On a Snowy Afternoon

“Well, gentlemen, I’m for an after-meal hike on the mountain before this afternoon’s short session. All this sitting around in meetings is making me sluggish.” Professor Rab Rahmani stood up from the table in the dining room of the InterContinental Davos hotel, his eyes going to the rise of the Rhaetian Alps of Switzerland beyond the walls of the mountain resort hotel in the highest town in Europe. He took up the thick coat that had been draped on the back of his chair and had impeded the otherwise excellent waiter service during the lunch.

Across the restaurant, young and eager Erik Hinkel of the courtesy staff of the international nuclear physicists conference being held in the hotel popped up from his table and took up station at the exit. He had a heavy coat folded over his arm.

The men--and woman--who had been at the professor’s luncheon table, fawning on the leading American nuclear physicist, had all taken in the coordinated movement of the handsome, young, Germanic blond Hinkel across the room. Rahmani was famous--or infamous, in some circles--for having solved the problem of being caught, as a defected Iranian scientist, working in the Iraqi nuclear program and being captured by the Americans in Operation Desert Storm in 1991, by defecting to the United States. Since then he had been one of the leading lights in the American nuclear program. Rahmani also had a certain reputation with young men, which the Americans seemed happy to overlook to have the power of his brain working for them rather than against them.

“Remember that the next session starts at 2:00,” a German physicist said. “Although it only goes until 3:00. I would have preferred that they give us the whole afternoon off so we can get out and enjoy the snow.”

“And don’t stray far,” the French professor Felix Dederaux added. “It looks like it is about to start snowing again.” They all gazed out of the broad wall of glass overlooking the town of Davos, with the peaks of the Rhaetian Alps rising above the hotel on the right of the window. Light flurries had just started, but they promised to bring more snow to add to that already on the ground.

“I won’t be long,” Rahmani said. “And I will have a guide. Young Erik Hinkel has agreed to show me a path up into the mountains with a spectacular view of the town.”

“Yes, we can see that Hinkel eagerly awaits,” the somewhat sour Sun Park, of South Korea, a fan of Rahmani’s work but not, in her verbal criticism, of Rahmani personally, quipped as she brought her coffee cup to her lips to hide the smirk on her face.

All eyes at the table watched Rahmani move gracefully toward the exit. Erik Hinkel’s eyes also were glued on the elegantly turned-out man as he approached. Sun Park sighed at what she’d be interested in doing with the Iranian-America, but what she strongly suspected would never be possible. Rahmani was a striking figure--tall, dark, and handsome, highly presentable and charismatic even in his early fifties. The graying at the temples of his luxuriously waving hair made him even more distinguished looking than in his earlier years, which had shown the man off in newspaper photos as Bollywood movie handsome--tall and slim, with a dancer’s body and movement and with a strut of well-earned self-assurance of receiving what he was due and that he was due quite a lot.

The snow flurries had picked up a pace as the two men climbed the mountain trail. The path was cut into the side of the mountain above the hotel, but still on hotel property, in such a way as to give hikers from the hotel a walk that would be as unchallenging as possible but still permitted access to a view above the hotel that took in not only the unusual sideway egg, golden dome shape of the InterContinental but also the ski slopes sweeping down into the center of Davos. The snow had been shoveled off the path that morning, but it was starting to drift in again as the flurries turned into something more blanketing.

By the time they reached the first lookout, the view--if the visibility hadn’t already closed the view down--being of a ski slope, with the lights of Davos below, it was as if they were the only two men on earth. No one else was up here.

“I’m afraid there will be nothing at all to see in a few minutes,” young Hinkel said, raising his voice to be heard by Rahmani, who was impatiently pacing back and forth ahead of him. “Soon, perhaps, we won’t even be able to see the opening to the path back to the hotel. I suppose we’ll have to go back down and try this again at another time.” Erik turned back on the path, but Rab walked swiftly back to him, reached out, and pulled the younger, smaller man into his body.

“Let us linger for a moment more,” he exclaimed into Erik’s ear, having to raise his voice above the whooshing sound of the snow now falling heavily in the fir trees lining the upward side of the path. “We haven’t had a time of privacy, and if I’ve read you correctly, you are interested in having privacy with me. True?”

The arrogance of the man was only superseded by his sterling assessment abilities. And he wasn’t a subtle or shy man. He was comfortable in using his advantages, privilege, and charisma. And he was confident that he could just take what he wanted.

“Yes,” Erik answered, understanding fully what Rahmani meant by the word “privacy” and tilting his face up to that of the taller man. They went into a kiss. Erik’s soft-blue eyes opened wide in surprise at Rab’s subsequent boldness, as, with the two men in a close embrace and Erik gathered into Rab’s body with Rab’s left arm wrapped around him, Rab fumbled around inside Erik’s coat with his right hand. He found Erik’s crotch, unzipped him, inserted his elegantly long fingers inside layers of material until he felt flesh on flesh, and grasped Erik’s cock.

Coming out of the kiss, Rab gave Erik’s eyes a searching, dominating look and asked in a throaty voice, “I am not wrong, am I? You will lay under me, yes? You will allow this as token of your willingness, yes?”

“No, you aren’t wrong,” Erik answered, opening his lips for a return to the kiss, closing his eyes, and nestling closer into Rab’s overpowering figure. He lifted a leg, hooking it clumsily, considering the layering of the coats, on the taller man’s hip, to give the Iranian-American professor greater access. He understood that Rahmani was going to masturbate him--the older man was already masturbating him. He would return the favor if he somehow could manage in these conditions. And, yes, he understood that this was a preliminary commitment to let Rahmani fuck him when they got back to the hotel. That didn’t bother Erik a bit. It was all part of his plan. He swayed slightly against Rab’s body and sighed, as Rab slowly, efficiently masturbated his cock to an ejaculation that was as glorious as it was unusual and inventive.

It started slow, Rahmani squeezing the shaft as he stroked it. When Erik had produced precum, Rahmani drove him to distraction by rubbing it all over the bulb of the young man’s cut cock. He put the tip of his pinkie finger on the bulb and pressed it to the piss slit, trying to invade it. Erik writhed a bit at that, disengaging from the kiss and throwing his head back and howling to the sky. Rab buried his mouth in the hollow of Erik’s throat and pressed his teeth into Erik’s flesh there, his tongue rubbing on Erik’s throbbing jugular. The young man moaned, feeling both the pressure of the teeth, able at a moment’s notice to slice into his throat if Rahmani so wished it, and the insistence of the man’s pinkie finger to get inside his urethra channel. The finger tip somehow managed to push the urethra open, breach its rim, and was slow fucking it, his fingernail causing Erik to groan each time it flicked on the tender rim of the urethra opening. Erik panted heavily and begged Rahmani to fuck him there and then.

“Oh shit, oh Christ!” Erik screamed into the snowflakes assaulting his face. “Fuck me. Fuck me now!” He’d never had a man penetrate his piss slit and fuck it before. He’d never known that was possible. Rahmani had more than the tip in and the channel had opened to him. Erik’s pants were matching the rhythm of the penetrations of the finger. Precum was surging up the channel, providing lubricant for deeper penetration. He was feeling as one unit with Rahmani in a way that he’d only felt from the penetration rhythm of a cock in his ass before. When Rahmani pressed in, Erik was thrusting up with his cock to meet it--to welcome the invasion.

Rahmani pulled his mouth away from Erik’s throat, laughed, and, cupping the back of the young man’s head, pulled his face back up for a deep kiss. Erik opened his mouth wide to the older man, and Rahmani pressed his lips inside Erik’s, captured the young man’s tongue, pulled it into his own mouth and sucked on it. He also released the squeezing hold on Erik’s cock, withdrew his pinkie, and loosed the sheath of his encircling fist.

Erik’s pelvis had already been set into motion. He had been stroking his cock up to meet Rahmani’s penetration of the cock bulb. The man’s loosely cupped hand replaced his pinkie action and, slowly at first and then more rapidly, Erik stroked inside the sheath provided by Rahmani’s hand. Rahmani was holding firm now, and Erik was fucking himself. Never before had a man made such a production out of masturbating Erik. The buildup was overwhelming, the release explosive.

“Yes, yes,” The Iranian-American growled as he pulled out of the tongue-possessing kiss and put his mouth next to Erik’s ear, running his tongue around in Erik’s ear cavity before continuing. “Fuck yourself. Fuck yourself in my hand. Bring yourself to release. Fuck yourself and give me your cum.” His mouth closed over Erik’s ear lobe and he was sucking that when Erik exploded, dropping his load in Rahmani’s hand. The older man rubbed the cum into Erik’s cock, folded Erik’s withering shaft back into his fly, and zipped him up.

When the younger man had come for him, Rab whispered in Erik’s ear, in a thick voice, “My room, after the 2:00 seminar has concluded.”

“Yes, oh yes,” Erik answered, as he reached down and readjusted his coat and looked around, searching for the path back down to the hotel.

* * * *

The afternoon seminar session was nearly half over in the Seehorn meeting room. Rab Rahmani, whose drooping eyelids had indicated to anyone looking at him that it was past his naptime, had, in fact, been watchful. He caught the movement of the young staffer of the Japanese conference contingent rising from his seat along the wall and moving toward the exit. Rahmani waited until the slim young Japanese man had left the room and then he, too, slowly stood and worked his way around the periphery of the room. Several sets of eyes followed his movement, taking their attention away from the presenter at the front of the room, as Rahmani’s fame and reputation outshone that of nearly everyone else in the room. Those who watched him leave included the conference courtesy service staffer, Erik Hinkel. After Rahmani exited the room, Erik stood and inched toward the door as well.

Rahmani bypassed the first men’s room he came to, knowing that the young Japanese staffer was headed somewhere else. This was the only conference being held in the hotel and thus there was a corridor of meeting rooms beyond a swinging glass door that weren’t currently in use. Rahmani went through this door and continued down the line of meeting rooms, entering the men’s room at the end of the hall.

The young Japanese staffer was standing at a urinal in the dimly lit bathroom. Rahmani saddled up beside him, unzipped, pulled his cock out, and produced a strong stream of piss. The young man glanced down and sucked in his breath. The older Iranian-American scientist was hung. The Japanese staffer wasn’t, but he was well enough endowed to have pride in it. Holding his cock in position, he produced a weaker stream of urine and was finished before Rahmani was. He didn’t tuck his cock back into his fly, though, when he was finished. He just stood there, looking into the wall behind the bank or urinals.

He flinched but held steady when Rahmani reached over and under the young man’s balls and pulled out the flash drive he had tucked up there. The Japanese man grimaced a bit when Rahmani was slow to extract his hand and the flash drive. When he did, the young man made to tuck himself in and zip up his fly, but the older scientist had quickly pocketed the flash drive and had brought his hand back, grasping the young man’s cock.

The slight Japanese gasped and gave Rahmani a confused look. Rahmani whispered to him, “No, stay for a moment. Indulge me. You can hardly say no. What excuse would you give for being in here with me? Put your hands on the wall and lean slightly forward. I am going to give you pleasure and take mine as well.”

Although exhibiting a worried, trapped look, the young man did as commanded, leaning forward and palming the hands of his spread arms on the wall behind the urinal. Fisting his own cock with his left hand, Rahmani kept his right arm crossed in front of the young Japanese man, his hand grasping the young man’s cock.

The Japanese man moaned slightly and looked both perplexed and dreamy as Rahmani masturbated them both, both of them eventually arcing their cum--Rahmani’s more prodigious than the young man’s--conveniently into the urinal.

The young man, when he’d gotten past the shock, became increasingly lost to and aroused by the experience, and toward the end of the journey to climax, Rahmani was able to loosen the sheath provided by his hand, and the young man was stroking his cock in Rahmani’s grip of his own volition and moaning deeply.

“Yes, yes,” Rahmani murmured in a mesmerizing, sing-song voice. “Fuck yourself. Fuck yourself in my hand. Bring yourself to release. Fuck yourself and give me your cum.”

The young man had leaned so far forward that his cheek also rested against the cool tiles of the wall, his hooded eyes were glued to Rahmani’s face, giving and receiving evidence of mutual pleasure, and he was so lost to the sex act that he didn’t realize that drool was running down his chin. If Rahmani had taken him into one of the stalls and fucked, him, the young Japanese staffer would have submitted to him. If the young man hadn’t been so entranced, he would have begged Rahmani to take him into one of the stalls and fuck him.

They had all wondered why the American had specified what he had about the delivery of the flash drive. It had seemed bizarre at the time--at a men’s room urinal, hidden in the young man’s--a young man specified--crotch. Now the Japanese courier knew why. He also knew that it made sense. If anyone discovered them here, just the two of them in a remote bathroom, what they would see would be sordid, yes, but it would be believable and thus was a brilliant cover for the real reason they were meeting here.

When he was finished, Rahmani folded himself back inside his trousers; zipped up; and turned, without a word, and left the bathroom. He walked purposely, confidently, without a hint of guilt, to his seat in the Seehorn room, no doubt not having missed anything from the talk on nuclear physics that was anything he didn’t know already. As he sat back down in his seat, he transferred the flash drive to the satchel, suspended from a shoulder strap, that he held close to his side. More than one set of eyes observed the transfer.

The young Japanese staffer remained in the position he’d been jerked off in, leaning forward over the urinal, hands and cheek against the wall, now-soft cock hanging out of his pants, trembling slightly. No one had told him this would happen in the exchange of the North Korean nuclear bomb status report. He’d had no question about his personal sexual identity to this point, but, shit, that milking by another man had been hot. He would have let the man fuck his ass. His ass channel actually twitched from the unrealized possibility of that.

Erik Hinkel, who had managed to slit open the men’s room door enough to have seen the flash drive exchange as well as what happened later, was quick enough to be gone from the deserted corridor and back in the lecture hall himself before Rab Rahmani had returned. The young Japanese staffer was far slower in reappearing. When he had, he caught the eye of Sun Park and gave her a nod, indicating success. He wasn’t about to relate to her all that had happened in the exchange--all that he would have done for the man.

The lecture concluded at 3:00 p.m., and all in the hall, including the lecturer, let out a sigh of satisfaction--more that the lecture had ended on time and that the rest of the snowy afternoon was free time than because of any new information they had picked up.

* * * *

Rahmani answered his hotel room door wearing just a loosely sashed hotel dressing gown. Entering the room, Erik Hinkel did a quick visual scan. There was a desk, with a briefcase on it and papers fanned out on its surface. Erik immediately wrote those off as camouflage. Rahmani’s trousers and shirt were neatly hanging on the back of the desk chair. The satchel that had been hanging from his shoulder in the conference hall and where Erik had observed him hiding the flash drive was laying on the queen-sized bed that dominated the room.

The Iranian-American professor closed the door, came up close behind Erik, and wrapped his arms around Erik’s torso. The young man leaned back into Rahmani and turned his head for the kiss that followed. While they were kissing, Rahmani undressed the smaller, slimmer, younger man, first unbuttoning his shirt and caressing his chest, bringing up sighs and moans from Erik. Next sounded the unbuckling of the young man’s belt buckle, the lowering of his zipper, and the rustle of the trousers cascading down to the floor. Now only in red bikini briefs, Erik stepped out of the puddled trousers as the kiss came to an end and Rahmani released him from the embrace.

“Go into the bathroom, please,” Rahmani murmured. He pulled Erik’s shirt off his back and watched, with appreciation, the roll of the young man’s buttocks as he walked into the bathroom.

In the bathroom, his dressing gown open, and his long, hard cock pressed up under Erik’s ball sac between the young man’s closed thighs from behind, Rahmani leaned a now-fully naked Erik over the toilet. Erik’s arms were spread and thrust forward, his palms pressed against the wall behind the toilet in the same stance he’d very recently seen a young Japanese man in at the hotel’s conference center. This obviously was a fetish of Rahmani’s. His left arm embraced Erik’s heaving chest, his lips were buried in the hollow of Erik’s throat, his right hand grasped Erik’s cock, and his own cock was dry humping Erik from behind between his pressed-in thighs.

When Rahmani’s pinkie went to Erik’s urethra opening this time, Erik relaxed, wanting it and welcoming it, and, as if his cock remembered that it was possible, the pinkie met little resistance as it sank in to the first knuckle. Erik came close to hyperventilating, as the pinkie fucked his cock head. After asserting that it could do so as the master wished, though, the pinkie was withdrawn and Rahmani provided a loose sheath with his hand and whispered for Erik to fuck himself in it, which he did until Rahmani took control again, fisting Erik’s shaft hard and vigorously beating the writhing young man off, with Erik, pressing his cheek to the wall behind the toilet as the thrusts became stronger and giving a little yelp of release as he shot his load into the toilet bowl.

He had held his ejaculation for as long as possible--the man had whispered in his ear to do so--but Erik couldn’t help releasing when he felt that Rahmani had done so, the feel the jerk of the man’s cock at the base of Erik’s ball sac and the sensation of the wetness, cum dribbling down Erik’s inner thighs.

Rahmani had ejaculated, but he was half erect still and the cock still had steel hardness in it as the man continued sliding his cock inside his own cum between Erik’s thighs.

“Run a bath for us, please,” he said, as he, at last, released his hold on a trembling Erik. “I’ll order up some champagne.”

Erik stumbled over to the large marble tub that was backed by a large window overlooking the still-falling snow and the rocks of the alp rising behind the hotel, and started the water going.

In the bedroom, Rahmani first made a call on his cell phone. Then he extracted the flash drive and a small, handheld flash drive reader from his satchel and made a second copy on another flash drive. He careful returned the original back to the satchel and went over to the desk and fished a key from his trousers. He took the satchel over to his suitcase, which was sitting on a luggage rack on the other side of the bed. The case wasn’t completely unpacked. There were shirts and pieces of underwear hanging over the side. He didn’t lift the lid of the suitcase, though. Rather, he inserted the key at the side, near the base, and a secret compartment large enough to hold the satchel slipped out. Securing the satchel inside the compartment and closing it, he returned to the desk, returned the key to his trouser pocket, picked up the copy of the flash drive, and went to the door and opened it.

A man wearing the uniform of a hotel waiter and leaning over a cart with an ice bucket and two wine glasses on top was waiting outside the door. Rahmani handed the man the second copy of the flash drive, pulled the cart into the room, and shut the door.

When the scientist reentered the bathroom, Erik was sitting on the broad lip of the steaming tub, looking dreamy and stroking his cock. He was erect again. Rahmani was still erect--massively erect. Erik’s eyes went big and he gasped when he saw what the Iranian-American was packing. He moaned at the knowledge of where that was going to be sheathed.

Rahmani placed the tray with the champagne and glasses on a broad corner of the tub, climbed into the tub, and reclined back. He opened his arms to Erik, who slipped into the tub, facing Rahmani, and placed his knees on either side of the scientist’s thighs. He panted and huffed and gave little cries, as Rahmani grasped his waist and slowly pulled the young man’s channel down on the long, thick, throbbing cock. Erik leaned back, away from Rahmani’s chest, threw his arms back, grasped well-placed metal handles inside the rim of the tub behind him, and held on for dear life as, water churning around them, Rahmani slammed him up and down on the cock vigorously and cruelly until the Iranian-American blasted the young man deep inside his passage with three separate bursts of cum. He pulled Erik’s chest into his, took him in another deep kiss, and continued stroking his cock up inside Erik’s channel, sliding through the lubricant of the cum he had deposited there, as, slowly, he went flaccid and Erik’s sighs and moans subsided into a soft purr.

Still sheathed on Rahmani’s lap afterward, Erik did the honors of pouring the champagne, ensuring that Rahmani didn’t see the packet he deftly opened and emptied into the scientist’s glass. They toasted each other and tossed off the champagne. Erik refilled the glasses. They toasted each other again and sipped more slowly, cooing to each other, complimenting each other on their beautiful bodies and on how well they moved together in the fuck.

Erik felt Rahmani going hard again. Another glass of champagne, and Rahmani changed their positions, turning Erik over the rim on the tub, his belly on the wide lip, his fists pressed into the tiles of the floor next to the tub, his eyes focused on the pattern of the tile design on the side of the tub, and Rahmani on his knees in the tub, crouched over his buttocks. Grasping Erik’s waist between his hands, Rahmani pounded Erik’s channel to another coming, letting Erik know how much enjoyment he got out of Erik’s cries of passion in the brutal taking.

Feeling drowsy after he’d seeded Erik a second time, Rahmani leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes. It hadn’t been a sleeping drug--just something to make the man drowsy and lethargic for a short period. Erik had been told not to expect more than ten minutes of time in which Rahmani would be so far gone that he couldn’t think straight. When the Iranian-American was well settled, Erik climbed out of the tub, dried himself off, and padded out into the bedroom. Time was limited but he knew what to do.

He made a call on his cell phone. After he’d closed out on the call, he went to the desk and fished around in Rahmani’s trousers for the key to the secret compartment. Finding and retrieving it, he went to his own trousers and extracted the handheld flash driver copier he had brought with him. It only took him six minutes to retrieve and copy the flash drive and have everything back where they belonged.

He took the handheld device copy of the flash drive he made to the door and opened it. A man was standing there, in the corridor. He took the device from Erik. Erik watched him long enough to see the man safely back into the room next door. Then he closed the door, padded over to the bed, and laid down on the bed on his back. When he heard sloshing in the tub in the bathroom, he spread and bent his legs, placed his feet flat on the surface of the bed, and took up a pillow beside him and jammed it under the small of his back, elevating his pelvis. He turned his gaze to the bathroom door, put on a look of need and arousal, and fisted his cock.

Emerging naked and in full erection again from the bathroom, Rahmani took one look at the bed, grinned, and moved swiftly to climb up on the bed, knee himself in between Erik’s thighs, mount the young man with a swift and deep thrust, and immediately begin to fuck him hard and deep. Stretching his arms straight out from his body and clutching at the bedspread with his fists, Erik arched his back, cried out, “Yes, yes, Fuck me hard, you daddy stud!” and thrust his pelvis upward with each cruel in-stroke to take Rahmani’s cock as deep as possible.

* * * *

Erik closed the hotel room door quietly and looked up and down the corridor to ensure no one was there as he moved to the room next door, walking backward, with his eyes glued to Rahmani’s door to make sure it didn’t open and the man pop his head out and demand another go at Erik. He’d had several goes at him already. Who knew that a man over fifty would have so many erections and so much cum in him? Erik wasn’t leaving dissatisfied, that was certain. This was what made his job so worthwhile. He had not feigned his want for the cocking he got.

When he reached the door of the neighboring room, it opened without him having to knock, and he slipped inside. Two men, agents of Israel’s Mossad intelligence agency, were sitting in front of a bank of computer monitors. The monitors showed everything in the room next door--wide sweeps of the bedroom and both the bathroom tub and toilet. One of the men watching the monitors--and now watching Rab Rahmani moving around the bedroom in his hotel robe--was the man who had taken the handheld flash drive recorder from Erik at Rahmani’s door earlier.

“Quite a performance that was, Aaron,” the man who had retrieved the flash drive said, without taking his eyes off the monitors. “Enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Aaron--no longer Erik Hinkel--answered, with a bit of a blush. “The man is hung and he can fuck forever. Shit, what’s that?”

The three men’s eyes scanned the monitors closely. Rahmani had answered the door and had been pushed inside the room by three swarthy men in black, who overpowered him. Rahmani went limp and sank to the floor between them. Two of the men picked him up, supported him between them like he was dead drunk, and hustled him out of the room. The third man started a quick search of the room.

“You got out of there just in time,” the first agent said, and Aaron wrapped his arms around his chest and shuddered.

“Who are they?” the second Mossad agent asked, reaching into his arm pit and unlatching the cover to his gun case. “Should we be doing something?”

The first agent put a restraining hand on his arm. “No, it’s OK. I recognize them. They are MOIS--Iranian Ministry of Intelligence--agents. They are just retrieving one of their own. The Americans are well rid of Rahmani. That man, the waiter who delivered the champagne and who received a copy of the flash drive, he’s SRV--Russian foreign intelligence. Rahmani was double-agenting the Americans. He was as much a whore as handsome Aaron here is. He’d laid on his back and screw with anyone who paid him well or saved his hide. He’s served our purposes--passed on the fake North Korean nuclear plans. We can let this work its way out.”

“So they are fake,” the second agent said, “the documents in the flash drive.”

“Yes, the South Koreans want as many players as possible to get their hands on the documents. They want us all thinking Pyongyang is further along than it is. They want us to stop it before it gets too dangerous. We’ve got what we want out of this. The Iranians are welcome to their defector and the Americans are well rid of him.”

They watched as the Iranian agent circuited Rahmani’s room and focused his attention on the papers fanned out on the desk--no doubt misleading documents Rahmani put there for someone to find if his room was searched. The search was far too limited and hurried to have found the secret compartment in Rahmani’s suitcase. The Americans could find that later themselves and be duped like the rest of the world--other than the Mossad--on the actual progress of North Korean nuclear development.

Aaron had pulled away from the monitors and gone over to the window. The snow on this snowy afternoon had finally stopped. He could see all the way down into the town, which was lit up by the late afternoon sunlight, while the area surrounding the hotel was in near darkness, blocked from the rays of the sinking sun by the alp looming behind it. He saw that there was a black Mercedes, its trunk open, in a drive below that came up to a back entrance of the hotel. As he watched, he saw an inert figure in a hotel dressing gown being hustled out of the hotel and over to the Mercedes. The body went into the trunk of the car. By the time the two men had gotten into the Mercedes--which was being driven by another man--the third figure rushed out of the hotel, got into the car, and the car drove off.

Erik gave the car a weak wave. He was rather sad. Rahmani had had a cock to die for and was a great fucker. That little fetish of his was arousing as well.

“Wait, who is that?” the second agent asked, pointing to a monitor image from a camera trained on the corridor.

Erik came over and looked at the monitor. The young Japanese staffer he’d watched Rahmani jack off earlier in the afternoon was standing at Rahmani’s hotel room door. He paused there and then knocked, tentatively. He waited for ten seconds or so and knocked again with a stronger rap. When there was no response, he looked disappointed and disappeared in the elevator.

“I wonder what he wanted,” agent number two said.

Erik shrugged and went back to the window. He highly suspected that he knew what the young Japanese staffer wanted from Rahmani. The man had been a pied piper of sex. It was surprising how arousing that preliminary little jack-off fetish of his was--how easily it brought a young man under his control. Erik had been his from the moment Rahmani had masturbated him in the snow on the mountain trail.

“Joseph,” the first Mossad agent was saying across the room. “I think the entertainment is over. Go on over there and pull the cameras. You can have your go at Aaron when you get back. You don’t have to leave it with stroking yourself off while we watched the defector do him.”

“You were jerking off then too,” Joseph said in a sulky, “I’ve been caught,” voice.

Agent number one turned and looked at Aaron. “I think our little whore is missing the turncoat already. I think he’s a bit sad about losing the Iranian’s big cock. But, that’s OK, we have big cocks too. He told me earlier that this is his favorite part of the job--being royally fucked.”

As the second agent we now know was named Joseph--or maybe not--left the room, the first agent turned and said, “Would you be so kind as to get on the bed and spread your legs, Aaron? This is your lucky day--a three-cock afternoon.”

With a sigh, Aaron turned from the window. The display of the sunlight on downtown Davos had been short lived anyway, and the Mercedes was out of sight. Unbuttoning and pulling his shirt off his back and releasing and stripping down his trousers and red bikini briefs, he climbed up on the bed. Emitting another deep sigh, he lay on his back, spread and bent his legs, dug his heels into the surface of the bed, and stuffed a pillow under the small of his back to angle his pelvis to give the Mossad agent’s cock, which Aaron well knew was big enough, a straight thrust angle. He had to admit that being fucked was his favorite pastime on a snowy afternoon. Three big cocks in an afternoon wasn’t bad, snow or no snow--not bad at all.