Star Goalie Sequel Ch 04

Star Goalie Sequel Ch 04

A Night in Miami, a Problem and a Solution

This is the fourth (and last) chapter of the sequel to "Miguel Our Star Goalie" on Literotica. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. ©Brunosden 2024. All rights reserved.

The soccer stars are still in Miami after winning a national title.....

They uber-ed to South Beach, found a small, but obviously authentic, Cuban sandwich shop and had dinner. Then they went prowling for the liveliest club. They passed a few and finally decided on the Rainbow Pelican, a large and loud spot on the corner, directly across from the littoral beach park—where many benches had been placed under the shadows of palm trees.

They were carded and stamped; then they paid and entered the crowded space. Men outnumbered women by 2 to 1, and many of the women appeared to be with dates, although some of the women were also paired. Carlos and Miguel quickly found dance partners. Again as was typical, both of the Latinos were on the floor all the time, showing off before a series of Latina beauties and occasionally ringed by hungry guys wanting a piece of them. Toward midnight, the hetero couples began to disappear as the same-sex couples segregated onto different parts of the dance floor. Some even drifted across the street to the benches.

The music was Latin-Punk Rock crossed with Caribbean disco, unrecognizable to most but totally danceable. Hours later, as had so often been the case in the past, Carlos and Miguel were down to tight black jeans, top buttons open—no shirts, no shoes. Hot and gleaming with sweat, despite the AC. Dark curls falling moistly over foreheads and sexy eyes. Thick lips promising a very good ride. They were the center of attention—particularly after it became known that they were the two heroes of the collegiate soccer finals that afternoon.

Jeff and Sean at one point went to walk on the beach, leaving their buddies to dance and sweat—and perform. It was getting a little loud—and very hot. They returned perhaps an hour later, just about ready to call it a night. They hadn't found an empty bench and were not inclined to fuck in public anyway. Upon re-entry, they spotted Carlos—once again the center of a ring of near-naked guys, tanned and muscled, oiled and musky, closing in for the kill. Carlos was in another world, enjoying the attention, the consummate cock-tease in action, bumping his obviously hard dick toward partners and wagging his bubble toward others. Mr. Personality, candidate for public office, already searching for votes. Jeff looked around for Miguel, but didn't find him. He waited a few minutes. Then he headed for the men's room which was eerily empty—even the stalls had no doors. Then he checked the alley behind the club where a few couples were engaged in very public sex. No Miguel. He went back to Sean and asked. "Do you think he went back to the hotel?"

"Not likely. Not without Carlos. I'm pretty sure."

So Sean approached the undulating ring surrounding Carlos and broke into the circle. Several guys glared at the interruption, until they realized the size of the guy butting in. "Carlos, have you seen Miguel?"

Carlos at first didn't seem to hear. He was in the zone, probably after way too many tequila shots and beers. Then, he looked over to the back side of the floor, near the entrance to the toilets and the alley. "He was right there. He was enjoying the company of three older hunks a few minutes ago. They really seemed to be in to him." Carlos pulled out his cell and speed-dialed. No answer. It was so unlike Miguel--whose phone was another appendage to his sultry body. He never turned it off. Then all the guys—including Carlos who had sobered fast when he realized that Miguel was gone--did a careful search of the entire place—the booths, the alleys, even the kitchen. No Miguel. But they did find his distinctive Nikes and his W&M tee, abandoned on the floor near the back. But no cell.

"There's nothing more we can do here. Maybe he's at the hotel. Let's head back. He's a big boy, and it's too soon to call the cops. I'm sure he'll show later."

Carlos was very reluctant to leave. He wanted to search the neighborhood and the beach. Miguel was his—and he belonged to Miguel. The loss had brought that fact home to him very loud and clear. Miguel was not someone he could neglect ever again.

******

A half hour later they were at the hotel. No one had seen Miguel, and his phone still did not answer. Then, Jeff who alone knew all of Miguel's background—and the potential risks, suddenly realized what had happened. Fuck, it's the cartel. Of course they had tentacles in Miami. Maybe they had taken Miguel. The very thought chilled him to the bone. He shivered involuntarily. Then, he pulled out his phone and punched in the speed-dial. A deep voice, obviously awakened by the call, answered. He didn't immediately identify himself. "Hello."

"This is Jeff Bridges. Miguel has disappeared. At a club in South Beach. We've got his shoes and his tee which he wouldn't have left behind, we're pretty sure. He doesn't answer his phone. And his date has no idea where he went. He didn't say anything to any of us. It's probably known around town that he starred in a championship soccer match earlier today. But, otherwise we have nothing."

"Oh shit. His father is still here in Fort Lauderdale. He was planning to fly to DC with me tomorrow to prepare for the trial. It starts on January 12. Stay where you are. I'll call Dr. Allende and have someone at your hotel in an hour or so."

Dr. Allende was awakened and immediately checked his txts. There was indeed one: "We've got Miguel. He'll be in Mexico in a few hours. Testify next week and you'll never see him again." It wasn't signed and the number was not identified—probably sent from a burner, now in the ocean. The doctor immediately broke down and started sobbing—fuck, it was his only son. "What have I done?"

The Feds moved with unusual speed. This matter was at the top of their importance list. They concluded that Miguel would likely be moved to Mexico quickly and by air, if he wasn't already dead—and might never be seen again--even if the good doctor refused to testify. Then Phil, the Miami COM, made a quick management decision. If they were leaving from a private airstrip, it was hopeless. But maybe they wouldn't risk a late night flight which would be traced by DEA and potentially intercepted by patrol planes. Only Miami International was open all night, and almost all of the flights were freight after 2 a.m. Phil quickly decided to launch two helicopters from the roof of the Federal Building in Miami—each equipped with a GPS signal detector. (Miguel, together with all his family had been implanted long ago, but the detectors only worked for about a mile or so. They were old.)

One helicopter began a quick low scan of the beach on either side of where he had last been seen. The other headed for the environs of the airport. It announced its mission to the tower and obtained clearance—there were no flights scheduled in or out for the next hour. The helicopter swept the area, mostly old warehouses and airline service facilities. And they got incredibly lucky. A faint signal was picked up and traced to a Aeromexico Freight warehouse off LeJeune about two miles from the airport. The helicopter was afraid to get closer—or desperate kidnappers might hear the chopper noise, kill and run.

Cars were dispatched—and the signal became louder as they approached the deserted warehouse. There was a night watchman—and for once, he was alert and careful. Yes, he had logged in a delivery of a shipping container about two hours before. It was scheduled to be transported to Mexico City on an early morning freighter. According to the manifest, it contained computers and other electronic equipment, destined for LyF. It had arrived in an unmarked truck. The driver had unloaded, got a signature on the manifest and left. The guard assumed that he was the only person at the warehouse.

He invited the officers onto the site, cautioning that he had no authority to give them access to any freight. Portable GPS detectors quickly identified the container, and after telephoning a magistrate for permission to search, it was opened. They found an un-labeled large cardboard box inside. It was really obvious. It alone was large enough to hold a human. They cut it open and found Miguel, naked, bound and gagged, in the coffin-like box. The restraints seemed like overkill as Miguel was sleeping and obviously drugged. No doubt, as freight, he would never have survived the trip to Mexico. There was no provision for oxygen.

He was taken by ambulance to the nearest ER where a sharp young doc detected the needle mark and was able to identify the drug from a swab of the spot—whoever had injected had been pretty sloppy, and the doc had seen it all in Miami's busiest ER. He produced an antidote that would save his life, but it might take days for the drug effects to wear off completely. Miguel had also been roughed up and maybe he had been raped. Miguel was going to be a very unhappy and very sick young man for a few days. But he'd live.

Carlos, Jeff and Sean heard some of the details—but by no means all of them—very early the next morning. And all immediately appeared at the hospital. Miguel was still in ICU; so of course, not being family, they were denied reports of condition and visitation. They all moved to the waiting room where Miguel's Dad was already holding vigil.

He recognized the teammates and pulled them all into a group hug. He was very emotional, obviously loving his son and worrying about his future. He sobbed, "He's going to be alright. They will likely move him out of ICU later today and release him tomorrow or the next day. I think it's probably best if he returns to Williamsburg—but the Feds are going to enhance his security. He may not be too happy about it. But, he's going to lose even more of his precious privacy. What have I done to my family? I can't tell you how much Miguel talks about you all. You have become his family. And he loves you all. I am so grateful that you are in his life He's going to need you all more than ever now."

******

Several months later, winter was hanging on in Williamsburg. It was a mild winter, but still cold and rainy enough that the three-times per week soccer practices continued—but indoors. The school had celebrated their team's victory—in January after Miguel had returned to campus and was well-enough to enjoy the party. Fortunately although he had roughed up, there were no breaks or strains and no permanent damage from the high dose sedative the kidnappers had administered. But his three apartment buddies had become fiercely protective. He never went anywhere without one of them; and except for class, all of them. And more than once he spotted the typical dark sedan—surveillance—across from the Wythe Street house or on campus.

Dr. Allende's testimony had been given, and his family asylum petition had been officially finalized. He and his family (except Miguel) had been moved from San Diego to another undisclosed location. His medical license had been assured, and the family's last name had been changed. All the properties in San Diego had been sold. He had joined a small medical practice and began again to build his reputation. So there was virtually no connection with the past—except of course for Miguel. And any communication between them was through a Fed intermediary. Miguel had even agreed that he wouldn't visit until the Feds agreed it was safe to do so.

Miguel was in therapy from the trauma. His natural ebullience was muted, but he took out his frustrations with soccer practice—and, once in a while, on Carlos' ass. He saw a psychologist every week. And he was enveloped in Carlos' spoony cocoon every night, often with Carlos' softening cock still buried inside. Guess which therapy he enjoyed more? And which one did the most good? Carlos was his new Daddy and boyfriend, all rolled into one. He thought maybe he was ready to settle down.

As the last semester of their junior year began, counselors began to schedule group and one-on-one meetings with all students. Where are you on your career path? Graduate school? A job? The theme was consistent: you've really only got a few months before critical life decisions will need to be made. Do you need a few more courses in your major to do well on the GREs? Or the LSATs? Or the Med Boards? Do you want to sign up for job interviews?

The Wythe Street Gang was of course involved. Of the three, only Miguel had expected to play professional athletics after W&M—and now he wasn't so sure. He just didn't see how he could avoid serious risk—his Dad had brought down two prominent cartel leaders, but the cartels were still very much in business. And professional soccer would necessarily involve notoriety which even a name change couldn't hide. It would require a great deal of travel in Latin and South America where US official protection would be difficult. He would always be in danger—and thus he was also a risk to his family. He was a bright student, really exceptional and pre-med "just in case." So slowly he was coming to the conclusion that he would go to med school and follow in his Dad's footsteps— maybe specialize in sports medicine. Soccer would become an avocation.

Carlos and Miguel had started as an experiment—to spice up their sex lives. But, they had fallen hard for each other. Both were certain that they wanted to try for a long term relationship. For months now, they had been glued together (often by spunk), and they were getting along really well. Their shared backgrounds may have been a help.

Carlos still harbored a desire to enter politics. He was toying with a Masters in policy from a place like Georgetown or possibly another junior position in a Washington political office—and so Miguel began plans to apply to Georgetown Med. The Feds were going to help since DC had so many Latinos, and Miguel could fade into the general population more easily. They felt that they could watch him more effectively in Washington than almost anywhere else.

They were going to make a try at making the long term work—but both knew that they still have another year plus to prepare. After a talk, they committed to exclusivity, and decided they would cum out after the next soccer season. They celebrated the decision with a fantastic night.

It was just like old times. Jeff and Sean both had classes that night and Carlos was the DB (designated babysitter). So they were alone and started early, huddled under a warm blanket, Miguel in Carlos' lap, chests and lips together, synchronizing hearts as Carlos cupped Miguel's hot lively ballsand ringed the base of the shaft with thumb and forefinger. Miguel flipped a little and Carlos began to massage his cute little, but very hot, butt, fingers straying repeatedly into the gateway to Nirvana, finger-fucking as far as the nut. Miguel felt warm, safe and cherished as he necked and teased Carlos' tits. While Carlos realized he had everything he wanted right on top of him in his lap. He was euphoric and thankful—and horny as fuck. He had a hot and ready lover ready to play. Carlos stood and lifted Miguel into a cradle-like-carry as he marched to their room.

He carefully positioned Miguel in their bed, rolled up his legs and bathed his taint and balls with warm sloppy kisses, inhaling the musky scent of his love. Miguel squirmed as his fingers moved through the beautiful curls, whispering words of endearment. (Despite being really into Carlos, Miguel had learned to modulate his loudness during sex—except of course at the end.) Then he pulled Carlos up and their lips met again as their rigid cocks rested side by side between rock hard sets of abs, oozing precum.

Carlos positioned, applied pressure and popped inside. Each time felt new. Miguel was tight and hot and responsive. Carlos shuddered in pleasure and thrust still deeper as Miguel moaned in response. Fingers moved to nipples and squeezed as the nipples engorged. Shots of nervous energy like lightning passed through both of their bodies. Carlos bottomed, leveraged in to crowd the love nut and reached behind Miguel to draw him up into a clinch. All too soon, the sap began to rise. Deep inside both felt the wave approaching the shore. It rumbled and tumbled, getting larger and more powerful with each second. They were enveloped in it, holding tightly to each other for safety, bobbing in its fury. Then there was the crash. Miguel screamed his release and shot his first between their chests, "Oh fuck. I love you Carlos. Now, fuck me hard." They erupted almost simultaneously and melted into each other, soaking in the foamy waves of their cum. This was love. It conquered all of Miguel's fears and glued him to his mate. He was sure they were going to make it.

******

Sean had always been the most directed of the four—perhaps out of necessity since there wasn't much family support to be expected. He had continued his computer engineering program at W&M and was already being scouted by several high tech firms. He and Jeff had also become inseparable. After Thanksgiving, Jeff had finally convinced Sean to accept some ass play—which led to Jeff topping Sean. Sean was converted almost immediately. He loved the stimulation—particularly from a long-dicked stud like Jeff, and quickly swallowed his fear of effeminacy. Now they flipped almost every day. Sean's ass became as cock-hungry as his dick had been asscunt-seeking. He knew he had someone special in Jeff, a serious, quiet, but incredible love-maker! That guy was deep! Really deep! (As of course, was he, on a regular basis.) Sean had found a guy with a cock nearly as long as his own—and Jeff knew how to use it, particularly with a lover.

Jeff was perhaps the most undecided about the future. He loved soccer, but knew he wasn't pro-quality. It would only be a hobby after next year. His folks had urged him to "stay open" and take courses in various areas. They had the money, and he had the time to decide on career later—presumably after grad school. So he had no specific plans and really no particular job skills. He was the quintessential "liberal arts" grad—worthless to so many, but so valuable to themselves. Lots of potential, but few "what can you do for me now?" talents.

Then, in a really unexpected, but sad way, the decision was taken out of his hands. In May, his father had a fatal heart attack. The semester was almost over, and he had been planning to return to the ranch near San Diego for the summer. He had convinced Sean to "intern" at one of the high tech firms that had located on the north side of the city, not far from the ranch. Thus, they could spend the summer together. Jeff had not yet disclosed to his folks that he was gay and that he and Sean were together.

Jeff's Mom was pleased that he was coming home for the summer. She still did not understand that Sean was his boyfriend. She had taken Don Bridges death very hard, and wasn't really focusing on Jeff. They were young and had been very much in love. The ranch was lonely—26 acres northeast of San Diego at the edge of the Cleveland National Forest with a barn and paddock that currently held seven horses in addition to Jeff's two—all tended by their owners and all paying modest boarding fees. Sandy liked having people around. But the users of the barn were just that—not relatives, not friends. There were no real neighbors. Even shopping was miles away. So she had no one to talk to. And had fallen into a grief-induced depression. Even an occasional ride into the forest didn't help.

During the summer, she decided that she was going to move to a downtown condo—and sell the ranch. She didn't need the money—Don had left a large insurance policy and a larger estate, and she had a terrific consultancy practice. But, she needed people around her, and she wanted the vibrancy of a downtown location. She discussed her decision with Jeff who was crestfallen. This had been his home for twenty plus years. He loved the ranch. He loved to ride.