Malta Sting

Kirk was constantly playing music on the piano and singing for Samir, whose tastes ran to romantic American songs of the fifties and sixties, and Samir loved that. He wasn't as pleased that Kirk continued to smoke and to carry his cigarette case and lighter around with him--but the man indulged the pianist, supplying him with cigarettes, as needed. Kirk began to feel like the Turkey being fattened for the holiday feast.

There were frequent occasions during that thirty days that Samir received guests. Sometimes they came in convoys by car. More often than not, though, they arrived off the coast in yachts and were motored in to meet with Samir or he motored out to meet with them on their ships. Whenever guests were there, Kirk was nearby, standing at the railing overlooking the cove, smoking, and watching the ships that had come in, or somewhere near where the men were meeting, Kirk fiddling with his cigarette case. Fiddling with his cigarette case and lighter appeared to be more a nervous habit with him than actually smoking the cigarettes coming out of the case.

There were moments when Kirk wondered why he was permitted such close access when Samir was entertaining visitors. And, when he could tell that Samir was in heat and hardly able to keep his hands off Kirk in those thirty days, Kirk could wonder at the language the man used in what he would do with Kirk when Kirk was "purified." He made no effort, in saying how he would "use" the young man, not to reveal that he would be a cruel and heavily taxing lover. And it was quite clear that Kirk was being held in reserve for Samir. More than one guard was reprimanded and quite likely severely punished for being caught ogling Kirk. Kirk didn't discourage this, though. He was desperate to find a friend in Samir's service. But he never did.

Kirk saw young men around the compound from time to time, and when he sensed that Samir was in high heat and was having trouble keeping his hands off Kirk, he would see Samir lying with one of these young men. The two would couple, entwined somewhere in the house or at the pool, making out, Samir dominating, to the point of penetrative sex. Samir did penetrate them with his hand, not quite fisting them, put pushing four digits in to the knuckles, making the young men pant and moan deeply as he moved the hand in and out. But they would disappear before moving into the act of shaft penetration itself and Kirk would never see that particular young man again. None of them were blonds, though. They all appeared to be of Arabic ethnicity. Despite lying with such young men, Samir couldn't stop talking about his desire for young, blond men.

Kirk asked Samir once if this fetish the Arab seemed to have meant he had fucked young blonds before, and, if so, what had happened to them. He never got a straight answer to that, though. He didn't pursue the question because he had a very good notion where the Arab was taking this and didn't want to go there. He knew that if it was revealed he eventually would be eliminated, his movements would be severely restricted at that point. He strongly suspected that the young Arab men Samir lay with disappeared somewhere in the bowls of the compound when Samir had been driven to high heat and that they never came up out of that darkness again.

On the thirty-first day, Samir laid on an elaborate dinner with Kirk after Kirk had played the piano and sung for the man. The two of them sat close together on pillows facing a low table. For the first time in a month, Samir was touching Kirk and embracing him and kissing him. He reached up and released Kirk's hair, letting it descend to his shoulders.

This was it, Kirk knew, which Samir confirmed when he whispered, "I have not forgotten that you said you let your hair down only when you were going to bed--or were being bedded."

By the end of the meal, Kirk was lying across the pillows on his back and Samir was on top of him. Samir had worn his thawb to the dinner, but he had unbuttoned it down the front and flared it open to reveal he was naked underneath and in erection. He lay on top of Kirk and kissed and fondled him. They stroked each other's cocks and Samir stripped Kirk of the satin robe he'd been told to wear for the evening. Kirk had kept track of the days. He knew what could happen on this day--and his body was in pristine condition for it.

Embracing Kirk closely, Samir's hand glided down the young man's belly and flanks. Kirk gasped as two fingers entered him and spread his hole. Slowly the hand invaded him, four fingers moving in to the depth of the knuckles. Kirk panted and looked deeply into Samir's eyes as the hand moved: in and out, in and out. Kirk whimpered but he didn't resist. His hips fell into the rhythm of the hand, rocking on it.

"Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me here, now," Kirk whimpered.

"Use your hands, your fine hands," Samir murmured, and Kirk reached down, took the Arab's erection in both hands, and slowly stroked him off. As Kirk worked the man's cock, Samir pulled his hand away and rose over him, the cockhead going into position for penetration. They held there, Samir stroking the young man's shoulder-length blond hair, whispering endearments into his ear, and poised to enter him. For several minutes Kirk thought that this was going to be a sensual sex session. But he was wrong.

Abruptly, Samir sat up and away from the young man. "Go to your room. Clean your body--and clean out your body. Anoint yourself with the oils you'll find there. Await my presence."

The time had come. Kirk went to his room and prepared. When Samir entered the room, still wearing his thawb, but with it open and parted, showing his muscular body and his massive erection, two of his attendants--all of his guards were silent Arab thugs--came into the room with him. Kirk was lying on the bed, naked, awaiting what he thought was the man who would make love to him, prepared to respond as if he were a virgin, gauging Samir's action to know if he should be a willing or unwilling virgin.

He struggled with the thugs as they forced his arms over his head and bound his wrists to restraints in the center of the headboard. Restraints came up from the side of the bed that bound his knees and feet in place, his legs bent and spread, and his feet flat on the mattress. There hadn't been restraints there when he'd left his room earlier that day. They were provided especially for this occasion. He could not close his legs if he tried. A wedge went under the small of his back, raising and tilting his pelvis up.

The thugs left the room and Samir threw off his robe, mounted the bed, and, straddling Kirk's chest, struck him with his open palm again and again cross the young man's face, until Kirk's nose bled and he cried in pain for mercy. Raised over the young man then on his knees, between Kirk's spread thighs, Samir gave him a wicked smile as he pulled a latex glove onto his right hand, making Kirk watch him grease it up.

Kirk cried out in pain and violation as Samir worked his gloved and greased fist into the young man's channel, up to the wrist, past where he'd stopped at the knuckles before, and fist fucked him. Kirk cried out to the ceiling but there was no one to save him--no one to care about whatever Samir decided to do to him. As he fucked the young man with his right first, he stroked himself off with his left. When he released his seed on Kirk's belly, the young man thought it was over for now. But he was wrong.

Having totally subdued him, Samir released Kirk from his bounds, gathered him up in his arms, and took him to Samir's own bedroom. By the time he reached that, he was hard again. He laid Kirk on the bed, grabbed the young man's ankles and wishboned his legs, thrust his erection up inside Kirk's now-gaping hole, and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him. Samir was a virile and vigorous man of action. He was also much too strong for Kirk to bother struggling against. He fucked Kirk almost nonstop for two days before sending him back to his room and promising more "fun" to come.

Fun for Samir, although much of the fucking did it for Kirk as well. Still, he didn't know how much of this he could take before he was used up completely. It was quite evident now that that was Samir's intent--to fuck Kirk to death and to do so inventively.

There wasn't much question anymore what had happened to the earlier young, blond men in Samir's life.

But it hadn't been one session to the finish, as Kirk suspected had been the case with the young Arab men he'd seen with Samir. At least for today, Kirk was still alive. He was still special to Samir.

* * * *

Kirk was taken deeper into the degradation of being used over the next couple of days, but the experience didn't make it all the way to where he feared. There were times, though when the young man wished that the cruel and brutal Arab would just have done with him. Kirk had played his role already.

When the American SEAL commandoes and CIA agents under the direction of Sam Winterberry, the chief of the CIA Candy Store unit operations, specializing in the use of sex in Agency operations, hit the compound from the air with armed drones to soften the place up--knowing right where to apply pressure--before the commandoes came in, Kirk was found in the basement of the villa, naked, back welted from having been whipped, and hanging from a hook in the ceiling. But he was alive and moaning. The semen running down his inner thighs indicated he'd been well fucked recently.

If Samir al-Tariq, a major liaison operative between the various terrorist groups in the Middle East, had survived the assault on the compound, he might have recognized Sam Winterberry as the patron of the Valetta piano bar who, although with a lieutenant, had been sitting at a table in the front corner, had jumped up and turned it over, and had whistled for his men, in police uniforms, to raid the bar when Al-Tariq had brought out his payment for a prostitute. The actual Valetta police, not approving of Maltese soil being used for terrorist organization consultations, cooperated to the point of staging the Valetta jail discharge scene. The pimp who had searched for a young blond willing to take cock for Al-Tariq had done so in service to the operation to monitor and take Al-Tariq down.

Kirk had been brought in specially because he closely fit the bill of Al-Tariq's interests--both in sexual fetish and in musical interests. For thirty days, the young man had recorded and transmitted Al-Tariq's business dealings via his nifty cigarette case camera and transmission device.

Kirk Golding--that, of course, not being his real name, not that his real name will be revealed here--was transported to the military hospital in Wiesbaden, Germany, and was not debriefed until he recovered. His role in all of this had been over before he'd been rescued. Though Al-Tariq chose not to be taken alive in Malta, Kirk had transmitted more than enough data for the United States and its allies to start rolling up and pinching off the support connections between the various terrorist movements in and beyond the Mideast region.

Sam Winterberry's debriefing of Kirk was conducted in Berchtesgaden, a Bavarian ski resort town in southern Germany, nestled up against the Alps. Winterberry maintained a taut and strict Candy Store unit, holding sway over his operatives with the same sexual dominance they were made to take from the "bad guys" in pursuit of the U.S. national interests. He wanted it to be quite clear who was in charge and how control was maintained.

Visiting Kirk in his hotel room, Winterberry started the debriefing by saying, "I hope you can appreciate now that beating before Al-Tariq bailed you out of the Valetta jail both gave you opportunity to gather information and saved your life--it put off the Arab terrorist's plans for fucking you to death. Our intelligence was correct that he was a cleanliness fanatic--and that, in satisfying his fetish for young, blond men, his prey disappeared forever."

"Yes, I can see that," Kirk answered, "and I rather enjoyed that part of the sex." He knew it wasn't in his self-interest to further address the night of the raid on the piano bar, during which Kirk wasn't put in a jail cell but was turned over to Sam Winterberry for the Candy Store unit chief to combine taking his rough sex pleasure with Kirk with preparing him to go with Al-Tariq but not to be used by the Arab immediately.

"Did you now?" Winterberry said. "I was told that what Al-Tariq liked the best--the fisting--was something that you--"

"Yes," Kirk said with a smile.

"One doesn't often... I must admit that I too--and bondage."

"Yes," Kirk said. "Yes, to both."

"You are a rare young man."

"I certainly hope to be."

Then the spy master, a tall, muscular, extremely fit, virile, and vigorous man in his early fifties, proceeded to tie the young operative's wrists to the restraints to the center of the headboard of his bed, slapped the young spy enough for Kirk to believe this was serious business, bent and spread the young man's legs, placed his feet flat on the mattress, elevated his pelvis with pillows, and, gloving and greasing his right hand, worked the hand into Kirk's channel up to the wrist. Panting and moaning deeply, Kirk dug his heels into the mattress and elevated to the hand, rocking on it, as the hand moved in and out, in and out. Although not done as cruelly as Al-Tariq had, Winterberry fist fucked the young man at great length before bringing his long, thick cock into the action.

Kirk took it, because this was what he was hired to do, and he'd been trained to be able to take it. And he was trained not to question how much crueler the terrorists were than his own government was. But Kirk also took it because submitting to fisting was the height of arousal for him.