Date: Fri, 11 Sep 2009 10:39:30 -0500 From: George Gauthier Subject: Jungle Boy 8 Jungle Boy 8 by George Gauthier Author's Note: This is a tale of a pair of young gay actors in Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. This eighth installment continues the story of the pair of new protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles introduced in the sixth tale, in place of Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has a cameo role in these new tales). It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body and of sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is nineteen years old. It depicts scenes of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity, bondage and submission. If any of this would offend a reader, proceed no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies. It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. Occasional references by characters to real motion pictures and actors and others in the movie business are simply to lend verisimilitude to a tale about persons in show business. None of the real people mentioned in passing is in any way part of the tale. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans. Readers who like these stories might want to try my 'Daphne Boy' historical tales or my 'Naked Prey' series of tales in a modern setting, posted in the Gay/Beginnings section of the archive. Also, try my 'Track and Field' stories in College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George Gauthier. All rights reserved. Chapter 1. White Comanche "Gotcha!" Terry exulted as he pounced on Sandy from hiding, his momentum propelling both boys into the cool waters of the upper Pecos River in New Mexico. The nude boys fell in a tangle of bare limbs and laughter, smacking into the water with a great splash. Sandy pushed off from the bottom and come up for air first, shaking the long blond locks out of his eyes, looking around for his lover. Terry stayed under water. Approaching unseen, he swam between Sandy's legs and came up under him, upending the boy who fell over backwards, ass over teakettle, with a yell and another large splash. As Terry chortled over his second coup, Sandy surfaced and look around for the red head who, now that his opponent was ready for him, took a cautious step back in the chest deep water. Sandy grinned predatorily then lunged, grappling with the other lad, but Terry managed to slip free. Naked as they were, there wasn't much for either boy to grab ahold of. Besides, their lithe bodies were slick and wet from their immersion and their sweat. Terry feinted to his left only to get tripped up by a boulder on the river bottom, going down on all fours. Sandy saw his opportunity for payback, knelt down on the stone and locked his left arm around Terry's waist. With his right hand, he started smacking the curvaceous rump so conveniently to hand. Terry struggled ineffectually to get away, but, bent as he was over Sandy's knee, he had all he could do to keep his face above water. Nevertheless, between gasps for breath, he managed to get out some good yelps as Sandy administered a spanking that turned his buttcheeks red. Terry finally got his feet under him and pushed away, gaining the sandy shelf that bordered the stream. "Yikes" Terry complained, hands rubbing his sore butt. "You must have left hand prints there on my ass." "Awh, poor baby. Here, let me make it up to you, querida." Sandy replied, stepping up to the boy and planting a big kiss on his lips. Terry melted in his arms, all resistance gone. Hands roamed, Terry's clutching Sandy's bare ass, Sandy's own hands framing the boy's cute face to prolong their kiss. They held the clinch, their nude bodies pressed together, till director Jim Nicholls called: "Cut!" "I would love it if you would take me right now, Sandy," Terry murmured, "but that would be rather awkward with a whole film crew looking on." Sandy chuckled at his lover's naughtiness, but Terry was right. They were professional movie actors and this was a scene in their latest picture together, not just a private session of grab ass. They were on location on the actual spot near Villanueva where the young men they were portraying had started their life-long love affair nearly two centuries before. The two young actors, both just nineteen, were not only costars but real life lovers. They were making their fifth movie together in little more than a year. Sandy had the title role of the "White Comanche". He played an Anglo youth named Kit (for Christopher) rescued years earlier from a Kiowa raid on a wagon train and raised by the Comanche as one of their own. His adopted people called him Kitono. Terry played Duncan Barrie, an artist from New York City traveling in the wake of George Catlin to paint the American West of the 1830s, though he concentrated on landscapes rather than the native inhabitants. Based on a true story, one of the so-called captivity narratives of the day, it related the tale of how an Anglo boy came to live with the Comanche till he came of age and returned to his own people. Like the book it was based on, the film was respectful of the way of life of the Comanche without glossing over their faults. It gave plenty of play to the shortcomings of white society too like its chronic mistreatment of Indians, women, slaves, and homosexuals. The scene takes place soon after Kit's adopted brother Litanka leaves Kit to go alone on a horse stealing raid, while Kit served as guide and interpreter for the young American artist. Though till recently Kit's lover too, the older Comanche felt no jealousy toward the white man. He himself was getting ready to marry, if only he had the bride price, hence the raid. Comanche youths often paired off till marriage but usually not afterwards. The two young actors settled into canvas chairs marked with their names, one of their few perks, while the cinematographer moved his cameras for the next shot. Neither boy bothered to slip on a robe or shorts, electing to remain nude. This was a Jungle Boy movie, a set of films notorious for the skimpy or non-existent costumes of its principal actors. Sandy and Terry had already made two movies where they were in the buff in every scene, the first about cavemen, a partial remake of 'When Dinsaurs Ruled the Earth' and the other a gay themed version of the 'Blue Lagoon'. So the film crew as well as the fans of their movies were familiar with sight of their delectable nude bodies. The youths chatted away, feeling comfortable and natural sitting there without clothing. Sandy had worked a couple of years as a male model on fashion shoots where his bare body rather than the clothing line was the focus of attention. The idea was to use the sex appeal of the model's nude physique to attract the attention of readers paging through fashion magazines. As for Terry, if initially he had been a little body shy when he started out as a script boy, he had loyally followed Sandy's lead in dispensing with clothing. If Sandy didn't see a reason to wear clothing, then that was fine by his lover. The youths were actually spouses, having joined their lives and fortunes in a civil union. Cute twinks the both of them. Sandy and Terry were short and slightly built. Sandy stood no more than four inches over five feet (163 cm) and weighed in at only 112 pounds (51 kg). His lover and co-star was not more than a centimeter taller and a couple of kilos heavier. The two young men had a fawn-like physique, very boyish looking, but with a wiry musculature, their muscles toned and taut from swimming and running every day. Sandy's was more the swimmer's build compared to Terry, who had run medium distance on the track team in high school. The camera loved them. They were poetry in motion -- their wiry physiques a vision of youthful male pulchritude. The production team were doing several slow motion shots of the young stars running and riding, wrestling and swimming, to highlight their athleticism and raw animal appeal. Although the boys were short, their bodies were well proportioned and incredibly toned, taut and trim with killer abs and all-over tans. From their tiny red nipples to deeply indented navels, to narrow hips framing surprisingly ample manhoods for boys so slight in build, Sandy and Terry were real beauties. Both were sleek and smooth, with the deep and even tans of boys who spent a lot of time outdoors in the nude, at the beach, the pool, or on clothing optional running tracks in parks. Sandy, the blond, was almost preternaturally beautiful, much better looking than a boy should rightly be with fine-boned features: a straight nose and high cheekbones framing large green eyes set wide on his guileless honest face, topped with hair the color of straw. Terry was a real catch too. Incredibly cute, he had red hair, blue eyes, and a lightly freckled face reflecting his Irish heritage. Like his lover, he was totally smooth, without any body hair, the look of most young males in the fourth decade of the twenty-first century. Neither had ever had more than wisps in their armpits and at the fork of their legs. Nevertheless they had submitted to treatments to remove all the hair on his body including the light dusting on their arms and legs, leaving him permanently smooth and boyish. The production was proceeding without a hitch. By now both young actors were comfortable on horseback. Terry, portraying a white painter from the East, kept to his saddle. The young actor was new to riding and really needed the help of stirrups and saddle horn. Sandy rode bareback, in the authentic style of the old Comanche. No Hollywood nonsense about saddles hidden under blankets and no bridle either, just a hackamore. He was much the better rider, having taken lessons almost from his first days in pictures, deliberately gearing up for potential roles. It wasn't just for westerns; you also had your period dramas, sword and sandal epics, dungeons and dragons, even life styles of the rich and famous. You never knew when a producer would put one of his characters up on a horse. That was part of the fun of being an actor, all the skills you mastered or at least learned well enough to fake believably from sword fighting to ballroom dancing. Like the Comanche braves of old Sandy as Kit wore only a loin cloth and mocccasins. The Comanche males never wore anything on the upper body though sometimes they used leggings (James Fennimore Cooper's 'leatherstockings') for protection from thick brush or cactus. This being a Jungle Boy picture, Sandy's costume was authentic to the period: a narrow strip of deerskin passed between his legs that was no wider than the span of his hand and left him entirely bare from the side. Besides the costumes and riding styles, the locations were authentic too. They were shooting in the region the Comanche had once claimed as their own, in the valley of the scenic Pecos River and the grassland called the Llano Estacado. That was the Spanish name for the "Palisaded Plain", called such for the steep escarpment that forms its northern boundary paralleling the Canadian River (which is nowhere near Canada). The next scene in the shooting script was early in the timeline, just before the two youths became lovers. Although the character Duncan was a painter of landscapes he was bound and determined to paint Kit in the nude, if only for his own satisfaction. The fact is, artistic considerations aside, he was utterly smitten by the exotic Indian boy, his looks, his innocence, his openness and candor. He would give anything if only he could persuade the stunning Comanche boy to pose for him. Then, who knows what might develop from that. Kit pointed out that their bargain was for him to serve as guide and interpreter, not as a nude model. Much of their movie dialogue came from the unexpurgated version of Kit's later memoir. "Oh why won't you let me sketch and paint you entirely naked, Kit? Only your loveliness can match the beauty of this wondrous country. You must model for me, my young friend. Please get out of that loincloth you are wearing." "Why is it you white artists are so eager to depict young people without a scrap of clothing on them?" "To my people, the nude human form is the most beautiful living thing in existence." "Then why don't you paint females? Don't you like girls?" Kit teased though he had a very good idea why Duncan wanted to get him naked. "Oh Kit. I have seen the hungry way you have been looking at me, especially when I undress at night. I know I am not unattractive to you. Will you pose for me if I promise to reward you with a kiss? " Early on, Kit had laughed at the white man's night shirt, scorning it for a woman's dress. Ever since then Duncan had slept in the nude just like his young companion. Several times, he awoke in the morning to find the Indian lad's gaze fixed on Duncan's blanket at the spot where his morning wood tented it out. "Very well, but if I am going to be naked, you have to be too, so take off those pants and boots. Also you must promise not to show your work to Litanka or the elders. One look and they will surely know that we are lovers." "Wha..at! But we are not lovers, Kit." "Not yet, true, but by this evening we shall be. Why do you suppose I want you out of your clothes?" Duncan shucked his clothing excitedly, fingers fumbling at the buttons, as Kit undid the thong around his hips and let his loincloth fall to the ground. With that, as Duncan moved forward to embrace the lovely Indian boy, Kit held up a hand. "Tut, tut. Not yet Red Hair. First you must paint my likeness. Let that show me how desirable I am in your eyes." The fact is that this was Kit's first real chance to flirt with and to tease a potential lover and he was making the most of his opportunity. Indians were much more straightforward about such things, at least between youthful males. Of course Kit would give himself to the handsome white man, whom he found irresistible, but the artist would have to work for it a bit, to court him properly, to render proper homage to his beauty. "Cut!" Nicholls called. Great delivery of their repartee, Sandy and Terry. You are bringing these guys to life with all of Duncan's shyness and Kit's brazenness." "That's us, all right," Sandy observed sardonically, his hand gesturing at their nude bodies. "Brazen." Their next scene was a little harder for the principal actor as he posed for his portrait. Sandy found himself trying to hold an artistic pose far longer than he felt comfortable doing. He developed cramps in his leg and back and sweat was getting into his eyes. "If you don't stop fidgeting, Sandy, we will never finish this scene." the director declared in exasperation. "You were a professional male model. Didn't they teach you to hold still?" "Actually Jim I was a photographer's model. They had you change your pose after every couple of frames. And the photographer kept moving around too." "Okay, but you are modeling for a painter in this movie. So hold still and look sexy." Well, that was doable. Looking sexy was one thing Sandy could deliver despite his discomfort. Although nineteen, his slight build and lack of body hair made it no no problem passing for seventeen, Kit's age then. As with Kit, Sandy's physique was about as developed as it was ever going to get. Sandy's face bore the mischievous look of a boy who, without being particularly vain about it, was extremely cute and knew it too. He looked so much like a young elf that you found yourself checking for points on his shell-like ears. This was a boy that Renaissance masters like Botticelli or Leonardo da Vinci might have fought over to have as a model or as a lover. Kit had a body someone like Michelangelo might have written poems to celebrate. In the scene, Duncan has the Comanche lad try various poses till he found the one he liked best. Kit stood with his feet apart, most of his weight on his back foot, front knee slightly bent, holding a lance in one hand just above his right shoulder as if about to throw it, with the other arm held out to the front and side for balance. The stance highlighted the tension in the muscle bundles of arm and shoulder and accentuated the dimpling of his buttocks while uncovering his corrugated chest and belly. His tiny red nipples were like twin beauty marks on small but well defined pectorals. Finally the scene was done and the boy slipped on shorts and drove to their motel in a nearby town. At least they had more privacy for their lovemaking than in a tent on location. Finally the scene was done and the boys slipped on shorts and drove to their motel in a nearby town. At least they would have more privacy for their lovemaking than in a tent on location. The youths closed the door behind them, letting their shorts slip off their hips. They kissed, tongues dueling. Hot hands stroked flanks and ribs and hips. Their mutual excitement was obvious from the rigid members pressed between their bellies. On this evening, it was Terry who took the lead, taking command of Sandy's small body, tweaking his nipples and squeezing the head of his cock while Sandy mouthed and licked and nibbled on his nipples. Then he guided Sandy to the double bed, the sheets already turned down for them. Terry mouthed Sandy's turgid member. Sandy shivered in anticipation, knowing that no one gives better oral pleasure to a male than another male. As they lay together Terry licked Sandy's smooth cock from the root to the tip. Pointed toward his navel, it lifted completely off his belly as it cantilevered out from the root, rigid but dipping rhythmically with the throb and beat of his heart. Terry's hands and lips caressed the wiry body of his lover, fingers trailing lightly over his abs, stroking the length of his legs, sliding along his flanks, delving between his thighs, making love with his hands but touching his eager cock only with lips and tongue. In time Terry swallowed Sandy's cock to the root, sucking and licking and swallowing, moving his head up and down the firm shaft as Sandy's arousal mounted. Terry pulled off just in time as the ball sac pulled tight against the fork of the young man's legs, the head purpled, its tiny lips spreading open. Abruptly, with only a quick intake of breath and a tightening around Sandy's half-closed eyes, his proud cock engorged beyond its previous impressive girth and began spurting and spitting his white seed onto his chest and belly. Even after several strong spurts, the gism continued to flow slowly from the still tumescent shaft, the gism collecting in a pool in the hollow of his navel. Terry used the tip of his finger to gather some of this sweet chrism and brought it to Sandy's lips and then to his own. He spread a little gism under Sandy's nose, like a milk mustache, then a bit more on his chin, creating a sort of goatee to match. Terry lapped some of it up and took Sandy's cock back into my mouth, sucking and tugging on the sensitive cock that had a moment before spit his essence onto his belly. The blond boy tightened his fists in the sheets and whimpered: "Huuuh, Terry that's just too much. It feels so good it hurts." Terry held Sandy's wrists down, rendering him helpless, as he continued the sweet torment. Sandy moaned as Terry teased his softening member, abdominals flexing as he practically sobbed with pleasure. Terry was happy too. He had worried that their fatigue from the long day would keep them for fully enjoying their lovemaking. Sighing he lay back to rest. A while later, when they got their second wind, Sandy pleasured Terry in much the same way, though he nearly choked on the copious flow of the red head's male essence when some went down the wrong tube. They broke for a shower and a late supper, then returned to bed. Sandy lay on his back, eyes bright with eagerness, offering himself, legs spread wide, knees pulled up to his chest. Terry propped Sandy's legs on his shoulders and lay atop him, his slight weight hardly a burden for the boy's firm body. That was one benefit of having a lover your own size. How sexy each found it to grapple with the same kind of slim but well muscled body, one in peak condition, energetic, flexible, and very willing. Terry was young, and strong and vigorous and knew just how to please a male lover. As one himself Terry knew that a sexual submissive like Sandy gets a fire going in his belly whenever a large hard cock slides along his cleavage, from tail bone to perineum, poking and prodding at the anal ring, teasing the boy before slipping inside for the actual fuck. Sandy felt Terry's manhood stretch the anal ring as the head push through the first ring then the second. The tumescent shaft slid inside an inch or so at a time give him a chance to adjust to his girth. Terry's shaft fell into the familiar rhythm of penetration and withdrawal. He leaned forward and kissed his lover, then tickled his lover's chest with the longish red hair framing his face. Then came the moment when Terry's cock touched his lover's joy spot. Sandy felt light headed, his whole body shuddering helplessly as his guts clutched in an internal orgasm. The boy's slender body was tempest tossed on a sea of sensation, his head whirling, the pulse pounding at the temples, his own member poking stiffly up from his groin. Sandy's lithe torso rippled in a wave that started at his ass and traveled up the hips and back and neck to the head, a reflex touched off by the lust that overwhelmed him. He surrendered myself to the good feelings coursing through him. Terry let the boy's internal ass orgasms go on and on. Terry wanted them to come together, so he batted Sandy's hand away from his own tool and took total control of his delectable body. Terry knew to wait for the right moment to provoke the boy's external orgasm. And when it happened, Sandy nearly blacked out from the intensity. A wet warmth spurted from Terry inside him at the same time his own gism shot out between their bellies again and again. Terry pulled Sandy up so they were facing each other, limbs intertwined. They leaned into each other, the sweaty bodies pressed together, holding each other, savoring their closeness, kissing softly. Then the boys rolled on their sides, temporarily exhausted. It was the one of the best fucks of their young lives. Afterwards, the two youths lay together sweaty and tired, drained but satisfied. That night they slept spooned together, sharing their body warmth, nuzzling and whispering, happier than either had ever remembered being. The howl of a coyote woke them briefly during the night. Terry took that as a good omen, the spirit of the West approving their mating, and snuggled closer to the boy he loved, kissed the nape of his neck and went back to sleep. Chapter 2. Action The movie was full of fine visuals both of the scenic countryside and the equally scenic young actors who were its stars. Sandy as Kit posed nude repeatedly for Terry's Duncan. Terry knew a bit about sketching, at least enough to fake it for the camera, though a professional artist actually produced all of Duncan's work for the movie, some of which the young lovers got to take home and have framed. Some poses were heroic when Sandy posed with spear or bow. Some were tragic: an Indian version of the Dying Gaul (a famous Roman statue of a wounded warrior) or the doomed youth Leander. (Leander is depicted just emerging from the water after swimming the Hellespont for a final visit to his lover Hero, who sadly, despite the name, was a girl.) Yet others were deliberately provocative and blatantly homoerotic. In a static pose, Duncan had Kit lie on his back over a round boulder, arms and legs wide apart in a spread-eagle, hips and semi-turgid cock uppermost, all the while looking boldly and directly at the artist or viewer. There were dynamic poses of the boy poised to take off running, bent forward, muscle bundles in his legs taut, his torso forming a single curve from shoulders to his cleft buttocks. The script was filled with many moments of high adventure: a wildfire, a wrestling match, a buffalo hunt, a raid on a corral for horses, and a knife and gun fight. The fire scene called for a bolt of lightning from a thunderhead to set the dry grass afire. The crew really did set a large grass fire, with the permission of the authorities, of course. (Without occasional fires, grasslands must turn into scrub, a wasteland of mesquite and thorn bushes.) The flames reared up higher than a horse and spread rapidly -- almost as fast as a horse could canter. The boys rode across the flame front, the camera's forced perspective making them seem much closer to the fire line than they really were. To add to the realism, almost every manner of living thing fled before the flames of the wildfire. Predator and prey alike, they ignored each other in the urgency of the moment. Birds took wing, wolves outran rabbits, deer bounded beside a tawny cougar, while prairie dogs simply dropped into their burrows to let the flames pass over them harmlessly. The actors urged their mounts toward a flat rocky area that the greedy flames bypassed for want of fuel. The visuals were spectacular as the fire spread around them. The professional firefighting team which was standing by just in case had to back their equipment out of danger twice. Afterwards, all around them lay a scorched landscape that however forlorn it looked actually held the promise of renewal. Grass seeds would sprout with the next rain. Sweat ran off the boys forming runnels in the smoke and ash the fire had deposited on their skins. Actually that was just gray makeup applied by a nice middle aged lady in the make up department named Hilda. By now both lads were resigned to standing there buck naked in front of everyone while she applied her brushes and powders and creams not only to their faces but everywhere else, including their bare butts if they were to be in the frame. Poor Terry still closed his eyes and turned pink every time she applied her brushes to his groin. She was methodical, lifting his shaft gently with one hand to ensure that the bristles of her brush would reach into all of Terry's nooks and crannies. And no, he could not do it himself. Union rules. Hilda tried to reassure the boy; she genuinely liked the outgoing red headed lad. He looked so cute standing there entirely nude except for the production baseball cap perched on the back of his head. She told him to think of her as a nurse or a doctor. Anyway, as a mother of four including three sons and a grandmother of nine, Terry didn't have anything she had not seen before. That didn't help as much as she hoped, but Terry appreciated her effort. Still Terry wished there were a union rule against filming such candid moments and posting them on the web. There wasn't. Wags had lost no time sending emails asking Terry who his new girlfriend was, and won't Sandy be jealous. In between the main action scenes, the script provided plenty of opportunity for the audience to get to know the characters as people and to watch them bond. Kit and Duncan chatted constantly while riding, in camp, or while Kit posed nude for his artist friend. Duncan was open about his hopes and dreams which were fairly conventional for a man of his talents and social class. He wanted to be recognized for his talent and to become independent of his family's money. His parents kept pressuring him to choose a wife from their sort of people. Duncan was no snob, and he had absolutely no interest in female companionship. He was due to come into some money of his own on his twenty-first birthday, enough to live comfortably if not in the grand style of his family. He mentioned all this to Kit. His candor let Kit open up about his own problems with identity and his ambitions for the future. Kit confessed that he perhaps derived too much pleasure from lovemaking with young males. The fact is that, for Kit, sexual activity with a young male was not a stop gap till marriage, as it was among the Comanche. He did not feel any attraction to females at all, only to males. He wanted to spend his entire life that way rather than to get married. That was his existential problem. He was a youth torn between his desires and the expectations of his adopted people and family. He had recently realized that he did not want to take up the life style of the typical Comanche: warrior, husband, father. For eight years he had thought himself a proper Comanche lad. Now he had his doubts about ever fitting in. Was there any place in this world for a seventeen year old boy who was half civilized and half savage, one who found no pleasure in the female of the species? The two young actors sympathized with the problems their alter egos had struggled with two centuries earlier. They faced severe social and legal sanctions against their kind of physical relationship. In the twenty-first century, males attracted to their own gender did not have to hide their preferences and practices. They could join in civil unions or even get married. One night even at supper the boys remained nude, waiting patiently for dusk when they would film the next scene at the very same location. This would depict Kit's famous encounter with the jaguar, the encounter that inspired Duncan to paint one of the classic images of the old West called "Naked Prey". The cameras would try to capture a scene of great danger and beauty. The light was right. The sun had just gone behind the hills to the west. The sky was red with the sunset, and twilight lay across the land. Postproduction would later put the planet Venus in the night sky as the Evening Star. Sandy's job was to bring that boy of yesteryear to life, to exemplify his physical beauty, to make the audience empathize with him in a dramatic encounter that provoked suspense, terror and courage. Almost all the movies they made had a shower or bath scene, and this was the one in 'White Comanche'. While Terry as Duncan was preparing their evening meal, Sandy, as Kit, betook himself to the nearby stream to bathe. Duncan had introduced Kit to real soap, and he luxuriated in it. Kit had just lathered up, scrubbed, and dunked himself to rinse off when he looked up and suddenly froze in position, crouched in mid-stream, water dripping off his naked body as he stared at a spot on the opposite bank of the river from their camp. In their imaginations, Jim Nicholls and his young cast conjured up a fearsome jaguar crouched down to slake his thirst. It would a large male in his prime, beautiful and deadly, three hundred pounds (150 kg) of muscle and claws and fangs, triple the mass of the slightly built boy facing him. The jaguar has powerful muscles on its short stocky limbs, good for climbing, crawling and swimming. It is a stalk and ambush hunter, pouncing on its prey. Sandy's face showed the fear that the real Kit must have felt back then, knowing that a jaguar's jaws are so powerful that it could kill instantly driving its canines through the skull of its prey. In the imagination of the director and young actors, the green eyes of the spotted cat gleamed as they bored into the equally green eyes of the boy, standing there so still and small and vulnerable, no more than naked prey, caught unarmed and defenseless in the middle of the stream in water up to his shins. A previous scene would established for the audience the fact that the shallow waters of a stream would hardly deter a hungry jaguar. The big cats were excellent swimmers and were known to hunt and even play in the water. Sandy, as Kit, held himself still, frozen like the faun he resembled, knowing that any movement on his part might provoke the beast to attack. He tensed up limbs showed how much he wanted to run. Every fiber of his being told him to do so, but the rational part of his mind told him to keep still. Trying to project the kind of fear the real Kit would have felt then, Sandy reached into his feelings and memories, pulling up moments when he had been terribly afraid, trying to make his limbs tremble convincingly and his scrotum to pull up close to the fork of his legs. He breathed deep but slow, as if building strength for whatever desperate action might be called for. He glanced over at Duncan, as if imploring him for help yet hoping his friend would not provoke the creature to attack. Their eyes locked in a wordless affirmation of their love and trust in each other. Then Kit looked back at the jaguar. Maybe he would die in a moment, but he tried to put defiance and pride in his look. Terry portrayed Duncan as a man aghast at the mortal danger his lover was in but careful enough not to make any sudden movement that would snap the three of them out of their frozen moment in time and provoke the creature to pounce, to rend and to tear. Terry's face showed what the historical Duncan must have been feeling at that moment. As the painter later related, he was sick with the thought that the warm and welcoming body of his young lover might be transformed before his very eyes into just so much dead meat for the great carnivore to carry off into the wilds to devour. His heart had gone out to the brave boy who stood there strong and proud despite his understandable fear. The three of them held still for what seemed like the longest time, a tableau vivant of eroticism and terror. As history and the script would both have it, the jaguar had just eaten its fill so he made no aggressive move toward the lovely boy crouched only a couple of body lengths away. Instead, ignoring the tender flesh of the creature poised so near to him, the animal turned its head down and resumed lapping the water till it had quenched its thirst. It rose to its feet and stared once more at the boy, one of those two legged creatures it had learned to be cautious around, mouth half open, pink tongue licking the last drops off its whiskers. It blinked and opened its jaws revealing its wicked fangs while a low sound came from its belly, half growl and half purr. Then it bounded away. The scene the movie cameras captured was set up to match the painting Duncan had made of that evening of beauty and danger. It was the painter's very best single work, capturing on canvas the souls of the artist himself, the beautiful naked boy, and the magnificent jaguar. Quite aside from the sublimity of the setting or the emotional impact of the vignette that the picture depicted, the full length nude portrait of Kit in the foreground was itself a masterpiece of portraiture and depiction of the male form. The slanting light of the moon accented the crevices and hollows of the boy's corrugated chest and belly, highlighting the ribs and the rippled abdominal muscles not to mention the surprisingly ample tube between his legs. The composition did not use the usual coy angles or convenient shrubbery to conceal the boy's maleness. The nicely formed genitals at the fork of the legs left no doubt as to the gender of the beauteous creature depicted in the painting. The picture was a chiaroscuro of light and dark, contrasting the great spotted cat crouched low to the ground in shadow with the upright form of his naked prey bathed in the light of a three-quarter moon. Both the glowing eyes of the great cat and those of the lovely nude boy were green. The boy's blond locks were a halo crowning angelic features expressing both his fear and his courage in the face of imminent gory death. Sandy was just perfect for incarnating that boy of yesteryear. He was virtually a doppleganger for Kit with the same physique and exquisite beauty. In front of the cameras, Sandy's bare skin was bathed in moonlight, accentuating every curve and corrugation. The main camera shot at an angle to capture what Duncan's painting depicted, the youth half turned, his face in three quarter profile, torso bent over, arms held out from the body, his manhood clearly visible at the fork of his legs. Perspective made the boy's form in the foreground larger than the much larger body of the predatory cat. Anyone could see that Kit's was a beauty worth preserving for the ages: delicate features that were pretty rather than handsome complemented by a wiry musculature tensed and poised and ready to explode into action. Nicholls could be rightly proud of reproducing that scene so faithfully and beautifully on film. It could easily be his own masterpiece. He felt as much as he called" "Cut! That was perfect, boys, even sublime. And we got it in a single take. That doesn't happen very often on my sets." "Tell us about it!" groaned the two young actors in unison with heavy irony. Nicholls had a reputation as a perfectionist. Still they also sensed that the scene would play well, once the blended the jaguar into the action, partly clips of a live jaguar and partly CGI. The director was so delighted that he elected to ignore their ironic tone and bustled about wrapping things up for the day. Anyway, Nicholls had a warm spot in his heart for the young couple, personable lads he had taken under his wing like a Dutch uncle. Sure the boys could be flighty and outrageous and you couldn't seem to keep either of them in a pair of pants, but they were real pros. If he had had sons of his own, he would have wished them to be just like Terry and Sandy. If they turned out to be gay too, he would care for them just the same. Chapter 3. Story Conference Movie producer Marty Fletcher looked up with a grin as three of his favorite actors stepped onto the veranda of his house in the Hollywood Hills. "Look who's here" he said to director Jim Nicholls, Leon Potter, production chief for the studio, and Ed Veronese, actors' agent. First onto the deck was the now veteran star Jason Eberly, the first Jungle Boy, now just shy of forty though still looking good. With him were the new incarnations of the Jungle Boy: Sandy Barnett and his co-star and lover Terry Knowles. Still short of twenty, the young men had taken over the role that Jason had made famous. Jason now was an executive producer on their films while continuing his own successful career in front of the camera. They were meeting to pick stories for their next few pictures. "Hi Jason," Nicholls grinned, looking him over. The actor was still a vision of male pulchritude in his low slung sarong of green silk and a light yellow tank top chosen as much to enhance his deep tan as to match his hair. The boy's tight clothes showed off his trim and taut physique. Flip flops and a gold neck chain completed the ensemble. Sandy and Terry wore hot pants, loose T shirts and moccasins. "Hi kids. Er, before we get started. I have to ask. Is there anything to the rumor about you two boys recently getting matching rose tattoos on your butts?" Sandy and Terry just shook their heads, exasperated about the persistent rumor. "We would never do anything so unprofessional, Mr. Fletcher. Anyway, here, you can see for yourselves." With that, the duo pulled off their garments, threw them aside, and gave their colleagues a 360 degree view of their sublime and unmarked physiques. Fletcher grinned. "Thanks boys and why don't you work on your tans while we talk. You can go for a dip in the pool afterwards." Shrugging the two young actors sat back down again entirely naked, sipping at the lemonade that Fletcher's new house boy had set out for them. A cute dark haired Latino about nineteen, Luis wore nothing but a super skimpy European style bikini, its white fabric a contrast to his smooth olive skin. In front, the single ply fabric did little to conceal the shape, size, or placement of his organs of generation. In back, the waistband rode three fingers below the top of his cleavage. Luis gulped as Terry laid a hand on his arm and asked for a slice of lime. Luis brought it, then gave the boys a sly smile before fading discreetly into the main house. "A fan, obviously," observed Jason drily. "You too, Fletch?" Nicholls asked, shaking his head. Cute houseboys were all the vogue in Hollywood these days, valued not only for their looks but also for their training in household management at community colleges Who wanted a frumpy female housekeeper when they might have a professionally trained pretty gay boy at their beck and call. (Luis lived in a small apartment in the service wing of the house.) "Does he always go around like that?" Nicholls asked indicating the exiguous garment clinging to the Luis' hips. "Only on formal occasions. Most of the time, like when he takes care of the lawn and the plantings, and the pool he goes around in the buff. He does wear a chef's apron in the kitchen. It's sort of a game among the A List to see whose house boy is the most shameless. My boy even walks out to the mail box or to fetch the paper and signs for packages in the buff. Not a big deal, especially in this neighborhood. The running trails in the hills are clothing optional these days." "Maybe you can get away with it Fletch, as a widower." Nicholls observed. "I don't think my wife is ready for a naked house boy, gay or not." Fletcher snorted. "She's seen those two in the buff often enough. Not to mention Jason before them." "Ah, but they didn't live in the servant's quarters. You're not thinking of switching allegiance are you there Marty, finally coming out?" "That'll be the day!" Fletcher had been quite the ladies man before he settled down into a long and happy marriage with his wife, gone these past two years after a brief illness. "Some might say that I've been around nude young males too much, but there is nothing wrong with a healthy appreciation for a pretty boy. Great artists have been painting and sculpting them for centuries. Men of means think nothing of putting up statues of male nudes in their gardens. Now I have a male nude too, and I get a lot more use out of him than from an inanimate hunk of stone. I even get two for the price of one. My neighbor's son is a college freshmen. He and Luis have really hit it off, if you take my meaning. The neighbor's boy hops over the fence quite often to help Luis with his chores. So I don't begrudge him the occasional breakfast Luis fixes for him when he sleeps over." "Ok, now that that is settled, lets get on with planning the next few pictures. I was thinking that maybe we could try a genre-bender..." Fletcher ventured. "You mean gender-bender, boy instead of girl, vice-versa, like 'Victor, Victoria' or 'Million Dollar Baby'?" Sandy asked. "Hmmn, MGM 1982, Warner Brothers 2004. No. Actually a genre bender is when one kind of picture is really another kind. Like Dick Powell in 'Station West' RKO 1948. That was really a film noir; it just looked like a western, A private investigator is hired by the government to look into the murder of two cavalrymen transporting gold. Meanwhile a femme fatale tries to ensnare him in her intrigues. Jason himself had a lot of success with genre-benders with his Dan Ganymede pictures." Those were a stories in the film noir genre with characters from Greek and Norse mythology. Unfortunately, for contractual reasons, those properties were not available for remake. Anyway, Jason had finished his last Ganymede picture only four years earlier. No, they had to come up with an different concept for Sandy and Terry. Jason pointed out this might be the right time for a remake of one of his most successful dramatic pictures, the umpteenth remake and second gay version of 'A Kiss Before Dying' (United Artists 1956) with Sandy in the role that the then twenty-five year old Robert Wagner originated of an unscrupulous fortune hunter. Sandy seduces a young man who is an heir to a large fortune to lure him into marriage. When the young heir discovers the truth, he murders him. The villain then takes up with the heir's younger brother, to be played by Terry. This new version would draw interest from its pairing to two real life lovers and spouses in the lead roles. "Good idea, Jason." Fletcher remarked. "We'll have lots of Sandy's and Terry's physiques on display. The kids will be in the buff at the pool or running along the beach. Also a great chance, Jim, to use your chiaroscuro lighting technique during that night time scene skinny dipping in the surf, not to mention their various love scenes. And for this version, we'll have that big confrontation start with Sandy in the shower rather than just sitting on the lounge chair. Terry will drag him out of there and they will have a real donnybrook, Sandy nude, Terry in just a pair of Speedos." "Till Sandy rips them right off his hips when he gets the upper hand, then forces himself on the boy. What a hot scene that will be." Veronese chortled. In unison, Sandy and Terry rolled their eyes in a silent and vain appeal heavenward. The script writers were always thinking up ways to get the hot young actors out of their clothes. How many skinny dipping scenes had they done, how many shower scenes, or just throwing off the bed clothes to show they slept in the buff. How many times had the young actors been violently stripped naked on camera by pirates, street toughs, interrogators, and such. And sometimes the director would improvise too. Well that was largely what they had signed up for. Nudity was the trade mark of the Jungle Boy. Many actors will do an occasional nude scene. Sandy and Terry had done whole movies bare-ass naked. No coy camera angles either, just a lot of shots of their tushes and the full monty. Fans argued whose butt cheeks twitched more fetchingly, whose buns were the tightest and most grabbable. One of their best selling posters just had the nude lads looking back over their shoulders at the camera. Each fan could judge for himself. The group quickly gave the remake project the go ahead. They knew the kids' gay fans would be ecstatic. Just the announcement would have them salivating with anticipation. The studio could dust off the old script and get the project into production quickly. Filming would be done on the back lot or at nearby movie ranches. Then discussion turned to other pairs of characters, friend or foe the boys could portray. Too bad they were the same age. That ruled out all pairings of superheroes and their teenage sidekicks. Anyway, super heroes were passe. DC and Marvel had gone to the well too many times. "I've got it!" Sandy said with sudden conviction. "Terry and I could play Damon and Pythias, the faithful friends on Greek mythology." "I don't know, Sandy." Fletcher began. "Not much mythology there to give the Hollywood treatment to. No gods, gorgons, sea monsters, nymphs, or flying horses. No supernatural element at all. It's basically a chick flick about a pair of faithful friends." "OK, so we improvise; make the story more macho. We throw in elements from other myths. The two lads have to complete a quest of some sort. Let's say ... they have to retrieve the Golden Apples of the Sun which grow in a magic garden in a far off land at the end of the world. It is surrounded by guards and a high wall. Oh, and the interior guarded by a two headed dragon. At least one head is awake at all times. On the way to the garden, we can throw in pirates, sand monsters, helpful gods, an army of the skeletons, whatever, making it a movie of high adventure appealing to the core audience for action flicks, young males." "Sounds terribly derivative, Fletch." Nicholls remarked shaking his head. "Think of it as an homage to our predecessors, Jim." Fletcher replied breezily. "At least this is one picture where we actually get to wear clothing. What did the Greeks call their tunics, chitons?" Terry asked, correctly pronouncing the Greek ch as a k (like in chorus). "Well, yes, but only till you lads get captured by the pirates, stripped naked, and whipped. This is a Jungle Boy picture, after all." The two young actors could only shake their heads. Another movie with them running around bare ass most of the time, with a promise of an ass whipping thrown in. What else was new? Finally, business done, Jason stripped off and joined Sandy and Terry in the pool, for a game of water polo. To even the sides, Fletcher gave Luis the rest of the day off. The Chicano boy lost no time in slipping out of his tiny bikini, his white teeth flashing a big smile. As befits a mestizo with much Indian blood, Luis had very little body hair. He was lean standing about four inches taller (10 cm) than Sandy and Terry though only an inch more than Jason. Needless to say, their frolicking in Fletcher's pool was all clean fun: spirited competition, much splashing and laughing, with only a moderate amount of grab ass, but nothing that amounted to an orgy. The three actors were the producer's guests at his home, after all. Chapter 4. Japan "Please to hold still, Sandy-san" the young Japanese artist admonished in an exasperated tone. "Or must we bind you even tighter, or take the whip to your ass?" Sandy was trying, but his muscles were cramping up. This was his hardest modeling gig ever. He shifted once more trying to ease the ache in his arms. His wrists were pulled up cruelly high over his head and bore almost his entire weight, his toes barely touching the floor. There he stood, shackled hand and foot, a spreader bar between his ankles. His bound body was criss crossed with chromed chains and leather straps including a chain the passed between his legs and rubbed his anal ring. He was nude except for a leather slave collar and a military style cap on his head with a black rubber ball gag jammed in his teeth. For the umpteenth time Sandy wondered why he had ever thought this would be a fun gig. Exciting? Yes. Arousing? Deliriously so. But not exactly fun. It had sounded sweet to begin with. Sandy knew that their films did especially well in Japan. where their bondage scenes were considered a cinema version of a genre of yaoi manga popular with girls. These explicit stories about male masters and their young male slaves portrayed lovely boys who fall into the clutches of brutes who use them in appalling ways to gratify their bestial and perverted lusts. Manga of all genres were popular reading fare during the long commutes Japanese workers took between home and office. Anyone sitting next to you might be paging through such fare, despite the most lurid covers and interior illustrations of hapless lads, shackled in a dungeon, while all manner of indignities, to put it mildly, were visited upon their delectable persons. So Sandy and Terry had been persuaded by a publisher to model for an edition of such a manga drawn from life. It promised to be a smash commercial success. Besides, the boys needed a break from picture making. The kinkiness appealed to the taste the boys shared in bondage and discipline. For Sandy it was a brief revisit to his former modeling career. Anyway, they would get to take a six week long trip to the Orient, stay at swank hotels, and see the sights and enjoy the nightlife. The agency that hired them was completely above board and the terms were generous. Ironclad clauses in their contracts ensured that no permanent damage would be inflicted on the lads during their posing sessions. All well and good, Sandy thought, but here his naked body had been in tight bondage for almost two hours now. His nipples were sore from sharp jawed alligator clamps. Sweat dripped off his nose, indeed everywhere off his bound body in the deliberately overheated dungeon. He tried once again to communicate to the three artists sketching him that he needed a break. They only took his writhing and dolorous facial expressions as part of his performance as a captive slaveboy. Besides the blond boy's cramps accentuated the definition of his musculature. One of them mentioned to the dominator that Sandy's welts were fading, so the man refreshed them with the application of his whip to the bound boy's back and ass. Sandy twisted around enough to see that his lover Terry's plight was even worse. With a horse bit between his teeth, Terry sat astride a narrow beam, ankles roped below, his wrists strapped to elbows behind his back. He didn't fall off the narrow beam because his torso was kept upright by chains attached to the leather collar locked around his neck. Terry's ass must be on fire, from the huge dildo his tormentors had shoved up his hole before forcing him astride the beam. The worst must be the accupunture needles inserted not only through his nipples but all the way through his turgid cock. One transfixed the glans horizontally, two more pushed entirely through the shaft virtually nailed the boy's member to the rail. Droplets of blood seeped out of his wounds, but his cock stayed hard thanks to the injection they had given him at the root. For the Japanese artists, this was the hard core bondage that fans craved, pretty boys in chains -- at the mercy, if any, of dominant males with wicked imaginations who delighted in inflicting all manner of torments upon their lovely helpless bodies. The artists were delighted that these young American actors were modeling for them, one a real blond and the other a red head with sky blue eyes, the cliches of the genre here come to life. This project was the first time manga artists had had used real live American boys to model for a story. That made it very special. The sights, sounds, and even smells inspired the young artists. Aurally, the whips and canes made vicious sounds as they were laid into the succulent flesh of the bound boys. Their slender bodies trembled with anticipation of the next blow, sweat and pheromones filling the air with a heady bouquet. The sounds they made were delightful: the moans, the groans the wails and especially the whimpers, the most delightful sound a master can evoke from a boy in bondage, so redolent of pain and loss of hope. The injection had done its job on Sandy too. His cock was rock hard, purple with blood, the shaft wound round and round with a narrow cord, tied off just under the flange of the glans, a loop from the trailing end of the cord pushed an inch or so into his piss slit. They liked to put his cock into tight bondage of many sorts: with cord, or a tight leather sleeve, or inside a tiny lace up pouch. One such device was like a Chinese finger trap, fitting over the turgid member, and kept taut by small weights hanging from a loop at the end. The modeling session boys were held three days a week to give the boys a rest between the stressful sessions. On their days off they played tourist. On the days they modeled, they had their mornings free, to sleep in, to swim in the pool or to go jogging in the nearby park. In the afternoon, they surrendered themselves, that is the only word for it, to their tormentors. Sexually submissive by nature anyway, the boys found themselves responding to a previously unknown but powerful masochistic streak in their own psyches, a sexually fueled craving for bondage, pain, and humiliation. Dolorous as their bondage often was, the scene generated a fire in their bellies, the nubs of their nipples firmed up, nostrils flaring, cocks plumping up and leaking pre-cum. Just the other day the red haired boy had a string of pre-ejaculate dangling past his knees. A real leaker that one. Those feelings kept the boys coming back for more. One of the more fiendish torments had been the plasma globe. Not that it hurt especially much, it just delivered a sting. And it certainly inflicted no real damage. It was the sights and sounds that came with it that made it seem worse than it really was, terrifying even. Vaguely phallic in shape, it consisted of a glass globe about the size of a softball stuck on the end of a wand. The globe was filled with an electrically conductive plasma. Electric bolts of various colors crackled within the globe like small lightnings. It delivered an electric shock when touched to flesh. Just bringing it close was enough for a spark to jump the gap, from the globe to sweaty skin. The psychological effect was better with the lights dim. The electric shock was much less powerful than Sandy had encountered in the countryside, from electric fences that kept dairy cattle confined. The galvanized wires of a farmer's electric fence deliver a real jolt, one you feel all over your body, strong enough to make a thousand pound cow take notice. No, the plasma globe was no cattle prod, but its sting, its crackle, the sparks and the writhing of the captive lightnings made for one scary experience. There Sandy was, blindfolded, kneeling on a table, cringing really, wrists tied to his ankles, rending him helpless, unable to get away or to use his hands to fend off the wand. The sweat that slicked his skin reflected the spotlight shining on him. The master circled around him, letting the globe crackle and hum like some kind of obscene light saber. The boy was unable turn to watch his tormentor; he could only flinch each time the man brought the instrument close to his bare skin. The salts in his sweat made his skin a better electrical conductor. Sometimes he touched it to a shoulder or a thigh, sometimes to one his buttcheeks or his ribs. The worst was when the spark jumped to his nether hole or to his cock or his balls. The captive boy could only whimper as the man prepared him, pulling his genitals back between his legs, giving Sandy's nuts a squeeze as a warning to hold still, allowing him a fair shot at those vulnerable organs of generation. The artists worked fast to capture the boy's reactions, to sketch how he cringed from the globe, twisting and turning his scrumptious body this way and that, anxious to escape the bite of the plasma globe. Alas, Sandy could not get away from the stings and snaps of the electrical sparks inflicted with the globe. His yelps and whimpers were like music to their ears. The plots of the S&M boy manga always emphasized the complete control the masters had over their sex slaves. It wasn't just that their limbs were bound by steel cuffs and leather straps. Their boy cocks were put in bondage too, forced through rings or cock cages, or wound around their length with cords and thongs, or imprisoned in sleeves and pouches. So too their orifices. The boys' jaws ached after a long session from the ball gags and bit gags and cock gags forced into their mouths and kept in place by straps and buckles. Since his type of manga was ostensibly directed at girls, many of their poses involved the sexual penetration of these lovely boys. And not just by each other's cocks -- though that happened rather a lot as Terry was sketched fucking Sandy and vice versa. That made for fine drawings. The lovers looked so terribly scrumptious, their hard bodies pressed together in the act of love. Almost needless to say, Terry and Sandy's nether holes were repeatedly invaded by the cocks of their three Japanese masters too, all rather androgynous looking men dressed in leather. Sometimes the bound boys were forced to fuck each other with fake strap-on cocks of alarming dimensions. Then there was the time the were both impaled on opposite ends of a two headed rubber dildo. Though it was nearly as long as their arms, they were forced to take the entire length up their tight quims, backing up to each other till they wound up one shapely ass pressed to the other. All manner of dildos and vibrators and anal beads were fed to their tender holes too. The masters chortled as Terry or Sandy struggled to stretch their anal rings around larger and larger invaders. The largest anal beads would hardly fit through their tight holes, stretching their crinkly anal whorls so it felt like they would snap like a rubber band. The fiends also forced ears of corn and cucumbers into their holes, enjoying the way the boys squirmed as their rough surfaces sandpapered their rings. "Oh no. Not the cucumber again!" Sandy pleaded. "Please sir, spare me that. You know how it scrapes my hole, my poor tiny boy hole." "Hah hah hah. Don't you realize that growing boys need their vegetables?". Then came the day Terry was asked to recreate a bondage scene from one of their movies, only this time the barbed wire that bound him would be real. So would the blood that would doubtless run from the many wounds the wire would inflict. He was assured that with modern medical treatment in a nanite bath afterwards, the cuts would not leave small white scars all over his body where the barbs dug into his skin. "Terry-san, please to try not to move. Keep so still as you can. Breathe shallow. Deep breaths will stretch the wire across the skin, letting the barbs tear into it." Three masters clad in leather and wearing thick gloves wrapped his torso in loop after loop of wire, from neck to groin, twisting them in place with pairs of pliers. Coils circled his neck then criss-crossed his pectorals and ran under his arms and around back to his neck. A coil of wire around his shoulder blades and nipples secured the criss-crossed wire to his chest. More wire went around his waist, at least two barbs deliberately positioned in his navel, while the long ends trailing front and back hung down well past the fork of his legs. As the nervous boy stood feet slightly apart, the strand trailing in back was pressed into his cleavage then through the boy's legs, forward to his groin with one barb positioned right on his crinkly whorl. The wire then joined the one dangling down his belly to be wound again and again around his genitals, circling first the balls and twisted tight, then around the cock and twisted just under the flange of the glans, then back down and around the boy's whole package. Other loops of wire cupped his buttocks diagonally, criss crossed to his cleavage then wound around his hips. His arms and hands were bound in front as if the boy were praying. The strands ran around his shoulders, his upper arms, the elbows, forearms and wrists, around the thumb then across the palms of his hands. Further strands of wire held his arms up a foot or so from his neck. A choker of thorns around his neck accented his bondage. Despite his assurances to the team that he could take anything they threw at him, the poor boy's tears ran freely down his cheeks. When all the wire was wrapped, the tormented boy dripped blood from dozens of cuts and rips. It didn't help that his sobbing accentuated the tearing action of the sharp barbs especially at the nipples and the abdomen. Sandy's heart went out to his brave little Terry, standing there so courageously, his body dripping his very blood onto the stones. A fiendishly smiling master twisted a further coil of wire around the boy's balls, separating them and tying each off with a twist. Then he licked both balls and shaft and, blew gently on the bound genitals. The boy moaned, his knees buckling as he trembled with the strong feelings coursing through his young body. He couldn't believe how much this rough treatment had turned him on. He looked at himself in the dressing mirror that gave him three views of his bound body, front and both sides. Was there ever a boy who looked more woebegone and bedraggled? His state was frightful. Blood oozed out of more than a dozen of shallow cuts and rips in his bare hide, some of it spread on the skin as streaks from the rubbing of the wire or handling by his tormentors. Trickles of blood ran down his flanks from several puncture wounds. Despite his discomfort and fear for his bodily integrity, Terry found the pose they had given him deeply ironic. There he stood, a boy with an angelic face, hands raised as if in prayer, tears in his eyes as if repenting the sins for which he was undergoing this penance by barbed wire, a modern style hairshirt, as it were, that left his tormented body dripping blood onto the paving stones. He might have been a flagellant of old. Terry had never felt so totally helpless and vulnerable. Any real movement brought pain. His tits were poked by barbs; his very manhood was bound in a barbed wire cage. His nether hole had a barb pressing into it. Other barbs along the double strand of barbed wire in his cleavage poked the tender flesh of his buttocks. He supposed he should feel relieved that they hadn't placed a barbed wire version of a crown of thorns on his brow or tried to gag him with it. Pain or no, the randy boy couldn't believe how hard his cock was despite or really because of its painful bondage. It wasn't just the injection. That would not have engendered the strong feelings surging through his tightly bound body. Terry's own hormones were the reason his engorged cock jutted straight out from his groin even with a strand of barbed wire coiled around the shaft and fixed in place with a twist under the glans, one barb actually poking into the soft flesh of the flange. Yet the fleshy purpled glans thrust out like an arrowhead or spear point at the end, droplets of fluid glistening on its tip and on a single point of a barb that had slipped into his piss slit. Despite his own tight bondage, Sandy knelt down to give the boy he loved what relief he could. He kissed the caged genitals and mouthed the glans, poking his tongue into the piss slit, tasting Terry's pre-ejaculate. Then he licked the boy's shaft, guiding his tongue around the barbs and the wire as best he could, laving it, stroking it, tasting both sweaty boy and warm metal. He opened as wide as he could and actually managed to take in the boy's cock, barbed wire and all, engulfing it with a familiar warmth and moistness. For Terry, the sight of his lover's beautiful face pressed to his groin, swallowing his tortured cock, pouty lips locked around his manhood despite the barbs that must be pressing on it from inside, filled him with feelings of love and longing and lust for his kneeling lover. He went weak in the knees and light headed as he launched into a massive orgasm, ignoring the way the cruel barbs dug even further into his body has he thrust with his hips and cock. "Sandy, I'm cuuuming!" he wailed. Despite his pain, the tormented boy's cum surged from his groin through his cock and into Sandy's welcoming mouth. At first Sandy swallowed greedily, taking in his lover's essence, mixing it with the blood from the small cuts to his tongue and lips from the barbs. Then the kneeling boy leaned back, holding his face just in front of the head of Terry's cock as it spewed his gism all over his face, on forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Sandy's tongue flicked out, lapping up as much as he could. The artists sketched furiously to catch the fleeting moment. Yes photographers were making a record too, but better to draw from life than from a photo. The hardest part for Terry was holding the pose afterwards, as his lust receded, accentuating his many discomforts. Finally they took wire cutters to him to cut him free of his bonds. Following that final session they took Terry to a hospital and immersed him a tank of healing fluid which supported his body without pressing on his skin. Magnetic fields guided the nanites to stimulate the growth and healing properties of his epithelial cells. Three days of treatment would remove all physical traces of the boy's ordeal except for a single scar at his navel which he wanted to keep as a souvenir. The gig had turned out to be the most intense sexual experience of their young lives. The boys knew that this was a scene they would never care to repeat in real life, but they would carry indelible memories of it for the rest of their lives. Just thinking about it would get them hard. Afterward Terry's recovery, the young actors had ten uninterrupted days to visit Mount Fuji, to visit Buddhist temples and gardens, to travel on the new mag-lev bullet trains, and to disport themselves in the public baths. They had a fabulous time of it. Epilogue Sandy and Terry finally returned to Hollywood, finding themselves one afternoon sharing Martin Fletcher's swimming pool with Jason and Luis, Fletcher's house-boy. Terry was stretched out belly down on a float as Sandy worked tanning lotion into the attractive curves of his bubble butt. "Gosh, Mr. Knowles, er Terry," Luis said excitedly. "Those manga comix were hot! Barbed wire on your cock and nuts and you got off on it?" "Yes, but it was definitely a once in a lifetime experience. And don't try it at home either. It was dangerous. We had enough work gloves and wire cutters for the whole crew to cut me loose fast if things got too much for me. We're glad we did it, but there won't be any sequels. Anyway, the Japanese and English languages editions have had to be reprinted, the demand is so high. So everyone connected with the project had done well out of it." Especially lucrative were large size reproductions of the manga drawings on posters or digital frames. The series of seven with Terry in his barbed wire torment was the most popular with fans under the label 'Modern Flagellant'. Sandy's series with the plasma wand ran a close second. "So what is next for you?" Jason asked the boys. "Should we ask Marty to hold a story conference?" "Let me float an idea past you first Jason." Sandy began. "We want to do something completely different for our next project. A modern comedy of manners." "Oh?" "Terry and I have been talking about this, sketching it out. We want to play contemporary young actors Jeffrey and Richard who get the lead roles in a theatrical version of Shakespeare's comedy "As You Like It". The play within the movie will be an authentic production, done just as it would have been in the Bard's own day, with young males taking all the female roles. We are only nineteen and with our small androgynous physiques and pretty boy features we can convincingly portray sixteen year old boys pretending to be girls." "The movie will focus on the shenanigans of the modern day actors. It's not a serious treatment of Shakespeare's material. Most of the script will detail the rivalries, friendships, love affairs, and misunderstandings of the young actors in the all male troupe. We'll do only a few scenes from the play, mostly in rehearsal, ones that echo the problems of our modern actors with sexual identity, love, rivalry, etc." "Terry will portray the straight actor Jeffrey in the movie who, in the play, has the role of the stalwart hero Orlando, son of a French knight. In the movie, I will portray Richard, the gay actor who plays the role of Rosalind, the heroine. They meet in town and Orlando falls in love with Rosalind. Later, Rosalind has to flee for her safety to the Forest of Arden, taking on the disguise of a youth, calling him/herself Ganymede. The cross-gender disguise fools even Orlando whom she encounters in the forest. Orlando had to flee the city too, and has given up any hope of ever seeing his lady love. He befriends and eventually confides in Rosalind/Ganymede who offers to cure him of his love sickness." "And its not just Shakespeare's characters who are terribly mixed up. The gimmick for the movie is that the modern actors are also conflicted about their sexuality. A real comedy of errors ensues. Get it?" Jason rolled his eyes in a silent appeal heavenward. His own oeuvre included five outings as Dan Ganymede, so he was aware that Shakespeare's character Ganymede was a not so subtle gay reference to one of the four great paramours of Zeus, the most famous of the many youthful males the king of the Greek gods had reportedly pronged over the centuries. "Let me get this straight, no pun intended. You want to play a boy in the movie who takes the role of a girl in the play who disguises herself as a boy. Then she, as a he, runs into the very boy who previously fell in love with her as a girl but who now, unbeknownst, befriends her in her disguise as a boy. As if that were not enough, if I recall the play correctly, Roslind/Ganymede tries to cure Orlando of his love sickness by having them act out the relationship between Orlando and his lost girlfriend Rosalind. So Rosalind as Ganymede also portrays Rosalind for Orlando who soon develops more than comradely feelings for Ganymede, feelings more appropriate for his lost lady Rosalind than for a handsome youth, a fellow male. Meanwhile another female character named Phoebe falls in love with Ganymede who she thinks is a handsome boy instead of the girl Rosalind in male drag. It's enough to make your head whirl." "Exactly. Well throw in a new subplot just for the movie where the young male actor who plays Phoebe has a fling with my movie actor character of Richard who is wary of commitment. And just as in the play where everyone gets confused over love and gender issues, the two young lead actors are conflicted too. Terry's character will be an ostensibly straight boy terribly mixed up about his sexuality. I will play a proud gay boy portraying a girl in the play disguised as a boy who, after a dalliance with another boy actor, who also portrays that girl Phoebe, realizes what he wants. He wants Jeffrey. Just in time too, because Terry's character Jeffrey finally realizes that gender does not matter as much as he had once thought and that he has fallen madly in love with Sandy/Richard/Rosalind/Ganymede/Rosalind." Jason chuckled as he visualized the many mixups the play was famous for and all the double and triple entendres the screen writers could indulge in. The cross gender casting of the modern players simply multiplied the possibilities, perhaps as the Bard had originally intended with the all male casts of the Early Modern period. Most of the movie would focus on the travails of the modern actors with perhaps twenty minutes of scenes from the Bard playing point-counterpoint to the problems of the modern characters. As for sex appeal, Jason thought, Shakespeare or not, the audience would still want to see Sandy and Terry with all their clothes off. Well this was a sexually charged comedy. No doubt there would be opportunities for the young all male cast to show lots of skin in the dressing room, the shower, the bedroom, etc. Richard and Jeffery would share a cramped dressing room adding to the dramatic and sexual tension between them. Come to think of it, those tights men wore in Shakespeare's day instead of trousers were perfect for showing off the boys' slim muscular legs and their fine round rumps. He would insist that the costume provider make Sandy's and Terry's of the very thinnest, the most clinging of stretch fabrics, cleverly tailored to conform to their natural curves, delving deep into their rear cleavage like ballet tights, rather than simply spanning the gap. Codpieces the shape of fig leaves would be a nice touch too. The colors of their hose would match those of their notorious Halloween costumes from last year. The boys showed up at the charity benefit in colorful harlequin outfits constructed entirely of body paint. Jim Nicholls was just great at directing and photographing pretty boys. There was an art to it, to making the display of their unclothed bodies sensual without being salacious. Jason could visualize how Jim would station a camera right behind Terry or Sandy as the boy bent over to get out of costume, rolling the waistband of his tights over his buns then down his slender hairless legs to his ankles. That would capture the full sweep of the stunning body of the nude boy from the neck on down. Jason knew the boys never really minded getting naked on camera, for all their pretended cynicism anytime the script called for the boys to strip off or to get stripped. They actually liked showing off their sexy bodies. It wasn't simply vanity, rather a kind of generosity of spirit. They were very young and pretty and sexy, especially when bare ass. Why not share that with others? That is why their favorite movies were the ones where they went stark naked in every scene. "I like it! I really like it kids. You've done a great job. What a concept! Shakespeare meets 'Victor/Victoria'. We'll try it on Marty at dinner." For their contribution, Sandy and Terry got a second screen credit for Story. To the surprise of many, the picture was the smash comedy hit of the year, a critical as well as a commercial success. The producers went out of their way to help the audience keep track of who was who and angling for whom. Flyers and downloadable Dramatis Personae with pictures and diagrams listed the actors, their roles and their twisted relationships. Adding to the spice, Sandy and Terry were not the only members of the cast in a real life relationship. Sandy was nominated for the Oscar as best lead actor for his tour de force portrayal of multiple characters in one boy's skin: Richard the gay modern actor, the straight girl Rosalind, her straight (or was he?) male alter ego, Ganymede who also pretends for Orlando's sake to be Rosalind. Sandy knew this was really not his year. He was so very young and several veteran actors had better claims to the award than he for their stand out performances. So he did not mind (terribly much) that he did not win this time and certainly put a good face on it at the annual awards ceremony. A pair of Hollywood wags leeringly suggested he might have done better if he had been put up for the best actress statuette. Although he took that unkind jibe with his usual dignity and even temper, those particular loudmouths never got an interview with him again. Ever. Nor with Terry. Fletcher and Nicholls and Jason Eberly followed suit. What goes around comes around.