Bait and Switch

The two men, one older, in his fifties, and one younger, in his mid-twenties, but both fit, handsome men, were playing billiards in the early, quiet hours of the morning in the dimly lit billiards room of the large, colonial manor CIA safehouse in Port Deposit, Maryland. The early-American plantation estate perched high on a bluff overlooking the Susquehanna River, where Interstate-95 crossed it at the Tidings Bridge. The house itself was viewable from the northbound section of the bridge. Few could imagine that, exposed to the major East Coast north-south international highway like this, that the mansion was a CIA safehouse.

Both men had claimed they couldn't sleep after the day's intelligence agencies conference in the safehouse and both had come down from their rooms, still in their sleeping attire, to mess around until drowsiness sent them back upstairs to their solitary beds. The older man, Sam, from the CIA, wore a silk robe and briefs, and the younger man, Cory, a contract technician for the conference, just had on silk sleeping shorts.

Sam was the taller, bulkier, albeit trim and hard-bodied, of the two and in obvious command. His body was battle tested, more than one pocked bullet wound showing on his muscular torso. Cory, a smaller, slimmer ginger-haired young man, was male-model beautiful, his cut body smooth and pristine.

The two danced around the table, silently, in slow, fluid motion, taking their shots at their turn, Sam obviously more experienced at this. Pausing occasionally to sip from cut crystal glasses of Scotch and murmur something to each other, Sam would lean in and touch Cory on the hip or on a nipple, taking the young man's lips with his briefly before pointing his pool cue at the table again. It was clear that they were intimates. Sam also had a cigar going that was sending curls of smoke up from the billiards table. They played like they had all the time in the world for the game--and that the game was just preliminary to another, more intimate, game. They were there to engage in more than pool. It was quite possible that, when they went upstairs, it wouldn't be because they were drowsy and it wouldn't be to solitary beds.

The men were here for the preliminary meeting with the bid winner for a hush-hush intelligence equipment project that all of the U.S. intelligence agencies had a hand in--the CIA; DIA, the Defense Intelligence Agency; NSA, the National Security Agency; the FBI, the Federal Bureau of Investigation; the various armed service agency intelligence branches; and even Homeland Security. General Henry Holdings, from the DIA, was chairing the conference. Alexsei--Alec--Chernoff of the Chernoff Institute in Princeton, New Jersey, the company that had won the bid, represented the company he owned and headed. The project was to develop a nondescript commercial van-looking vehicle that could drive down a street and image the contents of everything, the vehicles and first couple of stories of every building, it passed, providing identification of simply everything it saw, including, when it was connected to an individual IDing program, the specific people it imaged. Elements that could be used in explosive devices would pop out on the scrutiny screens. The images of the people were automatically sent through the international consortium of facile identification files to finger known terrorists in real time.

Young Cory Gordon was not attending the conference as a participant. He, a civilian engaged by General Holdings, had been brought in to keep the computer support and audiovisual equipment up and running. He didn't attend all of meetings. He had clearances, but they didn't go all the way up to the level of some of the discussions that were being conducted.

As the two moved around the table, they drew closer and closer together, until, as Cory was bending over the table to take a shot, the taller Sam was close behind him, hovering over him, his right hand on Cory's hip, and his left hand gliding around to the waistband on the young man's sleeping shorts and then down under the waistband in front and lower, to cup the young man's balls. Moaning, Cory, who had known they were building up to this, held there momentarily, savoring Sam's hefting, rolling, and squeezing of his balls, until he turned his face to Sam's and the two men went into a deep kiss. They lingered there longer, swaying against each other, Cory nestling his buttocks into Sam's groin, with Sam stroking the young man's cock into erection. Cory reached back, pulled down Sam's briefs inside the older man's robe, the sash of which had unknotted, and the robe flared open. He found Sam's cock, in erection, and the two stroked each other.

At length, Sam grasped the smaller man's torso at the sides and pulled him up onto the billiards table. Cory raised his arms and grasped the edge of the other side of the table, while, pulling the young man's sleeping shorts off his legs, Sam lowered his face to plaster it in Cory's crack. The young man moaned and languidly writhed under the older, larger, more powerful man, as Sam ate his ass out. When Cory was prepared, Sam came up onto the edge of the billiards table on his knees, planting them on each side of Cory's hips. He took Cory's billiards cue from him and moved it over the young man's chest, using it to raise Cory's torso a bit. Cory dug his fists into the green felt of the table surface. Sam mounted the young man's ass from above and behind. Cory tensed and panted, huffing as Sam worked his thick erection in.

Mounted on his ass on top of the billiards table, Sam fucked the younger ginger top to an ejaculation--and, eventually, to an afterglow second one. Sam was a big man with a big cock. Cory was small and slim hipped. He indicated the taxing stretching by the big man's commanding shaft by his deep moans and his muffled exclamations of pain-pleasure.

Sam was a virile, vigorous man. Halfway through the fuck, Sam turned the young man onto his back on the table, being able to maintain purchase inside him by the length and thickness of his shaft. Cory hooked his ankles on the older man's shoulders, turned his face toward the door into the adjacent lounge, and registered the pleasure of the cock work on his face. Leaning over him, Sam grasped the ends of the billiards cue and pressed the stick into Cory's throat as he thrust, holding the young man captive to his mastery. Cory gagged at the pressure of the cue against his throat and momentarily scrabbled at and beat on Sam's chest with his fists, but the older, stronger man was overpowering, and Cory collapsed under him, opening his stance to full vulnerability and surrendered totally.

This was how the CIA's Sam Winterberry took his men--roughly, brutally, and totally.

The stroking went on for twenty minutes or more, Sam turning the young man onto all fours and fucking him like a dog, before he tensed, jerked, and came... and then tensed, jerked, and came again. Cory had already come, stroked off by his own hand, and, at the last, was only held up by Sam's left hand palming his belly and his right cupping the young man's chin.

If the two men thought they were the only ones awake and downstairs in the CIA safehouse mansion at that time of the morning, they were wrong. Alec Chernoff also had been unable to sleep and had come down to the lounge connected to the billiards room by open double doors in search of Scotch. He had been sitting in the dark shadows of the lounge, facing the billiards room, when Sam and Cory had arrived and switched on a couple of dim sidelights in adjoining room. Chernoff had dozed off in the shadows of an enveloping wing chair when the lights coming on in the billiards room and the low-voiced conversation of the two nocturnal men woke him.

He sat there, watching and sipping what was left of his Scotch. When the scene became sexy in the other room, Chernoff pulled his engorging cock out of the fly of his sleeping shorts, and, where Sam and Cory had every reason to think it was just the two of them having sex in the early hours of the morning, Chernoff's masturbating of himself while watching Cory get fucked on the table meant they were having a threesome.

The two, Sam and Cory, left the billiards room by a door into the hall rather than through the lounge, where they hardly could have avoided seeing a satisfied-looking Alec Chernoff slouched in a wing chair, flaccid cock in hand, cum dotting the silk of the sleeping shorts on his thighs.

Sam went to his second-floor room in one wing of the old house and Cory went to a room on the same floor, but in the other wing of the mansion, rather than to the former servant's room he'd been assigned in the attic. The door to the room was unlocked, and he slipped in. The lighting was dim, the curtains to the two windows overlooking the Susquehanna being pulled apart and the predawn light of a nearly full moon streaming into the bedroom. The bed was a large four-poster, with a curtain-draped canopy frame. General Holdings, a strongly built man of a bit too much meat on the bones at his mid-fifties age, was lying on his back, snoring. He was naked. He had been in a deep sleep when Cory had left him to go downstairs, so he probably was completely unaware of the young man's tryst with Sam.

Slipping off his sleeping shorts, Cory crawled up on the bed and knelt between the general's legs, taking the man's flaccid cock in his mouth. Moaning, the general slowly came into consciousness as his cock stiffened under the ministrations of the young ginger-top. It was obvious that Cory's appearance and attentions didn't come as a surprise to the general, and as the younger man gave him head, the older man reached down and ran his fingers through the auburn curls on Cory's head. At length, breathing heavily, and whispering, "Now, now. Ride it now," he lifted Cory up and moved the smaller body up his until Cory was saddled on his pelvis. Cory reached down, placed the head of the now-erect cock at his hole, slowly descended on it, and languidly rode the cock into the dawn, edging the older man off when Cory sensed he was building to an ejaculation so that the next build would to higher into the realm of pleasure and need.

When General Holdings came, it was prodigiously and with a jerking motion, grunting, and a little cry to ecstasy that no other person, either male or female, could take him to like Cory could.

* * * *

The next morning, finding Cory sitting at a remote table by himself in the dining room, Chernoff appeared at his side. "Mind if I join you?"

Showing surprise, Cory looked out into the room, assuring himself that the head of the company assigned this project was choosing to sit with him over the opportunity to sit with any number of intelligence community brass. "Yes, certainly," he said, his voice tentative. "I'm not a participant, though, I hope you realize. I'm just technical support. We couldn't talk much about the project."

"It's not the project I'd like to talk with you about," Chernoff said. "You're Cory, aren't you? I've seen you around, setting up and working on the computer equipment."

"Yes, but that's all I'm here for. I'm not a participant at the conference."

"Oh, I don't think that's all you're here for," the man said, giving Cory a little smile, which the young man didn't appear to pick up on.

Cory continued his own thought. "DIA is sponsoring the conference and their audiovisual guy got sick at the last moment. I know General Holdings and he asked me to substitute. I have most of the needed clearances, but not all of them, so I try to stay out of the way most of the time."

"But you seem to know what you're doing, both with the equipment and with what we're discussing," Chernoff said. "I've been watching you." He'd been watching Cory do much more than working with the computer equipment, but he said nothing about that beyond the hint he'd dropped and Cory hadn't picked up on. "You know much more about this business than just to keep computers running, I think. What else do they have you doing at DIA? What other services do you do for General Holdings?"

"I'm a contractor. I don't work for DIA," Cory said, with a laugh. "Well, I'm not on staff at DIA, I mean. As I said, I just know General Holdings personally and he asked me to step in. I do know the business, though, and am only contracting until I can find a position."

"And you're getting enough work as a contractor?"

"Barely," Cory admitted, not mentioning that he made pretty good money overall when his side job as rent-boy, which is how he met General Holdings, was added in.

"What's your education?"

"I finished my PhD in virtual reality at Georgia Tech last semester," Cory said, "It's a really specialized field, though, so it isn't that easy to find a career fit. So, yes, although I can't listen to much of what's discussed on this project, I know what it's about, what use it could be put to, and how it's being done."

Chernoff whistled. "Better than I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I was going to offer you a job just based on how well you were supporting this conference, but now I'll have to relook at the project staffing. I'm sure I can offer you a better job."

"You're offering me a job?"

"I have to take a look at the project and the staffing, but, yes, maybe so. Here's my card." He took out a business card and scribbled on the back. "Think about it. If you're willing to relocate to Princeton and want to work at Chernoff, call the number on this card and ask for Murriel Gladstone. Tell her I told you to call. Set up an interview."

Cory was showing a dazed look as Chernoff stood. He leaned down and stroked the young man's forearm briefly and gave him a look with his eyes that could be taken to mean that more than a job was being offered, but this connection was seemingly coming straight out of the blue, so Cory could be forgiven if he didn't pick up on the vibes until Chernoff got explicit.

"I'm well acquainted with General Holdings too. I know what he likes. And I think you're good friends with that CIA guy, Winterberry, too. I could be a good friend of yours as well--in the same way they are. It would be quite profitable for you if you pleased me."

Cody blushed and his attention went from the card to the tall, trim man walking away from him and approaching a table of intelligence agency bigwigs with a smile and his hand out.

* * * *

The sectional sofa facing the ocean through a wall of glass in the rental beach cottage in an older section of New Jersey's Monmouth Beach included a lounge bed that Cory Gordon and General Holdings were finding convenient. Holdings was on his back and Cory was suspended over him crab style, facing up at the ceiling, although looking out across the deck and beach to the ocean, while Holdings grasped his waist and raised and lowered the younger man on his cock. Cory had rented the beach cottage for a getaway with Holdings for a week, although the general was only able to be there from Sunday night to today, Wednesday. He had to leave to return to Washington by mid-afternoon. His son has a high school baseball game Thursday night in Arlington, Virginia, that the general had promised to attend.

So, they had only three days together of a seven-day rental, but they had fucked the entire time. They'd even gone out on the beach in the night and fucked there. The general didn't manage to get off the leash often and couldn't get enough of the younger ginger-haired computer expert who he'd first met at a gay bar tavern near base at Fort Bragg down in Georgia four months earlier. Cory had been a sweet lay, and he'd been yielding to everything the general wanted to do with him. He said "yes" to everything and Holdings was smitten with him. But he'd only been able to get away for three days when Cory suggested they spend days together rather than just a few stolen hours and that Cory would make all of the arrangements.

Cory was a surfer, and the surfing was good here. There, in fact, was a stand just next door on the beach that rented and sold surfboards and all of the other stuff that went with the sport. The business was owned by a cute guy about Cory's age who also gave surfing lesson. It seemed he might be gay too, because he'd been ogling Cory when the young man and the general had suspended their sexual athletics long enough for Cory to come out on the beach during the day, and Cory was fairly sure the guy had caught snatches of views of the general doing pushups on him. Holdings was still in military fit when it came to pushups.

"I really feel bad about having to leave so soon," the general said after they'd fucked and come out on the deck to cool down with a beer.

"No problem," Cory said, his gaze going over to the surfer's shack next door to find that the hunk of a guy there was looking at him again. The two shared a smile that the general didn't see. The guy at the surfer shack popped his tongue in his cheek and showed his hands to Cory behind Holdings's back. He made an O with a thumb and forefinger and slipped the middle finger of his other hand in and out of the O. He couldn't have been more suggestive than that. Cory smiled back at him.

"I wanted to get some surfing in anyway and haven't had a chance to do that yet," he said to the general. "We've spent the whole time in the sack."

"That's because you're sex on a stick. I can't get enough of you," Holdings said, leaning into Cory and taking his mouth in a kiss. And he apparently wasn't exaggerating about not getting enough because, as they kissed, his hand snaked under the waistband of Cory's Speedo, all that the young man was wearing, and he grasped Cory's cock. Cory returned the favor, and the two slouched there on deck chairs practically on the beach and jacked each other off.

Cory looked over to the surf shack and confirmed that the hunk holding station there was, indeed gay--and interested. He had his cock out and was watching Cory and the general do each other and he was stroking himself as well.

Cory and the guy--his name was Nick, short for Nikolai--got together not more than an hour after General Holdings left that afternoon. The surf was up, so Cory went out to make some runs there for the first time that week. When he was leaving the water and walking up the beach toward the rental house, with his surfboard under his arm, Nick, just in a Speedo, appeared from nowhere and fell in step behind him. Cory turned and smiled at him, which seemed to be all Nick needed. At the steps to the deck, Nick took the board from Cory and propped it up against the railing. Cory continued on into the house. Nick followed him.

Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. Cory walked up to the foot of the lounge bed in the sectional in the living room and stood there. Nick came in close behind him, palmed his belly, and kissed him in the hollow of his neck. Cory turned his face to Nick's for a deep lip lock. Then he was squirming a bit, because Nick's hands had gone to work. His left hand went under the waistband of the Speedo in front, grasped Cory's cock, and stroked it. The fingers of his right hand went under the waistband in back, snaked into the young man's crack, and found and penetrated his ass. Cory loosened right up and the finger sank beyond the knuckle and moved in and out.

At last Cory broke his silence. "Kind of go right to it, don't you?" he said.

"I heard you tell that old guy it's just been him all week so far and you haven't had time to surf and other stuff."

"That old guy is really, really good," Cory said. "And he's my boss."

"I'm better," Nick countered with and he reached under Cory's cock and gave his balls a roll and a squeeze. "And I can boss you too, if that's what floats your boat."

Cory jerked and muttered, "Fuck."

"My thoughts exactly," Nick said.