Another First Time

The flight from Birmingham to Vienna wasn’t full--at least business class wasn’t. Trent had been told to avoid any of the London airports in proceeding to his next assignment and that had paid off in terms of how crowded the flight was.

This had at least one other benefit as well. A cute little flight attendant, looking much the same as Trent--passing at first glance as a few years younger than their actual twenty-three--who introduced himself as Craig, gave Trent extra attention--and seemed to have the time to do it. Craig was a bit swishy for Trent and was trying too hard to signal his gay sub orientation--frosted hair, a saucy gait when he moved up and down the aisle, the traditional earring in the right ear, and, for good measure, the indentation of a ring in the right nipple clearly seen through the satiny material of his white shirt.

Whereas this overdisplay usually turned Trent off, at this moment it was just what he wanted--a fast, noncommittal lay of a docile and willing sub. Trent was a little tired of having to play the sub all the time himself.

Craig was treating Trent like a celebrity, even though celebrity status was something Trent studiously avoided. His job was to slip in and out of situations unnoticed and unremembered by any but those he was targeting. The airline steward was clearly flirting with Trent, and Trent was in the mood to flirt back. Most of Trent’s assignments placed him in a sub category, as well, but he was versatile and sometime was in the mood to take charge. His blond movie-star looks and good build aided in switch hitting--it’s just that he didn’t get many “take charge” assignments.

The steward kept coming back to him to see if there was anything he wanted and the “anything you want” offer seemed to go beyond what the plane was stocked with.

Trent had a job to do, though, with only the one night open, the night of his Vienna layover before flying to Milan (only to backtrack to Austria again later), so he didn’t push beyond getting more of everything and a suggestive smile or five during the flight. Still, he wanted Craig to know that the reason for the special attention hadn’t gone over his head, so near the end of the flight, when Craig asked him if he needed to know anything about Vienna that Craig might help him with, Trent said, “I’m in Vienna for only one night. Know any good men-on-men bars in the city?”

Craig’s eyes lit up with a smile, and he said, his eyes watching Trent closely, “There’s the Inside Bar near the Naschmarkt for the softer side of interest or, for something rougher, there’s the Rüdiger on Rüdigergasse, which is more of a hustler’s bar.”

There was a visible chill that went down the steward’s back when Trent said, “The Rüdiger bar, eh? Wonder what sort of men could be found there at nine this evening.”

“I’m sure they would be willing men--for you,” Craig said, giving Trent a wink before sashaying off to take up his regular duties.

And, indeed, when Trent showed up at the Rüdiger bar shortly after nine, he not only observed that Craig was standing at the bar fending off offers but found Craig more than willing to turn them all away in favor of giving attention to Trent.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he said as Trent sidled up to him at the bar and after they’d both made clear to other guys showing up that they were there for each other.

“That’s why I’m here,” Trent said. “I want to come with someone who will give me what I want, and I have just the one night here to find relief. If I have to beat around the bush for it--”

“You don’t. But do you top? I couldn’t tell for sure in the plane.”

“That’s what I want tonight.”

“In that case, one drink, and then we’ll need to find someplace. Not my hotel, I’m afraid. I’m in with another flight steward.”

“A sexy flight steward?” Trent asked, with a smile.

“Naughty boy. I have no intention of sharing you. Where are you staying?”

Trent didn’t want to reveal he was booked at the swank Sofitel Vienna, but he didn’t have to. “I booked a room at a small hotel around the corner before I came in here. It obviously is one that won’t give us any hassle--if you don’t give me any hassle.”

“You are a fast worker, aren’t you, naughty boy?” Craig said with a smile on his face and his fingers doing a strum up Trent’s arm.

“I can be fast, deep, and hard if you can take it. You didn’t flinch when I selected Rüdiger.”

“I was hoping you would. It’s what I’m in the mood for. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Are you a screamer?”

“Why would you? . . . shit, what is that?”

“You know what it is,” Trent said, pulling the ball gag further out of his pocket. “You still think you can take it?”

In the sleazy hotel room, Craig proved that he, indeed, could take in.

Trent took him hard and fast the first time, covering Craig on all fours, on the floor between the door and the bed of the small hotel room, fucking him furiously like a dog in a hurry, and listening to the flight steward’s muffled screams through the ball gag.

After that, the steward showed Trent that he was both insatiable and flexible, suspended over Trent’s reclining body for a second fuck and supporting himself by stiff arming the mattress on either side of Trent’s biceps and leverage off his bent legs as Trent held him at the waist and helped him fuck himself on Trent’s cock.

For the third coupling, Trent rocked back on his knees, once more holding Craig’s waist in his hands while Craig assumed the crab position again, his body, attached to Trent’s at the pelvis, streaming away from Trent’s and supporting himself on stiffened arms. Trent was duly impressed at the punishment the flight attendant could take as well as his flexibility.

An hour later, they were in the shower together, with Craig’s chest plastered against the tiled wall, and Trent fucking him from behind. But before completion, they’d left the shower, quickly towelled off, and Trent had carried Craig to the bed, pushed him down on his belly, stuffed pillows under his midsection, and mounted and ridden his ass to an ejaculation.

They lay side by side for some minutes, catching their breath, before Trent rolled off the bed and dressed while Craig, exhausted, lay on the bed, in arms and legs akimbo, and watched Trent dress.

“That was great sex,” Craig murmured, no doubt fishing for a compliment. “Do you ride the Birmingham to Vienna route often?”

“No, this is probably the only time,” Trent answered, avoiding telling Craig how well he had performed. He recognized the question as a suggestion for another meeting, but it was done. Trent didn’t do outside-of-the-job entanglements; he couldn’t afford risking them. It had been fun, but he was trained not to live in the past on sexual encounters. He’d wanted to get his rocks off, and the flight attendant had accommodated him. If he had the time he would happily do him again now, but this was all there was.

“I’d like to do this again,” Craig said.

“No, this is probably the only time,” Trent repeated.

“But we were so good together,” Craig said.

“You’re a very good lay, yes. But I don’t repeat,” Trent said. “I needed to get off like that, and I needed the exercise. You give good exercise. That’s as far as it goes.”

“God, you’re cold.” Craig delivered that with a pouty expression, but he didn’t seem to be angry.

“In my business I have to be,” Trent said, and then, without another word, he left the room, leaving Craig spread-eagled on the bed with four used condoms on the floor below--and wondering what Trent’s business was.

* * * *

Trent and Mavis Windsor, a stylish woman in her fifties who appeared more like a retired fashion model than the intelligence agent she was, were sitting in the dining room of the Hyatt Park Milan the next evening, working their way into their roles of Mavis posing as a rich American traveler to cover the role of a chemicals buyer for a Swiss consortium and Trent--or, rather, Christopher in this role--as her secretary/stud and/or maybe her son, depending on the needs of the moment. This was the choice they were discussing.

A trio of waiters was giving them the same level of attention as Craig had given Trent on the Birmingham-to-Vienna flight, with more attention going to Trent as Christopher than to Mavis. Mavis was tolerating this because she knew as well as Trent did the reason why men gravitated to Trent, and that this was why Trent was going on this operation with her.

Beyond his blond, movie-star looks, the Agency technicians had infused Trent with pheromones that made him irresistible to men who were inclined to be attracted to other men. This is what cleared the way so easily for Trent to seduce and be seduced--all in the line of work. Mavis wasn’t all that sure that the pheromones weren’t working on her as well.

He and Mavis had already gone over the operation they were going to near Salzburg in the Austrian Alps. The understanding had been broached that Trent would fuck Mavis to solidify the role of him being her secretary and boy toy should that be the roles chosen when they arrived at the Salzburg ski lodge, but Trent had taken care of that before dinner already, knowing in the back of his mind that, after the role reversal he had performed the previous night with the airline steward that he’d need to do something this night to fall back into the role of a first-time sub--and, in this case, as Mavis’ boy toy if that was the role he was supposed to be in in Salzburg.

Now it was time to practice the first-time sub role with another man. He had his choice at dinner of three very attentive waiters. Picking out the tallest and most muscular one, who was a bit thuggish, which also made him the most attractive, Trent, as Christopher, did his submissive “making eyes” routine with that waiter until all three of them had gotten the idea that not only would he lie under one of them if the opportunity arose but that he had made a choice.

Taking advantage of Mavis mulling the desert menu with one of the other waiters, the chosen one, Guido, leaned down and whispered in Trent’s ear, “I think you want to be serviced, yes?”

“Yes, I think so,” Trent as Christopher answered back. “I’ve never been with a man, but I have this need--with you.”

The waiter’s eyes flashed and he licked his lips.

“If you can get away from the old women, come back at 10:00. I will take you somewhere and give you what you want. I assure you that I’m very good.”

Putting a possessive arm around Christopher’s shoulders when he returned at the time specified, Guido, massively powerful as set against Christopher, guided the younger American through a doorway covered with a beaded curtain and back down a darkened corridor to a storeroom. Holding a whimpering Christopher close with one arm, Guido swept a wooden table top clear with the other one. He then pulled Christopher into his chest and held him prisoner with one arm, while moving the hand of his other arm over Christopher’s body, loosening and stripping off clothing.

Christopher struggled a bit in Guido’s grip and murmured, “Maybe this isn’t such good idea. I’ve never--” But Guido possessed the younger man’s mouth with his and, as his deep kisses elicited whimpers from Christopher and an increased returning of passion in the kisses, Guido pushed Christopher down on his back on the table. Releasing Christopher’s mouth, Guido kissed down Christopher’s torso while he stripped off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled chest.

The younger man lay there, moaning and whimpering, as the meaty waiter possessed Christopher’s cock with his mouth and brought the young American to an ejaculation. Then it was just Christopher lying there and moaning, as Guido rose over him, slowly worked his cock inside the American’s channel, slowly, slowly invading his channel, as Christopher writhed and sobbed for him in a most convincing “first time” performance, and then gave all struggle up and settled down into moans and sighs as the big Italian began to pump.

When Christopher was able to escape, he did so, having managed to bring sobs and tears up as evidence that he was a novice to this. It was practice that he needed to settle into to establish the role Mavis had briefed him he needed to take on in their assignment to the Austrian Alps.

Guido both apologized and praised Christopher for the first coupling and how well Christopher had taken it, indicating that Christopher had successfully delivered another “first time” performance.

But after the few words of praise, Guido pulled away from Christopher, lying on the table with his legs now dangling toward the floor, zipped up his trousers, and just left Christopher with a growled, “You can find your way out.” He left Christopher as abruptly as Trent (before declaring as Christopher) had left the airline steward, Craig, in the Vienna fleabag hotel room.

This wasn’t taken as an insult by Christopher, though, but as an assurance that he had now slipped wholly into the role of nondemanding submission that he was to take in the coming operation in the Austrian Alps.

He returned not to his own hotel room but to that of Mavis, who was lying, naked in her bed, with a book in her hand.

Laying the book aside, Mavis looked at Christopher when he entered the room.

“You looked pleased. I assumed you returned to the restaurant.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Which of the waiters did you select.”

“Guido, the big one.”

“Ah, makes sense. You said you needed to steep yourself in the role you must fulfill. I assume that has been done.”

“Yes, I’m ready for the ski lodge. Have we decided who I am targeting, the Austrian industrialist, or his assistant?”

“We’ll have to decide that based on what we find. I’ve been thinking. I think we’d best pose you as my son. If you are seen to be my lover, that will complicate your attraction to the men and spin out the operation longer than we wish. I’ll target the Russian.”

Christopher had been stripping down, but stopped when Mavis said that. “So, does the familial relationship start now? Should I return to my room.”

“By no means now. Especially as I see that you are as aroused as I am.” Mavis slipped the sheet off her body, revealing that she was a decidedly luscious, fully ripe woman despite her age.

Christopher silently came to her, pressing his knees between her spread knees, entering her with a well-hung erection, his lips going to the nipples of her ample breasts, As Mavis spread the palms of her hands over the young man’s plump buttocks, aiding with the pressure of her hands the rhythm of the fuck, arching her back, and moaning the pleasure of having a handsome, well-built man deep inside her.

* * * *

“And what is it that your mother is protecting you from? Do you actually know?”

Both men were watching Mavis, posing as Andrea Worthington, the younger man’s mother, across the room at the Austrian ski lodge as she folded herself close into the Russian at the bar. The room was fairly crowded with skiers winding down from a day on the slopes, but Trent, who was Christopher for this operation, was tuned into three points of a triangle in the room. He first looked to in front of the fireplace, where the German chemical company CEO, Gerhardt Kellsing sat, knee to knee to him, in an otherwise deserted conversation pit. Then he looked across the room, at the bar, where “Andrea” was putting the moves, as she and the newly minted Christopher had agreed, on the Russian chemicals buyer, Aleksy Bukanin. And, finally, he looked at a space between, where Kellsing’s assistant, Hans Docker, was standing, isolated, and sipping a beer.

The revelation hit “Christopher” at that point that Docker wasn’t watching Kellsing putting the moves on him--he already had a hand on Christopher’s knee--but was intensely watching the Russian and Andrea becoming increasingly cozy at the bar. Trent wanted to scream to Mavis that they’d gotten it all wrong--the approach they needed to make--but they were both too far into the current scenario they had created to backtrack during the scene they were acting out.

“Protecting me from? I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Christopher answered, turning his face back to Kellsing’s and putting their faces close together, as the German was leaning into the younger man as they sat in front of the fire, facing each other.

“Perhaps you don’t realize it yourself,” Kellsing said. “I saw how you looked at that waiter when he brought us our drinks--and you should drink yours up; I’m already ready for another one.”

“Again, I don’t understand,” Christopher answered. But of course he did and this was all according to plan. He had been pleasantly surprised by Gerhardt Kellsing. Trent/Christopher had expected the CEO of the large chemical corporation to be a doddering old man who he would have to endure. But Kellsing was anything but that. He couldn’t have hit forty yet, but he’d certainly hit the gym. He was nearly six-and-a-half feet tall and was the classic Nordic blond. he was evilly handsome and ruggedly muscular. He also was expensively dressed, of course, and suave enough to charm the clothes off a conquest, which Christopher, of course, realized he was doing with him now. It was what the plan was. Christopher’s mind was racing, though, to change the plan after seeing where the focus of the German’s assistant’s attention was.

Christopher took a sip of his drink and felt the effects right away. A chemist. Kellsing had enhanced his approach by drugging the young man’s drink. However, it was going to help Christopher control his real reaction while letting his “acting” side go with the drug. Mavis had anticipated this and had given him a countering drug before they had come to the ski lodge lounge. Kellsing wasn’t wasting time. He had parted Christopher’s thighs with his knees. Blushing and looking down, not making eye contact with him, Christopher let him do that. They were playing a game. Christopher just hoped Kellsing didn’t realize that the young American spy was playing a game behind the game.

The knees spread Christopher’s thighs wider and pressed it. It would have been impossible for Christopher not to know the German’s intent.

“I think you do understand, Christopher,” he said. “You mother is trying to protect you from your own inclinations, isn’t she?”

“Perhaps,” Christopher whispered. The German was stroking the young American’s flank with long, sensuous fingers of a hand, a hand crowned with a thick gold ring with an enormous diamond in it. Once again, Christopher let him do this, and the young man let himself go hard. Christopher had worn trousers tight enough for that to be revealing. Again, it helped that Kellsing was a fairly young, muscular hunk. Christopher didn’t have to feign going hard.

“Drink up and let’s have another one,” Kellsing said, as he signaled the passing waiter. To add fuel to his suppositions, Christopher gave the waiter a saucy smile as the hunky waiter, who worked the ski lift by day, handed the American his second drink.

“See, the way you looked at that waiter. You have desires and needs, don’t you?--ones your mother keeps a tight rein on you to keep you from fulfilling--don’t you?”

“I suppose,” Christopher answered in a studied, small voice. The hand Kellsing had been using to stroke Christopher’s flank moved to the inside of the young man’s thigh. Christopher felt the pressure and widened the stance of his thighs, making it seem like the action was involuntary and unnoticed. Kellsing slid further into the young American, pressing his knees deeper between Christopher’s thighs. The thumb of his hand was pressing on the bulb of Christopher’s cock through the material of his trousers and was rubbing the bulb.

The American made no move to stop him.

“You know what I think, Christopher?”

“No, what?” Christopher slurred his speech a bit, signaling that the drug was taking effect.

“I think that your interest is in men and that you’re ripe for the experience with men. Could I be right?”

“Maybe,” Christopher murmured. He looked away, ostensibly to signal that he was slightly embarrassed at this acknowledgement. But, in fact, he wanted to look again at the bar, where there was virtually no space separating “Andrea” now and the Russian--and then at Kellsing’s assistant, Docker, who Christopher could readily see had his concerned eyes plastered to the couple at the bar.

We’d had it all wrong, the American spy thought. The operation was to disrupt a chemical buy between the German supplier and the Russian buyer. The Agency knew there was sexual friction in the deal that was helping to seal it. They’d thought it was between Kellsing and Bukanin. But they had it wrong. It was the assistant, Docker, who was the key. He was the one linked with Bukanin, who was known to be a bisexual schemer. Docker was the glue in the chemical deal.

“How old are you, Christopher?” Kellsing asked. “Seventeen? Eighteen?” Christopher almost missed the question, with his attention turned elsewhere. His mind was racing on changing the operation with this new revelation. He didn’t have to seduce Kellsing--or, rather, let the German seduce him--now. But, then, now Christopher wanted Kellsing to fuck him. He’d worry about changing the operation tomorrow--after he had consulted with Mavis.

“Uh, what? I’m twenty-one?” Christopher answered, letting the thought that the drug was taking hold cover his inattention. The young man also gave the German a low moan, as Kellsing had both hands on the inside of Christopher’s thighs now, pressing them to open wider for him, the hands moving high on Christopher’s thighs, a thumb continuing to rub the young man’s hardened cock through the fabric of the trousers, rubbing down the entire shaft. Of course the twenty-one was a lie--Trent/Christopher really was twenty-three--but the age he had given seemed to thrill the German. Christopher wondered what the German would do if he’d said he was seventeen. Nothing different, probably. It probably would have given the man even more of a thrill.

“Twenty-one and still hiding your true wishes under your mother’s wing? Don’t you think it’s time that you stepped out on your own--that you took the pleasures that you obviously have craved for a long time? I have my knees parting your legs and my hands almost possessing your jewels. And you haven’t resisted. You want me between your legs, don’t you? I can fondle your cock, and you’ll want that too, won’t you? I can be inside you.”

Kellsing moved a hand to cup Christopher’s package. The young American shuddered, blushed, and looked down at the hand. He covered the hand, with its long, sensuous fingers, with one of his. But, to tell the German he’d won, Christopher didn’t do it to try to remove his hand; he covered his hand to keep it there. And he gave the German a virginal tremble in his hand.

“Have you ever been fucked by a man before, Christopher? My guess is that you haven’t.”

“No.” I delivered it in a nervous whisper.

“But you’ve thought of it, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve wanted it, haven’t you? You came here wanting it from a man at the ski lodge.”

“Yes.”

“I am that man. You want me to fuck you, don’t you? You’ve opened your legs to me and let me feel you up. You’re hard for me.” He was running his fingers along Christopher’s hard-on through the material of the trousers and Christopher was responding with low panting. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

Christopher let an ambiguous moan speak for him.

“I can initiate you in a way that will maximize the pleasure and minimize the pain. Will you let me do that for you, Christopher? Will you come up to my room now and let me fuck you? You needn’t worry about your mother. She’s left the lounge with Aleksy. My guess is that she will be occupied for a while and will be enjoying pleasures she’s denied to you for too long. Will you come upstairs with me now and let me fuck you, let me inside you?”

Christopher noticed he didn’t say “make love to you.” Kellsing was being real and honest about what he wanted. Christopher knew that once he’d let the muscular German take him upstairs, the towering hunk would fuck the stuffing out of him--virgin or not. He was right about Mavis and the Russian, though. They had left the room. Docker’s eyes had followed them out. He was still staring at the door through which they had departed, obviously expecting--hoping--that they’d reappear at any moment, give up on their obvious intent. Of course, the young American spy knew Kellsing was right. They would be fucking for hours. If he went upstairs with the German they’d be fucking for hours too.

“Yes,” Christopher whispered, looking up into Kellsing’s eyes, willing his eyes to mist over. “Take me upstairs and fuck me good.” He delivered it in a voice that was unsteady, unsure. He still wanted Kellsing to think that he’d seduced a virgin, a virgin impaired by drug.

This was about what Christopher--no, Trent--wanted now.

Upstairs, Kellsing had done all of the stripping--of Christopher and then of himself. The young American was busy doing the nervous, blushing, and “in awe” act. Christopher did what he could to come quickly, with embarrassment and snuffled apologies, as he sat on the side of the bed and Kellsing knelt between his trembling legs and sucked him off while his fingers pressed inside Christopher’s passage. The German was smart enough not to press his seduced “virgin” to give him a blow job before popping his man cherry, which he did sitting behind Christopher on the side of the bed, starting with encasing the young man’s legs between his, letting his hands roam over Christopher’s torso as the supposed virgin moaned for him, and jacking Christopher off for a second time.

Before penetrating Christopher, he brought the opening of a small vial to the young man’s nose and had him inhale several times.

“Here, this will relax you and loosen you up. There will be little or no pain.” And, sure enough, the chemist had come through again. Christopher could feel all the tension draining out of this body and, amazingly, he felt his channel loosen up and opening without the need for the usual lube and fingering.

Christopher wasn’t worried. He could feel the German’s cock running up the small of his back, and, though, quite long, it wasn’t unusually thick. Christopher wouldn’t have any trouble at all taking him, as much sex as he had, although he’d mastered the art of tightening his channel over a man’s cock to make it seem he was rarely used. This often was a difficult time for Christopher, though--taking the cock but needing to act like it was for the first time. Kellsing had obviated all of that with his chemicals.

The German spread Christopher’s thighs and hooked them over his legs, also opening his stance. Then, after turning the young man’s face to his for several moments of moaning kissy face, he merely pressed Christopher’s torso forward between his legs, which raised the American’s buttocks to him, slid his cock into Christopher’s drug-induced gaping hole, and, with a hand grip on Christopher’s waist on both sides, began pulling young man on and off the cock.

After a few minutes of this, he pushed Christopher further onto the carpet on all fours, mounted his hips, and fucked him with increasingly vigorous strokes. Since Christopher supposedly was a virgin and the German presumably got himself checked often, he barebacked the young American to two strong ejaculations.

Afterward he pulled Christopher up on the bed, hit him with more snorts from his bottle, and showed him three more positions that he could fuck the young American in, with Christopher showing genuine appreciation each time the two of them came. For the two last fuckings, Christopher reached for the vial, but was denied it.

“I want to show you how a tight fuck feels,” Kellsing growled. He took Christopher hard, so the young American had occasion to act out the challenge of a taxed and stretched passage under the onslaught of a cruel master.

The last taking was one of complete surrender. Lying on his back, his legs bent and spread, his pelvis raised with a pillow under the small of his back, Christopher opened his thighs and arms to Kellsing and gave the German a dreamy look as he moved to cover Christopher with his knees between the young American’s thighs. Christopher grunted, arched his back, and stared up at the ceiling as Kellsing’s long, cruel cock entered, entered, entered Christopher’s now-tight channel. Christopher clawed at his buttocks with both hands, holding the German’s hard, muscular body close. Cupping the young man’s head in his hands and looking down into Christopher’s eyes, The German gave him all of the cock and whispered, “Is it good for you? Much pain? God, your body is beautiful. Young, nubile, pliant. You were meant to be fucked.”

“Shit, yes, daddy. I hurts good. I’ve waited so long for this. Fuck me hard; fuck me deep.”

He did, plowing the channel in long strokes and flooding it deep again and again with his hot cum, and, indeed, Christopher floated in the pleasure of it--not least because the operation no longer demanded that the American spy be doing this.

Before returning to his room, leaving Kellsing snoring happily in his bed, Christopher checked on the ski lodge’s lounge. It was practically deserted, but Docker was still there, eyes glued to the doorway Mavis and the Russian had left by. They, of course, weren’t in the room.

* * * *

Mavis wasn’t in her room when Trent checked the next morning. He found her in the dining room, finishing up her breakfast.

“How is the Russian?” Trent asked.

“Consumed by ego and his own needs. Thick and a bit crude, forceful, and demanding, but I managed,” she answered. “And Kellsing. Has your virginity been satisfactorily debauched yet again?”

“About that, I think we’ve gone for the wrong target. In fact, I’m sure we have,” Trent said--rather than answering her question. Since fucking the German CEO had fallen out of the operation as Trent saw it, it had become a personal matter. He didn’t want to lump it into the job. He wanted to savor it and he wanted to think about the next time he could be with Kellsing--off the books, which would make it all the more satisfying.

“What do you mean?” she asked. And then Trent laid it all out for her, she agreed, and they readjusted their approach.

“That’s if the only assignment here is to break up the chemical weapons deal between Kellsing’s company and the Russians,” Trent said.

“Yes, but what . . . ?”

“We slide back into the other scenario,” he said. “The Russian is bi. We know that. Confess to him that I’m not your son--tell him that I’m your boy toy. And that we do threesomes. I’ll take care of the rest.”

As Trent was saying that, he saw Gerhardt Kellsing go by outside the windows to the dining room. He was all bundled up and was carrying skis.

“For now, I think I’ll have to exercise our cover for a while,” Trent said, rising from the breakfast table, ready to slip back into his role as Christopher. “Our story is that we’re here for me to do some skiing. So, I guess I’d better do some.”

“You ski?” Mavis asked.

“I do all sorts of things,” Trent said.

“I’ve noticed,” she said, looking at him with admiration in him eyes. Trent duly noted that it wouldn’t be a good idea to fuck Mavis outside the line of duty and to draw lines there anyway. This sex spying was a complicated and slippery slope. He’d had no idea how complicated it could get. And to emphasize that, Trent now felt the need to have Gerhardt Kellsing inside him again--and he couldn’t help scratching that itch.

Trent also was so steeped in scenarios that he changed back into Christopher and orchestrated the next encounter, wanting to play the vulnerable conquest. He waited at the intermediate takeoff position at the top of the ski slopes until he saw the bundled-up hunk up at the expert blocks. Then, as the man at the top pushed off, Trent could see that this hadn’t been his first run. The figure was slathered with the snow that was falling and sticking to everything, masking the pattern Christopher had seen on Kellsing’s ski suit.

Christopher pushed off then, as well. He kept in front of the other skier going down the slope, and in an area where there was no one other than the two of them--just someone further up the hill from them, Christopher purposely went off into the trees and made like he’d taken a bad fall.

The skier glided over into the trees as Christopher had hoped he would, bent over the young American, and brushed the snow away from his face. Christopher gave him the sleeping angel treatment, making himself as desirable as possible--and, not being able to resist the young man between the fresh, young beauty of the face God had given him and the sexual-attraction pheromones the Agency lab had given him, the skier couldn’t resist lowering his lips to Christopher’s. And then, when the young man reacted well to that, the skier couldn’t help letting his hand wander down Christopher’s torso--ostensibly checking for broken body parts, but both men knew better.

Christopher raised his pelvis to him when the skier reached his package, murmured “Yes, yes,” sighed and opened his needy eyes to the other man. Stripping the glove off a hand, the skier unbuttoned Christopher’s fly and found his hardening cock.

Christopher gave him a look of shock, the skier fisted his cock. It was a natural impulse even though it served to increase his ardor. The shock was because it wasn’t Kellsing. It was the Russian, Bukanin. Without thinking, Christopher pushed his pelvis harder up into the Russian’s hand and, taking that as a signal, Bukanin’s possessing kiss became brutal.

He was all those things that Mavis had said he was--crude, forceful, and demanding. And, as Christopher soon learned, he was thick, as, against all of Christopher’s struggles--growing weaker as he realized that this fell in with the planning Mavis and he had redone--the Russian overpowered the young American, growled in his ear, “Kellsing told me you take cock--that you took his last night,” bent Christopher’s belly over a fallen tree trunk, pulled his ski pants down, and fucked him hard like a dog in heat.

The plans fell further into place at that point, as it turned out that the skier who had been further up the slope was Kellsing’s assistant, Hans Docker. As the Russian fucked Christopher, Docker stood off at the fringe of the trees, watching in frustration, before gliding off down the slope to nurse disappointment and, the American spy hoped, growing anger at the Russian, who had bedded him in a successful effort to solidify the chemical weapons deal.

The Russian, grunting like a rutting animal, fucked Christopher hard and long, chewing on his ear, and accosting the young man with crudities in Russian, which he had no reason to know that Christopher understood.

He did, in English, growl an “I do it better than the German does, don’t I?” but he didn’t seem to require an answer and Christopher’s belabored groaning could be taken as an affirmation.

Trying to enhance the Russians pleasure and interest as much as possible, Christopher moved from virginal struggle--knowing that the Russian was enjoying taking him forcefully without his full consent--to giving in to him, meeting him thrust for thrust, letting him know that the young American not only surrendered to him but wanted what the Russian was giving him, and whispering endearments back to him in French, which Christopher well knew Bukanin was conversant in. As he understood that Christopher had totally capitulated to him, he rose higher on the young American’s body, digging his boots more firmly in the snow-covered ground to provide leverage to thrust harder and harder. He grabbed Christopher by the hair, rhythmically jerking his torso back toward him and forcing Christopher’s face into the snowbank on the other side of the log.

Sensing what aroused Bukanin the most, when Christopher’s face came out of the snow, he gasped dramatically for breath, and cried out in French, “Yes, yes. You’re a stud. You’re better than the German. Fuck me, fuck me hard. Punish me.” This egged the Russian on and he gave Christopher what he was crying for.

To Christopher’s shame, he had to acknowledge that this was a superior fuck to what Kellsing had given him. He would prefer Kellsing in the long run, but from time to time Christopher wanted it this rough--rutting animals fucking outside, bent over a log.

Afterward it was firmly established that Bukanin would have Christopher again under less-clothed circumstances and that the young American would give the Russian whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it--which just played to the Russian’s enormous ego and sense of entitlement. He was a thug and a brute--and so Christopher knew he was going to enjoy this part of the assignment.

Christopher would leave it to Mavis now to maneuver the Russian into a threesome. The young American knew it wouldn’t take much maneuvering--and it didn’t.

* * * *

After that, completion of the mission was a piece of cake--but it left its scars on Christopher, and he moved on to the next task chastened and with more steel in his spine over what the necessary pleasure-pain mix had to be of what he had been pulled in to.

Mavis arranged the threesome for that night in Bukanin’s room, having no trouble whatsoever interesting the man in the idea.

Christopher, in turn, had a note sent to Hans Docker, inviting him to Bukanin’s room that night and providing the room pass card the Russian had given Mavis.

The Russian fucked Mavis hard, missionary style, when the two American spies came to his room, but he pulled out before ejaculating and gave over to Christopher. The young American had barely moved between her bent legs and entered her, though, before the Russian was saddled up behind him, thrusting inside him, and guiding his fucking of him and Christopher’s of Mavis with the vigorous stroking of his cock. He fisted Christopher’s hair with one hand, arching his torso back to his chest and dug the claws of his other hand in the young American’s left pec. Christopher was pulled almost entirely off Mavis, connecting only with his cock buried inside her, his plowing fully controlled by the Russian’s thrusts.

Bukanin was jerking and coming as the door to the corridor opened and Hans Docker stood there, taking the threesome in with a shocked look on his face. This sent him over the edge on any favoritism to Bukanin on a chemical weapons deal with Docker’s boss, Kellsing, as Mavis and Trent hoped--and had planned--that it would, and there was no question that he would--and had--sabotaged the deal from this point.

Mavis and Trent, eschewing their temporary identities, moved on to Turkey from there the next day, Mavis humming a job well done and Trent more subdued and bitter. The previous evening, before the assignation with Bukanin, Trent had gauged that he had time for a private session with Gerhardt Kellsing. The young American found the German CEO in the ski lodge, sitting in the conversation pit in front of a roaring fire in the towering stone fireplace. He was closely facing a young male skier who had arrived just that morning. Kellsing had his knees insinuated between the young man’s thighs. The young man was on at least his second spiked drink.

As Trent approached with halting steps and disbelief, Kellsing looked up and saw him. He showed practically no reaction at all. It was as if he didn’t see Trent, didn’t know him, hadn’t stolen the young American’s virginity--at least he thought he had--the night before. Trent had been just another one-time conquest for him.

Somehow, if Trent was going to continue in this spying by sex business, he knew he was going to have to find a way to pull any personal feelings for the targets out of the equation. He turned and slowly walked away--to prepare for the finale with the Russian. He was half expecting--hoping--that Kellsing would call him back.

But of course he didn’t. So, who played who, Trent wondered--and he was fair-minded enough to think back on how he had left Craig, the flight attendant--as baldy and hardheartedly as Kellsing was cutting him off. And who was left with his heart in the dust. Trent didn’t want to answer that, so he concentrated on the job he was here to do--the session to come with the Russian, to be viewed by Kellsing’s assistant.