The story is written in collaboration with my friend Fred in Norway and is completely fictional. Ivar is a youngster of the writer's imagination, and so are the men he meets on his `educational journey'.
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Europe with Spartacus
Chapter 15
French Riviera (1975)
The mountains here were really red. The Spartacus Guide was correct. The L'Esterel Mountains between Cannes and Saint Raphael on the French Riviera were a dream in the sunshine. The summer temperatures were back, more than 30 degrees in the shade this morning. Both Ivar and Ken were determined to reach the top close to the seashore. The guide said that the view from there was fantastic and Ken was planning a nude picture set of Ivar at the very top. The height was similar to the place where Erik and Ken shot their Norwegian mountain photos but the climate and the temperature were very different; no snow or glaciers here, just a lot of red rocks.
Ken had driven the car all the way into the National Park even though there were warnings of bad mountain roads. The sports car had managed well, and now the two left the car for the climb. The plan was to reach Pic du Cap Roux, 453 meters above sea level. There were very few cars in the parking spot in the early morning so Ken asked Ivar to put on the new red sports thong he had bought him in the Cannes sex-shop. The tight pouch didn't cover much, and Ivar's round naked buttocks were a sight. He walked in front of Ken who struggled with two cameras that morning, both a video recorder and an ordinary camera. He struggled with a rock-hard cock too. The youngster in front looked like a naked Greek god.
"Spread your legs and bend over as if you are going to pick up a stone," Ken commanded and focused on Ivar's arsecrack and shaved love entrance. On the path in front he watched two young men walking downhill, but he didn't tell Ivar. He was sure they would take the situation with a smile, and so they did. With a grin one of them commented, "The only way of dressing in this heat." The two passed and went on.
After one hour climbing and no more meetings, they reached the top. The breeze made it quite comfortable, but Ivar was dripping with sweat and Ken was wet in his t-shirt and shorts. At the very top there was a built-up platform with a compass rose telling directions and distances to all main cities in Europe and North Africa. Ivar climbed onto the platform. The view was marvellous. To the south was the Mediterranean; to the north red mountains and valleys, to the east all the famous cities - Cannes, Antibes and Nice; and in the west St Raphael and Frejus, while on the other side of the bay it was possible to see St Tropez.
"Okay Viking, forget about the view for a while. Let's work. Strip that thong and show me the naked worship!" Ken was excited and so was Ivar. They could see some people far down but nobody near the top. Ivar turned his back to Ken and stripped, his mountain boots and his mum's home-knitted socks were his only clothing. Ken took pictures of him from all directions. The wind was teasing. Ivar's erection was growing. Soon he sported a boner harder than ever.
"Why don't you strip as well, Ken? You are piss-wet! Come here and show me the beach you promised me. We should see it from here, eh?" Ivar put up his hand for some shade.
"I'll shoot some dirty stuff first, okay? Just for your scrapbook. Put your head on the London sign and your feet at Cairo, lift your hips a bit and pretend to jerk that sexy cock of yours!" Ken instructed the more than willing Ivar. Ivar was both excited and horny so he could have ended the show with an eruption, but he had a better idea.
"Your cam has a self-timer, you said. I know we have no stand, but can't you use the stone over there?" Ivar pointed. "Undress and bend over it. You said fifteen seconds. I'll fuck you doggy before that!"
Ken had no possibility to test things, but he followed the porn instructor on the compass rose. He pressed the cam button, jumped up in front of the kneeling Ivar and gave him his arse. Without any preparation, Ivar put his cockhead inside the open hole and looked at the camera. A loud click told them that the picture was taken. They would not know the result of this porn-picture until the film was developed.
A barking dog entered the arena, and the hot guys dressed in a hurry. Ivar even managed to put on his shorts before a couple arrived. What they witnessed was two tourists, hot and sweating after the climbing upstairs. They smiled and greeted them with a wave.
"You see the huge rock by the road down there?" Ken pointed out. "There's a canon battery there from the last war. If you then look east, you see a lot of bays. We deserve a swim now, don't we boy?"
After a stop for picnic shopping, they reached the red bays. They found a parking spot beside the road and the railway, and they found the long stairs down to the stunning bay; red stone walls on three sides. The gravel beach kept the water crystal clear, and the place was sheltered from the wind.
"Is that the house you talked about; the house from my Spartacus Guide?" Ivar pointed at a ruin-like house on the top of the rock.
"Aye, that's the house, some heavy traffic there after dark I've heard! We can take a look inside later, but I don't want to climb more today. Maybe we could stop on our return, eh?" Ken went to one side of the beach. It wasn't very crowded. They had seen some German cars and an Italian one in the small parking area above.
Ken arranged towels and drinks and laid down. "I have to cream you up, boy. The sun is hard here and you are about to get red from the morning's climbing. The sun is on the highest now." Ken found a bottle of tanning cream.
"Okay that we swim first?" Ivar was stripping. "We need swimwear?"
"I'm not quite sure. There are a family over there, two young boys, probably German, but I guess they won't care. Your choice!" Ken was searching for his own small swimwear when a group of youngsters came shouting and running down the stairs. They were all in biking-gear. Ken and Ivar had met a lot of bikers on the road along the coast.
"They are Swedish!" Ivar told Ken. He knew the language. "And two Norwegians." He looked at the flags on the biking-shorts.
The group of young men used no time for preparations. They pulled off shoes and clothes and hurried naked and screaming into the water. Ivar smiled.
"White bums and backs and upper legs, and the heavily tanned legs and arms after days in the sunshine! Typical bikers!" Ivar grinned.
"And typical Scandinavians eh?" Ken pinched Ivar's naked butt before the boy accompanied the playing youngsters in the fantastic water.
French Riviera (2017)
Ivar stopped the car along the coastal road. The old house, or the ruins of the old house, now without a roof, was like he remembered from 42 years ago.
He grinned and looked at the young American backpacker who had hitch-hiked a lift with him that morning outside Nice. Ivar was on his way to a friend's 60th birthday gathering, but had decided to have an extra day reliving some old memories along this coast.
"I was an eighteen year old backpacker like you the first time I was inside that house." Ivar was about to open the car door. "You are too young for a dirty story, I guess, but I had a hot evening here!"
"Please tell, sir. I'm not as innocent as you think." The lad was enthusiastic.
"I thought all American youngsters were innocent these days," Ivar commented.
The house was different. The stairs to the attic had fallen down, and so had the door and the roof, but all the graffiti was there, and all the written dirty comments too. The house smelled like an old pissoir; a smell Ivar remembered from his last visit.
"It's a shame we can't go upstairs anymore," Ivar said. "Maybe the marks from Ken and I's cum dripping down the walls, would be there still, or the marks from the other couples in the orgy that night in 1975." Even though he would be sixty in half a year, Ivar's hard-on fought a fight inside his tight trousers at the thought of his last dayÉand nightÉwith the Canadian-French photographer he had met on the train.
"I have to pee," the young hitch-hiker said.
"Go on! Everyone marks this dirty house his property!" Ivar left for the car and waited for his young companion. His days of hunting the first and best youngster was gone, but between his ears and in his pants he knew when hot bait was near him, and his gaydar had told him immediately that this American was wetting in his pants.
"You have two choices, young man. You can leave here, quite easy to find cars at the next viewpoint." Ivar waited in the car. "Or you come with me to the small beach down here. I will go to Frejus, half an hour west, to see the Roman coliseum later on. I'll drop you there before I drive back west."
The choice was easy; Ivar got company at the red beach this time too. It took him seconds to undress, late September and very few people around. Ivar wanted a hard swim to test his muscles. He was still a man to admire; hard muscles, smooth hairless body, trimmed pubic hair and the 19 cm (7.5 inch) cock and hairless balls were still like a youngster's. The American lad struggled with a towel and huge, below knee-length swim-shorts. Ivar did not wait for him. He dived naked into the waves, and headed for a small island where he climbed a red rock. The American youngster was a good swimmer too, but he looked strange when he sat down beside Ivar. The long shorts seemed uncomfortable.
"Why do you wear that type of swimwear?" Ivar asked.
"I was taught not to show anybody my nude body," the boy replied. "At home in Texas, my father would have gone crazy and punished me if he had seen me strip in public. I've never seen him like you."
"You mean naked? "Ivar asked. "Don't you like your body? You seem to be very fit."
"MyÉpenisÉis too small, sir. Girls laugh!" The boy blushed.
"Show me, if you want to but I don't believe you. I see you tenting! Ivar teased, but in a positive way.
"You mean here, out here?" The lad looked around as if someone could see him. Nobody could. To Ivar's surprise the still blushing guy rose and stripped down his trunks. He showed off a cut dick, a bit smaller than average, but the situation made the youngster hard and his cock would be suitable for any purpose.
Ivar used one hand and squeezed the boy's 14 cm (5.5 inch) erection, smiled at him and said, "The girl that's not satisfied with that tool of yours have to buy herself a rubber cock! Put the trunks around your neck and let the Mediterranean water play with your boner on the way back."
Coming back to the beach, the lad did not dress. He had a comfortable rest close to Ivar and relaxed in the sunshine.
"You need some cream on your back," Ivar said. His voice was a bit hoarse. He filled his palm with sun-cream and started to cover the lad's body. The sound from him told that the service was welcomed. Ivar made some special attention to the round globes, and `the dirty old man' as his best friend at home would have called him, let oily fingers follow the virgin's arsecrack all the way down to his balls. The lad lifted his butt a bit and let Ivar continue. With one hand he caressed the boy's neck and shoulders; with the other hand he just very lightly let two fingers oil the hard balls from behind.
Suddenly Ivar heard a deep moan from the young man while he curled his fingers and his toes. The lad had a forceful orgasm by this light touching and let his boy-milk shoot over the bath towel underneath him.
Ivar did not want to embarrass the lad so he hurried up, jumped the few metres down to the water, and swam away. When he was back on the beach, the young man was dressed ready to leave and Ivar hurried to put his clothes on too. His semi-hard manhood had to wait for a release.
Two hours later Ivar waived to the young American. He had showed him the famous Roman ruins, and he had bought him a nice lunch of mussels at his favourite restaurant on the seafront in Saint Raphael. The hot time on the beach was not mentioned by either of them, but the lad had hugged Ivar tight when he thanked him for the lift and the meal.
Ivar speeded up the car and found the highway back towards Cannes. In a way he was happy that he hadn't done more than cream a young body, but his tight bulge was ready for more.
French Riviera (1975)
Ken was happy that the Scandinavian `invasion' had turned the beach into a naturist area. He combined his own pleasure in the water with photographing young Ivar naked in the most fantastic surroundings.
"I have only one spot left on my working note for today," Ken said when they followed the winding road west. "I want to take pictures of you in front of the Roman Amphitheatre in Frejus. We will manage that before we look for Will in Cannes this evening. You remember our agreement?"
"I remember, yes, and I hope to see him again. He is a hot man!" Ivar smiled. "I hope we manage to stop at the dirty house too!"
Ivar was a bit bored. He wasn't quite satisfied regarding the beach visit. "Too much work, and too little fun," he thought as he spread his legs and played with his bulge.
"May I fuck you in the Roman ruins, sir?" Ivar had read about the place being known as a cruising area in his Spartacus guide.
"You are a really horny bastard, aren't you?" Ken pushed Ivar's hand away from his bulge, and found his stiff young cock inside the tight shorts.
The Roman coliseum in old Frejus was much bigger than Ivar had imagined. But it was also more of a ruin than he had expected from the picture. A board outside told that heavy restoration work was about to start.
"Nobody here," Ken said. "And no gate. I think we must look for an opening in the construction fence. I really want photos of you here, both rear ones and some hot full frontals, if you agree," he added.
Ivar just nodded and together they entered without problems. From inside, the theatre looked enormous, and they saw what a huge job it would be if they really were to restore it to near its original condition.
Ken handed Ivar a long see-through scarf and asked him to pose. The lad was pictured with a toga that covered nothing and he was pictured as a naked slave. The whole event was done quite fast. Nobody disturbed them and Ivar had become very professional.
"Let's find the underground cells and the corridors where they forced the gladiators into the arena." The playful Ivar was not going to stop now. The sign "Attention Ð no entry!" meant nothing. Ken could not but follow.
At one side of the arena the cells were more or less intact. Ivar read later that some of the rooms had been used as prison during the Catholic Inquisition. Ivar headed into one of the cells, turned his back to the wall, and pretended to put his hands into the iron cuffs placed above his head.
"Punish me, master! Fuck me until I lose my mind!" Ivar shouted to Ken who followed with a huge grin. The naked, fully erect body in the dirty room was a sight. Sweat and dust made him look like the slave he pretended to be. Ken used the camera and tried to place it on the opposite wall. He stripped his clothes and blindfolded Ivar with his sweaty underwear. He also put some of it into his mouth. The Viking looked imprisoned.
Ken folded the scarf like a rope. The first blows hit Ivar's nipples, the second ones hit his balls, and the third round hit the iron-hard cock. Ivar moaned through the gag. The strokes had coloured his body, but he still was dripping hard. Ken went close to the `slave' and squeezed his balls and cock, and made him kneel. With a direct action, he pulled away the blindfold and the gag and forced his stiff cock into Ivar's mouth. Ken's average cock had a round and hard mushroom-like cockhead, and now he forced the cock down into Ivar's throat. Ivar gagged but took it, again and again. The cocksucker from the north managed well.
"Please fuck me now, sir!" Ivar was really begging. The situation and the hard treatment had pulled him close to the edge; a thread of slimy liquid dripped from his piss-slit down into the dust.
Ken hesitated. He had been Ivar's bottom for the last week, and was not familiar with a hard fuck as a top.
"Okay, I'll give you something to remember!" Ken placed Ivar against the wall, spread his legs, and gave his round globes some hard slaps with an open hand. The sound of the treatment echoed from the stonewalls. The Canadian looked very determined when he went to his photo bag and found a tin of lube. He also picked up a cone-like leather lens cap and greased it well. He put lube on two fingers and opened the waiting boy-cunt.
"Yes, yes. Stuff me, sir. Stuff me!" Ivar used his muscles and tried to suck the fingers inside. Moments later the lens cap entered him like a huge man-cock. The cap was really big, and Ivar asked Ken for some rest when the item was 20 cm (8 inches) inside him. Then he started to move, and Ken resumed fucking him, hard and direct. Ivar moaned and cried, and moaned again, and then with a roar that filled the small cell, he spat his white boy-cream on the stones in front of him. Threads of white and clear juice dripped down the wall.
Ken removed the strange dildo-like cap from Ivar and the boy turned around and fell on his knees again. Just some minutes later, Ken filled Ivar's mouth and throat with heavy spunk; a huge load after the intense day so far. Ivar swallowed the whole load. Some dripped from his lips, but Ken's tongue helped him to clean up the adult proteins.
The early evening visit to the scary house near the beach, turned out to be an orgy-like event with four couples involved, but both Ken and Ivar were pleased to fuck each other until they marked the dirty walls with the cum that was left in their balls after the Roman event.
"I don't think I can manage to meet Will tonight, Ivar. I have the early flight to Paris tomorrow, so I'm sure he will understand. You have a chat with him and get to know him better. He's a great guy. He will never do you harm. Maybe you even could meet him again before you go on further." Ken was driving fast in the dark evening. Ivar was too tired to listen, but the days so far, here in South of France, had been a fairy-tale event.
Will welcomed Ivar with open arms. He was sorry that Ken went straight back to Nice, but he promised to get Ivar back to the hotel during the night. He was to check out from the hotel the next morning, and Ken wanted to say goodbye before he went back to Paris.
"Thanks for the invitation, sir," Ivar said. "And thank you for the movie-visit yesterday. Something different from our local movie theatre at home!" He grinned.
"Well, it was special, and a very closed event, not usual even in Cannes!" Will showed the youngster inside. He was dressed in an elegant off-white summer suit. Ivar felt a bit lost in his mini shorts and cut t-shirt.
"Meet my darling sons!" He nearly pushed Ivar up to two identical younger men, both dressed in cut denim and open sleeveless t-shirts.
"Typical French! Hot as hell, both of them!" Ivar thought. He looked at the tanned, well-trained bodies; curly black hair, black armpit hair and dark hair at legs and underarms; two macho-looking youngsters. Ivar swallowed and gave them each a handshake.
"So here is the Viking prince Dad has talked about all day," one of the twins commented.
"He's always looking for new models, isn't he?" the other one added.
"I'm not a model, guys! Just a backpacker who wants to see your beautiful city," Ivar responded. He looked at Will who was handing him a glass containing an ice-cold cocktail. The drink was welcomed. Ivar needed something in his hands. He felt just very much on display just now.
"I've planned a small barbeque tonight. Why don't you use the pool before we eat? It's a hot night." Will was sweating in his formal costume.
"Come on, Viking! I guess you swim commando like all Scandinavians, eh?" The twins patted his shoulders and helped him through to the terrace and the pool. The pool was very private in a small, very green, garden.
The lads stripped before Ivar could answer. Two well-trained bodies with two tiny cocks. The lack of tanning lines told of nude days in the sun. The situation was a bit electric. The two did not jump in the pool. They waited to watch Ivar undress.
"I have nothing to hide," he thought. He undressed without turning away. Completely shaved after Ken's treatment, he was a contrast to the more hairy French guys. He saw Will grinning in the doorway to the terrace and he remembered the hot riding of his huge cock the other day.
"The twins haven't got your cock-genes!" Ivar thought. He felt that his own dick was stiffening and when he slowly stripped off his bikini underwear the devil had already shown his head. One of the guys whistled.
"Wow! No wonder dad had wet knickers!" The other guy grinned.
Ivar needed to cool down and dived into the pool, and so did the twins. The three had fun in the pool like old mates, swimming, diving, wrestling and groping.
A huge motor-bike headed towards Nice just after midnight. One of the twins drove Ivar back to his hotel. In the colder night he felt very comfortable with his arms around the hot body in front.
The macho-guys had left for the city just after the barbeque, and Will had companied Ivar by the pool and in his bed making him feel special. Ivar had ridden the grown-up man again; that seemed to be his favourite position. Will had told him that the sons were comfortable with his bisexual life, but that they didn't share his male interest. Ivar hadn't commented on that but smiled thinking of how both the lads had played with his iron-hard cock and his boy-cunt in the pool, and how they had used any opportunity to let Ivar squeeze their balls and their hard knobs. The two white eruptions in the pool had been the twins', not his. He had saved his boy-milk, hoping for at least two round later that evening.
"Visit us please, next time you are around. Hope Dad was nice to you!" One twin, still sitting on his bike with spread legs, very macho-like, gave Ivar a high five and speeded up his bike without waiting for a comment. The two waved to each other when the bike turned and found the way back to Cannes.
Ivar felt suddenly a bit lost when Ken had left for the airport. He missed the Canadian photographer and the missed the show he had been a part of. Now he was sitting with his backpack on a bench in Nice's Old Town. He had opened his Spartacus Guide. The intention was to go to London, but he hadn't heard more about his brother and the new ship. And he loved this part of France and wanted to stay a bit longer.
"Let me see if Davide is at work today," he said to himself. "No reason to sit here like I'm lost!"
Ivar found the private beach in front of the luxurious hotels. Davide was occupied with a group of old ladies, but he welcomed the youngster and found a beer and some snacks for him. Sitting down in the sunshine on the servant side of the beach restaurant, Ivar admitted that he felt a bit lonely, and that he wanted to stay in France some more days.
"This afternoon I will go home to see my old parents," Davide told Ivar. "They live in the countryside near Grasse, the perfume town. I'm sure you have heard about that area." Ivar nodded; another town he would like to visit.
"My old folks are farmers, growing salad most of the year, and of course they grow flowers for the perfume industry. I would love to take you up there for the weekend. Okay? Cheer up, kid!" Davide thumped Ivar's shoulder and was one huge grin.
Ivar was happy. The invitation was great. He left the rucksack and was to meet Davide at seven o'clock. His bad conscience had been the museums and a postcard to his mother and to his mate doing military service up north. Now he had the day for some culture; but first a huge portion of Spaghetti Carbonara and a carafe of red wine.
To be continued.