Office Supplies

Ariane was true to her word - Bastian was a world-class fuck. The former capo had taken Treaty’s thick ten inches and had whipped himself in the throes of ecstasy as the blonde-haired enforcer pistoned in and out of his hairless pucker. James had exploded at least twice inside the other man, and both were now spent; Treaty slumped in a swivel chair while Ferreira sat tiredly on the floor, leaning heavily on the pedestal base of the table and idly playing with his nips.

He smiled up at the other man. “Obrigado, Senhor James ... you pound me good and hard - I like it that way. I am a very lucky boy to be here.” He stretched out like a large contented cat.

Christ Almighty, this should be part of the Training - “What happens if you screw Lucio Giambi” he thought to himself. He stood up and began to dress.

* * *

As James was knotting his tie, he looked back at Bastian, who was again seated on the padded table. The thought struck him that he was responsible for the other man for the rest of today and tomorrow until he delivered him to the police captain at SMD.

“Bastian?”

The man looked up. “Yes, senhor?”

“We gotta get you some clothes - I can’t take you out of here looking like that.”

Ferreira squeezed his heavy cock and balls - encircled by a thick steel cockring - and gave the enforcer a sweet smile. “It’s okay ... I like being naked. I stay here and we fuck more later.”

Treaty shook his head. “Sorry buddy, We can’t do that. This area is restricted and we have to leave. You’re coming home with me tonight and I have to get you presentable to get out of the building ... and for the policemen tomorrow. I’ll be back in a moment.”

James left the laboratory and hurried down to his locker. He pulled the sweaty t-shirt, shorts, jock and sandals from his session with Giaan that morning out of his gym bag and returned to his charge.

“Put these on, buddy. Then we can leave.”

“Mmmmmmmm....bom” The hairless man held the clothing in his hands and deeply sniffed the musky odor from them. Ferreira’s cock stretched the jockstrap nearly beyond it’s limit; the pants and shirt were so snug they looked painted onto the other’s body. Tanned feet slipped into the sandals.

The enforcer gave the former capo a smile. “C’mon buddy - time to go...”

* * *

BASTIAN

I barely remember the plane ride. My first thought when I woke up was being scared to death. Graças a Deus to the lady doctor and Senhor James for taking care of me. Coming to America was an accident, but for me, my wildest dreams have come true.

My name is Bastian Ferreira and I’m a male whore - a bicha - and one of the best ones in Sao Paolo. I was drinking a cafe in front of the padaria on Rua Luis Goma when a dark car pulled up and the man in the back seat gave me a smile and a wink. As well as flashing a wad of reales. I was ready to work - I just had on a pair of tight, white cutoff shorts that were unbuttoned to my crotch and I had put on some suntan oil so my pecs and arms gleamed in the morning sunshine. If you looked closely enough, you could see the gleam of my steel cockring, which the cliente obviously did. The door swung open and I climbed in the back. The man was very handsome and within a few moments, he had me naked with his hard cock up my ass. I loved the pounding I was getting and after I felt him fill me up several times with his esporra, the car stopped and he pulled out of me. The handsome man gave me a towel. I looked out of the window - we were at the airport.

He kissed me hard. “Come with me, boy - we’re going for a ride in my jet.” He grabbed my shorts. I wrapped the towel around my waist and followed him out of the car.

There were three other men in the plane - hard-looking, handsome, hungry-looking men. I could tell that they were wondering what was under that towel and hoping that it was nothing. I gave them all a big smile and dropped it on the floor.

The man from the car grinned. “I told you he was eager, didn’t I?” I got down on my knees and crawled to the biggest man. I think he liked the way my tattoos rippled down my arm as I made my way over to him. I opened the zipper of his pants and fished out his thick tool; I swallowed his cock and raked my teeth lightly down his shaft. He hissed, and I felt his cock thicken; at the same time, I felt someone come behind me and push an already-hard dick into my ass. I heard the engines start to roar and I felt myself pushed back onto the other man’s dick as the plane took off.

The wealthy men (how could they not be rich with a plane like this?) continued to use me throughout the flight. About three hours later, the man from the car gave me a drink. I was thirsty from the hard work and gulped down the sweet soda. Suddenly, I felt very dizzy and after that, I think I passed out.

* * *

I don’t know how long I was asleep, but I woke to find the lady doctor over me. She was beautiful like an angel and I was feeling that kind of sickness when I don’t have sex. She told me she had to tie me down because I had been thrashing around and she was afraid I would hurt myself. I told the senhora I get very sick when I don’t have a man use me; she didn’t believe me at first, but I begged and pleaded with her; the sickness grew worse the longer I waited. After I started screaming in agony, she came back with Senhor James. I must have convinced her because she was going to give me to a group of policemen; (how she knew that was my wildest fantasy, I'll never know) in the meantime, she said, Senhor James would take care of me. He was a big, blonde man - very handsome with eyes like a cat - and with a huge bulge in his pants. When he took of the restraints, I couldn’t wait for him to fill me up. Thanks to the lady doctor and him, I’m still alive.

* * *

JAMES

Getting Bastian out of the building was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. The guy knew he looked like sex incarnate and did nothing to hide it. Or tone it down. The only good thing was all the sly grins and subtle nods I received from a lot of the men I passed - I guess Giaan was right about not being alone in Giambi's organization.

The Brazilian and I arrived at my apartment and I got him a beer from the refrigerator. I then headed to the bathroom to get cleaned up and back to work. I stripped down and headed for the shower. As I was soaping down and lazily stroking my hard, thick 10 inches, I felt hands on my ass.

Startled, I turned around and was staring at my olive skinned stud. He had an even more amazing body than I originally thought - 8-pack abs, pretty wide shoulders, fantastic thighs ... and that perfect hairless cock surrounded by its steel prison.

I couldn't have wished for anything better, 8 inches of condom covered (Did I leave one in the pocket of the shorts?) heavily veined, extremely thick dark hardness bobbed in front of me.

Bastian dropped to his knees and started running his tongue over my engorged head before going all the way down to my shaved balls. He was an amazing cocksucker as well; I grabbed his head and fucked his face till I was ready to cum.

Sensing this, the stud let go of my dripping cock before I unloaded down his throat and started working my large shaved balls while running his hands over my ass and massaging my pucker.

Ferreira stood up, grabbing my head and kissed me deeply without saying a word. In addition to everything else, he was an extremely good kisser. Those cops are damn lucky guys. I was really getting turned on by him being pretty aggressive. We made out for a couple of minutes before he stopped and he spun me around and started lightly biting my neck as the warm water sluiced over both of us. Still no words -- just the two of us breathing heavily.

He pushed me up against the wall of the shower and lubed his cock with spit and slowly worked his rock hard thick 8-incher into my waiting hole. God only knows I’m no stranger to taking cock, but his girth however did bring an audible gasp from me as pushed past my ring. Bastian quickly covered my mouth with his hand - I didn’t realize until that moment was a fucking turn-on it was to have someone’s hand over my mouth while getting drilled.

The Brazilian held still while I got accustomed to his pillar. Inch by veiny inch he plunged his entire length into me till his balls were resting in my ass crack. Still never saying a word, he held still until sensing that I was ready to take what he could give me. The olive-skinned stud started sliding in slowly and deeply, which made me groan aloud. I was really getting into it and started slamming back on his beautiful cock.

This guy knew how to fuck!! He was hard-slamming me and was pushing cum out of my hard cock onto the wet tiled floor. I reached back and grabbed his head bringing his mouth to mine while he still pounded me hard.

Ferreira reached around and slowly stroked my cock while picking up speed long-dicking me, driving me insane. His breathing became ragged and he began whispering obscenities in Portuguese, which was another fucking turn-on. Ferreira buried that amazing cock of his as deep as he possibility could and held still while his cock jerked and swelled even larger then unloaded his cum in my ass.

The Brazilian stopped stroking my cock as he slid out of me and spun me around dropping to his knees again. He worked my balls with his mouth while fisting my tool. He slid up my shaft engulfing my engorged head taking me all the way down his throat. He then stuck a couple of fingers up my ass, which sent my huge load shooting down his throat. He backed off a bit to take the rest into his mouth. He held my cock in his mouth till my near buckling legs regained strength.

He got back up and grabbed me on either side of my face and shared my cum with me as our tongues fought each other. He removed the cum filled condom tied it in a knot and proceeded to wash himself and me. I caressed his amazing body while he washed, staring at his beautiful uncut Brazilian cock.

At that moment, I wished tomorrow would never come.

* * *

As James dozed, the enforcer snuggled closer to the body spooned into him, and pushed his morning hardness deeper into the tight chute. He squeezed a muscular arm around the warm torso and fondled the nips. Damn, I love holding Francis this way ...

... no, Francis stormed out and left me. He woke up completely and blearily looked at the elaborate tattoos running down the shoulder and arm of the man beside him. Bastian.

Treaty gently disengaged himself from the sleeping Brazilian and padded into the bathroom. As he was shaving, he saw Bastian lope in with a broad grin on his handsome face. He wrapped powerful arms around James and gave the spot between his shoulder blades a soft kiss.

“Bom dia, Senhor James...” His brown eyes twinkled in the mirror’s reflection. “Today we go to the delegacia de polícia, yes?” He went into the shower and turned on the water. James watched as the steam swirled around the tanned physique as the bicha soaped himself down.

There are times I wish I was a cop. “Uh-huh, buddy. I have to call the station this morning and see when I’m bringing you over there. I may have to go to work for a few hours before, though. You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

The shower turned off and the hairless man opened the door. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off. Bastian pulled one end of the damp material around Treaty’s naked body and used it to draw the enforcer close to him. The Brazilian gave the green-eyed mobster a wicked grin as their crotches ground together. “It’s okay, senhor ... as long as I get um pouco de esporra from you for breakfast.”

* * *
James left for work and returned around noon.

“Bastian?” Treaty opened the door to his apartment and walked in.

The bicha was sitting on the couch, an electric blue Ajaxx63 t-shirt pulled tightly across his torso and arms. A similarly tight pair of shorts hugged his brutal thighs. The television was on and he was watching some sort of nature documentary. “I took these from your chest - is okay? I like the color. But I don’t know what it says ...” The hairless man blushed. “I can’t read, senhor ... is something with my head - the letters get mixed up.”

Jesus, Ariane is thorough. “No problem, bud. It looks good on you. We can go to the police station now. You ready?” He smiled.

The Brazilian literally jumped off the couch.

* * *

The two men approached the desk sergeant. “Can I help you?” The man had sun-streaked brown hair, a square jaw and platinum gray eyes. The tan CHP uniform fit him perfectly, highlighting and accenting his chiseled physique. The name tag read “Donovan”.

“We have an appointment with Captain Michaelides. My name is James Treaty. I spoke with someone this morning.”

Donovan smiled. “That was me. Hold on a moment. Let me see if Cap is in his office.” He picked up a phone and dialed a number. As he was waiting for an answer, he gave Bastian a thorough once-over and licked his lips. “Nice shirt, stud ... what’s your name?”

Bastian beamed. “Bastian Ferreira, chefe. Thank you!”

Someone answered. “Hey Pete, it’s Jerry. Ariane’s care package is here. Is Cap around? Okay, I’ll send them up.” He put the phone down. “Take the elevator to the third floor, make a right and follow the corridor all the way down. Captain Michaelides’ office is the one at the end.”

* * *

News spread quickly. As the two got off the elevator, they were greeted by other officers - all tall, tanned and muscular in well-tailored uniforms and boots - with smiles, nods and pats on the back that lingered a bit longer than necessary. Bastian looked like a little boy on Christmas morning. As they approached Michaelides’ door, it swung open.

“C’mon in fellas. I’m Officer Fairchilde. Cap got stuck on a conference call. He’ll be right out.”

Treaty’s cock was so hard it hurt. Every patrolman he saw was handsomer than the one before and from the way his gaydar was buzzing, every one of them would be showing Bastian a good time. Fairchilde was as heroically built as the other CHP officers; he had wide shoulders and powerful arms; his pale bronze hair was shot through with threads of copper and his moss-green eyes and bright white smile held a wickedly mischievous gleam.

The door to the inner office opened and both James and Bastian gasped. Captain Michaelides was commandingly tall with midnight-black hair and deep blue-violet eyes. A small black soul patch was centered under his lower lip and his uniform clung sinfully tight to his magnificent physique. Tall black boots - polished to a deep rich glow - ended just below the knee. The double bars of his collar brass gleamed in the sunshine streaming through the large windows of his office.

“Sorry for not meeting you in person, but I had to take that call.” He put out his hand. “Constantine Michaelides.” The captain’s voice sent chills down the enforcer’s spine. There was something immeasurably seductive in his tone combined with a deep well of empathy and an effortless command of power.

I wonder if he’d strip-search me if I asked. Begged. “No problem, sir. Ms. Zutrovna asked me to take care of Bastian until I brought him to you this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. Giaan and Ariane both speak very highly of you. I’m sure you’ve kept him happy and healthy ... isn't that right, son?”  

“Sim, capitao! E verdade! Senhor James has been very good to me!” He nodded vigorously.

“Glad to hear it.” The captain slowly ran a hand down the deep crevasse between the Brazilian’s pecs and continued down until he gently squeezed Ferreira’s swollen crotch. The hairless man moaned in pleasure. "Officer Fairchilde is going to get you ready. I think you'll like it here."

Rob snaked an arm around Bastian's tight waist. "C'mon, handsome ... let's go. I hear you like latex?" The two left the captain's office, leaving Connie and James together.

Michaelides sat on the edge of his desk. Treaty couldn't help but stare at the massive bulge in the captain's crotch; it took all of his self-control not to drool.

"You from Boston, Jimmy?"

He smiled. "Close, Captain. Roxbury. We still think of it as a separate town instead of a Boston neighborhood."  

"How long have you been out here?"

"It's coming up on two months, sir." Damn, his voice is like velvet and steel...Connie stood up and held James by the waist. His thumbs traced lazy circles over the enforcer's tight obliques. Combined with staring into the deep blue eyes, James felt ready to collapse.

"Feel free to visit Bastian any time you want ... I know it's hard to meet folks out here - I'm from Montana myself and I was lucky to have the men at Santa Monica Division to show me around ..."

The captain ran soft lips across the enforcer's squared jaw. "... and I'm sure some of my officers here would enjoy meeting you, too."

* * *

Rob and Bastian arrived at his large house. The bicha stared at it in amazement.

"Is this your house, Tenente?"

"It's also your house now, Bastian. My partner Joe and I live here. We'll be taking care of you and be responsible for keeping you kitted out. And I'm not a lieutenant - I leave that crap to Josh and Perry."

Fairchilde unlocked the door and the two men entered. The CHP officer wrapped powerful arms around the Brazilian and slid his hands past the waistband of the shorts. Rob cupped the hard muscles of Bastian's ass as he pulled him into a deep kiss. Ferreira responded in kind by running his hands through the bronze-copper hair and grinding his crotch into the breeches of the patrolman.

"Mmmm ... let's get you fixed up, handsome."

* * *

Patrolman and property entered one of the rooms that was used for preparing participants for the adult films. Rob began to undress, removing his boots and hanging shirt and breeches onto a hanger. He stuffed his thick socks into the Dehners and adjusted the waistband of his overloaded jock. When he turned around, the Brazilian had stripped naked and was eyeing him appreciatively.

"You are muito bonito, Senhor Rob." He smiled.

"So are you, stud." Rob eyed the man in front of him critically. "Turn around?" He twirled his finger in a circle.

Bastian complied. "Mmm-hmmm." The officer stroked the other man's powerful arms. "Okay, flex for me?"

The Brazilian looked confused. "O quê? Eu não entendo, Senhor..."

Rob did a front double biceps pose. "Ahhh ... okay!" Bastian copied the gesture. Rob ran his hands along the rock-hard muscles of the hairless man.

"I think the Spexter will fit you the best." He opened another closet and took out a slick, black rubber catsuit. Bastian noticed that it included feet and hands. His pulse quickened. The attached hood drooped over the front. Rob also opened a drawer and removed several belted rubber restraints as well as some other items. Ferreira's cock purpled with lust and grew even harder.

Fairchilde pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and opened up the bottles of Gun Oil. He handed one to the tattooed slave. "Rub this on, Bastian - I'll do the parts you can't reach."

With the two of them working together, the Brazilian was soon completely covered with a slick layer of the lube. Rob pulled off the gloves.

He held the other man's face in his hands. "Are you afraid of the dark, Bastian?"

"No, senhor ... why?"

"I want to put a blackout hood on you under the Spexter. This way you'll be able to tell the difference between policemen faster. Your other senses will work better when you can't see."

Ferreira gave the officer a tentative look. "Okay, senhor Rob ... you not going to hurt me?"

Rob gave him a soft kiss. "Never, Bastian. Never. No one is ever going to hurt you here." He shook out the suit. The other man smiled in relief.

"Let's get you dressed."

The rubber Master started with the blackout hood. It was made of thin latex, with openings for only the nose and mouth. He pulled it over Bastian's skull and smoothed it over his face, adjusting the ears and making sure his property could breath well. He stroked the featureless ebon face and trailed a finger around the sensuous lips.

"Everything all right, handsome?"

"Sim, senhor." Fairchilde could feel the slave trembling in anticipation. He led him over to a stool and pushed him down.

Rob positioned the Brazilian's leg and slid the latex over his foot. Thanks to the lube on his skin (as well as that in the suit) it slid on and with a slight "plop" the foot slipped into the attached sock. Fairchilde repeated the procedure with the other leg.

"Stand up, Bastian."

The CHP officer proceeded to pull the catsuit up over the bicha's body. Legs were soon encased and muscles flexed and moved under the dark second skin. Rob reached around and guided the thick cock into the attached sheath. With a squeeze, he popped the heavy scrotum into the waiting rubber sac. With pleasure, he looked at the massive black tool now jutting out from the slave's crotch. Mmmm ... that horsecock is even bigger than Phil's.

The transformation continued. Chest and back were covered in inky blackness; muscles in his arms and shoulders now flexed under the thin latex. Rob pulled the lower zipper up to the middle of the slave's back - the massive pecs and 8-pack abs were highlighted by the slick material.

Rob gently pulled back Bastian's head and pulled the attached hood over the other man's face. Silvery, sightless orbs stared back at the rubber Master as Rob adjusted the nose holes and mouth of the mask. He pulled the top zipper down to the back of Ferreira's neck.

"How does that feel, stud?"

"Extraordinário, senhor!!" The exposed mouth curled into a delighted grin. Tightly covered latex hands stroked the black chest and pinched hard nips. Rob pulled the lower zipper up to meet it's partner; he then took a small padlock and fastened the pulls together. The slave shivered.

"There's more to come, Bastian..." Fairchilde took the body harness and slipped it over the rubber-covered shoulders and began fastening the straps tightly around the promethean frame.

"This may hurt a bit, handsome - but I'll try to be quick ..." Rob grabbed the massive rubber-covered ballsac and cock and squeezed them through the ring at the bottom of the harness. The slave hissed in pain as his equipment was forced through the second steel prison. Fairchilde took the lower strap and brought it up around his perineum and buckled it in place between the latex-covered globes of Ferreira's ass.

"Just a few more things, and we're done." The CHP officer said as he picked up the remaining rubber restraints.

* * *

BASTIAN

Being covered in latex was another one of my fantasies - being locked into it was even better. When Senhor Rob put the first hood on me, I was frightened, but the thrill of feeling the rubber being pulled over my body was more than enough to overcome that. I can't begin to explain the thoughts I had when the lieutenant (I still think of senhor Rob like that) snapped that first padlock shut - here I was: thousands of miles away from Sao Paolo, in a rich policeman's house, blinded and locked in rubber!

My latex-covered hands rubbed the oily smoothness of my chest and I stroked myself until I felt ready to explode. I couldn't see, but when I felt the rubber harness being fastened over my body I knew it was making me look even more like a sexy rubber toy. I nearly collapsed when meu mestre strapped the rubber collar around my neck as well as the bands around my wrists and ankles and locked them shut too. He told me they wouldn't be coming off for a while.

He pushed me onto my back on a table and started to stroke my chest. I pulled my legs up and back and Senhor Rob opened the bottom zipper and rubbed my pucker with more lube.

I felt the head of his dick rub against me. "A bicha gosta de dar o cu' de frango assado, sim??" ("The fag loves to to get fucked, yes?", ed.) 

"Si, Mestre! Si!" I screamed when he rammed his tool into me. I lost track of time while he fucked me so hard that I felt my brains rattling in my skull. At some point, I think I passed out because I woke up and found myself sitting against a wall with the lower zipper closed and the rubber strap again buckled around my ass. I heard voices approaching me and I could feel the "thump" of heavy boots on the floor.

"Nice, Rob ... really nice!"

"You've outdone yourself this time, dude ... who is he, the new rookie?"

"Damn! I don't know what turns me on more - the suit or the effing locks!" 

I heard Senhor Rob's voice. "He's a little gift from Ariane and Lucio. And he's our permanent rubber toy. The more you fuck him, the happier he is - isn't that right, boy?"

I turned my face towards my owner's voice and smiled. 

"Sim, senhor." I licked my lips; I felt someone approach me and I blindly reached out. My latex-covered hands felt the boots and ran fingers slowly up powerful legs. I got up on my knees. I heard a zipper being pulled down and strong hands pull me forward. A thick cock pressed against my lips and I opened wide to take it in.

I couldn't ask for more.

* * *
“I’m impressed, Jimmy ... you’ve improved a lot in two weeks.”

 
Giaan smiled up at Treaty as he lay panting on the floor. A completely unanticipated judo throw put Lucio’s intelligence chief on the mat. The desi mobster was naked save for his orange jockstrap; James stood over him in a pair of grey cutoffs. The waistband of an electric blue jock peeked over his heather shorts.

“I guess you win this time.” Khamar pulled off the jock and his thick pole sprung to attention. He sat up on his elbows and grinned at his protege.

“It’s all your doing, sir. And I want to thank you and Ms. Zutrovna for trusting me with the Brazilian assignment.” Treaty pulled the rest of his clothing off and tossed it in the corner; he walked over to the cabinet and removed a bottle of lube. The enforcer poured a generous amount onto Khamar’s tool and then slowly lowered himself onto the waiting cock.

“You’ve got a lot of potential, Jimmy ... I want to develop that.” Khamar’s legs twined around Treaty’s trim waist and strong arms wrapped around the other man’s neck as he pulled him down for a deep kiss. He licked the delicate arch of the enforcer's ear.

"Next time, I draw blood." he whispered.

* * * 
After I had finished "Matchless" I was on a roll. For some reason, I had gone through a really dry spell recently and I want to thank both my buddies MaskedFreak and Hank for helping me keep this blog fresh.

Ariane's story was my first foray into het sex. I really would love to get feedback on how you think I did with that. Myself, I think I was channeling Barbara Cartland as I wrote it.

I'm continuing to explore my writing styles - in this story, I've mixed points-of-view from each of the major characters; I truly feel that switching from James, to Bastian, to the Narrator made this a stronger story than had I kept it single-threaded. Again, readers - please let me know how you liked this.

But I left a lot of loose ends coming into this story. What happened to Jimmy? What was going to happen to Bastian? In my tale "Encasement", I had left the possibility open for "rubber toys" at SMD - either patrolmen who would volunteer for the duty (and remain anonymous) or Rob and Joe would somehow obtain a "permanent" toy for their use.

Joao/Bastian fell right into place for the latter alternative. Lucio hates to waste anything - so the man who betrayed him becomes a plaything for the men at SMD.A word to the wise: I never "just" put something into a story - there's always a reason behind it. So, while it may not make sense to you immediately, rest assured that you will get that "A-ha!" moment sooner or later!

I'm also continuing my theme of Giambi's insidious influence - take a second read at Giaan's parting remark to James; not only has the desi hacker become a full fledged soldieri physically, his mental attitude has also changed and he has become more ruthless as well.

In this story, I'm wearing the Spexter suit with restraints and harness from SkinTightRubber. The blackout hood is from Eurocatsuits. All three of these companies are excellent to deal with. Responsive emails, fast shipping and super product!

Matchless

Ariane Zutrovna was in foul mood. The raven-haired Slavic beauty poured another finger of bourbon into the glass and knocked it back. She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling.

She loved her father - but his constant harping on her getting married was taking a toll on the nerves.

* * *

The powerful Russian mobster had arranged for his oldest daughter to work for Lucio Giambi in the hopes of cementing a relationship between the two of them and between their criminal empires; while the former had not materialized, the latter proceeded apace with considerable rewards for both sides. Although Zutrov had no male heirs, Ariane was more than capable of assuming her father's mantle when the time came - and in part, her tutelage under Giambi was to cement that ascension.

Lucio had treated Ariane with respect and consideration from the start. He recognized her organizational genius and criminal talents and allowed her full reign to learn and enhance her prestige within his organization. No secrets were hidden from her.

Including his sexuality.

It was early in their relationship when Ariane had tried to seduce Lucio. The Russian psychologist had arrived at Giambi's office in a stunningly beautiful blue silk gown which clung to every curve of her voluptuous figure. The young crime lord looked up - stunned - and his mouth dropped open when she entered the room. Zutrovna put her hands on her slim hips.

"You should be ready for ze symphony, Lucio ..." she purred. "At zhe very least, you should be in vhite tie and tails by now..."

She perched herself on his desk which parted the sinfully high slit in the dress and exposed a tanned expanse of thigh.

"Ariane ... you look ... breathtaking ..." She gave a low laugh and trailed her finger down his nose and gave the end a little tap. She traced around his sensuous lips.

"Blagodaryu vas, krasivyĭ." (Thank you, handsome. ed.)

Lucio brows drew together and a small frown creased his rugged face. He took her hand and kissed it. The gangster stood up.

"Come with me."

He brought her to the sofa and gestured her to sit.

"Ariane ... " he switched to flawless Russian. "You are not only an amazingly beautiful woman, but brilliant, devious, cunning and ruthless to boot. There's no one I'd prefer to have by my side..."

She smiled.

"... except Dash. We've been together for over four years ... I'm gay, Ariane. I don't want you to be throwing yourself at me when I can't reciprocate. I respect you far too much for that."

She stared at him in amazement. Then she began to chuckle.

He looked confused. "What's so funny?"

Torrents of laughter bubbled out of her. "And I thought I vas losing my touch ..."

Giambi grinned. "Nope. Not at all. You're an incredible woman, Ariane. And an incredible asset. You don't need to try to seduce me to get something - just ask."

"Well, Lucio ... will you please get dressed? We're going to be late." The crime lord winked at her as he unbuttoned his shirt and sauntered into the adjoining bathroom to get ready. She opened her bag and pulled out a slim cellphone.

"Gregor? This is Ariane Zutrovna. We von't be needing zhose oysters for ze appetizer ..."

* * *

The cellphone trilled. Ariane flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Zdravstvuĭte, moi malenʹkaya pevchaya ptitsa!!" ("Hello, my little bluebird!" ed.) Anton Zutrov's voice boomed in her ear.

"Papa! How are you?"

"I am a happy man, Ariane ... your little sister Anastasia is getting married!"

She sighed. Here we go again ...

Zutrov nattered on. "Vitya Gavrilovich came to me last night to ask for her hand! He's one of my most capable enforcers. Georgian. Did you meet him the last time you came home? I'm sure you did ... tall, well-built ... he had light brown hair, then - he's shaved it off, though - and bright green eyes. Just like a cat! Anya was so happy!"

"That's nice Papa ..." Any minute now ...

"The wedding is going to be in May ... " He paused. "How are things with you and Lucio?"

"Things are fine, Papa. Lucio and I get along very well ..."

"Have you and he ..."

Ariane cut him off. "We don't have that kind of relationship, Papa. Will you stop trying to force me into someone's bed? I don't like it."

"I'm only interested in your welfare, Ari ..." Her father sounded hurt. "You should have a good man to care for you ..."

"I don't need anyone to care for me, Papa! I care for myself!"

"But Ariane ..."

"And the reason they're getting married so quickly is that Anya is pregnant! My dear little sister sleeps with anything that has a pulse and a big dick!" She snapped the phone shut and threw it across the room.

Zutrovna let loose a torrent of invective that would have made a sailor blush. "Damn him!"

* * *

The next morning, Zutrovna entered the office with a dull hangover. Every "click" of her heels made her eyes ache. She entered her office and turned on the computer. Blearily, she saw she had an early meeting with Giaan.

At least that will keep my mind of these proklinat wedding bells...

* * *

Giaan Khamar was not only one of Lucio's most valuable employees, but also one of his closest friends. Giaan's computer supervirus caught the attention of the crime lord and Giambi hired the man on the spot. The young desi looked like a Bollywood leading man and it was due to his programming and hacking skills that the crime lord enjoyed unparalleled access to most (if not all) computers on the planet. Giaan - like many of Lucio's inner circle - had been Trained extensively in all manner of hand-to-hand combat, archery and sword craft; he was also a crack shot. The young indian had also discovered an innate talent for high-explosives work and with Lucio's approval was perfecting his skills. Today, a dark blue thermal shirt was stretched tightly over his well-developed torso and arms; a comfortable pair of snug blue jeans and white soccer shoes completed the outfit. Lightly tinted glasses covered cognac-brown eyes and silver rings glittered in his ears.

Ariane walked into his office. One wall of the large room was dominated by a multitude of flat screen monitors; Lucio's head of intelligence was sitting in a chair, watching data flow quickly across the displays; Zutrovna knew that he was tracking all of them at once. He tapped a few quick commands into the wireless keyboard on his lap; the sound output muted and he spun around to give the Russian a bright white grin. He literally bounced out of his chair - she was always amazed at his energy level this early in the day.

"Good morning, Ariane! I've got some great results on the non-genuine destabilization we initiated in Venezuela! Lucio will be doing backflips!"

Zutrovna smiled at his enthusiasm. Suddenly, she noticed some Latin music playing in the background - terribly familiar Latin music.

"Vhat are you playing, Giaan?"

The desi cocked his head. "Oh, that's an Enrique Iglesias CD ... Javi left it here and I like the mood music ... Ari? What's the matter?"

The music brought back the memories of her time with Constantine and Jaz at the Hollywood Bowl. It had been incredible to be the center of attention for the two amazingly handsome and talented men; she could admit only to herself how the touch of those slightly callused hands across her body had inflamed her soul; but the passion that was on display that night was merely a façade - each of the policemen had a male lover waiting for him. That remembered ache, her sister's wedding and her father's half-witted attempts at matchmaking proved too much to bear; for only the second time in her life, Ariane began to cry.

Giaan rushed to her and wrapped strong arms around the psychologist. She felt the rock-hard muscles of his body against her, she felt his heart beat strongly in his chest. She smelled the faint musk of his cologne; she thought of his powerful body wrapped around his own male lover and began to cry even harder.

"Ariane, what's wrong? Tell me, please!"

She pounded her fists against his slabbed chest. "Vhy do you have to be gay? Vhy does every man I vant have to be gay?" Zutrovna buried her face into the velvet skin of the handsome mobster's neck and sobbed. Hot tears trickled down into his shirt as he stroked her hair and held her tight, rocking her in his arms. After a few moments, the wracking sobs subsided and she began to speak.

* * *

"Hey Cuz!"

"Gi! What's up, bud? How's life in the Mob?"

A short silence. Giaan's voice gained a hard edge. "Would you mind repeating that, Kir? I don't think the relatives in Gharapuri heard you ..."

"Hey ... I'm all by my lonesome on the third floor of an empty building. Pulling wires for Uncle Nick. You know I'd never say anything like that if someone was around."

The desi sighed. "Sorry, Kir. Rough day at the office. I guess the insurance claims haven't gone thru yet?"

It was Kiran's turn to take a deep breath. "Nope, damn it. I've had the jewelry business for five years and never one damn claim. Then with the fire, I'm being investigated up, down, left and right. Like I would destroy my own business. Thanks to Uncle Nick, at least I've got some money coming in. I'm glad Dad and he made me go to trade school and get my license before I decided to go to college. I'm doing all the semi-delicate stuff right now that needs smaller hands - none of the guys here can do that type of work."

"You still seeing Asha?"

A short silence. "I don't want to talk about her."

"I take that as a 'no' ."

"According to her, I wasn't 'aggressive' enough her liking. She wanted someone that was more of a go-getter."

Giaan laughed. "At first I thought you meant something else, Kir. Not 'aggressive?' I'd describe you as 'insatiable.' Hey, you want to stop by my office after work? I want to talk to you about something."

"Something or someone, cuz?"

He rattled off the downtown address. "See you later!"

* * *

In his large, extended family, Giaan emotionally held Kiran Patel as his closest relative - even more so than his own brother. Kiran was his first cousin - born only a few days apart, the two had grown up like twins. They held nothing back from each other; Kiran was the first person he had came out to - it was his cousin who welcomed Javier with open arms while the rest of the family was appalled and ashamed.

Giaan's cousin was a jeweler and goldsmith by profession, but due to an unfortunate accident, had lost his business in a fire. He was now working for Nick Langosta - "Uncle Nick" - a good friend of the family who had built his now-flourishing contracting empire with money borrowed from Kiran's father. The money had been repaid many times over, and Langosta had remained a steadfast friend of the family.

Kiran was as strikingly handsome as Giaan; perhaps even more so than his cousin-turned-gangster. Whereas Giaan had always been the more sweet-tempered of the two, Kiran had possessed a dark, sultry quality even at an early age. That trait grew and strengthened as he matured - an aura of wicked promise surrounded him and he took full advantage of that effect.

* * *
Patel arrived at the address around 5pm. While he was still in his work clothes of jeans, hoodie and t-shirt, the muscular development of his physique was accented, rather than hidden by the clothing. Two handsome security guards looked askance at each other when he signed in at the front desk.

The taller of the two enforcers - his deep green eyes surmounted by a blonde buzzcut - motioned Kiran to follow him. He was brought into a small room. The guard quietly shut the door.

"Up against the wall, sir."

"What?"

Patel was pushed hard against the wall. "Spread your legs, please." Kiran protested, but widened his stance when the guard pulled his jacket aside to reveal a large nickel-plated gun in a jackass rig. He kicked the goldsmith's legs further apart.

The blonde security officer began to perform a pat-down looking for any concealed weapons. The examination was very thorough - a bit too thorough, Kiran thought - as the guard's hands lingered over his nips, his crotch and his ass.

The guard smiled. "Thank you, sir. I'll take you up to Mr. Khamar now."

Yeah, I'm sure you got off on that, didn't you? Kiran thought sourly to himself.

They left the room and the two entered a waiting elevator.

* * *

In a few moments, the men reached the 45th floor and moved through a well-appointed corridor to a large, unmarked door. The guard knocked twice and they entered.

Kiran didn't know where to look first: through the huge windows that provided a panoramic view of the neon-drenched city at his feet or the wall of monitors that had data and images scrolling through them an an incredible rate. He decided to focus on his cousin, standing in the center of the room with a 100-watt grin on his face and arms crossed over his chest. He opened his arms and the two men embraced.

The smile faded as he looked at the guard, still at the door. Khamar's mouth was set in a straight, hard line.

"Jimmy, I don't think my cousin appreciated that little show of force, and neither did I. Don't do that again."

The guard blanched, looking both frightened and chagrined. "I'm sorry, Mr. Khamar. It won't happen a second time."

"I know it won't. Meet me tomorrow morning in the exercise room on the 44th floor. Dress appropriately."

"Yes, sir." The guard swallowed hard as he left the room.

Kiran looked appraisingly at his cousin. "Wow, you've changed, Gi ..."

"What do you mean?" The mobster looked over his shoulder as he shut down the monitors.

"Well, first of all ... you've gotten big. You've put on what? Twenty pounds ..."

"Thirty. All muscle." Giaan grinned. He flexed - arms, shoulders and chest popped into obscene definition through the thin thermal fabric; he kissed a bulging bicep and gave his cousin a wanton look. Kiran snickered and Giaan joined in the chuckling. He motioned his cousin to take a seat at the conference table. Khamar went into the kitchen alcove and returned with plates of fruit and samosas. The mobster put them on the table and sat down. The spicy aroma made Kiran's mouth water.

"Thirty pounds of solid muscle and about two inches taller - plus, you move around like a shadow. And the way you dressed down that guard. There was power in your voice, cuz ... power, command and authority. You're not the underfed little computer geek you were only a few years ago."

"Comes with the territory, Kir. If you haven't guessed, I love my job, as well as my boss. And I want to apologize for Jimmy. Poor kid's boyfriend broke up with him and he's taking it hard. Overcompensating. You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time tonight. He really needs a shoulder to cry on at this point."

Kiran smiled. "Still the bartender, huh? Always listening to other people's problems?"

Giaan chuckled. "I can't help it."

The two cousins spoke and laughed together. They caught up with each others lives and the day-to-day goings-on for both of them. After a bit, Kiran heard the door to Giaan's office open and a sultry, accented voice call out.

"Giaan?"

"We're in the kitchen, Ariane - come on in!"

High heels tapped out a staccato beat as the psychologist rounded the corner. She stopped dead in her tracks; an expression of shock rippled across her face as she stared at the goldsmith.

Khamar stood. "Ariane ... this is my cousin, Kiran Patel. Kir, this is Ariane Zutrovna - we work on a lot of projects together..."

His cousin was in no better shape. His mouth had fallen open at the sight of the raven-haired Slavic beauty in front of him; a samosa in his hand dropped onto the table as he sat mute with amazement. The desi gangster tweaked his cousin's ear.

"OW!" He quickly stood up. "It's a ... a pleasure to meet you Ms. Zutrovna..." He continued to stare at her.

"I can see ... zhe family resemblance ..." Ariane stuttered. The man in front of her was breathtaking. He was a hairsbreadth taller than Giaan, and she could see that he was nearly as well-muscled; thick black hair topped straight dark brows and grey-green eyes with long sable lashes looked hungrily at her. His voice was a clear baritone with the faintest clip of an accent. There was a darkly sensual energy to the man which Zutrovna found irresistible.

Giaan smiled. Perfect. This couldn't have happened better. "Kir stopped by to catch up. He's a goldsmith - had a great business until it got burned out ... he's working for a friend of our family until the insurance comes through."

"Vhat type of goldsmithing do you do, Mr. Patel? ..."

"Please call me Kiran. Kir. Jewelry. Commissions for the most part. One-of-a-kind necklaces, rings ... baubles ..." He grinned at her.

My God, that smile is incredible. "Baubles, hmmm? Zhat is very interesting. I vould love to see your ... baubles ... do you haf a vebsite?"

"I have the artwork, but haven't put it together yet..."

The two continued to stare at each other.

Giaan cleared his throat. "Besides baubles, there's something else you two have in common ..."

Kiran and Ariane looked at the head of intelligence. Kir cocked a dark eyebrow.

"... dancing. Kir's an excellent dancer, you know. Ariane is superb too. She helped out the winner at the CLEF awards last month ..."

Ariane blushed. Kiran's face lit up. "I knew you looked familar ... you were great! That tango of yours was sex in motion!"

Kir's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. Embarrassed, he looked down. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. That was way too forward."

Ariane laughed. Kir felt that sound wrap around his body and caress him. His groin began to twitch and harden. He prayed that she didn't see his cock start to crawl down the leg of his jeans.

"Zhank you, Kir. And a compliment honestly given iz never too forward." She wet her lips.

God, I love the way she says my name. Kir thought. What an amazingly beautiful woman...

Zutrovna arched a delicate eyebrow. "Are you doing anyzhing in particular tomorrow night, Kir? Perhaps you vould like to go out for dinner and dancing?"

* * *

The goldsmith and Ariane arranged a date for the following evening. After gathering some information on the Venezuelan campaign for Lucio, she left. Giaan gave his cousin a wry grin.

"There's a puddle of drool on the table, Kir ..."

Patel looked down. "Good God, Gi! She's incredible!"

Giaan popped a samosa into his mouth. "That she is. She's brilliant, beautiful and absolutely ruthless. I think she's double-jointed also. If she wants something, she gets it. And it looks like she wants you."

Kiran squeezed his crotch and gave his cousin a feral grin. "The feeling's mutual, cuz."

The mobster put up a hand. "Whoa, whoa ... take it easy ... Ariane makes Beria look like a boy scout."

"Beria?"

"Lavrentiy Beria - one of the most bloodthirsty heads of the old USSR's secret police. Her father is one of Russia's most powerful gangsters. Even Vladmir Putin won't dare cross Anton Zutrov."

"Oh ..." He turned pale.

"Take it slow, Kir. You'll both appreciate the reward at the end of the chase. Oh ... by the way, you're gonna need this ..."

Giaan handed his cousin a credit card. "That's a platinum card from one of our offshore banks. It's got no limit. Have a good time!"

* * *

James Treaty looked nervously at his watch. I'm such a damn stupid fuck, he thought. He'd been upset all week after Francis had left him and he took it out on the guy visiting Khamar. How the hell was I supposed to know he was his cousin? He berated himself once again.

The guard's reverie was interrupted by the elevator doors sliding open and Giaan Khamar striding towards him. The desi chief of intelligence was wearing a pair of tight workout shorts and a plain black string top that accented the slabbed musculature of his body. "Hey Jimmy! Early I see ... c'mon ... let's go in."

Giaan motioned the guard to precede him and noted with satisfaction that he was wearing a pair of flipflops instead of socks and sneakers. Good. He was paying attention when he was Trained. 'If you're unsure of the surface, bare feet are best.' Khamar licked his lips as he saw the guard's powerful muscles move beneath his thin cotton t-shirt and firm globes of his ass pull the blue rower shorts tightly against his thighs.

James spoke up. "Mr. Khamar, I'm really sorry about manhandling your cousin the way I ..."

Giaan waved him off. "It's all right, Jimmy. Really. I know you're going through a bad time right now ... how long were you and Francis together?"

The guard looked panic-stricken. Giaan gave him a soothing smile. "Jimmy, relax. It's okay. You're not alone in this organization." He gave him a knowing look.

"If you need to talk to someone ... someone who understands, I'm here. It's his loss, not yours."

He nodded, but Treaty's face was still troubled.

"Do you want him whacked?"

Treaty's eyes widened.

"Just kidding, bud. Look, I've found the best way to get over something like this is to work it out physically." He grinned. "We're going to do some sparring together - quarterstaff good for you?"

"S-sure, Mr. Khamar..."

The desi walked over to a wall stand and pulled off two staves. He threw one to Treaty who deftly caught it in midair.

Giaan swung his weapon around, loosening his wrists. "But we're going to change the rules a little bit. Ever do any strip-sparring?"

The guard shook his head.

Khamar gave his opponent a delighted grin. "Every time you get knocked on your ass, you take off a piece of clothing. First one naked loses." He kicked off his own flipflops and hefted his staff into a offensive position.

"Ready, Jimmy?"

Treaty slipped out of his sandals and tossed them into a corner. He spun his own staff around in a slow circle and stopped when it was diagonally crossing his body. He nodded.

The two men circled, testing each other's reflexes and skills. The staves made contact as each mobster feinted and sought openings in the other's defenses.

Giaan attacked. With a swift flurry, he drove Jimmy back. After a lightning-fast series of parries and thrusts, James found himself on the floor looking up at the darkly handsome mobster.

Khamar chuckled. "Off with the shirt, bud."

Jimmy pulled the shirt over his head and threw it into the corner along with his sandals. Giaan put out a hand and helped the blonde man to his feet. Khamar ran a gentle hand down the slabbed pecs of the guard and tweaked a firm nipple. The guard yelped in surprise.

Khamar winked and grinned. "Mmmmm ... you should think about getting those nips pierced, Jimmy..."

Giann bent over and picked up Treaty's quarterstaff. Grinning, the desi threw it back to the guard. "One down, one ...?"

"Two." James returned the smile.

"... two to go." Khamar attacked again.

* * *

The sparring continued. Jimmy's combination of a backflip and leg sweep cost Giaan his shirt; Khamar's quick jab into the solar plexus had Treaty down to his jockstrap. A pole vault evened the score. Two near-naked men circled each other, their bodies gleaming with sweat.

"Had enough, Jimmy?"

The guard grinned. "No sir, not yet ..."

Giaan threw his staff into the air and dove between his opponent's legs. In that moment of distraction, he caught the staff and pushed the wood hard behind Treaty's knees. The guard toppled. In a flash, Giaan had the other man pinned beneath him. He yanked off the jockstrap. Cognac-brown eyes met emerald green. He gave Treaty a gentle kiss. Khamar ran soft lips around the square jaw of the man under him. Giaan continued to nuzzle his neck.

"I win, bud. Do you give up?"

Jimmy nodded and moaned. Khamar felt the guard's cock grow and twitch beneath him. The desi released Treaty's hands and began to stroke his forehead and temples. Giaan felt the other man's hands slide down his muscular back; Jimmy soon found the mobster's jock and pulled it off as well. His already-rigid tool sprung free and dug hard into the six-pack of the blonde man. The two men continued to kiss and stroke each other.

Giaan got up and returned quickly with a bottle of Gun Oil. He knelt in front of the smiling guard and proceeded to drape Treaty's powerful legs over his broad shoulders. The desi mobster slathered a generous amount of the lube onto his engorged member and slowly penetrated the blonde enforcer beneath him.

"You know, Jimmy, I think you're going to need more of these practice sessions until your performance improves - in my opinion, you need a lot of work ... what do you think?" Khamar grinned as he established a slow and deep rhythm into the enforcer.

"I think so too, sir. Thank you for, ahhhhh-ahhhhh, taking a personal interest ..." The guard stifled a scream and arched his back as Giaan connected with his prostate.

Another deep thrust. "My pleasure, kid. Just like the Army, I always want my guys to be the best they can be ..."

* * *
Ariane hummed happily to herself as she looked at the prone and naked man in front of her. Joao Amaral had been the capo of Lucio's operations in Brazil but having been caught skimming profits, he had been forcibly brought to face Lucio's wrath and Zutrovna's intense chemical interrogation. The unconscious man had been permanently depilated and inked; the tribal tattoos running down his arm accented the well-muscled physique of the traitor. The slavic beauty's gaze traveled across the rippled 8-pack of the man - quite the fitting gift for the police at SMD - Connie and his men well deserve it. She thought to herself.

The dark-haired psychologist swabbed the inside of one elbow and injected the residual poison into Amaral's bloodstream. She checked the bindings on his wrists and ankles and then began to press her thumbs into his eyelids. As the pressure increased, the man began to shift and moan; finally, he yelped and tried to move - only to be stopped by the restraints. Ariane stepped back.

The Brazilian blinked as the room swam into focus. The first thing he saw was the psychologist smiling back at him.

"Hello, Joao."

The events of the past few days flooded back. The flight from Rio De Janeiro; the meeting with Giambi; being immobilized as the Russian beauty pumped chemicals into his body that had him screaming in agony.

Ariane licked delicate lips. "I convinced Lucio that killing such a handsome man as yourself vould be such a waste of flesh ... zhere is so many more uses I haf for you."

He swallowed hard, terror filling his eyes - Ariane's reputation preceded her.

She glided around the naked man, her heels tapping out a beat as she paced the floor; Amaral flinched as she raked sharp, blood-red nails lightly down his exposed flesh. The psychologist stopped at a table that had an item covered in a surgical drape. Joao watched her every move with dread.

"You vill now become the property of a very select group of policemen." Ariane sat down in a chair and crossed her long, shapely legs.

A purring chuckle. "Zhey have found zhe need for such as you ... for ... release of any pent-up ... sexual needs. You vill be - vhat you would say - a 'fuck toy' for zhem."

She pulled the drape aside to show a large hourglass and turned it over. The pale, golden sands began to drift downward into the bottom of the container. "Zhanks to one of our pan-Pacific researchers, I hav injected you vith a residual poison. The only antidote for it is a massive dose of semen - orally or anally - every twelve hours."

Joao looked at her with disbelief and panic in his dark brown eyes. She gestured to the hourglass.

"As the grains drift downvards, your memories - all zhe things that made you YOU - vill disappear and be replaced. By the time zhe sands run out, you vill be Bastian Ferreira - a male whore from Sao Paolo vith a fetish for rubber and an unquenchable thirst to service men in uniform."

"Noooooo!!!" the Brazilian screamed. Ariane pressed a button and a floor-length mirror slid out from the wall.

"As you can see, you already look the part of a male whore - enjoy the rest your transformation, Bastian ... I hav to get ready for a date zis evening ..."

* * *

The phone at security desk rang. Jeffery King picked it up.

"Security ... Yes, yes he's here. Please hold a moment..."

The guard put his hand over the receiver and turned to James. "It's Ariane Zutrovna ... Jimmy, what the fuck did you do to get the attention of that woman? First, Mr. Khamar is beating the shit out of you every single morning - you've come on shift limping for the past week - and now this?"

Jimmy tried not to smile. That excuse for the trysts between himself and the Desi mobster worked wonders. By a stroke of luck, accidentally letting his guard down with Giaan had resulted in the yellowing shiner he was sporting, adding another dollop of authenticity to the coverup. "I'm getting what I deserve, Jeff. I just have to take it like a man. I'm just lucky he didn't decide to kill me."

He took the receiver. "Yes, Ms. Zutrovna?"

"Zhames ..." Her sultry voice purred in his ear. "Vould you please come up to my laboratory? I hav somesing zhat needs your attention."

"Of course, Ms. Zutrovna, I'll be right up." Treaty hung up the phone.

King looked worried. "Good luck, Jimmy - you're gonna need it."

* * *
Treaty arrived at Ariane's suite of offices. He knocked on the door and quietly let himself in. Zutrovna turned from the observation window, watching a hairless, naked man writhing on a couch. James found himself growing painfully hard looking at the spectacle before him.

The Russian smiled at him. "Thank you for coming up so quickly, Zhames ..." She pointed at the naked man on the other side of the glass.

"Zhat vas Lucio's chief of operations in Brazil. Ve caught him with his hand in ze cookie jar; but ... rather zhan kill him, ve decided to make him a sex slave for SMD. I've brainvashed him and he now has a complete set of false memories and a new identity. We've burned off his fingerprints as vell. He believes himself to be a poor, uneducated male whore. Quite ze comedown from a Wharton graduate, yes? I've also administered a residual poison vhich is held at bay by semen intake ... he believes he just can't do visout a thick cock down his throat or up his ass as often as humanly possible."

Treaty's manhood was so rigid he was afraid it would rip through his trousers. Ariane couldn't help but notice the huge bulge snaking down the young enforcer's pants leg. She patted one of the hard, muscled globes of his ass.

"Which brings me to vhy I asked for you ... Giaan felt zhat you could be trusted vith zis assignment ... vould you please deliver him to Captain Michaelides at SMD tomorrow afternoon? Of course, he needs to be ... taken care of until zhat time..."

He blinked and gave her a wide grin. "Of course, Ms. Zutrovna. Thank you and Mr. Khamar for trusting me."

She returned the smile and arched an eyebrow as she looked at his massive crotch. "I can see you're quite vell qualified. Come vith me." She opened the door to the other room and the two entered.

"Bastian??" The naked man looked at her in panic.

"Zis is Zhames - he will care for you until tomorrow when you will start servicing the policemen."

She turned to the enforcer. "You can remove his restraints. You both know vhat he needs, but I do hav to leave now. Enjoy zhe assignment ... and thank you again, Zhames."

Her stilettos clicked on the tiles as the door closed quietly behind her. The captive Brazilian stared at Treaty, a combination of desperation and lust in his eyes as he stared at the huge tool straining the fabric of the enforcer's trousers.

"Por favor, senhor ..." he said in heavily accented English. "... I need fucking bad, real bad..."

James moved to the promethean figure and removed the bindings. The man pulled his legs upwards and back to display a dark rosy pucker. The muscles of his smooth quads and calves popped into obscene definition.

"Please, senhor ... agora, now, now!"

Treaty grinned at the slave as he began to undo his belt. "No problem, buddy..."

* * *
Ariane applied the jasmine perfume behind her ears and at her wrists. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled back at the reflection. Her long dark hair was brushed back and fell softly to her shoulders; the pale blue silk dress flattered her figure and the pear-shaped drop diamond necklace scintillated at the small of her throat.

 
As she was shrugging into the bolero jacket, the ringer at the apartment door chimed. I feel like a schoolgirl... she said to herself. Her Louboutins clicked softly on the parquet floor as she moved to the entranceway and opened it to reveal Kiran standing there.

Again, she marveled at the specimen in front of her. Patel's wavy, raven-black hair gleamed brushed back from his forehead; sharply defined stubble covered cheeks and part of his throat. The goldsmith wore a soft black leather jacket, and beneath that, a pale gray shirt with a red-and-white striped tie. Light black jeans hugged powerful legs. His gray-green eyes widened in surprise when the door opened and his face was split by a bright white smile.

He whistled. "Ariane, you grow more beautiful every time I see you ..."

"I didn't know you spoke Russian, Kir!" It was flawless. HE was flawless.

The goldsmith grinned. "I learned during my apprenticeship at the Hermitage ... languages come easy for me."

"How many do you know?"

"Six. Hindi and English - my two cradle languages - Russian, German, Spanish and Greek. Ummm ... can I come in?"

The two had been spellbound by each other. "Of course!" She gestured him in. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the hard mounds of his ass move in the tight jeans as he strode into her foyer.

"Oops! Almost forgot ..." He dashed back out to the hallway and handed her a bouquet of roses - cream, yellow and salmon.

"Oh, Kir - zhey're lovely! Let me put zhem in water." Zutrovna took a crystal vase from a cabinet and arranged them on the table. As she turned around, Kiran gently pulled her to him. Their eyes met.

He whispered huskily. "They could never be as lovely as you, Ariane ... never." He dropped her into a sinfully low dip and then spun her around.

"Are you ready?" His grin promised an amazing evening.

She stroked around his sensuous lips. "I think so, krasivyĭ ... (handsome ed.) let me get my purse."

* * *
The evening was as good as its promise. And the next. And the next. Days stretched into weeks as Ariane and Kiran spent more and more time with each other. Lucio - as well as those in his top echelon - noticed the changes in Ariane and were glad not only for her, but for himself and his soldiers as well. The Russian was well known for her appetites and temper.

It was during a debrief of the Venezuelan operations that Lucio broached the subject with his chief of intelligence.

"Giaan, I've seen Ariane arm-in-arm with a tall, dark-haired guy. Who is he? Did you check him out?"

The Desi mobster smiled at his boss. "The guy's name is Kiran Patel. He's a jeweler ... and he's my first cousin."

Giambi cocked an eyebrow. Khamar continued. "I'd trust him with my life, Lucio. He's extremely discreet, and he's fallen completely in love with Ariane. I believe the feelings are mutual. I even had him take a CLEAT and let Ariane score it. He got a SIX. Seems Cupid did a drop-kick right into his sternum when they laid eyes on each other."

Lucio threw back his head and laughed. "I'll bet Ariane was beside herself with that - tall, dark, handsome ... and STRAIGHT! What a combination!"

The two men continued to chuckle as Giaan laid out the next steps of the Venezuelan campaign.

* * *

Ariane's phone chimed to indicate an incoming message. She opened the message and smiled.

Wear something white and slinky tonight. K.

* * *
"Gorgeous as ever ..." Kiran smiled as Ariane opened the door.

The contrast was stark in its simplicity. Zutrovna was wearing a white silk sheath with a tempestuously high slit; a deep blue sapphire the size of a robin's egg was fastened around her throat. Kir was wearing a black suit, black shirt and black/grey tie. Dark glasses shadowed his eyes and tight black gloves covered his hands.

"I can say the same." She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a gentle kiss. She paused.

"Are you wearing a gun, Kir?"

He pulled aside his jacket to show the matte-black Beretta 92. "As a jeweler, I've always had my concealed carry permit. Now that I'm working again, I need it. Particularly when I have to protect something valuable. Like you."

Kiran softly kissed her neck. A shudder ran through her as he ran a gloved hand down her cheek. "I've a few surprises for you this evening ... C'mon, beautiful."

The two left her apartment arm in arm.

The surprises started with a dance competition. The couple cleared the dance floor several times and won first prize in the latin and waltz competitions. The remembered pain of the CLEF awards faded away as she drank in the tall, handsome man holding her sensuously close.

"Ariane ....?" Kir spoke softly to her as they moved around the floor.

"Mmmm???" She snuggled into his arms.

There was something in his gray-green eyes, an expression that tightened her breath even further and escalated the beat of her heart. An answering emotion swept through her so quickly that she was taken aback by it. "Ariane ... I ... I love you." His brilliant smile illumined the darkened ballroom.

A look of amazement crossed her face, followed by a smile to dazzle his own. Her hand traveled up to wrap itself in his thick black hair; she pulled his head closer to meet her scarlet lips.

* * *

The two reentered Ariane's apartment entwined around each other.

"Close your eyes, my love."

Smoky lids fluttered shut. He withdrew a ring from his pocket. He took her hand and slid the ring on. "You can open your eyes, now - I hope you like it."

She gasped. "Oh, Kir ...." The ring was mirror-bright platinum with a large faceted sapphire in its center; two blue-white diamonds on either side of the main stone threw rainbow scintillations into the air. Delicate intaglio traceries etched all parts of the silvery metal. He held her face gently in his hands.

"Ariane ..." His face set in anxious lines. "... sanam (darling, ed.) ... will you do me the greatest pleasure in the world and consent to be my wife?"

Her head swam. Finally. It's finally happened. And I did it all by myself ... Well, with a little help from Giaan ...

"Yes, Kir - yes ... could there be any other answer?"

* * *

 
Writing a story about Ariane and her lover/potential husband was quite a stretch for me. After all, let's face it readers ... this is not a situation I would ever find myself in! The video above was from watching the duet between Harvey Fierstein and Robin Williams in "Mrs. Doubtfire." Giaan here really is playing the matchmaker!
  

I'm feeling much more possessive of my characters now than ever before. Like Connie, my thoughts turned to Ariane and the "hmmmmm" engine started up. We have a beautiful and diabolic woman in a "boyz club" atmosphere ... how did she get there? How does she feel? I've said before that my characters feel very "real" to me now - and to some extent, I feel responsible for their happiness. I *need* to explore the depths of the people I write about - see what makes them "tick" and make sure they are okay. I'm basically a romantic - and I do like to see happy endings.

The inspiration for Kiran came from a chance encounter in a coffee shop near my house. The place is right off a major highway and a lot of tradesmen stop there for breakfast. Forunately for me, there's never a dearth of handsome, rough-looking men when I stop by (and if you really want to get jealous, my supermarket is two doors away from a firehouse!) I happened to go in one morning and there he was ... the guy was a Bollywood leading man in the flesh! He had on a pair of carpenter jeans that were about two sizes too small and left nothing to the imagination, plus a tight orange t-shirt with the electrical contractor's name on it stretched over a thin blue hoodie. God, I wanted to jump him on the spot! Anyways, a new character was born. It was then a matter to flesh him out.

Originally, Kiran (his name then not known) was this amorphous guy whom I really didn't know what to do with. After the story about Connie, I knew that he would be involved with Ariane. Kiran was developed using an "Artist" mask that I had modified to give it a darker, golden-tan complexion. Connie's story was another turning point for me, and by extension, for my characters. It was there that I could see how Lucio's influence was affecting those around him. First Xander, and now Giaan. Lucio's reach is vast, but extremely subtle -- we see Giaan has basically remodeled himself into a soldieri, as well as assuming control of Giambi's intelligence operations. Even though Giaan has developed a certain ruthlessness (as well as a proclivity to blow things up), he has retained his empathy and compassion in the face of Ariane's misery. Of course, I couldn't have the heir presumptive to the most powerful Russian crime family fall in love with "just" an electrician ... I had to do a little more for her ... and for him. Eventually, Kiran will fall under Lucio's spell as well; just how that will happen, I'm not sure ... yet.

Another influence on these stories has been my reading of John Milton's "Paradise Lost". For those of you unfamilar with this work, it is a long, epic poem written in blank verse. It tells of Satan's rebellion and the Fall of Man. There is something less evil and inherently heroic about Satan in this piece of literature; I can see many similarities between Lucio's organization and the band of rebel angels at work. As a side note, I've been working on the digital double exposure technique I started in the baseball story and it's becoming easier and easier to do; I think the photos with the two cousins speaking together came out quite well.

Above and Beyond

(This story was written by my buddy Hank - enjoy!! Ed.)

Tension was high at Penn Station. In other words, it was a typical workday at one of the busiest intersections of commerce in the world, and SWAT Officer Blake Turner stood ready to come to the rescue at the first sign of trouble. Ever since anxiety levels had risen in general in the city, National Guard troops had been stationed at Penn to assist local law enforcement restore calm and order. Turner and two soldiers restored their own sense of calm over a chat and a cup of coffee next to a Hudson News stand.

Turner was wearing 8" desert tan boots tucked into a pair of snug khaki ripstop BDUs. A tan web belt held his Beretta 92 in a matching drop leg holster. A tight black t-shirt stretched over his muscled frame and a pair of short black leather gloves and black baseball cap completed the outfit. A black DragonScale armored vest twinkled darkly in the overhead fluorescent lights.

"How do they expect us to do our jobs here without proper protection?" one soldier asked of the other two men.

"What do you mean?" replied Officer Turner.

"I mean body armor."

"Beg pardon?" Turner asked with a puzzled look.

"Yeah, body armor," echoed the second soldier. "We've seen the urban tactics training videos. Some of these guys get so strung out that they come at you with no warning, practically fly and crash right into you!"

"Look, that's a gross exaggeration," reassured Turner. "Most of the time we identify them and make the approach. It works out real well, there's no big scene or commotion, and no one gets hurt, including you. And sometimes, we even save a life. That's the biggest reward."

Just as he was finishing up, Turner glanced towards the side of the newsstand and noticed a suspicious patron.

"Take that guy, for instance..." Blake tilted his head to direct the soldiers' gaze towards the person in question.

The other two looked over at a devilishly handsome young man in an expensive suit and tie. He looked like a GQ model. He was well-built - but not overly so - and given his posture, his square jaw and piercing green eyes, he could have easily passed for a uniformed officer - even a motor officer - if wearing the proper attire. The man appeared to be flipping through a magazine, yet Turner caught the suspect glancing up in his direction more than once. At their close proximity, he even could see the other man's hands tremble a bit. Turner suspected this would be a good opportunity to demonstrate the tactics he and the Guardsmen had just been discussing. Blake approached the obviously nervous man, cautiously.

"Excuse me, sir, we'd like to have a word with you."

"Who, me?" The GQ look-a-like stammered, rather surprised that the officer would notice, let alone address him.

"Yes, you. What's your name?"

"Pat," blurting out the first name that came to mind, and then realizing that he could have some explaining to do should the officer ask to see his identification.

"You seemed rather nervous, Pat, and I wanted to ask what the reason for that might be."

Turner was standing right next to Pat now, and just to the side, ready to spring into action any moment. "There are a lot of people coming and going through the station here, and we don't want any kind of trouble. We need to keep disquiet to a minimum."

"Oh, no, I'm just fine, nothing's wrong at all," Pat tried to say reassuringly, though Turner was quite sure the man was lying.

Come on, Pat, you can tell me. I'm Officer Turner, by the way." The SWAT officer had so kept Pat's attention with his deep, brown comforting eyes that Pat had not even noticed the officer sliding alongside him and putting his arm around his shoulders. Turner could feel his suspect tense.

"Why don't you come over here with my friends and me so we can talk?" Turner phrased it as a question, but his tone and body language made it clear this was much more a command than a request. Pat did not resist as the officer walked him a few feet to join the soldiers, who had been watching expectantly.

"Gentlemen, this is Pat," he said, his arm still draped around the man's shoulders, which Turner could feel were starting to relax a bit. "Pat, these soldiers are working with me today to help keep everything and everyone here in peace. I noticed you at the newsstand, and it seemed like you were distressed. What's up, Pat? Are you OK? Can we help?"

Turner's tone had softened considerably, and Pat was visibly much more comfortable with the men. He started talking, explaining what was on his mind and heart, even more readily than he might a therapist or pastor.

"Well, yeah, I am kind of tense. No, ... really tense, and sad and angry! I've been given responsibility for a huge project at work that I'm not sure I can handle, my boss is giving me grief, and I've got a couple of female co-workers who can be real bitches, and today they're in absolutely rare form. This morning when we got into an argument, my boss was taking their side -- he usually does it seems -- and I didn't know which I wanted to do more: slap one of them or punch him in the jaw. I just had to get out of the office for awhile to calm down."

Pat had paused, then with a tear, choked out, "Maybe I'd just like to be someone else, or be like someone else, even if just for a few minutes."

The two Guardsmen looking on this scene turned to each other for a moment and stared, seeming both compassionate for Pat, and a bit stunned that Officer Turner had drawn this confession out so quickly.

Giving Pat's shoulders a good solid squeeze, he waited a few moments and asked, "Pat, would you like a hug?"

Looking down, Pat didn't respond at first. It had been months since he had hugged another human being, years since hugging a man, and it may have been the first time in his entire life that another man had offered him a hug.

Hesitantly, Pat finally replied, quietly, "Yeah."

Without another word, the officer turned Pat toward him and wrapped his other arm around Pat's shoulder, pulling Pat's chest close to his. Pat cautiously placed his own arms around Turner, at first gently, then more forcefully pulling Turner into himself. Turner embraced Pat firmly yet tenderly, offering the latter the genuine affection and comfort which Turner knew he needed. Had it not been for the bullet proof vest, he would have felt Pat's heart against his, racing. Pat clung to the officer like a life preserver, his eyes closed. He allowed himself to relax, to let his head rest on Turner's shoulder, and sink into his strong arms as the officer gently rocked Pat back and forth, rubbing his back as he held Pat close. With their crotches pressed against each other as well, Turner noticed Pat's cock swell at first, then subside as Pat calmed down, comforted by the true manly affection and affirmation which he had needed so much, and for so long. But Turner thought little of what Pat, or any man in that situation, might have found rather embarrassing, other than to confirm that the intervention was paying off.

As all this transpired, half of corporate New York seemed to walk by, yet none gave the slightest indication that anything was greatly out of the ordinary. Only the occasional glance came from onlookers, and sometimes with it a little smile at seeing New York's Finest in action. Only the out-of-towners, unfamiliar with the ways of the NYPD, seemed to wonder in disbelief. The two soldiers continued to observe as though taking mental notes.

Without breaking off the embrace, Turner lifted Pat's chin so that the two men were looking into each other's eyes, their noses only a couple inches apart. Pat was beaming. Turner grinned, quite satisfied at the change in Pat's affect.

"Feeling better?" he asked, fairly confident that Pat's answer would be affirmative.

"You bet!" was Pat's quick reply. "Thanks so much. That's just what I needed!" Then only a moment later Pat's face grew somber once again, and he added, "But I don't want to go back to my office, not yet at least. I don't know that I'm ready to face that again."

"Well my friend, how would you like to stand guard here with the troops and me for the rest of the afternoon?" Turner offered. "When trouble comes up you could help us with interventions -- you're a pretty good hugger, you know -- and in the meantime you could hang out and chat with us. How about it?"

"Are you kidding me? That would be awesome!" Pat seemed as though he would burst! "Oh, but I couldn't. My boss is expecting me back at the office in a few minutes. He'd kill me."

"Not a problem. I'll write you an intervention ticket. It's like a doctor's note, only better. It excuses you from work, and carries the full authority of the City of New York. Your boss is legally required to excuse you from work, without docking your pay or vacation or sick time."

"That's great! In that case, I'm staying! Thanks so much, Officer Turner!" Pat folded his arms and nonchalantly leaned against Turner's side.

Again wrapping his arm around Pat's shoulder, Officer Turner offered, "You're welcome, Pat. And you can call me just Turner.....or Blake. That's my first name."

"So when do we get in on some of this 'law enforcement', 'Blake'?" The first of the Guardsmen was seeming much more comfortable with this operation. "We want in on the action."

"You bet, guys. Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty more trouble brewing here at Penn today. In the meantime, why don't you get in some practice with Pat here. You open to another hug, Pat......from a guy in camo jammies?" Turner smiled and winked at the soldiers.

"Watch it, SWAT boy," the Guardsman smiled back. "You're just jealous because our uniforms are more huggable. Come over here, Pat. Let the Guard show you some real tender lovin' law enforcement."

Pat willingly moved over to try out the new offer. The two men embraced, and now, as the soldier did indeed feel Pat's heart beating against his own, he was relieved that he had not been issued that body armor. The guardsman caught the faint scent of Pat's cologne - a mixture of chocolate and vanilla - and hugged him closer. It reminded him of his grandmother's fresh-baked cookies.

The other soldier observed, "Well, that's not as dangerous as I thought it would be. Piece of cake."

"Well.....I do have to admit, it's not always that easy," Turner allowed. "And I have a feeling you may be finding that out for yourself much sooner than later."

Turner's face sported a slightly uncomfortable smile, and held back a chuckle, as he gestured behind the soldier to another business man, one gawking at the unsuspecting soldier with his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

"I think someone might want a hug." Turner snickered, as from his own past experience on this detail, he was fairly sure what the unsuspecting Guardsman was up against.

The soldier turned around just in time to see a half-crazed New Yorker in suit and tie pouncing on him, screaming, "Camo jammies!!!" Before he knew it, the soldier was rolling around the floor, getting the stuffing hugged out of him by the highly stressed office worker.

"Yikes! Must work at a hedge fund..." Pat speculated.

"Heeeeelp!" cried the struggling soldier.

"Think we should call for backup, Turner?" the soldier in Pat's arms calmly asked.

"Nah, he'll be fine," Turner assured with a satisfied smile. "It's just part of the Job."


THE END

* * *

I love my buddy Hank. We both share a very deep and abiding love of motor patrol uniforms. And boots. In fact, I based the character of Captain Edmund Tiernan on Hank. He is a drop-dead handsome man who only looks more amazing in a uniform - in addition to being one of the most decent and kindest men I've ever known. I've said to him on a number of occasions that he should do PSA's (Public Service Announcements) for the CHP since he really fills out the uniform the way it should be worn.

This type of story is in the genre of "Anti-porn".

Huh? What?

Anti-porn is literature (the term used very loosely) which commandeers fetishistic, erotic, or otherwise pornographically associated themes and bends them to satisfy deeper emotional needs while calming the base sexual passions.

I got the warm fuzzies about this story when I read it - I had mentioned to Hank that I had seen a SWAT officer speaking with two Guardsmen and he took that comment and made this great piece of fiction!

I did take a couple of liberties here with what I actually saw - my "SWAT boy" wasn't wearing a pair of shades (that's how I could tell he had brown eyes) and he wasn't wearing a bronze gryphon-headed torc around his neck. I added the torc since Hank's story made me feel that Officer Turner was part of a very elite unit and he needed some distinctive accoutrement to signify that.