Date: Wed, 04 Apr 2001 13:26:28
From: Ganymede
Subject: Pandora's Box XI

Pandora's Box XI,   by Ganymede and Christopher.


WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a man and a MINOR boy. We do not condone child abuse,  how-
ever boy-love as described in this story is an entirely  different
matter. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material
is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the
legal age for such material, do not read further! You have been
warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy
has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Feel free
to post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your friends. The
story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. It cannot be placed in
archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed
in any form that requires payment.

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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in
your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!



Pandora's Box XI: Sunday Evening.


When I awoke it was hours later and we were somewhere in LA in busy
Sunday traffic. I was no longer lying in his arms, but stretched out
beside him with my head on his thigh. There was a small damp patch
on his tuxedo trousers where I had been drooling on him. I wiped at
it absently, wondering whether I should apologize. He grinned and
made a deliberate study of my crotch. Then, as soon as I sat up, I
realized I was still naked. I did not care and I knew that he did not
mind either. This was how it was supposed to be when a man and a boy
were in love. I had nothing to be ashamed of with him.

Slowly I became aware that my butt itched. I resisted the
impulse to scratch. It was persistent. I wriggled against the
leather upholstery. I could not understand why it felt so itchy
around my anus.

"Steven?" I asked shyly.

I saw Steven's sly smile. If he had done anything to me back
there while I was asleep, he was not going to admit it. I gave up.
Whatever he had done to me, it was his secret.

"You should get dressed soon, Chrissie," Steven said.

"I should put that on?" I asked as I gestured to the tuxedo
that had been placed on the seat.

"Of course. We'll be there soon, Chrissie, so you need to
hurry. We're running behind schedule because of a traffic jam ear-
lier. I was hoping to go to a motel and straighten up, but we don't
have the time. We're going directly there."

I clambered across the car to the adjacent seat, glancing down
suddenly to see if the band that Steven had placed on me was still
there. It was. It had not been a dream. I giggled, aware that I was
naked and half-standing up in the back of the limousine, that there
was a gold and diamond band around my genitals that proved I
belonged to Steven. Through the windows I could see that there were
cars and trucks all around us. However, the windows were so darkly
tinted that no one could see inside. I remembered my underpants just
as the limousine lurched sharply. I held on to the seat so I would
not be thrown to the floor. I was not about to risk a return journey
to get them.

"My undies?" I said to Steven, pointing to the pile on the
floor where I had been sitting.

He did not bend down to pick them up, Instead, he smirked. "You
won't be needing them, Chrissie," he said with a shrug.

I searched through the clothes. There were no underpants there.
In addition to the clothes, there was a small plastic bag with studs
and cuff links, but there were no underpants.

"There's none here," I said. "Please, could you pass me mine?"

"No. I already said you won't be needing underpants."

The way he said it left no doubt that he was not going to be
trifled with. He was not in a bad mood. He simply did not want me
wearing underpants under the tuxedo. That did not make any sense to
me at all.

"Why?"

He smirked again. "Because I said so, Chrissie. Because you're
still a virgin, and while you're still a virgin, which won't be for
much longer by the way, I want you to wear nothing but white."

"But my underpants are white, Steven," I pointed out. "I'm
sorry," I added quickly. I had been told what to do.

"That's better, Chrissie. Don't ever forget! You underpants had
red trim on them. Besides, I wouldn't let you wear even if they
were all white. I'm know you're quite clean behind, so you
really don't need any underpants, do you?"

"Oh! I'm very sorry," I said miserably.

Steven looked smug for a moment and then he shook his head.
"Don't over do it, Chrissie. It's not like that. I'm not your mas-
ter. We're equals but for the fact that you're a boy. I expect you
to be obedient. I don't expect you to grovel."

"I'm sorry," I said glumly. Just when I thought I understood,
it appeared that I did not.

I started getting dressed. Putting on clothes without putting
on underpants first was a strange experience. Yet, in the absurdity
of it there was also a thrill. I had to smile to myself. Finally, I
started giggling as I pulled up the tuxedo trousers and tried to
figure out how to fasten the waist. There was a zipper, of course,
but there was also a flap that didn't seem to have any function
except to get in the way of the zipper being closed.

"What's the problem, Chrissie?" Steven asked.

I looked up, startled. His tone of voice had changed yet again.
Now, he sounded friendly again.

I smiled and he smiled back at me. "I can't get it done," I
said.

"Okay. Sweetie. Put on your shirt first and then come over
here. I'll do it for you. I expect it's the first time you've ever
worn a tuxedo isn't it?"

"Yeah. Like Mom has the money to take me to places where I need
a tuxedo."

Steven nodded understandingly. "Well, I do have the money. I
bought that for you because you'll be wearing it a lot from now on.
I only hope it fits properly."

"You bought it?" I asked in surprise.

It was obviously expensive, although how expensive I had no
idea. All I knew was that any clothes with an Italian label were
always expensive. Only my leather pants and silk shirt, where ever
they were, had labels like that. They had to have cost a lot of
money. Steven shrugged.

The shirt was almost too nice to put on. There was a line of
ruffles in a `Y' shape that came from the shoulders. The ruffles
joined on the chest and continued down to the waist. Right away I
could tell it was made of cotton, but the threads were very fine. It
was crisp, almost stiff, but it was incredibly smooth to touch. I
put it on very carefully. For a moment, while the cloth was cool, I
thought I was still naked.

"Okay, Chrissie, come over here now and bring that little plas-
tic bag and that other stuff on the seat with you," Steven instructed.

I clambered across the floor, keeping low down because every
time the limousine moved, I thought I would be thrown around. Keith
wasn't driving recklessly. He was trying to make up for lost time. I
clutched my trousers to my belly and kneeled in front of Steven. His
hands moved deftly, pushing the shirt down into place, giving my
penis a playful squeeze as he brought the flap over my genitals and
looped it over the hooks that I had not noticed. He closed the zip-
per for me, fastened the two silver buttons at the front, and
smiled.

"Don't you look beautiful?" He grinned. "Now for the studs,
Chrissie."

I could tell he was happy as he carefully inserted each stud
through the slots in the shirt where there should have been buttons.
They were polished silver and they flashed brilliantly. He added the
matching cufflinks through the shirt sleeves. He carefully placed the
little bowtie around my neck and adjusted the loop on the end
until it was right size. Finally, he attached the ruffled cumberbund
around my waist, making certain that it was just tight enough and
properly placed where my shirt went under the waist of my trousers.
As slender as I was, it accentuated my narrow waist. I glanced
down, beyond the cumberbund. There was almost nothing between
my legs, no bulge to show what was behind the zipper. The flap
concealed everything, yet I liked the flat, almost sexless look
that resulted.

"Okay, go put the jacket on," Steven said approvingly.

"Do I have shoes?" I asked nervously when I was safe on the
other side of the limousine and sitting down again.

At first, Steven either did not hear my question, or he was not
interested. He watched while I put on the beautifully tailored white
tuxedo jacket. It had sleek satin lapels and a tiny folded white
handkerchief in the pocket. He had already put his own jacket on.
Then suddenly, he sat up. My words had registered in his mind. He
frowned at me, at the world in general. Then he started to laugh.

"What's up?" I asked timidly.

"Shoes! I forget to get fucking shoes!"

It was funny. There we were, sitting in the back of a limousine
going to the Academy Awards ceremony, both with tuxedos on and look-
ing very dashing, and one of us, me, did not have shoes to wear.

"There's no time," Steven finally managed to say when his
laughter had ebbed enough to allow him to speak. "We'll be there in
just a few minutes. There is absolutely no way we'll be able to find
white patent-leather shoes in your size on a Sunday, even in L.A."

"What are we going to do?" I asked sadly.

I could see what was coming next. We wouldn't go. Specifically,
I would not go. I would have to wait in the limousine with Keith
until the ceremony was over. Steven shrugged. He was clearly
unhappy. He sighed.

"I could wear my sneakers," I suggested hopefully.

"Sneakers with a tuxedo?" He sounded incredulous.

I giggled. "Sure! Why not? I'm a kid. Kids are supposed to dumb
things. How many kids go to the Oscars anyway?"

Then, his sour expression faded as he thought about it. He
still was unhappy but I had given him an option. Our only option.

"You know, you might be right. The thing is, I really wanted
you to make a splash, Chrissie. Like a debutante coming out. I
wanted everyone to see you and know that you belonged to me."

"What's a debutante?" I asked awkwardly.

Steven shook his head. The limousine was already in the delivery
line. There were only half a dozen cars in front of us because
we were so late.

"Later, Chrissie. We don't have time. Put on your sneakers and
we'll hope no one notices."

I rushed, throwing on socks and ramming my feet into my shoes
as fast as I could. The door was opened by a valet and Steven led
the way out into a hundred exploding flashes of light. We had
arrived. The camera flashes were still going off when I climbed out
of the car and stood beside him. Actually, it was more to his rear
so I was hidden in his shadow. There were so many people. Red carpet
stretched before us. There were television crews, dozens of them all
over the place. Policemen. Reporters. Tourists. Thousands of tour-
ists. Tens of thousands of them, all craning their necks to see the
celebrities. And then there was me, cringing behind Steven Kaufman
like a frightened puppy.

I stood there, blinking in the bright lights, feeling awed. All
around me were famous people. There was a man and a women taking
turns shaking Steven's hand, another man rushing forward, holding
out a microphone. People jostled against me. I was afraid. There was
a huge television camera pointed straight at me with CNN splashed
over the side of it. I wanted to get back into the limousine. I
glanced behind me. It was already gone. People were pushing me for-
ward. I clung to Steven's jacket tails.

His arm, that big powerful arm that I had come to love, suddenly
dropped neatly onto my shoulders and he launched me forward
with a grip on my furthest shoulder that gave me no chance to
resist. I glanced up and saw a reporter's arm outstretched, a micro-
phone extended towards Steven's mouth. Could it really be her? I had
seen her on the news shows on television so often that I could have
easily recognized her queer-sounding voice. I didn't hear her ques-
tion.

Then I heard Steven's deep voice. He was laughing, affection-
ately rubbing his hand through my moussed bristles.

"This is my youngest nephew, Christopher Faran," he announced
to the world watching. I grinned. My moment of fame, Warhol-like,
was over in an instant.

"And who do you think will be celebrating the most tonight, Mr.
Kaufman?" That grating lisping voice again.

"Who?" He laughed again. "Why, that's easy. My nephew, Chris-
sie."

The obligatory interview was promptly teminated because he did
not give them the answer they wanted. He was supposed to say that he
was, because of the award he should receive for Pandora's Box. The
microphone was pulled back and we were allowed to continue on our
way along the red carpet.

"Dumb bitch," Steven whispered in my ear. "If only she knew what
you meant to me, she'd drop dead on the spot." He smiled.
"Did she really think I'd give them the satisfaction."

He hugged me tightly and I hugged him back. We must have been
quite a sight. A powerfully built man with a beard and a pint-sized
boy in a pure-white tuxedo, wearing white sneakers. However, no one
looked at my feet. I knew people were looking. I had that uncomfort-
able sensation of being stared at. Not by one pair of eyes, but hun-
dred of eyes, thousands of eyes. I was very on-edge. I could feel my
heart pounding hard and fast. My hands were trembling. Finally, I
lifted my eyes and glanced around me. People were staring at me.

"Steven," I whispered.

I pulled at his sleeve. He stopped, turned around, leaned down
to hear me.

"People are staring at me," I whispered nervously.

"Well of course they are, Chrissie. You're gorgeous. You're far
more beautiful than any of the women here, and every one knows it."

I giggled, still anxious but grateful for the compliment.
"Yeah, right," I murmured.

He squeezed my shoulder and we continued on. We had only gone a
few more paces when we were interrupted again. This time a teenage
boy stepped in front of Steven. I glanced up, saw Steven's instant
recognition, and I shrank back. Everyone in my school, boys as well
as girls, would have recognized him, although many of the girls
would have fainted being that close to their idol. The way the girls
told it, he starred on the nation's most popular prime-time sitcom.

"Hello David," Steven boomed. "David, meet Christopher. Chris-
topher, meet David."

Warily, I extended my hand. David's grip was firm and dry com-
pared to my feeble clammy hand.

"You always look different off the `Pandora' set, David," Steven
laughed. His tone told me that he was genuinely pleased. "You look
a lot older for one thing."

David grinned. "I am older, Sir. I still have trouble realizing
we finished shooting Pandora two years ago. I'm nearly sixteen now."

"But just as handsome." Steven chuckled. "It's good to see you
again, David. Is Gary here?"

"Up ahead. You know how he is." David acknowledged my presence
beside Steven by glancing down. "Is this your new boy, Mr. Kaufman?"
he asked teasingly. Steven hugged me. No answer was needed. "He'll
be there tonight, I hope?" David added.

"Dressed in white," Steven said with a meaningful wink that did
not mean a whole lot to me but obviously did to David.

"In white?" David repeated. He smirked. "Wow. I'll make a point
of being around at midnight. Of course, I would have guessed that
just by looking at him. Someone's butt is sure going to be sore
tomorrow."

"He can rest on the way back," Steven said. "I had Keith bring
us in a limo so he can stretch out and go to sleep if he wants.
Chrissie will be lucky if he can still walk after I'm
finished with him."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," David chortled. "You nailed my
cherry pretty good. I guess I'll see you," he said pointedly to me,
"on the yacht, Chrissie."

There was merriment in his eyes. I stared at him with shock. He
had actually talked to me! And he had called me 'Chrissie' as if
he was a very close friend like Steven had become. No one at
my school would ever believe me.

"We had some good times, didn't we David?" Steven asked.

David grinned. "Yeah we did, didn't we? I wouldn't be where I
am today if it wasn't for you. It's a pity about Pandora's Box,
though."

Steven shrugged. "I didn't make it to win awards, David. In
fact, we wouldn't even be here tonight if it wasn't for the public
support. They hate anything with real intellectual content"

"I've heard it made ten times more at the box office than that
piece of crap that's going to win tonight. It should be Pandora, and
everyone here knows it," David said grumpily.

"I happen to agree, David. However, we both know the role that
politics play in Hollywood. Just keep your personal interests in the
background and you'll survive."

"Yeah, I know. See you later tonight, Steven. Bye-bye you lucky
boy," David simpered. He started to leave.

"Don't come late!" Steven called after him with a grin.

David turned, beaming. "Who me? Better come late than never, huh
Chrissie?"

With that, he turned on his heel. I watched David walk away,
bemused that Steven actually knew him. I continued on with Steven
into the grand hall. It was full to capacity. I had never seen so
many people in one place at the same time in my entire life except
for the few times when Bryce had taken me to see Red Sox' games.
Within minutes of taking out seats in the third row, the Academy
Awards began.

I wanted so badly to stand up and cheer loudly when the
announcer called `Steven Kaufman, Director of Pandora's Box' as a
contender for `Best Director'. Every time I moved in my seat I could
feel my sex organs brushing against my pressed trousers, the ever-
present band around them serving to remind me who I belonged to. I
started to get erect again the very second they began to show the
clip of the movie. It was the part where Thomas gets out of the
bathtub and his mother is there with a towel. She wraps it around
her son and holds him as they sway together. My mother often did
that to me.

"Chrissie," Steven whispered. "You know in the original footage,
David ran through the house butt-naked. His mother had to chase him
down to dry him off. The Hollywood censors took it out and we had to
re-shoot it this way. They're showing this clip now because I wanted
to rub their noses in it. No one else knows except the film crew and
us."

I giggled, imagining what the girls at school would say if they
knew that their teen-throb hero had been running around naked.

"Could you see anything?" I whispered back.

"Of course not. Just his legs and the start of his butt. There was
a shot of his bare back and the top of his butt when he climbed the
stairs. The censors termed it artistic porn."

"Why?" I asked.

"I guess because some boy-loving pervert might get the video-
tape when it comes out and jack off to it."

After that Steven stayed quiet, looking disinterested and
almost oblivious to my agitated gesticulations and the fact that I
was jumping up and down in my seat enthusiastically. I didn't tell
him that I was celebrating what should have been an award to him in
my own special way. I didn't tell him that my penis was as hard as a
rock, painfully hard in fact, or that the band was so tight that it
was making my penis throb. I rubbed the front of my tuxedo back and
forth over it every time I squirmed in my seat.

After the `Best Director' award was awarded to a movie I had
never seen, the show dragged on. Steven made a few wisecracks when
he could see that I was losing interest. He suggested `Best Food on
the Set', and awarded it to Spielberg, which I later discovered was
an in-house joke, and way over my head, but I still giggled all the
same. Next he came up with "Best Whore on Set", which I didn't find
funny because I didn't appreciate what a whore was at the time. Neither
did I understamd why there were a dozen winners, each of which
seemed hilarious to Steven. Some of them were famous actresses.

The ceremony terminated just as I started to get bored. Then
the frantic rush to leave began. People crowded around Steven, clam-
oring for his attention. I stayed by his side, held in that strong
embracing arm. I was content and totally unaware of anything except
that I was with him. Time and time again, he introduced me to his
friends and business associates, until I was tired of hearing that I
was his youngest nephew, and that my name was, Christopher Faran. I
wanted to be `Chrissie' again. I was tired of calling him `Sir'. I
was tired of hearing endless, though well intentioned compliments
about how `divine' or `handsome' I looked in my white tuxedo. I made
sure to keep my shoes covered as best I could by using the cuffs of
my trousers. When we emerged from the hall, it was dark outside.