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I need to feel you filling me.’ ‘Mmmm.’ I respond. ‘I want to fill you.’ ‘Come with me’ I say I lead you out the back door, away from the crowd. It is late evening but the Summer heat still fills the air. I lead you to a small rowboat by the nearby lake. Silently we get in and I row away from the shore. I am taking long slow strokes with the oars. You come between my legs as my arms move in lazy circles. You unzip my pants and my now semi hard cock comes into view. You reach in and pull it out. Your hand starts to stroke it in time with my rowing. Soon it is as stiff as the oar handle I am holding. You then bend down and take it in your mouth, your lips wrapping around the head like a silken glove. A low moan escapes my lips as you start to bob up and down on me. My rowing is becoming erratic as your pause increases. Soon I give up, ship the oars and lean back to enjoy the wonder of your mouth. One of your hands now starts to stroke my length as your mouth concentrates on the head,. ’ Peter, who had reverted to the cold-blooded killing machine of his youth, watched the Ghurkhas eagerly carrying out his instructions. First, they unsheathed their khukuris and then stealthily began the hunt. Devoid of emotion, he knew each male in the building would be dead before he even knew there was someone in the room with him. He listened attentively but there was nothing, just the silence of death. Then he heard a soft noise, distantly, down the corridor – the sound of shuffling. Through the door, thirty white faced, terrified and traumatised, young Asian women followed their Ghurkha guards into the room. They watched every movement of their Ghurkha escort with horror as if panicking that they would be next to die. Each was in various stages of nudity and each had a collar around her neck. Softly and kindly, Peter spoke to them in Thai, Malay, Tamil and then English. The message was clear. He told them they were safe and being set free but they must forget what they had seen..
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