In the Ring

by James Lear

  “For real?” He looked like a kid at the movies. “Wow.”

  “Calm down. It’s not as exciting as you think.”

  “But did you fight and stuff?”

  “Of course I fucking fought. And killed people, as that’s what you’re going to ask next. With guns, and knives, and my bare hands.” I put one hand very gently around his throat. “That’s what I did for a living.”

  He half-whispered “Jesus” as I let my hand stroke his throat. The ginger stubble crackled.

  “Before we get on to all that, I can help you with this injury.” I released him. “Come into the living room. I’ve got a sofa that will do as a massage table.” I racked my brains as to what to use for oil; I didn’t even have a bottle of cooking oil in the cupboard. I had lube, of course. That would have to do. And it would help me to slip a tracking device into him . . .

  I ushered Kieran ahead of me, taking a good look at his broad shoulders, freckly neck and round ass. The room was warm, thank God. “Just take your clothes off and throw them on a chair. I’ll be right back.” The lube was in the bedroom, with extra towels. When I got back, he was in his underpants, perched on the arm of the sofa. I pulled off my sweater and squirted some lube into my palm. “Make yourself comfortable on your front. I’m going to have to get a proper table.” I spread the lube over his back, fanning it out across his shoulder blades then down towards his glutes. “I can feel a lot of tension right through the posterior chain. Are you stretching properly?”

  “Probably not. There’s never time. Ahhh . . .” All the breath left his body as I pressed down on his lower back.

  “That hurt?”

  “A bit. It feels great.”

  “Good. Tell me if it’s too hard.” I carried on working on his back, enjoying the resilience of the muscles, the smoothness of the skin. I know enough about massage to convince a boy like Kieran. And he wasn’t about to argue with a marine. “I’m going to lower these.” I tugged at the waistband of his underpants; he didn’t complain. In fact, he raised his hips slightly, so I could pull them down to his knees in one move. I’d already seen his ass, but now I had time to study it. I’m not big on descriptions, as you’ve probably noticed; I’m not the poetic type. It was a young boxer’s ass. He was an Irish redhead. It was right in front of me on a bed. You supply your own descriptions. I’ll just tell you what I did.

  I shot more lube into my hands, rubbed them together, and laid one on each buttock. Kieran flinched slightly; perhaps the lube was still cold, but I’d soon warm it up. I made circular movements across the smooth surface, parting the cheeks on each outward sweep, exposing the pink hole. It was clean, and slightly damp.

  “How does that feel?”

  “Yeah . . . good.” I couldn’t see his face, which was buried in the pillow.

  “I’m going to work on your hamstrings. You’ve got a lot of tension there.”

  “I’ve always been tight.”

  I moved down to his meaty right thigh, pressing with my thumbs along the twisted cables of muscle. “No wonder you’re getting injuries. These are like solid steel. You need to start doing yoga or something.” Inspiration struck. “I’m going to give you a series of stretches to do.”

  “Okay.”

  I pushed his thighs a little further apart, enough to get a good view of his balls. How full were they? When were they last emptied? Was he one of those fighters who abstains from sex before a match? But he was young: the tanks fill up quickly when you’re twenty-four. I carried on working down to the crook of the knee. Kieran was shifting around slightly on the bed, as if something was making him uncomfortable; I hoped it was his stiffening cock. I’d soon find out.

  I switched to the other leg. “Ah, this one’s a lot better.” There was no difference at all, but I had to sound like I knew what I was doing. “Why are you getting so tight in the right side?”

  “Dunno.”

  I worked back up the buttock to the base of his spine. “Look,” I said, pressing with my thumbs, “this is where the problem is.”

  Kieran raised himself on his forearms, craning his neck to see what I was pointing out. His chest and upper abs were visible now. “What?”

  “Just here and here.” I applied pressure on either side. “Top of the glutes, bottom of the back. I think you’ve torn something on this side”—thumb in on the right, which made him wince—“and the muscles all down the back of your leg are tensing up because of it.” It had the ring of truth. “On this side”—thumb on the left—“the muscles are far more flexible. I’m going to show you a few stretches.”

  In the process of massaging him, I’d managed to work his underpants down to his ankles; it was a simple matter to discard them altogether, before he got any stupid ideas of putting them back on.

  “Roll over and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  You can see what I was doing. Most adults with half a brain could see what I was doing. It’s fair to assume that Kieran wasn’t completely naïve. His cheeks were flushed. “It’s . . . it’s a bit embarrassing.”

  “What is?”

  “You know, when you get a massage. When someone touches you, you can . . .”

  “For God’s sake, Kieran. I was in the marines for twenty years.” I’m not sure what that was supposed to mean, but it worked. Kieran flipped over on to his back, exposing a very hard cock that pointed straight up towards his belly button. “I’ll take that as a sign that I can still give a good massage.”

  He propped himself up on his elbows, a position which emphasized his abdominal muscles. His cock showed no sign of getting softer. He couldn’t have failed to notice the bulge in my pants; it was practically visible from space.

  I picked up his right leg, one hand behind the knee, the other on top of his thigh. It was slightly sticky from the lube. “Now, we’re going to pull the knee in towards the chest, just to the point where you feel a stretch. If it hurts, stop.” I guided the leg up and back into a position that not only exposed Kieran’s hole but also pushed his cock over. It throbbed. There was a drop of precum at the end. “You hold it there for a count of ten.” I pushed gently and held him in position, enjoying the warmth from his naked body. “Then you rotate the thigh outwards.” I moved his leg out to a sideways position, pressing down on his left shoulder. “Keep the upper body in contact with the sofa as much as possible. Now, where do you feel the stretch.”

  Kieran reached down and touched himself on the inner thigh. “Right here.”

  “Okay. That’s good. Now you hold it there for a while, and straighten the leg.” I pulled him down. “And repeat. Up towards the chest and hold, out to the side and hold, release and straighten. We can pick up the pace a little once you get used to it.” I rotated his leg a few more times, watching his hard little cock bouncing around with every move. “How does that feel?”

  “Fantastic.”

  “Good, good.” We were in that gray area between seduction and sex, when both parties realize what’s about to happen but haven’t yet taken the first definite step, when you could just about still pretend we were talking about physical therapy and massage rather than what I was doing to his dick and ass. “Now, let’s work on the left leg as well.” I switched to the other side of the sofa. “Knee to chest, now out to the left, and straight. See, much looser.” I pressed down on his chest, feeling his hard nipple against the palm of my hand. “That’s it. Good boy. See how your abs contract when you pull in towards the chest?”

  He looked down. “Yeah.”

  I shifted my hand lower. “You’ve got excellent core strength.” I caressed his stomach, missing his cock by half an inch, rubbing some of the juice into his belly. Kieran moaned. That was it: we’d crossed the line. We were having sex. “Now let’s see if we can do both legs at the same time.”

  “Like this?”

  He pulled his knees back and held them close to his chest.

  “Exactly like that.” I positioned myself at the end of the sofa, grabbed his thighs, and pu
lled him towards me. My groin was right above his open ass. I leaned forward, pressing against his legs with my torso. My rigid cock, still inside my pants, found its target. I rubbed it up and down.

  “Want that?”

  “Yeah.” He was looking over to one side, eyes half closed, voice indistinct.

  “Look me in the eye. Do you want me to fuck you?”

  He did as he was told. “Yes please.”

  “Good. Don’t want anyone saying I forced you.”

  He scowled, as if he was about to say something—but this wasn’t the time for interrogation. Afterwards, perhaps, when we were resting between “treatments,” there might be some revealing pillow talk, but now I just got on with the job.

  “You been fucked before, Kieran?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “You like it?”

  He turned his mouth down. “’S’okay.”

  “This’ll be better than okay. I’m going to teach you to love it.” I leaned forward so his knees were practically on his shoulders, and kissed him on the mouth. He wasn’t expecting that, but after a moment of hesitation he started kissing me back. I put one hand under his head, and with the other squeezed his ass.

  Kieran kissed passionately, devouring my tongue, as if he was starving for affection. I know all too well how that feels. For a moment I let myself forget operational considerations, and returned the kisses as well as I could.

  He broke away first. “Stop!” he said, his mouth wet with saliva, rubbed red by my stubble. “I’m gonna come!”

  I stood up; there was a dark patch on my gray T-shirt from the juice that was leaking out of Kieran’s cock. “Not so fast, buddy. Calm down.”

  He uncurled his legs and sat up, his face on a level with my crotch. “Can I see it?”

  “Sure.” I pulled my pants down, lifted my cock and balls over the waistband. I was fully hard.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “What?”

  “It’s fuckin’ big.”

  “You’ll cope.”

  “I dunno . . .”

  “I know what I’m doing. Now let’s see how much of it you can get in your mouth.”

  He looked up at me, his brow furrowed, his eyes wet, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening to him. Someone’s been mistreating this boy, I thought. Parents back in Ireland, maybe, or his trainer and manager here in Manchester. Alan Vaughan, perhaps. I’d give him some sugar, and he’d surely come back for more.

  “Go ahead. It’s all yours.”

  That was all he needed to hear. He grabbed my pants and pulled them down, exposing my hairy thighs, then took the base of my cock between thumb and forefinger and pulled it towards his lips. They opened, and the head went in. I encouraged him by caressing the bristly back of his head. It was tempting to shove right down his throat, watch him gag, but for once I was feeling merciful. And I had a feeling I’d get more value from Kieran if he was in love with me. I let him take me inch by inch, at his own pace. He’d obviously done it before, because I didn’t get scraped with teeth, but he didn’t have the slick facility of the accomplished cocksucker. I like the newbies. I like the surprise on their faces when they realize they can take it, that it actually feels good, that they want it.

  By the time he was half way down the shaft, Kieran was pretty much all mine. He was going to make the most of every moment we had together, and then he’d be hanging around me in the hope of getting more. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to let him down, that I might manage to salvage something out of the operation without either of us getting killed. But seeing as I was about to turn him into an unwitting spy on the Vaughan operation, that seemed unlikely. Oh well, let’s enjoy ourselves for now, before I plant the tracker in him. Let him suck and get fucked and feel that he’s wanted, desired, loved. Because for the next hour or so, he will be.

  He took it all, despite a bit of gagging, then closed his eyes and started to suck up and down, his cheeks hollowing on every upstroke, his lips being pulled outwards. I tugged his ears, stroked his jawline, his eyelids, rubbed his short ginger hair. And I made very sure that his hands kept away from his own cock. He was going to come when I was ready for him to come, with my cock inside him to seal the deal.

  I could feel my own orgasm starting after a while, so I pulled out and stripped off. Kieran watched, taking in every detail of my beaten-up, hairy body. When he saw the scars on my leg, he bit his lower lip. “What happened to you?”

  I wasn’t allowed to tell him the truth; this could give suspicious minds a link back to Dan Stagg and the attack in Baghdad. A cover story had been supplied, and I was fluent. “I had a bit of a disagreement with a landmine in Somalia. Got me four months in the hospital.”

  “Jesus.” He ran his fingertips over the deep, bluish scar that runs up my thigh. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes, sometimes. But it’s okay. It didn’t kill me.”

  “Thank God.” He kissed my leg. “You’re so brave, Greg.”

  “I’m no hero.” I’m not even Greg, I thought. “I was stupid.”

  “Is that why you left?”

  “It’s one of the reasons. We’ll talk about it another time. I’ve got other things on my mind right now.”

  “Yeah?” He took hold of my cock and squeezed. “What might that be?”

  “Your ass.”

  “Okay.” He started licking my dick again. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Bend over the sofa. Ass in the air.”

  I got myself rubbered up, and worked lube into his hole. As soon as my finger entered the tight little ring, he was groaning. I reached around and touched his cock; still hard. Better get on with it. We were both so horny that entry was a swift, businesslike affair, none of that careful inch-by-inch stuff that you have to do with unconvinced virgins. Kieran had been fucked before, and this time he wanted to do it right. He knew how to relax. Perhaps he’d learned the hard way, with men who didn’t give a shit whether he enjoyed himself or not.

  Once I was all the way in, pressing my lower stomach against the base of his spine, I paused and waited for him to start moving. You know when a guy who’s impaled on your cock starts moving backwards and forwards, basically doing the fucking for you, that he’s ready to take whatever you’ve got to give. It didn’t take long; Kieran was thrusting back into me, looking over his shoulder with a quizzical expression.

  I answered him by starting to fuck. Slowly at first, so he could appreciate just how long my cock was, all the way out, all the way in. He sighed, rested his head on his forearms, and tilted his pelvis to the perfect angle, allowing me maximum penetration into his guts. There was no point in thinking of other positions to fuck him in. This was perfect; one of the greatest unions of penis and anus I’ve ever experienced. Plenty of time to experiment later, but for now this was the fuck we both needed. Both of us were going to come pretty soon.

  He started first, moaning so loud that MI6’s decision to place me somewhere without neighbors made a lot of sense. “Fuck me, oh, fuck me Greg, fuck me harder,” he babbled in his Irish accent, and that tipped me over the edge. I pounded into him in the ruthless, machine-like way I’ve perfected over many years in the military, and came so hard I almost blacked out.

  Afterwards we lay in bed together, his head on my chest, listening to the traffic swishing along wet streets. We slept. I woke a couple of hours later with his hand on my rock-hard cock. I quickly guided his head down under the sheets and let him suck me off.

  Two orgasms inside Kieran had cleared my head enough to start thinking about work again. “Your turn,” I said, and got him on his back, legs in the air, while I started playing with his asshole. It was a simple business to implant the tracking device; he never suspected a thing. It sat on the end of my finger like a tiny bead, held in place by lube, and then, carefully, I pushed it into his rectum. The silicon coating, according to the tech boys, would help it adhere to the mucous membrane inside his ass. Only a really massive dump, or a serious case o
f diarrhea, would dislodge it until its adhesive qualities wore off and it was passed, undetectably, into the toilet.

  As covert surveillance operations go, this was one of the most enjoyable.

  I got three fingers inside Kieran’s silky ass and jerked his stiff cock until he came over his ridged stomach. We slept again, while from deep inside him inaudible signals were sent all the way from my obscure little Manchester apartment to receivers in London, to be shared with intelligence agencies on both sides of the Atlantic, bringing down a criminal terrorist network, saving lives, punishing wrongdoers.

  That was one hardworking ass.

  06

  The next day I got a call from Oz, sounding very pleased with himself. “Mr. Vaughan wants to meet you! I told him all about you and he says he might be able to use you! Isn’t that great? We might be working together! He’s very happy with me, says I’ve shown real initiative.”

  Normally I’d be happy to have an eager little puppy like Oz chasing after my cock, and obviously I was happy to stick it to him in any way that was necessary to the operation. I’m a professional in these matters. But things were complicated now. Despite my best efforts, I was growing fond of Kieran McAvoy, the defeated Irishman, the victim of some deal between his manager and Vaughan. He hadn’t given anything away, and I was careful not to ask too many questions, but I was sure Kieran was being exploited and abused both in and out of the ring. It crossed my mind that he was a double agent, that Vaughan knew exactly what I was up to and had baited the trap with Kieran. In this game of bluff and counter-bluff, anything was possible.

  The meeting was arranged for the gym in Moss Side, an ugly suburb of Manchester that was dotted with boxing clubs and gyms, the traditional escape route for local kids who are never going to make it through school. I know what these places are like: I’ve trained in them, worked in them, screwed in them. They’re not much different on either side of the ocean. City Fitness had the same tired, badly designed street frontage, a cheap-looking Perspex sign screwed over a blacked-out window, a glass door, a dirty buzzer panel, everything covered in grime and graffiti.