Hunting Hamid

Forty-year-old Moroccan financier Cepos Jawhar put up a hand to silence and stay the movement of his driver, Mehdi, as they left from the back porch of the Boucher Lodge overlooking the Coaticook River two miles north of the Canadian-U.S. border, in Stanhope. They had been on their way to the car park to leave for the municipal airport in Coaticook to meet up with one of Jawhar’s business associates. This stay at the Boucher Lodge was supposed to be a rest retreat from his busy work—or so he’d told the others booked at the remote forest lodge, known not only for whitetail deer hunters but also for well-heeled gay men who wanted to “get away” and express themselves in private. But in the week he’d been here, business associates had come and gone at the Coaticook airport as if the remote border area of Quebec above Vermont were a beehive.

He had sensed motion in the octagonal summer house down at the edge of the woods near the bank of the small river. Jawhar was wary of any suspicious movement around him. He was in delicate business negotiations and he was here because he didn’t want anyone to know he was here who he wasn’t doing business with.

Motioning for Mehdi to be quiet, he moved into the trees between the parking area and the summer house and crept up closer to the summer house.

The Canadian action film movie star, Nathan Hebert, had the young American companion the French nature photographer, Hiver Baies, brought to the lodge two days previously pinned under him on the bench in the summer house. Hebert, in his thirties and with a magnificent physique, was bare-chested and his trousers were unbuckled, unzipped, flared, and pushed down to under his hips. The young man, Scott Campbell, small, blond, achingly handsome, deceptively innocent looking, full lipped, and sleek of body, was writhing under the Canadian actor.

The young man, who couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty and who Jawhar had had his eye on since the couple arrived, was naked. He was on his back on the bench, his left leg raised and pressed into the screening of the side of the summer house interior. Hebert, crouched between the young man’s thighs, pressing him down, belly to belly, was grasping the ankle of Campbell’s right leg and was folding the leg into Campbell’s chest to get it out of the way.

Jawhar wasn’t surprised at what he found. The dinner the night before at the lodge had been fraught with sexual tension. Baies, probably in his fifties and a distinguished and powerful-bodied man who the couple running the lodge, Liam Boucher and Edouard Grenia, had declared to be quite a famous French magazine photographer, had been in his cups and was glowering at everyone, while the highly charismatic Canadian actor, Nathan Hebert, had been putting the make on Baies’s boy toy. Hebert had recently been in the news, some sort of scandal with the young husband of one of his movie leading ladies, and was hiding out in the forest from the media. Along with Jawhar, these were the only visitors in residence at the moment. Liam Boucher, who was large—almost fat—at fifty and who had turned his family’s hunting lodge into a specialized inn, hosted the dinner, while his declared spouse, a far younger, sultry and dark Edouard, helped serve.

It hadn’t appeared at dinner that Hebert was making headway in seducing the beautiful little blond, Scott, at the table, but clearly he had been. Baies hadn’t been too drunk to not notice the seduction, though, and Jawhar wondered what fireworks might ensue from this tryst. He would like to get his dick in the young American himself. He’d known the young man took cock. This was a gay trysting resort and Scott was an obvious submissive. Through dinner he’d had the impulse to reach over and let the small bun at the back of the young man’s head down. Just watching Scott at dinner had made Jawhar hard and wanting to cover him. Hebert had beat him in sinking his cock in the young man’s ass. He accomplished this in the summer house, and the young man looked more beautiful than handsome, with his hair cascading to his shoulders and his lithe body bouncing with the rhythm of Hebert’s hip thrusts. Scott obviously had no trouble taking a stranger’s shaft.

From where Jawhar was standing, he could see Hebert’s cock taking its pleasure pleasure in fucking the young blond’s hole. The young man was enjoying the fucking too. He was moaning and had his fists pressed to Hebert’s hairy, muscular chest, whether to try to push the movie star away or to hold him in place was unclear. What was clear was that the cock was holed and the young man was fucked. Hebert, grunting at the exertion of the thrusts, dipped down for a lip-lock kiss, and the young man opened his mouth to receive the man’s tongue. Whatever the level of the youth’s initial acceptance, he was moving his hips with the thrusts now, going with the rhythm of the fuck.

Hebert had a gold medallion on a chain around his neck, and when his torso rose again after the deep kiss, the medallion slipped into the blond’s mouth, and the young man sucked on it, his eyes hooded and staring in awe at the face of the famous actor, as vigorous thrusting of the fuck continued. Whether or not the young man was just teasing the movie star at dinner, he was well fucked now by the man, and clearly knew he was.

Jawhar wondered if it was just Hebert’s celebrity that gave him such ready and willing access to the young man. Would Scott Campbell lay down and open his legs as easily for Jawhar. That wasn’t quite what would excite Jawhar, though. Back in his country he knew what to do with young, small blonds like this. Back in his country Jawhar would—and sometimes did—take a young man like Campbell by force—and then again and again until the young man was exhausted and totally used. That’s what he clearly would like to do with this one.

Mehdi touched Jawhar’s arm to signal that they needed to leave for the airport, but Jawhar, one hand on his own crotch, lifted the other one to stay him. He wanted to live this climax vicariously. He wanted to fuck the young blond himself. He wanted to conquer and totally use him. They young man was making love with the aging movie star. With Jawhar, it would be war—total sex; the Arabs conquering the Christians.

The two fucking men were going for climax. Hebert was holding Scott tight, his hips moving faster, his thrusts reading deeper. Back arched, mouth open in a wide yawn, and making deep moaning sounds punctuated with “Yes, yes, deep. Fuck me deep,” Scott’s hips with also in quickening countermotion. Taking it, taking it, taking it. They stayed for the final thrusts, the hold on the brink of paradise, the arching of Hebert’s back, the jerk, and the small cry of both men as they came almost together—the loosening of Hebert’s hold and Scott slowly collapsing back on the bench, murmuring “Oh, fuck. It was so big inside me. So much cum. You are a lion of a man. Fuck me again.” All of these observations must have been sweet for the aging actor to hear from a honey like Campbell.

“Not as big as I am,” Jawhar muttered from his vantage point. The blond is, I think, the one really controlling the fuck, Jawhar mused. The old actor is so happy to be dipping in something that desirable that he doesn’t understand that the young man is controlling from the bottom. He won’t do that for me. He will try, but I will have him sobbing and begging for mercy—but I will give him no mercy. He will know who the master is.

When Hebert pulled out, Jawhar was surprised to see that he’d been barebacking the young honey. So, he thought, an impromptu rather than an arranged tryst probably. He wondered what approach he himself could take with the luscious little piece. He was no movie star, but he was as hard-bodied as Hebert was, and, as far as he could see, bigger where it counted.

The young blond was too innocent looking and acting. He needed to be dominated . . . conquered . . . totally used. Young blonds like this had not walked away from how Jawhar used them—in his country.

The show over, he turned and walked back to the Land Rover Discovery off-road SUV in the parking area. His other “associate,” Ikram, was waiting by the car for them and opened the door for Jawhar to enter. As he did so, his jacket flipped open enough to reveal he was armed with a shoulder holstered gun. So was Mehdi.

* * * *

The Canadian movie star, Nathan Hebert, had been able to entrap Hiver Baies’s young companion, Scott Campbell, in the summer house and fuck him because Baies had taken off on a photoshoot and left Campbell behind at the lodge. The young man had made quite clear in signaling and a brief exchange of murmurs in a back hall of the inn that Campbell would be happy to hook up with the movie star if the photographer, who was quite possessive, provided an opportunity. Campbell had been quite the tease. But he also was quite interested in adding a movie star, no matter how faded, to the list of men who’d fucked him.

Baies had business of his own. He wasn’t as worried about what Scott might do as either of them had let on. Before Baies took off in his Jeep, he had tracked Liam Boucher down and made him an offer that Boucher didn’t much like but was offered too much money to refuse. The lodge’s profits had been down over the last few months and it wasn’t like he and Edouard were really married or had taken any sort of constancy pledge to each other. And Edouard had just the previous evening remarked how sexy the Moroccan was.

Baies stopped the Jeep a mile from the lodge and went out by the river and took some photos. He wanted to be sure he could produce some he took, if challenged. Then he got back in the Jeep and drove another mile south on Canadian Route 147. It became Vermont Route 114 at the U.S. border. He stopped at the border control building where the road crossed into the United States in Norton, Vermont, and went inside for a cup of coffee. When he came back out, four other vehicles had pulled up in the parking lot. Their occupants got out and acquired their own cups of coffee, and the assembled group had a nice, long chat.

When Cepos Jawhar and his close associates arrived at the Coaticook Municipal Airport, they pulled into the private plane storage area rather than the small terminal building. A 1994 Beechjet 400A corporate jet had landed and pulled into the storage area an hour before Mehdi drove Jawhar into the airport in the Land Rover Discovery. Jawhar went on board the aircraft for an hour and a half, and when he came off, the jet flew out again. The pilots had gone into the terminal building to file flight plans, drink coffee, and jaw with the airport staff, as well as they could in Arabic-spiced English, but no passengers had come off the plane. No Canadian authorities went on the jet either. They were all looking the other way. They were looking the other way when Mehdi and Ikram pulled two boxes out of the jet and put them in the back of the Discovery next to other, similar boxes as well.

When Jawhar returned to the Boucher Lodge, the owner’s partner, the slim, boyish, and a bit limp-wristed Edouard Grenia was just coming out of the river, where he had taken a swim. He was a sultry, dark-haired young man with an affecting “come hither” look in his eyes. He saw Jawhar come in from the car park with Mehdi and Ikram, who continued on to the inn. Edouard caught Jawhar’s eye, though, and established his “come hither” interest. The two met in the summer house and did some talking and then some fondling and kissing before they left the gazebo and went up to the main lodge together.

Jawhar was on his knees between Edouard’s legs, the young, sultry inn worker’s ankles on Jawhar’s shoulders when they first heard voices in the adjoining room. Edouard was on his back, his arms extended above his head, his wrists cuffed to the corners of the headboard, his briefs shoved into his mouth to muffle his cries, as Jawhar moved to clutching the young man’s buttocks in his hands, lifting Edouard’s pelvis up to his crotch, his oversized cock buried in the Canadian’s channel, pistoning him hard and fast, with Edouard sobbing for relief that Jawhar was denying him, and fucking down into him when they heard the loud argument next door become heated. Jawhar paused in his assault, his attention going to the argument on the other side of the wall. Edouard, panting and moaning low, gave an occasional jerk as Jawhar gave him attention, thrusting hard and deep before pausing and listening.

What they first clearly could hear through the wall was Hiver Baies giving Scott Campbell a tongue lashing. The verbal attack clearly was about the attentions the young man had let the movie actor, Nathan Hebert, pay to him the previous night at dinner. The tongue lashing seemed to remain focused on the previous night until Campbell must have let something slip about meeting the actor in the summer house while Baies was off snapping off nature photos in the afternoon. Then it got violent. Baies was throwing the young man around and beating on him. Edouard started to move out from underneath Jawhar to go try to break up what had become violent, but Jawhar wouldn’t let him go.

“Leave it. It has nothing to do with us. I’m not done with you yet.” Thereupon Edouard settled down. He really didn’t have much choice—his wrists were bound to the headboard, his ankles were trapped on the Moroccan’s shoulders, and Jawhar’s huge cock was deep in his ass.

For Jawhar’s part, he was enjoying the entertainment from across the wall. He was used to violence and was turned on by rough sex. This was increasing his enjoyment of using the helpless Edouard. There was always the chance he’d have an opportunity to console the cute little American blond later—maybe even by knocking him around a bit, although the young blond seemed more one to make love to rather than to take forcefully.

The two sides of the wall ended the afternoon in consort. The roughness in the other room was juicing Jawhar up. He was slapping the young man around was thrusting hard enough inside Edouard for the headboard of the bed to be bouncing off the wall. This was happening in harmony to what was going on the other side the wall too. Baies had obviously decided to end his lecture with sex. Fucking was going on so intensely in his room that his bed was rhythmically hitting the wall as well.

Scott Campbell was learning who was boss and who was in control of their relationship. Scott Campbell was getting the shit fucked out of him on the other side of the wall.

Cepos Jawhar wanted some of that too. In the meantime he was reducing Edouard to a helpless, whimpering vessel for Jawhar’s cruel mastery.

* * * *

Scott Campbell didn’t appear for dinner that night. Edouard, limping but humming, took a dinner up to him in the room he shared with Hiver Baies. While talking with Liam Boucher and avoiding telling him that he’d royally fucked his young partner, Edouard, that afternoon, Jawhar cast sideways looks of censure at Baies, who was happily talking with the Canadian movie star, Nathan Hebert, about the photoshoot in the forest that Hebert had agreed to let the French photographer do the next day. Jawhar was no puritan in terms of sexual violence or in keeping someone you owned under control, but until he had this beautiful young blond under his thumb the way Baies had Campbell, he didn’t like the thought of anyone but him damaging the good. He’d give him so much cruel cock that the guy wouldn’t be looking elsewhere. He’d ravished Edouard that afternoon and still the young man wanted more.

He made another run to the airport after dinner with Mehdi and Ikram in the Land Rover and the main lodge was in darkness when they got back. Mehdi and Ikram went to the lodge and their rooms in the attic—they took their meals in the kitchen. They weren’t fully lodge guests. They were staff Jawhar had brought with him on his working vacation.

Peeling off from the two, Jawhar went down to the bank of the Coaticook River—more of a creek running south into the United States two miles away—to smoke a cigarette. On his way back to the main lodge building, he heard a low sob coming from the summer house and he went to investigate. Scott Campbell, just in sleeping shorts, was hunched over on the bench in the summer house in the near dark. He was sitting in a beam of light from the moon, though, and Jawhar could see that he’d been beaten. The young man had a black eye, his lip was cut, and there was a bruise in the hollow of his chest where his left arm met the torso. There was another one on his lower belly. Still, the young man was looking sexy as hell. Jawhar was outraged that he wasn’t the one who’d gotten the enjoyment out of inflicting this damage. Obviously, if he was going to get it the way he wanted it from this young man now, he’d have to work up to it—going from tender to tenderizing. He entered the summer house and stood before the forlorn figure sitting on the bench.

“What happened to you? Baies beat you, didn’t he?” he said.

“Yes,” Scott said, trying, but not able, to stifle a snuffle.

“Why do you let him do that?”

“He saved me. He gives me so much.”

“And he takes so much from you, doesn’t he?” Jawhar asked, sitting on the bench beside the young man and putting his hand on Scott’s knee. He was aching to put his hands all over the young man’s beautiful body. He was aching to cover the young man and use him as hard as Baies had.

“He says I give too much to others—but I was doing it for him . . . because I thought he wanted me to.”

Jawhar put an arm around the young American. His hand glided down to Scott’s left pec and he stroked the nipple with his thumb. The nipple puffed up for him. The youth didn’t seem to notice—or at least he didn’t lean away. In fact, he settled more into the chest of the man sitting close beside him now. Steady as you go, Jawhar was thinking. Take him slow. Be his buddy and then be his master.

“I don’t understand. What was it you did for Baies that made him mad at you? He beat you this afternoon, in your room, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he beat me, and then he . . .”

“Then he took you hard, didn’t he? He takes you hard in sex, doesn’t he? He fucks you rough.” Jawhar could feel himself nearly trembling to be doing the same.

“Yes.”

“And you let him.”

“It’s a bit exciting. It makes me feel alive.” Hearing that made Jawhar feel alive too.

“I heard him beating on you—and taking you hard afterward. I heard. I was in the next room. I heard. I couldn’t help but hearing.” Jawhar’s right hand went to palming the young man’s belly. Scott didn’t seem to notice, but he decided he needed to check. “Am I crowding you here? Making you uncomfortable?”

“No. It’s nice. You’re nice.”

I’m going to get to fuck him, Jawhar thought. This was exhilarating.

“I heard you too . . . I think . . . at least I thought it was you,” Scott continued. “You with Edouard. The bed was hitting the wall so hard that I thought . . . that I sort of wished . . .”

“That it had been you . . . with me? If you are asking if I cover young men like you and with vigor, the answer is yes. But I can be a lover too. I can build to what my partner wants. In some ways was the photographer giving you what you wanted? You need not be shy with me.”

“Yes,” Scott murmured.

“Does your photographer have what I have?” Jawhar asked. He unzipped and pulled his half hard out.

“Shit. Oh, fuck,” Scott whispered, and Jawhar could hear the young man panting. He moved the fingers of the hand palmed on the young man’s belly to under the waistband of his sleeping shorts, the fingers playing in the trimmed hair of the youth’s pubes.

“I had no idea you were that big. I didn’t know any man could be that big.”

“But now you do.”

“Yes.”

“What was it you did for Baies that he didn’t take well?” Jawhar let his index finger push through the youth’s pubic hair down to the base of his cock, which responded by expanding. The young man was panting lightly. He also put Scott’s hand on his erection so the young man could feel it continue to engorge. Scott didn’t take his hand away.

“He had told me to be nice to Nathan Hebert. He wants Hebert to let him photograph him with nature in the woods.”

“Naked?”

“Well, almost. In sexy poses. He thinks it would sell well to a magazine. So, he asked me to be nice to the man. He didn’t say where he wanted me to stop being nice to him.”

“I heard about the photoshoot at dinner. Hebert agreed to it. It will happen tomorrow. The way you were nice to Hebert is that you let him fuck you here in the gazebo yesterday afternoon, right?”

“You know about that?” The young man sounded surprised. He also seemed a little dopey, as Jawhar had Scott’s cock in hand now and was gently stroking it. Scott, intentionally or not, was doing the same with Jawhar’s shaft. Jawhar kissed Scott in the hollow of his neck, and the young man instinctively arched his throat to let Jawhar’s face nestle in there. The Moroccan licked along a throbbing vein there, and Scott sighed.

“I saw you. I watched for a while. You are a beautiful young man. Your body is gorgeous. I love the way your hair cascades to your shoulders when it’s let down.” Jawhar reached around and released the bun at the back of Scott’s head and his blond hair fell down to his shoulders. Scott moaned.

“So, you let Hebert fuck you so that he’d agree to let Baies do a photoshoot of him. He agreed, and Baies beat you because he hadn’t wanted you to go as far as letting Hebert fuck you first—before he agreed to the photos?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Baies is brutal with you, isn’t he? He’s controlling and violent, and you are a slave to him.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you stay with him.”

“Yes.” It was the truth but Scott genuinely felt trapped and used in his relationship to Baies. And this sexy, swarthy Arab excited him and made his juices flow. He made all of the right moves. Scott had already decided that he’d let the man fuck him. He wanted the man to fuck him.

“But you wanted Hebert to fuck you. You let men other than Baies fuck you.”

“Yes. But . . . oh, shit. Oh fuck.”

Jawhar was manipulating Scott’s body, moving him into position for mounting. Scott obviously knew he was and wasn’t resisting.

“Is this OK? Is this going to be OK?” Jawhar whispered.

“Yes, oh yes.”

“You know I’m going to put this in you—that I’m going to fuck you.”

“Yes, please.”

He had Scott half turned away from him on the bench, his buttocks turned up onto the left cheek. Jawhar brushed the young man’s sleeping shorts down his legs as Scott shuddered, his body trembling, murmuring, “Please, please, please,” without definition of whether it was objection or begging for the cock.

Jawhar assumed, for his own pleasure, that the luscious young man was begging for the cock, and he gave it to him. Holding the young man turned slightly from him with a hand palming the youth’s chest, Jawhar raised and bent the young man’s right leg up into his chest, turned his hips toward Scott, put his hard cock into position, penetrated, forced his way in, and began a slow pump. Although stretch was required, Scott took the cock in with little force required. The young man was a whore.

Scott cried out in a low voice at the violation, but, although writhing a bit within Jawhar’s grasp, he did nothing to try to resist beyond whispering, “Shit. Fuck. You’re so big. Give me time to . . . fuck. Shit.”

The thick, long cock forced itself inside, opening, stretching, violating, as Scott panted hard. The young man’s left hand went to the wooden ledge under the screening to hold himself in place. His right hand was flung back, clutching Jawhar’s right hip, digging his fingernails in, whether to try to push the man away or hold him in place, not even Scott knew, until his hips went into motion, rising and falling on the hard cock as it forced its way into the quick of the youth’s core.

“Shit. Fuck, you’re big,” Scott cried out.

“You wanted me inside you.”

“Oh, god, yes. Do me. Just like that.”

Jawhar gently pushed the young man over to where he was stretched out on his belly on the bench. The Moroccan straddled the smaller, lighter American from above, palmed Scott’s shoulder blades, and fucked down into him, hard and deep and raw to an ejaculation. The young man, shuddering and moaning, lay there, arm dangling off the side of the bench, knuckles dragging on the floor, other hand under his belly, stroking himself off to his own ejaculation, as the Arab took him to the end, tensing, jerking, and coming, tensing jerking, and coming, breeding the young man raw.

“Alan! Yati alan!—Now! It comes now!” Jawhar exclaimed, pulling his cock to the surface, spilling his seed at the young man’s channel opening, and then diving again and giving the shaft a couple of more pumps.

Finished, Jawhar let his body come down full length on that of the smaller American. He embraced Scott close and nuzzled his face into the youth’s throat. Still inside him, embracing him close, his hands gliding down Scott’s arms, holding the young man’s wrists, his pelvis rising and falling gently on the youth’s buttocks, with Scott sighing and rocking up into the man’s crotch. The two were one, fused. Scott hadn’t been made loved to this intimately and fully for some time. He was beginning to regret . . .

“I want you to come back to the lodge. I’m not finished with you. Not anywhere close to finished what I want to do with your beautiful body.”

“Can’t,” Scott murmured. “Hiver is asleep in our room. But he might wake. He’ll wonder where I am and go looking for me. I don’t want another beating.”

“I must have you again—longer.”

“Tomorrow. He goes out with the actor to take photos. They’re going north, toward Coaticook. We can go for a walk, down the river. Maybe take a swim. Then, on the riverbank . . . all the time in the world. I know a good, private place.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

It was. It very much was the plan.

* * * *

Jawhar and Campbell had the lodge kitchen provide them with an easily carried meal and a six pack of cooled beer. Then Scott led them down to the river, where there was a bankside pathway. He struck off south, with Jawhar, carrying the beer, following close behind him, completely entrapped by the young blond, panting to get his dick inside him again. He would have followed the young man anywhere as long as there was a rainbow at the end of the road of a gorgeous young man opening his legs, and if it didn’t take that long to get there.

It didn’t take that long. It was only two miles to the U.S. border. The Coaticook River took a northward loop near the border, though, which made the walk along the river back three and a quarter miles. Scott led the walk for three and a half miles before he stopped. The hike took an hour and a half, and by the time Scott said he’d found the spot he had talked about, Jawhar’s tongue was hanging out with sexual need and he couldn’t keep his hands from touching Scott’s body here, there, and there as they walked. He had to admit when they arrived in a small grove of trees with a gentle incline down into the river, where there was a cove of still water, that it was a very nice spot.

Smiling at him, Scott stripped, ran down to the river, and dove in, paddling out into the middle of the cove. Jawhar was mere seconds behind him. And he’d put his need off long enough. He swam out to Scott. He could stand where they met; Scott wasn’t able to determine whether he could. Jawhar grabbed the young man and pulled him in to his chest. He crouched a bit, pulling the young man onto his lap, facing him. Scott writhed in his grasp at the ferocity with which the man was manipulating his body. He cried out in surprise and pain, as the Moroccan put his cock in position and drove it up into the young man’s channel, forcing it to open to his assault. Scott thrashed about for a minute or more, but then he was open, the cock was in him deep, and Jawhar, his arms wrapped around Scott’s waist and his mouth latched onto the younger man’s nipples and sucking hard, was pumping for all he was worth.

Scott surrendered and fired off from the intensity of the onslaught as he lay back into the water, panting and moaning and docilely took the cocking to its conclusion. Afterward, they held there, in the water, slowly rocking against each other, Jawhar remaining inside the young man as he went flaccid. They kissed and whispered to each other, heated up again, and both regained erections.

“It’s so big,” Scott murmured.

“And you want it again,” Jawhar responded.

“Yes.”

They didn’t fuck again there—or, rather, Jawhar, who had taken charge, didn’t fuck Scott again there in the water. He waded out to the riverbank, maintaining his buried connection with the younger man. He tenderly laid the young man on his back on the riverbank, put his hands under the young man’s legs, and raised and spread them. Crouching over Scott and looking down into the young man’s eyes with a lustful, yet worshipping gaze.

“It’s so big; it’s so big,” Scott whispered as he panted and grasped the Arab’s biceps.

Jawhar fucked the young man again, slowly, deeply, going deep in the youth’s core—taking it all and increasing in vigor, intensity, rapidity, and depth. Scott arched his back, dug his nails into the Arab’s glutes, and began moving his hips, giving it all, fully involved in the fuck. Lashing out, Jawhar slapped Scott across the face several times, cruelly, bringing sobs out of the young man. Then the Arab’s hands went to Scott’s throat and he engaged in breath control, causing the young man to gasp when he was permitted breath. All of the time the pounding of the huge, stretching cock continued.

Hiver Baies, who really was Sam Winterberry, chief of the CIA’s Candy Store operations unit, specializing in neutralizing and suborning foreign targets by throwing sex at them, didn’t interrupt the fuck until Jawhar had tensed, jerked, and breeded Scott a second time and Scott had cried out his own release.

Two agents pulled Jawhar, who really was a Saudi named Hamid and who was at the Canadian-U.S. border assembling a war chest of U.S. cash being collected and delivered to him to smuggle across the border to terrorist cells in the United States, off Scott. To the terrorist’s great displeasure, the agents started moving him to where the government vehicles were parked on the apron of the nearby Nelson Road, a backroad that dipped down from Canada into Vermont without a Customs checkpoint. Winterberry helped an exhausted and dazed Scott, one of his agents, up from the grass by the river and handed him the clothes he’d stripped off when he’d gone into the water.

“You can’t seize me,” Hamid was screaming as he struggled with the two agents who were dragging him away. “You have no authority to arrest me in Canada.”

“We aren’t in Canada,” Winterberry shot back. “This is Vermont. This is U.S. territory. You can see Canada from here. It’s just over there. But it’s not here.” This had been the whole crux of the operation. Hamid was a big fish in the financing of terrorism in the world. The CIA wanted him alive. They also didn’t want his masters to be sure what had happened with him, and there was a lot less fuss and red tape in being able to seize him on U.S. soil rather than in Canada. The Canadian authorities even now were at the Boucher Lodge in Stanhope, rolling up Hamid’s bodyguards. They were known to be armed, though, so the CIA and the Canadians didn’t want to risk losing Hamid in a firefight. The complex operation using Scott had emphasized getting Hamid separated from Mehdi and Ikram.

And the Canadian authorities hadn’t really looked the other way at the Coaticook Municipal Airport when the planes came in to deliver boxes of U.S. cash. They’d waited to move until they thought they had all that was coming in.

Everything that had transpired in matching up Hamid and Scott had been an elaborate plan orchestrated by Winterberry—setting up the fuck in the summer house by the unwitting Canadian actor so that Hamid could see it; Hamid being lured into his bedroom by Edouard Grenia so that, while the Arab terrorist was fucking Grenia, he could hear Winterberry beating down Scott in the adjacent room in an effort that wasn’t nearly as brutal as it sounded; the supposedly chance night encounter between Hamid and Scott in the summer house; and the outing today, with Winterberry supposedly going north while Scott and Hamid came south—over the border. It was all set up to enhance Hamid’s sexual need for Scott and his resultant letting down of his defenses to get his cock inside the young man. Classic spy operations.

“You!” Hamid screamed at Scott. “You were part of this. And you chose this monster over me. You bastard!”

Scott turned away from him, stung. He hadn’t lied. He’d opened up to the man about his feelings—that, in sexual terms and as far as Scott knew, Jawhar—no, Hamid—was a lover and Winterberry was a user. The sex he’d had with Winterberry that Hamid had heard hadn’t been fully feigned, and it hadn’t been tame. Winterberry controlled his agents through sex, and he was rough. It was the plan to rough Scott up to gain Hamid’s sympathy, but the wounds had been rendered in rough sex, and Winterberry hadn’t held back.

“You let him fuck me twice before intervening,” Scott hissed at Winterberry, still not turning to Hamid as the terrorist was hustled out of view. “That last time he damn near killed me.”

“I think you were enjoying yourself,” Winterberry said, his voice full of acid. “Come, the Jeep is over on the road. I’ll drive you back to the lodge. The Canadians have that under control now, I’m sure.”

“No thanks, I think I’ll walk back along the river,” Scott said. He didn’t wait for Winterberry to agree. He headed out, north, on the path. Winterberry let him go. When Winterberry was finished with what he had to do here to button Hamid down and get him on the road to a safe house set up to start the interrogations and had gotten back to the Boucher Lodge, Scott had already returned, packed, and convinced the Canadians that he was supposed to be driven into Coaticook. It wasn’t clear for a week where he went from there, but after that, he was back in Virginia, at CIA Headquarters in Langley, and reporting back in to the Candy Store unit. He was a staff agent, this was the job, and Sam Winterberry not only was the boss but he also knew where all of the secrets of his agents were buried. Most had something in their past they didn’t want shared with the world. Scott was hooked in doing this job for as long as Winterberry wanted him doing this job.

At least the sex was phenomenal—and sanctioned. And Scott couldn’t say he didn’t respond to the roughness he’d taken—even from Winterberry.