Switching Sides Ch. 06

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I was bent over the side of the bed in the third-floor suite of the Hotel Antinous, arms stretched above my head, gripping fist-loads of bedspread to hold myself steady in position, watching the flamboyantly dressed Cemil Teke lounging in the sitting area across the room and viewing me being fucked hard through hooded eyes. The big, rough, Turkish seaman and smuggler was saddled behind me, grasping my hips in his rough hands, and fucking me hard. He’d been rough enough that I had cried out at his first, cruel penetration. I’m sure that my cries had rumbled through the halls of the hotel, where every room was occupied now, merely nine months after the hotel had opened. But, as men were undoubtedly being fucked all over the premises at the same time the man Cemil had brought to me was dominating me, my cries had just blended in.

We were running a full-scale male brothel here apparently, and Cemil had gained nearly total control. I had become just another male prostitute to Cemil’s intricate networking to support his journey ever deeper into illegal and illicit activities in Turkey.

The man he’d brought to me was yet another piece in the puzzle Cemil was putting together to feather his nest. As an American, who kept myself in shape, I was a valuable chit in Cemil’s game of exchanging favor for favor. He didn’t call upon me often—and then only when the stakes were high—but he didn’t take my wishes into consideration when he did.

The big bruiser pulled out of me and hauled me up onto the bed, on my back, stuffing a pillow under the small of my back as he did to elevate my pelvis. I tried to rise, and he backhanded me across the mouth, drawing blood. I lay back and docilely spread my legs and bent my knees, opening to his cruel thrusts inside me as he hovered over me between my thighs. His hands went to my throat, and he was choking me as he thrusted again and again, not particularly long or thick, but cruel and powerful in his thrusts. My hands went to his wrists, trying to dislodge his grip on my throat, but to no avail. He was too strong for me. I blacked out.

When I came to, the smuggler and Cemil were across the room, sitting in tub chairs and discussing their business in low tones.

“I will supply all of your needs for those booked at the hotel at low prices,” the smuggler was saying. “But I want a place for storage as well, to support distribution throughout the region.”

“We can manage that,” Cemil replied. “We want more than the drugs, though. We want liquor and cigarettes at cheap prices too.”

I didn’t need to hear more than that to know what Cemil was dragging us—me—into.

The smuggler had seen that I had come to, though, and was moving back to the bed, his manhood, such as it was, hard again, cruelly curved up. I tried to roll off the bed, away from him, but he was too fast and strong for me. He fucked me stretched out on top of me, my belly to the bed. I reached up and grabbed the rungs of the headboard over my head, and he grasped my wrists with his fists, holding me there, while he fucked me from behind and above with hard strokes.

After they left and I had showered, I took my lunch in the dining room. There were three other couples, all male, having their lunch, all absorbed in each other. Envir, who was waitering today, brought me an Izmir newspaper, which I perused as I was waiting from my food to arrive and mulling at the back of my mind what I possibly could do to keep the hotel from sinking deeper into crime by becoming a distribution center for illicit substances.

I stopped on page two, the trembling in my hands almost preventing me from making out the words in the caption under a photo there. The photo was of some sort of ribbon-cutting ceremony. My periodic, authoritarian older lover in Izmir, Onur, was in the photograph. He was identified as Onur Sadik, police chief over the entire Izmir region, which stretched down to Kusadasi. The man I was fucking once a month, but who dominated me as we fucked, was no less than the top policeman in the region.

“What do you see that makes you smile so?” Envir said, as he poured water in my glass.

“It’s nothing, Envir,” I said. But just maybe it was everything, polatlı escort I was thinking.

* * * *

Moving my hips back, I pulled out of Serhan’s ass, but I remained holding him to me in a chest-embracing hug where I’d held him as I took him in a side split. We were on the iron bed in the bedroom of the one of the Kizlay Haber mountain village stone sections of the triplex I’d had rebuilt. The units were in high demand, but I’d kept one—the one where the contractor, Haluk Badem, had fucked me when only the bathroom had been built—for my frequent trysts with Serhan. He continued to be a sweet and compliant lay. He’d given it all to me this afternoon even though I knew that he was devastated.

The room was much the same as it had been when Badem brought me here and royally fucked me. He’d wanted to do that again after that, but I’d held him off. I was weaning myself away from being used as a bottom in my quest to totally switch sides from a husband of a woman to an exclusive top for men. Only Cemil Teke now was able to pull me back into the role of bottom and only then for other men he was trying to strike deals with and who wanted me to be part of the deal.

Although the room looked mostly the same when it had been in ruins, it wasn’t. Badem’s reconstruction of the stone triplex was complete, and he’d done a great job. This room, though, I’d wanted to leave to appear much as it did the first time I saw it. The wall to the small courtyard, the fountain now functioning, still was low and jagged topped, but what had once been open was glass, with a glass door to the courtyard. The wall to the interior corridor still was one large mirror. Openings at the top had been left to accommodate the vines that still invaded the room. The opening in the roof had been replaced by a large, expensively irregular-shaped skylight. I’d left the bed in the center of the chamber, with no other furniture in the room. The bureau, armoire, and chair were in a dressing room leading to the already-modernized bathroom.

I wanted the focus of the room to be the sturdy iron bed with the pristine white sheeting, and, when possible, on the young man on the bed. I did have tripods and cameras spaced around the bed and light fixtures high up on the walls, providing lighting to highlight the bed.

I took photos of Serhan before, during, and after the fucks. I occasionally brought in guests from the Hotel Antinous who attracted me and who were willing, and photographed them fucking each other on the bed—and, occasionally one of them fucking Envir and sometimes, when he was willing, and he always seemed to be willing, Serhan, although increasingly, as my relationship deepened with Serhan, I kept him to myself. I didn’t fuck or photograph myself with anyone there except Serhan. The photographs and videos sold very well on the Internet to my specialized clientele, and I was being made quite rich from this aspect of my business.

I told Cemil Teke as little as I could about the photography service. If he knew how well that business was doing, I’m sure he would have moved in on that as well as on the hotel business.

After quietly rising from the bed so as not to disturb Serhan in his doze, I padded around and turned off the video cameras that had been filming us and took one of the still cameras and moved around the bed, taking photos of the beautiful young man’s debauched body. He couldn’t lie in anything but a sexy pose if he had wanted to.

Then I went into the bathroom and showered.

When I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting up in bed, looking dejected but very, very desirable. I had been thinking of him and of his body and of the threat that I might be about to lose him if I didn’t do something about his plight. I was in full erection again when I came into the bedroom. I went around and switched the video cameras back on. Moving to the bed, I sat on the side, and, with a shy smile and correctly reading my desire, Serhan crouched in front of me and took my cock in his mouth.

After a few minutes, I pulled him up, positioned his hole on the bulb of my cock, and pulled him down into my lap. The next fifteen minutes, with the cameras pursaklar escort whirring, was spent with Serhan’s torso arched back toward the floor, his arms stretched out on the stone floor and me pulling him on and off my cock with a strong grip on his hips. When he had come in an arc splashing back on his belly, I pulled him up and close into my chest and gave him my load.

We sat, rocking back and forth against each other. He was moaning slightly, but I knew he was still in a melancholy mood. He’d told me why after I’d picked him up in his village of Seluk for the drive over to Kizlay Haber.

“I will have to go back to Ankara,” he had murmured, his voice sad.

“Ankara? That’s far in the interior, isn’t it? For a visit? You have family there?”

“Yes, that’s where my family is,” he’d answered. He’d already told me during an earlier tryst that his family lived far away. I’d asked because I’d been in the country long enough to know that the society here was very family oriented. The more family you had about you, the less likely you were to become involved in any activity like homosexuality. Serhan was very open and submissive with me. I wasn’t surprised to hear that was because he was well away from the embrace of his family. “And, no, not for a visit. Forever.”

A chill of consternation raced up my spine. “Forever? You can’t . . . I don’t want—”

“I have to leave Seluk,” he said. “And I have to stop teaching there.”


“I had been sleeping with the principal of my school—before I met you. He was cruel and he beat me, but he took care of my needs too. He has been exposed. It’s only a matter of time before I am implicated in his sin. He was stoned and almost died before the police intervened. It will not go well with him, though. Someone teaching children and sleeping with anyone they aren’t married to, let alone one of their own kind. It’s not tolerated here in Turkey. I don’t want to be stoned.”

“You’d be leaving soon?” I asked. My nerves where clutching. It was all I could do to keep the car on the road.

“If I were not meeting you today, I would already be gone,” he answered. “They have the headmaster at the police station. I’m afraid he was telling them about the men he’d been with.”

We hadn’t had time to say more then; we’d reached the triplex in Kizlay Haber. And the threat of losing him had put me in high heat. We’d gone immediately to the bed.

Now, though, when we’d fucked for nearly two hours and both had come repeatedly, I knew what I wanted to say . . . to do. I’d had time in the shower to work it out . . . time enough that I knew it was a step I wanted to take, that last step to what I wanted in my switching sides lifestyle progression.

We were sitting in an embrace, me on the side of the bed, my cock still deeply embedded in Serhan’s passage, and Serhan in my lap, his legs spread around me, bent, and his knees pressing into my sides. We were embracing each other’s chest with our arms, and kissing.

“I’m not taking you back to Seluk,” I murmured. “From what you’ve said, it might already be too dangerous for you there.”

“But what can I—?”

“I will give you two choices. I’ll buy you new clothes either way. Then I’ll put you on a plane to Ankara if you really wish that. Or I will give you a job at my hotel at Kusadasi. You have a business education and I need someone to manage the reservations desk.”

“A job? In Kusadasi? In your hotel?”

My emotions soared. He’d bypassed the Ankara choice that would have devastated me and went to contemplating working for me in Kusadasi. I could tell that he was pleased by the prospect—and I really did need someone I could trust to run the reception desk, someone not supplied by Cemil Teke.

“And there you have a choice too,” said. “There’s a small flat in the attic of the hotel you could have as your own . . . or . . . you could live with me in the village of Bayraklidede.” I was putting it all out on the line there. It was a serious step to take. Was I ready for it? Yes, I was. I was aching for a permanent relationship.

“Live with you, in Bayraklidede? Be with you? Be your . . .?”

“You would sincan escort be my partner . . . my life’s partner,” I answered, looking deep into his eyes to discern what he wanted. Had I gone too far, too fast? No, I could see that I hadn’t.

We kissed deeply and then he pulled back from his embrace around my torso, pressed gently on my chest to signal that I was to lie back, which I did. Then, with me lying back on the bed and him saddled on my cock, Serhan reached down and gripped my waist between his hands and, using the leverage of his feet on the surface of the bed, started to rise and fall on my cock, fucking himself once more astride me . . . while around the room, the video cameras continued to whir, taking it all in.

* * * *

“Did you find something you liked in the paper?” Serhan asked. We were sitting at one of the tables in the dining room at the Hotel Antinous, and Envir was pouring us coffee. He could see that I nearly was grinning.

“Yes, very much, I said,” and I showed him the article in the Izmir newspaper.

“Cemil Teke has been arrested?” he asked. “And that’s good news? I thought—”

“Yes, that’s very good news, Serhan,” I answered.

“Won’t we—?”

“No, we’ll be fine. It’s already taken care of.”

And so it was. The regional police chief, Onur Sadik—my occasional lover who was obviously so taken with me that I barely needed to express my problem before he said he’d take care of it—and of me and my operations in Kusadasi—had proven to be more powerful than Cemil and all his friends combined were. A smuggler had been caught trying to bring drugs and contraband liquor and cigarettes ashore. Cemil Teke had been arrested as well. Both had been hauled off to Izmir and already were on their way to a prison in Ankara. Cemil was well away from here. And Onur had promised that neither I nor the Hotel Antinous would be connected with Cemil’s activities even if Cemil tried to do so. But Cemil didn’t know anything about my connection to Sadik. There would be no reason for him even to know that Sadik was involved in his apprehension and quick transport to Ankara. Teke had too many high-level connections for him to be seen or heard from in public again once he’d fallen from grace.

I had Onur well in hand. He hadn’t asked anything of me other than continued monthly trips to his club in Izmir. I looked around. Serhan was here and enjoying his work at the hotel and doing very well at it. Ever the submissive, he also was doing well and appeared to be happy at our home in the seaside village of Bayraklidede. He continued to be tolerant of anything I desired. I wasn’t asking him to film with other men anymore, but he wasn’t asking me about who I went with other than him. I looked up at Envir, pouring our coffee and giving me a submissive look. I enjoyed him occasionally still.

I looked around the dining room. Three of the couples, two where both were young and muscular, and a sugar daddy and boy toy combination, had happily been filmed fucking in the studio downstairs. Couples booking here were starting to ask for that, as a service, with them getting copies of the DVDs.

Was I content now? Yes, I suppose so, now that Cemil Teke was out of the picture. For the first time I could tell myself I’d made it all the way. It had been a messy switching sides transition from heterosexual husband to what I had now. But it was, I thought, a worthwhile journey. I was a top now exclusively and I was sitting pretty—and well protected—with my businesses here in Turkey.

My sitting pretty lasted for about fifteen minutes.

“There’s a telephone call for you,” Envir approached the table and said.

I went to the office to take the call. It was Onur Sadik, from Izmir.

“I presume you’ve seen the newspaper article about Cemil Teke,” he said.

“Yes, I have. Thank you.”

“There is something you can do to thank me,” he said, “and to earn my continued patronage.”

“What?” I asked, a sense of dread seeping into my bones. This was Turkey. I’d learned what the meaning of “scratch my itch and I’ll scratch yours” meant.

“There’s an important member of parliament who visits Izmir occasionally. He is a special friend of mine, a member of my club, and he’s heard about you.”

“Yes, and?” I asked, knowing I didn’t need to ask.

“You told me that you could be versatile if need be. With Ahmad, you need be. Do you understand?”

Of course I understood. So, it began again.

– FINI –

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