Spy Games (Patreon)

"Aaaah," Sam shouted as he entered his hotel room and saw the young man lounging in the armchair by the window. The man, boy really, was shirtless, exposing tight muscles wrapped in smooth, tanned skin. He wore white, knee-length shorts with red stripes, like Sam's high school team used to wear.

Sam swayed a bit in the doorframe and looked down at the floor. Someone at the dinner had undoubtedly drugged him, probably the woman to his right at the table. But then that was a bit too obvious. It didn't help that he'd had plenty to drink before that.

Sam looked back at the boy, who quickly had gotten on his feet. He had a UFC cap on his head, which given his body could mean more than just being a fan, and a black bead choker around his neck. "Who sent you? MI6? KGB?" He knew it was FSB now, but somehow KGB was equally true. Had he been given truth serum?

"What?! No, man, someone just told me you needed some fun," the boy answered while keeping his distance. His sweatshirt was thrown over the back of the armchair and he was holding his phone with the game he had been playing to pass the time still on the screen.

The woman to his right had looked like his wife did when they got married, and while she didn't outright ask any questions about his work, and certainly not anything about security, she was fishing around for something. Clearly an agent specifically picked for him. Not that it would make any difference. All systems used the security trinity. Something you know, something you have, and something you are. She might have been able to get the pin code out of him through some hypnotic suggestions or something, but the key chip was on the chain around his neck, and unlike in the movies they couldn't just take the eyeball and put it on a stick. The eye scanner actually looked at the pulsing veins in the white of the eye to verify that the person opening the vault was alive.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm tired, I'm drunk, and I'm married. To a woman." There was something about him that Sam couldn't shake. Perhaps it was the shorts, but the boy resembled Carter, the football jock from high school that Sam had had some confusing emotions about. He hadn't exactly been stalking him, but he sat where he could see him in the cafeteria and spent many afternoons watching the team practice on the field while doing homework.

"Hey man, it doesn't have to be like that. I can just, like, help you relax."

Carter obviously would be Sam's age still, and this boy was half that, but the resemblance was uncanny. Though this "Carter" was some years older than the last time Sam saw Carter, and quite a bit more stacked.

"It's... Hmfff..." Sam started. "You're... paid to be here."
"Everyone is paid by someone. If we were friends hanging out someone would still pay me."

Sam closed the door behind him, still not sure, but there was this feeling of finally trying something he wished he'd had dared try out long ago. It wasn't sexual, really. Just to be with Carter. Hug him perhaps.

"I'm Sam," the boy continued. "Why don't you get on the bed and I can work out your tension? I know both Thai and Swedish massage."

"I... Your name is Sam? What a coincidence. Mine as well," he said, thinking there was no way it was a coincidence. None of this was. "Relax and massage do sound nice," he continued and started to move past Carter-looking Sam. He knew it was a bad idea, though no idea how it would be, and that it was the drugs making decisions for him.

He stepped past the stud almost as if he wasn't there, but froze as he felt two hands stroking him from behind. He'd been away from home for too long, he realized. Too long since someone touched him. Really touched him. He just stood there, letting Carter-Sam caress him from behind, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, and finally helping him take it off.

"Lie down for me," Carter-Sam said softly in his ear, while the brim of his UFC cap poked the side of his head. Carefully Sam climbed the hotel bed and lay down across it with his head hanging over the side. Carter-Sam moved just as deliberately as he climbed on top of Sam, and positioned himself on his lower back. It was like a mutual understanding of grace and silence, as the boy started to kneed Sam's upper back.

He was good, Sam immediately recognized, balancing that fine line between soothing and hurting. When he heard the snap of a small plastic bottle and felt the cool glob of something on his back his first thought it was alcogel, but it must have been some sort of massage oil. He could feel a slight warmth from it as it was rubbed into him. The heat, the pressure, the deep tissue's silent groaning, and the rocking motion made Sam blissful. Not just sleepy from the alcohol and whatever else was in it, but the kind of bliss where you would just go along with anything to keep in that state. Blissful and erect.

When he felt his khakis being unbuttoned and removed he just lay there, going along. Then he could feel his boxers being removed as well. In his cloudy mind he wondered if he would mind the boy sticking his dick into him. He realized that he didn't mind. He didn't want it to happen perhaps, but if that was what other Sam wanted he wouldn't resist. Instead the boy slid up along and against his body, slowly and deliberately as only someone as muscular could. He stopped just next to his ear, radiating heat against Sam's back, and softly said "Roll over for me."

Sam did, still under a bridge of boy flesh. He could feel the key chip sliding across his chest, dragging the chain with it, before it settled. It shook him every so slightly from his trance for a split second, but realized it would look just like any other necklace to the other Sam. He for his part was moving back down the body again.

Having his head off the edge of the bed wasn't as comfortable as when on his back. Instead of looking down he was now looking up into the wall, but before he got the chance to reposition himself further in he felt a pair of lips around his penis. It started slowly with a few flicks of tongue against his exposed glans, but even just that made him relax fully and close his eyes. He'd never felt such pleasure before in his life. Whatever he was on he was sad he couldn't get more of it. The boy knew his shit too. He was moving his lips up and down the shaft rhythmically, but also moving one finger along the penis making for the most amazing sensation ever. Did the drug make everything feel better, or did it make you forget how good sex had been before? Then he was back to working the penis with his tongue. As he started stroking the inside of Sam's thigh Sam drifted away again, no longer caring to keep track of the sources of all his sensations. There was a warmth spreading from his groin, almost as if he was peeing his pants. But different. He didn't care.

The bedside ringtone was loud and cheap. While mobile phones had been steadily improved over decades with better speakers, better audio chips, and carefully crafted sound files, bedside hotel phones were just two dull alternating tones. Sam felt drained. His body felt like he had been to a gym session with a new PT who wanted to prove his worth, and his head felt like he had been boozing at a party with drug-laced drinks. The night curtains were drawn so there was no telling what time it was in the dark hotel room.

The phone rang again, and he picked it up mid-signal. "Sam," he said, startling himself with his voice. It was different. "Sir, it is past the checkout time. Would you like to extend your stay with us?" A sense of dread filled Sam as he fumbled to find the key chip on the chain around his neck, only to find a bead choker necklace, and below that, two filled-out pecs.