Prince's Choice

Sam Winterberry, who had been sitting beyond the fence at the side of the court with the entourages from the palace and embassy, plucked at my arm as we passed each other and hissed, “Get to the showers ahead of him, Jack. Give him a show. I’ve been watching; he’s interested.” I didn’t look around to the man who’d spoken. I’d been told not to acknowledge his presence. But, at his instruction, I pushed on ahead to get into the locker room.

We were at the courts of the military school in the Asian capital and had just played a complex set--complex because the chief of station at the embassy, Ted Shackleford, and I were faced off against Ambassador Zimmerman and the prince. Although the COS and I were much the better players, it, of course, was a foregone conclusion that we were to lose the match. We won the first set, but it was all downhill from there, as it was programmed to be--at least by the embassy. The kicker is that we had to make it look like they weren’t just the better team but that we all, especially the prince, were near pro. Well, I was near pro. That was one reason I’d been brought over from the States on temporary assignment at the embassy. Who would have known that a CIA officer would be sent on an expensive TDY overseas just to play a tennis match and be dangled in front of a potentate the United States wanted to manipulate?

It wasn’t that hard to beat the prince to the showers. He was posing with the ambassador for a photo op. The country’s press was all there. The prince wasn’t in the country very much of the time, even though it was his country and everyone assumed he’d be inheriting it soon. He was a military nut, and a coalition of the Americans, the British, and the French had done what they could to move him around the various elite military schools. They didn’t want him here much of the time. The king doted on him, but the prince’s idea of a good time was going to war with the country’s neighbors, and he was reputed to be as crazy as a loon. As the United States, Britain, and France were all entangled in mutual assistance treaties with his country, it was in our interests that his country not go to war with its neighbors.

Shackleford had gone off to call in the ambassador’s limo. They wouldn’t be showering and dressing at the military school. That decision wasn’t by accident. Not that the ambassador had any idea what was going on.

During the game I had made sure of getting the prince’s attention whenever possible. That wasn’t hard to do. He had zeroed in on me the minute he’d entered the court. Winterberry had been confident that the prince would be interested, and Winterberry had been right.

In the communal shower, I stood under the water at one side of the tiled room, got wet, and was soaping myself up when the prince, a towel around his hips, arrived at the entrance. He was accompanied by a beefy young soldier, who moved to enter the chamber, no doubt to tell me to vacate while the prince showered. I could see out of the corner of my eye, though, that the prince grabbed the soldier’s arm and hissed at him. The soldier took a step back, although not without sticking his head in the room to assure himself that I was the only one there and not so far back that he couldn’t see the two far corners of the shower room at all times. The prince slipped the towel off his hips, handed it to the soldier, and came into the shower to stand under a head at the other end of the room from me--any indication that the fuck would be rough and raw.

I decided this might not be so bad. From a glimpse of him, I thought he was in magnificent shape. I’d been briefed that he would be--that he spent considerable time working out and that his love of everything military extended to being very hands on, including with personal training. From the first indication, I wouldn’t have much trouble going hard for him. With me, being a Marine type was enough for that.

In rinsing myself off, I managed a slow, full turn, holding at a full frontal pose, facing him. He was rinsing himself off under his showerhead, but he wasn’t making any effort to hide that he was watching me. He did the same turn for me, and I made a point of going full frontal toward him again and soaping my body up while watching him turn and soap his. My first impression of his body had been correct. His obsession with everything military had paid off. He was solidly built, taller than most men in his country and Marine muscular and hard. There were a few scars on his torso and thighs that indicated he wasn’t afraid of hand-to-hand combat. He wasn’t the most handsome man I’d ever seen, but he had the rugged, almost thuggish strong, chisel-chinned face of a young army general, which he was along with several other titles.

At first his equipment was a bit of a disappointment. He was stubby, albeit thick as the proverbial beer can, but as we posed for each other, he filled out toward a respectable length. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about fisting and working his cock. Taking his lead, neither was I. His balls were big and hung low in the sac between rock-hard muscular thighs. His pubes were shaved, and he was tattooed in a spider web pattern across his groin, complete with a long-legged black spider, poised to attack his balls. I’d been told he was the commander of the country’s Spider Special Forces regiment, which engaged in nefarious activities, all of which protected the palace from plots, and I wondered if all in his unit were tattooed this way. I let my eyes stray to the soldier at the entrance of the shower, who was as hunky as the prince and better looking in the face, and speculated if he might have such a tattoo too and, not incidentally, how he’d look naked. But he just stood at half rest, but full observance--an observance that didn’t reveal that he was looking at two men posing for each other in the nude, though, and who were observing each other playing with their cocks.

The prince and I were both soaped up. We also both were hard. As he rinsed off under his showerhead, the prince grasped his erection in his hand--now having enough to get a good grip on, showed me a three-quarters profile, started stroking his cock, and gave me a half-amused, half-aroused look of expectation. I did as he was doing, and we both stood under the cascading water of our individual showerheads, turned three-quarters to each other, crouched slightly with bent knees, and beat ourselves off.

There was nothing coy here. I’d been briefed that the prince was simple, primitive, and straightforward in his pleasures and, being a prince, did just as he damn well pleased. He clearly wanted for both of us to pose and for me to beat off while he watched me and beat his own meat, so that’s what we did. During the introductions, he had been told that I was here to serve his needs, and he’d obviously taken that literally. Yes, I’d been told, the power of the monarchy in this country was such that those in service gave whatever service was demanded, without question or hesitation.

He came first, splashing an admirable arc of cum against the tiled wall. He took two steps toward me and reached down and brushed my hand off my shaft. He fisted my cock--his grip was strong--and slowly finished beating me off, teasing me by bringing me to the brink and then backing off until I’d recovered some control--edging me. I remained in position, not touching him, our eyes locked together. I’d been told to give him whatever he wanted--occupying his time and attention was the point. He wasn’t shy about taking what he wanted.

He placed his other hand on my right bicep and ran it up over my shoulder. He grasped my throat with it in a strong grip, and I saw a flare in his eyes of cruelty and lust. I fought not to show fear, to hold his eyes with mine in a level stare. I maybe could have taken him in a fair fight, but a fight with the prince would not have been fair. Even if I weren’t under instruction to let him win--to let him have whatever he wanted--there was the other man, the bodyguard, nearby to assist him. There was no question that the bodyguard would assist in whatever the prince wanted.

I briefly panicked, wondering if there had been encounters like this before in which the prince wanted it all, including his prey’s life. I knew of the scandals, of the rumors of orgies and missing young men. Had I enflamed him too much by playing this game with him in the shower? I’d had the Agency courses on hand-to-hand combat. So had he. Where he had his thumb and fingers positioned on my throat, he could easily either black me out or snap my neck. He clearly wanted me to know that too.

Releasing me, he slid his hand slowly down my chest and belly and then down onto my right flank. All the time he continued stroking me off with the other hand. He came in close, touching his forehead to mine, and his hand went around to my buttocks. There was pleasure in his eyes. I had been told that he admired commando-hard bodies, and I knew mine would meet muster. I flinched as a finger penetrated my ass, but still I held steady. He hadn’t been quite able to reach my hole as he squeezed one of my butt cheeks, but it was evident where he was headed, and I submissively jutted my pelvis forward to give his finger access. He was looking for my reaction to penetration--testing how far I would go with him. My signal was of complete surrender to his desire and need. Causing my sphincter muscle to grasp the finger and pull it in clearly told him I was willing and able.

Beyond a slight smile, he went no further, though, pulling away from me, touching me only with the hand stroking my cock and with his eyes locked on mine. He was going to the edge again, and I sensed he’d go over the edge now. He was watching for the moment of climax, and I gave him a grimace and a look of lust, awe, and total surrender I knew he’d like as I shot my load.

When I had ejaculated, he gave me a little smile and a nod of his head, and exited the shower. He took the towel from the soldier, and they padded off. Trembling a bit, I placed my cheek to the cool tiles of the shower’s back wall and let the water continue to flow over me. I spread my arms and pressed my palms to the tiles in a cruciform sacrificial form of total submission. Jutting my buttocks out from the wall, I half expected the prince to return, mount my ass, and fuck me. I more than half wanted him to. The exotic nature of this encounter had brought me more arousal and been more pleasurable than I had thought the first intimate meeting with him would be--I hadn’t even been sure that he would find me desirable, that there would be an intimate encounter. I had been focused on seducing him--not considering that he might seduce me. God help me, I wanted him to return and complete the coupling.

But he didn’t, and when I finally turned the shower off, toweled myself dry, and walked out into the locker room, he was gone. Two soldiers were standing on either side of the door to the corridor, but they were impassive. If they watched me dress, they gave no hint of doing so.

I hoped that wouldn’t be it. I would have failed if that was all there was to it. Winterberry certainly wouldn’t be pleased if that was the full extent of the prince’s interest in me that I could generate.

An army car was waiting for me outside the military academy administration building. Winterberry and the COS had driven me over, but they’d told me to make my own way back to the embassy to report to them--the embassy was just down the street from the military academy compound.

Two soldiers were in the front seat of the car and a Spider Regiment major was in the backseat. I recognized the insignia on his shoulder. When he asked me where I wanted to go, I told him my hotel. It might be suspicious if I went directly back to the embassy from here.

He said nothing else to me and sat ramrod straight beside me in the car. If he knew what the prince and I had been doing in the shower--which he undoubtedly did--he said nothing to indicate it, nor did he signal to me in any way that I was the submissive male whore that I just had been. When we got to the hotel and the doorman had opened my door, the major leaned over and handed me an envelope with the seal of the palace on it.

“I’ll be here at 9:00 tonight to escort you,” he said as I exited the vehicle. I turned to ask him what he meant, but the doorman had already shut the car door and the vehicle was moving off.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a thick card. The writing was fancy and in ink. I marveled that it had been prepared in such a short time. I was being summoned by the prince for a late supper at the palace that night.

So, Winterberry had been right. That this was the right approach to the prince. Now it was up to me to reel him in.

* * * *

A week earlier I was in the last days of the Agency’s Deep Cover Commando course at Camp Perry in Williamsburg, Virginia. I was on my back on my bed in my Spartan cinderblock walled room, my arms over my head, my hands gripping the brass headboard rail, my knuckles bruised by the banging of the headboard against the wall, my pelvis elevated, with my knees bent and my feet pressed to the mattress, giving me leverage to counterpiston Denzel’s wicked thrusts.

A black bull, Denzel Jackson, my commando course instructor, was crouched over my body, between my spread thighs. His fists gripped my wrists, his forehead was plastered to mine, he was grunting deeply in harmony with my tortured moans, his toes digging into the mattress as he did pushups on my body. The bull’s horn was throbbing, stretching, punishing my channel brutally. He was close to either giving me his load or killing me with his monster dick. I was beyond caring which.

I had gone completely docile and submissive to him. The belt he’d used to beat me with when I was still struggling with him--wanting him but knowing that being caught with a man here was a career killer--was curled on the floor beside the bed. The slashing strikes of the leather on my back, thighs, buttocks, and chest had only aroused me and made me want him inside me more. It was a fetish I wasn’t proud of but that had helped pull me into the rough military life.

The door to the corridor banged open and a man in a suit, tall and gangly, pushing middle age, hard but wiry, came in, pulled a chair up to the bed, and sat down.

Surprised and shocked, I tried to twist to the other side of the bed and roll out from underneath Jackson, but the black brute held me in place. His dick was still inside me, deep, throbbing and stretching, but he was in a holding pattern.

“No, don’t let me bother you,” the man said, in a mocking baritone. “Finish him sergeant.”

Three more thrusts and Jackson’s body jerked and I knew he’d filled the bulb of the rubber. Once again, I made to move out from underneath him, totally nonplused with embarrassment--and fear too. Men got drummed out of the Agency for behavior like this, and I’d fought like hell--and covered up so much--to get in the Agency.

“No, stay like that, please,” the man said. “It obviates any denying and excusing you might try to do before our little talk is over. I don’t have much time.” Jackson remained hovering over me, his dick going flaccid but still inside me, his fists still gripping my wrists at the headboard.

“We have need in the short term for a young man with the looks and skills and the proclivities you obviously have, Jack,” the man continued. “Taking the belt was a nice--and useful--touch. Jackson wasn’t sure you would. My name is Winterberry, and I run a special unit that works in special ways. Are you with me so far? No, don’t bother to look embarrassed. We’re beyond that point. Are you with me so far?”

“Yes,” I squeaked. “Get him off me, though.”

“I like to talk to my recruits in this position, Jack. It makes it so much easier for them to say yes. We don’t have to have any pretense about what they will do--what they want to do. Tell me, have you ever heard of Prince ___, and he reeled off a name that seemed to go on and on--from the country of ___, and he named a country.”

“I’ve heard of the country, of course.” I answered. I didn’t have to admit I’d never heard of Prince Whathisname.

“The prince is a military man, Jack. He likes all things military and he likes military men. He likes to fuck hard-bodied military men. He also is partial to the lash, which I think you will appreciate.”

He gave me an amused look and I shuddered for him.

“He’s rather a nuisance to us and to other Western countries as well, however,” Winterberry continued. “He’s more than a little bit crazy and he likes to go to war. We’d prefer not having any active wars in his region of the world, Jack. Therefore we--the Americans and the British and the French--do what we can to keep him distracted so that we can keep him entertained and out of his country. Do you follow me so far?”

“Yes, but where do I come in?”

“Well, you’ve done very well in our course here. You are presentable and hard bodied. And, of course”--and here he paused to smile wanly at me--“you obviously have no trouble letting men fuck you--and to give you a bit of the taste of the whip. Have you enjoyed this course, Jack?”

“Yes, but what--?”

“Would you recommend it to another rugged Ranger type?”

“Certainly.”

“Good. We want you to sell this course to the prince. I understand you are a semipro tennis player too.”

“I do well enough, yes, but--”

“A week from Saturday, you, as a TDYer at our embassy in ___,” and here he named an Asian capital city, “have a celebrity tennis game date with our errant prince. We will set up a close encounter with him, and we want you to sell him on a long-form of this course here at Camp Perry. Now, that’s the broad-brush operation plan here. I don’t think you need to know more. But I suppose you should know the risk. The prince sometimes becomes overenthusiastic. There have been loses, but, as he’s the prince, he suffers no consequences for his excesses. He has no concept of limitations. You’ll have to do enough to win him over but not too much.”

“So, my life will be in danger.”

“Your life will always be in danger in this work, Jack. You knew this before you sought to join the Agency--and you did apply. We didn’t coerce you.”

“At least not to this point,” I said.

He didn’t respond directly; he pointed to the corner of the room, where the wall met the ceiling. “Perhaps what you’d want to know is what those little devices are in the upper corners of your room here. Didn’t notice that they just appeared, did you?”

I looked more closely to where he was pointing. Two video cameras, not too well camouflaged. I’d been is such high heat when Jackson pulled me into the room that I hadn’t seen them before.

“Now, you have two choices, Jack. We can use the film footage of your little exercise session with the sergeant here or you can start boning up on the Asian assignment. Which is it?”

“If you do this assignment well, you not only won’t be kicked out, but you will come to work for me in a special Agency unit that uses the skills and proclivities you’ve already exhibited. Otherwise, yes, you’ll be outed and ousted.”

“If you put it that way . . .” I didn’t have to complete the sentence.

“OK, you can go now, Sergeant. Thank you for your help. No, Jack, stay where you are, please.” He had stood up and he was stripping off his clothes. He was hard bodied for his age, lean but hard. He had a dong that wasn’t thick but it might have drooped to his knees if it wasn’t hard and sticking out in a slight, cruel upcurve.

“I control my agents the old fashioned way, Jack. Your boning up on this assignment is going to start with me boning you, taking you for a test drive. We’ve established that you have agreed to the assignment. I need to know that you have what it takes to do the assignment.”

Jackson was out of me, off of me, and out of the room. Winterberry climbed on top of me in the position Jackson had vacated, thrust inside me, deep, and started banging me hard. He was good. Despite the embarrassment and fear, I lifted my pelvis to him and went with the rhythm of the fuck. After a few minutes he pulled out of me and rose from the bed. I looked up and into his eyes, which flashed a cruel intensity. He had picked the belt up from the floor and was snapping it against his leg. I moaned and turned onto my belly.

I jerked up my head and cried out, “Yes, yes!” as the stinging lashes rained on my back. I made an effort to rise again and he hit me with the belt again. Harder. With a deep moan, I sank to the bed on my belly, throwing my arms out to the side in submission. His arm went under my belly and he coaxed me up to my knees, my chest still flat on the bed, me panting heavily. When he remounted me and began to pump again, I was whimpering and begging him for the fuck, reaching new heights of pain-pleasure.

What he proceeded to do was to give a clinic on fucking a man, not only taking me in a variety of positions but testing my flexibility and endurance. He fucked and beat me until he broke me--until I was a whimpering puddle of pain, sexual satiation, and exhaustion. But when he left me, he declared me fit for duty in his unit, which I was to learn was high praise from the man.

* * * *

I was told it was the game room that I was ushered into and I didn’t have any trouble figuring out what kind of games were played here. A large bed, covered in silken pillows of many vibrant colors, dominated one wall. Two French provincial arm chairs, with cigarette tables next to them, were set facing each other about four feet from the foot of the bed. Other than that, the room was dominated by BDSM equipment. I readily recognized a set of chains ending in wrist restraints hanging from a hook in the ceiling beside something that looked like a sawhorse, covered in black padded vinyl. A black leather sling was hung from the ceiling in one corner. To my left was a table with restraints on it, and a long table against the wall with an assortment of sex torture tools on it. And, intriguingly, there was what looked like a kneeling bench with the yoke of stocks on its rail.

The men who escorted me into the room were hard-bodied soldiers in physique and bearing and were in dress whites--white gloves and white tunics over black trousers. The prince himself, who rose and met me half way to the door I’d entered, was wearing camouflage fatigues, with heavy black combat boots. Two gold stars gleamed on either shoulder. The top two buttons of his tunic were unbuttoned. His hard chest was smooth, the pecs bulging. A Buddha image on a heavy gold chain nestled between his pecs.

“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said in greeting. He spoke in a low, hoarse tone, but his English, as I had found on the tennis court was impeccable, with a British bent. He’d said nothing in the shower. He’d let his actions speak for him, and they had spoken volumes.

“You knew after our last meeting that I wouldn’t be able to stay away,” I answered, giving him a direct stare. He smiled at this flattery, this acknowledgment of his charisma, seductive in its own exotic--and scary--way, as I had already discovered.

“You are a connoisseur of physical pleasure . . . and pain . . . then, I am thinking.”

“More a student,” I responded. “I believe that you are the connoisseur. I am more a servant in these matters.” This obviously pleased him as well.

“You are at my service then?”

“As you wish . . . what you wish.”

“As long as I wish?”

I gave him a slight bow, lowering my head in submission.

He lifted an eyebrow and smiled again.

“This is my game room,” he said, letting both of his arms make a sweeping gesture toward the room.

“Apparently,” I answered.

“Are you afraid or put off? I would be disappointed, but I don’t force men. I use them hard, but only with their submission. You can leave now if you wish.” He ran the back of a hand down my cheek, ending with a thumb pressed under my chin, where I knew that, if enough pressure was applied, I’d be put out of commission.

“No, I’m not disappointed. Yes, I’m afraid. But I assume that’s what you want.”

“That’s what pleasures me, yes. Men with magnificent bodies. Military men. Reduced to submission. Conquered. Vanquished. Completely open to me. Are you willing to submit all or do you wish to leave?”

“No, I’ll stay,” I said. Winterberry had not really given me an option. I wasn’t sure the prince was giving me an option either. I strongly suspected I’d been given to him to do as he pleased.

“Your Mr. Shackleford tells me you are military. The Marines? An officer?”

“Yes. I’m a captain. But I am not in a regular unit.” I had been given a military cover. It was important, I was told, for the prince’s men to be military--and in special units.

“Tell me, have you seen hand-to-hand combat. Killed men in battle?”

“I probably shouldn’t answer that.”

“Have you endured pain on the battlefield?”

“Yes, certainly,” I replied.

“And how did that make you feel, Jack? Did it scare you? Did it start your adrenaline pumping? Did it make you go hard? For some men, the fear and pain heighten the pleasure. It takes men to new sexual heights. I am such a man. Are you?” He was standing close to me now. He had one hand on one of my upper arms, but the other one was on my crotch. He knew that I was hard.

“Yes it makes me hard,” I answered. “The pain and fear heighten the pleasure for me.” I let my breath out in admitting that. It’s what I would have to say, what I’d been sent here to endure. But I had to admit that it was true nonetheless. But the fallacy here was that I was quite sure that the prince wasn’t saying that his pain would heighten his sexual pleasure. I was sure that it was my pain that would do that for him.

“We normally would have supper first,” he said. “But I haven’t been able to think of anything but you since this afternoon. I want you to strip down for me, Jack. I want for you to give me pleasure and I want to use you in a way that will make you feel alive. Take off your clothes for me--all of them. I am going to use you hard.”

He backed off but just a few steps so that he could watch me as I undressed. Two hulky attendants stepped forward and took my items of clothing as I took them off. The attendants neatly folded them and placed them on an ottoman. I knew that later they would be returned without a crease in them. I would be the one to show the creases. The prince hadn’t said he’d disrobe too, and he didn’t. But he did unbutton the fly of his fatigue pants, worked his cock out, and was stroking it as I undressed.

While two of the attendants folded and took away my clothes another two stepped forward with objects in their hands. When I was naked, the prince stepped in close again, encased both of our cocks in one hand and began to frot them--stroking them together. His other hand went over my shoulder to the back of my head, where he dug his fingers into my scalp and pulled my head back painfully. Obviously it was the pain that was important to him, so I grimaced for him. Normally, I would fight that, but I decided he want to see it.

The attendants got busy. My arms were pulled behind my back and my wrists were bound together. Another attendant was at my feet, attaching a leg extender that bound my ankles and held my legs in a wide stance. Yet another attendant attached weights to my balls that pulled them downward and then, as I gave a little yelp, attached nipple clamps to my nubs. The clamps were joined with a metal chain, which, taking his hand from our cocks, the prince jerked down, causing me to yelp louder.

“Are you enjoying the pain?” he asked. “Can you feel the pleasure of it?”

“Yes,” I whispered. And then I groaned as his fist closed over my balls and he squeezed them hard. I moaned and almost cried out, doubling up and going toward the floor with my knees. He let me go down on my knees, which put my face at the level of his cock, which he thumped against my cheeks until I opened my mouth to it and gave him head.

They put me on the kneeling rail, with my neck and wrists in the stocks and my knees on the pad. The prince was in front of me, feeding me his cock, and one of the attendants was behind me working my ass open with a lubricated dildo. There would be no condoms. One of the glories of the Agency’s technical research was in inventing a pill to protect men from the known diseases of unprotected six. Winterberry had first used it with me, saying he abhorred rubbers. A package of the pills had come with me as a gift to the prince, and he had seemed to be delighted with them. For one thing, he said that such a gift dispensed with any pretense or preparation for why I was here.

When he felt prepared sufficiently, the prince came back around to behind me. He beat me, on the back and legs, mostly lightly, but with a few strokes of enthusiasm, with a wide leather belt. Tiring of this and as my cries of surprise and violation subsided into low moans and whimpering, he mounted my ass and fucked me to an ejaculation, edging me with his cock as he had done with his hand in the showers. The pain involved, of course, was all mine, and the dick work was the least of it. I had been opened up well, and, though he was thick, he wasn’t long, and his rhythm was very military--a steady beat without invention that would surprise and make me gasp at being off cadence or more cruel than anything else he had done to me.

I couldn’t say it was the best fuck I’d ever had--strangely enough Winterberry gave the best fuck I’d ever had. He not only was cruel and demanding but he also was inventive and could make me gasp with a change in cadence. But I couldn’t deny that the domination and control of it--and the fear of what was to come--with the prince aroused me to unusual heights. He entered me strong and thick, and he understood how to punish the prostate with his bulb. I came before him--and then again with him.

His attendants, in their pristine white tunics and gloves, and well-pressed black trousers stood at attention around the room, seemingly not watching what the prince was doing to me, but ever ready to respond to his every whim. I wondered how many other young men he’d brought here and done the same with. And I wondered how many of those young men had walked out of here alive.

One thing I did know was that if they didn’t, the prince’s attendants would clean up and paper over everything--and that my handlers would just walk away. That knowledge alone should have frightened the shit out of me, but I was learning something about myself in this sexual torture chamber, something that frightened me even more--that this, all of this, aroused me more, made me harder and more sexually charged, than I’d ever been before.

* * * *

I might have thought the supper was downright civilized if I wasn’t sitting in one of the French Provincial chairs with a folding table in front of me and still in the nude. It also would have been less worrisome if the prince hadn’t said, “We’ll resume after we’ve eaten.” When I was freed from the stocks, one of the attendants had rubbed salve on my back and legs--although they didn’t hurt as much as they stung after the salve was applied--and I was helped to the chair--which had been covered in a cloth that I hoped wasn’t absorbent enough for the prince not to remember my visit with a bit of regret. No doubt the pillow they added to make me more comfortable did soak it all up, though.

He was without tunic now too, as were his attendants, his having been discarded when he got overheated in using my body. They all had good bodies. I must admit that I did some dreaming of more than one of the attendants fucking me too. But that didn’t happen. I guess that would be some form of lese majesty here--taking sloppy seconds from their prince in his presence--unless, of course, that was one of the many kinks that turned him on.

The food was delicate and delectable. The drink was good Scotch. The conversation was a bit strange. He’d worked my body over and fucked me and, during supper, he was like a little kid with his toys in wanting to talk military hardware. He was totally oblivious to how he had degraded and used and abused me. What had been as intimate as it could have been for me to the point that the rest of the world had disappeared and it had become just the two of us working together as one grasping fucking machine striving for the highest arousal and release and balance of pain and pleasure possible appeared to be impersonal exercise to him. He prattled on as if we were sitting together at a seminar waiting for it to begin. He’d just had his dick inside me, pumping me with cum that I could still feel squishing around deep in my intestines, and had been licking blood off the welts on my back that he had put there, for fuck’s sake.

He knew all of the guns used in the armies of the major countries as well as their comparable advantages and disadvantages. I couldn’t keep up with him, but there was little indication he needed me to.

“I’ve inspected an M1A3 Abrams tank,” he said enthusiastically. “I suppose you have seen it as well.”

“No, I haven’t,” I answered. “I have specialized in commando operations and we don’t see many tanks in that form of battle.” I had a mission here. I needed to bring the conversation around to the Camp Perry special commando warfare course.

“My favorite attack helicopter is the Apache. I’m sure you’ve been in those in commando operations.”

“Yes, of course,” I said.

“I have flown those. I have qualified on those. Did you know that?” He was gushing now, his eyes flashing. He was attractive this way. I wouldn’t mind going with him for a straight fuck. I wondered how he was in covering a true lover in a missionary position marked by heavy kissing and long, deep strokes inside a channel that had gone soft and spongy for him, caressing every inch of the most he could fill out to.

I suspect he’d never tried that. I momentarily considered trying to seduce him to that, but then I remembered I was here for a specific, short-term purpose. I couldn’t become involved with this crazy man. I’d best concentrate on surviving him.

“No, I didn’t know that,” I said. But, of course, I did. I’d been told he’d inspected and been trained in every system that kept him out of his country and occupied with his toys. “Then you would be a double threat if you also had the commando training. You would be qualified to fly in and also to perform the mission.”

“Would I?” he asked, clearly intrigued by this thought. It was time to strike.

“I’ve just been on an Agency training course on special commando operations. It was a terrific course. You have done that one?”

“No, I don’t think so. A good course, you say?”

“First rate. Terrific. I think it would be just the thing for you. I could mention the possibility of you’re being invited to do the course. I think one will be starting soon.”

“Would you?”

“Of course, I’d be happy to.” If you let me live, I might have added. Mission accomplished. I started thinking of a successful exit strategy. It had been fun, but . . .

The prince had other ideas. After supper, as two of his attendants were suspending me from the ceiling hook with the wrist restraints, another attendant was handing the prince a hand whip. He was fully naked now, and in erection. With a gleam in his eye, he was telling me how much fun we were going to have--new heights of pain-pleasure.

I was able to take this session more calmly, as there was every indication I would survive it. I had him hooked on the Agency course, and he thought that I would have to propose him for it for him to be invited to take the course. I couldn’t do that if I was dead.

* * * *

I was taken directly from the palace to a private clinic that probably specialized in recovering the prince’s pain-pleasure subjects and knew how to keep its treatment private. I, of course, wasn’t charged for anything. There were no broken bones and the welts and cuts weren’t even that serious. It was more a matter of keeping them from becoming infected. Either the station at the embassy wasn’t told where I was, they didn’t think it wise to let the palace know I was close to them, or they just didn’t give a shit. No one visited me in hospital. I’d done my work. That was more important than whether I would survive the operation.

Four days later when one of the local country’s military cars returned me to the hotel, Sam Winterberry was waiting for me with the news that the prince was delighted to accept the invitation to take the special commando course at Camp Perry.

“The Agency is busy building a course that will take three times as long as the normal one and finding the right students to take the course with the prince,” Winterberry said. He was sitting in a chair by my bed, which I was lying on on my belly, as it would be a while before I wanted to lie on my back--or my buttocks, for that matter.

“Your next assignment, in case you wondered, will be as an assistant teacher of that course. The prince, of course, will stay at one of the camp’s guest houses rather than at the student dormitory. He’ll naturally bring attendants, but he was pleased when he was told you’d be involved in the course and could bunk in his quarters to help him acclimate to the camp.”

“He was pleased, was he?” I said, accompanied by the semblance of a moan. “And I have an ongoing assignment, do I? You’re not going to follow regs and drum me out of the Agency for having homosexual relations?”

“No, of course not,” Winterberry said with a smile. “The regs are the regs, of course, and if need be at any time to separate you from the Firm, we can fall back on them. But, in fact, you did a bang up job of this operation and I head up a unit that uses talent such as yours. Some say that espionage is the oldest profession, while others say it’s prostitution. We at the Agency are quite happy to marry the two. We’ve found the blend to be quite successful.”

“What now?” I asked.

“Now I’d like to do an inspection of where we stand on your fitness for maybe an interim assignment before you return to Camp Perry.” He stood up, came around to the foot of the bed, reached up and around my waist, and undid my belt buckle. He was pulling my trousers and briefs off, when I asked him what he was doing.

“As I said, I need to take a look at these welts to see how long they might put you out of commission.” He had his hands on my bare buttocks and was separating the globes and blowing on my hole.

“Most of the damage is on my back,” I said.

“We’ll see to that eventually,” he said cheerfully. “I also want to remind you who is in charge--who you work for and must please.”

I groaned as he buried his face in my crack and went for my hole with his tongue.

As he came up on the bed, positioned himself over me, placed the bulb of his cock at my entrance and penetrated me and started to pump, I groaned in the knowledge of who owned me now.