International Manwhore – Part 8

Everyone in this story is 18+

My office at the U.S. Embassy was a closet with delusions of grandeur—barely enough room for a desk piled with memos, a flickering fluorescent light buzzing like a hungover wasp, and a window framing the Thames, twinkling like it knew I was screwed. I was halfway through sorting reports—trainee bullshit to keep my cover—when Leona’s heels clicked down the hall. My stomach twisted. Her text from yesterday, big news, had kept me up all night, visions of more “coaching” like Jules’s session or that femboy porn fluke haunting me. A blowjob was one thing, but actual sex with a guy?

Leona swept in without knocking, tablet clutched like a weapon, her pantsuit sharp enough to cut glass. “Tucker, pack it up. We’re moving faster than planned.”

I leaned back, chair creaking, aiming for nonchalance. “Faster? What, I’m flying to Monaco tonight to seduce Adrien with my glowing lube tube?”

Her lips twitched, but her eyes stayed cold. “Close. You’re flying to Nice tomorrow. Two days of intensive training offshore in the Mediterranean—legal reasons, like we discussed. Keeps it off the books.”

My jaw dropped. “Offshore? Like, on a boat? What’s this, spy sex camp?”

Leona didn’t blink. “Call it what you want. It’s advanced prep—seduction, gadgets, infiltration. Adrien’s yacht party on The Apollo is in three days, and we’re hitting snags getting you an invite. His security’s tighter than a bank vault. We’re working on it.”

I snorted, rubbing my face. “Great. So I’m training in the middle of the sea with Fred’s ass beads and a QR code lube stick, and I might not even get into the party?”

She tapped her tablet, unfazed. “You’ll get in. A team’s meeting you in Nice—specialists. They’ll drill you on everything: charm, covert messaging, how to use the gadgets.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t screw this up, Tucker. Adrien’s party is a money-laundering hub. You’re our shot to crack it.”

Leona’s eyebrow arched further. “Focus. The team in Nice will get you ready. You’re not there to play frat boy—you’re there to sell a confident, bisexual playboy. Adrien’s not buying a hesitant straight guy.”

I bristled, crossing my arms. “Yeah, well, I’m straight. End of story. This bi act is just that—an act. I’m not Asher, flirting with anything that moves. Speaking of, is he on this Nice team? Just, you know, for logistics.”

She smirked, catching my dodge. “Yes, he is flying in from New York. You’ll meet the team when you land. Now get your shit together. Flight’s at 0600.”

I gulped, the room’s buzz growing louder. Offshore training, a yacht party I might not crash, and a team of strangers turning me into a fake bi seducer.

◆◆◆

The airport was a zoo—Heathrow’s check-in hall buzzing with bleary-eyed travelers and screaming kids. I’d packed my new designer wardrobe—Brioni suits, Zegna shirts, all with Marcus’s secret pockets—into a sleek carry-on, but Dad’s tightwad streak meant no private jet. Post-sex tape, he wasn’t shelling out until I “proved myself.” The agency footing the bill was a small mercy, and business class was better than coach, so I wasn’t complaining. Much...

To avoid suspicion, the team traveled independently—Asher, the Nice specialists, all scattered. I shuffled through the security line, carry-on in tow, trying to look like a bored billionaire’s son. Naturally, I got flagged for a random luggage check. A beefy security guard with a buzzcut and a grin waved me over to a side table. “Bag here, mate,” he said, eyes squinting at me. “Hey, aren’t you that heir with the sex tape?”

My face burned, but I flashed a grin, leaning into the frat-boy charm. “Yeah, that’s me. Bryson Tucker, tabloid legend. You seen it?”

The guard—name tag read Liam—chuckled, his gaze lingering a bit too long, flirty and intrigued. “Mate, who hasn’t? You’re a bloody star.” His tone was playful, eyes scanning me like I was the main attraction.

I shrugged, keeping it cool. “What can I say? I aim to entertain.”

Liam unzipped my bag, pulling out neatly folded designer clothes. “You should’ve flown private, mate. They almost never check VIP luggage.”

I sighed, leaning against the table. “Yeah, I usually do. But somehow my sex tape leaking made Dad less inclined to pay for it, for some strange reason.”

He laughed, shaking his head, then paused as he lifted a small black box from the bag’s bottom.

Shit, the gadgets! I had almost forgotten all about those cursed tools!

Liam opened the lid and his smirk widened. “Well, it seems you’re going to Nice for pleasure?” He cracked the lid, revealing the gadgets—anal beads, buttplug, cock ring, pen, lube tube—all nestled in foam like perverted Christmas ornaments.

My stomach dropped, mortification hitting like a freight train. “It’s… not what it looks like,” I stammered, then caught myself. Charm, Bryson. Use it. I leaned in, flashing my best grin, voice low. “Okay, maybe it’s a little what it looks like. You want a selfie with the infamous sex tape guy? For the gram?”

Liam’s eyes lit up, flirty edge sharpening. “You serious? Hell yeah.” He whipped out his phone, snapping a quick pic as I threw up a peace sign, playing the cocky heir. “You’re alright, Tucker,” he said, still smirking, distracted enough to shove the box back without further poking. “Have fun in Nice.”

I exhaled, grabbing my bag. “Oh, I will.” Crisis averted.

At the gate, two air stewards—giggly, twenty-something a girls and a guy with perfect hair—flagged me down. “Mr. Tucker?” one said, eyes twinkling. “We’ve got a no-show in first class. You’re upgraded. Champagne’s waiting. Come with us Mr Tucker.”

I followed them, stunned, as they led me to a plush seat with more legroom than my office. A flute of bubbly appeared, cold and crisp, fizz tickling my nose as I sipped. The stewards winked, whispering to each other, and I leaned back, grinning. Maybe I could pull this off. Bryson, international superspy, not manwhore. The gadgets in my bag, all that crap—felt less like a joke. For the first time, I thought I might just nail this mission without screwing myself. Although I had to screw someone, namely a dude and then another dude after that practice...