Date: Thu, 28 May 2015 00:02:05 -0400
From: Rafi Daud <rafidaud69@gmail.com>
Subject: AAA Modeling Agency, Chapter 2
This story is a fantasy set in the real world. Obviously, any
similarities between characters appearing in it and the real world are purely
coincidental. This is also copyrighted material. So while you're welcome to
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AAA Modeling Agency
Chapter 2
By the time Tuesday rolled around, Callum was finding it difficult
to control his excitement. It was going to be his first photo-shoot and
Callum had really been hitting the gym, just like Mr. DeMarco had told him
to. Even in just a few days, Callum was sure he could see greater
definition in his pecs and abs and even his thighs looked a little bit
bigger. He was really anxious to show Mr. DeMarco how well he'd done.
Maybe it was this heightened anticipation that led to all the problems he
encountered during that session.
He had shown up slightly early, dressed in what he thought was a
fashionable pair of tan slacks and a pale blue Polo shirt that, he knew,
really showed off his muscular arms. He had been careful to jerk off right
before he left home. He'd been incredibly horny the last few days,
probably a combination of the rigorous exercise schedule and the increased
energy levels he was feeling as a result of Mr. DeMarco's energy
supplement. And going commando full-time seemed to exacerbate it.
Callum had always had a high sex drive. Hell, even when he was
banging some bitch every day, he'd still manage to rub one or two out by
himself. Bitches just couldn't keep up with him. But now he found himself
jerking off five, six times every day. Just today, he'd taken care of his
morning wood, knocked another one off in the shower later after he got home
from the gym, and stroked himself off again just before he got dressed for
his photo session. Yet he was still sporting a full boner when he stopped
by Troy's desk on his arrival.
And, of course, that fucking faggot noticed it immediately. He'd
made a point of staring straight at Callum's crotch before looking up and
saying, in that grating effeminate voice of his, "Honey, I see you're as
excited to see me as I am to see you." And then the flaming queer reached
down and groped himself right in front of Callum. It was really
disgusting. Normally, Callum would have laid him out right there, but
Callum reminded himself that he was going to be working closely with Troy
now that he had signed with AAA Modeling Agency and that Mr. DeMarco wanted
the two of them to get along. So he forced himself to ignore the blatant
come-on and simply replied, "Hello, Troy. I'm here for my 1:00
p.m. appointment."
"Yes," Troy responded. "Your photo-shoot. I can't tell you how
much I'm looking forward to it." While Troy's comment wasn't particularly
off the mark, there was just something about the tone in which he made it
that made Callum's skin crawl.
There was a significant pause, while Troy once again raked over
Callum's body with his eyes, before Troy continued. "Mr. DeMarco said for
you to go right in."
Callum thanked him and moved to the door. He knocked, heard
Mr. DeMarco tell him to come in, and opened the door, just as Troy called
after him, "See you soon, sexy." Involuntarily, Callum shuddered.
He was surprised to see that Mr. DeMarco was on the phone when he
entered, but the man motioned him in front of his desk. As Callum stood
there, trying not to listen in on the discussion Mr. DeMarco was having, he
noticed that various large lights had been set up in the far corner of the
office near the window. They all seemed focused on a small sofa that had
originally been set against the wall but was now positioned so it faced the
window. Bright afternoon sun shone directly on it. Obviously, part of the
photo shoot was going to take place over there. Callum was still studying
the set-up when he heard Mr. DeMarco say 'goodbye' and hang up the phone.
He turned to face the man and was immediately unsettled to see that
Mr. DeMarco did not seem pleased.
"Is anything the matter, Mr. DeMarco?" he quickly asked.
"Yes, there is actually, Callum. I thought we had agreed that the
first thing you would do when you came into my office was removed your
clothing. Yet you've been here five minutes and you're still fully
dressed."
"Oh, sorry, sir. I forgot," Callum mumbled apologetically,
reaching down to untie his shoes and remove his socks. In less than thirty
seconds, he was fully naked and standing in front of Mr. DeMarco's desk,
his arms at his sides. But, rather than being pleased, Mr. DeMarco seemed
even more exasperated.
"Didn't we also discuss the proper position for you to take when
you're standing in front of my desk, Callum?" Mr. DeMarco inquired, his
voice now clearly tinged with anger.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Callum immediately responded, as he spread
his legs far apart and placed his hands behind his neck, lacing his fingers
together, careful to make sure that his elbows were parallel to his torso,
even though doing that put somewhat of a strain on his upper back muscles.
He could feel himself blushing hotly.
Mr. DeMarco continued to stare at Callum for a long time. Finally,
he began talking to him in a low voice. There was no longer any trace of
anger in his voice; rather, it seemed laden with concern. "You know,
Callum, I have very high hopes for you, but I'm beginning to wonder whether
I might just be expecting too much from you. In the modeling business it's
absolutely essential that the model know how to take direction and do what
he is told to do without repeated prompting. You have to be on the top of
your game all the time - you can't have any 'off' days."
"I'm sure it probably seems like a small matter to you, but we had
already discussed what you were to do whenever you came into my office.
Yet, when you came in here, you just stood there in front of my desk,
gawking around, instead of doing what you were supposed to do. I realize
this is all new to you, but that really doesn't matter. Anyone who hires
you expects to be hiring a professional and you're expected to act like
one. I won't send any model out of here for any assignment unless I'm
personally satisfied that he's going to perform it satisfactorily. And,
right now, I have to say I wouldn't feel confident sending you out. I'm
sorry to say it, Callum, but I'm disappointed in you."
As Callum stood there absorbing this tongue-lashing, he could feel
all the confidence he had when he walked through the door rapidly seeping
out of him. He felt like a little boy being told how much he had
disappointed his parents and it reminded him of the many times his father
had ragged on him about what a total loser he was. Callum no longer gave a
damn what his father thought, but he really wanted Mr. DeMarco's approval.
He wanted it so badly. Mr. DeMarco held the keys to Callum's entire future
in his hands. Callum realized how amazing it was that a man of
Mr. DeMarco's caliber would take a personal interest in him and the last
thing in the world he wanted to do was disappoint this man. Yet that was
precisely what he had done. Callum could actually feel tears start in his
eyes. He hadn't cried in years, but he was afraid he might now.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. DeMarco, sir" he apologized, his voice almost
breaking. "I guess I was so excited about being here for my photo-shoot
that I let myself lose focus. It won't happen again, Mr. DeMarco. I
promise you. It won't happen again." Despite himself, Callum could feel a
single tear trickle down his cheek.
The look of concern on Mr. DeMarco's face seemed to soften
noticeably. He pushed the chair back, stood up and slowly moved from
behind the desk until he was standing right in front of the boy. He raised
a finger and softly wiped away the tear from Callum's face. "I am
disappointed in you, Callum, but there's no need to cry about it. You have
to learn to take criticism in this business, Callum. No one likes to hear
it, but it's nothing to cry over."
"It's not that, sir," Callum replied, embarrassed that he had
actually shed a tear and terrified that more might be right behind it.
"Then what is it, Callum?"
"It's just that....it's that I'm afraid you might think that I'm
just too much trouble. That you'll just tell me to pack up my shit and get
the hell out of here." Callum was really close to losing it now and he
knew it.
So, apparently, did Mr. DeMarco. The man took a step forward and
then suddenly pulled Callum into a tight embrace. "Callum, Callum," he
murmured into the boy's ear as he pressed the boy's head into his chest.
"That's not going to happen. That's never going to happen." Mr. DeMarco
continued to embrace Callum tightly. Callum was a little uncomfortable at
first since he was naked and his hard cock was being crushed up against
Mr. DeMarco's groin, but as he heard Mr. DeMarco assure him that he wasn't
going to dissolve their relationship, he could feel himself beginning to
relax. It felt strange to be standing there naked while another dude
embraced him but it wasn't totally unpleasant.
After a couple more seconds, Mr. DeMarco released his grip on the
boy and stepped back. But he kept his eyes fixed on Callum's as he softly
explained why he had been so critical of the boy. "The reason I'm hard on
you isn't because I'm getting ready to get rid of you - it's because I have
such big plans for your future. You have such incredible potential,
Callum. I know you have it in you to be a huge star in the entertainment
business. But you also have a number of hang-ups and insecurities that
might short-circuit your career and that's what we have to concentrate on
correcting."
"I want you to think of me as a surrogate father, just like I
already think of you as one of my own sons. I'm going to be tough on you.
I'm going to correct you when you screw up and it won't be pleasant. Being
corrected never is. But I want you to accept it in the spirit in which it
is given, knowing that it's for your own betterment. Do you think you can
do that, Callum?"
Callum looked up at the man, feeling a surge of gratitude towards
him that he could scarcely control. He wanted so much to make this man
proud of him. "Oh, yes, Mr. DeMarco. I'll do anything that you tell me
to. And if I screw up, I want you to correct me. I need it. I need you
to help me reach my full potential as a model. Please, Mr. DeMarco. You
just tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. I promise."
"Good boy," Mr. DeMarco replied. "And I want you to remember that,
regardless of any criticisms I may voice, we're family here; we all want
you to achieve your full potential and we're not going to stop working on
you until you do." With that, Mr. DeMarco gave Callum's ass a friendly
slap and then walked back around his desk and sat down.
Having seated himself comfortably, Mr. DeMarco looked up at Callum.
"So, now that we've cleared the air, why don't you show me what you've
accomplished over the past few days."
Immediately, Callum resumed the proper position in front of
Mr. DeMarco's desk. Over the next five minutes, the man directed him
through a number of the posing positions they'd previously practiced.
Mr. DeMarco seemed pleased with the progress Callum had made. Then he
paused for a moment and searched the top of his desk for something.
Suddenly, he stopped. "Damn," he said aloud to himself. "I don't think we
ever did it."
Looking at Callum, he inquired, "Did we take baseline measurements
of your body, Callum?"
Callum screwed up his face as he tried to remember. "I don't think
so, sir," he finally said.
"Shit," Mr. DeMarco exclaimed. He reached over and pressed the
intercom button and picked up the phone. "Troy, could you come in here."
Mere seconds later there was a knock on the door. "Come in, Troy,"
Mr. DeMarco quickly responded. Troy fluttered into the office.
"Are we ready to begin the photo-shoot, Mr. DeMarco?" the secretary
asked.
"Not yet, Troy, but soon. Right now, I want to take baseline
measurements of Callum's body." Mr. DeMarco was looking down, rummaging
through one of the drawers on his desk. "Here it is," he said as he pulled
out a fabric tape-measure. He tossed it to Troy who, to no surprise on
Callum's part, immediately fumbled it onto the floor.
He bent down and retrieved the tape-measure and then straightened
up. "Where do you want me to begin, Mr. DeMarco," he asked.
"We'll start with Callum's chest," Mr. DeMarco replied.
"Oh, yes, sir," Troy answered, almost giggling.
Callum wasn't pleased at the prospect of having Troy do the
measuring but, considering what had already transpired that afternoon, he
had no intention of making even the smallest waves. He steeled himself to
not physically react when Troy touched him. And, boy, did Troy touch him.
Troy was obviously thrilled at having the opportunity to manhandle
a real stud's body and he let his fingers roam all over Callum's torso.
Callum was damned if the little bitch didn't even squeeze one of Callum's
nipples while he was measuring his chest. And the fucker pinched it hard,
too. Mr. DeMarco probably didn't notice because he was busy transcribing
the numbers Troy called out, but Callum had to stifle a little yelp at the
time and couldn't help glaring at the faggot. But despite the way Troy
kept fondling his body, Callum pretty much managed to keep his reactions in
check until the very end.
Callum had thought the measurements were complete after Troy had
dropped to his knees to measure Callum's thighs and calves. It had been
really hard not to react when Troy's hands had glided up and down his inner
thighs. Callum was surprised how sensitive that area was - his cock
visibly jerked as Troy's feathery touch played across his skin - but he
made it through those measurements without visibly flinching. He was just
beginning to relax, figuring the ordeal was over, when Troy reached up and
grabbed Callum's totally erect penis.
"Jesus Christ," Callum exclaimed, stepping backwards out of his
reach.
"What are doing, Troy?" he heard Mr. DeMarco ask.
"Measuring Callum's big dick, sir," Troy replied. Mr. DeMarco
couldn't see it, but Troy actually licked his lips as he said that.
"You just leave Callum's dick alone, Troy," Mr. DeMarco sternly
replied. "I've already taken those measurements. He's nine and a half
inches."
"Oh, he looks even bigger than that," Troy gushed, his face almost
in Callum's pubes. "Maybe because he's more excited now than he was
before," he added, looking up Callum's torso to his face and actually
winking at him.
"That will be enough, Troy," Mr. DeMarco said in a tone that
brooked no argument. "Callum is somewhat self-conscious about his body -
that's something we're going to have to work on - and I don't want you
making him uncomfortable right before his first photo-shoot."
"Yes, sir, Mr. DeMarco. I'm sorry, sir." Troy quickly responded,
though little about his demeanor seemed to indicate remorse.
"Callum is the one you should apologize to," Mr. DeMarco noted.
Troy turned to Callum. "I'm sorry, sexy, for grabbing your big,
hard cock" he said.
"Troy," Mr. DeMarco called out. "Behave yourself. Don't make me
discipline you. Now apologize properly to Callum."
"I'm sorry if I offended you, Callum," Troy said, again facing the
boy. But while the words were apologetic, the leering smile on his face
was anything but. Unfortunately, seated behind his desk, Mr. DeMarco
couldn't see Troy's face so, for all he knew, Troy had properly apologized.
Mr. DeMarco looked at Callum, obviously expecting the boy to accept Troy's
apology. Callum would have loved to call Troy out on what he was doing
but, after the way the session had started, he just wasn't feeling
confident enough to make a fuss. So, instead, he did as Mr. DeMarco
wanted. "That's okay, Troy," he heard himself say, even though it wasn't
okay - it wasn't okay by a long shot.
But with that little contretemps behind them, Mr. DeMarco was
anxious to move the session along. "Okay, Troy," he began, "I want you to
take a good look at Callum and decide exactly what needs to be done before
we begin the shoot."
Callum had to stand there as Troy slowly circled his body a number
of times. What most surprised the boy was how serious Mr. DeMarco's
secretary had become. Gone were the leering looks that had made Callum so
uncomfortable. Now Troy was looking at him with the cool appraisal of a
horse trainer inspecting a new mount. After a couple of minutes, he turned
back to Mr. DeMarco. "Well," he began, "first off, he needs a shave. I'd
recommend a full-body one."
Callum had scarcely processed Troy's recommendation before he heard
Mr. DeMarco say, "I was thinking the same thing. It all should go."
Despite his earlier resolution to just do as Mr. DeMarco suggested,
Callum could not contain himself. "Are you talking about shaving my body?
All of it? Even my pubes?" Callum could feel himself beginning to blush
just at the prospect.
"Yes, we are, Callum," Mr. DeMarco affirmed. "I don't think we
have any choice."
"But why?" Callum complained, lowering his arms and taking a step
forward. "I'd feel so ....strange without any body hair." Callum had
caught himself just in time. He had almost said 'so faggy' but remembered
that Troy was in the room. Mr. DeMarco would not have been pleased if he
had slipped up that way after the specific warning he had given Callum.
Mr. DeMarco stood up and walked around his desk until he was
standing next to Callum. Callum was afraid he had really angered the man
this time so he was relieved when Mr. DeMarco simply draped an arm across
his shoulders and began talking to him, man to man.
"Callum," he began, assuming a fatherly air, "I realize from your
reaction that this may be difficult for you, but I need you to know it's
something I think is absolutely necessary if you're going to reach your
full potential. For an average guy, body hair is neither here nor there.
I know some guys think it's a manifestation of their masculinity, as if
they'd somehow be less masculine, less virile if they were hairless. But
that's just stupid. What makes you masculine is what's between your legs,"
the man explained, surprising Callum by reaching down and grabbing Callum's
junk with his right hand. "This is what makes you a man," he continued,
raising his hand sufficiently far that Callum actually felt a sharp tug on
the base of his scrotum. "It's not the hair that surrounds it." To
Callum's relief, Mr. DeMarco released his cock and balls. But then he
continued.
"You want to be an underwear and fitness model. As an underwear
model your main purpose is to provide a backdrop for the underwear and
swimsuits that you are modeling. That's the bottom line. Anything that
detracts from that also detracts from your value as a model. Advertisers
want the public to concentrate on the product they're pushing, not on some
unruly hairs that might be creeping out from under the fabric of the
underwear or swimsuit."
"And shaving is even more important for physique models. While
some guys may think that a hairy chest provides them with a veneer of
masculinity, the fact is that it also obscures muscle development. That's
why bodybuilders shave. A physique model wants to show his body off, not
hide it behind a shaggy pelt."
Callum could follow the logic of what was being said, but he was
appalled at the prospect of losing all his body-hair. "Could you just
leave a small patch right above the cock?" he wondered. "That way, I
wouldn't feel like such a little boy."
Mr. DeMarco shook his head 'no.' "We could, I suppose, leave a few
hairs there, but they would be so few it'd probably wouldn't make any
difference. Nowadays, swimwear varies in size from micro-thongs to board
shorts, but you have to shave for the smallest product you're going to be
modeling or you limit your utility to the advertiser. With some of the
thongs they're marketing now, there'd scarcely be any area covered beyond
your penis and balls. It just makes more sense to take it all off."
"I'm sorry, Callum," the man concluded, "but that's the type of
sacrifice a model has to be willing to make if he wants to really succeed
in the business."
Callum looked at Mr. DeMarco. He really, really didn't want to
shave off his pubes, but Mr. DeMarco clearly thought it would help his
career. The man obviously knew so much about the business and Callum was
sure he would look like a fool if he didn't take his advice. Besides, he
had already told Mr. DeMarco that he'd follow all of his suggestions and
Callum didn't want to look like he was reneging on his promise. So he
looked up at the man, smiled wanly and said, "If that's what you think I
should do, I'll do it, Mr. DeMarco."
The warm smile that greeted his agreement convinced Callum that he
had made the right choice. "Good boy," Mr. DeMarco replied. "Good boy."
He returned to the other side of the desk. "Well, let's get it done.
Troy, go get the razors and the shaving cream and Callum you can assume the
position you were in and, when Troy gets back, he can start right in."
Callum's surprise overrode his determination not to make waves. "I
can shave myself, sir. There's no need to have Troy do it."
There was a perceptible tightening in Mr. DeMarco's face. "Of
course you can shave yourself, Callum. You're going to be doing it every
day from now on. But right now I want Troy to do it. He has a lot more
experience shaving a guy's body than you do and I want this completed as
quickly as possible - and without any nicks. We're going to be taking your
photos right after we finish and I don't want any cuts or scrapes marring
your skin."
"Yes, sir," Callum quietly replied, suitably chastened by
Mr. DeMarco's implicit rebuke.
A few minutes later, Troy was back with razors, shaving cream and a
pail of warm water. Troy placed the pail and the razors on the floor and
approached Callum while shaking the shaving cream can in his hand. With
his back to Mr. DeMarco, he blew Callum a kiss. It took all of Callum's
fortitude not to punch him in the face. Instead, he just stared stoically
forward. A moment later, Troy started in on him.
Beginning with his armpits, Troy lathered up all of Callum's torso
down to and including his crotch. When he felt Troy's hands rubbing the
shaving cream on to his cock and balls, Callum couldn't help shivering.
When Troy turned away to wash his hands off in the bucket of water, Callum
noticed that Mr. DeMarco's secretary was sporting a full hard-on. It
figured - the fucking faggot was really enjoying this. Of course, Callum
was still hard, too, which only magnified the embarrassment he was feeling.
Troy picked up a new razor, dipped it in the pail and then began denuding
Callum of his body hair.
The only good thing Callum could say about the whole procedure is
that Mr. DeMarco had been right - Troy was really fast in shaving him.
Other than that, though, it was a particularly humiliating experience
standing there as another dude shaved off not only his chest hairs and his
treasure trail but his pubes as well. There was also a moment of not a
little fear when Troy grabbed his balls and held them tightly around the
sack and ran the razor over them. That felt really strange. But Troy must
have known what he was doing because he managed it without any cuts.
Callum could hear himself sigh in relief when Troy finally
finished. He glanced down at his torso and grimaced. God, he really did
look like a ten-year-old boy even with his big cock jutting straight out of
his now hairless crotch. If anything, the very size of his meat seemed to
draw attention to the fact that he now totally lacked any pubes. Despite
what Mr. DeMarco had told him, Callum knew he'd be humiliated if any other
dude saw him like this.
Callum looked up just in time to see Troy once again approaching
him with the shaving cream. The next thing he knew, Troy had dropped to
his knees and begun slathering the cream up and down his thighs. "What are
you doing?" Callum demanded to know.
"I'm getting ready to shave your legs," Troy smirked back at him.
"You didn't think we were done, did you? I've still got your legs, your
ass and your arms to shave."
"What?" Callum exclaimed. "Mr. DeMarco?" he queried, obviously
appealing to the man, wanting him to intervene.
But Mr. DeMarco was looking at him as if Callum was the one out of
line. "I thought we had agreed that you'd have a full-body shave, Callum.
Isn't that what you agreed to not more than thirty minutes ago?"
Now it was Callum's turn to register confusion. "I thought we were
agreeing that I'd shave my torso and my pubes. I didn't realize that you
wanted my entire body shaved, including my legs and my arms. That's
something bitches...I mean women do."
Mr. DeMarco did not try to hide his unhappiness with Callum's
response. "You know, Callum," he began with some anger, "we've already
been over this. Physique models need to show off their muscles and hair
just gets in the way. And it's not just your chest and abs that I'm
talking about. That means your leg and back muscles as well, including
your glutes. Why do you think I've had you put special emphasis on your
thighs and calves when you're working out. A physique model has to be a
total package and it's that total package that advertisers want to see in
their photo spreads. You think they want to see some guy with a totally
hairless upper torso and hairy legs and back?"
"I've been really patient with you Callum, but I think it's time
you made a choice. Are you going to commit yourself to becoming a
top-flight model, really commit yourself, or are you just going to stand
there and second-guess everything I recommend. Because, if it's the
latter, maybe we should just call it quits right now. So, what's it going
to be, Callum? Are you in or are you out?"
Callum was shocked by the man's outburst. He could feel his entire
body turning beet red. He was also furious with himself for once again
putting his whole career in jeopardy. Mr. DeMarco was right. Not more
than half an hour earlier Callum had assured Mr. DeMarco that he'd do
everything that the man recommended and here he was once again quibbling
with him. And now Callum had really pissed him off.
Callum began apologizing as abjectly as he could. "I'm so sorry,
Mr. DeMarco. You're absolutely right. I'm acting like a baby. Please
give me another chance. I'll never question another one of your
suggestions. I'll do whatever you tell me to do. No arguments. Just give
me another chance. Please, Mr. DeMarco. Please."
Mr. DeMarco sat there staring at Callum for the longest time. But
slowly Callum could sense the man's anger dissipating. Callum felt some of
his own incredible tension ease. Mr. DeMarco was going to give him another
chance. Just as Callum's breathing was beginning to return to normal,
Mr. DeMarco began speaking to him again.
"I think you're sincere, Callum," the man said, "so I'm going to
let this last little outburst pass. But I want you to know that I intend
to hold you to your promise. I'm letting this incident pass but the next
time I won't be so lenient. The next time you disappoint me I'll have no
choice but to discipline you. You understand that, don't you Callum?"
"Yes, sir," Callum dutifully replied. Callum had no idea what
Mr. DeMarco was talking about as far as disciplining him. But, hopefully,
he'd never find out. In the future, he intended to keep to his word and do
everything that Mr. DeMarco told him to do without questioning the reasons
behind the man's suggestions. He was finished with second-guessing
Mr. DeMarco.
So Callum placidly stood there as Troy completed the denuding of
Callum's body. He didn't even say anything when Troy roughly jammed a
finger up his asshole while he was shaving Callum's ass-crack. Callum was
bent over at the waist, looking straight at Mr. DeMarco and, at the same
time, holding his own ass-cheeks wide apart while Troy carefully removed
the stray hairs around his anus, when he felt one of Troy's fingers rudely
penetrate his anal opening. While he was surprised at how painful it felt,
Callum hadn't reacted other than biting down on his lower lip. The fucker
kept his finger up Callum's ass for almost a full minute, ramming it in all
the way to the second joint and moving it around inside of him. Every time
his finger rubbed against Callum's prostrate, the boy's dick did a little
dance and emitted another drop of pre-cum. By the time Troy finally
withdrew his finger, Callum's cock-head was slick with pre. Callum just
let Troy have his fun, but he promised himself that one day he'd pay the
little faggot back for what he was doing to him. This was something he
wasn't going to forget.
When Troy had finally finished, he picked up the pail and headed
off towards the bathroom to dump it into the commode. Callum happen to
glance into it as it went by and was appalled by the amount of hair he saw
clumped together floating on top. All of that had been on his body just an
hour earlier and now he was standing in front of Mr. DeMarco as hairless as
a pre-pubescent boy. Even though Callum understood why it was necessary,
he was profoundly humiliated by his totally shaven state.
Callum stood there, in position, until Troy returned a few minutes
later. All that time, Mr. DeMarco didn't say anything; he just sat there
looking at him. The shaving of his pubes had made Callum sufficiently
insecure that he knew he would have tried to cover himself up if his
fingers weren't locked behind his neck. As it was, he could feel himself
blushing to beat the band.
Once Troy was back in the room, Mr. DeMarco turned to him and asked
him if there was anything else that he would suggest. "Well, the tan's a
problem," he said and then, with a smirk, added, "and so's the boner."
Callum could have slugged the faggot for drawing attention to
Callum's raging hard-on. He hadn't thought it possible but he could feel
his blush deepening. His damn cock had been literally and visibly
throbbing for the past half-hour and Troy's little finger-fucking hadn't
helped.
Mr. DeMarco looked over at Troy, nodding his head in
agreement. "The tan's definitely a problem." Seeing the look of surprise
on Callum's face, the man explained, "It's not the fact that you have a
tan, Callum, that's the problem. The problem is the tan-line. Like I
mentioned earlier, modern swimwear varies from small thongs to the surfer
shorts you clearly prefer. The problem is that when you model anything
smaller than those shorts your tan-line ends before the fabric begins. It
makes it obvious that you don't actually wear the swimwear you're modeling
and, not surprisingly, advertisers don't like that. So we've got to get
rid of your tan lines. Not now, of course," he added after a slight pause.
"There's no time for that now, but we've got to do something about it for
the future."
Mr. DeMarco was silent for a bit as he mulled over the problem. He
looked up at Callum and asked, "How do you tan, Callum? Do you use a
tanning bed or just lay out in the sun?"
"It's all natural sunlight, sir," Callum replied.
"I thought so," Mr. DeMarco replied as if the answer did not please
him.
"Is something the matter, sir?" Callum inquired, wondering if he
had somehow screwed up.
"Nothing's the matter, Callum," the man quickly reassured him. "If
anything, natural sunlight provides a deeper and more photogenic quality
than tanning beds. But it does create a problem. Where did you get most
of your sun, Callum?"
"On the beach, sir."
"Yeah," Mr. DeMarco responded. "That's what I thought." He shook
his head unhappily. "There's no nude beaches anywhere near here,
unfortunately."
At the mention of nude beaches, Callum could feel his heart start
pounding. He couldn't imagine lying out on a beach, stark naked so that
anyone who walked by could just scope out his entire body. Particularly
now that he'd just been completely shaved. That would be so humiliating,
having other dudes seeing him pube-less. Callum tried to calm down by
reminding himself that Mr. DeMarco was right - there were no nude beaches
anywhere nearby but just thinking about having to publicly expose his
freshly-shaven body made him queasy.
Mr. DeMarco looked at him again. "You wouldn't happen to have any
place where you could sunbathe nude, do you Callum?"
Immediately, Callum thought of his parents' house. The backyard
was pretty much surrounded by trees and an eight-foot-high security fence.
He probably could get some sun out there without his parents' neighbors
being any the wiser. But what about his parents? How could he explain
what he was doing to them. And what if his mother saw him naked? Or, even
worse, his father? God, he could just imagine what that old fucker would
say if he saw his son lying in the backyard naked. And if he noticed that
his son had shaved his pubes off - and how could he fail to notice that -
Callum would never hear the end of it. No, there was no way he could
sunbathe nude at home, so he looked at Mr. DeMarco and uttered a simple
"No, sir."
It was then that Troy spoke up. "Callum could use the roof, sir.
Like Kerry and Taylor do now."
Mr. DeMarco shook his head negatively. "I don't think so, Troy.
Kerry and Taylor both have night-time jobs, so their days are free.
Callum's in school. I'm sure he's having enough trouble juggling his
school work with his increased workout schedule. I don't want to
jeopardize his education just to eradicate his tan-lines. It's certainly
not optimal, but I guess we'll have to go with the tanning bed. He'll
probably lose some jobs because of it, but it can't be helped."
Listening to Mr. DeMarco talk about his educational pursuits caused
Callum to experience a twinge of guilt. Actually, Callum had pretty much
abandoned them when he increased his workouts to twice a day. There was
just no way he could handle four-hours in the gym with all the class-work
his courses entailed. Besides, he wasn't kidding himself. It would have
been rough for him to eke out passing grades in the majority of his courses
even if he applied himself a hundred percent. Mr. DeMarco had made such a
point about how important education was that Callum hadn't wanted to
disappoint him by telling him he was abandoning those endeavors, but he
certainly didn't want the fiction of his continuing college education to
interfere with the reality of his modeling career.
"Sir," Callum spoke up, "if you think it would be better for me to
lay out in the sun here than using a tanning bed, I can make the time to do
that. Really, sir. That wouldn't be a problem."
"Are you sure, Callum?" Mr. DeMarco pressed. "The best sun here is
between noon and 3:00 p.m. and you'd have to be here at least two hours
every sunny day. Are you sure that wouldn't create logistical problems for
you at school?"
"Yes, sir," Callum replied with conviction. "I'm sure."
Mr. DeMarco favored Callum with a warm smile. "Then I guess we
have our solution. We'll see you on every sunny day. Just check in with
Troy when you arrive. He'll get you stripped down and greased up and take
you to the roof."
While he was definitely taken aback by Mr. DeMarco's declaration
that Troy would strip him down and grease him up, Callum kept quiet. He'd
just promised again that he'd do whatever Mr. DeMarco told him to do
without objecting and he really did intend to keep that promise. Above all
else, he wanted to stay in Mr. DeMarco's good graces and he was gratified
to see how pleased the man now seemed with him.
That matter dealt with, Mr. DeMarco turned to Troy as asked,
"Anything else?"
"The boner, sir," Troy reminded him.
"Yes," Mr. DeMarco agreed, "Callum's erection." He turned his
attention back to Callum.
Callum found himself nervously shifting his weight back and forth
as both Troy and Mr. DeMarco focused on the big tube of hard flesh jutting
out from Callum's groin. It was so mortifying to have both of them
concentrating on his leaking hard-on. "I'm sorry, sir," he started to
apologize but Mr. DeMarco cut him off.
"There's nothing to apologize for Callum. As I told you the other
day, it's natural for young studs like yourself to spontaneously erect when
they get excited. If anything, you should be proud that you have such a
nice big piece of meat between your legs. Most guys would kill to be as
hung as you are. It's just that, right now, during a photo-shoot, it's not
something we'd be interesting in drawing attention to unless we were
planning on advertising you on porn sites, which, of course, we're not -
even though, looking at you, it's obvious there would be a real market for
your talents."
"I'm sorry, sir," Callum repeated. "I've just been real horny the
last few days, ever since I started increasing my work-outs and taking the
energy supplements."
"And that's to be expected, Callum," Mr. DeMarco immediately
reassured him. "That's totally normal. I'm not criticizing you Callum.
If anything, I'm the one at fault here. I should have anticipated the
problem and told you to work out any excess sexual energy before you came
here."
"I did sir," Callum interjected. "I jerked off right before I left
the house. It was the third time today."
"You've already masturbated three times today?" Mr. DeMarco asked
with some surprise.
"Yes, sir," Callum admitted. He was a little disconcerted to find
himself discussing his masturbation habits but he wanted Mr. DeMarco to
understand that he had recognized the problem himself and tried to deal
with it. "I jerked off in bed just after I woke up, in the shower at home
after my morning gym session, and then right before I dressed to come
here."
His response generated a quizzical look from Mr. DeMarco. "I don't
understand," he said. "Why were you showering at home after your session
in the gym? Why didn't you just shower at the gym?"
Callum was totally unprepared for that question. "Well, sir," he
tried to explain, as delicately as possible since Troy was in the room, "it
can be uncomfortable showering at school since there's a number of...guys
who just hang around the showers watching you. You know what I mean sir,"
he appealed to Mr. DeMarco.
"Oh, I know what you mean, Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied. "I
definitely know what you mean. But you can't let people like that
interfere with proper grooming habits. You should always shower
immediately upon completion of a workout so you don't clog up your pores
with sweat and grime. The last thing a physique model needs is having an
unsightly blemish any place on his body. So, as a matter of course, you
should always shower as soon as possible after you've completed your
workout. Besides, we've already discussed the problem of your excessive
physical modesty and this is just another manifestation of your insecurity.
From now on, I want you to shower at the gym after every workout. Is that
understood?"
The tone that Mr. DeMarco used was so demanding and forceful that
Callum felt he had no choice but to assent, even as he blanched at the
prospect of showing his naked body, now bereft of all body hair, to the
lascivious stares of all those perverted faggots. Damn, he was going to
hate that.
But Mr. DeMarco wasn't done. "And, Callum," he continued, "I don't
want you covering up your body when you're in the locker room and shower.
You have a really fine body and you should be proud of it and, as a model,
you should be glad to display it. So every time after you shower, I want
you to spend at least fifteen minutes in the sauna, uncovered. You've got
to learn to accept attention from other people."
This latest order really upset Callum. The idea of sitting in the
sauna, totally exposed, while those disgusting fags just ogled his naked
body was repulsive. Just thinking about it made Callum feel creepy. But
Mr. DeMarco seemed adamant on this point and Callum certainly didn't want
to upset the man by arguing with him. 'Shit. Shit. Shit,' was all he
could think.
While Callum tried to hide his consternation, it was obvious that
Mr. DeMarco had picked up on it. "Look at the bright side, Callum," he
offered. "You'll probably be so uncomfortable at first that you won't be
able to get an erection. Maybe that will help you get your excess
testosterone under control."
But while Mr. DeMarco had seemingly intended his remarks to ease
Callum's fears, they actually served to stoke them. Callum hadn't even
considered the possibility that he'd get a boner while he was sitting in
the sauna. The prospect of having to sit there with a hard rod sticking up
from his groin while all those perverts raped him with their eyes actually
did cause his gorge to rise. For a few seconds, tasting the acrid vomit in
his mouth, Callum was afraid he was going to upchuck right there.
Fortunately, he was able to get control and force the bitter bile back
down.
He was still feeling somewhat shaky when he heard Troy pipe up.
"But we still have his boner to deal with right now, sir."
"Yes, we do," Mr. DeMarco agreed, his attention returning to
Callum's crotch. "There's nothing for it at this point but to drain the
balls." He looked up at Callum and shrugged his shoulders. "Callum, why
don't you go over to the couch, sit down and rub one out. Looking at the
state of your erection," and at this point Mr. DeMarco allowed his glance
to return to Callum's groin, "it shouldn't take long."
"Sir," Callum heard himself say, as if he was somehow outside his
own body watching the conversation take place, "you want me to jerk myself
off right now?"
"Yes, Callum," Mr. DeMarco easily replied. "That's exactly what I
want you to do. We have to get rid of that erection, particularly for the
underwear and swimsuit photos, and we need to do it now. So just go over
to the couch and pop out a load."
"I don't know, sir," Callum began uncertainly. "I don't know if I
can. I mean it would feel so weird whacking my meat off with other guys
watching me. I'm not even sure I could shoot."
"See," Mr. DeMarco retorted, pointing a finger at Callum, "that's
exactly what I was just talking about. You've got to get over this
excessive shyness. This will be good therapy for you. And, if it makes
you feel any better, we'll both stay on this side of the sofa. But we
don't have all day, Callum. So I'd appreciate it if you'd just get over
there and get it done."
It was obvious from Mr. DeMarco's tone that he didn't want to hear
any more argument. Callum took a deep breath and then unlocked his fingers
and lowered his arms. Slowly, he walked over to the sofa and sat down. He
looked down at his hard cock and noticed the crown was almost covered with
pre-cum. He smeared the pre over his tool and then took a firm grasp of
his aching cock and began stroking it.
He must have been going at it a good two minutes before he happened
to look up. "Holy Fuck!" he exclaimed, jumping up and trying desperately
to cover himself with his hands.
"What's the matter, Callum," Mr. DeMarco asked from his desk.
"There's people watching me, sir," Callum complained, his voice
rising. "The people in the building across the way can see me jerking
myself off." He moved to get on the other side of the couch.
"Stay where you are, Callum," Mr. DeMarco sternly ordered. "Stay
where you are."
Mr. DeMarco voiced his command with such force that Callum
immediately stopped where he was. He looked over at Mr. DeMarco, his hands
still trying to cover his exposed crotch. "Now, Callum," the man informed
him, "I want you to return to the couch and continue what you were doing.
Ignore those people across the way. They'd need binoculars to get a good
look at your body. You need to concentrate on the matter at hand. Get
back on the couch and rub out a load."
"But, sir..." Callum began.
"Do what I say," Mr. DeMarco roughly commanded. He was clearly
angry now.
Despite all his misgivings, Callum felt himself turning back around
and retracing his footsteps until he was right in front of the couch. Then
he sat down.
"Now return to the business at hand, Callum. Jerk off that cock.
I don't want you getting up until you've shot your load. Is that
understood?"
"Yes, sir," Callum mumbled, not believing that Mr. DeMarco was
making him jerk off while total strangers watched - not believing that he
was actually doing it.
Callum took one quick glance out the window, saw all the offices
that had a clear view of where he was sitting and shuddered. He didn't
look up again. Instead, he concentrated on getting himself off.
He didn't know how long it took but sooner than he would have
thought possible under the circumstances Callum could feel his balls rising
in their sac. All it took was a few more hard strokes and he was there.
Even Callum was surprised by the volume of sperm that erupted from his
throbbing boner. The first spurt landed on his chin and it was followed by
at least four more large jets of milky white semen which splattered onto
his chest and two smaller final squirts which landed on his groin.
Callum was breathing heavily from the force of his exertions,
continuing to stroke his cock as he tried to tease every drop of cum out of
his system. Finally, convinced that he had totally drained his balls, he
leaned back against the sofa, trying to catch his breath. He was careful
to keep his eyes on his cock. He didn't want to look up and see a bunch of
strangers looking at him after he'd just shot off a big load.
He was still sitting there when he heard Mr. DeMarco inquire, "Are
you finished nutting, Callum?"
"Yes, sir," he managed to croak out.
"Then get your ass over here so we can start taking photos,"
Mr. DeMarco rejoined with a hint of impatience.
"Yes, sir," Callum responded, immediately getting to his feet. He
was a little bit unsteady at first but after he took a few steps he
regained his balance. It was only when he turned and faced Mr. DeMarco and
Troy that he remembered that pretty much his entire upper body was now
splattered with a viscous coating of spunk that was slowly running down his
torso. Just a short glance at Troy's smirking face was enough to make his
entire body flush with embarrassment.
There was no question that Mr. DeMarco could also see the dripping
remnants of Callum's orgasm because he almost immediately turned to his
secretary. "Troy, don't just stand there. Go get a wet wash cloth.
Obviously, we're going to have to clean Callum up before we shoot any
photos."
As Callum stood there quietly, Troy headed towards the doorway
which hid the private bathroom connected to Mr. DeMarco's office. Though
he was now positioned directly in front of Mr. DeMarco, the boy kept his
eyes focused on the floor in front of him. Standing there naked in
Mr. DeMarco's office with drying cum coating his body, Callum felt
incredibly dirty. Even though he realized that he had only done with
Mr. DeMarco had told him to do, he still felt just like a little boy who'd
been caught jerking off by one of his parents. And the longer he stood
there, the more embarrassed he felt.
"Callum, look at me," Mr. DeMarco suddenly ordered.
Callum forced himself to raise his eyes until he was looking
Mr. DeMarco in the face. He tried to keep his face impassive but he could
feel his lower lip trembling and, for the second time that afternoon, he
realized he was on the verge of tears. God, what was happening to him? It
was like he was turning into a little faggot, crying all the time just like
a little girl who'd skinned her knee. He had to get a grip on himself.
Mr. DeMarco was looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and
concern in his face. "What is the matter with you, Callum?" he asked.
"Every time we seem to be making a little progress in overcoming your
self-consciousness about your body and I think you're on your way to a
successful modeling career you turn around and disappoint me by reverting
to your old attitudes."
"But, sir," Callum replied, stung by Mr. DeMarco's criticism, "I
just jerked myself off while all those people in the offices across the
street could see me."
"First off," Mr. DeMarco responded with real vehemence. "Like I
told you, they'd need a pair of binoculars to clearly see you shooting off.
All they could really see was some guy, who might be naked, sitting on a
sofa. But, more importantly, what the fuck do you care if a bunch of
voyeurs get excited watching you pound your meat? How the hell does that
affect you?"
"Well, sir..." Callum began and then paused, suddenly at a loss to
explain just why masturbating on the couch had upset him so much. "It's
just that, you know, it's kinda a private thing, jerking off I mean, and
it's kinda embarrassing when somebody else is watching you do it."
"Why?" Mt. DeMarco pressed him. "Do you have a small cock? Did
you shoot a puny load from a pair of little-boy balls?"
"No ... No, sir," Callum admitted.
"Then I repeat my question, Callum, 'what the fuck do you care if a
bunch of total strangers get turned on watching you masturbate? How the
fuck does that affect you?'"
Before Callum could even try to answer, Mr. DeMarco was speaking
again. "Besides, Callum, regardless of how you think you felt or, more
accurately, how you think you should feel, the fact is that you were turned
on by playing with yourself while other people watched. Look at the load
you shot. And how quickly you did it. If you were really embarrassed by
masturbating in public you wouldn't have been able to cum at all, much less
in the volume you did. Face it, Callum. At least part of you is a closet
exhibitionist."
"Oh, I don't think so, sir," Callum equivocated, no longer sure
what he felt.
"Callum, you want to be a model," Mr. DeMarco explained. "Being an
exhibitionist comes with the territory. It's a good thing. In fact, for a
model it's absolutely necessary. What we have to do is figure out how to
bring your latent exhibitionism out of the closet and stick your excessive
modesty in there in its place."
"Yes, sir," Callum agreed, his mind reeling, once again amazed at
how smart Mr. DeMarco was. Callum had never had the slightest inkling that
he had exhibitionist tendencies but it was clear, just listening to
Mr. DeMarco, that he did. Once again, he told himself he had to just do
whatever Mr. DeMarco told him to. This man was obviously his ticket to
fame and fortune and all Callum had to do was not screw it up and make sure
that Mr. DeMarco was happy with him.
So Callum stood there quietly when Troy came back and proceeded to
wipe the cum off Callum's body, not surprisingly taking the opportunity to
feel Callum up in the most intimate way. Callum just stood there and let
the little faggot have his fun. He wasn't about to let a little
molestation get in the way of making a success of himself.
After Troy had finally managed to wipe off the last strands of cum
from Callum's torso, they immediately began the photo-shoot. It was a lot
harder work than Callum would have thought. Because they couldn't be sure
how long Callum's erection problem would remain under control, they began
with swimsuits and then moved on to underwear.
It only took maybe ten minutes before Callum had worked out the
procedure. He'd put on a swimsuit, take numerous poses in front of a white
backdrop and then move over to the sofa and go through another series of
poses. Then it was back up, strip off the swimsuit he was wearing, put on
a new one, and start the whole process all over again.
They started with a pair of board shorts and then progressively
worked themselves down in size. The last three thongs he modeled provided
virtually no coverage at all. The last one, in fact, left the top inch of
his dick totally exposed. He couldn't imagine what type of guy would ever
wear a thong like that on a beach - he have to be a raging faggot, that was
for sure - but Callum also appreciated why Mr. DeMarco had insisted on
shaving his entire body. His pubes would have been clearly visible in half
the photos - if he'd still had any.
Another thing he quickly noticed was that both Troy and Mr. DeMarco
had been right about his tan lines. As the swimsuits got progressively
smaller the area of his groin that was untanned became more prominent. It
did make it obvious that the suits that Callum was modeling were not
swimsuits that he ever wore in real life. Callum could see why that might
make the advertisers unhappy. Actually seeing the problem his present
tan-lines created gave Callum a greater resolve to spend every sunny day
working on his all-over tan on the roof upstairs.
He was also impressed, though he was reluctant to admit it, with
how Troy's attitude and demeanor changed once he began shooting the photos.
The leering looks, the air-kisses, were all gone. It was obvious that Troy
was a real professional when it came to photography so Callum found himself
assuming the poses that Troy wanted without second-guessing him - even the
ones on the couch that seemed to Callum to present him more as a sex object
than a model of men's swimsuits and underwear.
One pose, in particular, seemed designed to present Callum in an
especially lurid light. Callum was posed leaning back on the couch, his
legs spread widely apart, with his left leg bent at the knee, the foot flat
on the floor and his right leg, bent at the knee, on the sofa. Once he had
settled in to the pose, Troy had Callum rest his right hand on his upper
thigh just below his crotch and then bring his left hand across his chest
and lightly flick his right nipple. Not surprisingly, it was only a matter
of time until both his nips hardened up.
Even though his cock remained soft for most of the shoot, the
tightness of the swimsuits and underwear he was modeling clearly showed the
outline of his meaty cock and the pose he was assuming on the couch seemed
designed to draw attention to his endowment. It seemed to Callum that the
photos being taken were more appropriate for the opening scene of a porn
movie than for an advertisement selling swimsuits or underwear. But both
Mr. DeMarco and Troy assured him he looked great, so he assumed the pose
whenever they asked for it.
Callum's dick pretty much behaved itself until the last few items
of underwear. He had just begun modeling a Scandal lace micro-thong.
Looking at it before he put it on, it reminded Callum more of women's
panties than a man's briefs. It was totally covered in frilly black lace
which, Callum quickly realized, would do little to actually obscure his
cock and balls even when he was wearing it. But Callum was surprised at
how it felt as he slid it over his crotch. It was a tight fit - as all the
swimsuits and underwear had been - but the feeling of the lace on his
freshly denuded skin seemed to have an electric effect on him. Before he
knew it, his nine-incher was once again jutting proudly out from his groin.
There was a slight delay as Troy and Mr. DeMarco discussed what
they should do about Callum's re-arousal. Mr. DeMarco ultimately decided
that, since the remaining items of underwear provided little if any
covering for Callum's genitals anyway - the items obviously being designed
more for the bedroom than for everyday use - those companies purveying them
would probably not be too upset to have them displayed on an obviously
aroused model, particularly one as well-hung as Callum was.
Despite himself, Callum was a little discomforted by this turn of
events. He had already come around to Mr. DeMarco's view that it was
completely proper to exploit Callum's good looks and sexy physique in
marketing both Callum and the items prospective advertisers were pushing,
but having photographs taken of his erect cock, particularly when he was
modeling items like the Good Devil Man-Lifter, which was basically just a
strap around his waist with a piece of spandex hanging down that he stuck
his junk through, was getting pretty damn close to out and out pornography.
At least that's what Callum thought.
But it was obvious that neither Troy nor Mr. DeMarco felt any
similar concerns as they proceeded to complete the shoot from that point on
without the slightest effort to obscure the fact that Callum was sporting a
full boner. Having already been chastised a number of times that day by
Mr. DeMarco for his excessive modesty, Callum didn't feel confident enough
to voice any of his misgivings. Instead, he just dutifully assumed the
poses that Troy directed and let him shoot the pictures that he wanted to.
When he finally stripped the last item of underwear off his body,
another item from Good Devil, identified as a Ballz Out Extreme Lifter,
which consisted only of a red strap around his waist with a small piece of
sheer red fabric stretching down to encase his erect penis, leaving his
balls completely exposed, Callum was relieved that this first photo session
was over. Except it wasn't. Troy excused himself and then returned after
a few minutes with an armful of shirts including everything from cut-off
tank tops to formal dress shirts. Troy passed Callum one of the cut-off
tank tops and, the next thing Callum knew, they were back in the middle of
the photo-shoot.
It took at least an hour to work their way through all of the
shirts Troy had selected and Callum couldn't help but be conscious
throughout the entire shoot that, although he was modeling shirts, he was
naked from the waist down. Callum understood that Mr. DeMarco wanted to
work on Callum's insecurities about his body but it really seemed weird to
be posing in a tight polo shirt and look down at his body and see his hard
dick jutting straight out from underneath the bottom of the material. And
while Troy generally focused on Callum's upper body when snapping his
photos at least one or two in every set were full-length pictures which
showed just how naked and hard Callum actually was while he was posing.
Perhaps the worst part of the entire shirt portion of the
photo-shoot came with the dress shirts. A number of these shirts just
didn't hang properly since they were designed to be worn inside trousers
and the absence of at least a belt to cinch-up the fabric made them droop
as if they were too large. But rather than just tell Callum to put on the
slacks he'd worn to the office, Mr. DeMarco walked over and picked up the
bright red Ballz Out Extreme Lifter and told Callum to put it on. He then
directed Troy to pull the shirt tails through the red strap which went
around Callum's waist and take the picture like that. It worked, provided
they kept the strap out of the photos. So, for the rest of the photos,
Callum wore the Ballz Out lifter which he was sure was clearly visible in
any of the full length photos, leaving his hard dick jutting out above his
shaven ball-sac.
By the time the photo-shoot finally did end, Callum was exhausted.
Troy picked up all the items Callum had posed in and headed out the door,
telling Mr. DeMarco as he left that he'd get right on the photos as soon as
he got the clothes put away. Callum was just about to assume the proper
position in front of Mr. DeMarco when the man looked up and said, "You look
totally wasted, Callum. Why don't you just pull up a chair and we'll go
over the photo shoot and then you can head on out."
"Thank you, sir," Callum replied gratefully. He pulled over a
chair from the wall and settled into it, scarcely even aware that he was
still completely naked. Callum was slowly coming to the point where it
seemed totally natural to be naked in front of Mr. DeMarco.
Mr. DeMarco reviewed the entire shoot in surprising detail. He
gave Callum a number of suggestions on posing techniques but generally
praised the boy's performance. "I think you're a natural, Callum. You
have a certain raw masculinity that I think will really come through in the
photographs and I'm sure hiring agents will quickly pick up on that. Of
course, we still have some significant work to do fine-tuning elements of
your body and training you so that you instinctively follow a
photographer's directions without even the slightest hesitation. But, all
in all, I must stay I'm quite pleased with your work today."
"Thank you, sir," Callum replied, almost beaming. It was so good
to hear that Mr. DeMarco had been pleased with his efforts. It made Callum
want to try even harder to please the man.
"You have a right to be proud of yourself, Callum," Mr. DeMarco
assured the boy as he smiled at him. "But I also want you to keep your
focus and not forget that being a physique model is hard work and requires
a lot of dedication. For example, from now on you should plan on spending
at least half-an-hour every morning just shaving your body. And I want you
to take your time doing it. The last thing in the world you want to do is
nick or cut yourself."
"But, sir," Callum responded. "My body hair doesn't really grow
that quickly. I would think that shaving once a week should be enough to
keep my body hairless."
"No," Mr. DeMarco immediately demurred. "I want you to shave your
entire body every day, regardless of how quickly you think your hair grows
back. Good grooming is absolutely essential for a model and good grooming
is more a product of daily repetition of healthy habits than anything else.
Just like you have to stick to a training regimen to keep your body in
perfect shape, you also have to develop grooming habits that simply become
second nature to you. If you shave every day you won't run the risk of
getting a last-minute call to show up for a job interview with stubble all
over your body. You'll always be smooth and hairless - ready to go."
"Similarly, Callum," Mr. DeMarco continued, "I think we need to
take steps to bring your excessive testosterone under control. From now
on, whenever you get an erection I want you to take care of it immediately.
If you're at home, just go to your bedroom and whack it off; if you're in
public, just find a restroom and take care of it there. But we have to
bring it under control or it will limit your utility in a number of shoots.
Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Callum murmured, embarrassed that they were once again
discussing his boner problems.
"Fine," Mr. DeMarco responded. "So why don't you take care of it
right now while we're finishing our discussion and waiting for Troy to
bring in some of the proofs."
Immediately, Callum flushed a bright crimson. "You want me to jack
off right now, while I'm sitting here talking to you?"
"Isn't that what I just said, Callum?" Mr. DeMarco replied with not
a little exasperation in his voice. "We obviously need to keep your balls
completely drained to keep you from plumping up at awkward moments. So
just take your cock in your hand and milk it now. Okay?"
"Yes, sir," Callum grudgingly agreed. He reached down and grabbed
his hard fuck-stick. It throbbed underneath his touch. Despite himself,
Callum groaned in pleasure as he began to stroke his rigid tool.
Callum was concentrating on masturbating himself when he heard
Mr. DeMarco call his name. "Callum," Mr. DeMarco repeated.
"Yes, sir," he answered looking up at the man.
"I assume you can jerk off without having to look at your cock."
"Yes, sir," Callum admitted.
"Fine," Mr. DeMarco replied. "Then we'll continue our discussion
while you take care of business."
"Yes, sir," Callum managed to squeak out. For the next ten minutes
Callum sat there, trying to follow the conversation with Mr. DeMarco, while
he continued to work on his hard prick. It was so humiliating to be
sitting there stroking himself off, his entire body clearly within
Mr. DeMarco's range of vision, and at the same time to be trying to keep a
discussion going on what exercises he should use to maximize development of
his quads. He could only imagine the perverted picture he presented to
Mr. DeMarco. But Mr. DeMarco appeared totally unfazed by the situation.
Callum could hear himself beginning to breathe heavily as he neared
his orgasm. He was just about at the point of shooting off when he heard
the door opening behind him. Troy walked into the room just as Callum
began pumping out another massive load. "What a horny little bitch!" he
heard Troy exclaim as the first spurt landed right on Callum's nose. In
the throes of his orgasm, Callum couldn't even try to make a retort.
Instead, he just writhed uncontrollably in the chair as his hot sperm
continued to shoot from his erupting cock.
If anything, this second orgasm in Mr. DeMarco's office was greater
than his first. By the time Callum's cock had finished disgorging his
ball-seed, Callum was almost covered with fresh cum. "Aren't you the
fucking stallion?" Callum heard Troy comment. He looked up to see that
Troy was standing right next to him, his eyes taking in Callum's
cum-covered body, his lips twisted in a gleeful smirk. Callum was about to
say something when he heard Mr. DeMarco speak up.
"That will be enough, Troy," he said. He held out his hand. "Let
me see the proofs."
"Yes, sir," Troy immediately responded, yanking his gaze from
Callum to his employer. He passed over a packet of proofs. Mr. DeMarco
took them and began looking at them closely. Without even looking up he
said, "Don't just stand there, Troy. Get the wash cloth and clean Callum
up again."
"Yes, sir," Troy responded, turning to give Callum an exaggerated
leer and then heading back to the bathroom. Totally spent having just shot
his second load of the afternoon, Callum simply sat there awaiting Troy's
return.
Mr. DeMarco was still reviewing the proofs, checking off a few,
when Troy came back and immediately began wiping Callum off. Callum wasn't
surprised that Troy took the opportunity to feel him up again - the little
faggot obviously wasn't going to miss the opportunity to grope and fondle
him if he could get away with it - but even Callum was surprised when Troy
stuck a hand between Callum's legs and actually drove the tip of a finger
up Callum's butt-hole, diddling him like he was some cheap whore. Callum
grabbed Troy's wrist with his own hand and yanked the finger out of his
hole. He just glared at Mr. DeMarco's secretary. The fucker actually had
the nerve to bat his eyes at Callum. Callum promised himself that one day
he was going to make this faggot pay. But, mindful that Mr. DeMarco was
sitting right there, Callum simply gave Troy a soft push away.
"I'm clean," Callum declared.
Hearing Callum speak, Mr. DeMarco looked up. "Good," he said.
"Then why don't you come over here and you can help me pick out some photos
for you comp cards."
Callum immediately got up, moved carefully around Troy to avoid
giving him another opportunity to grope him, and positioned himself next to
Mr. DeMarco as he pored over the proof sheets. He glared at Troy on the
other side of the desk, still angry that the fucking faggot had the
temerity to finger Callum like he was some cheap slut - some faggot whore
he'd rented for the night. But when he glanced down at the photos that
Mr. DeMarco was reviewing, his anger was immediately shunted aside.
'Damn,' he thought, 'I look great in these photos.'
As Mr. DeMarco rapidly worked his way through sheet after sheet of
proofs, Callum had to admit that Troy had taken some really good pictures
of him. Mr. DeMarco had been right - the little faggot really was a good
photographer. And Mr. DeMarco had been right about something else.
Shaving his body really did make Callum's musculature pop out. He reached
out and touched one of the photos on the sheet Mr. DeMarco was reviewing.
"I really look good in this photo," he opined.
Mr. DeMarco actually laughed. "You do look good, Callum," he
agreed, still chuckling, "but I hardly think this shot would be appropriate
on one of your comp cards."
"Why not?" Callum asked, not really understanding what was going
on.
"Well," Mr. DeMarco explained, "First off, you're basically naked
in the photo - the only thing you're wearing is the Good Devil Man-Lifter,
which is just a strap around your waist connected to a tight spandex strap
around your scrotum. And you're completely hard - hell you can even see
pre-cum on your cock-head."
Callum was definitely confused. "But you and Troy both said that
the company probably wouldn't mind the fact that I was hard - seeing how
the item they're selling is clearly aimed at a...specific type of market."
Callum wanted to say that the target market was definitely fags but he knew
he couldn't say that - certainly not with Troy in the room. "That's why
you said it was okay to shoot these photos - even though I had a hard-on."
"And that's true," Mr. DeMarco responded. "This photo would be
perfect in an advertisement for the Man-Lifter - it'd be just what they
wanted. But that doesn't mean it would be suitable for one of your comp
cards." Mr. DeMarco looked up at Callum intently. "You do understand what
a comp card is, don't you Callum?"
"Ah, yes, sir," Callum replied, not having a clue - he figured it
must be some type of photographic portfolio, after all they were looking at
pictures, but he didn't want Mr. DeMarco to think he was completely
ignorant about modeling. Of course, just by the way he answered, it was
perfectly obvious to Dean DeMarco that Callum had no idea what a comp card
was. This scarcely surprised the man since it had been clear in their
first meeting that Callum knew virtually nothing about the business of
modeling - which was a major reason that the man had been so anxious to
sign Callum.
For a few seconds, DeMarco toyed with the idea of just leaving
Callum completely ignorant but he ultimately decided that this was a piece
of real information that he could safely provide the boy, so he filled him
in on composite cards and how they were an essential tool for any model.
"So," he concluded, "I'll be sending these cards to numerous agents
and photographers around the city and you'll be leaving them after castings
and meetings. If the comp card included a picture of you fully naked with
an erect penis they might get the wrong idea about you and we wouldn't want
that, would we, Callum?"
"No, sir," Callum quickly agreed. "Thank you, sir." Once again,
Callum was grateful that he had Mr. DeMarco looking out for him. He knew
that this was a man he could really trust to shape his career.
They spent a few more minutes reviewing the proofs and then
Mr. DeMarco leaned back in his chair. "I think we've got more than enough
to make a number of different comp cards specifically designed for
underwear, swimsuit, and physique castings. We'll send the photos we've
selected to the printer and we should have them ready to go within a week."
Mr. DeMarco looked up at Callum who was still standing right next
to him and smiled. "You did real good today, Callum. Real good. I'm
proud of you," he added.
Even Callum was surprised by the surge of pride that ran through
him as listened to Mr. DeMarco's praise. It had been years since he'd
heard anything other than sarcastic criticism from authority figures in his
life. His father never had a decent word to say about him. Hearing Mr.
DeMarco tell him that the man was proud of him made Callum all the more
determined to please the man. Callum was going to do everything he could
to keep Mr. DeMarco's good opinion. "Thank you, sir," he replied, the
slight quaver in his voice betraying the effect that Mr. DeMarco's
comments had had on him.
"You're welcome, Callum," the man said. Then he looked at his
watch. "It's getting late. Why don't you get dressed? You put in a real
day's work here so if you want to skip your afternoon workout, I'll
understand it."
"No, sir," Callum responded, eager to show his commitment to his
new career. "I'll head right over to the gym when I leave."
Callum walked over to his clothes, picked up his slacks and then
stepped into them and pulled them up. He had been naked for so long it
actually felt a little strange to be wearing clothes again. He reached
down, picked up his Polo shirt and put that on. He was putting on his
socks and stepping into his loafers when Mr. DeMarco spoke again.
"You know, Callum, there's no need to dress up when you're just
coming to the office. Like I told you, we're all family here. In the
future, just a tank-top, running shorts, and a pair of sandals or even
flip-flops would be more than sufficient. In fact, considering how warm
it's been lately, there's no need to even wear a tank-top. Just running
shorts would be fine."
"I don't know, sir," the boy responded. "I'd feel kind of funny
coming here just wearing a pair of running shorts."
"See," Mr. DeMarco immediately replied with force, "that's your
excessive modesty making an appearance. We've really got to work on that.
From now on, Callum, I want you to consider running shorts and flip-flops
as your basic attire. Obviously, when you're going to a casting call a
more formal attire would be appropriate but when you're here or just
running around town, going to the gym, or lounging at home running shorts
are more than adequate. You've got a great body, Callum, and you have to
learn to show it off."
"Yes, sir," Callum reluctantly agreed. He knew that Mr. DeMarco
had only his best interests at heart but Callum was also sure that he was
going to feel pretty uncomfortable going to the gym and walking around town
wearing only a skimpy pair of nylon shorts, especially since his body was
now completely hairless. But, if Mr. DeMarco thought that was what he
should do, Callum would just have to learn to live with it.
Hearing Callum's assent made Dean DeMarco smile. He was making
good progress in his program to re-orient Callum's basic makeup. There was
still a long way to go but he no longer had any doubt that it was only a
matter of time before he had the boy exactly where he wanted him - naked,
in his bed, Callum's legs spread wide-apart, his ankles next to his ears,
getting boned for the fifth time in a seemingly endless night of
debauchery. DeMarco could feel his own dick hardening up as he
contemplated that picture in his mind. Aloud, he said, "So why don't you
just take that shirt off now, Callum, and we can start in on confronting
your insecurities?"
"Yes, sir," Callum sighed as he reached down, grabbed the bottom of
the shirt and peeled it off his torso. He crumpled it up and jammed it
between his back and the slacks he was wearing. Barechested, he was
turning to leave when he heard Mr. DeMarco tell Troy to go get Callum
another two dozen bottles of the energy supplement. "We don't want Callum
running out," he told his secretary.
Callum followed Troy out of Mr. DeMarco's office. As he turned
back to close the door behind him, Mr. DeMarco had one last piece of
instruction. "And don't forget to jerk off whenever you get erect. Your
excessive testosterone is something else we have to get under control."
"Yes, sir," Callum agreed as he closed the door, suddenly aware
that despite the two massive loads he had popped while he'd been in
Mr. DeMarco's office his cock was already beginning to harden up again
inside his pants. 'Damn it,' he thought. 'I'm going to have to whack off
before I even start working out.' That was going to be hard to do
unnoticed at the gym with all those faggots hanging around the locker room.
But Callum was committed to his career now, so he'd just have to do it
anyway. 'Who cares what those fucking assholes think anyway,' he told
himself. 'They're just a bunch of losers.'
Dean DeMarco was just sitting behind his desk replaying the day's
events when Troy re-entered the room. It didn't take Troy more than a few
seconds to realize that in the short time it had taken him to give Callum
another supply of the 'energy supplement' and then usher him out of the
office, his father had managed to extract his own hard cock from his pants
and was idly stroking it. It didn't surprise Troy at all. Troy's own dick
was hard as iron inside his pants. Callum was one hot-looking straight boy
with a body that just cried out for abuse.
Troy plopped himself down on the chair that Callum had left in
front of his father's desk. "Well, that sure went well," he observed with
a real smile on his face, once again dropping his effeminate facade. "I
think we've got more than enough material to begin introducing Callum to
our subscribers."
Dean brought his focus back to his son. "The session was great,"
he agreed, "but, like I told you before, I want to go slow online. I want
to tease them a little before they finally get to see him in action. I
want them clamoring for more. I want every one of those fuckers begging us
to put him on the block and, when we finally do, I want his ass to bring in
more money than Taylor did that first time." DeMarco was able to charge a
premium price for his online site because it was well-known that most of
the models who appeared on it were put up for auctions limited to the
premium subscribers. Taylor had pulled in $6,500 the first time he'd been
put up for bids, a price that had surprised even DeMarco - though, judging
from the way Taylor looked when he dragged his ravaged body back late the
next afternoon, the high bidder had got his money's worth.
Of course, a model's availability was dependent upon his other
commitments. This week, for example, Taylor was out in California, filming
a series of scenes for Thug Videos. He wouldn't be back until Sunday night
and, even then, he wouldn't be ready to go back up on the block until
Wednesday at the earliest. Dean knew from past experience that his models
always needed a few days to recover after a film session with Thug Videos -
those guys really knew how to put a white fuck-boy through the ringer and
Dean liked his boys to be at least reasonably tight when he offered them to
his subscribers or his other customers.
The photo-shoot with Callum had left Dean really horny and he
needed to get off. Lately, he'd been using Taylor and Kerry as his go-to
boys when he needed to pop-off a load but not only was Taylor on the West
Coast, Kerry was downtown today working a convention of appliance dealers -
he was pretty much booked solid through tomorrow night. 'Well,' he thought
to himself as he looked at his son, 'there's always Troy.'
Troy immediately picked up the change in his dad's expression.
'Ah, fuck,' he thought. 'Not again.' Trying to avoid another session with
his father, Troy stood up. "I should get started in on the photos you
picked out, Dad," he suggested.
Dean couldn't help smiling at the transparency of his son's ploy.
"You just stay right where you are, boy," he ordered. "Those photos can
wait for now."
Troy looked at his father and saw the look he knew so well. "Ah,
Dad," he complained. "C'mon. I'm still sore from this morning."
"Good," his dad responded. "That'll make you more attentive to my
needs." Troy let out an audible sigh.
The two just remained in place, looking at each other. Finally,
Dean spoke up. "What are you waiting for, boy? You know the drill.
Strip."
Glaring angrily at his father, Troy was clearly about to say
something but then obviously thought better of it. Instead, he reached up
and unbuttoned his shirt and then shrugged it off his shoulders. He eased
his feet out of the loafers he was wearing and then unbuckled his belt. He
left the belt in the pant's loops as he unlatched the slacks - he didn't
want to give his father any ideas - and let them drop to the floor. When
he stepped out of them, he was completely naked. He hadn't been allowed to
wear any underwear since he was a young teenager. He spread his legs apart
and slowly raised his arms up and then locked his fingers behind his neck.
He was now in his position; the same position that Callum, like all of
Dean's models, had already been taught to assume when he was in Dean's
presence; the same position that Troy had been assuming in front of his
father since his early years in high school.
Dean leaned back in his chair and just stared at Troy for a long
minute. Though he'd had the pleasure of looking at his son in this
position literally thousands of times in the past, he was still gratified
to see how sexy his son was - particularly when he was naked. Unlike his
models, who Dean insisted should flaunt their bodies at every opportunity,
Troy tended to wear clothes that hid rather than emphasized his
well-developed physique.
Though Troy was considerably smaller in build than most of the
models Dean had in his stable, he was as well-proportioned as any of them.
Though he was only 5'6", Troy's body was rippling with muscles and he
sported a nice, thick 7-inch cock between his legs that he definitely knew
how to use.
Not that Dean had ever felt that cock up his ass. He was strictly
a top when it came to other guys. Hell, he'd never been fucked in his life
by any guy and he didn't expect that to ever change. But he'd seen Troy in
action with his models many, many times and he was always impressed with
just how hard his son would fuck them - harder than Dean, himself, if truth
be told.
Of course, part of the fury with which his son assaulted their
models was doubtless driven by his son's anger over the fact that he still
had to play bitch for his father whenever Dean felt the urge to fuck him,
which he did almost every morning. That was part of the deal he had agreed
to when Dean made him a partner in the business: Troy would become a
full-partner in AAA Modeling Company, would get fifty percent of the
profits, and would have full access to any of the models once they were
broken in, but Troy would also continue as his father's fuck-boy as long as
the agreement remained in force.
Troy was twenty-five years old now and had been spreading his legs
for his father for over a dozen years but he had never reconciled himself
to his role as his daddy's boy-bitch. In fact, he hated it. He hated even
the thought of being subservient to any man, which was why he'd been ready
to hit the road as soon as he turned eighteen. It was pretty obvious that
he was getting ready to bolt when his dad had a long sit-down with him. Of
course, as usual, Troy was sitting down on his dad's hard dick during a
good part of the discussion.
His father had come straight to the point. He knew Troy was
getting ready to leave home - it was obvious that Troy had never enjoyed
getting fucked and had submitted only because he didn't think he had any
other real options. His dad had surmised that, now that he was eighteen,
Troy figured he was old enough to get out on his own, away from his father.
"And you can do that, Troy," his dad had agreed, his hard dick
probing deeply inside his son's splayed fuck-pussy even as he talked. "You
can walk right out the front door and head off into the world and there's
nothing I can do about it. But, if you do," he continued with another hard
thrust for emphasis, "it's only a matter of time before you'll be bending
over and letting some total stranger bang your boy-hole just to rustle up
enough money to eat."
"Boy," he went on, forestalling any attempt by Troy to interrupt
and eliciting another squeal from his son as he prodded his boy's
prostrate, "look at yourself. You're reasonably intelligent but you have
no real marketable skills. There are millions of kids just like you in
this country, all of them, just like you, anxious to get out on their own
and enjoy life. But think. Think! How are you going to enjoy life when
you don't have any money? Who's going to hire you? Burger King? Arby's?"
As he was talking, Dean snaked his arm around Troy's waist and grabbed the
boy's hard cock. He began jerking Troy off even as he continued talking to
him, all the while maintaining a steady thrusting rhythm in and out of his
boy's hole.
"Sure, you might be able to land a job in some fast food joint,
working for minimum wage. Do you know what that is, boy? Do you even know
what that is? I'll tell you. It's $5.15 an hour, right now. That works
out to about $200 a week or about $800 a month. And that's before any
deductions for taxes. You'd be lucky if you cleared $700 a month. How the
fuck are you going to live on $700 a month? Do you have any idea how much
it costs just to rent an efficiency in this town? How are you going to
come up with the money for a deposit? What are you going to do for a car -
just so we're clear, here, Troy, that car you drive now and act like you
own is in my name and it stays here. With me. But even if you had a car,
Troy, how would you pay for insurance? How would you pay for anything?"
Dean was pounding Troy even harder now and he tightened his grip around his
son's cock and ran a finger over the crown, pleased but not surprised to
find it coated with pre-cum.
"Troy, I know you. You like the good things in life: the soft bed,
the 54-inch plasma TV, the filets cooked just right. The stuff you have
here. All the stuff you have here that you're going to lose when you walk
out that door." Dean gave his son three really deep thrusts as he finished
talking.
"Yeah, Dad," Troy finally managed to interrupt, his anger bubbling
over, uncomfortably shifting his weight as his old man's dick plunged
deeply into him. "I do enjoy all that stuff," he admitted, trying hard to
keep his voice on an even keel as his dad plugged away at his butt. "But,
like you just reminded me, all the stuff here is your stuff - not mine. I
don't own anything other than my clothes - you own all the rest. And the
only way I can keep using all the things I like is if I let you fuck me
whenever you want. You treat me like I'm some cheap whore you hired off
the streets by promising her a meal for the night. Like I've been bought
and paid for, so I should just shut the fuck up and spread my legs. Like
I'm doing right now," he added with a groan as his father began banging his
boy-ass with a vengeance.
"So , yeah, maybe I will have to peddle my ass to make a go of it
once I leave here. Maybe I will end up becoming a boy-whore - but at least
I'll finally be getting paid for getting fucked. And I won't be cheap -
the guys who fuck me will be paying good money for the pleasure. And the
things I buy with the money I earn off my asshole will be my own, not
yours. All things considered, Dad, I think I'll be better off out selling
my ass to total strangers than I am now staying here and watching movies on
your 54-inch plasma TV while you ream the shit out of my hole. Ah, fuck,
Dad," he suddenly complained, "take it easy. It's the third time today and
I'm still sore from earlier. Please, Dad," he continued when, instead of
slowing down his father actually increased the force of his thrusts "it
really hurts. Come on, man. Gimme a break."
Dean had, indeed, noticeably picked up the pace as he got closer to
shooting his load. Listening to Troy complain about how he was being
treated actually turned him on - there was nothing Dean enjoyed more than
pummeling the young boy-hole of a guy who hated to be fucked but submitted
to him anyway. When Troy had started talking about selling his booty on
the streets, Dean immediately visualized his son lying on the bed of a
seedy motel room, his ankles around his ears, as an overweight middle-aged
trucker cored out his boycunt while a group of the trucker's buddies urged
him on, waiting their turn at the young punk's tender boy-hole. Just
thinking about that scene really got Dean's juices going. The next thing
Dean knew he was shooting off inside Troy's spasming hole.
Even as Dean began to pump his load into his son's butt, he
redoubled his efforts on Troy's dick and was rewarded by a sudden moan as a
geyser of hot cum shot out of his boy's fuck-stick. Dean loved forcing
Troy to cum while he was dicking him, knowing how much he hated it.
Father and son sat there, writhing together in the throes of sexual
release, connected by the large tube of Dean's dick buried up Troy's ass as
the final spurts of the older man's orgasm coated his son's clutching hole.
Finally finished, Dean fell back into the seat even as Troy spewed out one
last string of pearly-white cream. Then Troy, too, collapsed backwards.
"God damn you, Dad," he muttered, lying atop his father, totally spent for
the moment, his chest and stomach coated with hot boy-cream even as he
could feel his dad's own hot load inside his fucked-out boytwat.
Troy lay on top of his father for a few minutes, catching his
breath, feeling the cock in his ass lose some of its rigidity which allowed
some of his dad's still-hot cum to begin to trickle down Troy's ass-crack.
Then, stifling a groan of discomfort, Troy slowly eased himself off his
dad's dick. He turned around to face his father.
"Well, I hope you enjoyed that fuck, Dad," he spat out. "Cause
it's the last time you're ever going to get a piece of my ass. I've had
it. I'm fucking out of here." With that, he spun on his heels and headed
towards the door.
"Sit your ass down, boy," Dean ordered with force. "You just sit
your fucking ass down. I've got something I want to say to you."
Despite himself, Troy found himself obeying his father's order. He
stopped, turned around and sat down on the sofa. Years of conditioning
overrode all his determination to leave immediately. He looked over
impatiently at his father, disgusted with himself that he still didn't have
the inner strength to resist one of his father's direct demands. 'But I am
going to leave,' he told himself. 'As soon as the old fuck finishes with
what he has to say, I'm out of here."
Dean looked at his son, holding his face impassive. Then, he
raised a single eyebrow in a questioning look. Troy's face immediately set
itself in an angry cast but then, obviously reluctantly, he slid off the
sofa and on to the floor. Troy knew the house rules. When he was naked he
never sat on furniture. Not only had Dean impressed upon him that a naked
boy's proper place was always on the floor but there was the practical
consideration that Dean didn't want Troy soiling the furniture with the
drippings from his ass. And the fact of the matter was that, at that
moment in time, Troy's ass was continuing to leak some of the big load of
ball-juice it had just swallowed.
Once Troy had settled on the floor, Dean began talking. "Like I
told you earlier, Troy, if you want to leave I can't stop you. But before
you go, I have a proposition I want to make to you." Dean paused as if
gathering his thoughts.
"You know that my modeling agency has been doing pretty well. Not
great, but good enough to provide a comfortable life-style. And,
occasionally, providing me with another boy to add a little variety to my
sex life." This was scarcely news to Troy. He'd walked in on his father
more than once when his dad was in the process of ravaging the ass-hole of
one of his models. Troy had never felt even a twinge of jealousy when he
happened on one of those trysts. No, what Troy had felt was primarily
relief. The more his dad worked out his sexual urges on his models the
less Troy had to do to keep him happy. But there was also an element of
envy in his reaction. The boys his father brought home were always super
hot and more than once Troy had gone to his room and jacked off imagining
what it would feel like to be fucking one of those hot asses.
"Well, lately I've been thinking about taking my agency in a
different direction, one that I think would not only be more remunerative
but also provide me more pleasure on a personal level. I've decided to
make AAA Modeling Agency pretty much of an exclusively male agency - one
that would cater primarily to the porn trade. Not that I would advertise
it as such, of course. To all intents and purposes, it would be presented
as a regular modeling agency but in reality I'd be training and guiding my
models for the male sex trade - strip clubs, porn movies, prostitution.
I'd try to keep a few models on my roster that were legitimate models for
cover, but the vast majority would be groomed to be sex whores."
"Now I know that not every guy who walks through my door is going
to be suitable for these tasks. I need a particular type of boy, one so
anxious to make it big that he'd be willing to do things he might normally
object to, but also naive enough not to question just exactly where his
career is going until he's so totally enmeshed in the porn trade that he
realizes he no longer has the option of refusing to continue - his life
path is irrevocably set. That eliminates most gay guys because they'd
probably pick up pretty early what was going on, though I'll probably find
one or two who'd be game for it anyway. For me, the best model would be a
hot-looking 'straight' guy who isn't too smart and is relatively ignorant
of gay culture and life-styles. And that's where you come in, Troy."
"Me," Troy responded with surprise. "You can leave me out of your
little adventure, Dad. I don't want any part of it. And I have no
intention of appearing in any porn films or becoming one of your 'working'
boys."
His dad actually chuckled at Troy's response. "I didn't expect you
would, Troy," he responded quickly. "And that wasn't my intention. I
don't want you to work for me. I want you to work with me. I'm offering
you a full partnership. Everything fifty-fifty. A half ownership interest
in the agency. Half of all the income. And," he added portentously, "full
access to all of the models once they've been broken in."
Dean laughed out loud at the look of embarrassment that crossed
Troy's face. "What?" his father queried, "you didn't think I noticed the
look on your face when you saw me planking one of my models? Hell, it was
obvious as all get out that what you wanted to do was push me aside and
take my place plowing those tight boy-cunts. And, if you accept my offer,
you'll get your chance. All in all, I'd say it's a pretty good deal for
you, Troy."
While Troy was embarrassed to have been caught out, he was
intrigued by his father's offer. It would be hot taking some straight dude
and turning him into a sex-toy for gay men - to say nothing of the
opportunities it would offer Troy to plumb their tight little fuck-holes
while he was doing it. But there had to be a catch. Knowing his father,
there had to be.
Troy looked at his dad closely. "Yeah, it sounds like a pretty
good deal, Dad. Maybe a little bit too good. Just what do you get out of
it? You could pretty much go ahead with your plans without my help. Why
offer me fifty percent of the business for what you could do yourself?"
His father actually looked pleased by Troy's obviously suspicious
reaction. "Well, Troy," he explained, "First of all, I think you're
underestimating how much work is going to be entailed in setting the
operation up and keeping it going. I'm going to need you at the office,
full-time, just to keep everything running smoothly."
"Second," he continued, "there are things you can do that I can't.
You're a young kid. You can go into straight bars, scope out the guys,
buddy up to them and, when you find a suitable prospect, steer him to the
agency. If an older guy like me tried doing the same thing, they'd
immediately be on their guard. With you, they'd be far less likely to
suspect ulterior motives."
"I'd be kind of like a Judas goat, is what you're saying," Troy
interjected.
"Exactly," his father agreed.
Dean then paused and gave Troy a piercing look. "And finally,
there'll be one other reason. In exchange for making you a partner in the
operation you will agree to continue to serve as my fuck-boy."
"Ah, shit, Dad," Troy exclaimed. "I knew there'd be something like
that involved. Do I have to?"
"Yes, son, you do," Dean responded. "There's no deal without that
arrangement." He was amused by the consternation apparent on his son's
face. "You shouldn't be surprised," he added. "Every cherry has a pit -
as you'll definitely discover if you accept my offer."
Troy sat there for a few minutes going through his options. His
dad's offer was pretty good. Judging from the way his father spent money
on things around the house, half of the modeling business figured to
provide Troy with a pretty substantial income. And he had to admit, if
only to himself, that the prospect of fucking some of those good-looking
dudes that his father brought home certainly appealed to him. The
downside, however, was big. Real big. He'd have to agree to letting his
old man continue to ream out Troy's ass whenever he wanted to and Troy knew
from his experience over the past five years that he'd want to virtually
every day.
On the other hand, Troy had pretty much come to the same conclusion
as his dad had as to Troy's prospects out on the streets. The only way
Troy could make a half-way decent income would be by hustling his tight
little butt. So he was going to be bending over and getting fucked no
matter what he did. His dad's offer figured to be far more remunerative -
and definitely less dangerous - that sexually servicing total strangers.
And, while variety may be the spice of life, Troy wasn't too eager to
sample a wide range of hard cocks, most of which would be attached to
bodies which would be considerably less appealing than his father's. All
in all, Troy had to admit that his father's plan was superior to his own,
even if he did have to let his old man continue to fuck him. So Troy had
agreed, albeit with some reluctance.
That was seven years ago. And Troy had been more than happy with
the choice he made. He had an annual income that was generally close to a
million dollars and got to fuck some really hot asses on a regular basis.
In just a few more years, Troy knew he'd be set for life. The only
downside was that his father's hunger for his son's tight hole hadn't
seemed to slack off in the slightest.
Troy continued to hope that one day his father would take on a
model who really turned him on - one that he'd invite to move in with him
and, hopefully, take over Troy's role as Dean's morning-wood deflator. But
the boys had come and gone and, while his dad never hesitated to take his
fill of their tight little asses, or maybe Troy should say, fill those
tight little asses, his father had never formed the type of connection that
would relieve Troy of his own obligations.
For a while, Troy had held out high hopes for Kerry. The redhead
had a spectacular body, a phenomenal butt, and a really pretty face, almost
too pretty for a guy. And it was obvious from the very first time his old
man rammed his hard dick up the boy's tight hole that this dad was really
into fucking the kid. So it was a real disappointment when it became clear
that Kerry was almost as into getting fucked as his father was into fucking
him. That was a real deal-breaker.
It had taken Troy some time to realize it, but what really turned
his father on was screwing a guy who didn't enjoy it. Nothing whetted
Dean's sexual appetite as much as the prospect of dicking a dude who hated
getting fucked. That was why his dad had enjoyed fucking Troy so much over
the years - Troy hated it. And that was why, despite all the bullshit his
dad had thrown around about the dangers of taking on gay models, he was so
focused on hiring straight models. He didn't want them to enjoy getting
fucked - he wanted them to hate it even as they submitted to him. So when
it turned out that Kerry was a closeted gay guy who actually enjoyed
getting his ass reamed out, any chance that the redhead might assume Troy's
role as his dad's house-bitch had effectively evaporated.
Fortunately, while Kerry's sexual orientation pretty much took him
out of the running as a possible replacement for Troy, the boy was still
attractive enough and new enough to the entire gay scene that his old man
still enjoyed fucking him, particularly in those situations in which even a
gay-boy might not appreciate getting his ass reamed out. So Kerry was
still frequently called upon to satisfy his father's seemingly insatiable
sexual appetite on an ad hoc basis. But Troy knew it would never go beyond
that and what he needed was some dude who could take his place satisfying
his father in a more permanent way.
And that was why he held out such high hopes for Callum. So far,
from everything Troy had seen, the boy was not only truly heterosexual in
orientation, he really was a homophobe. And, from what he could tell, his
dad did seem particularly taken by him. Callum might be the one. 'If
Callum were the right guy for my father,' Troy thought as he worked on his
father's dick with his mouth, getting it lubed for its inevitable foray
into Troy's ass, 'I'd even be willing to forego fucking his hot little
boytwat. Dad could have him all to himself - I wouldn't object. Fuck, I'd
even help him move in. Anything to get Dad to leave my butt-hole alone.'
Just then in his musings, Troy felt a pronounced tap on the top of
his head. Regardless of how Callum might eventually work out, it wasn't
going to be soon enough to keep Troy's ass from getting banged right now.
With an audible sigh, Troy raised his head off his dad's dick, stood up,
turned around, and slowly leaned over the desk, spreading his legs far
apart. A moment later he grunted as he felt the familiar cock-head barrel
its way up his chute. In less than a minute, Troy was getting his asshole
violently reamed-out for the second time that day. Other than an
occasional moan Troy took his ass-pounding stoically. He was scarcely even
aware when, after a good twenty minutes of hard fucking, his father started
spewing out a load of man-seed up his shitter. Instead, Troy was focusing
in the possibility that maybe Callum could be the guy who'd finally be able
to replace him in his father's libido. If only.