Brazilian Cattle Baron (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove)

by Roland Graeme

  And with that impatient exclamation, Sebastien went into his bathroom, returning with two large fresh towels. Cristiano was standing there nude, holding his dripping shirt and trousers, and his boxer shorts, which were also soaked through. Sebastien exchanged the garments for the towels and took the clothes into the bathroom, where he draped them over the shower stall. They could drip onto the tiled floor, with no harm done.

  Back in the bedroom, Cristiano was vigorously toweling himself off. Sebastien opened a drawer and found another pair of sweatpants, and a sweatshirt to match.

  “Put these on,” he told his unexpected visitor, “and get into bed. Warm up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Sebastien made his way to the kitchen, feeling like an interloper who was invading Ignacia’s territory. He managed to find his way around easily enough, though, and brewed coffee, using a small aluminum stovetop filter device that was simple and quick to operate. He raided the liquor cabinet and selected a bottle of brandy. When the coffee was ready, he poured it into a china teapot, found cups and saucers to match, and carried everything back to the bedroom on a tray.

  Cristiano was seated on the bed, with the covers drawn over his lower legs and one of the towels draped around his neck. His hair was a tangled mane of damp ringlets.

  “Keep your voice down,” Sebastien warned him as he set the tray down beside the bed. “We don’t want to wake up Estevao. He’s right next door, remember.” Sebastien poured out coffee for them both, adding a hefty slug of brandy to each cup. “Suck this down,” he told Cristiano, handing him one of the cups. “It’ll warm you up.”

  Cristiano cautiously sipped the hot drink. “I wasn’t sure I should knock,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure you’d be in here alone.”

  “I don’t have a man in here with me every night, you know,” Sebastien protested. “I know you think I’m a whore, Cristiano, but really!”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Forget it. Anyway, it looks as though I’ve got you for the night, now. You can’t go out in that rain again. You’re going to have to sleep here. Your clothes may not even be dry by morning. I’ll lend you some of mine, so you can go home and change, after breakfast. And don’t get nervous about me not respecting your virtue,” Sebastien went on, archly. “Two men can sleep together without having sex, believe it or not, and God knows this bed is big enough to give each of us his own space.” Sebastien drank some of his own spiked coffee. “In all seriousness, Cristiano, it’s rather pleasant to have some company, on this cold night. Now, are you going to tell me what all this is about?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “It couldn’t wait until morning? Or you couldn’t just pick up the phone?”

  “No. I was too unhappy. That’s why I couldn’t sleep. I had to tell you how sorry I am for the things I said to you.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Cristiano. That? We’re friends. Friends fight all the time, and say things they don’t really mean. I’d already forgotten all about it. It wasn’t worth you getting yourself soaked for.”

  “You forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “But there is,” Cristiano insisted. “I admit it to you—I am jealous, of anyone you allow yourself to become intimate with. I want you all to myself. I am even jealous of Estevao and Uver, although Estevao has always been like a brother to me, and Uver, although I do not know him so well, is my friend. I know now that I must work to overcome these feelings. I will have to pray, that I may learn to love you without jealousy.”

  “Ah—do you really think that’s an appropriate thing to pray for, Cristiano? I mean, that you should learn how to love another man?”

  “Jealousy and envy are sins. Love can never be a sin, as long as it doesn’t lead to bad behavior or do harm to others.”

  “Oh? What about sexual love between men?”

  “I don’t pretend to be a theologian, Sebastien.”

  “Neither do I. Come on, have some more of this coffee.”

  They drank their coffee in silence. Then, putting the cups and saucers back on the tray and setting it aside on one of the tabletops, Sebastien joined Cristiano in the bed.

  “Are you ready to have the light turned out?” Sebastien asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Boa noite, then, Cristiano.” Sebastien turned off the bedside lamp, then added, in English, “Now go to sleep, you big lug.”

  “Lug? What is this word, ‘lug’? What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know how you say it in Portuguese, but it describes you perfectly. Go to sleep.”

  Cristiano didn’t argue, and Sebastien found himself snuggling next to the other man under the covers—a quite sensual feeling, he had to admit, even though they were both clothed. Some time passed, during which Sebastien listened to the steady drumming of the rain on the paving stones of the terrace outside the bedroom windows.

  “Sebastien?” Cristiano whispered.

  “Um?”

  “I cannot sleep. Because I am once again tormented by my lustful thoughts about you. Lying here in the dark beside you, I have prayed for the strength to resist, but it has been denied me.”

  “Don’t be silly. Go to sleep.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if I went to one of the guest bedrooms, and slept there.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Sebastien repeated. “I like having you here in bed with me. Don’t you dare move.”

  “Maybe we aren’t meant to suffer like this. Surely,” Cristiano speculated, “when I am so preoccupied by my sinful thoughts that I can think of nothing else…then it might be the lesser of the two evils to relieve myself. And clear my head of them. At least for the time being. And I could always perform an act of penance, afterward, to try to atone for my fault.”

  “Um, quite the theologian now, aren’t you?” Sebastien mumbled drowsily.

  “If you and I were to masturbate together—would that be considered a sex act? Strictly speaking?”

  “I guess it would depend on who’s doing the masturbating—and the speaking—and how strict they were. You’re talking about, what? No oral-genital or anal-genital contact?” As he said that, Sebastien felt almost like a lawyer, splitting hairs in an argument before the judge in a courtroom. “And no genital-genital contact, for that matter?”

  “Manual-genital contact,” Cristiano specified, sounding just as technical.

  “Interesting. I suppose an argument could be made, either way. I really think, Cristiano, we should stop theorizing, and worrying about the possible long-range implications, and just…do it.”

  “Do you want to, Sebastien?” Cristiano pressed.

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Then I want to, too.”

  “Well, thank God that’s decided. Come on, take those things off. Get naked.” Sebastien set the example by pulling his T-shirt up over his head and off, then pushing his sweatpants down to his ankles and freeing his feet from them.

  In another moment, Cristiano, too, was nude. They lay side by side on the broad expanse of mattress, with their heads on the pillows, and began to stroke themselves into full erection. Sebastien tried to remember the last time he and another guy had jerked off together, but gone no farther than that, engaging in the act of mutual masturbation for its own sake, instead of as foreplay. Oh, yes—it had been back in college, when he’d talked his roommate into doing it. After a few of those nighttime sessions, he’d also persuaded the other boy to try quite a few other things.

  He watched Cristiano. The Brazilian had an extremely efficient, energetic technique, which—not so coincidentally—also provided an engrossing visual spectacle.

  “I am so ashamed,” Cristiano suddenly gasped as his hand continued to rub his cock.

  “Of what?”

  “Of being so lustful, in your presence.”

  “There’s nothing to be ashamed about. You’ve got a hard-on. So have I. We both know how to get rid of them. This is just taking care of business.”


  “I’m trying to keep my mind off sex.”

  “Ah…forgive me for saying so, Cristiano, but you don’t seem to be clear on the concept. I don’t think it’s possible to keep one’s mind off sex while jerking off.”

  “I mean, I am trying to avoid entertaining sexual thoughts about you.”

  “Oh, I see. And are you having any success?” Sebastien tried his best not to make the question sound sarcastic.

  “Not much,” the other man admitted. “It is very exciting to see you manipulating your big penis like that.”

  “Well, a little excitement isn’t going to hurt us.”

  “But we had agreed that this was not supposed to be a sex act.” Cristiano sounded suspiciously like a man who wanted to be contradicted, or talked into doing something. And, the whole time he was expressing his reservations, he continued to stroke himself. Nor did he take his eyes away from Sebastien’s own steady masturbation for so much as a second.

  “This really can’t be considered sex, in my opinion,” Sebastien panted, lying through his teeth. “It’s surely no different from one man just giving another a massage, for example.”

  “Oh, God,” Cristiano whimpered. “If it isn’t sex, then why do I feel so aroused?”

  “Stop worrying about it. Stop thinking about. Just relax, and give in to it. Give in to the pleasure. Enjoy it.”

  Cristiano seemed to take this advice. With eyes now tightly shut, he abandoned himself to his impassioned self-caresses.

  Sebastien waited for a few strokes before taking a calculated risk.

  “Cristiano?” he whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “Why don’t you let me do it for you?”

  “You mean?”

  “Let me give you a hand job,” Sebastien specified bluntly.

  “Are you sure you want to?”

  “Oh, I’m very sure.”

  “All right. But only if you’ll let me do the same to you.”

  “It’s a deal. Wait. We need some lubricant. That’ll make it feel much better. Don’t move, I’ll get it.” Sebastien grabbed the tube he kept in the drawer of the nightstand, squeezed some of the gel into his palm, and smeared it over his aching dick. Then he gave Cristiano’s erection the same treatment—taking a little more time than was strictly necessary to coat it thoroughly from base to tip with the gel.

  It was the first time Sebastien had actually touched Cristiano’s cock for any length of time, and he echoed Cristiano’s own moan of pleasure at the prolonged contact.

  “Jerk mine while I jerk yours,” Sebastien urged as he settled back beside Cristiano, pressing their bodies closely together. Their hips touched.

  Cristiano needed no further persuasion. He seized Sebastien’s erection and began to make love to it with his big, strong hand, fondling it from base to tip as though it were, to him, the most precious object in existence. Sebastien was so excited that he feared he would lose his wad very quickly indeed. He tried to calm down a bit and concentrate on the weight and thickness and throbbing potency of the massive tool he now had securely grasped in his own stroking hand.

  He slid his free arm under Cristiano’s head, between his neck and the pillow, and hugged him closer. Sebastien pushed his hand up between Cristiano’s armpit and chest, and began to tease his stiff nipple with his fingertips. Cristiano groaned in ecstasy, and he groaned still louder when Sebastien began to tickle his ear with his tongue.

  “Work it, big man,” Sebastien whispered, between licks. “Work my dick, while I work yours. Oh God, you’re hung so big…it feels so hot in my hand. I wish you’d let me put it in my mouth. I wish you’d let me put it in my ass! You know I’ll do it, if you want me to. I’ll let you do anything you want to me!”

  “Oh God, Sebastien…would you?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “You really enjoy doing that sort of thing, with other men…and you’d be willing to do those things with me?”

  “Especially with you, fucker. You’re so hot. So sexy. All you have to do is say the word. I’ll show you a really good time, I promise.”

  Cristiano’s legs tensed, and his hips arched up from the mattress.

  “Oh, Mother of God!” he cried as his body involuntarily repeated the motion. “I’m going to come! You’re going to make me come!”

  “Do it!” Sebastien groaned. “Shoot that cum! Let me see that load!”

  “Not yet…yours, too…not until you…ah, Christ!” Cristiano sputtered incoherently. His fist pumped more forcefully on Sebastien’s cock—it was obvious he wanted them to ejaculate together.

  “Don’t you worry about me,” Sebastien said. “Come, you fucker! Come! Shoot!”

  But in fact they were already both climaxing, more or less simultaneously. Cristiano may have fired the first shot of hot, white cum high up into the air, but Sebastien was right behind him, the head of his overexcited prick frothing with slick white fluid that ran down over Cristiano’s fist.

  “Christ,” Cristiano gasped, his voice sounding choked with lust.

  “Spray that fucking shit all over me,” Sebastien demanded, in plain English. “Ah!” he exclaimed as the wet drops rained down upon his torso and thighs. “It’s so goddamn hot! It’s scalding me!”

  Still gripping Cristiano’s depleted cock in his fist, he leaned over the other man and began to use his tongue to lap up as much of the semen drizzled over Cristiano’s sweaty flesh as he could find. Cristiano, who still lay there with his eyes closed, squirmed at the contact of Sebastien’s mouth and tongue, but made no protest or attempt to pull away from him. Emboldened, Sebastien moved his lips to the cock he held in his hand, loosening his fingers and using his tongue to lick and clean it of its coating of dribbled jism. The taste of Cristiano’s cum intoxicated him. He could resist no longer—he put his mouth on Cristiano’s cock and sucked it, gently. The still-rigid flesh pulsed hotly inside his mouth.

  He felt Cristiano’s hand on the back of his head, cupping it in his palm, fingers combing through Sebastien’s hair.

  “No, Sebastien…please…you mustn’t,” he heard Cristiano whisper, barely audibly.

  Sebastien gave the cock a final suck before he reluctantly relinquished his oral possession of it. “All right,” he panted. “Whatever you say.”

  Sebastien was now enjoying sex on such a regular basis that he always kept a fresh towel handy, in the lower drawer of the nightstand. He pulled the towel out, unfolded it, and used it to wipe off first Cristiano, then himself.

  “Thank you, Sebastien.”

  “You sound sleepy,” Sebastien observed.

  “It’s the brandy. And…what we just did. Oh, that felt so good.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Sebastien was tempted to ask whether his bedmate had enjoyed all of it, including the brief blow job, but he decided not to press the issue, just now. “Now go to sleep. It’s late.”

  “I should go back to my room, in Joaquin’s house.”

  “Nonsense. It’s still raining. Can’t you hear it? You’re going to sleep right here, with me.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do insist. Stop arguing.”

  They got comfortable, not bothering to put their discarded items of clothing back on. They snuggled together, nude, under the covers which Sebastien pulled up over both their bodies. Sebastien put one arm around Cristiano again, and silently encouraged the other man to rest his head on his shoulder. As Cristiano did so, his hair tumbled across Sebastien’s shoulder and pec. It was almost dry, but its recent soaking in the rain had caused it to dry in tangled ringlets.

  “You could use a haircut,” Sebastien observed. “Don’t get me wrong—I like your long hair, and your beard. But maybe a light trim would be in order.”

  “I will ask Estevao to do it. He is very skilled.”

  “Yes, isn’t he? And not just at barbering.”

  “I, too, am very skilled,” Cristiano boasted.

  “Oh really? At what, exactly?”

  “At
lovemaking.”

  “Prove it.”

  “Ah, once again, you tempt me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sebastien said, although he was in fact feeling quite unrepentant. “I don’t mean to,” he lied. “Anyway, it’s late and we are both tired. We should try to get some sleep.”

  “Yes, we should. And in any event—I thought I already had demonstrated my command of lovemaking.”

  “Modest, aren’t you? But what we just did, as nice as it was, wasn’t exactly lovemaking, Cristiano.”

  “Oh? Why wasn’t it?”

  “You didn’t kiss me, for one thing.”

  “I am sorry. May I kiss you now, to make up for it? May I kiss you good night?”

  “Yes, you may,” the mestre of the fazenda deigned to decree. “You may kiss me good night.”

  In the darkness, the two men’s lips met.

  Sebastien remembered little more. The warmth of Cristiano’s naked body, against his, in the bed, perhaps. Cristiano’s brawny arm, the muscles relaxed in sleep, draped across his waist, underneath the covers. The smell of the other man’s flesh, whenever he inhaled. A feeling, whenever he momentarily floated back toward semi-conscious during the rest of night, of utter peace and contentment.

  The next thing Sebastien knew, a hand was gently shaking him awake.

  “Is that you, Estevao?” Sebastien asked groggily. “Is it morning, already?” As he opened his eyes, he saw that the bedroom was still quite dark.

  “It’s me,” Cristiano said. He had gotten out of the bed and was once again wearing the sweatshirt and sweatpants Sebastien had given him.

  “Come back to bed.”

  “No, now I really should go back to my own bedroom, in Joaquin’s house. The rain has stopped. But my clothes are still damp. May I borrow these?”

  “Of course you can. Take anything of mine that you want. Although I’d much rather you took those things off and got back in bed with me.”