Bad Boy, Good Cop

I was freed of the restraints, Julio and Pepe melted away, and Mario was left to take me in a prolonged, close embracing, heavy humping missionary. I'm not sure, but in my haze, I thought that, when Mario had come the last time, he took his gun out of his holster, buried the barrel up my ass, and pulled the trigger. The sound of the click—once, twice, three times; was this Russian roulette?—almost made me sober.

Sometime before midnight, with lights still on in the buildings surrounding the yacht basin, they dressed me, carried me off the yacht, and sat me down on the bench on the surrounding boardwalk. I sat there, still floating in another world mentally and watching the Antinous III fire up its engines. The yacht backed out of its slip and moved slowly, no wake, toward and out of the mouth of the harbor and into Broad Creek, which ran up the gut of the island and dispensed in Calibogue Sound and then into the Atlantic Ocean.

As I watched the ship depart, even in a drug-induced haze, I felt the loss. Mario had told me that'd take me with them.

As I was coming out of the drug-induced coma, I saw that a hunk of a black man was sitting on a wall not far from me and watching me. He was older than I was, but not by much. And he was gorgeous, all ebony muscle. He was wearing white shorts and a loose white cotton jacket over a red athletic T. He watched me for a while and then stood and came over and stood in front of me, towering over me. He was a good six and a half feet of perfectly proportioned, powerful muscle.

"You OK, guy?" he asked.

"Never better," I mumbled.

"Care if I sit with you until you're able to move. You shouldn't be out here alone, like this. Who knows what might happen to you?"

You have no idea what just happened to me, I thought, but what I said was, "Be my guest." He sat and I slowly came back into the world. "My, you're a big one, aren't you?" I said, all ready to party again.

"You came off the Antinous III," he said. It was more a statement, like he'd seen me brought off the boat, than a question.

"Yes," I answered.

"You staying on the boat?"

"Just visiting. I've got a condo. Up there. The one in the corner." I gestured to the Harbourside I building.

He looked up at my rental. "Nice," he said.

"I think so. A bit lonely just for one, though."

He leaned into me. "And you're just one up there?"

"Yes. Are you hitting on me? Are you going to kiss me?" I asked.

"Unless you don't want me to."

"Which? Hitting on me or a kiss?"

"Both," he answered.

I wanted him to kiss me and feel me up as he did so, and he did. I slid a hand up his side under the cotton jacket as we kissed and felt the gun holster. Did they all have guns?

"Are you going to help me home to my condo?" I asked.

"If you want me to."

"Are you are going to take advantage of me?"

"You're just begging for it, aren't you?"

"Are you a bull? So you use Trojan Magnums? The legend is that all black bruisers like you are hung like a bull."

He did use Trojan Magnum XLs. He fucked me on my bed—repeatedly through the night—and, as best I can remember, he was very, very good, taking his time in preparing me the first time and opening me up with his tongue and fingers. I didn't need the preparation the next two times. He was a veritable fuck factory, if standard issue. In spite of having been doubled earlier, I needed the extra effort to be open to him. He was a couple of inches longer and was thicker than even Mario—a black bull indeed. He certainly lasted long enough, cradling me in his arms, with my knees hooked on his hips, bottoming and holding while I opened to him and until I begged for it and then thrusting, thrusting, thrusting forever. He had a powerful backswing.

I came twice, exhausted before he finished, edging himself so that, when he was close to coming, he stopped and held me, me trembling and begging him to finish, until he had edged off and then thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. We were both fully naked, except that I asked him to keep the gun holster strapped on, which, laughing, he did.

He was a good boy and wore a Trojan. I said he didn't have to, but he said he did. I said I didn't really want him to, but he said he would. And then he wore another Magnum for the second fucking of the night . . . and then a third. By the third time, we were fully in synch, one fully coordinated fucking machine. Exhausted, I fell asleep in his arms. He wasn't fully flaccid even then. I had no doubt he could have done it again. The boy had been eating his Wheaties.

As I was nodding off, he asked, "Am I as big as Mario and do I do it as well as Mario does?"

"Bigger and better," I honestly answered, only half thinking well enough then to wonder how he knew Mario's name—and later not being sure the question had even been asked. That was some pure coke Mario had given me. It left me muddled and hazy, but by the next morning my brain was no longer fried.

The last I heard him say, not being sure, in my haze, that he actually said was, "Sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I just couldn't help myself."

* * * *

I woke in the morning crying out "Yes, yes! Fuck me!" as the big, black bull was doing just that, both of us on our sides, him behind me, clutching my hips to him, buried up inside me, and pulling/thrusting, releasing, pulling/thrusting, releasing. Knowing now that I was fully awake, he rolled over on his back, pulling me up with him, still skewered on the thick, hard Trojan-sheathed ten incher. I was on top of him, facing away, leaning over and grasping his ankles. I took over the fuck, rising and falling on the shaft, taking it deep. Moving from side to side and front to back, revolving on the hard shaft, and then up and down, taking it all, using all ten inches of him—trying to rev him up to manhandling me.

"Beat me. Choke me!" I called out, but he didn't do it. He was being too good. Luckily, his cock was such a monster inside me that I wasn't deflated that he wouldn't take me rougher.

Rising and falling. Shooting off between his thighs onto the sheets. Continuing to rise and fall on him until he too shuddered, tensed, jerked, and came. Shuddered, tensed, jerked, and came. Shuddered, tensed, jerked, and came—virile and prodigious, regrettable, to me, giving his seed to the bulb of the condom. Just for a second there, holding me tight, thrusting hard, giving me extra pain-pleasure. Then jerking the Magnum XL off and moving me down to take him in my mouth, cleaning the shaft, tickling the back of my throat with his bulb, the most cruel he was going to get.

He was humming. Me, I wanted something more. He was a black bull. He could have taken more from me. He could have taken me harder. I wanted him to take more. I wanted him to go Nazi on me. He'd have been a glorious take-no-prisoners conqueror. I wanted to feel his repeated flows deep inside me. I wanted his trusts to rock my boat. I wanted him to whip me into submissive, to make me a moaning heap at his feet and then to force me to take the cock both ways. He was being too good.

Over breakfast on the balcony of my condo, overlooking the Shelter Cove yacht basin, Jacko—for that was the name he gave me only this morning as we were showering and shaving together—grilled me on who I was, what I was doing here, and what my relationship to Antinous III and Mario Finelli, which was the name Jacko gave me for gray-hair, was. He even made me show him ID. Hoping that he was going military on me and would fuck me Nazi cruel, I complied. He did a professional job of getting information out of me and seemed satisfied that I could afford this condo and had only a casual, one-night-stand relationship with Mario and his yacht. He took my ID off to the balcony and made a call. He said nothing when he came back.

And, speaking of Mario's yacht, as we were eating breakfast, the Antinous III was gliding back into the harbor and slipping back into the berth it occupied the previous day.

After breakfast Jacko, saying, "I shouldn't . . . but . . . ," fucked me again in a sensual, filling, but not cruel doggie and then sprang up and informed me we were going to go get some exercise—as if fucking didn't provide exercise. It certainly did the way Jacko did it. When we'd gotten going, he'd held still and had me rocking back and forth, fucking myself on the ten-inch shaft.

We took kayaks out from Shelter Cove into Broad Creek. Then he drove me in a black Mustang convertible to Coligny Beach and he fed me lunch. From there, we went to the landward, quieter side of the island, where he found a tree-enclosed track off Marshland Road to the edge of the marsh and he fed me his cock and we showed that you can fuck in the front seat of a Mustang. It helped that he was ten inches and that I was nimble. Despite the awkwardness of me sitting on it in the front passenger seat, he could keep it in to a mutual ejaculation, while I worked to rise and fall on it and he chewed on my nipples as I leaned back into the dashboard. There was a zipline attraction on this side of the island, and we did that as well.

Then he told me he had to let me off at Shelter Cove and go do some stuff he had to do. Although he had drained me of information on myself and my limited relationship to Mario and his yacht, Jacko had told me virtually nothing about himself other than his preferred brand of rubbers—Trojan Magnum XLs—which we now had used in abundance and I hadn't wanted to use at all.

"Stay out of trouble, and I strongly suggest you stay away from Mario and his yacht," was the last thing Jacko told me as he let me off at the King Neptune Plaza in a corner of the Shelter Cove yacht basin.

But I'm a bad boy. I made a beeline for the boat slip where the Antinous III was now resting in.

Mario saw me coming and came out to the stern of the yacht. "You coming back? You want more of the same?" he asked, with a smile.

"Yes," I said.

He laughed.

As I came aboard, Mario called out to Julio, "Take us out to the broadest part of Broad Creek. I want to hear him scream, but we don't need others in the harbor to hear it." He turned to look at me to see if what he'd said scared me shitless. It did, but I didn't want to let him see me sweat. I did, however, tremble in anticipation as Julio revved up the engines.

Once anchored in the broadest section of Broad Creek, they hung me from the ceiling of Mario's cabin and took turns flogging me and fucking me, fucking me and flogging me. I was a bad boy. I needed to be punished. I was a needy boy. I needed to be fucked. The three of them did both. I screamed and they all laughed.

They took me down, I did a couple of lines of coke with Mario, and he bound my wrists to the headboard of his bed. He spread and bent my legs, placing my feet flat on the mattress, and placed a couple of pillows under the small of my back, raised and angling my hips. I let him manipulate me as he liked, murmuring, "Yes, yes, take me. Punish me." My mind couldn't help going to Jacko doing this to me. I wanted the big black bull to take me this way.

Mario played with a string of tear-dropped anal beads, pressing them inside me and then slowly pulling them out as I groaned and moaned for him. He pressed three fingers into my channel and I cried out, "Yes, fist me!" and fingers entered me up to the knuckles?

"More? You want more?" He was breathing heavily, consumed by lust.

I cried out "Yes, yes. Do it! Take me hard! Be cruel to me." I dug my heels into the mattress and raised my pelvis to him. His knuckles breached my sphincter muscle this time. Stretching myself out flat on my back, arms flung aside, in total, open surrender, my legs spread and bent, I raised my pelvis to his buried fist and rocked on it, fucking myself on the fist.

He fucked me with his hand as I cried out in pain-passion and arced my cum, more prodigious than I'd ever managed before, down onto my belly. I screamed and screamed, with nobody but those torturing me to hear me. But I was more sexually alive than I ever had been before. I exploded with Mario's fist inside me and then exploded again. I came and came and came. I orgasmed until I was totally drained and my balls ached. Which, of course, was the whole point of my having put myself in this position. They were enjoying the screams and, perversely, I was enjoying the release they provided.

Then all three of them fucked me again. During this session, they brought the young German from the previous day into the cabin and did a round robin between us, doing him on the floor and me on the bed. His weak cries of "Ja, fickt mich wieder" mixed with my more enthusiastic, "Stick it in me! Do me hard!"

The other young guy looked so coked up that he was perpetually out of it. He just flopped around, docilely letting them do whatever they wanted to. But then, so did I. I kept crying out "Yes, yes" and "More, more," and the three of them laid it on, eventually no longer capable to more themselves.

The German youth fainted when he was given the fist.

When I hobbled off the Antinous III near dusk after it had returned to its slip, Jacko was sitting on a wall, waiting for me.

As I approached him, I shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a bad boy. And I have needs."

"Which I have tried to fill," he said, "when I most certainly should not have done. Shit, I don't know what it is with me wanting you like a do."

"You're too good for me," I said. "I'm into bad shit."

"Come upstairs, to your condo, with me. We got some things to deal with."

I shivered. This was where the big black stud would lay it on me—do me royally; whip me and fuck me hard and nasty. Be bad to the bone with me. Be a Nazi for me. He had the shaft and fists to do some real damage. I wondered if he was packing some strong drugs as well as that gun.

* * * *

"We aren't up here to fuck?" I asked when we got to the condo and Jacko pulled me out on the balcony and sat me down. He took a hard look out into the yacht basin.

"No, we have to talk," he said. "I made a mistake laying you in the first place. You were too much temptation. It wasn't professional."

"Not professional how? Why do you have that gun? What are you looking at out there? Are you spying on the Antinous III?"

"Yes. Bingo. I'm a cop, Ward. We're watching that yacht. Mario Finelli is a mobster kingpin. He's into a lot of bad shit—up and down the East Coast. Drugs and gun running, even sex trafficking. I had to determine whether you were part of this."

"So, am I part of this?" I asked. I knew I was part of the receiving end of what Mario was into. I could be sent up for snorting the coke, to begin with.

"I've done what I can to keep you out of this. He's going to be raided and arrested tomorrow. Can you just stay away from him now?"

"Are you going to stay with me and make sure I stay away from him? Are you going to take me inside, tie me up, beat me, and fuck the shit out of me?" I asked.

Jacko gave me a hard look. "You don't want that, and it was a mistake for me to do with you what I did. You're such a desirable piece, though. Go back to Dartmouth, where your parents want you to finish. Get over this 'I'm bad' shit nonsense. Grow up and take care of yourself."

"Take me inside. I'm bad. Punish me?" I whined.

"That's enough of this shit," Jacko said, standing. "Just stay away from Finelli. Don't be on that boat tomorrow morning. I've got to go check in with my people now. Just stay put here."

"Yes, sir," I said, deflated that he wouldn't take me inside and fuck the hell out of me.

After he left, I went to the balcony at the other side of the condo unit, at the entrance to the condos, and looked down into the parking lot below. I waited until Jacko got into the black Mustang and drove off. Then I took the elevator down to the first level and walked out onto the Shelter Cove boardwalk.

Mario came into the stern of the Antinous III as I approached.

"Came back again, did you?" He asked. "Haven't had enough?"

"You need to leave, Mario," I said. "A cop"—a good cop, I wanted to say—"pulled me in and told me to stay away from you. That you were really bad news. That they were going to raid you and arrest you tomorrow. You need to leave."

"They are right. I'm really bad," he said. He was taking it calmly.

"Yes, I know."

"And still you came again."

"I come best with the bad," I said. "I can't help it; it's what I am. It takes the bad to make me come the best." And it was true. Jacko was good—in so many ways. Really, really good. But I was bad. To be fully satisfied, I had to have it taken from me—I had to suffer.

"You have two choices then," Mario said.

As night was falling, the Antinous III was gliding out of Shelter Cove harbor, into Broad Creek, en route to who knew where, and I didn't care. Mario was crouched between my spread and raised legs, holding my ankles up and away from my body, fucking me with his eight incher, while Pepe was binding my wrists to the restraints in the bed's headboard. They'd pushed the German youth, unconscious or something and naked and bruised, off the bed onto the deck while they were clearing the bed to put me on it. He wasn't moving. I wasn't going anywhere now that they didn't want me to. There was more to come. A gigantic, heavily veined black dildo and a many-thonged hand whip lay on the bed beside me. I was trembling in anticipation. I was already leaking. Mario and Pepe were fully erect.

"Are we going to have ourselves a time when we get out to international waters," Mario was murmuring. It wasn't a question.

As the two of them were busy trussing me up, I looked out of the cabin's window and saw that a dark-blue boat, Jacko standing in the bow, was following the Antinous III out of the cove and into Broad Creek. They weren't waiting until tomorrow to pull the raid. I guess that's why Jacko was a good cop.