On a Snowy Afternoon

Rahmani had ejaculated, but he was half erect still and the cock still had steel hardness in it as the man continued sliding his cock inside his own cum between Erik's thighs.

"Run a bath for us, please," he said, as he, at last, released his hold on a trembling Erik. "I'll order up some champagne."

Erik stumbled over to the large marble tub that was backed by a large window overlooking the still-falling snow and the rocks of the alp rising behind the hotel, and started the water going.

In the bedroom, Rahmani first made a call on his cell phone. Then he extracted the flash drive and a small, handheld flash drive reader from his satchel and made a second copy on another flash drive. He careful returned the original back to the satchel and went over to the desk and fished a key from his trousers. He took the satchel over to his suitcase, which was sitting on a luggage rack on the other side of the bed. The case wasn't completely unpacked. There were shirts and pieces of underwear hanging over the side. He didn't lift the lid of the suitcase, though. Rather, he inserted the key at the side, near the base, and a secret compartment large enough to hold the satchel slipped out. Securing the satchel inside the compartment and closing it, he returned to the desk, returned the key to his trouser pocket, picked up the copy of the flash drive, and went to the door and opened it.

A man wearing the uniform of a hotel waiter and leaning over a cart with an ice bucket and two wine glasses on top was waiting outside the door. Rahmani handed the man the second copy of the flash drive, pulled the cart into the room, and shut the door.

When the scientist reentered the bathroom, Erik was sitting on the broad lip of the steaming tub, looking dreamy and stroking his cock. He was erect again. Rahmani was still erect—massively erect. Erik's eyes went big and he gasped when he saw what the Iranian-American was packing. He moaned at the knowledge of where that was going to be sheathed.

Rahmani placed the tray with the champagne and glasses on a broad corner of the tub, climbed into the tub, and reclined back. He opened his arms to Erik, who slipped into the tub, facing Rahmani, and placed his knees on either side of the scientist's thighs. He panted and huffed and gave little cries, as Rahmani grasped his waist and slowly pulled the young man's channel down on the long, thick, throbbing cock. Erik leaned back, away from Rahmani's chest, threw his arms back, grasped well-placed metal handles inside the rim of the tub behind him, and held on for dear life as, water churning around them, Rahmani slammed him up and down on the cock vigorously and cruelly until the Iranian-American blasted the young man deep inside his passage with three separate bursts of cum. He pulled Erik's chest into his, took him in another deep kiss, and continued stroking his cock up inside Erik's channel, sliding through the lubricant of the cum he had deposited there, as, slowly, he went flaccid and Erik's sighs and moans subsided into a soft purr.

Still sheathed on Rahmani's lap afterward, Erik did the honors of pouring the champagne, ensuring that Rahmani didn't see the packet he deftly opened and emptied into the scientist's glass. They toasted each other and tossed off the champagne. Erik refilled the glasses. They toasted each other again and sipped more slowly, cooing to each other, complimenting each other on their beautiful bodies and on how well they moved together in the fuck.

Erik felt Rahmani going hard again. Another glass of champagne, and Rahmani changed their positions, turning Erik over the rim on the tub, his belly on the wide lip, his fists pressed into the tiles of the floor next to the tub, his eyes focused on the pattern of the tile design on the side of the tub, and Rahmani on his knees in the tub, crouched over his buttocks. Grasping Erik's waist between his hands, Rahmani pounded Erik's channel to another coming, letting Erik know how much enjoyment he got out of Erik's cries of passion in the brutal taking.

Feeling drowsy after he'd seeded Erik a second time, Rahmani leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes. It hadn't been a sleeping drug—just something to make the man drowsy and lethargic for a short period. Erik had been told not to expect more than ten minutes of time in which Rahmani would be so far gone that he couldn't think straight. When the Iranian-American was well settled, Erik climbed out of the tub, dried himself off, and padded out into the bedroom. Time was limited but he knew what to do.

He made a call on his cell phone. After he'd closed out on the call, he went to the desk and fished around in Rahmani's trousers for the key to the secret compartment. Finding and retrieving it, he went to his own trousers and extracted the handheld flash driver copier he had brought with him. It only took him six minutes to retrieve and copy the flash drive and have everything back where they belonged.

He took the handheld device copy of the flash drive he made to the door and opened it. A man was standing there, in the corridor. He took the device from Erik. Erik watched him long enough to see the man safely back into the room next door. Then he closed the door, padded over to the bed, and laid down on the bed on his back. When he heard sloshing in the tub in the bathroom, he spread and bent his legs, placed his feet flat on the surface of the bed, and took up a pillow beside him and jammed it under the small of his back, elevating his pelvis. He turned his gaze to the bathroom door, put on a look of need and arousal, and fisted his cock.

Emerging naked and in full erection again from the bathroom, Rahmani took one look at the bed, grinned, and moved swiftly to climb up on the bed, knee himself in between Erik's thighs, mount the young man with a swift and deep thrust, and immediately begin to fuck him hard and deep. Stretching his arms straight out from his body and clutching at the bedspread with his fists, Erik arched his back, cried out, "Yes, yes, Fuck me hard, you daddy stud!" and thrust his pelvis upward with each cruel in-stroke to take Rahmani's cock as deep as possible.

* * * *

Erik closed the hotel room door quietly and looked up and down the corridor to ensure no one was there as he moved to the room next door, walking backward, with his eyes glued to Rahmani's door to make sure it didn't open and the man pop his head out and demand another go at Erik. He'd had several goes at him already. Who knew that a man over fifty would have so many erections and so much cum in him? Erik wasn't leaving dissatisfied, that was certain. This was what made his job so worthwhile. He had not feigned his want for the cocking he got.

When he reached the door of the neighboring room, it opened without him having to knock, and he slipped inside. Two men, agents of Israel's Mossad intelligence agency, were sitting in front of a bank of computer monitors. The monitors showed everything in the room next door—wide sweeps of the bedroom and both the bathroom tub and toilet. One of the men watching the monitors—and now watching Rab Rahmani moving around the bedroom in his hotel robe—was the man who had taken the handheld flash drive recorder from Erik at Rahmani's door earlier.

"Quite a performance that was, Aaron," the man who had retrieved the flash drive said, without taking his eyes off the monitors. "Enjoyed yourself, didn't you?"

"Yes," Aaron—no longer Erik Hinkel—answered, with a bit of a blush. "The man is hung and he can fuck forever. Shit, what's that?"

The three men's eyes scanned the monitors closely. Rahmani had answered the door and had been pushed inside the room by three swarthy men in black, who overpowered him. Rahmani went limp and sank to the floor between them. Two of the men picked him up, supported him between them like he was dead drunk, and hustled him out of the room. The third man started a quick search of the room.

"You got out of there just in time," the first agent said, and Aaron wrapped his arms around his chest and shuddered.

"Who are they?" the second Mossad agent asked, reaching into his arm pit and unlatching the cover to his gun case. "Should we be doing something?"

The first agent put a restraining hand on his arm. "No, it's OK. I recognize them. They are MOIS—Iranian Ministry of Intelligence—agents. They are just retrieving one of their own. The Americans are well rid of Rahmani. That man, the waiter who delivered the champagne and who received a copy of the flash drive, he's SRV—Russian foreign intelligence. Rahmani was double-agenting the Americans. He was as much a whore as handsome Aaron here is. He'd laid on his back and screw with anyone who paid him well or saved his hide. He's served our purposes—passed on the fake North Korean nuclear plans. We can let this work its way out."

"So they are fake," the second agent said, "the documents in the flash drive."

"Yes, the South Koreans want as many players as possible to get their hands on the documents. They want us all thinking Pyongyang is further along than it is. They want us to stop it before it gets too dangerous. We've got what we want out of this. The Iranians are welcome to their defector and the Americans are well rid of him."

They watched as the Iranian agent circuited Rahmani's room and focused his attention on the papers fanned out on the desk—no doubt misleading documents Rahmani put there for someone to find if his room was searched. The search was far too limited and hurried to have found the secret compartment in Rahmani's suitcase. The Americans could find that later themselves and be duped like the rest of the world—other than the Mossad—on the actual progress of North Korean nuclear development.

Aaron had pulled away from the monitors and gone over to the window. The snow on this snowy afternoon had finally stopped. He could see all the way down into the town, which was lit up by the late afternoon sunlight, while the area surrounding the hotel was in near darkness, blocked from the rays of the sinking sun by the alp looming behind it. He saw that there was a black Mercedes, its trunk open, in a drive below that came up to a back entrance of the hotel. As he watched, he saw an inert figure in a hotel dressing gown being hustled out of the hotel and over to the Mercedes. The body went into the trunk of the car. By the time the two men had gotten into the Mercedes—which was being driven by another man—the third figure rushed out of the hotel, got into the car, and the car drove off.

Erik gave the car a weak wave. He was rather sad. Rahmani had had a cock to die for and was a great fucker. That little fetish of his was arousing as well.

"Wait, who is that?" the second agent asked, pointing to a monitor image from a camera trained on the corridor.

Erik came over and looked at the monitor. The young Japanese staffer he'd watched Rahmani jack off earlier in the afternoon was standing at Rahmani's hotel room door. He paused there and then knocked, tentatively. He waited for ten seconds or so and knocked again with a stronger rap. When there was no response, he looked disappointed and disappeared in the elevator.

"I wonder what he wanted," agent number two said.

Erik shrugged and went back to the window. He highly suspected that he knew what the young Japanese staffer wanted from Rahmani. The man had been a pied piper of sex. It was surprising how arousing that preliminary little jack-off fetish of his was—how easily it brought a young man under his control. Erik had been his from the moment Rahmani had masturbated him in the snow on the mountain trail.

"Joseph," the first Mossad agent was saying across the room. "I think the entertainment is over. Go on over there and pull the cameras. You can have your go at Aaron when you get back. You don't have to leave it with stroking yourself off while we watched the defector do him."

"You were jerking off then too," Joseph said in a sulky, "I've been caught," voice.

Agent number one turned and looked at Aaron. "I think our little whore is missing the turncoat already. I think he's a bit sad about losing the Iranian's big cock. But, that's OK, we have big cocks too. He told me earlier that this is his favorite part of the job—being royally fucked."

As the second agent we now know was named Joseph—or maybe not—left the room, the first agent turned and said, "Would you be so kind as to get on the bed and spread your legs, Aaron? This is your lucky day—a three-cock afternoon."

With a sigh, Aaron turned from the window. The display of the sunlight on downtown Davos had been short lived anyway, and the Mercedes was out of sight. Unbuttoning and pulling his shirt off his back and releasing and stripping down his trousers and red bikini briefs, he climbed up on the bed. Emitting another deep sigh, he lay on his back, spread and bent his legs, dug his heels into the surface of the bed, and stuffed a pillow under the small of his back to angle his pelvis to give the Mossad agent's cock, which Aaron well knew was big enough, a straight thrust angle. He had to admit that being fucked was his favorite pastime on a snowy afternoon. Three big cocks in an afternoon wasn't bad, snow or no snow—not bad at all.