Date: Sun, 3 Apr 2011 02:03:53 +0100 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-7 Author's note: This is sheer dumb fantasy, with sex and violence and dark elements. Not cool in real life, and not to be taken seriously. Just to be clear, any movies, actors and television shows named are totally fictional. ------------------------------------------ BlueShark Video 7 Now the floodgates of Sharkey's erotic malice have crashed opened. It is only a matter of days after Jordon's humiliating ordeal in the ring before he introduces Ramon to his other, less fortunate slave. In the meantime, Ramon is permitted to go down to the sub-level and look after Jordon, for whom he has developed a brotherly affection despite the lack of any reciprocation on the surfer dude's part. Just to be on the safe side, he is only allowed down there when Jordon is safely restrained, and it goes without saying that everything that happens is captured on camera for Sharkey's perusal. But Ramon is permitted his whims to take little treats of food and drink down to the lad - that is, luxury and foods and liquors richer from the minimal fare he is normally permitted - and feed them to him through the bars of his cage. Early one evening, Sharkey has Jordon taken into a bathroom whose floor is skirted with drainage, and strung up, his arms cuffed above his head. Ramon is charged with the task of hosing and scrubbing the hunk with hot soapy water - Ramon's slender bronze hands working slowly and meticulously all over Jordon's slippery body - and then administering an enema and dealing with the mess as the waste crap evacuates as liquid from Jordon's guts. More hosing and scrubbing. Ramon is content in this task - spending hours preparing the surfer hunk for his master to fuck him. He finds his chore fulfilling. Jordon can say nothing to Ramon, as the latter has been instructed not to remove the ball gag from Jordon's mouth as he works. Ramon only notices now that the golden ball stuffing his mouth is patterned with the same cartoon stars design that adorns Jordon's sculpted chest, (and also his surfboard, which hangs on one of the walls down here like a trophy). So Jordon has been given his own custom-designed ball gag: subjugated in style. Ramon washes and conditions Jordon's pretty hair - dries and styles it with care, deciding on whim to straighten it, to see the different way it frames his broad face. "You're so handsome, " he compliments. And then the compliment is turned around. "Mr Sharkey deserves to keep a handsome boy like you." Jordon strains and gurgles to protest against the gag. He shakes his head in frustration as Ramon does nothing to help. Finally, Mr Sharkey comes down. He is stripped to the waist, wearing just a pair of shorts. He's glistening with sweat, towelling himself. Ironically perhaps, given the effort put in to have Jordon scrubbed, cleansed and scented, Sharkey is slick with sweat, and stinks of it - a hot, manly smell. "Here he is," he says of Jordon, like he could have possibly expected to find him anywhere else. "How you doing, boy?" He checks out the smattering of light bruises across Jordon's midsection. "Not too bad at all," he decides, and points to his own black eye. "How do you like this? Looks like I came off worse in our little fight. Yours'll be healed way before this is. I'm proud of you, son. Little champ, ain't ya?" Still good humoured, he steps forwards and punches Jordon solidly in the stomach. Jordon lets out a muffled moan and writhes, his legs squeezing tight against each other and buckling. He dances onto his tiptoes for a moment, his head dipping forward. Sharkey cups the back of the dipped head and raises one of his arms to shove the spluttering Jordon's head into his armpit. "Smell that, boy. Fucking stinks, don't it? Although I think you kind of like it really. I just had a really good workout, see. Only thing is, it leaves you stinking -" Jordon shudders as his attempt to hold his breath ends with a violent snort of Sharkey's armpit stink through his nostrils, and then another. His long moan of slow, blossoming pain from the punch to his stomach has not yet finished, his feet skittering about on the floor, toes curling. " - and it always leaves me horny. Awww yeah, smell that, Jordy boy. You like that, huh?" Sharkey strips off his shorts, unleashing his huge boner, and takes his position behind the prone Jordon, fondling his strung-up arms and his chest, ribs and abs. Sharkey's greasy sweat wipes off against Jordon's body as he guides his cock into Jordy's hole with his hand and, once there, rams it home. "Man, that's good ..." he grunts, fucking his human toy long and leisurely, holding Jordon's jaw in his hand, then tugging on his hair, then wrapping his arms tight around Jordon's chest as he porks hims in long, deep thrusts. As Jordon's unwilling cock swells the more his ass is pounded, Sharkey tells Ramon: "Let's give Jordy a little treat, huh babe? Get on your knees there and suck him off while I tear his ass up..." Ramon obeys, realising he has known that this was coming, and that he has been looking forward to it. He starts work on Jordon's chubby cock, keen to show off his cocksucking prowess. He starts off alternating light teasing with his tongue and lips, then alternates it with eager, brutal sucking and swallowing, deep throating and rotating his head violently, taking advantage of the bucking thrusts made by Sharkey as he pounds the hell of of Jordon's ass. Ramon reaches around to hold Jordy's gorgeous buttocks, pulling them apart to further ease Sharkey's way in. Squeaking, ragged and high-pitched, Jordon starts to jizz. Still going at him in huge thrusts, Sharkey reaches around to pop the ball gag out of his mouth and hear the agonised, squealing pleasure escape his surfer slave's throat. Ramon glugs on the thick outpouring of cum, more and more of it oozing from Jordon's nice fat cock as a blistering orgasm thunders in his pounded prostate. The mewling, high-pitched noise that comes from Jordon's throat is almost inhuman and just makes Sharkey want to fuck him even harder. He lets go of the ball and it plops back into Jordon's mouth while Sharkey grabs Jordon's chest tight in his arms and cocks the bastard furiously. Jordon's feet twitch and jerk on the floor, almost leaving it. Ramon gags as he sucks on the cummy cock and moves to one side, thick jizz dribbling from his mouth down his chin. "Outta the way," Sharkey tells Ramon gruffly, shoving him on the shoulder as he moves around to get in front of Jordon and lift his legs up off the floor. Now Sharkey grins triumphantly in Jordon's face as the slut dangles by his arms, legs held aloft in Sharkey's arms, Jordon's cock still oozing a trail of creamy jizz as a roaring Sharkey fucks his prize savagely and then - oh fuck - oh fuck yeah - spews hot blasts of his cum up inside the sexy youth's boy pussy. He keeps thrusting for long minutes after he has shot the last of his cum, and finally puts the boy's legs gently back down, kissing him, as much as he can do, against the ball gag. "Shit, boy, you know I used to watch you surfing from my car and I always thought ... goddamn, you know?" He goes and gets a bottle of water, tenderly lets Jordon take long swigs, kissing him gently on the cheeks. Replacing the gag, he turns to Ramon. "Not bad, huh, kid?" "It's tasty," Ramon agrees, licking sperm off his lips. Jordon starts trying to say something again, blue eyes bulging as he appears to attempt to address Ramon. "Jesus, he just won't shut up, this one," Sharkey chuckles. "Real chatterbox. Always seems to want to say something to you. Go on then, bitch, I'm in the mood for a laugh. Let's hear what you've got to say." He plucks the gag from Jordon's mouth. Jordon gaps and wheezes, tries to yell but finds his voice giving way. He speaks to Ramon. "Man, you've gotta help me ... look, he don't have you locked up in a fucking prison ... just help me get out of this! Tell him..." "You deserve it. You shouldn't have tried to doublecross Mr Sharkey", Ramon admonishes with feeling. "Dude, you don't even know what you're talking about!" Jordon spits, "This guy had us set up way from the beginning! We never had a - ggnghhmpphh" His words are squashed back into his mouth as Sharkey snaps the ball gag back into place. "Little swine'll say anything," Sharkey says. And then, addressing Jordon: "Took the bait quick enough, though, didn't you? No-one forced you to do that" He looks at Ramon. "I'll gets someone else to clean up this time, and then get prince fuck-for-brains here put to bed. Come on, let's get something to eat." --------------- Dressing him in a sharp suit, Sharkey takes Ramon to a restaurant out of town. Sharkey takes lusty mouthfuls of his chicken arrabiata as he talks to Ramon. It's not like a normal dinner between a couple - Ramon only speaks when spoken to. "So, sweetheart, what do you think about our boy Jordon?" "I ..." Ramon wonders what his master wants to hear. "I can see why you like him, master. Why you want him, I mean." "Think I'm a bit too harsh on him?" The question is asked lightly, but Ramon wonders how loaded it is. He decides to answer truthfully, right from his submissive guts. "You can treat him however you like, master. I ... like seeing you being his master. It makes me want to worship you more, when I see your power" Sharkey is delighted, grinning wickedly. "So you think we should keep him around a while longer?" Still Ramon wonders why Sharkey bothers to ask him. "What will happen to him when you're finished with him, master?" He has a knot of fear in his stomach as he awaits the answer. He's thinking of his brother, thinking of the lethal whims of men like this. Sharkey looks at him. "Oh, I see. You think -" He stabs his knife down brutally into a chicken breast. "Maybe they're all carted off like your faggot brother? End up the way he did?" Sharkey seems to take a malicious glee in reminding Ramon of his brother. It thrills and arouses Ramon, the vicious power of this brute he serves. It also makes him want to shit himself in terror. "No, no," Sharkey reassures. "Obviously I can't just release him back into his old life and freedom. Not practical." He thinks for a second and then says, decisively: "And I don't want to. But there's a very healthy market out there for slaves like him. I'll find another owner for him easy enough. I don't exactly run background checks, not usually anyway, so what becomes of him next is out of my hands, but ... he'll remain a slave. And that satisfies me." There's a cruel glint in Sharkey's cold, hooded eye. What's more surprising is that we can see it reflected in Ramon's wide doe eyes too. He lets out an aroused sigh. They move on to dessert. "There's another one in the house, you know," Sharkey says. "You can meet him if you like." Ramon looks up. Sharkey has another slave? "Is he a surfer too? One of Jordon's friends who tried to -" "Jordy boy's friends were dealt with," Sharkey says abruptly. "No, this one ... he worked in my London office. Was a junior accountant..." Sharkey's face crumples as he talks. "Never liked him. Never liked his weird little fucking face. Fucking pale as a vampire, puny little creature ... And then I found out he was stealing money from me. He'd put it back later, most of it, but ..." Sharkey struggles to find an end to the sentence, but Ramon knows his master well enough to intuite it. 'But that was all the excuse I needed' is what he suspects Sharkey means. " ... but I don't tolerate pasty little parasites. You know what the little puke was doing? Going off for these long weekends in Berlin. I found out through tracing his bank and credit card details, and then through some business associates of mine, that he was over there going to these fetish clubs. Real whips and chains stuff. The little maggot apparently gets off on being humiliated by brunette women with big tits." Sharkey warms to his theme. Leaning over the table: "Well, if he wants humiliation, I can give him fuckin' plenty. It doesn't hurt that I hate his shitty little guts - I always did, right from the moment I saw him. I mean, forget the women with big tits part of it, but I can certainly give the little vermin what he's got coming to him. And why the fuck should a little streak of piss like him decide who gets to put him in his fucking place?" Cut to Ramon. No possible answer to this question. -------- So, what of Daniel Pilce? Well, if you'd thought you'd worked out what Sharkey's 'type' was from the roll call of those we've seen, his fixation with Pilce is an oddity. We've seen the glee he'll take in the ownership of a magnificent physical specimen like Roman Decker. You can understand the innate satisfaction of that, I think. Ruthlessly bringing a he-man to heel. You've seen him dominate Jordon Lunar. Again a gorgeous example of strength and male beauty. There is also his youth. It's a delicious indulgence for Sharkey to own and consume his young manhood to the exclusion of anyone else. Even to the exclusion of Jordon himself, who has gone from master of his own destiny to slave of Sharkey's whims. You've seen his obsession with Ramon, which as close as Sharkey comes to romantic. Ramon, too, is a beautiful, lustrous young man who submits to Sharkey's rule totally. You've seen Sharkey's treatment of Dillon Decker, the vain, cocky nephew of Roman Decker. You've seen the way he ... Oh no, you haven't seen that yet. Anyway, Daniel Pilce is not what Ramon might have expected. Going by the evidence of Jordon, plus of course Justin Benchley, not to mention himself - oh, Ramon knows well how gorgeous he is, in spite of those lacerating scars on his back - he has imagined Sharkey prizes beautiful, toned exceptional youths. But this young man is a different proposition. He is short, and scrawny, and unusually pale. For a man of twenty-four, he is very boyish in frame, and his skin is silky soft. In this, perhaps, he corresponds to what Ramon imagines is Sharkey's 'type'. Otherwise, though ... he has a peculiar pinched face that could almost be pretty but verges on ugly, as if someone had manically taken some sandpaper to a bust of a cute guy. His thick black eyebrows nearly grow together, and he has a jutting little ledge of a chin. Light hair that is almost an albino blonde, or else a very premature white, is cut short in no particular style. There is something stark about him in his near black-and-whiteness, but no overriding physical appeal that Ramon can see. Sharkey said Pilce was a junior accountant, and Ramon decides he looks like one too. Yes, even the softness of his skin seems unhealthy - like he's spent too much time in the dark, away from daylight. Sharkey's furious domination of him feels to Ramon like a sledgehammer flattening a peanut. Bafflingly, the towering and powerful Sharkey absolutely, viciously hates this pallid speck of a human. ------------- Pilce's history before becoming ensnared in Sharkey's web is brief - more a music video than a full movie. Born and raised in the south of England, he had a mundane schooling, neither a popular nor an unpopular kid in his class. Early in his teens he became a metalhead, developing a head of long greasy dyed black hair as stark as his natural white-blonde, and a bubbling explosion of fierce red spots to match. After this early eruption of acne, however, he developed a remarkably clear complexion, and is no longer subject to spots even despite what we might call the stress of his present existence. Pilce was a very bright but also very lazy and defiant boy. Academically, he excelled at some subjects and completely failed at others. This all happened at random, as he could have done just as well at any of them had he wanted to make the effort. After school, after trimming his hair down to the no-style we see today, he had a succession of low-paid jobs in bars and shops, getting fired from most of them for bad timekeeping and a poor attitude to his work. He worked at a supermarket checkout for a while and seemed to glare up at every customer in accusation. Pilce didn't care. On a modest budget, he was living a hedonistic lifestyle. He had a girlfiend, albeit slightly bigger than him and with something of the bulldog about her, and they had a great time together. They loved music, best played punishing loudly in muddy fields, they loved drink and drugs, loved video games, and they quite liked fucking each other. Not quite as much as Daniel loved pornography, perhaps - he has a quiet fixation on dark-haired gothic dominatrices. After a while, the girlfriend found someone else. Sportier, bulkier. It wasn't long before Daniel was living meagrely and in squalor. He got by from day to day on tins of spaghetti and tabs of acid. He sat around in his room in a shared flat, smoking weed in his underwear - and more often in what underwear he had managed to keep from his departed girlfriend. Never washed, he'd give it a sniff and then put it on. Unfortunately that meant soon the smell therein was more him than her, but he hung onto the dirty knickers nonetheless. Burrowed deep in his grubby nest, he watched a crummy TV set with a built in DVD player most of the day. When it wasn't horror movies about zombies and cannibalism, it was loud, lurid kids' shows. He spent one day - or at least he thinks it was one day - on mushrooms watching an unending marathon of the cult kids' cartoon Lunar Surf Guy, about the adventures of a loveably dumb buff surfer and his anime-flavoured nemesis Narrly Emo Dude. Pilce spent much of that day - weekend, whatever - thinking he was conversing with the stylised protagonist, who appeared to sit on the bed next to him, his colourful cartoon form weighing down the mattress springs. Not that he could remember any of the conversation afterwards. And he had nightmares. Terrible nightmares that he was swimming in gorgeous blue waters off the coast of an endless lush beach, but that when he sank his head below the water, he was engulfed in in impossible blackness that he could not rise from to escape. And out of the depths came a glowing blue predator, a gigantic fiercely fanged shark that buffeted him about with its enormous body without ever actually sinking it's sword-like fangs into his soft, vulnerable nakedness. He always awoke just as those teeth threatened to rip him open. After a few month, his worried family took him back in, and a couple of years after that he was back on his feet. He was no less sullen and minimally communicative in his demeanour than ever, but he got another part time job and took some college courses. Still a bright young man, he ended up in accountancy, and with a trial period of employment in the small London office of a firm that was in actuality an arm of BlueShark. Little did he realise just how much of a trial it would really be. When he started, as he thought of it, 'rearranging' cash to fund his little fun trips to Berlin, that club he'd gotten hooked on after getting bored and antisocial at a stag weekend, he had no real conception that he was doing anything wrong. It was just like balancing his own budget, except he could now also dip into these other, extra funds and juggle more extensively. The money was all going back where it belonged at the end of the day, so what was the difference? Besides, the boss guy from America very rarely showed his face. Just as well, as far as Pilce was concerned. Every time that big, shaven-headed dude came in, he always spent ages looking Pilce up and down in a weirdly aggressive way. Pilce considered the idea that maybe he wanted to fuck him. There was also the possibility that the guy - Mr Sharkey - thought he was too young to be working there. People often thought Pilce was younger than he was, because of his boyish frame and his youthful pasty-white complexion. Also, he dressed more casually in the office environment than everyone else there, like he was an intern or something. Pilce's weekend Berlin trips were relatively cheap. And he had such fun. Oooh, being tormented by those topless mistresses. Chained up and unable to touch his rock hard boner as they brutally played with him. Just thinking of a stiletto heel stroking up and down the neck of his cock --- he had to try not to think about it at work, that dull little office, in case he tented his pants with an erection. It wasn't too long before Sharkey's animosity towards him came to the fore. Daniel Pilce could never have predicted it, coming out of the blue on a normal, damp Wednesday afternoon. That Mr Sharkey could stride into the office, in front of everyone, and simply snatch him away. "This little piece of shit here," he'd announced, taking Pilce by the scruff of the neck, "has been stealing from me. You can check the logs yourself. And thank you, Sharon, for bringing it to my attention." Amazing, Sharon had just nodded, filing her nails, as Pilce was taken away for his punishment. "Now he's going to get his just desserts," Sharkey had grunted, dragging Pilce from the office by the scruff of his neck with little effort. Pilce couldn't understand how the eight other people in that place could just sit there calmly watching his abduction like it was a mundane occurence, no different to the cleaners coming in or the printer running out of ink. He even thought he heard Sharon say "Finally, I get a bit more desk space" while Ed read out a crossword clue. Sharkey bundled him down the stairs and into the trunk of his car, took him to his private jet, consigned him to imprisonment on the premises. But not before he'd roughed him up a bit. And from there, well, he ended up here. -------------- Arriving home late from the restaurant, Sharkey takes Ramon down, way down, to meet the little shit. Or rather, to examine him. Pilce doesn't 'meet' people any more. Ramon had thought his beloved master merciless in his treatment of Jordon. That was before he saw how he is with Daniel Pilce. Sharkey's endless well of contempt for the tiny Pilce both terrifies and thrills Ramon. Terrifies, because he sees what Sharkey is capable of when his fury is stirred. But not just that - it is because the fury erupts so endlessly, and creatively, and from seemingly nowhere. He treats the unfortunate Pilce like the most contemptuous piece of garbage in all creation, with very little reason that Ramon can see. The sheer hatred Sharkey harbours for Pilce curdles the entire face and form of Ramon's master. Not knowing where this disgusted rage comes from, Ramon wonders if he himself might accidentally incur it some day, and the idea chills his blood. Yet he is thrilled by it too. Thrilled because he loves to see his master wielding his power and to have the sense that he is favoured by this monster of a man. Thrilled, because deep down in himself Ramon is an absolutely fucking pussy, so instinctively submissive to other men, and even the thought of his master's potential violence towards him gives him a thrill, the thrill of being subject to this strong man's whims. Ramon is pussy enough to revel in his own powerlessness. Oh yeah. Left on his own, Ramon will lay in a ball and jerk himself off as he thinks about how completely his master owns him. Pilce, it will be agreed, looks far less happy about his place under the rule of his master. Ramon reasons that this pallid little boy-man should never have tried to betray a powerful and ruthless man like Sharkey. He had every moment of his punishment coming the moment he began to steal from him. Yes, perhaps he is a worthless little maggot, just as Mr Sharkey says. Ramon had thought the surfer guy Jordon a prisoner, but compared to Pilce, the buff blonde slaveboy lives in relative comfort. Jordon Lunar has a small complex of rooms alloted to him, for one thing. Okay, so often he is restrained there by chains and cuffs, but occasionally he's given limited freedom to wander about them. More often than not he sleeps curled up in his cage, but sometimes, as an occasional reward, he's allowed use of his slender but comfortable bed. He's fed well enough on meats, whey proteins and water, and whatever else Sharkey decides to give him. This is mainly because Sharkey wants to keep him healthy and strong enought to be an object of lust. A gaunt, malnourished Jordon would not be deliciously sexy enought to be a worthy pet. For the same reason he is permitted to tan himself by the poolside under the watchful eye of Sharkey's employees. Often they will have the job of rubbing sunscreen into him. Often that will inevitably lead to more, a pleasing perk of the job for them. Additionally, he is allowed to exercise, in the small but comprehensively kitted out gym Sharkey maintains for his slaves. Usually he must do this naked, because it makes the footage on the security cameras so very pleasurable to watch. And naturally, he's permitted no opportunity to, say, pick up one of the free weights to use as a weapon in an escape attempt. Sharkey and his men have every angle covered. There's an anteroom between the gym and the hallway where Jordon must wait after leaving the gym. The gym door locks safely behind him before the next door opens, secure as an airlock. And always, there is the threat of use of the collar. Further to that, he is often walked around the grounds. Sometimes he does so upright, sometimes on all fours, an animal on a leash. Sharkey likes to walk Jordon this way, as does his henchman Gregory. All this, Ramon sees, is a life of luxury compared to Pilce's existence. He is kept, suitably, at the deepest level, the lowest depths of Sharkey's extensive property. He languishes there in almost total darkness, just a muted glow of dim red light, yes, like he's really been dropped into hell. He is left here almost always in restraints of one kind or another, in a dungeon that stinks because he inevitably must lie in a puddle of his own piss, must let a turd simply drop from his helpless little butt. "Look at you, you dirty little shit," Sharkey says as he and Ramon enter the cell, hosing him off thoroughly with a blasting jet of hot, soapy water, washing everything away down the grilles in the floor. Everything but the lingering stink in which he lives. "Ramon, this little runt is Pilce," he says simply. Then, to the wretch himself: "Hey, you like piss so much, you can fuckin' come with me." Releasing him from his restraints, he wastes no time in taking hold of the slippery faggot by the scruff of his neck. He drags his helpless form along the brightly-lit corridor to the lift. He squeezes him tightly by his weak, soft arm as they stand in the lift together, Ramon dutifully pressing the keys. Pilce looks at the floor, his eyes squinting, head slowly, woozily moving from side to side as he accustoms himself to the light. He shows no curiosity about Ramon. When they get back to the ground floor, Sharkey pulls the puny, unresisting dickhead from the lift and shoves him to the floor. At barked instructions from Sharkey, he scuttles along on all fours, like a frightened animal, to where his master wants him to go. Soon enough he's installed in a kind of stocks in one of the bathrooms, a metal face harness keeping his head aloft and his mouth wide open. "Fuck, man, I've been waiting for this all the way since dinner," Sharkey admits, unzipping his flies with urgency and whipping out his big dick. And then Pilce is used as a toilet, glugging and squirming as Sharkey pisses copiously and with abandon straight down his throat. Ramon watches this in terror and fascination, and feels a little thrill in the pit of his stomach when Sharkey tells him he can feel free to make use of the filthy little toilet too. As he looks at the degraded little barenaked man installed so functionally in the sleek bathroom, Ramon thinks he understands a little of what his master feels about this pitiful specimen. He realises he can't wait to join in and degrade him further. What a sweet feeling it is! First, though, there is a period of about twenty minutes of excited anticipation as he and Sharkey sit on the sofa togther and drink beer, the better to fill up Ramon's bladder. Sharkey cuddles and strokes him affectionately as they sit together on the sofa watching TV, and Ramon enjoys the quiet, unspoken feeling that he has become almost an adoring wife to Sharkey, who in his own way loves him. Then he pads into the bathroom accompanied by Sharkey. He removes his little lilac panties, dropping them down around his lovely bronze legs, which Sharkey is suddenly prompted to check out anew. He gets into position before the prone, dirty little Pilce. He looks right into the little loser's clouded, lost eyes, eyes that are beyond despairing, and at the facial muscles contorted by the tiny arms and struts of metal keeping his mouth wide open. And he pisses. Oh boy, does he piss. Sharkey has really plied him with beer. Ramon lets out a moan of relief, and something more, as he watches his piss flow down into this little cunt's throat. Oh man, does the little piece of garbage deserve this. Oh yeah, Ramon watches the dickhead's tongue wiggling helplessly about as the hot gold stream of urine pours over it. Ramon watches the involuntary swallowing as it flows into his throat, listens to the sharp, wet sounds of helpless gagging. He looks over at his master, who is smiling at him proudly. As he pisses, he finds his cock starting to swell. He holds it to keep the flow in place, and then, then he lets go, and giggles as he watches the jet of piss creep up over the cunt's top lip, and splash over his squat nose, and then soak his eyes, and trickle all over his forehead and his hair. Then Ramon does grab his cock, so he can deliberately piss all over every inch of Pilce's stupid little face. "Fuck yeah, go for it, babe!" Sharkey hisses in delight. "Don't be fuckin' shy. Man, that's good." Ramon gleefully continues to pee all over the bastard, all on his pasty white shoulders and his chest, and then down over his kneeling legs. Pissing onto the little vermin's small, shrivelled genitalia. It gets more difficult as his member gets more and more erect. When he finally shakes out the last drops, he surprises himself by spitting a huge gob into the rotten cockroach's mouth. Sharkey's hand smacks Ramon on the back heavily in congratulation. "That's fucking hot, son. And look at your fucking huge stiffy!" He grabs hold of Ramon's cock, gives it a rough stroke up and down the shaft. "How'd you like to have a great big wank all over this shithead's ugly little face? Huh? Go on, Ramon, show me how much you like it." Ramon finds he needs no encouragement to go ahead. He looks into the captured maggot's piss-soaked pale face and strokes himself up and down his burning hot engorged cock, seized by an alien but powerful desire to further show the pathetic Pilce his place. "Unnnnnhhh... unnnnhhhh...ohyeah.." he gasps as he jerks off his cock in front of the stupidly open-mouthed human toilet, as he feels his beloved master caressing his butt in encouragement. Approaching climax, he rises onto tiptoes, holding back the unstoppable force of his own jizz as long as he can ... oooooooh ... oh fuck.... Sharkey is poking a finger into his ass ... and then he unleashes a mighty volley of thick and creamy cum all over that shithead's face. Fuck, fuck, oh it spews out of him again and again, the thick mask of cum not even as white as the horridly pallid face of this foolish rat. Oh yeah, oh yeah, and Pilce's face is truly covered in Ramon's thick and gorgeous pearly cum. Check out the glint in Ramon's eye, the awestruck, gawping smile with a hint of a snarl. Remember that look. "Oh man, oh fuck, get out of the way, Ramon," Sharkey says, pushing his lover aside and stepping into his place. Grunting and growling, Sharkey jacks himself off violently. He spits repeatedly into Pilce's wide open mouth, gooey gobbets of ugly spit, some of them splashing into Ramon's cum as they land on his face, a cocktail of humilation for the little fuck. "OOOOARGGGHHH! uuuhjhhyeah! Fuck! Fuck! Taste that jizz you fucking worm" Sharkey yells as his load spurts down Pilce's throat, and a second volley onto his face, pouring on top of Ramon's, and just as thickly. "Ohhh... oh fuck," Sharkey smiles. "Oh man, now after all that beer, I've gotta go again. Open wide, dickhead. Oh yeah, you already are. Here goes ..." Sharkey pisses down Pilce's throat again, and Ramon thinks of it all mixing up down there with his own, feels bonded with his master by this abuse of the poor, pitiful Pilce. Sharkey is tempted to piss on his slave's face too, but decides not to wash off that amazingly dense mask of cum he and Ramon have created. Finishing up, he takes a quick photo of it on his phone, then puts his arm around Ramon, leading him out. He switches off the bathroom light as they go. ----------------- Sharkey takes Ramon to his bed with him that night. It's not something he customarily does, but he is so proud of his lovely boy. Ramon is unable to sleep for a long time, trembling with adrenaline at what he has just done. Adrenaline, and a lingering feeling of sickness and disgust. And then he finds he needs to pee in the night. And Pilce is still in those stocks, languishing where they left him. Looking over at his master - sleeping deeply, his large manly back turned the other way - Ramon slips out of the bed. He tiptoes from the room. Head still thudding with alcohol he hasn't had a chance to sleep off, a naked Ramon stands in the moonlight, considering. He has his choice of bathrooms to use. Of course, he wants to please his master, even as his master sleeps. His master will be delighted to discover that he has made further use of the Pilce toilet during the night. But that isn't the whole of it. He, Ramon, wants to do it again. He wants to feel that heady rush of forbidden, twisted power. To look down into the eyes of that stunted little fucker as he pisses into him. Pisses inside him! Yes, Ramon wielding that measure of power. Someone helpless before HIM. He's giddy at the idea. And so here he is, opening the door to the bathroom. It's very dark and he switches on the light . He wants to see this in perfect, bright light. Toiletboy Pilce's beady eyes flutter open. He seems to have been dozing lightly in spite of his discomfort. He focuses on Ramon almost like he's seeing him for the first time - perhaps because his tormentor Sharkey isn't there now. His tongue wriggles around like a floppy pink worm in his wide open mouth. Like Jordon Lunar, perhaps, another one thinking he can appeal to Ramon for help. Ramon simply watches the sluggy tongue squirming in vain, looks at the crusty mask of flaking cum on the creature's face. Ramon struggles against a developing erection, then plants his feet at either side of Pilces' knees, and aims his chubby cock over his target, the black hole of a mouth with the thrashing tongue. "See how you like this," he whispers excitedly, thrilling at his own daring as he releases another steady flow of urine into the toilet. Pilce's eyelids flutter rapidly as he swallows the piss. He's learned it is so much easier to swallow it down than to choke as he tries to resist it. Ramon decides to direct the flow all over the face, wash away some of the dried jizz mask. Not all of it goes. There's an interruption. Ramon is startled to hear a couple of distant thumping sounds in the house, to feel the smallest hint of a breeze. He hears the sound of rattling. It's like someone's just getting home, but he knows Sharkey is still in bed. He sneaks out to see what is going on. He's almost relieved to discover it's the nasty thug Gregory, who is in the main lounge, dropping a shiny gun and a heavy bag on the coffee table. Gregory sees him and approaches. "Oh, it's you, Ramon," he grunts. It's an awkward moment, Gregory rarely speaks directly to Ramon, thinking of him as Sharkey's pet, and is obviously frustrated that he's forbidden to treat him the same way as he would any of Sharkey's other erotic livestock. But even now he is forced to speak to him just the way he would if Sharkey were present - because there is always the possibility that the cameras are capturing this, and that Sharkey will observe it at some point later. As Gregory gets closer, Ramon detects a charred woody smell on him, mixed with a hint of gasoline, sees his face is sweaty and a little grazed. The shirt under his blazer has huge damp patches of sweat. Ramon looks over to the gun and the discarded, heavy looking bag on the stylish coffee table. He has no idea what's in the bag, and wouldn't dare ask. "Just been out running a little errand for Sharkey," Gregory unexplains with a smirk, rubbing at his stubbly jaw. Again, Ramon won't ask. He has little real idea of what goes on in Sharkey's business, and is glad not to know. He knows all he needs to - that his sexy master is powerful, so powerful, and that he, meek and gorgeous Ramon - so proud of his ability to please and pleasure men - belongs to him. "Just dropping off his stuff. And to be honest I gotta piss" Gregory says bluntly, looking Ramon's naked body up and down. Ramon catches the greedy glint in his stare, knows that without Sharkey's protection, Gregory would love to rape him so brutally, would probably like to beat him senseless as he did it. Sometimes - just sometimes - Ramon fantasises about him doing it, and sort of likes it. He realises quickly that he can turn that aggression onto the horrid Pilce. That, with just a word, he can arrange for Gregory dish out some punishment to that vile worm, and he can watch. Again, he feels the thrill of grabbing at a scrap of the power Sharkey wields, being able to rearrange his human toys for his own entertainment. "If you want to," he volunteers, "Mr Sharkey has put Damien Pilce in the, er, in the stocks in that bathroom - you know, like a toilet" Gregory might have raised an eyebrow at this inept explanation, or pointed out the tiny faggot was in fact called Daniel. Instead he's simply delighted. "Oh, so we got our little fuckin' toiletfag back, have we?" he booms. "It's been too fuckin' long, I tell ya. Come on then, cunt ... I mean Ramon ... I gotta piss, and you can come watch" He doesn't say it, but Ramon knows for a fact what Gregory means: 'Come watch what I should be allowed to do to you too' Nonetheless, Ramon goes with him, enjoying his little nighttime adventure. He studies Gregory's inflated swagger as he enters the brightly lit bathroom and approaches the stark, skinny little man installed in the corner. He knows Gregory is the truest kind of bully - someone who likes nothing better than to kick a man while he is down; someone who will in fact brutally stomp a man while he is down to make sure he stays down forever. He knows that Gregory will verbally abuse his victim, and sure enough, the thug starts right away. "Fuck, man!" Gregory laughs, "Is it me, or is this prick looking even more fucking scrawny and pathetic than ever? I mean, I know it was always a goddamn wimp, but now the fuckin' piece of shit looks like it's just about ready to croak!" He unzips his flies, whipping his cock out. As he takes his position over the pitiful Pilce, he pokes and nudges at the little man's genitals with his shoes. "Fuckin' weakling! I tell ya, if Mr Sharkey gave the word, I could snap that neck like a twig." He starts to piss, more urine flooding inside Pilce, who's eyes and nose are watering. "Hell, I could break that whole body in half over my knee!" Gregory continues gleefully as he relieves himself. "Hey, Ramon, this little dickhead makes you look like a friggin' he-man!" This seems to amuse Gregory greatly. Ramon finds himself clutching ridiculously at the towel rail, remembering why he's so afraid of the man. After the thug is done, and buckles up his flies, he doesn't hesitate to reach out and start unlocking Pilce from his restraints, yanking out the brace that holds open his mouth. Pilce collapses in something too puny to be called a heap, no more than a piece of helpless garbage. "I ain't done with you yet," Gregory says. He lifts the spluttering waif up over his shoulder, holding him by the skinny legs and carrying him with no effort out of the room. Gregory seems uncaring of the secondhand piss that must be rubbing off of the weakling's body onto his clothes. Maybe, given whatever 'errand' he's just been running, the suit is destined to be burnt shortly anyway. A sticky string of saliva hangs from Pilce's hateful little mouth as his neatly shorn head dangles upside down. "This way, bitch, you can come watch," he says to Ramon. "I'll show ya how I like to give it to this one." Carrying the atrophied little sap into the lounge, Gregory lets him slip fairly gently to the floor, and he lands a bit at a time, curling round and settling like the turd he is. "Whoah man. Let's get these out of the way" Gregory says, picking the heavy bag off the table and throwing it onto the sofa, and then replacing his gun in his pocket. "Not that this piece of gristle would even have the strength to lift the fucking piece, let alone shoot it!" he chuckles. He emphasises the lack of threat Pilce poses by taking off the same blazer with the Colt in its pocket and hanging it nearby. Then he starts taking off all his clothes. Gregory has a powerful yet kind of fatty body that repels Ramon as much as it appeals to him. He has a natural masculine stink that he doesn't too much to disguise - a smell Ramon has become familiar with from the occasions on which Gregory has been allowed the chance to fuck him. He's not big on hygiene, that's for sure. It's particularly strong tonight as he whips off his shirt. Whatever his illicit activities have been, they've certainly made him perspire, and he reeks of a particularly foul sweat. The shoes he's kicked off really stink, even from where Ramon is standing. Gregory isn't going to let this valuable stench go to waste. He picks up a shoe and, kneeling down by Daniel Pilce, takes the slave by the back of the head and forces his face tight inside it. "Ahhhhhyeahhh... smell that, boy ... smell that fucking stink!" he growls as the feeble worm shudders and shakes violently. His struggle against the man's superior strength is supremely useless. Gregory takes great satisfaction in keeping his puckered little face buried deep in the stinking shoe. "Yeahhhh, that's it, asswipe ... get a good fucking whiff of that stink ... that's it, cunt ... suck it all up. Smell it so hard you can fuckin' taste it ... oh man yeah, just what a little fuckface like you deserves" Twice he takes the shoe away from Pilce's blanched face to give him a couple of breaths of clean air - and twice he crams it back in again. He's forcing that face in so hard, Ramon thinks that if Gregory lets go of the shoe it might remain stuck on Pilce's face anyway. When Gregory finally lets go, it's only to set the shoe down in front of the little toad's mouth and force him to lick around the inside of it. "You want a taste so much, fuckin' go ahead. Yeah, that's it, ya fucking faggot perv, lap up the taste of my stinking feet. Yeah, I know you fucking love it!" Pilce, of course, does as he has told. It's not much of a fucking chaser for the litres of piss he has already swallowed tonight, but it's the best he's going to get. As he licks away inside the shoe on his hands and knees, Gregory picks up the other shoe and starts rubbing it up and down between Pilce's buttocks. "You've really got a thing for my shoes, huh, cunt? Maybe I'll let you keep one down in your dungeon, and you can sniff it and think of me, fucking the crap outta your bony ass. Or ... maybe we can see how far we can get this one shoved up your butthole. How's about that, huh, freak? That's a fucking nice idea, don't you think?" Pilce mewls - a sound that mixes impotent disapproval with craven pleading. Ramon wonders if he's been degraded beyond actual speech, more like a trapped, tamed animal than a man. For a while, the grinning Gregory has fun forcing the shoe up against Pilce's butthole, thrusting it like a cock and rubbing it in a grotesquely sensual manner against his starkly red anus. Then he tires of that and throws the shoe aside. He takes the other one away from Pilce's face. "Alright, dickhead. Enough of that. Tell you what, why don't you get some straight from the souce?" Gregory takes a seat on the sofa, legs outstretched, the soles of his feet prone as their heels rest on the carpet. It takes only a gesture from him for the pathetic Pilce to understand what he must do, and soon he is sucking and licking at the thug's feet like a dog. Gregory winks at Ramon, an ugly gesture, and pats the chair for the more privileged slave to sit down. Gregory relaxes with his hands behind his head for a while, allowing his member to stand proudly, bulgingly erect. He's enjoying the feeling of power, and the rightness of it. The craven slave at his feet belongs where it is. One flicker of resistance and it will feel his might. That's why there will be no resistance, ever, from this worthless, wretched boy-thing. Gregory looks at Ramon again. Damn. He wants this one to suck on his cock at the same time. But Sharkey might not like it. If he was here right now to watch, Gregory knew his boss would be fine with it, but ... Sharkey can be strange about Ramon. Not nearly strict enough with him, Gregory thinks. The eyelid-fluttering little princess needs putting in his place a lot more... No. Forget that for now, Gregory decides. "Hey," he says to Ramon suddenly, "Watch this. A little weight training!" He gets up suddenly, reaching down for Pilce's supplicant body. Grabbing it roughly, he takes him first by the waist and ribcage, lifts him up from the floor. Shifting his weight about experimentally in his hands, Gregory balances his victim just right and then lifts the fucker up over his head. The grimacing thug poses a little as he holds the faggot in place, his erection huge. He lifts the piece of pallid meat up and down like a barbell made out of pillows. "Fucking piece of cake - It's barely an effective exercise to lift this piece of crap up above your head!" Not that Gregory is in in any hurry to put the quietly groaning Pilce down. He spins him round a couple of times, in danger of clumsily dropping him for a moment. Awed as he sits curled up on the sofa - for certainly Ramon wouldn't have the upper body strength to lift even the meagre Pilce up like this - Sharkey's favoured catamite knows that despite his fear of Gregory, he would now like nothing better than to - "Suck his cock, Ramon" Again, Gregory nearly drops Pilce, this time as he turns to see where the voice has come from. It's Sharkey, standing in the doorway, big muscular arms folded, and looking amused. "Go on, babe," he insists, "You think I can't see when you're dying to suck on a cock? Here's a clue - it's all the fucking time. A big cock in your face is like a juicy steak served up in front of a starving man. You be a good girl, kneel in front of Gregory and suck on his cock for me" "Thank you master," Ramon purrs, leaping off the sofa. "Fuck yeah!" Gregory exclaims in delight as he sees Ramon sinking to his knees and positioning his pretty face in front of his boner. Soon Ramon is gorging himself on the thug's huge erection, breaking off only now and then to look up at the bastard holding the useless Pilce up over his head. Sharkey strolls into the room, watching this spectacle with some satisfaction. It goes on a few minutes before Gregory grunts "Ahh, dammit. Cramping up." and suddenly drops Pilce down on the sofa. This is probably more because it's right in front of him than because he's concerned about the little puke having a soft landing. Gregory rubs at his arms. Meanwhile, Sharkey taps at Ramon's head. "That's enough for now, babe. We don't want Gregory to blow his load just yet" He takes hold of Ramon by the upper arm and lifts him up. Sharkey's grip on Ramon is tight. He kisses his boy on the mouth with a hint of threat. "Damn right" Gregory says, working the cramp out of his arms. "My load's headed right up this little rodent's guts!" He takes a hold of Pilce again, swings him around with one arm, and slams him face down on the coffee table. There's an "Uunnngghh!" as Pilce has the wind knocked out of him. It probably tastes of Gregory's fucking shoes. "See, this is how I like to fuck this one, the way he deserves it" Gregory explains. "This table's at just the right height ..." He shifts the puny specimen around so that his face lies squashed against the table and his arse points up in the air. Gregory gets his cock into position behind the weasel's butthole, then raises one leg to plant his foot on the table, just by the side of Pilce's head. Then, getting his balance ... yeah, in one smooth move the sole of his foot is now pressed against one whole side of Pilce's skull. Gregory penetrates him gleefully. Pilce's slender white fingers rub squeakily against the table. "Yeaaahhhh, that's it... now I can feel the little maggot's head under my foot while I fuck him ... oooohhhh man, that's sweet ... how's about that boy? Ohhhhyeah, I can fuck you even while I squash you underfoot. Mmmmm, feel me raping your ass while I grind your face into the table... yeah... you feel my big foot pressing down on you? I'm fucking squashing you like a bug! Ha!" "He is a fucking bug" Sharkey growls, grimly earnest as he stands there in his underwear, hands on hips, watching this display. "I lifted up a rock one day, this is what came crawling out." "Fuck yeah, man!" Gregory laughs, his foot clutching that little skull as hard as it can, toes curled into Pilce's short blades of white blonde hair. "Now this is what I call pest control!" Sharkey strides up and plants his own foot heavily on the table, right in front of Pilce's squashed face, his drooling mouth. He roughly inserts his toes between the little shit's contorted lips, forcing them in and out as far as they'll go in rhythm with Gregory's brutal thrusts. Sharkey shifts his underpants down his thighs and jerks himself off. He remembers the sight of this young man, this kid, sitting at that desk in his London office with his shabby shirt and crooked tie. His petulant stark little face, his carefree use of Sharkey's funds in his pursuit of his weekends of depravity. If there's one thing Sharkey can't stand, it's depravity. "I guess you could say you've failed your quarterly assessment, Mr Pilce," Sharkey snorts, even though the little freak probably can't hear him with that big foot all over one ear and the other pressed tight against the table, "FUCKKKOH MAN I'm gonna cum!" Gregory finally erupts. "Me too, man," Sharkey pants. "Here ... here... cum into the ashtray". He lifts the crystal item off the edge of the table, passes it over to his henchman. Gregory reluctantly plops his fat cock free of Pilce's pummelled asshole and aims it at the little container. He splatters an enormous load of jizz into it with a growl, and then a second and a third. "Here, man," Sharkey hisses, "Give it to me quickly" As Gregory takes his foot from Pilce's head and leans over to hand his boss the ashtray, Sharkey takes the opportunity to plant his own foot across Pilce's face and head. Grinding his bare foot over that face in just the same way you might grind out a cigarette on the ground, he revels in ejaculating his own load into the already thick puddle of creamy jizz in the ashtray. "Jeez, look. I've stood in something disgusting" Sharkey smiles. He takes his foot away with a wiping movement, crushing Pilce's features one last time, and sets the ashtray down on the table. Gregory looks at it quizically. "Okay, guys. Midnight fun's over, and I gotta get some rest," Sharkey declares. "Gregory, if you'd be so kind before you go" - hints of the Mr Suave persona here - "Take this bug back downstairs and put it back under its rock." "My pleasure, Mr Sharkey. Any particular instructions?" "Well..." Sharkey rubs at his stubbly jaw, "Really he hasn't served out the full night in the stocks like I'd planned ... Tell you what, lock him into his smallest cage, that one you call the rat trap ..." Sharkey considers, like he's ordering off a menu. "And stuff one of your stinking socks in his mouth too. Strap it in there good. Any little touches you feel like adding, be my guest." "Cool," Gregory grins. "I betcha I can think of a few." He slings Pilce back over his shoulder, carries him off. --- Days go by after that with no mention of Pilce. Ramon almost has the sense that he dreamed up that strange little man - or rather that it was some nightmare in the dead of night. The thought of Sharkey's treatment of Pilce unsettles him - bizarrely perhaps, since the way his master rules Jordon Lunar seems to Ramon only right and proper. It's Daniel Pilce's smallness, Ramon realises. And his strange nearly ugly, nearly pretty looks that are never quite one nor the other. Mr Sharkey's ownership of him, his cruel obsession with dominating him is ... well, it's unnecessary. Unlike Jordon Lunar, unlike Ramon himself, he is not a beautiful possession, not a price worth having. And here we reach the nub of Ramon's vanity - he feels demeaned by being part of the same man-meat 'collection' as this little fucker. Pilce next to Ramon is like rags next to a designer outfit, a weed next to a flower. Yes, this is why Ramon feels uncomfortable with Pilce's presence in this house. He makes Ramon question Sharkey's good taste! But not just that. Ramon sees what his master is capable of. Wonders if he could somehow anger him to the point where he decides that Ramon, too, deserves to be shackled in the corner of a bathroom and pissed into. Pilce lurks there underground, prodding at Ramon's thoughts. Like the pea irritating the sleeping princess. Such thoughts go out of his mind in the days that follow. Sharkey and his men suddenly start paying a lot more attention to sweet, dumb Jordon Lunar - feeding him more, monitoring his exercise, and bringing him upstairs to swim and get more sun. Sharkey reveals that he wants to get the surfer lad looking his finest because he's arranged for a potential new owner to come and have a look at him in a little more than a week. This initially disappoints Ramon, as he's become fond of Jordon, and started to hope he might persuade the blonde hunk to see the benefits of this life as a powerful man's beloved plaything. They could have become best pals - concubines in arms. Both dedicating their lives to pleasuring Mr Sharkey. Yes, Jordon could have earned a way out of his imprisonment to become a favoured lover like Ramon himself. But then again. That would make him a rival. A beautiful rival without a map of scars all across his proud, muscular back. Okay, Ramon decides. It is a good thing that Jordon is going after all. Still, with his days here numbered, Sharkey goes at Jordon Lunar with renewed lust. He fucks his surf dude slave every chance he gets. One sunny afternoon at the poolside it seems like he will never stop. Zapped into submission by the wire collar, Jordon is porked in every position Sharkey can think of. Sharkey will take a break for half an hour, sip on a gin and lemonade, then flip his hunky boy over and start in on him afresh. Sharkey fucks Jordon's toned ass way after the sun has gone down that day, and long after all his seed is spent. Even after that, when Jordon is brought back into the house, he is laid out on the floor, arms and legs outstretched by chains and manacles, and Ramon is invited to join Sharkey in savouring this human feast. The two of them spend further hours exploring Jordon's lovely body with their mouths and tongues - you could say worshipping it. Ramon is invited to suck lovingly on Jordon's gorgeous cock, something Sharkey would never do himself, even though he sees it would be a crying shame to leave it out of their mouth-orgy. Sharkey is happy to suck on the beauiful boy's nipples, his neck, to gorge himself on the mounds of his biceps. It's like he's trying one last time to totally consume the beauty of this young man before giving him up. Rendered insensible - perhaps by the drugs he's been given earlier, perhaps by the protracted physical stimulation, a woozy Jordon does something he has never done before, and kisses Sharkey back, passionately, when he finally meets his villainous captor mouth to mouth. His face held in Sharkey's hands, Jordon Lunar kisses his master and cannot stop himself enjoying it. By the same token he cannot help the ecstasy he feels as Ramon gives his cock the loving treatment it has not had in months. Zack Sharkey and Jordon Lunar kiss for an eternity, and this, yes this, is a more fulfilling penetration of Jordon than any Sharkey has ever enjoyed before. A psychiatrist subjecting this movie to analysis could surely tell you the name of the syndrome that causes Jordon to whisper, at the end of this marathon of smooching: "Please, Mr Sharkey, don't send me away. Let me stay here with you" But Sharkey simply calls it this: Victory. This is the moment he stands up, stands over Jordon Lunar's captured, adored body and laughs. Then he calls one of his men back in - the heavies were exiled from this bout of tenderness - and has the slave taken back, weeping, to his cell. ------ As they lie together in bed that night - Ramon is invited into Sharkey's bed far more often now - Ramon braves a question. "Does Jordon really have to go, master?" Sharkey smiles indulgently. "Why you asking, son? You have yourself a little crush on him or something?" Ramon shakes his head, shrugs. It is, in a way, an odd question to ask of someone who has just spent close to an hour sucking on Jordon's cock. But such is the way of Sharkey's world. "I kind of like him, I guess" he admits. "Not like that, but-" "No need to explain, kid. He's cute and dumb - kind of like a puppy. To be honest, sweetheart -" he kisses Ramon on the forehead - "last thing I need is another slave boy I'm starting to fall for. No offence. I've had my fun with him now, I've made him mine. Time to let some other lucky owner have their turn" Sharkey sits upright, reaches over to a bedside table where his laptop is sitting. He opens it up. "Besides, check this out" He goes through a few shortcuts, taps in a couple of codes. An impossibly deep gravelly voice booms from the laptop over a majestic bassline: "Coming soon ... in a world where musles maketh the man-" Sharkey mutes it. "Ignore that, babe" He calls up a window on screen. In it we see, as if filmed from somewhere across the street, and through an actual window, in a building, footage of a sturdily handsome, very ripped and muscular man, Ramon guesses somewhere in his mid-thirties. He's in a gym, though most of the lights are out, and seems to be working out, after hours, in just a small, poser-ish pair of shorts. He pumps iron so close to the window that you get the feeling he probably wants anyone walking past to catch sight of him, give him an admiring glance or two. Still, it's clear he isn't at all aware of whatever secret camera operator is recording this. "Who's that, master?" "That's the guy who's gonna be our next, er, houseguest," Sharkey says with a malicious grin. "So, you see, we need to clear the decks a little. I mean, even I only have so much fuckin' jizz" He leers greedily at the screen. "And, oh fuck am I gonna need it for Roman Decker. Fuck boy, look at him! Tell you the truth I can't fuckin' wait til the moment I get him in the collar. Can't you picture it, Ramon - THAT guy enjoying my hospitality?" Ramon has to admit, the man is impressive. He looks like he could be a magazine cover model, and just to see him, you know he's a real arrogant stud. If Jordon's a puppy, then this Roman guy is big game. And his hot master is the hunter. Much better than Pilce, that little rat in a trap. Sharkey closes the laptop. "Coming attractions" he says. ----------- Speak of the devil, the next morning sees the unexpected return of Daniel Pilce into Ramon's world. He's been quite content these past few days to ignore the insect living deep under his rock. But first thing after breakfast Sharkey announces he's taking Ramon downstairs with him to rouse the little worm. Ramon is surprised, as he knows this is the day Jordon Lunar's potential new owner is coming to give him the once-over. It may be sentimental of him, but Ramon hopes Jordon's new owner will be kind to him, at least in the way that Sharkey is to Ramon. Don't get me wrong - the thought of the surfer dude Jordon not being owned by a tyrannical master is as much an affront to Ramon as it is Sharkey. For both of them, it is simply the thing that must happen, the fate that Jordon must meet. Ramon doesn't want Jordon to be free, just to be indulged a little in captivity. The same cannot be said for Daniel Pilce. The degraded little creature makes Ramon's skin crawl, his lip curl. Again, he feels a tightening of his stomach as he accompanies Sharkey into the elevator to the lowest level and feels the downward shuddering motion as it moves off. He can never totally dismiss the idea that Sharkey might, on a whim - or perhaps even as part of some sadistic masterplan - deposit him into the same darkness as Pilce. The flimsy sense of security he feels in his master's arms may yet prove to be false. Sharkey may fling him down into the dirt. Sharkey seems heedless of Ramon's jitters. As they go down into the depths, he's looking at something on his phone screen. "He's still in his bed. Sleeping," Sharkey smiles. "I tell you, one thing that slug must just loooove about being here - apart from getting all the punishment he craves, of course - is that he never has to get up for work. Instead he just languishes in his own filthy little nest ..." Ramon realises the full import of Sharkey's words only when they get off at the lowest sub-level and make their way past the heavy sci-fi doors to Pilce's dungeon area. Ramon discovers now that there's a little more to it than the bare, fuctional chamber of brick and metal where he first came across the fetid little creep lying in his own waste. Sharkey unlocks a door, makes an exaggerated shushing motion and creeps into an adjacent room. Here Ramon finds something he has not expected. What he discovers inside is a medium-sized bedroom - or rather something that looks like a bedroom but is more like some kind of film set built to look like one. Ramon, in this scene, does not realise fully what this place is, what it's for. But as we watch, I can tell you. Sharkey - - that is to say, me - - has perfectly recreated Daniel Pilce's room in a shared London flat, just as it was on the day Sharkey scooped him from his old life. He's done in his research, and the props are perfectly accurate. The heavy metal magazines and discarded underpants lying on the grubby, even slightly gritty carpet. The case of a porn DVD detailing the adventures of Mistress Mammaries lying open next to a combination television-DVD player. A laundry basket stuffed with Pilce's clothes ... And these, I must tell you, are not even Pilce's original garments. Sharkey, with his keen attention to detail, has duplicated them all, bought each item from scratch just for the sake of this simulation. Pilce's cherished photograph of himself and his old, unforgotten girlfriend sits there on a scratched old chest, reminding him of a better times. Ugh, Pilce's grin in this image is a truly sickening sight. Its like a cockroach has just somehow winked at you. Still, he needs every reminder he can get of happier days now. It is Sharkey's solemn intention that Pilce never has a happy day again. Even the window has a view. This is one of the first things that captures Ramon's attention. because it is so unexpected. It looks like part of an old city at dusk, and appears at first to be three-dimensional, until Ramon takes a few steps around in front of it and finds it is more the limited three-dimensionality of a hologram, that the view is more blurred the closer he gets to it. Just part of the movie set, then. It's the cramped view of Spitalfields from Pilce's old window. And there is the rag doll lying in the crumpled bed. Or rather, there is Daniel Pilce. Snoring a little, his body no doubt delighting in being given the chance to sleep in his bed. This is not something that happens too often. So why this room? Why this freeze-frame moment of Pilce's existence? Oh, Sharkey's malice is so overwhelming, and so intricate. He lives by it, and doesn't question it. Let's just say he wants to impose the sheer force of himself on his victim's world. Let's say he wants Pilce to wake now and then in what his senses tell him is own bed, his own room, and know with a repeated, crushing realisation that this is just a soft cell of comfort and that he is snared in Sharkey's massive trap. Sharkey wants Pilce to realise that his world has always belonged inside Sharkey's grip. Sharkey wears no shirt, but he slips off the jogging pants he's been wearing around the house this morning. With a sneering grin, he sneaks into the unoccupied side of the double bed, gets under the cover with Pilce. He slides one arm under the sleeping, slight form of the slave, his jutting rib cage. He reaches over him with the other arm, until the little boy-man is tight in his grip. That's when Pilce awakens. He gasps, flinches, as he feels himself held tight by the big, strong man. An almost insane grin on his face, Sharkey nibbles at Pilce's dinky ear, growls into into it "Who's been sleeping in MY bed?" Ramon giggles at Pilce's fear, marvels at Sharkey's sheer physical presence as he so totally overwhelms him. Pilce simply freezes in Sharkey's grip. Awaits the big cock that will again impale him. But for now it doesn't happen. Having squeezed Pilce to him for long enough to terrify the shit out of him, Sharkey slowly releases the scum and tells him to get up. Pilce slips obediently out of the bed. Meanwhile Ramon's eyes are still darting around the room, taking in the baffling amount of detail here. He spots a shelf full of porn DVDs. Hetero porn, nothing to interest us here. But Pilce is allowed to watch these too, on the occasions when he is permitted the use of his scruffy little room. Unfortunately for him, Sharkey has watched them too, and has recreated key scenes from every one of them using Daniel Pilce as the girl. There's not a vaginal penetration in this collection that Pilce hasn't had felt recreated up his own ass. There's not a cumshot that hasn't been remade on his own rodent face. Tarted up in grotesque makeup and pantyhose, Pilce has even starred in cheapskate BlueShark DVD productions available to a limited clientele. All of this mars his enjoyment of his collection to some extent - especially when he finds Sharkey has replaced some of the original discs with the remakes starring himself. On those occasions, the disc will always play to the end before ejecting - with none of the controls responding to his attempts to stop, pause or fast forward the movie, or switch off the set. Sharkey has an override built in. Sharkey is pulling his jogging pants on. He winces at Pilce as he stoops naked by the side of the bed - he always stoops rather than stands now, cowering cockface that he is. "Ugh, boy, I don't want to have to look at your shrivelled little stump of a cock and your little kidney bean bollocks. I've got guests coming over today for Christ's sake. Here -" He reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a pair of small black briefs, throws them at Pilce. "Put these on. Don't say I never do anything for you. Ha!" Sharkey has a good laugh at this before snarling. "Right, come on faggot" and pulling his slave along by the scruff of the neck again. --- Once back upstairs, Pilce barely able to bear the full morning daylight, Sharkey soon assembles quite a mass of men - his ever-present henchmen Gregory and Rob, and another two, the less often seen Chet and Kai, who are usually more like unspeaking extras in the movie. His friend Maitland Storr is there, nursing a large macchiato. The rent boy Darkel is also there, looking like he's been up all night but ready for more. It occurs to you that cute kid Justin Benchley - who's cash-based 'affair' with Sharkey seems to have ended, as he's totally disappeared from the movie - was lucky to avoid being involved in scenes like this. Because this is pretty gross. Pilce - on his knees, naturally - is made to service each of the eight men in turn. This involves licking and sucking at their big hanging balls and the stalks of their cocks as they jerk themselves off - and each catch their load in a cup that they pass from one to another. When it comes to Ramon's turn, he concentrates on the physical sensation, cannot stand to look Pilce in his putrid little face. Maitland Storr himself looks bemused, seems to take this in the spirit of some collegiate initiation, a form of hazing. Only Gregory changes the ritual by having Pilce prostrate himself at his foot and kiss and lick it. As he approaches orgasm, Gregory squashes his foot hard over Pilce's face, something he seems to have developed a bit of a fetish about, as he tugs himself off furiously. He shoots an enviable load and leaves Pilce's nose a little bloodied. This, of course, is all done to provide Pilce with a good breakfast. Once all the loads are shot - Sharkey manages two, and the magnificently rampant rent boy Darkel three - Sharkey goes to the fridge. Takes out the ashtray. That ashtray full of weeks-old refrigerated semen. Kept remarkably fresh but with more of a jelly-like consistency, Sharkey delights in scraping this into the cup with the fresher cocktail of creamy jizz, helps it blend in with a couple of gobs of spit. Then Pilce is sat at the table and given two slices of toast, totally smeared with cum both fresh and preserved. He eats it all as the gathered men laugh. Then he crawls on hands and knees to a toilet bowl for a drink of water. Once he's done, however, Gregory storms in and tells him to keep his fucking head in the bowl. Then Gregory has a piss into the bowl and all over the back of Pilce's white-blonde skull. Out of curiosity, and because he needs to go, Maitland Storr does likewise. "Man, look at him. What a fucking freak!" he chuckles as he watches his jet of piss flood over the arc of this weirdo's head. Then Gregory suggests giving him a good dunking in the pisswater of the bowl. Soon enough, everyone's having a go, even Ramon. At one point Sharkey and Chet take an ankle each and hang him upside down, dipping him into the bowl. The guys are raucous as they torment their cunt victim, an unstoppable wall of masculine aggression grinding him down, down, down beneath them. After that he's allowed a period of reprieve, left alone in the bathroom. The grovelling turd gets to sit on and use the lavatory, which makes a nice change for him from being it. When he emerges - that is, when Sharkey barges in and gets him - most of the guys are leaving, and Sharkey thanks them for coming by to help fix breakfast. Sharkey's right-hand men Rob and Gregory remain however, retained for the day. "Okay, guys. Plan for today - we need to get this prick here some exercise. I've got plans for him tonight. He's gonna help entertain our special guests. You'll see how later - it's kind of a surprise for you too. But we have the rest of today to build up his stamina. Kind of a boot camp - or a butthead camp!" "Playing with Pilce, huh?" Gregory grins, looking down at the hateful piece of human refuse. "Sounds like it's gonna be a fun day!" "Hell, yeah" Sharkey nods, swigging what's left of his coffee. "So ... first activity, guys. Any suggestions?"