Bermuda Triangle

"A candidate for the Bermuda Triangle, might you say?" Dean said to Penn across the cocktail table. They were sitting at a window of the Splendor Lounge on the Champion of the Sea mega tourist ship on the first full night of its sail from Baltimore to Bermuda.

The two, both members of the ship's dance troupe were looking over a thirtiesh blond, well-formed, and obviously well-heeled hunk standing at the bar next to the bar stool-perching, equally matched blonde beauty in the minimal-coverage gold spangled top and miniskirt.

"Gotten particulars?" Penn asked Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said. "I've checked. They have one of the senior suites, and he's Samuel Heck of the Heck department store tribe."

Penn whistled. "So, a big fish."

"Yep," Dean said. "And I checked, because, maybe you didn't notice, but he had his eyes glued on the Viceroy Stage last night when we were dancing the muscle shirt number and his hand was in his lap working himself inside his slacks—only during the men's numbers, never during the women's. He's a closet brother if I've ever seen one, and I'm willing to bet his wife there 'don't know shit about that, honey.'"

"So, the Bermuda Triangle ploy, yes, I'd agree," Penn said. "The only question now is who's to make the move? You or me?"

"I'm best with a camera and you've been best with his type," Dean said. "So, you play lover and I'll do the clicking. Let's get over there beside them and start laying bait. If they open to us, I'll chat up the wife, and you can cut good ole Sam from the herd."

"Right, moving now," Penn said. "I don't think they've noticed us, so let's go out through the conference center and come in again through the front of the lounge and saddle up to the bar with them."

The ploy worked a charm. Penn and Dean bellied up the bar next to the Hecks and started talking about practice schedules, and it clicked with the Hecks that the two, young, very nice-looking guys at the bar with them were among the entertainers the evening before.

Happily, Susan Heck had taken modern dance—she certainly had the legs for it—so Dean slathered her up, using all of the butter he could churn out, while Penn had a more quiet, much more intense and pointed conversation with the mark. When Dean saw Sam Heck's hand go in guarded fashion to Penn's knee, he knew it was time to offer Susan a special five-hour beauty work over at the ship's spa on the ship's first day docked at King's Wharf in Bermuda.

Susan was ecstatic at the opportunity and left straightaway from the bar with Dean to check out the spa facilities and schedule her free appointment.

An hour later, when Dean returned to the cabin he shared with Penn, he found Penn waiting for him, all smiles.

"Is he hooked?" Dean asked.

"You betcha. We went almost directly to that men's room on deck four almost no one uses, and I gave him a blow job in one of the stalls. He's hot, hot for me and wants to go further."

"So, which location are we going to use?" Dean asked. "No problem when. As I think you caught, dear little Susie is going to be stuck in the spa for most of the first day we have on Bermuda."

"I think that isolated grotto at the south end of Horseshoe Bay will do just fine," Penn answered. "The light's good there."

Penn rented a moped on the morning the ship arrived in Bermuda, assuring Sam Heck he was an expert in puttering about and also that he knew a really nice, isolated spot where they could have a nice swim and snorkel—something to be able to tell Susie that Sam was doing for a couple of hours that morning on his own—and all the privacy they needed.

Penn was pleased to see that Sam Heck was virtually salivating over the prospect of what they'd really be doing. When they got on the moped, Penn driving and Sam nudged in behind him, Penn could feel the rising need in Sam's loins and felt the sexual heat rising off him. As they puttered along at Bermuda's 30-mile-an-hour speed limit through narrow roads, Sam had his hands on Penn's basket, working his cock hard through the material of his shorts and Speedo, in anxious anticipation. When Penn stopped at crossings, Sam kissed him in the hollow of his neck and ran his hands up under Penn's T-shirt and tweaked his nipples. Penn had no doubts at all that Sam was hooked and would give a highly photogenic performance as soon as he was given the chance.

Penn insisted they swim first, although all Sam could think about or talk about was fucking Penn. They wound up at a grotto-like small beach, enclosed on three sides by limestone rock formations, one of many such small, secluded spots along the Horseshoe Bay but one that was particularly hidden and almost never used to Penn's knowledge. They had arrived very early anyway, and there wouldn't be much of anyone on the beach at all until the afternoon.

Penn was afraid early on that he would lose control and the Bermuda Triangle ploy would go bust. They had swum out a bit, not far, because the water got deep quickly at that beach, and Sam had swum directly over to Penn and was holding him closely from behind, with one arm around Penn's chest and the hand of the other arm digging for his ass.

"Wanna fuck. Now," Sam was muttering. He had Penn, his legs spread and floating out in front of him toward the beach, lapped as Sam stood in four feet of surf, palming Penn's belly with one hand and fisting his cock with a hand running under the waistband of his Speedo with the other. Penn was enjoying this and didn't start to try to struggle out of the hold until the hand moved around his flank and into his crease. Penn jerked and gasped as an index finger breached the rim of his hole.

"No, not here, let's go back up to the beach," Penn cried out over the pounding surf. He was trembling and getting aroused more than he had anticipated. This Sam was a hunk—maybe even sexier than Dean was. Penn looked forward to the fuck, and Sam's fingers inside his hole were driving Penn crazy. He had been quick to offer to take this role with Sam because he had been drawn to him in the first place. He wanted the fuck.

He did manage to break away and head back into the isolated grotto, where they had stretched two large beach towels out on the fine-grained pink sand that Bermuda was famous for.

Sam had scrambled up behind Penn and tackled him at the edge of the towels, and the two wrestled playfully, working up their arousal to greater heights. Sam pushed Penn down flat on his stomach, saddled his pelvis on top of Penn's hips, and, holding Penn's arms down with his hands, began to mount the lithe dancer.

"No, no," Penn cried out. "I want to watch it stroke inside me. Here you on your knees, sitting back on your haunches, and me stretched out in front of you, with my ass cheeks on your thighs. Here in the sun, not in the shade. Yes!. Ahhhh . . . yes, Yess! Oh god, you are so big. Oh, god. Oh shit. Fuck me. Yesss. Fuck me!"

In a frenzy, Sam complied. Holding the more lithe Penn, with those firm and highly flexible dancer's legs, Sam pulled his lover for the day back and forth on his cock. Penn stopped the first fucking by ejaculating straight up into the air in an arc that could clearly be seen from the tops of the surrounding limestone formations. Then he pushed Sam onto his back, sucked his cock almost to ejaculation, and then fisted the hunk off so that he also spouted high into the air. After Sam had recovered and gotten hard again with the help of Penn's mouth, he doggy fucked Penn out in the sunlit center of the grotto until Penn spilled his seed. And as a finale and hour and a half after they had started, the flexible Penn rolled up onto his shoulders, his ass presented to Sam up in the air for a straight-down pile-driving fuck.

All of which looked quite convincing on camera, as Dean perched surreptitiously at the top of the limestone rock formation encasing the grotto and got pictures that left nothing to the imagination on what was being done in the grotto below and exactly who was doing it. This was one of Penn and Dean's favorite blackmail ploys that they had been working for two years on these entertainment troupe cruise liner runs from Baltimore to Bermuda. They certainly couldn't pay their rent on what the cruise line paid them; they lived quite well on entrapping and then promising not to tell on a series of well-heeled married cruisers. The three-way fuck—what they called their Bermuda Triangle ploy. The mark fucking one of them and then both of them fucking the mark.

Two nights later, while Susan was enjoying a follow-up free hair styling at the ship's beauty parlor and the cruise ship was on the return trip to Baltimore from Bermuda, Penn and Dean closed the trap on Sam Heck in his cabin.

Dean did the pitch. Penn was a little reticent about it. He'd really enjoyed the fuck and might have just forgotten about the blackmail part if Dean wasn't so insistent that they close it out. "So you see from these pictures, Mr. Heck, that it might be wiser if you . . ."

"Why the fuck would I care?" Sam said. "Frame them for all I care. Send them to the Baltimore Sun. It will only get you thrown in the slammer."

"I know you must be in shock, Mr. Heck, but I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. If Mrs. Heck were to . . ."

"Mrs. Heck? My mother's dead. Why should she care?"

"No, no. He means Susan," Penn interjected. Sam glowered at him and Penn shrank away in embarrassment.

"Susan? SUSAN?" Sam grunted out. And then he laughed. "Susan Heck is my sister, dimwits. I don't have a wife. Everyone knows I'm gay. And very good at it, right, Penn?"

"Oh . . . yes, yes you are," Penn said, floored.

"Oh, shit," Dean said, in shock. He was faster at assessing adding to a total than Penn was.

"And so," Sam said, with a big grin. "Maybe I'll just keep these photos . . ." and with that, he turned and popped the photos into the room's wall safe and clicked the door shut . . . "and then it's you two who are fucked."

Penn and Dean looked at him with panicked expressions.

"But maybe if you were really fucked, both of you, hard, then we could just forget this happened."

Dean yelped, as Sam lifted him off the sofa with a strong arm wrapped around his waist and slammed him on the bed and started reaching below his belt in the back, down through his crack, digging for his ass.

Sam had finished with a panting and moaning Dean and was mounting Penn from the raised rear position when Susan Heck returned from her hair appointment.

Susan surveyed the carnage on the bed and gave a little sigh and pulled up a chair so she could watch Penn get fucked at close range. She loved to watch men fuck. She did ask Sam what they were doing, and Sam answered that they were playing Bermuda Triangle, a three-way, with him king of the top. They both laughed at that. Later Sam would give her a bonus thrill by opening the safe when they were alone and letting her examine Dean's glossy photo shots from the Horseshoe Beach grotto.