India Assignment

* * * *

He was, as he claimed, ten inches hard. And it was a snake, reaching further up into me than I'd ever known one to go before and then doing a dance while it was up there. It wasn't thick, and he could manipulate it once he was deep in the soft core of me to kiss and caress every surface and to cause the muscles of my passage walls to ripple and undulate over the full length of the shaft. Men didn't often get into the core of me and make me go soft and spongy there—especially since I had gone professional—but that's where Chari went and that's where Chari played. He was a beautiful man, doing beautiful things to me.

He didn't manipulate it inside me the first time he put it in. And he didn't stroke me with it. As he promised, he just laid me on my back on the bed, moved my legs so they were spread and bent, with my feet flat on the surface of the bunk, and he hovered over me, on his knees, between my thighs, holding me captive with his strong arms, unable to move and gasping and groaning as he penetrated my ass and moved it in all the way to the hilt, ten inches of cock up inside me. Then he just held it there, hard and steady as a rock, and also holding my body fast, not allowing me to hand my cock or rock my pelvis on the shaft, while my channel walls fought, in vain, to animate the cock, and my soft core tried, unsuccessfully to either expel or caress the alien object penetrating so deep inside me. He waited until I went soft and spongy at the core, which was encasing the bulb of his shaft.

While he held me there, he spoke to me of sex with a man—with me—and he was very graphic and poetic—and convincing. His mesmerizing voice and what he spoke of to me went a long way in enhancing my arousal.

"Come for me," he whispered, drilling me with his mesmerizing eyes. "Think of me inside you, deep. Has any man possessed you this fully? Think of what I can do—will do—when I am mastering you with it. Come for me. I am not inside you just to breed you. I have come for your very soul, to possess and own you. Come for me and then we will use it for sport, you and I."

I groaned and moaned and tried to move, without success, and I panted and whimpered and whined. I begged for him to fuck me, without being heeded. He whispered in my ear in a sing-song voice of the long, hard rod inside me to the quick, bulb resting in my spongy core. And my arousal went up and up and up at the rock hardness deep inside me, slightly throbbing but not stroking. Just the thought of ten hard inches inside me from a gorgeous man and the knowledge it was going to stay there until I surrendered helped move the process, I'm sure. At last, I did just as he said I would. I jerk my pelvis violently, shot my load, and a prodigious load it was, and collapsed under him, relaxing into a stage of moaning jelly. My legs collapsed to the sides, and I was completely open, vulnerable to him.

"Now, now, fuck me now," I murmured, wanting it even though I was terrified of the damage he could do at my spongy core.

He laughed. "I told you so. You see, what your body wants to do is to ejaculate. The friction will bring it about, yes, but at some point, when your passage is possessed by a shaft such as mine, your mind will will you to do what you want to do in response to it, and you will release your seed. But now I will give you ejaculations in more conventional ways, and I will happily join you. You have a beautiful body. I must tell you that it probably was harder for me to hold inside you and not stroke than it was for you to reach maximum arousal and to give me an orgasm. My cock will entertain you in ways now that, the next time we meet, you will climax just in seeing it in erection for you. We move from the conventional into the male Kama Sutra now. I have much essence to give you."

Then still hard, he began to move inside me, and, open and vulnerable to him, I took the cock hard and deep, moving, stroking, fully possessing.

He fucked me properly and repeatedly, showing admirable virility and stamina. After the initial missionary position, he took me with me kneeling into the back of the bunk across the seat cushion that had been lowered while we were at dinner. My cheek was against what had been the back of the bench, which still was in place, and he was covering my back, his teeth latched onto an earlobe, his fists gripping my wrists and pulling my arms straight back, while he entered, entered, entered me a second time as I breathed hard, moaned, and groaned. He held there deep inside me, waiting for me to beg him to pump me, which I did—and then he did pump me. He obviously wasn't worried about what I might have picked up since the last time he saw me, in Mumbai, because he barebacked me, and he breeded me, his cum seemingly flowing forever deep inside my channel again and again with each taking as I sighed and purred. No one is better than a prostitute in knowing that he was being fucked supremely.

He was still ten inches hard when he sat on the bed, leaning his shoulder blades on the bench back, and held my waist between his hands, as I sat in his lap, on his cock, facing him and leaning back with my palms on his knees, and fucked myself on his shaft. Nor had he diminished in size when he was sitting on the edge of the bunk and I was below him, my shoulder blades on the floor of the compartment, my ankles on his shoulders, Chari grasping my wrists, and thrusting down into my channel.

"Such a sweet whore," he muttered. "You can give out forever, can't you?"

Not any more than you can, I thought. And who would have known that a john could call me a whore and I'd revel in it. Of course, he was a sex partner, not a john. He hadn't offered to pay and I hadn't suggested he should. In fact, I'd told him he could have what he wanted without fee. He was making full use of that privilege.

He had let his hair down for the train fucks, and I decided that he, indeed, was an even sexier man that way. Of course, having ten inches to put inside me and what he could do with it when it was all inside me—making me passionate for it rather than killing me with it—qualified him as the sexiest man alive in my books at that time. When he was inside me, I'd just lie there docilely, not working with him or anything as I normally would do, and luxuriated in what he could do with that lovely snake.

When I was in an appropriate position, I licked and sucked on his rosy-red nipples, pulling the aureoles into my mouth to give them suck as well. The prominence and blush of them were mesmerizing.

I went back to my compartment to rest in the night and I had breakfast and lunch with him in the dining car and went back to his compartment each time, where we lowered the blinds to the corridor and shot home the lock on the door, and I sat on his lap on his cock and lay back supported by his arm under my lower back and moaned as he went in ten inches and worked his magic on me again and again.

* * * *

The train arrived at 19:45 in the evening, exactly on schedule, at Chennai's Egmore station. Peter Turner, the Station's man at the U.S. consulate on Gemini Circle in Chennai came onto the train to meet me, but he arrived twenty minutes after the train had reached the station. I knew someone would meet me, so I'd held fast in my compartment as I had been told to do. The train would be going out of service in about an hour, a conductor told me, so I had plenty of time to wait. I hadn't been told who would be coming for me—only that he'd be able to recognize me. Photos sent from the Station to the consulate, I assumed.

"Peter?" I said, surprised to see who it was.

"Good to see you again, Drake," he said smoothly, so I knew he'd been told who he would be meeting. They didn't have to tell him what the man looked like he was looking for. Peter and I had been in the same covert operations class at the Agency's training facility in Williamsburg, Virginia, that was publicly known as Camp Perry, but known in the intelligence world as The Farm. During the course, we had slipped into the woods three times and I had gone down on all fours for Peter and he had mounted and fucked me. Tension was high in Agency covert operations courses, and Peter and I had found a mutually satisfying way to let off steam. It was nothing but physical attraction and mutual need.

I had been targeted, seduced, and recruited to the Candy Store unit by one of the instructors, but Peter apparently had made it through the course and into the Ops directorate without his preference being detected.

I had never really liked or trusted Peter. It was his beer-can-thick cock I liked. In class he was always playing the angles and his loyalties all seemed to center on himself. And when he fucked me it was all about him and his need, but he was the only one I could go to for relief in those days. And his cocking made me yodel. I'd thought he was the only one who knew about me. I was clearly wrong there, though.

We went by Doctor Chari's compartment as we were detraining, but it was empty. Neither did I see him on the platform when we climbed down to it.

"I'll take you to your hotel. You won't be needed at the consulate until noon tomorrow. You're staying at the Hilton Chennai. Very nice. The city has really come up to civilized standards in the past few years. An economic powerhouse now."

He was babbling, trying to avoid, I thought, what he didn't want to say. So, I said it.

"You'll leave me at the hotel, or you'll leave me in the hotel room . . . later?" I asked.

He turned and gave me a sloppy smile. "What do you want? I'm finished at the office for the night. I told Nadine I'd probably be home very late, maybe not before she went to bed."

"Let's go to the room, with you leaving later," I said. "I'm horny as hell." And that was the truth. With me, sex just begged for more—and more—sex.

Peter gave me a grin. "Just like old times?"

"But not in the woods with deer ticks," I responded.

"With me on top, though," he said, making it something between a statement and a question.

"Yes, you on top," I said, and gave him a little laugh.

* * * *

When we arrived at the Hilton Chennai and I was checking in, I spied Doctor Chari sitting in the lobby lounge and looking in any direction other than the reception desk, although he somehow knew we were there. Had he followed us? He couldn't very well have done that if he was here and settled before we arrived. We hadn't stopped off anywhere once it was obvious this was where we were coming. Had I told him on the train where I was booked? No, I hadn't told him anything. He'd tried to get me to talk further on why I was coming to Chennai and what I was doing here, but I'd told him nothing. I'd been told to say nothing about it and my portfolio on the operation was locked in the secret compartment in my suitcase. Our fucking had all been in his compartment, and he'd been with me the full time my compartment had been empty.

Somehow he'd known to find me here. That was something to wonder about, but not right now when I was in high heat. Either Peter or Chari. I didn't care which, but I wanted someone's cock inside me now.

I repeated the room number loud enough for Chari to hear—"Room 638, with a view of the Bay of Bengal. Very good"—and Chari remained sitting in the lobby when Peter and I entered the elevator.

I was on my back, naked, on the end of the bed, with Peter, also naked—and happily, having taken very good care of his body since he'd last fucked me—crouched between my open thighs, the bulb of his cock being rubbed across my hole, coaxing it to open, when the knock came on the door. We held, both of us panting and Peter taking more time teasing my hole with his glans, until there was a second, louder knock, and then no more. We actually heard the footsteps retreat.

Peter plunged his cock up inside me, forcing me open, and I arched my back, scrabbled at his biceps with my claws, and cried out at the brutal, glorious penetration. He and Chari were polar opposites in the cock department. Chari was godawful long, but thin and snake-like in manipulation, kissing and caressing and nipping at every square inch of my passage as he worked his way in and reaching into my soft core and playing me like I was a grand piano. Peter wasn't long, but he was beer-can-cock thick. He did his work closer to the surface, but his stretching there caused me to yawn with the challenge and writhe under the throbbing pressure for the walls to open to him. And the shaft was hard as steel, pumping mercilessly as I flopped around like a rag doll under him. It had been Peter who had reamed me wide enough to take any other men thereafter.

He took no prisoners this time either, hunching over me, his eyes capturing mine. I knew he liked to watch the effect of his stretching pistoning in my eyes as he pumped hard, his hands grasping my knees and rowing them to the beat of his thrusts and withdrawals. Thrust and pull back; thrust and pull back. Row the legs to the beat of the thrust and pull back—until, my hand beating myself off to the same rhythm, I cried out and arced my cum up onto my chest. But Peter continued—thrust and pull back. Row the legs to the beat of the thrust and pulling back—until I was exhausted, he fired off, and he fell on top of me.

"Yes, that was good," he whispered. "I remember how good that was. You were always the best."

I assumed he'd leave then, but he didn't. He rolled me over on the bed on my belly, my legs over the foot of the bed, my knees bent, and my toes dug into the carpet. He was thumbing my hole, which must have been gaping following what he'd put in it. He was crouched over me, with his left hand palmed on my lower back, holding me down on the bed.

"I'm told that the target in Mumbai fisted you. That you let him do that." His thumb sank into my hole.

"Peter. Don't. Enough."

But he did and it hadn't been enough yet. He didn't fully fist me. He went to the knuckles with all fingers, but not the thumb, in as I moaned and groaned, and, shamelessly, called out, "Yes! Yes! Do me!" He did me up to the knuckles, which was easier from him than it had been from Mehta because he'd opened me up more with his cock. And then, when that had made him hard again, he swung around, saddled up behind me, force his cock inside again, and fucked me hard to another ejaculation.

When he left, he merely said, "I'll pick you up at 11:45 tomorrow morning. Briefing in the consulate. I'll take you to my club on the beach for lunch, a swim, and another fuck in the cabana. You'll be back in plenty of time to be with the minister in the evening."

I pulled myself up onto the bed on my back, spread and bent my legs to give relief to my still-stretched hole, and whimpered myself into a doze.

I don't know how much later it was when I heard a key card working in the door and saw the door opening. I had no time to change my position on the bed as Doctor Chari walked in, all smiles, showed me the key card, and said, "Friends at the reception desk. And I see you are ready for me."

He was stripped on his way to the bed and on the bed and hovering over me before I could say a word. He had been right the last time we'd met. I began to moan and leak at just the sight of him walking toward me with ten inches of erection. When I'd gathered myself, the "Oh, Shit! Oh, Fuck!" that I called out was because he was six inches inside me and sliding deeper. Pulling out and sliding in seven inches. Pulling back and sliding in eight inches. He grabbed my wrists and trapped my arms over my head. Nine inches.

"Fuccckkk! Yes, do me. Do me hard. Fuck me deep."

He had been in my soft core at eight inches, but he went in deeper and then deeper yet. And then the bulb of the cock, the head of the snake, started pivoting around, kissing, caressing, nipping my walls over ten inches inside me. I spouted cum, but it was only to be the first load in a short amount of time.

He took his left hand away, holding my wrists with the right. I wasn't fighting him. I was lying there, completely open, vulnerable to him, shuddering, the walls of my passage undulating over his snake of a cock, my mouth yawning open in an unverbalized scream, my eyes glazing over, every fiber of me concentrating on that snake's head making love to my soft core.

His left arm encircled my waist, pulling my pelvis up to him as he raised up on his knees. My torso was streaming down on the bed. He released my wrists, and my arms went straight out from my body in a "take me; take all of me" position of surrender. He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. I came for him and then came for him again and then . . .

It was after 2:00 a.m. when Chari left me, moaning and whimpering, blowing bubbles, humming . . . purring. I didn't move a muscle and was asleep before 3:00, on my back, arms flung out to my side, legs spread and bent, feet flat on the bedspread. Royally fucked, drained of cum, balls aching. The last time he'd caused me to ejaculate, all he'd had to do was put it in me to the hilt and hold there, me too exhausted to do anything but wait for my mind to tell me to flow.

If he had not left, I would have just lain there, docile, and let him do whatever he wanted to me. In fact, that's what I'd done for the last hour—just lain there and taken him and taken him and taken him. And I felt like he had done everything a dominant man could do to a submissive. He had even slapped me around, strapped me with his leather belt, and fisted me, calling me a whore who needed to be punished and controlled while he did it, and I had taken it and whispered my thanks to him for mastering me and being cruel and begged him for more, for it all—to take me to new heights of passion and arousal. In the final hours he had also wanted to know what I was doing in Chennai—the particulars of it—and his fucking became more like an interrogation. But I told him nothing. I was lost to his fucking; that's all I could concentrate on.

* * * *

I was awakened a little after 10:00 the next morning by the sound of a key card in the hotel room door—again. Does everyone in Chennai have a key to this room, I wondered. But I didn't have time to think of anything else, because the door burst open and in strode . . . Jason Deaver and Sam Winterberry.

"What?" I exclaimed. "Sam? I thought you left India. And Mr. Deaver? I thought you were staying put in New Delhi."

"It's still Mr. Winterberry to you, Drake," Winterberry said. His face was set to angry. So, for that matter, was Deaver's.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" I asked, realizing I was naked and lying there with my legs open. I rolled over and sat on the side of the bed. I couldn't do much about the naked part. They'd both seen me naked. Winterberry had fucked me naked—repeatedly.

"It's off. You'll have to pack and get out of here," Deaver said. "There will be a charter plane at the airport when you get there."

"Not until tonight," Winterberry broke in. "We don't want the plane taking off until dark."

"OK, tonight. I'll call," Deaver said.

"Will someone tell me what's happening?" I said. "It's off? Why is it off?"

"Kurusar is dead. The minister's been assassinated. Chudar Kurusar is gone," Deaver said.

"How? Why?" I asked.

"The operation was compromised. That doctor we had exam you in Mumbai is an agent of the Indian Intelligence Bureau. He found out what was happening and the Indians plugged the hole."

"Chari is Indian Intelligence?" My body went cold. "He didn't find that out from me."

"Of course not. No, he found it out from Peter Turner. Peter's confessed. He was feeding Indian Intelligence all along. He's the one who recommended the doctor to be brought up to examine you. The doctor didn't find out about the Mehta deal, we don't think. But he sure as hell found out about the Kurusar operation. Peter copped to that. He said he told the doctor about it when he went to pick you up on the train. The doctor was meeting the train too for some reason . . . probably arranged beforehand with Peter."