The air conditioner rattled and hummed in the tropical air, but inside the office at the top of the iron staircase it felt as if it was doing nothing but stirring the humidity around. If there was any coolness, it came more from the big ceiling fan that whirled and clacked in the centre of the ceiling.
Luca sat back in his office chair under the fan and smiled as he wiped sweat from his forehead and his muscular, almost hairless chest with a hand towel. He was wearing only a pair of loose, lightweight cotton shorts. The longer he stayed in Africa the less he wore. Now, after five months of running his employer, Oscar Riddleman’s, tobacco-processing factory in Cameroon, he would have to go completely naked if he wanted to wear less. And at home he did, but this was work.
Towel in hand Luca got up and looked out of the side window, seeing below him the busy floor of the open-sided factory shed where the young men and women were working rolling cigars. From above most of them looked as if they were barely more than children. And seated as they were in rows at long benches, bent over their work, with their fingers flying over the tobacco leaves they were wrapping, they might have been students studying hard. So much for the rolling of cigars against the sweaty thighs of muscular young black men, he thought, remembering his first meeting with Riddleman with a smile.
As soon as they met, Luca had a good idea that his potential employer, Oscar Riddleman, was interested in more than his knowledge of tobacco processing and cigar manufacture, even though that was extensive, or his management skills.
Sure Luca knew cigars like few other men did, and his were very unusual management skills, but still there was something in Riddleman’s eyes that said even more was wanted. Well, Luca had no objection to that. Riddleman was a powerful and well-built man who liked control and wealth, and giving men like him what they wanted had never hurt Luca. In fact, it had helped him to climb from being a lazy, good-looking student in high school to being quite a wealthy man in his own right. If it had seen him escaping over back roads in the dead of night from several small South American countries, well, such was life. It had got him here, and with this new job he might end up doing for Riddleman, in Africa, he would become even richer.
‘So you don’t object to something that is downright illegal then,’ Riddleman asked twirling a cigar between his fingers as he stood leaning on the mantle of the marble fireplace in the ground floor drawing room of his home.
‘Shall we say, I’m versatile?’ Luca replied giving Riddleman a bedroom smile.
Legal was a word that didn’t really mean much to Luca who did whatever seemed like a good way to make money and get him what he wanted from life. But he had always been fascinated by tobacco and cigars, and he had some good experience in the associated business of cigarette-tobacco selection and grading.
‘Do you think you can handle the machinery? This is Africa. The locals in the factory wont have a clue, and there’s no service guy waiting up the road on the end of the phone to help you.’
‘I will manage,’ Luca replied dropping the bedroom look. He had taken a few bad steps in his time and had learnt to be resourceful. He did whatever it took to survive and prosper. ‘In Panama I kept the cigar machines going for six months during the trouble. I can be very resourceful Oscar. I have worked in many places that are not peaceful and quiet like this Virginia of yours, and where the workers hardly know what electricity is, let alone machinery.’
‘That’s why you are here Luca,’ Riddleman said looking at him and moving over to sit in the chair opposite the one Luca was sprawled back in. ‘I have asked around,’ he added.
Luca wondered who he had been talking to, but decided thinking about it was pointless. ‘What I can do is useless if your contacts are not good,’ he responded instead, annoyed to be the only one having to prove anything. ‘This money you say we will make, is going to depend on you having good contacts, and the police and customs being taken care of.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself Luca, that side is dealt with. I can sell whatever my factory can make with you running it,’ Riddleman said firmly
Now Riddleman was sitting opposite Luca, leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair with his legs spread wide, and he asked him, ‘So you think you can give me whatever I want?’ while twisting a fresh cigar between his lips to wet the end of it.
‘I know I can,’ Luca had replied, smiling, and then he was kneeling between Riddleman’s spread thighs and reaching for his zip.
‘Not so fast boy,’ Riddelman said, pushing Luca back, ‘Not so fast. This business may not be completely legal, but I still want high-quality products. Good cigars and a high quality cigarette that 80 percent of our customers won’t be able to pick from the real thing. And the rest won’t be sure about. I want to be in this business for a while Luca, not ten minutes.’
‘Of course. We both want that,’ Luca replied, suddenly uncertain of what was expected of him.
‘Whatever else I want from you, first of all I want to know that you really do know how to produce a decent cigar. And to produce a decent cigar you need to know a decent cigar when you pick it up and sniff it,’ Riddleman said, leaning forward and holding the cigar he had been sucking on under Lucas nose and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making it crackle.
Luca sniffed at it, annoyed, ‘It smells genuine to me,’ he said, ‘Not the absolute best, but real Cuban. Hand rolled. You can see that.’
Instead of settling back into his overstuffed club chair to smoke his cigar, Riddleman stood up, almost between Luca’s thighs, and said, ‘That was easy. Now I think we will take a little walk.’
Luca joined him as he strode a short distance down the wood-paneled hallway of Mystrelle, the historic Virginian plantation house that Riddlman had recently acquired and was now living in. Part way along he opened one of the heavy paneled doors and held it wide for Luca to pass him, then followed him inside and closed it. The room was dry and cool and dark”dimly lit and lined with dark timber. Riddleman opened a panel, and Luca realised that around the walls were dozens of small paneled cupboard doors. But they were not ordinary cupboards; each one was a small humidor, and inside each humidor rested several cigars.
‘So,’ Riddleman said, ‘Let’s try a test shall we?’ And he took a cigar from the open cupboard and passed it to Luca, who took it carefully between his thumb and forefinger and examined it, then brought it to his nose to roll and sniff.
‘Santa Damiana,’ Luca said with assurance, he’d worked in the Dominican Republic, ‘Delicate flavour.’
Riddleman took the cigar back and, putting it away, opened another door and gave Luca a longer and thicker cigar.
This time Luca frowned. ‘Ha, a good one, a Big Butt. Not as good as the one in your mouth now. Maduro, Pennsylvanian wrapper.’
‘So, you really do know your stuff,’ Riddleman said, smiling broadly. ‘I see us getting along fine together. But I wonder what you will make of this one,’ he said, opening yet another humidor cupboard and taking out a huge bullet-shaped cigar. ‘This one has just come in. Rolled on the sweaty thighs of muscular young men.’ He said, smiling and laughing as he handed it over.
‘Phew,’ Luca said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Good leaf and not badly made, yes, from Africa, Cameroon, I think. But so big and thick, humph, who could smoke it, and the smell”yeow, it is almost animal. It is not the tobacco.’ He looked at Riddleman suspiciously.
‘Ah, but what is the smell?’ Riddleman asked, his eyes hooded now as if he were in heat.
Luca frowned and sniffed again, closing his eyes. Then he laughed.
‘It is a cigar for fun,’ he said, feeling his cock twitch, and making a back and forth movement with the eight-inch-long, more-than-inch-and-a-half-thick cigar. ‘They have amused themselves in the factory with this one.’
‘Hmmm,’ Riddleman hummed, waving the cigar away as Luca tried to hand it back to him. ‘You may like to know it comes from the factory you may soon be managing. And what was fucked with it?’ Riddleman asked in a husky voice.
‘The ass,’ Luca replied in a low voice, letting Riddleman lock eyes with him as the cigar was finally passed back to him.
‘And how else do you think you can satisfy me?’ Riddleman asked. ‘You obviously know enough to make sure we produce a good cigar, and hopefully a good enough cigarette to fool most men, but what else can you do for me?’ He asked, holding the ass scented cigar in front of him and still fixing Luca with his hooded eyes.
Luca felt the heat rise up in his body, like a physical surge racing through him, and moved in and kissed Riddelman on the mouth. Then he hesitated a moment, not entirely sure how to go on, because Riddleman stood there, immobile, holding the cigar. Then Luca started to unbutton his own shirt. He was in a casual shirt and pants, because this had been an informal interview. No human resources manager would have been satisfied with the selection procedure Riddleman used, and Luca hadn’t felt he needed to look like an accountant when he dressed for the meeting.
Now Luca undressed as if he were performing a striptease to some unheard music, and he was more than aroused himself by the setting, by the thick, used cigar, and the lustful look in Riddleman’s half-closed eyes. He fixed his eyes on the big cigar, sure now that Riddleman knew exactly what he wanted to do with it and that he, Luca, had guessed exactly what that was. And he was interested. He liked to be dominated like this sometimes. And Riddleman was a man who could dominate.
Luca’s cock sprang up against his flat belly as he removed his briefs, and he stood there naked, as he wrapped one hand about his erection and stroked himself and pinched his nipples and stroked his belly before cupping his balls in his other hand. But as he was getting ready to turn around, Riddleman extended the cigar and pressed it to Luca’s lips, and Luca laughed silently as he opened up to allow it into this mouth. Then he closed his lips and made love to the big, fat, smooth-skinned cigar with his tongue and cheeks, wetting it down and caressing it, deep throating the slick column of tobacco as Riddelman fucked it in and out of Luca’s mouth.
Luca’s eyes were locked on Riddleman’s as he made love to the cigar in his mouth and stroked his own cock, though he wanted to be stroking Riddleman’s cock. Wanted to be taken. The big man’s free hand was flicking over his new employee’s chest and squeezing Luca’s nipples and then ran down to join Luca’s hand stroking his cock before it descended to his balls and squeezed them. Luca opened his mouth and cried out, as his cock spouted cum up onto Riddleman’s shirt and up his own belly.
When the cigar was finally withdrawn from his mouth, well soaked in saliva, Luca and Riddleman both seemed to shudder in an ecstasy of shared heat, and Luca turned and bent over, reaching back and parting his firm round butt cheeks, to open his crack and present his hole to Riddleman.
Luca was happy to let Riddleman believe he owned his new employee, his new factory manager, because right then in the humidor-lined room, he almost did.
Luca’s breathing was jerky as the wet cigar was pressed to his rim and moved around it, rimming him with the damp, tightly rolled end of the column of tobacco. His hole twitched wildly, opening up, wanting Riddleman to force the thick cigar in. Then the cigar was being pushed in, lubricated by its saliva coating. His own spit and Riddleman’s, helping it move into his well-used channel.
Luca couldn’t suppress his moan of pleasure as it dragged along his walls on its slightly painful entry. And as it was rotated and fucked into him, he bucked and begged as eagerly for it to go deeper and harder as he would for any big cock that might be filling him. Maybe even more, as knowing it was a cigar already worked inside the passage of at least one of the young men in the factory he was going to be taking over, aroused him even more.
Only when the cigar had opened him fully was it withdrawn, and Luca still held his cheeks apart in anticipation, though his own cock ached for some attention. Riddleman was not as thick as the cigar had been, but his full length could enter Luca, burying itself deep until his mass of dark pubic hair was crushed against the Latin’s skin, and Luca groaned as the big man drove his hard tool into him. When Riddleman was pumping him hard and deep, Luca finally reached for his own cock and stroked it.
But Riddleman had other ideas, and wanted control, and taking hold of Luca’s wrists, jerked on his arms, up and back, pulling Luca back to him as he thrust deep, getting even more depth to his fucking as Luca felt pain in his arms and a deep fullness and real possession. Then Riddleman had pulled out, his big fat cock slurping, and with both men panting, had pushed Luca to one of the walls and turned him around facing him, and had him hike his legs up around his hips and settled him back onto his cock.
Luca embraced Riddleman as he lowered himself down ad lifted himself up fucking himself, rubbing his own throbbing tool up against the big man’s slightly bulging belly, moaning and opening his mouth for a kiss. Riddleman dug his tongue into Luca’s mouth and explored it briefly.
Then Riddleman was pushing Luca’s chest back and moving away from the dark wood-paneled wall. Luca suddenly lost his grip and his head and arms fell back to the floor, Riddleman’s big, surprisingly strong hands gripping his hips, the fingers digging in until Luca had himself balanced on his shoulders, Then Riddleman fucked down into him, and as Luca looked up his belly he saw a cigar, and screamed out as Riddleman lay the tobacco pole against the top of his cock. Luca was almost sobbing with relief as he saw it was the Cuban cigar Riddleman had been mouthing earlier, not the African monster, that was now pressing to the top of Riddleman’s own cock. A cock pulled back in Luca’s hole so that the tip of the cigar could work its way in the first small distance. Luca arched and moaned and spread his thighs as wide as he could, crying out at the rough stretching that the thick cock and the premium cigar were giving him, and moaning loudly as Riddleman expertly worked the two hard tools together in his stretched passage, in a wild plowing that was over too soon in a flooding creaming of Luca’s guts.
Then a hand encased Luca’s throbbing cock and squeezed and rubbed his cap and in a wild spasm, he spouted cum up onto Riddleman’s chest and chin, then spouted another load as his cock was milked again. Totally spent, Luca’s legs let go and he slid to the floor, looking up at Riddleman, who stood between his tangled legs and looked down at him with a satisfied smile on his face.
It was then, while observing Riddleman’s expression as he looked down on him, with his cum dribbling from his ass, that Luca decided he didn’t like Riddleman and was going to see how much money he could screw out of him. And Luca knew almost as much about screwing money out of wealthy men as he did about cigars.
****
Those Luca saw working below him as he looked out over the cigar factory through his office window were mostly bone and ropy sinews. Big heads and undernourished, with flashing white teeth. He was no philanthropist, but he knew the factory workers were better off than most of the others in their villages, than most in Cameroon, in fact, and work in the factory was eagerly sought.
Then Luca walked to the other side of his office and looked out on the other part of the factory. The part that he had spent the time since his arrival setting up for Riddleman. It was smaller, but the floor was concrete and fully enclosed, and it was filled with modern cigarette making machines, with several young men working in the hot, steamy conditions, watching the machines as they spun out hundreds of thousands of cigarettes each day. They were being wrapped in fine white paper with a tan patterned band below a strip of type that said, ‘Marlboro’ on it and packed in the familiar red and white packet. And, in fact, the quality of the cigarettes Luca knew was very good. They were good enough to be accepted in most places in place of the real thing and even went to the Canary Islands and Spain.
This part of the factory was where the brightest and best workers were employed, and here the young men were more filled out. As he watched, one man walked up the corridor between the two rows of machines, and his hips moved in a way that showed-off his full-rounded butt. Luca smiled, sure that Misoni was hoping he, Luca, was watching him.
Luca flipped the intercom switch on the phone on his desk, ‘Misoni,’ was all he said.
Several youths looked up at the window, or at Misoni, and grinned as the young black man made his way up the metal staircase, which clanged with each step, telling Luca when he had arrived in the outer office where Margaret, Luca’s secretary sat. She knew better than to ask any questions, or to gossip, and just looked down her nose at Misoni, the latest young man to be making the climb, barely looking up from her computer screen as the young man opened Luca’s office door and stepped through.
The young man’s mouth was split in a gleaming white smile, and he was dropping his shorts and grasping his already-engorging dick as the door closed behind him. Luca had also shed his shorts and pushed his chair away from his desk, so he was sitting in plain view of the door, with his own heavily veined erection in his fist and a smile on his face.
Misoni dropped to his knees between Luca’s spread thighs and, holding his bosses meaty tool steady, the young African took the huge pole into his mouth, his experience with sucking showing in how quickly he was deep throating its full length. Luca growled in response and took hold of the black man’s hair as his black curly head bobbed up and down over Luca’s lap, his cock sliding in and out of Misoni’s tight lips and sinking into his even tighter throat. What he lacked in sophisticated technique Misoni more than made up for in enthusiasm and his ability to take it all.
Luca fucked the ready mouth for a while, moving his tool about inside the soft cavern as Misoni worked his tongue about, eagerly slobbering and sucking on what he was being fed. Then when he was ready, Luca pulled himself out of Misoni’s mouth and pulled the young man up and turned him around and lay him across his desk on his stomach From his desk drawer Luca pulled out the lubricant and condoms and fingered the gel roughly into Misonis’s hole, enjoying the young man’s squirming and yelping. When Luca was done with Misoni’s passage, he crowned himself and sat back, and the young African came up and lowered himself onto Luca’s throbbing pole, Luca guiding his cap to Misoni’s hole and letting him impale himself slowly on its full length.
Luca groaned at the slow encasing of his tool by the experienced bottom settling down on him.
‘Yes. Nice and tight,’ He moaned and pulled Misoni down hard.
‘Oh boss. Oh boss. You is so big,’ Misoni squealed.
‘Ha,’ Luca gasped, fully encased and starting to lift Misoni’s hips, ‘Tell me, I am the best fucking boss you have ever had?’
‘You are the best fucking, fucking boss I have ever had, boss,’ Misoni cried out as he lifted himself up along the rod buried inside him, and then settled down on it again. ‘Yes boss, you are sure the best fucking boss,’ he sighed as he lifted his butt again, wriggling as he settled back, moving Luca’s long cock inside him, so it was rubbing new places on its journey up and up.
There were voices outside briefly, talking English, and then a giant of a black man opened the office door, stepped inside, and closed it, and Luca looked up into the face of Ahmadou, the locally based American agent for the cigarette manufacturing equipment. The new arrival already had his pants unzipped and his big fat cock out, stroking the dark rod to hardness.
‘How long have you been watching?’ Luca asked, with a lazy laugh, his cock growing even longer inside the youth he was fucking at the idea of the huge black man watching through one of the windows as he plowed Misoni
‘Long enough to enjoy it and to be ready to join you,’ Ahmadou replied in perfect English with an American accent.
Ahmadou threw a folder onto the desk and dropped his pants and briefs, kicking them off as he walked over to join the two men. Misoni was pushed forward over Luca’s desk and his boss moved with him, never loosing his depth in the young man in his lap. Ahmadou then rolled the office chair away from behind them and moved in, pushing Luca forward further over the back of the youth under him so his hole was conveniently positioned. Adding spit to his fingers, Ahmadou dug two of them into the puckered hole between the white ass cheeks, as Luca bit down on Misoni’s neck and shoulders to stifle his yelps.
Then Ahmadou rummaged in the condom drawer, quickly covered his pole, and was poking his mushroom cap at Luca’s hole as the white man wriggled his ass and widened his legs to open himself and ease the pain of Ahmadou’s rough entry.
Ahmadou watched as his black dick slid into the hole between the white mounds of Luca’s cheeks and then was plowing Luca hard and deep, while Luca managed to do shallow pumps into Misoni’s ass. It was a wonderful sight, Ahmadou thought, as he looked down at the almost white body caught between the black ‘bread’ of the sandwich the three of them made. He hummed happily as he watched his big black tool work in and out of Luca’s pale white ass, seeing below Luca’s balls and the base of his cock the black arse of Misoni, with the light cock slipping in and out of his tight hole.
‘What a sight,’ Ahmadou murmured, ‘White meat in the sandwich. Oh baby.’
The two foreigners came together; Ahmadou felt his balls tighten and was pounding Luca’s ass when he saw Luca’s balls move and his cock twitch as it deposited its seed in the condom deep inside Misoni. Then Luca felt Ahmadou pull out, heard the slap of the rubber coming off, and felt cum shoot over his back to the gasps and pants of the big American. The young African, Misoni, only came after the two men had come off him and he was able to reach for his own tool and stroke it to completion.
‘Ahh, you young men,’ Ahmadou said, laughing as Misoni’s eyes rolled and his jizm shot across the floor. ‘Now go back to work’ he added, and the young man grabbed his clothes and pulled on his shorts and T-shirt and was out of the door in seconds. Ahmadou had been known to turn nasty when he wasn’t obeyed.
‘So, you go to America to see Riddleman?’ Ahmadou said to the spent Luca once the youth was gone.
‘Yes. Riddleman’s invitation to come and discuss progress was very convenient,’ Luca replied, lying back on the desk and playing with his nipples, wondering if he could get the black giant interested in another round. He was also reminded of Riddleman’s indication that there might be some more satisfying private entertainment available during Luca’s visit.
‘So our plans are going well?’ Ahmadou said smiling broadly.
Luca shrugged and reached for Ahmadou’s arms and pulled himself up, seeing that, unfortunately, the American was all business. ‘You have got the paperwork?’ he asked, ‘All official, and signed by the president?’
‘Of course. He is a great friend of Riddleman, but I am also his good friend,’ he laughed, ‘And as this is only for the disposition of his friend Riddleman’s Cameroon businesses if he dies in debt to us, Mr. President was willing to sign the papers for the fee we offered, and here are your copies,’ said Ahmadou, pulling some documents from the folder he had brought in.
‘And we can prove he owes us money,’ Luca said, opening a manila folder containing details of the cigarette machine purchases and some extra items Riddleman had never ordered from Ahmadou, or paid for, but which sat downstairs in the factory. ‘Well, my plans are all in order too,’ Luca said. And he went into a deep kiss with the African. ‘Yes. In a week Riddleman will be gone, very sad, and there will be no doubts the factory, the plantations, the mansion in Douala, the cash, all of it, are ours. In a week.’
Ahmadou looked at Luca with hooded eyes, and Luca knew that the well-connected African-American probably had little intention of letting him, Luca, enjoy any of it for long.
When Ahmadou left, Luca pulled open the lower drawer of his desk, and, taking the papers Ahmadou had left, he put them together with the ones he already had and put them all into a large envelope.
‘Unfortunately, my good friend Ahmadou,’ Luca said to the empty room, as he tapped the envelope, ‘I have already sold the plantations and the factory to the Chinese state tobacco company, which has more influence with the government here than either you or Riddleman do. Once I am in the states and Riddleman is gone, the deal will be finalised to my great advantage, and I will not have to return to this sweaty dump again.’
Luca sat there gazing into the future, a future where he never needed to work for anyone else again.
‘But I’ll miss the fucks,’ he added wistfully, thinking of Ahmadou’s big meaty cock and the obligingly eager young African workers he had enjoyed for the last few months.
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