Date: Sun, 23 Oct 2011 12:54:57 +0100 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-10 Author's note: This is sheer dumb fantasy, with sex and violence and dark elements. Not cool in real life, and not to be taken seriously. Just to be clear, any movies, actors, television shows, comic books, etc, named are totally fictional. ---------------------- BlueShark Video 10 So, as Corinth Cardinal sends Eclipse out into the night on an errand, we have reached a natural pause in the action. And as it happens, I am called away briefly to take a call, attend to some business. You know how sometimes when you're prevented with a bunch of options you want to get an overview? Like when you scan over the entirety of a magazine before deciding which part of it you want to read first? Or like skipping to the end of a porn video before you watch it, to make sure it doesn't become a letdown? Or you scroll up and down a story that's, say, posted on the internet, to make sure there are hot parts? Well, sure, the scenes from this weird superhero movie are kind of diverting, but you're failing to see as yet how they relate to the story you'd chosen to view, the fate of Jordon Lunar. And time passes strangely as you're sat here watching these movies - I mean, even though it was only earlier this evening you were watching the scenes of Sharkey and his various slaves, his sick romance with his beloved favourite boy Ramon, his tyrannical treatment of Jordon and Daniel Pilce -- it's odd, but that feels distant, like it could have been six, maybe seven months ago. Also on your mind are those two other options you saw earlier on the menu screen - JUSTIN'S SECRET and RAMON'S BEATING. So, looking towards the door to make sure I'm not headed back yet (even though you must realise I miss nothing - hell, look, I'm even narrating this to you now), you pick up the remote and select the menu bar at the side of the screen again, deciding to have a sneaky fast-forward through the other movies. JUSTIN'S SECRET is the one you're probably most interested in. You were taken with that cute young Justin Benchley guy, who seemed just to disappear from the narrative. But, even as pushed for time as you are, you decide to save that treat for last and check out the other option, RAMON'S BEATING first. We've seen that fleeting footage of Ramon being whipped for the entertainment of men when he was the property of Mr Alexander - could there be further punishment in store for him? There is the little thumbnail window: That image of the gorgeous Ramon's face, half hidden by wildly dishevelled hair, locked in a contorted grimace. What is the reason for that grimace? Is it agony? Caused by what? Let's see... You click. Your eyes dart instinctively to the purple credit bar at the bottom of the screen to see if anything has been chipped off you total. But it remains satisfyingly the same. However, instead of a new movie whirring into action from that chunky, malformed videotape, all that happens is that the JORDON'S KEEPER film simply resumes from right where you left it: the supervillain Eclipse heading out into the city of Sol Casali to round up those named on Corinth's list. You notice a number of pumpkins in windows and children in fancy dress - evidently this sequence takes place on Halloween night. A message is superimposed over the action in intrusive yellow font. It remains for a few moments before fading: 'Ramon's Beating will follow Jordon's Keeper. Please stay tuned' Frustrated, you snort and press the button for the cascading menu again. Okay, so this damn thing is going to be awkward with you. Let's go right to the other option - Justin Benchley. You definitely want to see more of Justin Benchley. There is that mid-range shot of him tugging at his oversized boxer underwear. A glimpse of his thighs. Half his face visible, just his jaw, his damn sexy head of hair seen almost from the back. So you click on the thumbnail. But it merely clinks glassily, as though the tempting square icon were not a solid doorway, but a decorative reproduction of one. You try a couple more times. The same frustrating thing happens, or rather fails to happen. The icon tinkling gently like an icecube at the side of a glass. A box of text finally appears on screen. It's so small you have to get up and walk closer to the screen to read it: 'Justin's Secret currently unavailable' It offers no more information than this. The box disappears. You sit back down. So. The other options you had at the beginning seem to have disappeared. I'm afraid once you've made the initial choice, the running order selects itself. As I return to the screening room, you press the button to resume and unpause JORDON'S KEEPER. It seems we are in the world of Corinth Cardinal for a little longer ... --------------------------------------------------- ... And so on the second night of his new life in thrall to twisted crime heir Corinth Cardinal, the supervillain Eclipse is sent out with a shopping list of names to round up and bring back to his diminutive master's lair.* (* see Golden Guardian Adventures #223) First on the list is Chase Phaeder. -- The brief comic book origin story: dark-haired stallion Chase was the wrestling star at Corinth's old school. Hailing from a hand-to-mouth family in one of the city's rougher suburbs, Chase's striking looks come from his mixed heritage - Nordic, Italian and Swedish all fighting for a place in his appearance. He has almost a hybrid look, his broad, expansively jawed face classical and beauteous in repose, with long, rich feminine eyelashes and startling cheekbones; but when he fights, or when he is angry, his wide, flattened, starkly contoured nose and gapped front teeth make him seem pugnacious and thuggish. A beautiful fucking brute, is how Corinth thinks of him. Growing up as the son of a criminal behemoth has left Corinth a very spoilt child. Even in his late teens, that is what he remains: a spoilt and dangerous child. Nevertheless, he doesn't take every excess and privelege in his life for granted. Ever since he went through an explosive adolescence, really not that many years ago, his own capacity for lust has always taken him by surprise, been an endless source of new and unexpected excitements for him. Growing up does not mean putting away childish things, he realises; it means finding a whole new set of toys way better than any he ever had as a kid. As a child, Corinth was thrilled by violence - seeing his father and his minions dole it out to their enemies those nights when his dad let him stay up late. Always so much more exciting when their enemies were those muscular, colorful superheroes in their tight outfits. Even if they never seemed to be defeated for long, there was always that triumphant surge in his stomach when their unassailable powers yielded, when the strongmen fell. And he still kind of gets off on that - except now he realises the thrill of that violence was just an inkling, a childish foreshadowing, of the pleasure of sex. There was a day in his childhood when his dad briefly had the Mighty Sun Surfer at his mercy. At the time, he thought it was cool the way his dad gloated about his victory and left the hunky hero to die on that complicated deathtrap. Now he just thinks Mortimus was soooo stupid not to take that golden opportunity to fuck the living shit out of him. Plus of course, the son of a bitch managed to get away. So, when Corinth sat in his school sports hall one day and watched the sexy, two-years-older-than-him Chase Phaeder grapple with and defeat a cocky opponent in the wrestling ring - when he watched Chase's beaming, somehow innocent smile combined with the vaguely arrogant flare of his wide nostrils as he was declared the winner - and as Chase assumed a lazy, tentative victory pose in his hot spandex gear - just don't think Corinth didn't know how lucky he was, or how goddamn good and right it was, that he could turn to the big bodyguard brute his dad had assigned him, and gesture towards the conquering hero Chase, and say those sweet words: "Bring that guy to me." - knowing that they would be fulfilled. Chase Phaeder was Corinth's first. Manhandled into one of many vacant warehouses in what would become known as the Corinthian district, the wrestler kid was made aware pretty quickly that it he didn't do exactly what Corinth wanted, he'd be in major trouble with a hard-ass bad guy who ran the city's mob. A quick learner, Chase, he didn't resist any of Corinth's horny and overexcited advances. He agreed that they could wrestle in their underwear, letting Corinth win without acting like he was doing so. He danced for Corinth as a boombox played the top five pop hits of that week. He submitted, without the heavies having to intervene, when Corinth just couldn't resist smacking him around, getting accustomed to the knowledge that this dude was hunk putty in his hands. And he wept, just a a little, dignified streaming tears, as he gave up his asshole to his young new master for Corinth's first ever, oh so awesome fuck. Even that first time, Corinth learned to relish taking what a scrawny, weird kid like him could not otherwise possibly claim. He happily climbed like a cat up Chase's broad back, so he could lick those trickling tears from the dude's pinkened cheek. He's always liked that salt taste since. ------ Tonight is Halloween, but a typical Saturday for Chase, working two jobs. In the earlier part of the evening, about 11pm to 1am, he works as a stripper in a couple of nightclubs, nextdoor to each other and with the same owners. In fact, were you able to brave the labyrinthine money trail, you'd discover the ultimate owner of the bisected establishment is Mortimus Cardinal. For an hour, Chase strips and dances for the ladies, who scream and grab and stuff his skimpy underpants with fistfuls of dollars until they're practically falling down under the weight of the cash. They don't, though - stripping down to nothing isn't part of his job, and Chase manages to maintain the integrity of his safely wrapped up cock. The twist for Halloween night is that he starts his stripping act all dressed up in a top hat, with cane and velvet-lined cloak; the effect being something like Count Dracula's playboy nephew kitted out for a night on old London town. The performance starts with a lot of organ music and dry ice lit with spooky green light. It ends, as ever, with a bunch of ass-shaking. Chase has a pert but sturdy butt, and it's a big asset in his performance. Chase's act finished, the next guy gets up on the catwalk, Federico in his devil horns and tail. Chase, still in his blood-red skimpy underwear, stops off at his little locker to store away his tips, then heads right down to the building's cellar to take the underground shortcut to the club nextdoor. There's no point in him dressing just to make the journey between buildings. He has to go,as ever, via a creepy, cold old tunnel that connects the two places. As it's not used by the public, and never thought of as a proper part of the building, it's not cleaned or maintained in any way, and has some rotten, cobwebbed greenish old barrels stacked at its sides that may well hail from the Prohibition era. It's also very poorly lit, with a dim bare bulb at each end that don't stop it being swamped in complete blackness for a good few feet in the middle. The owners keep promising to install some better lighting down here. It never happens. Every time Chase passes through, he thinks he should say something, but he never remembers afterwards. Naturally enough, this subterranean passageway is rumoured to be haunted. I mean, of course - anywhere this dark and creepy and punctuated with mysterious dripping noises would be. Not to mention that the walls make a constant low moaning sound because of the music and traffic above. It's rationally explicable, but eerie enough to spook someone passing through on their own. Even Chase, a big and sensible boy, darts through this old arched tunnel quickly, not liking the sensation of losing control when he makes his way through the absolutely black part of it, feeling suddenly like he's swimming through nothingness until the light touches him again. Oh, and it's Halloween night. The girls who work in the club have been teasing him this evening about what happens in the tunnel at Halloween. That's when spooky things start to happen, they say. A bartender slipped in that darkness one All Hallow's Eve in the 1950s, it is claimed, and fell and broke his neck. He was found, wouldn't you know it, with a look of indescribable fear etched upon his face. Something must have scared him witless before he died, the story says. Chase has been shaking his head and smiling at these stories. Absolute bullshit, he's been saying. And the one about the guy who, less than twenty years ago, walked into the darkest part of the tunnel at midnight and promptly failed to reappear from it at the other side, nor ever be seen again ... Puh-lease, Chase said. Let's go through the employment records and see if we can track down this guy's name then, huh? Oh no no, no, the girls said. It was all covered up. He had no close family, and the truth was too terrifying to reveal to the public. Oh sure, Chase said. That's convenient, huh? He gamely made the obvious "the only spirits around here..." joke. And the ghostly talk ended, Chase and the girls had to get on with their work. Chase feels less staunchly rational as he heads into the blackness now. Feels vulnerable too, wearing just his little blood-red shiny underwear and some sneakers that he puts on each time he makes this journey. He feels bare, like a victim in waiting. Christ, it's chilly. So he keeps his eyes on the distant light at the end of the tunnel, tells himself not to be so stupid. He's a stripper in a nightclub, for God's sake, not some unwelcome visitor to a crypt like in a ghost story. He wades through the blackness. And then he has a momentary sense of movement right beside him, and is sure he hears breathing. Fear stabs through his spine like jagged ice and he breaks into a run, welcoming the light at the other end like never before. Only when he reaches the doorway at the there side does he dare look back, and naturally he sees nothing. Of course he doesn't, it's pitch black in there. Fuck! He lets out a nervous laugh. He's let those dumb girls get to him. He jumps and lets out a less than manly squeak when he is then tapped on the shoulder. It's Myrna, looking not particularly amused. "Come here, Chate", she says briskly. She always calls him that, and he doesn't correct her. "You know, we really gotta get some goddamn lights in that passage" he mutters, but the the bored-looking old broad doesn't appear to hear him. Instead, she gets briskly if grimly on with her work, dabbing the perspiration off him with a few scented wetwipes. If the old lady takes any pleasure in handling a piece of attractive flesh like this young man, she doesn't show it. She looks as bored as if she were cleaning the back of a refrigerator. It's such a different reaction to all those women in the club reaching greedily out for him. Then she takes out her makeup palette, which looks more elaborate and grisly than is normally the case, and paints and moulds a series of vampire bites on his neck and one of his shoulders. He remembers hearing she used to work in a theatre. And when she's done with Chase, it looks like a lusty bloodsucker has been going at him in a frenzy, complete with daubed-on trickles of blood. Other side of that tunnel, he was the vampire, all masterful and in control. Now he's the victim, the piece of meat to be bitten into. All in a night's work. Another couple of hours and he'll be in a more dignified pairs of shorts bare knuckle fighting some dude in a totally different kind of club, the other job he has to work tonight. Whatever. He kicks off his sneakers, takes one more look into the blackness. Dumbass. Nothing there. "You're done," Myrna says as she finishes the job, sending him on his way upstairs and shuffling off to take care of more pressing chores. Chase emerges into a different set of lights to start dancing for the men. It's an all-guy club, tis one. The act of stripping, the ritual and tease of it, is less important on this side of the wall, and he goes right into his moves, him and three other guys on a podium each. There's less hysterical excitement over the dancers in the men's club, the entertainment more taken for granted, and Chase never gets much trouble. He dances in a rudimentary but graceful way, but doesn't get any tips here because he's too far up from the crowd. Now, if we take a typical point of view shot from the floor of the club here: we see Chase dancing to a pounding house remix of a lame pop ballad. He's kind of in a world of his own, sexy and beautiful. He's a background bounty all but taken for granted. Chase is like a part of the furniture of this club, a living, moving flesh statue - and like a statue he is too perfect and distant to be touched. So, like anyone here, you might catch sight of him and admire him. You might look away, for whatever reason; for a friend or partner; towards the bar. You might turn back and find him gone. If you reacted at all, which is unlikely, you might shrug mildly. Probably he's knocked off work or whatever, you'd think. You wouldn't give a second thought to it, though. There are more realistic prospects on the floor. In the meantime, Eclipse has emerged from his hiding place in the passageway and sidled casually onto the dancefloor. Having made certain this is indeed the boy on his list - the old lady addressed him as 'Chate' but he rightly guesses this is her mistake - he finds that for once he has the perfect camouflage in his outlandish skintight outfit and gothic harness. This is Halloween, and there are scores of people here in fancy dress. Briefly, a hip-swivelling Chase thinks he has another deluded admirer, as the handsome dude in the Eclipse outfit pushes through the crowd to take a position right next to him. He even thinks the fit guy, who obviously works out a lot, might be reaching into that belt thing of his to give him a tip, or if he's less lucky, a phone number. He's less lucky even than that, however. Suddenly the guy is a blue whirlwind. Suddenly he's trapped in a grip like steel and the world is moving by him far too quickly, like he's making his way out of the building on fast forward. When the world starts to make sense again, icy cold air on his skin, a dazed Chase finds himself wrapped up in a rope net bag, caught like a fish. The net, which was what the guy was really unpacking from his belt, is slung over the inhumanly powerful shoulder of a supervillain. It's the real Eclipse, for Christ's sake, and Chase is being carried rapidly off into the night. --- Second on Eclipse's list is Brett Dillinger. An entirely different proposition, this one; Dillinger is a gawky youth from Corinth's old school, one who the villainous teen took a kind of malevolent shine to back when they were sat next to each other in class. Brett was and, and is, a studious youth, and indeed, is to be found even tonight working away in the college library at his essay on Ichabod Crane. The thing that fascinated Corinth the most about this boy was his determined dorkishness, that whole tank tops and waistcoats look he had. Corinth had previously believed that such uber-geek stylings were just a creation of fake nerds on shitty TV shows. Corinth, who dressed in rubbers, chains and lace and always in black and silver, could never quite believe the neatly-parted head of upper middle class hair that sat primly on his right. If his class hadn't been seated alphabetically, he'd have thought the teacher was yanking his chain. Which obviously would have been a huge fucking mistake. When Corinth was a schoolkid, the teacher brought him a fucking apple every day. Or she would have done, if he hadn't preferred cigarettes and candy. Oh, Corinth could have been fucking awful to that skinny little nerd. He could have made Brett's life hell, and there'd have been nothing the teachers or principal or any-fucking-one could have done about it. Instead he decided he liked him, and treated him like a friend, albeit with a shitload of sarcasm and some savage rough-housing now and then. That meant that the other bullies around - all the giant towering brutes who it amused tiny Corinth to be able to intimidate from beneath his painted black eyelashes - steered clear of hassling a dweeb who would have otherwise been the most obvious target going. Still, poor dorky Brett was terrified of Corinth, always waiting for some brutal punchline when the crime heir came over and did his best-pals act with him. Which just proves that Brett really is an intelligent boy. Just remember what happened to Corinth's lust-object Nate Lusher, wiped out in the fiery embrace of Nephthys just because he happened to be standing nearby when a human sacrifice was needed. Corinth's friends are not necessarily safer from harm than his enemies. Corinth's brotherly affections for Brett - such as they are - were first stirred when he witnessed his first flash of a sexual creature beneath that neat hair parting and fawn-colored pullover. When he saw the kid's shy downcast eyes flickering across the classroom to check out the buff Chase Phaeder, late to class because of his athletic training. Chase in his sweat-dampened white tee shirt, skin aglow with exertion, glistening with sweat. Corinth saw Chase, and saw Brett, and witnessed the way Brett's cheeks flushed a livid pink as his eyes darted so rapidly up and down Chase's bod. Brett thinking he'd gotten away with it as his eyes went back to his work. Believing no-one could ever have noticed an act of intense scrutiny carried out at a breakneck pace. But Corinth noticed. Oh man, did he ever. Then he knew what he was dealing with, the games he could play. He knew instantly that what this timid, studious little wimp wanted to study more than anything else in the world was other guys' cocks. He invited Brett over to his apartment - that was what Corinth called it, underselling a little - to play videogames. It was an offer the dweeb couldn't refuse. Seriously. Brett's face blanched in fear even as the invite was made, and Corinth felt kind of sorry for him, even as he enjoyed the ability to make the nervous little prick squirm. He tapped him lightly a couple of times on his sunken cheek. "Hey man, don't sweat it, yeah? You and me, we're gonna have fun" So dorky Brett Dillinger turned up at Corinth's messy penthouse that night - chinos and a frayed polo shirt in a weird shade of orange, boy this guy was hardcore with the nerd thing - and they hung out. Corinth enjoyed it, realised he hadn't really done the normal teenage hanging out thing. Usually he presided over big anything-goes parties in the warehouse district, and he saw now how detached his role in all that was. Sure, he could pluck out of those crowds anyone he wanted - but he never got to experience being actually part of the crowds. Not that he was going to get all angsty about it, life's too short and his life too full of fun for any of that. "Okay, horror movies and shoot-em-ups," Corinth had said, brandishing DVDs and the game sticks popular in Sol Casali at that time. "Way more fun than chess club, man, trust me." They watched a movie from the studio BlueShark Video, about an evil scientist trying to create an army of zombies. Almost cuddled up on the couch, this odd couple of goth and geek, Corinth couldn't help but point out: "Oh man, that's so bogus! My dad tried to make a zombie army one time. You try to stimulate them with Z-Flash energy, they turn to soup before they've made it across the room." "I thought Z-Flash energy was just made up in the movie...?" Brett began, but tailed off as Corinth gave him an odd, puzzled look. Then they played a videogame. It was one Mortimus had had developed for Corinth alone, featuring a pixillated avatar of himself making his way through the city with a laser weapon, blowing away its costumed heroes. "If only it was this easy in real life, huh?" Corinth had chuckled, bony thumbs moving pressing hyperactively at the control pad. Brett, whose mom had been saved from Cardinal Sin's water tornado of '96 by Agent Helio, didn't know how to answer. Setting aside his control pad after the game was over - Corinth won, defeating the big final level boss, the Mighty Sun Surfer himself - Corinth wasn't about to waste any more time. "By the way, man, you're sleeping over tonight" Leaving not a moment for Brett to respond, Corinth leapt off the couch and ran off to get some more movies. The shaken nerd was fearful, if not totally surprised. Corinth returned with a bunch of bulky items gathered up in his skinny arms - plastic cases about half the size of cereal boxes. When he set them down in a stack, Brett saw that they appeared to contain movies - the cheap and garish covers indicated as much - but they looked too big even to be box sets. Then when Corinth prised the top one open, Brett saw that it contained a single cassette - something like an old videotape, like the ones his dad kept in that cardboard box in the attic, but bulkier and weirder. It had big metal parts and was slightly L-shaped rather than rectangular. "Have another vodka, Dilly boy," Corinth had said, "I insist." Brett obeyed, sipping and trying to accustom himself to the bitter and unfamiliar taste as Corinth cleared away some of his strewn clothes and books to reveal some unfamiliar VCR-type machine, obviously designed to take these cassettes, and also old-looking, somehow, like Brett's dad's 1980s stereo with its wood finish. Corinth dimmed the lights further, and sat snuggled up to Brett. "You know, this nervous wussy thing you've got going is kind of cute," he said up close to the dork's soft, somewhat gaunt face so he could enjoying watching the flush of bright pink embarrassment that came over it. "Hey," he added, and gave Brett a peck on the cheek, leaving a vague smudge of blue lipstick. Lifting the remote and switching on, Corinth grinned: "See what you think of this. Fuckin' classic, man." First the sparse BlueShark logo, then the production credits. The movie beginning over a montage of scenes accompanied by the power chords of some soft rock ballad. Aspirational scenes of the hero Roman Decker's charmed sunshine life. The hunk eating, and flirting with the waitress in a seafood cafe. Awesome shots of him jogging over the hot sands of an endless beach, torn denim shorts and nothing else. His hulking body a wall of rippling muscles. His sweaty pectorals mighty, his abs angular, his striding legs powerful and defined ... "What do you think, Bretty-boy?" Corinth hissed excitedly, punching at his new pal's flimsy shoulder. "Look at that guy. You getting hard yet?" The dork went a whole three shades of pink darker than usual, eyes wide as he wondered what Corinth was asking him. Corinth laughed. "Oh, fucking chill, dude. I ain't asking so I can beat the crap outta ya or something. You know, I saw you. This afternoon. I saw you looking when that Chase Phaeder came in late to class" "I... I don't know what you..." At this point Corinth slammed a hand over Brett's mouth. His grip was much more vicious than you might have though from his still friendly tone. "Hush up, man. Don't lie to me." He took his hand away, leaving momentary white imprints behind. "You ain't hard yet, you soon will be." He turned back to the movie. "Fuck, just look at that guy! The things I'd do to him, I tell ya. Wait 'til you see what's coming up" The movie unfolded in familiar fashion. The hunky he-man hero ran a gym somewhere in Hawaii. He started having trouble with some suave Old South-style gentlemanly criminal running a protection racket. A bunch of posturing and bar room brawling. Corinth kept one eye on Brett the whole time, Watched all his reactions to Roman Decker's muscle-man sexiness. That haunted lusty look in the nerd's face, the involuntary set off his boney jaw as he studied the unattainable grown-up stud. Yeah. Brett wanted so much to to be able to get on his knees in front of that guy and suck his cock. Corinth could tell, for sure. What Brett didn't expect from this movie was that the good guy didn't win. About forty minutes into the action, Roman Decker's gang of heroes were slaughtered in a warehouse bloodbath. He was betrayed by his best friend, and then enslaved by the bad guys. Fuck, really totally enslaved. For the rest of the movie, square-jawed Roman Decker was fucked, and beaten and whipped by his brutal criminal masters. There would be no victory for him in the end. He was utterly defeated by the suave, triumphant villain. Brought down and conquered. Brett had certainly never seen anything like this. Not only that. A final coda suggested the erotically ravening Mr Suave would next go after the hero's sexy New York model guy's stallion of a nephew. But no sooner were the credits rolling than Corinth was greedily rewinding back to favoured scenes. There was the antiquated whirring of tape, and a typewriter-ish click as the bookmarked scenes were found. The mighty Roman Decker led on all fours, a gold chain around his neck, into a room full of leering men with their brandies and cigars. He sucked on their cocks one by one, shuffling around on his knees. One guy rewarded him with a punch to the face that sent him sprawling. All the men laughing with menace at the pathetic degraded hunk. Chaining him up and taking turns to whip him, the thunderclap smash of the lash scourging every ounce of his masculinity from him, forcing him to whimper and beg for the mercy he did not deserve. And yeah, Brett did get hard, a big embarrassing erection tenting his chinos as he watched the scenes of horny degradation, but he wasn't sure exactly why. Corinth guessed he'd spent his life repressing his sexual identity, that he'd never really admitted to himself just why it was that jocks from school like Chase Phaeder or Seth Christiansen were so fascinating to him. It is said that psychopaths lack empathy, but Corinth decided he had a pretty good insight into this little pansy dork's mind. While the cruel Corinth was getting off on the vicarious power rush of the movie hero's punishment, Brett Dillinger had been looking hungrily, his naturally sad-looking brown eyes widened, at the parade of cocks that one by one made their way into Roman Decker's abused mouth. Oh yeah, that was what he was into. The weakling lamewad was actually jealous of Roman Decker's feast of aggressive dick -- All that cock shoved in his face; that was what Brett wanted. What Corinth had here was a born cocksucker, living in agonised yearning for all that withheld man meat. Of course, the good thing about being in Corinth's position, a little underworld dictator in waiting, is that once he's made these judgements, no-one would dare contradict him anyway. Brett has been assigned his role in Corinth's movie now, and if Corinth has it wrong, the simple truth is that it doesn't fucking matter. Corinth will have his way. But really: look at Brett Dillinger. Check out this gawky little weed and his slack-jawed stare as he watches these erotic tortures unfold. You know and I know Corinth's got it right. As they watched, and as the scene replayed where Roman Decker's asshole got plugged full of dick, the one-time hero moaning out in long gurgling cries like a tortured animal, Corinth unzipped and took out his boner. He enjoyed this, revealing his huge erection to his new little pal. Corinth was totally convinced now that buttoned-down Brett absolutely longed for cock, probably more than he even knew. Probably imagined that it was all off limits to him, that those coveted dicks would slip into the pussies of cheerleaders and beautiful blonde slutty girls like Laverne Lusher, not into the mouth a raggedy little fruit like him. Corinth knew too that his own rock hard bastard of a wang was just what Brett was looking for. Probably he always dreamed of massive cocks standing tall from massive, stacked football-player guys. Wouldn't have imagined a wiry, freakish little creature like Corinth could have been hiding such treasure away in his pants. "Hey man," Corinth said, moving an inch closer to his runty little friend. "Check it out, look how hard I am." Brett's eyes left the screen and his jaw dropped as he saw Corinth's freshly unveiled thickly engorged boner. He looked panicky, Corinth could tell that his heart was thudding, but he reached around to put an arm over his shoulder, like he was taking him into his confidence; as if the super-big cock were something they shared between them. With his other hand he was still holding on to his boner at the stalk. "Fuck yeah man, this movie's getting me horny, you know? Are you getting horny, Bretty boy? Sure you are ... hey, how's about you get yours out too? Yeah? Come on, don't by shy, dude ... I can see you're gettin' turned on... here, let me help ya..." So Corinth took his free hand from his cock and moved his other arm down around the dork's waist to unbuckle his belt and open his flies for him. Brett's breath seemed to stop for a moment and his cheeks were going that burning red colour, but he didn't flinch or resist. Sure enough, when Corinth unbuttoned his flies - and then the ones on his underwear - an erect dick sprang out. "Yeaahhh, there we go... tell you what now, how's about you jerk my dick and I jerk yours, huh?" Corinth thought this a generous offer, especially as his wicked hot upright was just about twice the size of Brett's. Taking a lead, he took hold of the nerdy boy's shaft and started stroking up and down gently. Brett let out a faltering gasp that turned Corinth on something fierce. This geek was, like, totally fucking innocent. Corinth doubted now that he had ever even done this himself before, not even on his own in his room, not even thinking about Chase Phaeder in his spandex. He'd probably just been doing homework or algorithms or some shit instead. Too dorky to have discovered his own cock yet? Corinth wondered if that was possible, loved the idea of what he was doing to this delicate little fucking flower. "Feels nice, huh?" he whispered, still going gently to tease him. Too shy to say so, Brett nodded. Corinth grinned. He kissed Brett on his ruddy, flushed cheek, steadily increasing the rhythm. He growled into his ear "Come on then, boy, do mine. You know you wanna" Corinth nodded. "Yes" he squeaked, like he'd been handed a prize he'd not realised he wanted. Corinth shifted position a little and Brett took a hold of his dick, joining in with his rhythm. "That's it, Bretty... fuckin' good, ain't it... guess you've got kind of a bigger job than me... but you're doing it great ... so far..." On the screen, an exhausted Roman Decker was released from the chains that held him aloft, and fell, heaped on the floor, a welt-marked mass of hurting muscle. His tormentors pulled him to his knees and had him start sucking their cocks again, holding his head in their hands and brutally fucking his face. "Man... I'd give that guy no mercy either... reminds me of all these goddamn superhero jerks... we got flying around this city... fuck, the things I'd do... to put them pumped-up wusses in their place... fuck yeah, GAG on that cock, asshole!" He turned to Brett: "Keep going, buddy, don't ease off now ... do like what I do... shityeah... you see that cock ramming way down that cunt's throat? ... Bet you never thought a mouth could be fucked so hard, huh? ... bet you never thought ... a mouth could be fucked at all..." He started kissing Brett, on the mouth now, and once he got the hang of it, Brett started kissing back, better than Corinth had expected for a chaste little nerd. They pumped each other's cocks quicker and harder, and as they kissed... Splunch!!! There was an explosion of jizz from Brett's cock. Thick splatters shot in the air and then splashed on his pale skinny abdomen, on the sofa, on his thighs, all down the shaft of his cock in Corinth's hand. He squealed out in pleasure, the half-anguished cry trapped in Corinth's mouth. Corinth plucked himself away to check out the thick and creamy mess still gently spewing from the wussy faggot's throbbing mini-member, cum slick and sticky between his fingers. "Geez, pal, that's been waiting a fuckin' long time for release, ain't it? Don't tell me I've taught you how to jerk off .. man, you owe me big time if that's right ..." He put his cummy fingertips in Brett's mouth so the kid could lick some of it off. "Taste that, Bretty. Fresh spunk. Probably not so good when it's just your own ... tell you what, I'm gonna do you another favor ... you've seen enough of that guy in the movie ... going after that cock ... you want to see what it's like, doncha? ... So I'm gonna let you get some practise ... you can spend hours sucking on my big hot fucking dick ... til you know what you're doing ..." And already he was unbuttoning Brett's collar, getting ready to pull his shirt up over his neat-haircut head. "That's what friends are for ... so when you do get your chance with some hot guy like Chase Phaeder, you're gonna know exactly what to. And he'll be blown away by how fuckin' great you are at handling his meat, yeah?" Much as Brett was squirming with embarrassment and self-consciousness, he was looking hungrily at the cock being offered him, and he looked Corinth in the eyes as he nodded."Yes. Yes, please" Corinth giggled. "Cool. Hey, you know you don't talk much, but we can definitely put that mouth to good use here." Brett lifted his skinny arms helpfully as Corinth pulled his shirt off over his head. He looked embarrassed to be shirtless but, as Corinth undressed, realised his big-dicked benefactor was just as pale and lean as him. The pair stripped down to their underpants - Corinth let Brett keep his dime-a-dozen white boxer briefs on while he threw his own boxers aside - and Corinth guided the fledgling cocksucker onto his knees at the front of the sofa. He really did feel like he was doing this delicate boy one big favor, a real phallic philanthropist, and Brett seemed so much cuter out of his dorky clothes, his soft, pretty little body neat and minimal like his parted hairstyle. Name one guy who doesn't look hotter kneeling before your big stiff fuckstick in his underpants, thought Corinth. Man, this was gonna be a treat for them both. ---- And so it was. Even the initial sloppiness and figuring out was fun, knowing they had so much time to play with. Even Brett not properly knowing what to do was fun. Every stage of him figuring out was fun, especially as he started to gush saliva uncontrollably, his clear spit trickling all down the sides of Corinth's cock, then the lapping brushwork of his tongue. Maybe a tongue stud would be a fuckin' neat-o idea for this sluttish little swot? Corinth wondered. Yeah, that might be an idea for later... Slowly but surely he got better, progressed from giving head to taking his master's dick deeper and deeper into his the back of his mouth, inch by inch learning to deep throat, surprising himself at how much cock he could take into him this way. Finally, the length of another whole movie later, Corinth had his hands around Brett's head, had eased seamlessly into fucking him in the face, and it was then that he drove into it in a series of big, choking thrusts to finally let his cum spill all the way down inside the pansy boy's insides like he'd been waiting for for so long. Bitch took a huge gulping breath as the cock slid out of him, trailing a last string of jizz across his tongue and leaving it dangling off his chin. Corinth playfully slapped about at Brett's cheeks with his still hard wet member, and Brett continued licking it up and down like a popsicle. Totally addicted to cock now, unwilling to let it go, he gave it long, lingering goodbyes with his mouth. Having done such a good job, it was only right the boy should get his reward. Corinth took Brett to his big, black-sheeted bed and took the cocksucker's virginity with an earth-shattering boning of his pansy, girly-hipped ass. Fuck yeah, the squealing. Even if Corinth said so himself, he did an awesome job of busting that fucker open. Tight little faggot asshole open for business, not bad for a night's work. And then there were loads of fucking nights like that. Bretty boy honing his cocksucking skills, earning his special buttfuck from Corinth as reward. Brett Dillinger looked really fucking wrecked in class some days. Never did his grades any harm though. Jizz is brain food, Corinth decided. ------- Tonight, the huge library at the city's Dallesandro College is all but empty. Just Brett Dillinger reading up and making notes for his essay. Its Halloween night, so pretty much everyone else is out at parties or making some extra cash babysitting for those who are. Brett is just glad of the peace. The only sounds are the regular bursts of lightning - because of course this is a movie, and few movies ever let a Halloween night go by without a thunderstorm, any more than they let Christmas go by without snowfall. He's hunched happily enough over a desk, scapula pointing jaggedly from his back through a red-and-black sweater, long skinny corduroyed legs twisted around each other. He sees many happy hours stretching into his future spent in this library, it being his intention to some day be a professor at this place. The solitude becomes somewhat more alarming when the lights in the building take to going off and on. When the stacks go black and the tall arched windows become the only thing he can see, the familiar safe old place becomes creepy and sepulchral. He enjoys a light, detached chuckle, thinking this all quite appropriate, and decides the only thing missing is the headless horseman. It's a pisser when he's trying to write stuff down, though. There's a sound from the other, pitch black end of the library. Sort of like a muffled galloping. Prank, he thinks. Obviously a prank. But then, he's the only person here, and who pays enough attention to him to go to any effort like this? The only one who'd have been nuts enough was Corinth Cardinal, and he hasn't felt himself in that terrifying, thrilling little guy's grip for years now. The feel of this tongue stud has been a constant reminder, though. This piercing he's never dared to let heal. He doesn't have time to give it any further thought. The galloping sound becomes crisper, louder, very quickly. He panics as he detects a bluish blur moving towards him. Then he's yanked off the floor, flimsy as a scarecrow, finds himself slammed up against something warm and fleshy. Nestled in the rope sack with Chase Phaeder, he's carried off into the stormy night. ------------------ Third on the list: Dean Demeter. There's a lot less backstory to this guy. He's more like a plot thread that was interrupted. Dean Demeter really is Corinth's preferred type - a hunky basketball player guy with pretty features and wavey, richly blond hair. Lean in appearance, until you see him with his shirt off and take in the fucking abfest and chiselled chest he's got going on under there. They went to the same school together too, but for some reason, this Dean dude slipped on and off Corinth's horny radar without him really doing anything about it. Perhaps it was because Dean always hung out as part of the pec pack with the gorgeous Nate Lusher. There were five guys in that group, all of a similar hot-jock type, and the late Nate was always by far the preferred one for Corinth, with his added, unaccountable air of vulnerability. The other hunks in the group were kind of like the back-ups, the understudies. Corinth lusted after them when Nate himself wasn't around. Dean was interesting to Corinth, and a little puzzling. Unlike the other basketball player guys, he didn't come off swaggering and arrogant. So Corinth had never felt the urge to take him down a peg or two, not like he had with the glacial Seth Christiansen and that wild bukkake party. He was surprised to find that when Dean spoke it was with a soft, downright faggy kind of voice. And unlike the other jock dudes, he was smart at more academic subjects, seemed to know a lot about computing. Oh yeah, that was it. Corinth always lost interest when he got to that detail. Too much of a snooze for him. Sure, he liked his social networking and his pornography. Didn't really care how it worked though. Even his dad's supposed world-beating supercomputer SYMPOSA had gone on the fritz, and he'd decided it wasn't worth the trouble to reboot. Not as exciting as a wrong-side-of the-tracks guy like Chase Phaeder, going bare-chested bare-knuckle fighting to earn his family some extra dough. Corinth had loved sneaking in at the back to watch his fights, in the days before he started boning him. Didn't know if he got off more seeing him win or lose. Chase was never part of those dudes' gang. An inheritance from a rich aunt had paid all his school fees, but Chase wasn't from a moneyed family, so was always kind of an outcast. And again, look how easy it is to start thinking about these other guys. How narrowly Dean has contrived to miss his destined meeting with Corinth's boner. Indeed, tonight he was added to the bewitched Devin Trasseno's shopping list at the last moment, almost to make up the numbers. But Corinth was close on Dean Demeter's heels for a while there. Right before Nate Lusher came back from Europe (should've stopped him going in the first place, Corinth curses himself), a few weeks before Corinth's dad crashed his party and sent him on that sortie to Egypt for them sexy harness gizmos. Corinth had spent a lot of time on the college campus staking Dean Demeter out, trying to unravel exactly what it was about the guy that had started to niggle him so much. You see, Corinth's dad could whip up a detailed dossier on anyone in the city within less than an hour - but the one his guys prepared on Dean seemed to have inexplicable gaps and cover-ups in it. More for a fun hobby than an all-out investigation, Corinth had took it upon himself to go onto the college campus dressed up as some total nerd and follow Dean around at a distance. He'd modelled his dorky disguise on his old fucktoy pal Brett Dillinger, laughing it up as he checked himself out in the mirror. He didn't know himself in his poindexter beige camouflage, could pass totally incognito even amongst people he knew. He even tried a couple of times to attract the attentions of bullies with his dorkish performance - these were the exaggerated nerdisms of every horseshit teen movie. The spoilt Corinth was curious to see what being bullied was like - it was not something he'd ever had to experience. But it didn't seem to work. Perhaps there was an underlying menace to Corinth, not visible to the eye. Perhaps the ghost smell of blood never left his hands. Strange, because he certainly looked shy and tentative enough as he lurked behind a tree to watch Dean play on one of the campus tennis courts. Or hiding behind a physics textbook in a coffee shop while Dean sat in earnest conversation with some brunette more Betty than Veronica. Or sat hunched on a bench by the running track as Dean completed his laps, propelled about gracefully by his beautiful strong legs. Dean's activities divided between the athletic, the casually social, the wholesome and the studious. He did not appear to drink, and though he gave the appearance of dating girls, never seemed to take any sweet mid-afternoon opportunity to go somewhere and fuck them. The only thing Corinth found to be particularly out of the ordinary was the amount of time this athletic stud spent going to the office of one of the chemistry professors. Corinth seized on the tantalising possibility that this lean-beef quarry of his could be sleeping with a teacher. Then again, he had no idea how long discussions of chemical ... whatevers could take. If Corinth needed a scientific impossibility whipping up, he usually passed an order along to his dad's labs and waited a couple of months for a prototype - albeit by which time, he'd usually lost interest. How it all actually worked was a grubby mystery to him. Probably he was just fantasising, though, and the long periods Dean seemed to spend consulting with the professor were perfectly normal parts of college life. If he hadn't caught sight of him in his light blue speedos later that same day, Corinth may have lost interest in the pursuit. As things stood, however, Corinth savoured that sight,committed it to memory and made a promise to himself to some day ream the hell out of that sexy ass. Maybe, he considered, as a pal of the beauteous Nate Lusher, Dean would serve as a delicious appetiser - a jock boy of a similar type to whet his appetite for the main course of Nate. Maybe Corinth could pork the pec pack one by one, drawing out the gorgeous anticipation of finally claiming the most extravagantly luscious one only after bedding each of his friends. Fuck yeah. Each and every one of that group, hanging around together... all those fit, strong young dudes knowing for ever after what it's liked to be fucked up the asshole by Corinth motherfucking Cardinal - and knowing that all their stud friends know it too. That was the kind of mark he needed to make on 'em. Awesome idea ... but then came that trip to Egypt. Then came Nate Lusher being the only guy Corinth had left hanging around to send into the fiery embrace of Nephthys. Disappearing in an undignified popcorn bang and a rapidly fading scent of scorched meat and black carbon. And there was Corinth still aching to have his way with that that sexy boy he'd had to throw away so carelessly. In a kind of hormonal mourning. Maybe... well, the idea of making his way through his school's onetime pec pack lacked some of its fizz without Nathan as an ultimate destination. But on the other hand, perhaps he could lap up the last remnants of Nate Lusher's allure by having his fun with one of the hunky beauty's old buddies. There was still something of Nate's special aura about those guys, something he could grasp at with some really intense fucking ... Listen to Corinth. Getting all romantic. -------- A jarring sensation, a slip of the videotape. We're in the context of yet another movie, it seems. Ah, but not really. It's kind of an offshoot, an aside, This is Halloween night, and so we find Dean Demeter, too, in apropriate surroundings. Chase Phaeder and and Brett Dillinger have been lucky to get away mere ghost story bump-in-the-night scares this evening, before being hauled off by Eclipse. Handsome Dean, however, has found himself right in the midst of the far more visceral chills of a slasher movie. As we join him, we find himself and seven other nubile teens in a state of some alarm and varying degrees of undress as they are chased around the old abandoned roller disco with a ghastly torture chamber buried in its basement. Why these fun-loving youngsters ever thought it would be a fun idea to come into this rotten, boarded-up place, which was shut down for good after the famous Roller Massacre of twenty-five years ago, is anyone's guess, and we must presume it is a question they are each asking themselves with some urgency right now, two of their number having already been set upon by the lumpen, shambling killer who stalks this place. The apparently decrepit old complex is proving surprisingly inescapable too, with every crumbling old wall appearing to be reinforced with steel, electric shocks and other nasty surprises. And of course,no phone signal, a terrifying absence of wi-fi. Dean himself has got every right to be pissed about this. All night long he's been the smart, cautious one telling the others that holding a seance in an abandoned roller disco is a dumb idea and that they should just go to that campus party instead. He's the one who's been looking out for everyone, having saved Elisia from the swiping blade of the maniac at least twice tonight already. Still, you've got to hand it to him - there's no "I told you so"s from his pretty, pouty mouth, and he's holding it together well. Right now, he's propping up the limping, bloodstained Elisia, sweating into the shredded rags of his tee shirt as they run down one of a surprising number of purposeless dank corridors concealed in this place. Looking for a place to hide, regroup. Work out how to take on the maniac and find their absent, scattered friends. He's working extra hard to stay calm too, because a terrified Elisia is on the verge of becoming totally hysterical. She's sure she can hear the gruffling laugh of their pursuer only a few feet behind them. He reassures her that the killer can't be so close so quick.The makeshift barricade they erected in the old diner area will hold him back a little while, until they can get their wits together. "Oh my gosh, Dean" Elisia pants. "I can't believe I chose that asshole Seth over you. If we ever get out of this -" Her words are cut short as a segment of the wall a few feet away from them comes crashing inwards with an enormous roar, bricks and steel and all cascading into the corridor. Choking dust is everywhere about the sudden pile of jagged rubble, and standing inside this chalky cloud is a the silhouette of an olympian adonis of a man, clad in the tightest blue and black. He steps out of this miasma, apparently not even needing to blink away the coarse dust from his eyes. Dean and Elisia look on in amazement at this unexpected development. They can feel the movement of the wet and windy air from outside, the faint, fecund stink of the nearby lagoon. The outside world! They feared they'd never see or smell it again. "Dean Demeter?" ths supervillain Eclipse asks. "Uh ... yeah?" Dean responds, not knowing how to react to this development. I guess you can't blame him - it's not like the Mighty Sun Surfer or Blakkout has stepped in to rescue them. This is a bad guy. Who knows what he wants? As it turns out, what he wants is to grab hold of Dean and sling him casually over his shoulder, carrying him back into the cloud of dust and striding with his strong spandex-clad legs over the wreckage. Dean splutters on the unexpected gulps of dry dust before holding his breath and scrunching shut his eyes. A moment or two later he feels cool drizzle and a breeze on his dangled upside-down face, and opens his eyes again. They're in the marshy area out back of the old roller disco - a scarcely less welcoming place, but at least the possibility of escape exists out here. Eclipse treads quickly throught the mud to where he has left some kind of sack dangling from a gnarled old tree. No, not a sack, it's netting from some kind made of sturdy rope, and there's something alive in it,something fleshy that is slowly shifting about. Dean Demeter wonders in terror what fresh horror this could be. This night has held no end of surprises so far, and some kind of actual monster would not now be so unbelievable. Even in this state of panic, he has the presence of mind to reach up into his pocket for his phone, it may get a signal again now that he's outside. But as he dangles upside down, his groping fingers merely unsettle the phone enough in his pocket for it to slip loose, and drop, and hit the slushy ground with a plop. As he struggles to lift his head and look back, he sees Elisia clambering slowly out of the hole in the wall. At least she's making her escape. He just hopes she's not followed... But the fact is that what happens in the remainder of that movie is no longer his concern, or ours. Perhaps Elisa gets away, alerts the outside world. Or maybe the killer lunges out of the freshly breached wall and gives chase, and she meets a grisly end in the mucky swamp. Perhaps the others will escape through this route, or perhaps the whole bunch of them will perish. You never know with horror. But Dean, he is bundled into the rope bag with the two other boys, all awkwardly sandwiched together and grasping at the rope for some sense of stability as once again they are carried off. The warmth of these bodies, the oddly reassuring brotherly sense of maleness they exude, is a comfort. He just hopes they aren't gonna end up getting thrown into a boiling cauldron of acid or something ... ------ Soon. Far across the city, a sprawling penthouse that serves as Corinth Cardinal's playpen. Well sure, tonight is Halloween, but for Corinth the vibe is far closer to Christmas, as his own devilish black and blue Santa empties a sack full of boy gifts onto the onyx floor of the lounge. Corinth looks particularly elfin this evening, like a malevolent sexy pixie or some seriously fucked up emo Peter Pan. Happily exhibiting his wiry, pale little body, he's wearing just some black leather zippered underpants, and even in the presence of three rather fine physical specimens, them and the weedy Brett, he shows not the slightest sign of selfconsciousness. His eyes are smudged thickly with kohl. Oh, and you notice one of his hands. His left hand dangling idly by his side. Something glistening there, arcing downward. Yes, that's it, he's tipped his fingers with little silver talons, given himself a stylish claw for Halloween. Freshly dumped on the floor, the boy Halloween gifts looked about them, dazed, staggering to their feet. Two of them have found themselves under Corinth's lusty yoke before, and so comprehend more quickly what is happening to them. The other, Dean, acts much more surprised and confused, but not as scared or bewildered as he might normally have done, given the night he's been having already. Corinth drinks it all in with gleeful amusement. Watches the look of meek acceptance come over his little pussy geek Brett first of all. Watches the stunning, barely dressed Chase fight to choke down his anger, his fury and confusion at having to be helpless against the puny Corinth, followed by a practised, stoic acceptance of the situation as something that must be patiently endured. And Dean. What's he thinking? Corinth isn't so sure, but as their eyes meet, the little teen tyrant stares the strapping blonde out. He's disgruntled to find Dean's attention turn quickly to Eclipse, like he's right away sized him up as the bigger threat. Okay, so Eclipse is a notorious supervillain, and noticeable in his flamboyant outfit. And even more noticeable now he's stripping off that outfit, all but the sacred harness, as per his master's instructions. But still, Corinth doesn't like being disregarded. "Trick or treat, guys!" Corinth beams, smacking his hands together and getting all eyes back on him. "I sure hope you didn't have anything planned tonight, because I just HAD to get you here to see this!" Now, having established him as subordinate, he gestures towards his super-powered slave dude. "Recognise this guy? Well, of course you do. One of our city's biggest baddest supervillains - fold your outfit up and leave it on top of that stool, sweetheart - but the bigger they are, the harder they fall, and now he works for me! Does whatever the fuck I say, actually, it's pretty cool" Dean seems to snap himself back to his senses, looking down at his torn, blood-mussed shirt. "Hey, man, I don't know what's going on here - - man, I don't wanna know - - but you've got to help me! You need to call the police, tell them to get down to the old roller disco out by the perimeter of the Dallesandro College. There's a maniac on the loose out there, and my friends-" Corinth enacts a deadpan blink, looks from side to side at the other guys and at Eclipse with a puzzled sneer. "Hey man, shut up already. Whatever you got going on in ... what did he say, Eclipse, babe, a roller disco? ... That's got nothin' to do with me. Sounds like you were lucky to get out of it, though, so just be glad of that, huh?" Dean clenches his fists in entreaty, charges towards Corinth to argue with him. He gulps as Eclipse takes him by the scruff of the neck to stop him, but goes on anyway: "No, listen! Please! They could die, they're all in danger..." "Oh, yap yap yap" Corinth grumbles, making a mouthy motion with his talon-free right hand. "I just told you. Not my problem!" And he's right, that's a whole other movie. Corinth gives Eclipse a nod and he obediently keeps Dean's babbling mouth muffled, keeps Dean pressed against his lustrous, buff bare chest. Corinth shakes his head and heads over to the other dudes. He goes for Chase first. Anyone would. "Chase Phaeder," he greets, "Boy, you look fuckin' awesome. I don't know why I don't hang with you more." Chase stands firm, retaining a proud posture that shows off his broadly muscular body to best effect. His face too, has a kind of unreadable defiance. Not corresponding to any cliche of what is handsome or attractive, it's the most strikingly beautiful and alive thing in the room. "I'm supposed to be fighting at the club tonight" he says quietly. "Don't you worry about that, babe," says Corinth. "I've got your back. Told 'em to find a replacement. And there's no way they'll stop employing you. Trust me." "Thank you," Chase says coolly, because he knows it is expected of him, and usually what's expected of him is the easiest thing to do. Corinth is already delicately stroking his spindly, sharp-edged silver talons against one of Chase's arms. He enjoys teasing himself this way, touching Chase without being able to feel him, watching the stud prickle but not flinch. He scrapes his way up to Chase's shoulder and neck, where the fake vampire bites from his performance have stood up pretty well to the buffetting he's had to put up with in that rope sack. "This looks pretty cool," Corinth says admiringly. "Kind of makes me wish I could get me some vampire fangs and have a go at you myself. You look hot all bitten into ... You know, my dad did do some research into vampire genetics for a while there, after he had that run-in with Dracula's cousin ..." He lets this weird flirty threat hang in the air. Then he presses his hands, the bare and the clawed one, against Chase Phaeder's chest and cranes his head up to kiss him. Chase closes his eyes and accepts this, the little swine's aggressive tongue in his mouth, then those hands and the spikey talons moving down around his waist and caressing his butt. Corinth lets his clawed hand lightly torture Chase's upper thigh. Then he plucks his mouth away, grinning evilly as he takes in another close-up look at Chase's ever-stunning face. He turns to Brett Dillinger, who is hugging himself awkwardly with one arm, and whose cheeks have taken on that customary red flush of embarrassment. What the cause of this is, Corinth doesn't know. He suspects that his coy little nerd boy is in fact embarrassed not to be as beautiful as the luscious Chase; to have been brought here with him like they are comparable creatures. "Bretty-boy Dillinger," Corinth greets. "Looks you're the one who should have this!" - hes gestures at his silver claw - "To go with your Freddy Krueger outfit!" The striped black and red sweater and brown slacks are in fact simply Brett's casual clothes. "But you ain't going to be be wearing the outfit for too much longer, so if you don't mind, I won't lend you my little claw pal here" Corinth continues. In the background of this shot, Dean continues to struggle against the rigid embrace of Eclipse. His damp and already torn tee shirt rips further as he wriggles. Fine with Corinth, there's always room for more abs and pecs in his eyeline. "Chase, help Bretty here with his sweater, would ya?" Corinth asks. Chase shrugs and turns to the gawky Brett. The dork's blushes look like they might burn right through his skin as Chase's eyes briefly make contact with his, and the beautiful, buff Chase's hands take a hold of the edges of his sleeves to start easing them off. Brett flinches as Chase shoots him an irritable look, as if to say Come on, lift your arms, idiot, make it a little easier than this. He's so embarrassed at the idea of having to reveal his weedy body in front of this amazing Greek-god guy. And he sees right away that though they went to school together for years, the magnificent Chase doesn't even faintly recognise him. Chase takes Brett's sweater off roughly, yanking his arms about. Taking some of his anger out on this nerd, because he sure as hell can't just punch Corinth Cardinal in his little puke face like he wants to. "Sorry" Brett mutters weakly, and for no reason, but Chase either doesn't hear or doesn't care. After the sweater is off, there's still Brett's neatly ironed, buttoned up shirt to contend with. Brett starts fingering at the buttons, pops open the top couple, but an impatient Chase, blindly furious beneath a rigidly calm face, tears open the rest, and sends several of the remaining buttons flying across the floor. Even in these circumstances, wussy Brett can't help but feel a gut thrill at having his shirt torn off by adored, unattainable high school hunk Chase Phaeder. But his eyes sink to the floor as Chase whips the shirt off him and drops it on the ground. The stud looks at Corinth, as if to say, 'happy now'? Corinth is grinning impishly, savouring Bretty-boy's flushing, excessive embarrassment and shame. He drinks in the sight of this emotion so totally alien to him, sucks and chews on it like he really is a vampire, drawing strength from this bottomless pit of wuss. "Hey, Chase don't be mean to little Brett here," Corinth decides to scold. "You know, this guy used to worship the ground you walked on, back when we was at school together. Still does, by the looks of him" Ah. Now this says something about Chase. He blinks slowly, keeps looking at Corinth like he's waiting for him to get to the point. To hear that this nerdy stranger adores him, and that he actually isn't a stranger at all, just someone Chase never noticed, hasn't the slightest impact on him. He doesn't so much as glance back at Brett. So, Chase takes that kind of adoration for granted, something that happens now and then as a result of being him. "So make it up to him," Corinth continues. "Give him a kiss" This seems to snap him awake. Now he looks at Brett again, a double take. Corinth has suggested something that, while physically possible, he would not have otherwise conceived of doing, like making out with a sandwich. But he shrugs. This has to be done. No matter that Corinth may look like little more than a naughty child who's been fucking around in his mother's makeup box, you would no more displease him than you would piss off the Godfather or Darth fuckin' Vader, because the net effect would be the same. So Chase lunges in for a kiss. A deep, passionate one, because he knows that is what Corinth will demand anyway. He grips the cool, soft skin of the nerd's flimsy shoulders and tongues him like it's Megan Fox. Brett's knees buckle at this unexpected gift. Certainly not something he'd planned this evening as he headed out for the college library to study, and he surprises himself by seizing the opportunity and kissing back. He has this pleasure so rarely - the vast majority of his sexual experiences have been with Corinth, and have began with Brett worshipping at the dominating teen's cock. They've rarely been so... mutual a pleasure as this one. At least, if Chase is not enjoying it, he manages to fake every impression that he is doing so. Which is still more than Brett would ever have dared hope for before this night. Swept up in this moment, he's suddenly so grateful to that little nightmare bully Corinth. He feels his hands reaching out to grab and fondle Chase's hard thick pecs eagerly. Oh man, so thiiiiis is what he feels like... Trick or treat? Fucking treat, for sure. ------------- To be continued...