Capital Treasures

"It's very smooth. Good brandy," Toby said, and, to be polite, added, "I'm sure she'll be back to continue the drink orders. She must have been pulled away for something else." Toby had been the only one served so far.

"I didn't mean the drink. I meant this book. It fell on the floor and I picked it up."

Toby was embarrassed. He hadn't given much thought to the book he'd brought on board. It was gay male erotica.

"I read this author too," the man said. "I haven't read this one yet—the Tree of Idleness. Is it a good one? Lots of steamy sex, well written? Inventive positions?"

He was smiling. Toby didn't think he was making fun of him. It was a melting smile. He was signaling that he was interested in gay sex too. He touched Toby's right forearm with his fingers and when Toby didn't move his arm away, the hand settled there.

"My name is Sergio Casillas," he added, reaching over with his other hand for an introductory shake. Then Toby knew who he was. He'd been a star Spanish footballer, retired from the game a couple of years previously—too early some had said. He had come out as gay and been of quite a bit of interest to the tabloids at the time. What Toby really remembered him from, though, that most of the public didn't know was that he'd gone on to do porn flicks. He was a power top. Toby couldn't help but reveal he recognized the man from the change in his expression. In his line of work, Toby had become familiar enough with gay porn films to be able to name most of the major stars.

"The book is set in Turkish Cyprus," Toby said. "A mountainside town with a ruined abbey sitting beside a village square where the men gather in the evening for coffee and a chat and where the protagonist, an American novelist, goes and picks up young men to take back to his villa for the night. Very atmospheric. Beautiful young men. It indicates that all young Mediterranean men are beautiful. You're Spanish, aren't you?"

Casillas's smile broadened. As they shook hands, his thumb folded under to rub Toby's palm—a sign in the lifestyle of a top declaring himself. Toby instinctively put his hand into a sheath around the thumb, the signal of a willing bottom.

"There, I'm glad that's established," Casillas said. "We have an eight-hour flight ahead of us. We might as well understand each other and be comfortable. So, does that welcome brandy for you in the flight captain's name mean he's just been balling you?"

"Something like that," Toby said, and they both laughed.

"Do you recognize me from somewhere?" Casillas asked. "You did a doubletake when you focused on looking at me."

"Spanish soccer," Toby answered, "and later in adult flicks."

"That's right. And you've—"

"Seen you naked and in action, yes. You have a beautiful body and use it magnificently."

"So, you have no trouble with men using their bodies with other men on film?"

"Nor in real life."

Casillas smiled again. "You yourself are a sexy one, you are. Can I hope you're a casual player—not just a smooth talker?"

"It would seem so, but—"

"But you're a pro, are you? There's a fee in the way? A quite stiff one?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Toby answered, and the regret in his voice was genuine.

"Are you going to Stockholm for a particular reason? I'm going there to film a video."

"Just to change planes. I'm headed to Antwerp—on an assignment." Toby didn't tell Casillas he had a six-hour layover in Stockholm. He didn't want to be tempted.

"I don't normally pay, but I give great cock," Casillas said. "You should see some of my movies."

"I don't normally give it for free, and I'm great at taking cock," Toby responded. "And, as I've indicated, I've seen some of your movies."

"You should see all of my movies, back to back, with me there with you—inside you."

They both laughed. They were enjoying the sexual banter, the teasing manner of speaking baldly while strapped into their seats in a plane in the air. It was clear that they both would like to be playing each other with their hands as well as their words and that the torture of not doing so was delicious to them both. They had both made clear that they found the other one sexually arousing.

"You could be in one of my movies," Casillas continued. "This session in Stockholm, for instance. I'm sure they'd love to do an additional, quick shoot. I can see the title, 'Laid During a Layover.' It will sell very well."

Toby laughed. "My escort agency would have to sign on. The negotiations on that would go longer than the layover time. I'm on duty."

"But I didn't hear a no on doing a movie with me sometime."

"No, you didn't hear a no."

The two laughed, enjoying the bald repartee, even if there wasn't much they could do about calling each other's bluff on a crowded airplane flying high over the Atlantic. Or was there, at least Casillas was thinking.

"Are you based in Chicago?" he asked.

"No, Washington, D.C."

"Ah, a lover of politicians, not the beautiful people."

"Lover to the man who can pay the fee," Toby said, turning a smile on the former soccer star.

"Does being laid by a man with political power arouse you?"

"Yes."

"But it helps if the man is a hunk, I'm sure."

"That's always a plus, yes."

"And, he, of course, gets a discount."

"My escort agency doesn't seem to be swayed by the client's looks or fame—only the thickness of his wallet."

"But, surely, with you, the thickness of a client's cock makes a difference."

"Only in how much I enjoy it—not in what is billed."

"But you do enjoy taking cock from a well-endowed man, don't you?"

"I wouldn't be in the business if I didn't enjoy being fucked."

"I've been told I'm a hunk."

"I'm sure you have been." And then, as a concession, Toby said, "because, yes, you are. Like I said, I've seen the movies."

"You've seen them and wished you were in them—under me?"

"Yes."

"Even before we met here on the plane and you discovered how charming I was?" Casillas grinned.

"Yes. I have masturbated to you fucking another man in a movie."

"There can be no higher compliment that," Casillas said, clearly pleased.

The dinner, such as it was—although the liquor had continued to come to Toby gratis of the flight captain and Casillas had tried to keep up in his ordering—was coming. The two men took their trays down, which gave Casillas a chance to take Toby's hand and move it under the Spaniard's tray, to his basket. He held the young male whore's hand to his basket and Toby didn't try to take it away. More than that, he traced the man's shaft through the jeans material with his fingers.

"I'm hard," Casillas said in a low, guttural voice.

"Yes, you are."

"For you."

"I'm flattered."

"I'm told I'm very well endowed."

That's what obsesses every man, Toby was thinking. They are all worried about whether they are thick and long enough when they are suggesting another man have sex with them. "I can feel that. I would attest to that." Toby was enjoying himself. Casillas was too much in heat for him to take this just as friendly bantering that could go nowhere in this situation.

"I want to fuck you," he growled.

"I'll give you a card for my escort agency. You could book me through them."

"No, I'm saying I want to lay you here, now."

"That doesn't seem practical," Toby answered.

"But, if we could do it, you'd want to do it too?"

"Yes, of course."

"Outside of your escort agency contract. Just the two of us making mutually satisfactory sex? Fucking each other for sheer pleasure?"

"Yes."

Casillas gave a snort and a sigh and leaned back in his seat. Toby took his hand away and the tension was released by the arrival of their dinner trays.

"I'm living in L.A.," Casillas said as they were finishing up their meal. "But there are planes going from L.A. to Washington several times a day."

"Yes, there are."

The Spaniard took a card out of his wallet and handed it to Toby. "If you're ever coming to L.A., are curious, and want to have a good time. I could introduce you into porn films too. You'd be an instant star."

"I've done some porn," Toby admitted.

"Oh, really?" Casillas sounded excited at hearing that. "I haven't seen any of it."

It was Toby's turn to take a card out of his wallet—one for his escort agency. He wrote the name "Todd," his professional name, on it and handed it to Casillas. When their fingers met, the Spaniard held Toby's a bit longer than necessary, gripping the young man's middle finger.

"The films were done for a very small subscription list, but you can purchase them through my escort agency, if you wish."

"No free samples?" Casillas persisted.

"Not unless you can figure out how to do it high in the sky."

Casillas noticed that wasn't a "no" and it gave him something to mull. "I could make you feel it," he muttered.

"No doubt," Toby agreed.

"Are you on a long delay in Stockholm? I can rearrange my movie shoot schedule—or, as I mentioned, we could fire off a video together. Maybe we could—"

"I have an assignment there that will take up all my time."

"Shit."

"Precisely," Toby agreed. Casillas once again caught that that hadn't been a "no."

And that was that until an hour later when, bringing night to the passenger compartment while the plane hurtled east into the new day, the lights were turned off and it was nearly dark in the compartment. Casillas rose and moved across Toby to the aisle. He went to the head. When he came back, he opened the bin over their heads and took out a courtesy blanket. Returning to his seat, he draped the blanket over both of their laps.

"What?" Toby murmured, but then he saw Casillas waving a handkerchief he'd taken out of his pocket, and Toby understood.

"You didn't say 'no,'" the Spaniard whispered.

"No, I didn't."

"You said that, if I could find a way . . ."

"I don't remember saying quite that, but . . . fuck."

Casillas leaned into him and took his lips in a kiss. Toby didn't resist. He flinched when Casillas's hand went to his basket, under the blanket, unzipped him, and pulled his shaft out. Toby didn't resist this either. In fact, he contributed to the moment by reaching over, unzipping Casillas, and freeing the man's long, thick erection.

The two jerked each other off under the blanket. When they came close to coming, Casillas brushed Toby's hand away but continued stroking the young man's cock, until, with a sigh, Toby released into the handkerchief he was holding to catch the cum.

"Exchange seats with me," Casillas whispered.

"What? Why?"

"Just do it," the Spaniard hissed, taking command. A natural submissive, Toby moved over Casillas and into the window seat, turned toward the wall, as Casillas went into the aisle seat. The Spaniard turned toward Toby, lifted the arm between the two seats back into the stowed position, so there was no barrier between their midsections. He reached around an unbuckled Toby's slacks and pushed them and his briefs down his thighs.

If Casillas's cock hadn't been a long one, he couldn't have managed. But it was. He couldn't fully bury himself inside Toby's ass, but he had length to spare. He was long and thick enough to get it in and hump Toby to a completion against the fuselage wall, while Toby's pressed his cheek to the closed window and to the frigid Mile High Club air.

The former Spanish footballer and current porn star had found a way—and Toby had given it up for him. There was no more mention of a fee for anything.

It was the supreme compliment to a john—that a high-priced male hooker would give it to him for free, and Casillas understood and appreciated that it was a unique compliment.

* * * *

The Stockholm layover client was a Scandinavian going by the name of Olof. As with Chicago, he'd received Toby's photo via e-mail feed, so he was the one to signal when, slightly bleary-eyed, but more than slightly satisfied, Toby came out of the chute into the waiting lounge at the Stockholm Arlanda Airport. All he'd been told was that he'd be met at the plane. He hadn't been told how Olof managed to be in the waiting lounge—and he'd never find out why.

He was several discharging passengers in front of Sergio Casillas, who was smiling and humming his successful conquest. Toby thought this was the last of the Spaniard he'd see on this trip, but he had some prospect that they had melded well enough that someday he'd see Casillas in Washington, D.C., as a paying client. Thus, he was surprised to see when he'd come to stand in front of Olof and they'd assured each other they were who the other one sought, that Olof's eyes went to Casillas, coming out of the passageway and the two showed that they recognized each other.

Casillas almost laughed when he saw that Toby was hooking up with Olof, and he waved his cellphone. Olof waved back and reached for his cellphone. Marking possession of Toby, Olof kept one hand on the young rent-boy's arm and put the cellphone to his ear with the other. He and Casillas talked into their phones to each other from across the waiting area.

As was the case in Chicago, the Stockholm airport terminal had a hotel directly connected, the Radisson Blu Airport Terminal Hotel, and Olof had booked a room there. He suggested that he and Toby stop in a bar on the concourse before going to the hotel, which was fine with Toby. He had a six-hour layover before catching a plane for the last, short hop over to Antwerp.

Twenty minutes later, in the bar, after very little chitchat at all while the two men sized each other up and Olof, maybe in his early thirties, a classic tall, big-boned, but rangy blond Scandinavian, cleared up knowing Sergio Casillas by saying he played professional football for Stockholm's AIK team in the highest-flight Allsvenskan league. He would know Casillas, Toby deduced because gay European footballers were rather rare and they had to stick together. Casillas had acknowledged he was gay. Olof, even though Toby didn't know his true name, most certainly was gay if he was paying big bucks to lay a male escort.

Having put what little he was learning together, Toby wasn't all that surprised when Sergio Casillas entered the bar, greeted Olof, tersely explained that he and Toby had already met—and, yes, he knew what Toby would be doing meeting with Olof. The two men got a good laugh out of that, a hand from each of them going to one of Toby's knees under the table.

The two men were obviously quite comfortable with each other and with Toby being there, and Toby wasn't that surprised either, when, with a grin Casillas turned his cellphone to where Toby could see it displaying a receipt from Toby's escort service selling Casillas two hours of Toby's time in Stockholm. Olof had paid for two-and-a-half hours. That left Toby less than an hour of time to himself if he took the men consecutively before he had to be at the gate for his KLM flight to Antwerp. He'd been hoping he could get some sleep before he arrived in Antwerp. He groaned inwardly at how this was shaping up.

But as they were drinking their second drinks and seeing how comfortable and friendly the two men were with each other, Toby formulated a plan. When he proposed it, the two men were delighted. Casillas added to the plan and Toby agreed.

On the king-sized bed in the Radisson terminal hotel, Olof, whose big bones extended to the one between his legs, lay on his back, while Toby rode his cock in a cowboy, facing the Swede. Casillas, naked and pulling on his erection, sat off to the side and watched and filmed the fuck. The Spaniard had stopped in the Duty Free shop and bought a fancy video camera before coming up to the hotel room. He and Olof took turns filming the sex, with the agreement that Casillas would sell it to his movie contacts and they'd split the profits between the three of them, Toby getting 50 percent and Olof and Sergio splitting the rest.

When Toby was hitting high gear on rocking on the cock, Casillas came up on the bed, nestled into Toby from the back, and the time Toby had to give the two men was combined in delivering a bucking double penetration fuck, the camera set up beside the bed to capture it all. Afterward Casillas fucked Toby in a doggie position as the Swede watched and filmed. In this way, an hour and a half was sliced off what would have been two sessions, the clients were delighted, Toby readily admitted he had a good time too, and he got over an hour's nap alone in the hotel room before he had to appear for the final flight to Antwerp.

All in a day's work for a top-drawer international male escort. Toby assumed the rough work was yet to come. The requirement to be able to take a fist had been clearly identified in the service he'd have to provide in Belgium.

* * * *

"Courier? You brought in an escort from the States to courier something for you?"

"Partially a courier, yes," Nicholas Peeters, an official of the Friedman Enterprises company, who had met Toby at the Antwerp International Airport in a chauffeur-driven black Mercedes said as the sedan glided toward Antwerp's Diamantwijk diamond district. Diamonds were the business Friedman Enterprises was engaged in, Toby had already been told. It was a wealthy diamond merchant company. "And couriering diamonds will be very important, involving millions of euros. But you are also here to give pleasure on demand."

That part Toby understood. He'd been flying or on layover for two days with little sleep but with some vigorous sexual exercise. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open—and a pudgy little middle-aged Belgian man, who identified himself as the vice-chairman of the Friedman Enterprises and who Toby had already sized up as the most arousing to service, was feeding him information, scant on the reasoning on why Toby was here.

"We need to move diamonds worth a great deal of money from a supplier in Bruges, and we wish to do so with as little attention going to the transaction as possible. One of our own people will go there on the same train to oversee the transaction, but you will be the one really carrying the treasures—money there and diamonds back."

"I'll be bringing diamonds from Bruges on the train in secret, and—"

"And taking the money for them there, yes. The diamonds will be concealed on your person. There will be no connection made between you and the transaction."

"But if anyone is watching this closely, what I'm supposedly here for—"

"That's why we're engaging a male escort. The man you'll be going to Bruges with will be traveling for pleasure. Hiring young male escorts to service him is one of his pleasures."

"So, this one man—"

"You are being hired to service as many men as we wish you to. That has been made clear in the contract, and there will be other men."

"Fine," Toby said, sinking back into the plushy cushions of the Mercedes backseat. He wasn't absorbing all of this, but that was because he was so tired. He looked down to see that the little Belgian man had put a pudgy hand on his thigh.

"Are you one of the men I will be servicing?" he asked. If he hadn't been so tired, he wouldn't have asked anything like that. He was too diplomatic and polite for that. As it was, he managed to make it sound more like a pleasant prospect than revealing how he truly thought about it.

Peeters didn't answer directly, but Toby got the message. "The Friedman offices are in the Diamantwijk, which is located between the Zoo Antwerpen—the city's zoo—and the Stadspark. We're taking you now to the Radisson Park Inn hotel next to the zoo but in the diamond district. I know you must be tired after your travel from Washington. You will be given the day to rest and sleep, as you can. I will return to give you dinner in the hotel restaurant. I know you'll still be too jetlagged to go on the town. I will give you company in the evening. Tomorrow you'll go to the Friedman's house in the Burcht district, across the river, where you will meet with the man going to Burges with you. Tomorrow night, Joseph Friedman will take you to a restaurant, the next day you'll take the train to Bruges, spend the night there, and return to Antwerp the next. After that I understand you will be going on to Paris. According to your agency profile, you are a proficient tennis player. Is that correct?"