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Chapter 30: Layers of Lies Clearview University Medical. Steighn wing, on-call waiting room. 23:36 MST. 31-Oct-20XX. REDACTED location. The call room felt smaller the longer Tex sat in it. The television mounted high in the corner was turned low, but the flicker of emergency footage washed across the walls in pale blue flashes. Helicopter shots of downtown streets. Police lights. A reporter speaking too quickly, trying to keep up with information that clearly hadn’t been sorted yet. Tex leaned forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, Trevor’s laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. On the TV the anchor said something about multiple incidents across the city. The chyron read: BREAKING: POLICE RESPONDING TO SEVERAL DISTURBANCES “…witnesses describing groups of men wearing what they’re calling black Venom-style costumes,” the reporter continued. “Authorities have not confirmed if these incidents are related…” Tex let out a quiet breath through his nose. Venom costumes. Sure. Across the room Elias stood near the door, arms folded, watching the television with a tight expression. Trevor leaned against the desk beside him, rereading the email on the laptop screen. The subject line sat there quietly. Follow Up on New HIV Drug Trials Tex dragged two fingers down the trackpad and scrolled slowly through the message again. Dr. Clark Grant’s tone was clinical, controlled—but there was urgency buried under the wording. The kind that didn’t match what Trevor had said about the man earlier. “Guy sounds nervous,” Tex muttered. Trevor shook his head slightly. “Clark Grant doesn’t do nervous.” Tex looked up. “Yeah, working with him, he was basically a robot.” “Emotionally,” Trevor said. “Brilliant. Cold. The only time I ever saw him show real emotion was when Julian died.” That name hung there again. Julian Marek. Even Tex, who had only heard the story less than an hour earlier, could feel the gravity behind it. The same name on the grave that Tex had found Grant talking to in the graveyard. On the television a shaky cellphone video appeared—club lights flashing, people shouting while someone yelled that something was attacking people outside. The anchor quickly cut away. “Authorities are still trying to confirm details from earlier reports near the InfraRed nightclub…” Tex glanced up at the screen. “Well,” he said dryly, “that escalated quickly.” Elias turned back from the television. “The city hasn’t connected the incidents yet,” he said quietly. “They think it’s gangs or coordinated assaults.” Tex snorted. “Black Venom costumes. If only they knew…” Trevor stepped closer to the couch, refocusing on the laptop. “They’ll figure it out eventually.” “Yeah,” Tex said. “Hopefully after we fix it.” Elias tapped the edge of the coffee table. “Grant didn’t email Helixion,” he pointed out. “Or the government. Or any of the labs connected to the project.” Trevor nodded. “He emailed me.” Tex leaned back against the couch. “Which means he trusted you.” Trevor hesitated, then shrugged faintly. “Or he trusted that I’d pay attention.” Elias gestured toward the screen. “He’s specifically asking about the clinical trial medication.” Trevor’s expression shifted as the implication settled in. Tex caught it instantly. “Oh,” Tex said slowly. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking.” Trevor straightened. “That the cure might already be here.” Elias nodded once. “The experimental HIV treatment,” he said. “If Grant designed the Hellion strain around an HIV viral carrier structure, the antiviral pathway he was researching from before might counter it.” Trevor stared at the email a moment longer. “You saw the email. Clark knew I was overseeing this clinical site,” he said quietly. “He asked me to contact him if there were developments.” Tex raised an eyebrow. “And you just happen to have samples sitting in your office?” Trevor gave him a look. “Toby, I’m a physician running the trial site. Of course I have samples.” Elias looked between them. “If Grant distributed the research fragments the way Tex found in Helixion’s systems… then the medication in Trevor’s office might contain the final piece.” Tex nodded slowly. “The last puzzle piece.” Trevor pushed off the desk, decision settling over him. “And if that’s true,” he said, “then the cure might literally be sitting in my lab.” From the television, the reporter’s voice rose again: “…additional disturbances now being reported near the river district…” Tex stood, adjusting the borrowed lab coat and Trevor’s ID badge clipped to the pocket. “Well,” he said, glancing between them, “guess we should go steal it before the Venom cosplay convention gets any bigger and decides to pay a visit.” Trevor closed the laptop with a quiet click and stood still for a moment, the silence that followed settling heavily over the call room. The muted television in the corner continued to cycle through flashing footage of police lights and helicopter shots over downtown streets. The captions crawled steadily across the bottom of the screen. MULTIPLE INCIDENTS REPORTED ACROSS THE CITY… WITNESSES DESCRIBE MEN IN BLACK VENOM-LIKE COSTUMES Tex watched the captions for a second before muting the television completely. The room fell into a softer, more focused quiet—the kind that made the distant activity of the emergency department easier to hear. Phones ringing. A gurney rolling across tile somewhere down the hall. A faint page echoing over the intercom. Trevor remained standing near the desk, staring at the closed laptop as if still reading the email in his mind. “Okay, assuming you're right, if Grant really was trying to point us somewhere,” he said slowly, “then the answer is probably sitting right here in the hospital.” Elias leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “The trial medication,” he said. Trevor nodded once. “If the Hellion strain really is built around an HIV carrier structure, then the antiviral pathway Grant was working on might disrupt it, or at least buy us time.” Tex leaned forward slightly from the couch. “Do you really think it’s a coincidence you get an email from him like this? And just happen to have doses of that sitting around?” Trevor shook his head. “Not sitting around. Stored properly.” He gestured toward the hallway. “Clinical trial samples are kept with the rest of the study medications in the infectious disease research room. Refrigerated storage unit. Locked.” Tex frowned slightly. “And who has access?” “Me,” Trevor said. “And the nursing staff assigned to the trial.” Elias held out his hand. Trevor opened his backpack and pulled out a small ring of keys before tossing them across the room. Elias caught them without looking. “The research room is about thirty feet down the infectious disease corridor,” Trevor continued. “Stainless steel fridge with a digital lock. All the samples are labeled under the trial protocol.” Tex studied the keys in Elias’s hand for a moment. “How many doses?” “Roughly ten,” Trevor replied. “Enough to test the theory. Although not enough to stop a full blown outbreak.” Elias slipped the keys into his pocket. “That’s going to have to be enough.” Trevor didn’t move immediately. Instead, he looked between Elias and Tex, clearly thinking through the next step. “Unh-uh. I’m going with you,” Trevor said to Elias. Tex raised an eyebrow. “You trust me with the keys but not the labels?” Trevor sighed and shook his head. “I’m the one who knows exactly what the drug looks like, how it’s packaged, and what concentration we’re supposed to have.” He nodded toward the hallway. “If we grab the wrong compound, we lose time we don’t have.” Elias glared, looking as though he was against it. “The sooner you get there, the sooner I can test the cure.” Tex leaned back slightly against the couch, arms resting on his knees. “Exactly,” Trevor said, crossing his arms across his chest. “You’d only waste time trying to fumble around in my lab.” “That leaves me here.” Tex looked over at him. “I should go out there and hold the front line.” “You’re the only one who can hold the line if Krell shows up.” Elias sighed, nodding in agreement. Tex glanced down at the badge clipped to the lab coat. Dr. Trevor Kade — Infectious Disease “No, Toby. Absolutely not.” Trevor said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, technically,” Tex said, tugging lightly at the coat, “I am a doctor.” Trevor crossed his arms. “You’re a virologist, Toby.” “Which still counts.” “Not when someone asks you to treat their appendix.” Tex shrugged. “Eh, I’ll stall. You got minions for that, don’t you?” Elias stepped closer, lowering his voice as he laid his hand on Trevor’s arm. “If Krell arrives while we’re gone, he’s going to try to take control of the situation,” Elias said. “Especially if he finds out who’s here.” Trevor’s expression hardened slightly. “And if I’m out there, that’s not happening,” Tex said quietly. Trevor sighed and finally nodded once. “Fine.” He moved toward the door, slipping his pager into his pocket. “Five minutes,” Trevor said. “And then you come right back in here. And don’t touch any of my patients.” Tex leaned back slightly on the couch. “Fine, Dad. Try not to get lost.” Trevor paused in front of him. “How about you try not to kill any of my patients while you’re pretending to be me.” Tex smirked faintly. “I haven’t killed anyone yet.” Trevor stared at him for a moment. “…You hear the word yet in that sentence, right?” Tex spread his hands slightly. “Bro, I’m keeping expectations realistic.” Elias sighed quietly and opened the door. “Please don’t.” Trevor shook his head and stepped out into the hallway beside Elias. The door swung shut behind them. Tex was alone again. For a moment the room was completely still. He adjusted the borrowed lab coat, straightened Trevor’s badge against his chest, and glanced briefly at the silent television where police lights continued to flash across the screen. Then he leaned back against the couch and waited. It didn’t take long. A knock sounded at the door before it opened and one of the ER nurses stepped inside. “Trevor,” she said, slightly breathless. “There’s some general down in the ambulance bay demanding to speak with you.” Tex closed his eyes briefly. At least the staff who knew his brother were buying the act. And of course General Krell had arrived. Tex didn’t react immediately. He stayed seated on the couch for a moment longer, elbows resting on his knees, staring down at the floor as the nurse waited awkwardly in the doorway. The words settled into place slowly, like pieces of a puzzle sliding into the positions he had already expected. Some general. There was only one person that could be. Tex pushed himself to his feet with a quiet sigh and smoothed the borrowed lab coat down the front. Trevor’s ID badge swung slightly against his chest. “Did he give you a name?” Tex asked. The nurse shook her head. “No, but he’s… very insistent. And frankly… kind of a dick.” Tex nodded slowly. That tracked. “Where is he now?” “Ambulance bay,” she said. “He’s already been arguing with half the staff out there.” Tex ran a hand through his hair and muttered under his breath. “Yeah. That sounds about right.” He grabbed Trevor’s stethoscope from the desk and draped it around his neck more for appearance than anything else. The weight of it completed the illusion well enough. Then he stepped toward the door. “All right,” Tex said. “Let’s go see what the problem is.” The emergency department was louder than it had been minutes before. News of the disturbances spreading across the city had clearly begun filtering in. The waiting room television was no longer muted, and the low hum of reporters speculating about the “men in black venom-like costumes” drifted faintly down the hallway. Staff moved faster now. More patients were arriving. Security had doubled up near the ambulance bay doors. Tex kept his pace measured, walking like someone who belonged there. Someone who had done this a thousand times before. Which Trevor had. When the doors to the ambulance bay slid open, Tex immediately spotted him. General Krell stood near the center of the bay, flanked by a younger aide holding a tablet and a phone. Krell’s posture was rigid, his uniform coat still covered with leaves from outside. His expression had the tight, irritated look of a man who was used to having rooms snap to attention the moment he entered them. Right now, the ER staff were mostly ignoring him. Which seemed to be making him furious. Tex stepped forward. Krell saw him instantly and the reaction was immediate. The general’s expression shifted from irritation to outright anger as he pushed past two nurses and strode toward Tex. “What the hell are you doing here?” Krell barked. Several staff members turned their heads. Tex blinked at him with perfect, calm confusion. “Excuse me?” Krell stopped a few feet away, clearly taken aback by the response. For a brief moment his expression flickered—confusion colliding with certainty. Tex tilted his head slightly. “Are you a patient, sir?” he asked evenly. Krell stared at him. Tex gestured politely toward the waiting area. “If you’re here to be seen, I can have someone get you checked in. This is the ambulance bay, the main entrance is around the corner.” The aide beside Krell looked back and forth between them, visibly unsure what was happening. Krell’s jaw tightened. “…Dr. Vahn,” Krell said sharply. Tex frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said calmly. “I think you’re mistaken.” He tapped the badge on his coat. “Dr. Trevor Kade. Infectious Disease.” For a moment, Krell simply stared at him. Tex could practically see the calculations happening behind the man’s eyes. Recognition. Doubt. The uncomfortable possibility that he might be wrong. Krell recovered quickly. “Yes,” Krell said stiffly. “Of course. My mistake.” Tex folded his arms loosely. “Can I help you with something?” Krell stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly. “I’m here on federal authority,” he said. “There is an active containment situation in this city and this hospital is now under my jurisdiction.” Tex raised an eyebrow. “Is it?” Krell bristled. “Yes.” Tex nodded slowly. “All right.” Then he held out his hand. “Credentials.” Krell blinked. “My what?” “Your credentials,” Tex repeated calmly. “Federal authority requires documentation. If you’re taking control of a medical facility, I’m going to need to see it. Hospital policy is pretty clear about that.” Krell briefly looked like he might explode. Tex remained perfectly still, giving him an expectant look. Behind them, two nurses pretended not to listen while very obviously doing just that. Krell finally produced a badge and flashed it briefly. Tex studied it for a second. “Thank you… General,” he said. Then he handed it back. “Well?” “Well,” Tex said, “that’s very convincing, General… Krell, but this is still my emergency department.” Krell’s expression darkened. Tex gestured toward the hallway. “If you’d like to discuss jurisdiction, I’m happy to meet with you in the ER conference room.” He glanced toward the trauma bays behind him. “Right now I have patients who actually need my attention.” The words were polite. The tone was not. For a moment it looked like Krell might push the issue right there in the ambulance bay. Instead, he exhaled sharply. “Fine,” he said. Tex nodded. “Great.” He pointed down the hallway. “Conference room is the second door on the left. I’ll be with you… when I can.” Krell turned and walked away stiffly, his aide scrambling to keep up. Tex waited until the doors closed behind them. Then he exhaled slowly. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “That probably bought us about five minutes.” —- The conference room door shut behind him with a soft but deliberate click, muting the constant noise of the emergency department outside. Krell remained standing at the end of the long table instead of sitting, one hand resting lightly against the polished surface as he stared through the glass wall into the corridor beyond. Hospital staff moved back and forth in hurried bursts—nurses pushing carts, technicians carrying lab trays, a gurney rattling past with a patient under oxygen. The controlled chaos of an ER in the middle of the night. Ordinarily it would have been the sort of environment Krell could dominate instantly. Tonight it felt different. His assistant hovered nearby with a tablet, watching him cautiously. Krell’s mind replayed the interaction in the ambulance bay again. Dr. Trevor Kade. The name wasn’t the problem. The face was. There had been a moment—brief but unmistakable—where Krell swore he saw the sharp prick of recognition in that infuriating doctor’s face. The calm confidence hadn’t helped, either. The man had stood there, completely unbothered by a federal authority attempting to assert authority in his emergency department. That kind of composure wasn’t typical. His phone vibrated. Krell answered automatically. “Yes.” The voice on the other end was smooth, professional, and completely detached. “General Krell. We’ve reviewed the latest data package you transmitted.” Krell’s posture straightened. “I assume the results were more than satisfactory.” “Satisfactory doesn’t quite cover it.” There was a pause before the voice continued. “The transformation subject designated Zero produced extremely valuable field data. The neurological override, the accelerated muscular restructuring, the infection vector efficiency… it’s precisely what the project needed to confirm.” Krell allowed himself the faintest hint of satisfaction. “The Hellion protocol performs exactly as designed.” “We agree.” The voice lowered slightly. “The board is extremely impressed. Assuming containment remains stable, your reinstatement to full general status is very likely.” The words landed exactly where Krell had hoped they would. The Berlin incident had nearly ended his career—an outbreak spiraling beyond control, diplomatic fallout, years of reputation nearly erased overnight. Hellion was his redemption. “Containment is ongoing,” Krell said calmly. “No confirmed public awareness and no intelligence leaks.” “And Dr. Grant?” “Still being handled.” The call ended shortly afterward. Krell slipped the phone back into his coat pocket and turned toward his assistant. “Updates.” The assistant glanced down at the tablet. “Multiple new incident reports across the city. A convenience store robbery about ten blocks away. Witnesses described the suspects as men wearing black… suits. Several people compared them to Venom from Spider-Man.” Krell’s expression tightened slightly. “We already knew that. Next.” “Multiple assaults reported near a nightclub called InfraRed. EMS responded but one ambulance hasn’t checked back in.” “And Grant?” “Still missing.” The assistant hesitated before continuing. “There’s another detail. The missing ambulance from the nightclub call—GPS tracking shows it arrived here about fifteen minutes ago.” Krell’s gaze shifted toward the hallway again. Everything was converging on the hospital. Convenience store. Nightclub. Ambulance. And still no sign of his precious patient Zero. The infection was spreading faster than projected, and the most important proof-of-concept subject was suddenly outside Krell’s immediate control. That was unacceptable. “Stay here,” Krell said. He stepped out of the conference room and headed back toward the emergency department. The ER had grown noticeably busier. Televisions now showed live coverage from around the city—reporters describing multiple disturbances and confused eyewitness accounts of “men in black venom-like costumes.” Staff members clustered near nursing stations watching the reports while still moving through their work. The narrative was forming, but no one had connected the incidents yet. Krell walked through the corridor with measured purpose. As he turned the corner, he nearly collided with a surgeon emerging from another hallway. They stopped for half a second. The man wore surgical scrubs and a cap, his mask hanging loose around his neck. Tall. Composed. Calm in the way only someone accustomed to crisis could be. Their eyes met. And the feeling returned. That same look of recognition. Not from the hospital. Not from the media. Something deeper in his memory. The surgeon gave him a tense, polite nod and continued walking. Krell turned slightly to watch him go. The shape of the man’s face, the jawline, the eyes— Something clicked. He could swear he saw that face before. In relation to the ER doctor from the ambulance bay. Dr. Trevor Kade. The resemblance was too strong to be coincidence. Krell frowned. Vahn. That irritating virologist from the Helixion containment briefing—Dr. Tobias Vahn. Krell had dismissed him as an academic nuisance, the kind of scientist who asked too many inconvenient questions. A remainder of the Black Sigma team. The man had looked too similar. Krell’s mind began connecting the pieces almost against his will. Vahn. Kade. Two doctors. Two faces that looked nearly identical. A brother. He remembered it suddenly—some offhand comment during a briefing about Vahn having a twin who worked in medicine. Who was married to another Black Sigma team member. Krell’s eyes narrowed. The thought formed slowly. If that really was Vahn in the ambulance bay… Before the idea could fully take shape, his assistant rushed up beside him again. “Sir,” the assistant said urgently, “local media has arrived outside the hospital.” The moment broke. Krell turned away from the hallway. The press mattered more right now. If the infection was spreading faster than projected, controlling the narrative was essential. “Good,” Krell said. “Let’s go talk to them.” The hospital entrance had transformed into a small media circus in the short time since Krell had stepped inside the building. Camera crews had clustered along the sidewalk, bright lights cutting through the cold night air while reporters stood shoulder to shoulder near the barricades security had hastily erected. Microphones lifted the moment Krell stepped out of the doors. The hospital signage glowed behind him, the red emergency lettering reflecting off the polished hoods of satellite vans lining the street. For a brief moment, Krell simply surveyed the scene. The timing was inconvenient—but also useful. If the infection was spreading faster than anticipated, then shaping the public narrative now would determine who controlled the aftermath later. He stepped toward the cameras. “My name is General Anton Krell,” he began, his voice steady and measured. “I’m overseeing federal containment efforts related to several disturbances reported across the city tonight.” The reporters leaned forward immediately. Camera lenses zoomed in. “At this time,” Krell continued, “we believe the incidents are connected to the unauthorized release of a test animal from Helixion Genetics.” The statement caused an immediate ripple through the gathered press. Several reporters began whispering among themselves. “We have identified a person of interest in connection with the release,” Krell said calmly. “A man named Jonathan Blaine. A lead project manager at Helixion.” Pens scratched rapidly across notebooks. “We believe Mr. Blaine intentionally released the animal as an act of domestic terrorism,” Krell continued. “He should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.” One of the reporters raised a hand immediately. “General, witnesses are describing attackers wearing black venom-like suits. Are those individuals connected to the animal?” Krell allowed a brief pause, giving the illusion of careful consideration. “Our working theory is that Mr. Blaine may have been wearing specialized protective equipment while handling the animal. It’s possible that bystanders mistook this equipment for some kind of costume.” The explanation was vague enough to satisfy curiosity without revealing anything useful. Another reporter spoke up. “General, are you confirming that Helixion Genetics lost control of a dangerous experimental organism?” Krell kept his expression neutral. “What I’m confirming,” he said evenly, “is that federal authorities are actively working to contain the situation and ensure public safety.” He allowed the tension to linger before finishing. “We ask that the public remain calm and report any suspicious activity to local law enforcement immediately.” The press conference ended quickly after that. The reporters already had what they needed—a suspect, a cause, and the promise of a larger story developing overnight. As Krell stepped away from the cameras, the faintest hint of satisfaction crossed his face. The groundwork was set. If the situation spiraled further, the blame would land exactly where he wanted it. Jonathan Blaine. Domestic terrorism. A single reckless employee responsible for everything. Krell adjusted his coat and exhaled slowly. But the calm lasted only a moment. Because the thought from earlier returned. Dr. Trevor Kade. The face. The resemblance. Dr. Tobias Vahn. Kade… that name seemed too familiar as well. Krell’s mind replayed the moment again in sharp detail. The man had looked exactly like the virologist from Black Sigma. The calm deflection. The refusal to acknowledge him. The way he had immediately pushed Krell into the conference room rather than allowing him near the trauma area. Krell’s eyes narrowed slightly. If that really had been Vahn… Then the situation inside the hospital was far more complicated than he had originally assumed. He turned back toward the entrance. “Get me everything you can on Dr. Trevor Kade,” Krell told his assistant quietly. “Now.” The assistant nodded, already typing. Krell walked back toward the ER doors, irritation simmering beneath his controlled exterior. Because if Tobias Vahn was inside that hospital pretending to be his brother— then Krell had just walked straight into someone else’s secret little operation. And that meant the night was about to get far more interesting.

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Chapter 10: One Year In Thor, Farouk, and Kristian all found their businesses, and their incomes, going from strength to strength during the latter half of the year. Thor and Farouk certainly did more actual travelling in pursuit of new clients, but when Kristian did take a week off for a vacation in Thailand, he was able to travel deluxe and first class all the way at next to no cost, thanks to the credits he had built up with various travel suppliers. As October approached, all three of them were wondering more frequently whether they would make the cut, get approved for another Christmas party, and for another year of progress. Thor in particular found his growing preoccupation strange. It wasn’t as if he had ever lacked for sexual hook-ups, so that couldn’t be the reason why. Could it? His mind was slowly awakening to the fact that the pursuit of wealth had become his main career path, with all the hot sex a considerable side fringe benefit of the line of work which he had chosen. At his last monthly statement, he realized that his net worth had already more than doubled to a mind-boggling total amount of some 4 million Norwegian kroner, equivalent to nearly 400,000 Euros. Even with that sterling success, he still felt uncertain. Thor was amused, and bemused, in equal parts when he caught himself deliberately holding the last two weeks of October open from any business or personal commitments -- just in case, as he frequently reminded himself. His speculation came to an end on the 18th of October when he got a message from Lars: >Free for a 5-night stay in Malta, leaving tomorrow morning? Thor replied at once: > Yes, no problem. In a moment, the reply came: > Someone’s eager. Join me at usual hotel, Suite 2403, tonight at six. At six o’clock sharp, Thor stepped off the elevator with his bag in tow and knocked on the door of 2403. Lars opened it, drew him in, and welcomed him with a hot kiss and an immediate grope of Thor’s crotch – which at once shot to full erection. “Just as I said, someone’s eager.” Thor laughed as he gave Lars a meaningful squeeze of his firm butt. “Funny, you don’t seem too annoyed by that.” “Early or late dinner tonight?” “Late definitely.” By now Thor was working at pulling down the zipper to release Lars from the confines of his immaculate tailored trousers. Lars, for his part, was already busily unbuttoning Thor’s shirt and spreading it open to reveal his tanned chest and abs. He dropped his head down and began going to work on Thor’s nipples, licking and sucking in a way that got Thor moaning almost at once. Meanwhile, Thor now had Lars bulging noticeably out of the open fly of his trousers, the bright red briefs plainly straining to hold everything in. In only a couple more minutes, they were both fully undressed and naked on the bed, with Lars lying on his face and Thor stretched out on top of him, embedded deep inside his mentor’s hole, and already well on his way with building up to the kind of rapid-fire fucking that precedes a hot breeding. Lars was fully into the scene too, clenching his ass repeatedly to excite Thor even more. He might be a masterful top, but he wasn’t at all averse to being fucked hard and deep by a hot young guy with a thick, long tool and the skills to use it thoroughly. In fact, Lars was getting so wound up that he could tell he was going to cum hands-free, provided that Thor kept up his end of the bargain. Thor seemed almost to be reading his older partner’s mind, as he heaved up onto his extended arms and began doing high-voltage pushups inside Lars, stretching his ass open as he drove himself towards the finish line. It took only a few seconds longer, as the skilled manipulations of an experienced fuckhole drove Thor rapidly up to and over the brink. With a loud groan, he thrust deep inside Lars, repeatedly rabbit-punching as his cock pulsed and pumped and shot his cum all the way up into Lars. As he did so, he heard through the roaring in his ears the loud cry Lars gave as his own cock blew out his sperm all over the bed under his body. As soon as Thor removed his cock and patted Lars on the ass, Lars rolled over, seized his hand, and snapped, “Shower, now!” “What’s the big hurry?” “Business meeting tonight, before dinner, so we need to get on with it.” Once they were both dried off and dressed, Lars planted Thor into a chair and then sat down across from him. Thor realized that this was going to be the “business meeting,” and that Lars was going to do something which he almost never did. He was going to explain things. Well, some things. “You’ve made a good start, Thor. You guessed correctly what the Club expected of you, and you’re well on your way with that first phase. That’s why you’re being invited back for another Christmas gathering at the Caribbean resort. “You’ve done well, but some others have not. Some of your fellow first timers from last year won’t be back – not now, not ever. At each stage, it’s one chance only or you’re out, and there are always the ones who don’t measure up to our expectations – each year. “Since you have made the cut, for this year, I need to tell you plainly that you are now subject to the Club’s secrecy rule, or at least you will be if you decide to continue.” Lars handed him a paper and watched as he read it over from beginning to end. Thor had no trouble grasping the basic idea of keeping everything quiet, but the comprehensive nature of all the rules was a bit daunting. Nothing learned in confidence from any full member or senior apprentice was ever to be shared with anyone. “Anyone” was defined as other members, other apprentices, friends, relatives of any degree, personal partners, business associates or partners, clients, or any of the above pertaining to any other member or apprentice of the Club. The existence of the Club itself was never to be disclosed to any non-member. The same restriction applied to any description of the Club’s activities. Nothing whatsoever was to be disclosed at any time to any apprentice lower in seniority than himself. This promise was binding for life. Thor read it all the way through twice, before looking up at the impassive face of Lars. “I understand.” “Good. You’ll be asked to make a sworn oath to that effect tomorrow night after dinner.” Lars took the paper, folded it twice, and fed it into a portable shredder which he took out of his bag. He swept up the resulting confetti, put it into a ziptop plastic bag, sealed it, and pocketed it. The next day, as they unpacked in a deluxe resort suite in Malta, Thor enjoyed the feeling of being in a warmer place without any need to fly for hours and hours or cross multiple time zones. The dinner which he went to with Lars was attended only by the second-time apprentices (seven of them in all) and their mentors. Thor was relieved to see both Farouk and Kristian in attendance, but he certainly noted with regret the absence of Miles and Benny. During dinner, the Club Governor spoke informally, but at some length, about the importance of each apprentice growing his own influence and power in whatever area of work he decided to pursue. After dinner, the seven apprentices lined up and were called forward one by one to sign the oath of membership, with each one’s signature witnessed by the Club Governor and by the apprentice’s mentor. After the oath, their mentor members dismissed them before continuing their own discussions. Thor, Farouk, and Kristian convened in Kristian’s suite, ordering up some single-malt Scotch from room service. Thor opened the discussion. “I’m sure that speech was a deliberate hint or pointer for our benefit.” “Agreed,” Kristian added. “I’m sure we’ve all noticed that nothing ever happens just by accident around this Club, even when it seems a bit random at first.” The others nodded their agreement. “Gents,” Farouk put in, “we certainly want to keep our eyes and ears open for any more hints this week, and at Christmas, and share them with each other.” Their ready agreement showed that all three of them had heard and understood the message about “one chance only,” loud and clear. All three of them also knew that knowledge was still their only weapon in trying to unravel the mysteries of the Christmas Club. Kristian downed the rest of his Scotch. “Okay, that’s enough serious business for tonight. We have other things to worry about right now.” As he said this, his hand started rubbing the front of his trousers, causing a rapid growth of the contents. As soon as they caught his meaning, both Thor and Farouk stood up and began stripping. In just a minute or so all three of them were down to their underwear, and three cocks were proudly tenting the front of a boxer brief (Farouk), a micro brief (Thor), and a thong (Kristian). Thor took just one moment to ask if this was okay with Kristian’s mentor. Kristian laughed. “Erik got his own room. He says I breathe too loudly for him to sleep. It’s all good.” With that, Kristian dropped to his knees to begin making the acquaintance of the sizable meat stick straining the waistband of Farouk’s white boxer briefs. He lifted the waistband clear of the bulbous head, and then grasped the shaft, pulling it down like the lever on a slot machine, until the briefs were resting down below on Farouk’s balls. At this point, the entire huge shaft was pointing right at Kristian’s mouth and he murmured, “Biggest one I’ve ever had” before he wrapped his eager lips right around Farouk’s cock, the head already oozing precum. Nor was Thor hanging idle. He’d already pulled his own briefs off and now he straddled Kristian’s back, thumping his cock against Kristian’s shoulder to demand a share of the attention. Kristian grasped his tool and began jacking it slowly as he took Farouk deeper into his throat. Then he pushed sideways with his hand until Thor, getting the message, stepped around the side to stand shoulder to shoulder with Farouk. Now both of their cocks were jabbing at Kristian’s mouth as he worked back and forth between them. Kristian loved worshipping more than one at a time, and these two were both real beauties. Farouk seized his jaw and forced him back down onto his own tool, at the same time commanding Kristian to “look at me, Kristian.” Kristian looked up as he deep-throated Farouk, in time to see Thor and Farouk making out with each other with wild lusty energy. When Thor tried to get his tool back into the mouth action, though, Farouk objected. “Come on, Thor, I got his mouth first. Find someplace else to stick your cock.” Kristian immediately took the hint, rising up onto all fours and then giving his ass an extra thrust upwards. Thor moved around behind him, spit on his hand, rubbed the spit over Kristian’s hole (which was already glistening with lube), and then planted his cock and started pushing in. Kristian groaned but Farouk gave his face a slap. “Shut up and deep throat me.” Kristian struggled to keep his moans down as he returned to Farouk with new energy at the same time that Thor was opening him up and taking him deep and hard from behind. In moments, Thor and Farouk were both pounding hard, tenderizing Kristian in both his holes while Kristian struggled to breathe, and suck, and squeeze all at once. Kristian was in absolute ecstasy getting spitroasted and taken all the way to pig heaven by his two friends. This was the best ride he’d had in ages, even better than the two times he’d gotten the works from the twins. It seemed like no time at all to all three of them (although it was a solid fifteen minutes of heavy-duty fucking) before Farouk finally grunted that he was going to cum. Kristian redoubled his efforts on Farouk’s hefty club until Farouk grabbed his head and forced it all the way down onto himself. Kristian convulsed and choked and gulped as Farouk’s huge load jammed up in his throat. The sight of Kristian taking it all gave Thor a sudden burst of energy and he hammered away even harder until his cock exploded inside his friend’s busy ass pussy. Then, after a quick breather, they switched ends, doing it all again with Farouk breeding Kristian deep and full while Thor blasted another massive load down the Dane’s busy throat. Kristian cried out and blew several streams of cum across his body as the other two used and filled him. On the final night of their stay, they found it amusing to experience the first meeting with the new apprentices from the viewpoint of inside experience. Thor in particular realized that he was now wearing the exact same facial expression of ironic amusement which he had seen on the senior apprentices last year. Here came the newest of the new, their eyes flicking back and forth as they ticked up the same points he had noticed a year ago – an older man for every young guy, no women in sight anywhere, the square tables set for eight, and the way that none of the young apprentices were seated at the same table as their respective mentors. Now, though, Thor himself was noticing new things. Their mentors had plainly noted the fact that he, Kristian, and Farouk had formed a team of sorts, so they were also separated from each other. Finally, Thor spotted the older apprentice who had given them their first hint the previous year at Christmas, now a full member. He walked over and took the seat right beside Thor. “Hello, Thor. I remember seeing you last year. Marcel.” As they shook hands, Thor made a mental note to try to spend some time with Marcel. Even through his clothes, it was plain that he had an incredible body and a generous bulge in his tailored trousers. They shook hands as they sat down. Across the corner of the table from him was a member he had not formally met the previous year although they certainly been scoping each other out – Xolani. The African stud gave him a provocative smile and murmured “This year for sure.” Thor felt his body quivering. It was shaping up to be a very interesting Christmas indeed. Across the room, Lars positively grinned as he watched Thor falling under the spell of Xolani, as wide-eyed as any newbie visiting a gay bar with dancers for the first time. The rest of the evening – the dinner, toasts, and the speech from the Governor – passed off much the same as before. Again, Thor was amused to see the eyes of the junior apprentice across the table, plainly calculating when the Governor gave his signature closing line: “I will look forward to seeing all of you again in two months’ time, gentlemen.” And then, in no time at all (as it seemed) they were back in the private resort near Barbados. This year, the experienced apprentices went through all the steps of the process with no questions and no uncertainty. When it came time to go for the first afternoon in the party wing, Thor realized that he and Farouk had both been given the same rooms as last year. When he mentioned it, Kristian said that he, too, had been put in the same place. Yes, it was a familiar setting. Thor remembered all the ins and outs of the lighting controls, the various bells and whistles of the multi-jet shower, the method for working the door sign. He set the sign to the green light, and then lay down on the bed, his cock erect, and waited. In a few minutes, he heard the sound of the door opening. No nerves this year, haha!, he thought. His face broke out into a powerful come-hither smile as Marcel walked into the room, his shirt already more than half unbuttoned. “Want some help?” Thor was already up and off the bed, drawing Marcel towards him as he locked his fingers into the hunky Frenchman’s waistband while Marcel tossed his shirt aside. It’s going to be a great week, his mind confirmed as his fingers quickly went to work.

Oh wow... no limits (save for scat) and no safeword... I am looking forward to hearing just how wrecked and broken bfb becomes... and he now knows for sure that his fate is sealed. Thank you @thescribe730... please keep this up 😈

Bio Weekend 3-5th , I’ll be there all weekend taking as many loads as possible,anyone else on here going?

Chapter 13 - Making a Sale He wished he had thought to wear just a little make-up. Like that certain beautiful Russian boy who had so impressed him it seemed ages ago. Jordyn wanted to catch the men's attention just as the Russian had captured his. Just as the Russian had captured the attention of the men who had fucked him and bred him. Jordyn felt his breathing speed up a little and the blood pulse through his body. He recognized his excitement and knew what he had to do. He'd made the right choice in ditching his jeans for a pair of daisy dukes. It was an even better choice to lose his hoody and just wear his ultra-faggy white T that he'd cropped to expose his flat pale lower torso. With his leggings he was obviously wearing something very close to a girl's outfit but he knew that he still, just about, presented as masculine. He didn't look like a girl and he didn't look trans, he looked like a boy who knew his role in life was to be fucked by men. To be a hole and to be moulded into who he needed to be by real men. The look was perfect! On his Owner's signal that the camera was filming Jordyn suddenly got up from his seat and instead perched himself on the edge of the table, letting his legs swing freely. "You want to take a seat so we can do this filming." Jerome's tone was hard to define. "I prefer it up here." "I have the camera set up ready for you seated. So best you sit back in the chair." "Nah - I like it here and you can move the camera." It felt odd for Jordyn to be talking back to his Owner and it didn't really feel right - but it was sort of fun. Especially because it meant he could talk REALLY faggy. "You going to sit in that chair or not?" Now Jerome sounded a little more pissed. "No I'm not and you can't make me!" Jerome went to the camera and adjusted it. Once he saw the lens pointing up into his face Jordyn gave it his cheekiest grin. He kept swinging his legs and moved a hand up to smooth some hair behind his ear before taking a lock and twirling it in his fingers, He looked into the lens, knowing that it was live, and imagined the men who would watch him. He sent them a smile of pure almost girlish beauty and an enthusiastically faggy wave. "Hi!" "You going to behave now?" "Don't I always behave?" He giggled and looked down at his swinging legs. They looked so much better out of those jeans so he could show off his pink-and-white hooped knee-highs. "But I said you couldn't make me!" He stuck his tongue out at the camera. Even as he did it he wondered if he wasn't perhaps going a little too far! Jerome, behind the camera, gave him a look. Not perhaps the sort of look that Jordyn might have expected or feared. Neither a conspiratorial look nor an angry look. Just a look that seemed to say, 'I'll let this go for now but there will be consequences.' That look couldn't help but put a shiver into the young man's soul. However, he knew that it was too late now. He had made his choice. Now he could only go on as he had begun. Jerome stayed behind the camera, simply checking to ensure the machine was properly set up and recording. A glimpse at the screen told him what he had known would be the case. The camera loved the little faggot. When Jerome spoke his voice was low and measured, as if he had forgotten what had occurred before. "So tell the men watching who you are and why we are here." "I'm Jordyn and I'm here to invite you all to my party. What do you call it? Oh yes - My Breaking In Party!" A girlish giggle of the purest delight. "It's going to be such fun!" Jordyn gave his best coquettish look at that all-seeing, all-recording, camera lens. "I hope you will all be able to come." "How many guests do you want at your party? As the host you will have certain duties." Jerome's tone was dry. It was obvious how the younger man had chosen to play this. Well - the little fag would have to be ready to take the consequences. Jordyn made his eyes big for the camera and shook his head. "I don't know. I've never done anything like this before. What do you think would be best?" "Well Jordyn since you are young and inexperienced we maybe should keep this a small intimate affair. Select the guests carefully, just a few men I know and trust. Otherwise things could get real out of hand offering a crowd of real men your hole." "My perfect little virgin hole," corrected Jordyn as he fluttered his eye-lashes at the camera and gave his sweetest smile. "Exactly. So maybe we'll have three men for starters." "BORING," yelled Jordyn, "I want at least fifty!" "Five," suggested his owner. "No - fifty!" Jordyn pouted into the camera and Jerome felt his jaded old cock stiffen in his pants. The little fucker was playing his part to perfection. The occasion promised to be real profitable for Jerome, real memorable for his clients and absolutely, positively, unforgettable for this little faggot wannabe slut. "Ten," negotiated Jerome. "I want fifty!" Jordyn kicked his legs and slapped his palms on the table top. If the young man took cock as well as he faked a 'tantrum' then he wouldn't disappoint. "You let fifty real men at an unused hole then they'll wreck it, bust it up and ruin it. Believe me. How about I invite fifty then maybe twenty will show." Jerome's voice was calm; a careful negotiation that Jordyn knew was just as assumed as his own petulance. They were both working towards the same end. "Are most of the men as old as you?" Jordyn gently bit his lower lip as he grinned into the camera. "A lot of them." "Too old to really fuck me hard then. Invite them all." Jerome saw the glint of delighted mischief in Jordyn's eye. The little fucker was really enjoying this. Well - so be it. "I got well over fifty on my list. From twenty year old gang-bangers to seventy year olds. If I invite a man and he shows then you can't be backing out or tapping out. You'd best start a little more gently." "No!" Jordyn was petulantly insistent. "That would be so lame. I want this first time to be amazing, unforgettable. Something that will live with me forever. Invite everyone and I'm going to really misbehave!" The young man was so good at this. Selecting his words very carefully. He could play the game. Except, as Jerome knew, this was no game. "So you understand there are rules." "Who needs rules?" Jordyn flicked a stray hair up off his face. "At any party I arrange there are some rules." Jerome saw Jordyn roll his eyes but ignored it. "First for you - since men will be making the effort to come here then you WILL be here. No flaking and no excuses. We had times when the star of the show chickened out - that doesn't happen any more. You will be here or we will come and get you. A competitor of mine planned two events just recently and they didn't come off. I won't allow that to happen with you. A lot of men have a lot of stored up energy and need a tight hole to use." "Promises, promises," taunted Jordyn as he swung his legs. "But in return you get to set some rules - so things don't get too far out of hand. So you don't get too far out of your depth." "Huh," said Jordyn, "like that's going to happen with a bunch of old men. Are we sure that they can all still get it up?" Jerome smiled. Each and every one of the men in attendance would most surely be proving that as hard as they could - especially after that remark. "So I guess we'd better set some rules. First - you want condoms?" "Fuck no! For the first time it has to be for real, raw, like it should be." "Not scared of HIV? What if any of the men is positive for that?" 'I read on the internet somewhere that you can't catch HIV on your first time. I'm not sure I believe that but it doesn't matter." Jordyn gave a delightfully girlish giggle and skipped off the table to give a little twirl showing off his slim youthful body to the camera, "You can see that I am young and really healthy - I'm sure I'm pretty much immune to infection." He giggled again and looked straight into the camera. "Especially from older guys - I mean I'm so much younger than them, so much fitter, so much healthier and soooooo much hotter! I don't think there's any chance of me catching anything from them and certainly not on my first time. Like I said - I've done my research." "So you've no issue with Poz men coming?" "Of course not – in fact I’d prefer Poz men to be there. I want this night to be really special for me. Thinking someone might be Poz is pretty fun, pretty exciting. I guess they are welcome to take their best shot but more fool them because like I said I'm coming out of this Negative." "So I'm assuming you're on PrEP?" "What's PrEP?" "Just something some people scared of risks take - a sort of insurance." "LAME! BORING! Besides it's not like there's really any risk from a bunch of old men." He held his palms open. "I mean just look at me - you think anything like that could ever happen to someone as cute as me!" "So everyone at my events is legal age and consenting. You got anything else you don't want involved?" Jordyn's brow furrowed and he gave an image of perfect concentration. "I don't think so - except maybe poop. I don't like the idea of poop." "So anything except scat is OK - you happily consent to be the star of the show?" Jordyn beamed a beautiful smile. "I LOVE the idea of being the star of the show. So yes - no poop but otherwise I consent to everything. I'm kind of interested what my guests have planned for me." Jerome laughed for the first time. That low laugh of his that contained a lot more satisfaction and triumph than it did genuine amusement. The one that sent shivers down his little fucktoys' spines. Little would-be femboy fucksluts like Jordyn were always in a hurry but these things took time to arrange. Men would be travelling to an event like this. Some on their own Dollar and some funded by the rich men who made these Pay-Per-Views so very worthwhile. Jerome had put the young man's image out there a few weeks back and he knew there was plenty of interest. But nowadays things were not so simple. Back in the day you could arrange a break-in-breeding party pretty easily. Just get the neg hole to an appropriate venue and nature ran its course. Plenty of men got to enjoy a fuck and one dumb slut maybe got his status changed. Now it was more difficult - but that was what provided the opportunity and the profit for a man like Jerome. People knew Jerome did not front, could never be accused of capping. What he offered was what he provided. If he said there would be unprotected neg cherry hole then that is what there would be. Men needed to know that because getting the other side of the equation together was the real skill. Finding a roomful of High Viral Loads primed and ready to give the star of the show exactly what he deserved. "So we are settled then. You follow my rules to the letter while my guests have no rules except probably no scat and for sure no condoms. Now let's talk about a safe word." "BORING!" Jordyn swung his legs furiously and again made a great point of huffing out his cheeks and rolling his eyes. "Why would I need that? What's the worst that can happen?" "Well a responsible owner would insist on you having a safe word." Jordyn petulantly stuck his tongue out at the camera. "Can't make me!" "OK boy, so be it, you've made your choice." Jerome's voice was smooth and low but Jordyn saw the glint in the older man's eye. Again he wondered if perhaps he might have gone a little too far. "Anything else to say boy?" Jordyn hesitated for a moment but then looked straight into the camera lens. "Not knowing might be fun but I think knowing would be even hotter. I'd like you to only invite poz men - so I'll know my party will be really special. Something I'll always remember and carry with me." Jerome continued but this time he was speaking to the viewers rather than to Jordyn. "You heard what our young friend here wants. Make sure to get here and be ready to ensure that his big night is all he dreams of and a whole lot more." Jerome switched the camera off and touched its screen a few times. "All ready to send to the men who will make this happen. Any second thoughts?" Oh there absolutely were second thoughts. Jordyn knew he had gone too far. Too far in teasing the men but also too far in this whole thing to turn back now. He thought about opening his mouth to say something. Maybe it would be best if... Jerome pressed a button on the camera. "There we go. All settled. That's how we roll faggot. I do the thinking and I make the decisions. You ... well you get fucked." The older man smiled and this time it was a smile of genuine pleasure. Somehow that scared Jordyn more than even his own thoughts. However, he also knew that his fears didn't matter now. It was too late for such things to make the slightest difference ***