Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

My banishment to Puerto Rico all happened so fast—too fast for the office branch in San Juan too. They didn't have any place to put me when I arrived from New York. And my position was so important that they refused to let me in the company branch until they had carved out a suitable office space.

So, the very day I arrived, the president of the Vado U.S. San Juan branch came to my hotel, all apologetic, and handed me a nice check and suggested that I disappear for a week and arrive all over again when they were prepared to give me a proper welcome.

There was no embarrassment over the check. I was used to being taken care of. There was slight embarrassment that he didn't seem to want any services for what he was giving. He was British, maybe in his late fifties, all tanned and lean and a full head of white hair. He'd come in his tennis togs and he moved around the room on the pads of his feet like a conditioned athletic. I found him attractive. I found older men more attractive than younger, as long as they were in good shape—powerful men both in presence and stamina. And experienced men. I liked to learn new tricks, to experience the unusual things that turned experienced men on—their fetishes. So, normally I wouldn't mind taking this man on for a couple of rounds—especially as he was handing out checks.

But he made no suggestions—didn't make a move. And I would have bet that he knew exactly why I had been sent down there so quick-quick. I was prepared to try out my new-found determination to save it all for April—or at least for a woman. But he didn't test my resolve. For some reason I felt deflated. I wouldn't have done it really. But I would have liked for it to be my choice not to have done it.

I cashed the check and consulted the concierge at the El San Juan Hotel on where someone could disappear on the island for a quiet, but pampered week of incognito. He suggested a small resort hotel high in the hills above the city, and within hours I was being taken in a hotel car up into the mountains.

The hotel car left me at the entrance of the Sao Paulo resort, and roared right off again, with the instruction to come back and pick me up in exactly a week. It had all happened so fast that I didn't even have any contact numbers with me down in the capital.

I was all alone—and out of sight and mind—for a week.

I did a three-sixty at the entrance, taking in both how beautiful it was, with its lush vegetation and its view, from the entrance down into San Juan and out into the surrounding Caribbean. Surprisingly the hotel seemed deserted. There wasn't a soul around—not even a porter to carry my bags in. So, I hefted them up myself and sauntered into the entrance and up to the reception desk.

The hotel was plush inside, but, as I had found outside, it was deserted. There was no one at the reception desk even. I put my suitcases down and did a circuit of the entry lounge. At the other side of a two-story open space, surrounded on three sides by a balcony, was a large expanse of glass overlooking one of those "disappearing pools," where the far rim of the pool was below the water level and spilled water down an escarpment into a recirculating basin, making the pool look like it was pouring its water on San Juan at the foot of the mountain.

As I passed by a stone-cold open fire pit in the center of the lounge, I heard the clinking of ice in a glass and looked under the balcony to my right to see that I wasn't really alone. A bar was tucked under the balcony and a lone man was perched on a bar stool and was nursing a glass of liquor. He was a near twin of the Vado U.S. branch president down in San Juan. Well-muscled and trim but white-haired and maybe in his fifties. Movie-star handsome and deeply tanned. He was in shorts and stripped to the waist. His chest and arms and legs were nearly matted with curly salt-and-pepper-colored hair. I liked a man with fur. The gray was only slowly working its way down his body, and I immediately found myself wondering what color his pubes were. And if he were cut or uncut. I preferred the feel of an uncut cock inside me. And I preferred bareback, which was often possible with the class of men I serviced. They regularly got checkups and expected medical verification of any male escort they were assigned.

I surmised he was a European by his bearing, but more French or Italian than English was my guess.

He smiled at me and tipped his glass in my direction, and I just nodded and moved on, although I felt myself becoming aroused. I hadn't been fucked by a man in almost two weeks and my resolve was beginning to crumble.

I went back to the desk, and after a minute or two, the man from the bar padded out and went behind the desk. He was very well muscled indeed. In great shape for his age.

"Yes, may I help you?" he asked. The smile he flashed me was all white teeth and interesting and it seemed interested. The accent was English. So much for my powers to discern one European from another. At least I had been able to gather that he wasn't American. Just too suave and self-assured for that.

"I'm checking in. The name is Cameron, Ty Cameron."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cameron. The resort is closed. Renovations."

"Closed," I asked, in surprise. "But the concierge at the El San Juan Hotel down in the capital made reservations for me."

"Nevertheless we are closed. But this is Puerto Rico. We are laid back here. If you don't mind being the only guest and are satisfied with the bare minimum of services—"

"No, that would be fine. I was looking to be a recluse for a week."

"There are only the two of us here now—just Rollo and me. The workmen won't show up again for more than a week. They should be here now, but I was informed they would not be coming today or tomorrow or the next day—but would do so in a week's time. That is the way it is here in Puerto Rico. But we will be all right. Some of the rooms are finished with their refurbishing, and Rollo can do anything. Anything, really," he said, and the look he gave me seemed provocative for some reason. "And he's a great cook. Alas, I am only the lazy, worthless owner."

"No that's fine. It should be quite restful."

"In that case, if you will register, please, and hand over your passport—sorry we have to hold it for our guests. It's the law here—I will go find Rollo and he will show you to your room."

When I had finished signing my name, I turned, and standing there was a mountain of a many from the Caribbean islands. Coffee colored, smooth-skinned, dreadlocks, built like a champion body builder, and with a white-teethed smile that reviled the one the resort owner had flashed me. Like the other man, he was only wearing shorts—and flip flops. My guess was that he was a good ten years older than I was too. But he was a beautiful specimen of a man.

"I am Rollo. If you are ready, I will take you to your room now."

My internal response was that Rollo could take me anywhere, any way he wanted me. But then that resolve of mine to stay true to April entered my mind again, and I mentally said "down boy" to my hardening cock.

"And I am Paul. I named the resort after myself because I'm such a saint," the resort owner said—and he said it with a silly little grin on his face. "With only the three of us here, there is no reason not to be on intimate relations."

I supposed he didn't mean for that to sound as it did, but it gave me a lurch of arousal anyway.

As I followed Rollo up the stairs to the balcony, I watched his two bulbous butt cheeks roll and bounce against each other, and I was sure he wasn't wearing any briefs.

He took me to a fine room overlooking the pool and San Juan below, with a four-poster bed and all done in white muslin. The bathroom was marble and the tub had room for all three of us—or at least that was my first thought. I'd had no intention of going into heat like this, but my best of intentions had always been a bit fleeting.

When he had set my bags down, handling them effortlessly like they were feather pillows, and had done the usual bell hop's circumnavigation of the room opening curtains and showing me what worked what, he turned and smiled. "Is there anything else I can do for you . . . Ty . . . anything else at all?"

"No not now, thanks," I said—even though it wasn't what I wanted to say at all. I had noticed before that he was studded. He had a stud in his tongue I'd never seen before and I had no idea how he managed to eat with it. It was a small ball, but it was on a stem protruding from the center of his tongue—sticking out a half inch or more. And he had rings pierced at both of the nipples on his heavily muscled chest. I immediately found myself wondering if he had a cock stud or ring too—and, if so, how big—how well I could feel it if he fucked me.

I came back from the reverie in embarrassment and found that he was still standing there, expectant and smiling.

"Oh, sorry," I said, and I started rummaging around in the pocket of my trousers for a tip.

"No need for that, mon, thanks. We are on first-name basis here and the resort isn't open. You may find another way to show any appreciation you have for me, assuming you still want to after you've tasted my cooking."

Then he laughed and was gone.

It had been a long, dusty ride up the hill, so I immediately stripped and showered and then dried off with a giant-sized Egyptian-cotton towel and padded out to the king-sized four-poster bed and laid down. I went to sleep almost immediately. When I awoke, I was surprised to find I had been so tired I'd just laid down on the bed in the nude.

Then I realized that what had awakened me was the sound of sex. I rose from the bed and padded over to a set of the full-length French doors that served as the room's windows and looked down into the pool area.

Rollo was on his back on the diving board and Paul was straddling the board with his legs and fucking Rollo in long strokes with a cock that dug forever. Rollo was in full arousal too, and his cock rivaled Paul's. However, it was special, in that, in contrast to the milk chocolate of his body, his cock and balls were jet black. And, sure enough, there was an extra thick Prince Albert ring piercing the cock head.

I don't know how long Paul had been fucking Rollo, but it went on for an impressively long time even after I started watching. I found I couldn't pull my attention away from what was happening below my window, and it was only when Rollo looked up and surely smiled that I realized that I was in full view and was stroking myself. I withdrew in embarrassment of having been found playing the voyeur.

I remained in my room for the rest of the day—taking another nap after I had masturbated to the image of Paul fucking Rollo. Dinner was delicious that night. We ate by candlelight beside the pool, with Rollo joining Paul and me after he had cooked the meal. Both men were fully dressed now, but in light cotton that enhanced the sexiness of their bodies.

The conversation was pleasant, but neither alluded to what they had done that afternoon or what I had seen. Neither did either make any provocative moves toward me, which I found both disconcerting and arousing in itself. When I went back to my room that night, I stripped and, after my shower, laid on the bed. I assumed that either Paul or Rollo would visit me, and any resolve I might have had not to entertain either of them—or more provocatively—both at once, which was a fetish I myself enjoyed, was gone. And not just a threesome, but two cocks inside me at once, the three of us working as one for a shared orgasm. I didn't know that I could recall taking two huge cocks like these men had at once, but, despite all the planning I had done on learning from my mistakes in New York, I ached for a trial of it with these two men.

But no one came that night.

By the morning, I was ripe for the taking—to the eventual enhanced arousal of all.

I woke with a rap on the door—alone in my bed—and found a breakfast tray waiting for me just outside the door. There was a card on the tray which said, "It's a fine day; a great day for a visit to the pool." I had found a couple of fluffy pool towels under the breakfast tray.

After I'd eaten and showered and shaved, I rummaged around in my luggage for my Speedo and the novel I was reading, grabbed my sunglasses, slipped on the bathing suit, and descended the stairs into the empty lobby and walked out to the pool. Only one lounger was now beside the pool, up close to the diving board, so I opened one of the towels out on that and laid down.

Within minutes I saw Paul moving through the lobby and toward the pool. He was naked and he was magnificent. He came out onto the deck and climbed agilely onto the diving board, strode rapidly down the length of the board, and performed a perfect dive into the pool. He then proceeded to do laps at a fast pace.

I was watching him so closely that I barely noticed Rollo coming out to the pool as well. He too was naked, his ringed cock swaying rhythmically against his thighs as he strutted. He was holding a tray with a drink on it, which he set down on the small table beside my lounger. Then he stood over me, his cock swinging freely above my head.

"I saw you yesterday. In the window," he said matter-of-factly. "You fuck men, no?"

"Usually they fuck me," I answered.

"I may make love to you, yes?"

"Yes."

"I try to be careful," he assured me. "You're so small and I am so big. I'll try not to crush you and if you cannot take me when we get to that point, tell me. I do not want to split you."

"You'll be surprised," I answered. "I can take you and Paul both—at once."

His eyes lit up in arousal at that, and he licked his lips. And I could see his cock swelling even further too.

"Ah, you are like a boy. So small and delicate—but perfect just perfect," he murmured. "Are you sure—"

"Yes, I'm sure," I declared. And I could see him trembling with arousal and anticipation.

He moved to the bottom of the lounger and gently took my thighs in his beefy hands and pulled me down to where my butt was nearly even with the bottom ridge. Then he took the second towel I'd brought out, folded it to make it into a cushion, and laid it on the patio tiles at the base of the lounger and knelt on it. He reached up and pulled my Speedo down and off my legs with both hands. He cupped my buttocks and brought my hole to his mouth and started a long session of rimming my hole that not only opened me up nicely but had me moaning and begging for him.

"You are so nice," he whispered. "Your body, it is small. But your cock. Such a nice size, and so long. Nice balls." He drew the latter into his mouth and started to hum and the resonation was driving me silly wild. He pulled away from them and his tongue went back to my rim.

"Please, please fuck me," I moaned. But he ignored me as if I hadn't asked for it.

"Ah, yes, I see, it blossoms like a cavern. Rose Cavern," he muttered. And then he laughed, a deep, hoarse laugh. I raised my pelvis and put it into a slow rolling motion as he inserted first one, and then two, and then three fingers. We both sucked in our breath and moaned as I felt the knuckles of his hands at my rim on all sides, and I relaxed my channel, preparing for feeling his wrist there and the spreading of my channel deeper inside by the rest of his hand. But his hand wasn't sufficiently greased and he was impatient for other pleasures, so he stopped with a grunt of "Later. Save for later."

He withdrew his hand and his lips and tongue went back to rimming me. He sighed as I opened even more.

I hadn't noticed when I'd laid down on the lounger, but now I saw, as he finished rimming me and looked up over my heaving belly with a smile that there were restraints at the four corners of the lounger.

Rollo pulled one of these up and showed it to me and said simply, "May I?"

"Whatever you want. As long as you fuck me," I said in a hoarse whisper. "I want to feel that thick cock ring of yours inside me."

"Oh, I will. In more than one way. You like this toy of mine?"

I sighed a yes, and he rubbed his cock tantalizing along my inner thighs, running the warm metal along tender skin. I moaned and reached for him, wanting to draw him inside me there and then. But he laughed and pushed my hands away and took my wrists in a firm grip and started guiding them above my head. He did, however, move his cock head into position at my hole and give me the feel of the ring rubbing in circles around my entrance.

"For now the restraints will be good," he said while I was hyperventilating at the feel of his cock at my entrance, wanting it to plunge inside me. "What I do now, it will be dangerous for you to move too wildly. And I think it will make you wild, yes."

I didn't know then what he meant. But I was melting at the prospect of whatever it was—and I soon found out.

He pulled my arms over my head until my wrists could be secured to the top corners of the lounger. And then he secured my ankles to the bottom corners.

I thought he would thrust that huge, ringed cock in my widened and pulsing hole then, but he didn't. I saw his smile come up between my legs and his hands to my cock. His mouth opened, and I once again saw that gold ball thrusting out of his tongue on its stem. And then, as he closed his lips over my cock head, I found out what the tongue piercing was for.

The small ball searched out my piss slit, and then it was entering me there, the stem allowing it to bury itself nearly an inch inside my urethra. And then he was fucking my cock with his tongue stud. Pushing it in and pulling it out of my piss slit and pushing it in and pulling it out. And I was crying out and writhing and straining at my bounds, all the while trying to keep my pelvis steady for him. And coming again and again and again, as he let me briefly rest but then piss slit fucked me again. Until I had no more cum to give.

While this was going on, I looked over at the diving board and Paul was sitting there, watching us and stroking his own cock.

Only after I was exhausted and whimpering did Rollo stand and laugh and then enter me with his fat cock and punish my walls delightfully with that thick cock ring. Sliding in and out, giving me waves and waves of pleasure of thick metal rubbing across channel walls. He muttered in surprise when he entered me and felt my channel taking him tight, which was yet another secret I had learned in my business. He took me bareback, and when he came, he gushed deep inside me. I enjoyed Rollo immensely—and in the main because of the dance of fucking he did between my legs complete with the view of the undulation of his beefy muscles and the rhythmic swaying and tinkling music produced by his beaded dreadlocks.

He left me and exchanged places with Paul. Paul released the bounds on my wrists and ankles—but only long enough to turn me over on my belly. I was too weak and satiated to even think of putting up a struggle. He bound me again and Rollo handed him a rolled up, thick towel to wedge under my belly. And then he straddled my thighs with his and thrust inside me, bareback, as Rollo had done, and fucked me. At first he kneaded the muscles of my back and arms and his cock took on the rhythm of the soft, rolling gait of the massage, but as his own heat deepened, he stopped massaging me and went to fucking me hard like a dog.

He moved a hand around my thigh and milked my cock until I was almost ready to come again, and then I felt his hands at my throat and his fingers digging into my flesh, seeking out my windpipe. He brought me to the edge of his ejaculation and my unconsciousness three times before he released his load deep inside me, while I simultaneously experienced that fullest release of my own that morning . . . and . . . blacked out.