Brazilian Cattle Baron (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove)

by Roland Graeme

  Sebastien took his mouth off the pectoral mound with a wet, popping sound, sliding his thick lips across the young blond’s heaving chest and clamping them quickly onto the other nipple. Paolo rolled his head back and forth, grinding his hips into the mattress, while he dug his slender fingers into the sides of Sebastien’s head and begged his buddy to ease up on the biting and sucking.

  “I can’t stand it,” he whispered thickly. “You’re getting me too hot.”

  Sebastien let go of Paolo’s nipple and knelt straight up, staring hotly at his bed partner. Suddenly, he seemed to see not only Luis, but all of the other slender, graceful Brazilian rent boys he’d been tempted to pick up and bed down with, combined into one mature man—Paolo. Sebastien felt his heart beating so crazily, he wondered if it’d hold out long enough for him to have the chance to fuck his buddy.

  “I can take you better if I lie on my belly,” Paolo said, reading the message burning in Sebastien’s eyes. Quickly, he rolled over, his legs opening in a V as he pushed his knees apart to give Sebastien more room.

  “Just a second,” Sebastien said, staring down at Paolo’s gracefully curving body. He’d never seen so many beautiful angles and soft, rounded lines in a human being before. Every plane, every part of his body blended perfectly with the other—was in perfect proportion with the other. There was something almost delicate about Paolo. And yet a certain sturdiness, a certain strength, seemed to be blended with this overwhelming beauty. The young blond landowner’s shoulder blades jutted out just below his shoulders, like two jagged mountains, as Paolo raised his arms and folded them just under his chin. His back muscles curved around his slender sides, sloping down to the center of his back, where his spine ran with irregular bumps straight down to his full, rounded ass cheeks. Sebastien touched his friend’s perfectly rounded, downy buttocks, digging his fingers harder into the soft ass flesh, until he knew he couldn’t stand this foreplay much longer.

  “I’m going to have to fuck you,” Sebastien gasped. “Right now!”

  “Go ahead. Do it! But you’ve got a big cock. We’re going to need some lubricant, Sebastien.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Sliding quickly off the bed, Sebastien walked quickly into the bathroom, opening his leather toilet kit which sat on the countertop underneath the mirror, and pulling out a bottle of silicone-based lubricant. He was back on the bed in seconds, pushing open the little flip top of the container and squeezing some of the extremely slippery clear fluid onto his fingertips.

  Depositing the bottle on the nightstand with one hand, the dark-haired North American reached down between Paolo’s ass cheeks and smeared the gel onto the pink, puckered skin surrounding his tight asshole. Paolo’s hips worked back and forth provocatively. On the street, during ordinary daytime activities, he was the epitome of masculinity. Naked and in bed with another man, however, he was transformed into the hottest male whore in South America. Now, he spread his legs further and groaned into the pillow. Sebastien saw his friend’s flesh pucker up into goose pimples as he rimmed the thick anal membranes with his slippery fingers, then pulled them out of the tight hole and slicked up his hot, meaty cockhead with the remainder of the lubricant.

  It was not for nothing that Sebastien was a connoisseur of gay porno DVDs. One trick he had picked up from watching the pros in action was lubing the interior as well as the exterior of a condom. When he was planning to settle in for a long, hard fuck, the little dollop of lubricant applied to his dick before he gloved it up didn’t increase the risk of the rubber slipping off. What it did do was reduce the friction of the latex against his turgid flesh, increasing his pleasure.

  “Now we need a condom,” he said. “I have a box of them in the top drawer of the nightstand, Paolo. Hand me one, will you?”

  “I’ve already thought of that. Here. I put this under the pillow while I was getting undressed.”

  “Good man.” Sebastien took the small object Paolo handed him. It was a thin rectangular leather envelope containing a strip of three condoms. “Isn’t this nice?” Sebastien exclaimed, as he inspected the little wallet. “It even has your initials on it!”

  “I always carry it with me in my pocket, any time I think there may be a chance of meeting some attractive man,” Paolo confessed. “Now, hurry! I really want you inside me.”

  “Okay,” Sebastien growled, leaning forward and dragging his long cock up Paolo’s right inner thigh. “You want it? Now you’re going to get it!” Looking down at the married man, Sebastien felt as though he were in complete mastery of the situation. Paolo’s powerful shoulders pressed helplessly into the mattress, his firm, rounded butt cheeks gracefully arching up into the air. Sebastien gasped with power and lust as he pushed down and forward.

  “Just relax, Paolo. Don’t fight me, and I’ll go in easy. It’ll be fine, you’ll see,” Sebastien whispered as he reached down and curled the fingers of his right hand around the thick base of his cock.

  With his other hand he spread Paolo’s taut buttocks, leaning down and sliding his meaty, purple-colored cockhead in the groove between Paolo’s ass cheeks. The big man shuddered as he felt the contact between his hot, aching dick and the cool silkiness of the young blond rancher’s ass flesh. Sebastien shoved forward more this time, pressing his cock hard. It moved up the long crack toward the tight, brown little hole. The fleeting contact of bare penis flesh against bare sphincter muscle was intoxicating, but Sebastien savored it for only a few seconds before he took one of the condoms and unrolled it down over his dick.

  Another quick application of lube, on top of the latex this time, and Sebastien was ready for action. He accomplished the penetration in a single slow, careful thrust.

  “Yes,” Paolo gasped, when he felt Sebastien entering him. “All of it, just like that, all the way…fuck me! Fuck me hard!”

  “You’ve got a sensational ass on you, man.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Even in the heat of passion, Paolo’s innate courtesy did not desert him. “Make good use of it!”

  “Oh, I’m going to,” Sebastien promised. “I’m really going to enjoy this!”

  He fucked Paolo for several minutes, the only sounds in the room the slap of his thighs against the other man’s taut buttocks, and the steadily accelerating sound of their breathing. Paolo, Sebastien discovered to his delight, was no passive fuck. The blond cattle rancher had a way of gyrating his hips and clenching and relaxing his anal muscles that kept Sebastien’s cock in a state of tingling, nonstop arousal.

  “Ah,” Paolo sighed as Sebastien slid his right hand from his cock around the rancher’s side, burrowing it under the blond’s hips until he felt his new friend’s hard, fat dick with his fingertips. Slowly milking the hot, stiff flesh, Sebastien continued to pound his cock in and out of the fiercely reactive hole nestled deep between Paolo’s butt cheeks. Both men could hear the unmistakable sound of greased dick sliding back and forth inside greased ass, as Sebastien’s prickhead throbbed closer and closer to climax.

  Then Sebastien felt the cum gathering in his dickhead, ready to spurt in the wild orgy of climax. Sliding down slightly, he stopped when he felt his cockhead bump across the puckered, shimmering lips of Paolo’s ass, which were shiny wet from their coating of lube.

  “Oh, I’m going to come!” Paolo grunted, in a strangulated cry.

  While Sebastien squeezed Paolo’s golden-haired ass cheeks together, he pulled his cock slowly out of the tight hole between them then rammed it back in again. Yes, he could feel that first thick wad of hot jism lingering at the lips of his piss slit. The internal mechanism of his cock was tightening up like a fist, ready to fire that white cannonball into Paolo’s ass. It wasn’t going to be long now! Paolo was crying out wildly as he rocked his hips violently from side to side, jerking them up to meet his fucker’s pounding downward thrusts at the same time. Sebastien began jerking him off, matching that rhythm to his fucking.

  Then Paolo was seized by orgasm and cried out in short, besti
al yelps. His body jerked and shuddered under Sebastien’s, while he clawed at the hotel’s already crumpled sheets with his toes and fingers. Sebastien came, too, unloading in fierce, sharp spurts.

  The two men lay together quietly for several minutes, recovering their breath. Finally, they moved just enough to join their mouths in a long post-ejaculation kiss.

  “That was intense,” Sebastien said.

  “Yes. I enjoyed myself very much. Thank you. You are beautiful.” Paolo stirred a little. “I suppose I had better get up, get dressed, and go back to my own hotel.”

  “Why bother? Stay here. Sleep with me.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Why should I mind? I like having you here in bed with me—and not just during sex.”

  “Very well, I will stay. I must find my cell phone, though, and send my valet a text message. To tell him not to wait up for me.”

  “You have a valet?”

  “Of course. Don’t you, back home in the United States?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t imagine how you manage without one. Although I will admit—it’s almost like having a second wife, at times,” Paolo joked.

  While his friend retrieved his cell phone and sent the message, Sebastien got out of the bed and stretched.

  He experienced that familiar sense of lassitude that so often followed orgasm.

  He felt grateful for the dark quiet of his room, and he moved across it to open the shutters—which he had closed, earlier, against the heat of the afternoon sun—and he took a cautious step out onto the balcony, naked, to enjoy the cooler air. The city lay in a flood of moonlight, the cold blueness of which could not completely wash from the roofs their warmth of tone. In this nocturnal light, there were few individual color notes to differentiate the houses, but the whole vista was fused into a vibrating warmth which rose, caressing against the eyelids, even as the confusion of insect sounds from the distance blended into a harmony as it reached the ears. The beauty and order of the sleeping city was as soothing as any opiate, and was highly conducive to slumber. Sebastien caught himself yawning.

  “Sebastien,” Paolo called from the shadowy interior of the room. “I am enjoying the sight of your magnificent behind—very much. But if you stand out there in the nude for much longer, people down there in the street will look up and see you, and you will run the risk of stopping traffic—even at this late hour of the night.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to do that,” Sebastien said with a laugh.

  “Come back to bed.”

  He obeyed, and the two men cuddled.

  “Buona notte, Sebastien,” Paolo murmured, giving Sebastien a goodnight kiss. “Or, as we say here in Brazil, boa noite. After I’ve had good sex, I always get my languages mixed up!”

  “Boa noite, Paolo.”

  “You are very nice, Sebastien. You are a wonderful lover. You must come and stay with me in Manaós, if you can, before you leave Brazil. I can’t wait to introduce you to my wife.”

  Coming from any other man he’d just had sex with, this would’ve struck Sebastien as a most peculiar sort of a compliment. Paolo, however, was no ordinary man, and so Sebastien accepted his statement at face value, in the spirit in which it was given. He relaxed and fell asleep almost at once, in the blond man’s embrace.

  Chapter Seven:

  A River Journey

  The morning they were to leave, Sebastien checked out of the Grande Hotel, supervised the loading of his luggage into a taxi, and gave the driver the name of a commercial shipping dock a short distance from the city.

  Here, he waited for the hour of departure he and Paolo had agreed upon. One of several old-fashioned cattle boats which still made regular trips along the Amazon, including to Marajó and back, was tied up at the dock, waiting to take Sebastien and Paolo on their river journey. Originally built in the 1930s, it had been—Sebastien had been relieved to learn—thoroughly overhauled and refurbished a mere three decades ago. The boat had two masts with sails and a diesel engine, and was named, according to the flaking lettering on its bows and stern, Hiate Cândido Rondon. The title Hiate, which meant yacht, made Sebastien think about Tio Gil, but otherwise it seemed rather out of place, considering the vessel’s utilitarian function. Cândido Rondon was the name of a famous Brazilian explorer, which seemed more appropriate, since Sebastien felt that he was now at the start of a journey into the unknown. The vessel, with its rusted fittings and its faded and sun-blistered paint, was not beautiful, but it looked seaworthy enough.

  The part of Marajó Sebastien was traveling to lay beyond a body of water called Lago Arary, one hundred kilometers away in a direct line, but twice that distance when it was a question of navigating the tortuous windings of the river, and the Cândido Rondon would take at least fourteen hours for the trip to Paolo’s ranch, which, like the fazenda of Saõ Martinho, had prized river frontage. As for Sebastien’s own destination, that lay farther down river, and it would take him an additional day and night to get there.

  The crew was assembled—big, black Portuguese-speaking men, with no white man among them. They addressed Sebastien politely. They were waiting, they said, for senhor Brescanti, the owner of the vessel.

  Paolo finally arrived in a taxi, followed by a panel truck. He was immaculately turned out in another crisp linen suit, a soft beige color this time. He greeted Sebastien warmly. “I hope you didn’t have long to wait?”

  “Not at all.”

  Paolo was accompanied by a small, wiry man, about forty years old, who was brown-haired and brown-eyed, and who sported an elegant little mustache and goatee. He was not, perhaps, male-model handsome, in the way that Paolo was, but there was an animation about him which was appealing.

  “This is Guglielmo, my valet,” Paolo said. “Guglielmo, this is senhor Leon.”

  “I am delighted to make your acquaintance,” Guglielmo said, in Portuguese.

  “He speaks Italian, Portuguese, and a little English,” Paolo explained. “Guglielmo, senhor Leon is a norte-americano, and speaks English.”

  “Oh, yes? I speak the English very well,” the valet boasted, in heavily accented English.

  “So I see. And how long have you worked for senhor Brescanti?” Sebastien asked.

  “I speak the English very well,” Guglielmo repeated. “How long? It is now seven o’ clock,” he said, displaying his wristwatch.

  Paolo smiled. “Help them to put our luggage on board, Guglielmo. Don’t mind him, Sebastien. He’s worked for me for the past five years—ever since I got married, in fact. He was with my wife and me on our honeymoon, since, of course, I had to have a valet traveling with me, just as my wife brought along her maid, as a matter of course.”

  “It was a foursome, in other words? Must’ve been very romantic.”

  Paolo laughed. “Shame on you, Sebastien.”

  The crew members now moved quickly, loading Paolo’s baggage, which included cartons and crates of supplies and other purchases for his ranch—which explained the presence of the truck. The men addressed Paolo as chefe, or “boss,” with a combination of warmth and respect, as they went about their tasks.

  “Do you really own this boat, Paolo?” Sebastien asked as he and Paolo made their way up the gangplank. “It’s much bigger than I’d anticipated.”

  “I own the controlling interest in it,” his friend replied. “I pay for the maintenance, including the seemingly endless repairs. Still, we usually manage to make a profit.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be, until we get you to your destination, safely. As you can see, most of the space on board is taken up by the cattle pens. Once they’re loaded, there will be no way to avoid hearing the animals and smelling them. Do you see those boxes, fastened to the railings? That’s where the life jackets are stored. Just in case.”

  They cast off. The diesel engine put the boat into trembling motion and started it on its course across the river through the innumerable small islands that dotted the wa
ters.

  The boat threaded its way slowly through them, but once this obstacle course had been negotiated, the sailors unfurled the two huge sails, which billowed as they caught the wind. The boat was now passing a long, narrow sandbar, densely overgrown with tall grass, which ran parallel to the actual shore of the island of Marajó. Flocks of birds, including herons and kingfishers, occupied the sandbar, and generally ignored the ship as it passed.

  Once the sandbar was behind them, the current seemed stronger, accelerating the speed of the boat, and Sebastien was warned to stay on the part of the deck that was well clear of any sudden wide shift of the main boom.

  He was excited. He had lingered in Belém long enough. He had enjoyed his stay in the city, but now he was definitely on his way to claim his inheritance, to see where his uncle had lived and died.

  The broad river was lined on either side by dense wooded growth, with an occasional gap revealing open fields, some cultivated, others left in their wild state. From the boat, one could see houses in the distance, small and usually with thatched roofs.

  Sebastien relaxed, observing the river banks and the wildlife. He had his first glimpse of the area’s famous scarlet ibises, which perched in the trees and fluttered about them. The birds’ brilliant coloring, he knew from his reading, was the result of their steady diet of shellfish.

  An hour or so later, Sebastien caught sight of another, very different sort of flying object—a small plane, with a colorful logo painted on its fuselage, crossing the sky high above the river.

  “I couldn’t read that plane’s logo from down here,” he commented to Paolo, who laughed.

  “I recognized it, Sebastien. That was one of the air taxis. The strike must be over, already. Had you delayed your departure for only a little while—that could have been you, speeding on your way directly to Saõ Martinho.”