He hoped Lucien hadn't decided he wasn't coming and had left. Paulu had turned the sheep over to his younger brother, Petru's, care, and that had taken longer than he anticipated. Petru was such a donkey. But then, Paulu supposed he'd been a donkey too when his father had trained him to the shepherding. It wasn't as easy a task as many thought—certainly not those fishermen down in Calvi who made fun of him in the harbor-front taverns. If Lucien hadn't been there that one night . . .
Paulu stopped and looked up the northern slope of Monte Cinto, Corsica's tallest mountain, for signs of the soldier. His eyes could pick out the stone Genoese tower, built, like so many others on the island, centuries ago by the Italians to provide warning of the raids of the Barbary pirates. He couldn't pick out the flat clearing where the Roman temple had stood, though. That's where he was to meet Lucien. He had received word that Lucien had leave from the army and wanted to meet Paulu there. They had not had time and opportunity to complete their pledge of love before Lucien had gone to the army, and Paulu ached to be in his older lover's arms again and to be transported to the paradise that Lucien said awaited them.
It was a steep climb to the tower, but it gave Paulu time to revel in his arousal at being able to meet with Lucien in private at last—if Lucien hadn't failed to wait for him. Paulu and Lucien came from the same village at the base of Monte Cinto, between the mountain and the northern coastal town of Calvi. Lucien was two years older than Paulu, who had only recently reached his majority and who hoped he would, like Lucien, be able to leave his village and work in greater freedom, away from his home villager's accusing eyes, for the type of life he wanted to lead. He wasn't interested in the army, as Lucien was, though. Lucien was the macho one; Paulu was more sensitive, more musically inclined. His hope was to go south, to the capital city of Ajaccio, and to work as a waiter in a café where he also could sing and play his lute.
Lucien had taken a special interest in Paulu and had taken him aside when the opportunity arose and embraced him and spoken to him of love and of them being together, away from the village, one day. And they had even kissed. One afternoon on the lower slopes of Monte Cinto, where Paulu was watching the sheep, Lucien had appeared and they had gone beyond kissing. They had held and stroked each other's cocks, and Lucien had kissed Paulu's cock and caused him to come. Only having heard the whistling of Paulu's younger brother, coming up the hill to take a watch with the sheep, had prevented them from going further.
Then a couple of evenings before Lucien was to go off to the army, they had stolen away to Calvi to be together "at last." Lucien had booked a room in an inn and Paulu had declared his willingness to spend the night with him—under him—not caring at that moment what he would tell his father about where he had been. But they had gone to the waterfront café, and there were only men there. And the men had taken an interest in Paulu, who was small of stature but perfectly formed and with the visage of an angel. They had been drunk and Lucien had had to fight them off with his knife. He wasn't nearly as drunk as they were and he was a big-boned, strapping young man, who was good with his knife. The two of them had escaped the café, but Lucien had been cut, and the time he planned to be fucking Paulu in the room he'd rented was spent in a clinic instead.
The incident had put Lucien out of sorts. Even though Paulu wanted to lie under him, Lucien wasn't in the mood. He was preparing to go into the army. And there was an older, more experienced young man than Paulu who Lucien had taken an interest in by then.
Once recruited and shipped off there had been months of basic training for Lucien in the army barracks outside Ajaccio. But then he had gotten word to Paulu that he must see him and would be at the Genoese tower on the Northern slope of Monte Cinto on a specified date and time. His message was that he wanted to see Paulu. Paulu had no illusions about what Lucien wanted, even though the message could not reveal that. Lucien wanted to be inside him, but it was what Paulu wanted too. He knew what his preferences were. He wanted to be initiated in what men did with men before he went down to the capital city when his younger brother took over the responsibility for the sheep, which would be soon now. Paulu didn't want to be seen as a country bumpkin when he got to the capital.
And Paulu wanted it to be Lucien. He had wanted it to be Lucien for years.
Paulu reached the tower without seeing evidence of Lucien. The area in front of the tower was level, with an ancient circular platform made of flat stone slabs. In the center of the circle was an altar. Centuries before the tower had been built here this had been the clearing for a Roman temple, and probably centuries before that it had been the center of pagan worship. There was no telling how old, and how many religions the smooth-stoned altar table had served. Maybe even various forms of fertility rites. Paulu approached this altar and stood behind it, looking down onto the island's northern coast and the town of Calvi and mourning being here alone.
And then he wasn't alone. Lucien, a giant of a young man when placed against Paulu, had appeared from nowhere and encircled the smaller, younger men in his beefy arms from behind. Basic training had been good for Lucien's body. He was hard muscled, trim, and cut.
"Lucien," was all Paulu had opportunity to say in surprise as he turned his head and Lucien hungrily took possession of his mouth. Lucien's hands glided all over Paulu's trembling body. He pulled Paulu's sheepskin tunic over his head and laid it on the altar. Paulu's trousers were pulled down off his legs.
"Lucien. Maybe we should—" Paulu started to say as they came out of the kiss. He was shuddering. He was aroused and moaning under Lucien's frantic intimate attentions, but he had expected something different than this. More buildup and preparation. Conversation beforehand about what each had done in the intervening months, some cuddling and stroking perhaps. But Lucien seemed almost a mad man.
"I've waited too long for this," Lucien growled. "I must be inside you or I'll come just thinking of how much I've wanted you."
"Lucien!" Paulu cried out again, but the hulking soldier already was lifting him, placing him on his knees on top of the sheepskin on the Roman altar, and pressing his cheek down on the cold stone with a grip on the back of his neck with one beefy hand and pinning one of Paulu's arms behind his back with the other hand.
Paulu whimpered while Lucien attacked his cock, balls, and asshole with his tongue and teeth. Paulu cried out and strained against the restraining hands as Lucien worked his hard cock into the channel. And Paulu moaned and groaned as Lucien rode his ass to an ejaculation.
Paulu thought it would stop then—or at least pause so that he could hear Lucien speak to him again about how beautiful he was and how they would be together one day—but no sooner had Lucien withdrawn his cock after coming than he was inside Paulu's channel again with a cock as hard and as needy as before.
It almost seemed like an entirely different cock. And when Paulu was revolved on the cock and turned to his back on the altar, he realized to his surprise and horror that it was an entirely different cock. Another man, another soldier, his trousers off but his fatigues tunic open and hanging on his shoulders, was standing between his thighs and fucking him. He was flanked by two other soldiers, all strangers to Paulu, who each held one of Paulu's legs up and out—and who were grinning as they watched Paulu being fucked. It wasn't long before Paulu realized that they were just waiting their turn.
Lucien had come around to where Paulu's head lolled over the other side of the altar when he wasn't lifting it up. Lucien knelt, holding Paulu's head in his hands, and whispered encouragement and endearments in his ear. Now, having gotten his rocks off, Lucien was willing and able to court Paulu, to tell him how beautiful his body was, and how it should be shared. And how well he was doing, and how much Lucien appreciated Paulu doing this for him and his army buddies.
Before Paulu could voice his own response to this, Lucien had stood and pushed his cock between Paulu's lips. He clasped Paulu's hands in his and held him stretched out on the altar, entertaining the cocks of his buddies at one end and of his own cock in Paulu's throat. The four soldiers each fucked Paulu twice before they pulled away from him and conversed happily among themselves while they redressed and then disappeared behind the tower from whence they'd appeared.
Lucien followed behind after he'd taken Paulu up in his arms, Paulu still on his back on the altar, and rocked him and told him how good the taking had been for Paulu and how he wanted to visit Paulu regularly like this and how good a time they would have. Paulu lay there, whimpering and moaning, nodding his head for Lucien and accepting the kisses and the homage Lucien belatedly was bestowing on him. Paulu had no idea what to think or say or do. He'd wanted to cross this line and he'd wanted to be with Lucien. He'd have to think about this. He didn't really know how to react to what had happened to him.
Was this normal with the ways of men with men? How was he to know what should be expected of him in this world?
He did love it when Lucien was cocking him. He did love Lucien. He would like Lucien to take more time and to be more affectionate, but that came with time, he was sure. Didn't it? It was just because of the need and frustration Lucien had built up. And he'd said he wouldn't have been able to get away to meet Paulu if he hadn't brought the other soldiers along. They wouldn't be there every time. Paulu was sure that Lucien had said that.
* * * *
Paulu was gingerly climbing down from the altar and stretching his stiff limbs when he realized that, once again, he wasn't alone. This time it wasn't soldiers though. It was men who looked like gangsters, even though they were in jeans and T-shirts. They also had guns in holsters at their waists or under their armpits. By the time he was aware of them, they were fanning out around him, in an enclosing circle, and they were signaling to each other. Paulu looked from one to the other—there were a half dozen or more of them—and he could see that they were all in a crouch, with their arms held wide, at the ready, looking for where he would try to bolt. And they were all grinning and licking their chops. One of the men slipped a hunting knife from a sheath strapped to his calf and went into a crouch, facing Paulu, and moved the knife from one hand to the other.
Paulu tried to move toward the weakest-looking one, a fairly old, paunchy man. But the two on either side of that man closed ranks, grabbed Paulu as he careened into them, and pushed him off into the middle of the circle. He was propelled far enough across the closing circle to be grabbed by the hands of two men at the other side.
The men were calling to each other in Corsican. One of them was telling the man with the knife he couldn't play with Paulu until the others had fucked him. They started bidding on who would be the first to fuck him.
