Over the Barrel

"The man has seen you—leaning against the car. And he was forward with me. I told you that Turkish men are very taken with blonds. And the men here are taken with men."

"You mean?"

"Yes. The man looked at you and told me what he'd like to do with you. I told him that you took cocks—that I'd already done with you what he wanted to and that you liked it. I counted six of them in the building. There may be a few more. They all are fine-looking men, though. The man showed you to them through the window and told them you took cocks. They say they will fix the car or get us back into Kusadasi before your ship sails if we let them fuck us."

"Fuck us? Both of us. All six of them?"

"Or maybe seven. I lost count."

I took another look at the man standing at the door of the building. On second look, and checking him out with a new set of criteria, he remained solidly built; muscular; and, like Jamal, olive-skinned and hirsute, with black curly hair. He was a handsome devil, if maybe a good twenty years older than Jamal. As I watched, he unbuttoned his trousers and took his cock out. He was horse hung.

"The others—?" I asked.

"All as muscular and good looking as he is," Jamal said. "Some are younger. All are Turks. They would be rough with us. But I was rough with you and you loved it. It's the only way you can get back to your ship on time."

"Well, then, let's get it over with," I said, as I pushed off from the car fender and started walking toward the winery building.

There were eight of them. They took us to the stone-walled basement of the winery, where the casks of wine were stored but also where there were tables and chairs set up for tasting. The winery was one that grew Narince and Sultana grapes for the popular Chankaya white wine, which they plied us with as they swirled around us, smiling and leering at us and fairly licking their chops. They were all there at the same time during the wine tasting. I had hope that some missing men were out on the road, fixing the Fiat.

I confirmed the deal proposal Jamal had told me was on the table. They'd look at me and jabber to him in Turkish. He in turn translated for me that they were asking for assurances that I was going to let them gangbang me—that I wouldn't try to make trouble for them. Jamal said he'd told them that, if they got me back to the ship in time, I'd be gone and couldn't give them trouble.

I was drinking the last of a glass of wine, with four men sitting around me, staring at me and smiling, when I noticed that only those four men and I were now in the room. Jamal and the other men were gone. My finishing off the wine in my glass was the signal for the gangbang to start with me. The men rose from their chairs and moved in toward me.

Hands were on my body, feeling me up and stripping me of my clothes. When I was naked, and their trousers were off and their erect cocks were standing out proudly from their crotches, two of them virtually carried me over to the side of the room and stretched me, on my belly, over a barrel that was on its side. One man was at my head, forcing my mouth on his cock, and was holding my arms stretched over the barrel with a grip on my wrists. Another man was knelt behind me, his mouth at my hole, his hands spreading my butt cheeks. When he was satisfied I was open enough—all four men were hung—he covered and mounted me and fucked me.

All four men took a turn in my ass as I was stretched over the wine barrel. All of them were big. Half way through the first one, the pleasure was washing over the pain, and from then on out I managed to sheath them and enjoy the slightly different techniques and rhythms. I'd been gang fucked in the frat house before, so I could manage this. I just lay back and concentrated in staying open for them.

When I thought that would satisfy them—and I blush to note that it satisfied me as well, although it reduced me to complete submission—it hadn't satisfied them. The first man inside me, which had been the man standing outside the door of the winery, lifted me, threw me over his shoulder, and the four men trooped down a corridor and into another room, some sort of sleeping quarters.

En route, we passed an open door into another stone-walled chamber, where I caught a glimpse of Jamal, naked, bound to an X-frame, his body sagging and his head hanging down toward the floor. I moaned at the thought of what was happening to us—to me. And I was embarrassed that so far I was enjoying it. My mind raced on what they could have been doing to Jamal on that frame—and what they might eventually do to me on that as well.

I was laid on my back on a table in the room we entered, my arms pulled over my head and my wrists bound. There was a wooden beam above the end of the table with ropes coming down from it. My legs were raised and spread and my ankles tied off with ropes hanging from the beam. My buttocks was resting at the bottom edge of the table.

All eight men fucked me in a ritual that was different from that in the wine-tasting room. And, once again, to my surprise, the fetish of docking was brought into play. But so was sounding. From somewhere they brought out a sounding kit, with graduated steel wands. They set up a relay, with each man following his own penis-play ritual in turn. All docked their cocks with mine. All were cut—all being Turks. Each took advantage of my not being cut. At the minimum, each pushed my foreskin back, brought his exposed cock bulb to mine, pulled my foreskin over both bulbs, and stroked us until one or both of us came. Then he stepped back to recover and gave place to one of the other men, who fucked me in the ass to an ejaculation.

This was the same technique Jamal had used with me earlier. I wondered if this was something Turkish men did to other men, but, if so, it had to be with foreigners who weren't circumcised, as all Turkish Muslims would be.

Then another Turkish hunk would step forward to dock our cocks. Some also sounded my cock or his, carefully sliding one of the slimmer sounding rods into my piss slit or a thicker one into his and slowly fucking the cock with it—usually producing cum. As this progressed, of course, I was being totally drained and my balls were aching. The hunk would withdraw and another horse-hung Turk would step forward to fuck me in the ass.

The last, the man obviously in charge, the man who had been at the winery door, came at me with a sounding wand already in his cock. As I writhed and cried out and arched my back in passion, he slowly pushed the other end of the wand into my urethra slit until our cock heads kissed, half of the wand buried in each of our slits. He pulled my foreskin over both cock heads and stroked the cocks to a mingling of cum.

What they might have done to me on the X-frame remained a fantasy. They were finished with both of us after the eighth man fucked me in the ass. They released me and let me rejoin a downcast Jamal in the winery tasting room to reclothe and be taken out to a fixed and humming Fiat. They were all jovialness and camaraderie, thumping Jamal and me and each other on the back as if it had all been jolly good fun. And, truth be told, I couldn't say that it hadn't been a satiating experience for me. I certainly never would forget my Turkey stopover.

And I had agreed to it beforehand, even though I hadn't known all that it would entail.

The only thing that gave me pause was having caught a glimpse of the head winery man slipping a roll of Turkish money bills into Jamal's pocket before my guide got into the driver's seat of the Fiat.

Needless to say, there was no going back to the hotel. I don't think I could have taken another man's cock inside me anyway. We barely made it back to dockside in Kusadasi by 4:30.

Jamal started to apologize when we got out of the Fiat, but I stopped him dead. "Those were the friends you wanted me to take on when you proposed that to me back in Ephesus, weren't they? It was just me they fucked, not you too, right?"

He gave me a sheepish look. "You aren't going to—?" he started to say.

"No, I'm not going to report this to anyone. I barely have time to sail. You've got me over the barrel on the timing of all of this. But that's what you were counting on, isn't it?"

He gave me a miserable "caught" puppy dog look.

"Look, Jamal. I enjoyed it—and I enjoyed you. I'm not going to report you and I'm going to give you a great recommendation. I'm just not going to mention the extra service. I saw you take the money back there, but you should know that the docking business was suspicious right there. You did it in the hotel and then each of those men did it. No one has ever done that with me before. What, is it some sort of club you have going? Is it something you indulge in when you have an uncut Westerner client? It's not something you can do with each other?"

From the surprised and guilty look he gave me, I knew I'd hit that nail on the head.

"Let me see the roll of money he gave you."

Jamal produced it. I stripped one bill off it. "By rights I should have at least half of this, but I have no place to spend Turkish money, so I'll just take this as recognition that I earned most of that." I pulled him to me and gave him a deep kiss on the lips, which took him completely by surprise. Then I turned, and without looking back strode painfully to the ship's gangplank which already was starting to be pulled back on board. My ass hurt like hell, my cock was just as sore, and my balls ached, all in a memorable way.

That night I surprised Tony with the docking maneuver of our two cocks, causing us both to come and our jism to mingle and burble out of our kissing cock heads. He gave me another hundred dollars.