Last Call Ch. 02

"Do you have any objections?"

The way Fazil was looking at me, sitting by me on the narrow bunk, with the man giant Axel standing by the cabin door beyond him, I felt he wanted me to say I did have objections. And it did frighten me, but it also excited me. It represented just what attracted me to the older, Zeus-like Turk. He was danger.

I said nothing, but I leaned away from him where I had been sitting beside him, naked, on the edge of the bunk in the master's cabin of his yacht, while, embracing me close, Fazil had been fondling and "worrying" my body with little pinches and bites of sensitive and tender areas. He knew that aroused me; he could see that it did. And I could tell by his shallow, guttural breathing that it aroused him too.

I shuddered at the sight of the silent, hulking German standing just inside the doorway to the yacht's deck and dangling the pair of handcuffs from his beefy mitts. All business and Nordic massiveness—a natural for the bodyguard role.

Fazil laughed appreciatively at my indecision and hesitancy and grabbed my wrists and forced them over my head, while Axel stepped over and hooked the handcuffs through a handle on the wall at the side of the bunk and then snapped them onto my wrists, leaving me still sitting on the side of the bed, but my torso arching back and my wrists bound to the wall at the side of the bunk with my arms over my head.

Fazil stood up and took his trousers and briefs off and tossed them to the deck and unbuttoned his shirt. He then moved over to a table across the cabin, where he could sit behind it and watch me. Several handguns in various forms of disassemble were spread out on newspapers on top of the table.

Axel bent down and picked up Fazil's clothes, folded them, and laid them on the top of the bunk next to me. He had already done the same with mine, which now lay under Fazil's. The big German went back to the door to the deck, turned, leaned up against the door, crossed his arms, and stared at me like he hoped I would dare to move and that he'd like to do things to me that tested my limits.

I was trembling with lust and want. Either or both of them. Or both of them at once.

Tahir had tried his best the night before in the glass-enclosed flat of Fazil's floating over Kyrenia's harbor on the northern Turkish Cypriot coast, but, although he seemed to have been left satisfied, only the brief onslaughts by his uncle, Fazil, had been able to touch me deeply enough to scratch my own itch.

I felt I'd done well by Tahir, except in one regard. I'd been leading him on for over a year, signaling to him in no uncertain terms that he could have me in exchange for the secrets he was providing me from his position with the Turkish Cypriot prime minister. And last night I'd let him do whatever he wanted with me—for the first time, following months of furtive and brief kisses and hand and blow jobs on the fly and in secret. For the first time last night, I had spent the night with him—with his uncle, Fazil, observing the first fuck.

I had thought I'd have to wake him up in the night for more lovemaking, feeling I owed him, but Tahir had managed to waken on his own and embrace me and make passionate—for him at least—and gentle—which was my problem with it—love to me twice more.

And then we had parted ways, with Tahir thinking I was returning to the embassy in Nicosia and that this was just the start of him being provided full value for the secrets he was feeding to me, but me knowing all of the time I would be leaving with his dangerous, overpowering-fuck uncle on his yacht, bound for Istanbul. I might have gone with Fazil anyway, having discovered that he was a notorious international arms smuggler my government was pursuing. But the fact that his fucking took me to the edge and made me feel entirely alive determined that I would go with him if he commanded me to. Which he had done.

My one regret was that I neglected to tell Tahir that last night was my last call on him, that I was being reassigned and was turning him over to a new handler. I'd meant to tell him that, but I'd put it off several times, and when I started out to look for him at the Dome Hotel where we were to go for breakfast this morning, he having gone ahead while I showered, Fazil had met me on the staircase to his all-glass flat and put out his hand, reminding me that he'd said I'd be leaving with him for Istanbul on his yacht this morning. And I had just put my hand in his and let him lead me down to the quay in front of his building and onto his large motor yacht.

We were hardly beyond the breakwater, headed out to sea before Fazil had me naked and in his arms, sitting on the side of the bunk in his cabin.

I looked up from the bunk where I had been bound with my hands over my head and looked across the cabin at Fazil. I was panting for him. He had played my body with his hands and lips and teeth before I'd been bound, bringing me to full arousal with his beefy hand slow-pumping my cock while he worked my torso with his lips and teeth. I had watched his hairy knuckles as they gripped my cock and longed to have them plying my channel.

I loved the play of the curly, gray-specked black hair on his chest as it cascaded through the gap in his open shirt while he sat at the table across the room and hummed and worked at cleaning the handguns scattered in parts on the surface. I could see below the surface of the table, where he was sitting on the edge of a chair letting his heavy balls and plump cock hang down between his spread legs.

He had taken me with a fury the night before, in his glass cube, while Tahir was showering, and he'd been dominating, and cruel, and rough—just as I liked it. And it had been masterful, a prime example of why I liked going with older men. He knew what I liked, and he gave it to me, quickly and expertly. And he was determined to get what he liked in the process.

"Where did you say you knew my nephew, Tahir, from?" he asked. His tone was conversational, quiet, and seemingly innocent. But I knew there was nothing innocent about Fazil Fikret. There was nothing in Tahir's file at the station in the embassy that had linked him to Fazil Fikret, the elusive international guns smuggler. It was ironic. I had been running Tahir for more than a year while he was picking up whatever he could find on the inner workings of the Turkish Cypriot prime minister's office, and all this time he had been the nephew of an even larger, more-compelling case file.

"I didn't say," I responded. I wanted him to come back across the room and fuck me. I was desperate to feel him inside me again. If making him mad would turn him on, that was fine with me.

"You can tell me now." The same calm, low voice. But a voice to be obeyed. The chills running through my body were no longer just from the want of him and from how he had worked up my body as we were moving slowly out of the harbor and down the long side of the Kyrenia castle bastion on our way to the sea.

"We met through a mutual friend, Sami—I don't remember his last name—at the Club Paradisio in Nicosia," I answered. It was an answer I'd been prepared to give the first time a question came up about my relationship to Tahir. And it had the advantage of being true. It was always best in my business to stay close to the truth; you screwed up less if you could tack close to the true line. I had most certainly met Tahir in the gay nightclub, Club Paradisio. There was no reason why I should tell Fazil, though, that it had been a meeting I had arranged when we learned what Tahir's secret sin was.

We didn't torture information out of those who knew what we wanted to know—well, hardly ever. Instead, we used sugar. We found out their secret wants, the more illicit the better, and we fed those wants—and we made the assets feed us with what we wanted while we fed them with what they wanted so they'd want to come back for more.

I had held Tahir's deepest desire out in front of him for over a year before granting it to him last night. And he had thought that was just a beginning, when I knew it was the ending of my phase of running him and just the beginning of someone else's.

"He tells me you are a diplomat."

"True," I answered. Please stop talking and come over here and fuck me, my brain was screaming.

"What kind of diplomat?"

"Not a very good one, apparently," I said. "I'm being called home. I was leaving today—by plane from the Greek side." I was watching his face closely now. Giving him that information could work a couple of ways. I'd have to watch his reactions closely to see if I could leverage it to my advantage. Here I was, sailing to Istanbul with him on a whim. If he wanted, he could just toss me overboard and no one would know what had happened to me. On the other hand, it might work better for me if he couldn't be sure of that.

"Ah," he said. And then he smiled. "Tahir didn't tell me that."

"I didn't tell Tahir that. I wanted his last night with me to be special."

"And no doubt it was," Fazil was. "In fact, I could tell from what I saw that he was entranced by you. That's a problem I have, Jack—if that's your real name. I think you are pretty special too."

So come over here and fuck me, my mind screamed.

"So come over here and fuck me," I said aloud.

"We'll see. We'll see," Fazil said. And his voice was so calm and matter of fact, that it chilled me to the bone—and it increased the size of my boner. I was in this business for the danger. I was riding a high here—no matter which way it went.

"Tahir tells me you work in something called economic analysis. Tell me something about the Cypriot economy," he then said.

"Perhaps you could tell me something, and I'll let you know if it's correct," I answered. He was much too calm. I wanted to make him just a bit mad.

Fazil rose, one muscle at a time, from the desk, picked up an assembled handgun, and walked slowly and deliberately over to me. His eyes were glittering in a dangerous smile. When he reached me, he stood in close between my legs and slowly pushed the barrel of the gun between my lips.

"Here, suck on this."

I looked up at him defiantly and closed my lips over the barrel of the gun.

"We could end this simply here," he said. "I don't like unknowns . . . no matter how attractive they are to me."

I knew he was bluffing—or strongly suspected it, even though the possibility he wasn't was turning up my arousal heat. And the biggest reason I felt he was bluffing was what it was of his that was hard and moist and rubbing against my thigh. This excited him too.

He pulled the gun out of my mouth and ran the wet barrel down my chest and belly, and I grunted and groaned as he pushed it down under my balls and into my channel. He slow fucked me with it and I raised my pelvis to him and panted and moaned. Fazil leaned down and took my mouth with his in a deep, tongue-penetrating kiss.

The click on the empty shell chamber was as deafening to me as the discharge of a real bullet would have been, and I shuddered at the transience of life and how fully I was under his control. But I only shuddered inwardly. With every fiber of my being, I denied Fazil the pleasure of feeling me flinch.

Fazil pulled away from the kiss and looked down into my face with a sardonic sigh. The barrel of the gun was still buried in my ass. "You are entirely too calm of nerves to be merely an economic analyst, Jack," he whispered.

"Fuck me," I muttered back at him. "Stuff me, cock me. Kill me if you must, but kill me with cock."

Fazil roared with laughter and grabbed the hair at the back of my head with his free hand and came in closer between my legs and pulled my face down to his cock. I swallowed him whole and, retreating slowly up the sides of his shaft, began working the slit of his cock with my tongue for all it was worth. I wanted him to want me.

I felt the barrel of the gun pull out of me and the click of his fingers as he roughly moved my head up and down on his cock, with counterpunching cock work that pressed into the back of my throat. I felt another pair of hands on my thighs as Axel left his post by the door and sat beside me and moved his face to my crotch and attacked my cock and balls with his mouth and my channel with his fingers.

Fazil pulled away from me and went back to his chair behind the table. He sat there, working the nipples in his hairy chest with one hand and his cock with the other as he watched Axel, who had moved to kneeling between my legs, expertly blow me. Axel had a nipping technique that he used on the bulb of my cock that had me grunting and moaning at the same time. It didn't take me long to ejaculate at his attentions. All the time my eyes were glued to Fazil, calculating what he would do next, wanting him to give me a good fucking.

After he was finished, Axel sat back on his haunches and gave me "that" look. I knew that he wanted me as much as Tahir and Fazil did, and I filed that away as possible leverage. Surprisingly, he was both expert and gentle with me. Much more arousing than Tahir had been, but everything he did was controlled and gauged for maximum pleasure—mine as well as his. His teething of the bulb of my cock, the scrape of his teeth along the surface and the flicking of his tongue into my piss slit, put me on the edge of pain and fear. But it never took me over that edge. He had done this at Fazil's command. But the way he was doing ie was by his choice—and as much for his pleasure as it was for mine. And I responded in kind. I wanted Axel to want me again. I was doing everything I could to improve my odds here.

Fazil stood again, came back to me, sat on the side of the bunk, and pulled me up and over onto his lap, with my arms stretched up beside his head, and me facing Axel. With Axel's help, Fazil presented the head of his cock at my channel, which Axel had lubricated and opened with his fingers as he sucked me off, and my wish was now being granted. I was slowly sinking on Fazil's superthick cock, and we began a hard ride, him fairly lifting off the surface of the mattress in his upper thrusts and me leveraging off the balls of my feet and meeting him with a strong, rhythmic down thrust. Fazil was pumping my cock with one fist and ravishing my nipples with the fingers of his other hand.

"Now, Axel. Join us now," I heard Fazil mutter in a low, guttural voice, and Axel was standing and unzipping his fly and fishing out a long, hard, cock. And then Fazil raised my pelvis with his thighs, and Axel crept in on a crouch, his thighs coming in between Fazil's and mine, and I let out a yelp and a groan as Axel's cock started working its way into my channel above Fazil's.

I had fleetingly wished for this earlier, but that had been fantasy. This was reality. I hadn't had any idea I could manage this. But I was finding that I could.

With much groaning and grunting, we moved our hips in unison, fucking as one unit, lost in the ecstasy of giving and taking and kissing and biting and pinching and growling like animals of the jungle in deep, uncontrolled rut.

Axel was pumping my cock with one hand and rolling and crushing my balls with the other. When we were nearing mutual coming, Fazil was holding my head close into his chest with a choke hold around my throat that had me seeing swirls of red and orange before my eyes. The hairy knuckles of his other hand were buried deep in my mouth and I was sucking them hard.

Then he moved the thumb and forefinger of that hand to pinch my nose closed, cutting off my last source of oxygen.

I was fighting for air, fighting for my life. Thrashing about wildly with two cocks counterpunching inside my channel and Axel pumping my cock hard. I started coming first, in long, strong flows, followed closely by Axel—and then, as I was losing consciousness, Fazil came in a gushing fountain deep inside me. I was slipping away, awash in waves of cum.