Sex and spying, the two oldest professions.
Kinky Intervention depicts the unfolding of a typical Sam Winterberry Candy Store counterterrorism operation.
No one from the outside could tell how much of the frequent successes of the counterespionage and counterterrorism operation of the CIA’s Candy Store unit activities were based on intricate plans and how much on coincidence and pure luck and how good the unit was in its planning and how much of its luck it provided itself.
Some of those inside the unit, although there were few beyond the unit’s chief, Sam Winterberry, himself, who had full knowledge of operation plans, knew, but they weren’t telling.
The Candy Store was a secret, even for the CIA, unit that combined prostitution with spying, the world’s two oldest professions, in ruthless and well beyond legal ways to protect and further the interests of U.S. intelligence.
No one from the outside could tell how much of the frequent successes of the counterespionage and counterterrorism operation of the CIA’s Candy Store unit activities were based on intricate plans and how much on coincidence and pure luck and how good the unit was in its planning and how much of its luck it provided itself. Some of those inside the unit, although there were few beyond the unit’s chief, Sam Winterberry, himself, who had full knowledge of operation plans, knew, but they weren’t telling. The Candy Store was a secret, even for the CIA, unit that combined prostitution with spying, the world’s two oldest professions, in ruthless and well beyond legal ways to protect and further the interests of U.S. intelligence. Kinky Intervention depicts the unfolding of a typical Sam Winterberry Candy Store counterterrorism operation.
They’d been through the interrogation. Al-Ghamdi had extracted all of the intelligence information he was likely to get on why the American officers were in this sector of Saudi Arabia. He knew they were casing out compounds where listening posts could be set up to counter terrorist groups like Al-Ghamdi’s and that could be used to shelter commando units.
He already knew too that the handsome young blond would take cock. Al-Zamil had reported, graphically, what he’d seen on the base surveillance cameras the previous night. That there was a handsome young American blond willing to take cock available in Al-Ghamdi’s zone of control was the whole reason for the ambush of the military convoy.
It was time to move to the more entertaining portion of this session. Dropping the hand whip, Al-Ghamdi unknotted and dropped his loincloth. He was in magnificent erection. Dropping to his knees behind the hanging American, Al-Ghamdi grasped Dennison’s slim hips and buried his face in the American’s butt crack, eating the young man’s ass out, as Dennison moaned.
Standing and grasping Dennison’s thighs in strong hands, he raised and flared the captive lieutenant’s legs straight out to the sides, put his cockhead in position, and thrust up. Dennison cried out in pain-passion as the thick cock entered and conquered him. Al-Ghamdi paused long enough to reach down, take up his discarded loincloth, and ram it into Dennison’s mouth to muffle the sounds of the young man taking a big cock. Any sounds that made it out to the rest of the camp probably would have been taken as the same sounds the captive was emitting while under interrogation, but Al-Ghamdi didn’t want to take any chances.
He fucked the young man hard to his completion. Dennison settled down to panting, moaning, and occasional stifled sobs.
When he was done—but only for the moment; Al-Ghamdi was a fit and virile man who necessarily abstained from his preference most of the time to maintain his desert secret—the chieftain unhooked Dennison’s wrists from high on the post and let him sink to the ground. The American lieutenant was still restrained at the wrists around the pole, so he wasn’t going anywhere. Dennison lay there on the ground, initially in a fetal position, panting and moaning, while Al-Ghamdi went to a small table, took up a bottle of whiskey, which his religion told him he shouldn’t be drinking, poured a big slug of it into a glass, and tossed the liquor off.
When he turned and looked toward the pole, he laughed. Dennison had readjusted his body. He was on his back. He’d spread and bent his legs. His pelvis was raised. He had managed to spit the loincloth gag out but wasn’t screaming. He clearly was offering himself again.
