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“God, he was big. Christ, he was huge. Fuck, he was punishing me.” The mantra kept running through my mind. And I wasn’t just talking about Jomata Nyoni’s height, breadth, and belly. I’d been told that he was called the Man Splitter in Uganda when he was working his evil as one of Idi Amin’s enforcers, but that was about his work with an ax. Nobody had told me he was horse hung. I gasped and groaned again as he lifted my body until just his bulb was inside me and then slammed me down on his shaft again, going deep. If the water of the Mediterranean hadn’t been up above our waists, which took a lot of the force out of his power slams, I don’t think I could have handled it. He was as cruel at cocking as his reputation said he had been as a Ugandan thug.
I wasn’t left with any doubt about being disposable in his eyes.
We were in the water, beyond where the waves broke on the beach. He was crouched down, taking the weight of my body on his thighs, facing the private beach below the villa on the French Riviera, not far from the border of Monaco. Nyoni had exiled himself here no doubt within escape distance to the principality should he get wind that France was going to get around to extraditing him back to Uganda to face war crimes trials. He’d managed to stay on the run but in the lap of luxury for thirty-five years, more than half his lifetime.
My legs were spread, my thighs resting on his massive ones. He was gripping and spreading my butt cheeks in his beefy hands, which he was using to lift me and slam me down on his cock. The man was twice as big as I was—and I’m not a small man—and three times more physically powerful. I clutched his bulging biceps in my hands. The Mediterranean rose and fell behind him, but not in my view. My view was of a broad, beefy, both fat and muscular torso, with native tattooing and the tattooing of more than one bullet scar and several knife slashings.
He’d obviously had a rough life. He was making my life rough now. I cried again in pain as he lifted me and slammed me down on the cock, reaching deep into my core, where I was still soft and rarely tested. Much more of this and he’d do damage, not that he cared if he did damage. Man Splitter, I thought. Man Splitter! I took one of my hands off a bicep, leaving it to him to keep me in place in front of and facing him with the strength of his hands. I managed to snake the hand between where our thighs met our groins, get hold of his ball sack, and roll and squeeze his balls.
With a roar, he creamed me deep when he slammed me down again. I had had to do it; it was a matter of self-preservation. He pushed me off him into a wave rolling past us, turned his body, dove into the water, and started to swim laps with strong, Australian-crawl strokes parallel to the beach.
When I was able to stop shuddering and trembling, I turned and struggled through the churning water back to the beach. As I walked out of the surf, I checked to ensure that Nyoni’s two Ugandan bodyguards, Mulumba and Kato, were still stationed at the top of the wooden staircase going up to the stone terrace of the villa. They were, and they had their eyes glued on me, no doubt grinning behind their sunglasses. Younger by decades than Nyoni, they were both black bull musclemen—stereotyped bodyguard thugs. They also both had had me already and were certain, I’m sure, that they would have me again.
They had both fucked me the previous night and no doubt planned to be given the same privilege tonight, assuming I’d still be around then. I had hooked up with Nyoni in the casino in Monaco the previous night. We’d been playing at the same table, and we were both losing. But to him losing wasn’t nearly as painful as I was showing my losing was. When I’d gone bust, he volunteered to stake me again.
“Why? Why would I let you do that? Why would you want to do it?” I’d asked. I knew why. He’d been signaling for more than an hour.
“Because I want to fuck you,” he’d said, baldly stating his intent. “Your ass for these blue chips.”
“That’s OK,” I’d said, “Thanks for the offer, but I think it’s time for me to pack it in for the night anyway.”
“Don’t tell me that men don’t buy you and fuck you,” he said. “I saw you come into the casino with Count Orsini. I know he pays for it. I want to fuck you.”
“We’ll see if I see you in here tomorrow night,” I’d said. “I think I’m a little scared of you.”
“Good,” he said. “You have reason to be afraid of what I’ll put in you. But fear will make it more interesting for both of us when I fuck you.”
“You certainly don’t mince words, to you?” I said, trying to sound neutral, and stood up from the table.
I went to the men’s room and when I came back, he was gone, as were the two goons who had stood behind him while we’d played the table.
I’d gotten no more than twenty yards from the casino when a big honking black Land Rover pulled up beside me and strong arms pulled me inside. Nyoni fucked me on the backseat while they were driving back to his casino oyna villa. I struggled a bit just to establish that this wasn’t by my choice, but he was much too heavy and strong for me, getting on top of me across the backseat and between my parted legs, stunning me with a backhand across the face, getting my trousers off and his fly open and then one of my ankles trapped in a strap above the column between the seats. I knew he had reinforcements he could call on from the front seat, but he didn’t need them. His hand was covering my mouth and nose, controlling my oxygen supply until he was inside me, at which time there wasn’t much use to struggle anymore and I collapsed under him and took the cock hard and deep in surrender, completely open to him. I even murmured how filling he was as he got going good. I think I mentioned a “Yes, yes,” and “Fuck me” from time to time and clutched at his shoulder blades as symbolic of my complicity once he was inside me to help him decide I wasn’t immediately disposable, and I moved my pelvis and sighed for him to work on his vanity.
He was a serious cocksman even in the back of a Land Rover, putting a lot of motion into his hips and buttocks and taking me with long, strong strokes. He obviously had done this a lot before—even the snatching aspect of it, I’ll bet. “Man Splitter” couldn’t help but come to my mind. The thug at the wheel spent more time looking at us through the rear-view mirror than watching the road, and the other bodyguard unabashedly turned in his seat and watched. He had been the one to trap my ankle in the overhead strap.
Once there, at his seaside villa, Nyoni let Mulumba fuck me in the backseat as well. I was too exhausted to do more than lay on my back, moaning, with my legs parted, and let the black bull muscleman do pushups on my ass. Nyoni fucked me on his bed and then Kato fucked me in the bathroom off the bedroom they took me to, nailing me over the toilet, with my hands and cheek pressed into the tiles behind the toilet tank. To keep them from having any terminal ideas, I took the follow-up fucks with a modest amount of enthusiasm, complimenting each on being high on the proficiency and equipment scale of my experience with johns. It wasn’t a lie. All three of them were hung bulls and all three were cruel cocksmen, leaving every impression that they fucked for keeps. Everything was hunky-dory, of course. I had confessed to being a rent-boy for hire and Nyoni filled my wallet with money before they fucked me. Of course there was little question at the time that they were going to fuck me regardless.
It was a good thing that other men had fucked me, or the three of them would have killed me with their cocks. Nyoni remarked that he’d known I was a rent-boy when he’d first seen me—as if that was license for the three of them to fuck me nonstop.
Even then, though, I had the feeling that wherever they took me and whatever they did to me, they wouldn’t be returning me and I wouldn’t be enjoying the money Nyoni paid me. Once a lawless, unchecked thug, always a lawless, unchecked thug, and in their eyes I was just a diversion, a disposable rent-boy. I had to make it painful for them to do without me.
And here we were on the beach.
I went over to the towels stretched out on the sand, slipping on the Speedo I’d found in the room they assigned me to before I went down on my back. The Speedo was much too small for any of them, so obviously I wasn’t the first young man they’d brought in to do this to. The Speedo was a tight fit on me as well, so it had belonged to someone smaller than me—someone who didn’t take it with him when he left, no matter how he left here. I didn’t get much of the sun, and the Speedo was off nearly as soon as I had pulled it on my legs. I felt the disappearance of the warmth of the sun and opened my eyes. Kato was looming between me and the sun, and he was reaching down and pulling the Speedo off my legs. When I saw him standing over me, I also saw that he was naked and in massive erection.
“Come and get me, big boy,” I muttered, in reality-based surrender before he lowered himself on me and I spread my legs for him. The expression on his face told me there wasn’t anything wrong with his English comprehension.
He came down on top of me. I tried to rise, but he backhanded me, and, with a sigh of resignation, I lay back, bent my spread legs, placing my feet on the sand on either side of the blanket, and raised my pelvis to give him a straight shot and thereby save some wear and tear on my ass. When he’d slapped me, I knew he meant business and no playing around. “No, thanks” was not an option.
I arched my back and gave a little gasp as he slid inside me. He ran his arm under my waist and pulled me up to connect with him at our pelvises where he knelt between my legs. I let my torso recline back, with my cheek and shoulder blades on the towel. I went limp and extended my arms straight out from my body in total submission, letting him take what he wanted, concentrating on canlı casino opening my channel to the hard, fat cock inside me and taking enjoyment from that. “Yes, yes, fuck me. Give it all to me,” I murmured. I needed him to believe I wanted him. I at least half believed that myself. I almost imperceptibly set my hips in motion, a subtle meeting of his thrusts, pulling him deeper inside me, and a bit more of his cock coming to the surface when I joined him in pulling back before the next thrust. Very subtle, but his cock knew to interpret this as a “yes, I’m with you; I want this.”
I’d had his measure and technique already and had been able to handle it. I knew there was no fighting him, and I pretended that his slap had dazed me more that it had. What it certainly had done was to remind me what value this men put on my life and well-being. I needed him to value my ass and to dull any consideration he might have that I wanted to be anywhere but here, sheathing the cocks of the three of them.
Nyoni had just fucked me, was thicker than Kato was, and had liberally lubed my channel with his cum, so I required no preparation. I needed them to believe that I was here because I didn’t mind being fucked—I enjoyed it. And I enjoyed it particularly from a muscular black bull. As his thrusts grew more vigorous, I clutched his bulbous butt cheeks and helped guide him inside me. I cried out in passion somewhat more than I felt when he ejaculated inside me, and I held him to me, clutching his buttocks, until every twitch of his cock and dribble of his cum had been drained from him. His postcoital kiss told me that I had convinced him that I had wanted him inside me.
When Kato was finished, there was Mulumba, taking his privileges doggie style and adding his cum to that of Nyoni and Kato.
These men were bored and randy. They were using me up quickly. And they were murderous thugs. I had no illusions about where they meant this to be heading.
Still, I didn’t panic. When Mulumba was finished with me and the two had returned to their station, I checked what I had brought down to the beach with me and then lay back, not bothering to put the Speedo back on, and waited. I could see that Nyoni was still swimming laps from one end of the property’s imaginary boundary out to sea to the other. But his strokes were slowing down and it was taking him longer to cover the distance. I knew this would tire him enough to bring him out of the sea. He would want me when he came out of the water again, and he would have saved the strength to have me. The way these men were working me, I knew this was a day’s dalliance and not much more. I was afraid that Nyoni had sniffed the air and was deciding to move on to some other place that would drag its feet on expediting him. He’d been successfully doing that for over three decades.
I knew what that meant for me.
I had nearly dozed off, when I felt his hands grip my ankles and jackknife my legs up, over my shoulders, rolling my pelvis up. Nyoni knelt below me and was slurping on my asshole with his tongue. I couldn’t help but arch my back and moan. He was very good—experienced—at this work. He was a good cocksman too, if one didn’t take into account how rough and uncaring he was—and how obese he was. The man must have weighed over three hundred pounds, all of which came down on top of me when he pulled my legs back down, wishboned them, and settled on top of me between them. He fingered my ass and sucked on my nipples for a couple of minutes but then went right to business, thrusting inside me, deep, and pumping hard and fast inside me.
I could hardly believe that he had been swimming vigorous laps in the sea for three-quarters of hours. His stroking was long, hard, and deep. And if he hadn’t been crushing me with his weight, I would have enjoyed the cocking, even while worrying at how close he was coming to shredding my channel or reaching unexplored, tender territory. He had much more experience and stamina than either one of his bodyguards. He churned inside me in the vulnerable, soft area that few other men had reached and right then, for those fifteen minutes, I was lost to him—panting, moaning, groaning, whispering, “Yes, yes, fuck me. Like that. Oh, God, I love it deep like that. You’re fucking me at my core.” And he was fucking me at my core. My passage walls began to shimmer and the muscles of the walls began to undulate over his cock. I only did this for men I was lost to. And for now, right here and now, I was lost to this man crushing my body. This big, black, mastering bull.
Taking my cock in my hand as he pounded my ass, I took care of myself. I exploded again and again and again at the punishment of his cock deep inside me. When he was done, my balls ached from what had been pulled out of them—how totally they had been drained.
Soon thereafter, he snorted, ejaculated, rolled off me onto his back on the towel next to mine and was asleep and snoring within seconds.
I gave him twenty minutes of rest—me needing kaçak casino the rest more than he did, I’m sure—before I turned to him, worked my lips down the great curve of his stomach, into his unruly bush, and took his now-flaccid sausage of a cock in my mouth. It didn’t remain flaccid for long, and he woke with another snort and a surprised look on his face. I hadn’t initiated anything before now. When any of them had wanted to fuck me, they just did. I had laid there for it, but I hadn’t initiated any of it. I certainly hadn’t awakened any of them by giving them head.
Giving a groan, he ran his beefy hands into the blond curls of my hair and pulled my head on and off his cock, making me take it deeper than I had been doing, making me take it deeper than I really could accommodate. But I stuck with him, gagging, but persevering until his dick was filled out and throbbing.
Then I started kissing my way back up his body. He didn’t object when I straddled his pelvis with my knees, moved a hand behind me, grasped his cock, positioned it at my hole, and descended on it. At first he asserted control, slamming me up and down on the cock, but eventually he relaxed, put his arms behind his head to serve as a pillow, closed his eyes, and let me do the work. He purred as I moved forward and back on the cock rather than up and down on it, bringing him whole new sensations of rubbing against my passage walls.
When I felt that he was tensing and ready to blow again, I moved my hand to under my towel in the sand, and, with an eye to the bodyguards at the top of the stairs, who looked bored and in a half doze, stealthily pulled out the stiletto blade I’d had secreted in a seam of a calf of my trousers since the previous night and managed to bring down to the beach woven into the underside of the towel. At his ejaculation, and his exclamation of having shot another wad, I slipped the blade between two of his ribs in a way that a surgeon would know was the quickest way to his heart. He gave me a look of utter surprise. I pulled the blade out and slipped it in again just a fraction of an inch from where I had put it the first time—just to be sure.
I was sure. His eyes glazed. Luckily he hadn’t made any more noise than he would make with an excellent ejaculation. There wasn’t much difference between his death rattle and the gravely sound he had made deep in his chest when his cock was pleased. His cock had been pleased a lot when he was fucking me. I wiped the stiletto down with the edge of my towel and buried it deep in the sand. Then I leaned over, closed his eyes with a brush of my hand, rose, brushed the sand off my body in a leisurely movement, and pulled my Speedo back on.
At the top of the stairs, I informed Mulumba and Kato that Nyoni had told me to go back into the house and that he was sleeping and was not to be disturbed. There was little question they would remain with Nyoni and that they wouldn’t be smart and split up—as then one would try to claim favoritism with the erstwhile general. I walked into the back of the house and then, after a momentary stop in the room I’d been assigned to retrieve my trousers, tux shirt, socks, shoes, and bulging wallet, walked straight out the front and up to the road. I had opened the gates on the road from inside the house, hoping and assuming that the sound of the surf would cover the low pinging noise of the alarm.
The small Fiat 500 was parked on the side of the road three properties down, with the keys in the ignition. I was well into the interior of France, I’m sure, before either Mulumba or Kato attempted to awaken the Ugandan Man Splitter they assumed was asleep.
My ass was sore as hell.
* * * *
Twenty miles down the road, I stopped in a shopping center parking lot between two towering SUVs with smoked windows, pulled out my wallet, and counted the money. It was quite a wad. Of course, it had only been for show. They hadn’t planned on me leaving with it. Nonetheless I’d keep it and not report it. I figured that I had more than earned it.
This hadn’t been Plan A. I was supposed to somehow get Nyoni alone in the casino and off him there. But, luckily, the possibility that I might be taken back to his villa before I could do that had also been planned for. Sending in anyone to help hadn’t been in any plan that I knew of.
I pulled a burner cell phone out of the glove compartment and rang a number I knew by heart.
“It’s done,” I said when the man came on the other end. No names, no more detail at this point. As long as Nyoni was dead, the man I was speaking to didn’t care about the details or how hard it was to get there.
“Can you get to Nice? The flat there.”
“Piece of cake. Will you be there?”
I paused, disappointed. The man wasn’t only my contact and handler; he was my lover. After something like this I needed attention—different attention than the Ugandan thugs had given me.
“So soon?” I asked. “Usually there’s cool-down time.” And there usually was, for several reasons. The work was nerve-racking and required some recovery time, and assurances had to be made that there wouldn’t be any repercussions or connections established through same.
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