Weekend Captives

"It's all set up," Mario said, "directors, costumers, and lighting and all, except that we don't have anyone to design the sets yet and the program director is pulling his pubic hair out over the issue."

"You do tell," I said. I knew the program director—biblically, and I'd had experience with his pubic hair—getting strands of it stuck between my teeth. I savored images of him draped on the front of me, pulling pubic hair out while I pumped him from behind. I salted that away for future reference. More at hand at the moment was that it was getting on toward bedtime, and these young men needed to be bedded. Garry didn't want to spoil the mood by taking Horst and Claude back to his apartment and give them a chance to cool off their hots. So, they all bundled up to the loft in my apartment. A light was on up there, and, while I was sandwiched between Mario and Pete on the sofa and they were sharing my cock with their mouths, I looked up to the ceiling to see the shadow of Garry being doubled by his two guys. Horst was arching his back from a missionary position, holding very still, and looking dreamy. I knew then that Garry's passage muscles were making their signature rippling love to the embedded cocks of both of his men. I heard Claude, under Garry, babbling in French and saw Horst jerk and grimace and then again—and again. Garry was milking both cocks dry.

In my bedroom, I had Mario do a cowboy ride on my cock as I lay on my back, telling Pete to watch Mario's technique and to follow on. He watched and got the technique right, but I pulled a surprise on him, turning him on his back on the bed, reversing myself on him, on top, thrusting inside him from below, digging my knees in beside his thighs, grabbing his ankles, and fucking him in a reverse. He'd obviously never had that done to him before, and he was panting and moaning, exhausted and unable to move, as we all cuddled together afterward and settled in for the night.

* * * *

For some reason the Flagler guys were all tired out in the morning, so, while I was getting breakfast ready to the point that I could get it quickly made when they were all mobilized, I made a call and received a call. The incoming call was from Madge, in Sun City. She ostensibly was letting me know "the girls" wanted me back, but I got the impression that Becky had finally gotten the message on my interest in Clifford and had decided that didn't matter to her as much as me coming back to service her meant to her.

"Yes, we're all busy," Madge said. "Especially Becky. She's been trying hard to get Clifford a job with a theater troupe somewhere around Hilton Head, because she's decided she wants him home with her this summer."

"You don't say?" I said. "I thought Clifford had his heart set on working in New York this summer."

"Oh, that's mostly what Becky thought he could do in New York," Madge said. "She was anxious to move him ahead in the theater. Seems the intern jobs he can get this summer are more stage hand positions than set design. If she can get him a job near here, both she and he would be there in the Hilton Head area for the summer."

"You don't say." Something Becky was pushing? Now she was dangling Clifford in front of me to get me to come back to Hilton Head and bed her? She at last had cottoned on to what I did with Clifford and she didn't care as long as I did it with her too? It wasn't a bad idea, mind you.

"Right," Madge said, giving me the distinct impression that this was the message she was assigned to give me. After a bit more chit chat, message received, I gave the messenger some personal strokes and endured her purrs and giggles and signed off. That would be a backup plan, I guessed, and I would go back for the summer if Clifford was there and my other plan didn't work out. My weekend with Pete, who was so much like Clifford, had brought home to me how much I wanted Clifford. I'd steam ahead with Plan A.

Suddenly there was life in the condo. All four weekend captives were up and raring to go. They wanted to run into the sea more than they wanted breakfast, so we all did that first. Once on the beach they wanted to fuck on the beach and in the water, so Garry and I made sure they got that. Then I told them about the tickets I had for the Sunday second day of NASCAR weekend at Daytona Beach, just down the coast, and we were all off in Garry's Lincoln Navigator.

Pete was hanging on me and giving me gooey eyes that evening as, after some more romping in the sack after we'd returned from Daytona Beach, and Garry and I were both dragging and grinning when the guys went walking up the beach, duffels in hand, toward where they'd left their car.

Another successful weekend captivity.

As I watched them go, I pulled out my cellphone and dialed a number. "Clifford, it's me, Jordan. Say, if you don't have anything better to do this summer, I've got this friend who teaches in the theater program at Flagler College down here in St. Augustine. He needs someone to help design sets for a summer stock theater program run by the college here. It doesn't pay much, but it would be good experience and would be hands on with the designing. You could bunk with me, if you're interested. You are? Great. You understand what I mean by bunking with me? You do? Just great."