1 comments/  37323 views/  2 favorites

Key Westing Ch. 01

By: sr71plt



It was snowing in Washington, D.C., and after battling skidding cars on the Beltway for an extra two hours trying to get into work, I suddenly decided that it was time for me to head someplace sunny. It was my lucky day after all, because when I hit the office, everyone was in an uproar about reports from Havana that Cuban dictator Fidel Castro once more was on his deathbed. Bad news for Fidel and great news for me. I was a Caribbean and Spanish language specialist and, within hours, I was flying off to our little unit on Key West, the last of a chain of islands dribbling down from Florida toward Cuba.

I was able to hold on to my "put-upon" stoic face in negotiations with my employers over the short-notice, unknown duration assignment to negotiate four days of expenses-paid vacation time on top of the news media death watch on Castro no matter how long it lasted. Time away from snow-clogged Washington at the gay capital, warm, and sunny-beached Key West. How could I have been so lucky? And to add to that, when I called my significant other, Brian, he jumped at the chance to join me on the trip. So, I slogged back to our apartment, and we threw our skimpy Speedos into a suitcase, and we were off.

If I thought it was going to be a few hours during the day monitoring the Cuban media and then afternoons on the beach and nights in bed with Brian, making wild love, I was shortly to be disabused of that dream. No sooner had we checked into the gay-friendly Atlantic Shores Resorts, within steps of the naval air station that hosted the unit where I was to work, then I was off to work and Brian was off to the Duval Street bars. For two days, I was chained to radio and television receivers for double shifts and returned to the hotel room only long enough to catch a few hours of sleep—alone, because Brian wasn't there either of those days. He obviously had found the Key West night life much to his liking.

The third morning, I was hurrying out to work as Brian was just dragging in, all disheveled, but with a sloppy grin on his face. I knew that expression; he'd been fucked hard and well.

"Hi there, Estaban," he said with a weak wave of his hand as he headed for the bed I'd just vacated.

"How nice of you to put in an appearance, Brian," I said, all of the frost of the distant Washington in my voice.

"Ah, man," Brian said, as he settled into the bed. "You oughta get some time off and go bar hopping with me. This place is a candy store of male pussy and hot cocks."

"I can see that," I said, my voice dripping icicles. "Your eyeballs are swimming in semen. I do so hope you continue to enjoy your stay on my nickel as I work my ass off to earn that nickel."

"Geez, Estaban. It's not my fault they've tied you to the job. When Fidel has kicked off, we can party straight for days. I'm just checking out the best places to do that."

"Well, if you didn't check them out so enthusiastically, maybe you'd be home in bed waiting for me one of these nights and we could at least do what we were doing in Washington. I didn't come to Key West to stop having sex, you know."

But Brian didn't have any response to this. Not because he wasn't capable of snappy banter but because he was already snoring away in the bed.

That night when I dragged back to the room, the lights were off and I assumed that Brian once more was out all night at the bars. But when I opened the door and the light from the hallway dimly outlined the bed, I saw something stirring there. So, at least he was home. But he probably was in a drunken sleep and would be no good to me tonight. And I badly needed some stroking tonight.

But before I could get the door closed behind me and turn on the light, I saw a torso rise up in the bed—and it wasn't Brian's. It was some heavily muscled and tattooed dude, whose naked butt was undulating up and down against another naked body stretched out underneath him, belly to bed. I recognized Brian's cries and grunts and groans of passion. The guy on top turned his torso briefly toward me, checking out where the light from the open door was coming from, and I caught the gleam of eyebrow, ear, nipple, and navel piercings in the reflected light. He saw me, but he said nothing and just swiveled back around and pumped his cock down in long strokes between the ass cheeks encased between his knees. So, at least Brian was home, but he was a little busy now—being fucked by some leather man he'd picked up in a bar.

I shut the door and just sort of collapsed in a chair by the window, listening to Brian's panting and moaning and cries of ecstasy at the stroking he was receiving.

I was so exhausted from the monotonous Castro death watch, during which Cuban media wasn't broadcasting anything even half way of interest to the U.S. government, that I dozed off while sitting in the chair. The first thing I became aware of were two hands gripping the sides of my head, and Brian's visitor leaning down into me and giving me a deep, probing kiss. I discovered that he had a tongue stud along with his other body jewelry, and he was searching the tender inner linings of my cheeks with that. He sat down on my thighs, his legs encasing mine. He unbuttoned and spread my shirt open, and I felt the cold metal of his nipple rings as his chest rubbed against mine. His engorged, moist cock was pushing into my belly, and I discovered he had jewelry there too, a heavy Prince Albert cock ring pierced his mushroom cap.

I had never fucked on the wild side before, and a little thrill of a chill went through my body at these new sensations of touch. Tired and half dopey as I was, I took a bulbous butt cheek in each of my hands and pulled the leather stud into me, inviting him to make love to me.

And make love to me he did. He swayed in my lap, rubbing his torso against mine. I heard the unzipping of my pants, and he pushed the rim of my briefs under my balls and docked our cocks together. Neither of our dicks was something to sneeze at, although his was thicker than mine.

Then his knees were up on the arms of the chair and he was rubbing his cock, with the heavily metal ring, against my nipples. He pulled my shirt up and off my back and threw it aside, and then he was slapping his dick on my chest and into my arm pits—and then on my cheeks and forcing it between my lips. His Prince Albert punished my tongue and the roof of my mouth as he forced himself farther into me. He was so big and insistent that I could hardly keep from gagging, but I managed to deep throat him, and he was moaning his approval.

I felt a soft mouth come down over my own cock, a familiar mouth, and I knew that Brian had brought his head in under the leather stud's butt and had joined the party.

I assumed I would get the leather guy off in this position and Brian would get me off, which was not an unpleasant prospect, but I was wrong in that. The leather guy pulled his hard cock out of my throat, stood up from the chair, and pulled Brian back up on his feet. He had Brian roll a condom on his cock and then the two of them pulled me up from the chair and carried me over to the bed and forced me down on my belly. Brian came at me from above me, pushing his knees and thighs under my chest, and taking my head in his hands and forcing his cock into my mouth.

The leather stud was below me, tonguing and kissing my butt and then working his fingers in with some KY. He picked up two pillows and stuffed them under my belly, which lifted my butt at an inviting angle, and then he was pushing that thick cock of his into me. I tried to cry out my pain at the invasion, but Brian held my mouth firmly over his cock. I felt the Prince Albert ring rubbing the walls of my ass canal through the thin sheath all the way inside me. I was panting and trembling when his cock bottomed out inside me. And then he started to ride me hard. Stroking in deep and withdrawing nearly to the rim and then plunging in again and again and again. I grabbed around Brian's hips with my hands and grasped the brass slats of the headboard and held on for deep life. My head arched up off Brian's cock and I howled to the ceiling, but Brian just pushed my mouth back down on his cock.

I soon accommodated the leather stud and started to pump my pelvis back into him with the rhythm of his stroking. Brian and the leather stud with both grunting and groaning from the exertion and they came fairly closely together, Brian in spoutings down my throat and the leather dude by pulling out of me, jerking the condom off and spilling out across my back. The leather guy moved his pelvis up the small of my back, rubbing his cock through his spilled semen, and he and Brian kissed deeply.

The leather guy then disappeared from the picture and Brian turned me over and straddled my hips inside his thighs and brought his asshole down onto my cock. He rode my cock bareback in a familiar favorite coupling position of ours until I came deep inside him with a tired little sigh. Leaving me inside him to go tumescent, he then stretched his body down on top of mine and we slept.

I awoke the next morning on my side with my butt nestled into his crotch and his cock slowly stroking in and out of me in a side-split. There was no evidence of the leather stud, and for all I could have proved, that whole scenario was an exhaustion- and frustration-induced dream after I had dragged in from a double shift over at the naval station and fallen asleep in this bed.

Needless to say, I was late to work that morning, but satiated and a good mood for the first time since we had arrived in Key West. My good mood was to blossom, because a dapper-looking Fidel Castro went on Cuban national television that afternoon to claim he'd been out of the country on a secret meeting with the Nicaraguan president for the previous week, and Washington once more called off the Fidel death watch. I was free now to check out Brian's research of the gay clubs and bars of Key West and to find a nice sandy beach on which to dream of the snow drifts plaguing Washington.

Key Westing Ch. 02



"No, not what you're wearing. Wear these."

"God, I can't wear those, Brian. I'd be a walking advert for 'Just bend me over and fuck me,' if I wore those downtown this evening."

Brian just gave me a hard stare. And of course he was right. After three hard double-shift days of work, that was exactly what I was going down to Key West's Duval Street gay strip to do—to get fucked. I took the mesh bikini briefs, the fishnet muscle shirt, and the tight low-rise jeans from him and struggled out of my preppy clothes and into my "fuck me" clothes. Brian, of course was already decked out in his silver chain-mail mesh pullover shirt over gauzy white cotton pants. We were both wearing thin leather-strip sandals, happy to let our toes breathe after weeks of snowboots in Washington, D.C. I thought feet were very sensual, and I liked to show mine off.

We started the evening at Saloon 1 on Petronia Street, which I thought was a bit too leather and rough for the beginning of the evening. But Brian was three days ahead of me in checking out the extensive local gay club scene, so I just followed his lead. The stud who had fucked us both the night before in our hotel room, who turned out to be named Flash, was there and was looking mighty fine. He wanted the three of us to go right back to our room for an encore, but the evening's adventure was just starting for me, and I said, "thanks but no thanks—at least not this early in the evening."

Brian was the forward, friendly type, and I could tell that he was ultra horny this evening, so I wasn't surprised that he let any of the guys buzzing around us feel him up. I didn't want the evening to end so fast with a rough gang banging, though, so I managed to extract him from Saloon 1 and get him moving toward the next club on his list.

We were back on Duval Street, and Brian pulled me into the Bourbon Street Pub. There were soft-core porn movies flashing on screens within sight of every nook and cranny in the dimly lit main room, the music was loud enough that my ears throbbed to the heavy beat, and heavenly barely legal young men in thong bikinis were playing poles at intervals along the top of the long bar. Brian was immediately surrounded by virile studs who he obviously had met and been very friendly with in earlier visits to the establishment, and he was quickly busy doing a lap dance on the crotch of a beefy Jamaican dude in baggy shorts and nipple rings who was perched on a bar stool.

I moved on down the bar and bantered briefly with a succession of muscle men on the make, all of whom seemed interested in what I might be interested in. I was still shopping, however. And I was enjoying the scenery working the poles on the bar top as well. One lithe young flaming redhead with good muscle tone and even better flexibility on the pole caught my eye, and I sat on a stool right under him and drank him in for two beer's worth of time.

After a while, I felt two muscled arms coming around on either side of me and nice big hands clamp down on the edge of the bar, encasing me but not too close. A rich baritone of a voice spoke into my ear, cutting through the noise of the music.

"Like him?"

I assumed he was talking about the dancing youth on the bar in front of me.

"Uh huh," I answered—because I did, indeed, like him very much. I usually wasn't in to barely legal guys, but this one had such a nice smile and clean-cut appearance. There was an air of vulnerability about him that made me want to just hug him and kiss away any of his fears—and then give him a few new fears to think about.

"He's mine," the voice answered. "But I might be willing to share."

I looked around at the source of the voice then. He was a handsome devil. Appeared to be in his early forties, but he was in great shape. Like the Jamaican, he was only wearing baggy shorts, which I was beginning to realize was the uniform of choice in the Keys, but no nipple rings here. He looked like a sleek CEO of a corporation, all blond, tending now to gray, and smooth and well-conditioned hard bodied. And if he owned the guy undulating around the pole, I guess he could have been a CEO of a corporation.

The guy was talking to me, and I had to make him repeat what he was saying because of the noise in the room. "Let's the three of us go downstairs and watch the pile for a while. It's time for Jamie to come off the pole, anyway, and it's getting a little crowded and noisy for me up here."

"The pile?" I asked. "And, pray tell, what's the pile?"

"You sort of have to see it to understand it," he answered with a rich little laugh. "And you can't see it if you don't go downstairs to where it's at." And then he raised his face and voice to the youth on the pole. "Come on down, Jamie. Time's up, and there's someone here who wants to meet you."

While Jamie came off the bar and, flashing a shy smile at me, was included with me in the zone that the older guy was creating with his encasing arms, I looked around for Brian, not knowing if it was wise for us to be splitting up. I wondered if he'd be willing to go check out this pile thing. But he obviously hadn't been similarly worried about me, because both he and the Jamaican were gone. This ticked me off a bit and probably was why I just threw caution to the wind.

"Sure," I said. "Let's go see the pile."

With Jamie leading the way through the crowd and the CEO-type's hand on my elbow, we moved to the back of the room and down a long flight of stairs. En route, my guide established that his name was Kurt and that he thought I was really hot. Both of those seemed to be good things to know.

We were going down a hallway, and the sounds I was hearing from beyond the doors we were passing tipped me off quickly that we were in a meet and greet (and beyond) area of the facility. One loud string of profanity cut me to the quick. I couldn't resist stopping in my tracks outside the door that was producing this sound and looking into the large window in the door. Neither Kurt nor Jamie seemed to mind the stop, and both of them took in the view as well. Kurt moved in close behind me, and, as we watched what was happening in the room, he got his hands under the hem of my fishnet muscle shirt, and they eventually moved up to cover my chest and rub and tweak my nipples.

The room on the other side of the door was completely white and it wasn't very big. There was only one piece of furniture in the room, a small blue padded cube bed of some sort in the shape of a rectangle, with wedge-like risers at either end. The platform was in the center of the room. A naked man was reclined on the platform, belly down, with both his head and his butt elevated at head and foot. His wrists were cuffed to the lower sides near the head of the rectangle and his ankles were cuffed to the lower sides at the foot of the rectangle. He was positioned parallel to the window, so that what we were looking at was his right side. The naked man was Brian, and he was yelling his head off. That's what had made me stop. I recognized Brian's voice.

I could easily understand why Brian was screaming, because the Jamaican, sans his baggy shorts now and his magnificent torso glistening with sweat, was hunched down at the butt end of the rectangle with a manrammer in his fist, an over-nine-inch long and over-two-inch thick flesh-colored cock replica on a five-inch straight handle, and he was ramming the cock end of it in and out of Brian's asshole. With each thrust, Brian's body was lurching against the restraints at his wrists and ankles and he thrusting his head back and was screaming to the ceiling.

I tensed up, ready to storm the room and save my significant other, when Kurt tightened his grip on my chest and whispered in my ear in that soothing baritone voice of his, "Wait. Listen. Listen to what your friend is screaming."

And, sure enough, when I allowed myself to zone in on Brian's voice, he was screaming, "Yes, yes! Harder. Deeper!"

Just then, having thrust the manrammer in, the Jamaican started rotating it inside Brian's ass, and he lowered his head toward Brian's. Brian brought his lips up to the Jamaican's and they went into a deep kiss. I could feel Kurt's lips on the hollow of my neck then and I looked around to check out what Jamie was doing. His eyes were glued to the coupling inside the room and one of his hands was inside the pouch of his bikini briefs and cupping his cock. I felt like reaching out and touching him, but I was afraid that Kurt would take affront at that.

When I looked back at Brian and his Jamaican, the manrammer was gone and the Jamaican was hunched over Brian's hips and his own rammer, a bit shorter and not quite as thick as the dildo, was busy thrusting in and out of Brian's captive ass. Brian seemed to be enjoying this as much as he did the manramming.

I gave a little sigh, which Kurt took as a signal that we could move on down the hall, and we were off. We were approaching the end of the hall, and the room it opened into appeared to be pitch black, but I could see flashes of neon-like colors of several different hues. When we reached this room, we stood just inside the door while our eyes adjusted to the darkness. Slowly, I began to see that the room was large and square, but that there was a circular room set inside it. That room was divided from the larger room by metal-framed floor-to-ceiling glass panels. And there was a padded railing encircling this room at knee height.

What was most intriguing, though, were the flashing neon rods I could see weaving in and out in no apparent pattern inside the glass room. The rods would undulate back and forth and up and down and would disappear and then reappear. On this side of the glass at irregular intervals were positioned couples of naked men in some sort of similar configuration that I couldn't concentrate on until I had worked out what was happening inside the glass-walled room. Kurt guided me around the side the glass enclosure until he found a spot where the man couples were not too close to us on each side.

I gasped as my eyes adjusted enough so that I could see that the center of the glassed-in enclosure was a large platform and on this platform was a writhing pile of naked men, all with beautiful hard-muscled bodies. The neon green and blue and yellow and purple rods were composed of fluorescent dildos and neon-colored condoms sheathing hardened cocks being picked out in a bathing of black light, and they were undulating and disappearing because the writhing mass of men was engaged in a wild, but languid group fuck. So this was the pile.

I was panting from the exotic live performance going on before my eyes. I was all atremble and my own cock was coming very much alive. Kurt, who was closely covering me from behind again, felt me melting down even before I began to moan my arousal.

Jamie was standing a little in front of me and to the side, and one of my hands involuntarily went out and stroked his naked butt cheek. He turned to me and lightly kissed me on the lips.

"Do you want him?" the rich baritone voice whispered in my ear.

"What?" I asked huskily. But of course I knew what he was asking.

"Do you want to fuck Jamie?" Kurt asked more explicitly. "Do you want to fuck him right here while we watch the pile? You can fuck him if I can fuck you. He is willing. That's what his kiss meant."

"I don't understand," I mumbled. "Yes, yes, of course, but how . . .?"

And then Kurt and Jamie showed me how. Only then did I see the cuffs attached to the metal frames between the windows at a level slightly above our heads and that there were fur-lined knee cups set wide apart on the tops of the padded rail running around the glass enclosure. Now that my eyes had adjusted even more to the darkness, I could clearly see what the couples of naked men scattered at the rails around the glass enclosure were doing. One of each pair was cuffed to the metal frames at the wrists and their legs were spread apart and kneeling in the knee cups on the railings. Their partner was fucking them from behind. And I could see now that some of them were sheathed in the neon condoms and some of them were stroking their partners with fluorescent dildos. The watchers of the pile were part of the total performance.

Kurt handed me a tube of lubricant after he had cuffed Jamie and flicked off his thong. Jamie mounted the knee cups and I knelt and pressed my face between his luscious, sweet butt cheeks and tongued and kissed him until he was moaning and sighing and writhing and trembling for me. Kurt came back with two condoms. He had stripped off his shorts, and I saw that he was horse hung.

"Green or blue?" he asked.

"Green" I think, I answered. I didn't give a rat's ass what color, but I didn't want to take any time to put thought into it either.

"OK, blue for me then," Kurt said. And it hit me then that I had made a deal for the use of Jamie. The image of Kurt's long, thick cock surfaced immediately, and I involuntarily moaned in anticipation.

Kurt stripped off my jeans, leaving my fishnet shirt on. Then condoms were sheathed and cocks and asses were lubed, and I was soon stroking up into Jamie's sweet, tight ass and playing with his smallish cock and his pert nipples while we both watched the pile rise and fall and change shape and the neon-clad cocks and fluorescent dildos dance and appear and disappear inside the glass enclosure and around its edges.

I was pumping in rhythm to the perceived rhythm of the pile and joining my sighs and moans with all of the other couplings surrounding the enclosure, when I felt my own butt cheeks being pushed outward and Kurt was working his cock inside me.

I must have really turned him on, because Kurt came almost simultaneously with my ejaculation inside Jamie.

We held there, me going tumescent inside Jamie and Kurt inside me for a good twenty minutes, watching the pile. I was fascinated by the pile, and the undulation and the moanings and sighings I was hearing were arousing me again.

Kurt felt my arousal and once again that rich baritone voice was whispering in my ear. "Shall we join in?"

"Join in what?" I whispered back

"The pile." Kurt whispered. "I think the pile is calling for you."

And we did and it was incredible.



Key Westing Ch. 03



When I returned from putting myself back together after experiencing the pile, I found Brian sitting primly at the Bourbon Street Pub's bar, apparently no worse the wear from the poundings he'd gotten from the manrammer and the Jamaican's own rammer and playing kissy face with yet another shorts-only dude. I pushed the dude off Brian with a "this one's mine" comment and told my freewheeling significant other that was time to move on.

"Fine by me," Brian said. I noticed that he was a little slow standing up, though. The Jamaican must have made quite an impression on—or, rather, in—him.

"Where to next then?" I asked.

"Back to Saloon 1," Brian said without hesitation. "I want to hook up with Flash again."

"Oh, God, all right," I said. I wasn't in the mood to fight.

We found that Flash had stayed put at the leather bar, just as he said he would, waiting for us to return. And he'd gathered a couple of friends he said wanted to meet us. The three were a motley group. Flash and the mountain of a man he introduced as Duane might have come from the same biker club. Duane was a good six foot seven, big boned, meaty, most of which was muscle, bald guy with a droopy mustache and a pig tail right at the back of his head. When I first saw him in the dim light of the bar, I thought he was wearing one fancy shirt, but it turned out he wasn't wearing a shirt at all. He was covered in an intricate black, blue, and red tattoo design that looked almost Oriental. When I was introduced and he shook my hand, I found that his mitt was about twice the size of mine.

"It's true what they say," he said, not letting go of my hand immediately, "At least about me." He said this with something between a smile and a leer on his face.

I was about to ask him what he meant, when he took my hand and wrapped it around his gigantic middle finger and slid the finger back in forth in my fist a couple of times. I got the point with that that his foot size indicated the size of another appendage and bit off any further question I might have. Brian moved in, with great interest, to talk with Duane as Flash turned and introduced me to his other sidekick.

"This is Paulo. Paulo, this is Estaban. You'll like Estaban, Paulo. You're both Brazilian firecrackers."

"Argentina. My family's from Argentina," I said, for no particular reason.

Paulo looked way out of place in this group, though. Dark and handsome and almost preppy looking. I would have taken him for a model straight out of an A&F ad. He was finely muscled, but in perfect proportion, and there was no clanking jewelry or tattoos to be seen on him. I moved closer to him, involuntarily indicating that I was making a choice between all of them. Flash got the point immediately.

"I wouldn't be too fast making friends with Paulo, if I were you," Flash said. "Looks can be deceiving. He likes toys."

I thought that one over as Paulo put a proprietary hand on my elbow and Duane perched on a bar stool and brought Brian's butt into this lap.

"So, have you boys been discovering the clubs of Key West?" Flash asked as he took a swig from his beer stein.

"Just one or two," I answered. Paulo was lightly running his fingers up and down my arm, sending chills along my spine.

"And what do you think of Key West?" Flash continued the conversation.

"I haven't really seen much of Key West, I'm afraid," I answered. "I've been working practically nonstop until this evening, and Brian's the one who has been doing the exploration and having most of the fun."

"You've had no fun at all?" Flash asked, putting on a mock pout. I knew he was referring to the good fucking he'd given me the previous night, and I was quick to keep the record clear.

"Well, yes, last night the Key West I was expecting started, but thus far tonight all we've experienced was a brief stop here and then a longer time over at the Bourbon Street Pub."

"The pub," Flash said. "And did you go downstairs?"

"Yes, I've been to the pile, if that's what you're asking." Flash smiled broadly and I heard Paulo, now behind me, with both of his hands running up and down my arms and his hot breath at my neck, take a sharp intake of breath.

"Ah, yes, the pile," Flash said. "And what else did you want to see here in the keys?"

"Well, I understood there are some really good, special beaches here, but I've been here four days and haven't seen any sand yet," I responded.

"Road trip," Flash called out to the group at large. "We know where they have the best beach in the world just waiting for you, up on Bahia Honda Key, not more than twenty-some keys back toward the mainland. And it has a nude section where they don't hassle anybody for anything, and it's gay friendly. Everyone to the car."

And that's all it took to have us all bundled into an old Chrysler Sebring convertible, just like nearly every other car riding the few stretches of road in Key West, and heading north up toward the toe of the Florida mainland in the early morning hours.

Flash was driving, and I was in front with him and spending much of my time telling him to keep his hands off me and his eyes on the narrow ribbon of road that was doubly frightening because it dropped off to ocean on both sides. Brian, Duane, and Paulo were in the back seat. For the first several miles, Brian was sitting in the middle, but it wasn't long until he was sitting on Duane's cock and shimmying his asshole up and down that pole. From the moans and groans Brian was emitting, I could tell that Duane hadn't exaggerated the size of his cock, because Brian was pretty good at taking them big, and he seemed to think he was having trouble with this one.

Paulo had taken something out of a duffel bag he'd brought into the car with him, and he was soon hunched over Brian, and Brian was yelling to the passing wind something about shocks and his dick, testicles, and nipples. I didn't even want to know what that was all about.

I listened to Brian whimpering and looked out on the most beautiful, pristine-white sand beach I could remember ever seeing as we drove onto the Bahia Honda Key, turned off the road and drove parallel to the beach to the very end of the road. We parked under a sign warning the prudish that this was designated as a nude-permissible section of the beach.

Flash popped the trunk and Duane and I helped him carry a collection of beach towels and other paraphernalia over the line of dunes and onto the sand. Paulo carried only his duffel bag, quite possessively, I might add, and Brian remained prone on the back seat of the car, his still-trembling legs draped up on the back of the front seats on one side and the convertible's tonneau cover on the other side.

"You OK, Brian?" I asked before I followed our three hosts up over the sand dune.

"Couldn't be better," Brian muttered. "God has that guy got one hell of a cock—and Paulo and his bag of tricks . . ."

"Yes, well, we're here now," I said. "You comin' onto the beach."

"In a few minutes," was Brian's dreamy-voiced reply. "Just give me a few more moments."

When I came over the dunes, I saw that the other three guys had pretty much set up our stake on the beach, having covered a fairly large area with beach blankets. All three were stripping down, and I took in a deep breath when I saw Paulo's beautiful Latin body. But I almost swallowed my tongue when I saw Duane stripped. His tattoo covered almost every inch of his body except for that monster cock swinging back and forth between his legs. And the contrast made the cock seem impossibly longer and thicker than it conceivably could really be. Flash's body was nothing to sneeze at either, but I've already come in intimate contact with that and enjoyed the effect of his various body piercings.

I shuffled through the finely grained white sand to the corner of their blanketed space and stripped down. Paulo watched me intently the entire time, a sloppy grin on his face, and I must not have disappointed him, because as soon as I was naked, he pulled me down to the blanket, my body stretched along his, and he began making slow, languid love to me with his gliding and fondling hands and his lips. I kept thinking of how Flash had told me to be very wary of Paulo, but no one had made such gentle and complete love to me before.

For the longest time Paulo possessed my mouth with his and rubbed the full length of his luscious body against mine. When his lips moved down to my nipples, I was able to look around the beach. There weren't too many other men out on the beach, as we had arrived quite early in the morning—but not earlier than the hot sun, however. Flash was nowhere to be seen, and I surmised that he had gone back to the car either to coax Brian down to the beach or to join him in the back seat for a fuck session of his own.

Duane, however, was very prominent. He had already made friends with a small-statured willowy Filipino guy who I had sort of noticed stretched out provocatively on a fairly substantial lounger not too far down the beach from us. The image of him when I was coming onto the beach flashed into my mind; a small, delicate effeminate type, stretched out on his lounger in a poster girl pose.

Well, he wasn't that way now, and Duane had been very quick in making his acquaintance, because Duane was now standing, feet buried in the sand, and legs firmly locked at the foot of the lounger, pointed out to sea. And he was wearing the willowy Filipino like a bib. The tiny figure was upended and draped down Duane's chest. Duane had his face buried between the Filipino's pert little butt cheeks, the Filipino's legs were spread-eagled out to the sides in nearly split formation, and he had both of his hands wrapped around Duane's tool and he was trying his best to get Duane's huge, bulbous mushroom cap into his mouth.

I lay there, fascinated by that tableau of the five-foot delicate doll and the six foot seven tattooed hulk in such a strange and intimate pose, and I moaned at what I was seeing and for what Paulo was doing in the journey of his lips around my body. He was working my navel with his lips now, while one of his hands brushed across and tweaked my nipples and the other one lightly glided on my inner thighs, causing me to spread my legs wide for him.

Paulo was crouched on his knees between my spread legs, cupping my butt cheeks in his hands, and making love to my cock, balls, and asshole with his mouth when I looked over at the incongruous biker-Filipino tableau again. Duane was already fucking his tiny prey now. The Filipino was facing him, but he was still draped down Duane's body. They were attached at the pelvises with Duane's gigantic peg impossibly buried in the Filipino's diminutive slot. Duane was holding the Filipino to him with his huge hands clutching the other's waist. The Filipino's legs were just bent at the knees with his calves flopping against Duane's hips in rhythm with Duane's cock stroking, and his back was suspended down toward the ground along Duane's well-planted legs. He was gripping Duane's calves as best he could with his hands in a an attempt to stabilize himself.

I was feeling distressed for the Filipino, who was fairly screaming his head off at the stuffing he was receiving, until his head turned to me and I saw the "well-fucked" expression on his face and hooded eyes that already appeared to be swimming in semen.

Paulo had his knees moving under my butt cheeks now and his hands on my hips, pulling my pelvis up his thighs and toward a very nice hard seven-inch cock. I looked dreamily and lovingly at him, fully prepared to take him, wanting him inside me now. No one had ever prepared me as well as he had for a good fucking. I was so mellowed out and aching for him that I didn't notice Flash and Brian coming down onto the beach arm and arm and Paulo motioning them over and I most certainly didn't see him open and search around inside his precious duffel bag.

I snapped to attention, though when I saw what he extracted from the duffel. I started to object and wiggle off of his thighs, but at his signal, Flash was above me holding my arms down and Brian was in back of Paulo holding my ankles.

Paulo very carefully and slowly strapped on the five-inch cock extender he'd taken from the bag. I was trembling and my belly was heaving at the very sight of it. It had thin leather straps that wrapped around Paulo's thin waste, holding it in place covering his cock. The apparatus itself was composed of a cock ring to be snapped around the root of his cock and then four narrow, but thick leather bands running up the four sides of his cock, which would allow the side of his cock to have some sensation of the friction inside my ass passage. These leather strips were lined with silicon bumps that my ass walls were already undulating in protest against. And then capping the business end of his cock was a five-inch silicon extension.

I lay moaning as I saw that the extension was a bulbous head, just like a monster cock would sport—except that the cap was studded with silicon bumps.

I protested loudly and in vain, as Paulo started to work this enhanced tool into my ass. I was involuntarily writhing against the three of them, but this just made the attention the artificial cock head was giving to the rim of my ass all the more brutal, so I just collapsed and panted heavily.

For several minutes Paulo only pushed in as far as my prostate and he had me spouting cream all over my belly, and this settled me even more. At eight inches in, I was enjoying the fuck enough that Flash and Brian could release my arms and ankles and go do as they please. I saw Flash rummaging around in Paulo's duffel, extract some sort of leather apparatus, and he and Brian moved down toward the water. At eleven inches in, I was arching my back and crying passionately to the clouds scuttling by overhead, lost in the fuck, no longer wanting Paulo to stop. And then he started to pump me and I screamed in ecstasy and started to buck with his rhythm. I felt Paulo fountain his load around the sides of the extension and into the center of me and then we both began a long deceleration, bringing our breath and heart beats back into a calmer rhythm. Paulo remained nearly twelve inches deep inside me, though, and I wanted him to stay there.

I looked out to sea and saw a speedboat flash along the beach and then return at a slower speed, throttling down. I imagined that we were giving whoever was in the boat a great performance. Not just Paulo and me, who couldn't really be seen at that well, but the others. I looked over at Duane and his prey, and I know saw that the Filipino was on his knees on the lounger, with his chest on the surface of the lounger and his butt in the air, pulled a little toward Duane, who was hunched over the Filipino's butt, one foot on the ground and the other foot on the lounger, giving him leverage to pile drive that huge tool of his down, almost sideways into the Filipino's incredibly receptive asshole. The Filipino was whimpering and purring at the same time.

But the real spectacle for the boater was the coupling of Flash and Brian. They were down at the water's edge, the surf swishing over their feet and ankles. Flash had a plow belt firmly in the grip of his hands and wrapped around Brian's belly, and Brian was bent over toward the ocean, his ass open to Flash's vigorous stroking down into him with his hard cock. He was pulling all of the way out and slamming back in, and each time he pulled out, the Prince Albert cock ring through his glans flashed in the sun. I wondered whether that was how Flash got his name.

The boat had edged into the beach now, and a well-cut black dude was clamoring out and stumbling up the beach. He bypassed Brian and Flash and came right up to Paulo and me. He pulled off his Speedo and he was on his hands and elbows over my body in 69 position and was sucking my cock and offering his to me. Paulo started stroking me with his enhanced cock again.

We must have enticed Duane, though, because shortly thereafter, he lost interest in his Filipino, who just collapsed on the lounger and whimpered and trembled the rest of the time we were there. Duane moved over to us, and brushed the boater aside and pushed Paulo out of and off me. He then picked me up like I was a rag doll. With some effort from him, and considerable screeching from me, he pushed my ass down on his cock with him standing and me being held to his chest, and then he walked into the water up to above our waists and slid me back and forth on his cock, fucking me there in the water.

Looking back on the beach, I saw that Paulo, still encased in his extender, had the boater up on his knees and was deep fucking him doggie style.

After that initial orgy on the beach, we were all pretty spent. The boater hobbled back down to his boat, all grins, and sped back out to sea, and the Filipino just lay all akimbo on his lounger and whimpered and purred. The rest of us rested and swam and ate from a picnic basket Flash had been good enough to bring along and did a little more fucking until mid afternoon.

Flash then herded us back into the Sebring and turned its hood south toward Key West. It was evening when we rolled back onto the pleasure island. I had thought Flash would drop Brian and me off at our motel, but he continued on through the town and past Duval Street toward the Truman Annex. He pulled the car into a narrow driveway beside a gingerbreaded shotgun house and parked in front a one-car garage in the back. The house narrowed as it spread back on the lot and there was a small swimming pool nestled between this wing and the garage.

While Duane took Brian to the pool to show him what a freshwater fuck would be like, Paulo, who I no longer thought of as the clean-cut preppy type, showed me that the garage wasn't for the car. Before I knew it, he had me cuffed into a sling hanging from a center beam that made me writhe and arch my back and scream to the ceiling and cry out in ecstasy for him and Flash to give me more, more, and deeper, deeper and longer, longer. This was the Key West I had imagined and looked forward to.