Actions of Man on Covert Mission

Mentored on the Hills of Montmartre

This mission was not your ordinary kind of mission, and the spy was not your average Russian brute. Special missions require special preparations.

CIA had accepted that the stolen secrets were lost. By now Stalin, Molotov, and various people in the nomenklatura would most likely be reading through the documents. The mission was therefore basic, raw and brutal: find Mitya and kill him. 

CIA had gathered evidence that Mitya escaped from America to somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean. That was a zone where East and West met in a loosely governed space of sun and salty waters. Ultimately that was where Marco had to go too. 

However, the first stop was Paris. Marco had not been back there since 45 and that unforgettable orgy in the barracks when the Allied forces learned the Nazis had been vanquished. Defeating vicious rule in glorious combat is the greatest aphrodisiac.

The Parisian Seducer had to be consulted. It was historical fact, though rarely acknowledged, that the First World War had been shortened by at least one year, and made far less lethal, thanks to the actions by a singular Frenchman, monsieur Jean, or as he was better known in the most secret of dossiers, the Parisian Seducer.

Jean was arguably the most consequential bottom in geopolitical history since Alcibiades had his ways back in Athens. Well, at least until now — who knew what Mitya might do, or perhaps already have done? By using his art, Jean made the German war effort in the First World War quite different from what it could have been. A rare breed, he had managed to retire from the high-stakes and cynical spy trade as a distinguished gentleman, nowadays donning velvet outfits in cafés and fromageries mentoring the next generation of handsome men of Paris. Jean might just be the key to find and defeat Mitya.

Having climbed up the hills at Montmartre in pleasant Parisian weather, Marco knocked on the apartment door he knew led to the great man’s lair. 

“Monsieur Jean, dare I be so bold and ask, would you be so kind to spare a few precious minutes to a man inspired by your great tradecraft — clandestine and carnal?” Marco asked the gentleman who had opened the door. The wording was important, it was almost like an incantation, which it was said was required to make the Parisian Seducer cooperative. Respect law and tradition, both high and vulgar.

“I would never deny spending intimate time with an eager man of your attributes”, the gentleman answered with no trace of hesitation or concern, and showed Marco the way in to his ‘temple of the trade’, as it was affectionately known. 

The apartment was pure pleasure decorated with ornaments and items from long gone eras: plushy flamboyant drapes that even Louis XIV would have thought were a tad too much, fine books and nude sculptures, the embodiments of centuries of wisdom, penetrating inquiry, and aesthetic fulfilment, mixed with sexual artefacts from times and places Marco were unable to identify. 

Well, if I had any doubts about where I was, they are gone now, Marco thought. He also figured that Jean would not have been careless about opening his apartment. He must already know I am not some average hoodlum looking to rob him, but a man of the trade. An act is being played here. Better play along.

“What a delicate sculpture. Renaissance Milan I figure”, Marco said while gently touching the cold marble surface that had been artistically rendered into the muscular buttocks of a nude man wrestling with a reptilian monster. “The expression of a profound understanding of male anatomy and, I sense, male psychology in one solid unit.”

“Indeed. It is a fine example of man caught in a tough struggle against a mighty foe. Maybe a real foe of this world, though maybe an imagined foe of the spirit? So what is the true battlefield on which to wage this war, what strengths must be acquired, what powers to thrust forward, our good man in marble may yet to grasp this despite his many favourable attributes”, Jean answered.

Jean inspected Marco with a wry smile, stopping for a brief moment when the gaze reached Marco’s crotch.

“Let me be frank, I am Marco, agent in the Central Intelligence Agency, and I require your superior understanding as I pursue…”

“No, no, no, dear Marco”, Jean interrupted, shaking his head in disapproval. “So crude, so very crude. Do not soil things with such blunt transactional stuff up front. You Americans have to figure out the delicate touch if you are to run a global empire. You greeted me politely, you talked about things I enjoy, you elected to wear trousers that reveal a tasteful amount of the good stuff, and you gave this old man some mystery to figure out… I demand that you indulge me some more.”

Marco dropped his self-assured manners for a brief moment. He was face to face with a true master in the ancient art of espionage and penetrating insight into human psychology. Clearly spending too much time around dorks like Agent Cooper and his minions meant that Marco was measuring his own abilities against inferior standards, at risk of becoming complacent. So alright, give the great man what he desires, flex my abilities, satisfy his expectations.

“I erred. There is much to learn from wise men like you who have been in two great wars, serving higher ideals, dutifully and efficiently”, Marco said.

“All true. But do not forget the ideals must be served during peacetime as well, arguably more so. Strength and determination to do right and do good, despite obstacles, are what makes you a man of virtue.”

“Yes… indeed…”, Marco nodded, before continuing. “Your work behind enemy lines during the First World War is something that intrigues me. I wonder, would you teach me how you, a man so tender and, dare I say, petite, had such success?”

“Certainly dear Marco. Have a seat, and do please unzip and remove those trousers. Body and spirit working together is my method”, Jean said and pointed to a large sofa.

Marco did as instructed and let his trousers drop along with the underwear. This might be a rite of passage. Or maybe the old guy was just horny, who knew really, but the mission was too important to be held back by prudishness. Dressed only in his tight-fitted shirt, penis confidently dangling free of all covers, Marco sat down. 

Jean sat down next to Marco, placed his hand on the naked thigh and stroked gently. Within seconds, Jean’s delicate hand was cupping Marco’s balls. 

“I conclude you came here directly from the airport, no enjoyments on the journey”, said Jean. Indeed, Marco had not had an opportunity in the last sixty hours for sweet release and his balls were feeling a bit extra heavy because of it.

Jean pinched Marco’s dick at the base, sizing up the girth, and applying precise pressure at the delicate spots that made the penis jolt up and start rising. 

“This reminds me of an assignment in 1916, back when I was young and able, my butt all plump and sweet. I doubt you have heard of Oberstleutnant Stein. Back in the war, Stein was in the top three of concerns of the French military. He was a highly effective and creative military commander, unlike his peers and superiors. He was driven by some inexhaustible source of energy as he planned and executed attacks on the frontlines with our French troops.” 

“Stein was a very big and dominating Teutonic fellow. Huge guy in every way. We had learnt that one time in 15 that some men in his unit had been a bit slow in following his orders. He brought these seven tardy men out in the middle of the yard for everyone to see, and he pulled down their trousers and personally administered the punishment. For hours he kept on spanking them with the palm of his hand landing hard on their naked buttocks, creating that distinctive sound mixed with the yelping of young men submitting to a superior male. After the men had properly promised to be obedient, Stein had carefully, some might say lovingly, applied soothing ointment to the red buttocks, that tender ritual too lasting for at least an hour.” 

“Stein was harsh, effective, and a menace on the battlefield. And in 16 we learnt the horrible news that he was soon to be given command over the largest most powerful artillery unit of the German army, a massive cannon with a barrel well over 30 metres of hard, thick, well-oiled steel.” 

“It was I who volunteered to handle the threat from behind enemy lines. Because for all his strength and dominance, I had spotted in our intelligence reports on Stein a certain desire that could be used as a means to stop his attacks.”

Jean had at this point in his retelling brought Marco to full erection through the lightest stroking, pinching and rubbing of various spots on the penis only the most accomplished masters of the male genitalia knew about. He fondly continued his recollections and massage.

“Stein had said to the German high-command he needed the artillery because — and I quote — he must penetrate deep and hard the soft, pliable, exposed rear-end of the virgin French territories. My Lord, what a man, the solution was so obvious! Well, obvious to me, not my colleagues.”

“I snuck into an occupied French village near Stein’s camp, and I disguised myself as a shy, perky villager in snug trousers and a cute little beret. The next day Stein did one of his regular inspections of the occupied village. He rode by my little cottage, and I stood outside looking extra petulant, rebellious, yet innocent and naive, and indeed he noticed me, his desires clearly triggered. He had swallowed the bait, hook, line and sinker.”

“Around eleven that night I heard somebody approaching my cottage, and as expected, the door flung open, and Stein entered shouting in his deep commanding voice: ‘random inspection, get up you baguette loving, snail eating Frenchy wine bag!’”

“I was prepared, dressed only in a beret and a thin shirt that barely covered my cresting buttocks, leaving all my other parts exposed. I jumped out of bed with a startled look on my innocent face. ‘You monstrous Kraut, you unwashed Schwein’, I yelled out with extra thick French accent.”

“I could see him breathe heavily, his eyes expanded, biceps convulsing, hands grabbing air. My rebellious super-charged French attitude had him drooling. In short, my show was working. I had analyzed Stein correctly.” 

“He could not restrain himself as his horniness took over. He ran over to me, grabbed me, and started cursing in German as if he was admonishing a suspected saboteur. But his hand was soon grabbing my ass, his fingers spreading my buttocks.”

“He stopped for a while, maybe hesitating, maybe confused by what he was feeling at that moment. So I bent over just slightly more, allowing his hand to fully feel the warmth and heartbeat from my intimate parts, and I looked back at him innocent eyes, yet rebellious and naughty, my cheeks blushing. God has gifted me well you see, both body and spirit.”

“He pushed me face down onto the bed and placed himself above me, stroking, grabbing, probing, groaning. He was like a clumsy salivating bear who did not know how to deal with what he had in front of him, his spirit fumbling. But soon enough, after some tactical moves by me, he was sucking and biting my naked butt. It hurt a bit, but he was tender too, never pushing things too far. I heard him remove his trousers.”

“‘You French need to receive a steady assault, you need a big dose of discipline’, Stein mumbled his lips just next to my ear, while I felt the rock hard tip make contact against my thighs. And dear Marco, you are the first man I have seen since Stein that can equal that magnificent plough he was wielding. You have inspired me… allow me just for a moment…”

Jean at this point paused his story to lean over and take the head of Marco’s dick in his mouth. Steady sucking, probing with the tongue along the edge, moving up and down. Decades of experience of sucking dick, both in the service of the Republic and the higher ideals, was taking Marco for a joyride. Just as Marco was at the edge of a powerful orgasm, Jean stopped the stimulation, smiled knowingly, and resumed his storytelling.

“Oh, the story has barely begun. You don’t mind, dear Marco, if this old man takes some more time to reminisce about the past while gently playing… magnifique, magnifique mon ours”, Jean said not bothering to wait for an answer. He continued his massage of dick, inner thighs and balls.

The story continued, and simply put, Stein was ravaging Jean in all kinds of ways. Jean’s butt was opened and thoroughly penetrated by Stein’s dick, which Jean described in considerable anatomical detail. As older men are wont to do, he told the story slowly and methodically, making sure Marco was right at the edge of orgasm throughout, balls growing heavier by the second. This was the real way to learn, body and spirit together.

“And here is something for you to understand, dear Marco. The fucking I received was demanding to handle, but I could still take the sex act to where I needed it to go. My control of my ass is outstanding, I wriggled, squeezed and twisted in deliberate ways, and then I felt and heard how Stein had an explosive, and for him unexpected, orgasm.”

“He was slightly shocked over that he had lost control during his so-called assault. And in his heart he felt a deep satisfaction and gratitude. Like a repressed German he of course ran off quickly, back to camp where he was the master of everyone. I bet he spanked some cadet that night to prove something to himself. But I had him. His dick was mine.

“The next day, he manufactured a reason to travel to the village for inspection, or whatever, and soon he was inside my cottage, and inside me. And the next day, and the next day.” 

“We began exploring new positions. He was the happiest when he was pushing me hard against something, feeling my body at the mercy of his muscular embrace, with my butt in turn convulsing and tightly gripping his dick. He became more and more comfortable with what we were doing.” 

“We did some role playing too, where I was supposed to play a stereotypical French farm boy with beret, and for some reason with a baguette under my arm, who had led my cows onto German lands, and was paying restitution the sexual way to a stern German bratwurst maker, all while I was wearing the beret only. I milked Stein’s big meaty sausage, his masculine powers exploding. He was at my mercy, while he believed the opposite was true.”

“After three weeks with me, he one day after a particularly intense fucking, where he had unexpectedly sucked me and fondled my balls, until my stiff dick shot its load, he kissed me tenderly like never before. He said to me: ’This was our last time. I resigned from my post earlier. I am being sent back to serve time in prison for insubordination. I do not care. I cannot be a part of this war anymore. This is not the field on which I am made to do battle.’”

“Stein walked to the door, thanked me very quickly, and left.”

“His drive to pillage and assault the French had been directed to where it belonged: the sensual ass of an eager bottom, not the violent death of innocent people. Stein served his time, founded a clandestine Munich men-only bar with a salacious reputation. He ended his days in the resistance against the Nazis, and sadly died a martyr’s death after levelling an SS headquarter with dynamite.”

Jean increased the rhythm of his massage. Marco felt his balls getting even tighter. 

“Remember what I tell you”, Jean whispered when Marco was again brought to the brink of release. “Victory is not to defeat the other, but to deflate that which is bad and which destroys. To stay on the path to victory and virtue is to see the difference. Discover it. Embrace the uncharted, create good, fight well, do not be cautious in your battles, but be full of care for all. And finally, know this truth few men of your girth and character know: never underestimate an apex power bottom.” 

Jean pressed his thumb at the most sensitive spot, firmly jerked up and down three more times, and Marco promptly and powerfully pumped cum high up in the air, groaning loudly.