Caught In Island Intrigue

Night had fallen and tiki torches were dancing their flames in the breeze from the sea as the two fucked on a lounge bed by the hotel pool. The young black, muscular stud, who said he was the tennis pro at a local club, was clutching Wade, the young, blond American, by the waist on each side, assisting in the fuck, as Wade rose and fell on the ebony god's cock in a cowboy position. As they fucked, the hotel barman padded out with two beers on a tray, set the beers down on the patio table next to the lounge bed, watched the fuck for a brief moment, and then turned and padded back toward the lights of the hotel lobby.

They had met on the beach near twilight, both young and body beautiful in contrasting skin tones, both in skimpy Speedos. Neither saying more than a few words establishing agreement and sensing what each wanted, they had kissed and fondled, reclining on beach towels, while watching the sunset. This area of the beach was a gathering place for gays, so little was needed in establishing preferences.

Wade let the tennis pro move his hand under the waistband of his Speedo, pull it down, and hook it under Wade's balls to play with Wade's engorging cock and balls. He even let the black stud lean over and taste his cock, but when a black hand went under the ball sac and the tennis guy put his mouth to Wade's ear and whispered, "I want to fuck you," Wade rolled over on his belly, forcing the black hand to retreat. Misinterpreting, the hand moved under the waistband in back, fingers going down into Wade's crack.

"No, I don't think so," Wade said, rolling over again and causing the black guy to pull his hand away.

"You don't take cock?" the black guy asked.

"We're on the beach. Anyone could walk by."

"I like to fuck in public and this is a hookup area," came the response. "And that wasn't a 'no.'"

Before Wade could answer again, the black guy was bringing their faces together and was taking Wade into a kiss. Wade gave a low moan, not just at the kiss but because a black hand was wrapped around his cock again. The hand eased up on the pressure, and Wade's hips were moving. His pelvis rocked up into the hand, his cock using the curled fingers as a sheath to fuck, while the kiss continued. The black stud came out of the kiss and looked down into Wade's face while he slid Wade's Speedo off his legs. Wade just smiled, not trying to prevent the loss of the bathing suit.

"So, it isn't a 'no'," the black stud murmured.

"It's not a 'no'," Wade answered.

"I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you, here, now, on the beach, in public."

Wade didn't answer, but he didn't stop the black stud's hand from roaming.

Having lost the Speedo, the black stud's hand slowly glided back up between Wade's legs, coaxing them to open. The hand left off that momentarily to stroke Wade's hip and to remark on how narrow the young man's pelvis was, as if, like others who had been with Wade, he was going to marvel at how taxing it might be to split the difference between Wade's hip bones with his cock. For some reason men liked to think they would be taxing Wade that way, forcing a passage open beyond its normal endurance. The mark of a real stud. Realizing that, Wade often played to it when a man was penetrating him.

"I'm going to fuck you. Now. Here." The tennis pro was more assertive. Again, Wade didn't contradict him.

His hand returned to the inside of Wade's thighs and Wade, having enticingly left his thighs parted, spread his legs further, bending them, and placing his feet flat on the sand. He lifted his tail in a signal of acquiescence. An ebony finger penetrated him again. Wade grunted and covered the hand with one of his as if to try to pull it away. But the black man persisted, pushing the finger in further. Wade gave a little moan and surrendered, his legs going to gelatin, quivering but still raising his tail in a "take me" position; his body relaxing and opening; his arms dangling uselessly at his side, as the finger started to move inside him, fucking him. Wade's pelvis rocked gently against the motion of the finger fucking.

"OK, then fuck me," he whispered. "But not for free. 50 euros. Not anything like I usually get, but it's the principle. I don't fuck a stranger for free. 50 euros and take me to your club and let me score with club members there tomorrow or take a hike. Make this worth my while."

Using the leverage of his feet, Wade raised his buttocks higher off the towel, taking two fingers deep, and the tennis pro reached for the clutch he'd been carrying with his free hand, extracted 50 euros, and placed them at Wade's elbow. He didn't leave and Wade stayed there, tail raised. The black pressed the heel of his hand under Wade's balls, a third finger penetrating and the three of them spreading, opening up Wade's hole. The black stud had obviously gone this preparation route before. His cock was mammoth.

Wade groaned and the black stud's face came back down to take Wade's mouth in a kiss while the fingers moved inside Wade's passage and Wade raised his tail higher and the black stud buried his fingers deeper. The stud's knuckles were rubbing Wade's rim. Wade rocked on them.

"You gonna try to fist me?" he murmured, pulling out of the kiss.

"Maybe," came the answer. "You want me to?"

"Not for 50 euros," Wade answered. Laughing, the black stud took Wade's mouth in his. Wade gasped through the lip lock as the fourth finger entered him.

He pulled away from the kiss and said, "Just a cock fuck. But not here. Come up to my room. In the hotel."

"Shit," the black stud hissed, but he was smiling.

"We can spend the night fucking there if you can keep it up."

"OK, but suck me here. For 50 euros you will give me a good time," he said, flopping over on his back, and raising his torso on his elbows. "I still like to do it in public. The risk makes me hard. Suck me here or take a hike." He laughed.

They both knew this was going the distance to an anal fuck.

"I'll bet that isn't the only thing that makes you hard," Wade said, readjusting his position. "Fuck, you're big," he uttered.

"That's why I have to open you good first."

Wade then showed that being exposed in public wasn't the only thing that made the black tennis pro hard. Wade sucked the black stud's cock, lying between the young man's spread, muscular legs, and working on deep throating him, as the black stud ran his fingers into Wade's blond curls, guided the American's head with his hands, and moaned his appreciation.

The tennis pro got more of what he wanted, though. They only made it as far as the pool terrace before moving on to the main event.

When the bartender was gone, the black stud rose, turned the two on the lounge bed, with Wade's head dangling over the end, looking toward the pool. Wade raised and spread his legs wide, and the black stud thrust inside him and started to fuck him in earnest. Wade turned his head to make sure the 50 euros he was being paid was still on the top of the patio table and then turned his eyes to follow the dancing light on the pool surface from the flaming tiki torches, as the black stud fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

Wade gave the tennis pro a good time, in keeping with his professional status.

* * * *

Antoine De Chastaigne, a forty-year-old French sugarcane planter from Le Vaucin, across the island of Martinique from the coastal town of Sainte-Luce, pulled his sedan up to the door of the Ti'Paradis beach hotel, twelve miles up the coast from Sainte-Luce, put his arm around the shoulder of the young, handsome blond in the passenger seat, and pulled the young man to him. Both of them were in tennis togs and were coming from a Sainte-Luce club, where the large, robust Frenchmen had narrowly defeated the younger, smaller, perfectly formed American, who was bumming his way around the Caribbean and going by the name of William Bendix, although his real name was Wade. The two had met earlier that day in the tennis club's bar, where Antoine had watched another club member intimately touching Wade before leaving him in the bar.

Wade wasn't a club member, but he had been brought into the club by the tennis pro.

Grasping and controlling the young American's head with a beefy hand, De Chastaigne, swiveled Wade's head around, leaned over, and possessed the young man's lips with his. Wade opened his lips to the invading tongue, signaling his surrender. The Frenchman's free hand wormed its way between the hem of Wade's T-shirt in front and the waistband of his tennis shorts to palm, briefly, the young man's flat belly. Then, as the kiss deepened, the hand slid down below the waistband. Wade raised his pelvis, pressing himself into the Frenchman's searching hand. Wade reached over and cupped the Frenchman's crotch, finding the rim of the glans through the material and pressing in where the bulb met the shaft. The Frenchman was in erection. He shuddered. Wade unzipped him and encased the now-exposed cock in his fist, his thumb returning to the rim where the bulb met the shaft. He moved the thumb around the base of the bulb pushing the foreskin further back. The Frenchman shuddered again.

"I have to have you," the Frenchman murmured.

"All things are possible," Wade responded.

The deal was sealed as long as the price was right. Wade's work with the cock made it more likely that the price would be fine.

Coming out of another kiss, De Chastaigne said, "I want to come up to your room."

Wade smiled and said, "That would cost you 150 more euros—up front." There already were 50 euros clutched in Wade's right hand, which he had pressed into the sedan's dashboard, holding himself steady in the kiss. The doorman, young, handsome, and black, was patiently waiting just outside the door, ready to hold it for Wade when he opened it.

De Chastaigne laughed, fumbled 150 more euros out of his wallet and laid the bills on the top of the dashboard.

"Room 18," Wade said. "Better zip up, though, before you park and come up." He reached over and pulled the zipper up on De Chastaigne's tennis shorts. Wade had already earned 50 euros by sucking the French planter off in the parking lot of the tennis club.

He opened the passenger door of the sedan and stepped out of the car as the doorman held it for him. "Thank you, Garon," Wade said and smiled. The doorman's eyes twitched but he otherwise was a nonseeing statue. He closed the passenger-side car door as Wade entered the beach hotel and De Chastaigne drove on to the parking lot.

Upstairs, having paid the price, De Chastaigne took command and dominated. He was horny and impatient. From the time he entered the room, he used his leverage as the buyer, the larger, and the rougher to manipulate Wade to his will. He crowded and manhandled the younger man, stripping him down, pressing him against the wall beside the door and kissing and roughly fondling him, until he had Wade naked. Wade tried to slow him down, but the man gave him a mean eye, slapped him across the face, and grabbed and squeezed Wade's balls, causing the young man to sink to his knees and to take the Frenchman's cock in his mouth again.

Wade took it like the pro that he was. And he didn't try to throw the man out of his room or call for assistance. This was all according to a plan, all business as usual in the high-end rent-boy profession.

De Chastaigne carried Wade to the bed; laid him down, butt on the edge of the foot of the bed; and sank down between his thighs. He placed one heavy palm on Wade's lower belly to psychologically hold the young man in place—Wade had tried to rise only to be slapped down again. The young man had only shown some contrariness because he correctly gauged that the Frenchman wanted some opposition to slap down, some sense of getting what he wanted by force—getting his money's worth. The older man grasped Wade's cock with the other hand and buried his face between the young man's butt cheeks.

Muttering, "Yes, yes, work me, daddy," Wade panted and moaned, arching his back, and throwing his arms out to the side, grasping wads of bedspread in his hands, as the Frenchman feasted on his hole and stroked his cock. "Oh, shit, daddy. Yes! You're an animal. Work me." Wade didn't have to pretend to like this. Frenchmen were masters of the mouth work.

The French planter worked Wade's hole and cock until the young man came and then he rose, grabbed Wade's ankles and raised and spread the young man's legs, thrust inside Wade's passage, and roughly fucked him to his own ejaculation.

"Oh, shit! Oh, Fuck! Yes, DADDY!"

Wade, bought and sold, manhandled and mastered, lay there, panting and groaning as De Chastaigne took his pleasure, slapped Wade on the buttocks upon withdrawal, pulled his tennis togs back on, and left the room.

A half hour later, showered, freshened, and dressed in linen slacks, open-toed sandals, and a gauzy shirt, open almost to his navel and showing the glitter of a gold chain on a tan, nice muscled, smooth chest, Wade walked into the hotel bar and past a desk attendant, who gave him a sharp look.

He eased himself onto a barstool next to a hefty black man in a well-tailored tan linen suit. The man was maybe fifty and just a bit pudgy, although he was well muscled. He also was ugly as sin and had three empty glasses in front of him. The bartender showed up with a fourth scotch, neat, and moved to take the three empties away, but the black man reached out with a beefy hand, decked out with three flashy rings, and stopped the removal.

"I want to know how far along I am," he said. The bartender grunted and moved off. He gave Wade a brief look and sniffed before he moved on. He didn't take a drink order from the young man.

"You have a goal?" Wade asked, giving the man a little smile and half laugh.

"Until boredom is forgotten," the man said.

"Didn't I see you in here last night?" Wade asked.

"I was here," the man answered.

"With a young man?"

"Yes."

"And he didn't help you escape boredom?"

"For a while, he did."

Wade could well imagine that. He'd looked down from the window of his hotel room between three and four that morning and watched the ambulance take the young man away on a stretcher.

"There's no need for you to be bored today," Wade said, boldly reaching out and touching the man's forearm. The man didn't withdraw from the touch. "Buy a boy a drink?"

The man signaled to the bartender, who showed up with a beer. He already knew what Wade drank.

"Are you staying at the hotel?" Wade asked.

"No. I have a jewelry store nearby. I come here to escape the local women trying to bargain me down."

"Ah, yes, women can be such a nuisance," Wade said.

"Yes, they can," came the response. "I much prefer young men."

"I'm Bill. William Bendricks," Wade said, putting a hand on the bulky black man's knee. "I'm American. Just roaming around, discovering the Caribbean, and enjoying myself. I'm staying here, Room 18."

"Alone? Are you here alone?" the man said. "I'm Pierre Cardiene. Cardiene's Jewels. Just down the road."

"And does Cardiene's have nice jewels?" Wade asked, moving his hand so that his index finger touched the man's basket. He felt movement there. "Yes, I'm on the island alone," he continued. "But I'm not always in my room alone. Sometimes I have company."

One of the man's hands slid into the opening of Wade's shirt and briefly palmed Wade's left pec. Wade didn't move away, so the hand slid down his torso to cupping his basket.

"Do men pay you to be in your room with you, Bill?" the man asked.

"Of course. That's part of their fantasy. Getting all that they want because they paid for it."

"All that they want?"

"Yes. I melt to a man who wants it all," Wade answered, giving the jeweler a level stare to ensure the man understood his meaning. Wade knew the man wanted to take his pleasure brutally.

"And how much does it cost for a man to be in your room with you, Bill?" Pierre asked.

"200 euros, up front. Room 18. Give me ten minutes before you come up. The man at the front desk is hawkeyed."

Wade really hardly needed to worry about the hotel staff. The bartender was right there, behind the bar, taking everything in.

"The staff here and I have an understanding," Cardiene assured him, reaching for his wallet.

Forty-five minutes later, Wade rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed. He briefly did an inventory of the bruises on his body, the worst being around his throat. It could have been worse—much worse. He had techniques to move a session from the beating to the fucking and he had successfully employed those.

He opened the nightstand drawer, took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and lit up. A naked jewelry store owner lay on his back behind him, on the bed, looking like a beached ebony walrus. He was stroking his unsheathed cock, having stripped the used condom off and tossed it to the side while he was still on his back. He was looking at the nicely tapering-down back of the rent-boy. Most of the now-bluish bruise spots were around in front. The sounds he had made in sex indicated that he had enjoyed the young, flexible, lightly tanned body of the Caucasian American. Wade, in turn, had been surprised by the vigor and staying power of the man. The jeweler reached over and stroked Wade's back, his hand gliding up to Wade's cheek. Wade winced as the man's thumb stroked the bruise under Wade's eye. The young man turned his face toward the hand, opened his mouth, took the man's thumb in, and sucked on it. Cardiene shuddered in pleasure. Wade knew men liked that touch.

The man's hands went to Wade's waist and he lifted and turned the young man. He wanted to fuck again. Wade took another condom packet from the drawer of the nightstand as he planted his knees on either side of the man's thighs.

"This one's for free," Wade murmured, "as long as you let me control." He knew men liked that too, taking it as an indication that the rent-boy could see them as a lover and not just a john. Of course, Wade only saw him as a john, though, but one who might pay to use him again.

Cardiene's cock was proudly erect, long and thick and throbbing, while Wade rode him in a cowboy fuck. The shaft deflated significantly after he'd shot off. Wade rolled off the man and sat on the side of the bed, staring at the door into the bathroom. Was he free to hobble into the bathroom, groaning at the damage the man had done with his fists while working himself up to fuck the first time? Was it over? Something inside Wade told him it wasn't. He turned and looked at the man stretched out behind him in the bed. He was working it up again now. Wade hadn't thought the man had multiple loads in him, but he was wrong.

Wade felt the mattress groan and move, as Cardiene sat up and moved to sit behind Wade, encasing the younger, smaller, trimmer man's body with his, Cardiene's legs encasing Wade's thighs, his arms encircling Wade's torso, his fingers working Wade's nipples, his face buried in Wade's neck, and his hardening cock and pronounced paunch pressing at Wade's lower back.

Pierre's right hand encased Wade's cock, and he was stroking the young man off as he kissed the back of Wade's neck. The young man looked down and watched the ebony hand, with the three elaborate rings, working his cock. The man was going to fuck him again.

"This one can't be free. Sorry," Wade whispered. There had to be limits.

"That's fine. I'll pay."

Wade liked that the man was giving him attention, and the blackness of the man turned him on, despite his heaviness. He felt himself hardening again. He could do another fuck. The man was fat, but not grossly so. He was strong and muscular too. And his cock hardened out to a good length and girth. Wade had felt it inside him. He'd been stretched and challenged by it. The man had stamina. Wade had ridden him for nearly twenty minutes in the cowboy session before Cardiene had shot his load.