Distracted

Yusuf, turned to Jason, gently lowered the young man's body to the heavily carpeted floor next to the low table. As Jason went down on his back, Yusuf ran a hand up from his calves to his thighs, coaxing the young man to open his legs to him. With a sigh, Jason did so, and Yusuf was on top of him and then inside him. And then he was moving inside the young man's passage, in and out, forward and back. Jason hooked his knees on the older man's hips and moved with him, panting and moaning, moving forward and back, taking the hard cock deep and then deeper.

They fucked.

They may or may not go out today to do anything Yusuf had woven as a possibility. They may just stay here all day and fuck. The luscious young, blond Westerner seemed happy with that, and Yusuf only had him, a gift from his old colleague Sam, for the rest of today and tonight. Tomorrow they were off for Antioch, with Sam's open, vulnerable Catholic priest nephew never to be fucked by Yusuf again. But that was OK, Yusuf didn't need these young men for more than a day or two, and this one was giving him everything.

Not far away, in Sam Winterberry's suite at the Hilton, while Yusuf was otherwise distracted, Ahmet arrived and, after the three of them--Sam and Ahmet inside Samir--fucked, they got down to the business of how Samir's American intelligence handler, Ahmet, would run his double agent, Samir, for the next five years without Yusuf learning that his agent had been turned.

And then they fucked again--Samir receiving each of his masters separately and then together again--in Sam Winterberry's standard program of controlling and mastering his agents.

* * * *

Sam Winterberry, chief of the CIA's Candy Story unit, a special operations force combining the world's two oldest professions, spying and prostitution, in serving U.S. intelligence needs, lay on his back, propped up on pillows, puffing on a cigarette, in a room at the Hilton Istanbul Maslak, near the U.S. Consulate on Poligon Mahallesi, as his agent, not really named Jason nor really his nephew or studying to become a Catholic priest, collapsed on top of him. The wild cowboy ride on Winterberry's long-enduring, Grade-A shaft had exhausted the young man. Winterberry had already taken him in several other positions to drive home who was the master--who commanded and gave the orders that were to be followed.

They'd left Adana that morning, transferring back to the Hilton from Yusuf's residence and then leaving the Hilton for the airport even before Yusuf, tired finally from the almost nonstop fuck of Jason the day before. Jason, having been a recruited seasoned rent-boy, lasted longer than Yusuf did. If Yusuf became suspicious now and tried to locate Sam and his "nephew" in Antioch, he wouldn't be able to do so. They'd returned to Istanbul to be debriefed at the CIA Station in the U.S. Consulate there before going off to their next assignments.

The operation had gone well. Jason had completely distracted Yusuf while Sam took over the Turk's agent, Samir Demir, who wasn't really named Murat and wasn't really Yusuf's son.

Samir entered Yusuf's bedroom and quietly entered his bed, snuggling up to him. They wouldn't fuck now. Yusuf had been worn out with the Western blond, but Samir needed to assure himself that Yusuf had no inkling that anything had changed, that Samir now worked for rather than against the Americans. Samir had originally wanted to defect to go live the American life as soon as he could get the attention of one of the Western intelligence agencies Yusuf was working against. But this was fine. He had been assured that he was safe and had better communications with the CIA now than before. It was only for five years. And Ahmet, his handler, was a real hunk. He was younger, more virile and vigorous, than Yusuf. He could fuck a whole lot better.