Actions of Man on Covert Mission

The Senator is Dead

Two weeks had past since Marco had given Agent Cooper more inches of dick to marvel at than he probably had looked at in aggregate up until then. While Marco was browsing the local meat shop for some flank steak to replenish his bodily protein supply (heaps of random New York bottoms are a demanding bunch), two Agency men walked up. 

Marco knew they had him under surveillance, probably bugging his apartment too, and he was not bothered. Adding tapes of primal sexual moans and grunting to the archives of the CIA is at least worth something, Marco thought. A warrior of Marco’s caliber denied meaningful work as punishment had made the big man delight in petty acts of rebellion. Those delicate future historians with their dainty fingers soft from turning book pages all day long could listen to some raw sex noises for a change once the archives were declassified. Take that future prudes.

However these two agents clearly had something urgent and specific to address. They walked with purpose. Marco knew one of them from the War, not the smartest or strongest man, a farm hand who used what he had and acted with bravery as the tectonic plates of history moved the ground beneath him. A good family man nowadays. He had balls.

“Agent Ulises, you have been urgently requested to go to Washington DC. Please come with us”, they said in their commanding style, just as the field manual instructed.

“Requested you say… by whom? Another attempt by Agent Cooper to convince me to do your dirty work?” Marco was getting ready for another indignant rant.

“The man at the top.”

“The director? Did not know he had the power to speak on his own.”

“Highest up… well, at least highest up among us sinners on this soil” the good family man clarified.

Marco looked at them carefully. They did not lie. They were actually saying the President had requested his return to DC. This was intriguing. Whatever the reason, this was worth going with, Marco thought, if nothing else to gain negotiating leverage, add a few stacks of cash to the meagre state pension he had been left to live off. Well, Marco conceded to himself, it also felt a bit good to be needed by one’s country.

After a high-speed drive south to DC, the car stopped outside the rear entrance to the luxurious Hay-Adams hotel. The two agents rushed in with Marco in tow. They avoided the hotel foyer and used the stairs, not the lift, up to the top floor. Evidently they did not wish to be seen.

Outside the doors to what clearly was the swankiest suite, Marco saw a group of agents, most of them looked like FBI. Among them were also Agent Cooper and the Agency Director, General Smith. They looked concerned, nervous, bordering on scared.

“Agent Ulises, we are pleased you came here so swiftly. Your precision and promptness will be noted”, General Smith said in that formal manner of speak government people are forced to adopt. But behind the General’s dry and boring exterior, Marco noticed great concern.

“Agent Cooper is going to show you the scene soon, and state our request. Let me however impress on you the following: your country needs you, the president needs you. If you accept the mission, the president will revoke with immediate effect your dishonourable discharge. Make it go away, so to speak. You will be an agent of the CIA again. Redemption in the eyes of the citizens in your grasp. However, now I will need to return to my office, yes… don’t want to be in the way… leave these queer matters in more capable hands… yes, discretion, indeed.” The general’s last words were strained and he was noticeably embarrassed. More curious than before, Marco followed Agent Cooper as he entered the suite.

The smell of sex was in the air. That unmistakable mixture of male hormones, ruffled bed linens and bodily fluids could not be missed. Add to that clothes thrown across the floor and half-emptied bottles of champagne, and recent acts of unrestrained arousal were in no doubt.

Agent Cooper walked into the bedroom. There Marco saw him: Senator Tucker Watt dead, seated naked on the bed. There was no blood, no gun shot wounds, no knife stabs or signs of strangulation or blunt force trauma. The Senator was even frozen in what looked like a state of contentment. Dead for sure, but for the first time ever, Marco saw the Senator with a smile.

“We found him this morning. Dead as you can see. We have not touched the crime scene”, Agent Cooper said as Marco was scanning the room to discover further signs of intense sexual activity. On closer inspection the Senator had become slimmer as well.

“About two weeks ago the Senator checked in to this hotel with some excuse of having to be closer to work than his mansion allows. His staff has told us how the Senator started showing up to work irregularly with a strange lack of focus with regards to his ordinary efforts. Instead the Senator began requesting various classified material for review. He is… well, was… the chairman of the Intelligence Committee. His staff became increasingly worried the Senator was under some stress, since he looked exhausted and slimming fast”, Agent Cooper recounted.

Marco listened while further examining the room. Peculiar, Marco thought, as his expert skills in homosexual love scenes told him the activity in this room had not included any women. Rather, this looked like two men having gone at it, long and hard, balls to the wall. Is that really possible? Senator Watt? That sanctimonious fart?

“By chance, we were able to recover some photographs from the hotel lobby from the last few days. Agent Ulises, the reason I advised the president to allow you to come back in the fold ought to become quite clear…”

The three photographs Agent Cooper put on the nearby table were of varying quality, but they told a simple story. Senator Watt was featured on one of them walking with two large portfolios, clearly heavy with papers, precious state secrets Marco inferred. But furthermore, the Senator had a smile on his face, determined, pulled by an invisible leash, one might say. A man drawn by an uncontrollable sexual urge, in other words.

The second photograph featured the Senator as well, this time however with his arm around a truly handsome young man. Splendid features, rather long golden hair, pronounced cheek bones, and exquisite cocksucker lips. Lips that would grip and explore, a big but flexible tongue that slither, probe and poke. Add to that the young man’s snugly fitted clothing, which especially revealed he was packing a superbly perky ass, and firm powerful thighs.

The third photograph featured only said young man, now rolling two large suitcases after him evidently leaving the hotel. He was even prettier in this photograph. So well sculpted, Marco could not help but feel that primordial twitch in his dick. But this photograph also revealed a determined gaze. This young man was no fragile wimp. He exuded purpose and authority. This was no ordinary power-bottom, but an apex predator power-bottom, the kind that would had started and ended wars in Ancient Greece in the bedroom rather than on the battle field. Marco understood what had happened.

“Mitya?”

“Yes. We did not know his appearance for certain, but all the signs are he used some trick to ensnare Senator Watt”, Agent Cooper replied. “And… well… as you can see…”

“Fucked him good and proper, until he died the best death one can hope for: while climaxing hard into a first-rate boy”, Marco finished the stammering sentence of Agent Cooper.

“What can you infer from the crime scene?”, Agent Cooper asked, trying his best to maintain the grey patina of boring professionalism.

Marco looked around a second time. With the information gleaned from the photographs, Marco could see all the tell-tale signs: an apex power-bottom with a mission and his willing prey. It was almost as if he could witness the events take place in front of his eyes. Marco began describing probable events that given the observational data would have played out in this suite during the last two weeks.

“Mitya starts by stripping. The Senator is comfortably seated, senses a bit dulled by one or two glasses of scotch… champagne would have been deemed too effeminate for the Senator at first. Mitya stands on the table, dressed only in skimpy underwear and a military green tank-top that just about reaches down to the cresting buttocks. He gyrates his hips, turning his perky butt in the direction of the Senator, moving, flexing.”

“The Senator, a bit confused and bothered by his arousal, nonetheless is overrun by the desire to see and feel more. He asks, nay he begs, Mitya to ‘come on, take it off’.”

“Mitya, still in his elevated position on the table, lets the underwear slip off down to the ankles, kicking it off so that it lands on the Senator’s face. The underwear most likely scented, a well-known trick, should frankly be in the field manual. Mitya keeps his butt facing the senator, observing him carefully. The tank-top partially covers the smooth and polished buttocks. Mitya continues his gyrations, swiftly lifting the tank-top at times to briefly reveal more of his superb body parts." 

“Most likely Senator Watt by this stage has a heart rate on par with Jesse Owens nearing the finish-line. Apart from the rare slap of the ass of a secretary, the Senator has not been near anything sexual for a very long time, so the Senator’s balls are waking up from a deep slumber, aching already for release.”

“Mitya, goes down on all fours, giving the Senator unhindered access to butthole, hanging balls, and the semi-erect dick, all of which must be near or at anatomic perfection. At this point, driven by primal instinct, the Senator lunges forward and begins to kiss, lick and eat the boy’s precious hole, while stroking, grabbing, fondling balls and dick. Mitya, as an expert bottom, moans as the horny old man discovers new areas of the male physique. Copulatory vocalization is a neglected object for study. I warned you people, it would not be long before pitch perfect moaning became weaponized.”

“Mitya at a well-calibrated moment jumps off the table, a loud popping sound is created as the Senator's sucking lips are detached from the smooth butt. The senator jumps up, trying to pull back the boy in order to continue the exploration. Mitya instead, being much stronger than the pencil-pushing senator, pulls Senator Watt to the bed, and there pins down the Senator. Mitya climbs up on the older man who is down on his back, confused and aroused beyond his wildest imagination. Mitya sits briefly on the senator’s chest, the dick pressing against the Senator’s chin, teasing him. The pressure against the chest makes breathing harder for the senator.”

“Mitya moves further upwards, and places his butt, cheeks spread wide apart, over the face of the Senator. A muffled sound of uncensored joy is heard before the Senator resumes his eating of sweet and savoury boy parts. Tongue probing inside the butt hole, lips covering the balls, and an eager sucking to gulp up more as much boy as possible.”

“Exactly how long this face-sitting exercise goes on for I cannot tell exactly, but I expect Mitya keeps his prey under careful inspection, making sure heart-rate and hormonal levels stay dangerously close to the limits an older man with decades of sexual frustration up until now can handle. At some point, Mitya pulls away again, removing his tank-top and the Senators trousers.”

“Judging by marks on the Senator’s body as well as structural damage to the bed, Mitya at this point straddled the Senator and placed the tip of the Senator’s dick right at the entrance point to that blissful grip. A brief moment of eye-contact, the Senator somewhere between scared stiff and verging on psychosis from throbbing sexual desire, then Mitya dropped down hard on the Senator, in one quick move taking his dick into his juicy hole. The first of many many more intense orgasms would soon have followed, all at a time and manner fully controlled by Mitya.”

“This would have been the starting point of hours of sexual gratification. Assessing the state of the Senator’s body and the qualities of the power-bottom in question, I estimate that each riding session should be on par with two marathon runs. Thoroughly exhausting and dehydrating.” 

“Mitya is expertly shaking and grinding his butt and hips, taking the Senator’s dick in and out, applying sweet pressure from tip to base. Up and down, from one side to the other, forward and backward, squeeze and release. I would not be surprised if we discover minor fractures in the hip and lower abdomen of the Senator. This was a sexual force his body would not have known how to handle. This little Russian monster…”

Marco briefly pauses his description. Sure, he might have taken a few poetic licenses when he assessed the state of the room and gave it an explanation. But this Russian guy was judging by all signs, on a whole different level. Marco realized he was precariously close to admiration of Mitya, a cardinal sin when dealing with an adversary. That said, it would be nice to be faced with a real sexual challenge for a change. Marco’s dick agreed and began pressing against the fabric.

“Providing numerous sessions like this for days in this room, Mitya would have attained two goals. First, turning the senator into a happy participant in extracting top-secret documents from the government in exchange for out-of-this-world enjoyment. Second, draining the senator of energy, hydration, and pushing hormone-levels to the max, and thus enabling Mitya to terminate Senator Watt through heart-attack, bloodless and, to an ordinary observer, of natural causes.”

“You can tell all that?” Agent Cooper asked with equal parts confusion and consternation.

“It is the highest likelihood inference. I can share with you some alternatives. For example, this heap of champagne bottles I estimate with 40% certainty have come about from Mitya inserting them into himself, reminding the exhausted Senator of the sensation of the grip, basically giving him a mind-fuck. After that Mitya would…”

“Stop… not needed… I rather… it is better if certain details are omitted and… professional code… less said…” mumbled Agent Cooper.

“What happens now?” Marco asked.

“The President requests that you take on the mission to…”

“Stop”, Marco interrupted. “What happens with Billy Watt now? His punishment? His future?”

“Well…”, Agent Cooper paused for a moment and his aged bureaucratic exterior seemed to crack for a brief few seconds to reveal an expression of sympathy. “Billy Watt will return home, and later this year resume his studies at Princeton as originally planned, before, well, his ‘deviation’. Also, I know you may care to know, but we very recently informed Billy Watt of his father’s demise, of course omitting sensitive details, well, most details. As much as you may have hated Senator Watt and resented what he did to his son, know that Billy wept when he learned about his father’s untimely end. He is a wholesome young man.”

A moment of silence followed. The situation was bizarre, motives conflicted. Money, honour, sex, chivalry, patriotism, risk and power… But deep down Marco felt that action had to be taken, some cosmic balance restored, do good… and somewhere in this mix was the spirit of sweet Billy, who had suffered so much already. 

“I accept the mission.”