Hunting Hamid

"He had told me to be nice to Nathan Hebert. He wants Hebert to let him photograph him with nature in the woods."

"Naked?"

"Well, almost. In sexy poses. He thinks it would sell well to a magazine. So, he asked me to be nice to the man. He didn't say where he wanted me to stop being nice to him."

"I heard about the photoshoot at dinner. Hebert agreed to it. It will happen tomorrow. The way you were nice to Hebert is that you let him fuck you here in the gazebo yesterday afternoon, right?"

"You know about that?" The young man sounded surprised. He also seemed a little dopey, as Jawhar had Scott's cock in hand now and was gently stroking it. Scott, intentionally or not, was doing the same with Jawhar's shaft. Jawhar kissed Scott in the hollow of his neck, and the young man instinctively arched his throat to let Jawhar's face nestle in there. The Moroccan licked along a throbbing vein there, and Scott sighed.

"I saw you. I watched for a while. You are a beautiful young man. Your body is gorgeous. I love the way your hair cascades to your shoulders when it's let down." Jawhar reached around and released the bun at the back of Scott's head and his blond hair fell down to his shoulders. Scott moaned.

"So, you let Hebert fuck you so that he'd agree to let Baies do a photoshoot of him. He agreed, and Baies beat you because he hadn't wanted you to go as far as letting Hebert fuck you first--before he agreed to the photos?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Baies is brutal with you, isn't he? He's controlling and violent, and you are a slave to him."

"Yes."

"And yet you stay with him."

"Yes." It was the truth but Scott genuinely felt trapped and used in his relationship to Baies. And this sexy, swarthy Arab excited him and made his juices flow. He made all of the right moves. Scott had already decided that he'd let the man fuck him. He wanted the man to fuck him.

"But you wanted Hebert to fuck you. You let men other than Baies fuck you."

"Yes. But... oh, shit. Oh fuck."

Jawhar was manipulating Scott's body, moving him into position for mounting. Scott obviously knew he was and wasn't resisting.

"Is this OK? Is this going to be OK?" Jawhar whispered.

"Yes, oh yes."

"You know I'm going to put this in you--that I'm going to fuck you."

"Yes, please."

He had Scott half turned away from him on the bench, his buttocks turned up onto the left cheek. Jawhar brushed the young man's sleeping shorts down his legs as Scott shuddered, his body trembling, murmuring, "Please, please, please," without definition of whether it was objection or begging for the cock.

Jawhar assumed, for his own pleasure, that the luscious young man was begging for the cock, and he gave it to him. Holding the young man turned slightly from him with a hand palming the youth's chest, Jawhar raised and bent the young man's right leg up into his chest, turned his hips toward Scott, put his hard cock into position, penetrated, forced his way in, and began a slow pump. Although stretch was required, Scott took the cock in with little force required. The young man was a whore.

Scott cried out in a low voice at the violation, but, although writhing a bit within Jawhar's grasp, he did nothing to try to resist beyond whispering, "Shit. Fuck. You're so big. Give me time to... fuck. Shit."

The thick, long cock forced itself inside, opening, stretching, violating, as Scott panted hard. The young man's left hand went to the wooden ledge under the screening to hold himself in place. His right hand was flung back, clutching Jawhar's right hip, digging his fingernails in, whether to try to push the man away or hold him in place, not even Scott knew, until his hips went into motion, rising and falling on the hard cock as it forced its way into the quick of the youth's core.

"Shit. Fuck, you're big," Scott cried out.

"You wanted me inside you."

"Oh, god, yes. Do me. Just like that."

Jawhar gently pushed the young man over to where he was stretched out on his belly on the bench. The Moroccan straddled the smaller, lighter American from above, palmed Scott's shoulder blades, and fucked down into him, hard and deep and raw to an ejaculation. The young man, shuddering and moaning, lay there, arm dangling off the side of the bench, knuckles dragging on the floor, other hand under his belly, stroking himself off to his own ejaculation, as the Arab took him to the end, tensing, jerking, and coming, tensing jerking, and coming, breeding the young man raw.

"Alan! Yati alan!--Now! It comes now!" Jawhar exclaimed, pulling his cock to the surface, spilling his seed at the young man's channel opening, and then diving again and giving the shaft a couple of more pumps.

Finished, Jawhar let his body come down full length on that of the smaller American. He embraced Scott close and nuzzled his face into the youth's throat. Still inside him, embracing him close, his hands gliding down Scott's arms, holding the young man's wrists, his pelvis rising and falling gently on the youth's buttocks, with Scott sighing and rocking up into the man's crotch. The two were one, fused. Scott hadn't been made loved to this intimately and fully for some time. He was beginning to regret...

"I want you to come back to the lodge. I'm not finished with you. Not anywhere close to finished what I want to do with your beautiful body."

"Can't," Scott murmured. "Hiver is asleep in our room. But he might wake. He'll wonder where I am and go looking for me. I don't want another beating."

"I must have you again--longer."

"Tomorrow. He goes out with the actor to take photos. They're going north, toward Coaticook. We can go for a walk, down the river. Maybe take a swim. Then, on the riverbank... all the time in the world. I know a good, private place."

"Sounds like a plan."

It was. It very much was the plan.

* * * *

Jawhar and Campbell had the lodge kitchen provide them with an easily carried meal and a six pack of cooled beer. Then Scott led them down to the river, where there was a bankside pathway. He struck off south, with Jawhar, carrying the beer, following close behind him, completely entrapped by the young blond, panting to get his dick inside him again. He would have followed the young man anywhere as long as there was a rainbow at the end of the road of a gorgeous young man opening his legs, and if it didn't take that long to get there.

It didn't take that long. It was only two miles to the U.S. border. The Coaticook River took a northward loop near the border, though, which made the walk along the river back three and a quarter miles. Scott led the walk for three and a half miles before he stopped. The hike took an hour and a half, and by the time Scott said he'd found the spot he had talked about, Jawhar's tongue was hanging out with sexual need and he couldn't keep his hands from touching Scott's body here, there, and there as they walked. He had to admit when they arrived in a small grove of trees with a gentle incline down into the river, where there was a cove of still water, that it was a very nice spot.

Smiling at him, Scott stripped, ran down to the river, and dove in, paddling out into the middle of the cove. Jawhar was mere seconds behind him. And he'd put his need off long enough. He swam out to Scott. He could stand where they met; Scott wasn't able to determine whether he could. Jawhar grabbed the young man and pulled him in to his chest. He crouched a bit, pulling the young man onto his lap, facing him. Scott writhed in his grasp at the ferocity with which the man was manipulating his body. He cried out in surprise and pain, as the Moroccan put his cock in position and drove it up into the young man's channel, forcing it to open to his assault. Scott thrashed about for a minute or more, but then he was open, the cock was in him deep, and Jawhar, his arms wrapped around Scott's waist and his mouth latched onto the younger man's nipples and sucking hard, was pumping for all he was worth.

Scott surrendered and fired off from the intensity of the onslaught as he lay back into the water, panting and moaning and docilely took the cocking to its conclusion. Afterward, they held there, in the water, slowly rocking against each other, Jawhar remaining inside the young man as he went flaccid. They kissed and whispered to each other, heated up again, and both regained erections.

"It's so big," Scott murmured.

"And you want it again," Jawhar responded.

"Yes."

They didn't fuck again there--or, rather, Jawhar, who had taken charge, didn't fuck Scott again there in the water. He waded out to the riverbank, maintaining his buried connection with the younger man. He tenderly laid the young man on his back on the riverbank, put his hands under the young man's legs, and raised and spread them. Crouching over Scott and looking down into the young man's eyes with a lustful, yet worshipping gaze.

"It's so big; it's so big," Scott whispered as he panted and grasped the Arab's biceps.

Jawhar fucked the young man again, slowly, deeply, going deep in the youth's core--taking it all and increasing in vigor, intensity, rapidity, and depth. Scott arched his back, dug his nails into the Arab's glutes, and began moving his hips, giving it all, fully involved in the fuck. Lashing out, Jawhar slapped Scott across the face several times, cruelly, bringing sobs out of the young man. Then the Arab's hands went to Scott's throat and he engaged in breath control, causing the young man to gasp when he was permitted breath. All of the time the pounding of the huge, stretching cock continued.

Hiver Baies, who really was Sam Winterberry, chief of the CIA's Candy Store operations unit, specializing in neutralizing and suborning foreign targets by throwing sex at them, didn't interrupt the fuck until Jawhar had tensed, jerked, and breeded Scott a second time and Scott had cried out his own release.

Two agents pulled Jawhar, who really was a Saudi named Hamid and who was at the Canadian-U.S. border assembling a war chest of U.S. cash being collected and delivered to him to smuggle across the border to terrorist cells in the United States, off Scott. To the terrorist's great displeasure, the agents started moving him to where the government vehicles were parked on the apron of the nearby Nelson Road, a backroad that dipped down from Canada into Vermont without a Customs checkpoint. Winterberry helped an exhausted and dazed Scott, one of his agents, up from the grass by the river and handed him the clothes he'd stripped off when he'd gone into the water.

"You can't seize me," Hamid was screaming as he struggled with the two agents who were dragging him away. "You have no authority to arrest me in Canada."

"We aren't in Canada," Winterberry shot back. "This is Vermont. This is U.S. territory. You can see Canada from here. It's just over there. But it's not here." This had been the whole crux of the operation. Hamid was a big fish in the financing of terrorism in the world. The CIA wanted him alive. They also didn't want his masters to be sure what had happened with him, and there was a lot less fuss and red tape in being able to seize him on U.S. soil rather than in Canada. The Canadian authorities even now were at the Boucher Lodge in Stanhope, rolling up Hamid's bodyguards. They were known to be armed, though, so the CIA and the Canadians didn't want to risk losing Hamid in a firefight. The complex operation using Scott had emphasized getting Hamid separated from Mehdi and Ikram.

And the Canadian authorities hadn't really looked the other way at the Coaticook Municipal Airport when the planes came in to deliver boxes of U.S. cash. They'd waited to move until they thought they had all that was coming in.

Everything that had transpired in matching up Hamid and Scott had been an elaborate plan orchestrated by Winterberry--setting up the fuck in the summer house by the unwitting Canadian actor so that Hamid could see it; Hamid being lured into his bedroom by Edouard Grenia so that, while the Arab terrorist was fucking Grenia, he could hear Winterberry beating down Scott in the adjacent room in an effort that wasn't nearly as brutal as it sounded; the supposedly chance night encounter between Hamid and Scott in the summer house; and the outing today, with Winterberry supposedly going north while Scott and Hamid came south--over the border. It was all set up to enhance Hamid's sexual need for Scott and his resultant letting down of his defenses to get his cock inside the young man. Classic spy operations.

"You!" Hamid screamed at Scott. "You were part of this. And you chose this monster over me. You bastard!"

Scott turned away from him, stung. He hadn't lied. He'd opened up to the man about his feelings--that, in sexual terms and as far as Scott knew, Jawhar--no, Hamid--was a lover and Winterberry was a user. The sex he'd had with Winterberry that Hamid had heard hadn't been fully feigned, and it hadn't been tame. Winterberry controlled his agents through sex, and he was rough. It was the plan to rough Scott up to gain Hamid's sympathy, but the wounds had been rendered in rough sex, and Winterberry hadn't held back.

"You let him fuck me twice before intervening," Scott hissed at Winterberry, still not turning to Hamid as the terrorist was hustled out of view. "That last time he damn near killed me."

"I think you were enjoying yourself," Winterberry said, his voice full of acid. "Come, the Jeep is over on the road. I'll drive you back to the lodge. The Canadians have that under control now, I'm sure."

"No thanks, I think I'll walk back along the river," Scott said. He didn't wait for Winterberry to agree. He headed out, north, on the path. Winterberry let him go. When Winterberry was finished with what he had to do here to button Hamid down and get him on the road to a safe house set up to start the interrogations and had gotten back to the Boucher Lodge, Scott had already returned, packed, and convinced the Canadians that he was supposed to be driven into Coaticook. It wasn't clear for a week where he went from there, but after that, he was back in Virginia, at CIA Headquarters in Langley, and reporting back in to the Candy Store unit. He was a staff agent, this was the job, and Sam Winterberry not only was the boss but he also knew where all of the secrets of his agents were buried. Most had something in their past they didn't want shared with the world. Scott was hooked in doing this job for as long as Winterberry wanted him doing this job.

At least the sex was phenomenal--and sanctioned. And Scott couldn't say he didn't respond to the roughness he'd taken--even from Winterberry.