Night had fallen and tiki torches were dancing their flames in the breeze from the sea as the two fucked on a lounge bed by the hotel pool. The young black, muscular stud, who said he was the tennis pro at a local club, was clutching Heath, the fourteen-year-old, blond American boy, by the waist on each side, assisting in the fuck, as Heath rose and fell on the ebony god’s cock in a cowboy position. As they fucked, the hotel barman padded out with two beers on a tray, set the beers down on the patio table next to the lounge bed, watched the fuck for a brief moment, and then turned and padded back toward the lights of the hotel lobby.

Surely the barman would notice that Heath was just a boy, Heath thought, and would notify the authorities and they could get on with this. But this didn’t seem to be the case. The barman did his job and moved on.

They had met on the beach at the Indura Beach Resort, on the Honduras Caribbean coast, near twilight, both young and body beautiful in contrasting skin tones, both in skimpy Speedos. Neither saying more than a few words establishing agreement and sensing what each wanted, they had kissed and fondled, reclining on beach towels, while watching the sunset. This area of the beach was a gathering place for gays, so little was needed in establishing preferences. The age of consent in Honduras being fourteen, male prostitutes as young as Heath were not unknown on the Honduras beaches, so Heath’s age, in itself, wasn’t something that would be notable to the authorities. That he clearly was a prostitute would be, though.

Heath let the tennis pro move his hand under the waistband of his Speedo, pull it down, and hook it under Heath’s balls to play with Heath’s engorging cock and balls. He even let the black stud lean over and taste his cock, but when a black hand went under the ball sac and the tennis guy put his mouth to Heath’s ear and whispered, “I want to fuck you,” Heath rolled over on his belly, forcing the black hand to retreat. Misinterpreting, the hand moved under the waistband in back, fingers going down into Heath’s crack.

“No, I don’t think so,” Heath said, rolling over again and causing the black guy to pull his hand away.

“You don’t take cock?” the black guy asked.

“We’re on the beach. Anyone could walk by.”

“I like to fuck in public and this is a hookup area,” came the response. “And that wasn’t a ‘no.’”

“I’m only fourteen,” Heath said.

“You clearly are a rent-boy, so who the fuck cares?” the man said. “I like fucking fourteen-year-old boys.”

Before Heath could answer again, the black guy was bringing their faces together and was taking Heath into a kiss. Heath gave a low moan, not just at the kiss but because a black hand was wrapped around his cock again. The hand eased up on the pressure, and Heath’s hips were moving. His pelvis rocked up into the hand, his cock using the curled fingers as a sheath to fuck, while the kiss continued. The black stud came out of the kiss and looked down into Heath’s face while he slid Heath’s Speedo off his legs. Heath just smiled, not trying to prevent the loss of the bathing suit.

“So, it isn’t a ‘no’,” the black stud murmured.

“It’s not a ‘no’,” Heath answered.

“I want to fuck you. I want to fuck you, here, now, on the beach, in public.”

Heath didn’t answer, but he didn’t stop the black stud’s hand from roaming.

Having lost the Speedo, the black stud’s hand slowly glided back up between Heath’s legs, coaxing them to open. The hand left off that momentarily to stroke Heath’s hip and to remark on how narrow the boy’s pelvis was, as if, like others who had been with Heath, he was going to marvel at how taxing it might be to split the difference between Heath’s hip bones with his cock. For some reason men liked to think they would be taxing a boy that way, forcing a passage open beyond its normal endurance. The mark of a real stud. Realizing that, Heath often played to it when a man was penetrating him.

“I’m going to fuck you. Now. Here.” The tennis pro was more assertive. Again, Heath didn’t contradict him.

His hand returned to the inside of Heath’s thighs and Heath, having enticingly left his thighs parted, spread his legs further, bending them, and placing his feet flat on the sand. He lifted his tail in a signal of acquiescence. An ebony finger penetrated him again. Heath grunted and covered the hand with one of his as if to try to pull it away. But the black man persisted, pushing the finger in further. Heath gave a little moan and surrendered, his legs going to gelatin, quivering but still raising his tail in a “take me” position; his body relaxing and opening; his arms dangling uselessly at his side, as the finger started to move inside him, fucking him. Heath’s pelvis rocked gently against the motion of the finger fucking.

“OK, then fuck me,” he whispered. “But not for free. Twelve hundred lempira. Not anything like I usually get, but it’s the principle. I don’t fuck a stranger for free. Twelve hundred lempira and take me to your club and let me score with club members there tomorrow or take a hike. Make this worth my while.”

Using the leverage of his feet, Heath raised his buttocks higher off the towel, taking two fingers deep, and the tennis pro reached for the clutch he’d been carrying with his free hand, extracted twelve hundred lempira, and placed them at Heath’s elbow. He didn’t leave and Heath stayed there, tail raised. The black pressed the heel of his hand under Heath’s balls, a third finger penetrating and the three of them spreading, opening up Heath’s hole. The black stud had obviously gone this preparation route before. His cock was mammoth.

Heath groaned and the black stud’s face came back down to take Heath’s mouth in a kiss while the fingers moved inside Heath’s passage and Heath raised his tail higher and the black stud buried his fingers deeper. The stud’s knuckles were rubbing Heath’s rim. Heath rocked on them.

“You gonna try to fist me?” he murmured, pulling out of the kiss.

“Maybe,” came the answer. “You want me to?”

“Not for twelve hundred lempira,” Heath answered. Laughing, the black stud took Heath’s mouth in his. Heath gasped through the lip lock as the fourth finger entered him.

He pulled away from the kiss and said, “Just a cock fuck. But not here. Come up to my room. In the hotel.”

“Shit,” the black stud hissed, but he was smiling.

“We can spend the night fucking there if you can keep it up.”

“OK, but suck me here. For twelve hundred lempira you will give me a good time,” he said, flopping over on his back, and raising his torso on his elbows. “I still like to do it in public. The risk makes me hard. Suck me here or take a hike.” He laughed.

They both knew this was going the distance to an anal fuck.

“I’ll bet that isn’t the only thing that makes you hard,” Heath said, readjusting his position. “Fuck, you’re big,” he uttered.

“That’s why I have to open you good first.”

Heath then showed that being exposed in public wasn’t the only thing that made the black tennis pro hard. Heath sucked the black stud’s cock, lying between the young man’s spread, muscular legs, and working on deep throating him, as the black stud ran his fingers into Heath’s blond curls, guided the American’s head with his hands, and moaned his appreciation.

If only the resort barman would come by now, Heath thought. Seeing this would surely get the police alerted and on the job.

The tennis pro got more of what he wanted. They only made it as far as the pool terrace before moving on to the main event.

When the bartender was gone, showing no indication of caring that a rent-boy was plying his trade right there, the black stud rose, turned the two on the lounge bed, with Heath’s head dangling over the end, looking toward the pool. Heath raised and spread his legs wide, and the black stud thrust inside him and started to fuck him in earnest. Heath turned his head to make sure the twelve hundred lempira he was being paid was still on the top of the patio table, where he hoped it had been clear that a prostitution transaction was transpiring here, and then turned his eyes to follow the dancing light on the pool surface from the flaming tiki torches, as the black stud fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

Heath gave the tennis pro a good time, in keeping with his professional status—a status he was doing everything he could to make clear to the resort staff.

Aarin Martinez, a forty-year-old Spanish sugarcane planter from El Progreso, in the interior of Honduras from the coastal town of Tela, pulled his sedan up to the door of the Indura Beach Resort hotel, twelve miles up the coast from Tela, put his arm around the shoulder of the young, handsome blond in the passenger seat, and pulled the boy man to him. Both of them were in tennis togs and were coming from a Tela club, where the large, robust Spaniard had narrowly defeated the younger, smaller, perfectly formed American, who was bumming his way around the Caribbean and going by the name of Kyle Kindrick, although his real name was Heath. The two had met earlier that day in the tennis club’s pool, where Aarin had watched another club member intimately touching Heath before leaving him in the pool area.

At fourteen, Heath wasn’t a club member, but he had been brought into the club by the tennis pro.

Grasping and controlling the young American’s head with a beefy hand, Martinez, swiveled Heath’s head around, leaned over, and possessed the boy’s lips with his. Heath opened his lips to the invading tongue, signaling his surrender. The Spaniard’s free hand wormed its way between the hem of Heath’s T-shirt in front and the waistband of his tennis shorts to palm, briefly, the boy’s flat belly. Then, as the kiss deepened, the hand slid down below the waistband. Heath raised his pelvis, pressing himself into the Spaniard’s searching hand. Heath reached over and cupped the Spaniard’s crotch, finding the rim of the glans through the material and pressing in where the bulb met the shaft. The Spaniard was in erection. He shuddered. Heath unzipped him and encased the now-exposed cock in his fist, his thumb returning to the rim where the bulb met the shaft. He moved the thumb around the base of the bulb pushing the foreskin further back. The Spaniard shuddered again.

“I have to have you,” the Spaniard murmured.

“All things are possible,” Heath responded. He looked around to see if they were being observed. Thus far nothing.

The deal was sealed as long as the price was right. Heath’s work with the cock made it more likely that the price would be fine.

Coming out of another kiss, Martinez said, “I want to come up to your room.”

Heath smiled and said, “That would cost you four thousand more lempira—up front.” There already were twelve-hundred lempira clutched in Heath’s right hand, which he had pressed into the sedan’s dashboard, holding himself steady in the kiss. The doorman, young, handsome, and black, was patiently waiting just outside the door, ready to hold it for Heath when he opened it. To Heath’s disappointment, it didn’t look like the doorman was either upset or angry that a prostitution deal was being conducted right there in front of him.

Martinez laughed, fumbled four thousand more lempira out of his wallet, and laid the bills on the top of the dashboard.

“Room 22,” Heath said. “Better zip up, though, before you park and come up.” He reached over and pulled the zipper up on Martinez’s tennis shorts. Heath had already earned twelve hundred lempira by sucking the Spanish planter off in the parking lot of the tennis club.

He opened the passenger door of the sedan and stepped out of the car as the doorman held it for him. “Thank you, Garon,” Heath said and smiled, checking to see if it looked like the doorman would report this. The doorman’s eyes twitched but he otherwise was a nonseeing statue. He closed the passenger-side car door as Heath entered the beach hotel and Martinez drove on to the parking lot. Heath went to the reception desk to pick up his key. He hadn’t, of course, booked the room. His controller, Steve Spelling had, making no effort to hide that he was pimping Heath out of the hotel room. Heath always left his room key at the reception desk, so they’d see each time he brought a john to the hotel.

Heath waited by the elevators until Martinez came into the hotel lobby and then they went up in the elevator together. Heath didn’t care if those on the reception desk saw that he was taking a man to his room. Them seeing that was the point of all of this.

Upstairs, having paid the price, Martinez took command and dominated. He was horny and impatient. From the time he entered the room, he used his leverage as the buyer, the larger, and the rougher to manipulate Heath to his will. He crowded and manhandled the boy, stripping him down, pressing him against the wall beside the door and kissing and roughly fondling him, until he had Heath naked. Heath tried to slow him down, but the man gave him a mean eye, slapped him across the face, and grabbed and squeezed Heath’s balls, causing the boy to sink to his knees and to take the Spaniard’s cock in his mouth again.

Heath took it like the pro that he was. And he didn’t try to throw the man out of his room or call for assistance. This was all according to a plan, all business as usual in the high-end rent-boy profession.

Martinez carried Heath to the bed; laid him down, butt on the edge of the foot of the bed; and sank down between his thighs. He placed one heavy palm on Heath’s lower belly to psychologically hold the boy in place—Heath had tried to rise only to be slapped down again. The boy had only shown some contrariness because he correctly gauged that the Spaniard wanted some opposition to slap down, some sense of getting what he wanted by force—getting his money’s worth. The older man grasped Heath’s cock with the other hand and buried his face between the boy’s butt cheeks.

Heath made no effort to tone his verbal responses down when the man was slapping him around. He wanted his cries to be heard. He didn’t care if someone from the hotel came to the room to check out what was happening. No one did, though.

Muttering, “Yes, yes, work me, daddy,” Heath panted and moaned, arching his back and throwing his arms out to the side, grasping wads of bedspread in his hands, as the Spaniard feasted on his hole and stroked his cock. “Oh, shit, daddy. Yes! You’re an animal. Work me.” Heath didn’t have to pretend to like this. Spaniards were masters of the mouth work.

The Spanish planter worked Heath’s hole and cock until the boy came and then he rose, grabbed Heath’s ankles and raised and spread the boy’s legs, thrust inside Heath’s passage, and roughly fucked him to his own ejaculation.

“Oh, shit! Oh, Fuck! Yes, DADDY!” Heath cried out, his response reverberating off the hotel room walls and clearly audible in the corridor.

Heath, bought and sold, manhandled and mastered, lay there, panting and groaning as Martinez took his pleasure, slapped Heath on the buttocks upon withdrawal, pulled his tennis togs back on, and left the room.

A half hour later, showered, freshened, and dressed in linen slacks, open-toed sandals, and a gauzy shirt, open almost to his navel and showing the glitter of a gold chain on a tan, nice muscled, smooth chest, Heath walked into the hotel bar and past a desk attendant, who gave him a sharp look. He, of course, clearly was too young to be going into the hotel bar, but Heath went there anyway.

He eased himself onto a barstool next to a hefty black man in a well-tailored tan linen suit. The man was maybe fifty and just a bit pudgy, although he was well muscled. He also was ugly as sin and had three empty glasses in front of him. The bartender showed up with a fourth scotch, neat, and moved to take the three empties away, but the black man reached out with a beefy hand, decked out with three flashy rings, and stopped the removal.

“I want to know how far along I am,” he said. The bartender grunted and moved off. He gave Heath a brief look and sniffed before he moved on. He didn’t take a drink order from the boy. Heath watched to see if the bartender would make a phone call or go out to the reception desk—presumably to report the presence of a boy rent-boy in his bar—but he didn’t. He went back to polishing glasses.

“You have a goal?” Heath asked, giving the man a little smile and half laugh.

“Until boredom is forgotten,” the man said.

“Didn’t I see you in here last night?” Heath asked.

“I was here,” the man answered.

“With a boy about my age?”

“Yes.”

“And he didn’t help you escape boredom?”

“For a while, he did.”

Heath could well imagine that. He’d looked down from the window of his hotel room between three and four that morning and watched the ambulance take the boy away on a stretcher.

“You prefer boys about my age?” Heath asked.

“Yes,” the man answered.

“There’s no need for you to be bored today,” Heath said, boldly reaching out and touching the man’s forearm. The man didn’t withdraw from the touch. “Buy a boy a drink?”

The man signaled to the bartender, who showed up with a beer. He already knew what Heath drank. Heath had ordered a beer the previous night, thinking this might get the local police called in because he was too young to drink booze. It didn’t.

“Are you staying at the hotel?” Heath asked.

“No. I have a jewelry store nearby. I come here to escape the local women trying to bargain me down.”

“Ah, yes, women can be such a nuisance,” Heath said.

“Yes, they can,” came the response. “I much prefer young guys—early teens.”

“I’m Kyle. Kyle Kindrick,” Heath said, putting a hand on the bulky black man’s knee. “I’m American. Just roaming around, discovering the Caribbean, and enjoying myself. I’m staying here, Room 22.”

“Alone? Are you here alone?” the man said. “You couldn’t be renting the room alone, could you?”

“A man rents the room for me—a man who knows I invite other men to the room.” He couldn’t get any more explicit than this on what business he was running out of this resort hotel.

“I’m Raul Hernandez. Hernandez’s Jewels. Just down the road,” the man then said.

“And does Hernandez’s have nice jewels?” Heath asked, moving his hand so that his index finger touched the man’s basket. He felt movement there. “Yes, I’m in my hotel room alone—my man rents the room for me; he doesn’t stay there with me,” Heath continued. “I’m not always in my room alone, though. Sometimes I have company.”

One of the man’s hands slid into the opening of Heath’s shirt and briefly palmed Heath’s left pec. Heath didn’t move away, so the hand slid down his torso to cupping his basket.

“Do men pay you to be in your room with you, Kyle?” the man asked.

“Of course. That’s part of their fantasy. Getting all that they want because they paid for it.”

“All that they want?”

“Yes. I melt to a man who wants it all,” Heath answered, giving the jeweler a level stare to ensure the man understood his meaning. Heath knew the man wanted to take his pleasure brutally.

“And how much does it cost for a man to be in your room with you, Kyle?” Raul asked.

“Five thousand lempira, up front. Room 12. Give me ten minutes before you come up. The man at the front desk is hawkeyed.”

Heath really hardly needed to worry about the hotel staff. The bartender was right there, behind the bar, taking everything in. Heath wanted the hotel staff to care about the business he was running out of their establishment. He wanted them report it to the local authorities.

“The staff here and I have an understanding,” Hernandez assured him, reaching for his wallet.

Forty-five minutes later, Heath rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed. He briefly did an inventory of the bruises on his body, the worst being around his throat. It could have been worse—much worse. He had techniques to move a session from the beating to the fucking and he had successfully employed those.

He opened the nightstand drawer, took out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and lit up. Smoking was yet another thing a fourteen-year-old shouldn’t be caught doing in this resort hotel.

A naked jewelry store owner lay on his back behind him, on the bed, looking like a beached ebony walrus. He was stroking his unsheathed cock, having stripped the used condom off and tossed it to the side while he was still on his back. He was looking at the nicely tapering-down back of the rent-boy. Most of the now-bluish bruise spots were around in front. The sounds he had made in sex indicated that he had enjoyed the young, flexible, lightly tanned body of the Caucasian American. Heath, in turn, had been surprised by the vigor and staying power of the man. The jeweler reached over and stroked Heath’s back, his hand gliding up to Heath’s cheek. Heath winced as the man’s thumb stroked the bruise under Heath’s eye. The young man turned his face toward the hand, opened his mouth, took the man’s thumb in, and sucked on it. Hernandez shuddered in pleasure. Heath knew men liked that touch.

The man’s hands went to Heath’s waist and he lifted and turned the boy. He wanted to fuck again. Heath took another condom packet from the drawer of the nightstand as he planted his knees on either side of the man’s thighs.

“This one’s for free,” Heath murmured, “as long as you let me control.” He knew men liked that too, taking it as an indication that the rent-boy could see them as a lover and not just a john. Of course, Heath only saw him as a john, though, but one who might pay to use him again.

Hernandez’s cock was proudly erect, long and thick and throbbing, while Heath rode him in a cowboy fuck. The shaft deflated significantly after he’d shot off. Heath rolled off the man and sat on the side of the bed, staring at the door into the bathroom. Was he free to hobble into the bathroom, groaning at the damage the man had done with his fists while working himself up to fuck the first time? Was it over? Something inside Heath told him it wasn’t. He turned and looked at the man stretched out behind him in the bed. He was working it up again now. Heath hadn’t thought the man had multiple loads in him, but he was wrong.

Heath felt the mattress groan and move, as Hernandez sat up and moved to sit behind Heath, encasing the younger, smaller, trimmer boy’s body with his, Hernandez’s legs encasing Heath’s thighs, his arms encircling Heath’s torso, his fingers working Heath’s nipples, his face buried in Heath’s neck, and his hardening cock and pronounced paunch pressing at Heath’s lower back.

Raul’s right hand encased Heath’s cock, and he was stroking the boy off as he kissed the back of Heath’s neck. The youth looked down and watched the ebony hand, with the three elaborate rings, working his cock. The man was going to fuck him again.