Silas's Choice Expanded

Ever the professional in tradecraft, Silas had entered the room and my bed without my being aware he was there. I heard no telltale breathing, saw no flickering shadows, didn't sense the pulling aside of the netting. And as heavy as he was, he was stretched out full length hovering over me one knees and elbows before I sensed his presence.

The first thing I felt was that monster cock of his in the small of my back. That in itself was enough for me to involuntarily emit a moan. And then he was encasing me, closely, from above. His hairy barrel chest on my shoulder blades, his strong thighs encasing mine, my arms being pinned to my side with his.

He put his lips to my ear and whispered to me. "You left your door open."

"Yes."

"I want you. You know I want you."

"Yes."

"Have you ever . . . before . . .?"

"No." He couldn't have missed the trembling in my voice when I answered thusly.

A pause.

"I don't know if I can keep myself from . . . ," he whispered.

"Then don't."

"Then don't what?"

"Don't keep yourself from fucking me. I've made my decision. I left the door open. I knew what that meant. I'm totally open to you."

A sharp intake of breath. "But I want you hard and deep and all night."

"Yes."

"I'll try to be gentle—until we are sure that you can . . ."

"Please." I turned my mouth to his then and we kissed deeply. I could feel his need stroking the small of my back. "Don't hold back. Take me completely. Take me as completely as I saw you take Marcello. Take me like you take me in your paintings. I want the pain of it. I want to know that a cock—your cock—possesses me fully."

I heard his deep moan, an almost animal sound coming up from deep inside him. And, although very much afraid, I was glad that I had said what I did.

He rose off me then and kissed down my shoulder blades and my back and across my butt cheeks and he had his face in my crack. I moaned and writhed in a newly found ecstasy, as he attacked me with his tongue and slipped his hand between my legs and pulled my dick back through my thighs and alternated stroking it with his hand and lowering his mouth to it and giving it special attention.

I came almost immediately. And he laughed softly and whispered to me that this was quite natural on the first time. And that I was young and virile and he could make me come again and again and again. And I sighed, believing him.

He spent a good half hour preparing me, opening me to him with his tongue and lotion and his fingers, all the time me telling him just to do it, that I wanted him inside me. And when he entered me, he did it slowly, gauging his insertion to my gasps turning to moaning, waiting at each level for the nature of the moaning to change from pain to pleasure and then sinking a bit lower. The worst part was the entry of that huge mushroom cap of his, and then, as the rest of his throbbing dick followed, I felt like I was being split by a telephone pole. He was so, so big. I grunted and cried, and he whispered soothing words to me.

He said he would stop if I wanted. I knew neither one of us wanted that, though, and told him so.

He kissed me and said I was doing great and that I was so, so nice, and that he had dreamed of doing this for years, that he could hardly keep his hands off me during that last operation in Colombia. I felt myself being stretched to the limit, but just when I thought I'd be torn and was ready to cry out that I couldn't go further, my walls would expand, and he could go in another half inch. He had me up on my knees under him, but my legs began to feel like jelly. His strong hand went to my belly then, and he held me there, giving me the support I needed to stay with him. Another half inch in, and I no longer was panting. I felt myself going flush.

"Breathe, breathe," he was whispering insistently. "You're holding your breath. You'll black out." He somehow felt that we were beyond some turning point, and I felt him starting to rock back on his knees and he was taking me with him. And we were in a sitting position now and I was above him and sliding down on his pole. Deeper, deeper, but it wasn't a battle of half inches now. I was well lubed, and the thickest part of him was well inside and I was taking him deeper. At length he had bottomed.

"Nine inches. Nine thick inches," he was murmuring to me. "That's good. You can take it. You're tough and healthy and supple. I knew you could take it. Oh, how I've wanted this. For years. And you came to me in the end."

And then he was pulling my legs up with hands under my thighs, and I had adjusted to him enough for him to start stroking, which he did at increasing rapidity and depth, moving my butt up and down on his pole as I had seen him do to Marcello earlier in the day as he stood and Marcello clung to his midsection. He had maintained his strength and muscle tone these past three years. I felt the muscles of his pecs tighten and loosen on my shoulder blades as he raised and lowered me, and I thrilled at his body working for me, a thrill that shot through me to my nerve endings. This was what I wanted. I wanted Silas, forever. And I hadn't even known it until now. I opened more to him, and he could feel the tension draining from me, my encasing walls making love to his cock now. I could feel him tremble to the ecstasy of the fuck.

I was stroking myself as he moved me up and down on his tool, and I came again with a lurch and a gasping exclamation from me and a satisfied low laugh from Silas. Then he rotated me back onto my belly on the bed, and, his pelvis plastered to my buttocks, began to move himself inside me by moving his pelvis up and down and sideways and in a rotating fashion on me. I moaned and panted and cried for his deep fucking. My walls undulated around his moving tool, and he was moaning now too.

I came a third time before his first ejaculation. But by his third plowing of the night, me on my back on the bed with my pelvis rolled up and him hunched over me, spreading my legs with his hands, and fucking hard and fast down into me, I was becoming able to time myself more closely to him. I was a fast learner, and he was an extraordinary teacher. He always had been. I just had never been aware of the full breadth of his talents.

He let me sleep then, in his arms, for a couple of hours. When my eyes opened, shortly before dawn, I could see that he had his eyes trained on my face and they had a perplexed look about them.

"I hope . . . I hope I didn't presume too much," he whispered when he saw I was awake. "I didn't want to hurt you . . . or make you do anything you weren't comfortable doing."

"I want something else from you," I responded in a hesitant voice.

"Name it, anything," Silas whispered. "I wouldn't for the world want to force you to—"

"Under the bed. Just here, below the mattress. I want that. Just like in one of the paintings, just like with Marcello yesterday afternoon."

I heard Silas draw in his breath deep when he ran his arm under the mattress and came up with the plow belt. His eyes were full of surprise and lust when he turned them on me again and held the belt up.

"I didn't . . ." he started to say, but then couldn't complete his sentence.

"I found it," I answered in a low voice. "No, I saw you using it on Marcello and I saw your painting of me—of you fucking me with it—and I went looking for it. That's when I knew for sure I wanted you to fuck me like that. I made my choice before you entered the room. It wasn't just the open door. I want all of it. I want this."

He drew me out of the bed and carried me to the center of the room, and the fucking he gave me as I was suspended like a rag doll from the sling holding me to him by the belly and impaled on his pumping cock was the best and most fulfilling cocking I got that night. Long after dawn, after waking me and taking me yet again in a vigorous, passion-exploding side split, he left me, exhausted and sighing, unable to close my legs, saying that preparations needed to be made for my trip to Seville.

Marcello was serving a late breakfast by the pool to Silas three days later when he took a phone call from the authorities in Barcelona, Spain, regretting to report that a vacationing American government official, one Ward Spano, had been incinerated two days earlier in what appeared to be a random terrorist suicide bomb attack on a car park in Barcelona and that when he had entered the country he had left this telephone number in Portugal as his contact number. Where should they send the ashes, if they could differentiate which were specifically his? The voice on the other end of the line didn't sound all that surprised—or concerned, for that matter. Terrorist bombings had become rather common on the Iberian Peninsula. The voice on the line sounded like my affiliation with the Agency was known.

This was a common end to those in our business. And it fit in with the choices my Agency managers had had for me anyway. A loose end clipped; an annuity saved.

Silas and I were having a good chuckle over my recent fiery demise when Marcello returned and refilled our coffee cups. During that night of my glorious first taking by Silas we had plotted my departure from the scene so that, perhaps, my service would write "well gone" on my personnel folder and be happily rid of me. The following day Marcello had driven me off to Spain, he to deliver the payoffs to those who could make me disappear, and me to make my presence known in preparation for my fiery death. Making plans like this was what Silas and I were good at. As far as anyone knew anyway I had been at a resort near Barcelona since I'd entered Spain. Marcello had one of his lovers, someone who looked much like me, take the car I had hired from the Seville airport and drive it to Barcelona and claim my hotel reservations. I was in Barcelona, not in Portugal.

That evening, as my ashes were being shipped to my unfaithful wife in Virginia, I was down on the terrace, by the pool, sliding back and forth on Silas's cock as he belt sling fucked me before we both plunged into the pool.

Chapter Eight

I was laying there on my bed, naked and working my cock in my hand. I was breathing hard. Watching Silas work on Marcello like that made me breathe hard, made me hard all over. That was because I knew when Silas was finished with Marcello, he would do me, in the same way. And then it would be on the bed for all three of us in a free-for-all that I never in a million years would have imagined I would want to participate in before I'd come to Portugal. Not just Silas fucking both of us, but me fucking Marcello while Silas fucked me.

Silas was standing in the middle of the room, naked, and working the magic of his plow belt on a groaning Marcello. Marcello was bent over in the middle, suspended on that sling, legs and arms dangling toward the floor, while Silas worked him up and down on his cock impaling Marcello's channel from behind with the pressure he applied or released on the sling.

I wanted that. I wanted that too. Each time Silas did that to me, I wanted it again—right then, right away. And I could hardly wait in my arousal to be worked on Silas's cock just as Marcello was now being fucked.

My time with the plow belt would not come tonight, though.

Siren's started going off all over Silas's elaborately secured compound. The windows were lit up like it was day by the searchlights that snapped on all over the upper grounds, and we heard the ominous thud of two of the mines going off inside the perimeter of the outer wall, up near the road.

I looked at Silas in shock as we all reached for our shorts.

"Guns?" I cried out. "Where do you keep the guns?"

"No, not that," Silas growled as Marcello ran out of the room.

"What choice is there?" I asked. "It must be a full-scale assault. Someone has figured it all out. We can at least make a stand."

"There are always choices. I always have choices," Silas answered, as he took my arm and guided me out into his art studio.

* * * *

"Where are they? Where could they have gotten to?" the commando, his face charcoaled and his body swathed in the night-time camouflage that had served no purpose in the floodlit compound. Estaban Delgado was not a happy man. This was all planned so well, and most of the plans had just fizzled. They'd taken the wrong flowers to the funeral. And he'd already lost three men to the mines they'd stepped on while coming over the first compound wall. Delgado wasn't in the mood for hide and seek.

"Where in the shit are they?"

"They were just here," said the American at his side as he reached down and picked up the black leather belt sling that had been dropped in the center of the floor of the bedroom they were in. "This sling is still warm, and this is a signature for Silas Collins. He's still alive and so is Ward Spano, and I'm sure they were both here. They couldn't have gotten very far."

"You promised me. You promised me Collins's head," Delgado spit out. "You said the seizing and murder of my brother, Emilio, was all a mistake—all his doing, all Silas going off the reservation. And then he tried to do it again. To me. You promised me."

"And you can have him," Ted Talbot answered. "I found out where he was holed up and led you here, didn't I? He's got to be around the compound somewhere. He's yours. Just find him."

The two squared off, ready to spit more venom at each other, but their attention was arrested by a whirring sound, and they both rushed to the French doors to the little balcony looking over the villa's pool terrace in time to see a small helicopter lifting off of the beach down below the short cliff.

Just then one of the soldiers burst into the room to report they'd found a tunnel leading under the house and down to the beach.

Estaban started to raise his submachine gun, but Talbot stayed his hand.

"Not a chance of hitting that copter now," he said. And what he'd said was quite true. As the helicopter had lifted off, it banked sharply out over the water and already was turning and heading up the coast toward Spain.

"Pretty hard to hide a helicopter," Talbot said. "Don't worry. I keep my promises. We'll track it down. Maybe we can have someone there to greet it when it lands."

All eyes were trained on the sky, watching the helicopter appear to grow smaller and smaller and smaller as it whirred up the coast.

This was all as planned—not only the diversion of watching the helicopter being flown by Marcello but also not noticing that the sound of the helicopter blades was covering the putting of the engine on the small motorboat Silas and Ward were using to spin along the waves in the opposite direction up the coast of the Gulf of Cadiz to Silas's nearby backup hideout.

"What do we do now?" Ward asked as he settled down between Silas's thighs behind the speedboat's steering wheel. He could feel the hardness of Silas's cock in the small of his back.

"Well, in just a few minutes, I'm going to hove to and give you a fucking like I've never done before. God, that brought on the adrenaline. I'd forgotten how arousing operations could be. I've gotta fuck something right now."

Ward laughed. "That's fine with me. But what then?"

"We always have choices, Ward," Silas said. "We'll always be just a step or two ahead of them—until we're not. But until then, we'll always have choices. Do you fancy France or the Azores? Silas, he's always got choices."

Some choices come before other choices, though. If Delgado and Talbot had night-vision binoculars and trained them west across the water rather than east in the direction of the long-gone helicopter, they might have seen the little speedboat dancing in the water, with two legs draped over the gunwales at each side, and the hard-muscled butt cheeks of a hulking master cocker pistoning away between them. The sounds of the sea, of course, completely obliterated Ward's cries of passion at the lustful taking.