Around and Around

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From Spy Candy by habu

Around and Around by habu

Colonel Dieter Kielman, assistant to the assistant German attaché to NATO Headquarters, Brussels, Belgium, leaned his long, rangy body against the frame of the open French door leading out onto the wrought iron balcony that he dare not step out onto. The Hotel Amigo, no matter how friendly and accommodating to the type of midday tryst he had come so willingly to enjoy, was not as sturdy as it appeared. Kielman was naked, flaccid in post fuck, and was smoking a cigarette, as he always did after taking the young Belgian, Guido.

“Come back to me, Dieter,” the small, effeminate female impersonator from the Au Fou Chantant cabaret whispered in the husky voice he affected to turn his clients on. “I want you inside me again.”

“It’s late, Guido. I have appointments.” Kielman did, however, lift his gaze from the Gröte Markt street activity below and look back at the mussed-up bed. Guido rolled onto his stomach and lifted his buns in a provocative stance and fluttered his long eyelashes at the German military officer.

“You never have enough time for me,” he said, with a pout. “You never make slow love to me.”

“That’s because you like to be taken swiftly and hard,” the German answered. “You like to be driven. I can tell in your response.”

“I like to be driven by you, at least,” Guido cooed. “You have a master cock. I’d let you drive me all day. Come back to bed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, then,” Guido said, coming up on his knees and gathering the tangled sheeting around him, “who bathes first? Or do we do it together?”

“I’ll go first,” Dieter answered, and he flicked his cigarette out over the balcony and stood up straight, nearly six and a half feet of sinew and power. “You need to cover yourself before I return from the shower, though, or I’ll surely be late.”

Guido waited until he heard the shower start and then he darted out of the bed and over to his jacket and extracted a small digital camera. The colonel had left his briefcase by the door, beside a small desk, the surface of which Guido found very convenient as he slipped documents out of the briefcase and photographed them as quickly as he could. He was only half finished with the papers he had found in the briefcase, though, before he heard the water being shut off in the shower.

He barely had everything back in order and was on the bed once again, when Kielman came out of the bathroom, naked, and rubbing his wet hair with a towel.

“God, I told you to cover yourself,” he muttered in a throaty voice.

Guido was on his back, the small of his back arched up on a pillow, his legs spread, and one leg held up by one of his hands. His pert little balls and hole were pointed at the bathroom door.

“Sorry,” he whispered and then fluttered his eyelashes at the German. “Just doing some exercises while I waited. You’ve seen my cabaret act. You know a boy has to be limber.” And then he added, in his huskiest voice. “But are you sure you have appointments you have to go to? I see a luscious German flagpole standing at attention.”

Kielman was on Guido like a lion on a gazelle. He was at the foot of the bed in two long strides, grabbed the little Belgian by his hips, and lifted him up and slammed Guido’s slack hole back on his reengorged cock, achieving a bull’s eye in one swift slide. Guido’s weight had gone back on his shoulder blades, as his pelvis was now suspended up in the air, being slammed hard back and forth on Kielman’s impaling cock. Guido’s fists scrabbled at the tangled sheeting and his legs flopped back and forth akimbo as the powerful German pumped him hard. He was crying out and groaning and grunting and writhing under the onslaught of the ravishing German colonel’s powerful cock.

Guido’s small balls were slammed up into his body with each of Kielman’s savage thrusts, and his thin, boylike penis hardened up and dribbled into a great spill, as he cried out at Kielman’s taking being exactly what he wanted—just as Kielman had told him. Kielman arched his back and roared at the ceiling and ejaculated deep inside Guido’s ass.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Kielman said in a stern tone, but with a wide smile on his face, when he had let Guido’s spent body fall off of his cock and onto the bed. “Now I will definitely be late for my afternoon appointment. Now I will have to take another shower.”

Guido lay there, panting, collecting his strength, genuinely close to exhaustion as he listened for the shower again. As soon as the water started, he dragged himself off the bed and over to, first, his jacket, where the digital camera was, and then to the briefcase by the door, and once more started taking sheets of paper out of the briefcase and laying them on the desk top and snapping away with the camera.

He did enjoy fucking, but the German colonel was almost too brutal for him. The things he did for the Americans, he was thinking, as he once more heard the water stop in the shower and he reached for his trousers. He’d need to be at least half dressed this time. He’d photographed enough, and he didn’t think he could survive another cocking just now from the dominating Colonel Kielman, assistant to the assistant German attaché at NATO headquarters.

* * * *

Guido was walking rather gingerly as he left the Gröte Markt and moved into the Kolenmarkt area. But now he was back on turf he was comfortable with. The Fontainas café on Rue Marché was home base for him, where he picked up the tricks that paid for his apartment. On his entertainer’s salary at the Au Fou Chantant he could never have lived alone; he would have had to find a daddy to care for him. That would have been OK before he connected with the Americans, but now he needed to be freer with his time, ever ready to go where they needed him to go and do their bidding. He’d never felt as alive as this before he’d connected with the Americans.

They were there, each sitting at a table, their tables adjacent to each other, in the shadows under the awning. Frank and Felix, Guido’s controls. Always together, Guido had never met separately with only one of them. This made Guido feel special. He must be a valuable asset, he was thinking. And they met him at a gay-friendly café. He thought that meant they considered him special too. They were meeting him in his own element.

As Guido approached the café, Frank got up and moved to Felix’s table, leaving the other one free for Guido. Guido sat, being very careful not to try to make eye contact with either Frank or Felix, just as they had taught him. He ordered a coffee and a brandy. He drank them slowly, just as he had been taught. And tense as he was inside, Guido mustered all of what he’d already been taught in the cabaret and looked casual and totally uncaring. This was just another performance for him, just one of the many talents he brought to the art of espionage.

Guido called for the bill, and as the waiter left to ring up his accounting, Guido reached into his jacket pocket and took out money to pay the bill with. He also surreptitiously—just as Frank and Felix had taught him—extracted the small digital camera he had used on Colonel Kielman’s papers in the Hotel Amigo room and put that on the chair facing the table where Frank and Felix sat.

When the waiter returned with the bill, Guido engaged him in small talk while handing him the money and Frank took up the camera on the empty seat between their closely positioned tables.

When the waiter was gone, Guido swept up the camera that was now on the chair, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and, without looking at either Frank or Felix, rose from his chair and sauntered out of the café, seemingly without a care in the world—but, in fact, needing to get a move on to be in place for his next scheduled assignation.

* * * *

Guido walked into the lobby of the Bedford hotel. He saw Lao Jen sitting primly over on a tufted sofa shielded from most of those strolling through the lobby by a leafy palm tree. Between the sofa and the palm tree was a standing ash tray filled with sand. When Guido entered the lobby, Lao Jen stood and moved to the elevators and Guido walked down the line of store fronts running along the side of the lobby before slowly moving over to the sofa behind the palm tree and sitting and resting for a few minutes. When he’d dug into the sand, however, and come up with the slip of paper with the room number on it, he too moved over to the elevators. Lao Jen was no longer there, but now Guido knew all he needed to know.

Guido was very proud of Lao Jen. Lao Jen had been his own acquisition, and what had given him his entrée with the Americans. Lao Jen was merely a driver for the Chinese embassy in Brussels, just a lackey who was always there in the background but never seen. Lao Jen also had a secret yearning. He went to the Au Fou Chantant cabaret to live his dreams vicariously.

The Chinese embassy chauffeur, the invisible man no one even knew was around as they were driven around the city, doing their business, talking their Chinese state secrets, was talkative and melancholy when he had too much to drink. He also had developed a liking for the little female impersonator, Guido, who glided across the cabaret floor and fluttered his eyelids at him.

Guido had offered his services to the American embassy frequently. He’d gone in and out of the American embassy so often that even the manager of the cabaret had started referring to him as “our little American spy.”

Guido rather enjoyed being called that, even around the club while he was working. Guido admired spies; he’d always wanted to be one. And he wasn’t dumb; he knew that the best way to get information was not by torture but by giving the one with the information what they wanted—and then making them want more and more of it, until they were willing to do anything to get it. And if you could find what they wanted that was also a deep secret and you could fulfill their secret, dangerous dreams, you were home free. Guido knew what candy was in the world of espionage. He’d read about that. And he knew that to some men he definitely was candy.

The Americans had shown no interest in him at all, however, until he had met Lao Jen and found out what Lao Jen could tell him, without the Chinese even knowing Lao Jen was listening. Suddenly, at the mere mention of Lao Jen’s name when he brought up this name in one of his walk-ins to the American embassy, his new friends and controllers, Frank and Felix appeared, all interested and happy to make him an in-country asset with the hope that one day it would get him to America with a comfortable annuity. They had let him develop Lao Jen himself, and they had trusted him enough to help him hook up with and exploit the German colonel as well.

Guido hadn’t noticed Lao Jen for some time in the cabaret, and this is what had made the importance of Lao Jen dawn on him. Lao Jen, the menial chauffeur, was the perfect mark—an invisible man, just part of the furniture, something with no ears or brain. In other words, the perfect person to overhear unguarded conversations. Guido had read about that; he knew such things. But before Guido realized the importance of Lao Jen, Lao Jen had already conversed with the club manager and shown that he had enough money to invite Guido to his table, where Guido learned not only that Lao Jen fancied him but that Lao Jen also liked to impress him with what he knew.

Lao Jen was already on the bed, ready for Guido when the young Belgian entered the darkened Bedford Hotel room.

Guido came over and stood beside the bed as Lao Jen sat on the side of the bed and slowly and sensuously undressed him, stopping now and then to glide his big, calloused hands over the smooth body of the dancer and to kiss his nipples and belly and to take Guido’s precious little cock and balls wholly into his mouth, sucking Guido’s balls up into his cheeks, and then causing Guido to sigh and moan by humming and moving his hands around to cup Guido’s buttocks and insert index fingers into the young Belgian’s channel to open him up.

Guido hovered there, held up by Lao Jen’s strong hands and his sucking lips, and moaned quietly at the slow, methodical attention he was receiving. Lao Jen continued sucking him until he gave up his ejaculate, and then Lao Jen gently raised Guido up with hands gripping his waist and slowly, ever so slowly lowered Guido into his lap, facing him, and onto his thick, erect phallus.

Guido sighed and moaned as he was slowly pumped up and down on Lao Jen’s cock. He ran his hands into the Chinese embassy driver’s hair and guided Lao Jen’s lips to his nipples. Guido lowered his lips to his Chinese lover’s ear and whispered to him.

“Tell me of your day. Tell me of how stupid they were in what they would say with you there.”

And Lao Jen did.

Later, as they were stretched out on the bed, Guido’s buttocks plastered to Lao Jen’s crotch and Lao Jen slowly, relentlessly, forever moving his cock deep inside Guido, Guido turned his face to Lao Jen and whispered.

“Yes, yes. I love you so much. But I am sad for you. You were so tense. You need to get rid of the tension. They must be treating you so badly at work. Tell me all about it. Tell your little one what cares of the world are hanging on your head. Don’t keep it locked inside. Tell me.”

And Lao Jen did.

Later, when Lao Jen heard Guido turn on the shower in the bathroom, he rose from the bed and fished around in Guido’s jacket pocket. Finding the camera and extracting the cartridge, he opened the drawer where he earlier had stashed a lap top computer and had everything on the cartridge transferred and was standing by the bathroom door, ready to take his turn in the shower, before Guido came out of the bathroom door.

They kissed at the door and told each other how much they loved each other and how good the other one was in his lovemaking before Lao Jen entered the bathroom and Guido dressed, using every trick he’d learned in the theater to remember, almost verbatim, everything Lao Jen had shared with him.

* * * *

They met in a large, leafy-green park in the middle of the city, Guido and Frank and Felix did, one of many in the center of the hustle and bustle of international life and intrigue, where one could lose himself in a forest of trees and bushes and feel they were alone in the countryside.

Still, the three drew very close to each other, as Frank and Felix looked excited and listened intently while Guido repeated to them all that Lao Jen had told him. They didn’t take notes, and Guido was duly impressed that they could remember it all.

Guido was beaming when they left, each walking out of the woods in the center of the park in a different direction. They had praised his work highly and had said they would set up yet another assignment within a week or two. Guido felt he definitely was in with the Americans now, on his way to a career in espionage and to a cushy retirement in the United States. Los Angeles. That’s where he thought he’d go. But maybe San Francisco. Maybe they’d let him work in a cabaret there. No reason for him not to be able to use all of his talents. But then maybe they would want him to go out of the country on assignment. Maybe they realized just how broad and useful his talents were.

Frank and Felix rendezvoused at the Fontainas Café again, knowing that Guido was expected at the Au Fou Chantant cabaret for the first show of the evening and wouldn’t come there to see them at the café when they weren’t expecting to meet him. It, in fact, was one of their favorite places in Brussels. This was where each one of them also came to be comfortable and to find male companionship on nights when the tension of their work threatened to overwhelm them.

“Did you get it?” Frank asked.

“Yes, piece of cake,” Felix answered as he raised the small digital camera for Frank to see. “He had it right there in his jacket pocket. He never felt the exchange.”

Frank laughed. “And he never knew that we didn’t switch cameras in the first place and that the bogus papers we had Kielman make available to him are now in the hands of The Chinese embassy spy, Lao Jen—where they undoubtedly will be trusted as genuine and will fuck up Chinese analysis of NATO plans for months, if not years.”

Felix joined in the quiet laughter. “And do we use the Belgian again?”

“Naw, I don’t think so,” Frank answered. “He’s a dumb little bunny. Nice ass, though. Maybe we can string him out long enough for each of us to get a ride. He sure looks at you with puppy dog eyes.”

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