Marking the Decades

* * * *

When Ken woke in the morning and turned over onto his back with a groan, he saw that Altan Hulugu was already up, showered, and dressed. Ken hadn't gotten more than an hour of sleep, but he was sexually satiated as he never had been before. When he'd turned over, he's automatically spread and bent his legs, taking the pressure off his sore passage. He'd never been worked so hard and so long before.

"Ah, good, you're awake," Hulugu said. "You have time to shower and there is breakfast for you here on this serving cart. If you don't dawdle, we can be away before the others start disembarking. We can avoid unpleasantries that way."

"Unpleasantries? Disembark? Where are we? I mean the boat. This isn't Cologne." He was looking out the cabin window. Yesterday the spires of the Cathedral dominated. Now it was just a dock area.

"We're tied up conveniently near the De Wallen district of Amsterdam."

"De Wallen?"

"The famous red-light district. It's New Year's Day and they will have had quite a night. All will be quiet. We have reservations at the Hotel 83 Amsterdam on the edge of the district. I have had the liberty of having your luggage placed in the limousine. I found they were holding it at the reception desk, which is convenient for us. I would like to walk to the hotel, though, to take in the air and for the exercise. The luggage can go on ahead."

The exercise? Ken groaned. What had Hulugu been getting all morning already? "We? Hotel?"

"You will not deny me," Hulugu said. "Your body is delightful and you need to have it well worked. Langston hasn't been taking care of you as he should. I can take care of all of your needs."

They slipped off the ship without being noticed by any of the other guests. Ken had hoped Clifford would see them and would put up a fuss. Hulugu was being controlling and forceful. Ken needed some show of care and proprietary rights to fight just giving in to Hulugu. He didn't receive them. None of the guests saw them go.

The Turk had been right about the red-light district being dead on New Year's morning. It was littered with red confetti, but no one was on the street and even the second-story glass enclosures where the prostitutes advertised themselves were deserted.

Clifford Langston was in a limousine en route to Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport for the trans-Atlantic flight to New York City, wondering where Ken Curtain was, why he hadn't appeared for the limousine ride, whether he already was at the airport waiting for Clifford, and whether perhaps he had pressed forward too quickly on the two of them parting, while the satyr had resumed his ravishment of Ken's body in a suite at the Hotel 83 Amsterdam.

Chapter Three: New Year's Eve 2009

Dimitri had remained hard after fucking Ken Curtain on the lounge bed by the pool in the Anacapri villa on the Via Tuoro and now Ken was riding his cock as he lay on the side of the pool, with his legs dangling in the water. From their vantage point at the top of the mountain on the Isle of Capri they overlooked the Bay of Naples on the north and the Tyrrhenian Sea to the south. The American novelist was grateful that, at thirty-nine, there were still men who wanted to fuck him, even though he had kept in shape and kept his looks and men thought he was several years younger than he really was. Still, it was a compliment that a man would prefer fucking a thirty-nine-year-old man when Altan kept houseboys much younger, like the current ones, Dario Rossi and Marcello Bianchi, at the villa for the guests to fuck. Ken liked to think it was because of the technique in the taking that he had perfected over the years of being cocked by very experienced tops. Nearly every man who cocked Ken complimented him on what he could do with the muscles of his channel walls while the man was inside him.

Dimitri Kuznetsov, the Russian, was in his mid-fifties, so Ken guessed he looked young to the man. Kuznetsov could have had Dario or Marcello when he appeared for the New Year's party on the Isle of Capri, Italy, early, but he had chosen Ken. He always picked Ken when he visited the villa. He'd been fucking Ken off and on, when he'd come to meet with Altan Hulugu on business, for the last eight years. Before he came to meet Hulugu, he always asked if Curtain would be there.

Dimitri was hung and could be rough. He'd put on weight in those eight years, but he was still a muscular, hirsute, and ruggedly handsome man. And he had eight thick inches and an arousing mysterious and dangerous air about him, enhanced by the slicing scar zagging down his cheek and his badly set nose. Ken thought perhaps Kuznetsov was into illegal arms sales and transportation, but of course he never asked. He didn't want to know. The man had been a character in Ken's fourth book, Racing with the Devil, but the Russian probably wouldn't see himself in the book, just as Hulugu wouldn't see himself in the novel Ken currently was writing, The Greek Pimp. The Turk, Hulugu, would never see himself as a Greek named Apyko. Probably neither of the men would ever read the books anyway.

Kuznetsov could keep his eight inches up for hours—as long as Ken could continue gripping his cock and milking it with rippling passage muscles—when he came to Anacapri, just as Hulugu, now in his sixties, could keep his bigger cock up perpetually. Ken appreciated that about both men. He'd once thought that was because Hulugu was a genuine satyr, a trait that had won Ken to him and caused the American to let himself be brought to Anacapri and held a virtual sex slave for the last decade. Ken knew now that it was thanks to magic drugs Hulugu manufactured, peddled, and used illegally, just another facet of the illegal businesses the fabulously wealthy shipping mogul was involved in. Of course the man had most of the other attributes of a satyr in addition to the perpetual hard on and capability of firing off prodigiously every twenty minutes for as long as the man lying under him could handle it. Ken had handled it better than most for the past ten years. That's why Hulugu kept him prisoner on Anacapri and nailed him every time he visited.

Hulugu kept the villa on Anacapri, essentially a refurbished ancient Roman villa older than time, as a meeting place for business with his shadier partners who couldn't enter Italy legally. Hulugu regularly lived and worked across the bay in Naples. He met his secret business contacts here, on Capri, though, where his guests could come in to the small island off ships on the sea and leave afterward without a hint they'd been in Italy. There was no customs office on Capri, and, even if there had been, Hulugu would have owned the men working there—not just with money but also with granting them visits to his brothel on the mountain.

While they were doing business at the Anacapri villa, Hulugu made them very comfortable. He had both young women and young men, two each, not including the "special order" Ken, available for the guests to fuck. Hulugu had brought Ken Curtain to the island ten years previously and he too, for a high price, was available to men who wanted a more mature, experienced, and expert submissive. The villa was, in fact, two villas connected by a pool terrace, with colonnades running down each side, one presided over by Ken to the east of the rectangular terrace with covered open corridors on both the north and south and one on the west, where Hulugu's sister, Talia, reigned. Ken, closely watched by a younger, muscle-bound bodyguard and jailer, Musa Nadir, supervised the two local male prostitutes, revolving over the years, never more than twenty-one-years old, and Talia supervised the young women prostitutes. Musa followed Ken closely and fucked him regularly. The American had grown accustomed to the guarding and appreciated the fucking, which kept him sexually satisfied. The whoring was incidental to Ken, though. What kept him here were the sessions with the satyr, Hulugu, on top of him and inside him, hard and pumping cum for hours.

In addition to being the true manager at the Anacapri villa, Talia handled the secret accounts for the illicit side of Hulugu's businesses. She was a tough woman, ruled the villa with an iron fist, and would not intervene early if a guest's pleasure was to beat the villa prostitute he was fucking into bloody submission. She would, however, intervene before the goods were damaged beyond repair.

New Year's Eve 2009 was being marked at the villa by a party by invitation of some of Hulugu's more important illicit business associates. The New Year's Eve party was to be an extravagant dinner followed by an orgy. Ken had helped plan and supervise the festivities. Other than holding Ken as a virtual and not particularly objecting sexual slave, Hulugu had come to depend on the American as his host of guests on Anacapri. He was expected to service only the most important guest of those who wanted to avail themselves of the courtesan expertise he had acquired. Other than managing his side of the villa, always opening his legs to Hulugu, and servicing whoever else Hulugu wanted him too, Ken was free to write his novels.

Since Ken had left the best-selling novelist Clifford Langston a decade earlier, he had managed to continue writing novels and selling modestly well. Having all of his needs attended to, with occasional demands on his body, and being left otherwise to write as he wished were probably the major reasons he allowed himself to be sequestered on the Italian isle.

The difference between what he was writing now and what he'd written when he'd been with Langston was that Ken now had gained enough experience and confidence to be writing his own plotlines. Langston had given him the boost he needed, and Ken would never forget he had, by gifting Ken with plotlines to fill out, but now Ken could do it, if not as brilliantly as he'd been given credit for before, on his own. And he'd managed to keep his literary agent, Ted Sullivan, and his editor, Nathan Horowitz, in London at HarperCollins.

What he wasn't permitted to do was to converse with either of these men directly. Talia handled all of the correspondence among the men. This, along with the ever-present bodyguard, Musa Nadir, was the most evident proof that Ken was essentially Hulugu's prisoner. Horowitz had tracked Ken down just a few months previously as far as Naples, fortuitously arriving there and looking for Ken when Ken, accompanied by Nadir, was on a shopping spree to the city. The two had only had a few minutes together while Nadir was off taking a leak, to converse and for Horowitz to confirm that Ken was essentially imprisoned and by whom before Nadir returned, beat Horowitz down, and took Ken back to Anacapri, where he slapped Ken around as well before brutally sexually assaulting him for an hour. Ken would not acknowledge it, but it was the best fuck he'd ever gotten out of Nadir.

Hulugu was bringing in more entertainers for the New Year's Eve party. There would be more whores than guests. Dimitri Kuznetsov had arrived early, coming off a Hulugu-owned freighter standing off Capri out to sea. He hadn't fucked Ken for several months and was making up for time now. Ken held small boxes of presents Hulugu was giving to his guests. Ken had peeked in the boxes. They contained Hulugu's very exclusive, very expensive, and very illegal potency pills. A half hour after Kuznetsov had popped his, he was on top of Ken on a lounge bed beside the villa pool. He was over eight hard inches up Ken's passage and pumping, and Ken was lying under him, pressing his knees into the big, hirsute Russian's hips; clutching at the bear's biceps with his fingernails; working his passage wall muscles on the Russian's cock; lolling his head to the side; and looking through the columned passage to the north toward the Bay of Naples, his eyes flashing and mouth yawning in the pleasure of being conquered and ravished by brutal, pill-enhanced Russia.

Forty minutes after the liftoff from that invasion, Kuznetsov had swum twenty vigorous laps in the pool, come out of the water at the shallow end in massive erection, and Ken had pressed the Russian down on his back on the side of the pool, his legs dangling in the water, had saddled and sheathed himself on the shaft, and was riding Kuznetsov in a slow rocking motion.

He felt the familiar hands on his waist from behind, and Ken realized Hulugu had arrived on Anacapri from Naples for the evening's festivities. The satyr, standing behind Ken in the shallow water of the pool and in perpetual, upcurved, ten-inch erection, pressed Ken forward onto the Russian's chest, worked his cock up into Ken's passage on top of that of Kuznetsov, and while Ken panted hard and groaned, Russia and Turkey conquered America together.

After the fireworks from that, Hulugu, on his pills, still monstrously erect and quickly reloaded, did not leave Ken to rest. He held out his hand, and with ten years of knowing the fucking would go on and on, Ken took the hand and was led into the villa, to Hulugu's bedroom there. As they moved, Hulugu snapped his fingers to the two young Italian men, Dario Rossi and Marcello Bianchi, and both followed into the bedroom and to the bed.

Hulugu fucked all three of them.

He wanted to use the bureau in his room that afternoon. Pulling Ken off the bed and over to the low-slung bureau with a mirror behind it—there, in fact, were mirrors all over the room so that both Hulugu and the man he was covering could watch the action from all angles—he put Ken in what was called the Afternoon Delight position, Hulugu standing on a low ottoman in front of the bureau, Ken suspended in front of the bureau, supporting himself with his palms pressed into the top of the bureau, and his knees drawn up to and outside his chest, which spread his thighs. His ankles rested on Hulugu's shoulders and Hulugu bunched his fists behind Ken's neck and he thrust up inside Ken's channel and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him. The dark and sultry Dario and Marcello watched from the bed.

Then Hulugu put Dario in the splits along the top surface of the bureau, supporting his torso with his arms stiff behind him, palming the bureau top, and Hulugu fucking him from in front. Ken and Marcello watched from the bed.

Marcello, who was tall and very slim, was made to grab the top of the mirror frame behind the bureau with his body streaming back past Hulugu's hips. Hulugu held the young man's thighs, inserted his body between them, and fucked Marcello from the rear. Ken and Dario watched from the bed.

Hulugu dismissed the two young men, saying that the guests were starting to arrive and they were to mingle and service them as the guests required. He kept Ken back, though, fucking him one more time. He utilized the bureau again, using the Booster Seat position, making Ken crouch on the top of the bureau, facing the mirror, and rocking back on Hulugu's cock, with Hulugu embracing Ken's chest with one arm and stroking him off with the other hand. Ken's left arm was raised, his hand cupping the back of Hulugu's head. Hulugu stroked Ken to an ejaculation that splashed against the mirror, but he continued fucking Ken until the young man collapsed in exhaustion. Hulugu let Ken's body sink to the floor. Ken watched the satyr, still in erection, hobble out of the bedroom on bowed, pelted legs.

The man was in his sixties. Those were some powerful pills he was illegally making and selling. Then again he was as close to being a real satyr on earth as was possible. And it was because he could—and did—fuck like this that Ken hadn't tried to escape from here over the last decade. Ken was thirty-nine and still being gloriously fucked. He didn't want to give this up. And Hulugu gave him full-support protection to write his novels.

* * * *

Ken missed most of the cocktail party that proceeded before the buffet dinner on the pool terrace after most of the invitees had arrived because there was a Nigerian on his tail—quite literally, and a brutal one at that. He pulled Ken into the guest room that had been assigned to him. Luckily, the bodyguard, Musa Nadir, had seen this happen and lurked outside. The Nigerian was already cleared to top Ken, or Nadir would have intervened.

The man was huge, not just in height and wingspread, but he was heavy. If he'd been shorter, he'd be considered fat. Much of it was muscle, but he had a beer gut on him. Ken had been avoiding him even though the black man—not chocolate brown of any hue; about as black as a man could get—had been giving Ken the eye. Marcello had actually warned Ken about the man.

"I heard him talking to Hulugu. They have some sort of sex slave scheme going, I think—African girls up into France, where they are popular. And I also heard him ask Hulugu who the most sturdy whore boy was here."

"And Hulugu said it was me, right?" Ken asked.

"Yes, thank God," Marcello had said. Then he had blanched and said, "Sorry. But I heard Hulugu somewhat reluctantly greenlighting a session with you."

Ken was to find that the man wanted "sturdy" because he wanted to beat his prey down before fucking him. He'd sent Ken spinning around the room with broad-handed slaps, his hands then closing into fists, before Musa intervened, coming into the room when the Nigerian, with both of them stripped down, had a choke hold on Ken, was dangling him nearly off the floor in front of him, and had reared a hand back and made a fist to move on to putting Ken's lights out so he'd have no fight in him for the fuck.

"Damage not allowed, Sir. Sorry. He is Mr. Hulugu's favorite, he has to last the night, and there are more guests needing serviced." The admonishment was no more demanding than that. Perhaps it couldn't have been. Musa was one musclebound tank, but maybe even he could not have taken the Nigerian down. But, as the Nigerian would be interested in doing business with Hulugu, perhaps noting Hulugu's interest in Ken was enough to cry the monster off.

Ken did get fucked. The Nigerian dropped him to the floor, started to kick him in the ribs but noted that Musa was still standing in the doorway, watching. The kick turned into a nudge with the foot to direct Ken to go up on all fours, which Ken did. The giant covered him from above, mounted and penetrated him, and fucked him good. Musa continued to watch until he could see that it had settled down to a doggy ride, and then he drifted back into the shadows.

There would have been agreement from Ken that the Nigerian fucked him good. He was a hung bull and from the moment he had thrust inside Ken, Ken took over, making love to the cock, which the Nigerian enjoyed and thus forgot about needing to beat him down, and satisfying Ken too because the cock was so huge and the man knew how to fuck. After several minutes of the man enjoying Ken working his cock with the rippling and clutching of his channel muscles, the Nigerian wanted to demonstrate his power. He wrapped an arm around Ken's stomach and pulled him up off the carpet, suspending him off the floor. The man's beefy arms rose up, putting Ken in a full Nelson hold. Recognizing the position, Ken wrapped his legs around the man's thighs, crossing his ankles under the man's buttocks, and moved his hips, fucking himself on the cock. The Nigerian was impressed and didn't show any more violence, enjoying Ken's expertise and ending standing on the floor hovering over Ken in the missionary position, with Ken digging his feet into the edge of the foot of the bed and rocking his pelvis, fucking himself on the gigantic shaft. The Nigerian found Ken too precious to ruin by the time he was firing off.

Ken still didn't want to know the man's name or anything about him. He was losing interest in Hulugu too. If he was involved in sex trafficking along with everything else . . .