Date: Mon, 8 Nov 2010 20:26:35 +0000 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-5 Onto the menu screen to choose the next chapter of Release of Ramon. The format is edgier now, a lot of clumsy handheld stuff with a stoned rhythm and a home movie, fly-on-the-wall feel. Minimal credits. We watch scenes of a party unfold. Laughter and clinking of glasses. A fug of cigar smoke. This was at a get-together in South America of one wing of the enterprise with a bunch of invited guests. We were discussing business for much of the afternoon, I remember, and began to loosen up and spread out onto the poolside as evening arrived. Mr Alexander, the host, had a selection of our stars and dependents working around the palatial house, serving drinks and generally brightening the place up as only beautiful boys can. As you'll see from the cross-cutting, I was unable to take my eyes off this slender, bronze-skinned little honey with his langorously curled mop of rich dark hair down to his shoulders. Ramon wanders around in only those tiny black panties and a bow tie as he glides about the place tidying up our mess, smiling coyly in a well practiced move at the assembled men. Did you see that teasing little flutter of his long girlish eyelashes as he glimpsed over in my direction? He saved that one for me. I stared at him long and hard and greedily every time he refilled my drink, making sure he knew exactly what was coming later, that I'd made my reservation already. Trivia: This movie very nearly starred Luis Reis, Ramon's slighty bulkier older brother with the delicious dash of rich black stubble and weirdly compelling gap between his fron teeth. It's the first time I've set eyes on these servile siblings - new recuits since the last time I was here - but I pick up on their relationship as Alexander's repeatedly instructs him 'tell your brother...' Luis can also be seen in the back of shot, also in his skimpies and bow tie, also serving us, his hair slicked and scraped sharply back, in contrast with Ramon. The demeanour of this elder one was was sullen that day, and whereas sometimes that tempts me, makes me want to find out just how much more petulant he can become while being ridden hard, Ramon nabbed my attention more with his persistent, knowing teasing. Slow-mo this scene. He flutters his lashes, and flicks his hair, and turns his butt slowly around in my eyeline, as he takes my ash tray away. It's like a subdued, furtive lapdance. Here's the gratuitous close-up of his turning, orbiting ass, it's buoyant, perfect curve wrapped flimsily in black. Throughout the day, as the discussions and arguments of the guys drag on, I'm increasingly tempted to reach out as he passes by and give it a little pat, but decide to withhold that pleasure for later, and soon I'm teasing myself as much as he is teasing me, by refusing to do what my hands are soon aching for. It will make later more special, my little reward for sticking out the endless renegotiation of our empire. The 'meeting' montage goes on, mercifully brief. As night comes, the various lounges darken and twinkling coloured lights - perhaps artistically arranged for the evening by one of our own little fairies - light up around the place. Finally, a blast of house music begins, and even those who seem to be able to talk nothing but business realise the signal has been given to cut loose and have some fun. More under-dressed serving boys begin to swarm in to offer us a greater selection. Among them, I notice, is the scrawny Ethan Mayes, star of the BlueShark video Tickling the Ivory. Poor little twerp has sadly suffered some particularly bad patches of red sunburn on his usually very pale skin, and he couldn't look more out of place around the luscious Brazilian beauties who make up the vast majority of the help here. The lads preen around him, aware of their greater claim on the men's attentions. I notice Maitland Storr eyeing Ethan with puzzlement verging on irritation. As the night gets into full swing, a bed is wheeled into the centre of one of the crowded lounges, draped in thick purple silk sheets. The DJ starts playing songs from the latest album by the new R&B smash hit artist KrisTiano, and as the top sheet is swept away from the bed, it is revealed that KrisTiano himself is lying there, prone, his caramel-coloured muscular body naked and greased to the most incredible, lacquered shine. KrisTiano - star of BlueShark Video's Make or Break - will do anything to stop the footage getting out showing just how he made it to the top of his game. His self-styled Mr Loverman reputation wouldn't survive even a twenty-second clip of our exploits with him. Ironically, and in a pleasingly closed loop, the more he submits himself to us, the bigger the mountain of footage keeping him in our harem forever. He sucks on a cherry lollipop - a nice touch by Alexander, I'm guessing. That KrisTiano does it so moodily only helps the effect. Tonight, men will fuck him at will while the rest watch, and his slick pop album fades in and out over the speakers. Maybe I'll have a go at him later, but for now I have an itch for that young man, whose name, remember, I haven't yet learned. Prowling the room, I keep my eyes open for him. He's been absent for a long time, but this is a big fucking house and it's possible his attentions are engaged elsewhere. Strangely, given that the young men here are offered out in the manner of canapes to be picked up by whoever's in the mood for a bite, I have a gnawing concern that he might have already been claimed by someone else. I'm getting greedy for him, I realise. Lots of searching PoV shots from which he's absent. His brother is pouring a drink close by, and he is pretty similar. I could take him by the hand and lead him off somewhere. But I realise the level of resemblance just makes me notice the differences more, so I keep looking. I step out by the side of the massive pool and find half those there gathered around watching a race, a little indifferently. Two of my associates have their favoured boys swimming lengths at either side of the pool. The boys are wearing gold collars attached to chains, and the chains are held by their masters as they stroll along the poolside next to them. The heavily, and whitely, whiskered Avery - a true Deep South gent, who was the model for Mr Suave in Revenge on Roman - has a slender blonde boy barely out of his teens at the end of his tether. The stern, headmasterly Bertoldt has an emo-styled Japanese kid. It gives the impression of unusual punishment in a school detention. But no sign of Ramon. I feel now that I'm already searching too intently for this boy. He's just one of many complimentary entertainments laid on by my host. There are any number of other ones here I can have just as easily. I decide not to ask anyone if they know where he went, or indeed what his name is. It wouldn't help my standing amongst my peers to look as eager as I'm starting to feel. Then I spot him. He's nestled in a crowd, way round the side of the house, at the other pool. There are three pools here, in all. He's almost flattened in the red light over there, but at least I've found him. No one seems to be hassling him for sex yet, as far as I can tell. No hands around that waist, no-one touching his face. And even though I'm relieved ... Jesus, what's the matter with these guys? This guy is something special. I begin to hurry over, but soon realise there's no direct route between this pool and the other one. There is in fact a small cliffside abyss between the two, and I have to double back on myself and head back inside to reach my target via the inside of the house. I just hope the little beauty stays put. Back in the lounge, I see KrisTiano is already getting a good porking from one of the guests. With suitable irony his song Gonna Make Love 2U is playing. "Nice production, fuckface," I commend him as I stride by, playfully patting his stubbled cheek. Back past the gap-toothed older brother. What a tease that this one keeps getting in my way, with his sullen face. I continue on through several similar rooms, sneaking down the plush deserted hallways where I can. Across a dancefloor that's alive with lights and music but for now completely deserted. There's a nice hunky young guy waiting to serve at the bar. I barely glance at him. When I get to the other poolside, I'm half expecting my quarry not to be there anymore. And, as it turns out, he isn't. I sigh in exasperation, but I'm almost laughing as I do so. I'll find him, sooner or later. I'm just surprised at my own impatience. I casually grab a vodka and coke, swig it back. A sarcastic-sounding cheer comes from across at the other pool, the one I just left. I guess for the victor in the race. I wonder whether there's a prize for the winner, or punishment for the loser. Perhaps I'll find out afterwards. I get caught in conversation with an arms dealer who's also from London. I try hard to keep my eyes from wandering as we exchange basically geographic reminiscences. When an appropriate lull comes in the conversation, I set my drink down and head back inside. Where now, I wonder? I'm almost starting my search from scratch. And this is, like I say, a very big house - I can't even guarantee that by staying put he will eventually simply come my way. Again, I have a surge of jealousy. Someone may have already taken him off somewhere, may be having their fun with him right now. The stupid boy knew for a fact that I had staked my claim -- why didn't he stay close when the business meeting began to break up? No. No, I cool down. He didn't know that for a fact at all. I may have just assumed. Jesus, how many men a day must he give that same coquettish little look? Alexander certainly instructs him to do so, the same as with the rest of them. It's verging on childish to think he saved special attention for me. This leaves me obscurely angry, which is also childish. Then, as I step into one of the great halls, I spot him. Yes, he's there. On a landing that breaks up a huge curved staircase halfway up. He's standing by a lamp in the glare of another red light, and he's looking at me. Looking right at me when me eyes alight on him. Strangely, I am stuck to the spot for a few seconds. I'm surprised to see him already looking my way when I find him. It's like he's ahead of me, like he really is deliberately ... With the same overtly casual attitude I've become locked into, I take a step towards the base of the staircase. And he moves. He stops leaning against the marble balustrade, steps back into the dim orangey light. I see him flit across the landing to head up the second section of stairs. Little bastard! He does know I'm looking for him. And he's evading me on purpose. I see his bare legs flickering as he darts gracefully up the steps. No longer caring about being subtle, I charge up the stairs with purpose, albeit I don't break into a run. It's very unwise of this young tease to try to avoid giving any of us assembled here the pleasure he's here to provide. I don't know the exact nature of his contract with Alexander, but I do know being available for a fucking is pretty well item one. Some of these colleagues of mine wouldn't take kindly to this. I'm not even sure I will. The upper floor, when I get there, is deserted. Low-level lights are on everywhere, but no-one is about. If he is up here, I'll soon find him by the noise he makes. There are a lot of drapes in the first hallyway I try, and I'm struck by the idea that he could be hiding behind one. Suddenly I feel like I'm dealing with a mischievous child. I listen for his breathing. All I hear is the muted hum of the party downstairs. I'm not going to start sweeping aside every single one of these drapes, that's for sure. I'm startled for a moment as all the lights go off in quick succession. Suddenly the only illumination is the moonlight streaming in from a single farwaway window, reflected in the many shining surfaces. I must admit to a quick, embarrassing stab of fear. Have I wandered into a BlueShark Video slasher thriller? A creaking door behind me doesn't help. I head over to the source of the sound, see dim light pouring through an ajar door, the souce of the light probably at one remove. When I step through, it's into another long hallway, with several doors on each side. Sure enough, the light is coming from behind only one of them, and as I head towards it, abruptly wondering if I'm mistaken and the boy hasn't gone elsewhere, I spot something on the floor before me. It's a black bow tie. It must have been removed and then re-tied, as the knot is still in it. What the fuck's all this about? I pick it up and put it in my pocket, for no particular reason. "Fuck's sake!" I spit angrily, and charge towards the angled door, which I slam open. It bounces off some furniture as I step inside and look about. I'm in a fantastic luxury suite. I mean, they're all luxury suites in this house, but this one is presidential. it's cavernous, with a bed big enough for sixteen people. It has a bar - not a minibar, an actual bar - and a library in an alcove. I can glimpse through the towering windows that it has a balcony area the size of a garden. No-one seems to be here, unless they're hiding. Could that boy really be hiding in here? Could he ... I turn around, suddenly realising. The door didn't bounce off any furniture. It bounced off him. He was hiding behind it. And there he is, braced against the wall, giggling. Giggling like an idiot. "What the fuck are you doing, you stupid little..." I start, pulling back my arm to fucking smack him one in frustration. The look that flashes across his face changes my mind. Or so I think at first. It's a look of terror mixed with genuine shock. You've seen the first part of the film, you know the 'hurt' look that Ramon can do so well. But it dawns on me later that what stayed my hand in that moment was in fact his stance. He stood still with the palms of his hands braced against the wall. He didn't even instinctively flinch into a defensive position, did nothing to protect himself from the blow. He has somehow learned not to. He's come to expect such flarings of violence. But I don't realise this now. My arm falls slowly to my side as I look at his imploring face. I feel guilty suddenly that I cut off his laughter, which I realise was innocent, and not obtuse as I had thought. "Please, Mr Sharkey sir, I'm sorry..." And now I'm making him cower. "What..." I repeat, keeping the pretence of anger even though it's now disappeared, "What are you doing, son?" He's still braced against the wall, his lithe body bare except for those small black panties. I find myself looking at his nicely formed thighs. "Don't be angry, sir. I was only, was only playing. I just wanted to get you up here, it's the nicest place in the house, Mr Sharkey, sir... please don't be angry..." "Alright, alright, kid. I'm not angry, okay?" Just playing. I allow myself a smile. You don't expect anything playful from the boys around here. Most of them, like this one's brother, have had their spirits crushed. Hell, I've personally crushed some of their spirits myself. I reach out for his hands that are flat against the wall. I take them in mine then grab him by his slender wrists, pulling him towards me with a yank. He looks nervous, but smiles flirtatiously. "So you like playing, huh?" I ask, but I'm grinning. Maybe a bit scarily, but grinning nonetheless. I like having his almost bare body pulled against mine, which is still fully, smartly clothed. "I've been waiting for you to find me, Mr Sharkey, sir," he gasps. "All day I've been coming up here when I can, getting the room ready for you to ... you know for us to..." I take another look around the opulent expanse of the place. "Oh yeah?" I think of him scurrying up the stairs between serving drinks. "Nice," I decide to nod. He relaxes in my grip, angles his face forward for me to kiss him. I contemplate his big, succulent lips for a moment before doing so, greedily, still holding his arms at the wrists. His mouth, too, is luxurious and velvety, and up close there are cool, fragrant scents of vanilla and flowers from his freshly scrubbed skin and lustrous hair. He's all scrubbed up and perfumed like new, but his mouth is hot and experienced. The ghost taste of my own semen flashes across my tongue momentarily, an idea for later that comes as a panic that I might taste some other man's there now. The only real taste is of alcohol, some cherry-flavoured drink I don't recognise. I'm hard already as I kiss the boy. I'm thrilled by how luscious and willing he is, and pleased at the idea of his effort to find some perfect place for me to have him. I pull away to study him up and down, refusing to let go of his arms. He looks up at me, smiling lustfully, waiting for more. I feel up the length of his forearms and his sleek, steely biceps. The curves of his shoulders and then, reaching beneath his hair, I take hold of the back of his neck, one hand stroking its way down to the small of his back. "Come on," I say, leading him over in this way to the bed and pushing him down hard on it. He lands on his face, giggling, and rises onto all floors as I flop down against the mattress and start to untie my shoes. "I can do that for you, Mr Sharkey," he says, kissing me lightly on the cheek and hopping onto the floor. Down on his knees - I am transfixed by his hairless, lovely legs - this beautiful creature carefully unties the laces like they're the most precious, delicate things. Reverently, that's the word. I wonder how much this behaviour has been instilled into him, a catamite's etiqutte. Anyway, I appreciate it. Just watching his slender fingers at work makes me more intensely aroused. That's maybe the difference between a boy like this and my hunk slaves like Roman Decker. I'm fascinated by the details of him. His bright pink fingernails fluttering about at work, and his the light swing of his dangling hair. He carefully removes my shoes one at a time, kisses each of them while looking at me, and sets them neatly aside. I lean forward to stroke his rich dark hair as he slowly, inevitably, pulls the socks from my feet with his teeth. "Damn, boy ..." I sigh, "I've been watching you all day, you know that?" He makes an affirmative noise, a slight nod. When my socks are removed, he balls them and sets them down just as neatly. He raises himself up and puts his face into the crotch of my pants, licking and kissing there and nuzzling his face in. Fuck, it feels good. He nudges at my erect cock with his face through the thickness of unbuttoned flies. He pushes his face up against my bollocks and sniffs through the fabric, purring throatily. Impatiently I unbuckle my belt, and on cue he begins unbuttoning the flies. I think he'd have teased me for longer, given the chance, but I just can't wait. And we can take our time on the second go, the third. For now I feel weighed down by the hot load of cum that's waiting to spill for him, I've been aware of the burden of it for the entire day. My cock is unleashed, tilting upwards from its prison. There it is in shot with that pretty, pouting face. Man, his face hovers above it agonisingly for what seems like an eternity. Then those lips touch it for a first gentle kiss. Then another and another. They go on and on and become longer and deeper, until finally he is sucking sweetly on my cock head, and looking me glassily in the eye like he's grateful to be given such an indulgent treat. I wonder how his brother looks when he gives head. Not so eager, I'm guessing. Maybe we could get his brother in on this later, I think, have a comparison. Then I look at this one's loving attentions to giving me head, feel the hot pleasure of it, and just think: why bother? It would feel like a betrayal - as much as it is possible to betray someone who is there purely to pleasure you. I loosen my tie and unbutton my shirt as he sucks on my cock, throwing them onto the floor much more carelessly than he did. As I strip, he tears himself away from my dick to get his hands on the waistband of my pants and pull them down. Now I'm naked, it's time to get those panties off him. "Stand up," I tell him. "Get up and turn around." Settling my fingertips on his buttocks, even through the underwear, feels fucking awesome. I stroke them gently, making him giggle lightly, involuntarily, before setting my hands upon them more firmly and feeling their beautiful arcing shape. If it's possible for an ass to pout, then that's what this one is doing, just as much as his thick, perfect cocksuckers' lips. I fondle and squeeze them through his panties, growling softly. "Fucking hell, boy. Have you got any fucking idea how horny this arse is?" "My arse is horny for you, Mr Sharkey, sir," he whispers, seamlessly adopting my Brit word for it. It makes me wonder how much of this practiced patter he really means. "Horny for me, son?" I decide to say, " Or just for any of the bastards here?" "Horny for you, Mr Sharkey, sir," he repeats, and he's bending forward at the waist, hands against his shins, presenting his arse to me. I tug playfully at the waistband. "Oh yeah, and what is it you like about me?" I sneer, squeezing at his buttocks roughly, shoving my thumbs towards his covered hole. "Since I saw you arrive this morning, Mr Sharkey, all I've thought about is getting my ass around your big dick. I'm so happy you want me too, sir." "Yeah, you needn't have fucking worried about that, boy. Fucking hell..." I start to pull down his panties, "... just try and stop me." His caramel-covered arse is smooth and perfect, totally hairless. Waxed in the early hours of today, knowing Alexander's dedication to giving us the finest selection of totally fuckable bodies. Saline enema, the works. I lean forward, get my face in the crack of his arse and fucking muzzle in, growling more in delight. Man, the tender skin's as smooth as velvet, smells as fresh as a garden in springtime. He sighs as I breathe hotly into his butthole. "Ungh ... I've wanted to feel your stubble on me all day," he says, in a different tone than before, like he's subtly discarded the act. "Ungh... oh yeah, yeah, that's it..." "Fuck yeah. Come on, get on the bed, babe." He rises, pulling off his panties first. He's fully erect, and his cock springs bouncily out. Again, the pubic area is totally smooth. He sits next to me, leaning over to kiss, and then as our mouths stay locked, sinks back against the sheets. I run my fingers through his gorgeous long hair, and start lapping impulsively at his jaw with my tongue, taking my time to kiss his neck and his chest, its neat, tight little pectorals and tiny nipples. His hands hold my shaved head as I kiss at the tight groove down the centres of his hard, flat stomach. I gesture for him to lift his legs, and he does so, more thorougly than I'd imagined. Turns out he's very flexible, one of those fantastically useful boys who can lift his feet behind his head with little apparent effort. "Oh, that's nice, son," I grin, and resume my attentions to his prone pink butthole, eating it out and listen to him gasp and groan. Again he makes that rewarding, horny sound, a gentle, continuous purring. I find the place inside him where the coolness and freshness gives way to his heat and a salt tang. Oh fuck, and I have to stroke and lick his smooth legs, one of which I unhook from behind his head. I bite gently into one of his delicate little feet, sucking on it. How strange that I should make my man slaves kiss my feet to humiliate them ... and yet so enjoy being able to kiss and lick the pretty little feet of a beauty like this as part of my ... my consumption of him. That's the difference, perhaps - the sheer beauty. I kiss smackingly at the sole of his foot. "Damn, you lovely little fucker." He's still purring. "Ohhhhh... more in my arse, sir. Awww, please play with my asshole sir, I'm so hot for you." I stroke at his butthole with my thumb, edge it in a little way. "Oh, I'm gonna fuck you right now, boy. But you know I'm gonna fuck you a lot more before we leave this room, don't you? "I want you to fuck me raw, sir... I wanna be here all night with you ... and when you're finished I'll suck and suck on your big cock" "Where's the lube?" I know there'll be some handy. He's raising his feet behind his head again. "The vase," he gestures. There's a long, slim vase, one of many in the room, on table nearby, There's a single red rose in it. One shard of the vase unclips and is revealed as a malleable container. Sleek. I pour some on his hole, smear it about. More on my cock. "Thank you," he whispers quickly. I guess not everyone bothers. I slip into him with ease. I squash him underneath me, his legs hooking over my shoulders. I keep diving in to kiss his mouth, and he holds my face as I do it, his fingers slim and cool. Oh Christ, he's as fine inside as out. I remember what he said, rub my stubble against his soft jaw. "Ahhh, that's it..." he whispers, "Uhhhh... uhhhh... oh yeahhhh...", and his words give way to more of that purring, that rasping, delighted sound that says this completes him, that having cock plugged deep in him is his reason for being. He clenches and clamps around me, clutching at me greedily with his silken sphincter. The only thing, the only thing I can see in his shining eyes is the lust for cock. His swollen, engorged lips are luscious, a gorgeous excess of beauty. I revel in him, totally lost in the pleasure of fornicating with this fine piece of flesh. I slip out of him for long enough to push his calves up by the sides of his head, my hands tight around his ankles, and further open up his asshole to me. Fuck yeah, I've got myself the best fucking boy at this party. Oh man, he is sweet, and such a pussy. He mewls away as I pump his hole, and the ease with which I can take these boys, any of these sweet pussyboys I want, fills me with a deep sense of power that courses through my limbs. It's not long before I'm overtaken by it and and a hard, brutal orgasm rips through me from the my cock to my gut up through my chest. I feel my jizz blasting away inside him, feel it as my claiming of him. Before the volleys of cum have stopped shooting from me I'm already looking forward to the next, wondering how many times I'll fill this beautiful young man with my seed before the nights is out. I let go of his ankles and his legs slip around my back. I kiss him over and over, get my hands in his hair. "What's your name, you sexy little fuck?" I grunt. "Ramon," he breathes, and from his throat it's like the most erotic thing anybody ever said. "Ramon, I want to fuck your brains out. I want fuck you so hard, that fuckface brother of yours feels it" Something changes in his face. His eyes glaze. "The fuck with him," he hisses vehemently. "I can give you everything you want. I'll show you how much I can please you, Mr Sharkey, sir." Cut to him sucking on my dick - although 'sucking' hardly does justice to the majestic display of genital worship his beautiful slut mouth performs on me, on every inch of my nob and my bollocks. I am watching in a mirror. My lean, hard frame stands upright, legs planted apart, leaning back a little with my shoulder blades touching the wall. I seem starkly white in comparison with the lush bronze of his skin in the moonlight. My muscles are ridged and shadowy, seem to be made of thick, gnarled gnots, while his appear sleek and curved. The thick black hair on my chest and down my abdomen contrasts with the lack of it anywhere on his waxed, moist body. I guess - correctly, as you'll know - that even when he hasn't been prepared for a fucking, this boy isn't exactly abundant with body hair. He's on his knees, one of my hands gently stroking his head as his mouth and his face expertly make love to my cock. It's a soaring, magnificent experience. I feel satisfied, knowing that whenever I see his face again I can think of my dick all over it. After some time, I stop him, pull him onto the bed. Pinning him down, I lick and kiss at his body. His head tips back and his heavy-lidded eyes close as he offers it up to me. His back arches as he writhes about, and his cock is rigid. I take it in my hand and stroke it appreciatively, sucking on his little nipple. I have another unfamiliar twinge of jealousy as I wonder how many nights he spends like this, but at the same time I'm excited further at the thought of him being fucked by many men, by several at once. It's what he deserves. His body just begs to be fucked. I move to flip him over, taking him by his shoulders. He resists for a moment. I feel his arms harden as he pushes against me. It's the first time he's resisted me in any way. I just push harder, stimulated by this fleeting moment of fight. But because he gives up so quickly, I flip him around more violently than I'd meant. His reaction is to clutch the sheets and groan, "Ohhhhyeahhhh" in delight. Man, I fucking love this Ramon guy. I lunge forward to nibble at his shoulders and kiss at his lovely back. Again, I'm aware of him becoming tense for a moment, and then relaxing. There's an odd taste to him on his back. Not wholly the taste of skin or sweat. Then I realise why as something rubs away on my greedy, clutching fingertips. He's tense again. "Fuck me again, sir, please let me feel you on top of me -" he moans, but he almost babbles it and he's become stiff all over. I hold my fingers up to the light. "What the hell's this?" I ask irritably. The question asks, his body seems to deflate. I realise all of a sudden why he'd instinctively resisted being turned onto his front, that he's been trying to hide something from me. "Shit", I hear him whisper, so sadly. A light smear across my fingers, about the same colour as his skin. He seems to be holding his breath, like he wants to squirm away and hide but knows he can't move. "What is this?" I ask again, "Is it ... makeup or something?" He breathes heavily. "Can I... can I get up a moment, Mr Sharkey?" I pause, then clamber off him, letting him get up. We're now both sitting on the bed on our knees looking at each other. His eyes look glazed and he's looking at me anxiously, scared at what I might do. "Don't be..." he starts. "Angry," I say. "Yeah, I'm not fucking angry, son. What's wrong with you? What, Alexander gets you to put some kind if makeup on as well now? I can't see the point myself, but whatever. Don't fucking worry about it." I try to read his face, his suddenly hollow-looking his eyes. On an impulse I suddenly say. "Right, come on in the bathroom." He allows himself to be yanked by the arm, then pulls away, then gives up. He realises what I'm going to do. I drag him into the vast shower cubicle and run the water. Dragging him under a shower head virtually the size of an umbrella, I take a loofah and start scrubbing at his back. We stand there in the hot water as I scrub and scrub away viciously. "Look, mate, I don't know what this is all about, but I don't want melted fucking sticky make-up all over my chest when I'm done with you." Ramon winces, a look of sheer helplessness on his face. "You're hard work, ain't ya?" I grin, scrubbing hard. It soon becomes clear that his back has a redder hue than the rest of him. I swiftly dismiss the idea that I've somehow scrubbed it raw in the couple of minutes we've been in here, or that it's sunburn or anything like that. Turning off the shower to get a better look, I see that without the makeup, the skin on his back is coarser than the silkiness of the rest of him, and that there are light grooves and welts across it, a number of streaky marks that won't go away. I get it. He's been whipped. Sure, loads of times. Whipped for the pleasure of some horny, dirty old bastard like me. Fucking hell, I wouldn't raise a hand against this gorgeous, vulnerable lad. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I haven't had some great nights subjecting that cunt Roman Decker to the lash. But a boy like this, so willing to please, so soft and helpless ... I don't know, it's bad form somehow. His eyes are welling up now, and a tear streams down each cheek. He turns round to face me. "I didn't want you to see it, Mr Sharkey. I didn't want you to ... didn't want to turn you off." I nod. "Hey, Ramon, it's gonna take more than that to put me off, yeah?" "I've been ruined" Ramon says, very quietly. Something in his horrified tone makes me realise he's saying it more to himself than to me. Just like these marks, that are far more important to him than to me. I guess being less than irresistible is a real problem when you're basically a fucktoy. Anyway, fuck this. I'm not here to listen to some boy whore's problems. I prove him wrong by hoisting his legs off the floor and fucking him up against the cold, wet shower wall. I tell ya, he looks fucking good wet. "Unnnghhh! Unnnghhh! Uoohhh fuck me! Oh fuck, yeah! Oh more... more fuckmeUhhhhh..." he wails in surprise as much as anything else. "Christ... you thought I wouldn't want to fuck you?" I roar, "Grrrruuhhh.... Jesus, fucking feel that cock up inside you, feel that fucking cock and how much it wants to tear you up!" I growl as I enjoy feeling the weight of him as I lift him off the floor, as his hot arsehole sinks gorgeously onto my cock. After I've cum this time, his arms wrapped around me, I yank him off the wall and throw him roughly to the floor. I piss on him, golden piss across his chest and then in his face. He opens his mouth, bathing in my piss delightedly, jerking his cock, and he swallows it as it flows hot and fast over his face. Once the flow stops, he reaches into his butthole and scoops the jizz that's leaking from it, lapping it from his hand with a loving "mmmmm", and then leans over and kisses at my feet adoringly, curling up like a cat. "Mmmmm...ohMrSharkey...." Finally I take his hands and help him stand up and we shower again. I clean his body and he cleans mine. I'm soon erect again. I love holding his shoulders between my hands, feeling like I'm holding the whole of him. And his waist, it's so slender. Fucking hell, these nasty grooves all across his back are severe. The boy's right to worry about what this will mean for him. Mr Alexander tires easily of his toys, especially when they're damaged goods. Still. None of my business, I guess. We step back out to the bedroom, towelling down. I notice my phone on the floor, which has slipped from the pocket of my discarded jacket. The screen's lit up. I have a couple of messages, which I look at as Ramon relaxes on the bed and switches on a television screen. "Hey, what are you doing?" I ask distractedly. "I just want to show you. To explain," he says. He's talking to me more naturally now, and I like it. He uses the small control to access the exclusive BlackShark Video Streaming menu. A little enterprise of Alexander's that I don't have much to do with. Still checking my messages, I head over to the bar to pour a drink. Neat bourbon. Double. I pour one for him too. He look surprised when I hand it to him, says "Thank you" I sit down next to him. "So what's this?" He chooses a title from an extensive list. I think it's 'Ruin of Ramon', but it goes by so quickly, I'm not sure. The title is a fixed-camera view of a young man being strung up by the manacled wrists with chains, and whipped. It's Ramon, of course. "Luis always tells me this is one of the most popular titles," Ramon says, anger in his voice making it huskier. "Luis?" I ask. "My brother," he says. Pauses dramatically. "That's him" And indeed, the angry-looking boy from downstairs is in the video. He's the one administering the whipping to Ramon, and man is he loving it. This Luis whips his brother with savage abandon. "How'd you like that, you stupid faggot?" he shrieks hysterically as the blows hit home and Ramon cries out. "You like belonging to ugly horrible men? HERE-" - a sharp crack - "-is what you get for it! Cunt!" The Ramon on screen wails long and hard, and the sound dies away agonisingly slowly before it is replaced by another, fresh crack of the whip, and new, more urgent scream. Even despite my sympathy for Ramon, it can't help but arouse me a little. Ramon sits on the bed, watching it stony-faced. I glance down at the last text message left on my phone. It's from my colleague, Tasker: hey. u sneak off with that pussy u wr looking it all day? give him one from me. last chance too. bertoldt taking him away in morning ;-D Thudding crash zoom on that. LAST CHANCE TOO. BERTOLDT TAKING HIM AWAY IN MORNING ;-D Ramon squeals on screen, in the distance. Seems a million miles away. I knock back my drink. Bertoldt. The stern, headmasterly Bertoldt. Last guy you want at a party, really. Boris Karloff without the joie de vivre. Bertoldt's line of work is a distant branch of our operation from which I keep my distance. Bertoldt deals in human organs. And he is, it seems, taking Ramon away in the morning. I turn to look at the beautiful, wretched boy poised at the end of the bed. Whatever the expression on my face has become, he simply reads it as a reaction to the video. This is very typical of Alexander. He tires of his boys so easily, so suddenly. Already he's decided to throw Ramon away like trash. Into the recycling bin. There's a lurching, heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I stand up, walk about the room a bit. I look at the screen of my phone, even though there's nothing on there now, to give Ramon the impression I'm concentrating on something there. I move to the window, stare outside for a while at the stars and the land for a while. Perhaps thinking he has irritated me, the boy turns the whipping video off. I see my reflection in the window. My shaved head, the shape of my skull and musculature stark in the moonlight, rife with tattoos. A hard and cruel and powerful creature. And I think of all the countless young men out there to claim, blooming and radiant and strong. I think of the hundreds I've had, the burning lust to make them mine that has never, ever been sated. What's the difference what happens to one of them? Pulled apart like a flower and thrown away into the dirt, so what. There's always another to be had. Already Maitland Storr and I are finalising plans for this hot stud friend of his I'm itching to claim. As my arms hang at my sides I flex my muscles speculatively. The heavy feeling in my gut turns into a fiery sensation of lust, all my passion to fuck this feeble, horsewhipped slut suddenly reignited with a new blast of urgency. I put my phone aside, turn around determindedly. He must see something new in my face, a cruelty he now recognises of old, because he flinches. Doomed, fucking doomed - that's what this sexy, pliant fuckface is. And I have the distinct pleasure of enjoying the final moments of his beauty. I charge at him, grabbin him by the throat, yanking at him and slamming him down on the floor. I don't want the luxuriant expanse of the emperor-sized bed, I want him on the hard fucking floor. Even as the air whoomphs out of his lungs when his torn-up back hits the marble, the poor fairy actually enjoys the rough treatment. What a victim the pathetic fool has made himself with his desire to submit. "Come here, you fucker," I growl, slapping him across the face. "Unnnghhh... oh yeahh... yes..." he breathes. As I fuck him again I repeatedly choke him with the hand I have clenched around his throat. Instinctively he reaches up with his hands to paw at mine, but there's no real effort in it. Soon he is stroking my forearm with both hands in pleasure as the pain of being strangled alternates with the pleasure of release. His eyes water. Will they be looking out of another head soon? I slam my hand fully over his face, covering the features, wiping them out. Fuck, FUCK FUCK ... I'm getting off on the power of knowing his fate, of taking all the pleasure he can yield me before his extinction. I don't cum yet this time. I can take my time now, and I do. I spend hours throwing him about the room like a rag doll, finding new positions to fuck him in. He's such a mindblowing fuck. I hold his head against the wall and fuck the hell out of his face as he gags. I have him kneel before me and suck on my cock, I can't get enough of this cock worship now I know it is a dwindling resource. I sit on his face, grinding my arse all over it. And the poor fucker loves every fucking moment of it. Unbidden, he starts calling me 'master'. Oh fuck, man, do I love to be called master. I use my phone to record a few souvenirs of this night. Yes, submit, boy, submit to your masters. Even as they grind you down to nothing. After I've finally come heavily all over his face, and smeared it in, I crush him tight in my arms. As I hold him there, both of us soaked in sweat - even his sweat smells sweet - and exhausted, we sink into sleep. And I sleep happily, a terrible monster content in its conquest. Fade to black. When I wake again in the early morning light - it can't be more than a couple of hours later - we have shifted around. I'm lying on my back and Ramon is holding on to me, his head resting on my chest as he sleeps innocently. My hand traces a bath down his back, over his waistline, cupping his buttock. Oh man, what a lover he is. All the pleasures of this night flood back into my head. I think of my vicious joy in feeding on what will be the last of him and it's a leaden, regretful hangover feeling. My dark, fatalistic glee evaporates in the light of day. This movie has taken a turn I don't like. I gently stroke his tangled curls, hardened in patches by dried sweat and jizz as he sleeps, clinging onto me lovingly. I make a silent, definite decision: Ramon, my sweet boy, I'm going to save you from this.