The Ambassador’s Son

We sat there, Hugh licking his lips, a sloppy grin on his face, and me listening in dismay as I heard Amir going through his usual long, totally dominating, routine of taking the ambassador’s son, accentuated in arousal and licentiousness now by the adding of Tyler Haskell. Sean Caldwell was being quite vocal on how totally he was being taken in a double penetration. It was all I could do to keep my hand off my cock in trying to share the experience with him. I was afraid I was letting out a moan or two of my own and worrying that Hugh would zero in on how this was affecting me. But Hugh seemed lost in listening to it—and he didn’t seem as reluctant as I was to touch his cock through the material of his shorts.

I started to sweat—almost to hyperventilate—when they’d finished with the sex and began talking among themselves of other matters. That damned ambassador’s son. His appearance had changed everything, might ruin everything. He was bringing everything to a head.

“Fuck,” Hugh said. “Do you hear that, Chris? They’re talking of an operation now. An al-Qaida operation. Two weeks. The embassy in Cairo. Fuck, Chris, did you hear that? They’re planning an attack on the American embassy in Cairo. We’ve got to . . . Chris! What’s that? What are you . . .?”

“As Allah is my witness, I’m sorry you heard that, Hugh. I tried to push you out of it, but . . .”

“Chris! Why? Don’t!”

The strong beams of sunlight coming through the window of the apartment glinted off the surface of the sharp blade of the knife I’d taken from the kitchen drawer as it rose and fell.

I hated to do it. But it had to be done. And it was just the beginning anyway.