Insurgency Control

"Austin told me that. He told me where to find you and that you told him I was a real stud."

"He tells you everything?" Scott asked. He was happy Deuir had passed that on. The sooner he could hook this guy, the better.

"Get in the fucking truck," Patin growled. Scott complied.

Patin drove the truck further along the ridgeline dirt road to an isolated grove of trees, where he let the tailgate down and took several lengths of nylon rope out of the truck bed. Holding the rope coils up and looking pointedly at Scott, he said, "What I like to do--"

Giving a shudder, Scott said, "Then do it."

"You?"

"I like it too. Make me your captive. Take it from me."

"I wish our local whores were as accommodating," Patin said as he uncoiled the rope.

Scott stripped and was put down on his back in the truck bed, butt at the edge of the tailgate. His legs were stretched out, tied down to the corners of the truck tail. Scott's arms were stretched over his head, with his wrists tied off at the center of the back of the truck cab.

"There, does that hurt?" Patin asked.

"A little, yes," Scott answered.

Patin laughed. "Good." He stuffed Scott's mouth with the young man's own briefs, and, as Scott writhed in the bed of the truck, Patin spanned his hands from the young man's hips, his thumbs meeting on Scott's lower belly, and raised Scott's pelvis to the level of his own. Penetrating Scott's channel, Patin fucked the shit out of him.

After he was done and had freed the younger man, Patin pulled a couple of bottles of local wine out of the truck cab and, still naked and sharing looks of arousal and approval, the two sprawled under a tree and drank and talked, slowly unwinding hints into their backgrounds and interests--beyond power fucking.

As far as Scott could tell, Patin stayed close to the truth, slowly spinning pieces of his life as a resistance leader living in the mountains of the island and doing would he could to lead short raids into various police stations and military camps with the limited arms and men he could muster. The story Scott wove wasn't far less truthful and was gauged, in revealing that Scott was in the Caribbean on this job as a retreat from working forms of resistance to authority in Europe, to help Patin more easily to move into admitting to his own insurgent activity and, eventually, to be nudged into discussing the possibility that Scott might help Patin's movement in some way. They also discussed their shared interest in rough and kinky sex.

"I enjoyed that sex," Patin said.

"So did I," Scott affirmed.

"I wish I could--"

"Anything you want," Scott said.

The sex session ended, after establishing that they'd do it again soon--and maybe discuss their mutual interest in resisting authority more--with Scott standing behind the tailgate of the truck, bent over the truck bed, his arms stretched out at the side and tied off to the rear corners of the truck, while Patin stood behind him, applying lashes of a hand whip until both were whipped up in a frenzy of arousal, upon which Patin mounted Scott from behind, crouching over him, digging his feet into the bed of the truck to maximize leverage, and rode the younger man's ass hard to another ejaculation.

It was rough, but Scott endured it. Patin obviously was lost to sex this rough, and Scott needed Patin to be lost to him. Scott was almost regretful of his assignment; he easily could be lost to Patin. Scott wouldn't be in this business if he couldn't take it rough or didn't occasionally want it that way.

* * * *

"Almost anything you hear about the army camp on the coast at Le Duprey will be of interest to us. Do you understand, Erik?"

The lawyer, Austin Deuir, and the farm equipment NGO agent, Scott Campbell, going by the name of Erik Jouret and taking on the role of rent-boy on the French-speaking Caribbean island, were sitting on the patio of the beach bar at the Le Marin gay men's resort, looking out to sea.

"I think so," Scott said. He knew so, because this had been anticipated, but he didn't want to come across as experienced at this sort of scheming. He wanted them--Austin and the guerilla leader up in the mountains, Marc Patin--to believe that they had snared a near-innocent to do their bidding.

"Don't pry too much this first time. Just get the man to want to use you again and make him very comfortable--and chatty, in subsequent sessions."

"I understand," Scott answered.

"Do you? I certainly hope you do. Thus far Marc is pleased with you. It is very much in your interest and for the success of your work with the farmers in the mountains for Marc to be pleased with what you'll do for him--and not just sexually."

Was there a touch of jealousy in Deuir's voice? Scott didn't see the need to assure the man again that he understood, so he just looked down at the hand Austin had on his knee and gave a little smile. He understood that he needed to keep Deuir pleased with him sexually as well. That had, he was confident, been achieved in the room Austin had booked here before they had come to the beach bar to wait for the soldier.

Deuir had taken a room at the resort--and he had taken Scott before they came out to the beach bar to wait. While Austin fucked Scott, he gave him pointers on what the major liked--what he would want Scott to do for him. The major at the army camp near Le Duprey, the base from which most of the insurgent hunting was being done up in the mountains near Lourdes, knew the lawyer as a pimp who procured young men for him when the major had an itch to scratch. Deuir--and, behind him, Patin--wanted more and something different from the major and they were amused that the army officer would be paying them to reveal his secrets to the insurgents via a prostitute provided by the insurgents.

As they watched, a small cabin cruiser craft painted in camouflage appeared from the west around a peninsula jutting out into the sea and steamed up to the gay resort's pier, not far from the beach bar. A tall, somewhat heavy-set bald man--a biracial, part dark Caribbean and part European white--in camouflage, with heavy, shiny-black combat boots, climbed out onto the pier and, catching sight of Austin Deuir, who had stood up from his chair at the umbrella-covered patio table, stiffly marched in their direction. As he walked, his eyes went to Scott, who belatedly stood as well, and the smile that floated onto the man's face indicated that Scott passed muster.

"Major Hector Robinson, quite an important man in this region of the island," Deuir murmured.

Scott didn't need to be told. Austin had told him enough about who he and Marc wanted Scott to let fuck him for his source to figure out the importance of the army officer--but beyond that he'd already seen photos of the man and read a dossier on what his preferences and kinks were. As soon as Scott had heard a name, he'd messaged it back to CIA Candy Store operatives lurking nearby, and within hours they had provided a dossier on the military officer.

"Une petite européenne blond--A small, blond European," the major said as he approached.

"I thought you might like a bit of variety," Deuir answered in French. "This is Erik. He's French Canadian, but he works for a Belgian service. He's quite flexible and will give you what you want--what you have told me you preferred."

"Magnifique."

Major Robinson turned out not to be magnificent in the looks department--he was ugly of face and heavy, although hard-muscled of body, and only average of endowment--but he was a surprise as a lover. He was of traditional tastes, settling on the missionary position mostly, although they finished with the major on his back and Scott saddled on his hips, leaning over and clasping the officer's knees as the young man rose and fell on the cock in the cowboy position, and he was as attentive to Scott's needs and pleasure as to his own.

Still, he was an army officer and he took command, being as interested in exploring Scott's body with his eyes and hands as he was in fucking the rent-boy. Scott went with what he perceived the man wanted, and he must have guessed correctly, because the major obviously was pleased at the end of the session, made known he wished to engage Scott's services again, and was chatty enough, even in this first tryst, to have dropped some useful information on the strength, equipment, and deployment of his forces in the insurgent containment operations that Scott was sure Marc Patin would be pleased with taking as the initial results of the tryst the insurgents had set up.

Afterward, when Scott and Deuir were alone and Scott had told him what information on the army camp he had gleaned, Deuir had expressed his pleasure. "Marc will want a report on that immediately."

"What should I do? How do I make contact?"

"You need do nothing," Deuir answered. "Marc will contact you."

What Scott really wanted to know was where Marc and his insurgents were camped out.

* * * *

Patin contacting Scott came sooner and in a more unexpected place than Scott anticipated. Later on the night of Scott's first hookup with the army camp commander, he answered a knock at the back door of his bungalow on the outskirts of Le Marin to find Marc Patin standing in the shadows, holding the lightbulb from Scott's back porch. As the man emerged from the chosen darkness, Scott saw that Patin held coils of elastic leads and a small hand whip in the other hand. He handed the still-hot light bulb to Scott as he passed by him, and Scott stood by, almost dumbfounded, as the insurgent chief moved stealthily from room to room, closing drapes and turning off lights. There weren't many rooms in the bungalow, so the procedure didn't take all that long.

"Pleasure first," Patin said. "In the bedroom, I think." Scott meekly walked toward the bedroom door, only to be surprised by Patin. The insurgent grabbed Scott's hair, which was let down to cascade to his shoulders, cruelly arched Scott's head back, and possessed the younger man's mouth with his. Scott was just in shorts, and Patin quickly kissed and nipped his mouth down into Scott's throat and then to the younger man's nipples, which Patin ravished while his free hand roughly felt Scott's cock and balls up through the thin material of the athletic shorts he was wearing. Scott yelped through his trapped mouth as Patin closed his fingers over Scott's balls and squeezed.

Patin forced Scott to his knees and presented his cock for sucking. Scott dutifully opened his mouth to the cock and gave the older man head, while Patin leaned over him and secured Scott's wrists together behind his back with restraints and then did the same to the young man's ankles.

Before ejaculating, Patin pulled out of Scott's mouth and raised and snapped down his hand whip again and again, causing a moaning Scott to huddle up on the floor. Pulling Scott back up on his knees, Patin crouched over him, mounted him, penetrated from behind and above, and fucked him the first time right there on the living room floor, near the door into the bedroom.

Although he was bound and could have done nothing to defend himself anyway, Scott gave the insurgent chief everything and anything he wanted. If the plan was to make the man besotted with him and appreciative of Scott's willingness to take his full sexual fury, the plan was working beautifully.

The muscular, strong biracial man had no trouble picking the bound and moaning small blond up and carrying him into the bedroom. There, he readjusted the bondage, with Scott doing nothing to resist. Scott was unbound, put on his belly on the bed, and then rebound, spread-eagled, at the four corners of the brass head- and foot-boarded bedframe. Pillows were shoved under his belly to raise and roll his ass up for convenient mounting. Patin came up onto the bed, crouched over Scott's pelvis, penetrated again, and fucked the hell out of the bound captive for a second time, as Scott writhed as best he could under the onslaught, crying out a submissive, "Yes, yes, yes! Fuck my lights out."

Patin's want of and obsession for the young blond was obvious. It was just what Scott had wanted.

Stretched out on top of Scott afterward, both men panting heavily from the exertion, Patin placed his lips close to Scott's ear and said, "Now, I want a full report of your encounter with Major Robinson. Did Austin manage to get photos for blackmail use?"

"Yes, and I found out more," Scott answered. He proceeded to tell the insurgent chief what he'd gleaned about the army camp and its operations against the insurgents in the mountains above the island coast.

"Good. Meet him again as soon as he wants and find out more."

"I can help you with more than that," Scott said.

"Oh? How?"

"You need arms, don't you?"

"Yes, always. With your help we can get them on a raid of the army camp."

"I can get them for you more easily than that."

"How?"

"My Belgian nonprofit, Récole Abondante, isn't really a nonprofit. We provide more than just farm equipment to the third world. We provide arms as well. I can get your insurgency well armed."

Patin laughed. "Austin told me that you would be more than an easy and sweet lay."

* * * *

It was two months later and Major Robinson was still taken enough with Scott's sexual charms to sail over to the gay male resort near Le Marin from his army camp frequently and to make a regular periodic booking at the resort where he could fuck the young male whore and, unwittingly, pass on valuable information on his anti-insurgent activity in pillow talk.

The major was sitting on the end of the bed and Scott was on his lap, facing him, his knees dug into the mattress on either side of the major's hips and using them for leverage to rise and fall on the soldier's cock, while they murmured endearments laced with bits of information on the major's life and operations. As the fuck got frenzied--nothing kinky, just vigorous, intense fucking by two experienced and fit lovers, all conversation ceased and they panted and moaned the buildup to their mutual release.

And then it came, the army officer releasing deep inside Scott's passage while, using his expertise and his knowledge of the young man he was fucking, stroking Scott off to an almost simultaneous ejaculation. It was their second fucking of the visit, having come together explosively, and in the cabin of the vessel, as soon as the major's boat had touched the resort pier and then again, here in the resort bungalow, after having had drinks on the beach bar patio. As they were having drinks, Scott saw that his CIA control officer, Sam Winterberry, the chief of the Agency's Candy Store unit, was sitting at another table on the patio, and Scott knew that he needed to cut the major's visit as short as possible.

Scott had come to enjoy the coupling with the army major. The man wasn't demanding and he was attentive to Scott's needs, certainly something that neither the lawyer, Austin Deuir, nor the insurgent chief in the mountains, Marc Patin, were--or that the CIA agent Sam Winterberry was, for that matter--not that Scott didn't enjoy the rougher fuck he got from these men as well. He normally would beg Robinson to stay the night. Sometimes Robinson did. Scott didn't invite the man to do so this time, though, knowing he had important business to attend to.

When the major was gone, safely back on his boat and steaming back across the bay to his army camp, Sam Winterberry entered the bungalow. Scott, still naked, had returned to the bed and was sitting at the foot of the mattress. Winterberry looked angry when he came into the room, and this proved to be the case. He strode over to the young man, slapping him across the face, first one way and then the other, which made Scott fall back onto the mattress, protectively throwing a protective arm across his face.

"You took your time getting rid of the soldier," Winterberry growled. "What have I told you about becoming involved with the targets?"

Groaning and saying, "He usually stays the night; I didn't want to raise his suspicions," Scott tried to raise up again, but Winterberry punched him in the face, causing him to fall back onto the bed and just lie there, docile, as Winterberry reasserted his control over his agent. His means for doing so was to grab the young man's ankles and raise and spread Scott's legs. Unzipped and exposing a long, thick erection, Winterberry crouched between the young man's legs, thrust forward, penetrating and possessing, and fucked Scott into submission.

Later, when the commander-agent relationship had been solidified again and Scott had reverted to being Scott Campbell, not a French Canadian, but a Vermonter from near the Canadian border, and Winterberry had reported that the shipment of guns Scott would be supplying to the insurgents in the hills had arrived, Scott said, "So, you'll be pulling me out now after I've delivered the arms, and I won't be seeing the major again either. You'll see that that's fine with me."

"No, we're not pulling you out for a while, nor do I want you to stop meeting with the major," Winterberry said. "We want to know more about what both are doing."

"But it will be a heated war now, won't it?" Scott asked. "I can't play both sides, and you've sided with the insurgents."

Winterberry snorted. "No, we haven't. All of the guns we provided have GPS devices embedded in them. We'll be able to track where the insurgents are and we can help direct the local army to them. The guns also are programmed not to work for very long. When they begin to stop working and the insurgents start to become suspicious of what they were given, that's when we'll pull you out."

Scott was skeptical of this and started to say something, but the look on Winterberry's face warned him not to if he didn't want to get a beatdown again.

Seeing the look on Scott's face, Winterberry said, "Don't worry, we'll pull you out in time. We're the CIA. We know how to get this done. You've proven to be a valuable agent."

Scott didn't find that particularly reassuring, but Erik was in the Agency's Candy Store unit. It didn't get more elite or at the bottom of the choice spectrum than this for a young, compromised agent like Scott.

What would be would be.