Author's note:
Do to popular demand, I am posting this next chapter on Literotica. I apologize for the delay -- I was in the middle of writing this when I went off to Tanzania for a couple of weeks. Some of this chapter was written on airplanes and in the Amsterdam airport.
Hopefully, I'll have the rest of the novel completed by year end.
* * * *
He was waiting outside, shivering a little in the morning fog, when Karina pulled into his driveway in a little two seat roadster. Like the yacht, he though, if you had to ask the cost ... It had diplomatic plates. That much of her story, it seemed, might be true. Another car pulled in behind it, large and black, its windows so dark they hid whoever was inside. He shivered, even more, wondering who might be inside that car.
He had decided, irrationally, that he didn't want her to see how he had locked the front door and secreted the key under a small rock nearby. No watch, no keys, no wallet. He had even removed his wedding ring. No socks even, just the slip on shoes he used around the yard. He was glad now, that he had been so cautious.
She unfolded herself out of her little car and inspected him. She was wearing a raincoat, not buttoned shut, loosely belted to show that there was nothing underneath it. "Good," she said, rubbing the fuzz that was left on his head, "good." She rubbed her hand across his face, his head, his chest, assuring that they were smooth. She sniffed under his armpits. She put a hand under his shorts, triggering an immediate erection. That hand went back to feel how loose his asshole was, still greased with the lube. He blushed at the thought of his unseen audience, in that other vehicle.
"Very good." She noticed his embarrassment. "What, you are already blushing like a virgin? What do you think you will be doing, once we arrive?"
"Fucking," he said, trying to be cocky.
"Being fucked," she corrected. "You do not understand how you have been trained?"
"I understand."
"You will be fucked in all possible ways. You will be fucked in ways that do not seem possible. You well be well rewarded for your efforts." She paused. "Well, are you getting in the car?"
"Yes."
She had put down a towel to cover the leather seat. "Be careful," she said. "This is my husband's car. He is very protective of it."
"He permits you to drive it?"
She snorted. "None of this is done with the permission of my husband. Come, let us proceed."
"What about Brian?"
"He will arrive on his own."
He had expected that they would turn right at the entrance of the neighbourhood, to go down to the main highway, but instead she went left, back into the woods. There wasn't much up that way, at least not this time of day, this time of year. No snow yet for the ski center. Too chilly for the fair. There had been Halloween hayrides for a few weeks, in the evening, but they were over now.
"You film here?" It was a silly question. As they pulled into the central square of the fairgrounds, there were a dozen people waiting for them.
"What do you think? Take off your shorts." She looked at the muddy ground outside the car. "You can retain the shoes."
Everyone else was fully clothed. Rather heavily clothed, for that matter. She saw his hesitation. "It is tradition," she said. "You will understand." She paused. "I must present you, for evaluation."
"Evaluation?"
"To determine that you will be suitable."
"Your word is not enough?"
"My friend, I do not finance these ventures. I am, how do you say it, an employee? My recommendation has great influence, but I do not make the final decisions." She turned his face so that he was looking directly into those dark eyes. "You will do well for me." He could not tell if it was an assurance, or a command.
He pulled off the shorts, and got out of the car, provoking a few whistles from the onlookers. Karina took his arm and led him over to a large, burly man with a ragged grey beard. He was wearing a chequered beret, smoking a cigar. Impersonating a director, Tom thought. The man had seen too many old movies. He thought he was Orson Welles. The men who had been in the car trailing Karina had joined him -- two burly men in dark suits. The kind of men you imagined with pistols in a shoulder holster underneath that suit jacket.
"Karina," he said, with an accent that seemed Russian, "what have you brought for us today?" He walked up, Tom assumed for a handshake, but instead he stuck his hand under Tom's balls. He stroked enough to provoke an erection. "Not bad." He ran his hands over Tom's arms and shoulders. "Nice smooth muscles. Like a woman. Slap some breasts on him, he'll do nicely."
"Do not be deceived," Karina said, "he is very strong."
"He has used his superior strength upon you?" It was one of the guards who snarled that. She had a swollen lip from where Tom had slapped her. Karina winced, Tom blushed. "Bastard!" The slap hit Tom's face so unexpectedly that he was simply stunned.
"Sergei!" the director snapped.
"I do not like men who use their strength upon women. Perhaps," the guard snarled, "it would be of interest to see how well you fare against the strength of a real man."
