“There, is that better?” Peitr whispered into my ear.

“Uhh. Yes, yes. That feels great,” I answered, and my words turned into a soft moan.

“Yes, I can feel it in your body. You are a lot looser now. You are moving with me more smoothly. Is it because of the guilt?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “This helps erase the guilt. It’s as if none of this is something I could do anything about now.”

“I thought so,” Peitr whispered, and he began to move his cock inside me, dragging the head of his crocked dick along my ass canal at seven inches of depth, making my hips join in his motion. My eyes went to the ceiling paddle fan above us, gauging the thrusts of Peitr’s hips against the flap, flap sound and movement of the paddles. I tugged a bit on the two silk scarves lightly tying my wrists to the headboard above me, seeking assurance that I was imprisoned and couldn’t do anything to defend myself. Peitr’s strong, solid Dutchman’s body was closely covering mine on the bed, nipples to nipples and belly to belly. His legs covered mine, and I had my heels wrapped around his ankles. His arms covered mine, and he held his hands around the silk knots at my wrists, giving yet more of a comforting feel that I had no control over this. Only his hips and my pelvis were in motion, as the flap, flap of the ceiling fan above the brass bed moved what air there was in this dim-lit cabana across our naked, sweating bodies. Beyond the closed louvered doors, the heat and the jungle of the Caribbean island assaulted the small hotel cabana, trying invade our sanctuary. Strange bird calls screamed their annoyance that they couldn’t get at us in our secret hiding place.

What a difference two days had made. A long weekend, but Cindy had to go north, into snow country, on business, and the winter had gone on just too long in the mid Atlantic states. I’d had enough of the snow for the year, so I headed for the Dutch Antilles, and more precisely for the remote resort island of Cayo Grande in search of sun, sand, and adventure. I had found all three in abundance, and the latter beyond my wildest notions.

Peitr had been the local Dutch guide I’d hired for a day of deep-sea fishing. We drank all day and cavorted around in our skimpy Speedos on his boat. We downed beer all day, shared a couple of bottles of wine over our shell fish that evening, polished off a bottle of scotch that night, and I had awakened this morning my back cuddled into his chest, his arms wrapped around me, and his dick seven inches up my ass.

I hadn’t wasted my anger. I hadn’t been sober to have made such a decision; if it had hurt too much, I hadn’t noticed; and I’d always wondered what being with another male would be like. Unfortunately, at this point I still didn’t know what it was like even though I’d done the deed, so I was quite willing to find out when both Peitr and his peter had awakened and he’d started pumping me again.

Peitr, who obviously had not been nearly as drunk the night before as I had, remarked on how tense I was this morning in contrast to the wild fucking we’d engaged in the night before. I had to take his word for the wild fucking part; I hadn’t