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Squinting against the afternoon sun hovering in the clear, pale blue sky above, Blake snorted. It felt like the spray slapping him in the face as the boat sped over the Tyrrhenian Sea was silting up his nostrils. The massive muscles in his left shoulder were throbbing again, but he'd swallowed a pair of pain-managers before he left the hotel, so he'd have to last a couple of hours more. Besides, the boat almost at George's private island, and if he lost something out of his bag, he didn't really trust that the two Italian guys running the boat would hand over any missing property.

The house on the secluded island getaway had been barely visible the whole boat trip. All that could be seen of it was the reflective azure glass of the top storey windows, a sapphire dazzling in the sun surrounded by emerald trees. Now that they were closer to the island, even less was visible due to the foreshortening effect of the rocky cliff sides. Blake had been wondering how they - or anyone, for that matter - could get on to the island by boat, until they'd turned sharply, rounding the island to a small, sandy inlet. From that, a lonely wooden pier thrust out into the ocean.

A figure standing on the pier waved to them as the boat slowed. He - it was definitely a he - had a slender swimmer's frame clad in a warm rust-red robe, not entirely covering the smooth, tanned flesh underneath. His square, sharply-angled head with piercing sky-blue eyes was lined with silver-streaked stubble not confined to his head, but sliding down the sides of his face, before arching around his full pink lips.

As George's long slender hand waved at them, Blake's cock hardened in his jeans; his libido intent on reliving the heavy rush of teenage arousal he'd gotten with his first potent crush on his old swimming coach. His mind filled with memories of sneaking into the showers, lusting after the fat, dangling meat currently concealed underneath the bowed sash keeping George's robe on. "We're gonna fuck," Blake decided. He'd had enough of being treated like a younger brother.

Over the dying sounds of the slowing boat engine, George engaged the boat's crew in American-accented Italian. The one that hadn't been steering threw a rope to George, who caught it, joining the Italians in securing the slowing boat to the docks. Blake suppressed a moan as his shaft somehow managed to slip out of the front of his boxers and rubbed up along the zipper of his tight jeans: George was bending over right in front of him, the round muscles of his ass just asking to be grabbed roughly. Quickly grabbing the straps of his gym bag with his left hand to hide any obvious bulges from the Italians, Blake's right hand grasped the top of one of the pier's wooden posts and hoisted himself out of the boat.

George, finished with the rope and after a few pointed commands to the Italian, turned to his guest and gave Blake's own short hair a quick rub; it looked a bit odd, given Blake was half a foot taller and had at least a good fifty pounds of muscle on him. "We've got the same barber, I see," George joked, his hand dropping to Blake's back, gently turning him away from the boat and guiding him down the pier. "How was the trip?"

Blake answered, "Pretty good." In truth, he'd found the distinction between his world and George's startling: being a personal trainer wasn't a very lucrative career, and being pampered in some of the world's most exclusive hotels, travelling the world by private jet was like living in a whole different world. But he didn't want to let that on to George, not when it could blow his one chance to, well, blow George.

"I've got quite a full house at the moment," George explained to Blake as their feet stepped off the creaking wooden boards of the pier and onto the warm, crunchy sand. "When I came down to wait for you, most of them were either still in their rooms." After a brief pause, he chuckled and added, "Or at least whatever room the ended up in last night.

A set of secluded steps had been carved into the cliffs, leading up from the beach to the top of the island where the house and gardens resided. Wild flowers grew out from cracks in the stone, and from vines dangling down in thick strands; Blake found the strong combination of fragrances to be quite potent and intoxicating.

Blake grinned: even if George turned him down, it sounded like there'd be plenty of hot guys around to help drown his sorrows. However, he still had to know, and asked, "What about you? Any favourites?"

George shook his head, noting, "I'm lucky if I've even had five minutes lately. I've been working on a potentially lucrative idea, and I've been trying to get it finished before you arrived." With a slightly sad smirk, he continued, "Sorry, I'm probably boring you."

Blake had to resist the urge to say, "You could never bore me." Instead, he asked, "Did you get it finished?"

"Uh-huh," George answered. "Just need to get it through some final testing."

Blake suggested, "Sounds like something worth celebrating then."

The steps opened up into a small lookout point that hung over the sea and gave a good view of the beach below: Blake caught a glimpse of the Italians quickly untying the now-emptied boat from the box-covered pier. The same type of stone that formed the steps had been used to form paths that sprawled lazily around the island. The main path led up to the house: the windows in the lower half of the house were only tinted blue, supported in walls built from a haphazard pattern of native stones inside a web of mortar. Side paths led through a small, immaculately kept garden, leading into an orchard where the path got lost amongst the trees, and around to the side of the house to the pool. Trees surrounded most of the island, like wooden sentries cutting it off from the rest of the world.

One of the large panes of glass at the front of the house slid open - Blake guessing that was the front door - as a short, stocky young man with thick brown hair emerged, wearing only an apron and a broad smile. A silver tray, lightly gripped in his hands, was piled up with fat, round sausages that still steamed from where he had been cooking. George quickly whispered, "You'll probably find we seem to have a very loose dress code around here." Aloud, he greeted, "Guten tag, Eric!"

"Guten tag, Herr Auger!" Eric pronounced, his broad, boyish face stretched into a huge grin. Taking a look at Blake, he added, "If I had known such men could be found in the sea, I'd spend more time fishing."

"I think you have an admirer," George noted. "Eric, this is my old friend Blake Carpenter. Blake, this is my 'chef', Eric Mann."

"A man's Mann!" Eric joked. Wriggling his eyebrows, he held out the tray, offering "Either of you want a sausage?" While George held up his hand in polite refusal at the offering of food, Blake took a couple: he hadn't eaten this morning, and his nerves were burning a hole through his stomach.

Raising an eyebrow at George's emphasis on the word, Blake probed, "'Chef'?" before biting down on one of the sausages, feeling Eric eyeing him up.

George explained, "I usually ask guests to pitch in; it cuts down on a whole host of employment issues. Eric here loves cooking, so I asked if he wouldn't mind doing the cooking." Turning to Eric, he asked, "Speaking of chores, is anyone else up yet? There's some supplies down on the docks that need bringing up."

Tilting his head to try to aid recollection, Eric answered with a grin, "I know Simon is up, but he's no good with manual labour." After a pause, he exclaimed that someone - that Blake took as "Lampfwig" from Eric's German accent - was up.

When Blake asked about the name, his mouth full of half-chewed sausage, George explained, "Lampwick, or Lucignolo to the Italians, is a nickname. His real name's Giuliano Lucio. Have you seen Pinocchio before?" The three men started walking towards the house, Blake noticing Eric was hovering quite close to him: it was a little creepy, but at least it gave him an excuse to walk closer to George. When Blake nodded, George elaborated, "Lampwick's the kid that turns into a donkey, and Giuliano's hung like one."

"How that thing even gets hard without him passing out is beyond me," observed Eric. "I am sure you will get a chance to see it, Blake."

The glass door slid open as they walked into the kitchen. Inside, the air was still tinged with the smoky smell of freshly-cooked meat, and Blake took the opportunity to grab another sausage. The room was about as large as the entirety of Blake's whole apartment - although that was admittedly on the smaller side - and seemed to be stocked with an impressive amount of food.

A large, hulking brute interrupted Blake's thoughts. The spiky-black-haired man that popped in was definitely not Italian, so his idle curiosity about seeing Lampwick was going to have to wait a bit more. The guy, however, had an impressive body: if the guy was a fellow gym rat, Blake suspected it was just casual, because he definitely had a build from hard outside labour, and the scars to prove it. His dick looked small, but the guy was wide with muscle and at least six-foot five, so even a slightly-larger-than-normal package was going to appear small dangling between his legs.

"Ivan, this is Blake," George greeted swiftly, "Blake, Ivan." The two men nodded at one another in a mutual greeting while George continued, "There's a bunch of boxes on the pier that need bringing up. Can you and Giuliano or someone else bring up the stuff from the docks?"

"Da," Ivan said in a thick Slavic accent, and disappeared through the door. Blake gathered he didn't like talking much.

"That's Ivan Dvorak," George noted, "I'm not entirely sure where he was from originally, but I 'rescued' him on my way back from Russia. He kind of acts as security for me."

"Christ, how many people do you have living here?" Blake asked.

George estimated, "Twelve or thirteen, it's been pretty hectic lately." He guided Blake out of the kitchen towards the small door through which Ivan had left, passing by an open door that led into a substantial dining room. Eric left the sausage tray on the kitchen counter and followed them. "Let's go to your room and you can get settled in."

Blake nodded, somewhat grateful as his shoulder's pain was starting to bite into his good mood. Past the small door was a small stairwell; aside from a small table upon which grew a bonsai tree and a mirror hanging on the wall, the landing was surprisingly empty. Taking the left, upwards, stairway, George explained, "Most of my 'work' stuff is right down at the bottom; that has to remain locked for corporate security reasons. Aside from that, and going into other people's rooms uninvited, feel free to go anywhere you like, and do anything you feel like."

"Or anyone," quipped Eric.

The stairs ended at one end of a long corridor: three doors evenly spaced on either side were all somewhere between being open and closed, with the one at the end securely closed; Blake guessed that one was George's room. In between the doors were large landscapes taken from countrysides around the world. George asked, "You don't mind sharing a room, do you? That's usually what ends up happening anyway with my guests."

"No, no, that's fine," Blake assented. That seemed a little weird - rich people didn't really ask people to share rooms, at least from what he knew - but then there were thirteen guys on the island.

Ivan emerged from one of the doors, being trailed by a large, intimidating Latin American covered in tattoos and recently-shaved smooth brown skin. Like Ivan, he was naked, showing off a thick pair of pecs, a huge abdomial slab and a fat cock that looked even bigger thanks to an incredibly thick foreskin. The guy, who George introduced as Manuel Del Toro, squeezed Blake in a huge hug, giving Blake a good noseful of aftershave. "Catch you later," he called out as he and Ivan headed off down the stairs.

George cautiously pushed open the door nearest the stairs on the right-hand side, stating quietly, "This is your room; you're sharing with Jack Acton, but feel free to change rooms or sleep where you want."

"With you," Blake thought as George showed him into the room: it was large, though the furnishings cut down on the spaciousness. Two queen-sized beds had been packed into the room, giving waking guests a beautiful, blue-tinted view of the island. The left-handed bed had been made up neatly, with silky, thin sheets and a thick pile of pillows; the one on the right was currently occupied by a smooth-skinned, slender naked male body in graceful repose. Jack, Blake presumed, had a face that was intense, youthful and handsome. "No," Blake corrected himself, "'beautiful' is a more appropriate word." Jack's similarly long, thin shaft seemed to have a mind of its own, rising and falling as he breathed.

"Jack is from the London Ballet," Eric whispered suggestively, licking his lips subconsciously. "Very flexible, but he cannot handle his liquor." Blake quickly eyed the sleeping Jack again, wondering how much he'd drunk last night to not have been woken up by all of the noise.

"Would you like to take a nap?" George asked quietly.

Blake shook his head, "No, I think I should be good; but I think a shower would be good, and I need to take my meds. My shoulder's starting to kill me."

"Sure," George nodded. "I'm just going to pop out and take any of the new deliveries that need securing into my work space."

"I can look after him," Eric offered, "until you get back."

George smiled, "Thanks, Eric; Blake, I'll catch up with you in an hour or so at the most."

"Okay," Blake nodded, waving back as George farewelled him. Dropping his bag on the bed, Blake asked Eric, "Could you get me a glass of water?"

"Of course!" Eric exclaimed, stomping heavily out of the room.

Blake felt relieved; Eric's friendliness and weird lusting for him made him feel uncomfortable, and a break was definitely what he wanted. Sorting through his things, he started putting his valuables and clothes into the respective drawers in the bed-side table and chest of drawers that flanked his bed, leaving the pill bottle laying on the bed.

Eric returned a few moments later, glass of water in hand. "Thanks," Blake said, shaking out a couple of pills, swallowing them along with a big gulp of water.

"The bathroom is through there," Eric explained, pointing at the door just past his bed. "If you want to give me your clothes, I will take them to the laundry while you shower."

Blake hesitated slightly, then decided everyone else seemed cool with getting naked in front of anyone else, and pulled off his t-shirt, handing it to Eric.

"You are a very attractive man," Eric grinned. Then, for the first time, he went serious and whispered, "You are in love with George, yes?"

Blake, suddenly caught out, quickly stammered, "N-no!"

Eric simply stared at him knowingly, and said, "You are lying."

Blake sighed and explained, "I've had a crush on him since I was a kid.

Eric's smile was kind, and he whispered conspiratorially, "It is good you are here, then. Herr Auger, he has been working too hard lately. He needs to have some fun. Tonight after dinner, I will try to make sure you and he end up alone together."

Blake, remembering he was supposed to be showering, undid his belt and slipped the jeans down. A thick wet patch on his boxers got a giggle out of Eric, and a groan from himself. He said, "Really?"

Eric nodded, adding, "It helps me out too." Looking over at the sleeping guy, he said, "Most of the guys here are good-looking but quite boring when it comes to sex. I have found out Jack has a few kinks that I am more than happy to partake in, and having a bedroom to ourselves would be quite useful."

"Deal!" Blake agreed, slipping out of his sticky boxers and handed them carefully to Eric.

Eric eyed him, and added, "Jack and I are not exclusive, so if you have kinks of your own that you want to explore, let me know. If you need me, just wait for me in the kitchen if I am not there."

When Eric left, Blake felt a tingle of excitement, and whistled when he entered the bathroom. The shower was large enough to fit three or four people in - probably by design, he surmised, and was stocked with a few body washes and shampoos and support bars, as well as some more esoteric additions like bottles of lubricant, a row of washed dildos in various sizes, and a small additional shower head for douching. Not only that, but the other wall was reinforced glass that let you look out over the island while showering.

Climbing in, Blake flicked up the handle and warm water immediately washed over him, making him moan in pleasure: between the pleasant shower washing off the sweat and weariness of travelling, the first hints that his medication was kicking in, and the excitement for tonight, he was in a good place. His cock started perking up again, enjoying the warm water trickling down Blake's body. Soaping himself up, Blake let himself imagine George leading him into his room, slipping out of his robe and boxers and pinning him to the bed.

"Hello, I don't think we've met," a voice suddenly called out behind him. Startled, Blake jumped and turned; a still half-asleep Jack had finally woken up, standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a bad case of morning wood.

Waving with a soapy hand, Blake introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Blake. Apparently I'm your new room-mate. I just got in a while ago. Sorry if I woke you up."

Jack dismissed, "Oh no, I just really have to pee badly. Actually, do you mind if I join you? I'd rather not piss all over the Italian marble."

Blake thought it was a weird request, but he was in too good of a mood to care. Shrugging, he said, "Sure."

"Thanks," Jack said with a slightly relieved sigh. Pulling open the door, Jack quickly stepped inside and closed it again to avoid getting too much water on the bathroom floor. Facing the window, Jack grunted to try to get himself to go while sporting an erection. Blake discreetly turned around, facing the shower head and using the opportunity to scrub his scalp.

"So, what brings you to the island?" asked Jack.

"George invited me, while I wait for my shoulder to heal up," Blake answered.

Jack nodded, asking, "Are you a venture capitalist or another tech billionaire or something?"

Blake laughed, "Nah, just a personal trainer. George was my swim coach when I was at school."

"Shit, really?!" Jack exclaimed. Laughing, he added, "That's... that's something alright."

"Do you want to shower?" Blake asked, hand resting on the handle. "I'm done."

"You should stay," Jack requested. Suddenly, Blake felt Jack's naked body pressing up against his. The tip of Jack's erection rubbed up and down, gliding between Blake's firm, round buttocks. Blake's shaft was gently squeezed by Jack's hand.

Caught in a wave of surprise, Blake asked, "What are you doing?"

Jack quipped, "What do you think? We're both wet, hard and naked, and I need to thank you for letting me share the shower."

Blake bit his lip: Jack's body was warm, and it felt good having another man jerk him off - and Jack was pretty good at it - but he'd been holding out for George ever since he'd gotten the invite. "Don't!" he started to protest feebly.

"Don't what?" Jack pressed, sucking on Blake's neck. "Don't you like this?"

"Yeah," Blake admitted. Sighing, he turned around, dislodging Jack from his cock. "Look, you're hot and all, but... I really want to fuck George."

Jack poked, "You're not a virgin, are you?"

"Heh, no," Blake answered, grinning.

"And you think one more guy's going to change that?" Jack asked.

"I just don't want to be, you know," Blake explained, "too tired or spent, if I get the chance to fuck him tonight."

Jack grinned, "Oh, is that all?" Gripping one arm around Blake's waist, Jack leaned down and picked up one of the bottles. Flipping open the cap, Jack explained, "This stuff is fantastic," and squirted a hefty dollop onto his hand before handing it to Blake.

Blake eyed the bottle: it was lube, but not a kind he'd heard of before. Jack started to slide the clear, cool gel over Blake's angrily-throbbing shaft: it immediately started to tingle as the chemicals inside went to work. Blake was already horny, but his cock was taut as a drum and practically ached to be used.

"Fuck!" Blake swore as Jack finished slicking up his pole. He tentatively sniffed the bottle, his head swimming from the potent scent. "What's in this stuff?" he asked, all the while suddenly acutely aware there was a pretty hot naked guy in the shower with him.

"Ask your crush," Jack stated, "he made it. You just gonna sniff it?"

Blake grinned, forcing out a decent-sized blob on to his own hands. His free hand worked its way around Jack's waist, teasing Jack's hole with his finger while lubing the younger guy's long, thin cock.

Jack reached down, sticking their two lubed dicks together, guiding Blake's hand to jerk the both of them off. Blake vaguely noticed the lube didn't come off his hands or his cock under the hot shower spray; it clung around his dick like a second skin, making it glisten as it throbbed red and hard. When Blake got the hint, Jack reached around and gripped tightly on to Blake muscular rear, thrusting into Blake's slowly-grinding hands.

Blake's jaw dropped, his tongue lolling out as he panted, his chest muscles rippling as he breathed in the steamy bathroom air. His body needed oxygen badly, as the intense need for sex spread from his groin and into the rest of his muscles. Bending over, he slipped his finger into Jack's hole as he gently bit into his shoulder. Jack struggled a little, but grabbed tighter on to Blake's ass; Blake was vaguely aware of Jack panting and drooling over his own shoulder.

They dropped to the shower floor. Jack's hands braced themselves in the warm water that the drain was struggling to take out fast enough, his legs straddling Blake's body as he fumbled over Jack's prone form. Blake was drooling too: his stomach feeling empty, as though it too desired sex. His nostrils flaring, Blake pressed Jack down flat into the water, moving his aching manhood closer and closer to Jack's face.

Jack's mouth open, and Blake stuck his cock in. He grunted in satisfaction of burying his shaft into a warm, moist hole. He gripped on to Jack's head, thrusting in and out with a bit too much carelessness than he'd otherwise show. Jack seemed to be able to take it though: Blake felt large, eager gusts of air blowing out of the nose above the lips wrapped around his cock.

It felt good, but it wasn't enough for Blake: his mouth couldn't stand it and he pulled out. "Not long," he thought simply, and turned around, digging his fingers through the warm water, clawing at the shower floor as he smelled the musky, intoxicating crotch of the guy he was fucking. The cock smelled good: he had to have it inside him.

Eagerly, Blake opened his drooling mouth and stuck the head inside: Jack groaned and rewarded him by going back to sucking Blake off. His cock oozed eagerly into Jack's mouth, and Blake's tongue slid roughly over the shaft, half of Jack's penis inside for a second, before Blake tightened his lips, milking the shaft before plunging back down for more.

Having the cock in his mouth felt good, especially when it started oozing. Blake slicked the warm liquid over the shaft in his mouth. If he'd been thinking clearly, he'd have wondered why he wasn't gagging on the length of dick jamming up against his throat. But Blake's body thrummed with rut, and his mind could only focus on fucking.

With a wet smack, his cock slipped out of Jack's warm hole; Blake opened his mouth to grunt angrily, only to have Jack's shaft slap against his cheek as the hot male body below him turned over. Blake smiled a toothy grin: on all fours, he twisted around Jack's body, sniffing at the need coming off of Jack's hole.

Blake gripped Jack's ass roughly, pushing his cheeks apart and shoving his slobbering face right in, licking the tight pink clean flesh as his penis throbbed impatiently. Satisfied that his tongue had suitably lubed up the hole enough, Blake proudly grabbed his shaft, scooting up on his knees and used both hands to guide the tip of his shaft into Jack's stretched, waiting ass.

Jack grunted, breathing so heavily the water between his arms scattered. Blake continued to fumble, his cock jabbing repeating at the slowly-loosening hole until it finally gave way and he jabbed his tip in.

Then it was instinctual: his now free hand wrapped around Jack's cock dangling in front of where Blake's own was embedding itself into Jack's body, Blake happy to thrust in deeper, the hole leaking from the fluids oozing from Blake's eager shaft. His thick, meaty hand grabbed on to the slender guy's shoulders for extra leverage.

His thrusts took him deeper, Blake's face jabbing in and out into the warm spray gushing down on to Jack's back. His cock was about a quarter inside when he felt it happening: his body beginning to tensing, fluids flowing around his body, eagerly collecting to be unleashed in a hot torrent. Blake felt urgent: both hands quickly went to grip Jack's length, the men's hips tilting upwards as Blake buried himself deeper and deeper inside Jack's warm, wet guts.

The last few inches slipped in with a wet thlock. Jack was panting and moaning, his hole being stretched and pounded by Blake's eager humping. The tip of his own head was purple and shiny, throbbing under the warm water pouring down over his naked, smooth torso. Warm sexual fluids pooled in the water around their half-submerged legs.

Jack squirmed and squealed; Blake suddenly smelled something hot and musky fill the recesses of his mind as he smelled Jack squirt his load, the warm thick cum arcing out in a long arc while the rest oozed over Blake's fast-stroking hand. He raised it to his lips, and licked it up eagerly, bringing his hand back down to finish milking him off.

Blake's own body tingled: the fluids had filled his reservoirs, and there was only one place for them to go. He thrust one final time, burying himself deep in Jack's guts before panting as he let go. His orgasm came out with what felt like a roar. He grunted loudly, and a large thick splurt gushed out of Blake's body and into Jack's.

His cock stayed buried in Jack's ass as it throbbed, emptying huge, thick pent-up loads. The two spent men panted: Jack weakly moved on to all fours, Blake's cock slipping out of his hole followed by a trickle of creamy white semen that trailed from the rim to Blake's tip.

Blake's head swam, spots of white dancing in his vision. Jack seemed to have fared better, splashing the water at the base of the shower over the sticky remains on his torso, before standing a couple of minutes later to clean the cum out of his ass.

"Don't worry," Jack said, heavily panting, smiling down at Blake sprawled body. "The lube takes a bit of getting used to, but I promise you'll be gagging for George tonight."

Blake couldn't believe it: his mind was only now gaining control of his body, and it was telling him he'd be fucking done for a week. "Shit," he thought, "that was fucking intense!" and feebly washed the fluids off of his still-oozing dick.