Sebastian had thought that the two had run out of double penetration positions, but this had been a new one. They were at anchor, preparing for a run into the harbor at Brindisi, Italy, on the east coast heel of the peninsula, having arrived earlier than their berthing time. All three were on the berth in the main cabin, Max, with his head at the forward end of the bed and Jurgen with his head at the aft end. Jurgen's thighs were on top of Max's, allowing their cocks to be bundled. Sebastian was crouched over their pelvises, skewered by both cocks, and he was doing the work of rising and falling on the staffs. He was positioned sideways, facing the outer side of the berth. Jurgen had a hand on his buttocks, helping to guide his rise and fall, and Max was fisting Sebastian's cock.
Although the position was new, double fucking wasn't, and the three had developed this into a science since sailing away from Malta. They talked each other in, seeking a three-way mutual ejaculation, and coming as close as they ever had to achieving one. Jurgen, the more virile of the two Nordic hunks, retained his hard and had shown he was capable of seconds without going soft and having to build up again, so it was up to Max to disengage and go see to the anchor and start the sail into port.
Sebastian swiveled around, facing Jurgen's head, and Jurgen grasped his waist and lifted him on and off the cock in the cowboy position until he produced his secondary ejaculation. Still saddled on the Swede's cock, which was the longer of the two Nordic friends, Sebastian lowered his body on Jurgen's. This brought his face to where, turned to the hull, he could see out a porthole. What he saw was another sailing yacht, pulling up even with Jurgen and Max's Little Harbor 75. It was even longer and sleeker than this yacht.
"Sweet," Sebastian said, admiring the lines of the other sailing yacht. "A Cooksan Performance. Nearly a hundred feet."
Jurgen turned his head. "Ah, yes. The
Greta
. We run into it occasionally. You'd like Carlos. He's got nearly a foot of cock."
There was a dark man of forty-plus years on the deck of the other yacht. He was lean, swarthy, hirsute--dark skinned, but not African. Sebastian gauged him to be Spanish. If so, he probably was Carlos. There were a couple of other sailors moving around on the deck and a third at the helm, but Carlos was the one not doing any work, so by deduction...
"That's Carlos on the deck waving over here at Max," Jurgen said, closing out any mystery. "That's Greta, the woman sunning herself on top of the cabin, giving her tits a breath of fresh air."
Sebastian looked at the woman. She looked closer to fifty than forty. Her body was in good shape but there was a strong hint that plastic surgeons had a lot to say about that. She had a hard-looking face, although he supposed the newspapers would consider it beautiful when she had her war paint on, had an evening gown plastered to her body, and was snapped at a charity dinner opening.
"Carlos looks sexy--and capable," Sebastian said.
Jurgen laughed, knowing that the young man's eyes had slid right off the woman and gone to the man. "The Speedo hardly holds him in, does it? Interested?"
"I could be," Sebastian answered.
"He's old."
"As long as he's hung and can keep it up," Sebastian responded. Jurgen laughed.
Jurgen's voice then turned more serious. "You know that after Brindisi we sail up to Venice where we winter the boat. Then Max goes back to Hamburg and I go to Stockholm for the winter. We both have jobs we attend to when it's not summer and we're sailing."
"No, I didn't know that," Sebastian answered. "We hadn't talked about that."
"There's a ship here in Brindisi. An old passenger ship. It's a casino now called
Benito's
. Anchors just in international waters of the coast. It's a brothel too. Male-with-male prostitutes as well as other mixes. We could take you out there tonight. I mean you were with the House of Li. You were OK with that, weren't you?"
"That's an idea," Sebastian said. He didn't have to be hit over the head with a club. The party with the Nordic hunks was coming to a close. He wasn't being invited to go to either Hamburg or Stockholm. Both cities were on the water, so neither was out of the question with Sebastian. He had to be near or on the sea. But he wasn't even being invited to sail on from here to Venice. The guys must have run out of double penetration positions.
"It's been fun," he whispered, to signal that he understood and accepted.
"Yes, it has. You're a sweet lay. A real gift from the sea," Jurgen answered. "And speaking of--"
"Yes, I feel you. You get it up faster than most every man I've known."
Jurgen took that as both a compliment and a challenge. He turned Sebastian from front to back on his cock, a tribute to just how long he was, with Sebastian now stretched on his back on top of Jurgen's front. Jurgen laced his arms under Sebastian's pits, trapping Sebastian's arms above his head, and he laced his legs through Sebastian's and raised and spread the young man' legs.
"Fuck yourself," he muttered, and, in a crab position, Sebastian began raising and lowering his ass on the hard cock, ready to cream him for a third time within the hour--taking a farewell fuck.
Sebastian's eyes went to the porthole and he watched the sexy Spaniard on the deck of the other vessel, the longer, sleeker Cookson Performance, as it sailed alongside them, bound for the Brindisi harbor. If what Jurgen had suggested was true, the man's cock also was longer than Sebastian was getting on the Little Harbor 75. Jurgen also hinted that the man gave cock to other men. Where, then, did the woman, Greta, fit into the picture?
