Date: Fri, 12 Apr 2024 09:11:52 -0700 From: gayD Subject: Gay Twink's Fantasies - chapter 5 Hi friends. Many of you are writing to me to express your concerns about Quenton. I AGREE! Todd is one fuck up bastard! But he's only 16. You know where all his power over this 38-year-old megastar came from? Has Quentin been too weak or too stupid? Or... has Todd been too evil and coning? But when will Todd get his due? Will he? Famous Star Succumbs to Gay Twinks Fantasies Part 5 of 6 Todd sneered. "What the fuck do you want from me? You want me to pay for your fucking piercing? You shoulda thought of that before you begged me to let you get it. Well ... Looks like you'll have to make a deal with Frank." Frank smiled. "I'm sure we can arrange something," he said as he locked the front door. "Alright, Quartz, on your fucking knees. Time to pay." Quentin, an international singing star in the sensational boyband XHeight, resigned to his fate; he dropped to his knees on the dirty floor before Frank. "Spread your knees and put your fucking hands behind your head, boy!" Frank yelled. His huge dick slipped out of his jeans and quickly filled Quentin's mouth. Frank grabbed the back of Quentin's smooth head and rammed his cock in, filling the naked, kneeling boy's mouth and throat. Quentin felt cold as the cool air blew against his exposed, smooth body, and his knees hurt on the tile floor.
"God, what a fucking queer! I'm fucking Quentin Quartz's mouth! Shit, millions of little girls have Quentin posters on their walls, and now he's naked and sucking my cock! I guess now that you've outed yourself in Playgirl, all the little girls will replace your poster with Eric or JC. Just think of all the gay men who will put your naked centerfold on their walls - America's new favorite faggot boy! I loved the interview, too. 'I like to take it up the ass. The rougher, the better. I need to be used hard.' Fucking beautiful. And I liked the bit where you said, 'I'm just a big slut. The more, the better. Sometimes I get fucked five or six times a night.' Well, boy, prepare to be used hard right now, you fucking slut!" Frank pulled Quentin off his cock, bent him over the table, and rammed his cock up Quentin's smooth, curved ass. Quentin let out an anguished scream - it wasn't a pleasant fuck, but a hard, ramming one, the kind that's meant to hurt. It was the kind that showed a sub-bottom that he was there only to be fucked and not to get any pleasure. The kind of fuck that turns the bottom into a useless cum hole. Frank rammed in and out and began to slap Quentin's ass. "Yeah, take it, your fucking whore. Take my cock. Feel what a real man is like. I know you like to be fucked by little boys, but tonight you will be used by a real man. You feel my man cock up your fucking boy ass? You feel what happens when a real man rips your sorry worthless ass open? You fucking queer band faggot - you go out on the road; girls beg for you to just look at them. Well, queer, now you know how a real faggot gets fucked by a real man. Get used to it, boy - this is how you'll be from now on, naked, bent over, ass in the air, begging a real man to make you his bitch. You're nothing but a piece of fuck meat. A hole to be filled. A useless fucking whore." Quentin almost passed out from the brutal rape. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his mouth hung open, drool dripping out. He was bent over the table, his chest forced onto the cold surface, and his ass was being ripped wider than ever before. He desperately tried to get away, his hands grasped at the table, his bare feet pushed helplessly against the tile, and his body twisted. He began to scream, beg for mercy, and make it stop. "Please, God, please, help! Pleassseee! Oh God, it hurts! Fuuuccccck! Stop! For God's sake, stop! I'll do anything! Please! Anything you say! Please stop!" The sobs grew until Frank couldn't understand what the boy was screaming. Frank just laughed as he continued to ram his cock in faster and faster. "Oh yeah, you fucking boyband faggot. Believe me, I'll take anything I want from you, don't you worry. Keep begging bitch. Keep begging me to stop. Beg me to make it end. Come on, you faggot, let me hear you. Show me what a fucking whore you are, and you might just make it through this, bitch." Quentin could hardly breathe. He hoped he would pass out. At least then, this nightmare would end... for a while. He lost track of the time, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor, cum oozing from his battered ass. He thought he would throw up - it felt like he had been beaten raw. And then a shoe kicked him in the side. "Get up, faggot boy. We still have places to go." Todd yelled. Quentin looked up and saw that Frank was dressed and ready to reopen his shop. Quentin's whole body ached more than ever before; he could barely move, but he managed to pull his jeans back on, slipped on his navy T-shirt, and pulled on his dress shoes. He stumbled after Todd as they got back in the Jeep. "That was hot to watch. Frank knows how to get the best out of his fucks. A real man. He knows what his boys need. We may have to go back there again. I totally love it when you scream." Quentin just closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat, trying to hold back the tears. "Okay, boy, out!" barked Todd. Quentin saw that they were in the parking lot of some club. He felt weak and sick but managed to get out of the car and follow Todd to the door, where they were stopped by the bouncer. "Hey, don't you know who this is? This is Quentin Quartz of XHEIGHT. Let us in, you idiot." Todd barked to the bouncer. The large man squinted, staring at Quentin, trying to recognize him, "Oh, sorry. I didn't recognize you. Come right in, please." Todd led them in and took Quentin to the bar. The place was full of men since it was obviously a gay club. Several go-go boys were dancing on small stages. Todd whispered to the bartender and handed him Quentin's credit card. The music stopped, and the bartender made an announcement. "Gentlemen," then waited for all to be quiet. "We have a special visitor tonight. Quentin Quartz of XHEIGHT is here. To make everyone feel at home, Quentin has offered to pay for everyone's drinks for the rest of the night. Let's hear it for Quentin!" Everyone applauded and cheered as they rushed to the bar for free drinks. Todd left Quentin to fend for himself and went to talk to the DJ. When Todd returned, he said, "Okay, boy, here's the deal. To promote your Playgirl photos and to show off your new piercing, the DJ has agreed to let you do a number for the guys." Quentin looked mortified. "Look, I really can't sing tonight. My throat is fucked soar, and you know that. Please, this is like the worst day of my life, please, don't ..." "No, you stupid faggot, no singing. The DJ has your latest album. He's gonna play the music. You have to get on the bar, strip, and dance." Quentin looked like he had just lost his last friend in the world; in reality, he probably had. The Playgirl photos and interview had seen to that. Millions had already seen him naked in the magazine, but now, Todd wanted him to show off to all these guys in person. "Please, Todd, please, I can't please ..." Quentin implored. The first notes of his latest hit, "My Body's For Your Use," started over the loudspeakers. "You've got exactly thirty seconds to get on the bar, you fucking faggot," Todd yelled. But Quentin didn't move - he had had it. So Todd took out his phone and yelled, "Hey, what's the number of the local police here? ... Oh, wait, I can just call 911." And Todd did. He held out the phone close to Quentin's ear, and they both heard the dispatch operator say, "911, what is your emergency?" Quentin leaped onto the bar as Todd dismissed the operator. Quentin looked at Todd, saw his wicked smile, and pulled off his shirt. He slipped off his dress shoes and unzipped his jeans. He couldn't understand why, but his dick grew hard as he stood on the bar surrounded by cheering fans, his new fans in the leather and S and M community. Todd looked up at him. "What are you waiting for faggot? Start dancing." Quentin had danced to this song thousands of times. He went into autopilot, jumping, thrusting, and gyrating. There must have been about three hundred guys in the place, all clapping and hooting. Lots of the guys pointed at the massive ring that pierced the end of Quentin's cock and laughed at his baby-smooth body. They laughed at his SLUT tattoo and his huge, boned-up dick. Quentin had danced to this song many times but never nude. His hard cock slapped around, hitting his firm stomach and thighs; he felt humiliated. The dance steps were very high-energy, with lots of jumping and quick moves, and they were very sexual. He felt so fucking exposed as he put his hands behind his head, thrust out his crotch, and began hopping down the bar. His exposed armpits were smooth, and his hard dick flopped in front of him as he realized he had just hit a new low. Nothing could ever be worse than this, he thought, as the music to "Tramp Love" started, and he continued dancing. Quentin spent almost an hour dancing on the bar. Lots of guys snapped pictures, and even more were on their cell phones, calling friends, telling them that Quentin Quartz was naked, hard, and dancing on the bar. Some were even holding their phones up so their friends could hear. When the "Slide Your Love in Me" song started, Todd yelled, "Start jerking, boy!" Quentin looked down at him - this couldn't be happening. He couldn't bear it. "I said, start jerking your dick, now!" Todd screamed. Quentin grabbed his cock and started pumping as he danced. All the guys were in a frenzy, shouting, "Pump it, Quentin. Shoot for us! Show off your cock. Beat it off!" The intensity of it all was getting to Quentin. His body was drenched in sweat. His head was swimming in the music, the catcalls, and the utter humiliation. His hand was jerking his cock, his bare feet on the bar were moving to the dance steps he knew by heart, and he felt the pressure building in his dick. He was jerking it quickly. The music was loud. The crowd broke into a uniform cheer, "PUMP IT! PUMP IT! PUMP IT! PUMP IT!" Oh my God, he couldn't believe it. He was shooting cum! Quentin's shoulders pulled back, and his pelvis thrust out as arcs of cum spurted out of his rock-hard dick, raining down on the crowd of gay leather men. The crowd let out a huge cheer, and then another stream of cum shot out. Quentin felt his butt cheeks clench; his legs were spread as he went up on his toes. His back arched, and his head fell back as he screamed. His southern Quartz voice echoed in the bar, "PUT IT IN ME! OOOOOOOH FUUUCCKK!" Quentin's whole body shook. His fist continued to pump his dick as four huge spurts of milky cum shot from his hard cock. Cameras flashed. The screams were deafening. These guys loved watching Quentin fully exposed, hiding nothing, and falling into utter humiliation and animalistic behavior. Quentin was in a trance; he had sunk into the lowest black hole on Earth. He was still dancing on a bar, sweat dripping from his shaved body. His dick was still rock hard. He was empty of cum, but no one cared. Hundreds of total strangers watched as he grabbed his dick and tried to beat out even more bad-boy juice. Quentin had never felt so ashamed. He looked at Todd, and the boy smiled, motioning to Quentin to keep dancing. Quentin wanted to die. When the evening was finally over, Quentin looked around for his clothes, but his jeans and T-shirt were nowhere to be found; nothing was there. What had happened was, earlier, Todd had tossed everything, including his shoes, socks, and underwear, into the cheering crowd. As Todd was slowly making his way to the door, the naked Quentin tried to hurry to him and get the fuck out. But he was stopped by dozens of guys who grabbed his ass and crotch and rubbed his chest and nipples. Some men even gave Quentin their phone numbers, and several guys offered to fuck him hard right then and there. Finally, Quentin made it out the door and followed an ecstatic Todd into the Jeep. "That was fucking incredible! You may be a total faggot loser, but you are a great dancer. It was fucking beautiful, watching your body arc back as your cum shot out over everyone," Todd said. Just then, Todd, who had Quentin's cell, received a call for Quentin. After Todd answered it, he said, "Hey faggot, it's for you," and handed to phone over. "Hello? Who is this?" Quentin said nervously. "This is Arnold, your band member. You do remember XHeight, don't you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I just got off the phone with a guy who said you were dancing naked on a bar! You are a total fucking useless idiot. What was the Playgirl interview all about? God, are you trying to ruin all of us? Look, you've been a friend for a long time, but I don't even know you anymore. Us guys met, and we've just had enough - you are no longer in the group, understand? Don't try to call, and never talk about XHEIGHT again. And no more interviews either - you are dead to us, understand?" The next day, Todd told Quentin he'd make a deal to set him free. Todd would give Quentin all the photos and call it even ... if .... Quentin would sign a Durable Power Of Attorney document. Quentin was confused. "But I already have an attorney," Quentin told Todd. "I don't give a shit about who you had before...I want to be legally in charge of all your financial affairs now," said Todd. "No! Go ahead and turn me in to the police. It can't be any worse in prison than what you have already done to me, and I won't give you control over the rest of my property. No." Quentin finally stood up for himself, although it was too late. "Look, faggot, I don't need control over your fucking finances forever. Let's say, well, for ... 10 days. Yeah, after 10 days, the agreement would be void, and I would no longer be in charge of your wealth." Quentin remained silent. "Look, asshole, I will give you all the evidence back! All the photos, all the copies of the negatives, every fucking thing I have on you. PLUS, I'll even get a notarized statement from my 15-year-old buddy, Simon, to say it was all a prank and that we set you up." Todd explained, "You'd be free of me, FOREVER!" Quentin looked at his life as now being completely fucked up ... FOREVER! But was it repairable? Could he ever get his old life back? It would take a lot of work, and he knew his music career would be over, but the rest of his life, or most of it, could be earned back ... IF TODD WERE TRULY GONE. Yes, he thought, it would be worth it. It would be only for 10 days, and he'd see to it that the POA agreement would end in 10 days, no tricks. It may sound insane, but Quentin felt there was nothing more Todd could do to him, so why not just power through it? Maybe he'd get his girlfriend back, his family, his friends, and even get re-established with his buddies in XHeight. FUCK! All would be well again, and he could tell everyone that he stupidly got hooked on dangerous drugs but was now recovering and returning to his old self. Yes. And so he did it. The document was drafted, signed, and notarized. It was a sealed, irrevocable deal! Quentin went home; he went home because Todd could do nothing more to him. He couldn't fully believe it, but it all seemed to somehow make sense. He had the envelope in his hand with all the media images and videos, and ... he also received a notarized statement from Simon. Could it possibly be all over? He was so happy. Quentin didn't see or hear from Todd for the next five days, halfway through the 10-day period when it would be officially over. Unfortunately, one of the things Todd did with his Power of Attorney was to cause a quick sale of Quentin's expensive and gorgeous home. That sale included all his furnishings - all of them. One might think that selling a home would take months. But if it was owned by the most famous international star in the world, a fast sale would never be a problem; there would always be some rich guy who could just fork over the cash, which was exactly what happened. Todd pocketed eight million dollars from the sale, and, in addition, he closed every checking account, every savings account, and every stock investment account Quentin had. He transferred all the funds into his own name, which was all legally done. Todd could now afford to get a powerful attorney of his own. Todd got one: the same attorney he used to research all of Quentin's holdings, all of which were now zeroed out. Quentin didn't find out until a couple of days later when he went to his attorney and was made fully aware that everything was gone. Not one account anywhere was left intact, nor was any of the furniture and clothing at his home. His attorney was so sad for him and told him that everything, even his personal items, went to the buyer of the home. All he had left were the clothes on his back and whatever was in his wallet. Of course, the attorney no longer served Quentin any purpose, so they parted ways, saying, "Oh, here, Quentin, here's a hundred bucks," adding, "And good luck." It was a stunning shock. Quentin realized it was all over as he left his attorney's office. It finally sunk in. He was financially, physically, and emotionally broke. He had no job and no job prospects. No family, no friends. He started to cry right there on the street - everyone had abandoned him. Just then, he saw his car pull up -- the Jeep he used to own. "Hey, shithead, come over here," Todd yelled out. "Come here, asshole!" Quentin went up to Todd wanting to be angry, scream and yell at the top of his lungs, and cuss Todd out for all he was worth, which, at that point, wasn't much, but he was still in a daze. He was trying to deal with all of his new nothingness. "What is it?" Quentin asked, actually, quite calmly. Maybe he had just gotten used to all the abuse. He was numb to anything Todd could say or do. "Come on, get in. I may have taken your house, furniture, clothes, and shaving kit," Todd chuckled like a little kid, "but ... I do have great news! I have rented you a place to live!" Quentin didn't know what to think. Had Todd actually found a little kindness? A little heart? Quentin allowed himself to smile. Could it be that Todd would give him most of his stuff back? He smiled a little more. He got in the Jeep, and they took off. As Todd drove through the city, he said, "Yeah, I got you a cute little place. Oh, it ain't too big, but it's a nice one-bedroom you can be proud of. And the rent is paid, so there are no financial worries. I hope you'll enjoy it." Interesting. Did Todd have a sudden change of heart? He was being kind to Quentin for the first time...was he trying to make amends? Obviously, he wasn't leaving Quentin homeless. Todd is kind enough to rent a house for him so that he has his own place to live and wouldn't be out on the streets. To Be continued... Well, fucking shit! It seems like Todd may have finally realized he had gone too far. You see, he is providing a nice place for Quentin. Right? It can't be a trick. That would be too cruel. Even wicked Todd could do that! I am Bruce Darkforce (Tanmanca@gmail.com), the author of this story. Now, there is only one chapter left. What in the fuck is going to happen to Quentin? To Todd? SHIT, I don't know. I have not finished writing the story yet. But let me hear your guesses.