Stupid Web Tricks

A friend of mine told me about these "word clouds" - go to http://www.wordle.net to create your own:

Kunstbahn

"I'm really sorry about this, Cris. Emmy's movie schedule just got moved up and this is the only time to do the studio recording for the new album."

Cristano Asgeir leaned against the doorway of Cromwell's bedroom - sadness and resignation written over his face. "Yeah, I know. But I'm still bummed about it."

"Look - it's only two weeks. I'll be back before you know it. After all, you're going to be really busy with training and speed trials." The singer paused in his packing. "Cris, come over here." He held out his arms.

The young man stepped into the embrace and held him tightly. "Jeez, I love it when you hold me like this. I'm gonna miss you. Do you realize this is the first time we've been apart except for a couple of quick kills Lucio had me on?"

Bobby stroked Asgeir's long, auburn hair. Running his hands through it was like touching the finest silk. The young man always had the faint scent of vanilla and fresh-baked cookies about him. Because of the elixir, both appeared to be in their early twenties, but Bobby sometimes forgot how young his lover was and with that, concerns and insecurities that vanish only with time and maturity.

Cristano had clear grey eyes and a fine-boned face. Had it been any more delicate, he would have been considered pretty rather than handsome. His countenance, however stood in stark contrast with his lean, heavily muscled physique - the sculptured torso, the powerful arms and defined legs were all hallmarks of the grueling physical badge of achievement shared by all Giambi's soldieri. At twenty-two, Cristano was the youngest of all Lucio's silent assassins. He skill with a stiletto was only exceeded by the incredible talent he possessed in stalking his victims.

Asgeir was an Olympic slider and bobsledder. At one time, he was a top member of the US teams, but leaked news of his employment with Lucio Giambi had poisoned his chances. He was summarily dropped from the roster with no reason given. Humiliated, angry and despondent, he had poured out his heart to the young crime lord. Lucio had grown furious at the way Asgeir had been treated and promised him to rectify the situation. Since his father had emigrated from Norway, a call to Anton Zutrov had provided him with an entree to the chairman of the Norwegian Olympic Commission. Within the span of a few hours, Cristano was a member of that country's delegation. Lucio provided significant financial backing to Norway's team and Asgeir had won the Gold in single luge, Silver in two-man luge and Bronze in the two-man bobsled. The US walked away empty-handed.

The young man had returned to Lillehammer to train for the upcoming Winter Olympics and to qualify for Norway's luge and bobsled teams again. The US delegation had begged him to participate, but he had angrily replied if he had not been good enough for them four years ago, they were not good enough for him now.

The young assassin looked up at him. "Bobby, d'you think Xiphon is still mad at me?"

"Mad at you? Why?"

"Well, I did pull a gun on him twice and nearly shot him dead the second time. That could make anyone pissed off ... and he's got a real temper ..."

Cromwell chuckled and continued to massage his bodyguard's back. The other man snuggled into him. "Of course not! But I'll talk to him anyway." He stroked the other man's face and gave him a soft kiss. "Feeling better?"

"Mmmmmm...." Asgeir smiled. "I'm still gonna miss you though."

* * *

"And where do you think you're going, fos tis psihis mou?" (light of my soul - ed.) Xiphon looked at him with half-lidded eyes. The former Minoan prince lay sprawled naked on the bed, the light from the shutters casting a variegated shadow across his powerful form. Cromwell found himself growing immediately hard with desire.

"Back to Los Angeles. Emmy's got scheduling problems with the upcoming movie and the new album."

Xiphon raised himself on an elbow and cocked an eyebrow. "I gather that the babe is not taking your departure well?"

Bobby sighed and sat down on the bed. "No, he was upset. He still is. He may be young, Xiphon, but he's certainly not a 'babe'. Are you angry at him for some reason? Don't tell me you're still jealous, are you?"

Cromwell caressed the ridges along the muscled back. Xiphon moaned and stretched like a large, contented cat.

The prince chuckled. "Angry? Of course not! I merely jest. I dislike the thought of sharing you with anyone, but Cristano is the exception to that rule. I know what he means to you. And he is a striking man. What I would do to run my hands through that shining hair ..."

Bobby continued the gentle stroking of his lover, making intricate designs with his fingers across the shoulder blades, down the center and into the small of his back. Xiphon shivered under the delicate onslaught.

"Do me a favor?"

"Anything, my love. You have only but ask."

Xiphon ran his lips across Cromwell's hand. At this point, Bobby found himself ready to explode. It was amazing how the most insignificant of touches from the Minoan could inflame him to such passion.

"While I'm gone, be nice to Cris? Make him feel wanted? You aren't competitors, you know."

The former vampire grinned. "I shall do my best to show him how much he is truly appreciated."

Bobby looked hard at him, his blue-violet gaze narrowing in suspicion. "You've got an evil glint in your eyes, love ... what wicked thoughts are running through that devious mind of yours?"

Xiphon gave a low chuckle and snaked his hand down past the waistband of Cromwell's jeans. He gave the engorged package a gentle squeeze. "Beloved, surely you cannot even think of boarding a plane in such a state?"

The singer moaned. "Oh, dammit - the flight's in less than an hour!" He pulled the sweater off over his head.

The prince drew him down onto the bed next to him and gave him a deep kiss. "Then I must best use this time to ravish you quickly!"

* * *
 
Luge is the French word for "sled." Sleds have probably been around since about 800 A.D. in the Viking regions, and the first reference to sled racing came out of Norway in 1480. In 1964, luge became an Olympic sport at the Innsbruck Games.

In Olympic luge, the slider (usually not called a "luger") lies down on a fiberglass sled, with no braking system, and heads feet-first down an icy track.

There are actually two types of luge: natural track and artificial track.

In natural-track luge (naturbahn), the track is made of packed snow and ice. The slope on a natural luge track is no greater than 1.5 percent (about 1 degree), meaning that for every 100 feet of track, the maximum elevation change is 1.5 feet. Speeds can reach up to 50 mph (80 kph). Anyone can make a natural luge track if he has enough snow to work with.

In artificial-track luge (kunstbahn), the track is steeper and has high-banked turns, with an average slope of 8 to 11 percent (about 5 to 6 degrees). Speeds on an artificial track can reach 90 mph (140 kph) .
Olympic luge is kunstbahn, and it's not for the meek. The types of artificial luge tracks used in the Olympics are tremendous structures that embody a lot of technology. There are fewer than two dozen artificial luge tracks in the world.

An Olympic track is artificially refrigerated. The bobsled/luge course used in the 2002 Salt Lake City Games was a reinforced concrete track with evaporators buried in the concrete. The evaporators cooled the track to 12 degrees F (-11 C). The track was then sprayed with water to create the approximate 2-inch surface of ice.

A typical luge course is less than 1 mile (1.6 km) long and drops about 300 to 400 feet (90-120 m) in the course of a one-minute run. The configuration includes straightaways, left and right turns, downhills (and sometimes a short uphill) and at least one S-type curve combination like the "labyrinth," which consists of three or four consecutive turns with no straightaways between them. Reaching speeds up to 90 mph (140 kph) on the track, just staying on the sled would be a feat for a highly trained athlete. But sliders don't just have to stay on the sled -- they also need to maintain a strictly aerodynamic form, watch where they're going and try to keep the sled in the "sweet spot" that will carry them smoothly between turns, all while facing up to 5 g's on particularly strenuous courses.

For all the complexity of navigating a luge course, the equipment involved is limited. There's a sled, a racing suit, gloves, boots and a helmet. Every piece of equipment in luge is designed for utmost aerodynamics, minimal friction and top speed.

* * *
Cristano's bobsled spikes crunched over the icy ground. He carried his helmet and luge booties slung over his shoulder and wore a pair of blue mirrored sunglasses as he made his way to the track. He was deep in thought regarding the course ahead of him and what strategies he would employ to make the best time possible.

"Hey, Cris!"

"Hallo, kjekk!"

Cristano turned towards the familiar voices and was given crushing hugs by the two bobsledders. They wore the same skintight suits as himself and 100-watt smiles creased their faces.

"Didrick! Sverre! How are you guys doing?"

Didrick Jenssen wrapped an arm around the young man.

"How's my handsome American gangster, huh?" he whispered in his ear.

Didrick gave him a delicate kiss and trailed his lips along the square jaw, a kiss that lasted longer than necessary and spoke volumes of the relationship between them. The bobsledder had white-blonde hair and deep blue eyes. They twinkled like sunlight on a glacier.

"Mmmmm ... I see you've bulked up a bit in four years." Sverre Nordhagen grinned. The other bobsledder was about 5'11", dark-haired and with deep green eyes the color of ancient forests. He ran a gentle hand down Cristano's back and over his muscled flanks. 

"No weight belt this time?"

Asgeir laughed. "Maybe 5 or 7 kilos. You guys haven't changed a bit! Did you have a run yet?"

Sverre nodded. "We're about to do our second. What about you?"

"Einar's ahead of me. How's the track?"

"Nice ... they've added some new hairpin turns - you're going to love it." Didrick's hand crept slowly down the front of Asgeir's suit and rested a moment on the crotch. His gloved hand traced the hard eight inches through the suit's rubberized fabric and gave it a delicate masssage.

"If you're not busy tonight, let's catch up, okay?"

"Sure!"

The loudspeaker announced the duo's next run. Sverre pulled the young man closer to him. He kneaded the muscular butt beneath the yellow luge suit and gave him a deep kiss. Their crotches ground together.

"Until later, kjekk ..."

* * *
Cristano sat on his sled at the opening gate. He moved back and forth in a gentle rhythm to keep his muscles warmed and limber. God, he loved this sport. The adrenaline rush speeding down through the icy course was incredible. Sometimes, he admitted privately to himself, even more exciting than the tracking down and eliminating targets for Lucio. His thoughts turned to Cromwell and to Xiphon - almost at once, he could feel the disembodied presence of the Minoan prince. A spectral hand stroked his face inside the helmet and a pair of ghostly lips pressed gently against his.

"Fly like the wind, little one ... and be safe ..."

Cristano shook himself out of his apparent daydream. The horn sounded and Asgeir used his spiked gloves to build up speed and then lay down on the sled. All he could see was the yellow of his suit speeding past the icy blue sides of the track. All he could hear was the low hiss of the steel blades cutting through the ice and the wind whipping past his helmet.

Around curves - left and right; right and left; past straightaways; through the labyrinth. He could feel the g-forces around him; attempting to wrest control of the sled and smash him against the frigid barriers. He strained and fought them down. Before he knew it, he was past the exit gate and decelerating. He stopped and sat up.

Didrick and Sverre were past the end of the track to meet him. Both couldn't wait to embrace their teammate.

"Cris, that was incredible! Look at the board!"

Asgeir looked at his results. The clocked speed was blinking "89.9"

"Oh my fucking God ... I beat Benshoof's record ..."

Sverre grabbed Cristano's head in both hands and gave him a deep, lingering kiss. His gloved hands ran sensuously down the other's arms and came to rest on Asgeir's muscled ass.

"Unofficially, min kjæreste ... you need to do that again at the Veissman or the Euro Cup ..." The faint accent in his English was always intoxicating. He nuzzled the assassin's neck as his hands moved up to the other's waist. "Mmmmm ... you taste like my mama's fattigmandbakkelse ..."

The assassin returned the fondling and found himself becoming quickly rigid with desire. He pulled the big Norwegian closer to him and began a series of small kisses around the edge of Nordhagen's jaw. Sverre murmured something as he nuzzled Cristano's neck.

"Hey Cris ... who's that guy coming towards us?"

Asgeir looked over to see Xiphon approaching them. He wore a black and silver down jacket over a pair of snug blue-white jeans. Tinted sunglasses covered his eyes and the light breeze ruffled his raven hair. He was carrying Cristano's jacket and spikes; a broad smile creased his incredibly handsome face.

"That's my boss's lover ..."

Didrick gave him a quizzical look. "I thought you and Bobby ..."

Cristano sighed. "We are ... but there's also Xiphon. He and Bobby are together too... it's ... it's complicated ..."

At that moment, the former vampire reached the group. He removed his glasses to show deep golden-brown eyes. "I take it that the flashing numbers are a good indicator?"

"I just broke the world speed record!"

"Congratulations, agapoula mou - I had no doubts of your skill or your command of the track!" His voice wrapped around Cristano like satin and he gathered the slider into his arms in an embrace of unadulterated joy. Asgeir trembled in the Minoan's embrace as a wave of white-hot pleasure swept through him.

"Put this on Cris, you are shivering." Xiphon held out the jacket to him and helped him into it. He turned to the bobsledders and gave them a wry grin. "I see that you know Cris quite well... biblically?" in flawless Norwegian.

The two looked surprised and a faint blush colored Didrick's cheeks. Asgeir cleared his throat. "Xiphon, these are my best buddies Didrick Jenssen and Sverre Nordhagen. They were the first guys I met when I joined the team four years ago. They're also one of the best two-man bobsled teams in the world."

"If all of them are this striking, little one, I see why you love this sport so. The Vikings were always so wickedly handsome ..." The prince's voice was a quicksilver chuckle in his head. He hadn't been daydreaming - the former vampire could speak to him mind-to-mind! He glanced at Xiphon, who gave him a grin and quick wink.

"A pleasure to meet you. Xiphon Vykrolakis - at your service. May I offer you a ride back up to the top of the run? My Range Rover is only about 20 meters away..."

* * *

After several additional runs down the track, some time in the weight room, a hot shower and a relaxing massage, the day ended for the athletes. Cristano continued meet or exceed the speed record previously set and he became more and more confident of breaking the record at an official event.

With a start, they realized the lateness of the hour and the trio found themselves alone in the locker room, their bodies glistening with massage oil. As they looked at each other, the situation fanned the embers of their passion into a raging, uncontrollable inferno. Meeting later tonight would be too little too late. Asgeir let the towel slip from his slim hips to display his shaft turgid with lust. He ran long fingers down between the hard pectorals of the icy-blonde bobsledder.

"You are more stunning than I remember, Didi." There was a huskiness in the voice of the slider. He gave Jennsen a wicked grin.

Didrick stiffened, drew completely still as Cristano leaned close, bringing his lips into intimate contact with an ear. "Tell me," he murmured, sending shivers across the other's skin, "have you missed me?"

His tongue flicked the sensitive arch. The bobsledder gasped. More moist heat as lips and tongue followed the delicate curve. The slider's attitude was far more confident than he remembered. And far, far more experienced. Could this be the same shy youngster he met four years ago?

Jennsen bit his lip, stifling a groan as Asgeir's mouth drifted lightly down the length of his neck. Soft lips brushed his skin in the barest of butterfly strokes. Each whispery contact sent tendrils of desire unwinding throughout Didrick's body.

Jennsen lifted a hand to ease the slider away and give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. He was usually the aggressor with the younger American. Instead, he found himself clutching helplessly at oil-slick skin as Cristano's firm lips latched onto the sensitive junction at neck and shoulder. When the assassin's tongue laved hotly across his collarbone, Didrick thought his knees would give way.

"Tell me you want this ..."

"I--"

"Tell me, min skatt ..." ("my treasure" - ed.) When Cristano's hand slid to the bulge between the bobsledder's legs, Didrick's' breath left him. Coherent thought fled. Asgeir stroked him firmly through the towel, measuring the other's growing length with his fingers. Jennsen pressed himself into the touch, unable to help himself as lust surged through his body. He moaned deeply, his entire body trembling with unspent desire.

"That's it," the assassin urged softly, "show me." Didrick loosened the towel and threw it onto a bench.

Jennsen's head fell back, his eyes rolling blindly. His hips rocked forward of their own accord as Asgeir's lips fell upon his neck and the clean edge of his teeth nipped skin. The bobsledder heard someone growling, and wondered briefly if it was himself.

He had swelled to bursting. Cristano's hand was gentle; its silky surface tugged and squeezed Didrick's sensitive flesh with bittersweet pain. Tight, demanding strokes pulled him onto his toes; they were enough to send Jennsen over the edge. He moaned, Asgeir quickly sealing his mouth over the other's to catch the sound. Hot liquid spilled over the slider's hand and trickled down Didrick's thighs.

His heavy-lidded eyes watched absently as Cristano drew his palm to his mouth and licked. Jennsen shuddered at the intimacy of the act.

"I knew it," Asgeir said, almost to himself. He smiled around the unmistakable shock at his lasciviousness. "You taste of apple cake."

The faint tremor in his voice drew Didrick's eyes downward. The slider's bold arousal was unmistakable. He grasped the bobsledder's waist and gently pushed him down onto a bench. Cristano rummaged into his gear bag and extracted a bottle of lube. He poured a generous amount onto his rigid shaft and spread an equally generous measure onto and into Jennsen's inviting pucker. He grasped Didrick's ankles and placed them onto his powerful shoulders. The slider began to stroke and caress the muscled calves and quads -- Jennsen whimpered in ecstasy.

Cris placed the tip of his engorged glans at the entrance of the man beneath him. Slowly, he pushed into the inviting hole and stopped when his shaft was fully buried inside. He leaned forward and began to kiss Didrick's chest. Jennsen's hands rose up and danced along the back of Asgeir's neck and head.

"Herregud ..." he breathed.

Cristano began to slowly pull out of the bobsledder, only to push back in - all the while the slider's lips played along the hard nips and heaving six-pack abs; each kiss made its own explosion of heat and desire. The deep rhythm was stoking the two men into a frenzy of passion.

Cristano felt a pair of hands rest on his shoulders and soft lips begin kissing along the bunching muscles. Sverre.

"Are you ready for me, kjekk?" he whispered into the assassin's ear.

Asgeir answered by widening his stance. He heard the dark-haired Norwegian chuckle behind him and felt the delicate tip of a tongue swipe his earlobe. Cris shivered as gentle hands traveled up and down his oiled flanks. Soon after, the slider felt the coolness of the lube and then the thick shaft of Nordhagen brutally penetrating him.

The trio established a languorous but intense rhythm between them; Jenssen on his back twisting beneath the ministrations of Asgeir and Nordhagen filling the young slider with his massive tool. Cristano felt Sverre's manhood swell and then the rushing warmth of the other's seed deep within him. Shortly afterward, he too erupted within the moaning bobsledder.

Spent, the three held each other for a while, bodies pressed against each other, kissing and reveling in the shared intimacy of the moment.

* * *
Lucio's cell buzzed. He looked at the incoming call and grimaced. "Oh, shit ..." He opened the phone.

"Good morning, tovarisch!"

"Hello, Anton. How are you? How's everything going?"

Zutrov gave a theatrical sigh. "Things could be better, my friend... sometimes business can be so complicated..."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to expand my operations in Scandinavia, but there are some... impediments."

"Oh?"

"Da. Specifically one of the local Von Essen lieutenants..."

Shaun entered the room with a sheaf of papers. He looked quizzically at the mob boss, who rolled his eyes and mouthed the word "Zutrov". His assistant gave a rueful grin and pantomimed being hung by a noose. Roberts' brows creased momentarily in concentration and gestured he would be right back.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Anton?"

"Well, now that you mention it... yes. I can't be seen eliminating one of Friedrich's men directly... could you make sure he doesn't cause me any more trouble?"

Shaun reentered the office and put a piece of paper on Lucio's desk. On it was a phone number and the notation "+9"

"Let's hear some specifics... where is this person located, Anton?"

"Trondheim. In Norway."

Lucio continued speaking with the Russian mobster, gathering data about the target. Zutrov agreed to send him further information after Lucio promised to eliminate the other gangster. He finally ended the call. He sighed as he looked at Shaun.

"I knew it, I knew it... as soon as I heard the "tovarisch", I knew he wanted something... he's such a goddamn pain in the ass sometimes..." he muttered.

He looked at the piece of paper. "What's this?"

"Cristano's phone number in Lillehammer. He's nine hours ahead of us. The target's about an hour's drive from him."

Lucio chuckled. "You know, Shaun - you never fail to amaze me..."

The other man grinned. "I try, boss. I try..."

* * *
Cristano had received the phone call from Lucio and was busily reviewing the information on his laptop about the job he was tasked to complete. He was in the suite of rooms belonging to Xiphon and Bobby. The slider had pulled out a large backpack from the closet and its bulk leaned against one of the bedroom walls.

Asgeir stood up and stretched. He closed the laptop and threw the backpack onto the bed. Xiphon was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and a serious look on his face.

"Until I saw you on the track, I didn't know how capable you truly are in all your endeavors ..."

Xiphon, Cristano decided, could sear a person into ash with just his gaze. The slider came to that conclusion as he unpacked the equipment he would need for the kill. Though the alpine rays shone strongly through the windows, its brilliance was no match for the steely regard that traced the young man's profile. It felt as though the heat of a thousand suns burned across his cheekbones.

"Cris, I have been indifferent to you, if not even callous in my regard to your feelings and needs. For that, I ask your forgiveness. I have been an incredibly stupid and jealous fool."

Asgeir stopped and stared - slackjawed - at the Minoan prince, shock written across his delicate features.

"That's okay, Xiphon. I don't know how I would have reacted looking for someone for over four thousand years, finally hitting the jackpot, and then thinking I missed the boat, either."

The former vampire smiled. "Thank you, little one. Is there anything I may do to help you?"

Cristano had continued to remove items from the large backpack: rope, carabiners, thin black leather gloves, several stillettos, a web belt and a form-fitting camouflage suit. He packed most of the items into a smaller bag and began to strip off his jeans and sweater to don the other clothing.

"You feel like taking a little trip? I have a job to do in Trondheim."

* * *

Otto Von Essen was tired. It had been another long and aggravating day for the criminal in charge of his family's interests in southern Norway. Having to deal with wolves like Anton Zutrov was enervating to say the least, and having to shore up all of the businesses against Russian incursions was putting a strain both on him and his soldiers. He took in the view of Trondheim from his third-floor balcony and inhaled deeply the sweet night air.

Perhaps tomorrow will be better ... he thought to himself.

* * *

Xiphon and Cristano sat in the car and watched the lights in the apartment go out. The slider looked at his watch.

"Let's give him half an hour to go to sleep - then I'll go up."

"How?"

"There are enough handholds to scale the building from the outside. I'll cut through the balcony doors and slit his throat. Then I'll rappel back down."

Xiphon nodded appreciatively. "I did something similar for the Latinis of Florence. I had to scale a small palazzo and dispatch a rather troublesome Ghibelline in its north tower."

"When was that?"

"1264."

Cristano chuckled. "I keep forgetting how old you are... umm, were... you know what I mean."

"Indeed..." Xiphon smiled as he brushed auburn hair back from Asgeir's forehead. The touch sent a tingling warmth throughout the body of the young assassin. Cristano was unsettled by the effect the other's touch had upon him. He pulled a balaclava over his head, leaving only his eyes exposed and opened the car door.

"Wish me luck..." as he sprinted over to the side of the building.

* * *

Cris scaled the building with ease and swung himself quietly over the railing. Asgeir attached the rope to the edge of the balcony and let it unwind below. He removed the suction cup and glass cutter from the knapsack to gain access to the balcony's door mechanism.

Wait a moment... let me try something for you. Place your hand over the lock. The Minoan whispered into his mind.

The slider put his gloved hand over the lock and felt a ghostly hand settle over his own. By it's own accord, the lock slowly and quietly turned to the open position.

"Thanks, Xiphon." Cris whispered. He felt a spectral kiss on the back of his neck. He eased the door open and stepped stealthily into the apartment, quickly locating the sleeping mobster. The assassin removed a razor sharp stiletto from a sheath on his belt and quickly drew it across the man's throat. He jumped back as a geyser of blood burst from the severed artery. The man gurgled once and lay still. Cris moved quickly out of the apartment and back onto the balcony. He wrapped the rope around his waist and around one thigh and quickly rappelled down the side of the building.

He touched ground and attached a small box to the end of the rope. At the press of a button, a faint electrical current traveled up the line - the carabiner popped open and the cord tumbled down. Cris gathered up the rope and raced to the waiting car. As soon as he shut the door, Xiphon started the engine and pulled out.

Cris removed the balaclava and gave the prince a quick kiss. "Thanks for working that lock - it was amazing! How did you do that?"

The Minoan flashed a quick smile at him. "I did not lose all my abilities when I became mortal again..."

* * *

Cristano returned to the suite and replaced the implements of death into their proper hiding place. It had been a long day - both with training and with the killing - and he was spent. He embraced Xiphon and wished him a good night. He was truly looking forwards to a relaxing hot shower and bed.

Asgeir returned to his own room and stripped naked. He entered the large shower and adjusted the water to a deliciously warm temperature; he stretched contentedly in the steamy water sluicing over him.

What calm he felt was immediately dashed as he felt a body come up behind him. Automatic reflexes kicked in. He turned, raising his hand to either strike or shove, only to have his wrist deftly caught, twisted, and yanked behind him. Biting back a cry of alarm, Cristano found himself jerked backwards against a hot, powerfully muscled chest.

"I did not know you like to play so rough, little one."

Xiphon. Asgeir stopped struggling, acutely conscious of his nudity. His buttocks brushed against something hot and firm. He jerked forward, blushing fiercely. The Minoan laughed.

"C'mon, Xiphon - let me go." He surreptitiously slid his feet apart, looking for the leverage to throw the larger man.

A foot kicked his legs beyond balance. "Don't even attempt it," the prince warned against his ear. The foot that had spread the younger man lifted, until the Minoan's knee brushed the underside of twin globes. Cristano tried to twist out of reach, but his wide-spread feet could not find purchase on the slippery shower floor. He bit his tongue as the knee between his legs brushed slowly back and forth, teasing tiny shivers from him.

Xiphon's tongue slid along the slider's smooth jawline. "You are a fascinating man, Cris. Athlete. Lover. Killer. I want you." He nipped, sharp enough to sting. "Do you not feel the same of me?"

"I don't want to play this game," Cristano bit out.

"This is no game." the former vampire assured him. The prince's free hand slid around the younger man's chest, splaying against the muscles covering his ribcage.

Asgeir held his breath as fingers trailed up to one peaked nipple.

"Don't."

Fingers pinched, drawing a soft cry. "I need you, little one."

Cristano felt his cock grow ever stiffer as Xiphon moved to the other nipple and twisted. He shook his head wildly. "Please, please, Xiphon - I can't. I can't do this ..."

"Can you not?" Xiphon's voice deepened, adopted a feral, husky tone. "Do you not realize that everything about you drives me to madness? From eyes that flash like a storm-tossed sea to hair ..." He tightened his grip on Asgeir's wrist, pulling the powerful body taut as his free hand roamed the slick expanse of chest and stomach. " ... of such softness and color? Such beauty leaves me aching." He kissed the nape of his neck.

A helpless groan broke from the slider's throat as caressing fingers danced lightly down his body. Never had he felt so vulnerable as the fingers paused to trace a ring of torment around the base of his erection. Losing control, he swiveled his hips, seeking greater contact. But the prince would not be swayed so easily. His hand came to rest upon Cristano's thigh, the tip of his thumb dragging slowly across the side of the pulsing cock.

"Tell me what you want, little one."

Asgeir released a frustrated whimper. "Please --"

"Tell me what you want or you shall not get it."

The thought was too painful to bear. "I want you!" Cristano cried out at last. "Xiphon, I want you..."

The Minoan sighed and kissed the younger man's exposed throat. "Ahhhh, zouzouni mou. That is what I wanted to hear."

He took hold of Cristano's chin and turned him to his kiss. The assassin welcomed the invasion of Xiphon's tongue. The wet heat filled him, warmed him. The Minoan's consuming kiss was like a prize won after much hardship. The prince let his lips drift softly over cheek and chin. Cris' eyes drifted out of focus as the other man moved down, sweeping the length of his throat with wetness.

His breath fanned into an exclamation of rapture, protests forgotten, as Xiphon's finger slid smoothly into him. "Relax," he soothed. His blunt fingertip stroked Cristano from the inside, rubbing in slow circles over the heart of the assassin's desire. Cris' head fell back against the former vampire's supporting shoulder, his gasps short and harsh as another finger joined its mate inside his body. Xiphon's tongue stabbed into his open mouth. Cristano sucked at it greedily.

The fingers eased out of him. The emptiness did not last long as the slick head of the Minoan's cock pushed firmly and inevitably inside of him. The prince was hot steel and velvet. He filled Cristano until it became his only awareness. Xiphon pulled back, then pressed forward with a guttural groan. Again. And again.

Asgeir moaned as Xiphon reached around him and took his bobbing shaft in his hand. The ex-vampire stroked in time with his thrusts, drawing desperate cries from Cristano with each flex of his hips.

Xiphon slowed his movements, sliding his cock slowly, languidly into Cristano. "Think of the pleasures ahead of you, dearest one," the Minoan murmured in his ear. "Me, holding you captive while I cleave you in two. Bobby pleasuring you in ways unimagined...."

Asgeir groaned, tremors wracking his body.

Xiphon deepened his thrusts, slamming them so tightly together that the slider imagined they had become one. Overcome by the sensations flooding him, Cristano sought to pull away. But the Minoan would not let him escape.

"Don't fight it," the ex-vampire growled. His hand around the other's cock stroked it fiercely until at last he wrung a broken cry from Asgeir's throat. The assassin exploded, jetting into the air in a pearlescent arc.

"By Apollo!" Xiphon groaned before he, too, succumbed to his passion. The prince clutched Cristano in a strangling grip as he spent himself into the heaving slider. He released Asgeir's arm and caught the Olympian as he collapsed backwards.

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," Cristano managed to pant once he had regained his breath.

Strong arms tightened around him. "Forgive me your mistreatment, my love?" Xiphon kissed his shoulder.

Cristano turned around and stroked his face. He gave the Minoan a gentle smile and kissed him deeply. "After this, handsome - I'd forgive you anything!"

* * *

When Bobby arrived back in Oslo two weeks later, the word 'foul' could not begin to describe his mood. The flight had been delayed several times; the food had been terrible; and he had been forced to endure low-level whimpering of two brats in the first class cabin. Their squalling had kept him awake the entire flight, and thanks to the Elixir, he could not even stay drunk long enough to fall asleep.

It was a complete and unexpected surprise when he saw both Cristano and Xiphon waiting for him. The two seemed completely at ease together and Bobby could sense a sea-change in their attitudes towards each other.

Cris was the first to embrace him. "How was the flight?"

"It sucked. I couldn't wait to get off that damn plane. Anything that could go wrong, did."

Xiphon pulled Cromwell to him. "Well, kardoula mou, it has been quite the whirlwind of activity here. Our Cristano has beaten the world speed record several times over."

"You did?"

Cris smiled and nodded. "Xiphon's been at the track every day, cheering me on. It's been great!"

"It seems you two are getting along famously ... what happened?"

Asgeir opened his mouth to speak, but Xiphon laid a gentle hand on his arm. "There were too many hidden angers and misunderstandings between us. We both discovered how truly stupid they were. You were so right, my love - we aren't competitors. Not in the least." He ran his hand through Cristano's hair and pulled him into a gentle kiss. The young assassin snaked an arm around the former prince and held him close. Cromwell looked on in happy shock.

Cristano winked at Cromwell. "C'mon, let's go back to the hotel. Looks like you could use some real rest and relaxation. Among other things..."



* * *
When I mentioned Cristano in "Latex Law Enforcement" I knew right then and there that here was another one of my secondary characters that needed further development. A while back, my friend Paul mentioned that I didn't have a battle-hardened courier in my employ. We thought that he should probably be a rather active AE, involved in cycling, motor sports, etc. So when the Cristano made his appearance, the pieces all clicked into place. Cris will also be showcasing some of his talents for motocross, cycling and other activities.

I should also mention I often do a plot outline of my stories, but I leave the details to flesh themselves out as I write. I had no idea that Cris would surface, but it was quite fortunate when he did.

The luge suit is from Radical Speed, a super manufacturer of rubberized lycra based in Calgary. I've also purchased a motorcycle slick suit for use with my one-piece Technics racing leathers. The bobsledding spikes are actually a pair of Adidas track spikes - I wanted to get something that would complement the luge suit and look appropriately luge-ish... And for those purists out there - I *know* that's not a luge helmet! I like to be very accurate in my AE's, but I have to draw a line somewhere!

The Greyland Artist mask has again proved it's versatility - I really enjoy this mask since I can become so many different people in it!

The Interrogation

The meeting was extra ordinarily ordinary ... and boring to tears.

In the beginning, Commander Gage Hewitt of the Royal Australian Navy was awed by his role in Operation Hammerstroke. As part of ANZUS, the three countries worked closely together developing defensive and offensive plans to safeguard against the rising tide of terrorism and Islamic extremism. His part - particle physics and cryogenic electronics - was a vital piece in the project.

The Australian commander ran a hand through his short, dark hair and rubbed his eyes. The presenter continued droning on. When is this bloody idiot going to shut up? He wondered to himself.

About 6 feet tall, Gage had blue-green eyes in a tanned and ruggedly handsome face. His Navy uniform strained across his muscular torso and his trousers clung to powerful legs.

Finally, the presenter finished. Thank God it was the final meeting of the conference. Hewitt was looking forward to some relaxation in town before heading back to the naval base in Cockburn Sound.
* * *

Gage returned to the quarters assigned to him, showered, shaved and slid into a pair of tight, faded jeans. He slipped a soft, pale red cotton sweater over his head and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on a pair of comfortable boots. Hewitt grabbed jacket, keys and wallet and headed out the door.

* * *

After days of fluorescent lights, terrible food and uncomfortable seating, the restaurant was heaven on earth. Gage sat in a corner booth, sinking into the soft leather with a sigh. He ordered a gin and tonic and sat back admiring the passersby with a direct and discerning gaze. The waiter returned with an additional drink and put it down in front of him.

"Sorry mate, that's not mine."

The waiter grinned at him. "Well, the lady at the bar seems to think it is."

Hewitt turned around in the booth to see a ravishing titian-haired beauty smile at him and raise her glass. He returned the smile and gestured to her to join him. She glided over.

Well, well, well ... patience is a virtue ... looks like spending all that time at the conference wasn't a waste after all ....

* * *
Hewitt came awake slowly and painfully. The last thing he remembered was going back with Zia to her hotel room. He tried to get rub the sleep out of his eyes, but found he couldn't move his arm. With a start, he found himself immobilized on a steel device in the middle of a large room.

Gage was bound onto what could only be described as a crooked cross. He was stretched out on a padded incline bench with leather straps around waist, thighs and calves to hold him in place. A metal crosspiece held his arms out from his sides, nearly parallel to the floor. Thick, soft leather restraints were locked onto his wrists and ankles and prevented his movements.

A cold chill crept up his spine. In addition to being imprisoned as he was, Hewitt discovered that all of his body hair had been removed. He was not particularly hirsute to begin with, but now all he could see was a smooth, unbroken expanse of tanned skin. Further, a heavy steel cockring encircled his manhood, engorged and swollen with need. He put his head back and closed his eyes. What the hell is happening to me?

He opened his eyes to receive another shock. Suspended above him was a mirror. He could see that his hair had been buzzed down to a short stubble and he sported about a 7-day growth of beard. The edges of the facial hair had been expertly trimmed and served to accentuate the planes of his face and the squareness of his jawline. A soft leather collar was locked about his neck. It was snug, but not uncomfortably so, and he found his reflection to be alarmingly arousing. As the commander felt himself grow even larger with desire, he could see and feel his slit being blocked by some metal device and something large, hard and pleasantly warm filling his ass. A slow throb originated from whatever device was placed there and a wave of pleasure spread throughout his body. It repeated every few minutes.

A Voice crackled into life over a hidden loudspeaker.

"Commander, we know you were recently present at a high level conference. What was the codename for the project being discussed, who were the attendees and what exactly does this operation entail?"

Gage twitched in his bonds.

"Gage Hewitt, Commander, Royal Australian Navy. Serial number 0781244."

The Voice gave an evil chuckle.

"Oh, stop it, Commander. The Geneva conventions don't apply here. And you are certainly not in uniform. At least not a uniform recognized by the Geneva convention."

The Voice continued.

"You can also forget about being rescued. For all intents and purposes - you are dead. There was a horrific car crash and the burned body could only be identified by dental records. Yours."

"We have no desire to cause any permanent damage, Commander Hewitt. Just answer our questions, and you'll be released."

Silence.

Gage caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see someone entering the room. What could only be a Gaoler approached him. The trim and muscular man was wearing some type of padded body armor which encased him from head to toe in a slick black sheath. Heavy boots covered his lower legs and feet, and a blank, black visage was eyeless beneath a full-face respirator. Padded black leather gloves covered his hands. The jailer was silent except for sound of his breathing through the facemask. Hewitt was both viscerally frightened and deeply aroused at same time.
The Voice again asked him for the requested information and again was met with a stony silence.

The Voice sighed. "We will break you Commander. Make no mistake of that. For your own good, please cooperate. We have absolutely no desire to inflict any permanent damage upon you."

Hewitt glared at Gaoler. He worked enough saliva into his dry mouth to spit at his captor.

"Very well, we will continue with the interrogation. Gag him and proceed."

The Jailer approached the commander holding a rubber strap with a rounded protuberance at its center. Gage twisted his head and struggled, but the other man grabbed his jaw and forced it open. He inserted the bulbous extension into his mouth and fastened the strap tightly around his head. Hewitt tried to spit the invading material from his mouth but failed. In the mirror above, he saw a length of rubber tubing with a squeeze bulb coming out of gag. The Gaoler began to pump the bulb and the ball inside his mouth rapidly inflated. The process continued until the ball filled his mouth and he could only mumble and moan.

Hewitt's captor stripped off the thick gloves to show a thin pair of black latex gloves underneath. The rubber was so tight that the commander could see nail impressions beneath the ebon surface. Gage watched the other man as he moved across the room and wheeled a small table from the far end over to the side of the cross.

The first thing that the commander noticed was the other man removing a foil packet from a box. He tore it open and Gage could smell the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol. The jailer swabbed Hewitt's hard firm nips with the pad and then showed the captive Australian a needle. His eyes widened in shock.

The man in black grasped a hard nip in his gloved hand and clamped a tool onto it. He then pushed the needle through. The pain was incredible. The commander could only mumble and scream into the gag. A steel ring was inserted through the new opening. The Jailer picked up miniature blowtorch, ignited it and welded the steel ring shut. He then proceeded to the other nip and duplicated the procedure. Afterwards, the captor gently wiped the few tiny drops of blood off his muscular torso. Gage looked up at himself in the mirror - gagged, his chest heaving and, now with silvery circles a permanent part of himself.

"Commander - will you answer our questions now?"

Gage thrashed his head from side to side. He couldn't believe what was happening to him. He gasped through his nostrils as the Jailer firmly tugged on rings. The pain was exquisite. The other man caressed the deep ridge running between Hewitt's slabbed pecs.

The faceless captor took out another alcohol pad and removed the stopper from his slit. The alcohol burned as he cleaned the head of the swollen cock. He showed Gage a different shaped and larger needle. The Commander's eyes rolled back into his head as he spiraled again down into blackness.

* * *

A strong, almost painful jolt that coursed through the electrode in his ass forced the commander back to consciousness. Across from his captive position he saw two-wall size projections of muscular men engaging in sex to his left and to his right. Looking up into the mirror showed the extent of the changes wrought upon him so far by his unknown kidnappers. The two steel rings piercing his nipples lay on his chest and the rifts and plateaus of his now-hairless six pack looked even more shredded than before. A large matching ring had been pierced through the head of his still-erect cock and the steel prison around both shaft and sac added a noticeable weight to his package. The sensation of the heated steel against his skin was intoxicating and he moaned in the painfully pleasurable feelings running through his body. The gag had been removed.

Directly above and in front of him was a countdown clock. The time read 6:52:15:33.

Gage tried to arch his back as another wave of pleasure/pain swept through him via the electrode. The ring through his cock shifted from side to side as his member grew more turgid with desire.

"Hello again, Commander. Did you have a nice nap? Please note we have initiated procedures at the next level of your interrogation. Your body has been exposed to several chemicals over the past two weeks (two weeks?!?) and is getting a steady transdermal dose through the collar around your neck and the restraints on your wrists and ankles. We have now introduced a gas into the chamber. This gas, combined with those chemicals, will produce irreversible changes - physically and psychologically - in less than 7 hours."

Gage closed his eyes. Tears began to form and dripped down his cheeks.

"What MORE must we do? Commander, tell us what we want to know ... please."

Hewitt shook his head.

The captive Navy man heard the clank of a door and opened his eyes. The Gaoler was again in room. He stood silently alert. One movie on a wall now showed a scene of two Royal Navy officers undressing. The two exchanged passionate kisses between them. Gage's already rigid shaft became even harder - the pain was terrible, but he was unable to cum. He longed to grab his cock and stroke himself in rhythm with the brutal thrusting going on in front of him. Staring at the thick ring through his piss slit awakened strange feelings in Hewitt at a visceral level. The erotic scenes unwinding in front of him reminded Gage of his CO - Captain Davies. The commander fantasized about being raped by his tall, blue-eyed, blonde haired superior. He imagined that the ring through his cock was chained to the ring on his collar ... tugging painfully as his captain penetrated him ... Gage stopped - shocked at his thoughts.

The Voice chuckled. "Oh yes, commander - we have only just started your interrogation. And the feelings you are experiencing now are only the faintest hint of what you will soon become."

The Gaoler approached prisoner again. Once more, he removed his gloves to expose black latex-clad hands. He took a large bottle from table and returned to stand beside the prisoner. He pulled open the spout and poured an oily substance from bottle onto the trembling prisoner and began to rub it gently onto all the exposed areas. The Jailer started at Hewitt's chest and moved up towards shoulders, neck and face, down arms, down torso - into the rifts and plateaus of his abs - down his legs and onto the exposed shaft and balls. Gage was amazed at the other man's delicate touch. He almost felt that the captor was smiling beneath the featureless mask. Exhausted from the treatment so far, the Commander leaned head back as the other man continued to massage him with the lubricant.

After a time, Hewitt felt him manipulating the object in his ass and with a "plop" it was removed. The Commander felt a gentle tap on leg and opened his eyes to view the large metal butt plug that had filled him for days. Without the electrode within him, he felt strangely empty. Silently, the Jailer ran a latex-clad finger around his trembling rim. One digit penetrated his hole. Then two. Again, the only sound heard in the room was the rasping breaths of the prisoner and the quiet noise of the the captor's respirator opening and closing. The Commander wanted more. Needed more. He began to wonder if his jailer's hand would invade him and fill his aching need. Again, Gage was shocked at the thoughts running through his mind. The Gaoler removed his digits and poured more oil onto his hand and spread it onto and into pucker of the prisoner.

"The lubricant being spread on you, Commander will have its effect in a few moments. The compounds in it will begin to sensitize every nerve ending in your skin."

The Voice paused. "Proceed."

The Jailer began to gently stroke along Gage's jaw and down his neck. Hewitt felt his skin aflame from that light touch - pleasure/pain exploded like a red-hot ribbon as Gaoler touched him. The Interrogator continued the torture by caressing captive man; Gage was insensate with a kaleidoscope of sensation and desire. The sexual images on the screens were being etched into his consciousness as the captor's touch burned all coherent thought from his mind.

The stroking stopped. Hewitt looked at the Gaoler with need in his eyes.

"More." He whispered. The commander strained within his bonds to maintain the friction on his skin and the waves of pleasure and pain exploding in his mind.

"Don't stop."

The Jailer pressed a button and the lower cross arms moved up and out to stretch Gage's legs wide and to expose the Commander's shivering pucker.

The Gaoler opened the crotch of his body armor and pulled out a massive member. It too had a large pierced ring at its end - the balls and cock too were trapped in a circular metal prison. The captor poured oil onto his shaft and rubbed it in. He stepped into the area between the trembling, muscular legs of the captive Commander.
The Jailer placed his glans at the hairless pucker of the man bound in front of him. Gage's mind went blank in a white-hot explosion as skin touched skin. He felt the massive tool penetrating him and the Gaoler's rubber-clad hands massaging his tight muscular legs as thrust after mind-bending thrust continued.

After what seemed like an eternity, Gage heard the Jailer's muffled scream through the respirator as he pushed deeply inside of him and exploded. After uncounted days, Gage too felt himself swell and erupt. A geyser of white arced into the air and splattered onto his naked form. He gulped air rapidly, trying to regain his breath after the interrogator's rape. His hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically. Hewitt was shocked to feel the interrogator's hands slide into his own and give them a squeeze.

The interrogator pulled out of Gage and again, the Australian was beset with the terrible feeling of emptiness within him. He looked at the countdown clock.

3:02:05:15

My God - he's been fucking me for 3 hours!

The Jailer pushed the sleeve of armor up to reveal a muscled, latex clad arm. The thought of the man in front of him encased in skin tight rubber beneath the armor was dizzying.
The captor spread more lubricant on his hand and up his arm. Once more, a digit invaded Hewitt's hole. Then two. The massage was incredible. Gage watched in mirror above him as three, then four digits penetrate him. The Interrogator was slow and gentle, rotating his hand in and around. Again, the man had become silent. He withdrew. Gage tried to follow the hand and fill himself up once again. Tears streamed down his face; the Commander was humiliated by his own weakness.

The Gaoler then tucked his thumb beneath the outstretched fingers and again pushed into captive commander.

"Oh dearest God..." Gage breathed as he saw the other's hand, then wrist disappear inside him. It looked like a massive black cock was invading him. The Gaoler continued the massage and Gage watched in shock as the rubbered forearm twisted and turned and penetrated deeper and deeper within him. The other's elbow vanished. The commander moaned in shock as the arm up to the latex-clad bicep was now inside of him. The sensation was beyond ecstasy. The Interrogator continued the deep fisting as Gage squirmed in pleasure. Finally, he withdrew his arm. The commander whimpered at sudden emptiness within him.

From beneath the cross, the Jailer held up a massive black rubber plug - even larger than the metal electrode that had been his constant companion since the start of his imprisonment. The Interrogator poured the lubricant onto the huge item and smoothed it around to create an even, slick surface. Gage screamed as the giant plug was slowly but inevitably forced into his hole. His shrieks rose to a crescendo as the widest part of the plug passed his sphincter - and he felt as if he was being ripped in half. Finally, Hewitt sensed the base of the plug rest against his asscheeks and wept in agony. His breath came in rapid, uneven gasps. Each inhalation caused the plug to shift inside his body. The pain was intense.

But the Interrogator wasn't finished.

The Gaoler bent the flat, circular base of the tool and pushed the plug ever deeper inside the captive. Gage was spent; he could only whimper at the continued invasion. The Interrogator smoothed out the flange of the huge plug now completely within the commander and withdrew his fingers. The Commander's asscheeks closed over the huge object within him as he again spun into unconsciousness.

* * *
0:45:22:15

Gage again struggled to wakefulness. The room was deathly silent and the lights had been dimmed. The movies had stopped. At this point his world revolved around only two things: the huge plug in his ass and the burning need to release himself sexually. This time, however, he found that he was no longer bound to the cross - while the leather restraints remained locked around his neck and extremities, he was free to move about the room. He searched around his prison cell - the jingle of the locks on his restraints and his ragged breathing making the only sounds in the silence. At the far end, Hewitt spied a darker rectangle of blackness - a door, perhaps or maybe a passageway. His bare feet made no sound as he crept stealthily forward and into the doorway.

The other room was darker and colder. He felt air currents prickle against his bare skin as he moved deeper into the next cell. Suddenly, the door behind him hissed shut and a spotlight was directed to a figure pinned captive on a cross similar to own.

The man bound to the cross was younger and thinner than himself - he was similarly shaved and an inflatable gag was strapped around his mouth. He stared at Hewitt - terror and desperation in his pale grey eyes. He grunted. The younger man saw Hewitt's pierced and engorged manhood and began to moan even louder

The cross moved of it's own volition - spreading the younger man's legs up and apart. A second spotlight highlighted a table identical to the one in his own cell. Two items were present. A pair of shoulder-length black latex gloves and a large bottle of the lubricant.

"I think you know what to do, Commander..."

* * *

0:02:22:56

Gage sat on the floor propped against the younger man's cross - exhausted in mind, body and soul. He had brutalized the younger man; and after the fifth time, he lost count. His stamina was prodigious. He shifted on the warm concrete floor - he had grown accustomed to the huge plug in his chute and reveled in the thought of the massive rubber object within him. Despite his fatigue, his cock began to stir and harden again.

Once both he and the younger captive had been spent by the repeated rapes, Gage slathered more lubricant onto his arms and pulled on the long gloves. He added additional lubricant to the surface of the gloves and then savagely penetrated the other. The younger man's screams were muffled by the gag, but they grew in intensity as he moved deeper within the bound captive. At some point, they stopped - he saw a look of calm (or perhaps shock) settle on the other's face as his rubber-clad elbow passed into him.

The lubricant was like a drug - it was a drug - he had again spread it all over himself and then his victim to experience the rush of sensation that would come with it.

"Commander..." The Voice.

He was so weary he didn't even raise his head.

"Commander ... there is less than 3 minutes left ... this is your final chance to cooperate. What have you to gain by torturing yourself?"

Gage watched the clock count down. He stared stupidly at the glowing numerals above him as they clicked to the final value of "00:00:00:00". A crack of light appeared on the wall across from Hewitt and grew to reveal a lighted corridor.

"Go ahead Commander. You are now free to leave."

Gage slowly got to his feet and moved towards the light. It was a regular corridor - one you would see in any office building - fluorescent panels overhead and industrial carpeting beneath his bare feet.

At the end of the corridor stood two doors. The Interrogator was in front of one of them. This time, however, he was without his respirator. The black mask covered his entire face save his mouth. The other man had full, sensuous lips set in a small, unhappy line.

"Behind that other door ..." he pointed "... is a locker room. You can get dressed in your uniform and be driven back to your base. We have a scenario developed that you were in a coma for over two weeks in a small Outback hospital. No one will ever know what occurred here."

The man had a deep tenor that sent tendrils of raw emotion through the bone-weary commander.

The Jailer paused. "Should you go through that door, you will never see me after today, Gage. Nor will you ever again feel me hold you. Nor experience the intimacy we have shared .... Now ... make your choice."

Hewitt moved towards the locker room door. He got as far as putting his hand on the latch.

But he couldn't turn it. He couldn't go back.

He turned to the interrogator and wrapped him in a crushing embrace. He began to weep. The other man held him closely and tenderly, stroking his muscled back and kissing softly around his stubbled jawline.

"I was hoping you'd change your mind, love..."

Gage stared into the blank face and smiling lips. "The meeting was called for Operation Hammerstroke. It's about setting up a network of satellites with particle beam weaponry. The attendees were ..."

"Shhh. We already know. It was more important to see what decision you came to than any information that you possessed. You made the right choice."

He put a muscled arm around the other's naked torso and opened the door behind him.

"C'mon ... let's get you dressed and out of those fetters..."

* * *

A sharp knock at the door and Gage popped his head into the office.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

"Sure did. Come in Gage, have a seat. And stop calling me 'sir' - it makes me feel old."

Hewitt chuckled as he sauntered into the office. Gage Hewitt was not the same man that had entered the Complex four months earlier. He was leaner, stronger, more vicious and more ruthless than he had ever been. He kept his head nearly shorn and the short, designer stubble still covered his strong jaw. An unfortunate training accident had left him with a narrow gash bisecting his eye socket - the deep red scar lent him an air of restrained brutality.

He wore a combination of mesh and injected kevlar body armor which did little to hide the incredible muscularity of his frame. Tight black leather cycle pants hugged every curve of his legs and red MX boots enveloped his calves and feet in armor-like protection. He sat down.

"Gage, I need to go back to the States for a few months. In the interim, I'm turning over command of the Complex to you."

"Me?"

The other man laughed. "Of course, you! Why did you think we made such an effort to recruit you? You were one incredibly stubborn bastard, you know that?"

He lit a cigarette and blew smoke towards the ceiling.

"We weren't sure until that last minute that we made the right choice."

"Thank you sir, I'll do my best."

"I know you will. And what did I tell you about using 'sir'? Don't you think it's about time that you used my Christian name?"

The soldier grinned. "I guess so ... Xander..."

* * *

One of the sites I surf on a regular basis is Mr. S - there's always something that's interesting there and something to put on my wish list. When I saw the Forcefield Armor there, the person wearing it was in the position of Gage in the story. The one being tortured. There was something absolutely arousing to see someone with a spandex hood and respirator in that suit. I don't know what it is, but it really, really, turned my crank.

I wanted to turn the tables - so to speak - on that tableau and wanted that faceless, silent Interrogator to twist someone around and break them. Surprisingly, the concept of Gage being subverted was due to my watching "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers". Don't laugh - there was one musical number about the Sabine Women. THAT got me thinking about this story. Now, I hope you put a couple of facts together here - at the very end of the story, we find out that the person running this Facility is no other than Xander Cannon - scientist, genetically-altered porn star and in the employ of an extremely powerful crime lord. This, I hope, will be the basis of some future stories - what exactly does this Facility do? Whom do they recruit? And why?

Also, for some reason, I've been feeling particularly aggressive lately. I can't pin it down to any particular reason, but I am. I'm waiting to try this outfit out with my partner - not any of the really rough stuff, but definitely the oil massage and having my way with my lover. I know it's going to be a turnon for him. He blew a load just looking at the pictures!

Intermission ...

As you may have noticed, there was an entry that was put up that was a bit lacking in my usual density of photos. That story was a work in progress - but as you can see, is now complete. I'm still waiting for some stuff to be delivered from the UK from SkinTightRubber to finish the photo shoot. I decided to do a second shoot when the stuff arrives.

And while I'm at it ... I figured I'd use this time to give you a little "sneak peak" into what's coming up this year ...

• A "Mission: Impossible" story with three main characters. An offshoot of "Jackal Soldier"
  
  
• Human Trafficking with a UK skinhead. Whether he is going to be English or Welsh to be determined...
  
  
• A punk with a mohawk gets stopped for a traffic violation and things get out of hand ...
  
  
• Lane (the cowboy AE) goes deer hunting, but the situation takes some unexpected turns..
  
  
• I'm also hoping to get a few "special guest writers" this year too!!
  

So, I hope I've whetted your appetites!

Let me know if you'd like something specific, and I'll take it under consideration!