Chapter 5 – Chapter 5

On the next day Angelo fished to the north, and although it was not his evening to play at the café, he traded with the woman who usually sang that night and did his two sets. The American, Brett, didn't show up. Neither did the Greek shipping magnate, Doran Kokinos, or Guido, for that matter.

The following day, Angelo's boat went south, almost on its own volition, without Angelo willing it to do that. Guido's boat was still in the harbor when he left—as it had been the previous morning and in the afternoon when Angelo returned to Positano. The fishing had been very good, but Angelo hardly noticed that. His mind was completely elsewhere.

That night, when Angelo came from the back of the café to play his second set, the American was sitting at a table well removed from the small platform on which the musicians performed.

One of the waiters, a saucy, flirty little thing named Luciano, who Angelo had always thought was much too flamboyant in manner but who the solitary men tourists of a certain aspect seemed to appreciate, hovered around Brett's table. While Angelo was playing—although he was so tense and frustrated that he hardly knew what he was playing and singing—Brett pulled Luciano down into his lap for a few minutes, and Luciano squealed and pretended to be much flustered. But that little demonstration didn't last for all. All of the time he was manhandling Luciano playfully, the American was staring at Angelo.

After the set was over, Angelo came into the audience and sat down at the American's table.

"You came to the café," Angelo said, knowing it was an idiotic thing to say, but the American didn't seem at all concerned about opening the conversation.

"Yes, I couldn't stay away."

"The coffee is the best here for coming out at night."

"I wouldn't know. I came for the music."

"I'm afraid I didn't sing and play well tonight," Angelo said. "I was thinking. I've had quite a bit to think about."

"You sang like an angel—as always. I hope you were thinking of me fucking you. That's what I've been thinking of."

"You were thinking of fucking me when you were fucking Guido?" Angelo said, accusingly.

"Yes," Brett answered straight away. "I wanted to fuck you and you didn't let me."

Angelo looked away. He couldn't look the American in the eye. After a brief pause, he just shrugged.

"Now you want me to fuck you, don't you?" Brett said in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. "You came back to see if I would swim out to you again and you found me fucking your friend, Guido. Now you want me to fuck you on the beach like I was fucking Guido, don't you?"

Angelo just kept looking away and shrugged again. Brett had a hand on his crotch under the surface of the table. Angelo made no attempt to make him move it.

After a long minute, Angelo spoke. "There is a grotto—a cave—down near the water's edge at the rock outcropping marking the northern edge of the property you are staying at. Did you know that?"

"No, I did not. Is that a place you would like to show me?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"It's nighttime now. It's dark out"

"There are lanterns at the top of the steps down to the beach. My car is not far from here. I have a blanket in the trunk. And here, see, I have condoms in my pocket. What else do we need? And if the lanterns don't work, I can fuck in the dark."

"I have never . . ."

"I can be gentle. I will teach you. You know you want me to fuck you. You must trust me. Do you trust me?"

The American was only gentle at first, but once they were deep into the fuck, Angelo didn't care, and Brett was too intensely into it to care either.

The American stopped his car in the driving court of the villa and they kissed there. They also unzipped each other there and each stroked the other's cock, and Angelo gave no objection when Brett leaned back in the seat and moved Angelo's face to his lap.

"You'd best show me that grotto now," Brett said in a hoarse voice after they'd been sitting in the car for twenty minutes.

"On your hands and knees on the blanket," Brett had said when they'd entered the grotto and he had spread the blanket nearly to the edge of the tidal pool they had had to slither past to get to the rear, sandy-bottomed portion of the cave. He'd put the lantern down on the edge of the pool, and the reflected light on the water of the pool bounced off the uneven ceiling of the cave, sending undulating waves of blue around the small grotto. "You may rest your chest on the blanket, but keep your ass raised. Yes, like that."

He spent some time initially crouched behind Angelo, with an arm wrapped around his waist and palming his flat belly, while his other hand snaked between Angelo's thighs and milked his cock and pulled on and fondled his balls. The American's tongue mined Angelo's entrance, loosening and opening it to him. Angelo moaned and groaned at the attention in a volume that increased when Brett moved his mouth from the entrance to swallow Angelo's cock, which had been pulled back between his legs. Angelo's virginal cries of being sucked by a man for the first time reverberated around the small cave.

Angelo came down the American's throat, and started to collapse onto his stomach. But Brett held him in position with the hand palming his belly. The blond gave a low, guttural laugh. "No, this is the right position for your first time. You will be open, and I can fuck you deep. I will take you for a walk on the clouds now. God, you've got a beautiful body. And you taste sweet."

The American rose and covered Angelo's body close from behind in a crouch. Angelo cried out and writhed as the cock slowly entered him. And withdraw a bit and then invaded farther. Out and in farther.

"Shit. I don't think I can . . ." Angelo pleaded.

"Shush, shush, we're taking it slow. You're so tight. You didn't lie. So tight and so, so sweet."

Angelo whimpered and said that perhaps they should . . . "Oh shit, oh Fuck!" he cried out as Brett began a slow pump. And then faster and deeper. Faster yet. Slap, slap, slap, balls hitting balls. Angelo panting and groaning, his begging for mercy slowly transitioning into begging for more attention.

When Brett tensed and jerked, and came, they held for a moment, the American breathing hard and Angelo's wind hissing between his clinched teeth, his body jerking periodically in a dry sob. Brett slowly turned and rolled to the ground so that he was stretched out on his side and Angelo was cuddled into his chest.

"A few minutes, and they we will make love more than sex," Brett murmured.

Angelo wheezed his fluttering response of being overwhelmed and totally taken. After a bit, Brett raised Angelo's leg and turned toward him, giving his cock deeper purchase. The staff was hard again.

"Do you want me again?" Brett whispered.

"Yes, oh, yes," Angelo murmured.

Later, when Angelo was almost asleep, Brett pulled himself up—and then Angelo—and he supported Angelo with one arm and carried the lantern with the other as they mounted the steps up to the lower-level terrace.

"I'll just be a minute," the American said. When he came back, he was carrying four frosted bottles of Moretti beer. The two stretched out on patio chairs, naked, and watched the stars in the clear sky.

Half way through the first beer, Brett stood up from his chair and turned to where Angelo was sitting in his chair.

"I want to fuck you again," was all the American said. He reached down and gathered up one of Angelo's legs in each arm and raised and spread them. Angelo threw his head back and watched the stars over head and moaned, as Brett lifted his buttocks off the chair cushion, split his butt cheeks with a hard cock, and slow fucked him to a second ejaculation for the evening. Angelo clutched Brett's butt cheeks with his hands and groaned and grunted and begged him to fuck deep and to take long strokes. When Brett was done he lowered Angelo's body and returned to his chair and picked up his beer bottle and took another swig.

So, this is how it is, Angelo thought. How simply and natural—and satisfying it was.

Only when they were close to the end of the second beer each did Brett speak again. "You will be in my bed tonight."

"Yes," Angelo answered.

The beers finished, they entered the villa and Angelo followed Brett up a curved staircase of stone treads. This put them in a long hallway. Half way down the corridor, on the sea side of the house, a door was open and a soft light spread out onto the hallway floor. The two silently approached to pass by and Brett put a finger to his lips and gestured toward the open door, indicating that he wanted Angelo to see what was inside.

What was inside was a large bedroom, probably the villa's master bedroom, well appointed in rich furnishings with a definite masculine appearance.

Sitting on the end of the bed, showing to the door to the corridor in side angle, was the Greek tycoon, Doran Kokinos. He was naked. Short and stocky, with coarse features and covered in black curly hair, he looked almost like an evil gnome. But the whole package fit together as more solid than fat, even though he tended to the rotund, and there was no questioning that the man exuded power and charisma. Sitting in his lap, leaving no doubt that his ass was skewered on the Greek's hard phallus, was Guido, facing away from the Greek, the balls of his feet pressed into the thick carpet on the floor.

Angelo involuntarily sucked air when he saw the tableau. It wasn't because he was shocked at seeing Guido being lap fucked by the Greek, although that, indeed, was a surprise. It was because of what was sticking out of Guido's hard, erect cock. The end of a thin steel rod protruded from Guido's piss slit. The Greek was holding the young man's back to his hairy chest with one hand cupping Guido's chin. The Greek's other hand was manipulating the steel rod, revolving it a bit in Guido's piss slit and slowly pushing it in and then pulling it a bit out and then back in, perhaps a little deeper than it had been before. A rolling table had been pulled up on the other side of the pair beside their legs. Angelo could see that there were other, graduated in size, steel rods arranged neatly on the table top.

Guido was trembling and whimpering, but he wasn't objecting or trying to get away.

"It's a very delicate procedure," Brett whispered into Angelo's ear from behind. "It's incredibly sensual, but you have to hold perfectly still. The ultimate fuck. Being fucked in two holes at once."

Angelo shuddered. Brett was standing very close behind him, encircling his torso with strong hands. The fingers of one hand thrumming one of Angelo's nipples. "The rods are called wands," the American whispered. "The sex act is called sounding. Have you ever seen—?"

"I've never . . . even . . . . heard of . . ." Angelo answered in a low, stuttering voice that Brett would barely hear and that just sort of wafted into a silence that Angelo couldn't feel.

Guido gasped as the steel rod was completely withdrawn from his penis. Then he whimpered as the Greek's fingers picked out one of a larger size—and gasped again as it was being slid into his slit.

"You're hard again," the American whispered in Angelo's ear. "You like what you see. Maybe you want it too."

"Noooo," Angelo whined. But he couldn't deny he was hard again—from watching this act that he hadn't, in his wildest dreams—known existed. He felt Brett hard again too, at his back.

He didn't object as the American raised his torso with hands gripping his waist and settled his channel on a hard cock again. Angelo was suspended in front of the American who crouched down a bit to keep them in balance and then begin to slowly raise and lower Angelo on his cock as they both looked into the room.

Guido was receiving the fourth graduated wand inside his piss slit, when he began to moan more loudly and to declare that he was close to coming.

Angelo did come then himself, shooting out onto the plush carpet of the bedroom. When he looked up at the bed again, Guido was burbling cum around the sides of the buried wand and down onto this thighs. The Greek extracted the last wand and placed it carefully on the tabletop. Then he rose up on his feet, forcing Guido up on his as well, and Guido just bent forward, grabbing at his ankles with his fists. Holding Guido's hips in his hands, the Greek started to pump him from behind.

Angelo was too weak to move and would have collapsed on the floor himself if Bret wasn't holding him at the waist. The American gathered up the Italian youth in his arms, though, and carried him off to what proved to be his own bed in his own bedroom down the hall.