The two of them were glued to the TV in the entertainment room at Jason’s house. It was Friday night; Jason’s parents were out of town until the spring and there was beer in the fridge. They were intently watching The GayVN Awards Ceremony -- the Oscars of Porn -- and Jason for one had a personal interest in the pageantry and drama of the awards ceremony. He’d bet on this year’s offering from Carnal Media’s Alter Sin to take the Best Director award. Jason had watched all the entries for Best Director many times. He’d passed the DVDs over to Art, the other secret member of the unofficial Porn Club Contingent of the high school’s Film Club. Over the years, he and Art had amassed a large collection of short and full-length porn which they shared with no one else.
Clips from each of this year’s nominees played across the super large screen. This was the best of the best porn and commanded their attention sensually and critically, as film, as story, as imaginative reality and as real fiction.
They’d just last year graduated from high school, they’d been trained how to think about film and drama; for years they’d written essays on film topics for school, but always smirking just below the surface, was how it all applied to porn. And really, not porn as generally understood, but porn for boys on men on boys and every combination anyone could think of. Jason dreamed of being a porn director all through high school, learned everything he could about film so that one day he could put on the screen his most intimate and twisted fantasies. He wanted to film it all.
He wanted to experience it all. Aye, that was the real rub. In this town, in his parents’ very private social circle, it would literally be suicide to follow his dream. To succeed in the film business, and especially in the porn business, he would have to leave town and the comfort of his present life.
Or Jason could just stay here, have his own house, have his own wife and kids and do as his father assumed he would, that is, take over the family business and be as comfortable as anyone can be. Or...
Art poked him in the ribs. “Here it is.” The Best Director award goes to, drum roll..., Alter Sin for Dripping Daddies 2! “Damn yes, I knew it,” Jason shouted. “Daddy plugged that little twink like he was a fleshlite.” It made Jason’s dick hard watching the clip even though he’d seen it at least a dozen times before. God, he wished that was him getting reamed by a large hairy guy like that. Well, no, not like the boy in the film. Jason was not some skinny little twink. He’d played varsity soccer and varsity basketball, spent the last four years in weight training. He was strong and hard, lean and beautiful and he’d never been fucked. It had come on him slowly, this desire, this need.
Jason focused on the show again as finally the last of the technical awards were announced and the orchestra played the closing number as the credits rolled and the curtain closed. Jason switched off the TV and he and Art got up from the couch and picked up their trash. Art stopped at the door as he was leaving and turned to Jason. “I don’t know if I should tell you this.” He paused a moment, unsure whether to go on. “I know you’re looking to make some money and well, this is a little out there. I said no, that wasn’t for me, but maybe you’d be interested. Anyway, I’m just saying, you could talk to the guy if you wanted.”
“Talk about what?” Jason asked.
“Well, this guy, he’s like an agent for a group that makes porn. See, I don’t think they’re looking for camera or lighting tech. But you said you wanted to make some money and I thought... well, you see, they want on-screen talent. I know it’s not what you’re probably looking for, but you’ve got a lot to offer, just saying.”
Jason was struck dumb. A dozen thoughts crashed together in his head all at once jostling for position. A job. In the biz, right out of high school, for actual money? There were so many other thoughts and questions clamoring that all Jason could do was say, “Well, you could give me the guy’s number. I’ll maybe think about it.”
Art thumbed his phone for a bit and then looked up at Jason and said, “I’ve sent you Alex’s number. I met him at last year’s NFFTY convention in Seattle. He makes movies. I had the conversation with him, and it turns out I wasn’t the guy he wanted. I don’t have the equipment he was looking for and really, I don’t have the balls. Like I said, it’s not really my cup of tea. And anyway, I’m going to make it behind the camera. You will too, but you could start out in front. You know what I mean. God gave you a dick to sell out the house and an ass to make grown men cry. See what the man will offer you for that.”
“I hadn’t thought until now that I could sell my ass,” said Jason.
“Well Jason, no... you wouldn’t have. You’ll need to get better at that. This job could be a little out of the ordinary. Just so you don’t walk in like a total rube.”
“But I am a total rube, Art.”
“I know. Just pretend to be cool. You may have something he wants.”
“Good night, Art,” said Jason as he closed the door.
Late into the night Jason wandered about the pool and the garden and back to his chair on the back porch where he thought disjointedly about the text he certainly would send and the possibilities that those words might open up for him. But one step at a time. There was no danger in talking to the man. Alex would explain himself and the job and Jason would say yea or nay, simple as that. And after long and reasoned thought he wrote the text: “My name is Jason Maxwell. I have your name from Art Landry. May we discuss employment opportunities?”
As soon as he sent it, he thought the “employment opportunities” part was maybe elliptical. He hoped it didn’t sound stupid. He put the worry aside, got something to munch on from the fridge and thought about what he’d need to be as an actor and what he could pick up from watching this year’s award winners -- and nodded off now and then and finally awoke early the next morning to find a response to his text.
“Hi Jason. Can you come in the morning next Tuesday? We’ll be doing stills, film tests, and auditions. Looking to cast lead and supporting. Send pics. --Alex.”
“Wow,” thought Jason, “that was fast.” Somewhere at the back of his mind, he half expected there wouldn’t be a response to his text, but this meant that he would have to act now and not dither. He’d pretend to be cool. He was 18. He could pull this off. A couple hours later when he’d found what he thought were just the right pics, he texted back, “Hi Alex. Yes, available Tuesday, pics attached.”
Later that evening as Jason was going out to get some dinner, he checked his phone and saw the reply text from Alex: “My driver will ring your doorbell at 7:00 o’clock Tuesday morning.”
“Huh!” thought Jason. “Driver?! And he knows where my doorbell is!” This left Jason with several days to think about his meet up with Alex, to wonder about the sort of operation that sent drivers to pick up unknown porn actors. And days to worry that he likely wouldn’t stand a chance against professionals, who actually knew what they were doing. He’d never actually done a screen test. He’d watched them. He knew about blocking, but he’d never had to meet a camera without marks on the floor. He had days to stew over the possibility that he’d be taken on a sad drive home by the same driver after a day of hard work and stress and no prospect of a job.
And what to wear? Jason worried about that too, until he found just the right shirt, pale watered silk that perfectly draped off his nipples straight down in two parallel folds showing off his pecs in dramatic fashion. The shirt just covered his crotch, freeballing. He tried thinking of himself as an adult film actor -- a completely new idea. Of course he’d watched porn actors for years, but really, he’d only watched their rippling muscles and the way they fucked and how their faces reflected agony or joy, need and submission. How much acting would he have to employ, how much would he have to embellish what he felt to suit the camera. All this and many other things worried Jason at a certain level for all the hours of every day until the doorbell rang at 7:00 o’clock on Tuesday morning.
Jason opened the door on a large square-built man in a black suit and white shirt. The man looked at Jason for a brief moment, taking him in, then said, “When you’re ready.” Jason stepped outside, closed and locked the front door behind him and put the key under a pot on the porch. “Ready now,” said Jason and followed the man to a large black car sitting at the curb. The driver opened the rear door, watched Jason get in and then shut the door with a soft click. There was a window separating the driver from the rear of the car, so there was no awkward conversation.
The ride was less than an hour and Jason was largely unaware of where he was beyond noting that the garage they entered was in a large multistory concrete building just like the scores of others that covered the neighborhood. The car door was opened by a large black man dressed all in black who motioned for him to follow. Jason followed the man through an impressive wood and brass door out of the garage and into a long hallway. They walked past several doors until the man stopped at one and motioned for Jason to enter. The room was brightly lit, covered in white tile, a drain in the center of the floor and a door in the opposite wall. “Put your clothes on the chair,” said the man in black. “And then stand on the red footprints at the center of the room. Raise your arms above your head.”
Jason was quickly out of his clothes and standing barefoot in place, arms raised straight up. Red laser lights scanned him from his individual toes to the tips of his long fingers. A beep sounded and a voice followed with “Clear.” The man motioned to Jason and the two went through the interior door into a great dim space that extended into darkness. A different voice quietly called out, “Cameras please.”
Jason looked around to see where the voice came from but couldn’t see anyone in the dimness. He was led up to an odd structure of pipes and chains set up under work lights -- and two men waiting for him. He started to ask his usher if Alex would be available when all of a sudden, the work lights went off and seconds later the same quiet voice called out, “Lights please.” Without being aware of how it happened, Jason found himself secured by his neck in a thick leather collar secured to the pipes. And just as quickly, his wrists and ankles were cuffed and secured to these same vertical pipes and a face banger was strapped deep into his mouth.
Jason struggled against choking, forced himself to calm his abs, hold his head back, breathe. All his attention was on his breathing. His shock and confusion, his looming panic would have to wait until he got his breathing under control, until he was convinced he wouldn’t die from choking right here and now. And while he’s breathing and shaking his wrists and rattling the chains, the fill lights come up slowly, soft and diffuse. The opening scene begins with three minutes of film from three cameras showing three angles of Jason’s utter confusion and growing concern.
A quick change of lenses and B-camera takes the over-the-shoulder shot and A-camera pulls tight. A sinister-looking character comes into the frame and puts his lips near Jason’s ear. “I can smell your fear boy.” The man smells around Jason’s throat, behind his ears. Jason struggles in his bonds but makes no sound in his throat. He could see the man’s mouth right up in his grill, smiling at an evil thought.
“It makes me hard to smell your fear,” the man purred. “And you will have so much to fear.” He stepped back from Jason and turned to the A-camera over Jason’s shoulder. “There are men who will pay money for amusement, and I believe that you will be very amusing.”
The man Jason now thought of as Alex went on to explain alternately to the camera and Jason’s face that, “Your life in slavery begins today. For eight days you will be tested to see what sort of slave you will be. You will be rewarded for good behavior; you will be punished for poor performance.
“What is good behavior, you might wonder,” continued Alex. “I will tell you. You are a slave. You may not speak. You will do what you are told to do. Simple. That’s all there is to it.” Alex then turned again to the wide-camera as he explained to the audience how the program would unfold. “We will use Octagon’s basic eight positions, on day one, the boy will be in position one, and so on. Each member of our studio audience has put their name into a basket. Eight names have been drawn. Each day, one of the winners will produce his own personal four-hour fantasy with the slave secured in the position-of-the-day.”
Alex then turned back to the slave. He reached out his hand to stroke the back of the slave’s head, then its cheek. “I believe that I speak for our whole production crew and the audience as well when I say we all hope you’ll give it your very best effort and wish you the very best outcome.”
There was a lengthy tight shot of Jason’s brow, the eyes, the disbelief and desperation; all the possible thoughts and emotions that crashed across its face were perfectly lit and captured beautifully by the camera. This would be the leading promo clip. The boy wanted to be anywhere else, it was scared and trembling and sweaty, slobber dribbled off its chin and tears ran down its rose-colored cheeks.
“...three, two, one, and cut,” called the director. A bell rang somewhere over the set, the film lights went off and the work lights came on. Two handlers released Jason from its bondage rack. One of them clipped a leash onto the collar, the other clipped its wrists together behind its back and together they marched the boy across the set to where Alex was chatting with some others.
Jason looked right at Alex and made urgent humming and gurgling sounds and wrinkled its brow in outrage, struggled against the bonds on its wrists. Alex looked at the boy sympathetically for a moment and then reached for its nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Thin jets of saliva burst from the edges of its gag, and it tried to jerk away. “You’ve done very well boy,” said Alex. “Keep it up. I want to see that same exuberance eight days from now.” He turned and spoke to one of the handlers. “See that it gets washed up and fed. And seriously, get it a decent haircut. We’re on set at 3:00 to film it getting shaved.”
They’d taken Jason to a room off the studio and set the slave on a wooden stool with its wrists still clipped behind; the ankle cuffs also were clipped together so it couldn’t walk, or run -- if it wanted to misbehave. “Now remember,” said one of the handlers as he unbuckled the strap on Jason’s face banger. “No talking. Oh, you may scream for good reason. I look forward to that. But you may not talk.” And with that he pulled out the penis-gag.
Jason immediately forgot all other concerns over the sheer joy of being able to close his jaw, being able to breath freely, to be able to swallow. His heart rate slowly came down to normal and with it his awareness came up. This was the first moment he had to evaluate his situation since getting out of the car. And nothing he considered made him feel any better about his situation. He was naked and shackled, no one knew where he was, no one was looking for him, nor would they, for at least two weeks. And then, they wouldn’t find him.
He could try negotiating with his captors. But then, there was the no talking thing. Could he come to a deal before they punished him for talking? And what kind of deal could he make? Jason's brain neatly blocked off all access to speculation about what was to come. The phrase “personal, four-hour fantasy” had lodged in his memory, but he pushed it down since exploring that offered no comfort. Nor did the phrase he’d heard, “Your life in slavery.”
“What the actual fuck!” Jason repeated to himself over and over like a mantra but was interrupted by the barber. He hadn’t put a barber’s cape over him as any ordinary barber would. He just started in combing and clipping and buzzing away, hair falling where it may. About the time his back started to pain him, the barber was done, and he was led over to a tiled wall with drains nearby where he was hosed off and soaped down and rinsed off and then rubbed down with something smelling vaguely of lavender.
Alex was visibly delighted with the new haircut. He ran his fingers through it and said to the barber, “A silk purse of a sow’s ear. You’re a genius Remi, thank you.” To the handlers, Alex said, “Go ahead and feed it the good boy food. It’s been a good boy so far, yes?” Everyone nodded yes, it's been a very good boy so far. A handler led Jason over to a dim part of the studio where empty equipment cases and cables were stacked. He put the boy on its knees and said “Stay!” and put the loop end of the leash on a hook on the wall. He came back a few minutes later with a steel bowl he put on the floor in front of him, uncoupled the boy’s wrist cuffs and said, “Put your hands flat on the floor when you eat.” He held on to the leash all the while Jason struggled with this new way to eat.
Now barbered, washed, and fed, Jason was left on a thin mattress in a small room with a toilet and sink. “The green room,” thought Jason. “I really have arrived.” And then he drifted off to sleep for what must have been a couple of hours. By the time Jason was fully aware of his surroundings, he’d been marched back into the studio and put into an X pose, or Octagon’s standard position number two. This had the boy’s arms pulled straight by chains from above. Chains at the ankles kept its feet wide apart, so that when seen straight on, the boy formed an X.
“Film please,” said a voice in the darkness. The clapboards sounded in front of the cameras and the same voice said, “Lights please,” and there was the slave, emerging from the darkness, shaking its head, rattling its chains, and on closeup, visibly sweating. The barbering team of three quickly set to work. Their job was to remove every hair on its body except the ones on its head. The film crew’s job was to capture every bit of the work on three cameras.
Alex sat off to the side watching the digital monitors of the camera feeds. This was good. This was really good. B-camera had the perfect angle to pick up the quiver in the boy’s inner thigh as the razor scraped off hair and shaving soap to reveal smooth sun-browned skin. A handheld camera focused on another razorblade taking the hairs off the testicles. The barber’s movements were quick and deft. One hand pulled down on the balls while the other shaved all the way up the skin, and again the barber squeezed the balls tight, one at a time, shaving smooth the ample round tops of each and the skin in between.
Jason made little, involuntary gasping sounds like huh huh huh huh gaaagh... Finally, one of the handlers had the wit to put in a ball gag before the boy lost it completely and started spewing words. That was a drama reserved for the Day of the Second Position. With this one it wouldn’t be hard to provoke it to utter words at any time; any words would be enough to require immediate punishment. And that required a different camera setup. Now wasn’t the time.
The barbering crew each inspected the other’s work by laying hands on. Could anyone have found even the hint of stubble anywhere, there would have been shouting and confirmation and ridicule heaped on. But six hands that diligently sought out the least single hair confirmed the job was complete. The three stood with Jason as though he was a hunting trophy and they’d posed for a photo made to commemorate the capture. The director called “Cut!” The film lights went off and the work lights came on.
Someone in the control room pressed a button and lowered Jason’s arms; handlers unhooked the chains from its wrists and ankles. Alex came over to the group now gathered around it and he couldn’t help but admire the slave's sex -- not just its cock, but its cock and its presence and its quiet almost unassuming arrogance. There was something princely about the boy. And who could ignore that cock. Just stunning, even half inflated as it was. It would be so much fun to watch the boy’s transformation over the next eight days.
Alex got the attention of the lead handler, then tapped his wrists to his neck, showing him what he wanted. “Don’t let it cum,” he said pointedly. The handler watched Alex go into the control room and then made his order to staff. “Single link from wrist to collar, link up its ankles, keep an eye on it, don’t let it cum.” Jason was taken to the same small room as before. Here he found food in a steel bowl sitting in the sink, so that with its wrist cuffs locked to its neck collar, the boy could eat out of the bowl by sitting backwards on the toilet and putting its face in the food bowl. Jason was happy for the food, it tasted fine. He was apparently considered a good boy.
Meanwhile, Alex was introducing tomorrow’s first round of shooting. Alex had stood on set in front of a large wooden horse torture device -- to one side was a T-post rack, on the other a simple fuck bench. Cameras and some production equipment were visible in the shot. “Thank you, thank you,” Alex began. “Welcome to Awesome Studio’s production of Bradley McGraw’s Eight Flights of Fancy, introducing the fabulous new talent in its debut role, Jason Maxwell.” Here Alex paused for applause and bowed left and right. cut. Postproduction would add in the audience.
In quick succession Alex introduced each of the eight co-producer participants. Each was asked to sit in a theater seat in front of a green screen, stand as though they were acknowledging recognition and applause, waving to friends. These shots would be used to intro each of their respective episodes.
Then the standup for the pitch. “Each of our participants was asked the question: If you had the world for resources, and you could have this paragon of pulchritude, this untouched slave flesh in your complete control for four hours, what would you do? For our opening episode, Day One, Position One, our co-producer has broken the action into four one-hour pieces in which he will play the role of Hungry Man, the first of which is called, Tenderly.” Alex makes a sweeping gesture toward stage left, space for applause and cut.
Alex made eight of these intros, one for each day, each with a different participant, a different scenario. He and the whole crew worked late into the evening.
Jason dozed off now and then; he’d lost track of time, tried not to analyze his situation. There wasn’t much to analyze: he was naked and bound, he was locked in a cell, couldn’t walk without support, had no practical use of his hands. And when he wasn’t in the cell, he was chained up, under intense observation. Should he somehow lose his bonds and run, there were a dozen large people prepared to wrestle him quickly to the ground. But, slim as the chance was, it was the one chance -- that he could get loose and evade all the security people, make it back to the one exit he knew and escape naked and barefoot through the garage and out into traffic.
Understandably, he hadn’t got beyond the part where he was standing naked in traffic, begging anyone to stop and let him get in their car. Just as well, the cell door opened and a handler placed a bowl of food on the floor and took the empty bowl away, all without a word. Jason figured it must be morning, things will start to happen soon. And this was enough to distract his thoughts from escape and wind into what lay in store for day one, position one.
After a while, the handlers came for him and took him to the washing station. Today they made quick work of shaving the face. Today there would be a lot of closeups of its face. Makeup was no good for these shots because there would be lots of sweating and snot and drool. They’d have to use lighting and lenses instead and this required a good bit of testing and adjusting, so it was well into the morning when shooting for Day One was ready to begin.
Jason was brought into the studio to stand at the edge of the set, a handler on each side, wrist cuffs behind, connected with a single link. The director called, “Cameras please,” and the story began. It didn’t matter a lot how natural the dialog was because it would all be dubbed in later in multiple languages in multiple versions and releases. What was shown clearly and without words was the meaning and limits of Position One. Jason was brought in frame and made to stand, feet apart, ankles clipped to rings in the floor.
The essence of Position One is simply wrists pinioned behind. This is a generally useful pose for a slave, whether sitting, kneeling, or standing, but is particularly useful for any master wanting strappado. Take any slave who’s standing straight up, wrists bound behind. Connect a rope to the link between the wrist cuffs and slowly pull straight up. Exactly one thing will happen, the slave will bend forward. And this is what became of the boy. Its legs were straight, its hams were stretched, and its ass was exposed and pointing up.
Hungry Man made much of Jason’s hairless body, lightly caressing the boy’s smooth skin with his calloused hands. The rope was lowered, and Jason could stand up straight again, obviously relieved. Hungry Man continued to caress the boy’s abs and pecs, to tweak its nips and feel the smooth round beauty of its perfect ass. Sometimes he made the boy gasp. His hands were all over the inside of its thighs and up the crack in its butt. The man traced every inch of his prize. Everywhere except its cock and balls -- this he did not touch, but watched with amusement as both cock and balls slowly darkened and swelled up.
Slowly, slowly, one tiny click at a time, Hungry Man raised the rope as he shifted his attention to the boy’s ass, beautiful and strong. The boy felt what was happening and the camera was ready for it and caught the thoughts that raced across its face; this was starting to hurt, and panic flashed once in its eyes. The rope pulled ever tighter so that the boy was now up on the balls of its feet and worry dominated its look. The eyes went everywhere, the head turned where it could, searching out relief.
One squeaking protest from the boy satisfied Hungry Man that it was stretched tight enough; he signaled to stop the ratchet and called for a ball gag which was quickly installed. “Don’t want any chatter now, do we?” he asked the boy rhetorically. He looked the boy over from a couple steps back and asked, “How we doing? Everything OK?” The boy furiously shook its head and screamed into its gag “Ho, hoooo, hoooo.” The man patted Jason on the head and said, “Good, good, I think we’re ready.”
Camera-A followed the man to a bench where he picked up what is often called a Louisiana Prison Strap, a thick piece of leather somewhat resembling a barber’s strop but with a handle. He rubbed the end of the strap against Jason’s cheek and said, “I’ll just give you a taste.” And with that he delivered a stunning smack to each of Jason’s butt cheeks. This so shocked the boy that he lunged forward causing great pain to its shoulders. Hungry Man cranked up the rope another notch, then placed the strap under Jason’s cockhead, letting precum drip onto it and then rubbed the precum into the leather with his thumbs.
“You’ll get better at this, I promise. Soon you’ll have a whole day of the strap. You’ll take 20 without thinking about it twice. Today, I think a wooden paddle will suit us better.” And with that, the man began paddling Jason’s ass in earnest, relentlessly, continuously all around its butt circling its ass hole, tenderizing the meaty part, now a uniformly even hue. Jason can do nothing but take it. Bending its knees only tightens its butt muscles and makes the impact more painful. It also pulls the shoulders tighter and hurts.
The closeup camera captures the rain of precum that’s spattered about each time the paddle connects. The boy’s cock whips forward as it jerks in reaction to the hit. There’s lots of precum, and a full-frame slomo shot will really show that to good effect, ejecting in a broken, arching stream, backlit and from below against a bokeh background. Alex is silently watching the monitors and smiling.
The slave is blubbering. Sometimes its legs do a little up-and-down dance like it’s trying to run away. Saliva sprays as the boy shakes its head, tears stream. It’s trying to keep from screaming because by now, screaming only hurts its throat. Hungry Man pauses his swatting, partly to tease the boy, also to admire his work. It’s just as he wanted it, dark, dark pink now, going toward crimson, evenly colored everywhere, no angry welts, no purple stripes, no blotches, but a perfectly even pink-red butt surrounding a perfect pale pink entry portal.
Hungry Man signaled to the control room and the rope holding Jason in place strappado slowly let go of its wrists. The B-camera rose as Jason’s head rose, tracking its face as the boy rose up to a standing position, recording the relief on its face, massive and dramatic. Its cock was three-quarters stiff, still engaged. The man hadn’t yet so much as touched the boy’s cock, yet here it was, swollen and red and leaking precum. The camera pulls away, then takes an arc shot, circling the boy, lights come down, and cut.
The boy is left where he is, standing, gagged, wrists bound behind. The work lights come on and Jason can see crew moving a large wooden structure onto the set, almost like the roof of a doghouse but with legs supporting it. The gag is removed from its mouth and water poured in. A crew member walks over to the roof thing and attaches a black foot-long latex dildo on the ridge and smears something slimy over the entire length of it.
Handlers come up to the slave and begin winding horsehair cords around its biceps, its chest, its neck, its thighs, there’s even a cord wound around its middle. The cameras come on just as Jason begins to put two and two together, and the look is worth money. Thus begins the second segment, “Horse Ride.”
Boy has been reminded that talking is not permitted and that the punishment for doing so is severe. Straps are looped around its thighs and chest and a crane carries it up over the wooden horse, up above the standing dildo and dangles the boy with the tip of the dildo touching its puckered asshole. If it could talk, the slave would be saying, “No no no no no no no.” As it was, its legs were flailing as though riding a bike and it made noises like “huuungh huunmph ghaaagh.”
There was a boom mike just out of frame above Jason’s head. Alex wanted to get a true recording of the boy’s vocalizations as its body was incrementally lowered onto the dildo. This was after all the boy’s maiden voyage, and per custom, all the proper ceremony was observed. Up and down the crane raised and lowered the boy onto the pole, each time down, an inch further. Up and down a dozen times, impaled twelve times, now all the way down onto the ridge of the horse. The crane straps were removed, the handlers cabled the wrist cuffs to the back of the horse, then slapped the back end of the horse and told the boy, “Ride caballero, ride!”
Jason’s first thought was to bring this to a speedy conclusion by falling off the horse, but maddeningly, the dildo completely prevented that. Leaning forward crushed its balls, leaning back was very painful. The best it could do was to press its knees into the horse and try to inch up off the ridge. This was most of the boy’s activity while on the horse, a vain attempt to lessen the pain. At some point into Jason’s wild ride, a face banger was strapped in -- no one wanted the boy talking in this segment, punishment for talking was scheduled for tomorrow.
It didn’t need an hour of filming to get an hour of drama -- there were three cameras. Alex signaled to wrap it up after about 40 minutes or so. The boy still had to get through two more storyboards before it got fed and sent back to its cell to recuperate and get ready for tomorrow. Handlers got Jason unwrapped from the cords around its chest and limbs but kept the cuffs and collar on.
The next pose had the boy’s back up against a vertical pipe, wrists linked together behind the pipe and the neck collar clipped to the pipe so that the boy had to stand as tall as he could to keep from choking.
Hungry Man hadn’t touched Jason’s cock once in the two hours he’d had sole possession. Now he laid hands on. The boy’s cock was fat and its balls were swollen, hanging large and full. The next hour, the third act, “Resurrection,” was an intermezzo in the four-act play, light and amusing scenes in which many times Jason was brought to within an inch of cumming and then left to moan into its gag, thrashing its hips, groaning out “Unngh unngh unngh aaaaargh.”
It wasn’t long before the close-in shots showed sweat pouring down the boy’s face and neck, down its pecs -- it was desperate and that showed well on its face and its cock. The cock was hard and throbbing, literally jumping as Jason frantically squeezed his Kegels. This was torture of an exquisite sort and the boy suffered. For the full hour. And he did not cum.
Alex called for a break. The camera crew stood down while the set was changed. Jason was given water and Gatorade and made to lie on a massage table. Two handlers worked their magic on the boy’s muscles, rubbing in camphor and liniment. More water for the boy to drink and ice packs for its cock. Finally, it was possible to fit it with a thick, short cage, stainless steel, that wrapped around its balls and kept its cock about an inch long and untouchable. An O-ring gag was strapped into the boy's mouth, wrist cuffs were linked together behind, and once on set, a spreader bar was set between the ankles.
A few more adjustments to the set and the lights and the director called for the cameras. Act 4 was called “The Feast.” It was Hungry Man’s favorite. The boy had been tenderized three different ways, now it was ready to exhibit the perfect submission for his master’s perfect pleasure. The boy stood upright before a horizontal pipe at waist level, ankle cuffs chained tight to the floor. A cord was snapped onto the slave’s collar and passed through a ring in the floor, then pulled on, forcing it to bend forward until its back was parallel with the floor.
Hungry Man walked once around the slave, pinioned, chained, locked down and presenting its mouth and ass for unrestricted use. He stood in front of the slave’s face, held onto its hair and waited a few seconds while his cock rose to the occasion. Once hard, he slowly slipped his cock into the ring in the boy’s face and slowly kept advancing it until the boy’s face turned purple and all the boy’s limbs were shaking and dancing. He slowly pulled back and left his glans resting just inside the ring, savoring the feeling.
The boy gasped and heaved and gagged and made a sound like a dog bark, pouring saliva onto the floor with bits of puke. This is what the man was looking for; he smiled and ran his cock into the boy’s mouth again, slowly, slowly opening the throat as he plowed down and down and then slowly came back out again, now holding the boy’s ears as handles. This he did over and over, allowing the slave to breathe between his slow thrusts. And so in thrall to the moment, so out of time and place was Hungry Man, sliding his cock in and out over and over that after a while, Alex made the decision to move the production along. The director called “Cut,” and the lights and the cameras regrouped around Jason’s ass.
Hungry Man’s invasion of Jason’s ass was the culmination of the four-act play, everything had led to this time and place. Jason had sat on the 12-inch dildo while forcing his thighs together and trying to relax his ass at the same time. Jason had been prepped, tenderized, and broken in. He had been made ready for this. Hungry Man was ready. He had about 20 minutes to fuck himself to heaven. He started slow with his hands on the slave’s hips. At first, he pulled the hips toward him and slowly pushed them away, but Jason soon got the rhythm and then came at him like a slut, like Jason now understood his role, understood how it coincided with what he wanted and what Hungry Man wanted, that is, a load of hot cum deep in his ass. And the two of them worked this out.
One camera remained on the boy’s face for its look of need and fear, joy and uncertainty, sometimes close-in, sometimes pulling back for a mid-shot when Hungry Man had hold of the boy’s hair and pulled the head back to show the throat gasping out through the O-ring, tears streaming, saliva pouring off the lips and chin.
What the boy hadn’t anticipated, really, couldn’t have anticipated, was Hungry Man’s skill and care as a fucker, and only slowly did the boy realize what was happening. Even though its cock was completely trapped in a steel cage and untouched, every thrust of the cock in its ass, every pull, made the center of its being hot. And the longer this went on, the hotter it got, for both of them. Hungry Man was in control of when he would cum; he watched the boy’s face on the overhead monitors, watched its need, its urgency and timed his climax to meet Jason’s like a fielder’s glove meets a fly ball.
Jason’s eyes bugged and gobs of cum spilled out of its cage. Hungry Man’s uncontrolled “Ah, ah, ah, ah,” mixed with the repeated guttural barking noise escaping the slave’s O-ring. Neither stopped fucking for a long time, barking and groaning continued for a long time. Hungry Man was, after a while, sated; the boy had been served a full load of Hungry Man cum and was finally motionless; the film lights came down and, “Cut. And that’s a wrap,“ declared the director. “Gentlemen, thank you. Filming tomorrow is in Studio 2, lights set up this afternoon, production meeting after supper, Alex, with me.”
Alex and the director disappeared into the control room, the actor was released from its bonds and gag and helped over to a training table -- ankle cuffs and collar secured to cleats, hands free. A handler gave it an energy bar which it chewed slowly, carefully since its jaw hurt from recent treatment, same for the throat. After a bit, handlers returned to give it a thorough rubdown. Jason liked the smell of the lidocaine and camphor, felt relief from the skilled fingers that worked the muscles. This was to be the daily routine. Jason fell in with the routine as one does with any job.
There were random excitements, almost daily, but the routine prevailed. Jason was made by an elaborate ruse to talk on camera, he yelled “Fuck no. No, no, no!” Much was made of the infraction. Cameras had already been set up to capture the punishment. A handler in a leather executioner’s outfit made drama of striking the boy’s balls with a cricket bat, a half-width trainer, straight up from the floor between spread legs, four times.
On the morning of the tenth day of Jason’s ordeal, he was washed down, his face shaved. Ankle and wrist cuffs, collar and cock cage all came off and he was put into the clothes he’d come in. Only the face banger remained in place. His phone and wallet were in his back pockets. Handlers walked him to the garage, up to the open door of a large black car. One handler turned to Jason and said meaningfully, “Not a word. Not one word,” and took out the gag. He gave the boy a handkerchief to clean up the slime as he herded him into the car.
Same car as before probably. This time there was a rose in the holder by the window. And on the seat next to him, an envelope, embossed with the initials NV. Inside a letter with the same embossed initials, and a cashier’s check for $25,000.
Mr. Maxwell,
Enclosed please find payment for service rendered -- a service that is hugely appreciated and has met with excitement up and down our distribution network where demand is building for an early release date.
On a personal note, I’d like to say how much I admire your dedication and work ethic. You are smart and steady, strong and determined. Yes, you passed the audition. I’d like to offer you a role in a different sort of project. With a proper contract and employment terms, your interest would certainly be in the six figures. Call me if you like.
Sincerely,
NV Film Enterprises
The letter was signed in a beautiful blue ink by what looked to be “Nikki,” with a telephone number under it. Jason was still thinking of the implications of the letter, never mind the last ten days, when all of a sudden, the car door opened onto the path to his front door. He quickly grabbed his few things and scrambled out of the car. Once up the path and on the porch, he turned to see the car slowly drive away.
Jason microwaved something from the freezer and ate it out of the package while he texted all the people he had to. To Art he lied and said he’d be out of town for a few more days, and then went to his bed and slept fitfully off and on for three days, eating peanut butter and canned beans when he could stay awake long enough. By day four he was able to face grocery shopping and sort through his voicemails. On the fifth day he called Art and arranged for him to come over for dinner on day six.
Jason handed Art a beer when he came into the kitchen. They talked amiably while Jason finished up making dinner. They’d got halfway through the meal before Art asked him if he’d ever got hold of Alex. “Yeah, I did,” said Jason.
“Really,” said Art, genuinely surprised. “Do tell.”
“I was given a crash course for wannabe porn actors by Alex, and then I was offered a job by his boss,” said Jason simply.
“Dude!” enthused Art, obviously impressed. “Are you going to take it?”
