The Golden Question

This time I fucked him just as we were, in close embrace, me plastered to his back. Just my hips moving, giving him a slow and deep fuck—until he begged me for more, and then I vigorously finished him again.

"The keys are on that dresser over there," he said when I finally rose off him and padded toward the bathroom to clean up. He could resist saying in my wake, "I would appreciate if, just once, you came just to make love to me."

I gave a chuckle. He was still so old school that no matter how debauching the fuck was he referred to it as "making love."

After slipping the loafers on my feet and stuffing the socks in my pocket, I opened the trunk of the BMW and took three bottles of scotch out, looking carefully as the subtle markings on the labels to keep them straight. All of them were Johnny Walker Red. We had tried to impress our assets one Christmas by moving up to black label for their presents and had received a resounding—and not particularly polite, considering they were supposed to be gifts, not straight-out bribery—confirmation that they all wanted the red label. I don't know how they would have reacted to the blue label.

I put two of the bottles, after carefully examining them, in the trunk of the Cadillac and the other one on the floor of the backseat. I waved at Onur as I left and watched him, after he had come over to the Cadillac and lovingly stroking the trunk and giving me the "there had better not be a single scratch when it returns" look, stroll down to the beach. He was quite a sight, with his caftan and the tail of the turban floating in the breeze. He settled down on the stick chair, dug off kilter in the sand, and returned to the canvas he was painting of the absent Sami in naked repose while he was facing the surf of the Mediterranean.

That night I visited Angie on the Rocks, which was just west along the beach from the safe house in Lapithos. As I was leaving, I told Musa, "Not this Tuesday. Fail to show up to deliver the liquor in the pasture this Tuesday. I've arranged it with Angie. The story is that Angie sent you to Kyrenia for a new shipment of liquor, but it didn't arrive. So you missed the connection and didn't have liquor to give anyway."

* * * *

Early Tuesday afternoon I parked off the road in a field far below St. Hilarion Castle and the Turkish base below it. I trained my binoculars on the entrance of the military camp until I saw three figures emerge and tramp down the hill, in my direction. When they left the road, moving into the pasture where Musa said he met them, I drove up above that point and, before reaching the entrance to the military base, turned the Cadillac around, parked off on the side of the mountain road, and lifted the binoculars again.

The three soldiers, all beefy and looking like I'd get some enjoyment out of this caper, were gathered around a man in a blue uniform. Angie's Turkish Cypriot policeman husband. The soldiers clearly were not pleased with what he was telling them. I thought it fortuitous, though, that Angie's husband was a policeman. I couldn't think of anyone else who could safely deliver the news to three Turkish soldiers—the Turkish army was known for its brutality—in a remote pasture and walk away without a scratch. Wearing his uniform was a nice touch, but it had been necessary. I'm glad he thought of that. I hadn't.

I waited for the three to get back on the road and to start marching, clearly angry and afraid of what their colonel would say and do, up toward the base. I revved up the Caddie and bore down on them at full speed, making them jump off the road and into the brush as I swept past them. I stopped the car with a screech and waited from them to pick themselves up and run for the car.

The one that got there first grabbed me by the throat—I was only wearing gym shorts and sandals, so there was no grabbing me by my shirt—and hauled a fist back, preparing to pop me one.

This was one of the trickiest parts of the operation, but it went smoothly enough. I think the vintage red Caddie helped.

I lashed my hand out and grabbed his battering arm at the wrist, calling out, "No, please, I'm sorry. I didn't see you." Happily the other two soldiers were content with letting the first arrival deal with me. They were busy walking around, admiring, and touching the gleaming red car.

"Please. I'll make it up to you. There's liquor in the backseat. And maybe you see something else—someone else—you might like. I've got to say that you three are the hunkiest men I've seen today—and I've had an itch for hours." I spoke Turkish. That both set him back a bit and sped up the negotiations. I gave him "that" look. And I could see the wheels spinning in his little mind.

Then the clincher. I blurted out, "God, are you that big all over?"

The only "little" thing about any of these men would be their minds. They all were bruisers, young, handsome, every bit the Turkish hunk. Two of them had taken off their tunics for the trudge under the sun and were magnificently built. One was extremely hirsute. They had made me hard just from seeing them run for the car, and I shifted my gaze down to my lap so that the Turk at my side could see that I was hard.

They'd been expecting a lay in the pasture and hadn't gotten it. I figured they'd be up for a substitute. They obviously were.

"Look at me," I said, guiding his eyes with mine to my crotch. "See what you do to me? Can you soldiers help me with that?"

The Turk at the window told the others, obviously the fact that I spoke Turkish not fully registering with him, that the hunk behind the wheel wanted to be fucked.

"Yes, that would be nice," I added, which brought his head snapping back to me. "You guys want to take a ride in my car? Any of you want to ride me? Any two of you want to ride me?"

They were being a little thickheaded, I thought, but the mention of a ride in the Caddie brought the other two around to the driver's side, and the car door opened.

"Any of you drive American cars, or should I take you for a drive?"

Another tricky part, and this one didn't start out very well.

"I drive American car," one of the men, the hairy one, said with a proud ring to his voice. "My family in Turkey has Chevy older than this and I fix cars before army."

I had hoped none drove and that I could stay behind the wheel. I spent no more time behind the wheel while the soldiers were with me, though. The two other men, identified as Ahmet and Emin, manhandled me out of the driver's seat and into the back, as Kerem slipped in behind the wheel and started driving back down the mountain. The saving grace was the Kerem hadn't lied. He knew American cars and he was a good, if fast, driver.

Ahmet found the bottle of Johnny Walker Red in the backseat and opened that, took a swig, and started passing it around, while Emin got his pants off, and then my gym shorts, and grabbed and squeezed my balls and pulled me over into his lap and onto his hard cock. I burbled quite a bit as he forced himself into me—rearing back and thrusting again when the going got tough. I'm glad I lubed myself up beforehand, because none of these guys seemed to care if they split me apart or not.

After Ahmet passed the bottle to the front seat, he turned and hunched down between my thighs, which Emin had pulled wide and up, and wasted little time in getting his cock inside me on top of Emin's. In short order I was being double fucked in the backseat of the Caddie as it sped west on the northern coastal road.

So, they hadn't just been paying attention to the offer to ride in the car. They'd also caught on to my offer to take two of them at once. At least I hoped that they considered that I had offered. Musa had told me that they weren't shy about double fucking him without consulting with him first.

It was a good thing that I'd been warned by Musa that these boys played this way and that I'd had experience being doubled before. Both of the Turks were young, hard-bodied hunks, with normal-sized cocks, so I didn't mind. And I gave them a good time, so they didn't seem to mind a bit either.

Arriving back in the pasture and driving far enough off the road not to be seen, Kerem, the hairy one, got his turn at the DP. Ahmet sat at the wheel, turning it and making vroom, vroom noises, while Emin, again under me, reclined on the trunk of the Cadillac, embracing me, and inside me from underneath, while Kerem pumped me from in front. I indulged in the luxury of running my hands through his pelting and sharing kisses with him as he fucked me. He had the biggest dick of the three, and I let him know I preferred him.

I also gauged that he was the most talkative, opening up increasingly as he drank more of the scotch.

The bottle was nearly empty, and the men were noticing and mourning that as they finished fucking me on the trunk. Free from them for a moment, I opened the trunk, and making sure they couldn't see inside, hauled out one of the other bottles of Johnny Walker Red I'd stashed there—one of the bottles that I'd gotten station Logs to spike for me. The one they'd already been drinking hadn't been doctored.

Making nice, nice to Kerem and telling him I wanted him to fuck me again—in the backseat—just him, whispering to him that he was the best cocker of the three, which pumped him up and wasn't a lie, I handed off the bottle to the other two, who were happy enough to go squat nearby in the pasture and trade it back and forth. The nearly empty bottle I gave to Kerem while I was cajoling him into the backseat and praising the size of his cock, which was, indeed, praiseworthy.

While he sat in the middle of the backseat, one hand on my waist and the other one wrapped around the scotch bottle, I rode his cock, facing him, with my forearms around his neck and nuzzling his face with mine.

"God, you have one big cock. I want to see you again and have you inside me," I murmured in Turkish. "Will you be here much longer?"

"We rotate out next month, but we come down here on Tuesdays. We can do this again," he answered between grunts as I moved my channel on his cock.

"Another month? I've heard that special troops are coming in after you."

"Special troops? Where you hear that? What special troops? Just another unit of the Cyprus Special Forces Regiment. Just more like us. New recruits mostly. But a bigger unit than ours."

"A bigger unit?"

"Yes. More men. They are building more barracks now because more men come. And replacing a few that are falling down."

"Bigger men than you? Bigger cocks than yours?"

"My cock plenty big for you."

"Yes, I know. I can't imagine one any bigger," I whispered, taking his head, which also was getting bigger from my praise, in my hands, moving his lips to mine, and kissing him deeply while I revolved my channel on his cock.

He came out of the kiss sputtering. "Turkish soldiers don't kiss; we just fuck," he growled.

"But it felt good, didn't it? I felt it in your cock."

He didn't contradict me, so I honed in on the information I was trying to milk from him while I milked his cock.

"But I heard they were very special troops. Are you sure—?"

"Look. I big man in camp. I know everything. Ahmet, Emin, and me, we handle commo from the green line. We see all messages Colonel Erlugu get. We know what unit is come and why new barracks is built."

"God, yes, you're a big man. A very big man. But look. Your bottle is empty. I have another one in the trunk of the car. You want it?"

He did want it. He took several big slugs of scotch from the bottle while I resettled on his cock. He didn't bother to look over to see that Ahmet and Emin were collapsed in the pasture, dead to the world.

Not too dead, I hoped. I wanted the soldiers to keep this tryst secret. That would be hard if two of them were dead.

"Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Biggest cock I've ever had," I cried out, grabbing for his nipples nestled in his thatch of chest hair, rising and falling faster on the cock. He grabbed my waist and groaned and slammed my channel up and down on his cock. It was a race with time. I wanted him to come. He was a beautiful, young, hard-bodied man. I wanted him to come. I wanted him to make me come.

When I did, I let out a howl, and leaned into the back of the front seat. He was looking at me, eyes wide open, a big grin on his face. I moved my butt in a circle and squeezed my channel, and then he came. His head rolled back onto the top of the backseat, and he began to snore.

I took a moment to run my hands around on his hairy chest, feeling the hardness of the muscles, regretting a bit that the fucking was finished. Then, with a sigh, I pulled off him and dragged him out of the car and over to where his friends lay. Taking both of the spiked bottles of scotch, I walked deeper into the pasture and emptied the bottles. I tossed all three of them into the trunk of the Caddie and went looking for my gym shorts.

It took me a while to maneuver the convertible out of the pasture. Kerem had driven it in far enough that the ground wasn't conditioned for the weight of an old American car. But I managed.

I only stopped at Onur's long enough to do an inspection of the car for damage and only letting myself breathe when I couldn't find any. The keys were still in the ignition of the BMW. That meant Onur hadn't gone to Famagusta to find Sami. It also meant I needed to leave quietly, or I'd be stuck here with another sketch and fuck with Onur. I wouldn't have minded that—not that I hadn't gotten enough sexual exercise today already—but there was the golden question to answer. So I left as swiftly as I had arrived.

* * * *

"So, that's the answer to the golden question?"

"Yep. The Maroon Beret commando group isn't for here. It's just a normal rotation of the Cyprus Special Forces Regiment, but a larger force coming in, so they are adding barracks and replacing a few of the old ones. That's what the satellites see. The satellites can see. It takes humans to figure out the why, though."

"You know this from some officer in a bar or bedroom?"

"Better source than that. Got it from the code clerks who actually handle the communications."

"Ah, yes, that is better. All of the colonels are careful. The enlisted men boast. You found an enlisted man who boasted?"

"Three." I didn't add that they backed up their boasting with well-wielded cocks.

"It would be nice to have some sort of corroboration."

"Throw it to Ankara station to confirm," I said. "The colonel here is named Erlugu. The communications circuit is called the green line. It's a commo circuit, not the line separating the Greeks from the Turks on Cyprus. Our commo guys might see that as an explanation for some confusion in the Turkish traffic they're reading. Get Ankara station to hit the commo files of the Cyprus Special Forces Regiment headquarters in Ankara."

"That's a thought. Being first, the answer to the golden question would be our get. And it's a very nice get by you, Ron."

We were standing. He was patting me on the back. This was as good as praise got from the chief of station.

"I trust I don't want to know how you got this intell," Ted said to me.

"I trust you're right about that, Ted."

"Hope it wasn't real hard. It was really a pretty simple question."

Yeah, it involved a few things that were real hard, I thought. But what I said was, "Sometimes, Ted, the simplest of questions require the greatest amount of preparation—and require something hard."

"Ain't that the truth."

Somehow, from his lopsided smile, I think Ted got the double entendre.