemed to be elegant.
“No, American,” I answered.
“Ah American.” His voice was deeper, less elegant, but there wasn’t anything wrong with his English either, so he was at least one up on me. He said that like it was better to be American than English.
“Mario asked if you would like to sit with us; if you would take a drink with us.” This was spoken by the other man. “Come sit with us.”
I moved under the awning and sat between them, facing the sea. Luca immediately put a hand on my knee, signaling that we all knew exactly what was being contracted here. The other man–the older man who seemed to be the one with the money and to be orchestrating the encounter, Mario–signaled the waiter. “Would you like to see a menu too?” he asked me. “We would be happy to cover your noon meal.”
I said I was happy with that as well.
“Ah, perhaps near the end of your means?” Luca asked. He sounded like that was a good thing–like it would simplify what was to follow–so I just shrugged and smile. He handed me a menu.
When I had ordered, being quite aware that the second man’s hand had settled on my other knee, Mario spoke. “Luca didn’t translate what else I had said. I said that you were a very handsome young man. Since you say you are American, not a local, I have to ask if you know what it meant for you to be sitting on the wall over there.”
“Yes, I have been told.”
“You are a young man with a financial need?” Mario asked, giving me a sympathetic look. When I responded that yes, unfortunately, I was–that I’d found myself near the end of my funds, the hand of Luca, the younger, more sexually assertive of the two, moved under the table higher on my inner thigh. His thumb found the bulb of my shaft inside the material of my trousers. I gave him a smile and left it there. He started rubbing me softly there and, of course, I responded.
I could see out of the corner of my eye Mario taking a wallet out of his pocket and laying it on the table. The waiter brought our food and we engaged in chitchat while we ate. They found out quite a lot about me and what I was doing in Europe in that Çanakkale Escort conversation, while I found out nothing about them. We did not discuss sex.
Over coffee, Mario said, “Now that we’ve eaten, would you perhaps be interested in spending the day with us?”
“Perhaps,” I said, fully aware that Luca was still feeling me up under the surface of the table.
Mario took two hundred-euro notes out of his wallet and laid them on the table. I could see that the wallet was stuffed with euro bills and that those two shouldn’t be missed.
“Perhaps?” Mario said. His hand went to cupping my basket as well. Luca’s thumb was still driving me wild. “Bello. Molto bello,” Mario murmured. I knew from his tone that he was pleased with what he felt. There was every reason to believe he should be.
“Yes, I would be happy to spend the day with you, Mario.”
“With us. We would both like to enjoy… your company.” Mario added a hundred-euro note to what I gathered was my pile, if I was cooperative. “May I assume you would be versatile for us?”
“I could be,” I answered. Two more bills dropped on the pile. There was five hundred euros in play now.
“Could be, or will be?”
“Yes,” I answered. This time instead of taking out another bill, Mario used his hand to take mine and place it on his basket. I shuddered. He was hung. It was somewhat of a surprise. It was the younger Luca who was coming on to me so heavily. It was surprised to find that the older of the two was hung.
“To be quite clear, I am asking if you’ll both give and take cock,” Mario asked, giving me a pointed look as well as a bit of shock to hear a man of his apparent refinement speaking so baldly.
“Yes,” I answered, “I can do that.”
“Good,” Mario said, reaching over and taking two more bills out of his wallet, combining them with those that had already appeared before me, folding them, and tucking them in my pocket. “Shall we go and have a splendid day now? What do you think, Luca, perhaps our shop first? I think maybe the Club Alexander tonight. Our friend here is nicely tanned. I see him in white. Do you agree?”
“Yes, exactly,” Luca agreed.
“My name is Ben,” I said, as we rose from the table.
“How nice for you,” Mario responded, telling me pretty clearly that it wasn’t my name they were interested in receiving from me. “Non è un piccolo pezzo sexy?” he said to Luca and each of them took one of my arms and led me into the city.
“Dovrebbe essere grande a letto. Separare prima o insieme?” Luca answered.
I knew enough Italian to know that Mario thought I was a sexy piece and Luca, the “let’s get right to the point one” guy, was wondering how they should do me first.
Oh, well. I did need the money and I’d gone with far worse men than either of these–although usually one at a time. Andrebbe bene–this would be fine.
Was Luca as hung as the older one was? Was Mario a “sleeper” here? Would he prove to be the crueler, more taxing, one?
* * * *
It was 3:30 Saturday afternoon, out on the Tyrrhenian Sea off Naples in Mario’s fifty-eight-foot 1971 Trumpy Cruiser, and I was earning my pay. The motor yacht was at anchor, the wheel lashed down, and I, naked, as I had been since shortly after we’d motored out of the Borgo Marinari yacht basin at the tip of the Santa Lucia district of Naples, close to where the two men had picked me up, was lashed to the wheel. Backed against the wheel, my arms were lashed to the wheel and my ankles were on Luca’s shoulders.
Mario, in cajoling me to permit myself to be bound to the wheel, had said the “lashed to the wheel” part was psychological, to enhance arousal. I thought it was physical enough–and sexy as hell. My eyes were watering, my mouth was slack in a yawn, crying out ineffectively to the wind whipping across the pilot room from the sea. The stocky, muscular black stud was gripping, squeezing, and separating my buttocks cheeks, while he fucked the shit out of me with a godawful thick cock.
Mario was sitting close enough on a bench, watching his younger partner fuck me, that he was able to touch me with his hands, stroke my cock, and murmur encouragement to me in taking the African-Italian’s shaft.
Luca paused, both of us shuddering, lifted his face toward the heavens, and trumpeted his victory as he jerked, spouted, jerked again and came again, filling out the bulb of his condom. He was finished, but both he and Mario, although they had jacked my cock, had carefully not let me come yet. Luca unlashed me from the ship’s wheel, and, running an arm under my waist, turned me and set me down between Mario’s spread knees. “Now you, he murmured.”
Mario had his cock erect and in his hand. He cupped the back of my head and moved me into position to take his shaft in my mouth, which I did. Taking over the stroking of my cock, myself, I gave Mario head as he ran his fingers into my blond curls and held me in place.
“Mangiami. Mangiami fuori adesso–Eat Çanakkale Escort Bayan me; eat me out now,” Mario murmured, his voice thick with lust. He’d paid the bill. I rolled the buttocks of the old, but nicely muscled, trim, and handsome man up and pressed my face and tongue into his buttocks crack, working on his hole. He panted hard, still holding my head close into his body, and raising and spreading his legs, which Luca stood behind me and held for a few minutes, before crouching down beside me, putting hands under me and rolling a condom on my cock.
I was going to be allowed to blow now. Luca helped me stand, crouch, and go into position between the legs that Mario how held raised and spread himself. The older man cried out as I penetrated and then we were rocking together, Mario huffing and panting and me, fucking him, grunting. My grunts turned into groans, as Luca mounted me from behind, invaded me with his cock.
I was fucking Mario and Luca was fucking me. A thousand euros no longer was looking like such an easy get. The motor yacht, with no other ship close enough to us for anyone to see the action on the yacht, bobbed gently up and down in the waves moving in from the Tyrrhenian Sea into Naples Bay.
* * * *
The source of Mario and Luca’s wealth turned out to be a men’s fashion house on the Via Santa Lucia near the Giardini Pubblici gardens in front of the Royal Palace of Naples, the Palazzo Reale. I was flattered when Mario said he had been drawn to me because I looked like a male model and he had wondered how I would look in his fashions.
“Would you mind modeling some of my fashions for me and then we will go out in the Sexy Ragazzo.”
“The what?” I asked, as we were walking toward the palace area from the café.
“The Sexy Ragazzo–my boat, the Sexy Boy. I want to go out on the sea for Luca and I to enjoy you.”
“Uh, OK, what kind of clothes do you make?” I asked.
“Sexy ones, of course,” Mario said, and laughed. “This, after all, is Italy.”
So, much of the day was planned already. But Mario and Luca enjoyed me before we ever got out to sea.
Luca went off to check on business at the fashion house, leaving Mario and me alone in a large upper-story room that must have been their design and playground room combined.
“Toditi i vestiti–Oh, sorry, take your clothes off, please,” Mario said when we were alone.
“Where do you want us to fuck?” I asked, pulling my polo shirt over my head. He’d paid 700 euros for fucking today. The day wasn’t getting any younger. There obviously was no need for shyness here.
“Over there on that chair by the window. But not yet, thank you. You are model perfect. I want to see how some of the clothes in my new line fit on you, and we have to find something for you to wear at the club tonight.”
So, they haven’t just paid me for the day–it’s for the evening and maybe the night as well.
I looked over at the chair, which was one of those newfangled thin-base, curved chairs that looked like a space-age recliner. I wondered how we were going to do it on that contraption. As I stripped off my trousers and Mario handed me what looked like a mechanic’s one-piece coverall in a pale yellow, I examined the chair, trying to figure out what the best position to use on it. Mario was to show me the position he wanted me in, though. And I didn’t have the wildest idea what he’d do with me while I was in that position.
The next half-hour, though, went to me putting on his designer clothes and Mario dancing around me, murmuring, “Sì, sì. Perfetto. Divino,” to himself and snapping off photos.
When he wanted something different, something more, he came in close to me as I was stripping off a sexy bathing suit that was hardly anything at all, and took my lips with his. His hand slid under the waistband of the thong, pulled my cock out, grasped it, and he frotted his together with mine as we kissed.
Here we go, I thought.
As I had been exchanging clothes in his line that had gone from street clothes to the intimate, he had slowly been stripping down too, so that, when the last bathing suit was coming off, he was naked. His body was very good for a man his age–trim, but still hard muscled, and he had carefully groomed his body hair. It was there, descending from gray with hints of auburn in swirls around his pecs, down an increasingly darkened line to still more auburn than gray in his trimmed pubic V. He was in full erection, as was I, neither one of us having anything to be ashamed of.
“Lie in the chair now, Per favore,” he murmured when we’d come out of the kiss.
“Belly or back?” I asked.
“Whatever you wish. I will take you from both sides.”
That gave my body a little shimmer–not just the image of it, but the matter-of-fact baldness with which he said it. I wasn’t a professional prostitute, but this must be the businesslike tones used in such transactions, I thought. I found it arousing. Escort Çanakkale Naked, I walked over to the window and stretched out in the fancy, thin-based recliner on my back. I grasped my cock, stroking it and filling it out. Mario walked over to the chair, climbed up on it and straddled my hips, placing his knees on either side of them. He leaned down to me, taking my head between his hands, and we kissed again.
“How do you want this to work?” I asked. “Do I fuck you or do you–?”
“Blow me. Then I sound you and you fuck me.”
“Sound? What is–?” But he already raised over my chest and was holding my head in place, pressing the bulb of his erection to my lips. I opened to let him in, He wanted to go deep, and there was nothing more to be said for a while, while he held my head in position and fucked my throat.
When I had taken and swallowed his ejaculation, fighting a gagging reflex, he took my left wrist and moved it to the top edge of the chair. It was only then that I saw that restraints could be pulled from in back of the corners of the chair head. He got my left wrist restrained and reached for the right one.
“No, wait. What are you–?”
“Shh, Mario said, putting a finger on my mouth. You’ll enjoy it. But if you’re reluctant…”
Not finishing that, he climbed off me, and walked over to a desk. My left wrist was restrained so I wasn’t going anywhere right away. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out some condom packets, a bottle of lube, a popper bottle, a leather case, and some euro bills. He flashed the euros, showing me three hundred-euro notes. These he stashed a pocket of my trousers that were puddled on the floor. This now was earning me a thousand euros for the day–enough to tide me over for several days.
He returned with the rest, put it on a side table, took my right wrist in his hand and gave me a meaningful look. “Sei soddisfatto?–Are you satisfied? Is it good with you and we can proceed?”
“Yes,” I answered. It was a hesitant “yes,” but it was a thousand-euros “yes.” Then he lifted and restrained my right wrist to the top corner of the chair. He didn’t stop there, though. There were restraints at the bottom corners of the curved recliner as well, and he restrained my ankles. It didn’t stop there. I hadn’t seen what else he’d taken out of the drawer. Before I could get out more than the beginning of an objection, he had popped a ball gag in my mouth and tied it off.
I was now fully his, at his complete mercy, under his control.
And, God damn, what he did to me then! I was shuddering and trembling from the thought of it months later.
* * * *
He pulled the first of the metal wands, the narrowest one, out of a leather case and held it up to show it to me, twirling it in the air. He was holding my cock erect with his other hand. My eyes bugged out and I made muffled objections through the rubber ball gag he’d popped in my mouth and were, I’m sure, unintelligible to him but that screamed bloody murder in my mind. I was trying to writhe around him, but, being tied down at the four points and swallowed in the close embrace of the recliner and Mario straddling my calves and leaning over me, looking intently into my eyes, smiling and nearly licking his lips, I was his captive. I’d heard of sounding before. I knew what it was. I’d just not given it much thought. I certainly had never thought of it being done to me.
When he’d first opened the case, shown it to me, and told me what I was going to do, I’d squirmed on the chair. He got up, retrieved the ten hundred-euro notes from my trousers, held them up for me to see, and fanned them out on the nightstand. His message was clear. I could settle down or he’d withdraw the money.
“Nod if you still want this money, if you are still going to let Luca and me play with you today,” he said.
I fucking needed the money. I nodded.
I settled down, resigned, but no less fearful. He helped by opening the bottle of poppers and giving me several calming whiffs. Periodically while sounding me, he stopped to give me another hit of the poppers. They did help.
But now he was holding a metal wand in one hand and my dick in the other. He was going to do it. I couldn’t help but shudder and try to pull away from him.
“Sii fermo. Calmati–Be still. Calm down,” Mario murmured. “You’ll want to hold very still for this. You’ll love it. This is very sexy. You’re my sexy boy. Make me happy. This is all to help me harden and lengthen to give you the best to times later.” He moved the hand not holding the sounding rod to his erection and stroked himself as I was fighting to calm down.
I tensed, going rigid, and, getting the heels of my feet dug into the edge of the chair and pressing down on my shoulder blades, lifted my pelvis, trembling, and moaning. The slight bulb of the wand was pressed to the urethra slit of my cock. I was only helping him, though, in positioning myself. I shuddered, shut my eyes tightly, and my moan turned into a groan, as I felt the wand enter and slowly twirl down into my urethra canal.
“Breathe. You must breathe, and try to relax,” Mario commanded. “It will feel wonderful–very sexy-if you just go with it, don’t fight it. Ci divertiremo così tanto io e te–We will have such a good time, you and me.”
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