Date: Tue, 7 Jul 2015 23:19:46 -0400
From: Rafi Daud <rafidaud69@gmail.com>
Subject: AAA Modeling Agency, Chapter 9

       This story is a fantasy set in the real world.  Obviously, any
similarities between characters appearing in it and the real world are
purely coincidental.  This is also copyrighted material.  So while you're
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	Any comments or criticisms should be directed to Rafi at
rafidaud69@gmail.com.  While suggestions are welcomed, the ten chapters of
this story are already written.  I would, however, consider any suggestions
in future stories.

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AAA Modeling Agency


Chapter 9


	"So?"  Troy asked as his father hung up his phone.

	"He's on his way here now.  Sam said that everything went just like
we planned."

	"Did he sign the contract?"

	"Yep," Dean answered with a broad smile.  "The dumb fuck signed.
We've got the little bitch just where we want him.  Now that he's taken the
bait, all we have to do is reel him in and his ass is ours."

	"Oh, by the way, Troy," Dean continued as he shuffled some papers
on his desk.  "I invited Taylor and Kerry to our little Sunday afternoon
brunch."

	Troy looked at his father quizzically.  "Taylor I can understand.
He's packing some major meat.  But why Kerry?  I mean, he's okay but he's
nothing spectacular - in the dick department anyway.  Admittedly, that boy
has a fantastic ass but I thought we were limiting it to the guys with
really big dicks; guys who will really stretch out Callum's hole, loosen
him up for his big night."

	"Well, I thought of it as a reward for Kerry, for all the hard work
he put in as Callum's fuck bitch," his dad explained, not too convincingly.

	"Reward?" Troy exclaimed.  "Fuck, that bitch loves to get his pussy
plugged.  He should be paying us for providing a hung stallion like Callum
to stud him."

	His father chuckled.  "No question that Callum's loaded in the dick
department - probably a compensation for the vacancy upstairs - but he's a
nasty fuck.  I know Kerry likes to be roughed up while he's getting nailed
but he also needs to like the guy who's screwing him before he can really
enjoy it.  That's one of the problems with gay boys in this business - too
often they need some emotional connection to really get it on.  Your
straight boy-whore, on the other hand, just sees all of it as work and the
only emotional connection he needs is with the money he's making.  I've
seen Kerry getting fucked by Callum and he really didn't enjoy it.  As of
today, of course, he won't have to worry about that anymore.  Callum's
topping days are over.  But I thought Kerry deserved at least a measure of
pay-back."

	Troy knew his father's opinion as to the pitfalls of hiring gay
models and he didn't necessarily disagree.  That was why they always tried
to lure straight guys into the agency.  But even though they aimed at
developing an exclusively straight work-force, it wasn't always possible to
be sure that the dude they were recruiting was truly straight.  After all,
some of them didn't even realize they were gay until the first time they
swung on a dick.  Kerry, just like Cary and Randy before him, was clearly
in that category.

        Once having gone to the time and trouble of recruiting and training
a guy to take dick, however, Dean wasn't about to dump him just because he
turned out to be gay.  Even when it was obvious before training was
completed that a prospect was gay, they'd still give it a shot - see if the
guy could handle the job.  Sometimes it worked out okay, like with Cary,
and sometimes they washed out relatively quickly, like Randy.  How Kerry
would do they'd just have to see.  But one thing Troy was sure of was that
his father hadn't picked Kerry to join them on Sunday because he felt sorry
for making the boy bottom for Callum.  Sorry just wasn't in his father's
DNA.

	So Troy just stood there looking at Dean, letting his face show
that he wasn't buying the load of crap his old man was peddling.

	His father gave him a bland look for a few seconds but then let a
little smirk show.  "Also," he added, "I thought that having Kerry there
might provide an additional spur for Taylor to really get into the swing of
things.  When properly motivated, Taylor can throw a really mean fuck, too,
and I thought having Kerry at the party might provide just the right
incentive."

	Troy laughed out loud.  "Callum's going to have trouble sitting
down after Taylor finishes with him.  Did you see how angry he was while
Callum was fucking Kerry yesterday?  I thought he was going to explode.
And he was really pissed when you told Callum to make sure Kerry's ass was
nice and toasted - just the way Callum liked it - before he started fucking
the kid.  I thought Taylor might actually take a swing at you, right then
and there."

	His dad nodded his head in agreement.  "If looks could kill, you'd
be holding my wake today.  But Taylor knew better than to completely lose
it.  That boy's a pro, he knows what the bottom line is.  He managed to
control himself but, I agree, it was a close thing.  I'm sure he's still
pissed at me.  So what?  Come Sunday, he's going to be taking out all his
anger on Callum, not me."

	Troy just shook his head, once more impressed by his father's skill
at manipulating their models.  But he had another question on his mind.
"One thing, dad.  How did you know that Taylor and Kerry were a number?  I
mean, that totally surprised me; but I could tell it didn't faze you.  I
can see Kerry getting involved with another dude, but Taylor?  I always
figured him as pretty straight."

	"I did, too," Dean agreed.  "But, you know, the whole straight/gay
divide is something of a fiction.  In reality, it's a spectrum with males
spread all up and down it.  Sure, there are some exclusively straight dudes
just like there are other guys who are only into the gay scene but, in my
experience at least, there's a huge number of guys who are somewhere in
between.  They may have a natural predilection one way or the other but,
given the right situation and right stimulus, they can be amazingly
flexible in their sexual appetites.  I would guess that Taylor's pretty
much on the straight side of the calculus but, obviously, Kerry was able to
tap into his libido and draw him over to the gay side."

	"Anyway," Dean went on "as to how I knew they were involved
together, well that was pretty much just a lucky guess.  I could tell the
first time they met that Kerry was definitely interested in Taylor but that
didn't really set off any bells.  Taylor was exactly the type of guy Kerry
figured to find attractive: dominant, good-looking, but laid back, too.
Given what I knew about Taylor's preferences, I really didn't think much
would come of it.  However, over the next couple of weeks, I noticed a
definite change in Kerry.  He seemed a lot more relaxed - a lot happier,
basically.  Even when he began bending over for Callum, which he obviously
did not enjoy.  And I wondered why."

	"So, when I tried to call Kerry on Tuesday morning and couldn't get
him, I played a hunch.  I called Taylor on his cell and asked to speak to
Kerry.  Not only was Kerry there but, between the stunned silence from
Taylor when I first asked for Kerry and Kerry's clearly rattled
conversation after Taylor handed him the phone, there wasn't any doubt in
my mind that they were involved with each other.  And I wasn't about to let
the possibilities this opened up vis-a-vis Callum go to waste.  You saw how
those played out yesterday.  Sunday should be even better."

	Despite himself, Troy couldn't help but admire his old man.  He
might be a super asshole at times - make that most of the time - but he was
also remarkably good at reading people.

	Dean took a quick glance at his watch.  "Callum should be here any
minute, Troy.  You should probably get out to your desk."

	Hearing his father's words, Troy's face visibly deflated.  "Ah,
c'mon, dad," he pleaded.  "Don't make me miss this.  Please."

	"What's your problem, Troy?" Dean replied, not giving any ground.
"You can watch on the close-circuit feed if you want."

	"But it's not the same as being in here, Dad," Troy complained.  "I
want to see the little prick sweat.  I want to smell his fear.  I want to
hear him cry like a little bitch when you bust his cherry.  C'mon, Dad.
Let me stay."

	The two sat there staring at each other, Troy clearly hoping that
his father would change his mind, Dean weighing whether he should.
Finally, Dean decided.  "You can stay, Troy, but strictly as an observer.
I want this whole exchange that's coming to be only between me and Callum.
Once he gets into the room, I want you to go sit on the sofa and keep your
mouth shut.  You're just here to watch and enjoy, not participate.  This is
my show.  But having you here will make everything that much more
humiliating for Callum and I guess that's worth the price of your
admission."

	"Thanks, Dad," Troy replied, grinning broadly.  "I won't say a
word."

	"Okay, then," Dean replied.  "Pull your chair over to the side of
my desk.  We'll act like you were taking notes and, when Callum comes in,
you can just quietly move over to the sofa.  But I don't want to hear a
peep out of you."

	"Don't worry, Dad," Troy assured him.  "I'll be as quiet as a dead
mouse."

	Troy had no sooner pulled his chair up to his father's desk and
grabbed a pen and a notepad from a drawer than they heard the front door of
the agency open.  Seconds later, there was a firm knock on Dean's door.
"Sir, it's me.  Callum."

	Dean looked at his son and gave him a wicked grin.  "Come on in,
Callum.  Come on in."

	A moment later the door opened and Callum, beaming like a headlight
on high, came through the door.

	Callum walked up to Mr. DeMarco's desk trying to keep his euphoria
in check.  Even seeing Troy in the office didn't put a damper on his
spirits.  "Hey, Troy," he greeted the receptionist.  "It's good to see
you."

	When he came to a stop in front of Mr. DeMarco, his agent gave him
a disapproving stare.  Confused at first, Callum just stood there.  Then,
it hit him.  "Sorry, sir," he quickly apologized, as he reached down to
peel off his shirt.  In just moments, he was stepping out of his slacks and
straightening up.  Quickly assuming the proper position, Callum stood in
front of Mr. DeMarco as he was expected to in his meetings with the man,
naked except for the erection trainer restraining his throbbing cock.

	Looking at the way the skin of Callum's cock was pressing tightly
against the entire length of the plastic cock-cage, Dean was happy to note
that the juice was having its intended effect - Callum's cock was straining
to erect itself but prevented from doing so by the chastity device Dean had
made a mandatory part of Callum's attire.  Of course, while the device kept
Callum from actually getting a boner, it didn't keep him from becoming
sexually aroused, a condition which was unavoidable given the high level of
sexual stimulants the boy was ingesting every time he took a swig of his
'energy supplement.'  Pre-cum was already dribbling out of the hole at the
end of the penis cap.

	Dean raised his eyes to look at the boy's face.  It was suffused
with happiness and pride.  'Well, pride goeth before a fall, boy,' Dean
told himself with barely suppressed glee.  'And I do believe that fall's
coming early this year.'

	Callum felt like he was going to burst but he knew he should wait
for Mr. DeMarco to begin.  Then, just as Callum was afraid he really might
explode, Mr. DeMarco turned to Troy.

	"Troy, why don't you go sit on the sofa," he suggested.  "We'll
finish this after Callum tells me how his meeting with Sam Walensky went."

	"Yes, sir," the boy quickly agreed.  He gathered up his papers and
moved over to the office couch.  Now Mr. DeMarco focused all of his
attention on Callum.

	"Okay, Callum, I'm all ears.  Tell me how your meeting with Sam
went.  And don't leave anything out."

	"Yes, sir," Callum agreed, thrilled that he was finally able to
share with Mr. DeMarco, the man who'd done so much to make him into a
successful model, just how great the meeting with Mr. Walensky had gone.

	"Well, sir," he began.  "I arrived a few minutes early, just like
you suggested.  And I have to tell you I was really happy that you insisted
that I wear my erection trainer.  I don't know what it was, but fucking
Kerry the night before didn't have its normal effect on me.  I felt really
horny and aroused when I got to Mr. Walensky's office and I was glad I had
the trainer on so I didn't make too much of a spectacle of myself walking
through the building."

	"It was probably just the excitement and nervousness you felt at
seeing Sam again, after your disastrous first meeting with him,"
Mr. DeMarco suggested.

	"Yes, sir.  That's what I thought too," Callum quickly agreed.
"But I was worried that my aroused state might offend Mr. Walensky.
Fortunately, it didn't seem to bother him at all."

	'I'm sure it didn't,' Dean thought to himself, suppressing a
snicker.  "Go on with your story, Callum," he said aloud.

	Dutifully, Callum continued.  "No one else was in the waiting room
when I got to Mr. Walensky's office and his secretary, who seemed to know
who I was, told me to go straight in.  I knocked on the door and after
hearing Mr. Walensky tell me to come in I went through the door and closed
it behind me."

	"I was pretty nervous right then, remembering how I really screwed
things up the last time I met with Mr. Walensky and ended up insulting him,
even though I didn't mean to.  I wasn't sure what type of reception I
faced.  But, Mr. Walensky couldn't have been nicer.  He got up from his
desk and came over and embraced me.  'We got off on the wrong foot at our
last meeting, Callum,' he said to me, 'but I'm sure we'll do better this
time.'"

	"Like you'd suggested, sir, I immediately apologized to
Mr. Walensky for my behavior at our first meeting.  I started to explain
how I'd been defensive because I was dealing with my own personal problems
but Mr. Walensky interrupted me.  'Mr. DeMarco has explained your situation
to me, Callum, and there's no need to apologize.  I know how hard it can be
to accept the fact that you're gay - that you're attracted to other men,
that you're turned on and excited by the prospect of doing things with
another man that many people in society would consider disgusting and
perverted.  It takes a real man to admit that he's a faggot, like you have
Callum, and I'm actually glad that our misunderstanding provided the spur
that allowed you to accept the fact that you're sexually attracted to other
men.'"

	"It made me real uncomfortable hearing Mr. Walensky describe me
that way and call me a 'faggot,' but I realized, as we had discussed, that
playing the role of a faggot - excuse me, a gay man - was the only way I
could clear up the mess I'd got the entire agency into.  So I just thanked
Mr. Walensky for being so understanding."

	"Mr. Walensky walked over to a table set along a side wall and
picked up a glass decanter.  'Would you like a drink, Callum,' he asked me.
I don't really drink that much, other than some beers now and then, but I
was so nervous that I thought it might calm me down, so I said, 'sure.'
Mr. Walensky poured us both a glass - I think it was whiskey, but I'm not
certain - walked back and handed me one and then moved over to the couch in
his office and sat down.  He looked back at me and said, 'why don't you
make yourself comfortable, Callum, and then come sit next to me.'"

	"Well, sir," Callum continued looking at Mr. DeMarco with a smile,
"it's a good thing you warned me about that because I might not have picked
up on what he meant when he said I should 'make myself comfortable.'  But I
did what you said I should do and stripped off all my clothes and I could
tell when I turned back to him that you were right - that's what he wanted.
Then I walked over and sat down next to him."

	"He noticed right away that I still had my erection trainer on - of
course, it was hard to miss, now that I wasn't wearing any clothes.  He
asked me about it and I told him I was still having problems with
spontaneous and persistent erections, though that, too, must have been
pretty obvious to him since he was looking at my cock and it was clearly
bulging against the sides of the plastic.  My obvious state of arousal was
embarrassing but I couldn't do anything about it.  I did mention, however,
that I had the key to the trainer in my shorts and he could remove it if he
wanted to.  He said, 'maybe later,' but he was more interested in
discussing how I was doing accepting the fact that I was a 'faggot.'"

	Callum interrupted his recital of events for a brief aside.  "I
know, sir, you've warned me against using that term and, seeing how my use
of it with Mr. Walensky at our first meeting is what got me in trouble in
the first place, I really try to avoid it.  I really do.  But Mr. Walensky
used it all the time at the meeting.  It made me really uncomfortable the
way he kept calling me a 'faggot.'  I didn't say anything, of course, but
it bothered me."

	Mr. DeMarco smiled.  "If you remember back to Tuesday, Callum, this
is exactly the point that Taylor made.  Among themselves, gay guys
frequently refer to each other as 'faggots.'  And, once word gets around
the business that you're gay, that's the way everyone will see you - as a
'faggot' - though only other gay guys will call you that.  At least to your
face.  It's something you're going to have to get used to."

	If anything, Callum felt Mr. DeMarco's comments, though obviously
meant to reassure him, were unsettling.  The idea that anytime he went for
a job interview or a photo-shoot all the other people involved would not
only think he was one of those perverts but that he'd have to act as if
they were right was profoundly embarrassing.  He couldn't believe that for
the next two years, at least, he'd have to present himself to the world as
gay - as a 'faggot.'  But he really didn't have much choice.  Not after all
the problems he'd created for the agency.  He could only be grateful that
Mr. DeMarco was willing to go along with the charade.

	Smiling wanly, Callum returned to his story.  "Once I sat down,
Mr. Walensky edged himself right next to me and started asking me all sorts
of questions, like when did I first realize I was attracted to other men,
what part of a man's body really turned me on, how much experience did I
have with gay sex.  I gave him the answers that we'd rehearsed.  I told him
that ever since high school I'd been attracted to other men though I'd
fought hard against it.  I said that I was really attracted to guys with
muscles and big dicks.  And I told him, as we'd agreed, that while I'd only
been fucked a few times, what I really enjoyed was sucking off other guys.
You were right, sir.  He really seemed pleased when I said that.  I even
told him that I liked being dominated by other guys, having other dudes
take charge when we're having sex."

	At this point, Callum again broke off from his story.  "You know,
sir, I know we discussed it, but I really felt uncomfortable telling
Mr. Walensky that I liked other guys to dominate me.  I mean, I think it
makes me sound like a sissy.  Almost like I'm a girl or something like
that."

	"We did talk about this before, Callum," Mr. DeMarco pointed out.
"And remember what I said.  It's important for a guy like you, a guy who -
let's face it - comes across as a big, super-masculine stud, to show a
softer, I'd say 'feminine' for lack of a better word, side if he wants to
pass as gay, particularly with other gays.  The easiest way for you to do
it is to present yourself as a submissive bottom, a guy who gets off being
dominated by other guys and who enjoys sexually servicing them.  I'm sure
you did the right thing by saying what you did.  How did Sam react after
you made this confession?"

	"Oh, he ate it up, sir," Callum admitted.  "He'd been playing with
my body pretty much ever since I sat down on the couch.  You know,
squeezing my nuts, rubbing my stomach, cupping my pecs.  He pinched my
nipples a number of times, too.  He said he really liked the way my 'big
tits,' that's what he called them, stood out from my chest.  Once, he even
stuck his hand between my legs and started rubbing my taint."

	"I'll be honest with you sir," Callum confided.  "It was hard to
sit there and keep talking while he was feeling me up.  I mean, it was
pretty humiliating to be groped and fondled like some bitch and to have to
act like I was fine with it - that I actually enjoyed being treated like a
cheap whore.  But I didn't say anything, sir, and I didn't pull away, even
though I was tempted to, more than once."

	"I'm glad to hear that, Callum," Mr. DeMarco interjected.  "That
might have made things really bad."

	"I realized that, sir, so I resisted the urge to say anything.  At
one point, when he was playing with my balls, I even spread my legs further
apart to give him easier access to my crotch.  I did everything you told me
to do, sir."  Callum was pleased to see Mr. DeMarco nod his head in
approval.  He went on with the story.

	"Eventually, Mr. Walensky seemed to run out of questions.  That's
when I volunteered to suck his cock.  He told me that I didn't have to, but
I told him that I wanted to.  Hearing myself say that, I couldn't help but
blush but Mr. Walensky didn't seem to notice."

	"Anyway, I got up from the couch, moved in front of him and then
dropped down on my knees.  Mr. Walensky had already loosened his pants and
slid them down to his thighs.  I looked up at Mr. Walensky and made myself
smile and then I bent forward and took his dick in my mouth.  All I can say
is that even with all the practice I had in the past three days sucking
dick I almost spit it right out.  Don't worry, sir," he quickly added,
seeing the look of concern that crossed Mr. DeMarco's face, "I didn't do
that.  But I came close."

	"Did you have a problem with the size of Sam's dick?" Mr. DeMarco
inquired.

	"No, sir.  It wasn't that," Callum quickly clarified.
"Mr. Walensky's dick wasn't that big at all.  Nowhere near the size of the
dicks I'd practice sucking on here at the agency.  It was the taste, sir.
And the smell.  Actually more the smell than even the taste.  I don't know
how to put other than to say that Mr. Walensky's crotch smelled like he
hadn't showered in days.  It was really rank.  And his dick tasted the way
his crotch smelled.  It was pretty gross, sir.  Really."

	"I almost choked on it a couple of times.  But I knew if I fucked
up we were all screwed so I stayed on it.  After maybe five minutes, I
guess I got kind of used to it.  So I started deep-throating it, like you
taught me, sir."

	"Mr. Walensky really liked that.  He said I was a real good
cocksucker; 'almost a professional,' he said.  But then he told me to hold
off - he didn't want to cum too soon.  He asked me to suck on his balls.  I
didn't want to, but I did it.  I was afraid his balls would smell worse
than his dick.  And I was right.  The stench was overpowering, sir.  Really
disgusting.  I almost threw-up, it was so bad.  I could taste my own vomit
in my mouth.  But I forced it down, sir.  I swallowed my puke and just kept
sucking on Mr. Walensky's balls until he told me to get back to his cock."

	"That was actually a relief, going back to suck Mr. Walensky's
dick.  After sucking on his balls, the taste of his cock didn't seem nearly
as bad.  Now that it was pretty obvious that Mr. Walensky wanted to cum, I
really concentrated on sucking him off.  I kept my teeth out of the way, as
you guys trained me, and I tried to keep my eyes fixed on Mr. Walensky's
face like you told me I should do."

	"I could tell he was getting close, just by the way his eyes
scrunched up and I got ready to suck down his joy-juice like a cocksucker's
supposed to do.  But just before his cock erupted, he pulled his dick from
my throat and out of my mouth. The next thing I knew, he was shooting off
on my face.  One spurt landed right in my eye.  That really stung.  But I
tried to keep my head motionless as he continued to unload.  By the time
the last string of cum dribbled out, my face was covered with ball-slime.
But when I moved to wipe it off my face, Mr. Walensky told me to leave it
there.  He said he liked the way my face looked with his cum dripping down
it."

	"Mr. Walensky kind of helped me to my feet and then pulled me down
so that I was sitting on his lap.  He maneuvered a hand between my legs and
started playing with my balls, which were aching with all the cum in them,
and tickling my taint.  Then he moved his hand a little further back and
started probing at my butt-hole.  He had just moved his other hand up and
begun squeezing my nipples when the door to his office suddenly swung open.
I looked up to see his secretary standing there, his mouth just gaping as
he stared at me."

	"I can't even describe how humiliating it was to have him see me
like that.  Naked except for my erection trainer, my face covered in
man-scuzz, sitting on his boss's lap while the man felt me up and played
with my tits.  I must have turned fifteen different shades of red, sir."

	"But, Mr. Walensky seemed to take it in stride.  'Yes, Toby,' he
asked his secretary, 'is there something you wanted to discuss with me?'
Even as he was asking this question, he continued to fondle my crotch and
pinch my nubs."

	"'Yes, sir,' Toby replied, not taking his eyes off me.  'I just
wanted to remind you that I'm leaving early this afternoon.  I'll be going
in a couple of minutes.'"

	"'Oh, yes,' Mr. Walensky responded.  'I remember you mentioned
that.  Thanks for reminding me, Toby.'"

	"'Is there anything you want me to do before I go, Mr. Walensky?'
Toby asked, still with his eyes fixed on me, the original look of shock on
his face slowly re-forming itself into a contemptuous sneer."

	"'No, I don't think so,' Mr. Walensky replied after a short pause.
Toby turned to go.  But then Mr. Walensky called out to him.  'Toby, have
you met Callum already?'"

	"Toby turned back to look at me.  'Not formally,' he replied
archly, 'but we've met.'  Now that I was the focal point of the
conversation, I just wanted to sink into the floor.  I was so fucking
embarrassed.  But Mr. Walensky didn't seem to notice.  Instead, he just
went on, 'Well, I think we'll be seeing a lot more of Callum around the
office in the future.'

	"Toby gave me a withering stare, looking me up and down.  'There
doesn't seem to be that much more of Callum to see,' he laughed, his voice
dripping with condescension."

	"Mr. Walensky actually joined in the laughter, which made the whole
scene feel so much more degrading.  'I see your point,' he finally said,
taking his hand and cupping my trainer.  Then, almost as if to make my
mortification complete, he stuck his hand back between my legs and took a
finger and actually stuck it up my rectum.  I was so unprepared that I
actually squealed in surprise."

	"As I sat there, trying hard not to writhe as Mr. Walensky worked
his finger into me, Toby broke into a full grin.  'Well, I'll leave you two
love-birds to your pleasures,' he said, once again turning to leave.  This
time, thank God, Mr. Walensky let him go."

	"You know, sir," Callum stopped for another observation.  "When I
agreed to suck Mr. Walensky's dick I didn't think that anything could be
more disgusting or demeaning than sucking another man's cock.  But I've got
to tell you, sitting there naked, draped across Mr. Walensky's lap, my legs
spread far apart and fresh scuzz drying on my face while Mr. Walensky
fondled and molested me and his secretary not only watched him doing it but
actually laughed at me as it was going on was so much more humiliating than
sucking his dick.  I mean, it makes me cringe just to think about it now."

	"Well, you know, Callum," Mr. DeMarco soothed the boy.  "I've
always told you that modeling is hard work."

	"But this wasn't modeling, sir," Callum objected.  "It felt more
like prostitution than anything else - like I was sleeping my way to the
top."

	"Callum," Mr. DeMarco explained in his most fatherly manner, "in
this business, to be successful, there are trade-offs you have to be
willing to make.  So much of a model's career is really dependent upon the
goodwill of hiring agents and photographers and a successful model has to
be willing to do whatever it takes to earn that goodwill.  What you showed
me today, and I dare say Sam, too, is that you're the type of model who's
willing to go the extra mile to attain the goals you've set for yourself."

	"Thank you, sir," Callum replied, grateful for Mr. DeMarco's
support.  "And I'm pretty sure you're right about Mr. Walensky being
impressed too.  In fact, I'm sure of it."

	"Really?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.  Dean was
having a blast.  Playing this kid was such a hoot.  How could anyone spend
nineteen years on this planet and be as fundamentally clueless and naive as
this kid?  It was almost too easy.  But Dean tried to keep his emotions in
check.  They were getting to the good stuff and Dean wanted to be at the
top of his game when he brought the hammer crashing down on Callum's
euphoria.

        Dean needed to be calm and collected, even though right now his own
cock was throbbing in his pants as it neared the fruition of almost two
month's work - the deflowering of Callum's tight virgin ass.  That was
coming soon, but first Dean had to put on one last masterful performance to
properly prepare Callum for his future life as a fuck-boy.  What Dean
needed right now was for Callum to set the stage; so he told Callum to go
on with his story and then sat back as Callum did just that.

	"Well, sir," Callum related, "we sat on his sofa for maybe ten more
minutes before Mr. Walensky said I should get up.  'We have a number of
things to talk over, Callum,' he told me, 'and I think you're going to be
pretty happy to hear what I've decided.'  Just hearing Mr. Walensky say
that made me feel much better about myself and pretty sure that I'd at
least salvaged the agency's reputation with him."

	"But, when I went to put on my clothes, Mr. Walensky told me to
hold up on that because 'we might be having reasons to celebrate in a few
more minutes.'  Well, hearing that really got me excited, sir.
Mr. Walensky got up, walked behind his desk and sat down.  I was standing
there in front of him, not sure whether or not I should assume the
position, when he told me to sit down on one of the chairs in front of his
desk.  'There's no need for any more formalities between us, Callum,' he
said.  'I'm sure we're going to be friends, close friends, from now on.'
So I sat down and waited for Mr. Walensky to tell me what he had in mind."

	"And, then, without any further discussion, he told me I had the
modeling job."  Seeing the look of incredulity on Mr. DeMarco's face,
Callum let himself grin.  "I know, sir.  Isn't it incredible?  I mean, I
pretty much figured that job was lost and I was just trying to get
Mr. Walensky's forgiveness so he'd consider me - and the other models here
- for future jobs.  But, no.  Mr. Walensky told me that after you called
him and explained why I had acted the way I had - you know, being in the
closet and all that - that he'd decided to hold off on hiring anyone else
until he had heard me out.  And, having done so, he was sure that I was the
right guy for the job.  Isn't that fantastic?"

	Callum was bubbling over with his enthusiasm.  "It's my first
modeling job," he babbled, "and I owe it all to you, sir.  Thank you so
much, sir.  For everything.  For all the time you've spent with me, for all
the advice you've given me, for all the training you've helped me get.  I
know that without you guiding me, I just would have been one of those
losers out there.  But, because of you, I'm going to make something of my
life.  I going to be a successful model - a model you'll be proud of, sir.
I promise you that."

	"I'm sure you will," Mr. DeMarco responded, his own smile seemingly
reflecting the happiness Callum was exuding.  "I'm already very proud of
you, Callum."

	Callum was actually glowing as he heard Mr. DeMarco tell him that
the man was proud of him.  "Sir, you don't know how much it means to me to
hear you say that.  It actually means more to me than getting the modeling
gig."

	"Well, I wouldn't go that far, Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied in
obvious good humor.  "But, tell me about the job.  I want to hear all the
details."

	"Well, sir," Callum began, "it's for a swimsuit
photo-shoot. Judging from the swimsuits Mr. Walensky had me try on during
our first meeting, they'll be pretty skimpy and revealing, but I'm prepared
for that.  In fact, it's probably a good thing that they are so revealing."

        "You're going to like this part, sir," Callum added as another
aside.  "Mr. Walensky told me one of the reasons he selected me was because
of my all-over tan.  He said it would really set off the suits on my body.
Thank you so much for insisting I get a complete body tan.  I would have
never thought of that myself, sir."

	"The shoot is scheduled for this Wednesday at the beach, provided
it's a sunny day.  Mr. Walensky said he'd be there.  I know, sir," Callum
quickly added, forestalling Mr. DeMarco, "he'll probably expect another
blowjob, but I'm up to it.  I'm getting the hang of how this business
works."

	"He's not the only one, Callum," Mr. DeMarco warned his model.
"The photographer will probably expect one, too."

	"Oh," Callum replied, obviously surprised.  "Oh, well," he added
after only a moment's hesitation.  "I don't like sucking dick, but I am
getting somewhat used to it.  I sucked Mr. Walensky off a second time
before I left.  Guess the photographer will just be one more added to the
list."

	"One last thing," Callum added, his enthusiasm returning, "I almost
forgot.  The most important thing.  The job pays $2,500.  I know I only get
half but that's the most money I've ever made."

	"That's great," Dean replied, trying to keep the smile on his face,
even though he was seething inside.  'That fucker Walensky,' he thought.
'That photo-shoot's a $3,000 job.  I should have figured he'd take the
opportunity provided by Callum's ignorance to save himself some money.'
Dean tried to calm down by reminding himself that Walensky had done a real
number on Callum today.  Of course, just how good a job Walensky had done,
Dean would be finding out in mere minutes.  But, if he had delivered on his
promises, Dean could swallow letting that fucker weasel him out of $500 -
though actually it was only $250 as far as Dean and the agency were
concerned.  The other $250 was coming out of Callum's pockets, though the
dumb-fuck would never know it.

	Dean's concern for the lost $250 suddenly evaporated when he heard
Callum say, "But that's not all, sir.  I've got a real surprise for you."

	When Callum paused, Mr. DeMarco urged him on.  "Well, don't keep in
suspense, Callum.  What else do you have to tell me?"

	"Well, sir, after Mr. Walensky told me I had the modeling job, he
told me he had another possible job for me.  He said he was having six
friends over for dinner this Sunday night and he wondered whether I'd be
interested in helping him entertain them.  He told me that all his friends
were in the business and that I could really do myself some good if I
impressed them.  It sounded really great, helping Mr. Walensky entertain
his friends and meeting all those bigwigs.  I figured I should grab the
bull by the horns so I agreed to do it."

	"You did what?"  Dean angrily inquired, noticeably raising his
voice as he slipped easily into his role as the furious agent.

	"I agreed to help Mr. Walensky entertain his friends Sunday night,
sir," Callum responded, shaken by the angry reaction his news had
precipitated.  He had thought that Mr. DeMarco would be thrilled -
obviously, that wasn't the case.  But the boy had no idea wny Mr. DeMarco
was so upset with him.  "I'm sorry, sir," he offered apologetically, "if
I've done something wrong."

	"Excuse me, Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied, "but did I miss
something.  I am your agent, aren't I?"

	"Yes, sir," Callum meekly replied, not understanding why
Mr. DeMarco was even asking that question.

	"Well, just what the hell do you think an agent does?  I represent
you in dealings with prospective clients.  I - not you - negotiate
contracts for your employment.  In fact, if you go back and read the
personal representation agreement we signed, I have the exclusive right to
sign any contract relating to modeling or entertainment work on your
behalf.  You had no business agreeing to do any work for Sam that I hadn't
previously ok'd."

	"I'm sorry, sir," Callum groveled, clearly at a loss as to how a
meeting which had started on such a high note had so rapidly deteriorated.
He paused for a second and then asked, the concern apparent in his voice.
"Does that mean I shouldn't have signed the modeling contract for
Wednesday, either?"

	"Technically," Mr. DeMarco informed him, "that's right.  I should
sign the contracts.  But practically, in that case, it wasn't a big thing.
Sam had already faxed me a copy of the contract that he was offering and
I'd approved it before I'd even sent you to see him for the first meeting.
But I don't know anything about this Sunday get-together.  This is the
first I've heard of it.  I have no idea what it entails.  I'll have to give
Sam a call and find out and then we'll work out the details.  It's not good
that you already verbally agreed to it, but at least you didn't sign
anything."

	Hearing this last comment, Callum paled visibly.  "Ahhhhh, sir," he
began with a noticeable stutter, "I...I did sign some papers agreeing to
help Sam entertain his friends on Sunday."

	"Motherfuck!"  Dean allowed himself to scream, "Are you kidding
me?"  He loved the way Callum was just wilting in front of him, the
confident jock-stud who had entered his office just fifteen minutes earlier
already a fading memory.  "How could you be so stupid?"

	"I didn't know, sir," Callum whimpered, "I just didn't know."

	"But you should have known, God damn it.  Did you happen to read
the papers before you signed them, Callum?  Can you tell me anything about
what you signed?"

	"I didn't really read the papers that closely, sir," Callum
admitted, feeling as stupid as Mr. DeMarco obviously thought him to be,
"but Mr. Walensky gave me a copy of the contract after we both signed it."

	"Well, where the fuck is it?"

	"It's in my pants' pocket, sir."

	"Well, go get it," Mr. DeMarco ordered, clearly exasperated by
Callum's actions.

	Callum, his entire body now beet-red, ran over to his clothes,
picked up his slacks and frantically searched each pocket.  He sighed in
relief when he finally located it in the last pocket.  HIs hand shaking, he
extracted a folded piece of paper and hurriedly brought it back to
Mr. Demarco and handed it to the man, who immediately unfolded it and began
reading.

	Callum stood there nervously as Mr. DeMarco read through the
document.  His fears that he had really fucked up were heightened when he
heard Mr. DeMarco mutter, "Shit!" and then "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" before a
final "Holy Fuck!"  By the time Mr. DeMarco had finished reading, his hands
were shaking.  "Do you have any idea what you've agreed to do, Callum?" he
asked the boy, his voice quivering with barely controlled rage.

	Clearly on the defensive, Callum answered, "Mr. Walensky said I
would help entertain his guests both during and after dinner."

	"And just how do you think you're going to be doing that?"
Mr. DeMarco inquired, the sarcasm heavy in his voice.

	Callum was stung by the tone of the question and became a little
petulant.  "You know, sir," he replied, "I'm really not stupid.  I figured
I'm going to have to suck his guests off.  I knew Mr. Walensky wouldn't be
offering me $7,000 just for being friendly to his guests."

	Dean could feel his eyes widen as he heard Callum mention the
figure of $7,000.  His gaze returned to the document and he re-scanned it
quickly.  'Fuck,' he swore to himself when he came to it.  Callum was
right.  Dean had missed that on his first read-through.  That bastard
Walensky had agreed to pay $7,000 for Callum's services.  The figure was
supposed to be $6,000, the standard rate for a single entertainment gig.
Walensky had upped it by a thousand.

	Normally, of course, Dean wouldn't have objected to a client
offering to pay more for the services of one of his models.  But this was a
gratis deal, with the agency picking up the costs of the contract,
including the costs of paying the model his fifty percent.  Thanks to
Walensky, the agency would have to pay Callum $3,500 for his night's work,
rather than the going-rate of $3,000.  Dean could understand Walensky
screwing the agency out of $500 for the Wednesday modeling gig - Walensky
had saved himself half a grand by doing that.  But Walensky didn't make any
additional money by screwing around with the Sunday contract - the extra
$500 the agency had to pay would go to Callum, not him.  That fucker had
screwed Dean for the pure pleasure of screwing him.

	Right now, there was nothing Dean could do about it.  But Dean was
sure that there'd come a time in the future when he had a chance to pay
Walensky back for jerking him around and Dean was going to greatly enjoy
doing just that.  What Dean could do right now was channel the real anger
he felt towards Walensky against Callum.  Dean could feel himself getting
red in the face as he let loose on the boy.

	"Sucking cock?  Is that what you think you've agreed to do?  Suck
some cock for a couple of hours?"

	Callum had never seen Mr. DeMarco so angry.  He was almost too
afraid to answer but he did manage to squeak out a 'yes' and nod his head.

	"Well, boy," Mr. DeMarco spat out.  "Let me set you straight on
exactly what you've agreed to do."

	"First off," he began, "this is a standard personal entertainment
contract that we use all the time here.  It's not, as you seem to think,
for 'a couple of hours.'  Personal entertainment contracts run for a
minimum of twelve hours.  You've obligated yourself to be at Walensky's
house 'entertaining' his guests from 6:00 p.m. on Sunday night until 6:00
a.m. Monday morning."

	"Oh," Callum meekly replied, surprised by the length of time he'd
agreed to be at Mr. Walensky's dinner.

	"And what do you think, boy?  You think you'll be sucking cock for
twelve hours?  Hardly.  Oh, you'll be sucking cock alright," Mr. DeMarco
raged at Callum, his eyes just boring into him.  "You'll be on your fucking
knees downing dick for an hour at least.  And after that, I'm sure you'll
be tossing the salad for all of Walensky's friends, too."

	"Tossing the salad?" Callum repeated, clearly not understanding.

	"Giving them rim jobs.  Eating out their asses.  Jesus, kid,"
Mr. DeMarco questioned him with barely concealed contempt, "don't you know
anything?  Walensky's guests are going to expect you to stick your face
into their ass cracks and lick out their shitters until they're sparkling
clean."

	"Fuck that shit," Callum exclaimed in shock, some of the old Callum
briefly resurfacing.

	"Fucking the shit comes later boy," Dean sneered.  "After you've
cleaned out all the assholes in the room, boy, they'll bend you over and
fuck yours."  Dean loved the look of horror on Callum's face as he absorbed
that piece of news.  Dean wasn't about to leave it at that, however.  This
was even more fun than he'd imagined it would be.  He proceeded to lay out
Callum's up-coming evening in graphic detail.

	"You'll arrive at 6:00 p.m.  Knowing Sam, he'll have you strip down
right away - show you off to his guests.  I imagine cocktails will last an
hour, maybe an hour and a half.  You'll probably start out serving them,
but it won't be long before you're put to better use - on your knees,
sucking dick."

	"Dinner will provide you with a little break, though you'll almost
certainly be expected to help serve.  His guests will take that opportunity
to get to know you better - or at least to get to know your body better.
They'll goose you, feel you up, try to stick a finger up your boy-hole -
all the normal things you'd expect when you've got a boy-whore serving
dinner to a group of guys who are all planning on fucking him senseless
before the night is over."

	Callum just stood there, his eyes transfixed on Dean's, his body
literally shaking as the man limned out the boy's evening at Walensky's.
"After dinner, Walensky will suggest they all repair to his recreation room
where they can relax.  He'll lead the way and then, when they get there,
he'll tell them all to make themselves comfortable.  They'll all take their
lead from him.  Some will strip down completely; others will simply remove
their trousers.  And then they'll start in on you."

	"I suspect that they'll start out with having you do a little
ass-munching.  Having a sweaty butt-hole cleaned out by a good-looking
stud's tongue can be a real turn on.  Of course, seeing how they will have
just finished eating dinner, you'll have to expect a certain amount of
flatulence but that'll just increase their enjoyment of your ministrations.
I'm sure a couple of the guys will have you work on their cocks after
you've cleaned out their holes for them, getting themselves prepped for the
main event."

	"Sometime around 9:30 or 10:00 p.m., Walensky will get things
rolling.  He'll have you lie down on a sofa, spread your legs, and begin
fucking your boytwat.  Once he's broken you in, it'll pretty much become a
free-for-all.  They'll be going at you non-stop for the next five or six
hours.  Early on, one of them will get tired of waiting for his turn at
your butt and start using your mouth while his buddy continues working away
at your rear.  From that point on, there'll only be a few random occasions
when both of your fuck-holes aren't being plugged."

	"Eventually, though, probably around 4:30 a.m., by which time your
stretched-out boypussy will have been leaking a steady stream of man-scuzz
for three or four hours, even the horniest guest will finally have his fill
of you and you'll be able to get a little rest, though by that time your
entire body will be so sore it'll be difficult to actually fall asleep.  At
6:00 a.m., Walensky will help you to your feet and escort you to the door
and let you get dressed.  And then you'll leave, reeking of other men's
cum, uncontrollably farting used spunk into the seat of your pants, the
very picture of a boy-whore after a long night's work."

	"And that, Callum," Dean concluded with real scorn, "is what you
agreed to do when you signed Walensky's contract."

	The look of horror on Callum's face had been replaced by a mask of
raw terror.  "Oh, my God, sir," he moaned.  "I can't do that.  No fucking
way.  I can't.  I just can't."

	"No," Dean replied with undiminished anger.  "I didn't think you
could.  You talk a big game about being ready to do anything for your
career but, when push comes to shove, I always figured it was just talk.
And that's okay, Callum.  It is.  Not everybody is willing to make the
sacrifices necessary to really succeed in this business.  Not everyone has
what it takes to make it big.  That I could have lived with.  But what you
did was commit yourself - and this agency - to a contract that you didn't
fully understand and which you're now unwilling to fulfill.  And, by doing
that, you've not only torpedoed your own career, you've basically destroyed
this agency, too."

	"It can't be that bad, sir.  Can it?"  Callum asked in a small
voice.

	"Oh, it's that bad, Callum," DeMarco assured the boy.  "In fact,
it's hard to see how it could be any worse.  What you've done is sign a
contract committing you, and through you this agency, to sexually
entertaining six of the leading figures in the modeling scene in this town.
This is not something you were forced to do; this was something you did on
your own, voluntarily.  And, now, you're going to reneg on that deal.  How
am I supposed to explain that?"

	"Well, sir," Callum suggested, "you could maybe just say that I've
changed my mind."

	"Changing your mind, isn't an explanation - it's an excuse,"
DeMarco shouted at the abashed boy.  "Obviously, you've changed your mind.
The question that they will want answered is 'why did you change your
mind?'"

	"Couldn't you just tell them that I don't want to get fucked,"
Callum asked.  "That I'm not into that."

	"Why don't I just tell them that you're straight, Callum," Dean
replied scornfully.  "Why don't I just come out and admit that I was trying
to pull a fast one on Walensky, get him to accept a straight guy as gay so
he'd overlook the homophobic tirade you let loose the first time you were
there.  Yeah, that's it," he added sarcastically.  "You, me - the entire
agency - we were all just lying to him, setting him up so that he could
make a fool of himself by offering you a personal entertainment contract.
You think that's what we should do, Callum?  Tell Walensky the joke's on
him.  Oh, I bet he'll really yuck it up."

	"No, sir," Callum conceded, his tone now one of abject
mortification.  "I know we can't tell him that, sir."

	"Then what the fuck do you suggest we do tell him, Callum?  How am
I supposed to explain why you're cancelling the engagement?"

	"Couldn't you say that I didn't realize what I was agreeing to when
I signed the contract; that I didn't understand what a personal
entertainment contract involved?  I mean, that's actually true."

	Mr. DeMarco shook his head as if he couldn't believe what he was
hearing.  "And how's that supposed to help, Callum?  First off, I'd be
admitting that I'm sending models out to interviews without providing them
with basic information about their profession, information any model would
be expected to fully grasp.  But more to the point, so what if you didn't
fully understand what you were agreeing to?  Even if you didn't understand
what a personal entertainment job entailed when you signed the contract
that still doesn't explain why you're not willing to fulfill the contract
now that you do know.  You told Sam that you're gay.  You even told him
that you've been fucked before.  So, from his point of view, what's your
problem?"

	"And before you even say it, Callum," DeMarco continued, "let me
shoot down any suggestion that we try arguing that even though you're gay
you just don't believe in exchanging sexual favors for career advancement.
You just finished sucking Walensky off - twice, in fact.  While Sam may
well believe you are gay, he's not sufficiently egotistic as to think that
the reason you blew him was because you were so physically attracted to him
that you couldn't help yourself.  The man can look in the mirror.  There's
no way Sam is going to believe that the reason you're backing out of the
entertainment contract is because you're morally opposed to prostituting
yourself when you've already played the whore with him."

	Hearing Mr. DeMarco describe his actions in such stark terms made
Callum finally face the reality of what he'd done earlier in the day.  He'd
prostituted himself to another man.  He got down on his knees and took the
man's cock in his mouth and sucked him off until he shot down his throat,
even though the mere thought of doing all those things made his skin crawl.
He did it solely to advance his career, or more accurately, to save it.
He'd already turned himself into a whore and he would have continued
whoring himself out - not only to Mr. Walensky but to all his guests - if
only what they had wanted Callum to do was to blow them.  It wasn't acting
the part of a faggot boy-slut that bothered him, he was already doing that.
It was getting ass-fucked.  That was it.

	And suddenly, for the first time since the possibility had been
raised, Callum wondered whether he should just go ahead and do it.  It was
obvious from the way Mr. DeMarco was acting that if he didn't, not only was
his career over but, very likely, his actions would destroy Mr. DeMarco's
business.  After all Mr. DeMarco had done for him, all the work he'd put
into training and grooming Callum for a modeling career, Callum almost felt
as bad about that as he did about leaving his own career in tatters.  And
all this because he wouldn't bend over and let some gay guys fuck him.

	Callum didn't want to get fucked.  The thought of having another
man's cock shoved up his ass made him literally sick to his stomach.  But
he'd gotten himself into this mess; he'd gotten the entire agency into this
mess.  And it was pretty obvious now that there was only one way out of
this mess that didn't involve ruining his own future and Mr. DeMarco's
business.  'It won't make me a faggot,' he tried to tell himself.  'A
faggot would enjoy getting fucked.  I'm going to hate it.  I'm doing it
because I have to in order to save my career.  I'm doing what I have to do
to make it in this world - what a real man would do.'

	While Callum had been working all this out in his mind, Mr. DeMarco
had been verbally running through every possible option, discounting each
one after only a brief consideration.  With a sigh, he shook is head.
"Probably the best thing to do is to just tell Walensky the truth.  God
knows it will rupture any relationship this agency has with him but it
might limit the fallout with other hiring agents.  I don't see any other
viable option."

	Callum looked at the man who he admired so much, who had done so
much for him.  He swallowed hard and then he said it.  "I'll do it, sir."

	"No, Callum," Mr. DeMarco immediately replied.  "You've done enough
damage today.  I'll tell him.  After all, the deception was pretty much my
idea in the first place.  I should be the one who tells Sam."

	"No, sir," Callum explained.  "I wasn't suggesting that I tell
Mr. Walensky that I'm really straight.  I was saying that I'll do it.  I'll
fulfill the contract.  I'll let Mr. Walensky and his friends fuck me."

	"Say what?" Mr. DeMarco asked.

	"I'll do it, sir," Callum repeated softly.  "I'll let them fuck
me."

	Mr. DeMarco just stared at Callum for a good minute.  And then,
reverting to the fatherly tone he'd assumed many times in the past, he
responded to Callum's offer.  "Callum, I can't tell you how much it means
to me that you're willing to go ahead with the contract even though it
involves subjecting yourself to demeaning and revolting sexual use, over
and over again, all night long.  It shows me just how committed you are to
your career.  But I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

	Having steeled himself to go fulfill the terms of the personal
entertainment contract, the last thing Callum expected to hear was
Mr. DeMarco telling him that he couldn't let him go through with it.  He
was completely stunned and it showed on his face.  It took him a few
seconds to recover from his shock before he could reply.  "No, sir.
Really," he pleaded with the man.  "I want to fulfill the contract.  I
signed it; I'm the one who got us all into this trouble in the first place;
I should be the one who gets us out of this mess.  It's okay if they all
fuck me.  I'm willing to let them do that."

	"Callum," Mr. DeMarco explained, "it's not that I still doubt your
willingness to go through with the contract.  That's not the problem.  The
problem is that you have no experience being fucked.  It hurts.
Particularly the first few times.  And it's not like you can just lie there
and passively let them fuck you.  You have to be responsive; you have to
act as if you're having a good time.  You have to be able to convince them
that you enjoy having them fuck you - that you want them to fuck you."

	"I can do it, sir," Callum responded, a part of his mind trying to
comprehend how things had come to such a pass that he was pleading to be
allowed to let a group of guys he didn't even know gangbang him.  "I'm sure
I can.  Just let me try, sir.  Please."

	"No, Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied, clearly unmoved.  "I'm sorry.  I
can't send out a model who has no sexual experience bottoming for men -
who's actually a virgin in that regard - on a personal entertainment
assignment.  It wouldn't be fair to you - and it wouldn't be fair to the
men who've contracted for your services.  They expect a seasoned
professional, not a neophyte who has literally no experience taking dick up
his ass.  I'm sorry, Callum, but I'll just have to tell Sam the truth and
tell him you won't be able to fulfill the contract you signed."

	Callum's mind was reeling.  He appreciated Mr. DeMarco's obvious
concern for his physical welfare but the bottom line was that if Callum
wasn't allowed to fulfill the contract his modeling career was over.  How
hard could it be to let some other guys stick their dicks up his ass?  Fags
did it all the time.  Sure he didn't have any experience getting fucked.
He hadn't had any experience sucking dick either, but all it took was a
couple of day's intensive training and he became a good enough cocksucker
to impress Mr. Walensky.  And then it hit him - the solution to his problem
and to the agency's problems, too.

	"Sir," he began urgently.  "My session with Mr. Walensky and his
friends isn't until Sunday evening.  That's two days away.  Maybe...maybe
you could....help train me.  You know, like you did with sucking cock..."

	Mr. DeMarco gave him a penetrating stare.  Then, slowly, he
inquired, "Are you asking me to fuck you, Callum?"

	"No, sir," Callum responded quickly without thinking and then
backtracked.  "Well, actually, sir, I guess I am.  I don't mean it in a
sexual way, though...I mean I'm not asking you to fuck me because I think
you'd want to fuck me...it's that I think maybe you could train me how to
get fucked.  You know, the way you and the guys trained me how to suck
cock..."  Callum voice just kind of trailed off.

        Callum could feel his entire body burning in embarrassment.  He
knew he needed to get Mr. DeMarco to train him but Callum wasn't sure how
to go about it without insulting the man.  Not knowing what else to say, he
just shut up.

	Dean could scarcely keep the look of triumph off his face.  He
could see Troy sitting on the sofa behind Callum grinning broadly as Callum
asked Dean to fuck him.  It had taken less than two months to maneuver a
raging homophobe into begging to get butt-fucked and even Dean was
surprised with how quickly Callum had reached this point.  And now Dean
faced the delicious prospect of popping the boy's cherry - at his request,
no less.  This was a deflowering he was really going to enjoy - and so
would the thousands of subscribers when they saw it on the website.

	He stood up from behind his desk.  His suit jacket was already
draped across the back of his chair.  Keeping his eyes locked into Callum's
he slowly reached up and undid his tie, pulling it from around his neck
when it was loose.  Then he undid the first three buttons of his shirt
before slowly moving around his desk and standing in front of the waiting
boy.

	"Are you sure, Callum?" he asked as he stood there just inches from
the boy.

	"Yes, sir," Callum answered with a noticeable tremor in his voice.
"I'm sure.  Fuck me."

	"I am going to fuck you, Callum," Dean informed the boy, his hands
returning to his shirt, slowly undoing the rest of the buttons.  "But you
have to remember what I told you earlier.  You can't just be passive while
you're being fucked.  You have to be an active participant.  You have to be
able to convince other guys that you're enjoying getting fucked, that you
want them to fuck you, that you want them to bang the shit out of your
boy-twat."

	Dean undid his cuffs and shucked his shirt off his shoulders.  He
saw the boy glance down his now naked torso and try to hide an involuntary
shudder.  Ignoring that, Dean brought his hands to Callum's strikingly
handsome face and drew it forward.  Deliberately, he smashed his lips
against the boy's and then, after a moment's hesitation, forced his tongue
into the boy's mouth.  He smiled as he felt the boy gasp in surprise but he
kept their lips locked together as his tongue began to explore the inside
of the teenager's mouth.  He could feel Callum briefly fighting the assault
before his mind took control of his body and the boy relaxed and let Dean's
tongue continue its explorations.  Then, slowly, tentatively, he felt
Callum begin to kiss him back.

	As he continued to kiss the boy, Dean lowered one of his hands from
Callum's head and began to softly rub the boy's hard pectoral muscle.  When
his fingers came in contact with an erect nipple the hand movement stopped.
Waiting only a moment, Dean compressed his fingers together and then
squeezed down hard on the pointed nub.  Callum's heavy groan was captured
by Dean's mouth as his tongue continued to dart back and forth, flicking
the boy's gums and teeth.  Dean continued to kiss the boy and squeeze down
on his flaring nipple for maybe another minute, feeling the boy beginning
to writhe against him before he broke it off and stood back.

	Callum's eyes were shut tight.  "Look at me, boy," Dean roughly
ordered.

	The boy's eyes popped open at once.  Dean took a step back and then
eased out of his loafers.  Callum had not broken position during the long
kiss, so Dean reached behind the boy's head and unlinked his fingers.
Slowly, he moved both of Callum's hands to the man's waist, making sure
Callum didn't break eye contact with him.  "Take off my pants, Callum," he
directed.

	Flushing noticeably, Callum moved his fingers to Dean's belt,
unhooked the prong from the leather and let the now loose ends hang down
from the belt loops.  Next, he unlatched the man's slacks and loosened the
zipper.  "Go ahead," Dean urged, "take them completely off."

	Callum crouched down and lowered Dean's pants to his ankles.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the boy's face, Dean slowly stepped out of first
one and then the other pants' legs.  He used a foot to flick the pants
aside.  "Now the boxers," he ordered.

	Swallowing hard, Callum raised his hands and grabbed the boxers
along the sides and then eased them down the man's legs.  Dean's hard cock
popped straight to attention, just inches from Callum's face.  "Now get on
your knees, Callum," Dean continued, "and show me how much you've learned
about how you should suck a man's cock."

	Without a word, Callum scrambled up on his knees and then leaned
forward and took the already slick head of Dean's cock into his mouth.
There was only a moment's hesitation before he began sucking on the tube of
hard man-flesh as he'd been taught over the past few days.

	Callum had learned his cocksucking lessons well.  Except for a
couple of momentary lapses when Callum let his eye's stray from Dean's face
- both of which earned him a hard slap across his cheek - there was little
to criticize in the boy's technique.  He was even able to deep-throat
Dean's thick fuck-stick with only minimal difficultly, a vast improvement
over his sorry performance the first time he'd had a dick in his mouth.

	Dean kept up a running commentary on Callum's efforts, praising the
boy when he swallowed all of Dean's dick down his throat, complimenting him
for the way he was keeping his teeth off's Dean's rigid pole, advising him
to use as much saliva as he could.  "Remember, boy," Dean warned him, "this
dick is going straight from your mouth up your tight, virgin boy-hole.
You're going to want it as lubed up as possible."  Callum gurgled his
agreement as he worked his mouth up and down Dean's hard bone.

	Dean let the boy continue sucking on his dick for maybe five
minutes.  He had to admit Callum was good.  Not so good, however, that he
wanted to forego busting the boy's cherry just for the chance to drop a
load of his baby-makers down Callum's grasping throat.  Dean knew he'd have
plenty of opportunities to feed the boy his man-cum in the future.  But
breaking a boy in to anal sex, snatching his virginity from him - that
could only happen once in any boy's lifetime.  And today was the day Callum
was going to lose his virginity, the day he would kiss his cherry goodbye
forever.  And Dean was going to be the one to do it to him.  The first man
to do him like a fuck-boy should be done - hard, rough and raw.  And it was
time to do just that.

	Dean yanked his dick out of Callum's mouth.  "Stand up, boy," he
commanded in his most domineering voice.  "It's time for you to get
fucked."

	Even though Callum had reconciled himself to getting fucked, a
tidal wave of fear washed over him as he slowly regained his feet.  His
entire body was quivering with tension as Dean turned him around so that he
was facing the door - facing Troy.  Callum had a brief glimpse of the
receptionist's face, alight with undisguised glee as he waited for Callum
to get his ass fucked, before Callum quickly looked away.  It was bad
enough getting his ass screwed but knowing that that fucking fruitcake
would be enjoying the whole sordid spectacle made the entire prospect even
more humiliating, if that were possible.

	Callum felt a strong pressure on his back, as Dean forced him to
bend over.  Then he heard the man order him to "reach back and spread your
cheeks, boy, so I can see your tight little pussy."  Callum realized that
Mr. DeMarco was just trying to prepare him for what he faced on Sunday
night but he couldn't help but cringe at the derogatory terms his agent was
using to describe Callum's body.  Hearing his asshole described as a
'pussy' and a 'boy-twat' was incredibly emasculating.  It made Callum feel
like he wasn't a man; not a real man, anyway.  He was just a bitch to be
used by real men.

	Callum tried to tell himself that it was just an act - that he was
just playing a role.  But when he suddenly felt Mr. DeMarco's hard dick
pressing against his puckered rosette, it sure didn't feel like an act.  It
felt like the real thing.

	Once Dean had his dick wedged tightly against Callum's virgin
butt-hole, he paused to savor the moment.  All his efforts with Callum had
led to this.  He'd been at this point many times before, the point where a
boy lost his virginity forever - the point where a masculine stud became
another man's bitch for the first time.  As always, he felt an
indescribably exhilarating rush.

        Dean looked down at Callum's still untrammeled hole.  'Now you're a
virgin,' Dean said to himself.  Then, with a vicious thrust forward which
was answered by an agonized shriek from Callum, he busted the boy's cherry.
'And now you're not,' Dean chuckled, as Callum thrashed and bucked
underneath him, penetrated - for the first, but definitely not the last
time - by another man's cock.

	Dean took a deep, satisfied breath and then relentlessly drilled
his bone into Callum's hole all the way to its hairy root.  Callum howled
in pain as his back-channel struggled to accommodate the massive intruder.
Callum had never felt such pain before and despite all his determination to
go through with this, to let himself be fucked, he couldn't help himself.

	"Oh, God, sir," he pleaded.  "Take it out.  Take it out.  It hurts
too much.  It really hurts, sir.  Please.  It's too big, sir.  Oh, please,
sir.  Take it out."

	Given all the experience Dean had in raping a virgin boy's cherry
ass, he'd heard these pleas many times before and they hadn't dissuade him
in the least.  If anything, they acted like an aphrodisiac, making Dean
hotter, getting his juices really flowing.  So hearing Callum beg him to
stop just acted like a spur to the man.  He slowly pulled his hard cock
two-thirds of the way out and then rammed it back in with real force.
Callum howled again.

	"Relax," Dean told the boy as Callum continued to struggle in
agony.  "Just relax, boy.  You'll get used to it soon.  Just try to relax."

	Callum heard the man's soothing words and tried to do what he was
told, but the searing pain in his butt felt as if someone was running a lit
match back and forth in his rectum.  It hurt so fucking much.  So fucking
much.  Despite himself, Callum began to cry.

	Hearing the first strangled sob, Dean realized the boy was crying.
This was something he knew his subscribers loved seeing.  Dean jammed his
dick up the steaming stretched-out hole as far as could and then, grabbing
Callum firmly around the chest, forced the boy back into a standing
position.  Dean knew that they were directly positioned under the camera
set in the ceiling of his office and that his viewers would have a clear
view of the boy's tear-stained face as his teenage fuck-hole was ravaged
for the first time.  His subscribers were going to get their money's worth
with this video.

	If anything, being forced back to an erect position increased the
pain Callum was feeling.  Indeed, the physical trauma was so great that
Callum didn't even hear Troy laughing out loud as Dean began pummeling
Callum's stretched-out hole with abandon, throwing everything he had into
fucking the shit out of the boy.

	The sound of Dean's hips smashing into Callum's muscled buns became
a tattoo interspersed by the boy's frequent squeals whenever Dean landed a
particularly vicious thrust up his guts.  As he continued to assault the
boy's slowly loosening ass, Dean brought his hands around to Callum's chest
and began working on the teenager's tender nipples, squeezing harder and
harder as his rape of the boy's butt continued unabated.

	Eventually, as the boy's tits became tenderized, the pain emanating
from his chest achieved a sufficient pitch as to break into his
consciousness.  Suddenly, Callum had to deal not only with the scarcely
diminished torment his ass was undergoing, but with the sharp, piercing
pain that now was shooting through his body from his abused nipples.

	"Oh, please, sir," Callum begged, almost incoherent in his anguish
and humiliation, "please stop.  Please."

	By this time, though, even if Dean had been of a mind to heed the
boy's frantic entreaties, he was beyond stopping.  The man was lost in the
total ecstasy of sexual rut.  Dean, however, still had enough presence of
mind to know that he was getting close to orgasm.  And he had one last
humiliation to make Callum's deflowering complete.  He lowered his hand to
Callum's groin, intending to jerk him off, to make him shoot a load of his
own boy-juice, even as the man behind him completed the violation of
Callum's boycunt with a load of hot, slimy man-seed.

	And that was when, to his shock, he came in contact with Callum's
chastity device.  Callum was still wearing the plastic cock-restrainer that
had imprisoned the boy's dick for weeks.  Dean had intended to remove it
before he started fucking the boy but, in the excitement of the moment,
he'd simply forgotten to do so.  Given the state of Dean's own arousal, his
bone being heated and massaged by the teenager's battered bung, Dean knew
there was no way that he'd be able to get the device off Callum before Dean
came.  So his plan to have Callum shoot his own load at the precise moment
that Dean was unloading up Callum's aching shitter was going to have to be
abandoned.

	'Oh, well,' Dean told himself.  'I'll just have to wait till later
this evening to make Callum shoot while I'm creaming his hole.  It'll give
me something else to look forward to.'  And, with that consoling thought,
he returned to the urgent task at hand - shooting his hot load up Callum's
tight butt.

	But, as he pounded away at Callum's boypussy with increasing force,
the thought occurred to him that there might be something to keeping the
boy in chastity while he was being fucked.  After all, what could be more
demeaning, more humiliating, than forcing a boy to serve as a cum
receptacle for other men while he, himself, was actually being prevented
from achieving an erection, much less an orgasm.  Such a boy could have no
illusions that he was anything more than a pair of holes for other men to
use, a toy for real men to take their pleasure from and then discard, his
own pleasure such a matter of complete irrelevance that he was not even
provided with the opportunity to achieve release regardless of the uses to
which his own body were being put.  How humiliating that would be.  How
degraded any boy kept that way would feel.  Keeping Callum in permanent
chastity was certainly something to consider.

	As intriguing as this possibility was, however, further
consideration was soon shunted aside as Dean felt his balls rising in their
sac.  He yanked his tool completely out of Callum's hole and then rammed it
back in to the hilt.  Callum screamed in pain.  Dean did it again and
Callum screamed again.  But when he did it the third time, Callum's
answering scream was overshadowed by Dean's own ecstatic cries as his cock
exploded with cum inside the furnace of the boy's ass.

	It took maybe three minutes for Dean to force all his boiling sperm
inside Callum's now thoroughly ravished hole and at least a couple more
minutes for the pounding of his heart to diminish inside of his chest.
But, eventually, even though his cock was still buried deep inside the
boy's vise-like fuck-hole, Dean could feel it beginning to lose its aching
hardness.  Dean leaned back so he could watch as he slowly pulled his dick
from Callum's battered hole.  As the crown popped out, Dean was gratified
to see it followed by a spurt of creamy man-cream.  Callum had been well
and truly bred.

	Once Dean's dick had finally vacated his ass and Dean let go of
Callum's torso, the boy sank to the floor.  He lay there, huddled in upon
himself, sobbing softly, trying to take in the enormity of what had just
happened.

	Dean looked over at the couch where Troy had watched the whole
thing.  His son was grinning like a Cheshire cat.  He flashed his dad a
'thumbs-up,' which Dean acknowledged with a quick nod of his head.

	Dean looked back down at the crumpled form of Callum, curled up at
his feet.  In the position he was in, the boy's freshly-ravaged asshole was
hidden from view, but his muscled buttocks still bore the marks of the many
slaps Dean had delivered during his violent assault - slaps Dean hadn't
even been aware of at the time.  Just instinct, he guessed.  If you're
fucking a hot male pussy, you naturally keep slapping it, too.  That was
just embedded in the male geonome - at least it was in Dean's.

        Anyway, just looking at the rosy glow still suffusing Callum's
abused ass-cheeks was enough to start to re-harden Dean's dick.  And when a
loud, raspberry fart broke the silence of the room, an obvious sign that
some of Dean's cum-deposit was beginning to leak out, it was all the man
could do to keep himself from re-mounting the prone boy and giving his
boy-twat another good reaming-out.  But Dean kept himself under control.
The boy had already taken to the bit and been duly broken - now it was time
to train him up properly, prepare him for his future as an A-number-one
cuntboy.  And Dean was just the man to do it.

	Below him, Callum was finally beginning to stir.  Slowly he raised
first his head and then his torso from the carpet.  Taking a few moments to
gather himself, he then staggered to his feet.  He turned around to face
the man who had just taken his cherry.  And when he did, the face that
greeted him was distinctly unhappy.

	"That wasn't just bad, Callum," Mr. DeMarco informed him.  "That
was piss-poor.  I told you that you had to be able to convince Sam and his
guests that you enjoy getting fucked, that you want them to fuck you.  The
way you cried and carried on, one would have thought someone was stretching
you out on a rack."

	"But, sir," Callum tried to explain in a very ragged voice, "it
hurt so much.  I don't think I've ever felt such pain before in my entire
life.  I mean, I broke my wrist playing basketball once and I thought that
really hurt but that was nothing compared to how it felt when you....when
you fucked me.  Sir."

	Mr. DeMarco shook his head with obvious disappointment.  "Well,
maybe we should just call it quits right now, Callum.  I appreciate your
willingness but maybe we should face the reality that you're just not up to
it.  You're just not capable of pulling it off."

	Even though it seemed like every part of his body was aching and
his abraded asshole felt as if it had been used as a punching bag, Callum
was still upset when he heard Mr. DeMarco's comments.  If he gave up now
that would be the end of his modeling career.  It would mean that all the
sacrifices he'd already made - essentially dropping out of college,
learning how to suck cock, letting himself get fucked up the ass - were all
for nothing.  He really didn't even want to think of being fucked again but
he also knew that if he didn't say anything, if he just went along with
Mr. DeMarco's decision, he was almost certainly consigning himself to a
lifetime of dead-end jobs.  He would end up being the 'loser' his father
always said he was.  That was one thing he simply couldn't accept, at least
not without a fight.

	"Mr. DeMarco, please," he pleaded.  "I know it was really bad.  I
know I carried on like a little bitch but it really did hurt.  It hurt so
much more than I thought it would.  I just wasn't prepared for that.  Give
me another chance.  Please.  I'll do better next time.  I promise you."

	Mr. DeMarco looked at him, the doubt obvious in his face.  "I
really don't think that one or two more times could really lead to that
much improvement.  Judging by your first attempt, it's going to take a lot
of work, a lot of effort on your part before you could even approximate a
response that would convince other gay guys that you enjoyed getting
fucked.  And we really don't have that much time."

	"Sir," Callum reiterated.  "I'm willing to do whatever it takes.
I'll do whatever you tell me to do.  Just give me the chance, sir.
Please."

	Mr. DeMarco gave him a long, appraising look.  After a long pause,
during which time Callum nervously stood there thinking his whole future
was in the balance, he allowed himself to smile.  "Okay, Callum.  I'm going
to give you the chance to prove yourself.  But I want to warn you, it isn't
going to be easy."

	"Sir," Callum replied, immensely relieved, "I'm willing to do
whatever it takes to get myself ready for Sunday night.  I promise you,
sir.  You won't be disappointed."

	"I don't expect that I will," Mr. DeMarco agreed with another
smile.

	"Now listen to me, Callum," the man continued.  "I want you to get
dressed, go home, grab a shower and giving yourself a good douching."

	"Douching, sir?" Callum queried.

	"An enema, Callum." Mr. DeMarco explained.  "Now that you're going
to be passing yourself off as a gay bottom, you need to keep yourself clean
back there.  Gay guys expect their partners to attend to those type of
things.  I realize that it isn't like you're going to be bending over for
every guy you see but, given the nature of this business, you want to be
prepared to do what's necessary on short notice.  So you should probably
plan on douching yourself every morning, just to be on the safe side."

	"Now I would recommend that you get yourself an enema shower system
which you can just attach to your shower head.  That way, after you've
finished showering all you have to do is switch the water flow to the enema
device, stick the other end up you pussy, and give yourself a good
douching.  It's a lot cheaper and a lot easier than using individual enemas
all of the time.  But for today, I'd just suggest you stop at a drugstore
and pick up half a dozen Fleet enemas.  You'll want to give yourself a
couple of enemas right away, since you haven't been douching before and you
are a little dirty back there."

	With that, Mr. DeMarco looked down at his cock.  When Callum
followed his gaze he was surprised to note that Mr. DeMarco was fully erect
again, despite the fact that he'd shot a huge load of his man-seed into
Callum's hole not ten minutes before.  But then Callum noticed the dark
smudge on the head of the man's dick and he realized, to his incredible
mortification, that he was looking at a smear of his own shit, fresh from
his back-hole.

	Wincing with embarrassment, Callum looked up at Mr. DeMarco.  "I'm
sorry, sir," he apologized.  "I'll make sure I'm clean in the future.  I'll
give myself a real good douching when I get home.  I promise, sir."

	"I'm sure you will," Mr. DeMarco agreed amiably.

	"Once you've showered and cleaned yourself out," the man continued,
"I want you to try to get a couple hours rest.  It's already been an
eventful day for you and you're not going to have a particularly restful
night, either.  I'll be sending Troy over around 6:00 p.m. to bring you
back to my house.  Make sure to bring along your toothbrush and other
grooming items and also the clothes you're planning on wearing to Sam's on
Sunday night.  You'll be spending the weekend at my place and you'll be
leaving for Sam's straight from there."

	"Really, sir?" Callum asked in surprise.  "Oh, thank you so much,
sir," he continued without waiting for an affirmation.  Callum couldn't
believe that Mr. DeMarco was not only willing to sacrifice his entire
weekend to help Callum out, but he was willing to let Callum stay at his
place to make things even easier.  For the thousandth time Callum thought
about how lucky he was to have Mr. DeMarco as his agent.

	Mr. DeMarco favored the boy with a warm smile.  "Why don't you get
dressed and go home, Callum.  You have a long night ahead of you."

	"Yes, sir.  Thank you again, sir," Callum replied with sincerity.
He turned to walk over to where he'd piled his clothes on the floor.  As he
bent down to step into his trousers, however, another fart ripped through
his ass, followed by a large outflow of Dean's man-seed.  Even though
Callum had his back to him, Dean could see the boy blushing furiously.  It
was all Dean could do to keep from laughing out loud.

	Suppressing his laugh, Dean just stood there watching as Callum
pulled on his slacks, struggled into his tight Polo shirt and then stepped
into his loafers.  Dean was amused to note that an obvious cum-stain was
already forming along the back-seam of Callum's trousers, the standard
calling card for a cuntboy who'd been recently fucked.  Anyone seeing
Callum walk by on the street would know just what the boy was good for.

	Dean turned to his son who was still sitting on the couch, his own
slacks tented out by his obvious boner.  "Troy, would you go get a couple
of bottles of energy supplement for Callum.  We want to make sure he stays
hydrated today."

	"Yes, sir," Troy immediately responded, not bothering to hide his
huge grin.  He headed out of the office.  "C'mon, Cal," he said to the
model as he walked past him, "I'll get you set up before you go."

	Callum wasn't surprised by the receptionist's obvious good humor.
The faggot had probably really enjoyed watching Callum getting fucked.
'But so what,' Callum told himself.  'Let the little pervert get his
jollies.  What do I care?  I'm on my way to making something of myself,
making a real career in this business.  We'll just see who gets the last
laugh.'

	Then, saying one last goodbye to Mr. DeMarco, Callum headed out.
Even though his ass still hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, he felt like he was
walking on air.  Today he had faced the biggest crisis he'd ever had to
deal with, one that threatened all that he had worked to accomplish.  And
he had risen to the challenge.  He hadn't let himself be dissuaded by what
other people might think about what he was doing.  Instead, he had kept his
eyes focused on the ultimate prize and persevered.  Despite the pain,
despite the humiliation he had felt, he'd hung in there.  And he'd come
through - banged up, to be sure, but in one piece nonetheless.  He knew the
road ahead was going to difficult.  There was obviously going to be a lot
of pain and a lot more humiliation but he no longer doubted that in the end
he was going to make it.  He was going to become the most successful model
the AAA Modeling Agency had ever had.

	Unbeknownst to Callum, Dean was thinking the same thing.  'That
fucking kid is going to be the biggest money-maker yet,' he thought to
himself.  'They're going to be lined up just for the chance to fuck his
well-muscled straight butt.  We're going to make a mint off of that boy's
pussy.'

	He looked up to see Troy coming back into the office.  "That was
fucking hot as shit, Dad," his son exclaimed.  "You really fucked the crap
out of him.  And I loved that you fucked him standing up.  I already
checked some of the tape and you get a fantastic view of Callum's body as
you're pounding away at his hole.  And his being in a chastity cage makes
it even hotter.  They're going to love it on the site - seeing an arrogant,
hot, straight stud surrendering his cherry and not being able to enjoy any
of it.  I know how much you enjoy making straight dudes cum while you're
fucking them but, you know, I think it was even hotter seeing you fuck
Callum and knowing that the poor guy couldn't get off even if he wanted
to."

	"You know, Troy," Dean mused.  "I kind of think you're right.  I
just may keep that boy in permanent chastity.  I think a lot of our
subscribers might really think that was hot.  And most of our customers
would, too."  Dean thought about that for a moment and then a wicked smile
creased his face.

	"I just had a great idea, Troy," he confided.  "We'll market the
fucker in his chastity cage but, if a client pays a surcharge, say two or
three hundred dollars, we'll have Callum hand over the key to his chastity
cage at the beginning of a session.  Then, it'll be up to the customer to
decide if and when the cage will be removed.  The only restriction will be
that Callum can only be allowed to cum when he has a dick up his pussy.
That way, he'll eventually associate cumming with getting fucked."

        "The way I see it," Dean continued, "after two or three weeks of
enforced chastity, during which time he'll still be consuming our juiced-up
'energy supplement,' the little whore will be frantic to cum.  I'm sure
he'll go out of his way to service any customer who's paid the premium and
literally holds the key in his hands that will determine whether or not
Callum gets to shoot a load.  Eventually, word will get around as to just
how far Callum is willing to go to be allowed to get a nut and even guys
who have no intention of removing the cage will end up paying the surcharge
just to make sure they get the benefit of Callum's full performance."

	Despite himself, Troy was impressed.  "Dad, you have a truly
twisted mind," he remarked with admiration.  "I think it's a super idea. "

	"Why, thank you, Troy," Dean responded.  "Coming from you, that's
quite the compliment."

	A few minutes later, Dean was heading out the door.  He wanted to
get home and get things properly set up for his weekend visitor.  He also
hoped to get a little nap in himself.  He figured it was going to be a
really exhausting night and he wanted to be well-rested at the start.  His
record was five orgasms in one session but he had a feeling that was going
to outdo himself tonight.  'Just how much cum can Callum's pussy hold?' he
wondered.  He figured to have the answer to that question before the night
was over.