Brussels Seduction

"Is this what I'm along for? As part of the payoff for whatever he's told you."

"He's giving me very useful and important information, Allen. It is very valuable intelligence for the country. Surely you knew what you were being invited on this cruise for. Now, stand and strip off those shorts so that he can see what he's being offered. And smile nicely for the man. Please don't embarrass us all and queer the future usefulness of Mr. Al-Fatib by making a fuss. You are to show him a good time."

"Used like a slab of meat off a rack?"

"For the moment, here and now, yes. I know exactly what you're capable of."

I stuck my chin out at him, ready to retort that those photos with the satyrs were pretty basic, when he took the wind out of my sails and forced me to withdraw into myself.

"There are cameras in your apartment too," he said. "I've seen what you can and will do for the chauffeur."

Al-Fatib, if that was what his name really was, which I highly doubted, fucked me in the main sleeping cabin of the yacht. One of his bodyguards stood inside the cabin door, looking stalwartly away from the action on the bed, there, no doubt, only to assure that I wasn't going to assassinate his precious boss. I was completely naked, though, so if I was going to assassinate him, it would have to be with my bare hands.

I was somewhat surprised that other than the robe—which I think is called a dishdasha—the only thing the Arab was wearing were those rings and a gold chain around his neck with a large half-moon medallion. He was in good shape, the best shape that money could buy a fifty-year-old man; his cock was long, if thin, and his balls hung low.

He wanted those balls sucked as his cock lengthened. I was on my back, my feet on the deck at the foot of the bed and the Arab's body suspended over me, his knees on the bed, hugging my thighs, and his fists buried in the mattress above my head as I sucked his balls and squeezed his cock between both of my hands. When he was ready, he moved his feet down to the floor, grabbed my legs beneath the knees, and raised my legs over my head, nearly flat on the mattress above my head, which rolled my pelvis up to where my asshole was pointed to the ceiling. He continued gripping my legs, holding them flat against my shoulders, as he attacked my asshole and cock and balls with his mouth.

I writhed under him, using every form of French I could think of to tell him that I wanted him inside me. I convinced myself that I was playing the role that Hamilton wanted me to, but now that I was here, in this position, I wanted to be fucked. At length, after the bodyguard helpfully supplied him with a condom, he complied, taking me in long, deep, expert, businesslike strokes. I obviously was just part of the deal for him.

He fucked me all the way back to the dock, while his bodyguard stood, there, stony faced, keeping the level of his stare at the top of the headboard.

I was still panting and moaning when Hamilton came back into the cabin, all smiles, telling me how pleased the Arab had been with me and how successful our little operation had been.

"Our" little operation, I thought. Gee thanks for giving me some of the credit.

I started to struggle to get up off the berth, but Hamilton motioned that I should stay put. And then I saw, through the cabin doorway beyond him, that the yacht's crew was lining up.

"The photos I have of you," he said. "They indicate that you have special desires. I wanted you especially for this operation, because I've borrowed the yacht and made promises to the crew. I think you will enjoy them; I know they will enjoy you. And I have to know how far you will go."

I lay back on the bed with a moan—and spread my legs. I couldn't deny what I liked, and I'd already gotten a good look at the crew members—all five of them hunks, I thought, although I was to find that there were six of them.

They were all fit and randy and, as I was later to discover on my visits to Oostende, were all expert cocksmen as they stood in line to take me in succession.

Eventually, Hamilton found out how far I would go and what Dieter had offered me was fulfilled, as one of the crewmen laid on his back and pulled me down on his cock and another one came between my legs and worked his cock in above that of the other man. It was complete. Hamilton could offer me up for double penetration if need be.

As Hamilton and I were leaving the yacht, he murmured to me, "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

I didn't answer him then, but when he went on to say, "I will release you from any obligation for future operations of this nature, if you wish. Or do you wish to continue?" I hesitated only for a moment before answering, "Yes, I wish to continue."

I had made and voiced my acceptance and only had a moment of second thoughts and flash of anger when we reached the parking lot and I saw that the embassy car that had come to pick Hamilton was chauffeured by my Belgian lover, Dieter Jouret, who had seduced me and taken me to the Satyr's Grove club where the incriminating photos had been taken. Dieter was Hamilton's chauffer.

Dieter had the decency to shrug and give me an embarrassed look when I saw him standing by the embassy sedan. He wasn't so embarrassed that he failed to show up at my apartment door that night—and I wasn't so mad or embarrassed that I didn't let him into my apartment and my bed or to whisper the question in his ear in the night on whether he knew of any hunk who might join us.