I hung up then. I didn't go the extra mile and tell him that danger wasn't just a mental thrill for me, that it put me at my highest sexual arousal. The COS was an ice man; he couldn't understand the sexual heat that danger generated for someone like me. And that this was important to me. It was what I lived for. Even if I'd told him that, he wouldn't have understood. He would always play it safer than I did. But then, that's why he was a chief of station and I never would be.
The message Fazil had left me was sparkling clear to me. But it was just like him to leave a message that only I would understand. Where he had first taken me and fucked me into blissful oblivion was his flat in Kyrenia harbor, the glass-walled cube floating on top of the highest building of the ancient stone warehouses enclosing the quay of the inner harbor. He was telling me he was there and that he was there now. He was summoning me. The "last call" was a reminder that he would only play this cat and mouse game with me for so long without getting his rocks off before he moved on to someone else to dominate. Of course, since it was a cat and mouse game, who could claim the truth of that?
I had no idea why I had built in a margin of at least thirty minutes between my arrival and when the professional find and retrieval squad got into place around his Kyrenia building. And I didn't want to think too hard on why I had done that. He had proven time and again that he could fuck me totally inside twenty minutes and be dressed and on his way to the opera within the next ten. I guess I was still wrapped up in the danger of it and keeping all of my options open.
Perhaps I could talk him out of a good chunk of that time before he either forced my legs open to him or put a bullet between my eyes.
I was only fooling myself on that one, though. Fazil met me on the third-floor landing of his five-story building and overpowered me and fucked me there, on the stairs, my belly teetering on the railing and me looking down to the subbasement below, as he held my wrists with his strong hands and thrust his dick so hard and fast up into my channel that I swayed in precarious balance with each thrust possibly being the thrust he chose to send me careening down three flights headfirst to a hard rock floor at the bottom of the stairwell.
I grunted and panted and cried out in fear and lust and ecstasy as he took me just how he knew I wanted to be fucked.
Within minutes, however, he had let loose of one of my wrists and had me by the throat and was applying pressure with his thumb on a spot that my own training had taught me would have me out like a light within seconds. In this case, the textbooks proved entirely correct.
When I came too, I had no idea how long I'd been unconscious. And I wasn't in the glass cube at the top of his Kyrenia harbor building as I had expected. Once again he had been one step too clever for me. And once again, it made my channel itch for his masterful stroke. I was laying on my back, completely naked, on a heavy wooden dining table in a dimly lit flat, with solid walls that told me in an instant we weren't where we were supposed to be. My arms were stretched above my head, tied at the wrist with a strong leather rope that was looped around one of the table legs. And I was gagged with a black leather strap with a rubber ball in it that filled my mouth.
Fazil slapped me awake, and when he saw my eyes open, he smiled and lifted up another toy of his so that I could see it. It was a thick rubberized dildo. It dropped from my view between my legs and then I felt it enter me and rise and rise and rise up inside me. I was writhing on the table and panting and moaning, and then I felt something else at my channel, and Fazil was entering me himself, his thick, hard cock pushing in above where the dildo was buried.
He took his time—or so I thought at the time—which was a new technique for him. I got the impression from how diligently he was working me and how serious his expression was that the possibilities were good that this was his last session with me, that he was somehow performing an "in-your-face" kiss-off and good-bye taking. I recalled his telephone reference to "last call," and it was taking on a whole new meaning for me.
The big question no longer was whether he was going to fuck me but, rather, what he was going to do to me after he'd done that. But there was little I could do about that, so I gave myself over to the brutal fucking. If this was the last time, I was going to make the most of it. I started moving my pelvis with him and making the deep moaning sounds he loved so much, and he became as lost in the fuck as I was.
If he heard the sounds, he didn't let on that he had. The hint of movement up the stairs outside, the shattering of glass somewhere overhead, and then the clumping of hurried feet up and down the stairs. The frustration, I knew, of launching an assault on Fazil's glass-enclosed retreat only to find it deserted—with no place to hide there and no means of escape from whoever was coming up the stairs.
It was simple but oh so effective—if at least for only a short time. Fazil owned the whole building. Of course he could have held one of the other flats in the building over the restaurant for himself. In fact, I should have anticipated it. That first night, when he had sat in his glassed-in retreat and observed his nephew, Tahir fucking me on the bed and Fazil then fucked me more satisfyingly himself while Tahir showered and prepared for bed—and then disappeared until reclaiming me in the morning. He'd simply walked down two flights to his other flat in the building.
Time. I needed time. It wouldn't take Chaz and his team that long to think of the obvious—certainly not as long as it had taken me to think of it in my sex-hazed slavery to Fazil's talented cock.
I became even more involved in the fuck than I had been before, trying to dull Fazil's mind to the time we were taking while at the same time trying to hold off on my ejaculation, which, in itself, could trigger whatever Fazil was planning for me later. But my body betrayed me. Fazil was pumping my cock with one fist while fucking my channel with his cock and the dildo he was wielding in his other hand. And sooner rather than later, I lost control and spouted my cum all over my heaving belly, in great spasms of over-the-top pleasure.
Fazil laughed and started his flow as mine was tapering off.
And, sure enough, this was what clicked Fazil's timetable into gear.
He had said nothing to me up to this point other than his usual exclamations of how much I turned him on and how good a fuck I was.
And now he said the last thing I heard. "Farewell," he muttered in a low, hoarse voice. "You were the best fuck I've ever had."
And then his strong hands went to my throat and his thumbs pressed into my flesh there. The thought flashed into my brain that this was yet another, more deadly, immobilization technique they had taught us in self-defense classes at the Farm—instruction that was as much about offense as defense, although the lawyers wouldn't let them list that in the course syllabus. From this position, the neck of even a smaller person than the opponent could be snapped with minimum force and pressure—and maximum death.
The thumbs pressed into my flesh and I closed my eyes . . . and I zoned . . . out.
