Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2013 21:08:51 +0000 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-18 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 something you've found on late night TV. Any movies, actors, television shows, comic books, etc, that feature in this series are totally fictional. ------------------- BlueShark Video 18 NIGHT: A car zooms across a wooded hillside. Some months have passed. But here we find Justin Benchley in a position we have witnessed before. Driving through the darkness, in dire straits, to Sharkey's house. A dark and stormy night? Not really, it's pretty clear and calm, albeit winter has arrived. There's a tempest going on behind Justin's bone-white face, though. Sweaty hair clings to his forehead, and his jaw is set so heavily that, to look at him, you worry he might grind his teeth out. His face. Well. All through this deleted and extended scenes package there has loomed the specter of an older Justin in the years to come. Married to Beth, struggling with money, working hard. No more ominous a specter than any of us face in growing up, of course, but here for the first time we see in him the portents of an older, more careworn Justin Benchley. There's little trace of the sweet boy next door in his expression as he drives; instead, brief flashes of the face of a man, an angry and frustrated one. Last time he headed to Sharkey's home like this, he wanted his help. Now he is heading there in blind fury. ---------- It all started to go wrong after he gently refused Sharkey's offer, he can see that now. Mr Sharkey had wanted to buy not just Justin's services, but, essentially Justin himself. Having rented him on and off for a while, it seems the older guy had gotten it into his head that he could ultimately keep him. It was a sweet deal he had promised in some ways. But Justin had to say no. Oh, and he'd paid for that quickly, hadn't he. Sharkey had not taken the refusal as well as Justin had first thought. One night, two or three weeks later, he'd been invited to Sharkey's home for the usual: sex and payment. He'd agreed to this as readily as ever; thought he had quite a good --- well, a good working relationship with Sharkey, he supposed you could call it. And then the text message came - hey sexy ass waiter!!!!!!!! u may just see a familiar face when ur at sharkys place nxt friday....... and mayB more than just see, know what i mean? ;-) xxxxxxxxxxx - apparently from Laila Bayliss. The girl who got him involved with Sharkey in the first place - though to what extent she was in on some plan, and what her reasons were, he has never been totally able to figure out. But it was, he thought, sure going to be interesting to see her again. Instead, what had happened was.... well, let's watch the scene: -------- Justin waits at dusk in an old parking lot by a disused office block. It's a place he has agreed to meet Sharkey a couple of times before. The lot is so far out the of the way, it's rarely ever used. This evening, though, some damn little kids are on it, playing ball, and Justin finds himself skulking about by the old building, out of their sight. He wonders whose children they are, why they're playing on their own so damn far out of town. He tries to identify them as the kids of anyone he knows, or who his mom and dad are likely to know, but can't place them. Anxiously, he casts glances around for their parents, anyone who might spot him more readily than the children would, preoccupied as they are by their game. When a car enters the lot and starts circling, he hangs way back and wonders if it's one of the group's parents come to pick them up. Man, he sure fucking hopes so. Instead, the car keeps circling, drawing the stares of the kids. When it sweeps in a long arc away from them, perhaps mindful of their parents' and teachers' advice not to talk to strangers, the children all take their opportunity to run off. Good riddance, thinks Justin, although he is alarmed when the car then pulls up to his hiding place and he finds he does not recognise the man at the wheel. He'd pretty much thought that if this wasn't a parent, then it could only be Sharkey. The guy in the car looks more like an FBI agent, a man-in-black type. As he rolls down the window, Justin is half wondering whether he shouldn't make like the kids and run away himself. "You're Justin Benchley?" says the driver coolly. "Uh - yeah?" Justin shrugs. He thinks for a second maybe he's been caught by the law. He doesn't even know if what he does with Sharkey is legal. Figures his own body is his to sell, but maybe the police, or whatever bureau this guy is from, don't see it that way. "Relax, kid. I'm Rob, I'm Mr Sharkey's driver. Get in." Justin blinks. This is new. But, taking one last look around, he goes ahead and gets in the car anyway. Man, so now Sharkey has staff who he happily gives Justin's name out to. Justin sighs resentfully as he gets in the passenger seat, clicks shut the seatbelt. He wonders if this guy, handsome kind of guy he guesses, knows exactly what he's taking Justin to Sharkey's house for. What did he say to him - 'Hey, Rob, go and pick up that boy in town that I fuck'? But Justin's irritation is soothed somewhat by the fact that this guy obviously has nothing to do with the town of Ropers Reach. He must live on site with Sharkey, or drive in from elsewhere. So it's not like he's some local guy who's going to head into one of the bars around here and tell the other guys all about this. If he works for Sharkey, he must keep his secrets for him too. The car pulls off. Justin shrinks in his seat a little as he notices the windows aren't darkened as is usually the case. But then he's relieved as Rob takes them on a longer route that avoids going through the town. As he drives, Rob tells Justin he's welcomes to change the station on the radio. Justin says thanks and tries a few, mainly for something to occupy himself with for a little while as he makes this long and awkward journey with a stranger. He gets the sense that Rob's looking sideways at him from behind those shades, but maybe it's paranoia. Maybe just his own vanity. He can't tell for sure. "Some drugs there in the glove box," Rob gestures when Justin settles on a station. "Help yourself, maybe get you in the right mood." Justin raises an eyebrow, has a look inside but decides not to take any. "What-" he starts, faltering over a choice of words but then pushing on, "What has Mr Sharkey said. About me?" Rob turns his head to him, then back to the road with a smirk. "Not a thing, kid. That is, nothing beside what's obvious." Justin frowns. not totally sure what counts as 'obvious' to this guy. "Mr Sharkey... does this kind of thing a lot?" Rob looks straight ahead. "I don't think Sharkey would thank me for discussing his business," he says casually. "Why do you ask, kid? You jealous?" Justin blushes. "No," he snaps, like that was a real dumbass thing to say. "Relax, kid. Just kidding ya. You know, maybe you should take one of those pills. You're a little tightly wound." "Thanks doc, I'll pass" Justin grunts. Rob nods, doesn't say much of anything else. Justin wonders about if he'd chosen differently. Not with the pills. With Sharkey. Wonders if this guy would've been, like, working for him, maybe driving him around. But the thought seems wispy now, ungraspable. Everything's gone back to normal. Everything except that message from Laila, that is. Justin has long since removed her from the equation of what he and Sharkey do. He's chosen to forget about her, and her ambiguous role in setting him up with the guy. He has brief, queasy flashbacks to how embarrassed he'd been, the morning after that girl had taken hold of his ankles and held his legs apart so that Sharkey could drive his way into him. Embarrassed because of how totally right he had felt in that moment, and realising she had been a witness to his willing acquiescence to the man's dick. Yeah. He'd never wanted to see her again. He'd wanted, for the sake of absolving himself, to think she'd never existed at all. He doesn't know it, but he got his wish. --- Finally they pull in to the grounds at Sharkey's place and Rob escorts Justin up to the main doors. Big, potentially mean, dude, this Rob, now that Justin sees him upright. Younger than Sharkey. As he takes him inside to the lounge, Sharkey isn't around, but music is playing and the lighting is low and there's a heady scent in the air, partly like some kind of incense burning somewhere, partly the smell of pot. Rob takes and hangs up Justin's jacket. Some mute television screens plays guy-on-guy porn. Justin tries to avoid looking too interested, but can't help glancing over a few times. He hasn't seen this kind of stuff before, he's had no cause to. Muscular underwear model kinda guys sucking on each others dicks, their hot bodies all buff and polished looking. As he turns away, he notices, blurry against a far wall, there is the glowing projection of another scene. This one looks old and weird, like from the seventies or something. It's this bunch of skinny blond foreign boys getting it on in a dorm. It's nearly kitsch, this one, the kind of thing they might haphazardly project onto a wall in just the same manner in an edgy nightclub. Still, this is all pretty overwhelmingly homo, compared to his usual meetings with Sharkey. Rob offers him some pot, and this he takes, though he refuses the offer of a seat. He stands around with one hand in his jeans pocket, the other holding the weed to his mouth, looking around for Sharkey. Now Rob has taken his shades off, he sees the guy is definitely checking him out, just like he'd suspected in the car. The man takes off his jacket. Underneath a tight black tee shirt showing off a muscular contoured body. Man, like Sharkey, this guy looks like something out of a fitness magazine. Justin wonders if the two of them work out together in some gym here, tries to ignore the way his cock twitches at the thought. He manages to ignore things like this a lot, Justin Benchley. Rob lights up a joint too, and pours himself a drink. "You want one, kid?" "No thanks," Justin says, scratching at his curly hair. "So where's Sharkey?" He wants to ask where Laila Bayliss is too, but doesn't. "Relax, man. He'll be here soon." He puts his joint down in an ashtray. "Maybe you should make yourself comfortable, huh?" He gives a suggestive smile, then grips the bottom of his own tee-shirt and pulls it up over his head. He throws the tiny-looking black item onto the floor. Justin's jaw drops a little, til he regains some control over it. Rob grins a little at Justin's discomfort. "Come on, Justin. You now." "Huh?" Justin blinks. "You know what I mean. Maybe a little warm in here for that shirt, huh?" Justin tugs a little at one of his cuffs. "No, I'm... I'm good, man" Rob shakes his head, chuckling. He takes a step or two closer to Justin, who steps back for a moment, although he doesn't know why. This dude is pretty intimidating, coming right at him like this. Justin's reminded of that moment of terror with Tanner White - and this guy is much more physically imposing than he was. "Don't be shy," Rob says. There's nothing threatening about the way he's talking, but Justin feels like he doesn't have a choice here. The guy takes a hold of the top button on his shirt - or rather the highest fastened one, which is the third down. "Look, I'll help you." Justin finds himself not resisting as this guy slowly unbuttons his shirt. With his joint dangling from between his thumb and forefinger he even lifts it up again and takes a drag, and this gives him a curiously willing, complicit look. "One for me?" Rob suggests, halfway through unbuttoning, gesturing towards the joint. Justin, always so polite, takes it from between his lips, grasps it in the middle and turns it around to put the moist end in Rob's mouth. He holds it there as the guy takes a couple of puffs, before Rob nods for him to take it away. He puts it back in his own mouth, feeling the heat of the moistness on it, now from Rob's mouth. The guy continues undoing Justin's shirt, but before he even reaches the last button he cranes in and gives Justin a kiss. A quick one, but it's only an introduction, a little hello. This done, he plants a more lasting one, and, not totally shocked if he's honest, Justin responds, kissing back. He's wondering as he does so: is this work? is he on the clock yet? He can smell the guy's cologne, which is pretty nice. Smells expensive. Rob pulls away delicately to unfasten the last button, then pulls open Justin's shirt at each side of his chest. Justin tries to oblige, ease it off at the arms, but Rob, this strong confident guy, holds him tightly and rolls the thing down each of his arms with a smirking relish. He then drops the rolled-up shirt onto a sofa. His and Justin's bodies are near enough to feel the warmth of each other's presence, but not quite touching. "There, you see, Justin? Now we're even." Justin lets out a little laugh, wonders if the pot is making him lightheaded already, or if it's just that he can't help being so damn polite. "Yeah, maybe not totally even, man" he says. Rob looks genuinely puzzled for a second, 'til Justin says: "I mean, I don't exactly have a body like yours." Rob grins, less in pleasure at the implied compliment than because Justin has loosened up a little. "Hey, looks pretty fuckin' sweet from where I'm standing" Rob says, taking hold of Justin around the ribcage and leaning in to kiss succulently at his chest. Justin gasps gently, losing his balance a little as one arm hangs at his side with the joint and the other places itself at Rob's bare waist. Casually, Rob takes the joint from Justin's hand, takes another drag and then drops it the ground. He grinds it out on the hard floor beneath his shoe. He kisses Justin again, first releasing the thick plume of sweet smoke against the boy's mouth. He presses against Justin so hard that the kid would lose his balance if he didn't grab onto the guy with his other hand, so that's what he does. Justin's hands clutch hard against Rob's waist and his ribs, all taut muscle around his abdominal area. Rob has defined abs like in a movie, and Justin rubs his thumbs over them, still trying to make it seem incidental. Until Rob takes Justin by the wrist, that is, and moves his hand so the palm is pressed, flat, against his abdominals. "Don't be shy" Rob mutters into Justin's mouth before rejoining with it. And with a reciprocal lack of hesitation he gropes Justin's shoulders and arms. Justin responds to this invitation. He reaches to take a hold of Rob's arm, thumb in the crook of the elbow, then running up over his bicep. How much more turned on he gets when he finds it too big to hold in his hand. Fucking rock hard bicep, and now his cock is getting just as hard. Now he's not ignoring it. He kisses back at Rob more fiercely. As he squeezes at the dude's arm some more, a cocky-looking Rob flexes his bicep and invites Justin to feel it, taking his other hand so he can cup his bunched muscles with both. "Fuck man" Justin gasps, at the way the arm swells up with tough muscle. He's for so long thought of his body as being there for Sharkey's use, rationalising away his own complicity in their fucking. Managed to treat even his own exploring of the man's body as just part of the service he provides. But Rob's body feels great. His arm feels fuckin sexy and hot. And there is nothing in Justin's mind right now but how much he wants to fuck with him. Rob beckons him in to kiss at his bunched bicep, and Justin goes at it hungrily, running his tongue over the sheer hardness of the muscle like he's testing it to see if it'll give. It fucking won't, of course. It's like steel, tastes of man-sweat. Rob flexes it the more, reaching awkwardly but with some determination to start unbuckling Justin's jeans. The denim there is tented by a rapidly swelling boner, forced to one side. Rob strokes up and down its trapped length after he's forced the top button open and found the zipper on Justin's fly. Justin sighs out in pleasure between mouthfuls of Rob's beefy arm. Then he settles for kissing at Rob's chest and nipple as Rob reaches out with both hands to pull down Justin's jeans at the waist. Justin kicks off his sneakers with difficulty, and the pair part briefly as he reaches down to wriggle his way out of his jeans and boxers while Rob hastily does likewise. This done, they slam urgently into another embrace. Justin gets way turned on at the dusting of stubble on the guy's jaw and chin, at the feeling of those well muscled arms reaching around his body. Sharkey himself is no less physically impressive, but Rob is closer to Justin's own age by a few years and the hunky, handsome dude is more... His type. That's what. The kind of guy Justin wants to feel inside him. Look at him when he gathers up the strength enough to place the palms of his hands on Rob's pecs and shove him gently away. Not in resistance, and not because he's trying spuriously to convince himself that this isn't something he wants. No, it's so he can flash Rob that hungry, dirty boy look, a look that assures the man 'I got this' ... before he sinks down to his knees to feed lovingly on Rob's great big erect cock. Man, the last thing there is here is any need for Justin to coax this monster into life, but he makes a fucking good go of it anyway. Uses his whole face against its underside, fucking gorging on the feel of it against his cheeks and squashed nose, the tough throbbing helmet against his scrunched eyelids. Fucking smells Rob's hot hairy balls, breathing the man smell in with his nose and his mouth to taste it. "Fuck yeah, suck on my balls, you sexy little cunt" Rob growls, but Justin don't need the instruction. It's like he's been wound all the way up then let go. All the goddamn tricks he's learned over months of pleasuring Sharkey, now he weaves them without difficulty into some perfect symphony of cock-loving foreplay, fired up by his genuine lust. Fuck yeah man, he thinks, just look what I can do for you. Rob grabs and fondles harshly at Justin's gorgeous head of hair, something he loves to do when he's getting sucked off. There ain't nothing like a guy with hair you can grab; that's why he loves when that little hairdresser fag Cooper comes by and he can make a real mess of that pretend-messy hair of his. There ain't anything like as fussy about Justin's hair though, his does naturally the things someone like little Cooper would slave over to create. Nothing contrived about how magnetic Justin is, and Rob decides the lad knows it, whatever he pretends. They move over to the largest couch and a naked Justin squats, butt puckered out, for Rob to feast on his ass. Justin moans in pleasure as Rob's tongue does its work, and as he feels the guy's stubble against the tender skin of his butthole. "Ohhhhh yeahhhh... oh, that's it... fuck me, man... fuck yeah... you were looking at me the whole time in the car, weren't you... from behind those fuckin' shades...?" Rob slides his hands up Justin's torso, holds on to his shoulder to speak into his ear: "Course I fuckin' was, boy... I've been dying to fuck you right from when I saw you in that car lot" Justin lets out a pleasured purring sound at this confirmation. He fucking loves to think he can turn on a guy like this. He slides forward to lie flat against the leathery surface of the couch. He reaches an arm around to stroke at the back of Rob's head. "Uhhhfuck, get your cock in me, fucker, wanna feel that cock inside me..." Rob reaches for what looks like a bottle of water on a coffee table, in fact a bottle of lube. Slicks up Justin's butthole good. "Goddamn, boy, looks like you got a severe case of hot ass. I think the best treatment for this is for me to fucking slam ya, yeah? You want that?" "You know I fuckin' want it, doc" Justin grunts, pumping his ass back and forth coz he can't wait to get started. So Rob stabs his cock into Justin's wide open pink butthole, finds it not too fuckin difficult to thrust his way in. The tight boy tunnel feels moulded to cock, grips around the length of his shaft. "Christ..." Justin gasps, "that feels... fuckin awesome, man... oh my God... fuck the shit outta me... uuunghh!!! oh yeahhh..." Rob plants his hands either side of Justin's shoulders, braced to take long thrusts back and forth inside him. He fucks Justin violently, huge slapping sounds as their bodies come together. And it's Justin who reaches, grasping, for Rob's hand, tugs at it to pull the buff guy's arm up against his neck. "Fucking put that sexy arm around me," Justin hisses, "I wanna feel your hot bicep against my fucking throat, man..." Rob grins as he goes at Justin with his dick, "Fuckin' dirty boy, ain't ya? I knew it when I saw you" but he's only too happy to oblige. Sensing some unexpected desire for domination from Justin, he takes hold of one of the kid's arms by the wrist, yanks it up a little behind his back as he squeezes his own arm around the young guy's neck. "ohhhhhhyesss..." Justin gasps, his voice a little strangulated, "... fuck me, big guy... ohhhh... fuckin nail me... ughhhhh... ohhhhhh... your cock feels so great...." ------- All the while, Sharkey is sat in something that looks like a sleek sci-fi control room, an editing suite with a curved bank of monitors and computer keyboards and tablet pads around him. It should be no surprise that all that is happening between Rob and Justin is being captured on video, by cameras placed discreetly at numerous points around Sharkey's home. The raw footage can be edited later, but for now Sharkey is intent on capturing some wonderful close-ups, terrific action shots. This could be one of BlueShark Video's best. It's apt that as Sharkey sits at the centre of this neat web of hardware he is not wearing clothes. He is, after all, the vital link in this setup, animating it into purpose. Unsheathed of unnecessary garments, he looks like he has been plugged directly into the centre, the essential wetware component that completes the circuit. It's evident from the stiffness of his cock that he is enjoying what he sees, but his brow is furrowed and he is holding a hand thoughtfully over his chin and mouth. Nodding as if in agreement with Justin Benchley's exclamations of enjoyment, he nonetheless shows no signs of relish. On a seperate monitor he moves some tabs across the screen with his fingertips, finding some older footage from the archive. Within moments, on that screen, we can see the scene of Justin's first fucking with Sharkey. The eagerness with which Justin cries out to be fucked, the gusto with which he goes at it, is similar there to what is being recorded right now. Unguarded, in that first eruption of lust, before he has been given time to consider or regret -- that is when this boy is most responsive. That is when he fucks with the most abandon. That is the only time. The only time when he gleefully admits that he wants sex with men. Sharkey vowed right from that first night that he would hear Justin Benchley begging to be fucked. And now he can hear it, but it is addressed to Sharkey's henchman. It is Sharkey's guess that Justin will, after this is over, begin his process of rationalising it away again. Still, nothing to be done about that for now. Now things have got rolling, it's time for Sharkey to go join in. Maybe they can keep Justin's enthusiasm burning a while longer for tonight. Maybe bring out the slutty Justin that Sharkey has long craved to coax from his shell. The kid seems genuinely hot for Rob. Sharkey regards this fact with an amused jealousy. "Fuck me...." Justin is saying on screen, "Uuuunnnhhhh...oh yeah.. fuck me hard... wanna feel you tearing me up..." And though it is not aimed directly at him, Sharkey cannot resist taking this invitation. He gets up from the suite, cradling his boner with one hand, and heads out the door. The videos are still playing for now, but they'll switch themselved off shortly, sensing that the seat has been vacated. For now, though, it's a funny thing, but we see two versions of the same repeat scene side by side. One, with a little nugget of text in the bottom corner, 'ROPERS REACH EXCLUSIVE NEW EPISODE', showing Justin Benchley, played by the actor Jared Shaden, being fucked up against a wall by the uncredited Shackley; and the other, the real Justin, fucked by Sharkey, in the same light, against the same wall, and with a small BlueShark logo in place in the corner. ------ We find Justin on his back now, and his legs hooked over Rob's shoulders as the bigger man plows into him. Justin reaching out dragging his hands through Rob's hair, which is normally a neat old-fashioned parting, but is now tousled roughly, and then Justin reaches the heels of his hands across Rob's stubbled jaw. Man, Justin looks so happy, darkly gleeful. Where the did this come from. Sex that isn't by appointment; how much hotter this is than what he's used to - and the new and urgent need to revel in orgasm with a fresh body, a man he has not previously felt against him. He's so used to sealing off these possibilities. But now the thought explodes into his mind of what life could be: this over and over again with different men, new men; a sexy new guy each week. Different man-smell of Rob compared to Sharkey. Each guy a new adventure. And him so confident now in turning them on. Fuck yeah, now he thinks of those guys from high school who he'd glanced at and felt that weird lurch in his stomach, and below it. Rob pulls out, yanks Justin onto the hard floor. Flips him over again and slams his ass with huge in-and-out moves like he's doing press ups. Justin puckers his butt, finding Rob's rhythm to swallow the stabbing meat sword as it thuds into him. Justin yells out with each thrust. It's like he's being punched over and over in the prostate, and it feels fucking great. He can barely feel anything else across the length of his body. Thinks of jock guys like Hutton Roper, who'd been his sister's boyfriend, and how much he now realizes he would have loved to have sucked them off. Wishes he could go back in time and do it. Sees himself in the sports locker rooms at his old school, sucking on Hutton's big horse cock, a jockstrap lying discarded by Justin's knees. But other images flicker through his mind like a lurid movie trailer - images of guys; men from the diner, or who he's seen on the street, people who he hadn't even been aware of noticing at the time, but who he now sees rutting away at him just as Rob is now; guys he now imagines the smell and the breath of. He can see, as his head bobs on a straining neck, the pair of legs approaching, bare feet and legs stretching upwards to a blur above his present field of vision. It's Sharkey walking towards him. Sharkey, the one who has opened up this world for him. Sharkey. That same old Sharkey. He does not expect what happens when the padding pair of feet arrive by his head, but it feels good when it does. When Sharkey plants one of those bare feet on the back of Justin's head, and Justin's cheek is pressed against the cool floor. And Sharkey fondles Justin's hair with the sole of his foot, entwining his toes greedily into the curls, just as you would run your fingers through someone's hair. It is Justin, still gasping out every time Rob's cock impales him, who offers his tongue and begins lapping at the coarse skin of Sharkey's heel. Justin who decides that he can be a fucking dirtyboy even as he immediately, instinctively, starts calculating how much extra he can charge Sharkey for this. "Fuck, Mr Sharkey!" Rob grins, "You weren't wrong about this guy. He sure knows how to take a cock! And what he can do with his mouth..." "I'm never wrong" Sharkey says, not taking his eyes off Justin, down under his foot. "But I think you've got to take some of the credit yourself - You sure seem to have got our Justin fired up" 'Our' Justin. At some less intense moment, Justin would be troubled and riled by that. The idea that he can be shared around, that this secret deal with the wealthy Sharkey should be so easily opened out to include anyone who just happened to be on the guy's payroll. Right now he doesn't mind. In fact, right now he really fucking revels in being their 'Justin'. He can't wait for these two hot guys to take him, together. Rob, who has not yet shot his load, manages to break himself away from Justin, taking the lad by the shoulders and lifting him to his feet. This is when Justin gets to look into Sharkey's eyes for the first time this evening, which he finds he cannot do for very long, because he sees a certain twinkle of truculence there, like Sharkey is gloating, like he's proved some point. There's nothing so calculating in Rob's eyes. With Rob, it is simply two guys having fun. He doesn't have to hold the gaze for very long. Within moments he finds himself smothered between the two big naked men. Rob at his back and Sharkey at his front, Justin lets go of himself as he feels their hands and their mouths roving over him. Rob's cock, still wet with a mix of spit, lube and ass mucus, is pressed, throbbing, against the top of his buttock and into his lower back, and both the men are kissing at his neck, front and back. "oh yes" he whispers in a small voice, finding himself in an unexpected paradise. And still there's that dancing vision of himself locked in an embrace with Hutton, that jock ex-boyfriend of his sister - - now why the fuck did that pairing never happen in this show? - He feels like he might be unsteady on his legs, but the hands of these guys, for all that they are moving all about him, are contriving to keep him upright. Long enough for this pleasure to continue a good while longer, and for Justin to feel that he must be something pretty special. Must be, to be feasted upon so hungrily by these two men, who don't look like they'd be hunting too long for pussy if that was what they wanted. The thought comes to him again: This could have been my life. He'd thought Sharkey had wanted him all for himself: had never considered this version of life with him - one where Sharkey would happily find other men for him to fuck, where his life could become one long fuckin penis party. He refuses to think about this any more. That dilemma exhausted him, and now it is over. For better or for worse. These words bring to mind a thought, clear as a memory, of himself exchanging wedding vows with Beth, months from now. The idea of this, as he is sandwiched between these horny men, and loving it, makes him grin widely with perverse delight. This is not like anything Justin Benchley would ever do, was the way he'd thought of it once. But that was before this became so big a part of his life. Or rather, it became his other life, one that has grown in stature until it has become equal to that of the 'real' Justin Benchley. But then, hard to define 'real'. Being here, as the object of these guys' lust, this sure does feel right. As right as anything in his life ever has. Perhaps that's why as you watch this scene, it cuts from moment to moment between the two different versions of Justin Benchley - the one you first saw in Sharkey's house, and the one from the Ropers Reach TV show. Justin floats, weightless... no, he's imagining things. Sharkey has lifted his legs from the ground, and Rob has hooked his big arms beneath Justin's armpits. Justin reaches backward, interlocking his fingers behind Rob's head, and turns his head to kiss him as Sharkey, that familiar invader, more like an occupying force in his ass, fills the absence in his butthole. He'd came here expecting Laila Bayliss to be joining them. Right now he couldn't give a fuck about that. As the men support his weight, absolving him of all responsibility for his body, Justin's eyes swim with the images and projections flickering on screens and blank walls all around him. Gorgeous variations everywhere of man-on-man sex, thet seem to be multiplying, more and more screens and projectors activating. He feels his erect cock slapping off his abdomen as Sharkey humps his asshole. Fuck, these guys are horny for him. Sharkey slips his cock out of Justin's butthole and the men wrangle him over to the couch. Rob sits down, holding Justin on top of him, and Sharkey pushes back the boy's legs so that Rob can hold them up and apart, then Sharkey enters him again. "Fucking pound me, big guy" Justin gasps as Sharkey pummels his hole, and it's like a different Justin from the one he's used to - yeah, the way Justin reacts has changed because of Rob's presence; because there's an appreciative audience here; because there is now a three-guy consensus that buttfucking is crazy fucking hot, and Justin isn't playing up his reluctance to some imaginary prude spectator. He's showing off for Rob. Sharkey grins. His hands now free, he runs one through Justin's hair, doing like he did with his foot to see if he can mess the fuck out of it. With the other, he takes a hold of Justin's jaw and pushes a thumb into his mouth for him to suck on. And then a finger, and then another, until Justin's drooling wet mouth practically has Sharkey's entire goddamn hand in it. When the guys break off and swap positions, Sharkey doesn't miss the flash of a welcoming, conspiratorial grin on Justin's face as he comes face to face with Rob again. Turned on by Justin's lust for Rob, which has turned out to be far wilder than he'd expected, Sharkey still feels jealous enough to reach his arm around Justin's neck, to choke him in short bursts by squeezing tight, flexing his bicep against the little bastard's throat. Fucking wishing Justin would look at him the way he now looks at Rob. Closest he came was that first night. They drag him to the floor, get Justin Benchley on all fours to spit roast him. Fuck yeah, the young man takes to it so well, Sharkey can't figure out why he never did this with him before. But now he knows. Now he's gonna do whatever the fuck he likes with Justin Benchley. And Justin Benchley is going to know about it very soon. Rob reaches a point, his cock thrusting into Justin's throat, where he can't control himself any longer, and he unleashes his spunk, long and hard. When he takes his hard cock out he holds against it Justin's cuteboy face and Justin licks up and down its length, and at his great balls, Justin's mouth and tongue getting dry and sticky. Sharkey then gets Justin to himself as Rob takes a little time out, drinks some beer and smokes some more pot. Like he has to make up for Rob's absence, Sharkey fucks with the force of two men. Keeping Justin on the floor, staying on top of his back, Sharkey goes at his hot bloodthumping hole with his raging dick like he's trying to drill through the fucking marble underneath. It's like you've walked in some cold-eyed jungle predator that's just leapt on its prey, and is devouring it in a savage feeding frenzy. Man, the thrashing of their limbs. Justin lets out a weird, restrained screeching that only occasionally breaks into a high pitched, girly whimper. This he soon substitutes with a kind of growling, which is basically him putting the brakes on that wussier sound by catching it in his throat. Sharkey clutches onto the back of Justin's head when he cums, savoring the boy's sexy hair between his fingers again and pressing Justin's pretty face roughly against the floor. Rob watches, sat relaxed nearby, running his fingers up and down the erect length of his cock. Sharkey collapses heavily against Justin as the jizz pounds out of him, great thudding spasms of his body. Still clutching the back of the gorgeous boy's head in his hand, he kisses at Justin's cheek and licks and nibbles at his ear. Justin kisses back, sideways, scattershot. When Sharkey's orgasm has subsided, when the afterglow has ebbed away just enough, he climbs up off Justin, heads to get himself a beer, and Justin gets up with difficulty off the floor, virtually peeling off it like a pancake. We see now there's a gentle graze on his face, another against his ribs. Justin lets out an exhilarated, disbelieving laugh as he notices this. One of his hands runs delicately over his ribs, and the other reaches instinctively for his butthole like he's worried what the damage might be. "Jesus, man... can I have a beer too? I think I need it now..." He checks his hand - not sticky with cum or blood or whatever it was he worried about finding there - and reaches up to his hair, feeling how mussed up it is and wanting to put it right. He does this in front of the nearest mirror, seeing himself in an unfamiliar but flattering light - someone else, a character in a movie. Sees the other characters, Sharkey and Rob, and thinks he's glad to be part of this ensemble. This looks fucking hot. And both these guys, wanting him. He always, always knew he could be wanted like this. He allows himself a satisfied smirk when the guys aren't looking. We cut away; see this smirk captured on a monitor in the other room. Sharkey's electronic eyes are always watching. Sharkey hands him a beer, giving him a playful slap on the cheek like to say 'good work'. Justin shrugs this off, but with an easier smile than he would normally give to Sharkey; he's now playing to Rob at the same time. The men invite Justin over to sit between them, and Justin makes a show of saying no to kind of tease them, acting intimidated by the size of these dudes, "aren't gonna fuckin' squash me, are you?", but dives in quickly enough. They pass a joint about between them, and they guy reassure Justin that he's getting kind of buff too, in his cute sort of way, running their hands over his arms and shoulders and acting impressed, with what turns into teasing sarcasm, even though it doesn't start out that way. His body sure is nice and sweet enough for them not to want to take their hands off it once they've finished their jokey appraisals. They feast on his beauty some more, hands and mouths clamping on him from either side. When both men are kissing at his neck, their big hands fondling him softly, a blissed out Justin Benchley is for a few moments in freaking nirvana, and lets that forbidden thought unfold in his mind... I should have accepted Sharkey's offer. I should have. ... before willing it away again, letting it shrivel up like his cock is conspicuously failing to do. Rob has a kind of a calloused hand - he can't be just a driver, then, must be some kind of odd-job man - and it adds a coarse edge to his stroking of Justin's dick that Justin likes. Odd jobs, hand jobs... ...whoah, and now a blow job. Rob gets down on his knees in front of Justin and starts working at his cock with his mouth. This is amazing. Sharkey never shows the slightest interest in Justin's dick. All these months he's been revelling 'reluctantly' in man-sex, yet this is the first time Justin has had his cock sucked by a man. His delight and disbelief is plain in the "aaaahhhhhhh yeah!" he lets out. He rests one hand on Rob's head, a little tentatively, like he's petting a dog whose tameness he isn't yet sure about. Not at all like the abandon with which these guys have been running their hands and their fuckin' feet through his own thick head of hair like it's a welcome mat. Even thinks at one point: oh sweet Jesus, this is good but I'm sure I'm better at this than he is. He feels a finger go up his ass as this happens, Sharkey working his way in again, like he has to be inside him at every moment he can. Fuck off, Sharkey, he thinks, can't I have one fucking thing just for myself. But the thought evaporates when he orgasms intensely, cumming in long volleys onto Rob's handsome face as Sharkey's fingers - three of them now - make his insides burn with pleasure. Afterwards Sharkey looks amused as Rob wipes the gunk off his face with some tissues. Then the guys return to fondling each other on the couch - Justin gathers that that this is not a free-for-all threeway; there is no erotic contact between Sharkey and this guy Rob, their attentions are wholly focused on him. They smoke a little more before Sharkey suggests, inevitably, a hot sweet-smelling mouth against Justin's, that Justin take them both inside him. Both these cocks at once, he says, gesturing to his own dick and to Rob's, the pair of them raring to go again. A rather more stoned Justin's head swings about slowly, a lazy quadruple-take between the guys faces and their dicks. He blinks a couple of times, and one side of his mouth goes up in a crooked, alluring smile that dimples his cheek. "Oh... oh man, really?" He considers, takes another drag of weed and blows smoke. "I'm not sure I can take that, guys..." he ventures uneasily, and this is quickly met by a leery kind of laugh from both the men, who kind of close in on him. "Course you can, sunshine... don't you think so, Rob?" "Sure... er, sunshine," Rob chuckles, "Maybe it'll be a little bit of a tight fit, yeah? But that just makes it hotter... I think you'll like it kid..." "Just... just so long as I'm getting paid for it..." Justin says, "I'll do whatever you like." Sharkey grimaces just a little, out of Justin's sight. There's a palpable sense of Justin sealing himself off again, it's like a door closing. All of a sudden he's fallen back on the old standby of the money. Rob doesn't notice any change, starts kissing Justin again. "I'm sure you'll be well reimbursed..." he whispers when their mouths part, "Ain't that right, Mr Sharkey?" "Money's no object when it comes to you, kid" Sharkey smirks, stroking his hand over Justin's hair again. "And don't forget we've got a little treat just for you later... a lady guest's coming by who I think you're gonna be glad to see again... and then you can have some one on one time, just you and her..." Justin grins at this, a little dopily. Trying not to let on that Laila Bayliss --- well, that the thought of her doesn't turn him on so much any more. Not like he's been turned on tonight by the unexpected involvement of Rob. Thinks it's probably kind of nice of Sharkey to try to sugar the pill, not knowing that Justin secretly kind of likes the pill as it is. "Okay, guys. Okay. Let's do it then" Justin agrees quietly. The door ajar again. "How do we... er..." The guys share a laugh at Justin's attempts to figure out the logistics of getting two cocks up his ass. He blushes lightly, realising they've probably done this loads of times. He wonders with who. Prostitute guys? It's weird that even now he's thinking of male prostitutes as something different from him They head into another room, Justin feeling his movements manipulated by the two men, whose hand don't leave him, guiding him variously by the waist or wrist or shoulder. They go into a room he's been in before - it's a bedroom with a soft, luxuriant king-size bed. He doesn't think of this opulent space as Sharkey's own bedroom; it's more like a hotel room - in fact, it feels more like some kind of dedicated fucking suite. In here too, the walls are alive with projected homo porn movies. Sharkey sure likes to set a mood, it seems. It's like being in some crazy ass nightclub for deviants. He gets on the bed for Sharkey and his employee. That is, his other employee. Lays out on its comforting expanse hoping he's not dazed enough by now to pass out. He concentrates on what he sees ahead of him, footage of what he takes to be some cute Swedish boy, some uber-blonde who is sucking off his football buddies in a locker room like their lush dicks are a diminishing resource. Maybe he is kind of high after all. As the footage is replaced by images of an indeterminate number of black guys gangbanging this buff slut dude, Justin keeps seeing this guy who's taking it as the pop star KrisTiano. Maybe it's some lookalike; they have these lookalikes in porno don't they, he thinks he's heard about that somewhere. Guesses the Justin who is at this point 'our' Justin, the one we first saw on screen. He relaxes against the clean and silky sheets as the men take turns to rim and play with his ass, loosening him up the more. "Jesus fucking Christ, man, I could live in here" Rob grunts in satisfaction, his face buried in Justin's tender boy butthole. Slick and wet, its halo of soft flesh glistens, it's the color of lipstick, a lush flower. Sharkey sees they're sharing the same thought: "I know, mate. Pretty little rosebud right there, huh?" Rob nods, grinning, spits into the hole again and resumes licking and licking at it . Justin finds a phallus being brandished in front of his face, reflections of movie scenes in its lacquered-looking ribbed surface - a fat black dildo; it looks huge, but, held up right before his eyes, he can't properly judge its size. "This first, Justin" he hears Sharkey saying, "It'll help get you ready for taking the two of us." "Whatever you gotta do" Justin mutters, sounding more cocky about it than he feels. His heart pounding in his chest and throat, he has to admit - but only to himself - that he's excited about this. I'm going to have both these men inside me, he thinks. Room for two on this ride. His asshole so irresistible, it's double booked. The long shaft of his cock is pressed against his stomach, rigid as a metal rod. Boy, look how good he is at this; could fucking Beth turn men on so much they'd both want to be inside of her at once? No way, the dumb -- holy fuck - where did that thought come fr--- But the abrupt stab of panic at his inner treachery is obliterated by the invasion of his asshole by that dildo. He had not registered, when it was before his eyes, it's bloatedly bulbous end. But he sure does have a sense of its shape now. "GodDAMN!" he squeaks. "Come on, kid, you can do this," Rob says. Justin can't tell for sure which of the men is pushing the big dildo inside him, but knows it can only be Sharkey. He sure can't picture him taking his hands off it and offering it up to Rob. And there is, too, something about the way it penetrates and moves inside him that feels like the way Sharkey fucks. The hand stroking reassuringly up and down his back, that must be Rob's. Justin isn't aware of the long moans coming from his own throat at first, but once he notices, he can't muster up the will to withhold them. It's like this fake cock sliding up and down inside him is pumping air helplessly out of his lungs, like he's some musical instrument being played. Limp, he wheezes: "ohhhhhh man... take me, guys... I wanna feel you now... not this fuckin' pretend thing.... uuunnhhhh.... ohhhhh fuck..." But he is treated to the pretend thing for a little longer yet. Sharkey's liking the music too much. The dildo leaves him with a heavy, rasping pop - not keen to come out, it seems. He feels Sharkey's fingers poking into his butthole, spreading it wide, displaying it as he says to Rob: "Fucking hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about." "Yeah, think you're ready now, son" Rob says, ruffling Justin's hair again. Soon he's lifting Justin up off the bed by the arms, making out with him some more while Sharkey gets into place. Sharkey lays on his back, holds out his erect cock, fingers gripping around the base, for Justin to sit on. Justin does so, lowering himself slowly onto Sharkey's big thick dick with a series of grunts and gasps. Sharkey eases his way in with some testing thrusts, then invites Justin to lean forward, hold on to Sharkey's chest, to make his ass as prone as possible for Rob's cock to push its way in against Sharkey's. Rob lubes up, takes a firm hold of his meat around the head to guide it in to the tight peephole of available space. Hard to believe he's going to be able to work his way in there at all, but he and Sharkey have achieved this miracle before, and with even tighter holes. "Where there's a willy there's a fucking way," as Sharkey grimly insists. Rob struggles to push the head in, glooping out more generous helpings of lube to ease the entry. Then he drops the bottle to use both hands in his effort, one offering sturdy backup to the helmet of his cock, the other braced against the small of Justin's back. Justin's hands grip with difficulty against Sharkey's shoulders, pinching and groping the skin, which Sharkey seems to find gratifying. "That's it, sunshine, don't let it push you over, that's all. Force yourself back onto it..." Justin's face hardens, sullen with effort, and then his jaw drops open and his eyes widen as the second cock inside him finally gets in deep and makes itself at home. He's clutching hard onto Sharkey now, fingernails digging in. "Oh my... god..." Justin calls out falteringly, his voice strange and ragged, his eyes turning upward. It seems scracely possible that the double helping of dick inside him can do anything more than miraculously fill up a space that he imagined too small for it. But, between them the two men establish a rhythm, and in unison, the cocks then move up and down inside him. The thrusts they make, these two cocks working together in the tight space of his asshole, cannot, were he able to measure them, be very long or very deep, but crammed deep inside the tightness of his insides, every quarter-inch back and forth feels fucking epic. The feeling is so tremendous, pain and pleasure united as one like the two great erections inside him, that he fears this moment of intense fucking might burn out all the feeling in his ass. Surely he can't experience an intensity like this without something giving way, bursting like a fuse? Man, he's half-sure that after this night his ass will be left numb forever. His arms shaking now with the effort to keep himself braced and aloft, he slides down against Sharkey, his cheek landing in the crook of the man's neck. Rob moves in to get on top his back, and they continue to fuck with Justin now sandwiched tightly between them, squeezed between the two men's muscular bodies and the intense stink of their sweat. He sobs in a gleeful anguish, pulverized in a vise of hot, pounding sex. He's so hot and sweaty, it could be that he passes out for a second. He has a sensation of suddenly awaking as he realises the two cocks are yanking out of him with a slick popping sound. He feels a trickle and then a minor flood of jizz from his butthole, both the men's loads oozing out of him. Sharkey grins to Rob, over Justin's head: "Sweet kid, huh?" -------- As the men get up off of the bed, and Justin lays on it feeling like he needs kind of a breather before he does anything else, he wonders if their session is now at end - after all, where are the guys going to go from here? Then he remembers what Sharkey promised for later - their special female guest this evening. He hears Sharkey muttering to Rob something about their visitor, and Rob nods, putting some underpants on before leaving the room. I guess that's what counts as 'formal' in an orgy. Sharkey takes something out of a drawer, approches Justin on the bed. "If you don't mind, kid," he says reasonably, "our guest of honor did request something a little... well, kinky for when she first meets you tonight" He brandishes what Justin now sees are handcuffs - two pairs of them. Justin flinches, albeit groggily. "Uhh... okay, so..." "She's a little shy," Sharkey elaborates, "You know, given your history." Justin nods, a little bitterly. Yeah, not surprising that bitch Laila Bayliss would want him in cuffs, the way she'd fucking played him for a sap. Probably worried he might lash out at her, once he sees her face again and considers properly what she's done to him. The idea that she might have been working with Sharkey all along no longer seems far-fetched to him. She had been in league with Sharkey to snare him right from the beginning. Of course she had. He hears Rob returning, behind the door, talking quietly. And another pair of footsteps, a quiet female voice. The door opens, and Rob enters. His cock is still half-erect in his black briefs, and a pooling stain of jizz is obvious there. "We ready?" he says, face blandly pleasant. Sharkey raises an eyebrow at Justin: "What do you say, sunshine?" "Why's she here?" Justin asks brusquely, finding his voice hoarse. "I mean, isn't her part in this done with?" He stares intently at Sharkey as he challenges him. Does a good job of looking into those eyes that reveal nothing. Sharkey just laughs, like he has no idea what Justin means. And Justin can't bring himself to say "In your plan?!!" or whatever. It would sound stupid. "What can I tell you, sweetheart - she just wants a piece of Justin Benchley. We're all here for the same thing tonight." Justin shakes his head. "Okay... what the hell, I'm come this far, right...." He leans back from the waist. "But I get my turn, right? I want my turn, after..." Sharkey smiles, kisses at Justin's mouth: "I promise, sunshine. Anything you want to do with her tonight, you can do. You've... really earned this..." Justin holds out his arms at either side, offering himself up. Sharkey takes a hold of one of them, locks a cuff on at the wrist and then clicks its partner into place on one of the metal bars of the headboard. Justin expects to stay on his back as Sharkey does likewise with his arm on the other side. Instead he finds Sharkey suddenly seizing him by the torso, wrangling him roughly around. "Hey, what the fuckin!..." Justin starts, but the brutal Sharkey takes no notice, using efficent force like he's handling a struggling animal. Once Justin finds himself slammed onto his front on the crumpled, sweat-slicked sheets of the bed, that's when Sharkey takes his other arm and chains it into place. "Fuck man..what the fuck..." Justin protests without managing to voice a definite objection. "Just what the lady ordered" Sharkey explains, ruffling Justin's hair again and patting him on the ass. He gets up off the bed. "Rob, you can show our visitor in now." Justin shifts his head, not turning it exactly, because he can't. Just lifting it a little. Everything here is from a skewed camera angle. His world has become oppressively tilted, and there's something vertiginous about the figures standing around him. Figures. Yes. Another one has joined them now. Someone has came in through that open, looming doorway; another one who wants to fuck him, some new shark closing in on him - approaching him slowly but surely with its rigid and majestic erection that says: Justin Benchley, you will be fucked again and again. "A little surprise for you, Justin," Sharkey says. "Look who I found on my subscriber list. I couldn't resist getting in touch -" The shock knocks the wind out of Justin. He hears his breath leave him in a ragged, disbelieving sigh as he realises who the figure is that is simultaneously towering over him and leaning away on a sickly diagonal. It's his old teacher Ms Ides. His old teacher Ms Ides, naked and white as snow. Naked except for the strap-on dildo that sways from side to side before her as she walks. Her face, what he sees of it is, is like a mask, or a marble statue. Yes, she is veined like marble, everywhere on that aged frame. She talked in some distant past about having her face frozen with chemicals, botox or whatever it was, and now here this woman is, petrified in her mid-life disappointment. She's a phallus-bearing statue, a rigid portrait of rueful sorrow, or hesitant inhumanity. Her dyed black hair is like a withdrawn veil, has no contact with her face. "Kinkier than you'd think, this lady" Sharkey says, but his words recede into the background like an unrelated sideshow. They're a vulgar distraction to the solemn ritual this barren wraith is about to enact. Justin knows that for certain, an animal instinct in the face of a predator. Every trace of humor has been erased from her face. He is sure now it was only ever a disguise. He winces as her her hand touches his hair and his face with what might or might not be tenderness. He knows he will say nothing. No protest, no dumb questions. No mention of the vicious way he now sees he has been tricked by Sharkey. He will not let his voice affirm the reality of this moment. He will bear it, and bear it, and bear it - and finally it will be over. Sharkey goes on, the horrible bastard: "When I got in touch and made an offer, she just couldn't resist." Justin closes his eyes as he feels the old woman's lips kiss him dryly on the cheek, feels her coarse hair fall against his loose curls with a sensation that nearly sets his teeth on edge. The tips of her dangling tits brush against his back, and suddenly he feels her nails clawing their way down that tender young back like she means to break the skin. She's on top of him, he feels the huge fake cock resting between his buttocks. "And trust me, sweetheart, there's a big bonus in this for you too" says the distant Sharkey sideshow. Justin vows that he will never take payment from Sharkey again, that this is the last time. Ms Ides wheezes with some emotion that Justin doesn't understand. It's like wind blowing through the pipes of some abandoned organ. Then those hanging breasts are squashed against his back. The head of the phallus is nudging at his still sticky butthole and he feels the wraith's hair tickling scratchily at his face. He hears that voice he recognises from school speaking hotly into his ear, a voice rife with yellowed cigarette smoke, made unfamiliar by being so close, so cruel. "Always such a good kid, Justin." That voice. Like ancient, peeling tree bark. You also recognise it as the voice of Nephthys from the other movie, though there is nothing you can do with this information. "Always such a sweet boy, a little ray of sunshine. So helpful, so polite ..." And the cock enters roughly, gaining purchase within him before sliding relentlessly, ruthlessly inside. "Oh, Justin Benchley, you break my heart" says that cracked humming of the vacated woman who is fucking him. Ms Ides slides her surprisingly coarse hands up his stretched out arms, and they settle against his firm triceps as she fucks him in long, brutal thrusts. "I told you what schadenfraude means, didn't I, Justin? I remember that, one day in April that sticks in my mind... don't ask me why, my beautiful boy, but to find you whoring yourself, a sexual gossoon... pleases and satisfies me." She thrusts harder, forcing him to react, desperate to hear his grunts as he is penetrated. "Cunt," she says experimentally, like it's a word she's not used to speaking out loud, "Oh, you were always such a good kid... and now, now such a perfect cunt. Do the men enjoy you, Justin Benchley? Oh, I hope they do... let the ugly rutting creatures feed upon each other. None of the hollow promises that made a fool out of me ... just your asshole... being plundered ... the fate of all beauty... flowers to be trampled" Her dessicated vomit of words rustles away, meaningless as some of the lectures she used to give on subtext and imagery. He understands what is important; that she has been poisoned by bitterness, that she is taking revenge on innocence because she resents it for not being poisoned too. He holds on to this knowledge. But he screams in the end, as the invasion of the enormous dildo, so much bigger than the last, becomes tortuous. And then, then he finds his body taking unwelcome pleasure from this violation as the nails scratch down his back again. "You break my heart," she repeats as she breaks his, as she strangles love. When Ms Ides plops the dildo out of him, she seems barely less satisfied than when she began. But she sits back on a chair and watches - grotesquely, the glistening dildo still standing to attention before her - as Sharkey, the motherfucker must actually have been turned on enough by this horror to be ready to go again - has his turn. Justin tries not to acknowledge that the familiar feel of Sharkey's body against him, the warmth and length of his cock and the musky smell of him, are a relief; Sharkey going at him is familiar, it is known. Sharkey's hand settles near Justin's face at one point, and Justin clumsily kisses a knuckle. Deep inside he is thinking: stay on me. Be a flesh barrier; be my protection from that ghoul. Oh, this silent entreaty tolls like an ominous bell. Anyone seeking to be protected by Sharkey has wandered onto the wrong path. There may be no way out of the woods for Justin. ----------- Once unleashed from the cuffs, Justin's fury is not of the fiery and vicious variety. It is still and cold. Certain facts remain here: he cannot launch himself in rage at these men. Look at them. He wouldn't stand a chance. For all he would love to simply destroy every one of the hateful people in this room - even the hot guy he thought he was having a fucking great time with until Sharkey showed up - there's nothing he can do but get out of here as quickly as he can. He just looks at them in contempt, his eyes scorched with betrayal. Ms Ides. Laying that dildo down on top of a chest of drawers. Looking out of place and even a little confused now. "Justin" Sharkey says with amusement. "I told you you could have your turn. You want to, er, have your way with Ms Ides here?" Justin looks at the naked woman, his old teacher. For a moment this pathetic, cruel creature cannot look at him, but then the wraith gazes at him with an expectation he cannot comprehend. Like none of this has happened and she's the bride on her wedding night. As if she thinks Justin's beauty is something she can fully expect to claim. As if lovemaking were possible. "No" Justin grunts. He doesn't want to give either her or Sharkey the satisfaction of unnecessary words. He has nothing to say to either of them. "You sure?" Sharkey asks, unfazed by Justin's contempt. "I still have these...?" He holds up and dangles the two pairs of handcuffs. Ms Ides looks at them in expectation. Just what the fuck is he suggesting, Justin wonders heavily. Does this... thing now want Justin to punish her? Has she raped him to provoke him? This thing that looks on him as a whore, and dares to think of him as degraded? He shakes his head. "No", he repeats. He wants nothing to do with whatever fantasy she has created around him. Sharkey nods, like he hadn't expected any different. "Rob, would you help our visitor get dressed then show her out?" "Of course, Mr Sharkey" says Rob, gesturing Ms Ides politely to the door. She looks irritably surprised at being asked to leave so early, looks at Justin and Sharkey in confusion before turning to go out the door. Justin stares after her. At the absent spot where she stood. Looking at an empty doorway, Without the visual proof of it, what has just happened becomes even harder to believe. How long can that woman, that so-familiar face, have known about what he does with Sharkey? And what other faces that he passes in the street, and serves up eggs and bacon to in the diner, might know about his deal with Sharkey? Right now, in this terrible moment, it feels completely possible that anyone could, anyone at all - that the whole of Ropers Reach might know what he does, and be laughing at him for thinking it is his well-hidden secret, when in fact it is open knowledge to all. What has been done to his body is one thing. What has been done to his world - that is quite another. Sharkey has forced a huge sundering cock through the fabric of his entire life. His certainties are gone. ----- Soon after. In the living room. Justin, perched on the edge of a sofa, looks like he should be in a shock blanket. Instead he is pulling on his jeans and shirt, fastening his sneakers. His stomach curdles, his soul recoils, as it become suddenly clear to him that all the clothes he is wearing today are ones Sharkey bought for him that day at West Mount Mall . He has played completely into Sharkey's hands. He hasn't said anything else to Sharkey until now. But, still feeling the ache around his wrists where the cuffs dug in, he now at least the dignity of clothes. Even if they are ones that suddenly make him feel like he belongs to Sharkey. Standing up, he says: "So -- that's your revenge, huh?" Sharkey is counting out his money, a part of the proceedings that has not been forgotten, and there's a lot of it this evening. "Sorry?" Sharkey says, all innocence. Justin is biting back what feel like welling tears. He will not give Sharkey the satisfaction of that. "I -- I said no to you. When you asked me to..." He can't finish the sentence. Sharkey has been acting as if this never happened, and even now under his glare, Justin feels he should be going along with that. "... so you're punishing me. Right?" Sharkey continues counting out the notes, shaking his head gently and laughing. "Sunshine, don't take this wrong, but if I was punishing you, you'd know about it. We've just been having some fun, yeah? I guess you don't have much taste for.... what's it they're called?" He looks to Rob. "Cougars?" Rob nods cheerfully, "Yeah, that's the one." Justin's blood runs icy. 'Cougars'. That monster, that fucking vampire thing. That was not some hot older woman; that was a chilly visit from death itself. He wants to be sick. He cannot argue with Sharkey. He just wants to be free of this. "Look," he says, pulling on his jacket. "I want to... I mean, this is it. It's over, from now on." "What's that, then?" Sharkey smirks indulgently. "This. Us. This deal. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to take your money--" Sharkey waves the fat stack of bills. "What, this?" "Not that!" Justin says, somewhat too quickly. "I mean, I'll take the cash for tonight, but I want this to be the last time." Sharkey shakes his head sadly. "I see. Well, you see, that's a shame, Justin, because I don't." He lets that hang in the air. Justin looks to Rob - just dressing himself to give Justin his ride home - as if any help is going to come from that direction. Justin clenches his fists. "So, what are you going to do- make me? Like you did with that fuckin'-" "Calm down, Justin. I'm not going to make you do anything. I'm happy to keep on paying you and for this deal to go on. And that's just what's going to happen." "But I don't want to TAKE your money any more" Justin insists shakily. Sharkey is quiet for a second. Then he goes on: "Well, you see the thing is... if I didn't have you to have fun with any more, I'd have to rely on these little souvenirs I've collected, you know, to remember our time together..." He presses a button on some little remote control that's on the bar, as he pours himself a drink. The movies, the ones playing silently all around. On multiple screens, and projected against walls. Each of them goes off suddenly, as one, like a plug has been pulled. And then there is an old fashioned '5... 4... 3... 2... 1...' - and then all those movies are replaced by images of him. Justin Benchley. More specifically, images of him being fucked. A writhing and flickering mass of them. Some from earlier this very evening, so that his time alone with Rob plays side by side with his later double penetration by Rob and Sharkey. And others from the previous occasions he has been here in this house. But lest he should blame himself for coming here and exposing himself to the danger of being caught on camera, other footage demonstrates that the ubiquity of Sharkey's roaming camera eye is absolute: there he is being screwed on the forest floor, that day he dared say no to Sharkey and thought he'd gotten away with it; there he is being claimed by Sharkey in his own bed, his own home; and in the backs of cars, and over his parents' sofa, and in the abandoned and rotten Halstead farmhouse whose midnight deathliness has touched him again tonight. That's impossible, he thinks. Those things can't have been filmed. So many of them were him and Sharkey alone. Times when no-one else could possibly have been around. This impossible miasma of images is liking watching a character in a TV show - every significant event documented, edited, shot for best effect. This can't be. And yet how small and impotent this objection is in the face of what he can now see. The eye doesn't lie. A montage of evidence against him plays all around: all of it happening at once. *Production Note: there is an amusing continuity goof here, where footage of two different actors playing Justin Benchley can be seen side by side in the background. "- and this stuff is just so good," Sharkey goes on in satisfaction, "All these scenes I've collected - well, I think if I really started paying proper attention to them, the idea might just hit me that they're good enough to be shared. You know, with everyone. Uploaded to ViewzTube, shared on Budskitchen - pretty much all you kids are on that site nowadays, aren't you? All I have to do is tag you in - then everyone you know on there gets to see." Justin feels emptied out with shock, a husk of a man. The only time he has felt anything like this horror was when that asshole Tanner White threatened him with exposure. That time, it was Sharkey who fixed everything, made it go away. What Sharkey threatens now is a thousand times worse. And there is no-one he can turn to this time to fix it. No-one at all. Sharkey put down the remote, approaches Justin. Pale as a ghost, a broken-looking Justin flinches as he sees the big, powerful man approaching him. The familiar Sharkey he has been so intimate with all this time is revealed as something else, something terrible. Something impossible, the creature that appeared out of the darkness that night in his bedroom, the thing he had put out of his mind. Sharkey places his hands on Justin's shoulders. "But there'll be no need for that, will there Justin? Because we're going to continue on. And you're going to keep on getting well paid for it. Remember, Justin, that's what you said you wanted. To simply go on as we are. That was the choice you made. That was what you said you wanted-" His hands squeeze down on Justin's shoulders. "- and that's what you're going to get." Justin is limp, scared. "Y-you're in most of those movies too..." he says, those images of himself still whirling mockingly in the air around him, "You'd be... p-people would see you too..." Sharkey laughs. "Oh Justin, you really are so cute. You think I would give a shit? You're the one who's terrified of people knowing the truth. All this stuff you're seeing, sunshine, I'm proud of it. Fuck, boy, look how well you take that cock." Still withholding tears, Justin appeals plaintively: "Man, what else can you want from me? I've done everything you've ever asked me to-" Of course, this isn't true. He did not say 'yes' at that vital moment. Sharkey says nothing about this now, but Justin knows it is the reason for his cruelty, this vicious assertion of his power of him. "And you've been paid well for it," Sharkey reasons, "And will continue to be. So what's the problem?" Sharkey kisses him on the forehead, sweetly. That's when a tear escapes Justin's eye and trickles with a sadistic slowness down his face. Justin looks into Sharkey's face, darkened in shadow. That glittering line on Justin's cheek that this time Sharkey will not wipe away. Justin's jaw sets. "Who are you?" he demands quietly. "Wh... just what the fuck are you?" Sharkey chuckles, releases Justin from his grip. He turns to Rob. "You nearly ready to go, mate? I think Justin's about ready for his bed." He returns to the remote, presses a button. The movies fade from sight. This house seems cold and sterile, blue moonlight and long angular shadows. Rob nods, jingling a set of car keys. "Good to go" he says. Sharkey nods. "Til next time then, sunshine. Been a good night." Justin doesn't move. Rob takes his arm, awakening him from his trance, "Come on, kid." As Rob leads Justin to the front door, he glances back at Sharkey, who is knocking back a vodka in apparent satisfaction. ---- It's not Rob's place to ask,so he won't --- but he too wonders what the hell more Sharkey can want from Justin. The question of his employer simply taking Justin Benchley, and keeping him, the way he keeps Jordon Lunar and Daniel Pilce, has never come up. If Sharkey had clicked his fingers a different way, Rob would be leading Justin to a subterranean cell now. But Sharkey has never wanted Justin as simply his slave. What he does want, Rob cannot imagine. Not as he departs the house, leaving his employer alone. But he works it out on the journey home. Not through any great Sherlock Holmes deduction; Justin lets out some furious exclamations, half-crazed, like the conclusions of his angry thoughts are being involuntarily spoken out loud, but he just doesn't give a shit anymore who hears. "- Coz I fucking wouldn't live with him and be his fucking bitch!" Justin hisses, the words running into each other in his rage so that it takes Rob a couple of moments to pick them apart. Then he gets it. Sharkey, at some point probably quite recently, put Justin in a position where he had to choose to be with him. Sharkey doesn't generally feel obliged to do this, as you have seen, so this means that for some reason it was important to Sharkey that Justin make the choice to be his. "I just need the money. Okay?" Justin growls, like he's arguing with Sharkey in his mind. Rob shakes his head in disbelief as he drives. He gets now why Sharkey has not mentioned this: he is in love with Justin Benchley. Or as close to in love as that skinheaded son of a bitch can get, anyway. Rob glances at the now violently trembling Justin. Poor kid. No wonder he don't know what's hit him. ------------- In the weeks after that nightmare evening, Justin resumed his normal life in almost hysterical denial of what had happened. He was left with a heightened sense of everything in his existence being made of the finest glass, all set to be violently shattered at a moment's notice. But he didn't act any different, with his family or Beth, or his friends, or at work. He felt like an actor expertly essaying a role; it didn't matter what he felt like inside. He got through the scenes, and no-one knew that he was hollow. No-one saw the sick joke. When a couple of months passed without the shattering of glass, and without any word from Sharkey, normality seemed to return in earnest, seeping into his head from without. By becoming immersed in the role of boy next door Justin Benchley, he found that he was, indeed, coming back to himself. Justin was reinhabiting his own body. He began to figure that at least Sharkey's refusal to break off would absolve him of any responsibility for making that leap himself; he could go on with their --- arrangement --- without guilt; he was, now, genuinely being forced into it. He was being blackmailed; an odd kind of blackmail, since he was at the same time being financially rewarded, but blackmail none the less. He decided that the only thing he could do now was go along with what Sharkey wanted, in the hope that the guy would eventually tire of him. Quietly vain as Justin was, he couldn't believe he was so irresistible that Sharkey would want him forever. Just wait until he'd been married a couple of years, maybe with a kid, and he was all tired and fat. A guy like Sharkey would just take his money elsewhere, spend it on some other cute twenty year old. You couldn't say that Justin, in working out all this stuff, simply forgot the horror of that night. Ms Ides scratching at his skin, invading him for Sharkey's amusement. He was subject to suffocating attacks of sheer panic now and then, which he forced himself to suppress. But he decided that the best thing he could do, from now on, would be to go along with whatever Sharkey wanted, not react to anything he tried to do to humiliate him. Sharkey had been angry when Justin refused him: that explained his threat of exposure, that explained Ms Ides. But if he saw Justin unresisting, willing to go along with things, and to just take the money and do a job, no matter how fuckin' dirty or depraved a job -- well, Sharkey would evenually forget his disappointment at Justin's rejection, see there was no satisfaction in trying to punish him, and that Justin was quite willing to go along with his wishes, even if he wasn't willing to live with him to do it. Even if the bastard wheeled out that fucking ghoul Ms Ides again - or whatever other surprises he might have hidden up his sleeve - Justin would take her fake cock in him just as if he liked it. Soon he found himself actually becoming anxious to see Sharkey again. He wanted a shot at starting to smooth things over. Wondered if the lack of contact from Sharkey meant that maybe the guy regretted what he'd done, or had decided to leave him alone after all. When finally it happened, and when all Sharkey wanted was a blow job, with barely a word exchanged between them, Justin was pathetically grateful for an easing of the tension. Sharkey ruffled his hair fondly before he left, a gesture Justin had kind of missed, and he decided that things were going to go back to normal. That is, what had become 'normal' for him. And after it was over, he took the money from Sharkey, shoved it into his pocket and took it home. But here was another indicator of things going wrong: he put that money inside the shoebox at the back of his closet, with all the rest he had accrued. The thing was stuffed full of bills now. Untouched cash. All of it had been mounting up over the course of his arrangement with Sharkey. Occasionally he'd skim something off the top for convenient ready money, tiny amounts that would attract no attention. But he had never been able to work out how to use or explain this stockpile of cash. The lies he'd considered telling about it had never felt quite good enough to convince. And now here it was - the thing that was supposed to be making life easier for him and his fiancee, the whole goddamn reason he'd got into this mess in the first place. Justin's payments, sat there in that box as a burden, a puzzle still waiting to be solved. ------ And so to another scene: Justin, walking the family dog in Jack Roper Park. It's a beautiful time of day, the last part of the afternoon dissolving into the beginning of evening. The daylight burning away like embers as it enters its final hour, the shadows of trees across the lawns extending long into the distance. There are people around the park, kids playing, but its starting to clear out, especially now the ice cream guy has gone and for most people it's just after dinner time. Justin's dressed nearly the way you first saw him, casually in shorts and battered hi-tops. A plain white cotton tee shirt, it's speckled with the remains of a few of the damn little flies that are humming around the park today. The arms of the shirt are pretty short, showing off the way his shoulders have developed lately. Boy, he's getting close to being one of this show's bona fide hunks. Another season in this role, he'd move up the cast list for sure. A guy goes by, jogging at a leisurely kind of pace, also in shorts and a tee shirt. Dressed nondescript, but a fit kind of dude. He comes to a stop, panting and resting his hands against his thighs for a moment. Then, as if noticing Justin for the first time, says "Hey, scuse me - I'm from out of town, just here on business for the night. You know somewhere good to eat?" Justin looks from side to side. Nobody about. "Absolutely nowhere. By the way, what's that accent supposed to be?" Rob shrugs. "I don't know. Texan maybe?" Justin smirks, looking about again. They're in the depths of the park. A couple of people in the distance, no-one he knows. "Is... Sharkey here?" he ventures. Rob grins, with a kind of off-duty look that gives Justin his answer before it's said out loud: "No, believe it or not, I ain't here on his behalf." Now Rob looks around too, like he's taking a risk, like Sharkey might just be watching somewhere, somehow. "He's away. Out of the country" Rob adds. It sounds almost like he's reassuring himself. "Er, look kid, can I talk to you for a moment?" He gestures over to a nearby bench, in an alcove of trees. "Sure" Justin shrugs, kind of relieved to think of Sharkey as far, far away. He looks over to where Sam is running around in the grass. Then he joins Rob on the bench. He recognises the scent of Rob. His cologne, mixed in with warm sweat - this time from the running. The smell, he finds, brings back memories that feel good. Not the bad ones from that night, but the good, exciting ones. "How do I put this-" says Rob, leaning back on the bench and retaining a casual aspect for the benefit of any onlookers. "I think Mr Sharkey might have made you an offer a little while back. Am I right?" Justin's eyes are hidden briefly in moody shadow as he scowls. He scratches the back of his head, shrugs. "Yeah, maybe." Rob nods. "No need to be on the defensive with me, Justin, I promise you. I'm not here to put the pressure on." "You sure about that?" Justin prickles. "I'm sure about that," Rob says simply. "In fact, I'm hoping Mr Sharkey won't ever find out I've been to see you. Actually I'm taking a risk here, 'cause I'm trusting you not to tell him. And you sure don't owe me any loyalty. We don't even really know each other." "What's this about?" Robs rubs an eyebrow. Doesn't look like the sort of guy who'd have this kind of conversation a lot. "I'm just trying to see if what I've guessed is right. Mr Sharkey - he wanted you to come live with him, right?" Justin shrugs again. "Well. Yeah." "He wanted...." Rob searches for a way to put this that won't embarrass Justin, but doesn't seem to find one. "He wanted to take care of you, right? That's probably not the way he would have put it, but he probably offered to buy you a bunch of stuff, take you travelling? Do whatever you want?" Justin flushes a little. Veers away from the idea of himself this paints by saying: "Yeah, 'til I said no and then he started getting fuckin' horrible old ladies to shove stuff up my butt. My own fucking teacher, man..." Justin shakes his head, looking furious again. "That's what I couldn't fucking believe..." I can protect you. That was what Sharkey had said. Jesus. Rob kind of shrugs this off, like it's not really any of his business. "So you wouldn't think about... maybe reconsidering?" Justin looks at him in disbelief. "Oh yeah, because he's such a nice guy." Rob looks away for a moment, not really having a good response ready. Difficult to negotiate between Sharkey's world and the one Justin Benchley lives in. "Hey yeah, but listen" he continues vaguely, "You and I had a good time that night, didn't we?" Justin shrugs again, though he can't really deny it. He's pretty turned on by Rob being here right now, without the looming threat of Sharkey and his nasty whims. Rob presses on: "Sure, Mr Sharkey has a, er, well a kind of a mean streak sometimes. You know, if he don't get his way. But I promise ya, if you took him up on his offer, you'd fuckin' love the life. You and I could spend a lot more times together, you know?" Justin looks at him. "And Sharkey can hook you up with a whole bunch of guys. Really fuckin' hot guys. He likes you, he'd let you pick who you liked." Justin shakes his head. "What the fuck makes you think I want to hook up with a whole bunch of guys?" Abruptly Rob reaches out for Justin's crotch. Finds his swelling erection there, then lets go. "Come on kid, there's no need to play games. You can't pretend to me that you don't like it." Justin snorts, shakes his head again vigorously, but doesn't come up with any argument. "Yeah, well thanks for the diagnosis, doc" he says instead. "I just think you'd be happier with it than you might believe. And maybe it ain't too late. Like I say, don't you ever say anything to Mr Sharkey about me talking to you, but if you go back to him, tell him you've changed your mind--" "It's too late anyway," Justin snaps. "And you're wrong. You're wrong, I'm not a fag." He stares off into the setting sun. "I'm going to ride this thing out, 'til that bastard gets tired of it. And then I'm going on with my life. My life with my girlfriend - and soon she'll be my wife. And one day I'm gonna be able to forget all about this." Rob looks at Justin a while longer, then shrugs and gets up. "Well, just think about it, Justin. Just give it some more thought." "I thought about it already, I thought about nothin' fucking else for weeks. I made my choice, and now I know I made the right one." "Okay" Rob says summarily, like he's suddenly had enough. "I'll be seeing you, kid" He jogs off. Justin stays on the bench a while longer. Staring into the distance as the sun goes behind the horizon without him noticing and the lamps around the park start to flicker on. Scattered little ponds of bright light replace the long shadows, and the lawns are swamped in a rueful deep blue as the sky burns purple. Too late, Justin thinks. And not just for Sharkey, who is a piece of shit. No, too late to acknowledge that weird, excited feeling he used to get in the pit of his stomach when his sister would bring her boyfriend Hutton Roper over to the house. Too late to excavate that well-buried memory of his childhood buddy Spence; the sleepover when they were twelve and decided they could practise kissing on each other so they'd be ready for when it was girls. Too late to wish Rob hadn't left so quickly just now. Even the dog gets bored of running around the park sniffing at stuff. He returns, waits by Justin's hand to be petted. As Justin sits there, stroking Sam idly, a couple of guys stroll on by. Something about the dying light at this time of day gives them a special clarity. They're almost totally silhouette, until they step through the bright spotlights of the lamps and become stark and striking. The smaller of the two is this guy, Jesse Shane. Oh sure, it would be. That's just what Justin needs right now. The nice-looking gay guy, somehow accepted more because he's from out of town and didn't grow up in this close-knit claustrophobic community that expects him to be something else. He's a few years older than Justin, but doesn't look it at all. He's boyish looking and pretty. Carefree, or that's the way he seems. Just passing through this damn town. He'll be off to another big city soon, probably when he snags a high-flier boyfriend there. And here he is in the park with another of those boyfriends, this tall black dude, nodding away as Jesse chatters to him. If Jesse Shane and Justin Benchley were a couple, they'd be one of those 'cute' ones that looks kind of alike. Justin wonders about if he saw him in a bar or something. If he'd able to hit it off with him, just as two dudes. Not some fuckin' prostitution deal, just something he was doing because he wanted to, because Jesse is such a sweet-looking guy. He shivers. It's getting chilly now. Getting late. Just too damn late. ------------ Bigger picture. That weekend, Sharkey was indeed out of the country. On a business trip, with some pleasure mixed in. Quite a bit more pleasure than he expected, in fact. That was the weekend he went to Alexander's place in South America, to meet up with some associates. That was the weekend he first came across Ramon Reis, and became quickly besotted with him. Started, without realising it, calling him 'sunshine' - the name he had always associated only with Justin Benchley. And, finding out that Ramon was due to be sent off into the lethal care of Bertoldt, a dealer in human organs, Sharkey had done what was necessary to save the beautiful boy, and to have him for himself. Justin Benchley knew nothing about this, of course. Had he done so, it would have explained the unusually long wait he had before Sharkey called on his services again. The eventual call came out of the blue, while he was at work, and he reverted easily to secrecy mode. He was taken that day back up to Sharkey's house in the hills. Reassured that the special guest who'd be joining them that evening would be someone he would enjoy having fun with. "I just need the money. Okay" Justin insisted, mantra-like. For some reason, acting like Sharkey had never made that threat of exposure felt like the easiest way to play it. He wanted Sharkey never to forget his grunting reluctance in all of this. That would, perhaps, finally be the thing that would make the rich guy tire of him. Maybe the reason he'd made that offer in the first place was because Justin had let his mask slip, shown too much enthusiasm and led Sharkey to believe more could happen between them than the simple transaction to which he'd first agreed. Justin focused on the money, too. Even though all it was doing right now was sitting in that shoebox, waiting for the opportunity to be used, the clever lie to his fiancee that would activate it. Sharkey was loaded, and still quite happy to pay Justin. It seemed important to remember that. Ramon, when they met - rather, when they were thrown together in some scene of Sharkey's concotion - was not Justin's type. Not that he was so willing to admit that he had a 'type' when it came to guys anyway. But there was something less thrilling for him about being asked to play with Ramon than there had been with Rob. Justin grabbed onto this as evidence, tenuously and despite all those treacherous thoughts to the contrary, that he still liked girls, not guys. Still, he threw his weight into it, getting a little competitive with the new guy. Ramon seemed just as subservient as Sharkey had probably wanted Justin to be all along. And perhaps this was a good thing - maybe the arrival of this eye-fluttering homo who Sharkey seemed transfixed by would help speed the limey asshole out of his life. *Production note - in some briefer edits of Justin's story, the first blowjob he is ever given by another guy comes from Ramon Reis. In this fully restored deleted and extended scenes package you're now watching, we have already seen Rob Garrett take first bite at this cherry. The canonicity of cocksucking is thus up for debate* ---------- Back to the present for a moment. Back to Justin, driving his car through the night to Sharkey's house. Any hope he may have had of a clean severance with the guy does not appear to have borne fruit. Justin looks just as shattered from the inside on this journey to Sharkey's house as he did that night after Ms Ides, when Rob drove him away from it. He arrives at the gates, pushes the intercom. He feels that familiar gut punch of fear at the thought of confrontation, but it is washed away by a molten flood of rage. He feels like ramming the damn gates down, but knows that his car - and himself - would come off the worse if he tried. There's a click. "Come in, Justin" says Sharkey's voice, so smugly. Goddamn. He's not even going to try to deny what he's done. And then a crunch, and the gates swing open smoothly. Justin stares ahead angrily, drives in. ----------- It's not long since Justin was last here. In fact, only a day. Just a day since this: Justin being called at short notice on a Sunday afternoon, and having to get out of plans with his fiancee so he can go to Sharkey's house instead. Before, Sharkey always respected that there was a need for flexibility, that Justin is not available at the drop of the hat. Sharkey seemed understanding of Justin's need to keep all this secret, to take the necessary steps to cover his back, and not arouse suspicion. Now though, Justin has no idea if this understanding still exists. Sharkey sounds impatient for him, and after his threat of exposure, Justin doesn't know if he dares even ask for a raincheck. He tells Beth some poorly thought out lie about a family emergency. He's going to have to figure out how he'll square that with when she's next actually with his family and none of them know anything about it. A no longer understanding Sharkey has left him to flounder - after all, if Justin is so desperately keen to keep his secret, he will surely find a way to do so without Sharkey's help. A different, unfamiliar driver picks Justin up from another new spot just outside of town. This journey is silent, Justin sat in the back, and he has no interest in sizing this guy up as a potential fuckpartner. Wonders if Sharkey now considers him obliged to have sex with anyone who happens to give him a ride to that damn house. The guy offers him some pot, which he accepts because why not and smokes in the back of the car. Staring at the brightly sunny sky, he's lost all track of the journey when the car pulls up in the grounds of Sharkey's house. A bunch of the guy's cars are scattered around the lawn at the back, like they were on that day when the perverted old fruit had him wash a whole bunch of them, in just his underwear. He hopes the bastard doesn't have that in mind today - and not least 'cause it's so fucking chilly. Led into the house by this driver guy, Justin finds it a whole lot warmer. As he enters the lounge, he's faced with a nice hot smell, more marijuana smoke mixed with guys' sweat. He takes in the sight of a mass of sweaty limbs - muscles and flesh heaped on the the vast, comfy lawn of a rug. Justin realises he likes those now familiar aromas, that he finds them erotic - yeah, the warm stink of a guy's sweat as much as the sweet scent of the weed. There's a couple of seconds as he works out what he's looking at, a stretched-out tiny moment of time as he picks out the various bodies, the familiar and the unfamiliar, and realises there's one more person there than he's expected. For one ridiculous, stomach-churning moment, the idea flashes through his brain that somehow Sharkey has become some two-headed creature, that there's more to him than just one man. It comes to him with clarity, like a nightmare suddenly remembered in detail - there's a horrible, inexplicable kind of sense to it - then he forgets it just as quickly as this unfamilar guy, the first one to notice him, slurs: "Hey, kid. Get over here and join in the fuckin' fun, man" Sharkey slowly disentangles himself from Ramon and and this other dude, hispanic looking with a big chest rife with wiry hair. "Oh man, this is the guy," Sharkey says to the dude as he gets up. "Told you he was fucking cute, didn't I?" He greets Justin by grabbing his jaw and kissing him deeply. Sharkey's mouth is hot and wet like steam. He strokes and grabs greedily at Justin's loosely curling hair. "Thanks for coming," he says, unusually graciously, and wastes no time in peeling the tight-fitting white T-shirt from Justin's torso, raising his arms above his head. He kisses Justin's smooth bare chest, his little nipples. "Treat for you, babe," he says, and moments later he has arranged his man puppets so that Ramon and this other, who he calls 'Derkel' or something, are on their knees licking Justin's cock into arousal, and Sharkey stands behind Justin, hands on his shoulders, grinding his moist saliva-covered dick against the small of his boy's back. "Mmmmmm, dammit boy, you know if things had worked out different ..." He doesn't quite get what this means, doesn't want to. Hastily declines the offer of some cocaine. It's somehow inevitable that the weight of these three lusty men and their oral attentions to his body should gradually drag Justin down to the floor with them. Ramon and Justin are encouraged to kiss and fondle each other, and the older two of the gathered men don't take long about diving in to start buggering the fuck outta them. A nod from Sharkey, and the butch hispanic-type guy takes Ramon, Sharkey making out with Justin's ass before lubing it and easing his way inside. The horny guys fuck the beautiful boys as the beautiful boys kiss with more abandon - Justin beginning to find he likes it more now, exploring Ramon's bee-stung excess of lips, surprised by them, and how they're way more feminine than any girl's he's ever experienced. Maybe he dismissed Ramon's particular kind of beauty too readily before. Sharkey kisses at Justin's ear, close in on his face as he fucks him, craning in for a three-way kiss between himself and the gorgeous boys. Justin finds himself in the bedroom, that same bedroom where Ms Ides went at him with a dildo, but now he is on all fours, side by side with Ramon in the same position, and now he is taking Sharkey's cock while Ramon is fucked by the other dude. This feels way more right than that last time did. He remembers how easy a way to earn money this actually is, how much the cock going at his insides is a permanent feature of his life, and how strange it would now feel to live without it. He'd have to find it elsewhere, or... well, he doesn't know what he'd do. Sharkey's cum spills all over his back, and Justin enjoys every moment of the sensation as the guy smears it in like lotion. ------ Afterwards, Justin takes a shower. Fortunately, it turns out even Sharkey wouldn't send him back home smelling of weed right through to the roots of hair and with dried cum all over his skin. That'd be a fucking fun one to have to explain, wouldn't it, Justin giggles to himself as he washes, still lightheaded. Poking at the tender skin of his butthole, smiling at his own reflection that he sees in the slippery wet tiles. He giggles again, after he dresses, and Sharkey tells him he'll see him tomorrow evening. "No, I'm sorry man, I really can't" Justin says. "I promised to do a late shift at the diner. I'll be at work until pretty late." Sharkey nods. "No, I think you'll be here." Justin feels that nasty sensation tearing through all the good feeling again. "You mean, you want me to just snub my job now? I - come on, man, I can't afford to lose it." Sharkey is smiling over at Ramon, who seems to be pouting mildly like he doesn't want Justin back so soon anyway. Sharkey takes a hold of Ramon's arm, hugs the girly slutboy to him and kisses him on the cheek. He's not even looking at Justin when he says: "I'm not forcing you to come over, Justin. But I think you'll want to" Justin giggles again, though he doesn't in fact feel very giggly. "Why?" Sharkey continues to kiss at Ramon, running his hands fondly through the young man's long hair. You've got this one now, Justin thinks. What do you even need me for. "I just think you'll want to drop by" Sharkey repeats, speaking to Justin even though he's looking into Ramon's eyes. He lifts his cellphone to his ear. "Hello, Ellis? Yeah. Bring the car around, would you. Time to take Justin home." ------------------ And so the next morning Justin wakes with a heavy sense of expectation, but no proper idea of what it is he thinks is going to happen. Sharkey said he would return to that house tonight, but as he climbs out of his bed in the grayish, muted light of winter he has no intention of doing so. He has a dull headache after last night, and that dirty, regretful hangover that always seems to come to him when he thinks of the way his body has been used by that man - and now those other men too. He takes a shower, a ghost behind steamed and frosted glass. Sharkey said he wasn't forcing Justin to go over. Was that part of his headgames - not even having to allude to his threat of releasing all that video footage? Or was he genuinely not making that threat at all? Justin wolfs down his breakfast without much conversation with his family, then heads out of the house, feeling restless and somehow trapped there. He's not at work until this evening, so he doesn't really know where he's going. He heads to Beth's place to smooth things over after he snubbed her yesterday. She's in the house alone, with both her parents out at work. Beth doesn't work, never seems to have any intention of getting or looking for a job. Justin sometimes wonders if she's expecting to stay at home all the time once they're married, if she really imagines his crappy wage can support them both. But he's developed a mental block on talking about money now, it always leads him to start thinking about that shoebox full of thousands of dollars in cash back home, that unsolved puzzle he still can't do anything with. So he's evasive, and irritable because he knows he's being evasive and can't do anything about it. They row, and Justin storms out of the place. They'll make up later, he knows, but he charges about Ropers Reach in blind idiotic fury for a while. Sometimes he feels like his tiny home town is a maze with no escape. And then he thinks of the escape route he was offered by Sharkey, which just seems to have been another dead end. He heads into the park, remembering that day he met that Rob in there. Odd, the feeling he has that he might run into him again, like the idea has lodged somehow in his mind that the guy lives there. He doesn't see him, of course. It's a silly idea that he might have done. In fact he doesn't much of anyone around the place. It's not summer any more; the place is dull and depressing and the trees near-skeletal, like they've been picked clean of life. Just a few scattered dog walkers to be seen making hasty journeys around the place, and the occasional determined jogger. Sat on a bench, he sees that Jesse Shane guy again. He's dressed for running, except for the fashion sneakers that are totally unsuitable for it, and his copper-colored hair is pasted to his forehead with sweat as he sits back, one bare shin crossed over the other. He looks like he's been trying running as some kind of health kick, then thought better of it. He's carelessly smoking a cigarette and checking his phone as a fine mist of rain accumulates over him. Justin checks him out from as safe a distance as possible, trying not to seem like he's checking him out at all. He wonders about going over to start a conversation, maybe asking for a light. Of course that would also mean asking for a cigarette. Justin doesn't smoke, apart from pot now and then, but figures it'll be pretty much the same. He doesn't know why, but this seems like a guy he could talk to, like someone he could have something in common with. Then again. Maybe he'd look like a real lamewad to this guy. Justin with his crappy diner job, living with his parents. Maybe they'd have nothing in common - this guy who's so open and unashamed about his sexuality, and Justin who -who likes girls. Man, he can't even think it, can he. Can't even think that maybe what he likes is -- A fleeting daydream of leaving this park holding that guy's hand. Of moving away from Ropers Reach and going to some big city to share an apartment with him. Coming home from some job - he can only picture a different diner, a busier big city one - and sitting side by side with Jesse Shane on a sofa, smoking weed and giggling. Snuggling in together and maybe sharing the same bed. He shakes his head. Decides that argument with Beth is putting all kinds of weird idea into his head and that the sooner he makes it up with her, the better. He's surprised, as he walks across the footpath, that Jesse Shane calls something out to him as he passes him by. "Hey! Hey you. Cute guy!" He calls it like this is simply Justin's name. Justin looks back, surprised. But acting more surprised than he is too, because the Justin Benchley everyone thinks he is is a different guy from the one that's really him. He has to make out like a guy finding him attractive is something that's never happened before. "Huh?" he asks, looking from side to side like he's trying to see if there's anyone else around, some other person Jesse might be talking to, even though he knows perfectly well that isn't. Jesse smirks at him, maybe with some hint of condescension. Yeah, as Justin suspected, at some level this guy is looking down on him as a naive small-town boy. Jesse blows out smoke. He regards Justin with head aloft, tilted back a little - the kind of bitchy, appraising pose Justin associates with a head cheerleader checking out a new girl who might be competition. "Your arms look nice" he says at length. Justin shrugs, looking stupidly from one arm to the other like he was not previously aware of their existence. "They have a nice shape to them, you know?" Jesse drawls archly. "Do you do any kind of special workout?" Justin shrugs again, scratching his head. Fingers deep into his mop of hair, he's sudddenly aware that it's overdue for a cut and he's probably not looking his best. "Er, no. No. I don't really -- I had a job on a construction site a while back, but - uh. No, I don't. Have any special. Um" "Uh-huh" Jesse nods, stubbing out his cigarette on the iron part of the bench. "Just born lucky I guess, huh? Okay, well you can run along now." And he goes back to checking his phone. Justin shakes his head, carries on walking with a kind of resentful feeling of having been dismissed. Born lucky. He sure does not fucking feel that way. He feels like he's tumbling in slow motion down some helter skelter. Wonders how his life wandered so far away from that wonderful night when he proposed to Beth in the snow and felt like everything from here on in was going to be magical. Abruptly, he realises that the bench Jesse was sitting on was the same one where he made his proposal to Beth. Without the Christmas lights as markers, he hadn't recognised it. Well, that's 'magic' for you, ain't it, he thinks bitterly. Just an illusion - you take it down afterwards and store it in a cupboard. Ms Ides' proposal from her ex was probably 'magical' too. ------ He wanders back home but doesn't feel like going inside. Decides to get in his car and take a ride, see if he can shift this weird feeling that Sharkey was right, and that he will be back at that place tonight. As if to ward off that creeping certainty, he drives off in the opposite direction, off into the countryside on the other side of town. He plays the radio louder and louder to drown out his thoughts, and try to blast away the horrible melancholy that has settled over everything around him. It doesn't quite work. And the old Halstead farmhouse, which he tries to avoid, leers at him anyway from the distance like a rotten skull that has learned to wink. Driving futher out than he means to, he stops to eat a sandwich at some motel that also serves food. Chewy and pocketed with pieces of fat, it makes the junk he dishes out at the diner seem like fine cuisine. He starts longing for one of those juicy, greasy cheeseburgers whose smell usually disgust him. ----- Soon it's getting close to time for him to be going to work, and he heads back into town. Justin can't be sure whether that headlong sinking feeling really comes to him as he drives the car back into his street, or whether his mind tricks him into remembering it this way afterward. But as he pulls up by the sidewalk outside his house, he has a definite unnameable sense of something being wrong, out of place. Even though it looks, normal, he senses something... different. And when his mom opens the front door, comes out to meet him, looking like she's trying to put a brave face on something, that's when he thinks: Sharkey. Because what his mom tells him, after an awkward hug, is not to panic, and that they've had burglars, but nothing too much has been taken, and they have insurance and everything will be fine. His dad's going to get some new locks and find out about beefing up security and.... And all of this disappears into a whirr of noise as he feels his legs carry him into the house, and as he zooms upstairs. As he goes into his mildly disrupted bedroom to open the closet, and to confirm what he already knows: that the shoebox of money is gone. The thousands of dollars he has earned from Sharkey: gone. His mom must be calling after him, asking where he's going, as he darts out of the house, gets back into his car, and tears away down the street at reckless speed. She must be, but he doesn't hear it. Because as the dwindling daylight sinks into dusk, he is heading straight for Sharkey's place. ------ This, then, is where we find him, at the end of his journey through the night. The door ajar, he walks right into Sharkey's lounge. There is Sharkey, stood casually dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt. And Ramon, sat lazily like a cat on a couch. The same couch where Sharkey and Rob once fucked Justin. Ramon in what looks like girls' underwear, lacey looking panties of some kind. Probably just the kind of thing Sharkey would have had him wearing about the house if he'd have accepted his offer to live with him. Yeah, that'd be right. And Sharkey there, his big hulking man. Sharkey looking bland and smug. Not trying to look innocent - more just like he doesn't care what he's done. "Hey, Justin. I thought you said you'd be at the diner tonight?" Justin launches himself at Sharkey, finds he's bashing both hands against his pectorals. "You fucking son of a bitch!" Justin grunts, "You fucking horrible bastard! You took it all away- all of it-" Sharkey rests his hands on his hips for a moment, looking bemused. When Justin tries to swing a clumsy punch at his face, he catches his hand. He catches both of them by the wrists and throws Justin aside. Not with true viciousness - it's more like swatting him. Justin tumbles to the floor, picking himself up quickly, too angry to be embarrassed. He catches Ramon looking at him in disdain. "I wouldn't, sunshine," Sharkey warns lightly, "I mean, where do you think that's going to get you?" Justin finds himself fixed to the spot, holding back from hurling himself at Sharkey now he remembers how pointless that will be. This guy could so obviously wipe the floor with him. Thing is, he already fucking has done. "You took the fucking money," Justin snarls, "You or probably one of them guys who does what you tell 'em to. You got them to break into my house and took it all... you fucking bastard. Why? Why'd you have to do that?" Sharkey looks for a split second like he feels some sympathy for Justin. Then his eyes move to Ramon, and back again to Justin, and that glimmer is gone. "I don't know what you're talking about, son. But it sounds like your folks might need to juice up their home security." He pauses. Grins. "Still... if the money's been robbed, nothing to stop you earning it all back again, is there?" Justin is breathing heavily, panting now like he ran all the way here instead of coming in his car. "You sick,sick fuck!" he wails, "Why the fuck have you done this to me? I've always played fair with you, man, always!" He's dragging his fingernails through his hair on both sides, clutching at his head like it's about to explode. "I don't deserve this..." Sharkey's face hardens. "I'll decide what you deserve, Justin Benchley." Justin's arms fall to his sides. He sinks, drops to his knees. "Oh God... oh fuck man..." he sobs. Sharkey's hand lands on his hair, ruffles it like always. "You've had a tough blow," he hears Sharkey's voice say, "But you know, that cash would have been nothing compared to what you'd have had if you'd chosen to come here and be with me." Justin, eyes filled with tears as he stares at the floor, is not aware of the way Ramon reacts to this. But there's a shot of him for the benefit of the viewer. It's evident Sharkey has mentioned nothing to his new lover about his previous offer to Justin. Ramon doesn't look pleased at having a rival for Sharkey's affections - even one as pathetic as Justin has now become. Justin, on his knees, does not raise his head for a long time. When he does, he says: "Please, Sharkey. Please. What do you want from me? What the fuck do you want?" Sharkey pours himself a drink, and another for Justin. "Well, for a start, I want you to stop asking like such a wuss. Here, have a scotch. Where's the Justin who I first fell for? Where's that sweet boy next door huh? Not too polite, was it, the way you came charging in here accusing me." Justin, still on his knees, takes the drink in a trembling hand, then places it on the floor and ignores it. "Why are you doing this to me?" Justin repeats desperately, "Why are you torturing me like this?" Sharkey takes a swig of his scotch. "Oh Justin," he sighs heavily. "Believe it or not, sunshine, it was never my intention to torture you. That wasn't what I wanted." Justin climbs to his feet, wipes tears and cold sweat away from his face. "What did you want, man? This is all because I wouldn't come here and live with you, isn't it? You're punishing me! You're taking everything away! Please, Mr Sharkey, please just stop doing this to me!" Sharkey takes another sip of his drink, smiling. "I told you, your robbery is nothing to do with me." Justin is red, face contorted with anger and frustration. "Fuck! You're still doing it - you're not even trying to act like you mean that! Jesus fuck, you even said to me I'd be back here tonight! You even said that!" Sharkey shrugs his broad shoulders. "I just had a feeling, sunshine. Maybe I'm a bit psychic, huh?" Fuck. After all the things he's seen from Sharkey, all the things he's known that he shouldn't have known, the things he's done that seem impossible, yeah, Justin could almost believe he is psychic - something other than human, even. But this, what is happening now, requires no such explanation. This is just vicious taunting, sheer cruelty. It is obvious what Sharkey has done, and he knows it. "You want me to change my mind, is that it?" Justin demands. "You want me to stay here - you want me to--- to belong to you?" Ramon watches in alarm. Sharkey shakes his head lightly, setting down his drained glass. "I don't want to twist your arm, Justin. I'd hoped long ago you'd make the right choice. But you didn't." Justin's mouth hangs open. He runs his hands desperately through his hair, over and over. He must look fucking crazy, he thinks. "What if I --- fuck, oh fuck... what if I change my mind? What If I agree to stay here with you? Will you stop doing this to me? Oh, man... will you stop torturing me? I'll do whatever you want... please, I can't take this..." "Oh Justin" says Sharkey, "What's the point of that if you feel you've been coerced? What kind of monster do you take me for?" Justin's jaw sets, his eyes looking bloodshot. "I get it, all right? I get it." Acid pours into his voice, "I was stupid, I should have said yes, okay, right, I get it. You want me to beg, Mr Sharkey, because that's what I'll do? Please man, please please please can I come here and be yours?" "Hmm" Sharkey says. "You don't completely sound like you mean it. I don't know, I hear a note of insincerity." Justin sinks to his knees again, right in front of Sharkey now. "Please, please Mr Sharkey. I can't take this, okay? I thought I'd made the right choice, but I was wrong... I... I'll be yours, Mr Sharkey. I'll be yours just like this guy is..." He gestures towards an unamused Ramon. He remembers what he's heard Ramon call Sharkey, on his previous visits here. "... I'll be yours. Please. Please... master." Sharkey looks down at Justin, savors this moment of getting what he wants, but not the way he wanted it. It's a moment of regret as much as gratification. "Sunshine, if only things hadn't turned out differently. I truly wish they had..." "It's n-not too late" a broken Justin offers, reaching his arms around Sharkey's legs, strong like struts, and kissing at Sharkey's flies: "I know you want me... I know you do, and I can please you... I'll obey you master, I see your power now, I'll be yours... I shouldn't have struggled against you, but I'll be good, master... I'll be good ... please - j-just be kind to me, stop being cruel... I'll love you, Mr Sharkey..." He kisses at Sharkey's growing erection through denim. "See..." he says between kisses, "I can please you..." Not too late. Not too late to be with Rob again. And to explore this strange attraction-repulsion he feels for Ramon. And Sharkey will have him play with other guys, like that rentboy. Maybe with guys like Jesse Shane. Maybe other fit guys in their prime, like Rob... He unbuckles Sharkey's flies. He sucks on the guy's balls, licks the underside of his big cock and lets it rest on his forehead before taking the head into his mouth, and soon the rest of it. My master's cock, he thinks. And he realises this is what he needed all along - to have the element of choice taken away, to stop feeling obliged to maintain his pride. If the only way to stop Sharkey destroying his life it to submit to him totally... then finally he can give in; he can have what he wants without admitting it's what he wants. All that cocking, all that heat and man-sex. He can revel in it without guilt. And he can learn to love Sharkey, perhaps... at the very least to worship him, this capricious creature who can take care of him, if he pleases and obeys him enough. Justin Benchley sucks on Zac Sharkey's cock, accepting that he is now this man's slave. That this is where it was always headed. Sharkey's hands squeeze around Justin's head when the cum pours down his throat. Then he steps out of his jeans, takes off his tee shirt. "Come on then, sunshine," Sharkey says, still not quite confirming that he has accepted Justin's change of mind, "Take your clothes off. Come on, join me and Ramon over here in the bedroom." Ramon perks up when called into action. He is perversely less jealous of sharing Sharkey sexually than he is of sharing his master's affections. It's why he's looking forward to seeing Sharkey taking on Jordon Lunar in the boxing ring, a spectacle his master has promised for later this week. And though he does not enjoy the notion that Sharkey might take up Justin's offer to live here as his obedient lover, Ramon is relishing the way Sharkey has worn this young man down into obedience. He adores seeing his master exercise his power. Adores it, even as he senses some odd reluctance to do so. "You need to give my sweetheart Ramon a try of that cocksucking mouth of yours, Justin. How fuckin' expert you've become since we started our arrangement, huh? Come on, lay on the bed." Justin does as he is told, discovering how easy that is to do. How right it feels to obey. His struggle has been stupid, vain. All that pointless money he couldn't even use anyway. He lays on his back, head dangling off the edge of the bed. Opens his mouth and takes Ramon's cock. New cock, enjoyed - yeah, that's right Justin, admit it, enjoyed - in a new way. That lazy bitch Beth, who hasn't so much as raised a finger to help gather together the money for their wedding, or for a deposit. Waiting for some wedding gift of cash from her dad, whose exact sum the old man has always been evasive about. Sharkey's hands massage Justin's torso as Justin sucks on Ramon Reis's cock. Ramon's hands are clutching at Justin's hair - "oh, this feels good master, I can't believe this slut boy resisted you for so long" - while Sharkey fondles Justin's pectorals and his waist, and the mounds of his shoulders. Sharkey's hands roam Justin's body like they're trying to memorise every detail. Justin gags on saliva that finds its way to the back of his nose. There's no respite from Ramon's thrusting cock, so he deals with it. "That's it, Ramon, feels nice doesn't it, sunshine?" That's me, Justin thinks. Sunshine; that's me, not him. He splutters when Ramon's cock head fills his mouth with thick, creamy cum, pulling out even while it's doing so and dripping jizz down into his nose and eyes. A convulsing Justin sits up to get his breath as he coughs, and to wipe the blobs of cum from his eyes, blow them from his nose. Sharkey kisses him deeply, through saliva and through Ramon's slick jizz. As he pulls away, Justin looks pleadingly into Sharkey's eyes. "Do what you want with me, master. Please, let me be yours." Sharkey's gray eyes give nothing away. Instead he says, "I need to fuck you now Justin. Turn over." Sharkey's cock has stayed erect since he came into Justin's thoat. Now, he rubs it up and down between Justin' beautiful ass cheeks as he continues to massage Justin's nicely developed shoulders and feel at the backs of his arms. He pierces Justin's butthole, pumping his cock into him in huge, deep thrusts as if in rhythm with some distant tribal drumbeat. Pounding, pounding, pounding. Sharkey growls in short bursts, staring into nowhere like this is a ritual, like he's invoking some terrible force or sealing a deal with a god. Like this bed is an altar, and Justin is- He gathers Justin's body against his, arms tight around his chest. Justin gasps out: "Ooohhhhhhhhyeaaahhhhh... take me, master, make me yours......" Then he cums up inside Justin, drawing the boy painfully close to him as he squeezes his arms around his chest and holds him tight, firing every last bolt of his cum as deep inside him as he possibly can. Oh fuck, he bucks and thrusts ... more and more and fuckyeah more cum ... every single solitary drop of it must go inside the boy, you know it must. Justin's upper back is squeezed tight against Sharkey's huge tough pectorals, there's almost a squeaking of sweat, and a panting, ragged wheeze of breath leaves the perfect youth's throat as his eyes close and his head tips back. "Fuck ..." he breathes softly ... "... fuck, that's good ..." As he feels the last convulsive jizzy throbs rake through his torso, a snarling Sharkey growls a series of long, deep, feral breaths. He feels fulfilment course warmly through him at the boy's admission of how good this is, how right. Yes, it's good, the boy must be as satisfied by Sharkey's penetration of him as Sharkey himself by the plundering of his body. Justin Benchley must welcome his lover's cock as much as Sharkey welcomes this piece of young, fit male beauty to bury it into and own. A perfect ending. The hot, electric post-coital breaths and shudders die away, and at their very last, Sharkey slowly releases his grip on the lad, who still pants heavily and whose eyes are still half-closed. "So beautiful" Sharkey says quietly, sincerely. Ramon watches, jealousy written all over his face, the only thing that can make it ugly. And as Sharkey takes his right arm away, all in the same slow, deliberate movement, he reaches out for a bedside drawer, takes something out. His other arm just begins to let go of Justin's taut chest. Justin's hands rest on his thighs and his back bends forward a little. He is about to go onto all fours, or perhaps lay flat on his front for a moment or two to recover himself. But there is nothing accidental about Sharkey's slow, casual-seeming release of Justin's body. He keeps a definite hold on it for just long enough. Just long enough for the other arm to return, with something in his palm. And as he slaps the handkerchief, coated in chloroform, firmly, with a thudding slap against Justin Benchley's mouth and squashes it over his nostrils, Sharkey's left arm bunches firmly with muscle and coils tight as snake around his victim's neck. "Mmmm.... mmmmm..." Sharkey rumbles with what could be satisfaction as he feels the boy's useless, panicked moments of struggle. Sharkey doesn't grin - his flush of vengeful gratification goes deeper than that. He might be savoring the finest cigar as he squashes up the boy's pretty face in his big hand, as he feels Justin's throat gulp in the crook of his elbow. Ramon's eyes widen with a curious glinting greed. Scared but wanting to see more. "Mmmmmmmm...." Sharkey groans once more as Justin Benchley shudders, all too quickly goes limp in his grip. Then he lets go, and Justin does fall forward to lie flat on his face on the bed. Have you noticed how erotically perfect it is, the shape of his hair at the back of his head, where it tapers down short of the vertebrae. Sharkey puts his clumsy tool aside. He doesn't even look at Ramon. Instead he studies Justin's shoulders and arms. One of his best features, those arms, Sharkey has always thought. The arc of his triceps that mirror the curve of the biceps at the front, making them so close to perfect. Yes, those lovely arms, striking because they are just - just - that bit bigger than seems necessary for his frame. Yes, he looks at the unconscious young fool like an exhibit in an art gallery. Then he reaches out tenderly to stroke the backs of the limp arms with his fingertips, feeling their meaty bulk, and the point where the skin is at its softest. Ah yes, these arms - and these shoulders that he strokes now in his cupped palms. He will remember these. More purposefully and practically, he grips the beloved arms and turns his boy around on the bed so that he lies on his back. Justin Benchley sleeps innocently, like a baby. So perfect. Sharkey cranes forward to softly kiss Justin on his pink lips, the upper one more naturally puckered than the lower. He speaks as he takes his face away, but his mouth stays so close to Justin's that the little dreamboat would feel the heat of his vanquisher's breath were he not so out of it. "Ramon," he says, though he is still gazing at the felled boy's face, "I think you should give Justin here a kiss too. Or should I say a kiss goodbye. He doesn't know it, but our cute little boy next door has done you one very big favour. The biggest, really." Not just because he is fascinated and enthralled by this development, but because he is also so very obedient to his master, Ramon does indeed climb over. Sharkey only glances at him as if to say go ahead, and Ramon leans over to kiss the sexy, succulent young man. Ramon's long dark hair nestles among Justin's loose gold-brown curls as he does so. Sharkey watches his playthings. "It was never going to be a simple swap, you see," he says suddenly, but still with an air of talking to himself rather than Ramon. "Bertoldt wouldn't have countenanced all the disruption of replacing you with your brother just to end up simply with one beaten down faggot instead of another - and not even the choicest one. "I had to make him an offer worth listening to." Ramon seems to cringe, became arched and catlike, but a malicious smile is playing about his cocksucking lips. Sharkey goes on: "So I thought on my feet a bit and came up with... Justin." Yes, Justin. The boy who had rejected Sharkey's kindness - his love - yet lingered on in his life like a puzzle waiting to be solved. "I showed Bertoldt the pictures and video I had of him on my phone. He went right for it. What's not to like. A delicious two for one deal, your dickface brother Luis and my sweet, golden American boy. Two perfect young men for him to plunder and pick clean. His magpie instincts couldn't resist." Ramon seems to swell with something. Blood, love. Cruelty, maybe. He seems radiant suddenly. "You're going to give him," - he gestures at Justin - "to Mr Bertoldt. You were... always going to give him to Mr Bertoldt." Sharkey nods. "You've got it one, babe. Well, ever since that first night we got together, and I found out what Alexander had in store for you. I had to give him away so I could keep you. Because there was no fucking way I wasn't keeping you. No way." Ramon lunges at Sharkey to kiss him passionately, and Sharkey roughly runs his fingers through Ramon's hair as their erect cocks rub against each other. Sharkey and Ramon: here is a pairing that exists at a high price. "You..." Ramon starts speaking heedlessly, out of genuine curiosity. "You had Jordon here, master..." Yes, Jordon, who he keeps here like a trapped animal, and will soon enough sell on for a pittance to the son of that old criminal guy. It seems a reasonable question: why didn't he, that morning at Alexander's house, offer him to that pernicious old insect of a business associate, that man Bertoldt? Him, or perhaps some other guy? Sharkey's reach must extend to more men than just that airhead surfer. Ramon doesn't even know about the existence of Daniel Pilce yet, not in this scene. If he did, Sharkey's offering of Justin to Bertoldt would seem all the more strang, his question even more pertinent. But Sharkey doesn't answer the question, which hangs in the air despite dying unformed on Ramon's lips. Why Justin? He understands what Ramon is getting at, has no intention of answering. "You wait here, babe," he tells his boy, his beautiful little princess of a boy. And Ramon watches in delight as his powerful master takes away that stupid kid who it turns out will not intrude on their lives here after all. This guy Ramon was starting to become jealous of turns out to have been the key to his freedom. His wicked smile does not fade, not right now. It will be a while from this moment before the implications of tonight sink fully into Ramon's head. But eventually he will realise what he is not yet willing to see - that Sharkey once adored Justin Benchley just as he now adores him. That he cannot ever let his master feel displeased or disillusioned with him. This is why, weeks from now, something Cooper says to him in a moment of pique will hit home. But that's something you've seen already. --------------- And so finally. Zac Sharkey carries Justin Benchley in his arms, walking slowly through his cold and sterile house. More than once, in the stark half-light, he has to stop and savor the byways and rivulets of this new, exalted feeling of arousal that is is unfolding in him. He stops in front of a mirrored wall to contemplate this moment. He sees himself, a big and muscular middle aged man, fit and well-preserved, a predator carved out of iron and granite. He sees the beautiful athletic youth he carries in his arms, sees it and feels the satisfying bunching of his own biceps, the purposeful firming up of his whole body as all of its musculature deftly holds the lustrous boy aloft. Both are naked, the man and his boy. It's just minutes after cumming, and for the second time tonight, but Sharkey's mighty cock could not be bigger and harder than it is right now, rubbing against the arse of this young man he has already filled with his seed. Why should it be that this is one of the most thrilling, erotic moments of the man's life? Why should he feel so satisfied - so powerful, so much a man - as he crushes something so full of promise, so unable to fight back? Something he wanted to love. He studies in the mirror the slenderness of the boy's leg as it tapers to his ankle. His delicate dangling feet. Justin Benchley will never see the wedding he undertook this bargain to help pay for. He has surrendered his body time and time again to Sharkey's desire, all in vain. Sharkey has taken what he wanted, and the stupid boy will not be repaid. Because, oh and this is why, to be fucked by his true owner should be repayment enough. Deep down in a burning nest of hatred at the root of his mind, Sharkey vehemently, totally, believes this. And now he has taken what he craved from the boy, and the boy, after it all, has nothing. Is nothing. Yes, this is what a man desires - spectacular power, and the ability to wield it so very casually. Sharkey's body is trembling. There is an ooze of trickly cum from the head of his rigid log of a cock. Oh man, he is orgasming again, without even touching himself. He made the original decision to hand over Justin on the spur of the moment, as a practical matter. As he has waited for the collection day, though, he has become more and more satisfied with his choice, and its rightness. He has looked forward to this moment. Something else. Something that comes to him as he looks down Justin's pulsing, prone neck. Sees its bareness. And thinks of the collar. The wiry thin necklace that brings all his slaves under his control. Sharkey never got Justin into the collar. Yes, perhaps he should have done so after all. There was some itch that was never scratched there. Perhaps if he had taken the boy in hand earlier, been less blinded by sentiment and the treacherous affections that only served to make a fool of him? Yes, perhaps a whipping, perhaps a night in the stocks being fucked by Rob or Gregory. Sharkey realises he should have taught him some obedience, something of who his master really was. Should have shown him that the favor of Zac Sharkey is not something to be lightly shunned. The memory of that day lingers. Justin's refusal in the forest. This vain, arrrogant young fool thought he could reject Zac Sharkey? Well, now he must pay the price. Justin's strong twenty year-old body in the prime of its life will very soon be wiped progressively from the face of this Earth - never to make love to his intended wife, never to sire children - unless by chance his cum, too, is stored away by the strange parsimonious Bertoldt as a commodity - never again to dazzle or be lusted after. But look as Sharkey strides on with his bonus offering to Bertoldt. Click the multi-angle button and watch the villain's appearance morph between that of Sharkey and that of Shackley. See the boy become Jared Shaden, then Justin Benchley, then back and forth again. Rob Garrett watches from a doorway in the darkness. He's just come back from burning all the money retrieved from the Benchley house. Just burning it away to ash. Sharkey's orders, he doesn't question them. He shouldn't question this, really. So he shrugs, turns away. As Sharkey steps outside, he discovers his timing is perfect, the unlikely, neat perfection of timing in a movie. The copter sent by Bertoldt is just arriving on the helipad. A familiar musical note adds a sense of inevitability. "There's still a life owed, then" said Mortimus Cardinal, to this same cue. Uncaring of his nakedness, proud in fact of his huge and engorged cock, and the glorious boy prize he presents, Sharkey strides over with his little sleeping beauty and hands him over to the goon who steps out from the back. "Mr Sharkey?" asks the man. "Yes," Sharkey answers simply, bemused by the pointlesness of the question. The guy looks at Justin as he gathers him in his arms. "Whoah. Kinda sexy, ain't he. I don't blame you for that fuckin' boner, man." "Oh. Good" says Sharkey, but the guy misses the sarcasm. The meathead lugs him off. "Yeah," he says as he goes, "I can think of a couple a ways to make this trip pass quicker..." Sharkey doesn't stay to watch the departure of the goods, heading back in and closing the doors. Simple as taking out the trash. Justin Benchley, you have given it all up to me, you have been consumed. And now away into the dark you go as I bask in the afterglow of what I have done to you, and am worshipped by my adoring young cunt Ramon. And inside Sharkey goes. But the camera hangs back. We remain outside. With a slow tracking shot, we recoil. Finally the camera settles on the delicately rippling black waters of the swimming pool. And we observe that, though the reflected lights of the departing helicopter make shimmering threads on the shifting surface, not the faintest glimmer of a perfect summer's day can be seen. :NIGHT -------- Next: An intermission, and bonus features.