A Bit Too Clever

"Yes," Hermilo sniffled. "But you will come back after a week, won't you?"

"I may be there two," Brandon said. He wouldn't commit to coming back in a week—or at all. What was clear to him was that he was in an untenable position here at the Penzance estate, trapped between the desires and demands of his benefactor, Sam Reynard, and the houseboy, Hermilo. Maybe it would be best if he didn't come back at all.

But first, he had to meet these deadlines on the novel manuscripts. Nothing need be decided until those were done.

* * * *

Brandon had to admit that isolation on Useppa Island had been a good idea in terms of his writing. First, isolation in this case was a matter of being dropped into the lap of luxury. The facilities on Useppa Island were tailored for the superrich and pampered, and the main effect of only being accessible by boat was that it kept the riff raff and reporters out. Hermilo had packaged meals, enough for a month, that were both gourmet and easy to fix, and he had provided enough booze for an army, although he went as light on that as he could.

The tennis pro and novelist made great progress on the writing in the first two days. On the third, he felt the effects of little exercise, pulled on his tennis togs, put his Speedo and a towel in his gym bag, and walked over to the central clubhouse, with its very nice pool and four tennis courts. He made contact with the tennis pro at the club, who had been advised he was coming and was more than happy to go out on the tennis court. Brandon was happy too. They were both beautiful young men, Brandon a corn-fed All-American stud and Delroy Williams an ebony Jamaican hunk—both in their early twenties, both hard-playing tennis players, both virile and vigorous, and, most important of all, established in looks followed up by admissions and then expression of interest, both were actively gay and both were willing to flip-flop when coupling became passionate.

They played tennis and then swam and then went to one of the cabanas, became passionate in their coupling and flip-flopped, Brandon fucking Delroy in a missionary and Delroy fucking Brandon in a doggie. Sex was the one thing that Brandon had been missing in his first two days on the island, and that disadvantage had now been redressed.

Delroy was so impressed with Brandon that when they'd both released the second time and Brandon had moved to disengage from their athletic entanglement, Delroy wouldn't let him go.

"We can't just stay here and fuck for a week," Brandon said, with a laugh.

"I don't see why not. I have this cabana anytime I want it."

"There's so much more we can do with more privacy. I'm all alone in a nearby cottage. Let's go there. I'll serve you dinner and breakfast as well."

"Who could turn down an offer like that?" Delroy asked, with a smile.

So, off they went, arm and arm to house 105, each running through his mind what positions he wanted to try out with the other, both of them being very athletic and inventive. As they approached the house from the water side, though, they were brought up short. Someone was standing, leaning over the balcony of the house.

"I thought you said you lived here alone."

"I did. What the hell is he doing here?" Brandon exclaimed.

"He's looking at us," Delroy said. "He's a hunk. Is he your sugar daddy? He's mature but model gorgeous."

"No, he sure as hell isn't my sugar daddy." That came out with more than a bit of irritation, because Brandon could see that his new pal, Delroy, and his sugar daddy's contractor, Logan Hanson, were eyeing each other in that "special way"—the way that Logan had been eyeing Brandon at the Penzance estate. They'd never done anything about that—at least yet—but that didn't mean Brandon was happy that sparks were being set off between the two.

Hanson was recognizing Brandon now, and exclaimed, "Brandon. What are you doing here? And who is this magnificent hunk you're with?"

"I could ask you the same, Logan—about being here. Sam sent me out here for a week or two, all by myself, to finish writing a couple of novels I owe him."

"Sent you?" Hanson exclaimed. "He said I—or, rather, we—could use the Useppa Island cottage for the week. The boat's dropped us off and is gone. It won't be back for a week."

"So, we're double booked, I guess," Brandon said. "Sam screwed up." But had Sam screwed up, Brandon wondered. "There's enough room and food for both of us. But you said 'we' . . ."

That was when the Cuban Florida Thunder stripper, Anton Ajuria, came out of the house onto the balcony. "Anton? You're here too?" Brandon asked.

"I was supposed to be in Tampa this next week, but my bookings fell through. Logan asked me to come here with him."

"Are you going to introduce me to this hunky daddy?" Delroy asked.

Brandon did, although his attention had gone to Anton, who already was in a Speedo and looking sexy as hell. Brandon didn't even pay full attention to Logan and Delroy dancing around each other and flirting—or Logan saying this was his first visit to the island and it would sure be nice if someone would give him a tour—or Delroy offering to give him that tour—or the two of them walking off and leaving Brandon and Anton giving each other the "let's hop in bed" stare.

And thus, Brandon and Anton found themselves eyeing each other, delivering messages via telepathy, and going into the house and hopping into bed together.

* * * *

Logan was bigger, more muscular, more powerful than Brandon was, and, as the fuck became more intense, he took it over—from the bottom. They'd been in a missionary, with Logan on his back on the bed in Brandon's room in the Useppa cottage and Brandon between the bigger man's thighs, his knees pressed under Logan's buttocks, raising the older man's pelvis for a deeper, more direct thrust angle. Brandon's forehead was pressed to Logan's and the two were staring into each other's eyes, taking in all of the pleasure for each of the fuck.

It wasn't a "let's hook up long term" fuck; it was a "I wanted to try you once fuck," and it was appreciated by both in that vein. Earlier that day, Logan's and Anton's first day on Useppa Island, Logan had returned from his afternoon with the Useppa Club black tennis pro, Delroy Williams, touring the island and doing the nasty—several times—to have supper with Logan and Anton and to let them know he'd be staying with Delroy the rest of the week. He also said that he'd be taking Delroy back to Fort Meyers with him, where Delroy would try to find a position at a club near to where the two would live.

Brandon had determined in his own afternoon of sex with Anton that the relationship between Logan and Anton had only been casual and they'd both been clear about looking for someone else more permanently. It had been lust at first sight all around earlier that afternoon when Logan and Anton had arrived on the island and Brandon and Delroy had returned from their tennis match and fuck at the island club. It just hadn't been the pairing off that seemed natural.

While Logan and Delroy had been solidifying a relationship under the club's tropical foliage, Brandon and Anton had been humping each other to permanency intent on Brandon's bed.

"There will be a position of tennis pro open at the Heritage Palms Club in Fort Myers," Brandon had said at supper. "I can put in a good word for Delroy. I've played him in tennis. He would qualify for the job and could slip right into it."

"Isn't that the job you have?" Logan asked.

"Yes, but I'm moving on." He reached over and took Anton's hand and the two exchanged lustful glances. "I think I'll move up to Tampa. They have a lot of golf and tennis clubs there. I should be able to find a job easily enough."

"But your novel writing job with Sam Reynard . . ."

"I can write anywhere and pass the work back and forth by Internet. That's how it's done these days," Brandon answered.

"Then it will all work out," Logan said. But Brandon detected that he said it in a rather wistful way.

"What part of it isn't working out?" Brandon said.

"I shouldn't say," Logan said, looking away.

"It's because you haven't been fucked by Brandon, isn't it?" Anton interjected. "Hey, don't look at me like that"—both of them were looking at him "like that." "You told me you wanted to be laid by Brandon, Logan. And now you think that won't happen. It can be a casual hook up. There doesn't have to be any more than the pleasure of grinding bodies and dick in hole in it. I don't think Delroy will care if you have a go at each other. I certainly don't. I'd like to watch that myself."

And, so, that's how they got into Brandon's bedroom and on his bed, and him crouching over Logan, dick in hole and pumping away, while Anton sat, naked, off to the side, watching them and stroking his own cock.

Logan didn't remain content with Brandon controlling, though. He rolled them on the bed, putting himself on top of Brandon, straddling the younger and smaller man's hips with his pelvis, pulling his channel down on Brandon's cock, holding Brandon's arms stretched out from his body, and pressing his forehead to Brandon's this time so the two of them could gauge the pleasure each was getting in the fuck by watching each other's eyes. At full rise and fall on the cock, Anton rose from his chair, erection in hand, came up on the bed, mounted Logan's ass from behind and above, and worked his cock inside Logan's channel above Brandon's buried shaft.

Brandon and Anton fucked Logan together. Although the older man groaned and moaned, it was clear he'd done this before and could manage it. It was equally clear Anton had done it often enough to know how to get the most out of a double penetration. He put his chin on Logan's shoulder, coaxed Brandon's face over to his, and the two kissed as they shared Logan's passage.

Logan came before the two younger lovers did; pulled out from between them, as Anton ran his hands under Brandon's buttocks, squeezed, spread, and raised the orbs, and thrust up inside Brandon's passage with his cock. Logan then left the two to enjoy each other. He had picked up his still-unpacked bag and was off, whistling, to the club to hook up with Delroy while Anton and Brandon fucked on, whispering to each other about preparations for Brandon to move up to Tampa with Anton.

* * * *

"What do you mean he isn't in Tampa?"

"He's not in Tampa," the manager of Florida Thunder said to Sam Reynard, using his "nice" voice. Reynard looked like money and also like a player. Gus Taylor didn't want to cry off business. "We have a Chippendales dance troupe coming to the club unexpectedly this week. We gave all of the regular guys off. Jolt decided to go out of town. He isn't the only hung Cuban we got on the roster. Maybe—"

"No, I came up from Tampa to see Anton Ajuria," Sam said. He couldn't believe it. All other parts of his plan had fallen into place. He'd gotten Brandon in isolation on Useppa Island and he'd gotten Logan Hanson there too. He knew that Logan was salivating to get Brandon's dick inside him. It was just a matter of getting the two together—and Anton away from Logan—and phase three, the switch off, would be complete. Brandon had even messaged him that the two novels were nearly complete and that Brandon was pleased with how they both resolved.

And now Anton wasn't here, in Tampa, for Sam to seduce and finish off his brilliant plan. Where in the fuck was Anton?