Gay Erotic Stories

A Case of Do or Die (C) Copywrite, Michael Edmond, 1999 - 2000, All Rights Reserved Kurt is sent to Frankfurt for a special assignment, one particularly suited to a gay agent. Young, virile, well educated and charming - one of the new breed of agents - Kurt will need all of his talents to complete his mission and survive. Frankfurt I felt the hand gently shaking me from my slumber. "Herr Richter," whispered the attendant, "we're landing. Please move your seat to the upright position and fasten your seat belt." Buckling my belt, I flexed my muscles and cleared my mind, focusing on my assignment and my target, Mark Highland. I looked out the window, as the cold, white landscape came up to meet the descending plane. Frankfurt was in the distance, lost in the lightly falling snow and wispy fog of December. “Herr Schlosser welcomes you back to the club, Herr Richter. Thank you for your patronage. He offers you a complimentary bottle of your favorite champagne.” I slightly turned my head to listen to the club’s assistant concierge whisper in my ear. “Will you be needing any club services this evening, a room or escort?” “Please thank Herr Schlosser and give him my compliments,” I whispered back. “But I will not be needing any services this evening.” The assistant nodded and retreated quietly. I returned my attention to the conversation about the EU currency. I was at The Executive Retreat, a very exclusive and private men’s club, whose clients wanted discreet companionship with other members or with men escorts provided by the club. The club was located in a fashionable area of Frankfurt in a four-story building, which looked like it had once been the city residence of a wealthy merchant. Inside, the rooms were large with high ceilings and appointed with elegant, understated furnishings. I continued to listen, smiling, nodding, with an eye on the entrance to the room, waiting for my target. I turned to allow the waiter to pour more champagne and saw him enter the room. My God! He was indeed handsome, I thought. His pictures didn't do him justice. There may be some pleasure to this assignment after all. He was tall with a strong, husky build, easily filling out his tan dress slacks, dark turtleneck sweater and blue sports coat. He was also confident in his movements, a man who was unafraid, who new how to face danger. He casually looked about the room and strolled confidently towards the bar. I placed my glass on the waiter's tray and walked towards him. We arrived at the bar moments apart. I ordered a drink without noticing him. He looked, checking me out before ordering his own drink. He looked again. “Good evening,” I said in an English accent, as I turned and smiled. “Did I detect an American flavor in your German as you ordered a drink?” “Good evening.” He didn’t smile back. “Yes, I plead guilty. I’m a Yank, as you chaps say.” I could tell he was in good shape, very good shape. He was a few years older than I, and the same height - about 6'2" - but muscular, thick with bulk and strength. With my leaner, trimmer build, if it came to a physical fight, I could only hope my skills were better. “Well, your German is very good.” I said, as I continued to smile. His jaw was square, his face was all planes and angles with a few scars, and a sharply defined patrician nose, one which had been broke in the past. His complexion was not as dark as mine, but his skin was rough and pox-marked, giving him a street-wise appearance. His hair was slick-black, combed straight back. It was his eyes, however, that caught your attention. Dark, lifeless black eyes, ringed with dark lashes. “Thank you. I’m a little rusty, but it’s coming back to me.” With his commanding presence, it was easy to remember he was dangerous, a man who would kill quickly, without any remorse. “I studied German in college and spent a year at the University of Heidelberg. By the way, my name is Brian.” “Good to meet you, Brian. My name is Mark.” I extended my hand and we shook. His grip was strong and firm, the type of grip that takes the measure of the person on the other end. “Nice club. Is this your first time here?” he asked, as we collected our drinks. “No. I try to visit each time I’m in city, but I don’t always have the time. I do enjoy it, nice spot to relax, friendly chums, no pressure, nothing sticky about it.” He sipped his drink, closely looking at me, more interested in what he saw than in what he heard. He nodded, casually shifting his large frame against the bar and looked around. “Yes, it’s very nice. First time for me. Didn’t even know it existed until a few days ago. Heard about it from a friend.” “Ah, so are you here for the Fair or on holiday?” “I’m here on business, seeing what opportunities might be available for our company. I’m in computer services.” Yes, I thought, one of their best software engineers, especially for encrypting code. And one of their most dangerous, also. “Ah, computers and software. Well, I wouldn’t spread it around, at least not this week.” I hushed my voice and slightly leaned towards him, his face registering the question in his mind. “I’m afraid you have me.” He finally smiled a little, as his eyes glanced from side to side. “Why shouldn’t I mention it?” “The books!” I whispered, with a twinkle in my eye. “Frankfurt is teaming with books, book dealers and buyers, journalist and writers, agents and publishers. This week is the Frankfurt Book Fair, the largest book fair in the world and the oldest in Europe, dating from the Middle Ages. The city is thick with bibliophiles. I’m one myself, actually.” I raised an eyebrow in feigned warning. “Ah, I see. And they - you - don’t like computers and what their doing to books, right?” He whispered back, as we both smiled, enjoying this little game of foreplay. “Well, actually they - I - do like computers,” I said in a return whisper. “A few years ago they added ‘electronic books’ and multimedia to the Fair. But it’s a love - hate relationship.” “So, I might be in danger from the bibliophiles, from you?” He was obviously enjoying himself, amused that anyone would even think he would be afraid of some bibliophiles. “Well, maybe,” I smiled warmly, glancing at his crotch. “But not because you’re into computers.” He titled his head back and chuckled, his body loose and relaxed. “You might want some protection,” I continued, “being an American in computers and all.” “And do you know of anyone who might protect me?” He asked, finally smiling warmly. “Well, even though you’re an American, I might lower my standards and help you.” He practically chortled. “Well, I’ve had bodyguards before, but not a bibliophile or one so handsomely bound.” He looked at me with that unmistakable sexual undertone, his posture aggressive. “You never know what you can find between the handsome covers of a book,” I answered in a submissive tone. He nodded and looked me over again, as he sipped his drink. “You could read to me each night,” he suggested. “Well, I hope you like nineteenth century English poets.” I remarked, knowing the answer. “They’re okay. But my tastes tend towards the darker side.” His look drove home the point. “I studied English and German Literature at University,” I volunteered, as an affectionate smile grew on my face. “I find literature, and especially nineteenth century poetry, passionate . . . exhilarating . . . ” “Yes,” he interrupted, “. . . and sensual and erotic.” He paused, staring at me, his mind sorting the possibilities. “Yes,” I slowly continued, “it’s like holding hands with poets across the years and centuries, as they take you on romantic, sensuous journeys, to places in your heart and soul you didn’t know existed.” “And the German poets?” He stated rather than asked. “Their nationalism and strong characters are very exciting.” “Yes, they can be very primal and erotic.” I submissively looked at him. A group had gathered around the piano in the corner, singing the German rendition of “As Time Goes By.” “The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by. . . .” We listened and then looked at each other. “Maybe that’s our song,” I suggested, my eyes saying much more than my words, eyes that were like soft caresses, stroking his macho desire. “Maybe it is,” he answered, gulping his drink. He'd made up his mind. “My room is a few blocks from here,” I said. He didn’t answer immediately, but stared at me and in a low whisper said, “I’m a top. And I like my sex on the rough side. Any problems with that?” I paused. “No. None at all. I’m a bottom and like it hard and a little dirty.” Christ, I thought, this guy is a dangerous killer. What am I getting myself into. “Good. Let’s go back to my suite and see what we find when we open the cover of your book.” Nothing more was said between us, as we walked toward the door. Herr Schlosser met us to say goodnight. The group sang in the background, their words fading as we stepped outside into the crisp night air “. . . It’s still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die. . . .” Hotel Suite He placed his large hand on the door handle, smoothly turning it, and we stepped inside. The city lights filtered through the thin window curtains, bathing the room in soft light and shadows. He grabbed me, pulling me into his strong embrace and kissing me hard, rubbing his hands over me and through my dark, curly hair, holding my head in between his large hands, as he kissed me deeply, assaulting my mouth. I tried to return his kiss, but he stopped me, pulling away and slowly shaking his head. “Don’t. Just surrender.” It was a command, not a request. My pulse quickened, as his strength and power enveloped me. He grasped me again, holding me tight, kissing me hard, his lips full and impatient, his hands pulling our clothes off, until I was nude in his naked embrace. I could feel his cock and nuts pressing against me, growing and straining. In the black and white shadows, I could see his hulking, muscular physique. Rubbing his hands over my smooth skin, he bowed his head and growled, “My God, but you feel good.” His hands were large and strong. His fingers gripped my skin, squeezing my muscles. He brushed his fingers across my face and holding my chin in one hand, he licked his tongue in the air, then across my face, only to gorge his lips on my mouth and fiercely probe with his tongue. He was insatiably, sucking the breath from me, almost mauling me with the hold of his strong arms. He licked my neck, then my broad shoulders, biting my muscles, then my chest, sucking and biting my hard nipples with his lips and then his teeth. The sensations pierced me like jolts of fire; I became inflamed with his hold on me. Still he continued. He traced his tongue down my love path, thick with soft, dark hair, until he gorged himself on my pubic hairs, licking and slurping his juicy tongue over them, biting and pulling on them. Aggressively, he nibbled on the base of my hard cock, licking and gnawing around its thick trunk, until his tongue slid down and rolled over my weighty balls, swaying in my smooth sack. Grabbing my thighs and buttock with his hands, he gorged himself on my ripe eggs, slurping and sucking around them, bathing them in the juice of his hot mouth. I moaned, breathed deeply and sighed, tilting my head back, then looking down as he feasted on my testicles, swallowing them in his mouth and pulling my sack down tight, until they slurped out. His presence was overpowering. My cock stuck straight out, thick and ten inches long, its skin supple and smooth, the color of sweet milk chocolate, tapering to a dark crested crown wrapped in a smooth jacket of skin. My juice oozed from my slit, forming droplets and sliding down a silky thread of glistening precum. He looked up, my stiff, thick cock projecting over his face, my balls hanging next to his mouth. “Fuck! It’s gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous.” He groaned, as he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, the sticky droplets of precum drizzled on his tongue. Savoring the velvety taste, he slowly licked the silky thread into his mouth until the tip of his tongue rested under the base of my crown. He gently folded his tongue around my cockhead, rubbing it sensuously back and forth on its underside. I gasped and moaned, leaning my head against the wall, as my precum pulsated into his mouth. Soon his tender caresses become more forceful, until he was practically gnawing on my cockhead, sucking hard, clamping his lips around it, rubbing his teeth over it, and stretching my foreskin. He went down hard on my shaft, sucking my full erection into his mouth, engulfing all of it, slurping his tongue around it, sucking deeply as he popped his mouth off, letting my swollen and raw penis bounce in front of him. He gasped and growled again in a deep voice, gorging himself on my cock again, tasting its salt and smelling my scent. Pulling on my balls with his meaty hand, he snorted and pumped his mouth up and down my shaft, hard and quick. With each suck, he coated it with warm liquid, pumping and lubricating. The exquisite agony enveloped me. I floated in salacious rapture. I felt my thick rod swelling in his mouth, my fat eggs contracting against my groin, and my body coiling tighter and tighter, the pressure building within me. “Agggh . . . Agggggh!” I cried, as I suddenly jerked, then jerked again, my body shuddering in ecstasy, my seed throbbing in thundering waves, like a vast artesian geyser bursting from deep within me and showering its liquid. I shuddered uncontrollably, my hips thrusting into him, my whole body gasping. He sucked harder, deeper, igniting every nerve in a raging release. Slowly, my shuddering subsided and I sighed deeply. He looked up at me, cum dripping from his open mouth, as his tongue licked his sticky lips and he swallowed slowly. He stood up, holding me in his arms, rubbing my back less harshly. I slumped in his embrace, consumed in a weightless bliss. “You’re a good suck,” he said in a rough, deep voice. "Your jism was like syrup, going down thick and warm and gooey." I tried to answer, but only moaned. He snorted, triumphant in his conquest of me, as he rubbed his hands through my hair and passionately, deeply kissed me. When he released his kiss, he picked me up in his strong arms and carried me limp to the bed. He laid me down and bent over me. Then I saw it - a huge, mammoth hunk of gristle, cut, thick and long, with veins looped around it, sticking straight out from his black, thick bush. Precum oozed from it, dripping from his tip onto my chest. His balls were giant eggs, swaying low in a leathery smooth sack. In a smooth and strong motion, he flipped me over and pulled me into a kneel at the edge of the bed. Pulling my ass tight against his groin, the length of his stiff monster rubbed up and down the crack of my ass. His hands pressed my checks around his beast cock, as he thrust back and forth. He groaned and squirmed his hips. As his precum oozed out of his swollen tip, he rubbed it between my cheeks, rough and hard. He milked his juice, until my crack and anus were drenched. He cupped my cheeks with his hands, running his thumbs along and into my wet crack, dripping saliva and massaging it with the precum into my ripe opening. He groaned with pleasure and pressed his two thumbs against it, forcing his way inside, pulling against my hole, opening it wider. The ecstasy from his touch and the pain were almost intolerable. I breathed deeply and tried to relax, knowing that at any moment his monster dick would assault me, ripping my ass apart. He hoisted his enormous ramming tool in his hand, rubbing it up and down my slippery crack, gasping from the sensation. He pressed against my opening, pushing his swollen helmet tighter against my sweet, rosy gap. I relaxed and as my gateway expanded, his tip pushed in. Oh, Christ, it was big. I gritted my teeth, my muscles tightened, trying to force it out. But he pushed on, deeper and deeper into me, impaling me on a glorious spike of pleasure. I was in ecstasy, immobilized by the incredible rapture. Clinching my cheeks, he pumped my bowels with smooth, gliding thusts. And with each thrust, his balls slapped against me and his sweaty mound matted against my cheeks. Forcefully, he plowed me with a steady, surging rhythm. Oh, God, I couldn’t get enough of his massive cock. I opened completely to him, moaning, as I felt his enormous instrument stuffing me with each thrust, feeling his full size fill my bowels, deeper and deeper. He leaned over, reaching under me, fingering my nipples, twisting and squeezing them as his cock dredged more deeply. He grabbed my swollen cock and pumped hard. The ecstasy was overpowering as my balls exploded and my cock discharged its cream in long columns of milky jism. Oh, God, I thought, as my essence flowed from me in waves of pleasure, what sweet suffering. It cannot be this good. I remembered what the poet had said: “Unfold your shaft and slip into my sheath of sweetness and be lost in me.” He moaned in agony as the fire rose up in him, a huge force frothing from every part of him, until he couldn’t resist it anymore. He hesitate, then groaned and cried out, as his body overwhelmed him in elation, waves of pleasure shooting from him, his thick, fiery fluid gushing into me as his body quaked with each burst. Harder and harder he pumped, his jism beating from him, filling my bowels. Slowly, his quaking subsided, his body coiling up, until he fell on me, crushing both of us on the bed. All through the night, he quenched his lust, taking me at will, in the bed, pushed against a wall, over a couch, on a table, until the beating of his pounding cock replaced the cadence of time. When I awoke, it was early morning and Mark was snuggling against me from behind, hugging me with his powerful arms and resting his face on my neck. My ass was burning, rubbed raw. He hugged me and I feared he would start again. But his kiss was light on my ear and, as I turned toward him, our lips met in a soft, passionate embrace. Such sweet tastes and sensations, both calming and exciting. We nestled together, caressing and kissing each other. “Do you remember the poem about love at the tip?” he asked. “Yes, I do,” I whispered. “Love at the tip was touch as sweet as I could bear, and when it seemed too much, I lived on gasps of air.” We kissed passionately. “I’ve got to run a short errand, maybe gone about 30 minutes,” he whispered. “You can stay and we’ll spend the day together. Or you can go. It’s up to you. But know this - only a few get asked to stay.” He kissed me again, tenderly and lovingly, then hard and wantonly, biting my lip, as he bounded out of bed, not waiting for any answer. He tip-toed around the used rubbers on the floor, and headed for the bathroom, his huge cock and balls bouncing in front of him. I sighed, looking at the rubbers. At least he practiced safe sex. As I heard him turn on the shower, I glanced around the room, his briefcase and laptop computer were on the desk. He was happily singing in the shower, as I quietly got out of bed. Opening the laptop, I turned it on. The screen asked for a password. No surprise there, I thought. Reaching for my wallet, I pulled out and inserted the disk that looked like a building pass card. The computer hummed softly. Isn’t science wonderful, I thought, as I tenderly rubbed my ass. The disk was working its magic, slowly mapping his system and drives, planting a number of cookies and monitor codes and destruct bugs, and looking for likely files to compress. Most importantly, I hoped it was trying to decode the passwords. He was still singing under the shower. I watched the light blinking on the computer, oblivious to my wish that it would process faster. The shower fell silent. I heard the stall door open, then close. I froze, waited, listened to my heart pounding in my brain. Mark started humming again. The sound of tap water filled my ears. The light continued to blink. “Brian. Brian, come here. I want to show you something.” His voice was playful. I startled and jumped. “Okay. I’m on my way.” The light stopped blinking. I retrieved the disk and turned off the machine. As I walked into the bathroom, Mark was standing next to the mirror, grinning. His reading glasses were resting at the base of his cock. With his soft cock and balls hanging below, the image was ridiculously silly. “Meet Mr. Bookcock,” he jovially asserted. “The cock that burns through the asses of bibliophiles.” “Well, good morning, Mr. Bookcock.” I remarked, barely able to restrain my laughter. “How are your prepositions and modifiers dangling today?” We chuckled. “Ooh, I’d like to lick some of Mr. Bookcock’s pages, “ I said, knelling down, opening my mouth and wiggling my tongue at this ridiculous caricature. Mark bounced his cock a few times. That was too much. I started laughing and leaned back against the wall. Mark joined in, lifted his glasses in his hand and sat next to me. “I’ll be back in 30 minutes. Make sure you ass is greased before I return.” Any mellowing thoughts I was having about him vanished with his order. As soon as he left, I gathered my things and headed for the safe house. Safe House I knocked on the door and waited. The walk from Mark’s hotel had been therapeutic, but I was glad to be in from the cold and falling snow, to be home. Karl answered the door. “Come on in lover boy.” So much for home, I thought. I stepped inside, thinking someday Karl and I were going to have it out over his smart-ass mouth and bigoted attitude, an attitude that wasn’t masked by his phony teasing. Jacques, our supervisor, was present and Dan, our team technician, who eagerly took the disk and started working at his computer. “So, lover boy, was it good and dirty?” Karl asked, as I sat down on the couch. “Only if you do it right.” Jacques and Dan chuckled. Karl flushed, stared at me and grunted. Karl was an overweight slob, and long over due for a promotion in the organization, which explained part of his attitude. He didn’t like working with an agent that was openly gay. But, most of all, he didn’t like working with any agent that was brighter than he was. I waited for him to begin, having learned that Karl liked to hold back information, parceling it out in measured doses, controlling its release. “Well, it looks like the only exciting thing about this operation was the action in bed.” He paused, cupping his hands together behind his head, leaning back in his chair, baiting me to ask why. I just looked at him. After a pause, he continued. “Your sweety didn’t use his modem. So we can’t trace shit or download crap. But he is bolting, heading for the airport as we speak. Probably found the cookies and bugs in his laptop.” I nodded, mentally sighing, thankful my ass was only sore and not pinned against some wall. “Well, maybe there’s something of value on the disk,” I finally said. “Bingo!” Don said. “Indeed there is. Christ, look at this!” On the screen - all in the clear, no encryption - were rows and columns of financial information - bank names, amounts, passwords and, best of all, owners of the accounts, familiar front names for various terrorist organizations. We all looked at the trove of invaluable information, the financial transactions of some major terrorists. Jacques let out a long whistle. “Jesus, it looks like a mother load. Well Kurt, maybe your evening with him interrupted his encryption of the data.” Just then the scrolling hit the encrypted information. “Well, we got some of it, anyway,” Jacques continued. “We suspect the raw info was deliveed to him over the last few days. Somehow the book fair has something to do with this, but we don’t know what yet. In any case, if this is credible, no wonder he’s running. Once his employers learn about this, he’ll have to encrypt himself to survive.” Yes, I thought, as I visualizing his naked body lying in a dark alley, his groin mutilated as only the terrorist can do it. Part of me wanted to wish him luck; another part wanted the terrorists to find him. Run, Mark. Run like Hell, you bastard. And while your running, remember all the innocent people who have died because of your clever financial dealings. We continued to stare at the information. “Okay, let’s fold up and get out of here,” Jacques ordered. As Karl and Don packed up the gear, Jacques pulled me aside. “Good work, Kurt. Very good. I know it was dangerous.” “Thanks. It’s nice to know you appreciate the work and the danger.” “So, going back to your vacation?” “Yes, if I still can.” “No problem," he answered. "You were going to go for two weeks, right, before we pulled you into this assignment?” “Yes, that’s right. Two weeks after my first full year with the organization. I’m going to a Greek island, with only one phone.” “I know. We have the number. Can I do anything for you?” “No, I’m okay, but thanks. Just want to get to that island,” I answered. Some Preparation H would be nice, I thought, but I didn't ask. He shook my hand and we stepped out into the crisp morning air. The snow had stopped falling. The End Compliments - Complaints - Comments e-mail me at: edmond_michael@hotmail.com If you liked this story, kindly check out my website for more: http://www.pridesites.com/teen/mickedmond/