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The Hollywood Agency Book -7-
Chapter 23: "The Plot thickens"
"You're late."
"Sorry. We got kind of held up." Taylor looked blandly at the boy in front of him. He had never liked Troy and, over time, he'd come to realize that the dislike was mutual. Of course, that didn't keep John Meyers' son from nailing Taylor's ass whenever the model had to spend a weekend with the Meyers. If anything, it probably increased the little prick's enjoyment. It was bad enough having to play the pussy for his old man. Having to service his son, too, was a real pain in the butt.
Literally.
Fortunately, it wasn't Taylor's or Kerry's pussy that was on the line today.
Taylor cast his eyes down Troy's body. Clothing wasn't optional when you stayed at Meyers' - it was forbidden, not only for his guests but for Troy as well.
So Taylor was used to seeing Troy walking around bare-assed naked. Used to seeing his hard dick bobbing in the air, too. Looking closely at it, however, he saw the unmistakable signs of fresh anal slime.
"I see you started without us," Taylor jibed, keeping his eyes on Troy's crotch.
"Fuck," Troy snorted. "I started in on our little whore Friday night. Can't even count how many loads I've dropped up his leaking boy twat since then. Almost as many as my old man. I have to give the bitch credit though: He's still amazingly tight, given all the dick he's already taken. He's got an amazingly resilient fuck-hole – kind of like our friend Kerry here."
Troy loved to see Taylor's face harden to a mask, hiding his feelings as he mentioned Kerry. He could read the emotions Taylor tried to hide and it amused him immensely.
"Speaking of which," Troy continued with a malicious grin, turning his head to look at the redhead, "how's your hole holding up, Kerry? Taylor hasn't stretched it out of shape yet, has he? He's got some major meat between his legs. Course, that's what you like about him, isn't it?"
"Watch your mouth," Taylor angrily intervened as Kerry's skin turned a bright crimson.
"Sorry," Troy quickly replied in a mockingly apologetic tone, openly faking remorse. "I was just asking."
"Anyway," he continued, turning back to Kerry, "you won't have anything to worry about today. It's not your pussy on the block – it's Callum's. Maybe you can pay him back for the way he reamed your twat-hole on Thursday. He really did a number on your butt. Fucked you real good. I know it got my juices going just watching him do you. Taylor's too, I suspect."
Again he openly teased the two boyfriends, and was on the verge of feeling Taylor's fist. Kerry's blush deepened and Taylor scowled again, but before he could say anything, Troy turned around and started walking away.
"You can drop your stuff on to the pile," he called back over his shoulder "We're all out at the pool."
Taylor and Kerry stepped over to the pile of clothes strewn on the floor just next to the door. Judging from the size of it, Taylor figured there must be quite a crowd out back. Taylor quickly added his own clothing to the collection and then watched as Kerry stripped down.
He couldn't help but notice that his lover seemed visibly upset by Troy's barbs.
"Hey, Ker," he soothed his lover in a soft voice. "Don't let that little prick get to you. You know what an asshole he is."
"Yeah, I know, Tay," Kerry admitted. "I shouldn't let him bother me. It's just... I didn't think the word about us would get out... at least not so soon."
"What do you care, Ker? Nobody gives a damn what that little fucker thinks."
"Oh, it's not him, Tay," Kerry explained. "It's the other guys. What are they going think about us.... being together, I mean?"
"Ker, Ker," Taylor soothed him, his hand in his boyfriend's hair.
"They're not going to think anything about it. None of them will give a shit. I mean, it's not like they don't know you're gay. That's pretty obvious, Ker, at least to guys in the business like us."
Kerry smiled, a little sheepishly. "I guess you're right, Tay. I was more concerned about you. I mean, what are they going to think about you being with me?"
"They won't think anything of it. I know these guys: They don't care about sort of that stuff. They won't give a shit, really." Taylor paused. "Except maybe for Jackson."
"Jackson's going to be upset?" Kerry asked with surprise.
"Fuck, no," Taylor replied, laughing.
"He's going to love it. He's always told me that I was nothing but a little faggot at heart, just waiting for the right guy to come along to settle down and play house with. Guess that black bastard was right all along. Jacks is going to have a ball when he hears the news."
Taylor looked at Kerry, his deep brown eyes twinkling.
"C'mon, kid," he finally said, "we better join the party before someone comes looking for us and finds us doing the 'dirty' right in the middle of Meyers' entryway."
"Besides," he added, taking Kerry's hand, leading him to the back of the house,
"I've got some serious payback to administer and I don't want to miss out on that. I'm going to teach that fucker Callum what it's like to get power-fucked. When I've finished, I want you to do the same. I don't want you going soft on that asshole. He's only getting what he deserves." "Don't worry about me, Tay," Kerry assured his lover.
"I haven't forgotten how he treated me. I want to show him that a 'little faggot' can fuck just as hard as a straight stud. You just watch the way I pound his pussy, Tay. Just watch."
"Oh, I intend to Ker," Taylor laughed. "I intend to. And I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it."
He squeezed Kerry's hand and moved to the back door, leading onto the pool deck. In his mind he could already see his lite, tightly muscled boyfriend's skin glistening with sweat as he worked the dumb arrogant jock Callum's ass, making him grunt and moan, scream and plead for mercy.
When Taylor and Kerry stepped out on to the sun-drenched deck from the darkness of the house, they were momentarily blinded. They stood there for a few moments waiting for their eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. Taylor shielded his eyes with his hand and looked out at the pool.
"Look likes a full house," he noted. "A dozen guys, probably, but I don't see the guest of honor."
Just then, they both heard a loud groan, followed by a plea. Callum seemed to like what happened to his pussy: "Fuck me harder, Sir. Fuck my bitch pussy harder."
Turning to their right, they saw Callum stretched out on a hammock, his arms and legs held wide apart by leather restraints, his ass being violently pummeled by Cary. He was grinning stupidly like he was drunk or on drugs, taking a fat cock with low grunts and high pitched screams.
"That's right, you fucking bitch whore," they heard Cary sneer, not missing a beat as he plowed his huge meat in and out of Callum's ass. "Beg for it. Beg me to fuck the shit out of your fucking bitch twat."
Kerry and Taylor looked at each other with amused surprise. It was hard to believe but somehow, over just a few days, Meyers and Troy had managed to turn a raging homophobe into a cock-hungry fuck-boy. While they watched the scene, however, they realized that the situation wasn't quite the way it had first seemed to be.
Oh, yeah, it had sounded as if Callum was enjoying himself, begging to be fucked harder while squealing with pleasure. Then, when you looked at the boy's face, it was obvious that his squeals were squeals of pain not pleasure, that despite his continuing pleas for Cary to fuck him 'harder' and 'faster', Callum was, in fact, writhing in discomfort, the tears flowing freely down his face as his boy-hole was savagely brutalized by Cary's 11-inch horse-cock.
Taylor knew from previous occasions that the sling was perfectly located between several cameras mounted on the beams around it. The fuck was planned, the text rehearsed. Callum was clearly under the impression that he needed to learn how to be convincing, how to play the sub boy bitch loving being fucked. He wanted to look like a flaming gay enjoying the fuck.
The contrast between the boy's verbal pleadings to be fucked harder and harder and the contortions of his face between the smile and the pained face that showed he was in obvious agony was almost laughable.
Taylor could only wonder what mind-games John Meyers and his twisted son had run on the boy. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for Callum. Almost, but not quite.
Just then, Meyers caught sight of the two models standing in the doorway. He motioned them over. Kerry and Taylor had just started wending their way across the pool deck when they heard Callum shout, "Fuck my cunt. Fuck it hard, sir. Make it hurt."
Judging from the shriek that immediately followed, Cary was doing just that.
"I'm sure you know everyone, Taylor," Meyers said as they reached the man who was sitting in the shade of an umbrella, surrounded by various of his working boys, "but, Kerry, you may not. So why don't you introduce yourself."
The newcomers had seen the other boys already, one standing in the shade, evidently waiting for his turn to fuck Callum, the other two laying by the pool.
There were three models there that Kerry hadn't met before – Sax, Jared and Leon – and Kerry quickly made their acquaintance, each one ignoring Kerry's proffered hand and instead wrapping him in a tight bear-hug, as Meyers looked on smiling.
It was obvious that he expected his boys to be touchy-feely with each other. They were, after all, working boys.
'Modesty,' Taylor had reminded Kerry, more than once, 'is the last thing a guy in our line of work needs.' Kerry knew he shouldn't feel self-conscious about this close physical contact, but it was still awkward for him to embrace naked men who were all sporting full erections while his partner stood there watching.
Kerry knew he was being silly. It was only going to be a matter of time before he'd be having full-blown sex with each one of these guys, very possibly while Taylor was similarly occupied. Having sex, with each other and with total strangers, was their job. Kerry knew that and he accepted that – at least intellectually, but actually doing it, particularly when Taylor was watching, was going to be a whole new ball game.
Fortunately, once the introductions were completed, the guys sitting around the table quickly returned to the conversation that had been interrupted and Kerry and Taylor just pulled up a couple of chairs and listened in.
Kerry had already discovered that when two or more models got together the prime topic of discussion was almost invariably their work and today was no different. Meyers had apparently been expounding on his future plans for Callum. It was obvious that he had marked the boy for special treatment.
"Are you saying," Sax asked, "that you're going to keep him in chastity permanently, Sir?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Meyers replied grinning wickedly. "For the foreseeable future, I'm planning on marketing Callum in his chastity cage."
"Then how can he top a client?" Sax pressed.
"He can't," Meyers agreed. "He's going to be marketed as an exclusive bottom."
"But doesn't that limit his value to the agency?" questioned Jackson, now joining the conversation.
"Won't it hurt the bottom line if he can't top? No pun intended," he quickly added as the other models groaned. Jackson really didn't give a damn what John Meyers wanted to do with Callum – he could make Callum a full-time piss-bitch for all Jackson cared – but he was interested in hearing how the Boss was going to justify his plan.
After all, every time Jackson wanted to be marketed as top only, Meyers wouldn't hear of it because, he claimed, it would limit Jackson's marketability.
Admittedly, Meyers now charged a premium for those who wanted to fuck Jackson, half of which went to Jackson. However, the boy would just as soon forego the extra cash and not have to get fucked.
Meyers, however, was always adamant in requiring Jackson to take any bottoming requests from clients willing to pay the extra charge.
The subtext of Jackson's question was not lost upon Mr. Meyers, and he was prepared for it.
"I don't think it will have any impact on Callum's 'bottom line' as you put it. At least not at first. The interest on the website is already incredibly high and virtually every email I've received has been sent by subscribers interested in fucking him - 'fucking the shit out of him' is how most of them put it.”
He grinned:
“I'm sure it's going to be a long time before the interest in fucking his pussy wanes to the extent where his inability to top affects the agency's ability to market him. If and when that time arrives, I'll revisit the way I market him."
He didn't have to tell his boys that Callum might even be sold by then, depending on his behavior.
"Admittedly," he continued, trying to forestall a different line of questioning, "a lot of guys who top enjoy seeing their bottom to shoot a load when they are screwing his twat, particularly when the bottom's a straight guy like Callum, who obviously doesn't enjoy getting fucked. I already have plans in the works to accommodate those individuals on an ad hoc basis."
Meyers left it at that. He had no intention of explaining how he was planning on making more money by letting clients pay a premium to rent the key to Callum's cock-cage. Knowing his boys, he was sure that a number of them would be more than willing, if extra money was in the offing, to have themselves marketed the same way – though they wouldn't want to stay in chastity during their down time, that was for sure.
For now, at least, Meyers had no intention of marketing any of his other boys in a cock-cage.
He was sure that its very uniqueness would make it more attractive to Callum's customers – both on the website and through normal bookings – and he didn't want to undercut that allure.
"Boss, isn't it going to be really rough on Callum to spend week after week in chastity, at the same time as he's going up on the block and being booked for private sessions?" Leon asked.
"I mean, I'm as straight as the next guy, but even I have had moments when a well-hung dude was pounding away at my prostate and I really couldn't control myself. Sometimes, I find it really hard to control my urge to cum and have to wait before the client wants to see me shoot. Going through that day after day without ever being able to get off would drive a guy like me nuts."
"That would be fine by me if it concerns Callum," Taylor ventured. "That fucker deserves everything he gets."
"Jesus, Tay," Jackson remarked. "That's pretty harsh. I mean we know he's an asshole and all that, but what did he ever do to you? Use too much teeth when he was sucking you off?"
"It's not what he did to me, Jacks," Taylor began responding to his friend, "it's what he did..."
Abruptly, Taylor shut up. He had been about to say it was what Callum had done to Kerry. Just saying that, of course, would have made it perfectly obvious to everyone in the group that he was involved with Kerry.
He didn't mind sharing that information with guys he was good friends with, like Jacks or Cary, but he wasn't quite ready to make it general knowledge.
After an awkward pause, Taylor simply said, "He such a fucking bigot. I mean, he deserves what's happening to him."
Taylor looked at Jackson and saw that his black friend was enjoying this immensely. It suddenly dawned on him that Jacks already knew about him and Kerry and had just been playing with him.
"Well, Saints be praised," Jackson exclaimed.
"Let me go get my 'God loves Fags' banner and the two of us can march with the 'Friends of Gays' contingent at the next Pride parade." His huge black cock seemed to like the idea, since he got hard as steel and oozed pre.
"You asshole," Taylor muttered under his breath, softly enough that only Jackson, who was sitting next to him, could hear.
"Fag lover," Jacks retorted, equally softly, and he added, "I'm happy for you, dude. I really am." Despite himself, Taylor couldn't help grinning at his friend.
While Jackson had pretty much thrown the entire discussion off point, Leon, for some reason, wasn't about to let it drop.
"But still," he began again. "Can Callum handle it – could any of us handle getting fucked day after day and not getting off? I mean when I fucked him his damn dick looked like it was ready to split the plastic. If he's this god-damned horny all the time when he's getting fucked, it must be really driving him crazy! It's pretty obviously painful as it is, his cock being jammed in that thing, being restricted and all.”
Leon was no eloquent man, but he really had to speak out about what he had in mind:
“What's it going to be like when he starts getting used to pain or if he ever gets to the point where he actually needs it? I mean, he could end up as one really twisted mother-fucker."
"I must say, Leon, the intensity of your interest in Callum's welfare is unexpected," Meyers rejoined, "especially seeing how the only time you've even had the opportunity to exchange any words with him was while you were banging the hell out of his pussy an hour ago."
Leon had been working for the Agency for more than three years so he wasn't put off by Meyers' attempt to change the focus from Callum to him.
"You're right, Sir, I don't know Callum. All I know about him is that he's good-looking well muscled jock with a big dick and a good fuck. Unfortunately, apparently he's a bigot, too," he added with a glance at Taylor.
"But what I also know, sir," he continued, turning back to face Meyers, "is that you constantly tell us that we should look out for each other – that we're a family. Obviously, Callum's going to be a part of this family and I'm just trying to look out for him like I would for Jackson, or Taylor, or Sax, or even Kerry, here, who I don't know either."
Leon evidently saw the prospect of marketing a heavily brainwashed masochistic pain-pig. When this worked, Meyers would certainly want to expand that line of business.
Kerry, who been sitting there quietly, taking it all in, was surprised by the older model's willingness to confront Meyers. Kerry was still new enough that he viewed the man with a certain amount of awe and fear. Obviously, other models were beyond that.
Meyers, however, seemed to take it in his stride.
"Your concern is noted, Leon," he responded, making it obvious that he'd heard enough on the topic of Callum and his chastity device.
"Don't worry," he added, "I'll be monitoring the situation very closely. In fact, Callum will be staying with me for the foreseeable future just so I can personally monitor his response. You can be sure that, if I feel that the pressure on Callum is too great, I will remove the chastity cage and allow him to empty his balls.”
He grinned at 'his boys' and knew they perfectly understood how much power he had over them:
“I already did it once yesterday and he shot off a massive load. I would imagine the reason he seemed so aroused to you, Leon, was because he's on the juice. You all know how that affects you. I want him real horny for his session tonight, so I've been keeping him on the juice full time."
There was dead silence at this last disclosure. Even Taylor had to wonder what it would be like to be locked into chastity, getting fucked repeatedly and being on the juice at the same time. The poor jock-boy was probably consumed by the need to cum.
They all knew the effect the Agencies' 'juice' had on them – they all took bottles of it along with them when they went out on assignments. During a twelve-hour session, no model could keep it up all the time without using pharmaceutical aids – and in that regard the juice was spectacular.
As Taylor had remarked to Kerry just the day before, when you were on the juice you could get it on with a one-legged hunchback like he was Zac Efron. One good-sized gulp of the juice and you'd be boned up for hours. The idea that Callum was on the juice full-time and also locked into a chastity cage was really perverse. They all saw Meyers for what he was: a sick pervert when handling Callum.
It had to be like having the worst itch you ever had and not being able to scratch it, and it would never stop itching as long as you were on the juice. Even Kerry with his limited experience had to figure that Callum would be crawling up the walls by the time he got to Walensky's.
The silence was finally broken by Cary, who had apparently finished with Callum's ass and quietly joined the group. Meyers looked at him with some surprise.
"You sure didn't take long, Cary," he said with a note of disapproval.
"What can I say," the lanky model replied nonchalantly.
"The kid's got a tight pussy and he got me off fast. I enjoyed him even if it was pretty obvious that he didn't enjoy me doing him. I didn't know there was some minimum time-limit I had to be in the saddle. I thought we were here to have a good time. Sorry if I screwed up, Sir."
While Cary's words had implied an apology, nothing in either his tone or his manner indicated any remorse on his part. In fact, Kerry had the distinct impression that Cary was pissed about something. The muscular man showed the face of one who was about to say what he thought, his hands balled.
It was also clear that the Boss wasn't particularly pleased by his model's attitude.
"I thought I had made it pretty clear that you were all here for a particular purpose – introducing Callum to the rigors of bottoming," Meyers said, in a clipped cadence that underlined his irritation.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," Cary replied with a bite of his own in his voice. "I hadn't realized this was a regular assignment and we were being paid for our time here. I thought this was just an afternoon party with friends and co-workers." Cary’s dick hung limp, but was still thick and impressive.
From where he was sitting, Kerry could see the flash of real anger in Meyers' eyes. For a moment you could see the man formulating a sharp retort, but then he obviously thought better of it. Kerry felt his mouth go dry as his fear of the man rose for a moment. Instead of doing anything against Cary, Meyers stood up and looked at his son.
"C'mon Troy," he directed. "Seeing how the boy's pussy is free," he said, glancing disapprovingly at Cary, "we can hone his skills handling a good spit-roasting."
"Sounds good to me, Dad," Troy immediately responded, still recovering from the shock of hearing that Callum would be staying at the house with him and his old man. He tried to tamp down the feelings of elation that threatened to overwhelm him.
Could it be that he'd been right? Could Callum be the one who was finally his ticket to freedom? Would he finally be able to shed his role as his dad's bed-bitch? He could only hope.
Feeling better than he had in months, Troy followed his father over to Callum's sling.
Even though he was a good five yards away from the boy's widely-spread legs, Troy could see the fresh cum dribbling out of the swollen and gaping ring in Callum's ass-cleft and splattering on to the floor below.
That boy was going to be sore as shit before he even arrived at Walensky's. Which was fine with Troy. Just imagining the long, agonizing night Callum had ahead of him was enough to get Troy's juices really flowing. His dick ached to fuck the formerly arrogant stud.
There wasn't anything Troy enjoyed more than fucking a straight dude's aching ass and watching him writhe in pain as Troy plundered his hole. Today, though, he was more than willing to let his old man play the stud.
He'd already decided that if Callum could displace him in his Father's bed, he'd be willing to forego ever screwing the boy's tight ass again. Knowing his Dad, that sacrifice probably wouldn't be necessary, which was great because Troy really enjoyed banging the dumb-fuck, but he'd be happy to give that pleasure up if that's what it took.
Right now, though, Troy was more than willing to assume the supporting role. He walked up to Callum's head and roughly jerked it towards him. Without saying a word, he proceeded to bury his hard boner deep down Callum's throat and then turned to watch as his old man, without the slightest preparation, buried his own hard cock to the hilt in Callum's already ravaged boy pussy.
Troy smiled in wicked contentment as Callum gurgled around the hard dick lodged in this throat.
The Boss' son loved to put boys or men in their places, especially bigger and more defined specimens, stripping them of their former macho might and glory, reducing them to a whimpering, quivering mass of solid muscles and still hard dicks, brainwashing them from a being full of spite and arrogance to a slave-like, submissive thing, ready to serve any superiors whim.
Troy, looking down over Callum's body, synchronizing his thrusts with those of his Father, began to brutally fuck the boy's face.
Meanwhile, back on the pool-deck, the Agencies' boys were involved in a heated discussion, scarcely aware of the muffled screams coming from the sling.
"Jesus, Cary," Jackson was saying, "you've got to be more careful with Meyers. You really pissed him off this time."
"Fuck him," the sandy-haired model replied with force.
"I'm sick of all this bullshit, Jacks. I really am. He thinks he's the fucking puppet master and we're all his puppets and all he has to do is pull our strings and we'll all dance around and do his bidding. Well fuck that shit."
"I'm not arguing with you about that, Cary," Jackson replied.
"You know I totally agree with you about that, buddy. He is a total prick. But he runs this agency and he can control the assignments you get. Piss him off enough, Cary, and you could end up with a weekend exotic gig."
"Let him try it," Cary said. "I'd quit before I'd take another one of those and he knows it. I did it once and it was disgusting. I told him then I'd never do it again and I wasn't kidding. You've never done one of those sessions, Jacks, but take it from me – it's sick."
"I'll take your word for it, Cary. I'm sure Meyers knows how you feel and what you'd do if he gave you that type of booking but, piss him off enough, he might do it just to get you to quit. That way, he'd get rid of you without having to fire you."
"You know, Jacks," Cary said in a calmer voice, "maybe it's time that I just hang things up. I've been doing this for six years and I've just about had it with Meyers. The money's great and I actually enjoy the work – I suppose it helps being gay – but I'm sick of being at his beck and call. This shit with Callum just epitomizes everything I hate about the man."
Cary closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts. His mind wandered to a weekend some years ago, as he was new to the agency, just like Kerry or maybe even Callum, full of huge dreams and with very little insight into a business that was all new and exotic.
Meyers had sent him to his first major booking, supposedly a photo shoot of beachwear on some island near the Turks and Caicos.
He had been picked up by a good looking guy who introduced himself as Jimmy, and they took an open Jeep to drive to the remote beach where the shooting took place. Cary had met an all male crew and soon had his first drink of several, not knowing Meyers had told the crew that he should be drugged out of his wits before the shooting could begin.
Cary remembered it vividly: He had heard a man speak. The man spoke words which Cary couldn’t quite make out, and then everything was dark.
No, not dark, there was something over his eyes… a blindfold.
Cary's head was fuzzy and confused. He realized he was standing up, and his arms were raised above his head. When he tried to lower them, he was unable to do so, and he heard the rattle of a chain, and he felt something cold and hard locked around his wrists.
He began to understand his situation. It was difficult because his head felt like it was full of cotton wool and his thoughts were slow. He could not really concentrate, and as he heard someone moan, it took him some time to understand the someone was himself.
He could feel cool air on his body, so he reasoned that he was naked. He tried to move his legs, but found them similarly restrained like his arms, with a spreader-bar holding them open. His dick was dangling freely, and suddenly he jumped as a hand touched his jewels, and he heard someone chuckle nastily.
Somewhere nearby muffled conversations could be heard. He tried to call out, but all he could do was moan and grunt. He realized he had a ball-gag in his mouth, and, without thinking, he began to pull on the chains above his head. He tugged until the metal bands around his wrists dug painfully into his flesh.
There was no give in them at all. He swallowed hard to get rid of the foul taste and his head started to clear slowly.
Cary by now could feel his body again. He stood with wide spread legs and raised arms, tied up high above his head. He felt the cold steel bands bite into his flesh, and he somehow knew it would hurt if he struggled, since the bands felt sharp.
He knew he was displayed in the form of an 'X', and he would not be able to stop anybody from abusing him.
This was certainly no plush pink play cuffs bullshit, this was the real deal. The hood over his head muffled the sounds, but, with his head clearing, he understood more and more of the voices around him. The men sounded cheerful, excited, giddy to see him naked and helplessly exposed.
There was blood in the water, speaking figuratively. The sharks zoned in on him. Meyers had tossed him into a pool full of them.
Suddenly a louder voice began to speak. Cary thought he should recognize it, but he couldn’t recall where from, or to whom it belonged.
“Gentlemen, as always it’s a pleasure to welcome you to our special event this evening. As you know we will be introducing you to our new boy. Those of you who have seen him already will, I am sure, agree that he is a particularly fine specimen."
Cheers erupted.
" He's a wrestler, so he's well muscled and strong, but he also swims and jogs to train his perseverance and stamina, both well needed for a long night of fun."
The announcer fondled Cary's chest to emphasise his next point:
"Please note the superbly formed pecs with those hard and pointy nipples, seemingly waiting for some sharp clamps and some cute little weights."
Cary grunted as the man pinched his nipples, but the hands already wandered, while the announcer pointed out the next part of Cary's spectacular physique:
"His cock is a thick meaty 10 inch rod, ready to get sucked and fondled, but also to be whipped and manhandled to make him grunt nicely."
The announcer paused for effect, and the men watching and waiting were breathless, waiting to hear more about this handsome object of desire.
" As you know our young handsome friend was carefully selected and tested. He's clean, virile, perfectly healthy and, above all, up until now has only ever topped women, so ... HIS ASS IS VIRGIN! "
This time the audience did not hold back, they hollered and cheered and whistled.
"He will be a very welcome addition to our stable of boys.” Cary wondered who the voice was talking about.
He still did not understand that is was him who was tonight’s guest of honor, simply the toy to use and abuse for a group of powerful perverts. The 'exotic night' as Meyers had called it was not named after the beautiful island where it took place, but because it would be full of the most perverted, or, as these men called it, 'exotic' games.
“Now as you are all aware, when we introduce a new boy, especially a sweet virginal piece of ass like this one, we hold an auction, and the winner is getting to pluck the cherry!”
Cary took a deep breath as he shook his head to get the thought out of his head. Those days were over for him.
"Look, guys," he continued, looking around the table, "I know you all think Callum's an asshole. Maybe he is, I don't know. What I do know is that the dude hates getting fucked, I mean that's obvious. But he's lying up there in a sling, getting gang banged by the biggest guys in the Agency, because Meyers has twisted his mind so deviously, that the dumb fuck thinks this is his ticket to fame and fortune."
"But it is!" Taylor interrupted. "It is his ticket to fame and fortune. That dumb-fuck is going to end up making more money than he ever dreamed, more than any of us, probably. Fuck, he will be famous, too. Maybe not with the general public but definitely with that small subset of rich perverts who have the desire and the money to rent good-looking straight-boys to play out their carnal fantasies. He's going to achieve fame and fortune, exactly the way he deserves it – at the end of a hard dick."
"My God, Tay," Cary exclaimed, obviously taken aback by the vehemence of Taylor's response. "What did he ever do to you?" Cary asked, unknowingly echoing Jackson's earlier question.
Jackson couldn't help but smile at that.
"I'll fill you in later, buddy," he told Cary. "But Tay does have a point," he continued. "I hate getting fucked, as everyone here knows, but I do it. What's the difference?"
"The difference, Jacks," Cary responded, "is that you know exactly what's going on. You know what the score is at the agency. Just like we all did, long before any of us ever went out on an entertainment assignment.”
He paused briefly, before he went on:
“Oh, sure, maybe at first – maybe those first few weeks with the Agency when we were stripping down for Meyers and he was getting his jollies at our expense and filming us for his website – we didn't really understand what we were getting ourselves into.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath:
“Long before any of us went up on the auction block, we all figured out that the Agency was not only selling our faces and physiques – it sold our pussies, and mouths and cocks. Every one of us realized that we were being peddled as boy-whores and the agency was our pimp!”
Everyone knew what was coming now: “But we did it anyway, because the money was soo good."
He closed his eyes again and took another deep breath. The memories of the “Exotic Night” seemed to be as clear as if the events had been yesterday. They all had spent nights like that, tied up helplessly, sometimes even two of them at the same time and still unable to fight back, enduring whatever the pervs came up with.
"Well, some of us may have done it because we found out we really liked it, too," Jackson added with a smirk.
"Touche, Jacks," Cary nodded at his friend. "Touche." He knew by now that he got a real kick out of things like that.
"But that's the difference, Jacks," Cary went on.
"We knew what was going on. But that dumb fuck up there," he said, gesturing with his thumb, "doesn't have a clue. He actually thinks that all the shit he's going through is merely the steamy side of modeling and acting that everyone has to go through to make it big in the movies.”
Cary looked at them: “Meyers actually let it slip that Callum thinks that this is what Mark Wahlberg did to make it big. Seriously."
Hearing his friend continuing to express sympathy for Callum, Taylor couldn't keep quiet. "You know, Cary, everyone knows what a real sweet-heart you are."
"No, I mean it," he added when a number of the guys at the table, including Jacks, actually snickered, "Cary is probably the nicest guy in the agency and we all know it. But man," he continued turning back to the blond, "you're wasting your time worrying about that dude. Callum is a fucking homophobe who wouldn't give you the time of day if he knew you were gay. Just ask Kerry."
"So what, Tay?" Cary replied, obviously unimpressed by Taylor's argument. "I was a complete homophobe until I discovered I was gay. I was stupid just like Callum is now. And a bigot to boot. Look how I turned out," he added with a flourish, adding a note of frivolity into a discussion that was becoming a little too serious.
"Cary," Jackson said, "you were never as stupid as that boy is."
After a slight pause, he added with a sly grin, "but you're still a bigot."
"Say what?" Cary asked with real surprise.
"You're a bigot," Jackson repeated. "Didn't you just tell me the other day that black dick was better than white dick?"
"No. That's not what I said," Cary responded. "What I said was that your black dick felt better than any white dick I'd ever had up my pussy, and that's true. But that's not bigotry – that's fact."
"Well, I certainly can't argue with that, Cary," Jackson agreed, winking.
Now that the temperature of the discussion had lowered, Cary had one last thing to say:
"Look guys. All I'm saying is that I don't like being part of the twisted game Meyers' running on Callum. If he wants to mind-fuck the kid, that's fine. I just don't like being forced to help him do it."
Cary pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “C'mon Jacks, let's shoot a game of HORSE."
"Usual stakes?" Jackson asked.
"Yeah," Cary replied as he headed off towards the small basketball pad, set up just beyond the pool area. "I win, I get fucked. You win, you get to fuck me."
"Sounds good to me," Jackson agreed as he followed behind his buddy, admiring, as he always did, his friend's great ass. And he thought, as he had on countless occasions, 'if only that boy had a cunt and a pair of boobs, I'd be set for life.'
Joe E. Brown had famously noted in "Some Like It Hot," that 'nobody's perfect.' For Jackson, Cary was damn close.
The question he'd never been able to resolve for himself, though, was whether close was good enough.
The same thought was occurring to Taylor as he watched his two friends head off. They made such a perfect pair. If only Jackson wasn't such a hard-core straight dude. And then Taylor turned to look at Kerry and he felt his hard cock stir. 'Thank God, I'm more flexible than that,' he said to himself, though right then his rigid cock felt anything but flexible.
The departure of Jackson and Cary left Sax, Leon, Jared, Taylor, and Kerry sitting around the table.
There was a momentary pause before Sax began to speak.
"Look, Tay," he began with a glance at Taylor, "I'm pretty much with you. I don't give a fuck what Meyers wants to do to Callum. But Cary's got a point. It's what I've been saying for a long time. Fucking Meyers treats us all like bloody servants. He tells us to go and we go, he tells us to bend over and we bend over. We're probably lucky he doesn't tell us when to take a shit. But who knows? Maybe that's coming soon."
The grunting and moaning from Callum just seemed to emphasize that point. By now everybody realized that they were numbed enough, so none of them was thinking twice about the way the new guy was treated, not by the Boss and his son, or by anyone of them, doing what Meyers wanted.
"Not again, Sax," Jared complained, speaking for the first time.
"Jarhead, hear me out," Sax answered.
Jared's mouth formed itself into a thin line and his lean, muscled body visibly tightened.
"First off, Sax," he said, his soft mountain twang bristling with anger, "the name is Jar-red not Jar-head. Jar-red, like in the color of the blood that's going to come gushing out of your nose if you get it wrong one more time."
"Excuse me," Sax replied, needling the former soldier. "I thought you Marine boys looked on the term with pride."
"Somehow, Sax," Jared responded, "when you say it I get the feeling you're not referring to my Marine background. I don't know, maybe it's just the way you squids talk. Anyway, my name is 'Jared' and I'd appreciate it if you learned how to pronounce it correctly."
His well defined muscles seemed to relax, but they all knew he was as fast as a snake if he wanted to show someone the ropes. His fists were weapons.
"But, regardless of how you pronounce it," Jared continued, "I'm not particularly interested in another Sax lecture on how much better off we'd all be if we just dumped the Agency and all went into business for ourselves. Shane tried that, if you remember, and things sure as hell didn't work out for him and I ain't particularly interested in following him down the rabbit hole."
Shane, a boy who wanted to work as a freelancer, had felt Meyers wrath immediately after he left the agency. He struggled for a while before he ended up as a cheap hustler working the cheap end of Hollywood Boulevard, doing cheap drugs, and now rested in a cheap coffin.
They all felt the cloud hanging over them, but Jared shrugged it off by saying:
"Now I'm not about to sit here and tell all you guys that John Meyers is the fucking Second Coming. He's got his problems – just like we all do. But he runs a damn good shop. I may be an ignorant jarhead, Sax, but if you ask me I think we've got it pretty good at the Agency.”
He took a deep breath as if he considered what he wanted to say next:
“I got me a nice little apartment, a bank account with more than $300,000 in it and a brand new truck. Now, where I come from, everyone would tell you I'm doing good – damn good. And I figure that in two or three years' time I'm going to have $500,000 saved up. Me. A fucking Jarhead hillbilly with half a million fucking bucks.”
He looked at his friends like he would not believe his own success:
“You guys know what I'm going to do then is quit this business? I move back to fucking Newcote, find me a willing woman with nice broad hips and breed me a passel of little devil dogs. And I'm going to spend the rest of my fucking life in those Tennessee hills living off the earnings I'm making now, as happy as a tick on a fat sow. And I ain't about to risk that for some glorified pipe-dream."
Jared stood up. "So you boys can count me out. I'm staying put. But I'll share with you a little piece of learning' I acquired growing up in Tennessee: The grass isn't always greener on the other side of the hill – sometimes, it's an open pit mine. If I'd wanted to be a miner I would have kept my ass home in Tennessee and never even joined the Marines."
He gave a curt nod and then, with a mumbled "I need to cool off," he dove into the pool. They all watched his tightly muscled body almost fly before he seemed to glide into the cool water without much of a splash. They all envied his skills. He made everything look graceful, and he never broke out in a sweat.
"That went well," Taylor observed tartly as Jared swam to the other side of the pool, seemingly needing a break.
Leon, for his part, just sat there and glared at Sax. "I told you not to press him," he finally said.
"Ah, fuck it," Sax replied, clearly unrepentant. "Jarhead was never going to join us anyhow."
"And why do you keep calling him 'Jarhead,' Sax?"
Leon asked, his own voice showing his irritation.
"You know he hates it. All you succeeded in doing was pissing him off."
"Fuck him," Sax said. "He's an asshole."
"No, he's not," Leon retorted. "I've worked with him a lot more than you and he's a stand-up guy. He's good at what we do and he doesn't make waves. Maybe you could learn something from him, Sax, if you ever stopped talking long enough to listen."
And, with that, Leon stomped off in the direction of the basketball court.
"You know, Sax," Taylor began, "we're trying to get as many guys as we can who want to go into business together and dump the Agency. There's bound to be a number of guys like Jared who aren't going to be interested. But it doesn't do us any good to get into fights with them. If anything, it just makes it more likely that one of them will spill the beans to Meyers."
Just as he said so, he saw John Meyers look over to the patio and the table under the umbrella. Still fucking the grunting Callum's ass, he still seemed to know what was going on.
"What the fuck is he going to do?" Sax asked, querulously, oblivious of Meyers watching them "Fire all of us?"
"No," Taylor agreed. "He wouldn't do that. What he might do though is fire one or two of us and figure the rest would get the message. That he might do."
Sax mulled that over for a while.
"Yeah," he finally conceded, "he could do that, I suppose." He sighed. "Okay, Tay," he finally agreed, "I'll soft-pedal things for a while. But it's frustrating being so close. I mean we've got five solid with us – you, me, Jacks, Cary, and Leon."
"I wouldn't be so sure about Leon," Taylor noted.
"Oh, don't worry about him," Sax assured the dark-haired model. Meyers pisses him off way more than I do."
"Well that still only leaves us with five," Taylor pointed out, "and we all agreed that we need a minimum of six and preferably seven or eight for the plan to work. What about Cort? You said he might be interested."
"You can forget Cort," Sax said, "I talked to him yesterday and he's now a definite 'No.'"
"What happened?" Taylor demanded, his brow furrowing.
“Don't look at me, Tay," Sax rejoined. "I didn't have anything to do with it. It seems that Ashley is pregnant again."
"Again," Taylor exclaimed. "Jesus Christ, how many is that, four?"
"Six at least," Sax corrected. "Maybe seven. I've lost count. I wouldn't be surprised if Cort has too."
"What is he? A fucking Catholic?" Taylor asked, obviously exasperated.
"He never learned about birth control?"
"No," Sax explained. "He's sure as hell not Catholic. But Ashley can't handle the pill and Cort hates using a rubber. And, apparently, that boy never shoots blanks. He told me when I talked to him that the way Ashley keeps popping the babies out the front he's going to be taking cock up his rear until he's fifty. I'm pretty sure he was joking."
Sax paused for a moment in recollection and then added:
"And then he told me it was probably time to start training Seth – that's his sixteen-year-old – to follow in the family business. That way, when he's eighteen he'll be fully trained and ready to go to work. To be honest with you, it didn't sound like he was joking about that." "His own son? No way," Taylor scoffed.
"I wouldn't be so sure, Tay," Sax countered. "Cort's always been a really free spirit when it comes to sex. Hell, he was twenty-eight, married with three kids, and straight as a board when he started working here, and he never had any problem taking dick up his man-hole. He always told me 'it's a job like any other and I'm glad to have the work.' “
Sax paused briefly:
“Fuck man, he's always the go-to guy for the exotic shit – of course, at thirty-five he can't afford to turn down any assignment, especially when it pays that much.”
“Banging his own boy? I really don't think he'd see that as a big thing. He'd just see it as preparing the kid for life and setting him up in a really lucrative field. And, at thirty-five, Cort's only got so many years left himself – he'd see it as planning for the future, too."
"Wow," Taylor just said when Sax was finished. He took a deep breath. The 'exotic' bookings ranged from animals to incest, and nobody in the Agency really liked them. Maybe Cort was an exception, and his oldest son certainly was cute as a button, a sporty lil fuck with a round ass. Taylor realized Cort maybe already made him workout his body to be one hot piece when the time was right, and, given the family tradition, the boy certainly had a big dick and was full of cum all day long.
They all had seen the boy, and they knew he was destined to be sold on the auction-block, sooner or later. He attended a few of the tamer pool-parties together with his Daddy Cort, and they looked more like brothers, good enough to eat.... or to pay to fuck the little hotty.
The guys had no idea that their thoughts were not far from reality, since Meyers already had equipped the boy's bedroom with hidden cams, and his Dad cut a nice share of the videos the Agency sold on the Darknet.
Taylor continued on:
"Well, regardless of what happens with his son, I guess we have to cross Cort off our list. But fuck, man, we're losing ground rather than picking up new recruits."
"I know, Tay. I know," Sax commiserated. "Maybe that's why I pressed too hard with Jared. I'm just getting desperate."
Kerry had been sitting there quietly, trying to absorb what was going on. From what he could piece together, it sounded as if a number of models were planning on leaving the agency and going out on their own.
"You guys are planning on setting up your own business, am I right?" he asked, wanting to get his understanding confirmed.
"We've been thinking about it, Ker," Taylor admitted, "but it's not easy, as you may have gathered. I told you how Meyers handles it when one of his models quits. The threat of cutting off any customer from access to the rest of his models has been good enough to keep even regulars – guys who hire the same model at least once a month – from continuing to patronize any model who bails. “
He thought for a second:
“After all, those guys generally like variety in their sex lives and even a model's regulars might not want to lock themselves into only hiring him. But some of us figured that if enough models left together and opened their own agency we might be able to lure a number of our regulars into sticking with us. To make it work, though, we probably need between six to eight models to make the regulars comfortable with abandoning Meyers. But, so far, we've only got five models who are prepared to do it."
Kerry thought for a moment. "Well," he finally said, "I could be the sixth. I'd be willing to go with you, Tay." To Kerry's considerable consternation, Taylor shook his head 'no.'
"Sorry, Ker, but that wouldn't work. You're too new to the business. Right now, you're still in the 'get-acquainted' stage with our customers. They're lined up to get a chance to have a go at you, I'm sure of that. But none of them really knows you yet. You haven't made the type of connection with individual customers that makes them want to hire you over and over again. Don't get me wrong, Ker," Taylor hastened to assure his lover, "with your looks and your personality, there's no question that you'll make those types of connections eventually. I don't have the slightest doubt that you're going to end up one of the most popular models in the agency. But right now, you haven't been working long enough to have any 'regulars' and those are what we need to make our plan work."
"Besides, Ker," Taylor added, taking Kerry's hand in one of his, "it wouldn't be fair to you to let you join us. All of us who are talking about leaving have been in the business at least two years. We've all built up a significant nest-egg to see us through the transition. You're just beginning to make the really big bucks. You're on track to make an enormous amount of money over the next two years and it would be criminal to let you risk that. Even if we got enough guys to make the plan viable, I wouldn't let you join us, Ker. Not for a couple years, at least."
Kerry turned to look at Sax, silently appealing to him. But Sax totally agreed with Taylor.
"He's right, Kerry. You wouldn't really be bringing much to the table if you joined us and you'd be risking way too much. Listen to your boyfriend, Kerry."
'Boyfriend?' Taylor thought. 'Boyfriend? What the fuck, does everyone in the agency know about me and Ker? Is it that fucking obvious?'
Taylor appreciated Sax's support, but he was flabbergasted that his relationship with Kerry seemed to be common knowledge already. Then, looking down and seeing the way he was holding on to Kerry's hand, he almost laughed out loud. 'Yeah,' he realized, 'it is that fucking obvious.'
Kerry was still formulating a response, when further discussion was aborted by the return of John Meyers and Troy, who was cackling as he recounted the spit-roasting they'd just given Callum.
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