Date: Mon, 11 Oct 2010 16:45:27 +0100 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-3 To look at the cover image of Revenge on Roman, you'd think it was just another action-hero movie, wouldn't you? A whim of mine, that. It was part of why I founded the library, and indeed my empire. How tired and frustrated I was from an early age, from the earliest stirrings of my libido, that you could look upon an image such as this - Roman with his big guns and his moody, determined manly pout - and know right away the entire trajectory of the movie it sells. It's always taken for granted that we're on side with the hunky hero, that we're punching the air in delight as we see his adventures unfold and his ultimate, inevitable defeat of the the sly foes who try to topple him. That his victory is an re-assertion of the natural order, and all is well with the world as he heads off into the sunset with a tacked-on love interest hanging off his arm. Not me. I longed, just once, to see the hot, virile hero brought down by his wily foes. As the desire of men for other men is routinely deemed not to exist in these pictures, the only close physical contact between them is violence. I think that's why in the fleeting moments when the bad guys have our hero helpless in their grasp, I could always feel the tinglings of a boner. It's why the notion of Kryptonite still turns me on. You take it where you can get it. I had a vision of the forbidden indulgence of seeing the leading man plucked from his cocksure lifestyle, and from his freedom and strength, and watching him ground down degraded for the erotic pleasure of the villains. No happy ending for our hero, just the crushing acceptance of his fate. How vividly I imagined the delight of being the one to own the high-kicking, football-captain, guitar-playing stud, to break him to my will and keep him as my sex toy. My idea of a happy ending, a great final shot for a movie, would have been our young stud on his hands and knees, licking jizz off the floor in a puddle of piss. Let the credits roll over that. Let the bastard get what's really coming to him. Oops, sorry to spoil the ending. Unpause And so now, having worked us up with the loving attentions of his mouth to our feet, having teased us - and not just this evening - with the contours of his strong superhero-like body - ... Roman Decker can also be seen in the lead role in BlueShark Video's The Mighty Sun Surfer ... - our hot piece of ass is now getting the almighty cocking that he deserves. A bod like his cries out to be plundered for all the pleasure it can yield, and no red-blooded man could resist the aching urge to dominate this titan. A couple more whiffs of the poppers, and I release him from the cuffs, which are now becoming an inconvenience to me. His arms fall limply for a moment and then reach out to grab the edges of the sofa for support. He needs something to cling on to, for sure. Maitland Storr has his hands tight around Roman's head as he porks the fucker's mouth with slow, long thrusts, like he's trying to make up for about fifteen years of missed blow jobs and deep throating. Finally, for the first time, he gets to drive his engorged member way the fuck into the throat this selfish dipshit has withheld from him all the years of their 'friendship'. "Uhhhh... oh man ... oh man, that's it, boy, gulp it down deep," he grunts as he convulses in waves of pleasure. "Oh yeah, does that feel as right for you as it does for me? Oh man, sure it fuckin' does ... the master and his slave, what could feel more ..." - a hard thrust - "... right! Took you a fuckin' long time to learn your place, huh, boy?" His word are accompanied only by the strained gagging of his new cocksucker. "I mean, all these fucking years, I've known for a goddamn fact that I am rightfully your master. Ever since we used to go sailing together, ever since we used to go out together so you could look for chicks when all I really wanted was to get you and your fucking muscley pussy all to myself. I've known you belong to me all along, bitch. So how come it's taken you so long to realise it? Fuckin' dickhead. Oh yeah, man, fucking take it! Yeah!" And I'm holding tightly onto his armpits as I grind my way into his arse, which is tight and hot and smooth inside, but still resisting, and there's a heavy pounding throb that could be my cock, or his heartbeat, or both, and I survey the sweat-sheened expanse of his back, which is one of the sexiest backs I have ever seen, and I glory in having it for myself. Fast forward. Roman Decker's bleary eyes - which are vaguely feline at the edges, I now notice - widen. He's feels the hot, luxuriously long spurts of Maitland's cum shooting right into his throat. He is a vessel for our copious jizz, and that's just the beginning. It'll take a lot of jizz to flood the insides of a man like this, but I think we're up to the challenge. Maitland is panting in delight as his orgasm tears through him long and hard. "Lick it up, faggot," he's growling between deep, short breaths, "Don't ... let ... a drop spill ... get a taste of it." Panting even harder to catch his breath after the huge throbbing cock slides wetly out of his throat, this guy who looks like a macho underwear model puts his tongue to the fat bell end that is now in front of his face and licks at the spilling streams of creamy semen that ooze from the still spewing piss slit. As the stud's tongue services the cock that is now his reason for being, his master's head tips back in fresh ecstasy and he yells out: "Oh MAN! OH JESUS! FUCKfuckfuck ..." And he reaches out and grabs at Roman's head, wrapping his arms tight around it and pressing his boner flat against the hated sexy face, squashing the snubby nose and pressing the head against Roman's forehead as fresh volleys of his seed come shooting out, splashing over the top of the slave's muddy blonde hair. The orgasm that seemed to have reached its peak becomes shatteringly powerful, and Maitland's back is arched and the muscles in his arms bunched, his teeth gritted as he smothers the cunt's face tight against his raging dick and abdomen. He roars and roars ... Then, finally, as he shudders again and again, his climax dies slowly away, and he comes to to feel Roman's head being shoved repeatedly against him, by me, as I plough vigorously into the slut's arse. Maitland laughs as he takes in the sight. Then he shoves Roman off him roughly and I have the hunk suddenly to myself. The guys are standing around watching, we're all of us stripped off now, and I catch sight of Gregory rubbing away at his angry-looking red cock as he gazes at this sight. "Hey guys, keep his legs nice and spread," I instruct and they take an ankle each to do so. I get fully on top of him now, my stomach against his back, my arms squeezing beneath him so I can have his whole meaty torso wrapped in them. My head lies against his, and I watch his handsome face up close, its every reaction as I pummel his prostate. I'm buried in the beefy he-man now, and it feels fucking great. I lick impulsively at his stubble and his ear, treating him like the irresistible piece of meat he is. Oh man, skip on to the sequels and you'll know this becomes one of my favourite positions in which to plough into him. My face hovers inches from his and I can study his every reaction to the huge cock tearing wide his hole and smashing against his prostate - every flicker of pain and surprise, and the unexpected, unwilling spasms of pleasure. His shame, his deep manly shame at being used so by another man. How familiar I become with the chiselled line of his jaw, and the rugged cleft in his chin, and the strangely vulnerable snubby nose. His suffering facial features, up close, out of the context of the square-jawed sturdy frame of his head, are beautiful in a surprising, almost delicate way. Close-up on his face. Mine in the corner of the shot, in profile, on top of him, pradtory, endlessly savouring what I see. Over the course of his career as my slave - yes, he belongs to Maitland too, but I didn't facilitate this out of the goodness of my heart, the deal is always in my favour - I'll look again again on his face like this as I fuck him, drinking in the creases at the edges of his eyes, and the coarse growth of his stubble, and the lines of his cheekbones and the patterns of his pores, and his three small moles. I savour this priveleged view of the changes in his face over time, revelling in owning and enjoying every fresh moment of his life and the development of his body. This man exists for me, in my private cinema of sexual tyranny. Not for the world outside, not for the glances of others. And not for the women he would bed were he free from my rule. His healthy, bulky cock and bollocks are worthless now except as ornament. His is a conservative middle-American kind of sexiness. You could imagine him on a horse, at the wheel of his sports car, or at a blue collar bar. Not at a rock gig, not with a cool haircut. Holding on to that jaw as I fuck him, sometimes squashing my hand over his mouth, sometimes giving him two fingers to suck on. Sometimes I'll wrap my arm around his neck in a satisfying choke hold. Man, it is fucking awesome to own a guy like this. More than that, it is fulfilling. An illustration of my burning desire to dominate - here, on night one of his breaking-in, the Revenge on Roman video plays idly in the background. As I ram rhythmically into him, I watch the scene we have reached. It shows Roman, speaking to his hot babe love interest in his kitchen. He strides in, exuding confidence, dressed in denim shorts and a neat blue polo shirt. We see his bronzed muscled arms, the sleek veins in the forearms, his neatly formed hands as he reaches out to open the fridge, to swig back from a carton of milk. He chats casually to the girl. One scene, at random. And there is nothing, nothing at all, about this sight that does not inflame my sweet desire to reach out and crush him down. Just to see the man's strong athletic body striding about at liberty offends my certain knowledge that he belongs, rightfully and utterly to me - and that he does so simply because I fucking say he does. Every moment he stands there upright enjoying his freedom and autonomy is an offence against my dominion of him, and I itch to punish him for it. He wears those stylish clothes that are neither selected by me nor worn with my permission, when he should be dressed in no more than the smallest underwear, perhaps with a slave collar. He reaches into that refrigerator for refreshment on a whim, without begging long and hard for it to his rightful master. He talks away his idiot talk, and I want to strap a good ball gag in his mouth. Oh yes, I see the fucker on the screen living free of my rule, and it gives me all the greater a rush to have him where he is now, where he will stay as long as I want him - pressed flat against the goddamn floor, squirming and whimpering as I brutally sodomise him. "Fuck you!" I spit in his ear. "Fuck you, boy!" How is it achieved though, the felling of such a man? Well, there are several cuts of this movie if you don't buy the action scenario. Most of them take us into the complex, more involved area of conspiracy thriller, and gangster movie. There is me with my portion of a vast, underworld empire that lurks like a nest of spiders between the thin, filmy web of everyday life. Sometimes these great spiders catch sight of a fly they simply can't resist, and reach up a monstrous leg - - yes, for I am a monster, a magnificent cunning monster - and take the fly, on a whim. The fly can do nothing about it. The web is inescapable. The only reason for my involvement in this web is to have the power to reach out and take what I want. To pluck a man from his very life and place him beneath my heel. And I think, does his fate appeal to his vanity? Is it the ultimate compliment to his sheer blinding sexiness that men like me want to rape him endlessly? You can pick out the director's cut from the end of the shelf and witness the lengthy and various scenes of coercion if you like. But I think we can pretty much take them for granted. It's only a movie, afer all. Anyway, that face. Me on top of my defeated musclehunk, grinding away into his insides. Guy like this could be on the cover of a men's fitness magazine; instead, he is taking men's cock. And the hired help are always close by, ready to restrain him should the desire to escape flare suddenly back up in him. I fuck and fuck this man toy in sheer, blind aggression so many times a day, and it is rewarding to see the strain in his reddened, fuck-flushed face, to watch his classically handsome looks sometimes become almost wholly wiped out as the facial muscles sag forward against the ground, contorted into an anguished grimace. And yet - and yet - sometimes, after hours of watching up close the reactions of his sweat-soaked, haggard face, of hearing his helpless moans, of filling his guts so copiously with my jizz that I think he must be able to taste it ... just for a moment I will be overcome with a tender feeling for him. Stripped of all his dignity, all his resources, all his will and anything that can allow him to resist me - yes, having effectively slain him, I feel love for this gorgeous, vulnerable creature. It passes. I spurt a fresh rope of cum over his back, tell him to crawl the fuck back into his cage. -- But we're skipping scenes by the truckload here. No patience for narrative development these days. I've left that pivotal scene hanging, where Roman Decker is broken in for the very first time. Unfair of me, since - - rewind - - four men having their way with a trapped prettyboy hunk offers so many possibilities. So ... having pressed him for the first of so many times against the hard floor, my premiere buggery of Roman is rough and angry and over quickly. Keen though I am to see him dripping with the cum of the men he has so thoughtlessly aroused, the thundering urge to unload my blistering volleys of spunk into him are far too great. I rise, having filled the stud with my jizz, and contemplate this massive, well-toned movie star-sexy cum dump of ours. Gregory raises an eyebrow to say 'Me now?', and I nod. Roman, lying on the floor muttering something inaudible through ragged breaths, is turned over onto his back. After a quick discussion, Maitland and Rob sit at either end of the sofa, each taking hold of one of Roman's ankles. His fabulously muscled and almost hairless legs - does the fucker wax them or something? - are thus raised wide apart over his shoulders, easily revealing his stretched, sore red anus that leaks a satisfying stream of my cum into a puddle on the floor. His arms reach out so that his palms press against the floor, already bracing himself, already receptive to our ravaging of him. Maitland strokes the faggot's smooth leg, still revelling in the ownership of this new, longed-for toy. "Aw yeah," Gregory says as he looks down at the prone beefcake, "You fucking love getting real men like us all fucking hot, don't ya? I've gotta admit, son, this is one fuckin awesome scene. I love it when a pussy like you gives it up to his betters." Still standing, he starts feeling around the hole with his toes, he gives Roman's might balls and shapely cock a gentle squashing. Roman's cock has become erect, and just gets harder as it is stroked by the underside of the thug's foot, so thoroughly licked clean by his own saliva. "What's a cunt like you need a big cock like that for?" Gregory asks, shaking his head. Then he pushes his big toe into the open arsehole. "Jesus, all fucking wet with jizz in here." Pulling the toe out, he takes a step forward and plants his foot on Roman's face. "Here. Lick it off." The squirming head of Roman looks for a moment at the sloppy jelly of the cum on Gregory's ugly, hairy toe, and then takes it into his mouth, sucking deeply and swallowing it down. An ungrateful Gregory delivers a glancing kick to side of Roman's jaw as he gracelessly takes his foot away. "Tasty, huh? Yeah, I bet you think it's fuckin' delicious. You got your wish, you'd eat nothing else. Hey, maybe you'll even get your wish." Gregory's taunts to the poor slave are clearly getting the thug harder. He's ready now to dive in. Dropping to the floor, he feels around for the best position to begin with. His hands first rest on the hard slabs of our hottie's pectorals, but then he sinks down and grabbed hold of the hunk's shoulders. "Ah, fuck yeah, that's nice!" he says, giving a good squeeze. He takes a hand away briefly to hold his cock as he guides it into the newly busted-open butthole. "Shit" he exlaims as he gets the head in, then a delighted gurgle as the shaft slides in to the welcoming, tight, cum-slicked tunnel. Gregory fucks gracelessly, shouting enjoyable obscenities at the cunt. He's keen that Roman thanks him for this shafting he's been gagging for - "That's a fucking dream come true for you, ain't it? Does it feels as good as you've been imagining it, you pathetic little pussy? Does it, you fucking dickface piece of shit?" Roman squeaks: "Y-yes. Uhhh... uhhhh... yes... yes ..." "Yes, WHAT?" Gregory demands, grabbing hold of Roman's throat. ".... uhhhh.. uhhhhh..... yes master ..... uhhhh ..." "Fucking right!" Gregory grunts, and gobs a load of spit on his fucktoy's face. "Man, you're lucky these guys want you all in one piece so they fuck your pansy ass some more. Way I feel, I could fucking cock ya til you fucking fall to pieces. Oh man, if I had you to myself, you motherfucking pussy ..." "You don't" I remind him quietly. "Yeah..." Gregory nods, "Yeah..." It's sort of funny to see him have to get back into the etiquette of the situation in the midst of our domination-fuelled orgy. He continues to rut away like an animal at the hot man pussy. As his orgasm rapidly approaches he takes hold of Roman's throat again and squeezes, bumping his head repeatedly against the floor. "Cunt! Cunt! Beg for it, tou fucking up-yourself little piece of shit cocktease faggot!" he spits as he added his own volleys of man juice to what's already pooling in the titan's insides. As he cums, his hand clutches over Roman's face. He's got a gift for pillow talk, Gregory. I'm surprised at the contrast of Rob's approach, which is to take advantage of the restrained body by exploring it all with his mouth. Considering the situation - let's face it, we are four cruel men expressing our hunger for power - he is surprisingly tender. In fact, it makes me question his credentials to be part of our group. He treats Roman to a slick and accomplished foreplay like they are established lovers. He sucks lovingly on Roman's cock in a way I find incomprehensible. Sure, Roman's unwilling moans of pleasure amuse me, but why do something for the pleasure of the slave? Gregory's eyes catch mine. We share the moment of puzzlement. Actually, in Gregory it is more like disgust. Rob fucks Roman as eagerly as we did, though, thrusting long and deep. And he kisses our prey, I mean really kisses him on the mouth, with little response, but no resistance, from the hunk. I think Roman is more alarmed to be treated this way, as if he were a willing lover, than he has been by our abuse of him. he can at least write that off as a torment. Now he's squirming at the pleasure he feels. The bout of tenderness is short-lived. Roman Decker is treated like a piece of meat for the rest of the night. We chain the groggy macho-man cumdump up by the arms and enjoy him at our leisure. There's a particularly hot scene where Maitland fucks him up the ass, reaching around him and pinching and squeezing his tough nipples, while I aim punches into his stomach. Man, we fucking wreck the bastard. At some point in the middle of the night, our balls achingly spent for the evening, we lay him on the floor and have one last crack at jizzing him. We get on our knees around his head, Maitland sitting proudly astride his chest, and I offer eight hundred bucks to the first guy to splat the very last of their cum across his face. There's some frantic, strained jerking off, urgent moans getting louder and angrier as each of us tried to get there first. It is, finally, Maitland who spits out what must be the last of his cum for hours, and it shoots satisfyingly across Roman's eye and up his nose. That energises the rest of us and, rubbing the heads of their cocks around his ears, Rob and Gregory pour some last squirts of jizz into their grooves. I cum into the slave's hair and rub it in to the roots. That done, an insensible Roman is taken down to his new accommodation. For now, I've allotted him a complex of rooms on site. but you won't be surprised to hear that he doesn't exactly have the run of them. I decide not to go easy on him on his first night. It's far more fun to continue to overwhelm him with the invasive physical reality of his new enslavement. My goons help strap him in to one of the dedicated fucking machines. Fittingly, it looks like a porno variation on one of the exercise machines from his gym. He's bent over on his front, arms and legs in restraints at either side of the bench. The adjustable platform with the huge shiny black dildo is operared by a sleek remote control, which I toy with. I align it just right for the penetration of his prone asshole. I stroke a dial and the stirrups whir softly in response, spreading his strong legs, and thus widening access to his hole, all the more. I dismiss the hired help for the night. Tired as they are by now, they remain sorry to leave just before Roman's latest torment begins. "I think I'll leave you two alone now as well," I tell Maitland Storr, handing him the remote control. "Say goodnight, that sort of thing?" Maitland grins, taking the control. "Thanks, man. Thanks for -- fuckin' everything!" It's almost the attitude of a teenager being handed the keys to a cool new sports car. Maitland seems ten years younger, and he's brimming with a bizarrely innocent glee. "Hey, no problem," I say lightly. I leave. Everything in the room is on camera, of course. I'll watch the movie later. Now. Left alone with his captured best buddy, Maitland smirks, let's out a little chuckle as if to say, 'this is some crazy shit, huh?' Except now it is a parody of comraderie, the grotesque reflection of a buddy movie. Maitland is still as naked as his friend, and as he studies him, alone with him for the first time, he becomes fully erect once again. He's totally drained of cum for a good few hours yet, but his cock rages blindly, nonetheless. It's rewardingly sore from the work it has put in this evening. But of course, there is a cock here that can keep going at Roman's asshole indefinitely. Maitland reaches out, holds Roman's cum-crusted head in his arms, hugging it to his cock. "Oh man, it feels so good to have you where I want you at last. If only you'd fucking given yourself up to me way back, huh? Wouldn't have to go through all this." He lets go of Roman's head. "But what I want, I get, Roman. No matter how long it takes. No matter what, you know, deal with the devil I have to make to get it." Roman's neck and head wobble as he struggles to raise them. He put some strain on his neck earlier during the worship of our feet. He opens his mouth to make some last movie-star defiant retort. Except Maitland slaps the palm of his hand viciously over Roman's mouth. "No, no, no, cunt. That mouth of yours ain't for talking. It's for fucking sucking on cock, and for kissing your masters' feet. And you know what else it's for?" One hand still trapping Roman's mouth, he clicks a button on the remote control. The dildo swoops forward on its mechanical neck section like the head of a weird robot. With a thudding squelch sound it bullseyes on its target, shafts itself way into Roman's already well-plundered tunnel. Roman cries out against Maitland's hand, hot breath on his palm, and then the hand is removed, and he is simply crying out. "Damn straight," Maitland agrees, wiping Roman's saliva roughly into his hair. "It's for fucking moaning and crying like the pussy you are. Like the fucking pussy I have made you, you stupid - ", he struggles for words, "... oh man, you fucking sexy bastard. Right where I fucking want you." Maitland takes several deep breaths in and out, listening to the sounds from deep inside Roman as he moans and yells, invaded by the relentless robo-dildo. Oh man, this sound is music to Maitland's ears. He wants it on his mp3 player, he wants it for his ringtone. This is the sound of his victory, affirmation of the dominance he has long known he deserves. "Uuuurgghhh...nrrghhhhh...uhhhhhfuck...noooo...noooooooo...hhhh...eeeurhh..." Roman gurgles and wheezes. "Fuck, yeah," Maitland corrects. He holds up the thin, sleek remote. "This thing's got all kinds of settings you'll be getting to know over the coming weeks. Months. Years. It can fuck you at all kinds of different tempos - it can be lazy, it can be like a jakchammer. It can fuck you at different depths. Go way the fuck in and way the fuck out. Side to side, up and down, rotating. A little electrode sting now and then to keep things fresh." Roman's eyes look up imploringly as he strains, sobs. "Puh ... please..." he whimpers. "I'm going to set it on shuffle, I think," Maitland decides. "Leave you with that for the night, huh boy? It incorporates pause periods, so you might even get the occasional little break for a nap. Cool, huh? Maybe you can dream about when you were a big man, huh, stud?" He clicks the button with unnecessary force, drops the remote on the table. It's a tantalising few feet from Roman, impossible for him to reach. "Later, bitch." Maitland switches the lights off as he leaves, standing in the doorway a little while to take it in. Then he leaves Roman Decker howling like a trapped animal in the dark. He secures a series of heavy doors with his blue key as he goes. He'll be back as soon as possible tomorrow for more. --- As the credits roll on Roman's humiliation, I'm heading upstairs to sort through the fallen hunk's stuff. See, as we left his house earlier, I'd picked up some of his things that were lying by the door. Wallet, a small stack of recent mail, his cellphone. With a few details from this clutter, I have associates who can fabricate a plausible reason for his disappearance from the world. Roaming the lounge, where the spunky, sweaty smell of the evening begins to dissipate thanks to an efficient AC, I rummage through his phone memory. Loads of texts to and from girls on here. Always calling them babe. Some of them pretty explicit. Here's one to a Monique where he says he's horny for some anal. I chuckle. Got his wish there, then. Kind of. Camera phone, so a few pictures are stored here too. Several of women in and out of their underwear. A lot more of himself, and taken by himself, in and out of his own underwear. I may blow some of these up, frame them in his rooms as spiteful reminders of his vanity. His wallet is stuffed with cards, photos and a few notes. Not a lot of money, but I decide to go out to an all-night store and buy a soda or something. It's a little perk of taking ownership of a man. If he had his freedom, he could spend this sixty dollars. But he doesn't, so it's mine. That's pleasing. I drive along the moonlit coast with the top down. It's a gorgeous night, and I'm feeling pretty damn pleased with myself. I remember Roman wearing a nice leather jacket the day he foolishly tried to confront us with his gang. I wonder whether or not to go back to his house and get it. It'd look great on me. Now, the thing about a hit movie - and it sure hit the spot with me - is that it makes a sequel almost inevitable. When I get to the store, I pace the aisles slowly, and have a leisurely rifle through the beefy whore's wallet. There's a few things in there that'll come in handy for counterfeiting his fate, not much more of any interest. Until. Until I find a folded-up photograph of himself and some guy, standing at a barbecue on a sunny day. Snippets of other people in the background, having a good time. Roman is his usual sexy self; the same horny stud it is such a pleasure to know is right now being fucked rotten, relentlessly, into the early morning light. He wears a tight white vest that leaves nothing to the imagination. The other guy, though, his torso is bare, and though he's a little shorter, and more than a decade younger - say, about twenty - he is as buff and ripped and irresistible as Roman himself. His features are darker, his hair black, and his green eyes paler - but there's a family resemblance there for sure. I slip the photograph into my own pocket, curiosity piqued ... /Mr Suave slips the photograph into his own pocket, curiosity piqued. After leaving the store, he does the kind of thing that only people in movies do, which is to stop in their tracks, nod their head thoughtfully, and then walk on. He drives off as the sun begins to rise over Hawaii. Credits scroll lengthily, accompanied by another dose of softcore rock. I fast forward. There's something of interest for you here, after the credits are done. It's a trailer. An old, yellowed trailer for the soon-to-be released (now in fact long-deleted) follow-up movie, Decker's Destiny. We start with a montage of New York scenes and a voiceover: "When I was growing up," a voice informs us, "The best guy in the world to me was my uncle, Roman..." We see that same young guy from the photograph, with his dark features and his pale eyes, and his hard muscles you want to reach out and squeeze. He gets out of his bed in a pair of shorts, he rides the subway in a scruffy tight-fitting T-shirt. He scrubs dishes in a diner. "He got me into sport, he got me working out ..." We see this guy in the gym, pumping iron. In the park, playing basketball. He stopped me from being one of those wussy kids who got beat up ..." We see Dillon Decker, for that is his name, defend his girl's honour in a fight in a bar. "Most of all, he gave me confidence." A close-up of Dillon's sultry, moody face. We pull slowly out to see a make-up lady fussing over him, lights blanching him, a guy taking his picture over and over as he poses in tighty whities, his torso glistening, his ass fucking spectacular. "If it wasn't for him, I would probably never have had it in me to quit my job at the diner. Now, can you believe it, I make my money from modelling full-time..." As he poses, you notice he's one of those guys who's paid so much attention to his upper body that his legs look strangely thin and slender. It doesn't make him any the less attractive, maybe even more so, but it's one difference between him and his uncle. "And the perks," his voiceover continues. We see him, shirtless again, in a bedroom. If you believe this trailer, he barely wears a shirt at all through the entire movie. He's with a girl, unhooking her scarlet bra. We see it falling away from her elegant bare back, but we don't get a view of the front. Just Dillon Decker's cocky smile on his punchably handsome face. "... the perks are spectacular." New York fades. Ominous bass drums and percussion. We see Hawaii. "My uncle was my hero. He lived his life the way he wanted to. He had his share of adventures." Clips of Roman's escapade, some of them from Revenge on Roman, some of them new material. A chase on jetskis. Pulling an unconvincing prop shark from the water. A fistfight with swarthy pirates, for some reason in league with Russian spies. "And he had a way with the ladies. Hah! I guess that runs in the family!" Dillon kissing his salty New York girlfriend goodbye. Next, simple as that, stepping onto a jetty in Hawaii, shot heroically from below. Wearing shades. Holding implausibly small luggage. "But then I stopped hearing from uncle Roman. Totally. And I'm here to find out why!" But not before some gratuitous shots of him playing beach volleyball in speedos, thankfully. And riding in a speedboat with new friend and allies, that supple, muscular body of his soaking up the sun. Then, Dillon stepping in to his uncle's gym (you'd think that would have been the first place he tried. Presumably the trailer takes things out of sequence). He finds the place under new ownership. He's told by the manager, recognisable as the thug Gregory, that Roman Decker sold the premises to a new owner and left town. Unsatisfied, Dillon leaves, and Gregory stares menacingly after him. "I knew they were lying. And that meant they knew the truth about what really happened to my uncle." We see Dillon standing before a mirror. Christ, his body is hot. He's making a silent vow to himself, one which we can nonetheless hear. Close-up on his gorgeous face. His square jaw is set grimly. Pale green eyes piercing. "I'm not leaving town until I find Roman Decker. And God help anyone who gets in my way." Fade to black. An inexplicable electronic code, then a fuzzy video snowstorm. I switch off the tape. Sadly, as I say, Decker's Destiny is a now-deleted title, and difficult to track down. Tantalising, isn't it. Anyway, it's getting late. There'll be time for the other video in the double set tomorrow. You go to bed now. I'll have someone show you up to one of the guest suites. As you go off to sleep, your mind will probably start to wander. That last little tease of a trailer. The image of that hard-bodied New York model boy, the callow cadence of his voice. You can't watch a copy of Decker's Destiny, but I bet you can imagine the movie if you really try. Think of that sexy, muscular, young guy we've just seen all too little of in a fleeting coming attraction. Think of him crossing my path in his desperate hunt for his hero uncle. Think of my lust to have Roman Decker in my power, to own his life completely. Now, think of this little beefcake nephew of his. Think of this underwear-modelling stud making his arrogant stand for his uncle. I set my trap for Roman in his ripe mid-thirties. But think what someone as cruel and greedy as me might do a strong, blossoming young man, one with so much more of his life awaiting him. Think of what I'd do with Dillon Decker. Think of what you would do with him. Oh, and think of his uncle helplessly watching it. Decker's Destiny is difficult to track down. You'll find it in the hands of private collectors. That's where you'll find him too.