Homing Pigeon

After that first shower, Reynolds had acknowledged that Trevor had promised to prepare the meals. Reynolds had approved of the suggestion for veal marsala for dinner and had produced a wad of cash and directions to local shops where Trevor could find the makings for that.

"You'll send me out alone?" Trevor asked.

"The shops are nearby and easy to find," Reynolds had said. "Just remember to take your cellphone. Always take your cellphone." He took up Trevor's cellphone from the kitchen counter and plugged in his number. "Just call me if you need anything."

Trevor had felt a little strange about that--that he could go out on his own. Since they'd hooked up, he'd felt the older man had been protective of him. The interior atmosphere of the barge cabin was a bit close and Trevor had felt under the man's control. The presence of the gun might have had something to do with the impression he got. And now he was being let free to shop on his own. He'd worried a bit how he would move on to meet with Arif at the zoo in a couple of days, but if the man let him go shopping on his own...

The mood had changed again when Trevor returned with the groceries he'd needed. Tony had slapped him around again, carried him into the bed, bound his wrists to the headboard of the bed, and fucked the hell out of him.

After their shower this time, Trevor had looked for his clothes and shoes when he came out of the bathroom. All he found were the red bikini briefs.

"You don't need the rest until we go out again after supper," Reynolds said. "I like watching your body move. I'll be just in briefs too." And the man was stripped down as well through dinner, but Trevor returned to feeling that he was being controlled and somewhat of a prisoner on the barrage. He couldn't leave on his own in just skimpy briefs and barefoot.

"After dinner we'll do the gay clubs. We'll see how they've changed since you last were in the city."

So, after dinner Trevor's clothes reappeared on the bed and they went to the Reguliersdwarsstraat area just one ring street toward the dock area from where the barge was piered. That was the section of the city where gay life had centered in Amsterdam since long before Trevor had matriculated at the Keizer Culinair cooking institute. They hit the Club NYX bar scene, moving on from there to the Café Reality Bar, and ending up taking in the drag show at Bar Lellebel. Everywhere they drank, hit the dancefloor, and both ogled and were ogled as the handsome, fit, gay men they were.

Reynolds ran hot and cold on the "keeping Trevor" close and touched scene, being there with him whenever another men showed interest--and, half-drunk, Trevor could be a saucy flirt--but letting Trevor go to the loo on his own with just the admonition, "Be sure to take your cellphone with you."

As the night went on, Trevor threw caution to the wind and stripped off his shirt to dance and exhibit for appreciative audiences. Reynolds kept his shirt and jacket on, though, and Trevor surmised that this was because the man had come out for the evening with the gun and holster in his armpit. Trevor never lost awareness that the man was armed--or that he kept darting his eyes about wherever they were as if he were Trevor's bodyguard rather than his date for the night.

Why did the man have to go everywhere armed? It was a question Trevor kept trying to shove to the back of his brain but that kept floating forward.

Back on the barge, Tony took Trevor, naked, his clothes once more disappearing, to bed. And, in the bed, he took Trevor again and again. He had discovered that this was what kept Trevor fully under control--keeping him perpetually shafted.

The man had inventive, athletic moves. He lay on his back on the bed, Trevor on top of him, facing the low, oak-wood ceiling of the cabin. Reynolds used four handcuffs to bind their wrists and ankles together, and, stretched out on Tony's body, Trevor rode the man's cock.

As they fucked, his attention went to a straight chair by the bed, where Reynold's jacket and gun holster were draped over the chair back. Why did he need it? Why did he keep it close?

Trevor cried out in ecstasy as Reynold's own long, thick gun fired off again and again deep inside the younger man's core.

* * * *

"I thought I'd make Rouladin tonight," Trevor said the next afternoon. "But, if so--or anything else--we'll have to go to the markets."

"What's Rouladin?" Reynold's asked. They were stretched out beside each other on the bed. Trevor had just paid the rent again, this time sitting in Tony Reynold's lap as the man sat on the bed, with Trevor facing him, and having fucked himself on Reynold's cock by bouncing up and down on it. Trevor was showing that he certainly had no problem with the sex part of being in the cabin so much with Reynolds. They hadn't been off the boat much in the last two days; when they had been Reynolds had kept close to Trevor--and he'd always been carrying his holstered gun.

"It's a German dish. Very thinly sliced beef wrapped around slices of dill pickle, carrots, bacon, slathered with mustard, and roasted."

"Sounds good. I'll get your duffel bag out so you can dress."

"You'll let me go alone?" They indeed needed to shop if Trevor was going to fix a dinner, but he was mostly testing again whether Tony was going to let him off the boat by himself. His meeting with Arif was the next afternoon. He couldn't do that with Reynolds dragging along.

"Sure. Just remember to take your cellphone."

"I haven't seen much of the area, and we're right in the center of the old downtown area. Maybe I could take a long walk before going to the market?" How much time would the man give him tomorrow before going to look for him? Trevor couldn't imagine what Arif, who was so secretive, would do if an armed man showed up while they were meeting.

"Sure. It's a great day for it. I have some work to do. Again, just remember to take your cellphone."

That was something else. Tony said he worked in security. There hadn't been any evidence in the last two days that Tony worked in anything.

But it was established. Trevor should be able to get off alone to meet Arif at the Artis Zoo the next day at 4:00 p.m.

Trevor's outing and the dinner he fixed went fine. They went clubbing that night again, Reynolds showing him yet more gay male clubs, more toward the leather bar this night, in the Reguliersdwarsstraat area. Again, Reynolds stuck to him like glue, and, again, he went armed and on guard as if he expected trouble to find them.

At one point, Reynolds left where they were seated to refill their drinks and an olive-complexioned, sultry Arab-world type stud in black leathers and chest harness, who Trevor had maintained eye contact while the man slowly gyrated on the nearby dance floor, started to come over, the two in eye contact during the approach. Trevor was a pushover for sexy Arab types--witness his obsession and subservience to Arif. The Arab never made it to him, though. Two bodyguard types materialized from thin air and grabbed the Arab. Reynolds was returning at the same time. Slamming the drinks down on the table, he turned, flipped open the lapel of his jacket, and displayed his gun holster. The Arab disappeared. Reynolds smiled at Trevor but said nothing. The rest of the evening went smoothly, but not without Trevor thinking he was being controlled.

And, once again, Reynolds bound and fucked Trevor in exotic and demanding positions through half the night.

* * * *

"I was thinking of going Greek tonight--maybe Moussaka."

"Sounds great. Everything you've made so far has been terrific. You did well in your culinary school."

"I'll have to go shopping again, though," Trevor said, trying to keep his voice calm. It was 3:00 p.m. and his rendezvous with Arif on the bench at the Artis Zoo was set for 4:00. He couldn't take his duffel bag, but all he needed to get out of that was his passport. Arif would provide everything else he needed wherever they went--and Trevor wouldn't require clothes while he was with Arif.

"OK, I'll give you some money and unlock the cabinet so you can get into your bag for something to wear," Reynolds said. "Just don't forget to take your cellphone."

Always concern for the cellphone. But if Tony let him free, it didn't really matter if he had his cellphone or not. The Tony Reynolds phase was about over. It had been a strange ride, but Reynolds had been great in bed.

Trevor walked northeast to where the Herengracht ended at the Amstel canal, crossed that on the Bluawbrug bridge and then worked his way east to the Artis Zoo. He was as careful as he could be to ensure he wasn't being followed. In earlier hookups with Arif, the man had given him some pointers in evading surveillance and Trevor employed everything he knew about that, as he knew Arif would expect him to do. He went around the block a couple of times, observing everyone else on the street and, from time to time, paused at shop windows and used the reflection of the windows to check out everyone around him. When he reached the zoo park, he was confident that he hadn't been followed.

That hadn't been necessary. Reynolds and his colleagues had already worked out from the text message that had set all of this off that "AZ" stood for the zoo. They didn't know where in the zoo, but they devised it would be 4:00 on whatever day Trevor went on the move. That was today. And they didn't need to keep him in sight as he moved to the rendezvous. They'd had his cellphone bugged for several months in anticipation of this meeting.

Trevor made it to the designated bench at the stroke of 4:00. Less than two minutes later, Arif emerged from the bushes nearby. They barely had time to embrace before armed men, including Tony Reynolds, descended on them from all directions, separated them, and hustled Arif away.

It all--after months of planning and preparation--was over in a matter of moments.

Stunned, Trevor gave no resistance as Tony Reynolds settled him down on the bench.

"What... Why?" Trevor stammered out.

"I don't know how much you knew about this guy you were meeting," Tony said. "We'll find that out in your debriefing. But he's a major terrorist. You've helped us get him off the street, whether you meant to or not."

Trevor took a moment to absorb what had just happened, but he managed to figure out the gist of it. "You've been tracking me since London, haven't you?"

"Yes--through your cellphone. We managed to find out enough about his background to know he went to the Keizer Culinair school here--and that he had male lovers here. We found that his relationship with you never stopped, so that gave us the in we needed."

"You used me."

"And we'll determine how connected to all of this you've been."

"I didn't know. I just knew that Arif was secretive. He didn't involve me in anything, really."

"Other than sex."

"You know how easily I can be used that way," Trevor said, defiantly, accusingly.

"Yes, and didn't we both have fun?" Reynolds said, standing his ground on that point. "I'll be going now, but you'll need to talk to the boss. Don't think of trying to break away. There are men nearby to see that you make your debriefing. If you're innocent--and I think you are--you'll fully cooperate."

Trevor looked around. There were, indeed, more beefy men stationed around the area than was justified for a walk in the zoo park. Two of them he recognized as the ones who hustled off the Arab dancer at the nightclub the previous evening. And walking toward him was a tall, ramrod-straight military officer-type man in his fifties.

"The boss," Reynolds said. "You'll need to treat him with respect and complete honesty. If you think I was cruel and controlling, you haven't seen anything yet." He stood from the bench as the man arrived and sat there. And then Tony Reynolds was gone.

"You are Trevor Madison," the man said, voicing it as a statement of foreknowledge and not as a question. "I am Sam." He made no more introduction at that point, but he was, in fact, Sam Winterberry, the chief of the CIA's Candy Store unit, a special operations office inside the U.S. intelligence services that combined the world's two oldest professions--prostitution and spying--to further the intelligence interests of the United States.

"We know everything there is to know about you--and about your relationship with the terrorist Arif Ayad. If we didn't think that your connection was only a sexual one, forged before Ayad became radicalized and not having included you in that aspect of the man's political activities, we would be having a different conversation with you. But we won't be letting you go now, I'm afraid. From here there will be a debriefing in my hotel room and then a 'where do we go from here' discussion."

"Where do we go from here? You say you believe I have nothing to do with whatever you've apprehended Arif for. I don't. We just have been friends from our culinary school days."

"More than just friends," Winterberry said, with a snort.

"Yes, more than friends. And, yes, Arif is controlling in that way and an obsession I can't give up. But as for terrorism--"

"A man named Nabil Fayed was at this school too, wasn't he?"

"Yes, Nabil was a teacher there. I don't see--"

"And it was Fayid who first seduced you and then turned you over to Ayad, wasn't it?"

Trevor paused. "I don't see what--"

"Ayad is important to us, but he isn't as far up in the terrorist organization chain as Nabil Fayed is. We want Fayed even more than we did Ayad."

A glint of recognition was dawning on Trevor. "I haven't seen or heard from Nabil since I left the culinary school. I have no connection whatsoever with him anymore."

"But when you did, you let him use and control you as much as you've let Ayad did so."

"I can't help my nature--my wants and my needs I have a fetish for Arab men."

"Well, yes, we'll exercise your wants and needs up in my hotel room."

My, that sounded ominous, Trevor thought. He took another look at the man. He was Marine-general commanding in appearance. Reynolds had said he was even more cruel and manipulative than Reynolds had been. Trevor shuddered. Would he open his legs for a man like this? He knew he would. More important, this Sam seemed to know he would.

"But for now, I think we still need you," Winterberry continued. "We think you'll be contacted by Fayed for just the sort of meet up as the one we trapped Ayad with here today."

"Why would Nabil want to contact me? We haven't seen each other since I lived in Amsterdam before."

"Because Fayed is the next one up on the terrorist organization from Ayad. Because he will know Ayad has been taken, and that he was taken while meeting with you."

"How would he know that?" Trevor asked. "Arif is always so secretive. We were meeting for sex. I don't think he would tell Nabil he still was meeting with me. They fought over me."

"Fayed will know because we will make sure he knows. We will want him to hook up with you again and we will be there then, and we will capture him then the same way we captured Ayad today."

"You will use me. I will be your homing pigeon," Trevor said.

"Exactly," Winterberry answered. "That's a very good way to put it." And, looking at him--and the way the man looked at Trevor--Trevor realized there were no scruples in play here. He was just a pawn--a homing pigeon, as he said--in something at work that was greater than he was and that had no regard for his needs or rights. He shuddered in the realization that that aroused him--that one of his fetishes was to be used cruelly by other men, demanding and controlling men. His time on the canal barge with Tony Reynolds, being controlled and used, although he now knew it was to protect and monitor him, had kept him at a high level of sexual arousal.

Could this man, this older, Marine general-type man... would this man...? Trevor trembled at the thought that, yes, he could, and, yes, he would. Would he be big, virile, vigorous? Would he possess, stretch, fill, and hold Trevor captive of his shaft? Was this what Trevor would want, seek, become a slave to? Is this what he had gotten from Arif--and more recently from Tony Reynolds--and now needed to seek from elsewhere? Would Trevor submit to becoming a slave of this man, Sam Winterberry? Yes, of course. This was Trevor's weakness.

"We will go now for debriefing, testing, recruitment, and instruction," Winterberry said.

"In your hotel room--testing," Trevor murmured.

"Yes," a smiling Sam Winterberry confirmed. "I control all of my agents. You are becoming an agent in the fight against terrorism. Did you enjoy Tony Reynolds? I think I have taught him well."