Caught in Island Intrigue

Wade groaned and started to pant. He crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the top of the nightstand and pushed the nightstand drawer closed, after extracting another condom packet. The two they had already used lay on the floor in front of him, thick as slugs with cum. The man had shot off repeatedly and produced more than Wade could have imagined. All of the men down here were big shooters, he had found. The black tennis pro had put four notches on his belt the previous night, once on the pool terrace, once on the floor of Room 18, and twice on the bed.

The bottle of lube was sitting on the top of the nightstand. After deftly reaching back and crowning the man, Wade bent over and grasped his ankles with his hands. He pushed up on his feet, raising his buttocks off the edge of the bed. With a little laugh, Cardiene took his right hand from where it had been palming Wade's belly after pulling an ejaculation out of the young man's cock and adjusted the bulb of his erection at the rim of Wade's hole. Wade rocked back, taking the cock inside his passage, and, grasping Wade's hips between his hand, the jeweler, fingers still flashing gawdy rings, pulled Wade's passage on and off his cock.

"Such slim hips," the jeweler murmured. "I can almost make my fingers meet. It's a pleasure to watch myself move between your hips."

Yes, I've heard that before, Wade thought, but he did say that. Instead he moaned and said, "Fuck me good, daddy. Punish me. You're so big." He wanted to leave the impression that the punishment should be applied by the man's cock, not his fists.

After a few minutes of this, Cardiene gripped Wade's legs under his knees and lifted and spread them, taking over all of the movement of the fuck. Wade focused his eyes on the ebony hands gripping his lightly tanned legs, reveled in the contrast of the skin tones, and turned his face to accept the kiss and to suck on the jeweler's tongue, as Cardiene, big, strong, black, pulled him on and off the cock.

An hour after Pierre Cardiene, humming happily, left him to return to his jewelry store, Wade was walking through the hotel lobby, clicking along in his sandals, wearing a skimpy neon-blue Speedo, topped by a red T-shirt, and headed for the beach behind the hotel. The desk clerk watched him go with a little smirk on his face.

Wade came out of the surf as a policeman, whose beat was the beach to ensure the protection of foreign tourists on the heavily petty crime-infested island, walked by. The policeman, whose name was Vin, short for Vincent, was young, as young as Wade, in his early twenties, handsome as sin, and bulked up. He was wearing the summer regulation local police uniform of dark blue shorts and T-shirt, both seemingly spray painted on his muscular body. His eyes made contact with Wade's as he passed and the two smiled at each other.

The police and young men using this area of the beach had an understanding. The policemen didn't hassle the young men as long as they were given privileges. None of the young men objected to giving Vin privileges.

Wade went to his towel and laid back, feet pointed at the sea, legs spread and bent, and he dozed. Vin passed him coming and going two more times, and each time, Wade raised himself on his elbows, let his legs spread, and smiled at the beach policeman. Yes, if you want, is what he was signaling.

Vin wanted.

On the next pass, Vin came right by where Wade was on the beach. He leaned down and touched Wade on the knee. Wade smiled up at him and moved a hand to his basket. Vin cupped his own basket with one of his hands, smiled, and nodded toward the restroom hut at the foot of the stairs up to the hotel pool terrace.

Kneeling in front of the policeman, whose shorts were puddled on the ground at his feet, in the foliage at the back of the restroom hut, with Vin holding Wade's hands in his fists, Wade gave the handsome, muscular, young, ebony policeman expert head. The young policeman had a monster cock; Wade barely could get it in his mouth. But he managed.

When Vin lifted Wade up, turned the young man's back to the wooden wall of the hut, and coaxed Wade's legs to hook onto his hips, Wade whispered, "Maybe we should take this upstairs. I'm in Room 18."

"I've heard you charge."

"For you, just 20 euros," Wade whispered, pleased that it was known the beach that he was for sale. "Just for the pride of it."

Vin snorted. "Too much."

"OK, take what you want. One Euro-or free, if you insist. But just because you're a god; not because you're a cop."

Vin took what he wanted—for free—and Wade loved having a young, hung, black bull stud inside him. They rocked together, making sweet harmony, intimately embracing, in a missionary, with Wade arching his head back and crying, "Yes, yes, fuck me" to the ceiling, as Vin pounded and pounded away inside him. They finished with Vin bending Wade over the bed on his belly, grasping the young Americans wrists and pulling his arms cruelly back, while Vin stood between Wade's thighs and thrust, thrust, thrust. Again, Wade was crying out an uncontrolled, "Yes, yes. Like that. Deep. Take me hard."

Vin had taken him hard. Wade hadn't reacted like an in-control rent-boy. He'd reacted as a ravished, satisfied customer himself.

He lay there, arms akimbo, on the bed, watching Vin redress in his policeman's summer uniform.

"I'm sorry to have to inform you that you are under arrest," Vin said when he was dressed. He produced handcuffs from his equipment belt.

"Why?" Wade asked.

"I would have thought that was obvious," Vin said. "For prostitution."

"But we've just—"

"I don't think it would be a good idea for your well-being for you to say anything about what we just did," Vin said. "Here in Sainte-Luce, that would be considered as legitimate gathering of evidence. I had to be sure the charges were true."

"So, you were just doing your duty," Wade snapped. "You didn't enjoy it a bit. You're straight."

"What do you think?" Vin said, giving Wade a grin.

"I think you enjoyed it." Vin didn't answer, but he didn't drop the grin either.

Before he hauled Wade in, dragging him past the desk clerk; the bartender, who had come to the bar door; and the doorman, all giving him knowing looks, Vin had dropped 20 euro at Wade's feet, completing the basis of the prostitution charge.

* * * *

The arraignment of William Bendix was brief on the charge of vagrancy and prostitution, and as the hotel desk clerk, bartender, and doorman and policeman, Vin, gave testimony, it seemed almost as if Wade had wanted to be caught engaging in prostitution.

Vin guided Wade to a jail cell at the police building in Sainte-Luce. It seemed that Vin was going to be his jailer as well—and to continue to take privileges. Wade was sitting on the side of his cot, his left wrist restrained on a chain anchored in the wall that permitted him to reach only as far as the hole in the floor with a bucket of water beside it in the corner of the cell, when Vin came in with a supper tray. The hunky policeman closed the cell door behind him and held the tray up.

"Why did you arrest me? I thought guys like me had an arrangement with the police in that area of the beach."

"Maybe I want to have you to myself for a while. My impression was that you would like bondage and a bit of rough. I'm sure you know what you'll have to do for your supper," he said. "The system here is more than just the police on patrol too. Some of you young men have to grease the poles of others up the line in the system. It's your turn. And, by that, I mean take the greased poles of others up the line."

Wade didn't know what he'd have to do to earn his dinner, but he could guess—and he guessed correctly. Vin sat on the side of the cot, his shorts puddled on the floor at his feet, while Wade sat in his lap, facing him, Vin's fists clasped behind Wade's lower back and Wade's fists clasped behind the policeman's neck, while Wade rose and fell on the young black bull's cock. This wasn't exactly singing for your supper, but it was close enough.

He didn't even think of trying to escape. But then if he had, that would ruin everything.

Three days later, Vin took Wade upstairs to meet the police chief, Baghel Bisette, the tallest, most imposing and muscular black man Wade had ever seen. Wade was made to stand in front of the police chief, who was sitting on the other side of the desk in his office chair, which would have looked oversized if it wasn't sized about right for the man. Even with him sitting, Wade could tell that the man had to be well over six-and-a-half feet tall and with a massive torso—not fat, muscular. He also was dark ebony. He was thuggish in features and coarse, but it all came together as complete command and authority. Wade had no question that in his building—and perhaps on this island, Baghel Bisette ruled and did as he wished.

"What have you been convicted of, boy?" Bisette asked gruffly?

"I haven't been convicted of anything," Wade answered, keeping his voice respectful. He knew the police chief held all of the cards here. And he hadn't been convicted yet. He'd just been arraigned.

"Don't get smart with me," Bisette boomed. "You're in here for prostitution, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Wade answered. He realized he was in this prison whether he was convicted of anything or not. He was completely at the mercy of this big, black mountain of a man. Wade, being Wade, couldn't help trembling a bit and beginning to harden up. Was the man as big everywhere as he presented in his chair. "But I haven't been arraigned for anything yet."

"And I would think you don't want to be arraigned," Bisette said. "Which should make you fully cooperative here."

Then he took a surprising tack—if Wade hadn't anticipated and hoped for such a pathway for the encounter to take. "This prostitution wasn't with women, was it?"

"Not usually, no," Wade answered, but not wanting to abandon the truth that he would go with a woman too if he needed to.

"It is with men. Men mount you and fuck you."

"Yes, sir," Wade answered, dipping his head and giving a little smile, a signal, if Bisette was into such things, that Wade would be submissive to him.

"They mount you like a dog or from the front, holding your legs out?" He was almost licking his chops.

"Whatever they pay for."

"You any good?" Bisette growled, and then when Wade didn't answer immediately, the police chief looked over his shoulder at the policeman, Vin, standing behind Wade at the office door. "He any good as a lay, Vincent?"

"Yes, sir," Vin answered. "He's a sweet lay, sir, and his ass can do a great job at squeezing your dick as you fuck him."

"You got a soft mouth, boy?" Bisette asked. "He give good head, does he, Vincent?"

"Yes, sir. He sucks the cum right out of you, sir."

"Come around here and get on your knees and show me, boy," the police chief commanded. And Wade did as directed, finding to his delight that the man, who already had it out and swiveled his chair around, had an extraordinarily thick python between his thighs. He gave the police chief expert head, while Bisette held the young man's head between his hands and directed the suck.

The police chief, Baghel Bisette, laid Wade on the top of his desk, putting the young man on his back and, still sitting in his swivel chair, bending and pushing Wade's knees up into his chest, and feasting on the young man's cock, balls, and hole, until, panting and moaning deeply, Wade gave up a load. Then Bisette rose from his chair, hovered over the smaller young man, took some of Wade's huffing and exclaiming time forcing his python of a shaft up into Wade's channel, and fucked the stuffing out of him.

Crying out how good he was getting it and burying his fingernails into the black man's giant guns, wrapping his legs around the black bull's lower back, and going with the fuck, Wade surprised and delighted Bisette in not only going with the fuck but also enhancing it. Wade set his pelvis in coordinated motion with Bisette's thrusts and willed the muscles of his passage walls stretch open for, grasp, and undulate over the massive cock as the police chief fucked him.

Bisette motioned Vin forward and, as Wade let his head arch back over the front edge of the desk, the black policeman unleashed his cock, pressed it between Wade's lips, and went deep, massaging Wade's throat with his hands to coax Wade into deep throating him.

When both the police chief and the beach patrolman had ejaculated at separate ends of Wade, Bisette pulled out, laughed, and said, "Yes, Vincent, the boy is a sweet, professional lay."

And to Wade, he said, "Would you like to serve your time in a comfortable house on the beach, with privileges of going into Saint-Lucie and plying your trade and sleeping in my bed, or do you want to remain in a prison cell here?"

Bingo, Wade thought. That was no choice really, and it was what he was angling for. Of course he opted for Bisette's house on the beach. He didn't even repeat that there was no sentence yet—that he hadn't been arraigned yet. He fully understood what he had to do if he didn't want there to be an arraignment at all.

* * * *

They were building to a climax—another climax. They had been fucking for three weeks. Wade was on his back on Baghel Bisette's bed at his seafront home at the western end of Saint-Lucie. The massive, black bull of a police chief was on top of him, between his spread and bent thighs, embracing him close, an arm wrapped around the young man's lower back, raising his hips, giving access to Bisette to bottom in him as he stroked and stroked and stroked. He'd been thrusting for nearly fifteen minutes and was close to climax. Wade had already come up the black man's muscular, Zeus-like belly. Wade gasped and cried out, "Yes, Yes. Give it to me!" He arched his shoulders and head back, set his eyes to watching the whop, whop, whop of the ceiling fan over the bed, and concentrated on the hard shaft throbbing deep inside him as Bisette tensed, jerked, and released; tensed, jerked, and released; tensed, jerked, and released.

Bisette immediately rolled off Wade and stood by the bed. He rolled the spent condom off his mammoth cock and tossed it expertly into a trash basket by the bed. With a sigh, Wade reached over, opened the drawer to a nightstand, and pulled out another condom disk.

"No, we don't have time for another now," Bisette said with a satisfied laugh. He'd latched onto a firecracker with this young, blond American.

"You always take time," Wade said, giving the big black man a saucy smile.

"It's only three in the afternoon," the police chief said.

"And your point is?" Wade responded. "Come back to bed. Do me in a doggie this time."

Bisette snorted. "I have an appointment. Can't you hear them downstairs?" And then he had withdrawn into the bathroom, and Wade watched him, through the open door, take a piss and a shower and brush his teeth before coming back into the bedroom to dress. The man, despite his age, had the physique of a god. Wade was having no trouble at all "suffering through" this serving of his sentence.

He had, in fact, heard the men arriving. He was very much tuned to what was happening in this house—events happening beyond the edges of this bed, where he'd spent most of his time since the police brought him here from the jailcell. When Bisette wasn't at the house, fucking him, Vin or one of the other black island policemen were. They were all studs. Wade was bred to this; he didn't mind this aspect of his job.

After Bisette had dressed and gone downstairs, Wade padded, naked, over to a window looking out over the roof of a porch attached to the back of the house to the seafront, with a short beach and a long, narrow wooden pier extending out into the Caribbean. He could hear voices coming from the covered porch below and three cigarette speedboats tied up to the end of the pier. They hadn't been there before. Dressing in shorts and sandals, he quietly stole downstairs and out the front, land-side of the house and around the corner. Vin was standing in the bushes near the back edge of the main house where the back porch was attached. He was nestling a submachine gun in his arms, clearly on guard for whatever was happening on the porch.

Giving Vin a smile, Wade approached him and went down on his knees in front of the policeman. Not one to pass up an offer, Vin unzipped himself, took out his cock, and let Wade go down on it. While he sucked the hunky black policeman off, Wade listened to the conversation that was going on Of course, the porch between Bisette and an unknown number of other men.

As Wade finished the blow job, Bisette came around the side of the house.

"There you are, Bill," he said, helping Wade to get up off his knees. The man didn't seem to mind at all that Wade had been sucking off one of the men he had put on guard duty.

"I have some friends on the porch I'd like you to meet," the police chief said.

There turned out to be a dozen men, all fit, both blacks and whites and even an Asian or two. They chattered among themselves and were boisterous, drinking the police chief's beer, as they laid Wade on his back on a patio table, pulled his shorts and briefs off his legs, and took turns fucking him. Bisette stood by, beaming over a successful gangbang party.

* * * *

Wade wasn't doing anything, at least on the surface, that the police chief had said he couldn't do when he allowed himself to be invited to sit with the tall, good-looking older man at the beachside open-air café on the Rue de la Plage in Saint-Luce. Bisette and the policemen who lived with him and acted as his bodyguards, including Vin, were at work in the town. Bisette had said that Wade could continue coming into Saint-Luce to ply his prostitution trade when he wasn't wanted by Bisette. Yes, Wade thought it was peculiar that while he, technically, was being jailed, despite not being convicted, for prostitution, the local police would permit him to continue taking tricks from men, but this was the "whatever" Caribbean.

The man was very interested. He leaned over and took one of Wade's hands in his while they were waiting for their beer to arrive and he was rubbing his thumb against Wade's open palm. Wade closed his fingers loosely over the thumb and the man kept stroking with the thumb as they looked into each other's eyes and engaged in superficial chat. The thumb work was establishing a top's hookup (the man) with a submissive (Wade).

After they received their drinks, the man took his wallet out of his pocket and put some bills in U.S. money by where Wade's hand was poised. Wade swept the money up and put it in his pocket. Wade hadn't established a price and the man hadn't asked what it was. Anyone being able to hear them whispering to each other might have paused with that, but no one at the café did.

"What have you learned?" the man asked, leaning close in to Wade across the small table. "Is it a coup? Is Bisette involved in organizing a coup here? Or is it something else?"

"I don't think it's a coup," Wade murmured. "He's had a couple of meetings at the house over the last week. A dozen men each time. The same men." Wade didn't say how he knew they were the same men, but he did know they were the same, because they'd gangbanged him, with Bisette's complicity. "They arrive by speedboat. I think they are the pirates you've mentioned that are buzzing around here and causing havoc. I think Bisette might be running the pirates rather than planning a coup."

"Ah, yes, that would make sense. Not the problem we thought it might be but a problem nonetheless," Sam Winterberry, the man who was running this CIA operation in the Caribbean said. "Good work. We'd like you to remain with Bisette for now. Keep an eye on him and confirm what he is engaged in. Be there when we decide what to do with this."