Chapter 2 – Chapter 2
The parade and the Carnival of Viareggio raucous celebration in the streets lived up to its billing. The Torre di Via Regia seaside promenade and Viareggio Avenue and the blocks off this parade-route were teeming with boisterous, mostly drunken revelers in every conceivable costume and, as the festivities chugged on, lack of costume that one could imagine.
Hugo and Eric were parted by a stream of revelers meeting a counterstream of revelers, all shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, moving in no discernible direction in the streets as the last of the parade floated by. The serious partying was starting now and wine was flowing on the promenade.
Eric could hear the noise of the celebration from only a short distance away from where he was suspended off the ground and pressed up against the wall of a shop in an alley off Viareggio Avenue behind a stack of wine casks. The sounds closer to hand were the grunts and heavy breathing of the devil pressing him to the wall and his own moans and groans as the buried cock of the man in the devil suit slid Eric's back up and down on the rough shop wall with the strength of the cruel upward thrusts in Eric's channel. The front flap of Eric's sailor trousers was open and slapping back against the wall between his raised and parted legs. His knees were hooked on the devil's hips, and his hands tightly grasped and then released their grip on the devil's biceps through the red velvet of the devil's suit, matching the rhythm of thrusts of the devil's cock up into his channel.
His head was thrown back against the rough bricks of the wall, and his mouth was open as he gulped for breath and moaned deeply.
The devil's hands were under the half tunic of the white sailor shirt and gripping the sides of Eric's torso as he lifted the small body and slammed it down on the up-thrusting cock. Lifted and slammed. Lifted and slammed.
The devil was muttering what a nice little piece Eric was, how tight his passage was, while Eric whimpered, "Yes, deeper, harder. Fuck me hard."
The noise of the crowd beyond the alley ebbed and flowed, but the pace of the cock thrusts steadily increased as did the intensity of the two coupling bodies in a mutual effort to explode, which Eric did first, with a little scream in unintelligible German, whereupon he collapsed in sighs and groans as the devil fucked on for several more minutes before realizing his own shuddered release.
When he was finished, the devil swirled away, leaving Eric in a sighing heap at the base of the wall, where two nearly drunk Italian fishermen revelers found him and each took their turn with him before staggering off, surprised as the fine little piece of tail had held his own with them rather than struggling.
When Hugo and Eric somehow managed to reunite in the milling crowd, slowly wearing down from the height of its partying, nothing was said about the short interval they had been parted.
Late in the night, when Martin Biddle had finished his inventory and redisplaying in the antique store downstairs, locked the front door to the shop, and mounted the stairs to his flat above the shop, he found Eric standing at the open wardrobe in his bedroom, fingering the velvet material of the devil's costume hanging therein.
"Where? How?" a shocked and confused Biddle asked.
"You were in the back of the shop and I just walked in and came up here without you seeing me," Eric said. "But do you really want to have a discussion at this moment?" He opened his other hand to reveal that he had found Biddle's stash of Sheik lambskins.
Biddle didn't see the need to discuss anything. He enveloped Eric in his arms, and while they were kissing deeply, he unbuckled Eric's belt, unbuttoned his fly, and pushed the young man's trousers down to his ankles. He went down on his knees and buried his face in Eric's belly, kissing and tonguing the young man's navel.
Eric placed his hands on the back of Biddle's head to hold the man, not much older than he was, to his belly. He gave a little laugh and murmured, "Eat me out, suck me. Fuck me."
With a low moan, Biddle palmed Eric's buttocks and closed his mouth over the small blond's cock. After a while, he turned Eric and stroked Eric's cock with both of his hands, encircling the young man's hips with his arms, and snaked his tongue into Eric's asshole.
The first fucking was on the bed, with Biddle sitting on the foot of the bed and holding Eric's wrists, as Eric's legs streamed out around and behind Biddle's hips, and his torso cantilevered out over the floor beyond the foot of the bed, giving him the aspect of a thrusting figurehead on the prow of a boat. Eric used the leverage of his feet to fuck himself on Biddle's cock, remarking that it was just like barebacking.
Biddle used lambskins precisely for that effect, but he wondered—with wonder—how the young man knew what barebacking felt like.
After a rest, their bodies entwined on the bed, Biddle pushed Eric over on his belly, wrapped an arm around his waist to bring him up onto his knees, mounted his hips from above, and fucked him deep and rapidly like a dog.
Eric demonstrated in no uncertain terms that he was getting exactly the attention he wanted.
As they cooled down afterward, Eric said, "I'd better go before I'm missed."
"How can you not have been missed?" Biddle asked.
"I have a separate room at the Grand," he said.
"Ah, then, it's still early," Biddle murmured, as he pulled Eric's rump into his groin, raised Eric's leg to give himself a better angle, and entered him strongly and deeply again.