Young college grad Trent Wilson has passed his vetting into the CIA and gone into basic training in the belief that his deep-seated desire for other men and his brief and tentative experimentation have not been uncovered. What he doesn’t know is that the Agency has a use for men who can suborn other men with their physical attributes and perpetual aspect of innocence that the spy agency recruiters have seen in Trent. Blackmailing Trent into working with a unit of spies using man sex to trap and compromise foreign targets into providing information and actions the Agency seeks, his Agency handler, Maurice, covers and masters Trent and then pulls him into the role of convincing targets across the world who seek to deflower virgins—in Bermuda, England, Austria, Turkey, Greek, and, ultimately, Macao—that Trent is what they want and is the virgin they will give up all to initiate. But as Trent becomes very good at this and even to enjoy it and seek it out, Maurice sees that he increasingly is losing control over his protégé and makes plans of his own to put an end to Trent’s use in these operations.
“I don’t believe it. That must be photo shopped.”
“I assure you it happened. The Office of Training officer assures me that the two of you rutted around just like that in the woods not far from here.” The senior agent who had been at the graduation ceremony shuffled the photos about, but it didn’t change anything. Each photo was more damning than the preceding one.
“I can’t remember anything like that,” Trent Wilson declared, but the disclaimer slowed down as he neared the end of it. He had gone on a drinking binge with Stan, the covert ops trainer—and, yes, the two of them had gone out in the woods he was now staring at, through the window of the office he’d been sent to at The Farm training center near Williamsburg, Virginia. He’d been brought here right after they’d had their Ops officer course graduation. It had been like no other college graduation—the successful candidates, dressed in gym clothes, had gone through an obstacle course before they’d had their graduation ceremony. Graduation wasn’t guaranteed until they passed on the obstacle course. It had been a course found nowhere else but in spy training. And there wouldn’t be any certificates—just initiation into the Agency covert ops ranks.
“I wasn’t conscious. I was drunk on my tail. I’ve never . . .”
“Something was happening with your tail,” the senior agent, who had identified himself as Maurice, said. “And you obviously did do ‘it.’ It’s quite clear that he’s covering you on all fours and that he penetrated you. It counts even if you choose not to remember it. You have been deflowered. You no longer are a virgin to male-on-male anal penetration—and, the ops trainer assures me, internal ejaculation. And he didn’t wear a condom. Do you want to look at the photos of his withdrawal from you again, of the residue of his ejaculation?”
Put that way it sounded so clinical—and sordid, Trent thought.
Bits and pieces were coming back to Trent. The instructor had suggested a break from a class segment—that they take their lunches to the words surrounding the training facility and see if they could get lost and then find their way back to the base camp. The agent’s idea of lunch had included more vodka than sandwiches.
Yes, now that the photos were there, Trent could pull out the encounter in his memory. The instructor had told him that nothing had happened and that they should just forget it, and Trent had latched on to that and let it work in his brain until he told himself it was the truth.
But the truth was that Larry had fucked him in the ass—that they’d both had too much to drink—but not in that order. Well, he’d had too much to drink. Larry seemed to be able to maintain control. Larry kept talking about how the job required trust and close relations between agents—that they’d had to totally commit to each other. Trent had accepted it hook, line, and sinker, and when he’d gotten completely blotto he’d found himself on all fours, with Larry crouched over his back and holding him close and the excruciating pain-pleasure of Larry’s dick inside him.
Trent had fought the urge of that, but he’d always been aroused at the thought of a man possessing him with his cock, and, when it had happened with Larry, he had not abandoned the urge of arousal of it.
“So, what now?” he asked. “Why did you let me go through the graduation exercise? I know the Agency has zero tolerance on that. But I assure you that it was the first and only time. And it happened after I applied and was accepted for the program. It wouldn’t happen again—if that makes a difference.”
“We want it to happen again, Trent,” Maurice said in a low voice. “We have uses for all kinds of people in our operations.
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