When the dreams, or nightmares came, they came in sequence. One after the other, four nights in a row. In each dream, Ned was spread out on an examination table, naked. His wrists and ankles were securely fixed at the corners, and he was gagged with what looked like silver duct tape. Ned had been on the table for a long time, but he didn't know how long, because he had been drugged. In the dream, he remembered walking into a building, following a lead, and slapping at what he thought was a mosquito at his neck. He passed out to the sound of a deep voice saying "it's all over, Ned. ALL OVER. Now, you're in my hands."
The dreams opened with Ned on the table, and a figure standing over him. He couldn't see the figure's face, but he could hear his voice, and he could feel his hand, expertly sliding up and down Ned's cock, which was as hard as Ned could ever remember it being. The voice was very clear: "When you give me the code numbers, Ned, then I'll give you release. And then... ha ha, you'll be mine." Ned tried to scream, but the tape was too tight, and if he squirmed too much, the hand simply tightened on his cock until he relaxed.
"The codes, please," the voice repeated, and Ned kept on refusing. His cock got harder, and harder and harder. It was hurting when the dream began, and it hurt more and more as it went on. He couldn't take it. Finally, when the voice repeated "the codes, please" Ned whimpered, and shook his head yes.
"Excellent, Ned, excellent. Now, this will hurt just a bit. Serves you right for having such a sexy beard. Once you give me the numbers, my principles will test them. If you've told the truth, then you'll get release, and we'll move on to the next step. If you don't, I'm afraid I will have to try something more severe than tormenting your cock. Do you understand?"
Again, a defeated Ned shook his head yes. The figure's hand moved up to his face and slowly removed the tape. The slow removal took a few of Ned's beard hairs with the tape, and Ned's cock got even harder. "Take a breath, Ned, and give me the numbers one at a time. Speak clearly please."
Ned didn't remember what the five numbers were, and it hardly mattered. He could see the figure leaving and he yelled "HEY. WHAT HAPPENS NOW?" The man turned around and chortled. "You'll find out. One way or the other." His tormentor was gone for about ten minutes, during which Ned struggled against the ropes, to no avail. He didn't understand why his cock stayed as hard as it did. Finally, the man came back. He put his hand on Ned's cock and began stroking.
"You didn't disappoint me, Ned. You'll get your release before we move on."
"What, what do you mean by moving on?" Ned asked before he shut his eyes and gave himself up to the bliss he was feeling. Whomever this was, he was exceptionally good at what he did. It was far better than any hand job Ned had ever gotten from a woman or a man.
"My agreement with my principles, Ned, was very simple. After they captured you, I would be in charge of getting the information they wanted. If I succeeded, I could do whatever I wanted with you. If I did not, well, you'd be in their hands. Now, excuse the pun but, you're in mine." That hand started pumping a bit faster and Ned could feel himself getting closer and closer.
"You have such beautiful chest hair, Ned, and I know it makes you strut around like a bantam rooster. On one level, it'll be a shame for it to go. On another level, it's your first step in your new life."
"What new life? WHAT NEW LIFE" Ned stopped speaking as he lost complete control and ejaculated like he had never cum before. His captor laughed. "I should have kept you gagged, Ned. You could wake up the dead with your screams." Those screams faded to moans, and then whimpers.
"Please let me go. I gave you what you wanted," Ned begged.
"Ah, no. You gave my EMPLOYERS what THEY wanted. You'll be giving me what I want for a long, long time. Now, let's get this cleaned up and then get to work on that chest hair."
All four of the dreams began this way, but then they changed for a portion. In each one, Ned lost his body hair. Again, the sequence was always the same. In the first one, his captor brought shaving soap and clippers to the examination table and shaved him smooth. In the second one, the one that always got to Ned the most, the captor poured melted red wax all over his chest, and when it cooled, tore it away with Ned's hair. In the third one, his captor took out some kind of electric or ultraviolet wand of some kind, and Ned watched as his hair crinkled up, turned into powder, and blew away. The last one had Ned shirtless, his hands behind his back, tied, and more duct tape on his mouth, on display in front of about 30 other men. After those four variations, the dreams all continued the same way. His captor would say, again in that deep, low voice, "I LOVE fucking a shaved man," before he untied Ned's ankles and lifted up his legs. Ned always woke up just before the captor entered him with his cock, and each time, his body was covered with his own jizz: he had cum during the dream. And he always came most violently during the one where the captor used the hot wax.
Ned wouldn't be able to get back to sleep after the dreams, so he'd throw on some clothes and search the internet to see if he could find something, anything, to help him to understand what was happening. He was always frustrated when he had to stop and get to work. He found nothing. And if his mind drifted back to the dream during the day, he'd get hrd again.
Remember above when you read "any" hand job Ned had gotten? That's because after dating women for nearly 20 years, Ned had his first gay experience and he found out that men were much more interesting to him, and he seemed to be more interesting to men, than to women. As a secret agent, he had to be very careful about what he did, and with whom he did it, but he was able to get some action, although he had never had anything like what went on in the dream happen to him.
He HAD been captured, once. It had been three years ago. He didn't know that his target was watching him, and he had fallen into a trap to a notorious counter agent, who was only known as "Evans." He had felt a leather gloved hand come from behind, covering his mouth while something hard pressed against his hip.
"If you don't want to venture as to whether that's a gun or a part of my anatomy, Ned, you'll do what I say. GOT IT?" Evans pulled Ned's head back painfully and Ned gave a weak assent.
"Good. Now lean up against the wall. Take the position. Let's do a COMPLETE body pat down." Ned remembered how thorough it had been, and how Evans laughed when his gloved hand brushed the front of Ned's body, touching his dick and saying, "seems you like this as much as I do, huh Ned?"
"FUCK OFF" Ned had yelled back. He felt Evans grab for his cuffs. "Behind your back, Ned. Don't try anything clever." Ned felt the cuffs clink around his wrists and then he heard the big laugh from Evans.
"What're your buddies gonna say when they found out you let a guy with a banana take you down?"
"FUCK!" Ned yelled. "You fucking...mmmmph" the hand went back over Ned's mouth.
"Oh, you still don't know if I have a gun, Ned. Maybe I'm just screwing around with your head, stud. "He heard a piece of tape ripped from a roll and artlessly slapped across his lips. "DAMN you are one fine specimen, Ned. I wish I were equipped to take you now, but... just remember Evans likes you. And I'll be back for you. One day when you least expect it, but I WILL be back." Ned felt another cloth go over his nose. This one smelled sweet and he blacked out. The next thing he new his partner, Perry, was smacking him back to consciousness. "SONOFABITCH. We almost had Evans, Ned." He asked that after he made sure Ned was ok. Perry, about as normal a hetero guy as possible, hadn't noticed the hard on Ned had.
Ned had worked at an accounting firm before he was recruited, in his mid-20s, by an intelligence agency known only as "Scios." At first, he was more of an analyst type than a field agent. He didn't acknowledge it, but the stories the field agents told when they were back "home" got him interested, especially the stories about the capture of the enemy agents, and of the capture and escape (most of the time) of friendly agents. He had asked his supervisor once, what happened to agents who didn't escape. The supervisor had shrugged his shoulders, looked away, and said "we don't really talk about that. They're on their own if they can't get away." The younger Ned immediately conjured up a vision of one of these guys, kept in chains in a prison: dirty, unshaven, and tortured regularly. On the one hand, the images intimidated him. On the other hand, they also excited him. He applied to become a field agent and, after 3 years of training, he started work. He was very good at it. The skills he had acquired when he was an accountant came in handy when he was analyzing a problematic case. His solid, masculine looks and manner, plus his smile, helped more than a bit when he was trying to get information from sources. By the time he was 35, Ned had cracked, or help crack, more than 15 major cases. That made him very valuable, both to his agency, and to enemy forces. He was being watched: that he knew, but he was well trained, and the slip-up when he had been captured gnawed at him: he was not going to let that happen again.
A few days after the latest series of dreams Mannis, his supervisor, called Ned and three other agents to a meeting. He informed the four agents that they were aware of what appeared to be a plan to steal radioactive material, but they were skeptical. As Mannis put it "we think it's probably a deep code for something else and we're trying to figure out what that is. I'll provide more information as I get it. For now, each of you open the envelope you have. Those are the names of your contacts. There will be four sub cells of three agents. None of you will know everyone, but you'll know your two contacts. Now that is all for now. Be careful when you proceed because we also have a feeling that we're being watched."
They left at different times. Mannis was right: they WERE being watched. As they left, a figure hiding in a nearby alley took a photo of each of them. Those photos went back to Greiner, who looked at each of them. He smiled because he knew who each of the agents were. "Ned Hemmings in the group. He's the weakest link. That's where we focus. Call Evans. I think he'll want to be involved in this."
"Hmmm. You mean Hemmings is still working? How interesting." One of Evans big regrets was that he didn't get a chance to work over Ned the time he had captured him. He had been sent out to "neutralize" any of the Scios' agents he encountered. When he had broken Ned's cover, he didn't expect to be as attracted to him as he had been. It was a golden opportunity: he could do his job, get paid, and still have a shot at the kind of man he liked best: on the short side, muscular, hairy. There was also a sort of swagger about him that Evans appreciated: the kind of guy who needed to be taken down a notch or two, something else he enjoyed doing. Evans specialty for the organizations he worked for, was interrogation. There were very few agents who had the instinct for weaknesses in another man: Evans just seemed to know them. One fellow agent had joked that his nickname should be "Achilles" since he could always be counted on to figure out a man's Achille's heel. He recalled that encounter with Ned: from the way he had moved when Evans had him hand gagged, and when he bound him, he had some ideas as to what to do to Ned to get him to give up whatever he wanted to know. He just didn't get a chance to try them out.
He listened to "Green's" proposal. He wasn't a part of Green's agency, so he didn't know his real name -- very few people did -- and he didn't want to. Green was offering him 250k to interrogate Ned if he could be captured. "Ned captured" went through Evan's mind.
"I have a counteroffer, Mr. Green" Evans responded. "I don't know what you do with agents once you've extracted information from them, and I don't really care. What I care about, is Hemmings. Let's just say we have a history. I'll make a deal with you: if I break him, my payment is Hemmings himself. No cash."
Green tapped his long fingers on his desk. "Interesting. What if you don't?"
"Then he's yours. Do whatever you like. But has anyone told you what my success rate is?"
"I believe it is 100%, Mr. Evans" came out of the phone.
"That is correct. So, Mr. Green, if you agree to my proposal, perhaps you can have one of your subordinates call me so I can list what items I will need to assist in the interrogation. I work simply so it should not be onerous. And I certainly don't expect a busy man like yourself to take notes on what a proper interrogation chamber should include."
"I must say, Evans, I like your style. Are you interested in capturing Hemmings as well?"
"I thought that was presumed."
"Not necessarily. If he recognizes you, it could make things difficult."
"Rest assured, Mr. Green, it will not."
"Then we have a deal. My assistants will be in touch with you. The details of the chamber, where he should be taken, everything, will be provided to you."
"Have a good day, Mr. Green."
Evans jerked off before he proceeded. The thought that he would have another crack at Ned was more than slightly arousing. He began to think about what he'd do to that hottie. Much of what Ned did was clandestine; however, Evans did not miss an opportunity to stalk Ned. He knew where he lived, he knew where he shopped and socialized and now, he knew what gay bars Ned frequented. The last part of that was new information for him: he had always assumed that Ned was straight. He could have sworn he saw him dating women around town when he WAS in town. Now, though, something had changed. Evans didn't care what it was that had changed. All he knew was that it made his job easier. Stalking a man through gay bars would be much easier than via other means. He didn't know if Ned would recognize him, and he weighed the plusses and minuses of being recognized. The plusses won out. Yes, Ned would be more guarded and careful, but Evans had learned long ago that when you concentrated your mental energy on one area, you necessarily left another area unguarded. He could work with that.
Three days later, Ned was heading to one of the bars he liked best: a place called "Barracks." The name was misleading: Barracks was really a "gentleman's bar," and Ned was dressed in simple, business casual clothes, including his trademark camel color leather jacket. People knew him, but they new him as "accountant Ned," the guy who worked downtown at one of the big houses. As he mingled, a bottle of beer in his hand, he caught a glimpse of a man who looked vaguely familiar out of the corner of his eye. He looked up, and he saw the man standing in the corner.
"If he weren't wearing glasses, he could be that guy from a few years ago: Evans" he thought. "Is he staring at me?" Ned wondered, and then turned to talk to one of his friends who had just come up to him. When he turned around, the guy he thought was Evans was gone. "Just my mind playing tricks on me," he thought. That night, the series of dreams came back to him only this time, he saw the face of the figure. Yes, it was Evans. And his orgasm was even stronger than it usually was.
It was a couple of days later, when Ned was out running errands, that he saw the man he thought was Evans again. He was across the street, standing against a wall, hands in his pants pockets, smiling. A large truck drove by and again, the man was gone. "He's looking for me," Ned thought. "Maybe I should just give up," went through his head very quickly before he dismissed it. He needed to get home. He was in desperate need of jerking off. Then a week later, when Ned got his paper in the morning and opened it, there was a note on a yellow "sticky." This was usually the way Mannis contacted him. Ned didn't know who the man who delivered his paper was, but assumed he, too, was an agent for Scios. This time, though, the note was NOT from Mannis. All it said was "It's been too long. I'm watching you," and it was signed "E."