Leaderboard

Mr.Benson puts Joey and me to work as both of us are Poz and are very desirable to chasers and stealth condom fairies. At bathhouses, we show up; ass holes are spread open for our toxic loads. We got to colleges Gay frat parties, which are safe only, so we have to hide our Poz tattoos, but we bring our condom that always fails. Sometimes we hear someone came down with the flu. One college newspaper posted that the school has a high number of men who have tested POZ. We get a call from Mr.Benson to come home ASAP, so we both know something is up. When we get back home, he hands us chastity devices and says that he is going to lock us up for the next 30 days. He tells us that we are going to the Bio Hazard Ball; it's going to be a fun time. We see the rules: Tops can not be on meds, and must be Poz then will be tested before entering. Poz Tops can only use these drugs. Caverject Viagra Poppers Tops will ware either wrist band on their left wrist white with red crosses or a Glod wrist band that lets people know they have full-blown AIDS. Bottoms will be negative lockup in chastity will be tested 30 days then two weeks before the event to make sure they are negative. They must go on a liquid diet two weeks before arriving, the only drugs they can use. GHB Meth Poppers Ketamine They can not refuse any Top advances or their load. If you have a condom, you will be removed out from the party. The party is to convert as many bottoms as possible. I ask Mr.Benson how does this party goes, so there are enough bottoms as he is laughing then says there is no limit on the number of tops as they keep the ratio of neg.chaseres to POZ Tops at 4 to 1. There are so many bottoms who want to become Poz; they put a limit on them. They have taken over the whole hotel, and it's so crowded at the check-in line, then Mr. Benson says, let's go this way. They have a separate line for the Poz Tops as we have to get tested. When it's my turn, they ask me my age, and I say 19 he is laughing, and 20 minutes later, I get my POZ wrist band. I see a few with the gold band, as they are like royalty, I see one with the gold band who is about my age and I can see the bulge in his pants. Walking down the hall to our room, I see the doors with this symbol + or - so it's too let you know what you are. Tops can lock their door as bottoms, can not lock their door, must be open all the time. Tops can wear whatever clothes they want; bottoms can only have PINK jockstraps on. There is also a grand ballroom that is for public breeding. The chasers are in a pen like you have cattle, and the Tops pull them out, take them to one of the benches, beds, slings and breed them put a butt plug in their ass then back the to pen.

To start, it might help to tell a little about me. I am basically a somewhat regular person that most people wouldn't really notice while walking past on the street or in the mall. I lead a standard life with nothing really spectacular on outside appearances but out of sight of most folk I have a distinct affection for many alternative and kink realms, and oftentimes the more outside the norm something is, the more I feel attracted to it. This adventure starts on Grindr where I had been chatting with someone (Mark) for a while but had yet to ever meet. His profile originally caught my attention because of his attractive picture, as well as several of the things in his bio including his interest in kink and other activities. An additional aspect that caught my eye was his status which was listed as poz / undetectable. I was negative and we had chatted somewhat in depth about his status, when and how he contracted it, his treatment and so forth and his openness with everything made me feel quite comfortable. While I have played around some (both protected and unprotected), I have tried to be relatively careful while doing so and I have managed to remain disease free in all ways - through having caution in who I meet with as well in the activities we engage in and the level of protection. Mark and I had talked about getting together with some of our conversations becoming very steamy, but I live with family so my place is only available at certain times and his living situation made his place unavailable for meeting there. Between that and our differing availability (he sometimes travels for work) our getting together never happened. It had been a while since I had seen him online then one morning I logged in to find him there which immediately sent a tinge of arousal through my body. I had woke up particularly horny and hadn't played for quite some time so was thinking of masturbating to start the day but really wanted something much more and I sent him a message saying that I was horny and asked if he'd like to meet. I embellished the message to be intentionally enticing and pointed out that it was safe to meet and play at my place right now if he was available. His reply was every bit as enticing as my invite and he essentially told me I better be careful what I asked for because I just might get 'it' because he hadn't gotten off for a long while and was horny. He then added that he had been out of town for a while with work and it would probably be best if we didn't meet right now which sort of burst my bubble. I was turned on by the first part of his reply, but disappointed with the last part so responded with a picture of my bare ass and replied "Do you want to cum - here?" in an attempt to encourage him. He didn't respond for several minutes then a picture of his bare, glistening wet and fully erect cock popped up on my screen and he replied "My cock says yes, but we would need to talk first." His cock picture sent a bolt of electricity throughout me and I replied: "We can chat here *I gave him my address* and would love to meet you. I am free right now." It was another several minutes before his reply. "I will be there in 20 minutes." I replied "Awesome!" then immediately headed to the bathroom to do a quick pre-play cleansing (inside and out) with my heart beating deep and fast. Clean-up went pretty quickly and I was in my sweats and a t-shirt by the time his car pulled in front of the house. My heart continued its rapid beat and in addition I could feel wetness seeping from my loins as he came toward the house. I met him at the door and could sense that there was passion flowing in both directions as soon as our eyes connected. Once inside, I closed and locked the door and led him to the bedroom where the lighting was dim and I had porn playing on the screen at just the right volume to set an atmosphere. He said it was great to finally meet me which I replied much the same, and since he wasn't making any moves I got on the bed and moved to the other side and he sat down beside me. His pictures hadn't really done true justice and his body was even hotter than I anticipated, particularly with his loose fitting gym shorts and t-shirt doing little to hide his physique. It left little to the imagination but I couldn't keep my hand from reaching over to rest on his upper thigh where it slowly moved toward a covered but quite pronounced bulge. Mark's hand came to rest gently on my forearm and as he looked straight into my eyes he said: "We need to have a little talk." "Can it wait for a little bit?" I asked as my eyes looked back into his and my palm came to rest on top of his thinly covered but very evident erect manhood and balls with my fingers tenderly moving upon him. As his eyes closed, his head leaned back into the pillow and it became clear that the talking could wait. His relaxed and awaiting posture increased my desire and I moved around to face him while on my knees and kneeled there with one hand continuing to explore his loins with my second beginning to caress his upper body. His hand remained in place on my forearm but began to slowly stroke as an encouragement for me to continue. As I continued to touch and softly squeeze, his cock grew ever harder and his body relaxed as if in a further invitation. My hand slid downward on his leg and then up once again, only this time it entered between his flesh and his shorts where I cradled his bare balls and engorged manhood. Talking became the last thing on our minds and when his lips parted, it was not to say words but for his tongue to emerge and wet his two lips. I haven't been big into kissing but in the atmosphere of the moment, I found the urge and leaned forward where our lips locked and our tongues intertwined. He appeared to like the kissing too and within moments the head of his cock was covered with wetness as his pre-cum began flowing forth. We both moaned in unison and continued our kiss but as I removed my now wet and slick hand from inside his shorts and attempted to remove his shorts, he pulled his head slightly back and murmured "We really need to talk first." I somewhat sarcastically said a soft "Yeah?" before my lips again enjoined his while I maintaining a downward pull on his waistband. His body seemed to give in and with his eyes fully closed and his tongue softly swirling, his bottom raised upward and soon he was bare from the waist down. I raised up to see his exposed cock and balls and with the rapidly increasing temperatures between us, I removed my shirt and began removing my pants. He leaned up to shed his shirt too and we were then naked together. In seeing his bare body, I was in full and complete in lust. The feeling was likely mutual because as I leaned down to lick his soaked loins, his palm rested atop my head as a sign of encouragement. The taste was truly alluring and just when I thought I had cleaned up every droplet into my mouth, another would appear and his flow never stopped. My mouth then opened and took him inside, starting at the head and working downward until I began to choke. His arousal seemed to increase as I did so and in addition to the hand on my head, he placed a second on my ass cheeks where it began rubbing and squeezing. As his fingertips probed further, he discovered that I was slippery with lube that I had applied earlier after I had cleansed myself. My lips began moving up and down on his engorged cock and I did my best to take it all the way, but I'd softly gag each time it reached the deeper depths. He didn't seem to mind though and perhaps it was a turn on because I soon found his fingers entering in and out of my ass in tune with the movement of my mouth on his cock. With my hands free and not occupied by his cock, I reached for a bottle of poppers and took several deep hits, with only a momentary pause in my sucking. The feeling of euphoria soon overtook my body and evidently my throat as well because I found myself now taking his entire hard cock fully with only an occasional small gag, and from his reaction, he was enjoying it as much as I was. I rose once again and took a huge hit, held it for a short bit then followed with another. I then replaced the cap and moved to straddle his body with my bare ass coming to rest atop his hot and wet cock and I looked deep into his eyes. He began to mouth the word "no", somewhat softly at first but increasingly stronger as I slowly gyrated on top of him. When his cock nuzzled up to the entrance of my hole and my opening began to part, he reached up to take hold of me and said "We have to talk." I looked at him and stopped, my body hungering to go downward, but I waited to hear as he began talking and said that he had been off of his meds during his work trip because he had forgotten them at home. I was conflicted and admittedly a bit scared too, but at the same time my arousal was through the roof - the feeling of exposure and the vulnerability of a poz and possibly no longer undetectable cock probing inside my body had my heartbeat and breathing going spastic. With the length of time he was off of his meds, neither one of us really thought it would be safe to go on, and things had come together and happened in a way that there wasn't an opportunity to research it before we got to this point. In honesty, didn't want to become infected and he didn't want to infect me, but at the same time our arousal had taken us to this all-time high point for both of us. As we were talking about it, I became aware that I was now sitting fully impaled on his rock hard cock - and I could now feel both the soreness of my fully stretched ass and the stress his knob was creating as it was pushing the lining of my inner rectum further within my body. He realized how deeply he was inside too and shyly said that it felt like his cock was leaking and that things were becoming wet inside - but at the same time, was admittedly feeling so very gawd awful hot. As I remained motionless and uncertain, Mark reached down and came back with the bottle of poppers that had worked its way beneath his bottom and was now quite hot from it's confined position against his hot flesh. Almost by instinct, I reached forward, took the bottle in my hands, exhaled completely, removed the top and took multiple inhalations of the warmed and deeply potent scent. Upon completion, Mark took the bottle from my hand and took a strong hit before closing the bottle, his palms coming to rest on my hips where he took a somewhat assuring grip - looking into my eyes with a renewed sense of arousal. I began to raise up, causing his cock to slide alongside my stretched and open hole which gave a wonderful feeling. My lifting also removed some of the pressure on my painfully stretched inner membrane, but interestingly the feeling of being deeply impaled on his cock felt far better than the sense of not being there - particularly after the last dose of poppers I just had. While I think I was intending to get up and to stop - because we could always wait and play another day when we knew it was safer - but my body, the moment, the poppers, and the amazing feeling of his cock being inside my ass caused me to sink back down and to become fully impaled again. "What are you thinking?" Mark said as he looked into my eyes, his palms holding me tight but not forcing me either way. I looked deeply back while moving slowly back and forth on his potentially potent cum pole, pondering for a few moments, then without a further thought, I raised upward, his cock pulling free and watching it wetly slap against his stomach. I then took a position with my bare body beside his, my exposed ass raised slightly in the air and clearly said: "Fuck me, gawd, fuck me hard." As his body rose, I planted my face deep into the bed and it was probably a good thing that I did because when his cock plunged roughly inside me, I gave out a strong audible gasp and the fucking began. I am not sure if the tears that began to flow were from the pain that his hard fucking was giving me, or from the magic (or the fear) of what was happening, but at this point I was beyond any reasonable thinking - things were just happening and I didn't want to make it stop. I really didn't know if things were going to be okay but at this point I really didn't care, I just wanted it to happen - no matter what 'it' was. Mark was fucking me ever more intensely and I took each and every stroke, including the variety of slaps and punches that he began giving me while asking if this is what I wanted (he knew well of my masochistic interests), only to have my body twist and writhe to his motions, not trying to escape but to try to remain in place as it all happened. This went on for quite some time. My body can only take so much though and it reached the point I couldn't take anything more, but before I could say a word, he plunged deep inside and further than any stroke before, his teeth making a hard bite into my shoulder that I knew would leave an eternal mark and as I gave a full throated scream, his body began convulsing and pulsating with his unleashed cum flowing into and coating my worn rectum. His fucking had stopped and I think he was just as exhausted as I was, but he didn't get up and continued to lay on me, his cock firmly lodged and with the bulk of his cum contained inside me but with an ooze of the overflow working its way out too. It was quite a while before he finally pulled his body free and for me to be able to start recovering. I remember how precious it was though in hearing his words about how amazing of a fuck it was, and if nothing else, I felt great satisfaction in knowing that I pleased him that way (which turned me on and only made me want him to fuck me again - soon). I lay on the bed a bit longer with the growing stark realization of the seriousness of what just occurred, which was really sinking in with a multitude of thoughts flowing through my head, some absolutely scary. When we met, the last thing that I wanted was to become poz, but now that we had fucked like that, some of the scary stuff began dissipating and was being replaced with some type of wanton desire. The fuck was like nothing I had ever experienced in my life. If nothing more I am filled with a cherished (and in some ways physically painful) feeling, and having the uncertainty involved is making it even more intense. While time will tell what the ultimate outcome of this play will be, I found that my play with Mark was very much on the edge compared to anything I have done before and visiting the edge is something that I find myself wanting to happen again - particularly if it carries an euphoric and true degree of risk.

I am in an open, loving and supportive relationship for 28 years now. We are married. Our relationship has always been open. I have a lot of sex with other guys. I host sex parties several times a month. And it works. I think the reason is because we are both secure in ourselves. There is no jealousy. We have a wonderful relationship. And living in Palm Springs, I have a lot of friends in the same situation. The idea that you cannot have a successful long term open relationship is bullshit. While there are many factors that go into it, communication is the key. We both understand that life is too short to keep each other from having fun and exploring ourselves. I think too many guys place their insecurities on the other guy instead of dealing with it themselves. I am not saying an open relationship is for everyone. If you and your partner are into monogamy, great. However, there are a lot of us who like and enjoy an open relationship. And it works.

I left the toilet clothes in hand and butt naked. My cock still hard and dripping. I was a little torn between wanting to watch him knock up some 18-year-old and getting cock up my ass myself. But my quivering ass made up my mind for me. My ass still felt the assault from that AIDS daddy in the restroom. Having his cock up my ass for just a few minutes pounding away coating my guts with his toxic precum for just a few strokes made me uncontrollably horny to get fucked by anyone. I wanted to cock up my ass. Any cum, lots of cum, from anyone who would do it to me. I was really hoping the rumors I had heard about this place in Evening were true. The sun had set but the night was clear and the moon was pretty close to full. I walked to the edge of the woods and stood there gently stroking my cock before I walked in. Giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the change in light. I looked back toward the toilets. I saw the shape of a young guy moving towards the toilet. He was stripping off his clothes as he approached. When he got to the door he tossed his clothes in some shrubs next to the door. I heard the squeak of the door as he entered. I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next, but I walked back over to the toilets and pulledthe kid’s clothes from the bushes. In the light I could tell that his clothes would fit me OK. There was a pair of basketball shorts that would be a little snug but not bad. There was an oversized T-shirt, perfect. And a jockstrap. I held the pouch to my face and sniffed deeply. Unmistakable scent of teenage boy underwear. I had smelled it enough time with my own two boys. I knew what teen boy cock smells like. I slipped on the jock. Tossed my clothes into the bush where his he been. And took his clothes with me. I stepped onto the trail at the edge of the woods. I walked down the path able to discern shapes and movement in the half light. There were other guys in the park. I don’t know where they had come from because there were no cars. There must be another access to the park. I walked along quietly gingerly until I got to a spot I recognized. It was a spot where almost 3 years ago I had been pozfucked by a hot young guy. The spot where my quest for AIDS started. I stepped off the trail and took a few steps towards the figure out the dark. He started moving closer to me. As he got within a few feet we recognized each other. It was the kid who passed me almost 3 years ago. And he recognized me. ” hey there,” he said “ Haven’t seen you around here in a while. Back for more?” He reached up and grabbed my cock. Pulled me in for deep kiss. I wrapped my arms around his body and he felt smooth but kind of bone. He pulled away and I looked him up and down. Above his right that was a biohazard symbol. He had a slightly wasted look. He reached up and grabbed my cock. Pulled me in for a deep kiss. I wrapped my arms around his body and he felt smooth but kind of bony. He pulled away and I looked him up and down. Above his right path was a biohazard symbol. He had a slightly wasted look. We started talking and making out. I dropped to my knees and took his cock into my mouth sliding in deep as I could into my throat. While I was sucking him he confessed to me that the guy in the toilets had converted him a month before he fucked me. He told me I was his first breeding after he was positive. He also told that he had full-blown AIDS at this point. That turned me on more than I could say. I slid his cock deep in my throat as I could. Milked it with my throat muscles. He moaned grab the back of my head and started face fucking me. Slamming his cock deep into my throat. After a few minutes he pushed me away. ”Fuck dude” he said,”you’re an amazing cocksucker.but I want that ass. I want to give you my virus.” He pulled me up and pushed me back around up against a tree. He squatted down behind me and spread my ass cheeks. He buried his face in my ass, tonguing my hole, working it in an out.I was moaning like the slut bitch that I am. Begging him to pause my ass up. Begging him to slide his aides babies up into my guts. ”Oh fuck dude. I want that ass so bad.” he muttered. He stood and unceremoniously plunged his cock deep into my ass all the way to the hilt. I screamed and moaned at the same time. He rested his cock in me as he slipped a poppers bottle under my nose. He held my nostril shut and I breathe deep. Reached up and held his hand in place. I breathed in three or four times in that one nostril and then switched. I breathed then three or four more hits in the other nostril. I was flying high as his cock started pistoning in and out of my hole, Tearing up my guts and banging my prostate hard. I was moaning and begging for a seed. Begging for his aids babies. Begging for his virus in my bloodstream. Then I started begging him for demon seed. Begging him to bring me over to the Darkside. In my mind all I could think was that I was sacrificing my ass to pure evil. My cock was hard and rubbing up against the material of the jockstrap. As the kid fucked me I shot a big load into the pouch of the jockstrap. And as my ass clamped hard for my orgasm his cock began to spasm in my whole. He grabbed my hips hard and pulled me as close up against him as he could get. Pushing his cock as deep in my body as it would go. Past my second sphincter. Deep into my guts he poured his aids. I can’t explain it but ass his semen filled my body a kind of shadow fell over my soul, fell over my vision. Not only was there no going back at this point, there was no desire to. There was only desire for cum. There was only desire for pleasure. There is only desire to please anyone with a cock. Deep in my soul I knew that I had given myself over completely to cock, cum., and pleasure. He stroked his cock in and out of my ass a few more strokes. He rested against my back. His cock gently slid out and he stepped away from me. I never saw him leave because as soon as he stepped away someone else stepped up and another cock slid into my hole. After three more cocks and three loads in my ass I finally left the woods. Cum was running down my legs but I didn’t care. I felt so complete so satisfied. As I walked by the toilets I checked the bushes. The clothes were gone. Some random kid who just got an ass load of aids was walking around in my clothes. It was then I realized all I was wearing was the jockstrap. As I approach the road I slipped on the shorts. And jogged my way back to my car. I never bothered to change clothes or to put on the shirt. I just threw myself in the car and went directly to the porno store And spent the rest of the night worshiping cock and accepting seed from anyone.

*Cums inside* ... I asked you to pull out ... Oooops, forgot to turn my hearing aid on! 😈 Goodness, if my Dick is inside a boys cunt, that is it, it is then a done deed that I WILL be ejaculating inside of him. If he is not prepared to be inseminated, then he should play with tops who use condoms. Would you place a delicious looking slice of cake in front of me and tell me I was not allowed to eat it?

A bit of background on me and my situation, For alittle less than a year now I have been seeing (servicing) a very dom older black man. Ive become completely submissive to him, and he has used me several days a week since we first met. He also has me service some of his buddies on a fairly regular basis. I spend nights at his place sometimes, being used by 5 to 8 other black men throughout the night. Since the lock down about a month ago, he had to stop doing things with multiple men and weekend parties. He said to make up for it that me and him would be spending the lockdown together. I am working from home, on call, but not many hours of the day have to go into my work. He has been staying at my place almost every night for a month, I have not worn clothes in a month, except for a collar. I service him all day, while he kicks back, watches tv or plays video games, I will be sucking and licking him. He has also always been into me drinking his piss, which I have always submitted and done. But I admit, the first week or so of him staying here was rough, I drink ALL his piss now. It was a bit much to get used to. At times I think to myself how fucked up that is, but I cant help it also turning me on. Then theres the thought of how I have swallowed on average at least two of his loads, every single day for a month. Over the last year I have come to realize his submissive I am, and he has certainly driven that home, but being nothing but a sex slave and naked for a month now, its a mind trip. When all this crazy covid stuff is over, he said I should find a job where I can perminately work from home like this, and that if I do, he will take all this even further, and make me more of a sub that I ever could imagine.

Perspective, eh? In a D/s dynamic, as a sub if I have a Dom controlling and organizing who breeds me, it strengthens my connection to Him because i think of any other guy as an extension of Him, kind of like He is using them like living dildos to fuck and gape me. Though I know everyone isn’t wired that way

Older, Not Wiser The show on the TV ended and the next episode looked pretty lame, so I turned off the TV and picked up the laptop to do a little surfing. I hit most of my usual hookup sites and had a couple emails at a few of them. There was one from the older guy and I opened it first. "sorry for not replying sooner, been busy. Yes, I'm sure. You up for meeting?" the message read. I wasn't sure I wanted to deal with an older vanilla guy, but I figured it was worth getting a little more info. "maybe. u on prep?" I sent back. The little green dot next to his profile told me he was online and I wondered if I would get a reply back. It was only a couple minutes and I heard the "ding." "What's that?" he had replied. I chuckled to myself wondering just how experienced this guy was. "a drug" I replied, being intentionally vague. Less than a minute later I had his reply. "I don't do any drugs other than pot on rare occasions. Do you?" he asked. I shook my head and laughed. I responded "pot 4 me 2." I knew this guy was in way over his head and yet my cock got hard thinking about dumping a toxic load or two inside him and letting fate decide what happens. Once he was poz he could become the sex pig he's always wanted to be. I hadn't gotten another message, so I sent one "when u want to meet?" A few other sites didn't generate any interest and I was about to give up when I got a message back from the older guy (phnx469). "Sorry, wife interrupted. meet @ 6pm?" he said. This was getting more interesting. Was this guy yet another married bi guy craving poz dick? I sent back "ok. where?" and he answered right away "20th floor by elevators." Chuckling to myself I wondered if he was college boy's dad. Yeah, there were over a dozen other condo's on the floor, but it was really hot to think I might have a chance at knocking up a real father and son. Coming back to reality, I replied back "u going 2b alone?" "Yes. Wife n kid will be shopping" he replied. I licked my lips and typed out "ok." With a few hours to kill I watched some porn and then showered. While he wanted to meet at the elevators, I took the stairs instead. I felt a little more winded than normal for climbing nine flights, but put it down to my more sedentary life locked up at home and with fucking my only real exercise. "Gonna have to come up with a workout schedule I can do at home" I thought as I opened the door. Looking down the hallway, I spotted someone near the elevators and walked calmly towards them. As I approached he seem startled that I didn't come via the elevator. I wasn't really sure that it was him since the pictures were of a smooth guy and I could see chest hair popping out of his tank top. His legs showed a decent amount of hair on them below his jogging shorts and he had several days growth on his face. "Phoenix?" I said quietly and he nodded. One thing I don't like is guys sending out pictures that are either old or different on how they look. A new piercing or tattoo is fine, but 30 pounds heavier or like in this case, much hairier, is deceptive advertising. He said "Follow me" and started walking down the hall. He wasn't walking towards college boy's condo, so another fantasy was gone and I tried to figure out what I was going to do. One option was to turn and go back the way I came but that seemed like a cowardly way to end this. I followed him down the hall and was surprised when he opened the door to the other stairwell. As soon as we got inside, I put my hand on his shoulder and said "Stop." Phnx469 seemed to be surprised. In a hushed tone I said "What's the deal? Your pictures don't really look like what I see right now and you aren't even naked yet." He stared back at me a moment, looking confused. I flicked my finger over the tufts of hair poking over the neckline of his tank top. "Oh that. Yeah, my wife wanted me to shave my body hair and that's when the pictures were taken that I used on the site" Phnx469 said. Pushing him against the wall, moving about six inches nose to nose and no where near a good social distance, I looked him in the eyes telling him "Dude, that's not cool. I don't mind hairy guys but you clearly are showing a smooth guy on your profile. What else is totally wrong?" He was nervously shaking and I saw him try to speak, but nothing was coming out. On the third try he mumbled "Nnnnnothing. That's the only thing that changed. I... I... I hated shaving it all the time." I realized that I may have given him that "try kinkier stuff" goal accidentally by getting a little dominant with him. That wasn't my intent, but it helped get my point across and I told him firmly "OK, that's your one and only fuck-up. If anything else doesn't check out, I'm gonna be outta there and you're never getting another chance. Understand?" He nodded and I backed up, letting him get by and head down the stairs. We only went down one floor and ended up going into apartment 19J. I looked around and chuckled to myself, thinking I was suddenly in some grandmother's apartment. Lace was everywhere - on tables, on the curtains and on the 'art' on the wall. All of the furniture looked like it had been stolen out of Queen Victoria's castle. I hoped it was his wife's style choice but at least one of these pieces was probably going to have a cum stain or two on it soon. I gently guided him towards the sofa and told him to strip. "Bed?" he asked and I said "Nah, this looks like a better place. I can watch the door in case anyone comes home." "Let me get a towel" he then said. I chuckled and told him "Just don't make a mess and you'll be ok" before I put my hand on the back of the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down. I raised my foot and pushed them the rest of the way to the floor as I said "Suck me quick before I see how that cheating ass of yours is." It wasn't a bad blowjob but nothing that was going to make me shoot right away. He knew how to do it, unlike a lot of straight or bi guys, he was just nervous sucking cock in his living room in full sight of the door. I rested my hand on the back of his head, which got him to take more of my stiffening cock into his mouth. He was struggling with the thickness but was doing a good job of keeping his teeth off my shaft. Wrapping both hands around the back of his head, I eased my cock deeper until it hit the back of his throat. He began gagging right away but I held it there a few moments before letting up and allowing him to breathe. "Oh fuck! I don't know if I can take that" he gasped out. "Oh, you will. If not down your throat then up your neg ass" I replied, pushing back in. It went deeper this time and I gave a little shove just before I pulled my cock out. He stood there staring at my spit covered cock and then looked up at my eyes. I knew he was having second thoughts but at this point I was committed. Unless he was a really bad fuck, he was going to get fucked and loaded up with my special DNA. Rubbing my cock over his lips as he looked up at me, I wanted to feel his tight pussy stretching around my cock. Letting go of his head, I grasped his arm and pulled him to his feet, turning him around and giving a gentle push to the corner of the sofa. He kneeled on the floral fabric cushion, bracing one hand on the arm and one on the back of the sofa. I knelt down and pried his hairy ass cheeks apart, pressing my face in between and rimming his hole. He was clean but there was the faint taste of lube so I didn't dig my tongue in any deeper. I forced some spit in though and based on the quivering of his sphincter he was relaxing a bit. "Perfect" I thought to myself and stood up, dragging my cock along the spread crevice until it found it's next target. Pulling the rest of my foreskin back, I pushed the dripping tip inward until I felt it give. Phnx469 started to groan loudly so I leaned forward and put my hand over his mouth. "Fuck, you're tight. Relax or this is really gonna hurt" I whispered in his ear. Adding more pressure, the further in I went the louder he yelled. My hand muffled some of it but I was glad we were not in the bedroom near the neighbor's apartment. I gave the side of his head a whack with my other hand and said "Relax, damnit!" His grip on my shaft loosened a little and I got another few inches in. "Is this the first bare poz cock you've taken?" I asked. "Mmhmm" he groaned out. "Good, then let's make this a memorable fuck" I replied, rocking my hips back and forth. I plowed a minute or two and then pulled almost out and dripped some more spit on my cock. He probably had everything setup in the bedroom, lube and maybe even condoms on the night stand, towel on the bed and maybe even a hidden camera to record the deed. But I was going to do this my way. Thrusting my hips, I went back to slowly plowing his tight hole and opening him up. He stayed still and while tense, he wasn't fighting my dick. I don't know if he got tired or relaxed more but after a couple more minutes his hole loosened its grip slightly so I could drive in easier and faster. The groans and grunts from him also had a less strained tone to them so I uncovered his mouth and moved both hands to his shoulders. It gave me a good stance to fuck him harder. I still hadn't given him all of my cock, it kept bumping into his inner ring and making him grunt but I hadn't broken through yet. Moving back a few inches, I changed my angle of attack and started digging the head of my cock in different directions. I knew the second I hit his prostate from his loud moan and the quivering of his sphincter around my cock. Surely he was leaving a nice wet patch of precum all over his wife's flowered couch. His cock wasn't the only one that was flowing precum. His hole was getting juicy and giving off those sloppy pussy sounds I love to hear. Part of me wanted to keep fucking him until his family came home and found him getting fucked by a stranger but I didn't want to deal with the drama. I drilled him harder for a few more minutes and then slowed down. I looked over his shoulder and on the table next to the couch was a picture of him, a woman and a teenage boy. "That your family?" I asked, grinding my hips on his ass. "Yeah" he said with a worried tone. I just chuckled and began thrusting again, turned on by him looking at his wife and kid while some stranger barebacked his cheating cunt. My balls started to tingle and I knew it was time to fill him up with my tainted seed. Shoving in hard, I broke past the inner ring and phnx469 let out a loud yelp. I dragged my cock slowly back and rammed in again garnering a painful "Oh fuck!" One more shove and I couldn't hold it in any more. The first few spurts fired off as I was shoving in and the next few were planted deep inside him. He moaned out another "Oh fuck!" while I growled breathlessly "Take that fuckin' poz load!" Each throb of my cock pumped more virus filled semen into his ass and it felt damn good. Rolling my hips a few times as the last few shots of cum pumped out made sure that his guts were painted with a thick coating of my cum. We stayed connected for a couple minutes until we were both breathing normally and my cock had started to soften. Slowly, I pulled out and saw a glob of dark pink cream run out of his stretched out hole, off his balls and on to the cushion of the couch below. As I backed away, he slowly stood up, his cock still hard and dripping the last remnants of his neg load. The back corner of the sofa cushion was wet and creamy as well as the seat cushion where he dripped while I fucked him. The scent of cum permeated the air and I knew he was going to have a hell of a cleanup job before his family got home. I picked up my shorts and put them on, grabbing his shorts and mopping the sweat off my face. Tossing his shorts at him, I started walking to his front door. "Thanks, man. You got a good ass and I'm sure that won't be the last poz dick you take" I said over my shoulder. Opening the door, I began walking down the hallway to the stairs at the other end. Just after I passed the elevators, the car arrived and out walked a woman and her son. They both headed in the other direction and I almost burst out laughing. Phnx469 wasn't going to have time to clean up the mess on the couch and he might not even have any clothes on. He really was going to have an interesting evening.

#8 Half Swedish & Half Mexican switch. 5ft 7 120LBS. black hair brown skin I have a 4 GA. P.A and other body piercing.

Me too, bloody hell. The bigger he is gaping the better. And I'd be inside of him like a whippet, enjoying fucking my man's loose warm cunt with all that other cum sloshing about. 💦👅💦

A while back i commented on here how i knew a hot guy for about 2 years that i had met on grindr. And for those 2 years he always fucked me with a condom . His dick is amazing a good nine inches or more , thick and big ballz . Think Rocco Steeles dick exactly like that no lie! But he always used condom i hated that and he never kissed or made out . With him it was always a quick one nite stand . He would come to my place and out the door in 10 mins . It got to the point i wasnt even enjoying it anymore so i stopped replying to his texts . Then yesterday he texted me out of nowhere after knowing nothing about him for probably more than 2 months. He said he was really horny and hadnt had sex in 2 months. I tought eh what the heck i also been really horny and havent had sex since all this quarantine shit started . I live in los angeles California were they been really strict with the lockdown . So i was really horny and needed something up my ass BAD!!! So even tho i knew he used condoms i was so desperate i told him fuck it come over. Ive got deep cleaned enema and all and called him over. When he showed up to my door my jaw dropped . I mean he was already good looking now he was even better. Hes tall about 6'4 nice worked out body he cuban/Mexican and has a nice full beard . Just how i like them . Im short 5'6 skinny twinkish ,smooth bubble butt so latin men like him are my favorite. Once we were in my roon we both instantly got naked and laid down on my bed. And for the first time ever in 2 years he pinned me down against the bed and started kissing me passionately he stuck his tongue down my throat and made out real good . He then started kissing my neck and going down and sucking on my pink nipples and bitting them again first time he ever did those things. What took me by surprise was that he also ate my pink smooth hole for the first time ever. Then i sucked him off he got rock hard then we 69ed for a while he ate my ass out while i sucked his dick . So he then put me doggy style and i tought UgH he gonna put on the condon now. But nope he for the first time ever sticked it in raw and with no lube only spit. Fuuuuck it Fucking hurt but felt so good cuz like i said his dick is huge and thick . He fucked me 4 times in that day every way and position imaginable and shot all his loads real deep inside me . It got to a point he was actually making love to me. It wasnt like before were it was a quick 10 minute one nite stand and no kissing. This time it was very different we made out while he was fucking me and he kissed all my body and made me hickies all over my neck and on nips . He was telling me how he always wanted to fuck me raw but never asked me because he always tought i was gonna tell him no. So after we were done i told him in available every day at what ever time. Since i live alone and working from home. He told me im also available every day 24/7 . He now gonna come over every day. Yum cant wait ! I guess something good did come out of this quarantine

I have had a few boyfriends whore me out and I loved it every time. if your boyfriend is a cumdump that loves taking anonymous loads from strangers then thats what he was born to have done to him. the first boyfriend started taking me to the bathhouse to watch men fuck me. first one or two then more and more. soon he started whoring me out online and taking me to guys places to watch them fuck me. sometimes he couldn't watch so he would wait outside for the guy to finish using me then take me to the next man. the second boyfriend who whored me out did the same but would also take me to the porntheatre, strip me naked and offer me to EVERY SINGLE man that came in. trust me, if your boyfriend is even half as slutty as me he will love you for whoring him out. the more men the better. the dirtier the better. thats what pussyboys are for. have fun getting him used

If I will have a relationship again, it must be open. Being a bareback whore is the point of my life. I hope, my future boyfriend will force me to have sex with others.

“Stop fucking flinching. Take it like the worthless faggot I always knew you’d become.” I could barely see straight through the fog of my high. It wasn’t anything hardcore yet that night, but the alcohol and edibles, paired with some fresh poppers and 8 loads earned deep in my cunt had me lost in pleasure and submission. There I was: ass up in a motel, taking anonymous loads… and it was him forcing my hole open. I knew his voice. It was the man who started it all. It was David. Again. 10 years ago I was a condoms-only college kid with a fantasy to submit. And then he showed me what it meant to really get used. What it meant to give myself to a real man. What it meant to regret it. And here he was - 8.5 thick inches pulsing deep inside me while he wrapped his hands around my neck and choked. 10 years ago I wouldn’t have recognized the shell of a faggot whore on that motel bed. Hell, I barely recognized him that night. As this beast of a man tore my hole open yet again, I realized just how far I had fallen. I was leaking in my cock cage, begging, and crying. But to him? I was just an object. No different than the object he’d raped 10 years earlier. And we both knew it. “Cmon, faggot. Put your mouth around the barrel of the gun. I want to play a game.” — 10 years earlier, and I was 20. It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college in Los Angeles, and I’d grown more and more comfortable with my sexuality. I was a good looking guy: nearly 6’0, Italian blood, dark features, hairy and tight body. I could fuck any college kid on that campus, but it just didn’t quite scratch that itch. I needed to get used. Or at least thats what I fantasized about when I jerked off. And “getting used” seemed to be getting darker. Rough fucking had become verbal fucking. Light bondage. Slapping. Pain. I needed it to be kinkier and kinkier to get me off. I found myself falling down the rabbit hole, searching for boys crying, having forced orgasms, and — and it made me hard to even type it into search engines - getting raped. I wanted it. Or I thought I wanted it. It all sort of blurred together as I busted orgasm after orgasm to the kinkiest and roughest porn I could find. But I also knew that it wasn’t realistic. Real rape wouldn’t be ‘fun’. Real rape couldn’t be planned. Real rape was just a fantasy. But that didn’t stop me from being a tease. And thats when David first came into the picture. I’d met David online. He was clear from the outset: he didn’t want my name, he liked to fuck holes as objects, it would hurt. I did not matter to him. And I busted a load that first night we chatted - a huge, thick load. And then I quickly signed off. I did to David what I did to all these guys: I teased. I played out my fantasy to earn my own orgasm. Days and days. Countless orgasms. He took me deeper in those conversations, deeper than I knew I could go. He told me he whored boys out. I came. He told me he came from seeing fags cry. I came. He told me he beat a man nearly to death. I came. He told me he wanted to do it again. I came. This went on and on. Until the night that I let my 20 year old sex drive get the best of me. I agreed to go to his place. He told me it would be rough, but that I’d be fine — that he knew so many of my desires were just fantasy. He told me he got it. He told me I’d enjoy myself - that we’d have some fun. And I trusted him. My dick was leaking, my hole was pulsing, and I was speeding down the 405… until I was there. Heart racing, dick hard, skin moist from nerves, adrenaline and sweat. I was there, knocking on his door. That knock would play out in my head for years to come. That knock was the start of a slippery slope — a slope that would ultimately lead me 10 years later, blackout in a trashy motel, throating a 9mm pistol, effectively destroyed no matter the rules of his game. But that night 10 years ago? I just thought it was going to be some quick, rough fun.

I wonder if guys are trained by their (normal, straight) peers to be monogamous, at least EXPECTING the OTHER to be so? That would then make us 'conditioned' to feel 'weird' about having our significant other 'violated', fucked, and inseminated for erotic purposes. Our gloomy afterglow regrets may be about LOSING CONTROL and allowing in 'competition' and trouble. All seems hot in the moment of passion but when the nut is gone, the seedy reality hits them like a nagging hangover. I wonder! I recall feeling AWFUL and violated in my amateur beginner phase, still obsessing about 'love' and monogamy with 'Mister Right'! It was hell when I saw my estranged BF take off with other guys, knowing full well that as he disappeared into his place, the hotel or whatever with him, a hostile contender, the nemesis, he was getting fucked: raw and reckless! Getting inseminated by 'that jerk', that total stranger, that smooth-talking hustler who somehow 'outbid' me in the mating game. Jealousy and anger consumed me and me thinking 'it can NEVER be the same again after this'. Knowing that the stranger's DNA was marking 'my man' as 'no-longer-mine'! Weird trips our minds play on us! Talking about kinks and tolerated behavior: One badass 'stealther' from this site whom I talked to on the phone disagreed with my 'open whore' policy my man and I developed. "IF I HAD A BF... he would NEVER be allowed to let somebody else fuck him!" Hinting that extramarital sex means that we have 'marital problems'! His one-sided cheating on a conned sub, yes! St@#lthing yes, but mutually agreed on whoring no! Go figure! Well guess what buddy; you don't have a BF and I'm going strong after ten years and even better since we agreed on 'whoring each other out'. I recall the first time I let a stranger fuck my man in front of me: me intimidated and in awe all at the same time. He was partial to my man and probably could have done without me there. He wanted to know if poz-talk was ok. I didn't even know what he meant. I took pictures of the stranger's cock slipping in and out of my man's hole, eventually nutting and delivering a cream-pie inside and on his hole. Unlike others (in the regret phase) , I felt in incredible sensation of arousal, one that had me crave for more: more cock, more sex, more promiscuity and lewd talk. I even took pictures of the raw insemination and licked the dude's cock as his throbbing cock-shaft eventually pulsed a load into my man. The picture on top of my profile is from that day featuring a stranger's cock on my man's DNA-juiced hole. The pictures and every event like that since turn me on enough that I can jerk off to it on the long COVID nights. Sometimes as my hubby and I have sex we tell each other about our exploits THAT DAY, or the intimate details of fucking with other dudes and call each other 'slut' and 'whore' as we fuck and jack off. So fucking hot once you both have completely embraced total promiscuity with your bro!

Voted with #7. I would love to have voted #9, but of course I am blessed with hands and forearm(s) to stretch a hole to my greedy satisfaction. I will add to the size that my Dick happens to have a strong curve when fully erect, and have been given feedback on how it glides over and into the prostate causing the pig I am fucking intense pleasure. I feel very blessed to have that curve! 🍆

See, if my BF was like this, I’d be so proud.

just got fucked by a guy with an actual 12 inch cock. thick and meaty. how do I know it was really 12 inches? he has a ruler tattooed on his cock. told me he had to take some viagra and an injection of something to keep it rock hard during the inkwork. pretty meaty too but it slid in fairly easily so he said "damn you really are a slut. it usually takes me awhile to get into a fuckhole. it helped that he got my ass after a fairly busy night. took him so long to cum but damn when he did his cock got rock hard and I could feel it pulsing inside me

I love to sit on cocks like this. Until they can’t hold back and shoot deep inside.

My exact same sentiment. Just that I am a top

I have never had a condom in me. I went from a long term relationship with my step dad to the man that would ultimately poz me. My situation was that I knew he was poz and he said he didn’t want a relationship with anyone that wasn’t poz. I convinced him to breed me and three months later I tested poz.

I think he was just looking to suck, but I went from jerking his cock as he blew me to rubbing his ass and fingering it and pushing some spit snot in to moisten him up. I grabbed his balls so he couldn't stand up, and went around back and shoved my cock in fast before he could say no. He let out a moan, but I was balls deep and fucking him before he told me he didn't like to get fucked. "It's ok buddy just relax" I said as I STILL was fucking. He stepped forward a bit but I had his waist gripped tightly so I moved with him, and kept fucking. He was clamping my cock really hard, and by the time he yelled at me to stop I was nutting inside him, so I stopped. 'You want me to pull out?" I asked him, and he said yeah. I took a step back and my cock plopped out. He stood up and quickly got his underwear and pants back in place, and just left without saying a word.

Part 15 - Apricots and Americans Mark woke with a thick head in the morning and rolled over to face Luca, cuddling and kissing for a while before they both showered and went down to breakfast. Oliver's flight from Rome was scheduled to arrive at midday and they were on the road just after 10am for the drive to Pisa airport. Luca watched Mark who sat there with a smile on his face the entire trip to the airport constantly chatting about how much fun he had yesterday and how he needs to speed up his language skills. Luca on the other hand was more worried about Mark's reaction when he finally met Oliver, it had been made clear that Luca now had a boyfriend but would Oliver heed this and still try his hand at getting him. The flight had just landed when they walked in to arrivals and checked the board. Luca busy on his phone and Mark was playing shag, marry, kill with all the men walking past. Mark's eyes acted like radars picking up the each sexy Italian that walked in view and some foreigners. "What have I got involved with" Luca laughed returning to his phone. Mark chuckled "Now that one I would definitely shag and marry" he suddenly said urging Luca to look. Luca raised his head "You can do, that is Oliver" he chuckled and waved waiting for Oliver to come over. "Blond?" Mark exclaimed looking at Luca "never had you down as liking blond guys". Luca glanced at Mark "I don't" he said smiling at Mark "anyway it is mousey blond". "Luca" Oliver called out a few meters with a big smile on his face. Luca stepped forward and hugged Oliver "Olly so nice to see you" he said warmly "This is Mark". Oliver looked at Mark who stood slightly taller "Pleasure to meet you Mark" he said drawing his words out. Mark nodded without realising his guard went up seeing him as a threat "Likewise" he replied. "I was disappointed when I found out about you" Oliver said to Mark "I can see why he likes you". Mark looked cautiously at him "As long as you remember Luca is mine" he said clearly firing a warning shot. Oliver made no show of the hiding the fact he found Mark very sexually attractive just like Luca. They grabbed coffees and headed to the car for the drive up to the Tuscan hills. It was a torturing drive for Mark, unsure if he liked Oliver, after all he knew that this guy was a threat to Luca and him. It annoyed him how Luca would chat aimlessly with him with the occasional prodding of Mark to join in. Gio was coming back from his run when the car pulled in to the villa courtyard. Oliver greeted him with a hug like long lost friends whilst Mark stood and watched for a moment then walked in to the villa bumping in to Sarah 'is he here?' she said excitedly walking past. Luca opened the boot of the car and pulled Oliver's case out, closing the boot he noticed Mark was missing. "Come on boys lunch is ready then Luca can show you to your room" Sarah said taking Oliver's arm. Gio took the suitcase from Luca "Where has Mark gone?" Luca asked his father with a concerned voice. "He went inside" Sarah replied hearing Luca ask his father. Gio stopped Luca "Is everything alright?" he asked "with you and Mark?". "Yes" Luca replied looking at the villa "at least I think so" he said "he was quiet in the car". Gio put his arm around Luca's shoulder "Go find him Luca, think Oliver being here may upset him". Luca walked through the villa on to the terrace where he spotted Mark wandering deeper through the apricot orchard. He called out to Mark and stepped down tracing where he saw him last. It took a few minutes but he found the legs sticking out from behind their favourite tree. Luca grabbed two apricots and sat down handing Mark an apricot. "Tell me what is bothering you?" Luca asked glancing at Mark. Mark looked at the apricot "Do you love him?" he asked surprising Luca with his question. "Hell no" Luca replied "why would you think that?" he asked trying to urge Mark to be honest. Mark glanced at Luca "The way you both reacted seeing each other and your parents" he said trailing off. Luca smiled "He is charming and yes he is sexy" he said stroking Mark's leg "but I love you Marco". Mark sighed "I'm sorry for being stupid. My instinct was warning me" he said leaning back against the tree. Luca sat forward and took a look around then kneeled between Mark's legs, his hand running up along Mark's thigh and firmly grabbing his cock 'your hard' Luca said to Mark as he bowed down. His hands freeing Mark's cock and quickly his lips rubbed the head and his mouth slipped around and down the shaft. Mark rubbed Luca's head 'Luca not here' he tried protesting but Mark was already too far in to an orgasm building up. Just the sight of Luca was enough to turn him on wildly, he was whimpering in sexual pleasure trying to stop himself crying out. Hips jerked up and Mark groaned feeling the release from his balls. His head scratching against the bark of the tree as he tried to control himself from crying out and ended up giggling holding Luca's head down on his cock. Luca raised his head and took a bite off his apricot and chewed it mixing the cum with the flesh of fruit he then kissed Mark deep. Passing the apricot flesh between one another Mark slipped his hand in Luca's shorts, swallowing the fruit he pulled Luca up to a kneeling position and ran his tongue over Luca's cock. Luca raised a hand holding on to the tree 'oh fuck' he sweetly whispered closing his eyes feeling the warmth and moistness of Mark's mouth around his cock working him. Mark took his time hearing the moans from Luca, he could feel the cock swelling slightly and knew Luca was going to blow his load. Luca took his hand off the tree and held Mark's head feeling the contractions pulsing in his cock, so oblivious he didn't even notice Mark moving his hand around Luca's ass inside his shorts until he felt the finger pushing in to his hole. Luca gasped and released a girly shriek his orgasm heightened from the simultaneous assaults on his cock and ass. Mark pulled his mouth off Luca's cock and looked up at him taking a bite from his apricot he chewed then pulled Luca down and kissed him passing his cum loaded apricot flesh to Luca. He rolled on to his back laughing and took another bite of his apricot. "Now do you believe me when I say I love you?" Luca asked starring up the dabbled sunlight. Mark laid on top of Luca "Yes" he said looking in to his eyes as Luca's mother called out for them. Luca leaned up and kissed him "We should go before they come looking" he said hugging Mark. Walking back to the villa hand in hand Mark purposefully kept hold of Luca's arriving at the table, mostly for show so that Oliver would see it as a defiant display of their love. Oliver looked over and saw the defensive way Mark behaved carefully looking in the eye defiantly, to Oliver it was a challenge he was going to take up. He might show a defiant stance now but Oliver loved nothing more than breaking guys that thought they were tough enough to stand up to him. Little by little he would wear Mark down until he was nothing but his bitch, then he would move in seducing Luca away. He knew Mark's inexperience would pale in to insignificance and show how pathetic he was being unable to hold on to Luca, stealing him for his own gratification and watch Mark disappear in to the shadows. Indeed he switched on the charm with Mark doing to his best to win him over pretending he was no threat. Mark sat there acting his part, aware that Oliver seemed to be playing him. One thing this American didn't know was never to come between a guy from Manchester and his lover, Mark could tell that Oliver had underestimated him and decided to see how far he would really go and show his true colours. At least the rest of Sunday passed peacefully and dinner was generally good natured. Luca seemed happy that at least Oliver and Mark were getting along, on the outside he was sure Mark didn't see him as a threat to their relationship but he had no idea what was brewing between them. Luca returned from the bathroom naked and kissed Mark getting in to bed. "You seem to hit it off with Oliver" Luca said snuggling down in to Mark's arms. Mark looked at Luca "He is playing me Luca" he replied with his finger rubbing Luca's nipple gently. "Don't be silly" Luca replied "what makes you think he is up to something?" he asked stroking Mark's thigh. Mark kissed him gently on the mouth "He looks at me like I am naïve maybe even stupid". Luca smiled "Johan" he said looking at a confused Mark "Johan is a psychologist, we will invite them over". Mark chuckled "Oliver doesn't scare me" he said wrapping his arms around Luca "do you trust him?". "Not in the slightest" Luca replied pulling Mark closer locking their lips together. Embraced in their loving kiss it wasn't long before Luca felt his body being pulled under Mark, their bodies already glistening from the humid air his cock slipped into Luca. Raising his head Luca kissed him hard his hand holding Mark's head close keeping their lips attached, he moaned feeling the sensual strokes penetrating his ass. Mark slipped his free hand under Luca's neck holding his head up, the closeness enabling them to share the experience of their love making as one. His moans softly echoing around the room from the increased intensity of Mark's hips producing loving and delicate thrusts. Luca aroused purely from the feeling of Mark's body lying on top of him, he continued the tender love making feeling every pleasure rising from Luca's body. His love and desire for Luca building in his groin rapidly, his breathing heavy and short gasps feeling the sensations tingling through his body to his balls. Luca moaned 'oh Marco' he whispered feeling the hips pushing down and locking tight to his ass. Luca's hand grabbed Mark's head firmly keeping him as close as possible together they orgasmed, Luca ejaculating under him and Mark sealed their love freeing his seed in to Luca's body. Breathing deep in to each others mouths, clasping their lips together kissing and riding their orgasms together. The moment of simply, pure and very real intimacy between two lovers. Their bodies drenched in sweat as Mark slowly extracted his cock and rolled on to his back catching his breath. His hand stroking Luca's back and ass who now moved closer and laid his hand across Mark's chest. Luca got up and fetched some tissue and cleaned the sheet as best he could, leaning over he kissed Mark and grabbed his hand 'time to cool down' he said taking Mark downstairs and out to the pool terrace. Mark chuckled getting in to the cool water but instantly refreshed, they swam around and kissed as quietly as possible. From his window Oliver watched, the darkness of the bedroom hiding him from view to the outside world. Admitting to himself that they looked good together, for now. When Luca woke he wanted to act quickly and tried to get his uncle and Johan over on today but they were not free until 5pm, agreeing to come over Nico had briefed Johan what Luca had asked him to do. Johan showed a lot more concern, he liked Mark from their initial meeting at the family BBQ and only too happy to help. Sarah and Gio had left at 9am to visit friends in Pisa and would not be returning until Tuesday. By the time Luca and Mark went down for breakfast Oliver was sat there at the table in just his shorts drinking coffee. Mark couldn't take his eyes off Oliver's body seeing in properly for the first time, Marzi appeared with breakfast and more coffee. Luca reached over and saw only one apricot in the bowl, he stood up and said he would go and fetch some more leaving Oliver and Mark alone at the table. Oliver reached over and took the last apricot and placed it on the table, Mark was sat opposite him and fixing his gaze he smirked placing one finger on the apricot rolling it around. Mark sat there with both his arms on the table playing with the spoon watching Oliver. "Did you sleep well last night?" Mark asked his eyes still firmly on Oliver. Oliver looked at the apricot then back to Mark "Yes" he replied "how was your swim?". Mark raised and eyebrow "You saw us?" he asked watching Oliver nod "we were hot and sweaty from love making". Oliver smirked at him again "There is only one apricot, what do you do?" he asked cryptically. Mark looked slightly confused "Share it" he replied watching Oliver roll it around with his finger. "What if this one apricot was worth half a million dollars?" Oliver asked looking up at Mark. Mark said nothing "Selfishly take the apricot and it's value then leave?" Oliver now asked. Mark sat there quietly aware of what Oliver was doing "It is a small price for such a priceless thing". Oliver smiled "What if it's value soared to one million?" he now asked seeing Mark's eyebrows raise. "Take the apricot and leave" Mark replied his eyes focused on the apricot. Oliver nodded "You take the apricot and disappear for good" he now said watching Mark carefully. Mark rolled the apricot around with his finger "Such an expensive apricot" he replied lifting his finger off. "Worth every dollar" Oliver said testing Mark's resolve and sensing he was close to taking it. Mark smiled and put his palm over the apricot "Apricots don't last forever, but I can crush your dreams". Oliver watched Mark crush the apricot "Crushed like your offer" Mark said "you can't buy me off". Oliver grabbed Mark's hands, his foot began working up Mark's leg "Waste of a perfect fruit". Mark moaned feeling his toes slip inside his shorts rubbing his balls under the table "Stop that" he said. "You should have taken the offer" Oliver said pushing his foot hard against balls gripping his hands tighter. Mark grimaced "You will not win Oliver" he managed to say "we love each other". Oliver released the pressure slowly massaging Mark's cock with his foot "Getting hard Mark?". Mark smirked and saw Luca walking back with a handful of apricots "Looser" he said looking at Oliver. Oliver tapped harder watching the grimace on Mark's face then removed his foot "We will see" he said releasing Mark's arms. Oliver smirked at him again and realised that Mark was not going to be as easy to remove like Andre was. Here was a person that was not intimidated so easily and could not be brought off. Mark sat with a steely determination, his eyes clearly warning Mark not to mess with him over Luca. Mark turned to watch Luca approach with a smile on his face until he sat down and placed the apricots in the bowl, he noticed the crushed fruit on the table between Oliver and Mark. "What happened to the apricot?" Luca asked looking at them both. Oliver chuckled "We fought over it and it got crushed in the process" he replied looking at Mark. Mark smiled at Oliver "Like the million dollars he offered me to leave you" he said seeing Oliver's shocked face. Oliver never expected Mark to say anything "Is that true" Luca asked looking at Oliver. "Million dollars of crushed apricot" Mark interjected quickly. Oliver looked at Mark then Luca "I had to try one more time Luca, but he won't budge". Luca shook his head "Value what friendship we have Olly, just don't come between Mark and I". He wasn't sure if he was angry with Oliver or not but it did seem to clear the air a little, he kissed Mark lovingly and more so for being honest about what had happened. Oliver knew it as a very stark warning from Luca and eased off, over breakfast he engaged Mark in conversation making it rather more pleasant. The day was spent enjoying the best of the summer weather by the pool, Mark was constantly on his guard watching Oliver's every move. By late afternoon Oliver was beginning to concede that Luca did only have eyes for Mark. Desperately he wanted to find love, he loved the fucking around and it had been a good few years. Seeing them together and how in love they looked was striking home that he had no one to share his life with. Mark had made it clear to Luca that as sexy as Oliver was he did not want to risk giving him the opportunity so sex with him was out of the question. laying by the pool Luca stretched and said he was going to get from fruit, Mark walked with him then dived in to the pool to cool off. Behind him a tremendous splash showered him with water, he turned to see the body surfacing out of the water. Laughing Mark felt the strong arms of Johan lifting him up in the air like a ballet dancer before dropping him back in the water. Oliver looked on shocked at the stranger who had arrived. Mark managed to swim away and called back 'toy boy' he shouted clambering out of the pool watching Johan give chase. Johan looked at Oliver 'Don't just sit there grab him' he shouted. Suddenly Mark felt Oliver grab him and pin him down to the floor smiling, Johan arrived and picked Mark up throwing him back in the pool then jumping in back after him. Oliver still confused by what was happening sat on the edge of the pool dangling his feet in watching them. "I see you met my husband" Nico said sitting besides Oliver who turned with a surprised look on his face. Oliver looked around for Luca "Who are you?" he asked beginning to see similarities to Gio in his face. Nico chuckled and held out his hand "Luca's uncle, Nico and that is Johan my husband". Nico smiled "Ciao Luca" he said feeling Luca's arms going around his neck. "Ciao zio" Luca said kissing Nico on the mouth "Sorry Oliver I forget to tell you they were coming over". Oliver though was completely fascinated and in awe of Johan and his build, definitely more muscular than Oliver and with his height he carried it off to perfection. He was oblivious to what Johan was up to and before he knew it he had warmed to him and opened up personally over a dinner of antipasti, bread and wine. After dinner they sat by the pool taking the occasional dip. Oliver found himself in the pool alone with Johan, unable to keep his hands from feeling Johan's body telling him how amazing it was. Johan kept his gaze fixed on Mark then briefly kissed him and held him in his arms a little to tightly for Oliver's liking. "They make a very nice couple Luca and Mark" Johan said quietly in Oliver's ear. Oliver nodded "Yes" he replied agreeing getting aroused held in Johan's arms. "Be bad if anything came between them" Johan said "nothing could protect the person who broke them apart". Oliver remained quiet for a moment "You mean me" he eventually said feeling the arms tighten sharply around him. Johan kissed Oliver's neck "Glad to see you are not stupid Oliver" he whispered kissing his neck again. Oliver leaned his head back like a powerful force had overtaken his body arousing him even further. Johan kissed his neck nibbling upwards then suddenly he let go pushing Oliver away and got out of the pool leaving him there alone. He was so aroused by the brute force of this man and leaned against the side of pool knowing full well he had been given a very clear warning this time. His body feeling like electricity, no man had ever made him get in to such a state without actual sex. Luca and Mark sat there watching Johan seducing Oliver into a horned up mess, he was smiling when he sat down at the table joining them. Nico looked up "Well?" he simply asked quietly "what is your analysis?". "He wants to break you two up" Johan replied looking at Luca and Mark who nodded. "How do we stop it?" Luca asked desperately. Joahn smiled "Don't worry, he got the message" Johan replied "dam sexy guy" he said picking up his juice. Luca leaned over and gave Johan a kiss "Thank you" he said feeling a hand on his waist. "What is this?" Nico asked spotting Luca's tattoo, Johan pulled the shorts down and looked at him. Luca felt embarrassed "Oh I forgot about that" he said shyly afraid to look at them. Nico was looking at him "Luca!" he exclaimed waiting for him to answer. Johan smiled standing up pulling his shorts down revealing a small biohazard tattoo "You?" Luca asked. Johan nodded "Yes, and you?" he asked watching Luca slowly nod his head he turned to Mark who nodded as well. "Why didn't you tell me Luca?" Nico asked holding Luca's face. Luca lowered his eyes "I didn't want to it splashed around the family" he replied. Luca looked in to his uncles eyes "And you?" he asked seeing him smile and nod. Luca and Mark both laughed then Nico spoke "You want to take Oliver home for the night?" he asked Johan. Johan looked at the Oliver in the pool "Depends if these two have any plans for him". "No" Luca and Mark replied in unison looking at Nico and Johan then laughing to each other. Nico went over to the pool and pulled Oliver out "Your coming home with us tonight" he said. Oliver grinned "Don't I get any say in the matter?" he asked knowing full well he was going. Nico chuckled "No" he replied. Luca and Mark said good night to Nico and Johan after being invited over Saturday afternoon and evening after they have dropped Oliver off at the airport.

How ironic the prequel to my next chapter as set out above is titled *Waiting*. For those who are wanting more to this story, and have been patiently *waiting* for more, all my stories have taken to the back burner as I have got a LOT going on in my personal life. I do realise a lot of time has elapsed so maybe interest has waned. However, if you are still eager for more, give this a like so I know to continue. I do have the next chapter almost ready to go to print, ha, and have concrete plans on how I want to develop the central character Stevie boy, and most definitely have plans for his boyfriend Lew, and the next door neighbour Ramon. ☣️ I sincerely hope everyone is keeping well in light of global events that have unfolded during the last few months, and continue to evolve on a daily basis.

1. Apt #5C He was drenched. Dripping. The rain let up two blocks from the address he held in his hand, but too late. He was already soaked. Shoes squished climbing the stoop. Manetti/Prior, written in faded blue ink on yellowed masking tape, ink running in splotches, evidence of at least a year exposed to weather—rain, snow, cold; now heat and steamy humidity, even now near midnight—but those words he could make out. The second, his and his brother's last name. There was a stack of buttons each with tape next to it, each with a name or names next to hard, rusty buttons. Manetti is who he wrote to the second time, the time he asked if he could come out and stay with him, with them. The first time he wrote to his brother directly, but Manetti, Mike Manetti, answered for his brother. He wrote he didn't know where his brother was. He thought he might have gone back to his mother’s house in Long Beach. Back to California. Chris pushed the button. There were only quiet sounds of a summer Tuesday night in New York. Except for a cab slowly prowling down the street, the block was abandoned, desolate. A fire hydrant left open poured into the summer street. The cab's tires slushed through the puddle and drove off into the night. The facades of the streetscape was dreary, few building’s windows lit, most were boarded up. The one next to this building had a big 'Condemned' placard on the door. A movement in a trashcan at the bottom of the stoop. A rat emerged setting the lid ajar. A couple of needles lay on top of black garbage bags inside. No, he wrote to Manetti, his brother Ben hadn't come back to California. He, Chris, Ben's younger brother, lived in Long Beach with his mother—well, had lived with her, he wasn't exactly getting along with her at the moment—well, her boyfriend actually, which is why he was trying to get a hold of his brother. The letter he sent back to Manetti was rambling. He didn't have a place to live. His mother didn't actually ask him to leave, but every morning, usually at the bathroom, Carl, his mother's new boyfriend, posed, arm on door frame, menacingly in his heavily sweat-stained underwear, pee stain in the crotch. Chris would squeezed passed him. Every day it seemed Carl took up more and more of what was left of the space in the doorway, inched his underwear's yellow bulge closer and closer to him. The day he wrote to Manetti, he felt desperate. He had felt Carl's body heat as he passed under his arm, felt a wisp of his chest hair, a brush on his shoulder from Carl's black, musky pit. He felt Carl's wetness linger on his shoulder, his residual stink. Could he crash with them? He'd pay his way. He couldn't stay at home any longer. Please, he implored in his letter. Yes, Manetti wrote back. A single word. So Manetti. The door buzzed and Chris leaned into its weight as the bolt unlocked. After receiving Manetti’s reply, Chris, a month shy of graduating high school, stopped at his house to pick up some clothes. For the last couple weeks he was crashing in the back seat of his best friend's Impala. His mechanics job at the Chevron gas station where he worked after school and on Saturdays didn't pay enough for him to afford an apartment, but he had saved enough for a one way ticket to New York. California didn't seem to want him, and living in a car’s back seat wasn't living. Carl was a growing menace that was about to boil over into...he didn't know what. And didn't want to know. The type of menace in Carl’s eyes he was unfamiliar with. Abuse, yes. His own father was brutal to him and his brother sometimes. But there was something else he felt in his gut with Carl. Maybe lower than his gut. It stirred some excitement, but he wanted to get away from it before he knew exactly what its root was. Inside, the hallway was lit by a flickering fluorescent bulb. Two dogs barked in an apartment down the hall. There should have been two bulbs in the ceiling fixture, but one was flickering its way out. The halway was dim, full of shadows. A rickety staircase filled half the narrow corridor. He climbed five floors, each landing a bit dingier than the last, heavier in graffiti as he climbed. On the top floor landing it was nearly pitch black, but a door stood open a crack and a shadow draped in a flimsy robe hovered in the door frame. "You Chris?" a deep voice asked. Chris set his gym bag down at the landing and said yeah, catching his breath. He felt his heart beating. There was a momentary fight or flight response he was trying to suppress. He hadn't expected that he'd be fearful upon arriving at his brother's apartment, but his brother wasn't here. Just Manetti. Manetti moved a little forward, enough so the apartment's light spilled over his broad shoulders, put a halo in back of his long brown hair. Chris made out teeth, a bit of a smile. Manetti extended his hand and the two shook. “Manetti. Mike Manetti.” His grip was firm but the skin soft, a little clammy. "And your Ben's little brother Chris. C’mere!" Manetti pulled him forward, gave him a warm friendly bear hug. Chris could have stayed there in that embrace forever. There was a familiar smell to him. And strength. He hadn't expected it, but he suddenly felt relief; his worry and a continent-wide anxiety melted in that embrace. Manetti released him and looked him over. "Dog shit day out there, Chief. Thunderstorm didn’t even help. Looks like it got you bad. Get in here and take your wet sneaks off." Chris saw the robe was open and that Manetti was naked underneath. He caught a quick view of Manetti' dark hairy torso, thick uncut cock, donkey balls dangling between two muscular, wooly legs. He opened the door for Chris while at the same time knotted up his robe. Chris carried in his gym bag, his few pitiful things: gym clothes, another pair of worn jeans, two old t-shirts (The Romones, Adidas), underwear (dirty), socks (smelly). Manetti closed and bolted the door. Three separate locks snapped into place. "Sorry, I was thinking about going out. Didn't know if you'd get here tonight. It's pretty late." "No, yeah. Sorry." Chris was pretty quiet generally. Didn't like to talk. Always self-conscious of saying something dumb, a leftover from an over-critical father. He looked around at the filthy kitchen—sink full of dishes, ashtray full of butts, dark grimy windows—not much different from home, actually. It was kind of reassuring in a perverse kind of way. Manetti was giving him an intense examination in the kitchen light. He felt he needed to say something to distract from his self-consciousness. "Um, I waited a long time for the bus in Newark. And then I walked to the East Village from the bus station. Lot farther than I thought. I wasn't prepared for rain. Didn’t bring an umbrella. Didn’t really think I’d need one. Dunno why. Guess I'm an idiot." His voice trailed off. Usually he never even said that much. That was [robably more than he'd said in a week. He was nervous, a little frightened, and yet glanced up several times to get a better look at Manetti. “Sorry, I’m going on like a moron. I’m tired I guess. It’s been a long day.” "I can see that," Manetti said, ruffling Chris’ wet hair. “Take your things off and hang them on the window bars. Let ‘em dry out." Manetti picked up Chris' gym bag and tossed it next to the archway to the next room. The kitchen window had retractable bars. It was set at an angle to the building, faced a brick wall and shadowy darkness beyond. Chris looked up and gave Manetti a quick smile, then concentrated on kicking off his shoes. He peeled off his socks and shirt, hanging them through the diagonal bars. A light from across the airshaft flashed. The flash blinded him for a second, and maybe it was a residual image imprinted on his retina, but he thought he saw an outline of a figure lurking in the gloom across the airshaft. "Pants," said Manetti, snapping his fingers. It almost felt like an order, but Chris didn't seem to mind. He was, though, a little embarrassed especially because Manetti was so big compared to him. He looked like some of the dockworkers he'd seen in the port of Long Beach. Big and burly, a little intimidating. He felt the man's eyes running over his thin frame. He felt small, miniature even, in this tiny kitchen. His pant legs dripped on the linoleum but Manetti didn't seem to care. He sat down at the dinette table in his threadbare underwear, setting his back to the window, putting his folded hands in his lap. "Is the bag all you brought?" Manetti nodded to his gym bag. "Yeah, not much, right? I'm not used to packing. Never really gone anywhere. I didn't have no time. Just picked up what was on my floor." Chris noticed the robe had fallen open again revealing one of Manetti's dark, hairy thighs. He quickly looked around the kitchen. "Bathtub?" he said surprised that there was a bathtub in the kitchen. It sat right smack in the middle of the kitchen, dividing the room essentially in two. Didn’t know how he could have missed it when he first walked in. A metal top that doubled as a counter lay on top of it. "Yeah, it’s pretty common in these old walk-ups. Hey, you want some soup or something? I have some left over. Just need to heat it up." Chris nodded eagerly. He hadn't realized just how starving he was. He had a cheese sandwich on the plane but that was hours ago. Manetti was nice, he thought. His furtive glance took in his deep set brown eyes and thick black brows over a smooth forehead. Long brown hair and sideburns. It was weird his brother never spoke about his roommate. "How do you know Ben?" he asked. Manetti went to the fridge and took out a pot and started warming it up on the stove. "Met at a bath house last winter. Took pretty quickly to each other. He fucked me, then I flipped him. We did that all night. Didn’t hook up with anyone else. That night anyway. Then I moved in here with him a week later." Manetti gave him a once over to gauge his reaction as he stirred the soup. Then he added, "You don't really look like brothers." Chris was surprised by how frank Manetti was about being gay, especially that part about the bath house. We wished he could be that bold. "We're step brothers. My dad adopted him when he was sixteen, but that didn’t work out," Chris said. Chris stopped himself from saying more. He listened to the spoon stirring in the pot. It was pretty common for people to say, that they didn’t look alike. He had thin blond hair, almost white, parted on the side, was skinny and on the short side. He liked wearing his hair shoulder-length, whereas his brother had almost a lion’s mane of thick dirty blond hair he always wore in a ponytail. It was one of the first things he could recall, Ben's ponytail. Ben was tall, athletic, broad chested, ten years his senior. They both had their mother’s wide face and striking blue eyes, but that’s where the similarity ended. Ben ruled any room he was in. People flocked to him. He was magnetic. Chris was a loner, shy. Not the brightest bulb, said he dad endlessly. But he was resourceful, could figure stuff out. He was a pretty decent mechanic without ever having any real training besides a semester in shop class. It was the one 'A' he ever got. His mother tried to shield him from his father, but she had her own demons and wasn’t always there for him. So he retreated. To his room, or the back of his friend's Impala, and now to a red Formica kitchen table sitting in his wet underwear with his hands folded in his lap. He looked at the refrigerator across from him. A magnet held up by a photo of Manetti and Ben, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing in knee-length bathing suits on a balcony that looked out at the sea. Chris wondered where they were? Manetti looked a few years younger, had shorter hair and wore a huge goofy smile. He looked a little stoned. Ben's deep tan set off his blue eyes; they almost glowed. He looked happier than he ever did growing up. It must have been breezy because his long ponytail flew like a kite behind him. Chris stared at it while his soup heated up. He idolized his brother. Worshiped him really. Many times after his father had given him a bad spanking, he’d sneak into Ben’s room, into his bed, and silently fall asleep on his chest refusing to shed a tear. He did cry, though, wept inconsolably really, when Ben said he couldn’t stand their house anymore and shouted he was moving to New York. Manetti tested the soup with a loud slurp. His mother demanded to know why New York. He'd met someone in a bar, Ben said, who'd offered him a job. What kind of job do you get offered in a bar? shouted his step father, but Ben was storming out the door raising a middle finger. “When’s the last time you saw him?" Manetti asked. "He’s changed some, you know,” he said. "He's not that Long Beach surfer you used to know." In the photo Chris saw Ben had added a bunch of tattoos. A big dragon crawled over his right shoulder, it's tail re-emerging over his ribs. He saw his brother wasn't that slim teenage surfer he once was either. He was a lot more bulked up, even handsomer if that was possible. "Ben moved out right when he turned eighteen. Hated my dad. Can't blame him. My dad was pretty much of a dickhead. He was okay to me except for my whoopings. He tackled him one time, tried beating the shit out of him, and Ben wailed on his so hard my mom called the police." Chris caught himself as Manetti eyed him. He didn't like to talk about his family’s problems—not to the school counselor, and never to strangers. He rarely did talk about them, didn't even really like to think about them especially. Manetti filled a soup bowl, grabbed a spoon from a drawer, and set it in front of him. "Yeah, I've seen him loose it. He's pretty awesome. You want a towel? You're still dripping," he said. Chris nodded and dug into the soup. Manetti popped out and then returned with a large terrycloth towel. The soup was full of large chunks of vegetables and warmed his stomach. He took the towel and mopped his head, then draped it over his shoulders. For the first time in as long as he could remember—weeks? months?—he was beginning to relax. He wasn't used to someone being nice to him. Especially someone he didn't know that well. After his dad left, his mom had turned into a basket case. And now, any day with Carl in the house was like walking through a minefield; made his dad seem like Gandhi. He must have been scowling into his soup because when he looked up, Manette said, "You Prior boys are so serious, aren't you?" Manetti flashed him a warm smile, which he shyly returned, then went back to shoveling spoonfuls of soup. "In your letter you said you haven't seen my brother in two weeks,” Chris said between bites, keeping his eyes in the soup bowl. “Ain't like him to just disappear. He’d split for a time but would always come back. Know where he’s at?" Manetti sat across from him, reached in the ashtray and took out a half-burnt joint. He lit it and took a long drag and looked up at the ceiling. He exhaled, thought for a moment before offering it to Chris. Chris put down his soup, pinched the joint, and took a short toke. He exhaled, said thanks, handed it back and went back to his soup. "Well,” said Manetti thoughtfully. “Chris Prior..." He paused, taking a long hit, taking an even longer time to reflect before exhaling. "...Ben Prior, or Big Ben, as he's called, disappears from time to time. So do I. I didn’t want to get into it in the letter, but truth is, sometimes, a client will want us for an extended period of time." Manetti took another hit. As he exhaled, he leaned in toward Chris. "Sometimes drugs are involved, so you know, we’re sometimes really out of it. Sometimes someone buys one of us for a time. Comes with the territory. We come back to each other. Eventually. But we’ve learned our partnership needs to be very open." Chris' spoon stopped in mid-air at some point while Manetti was talking. He looked him over. Long dark wavy hair, highlights of red in the harsh kitchen light, long side burns who's points hit his high cheek bones, a wide mouth with lips like seagulls wings, brown eyes that suddenly glinted with mischief. His robe had fallen open again revealing swirling black hair over pale white skin across an expansive chest. Chris' brain twitched. Something was off. He knew stoned, and he wasn't getting stoned. Manetti scratched his chest but his fingers lingered in his mat of chest hair. Chris saw him open his robe a bit more to brush his left nipple on his massive pec; he diddled with a thin metal bar that pierced his large tit. Chris placed the spoon in the bowl, took up the proffered joint, took a hit as casually as he could. With a clenched throat, hoping it sounded like he was being offhand, he asked, "So you're his boyfriend. You’re both hustlers?" He was confused, but not by the news that his brother turned tricks, but that Manetti’s nipple, so unusually large, looked so very appealing. He'd never seen a pierced nipple up close in real life. So much was flooding his senses at once it was hard for him to keep up with his thoughts. "Boy, this is strong shit," he said, handing back the joint. "Laced?" "Just a bit." Manetti's grin widened displaying a beautiful row of perfectly white teeth. Why hadn't Chris noticed just how good looking Manetti was before? He had looked at him through a filter as one of his brother’s friends. But whatever the joint was laced with was magnifying Manetti's magnetism. If Manetti was a hustler he must be a very good one, thought Chris. Manetti’ smile, as it grew, highlighted his strong jaw, became the smile of a shark. Chris was easily bait. "This soup is really good," he said, trying to snap out of his gaze. He finished up the last of it. "Uh, can I use your bathroom?" "Other side of the bedroom. Ready for some more soup?" Chris stood up, placing a hand on the back of the chair. For some reason he didn’t feel hungry anymore. “Nah, I’m good.” He glanced out the airshaft and again a slight paranoia gripped him as he looked into the inky darkness. In the apartment across from them something was moving. He was wobbly, but more than stoned, he was suddenly horny. He also saw he was starting to get a woody, one that was pretty evident wearing only thin underwear. Manetti noticed it too. Chris excused himself before it became even more obvious. Suddenly, he was confused by the apartment layout. Off the kitchen was the only other room, a bedroom. Off it, a small closet, and a smaller closet with a toilet and a dinky sink. In the bedroom a sling hung over a futon on the floor. He knew what it was even though it was the first sling he'd ever encountered. He'd seen them in Ben's magazines, the ones he left behind between his mattress. Rawhide, Stroke, Bound and Gagged, and Chris' favorite, Magnum. He saw the leg straps, the leather pillow, the wrist restraints, the mirror perched over the top. He felt himself woozy, and grabbed a leg strap to steady himself. Not the best choice, for it immediately flew away from him and with his other hand he had to grab the metal support. The whole sling set into motion a round of clanging as chains banged against metal posts. "You okay in there?" Manetti's voice called out from the kitchen. He peered around the kitchen door to see if the kid was still standing. "Yeah, I'm good," Chris answered stumbling to the bathroom. "I bet you are," Manetti responded with a laugh. "Ben said you were a choir boy. That really true?" "Really true." He shut the bathroom door, relieved that he had found a room, compact as it was, where he could compose himself. As soon as he shut the door, he struggled to get his act together. He mulled over the fact that there were only two rooms in the entire apartment—kitchen, bedroom. Where was he going to sleep? And, fuck, he couldn’t deny how horny he was for Manetti. He saw how the evening was leading in one direction, and he saw he couldn’t and didn’t want it to go any other way. Manetti would be gentle, he reassured himself. That first embrace in the hallway surely proved he would understand that, being his first time, his brother’s lover would be gentle, would let him take things at his own pace. But he was his brother's lover. But he was also a hustler. His brain was frazzled. Sitting down with his underwear around his ankles he looked up at the back of the bathroom door. Taped to it was a foldout from Magnum magazine. It was Ben and Manetti sixty-nining each other with their forearms up each other's ass. Cocks dripping, Crisco smearing, Ben and Manetti were frozen in a frenzy of fists. Chris popped a rock hard boner and dropped the biggest shit of his entire life. *** Manetti unhooked the leg straps from the end of the sling, folded it in half, then re-attached the straps to the arm hooks. That left the futon on the floor unencumbered from above. He popped in one of Drax's bareback twink videos in the VCR, grabbed the remote and laid back on the futon propping his head with an oversize pillow against the radiator. It was late but the Tina laced joint had him in a semi-energized mood. He was sure Chris must have felt similarly. The toilet flushed and Chris emerged. The boy, still clad only in his white underwear, shirtless, flawless, a thin little scarecrow, stood at the bathroom door. Blond hair, dry now but flying every which way. A perfect skinny beach boy, ten years Ben's baby brother. Their resemblance was minimal. Whereas he and Ben worked out regularly, having pecs, necks, and 'ceps to prove it, Chris, looking around the small studio confused, seemed frail. He was more than a little intimidated by all the pornography he was discovering on the walls, porn stars Manetti and Ben had either known or worked with over the years. Mostly signed. "To Manetti / Good times, bad times, baddest times! Rich" or "Big Ben / Your name does not lie, Eric." "Come. Sit," encouraged Manetti patting the space next to him. "How you feel? Like the joint?" "Yeah, man," said Chris, trying to sound cool. "That's powerful dope. It's dusted?" "Nah, a little Tina. You like?" Chris gave a single nod with a flicker in his eye that Manetti zeroed in on. He casually took a sip of water he’d brought from the kitchen. "Want to try it pure?" Chris sat next to him cross legged. "I guess so," he said. Manetti could smell him. A little grungy, a slight smell of urine probably from the wet, dirty underwear. Ben had told Manetti he thought his little brother was on-again and off-again homeless, at least not staying at his house much cuz of the mom's new boyfriend. Manetti grabbed a pipe from the window ledge, set his glass aside, and stuffed the pipe with a little white powder from a baggy. He handed the pipe to Chris. "Have you blown clouds before?" Manetti knew the answer before he asked it. Chris shook his head. Up close Chris was even more striking than across the table. It was his eyes, soulful lost puppy eyes. When you first looked at him he looked just like any skinny white kid, but sitting crossed legged next to him, you could really see how lost he was. His six pack abs wasn’t from working out but from not eating enough, his ribcage pronounced as he breathed. Hairless chest, tiny nipples, little or maybe no armpit hair. The kid didn't even look like he shaved yet. Whereas he was all hair. From his heavy five o'clock shadow that was dark even right after a morning shave, strong jaw with a cleft chin, his father’s rugged aquiline nose, shaggy, unkempt cluster of chestnut hair, and trade-famous pointed sideburns. "Just inhale it like you would hash and hold it." Chris did as he was told. The kid was nothing if not a fast learner. And obedient. The idea of introducing him to Drax crossed his mind. He brushed the thought away. The kid was much too cherry. Drax would eat him alive. Still, what was he going to do with him after tonight? He was definitely going to get in the way of his trade. As Chris was about to blow the smoke out, Manetti took the boy’s mouth and covered it with his own. He breathed in the smoke from Chris' lungs, held it for a beat before exhaling. "No need to waste it. You take it from me this time." Manetti lit the bottom of the pipe, waited for the white cloud to form, then sucked it in. Out of the corner of his eye he could tell Chris was grappling with how Manetti had grabbed his chin and brought their lips together. Chris watched him, biting his lip with anticipation, moving closer to Manetti’s mouth. It was almost like kissing, something he'd never done with man. Manetti motioned with his finger and Chris moved in. Manetti exhaled into him, breathed a new kind of life into him. As he held it, Manetti leaned back against the pillow. "So, what's your plan, Chief?" Chris followed suit and leaned back into the large pillow he shared with Manetti. After he'd exhaled, Manetti took a long sip of water. He offered the glass to Chris. "Don't really have one. Thanks." Chris took a sip and handed the glass back to Manetti. "Not a really good plan, Chief—not to have a plan. Ben thought you were queer. He right?" Manetti was fixed on the TV, watching a blond dude about Chris' age but not as skinny getting sucked by a balding, stocky daddy type. "I used to beat off to Ben's porn. So I guess, yeah. Twice, when I stayed over at my best friend Jeff's place, before his parents didn’t want me coming around anymore, we jacked off to some straight shit.” Chris looked around again at all the porn posters and photos hanging on the walls. “I think I recognize that guy in that poster there from one of them," he said pointing to a huge 'roided porn star with an extra-long dick, one with perfect hyper-masculine features perched on the hood a Rolls Royce. It was signed "To Manetti, thanks for the ride, TJ. "Mr. No Balls? Hah! Tyler says he's straight, only does gay for pay. Don't believe him. You can shit in his mouth and he'd pay you for it." Chris barked out a surprised laugh. “No, seriously he loves twinks. I bet if I call him right now, he’d come over and ask you shit in his mouth.” Manetti made a motion like he was going to get up and call, but Chris, laughing, held him back. Chris’ hand on Manetti’ shoulder, feeling it's mass, registered quickly on both of them. Chris quickly put his hands back in his lap. Manetti added a little more white power to the pipe. "’Nother hit, Chief?" Chris nodded. His heart was already pounding and he felt flush all over. He was also pulling on his pud unconsciously, getting a little wet spot on the tip, staining his already stained underwear. Manetti took note, seeing the kid was totally unaware of what he was doing. He calmly fired up the pipe and slowly leaned into Chris. He blew into his lungs lightly adding just the tip of his tongue, and deliberately scraping the boy’s face lightly with his cheek. Chris's eyes widened. He'd never felt a beard against his face like that. "So that's it. A couple wanks with Jeff, you on one end of the couch, your best bud on the other, eyes glued straight to the TV. Aware of him but never dared to looking. Am I right or am I right?" "Yeah, something like that.” Chris’ mind spun. His next words flew out of him as if he was compelled to confess to Manetti. “Except one time this real nerd, Kyle—I never told nobody this—he helped me with some math homework. His parents both worked so we were alone at his house. Everyone knew he was a fairy. Ran like a girl. We were in his bedroom. He put his hand on my pants, which usually kind of hangs cuz I don’t hitch ‘em up, and he pulled them right off me and gives me a blow job. Like, I didn’t even stop him even though he was sucking my dick. I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” But it felt good being open with Manetti. He felt a mild release and a kind of excitement in the act. "Did you give Kyle a blow job back?" Chris scoffed at the thought. Then after a beat, added, “Actually, I thought about it. Sometimes late at night, jacking off under the covers, I remembered how much I liked it. How soft his mouth was. How it felt to cum into it, into this big wet thing. Like how I didn't have to hold back at all. Like how maybe I’d like to give Jeff a blow job. Give him the same feeling. Like he wouldn’t have to hold back and just come in my mouth and I’d swallow it. Okay, shut up. Stop talking now,” he said, talking to himself in a voice that could have been his father's. Manetti laughed, but made a quick U-turn and became serious. "Well, what wasn't nice, Chief, is that you should always reciprocate. Know what I mean? I mean if I gave you a blow job, I'd expect you'd give me one back. That’s only fair, right? And if I rimmed your ass, I expect you'd return the favor." "What’s rimming?" asked Chris. Manetti looked at him sideways, saw he was honestly confused. This kid was too innocent to be believed! “You must have seen it in one of Ben’s magazines.” Chris shook his head. Manetti found the remote control and sped the video up. "There. See what that kid’s doing?" Manetti pointed at the screen where the blond kid was under the older daddy’s hairy ass. "He’s eat out man's pussy." "The fuck out!" said Chris but didn't take his eyes from the screen. Manetti saw the kid's boner tenting up in his shorts. "That's fucking nasty, man. Gross! Why would someone do that?" Yet the boy’s eyes couldn’t be pried from the screen with a crowbar. He was pulling again at his underwear. "It's like getting a blow job but a hundred times better.” He motioned to Chris’ hardon. "Looks as if you like the nasty." Chris stopped pulling at his dick alarmed. “Wait. I’ll fast forward. You're gonna love this." The VHS tape sped up, then skidded to a stop. The boy was now under a rim seat with the daddy sitting on top. A close-up showed the boy lifting his head, licking the daddy’s balls then sticking his tongue deep into the daddy’s hairy ass. "I bet you’d be good under there." Chris felt his whole skin glisten in a light sweat. His nerves felt electric. Manetti flicked off the room lamp. The room basked in the dark glow of the TV. Chris felt an imaginary blanket was enveloping him and Manetti, separating them from the world. With the light off, he had an urgent need to take off his underwear and bare himself to Manetti. Manetti sensed it and reached out and slipped off Chris' underwear. The kid had a nice seven inch rod, rigid and beaded with pre-cum. Very little pubic hair. Looked like he clipped it, too. His legs were hairless, thin and smooth. Such smooth pale skin got him excited and he casually opened his robe revealing his long, uncut cock angling above his firm, hairy belly. Chris looked at him achingly. He took the boy's hand and placed it on his manmeat. Chris caressed it lightly at first, the first time he'd ever touched a man’s penis. Manetti felt him quickly go from a light touch to a firm grip. He pumped a little in the boy's hand. The hand barely wrapped around his shaft. But what he did hold was like being in the grip of a cobra. His other hand aimed for Manetti’s chest. His finger ran through his chest hair making a bee-line for his pierced nipple. When he make contact Manetti could wait no longer. He pounced, gripping Chris’ legs and spinning him around, pulling his legs into the air to expose his butthole. He dove down to engulf his sphincter and the kid let out a moan of pure pleasure, his neck arched looking up to his face. "Oh, fuck, dude," Chris cried. "Oh, shit that feels good. Jesus. Christ! Oh shit." It coaxed Manetti to pull the boy's pursed asslips apart even more and deep dived his tongue into this virgin hole. “Push out,” ordered Manetti. "More!" The boy hadn't wiped well and there was an acrid taste of shit around the kid's stained hole. It horned Manetti even more, driving his tongue deeper into this nasty, puckering pit. “Push fucker!” Every nerve ending in Chris' bunghole bristled in pleasure as he pushed out his hole. Manetti's long tongue dug into the hole, which fought instinctively against entry. Manetti’s mouth was relentless, chewing, licking, sucking on the boy's ass lips. Chris tried fighting against the tongue from entering, but bit by bit he felt the pleasures of giving up his hole, physically and mentally, to push out and let this man he’d met only a few hours before enter him in his most vulnerable spot. Manetti beard scratched his tender skin, but it felt incredible, loosened him more and more. He heard the man spit, his hole dripping wet, and felt a finger entering him. This was the first time he'd ever been penetrated, and though it was uncomfortable and hurt, at the same time it excited him. He felt conflicted, fooling around with his brother's boyfriend, afraid of where this might lead. But he knew where he wanted it to lead. Manetti held his legs firmly, looked down into his open face. Chris was afraid and yet attracted at the same time. Manetti was all hair, chest, shoulders, a black jungle around his cock, even a bit of hair on his back that he felt with his legs. Manetti held his legs over his shoulders to dig into that smooth, tasty boyhole. From that vulnerable position, Manetti sucked in a testicle, then the other, which made the kid cry out in pleasure and surprise. He then returned to that beautiful virginal, pliable, slowly opening tunnel. The sensation of having his hole eaten was driving him wild. Hoarsely, he spat out, "Mike, I want to return the favor." Manetti looked down into the boy's face, became curious, wondering if the kid would do it or would cop out at the last minute. He released him and the kid scurried through Manetti’s legs, putting himself beneath the man's furry butt like he'd seen the twink do on TV. Manetti squatted over his face as he felt the boy’s lips surrounding his crack. The kid pulled on Manetti's legs to get him to squat lower. "Oh, fuck yeah. You're as big of a pig as your brother. Eat my shithole, boy. Dig in, get lost in it.” Manetti ground his ass over the boy’s face. “Rank, right? Be a little toilet pig. You felt what I did, how deep I got. Return that favor. Be a sewer. Be a cell pool. Just give in to it. Get lost in there." And Chris did. His cock remained an iron pole, Manetti noted, while his tongue didn’t stop for a moment cleaning his dirty shithole. Chris had never felt as uninhibited as this. Manetti’s whole butt was one massive trench of black hair. The crack seemed to go on forever. He licked and licked, searching to find the center. Manetti’s musky odor drove his brain into delirium. He was a boy on a mission and would not give up until he made Manetti’s hole feel as good as Manetti had made his. Minutes went by till he arrived, finding the smooth oasis of flesh through the dark brush. It pulsed with heat on his tongue, and gave off the pure scent of a man. He couldn't believe how wonderfully soft the skin felt across his tongue nor the nasty taste that reeked from his hole. Instead of being repulsed by the stench, he was in a frenzy to please Manetti but he also found he really liked it. He did what Manetti had done and lapped and circled the hole, until he found he could dart his tongue inside, which produced an animal snarl from Manetti. "Rrrrrr, fuck yes, piglet. Get in there you little fuck pig." Then something happened Chris didn't quite understand, but knew in his gut he liked right away. The hole he was chewing on opened up slightly and a vast area of Manetti's rectum pushed out with it. His mouth was confronted with his first rosebud, although at the time he didn't know what it was. Right after this mound of gelatinous flesh revealed itself to him, like some startled sea creature, it pulled back into its hole. Manetti went wild. Chris felt his legs being pulled in the air again, separated, a tongue slithered into his entrance. An infinite amount of pleasure, giving and receiving, before there was a brief pause, then a heavy hand cracked against his butt. "Say, Thank you, Sir." "Thank you, Sir," repeated Chris, his ass stinging, feeling a sense of shame and pleasure and pride all at the same time. "You taste so fucking good, I want to eat you up, pig boy," growled Manetti. "Let's get you in the sling. I have to bang this pretty pussy." They sprang up and he quickly showed Chris how to connect the legs chains back to the hooks. Chris rubbed his butt and felt the heat from the slap Manetti had given him. "Climb in, boy, and I'll give you the ride of your life." As Chris was figuring out how to get in, Manetti said, "You liked blowing clouds?" Chris nodded. "Then you're going to love this." He quickly poured some powder in a shot glass, mixed a little water in it and sucked it up in a plunger. "Okay, settle in. Put your legs through here.” Manetti paused, then ran a hand up and down Chris' torso, ending by fondling his cock and balls. “You happy you met me?” Chris nodded. "And you've never been fucked before?" Chris shook his head fiercely, anticipating what was to come. “Comfy?" Chris nodded again eagerly, starting to slowly hump Manetti's paw. "Not so fast, boy. I want you to learn to feel it not just in your dick but also inside your hole.” Manetti pulled Chris' dick away from his body to the boy cried, then let it slap against his belly. “You gonna do whatever Sir says, yes slave?" Manetti squeezed a little lube on Chris' hole. He wet a finger in his mouth and pushed it up Chris' ass a good inch or two. It was uncomfortable for a second while Manetti twisted his finger lubing all side of Chris’ tight cave, but Manetti kept wiggling it around and Chris not only got used to the sensation, but found himself writhing a bit on Manetti finger, trying to get him to penetrate him further. "Okay, this'll be a little cold and might sting, but just for a minute." Manetti replaced his finger with the plunger, stuck it up Chris's canal as far as it would go, and then shot the liquid into the boy's empty hole. Shit yes, it was cold and stung like a bitch. Chris bore down as Manetti finished injecting his ass with the cold liquid, then pulled the plunger out of him. At first he felt nothing but coldness warming up inside him. He felt a bit let down anticipating something intense. Manetti looked him over, stroked his erect dick and tweak his small nipples. “Feel anything?” Chris shook his head. Manetti went over to the VHS recorder and switched tapes. While it was revving up, Manetti put on a leather cap and vest over his otherwise naked body. Chris was truly impressed, if not a little intimidated, by the severe transformation a few bits of costume made to Manetti. It also altered Manetti's attitude. Manetti looked straight out of one of his brother’s leather magazines. It brought out a sense of privilege and arrogance even. Manetti went to the bookshelf and opened a box and pulled out an orange capped rig. He strapped his arm with a tourniquet, feeling for a vein against the dim TV light. He slammed himself and started breathing heavily. His mouth shaped into an round 'O' and his eyes widened in sudden astonishment. Something was happening in Chriss too, something like a serpant eminating from his hole. He felt a strong surge of desire. "You look so fucking great, Sir. Like a god." Chris could not see Manetti’s eyes, only dark pockets where his eyes should be. Chris couldn’t help himself and started pleasuring the feeling his ass. Words flew out of him. "Or like the devil," he whispered like at confession. Something heating up inside his hole made him feel intensely desirous of Manetti. Wanting him like he never wanted anything before. Manetti cough. "FUCK!" Manetti shouted widening his eyes. "Christ fuck!" He could barely stand, and leaned heavily on the bookcase. "Hot damn, boy. How you feeling?” He was breathless, trying to put the orange cap back on the rig. “You feel it yet?" Manetti looked to him out of focus, but a feeling of euphoria was sweeping through Chris' body, making himself pull on his cock at the same time he fingered his butthole. He felt electric, energized, wanted Manetti to touch him all over, maybe even smack him again. "I feel great, Sir,” he said. As Manetti staggered from the bookcase and came closer, he sat up in the sling and ran his hands across Manetti’s hairy chest. "I wanted to do that the second I came in the door, Sir. Fuck, you are so hot. My ass is yours. Whatever you want to do to it. Beat me if you want to." "Beat my ass—SIR!" returned Manetti, now holding on to the chains while he was rushing, where Chris' butt lay exposed, so desirous of being fucked for the very first time. "Yes, SIR, beat my ass again—SIR." And Manetti did, harder than the first time. "Thank you, SIR," replied Chris, falling back against the leather pillow, pushing his ass out of the sling. A light turned on in the room across the airshaft. Chris didn't notice, but Manetti did. "You're welcome, boy. Let's get you settled in." With that Manetti quickly locked his leg restraints, still breathing heavily, punctuating fucks under his breath as he worked. Before Chris knew it, Manetti had restrained his arms above his head. He gladly went along with whatever Manetti wanted to do. As long as it didn't involve needles. That was the only thing that freaked him a little but he tried not to think about it. If it wasn't for the feeling of horniness overcoming every molecule in his body he might have been spooked by the restraints. But now he was accepting everything that this hairy demon breathing over him was doing. It was easy to inhale Manetti’s pheromones, which blotted out the picture of him hunched over, shooting up. Or maybe he secretly liked that. He didn’t know what he thought anymore. He arched his head toward Manetti’s cock. It was veiny, half sheathed in foreskin. Leaking pre-cum. He licked it. A taste of salt and cheese. Nothing had ever tasted so delicious and desirable to him. He still had a trace of Manetti’s dirty ass on his lips and it mixed with salt and cheese from his foreskin. Manetti turned on a light over the sling and flipped on a video camera propped next to the bookcase. Manetti slowly turned the boy’s peach fuzz face to the side, checked that the view finder was in close, recording each translucent strand of blond hair on the boy's upper lip, and slid his veiny cock into the boy's mouth. He swallowed have his fat nob. Manetti was impressed at how much Chris could take. He pushed him further, getting half his shaft into the boy's mouth, feeling where the boy’s throat constricted, made him choked on his shaft, then skullfucked him at that length for a while as his cock grew from semi-flaccid to fully engorged. Manetti withdrew his cock from his mouth, and a web of pre-cum hung like a spider web between them. He let his uncut cock trace over Chris’ pursed mouth. "Ah Chris," he said looking into his eyes. "I'm going to fucking love knocking you up." Chris felt the words echo in his head, puzzled at first by their meaning. On the TV screen a body was being pummeled by a Master with a whip, with a boy writhing in pain and ecstatically twisting under the lash. He looked back at Manetti. Beyond the harsh light shining on him, in the dim light of the room, he saw covered by the beautiful black fur surrounding Manetti's navel, the three prongs of a biohazard tattoo. Manetti placed a red ball in his mouth and tied it behind his head. Chris realized too late what the ball was for, and started fighting against his bindings. Manetti pushed in between his legs. The kid tried to close his legs but the sling and Manetti easily pried him open. He was exposed and vulnerable. Manetti greased his cock and lubed the boy's tight hole. With his first thrust his aim was true. He slid the entire length of the kid's clutching rectum, straight up to his thick black patch of pubic hairs. The girth of his shaft ripped the boy's hole apart. Manetti's hairy balls smacked into the boy's tailbone. He didn't stop till he was right up the boy's chute, fully inside. The boy cried in anguish behind the red ball, tears in his eyes, panic running across his face. Fiercely he was beathing, spitting saliva through the ball in heaving gulps of air. Spit ran down his chin and cheek. He fought as much as he could against the thickness of Manetti’s enormous shaft, against his cuffed arms and legs, but the struggle only engorged Manetti’s immense tool more. "Fight against it, bitch. I love it." Manetti picked up his pace. The pain was unbearable but he was helpless to stop it, and with every stroke he felt his resistance falling away. The longer it went on, and against his will, he started deriving a small bit of pleasure from the pain. Chris slowly began to unclench against Manetti’s girth. For a while, at the pinnacle of each thrust, Manetti would hold his crotch against Chris' hole, letting the boy experience the magnitude of the amount of raw flesh that filled his hole. Chris felt all the hairs of Manetti's pubis surround his hole. Manetti gyrated inside him. He felt the stiff cock push his insides around, moving everything inside, his bladder, his prostate, a gateway to an inner chamber. The sensations started owning him. Making him feel things he didn't know he could feel, sensations that were newly possible. Manetti felt Chris’ hole beginning to open. He looked into the bound boy’s blue eyes and saw a dawning pleasure deep within him. He wasn’t sure the boy even knew he was beginning to draw pleasure from his pain, but he would know and eventually desire it in ever increasing amounts. He new his journey and he would have the boy follow in his tracks. Tears were being overcome with lust as the chemicals were taking over Chris' body. The boy stopped struggling and for a moment became placid. He grew annoyed with the passivity so with both hands, as hard as he could, he smacked with all his force Chris' ass. It made Chris yelp and clench his sphincter which pleased Manetti. He looked down on the boy and was surprised to see a spark of gratitude in Chris' eyes. Just a spark. He needed to work him harder. They fell into a rhythm. For minutes that turned to hours Chris got used to the battering his hole was taking. When he went slack, Manetti slapped him to tighten him up, or twisted his small nipples until he tried to cry out in pain behind the gag. At the beginning, Chris fought the massive rod slamming into him and the occasional whipping his ass endured. But after non-stop fucking, accepting the alternating pleasure and pain, he came to desire the torpedo that was tearing him inside. The familiar walloping he received growing up, he secretly desired from Manetti. In the mirror he watched and felt his butt turn from pink, to red, to purple. At some point he got lost in it, started thrusting himself to get impaled deeper, to be slapped hard, to be punished for sins he couldn’t name. Manetti felt Chris' entire canal loosening. The ass smacking was now built into their fucking. Chris, in fact, in a haze, began thanking him behind the red ball. Whether or not Manetti heard him was questionable, for Manetti's eyes rolled back in his head and he mindlessly fucked and abused what at times became an anonymous body splayed beneath him. Manetti occasionally snapped out of his daze and saw how much he was controlling this innocent young kid, this younger version of his partner, his boyfriend, his lover—imagined he was fucking an innocent version of Ben, one from long ago—then he would lose himself again to the sheer, dark pleasure he derived from his raw cock having its way in a stranger's body. He felt himself edging closer to a climax as his mind vacillated between thoughts of Ben and this new fresh piece of nameless meat. As he felt he was close to cumming, he broke through to awareness of Chris beneath him. He saw Chris' sweat dick never lost its erection no matter what he did to him. He started playing with the boy's meat, milking him, lightly slapping his face so that he came out of his drugged revelry. "I'm about to cum, Chris,” he said as the boy focused on his mouth and words, “but I’m not going to cum in you unless you cum first, got that? That shows you want me to give you my poz cum. Shows me you want to be my fuckhole no matter what. Lets me own you." Through blurred eyes Chris lobbed his head no, but almost immediately started squirming his cock in Manetti clenched fist. "I can't tell if you're trying to get away from me, fuckhole, or you're jacking yourself in my hand. I think you're jacking, you little cum pig." He broke into a dark smile. "Feel how hard you are?" Chris kept bucking, thrashing, squirming away in a sea of ecstasy and lust, both wanting this man to cum and fearing it with all his fiber, but he couldn't hold back, jacking into his fist and slamming back onto his cock, a see-saw that wouldn't end until he pushed himself over the edge. He let loose the longest stream of cum he'd ever shot. Ribbons of sperm spewed over the room. The boy’s hole clenched and spasmed as he shot, immediately triggered Manetti who gushed in rivers of ropey sperm up the boy's open chute. They both quaked in orgasms, each building on the other’s spuming bodies, until they were thrashing uncontrollably against each other, grinding bone against bone, skin against raw skin, till there was a thrust of Manetti that hung in the air, then one more, then a final lunge plunging Manetti deep inside Chris. He held it there, on the edge, feeling himself unload an afterbirth of cum. Manetti stood dripping heavy sweat onto Chris' glistening chest. He rubbed Chris' cum all over his chest and face. He sucked the boy's small nipples, licked up and down the boy's arms, licked his pits, still hard and draining inside him. “You still with me?” he whispered, as he loosened the ball in Chris’ mouth. “That was fucking fantastic.” The boy’s eyes, drugged as they were, did not lie. Manetti kissed him deep, then lay on top of him feeling his heart beating against his. He rested there for a moment feeling the slickness between them, the kid’s sperm matting his chest and abs and pubes. He licked up a river of the boy’s cum welled in his sternum, and was surprised to see Chris open his mouth for him. The boy had the makings of a true pig, he thought, as he released the drool into the greedy boy's maw. He watched the lust still simmering within the boy as he swallowed. Maybe he was Drax material after all. ***

Who wants to cum fuck me and take A picture with my bareback ass kik TsSelenaLopez currently in dallas

This isn't fiction. I have decided to write down my journey up until now. How I became the way I am. How I risk taking poz cock as a closeted married man. If I'm posting this in the wrong section please accept my apologies. I'm not sure a story all about me is worthy of bothering other sections of the forum. This is something I'm trying to get some pressure and maybe guilt off my chest. Being closeted I have nobody to talk to about this. Nobody knows any of what I'm about to type but me. And now you: I'll start right at the beginning. I lost my virginity when I was just old enough to be legal. This being my anal virginity. I slept with and lost my virginity to a girl at age 13. She was also 13. My parents were away for the weekend and I invited a random guy over from a website called Gaydar.co.uk. It used to be a great website but I'm not even sure if it exists any more. I wanted to suck my first dick. Had no plans on being fucked the first time. Anyway, the guy turned up around 1pm in the afternoon. I let him in. He was around 25 y/o. We went straight upstairs and I asked him what I should do. He told me to undress and get on my knees. I did. He was not fat but was a big guy. Tall and stocky. He got his cock out and dropped it right in my face. I recoiled. I was scared. The guy was not sympathetic as he sighed and looked impatient. I was nervous and knew there was no turning back. I leaned forward and opened my mouth. I remember the taste. I liked it and I could feel the oily pre cum lubricating my tongue. I had already tasted my own cum by this point but his was saltier, more bitter. I still loved the taste. I felt dirty and happy with what I was doing. I was also shaking with nerves. There's no way he couldn't tell. I was sucking his dick for a long time. I can't even say how long but my knees were red. I daren't complain. He got rough and was forcing his dick down my throat and making me gag. Everytime I gagged he released a muted "ha". He was laughing at me. I started to feel defiant. I had never been treat this way. My defiance soon passed as he sat on the bed, put his hand under my armpit and FLUNG me with one arm on to the bed behind him. He lays on his back and told me to get at it. I sucked for what seemed like another half an hour. Once in a while his cock would throb strongly but he never came. I could feel pre-cum seeping out all the time. Pre-cum still makes my eyes roll back to this day because of this first time. He asked me if I wanted to fuck. It looked easy in the pornos. I knew it would hurt a little but thought I could handle it. He had brought lube. He told me to bend over on the bed. I did. He fingered my ass. I was ok with this as I had experimented with my own fingers previously. After some prodding and loosening he lined up his dick and put it in slowly. I felt the pain immediately. I lurched forward and let out a painful squeal. He pulled me back by my hips. I should note that he was silent this whole time. He never said a word from the moment he put his cock in me til the moment he left. Anyway, he pushed in to me as I screamed in pain. He didn't thrust in fast, it was all very slow, but the pain was excruciating. Finally he was all the way in. I'd say about 6 inches and quite thick. When he was in he stayed there for about a minute. Still silent. I was still hurting, I thought the pain would be over quickly. He started slowly withdrawing and then pushing back in. I started crying. Not small sobs. Lots of tears, very loud crying. I begged him to stop. He didn't. Just silence as he fucked me and held my hips. I tried to fling myself forward but crashed down on to my stomach as he put his whole weight on top of me. Balls deep. He sped up and started fucking me like I'd seen in the porn. I was still crying but it didn't hurt as much. He fucked me for around 15 minutes. Stopping once in a while. I knew it was to stop himself cumming. I asked for cum in my mouth and almost as soon as I finished my sentence he thrust hard and came in my ass. I said nothing. I had stopped crying halfway through his rigorous smashing of my virgin hole but the degradation of him cumming in me when I said no. The loss of agency. I burst out crying again. He was just silent. He didn't have to say anything. We both knew what just happened. He then pulled out, wiped his dick on my pillow, grinned at me and left. He had got in his car and drove away before I even got off the bed. I realise now I was raped. Somehow it didn't feel like it at the time. I knew I was in trouble when the thought of my rape made my cock hard. I was done for when I had my first wank...Thinking about my rape. This was only around a week later. That was my introduction to being a sub bottom for men. I am still a very dominant top with Women and was always successful in the hunt for pussy. I would only seek cock when I couldn't get pussy but this all changed when I was a couple of years older, and cock became the main goal. My next dick wasn't for two years. I wanted it so much but the trauma of my first encounter stayed with me. I would play with myself with gay porn all the time but stayed away from the real thing. I had a girlfriend, and my next encounter with cock actually came because of her. Let me know if this is appropriate and if you want more. I'm aware I'm not a great writer. This really is just a journal up to now. I feel my story gets very interesting so hopefully you want to hear more of it. Part 2 is linked here as it has straight sex. Further parts will be all gay and here in this thread.

I love to bottom also as to the PA its 50-50 as some love and others hate.

Mask-up and we'll fuck this week.

whoa! Taking over a hotel for a conversion parTy. Can't wait to read more...

Here is the root of the problem.

This is one of my favorites. I have spent many, many hours taking loads at thes ABS. I knew several of the employees and they would always make sure I was safe and busy. It also made it easy to slammed and spun.

I'm sure the both of you are more than a few members' fantasy pairings for a video to watch.

He looked to be about 50. Salt and pepper hair with a beard. Wasn't quite a bear, he had the look of a guy that used to be big into working out but stopped. Both arms were covered in tattoos. "Fuck this is a nice hole. Thanks for the invite Connor." "No problem, I figured you wouldn't want to pass up helping to break in a cub in training". I was able to move my head a bit and saw that in addition to Sam, Connor, and Nolan; there were four or five other guys in the room, including the one currently fucking me. "Here boys, I don't want to cum yet, someone else have a turn", the man said. He stepped away and his spot was filled by a college-type jock I had danced with at the club. "Fuck when Connor told me what they had planned for you, I knew I had to get in on it", he said. His dick was average but also pierced. Fortunately I had enough lube and poppers in my system at this point that he slid right in. I moaned as I felt his piercing probe my prostate. "Fuck, I need to get in there. Hold on". Sam maneuvered me so that Connor could slide in underneath. With some pressure and patience, he got his own pierced cock inside me next to the jocks. I saw stars from how much they had stretched me. He just left his cock in there while the jock steadily fucked me. After awhile his breath quickened and I could feel him shoot his load. "Fuck man that was great, haven't DP someone in awhile". He slid out but Connor stayed in. I saw Sam above me, and he closed the blinders back over my eyes again. "More exciting not knowing who's in there isn't it?" Someone forced their cock in me. I groaned and bit the gag, this has to have been Nolan from the size. At this point it felt like I was being split in two. He fucked me for a bit but didn't cum. After awhile, several cocks, and 5 more loads, Connor withdrew his cock (I was amazed that having all those guys rubbing up against his dick inside me didn't make him cum). Suddenly the blinders were removed again. When I looked around, I could see twice as many men as before, none of them the same as the original ones. Suddenly Nolan was at my hole, eating the cum that was leaking out. "Fuck, I love eating a cummy hole". Him and Sam took turns eating me out. "You're going to get to watch this next round", Connor whispered. First up was a college twink that couldn't have been more than 20. His dick was thin and curved, but you could tell he was inexperienced because he came in about 2 minutes. Next was a leather daddy I had seen at the bar and made out with a bit dancing. "Fuck, I could tell at the bar what a little cum dump you are." He fucked me for a solid ten minutes before giving me his load. After that I lost track of who was fucking me. It ranged from college twink to muscle daddy to obese bear and chubby grandpa. All in all I would say I took at least 20 loads. After the group left, the three of them had one final event: Connor slid under me again and into my hole. Sam pushed his big daddy cock in next to him. Together they fucked me until Sam came. He slid out, and in went Nolan, also adding his load and a few seconds later Connor broke through my second sphincter and came deep in me, flooding my ass deeper with all the loads of the night. He got up, and was replaced with Nolan and Sam, who wanted to cum in me together as well. I stayed like that for a few minutes, pinned between them with their cocks in me and all that cum plugged up. Finally they moved off and replaced their cocks with a massive plug, that somehow fit comfortably. They untied me and lowered me down, my legs and arms weak and stiff. "Now it's time for one last thing". Connor took off the latex cod piece, and my own cock sprang out, slick from the cum I had been leaking. "I love fucking a guy, but I was told yours is amazing to see and wanted to try myself", he said as he scooped up some cum that had leaked down my legs, slathering it on his hole and then impaling himself on my cock. "Oh fuck", he said in ecstasy. I'm of average length but pretty thick, he sank to the base in one motion. I could feel other loads in there, and realized that in between topping me, he himself had been getting fucked. He rode me nonstop for ten minutes, but finally I couldn't take it and exploded deep in him. He collapsed on me, panting as I felt those loads coating my insides, and also my cock still in him. I was still hard, so I rolled him over and torturing his nipples I started fucking him. "Fuck yes, give me that load. Been getting them all night, lets see if you give as good as", he exclaimed. I shot another load deep in him, and we collapsed on the bed a sweaty, cummy mess. ...........................................

I cheat especially when my bf and i travel. somehow having sex with someone in our bed is a huge turn on for me. my bf loves pound and dump so i always look for someone else's top husband who is into passionate sex. long foreplay and breed my ass. one time, bf came back literally after i just got bred by someone, didnt have time to clean up, he buried his horny cock in my ass, told me i was wet. I lied that i was getting ready, after he added another load in me, lots of cum drip out of slutty hole. he was surprised thinking he shot huge loads in me....hot

Thanks guys! Glad you enjoyed it. I wasn't sure how it would go over, and quite honestly, it was harder to write than I thought it would be. I'm happy it came out decent. :)

I was fucking this hot Latin stud on and off for a few months. He lived in an apartment with his parents. He was kinda a bad boy getting into trouble and was on a short leash with his dad. Always asking what he was doing etc. I had gotten a text from him and went over to put a couple loads in him. He started out giving me a hot bj and hitting poppers. I was rock hard and turned him on his stomach to pound out a couple loads. I was fucking him hard and fast and shot deep inside both of us moaning with pleasure. He got up to look out the window and sure enough his dad pulled into his spot. I pulled up my pants and ran to the door. He was pulling up his pants and let me out. As I was leaving the apartment building his dad and I exchanged hello’s and I got in my car with a grin. If it had been a couple minutes earlier dad would have heard the pounding and grunting coming from sons bedroom. I sometimes wonder if he would have joined?

I do like fucking younger guys, twinkies, young asians, blacks &c But what really matters is a dirty mind and a bottom who knows it's his job to keep me hard so I can keep fucking simple, really

Part 2 I’d watched my son, Ben and his boyfriend Jeremy, all night and I’d stayed rock hard. Ben couldn’t get enough cock and it looked like his boyfriend didn’t satisfy him because there were so many videos of him with strangers of all ages. I particularly liked a regular muscle couple in their mid-thirties who, besides being ripped and pierced, had bio-hazard tattoos and big fat dicks. They were very adept at ravaging my young sons’ cunt and mouth in equal measure. Ben couldn’t get enough and enjoyed swallowing load after load from them, felchin it from one bf’s cunt or having it licked out of his so he could have it fed back to him. Piss chasers, fists and arms invaded him and all the time his cock remained hard, begging them to breed him. I knew what that meant, I’d said it myself many times, right up until I got knocked up. Finally, having blown yet another river of cum, I decided I had to help my son and his bf convert, if they hadn’t already. My mind was buzzing from the revelations about my son. My balls ached from ejaculating so much but my mind was made up, I intended to get my slut son and his boyfriend pozzed. Luckily for me, it wasn’t long before a window of opportunity presented itself. Just a week later, it was early evening and my apartment door bell buzzed. I opened the door to find Ben standing there with tear stained face. He took one look at me and burst into tears again and flung himself towards me. I grabbed him and hugged him, shutting the door. “What’s wrong?” I asked, genuinely concerned. “Jez and I had a big fight and I walked out” He managed to say between sobs. I took him through to the lounge and sat him down and fetched a bottle of Brandy. Pouring him and myself a glass, I sat down next to him while he relayed the whole story of his and Jeremy’s falling out. I smiled to myself because it was over something petty and yet all I could do was picture my boy ecstatically riding his boyfriend’s cock. Finally, after our fourth glass I told him he could stay here for as long as he needed while they sort things out. He hugged and thanked me with the effects of the Brandy already evident. At that moment the door bell buzzed again. “Fuck” I said, suddenly seeing the time. “What is it Dad?” Ben slurred. “It’s Thursday night, I have a regular weekly massage booked” I said. Ben grinned, “I could do with one of those” I looked at my boy then a dark thought occurred, the masseur I used was not only fit as fuck and hung, he was poz too. Thinking quickly, “I tell you what, you need it more than me so why not go shower and I’ll get him to do you”. The last part of that statement made me hard knowing that Ben would be getting nailed with toxic cum. Ben’s face lit up and he hugged me again then got up to go shower. I answered the door and there stood Mike, my black 28 year old masseuse stud. We hugged and kissed, and I let him past me. He always looked so hot in the sports kit he wore and I was so looking forward to a good hard massage and even harder fuck, but once inside I told him of Ben and the plan. Mike grinned, “Seriously, you want me to fuck your son raw?” he asked in his deep, gravely voice. “I do.” I grinned back. “breed him good, make him yours” I said placing my hand on Mike’s obviously swelling monster cock. I rubbed it through his sweatpants and felt it harden to my touch. I’d ridden Mike’s nine inches plenty of times and it never failed to make me howl with intense pleasure. Mike smiled and just as I withdrew my hand, my handsome and totally effeminate son walked in. Towel wrapped round his head and wearing a dressing gown. He still looked achingly fuckable. He took one look at Mike and his face lit up. Mike was 6ft 6” and towered over Ben. “Mike, this is my son Ben.” I said introducing him. Mike lifted his strong muscular arm and offered his hand to Ben, who took it and shook it. His hand looked dainty against Mike’s. “Mike, use the guest room. It’s all set up” I said. Mike knew what that meant and winked at me, although Ben had no idea. It was an ordinary bedroom with a good firm king size bed, but it also had the addition of hidden cameras covering the bed from multiple angles. I’d be sat in the lounge with the 65” flat screen and watch all the action as it unfolded. Mike led Ben off and I sat down infront of the TV and tuned to the home made porn channel! Ben and Mike entered the guest bedroom with the bed centered on screen. I had multiple angles I could switch between and watched Mike instruct Ben to get comfortable on the bed. I could hear everything clearly and watched as my beautiful boy disrobed and removed the towel around his head. He was already rock hard and Mike commented on his nice cock as Ben grinned and got on the bed, laying down on his front. Ben watched as Mike got undressed and audibly moaned loudly as he caught sight of Mike’s placid megacock. Mike has an awesome body and it wasn’t long before he was knelt besides my naked boy, oiling his bare flesh and using great pressure to arouse my son as he worked his young body. Mike’s arms and stomach muscles looked amazing as they flexed while he performed the massage. I had my cock out and in hand while I sipped brandy, watching as Mike got quite rough with him before finally fingering his cunt. Ben moaned loudly while Mike used one hand to play with his hole and the other to slowly wank his now rock hard monster. It didn’t take long for Ben to ask to be fucked, and slowly I watched Mike move to straddle Ben, aiming his rigid rod towards my boys hole. Ben cried out as Mike gripped him and began to invade his cunt, moaning more loudly as Mike pushed deep inside my boy. Finally, with his massive cock buried in Ben fully, and holding his massive frame over the boy with two huge arms, Mike began fucking. Slowly at first but rapidly speeding up, Ben began to cry out from both the pleasure and pain. I watched Mike fuck my son for nearly half an hour, throwing him around the bed like a rag doll. He’d grip him by the throat and throttle him while he fucked him missionary, then with Mike underneath he'd slap his face while he plowed his hole. Sometimes he’d pull out and force as much of his cock into Ben’s throat as he could take; and he could take a lot, then continued to face fuck him. He’d grip his hair and pull tight while slapping his face, ass and cock. He was physically abusing my boy and raping his cunt with such force, and yet all the time, my boy begged for more. Finally, as Mike grew close to climaxing while pounding Ben from behind, and facing one camera perfectly, Mike pushed him flat on the bed, gripped Ben round the throat with one of his massive arms and went into overdrive. My boys expression was shear pleasure, but I’ve been in that same position and know Mike’s cock was ripping my boys cunt like a bastard while all the time Mike was cutting off my oxygen supply. Mike was close, and as I watched their faces, he whispered something in Ben’s ear who then momentarily faltered, before Mike roared loudly as his cock exploded into Ben’s guts. They were both sweating like pigs and breathing heavily, but Ben was in ecstasy. Mike looked like he’d just finished a particularly heavy workout and after a few more minutes of making sure he’d pumped all his poison sploodge deep inside my boys cunt, he pulled out. I’d watched all the action unfold and as they climaxed, I came too. I gently stroked the last few spurts as I watched Mike present his cum covered cock to Ben and made him lick it clean. After Mike withdrew his cock, he slapped Ben hard in the face, who just lay there, exhausted and satisfied while Mike turned, picked up his clothes and left the room. I got up and licked my cum covered hand just as Mike entered the room. He grinned at me and began to dress. “He’s hot” Mike said as he zipped up his hooded top. “Reminds me of you” He continued grinning. I smiled and we kissed again. I led him to the front door and opened it. As he went to leave I remembered something. “What did you whisper to him?” I asked. Mike turned back, grinning at me, “I told him I’d scratched him to make him bleed because you’d asked me to poz him” I smiled back at him and he left.

It seems grossly unfair to me not to accept a Top unloading inside you - you’ve let him enter you and set into motion a whole array of powerful instinctual and chemical drives that supercharge the pleasure centers of his brain. The whole core of his biological being at that point is working toward a reproductive goal, which will provide him an enormous physical and mental reward, but only if fully completed. Full completion includes - most importantly - the sensation of releasing cum into the target environment. If you’ve ever cum deep inside someone bare, you know what I mean - there simply is no comparison. It would never occur to me to deny that fundamental human right to any Man. And I don’t.

I’ve thought the very same thing ever since I saw this scene. I looked for other scenes with and could find none. The bottom looked to be high and possibly Gunner as well.

Huge popper pig here too. Some of my favorites: https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph58e0eb52b3201 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph56f3bec18516d https://www.xvideos.com/video12132021/popper_trainer_compilation_for_popperbators_only_male_ https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5620a52748743 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph57d6a9d34393c https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5938aa144c937 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5c83e63041fb5 https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5baad288d22ee Last two are my go-tos when I want to finish off a long edging popperbating session. So fucking filthy. Makes me want to get pounded hard.

In his defence, I humbly disagree. I met George Mason (Hung Young Brit, bottoming in this vid / topping in others) very briefly at Manchester Pride a couple years ago (he lives in London but was up for Pride I assume). I was working a booth and he came through. He was only there for a few minutes (5 give or take) but I was hard the entire time he was around. He is playing a character here (the chav / scally stereotype); there may be elements of that in his real persona but definitely being played up here. That said he did recently get into some legal trouble when he and another guy had sex on the London Underground (with another friend recording) and then uploading the video to (I think) Twitter.

9. Le Papillon Usually coming out of the Queens Midtown tunnel you’d make a left to go downtown back to their apartments, but Jamal, the one driving the black Camero back from Fire Island, exited the midtown tunnel and drove to Park Avenue and made a right. “Why are we going uptown?” Manetti asked suspiciously from the backseat. “We need to make a deposit,” Drax responded from the bucket seat ahead of him. The sports car charged up Park, careened around Grand Central and raced uptown through the tall canyons of office buildings and apartment complexes. They zipped along Park Avenue with its meridian of summer flowers. It was approaching sunset, and the late afternoon light reflected a kaleidoscope of orange suns off the myriad glass towers. They passed a church whose late day service was just letting out. Chris spotted two twin girls in matching blue Sunday dresses and white gloves whispering secrets in each other’s ears. “Christian,” Drax began in a happy, singsong voice, “Do you remember our first night together?” Jamal looked over at Master Drax with a toothless smile recalling the night. “Not really, Master Drax,” Chris replied. He looked out his window at the center divider’s hundreds of flowers—red begonias, white tulips, blue lilacs. “I remember up to where Jamal peed chem piss in me, but I don’t remember much after that.” He cracked his window enough for some of the lilac aroma to stream into the car. “Pity,” Drax said, looking back at the boy. “We had such fun. You laid on by chest and played with my nipples, while I fed you poppers and showed you how much fun it was to stick needles in your penis. We had a whole ladder running up your shaft. You cried at the first, scared of the first needles I put in you, but after a while you said you liked it. You don’t remember any of this?” Chris shook his head emphatically. “Pity.” Drax’s attention drifted back out to the street observing the Waldorf-Astoria fly by. “I remember something hurt,” Chris said staring at the back of Jamal’s head, reliving a vague stinging sensation that sent a shiver down his back. Manetti watched him. The kid was finally back in his own clothes wearing what he brought with him, torn jeans with rips in the knees and a grey t-shirt with a yellow, flaking Adidas logo on the front. He put his arm around Chris and pulled him into his black vest. Chris inhaled the leather and looked up at Manetti’s troubled face. “I saw Ben last night,” Chris said softly. Manetti held him out at shoulder length, and search his face. “At the party?” Chris nodded. “Apparently,” over his shoulder, in his Caribbean lilt, Jamal said, “he beat the boy senseless with a sword not know it was his little brother. And then he fisted him, and then he fucked him, until the boy passed out.” “I didn’t pass out,” Chris stated flatly. “Yes. Ben confessed that,” Drax said. “For whatever reason he was distraught about it. I told him the only thing to be upset about is that we didn’t get it on tape.” Drax twisted around to confront Manetti. “He got back to your apartment at dawn, came over agitated, had been up for four days. He said he’d done some outrageous things to the boy to which the boy refused to surrender even a whimper. I tell you, Christian has the making of a true star, he just needs a little more experience.” Drax observed the boy looking out the window at all the tall buildings going by. “Obviously it was you who brought the boy to the compound, which is how I knew where to find you. Christian, please,” Drax said, annoyed. “Roll up your window. The air smells like an old cunt’s boudoir. This one, Jamal.” Drax pointed to a street up ahead. Jamal turned left, and they proceeded down a street of pink and cream-colored townhouses, most with small ivy gardens lining the narrow sidewalks. Chris rolled up his window watching an elderly lady with a cane walking her Toy Spaniel and another lady walking toward her with her little Pekinese. As the ladies passed each other the Pekinese leapt at the Toy Spaniel and bit its neck. A tremendous high-pitched scuffle broke out. Chris whipped back around and watched out the rear window. The two elderly ladies were yelling at the other, each pulling their dogs apart by their throats. The Spaniel lady took her cane and harshly jabbed the Pekinese. It yelped, wounded, and the Pekinese lady pushed the Spaniel lady, and the lady fell backward onto the sidewalk hitting her head on a cement planter. Other pedestrian came over to the skirmish until he couldn’t see the ladies anymore, or their dogs, because of the crowd that surrounded them. “This one,” Drax called out, pointing to a townhouse that had a small garage door. Jamal pulled up to the door, and Drax reached over and honked the horn. Chris looked up at the four-story building. The façade was all white carved stone. It had tall arched windows, three across, on the second and third floors. The fourth floor windows were smaller and he could see bushes and trees peeking over the roof. Heavy, ornate iron and glass French doors were set back at the entrance, with a shiny brass placard next to the garage door. Dr. Pierre Bichon, MD, it read, Plastic Surgeon. Despite its understated elegance, there was something fortress-like about it that Chris didn’t like. The garage door rose electronically and Jamal descended into the townhouse bowels. Once they were in, the garage door lowered and the afternoon glow dimmed into a dark cave. Two large orderlies waited alongside Drax’s door. One of them, a very large bald man, opened it for him. Drax got out and pointed into the backseat. “That one,” Drax said, pointing to Manetti. Built like a tank, the bald orderly jerked the bucket seat forward and reached in for Manetti. His chrome head reflected the single bulb hanging in the small garage. Manetti used his boot and, with an enormous roar, kicked the guy with all his might. It sent the orderly reeling backwards, bouncing into Drax and the cellar’s elevator door. The second orderly, taller and even meaner looking with dark, close cropped hair, gritted his teeth and charged into the backseat shoving Manetti into Chris. Chris climbed on the guy’s head, swinging his fist wildly against his head and ear, while Manetti sent a fist flying into the guy’s throat. The guy fell back choking. Jamal swung around, pushed Chris aside, and covered Manetti’s mouth with a white rag. The bald intern came barreling back into the car again and pressed his enormous gut over Manetti’s face, pinning him against Chris. Manetti swung wildly, but crammed as he was in the backseat, the gut punches he threw had no power in them. He flailed until the effects of the rag’s chloroform took effect. Chris felt him weakening and after a minute Manetti fell like a rag into his lap. “You’re the deposit I needed to make,” Drax said to the unconscious Manetti. “As are you,” he said to Chris. The second orderly reach in and grabbed Chris by his t-shirt and tore him out of the Camero. *** The six of them were packed like sardines in the small elevator, Manetti held up by the two orderlies in the back, Chris between Jamal and Master Drax in the front. It was hot in the slow-moving elevator, and smelled like sweat, antiseptic and cheap aftershave. Chris watched the elevator buttons change from G to 2 to 3. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Drax nudged Chris out with Jamal following. Chris looked back, watched the doors close with Manetti out cold in the hands of the orderlies. The townhouse was richly appointed, designed for a high-end clientele. Chris had never been exposed to this kind of luxury. The house in Queens was lavish, with its pink marble kitchen and its bright shag carpets, but this was like being in a museum. The elevator deposited them across from a large waiting room with a heavy mahogany reception desk. The waiting room stood empty. It felt like the whole place was deserted except for a soft shuffling on the floor above. Two black and chrome couches faced each other with mahogany end tables on either side, each topped by lamps with shades made out of stained glass in the shape of dragonfly wings. A tall grandfather clock chimed softly six o’clock as they plodded down the hallway. Thick oriental runners covered polished walnut floors, and white molding ran the length of the tall ceiling. Stark black and white photographs in large black frames lined the ivory walls. A black naked dancer; a single white calla lily; the singer Patty Smith, with her dark hair and white shirt he recognized from his brother’s record collection. As they walked down the hallway he peaked into a series of small dazzlingly lit examining rooms. The house was lavish in its details but the emptiness made it feel creepy. There was something fake about it, like a veneer so thin you knew it was covering a structure built on rot. Without warning a great commotion exploded upstairs. It made the three of them jump. There were a couple of soft thuds, and the house went back to silence and the ticking of the grandfather clock. Descending the staircase ahead of them, making it creak loudly with each footfall, the bald orderly, out of breath, met them at the bottom. He told Drax the doctor would be there shortly. The only room that wasn’t open was at the end of the hall. When they got to it, the orderly pulled a set of keys from his retractable keychain on his belt and unlocked the door. Drax pushed it open and brought Chris inside. The orderly stood at attention to the side of the door, and Jamal, frightened, refrained from following them in. The complete opposite of the other examination room, this one was painted minty green and looked antiquated, like everything was from decades before. It had a grey metal examination table with stirrup that raised by silver wheels you cranked to raise or lower them, and brown leather straps all around the edges. The cabinets that lined the walls were white painted metal and greenish beveled glass. One forty-watt bulb lit the room so it felt somber and grave, that is, until Drax switched on a standing lamp with tripod legs. Its big bulbous light was blinding. It focused solely on the examination table. A dark grey tray next to the table shined with a selection of medical instruments. Chris recognized a set of sounds right away, but the other instruments were foreign and frightening: pointed clamps that ended with flat pink rubber, other clamps that ended with jagged pinchers; spreaders of various sizes, some long, some wide, one the size of his arm; an assortment of wheels with various lengths of sharp pins around their circumference. Then he spied a green painted metal and glass cabinet that stood separately in the corner. It contents sent a chill down his spine. Black masks and blindfolds on mannequin heads, one with zippers for eyes and mouth, one with no eyes but a long tube that made it look like a fly’s head, one with no eyes, no mouth, and two small holes at the nose. Who thought of these things? On second thought, he didn’t want to know. There hung, opposite the door above the exam table, a single photograph in a large black frame similar to the ones in the hallway. In the photo a bearded leatherman stood over a boy in a wingback chair who was encased entirely in leather and chains. The formality was almost comical, almost normal looking, like a father and son relaxing in their den, except for the fact that the boy was locked in leather and chains! From the hallway, Jamal’s eyes were wide and wary. He seemed to be familiar with the room and wanted no part of it. Drax saw he was unsettled, and told him to wait in the car, he would be down shortly. Drax then closed the door. He pulled Chris’ grey t-shirt off him, and instructed him to hang his pants and underwear on the hook on the door. “Where’d they take Mike,” Chris said, unwilling to move. “Quick, before doctor comes,” Drax said, annoyed the boy hadn’t obeyed. “Do I need to get the orderly?” he asked archly. Chris thought about that for a moment, then began removing his shoes and socks reluctantly and hung his jeans and underwear on the door hook. Drax patted the exam table and Chris grudgingly climb on it. There was a small knock before a man opened the door. Chris was shocked. The man appeared identical to the leatherman in the photo. Bearded, tall, with dark hair, deep-set eyes, trimmed black brows, no, not in leather but wearing a white lab coat. But what was most shocking was, in a split second, Chris realized the lab coat was all he was wearing. His bare chest was hairless, and his well-defined legs were hairless, too. He wore black leather lace-up boots, but beside the lab coat, that’s all Chris could see he had on. His eyes glistened maliciously, and the moment he saw Chris, his flashed a wide, white smile that emitted lust and little joy. “You must be Christian,” he said to the naked boy on the exam table. He carried a clipboard in one hand and extended his other to Drax. The two men shook. “So much more youthful than I had imagined.” The doctor put down the clipboard on the counter and cranked the two metal stirrups. “Please place your legs in these, son,” he requested. Chris hesitated, but a stern look from Drax prompted him to comply. Chris had to lean back on his elbows to get his legs in the stirrups. The doctor came to his side and encouraged him to lay back. The metal table was ice cold, so Chris laid back carefully. The doctor shined a light in his eyes. “When was the last time he was medicated?” Drax looked at Chris to answer the question. “Uh, Mike slammed me last night before the party,” Chris answered. “Is Mike okay?” “At least once every twelve hours. I thought we agreed that for first week all new boy would be medicated at least twice a day,” the doctor scolded Drax. “Michael absconded with him, which is why Michael is now upstairs,” Drax responded. “Christian, this is Doctor Bichon. He’s a very important man with whom we have a special, bartered arrangement. You’ll be staying the night here in his charge. He’s going to take good care of you, and you must do everything he says no matter if you want to or not. Do you understand?” Chris got out of the stirrups and sat up. He’d had enough being ignored. “What’s going to happen to Mike?” he asked Drax sharply. “Are you going to skin him alive? That’s what the bad men in Queens said you do.” “Christian,” the doctor said, putting his hand on the boy’s bare shoulder. “Christian, we don’t skin people alive.” Chris shrugged off the man’s hand. The doctor turned to Drax. "You see, this is what happens when they’re not regularly medicated when you take them in. I recall years ago you were lax with Michael, too, and you see where that leads.” Dr. Bichon looked up at the ceiling. “Christian, I’m going to inject you with something that Master Drax says you like very much.” “No!” he said emphatically, jumping off the table and going for his clothes. “Barkley!” the doctor shouted. The bald orderly came in quickly and grabbed the naked boy. Chris kicked and fiercely fought to get away, but the orderly was much bigger, and inevitably got him back on the table. While he was being held in place, the doctor strapped his wrists above his head and, with his legs over the stirrups, he secured him in place. Chris was seething, breathing angrily through clenched teeth. The orderly stood to the side of Chris’ head, Drax by his right foot. Out of a drawer the doctor pullout out a syringe, then riffled through a shelf looking for the vial he wanted. While he searched he casually asked Drax, “If want him to retain this youthful look, I should like to castrate him. It will also make him more docile.” This caused Chris to start struggling even harder in his binding. He looked at Drax who was mildly angry, but also amused by Chris’ ornery, helpless resistance. “It would be a shame,” Drax said. He reach over and picked up the boys testicles weighing them in his hand. “Beautiful walnuts, aren’t they, doctor?” He put one testicle between his thumb and index finger and pressed down hard, making the boy yelp in pain. He let go of his ball sack and gave it a smack. “A good five centimeters, I’d say, maybe slightly more.” Bichon put down the hypodermic needle and started massaging Chris’ ball sack. “If they were grape size I’d say why not get rid of them, but I can see why you’d want him to keep these. Much less fun to play with if he were neutered. What about if I give him a subincision, not a full one, just perhaps starting at his piss slit here,” Bichon suggested, running a fingernail down the boy’s rising shaft. “Just enough to get your finger in his urethra. Raw accessible flesh anytime you wanted. You could urinate inside him. Use your largest sounds on him. Tear him downward, bit by bit. There’d be so much you could do to drive him wild.” Drax examined Chris’ face closely. He read his defiance and his fear. Chris eyes started to well despite his best effort at controlling his growing terror. “I think,” Drax said, pausing to emphasize to Chris just how much his fate rested in his next few words, “for now, Doctor, I’d like to keep Christian intact. Feel free to use him however you wish, though, but no permanent mutilation tonight. If you’re inclined add some decorative touches. I do think two small nipple rings would be attractive on such small boy titties. Even a wee Prince Albert, ten or twelve gauge, perhaps. Whatever you think would look best.” “Rather than a P.A., what about an apadravya,” Bichon suggested, holding the top of Chris’ semi-erect dick head, “just like his brother’s, a stud straight through the glans, top to bottom. A matching set of Prior boys.” The two men laughed. “I leave that to you, Doctor. I’ll come by around noon tomorrow to see how the patient upstairs is adjusting, and to pick up the boy. Enjoy your evening. Pierre, Barkley,” said Drax. “Christian, be good. Or if you can’t be good, be compliant. I’ll learn from doctor either way.” He closed the door behind him. “Barkley, his head to the side, please.” Bichon watched Chris fight but there was no choice once the orderly pressed his ear to the table, leaving his neck exposed. “Just a booster, son, a quarter gram. I want you to enjoy yourself as much as I will. I want you compliant, not comatose. Relax, breathe normally. This might sting a bit.” The doctor swabbed the point of entry with alcohol, and then stuck the plunger in and slammed Chris directly in his brain. No middleman. “Now how does that feel?” “Oh fuck. Oh shit,” he said with clamped teeth. “I can’t, I can’t,” Chris said, panicked as his body twitched on the table. The orderly released him mildly concerned. “He’s fine. Just relax, son. Enjoy it.” The doctor and the orderly observed the naked boy, now sporting a large erection, writhing on the table. “Thank you, Barkley. That’ll be all for the evening,” he said, excusing the bald man, who tried to hide the rising lump in his white pants. Once he’d left, Bichon took a key from his pocket and locked the inside of the door. Bichon undid his lab coat revealing a black leather harness over his hairless chest. A thin horizontal line of pubic hair rode above his long, curved cock. The doctor hung his lab coat over Christian’s jeans and approached the boy. His balls were as large as limes and swayed as he walked. “You feel good?” he asked. Chris nodded. “Good. You want cock?” Chris nodded again. “Very good. Why don’t you start by sucking my cock, son.” He’d heard from Drax the boy was an excellent cocksucker, and it was true. Such a soft, wet mouth. He humped Chris’ face slowly, feeling his long member ride down the boy’s esophagus. Such a smooth face, only peach fuzz for a beard, light brown narrow brows, wide-set eyes like his brother. It was difficult for most cocksuckers to get his bent dick all the way in, but Chris seemed not to have a problem. His brother Ben never did. He held his dick down the boy’s throat, holding the back of Chris’ head until his trimmed pubes rubbed against the boy’s wet lips. Chris started gagging, but Bichon held his head firmly until the boy started retching heavily. He released him, with Chris drooling out a pool of saliva on the table’s edge. Chris was rushing trying to catch his breath while his brain spun out of control. Energized, high, feeling good and bad and nervous and angry, and most of all wanted that big dick back in his mouth or any orifice—his emotions bounced all over the place like they were in a pinball machine. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t remember where he was. Lived only in the Taoist moment of now. A mint green room. A tall, naked man in a leather harness, playing with his nipples, causing them to be erect. The man took out an instrument off the tray, long slender clamps with hollow tips, and pinched the shit out of his left tit. Through the hollow ends of the clamps, the man jabbed a needle through his nipple. He hollered while the man thread a thin ring replacing the straight needle. The man put a hand on Chris’ chest, telling him to lie still while he clamped the other nipple. Chris struggled when another clamp pinched his right tit, but stopped when the man holding the needle aloft waited for Chris to calm down. Once he did, the needle pushes through his other nipple, causing Chris to scream out again, as the man slipped another small ring into place, completing Chris’ first set of tit rings. The man stepped back and admired his work. “Magnificent,” he said, and stroked his curved dick. He then brought out a paddle shaped object that had its center cut out and put Chris penis through it and then forced his balls to also pop through the hole. Around the paddles edge were a series of quarter inch nails. Bichon took small rubber bands and crisscrossed them so his balls protruded, tightly swollen, in two large separate spheres. He took out a wheel that had small sharp pins and ran it lightly over one testicle. Chris jumped in surprise at how painful yet fleeting it felt. Then Bichon treated his other ball to the same sensation. Again he jumped. Chris’ mind raced—he couldn’t focus on where or how or why these new confusing sensation were being forced upon him. Bichon then ran the spiked wheel up his shaft ending in his piss slit. The delicate interior of his urethra being stuck with the wheel's sharp pins, made him cry out in alarm. He knew he was higher than fucked, but he also knew he didn’t have to understand pain to feel it. “Let’s set some ground rules, son.” Bichon brought over a hood, the one that looked like a fly’s head, and held it ready to put it over Chris’ head. No cutouts for eyes, and only a long tube to breathe through at the mouth. At the end of the tube there was an attachment, into which Bichon placed an open bottle of poppers. The doctor explained, “Words like stop and no, to me, Christian, mean you want me to do whatever I’m doing but harder or more of it. Screams also tell me to accelerate. Your job is to strive to endure the pain, breathe into the pain. Desire it and you’ll overcome it. Ready?” the doctor asked starting to pull the hood over Chris head. Chris shook his head no. “But, son, look at your erection. It answers mais oui.” Chris looked down at his betrayer. His cock was at full attention, eager it seemed to be tortured. The hood slipped over his head and he felt the doctor pulling laces, tightening it at the back. He was still rushing from the meth, confused now in partial sensory deprivation, breathing through the tube in a state of panic. He felt the poppers taking over and soon wanted the doctor to touch him again in any obscene way he wanted. He didn’t have long to wait as the wheel, with its agonizing pins, ran over his chest from newly pierced nipple to newly pierced nipple. Each time he jumped, Bichon waited until he rested back down to the table, then ran the wheel again over the same sensitive tit. Then there was a long pause and the clinking of metal. A cold hard shaft ran its length along his piss slit before it invaded. Not like the smooth sounds that Mike had inserted into him, this rod had harsh ridges every quarter inch. His urethra was erupting, the jagged edges felt like glass slicing him open from the inside. He screamed in terror and agony. “Which means he wants a bigger one,” the muffled voice of the doctor said in the black void. The rod came out and he soon felt a larger diameter rod take its place. This brought even greater torment. He tried to breathe through the pain, taking in deeper hits from the bottle. With each huff, it was not that the pain no longer resonated, it’s that he desired it, started humping the rod, wanting it to ram into him, tear his cock to ribbons. Bichon’s greased hand gripped Chris’ cock and jacked him. Chris felt tormented but he was also in the throes of lechery, pumping his hips into Bichon’s fist, calling out yes through the tube. He was just about to cum when Bichon release his erection. Chris still poked his hips in the air but with no resistance, his desire to cum receded after a time. The rod was pulled painfully out of his dick and replaced with a very narrow smooth rod. Curiously it just floated easily down his shaft simply resting against his prostate. Bichon let it lie there for some time. So long that Chris thought the doctor had left, when suddenly he heard an electronic buzzing and the rod came alive inside his shaft. A vibrator touched the tip of the sound and the million vibrations hammered not just throughout his shaft, but beat directly against his prostate. Pre-cum had formed and Bichon played the vibrator all around the glans, moving away, down the shaft, vibrating between his balls, finding where the rod was down deep inside his body, never letting Chris get used to any one area for more than a few seconds. Bichon knew how to continue to stimulate him, tease and torment him, shred his libido apart until he was putty in the doctor’s lubricated hand. Again, he felt close to cumming, breathing yes into the tube. And Bichon again released him before he could release. He heard the doctor rise, a drawer opened, and then what sounded like rustle paper. The doctor return to his stool with a squeak on the linoleum. Chris heard rubber gloves being snapped in place and then hear the sound of ripping paper, repeated maybe twenty times. His dick was still erect but not as fiercely as before. Then he felt Bichon pull the rubber bands off the board that held his cock and balls so his scrotum, unrestricted, relaxed into a fleshier bag. He felt Bichon lightly pinch the bottom of his scrotum, pull the skin down, and then felt a sharp needle pierce his skin and pin the flesh to the underlying board. He cried out in distress and shock. It wasn’t agonizing but it did hurt. Apparently his ball sack didn’t have as many nerve ending to torment. He then felt the right side of his penis pressed down flat against the board and another pin impaled that skin to the board. He let out a muted cry. Then the other side of his shaft was laid flat and another pin went through it, nailing his dick to the board. “Le Papillon, son. The butterfly. Agréable, no?” “No,” Chris called inside the tube. “Which means, yes you do. Do more, Doctor Bichon. Do my whole willy,” the doctor said in a mocking voice. “Okay, son, I shall.” The doctor pressed the skin between Chris’ shaft and balls and put a needle first on one side then the other. He pressed all around Chris’ balls placing a needle, alternating sides each time, until his entire scrotum was flattened to the board. He then worked one side of his shaft alternating with the other. Chris realized this wasn’t going to stop and breathed in the poppers until he looked forward to each pin’s pain. After a while he felt it didn’t hurt as much as it did at first. The doctor quietly spoke to him, “As you penis become more flaccid, the skin is pulled much less, alleviating the pain to a certain degree.” He was correct. As the doctor was finishing the last few areas of his shaft not yet pinned, he continued, “The warning I give to you—and you can reflect on this in the dark—that should you become aroused, your manhood will once again swell, and you will start pulling harder against these pins. As your erection has done before, this area,” the doctor floated his fingers across the top third of Chris’ phallus, “will try to rise off your belly anywhere between a thirty to forty-five degree angle. This will be the greatest area of pain, that is, unless of course you ejaculate. An orgasm will make you twitch from balls to tip. That twitching would cause you much suffering, so I would advise fighting against gratifying that desire. Resist, if you can.” He had finished the last needle along his shaft, the last wince of pain, when Chris heard one last paper ripping. It sounded like a much bigger piece of paper, which meant a much bigger needle. “Take a deep hit off your popper, my son,” instructed the doctor. Chris felt the side of his cockhead pressured, then stabbed, then pierced, then pain travel excruciatingly through the entire glans, right through the urethra, poking through the rest of the fleshy cockhead and coming out the other side. This wasn’t soft flesh being pinched. This was full on damage inducing pain that produced a horrid scream inside the mask. “Which means you’d like another,” said the doctor. “Please, Sir, I’d like some more,” he said in the same mocking voice. Chris cried no in his tube. “Oh, yes. Another two then.” Chris clamped up as another needle came out of its wrapper, Chris breathed rapidly inhaling the popper, trying not to cry out, crawled into the head of a masochistic, rode the pain of the next needle on the top of his cockhead, above where the first one pierced, and then, since he didn’t cry out, the last needle sliced through his glans, lower, below the first. He felt like he was on fire. His fingers and toes clawed the air. It was hell inside his black hood. A stream of tears silently ran down his temples. He felt his body sliding around on the exam table. Felt exposed, helpless, felt that mercifully the worst was over. A piece of metal was struck and he heard a low tone brought to his ear. He was confused. A tuning fork? The sound went down his to his prick and he felt the tone touch the rod inside his urethra. He’d almost forgotten the metal rod was there. Immediately the tonal vibration was picked up and rang through his shaft. It felt intensely satisfying sending waves of pleasure from his dick spreading throughout his body. His cock stirred, then he knew what the doctor planned. Another tuning fork struck the metal table. It was a higher frequency and was brought up to his ear. Again the sound traveled down to his genitals. Again it touched the tip of his penis and sent the rod vibrating. So two opposite and equal sensations traveled through his body: one, the ravishment of sexual delight as this quicker vibration beat against his prostate and throughout his meat; the other, growing anguish as the arousal began to swell his cock and it began pulling harder against the restraining pins. The more he was excited the worse became the pain. As the tone faded, he anticipating an even high tone. But he was wrong. The familiar buzzing of the vibrator clicked on. He rocked his head from side to side. Bichon touched him once lightly in the balls searching for the metal rod. Finding the small metal pole grew Chris’ erection significantly, ripping his flesh against the pins. Then the doctor touched the three needles pierced through his cockhead. It both stung and excited him with a sensation he could never have imagined. Against his will he felt his cock trying to flick up off his belly. The doctor ran the vibrator up and down his shaft, indistinguishable from a lubed hand not only jacking him externally, but jacking him inside as well. Drugged, sense deprived, unanchored from reason, floating within a black void, seeing nothing, he felt even more vividly each sensation. The thought of his body acting against him got him harder still. The rewiring was beginning. He wanted to scream against the anit-logic, the cognitive dissonance his body put him through, amplified, echoing in a world only of sensations. It wasn’t fair! Bichon kept the vibrator coming back to his cockhead. Three needles pierced him, the middle needle touched the sound, so whenever the doctor stuck the vibrator on the tip of the sound, not only did it vibrate directly against his prostate, it also send shockwaves through the needle vibrating directly through his glans. It hurt like hell and yet sent him into orgiastic heaven. Each time Bichon went there, Chris, despite himself, repeated through the tube that he was about to cum, and each time Bichon moved the vibrator away. Bichon wanted to see how long he could keep this up, to see if the boy would actually ejaculate after having explain in detail what cumming would do to his delicate member; to see if the boy’s mind would rule over the boy’s body. He knew the answer. Bichon left the vibrator sitting on the sound for minutes, moving it around only slightly, rotating around the head, always keeping it in contact with the rod, hitting the other three needles that pierced the glans, each one, when touched, sending new punishing waves of lustful bliss shooting out in all directions. Increasingly Chris couldn’t speak, no words, no thoughts to express, only guttural, animal urghs and unggs rose deep from within his chest. It was as if his heart was crying out. He was a creature trapped on the edge of eternally cumming, never able to get over the wall—two steps forward toward sexual gratification, two steps back in withering agony. Bichon finally, not for the sake of pity for the animal on the table, but wanted to see the boy fall off the cliff. He slipped in his middle finger into Chris’ anus. He poked and prodded the boy’s prostate pushing it up against the vibrating sound. Chris had no choice but to plunge headfirst of the edge. The ejaculation was excruciating, sending his stiff, long cock flying away from the board, pulling on all the needles, some of which popped off, stretching the skins with every round of ejaculate he spewed. Sperm leaked around the sound with each relentless orgasm. He came and came and came, and each time thrilled and was punished for his pleasure. The last sound that he emitted was not a word but a sound of discovery, an ahhhh! that soldered his most pleasurable sensation welding it pain. “Very good, son. Very good.” Bichon shut off the vibrator and the room was deadly silent, except for the sound of distressed breathing emitting through the tube. Bichon unpinned Chris’ dick and balls. Lastly he withdrew the sound. The doctor wiped the kid’s dick off—no bleeding had occurred—and massaged the penis in a slow, soothing rhythm. He could tell the kid was spent, but the boy would still be up for hours because of the meth amphetamine. The doctor took off his gloves and, from a cabinet, took out a black box with a large dildo attached to it. He put the box on a tray at the end of the exam table and locked the wheels in place. Christian was putty. It was easy to strap his knees up toward his ears so his hole spread open and vulnerable. Bichon twisted a dial on the box and the dildo slowly oscillated forward and back. He pushed the dildo into the boy’s rectum and turned the dial a little higher. The black phallus pushed in six inches and then pulled out. Christian moaned fervidly inside his hood. His mind was gone but his body reacted to the phantom lover that he felt crept over him. His fingers and toes curled in pleasure. The boy’s cock was withered and the new sensation of continually being fucked came as a relief. Bichon changed the bottle of poppers to a new one and let Chris stew in his sightless limbo for the rest of the night and into the morning—the dildo mindlessly, mechanically fucking his sleepless, mindless body. Bichon put on his white coat and unlocked the door. It was time to prep Manetti.

8. Skippy, the Pirate de Sade, and the Buried Treasure Here lies one whose name was writ in water The end of the pool faced the beach and was all glass—one very big window. The morning fog was still burning off so if you looked through the glass from the pool you couldn’t really see much, mostly a foggy view that kinda looked like the ocean. But that’s only because you knew you were looking at the ocean. Guys that walked by were multi-colored blobs. “Cool daddy-o,” Skip said to Rusty, with just a hint of irony. From the beach looking into the pool, however, you could see both the pool’s occupants plain as day. Passers-by saw freckly Rusty and a sandy-haired beachcomber, Skip. Skip was the one you noticed, slender, rippled stomach, sinewy smooth pecs and arms, his strong soccer legs scissoring to keep afloat in his knee-length bathing suit hanging out in the pool’s deep end. His angular face was finely crafted without being pretty. The jaw that came to a point at his cleft chin was strong, and often clenched; a long slender nose; light brown hair, sun-bleached at the tips, matched his glowing amber eyes evoking both mischief and mystery. As much as you got to know Skip, there was always a part of him that remained out of reach. Rusty plunged underwater, looked through the glass with cupped hands, and also saw the same hazy ocean. Coming back up he wiped his eyes. “Yeah, neat-o,” he said trying to mimic Skip’s tone. They were encouraged to say things like that at work, and the beach house was still part of work. The retro lingo was former actor Cyrus Johnson’s—or “Whitey” as he chose to be called—remembrances of Malibu beach party teen movies he’d been in, acting with Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello, back in the early sixties. Hey, the Chelsea bar called Paradise was his, they just bartended there, so he got to make the rules. White-haired Whitey, a man now in his forties, a silver fox save for a beer gut, hung out under a deck umbrella talking to a striking Mexican. The gentleman who’d shown up with some associates at noon, had long, black wavy hair and was an imposing figure on the pool deck. Skip eyeballed the dark visitor and speculated. Sexy even if he was a little intimidating, he moved stiffly, a buck ninety pounds of barrel-chested muscle. He’d abandoned his shirt surrendering to the day’s humidity. His shoulders and back were covered in fur. A hulking daddy-type if ever there was one, Skip thought. He looked way more interesting than any of Whitey’s usual backers who came around to ogle Whitey’s pool twinks. Desperado. Racketeer. Mobster. Skip searched for the word best to describe him. Thug. Gangster. Cutthroat. Yeah, cutthroat maybe. The gentleman sure was animated, pressuring Whitey about something, poking a finger into Whitey’s chest. His dark tanned skin, almost black under his suit of hair, glistened in the humidity. The deck’s potted palms suddenly began to rustle by a mercifully cool gust of wind, sending the cutthroat’s hair flying into his face. He struggled to make his point while trying to keep strands of hair out of his mouth. Finally frustrated, he untied a knotted red kerchief from his neck and bound his wavy hair in a pirate bandana. Yeah, that was it—Pirate! ”Yo ho,” Skip said. Skip wasn’t Skip’s real name. Whitey had given all his bartenders nicknames he remember from that bebop, doo wop, shama lama era: Ace, Buzz, Stretch, Moose. Getting a new Paradise nickname did come with advantages. Skip discovered variants that could emphasize different traits for different customers offering different subtexts. Name’s Skippy when he wanted to highlight his youth to an older patron; They call me Skipper to a cute bottom boy, intimating that he was the boss, the alpha dog of his bar crew; and Skip, well, just that he was Skip, informal, kinda butch, kinda rich, none of it untrue. His real name was Alastair Inge, well, even worse before his grandfather had shortened it, Alastair von Ingerschleben—“from the village of Inge,” if you wanted to get real technical. Alastair was pretentious enough, so Inge sufficed. If you pressed him he actually didn’t mind Skip. In fact, he started introducing himself that way at Columbia U during his junior year. No one there questioned its legitimacy since he already had that Nantucket air. Skip surveyed his latest fling sharing the pool, a new bartender at Paradise, Aiden Reilly, a.k.a. red-headed “Rusty”—no one said white haired Whitey was a creative genius. All Irish. All freckles. Rusty was cute, had a rather bulbous nose, a nice size prick, but was a little fey in some of his mannerism—a little too overtly bottom, truth will out—not that Skip was a total butch top, but he did most of the pedaling during sex. The thing that really annoyed Skip, though, was how Rusty worshipped his lesbian twin sister, Briana, who also attended Columbia. Not that Skip disliked lesbians, he just never socialized much with them. After meeting Rusty, he did a lot. And if not socializing, then hearing about her. A lot. Rusty was always going on about how Briana said this, Briana broke up with Kirsten, Briana did the funniest thing, Briana started going back out with Kirsten, and on and on till Skip wanted to shoot himself. Or Rusty. Or Briana. Sometimes Skip believed Aiden would be happier to have a sex change just so that he could be a lesbian like his sister. That kind of thinking made Skip’s head hurt. But that’s what made the pirate, slapping his bottle of Corona on the table, so damn attractive, despite, or maybe in addition to, the gorilla coat he sported. He couldn’t imagine for one second the pirate had any desire to be anything other than a man, a pirate king guzzling his beer. The pirate caught him staring at him, and raised his bottle and gave him a red-scarf nod. Rusty was busy scanning his associates. “Organized crime,” he pronounced. Skip smiled at the thought. “Why do you think that?” he asked. “Well, you know what a gossip Slim is?” Skipped agreed. “He chatted a couple of them up as soon as they got here. You know Whitey’s obsession with our stupid names? You should get a load of theirs. Tito, Khan…” “That could be their names,” Skip pointed out. “One of them is named Knuckles. Knuckles! How much more mobster can you get?” “Which one’s Knuckles,” Skip asked. Rusty pointed to the largest guy on the deck, talking to a tall, slim black bartender, named—you guessed it—“Slim.” Knuckles had on a grey t-shirt with large yellowed pit stains, black jeans and a black leather vest. Slim was pestering Knuckles about something under his vest. Knuckles flapped it open. Even from the far end of the pool, the holstered snub nose .38 was easy to spot. Slim leaned back surprised, then tipped forward enticed, and ran his fingers down Knuckles’ breast bone. Tito and Khan chuckled at the pair’s open flirtation. Rusty returned to Skip with one ginger eyebrow raised. Skip swam down to the shallow end and raised himself out, flexing his triceps hoping the pirate would notice. He did. “Skippy,” Whitey shouted to the lad as he dripped on the deck. “Get your little tail over here and meet my compadre, Bernardo.” Skip strutted over, wiping himself with a beach towel, confidently brushing back his spikey hair. He greeted the man with an engaging smile, as Whitey made the introductions. “Bernardo de Sade, meet the best bartender in Paradise, Alistair von Ingerschleben.” Skip gave Whitey a congratulatory smile, impressed that Whitey knew how to spit out his whole name in full Germanic glory. “But y’all can call him Skippy.” Skip extended his hand, which was immediately engulfed by de Sade’s two large paws. He didn’t shake so much as grab. “What is Skippy? Is like jumping?” De Sade erupted at his joke. His bellicose laugh was a little disturbing. It wasn’t that funny, but Skip produced a grin nonetheless. Whitey was clearly nervous about something, Skip sensed. Whitey made like de Sade’s joke was the funniest thing. “Yes, Bernardo, Skippy hops to, runs the bar shipshape like the skipper of a ship, don’t you, Skipper?” “I guess I do, Whitey. I guess I do,” Skip replied, acting greatly complimented, puffing up his smooth chest. Whitey was a giggling fool, Skip thought, but smiled cordially nonetheless. Seeing that de Sade wasn’t letting go of his hand anytime soon, Skip doubled down and placed his other hand over the back of the man’s tight grip. Skip reckoned this was one of the bar’s major money men that Whitey was always fretting about. He knew how to make a good impression on wealthy men born into it himself. Skip’s smile never faltered, his eyes never shied away. The man slowly released his hands with a middle finger tracing Skip’s palm. De Sade’s cruise was hidden from view but blatant enough for Skip. The edges of Skip’s lips curled and he cruised de Sade right back with his shining golden eyes. Skip felt the come-on granted him some permission, so he drew up a chair between the men. “Señor de Sade, I take it you’re one of Whitey’s silent partners.” De Sade nibbled a flake on his chapped lip. It seemed there were things he preferred not to talk about, Skip realized. “I’d say I’m more involved with Mr. Johnson’s supply chain,” de Sade replied mysteriously and sipped his beer. The man’s wide-set eyes were penetrating and enticing, oozing hot-blooded sex as he sized Skip up. His mustache was finely trimmed, with a small soul patch beneath his lip, and sideburns shaved to fine points on his dark, sunken cheeks. Pitch black chest hair flowed from his neck directly to his broad fleshy pecs. Skip couldn’t help himself and gave a quick glance down and marveled at the dense pelt covering the man’s abdomen, and even more astonished by the amount of flesh buried in his khaki shorts. Down his right pant leg the outline of a big dick rose like a pipe; a bit of foreskin even peeked out against his hairy kneecap. When he glanced back up, Skip was met with the lewd, knowing smile of a confident, well-endowed, brazen buccaneer. As Skip checked out de Sade’s package, Whitey was subtly, desperately trying to signal Skip. He pinched his nose a few times, attempting to clue Skip into what supplies in the supply chain de Sade meant. Once Skip got it, Whitey gave the smallest of head shakes, telling Skip he shouldn’t pursue this particular supplier. Skip wasn’t so easily put off—actually he was more intrigued, if you really want to know. He himself dealt a bit of blow in the bar’s bathrooms from time to time, so felt simpatico to the pirate. “This your first time to Fire Island, Señor de Sade? I’d love to show you around,” Skip offered. “No. Many times I’ve been here. High tea, low tea, the meat rack—I feel much at home here.” The mention of the meat rack, a dune swept labyrinth for anonymous sex, made Skip see de Sade in a new light. “Usually I am Señor Johnson’s guest, isn’t that right, mi amigo,” he replied patting Whitey’s hand. Whitey withdrew his hand unconsciously, then put on a too broad smile to hide his discomfort. “But this time I drive a big boat. You’d like to see my big boat?” the man jested, knowing exactly what Skip wanted to see. He and Skip rose together. De Sade cocked his head to tell his men it was time to leave. He’d gotten what he came for. Whitey was not subtle in how happy he was to see them abruptly leave. By all means, Skip should see the boat, he told them, ushering them to the side gate. Knuckles led the pack, carrying a paper bag with de Sade’s monthly cut in it. Slim pouted his lower lip, disappointed in seeing Knuckles go. Tito and Khan followed Knuckles, with Skip and de Sade bringing up the rear. His henchmen grinned like goons, familiar with how their boss weaved a web around a new victim. Whitey wiped his brow and waved, while Rusty stewed jealously floating in the pool in his water wings. *** It started innocent enough. The yacht tour started with a quick, teasing tour of de Sade’s master cabin with its large bed covered in black rubber—Skip had to touch—then in the kitchen galley, on the way to the wheelhouse, de Sade pulled out a small brown bottle of coke. Would Skip like a hit? Skip would. Then topside in the wheelhouse, Khan, the yacht’s pilot, a slender, half-Mongolian, half-Peruvian guy with a wispy brown beard and long, stringy ‘stache, asked Skip if he would like to skipper the boat into the bay? Skip would. Purring west in the Great South Bay, Tito came up and said de Sade wanted to know if Skip was up for a couple more lines and some Tequila? Skip was. Until they passed under the Robert Moses Causeway and were out to sea, Skip had no reason to worry. I mean, if things got too sketchy he’d just jump off the boat and swim to shore, right? That would be a major pain in the ass getting back to The Pines, but he wasn’t going to be kidnapped, for Christ’s sake. The truth was it was turning into a totally awesome, coked-up afternoon with some hot and sketchy characters. He couldn’t wait to tell the other bartenders about it. Tito turned out to be this outrageously clownish guy. Hyperactive, great at voices and imitations. At first he thought Tito had a mole near his left eye but it turned out to be a tear tattoo, which freaked him at first, but after a few lines and a couple shots of Tequila, Tito was this natural prankster, making fun of Knuckles’ Neanderthal stance and calling de Sade “Gomez Addams’ dirty, hippy cousin.” Skip thought that was hilarious. “Very, very dirty cousin, aren’t you, Capo?” Tito said, insinuatingly, running his hand down his boss’ chest. Skip was in hysterics and kinda turned on. Knuckles, for his part, wasn’t as he first seemed. More a big teddy bear when you got down to it. Skip realized that Knuckles stooped over, knuckles almost dragging, because he tried to hide how absolutely monstrously tall he was when he stood straight. Also the galley ceiling was really low, so he had to extra hunch over in the space, and Tito took full advantage of the fact. Scratching his armpit, making monkey sounds. And de Sade? Well, de Sade was sexier with every line they passed around. Still intense in every way, especially in the forceful way he laughed, slapping the table, knocking the back of Tito’s head, throwing his head back with a full belly laugh that ricocheted almost painfully off the white plastic ceiling. De Sade treated him like crew from the moment he stepped aboard, slapped him on the back, clipped his chin slowly with his fist for no reason, looked at him in the same possessively, fatherly way he looked at his crew. De Sade was very open, in fact, he was pretty provocative in his affectionate for his men. Yeah, he’d smack Tito’s head but he’d also lay a kiss on his head when he passed him, bringing back everyone cervezas from the mini-fridge, or pull on one of Knuckles sagging nipples after Knuckles slammed back his fifth Tequila shot. Skip wondered exactly how close they all were, if there were boundaries, if they had sex—it sure seemed that way. With his coke-fueled brain flying, he considered what it would be like to really be a part of this crew. What nerve it would take to drop out of school, screw his parents’ plans of him becoming a lawyer, and totally turn to the life of a real modern-day coked-out, sex-crazed pirate. How awesome would that be? Pretty awesome! Looking out the window, seeing land was quickly disappearing from the horizon, Skip mentioned to de Sade that he really should to get back soon, he had a public policy paper due on Monday, hadn’t even started it yet, hadn’t even picked a topic. The coke was making him ramble, watching the last of Fire Island becoming a thin brown line. Maybe he’d do Nixon’s trip to China or the release of the Iranian hostages, maybe arms for hostages that was lately in the news. De Sade reassured him they’d be back before sunset, and pushed a mirror with lines of white powder toward him. Skip bent over the galley table and snorted. He pinched his nose feeling the substance burn. “Oh, man, strong! Whew! Maybe I can I buy one of Briana’s old policy papers. She’s the sister of this guy I know. She bailed me out before, yeah, but then she’ll tell Rusty. Wait, was that coke?” he asked Tito who’d been chopping white powder out of new bag since they’d finished the last one a while ago. “No, amigo. This is much better. This is Miss Tina,” Tito said. “Más amoroso.” He wiggled his brows suggestively as he passed the mirror around. The four of them laughed, Skip just a little bit uneasy. Still, in this new light Tito did looked hotter than he did before. Was that from Tina? His gang tattoos on his neck, arms, and chest, were kinda sexy. His broad face, Skip noticed, had a slight gap between his two front teeth. Now that Tito was smiling all the time he couldn’t help but notice it. And when he glanced at Knuckles? Forget about it! As homely as they come, all acne scarred, tiny black eyes, overweight and sagging breasts. But Knuckles had to be packing a good, solid thirteen incher in his jeans. No doubt about that lump. There were things you could overlook, and there were things you can’t. “Más amoroso, huh?” Skip repeated. “I’m amped but kinda tingly all over. Is this how you’re supposed to feel?” De Sade and his boys smiled. “I always stick to coke, but I’ll have to remember this.” Skip got up to pace in the cramped galley. De Sade got with him. “You party, my friend?” he asked. Skip laughed a little too loud. “I thought that’s what we’re doing.” “Nah. If you want to really party with us,” de Sade said as a pointed invitation, “let’s introduce you to something I know you’re going to love.” Skip gave his a why not shrug of his shoulders. De Sade went down to the master cabin. Knuckles caught Skip as he paced and sat him back in the booth, pinning him between himself and Tito. “Beuno, sí? Do another. Twice as good,” said the big man. Skip sensed heat radiate off him, and felt Tito’s sexy perspiration sliding against his other arm. The room was hot and what might have been smelly body odor any other time was acting like an aphrodisiac. “Fuck, I am ready to crawl out of my skin as it is, Knuckles. I gotta lay off a bit.” De Sade heard what Skip said as he came back in and sat across from the three of them. “I have the perfect–cómo se dice—remedy. You won’t want to crawl out of your skin—you will shed it.” He laid a tourniquet and a syringe with a cloudy brown liquid on the table. Skip’s eyes widened. He looked at Knuckles and Tito who displayed big smiles. “Uh, not big into needles, guys,” Skip said trying to sound cool but resolute. Tito put a hand on Skip’s back and rubbed his shoulder to get him to relax. Knuckles too started kneading Skip’s shoulder. “What is that?” Skip asked uneasy, feeling the room closing in on him. Under the table Tito rubbed his cock through his swimsuit. For a brief moment he was conflicted. Yes, he want to be with these guys, but didn’t want to get into the whole shooting up junky thing. He just couldn’t see his life going that way. De Sade held the syringe up to the swaying overhead light. He tapped the vial dislodging tiny air bubbles and squirted out the thinnest stream of liquid out the end. “Most people mix heroin with coke to make a speedball. But coke fades long before the heroin does. Meth last much longer and is muy amoroso, right Tito?” de Sade asked. Tito nodded in agreement. Skip searched de Sade’s face. What was unnerving was that he was still being friendly, like a dad trying to get his kid to get into the ocean, or to take his first swig of alcohol. “Ah, yeah, guys, I’m gonna take a rain check on this. So maybe we get the boat turned around, like, now?” Tito moved his head close to Skip’s. “I know, man, it looks scary, but trust me. One stick, Chico, and pow,” he said, eyes wide and crazy, “heaven spreads its legs for you.” “Put out your arm,” de Sade firmly. Skip started to struggle, then realizing Tito and Knuckles weren’t going to let him out, made a violent attempt to climb out of the booth…and then what? Jump off the yacht and swim back to a shore that wasn’t even there anymore? Fuck yes, but Knuckles and Tito had him locked in. Skip no longer had a plan, he only had instincts. He fought until Knuckles pushed him back into the booth so he couldn’t move. Tito wrapped the tourniquet tightly around his bicep and a few small blue veins revealed themselves on his forearm. Knuckles held his wrist firmly against the table. “Don’t be like this,” de Sade said. “We want you to be one of us. And your veins are very small, it’s hard enough without you fighting. You’ll make me miss,” warned de Sade. Skip gave one last burst to get free but Knuckles and Tito leveraged their full weight against him, which didn’t allow any more movement. Skip braced himself and felt the needle prick his skin. His blood combined momentarily with the vial’s mixture before de Sade began pushing the speedball into his system. “Mierda,” de Sade grumbled. He held up the needle, displaying a full vial of reddish-brown liquid. “Your vein rolled, Chico.” He set the syringe on the table. “I really would like you to be with us, but I need you to cooperate. Knuckles let him go. If he doesn’t want, okay.” Knuckles release his grip. Skip still felt Tito playing with the lump rising in his bathing suit. “Your choice, Skippy. Lay out your other arm if you want this and be with us.” A funny thing was happening to him. Just the small amount that pricked his skin and got it into his bloodstream was making him feel extremely good and more than a tad bit horney. Maybe de Sade planned this. If he did it was a good plan. Skip took a deep breath, and then laid his arm on the table. “Yes!” Tito exclaimed, and undid the tourniquet and handed it to Knuckles. Knuckles bound Skip’s other bicep, and de Sade instructed him to make a fist. De Sade looked into Skip’s eyes smiling like an approving father. “Ah, look. Here is the one I’m going to hit,” de Sade said, tracing a vein on the inside of Skip’s arm. Even that small about of tactile contact made Skip feel good. What would the whole amount do, he wondered? “Ready?” Skip nodded. “Stick,” de Sade said. The needle registered fresh blood, and the full speedball went into Skip’s system. *** It’s been said a speedball’s rush is like a handjob from God. In Skip’s cases it was a handjob from Tito. Skip repeated fuck, over and over, hoping the intensity of the rush wasn’t going to keep getting more intense. But that’s exactly what happened, like someone continuously polishing your nob after you’ve cum, pleasure not meant for mere mortals. The meth rush hit first. He fell fast from it, a massive surge of elation jammed into the first few seconds, then ten, sixty…this wasn’t stopping. His stomach almost puked sensing the speed of this unending elation, he couldn’t take one more second of it, but then the hammock of heroin caught him, rocked him, bounced him, swirled him in slow motion, sending his brain out in every direction. His head fell forward. He gripped the table with both hands thinking that would stabilize him. But nothing was stable. Everything was in motion. He saw de Sade crawl over the table toward him and give him a strong, forceful kiss. He stuck his tongue right back as forcefully as he received. De Sade pulled back only an inch to admire Skip’s dilated pupils, the iris so thin, like the corona of a sun in eclipse. “You love it,” he whispered, “don’t you, papi?” “Ah, fuck, yesssss. Fuck. Fuck me. Fuuuck.” The meth made him want to get up but the impulse was countered by the heroin, and he lolled in a no-man’s land of pure bliss, hovering in his body, suspended in a feeling he was floating in a warm bath, wrapped in a cocoon of pleasure, orgasming directly in the grip of God. “Ah, fuck, what is this?” he said dazed, unmoored. This had no relation to his previous life. This was like trying to explain colors to the blind. He looked around this table of men. You have these concepts—bath, floating, orgasm, God, men—but to the uninitiated they remain concepts. Who knew what was inside these words? He now was inside them, felt it all, was it all, was the orgasm, inside the finger, was God. There was no separation between him and the men at the table anymore. He was captive of the rush, which wasn’t going anywhere. Like de Sade’s first grip on him, it wasn’t letting go of him anytime soon. Tito and Knuckles rousted him out of the booth, carrying him, one arm draped over each of their broad shoulders, taking him down, step by enormous step, down to the master cabin. In the master cabin Tito face was now in front of his. Tito held his head, stuck his tongue in his mouth. Ever since the drug hit, Skip felt a moment behind each motion he went through. The delay allowed for something however, a new lack of inhibition, a leaving behind his former self. The snake skin de Sade had promised. Thinking trailed far behind him, desire had free reign. He made out with Tito like a drunken sailor, slobbering, flopping onto his naked chest, pinching his tits, grabbing his crotch, groping his growing pecker through his shorts. Tito laughed at Skip’s wanton intensity, and ripped the kid’s swimsuit off, letting him weaved naked in front of them, holding out an arm for balance or to try to touch Tito again. Between the motion of the ship and his imbalance, he had to be propped up. Knuckles scooped him up like a bride, and laid him on the rubber bed, but not before Skip pulled himself close enough to Knuckles' face and stick his tongue down the large man’s throat. Knuckles was at first surprise, then aroused, then responded forcefully pushing Skip’s face back on the bed with his open mouth. Knuckles looked at the kid, wiped his face, was smitten. No one had ever kissed him like that, especially someone so beautiful. “You like this feeling, Chico?” de Sade asked. Skip nodded his head slowly as he reach up to kiss de Sade again. De Sade push him back. “Papi Chulo is what I’ll be for you this week. You want for nothing.” Skip ran his hands over his own torso. Felt his burning chest, his heart beating wildly under his breast bone, heard de Sade voice like it was underwater. “I make you feel this way from now on, día y noche.” Skip tried to speak but de Sade put his mouth around his erect pole, slid down, down to the root, so just a gasp of air aspirated out. De Sade then stripped as did his men. All were rigid, dripping, ready to take turns fucking the new crew member. There was nothing Skip wouldn’t do in his present state, nothing too debauched. Tito put a leg up on the bed so that his hairy asshole was available for Skip to chew on. A hairy cave was Tito cavern, full of smells of hell’s pit from which Skip greedily ate. The boy spat into it and mixed his saliva with the crust that engulfed Tito’s crack. Knuckles took up where de Sade had left off, and sucked Skip’s tool, while de Sade raised the kid’s legs to eat out his hole. Knuckles rested his head and rubbed Skip’s chest and belly. De Sade’s tongue drilled into Skip’s hole sending waves of fire through Skip’s body. De Sade reach up and started stroking Tito’s dripping cock. Four men became a new creature, a slowly careening, ricocheting embodiment of lust. “How you like partying with us now, papi?” Skip had no words, just nodded deep within Tito’s crack. He felt one long finger drill deep into his hole. It scanned around, greasing his rectum. Then he felt another thicker finger enter him. They worked at first in concert, going in and out alternately. They then joined together and started stretching him, north and south, east and west. Another long finger joined in, then another fat finger. Again, the four fingers stretched his sphincter in all directions. It felt like he’d entered heaven, until two more fingers, one thick, one thin, united with the first four. Now six fingers were filling his hole, pushing in thick viscus lube, pushing it deep into his guts. Of course he’d been fingered before, also fucked, but this was stretching him much wider. The girth of six fingers felt like the width of largest cock that had ever penetrated him. He couldn’t remember whose cock that had been. That was in a time that no longer existed. Only now is what he felt. He barely remember who he was? Skip? Alastair? It didn’t matter, all that mattered was that two more fingers were fusing into his hole. Eight fingers pulled and prodded, ripping his hole open in the most sensual way. He couldn’t resist. Four thick finger came out and the other four went deep inside. A sensation like no other he’d ever felt, a hand it was that went into his body, his rectum accepted it without question, his sphincter clamped on the hairy wrist, which pushed the hand inside another inch. It was impossible. A man’s hand was inside him. It sat there Immobile, massive, the queerest sensation of fullness, pleasurable, yes, uncomfortable, yes, intensely gratifying. What more than yes? And then fingertips moved. “Oh, fuck, daddy,” he cried. “Yes,” he panted. Tito moved his leg over Skip’s torso so he could sit squarely on his face. Skip laid blind within Tito’s hairy, musky butt, and he gratefully ate Tito out, while Tito wanked himself watching de Sade hand push into Skip’s hole. Knuckles laid on his side greasing de Sade’s forearm. Skip had diminished senses operating. The taste and smell of Tito’s rancid butt were two. But Tito’s muscular ass masked Skip’s sight and muffled sound. That left touch. And touch was overpowering everything else. These fingers teased within. He didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t tell if they were going in deeper or being pulled out. When he felt a vast emptiness he knew the hand had been withdrawn, but then a few thicker fingers slid inside. Colder and slipperier lube accompanied these new fleshy fingers. He felt a large hand with insanely large knuckles ripping at his hole. Just part of the hand was fitting inside but was insisting on full penetration. Pain started registering and he started crying out. Tito got off his face, and broke something under his nose. He’d done popper before but this was different, stronger, hit him hard, made him bare down and want those knuckles inside. The hand came out and more lube poured into his open hole. He felt the cold slop turn warm inside him, and the knuckled hand went back in as another snap cracked under his nose. “Take it, papi,” de Sade whispered in the dark, swaying cabin. “Want it.” He wanted, desired, couldn’t live without this hand inside him. Knuckles broke through. Not many could take his fist. He felt the connection that most of the other crew felt all the time with each other. It was rare for him to penetrate and he wasn’t going to waste it. He pulled out almost all the way, stretching Skip’s ass to its widest point, then went back in where he had just been, resting until he felt Skip relax. He slowly twisted his hand, which elicited deep moans from the most beautiful boy he’d ever been with. His cock dripped in his desire for the boy. De Sade bent down and slowly sucked Knuckles' gargantuan member like he done many times before. It sent a passionate frenzy through Knuckles' body and he slowly began pumping his hand into and out of Skip. Skip was in a delirium of mixed sexual agony and ecstasy. Truth be told, he didn’t know what he was feeling, had never felt anything like this in his life, so had nothing to compare it to, he just knew he wanted more. He gave up his body completely, letting Knuckles explore his interior, encouraged him with amorous moans, affirmed the pleasure Knuckles provided, felt Knuckles’ body up with gratitude. With Tito off him he could see Knuckles in the shadows, carefully and lustfully driving his large hand deep and stretching him out. De Sade added two fingers to Knuckles large wrist and rode them along the large man’s forearm as he went back in. Added a third digit on the next thrust of his arm. Skip groaned but not in protest. It was a groan like he’d never made before, surrendering, pleading, begging for more. De Sade added a fourth, and held it in place until Knuckles pulled out completely, causing Skip to yelp, and immediately replaced Knuckles' huge hand with his clenched fist. It went in with little resistance. Skip watch Tito start stroking his cock. The eroticism of simultaneously feeling his insides being stretched in unimaginable ways, while he was getting jerked off by this beautiful criminal, he couldn’t figure out what he’d done to deserve this. He started bucking on de Sade’s arm and into Tito’s fist. De Sade encouraged him. “Sí, papi, let it go. Fuck yourself on my arm. Let Tito get you off,” he said. Skip raised his knees up and slowly pulling himself off de Sade stationary arm before using his weight to slide back down, feeling each single black hair on de Sade’s forearm slide into him, satisfying his fevered hunger. Repeatedly he rose and fell. “Ah, good boy, sí. Show us how a puta likes to take it.” Tito broke another capsule under Skip’s nose and Skip increased his rhythm and flailed on de Sade’s arm in greedy abandon. He couldn’t get enough of the sensation, the expansion in his bowels that unnerved him and unveiled his inner pig. “Fuck, yeah, daddy. Fist that hole, give me a crater, wreck it, fuck yeah, destroy that hole,” he shouted. “Hold him,” de Sade said. Tito took one leg and Knuckles the other. “Sí, I will.” Skip laid back on the rubber sheets and scanned the faces of Knuckles and Tito. He was puzzled why they looked so concern. De Sade put the nozzle of the lube bottle inside his hole and squeezed an insane amount till it oozed out. He slid one hand inside and added two fingers from his other hand along his wrist, pushed in, then pulled out. De Sade slid in his other hand into to the gaping hole adding four fingers of his other hand. He pushed in deep and held it there. He pulled out and slid his first hand back inside, rose on his haunches, and pushed his immense dark, eel of a dick inside, slithering his cock along his arm until his head crowned into his palm deep inside Skip’s bowels. De Sade started playing with his uncut meat, squeezing his foreskin over his glans like he enjoyed when he was jerking himself off solo. Well, he was jerking off, it was all just surrounded by the boy’s colon. It didn’t take him long. Tito cracked some amyl under de Sade’s nostrils and then shared a second with Skip. That got Skip to start humping de Sade’s fist and cock ferociously, which, in turn, excited de Sade. De Sade increased the rapidity and depth of his strokes, until, seeing Skip’s silent, distorted face, he convulsed, shooting multiple times, pumping his fist deep in Skip’s hole each time he shot another wad. Skip’s body absorbed the shocks, each time howling, unable to make sense of what was happening to him. Tito stroked his cock furiously on the last of de Sade seizures, and the kid, in delirium, shot across the room, white webs of cum clinging to the headboard. After de Sade wiped sweat from his eyes, he needed to piss. Having the boy still attached made him a perfect receptacle. He waited until he had a steady flow, then played with his piss stream, pinching his slit, then letting it burst with a fierce gush. Skip definitely felt pin prickly gushes in his gut—a burning hot sensation along his colon walls—and since it was all chem piss, it absorbed directly into his system. He got higher, if that was still possible, hornier, more deviant. But to be real for a minute, with the more potent chemicals rapidly filling his body, his consciousness was starting to fade. There are diminishing returns with too much of a good thing, and Skip was reaching that limit, but not before de Sade slithered out his dick and tried inserting a second fist. The effects of chem piss brought out a manic desperation. Skip tried, determined to take de Sade’s second fist. He bore down, pushed, strained, with de Sade assisting, applying pressure on his end. De Sade withdrew both fists, and reinserted the first fist going deep. He then eased in the second hand gliding down the inserted wrist, but was held in check by the flesh above his thumb. Tito snapped one last capsule and Skip inhaled deeply. His ass relaxed with his desire at its peak. Two fist were inside Skip. A feeling of massive fullness, even a sense of utter completion, he look up at de Sade knowing what was inside him, which spread a smile across his face. Tito and Knuckles would take turns after de Sade was finished. The next morning Khan would have his chance and the cycle would begin again. Seven days would pass by the time the yacht anchored in Veracruz, his hole completely broken, ready for his new life. Skip never became fully consciousness again. Once they reached their destination, de Sade held an auction and Skip was sold to the highest bidder. His new owner kept him permanently drugged, selling him nightly as the fuck junky he was now destined to be. “Roll credits. Flash disclaimer. The end,” said Manetti. *** “What?! No-no-no-no-no.” Tobias cried out appalled. “Michael, that’s your ending? What is wrong with you? That is completely unacceptable.” Tobias was ticked. Mitchel looked over at the two mortician’s who wore sinister sneers on their faces. Drax was, as always, inscrutable. Only Jamal blinked in confusion at Manetti’s ending. “Well, how would you end it?” Manetti asked Tobias, having just spent the last half hour improvising his ass off, trying to spin a tale of how Drax could buy a boat and make a porn film on it, dreaming up what kind of porn film it could be. Yeah, that’s his story! He was out on the island to buy Drax a boat. That’s why he didn’t come back to the apartment last night. He, of course, would have first gotten Drax’s okay, naturally, it was his money after all. Manetti was just being an entrepreneur. He’d been scouting out possibilities, locations. Yeah, Skippy and the Pirate—just a concept, he stressed—was the type of film Drax could shoot. “Okay,” Manetti capitulated to Tobias, “maybe not sell Skippy as a sex slave if that bothers you.” Roger suggested that Skippy in the House of Whores, might be an interesting sequel. Boris chortled at that. “I feel betrayed!” Tobias was unrelenting. “What a sick, twisted little mind you have, Michael Manetti. You don’t do that to the main character. Not if you cared…” “Tobias, stop,” Boris interrupted the man’s rant. “Mother, get her smelling salts. She’s about to faint. Tobias, bubbe. When was the last time you actually cared about a character in a porn film? I’ll tell you when. Never. The kind of collections I have at home?” He held up a wagging finger. “Not one redeemable character. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’ll tell you one thing: I don’t watch porn for plots. Climaxes yes, plots no.” “In our line of work,” Roger injected, “it’s actually refreshing to see someone get used by scores of men for no particular reason. It counteracts the savagery that comes to us regularly from the city’s morgue.” Both morticians nodded gravely. “You can’t begin to imagine the real horror people inflict on each other.” That actually got an eyebrow raise from Drax. Tobias still had a fisheye trained on Manetti. “What?” Manetti barked. It was Manetti’s turn to feign hurt. (Secretly he felt relieved his story caused so much vexation. Perhaps it was enough to distract Drax and ward off suspicion—that he’d cooked up a story convincing enough, that buying Drax a boat for a porn shoot was potentially plausible. It could happen, he reasoned.) “It’s just a stupid story, Tobias, enough to get you from one fuck scene to the next.” “But just look at Chris,” Tobias said pointing to the boy. They all looked at Chris whose dick was so hard it was purple. “You’ve totally corrupted him with your lurid tales. And the only character that might have any redeeming quality you heartlessly sell as a junky for life. Unconscionable.” Manetti saw the kid was definitely in a state. “You know I’m just pulling shit out of my ass, don’t ya kid?” Admittedly he was a little shock the kid sported such a big hardon from a pretty tawdry story. “I thought the pirate was going to make him part of his crew,” Chris said almost wounded. Regarding Manetti through his thick coke-bottle glasses, Mitchel agreed, “Yes, Michael, that would make a better ending. If you’ll allow me to get a little Freudian, dear, a bit of your subconscious is showing.” Manetti quickly looked away. “If Skippy is Chris, and the pirate is a stand-in for you, I think your ending betrays a conflicted moral compass. Do you want to corrupt or are you seeking to redeem?” Manetti refused to meet his gaze. “I’m Skippy?” Chris asked startled. “Okay, okay. The pirate makes Skippy part of the crew, in fact, he made him his cabin boy. Satisfied?” Manetti said exasperatedly. “No, Chris, you’re not Skippy. Mitchel’s the one now pulling shit out of his ass.” Roger turned to Boris. “Mmm, the pirate and the cabin boy. Very Treasure Island.” “Treasure Island equals awesome,” Chris squeeled to the morticians, “Mike, you’d be a great Long John Silver.” “I’d say,” mumbled Roger. Tobias just shook his head in dismay. “I know it only two o’clock but I’m parched. Anyone else care for a cocktail,” Tobias asked the room. “Sweetheart?” he asked Mitchel. “School night, Pumpkin. We need to get back. I have papers to grade.” Mitchel spotted Crusher wheeling his suitcase through the courtyard. “A short one,” Boris said, looking at Roger. “Make it two, but if you have any plastic cups from the party, let’s use those. We need to be going.” Tobias swept out of the room. “So,” Mitchel said, getting off the couch, passing Drax with a wary eye. He unlocked the sliding door, and instantly a cool Atlantic breeze floated in. “Alastair von Ingerschleben. Where did that come from?” he asked Manetti in passing. “Crusher, bring me the franchise papers to look over this week,” he yelled. “Will do. Thanks Mitch. Great party. Kisses to the Misses,” called Crusher, wheeling his suitcase over the coy pond bridge. Mitchel didn’t like Drax in his house, but he was amused by Michael’s improvised story. The cool breeze brought a briny smell of the sea with it. Wallace rose, his tail wagging, sniffing the salty air. “Alastair Inge was this snooty kid on my high school wrestling team,” Manetti said, shrugging his shoulders. “Never liked him.” “Although apparently you remember many details about him,” Mitchel teased. He sat back on the couch and lit a lilac scented candle on the coffee table. The closed room, or perhaps it was Drax’s mere presence, left an unpleasant, lingering odor. Manetti wasn’t sure how or if Drax was buying any of this, so he tested the waters. “So you see, Master Drax, I was telling these guy you wanted to buy a boat to make an outdoor porn film.” “And why on earth would I ever want to do that,” Drax laughed. He got up waving the candle scent away from him, and roamed around the room. He examined objects on the display case—a fine china vase, a few first edition books—finally landing his hand on top of Chris’ blond head. “How was your night, Christian? Did you and Michael have fun at the party?” “Yes, we did, Master Drax,” Chris said. “There were all these fireflies, but they should really be called fire-beetles, ‘cause they’re beetles and not flies at all. And they wiggle their butts to attract mates. And that’s what I did all night. I attracted lots of mates with my butt.” Drax chuckled. “I’m sure you did, child,” Drax said as he regarded Manetti. “The things he’s learned since he’s been with you, Michael. What clever, clever boys I have,” he snickered darkly. Drax’s mirthless laugh had a chilling effect on the room. Although Chris seemed oblivious, the morticians and Mitchel stiffened as they sat. Manetti guarded his emotions, still trying to assess where he stood with Drax. Drax said to Mitchel, with insipid friendliness, “We’ve been sitting here for so long listening to Michael’s tall tale of boats and pirates, we never got around to proper introductions. I don’t know these dapper gentlemen, but something about them tells me I should like to know them better. Would you be so kind, Professor, as to make the introductions?” Mitchel looked like he had something foul in his mouth, but he introduced Boris and Roger, nevertheless. Tobias came back with three gin and tonics for himself and his two guests in red plastic cups. “And who is this fine strapping lad?” Drax inquired after the Great Dane. He placed a hand on the dog’s face. The animal slapped his tail against the sliding glass window several times. “That’s our Wallace,” Roger admitted proudly. Boris fidgeted uncomfortably. Drax watched both men curiously. “Mr. Drax, can I offer you coffee, or a cocktail perhaps?” Tobias offered. “So kind of you, Mr. Glass, but no. I’m still trying to understand why Michael and Christian are out here and not back home in New York where they were supposed to be after…” “We had invited Michael,” Mitchel interrupted. “Our special guests of the night and he brought Chris along with him.” “Yes,” Tobias picked up from Mitchel, “for our Towel Party. You are familiar with our annual event, certainly.” “Most certainly. Legendary, I believe. I had hoped some of it was still going on. I had Jamal pack the camera just in case. You can imagine my disappointment that all the guests had departed. Still, maybe we can improvise something. It’s true, gentlemen. No one wants porn to have stories, especially stories with silly names, and pirates and boats. No, what we want is nameless men to simply fuck and be fucked, or fist, or jerk off, suck, pee, tie each other up, beat each other with whips, and do the most astonishing things to one another. To just come into a room, a room like this one, and show us something we want to see. Perhaps shock us by showing something we’ve always wanted to do, or, at the very least, wanted to witness. The only satisfying ending in porn, Michael, is a happy ending—someone or everyone needs to cum. That’s all one needs to get to the credits. Let me demonstrate.” Drax leaned over as an aside to the morticians, “Knowing our boy, this won’t take long.” The morticians snickered. “No plot, simply a naked boy with an erection, gentlemen. Observe. Christian?” he said, while pointing to Jamal to get the camera ready. “I wonder if you would show us what so many men have done to you lately. Maybe start by sitting on my fist. Just frame him, Jamal, and my hand. I’m sure, Christian, our guests would like a little entertainment. No plot, gentlemen. Just spectacle.” Jamal had the camera rolling. Christian rose fingering his butt, but Mitchel quickly stood up and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Our guests, Mister Drax, would not like a little entertainment. While our debauchery knows no bounds—we have, after all, our house filled with it last night—but let me point out first, I have no wish for our compound to be the setting for one of your little films. Second, I don’t appreciate a lecture on lechery. I grant you none of us knows the subject better than you, but spare us such a crass demonstration of licentiousness using this young boy simply to prove your capacity to corrupt. You, sir, are corruption—we’ve never had a doubt about that.” Mitchel looked at the two mortician’s who had been leaning in, ready for a show, but now looked despondent. “Sir,” Mitchel said to Drax, “during the time it takes us to escort our guests back to their boat, I would very much appreciate if you wrap up your business with Michael, quickly, and be gone before we get return. Chris, it was an honor and privilege to have you with us. Michael, please call me and we’ll have lunch. There are some outstanding issues that need to be resolved. Gentlemen, Wallace, Sweetheart, after you.” With that Mitchel opened the door for the disappointed mortician’s, their dog, and Tobias who had his hand lovingly over his heart. Tobias stopped at the sliding door and planted a kiss on his husband. Drax said nothing, showed no emotion, but his face was red with fury. “Of course, Professor. We shall be done momentarily, and will leave, all of us, and remove ourselves from your premises.” “Thank you. Mister Drax,” replied Mitchel. He slid the screen door behind him. “Jamal, put away the camera.” Drax was seething, but remained wooden. He stood next to the display case and with one finger pushed a blue and white porcelain vase off its shelf, which Manetti leapt to catch before it hit the floor. “It would be a pity if a candle fell and lit this rug and the entire complex on fire!” Drax shouted the last word, then immediately caught himself. “What do you think, Michael? Should I set things right now or at a more suitable hour?” Manetti pushed the vase back against the wall. “I think if you did anything Mitchel would sue the shit out of you, honestly, if there were even one singe on his carpet,” Manetti replied. “He doesn’t practice, but he’s still on the board of his old firm and well connected.” “He could sue, yes, possibly, unless some accident befell him,” Drax countered. “An ex-con, say, that still held a grudge, a student he flunked who sought revenge, even a random homeless derelict could accosted him on his way home from a late night class. A shiv on a darkened street…” “Alright, enough!” Manetti growled, the first time he ever stood up in all the years he’d known Drax. Drax gave Manetti an ice cold stare. Manetti knew he crossed a line, maybe his second for not coming back to the apartment last night. “Forget about it, Master Drax, let’s just leave. I have your money, and it’s even more than you thought.” He felt—he hoped—the news might deflect him. “How much more?” “Chris, go get it,” Manetti said. “It turns out Chris found two…” “Two hundred thousand dollars in the vent, Master Drax!” he exclaimed, jumping up as if he couldn’t contain himself. “I put the money in my gym bag like you told me to, and hid it before the party.” “Two hundred, you say?” Drax asked surprised. He forgot Mitchel’s rudeness for the moment. Between the money and watching the boy jump up and down so excitedly, pulling on his delightfully semi-erect penis, it put Drax in a better humor. “Go. Fetch it, child,” he said, waving his hand. He watched Chris scampered out the door, jump off the deck, and disappear underneath the cabana. Chris quickly located his green bag. He took out almost all the packets of wrapped hundred dollar bills, each packet ten thousand, and left twenty of them in the gym bag. He dug a big hole in the sand and pushed all the money he’d poached in it. He spied a big palm frond lying under the deck. He grabbed it and laid it over the one million eight hundred thousand dollars, and then pushed the sand back to bury the loot. He smiled seeing as how he now was the pirate with his own buried treasure. He took a stick and marked it with a big X. He scurried from under the cabana, ran over and promptly placed his gym bag with its two hundred grand into Drax’s outstretched hands. Drax couldn’t be more pleased. Nor could Manetti.

Midnight "C'mon! Up-ee!" Manetti came in the room clapping his hands, startling Chris. The room had a foul stench. Chris was sweating profusely, and had moistened the bedsheets with their dried butt juice from earlier that day. The kid was oblivious to the stink, awash in perpetual, carnal thoughts, though if you pressed him he couldn't tell you one of them. Manetti turned off the electro kit and started taking off all of Chris attachments. Manetti smacked his lips, his nostril flaring with powder. "Swear to Christ, you should be paying me for this first one. It's a twofer and you better not fuck up. Client wants his puppy to try Tina, so it has the potential to be interesting. Ah," Manetti said, pausing to admire the hour's growth of Chris' nipples, "Look at those sweet tits, man. Beautiful little eraser heads." Manetti twisted them. Chris looked down to see his nips were pretty hefty now. Nowhere near Manetti’s and far from Master Drax's, but much more plump than the tiny pimples he had before. Manetti pulled out the sound and butt plug without much protest from Chris. He untied the kid, and plunked him in the shower to wash some of the bed crud off. He needed to be, at the very least, presentable. Tricks could fuck him up as much they wanted, but let him at least start from a baseline of decency. They left their cabana amidst men walking around cruising each other and taking off to the shadows where portable slings had been set up. All around, under the throbbing disco music, moans of sex and the scent of reefer and poppers filled the night. Manetti led the way holding a prepared .3 rig in one hand and Chris' dog leash in the other. Both wore their white towels and masks as did everyone on the grounds. Manetti walked up to the cabana next to theirs, Chuck Brunswick's and Andy's, and knocked. Chris looked at all the men walking by. Some stared at him, licking their chops. He licked his chops hungrily back at them until Manetti yanked his leash. "Focus," Manetti said. In the garden shadows, Chris made out slings clanking in secluded walkways. Fireflies winked their little lights in the dark. *** Andy Hollister, in the bright California sunlight, had eyes that shined a luminescent aquamarine. No joke. What the TV star saw when he emerged from his trailer in Santa Monica, ready to film another boring expositional beach scene with his co-star, L.A. Police Chief Roy Ebbing, was Andy playing volleyball with the other day players. The extra, even from a distance had mesmerizing eyes. Dark brown hair, a sculpted brow, a wiry frame—the kid wasn’t tall, but he was excellent at spiking the ball from a running start. Chuck Brunswick couldn’t think of one beach he’d been to—Cyprus, Oaxaca, Zakynthos Island of Greece—that was of a clearer blue than the happy kid in the sand. Andy was assigned a background role of volleyball player that Stacks Lightning would pass on the boardwalk while milking Police Chief Ebbing for intel. Walk-and-talk scene were typically the most boring parts of the script to film—pure exposition. But that day, with a hot young twink consistently in his line of sight, each take they did gave the actor a pleasant distraction from the humdrum dialog. After the shoot, Brunswick got the front office to track down the extra and called in a favor from one of the executive producers. Andy was offered a Production Assistant’s job, which, to him, came out of the blue but he was eager to accept it. It paid little, but more than his waiter job, and the glamor of working on one of television most popular shows made him the envy of all his friends in the San Fernando Valley, especially his girlfriend who told everyone that Andy was starting to make it big in Hollywood. On set, Brunswick started hitting Andy up to fetch things: coffee, newspapers, cocaine (discretely from one of the prop guys). Their friendship, mentorship, whatever you want to call it, grew to where Brunswick had him running dialog with him between takes. One night they were filming a chase sequence at a refinery in El Segundo. The shoot ended about four in the morning and Brunswick was pretty wired from the fight sequences and the cocaine he’d been doing with Andy in his trailer. As the film company was breaking down their equipment, Brunswick mentioned he was concerned for Andy riding out to the valley so late. Why didn’t he follow him home and he could stay in the downstairs guest house. His one and only tenant had recently vacated and he could spend the night there, no problem. Andy enthusiastically agreed and follow him on his Kawasaki back to Brunswick's Malibu pad. The house was built on the cliffs with its pier foundation drilled deep into rocks below. The main overhanging house had a small studio apartment tucked underneath where Brunswick said he could crash. When they entered, day was breaking. From the hallway Andy could see another bright, azure sky unfolding over the Pacific. He’d seen sunrises, of course, but never anything so amazing where blue ocean folded into blue sky. Brunswick, looking into Andy’s eyes, felt the same amazement. He took the boy’s face in his hands and spontaneously kissed him. “Whoa. Dude!” Andy said, jumping back, but it wasn’t entirely unwelcome or unexpected. With each step of their increasing intimacy, Andy had gotten closer and more in tune with the actor’s unspoken needs. First minor incidental touches, a pat on the back, say, might be replaced with a tap on his butt; Brunswick coming out of the shower to run lines with him, the star would linger spending an inordinate amount of time naked, fluffing up his package, drying himself off. Once, running lines with him next to the catering truck on the studio backlot, Brunswick got up to a part in the script where he was supposed to kiss this week’s babe. As he got to that part, he reached out, putting a hand on Andy’s face and said, “This is where I kiss you.” Andy had never forgotten that confusing moment because right on the heels of that, Brunswick’s blond-haired teenage son and his ex-wife came on set and went off to his trailer to sign some papers. “Fuckin’ look at your eyes, man,” Brunswick said to him at the beach house that early morning. Andy, rather than backing off and playing coy, came forward and pressed his face against that famous mustache. He moved in that week, broke off with his girlfriend, and never left Brunswick’s side. Or a better way to say it is that Brunswick never let him leave his side. Once Andy moved in, in small and subtle ways, Brunswick started to narrow his exposure with anyone else. His valley friends weren’t to visit the house. “They’re black holes that only want to be your friends so they can hang out in Malibu.” Andy disagreed but not fervently enough to actually invite any of his friend over. One by one, friends, even family, contacted him less and less. The studio apartment downstairs where he ostensible lived was rarely used, only when studio executives came over for a dinner meeting would Andy be required to remain downstairs until they left. Brunswick nonchalantly suggested clothing Andy might wear, taking him eventually into Beverly Hills, picking out all his outfits. He adopted this dapper wardrobe, a sweater tied round his Lacoste shirt, as his new style. From happy, grungy valley kid to serious, snappy preppy boy in less than a year. The second year they lived together, Brunswick had him quit his job as a PA, persuading him he’d be more content to stay home and enjoy the solitary beach, cook meals, clean, and wait for him every evening for his return. Andy was his servant, secretary, and—to Andy, anyway—his lover. He dressed in a manner that pleased Brunswick; taking on the interests the actor had, the conservative politics the actor espoused. He came round to enjoying the finer things Brunswick exposed him to. When the actor was on hiatus, they traveled to Paris, Bangkok, Rio, took meals at the finest London restaurants, stayed at the best Mediterranean villas. He was introduced to famous and, sometimes, infamous acquaintances, artists, politicians, shady characters that had “boys” of their own. It was on a flight to New York with a connecting seaplane after that, that brought Andy face to face with a naked Chris Prior standing in front of him, and a man he’d met that day called Manetti, a pretty sketchy character if you wanted to know the truth, who was running a hand down the skinny blond kid’s torso, fluffing up his dick, displaying him like he was some county fair animal, like a slab of prime meat brought over as a main course by a swarthy Italian waiter. "One hundred to fuck him. Two to fist," Manetti informed Brunswick. "Same price for two of us, right?" Brunswick inquired. Manetti nodded. "Does he top or only bottom?" "Dunno," Manetti said honestly perplexed. “It’s never come up. Can you fuck, boy?" "Fuck who?" Chris asked, only semi-aware he was on display, naked in front of Chuck and Andy, both draped in their towels while he was not. "You’d fuck Andy, of course," Brunswick said. "And you're neg, right?" "Yes, Sir, sir. Practically a virgin," replied Chris, giving Andy a lascivious examination. Andy thought that this didn’t seem like the same kid running around the pool a couple of hours ago. The kid in front of him now was as crude as Manetti. He also noticed the blond was getting a pretty big hardon. "And I’ll admin to your boy, too," Manetti added, "no charge except for product. Point three is my reco. It’ll pack a pretty good wallop for a first timer." "Alright," Brunswick said, reaching for his wallet and pulling out several bills and handing them to Manetti. Andy looked alarmed. “Wait, what’s this admin stuff?” “You know how we’ve been trying to get you into fisting?” Brunswick began in his persuasive tone. Andy looked at Manetti quickly. “Well, this should open you up. It’s Tina and you inject it. You trust me, don’t you, son?” “I don’t know, Chuck,” Andy said looking at the ominous needle in Manetti’s hand. “Can’t I just snort it like we do coke? “Much better to have it injected, Chief,” Manetti advised. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” That was enough for Andy to sour on the whole deal. He didn’t like Manetti. Certainly would never trust him. “Aw, c’mere Raggedy Andy,” Chuck said, pulling Andy in close, stroking his bicep and chest. Andy went limp in his arm like he always did. “Remember our first night after you got your implants?" Manetti asked quizzically. "Implants?" "Yeah, how do you think my boy got so buff? No gym membership needed," Brunswick replied. He ran his hand lavishly over the boy’s expensive biceps, the sculpted deltoids and yoked traps. “Baby, you remember how good the painkillers were the doctor proscribed? How I almost got all my fingers inside you? Well, this will be a hundred times better than that.” Chris chimed in, “Yeah, you'll feel, like, so great and you get this big rush, bigger than when you take a hit of coke. It’s a million times more better.” Andy stared at Chris’ growing erection and started to feel his own dick start to rise. “Okay, but you’re staying here the whole time, Chuck, right?” He definitely did not want to be alone with this thug Manetti with his prominent biohazard belly tattoo. “The whole time, buddy. The whole time,” Chuck reassured him. “Why don’t I hold you, while Manetti injects you? I’ll hold you, son, if you like.” Andy nodded, still nervous. Brunswick got situated at the headboard and pulled Andy in between his legs, put one arm on a shoulder and started massaging him, his other hand traveled over Andy's downy chest. Manetti sat next to Andy, propped a pillow under his arm, and told him to make a fist. Andy followed his instruction, and Manetti went in search of a vein. Chris sat at the edge of the bed and witnessed each detail. His hardon said how hot he was for this young man, admiring the short dark hairs that were just starting to cover his sculpted chest, the tufts of black hair tucked under his carved arms. “I can see you’re scared,” Manetti said, “I’ll just do half. You tell me if you want it all. Sound good?” Andy like the idea and nodded. His white skin displayed many prominent blue vein possibilities. “Let's do this one, Chief,” he said poking a ridge on his forearm. “Ready?” Andy’s face said he wasn’t but Manetti went on anyway. “Okay think of a nice place you really like.” Andy thought of that first night at Chuck’s, looking out the window watching the day break, seeing fins, dolphin fins in the distance. Manetti stuck him and pulled back the plunger and Andy’s red blood swirled mixing with the crystal meth. Or could they have been shark fins? “Here we go,” Manetti said slowly pushing half the vial contents into him. Andy felt an increasing warm bath of joy. How wonderful his life was, how sexually strong his feeling was about Chuck, how good it was that Chuck guided him, protected him, even controlled him a little. Just this much of crystal was perfect. He held up a hand to Manetti saying as much. “Do the rest of it,” Chuck said coolly to Manetti. “Wait,” Andy said. Manetti smirked and emptied the remaining meth. Andy sucked in a breath through teeth-gritted. His eyes spun. He went from a smile to a grimace, back to a smile, then he lost all cognizance of where he was. “See,” said Brunswick, “you love it don’t you, baby? Daddy know best, doesn’t he?” “Ah, fuck, daddy,” stammered Andy, remembering Chuck was there, holding him. “Fuck, this is so good. Ah, fuck, fuck.” Chris put his hand under Andy’s towel and started stroking his small penis. Brunswick undraped Andy and told Chris to suck him. Chris did, with pleasure. Andy moaned on the bed wanting to get up, but Brunswick held him back. Unable to move, simply taking in all the sensation of his first major Tina rush, he ran his hands over Chris’ blond mop, humping his mouth. Brunswick toyed with Andy’s nipples, played with the boy like he was a life-size doll. Picked up his long, thin hand and sucked his fingers, bent over and put his tongue in his ear. "You like what daddy gives you? A cute, little teddy bear to suck your pretty little dick, a big bad wolf to shoot you up, and daddy who's finally going to get his big paw inside you tonight." "Fuck," said Andy barely aware of what Brunswick was saying, keenly aware of how good he felt, how good a cocksucker was deep-throating him, getting his pubes so wet and warm. Who was slipping a thin, wet finger across his silky crack? Who slid a finger against his velvety hole? Who wiggled its way inside? Andy wanted to slide down on this finger, and Brunswick released him. He slid down and wormed his way onto the finger that prodded against him. "Fuck," he cried as the finger passed inside him. As the drug pulsed through his body, lust encouraged him to push down on the finger so it would go in deeper. "Yeah, that's it baby. Let the whore finger fuck you." Chris continued playing with Andy's hole. Pushing in deeper, taking his finger out, licking two, tasting Andy's musky juice, slipping the two wet fingers back into his hole, twisting them slowly. He ran his tongue up the shaft, felt the treasure trail of black hairs that left his dark bush and swirled up to his belly. Chris kept going till his hands reached the few hairs that speckled Andy’s breast bone between his pec implants. Watching Chris work on Andy got Manetti aroused. His job done he pulled into the room's shadows and observed. Chris was getting the fucked up kid to squirm, adding in an occasional nasty sounding, yeah, fuck yourself on my fingers, yeah, that's it, let yourself enjoy it. Brunswick was also enjoy it, playing with himself, taking a swig of absinthe from the nightstand, putting it back, reaching forward and playing with Chris' nice eraser head nips. "Alright. Up on your knees boys. Stick your dick in Andy, boy." Andy slowly crawled onto all fours, with Chris sliding between his legs. Manetti came out of the shadows to hand Chris some lube. Chris covered his erection with thick, viscous grease and spread a little over Andy's hole. He rubbed his dick up and down Andy's crack. "You want this cock? Tell me you want it." "I want it. I want your cock," Andy responded breathlessly. "Good." He pushed Andy's shoulders down so his head was on the bed, then started pushing his cockhead into him. Andy sucked in air when Chris’ purple head first popped in. Chris pulled out a little then pushed back again. "That's it, take it in." Behind him, Chris felt Brunswick's large paw press him onto Andy's body. Chris fell on top of Andy's back and Brunswick spread his legs and pushed his cock into Chris' accepting hole. Chris was a lot looser than Andy and Brunswick quickly slid up to his root, hairy dark pubes rubbing against the boy’s hairless hole. A big beer can dick Brunswick had. Not long but meaty and thick. Chris jabbed Andy fiercely, and just as fiercely pushed his ass back on Brunswick. The three of them found a rhythm they could sustain. Andy stayed passive, letting Chris fuck him hard, emitting small cries of satisfaction with each slam. Chris reached around and jacked Andy's pecker till it got stiff. The young man’s pubes were like silk, and his felt him up, all that pubic hair he was denied. He squeezed and pulled on Andy’s balls, which Andy protested at first but then started enjoying it. Chris’ own balls swung in their heavy metal sleeve, smacking into Andy’s. "Baby, you got a great ass," Brunswick hoarsely whispered in Chris’ ear. "Ah, fuck, Sir. Your boy does too," Chris answered back. It was true. It was the first boy pussy he’d ever fucked, and its creaminess, on top of the dominance he felt over someone like never before, was getting him close to cumming. "Ung," Chris uttered, deep guttural expression of enjoyment each time he slammed into Andy ass. "Ung-ung-ung..." he repeated with every piston thrust of his hips. He was banging back and forth in the erotic sensation of simultaneously fucking a soft, tight hole with his long dick, and being fucked by a thick daddy cock banging into his ass. Part of his brain fantasized about the hairy bush he was backing into, Stacks Lightning. But it was the actual hard man he felt inside him, grunting, animal-like, lewdly talking in his ear. "How old are you anyway?" Chris grunted. "Bet my son’s age. You like daddy fucking you, son? Daddy wanted to fuck you for a long time." Not only did Chris grunt in the affirmative, the confession hinting of a secret desire for incest made him blow immediately, deep within Andy, pouring a steady stream of cum into the kid. Andy, too, felt Chris’ rhythmic climax and also came hard into Chris' fist. Loud and lewd, the boy’s stuttered over each other a smattering of oh fucks and oh shits, while they nutted. Brunswick disengaged frustrated quickly after, looked at Manetti sitting in a chair stoking his big Italian cock. "What?" Manetti protested. He could see Brunswick was irritated, that he was just getting started when the boys finished themselves off. Manetti argued, "They’re teenagers for fuck sake! They can't help it! They’d cum every fifteen minutes like coo coo clocks if you let him." "I expected him to keep it going for more than two minutes. We still have fifty-five minutes, right? Jesus Christ!" Chris wiped Andy’s cum on the bed. "I'm sorry, Sir. I won't cum so fast next time, but your boy’s cunt feels so good." Chris began rubbing two fingers over Andy's dripping hole. He wanted to immediately dive deeper. He was still fucking horny. "Boys, on you backs," barked Brunswick. "Chariot time." He pulled the ottoman from under Manetti's feet and positioned himself between the two boys who had their asses at the edge of the bed waiting. Manetti tried to make peace, and came over and spread grease over Brunswick's hands. The hand ready for Chris' hole Manetti applied a lot more grease to the actor's forearm. He made sure Brunswick understood the implications. Manetti applied two fingers of grease on both boy's holes and pushed it in, then spread some around inside their holes. Andy's hole, replete with short dark boy hair, felt incredible, but also puckered tight. Chris looked at Manetti with intense excitement and anticipation. Manetti held up a single finger as a warning. Chris pouted. Andy looked at Brunswick a little frightened, but excited in anticipation all the same. Brunswick stuck in two fingers in both boy's ass lips and twisted. Andy yelped while Chris moaned deeply. "Do a couple hits, boy,” Brunswick encouraged Andy. Manetti sat on the bed next to him, uncapped the bottle and fed it to the boy. Brunswick felt his hole loosen considerably so he slipped in a third finger. Chris had no problem with two fingers or the third that was incoming. He rocked his butt to take Brunswick’s fingers all the way to his knuckles in one go. Brunswick pushed in three fingers in each boy, easily slipping into Chris, not so easy with Andy. Chris reached over and stuck his tongue in Andy's mouth, surprising him with a passionate kiss. The poppers aroused Andy's lust. He liked kissing Chris in front of his mentor, started making out with Chris passionately, much to the pleasure of both Brunswick and Manetti. Chris whispered nastily, "Fuck yeah. Let your daddy fist us. Let daddy take our holes." Chris looked in the boy's deep blue eyes and saw lust building, as Brunswick added a fourth finger. Chris wiped some lube off his butt and stroked Andy's shriveled cock. It didn't get hard but it did get Andy to start pushing down on Brunswick's hand. Manetti let them share the poppers, each taking a hit, then another. Then both boys began desperately pushing their holes trying to take Brunswick's meaty paw. "That's it, son. Bear down on daddy. Look what a good job Chris is doing." Having Chuck Brunswick's hand inside him was his goal since he saw the lightning bolt suitcases outside the cabana. Chris swallowed his hand in one greedy gulp and let out a passionate cry of achievement. Both his hands flew above his head in passionate surrender, wallowing in the accomplishment, squeezing and releasing the monstrously large hand inside him. Brunswick kept twisting inside Chris' expanded hole, while he still toyed with opening up his boy. Brunswick's hand was bigger than Manetti's, but Manetti definitely possessed better technique. Manetti continuously checked in with his bottom, whereas Brunswick was thoughtless, mechanical. Chris didn't really care though. This is how he imagined Stacks Lightning would fist him: forceful, dispassionate, at times hurting him. It was something he wanted. After several minutes of twisting and re-lubing, and still not getting into Andy, Brunswick was about to give up on both of them. Chris saw his growing frustration. "Let Manetti get him open, Sir. He's got smaller hands," Chris said. With a single raise eyebrow, Manetti protested, and would have said something, but saw the kid was working an angle. Manetti gave Andy a once over, admiring the black pubes on such milky white skin. It got an easy rise out of Manetti, and he gave Brunswick a why-not look. Brunswick assented and turned his attention to Chris' malleable hole, while Manetti took his towel and wiped excess grease from Andy's butt. He knelt down and began lapping at the hole, swirled his tongue in circles, while Andy breathed through clench teeth, relishing the sensation of the man's rough beard and feathery tongue. Brunswick wasn’t into rimming, and since he’d been the one and only man he'd ever had sex with, the thought of someone low enough, someone as rough and criminal looking as Manetti, wanting to put his mouth on his shitter excited him. It was what he expected criminal would like to do. And, man, the feeling of a tongue licking his hole was beyond description. He relaxed and Manetti stuck his tongue inside the kid's rectum, licking the musky flavor of his hole. It drove the kid crazy. He pulled his cheeks apart so Manetti could dig deeper if he wanted. He wanted. Brunswick watched in fascination his boy's hole getting so professionally eaten. He looked at Chris and twisted his hand once more, balling up his fist, and pushing his arm further up Chris' hole. Chris took a hit of poppers and gritted his teeth and pushed his ass onto Brunswick large hairy arm. He went quite a distance on the first try but at a price. The man's knuckled brought him a lot of pain. He lowered his legs and placed them on Brunswick's muscular shoulders and gave them a slight push so his arm pulled out slightly, taking off some pressure. He took another hit and fell in a trace looking at the actor's face. The international spy, Stacks Lightning, had his arm inside his body. How fucking awesome was that? Not as awesome as it would be if he were piston fucking him. So he relaxed his legs on the man's shoulders and felt his mammoth fist slide deep within him. He rocked his feet off the spy's shoulders feeling him go in deep then come out. He kept up the motion seeing it pleased his hero. The more it did the harder he rocked. Chris had been the one in control, determining the rhythm by pushing his feet against Brunswick, but he could see Brunswick wanted to dominate, so he laid back on the bed and pulled his legs apart to show submission. It’s exactly what Brunswick wanted and immediately rose to the challenge. He pulled all the way out and then punched back in. Chris gave into his fantasy that the internationally famous undercover spy, Stacks Lightning, wanted to punch fist him. The spy could do no wrong; he would be this week’s willing bottom. Chris pulled his ass cheeks apart and let him pile drive in first one fist, then the other. He grunted like a swine with each punch, leaving dignity far behind, and snarled and snorted at Brunswick, nodding his head to punch him more and harder. Brunswick had the look of a drunk madman and pummeled the boy's ass mercilessly. If he was damaging the boy, he didn’t care. He allowed him to suck on his popper bottle for a moment, then began again to use the kid’s body as a punching bag. At one point, catching his breath from his battering, he witness Chris pushing out his internal organs. They popped through his hole, lips like a volcano rim with red lava oozing to the surface. What had been a small bloom earlier in the day, now grew to a soft-ball size mound of flesh pushing through. Brunswick used his towel to wipe it, then bent down and, for the first time, started chewing and sucking on Chris' small prolapse. Brunswick had never given in to such depravity, but the sight of this teenager with such a disgustingly obscene asshole, drove him to lick and nibble and kiss it, using his tongue to drive the boy to insanity. To Chris, nothing had ever felt like this. It was like being rimmed by twenty tongues. So many nerve endings were raw and exposed, stimulated all at the same time. If he even thought about jacking himself right now he'd shoot and hit the wall. He left his hard, purple-headed erection alone, and instead grabbed the head of auburn locks attached to his hole and push his rosebud harder against that mouth. The international spy's lips were locked, eating his shithole. How incredibly awesome was that? Not as awesome as the spy’s hand going back inside and starting to punch his organs again. They got into a long series of punching that lasted minutes or hours—time didn't registered. But suddenly his body did something it'd never done before. Brunswick’s fist stayed in the air ready to go back in but he was suspended in curiosity. Chris was convulsing. More than an orgasm that normally started in his balls and shot out of his dick, an earthquake rocked his entire core. He thundered in ecstasy as tremors uncontrollably took over his body. He rode it to what he thought was a finale, but a second, then a third aftershock quickly followed. There was a loud cry out of Andy at the same time. Chris glanced over at Manetti as his body shook. Manetti had just seduced the boy's hole with his hand, popping Andy’s fisting cherry. As he rested inside the kid, letting him get used to what a fist felt like, he said to Chris, "It's a body orgasm. It’s natural." In his old calming voice, he explained to him, "It’s your whole body orgasming not just your balls nutting. Ride it. Enjoy it." Chris spasmed several more times, calming down after a few more seismic quivers. "Oh, shit," Chris said getting up on his elbows looking at Brunswick. "What the fuck did you just do to me," Chris rasped. He sat up on the edge of the bed and, not being able to control himself, pressed his face against Brunswick and stuck his tongue down his idol's throat. He squeezed Brunswick’s cock, which was engorged and dripping. The man eyes were clouded with drink. He threw Chris on his back and stuck him like a pig. Chris squealed in contentment, letting him rut to his heart's satisfaction. He cast an eye over at Manetti, who was still holding silently inside Andy, but saw Manetti inching his cock ever closer to Andy's furry hole. Chris let Brunswick rock away inside him but gradually swung them both away from Manetti and Andy. He wanted all of Brunswick attention, and undulated madly under the man, distracting him with the seductiveness only his hole could provide. He rubbed the man's chest, running sensual fingers over his nipples, rising up to touch his mouth. He felt the bed give and saw Manetti pick Andy up off the bed. Manetti had swapped hand for dick, his mouth clamped onto Andy's mouth, rocking the kid in the air, pounding mercilessly into the boy like a sack of heavy grain. Andy fully surrender to Manetti, wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, and let him fuck him relentless standing by the door. Manetti’s butt clenched wildly. He was coming to a climax. Brunswick started to shift his head toward the standing pair, but Chris moved his head back and heaved himself forcefully on the man's cock. Brunswick still wanted to know what the noise by the door was. Chris took that moment to make him an offer, "Put your hand in me, Chuck, and jack off if you want." The actor refocused on Chris’ face, realizing this boy would let him do whatever he wanted it. Chris spied Manetti climaxing inside the boy, just as Brunswick slipped his entire hand inside Chris’s rectum and started whacking away. The perverseness of fisting and wanking inside an asshole got him to cum quickly. Only after he felt the final hard thrust of the actor’s fist inside him, then did he allow himself to beat off. It took no time at all; within second shot he shot his wad into Brunswick’s chin. A bead of semen clung to the famous mustache like white snot. Brunswick licked it off with a drunken smile. Brunswick slipped his hand and cock out of Chris, just as Manetti eased Andy softly back on the bed. Brunswick was none the wiser to what had just happened to Andy. Chris let the drunk man roll off him, away from Andy and Manetti, and just laid on his back squinting at the ceiling. "Fuck, baby, you are a real whore, aren’t you?" Brunswick said, closing his eyes. He reached over and pinched one of Chris' fat baby nipples. He licked his mustache once more and relaxed in post coital bliss. Chris brought his spread legs around and turned on his side to attend to Andy. Manetti had got what he wanted but just left the kid laying there in a state of shock. Andy looked dazed, staring at Manetti biohazard tattoo, leaking his toxic cum onto the bed sheets. Chris talked to him quietly in his ear. It was okay. It felt good, didn't it? He then bent down and started sucking Andy's small stiff cock while the young man kept staring at Manetti's belly. Chris slipped a single finger in Andy's hole and started pushing in Manetti's drippings. Within only a few moments Andy's body began to rock to the rhythm of Chris' mouth. Chris used more fingers to swab the sheets gathering more cum, and pushed more of Manetti into the kid’s receptive hole. There was plenty of Manetti’s spooge covering the bed, and Chris used all of it to get his small hand back inside Andy. The moment Chris’ fist entered Andy, Andy's head fell back and he shot a fountain of salty white cum into Chris' mouth. Chris hungrily swallowed every drop. Like milk was the kid's fresh cum. Fresh but not so pure. Brunswick was snoring lightly as they gathered their towels and masks to leave. Manetti opened the nightstand drawer and found a large black dildo the same size as his cock. He bent down, gave it to the kid and spoke quietly in his ear. He could see the kid was wide awake and horned out of his mind. "We got another call to make. Practice on this for the next hour, then come find me and I’ll give you the real deal.” He stuck his tongue in the kid’s open mouth. “You got one of the finest pussies I’ve ever had the privilege to fuck,” he said, with the nastiest grin on his face. Andy beamed, and laid there greasing the dildo, while Brunswick turned to his side to sleep the rest of the night away. ***

7. Night of the Green Fairy It was early evening. Above the compound, the last light of day blushed scarlet between the treetop leaves. Deep male laughter and the clinking of dinner plates came from the main house. The cabana’s picture window shades were open, and from the courtyard tiki flames illuminated the room in flickering shadows. He sat up groggy on the edge of the bed trying to focus. For a second he panicked searching for his bag on the floor. It sat on the nightstand where he’d left it. The nightstand’s drawer was open. Although the room was dark, inside he saw the lube they used and poppers, but also a large assortment of dildos, some black, some flesh-color, white nylon rope, dog collars, cuffs and other stuff, things he had no idea what they were for. He closed the drawer and picked up his bag and shuffled to the bathroom mirror, flicking on the light to check his neck. It was fine, unbruised, still red though from Polanski the night before. He set the bag on the toilet. Manetti was good, going to extremes but knowing where to draw the line. His stomach growled as he stepped in the shower to wash off the crud of sex. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the Popeye’s chicken the night before. While he was drying off, a succulent fragrance wafted in the air. He looked in his bag and felt his clothes were still damp. Dang, why didn’t he remembered to hang them out? He was such a moron. He draped them on the shower rod. That left only the baggy red track suit to wear. He climbed into it, cinched his pants, but before going in search of food—and Manetti—he went out with his bag, crawled under the middle of the cabana and stuffed the green bag between two joists. He climbed back onto the pool deck, brushed dirt off his knees, and went to the main house. Tobias Glass stood at the head of a black lacquered dining table surrounded by his friends, Manetti among them. He was holding court in his favorite green silk kimono, pushing back the decorative katana sword holder on the side table to make room for the finished dinnerware. On a blue Flemish plate with windmills and Dutch girls dancing in clogs, lines of coke were being passed around. Tobias was a tall, thin man with wild, curly gray hair, whose eyes never rested, continually observing his guests, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves. He made his way around the table, making a comment, picking up a dish, running his long fingers through Chuck Brunswick’s wavy locks. Tobias was the first to notice Chris coming into the main house through the sliding door. Cheers erupted around the table as the boy slid the screen closed. “Sleeping beauty!” Manetti called out to him. “Everybody. This is the Chris Prior, Big Ben’s little brother, I was telling you about.” Knowing glances flashed around the table. “We finished, Chief, but I saved your plate.” He was embarrassed by sudden attention and a little uneasy about what Manetti had told the table. He smiled shyly at Tobias who had his hand parked on Chuck Brunswick’s shoulder. Brunswick wiggled his bushy eyebrows at Chris, one of his trademarked gestures that seemed to make its way into every episode. Chris’ heart skipped a beat. “Sit. Eat,” said Tobias, collecting the lasts of the dinnerware. The chair next to Manetti was empty. As soon as Chris was settled in Manetti served up several slices of pork tenderloin and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. Across from Chris sat Brunswick’s traveling companion, a very aristocratic, very pretty young boy only a year or two older than Chris. Tobias was making the rounds of introductions, saying he was sure Chris new Chuck Brunswick. Chris nodded assuredly, trying to stop himself from staring. “And his secretary, Andrew Hollister. Secretary? Seriously, that’s not what you’re calling him, dear,” he pleaded to Brunswick. “Personal assistant,” Brunswick said, smiling wryly. “Very personal,” said a short, muscular man at the end of the table. In his early thirties, balding, he sported a mustard-colored horseshoe mustache, and was passing his empty dinner plate up to Tobias. “Andy,” Andrew Hollister added to his introduction, not looking at Chris but tipping a rolled-up twenty dollar bill down to the plate of coke. For all his refined facial features, high cheekbones, dark hair that contrasted with his deep set blue eyes, he filled out his tank top, pecs and arms, with impressively cut muscles. On second glance, though, Chris couldn’t help notice his neck seemed a little thin compared to the rest of his bulk. “And at this end of the table, this little person barely able to get his wee arms up to the table,” Tobias continued, then said to the man in a mock aside, “I do wish you’d let me get you a booster seat, dear. You might recognize, if you can see him, Mister David Crusher, he of Crusher Gyms.” Tobias was ridiculing the short, but clearly not dwarfish man at the end. The man’s broad, generous smile oozed confidence, some might say conceit. Chris could tell he relished Tobias’ attention. He saluted Chris with a glass of water. Despite his stature Chris saw he was a serious body builder, hiding bulging arms and massive shoulders underneath his white hooded pullover. What hair he still had he buzzed short. It only accentuated his jovial face, topped off with a button nose, and a serious cleft in his chin. “He’s not going to recognize me, you daft old queen,” he said, clasping Tobias’ hand with mock pity. “But I know you forget thing so easily at your age. You really don’t remember Manetti telling us a few minutes ago this is the kid’s first time in New York?” Tobias smacked his hands away and took his empty dish to the side table. “Yo, Hip Hop,” Crusher teased Chris. His voice was surprisingly rich and deep, with a friendly jockishness that suggested he schmoozed easily with his clients and wealthy investors alike. “You know Manetti’s a low life. A clean cut kid like you shouldn’t be hanging around with the likes of him. You’ll get fleas.” “I’m hardy old,” Tobias injected, dabbing a napkin to his lips, then taking the dishes into the kitchen. “Listen, Fireplug,” Manetti responded to Crusher, “Stop trying to steal my date. The kid’s doing just fine. Trust me.” Chris gave Manetti a startled look to see if he was being as protective as he sounded. He also couldn’t believe Manetti called him his date. “Some wine, Chris?” offered the man sitting on the other side of him. He held up a bottle of Chablis. “Thank you. Just water, please,” he answered. The man poured him a glass. His black rimmed glasses had thick lenses that magnified his hazel eyes. He was fiftyish, had a long horse face that was kindly, almost handsome, and he, too, appeared to be built under his Columbia University sweat shirt. Pairing everyone off, Chris assumed he was with Crusher. “I’m so sorry,” cried Tobias hurrying in from the kitchen, and sitting at the head of the table. “Forgive me Chris. Last and definitely least is Mother, Mitchel Goodman,” Tobias said, waving a long green sleeve at the man next to Chris, “my wife of twenty-two long, excruciating years.” “Tobias, if you keep this up, we’ll have to seal you back in your coffin before any of the party guest arrive.” “Promises, promises. Now Michael, my pet,” he said, placing a hand over Manetti’s. “I know you said you and Chris want to keep a low profile, and you may if you must. But you do know you arrived on Towel Night.” Between gobbling down forkfuls of pork and asparagus, Chris asked what Towel Night was. He’d finished his plate and Manetti was piling on a few more tenderloin slices. Everyone glanced around the table suppressing grins. Crusher sniffed loudly and passed the tray of coke to Mitchel. Mitchel tapped Chris’ shoulder and offered more asparagus. Chris nodded enthusiastically. As he was serving, Mitchel explained, “Tobias and I host a bacchanal for selected guests, no more than twelve or fourteen mind you, men that throughout the summer have caught his and my eye.” He set down the asparagus and quickly bent down and snorted two lines, then perked back up and continued a little more brightly. “The Towel Party is a Fire Island institution! It’s not suitable for wallflowers or twinks, but since you’re our house guest you’ll be treated like a dignitary.” Tobias broke in, “Or at least a novelty.” The men all laughed except Manetti, who eyed Chris. Tobias went on to explain further, “A white towel and eye mask along with an invitation were left on each of the invitees’ doorsteps late last night.” He added to the table as an aside, “This year, gentlemen, you won’t believe the variety. A potpourri of perversity!” To Chris he said, “The invitation is for ten o’clock, and the celebrant is expected to wear the towel, mask and nothing more.” “One question, Mr. Glass,” interrupted Andy, finishing his Chablis. “Aren’t most houses home to several men, for the most part? How do they know whom the invitation is for?” “That’s the fun part. Self-selection,” Tobias answered. “It’s a house’s decision who they designate. And they almost always select the most philistine participant, making for the most delicious, unpredictable party. Even if it turns out to not be the one Mother and I had an eye on, the collective house knows best, don’t they dear?” Mitchel agreed wholeheartedly. “The result is always better than we could have anticipated or hoped for—and always in surprising ways.” “Chris?” Mitchel said, passing the coke tray to him. “No thank you, sir,” he said, passing the tray to Manetti, finishing his last bites of food. Manetti said, “What. You’re suddenly a prude about drugs?” “I’m still eating,” Chris complained. “And I don’t want to.” “Oh, Mother,” crooned Tobias. “An old married couple already, just like us.” “Do it,” was all Manetti had to say. Chris growled and snatched back the tray glaring at Manetti. After coming back up and wiping his nose, Chris said, “Mr. Glass. What is a bacchanal?” “Oh, dear,” said Tobias. *** The small dinner party had moved outside. Down in an unlit fire pit, Brunswick sliced the air with the sheathed katana blade, showing Chris and Crusher some swordfight moves from a recent episode. Chris watched enthralled. Crusher was duly impressed. Andy not so much. Manetti had maneuvered Tobias to get him alone by the pool, and was quizzing him about boats for sale. “Drax authorized me to purchase a yacht for him, that’s what brought us here.” “I can’t quite picture Drax on the open sea,” said Tobias, lighting another cigarette as he put out his first. Mitchel walked by, frowning at Tobias as he passed, holding coffee mugs for Brunswick and Crusher. “Don’t give me that look, Mother. It’s only my second.” “He has some idea about a new video,” Manetti went on. “Something like Chris the cabin boy, or something like that.” “Mmm. Sailors, pirates, swarthy men who haven’t bathed in months, capture an innocent boy and teach him the ways of the sea. Ah, the timeless story.” Tobias raised his hand as if reading a marque. “Shanghaied and Seduced. I’d buy that. Hell, I'd produce it if Drax would let me on the set.” He took a long drag off his cigarette. “Well, as a matter of fact, we have some acquaintances that own a mortuary in Montclair. Very macabre characters, with unseemly tastes. If half the rumors are true I certainly wouldn’t leave Chris alone in their company. They’re calling it quits after twenty years. Such a pity. Boris caught Roger milking the milkman.” From the fire pit Mitchel corrected, “He was a beer distributor.” “Shush. A milkman makes for a much better story. Anyway, they’ll be docking here in the morning. They always take the week before the Fourth off. If you’re serious I can have them for brunch, but only if you’re serious. They are undertakers, after all. Not really the life of the party.” He exploded with laughter. Manetti snorted. “I have a feeling that aside from all the mishegas of selling the business, the house, oy, I can’t image, they’ll most likely want to get rid of their yacht.” Mitchel came up behind Tobias and rested his hands on his shoulders. “Who will get Wallace, do you suppose?” “Oh, dear. I hadn’t thought about their Great Dane. Poor Wallace. I suppose they’ll have to split him in half.” The two men chuckled. Manetti pressed, “How much do you think a boat like theirs would run.” Mitchel squeeze in next to Tobias on his lounge chair, “They bought it ten years ago, didn’t they?” Tobias nodded. “That yacht at today’s prices? Maybe one hundred fifty, sixty. I wouldn’t go any higher. Have you seen how worn and cracked the outdoor seating is?” Mitchel said sliding his hand over Tobias kimono sleeve. “Almost as cracked and worn out as they are.” Mitchel croaked, while Tobias gave him a playful slap on the wrist. Chris had overheard part of the conversation about yachts and, since Brunswick had finished his demonstration and was putting the sword away, he drifted over with his hand behind his back. He was feeling mischievous from the coke and also a bit daring from all the male attention he was getting. He dropped his clothes next to Manetti and then did a cannon ball next to him. The spray soaked Manetti's entire back, water dripped over his forehead. “That’s it, you little prick,” he said, stripping off his jeans and vest. He dove naked into the water chasing Chris who was squealing with delight. The dinner party gathered round the pool laughing as Manetti caught up with Chris, picked him up by the neck and legs, rose the naked boy kicking high in the air, and threw him into the deep end of the pool. Crusher stripped off his top and shorts revealing a large, semi-erect woody. He dove in and swam up next to the submerged Chris. Chris popped up wiping his eyes. He said to the boy, “I told you he was low rent scum, didn’t I?” He ran his hand up Chris’ torso. “You come stay with Uncle Crusher when you get back in the city. I’ve got a guest room and I’d like to see what I can do with this body,” he said, as underwater he groped the boy’s hairless crotch. Manetti quickly swam up and got between Crusher and boy. “Afraid he’s got other plans, Uncle Crusher.” Manetti wrapped an arm around Chris’ torso and swam away with his charge. “What, you got a monopoly on the whole family, Manetti?” Crusher bellowed. “Gentlemen, niceness. I’m sure there’s enough Chris for everyone, isn’t there Michael?” Tobias ventured. “Not for free, there isn’t,” Manetti said, urging Chris out of the pool. “What a crab, Manetti,” Chris said, grabbing a white towel and going back over to the fire pit. Manetti followed him, wiping himself off and settling into one of the chairs next to Chris. Brunswick came over and sat opposite Chris. He pulled off his shirt flexing his chest, clearly for Chris’ benefit. The boy toweled his hair, astonished seeing in real life what he’d fantasized about so often in his bedroom back home. “Yeah, Manetti, what a crab,” Crusher said, joining them with his own towel tucked around his waist. Manetti finished drying, popped his butt up and wrapped the towel around himself. Instead of following the others, Chris flung his towel around his shoulders and sat provocatively with his legs spread wide for Brunswick benefit. Tobias and Mitchel had gone in the house and were bringing back several glasses filled with a fluorescent green liquid. Tobias took a look at Chris who was starting to get an erection. “Oh dear,” he said, handing the boy a glass. “And before any of the guests arrive.” “What is this, Mr. Glass,” Chris asked, as Tobias and Mitchel finished handing out the spirits. “It’s called le fée verte, a Towel Party tradition,” Tobias replied. “The green fairy,” Andy translated for Brunswick trying to distract him from Chris’ noticeable and none too shabby hairless boner. “Absinthe?” guessed Brunswick. “Certainement,” responded Mitchel. “We always have a shot before the festivities begin.” Crusher sniffed his glass. “They say, absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.” He looked up at Chris. The boy didn't really get the joke but liked Crusher and snickered anyway. Andy held his glass to the light of a tiki torch. “But it’s illegal, isn’t it?” Brunswick clucked his tongue turning to Andy. “And how many lines of coke have you done tonight, young man?” He ran his hand up Andy’s smooth leg, into his shorts and gave a squeeze. Andy beamed an embarrassed but radiant smile, a smile that showed just how smitten he was with the actor. “It's illegal? I’m in,” Chris said. He downed his glass all the while looking at Manetti. “Oh, yuck. Man! Nasty.” “Dear, boy,” Tobias rushed over to Chris. “It’s meant to be sipped.” He ruffled his blond mop. “Ew, I could just eat you up! Now, if you’re good," he said conspiratorially, "I’ll show you a little trick, but you’ll have to come to the table to see it. And you have to wrap your towel. You’re distracting everyone. Look. Poor Mister Crusher can’t keep from poking through his towel.” Several of the men took small sips. Manetti downed his absinthe in one defiant gulp, and followed Chris and Tobias to the patio table. Crusher followed and, true to what Tobias said, was having a time of it trying to keep his towel tied around himself with his very impressive hardon tenting out. When Manetti and Chris sat down on either side of Tobias, he refilled their drinks. Brunswick and Andy grew curious and gathered round the table. Over the two refilled glasses Tobias produced two slotted spoons and set them atop the rims. From the table’s sugar bowl Tobias picked out two sugar cubes, dipped them in his own absinthe and set them on the spoons. Mitchel dimmed the porch lights, then brought over a book of matches and lit the cubes. They all watched as a ghostly green flames wavered above the glasses. Tobias informed the group, “This is the old bohemian method of drinking absinthe.” He twisted the spoons and let the flaming cubes fall into the glass. The entire contents lit up, casting a bright green light over the men's faces. Chris was fascinated with the green fire. Manetti tried to look indifferent but felt slightly hypnotized by the light. Tobias extended his kimono-draped hand over the flame. “Et voila! The flaming green fairy.” “Appropriate,” quipped Crusher. That got even Manetti laughing. “Baudelaire loved it this way,” Mitchel said. Andy added, “I read so did Oscar Wilde.” “It brings out all sorts of dark impulses—‘harbinger of our darkest angels,’ wrote Poe.” Tobias stated. “You’ll soon see why Van Gogh painted in the manner he did. Now no cutting off Chris’ ear,” he wagged a finger at Manetti, who had no idea what the man was talking about. Chris held up the clouded green liquid and blew his out his flame. He waited till it was cool enough to drink and tasted a sip. “It’s like licorice,” he said. The rest of the men wanted to try their absinthe this way. Manetti shot back his again in a single gulp. As Tobias poured out another round, Mitchel warned everyone that cooking the absinthe made it a lot stronger and brought out the legendary hallucinatory qualities. “Yes, Mother,” Tobias sighed, igniting everyone’s drink. “Mr. Brunswick?” Chris said, feeling his chest. The combination of the coke and the initial effects of the absinthe had brought him round to seek advice from his hero. “Call me Chuck, Chris,” he said, blowing out the flame in his glass and taking a sip. “Mr. Chuck? I mean Chuck,” Chris snickered. He started tweaking his nipples without realizing it. Manetti pushed his hand down. “Um, what was I going to say? Oh yeah.” He took another sip before Manetti took his glass away. “You remember that episode where these crooks confronted a crooked cop, killed him and stole all his money?” “That set up, Chris,” he responded, rubbing a hand through his fleecy chest. He too was starting to feel the green fairy. “That seemed to happen in a lot of episodes.” “Yeah,” Chris said, looking at his idol’s chest, the pecs so round, his shoulders so hard. “Um, if there was a third guy that didn’t know any better, but the crooks got him to fetch them the illegal money, ‘cause the money was from drugs that the dirty cop had been skimming from, and this third innocent guy kills the two crooks, and steels their money, would Stacks Lightning still to track him down?” Manetti caught a quick exchange between Mitchel and Tobias. “He’d say the money should be turned over to the police, I would guess.” “But if he didn’t? If say, he bought…?” Chris looked at the mustache and wondered what it would feel like if Chuck was sucking his cock with the mustache brushing his skin, "bought a yacht..." or if they got into sixty-nining and the mustache was tickling his balls. “Dirty money has a habit of getting people dirty, son.” “That’s what I say, too. Makes you dirty,” Chris looked over at Manetti. “Real dirty.” There was a knock at the compound’s archway. The door opened, and an extremely buff Latino man with long caramel hair strolled in accompanied by a regal Black man with long flowing dreadlocks and a burly brown-bearded bear of a man. They all wore towels, their white masks and varying degrees of smiles. Tobias got up to greet his first guests putting on his own mask, while Manetti picked Chris up under his arm, saying he wanted to talk to him. He dragged the protesting Chris to their cabana, tossed him on the crusty bedsheets, and locked the door. “That’s it for you tonight. You’re grounded.” “No,” whined Chris, finding it difficult to get off the bed. “I want to play with those guys. I want to play with Chuck.” “You got too big of a mouth.” Chris was about to holler, but Manetti covered his mouth and pinned him to the bed. He raised a finger to warn Chris to behave, but Chris was struggled drunkenly and noisily. Manetti, too, was starting to feel the effects of the absinthe and knew he had to act quickly. He opened the nightstand’s drawer. He rifled through the paraphernalia. Out came a muzzle that went over Chris face. He cinched it tight. Chris tried to speak but his voice was severely muted. Manetti then took out some rope, tied the boy’s hands together and looped it into a discreet eye hook behind the headboard. Chris rolled around trying to get up but Manetti used his weight to secure the boy, first tying one leg, then the other, till the boy was spread eagle on the bed. He battled against the ropes, but the brat wasn’t going anywhere. Once he was assured Chris couldn’t escape, he observed his helplessness. Maybe it was the green fairy but he was starting to get arouse. His cock stirred beneath the folds of the towel. He looked the boy over, his eyes squinting with brooding thoughts. He sided up next to him and started stroking the defenseless boy’s cock, wanting him excited as he was. “So I’m a crab, am I?” Chris stopped contesting, and lay still. There was a new tone in Manetti’s voice, not quite playful anymore, a note of corrupt intent. “You know you've been trouble all night. You've been disobedient.” The tone his father took when he was about to get a beating. Manetti starting scanning the room. “Do you think I haven't noticed the gym bag’s not here. Where is it? What did you do with it?” he asked menacingly, not playing around. Not playing with his dick, just gripping it hard. Genuine fear lit up in Chris’ eyes. Manetti reached into the bondage drawer and brought out a thick studded dog collar. “I think it’s time we play a new game. A game where you learn your place, the same way Drax schooled me.” He locked the collar around Chris’ neck. He shuffled through the drawer’s contents, found something that brought up an evil smile. He pulled out a roll of copper wire and an electro stimulation kit. "I can stretch this game out for a very long time and it never leaves a trace. Or you can tell me where it is. The bag." Hearing no response, slowly he wrapped each one of Chris’ testicles tightly so they each stood out away from his body. He then attached alligator clips to the end of each wire and connected it to the kit. “Where it is?” He lubed his fingers and rubbed the tip of Chris erect shaft. With his other hand he turned on the machine. Chris instantly felt as if rubber bands were snapping his balls. The ceaseless electric shocks made his body dance on the bed. Manetti turned the dial down, and repeated the question. Chris refused to answer as much from his inborn stubbornness as resistance to Manetti coercion. Manetti turn the dial up again. He continued to rub the kid’s nob, beginning to confuse Chris’ sense between pleasure and pain. “The money, kid. Where. Is. It?” He turned the dial higher and stroked his fist tighter around Chris’ erection. Chris pleaded under his muzzle for Manetti to stop. Feeling the power he had over this boy, Manetti started playing with himself. He asked Chris, “It almost feels good, doesn’t it?” He jacked them both. “Almost.” He upped the voltage again and Chris shuddered, real tears forming in his eyes. “Under the house,” he confessed through his muzzle, praying Manetti would stop. “Which house? This house?” Chris nodded. “Too many people outside.” Manetti looked wild contemplating his next move. He stared at Chris like a stranger, his dark brows scowling. His looked changed from anger to hurt. “Why’d you hide it from me?" He dialed the kit back up not for fun but to make him feel pain like he felt. "I could have just swiped it you know.” The voltage going through his balls brought out a screamed but party music played and a large chorus of men milling around muffled his cry. Chris yelled for help. That made Manetti’s mask switch back to anger. He dial the machine up even higher. Chris repeatedly begged for him to stop, but his pleas were easily drowned out by the din and disco music. Manetti closed his eyes. He’d never saw this side of Manetti. Didn’t want to. “Stop!” came out as a muffled plea. Manetti turned off the kit. On re-opening his eyes were clouded, it looked like he didn’t recognize Chris, only that he had a tied up naked body before him. From the drawer he withdrew a leather hood that covered Chris' head down to his cheeks leaving only two hole for his eyes to peer through. He laid a case on the bed and unzipped it. The case revealed twelve shiny metal instruments, long rods whose widths ran from thin to very thick, secured onto a bed of red velvet. Manetti removed one of the thinner ones. He was still stroking the thin body of the boy, but stopped momentarily to grease the rod. “You need to mind completely. Do whatever ever I say when I say it.” He pushed Chris’ pole straight up. With his pinky finger, he pushed lubricant into the boy’s piss slit, then held the instrument against the opening. He let it slide in about an inch, sending shockwaves over Chris as he realized what was about to happen. Manetti took a firm grip of his cock and stroking it, encouraged the weight of the rod to penetrate the boy’s urethra. It slowly made its way down. At first Chris bucked against the invasion, but that made the rod fall even faster so he stopped, tried to accept it, and felt it ooze steadily and unrelentingly downward. He flung his head back and forth at the odd and unnatural sensation. Never thought anything could enter him so intimately, so overwhelming his sense of what could and what couldn’t be done to his body. With every inch he wanted to it out of him, but with every inch it seduced him by its callous indifference. There was a slight S-shape bend in it, and about four inches in, it fell quickly in line with the contours of his channel, slid swiftly in all the way. Manetti then once again started stroking him. The thrill of steel violating his body like this, having Manetti control all his senses, was enough to bring him to an orgasm in spite of the perversity or perhaps because of it. Manetti read how the faceless body bucked in his hand. He released the cock and let it bob on its own, as the kid twitched but didn’t cum. He pulled the tip of the rod almost all the way out then let it slide back in again on its own accord. After minutes of these internal dick fucks, Chris grew to desire this new feeling of his penis being tortured, loved that Manetti was his torturer. When Manetti allowed him to jerk his cock into his hand, Chris realized this man could do anything to him he wanted. “Are you a good boy?” Manetti pulled out one of the thicker instruments and held it up to Chris to contemplate. Chris shook his head both with fear and excitement. “No, you won’t be good?” Chris nodded that he would. “Oh, you’re saying you want this?” Chris shook his head no. “Doesn’t really matter what you want, boy.” The man pulled the tip of the sound out, lubed the new thicker rod, pushed more lube in his slit and held the sound against Chris’ thin opening. “I’ll eventually fuck your cock with my pinkie. Think you’ll like that?” Manetti pushed the thicker sound into his piss slit. Chris cried No! under his muzzle, but the heavy rod dropped steadily and painfully down his shaft, stretching it wider than his urethra was meant to stretch. The boy rasped inside his muzzle, his body shaking at the odd and torturous discomfort. Manetti had started stroking him again, again confusing his receptors, unable to determine whether he wanted this feeling or wanted it to stop. Manetti wouldn’t stop either way so he laid there while the rod inched his way down, aided by Manetti’s pumping fist. The rod halted about three inches into his shaft. Manetti eased his grip and with his fingers started rubbing the spot in his shaft just below where the sound had stopped. The finger stimulated Chris’ urethra, involuntary inviting the painful invader to continue its journey. It fell in deeper. Manetti kept at him, lightly scratching further down his shaft, provoking the painful acceptance of the monstrously thick instrument. Tiring of how long it was taking, Manetti pushed the remaining inch of the sound into Chris, who let out a muffled holler of pain. He then took sadistic delight in pulling the large rod out and back in, spending an extraordinary amount of time watching the boy’s body go from excruciating agony to mild excitement and, eventually, complete rapture. The boy gradually began fucking the air, gyrating his hips. “Good little pain pig. That’s it, be daddy’s pain addict. You like this, don’t you, fucker.” Chris' brain was too addled to respond. All he knew to do was fuck the air harder to keep the instrument poking his prostate. He’d convulse uncontrollably, then return to fucking the fucker inside his shaft. He was ready to blow but Manetti felt darker impulses emerge. He pulled off the boy's mask and intimately appraised Chris face. How easy it was, Manetti thought, to pervert the boy. How the kid’s instincts, being Ben’s brother, were on the slutty side anyway. He decided he wanted to be the one to push him over the edge, make him a dirtier pig than even he was. He left the sound where it was and searched the drawer withdrawing several plastic tubes, a metal ball clam and hex key, and a hand pump, and placed all of it on the bed. “You think you’re some fucking clean cut kid. But I know there’s a dirty street whore in you, a homeless pussy boy who'd do anything for a meal, anything for his next fix.” He licked the kid’s nipple and placed one of the smaller tubes over it and pumped it till it sucked in a good inch of the kid’s tit. He did the same for the other one. It didn’t hurt but Chris saw how plump his nipples were in the vacuum. Soon he’d have utters like Manetti and Master Drax. Manetti unwrapped the copper wire and pulled Chris’ balls painfully down, locking the thick ball weight around his stretched testicles. With the hex key, he locked it in place. “Who owns you now, boy?” “You do, Sir,” Chris called out from under the muzzle, hoping Manetti would let him go. “Hardly mine yet, boy,” Manetti replied. “Soon though. Sometime tonight you're going to prove to me you're a whore. Only then will you'll be mine.” He picked out a very large butt plug with a metal strip running down it. He generously applied lube and twisted it into Chris ass, who grunted as it was going in. As it stretched his ass open to the object’s full width, Chris’ protesting cries came to a crescendo. His ass lips slipped over its wide smooth edge and, as it quickly narrowed, his sphincter pulled it into himself. Chris breathed heavily trying to adjust to the huge object now inside his rectum. Its base kept his anus opened with a constant three inch stretch. Manetti took the wire that came out of the butt plug’s base and connected it into the electro kit. He then took an alligator clip and attached it to the tip of the thick sound going into the boy's shaft. He adjusted some setting and flicked it on. “This cycles up for a very long time before it comes back down. You’re going to love it. Or maybe not. I didn’t at first, but Drax used it to finally persuade me to not only use my hole, but to be it.” Chris felt the first tiny spark slowly run down his penis, then snap sharply through his prostate and land on the metal edge of the butt plug traveling from inner tip slowly ascending out to his sphincter. Once the journey ended, it began again. Tip, to root, snap through his prostate, and run out his hole. It didn't really hurt, more or less tickled. “Do you know the story of the frog who was put in a bowl of warm water and was slowly boiled to death?” Manetti asked the muzzled Chris. “That’s the setting on the machine. It's called the boiled frog. The voltage increases so slowly you won’t realize when it eradicates what's up here,” he said, tapping Chris’ temple. “After, all you’ll see yourself as, is as a hole.” The spark was manageable. Not painful. Its regularity was almost soothing. Almost. Manetti got up and after washing up in the bathroom came back in and searched his jeans, pulling out a small baggy of white powder. “Holy Christ, do you even know how hot you look right now, baby? I don’t know why," he said with glossy eyes, "but I'm lovin' the idea of whoring you out all night. I want you to take so many loads you’re going to be shitting cum into next week.” He returned to the bathroom and soon came back with two orange-capped rigs. Tapping the vial to the light, Manetti said, his voice dispassionate and clinical, “This’ll get you through the next hour. You want to flirt with Crusher and Brunswick? I’ll let you play with them all you want. I want everyone to play with you, but first they gotta pay. Don’t move your arm.” Manetti felt for a protruding vein, stuck him, saw the flash of red, and slammed him good. Chris coughed beneath the muzzle. Manetti ran a hand across his hot flesh, his skinny ribs, the smooth concave belly. He lightly stroked the boy’s flicking dick. The kid responded with the expected quiver everywhere he touched. He removed the muzzle. “You want dick, don’t you, boy?” Chris licked his lips as if starving. “Yeah, Sir,” he said in a steady and determined voice, eyes like large black pearls. “Lots of dick. And fist, Sir. Lots of fists.” Chris bobbed his head eagerly, mouthed a silent thank you. Every now and then his hips twitched as the voltage leapt through his prostate. “Don’t thank me yet,” Manetti responded, uncapping his rig. He stuck himself, rode the rush, and steadied himself with a hand on the door. He turned off the lights, opened the drapes, and left Chris to spin, while he went out to fuck someone or get fucked, he didn’t give a fuck which, and then come back to fetch Chris for his first trick of many. The door clicked shut. In the dark, Chris laid spread eagle on the bed, rushing wildly, shuddering lightly. Pain sat with him so he wasn’t alone. It was becoming familiar, pain was, not a friend exactly—maybe more of an escort. He glanced through the window, each round of electricity growing a little more pronounced, drilling a bit deeper into his permanent hard wiring. He looked up. Outside, in the wavering light of the pool, a sea of a thousand naked men swam toward him. ***

6. The Glass Compound You ride the waves and don’t ask where they go You swim like lions through the crest And bathe yourself in zebra flesh The ’78 Camaro loaded with a 350-cubic inch V8, fender vents, dual exhaust and a full spoiler out back, roared down the LIE toward Manhattan. Chris’ brain was slowly descending down to earth, back into his body. He had no idea where it’d been, all he knew is it hadn’t been in his head for a long time. Nothing seemed real. Manetti didn't seem real. The powerful purr of the black muscle car didn't seem real. He looked over at Manetti sitting there all smug, all teeth. Manetti glanced sideways at him every now and then. Suddenly, without warning, rage overtook him and he flew into a fury, walloping Manetti on his arm, ribs, thigh—anywhere he could land a punch. “Ow!” Manetti laughed, his forearm up to block most of Chris’ jabs. “It’s not,” Chris landed hard, deliberate strikes against Manetti’s shoulder, “funny!” “Stop. Seriously." Manetti carved the road like he owned it, quickly jetting into the left lane with one hand on the wheel, zooming around a tan Buick, then swerving hard right back into his lane. "You’re going to get us killed.” “I thought you were dead, you shit pig fuck-face. Hate you!” Chris punched his arm. “Ow!” Chris' blows barely registered on Manetti's sculpted frame, but since it made Chris blow off steam he played up the injured act. “Seriously. Stop. Tell me, would you have gone with some escaped cons to do a job if I asked you? No, you would not. Your dumb ass had to be tricked.” Chris crossed his arms and said nothing. Manetti glanced sideways at him again. “Anyway, it was Master Drax’s idea, not mine.” He outstretched his hand and ran it down Chris' arm. Chris angrily brushed him off. Manetti eyed the gym bag; eyed Chris. “So—how much?” Chris turned, shouting, “They were going to kill me!” He turned back again, eyes front, clamming up. “Nah,” Manetti said with only a shade of doubt. “Yes they were. This close, pig fuck.” Chris was stone faced. Manetti let Chris’ accusation roll around in his mind. He, too, went silent for a while, but kept checking the bag Chris held so tightly. “Seriously,” he eventually said, “how much? Hundred K? That's what Drax thought.” Chris stared straight ahead. Manetti eyed him with raised eyebrows, impressed. “One fifty?” “Polanski almost strangled me to death!” Chris spewed, eyes still locked forward. Light was just starting to glow in the rear view mirror. Manetti rocketed the car up to ninety. They sat next to each other in the Camaro’s bucket seats, the gearshift separating them, yet they’d never been farther apart. Chris started shaking. The harder he tried to stop the more he shook. He was coming down from the meth and the adrenaline. He was also hallucinating badly. Unintelligible symbols stood out on the sides of building, on traffic signs, and on the billboards they passed. Egyptian symbols from an eighth grade text book spun out ankhs and sunrays from his fevered brain, falcons and crocodiles, snakes eating their tails, stone etched waves of water. It was more pronounced if he closed his eyes, so he gave into the visions and the tremors. Finally, breaking the silence as much to distract himself from what he was seeing as to confess to Manetti the terror of his last twelve hours, he said, “I shot a man.” “Who hasn’t,” returned Manetti much too quickly. Defensively. It was his turn to turn into a sphinx, steely-eyed, staring straight ahead when Chris looked over. The city glistened in the distance. Chris broke into tears, then quickly grew angry at himself, wiped his face, but the sudden convulsion had a calming effect. Admitting what he’d done, even to the stoic Manetti, eased his fever a bit. He looked into the green light of the dashboard. Watch the red needle twitch at eighty. Out of the blue, he volunteered, "Two." Manetti, from his own mind’s dark place, recalled he’d asked the kid about the money. “Two hundred K, huh?” He whistled. The edges of Chris' lips curled with an undercurrent of unexpected pride. “Not two hundred,” he clarified softly. “Two million.” He knew he wasn’t imagining this fact. He closed his eyes and saw the five rows times four columns times packets ten deep. It was two million dollars he pressed into his lap. Manetti inspected him and judged he wasn't joking. He pulled the Camaro to the side and skidded to a stop. Snatching up the bag, he unzipped it. Under damp t-shirts and jeans he found packet after packet of hundred dollar bills crammed inside. “Fuck. Dude.” He looked at Chris with his jaw open. It was the first time Chris had seen Manetti speechless. The man scanned the sparkling city ahead, looked back in the bag, and then back at Chris. He weighed the likelihood that the crooks had planned to kill the kid, thought about Drax’s involvement, his own complicity. The Camaro’s engine revved, then it tore out, making a U across the traffic island downing some orange cones, and sped away from Manhattan into the rising sun, roaring east along the LIE. *** The 6:45 ferry from Sayville sputtered across the choppy bay. Small, wispy clouds shone pink and gold, while the ferry bobbed, rising and splashing over rough water. Manetti had done a line of coke back in the parking lot before they left the Camaro. He'd offered a line to Chris who looked at him like he had to be a moron. Now his fingers flutter on his kneecap, deep in thought behind his shades. Chris, with both arms wrapped around his gym bag, and Manetti sitting next to him staring off into the distance, were the only passengers sitting on the ferry’s upper deck. When they boarded, they made a strange pair to the crew. A kid in a red track suit much too large for him, the other, a decked out brawny leatherman in jeans, shirtless vest, boots, leather cap, and mirrored sunglasses. Since the boat was heading for the gay mecca known as The Pines, Manetti was hardly an unusual sight, but the kid dressed like a ghetto rapper, now that was something the teenage crew took notice of. All that was missing was big gold chains and a sideways cap. Vanilla Ice in the house, yo, one of them joked in the wheelhouse. A noisy flock of seagulls escorted them across the water. The landing was fast approaching. The store, the motel, the disco became distinct entities as the boat cruised into the harbor. Manetti scrutinized each boat they passed, his mind brewing with plans. A sea plane was getting ready to fly out, having disembarked two passengers who were making their way down the landing. Chris thought he recognized the bigger of the two men—the distinctive mustache, the deep dimples in the handsome face framed by curly auburn hair. It had to be—it was!—the action star, Chuck Brunswick, from his favorite TV show, Stacks Lightning, devoutly watched when he lived at home. Wednesday nights, eight o’clock, every episode, including reruns. From age twelve when it first aired, he watched it for all the fast paced action, the exotic locales, Hawaii, New York, the Congo. By fourteen he became aware that almost every episode featured Chuck Brunswick without a shirt. By fifteen, the car chases lost his interest, as new interests emerged watching each episode alone in his bedroom on Ben’s old black and white TV, a Kleenex box next to him and the door securely locked. He’d been sleepy from the half hour crossing but now he was wide awake, excited. Here, within spitting distance, was a real TV star. And not just any TV star. He nudged Manetti and pointed. Manetti lowered his sunglasses and gave Chris a blank look, then went back to examining the boats. As the ferry passed, Chris made out the famous tuft of dark chestnut hair sticking out the man’s aqua polo shirt. He didn't know the other guy. They were wheeling black suitcases that both had lightning bolt decals on them. The teenage crew cut the engines to prevent unnecessary wake that would disturb the harbor’s yachts. As they neared the dock, all but the captain scuttled downstairs. They threw open the side door and tossed a line to one of the crew members that had jumped off. With the boat secured, they slid out a ramp. One of the teenagers pointed out the actor to his mates, as the celebrity and his companion rounded the corner of the thumping disco. Chris flew down the boats steep stairs, Manetti barely keeping up. "That's Chuck Brunswick up ahead," Chris said to Manetti on the ramp. Even though he was still miffed with Manetti, seeing someone so famous he couldn't hold in his excitement. "Who?" Manetti said. "He does that show Stacks Lightning,” Chris explain. Still Manetti was clueless. “Where he's a spy? Always chasing bad guys in cars and boats, and sleeping with lots of babes?" "Oh," Manetti said with distain. "An actor." Chris gave Manetti a sour look. They trailed the TV star and his companion for several blocks. The disco discharged a few revelers coming out bleary-eyed, squinting and shading their eyes to adjust to the morning light. Chris speaking about Chuck Brunswick was the first time in hours they’d spoken. Right after they left the outer borough, Manetti told Chris he'd made an executive decision. Drax could wait. He was enacting his own Plan B and that meant visiting an old friend in The Pines. Eyeing the tall, broad-shouldered actor ahead on the boardwalk, Chris ventured, "So everybody here’s queer?" Manetti confirmed with a nod. Chris contemplated that. The boardwalk was uneven and Manetti in boots was trying to take it slow and not trip. After several more blocks, seeing they were falling further and further behind the TV star, Chris groaned, “How much farther is your friend’s house?" Manetti told him it was at the end of the boardwalk. Chris frowned, and gave into Manetti slower pace. "Then how far is the beach," Chris asked. Manetti nodded at an approaching walkway. Chris peered down the path and saw shimmering waves. "If we’re not going to catch him, I want to walk on the beach," he said, turning down the walkway without waiting for Manetti. Manetti huffed. Boots in sand would be harder than the uneven boardwalk, but he followed the kid anyway. Specifically, he followed the green gym bag. On the beach Chris' mood brightened considerably. He was almost his old self. He’d pulled off his sneakers and socks, and wiggled his toes in the sand as he trotted next to the crashing waves. The sound of the sea, the salt spray, cold early morning sand—it was a reminder of home. It cleared his senses. He picked up a driftwood stick and drew a line in the sand in front of him, jumped over it, then flung the stick into the foam. The houses that lined the beach were grand. Rich in wood and glass, they were tributes to wealth—honestly made or otherwise. Large two story structures, all with decks and pools, all stacked alongside each other. One, he observed, had sliding windows who's four large glass panes folded right into the walls, leaving the living room’s fourth wall completely open. Another one had a pool whose beach front side was a giant window of glass. Two joggers in speedos, a blond and a curly red-head, passed him. They turned their heads back to get a look at the kid in the hip hop getup. They laughed when they saw it was a young white kid. To Chris they looked like models out of a magazine—flawless, tanned, manikin smooth, air-brushed generic. Manetti tromped behind trying to catch up. Once he did, he draped his arm across Chris' shoulder and told him to take it easy on him. Chris smiled to himself. "This is just like Long Beach," he said. "This is just like Long Beach?" Manetti questioned. "See." He stopped and turned to the ocean. "This beach is like facing south. Most everything on the west coast faces west, and on the east coast faces east. But here, the ocean faces south. In California, Long Beach is the only place that faces south, like here, see?" "Well, I did not know that," Manetti responded. Chris had lost the Prior Puss, and he had to admit, with the kid beaming like he was, he could do him right here out in the open. "Ya know,” Manetti said, “I'm from Long Beach, too. Long Beach, New York." "Well, I did not know that," Chris mimicked Manetti with his own words. They exchanged a smile, the first in a long, long time. Genuinely interested, he asked, "Where's your Long Beach?" They had started walking again. "It's about forty miles ‘at-a-way." Manetti pointed straight ahead. Chris wanted to know if they could walk there from here. "Only if you're Jesus," Manetti replied, and they laughed. A couple of waves crashed to shore as they padded through the sand. For a few minutes they were silent, just listening to the sea’s rhythm, a set of waves, a pause, then another set, on and on. Manetti cocked his head to one side, said with wistfully, "It's one of the first things Ben and I found we had in common. Long Beach." Manetti questioned why he volunteered that. Immediately he regretted it. Chris looked over at Manetti. Was he sad? Sad didn’t fit his image of him. He tried to read Manetti, but behind the mirrored sunglasses, staring down the beach, he was impenetrable. "Do you think he's all right?” Chris wondered aloud. “Ben is?” "Like I said, he's changed." It was Manetti's turn to clam up. They trooped through the sand. There weren't many more houses left before the town ended and turned to forest. “So what’s Plan B,” Chris asked. “Hmm.” Manetti took his time. “We’re dropping in on a regular of mine. His name’s Tobias Glass. Real rich. A real pig when you get him going. He was this child actor way before my time, now he has a Village cabaret act. Show tunes and shit. He’s gonna take one look at you and will want to eat you up. Don’t let ‘em unless I get a cut.” Chris laughed nervously. “He’s got connections. If anyone can find us a boat, he can. Then we’re off to the Caribbean or South America—Belize maybe. Your choice.” Chris listened to him. Then stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait. You want to leave the country with the two million? Without Ben? Screw over Master Drax? Are you out of your fuckin’ out mind! Master Drax will skin you alive! Me too, probably Ben just for being related to me. That’s your brilliant Plan B? Neg-a-tive,” he said, shaking his head. He turned around and started walking back to the ferry dock, when Manetti hooked him with two words. “Ben’s here.” Chris halted abruptly. “Where?” He glared at Manetti. “A couple possibilities.” He waited till Chris walked back to him. “I have other clients on the island. One of them had purchased time with Big Ben, as he’s called. That was a week back. If you let me do a little digging, Chief, give me some time, I think I can find him, then the three of us can sail right off the map.” He approached Chris, closing in the final pitch, “do you know what kind of life we’d have, baby?” He reached under Chris’ baggy shirt and pinched his tits. “A life on the run, is my guess. Brody and Polanski said Master Drax actually cut the skin off a guy named Jackson.” “Then Jackson was stupid. We’re not stupid.” Chris was standing his ground in the sand even with Manetti playing with his nipples. “C’mon, will you at least give me twenty-four hours, let me ask around for Ben, and a boat?” Manetti cozied up intimately right in Chris’ face. He drew his hands down around Chris’ bubble butt, stroking it lovingly, pushing Chris’ crotch into his own. He felt Chris stir. Chris pushed his hands away and resumed their trek with a bit of a stiffy swinging in his jogging suit. “Twenty-four hours—but you have to find Ben. And I’m not letting go of my bag.” Manetti saddled up next to Chris, draping his arm over his shoulder, pulling the kid up under his hairy armpit, assured his scent carried its own persuasion. They walked in step but Chris became increasingly conflicted. “So if you find Ben, then what? That’s going to be a whole other can of worms. You, me, Ben.” “Are you shittin’ me?” Manetti erupted skyward in a wail of laughter. “Do you have any idea of the fucked up groups Ben and I have been in—on and off camera? Ask me about us and my step dad at that skanky Jersey motel shoot. Better yet, don’t. Talk about awkward—but even that turned out interesting once Drax got the cameraman naked. Family on family make up half the porn industry.” Manetti pointed to the last staircase on the beach before the town turned to forest. They veered toward it. At the top of the stairs, a large wooden fence extended from the beach back to the main boardwalk. Halfway along the fence they came across an archway with a large weathered door. "This is Glass' compound. He won't be up for hours, but I know where he keeps a spare." He reached up inside one of the sconces and produced a key. He opened the door and they entered a courtyard that could have been in the middle of Japan. The garden was lush in greenery and rich in detail—a Buddha serenely rested on a mound of green moss; an area of white sand raked with wave-like patterns surrounding an upright rock; trickling water flowed out a bamboo branch splashing onto a bowl of black, smooth stones. They crossed a red lacquered bridge that extended over a pond filled with lily pads. The light through the overhanging branches played on the water, and beneath the covering large fish swam, their scales, luminous red and orange, sparked like underwater fire. Coy fish, Manetti told Chris. The pond was fed by a running stream that ran throughout the compound. If silence could make a sound it was this. They came to the compound’s courtyard. Manetti stopped Chris and pointed. A doe and her fawn stood at the forest’s edge, nibbling sprigs of grass they could reach through a broken slat in the wood fence. Chris couldn’t help himself and gasped just loud enough to prick up the doe’s ears, and the two disappeared into the dense forest. A swimming pool, outlined with grey slate, laid in the center of the compound. Four structures surrounded it. The main house, closest to the beach, wasn't very big, but beyond the plate glass and sliding windows, Chris saw it was minimally but opulently furnished. Sleek black couches were in the living room, and a white grand piano stood in a corner with a large dining room standing in the cool shadows. The remaining three independent structures were cabanas. Each with a large picture window. Each with their curtains drawn. The sound of someone lightly snoring came out of the cabana on the far side of the pool. In the cabana to their right, men murmured within. Two wheeled suitcases parked next to the door. Chris pulled excitedly on Manetti’s arm pointing to lightning bolt decals on the suitcases’ sides. Manetti shook him off and went into the last cabana. He came out motioning for Chris to come in. They went in and Chris immediately ran into his reflection in a tall full-length wooden mirror. Seeing himself in his baggy red track suit for the first time he thought no wonder he got strange looks. He dropped his shoes and flopped backward on the feathery bed. Though the room was warm and stuffy, he melted into the cool white comforter. Manetti opened a high window and a skylight to get a cross-breeze going. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, ran a hand through his hair. In the full-length mirror he looked at his own reflection. Maybe he’d wait for the kid to fall asleep and just run off with the money. That would be the simplest plan. What kept him here? The Prior brothers? Talk about not simple. He knew he was a mass of contradictory impulses, had known it for a long time, ever since he moved to New York, probably before if he let himself think about it. He refused to go there. He pushed off his jeans and underwear, and tossed off his cap. Down to just his skin and leather vest, he crawled over to Chris, who turned away from him, not mad but exhausted. Manetti scooched closer till he was spooning the boy. Chris didn't protest, even when Manetti pressed his erection into the butt of his track suit. Earth quickly was falling away as he fell deeper into the soft bed, deeper down the rabbit hole of this new life. He felt the buckle unfasten on his belt, and Manetti pulling down his pants. His butt exposed, he fell asleep dreaming he was on a train, then he became the train, specifically the train coupler, those metal clasps that, like hands, fold into one another to secure train cars together. Somewhere in the world he felt Manetti couple into him, acquire a hold, while he allowed the rod to enter, then gripped it from slipping out of his ass. Who held whom? Manetti lifted off Chris' top and pulled his skin into him. Pelt on hairless boy, hairless boy melting into a bed of fur. Manetti entering him deeper made him moan in his sleep. His ass was still tender, he protested semi-conscious but didn't reject. Manetti went deeper still. Chris gasped louder, struggling to overcome the pain he still felt from the recent abuse. Manetti's ridged pole did not give nor forgive, it pushed in beyond the pain. Chris pushed back, impaling himself, deep, seizing on the pain to raise himself out of his hazy sleep, not ignoring the penetrating object but beginning to ride it, riding Manetti, forcing himself to feel the pain, want the pain, waking with the pain. Manetti obliged. He was good at his craft. He was the best rough trade in town, wearing nothing but his leather vest and a hard on, sticking it to the boy. He would teach Chris to be rough, hardened like him. He pushed the boy's pants off his ankles, pulled out of Chris’ hole, raised the boy’s leg and was back on top of Chris, penetrating him, before Chris even realized how he’d accomplished the feat. He looked into Chris' face, pushed his massive erection further now that he could lay his crotch directly over Chris' open cavern. The added inch made Chris lurch in pain from the spot where Brody had fisted him too deep. Manetti waited right on that torturous spot, neither retreating nor pushing him beyond it. He waited, making only the slightest of movements, an itch to scratch, waiting and watching Chris’ face turn from pain to desire. He brushed away a lock of blond hair that had caught in an eyelash. He kissed his mouth. Chris opened for him. Once Manetti saw lust in Chris’ open eyes he turned his attention to his bucking hole. He stayed in a holding pattern, enjoying the pleasuring of expanding Chris' hole with his growing shaft, feeling it surrender to him completely. The cabanas always had supplies of lube and poppers, among other pleasures, tucked away in the nightstands. Manetti reached in the drawer and withdrew some mentholated cream on his fingers. As he gently fucked Chris’ hole, sensually stimulated his opening with his massive bush, he added a finger, then two, to pull the boy’s hole wider. Chris objected, saying it hurt, but with the mentholated cream soothing his tender canal. Manetti convinced the boy with few words that this is what he wanted. With four fingers lathered he pulled his dripping cock out and replaced it with his large palm. He took all the time necessary for Chris to accept his hand, pulling out a bit when he reach his second knuckles. He could sense Chris wanting him to push in again. He did, sliding four fingers up to the third knuckle, then held there, looking for Chris’ eyes to say yes. He knew the boy was deciding and he’d abide by his decision. He felt the clenched muscles in Chris’ ass relax and he went in an inch more, up to the web of his thumb. He chanced a half rotation, another test to see where Chris’ mind and body were. After a second, he felt he boy bear down on his hand, a signal of his willingness to surrender his hole. Manetti removed his hand as Chris moaned his disappointment. “Take one of the poppers, boy. That tall one.” Chris obeyed. It was one of Manetti’s favorite English poppers, much stronger than its American counterpart. He greased his whole hand with the mentholated cream to overcome the fear Manetti believed the convicts instilled. He pushed a wad of grease into the boy’s crack and smeared it around with three fingers, then pushed those three fingers back into his chute. They slid in easily. Manetti added a fourth and told Chris to take a hit. He waited till Chris recapped the bottle, then slid his thumb in, told Chris to look at him. Chris was trying to focus his gaze on Manetti, and Manetti saw the moment the poppers kicked in. Chris hole grew relaxed and wide as lust for Manetti pushed his hand over Manetti’s palm. In one constant movement the boy mounted Manetti’s whole hand and slid his entrails over the ridges down to the man’s hairy wrists. He felt each strand of hair slide through his loosened sphincter. Manetti slowly twisted his wrist tickling the cunt he was giving the boy. Knuckles ground against sensitive walls, the wrist’s black fur slithered over the exposed sphincter nerve endings, silent fingertips touched blind boundaries that yielded, surrendering Chris’ resistance to Manetti’s will. Manetti fisted Chris’ mind even more than his body. Chris’ synapses were firing and he was helpless to resist Manetti’s mastery. The sensations painful and inviting. The cold-hot feeling in his loins made his body undulated onto Manetti’s hand, like a snake swallowing a mouse. Manetti’s hand went further into his hole, further than it had ever been. “Take three more hits, boy,” instructed Manetti. Chris again obeyed. Manetti applied more salve over his wrist and this time over his forearm while Chris huffed and replaced the cap. His eyes were glued on Manetti. Manetti watched as a lewdness sweep across the boy, not just his face but over his whole body, his mouth open just as his hole was opening. Of his own volition he crawled down further onto Manetti’s wrist and the boy began the journey of the man’s hirsute forearm. Manetti flexed his wrist twisting in exploration of where his hand was in the boy’s body, and where it should go next. He straightened his hand and slowly pulled the boy’s colon away from its mooring so that the passage extended along the length of his forearm. It was a long process, he knew, that would change the boy forever. Chris traveled halfway down Manetti’s forearm before he realized how deep Manetti was inside him. A world of pleasure exploded in his core, physically and mentally, when he looked in the full-length mirror and saw how much of Manetti’s forearm he’d taken. And still he slid ever deeper on the proffered arm. He inched serpentine-like, feeling the ancient original sin drawing him on, driving him deeper into it, not able to get enough of the pleasure Manetti was offering. He saw Manetti had no boundaries either and wouldn’t stop until Chris satisfied the powerful lust he had for him. Yes, it meant physically Chris wanted the fucker’s whole arm up him, but the revelation, rational or not, was that he wanted to make his body an offering to the man. “I want,” Chris moaned as he agonized over ever scintilla he could take of Manetti, “all of you.” But he was fighting a two stage battle: for every millimeter he took in of Manetti’s hand, he also had to accommodate the ever-widening girth of forearm. Manetti thick, muscular arm was as much of a challenge as taking his hand ever-deeper. This is when Manetti took over. “Take another hit, baby. Relax. Lay down. Daddy’s gonna drive.” While Chris prepared himself with a deep inhalation, Manetti’s other hand played with Chris’ cock. His greasy hand toyed with the boy’s balls and ran numbing fingers over the boy’s nub. The cooling sensation wasn’t lost on the boy. His groin joined the sensation of coolness his whole ass was feeling inside as well. Far from numb, his body was on fire and able to take more intense sensation, a deeper fisting, than when the convict were pummeling him. Now between the poppers and the looseness of his body, as well as the loosening of his morals and inhibitions, he began writhing in pure sensuality when he felt Manetti curling his fingers inside him balling into a fist. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Fist my hole, daddy,” Chris hoarsely cried. Manetti’s balled fists slowly pulled out to the edge of Chris’ sphincter, giving it such a beautiful stretch, he could see his black wrist hair through the translucent taut pink skin of Chris’ ass lips. Chris’ gulped in air as Manetti encouraged him to take it, take it. He could see Chris’ couldn’t sustain such rapid breathing nor such an intense stretch. Manetti pushed back inside to the depth where he started. It was nautical miles of sensations traveled in two second through Chris’ hole. All the nerves stroked went straight to his brain—hole to brain skipping the rest of his body. The boy’s synapses could hardly keep up. Desire and sensation manifest in deranged calls to fuck my hole, daddy, open my pussy, give me a sloppy cunt, with Manetti responding, encouraging, validating everything Chris was saying. “You like daddy giving you a cunt.” “Yes, daddy, open my hole.” “You want daddy to fuck you like this.” Agreement. More aggression. The fist came out and immediately pushed back to try to get in. It took a moment, but both of them wanted it, so it slid right in. Making the initial break and re-entry, triggered something in both of them. They wanted more just like that. Obscene wet farts emitted from Chris’ ass. Each fart increase the capacity to take Manetti’s fist deeper into him. They were in a cycle of passion—Chris wanting to give, Manetti wanting to take. Chris could see, and Manetti approved, that after several punches, Chris’ hole blossomed into a small rosebud. Manetti encouraged it, tended to this new flower, inserted a single finger to wiggle around in it, excite the bloom to display more itself. “Look in the mirror,” Manetti said, pulling Chris’ ass lips apart, showing the boy what his opened hole looked like. “Push,” he ordered and Chris bore down, and a small mushroom sprouted from his hole. At the center, the beginning of his red inner flesh peeked through. Manetti resumed methodically fisting his hole. For the next hour he put Chris through practiced paces, training him to think about nothing but being a hole. After crouching then kneeling off the bed, Manetti grew restless. Slowly he adjusted his position and slid up next to Chris parallel to his body, his head next to Chris’ open hole. The position also afforded Chris the ability to pleasure Manetti’s stiffened member sticking up right in front of him. With intense gratitude triggered by Manetti manipulating his hole, Chris sucked Manetti with an urgency of the famished. His throat opened and the whole shaft went down till his face was smothered in thick, black bush. And now Manetti, lying next to the boy, with less force but deeper penetration, could maneuver his hand easily, pushing Chris to his limits. Chris handed him the opened popper bottle to share. After his first hit, the man felt the intensity of his lust boil over, let the chemicals overtake him and felt deeper inside the kid’s colon. He traced the boy’s resisting internal muscles, teased them relentlessly with his middle finger until they submitted and he won another quarter each of Chris’ body. Methodically, while Chris nursed his cock, he gained more territory that almost took Chris to the crook of his arm. Chris ran his hand over Manetti’s arm to feel how far his forearm with inside. He felt how close he was to the man’s elbow. Carnal thoughts about Manetti raged inside. He lifted his leg like a submissive dog so Manetti had easier access, to take as much of him as he wanted. At the same time he lifted Manetti’ leg and went in search of the man’s nougaty center. It didn’t take him long to find Manetti’s spongy hole. Licking it only made it expand. The sixty-nining of pleasure drove them both to experiment. With Chris’ leg in the air Manetti felt free to pull apart the kid’s pussy, grab hold of his leg and pull out and push back in. It made Chris crazy. Chris reciprocated by finding the nightstand lube and applying it to Manetti sprouting rectum. With a slippery hand he pressed into Manetti who readily gave way. His hand easily slipped into the man, and for the first time he felt what a real sloppy hole felt like. His hand balled into a fist as soon as he entered. He was spelunking deep inside a cavern that seemed endless. There was no resistance as he passed his wrist deep into what felt like a second opening. Manetti bore down on the kid’s fist and the kid’s forearm easily slid deep into Manetti’s hairy hole. As much as he thrilled at what Manetti was doing inside him, it was compounded by how he got off watching the hairs around Manetti’s hole slide in and out with each pump he produced. They glided into each other with gratifying moans each time they crossed a new boundary. With bodies pressed against one another, their free hands ran across skin, stroking cocks, squeezing balls, running a big hand over smooth skin, running a small hand over muscled fur. They couldn’t get enough of each other. When Chris passed his elbow through Manetti’s hole, the man cried out and told Chris to pull back. Chris stopped, followed through with how Manetti had been treating him, slowly rolled his fingers across the sealed chamber that then opened like a camera lens and he passed his small hand through. Manetti eased out of Chris and fell on his back. He put one leg over Chris’ torso so the boy was at an advantaged angle to penetrate him further. Chris rolled the poppers to him. Manetti wiped the grease off the bottle cap, unscrewed it and inhaled deeply. Chris knew by now how easy it was to finger a resisting wall, feel for the blood pumping through the thin, retreating membranes, and allow Manetti to internally guide him where his hand should travel. Working together, Chris found the small opening each hit of poppers revealed. He followed the opening that unveiled new chambers his hand could conquer. When he was up to his bicep, Manetti was twitching in ecstasy to the point where he couldn’t take it. He signal for Chris to withdraw. Chris didn’t move but left his hand exactly where it was. Manetti pleaded for him to back off, but Chris laid there tranquilly. Manetti found he was starting to rut on Chris’ small arm, fighting within himself whether he want more or wanted release. In a fog, the man lifted his head to find Chris smiling ear to ear. “You little fucker,” he said to Chris, and started the long journey of extracting the kid’s arm from his body. Chris helped him to withdraw but not completely. After a number of inches of relief, Chris would go back into Manetti’s colon, which Manetti was not completely opposed to. But it soon it became a matter of will as opposed to sensation, and Manetti refused the kid’s domination. Manetti crab walked back the last of Chris’ forearm ordering him to let him go. Like a lizard losing its tail, Manetti shot off the last foot of Chris’ arm. His cock dripped with pre-cum, and where he’d dragged his ass over the sheets, there was a trail of brown mucus. “You little fuck. Get over here. Lick that up,” he said grabbing Chris’ neck, pushing him into the slime. “Lick it up, I said.” Chris did. Much too eagerly. Manetti struggled to regain dominance after surrendering his hole so completely. He flipped the kid on his back. Chris’ chest and crotch were coated in the brown sludge. From the skylight the sun shown on the kid’s stained face. He glistened in contented degraded radiance. Manetti slapped the smile off his face, pulled up his legs and stuck his cock all the way to the root in one surge. Chris grunted, but was so opened, he welcomed him inside. Manetti soon found a rhythm that included slapping the kid's ass. He soon found his breath accelerating. Chris was beneath him taking in all the pleasure of his pounded flesh. He reached up and twisted Manetti tits, which made Manetti hammer him faster and harder. The boy wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, bucked up his ass with equal fervor. As the pulse of their fucking increased, their fierce pace drawing to an inevitability, Chris took one of Manetti’s hands curled on the side of his head and placed it on his neck. He took Manetti's other hand and placed that too on his neck. Manetti recognized what the boy was asking for. Like the rough trade he’d been trained to be, he obliged. He started squeezing his neck as Chris stroked his dick with increasing desperation. Manetti was good rough trade, fuck no, he was great rough trade! He was all powerful, in control, scum fuck bad ass rough trade. He was back in the saddle, enjoying how he was abusing his bottom boy. He watched Chris' face turn bright red, watched his eyes bulge, watched him struggle silently beneath his crushing hands. Chris’ hands clasped around Manetti’s wrist, feeling the strength, their girth, the hair. When Manetti erupted inside Chris, Chris exploded over him even harder. Beneath his easing hands, the unconscious kid flopped a few time like a landed fish. The little fuck even had a smile on his face while he rasped in a daze. Manetti’s pubes rested between Chris’ hairless cheeks. As he laid on top of him, his dick draining the remains of his wad, he felt small internal clutching like he was being milked by the boy. That, too, quieted after a few moments. As his breathing returned to normal, he examined this blond hair kid’s young face beneath him. He pushed back some of his matted hair caked with shit juice. What exactly did he think he could teach this street urchin, this abused stray puppy about being hardened, about being rough? Jesus fuck, whatever the men in his family had done to him was already hard-wired in his brain. It was buried so shallow under the surface, only a scratch revealed it. Passed out, Chris’ legs slid down Manetti’s thighs and Manetti rolled off him, still hard, his chest covered in the kid’s spooge. On his back, mindlessly he traced a finger through a string of the kid’s white sperm. He tasted its warm saltiness. He followed passing clouds in the skylight, heard Chris breathing beside him. He could see both Prior brothers were fucked up, out of control, but in opposite ways. Well, he was a fuck up too, wasn’t he? Sure, he’d promised he would find Ben. He knew he could. But would bringing them together defuse Ben or detonate Chris? Or maybe it’d be the other way around. Either way he’d be in the cross-hairs, suffer the collateral damage. It was stupid to care about either of these stupid brothers. It was stupid for a hustler to even care at all. He got up to take a shower, and spied the gym bag on the nightstand. The smartest thing to do would be to swipe the kid’s bag while he was still out and roar off in his Camaro. He looked at the mess sprawled on the bed, this sprawled out filthy mess of a kid. Looking at himself in the mirror, he ran a hand through his mane. Yeah, he’d swipe the money. That was the smart move. Uncomplicate things. Make a clean break. Yeah, he convinced himself, right after a shower.

Chris leaked when Manetti squeezed his dick. His still hard purple head was covered in spooge and Manetti wanted to torture the kid for a bit, polishing his nob, just cuz he could. The palm of his hand went back and forth as Chris squirmed in pleasure and pain under his control. “Stop! Nooo,” he laughed howling and thrashing. The wall phone in the kitchen immediately began to ring and light flood into their darkened room from across the airshaft. The light brought Manetti more in focus to Chris, breaking their intimacy slightly. As his mind settled back from his raging high, what they had just done started to frighten him a little. Manetti’s slimy cock slid out of Chris' ass like a fat slug. There was an audible 'plop' like a cork as it popped out of the grip of his sphincter, and he felt a small amount of liquid dribbled out his crack, down his tail bone and slide under his back. Manetti went into the kitchen and picked up the receiver and silently listened. "Thanks," he finally said. "Yes, he definitely has a hot pussy, Master," said Manetti into the receiver. The long phone cord allowed him to come back into the room talking. "We were that loud, huh?" He gave Chris an 'oops' look. "Well, I'm glad it enticed you, Sir." Manetti paused, then was quiet for quite a while, considering the proposal from the person on the other end of the line. He grew serious looking at Chris while the voice on the other end continued speaking. There was a pause on the other end, seeming to wait for Manetti to reply. Then the voice added a few words, which brought a smile to Manetti’s lips. "Well, we were probably going to bed, but I think our boy could be convinced otherwise. What do you say, Chief?" Manetti asked the bound boy covering the mouthpiece. "Up for a drop-by to my Master’s? Could be worth your while," he said rubbing his fingers together and wiggling his dark brows. "Even might be the beginning of a long term plan. A little for you, a cut for me, and the rest for Master. Maybe the plan you were looking for, Chief." Manetti’s teeth glowed in the light from across the airshaft. Chris gave him an I-don’t-know look in return. Frankly, he'd do what Manetti wanted him to do as long as Manetti was there. Back to the phone, he said, "Sure, the kid's psyched to meet you. We’ll come over right away." He paused. "Yes, Sir, I know what you like. I'll get him prepped just like that. Right, give us a little time then." Another pause, then a finger went up Chris’ hole. “Yep, he’s still wet but his hole is tightening.” Manetti sucked his finger smiling at Chris. “Sure, I have some G. Will do.” He went back into the kitchen and hung up. "Boy, to get through this night, I think we need to up your game." Manetti came back into the room and stopped by the bookcase and picked up the box with the orange tipped needles. He came over to Chris, who suddenly became alarmed, shook his head emphatically side to side. Manetti saw the kid stressing and put his hand on his face to reassure him. “Nah, Chief, nothing like that,” he said lifting out a little vial of liquid, putting a reassuring hand on Chris’ beating heart. “Only a couple of drops of G right now to prep you.” He took an eyedropper and counted out some drops in his water glass, swirled it around, and put the class up to Chris’ mouth. “What is it?” “Something that’ll take the edge of the booty bump I gave you. Makes you relax. Kind of like a warm bathtub. Nasty tasting though,” he broke into an evil grin. “But you like nasty, right?” Chris took a sip and made a face. “Yeah, I know. Here, I’ll take some too so we’ll be on the same planet, okay?” Manetti drank and made the same face as Chris. He got Chris to drink a little more. “Drink me, Alice,” Manetti said in a tiny voice. “You’ll need it to get through the door.” Chris gave him a blank look. “Never mind. Here, take this too. It’s a muscle relaxer. I think you’ll need it.” He put a white pill on Chris' tongue, and let him wash it down with a last sip from the glass. “Why do I need a muscle relaxer? Is he going to fuck me, Mike?” “Most definitely, he’s going to fuck you, buddy, and he’s a lot bigger than me, and I ain’t no small zucchini, am I?” “Oh shit.” Chris' head fell backward. “Yeah, but on the bright side look how hard you are. I gotta warn you though, if you come with me, Master Drax does believes in everyone slamming and doesn’t take no for an answer. So rule number one: never say no. He has lots of ways to make you say yes and they aren't any fun, believe me. Second rule: don't say 'I can't.' To him that translates to 'I won't.'" Chris looked trouble. Manetti went on, "Your Catholic so you'll get this: Saying no means he can always change your mind, so to him that's a venial sin. But refusing him outright, saying you won't? That's a mortal sin. And you don't want to do that. Ever. Got it?” “I think I wanna stay here, if that’s alright.” “You're scared of needles cuz of your ma, huh?” asked Manetti, with a note of compassion. “Your brother told me she was tasting even before Carl came sniffing around. He said last time he checked in with you guys, she was living with Carl, but she was married to her H.” “Can you untie me?” Chris asked. Manetti removed his cuffs and Chris slid out of the sling and sat on the futon crossed legged. He started looking around the room then looked at his boner. “Man, is this ever going down?” He tried to make a joke of it, but Manetti saw the G was making only a mild dent in his mood. He was playing again with himself, pinching his nipples, which seemed to be something new to him, was a tactic, thought Manetti, to try and take his mind off his family and this, Manetti saw, wasn't working. The Prior Puss was taking over the evening. Manetti knew he had to distract the kid for a while for the G to take full effect. “Hey, how’d you like me to shave you?" Chris perked up and looked at him curiously. "I shave Ben all the time and he loves it. It’ll really calm you down. It goes well with G too. Wanna try?" His caterpillar eyebrows wiggled. "I love shaving your brother.” “What do I do?” “Nothing but lie there. Just look pretty." Manetti went toward the bathroom. "Like you could ever not look pretty.” The words did their job and Chris laid down smiling. Manetti went in and made preparations. Chris lay there blushing and grinning to himself. He could see why Ben liked this guy. “But I like my bush,” he called out to Manetti in mock protest. He felt his small bush. Not much of one he had to admit. “You clip it, baby. Think it makes you look bigger, right? Ya’know you got nothing to be ashamed of.” He came back in with a bowl of water, shaving cream, and a straight razor. "I know you'll enjoy this." He sat next to Chris, and set out his wares. "Listen: Master Drax has special tastes. We're start with the simplest. He likes his new boys shaved. Everywhere." Manetti wrang out a wash cloth over the pan and soak the little bit of blond pubes Chris had. "You like keeping it short. But maybe you don't want them at all. Prefer to stay a boy." He sprayed foam in his hand and covered Chris' pubes. For pleasure or torture, he also coated his shaft and balls, massaging it in until Chris was squirming again in his hand. A few well-placed strokes of the razor and Chris' pubes were gone. He spent special time kneading his balls, flattening them out, squeezing them hard. Part pain and eventually part pleasure for Chris. "Lay your arms back." His pits were easy to shave. While on the second pit, Manetti said, "Man, how long since you showered, boy?" "A month, I guess." Chris was starting to float in his body. He succumbed the water and the warmth of the rag. With Manetti taking care of him, they were bonding closer. It was a feeling he didn't want to stop. "A month?" he asked incredulously. "Last gym class I took, I guess. After that I stopped going to school." "Well, no wonder you smell like a hobo." He gave a small laugh as he scraped the last of Chris' arm pit hair. "Master's probably gonna like your smell. Once I finish your butt, I should probably douse you with a finishing touch." Chris opened his eyes to see Manetti pretending to take a wiz on him. Chris mouthed silently, fuck, yeah, agreeing to whatever came into Manetti's dirty mind. "Up, Chief. Back in the sling." Chris got up slowly, then slunk back in the sling and put his legs in the stirrups. Manetti moved down below Chris' butt hole, pulled up a stool and started soaping his crack. To Chris, the feeling was sensuous; to Manetti it was salacious. He played with the boy's hole for a while, prying it apart with two fingers up and down, and then side to side. He spat in it and pulled some of his own cum out to use as lube. He stuck a finger deep inside, rubbing his prostate and generally feeling out the kid's hole. Chris head lolled to the side enjoying the sensations, looking up to the mirror occasionally catching Manetti brown head studying his anal anatomy. Soon, with a few deft strokes, his cheeks were soft and smooth. His purple hand prints were fading to pink. "Okay, hardest part. You're nicely stretched but I want you to remain totally relaxed." He took the straight razor and made micro-scrapes against the boy sphincter. Each stroke made the boy clench. He stopped for a moment, stood up, and smacked his ass hard. "I'm serious now, boy. Stop flinching or I'm going to slice you. I'm a lot more careful than Master would be, so you want me doing this, not him." Chris bit his lip. He liked when Manetti ordered him around, but he was apprehensive if he could keep his hole perfectly relaxed. "I'll try." "Rule three: there is no try, only do. Think Yoda. Seriously, I'm going to put this inside you," he said holding up the straight razor. "I'll be twisting it a full three-sixty. If Master finds even one hair in there I can guarantee you your ass is going to be a bloody mess when he's done. Trust me, I know. Picture my hole for a minute. Yours is a piece of cake." Chris felt the warm washcloth wipe the remainder of soap away. He then felt Manetti's tongue circle his hole, licking the edges then spiraling deep inside. It felt fantastic. His hole relaxed even more the deeper Manetti's tongue went. Then he felt the cool razor slide ever so gently and slowly into his hole. He concentrated on how relaxed he was under Manetti's spell, how much he liked him, put all his trust in him. Thought only of that. He felt the razor slowly twisted around his open hole. Six, then seven nicks of stray hairs he felt intensely as if they were being ripped out of him. Still he remained open. "Good boy. I'm coming out." The blade fell out slowly. It almost tickled. At the last moment of contact, however, he couldn't hold back a last minute flinch. The blade pricked him only slightly, but enough to draw a small trickle of blood. It stung and his sphincter went into delayed spasms, pushing some residual cum out his hole. Manetti lapped at it without without scolding him. His tongue was soothing though Chris knew blood, saliva and Manetti's cum was mixing in his wound. But the lapping tongue was hypnotic. Minutes went by silently. His sphincter stopped clenching and he lightly dozed off feeling Manetti tongue going on for eternity. Not caring what happened next. Remembering only Manetti's tongue lulling him to sleep. He would fall asleep every night like this if he was Manetti's. *** But he wasn't Manetti's. First one hand was pulled up and buckled in place. Then the other. Still he was content and floating like a baby in a swing. "Good boy. Now for your reward." From far away he heard the words and responded like he was still asleep. "What?" His words felt unnaturally slow coming out of him. "Wait." He realized his arms were again bound. "Wait. What...?" Through droopy eyes he saw Manetti take out a prepared point. "Just a small one, Chief. It'll put you in the right frame of mind to meet Master. He's expecting it." Manetti tied a rubber tourniquet around Chris' small bicep and began tapping the crook of his arm. It was pretty easy to find a vein on the skinny boy. He found a juicy one and told the kid to hold still or he might hurt him. Chris stopped squirming and watched with fascinated horror as the needle found it target. "Stick. Tell me if this burns." A swirl of red flooded into the vile and slowly Manetti unloaded the liquid into Chris' vein. The boy felt nothing immediately as Manetti withdrew the needle and pressed his thumb on the point of entry. His other hand unleashed the tourniquet, just as the boy coughed. Chris panicked. Manetti stood above him, his face easing into that large shark smile he'd had before. "That's it, my red blooded American boy." He watched the kid flush beet red, going through alternating phases. Panic turned to ecstasy, turned back to panic. "Just ride it. That's it. Enjoy it." "Too intense." Manetti leaned over Chris' face. He knew what would help the kid. He pushed his pec out to hover over his face, unleashing one of the boy's arms. Chris put his hand on Manetti's chest, felt the muscle flexing just for him. He caressed the hair, found the pierced nipple. Manetti bent even lower to the boy. Chris started sucking away, nursing like an infant, both metal and flesh. Chris looked up at Manetti and met the shark smile with one of his own. A smile shaded with a bit of evil he'd never let out before. He struggled to get up forgetting his other hand was still bound. Manetti helped him get it off. Chris buried his face in the man's chest, inhaling him, licking him. Put his face under Manetti’s armpit. Manetti took pleasure in letting him lick the pit, then helped him get up. Chris slid off the sling and began pacing around the bedroom murmuring fuck repeatedly. "How's that feel? You like?" Chris couldn't form any words but held up his thumb. "Go ahead and lay down. Enjoy the rush. Just ride it through." As he sat he fell back, feeling like he was falling down a rabbit hole, that the ceiling was rising above him, his vision was crossed and he felt the rush of euphoria jet through him. He was giddy, flush with excitement, he only wished Manetti's cock was back inside him. "Fuck," he grabbed onto the only words that made sense, confessing, "I feel like a little boy with you. I want you to molest me." He felt around his smooth, wet hole and stuck a couple of fingers inside. Manetti laugh. "You feel it don't you. Feel all those carnal urges you've buried. You want to suck a dog dick, don't you?" "Yeah. Big horse dick. Your dick. I want to be buried in cum. I want you to fist me like those guys are doing." He flicked his head at the TV where a black guy was punch fisting a young guy in a sling. "I want you to fist me like you and Ben fist. I want you to use dildoes on me and make me have a huge cunt like yours. I want you to fist me to your elbow and your armpit. I want to feel your hairy pit rub against my hole." "Looks like you like-y? And that's just a teeny bit. More to come at Master Drax." Manetti put the orange cap back on the syringe, and pointed the camera back on the boy as he rolled around feeling all his erogenous zones, spewing a watershed of perversions. Manetti left him to his pleasure, feeling his hole, pulling on his flaccid dick, tweeking his nipples, going at them all with abandon. He went over to the closet and pulled out chaps and put them on, then pulled out a chastity cage out of a drawer and put it in his pocket. He went into the kitchen where he took the metal lid off the bathtub. Fuck, he heard Chris repeating, unable to contain himself. He heard a never-ending stream of fucks and perverted ideas spewing out of the kid's mouth, that he wanted Jeff to fuck him, for Carl to fuck him. He wanted to have someone at work named Shakir cover him in Valvoline oil and fuck him. He wanted to get fucked in the gas station toilet. He wanted the gas station owner named Duke to fuck him from behind while he licked the urinal. “You think I stink, man? You should smell that toilet some time. It's righteous foul!” The kid had an imagination! He enjoyed how spun the kid was on such a little amount, how open he was to anything right now. As a test Manetti came back in the room and picked up a filthy jock strap, held it out for the boy to smell. "What do you think of this? It's your brothers." The boy sniffed it and then began to tear into it. He sucked it and his saliva made the jock wet and unlocked the odor of piss emanating from the stains. "You want to wear it over your face to meet Master? I know he'd love that. He's a nasty mother fucker like no one you've ever met." Chris was almost unrecognizable animal in his drug frenzy, nothing at all like he was when he first came in the door. He was so into it with the jock, it looked like he hardly heard what Manetti was saying. "Ya'know, you’re lucky I took your cherry. Master Drax wouldn't have been so gentle." "I don’t think," he managed to get out while chewing the jock strap, "that you were that gentle." He was high on piss fumes, high on the residual cum, reeling in lust sucking his brother's jock. He looked at Manetti like an idea had just struck him. "I liked it rough.” "I'll relay that thought, boy. C'mon, get up. You’re ready to meet Master. He's got a wide variety in his stable. The rougher, the more money he'll make off you. The less limits, the more we’ll all make. Think you'll like that?" Chris bobbed his head, agreeing to anything Manetti said to him. He sprung up and put the wet jock around his neck. Manetti steered him into the kitchen, told him to get in the tub. "You need a douse before we go." "Douse of what?" Chris asked, stepping in. "Master likes raunch, heavy raunch. Let's get you prepped and stinkin'. Open your mouth, pig. You know you want it." He hadn't thought about it but was susceptible to any suggestion coming from his idol. He laid down in the tub and opened his mouth. Manetti immediately covered him in piss, going up and down the kid's naked body. Chris ran his hands up over his torso like he was washing himself. He let out a low moan of pleasure. "Warm," he sighed. "Open." Chris stopped rubbing and opened his mouth, propping himself up on his elbows. Manetti took aim and hit his mark right on target. "Swallow." The boy obeyed. It was salty and bitter and came out of Manetti, so he guzzled the piss letting it splash in his mouth, and gulped it down into his stomach. "Good pig. You like that, pig boy?" Chris bobbed his head. Without prompting he leaned back and spread his legs to expose his hole to Manetti. "Okay, you fucking filth pig." With that, Manetti let a stream of piss hit his hole. Some went in and the kid pushed it out like a mini-geyser. "You stinkin’ fuck pig! Get up—you’re ready.” Chris scrambled getting up. They both stopped for a second regarding each other, listening to the remains of piss draining down the pipe. Two massive shark grins flashed between them. Manetti helped him step out of the tub; Chris' platinum hair yellow and flattened, his eyes electric.

Mike walked in to the brightly light room. There was Todd, waiting buck naked. Mike asked what the fuck? Todd smiled. Then Mike felt the prick and soon he was out. The guys moved Mike to a table where they had all the tools laid out. First they shaved Mike's balls then his prick. Once they had him clean, the alcohol flowed over Mikes precious parts. Then, the piercing began. Mike's frenulum was pierced four times Each time a ring was inserted and the rings were soldered shut. Then each of Mike's big nuts received a heavy ring. Finally, the guys produced the stainless steel ball bearings, carefully sterilized. The were carefully inserted under the skin of Mike's cock. Sixteen round protrusions made Mike look strange. When Ed brought out the cauterizing scalpel, Todd's eyes grew large. It happened fast. They split Mike's glans. There was very little blood, but Mike would not be able to use his equipment for a few days. The photos were all taken of the completed work, with Mike's hand close by. Dan deposited a large amount of his cum on Mike's abdomen. It appeared that Mike had done it. They dressed the altered Mike and took him back to the TKE house, leaving him near the back door by 3 am. The had poured whisky on him so as to make him appear drunk. By morning, he would have his next text with accompanying video of Mike fucking Todd blue and a note that it would seem odd if Jenna were to see the vid. She would if Mike did anything to alter the work that had been done. The vids would also appear on electronic media. Mike slept on.