Another First Time Ch. 01

Trent was able to ratchet down his demonstration of pain-pleasure loss of anal virginity as Compton reached down, cupped Trent's cheek, and guided the young man's mouth to his cock.

After fifteen minutes of three-way panting and the Turk's rhythmic pumping and an ejaculation from both Ergon and Trent, the Turk pulled away and moved Trent's body to where it was stretched along Compton's and cupped into his belly. Only then did Compton wrap his arms around Trent's chest; press the palm of his hand on the young man's belly, to pull Trent's ass into his groin; position his cock and begin a long slide up inside Trent; and begin to move his hips in a slow fuck.

Trent had known all along that he was expected to spend the night in Compton's bed and return to the cruise ship the next morning in time for an afternoon sailing and leaving the impression that he'd never been there at all. So, when Compton finished fucking him and continued to embrace his body, as Ergon withdrew from the bed and left the room, Trent just went with the flow.

But he hadn't gotten what he'd come for yet.

"The name. You're supposed to give me a name," he whispered.

"Ah, yes, you remembered. Not just a divine lay, but you're a good, on-point agent as well. Very well. The name you came for is Howard Scanlon."

Trent almost gave a jolt. Scanlon was deputy director of the Defense Intelligence Agency. He had no idea what the name meant or why Langley wanted it so badly—he assumed it would be a foreign name—but anything connected with a deputy director of DIA was big shit in the intelligence agency.

"Now settle down, I happily find I can do you again."

And, indeed, Compton hadn't withdrawn that long dick from Trent's channel and it had maintained purchase after the older man had come. He was hard again, now, though, and his pelvis was going back into motion.

Knowing his role, Trent murmured, "Oh, God, yes, I want it again," and began a counterstroke with his own hips. Compton reached around, grasped Trent's hard cock, and began to stroke. Between the proficiency and length of the old man, the rough, monster-cock thrusting of the muscular Turk, and Trent's own need of constant servicing, he had no trouble—or problem—with Compton fucking him through the night—or Ergon returning for another go, for that matter.

And he already had what he had come for.

At the thought of the hunky Turk, Ergon materialized from the shadows again and kneed his way up onto the bed, presenting his cock for Trent's mouth in preparation for that "other go" Trent had welcomed. He anticipated that he would be fucked to exhaustion and sleep the deep sleep afterward, and in those thoughts he was correct.

With the late morning light streaming into the bedroom through the French doors, both of which now were ajar, Trent woke to a slap on his cheek. Looking up, he saw Maurice standing over him.

"Wake up and get moving. We have to get out of here," Maurice was saying.

Trent looked over on the other side of the bed and, to his horror, he saw the torso of Eric Compton, with a pillow covering his head. There was no doubt in Trent's mind that the man was dead.

"How? When? There's a Turkish servant around somewhere."

"Just put your clothes on and let's get out of here," Maurice said. "There's a car waiting for us a few blocks away. You got the name, didn't you?"

Maurice's eyes narrowed and he sucked in breath when Trent gave him the name, but then he started pulling Trent out of the bed and prodding him toward the front of the bungalow.

* * * *

Two weeks later, at Langley Headquarters, as Trent was eating his lunch in the north cafeteria, he turned to page three in the Washington Post and began to hyperventilate. He took a quick look around him to gauge whether he was being watched and then settled in to reading the article about the tragic automobile accident on the Capitol Beltway the previous evening that had taken the life of the deputy director of the Defense Intelligence Agency, Howard Scanlon.