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The Organisation: The Organiser
As we already know, the men and women running the Organisation did not see it just as a tool to make money, they also took great delight in the countless activities their work provided. All of the leading members of the Organisation were rich, richer than most other people could think of, some really filthy rich.
What they all wanted was the thrill of conquest, other companies, parties, countries.
And: People.
An author once had written that even the most secretive intelligence agencies had well known names, like the CIA, MI6, the Mossad, the old KGB and others.
Those names were somehow also symbols, symbols the governments used to fan fear among the people. Only the Chinese intelligence agency was so secretive that not even it’s name was known to the public.
The Organisation was different. The only thing it had in common with the Chinese agency was that it also had no name.
Even more so, it didn’t even really seem to exist. It was a monster under the bed, a goliath lurking in the shadows. The leaders did nothing to promote their work, did not advertise, did not tell anyone, not even spreading details of ‘The Organisation’ by word of mouth.
People simply said: “I know someone…..”
The leader of the Organisation’s spiders web stored not only flesh but information as well, information they used as ‘favours’ in business deals – just like they used sexy young boys. It was all perfectly well hidden as no one really knew who was a member of the Organisation or if it even existed.
Callum Masters, for example. He asked a well known manager to promote him, and that man, Mr. John Meyers, did just that. The methods the man used were extreme, no doubt about that, but not uncommon and not even hidden.
The clean-cut cornfed farm-boy, the straight wet dream of every girl and several mothers in his small town disappeared, and Callum Masters was broken and rebuilt to show his true identity, his inner toy-boy, the gay sub that needed guidance and help to make the right decisions.
No hidden, shadowy organisation was behind John Meyers, he was a self-made man.
In fact, however, he did have a safety net that helped him, secretive, covert, helping him with the drugs he needed to brainwash his boys, helping him with money, even with the right clients and the right willing boys.
Organiser One, the head of the whole system, was someone nobody would have even guessed.
Man or woman, it made no difference. The symbol that was ‘Organiser One’ was used for each gender. If a leader got tired, he or she simply appointed a successor and retired.
When Callum Masters was in training, the current ‘Organiser One’ had videos of his ordeal at his disposal, delivered by sources that were untraceable. Not even John Meyers knew who watched Callum as he was was worked on. The ordeals the young man had to live through were highly amusing to the man at the top, and even though Callum did not suffer the sexual tortures at the hands of this man, nor was he brainwashed to suit Number One’s special likes, the man still took great delight in watching the videos.
The man liked to watch the transition from a cocky farm-boy, from the quarterback that walked on water, to the sextoy, reduced to an empty shell of beautiful muscle and a dick to die for, a dick that could easily serve as a ‘weapon’.
The man deviously planted ‘suggestions’ John Meyers was happy to follow. The vacant look in Callum’s eyes, clearly visible in the latest pictures of the studly young man, showed that he had reached the right state of mind to be rebuilt with his new identity, a process ‘Organiser One’ loved the most.
On the other hand, the fellow leaders and the members of the ‘Organisation’ loved the money they made while enjoying the work they did.
Money corrupts, and even it may not be as powerful an incentive as the unlimited power those men and women felt while playing with their ‘puppets’, their toyboys, the money the Organisation made helped to provide those pleasures and prevent criminal investigation.
The money did not even come in through using the ‘models’. The Organisation made their money through much more profitable sources. People talk when they feel relaxed, and they talk to others in the same situation. Men and women alike talk about their business successes after they just shared the pleasure of using and abusing a tight boy ass or a deep throat, spending an evening of debauchery together. The legendary secret private islands really existed, as did the yachts, the planes, the mansions where a rich businessman could feel alive again after the invaluable aphrodisiac the forbidden fruit he had just picked and provided him with.
Not one of the people the Organisation helped to get what they wanted knew that he spilled the beans to help a secret system while he was high on drugs, alcohol and the lust he had just felt.
No one even realised that the profit of their insider trading could have been even higher if they had kept their mouths shut and simply done their deals.
No one knew that the proof of their wrongdoings was filmed and stored, safely, untraceable, unreachable by the law, but always ready if needed.
Young wannabe Pulitzer Prize winning Sean Masters never even scratched the surface while he was searching for his cousin, while he was searching for his great story, while he was searching for the ultimate sensational scoop.
He just found John Meyers, found evidence how his cousin Callum was fucked and made to suck dick, and also found that his inner demons, the reason for his envy of Callum, had been his secret wish to be the one to fuck Callum himself.
Sean Masters never wrote his article. Instead, John Meyers hired him, lured him with more sex and money than he could dream of. Sean Masters started to write scripts.
Sean soon became the genius behind the most successful porn flics ever produced. He soon was the man behind one of the biggest studios producing gay porn, and he never looked back to ‘Little Hick’, the sleepy farm-town deep in the backwoods of America.
He even made films with his cousin, and no one stopped him when those films exploited the model’s assets to the max. However, as was inevitable, Callum reached a certain level in his training and Sean Masters and the public lost interest. Other boys were the ‘new faces’ and bodies Sean Masters’ studio used.
One film, for example, was a fantasy about boys at a private boarding school. The boys, the script said, were unruly, hard to handle, often already having been dealt with by the law. Their parents had given up, and passed the ‘lost causes’ over into the hands of well-trained professionals.
Little did Sean Masters know that some of the boys he used for filming in fact were real ‘lost causes’, boys signed into a system that would break and rebuild them.
The script followed the idea of forming a particular boy into a willing, useful asset to society.
Sean Masters did not know the boy, did not know he was an orphan or that he was meant to be the heir of a huge fortune and a big company. The boy’s uncle had sent his nephew to ‘school’.
The scene was carefully set. The studio often filmed on location in real schools, huge mansions, wonderful beaches or expensive yachts.
Today the script laid out that a student should be trained by the Principal, right in the Principal’s office.
The script described the scene in vivid detail:
“Dylan was in the Principal’s office like several times before…….“
Dylan, the boy they used for the film, was indeed a truly magnificent specimen. Someone had invested a great deal of time and money to form the boy’s spectacular body. His face was handsome, his muscles breathtaking, his ass round and small and tight, and he had a dick to die for. It had been his own perverted uncle who had enrolled the boy into a pervy institution, a so called ‘school‘ was nothing but a hellhole for the boys and heaven for the perverted men that ran it and much more the people who visited it.
Dylan, however, was dead inside. His eyes were dull, vacant, even though they sometimes showed lust, fear, pain, all a potential client wanted. Dylan was a well trained puppet that served others wishes.
Today, for the filming, he served a man who actually wasn’t even an actor. He was just a rich man who wanted to be an actor in a porn film, one just filmed for him. The man played the school’s Principal with gusto, doing to the unruly ‚student‘ he needed to punish whatever crossed his mind.
The script said: “’Principal Miller‘ never got tired of telling people that he took a great interest in the boy’s education. He was always busy trying to do the best possible job of making sure Dylan would learn to be the a useful member of the society.“
While the cameras rolled, many of them perfectly hidden, a fantasy came to life.
The elderly man in his three piece suit worked up quite a sweat trying to keep up with the muscular boy, a task he had eagerly looked forward to.
Dylan hung naked from cuffs on short chains, suspended by steel cables dangling from the ceiling, and with the push of a button the Principal could lower the boy or pull him up higher, make his arms and legs stretch until the beautifully built boy was exposed like Leonardo Da Vinci’s famous study of the male torso, the drawing of the naked muscular man.
In fact, the ‘Vitruvian Man‘ was nothing compared to the spectacular athlete the man now had in front of him.
The school spared no expense when it came to the means of ways to teach a boy.
The young athlete panted. The Principal had stopped whipping his back, ass, and his fully hard cock and swollen balls, and the whip-marks burned.
Now, however, Mr Miller had prepared a new method of teaching the boy. He had crocodile clamps and a cleverly engineered device using electricity to make the boy’s body mildly twitch or heavily trash, by direct manipulation of the muscles.
As the Principal attached the clamps to his swollen nipples, Dylan moaned and asked the question the Principal wanted to hear: "Sir, please, let me cum!"
The Principal smiled lewdly as he heard Dylan plead. The boy knew his teacher would not let him off the hook so easily, as the man closed the nipple-clamps on his tender flesh.
"Auurrghmm god sir...." Dylan moaned. The Principal loved to hear the pain in the muscle-boy’s voice.
"Aurghm please I do anything … don’t do this to me"
The principal watched Dylan toss and turn, still helplessly hanging from the ceiling, legs spread and held wide open by the set of ankle-cuffs and short chains. The man set the electronic device so that it automatically controlled the current flowing through the boy’s nipples and sat down to watch and chat with some men online.
He read the comments and saw that men paid to watch boys get worked over hard, they even suggested what the boys should go through during such a display of sexual abuse.
Dylan grunted, his muscles tight: "Aurghm please no more Sir … aurghmm … I can’t take no more!"
The Principal watched as the boy’s muscles tightened and relaxed, remotely controlled by the merciless algorithm of the machine, like a puppet on a string. He already had a hard-on he worked through the fabric of his well tailored trousers.
He knew countless men online watched in awe as the boy’s well trained body gave them a spectacular show. The Principal had added more clamps to the boy’s balls, so Dylan’s dick now jumped when the setting gave him short, sharp, hard shocks. Always a scientist, the teacher knew the current flowed out of the boy’s body through the cuffs and the steel cables, setting up a perfect loop, working the boy over and over.
Dylan grunted as Mr. Miller switched the machine off. He hung limp in the restraints.
"Please Sir... please... untie me… I do anything. You can fuck me Sir.... .or I can suck you… I do all you want!"
The Principal let his hands slide over the pumped up muscles of the young hot athlete.
He smiled: "We have great plans for you, son.... elaborate plans. If you are willing to play nicely, you might even have fun being part of those plans."
Dylan just moaned as the Principal’s hands caressed his sore muscles. The older man pushed another button, and Dylan was lowered to the ground. He was too tired to even stand, his muscles could not support his weight, so he just sank to his knees.
The Principal uncuffed him and opened the ankle-cuffs as well. Dylan was covered in sweat as he knelt naked on the floor, his dick still fully hard and oozing pre. Mr. Miller was delighted to see how well all the experimental drugs worked on the boys body.
Simpson Pharmaceuticals, a company which had sponsored the school for years now, provided the pills the members of the schools board tested on the boys, and they were always coming up with new substances to test.
Mr Miller always looked forward to make the boys even more obedient, more athletic, more sexually aroused. The school provided a steady stream of sexy and easy to handle boys for the huge market out there.
He addressed Dylan: "You wanted to suck my dick, boy... why don't you go to work?"
"Uhg uhm yessir... " Dylan grunted out the answer as he realised the Principal stood in front of him, trousers open, and his dick sticking out his fly.
Dylan scooted over on his knees. He did not bother to stand up. As his sexy pouty red lips closed around the Principal’s dickhead, the man moaned and his hands worked Dylan’s short unruly hair. The boy did not see that the man had a little handheld camera and filmed the boy’s face as he sucked dick.
Mr Miller caressed the boy’s face as he made Dylan really suck the dick deep down into his tight throat. The boy’s countless hours servicing men’s dicks had clearly made him an expert cocksucker. His own cock was hard as steel, a thing the man loved to see, while he concentrated on his task, on sucking and licking the cock in front of him.
Soon the man came hard, panting and moaning.
„CUT!“The one word ended the fantasy. The man who had played the Principal slowly returned to reality, his orgasm fading as his cock was softening. He caressed the boy’s face. Dylan or whatever the boy’s real name was still knelt between the man’s legs as two handlers helped him up and dragged him away.
As usual, Mr Miller marvelled how the school’s experts had moulded a young sexy colt into a well-trained toy to be used. The man was now an actor, he was someone who had uttered a wish and had it come true.
Someone had heard about this idea, this secret dream, and Mr. Miller had his dream come true. The man who made it possible received a small favour in a business transaction and Mr. Miller received the only copy of a professionally produced hardcore porn film that he was the star in, together with the wet dream of a boy he had chosen out of a catalogue of sexy boys.
Another day in the world of the secret ‘Organisation‘ had ended with the best possible outcome, a well pleased client and a most profitable business transaction.