Soldier, Spy Ch. 01

Yes, a pity, Douglas thought. Timothy had been the best lay he'd ever had as well.

* * * *

26 August 1775

Timothy lay on the bed on his back, his legs still bent and spread, panting shallowly still. The fingers of one hand went to his anus, feeling how yawningly it still was open, while his other hand continued slow stroking his cock. The merchant, Thomas Hadley, didn't have much in the way of length, but he was the thickest man Timothy had ever had inside him. And he was vigorous and had admirable stamina for a man in his mid-fifties.

Timothy had been lying under him for the better part of two years now, Hadley having fucked him into his manhood as the first man to have been inside him. The two were close enough to be related, although, to their knowledge, they weren't, and they often were taken to be father and son. The trust and responsibility that Hadley put in Timothy in the warehouses spoke of a favoritism not given to any of Hadley's other employees. Few, though, realized that the relationship was a sexual one.

The older man, draped in an open silk robe, but otherwise naked, was sitting at a secretary across the room from the four-poster bed and going over notes that Timothy had made.

"It is a good account of the assault on the battery," he said, "and of the movement of the cannons to the Brooklyn Heights. You learned of that from Captain Lamb or from one of the other officers?"

"No, sir, not the officers," Timothy answered. "The officers were closed lipped. Those in the lower ranks whispered of it, though. They knew where they were taking the cannons."

"Good, good," Hadley said. He was scratching his chest and moved his hand down to his belly. He had a bit of a paunch, but not much of one for a rich man his age. He was a hands-on merchant, as likely to heft a barrel and move it himself as to call a servant or employee to do so. The hand went to scratching his low-hanging, hairy balls. His eyes were locked on the naked, open-legged form of Timothy on his back on the bed, and Timothy could see that the man was hardening again.

"Come back to bed, sir. The notes can wait," Timothy said in a low, hoarse voice. His mind went to the fucking Lieutenant Bester had given him two nights before and he couldn't help comparing that with what he'd gotten through the night from Thomas Hadley. As cocksmen they were as different as night and day, but both were fully satisfying. Bester was a crazy man in sex—rough, manhandling Timothy like a rag doll, rapid firing, and producing massive amounts of cum that lathered Timothy's channel deeper inside than any other man had reached. Hadley was a slower, more deliberate, more sensitive lover to what Timothy was accustomed to. He stretched Timothy's channel to the maximum and worked Timothy's prostate to distraction, holding Timothy close and bringing him to and past the brink over and over again, while Hadley remained hard, fully possessive inside him.

"You seem to have picked up quite a bit in the tavern. A lot of loose lips there. I'll have to pass this on immediately," Hadley said.

"Soon, but not immediately, I hope," Timothy whispered, spreading his legs wider, handling his cock with both hands. "I need you again. Fuck me again."

"I suppose the notes need not be passed on in the next half hour," Hadley said, as he rose, cast off the robe, strode over the bed, and turned Timothy onto his stomach. He mounted Timothy's ass, penetrated him, and began to stroke. Timothy groaned at the possessive thickness of the man and at how quickly his bulb found Timothy's prostate. He reached for a good grasp on the headboard, knowing that Hadley was a hard, demanding rider.