To Die in Madeira

The young man was fumbling around in the pockets of Edgar’s trousers again and came out with Edgar’s wallet. Holding it up in front of Edgar’s eyes, he said, in that deep, mesmerizing voice of his, “If you have enough for me in this wallet, I come. If not, I don’t.” He put his hand in the wallet and brought out the banknotes and fanned them out. “You are in luck. You have enough for bareback even. You want that?”

Edgar wagged his head yes vigorously, and watched in fascination as the young man withdrew from him and rolled off the ribbed condom.

The young man fucked him hard, fast, and deep then for several minutes, while Edgar arched up into him, spreading his thighs as widely as he could to get the full effect of the skin stroking on his channels walls. The young man ripped off the ball gag just before he ejaculated, and they cried out in unison at the prolonged bathing of Edgar’s insides.

Edgar’s blood was chilled while the young man was freeing him, when he said, “You came by yacht, did you not? I saw you walking up the pier. You have a nice yacht, yes? You have a lot of nice things on this yacht of yours, yes?”

“Umm . . . I don’t . . .” Edgar murmured.