All of his friends told Peter Townsend that he was crazy to buy the apartment in Cartagena, Colombia, in the luxury medium-rise building overlooking the ancient harbor, now yacht basin, as his retreat. But it was so convenient for him to sail his boat right up to the building's dock and whisk himself up to his retreat with its heavy security, and Cartagena catered to some of the special interests he didn't want to own up to back in Chicago. When they said, 'But Colombia, with all the drug warfare and the kidnappings of executives?' he'd just laugh and think to himself, 'Hiding in plain sight.'

He certainly didn't want to tell them that he made far more money from the drug running between Cartagena and Naples, Florida, on his yacht each year than his position as CEO of the major pharmaceuticals manufacturing corporation had made him in the last twenty years. What was a little balancing of Colombian drug cartels in the face of an early retirement without a financial care in the world - and with some added benefits in the meantime?

The sun was high over the harbor, beating down on the bulletproof glass covering his terrace as he swam lap after lap in the pool that took up most of the terrace he'd had covered and that jutted out toward the old castle walls guarding - not always successfully - the approach into the harbor for centuries. He was reviewing the distribution plans for this week's take across the States via his network of Florida bush pilots. He had to review the particulars every day; he had to keep it all in his memory; nothing was consigned to paper or computer file. He was careful and discrete in all of the activities he wanted to hide from his other world back in Chicago.

After he finished his laps and rested in the lounge on the small square of terrazzo between the edge of the pool and the sliding glass doors into his living room, he planned to go to the closet in his guest room and cut the stash he'd just acquired into marketing share portions and pack it into sample drug kits he carried around with him on corporation business. Hiding in plain sight was a favorite ploy of his. No one had ever supposed that selected packets of dietary fiber powder his company was peddling to the world actually held heroin.

Laps and delivery network review finished, Townsend rose out of the pool and padded over to the lounge. He was in great shape for his forty-five years. His muscles were toned, his face was as square-jawed and handsome as his plastic surgeon could sculpt, and he'd managed to keep his own hair, although he'd stopped dying the hair at his temples when he was told that gray there looked distinguished on him. He was barrel chested and thickish in the waist, but he was just a solidly built man, with excellent musculature, a Neptune or Zeus rather than an Apollo or David.

Townsend lay back in the lounge and closed his eyes briefly. But after a few moments, he sighed and reached for the sex magazine on the table next to the lounger. He was keyed up and wanted to let off a little steam. He flipped the magazine over and started to peruse the photos. As he turned the pages, his hand slowly glided down his torso and under the hem of his Speedo. As he became more engrossed in the photographs, he pushed the Speedo down and off his legs and started up a slow but steady rhythm of stroking his engorged cock.

He was lost, safe in his world of security, in his fifth-floor apartment, with the bars over the windows, solid bulletproof canopy covering the terrace, the latest in security alarm systems, and his small armory of personal protection assault rifles, most of them back in the closet of the guest bedroom with the drug stash.

He'd have every reason to feel very safe if the security alarm system was actually armed that afternoon and if all of the double locks on the service door into the laundry room from the service elevator shaft had been bolted - if. But they weren't, just as the times that lax security at the Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas at the harbor entrance had nullified the protection of Cartagena at the wrong time.

It took the two men practically no time to pick the locks of the service door at all and to steal silently into the apartment's laundry room on moccasined feet. They were dressed all in black, from nylon trousers, to Ts, to the silk hoods they pulled down over their heads before they carefully moved across the kitchen and dining room and into the living room, and positioned themselves behind the draperies on either side of the open sliding glass door out onto the terrace.

When they spied Townsend masturbating on the lounge by the pool, they smiled at each other and began to strip down to only the hoods covering their heads and knives in sheaths strapped to their thighs. The taller of the two, the dark Colombian, was also the younger of the two, strongly built, an obvious devotee of the gym. The cock he began to stroke while watching Townsend was long and thin. The shorter one, the darker Colombian, was of stouter, more solid build, probably the more heavily muscled of the two. His cock was barely noticeable when he first freed it, but it was impressively thick and was lengthening out nicely as he enjoyed the view of Townsend masturbating in supposed solitary splendor.

At a signal from the darker Colombian, the two moved silently out on the terrace, keeping to the late afternoon shadows for as long as possible.

Almost before Townsend knew they were there, the taller, younger one was straddling his chest and pushing his arms above his head. Townsend began to struggle, but then he felt the cold steel at the base of his ball sac. He saw that someone else was down there, but he couldn't make him out around the looming torso of the dark man straddling his chest. In any event, Townsend's immediate attention was focused on that long thin cock slapping him in the face.

'Suck his cock and do it nicely or you lose your balls,' a gruff voice rose from behind the young man hovering over his chest. 'You can feel the knife, can't you?'

Townsend certainly could feel what thus far was the flat side of a hunting knife up under his balls. He also felt a large hand gripping his upper thigh.

The head of the younger man's cock was pressing at his lips, and, with the knife at his balls, there was little else to do but open his mouth to several minutes of sucking and gagging on a cock exploring his inner cheeks and the back of his throat.

He felt the knife being withdrawn, and he could see out of the corner of his eye a beefy arm swing over to the table. His bottle of lotion was taken up.

He felt cold cream being roughly fingered into his ass entrance, and Townsend began to squirm. But he stopped again as he felt the steel move up under his balls. Thick, moistened fingers were probing his ass, loosening him and widening him, searching deep inside him and pumping him slowly. He groaned and moaned in arousal despite his predicament.

The dark one pulled his dick out of Townsend's mouth and turned to say something to the darker one, who went back into the living room. He came back with a handful of condom packets. Still standing over Townsend's chest, the dark one made Townsend open a packet and roll the condom on his dick, while the darker one apparently was crowning himself. Townsend certainly couldn't feel a knife at his balls in that moment.

With a surge of strength that took the two by surprise, Townsend pushed up, rolled off the lounge, and lurched through the open glass doors into the living room.

Townsend stumbled toward the back of the apartment, toward the guestroom. The two caught up with him there. Leaning in the guestroom doorway, his back to the frame, the tall, dark one wrapped his arms around Townsend's belly and pulled the older man to his chest. The stouter, darker one faced Townsend and pulled his legs off the floor with strong hands under his hips.

Townsend moaned and threw his head back against the shoulder of the younger Colombian, as the dark one lifted his hips and forced his hole down on the younger one's upward-curved, engorged cock. Townsend writhed and struggled as he was being set down on the long, throbbing cock, but his efforts only served to ensure he was skewered to the deep.

He really cried out and began to grunt and groan as the darker one spread his legs with his own beefy thighs and crouched under his pelvis and started to enter his hole with a thick cock running up alongside the younger Colombian's thinner cock. The darker Colombian kept a firm grip on Townsend's thighs as the two double fucked the American executive, while the younger Colombian reached down between Townsend's and the other Colombian's bellies and fisted Townsend's cock and began stroking it in rhythm with the counter pistoning of the two cocks inside Townsend.

All three, otherwise silent with intense strain, were huffing and puffing and moaning and groaning at the exertion of the taking. Townsend came first, and the two Colombians came a short time later.

The American executive collapsed in a fully taken heap between the two hooded men as they pulled out of him and released their hold on him.

After a brief pause of regaining their breath, the two took him up again as if by prearranged agreement of a plan, the stouter man carrying his legs and leading and the younger man holding him by the armpits. The two hooded Colombians carried Townsend through the living room and into a narrow, terrazzo-floored room forming an L on the terrace with the living room. This room, probably originally part of the terrace, had a full glass wall looking out on the terrace and the side of the swimming pool and was furnished with expensive workout equipment, a tribute to Townsend's good shape.

Moving Townsend over to a massage table, they pushed him down on the edge of the table's end, his feet on the floor and his chest on the surface of the table. The younger of the two held a totally exhausted and sore Townsend down on the table with one fist in the small of his back and the other hand gripping the back of his neck, while the darker Colombian roamed around the room and found lengths of nylon roping.

Minutes later, Townsend's legs were spread and tied to legs of the table at his ankles and hips, and his wrists were tied to where the middle legs of the massage table frame met the top of the table.

Leaving Townsend there to moan and contemplate his possible fate, the two Colombians retreated to the kitchen and raided the refrigerator for beer and whatever they could find to eat to replenish the rough work they'd done - and to prepare for the rough work still ahead of them.

After they'd eaten and taken a piss and drank off another beer, they reentered the exercise room. They stood in full view of Townsend, and he trembled as they both rolled on condoms once more.

The younger one with the long, thin cock fucked him first. He just walked up behind Townsend and between his legs and thrust his cock deep inside Townsend's now-gaping hole and stroked hard and deep and fast. He reached up and buried a fist in Townsend's hair and arched the American's back toward him as far as the stretched arms and tied wrist would permit. He used his other hand to slap Townsend on the butt cheek and flank while he fucked him in a virile, relentless, long- fast-stroked taking.

Townsend cried out at the taking and the young Colombian seemed to enjoy that and responded to every moan with a harder thrust that produced a louder groan.

When the younger Colombian finished with Townsend, he slapped him hard on the rump and untied the American's bonds.

Townsend started to straighten up, but there was no time. The two Colombians were forcing him up on the massage table on his knees and his chest and cheek were being forced down on the surface of the table. The stouter, darker Colombian was hopping up on the table, crouching over Townsend, his thighs encasing the American's hips, and he was working his thick cock inside Townsend and fucking him doggy style. The Colombian had his arms encircling Townsend's chest, covering him close, and he was gnawing on Townsend's ear as he fucked him.

This one was a whole new trial for Townsend. The second Colombian's dick was stubbier, but it was very, very thick, and he had a rotating motion he set it too that made Townsend feel all the more stuffed. After several minutes in this position, the Colombian went down on his knees behind Townsend and pulled the American up and back onto his chest and lap. He was able to gain greater depth this way.

Townsend was utterly exhausted, wondering what came next. As he felt the darker Colombian reaching his climax, Townsend looked over and saw the younger one pulled on another condom. Townsend shuddered in recognition of what came next.

In short order Townsend was turned on his back on the massage table, his legs spread up and out, and the younger Colombian stroking hard and deep inside him again for the last fucking.

After younger, fast-rising Colombian was done, Townsend was dragged between the two still-hooded men down the hallway and toward the back of the apartment. Inside the guestroom door, they pushed him to the floor and stood over him, fingering the handles of the knives strapped to their thighs and looking intently at him, ready for what came next.

Townsend looked up at them and spoke, in a hoarse whisper for the first time since the two had invaded his apartment.

'Next Tuesday, same time? Three?'

'Could we make it five?' the stouter of the two Colombians asked. 'I'm getting my truck detailed that day.'

'Sure, five is fine,' Townsend said in a hoarse whisper. 'You'll find envelopes with your fee in it on the credenza in the front foyer. Please leave by the service entrance.'



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