Actions of Man on Covert Mission

Two Missions, One Path

The two men were rested, revitalized, a danger to enemies, a glorious blessing to friends. An exchange of sexual energies has been known to do lead to that, the historical record is pretty clear on that point.

A few hours of sleep and another efficient rinse in the river, and the two men continued their walk in the darkness of nighttime, this time both Marco and Mitya walked, the latter still fully nude. That changed when they reached a village. Mitya found basic clothing and put them on. Thankfully, Marco thought, the fit of the trousers was snug, so he would not be entirely deprived of that aesthetic pleasure. They put a generous number of roubles on the drying rack as replacement.

The villagers seemed asleep. The two men navigated the night and the roads with great care. The notebook contained a few helpful pointers as well on that matter. There were no reasons to believe they had been spotted. Before the first rooster had crowed to announce the arrival of morning, Marco and Mitya were back on mountainous herding paths well removed from inhabited areas. There was still a great distance to the border, though, so at some point it would be best to find a quicker means of transportation. 

“So I believe you answered my third question last evening, thoroughly and firmly. No complaints”, Mitya said once the sun had risen. Their plan was to continue to walk most of the day before rest.

“However, I had two more questions for you. What is the mission and who sent you? For all I know, my body remains lifeless in the barn and you are the angel who swept my spirit away and this journey is through purgatory, where my sins are to be confronted on a long and arduous climb. Maybe not the worst outcome for a man with my past. But I wish to know what path we are on.”

Marco knew that deception was the standard operating procedure. He also knew this handsome strong man with impeccable ass with the heavenly grip that nourished the spirit, was a capable killer, who could savage a body with a few well-aimed kicks. An ordinary operator would invent a vague lie. But he felt a bond had formed, and a higher mission was in the making. Honesty was the path.

“What caused me to come here was what you did to Senator Watt. I am a man of CIA. The mission I was given was to terminate you, make you no longer a threat” Marco said. There were a few seconds of silence.

“So you are one of Senator Watt’s servicemen” Mitya said.

“That old goat, that sack of guts! No!” Marco raised his voice higher than prudent. “No way I spend many months sweating, being shot at and beaten, drowning, carrying men on my shoulders, hustling, and wrestling with real and figurative monsters in my path for someone as small as him. Something else. It was simply how the motions began — the how, not the why. In a manner of speaking, I sense you already are terminated, so maybe it also has come to rest here at the end of the world? Or maybe a communists like you never can see reason beyond class warfare and the collective will…”

“You peehole dandruff! To have been so deep inside me, and yet you perceived so little… pathetic. I am a man of land, people and love, not a communist.” This time Mitya had raised his voice as he reacted to Marco’s provocation. Of course Marco had sensed that Mitya was no blind ideologue.

“Sorry. I allowed my anger to command my actions, I spoke to hurt, that was not virtuous” Marco said when he regained his senses, and he gently touched Mitya’s shoulder.

The two men stopped and listened and watched. They heard nothing but bird song, they saw nothing but grand mountains and a wide spectrum of green forest, the air cooled the skin as the last bit of morning fog dispersed. It was a beautiful place in the world that was indifferent to the sudden anger the two men had felt and voiced. 

“I am in pain. If I could ride your shoulders for a few kilometres, I will tell you the story about how I came to be in America, what caused me to set your journey in motion” said Mitya. Marco had no objection. He had no shortage of physical strength, and he wished to care for and connect with this handsome man in every way possible, body and spirit. So he lifted Mitya back up on the shoulders. He made an effort to make it seem especially effortless, so as to impress with his strength. They continued their journey on the path through nature.

“This story — as so many before it — begins with a powerful man in a revealing wrestling outfit. Oleg was his name. He came from a long line of miners, lumberjacks, and mammoth hunters.”

“When I saw Oleg move, wrestle, talk, smile, and fight, three things were blatantly obvious: First, he carried enormous masculine potential within body and spirit. His thick dick alone, tucked into that outfit, told a richer story than any Tolstoy novel. Second, he was unable to realize that potential, he was awkward, bullied and shy. The idiots of the Ministry of Physical Cultural Work or whatever they called themselves, did not know true wrestling. Oleg was a great hunk of a man in the making, not a MAZ truck to haul stone and dirt on the kolkhóz. Third, it was my higher duty to make him great, to take his insertion, awaken his body and spirit with my body, ass, spirit and delicious grip. Oleg was clearly a virgin. That had to change.”

“As a big dick top guy, I doubt you can understand this Marco, but virgin boys are best led carefully. Their desire to feel the grip of a fabulous ass should be encouraged of course, but if handled without finesse and seduction at first and they might abandon my exquisite guidance for a lesser man or a filthy sock. It is tragic whenever these things are handled in unmanly ways and another guy on this planet of ours comes to believe his body is simply a meaty piston rod, divorced from spirit.”

Marco felt how Mitya’s dick pressed harder against the trousers. Mitya also readjusted and wiggled his butt in nearly imperceptible ways. These were the micro-movements of a bottom guy becoming horny.

“So I did my duty. I seduced him. I had spied on him and I knew that every morning, very early, he walked alone, uphill to the small lake to wash and jerk off. One morning when he got there I swam nude in the lake. I had positioned myself such that he was able to watch me from behind some shrubs. That way he could watch in the belief that I was unaware. We repeated this routine a few mornings, each morning I gave him more to watch and become increasingly horny over. Marco, you know how my butt looks when moistened by water in lush natural surroundings, with fleeting glances offered of the tight hole between perky buttocks, so you can surely imagine what a virgin boy with a thick throbbing dick might feel in that moment?”

Marco felt how his dick pressed harder against the trousers. 

“When Oleg had been properly primed, the next step in my plan was to swim close to his hiding place and there I ‘discovered’ Oleg lurking. I asked Oleg, why he looked at my naked ass. The boy was intensely flustered, he stammered something incoherent about Soviet proletarian posters and Leninist requirements on the revolutionary vanguard.”

“Less than a week later, at the lake in the early morning, he was inside me. He had clumsily pulled me from the lake, out of his mind horny, and he kissed me, groped my firm ass, then he turned me around. His body was stronger, a powerful wrestler, but my spirit was stronger, so I redirected him on his back. I then sat down on his dick, allowed him to move slowly inside me. I kept my motion slow and precise. This was not going to be some less-than-a-minute-mechanical jerk off session. It is an art and a science to keep the rhythm and pressure just right, and on that matter I am the love child of Einstein, Leonardo and Mendeleev. I moved and flexed, systematically introduced new feelings and sensations in his body. And yes, feeling that big dick inside was inspiration… and the sounds, oh the sounds he made when I guided him.”

“The expression on Oleg’s face was shock and pleasure, like he had lost control. I took more of his dick, felt his hard insertion inside, flexed my muscles such that he was squeezed in all the good ways. He even let out a brief: ‘oh Lord Almighty, so good’. I leaned forward and kissed him. This was not just a bodily act with orgasm as purpose, I had to awaken his spirit as well.”

“He was a natural. My grip, my motions, my ass kindled his healthy masculine dominance. He pushed me on my back and he placed himself on top of me, my legs pressed back, his dick inside me, and his face just above my face. He smiled that horny smile that some men do so effortlessly. He was so happy to command and to merge. The thrusts got a great deal more forceful and deeper, all his muscles worked. This was a deep and hard insertion I needed as well.”

“This process continued every morning. I taught him new ways to feel and command his masculine powers, and I was handsomely rewarded. He drilled so well. He was so proud whenever he managed to fuck me to a handsfree orgasm. I also learnt a trick or two when this wrestler pushed himself inside me. The way I could wiggle my butt, pinch his belly, grab his strong arms, and whisper dirty words in his ear allowed me to guide and shape his sexual force. When I wanted them to, I could make these morning fucks go on for an hour. Afterwards I told him about the world outside the village, about ideas and beliefs far from the pages of Soviet textbooks.”

Mitya had wiggled his butt in order to illustrate his acts with Oleg. Something primal stirred within Marco whenever he perceived a firm ass that shifted seductively, buttocks that moved, waved, flexed happily at him. It was good the cock-ring was still on, because otherwise Marco might have had to fuck Mitya again, right at this spot, and that would have been very risky given their circumstance.

“This story, as so many before it, turns into tragedy with an unfucked ideological fanatic” Mitya continued. “Oleg had improved so much in his wrestling thanks to our creative morning acts. He would be an Olympian in a few years, no doubt. Had this been Ancient Greece he would already be naked in the arena, grappling with men, asserting his manhood for glory and pleasure. But no, the chief ideologue and party apparatchik of the village had one morning followed Oleg to the lake to see how this ‘New Soviet Man’ studied, and in disgust had reported the ‘bourgeoise decadence’ that had been witnessed.”

“The bureaucrats, ideologues, and idiots shouted plenty of abuse at me. The feudal Greek methods were backwards and in violation with the historical dialectic, I was told, and that my false consciousness had infected the cadres, and all such fancy words. My superiors at the secret police were informed.” 

“I was summarily discarded, denied any ability to work. My record of achievements did not matter. Idiots! It was I who had snatched the original documents from the Roswell incident that you at the CIA tried so hard to hide. But no, the greatest act of espionage did not matter because of something-something-Bolshevik-something. I was without occupation, denied a purpose. So I turned my Moscow apartment into a sex den for the lumpenproletariat. I did not hold back my moaning and dirty talk. All petulant provocations, I am sad to say.”

“One particular day there was a knock on my door. Reluctantly I separated my butt from the delicious hard insertion of the dick of Jevgeni… or was it Sergei? I had admittedly lost some of my perceptual precision on who was who after all fucking I was doing in Moscow in search of the penis that could make me feel something again.”

“The man at the door was my former handler. A remarkable creature, made up exclusively of fat, bones and cartilage, Zhivotnoy. To make a long story short, after he tried to fondle my ass (he got two and a half centimetres from it before I karate chopped his dirty fingers), he gave me a tough mission to retrieve the records of the US Senate Intelligence Committee for the last year. Stalin personally needed vital information these documents supposedly contained.”

“This was my opportunity to return to service, to make a difference. I needed it. My body and spirit craved meaningful action, so I accepted.” 

“Senator Watt proved to be an easy prey. But you want to know why you learnt about my efforts? You think CIA has the wits to catch my scent as soon as you did? Please!” Mitya was offended by the thought.

“Well I caught your scent, within Soviet borders, I might add, in a desolate Georgian barn, butt naked, while you directed a delicious orgy…” Marco interrupted with a cheeky smile.

“Oh please, it was your heavy and full balls that led you spiritually and bodily to premium boy ass and I just happened to be there.” Mitya’s voice reached a higher pitch, though he too could not help but smile. He knew better than to presume Marco had only been lucky. 

“Regardless”, he continued, “the guys on my team leaked the information, they even suggested I had fucked some French agents silly before coming to USA. Nonsense. Monsieur Jean has trained them too well to be subdued that easily. My plan originally was to leave Senator Watt alive, drained and tied to the bed, once I had what I came for. His shame would buy me all the time I needed to escape. But I realized I was hunted and I had to speed things up. The Senator could tell CIA too much, so I rode him until he squealed with more joy than his old heart could take. I regret it, there were better ways. I managed though to escape from CIA and go all the way to Alexandria. And there, in a library, I hid the original papers I had stolen.” 

“Instead I forged new documents. I wrote fake intelligence reports that described all kinds of sexual dirt CIA supposedly had on Soviet men in high places. We are not talking about mistresses in a dacha, oh no, we are talking massive cock-sucking orgies, leather, bondage, rosy buttocks warm from hours of spanking… Caligula would have been proud, well, if any of it had been true.” 

"I was in a storm of anger. I was drowning in a death wish. So I made sure the documents were sent to Moscow. They now claim Stalin suffered a hemorrhage and died when he read them, as if that is the worst that has happened in the last couple of decades.”

“Well you know the rest. I had accepted to end it all, leave this wretched world. But you have revived me, body and spirit. Reborn, so to speak, I have a second chance to do what is virtuous, what is good” Mitya concluded and fell silent.

The herding path had led them to even higher altitudes. It was a long way yet, but some mountain peak over there in the distance would be under a different rule. It would be too much to claim safety waited for them in the distance. Opportunity and possibility, rather, might be found, such that effort and reason could turn into something good and useful, something to be touched and felt deep.

“What about Oleg?” Marco asked.

“Sent to Murmansk to work in the harbour, to haul stones, shovel snow and take orders from lesser men. His journey is only beginning, beyond my reach” Mitya replied.

What remained to be done on this mission, Marco asked himself. Well, what mission am I even on, Marco further wondered. What would the bodily death of the man on my shoulders accomplish? Would it be justified? Hardly. It was time to look forward, the past was a set condition from which to proceed, not one to sit and bemoan.

Mitya broke the silence: “Marco, here is my wish for our path ahead. To the southeast, in the desolate and mountainous northwest of present-day Iran, on the ancient lands of the Sasanian Empire, where Saint Thaddeus worked on desperate cases and lost causes, we can build. The governance is fragmented, the terrain favourable to variation. It will not be grand, it will take hard work, but if you and I combine forces, my grip, your insertion, the attraction we will have on young men nearby on their fledging paths to true and powerful manhood, can create something wonderful. The risk is high, the creation no doubt temporary, but among those peaks the gifts we have been given, body as well as spirit, can be both enjoyed and made into something strong and honourable for the future beyond our brief existence. What say you? What purpose will direct your exquisite manhood?”