Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

The little group fell into a set pattern over the next several days. They would all be out on the beach in the late morning, with Eric doing his swimming exercise ritual, and four sets of eyes—those of Biddle, of course; Sir Reginald; Dr. Mueller; and Father Jacques—watching Eric closely and somewhat greedily, if guardedly. Both Hugo and Ingrid were buried in books most of the time.

All would go back to their respective abodes in the mid afternoon for siestas but would be back on the beach for a second round of swimming exercises and sighing gawking in the late afternoon.

Then during the night, Eric would slip out of the hotel and lie under the young, sexy American antique dealer in the flat above his shop, expending lambskins at an alarming rate.

On the fourth afternoon, though, Eric came out of the surf holding his arm and nearly close to tears. Hugo rose from his canvas chair and came down to the surf to meet him.

"He's scraped his arm on rocks," Hugo explained to the others when the two came back to the line of umbrellas. "He swam too close to the rock breaker wall out there to the north of the beach."

Dr. Mueller, full of concern, rose from his chair and went to Eric and examined the arm. "It doesn't look too bad, but it's easy to get infection from such cuts in this circumstance," he said.

Hugo turned to Biddle. "Is there a clinic nearby?"

"No need," Dr. Mueller interjected. "I had disinfectant in my room at the Grand. The boy can come back with me. What do you say to that, Eric? I will take you for an ice cream afterward, before we come back to the beach, if you promise not to cry at the sting of the disinfectant."

It was obvious that the doctor wanted to see Eric as a small boy.

An hour later, after listening briefly at the door of the doctor's room at the hotel, Hugo used a skeleton key to quietly open the door and slip into the room.

Dr. Mueller didn't see or hear him at the beginning. He was otherwise energetically occupied.

Eric was lying on his back at the foot of the bed, his legs raised and spread—his ankles in the grip of Dr. Mueller, as the doctor, naked, as was Eric, huffed and puffed at the effort of pumping Eric's channel with his hard cock. A box of the newly marketed rubber Trojans lay at his feet, packets of them strewn out on the floor.

Hugo cleared his throat, and the doctor whipped his head around in shock and fright, although he couldn't stop himself from continuing to pump. He was about to come and wouldn't be denied. He gave Hugo a panicked but greedy look and fucked on. Eric was gripping his hips on both sides with his hands and crying out for the doctor to finish him.

When he had, the doctor pulled out of Eric's ass and turned to the side, hunching in on himself and covering his genitals with his hands.

"I don't mean . . . I wouldn't . . . the boy was egging me on . . . I was just . . ." Mueller muttered incomprehensibly. His face was as red as a beet and the flush had spread over the rest of his pudgy torso.

He really looked pathetic. Eric raised his torso on his elbows and turned his gaze on Hugo.

"You were just introducing the lad to a new brand of French Letters? To disinfect a cut on his arm? But I think we can fix this. I think we can make an accommodation," Hugo said.