Date: Mon, 4 Jan 2010 15:35:50 -0500 From: George Gauthier Subject: Jungle Boy 11 Jungle Boy 11 by George Gauthier Author's Note: This is another tale of a pair of young gay actors in Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. This eleventh installment continues the story of protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles introduced in the sixth tale, in place of Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has a cameo role in these new tales). It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body and of sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is nineteen years old. It depicts scenes of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity, bondage and submission. If any of this would offend a reader, proceed no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies. It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans. Readers who like the Jungle Boy series should try either of my series of historical novelettes. The 'Daphne Boy' tales depict an eternally youthful protagonist and his adventures in exotic climes and times. The settings for the 'Naked Prey' series are equally exotic, but each story has its own cute protagonist. My other series are the 'Track and Field' stories in Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George Gauthier. Comments and feedback welcome at georgegauthierdc@gmail.com Chapter 1. Marina Struggling under the weight of a duffle bag and two large totes Conrad Held set them down on the planks with a thunk, caught his breath, and asked: "Excuse me. Do you know where the Sea Falcon is berthed?" A middle aged sailor who was coiling a rope on the wharf at the marina peered from under his nautical cap at the tall dark haired actor and said: "She's that sixty foot ketch yonder, with black sides and a red stripe along the hull. Mind you, I said she was a ketch, not a schooner or a yawl. Some folks can't tell the difference." Conrad looked at the forest of masts that lined the piers of the marina, squinting in the bright sun and the glare off the green waters of the harbor. He wiped his brow with his forearm. "Sorry, but I am one of those landlubbers who cannot tell one kind of boat from another. I have no idea what a ketch is, not really, nor a schooner or a yawl." With a sigh the sailor reached over and picked up a communicator and broadcast a call for a crewman from the ocean going yacht to come fetch the visitor. The crewman from the Sea Falcon who responded was none other than young actor Terry Knowles. Conrad watched his friend and colleague stride down the long plank pathway. Other than a flower at his ear, the youth was stark naked as were several other young men working the boats in the marina. That would have been unusual several decades earlier, but then total public nudity was not uncommon in the fourth decade of the twenty-first century, though only in part a response to hotter climates from global warming. Nudity statutes were a dead letter as a result of generational change, and public tolerance, court decisions, and legislative repeal. There were any number of nudie beaches and nude sunbathing spots in major urban parks. Nude and barefoot athletes on running trails were increasingly common, emulating the ancient Olympians. More than a few of the weekend sailors in marinas or on their boats at sea went about their business entirely unclad. Especially after all the nude scenes the older actor had filmed with the young red head, Conrad had not been surprised that the lad had met him completely starkers. Terry and his lover Sandy Barnett, the so-called Jungle Boys, had made entire movies where they were stark naked in every scene including highly successful gay remakes of 'The Blue Lagoon' and 'When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth'. No coy camera angles either to hide their tushes or the full monty. All their other pictures had frequent nude scenes especially the action pictures set in tropical climates that have inspired the nickname originally borne by Jason Eberly and his pictures, Jungle Boy, the first of which was a gay remake of 'The Naked Prey'. Still shy of twenty, the lithe red head was a vision of youthful male pulchritude. He had one of those bodies that inspired sculptors and painters. His luscious physique was one reason, besides genuine acting talent, that the boy's movie career had flourished. Though short and slender, his physique was taut and tight with the well-defined musculature of the athlete and acrobat that he was with rippled abs, pecs, ribs, and nicely formed muscles plus a curvaceous rear that excited concupiscence. Terry barely reached five four (164 cm) and weight in at 117 pounds (53 kg). His fawn-like physique was the very opposite of the muscular build of a gym bunny. Though Terry didn't have a gymnast's build he was still quite the acrobat and liked to show off climbing and swinging on ropes and such, which is why he did most of his own stunts on screen. Also his naked physique was too familiar to the audience for the producers to get away with a stunt double. Aside from his superb physicality, Terry was incredibly cute; he had red hair, blue eyes, and a lightly freckled face that reflected his Irish heritage. His skin was evenly tanned and totally smooth, without any body hair at all, the look of most young males in the fourth decade of the twenty-first century. He never had had more than wisps in their armpits and at the fork of their legs plus a light dusting on his arms and legs, and his beard had never come in. Thanks to a one-time permanent depilatory, the growth of beard and body hair had been suppressed, leaving him permanently smooth and boyish. As for the manhood so totally on display, Terry had a smooth cock with a vein running along the top to where the foreskin hugged his cock head, outlining the ridge of the glans under the skin. In Terry's case, the sheath of his cock completely covered the head, the folded tip extending perhaps half a finger's breadth beyond. As the older man monitored the boy's approach he was gratified at the way the lad's unencumbered genitals lifted and shifted with his deliberate stride down the pier, his smooth cock swaying gently from the motion. With his slight build, smooth hairless skin, and pretty boy features Terry could easily pass for sixteen. Only the muscular definition of his arms and shoulders and his well-corrugated chest and belly suggested that he was a youth bordering on manhood not the stripling his appearance suggested. Conrad Held himself was was tall, dark, and elegantly handsome. He had portrayed Dracula with an intent stare and a perpetually half raised eyebrow that hinted at the cruelty beneath the surface elegance. In real life Conrad was an easy-going expatriate quick to laugh, happy to dwell in sunny California rather than in rainy England. He had formed a real friendship with both lads but he was closer to Terry, even taking him to bed on occasion. "Hi, Conrad!" the boy intoned cheerfully, blue eyes flashing. The older actor smiled back and engulfed the naked boy in a (reasonably) chaste embrace. He and the young movie star had hit it off right from the start, become fast friends and playing well against each other on screen. Conrad, as Count Dracula, had seduced the sixth form English schoolboy Luke that Terry portrayed. In the very first cinematic gay retelling of the Dracula myth, the vampire had no interest in swooning female virgins sleepwalking about the moors in filmy nightgowns. What he wanted was hot blooded young males, both as a source of nourishment and to indulge his bestial and perverted lusts. Fans still enthused about their first love scene where the vampire lord had stripped the youth naked, literally tearing his nightshirt to shreds to bare the lovely lad he desired. Unable to resist the dread count's hypnotic power, the boy had suffered himself to be carried away to Dracula's lair, there to be ravished by the immortal throughout the night. Their tryst in front of the fire was a cinematic masterpiece of lovemaking, the flickering firelight from the hearth creating chiaroscuro patterns on the tawny skin of the boy and the pale white flesh of his demon lover. Conrad had found himself irresistibly attracted to the young man whose naked body he had pretended to make love to on screen. The boy was quite a change of pace from the buxom babes who were his usual partners. Conrad was excited by the firm musculature of the boy's slender body, his impossibly pretty facial features, the way his trim body squirmed and bucked in his grip, even his simulated moans and gasps. As the boy locked his legs around Conrad's back while the older male pretended to thrust into him, Conrad grew excited. The boy's limbs were slender and smooth and hairless like a girl but hard and muscular too. The way the boy mouthed and licked and nibbled his nipples was arousing. The older actor's own body had responded in a way that was unmistakable, his hardened cock straining against the tiny modesty pouch he wore during filming. That and the lust filled looks he gave the sweet boy in his arms left neither of them in any doubt that they would consummate their relationship for real off camera. And so they had. In the movie, Sandy Barnett, Terry's real life lover, had played the hero, Van Helsing, who finally thwarts the count's evil designs and wins "Luke" for himself. Sandy hadn't minded the attraction that developed between his costars. He and Terry had an open relationship, and sometimes enjoyed threesomes, as they certainly would on their impending cruise. Still, if he had to chose, Conrad preferred Terry. Yes Sandy was the bigger movie star, blonde and green eyed and prettier than any boy rightly ought to be, but Terry was boyishly cute -- not to mention acrobatic and mischievous in bed. All three of them got along splendidly personally and professionally. So far they had made three pictures together with another going into production after they got back from the cruise. "Here, let me help you with your gear, Conrad" Terry offered, bending down to grasp the handles of the two totes, one a heavy camera bag. Slight build notwithstanding, Terry was quite strong. Conrad loved the way the strain of the weight on either arm made the boy's muscle bundles stand out under his taut skin. Conrad also admired the way Terry's buttocks dimpled fetchingly as he lead the way to the ketch Sea Falcon, Conrad following with the duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. Sandy Barnett was already aboard, stowing equipment and supplies below decks. Like Terry he went about his tasks naked, wearing nothing more than an even tan and a sheen of sweat. As the boy bent over to drop something down the hatch, he was blithely unconcerned that his cock and balls dangled temptingly between his slender thighs or that the crinkly whorl of his anus was visible in the depths of his cleavage to anyone on the dock. Sandy put on a big smile as he saw Terry and Conrad walk up the gangway. With an expansive gesture he invited the older man aboard. "Well met Conrad! Come aboard freely and of your own will." Held rolled his eyes at this allusion to his own corny dialog from his Dracula role. "I just know we are going to have fun on this cruise." Sandy continued. "Kick off your sandals, and please get rid of that dreadful straw hat. It makes you look like a tourist." "Well I am a tourist, young man, for the occasion. Hmmn, so this is a ketch, eh. Not to be confused, of course, with a schooner or a yawl. I understand some folks can't tell the difference." "Ha! You've been talking to old Charlie" Sandy retorted, knowing that Held was not much of a sailor. Actually the difference is simple..." Sandy went on to explain in terms a landlubber could understand the difference in rigging and design that distinguished the classes of vessels. As he did he turned and pointed to different parts of the Sea Falcon and to other vessels moored nearby. Conrad was enthralled by the musicality of the boy's voice, the animation in his face, and the delightful play of muscles as the boy turned this way or that and raised his arms to point or to explain with gestures. From his tiny red nipples to a deeply indented navel, to narrow hips framing a surprisingly ample manhood for one so slight in build, Sandy was real beauty. He stood just under four inches over five feet (163 cm) and weighed in at only 112 pounds (51 kg) about half an inch (1 cm) and a couple of kilos lighter than Terry. Sandy carried so little body fat that his flat belly showed a tracery of downward pointing veins just under the skin. The beat of his heart was visible on the left side of his smooth chest. He was utterly hairless. He had the build of a slender swimmer rather than the runner's build that graced Terry. Another contrast was that, while Terry was incredibly cute, Sandy was preternaturally beautiful -- far better looking than a boy should rightly be with fine-boned features: a straight nose and high cheekbones framing large green eyes set wide on his guileless honest face, topped with hair the color of straw. The epicene beauty of his face always turned heads of both men and women. Not that Terry didn't draw his share of attention himself, but Sandy, looked liked nothing less than an angel except of course for being anatomically correct. Religious art never depicts angels naked and with genitalia. "I don't suppose either of you will be wearing clothes much on this voyage." Conrad ventured. "No, of course not. Why should we? It's not called skin diving for nothing. Besides, we like the kiss of the sun on our bare hides, don't we Terry." "Right Sandy, and we both like to show off our trim lithe bodies too, off camera as well as on. Gosh what does that say about us, Sandy? Are we a couple of exhibitionists?" "Actors, exhibitionists? Perish the thought!" Conrad smiled at the easy relationship of the two lovers. He had never known two people more in love or who loved life more. Their shared happiness made others around them happy too rather than jealous -- perhaps because the boys were so natural and unaffected. Despite their tremendous success neither had "gone Hollywood". They went about without an entourage or body guards, and they never displayed attitude. On a shoot, they were always on time and ready to work, hitting their marks and saying their lines. They were two thorough going professionals, even if only nineteen years old. Conrad loved working with them, and was happy when their professional relationship turned into a friendship as well. You could do a lot worse than to have these two irrepressible youngsters as company on a long sea voyage. Actually there was a bit of exhibitionism in most actors and in these boys in particular. Even when clothed they typically wore nothing more than hot pants with flip flops but no shirt. Once again in fashion more than fifty years after their vogue in the 1970s, hot pants had very a low rise waistband and no more than a two-inch inseam with a loose fit. So anyone standing behind a boy could look down his rear cleavage, and the inseam was barely enough to contain him in front. You didn't wear any underwear with hot pants either. That made it easy for their fans to pull a prank on their favorite actors. One sharp tug and the pants fell around the ankles. Next, a push and the boy was forced to step out of them. In an instant, Terry or Sandy might find themselves publicly depantsed with cameras clicking everywhere. So far Sandy had been publicly stripped four times and Terry three times including once when they had been double teamed in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater. Mostly it was good clean fun though sudden public nudity can be inconvenient. After all, you could not very well walk into a post office or a restaurant or a movie theater starkers. Still neither of them was body shy, not with their careers and lifestyle. A cab ride home for replacement clothing quickly undid the damage, such as it was. Truth to tell, they preferred being naked whenever possible. In one of their interviews they admitted that they never wore clothing at home or out back at the pool or in the yard. Anyone who knocked on their front door was on notice that their home was a clothing optional zone. Indeed their interview was done in the nude with the male reporter who was happy enough to peel off his clothes afterwards and join them in the pool for a bit of skinny dipping and a frolic on the lawn out back. On set, especially where they were in movies where they were naked in every scene, the boys never bothered putting on a robe between scenes or while things were being set up. What was the point? Both lads were also frequent visitors to a nearby nudie beach and Terry especially like to run the trails in the clothing optional state park next door. Even for story conferences with producer Marty Fletcher, the lads would spend time skinny dipping in the pool out back or maybe practicing their aikido. As far as clothing goes, both lads were firmly convinced that nudity should be the default option when you were as young and as pretty as they were. Chapter 2. Coral Seas and Desert Islands Their trip took them south, down the west coast of the Baja Peninsula in Mexico and then north into the Gulf of California, also called the Sea of Cortez. The waters of that narrow sea shelter a unique ecosystem. Besides many creatures endemic to the sea, it plays host to many migratory species including the world's largest animal, indeed the largest animal that has ever lived, the Blue Whale. There are also resident populations of Fin Whales and Sperm Whales that do not migrate annually plus Giant Manta Rays, Killer Whales, and Humpback Whales. The coasts of the enclosed sea were dotted with small ports and vacation resorts where they could anchor for a chance to feel solid ground under their feet and try out the local cuisine. Almost anywhere they could drop anchor and explore the underwater world of coral reefs. For the trio, coral reefs were an underwater wonderland. The sea creatures that inhabit a coral reef are amazingly varied in body plan, shape, size, and color. Some bore markings in bold stripes and mottled spots. Other creatures like the octopus prefer unobtrusive camouflage. The corals themselves grew in shapes as varied as deer antlers or big flat leaves or round loaves. Sea anemones looked liked flowers but were really animals could retract their stinging tentacles in an instant. Vicious moray eels and shy octopi lurked in holes and crannies. The variety of plants and shellfish was equally astonishing. On the return trip, the expedition planned to stop off at the volcanic Revillagigedo Archipelago and possibly swing out to French owned Clipperton Island, a coral atoll west of Acapulco. For the most part, they lived aboard the Sea Falcon which they had rented for the entire month. It had comfortable staterooms and a decent galley. The three of them could handle the sails easily enough, and the vessel had an auxiliary engine for emergencies or for maneuvering in narrow waters plus the latest marine electronics. One day, about halfway into the trip, the Sea Falcon anchored just off the shore of the aptly named Tiburon Island. (Tiburon is Spanish for shark.) The three actors were keen underwater explorers. Sandy and Terry swam steadily along the coral reef, cameras snapping away, propelled by the beat of their modern shin fins. Both used the new compact rebreather packs worn atop the shoulders like a set of shoulder pads. Conrad rode a powered sea sled and circled above them patrolling against the danger of shark attack. He had a powerful seven shot dart gun strapped to the sled. The boys had shark sticks, tubes about eighteen inches long (50 cm) with a dart in the tip that could deliver a fast acting poison. Though Conrad himself wore a modest enough pair of Speedos on his dives, Sandy and Terry preferred going entirely bare. With only their shoulders covered, the full sweep of their luscious bodies was visible to Conrad, from the top of the shoulder blades, along the bumps of the spine down to the cleft in their rumps and on to their slender but muscular legs. The firm muscles of legs and buttocks bunched and moved erotically under their tanned skins as they propelled the swimmers along. The boys looked so cute, two naked lads floating and swimming in the water, seemingly as much at home in the water as a pair of mer-men or mer-boys really. Their nudity and lightweight equipment made them feel closer to nature, more like one of the natural inhabitants of this beautiful underwater realm they were visiting. Both youths liked the feel of the water moving across their skin, caressing them, touching them everywhere at once like a lover with a hundred hands. Their muscles played delightfully under their bronzed skins as they kicked and turned, twisted and bent their lissom bodies. The movements were a ballet underwater, only slower and in three dimensions. For anyone stirred by the sight of a beautiful young male, it was visual poetry. Though the older man would really rather have kept his eyes on the nude boys exploring the reef he was conscientious about his protective duty, only occasionally glancing down at his charges. Conrad mused about his own unexpected attraction to the two stunning youths. Heretofore strictly a ladies man and no less committed than before to women, Conrad had been surprised to find himself strongly attracted to a pair of young males. The trigger had been his love scenes with Terry, all of which were done chastely and professionally, but they had left him aroused, erect, his manhood throbbing, every fiber of his being telling him to join carnally with this lovely lad in his grasp, to kiss him and to penetrate him, to take him as a real lover. Terry had been an angel about it, not teasing him at all but understanding that Conrad was going through a life altering experience. Anyway the red head was himself attracted to the strong dominant streak in Conrad. Though both youths were bottom boys, sexual submissives, and very much in love with each other, they both responded to a top like Conrad. Sandy had raised no objections, rather he liked joining Terry and Conrad in a threesome when they were in the mood. It helped that Conrad felt no guilt over his sudden attraction to young males. He was a man comfortable in his own skin, reckoning that the heart wants what the heart wants. Still there was no chance that Conrad would become part of a menage a trois. Sandy and Terry were a committed couple, lover who had joined the lives and fortunes in a civil union. Conrad was their colleague, their friend and an occasional partner in bed, but basically straight. After their second dive they had lunch followed by an hour long siesta, the boat rocking them gently to sleep. Waking refreshed, Sandy decided he needed a good run to keep up his stamina. Terry and Conrad chose more sedentary pursuits: a science fiction novel and web surfing respectively. Left to his own devices, Sandy drank deeply to hydrate then took off down the coast. It felt good to Sandy to be running, a change of pace from all that swimming. Though Terry was the real runner in the family, Sandy enjoyed it too. He ran for the sheer physical pleasure of it, taking in great lungfuls of air with the expansion and contraction of his rib cage, pumping his arms to maintain balance, pushing off with the rear leg strongly enough that he actually flew through the air very briefly before his front foot touched the ground. As always, his strides took up the hypnotic rhythm of the long distance runner, scissoring metronomically as they carried him along. Automatically he synchronized his deep breathing with the steady beat of his feet as they slapped the earth. For an run like this, that meant Sandy breathed in every other time his left heel touched earth. The combination of rhythmic movement and respiration eventually induced that state of day dreaming and euphoria called the runners' high. Tiburon island had a mountainous spine, volcanic in origins, but much of the shoreline was a low and flat, the browns and ochre of the rocks and sand contrasting with the blue and green waters of the sea and the light blue of the sky. The ground was alternately sandy and rocky interspersed with mesquite and cacti. Brush and tussocks of grass were scattered across the landscape, fodder for the bighorn sheep that had been introduced in recent years for hunters. Sandy caught a glimpse of a pair rather far off on higher ground. After a half hour of running, Sandy loped around a low hill and came upon a burly Mexican in uniform and jogged to a halt. "Young gringo, what are you doing on this island? Don't you know this is a nature reserve, not a resort? And why are you doing going about stark naked?" "Uh, sir, sorry, I was just going for a run. My boat is anchored up the coast. We are diving the reefs." "Diving the reefs is all well and good, pretty one, but to land on the island, to hike or to run it, as you are doing, well that requires two permits, one from the Governor's office in Punta Chueca and another from the ISLAS office in Bahia de Kino." "Uh, I am sorry. I did not know you needed permits to land on the island." "Thereby admitting that your presence is unauthorized. Too bad. The penalties can be severe! As park rangers, it is our duty, Miguel's and mine, to take you into custody." He got on his radio and spoke briefly in Spanish. Sandy gathered he was calling backup, though why he would need it baffled the apprehensive boy. After all, a slender nude youth, unarmed, empty handed, and barefoot as well as bare ass, hardly constituted a foreign invasion. Actually the Mexican official was bluffing about the severity of the penalties. Innocent trespass would likely result in a fine at worst and more likely a warning, but he wanted to get a handle on this beautiful gringo boy. He was absolutely stunning with his blond hair and green eyes not to mention having the sexiest little body Juan had ever seen on a male. In short order another Mexican ranger arrived on an ATV. Sandy thought he saw a family resemblance. Both were burly men, very large for Mexicans, each easily over six feet tall (183 cm) and two hundred plus pounds (100 kg) -- at least twice his own body mass. Sandy was bewildered by the sudden turn of events. This was the last thing he had expected to happen on a desert island, to get arrested. "Please don't arrest me. I'll leave the island right away. Just let me run back the way I came to my boat." "Tsk, tsk. Such talk of trying to escape is unwise. Our all-terrain vehicles can go much faster than you, though you run like the gazelle you so much resemble. Nor would I advise trying to resist arrest. Miguel and I are big strong macho men, not a little mariposa like you. Do you know what that means, mariposa? In Spanish we say "butterfly" for pretty little fag boys like you. If you know what is good for you, you will surrender yourself and cooperate. You need to learn to respect the laws of our country." With mounting dread, Sandy could only nod, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, as the talkative Mexican named Juan, pulled his wrists behind his back and ratcheted handcuffs around them. Instead of reading him his rights or whatever they did in Mexico, the two rangers started feeling the boy up. First Juan ran his hands up Sandy's slender arms to his shoulders, the, down his back to his rump, squeezing his buttocks, and slippeing the blade of his hand into Sandy's cleavage. Miguel ran his hands over the boy's well formed shoulders, circled his aureoles with his thumbs, then down his pectorals and belly, eagerly cupping and weighing Sandy's genitals. "Such a pretty thing you are, my little mariposa. You skin is so soft and smooth and completely hairless, even here at the fork of your legs. That is quite a respectable manhood you have Blondie, even if you don't quite know what to do with it. And your skin is tanned bronze nearly as dark as a Mexican, and so evenly too. You must run around in the nude quite a lot. That's it isn't it? You like displaying yourself, teasing those of both sexes who would take their pleasure of you if they only could. How fortunate we are, my cousin and me, that you have fallen into our clutches." "No, not again!" Sandy thought. Here he found himself once again in the power of stronger males bent on using his body for their pleasure, regardless of his own wishes. The worst had been that time he and Terry were held for weeks as sex slaves in the mountains. What was it about him (and Terry) that they wound up like that so often. Sure, he had been running around stark naked, but this was a desert island. He wasn't trying to show off or to tease anyone. And in this situation he couldn't even fight back or try to escape. The park rangers had the law on their side. The Mexican courts weren't likely to take the word of a queer gringo over that of two officials. He would just have to take whatever they dished out and hoped they would let him go afterwards, like the time he and Terry got arrested in the Yucatan. The rangers led Sandy over to their ATV's and laid the boy belly down across the seat of one of them. Juan, who stood behind him, kicked Sandy's legs apart. The boy knew what was coming next. At least Juan reached into his saddle bags and got some sun tan oil to use as a lubricant. Sandy felt the head of the ranger's cock pressing against his anal ring. He squeezed himself open, accepting the rampant cock of the aroused Mexican. Juan was not into subtlety. Taking the boy's cooperation as no more than his due, he slammed his truncheon of cock all the way up the boy's chute with one stupendous thrust that made Sandy gasp and writhe as the impaled boy struggled to accept the sudden and total penetration. Once the big Mexican was well seated, he pumped his cock in and out steadily, occasionally punctuating his thrusts with a good natured slap of the boy's ass. "Ai Dios mio. You are tight, my little mariposa. Tight and warm and slick. Such a tidy handful you are. These hips of yours, so narrow, the hipbones so sharp. They offer a fine handhold to anyone who is fucking you from behind. But you must know that. You must take a lot of cock up your ass. Is that not so?" He emphasized his question with a hard smack to Sandy's rump. Knowing he must humor the man or be beaten, Sandy told the man what he wanted to hear. "Yes, sir. Your are right. I am a gringo fag boy who cannot get enough cock up his ass. Shove that Mexican pinga of yours into my tight quim. Teach me not to flout the laws of your country." Grunting his satisfaction the man resumed his thrusts into the boy's ass. After a while, Miguel standing on the other side of the ATV, wound his fingers around Sandy's blond locks and presented his cock for service. "Now that Juan has a good rhythm going, it is safe for you to get your mouth working on my cock. Mind you, no teeth. now. Juan and I are cousins. He gets your ass first and I your mouth. Then we will switch. We share everything, you know, especially gringo boys silly enough to run around the island stark naked, just begging to be fucked." Sandy went to work with tongue and lips, smooching the purple head of the cock, licking the flange around the glans, poking the tip of his tongue into the piss slit. He took the head entirely in his mouth and worked the sensitive flesh just below the glans with lips and tongue. Then he sank down on the turgid cock, deep throating it. Miguel sighed in satisfaction. It was so hard to find a girl who would or could take all of him. This gringo boy was a sexual wonder, experienced and accomplished in the amorous arts and so stunningly good looking too, both his body and his face. A walking wet dream, if the truth were known. He pulled his cell phone out and started taking pictures of the sexy action. This was one afternoon he and Juan would want to relive again and again. Miguel asked Juan to pull the boy up to a standing position briefly. Just as he had suspected, the boy was hard. Sandy flushed, humiliated by his own body's involuntary reaction to the rape. "So you are aroused. You like taking Mexican cock up your ass and down your throat. Well luckily you have come to the right place." Juan reached forward and played with Sandy's stiff cock, bending it forward then letting it slap back against his belly. Then he laid the boy back down on his belly so Miguel could get the lad working on his cock again. The rangers evidently were used to working a boy over together, since they both came at virtually the same time. As Juan grunted and shot his wet warmth deep into Sandy's bowels, Miguel started t shoot his cum down the boy's throat but quickly pulled out halfway to let his cum squirt into the boy's mouth. Near the end of his ejaculations, he pulled out entirely to let the last few spurts fall on Sandy's pretty face. Sticky cum oozed from the boy's unlined brow down his nose and cheeks to his chin. Miguel used the head of his still turgid cock cock to paint the boy's face with his seed then put his cock back in to bathe in his wet mouth. Juan laid himself over Sandy's back, tired from his long session at the boy's ass. Sandy lay helpless between them, joined to his captors by the tubes of flesh in his orifices. Finally Juan pulled out of his ass with an audible plop and came around the front. His cousin stepped aside as the senior man presented his cock for cleaning. Dutifully Sandy laved it with tongue and lips, tasting and swallowing his own ass juices and the man's cum. The rangers stopped for a while, taking a brief rest, but warning Sandy not to move. Then Miguel walked behind the bound boy. It would be his turn next to fuck the delightful ass. He reached between the boy's thighs and pulled the rigid cock down and back. Soon he was frigging it, milking it like a cow's teat, his hand sliding the foreskin forward and over the glans, then back to uncover the helmet. With his other hand he probed the boy's ass, inserting two fingers and poking around, stroking the prostate. Sandy moaned, the stroking felt good but the more he was aroused the harder his cock grew and the more it hurt from being bent downward instead of upward along his belly. But the ranger was in control of his body. "Please let me cum sir. You are driving me wild, milking my cock like that. Please I am a horny teenager. I must have relief." "All in good time, pretty one, after we have had our pleasure of you." Sandy whimpered in frustration. Later, during round two, the rangers put the boy on his back across the saddle. This time Miguel raped his ass, placing the youth's slender legs over his shoulders, driving his cock to the depths of the boy's rump. Juan pronged the boy's mouth pleased that with his head hanging down the boy's mouth and throat were at a better angle for giving head. It was a straight shot between those pouty lips, through the oral cavity and down the clutching tube of his throat. An experienced top, Miguel was careful to let the boy breathe, not so much for his own sake as to keep the bottom from gagging and retching, real turn offs for someone who wanted a pretty boy to pleasure his cock orally. Sandy did as expected, giving the two Mexicans the best boy sex they had ever had. This time when they came, Juan used his hands to bring the boy off too, groaning and grunting as he spurt his seed onto his sweaty chest up to his clavicles. After two hours, the Mexicans were finished with the lad, regretting only that they really did not have a legal charge to hold him on. What fun it would be to throw him into a cell for a week or two and fuck him day in and day out. Sure they would have to share their captive with the Jefe and some of the men, but that would be acceptable. Instead they had to turn the boy loose. "Can I have some water, please, sirs. I need to hydrate for the run back." "Ai Diablo, do you really think we would be so oblivious of our duty as park rangers that we would leave a traveler stranded here in the desert? Especially after you entertained us so extraordinarily well. We are simple men, muchacho, humble men who never expected to make love with a boy as beautiful and sexy as you are. You were the great fuck of a lifetime, little one. Here drink from this canteen then hop on behind me. Hold me around the waist so you won't fall off. That's it. My how I like having your slender arms around my chest. Too bad you cannot stay for a while longer." "So you could rape me again? No thanks. Nothing personal, of course, but I have other plans." The Mexican flashed his white teeth in a big smile. "Tut, tut, little one. We were only doing our duty. We didn't really rape you, just carried out cavity searches for drugs. So don't get any ideas about reporting us to the authorities. There are no witnesses. It is your word against ours. We acted within our authority, finding you prowling where you did not belong, a foreigner running around stark naked, acting suspiciously. Do we have an understanding my little mariposa?" "Yes, sir. Si senor. I know better than to buck the system. It's not like this is the first time I got raped anyway." "Bueno!" So they gave the fucked-out boy a ride back up the coast till they saw the yacht anchored just offshore. As the Mexicans wished him "Vaya con Dios" Sandy swam out to the the boat and clambered aboard to be greeted by quizzical looks from his friends. Chapter 3. El Bar del Diablo The Sea Falcon eventually stopped off at the resort town of San Carlos next door to the big port of Guyamas about halfway up the eastern shore. The boys knew they could hardly go ashore starkers, but a resort town like this was used to tourists walking around in skimpy bathing suits and shorts. So Terry slipped on a tiny European style bikini, its white fabric soft and thin and clinging. The garment was really little more than two small triangular pouches, fore and aft, joined by narrow straps. Worn straight and level across the boy's narrow hips, it left the tops of his buttocks and several inches of rear cleavage bare. In front the top just barely covered the base of his cock and cupped his loins. Like Terry, Sandy wore neither shirt nor footwear but he did elect to put on a pair of distressed hot pants, a pair deliberately fashioned with peekaboo horizontal rips in back and vertical tears in front. He also left the top couple buttons of the fly undone, baring a V that reached nearly to his groin. The garment threatened at any time to lose its tenuous grip on the boy's pert rump and narrow hips and fall right off. Conrad's dress was more conservative; he elected to wear a rather flattering pair of dark green gauze pants that reached from hips to ankles and a black tank top along with that straw hat of his against the sun. Tourists and locals alike stared at these three stunning males, the younger pair practically naked, obviously lovers, striding so casually along the waterfront and ducking into shops, dickering for bargains not so much to save money but because that was the way the game was played. When the trio finally sat down for a late lunch, Terry perched his butt on a rattan stool. With the "waistband" so low that the lad was sitting on it, it looked to fellow diners seated behind him that the youth was stark naked. Sandy's slightly more modest outfit had onlookers trying to be discreet about peeking up the leg of his skimpy hot pants. The boys were aware of the attention they drew, but considered it all good clean fun. After all, hadn't they made entire movies in the nude. No, that train had already left the station. The concept of old fashioned modesty was lost on these youngsters. After lunch the trio separated. Terry wanted to climb up the slope to a scenic overlook while Sandy and Conrad had to visit the American Express office. They agreed to meet at a local watering hole at sunset. Unfortunately Terry got turned around on his return. His Spanish was good enough to ask for directions, but what he did not know was that the town boasted two bars with similar names. He found himself walking into the seedy El Bar del Diablo instead of the more touristy Cantina del Diablo where his friends awaited him. Even as he walked through the door and let his eyes adjust to the gloom within Terry had a feeling he might have made a mistake. This was no tourist bar. The patrons were all locals, big men, half of them gringo half Mexican, with the look of a motorcycle gang. They were dressed in denim or leather with wide metal studded belts and heavy kick-ass boots. Some wore vests baring chests that had never been touched by depilatories. Terry suddenly felt very young and small and vulnerable in the midst of a dozen big bruisers all eying him interestedly. They stared at each other like a living tableau. Suddenly Terry heard a loud noise behind him and whirled to find the barkeep locking the doors and leering at the virtually naked boy. Terry was now locked with the leather guys in the Bar del Diablo, which he feared would soon live up to its name. "Please, let me out, sir. " The boy pleaded with the owner, but the man simply shook his head and nodded to the evident leader of the pack, a clean shaven man who stood over six foot six (200 cm) and weighed in at 275 pounds (125 kg), most of it solid muscle. As his men formed a circle around their captive, the leader who introduced himself simply as Matt reached his paw out and took the boy by the chin, turning his face this way and that. He ran his hands over Terry's shoulders and down his arms them over to his well corrugated chest. The boy stood passively offering no resistance, afraid to provoke the man into action. He knew his self-defense skills could avail him nothing, not with so many opponents and nowhere to run, locked in as he was. In the movies it looks so easy for a martial artist to take on a whole bar full of villains, but those fights were carefully choreographed. As Terry knew only too well, in real life, a slightly built boy had no chance against a dozen big men. "My oh my. What a cute little thing you are, boy. And so eager too, delivering yourself right into our hands early. You are not going to make trouble, are you boy? I have a feeling that you are smart enough to know you have to do what you are told from here on out. Mind your manners, and you might get out of this reasonably intact." "Wh... what? You were expecting me? You must have me mixed up with someone else. I'm just a tourist. Please don't hurt me." Even to his own ears, Terry's voice came out very young and shaky. He looked around but saw no mercy in any of their faces. He felt like an unfortunate fawn who had stumbled into a den of wolves. "So this is all you're wearing boy. Humph, little more than a G string. Now we can do this two ways. Just stand there easy and let Jose strip it off you, and it will be intact when you finally leave El Diablo. If we have to tear that jeasly thing off you, it's likely to get ripped to shreds and you'll get tossed out naked onto the street when we are through with you. Comprende?" Terry nodded miserably, seeing where this was going. Reluctantly he stood submissively as a man with big hands reached from behind and slid the garment off his hips and down to his feet. Meekly he lifted one foot after another to let the man free it completely from his now utterly nude body. The man who had stripped him rubbed the smooth skin of his calf and thigh and ass before tossing the skimpy garment to the boss who examined it briefly, balled it up, and threw it over his shoulder where it landed out of sight behind the bar. "Little point to a next to nothing bikini like that lad; the fabric was hardly more substantial than gauze and likely translucent when wet. Now that's better, boy, with all of you visible for inspection. My, oh my, you are a cute one all right, so small and taut and smooth. Nary a feather on you too, and you are prettier than any girl I ever laid eyes on. How old are you boy." "N...nineteen, sir." "Really! I wouldn't have given you more than sixteen summers, petite as you are, though your manhood is respectable enough. Answer me true now for your own good. You're not a virgin, I hope. You have been fucked up the ass and sucked cock?" Terry nodded, simply saying both. "Both, but please sir, don't rape me." "Who said anything about rape? You are here to entertain us, for the fun of it. Isn't that so men? That's why boys like you show up at el Diablo, to surrender themselves to rough men who will give them what they've been lacking in their love life. A chorus of assent answered this rhetorical sally. "You are going to cooperate, right?" "I'm not here to surrender myself for your use, if that is what you mean. I just got lost. Please, don't fuck me, sir. Let me go." The man's big hand moved in a blur and slapped the boy's face hard. "There is no backing out now, so let's have none of your playacting or whining. That just gets on everyone's nerves. Understand? I don't much care what scenario you thought you were getting into. The main thing is that you are here, it is now, and you are ours." "All right boys, get him ready." Terry was suddenly pressed from all sides by the big men as one of them drew his arms behind him and snapped handcuffs on his wrists. Another produced a spreader bar and attached it to his ankles. A third tied a leather thong tight around his ballsac forcing his testicles to the bottom. Matt the leader locked a metal collar around the boy's neck, snapping a leather leash to the D ring in front. In short order, Terry was shackled like a sex slave: handcuffed, collared, leashed, legs spread open, his tight little body utterly vulnerable to whatever use these men would make of it. It was like his captivity of months earlier in the mountains. Only this time he had hopes it would not last so long -- hours instead of weeks. In any event there was nothing he could do at the moment. They were convinced he was some wild kid who got his kicks playing rape games. Wrong place, wrong time, but Terry was theirs to play with -- a sex toy to gratify their lusts. He hoped they weren't real sadists who got off on hurting people. The first thing the men did was pull on his dog leash to drag him into the men's room. One biker filled a dirty porcelain douche pail with several quarts of warm water and plugged the nozzle of the hose into Terry's ass. A turn of the valve and the warm liquid drained down to fill his bowels. Terry's distended belly started cramping up and he had a powerful urge to evacuate, but the bikers made him hold it for while before they let him release it. Twice more they filled his ass with water till the discharge ran clear and sweet smelling. Terry's face burned from the indignity of it, the casual humiliation the men had put him through, taking such complete control of his most private parts and intimate bodily functions. When they brought him back to the main room. A variety of dildos and sex toys was laid out on the bar. Terry eyed a strange looking set of anal beads, the last was the size of grapefruit. Did they really expect that to pass his anal canal? For that matter, could all those beads fit into his rectum? Next to the beads was a formidable looking black dildo, as long as Terry's arm and bigger around than a beer can, shaped with gnarly veins along the shaft. Didn't these men realize that Terry was a little guy, with narrow hips and and a tiny brown anal whorl. Surely they did not expect to spear that thing into his guts! Matt held a large can of Crisco in front of Terry's face. "We're traditionalists!" he smirked. Well at least they were going to lubricate him, the boy thought. Matt scooped up a big blob on his fingers and leaned over the boy, working it into his hole, poking first one finger then two into the tiny orifice. He felt around and stroked the boy's prostate, causing a sharp intake of breath from the boy followed by a soft whimper. Then Matt held up the massive dildo before the boy's eyes, slowly coating it with the white lubricant, letting the boy hear the smack and crackle of the white shortening as he applied it to the menacing sex toy. The big hands caressed and stroked it as if it were a real cock. Terry's eyes went wide with fear. He shook his head and let out a single whining "Please... No". "Don't worry, kid. You're gonna love this." They he put the head of the dildo to the boy's nether entrance. The man leaned down and said to him softly. "This is for your own good, little one, to prime the pump, to lube you, and to open you up. We wouldn't want to do any permanent damage to that pretty ass of yours. Best not to resist the penetration. Open yourself up as I shove it in. I'll take it slow and easy. Comprende?" Terry nodded nervously. Then squeezed his eyes shut as the head of the massive dildo pushed through his first sphincter. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Matt paused to give the boy time to adjust. Then he slipped another inch or so. More deep breathing, followed by another nod. Despite the pain, Terry could feel the onset of other feelings too. He felt a flash of lust at what he must look like, a small naked teenager in bondage, bent over, surrounded by big guys, a black rubber cock sticking out of, or more accurately, into his boy hole. Terry could feel the bumps of the gnarly veins on his anal ring. Not too much different from the pebbly surface of the cucumbers and corn on cob that his captors in the mountains had liked to fuck him with. As more and more of the dildo slipped into him. Terry breathed deep trying to accept the impalement. Once he had adjusted the man worked the cock in and out of him for till Terry started moaning, his lusts aroused by the pronging. "Ah, that's got you in the proper mood like the bottom boy we all know you are. Now let's see, I bet your sweet titties are the way to your heart or at least to your quim." Suiting his actions to his words, Matt took the nubbins of Terry's tits between finger and thumb, pulling on them, pinching them, rolling them. The big man leaned down and pressed his lips to Terry's in an insistent kiss. His tongue invaded the hapless boy's mouth. Terry tried turning his head away but the man held his chin firmly in his grasp. As the man French kissed him, his strong masculine odor penetrated Terry's nostrils carrying the manly pheromones to the lad's brain. Alas an over-sexed teenager like Terry could not long resist the siren call of his hormones. His captor was touching him in one of his most sensitive erogenous zones, toying with his nipples, kissing him, making him practically swoon with his masculine scent. The large dildo in his ass, the audienc, the bondage were turning Terry on unbearably. The fact is that Terry had a kinky side to his nature and being placed in bondage brought it out. Already his limbs trembled in servile lust; his nostrils widened to take in more of the manly atmosphere. The young captive's nether hole twitched spastically around the invader. Inevitably though against his will, Terry's cock was plumping up and visibly lifting off his bound balls. "That's more like it" one of the big men said, slapping Terry's semi-tumescent cock. "Nothing turns a bottom boy on like being helpless and in the clutches of strong men who know how to use him. Yah boy, you're one of those candy asses who needs to get fucked hard and often and by men who know how. That's us for sure." The man then used the ends of the leather thong that bound Terry's balls to tie off the base of his erection like a cock ring to help keep him hard. He took the purple head between thumb and forefinger and squeezed out a couple of drops of pre-ejaculate which he scooped up on his finger tip and offered it to the captive youth. The submissive boy stuck his tongue out and took it and swallowed, as he was expected too. The man patted his cheek appreciatively. "Good boy. Submissive and obedient, just what we like in a boy." With all their rough treatment, Terry's head was in a whirl. All those manly hands everywhere on his body taking command, his orifices probed by tongue or finger or or dildo and soon by hard cock. The boy's lusts were aroused. His pulse raced. He shoved his ass back as the man who had impaled him started spanking his butt, turning the plump tanned flesh red and hot to the touch. To a natural sexual submissive like Terry, a spanking or paddling or strapping was foreplay (as long as things were kept within reason). Soon the boy's eyes were glazed with lust. The bikers pulled the dildo out of Terry's hole and replaced it with their cocks. In the hours that followed, Terry found himself held and turned and twisted every which way as the bikers probed his holes. Most took him kneeling or on his back, though one pair, with more imagination, just lifted up bodily and set him down on the cock of the man behind him. No sooner had he adjusted to that impalement than the man in front inserted his cock into his hole alongside the first guy in a double penetration of his tight boy hole. The two men pressed the boy between them as his small body writhed with the pain. The man in front kissed his face and licked up Terry's salty tears. "That's it. Go ahead boy, cry. There's no shame in tears with a little punk like you. Your sobs and sniffles and whimpers are a turn on for us. We know you really take perverse pleasure from all this, the pain, the helplessness, the humiliation and the trash talk. It's what slut boys like you were born for, your highest calling, so to speak. Hell, anyone would cry when his ballsac got squeezed like this." Suiting his actions to his words, the man took Terry's balls in his fist and clamped down briefly. Pain shot through the boy's groin and belly and his body bucked in its bondage. The sharp pain in his groin emphasized the boy's helplessness and captivity. Perversely though the pain was mixed with a flush of servile masochistic pleasure and his cock stayed hard. Besides those bikers who liked double penetration, other bikers liked tag-teaming him: fucking both his orifices at once. Usually the did it with Terry kneeling and head down. The first man thrust into his ass. After impaling the boy and working his cock in and out for a while, the man grabbed the boy's sweaty torso and pulled the boy up into a kneeling position with the bound boy half sitting on his lap. That gave the second man a chance at his mouth while the first continued to fuck his ass. "Come on boy. Lick that big ol' lollipop. Get your tongue working on that cherry red head. You look like you belong there on your knees nekkid, a big cock up your ass, the thick tube of a cock poking into your mouth. That's it, deep throat me, slut boy. Take my entire shaft. How sweet it is." With his mouth stuffed full of man cock, Terry gave no more than a brief nod in acknowledgment. Yes, trash talk aside, it did feel natural for a boy like him to be on his knees, his faced pressed to another man's groin, the tube of the cock joining them pulsating as thick man cream shot down the tube into his mouth or gullet. That is what slut boys were for. "Yaah! Taste my man juice boy! Swallow my swimmers. Take what my cock has just shot into your mouth quim, you little cocksucker. That's all you fag boys are good for anyway." Terry felt incredibly slutty, impaled on two cocks front and aft, gism filling both his orifices, men leering at him, even snapping photos. The guy who was fucking his ass also worked his rock hard cock. Not enough to let him cum, though the boy was desperate for that. They kept playing with him, bringing him near the brink then backing off, but never gave him the satisfaction of a real orgasm. Despite this, Terry's slender body shuddered again and again in a seemingly endless series of internal orgasms, as their cocks massaged his prostate sending the captive boy into paroxysms of desire. Meanwhile the men pressed the boy between their flesh, and marked him as their property with dried and drying cum spurted from their cocks onto his pretty features or into his hair. At one point Terry had to keep his left eye closed as a glob of male goo slid slowly from his eyebrow, over the closed eyelid down to his lashes and cheek. Wow, the lusty bikers thought. Nothing like getting a wild one to play with. Thank God for sweet slutty submissive bottoms like this! Boys like him just cannot get enough of masculine company. Of course they do need a firm hand to keep them in line, not to mention shackles and chains. Hell a boy looks good chained up, whether on his knees sucking cock or bent over taking it up the ass. That is why the Good Lord created bottom boys for top men after all. At one point during the proceedings, the barkeep was called away to answer someone's knock at the door. That lead to a short argument between the unseen visitor and the leader Matt. Terry himself was far too gone in lusty sexual congress to realize that the over-sexed boy who had arranged this scene with the bikers had just been turned away from the bar. For the bikers it was an easy choice. Not that the other boy was so bad looking, but after cashews who wants peanuts? Matt had a good thing going here and he knew it. He had never played with a sexier kid than this slightly built red head they had in their clutches. When his turn came around, Matt always put the boy on his knees head down on the mattress someone had laid on the floor and gripped the boy's very grabbable ass cheeks. The firm flesh, reddened from the strapping plumped up nicely between his spread fingers. His thumbs stretched the boy's anal ring from a crinkly whorl to a wide open orifice and entrance into his fundament. The boy was tight all right but also stretchable. No shrinking virgin here. As his truncheon of a cock slid into the boy, Matt felt himself clutched by a velvety smooth warmth. As he slapped the boy's butt cheeks, the lad responded as he had been trained, to use his ass muscles to massage and milk the cock that was thrusting in and out of his back passage. "Good boy. Squeeze those ass muscles around my big fat cock. Feel me sliding in and out of you. That's it, push your ass back at my cock. Boys we've got us a winner this evening. This kid is a great ride. The best fuck I've had in years. maybe ever." Terry could say nothing. By now the thoroughly fucked out boy was capable only of inarticulate sounds provoked by his feelings of lust and humiliation, his helplessness and pain. At the end, the men had Terry on his back on a mattress ass over teakettle. With his ass and hole uppermost, the bikers shoved one dick after another into an orifice generously lubricated with cum from those who had used him before. In the hours the boy's ordeal lasted, he was fucked nearly fifty times, which means a lot of repeat business among the dozen bikers. In the wee hours of the morning the lusty bikers finally left off. Matt freed Terry from his bonds. At first the boy could only lie there, totally wrung out. Then Matt surprised the boy. He lifted him gently to his feet and guided him to a shower stall. He even helped the boy sponge himself clean. Finally he splashed some cologne on his hands and rubbed it into Terry's face and chest. Another splash did for his belly and groin. "There, now you are all cleaned up and sweet smelling." He lead the boy to a back room and indicated a cot, telling him to get a couple of hours sleep. Exhausted Terry's head hit the pillow and he fell into a deep sleep. Next thing he knew it was full morning. Matt held out to Terry the tiny garment he had arrived in. After Terry slipped into his bikini he straddled Matt's motorcycle and held onto the man's waist while the biker rode over to the hotel where the trio of travelers was staying. On the way Matt admitted that Terry had been right after all. It was another boy they were supposed to put through his paces. The biker gang had a profitable sideline in roughing up young bottoms looking for perverse adventure and willing to pay for it. "Then why did you keep fucking me?" the boy asked. "I mean, I heard that other boy come by during the first hour. You guys fucked me all evening and most of the night." "Do you really need to ask that, Terry? Don't you realize how beautiful and sexy you really are. On a scale of one to ten your are like ... a twelve. You are the unlooked-for gift of a lifetime. No one before you has ever got me more sexually aroused. I am sure that goes for the rest of the guys. Also, it's not like we were really going to hurt you. It was mostly sexual theater. Also, before we sent our client away some of us had recognized you from your movies. We knew all about your lover and your active lovelife and your taste for kink. So we knew you were no virgin and likely would respond positively to our rough treatment. Hey here's a thought. Maybe you can write a scene like this into one of your movies. I'm sure we'd all be happy to play ourselves on camera." Terry could only shake his head and smile ruefully at the man's outrageous suggestion. Still Matt had a point. Though you might say Terry was gang raped, his body had responded to the rough sex. After that first hour, he was as much into the scene as anyone else. No permanent damage, just a very sore ass and some finger marks -- bruises where the guys who had fucked him gripped his ass. Suddenly Matt looked unsure of himself, even hesitant. "Uh, Terry, do you think I could get a good-bye kiss. It would mean a lot to me." Terry smiled and turned his head upwards as the big man locked his lips with Terry's. They held the kiss a very long time with the man's hands roaming over the nearly nude body of the young actor. When they broke the clinch, Terry smiled at Matt and said. "No hard feelings then. Take care, Matt. It was a hell of an experience!" With a big smile on his face, Matt revved up his engine and took off giving a final wave before he turned the corner. As Terry walked into the hotel lobby he saw Sandy and Conrad staring open mouthed at him. "Hi guys! I guess last night was my turn for perverse sexual adventure. So what room are we staying in anyway?" he asked, casual as you please. "I'm hungry, so I'll just change and come back down for breakfast."