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This was the same stance in which Mateo had fucked him earlier, before Sebastian had left the villa to seek Doctor Coleiro out in the waterfront café. But this was an entirely different fuck than the earlier one. This one went on forever, with the doctor getting bigger and bigger inside him, staying rock hard, and the two of them passionately kissing as they exploded, together, again and again in Technicolor. The doctor gave Sebastian the satisfaction that Mateo hadn't provided for him.
Of course at this point, it was mainly the drugs doing their work, but it was real enough for Sebastian.
The sailing yacht of the Nordic hunks was still at rest in the cove below. It wasn't showing running lights, and Sebastian wondered if that meant the two young men were in Li's brothel, sowing their oats. The doctor was fucking him expertly. He'd taken Sebastian to heights of arousal and pleasure that neither Clifford nor Mateo--even the two of them together--had transported him to. But the doctor, while a highly competent lover and younger than Clifford and Mateo, wasn't young and muscular and body beautiful enough--not like the two hunks on the sailing boat. What the doctor was, however, under the influence of the pills, was huge inside Sebastian's passage--or at least seemingly so--stretching him to the panting limit, adding to the arousal until Sebastian was able to reason that it was all the pills--that he wasn't really being fucked by a young, hung stud.
"Would it satisfy you to come live with me afterward?" the doctor murmured.
"Afterward? After we've finished fucking tonight?"
"If we finish fucking tonight," Coleiro whispered and then laughed. Sebastian shuddered in pleasure. "No. After Gainsworth has died," he finally said.
"Yes, perhaps," Sebastian answered, never taking his eyes off the Little Harbor 75 sailing yacht bobbing on the waves below--where he had last seen the real deal in terms of young, hung stud.
It was only the next morning that Sebastian, as he was walking, exhausted, back up the hill in the full sunlight of a progressing day and found he couldn't walk a straight line, started to worry about the long-term effects of those pills.
"Note to self," he muttered. "Don't try that too often." But, God, that went a long way to scratch his itch.
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