Brazilian Cattle Baron (Siren Publishing Ménage and More ManLove)

by Roland Graeme

  “Oh no, senhor. I will begin right away. First thing in the morning.”

  “Excellent.”

  The next morning, as he rode away from the compound with Cristiano, Sebastien felt absurdly pleased with himself. He told his companion about the stratagem he had employed.

  “Ah, but be careful what you wish for, Sebastien,” Cristiano cautioned. “Knowing Estevao—once he gets the bit between his teeth, there is no reining him in. By the time we return today, he will have completed his inventory—and then you will need to invent some new ploy, the next time you want to keep him busy.”

  “I suppose I could always just tie him to the bedposts,” Sebastien said, without thinking.

  Cristiano said nothing by way of reply, but the look on his face suggested that he was well aware of what Sebastien was talking about.

  They joined the herders, who were already hard at work. At first Sebastien had been terrified of the cattle, although he would have died rather than betray the fact to any of his employees. His concern was by no means a figment of his imagination—the beasts were large and heavy enough to do real injury to anyone they happened to knock down, let alone trample, and their broad, arcing horns, even with the points filed down, were potential weapons. Now, having spent a good deal of time in the pastures and in the pens, Sebastien felt more at ease in the vicinity of the herds. But Cristiano still cautioned him not to ride too close to them—the skill of maneuvering a horse in and out of the freely milling animals was not one that could be acquired overnight.

  “You must teach me how to do that,” Sebastien said, as he admired the way the cowboys rode among the herds, keeping the beasts together and steering them in the direction they wanted.

  “I will, Sebastien, but not today, and not out here in the open. Some time soon—in one of the corrals behind the barn, where the beasts will be easier to control.”

  “I intend to become a true Brazilian vaqueiro.”

  “And so you shall, with my help.”

  Afterward, they rode at random and talked. Cristiano told stories of what it was like to grow up on Marajó. Senhora Erendira had insisted that he have the Brazilian equivalent of a high school education, which was something that could not be taken for granted among the inhabitants of the island. Cristiano owed his command of English, he admitted, to the many hours he had spent in conversation with Gilberto Leon. Cristiano was intrigued by the fact that Sebastien had not only gone to college, but to one that was considered a prestigious institution, and so Sebastien did his best to give Cristiano some idea of what life on a United States college campus had been like.

  The grasslands they rode through, Sebastien saw, were dappled with shallow pools and puddles everywhere, the residue of the most recent rainfall. The mid-morning sky, a brilliant clear blue overhead, had masses of dense cumulus clouds to the east—a mixture of cottony white and ominous grayish black. The clouds never seemed to remain still for so much as an instant, but restlessly churned and reshaped themselves into new configurations.

  Sebastien commented to Cristiano about what he observed.

  “It may storm today,” Cristiano predicted. “But soon the rainy season will be over, and then it will be winter. The weather will be better. Drier, certainly, and not as hot.”

  “It’s odd to think that it will be summer back home, and winter here.”

  “Are the summers hot, where you live, Sebastien?”

  “Sometimes. Never, consistently, as hot as it is here.”

  “When will you return to the United States?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Cristiano. Maybe not for some weeks or even months. I am enjoying myself here, and as I hardly need to tell you, there is a lot to be done. I don’t feel any desire to rush back to New York.”

  “You have no obligations there?”

  “None whatsoever—except to pay my bills. And even that’s done for me, by my lawyers. I’m sure I haven’t been missed.”

  “You must be missed by your friends.”

  But I have no friends, Sebastien almost said. The fact that he’d started to say such a thing, without having to think about it, rather shocked him. Was it true?

  It is true, he reflected, a little gloomily. There’s no one back home whom I’m really close to. And as for missing me…Ivan and Neil, and the other guys at the escort agency, must be wondering why I haven’t called recently, why I’ve stayed down here so long. I ought to send them a postcard, just to let them know I’m still alive!

  “I’ve always been a bit of a loner, Cristiano,” he admitted.

  The Brazilian looked at him. “By choice?”

  “By temperament. By natural inclination.”

  “I cannot believe that, Sebastien. You seem most friendly and pleasant to me.”

  “It’s nice of you to say so. I hope it’s true. It’s easy to be friendly with the people here on Saõ Martinho. Everybody’s been wonderful to me.”

  “And some, I suspect, have been more ‘wonderful’ than others.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I have eyes, Sebastien. And I am no innocent. I know that Estevao, for one, is infatuated with you. Are you telling me that you have managed to fend off his advances?”

  “What makes you think there have been any advances to fend off?”

  “You need not be embarrassed, Sebastien. You and I are both men. We can talk about such things.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “No? Then you will not mind my mentioning that, while I was up early the other morning, going about my business, I happened to see a certain vaqueiro leaving the main house…and leaving it through one of the windows of the master bedroom.”

  “Very observant of you.”

  “I was not deliberately spying. I could not help noticing, though, and wondering what Uver was doing in the main house, at that time of day.”

  “Thank God you weren’t spying, as you put it. I can only imagine what else you might have seen, to shock you, had you been.”

  “But I was not shocked. Do I look or sound as though I am shocked?”

  “You look and sound, Cristiano, like a man I am not going to be able to have many secrets from.”

  Cristiano smiled. “Well, let us change the subject—for now. Shall we take a chance? And see if we can cheat the rain? Shall we ride to the reservoir, and swim?”

  “Sure.” Sebastien hoped he didn’t look, or sound, as eager as he felt. Swimming here, he knew from their previous visit to the reservoir, meant complete nudity…and this time, it would be just the two of them. He and Cristiano, alone together. Nude together.

  At the reservoir, they tied up the horses and stripped. They were standing, naked, on the grassy slope leading down to the water, when they heard a rumble of thunder, far in the distance. Sebastien studied the bank of increasingly dark clouds to the east.

  “I suppose there’s a slight danger of one of us being struck by lightning,” he said.

  Cristiano shrugged his broad bare shoulders. “Perhaps. It might be better if we did not expose ourselves by standing on the dam. Even in the water, there is a possibility…shall we risk it?”

  “Of course,” Sebastien said, imitating his companion’s ballsy nonchalance. A potential tabloid headline popped into his head—Cookie Heir Fried in Freak Accident in Brazil. For some reason, it struck him as hilarious.

  They swam, in the almost shockingly cold water. When they climbed out, Sebastien was shivering, but Cristiano had come prepared. He had a coarse wool blanket rolled up and tied behind his saddle. He retrieved this, and spread it out on the ground. Inside the blanket, Sebastien now saw, his companion had a towel rolled up as well. Generously, Cristiano let Sebastien use this first, to wipe himself dry.

  “Now we will lie down and talk some more,” Cristiano proposed as he rubbed his head with the towel, ending up with a tousled mane of damp black hair. He seemed indifferent to the rapidly darkening sky and the occasional distant boom of thunder.

  T
hey stretched out nude on the blanket, on their backs, side by side, both men looking up at the gloomily clouded sky.

  “The rain may hold off for a little while longer,” Cristiano speculated.

  “Obviously, you can’t live here if you’re afraid of getting wet.”

  “No. We are used to working outdoors, in all sorts of weather. This is very pleasant, is it not? To lie here with no clothes on and do nothing?”

  “Yes, Cristiano, very pleasant indeed. Now…what shall we talk about?”

  “You must choose.”

  “Then tell me, Cristiano. When you wanted to get rid of Estevao, so you could be alone with me today—did you have an ulterior motive?”

  “An ulterior motive, Sebastien? What do you mean by that?”

  “Did you want something from me in particular?”

  “Only to be with you. Because…”

  “Yes?”

  “Because I am interested in you. Let me be quite honest with you, shall I?”

  “By all means. Please do.”

  “You uncle spoke about you so often. He was fond of you. But—forgive me for saying so—he had not seen you for many years. Isn’t that true?”

  “That’s right. I regret it. I should have come down here to visit him, long ago. I was thoughtless, and selfish.”

  “I couldn’t help thinking that senhor Gilberto’s feelings for you might be…somewhat idealized. Not grounded in reality.”

  “You expected me to be somewhat different,” Sebastien suggested.

  “I thought you might be very different. I thought you might be…proud, and not very friendly, and certainly not altogether happy about having to come here and assume the responsibilities of owning the fazenda.”

  “Up until now I’ve led a very different way of life than my uncle led—or that any of you are probably familiar with. I have to admit that, Cristiano.”

  “And yet you fit in here so well.”

  “Ah, that’s just flattery.”

  “I am sincere.”

  “Let me ask you, Cristiano. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to live differently? In a city like Rio, for example?”

  “City life is not for me. I am happy here.” Cristiano turned his head and gave his companion a searching look. “But you, Sebastien—have you been happy here?”

  “I’ve managed to keep busy. There’s a lot to see and do here. And I amuse myself.”

  “At night?”

  “Certainly. Why not?”

  “How have you been amusing yourself at night?”

  “You ought to know. You’ve often been in the house, in the evening. I hope you feel at home there.”

  “I mean later…when everyone has either gone home, or is asleep.”

  “Then I sleep, too. Don’t you?”

  “You are mocking me, Sebastien. Come now. Admit it. Estevao is easily infatuated. But it is unusual for his deeper emotions to be engaged. I know him too well. He cannot deceive me.”

  “Are you suggesting, Cristiano, that Estevao’s deeper emotions, as you call them, are engaged—with me?”

  “I know that they are. And I suspect—”

  “What do you suspect, Cristiano?”

  “That Estevao is not your only namorado.”

  “Namorado? That means boyfriend, or lover, doesn’t it?”

  “You know perfectly well what it means. You speak excellent Portuguese. Remember, I saw Uver leaving your bedroom, at dawn. He spent the night in there with you, didn’t he? You and he made love.”

  “I’m not going to say that my sex life is none of your business, Cristiano, because there’s no reason why I shouldn’t feel comfortable discussing such things with you. I’m curious, though, about why you seem to be so concerned about what I do in private.”

  “Because I am responsible for you.”

  This statement took Sebastien by surprise. “You? Responsible for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s absurd. I am responsible for myself.”

  “No, you need someone here to look after you,” Cristiano insisted. “You need me.”

  “And why you, in particular?”

  “Because—” Cristiano hesitated. “Because I have volunteered for the job!” he blustered.

  “Nonsense.”

  “Oh, I talk nonsense, do I? We will see.” Suddenly, Cristiano rolled over on top of Sebastien. He was a big man, probably outweighing Sebastien by a few pounds, and Sebastien was instantly, acutely aware of being covered and weighed down by so much naked flesh. He was also aware of Cristiano’s hefty penis and testicles, nestled now against his groin, rubbing against his own genitals in the kind of man-to-man intimacy that Sebastien, understandably, associated with sex.

  “Oh, you’re heavy,” Sebastien protested.

  “Now we will see which of us is the stronger.”

  “Um, I’m prepared, Cristiano, to concede that you—probably—are.”

  “No, we will wrestle,” Cristiano insisted. “Try to get away from me.”

  Maybe I don’t particularly want to get away from you, Sebastien wanted to say. Maybe I enjoy lying here, under you, both of us naked, with your hot body rubbing against mine. Feeling your big dick against mine. And it is big. I can feel that much already, even though you aren’t hard!

  But, “All right,” he agreed, as he grabbed Cristiano by both of his biceps, his fingertips trying to indent the firm muscles, but not succeeding very well. He did his best, but it was indeed an unequal contest. After some mutual squirming, accompanied by loud huffing and puffing, Sebastien found himself still on his back on the rumpled blanket, with Cristiano on top of him, and Cristiano’s hands gripping his wrists, pinning them down on either side of his head. Not content with using only his hands to hold Sebastien down, the Brazilian employed his legs as well, using his knees to drive Sebastien’s own legs apart, then twisting his feet around Sebastien’s ankles. The two men’s genitals remained in restless contact.

  “All right,” Sebastien complained, happily. “You’ve made your point. You’ve got me—now, what are you going to do with me?”

  “Whatever I wish,” Cristiano threatened.

  “Big talk, cowboy. I wonder if you can back it up?”

  “I know the kinds of dirty games that Estevao likes to play,” Cristiano declared.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. The question is—what kinds of games do you like to play?”

  “I don’t know, Cristiano. Chess, maybe,” Sebastien quipped.

  “I am not talking about chess.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What men do, sometimes…when they are excited, so excited perhaps that they can think of nothing else…and there are no women around, to satisfy them.”

  “But I’ve been told that you always have women chasing after you.”

  “You are making fun of me, Sebastien. You are toying with me. You know very well—”

  “What? What do I know, so very well?”

  “Enough talk!” Almost angrily, Cristiano pressed his lips against Sebastien’s, kissing him violently, so that his beard rubbed against Sebastien’s cheeks—a rough, demanding kiss that did not admit the possibility of a merely passive response.

  Jesus, Sebastien thought as Cristiano’s lips compressed his and Cristiano’s tongue plunged eagerly inside his mouth. The horny fucker’s going to rape me! Not that he’s going to have to work very hard at overcoming my resistance. Because I don’t have any intention of resisting!

  He writhed under his assailant, trying to free his wrists from Cristiano’s grip, so he could caress that excitingly muscled body—and get his hands on that cock. But Cristiano, still tongue-kissing him furiously, maintained a secure wrestling hold on him. They were both getting erect, their stiffening pricks dueling between their bellies. There was a louder, closer crack of thunder, but now Sebastien didn’t care if the heavens opened and emptied a deluge of apocalyptic proportions upon them. Having sex with Cristiano outdoo
rs in a downpour of rain, both of them soaking wet while they did it, suddenly sounded rather exciting.

  Sebastien, still kissing those tantalizing lips, grunted urgently and heaved himself up against Cristiano so violently that the Brazilian finally relented, sitting up on his haunches on top of Sebastien and releasing his wrists. Sebastien immediately reached out with both hands to grab Cristiano’s cock and balls. The genitals made quite an impressive double fistful.

  “No…you should not do that, Sebastien. Really, you shouldn’t.” Cristiano’s voice was soft and hoarse with lust, and his eyes were closed. He made no effort to pull away from Sebastien, though, or use a hand to prevent Sebastien from toying with his impressive sexual equipment.

  “You seem to be enjoying it,” Sebastien retorted as he continued the hand job, fingering Cristiano’s ball sac as well.

  “Please. Don’t.” To Sebastien’s astonishment, the other man did wrench himself away and stood up. His erect cock bobbed in front of him as he looked down at Sebastien, who sat up on the blanket. Sebastien couldn’t quite read Cristiano’s expression—it was a baffling combination of desire, affection, anxiety, and shame.

  “What’s the matter?” Sebastien asked.

  “I should not have done that. Kissed you, I mean.”

  “Why not? We both liked it. Come on, Cristiano. If you want to play around a little, let’s play around. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Come here. Let me suck your cock.”

  “Would you do that for me, Sebastien?” Cristiano sounded genuinely surprised.

  “I’ll do that for you, and a hell of lot more. You don’t have to do anything to me, if you don’t want to. You can just let me take care of you. Look here, at this fuck of a hard-on I’ve got, thanks to you. And you’re hard, too. What are we waiting for?”

  “You must not tease me like this, Sebastien. You must not tempt me. I might give in.”

  “Tease you? Tempt you? What the hell do you think you’ve been doing to me?”

  “I am sorry, Sebastien. I got carried away.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Let’s get carried away together.”

  “No, we must stop, we must not go any farther. You must not provoke me anymore.”