Carnival at Viareggio

Dr. Mueller, full of concern, rose from his chair and went to Eric and examined the arm. "It doesn't look too bad, but it's easy to get infection from such cuts in this circumstance," he said.

Hugo turned to Biddle. "Is there a clinic nearby?"

"No need," Dr. Mueller interjected. "I had disinfectant in my room at the Grand. The boy can come back with me. What do you say to that, Eric? I will take you for an ice cream afterward, before we come back to the beach, if you promise not to cry at the sting of the disinfectant."

It was obvious that the doctor wanted to see Eric as a small boy.

An hour later, after listening briefly at the door of the doctor's room at the hotel, Hugo used a skeleton key to quietly open the door and slip into the room.

Dr. Mueller didn't see or hear him at the beginning. He was otherwise energetically occupied.

Eric was lying on his back at the foot of the bed, his legs raised and spread—his ankles in the grip of Dr. Mueller, as the doctor, naked, as was Eric, huffed and puffed at the effort of pumping Eric's channel with his hard cock. A box of the newly marketed rubber Trojans lay at his feet, packets of them strewn out on the floor.

Hugo cleared his throat, and the doctor whipped his head around in shock and fright, although he couldn't stop himself from continuing to pump. He was about to come and wouldn't be denied. He gave Hugo a panicked but greedy look and fucked on. Eric was gripping his hips on both sides with his hands and crying out for the doctor to finish him.

When he had, the doctor pulled out of Eric's ass and turned to the side, hunching in on himself and covering his genitals with his hands.

"I don't mean . . . I wouldn't . . . the boy was egging me on . . . I was just . . ." Mueller muttered incomprehensibly. His face was as red as a beet and the flush had spread over the rest of his pudgy torso.

He really looked pathetic. Eric raised his torso on his elbows and turned his gaze on Hugo.

"You were just introducing the lad to a new brand of French Letters? To disinfect a cut on his arm? But I think we can fix this. I think we can make an accommodation," Hugo said.

* * * *

"I guess that gets them all except the young American, and we can move on to Venice soon," Hugo said later that evening. "It was a good haul here—nearly enough to cover the expenses of the entire season. The priest paid as much as the other two put together. I guess this is what his seminary sent him here to avoid and he doesn't want them to know he can't kick the habit."

Both of them gave a little laugh at that.

"The priest should have paid double. He was the cruelest of all," Eric said. But then Eric, who was really named Kurt, added, "We can move on now, if you wish, Horst. I've taken care of the American."

"He's already fucked you?"

"Repeatedly." Kurt was smiling.

"So, that's where you went at night?"

"Yes."

"I'm not surprised. He is the youngest and sexiest of the group. I rather thought he would be fucking you by now. I don't begrudge you having it off with a muscular man nearer your age. But you gave it to him for free? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, go look in the pocket of my trousers."

Horst rose off the bed and padded over to the chair where Kurt's clothes were neatly folded. He fished around in the pockets, and a big smile was planted on his face when he came up with a gold chain and watch fob with three deep-red rubies embedded on the fob. "You noticed that I liked this."

"Yes. I lifted that the first night I let him fuck me." Kurt saw no reason to mention the elaborate assignation between Biddle and him for the fuck in the alley during the carnival—nor to mention the two muscular, hung fisherman afterward. He did wonder, with some amusement, though, when those men realized that they were missing their money clips. "He's either never noticed or has written it off as being owed to me for the cocking. I have a few other trinkets that should be worth a bit too."

"Tomorrow morning, then," Horst said, as he returned to the bed, gently pushed the stretched-out naked body of the son who wasn't his son onto his belly, mounted the young blond's buttocks, and began a slow, deep, bareback fuck. Kurt moaned deeply—but not deeply enough to disturb the reading of the woman in the adjoining room, who was Katie, not Ingrid, and wasn't related to—or particularly interested in—either of the men as long as they paid her regularly for her easy pretense.