The Greek Pimp Ch. 03

Had he really drunk enough to be this woozy? His head was swimming, the sound of his ears being the rushing of water—real or imagined?—and he was having difficulty distinguishing teak walls from sienna brown curtains on the portholes and from separating his tremors from the slow bobbing of the yacht. Why, in this state of confusion, could he feel every luscious sensation of his dick sliding up and down in the channel of the Thai cabin boy? Or rather, the Thai cabin boy rising and falling on his dick, now that he thought further on it.

Samit was doing all of the work. Thane was lying on his back on the bed that took up most of the cabin, and the small Thai was straddling his hips, the heels of his hands dug into Thane's nipples as he arched his back and licked his lips in apparently deep pleasure, while slowly rising and falling on the dick. Samit's channel was tight and his muscles were rippling over Thane's cock in a most arousing way. Thane couldn't think when his cock had been this hard or the channel had been this tight, even as slicked up as it was. The sliding was easy and gave off a slight slurping sound—a sound that harmonized with the lapping of the water on the ship's hull. Did that mean the ship was moving?

How and when had Thane lost control and become so woozy?

The slickness of the channel, his ability to feel the sensation of the muscles undulating on his cock? Protection. Had there been a condom? Why couldn't he remember how this had come to pass? Had Samit offered himself or had Thane, drunken, forced him? Not likely forced him, if Samit was on top and doing the stroking—and seeming to be getting so much pleasure out of the fuck.

Why couldn't he think straighter? Why was he so confused? And why could he feel every crease and knob inside Samit's channel and the slickness of him? Surely if there was a rubber ...

Leaving Macau for Bangkok. The thought shot across his brain, a brief, clear thought. Why weren't there more? Why couldn't he put two thoughts together? Where was the Greek? They had been sitting in the fantail, looking at the lit-up bulk of the Venetian Macau Casino and hotel complex, and drinking scotch. Drinking scotch.

The Greek was his ride ... he had agreed to take him to Bangkok in his yacht, hadn't he? Did the Greek know Thane was fucking his Thai cabin boy? And how did Thane even know Samit was the Greek's cabin boy? Or even that his name was Samit?

Samit had been serving them the drinks. And as he had been doing so had been smiling shyly at Thane. What was that the Greek had asked? Something about whether Thane liked the Thai cabin boy. And in what way? And telling Thane to drink his scotch.

Cabin boy. Oh shit. Was this merely a boy? Were they in international waters, or still in Macau, or, worse, in Chinese waters? But, no. That was clear. He'd been told that Samit was small bodied, the way that many Thai were small. That he was, in fact the same age as Thane. Old enough. Was that before or after the Greek had asked him if he wanted to fuck the cabin boy? Had the Greek really asked him that? Not a boy ... or so he was told. Had he asked or had the information been volunteered to him—as part of the question of whether he wanted to fuck the Thai? A man. But the body of a boy. The channel of a Hoover vacuum cleaner, though.

Thane heard himself laughing. He didn't feel the laugh, but he heard it. Briefly he checked his memory banks on whether there were any hysterics in the laugh. There didn't seem to have been. But the laugh seemed so disembodied. Entirely unlike the sensation in his cock—such sensual pleasure there that every focus of his body was racing to center on it, to make the most of it. Strange.

And the laugh hadn't only been disembodied, it had been in stereo—but his laugh higher range than the echo.

"A Hoover vacuum cleaner. Very funny."

Had he said that? Surely not. The voice was from across the room. A lower register than his. The Greek's. Cosmo Eracules. The ugly, almost simian, but, at the same time, sensual Greek who had clucked at Thane's loss and volunteered to give him a ride from Macau to Bangkok for fucking privileges en route. That much was clear to Thane. But how had that translated to Thane lying on his back and the Thai cabin boy riding his cock?

The Greek had smiled up at Samit and asked if he wanted to be fucked by Thane. That memory clearly scanned across Thane's brain. The question was as jolting as the one the Greek had straight out asked him in the casino bar.

"Would you like to see my yacht?" he'd asked. "It's just across at the casino marina. Then I very much would like to fuck you."

That had brought Thane up short. "Excuse me?"

"I would pay, of course," the Greek had said. "You do let men fuck you for money, don't you? Didn't I see you leave the bar with that Chinese general and go through those beaded curtains over there? One of my bodyguards told me he spied the general fucking you in one of the small dressing rooms. He's an ugly bastard and you're really quite a stud, so I assume he paid you for it."

Thane had given up trying to stonewall at that point. And here he was. But what had the Thai cabin boy's response been to the Greek's question whether he wanted to be fucked by Thane? Is this what he really wanted? The scotch—the Greek had kept pressing him to drink the scotch. And his world had begun to spin.

The bother of the difference between the tactile sensation of the Thai's channel sliding on his cock and his inability to "feel" his facile muscles returned. And not being able to stop this rushing of water in his ears or feel himself laugh or know that he had spoken?—because surely the Greek had gotten the Hoover image from him. The tight, hard feeling in his cock. Building up to something big. The cloud-stepping pleasure of the sliding of the slick, tight channel on his cock. And now ... now ... Oh, shit! The Thai had moved a hand behind Thane's bare butt and was fisting and squeezing and rolling his balls.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, Shit! I'm gonna ..."

The explosion of the ejaculation. Thane lifting his torso off the surface of the bed. Grabbing Samit's thick, black hair and pulling him into a kiss ... as ... once, twice, and again ... Thane fired off. The gush of cum. Cum everywhere inside the tight ass. Dribbling down Thane's still-hard cock, as he jerked. Once, twice. More eruptions.

No condom. No way there had been a condom. Who gave a shit? That was ... spectacular.

Moaning, lying his shoulder blades back on the bed. Samit grinning down at him. Squeezing the cock with his channel—rhythmically. Pulling three last little spurts of cum out of him as his body jerked with each release.

Two heads. Samit had two heads. One so ugly it was arousing, though. The Greek. Peering, leering over Samit's shoulder. Samit leaning his torso down toward Thane's chest, but not actually touching it. Samit turning his face to the Greek's for a deep kiss. The Thai cabin boy moaning and groaning through the kiss.

A new sensation. Something else. Oh, shit, the bulb of another cock. Pressing at the root of Thane's cock, buried still in the Thai's channel. Not as hard as before he'd jacked off, but not flaccid either.

What in the fuck? Another cock, forcing itself into the Thai's channel, on top of Thane's cock.

No way. No way can the Thai's tight channel take it.

But it was taking it. Opening right up as the Greek slid inside, along the top of Thane's cock, making Thane moan too and arch his torso—and, involuntarily—bend and raise his legs and dig the heels of his bare feet into the tops of the meaty, naked mounds of the Greek's ass. Rubbing the small of the Greek's back with the heels of his feet—in rhythm with the moving of his pelvis, the ever-so-slight stroking of his cock inside the channel of the sensually groaning Thai while the Greek's cock began a stroking of its own, sliding in and out on the upper side of Thane's cock.

The Greek moving his cock, fucking the Thai cabin boy, but also fucking Thane's cock. No other way of describing it—stroking in the Thai's channel, still tight, but stretched to accommodate them both, and also stroking along the top of Thane's cock.

Thane hardening up again. Stroking too. Joining in with this horrid ... fantastic double fuck. Groaning and moaning—in three registers, the Thai's voice even higher than Thane's. Writhing and bucking, all three against each other. And the Greek pistoning, with Thane, hard as a rock again, balls aching, stroking too.

Grunting expletives in English, Greek, and Thai, as the three worked as one toward a combined goal—exploding as one. Together. Kisses and exclamations of satisfaction and release all around.

* * * *

Thane woke up with a headache, having no question, by the rocking sensation, that the yacht now was under way. He was spread-eagled on his back on the bed, the sheets rumpled so wildly that he had no trouble remembering what he had done the previous night.

But all of it? Was all of it true, not just partly a wild dream? What the fuck? That would be horrible. He hadn't even thought of doing that before. Surely he hadn't. He'd have to think about that. What if he had been the one in the middle? He shuddered at the thought. But he also felt himself hardening up at the thought. Nope, it was nothing he'd ever do. He wasn't sure he could think straight even now. What the fuck had he been given the previous night? It couldn't have all been liquor. The scotch tasted fine. Of course what did he know about fine scotch?

It was horrid—just the thought of doing that, the double fuck, Thane thought as he increasingly accepted that the double fuck had happened. His hand involuntarily went to his hard cock. In the back of his mind, a radically different thought was tugging at him—it had been totally arousing. He'd gone with it—in a big way. He'd never been so hard. He'd never ejaculated so profusely. It was exhilarating. It was bliss. After they'd finished and the Thai and Greek had drawn away from him, he'd had a feeling of loss. He had wanted to do it again. Then, not now, of course. Not when he was sober.

He would never, ever do it again.

"Good morning, sir."

Thane looked up. The cabin boy, Samit, dressed smartly in black pants and a white shirt, was standing, grinning, in the cabin doorway. He had towels draped over his arm.

A vision of the Thai, his lithe little brown body naked, straddling Thane's pelvis—the Greek grinning over his shoulder—raced through Thane's mind. With every effort he could manage, he slammed the door on that image.

"You will want to shower before breakfast," Samit was saying. "As you shower, I will lay clothes out for you. It's a balmy day on the sea. You have many tennis clothes. I will lay a set of those out for you."

Thane lifted his head and peered at the Thai cabin boy standing in the cabin doorway. To do so, he had to look down the full length of his naked body. For some reason looking at Samit was making his dick twitch. It already was hard.

Oh, yeah, He'd fucked the little guy last night all right. And Samit had been really, really good. But it just wasn't him. Thane groaned. The Greek appeared in the doorway behind Samit.

The image that had been in his brain knocked on the closed door again.

Thane's impression of the Greek, Cosmos Eracules, who had identified himself as a Greek shipping fleet entrepreneur when he had put his arm around Thane at the baccarat table to console him and to offer his help and then followed him into the casino bar, with his bodyguards several steps behind him, had changed from that night. Hooded eyes that were almost Oriental but that bored right into a man. A squat, graying, middle-age bulkiness that was as much packed with muscle as fat, and a hairiness that was more hinted at then observed at the Venetian Macau Casino on the peninsula's Cotai Strip, but that had been fully revealed to Thane the previous night.

A sense of power and privilege and command.

"Thank you, Samit," the Greek said from behind the Thai. "Mr. Carlin will be showering and taking his breakfast later. He has his passage to start working off now—using his passage." Thane heard the dry, deep laugh that he'd heard several times cutting through the fog of the previous night.

"Yes, Mr. Eracules," Samit said, lowering his eyes, a half smile on his face and backing into the passageway as Eracules pushed past him, already untying his velour robe and opening it to reveal his squat, hairy body in full, thick erection. The Thai clicked the door shut behind him.

Thane had no more time than to contemplate just how hairy the man was, and how thick and up-curved his erection was, and how big and low-hanging his ball sac was before, robe flopping open, the Greek was at the foot of the bed, grabbing Thane's ankles and pulling Thane to the foot of the bed, splitting and raising Thane's legs, thrusting inside him, and pounding, pounding, pounding, while Thane arched his back and writhed under the onslaught.

"Oh, shit. Oh fuck YES!"

* * * *

Thane had been served his breakfast in his room and given time to contemplate what was happening here. He had been active with men, both fucking them and being fucked by them. He certainly hadn't doubled before, though. And he hadn't done anything much that approached that kinkiness.

Still he had come onto the yacht eyes wide open. The Greek had made him acknowledge that his ass was the Greek's for anything he wanted to do between Macau and Bangkok. Eracules said that the rough fuck before breakfast was to make a statement of what Thane had agreed to and to voice pleasure that Thane had so willingly given in to it.

"You have known many men, yes?"

"Not that many."

"But when you have needed to use your body, you have done so—and taken pleasure rather than resentment out of it, yes?"

"I guess that's true. All I really want to do is play competitive tennis. But until you make it into the top one-fifty at least, you have to do what you have to do to continue to be able to make the second week."

"And you make it into the second week often, with this tennis of yours?"

"Not often. Not yet. Actually, not at all yet. But I'm getting close."

"You know that you are very good with the sex, don't you? A beautiful body. A very nice cock. You could do far more than just make it into the second week giving pleasure to men. You realize this, don't you?"

Thane didn't respond.

"Well, it's something to think about," the Greek said, as he slapped Thane on the rump and stood up from the bed. "And if you are interested, I can help you. You can do much better for yourself in a partnership arrangement." Having said that, Eracules turned and left Thane alone in the cabin to shower and dress.

Thane didn't want to give what the Greek had said much thought. He knew he was sexy, yes, but that would pass. So would tennis-playing years on the pro circuit. But tennis was his passion. He had needed the transportation—badly. At twenty, he was at a place in his tennis career that he needed either to start going up the ranks in tournaments or go into the family business. And the trash disposal business, no matter that his father was known as the trash king of San Diego, just didn't match Thane's view of his future.

As far as tournaments, though, he was still in the minor ATP leagues, barely winning enough to keep him going. He'd gotten to the third round in the Tokyo tournament, which had been enough to get him invited to the PTT Thailand Open in Bangkok in late September—and had come with enough prize money to fly him there, although he'd have to live on a string during the tournament if he spent the money on air fare. The Bangkok tournament had a prize purse that wasn't astronomical, but just by showing up, he could pick up enough to get him to his pro job at the San Diego tennis club he worked at while living with his parents and waiting for the season to start up again. But he'd been greedy. He wanted to live well the week or two he'd be in Bangkok.

A Japanese businessman who had attended the Tokyo tournament and who had sniffed around Thane there and had exchanged a good restaurant dinner for a fumbled fuck and comfortable night in a snazzy apartment, had offered to take him to Bangkok by way of the gambling tables in Macau for free—well, for occupying the businessman's bed. And the thought of the air money Thane would save muddled his mind. Taking the Japanese guy was no sweat either. He was all foreplay that required little from Thane other than to open his legs to receive a weak, fast-shot fuck from a tiny cock after the man had sucked Thane off.

The Japanese businessman was fickle and had a roving eye. He picked up a swishy young blond who was cruising the tables at the Venetian Macau, the world's largest casino—an upscale of the Venetian in Las Vegas—and had left Thane high and dry at the Chemin de Fer baccarat table in the Red Dragon area of the casino. Thane fed his anger at being abandoned less than half way to Bangkok with unwise decisions at the baccarat table.

The Greek had been at the table, a hulking bodyguard standing behind him. He had followed Thane from the bar where he had propositioned him and then Thane had left, without answering him, back to tables. Thane had looked around to see if the Japanese businessman had returned before settling back into a baccarat table.

"Your friend seems to have deserted you—along with your luck, young man," the Greek said after the play had gone on for a short while. He folded his hands in front of him, leaned over the baccarat table, and peered at Thane with those piercing, all-knowing eyes of his that Thane had already seen trained on him while the Japanese businessman was still present and bankrolling Thane's play. Thane had the sensation of being undressed. And he knew that look, although most didn't exude the power and command that the Greek did when they cast their eyes on him.

Thane's attention was on the man's folded hands. The hands were massive, the fingers thick. The backs of the hands were hairy, curly jet-black hair sprinkled with gray, and Thane felt the fuzz on his own back chafe on the starched white shirt of his tux as he looked at them. He melted to hairy men—and the size of the hands and fingers had a promise in them. The man had a massive signet ring on the middle finger of his right hand. Thane's imagination was running wild at what the man might be capable of doing with that ring. It may have made a difference that the Japanese businessman had been so small, so lackluster and prissy in his lovemaking. Thane was in the mood for rough sex from a manhandler.

"No problem," Thane had answered. "I don't need him anyway."

"His dick too small for you? He isn't enough man for you?"

Thane's head snapped up. "You are very direct. When you were this direct in the bar, I excused myself."

"I am good at assessing people, and bad about engaging in meaningless chit-chat. Was the Jap's dick too small for you?"

"Yes, if you must know."

"Was the Chinese general's better?"

"Not much."

"Mine isn't. What was the Jap going to do for you? He looks too old and frail for you to be with him by preference. You are a professional male prostitute, are you not?"

"No, I am not." Thane bristled at the assertion, his flash of defensiveness occasioned by how many times in the past week he'd asked himself the same question—was he just a male prostitute? "I'm a professional tennis player. There's a tournament I'm signed up for in Bangkok next week. He was going to pay for my flight there."

"Ah. It so happens that I leave for Bangkok tonight myself. And I have a yacht in the harbor here. I might be willing to give you a lift."

"Might?" Thane asked after a brief pause.

"Yes, might. I feel the need to go to the men's room. You do too, I think."