I lay, panting and spent, on my back on the mat in the fresco- and arch-walled stone chamber in the bathhouse in Kusadasi, my thighs spread, my knees bent, and my feet pressed into the mat to thrust my pelvis up to take the deep penetration of Cemil Teke's horse-hung cock as comfortably as possible. He was kneeling between my thighs, his knees pushed under my buttocks to elevate them, his fists buried on the mat on either side of my chest, his huge belly resting on mine, the jiggling movement of that mass of flesh having rubbed on my cock while he'd been thrusting inside me and having brought an ejaculation out of me and a laugh out of him.
I guess I had made the mistake of pleasing him too much when he exercised his contract option. He had summoned me to the bathhouse for a second wrestling match we both knew I wouldn't win—and I hadn't. But it was clear that I hadn't succumbed to his attempts to control me through the men he had put in my path over the last seven months in which the Hotel Antinous had come close to completion and my own village house in Bayraklidede was finished and I'd moved in. Moving in to my own house had even enabled me to wean myself away from Envir, who stayed back in the attic of the hotel as caretaker of the building and dining room waiter. What I had reached the need for was a reliable manager of the B&B.
It was the Hotel Antinous now—named for the only declared homosexual god, and named in Greek as a signal for those in the gay communities, where use of Greek was marked as gay by Turks, that the hotel encouraged gay male clientele. I had given in to Cemil—readily—on that point, and he had moved into a partnership of sorts with me, providing protection and clients in exchange for his domination and agreement for a good cut of the profits.
This, now, here—me on my back with him between my legs, his cock sunk deep inside me, was a reminder of his domination. He evidently found it necessary to reestablish that control directly after seven months because I had not succumbed to his attempts to control me through putting other men in my bed. He was reconfirming this control directly, himself. And I was panting under him, not a bottom by preference. But I had come for him—and he had come inside me and was still hard inside me, asserting control.
I struggled to roll out from underneath him, and he grabbed my wrists, forcing my arms over my head and my back flat on the mat under the weight of his belly. Although he'd come, he was still ramrod hard and so thick inside me that I felt I might split. The muscles of my passage walls were still undulating over the thick hardness of him, loving the attention even though, emotionally, I wasn't a bottom—at this moment no one had informed my channel walls of that. He reared back and gave me three hard, penetrating thrusts, and I lay quiet, panting, whimpering.
"I told you when you came here that you might need to give yourself to further your interests, our interests," he said when I was fully under control.
"Who?" I asked.
"The contractor, Haluk Badem," Cemil answered. "We need him to clear the way on the hotel occupancy permits. He wants you. He wants to use you as a bottom. If he's satisfied, once a week until the permits are granted. That could take a few months."
It could have been worse. Badem, who had done some work on the hotel, but mostly had worked on renovating my village house in Bayraklidede and virtually rebuilding the mountain retreat house in Kizlay Haber, which was more a ruin than a house, was ugly as sin. He was a good ten years older than I was. But he was built like a bodybuilder, muscular and strong. He was a regular gorilla. He had shown interest in me, and I thought that interest was genuine and an interest of his own rather than at Cemil's suggestion. Cemil had endeavored to pair me up with the younger workmen at the house, men who would let me fuck them. There was no hint with Badem of anyone doing the fucking but him.
"Say yes," Cemil commanded.
"Yes," I acquiesced. He pulled out of me then and moved away from me. "I will be in the pool in a half hour," he then said. "I want you to come to me there, walking the full length of the room, naked, and looking at me—and only at me. You will come to me in the pool, service my shaft, and then take it. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I answered meekly.
"Do you understand why?"
"Yes," I responded, knowing that he wanted the other men there to know that Cemil dominated the rich American who had come to Kusadasi to open a luxurious small hotel in the old town.
"My old friend, Umut Uzan, will be in the pool too. I owe him a favor, and he is in a position to make business life on Bozkurt Suk difficult or easy."
"I understand," I answered.
As I walked across the tiled floor alongside the pool, the pool being particularly crowded that day, I kept my eyes trained on Cemil, who was sitting on the lip of the pool, thighs spread, raging erection in his hand. I entered the pool at the other end and waded to him, men parting to let me pass as I proceeded, the hubbub in the pool having gone silent.
When I reached Cemil, I leaned over, he jutted his pelvis out of the water, and I took his cock in my mouth. There was buzz through the chamber, which accelerated as the older, fat merchant, Umut Uzan, took up position behind me. I grimaced as his hands squeezed and separated my buttocks and he split the difference with his cock. The buzz in the chamber continued as Uzan grabbed my hips and fucked me from behind as I sucked Cemil's cock. When Uzan was finished and had withdrawn, Cemil pulled me up into his lap, onto his shaft, and I crouched in his lap, my fists locked behind his neck, and my feet on the tiles on either side of his hips, giving me leverage to fuck myself on his cock. For all at the pool to see.
