The Undercover

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

Procurement

Footsteps sounded loud and hollow in the murky hallway of the deserted Locker rooms. Annoyed, Brent Farrington rubbed at his strained shoulder in the murky light as he strode to the massage room. At 25, with 3 years experience, he was in his prime as the most successful quarter back in the league. He had a 7.2 completion percentage. He was named his league' only three-time MVP, as well as being it's leading active passer with a career rating of 92.1, and holds it's second-highest winning percentage among starting quarterbacks who have begun their careers in 2000 or later. Just this yesterday he was just named Offensive Player of the Week for his performance in the last game, his second consecutive and third POW honor of the season.

He was also named People magazine's sexiest man of the year last year, and has yet to live that down among his teammates, or fiance. He had a very good life.

This injury was not jeopardizing any of that but was a major annoyance and he was looking forward to therapy and maybe a steam. It was hard to schedule the massage therapist. he had finally snagged the latest hour Eddie had free, and had to admit it was a little creepy in these dark tunnels now that everyone was gone. 

He swung the door open. Brent's trademark was his gravelly deep voice "Hey Eddie thanks for squeezing me i..."

A small, thin, swarthy man with a dark mustache turned to face him. "My name's Doc, Eddie got stuck out of town and asked me to fill in. It's nice to meet you, I'm a big fan."

"I studied with Eddie, and he called me when he couldn't make it and asked me to come by and send his apologies. He filled me in about your rotator cuff, well him and the evening news. A specialty of mine. Don't worry I'll take good care of you. Get undressed. I'll be right back in"

Another annoyance. It was weird having a stranger touch you, to begin with. And there was something ..beady.. about his eyes. Seemed a little light in the loafers as well. Hoped he wasn't a fag. He hated fags. But his shoulder hurt. He was tired from practice, fuck it. He started to get undressed.

Brent, of course is completely unaware that he is something of a cliche, but, if there is a stock image of the square jawed All-American football hero. Brent Farrington was what immediately came to mind. 6'0, pale blond hair, blue eyes, all around Midwestern no bullshit good looks. As he peals off his sweaty gear we move from Midwestern idealism to ancient Greek idealism. The scientifically toned hard body of a professional athlete, straining at it's peak of maximum performance. He is also unaware of just how stunning he is, Vast shoulders, gracefully bulging triceps, perfect mountainous pectorals shadowing over a breadbasket mid section, peppered lightly in the center with soft light hair.

As he skims off his snowy briefs, we see an impressive piece of meat rest along a meaty mid thigh.

Best of all, an ass round, hard, and high. Usually highlighted by his uniform, now revealed, better than any gay fans dreams.

He lies face down on the massage table, only a small towel covering the rock hard mounds, round and pert that rise high above the top of the muscular thighs. familiar to many a binocular wielding straight woman and gay man who attend the games.

Doc returns and begins to work on the injured shoulder. "I'm using a new oil. The smells a little strong but I've had a lot of success with it" It was a very strong smell, something between alcohol, glue, and hemp. But is created a strong and immediately smoothing sensations as skilled, pointedly strong fingers work to separate the beautiful but knot ed muscles that created an intricate pattern on the V shaped back. This guy was amazing, but the smell was really starting to make him a little dizzy..even so it felt soo good, he felt as if he were melting into, no..through the table, and then floating up again upward in a circular motion. He begins to hear a buzzing in his ears and with each breath a ticklish wave rolls into his solar plexus.. Something is not right, but then he feels so relaxed. Sailing with each breath inhaling the pungent oil upside down toward the ceiling and back around as the long thin hands work their way down from the vast lateral, reaching under to cup the rounded pectorals, then down again to the tapering small of the back, he notices that the touch now seems less therapeutic, more of a grope really. A coolish breeze floats over his now exposed bubble butt as the towel is gingerly removed. The softly stroking hands lift the lean hips to slide a bolster under his hardening cock. Something was wrong! He sat up abruptly knocked away the molesting paws and screamed "GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!!!Thats what he said and did in some dim corner of his mind floating perhaps near the moldy ceiling, what his body said and did stretched out under the hands of his abductor was to press his cock against the bolster and say "Nnnauuunngggh" The persisting hands turned on by this moan boldly squeezed the firm mounds and the thumbs moved inward to invade the defenseless hole.

From far away in the room he heard two more voices

"Careful Doc, you know how the boss doesn't like us fucking the merchandise."

"and the client has made it very clear that he wants to be the first in there. He's paid enough for that privilege"

"Can you imagine having enough money to buy this prime piece of ass?"

"And the do anything you want to this fuckin hot stud anytime day or night?

A hand reached under in between his now rigid cock and the bolster, raising that delicious ass even higher another low protesting moan excites the kidnappers ears.

"We get to play in the stables pretty regularly. Besides that therapist was pretty hot too. He's tied up in the trunk right now. A little bonus souvenir to take home. Probably fetch a nice price at auction"

"Ah come on were never gonna get a chance like this. Look at this it's fuckin Brent Farrington's prime ass on a platter right in front of us. I say we plow his stud ass lights out."

"Tell you what doc. You made the catch, why don't you just clean him out a little instead. You know the Saudi royalty likes thier slaves delivered clean. No one has to know. Then we crate him up for the plane. I've got a little something here that'll make this even more fun for our helpless hunky friend"

Brent's mind still spinning around the room tries to focus enough to make sense of it, but it's too busy feeling the lewd hands caressing every part of his body. The buzzing in his ears grows louder as he tries to come down from his flight around the room, but feels a small glass container shoved up his nose, and his hands tied painfully behind his back. An u-necessary, but appealing precaution. 

The he feels someone blowing into his open presented ass hole.."an entrance not an exit" he remembers joking with his friends. His heart pounds in his ears. All on their own his hard glutes buck upward towards the appreciative kidnapers. Something wet and slimy invades his helpless chute and begins to squirm around inside. There seems to be a mustache and stubbly chin pressed into the cleft between his obscenely parted asscheecks. "GET OFF ME YOU FUCKIN PERVERT FAGS" he tries to say somewhere but only manages "Oommphh un unghhhhh mmmph" as something large and stiff is forced in between his parted lips. The bolster and jacking hand are replaced by a greedy mouth underneath.

Brent Farrington MVP of his football league and national hearthrob, drugged , tied up with a rapist's dick in his mouth, his own sizeable cock swallowed by some sick pervert,and a long tongue squirming around his prostate. His swirling drugged mind senses a burning ache growing from the base of his cock, swelling up through his washboard abs , his inner thighs, as the probing tongue flicker s deep within his raised ass, until he growls and spumes long puddling ropes of cum into the greedily sucking throat below him.

Darkness envelopes him from the edges of his mind as he sinks from consciousness into sexual slavery

Assignment

Rapidfire, surgically precise blows rained down upon the battered punching bag, the sound of the repetitive pounding echoed through the otherwise empty gym. Special agent Nick DiCipriani, grunting and focused, his square stubble covered jaw set in concentration, was perfecting his already deadly kick-boxing skill, or maybe just trying to release the crushing anger that boiled in his mind.

Coated in a thick layer of dripping sweat, which plastered his ribbed wife beater to the shelf of huge round pectorals shading the abruptly tapered six pack, and cascading in a solid line over the grey shorts covering his pert round ass, DiCipriani's 5'11 175 pound 6.1% boy fat frame worked like a machine to pummel the bag. Rivulets of moisture glued his raven black hair onto his brow. It is easy to see why he has never had a problem landing any woman he chose to glance at. Keeping them, was the one challenge in his life that he had never mastered.

Except for Emma. That had lasted for almost two years.

Privileged Emma, smart Emma, classy Emma, the kind of woman he could only dream about when he was a kid growing up in Bensonhurst. Blonde, sophisticated and a long way from the high haired gum chewing Angela s he had to choose from. He'd worked hard to become more than another Guido from the hood. After the marines, he'd worked hard to a position of respect within the FBI, too busy to give the required attention to all the women who had dropped him one after another. Except Emma, for all that refinement, she was a little cougar in bed, and they had something, something good. Now Emma too had walked out leaving behind all the same complaints. "The job took too much of his time"-kick-"She came second to the job"-Jab- "the job was too dangerous"-kick-"She couldn't compete with the job"- jab kick jab thejobthejobthejob!!!! His frenzied beating was interrupted by the sound of a newspaper hitting the floor. 

"I could have had the drop on you. That's not like you" The chief reached down to retrieve the paper. "Tell me you're not still moping over that Radcliffe bitch."

DiCipriani's dark brows furrowed over his smoldering brown eyes, an Elvis lip curled upward into a weary 'don't fuck with me' frown. " I saw you. I just figured, the sight of you walking into a gym, I musta been hallucinating. What can I do for you chief?"

The chief, Hal Danvers, a combed over, paunchy, 52 year old with a count down on retirement helpfully presented the front page to the operative. DiCipriani snorted and turned back to the bag. Farrington's disappearance, while sad had cost him two grand collected by a greedy bookie after Sunday's game, probably another victim of cocaine addiction. "I've seen it"

The chief produces a thick manila file folder. DiCipriani respected, even liked Danvers, but dreaded winding up like him, a whole life sacrificed to the job and nothing else to show for it "Do you remember those marines who vanished from that Big Easy whorehouse 4 years ago?"

The rhythmic punching slows but does not stop "Go on"

"The Russian gymnast at the London exposition in 01?" reading from the folder "The Dutch speed skater 01, those two guys from the Italian soccer team the same year?..This file is filled with these disappearances, over the last 15 years same MO, never solved. Thousands in here"

"People disappear every day"

"These cases are all linked by similar circumstances...and similar subjects. All of the missing persons in here are young men between the ages of 18 and 29 years of age. They were all in peak physical condition. Every single one was considered very good looking."

He looked at DiCipriani's profile riveted toward the swinging bag. Instead of detracting from his handsome face, the nose was unusually large, flat, and hooked somehow only added to the dark masculine appeal. The agent said nothing.

Danvers scanned the room to make sure they were not alone. "There is a very wealthy recluse who keeps a heavily guarded private island off of the Chilean coast, known only as Mr. Sin. Nick, he's collecting these guys and selling them off to wealthy perverts. It's a sex slave ring."

The punching had stopped. Nick was staring, slack jawed. "You telling me that Brent Farrington is some rich fag's bitch!!?

"Nick, this goes up high and it's global. He's got heads of state on his client list, even some of our own elected officials. We can't just blast in there and nab him. We need the whole ring. We need someone on the inside..undercover"

"I've created an identity for you, as a collector, a sizeable bank account and transportation"

DiCipriani was trying to hold back the bile rising in his throat.

"Nick, this can't even be discussed within the agency, this ring is insidious..everywhere. We can't trust anyone. I've told people you will be out on leave indefinitely. I will be your only contact. I'm not gonna lie to you. This is an extremely dangerous assignment. Your my best man, and the only one I can trust. Can I rely on you?"

The Elvis lip sneered upward, the stormy brown eyes locked his. "I'm in"

The Catch Of The Day

It still went it his head, the attention from fans and media. Especially the two Sheila s with the big tits who kept him talking as the sun sank lower over the Sydney Cricket Grounds, and the crowds had wandered out through Rupert Murdoch's Disneyland shopping area on their way to the parking garage. Leaving nothing more than vague promises to meet later, the two lovelies had disappeared leaving him alone on the now quiet field. His mates were already at the Royal working on their first beer, and first pick at the Sydney girls. He was eager to join them. He had only one more night in Sydney before heading home to his brand new killer apartment in St. Kilda. 

The press described Jarrod Hunt as a strongly built youngster, but at 21 he would rather be described as a man. He couldn't argue however with the strongly built. At 185 cm, and 96kg bursting out of his brief uniform, he was, to say mildly and intimidating figure on the field and off. The 21 year old 2020 third "Best and Fairest" of the Victorian Football League impatiently trotted back to the locker room anxious to catch up to his friends brushing passed a slow moving janitor, creepy looking fella, on his way in, and stopped to appraise himself in the mirror on the way to the shower. 

The question was should he take time to shave? Deciding against it, many women seemed to enjoy the sandpaper feeling as he kissed their long white necks, he appraised wide stubble covered jaw, running a hand over his spiked light brown hair. No question the uniform was flattering the form fitted sleeveless jersey coated his rounded pecs and tapering six pack like a black and white striped liquid. The brief spandex shorts strained to cover his high, round, dimpled ass cheeks and embarrassingly pronounced dick. The thick thighs seemed to burst out of the abbreviated shots.."Crikey! How the fuck did I manage that?" He had just noticed a bleeding gash on the inside of the upper right thigh. Footie is a rough game, he rarely walked off the field with some sort of bruise, but usually he knew how he had acquired them. 

"Might be an idea to have that looked at" A reedy voice came from behind him. The janitor was a small dark man, unusually thin with sunken eyes and a very bushy mustache "I had a cut like that on my arm last month, right near got infected. My doctor gave me some cream for it. I still have some left" He reached into a locker and pulled out a small jar, and tossed it to the midfielder. He showed him a a long barely visible scar on his arm. "See? Like new. You can keep it. She'll be right" 

"Cheers, mate" Jarrod innocently thanks the man as he cautiously sniffed at the white cream. The heavy menthol scent was as Dis-orienting as shot of strong whiskey. What the hell? Seemed alright. He decided to give it a go. He sat down on the bench, dipped his finger cautiously in the viscous goo and touched it to the cut. The sting nearly sent him to the ceiling. 

"I figured a big guy like you could handle a little sting. After the first shock, it goes numb and feels better. You need to apply a little more...here.. I'll show you. The strong smell of the cream already creating a confusing buzzing sound in his ears, a normally shy Jarrod nodded, and the mysterious janitor knelt between the monumental open thighs, and begin to spread the cream into the now pleasantly healing wound uncomfortably close to the bottom of the snug shorts. The hand began to work it's way up creepy under the hem. Jarrod lifted a hand to his head. "Sorry , I'm feelin a bit dizzy, think I need a showe..r. Hey! wha..?" 

"Shhhhh shhh. That's to be expected now. You just lay back on the bench..that's right...good boy. That's just how we make you nice and cooperative for your new owner." 

A powerful arm fell uselessly to the floor. Doc smiled 

"Whaa..? AHH..mmmunn" The creeping hand had reached the thick cock with the stinging cream. As he closed around it he noticed it was already rigid and dripping. The young one's were always so easily aroused, especially when they were primed for a night out with the ladies. 

"How does that feel?" was the taunting question. "You know, there is a special place in heaven for the fag who designed these uniforms. You have no idea just how succulent you look in these shorts. It's almost a shame to strip you. I'm surprised we haven't had more requests for Footie players. I figure since we're down here we might pick up a few of your teammates for the auction pool. Maybe we'll just see how those tits look" He pushed the clinging striped material up above the hard rounded pecs, grabbing them roughly. Tugging at the light layer of hair that accented the deep cleft and lower curve. 

"mmmmm...These will be popular in your new home. I am told you will be the centerpiece of a Hong Kong brothel" He said as he lowered to suckle on the erect brown nubs. This guy was particularly delicious. 

Jarrod felt his molester slither up to lie flat on top his immobile body. In between, he felt a terrifyingly long dick harden against his rocked hard torso. The thick mustache tickles around his mouth as a revolting tongue forced it's way past his young lips. He felt a hand smooth through his hair. 

"Now where are my colleagues who will help me package you up? You see Mr. Hunt, I am not permitted to be alone with the victims for too long. My employers have learned that I do not posses the will power not to sample the merchandise. If they don't show soon, I'm just going to have to rape you right here and now" The figidty hand slid down cupping a firm round glute and under the streched matrial of the shorts, passed the strap of the sweat soaked jock to cram covered finger into the unexplored hole. A shocking sting engulfed the moist interior flesh. 

"AAAAhhggggghh!!pleeeeeez" 

"That's right..moan for me, a young man's moan makes me so hard.....They really should have been on time" Showing surpising strength with the dead weight of the drugged athlete, he flipped his helpless prey face down and draped the delicious hunk over the bench. 

He'd seen cathedrals, bridges, and towers but is there finer architecture than this? Ever since his childhood in Vienna staring slack jawed at the nude fishing youth bent over the Donner Brunnen in the Neuer Markt he longed for just these round full globes bent upward yieling and unwilling before him. He slapped the upturned mound and was pleased to find it hard and resisting as steel. He twisted the constricting fabric of the footie shorts up and around revealing the open cleft which hid the treasure of the small round hole. Reaching under he released the stud's rigid cock from the prison of the jockstrap and twisted it painfully backward to display of ass and cock to his hungry tongue. 

A softly moaning Jarrod felt a tongue flicker along his piss slit, through the buzzing fog, up the shaft, and dive into his twitching hole, and then wafter what seemed ages of the slimy wet invasion withdraw. He felt a hand grasp his hair and pull his head backward. What followed was the most intense blinding pain he would ever know, as without warning Doc's impatient cock ripped past his unexpecting sphincter and began to ramrod against his prostate while mantaining stranglehold on his dick. 

Doc worried that the scream might bring any remaining staff to his victim's aid,but it did not last long as the young athlete quickly lost conciousness after the first brutal thrust. He looked down at the young athelete, limbs dangling with every thrust, the intricate play of muscles in the limp back. This guy could kill him one handed, and he was raping the stud. There was no way to describe the brutal power he felt looking at a virle young hunk as his dick raped his helpless asshole. 

He dropped the youth's head, and without losing rythym flipped a leg back up over his shoulder so that he could gaze into the beautiful insensate face, and now both legs up over his shoudlers the muscle stud's arms and head hanging loosley over the side of the bench, the sexy footie uniform twisted into no more than lewd jewlery decorating the nude form lost within his obscene embrace. He felt the fires join into his aching loins and knew he was close. Savagley he yanked his hunky straight toy up so that the head rested on the bench and leaned in close to force his tongue as far as possible between the parted lips and down into the throat. "I'm raping you, stud" he tought and with that exploded into the deflowered bowels of the VFL's third best and fairest. The kiss, however, continued. 

"Goddammit Doc!!!" HIs tardy colleagues stood in the doorway/ "Can't we leave you alone of five minutes?.. The boss is going to have our asses for this" 

"Maybe he doesn't have to know" 

"Jesus Doc, Look at him. I hope you haven't done any internal damage." 

"Where were you anyway?" 

Norbert smiled sheepishly, and stood aside. Doc saw another delicious ass draped invitingly over the Andre's shoulder, also decorated by those enticing footie shorts. 

"We picked up a few of his teammates over at the Royal, for the auction pool. We reckon they'll be big sellers. What'll we do about Hunt?" 

"We'll he's no virgin now. How about you each take a turn, and we clean him up good before we crate him" 

"Thought you'd never ask" Norbert advanced on the unconcious stud. 

Doc smiled. he loved his job.

To be continued....