Recruited

"The Worldwide Generative Assembly, of which the Sentry Coast Assembly is a chapter in good standing, is a relatively loose worldwide association of charities run by and for women. That is straightforward enough. The trustees, of which I am one, and a number of ranking senior practitioners, currently numbering some three dozen, recruit and, shall I say, avail themselves of young men initiated into their personal service. Ostensibly, these clearly sexual arrangements generate in the female host an enhanced power to foster natural growth and fecundity through the world. The sex, it is believed, or I suppose it is said, makes the female practitioner's magic more powerful. And I suppose magic is an odd, outdated word, but the powers are real, believe me. Among the three Managing Trustees, we wield a considerable physical, temporal energy that can be very destructive. Don't ask me to explain beyond that.

"Sanctioned Ones come along on average, once every year and a half. As soon as one is nominated, and found worthy, he circulates through the world...'visiting'...senior practitioners, and enhancing their generative powers. He also spends a certain percentage of the year in the territory of his home, visiting practitioners there. For the young man, it can be by turns a grueling and a highly gratifying experience. Almost three years ago now, a young man named David Allard was found in St. Louis, here in America, and found worthy to be the Sanctioned One. After a couple of months of visiting Assembly chapters, he arrived in Bangkok, and has never been allowed to leave. A senior practitioner called Chariya Ayutthaya has had custody of the young man, and has kept her own counsel about his whereabouts. Naturally, as one of the three Managing Trustees, I take quite a dim view of such an outrageous violation of Assembly by laws, and simple human rights. Unfortunately...the other two members of the board of trustees don't apparently take the matter as seriously."

She took a sip of water. "So. I find myself compelled to act on my own initiative. And it is a radical solution, I'm afraid. We French have always found the radical solution a perfectly viable one. I know it means ostracization for me, and perhaps a down time for the Assembly, but when someone's been held against his will, with no recourse or remedy, it makes me question the morals and sincerity of those in charge. I frankly don't know all the things that will happen once I start down this path. But I assure you both that your freedom and security are my very first, and my very last objectives. And I have only one other: free David Allard.

"So. I have assignments for both of you." She paused. "My dear Miss Gentry. Your face changes every second. You look at me, you look at Tris. Your emotions are very high. Speak to me, what is going on with you?"

Hannah huffed, looked back and forth between Tris and Hélène, and said, "Tris and I -- we'd been making love for a little over a month now, all the time I thought I couldn't get pregnant. I have endometriosis...but just yesterday I found out I was pregnant -- I mean it was confirmed by the doctor yesterday -- and I had the worst roller coaster ride inside -- what do I do? How will Tris feel about it. I have so much to tell him, and not only just about my pregnancy -- Oh, Tris, so much to talk about. I came here this morning, petrified about how he would react, would you even want to see me again? I got him into this, and then he'd figure I trapped him --" Tris scoffed. Hannah sniffed and the tears started again -- "and he just said, just now he said let's make wedding plans --" and she broke down, put her face in her hands and toppled over into his lap, crying, not controlling it, crying. Tris said, "Okay...okay...I love you, I'm right here for you...I'm just so fuckin' excited for us."

"Well," Hélène said, "l'amour triomphe de tout, as we say in France. And now it makes it all feel so much more right. Instead of sending Tris around the world for, perhaps, 30 weeks, as a Sanctioned One, he can now stay here with you and make the wedding plans. Splendide! Eh? So, Miss Gentry. Hannah. You must gather yourself together. Time to get to work. And part of your work is to sacrifice Tris to me for several days, maybe a week, for you see, we must keep up a charade, a feint, to deceive the other trustees, Clotilde and Alice. They must think things are progressing normally, which means I take Tris to Paris for a glorious week or so before introducing him to another senior practitioner somewhere in the world." She looked to see Hannah's reaction. "Hm? But of course we will not be going to Paris, YOU will be. So perhaps this softens the blow of giving this old scheming lady your handsome fiancé for a few nights, eh?"

She held both hands up, her palms facing facing them -- a reset. "I got a call this morning while on the phone with you, Miss Gentry, from my friend Gary Clarkson of the American Embassy in Bangkok. He is well-connected with the police there, and has a fix on David Allard's location and, more important, his normal routine. Your government and my government share an intense dislike of human trafficking, and I have searched my soul about my own culpability in these matters and have determined to set things right to the extent that I can. You, Miss Gentry, are going to Paris for the sole purpose of bringing my phone and Tris's phone there. I can't ship them there because they will sit at De Gaulle airport and languish in unclaimed Customs -- can't have that. It must be apparent to Clotilde and Alice that we have traveled there and while our phones will be turned off, with the appropriate option enabled they will still be traceable. I doubt very seriously that they will be checking passenger manifests when all is going as they expect. You know?...I don't think they trust me much, since they asked very casually and in passing that I set the flag. Well, they are smart not to trust me. I don't trust them either. Keep their batteries charged. Nothing must be amiss!"

"Paris?" Hannah asked. "By myself?"

"Yes," Hélène said, "for a short, undetermined amount of time. You will take a car from the airport to my home in the 16th Arrondissement, where Madame Michel, the lovely concierge, will take excellent care of you." She went to the safe and opened it, pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to her. "This is 5,000 Euros. When you do or buy anything in Paris, use cash. There will be another 5,000 waiting for you at my home. Madame Michel will handle that for you too."

And so, like an American football team, they broke their huddle and deployed themselves to play. Hannah insisted on another private conversation, but when she took him aside, she just gazed into his eyes. Tears welled up again in hers. "You don't know what you've done for me," she whispered. He smiled. He said, "Yes I do." He kissed her deeply and held her tight to him, and said, "You don't know what you've done for me." She looked into his eyes, and as she did so, her eyes continued to threaten tears. "You take care of the two of you, seriously, okay?"

"Of course!" she said. "Oh, Tris, I still have so much to tell you, stuff I'm not proud about..." He cocked his head, still smirking. She breathed deeply. "I'm older than you think!"

He smiled. "Not too old to get pregnant, apparently." She rolled her eyes slightly.

"Come on," she said plaintively. "I'm trying to be serious."

He said, "I know. And so am I. You're gonna make me a daddy. So, what are you, 40?"

"Stop it!" She smiled without wanting to. "I'll turn 30 on my next birthday." It was like ripping off a Band-Aid.

He smiled, kind of amused. "Really, the things women worry about." He held her gaze. "I love you so much." He gave her a long, deep kiss, and followed it up with another. And he said, "Hélène's about ready with her bags. Run along to Paris. Love it. Love me!" She squeezed him and Tris could feel her little sobbing convulsions. He said in her ear, "Be happy, baby. I am. I am so psyched!" She let go of him and looked at him again. "Now scoot!" he said and spanked her.

Hélène called after her, "And remember! You may take your phone, but you will not be able to contact me or Tris. You'll have our phones."

In rapid succession, Tris climbed in a car Hélène provided, to his dorm to pack (passport included!), cruised through a private terminal at the airport and boarded the sleek twin-engine turboprop Hélène had chartered. As they flew to San Francisco, he finally felt like he was catching his breath.

"I was worried you might not have a passport," Hélène said and smiled at him.

"My Dad insisted I get one," said Tris, "when we went to Vancouver one time. He wrote the trip off as a business expense. He was trying to expand his trucking business into British Columbia."

"Ah."

They boarded the jumbo jet liner through the same walkway as all the passengers, but that was where the similarity in their experience ended. As they got on board, a separate member of the flight crew took them personally up the stairs to the second level suite. Tris's eyes got big, as he entered what was essentially a hotel room with a double bed, two leather swiveling recliners, large monitors on the wall across from the seats, and a closet to hold their luggage. He stood in it, looked speechlessly around, and looked at Hélène. She smiled. She said, "This is why you fly only the very best airlines with the very best equipment." He dared not ask the cost; Hélène was apparently very wealthy, and besides, it would be rude.

They settled in, the jet took off, they enjoyed a fine meal on fine china -- Tris was almost on overload. It amused Hélène, watching Tris's eyes boggle at each new feature of their service. She had Tris sit in one of the recliners and sat in his lap. It was a little awkward, but she managed to snuggle close and kiss him several times. She said, "You see, mon beau jeune étalon, that I will require your very best efforts, pleasing me." She looked in his eyes and kissed him again. "My plan for dealing with Chariya is coalescing, but I will need to be at the height of my powers. That is where you come in." She held his head against her upper chest, a kind of a hug. "Ooh! You are the sweetest, prettiest boy I've seen in a long, long time. I love how you love me, how you do everything to please me, how you make sure I want for nothing in bed...In fact..." She rose and began to undo her beautiful scarf and jacket. She watched as Tris stood to disrobe. They had talked about Hannah -- or rather, Hélène spoke to Hannah about Tris, how she, Hélène, needed his strength-giving vigor, and that Hannah should put it out of her mind, that Tris was doing this to help another human being, and would belong to her as soon as their mission was finished.

Hélène reflected, as Tris joined her on her side of the split bed, that everyone should have a sex partner on long flights. It certainly suited her. She held him close after he joined her; she always got such a delightful charge from the warmth of his skin, its smoothness and softness. And he was a skilled, avid kisser, something she always had such a weakness for. She thought his hard cock seemed built expressly for her delight, her rapture. As he first slid into her she almost came then and there. His instincts were incredibly in tune to her pleasure, her responses; when she wanted more, he sensed it and pressed more strongly. It was a beautiful flight: Mme Morel got all she could hope for, and Tris loved showing her how tireless he was in bed. Changing planes in Singapore was a red-eyed exercise, but Hélène seemed to handle it better than Tris.

When after this marathon, they arrived safe and sound in a premium room in Bangkok, Hélène made a brief phone call, and they both fell into the sleep of the dead.

Hours or days later, Tris rolled around and stared at the strange hotel room.

"Ah," Hélène said as she strode into the room in a long sleeping gown. "Mon jeune amant, you are awake? Bon." She sat on the bed by him and looking down, smiled. She ran her fingers through his hair. Are you awake enough pour amour? Hm?"

She bent down and kissed him. She stood up and walked around the bed and reclined next to him. "Mm? Bring your beautiful lips and mouth to me, mon trésor!" Tris rolled over and placed his face between her flabby, dimpled thighs. She gave him access by pulling apart her fleshy vulva, and sighed deeply when his mouth greeted her wet inner lips. Tris didn't know how many more times he would be pleasuring Hélène, but he was determined to make each time memorable. To her delighted gasps, he gently but firmly kissed and licked and sucked on every bit of pink flesh he could find. He slid his fingers inside her, to caress the upper angle in her vaginal wall -- this brought him a yelp and an extra quiver from her. Tris was so hard. He lay on the bed with his erection pressed downward.

He kept his rhythm timed to her own energies, and surprisingly soon, she erupted noisily, her body clenching in against itself, her fluids spraying his face and neck. She quaked strenuously, emitting nonsense sounds, holding his face against her. Tris kept busy with his fingers, tongue and lips. He licked her clit strenuously, and paid an homage of sensual kisses to it. He prolonged her peak as well as he could, and finally she had to hold him off, her breath desperate, her body shivering, perhaps over-stimulated.

They lay together for another half hour. Tris opened his eyes to see the local time was a little after 8:00. Hélène roused and announced it was time to get up.

Tris sat in a Bangkok police car with Gary Clarkson, a young man with thinning sandy-colored hair, wire framed glasses, and an open, honest look. They were a block and a half away from Chariya Ayutthaya's compound-like residence. Gary'd told Tris that he (Gary) would be recognized if he were hanging around the gate, so he couldn't risk it. Tris's job was to stay out of sight until the gate was disabled, then he was to run up and tell David his name, and to run like hell. They'd learned from the police that David wanted out of the compound and was beginning to be physically and psychologically abused in his imprisonment. Even Gary was in the dark about how the police learned all this, and was sure not going to ask.

"How will I know when the gate's disabled?" he asked.

Hélène told him he wouldn't be able to miss it. She gave him some high-end ear plugs and told him to put them in before he set up in his hiding place.

Tris stationed himself as instructed, in a small indentation in a wall up the block from the entrance to the residence. The wall by the street was twenty feet high and the gate was a dull metal gray color, with vertical poles every half foot and horizontal ones eight or ten feet apart. It was arched at the top and electrified. And forbidding. And ugly.

He couldn't see Hélène, but thought it was about time she showed up. And here she was, in a plain long shift and broad brimmed hat. She stood perhaps twenty meters from the gate, her head down. Tris's heart pounded. Hélène glanced into the stone courtyard and looked up at the top of the gate. After a slow count to five, an immense, cataclysmic flash and explosion of noise leapt up around the gate, and with a low metallic groan, it swung a few feet open. Tris raced up to the gate as fast as he could, kicked it savagely with the sole of his foot, saw a young guy who looked like a teenager.

"David!" he yelled. The young man turned to look at him. "David! My name's Tris! Let's GO!!" David shook his head trying to hear, and as Tris ran at him, he started to run toward Tris. Tris snagged him by the elbow, and they took off, and flying on the wings of youth and adrenaline, in the direction of the waiting police car. As they sprinted away, they heard a low rhythmic buzzer of an alarm at the compound. A moment later, another colossal crash and explosion boomed through the neighborhood, and when their hearing recovered, the alarm had stopped.

They ran up to the police car. An officer in his khaki uniform, and a man in a shirt and tie waited for them. As they arrived, the officer asked him, "You are David Allard?"

He was out of breath from running hard. "Yes!"

The officer looked at a copy of his passport photo, and indicated the back seat. "Get in."

Gary Clarkson introduced himself, and they shook hands, and then hugged. David's eyes looked bloodshot and hollowed-out, but he watched with an unreadable look the street and the buildings go by.

The officer stopped at a nondescript corner two blocks away, and Hélène, wearing a broad smile, hopped in the back with Gary and David.

Two days later and half a world away, two young lovebirds, having just visited a neighborhood bakery, took the elevator to the 6th floor of an apartment building on the Rue des Vignes in Paris. The lovely flat was tastefully updated with all premium fixtures, conveniences and surfaces. Madame Morel told them she had some affairs to attend to in Nice, and gave the run of her luxury apartment in Paris. They took out their croissants and their baguettes, poured coffee from the press, and propped themselves up to sit in bed and have a bite of breakfast.

"So what do you think today," Hannah said, "the Musée de l'Orangerie? It's got that really cool circular painting by Monet."

"That sounds good." Tris said. "You know, Hannah, after 30 days we could get married here."

Hannah carefully put down her cup and looked at him. She said, "Wait. What?"

"I checked with Gary," Tris said, "while I was in Bangkok. That's what he told me. So I was thinking, we could have a honeymoon in Paris first, and then get married here."

Hannah shifted the plates of baguettes, and Hélène's porcelain cups and saucers carefully to a bedside table. As she crawled toward Tris she said, "You are the sweetest, most romantic," poised in front of him, she kissed him, "darling, hot, sexy," she kissed him again, "boy -- fiancé -- on Earth. Scoot down," she said. "You are going to get so lucky right now!"

Covers were out of the way, and his briefs where gone, and Hannah had free access to Tris's burgeoning cock. She took it her warm mouth and Tris sighed adorably. As he hardened, Hannah, whose original idea was a blow job, changed her mind, and wanted to fuck. She lowered herself on his rock hardness and rode his faithful, durable, ADORABLE cock to two delicious, noisy, memorable orgasms. As she rested on him, catching her breath, she reflected on how it wouldn't be possible that anyone else on the planet could be as happy as she is, at this very moment.

This was before they learned that Madame Morel had transferred €50,000 into Hannah's savings account, and left directions with the Business Office at Tris's college that fees and receivables of any and all kinds would be addressed to her for reimbursement. She considered that she had removed the financial rewards the two would have received, and that didn't seem right.