Date: Tue, 5 Jul 2011 02:43:44 -0400 From: MJ Hirsch Subject: Teen Pop Star's Boy part 1 My main disclaimer is that if you want straight-up-non-stop-sex I'd go read another story (maybe my previously submitted: "High School: Young Pool Voyeur" for example). This series has a lot of exposition, and I'm trying to give equal parts smut with narrative. The idea for this story came from when my friend and I went to watch Justin Bieber: Never Say Never. I thought to myself as I was watching, "What if Justin Bieber was actually a huge, freaky perv? What would they have to do to cover that? What happens to a celebrity who's just as pervy as the rest of us?" The public persona of Ian Hart is inspired by teen pop sensations such as Bieber, or Aaron Carter, etc. Not saying these guys are huge pervs, but here's hoping they are. As usual, I always love to hear feedback at dirtypoplover@hotmail.ca. Especially in the case of this story, I'd love to do a number of chapters featuring Ian and Foster in sexually explicit situations, so if after reading you can think of any fetishes, situations or places where the two could get up to trouble give me a shout. If I think they're hot I'll try to use them. Enjoy! -MJ ***** CELEBRITY PROFILE Name: Ian Hart Age: 16 Musician and singer Singles: "I <3 U" "T.G.A.E. (That Girl Ain't Enough)" "Wish" Album: my heart Bio: Ian Hart was born to the then seventeen year old Frankie Hart and his sixteen-year-old high school girlfriend Marie Trudeau. Frankie raised Ian with the help of his parents. Ian grew up in a small Canadian town and was very interested in sports and art growing up. Frankie was an amateur guitarist in a local band, so growing up around musicians Ian taught himself to play guitar, piano and the harmonica. When he was twelve his father recorded Ian performing Queen's "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" at a school talent show and uploaded it to Youtube for family to see. After very positive feedback from the Internet community Frankie continued to upload videos of his son performing, eventually gaining the attention of young American talent manager Mickey X. X flew Ian and Frankie to New York City where, after charming a number of music talents who were friends of X, was signed to The Sh*t Records at thirteen. Using new media like Youtube and Twitter, extensive self-promotion and international touring Ian quickly gained a massive fan base of young girls and quickly became an iconic pop sweetheart. His first album my heart, was released on his fourteenth birthday and featured songs about teen romance and typical coming of age stories, which was an enormous commercial success. Ian has been touring almost non-stop for the past three years and is working towards completing his second studio album. There are even rumors of a documentary on his life and rise to fame in the works. Publicly he's a young, award winning pop artist. Young girls worldwide covet him, he's had a couple of public, celebrity relationships with other young pop artists. (Privately is another matter.) ***** Chapter One: Foster's Dates His song was playing the night of my third date. It was that stupid Ian Hart song that was always playing on the radio. Everybody's heard it, the one that goes "I heart you,/ Not less than three,/ One heart plus one, girl,/ I'll never be lonely." That one. I could sing along in my head because I've heard it probably a billion times During dates I always have the guys turn on some music, the radio, iTunes, even just a music video channel on TV. It gives me something to listen to other than their grunts and ridiculous dirty talk. That's what I still can't get over. My first guy kept talking to me like I was his son, which was fucking weird. My second kept whimpering every other second for as long as his dick was in my mouth. The third guy, who I went on a date with just the other night, asked me a lot of questions. I expected he didn't even necessarily care if I lied, just as long as I told him whatever would get him off. "Do you like wearing sports uniforms?" "Yeah, definitely." As if I could afford organized sports. "Soccer uniforms?" "Yeah, I'm number 40 on my team." I looked at the bottle on the bedside table. 40 oz. "Do you wear jock straps?" "Yeah, I love them." That's actually true, but I've never owned one. "You ever been fucked in a locker room?" "Yeah, a soccer player bent me over the bench and fucked me up the ass." Virgin, well, at least down there. At least date number three was kind of attractive. Still in pretty good shape for a middle age guy. Didn't smell bad. All he wanted to do was lick my armpits and smell my feet while he jerked off. By the end of "I <3 U" I was getting half dressed on my way out of his motel room. One of the guys from my community housing got me into this. Greg. He's sixteen too, but has been doing it for a couple of years, and even got a couple of our roommates into it too before I moved in. He has an older friend who knows a lot of guys who are willing to pay. It's pretty easy money, and the friend makes sure the jobs are pretty safe. Greg's only ever had a couple of dangerous guys, but seeing as most of us have been through worse than some dumb asshole who gets off on hitting boys we can manage. Its not really my thing, screwing around with older guys for money, but whatever. I have a little brother, Trevor, who is with a foster family, and they don't have a lot of money so after spending a little on myself I like to buy him a t-shirt or take him to see a movie or something. Maybe even save up for a new video game. Trevor's had a lot better luck with stuff, so I try and make sure his life's a little easier, a little more enjoyable. I get into our apartment after date number three, pretty late, and I have school tomorrow. Greg is in the TV room sucking off his boyfriend (not the older friend, he manages to keep his professional and personal life separate) and another one of the our roommates is in the shower, so I just go into my room and throw myself onto the bed, barely bothering to kick off my shoes. After a minute Greg appears in my doorway, completely naked, his dick still slapping against his stomach. He's slim, pencil thin, baby faced. Despite his age he looks about twelve. A definite advantage in our line of work. He'd be cute if he wasn't such an asshole. "Didn't hear you get in," he lies. Greg pretty much knows about everything that happens in the house. A particularly frustrating habit when you need a little personal time and he knocks on the door announcing to everyone else that you're masturbating. "Have a job for you tomorrow night," he says. I shrug, two nights in a row. I may be broke, but I'm not that desperate to suck off some old perv. "I'm told it's a really good deal, one you won't want to pass up. Might keep you set for awhile," he scowls, "Don't know why he picked you." I don't really enjoy fighting people if I don't have to, but Greg can be a bit of a bully and will pick fights indiscriminately. I was kind of glad his boyfriend, also naked, dick still dripping with cum, sidled up behind him and wrapped his hands around Greg's body, reaching for his dick. "He's cute," his boyfriend, probably at least ten years older than Greg, growls, "Does he want to join in?" "I don't know," Greg says, any bitterness over my being offered a job dropped. "Do you want to?" "No thanks." His boyfriend's now rubbing Greg's dick, who leans backwards into him sighing, "Do you want to watch." I scowl, "What? No." "You're no fun," his boyfriend says and walks away. Greg moves to follow, but stops, "Really, sounds like a good job. Just skip school whenever and get over to Bay and Main for three." I roll over, away from him, "Okay. Whatever. Now fuck off." After a minute of silence I tentatively look up at my door and see spots of jizz seeping down the doorframe. Greg's boyfriend cries from the other room, "You finished off without me! Did he lick it up?" God, just get me out of here. It's stupid hot the next day so all I wear to school is a black tank, some ripped jeans and a loose pair of boxers. Functional for the day and good enough for a date, I guess. I get some interesting stares from students, even some teachers, and not all of them girls. I wonder what some of them would think if they knew I sucked cock for a living. Looking at a couple of my teachers, I wonder if anyone would be interested. Before I started screwing around with guys for money the only experience I had was getting felt up a few times by a senior jock while I was a freshman. He took me into the tech booth in the auditorium during his spare, put his hand down my pants, made me suck him off once and told me if I ever told anyone he would kill me. At the time I kind of wished he'd kept doing it just so I would have someone at the school to talk to (okayÉ even if it was just dirty talk). I skip out on Literature Arts and start over towards Bay and Main. The sun is sweltering and as I walk down Bay I can't help but watch everyone on the beach as they splash about the water. What I wouldn't give to strip down, dive in and swim away. Disappear into the sea forever. I am sweating buckets by the time I make it to the little ice cream store where a lot of the dates do pick ups. Trying to keep to the shade I look up and down the street as inconspicuously as possible. It is still before the school's-out-rush, so traffic down Main is pretty light still. At least it will be easy to tell who this guy was. Not many people stopping to grab ice cream. A nice black car pulls up beside the store, a short black limo. Nice car, shiny, tinted black windows. Not your typical in-town-for-the-week-businessman-rental-junker I've gotten used to. I cock my head to the side slightly, but I notice the driver waving me over, motioning towards the back. The back door opens, and I don't have much of a choice but to hop in. A wave of cool air washes over me as I pull the door closed behind me. AC. I practically cry from joy. The back of the car is roomy, ridiculously plush and occupied by one other person. A young guy, probably not even close to thirty. Slick looking, despite the fact that he's wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a baseball cap. He smiles and is looking me up and down, but not with the normal leer I have come to expect. He is studying me like a new toy. "You're perfect," he says with a smirk. "Uh, thanks." "Fucking hot out there. Want some water?" I shrug, "Whatever." He reaches forward into something that serves as both a cup holder and a fridge. I notice several small bottles of alcohol in the fridge as well. Glancing up I see that the barrier between the driver and the back is tinted. The guy, I guess date number four, drops an expensive looking bottle of water into my lap, "One way mirror," he nods towards the front, "He can't see or hear anything back here." I have already downed most of the water. He reaches for another one. "So are we doing it in the car then?" He smirks as he hands me another bottle. "If it's all right with you, little buddy, I'd rather start out with a few questions." I shrug, "Am I getting paid to answer?" He laugh, reaches into his pocket and whips a hundred dollar bill down between us. "Another hundred if you promise to be honest." I shrug, hesitate a moment, then stuff the bill into my pocket. "Attaboy. So what's your name?" "Foster." "From around here, Foster?" "Yup." "Do you like traveling?" I shrug, "Look like I have the money to travel?" He laughs, "I like you. So, you like guys?" "I guess." "Like sucking cock?" "Sure," I glance out the window. We've taken a ramp up onto the Bayview Freeway and are traveling along the coast. I consider the dangers of rolling out of a vehicle moving at 120mph, if necessity arises. "Do you have a boyfriend?" "Nope." "Fucked around a lot?" I look at him. Even though he's smiling his face is stone, I can't tell where he's going with this, "With a few guys, I guess." "How many, exactly?" I shrug, "Three." Oh wait, the senior, "Err, four." "Ever done anal?" I shake my head. He cocks his head to the side. "Really? Never?" "No. Fifty bucks isn't really worth getting fucked in the ass." He snorts as if this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. Another hundred appears. "Like I said, for the honesty." I reach out and pocket the money, "How do you know I'm being honest?" He doesn't say anything, just nods out the window, "Ever heard of Ian Hart?" I turn to look the direction he's nodding towards. We're driving by the Seaside Amphitheatre, biggest arena in the city. There's a gargantuan billboard advertising Ian Hart's concert that I can see is happening tonight. His boyish face looks out of the billboard from underneath his shaggy, dirty blonde hair. Brooding teen seriousness. There is a fresh, bus-sized addition on the sign that reads: "CONCERT SOLD OUT" Ian Hart. A year or so ago I saw an entire mall closed down because there were so many girls that showed up for an autograph signing they violated the fire code. It practically caused a riot among this army of teeny-boppers when it was announced over the security PA system that the signing was canceled. Ian Hart, who's music has only been playing on every pop radio station, in every clothing store and on the iPods of every girl at school. I've seen his face more in the past few years on billboards and posters and t-shirts and TV than I've seen my brother's. "Duh." There's a beep. Number four pokes a button on his armrest and a voice crackles, "Almost there." "Cool, thanks." I look out the window, wondering if I'm going to get a ride back. It'd take at least an hour or two to walk home from here. "So, are you kidnapping me or something?" He just laughs. We pull up behind what looks like a warehouse. I wonder, almost bored, if these guys are armed, if today is the day I am going to die. Woe is me, I think sarcastically, I've never known true love. I've never known a sense of home. Really, though, if I was to die I wonder what would happen to Trevor, left completely alone with his stupid foster family. That would be my biggest regret, leaving him behind. The guy leads me through a metal door and up a flight of stairs with the driver, a bear of a man, following closely behind. He seems to be made of money, so if it's a double team I wonder if I'll get paid more. Unless they murder me, take the money and sodomize my body. Cheery thoughts. Whatever. In a clean hallway on the second floor number four nods to the driver, who takes a seat, takes a paper out of his pocket and starts working on a crossword puzzle. Number four motions me through double doors into a room. A solid three quarters of the walls are mirrored, with different bars set up here and there. Probably some sort of dance studio. Number four pulls a chair into the centre of the room and faces it towards the mirrors. He sits, then motions me a few feet in front of him, so I'm surrounded by mirrors on all my sides. "Alright. Strip." I pause a moment, but he looks at me with a bored expression on his face, as if this is all very routine. I move to where he motioned, a few feet in front of him from him, then peel off my tank, still a little sticky with sweat. I can see my reflection on either side of me. A mop of hair on the top of my head, chocolate brown curls. In the glance I can see my hazel eyes, trying to look mean. My body is slim and I'm sort of bony, I guess. Same patches of chocolate brown hair under my pits. Smooth chest leading down to a slim waist. I have a bit of definition around my tummy. What could be a nice six-pack if I cared. Really though I like the way I look. One of my dates said I looked scrappy. "Any day now," says number four. I was going for sensual slow, but whatever. I kick my shoes off inelegantly and my feet automatically wiggle out of my socks. Off flies the belt, and my pants pretty much slide off my hips, almost taking my boxers with me. Some striptease this is, my rags pretty much falling off me. I step out of my pants and push them to the side. Last is my boxers, baggy, practically see through they've been worn and washed so much. I stick my thumbs in the waist and push them down, and step out of them too. I keep my pubes trimmed but I think a lot of guys like something to run their fingers through. Guys like Greg keep themselves shaved because it makes them look younger but I think for me, where I actually look sixteen, they just make me look sexy. Number four looks me up down. "Flex," he commands. I shrug, I show off the little muscle I have. "Flex your stomach, twist from side to side." I do so. "Legs too." I stretch my legs, stick them out from side to side. Throughout the process I could see his eyes flicking about to the different mirrors, taking in all angles. I had never felt so completely naked in my whole life. My dick, ever a mystery to me, was beginning to stir at the feeling. "Turn around in a circle slowly," I began shifting back and forth on my feet, doing a clumsy little turn before facing him again. He nodded, "Turn around back to me," I did so, "Bend over." I did, bracing for a finger in my ass or something equally violating. Nothing came, he was just looking me up and down. "Alright, at ease." He laughed, not meanly. I stood up and faced him again, my arms folded in front of me. Defensive, but I was not going to cover my dick in front of this asshole, despite the fact that it was plumping without any assistance. He'd probably just laugh. "Good stuff, buddy. I'm feeling really good about this. Get yourself hard, okay?" I stared at him, "You can take your time, get comfortable, whatever you need to do." He just looked on, expectantly. I blushed, I already had a semi. This is idiotic. Why did this feel dirtier than some fat fuck groping the shit out of me? Maybe because number four was the one sitting there, fully clothed, his legs open with nary a trace of an erection and I was the one getting hard. He even checked his phone. I dropped a hand to my cock and started tugging myself. What was the matter with me? It didn't even take a minute before I was hard, my dick sticking straight out in front of me. He looked up from his phone. "Closer," he motioned. I stepped forward so I was a foot away from him. This was it, he was going to gnaw the fuck out of my dick or something. "How long is it?" I blushed even more, "Almost seven inches." "Nice!" he said, like he was complimenting my shoes, "Curves down a little, uncircumcised, right? Awesome. Can you turn to the side? And the other. Cool. So how's Trevor doing?" I took a step back. If I wasn't a hormonally charged teen boy my wood would have dropped at that moment. "Trev--- how do youÉ What the fuck?" He smiled, "Nothing to worry about, I'm just curious. As far as I understand he's with a pretty good family. Not swimming in money, but safe. And a caring older brother checking in on him every once and awhile." I didn't say anything; I was trying to give him my scariest glare. "A caring, generous older brother. Not that he has a lot to offer. Boo hoo," he jokingly mimed crying, "An inspiring story if it wasn't about some cocksucking hooker. No judgment man!" "What the fuck do you want?" I felt more than naked now; I reached down and grabbed my boxers, doing my best to cover my hardon. "I'm here with a very unique offer. From the people I've talked to it sounds like you're a pretty good kid. Yeah yeah yeah, scowl at me all you want, buddy, but it does touch me that you care so much for your little bro. I'm something of an older brother myself, so I know what it means to want to look after someone you care deeply about. Now, what if I told you that you could give your brother a very bright future and also get a bit of comfort for yourself? How does that sound?" I just stare. He smiles. "I have a proposition for you. I'm going to share with you something extraordinarily sensitive. Something that would ruin a great number of people's lives if it were ever to get out, including my own. Once I tell you this there's really no going back for you or the people I represent. If you're cooperative it helps us all, including you, I believe, and definitely your brother. If you're notÉ well, life can be made very hard, and I don't think you'd want to do that to Trevor, would you?" "I'm listening." "Is that a yes, remember, no going back." I nod. He smiles, "Allow me to introduce myself. Name's Mickey X, talent representation. Ring a bell?" I shake my head, he sighs dramatically, but smirks, "Ever hear of Ian Hart?" My head swims a little. This has to be some sort of joke, some sort of trap. I have no idea what standing completely naked in front of a supposed talent agent has anything to do with Ian Hart. "Ian Hart, as in the Ian Hart who is playing to a sold out Seaside Amphitheatre later today?" "That would be the one! My little Ian!" Mickey's eyes twinkle. "Prove it." And he can. He shows me his business card. He flips through his iPhone, pictures, videos of he and Ian in NYC, LA, Toronto, London. The driver is even in a few of the pictures, and other people that sometimes look vaguely familiar, maybe a singer or a rap artist or two. "Okay," I stutter, "So what the fuck does Ian HartÉ wellÉ you know? What the fuck does he want from me?" "Ian, as you have probably figured out, is a celebrity," he chuckles, "Fame is a wonderful thing, really. Ian has grown incredibly as a person, as an artists, he loves his fans, blah blah blah. But Ian has a bit of a problemÉ" "He's gay?" I offer. "Oh! If only it was just the gay thing!" Ian Hart, the fantasy of every girl in the world, gay. I can't believe it. Mickey looks to the ceiling as if someone up there has cursed him, "Come on, gay just means he beats off to some Buttsex Porn every once and awhile, fuck a dude or two discreetly, none of his fans or the fucking media, that bullshit, life ruining monster, are any the wiser. Wouldn't get in the way of his being America's sweetheart. Ian's problem is a little moreÉ wellÉ problematic! Let's just say Ian has a destructive libido." I stare blankly. "Sweet Zombie Christ, there's no easy way to put this. Ian Hart is a fucking perv. No getting around it. The kid has so many perversions it's quite hard to keep him from sullying his own reputation on a daily basis. It's not his fault, you know. It's that primal urge that many of us have to say, I don't know, fuck a goat. Don't give me that look. I'm not saying he has. Whatever, bad example, but it's just that some of us aren't able to suppress those desires. So it's easier to just be accommodating. Indulge his desire as best we can, while keeping it hush hush. I'm getting to you, keep your pants on. Oh wait," he snorts. "Anyways, just a little while ago I had this brilliant idea. Find a playmate for Ian. Someone who can indulge him, keep an eye on him. Keep him in line, because he wouldn't have to go searching for trouble. I know! It's brilliant!" "So let me get this straight," again Mickey snorts. "Ian Hart is looking for a live inÉ I dunnoÉ living sex toy?" "Fair, but a little crude. I'd say carnal companion." "And you do what for me?" "For you, well, you come along on tour with us. You reap the benefits of the entourage. You go where Ian goes, eat what Ian eats, do what Ian does, possibly be done by Ian," Mickey smirks, "You live in the background, not a lot of freedom I'm afraid, especially at first. We'll keep you close to home. Your brother, on the other hand. We can make sure he has the means to go to the best schools, open him to the best options, take the best path. You want to be a good brother? You want to provide a good life for Trevor? Well this is your chance." I don't even think. "I'll do it." Mickey doesn't miss a beat. "Marvelous, get dressed. That beast of your's calmed down yet?" It hadn't really. "Excellent. Now, I'm guessing it's occurred to you that you could take this to the media," he's facing away from me now, I look up from pulling my pants half up, but I can't see his face. "A juicy storey, you could pretty much name your price. I will admit that. Keep in mind, I have friends in places you could never even imagine. You screw us over and we'll make prostitution seem like a vacation. For both yourself and your little brother." He turns around smiling, "That's not a threat, because it will never come to that. Deal?" He whips out his phone and leaves me in the studio to finish dressing. I realize that I hadn't even considered selling them out. It never occurred to me. What am I getting myself into? Mickey, the driver (who's name is Gus) and I make our way in the limo over to the Seaside Amphitheatre. Outside are throngs of jittery, screechy girls as far as the eye can see. There is a commotion as some of them get the idea that Ian Hart is within the limo, but security is tight and manage to keep the army of estrogen out of the path of our moving vehicle. We pull right into a cavernous loading bay backstage. I'm given a pass and the two of them lead me backstage. "You won't be meeting Ian just yet," Mickey explains, "No reason to disrupt him before a show. I'm gonna set you up in a VIP box and I'll join you, we can take in the concert and I'll introduce you after." "Mickey," a technician makes his way down the hall towards us. "There you are! We're just about pray and Ian wanted you there." "Lost track of time," Mickey cries out, "Gus, escort our buddy to the booth, see you in a bit." Gus leads me further under the Amphitheatre away from the backstage area. "Pray?" I mutter. "Oh yes," he says, "Frankie and Ian are good Christian souls. They always pray before every show." I look at Gus with an eyebrow raised. He chuckles, "Let's just say the show starts long before the stage. I've been Ian's bodyguard since before heÉ wellÉ developed." "So youÉ knowÉ" "The thing you're not supposed to talk about." I blanche, he laughs, "I know better than most, and Mickey keeps me in the loop. Ian's a good kid. Spirited. And he has to keep up a certain persona. It's hard on him. We really are hoping you'll be able to calm him down a bit." Gus waits with me in the booth until Mickey returns, and then he makes his way back into the Amphitheatre. The concert is what can be expected of an Ian Hart show. A sea of little girls between the ages of four and fourteen accompanied by equally enthusiastic or else suicidal looking parents. Non-stop screaming even before Ian is on stage. I take a seat in a private booth that, although high above the orchestra crowd, affords a fantastic view. A man probably not too much older than Mickey joins us who he introduces as Ian's father, Frankie. Frankie is a stocky but attractive looking man. The fame of his son has clearly effected him for the best. He looks well fed, well exercised and very haughty. He studies me strangely. "Don't worry, Frankie knows about Ian'sÉ energy. Which means you've pretty much met everyone who does. Besides Ian himself of course." "Welcome to the funny farm," Frankie ads as the lights in the arena go down. The crowd, if possible, goes even more insane. I have never heard such a horrible sound as the lights fade and smoke rises from the stage. I imagine its what genocide sounds like in a blender. I can't help but think how completely stupid this is. Then he's there. Centre stage, smoke whisking about his face, hair in his eyes, all of this amplified by the hundred foot screens flanking the stage, is Ian Hart. "This is for all the people who said I couldn't do it," he growls into his headset mic. "All the people who said I could never travel the world, and make an album, and be there for my fans! For all of you!" The screams reach a new pitch. I won't be hearing that decibel ever again. "I know each and every one of you has a wish, and it'll come true. Know how I know? Because I had a wish!" The music starts: I had a wish, For love, For a love that I just never knew, I had a wish, A dream, A dream about me and you The audience is singing along, and to be fair I probably could too, I've heard this song just as many times as "I <3 You". I'm not singing, though. I'm watching him. I can tell myself all I want that his music's stupid, that its just a bunch of wet dreams for sexually frustrated teeny boppers. I can convince myself that it's all idiotic, but at the moment the only thing I can think about is how Ian Hart is really cute. And he can dance. He's jumping around the stage, and for every chorus a group of dancers about his age join him. The movement and songs are invigorating. I'm tapping my foot along, and I think Mickey sees this, because he's smiling. "He's great, isn't he?" I can't help but agree. A lithe little body. I can see he must be a few inches shorter than me despite him being blown out of proportion by the screens. And every once and awhile he'll do a dance move where his shirt will twist, or his pants will sag just slightly. A glimpse of his underwear, briefs that are his signature color of pale blue. How can this little sugar pop teen idol is some sort of sex freak? And what does that mean for me? An hour and a bit goes by and I am starting to grow tired of the constant shrieks from the crowd all around us. That, and I hate to admit it but watching Ian Hart on stage is making me a little horny. From all the dancing, and singing, and music playing (piano, guitar and harmonica solos in a few of his numbers) he is now down to nothing but a white tank top (which is slightly see-through from perspiration), and his pants sag with every bop he does. I find it hard to believe parents let their kids watch this stuff. It's a layer of clothing away from being porn. He disappears back stage, but the scream of the crowd is deafening, and he returns for the encore. "Alright, let's go and we'll meet him back stage." We return the way we came, traveling down a straircase and underground, beneath the arena. "I <3 You" is just barely audible over the screaming and stomping of the thousands of people above us. A few more twists and turns and we find ourself in a few small rooms, a sparse but nice few dressing rooms. Gus stands outside the door and the only people inside are Mickey, Frankie and I. I take a seat, eyeing a small table of food as they chat amicably, waiting. Far away I can still hear cheering and chanting. Suddenly we hear the door open in the next room. Gus calls in, "Clear?" and Mickey calls back, "All good!" I hear Gus mumble something and into the room strides Ian Hart, in person. He already has his shirt and shoes off and, to my surprise, he is tugging his belt off and undoing his pants. He stops briefly to hug his dad and high five Mickey before pulling his pants and underwear clean off directly in front of them. He stumbles towards the bathroom, and is out of his socks, the last pieces of clothing he was wearing. He didn't even so much glance at me. I listen to the sprinkling of water in the next room as Ian Hart, with the door open, takes a piss. He sees me staring in the mirror. "The fuck are you looking at?" He shakes and moves away from the toilet. The shower turns on and there is some quiet singing. I look to the others. Frankie is texting and Mickey is picking indifferently at a sandwich, as if nothing has happened. Mickey sees what is probably a look of intense confusion, to say the least, on my face and smiles. "Right, I forget these things. Among his many quirks Ian's a bit of a nudist. The less clothes he's wearing all the time the better. Just finds them uncomfortable." Frankie doesn't even look up from his phone. The shower stops and Mickey walks back into the room, sopping wet and still completely naked. Just as I thought, he is a few inches shorter than me, but the same slim, slightly muscular body. His dick swings slighltly, still dripping with water. He walks over and grabs a sandwich from the table and sits next to Frankie, eating. "Can you grab my phone MX?" he says, his mouth half full. Without a second thought Mickey reaches into Ian's discarded pants, grabs a slim cell and tosses it to Ian, who begins to text as well. "So who the fuck is that?" He is talking about me, sitting stiffly in a chair on the other side of the room from the other three. "New friend," Mickey says, smiling at me. Ian grunts disapprovingly. "Foster," I offer. "Stupid name. He clean?" "Was going to do the usual tests tomorrow, than he's all yours Ee." "I want him tonight." "Not possible, buddy." "Yeah possible, MX. Get lost. I want to inspect my new friend." Mickey seems to consider this for a moment, then stands. Frankie does as well. During all of this he hasn't so much as taken an eye off his phone. Not out of embarrassment, seemingly out of boredom. "Big good, Little Ee. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Mickey snorts, again, like it's the funniest thing he's ever said. "We'll go get the bus ready to go, buddy. Heading out in ten." He and Frankie go into the next room, and then leave the dressing room, leaving me sitting with Ian Hart, completely naked, across the room from me. Although, as he stares at me, I think I'm the one who feels naked. "I don't want you," he says, looking back to his phone, "But it's too fucking late for that now. Stand up." I don't. "You could say please." He chuckles. Not a nice chuckle. "Why did Mickey pick you? Sick Mom? Junkie Dad? WaitÉ Foster. I remember you. He said he was going to meet you today. Poor little brother in a not so nice neighbourhood, isn't it?" He smirks. "Let me put it for you this way, asshole. You do what I say. Mickey or Dad, or Gus. I don't care if you jizz on their toast, but you do what I say. If you don't I make sure your little brother is on some streetcorner sucking more cock in a night than you have your entire life." I glare at him. "Stand up." I do, and he does as well. He walks over to me, grabs my shirt and yanks it over my head. "Blech, you won't be wearing any of this anymore. When I tell you to do something you do it. Repeat that." "When you tell me to do something I do it." His hands are at my belt and my pants slide down, gathering at my feet. He reaches down and cups me and begins running his hand over my dick, his skin still steaming from the shower which I can feel through the thin material. I gasp involuntarily and push into him. I'm still horny from stripping in front of Mickey earlier. He leans into me, whispering breathily into my ear, "I own you, now. You are mine. What I'm holding, this is mine." He gives my dick a squeeze, then slides his hand into my waistband, now stroking my dick. I'm completely hard in a second, his wet body pressed against mine. His breath in my ear. I whimper. "I don't want you, but you're mine. So you know what I'm going to do. I'm going to wreck you. I'm going to abuse the shit out of you." Ian pushes my underwear to join my pants, then pushes me backwards into the chair. He drops to his knees and begins to lick up my thighs. I am panting, grabbing at the arms of the chair to keep me from moaning. If this is what I'm going to have to put up with I could get used to this. I mean, this is every guy's fantasy. A slim, hairless little cocksucker tonguing his balls. The fact that he's an international pop sensation certainly doesn't hurt. "You don't get any pleasure unless I give you permission," he says. He runs his tongue up my shaft and then slides my cock into his mouth. If this isn't pleasure I don't know what is. He takes his mouth off of me. "You don't cum unless I let you," his mouth is back onto my shaft, bobbing his head up and down. I have no shame any more. I'm moaning loud enough that I'm sure Gus can hear me in the hall. I reach for the back of his head, without thinking and grab a handful of hair. His teeth are suddenly grazing my dick and I cry out in pain, recoiling the hand. He pulls his mouth off, then stands. "And this is the most important rule of all. You. Do not. Touch my hair. Without. Permission. Got it?" I nod, grasping my tender dick. "Hand. Off," he commands. I slowly remove my hand. There's a knock on the dressing room door. "Yeah?" Ian shouts, moving back to the couch to scoop up his phone. I hear the door unlock and open. "Bus ready, Ian," Gus calls from the next room. "Up, and walk, and leave those," he nods to my clothes. As I stand and move towards the door he growls. "Walk with your hands at your sides, you dumbass." "Don't I get any clothes?" I ask as I pull my hands away from my erection, trying not to sound exasperated, but he just motions towards the door. I walk out of the dressing room with Ian following closely behind me. Gus looks both Ian and I up and down, but makes no big deal of our nudity, or my exposed erection. "Keep going," Ian says, annoyed. I continue down the hall, bare-naked. The space is narrow, underneath the stage. "Too fucking slow," Ian says, slapping my ass from behind. I wish this is where it stopped, but every twenty meters or so he checks to see if I am still hard. If my dick is starting to wilt he tugs on it for a few seconds, running a hand expertly up and down my buttcrack. I have no idea where he learned this from, but within seconds each time he has my dick rock hard again. Gus just looks on with indifference. I have never felt so completely humiliated in my life, especially when we come to the large loading bay in the back of the theatre. The lights are mostly dark and the door has been closed, but Mickey and Frankie are standing by the bus, so the walk across to the vehicle's door is even more embarrassing as they watch our procession. "Stop," Ian says just as I am a few feet from the door. I stand with my hands at my side, trying to look straight ahead. I can't help but notice Frankie again looking me up and down as if studying me intently. "Having fun already, little Ee?" Mickey asks. "Fuck off MX. This is a fucking stupid idea. He's a dumb fucking piece of trash." "Ah well, too late for that now, you thought this was a good idea last night after we found you---" Ian waves this all off. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." "I'm gonna fly back to New York to see your mom, okay Ian?" Frankie says, finally looking away from me. "Kay. Later Dad," Ian says, moving towards the bus door. "Hey, no love?" His father says, holding his arms open for a hug. Ian rolls his eyes playfully but moves in and hugs his dad. It would be sweet image of an affectionate father and son, if the son wasn't completely naked. As is it seems more like a porno, especially with Ian's semi-hard dick. Frankie barely gives me a wave as he leaves, and Ian climbs onto the bus with Mickey behind him. Gus motions me onto the bus as well and I follow hesitantly behind Mickey. And that is how I join the Ian Hart tour.