The Colombian thug Arillano Galindo was rubbing his head dry with one towel, with another one wrapped around his waist, as he stepped from the bathroom into his sea view room at Cartagena's resort Caribe Hotel, when he was caught up short. Standing inside the closed door to the corridor was the waiter he had just been flirting with down at the hotel pool.
He'd actually been assessing the young man as possibly part of the package he planned to deliver to the docks of New Orleans in two week's time—fresh ass for the male bordellos across the southern states of America. The young man was standing there, in a vest over his naked chest and short shorts—the uniform of the pool service—and holding a tray with a champagne bottle, a single glass, and a fruit plate on it. He was a Mestizo, highly valued in the trade, small of stature, almost boyish, dusky complexion but with blond-tipped hair and blue eyes. And he had the smile of a knowing flirt. Galindo probably wouldn't even have to whip him into shape if he took him to New Orleans.
"Compliments of the hotel management," the young waiter said with a smile. He moved to his right and put the tray down on the side of the dresser and then came back to the door, smiled, and said, "Anything else I can do for you, sir? Anything at all?"
Manuel was flat on his back on the carpeted floor, turning his head back and forth, crying out at the invasion, and digging his fists into the carpet pile. He was mouthing off like this was his first time, but Galindo wasn't buying that and he was feeding his ass fast and deep—and Manuel was taking him in, stretching to accommodate him without apparent trouble. Manuel's butt was raised on three pillows from the bed; one of his legs rose up Galindo's chest, and Galindo held the other one out to the side with a fist wrapped around his ankle. Galindo was on his knees between Manuel's legs and raising and lowering his body in rhythm as his cock moved in and out, in and out inside Manuel's tight hole—at an ever faster, deeper pace.
Manuel groaned and moaned and slowly pulled on his own cock, as Galindo muttered what a nice, sweet, tight ass he had, murmuring that he should see the world, that his talents should be shared—and thinking to himself that, yes, this young, boyishly handsome waiter would command top dollar in the male bordellos of New Orleans. Maybe, he was thinking, he should consider pimping some of these guys himself and letting them keep more of the take. Galindo's share of the market at this point was not-fully-willing, expendable asses. It was almost a shame to throw someone as good at bottoming as Manuel was into that short-term pool. Almost. Manuel would return top dollar anyway—almost as much as if he was a virgin.
Galindo was even more pleased a half an hour later, when he had Manuel's belly up against the wall of the shower, under a cascade of water, and the little Mestizo was able to go with a power fuck. Galindo had to be careful with the small ones, like Manuel. He was built like a heavy-weight prize fighter, with the brutalized face to match, and he sometimes lost control at the height of a fuck. He could get rough, and he could crush the smaller ones under him in the heat of lust. But doing it like this was OK. Holding Manuel by his waist and raising him up and down on his cock, and Manuel making all of the sounds of full-satisfaction taking that the marks like to hear. He didn't just lay there and take it; he moved his hips and touched his taker with his hands, and murmured his love for the cock and what it was doing to him.
Afterward, as they were stretched out on the bed and Galindo was enjoying Manuel's lips with his and the little berry-brown body, lithe and boy-like, with his gliding hands, Galindo whispered to him, "Are you free for the weekend? I have a very private island. I can make it worth your while."
"Yes, I think I would like that—if, of course, your pocketbook is of the same generous size as other parts of you."
"Well, I could be very, very generous. If you can show me that you can suck cock as well as you ride it."
Manuel then showed him that he, indeed, could suck cock very, very well.
* * * *
The speedboat was skimming across the water, the beach resort coastline of Cartagena receding behind them and an islet dead ahead. The waves were choppy and white capped, and the two men were breaking off from what they had been doing to look up at the sky. Arillano Galindo was sitting in the seat behind the wheel, his bathing trunks around his ankles and Manuel sitting on his cock, his hands trapping Galindo's wrists, as the older man steered the boat, and his ass rising and falling in Galindo's lap.
"I don't like the looks of the sky," Galindo muttered. "We'll make the island, but not with much time to crank up the boat in the boathouse. If we lose the boat, we're stranded for a couple of days."
"Stranded," Manuel exclaimed. "How big is this island we're going to anyway?" Manuel wasn't at all worried about the black clouds scuttling across the sky or the sudden picking up of the breeze and drop in temperature, or the whitecaps on the waves. This had been one of the riskier aspects of all this. The timing had been very touchy, and the primary plan required the hurricane that had been building off the coast of Cuba to be making an appearance here either later today or tomorrow. It now looked like tonight was going to be the night.
"It's small. Only has one house on it," Galindo said. "I own the whole island. I'll have you all to myself." He took one hand off the wheel and pulled Manuel in close in his lap and gave him a deep kiss in the hollow of his neck.
"If your island is small, it's the only thing about you that's small," Manuel whispered, and he wiggled his butt and was rewarded with a groan from Galindo as his cock touched all sides of Manual's undulating channel walls.
And once again the international trafficker in illegal flesh, Arillano Galindo, blessed his good fortune at having added Manuel to his collection at the last moment for delivery to the New Orleans auction house. Of course Manuel didn't know yet that he was going to be sold into the underworld of male brothels. And as long as Manuel was giving him a good time, Galindo wasn't going to tell the nice little piece of ass what was what. He'd have Manuel on the ship and sailing across the Caribbean before he had any idea what was in store for him.
"There, there. Up ahead. Do you see it? Isle de Turto. And it's all mine."
"Where? Oh, that? It [i]is[/i] small," Manuel said. He was doing his best acting to convey the impression that he'd never seen the island before—although he had. He knew practically every inch of the island and the house on it now.
