Hector stood on the balcony of his Island of Madeira rented vacation flat high on the hill, below the Regional Estrada 101 road, on the south side of Porto Moniz, and gazed down the red-tile roofs of the houses below him to the studio of the artist. There, as Hector had observed the previous day, the French doors to the artist’s balcony were open and Hector was able to see that the artist’s model—a handsome, perfectly formed Nordic young man with blond hair—had returned and had positioned himself, nude, on the blue-velvet-covered dais.
Hector had come onto the scene as the young man was stripping off his T-shirt and athletic shorts. He smiled at what the model couldn’t see—the old artist in the background giving the model a look of pure lust. What struck Hector about the model this time that he hadn’t seen the last because the body was pretty well painted when he saw him the first time, was that the model was tanned berry brown from the sun except for the whiteness of what a Speedo had covered during the tanning process. Hector found this contrast of light and dark skin color, highlighting the young man’s pelvis and privates, particularly arousing. As had occurred the previous day, the artist painted the young man’s nude body with swirling paints in green, blue, red, and yellow, as the young man stretched out in a provocative pose.
The painting done, the artist pulled out of the scene to return with a hand-held camera. Seeing that he had reached that stage, Hector withdrew into his room and returned with his own professional photographer’s Canon EOS Rebel T7 camera with a telephoto lens. As the artist moved around the young, nude-but-painted male model, Hector snapped off photos as well.
The photo session having ended in the artist’s studio, the artist, a gray-haired, somewhat paunchy bearded man, withdrew again, but he returned quickly. Now he was nude as well and in erection. This was why Hector was playing the voyeur here. The scene Hector had seen played out the previous day was repeated this day. In a ruse of removing the paint from the young model’s body, the artist was fondling and trying to arouse the handsome blond. His hands were moving everywhere with a washcloth. He briefly had the young man in his embrace, and one hand on the young man’s cock, stroking it, and the other on his own, when the model pushed him away, rolled off the dais, and disappeared from view. The model must not have taken too badly to the fondling, though, as it had brought him an erection as well. The gray-haired, hirsute old artist remained, sprawled out on the dais, and stroked his cock to completion.
Hector had stopped taking photos from afar when the model had rather gently pushed the artist away and disappeared from view, but he lingered, one hand holding the camera and the other handing the shaft he’d freed from the fly in the sleeping shorts he’d been wearing. As he continued to look down the slope into the artist’s studio, the artist looked up and saw Hector. He smiled, but he didn’t stop masturbating himself. For a few moments, there was a connection between the two men, their attention linked and their hands working their own shaft. Hector had a notion to time his hand-stroked ejaculation with that of the artist, but he thought better of it and stopped short of coming. The old artist finished without him, rose from the dais, and closed the French doors—not without pausing and looking up at Hector, though, to establish that Hector had been seen responding to him.
Just to make Hector sure he had been seen, the artist gave him a smile and a salute.
There had been a time when Hector had been a male model and had given himself to old artists such as that to cover his room and board in Barcelona. But now, at thirty-eight but still in tip-top shape, dark, a bit foxy, and sexily hirsute, he was more inclined to pursue young men such as the Nordic-blond male model. That didn’t mean, however, that he would not go under a man like the old artist if he suited him to do so at any given moment. Old men often had the best technique. And the artist showed that he was hung.
Hector easily understood how the young man enflamed the older artist. He was equally—and perhaps more so—enflamed himself not just by the young man’s luscious body but also by his somewhat teasing rejection of the artist’s attention. When the rejection came, it was in the vein of “maybe not a forever rejection.”
Hector ached to be with the young, nude model himself and to explore beyond that teasing rejection. Could it be that, despite the willingness to model in the nude and to be painted and photographed, the young man remained totally undebauched—untouched internally—by another man? If so, Hector ached to be the man who first had the model. He equally, and maybe more so, ached to observe the young man having penetrative love with another man and to photograph that. Hector did well, financially, from the male nudes in sexual congruous he sold on the Internet. He’d been told that Maderia was a good source of subjects—a good destination for vacationing gay men. He’d found young men willing to pose for him in this remote seaside village on the northwest tip of the island, but none as enticing or arousing as Nordic beauty in the artist’s studio lower on the hill.
When Hector turned and moved back inside his bedroom, he gave a little laugh. Filipe had waited for him. Hector had picked up the young man at a café overlooking the marina just that morning. Filipe had readily agreed to pose for him—and more—and didn’t mind to be shown nude on the Internet for what Hector paid him. Hector had inherited almost unlimited funds, so he never second guessed what he would have to pay for sex or a photo shoot. He didn’t mind spreading the wealth at a price high enough to strip the model of his clothes—and more.
Filipe lay on the bed, on his back, legs splayed, knees bent, and pelvis rolled up, showing his gaping hole. His shoulder blades pressed into the brass headboard, and his arms were raised, his hands gripping the top rail of the headboard’s brass rails. He was small and bronze-bodied. He was willowy, only lightly muscled. His body was young and fresh. Hector had already fucked him twice during the photo session. The young man’s face was set in a slight, “well-taken” smile, his eyes glazed, swimming in cum, and his mouth slightly parted.
“Volte para a cama, papai. Me ferre de novo—Come back to bed, Daddy. Screw me again,” Filipe murmured.
“In a moment,” Hector said. “Arch your back, please. Make love to my camera with your eyes.”
Felipe complied and Hector took the telephoto lens off his camera and took a few minutes to move around the bed firing off shots of the young man. He was in almost painful erection, however, having chosen not to come with the old artist down the hill.
The young man laughed as Hector put the camera aside and mounted the bed, running an arm under Felipe’s waist and turning him over on his belly.
“On your knees,” he growled.
Felipe’s amusement turned to a cry of surprise, though, when Hector immediately threw a leg over the young man’s hip, grasped Felipe’s hips between his hand, mounted him high and from behind, plunged inside him, and vigorously fucked him for the third time. The first two times his mind had been consumed by the lithe, berry-brown body of the smiling Felipe, but this third time he was thinking of the Nordic blond who had teased and then turned away the old artist down the hill.
Filipe clearly believed the shaft was all for him. “Oh, papai, papai. Você é um touro. Você é tão grande. Oh, papai!—Oh, Daddy, Daddy. You’re a bull. You’re so big,” he cried out.
* * * *
“Você não terminou comigo.” Hector had been sitting at an outdoor café next to the Aqua Natura Bay Hotel above the Porto Moniz harbor, watching the young man from the old artist’s photo shoot work on a sleek sailing boat and hadn’t seen the man approach. He knew who it was when he saw him—the old artist. But Hector didn’t understand what the man said and looked confused. Catching onto that, the artist said, “Oh, excuse me. Do you only speak English? I said that you didn’t finish with me the other day.”
“I speak Spanish as well as English,” Hector answered. “My mother was English; my father Spanish. I don’t speak Portuguese. That was Portuguese, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You speak English so well, we can use that language. Will you please sit with me and have a coffee?”
“We will need another chair,” the old artist said. “I have brought Bruno with me.” Bruno was a good name for the man standing behind the artist. He was body-builder muscular, and it was evident that he didn’t speak or understand a word of English but that he’d be here as long as the old artist wanted him to be. He was not the greatest looking in the face and was bald, but he had a magnificent body poured into athletic shorts and a red-mesh muscle shirt. His feet were in open-toed sandals, showing meaty toes. The artist was dressed like an artist—a sailor’s tunic over peddle-pusher cotton pants and espadrilles without socks on his feet. The graybeard looked good other than having a slight paunch. Hector knew from observation that the older man was hung and still was able to get it up at his age.
“My name is Pedro. Pedro Costas,” the old artist said “And, as you observed, I am a photography artist. I think maybe you are too, as you were using your camera.”
“Yes I am. I am Hector Fernandez. And, please, you and your friend are welcome to sit and drink coffee with me. Is Bruno here one of your male models?”
“Yes, he is. Isn’t he gorgeous? I shouldn’t accept a coffee from you, as you would not come with me. I should pout. But I will take the coffee.” With that, he sat in the chair across from Hector and Bruno pulled up a chair from another table and sat beside and somewhat behind the old artist.
“I apologize,” said Hector. “I had a young man in my bed I was neglecting. I didn’t want to waste what I meant for him.”
“Ah, then, you are forgiven—but only to another time.”
“I look forward to it,” Hector said.
“Do you only fuck, or do you take cock too?”
“I have been versatile in the past,” Hector answered. “It would depend on the other man and his needs.”
“What about Bruno here? Do you fancy him? He is a very big man.”
“I do like a man with muscles.”
“He is twenty-five. He says you are of the age of man he likes to fuck. He says he likes the look of you. Do you model? In the nude? While being fucked.”
Hector laughed. The artist was quite bald and didn’t waste time.
Almost as if Costas read his mind, he said, “I am too old to waste time in getting what I want. I would like to fuck you too. Do you go with older men? Do you let two men use you at once? Will you come back with us to my studio?”
* * * *
Bruno fucked Hector on the dais in Costas’s artist’s studio, both of the men fully naked, with Bruno sitting on the dais and Hector sitting in the big bruiser’s lap, facing Bruno, his thighs over Bruno’s, his torso leaning back, his hands palming Bruno’s knees, and his channel moving up and down on Bruno’s thick shaft. Costas, also naked and in erection, moved around the dais, taking photos.
“I get copies of those, Hector said through his heavy pants.”
When Bruno had fucked him, he turned Hector over on his belly on the dais.
“What a nice ass,” Costas said. “I didn’t realize you had such a nice ass.”
“Thanks,” Hector murmured, still groaning from the job Bruno had done on him.
Costas walked around to the end of the dais that Hector’s head was facing. Hector was stretched out on the platform, his arms raised over his head. His wrists were already at the top edges of the dais. Costas pulled up a padded wrist restraint and touched it to Hector’s right wrist.
“Would this be all right with you—for photos and while I ride you?” Costas asked.
“I would get copies of the photos to put on the Internet?” Hector asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Then yes,” Hector answered, taking in his breath, a little chill going up his spine. He wanted this. And he wanted the photos from it to savor later.
After binding him at all four corners, Costas ran his hand down Hector’s back, across his buttocks, down his thighs, and then back up to his buttocks, his hand moving into Hector’s crack, finding the hole, and slowly working it with one finger and then two. Hector moaned deeply, lifted his hips, and began to grind his erection into the surface of the dais. Bruno walked around to the front of the dais, grabbed Hector’s armpits and pulled him up to where his head was over the edge. He presented the head of his cock to Hector’s lips, and Hector took it in. This didn’t last very long, though, because, with Costas becoming active in the coupling, someone had to hold the camera. That job went to Bruno. When Costas exchanged a thick rubber dildo for his fingers in the ass play, Hector writhed, became quite vocal, “¡Mierda! ¡Joder! Trabaja conmigo. ¡Que me jodan!—Shit! Fuck! Work me! Screw me!”
When Costas withdrew the dildo, climbed up onto the dais, covered Hector’s body closely with his, and penetrated and fucked him. Hector lifted his tail and moved it with Costas’s thrusts, going with the fuck.
Afterward, Hector sat on the side of the dais, rubbing his wrists. “Have you done this with the young blond model I saw you paint and photograph the other day?” he asked.
“Alas, no. That was Lars. Lars Jensen. He’s such a tease. He declares he won’t do that for a man.”
“But you would like to do him that way, I assume.”
“Oh, yes. I most certainly would like to do him that way.”
* * * *
“Es un velero precioso,” Hector said in Spanish but quickly changed to English when he saw the young blond man didn’t understand him. “It’s a beautiful sailboat. How long is it?”
“Yes, it’s my baby. It’s a twenty-six-foot Coastal Recreation Balboa,” Lars answered. He, wearing just athletic shorts, was swabbing the deck of the sailboat lashed up to the Porto Moniz harbor dock.
“Stunning, and you charter it for sails around the island,” Hector said, standing on the dock and looking up at the young Dane.
“Yes, as the sign over there says.”
“I could take it out now?”
“Just you?”
“Just me and my camera,” Hector said, lifting his fancy Canon. He might as well give the young man fair warning.
“It would cost as much to take the boat out for one as for ten,” Lars said.
“That’s OK, just me and you would be fine with me.” He gave Lars the look he knew signaled sexual interest. Although Lars smiled back, his return look didn’t contain any sexual heat in it. It might be true, Hector thought, that the young man was a virgin to penetration by another man. “Let’s do it.” He let Lars give him a hand into the boat and it was soon gliding out of the harbor to turn eastward, around the formation of rocks off the Aqua Natura Madeira hotel and then west around the island.
Once out to sea, Hector slipped off his T-shirt and shorts, dressing down to a Speedo. Lars did the same and he moved—floated really—around the deck like a ballet dancer, unfurling the sail and maneuvering the boat all by himself.
“You look like a ballet dancer as you work,” Hector said. “You have such beautiful movements—a magnificent body. Do you mind if I take photos? I could make it worth your while.” He slipped his hand in a pocket of his trousers and pulled out a wad of money for Lars to see.
“No, I suppose not,” Lars answered. “A professional photographer are you?”
“Yes. Of nudes. Male nudes.” He might as well get that right out there, Hector thought. Having put it on the table, though, he moved away from it, fully intending returning to it. “You don’t look like you’re from Madeira. More Northern European.”
“I’m Danish,” Lars said. “Well, half Danish. My mother was English.”
“The same here,” Hector said. “My mother was English too. My father Spanish. How did you wind up on Madeira?”
“I had this sailboat and needed to put it to use. Madeira seemed a good bet.”
“Because the island is so welcoming to gays?” Hector said.
That gave Lars pause, but eventually, after he found something with the sail that needed adjusting, he shrugged and said, “Yes, I suppose so.”
“That’s why I came here to take photos,” Hector said. “Because it’s welcoming to gays.”
“Because it’s easier to find men who will let you photograph them nude or because you are gay?”
“Both,” Hector answered. There, he’d brought that out. They both were gay. But he knew he was more actively gay than Lars was. “I take nude male photographs and sell them on the Internet. Have you done any nude modeling? I know you’d be good at it.”
Another pause, but a somewhat begrudged, “Yes, I have,” from Lars.
“You move so beautifully in operating this boat. I’d love to photograph you in the nude while you’re doing it.”
“I don’t—”
“I’d double the fee for this cruise.”
Lars stripped off his Speedo. Hector sucked in air, once more highly aroused by the contrast of light from the Speedo tan lines and the dark of the rest of the Dane’s tanned body, the light highlighting the slimness of the young man’s hips and the distinctiveness of his cut cock. Hector spent a half hour photographing the nude sailor as he operated his sailboat.
“Do you mind?” Hector asked, as he stripped off his Speedo, showing that he was in erection, and handed his shaft with one hand as he held the camera in the other.
“No, I suppose not,” Lars said, “but—”
“I’ll triple the cruise fee if you let me fuck you,” Hector said.
The response was immediate this time. “I don’t do that. Perhaps we should sail back to Porto Moniz now.”
“No, that’s all right. This is enough. If you’ll let me do this while I watch you.” He was slow stroking his cock while he was firing off nude photos of the young Dane. “I will respect that. But I’d like to do more photographing of you. Perhaps on a beach. Can I hire you for that?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Lars answered. He needed the money. He also didn’t mind exhibiting his magnificent body—even to see himself in the Internet in the nude. It didn’t seem to disturb him having another man jacking off while watching him in the nude either. He just didn’t—at least hadn’t yet—gotten into intensely involved sex with a man. He’d let a man give him a hand job or a blow job but he hadn’t let a man fuck him . . . yet.
As if Hector read his mind, he said. “How about three times the fee to let me get you off—with my hand and my mouth?”
“OK, I suppose so,” Lars said, adding, “We’re in a place that I can let the boat run free,” as if that was the control on how far he’d let a man go with him. He came down from the edge of the boat where he’d been hiking the sail and sank into a cushion on the bench at the sailboat’s stern. Hector moved toward him as Lars spread his legs. Hector came down on his knees between Lars’s thighs and handed the young man’s cock. As he stroked it, he stroked his own cock. Lars let out a long sigh as Hector’s lips opened over Lars’s erection and slid down the sides of the shaft. Up, down. Up, down. Swirl the tongue around the glans and press into the piss slit.
“Åh, fuck. Åh, lort—Oh, fuck. Oh, shit,” Lars moaned in Danish, holding the Spaniard’s silky black-haired head into his crotch.
“Now you. Suck me off,” Hector murmured when he’d brought the young man off. “For a four-times fee,” he added to pin down what was at stake for Lars here. The two men exchanged positions, and Hector ran his fingers into the long, golden curls of the Dane, as Lars lowered his face into the older man’s groin and took the erection in his throat.
“Oh, foder. Oh, mierda—Oh, fuck. Oh, shit,” Hector moaned in Spanish, holding the Dane’s golden head close into his crotch.
Hector had not gotten his cock inside the young Dane by the time the sailboat glided back into the Porto Moniz harbor, but he had gotten a commitment to take Lars to a beach and film him in the nude there.
* * * *
They left from the Porto Moniz harbor, driving along the northeastern Madeira Via Expresso 2 coastal road in a hire car shortly after noon to catch the best lighting for Hector’s photography.
“For nude photography only, right?” Lars asked before they departed.
“You won’t have to do anything you don’t agree to doing,” Hector said, peeling a few bills off a fat wad that he made sure Lars saw and handing the agreed fee to the Danish sailor.
“I hope there won’t be many on the beach,” Lars said. He realized that Hector hadn’t answered his question.
“I’ve selected the beach specially,” Hector answered. There’s a graveyard between the highway and the beach and, with all the choices along the Madeira coast, there aren’t too many willing to go through the graveyard to reach this beach.
There was, in fact, someone on the beach when they climbed down to it through the graves. The dark, foxy Filipe, who Hector had paid earlier to be there, was stretched out on a blanket on the beach. As he observed Hector and Lars climbing down to the beach, he rose from the towel and glided into the water. Lars’s eyes followed him.
“Should we leave?” Lars asked, his eyes on the sexy man entering the sea. “We are not alone here.”
“Perhaps it’s fortuitous he’s here,” Hector said. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he? Perhaps we could include him. It will be a nice contrast for the camera,” he said, without revealing he had paid Filipe to be there. “Your Nordic blond against his Mediterranean dark. Why don’t you join him in the surf and just ignore what I’m doing with the camera?”
Lars was more than willing to do so, finding this more comfortable than posing by himself for the camera, and he joined Filipe in surf, where they cavorted happily while Hector fired off photos.
Hector’s surprises weren’t finished, however. Soon, a hulking, muscular figure was walking along the surf line from the direction of Porto Moniz. This was not a stranger—at least to Hector. Bruno, the artist Costas’s bullet-headed body-builder friend, walked into the scene, as Hector had orchestrated. He paused on the beach briefly, watching Lars and Felipe play in the surf, before walking up the sand to where Felipe had spread his towel, and standing expectantly there.
Filipe broke off the cavorting and walked out of the surf and up the sand to Bruno, leaving Lars to watch him go. Bruno lowered his Speedo to his knees, put his hands on Felipe’s shoulders, and pushed the young, dark man to his knees. Felipe willing went to his knees, took the body-builder’s cock in his mouth, and gave him suck. They made it look like the gesture was the most natural act they could be doing.
Lars remained in the surf, watching as Bruno put Felipe on all fours on the towel, mounted and penetrated him, and fucked him.
As Hector hoped, the sensuality of this wasn’t lost on Lars, who pushed his Speedo down off his hips, took his erection in hand, and stroked himself off as he watched Bruno fuck Felipe. Hector’s camera took all of this in.
He wanted more than just photos of these sex scenes, though. He wanted to sweep away all of Lars’s inhibitions to anal sex with a man.
Bruno pushed Lars through that beaded curtain. As he covered and fucked Felipe, Bruno connected with Lars with his eyes and his hand directions, and it wasn’t long before Lars had joined them on the beach and was standing in front of them, with Bruno taking his cock in his mouth and working that while gliding all over Lars’s body with his hands.
It was evident Lars had gone this far with a man before. But would he let the setting, the gorgeous men, and the naturalism with which the scene had developed brush whatever inhibition to full sex with a man, while Hector photographed it, be swept away?
It certainly appeared so.
Lars gave in to Bruno. Bruno pulled out of Felipe, leaving him collapsed on the towel and moaning and sighing, while Bruno gently picked Lars up in his arms and carried him up to the graveyard. There he found a raised tomb that was long enough to lay Lars out on his back. Bruno came up onto the tomb on his knees, pressing them in between Lars’s thighs. Covering Lars from above and putting the blond Danes’s ankles on his shoulders, Bruno put his erection in place. Lars, moaning, did not resist.
Hector had come up to the graveyard and was continuing take photos. Lars turned his head and looked at him with pleading eyes, not having intended going this far but too far into the arousal and need to try to stop Bruno. He seemed to want help from Hector in extracting himself from being taken further than he’d ever gone before.
But there was no help to be had from Hector, and Lars lacked the strength of will to save himself.
Bruno pressed his mushroom cap at the puckering hole of the young Dane who, up to this point had been a virgin to anal sex from another man. The cockhead rimmed the spreading hole, with Lars moving his hips almost imperceptibly and whispering “Vær venlig, tak—Please, please,” with not even Lars knowing if that was a “please don’t” or a “please do.”
The Dane panted hard and groaned as the cockhead breached his sphincter. He arched his back and cried out as Bruno penetrated deeper. And he moaned and moved his hips with the fuck increasing churning motion as Bruno put an end to his being a virgin to anal fucking.
Driving the point home, after Bruno was finished with Lars and had climbed off the surface of the tomb, Hector handed him the camera, mounted the tomb and Lars, and fucked the young Dane himself. At this point Lars was too far gone to the experience to put up any resistance.
Mission accomplished. Hector had his photos and Lars had lost his last inhibition to male-on-male sex.
* * * *
Hector rose from his bed and padded, naked, out to his balcony, gathering up his Canon camera and its telephoto lens en route. This was a time of day when he could count on the artist, Pedro Costas, to be working in his studio down the hilly slope to the west of Porto Moniz. Sure enough the French doors to the studio were open and Costas was there. He was in the process of painting the body of Lars Jensen in blue, green, and gold. The Dane was stretched out in a provocative pose.
Hector stood on his balcony, using his camera to record the art session in the studio down slope and stroking his own cock. What was going on in the studio after the painting of the body of Lars was complete was highly arousing. Costas spent some time moving around the dais, taking photos of the painted, nude young Dane, from all angles. But at length, naked, he crawled up on the dais himself, with Lars bending and spreading his legs to him. The Dane opened his arms and Costas folded himself into Lars, between the young man’s knees. Hector, pulling on his shaft, watched Costas put himself in position and then mount, penetrate, and fuck the younger man. Lars had welcomed him willingly. As he fucked the young model, Costas looked through the window and up the slope. Seeing Hector watching and photographing them, he smiled and gave Hector the victory sign.
The young Dane had, indeed, completed the shedding of his last inhibition in submitting to sex from another man.
Laughing and in full erection, Hector turned, reentered his flat and climbed back up onto his bed. From one side Filipe opened his arms to him and from the other side Bruno did as well. Soon Hector was fucking Filipe and Bruno was fucking Hector.
No inhibitions here.
