Date: Mon, 22 Jun 2015 00:33:11 -0400
From: Rafi Daud <rafidaud69@gmail.com>
Subject: AAA Modeling Agency, Chapter 6

       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
make a personal copy for yourself, any other reproduction or reposting is not
allowed without the prior written consent of the author.

	Any comments or criticisms should be directed to Rafi at
rafidaud69@gmail.com.   While suggestions are welcomed, the ten chapters of
this story are already written.  I would, however, consider any suggestions in
future stories.

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AAA Modeling Agency


Chapter 6


	Callum just sat there, trying to ignore the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle
sound emanating from the commode, his gym shorts pooled around his Nike's.
He reached down and gave his ball sac a hard shake, trying to dislodge the
last few drops of urine off his cock-head.  Then he heard the sounds of
someone entering the stall next to him.  Immediately, he reached behind
himself and hit the flush lever.

        As the water flooded into the bowl, he reached over and grabbed a
piece of toilet paper.  Rubbing it between his fingers he rolled it into a
tight cylinder, small enough to fit into the hole at the end of the plastic
sheathing that now encased his cock.  He wedged it in so that the hole was
completely blocked and then reached down and pulled his gym shorts up over
his waist.

        When he stood up, there was an embarrassing bulge in the thin
fabric where it covered his 'erection trainer' but that couldn't be helped.
At least with the paper wedged in the hole under his cock-slit he'd be able
to complete his workout without the continuous drip of his pre-cum seeping
on to his shorts.  That was something.

	Nothing, however, would prevent the snickers and slurs thrown his
way when he stripped down and made his way into the shower when he was
done.  Everyone could see the plastic 'erection trainer' that now encased
his cock and the little padlock that held it in place.  It had been bad
enough having to display his totally shaven body in the locker room but the
addition of his 'erection trainer' seemed to take his embarrassment to an
entirely new level.  Even dudes who never said anything in the gym couldn't
seem to refrain from commenting on it and, almost invariably, the comments
were derogatory and insulting.  But Callum just stood there and took it,
like Mr. DeMarco had told him to.  "Don't let the comments of a few
ignorant losers keep you from making a success of yourself, Callum," he had
told him.  "Just ignore them."

	Well, that was a lot easier said than done.  Particularly when the
slurs weren't just coming from a few assholes - they were coming from every
guy who saw him naked.  Every dude in the gym seemed to think that there
was something perverted and obscene about his 'erection trainer'; that
wearing it made him somehow less of a man, made him a 'muscle pussy' as a
few of them called him.  Fucking losers didn't even realize that the reason
he had to wear it was because he was too much of a man; he had an excess of
testosterone - his gonads were producing too much ball juice and his
'erection trainer' would hopefully bring his overactive hormones under
control.

	Truth be told, right now Callum felt as horny as he ever had.  For
the past twenty-four hours it had been as if he was in a constant state of
rut.  At least with the 'erection trainer' on he was no longer throwing
visible wood all day long, though the device didn't keep his dick from
plumping up and unsuccessfully trying to harden inside the plastic.  And it
certainly didn't keep a steady drip of pre-cum from his cock-slit, which
was usually painfully crunched up against the tip of the plastic
encompassing his cock.

        Callum had learned the hard way that, when his cock was dripping
pre the way it was today, the only way he could avoid embarrassing cum
stains on his shorts was to make sure the hole at the end of the trainer
that allowed him to piss was blocked up when he wasn't actually urinating.
Over time, of course, the tissue would become saturated with his cum and
lose its absorbent qualities.  But, so long as he changed the tissue every
two hours or so, he could at least appear in public without cumming the
front of his shorts.

        Unfortunately, the first time Mr. DeMarco had seen the wedged
tissue paper at the end of his erection trainer, he'd laughingly referred
to it as Callum's 'boy tampon.'  Callum had blushed deeply and, though
Mr. DeMarco had hastened to inform him that he meant nothing derogatory,
the term had stuck in Callum's mind.  From then on he couldn't stick the
tissue-paper wedge into the piss-slit without thinking of what Mr. DeMarco
had called it.  It was pretty emasculating, though Callum was sure that
Mr. DeMarco hadn't meant it that way.  If there was one thing that Callum
was certain of it was that Mr. DeMarco had only Callum's best interests at
heart.

	Sometimes Callum did think that Mr. DeMarco was being extra hard on
him, calling him out and disciplining him for what Callum had to think were
mild infractions or mistakes.  Mr. DeMarco had actually admitted as much
but justified his severity by his desire to make sure Callum made the most
of his talents.  Sure, Callum's ass was sore and bruised after those
sessions over Mr. DeMarco's knee, but Callum appreciated the extra effort
that Mr. DeMarco was putting into his training.

	It was obviously just a sign of Mr. DeMarco's willingness to go the
extra mile with Callum that had led the man to insist that Callum try
controlling his excessive sex-drive with an 'erection trainer.'  Callum had
never even heard of such a device.  And he was more than a little
embarrassed when Mr. DeMarco showed him it and explained how it worked.
But the embarrassment he felt when he first looked at the erection trainer
in Mr. DeMarco's hand was nothing compared to the humiliation that
enveloped him the first time he saw it encasing his cock.

	Of course, just getting it on that first time was a struggle - his
cock just wouldn't go down.  Not even after Mr. DeMarco called both Troy
and Kerry into the office and they both took turns blowing him.  After the
third blowjob, his cock had seemed pretty soft but when Mr. DeMarco tried
to get Callum's cock inside the trainer, the tightness of the fit had
caused his cock to once again straighten up and forced Mr. DeMarco to order
Kerry to suck him off again.

	Yet, the result was no different afterwards.  Callum's cock had
softened after Kerry had downed Callum's fourth load of the afternoon but
the minute they tried to slip on the plastic sheathing, his dick had begun
erecting itself again.  Mr. DeMarco called Troy over and whispered some
instructions and then turned to Callum.

	"You can see the extent of the problem, can't you Callum?" he
started off.  Without waiting for Callum to respond, the man continued.
"We've just got to get your excessive production of testosterone under
control or it's going to be virtually impossible to market you as a
swimwear or underwear model.  You're boned up almost all the time.  I'm
pretty sure the erection trainer will help you out but we've got to get it
on you first."

	"I didn't want to have to do this," he continued apologetically,
"but I can't think of any other way to get your dick not to self-erect."
Then, turning his face slightly he said "Go ahead, Troy."

	Callum glanced to his side and was startled to see that Troy had
returned and was now standing right next to him.  His mind just had time to
process the fact that Troy was holding a large bowl of crushed ice in his
hands when Troy moved the bowl under Callum's scrotum and then reached out
and forced Callum's cock deep into the ice.  A scream of agony filled the
air as the ice burned against Callum's hardened dick.

	Callum had always had a particularly sensitive penis which reacted
almost immediately to even the slightest manual manipulation.  And, in the
past, Callum had been inordinately proud of how quickly he responded to
stimuli - how fast he would get hard, how quickly he could go from a
flaccid dick to a dripping, aching boner.  In his mind, it showed what a
real man he was.  When the time came to fuck, when the time came to get
down to business, Callum could alway perform like a real stud.  When
Callum's erection problem began to appear, Callum suspected that this
natural sensitivity might be part of the problem.

	Moreover, Callum's constant state of arousal over the past few
weeks had forced him to masturbate himself ever more frequently until he
had arrived at the point where it seemed as if he was jacking himself off
24/7.  Not surprisingly, the constant stroking of his erect penis had
caused it to become tender and sore, so much so that jacking off was,
itself, becoming painful.  And all of this - his natural sensitivity to
stimulation, his dick's increased tenderness because of constant
masturbation - had combined to make the sudden submersion of Callum's
blood-engorged cock into a bowl of ice even more painful than might
normally be expected.

        The searing pain that Callum felt when his hard dick was pushed
into the ice was excruciating and for a moment he thought he might pass
out.  His whole body jerked and bucked and he would have yanked his cock
out of the ice-bowl had not Mr. DeMarco sternly warned him not to move.
Sobbing repeatedly as the pain continued unabated, Callum struggled to obey
his agent's orders.  Callum couldn't believe how much his cock hurt.  But
the ice submersion did the trick.  In less than a minute Callum's cock had
completely softened.

	Troy held Callum's cock underneath the ice for another half-minute,
while Callum continued to writhe in pain.  "Please, Troy.  Please," Callum
begged through the tears that were flowing down his face, but Troy didn't
relent until he was sure that Callum's dick was truly flaccid.  Then, he
lowered the bowl and stepped aside.

	Immediately, Mr. DeMarco moved in and, before Callum could collect
himself, he attached the erection trainer to the boy's limp dick.  Even in
its softened state, the insertion of his now painfully throbbing cock into
the plastic hurt like hell.  Mr. DeMarco fiddled with the erection trainer
for a moment and then stood back.  Looking down, Callum saw that, even
though it was now flaccid, his cock completely filled the plastic sheathing
which curved sharply downward from the base of his scrotum.  Observing how
it was attached to another piece of plastic positioned behind his balls and
held in place by a small padlock, he realized that it would now be
impossible for his cock to bone up.  He could see why Mr. DeMarco held out
hope that this might solve Callum's erection problem.

	But, as Callum soon discovered, while the erection trainer did,
indeed, keep his cock from becoming erect, it seemed to have no effect in
dampening his sexual urges.  In less than an hour after he'd left the
office he could feel the unmistakable signs of sexual arousal.  His nipples
hardened up, he was becoming flushed and he could even feel the blood
trying to flood into his imprisoned cock.  In fact, in some ways the
erection trainer seemed to make things worse.  True, it kept him from
actually throwing a bone but the pressure of the blood attempting to
inflate his penis painfully forced the entire length of his cock tightly
against the plastic sheathing.  Soon, his entire consciousness was focused
on his cock and the need to get off.

	It was particularly bad that first night.  Before, even though he
found himself masturbating three or four times every night, Callum had been
able to doze off in the time periods between jack-off sessions.  But with
the erection trainer preventing him from cumming, his aroused state never
diminished and Callum found it basically impossible to get any sleep.  By
the time he got to the agency the next afternoon, not only was he
physically exhausted but, inasmuch as his cock had been dripping pre-cum
steadily for the last twelve hours, Callum felt himself almost frantic in
his need to get some sexual relief.  Once inside Mr. DeMarco's office, he
openly questioned whether the erection trainer was doing any good at all.

	Mr. DeMarco calmly told him that it was far too soon to tell if the
erection trainer would ultimately work.  He told Callum that getting his
testosterone production down to acceptable levels was going to take some
time and he couldn't expect over-night results.  But he was sympathetic to
Callum's present plight and he suggested that they remove the trainer and
let Callum work out a few loads and drain his still over-active balls.  No
sooner had the base of the plastic sheathing cleared the tip of Callum's
cock than the boy's dick rose rigidly erect.

	Mr. DeMarco called Troy in and the receptionist, following
Mr. DeMarco's instructions, dropped to his knees in front of Callum and
went to work on the boy's throbbing cock.  It took an hour and a half and
four loads but, eventually, Callum lost his erection.  However, the moment
Mr. DeMarco tried to slide the erection trainer back into the place, the
previous day's problems resurfaced and Callum's cock became aroused again.
Mr. DeMarco had Troy try one more blowjob but, as had happened before, even
though Callum's cock deflated after he orgasmed, it began to re-erect when
Mr. DeMarco tried to re-sheathe it in plastic.

	Mr. DeMarco said they had no choice but to use the ice-bath
technique again and told Troy to go fill up the bowl they'd used the day
before with fresh ice.  If anything, knowing what was coming made the
second ice submersion even worse than the first.  Callum was crying like a
baby by the time Mr. DeMarco finally gave his okay and Troy removed
Callum's tortured dick from the bowl and Mr. DeMarco re-inserted Callum's
cock inside the erection trainer.

	But, no sooner had Callum left the office than he could feel
himself becoming sexually aroused once again.  That afternoon and evening
were simply a repeat of the previous night and by the time Callum returned
to the agency the next afternoon he was in the same state of exhaustion and
sexual frustration that he had been in the day before.

	Once again, Mr. DeMarco removed the trainer and Troy proceeded to
suck Callum's super-aroused dick until it finally became flaccid.  Once
again, however, every time Mr. DeMarco tried to get the trainer on to his
cock it would begin to re-harden.  Once again, Callum was forced to endure
another excruciating submersion of his tender penis into a slushy bowl of
ice.  This time, though, after Mr. DeMarco had finally succeeded in
re-attaching Callum's erection trainer to the boy's cock, he told Callum
that this couldn't continue and if there was no improvement in Callum's
super-aroused state by tomorrow, they'd have to take a different tack.

	When Callum arrived at Mr. DeMarco's office the next day as
exhausted and sexually aroused as he'd been the two previous days, he was
hopeful that Mr. DeMarco would agree that the erection trainer was just not
working.  While he was surprised to see Kerry waiting with Mr. DeMarco in
the office, he'd been around the other model often enough that he didn't
even feel self-conscious stripping off his running shorts and assuming the
position in front of the two of them.  He stood there, feeling his cock
painfully pulsing inside of the plastic sleeve encasing it, the entire
length of his penis painfully pressing against its sides, and waited for
Mr. DeMarco to speak.

	"Just looking at you, Callum," the man began, "I'd have to assume
that last night was no improvement over the previous nights."

	"No, sir," Callum agreed.  "It wasn't.  I couldn't get any sleep.
Between the pain and the need to get off, I just tossed and turned the
entire night."

	"Well, things can't go on this way," Mr. DeMarco declared.  "You
look like shit and, from what you say, you don't feel much better."
Mr. DeMarco got up, moved around his desk, removed a key from his pocket
and unlocked the padlock.  Even before Mr. DeMarco had finished removing
the plastic sheathing from around Callum's cock, the boy's cock began
erecting.  Callum felt not only instant relief at the removal of the
trainer but also the urgent need to drain his aching and cum-filled balls.

	Obviously, Mr. DeMarco understood his situation because he
immediately turned to Kerry.  But, what he told Kerry to do surprised
Callum.  "Kerry, strip," he ordered.  Inasmuch as Kerry had arrived at the
agency wearing just shorts and a tank-top, it took only seconds for the boy
to comply with Mr. DeMarco's directive.  Callum was taken aback by this
turn of events because Troy had always sucked him off without removing his
own clothes and Callum didn't see why Kerry had to be naked to blow him.
If anything, the other boy's nakedness was something of a turn-off for
Callum, particularly seeing how, now that he was naked, it was obvious that
Kerry was himself fully erect.

	But what happened next came as a total shock to Callum.
Mr. DeMarco turned to Kerry and ordered him to go over to the sofa and lie
face down.  Then he turned back to Callum.  "Callum, what I want you to do
is go over there and fuck Kerry's ass."

	Callum looked at the man thunderstruck.  He could hardly believe
his ears.  It was one thing to let a fag blow you.  As Callum had
discovered, fags were exceptionally good at giving head and it'd be stupid
not to take advantage of their skills when you needed to get off.  But
fucking a guy up the ass - that was something only a faggot would do.  And
Callum wasn't a faggot.  There was no way he was going to fuck another guy
up the ass - particularly not an obvious queer-boy like Kerry who'd almost
certainly get off on it.  Callum couldn't believe that Mr. DeMarco had even
suggested that.

	"I'm sorry, sir..." Callum started to protest, but Mr. DeMarco cut
him off.

	"I know what you're going to say, Callum, but I want you to hear me
out."  Mr. DeMarco's face was just inches from Callum's, his eyes boring
into the boy's eyes.  "I can fully understand how a straight guy like you -
how any straight guy - would react to being ordered to fuck another guy.
And I would never even suggest such action except in the most compelling
circumstances.  But, unfortunately, I'm afraid just those circumstances now
exist."

	"We've tried relieving your sexual tension the past few days by
having Troy blow you.  But that approach clearly hasn't worked.  While Troy
has succeeded in milking you of a massive amount of cum, it hasn't had any
noticeable effect on the amount of ball-juice you continue to produce.
It's just not working.  We need to try a different approach."

	"I think what's happening is that although Troy's ministrations
have been sufficient to temporarily deplete your supply of cum they've had
no effect on the continuous production of sperm which is the real source of
the problem.  I would guess that what we have here is an over-active libido
which is clearly not satisfied by a simple blowjob.  Obviously, what's
needed is a more substantial form of sexual release.  Optimally, of course,
what would be best would be having you fuck a woman.  The problem is that
you've told me you're not presently involved with any person of the
opposite sex and, as you're aware, this office as a matter of corporate
policy doesn't represent female models."

	"While we do have a few gay models who we represent, I didn't think
it would be appropriate for me to ask any of them for assistance.  It
seemed to me too close to pandering, something I wouldn't want to get
involved in."  Even Dean Demarco was surprised he could say that with a
straight face.  But he smoothly continued, "Fortunately, when I happened to
mention your problem to Kerry, he willingly volunteered to help you out.  I
hope I don't have to tell you what an incredibly generous offer that was."

	At this point, Mr. DeMarco took a step back and just looked at
Callum expectantly.  It took Callum a few moments to realize that the man
expected a response.

	"But, sir," Callum began, his mind reeling, "Kerry's a guy - a
fuckin... a gay guy.  If I have sex with him, it's pretty much like
admitting I'm like him - that I'm ... gay."

	Mr. DeMarco's displeasure was obvious.  "That's just nonsense,
Callum," he replied.  "You've told me you've had sex with numerous women.
Well, that doesn't make you a woman, does it?"

	"It's not the same thing," Callum protested.  "It's normal for a
guy to have sex with a woman.  That's the way it's supposed to be.  That's
how humans procreate."

	"Oh, really," Mr. DeMarco responded.  "So I suppose you're going to
tell me that you've never fucked a woman up the ass."

	"Well, have you?" Mr. DeMarco pressed when Callum hesitated.

	"Yeah.  I've fucked women up the ass," Callum admitted, with
obvious reluctance.

	"And did you think you'd get her pregnant that way?" Mr. DeMarco
sneered.  "Do you think that's how procreation works?"

	"No, sir,"

	"But you did it anyway," Mr. DeMarco pointed out.  "You did it
because it was a way of getting off.  And that's all I'm suggesting right
now.  That you fuck Kerry's ass as a way of getting off."

	"But he's a guy," Callum protested, feeling that he was losing this
argument and not understanding how that was happening.  "He's a guy."

	"But his ass is just like a woman's ass."

	"No, it's not," Callum whined.

	"Oh," Mr. DeMarco retorted, the sarcasm no longer disguised.  "And
you now this how?  Because you've already fucked him up the ass?"

	"No.  Of course not.  It's just...it's just he's a guy.  It's gotta
be different."

	There was a long pause at this point.  Mr. DeMarco's face softened.
And, when he spoke again, it was in a voice heavy with concern.  "Look,
Callum.  I won't lie to you.  I don't know if fucking Kerry's ass will help
bring your testosterone production under control.  I think it might - but I
really can't be sure.  But what I am sure of is that if we don't bring it
under control, your future as a male model is in real jeopardy."

	A heavy sigh escaped the man as he slowly retreated behind his
desk.  He sat down and looked up at Callum.  "I'm not going to order you to
fuck Kerry, Callum.  That decision has to be yours.  But if you refuse, I'm
going to have to decide whether it's worth this agency's time and money to
keep you as a client.  It's not a decision I want to make, but it's one
that I will have to in fairness not only to the other models I represent
but to you, too.  I certainly wouldn't want you to waste all your time and
effort pursuing a career which I know will never materialize.  And it won't
if we can't get your erection problem under control.  The ball is in your
court, Callum.  What are you going to do?  Are you going to at least take a
swing at it or just stand there and let the ball skip right by?"

	Callum looked at Mr. DeMarco like a little boy who'd just been told
that Santa Claus wasn't coming this year.  Hearing his biggest fears
verbalized made them so much more threatening.  He knew that the last thing
in the world he wanted to do right now was fuck some other dude's ass.  No,
he told himself, there was one thing worse - losing out on the opportunity
to make something out of his life.  And that was clearly the choice that
faced him.  Fuck Kerry's ass or say goodbye to his future as a model.

	Slowly, seemingly forced by a power beyond his control, he turned
his head until he was looking at Kerry stretched out on the couch.  Kerry's
pale white legs were separated far enough that he could see the boy's
shaved rosette.  Despite himself, despite all the contempt for faggots he'd
stored up over the years, he had to admit that the boy had a really
hot-looking ass.  If only it were on a girl - then Callum would have had no
problems doing exactly what Mr. DeMarco wanted him to do.  He'd fuck that
ass in a second.  If only Kerry were some bitch rather than a dude.

	And as he thought that, he heard a little voice in his mind saying
'faggots are like bitches - and that's how they should be treated.  Like
bitches.'  And then it was like a light going on inside of his brain.  He
had to see Kerry not as a fellow male but as a 'bitch.'  Callum had fucked
lots of bitches in his life - cheap little whores who loved taking dick up
their twats.  Cunts who would put up with anything just to get Callum's big
boner rutting away at their pussies.

	'That's what Kerry is,' Callum told himself.  'He's just like one
of those bitches.  He's just a hole to be used to get my rocks off.'
Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd turned and approached Kerry
where he was lying on the couch.  Looking at the bitch's fantastic ass,
Callum could feel the juices surging inside him.  He needed to get off.
God, he needed to get off.  And this bitch was going to help him to do just
that.

	Callum roughly forced the Kerry's legs further apart and knelt in
between them.  Suddenly, he brought his right hand smashing down on the
bitch's ass-cheeks.  The smack reverberated through the room and Kerry
yelped in pain.  'Oh, yeah,' Callum thought, 'work that bitch's ass,' as he
slapped it again and again with his hand, seeing the little bitch begin to
writhe beneath him, hearing his groans become louder, watching those
beautiful pale melons begin to transition from pink to red.

	Suddenly, Callum couldn't wait any longer.  He leaned forward, spit
on the end of his iron-hard cock - saliva was all the lube bitches needed -
and then, in one violent thrust buried his big dick to its root in the
slut's tight hole.

        "God damn," Kerry shouted beneath him.

        "Shut up and take it, bitch," Callum growled in response.

	He needed to show the bitch who was boss.  So Callum began
deep-dicking the slut, pulling his massive cock all the way out and then
barreling back in, never giving the bitch a chance to get used to the
monster organ pummeling his hole.  Callum actually grabbed the little
whore's shoulders so he could fuck the bitch with even more force.

	Beneath him, Kerry was moaning under the force of the assault.
"Please, Callum," he pleaded.  "Not so hard, man.  Please, go slower."

	'Fuck you, bitch,' Callum thought.  'This is about me.  Not you,
bitch.  Who gives a fuck whether you enjoy it?'

	Callum was getting close now.  He began grounding himself into the
bitch, trying to force his raging hard-on deeper and deeper, hearing the
bitch whimper beneath him, loving the tightness of the bitch's hole.  "Take
it, you fucking cunt," he screamed as his cock exploded with cum.  It felt
like he was shooting a gallon of juice up the bitch's hole and his cock
spewed its seed in one long, continuous stream.

	After a humongous orgasm, Callum just collapsed on the bitch's
back, breathing hard, feeling totally drained.  But that feeling didn't
last long.  In just a few minutes, Callum could feel the need to get off
returning.  He worked his hands underneath the bitch and found what he was
looking forward.  He squeezed down hard on the slut's tits and was rewarded
by a squeal of pain from Kerry.

	"Get your ass moving, bitch," he ordered.  "I ain't done with you
yet.  Not by a long shot."  Groaning audibly, Kerry squeezed his ass around
Callum's still-hard invader.  In mere seconds, Callum was back to plowing
and plundering the bitch's back-channel, the violence of his first assault
undiminished.

	Forty-five minutes later, he was again lying on Kerry's sweaty
back, but this time he finally felt totally spent.  He'd lost count of how
many loads he dropped up the faggot's hole; it had to be close to half a
dozen.  Slowly he raised himself up.  He felt his cock, totally flaccid at
last, drop from the slut's cunt.  Looking down at the whore's fucked-out
hole, he realized that it now actually looked like a cunt, a slimy
stretched-out cunt dripping a stud's ball scuzz.  It reminded him of the
way Kerry's hole had looked up on the roof that day when he thought the
little faggot must have pulled a train the night before.  And he'd done all
the damage himself.  He hadn't needed a team of buddies to give this bitch
the fucking he deserved - he'd done it all by himself.  He was one super
stud.

	Feeling better about himself than he had since he'd started wearing
the erection trainer, he turned to face Mr. DeMarco.  "Did I do good, sir?"
he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

	"You did great, Callum," Mr. DeMarco replied, a warm smile creasing
his face.  "You did super.  I'm proud of you, Callum."

	Callum basked in Mr. DeMarco's praise.  But his feeling of elation
was short-lived when he saw the man pick up the erection trainer and
approach him.  "Do we still need that, sir?" he asked plaintively.

	"I'm afraid we do, Callum," the man responded.  "After all, we
can't be sure that fucking Kerry's ass will have any more long-lasting
effects than having Troy blow you.  For now, at least, we'll have to
continue with the program."

	Mr. DeMarco knelt in front of his model and brought the plastic
sheath up to his cock-head.  To Callum's surprise and considerable relief,
for the first time Mr. DeMarco was able to get the trainer fitted over his
cock and locked into place without being forced to resort to the ice bath.
Maybe things were finally improving.  Buoyed by this turn of events, Callum
pulled on his running shorts and flip-flops and headed off to the gym.

	The next two days were really encouraging.  While Callum's cock
would still respond to Troy's daily milking, it was otherwise behaving
itself.  Most of the day, it just lay quiescently inside the plastic
sheathing, no longer a constant source of discomfort and pain.  What Callum
most appreciated, however, was that for the next two nights he was able to
get a full night's sleep.  He felt refreshed and almost back to normal.

	On the third day after his session with Kerry, Callum again
broached the question of whether it was time to dispense with the erection
trainer.  Callum was euphoric when Mr. DeMarco agreed to give it a try.
That afternoon, for the first time in almost two weeks, Callum left the
agency with his cock not enclosed in plastic.

	Unfortunately, that evening Callum was disconcerted to find that
his old erection problem seemed to be returning.  He jacked himself off
four times during the night but he had no sooner left home on his way to
the agency when he realized that he was once again sporting wood.  Needless
to say, Mr. DeMarco was not happy when he saw Callum's big cock in full
erection when Callum dropped his shorts and assumed the position.  Callum
was disappointed but not surprised when he heard Mr. DeMarco tell him that
it was back to the erection trainer.

	This time, however, when Mr. DeMarco tried to re-attach the trainer
after Troy had sucked Callum off, he was unsuccessful.  He tried twice but
both times Callum's cock hardened up before Mr. DeMarco could get the
erection trainer on him.  Once again, the man had to resort to ice
submersion in order to get Callum's dick sufficiently pliant as to fit
inside the plastic tubing.  Callum had forgotten how painful the ice bath
was and left the office shaken.

	His frame of mind was not improved when he discovered that, even
with the trainer back in place, his cock was leaking a copious amount of
ball-juice.  Once again, he was forced to wedge tissue paper up the
trainer's hole to keep from staining his shorts.  And that night, he didn't
sleep a wink between the pain of the constriction caused by the plastic
sheathing and the urgent but impossible need to cum.  When he got out of
bed the next morning, Callum was forced to admit to himself that his
condition had seemingly reverted to its pre-Kerry state.

	Mr. DeMarco was obviously of the same mind, so Callum was not
surprised when he came back downstairs from his tanning session on the roof
to see Kerry waiting with Mr. DeMarco.  This time, though, after Kerry had
stripped down and assumed his position on the couch, Callum found himself
almost looking forward to fucking the little faggot.  After all, fucking
Kerry had not only given him the only real relief he'd felt since his
erection problem had begun, Callum had actually enjoyed plowing the little
bitch's tight hole.

	Callum had given it a lot of thought and had come to the conclusion
that in this, as in virtually everything else Mr. DeMarco suggested, the
man had been right.  Fucking one bitch's asshole was just like fucking any
other bitch's asshole - and it didn't make any difference whether it was a
male bitch or a female bitch.  And, being honest with himself, Callum had
to admit that, while he'd fucked a lot of female bitch-ass in the past and
enjoyed doing it, Kerry's ass was, without question, the best ass he'd ever
had the pleasure of plowing.  So what if Kerry was a dude?  He was still a
bitch.  And bitches were made to be fucked.

        Callum had actually thought about fucking Kerry's bitch-hole again
even before his erection problem had re-manifested itself, but he couldn't
figure out any way of raising that possibility with Mr. DeMarco that didn't
seem to adversely reflect upon Callum's masculinity.  But now that the
perfect justification had been provided, Callum viewed it almost as an
answer to a prayer.  So it was a much different Callum who approached
Kerry's prone body this time.

	"Ready to get fucked, bitch," he asked as he spread the boy's legs.

	"Yes, sir," Kerry dutifully replied.

	"Then beg for it bitch.  Prove to me that you deserve to be fucked
by my big cock."

	"Oh, please, sir," Kerry begged, falling into a role he'd already
played a number of times before, though never with Callum.  "Fuck my bitch
ass.  Stick your big dong up my tight little pussy and fuck the shit out of
me.  Give me the pounding I deserve.  Fuck me till I'm leaking your creamy
stud-scuzz."  Kerry wiggled his ass in front of Callum as seductively as he
could, intentionally trying to arouse the model so that he'd just hop
aboard and begin screwing him, hoping to avoid the preliminary ass-tanning
that he'd painfully endured the last time Callum had fucked him.

	But, although Callum was definitely turned-on by Kerry's twitching
ass and verbal subjugation, he wasn't about to forego the pleasure of
burnishing the boy's butt again.  He'd enjoyed that part of their previous
session way too much not to want to repeat it.  But this time, while he
went about the task of turning Kerry's milky white buns into flaming
crimson globes, he kept up his verbal assault on the boy, taunting him,
making him admit that he was a pathetic little bitch who needed to be
spanked, who craved being fucked by a real man, who craved being fucked by
Callum.

	Eventually, though, his level of arousal proved too much to resist.
Callum threw himself onto Kerry's back and proceeded to fuck him like a man
possessed, like a prisoner just released from a ten-year jail sentence,
like a rutting greyhound would fuck a four-legged bitch.  By the time he'd
finished with him, having deposited four loads into the boy's steamy love
tunnel, Kerry's ass looked even more ravaged than it had after his first
session with Callum.  It looked like the cunt of some pasty old whore who'd
just spent a week on a troopship.  And Callum felt fantastic.  Absolutely,
unequivocally fantastic.

	And four days later, when the aching, urgent feelings overcame him
again, Callum didn't feel the slightest reluctance in suggesting to
Mr. DeMarco that what he, Callum, needed was another go at Kerry's ass.
And Mr. DeMarco, who always had Callum's best interests at heart, had
immediately agreed.

	And so, in a short period of time, it had become regularized.
Whenever Callum felt the old feelings of sexual urgency overwhelming him,
he'd let Mr. DeMarco know and Kerry would make himself available for
Callum's relief.  It quickly got to the point where fucking Kerry's ass two
or even three times a week seemed perfectly natural, something Callum even
looked forward to.

        So Callum wasn't that upset when he completed his work-out with
tissue paper wedged into this trainer.  He'd already phoned Mr. DeMarco and
explained the situation and Mr. DeMarco had told him to stop by after his
workout and they'd take care of Callum's problem.  Knowing that relief was
in the offing, he was even able to shrug off all the derogatory comments
that assaulted his ears as he made his way to the shower afterwards.  He
just kept his mind focused on Kerry's pretty ass and what he'd being doing
to it in just a few more minutes.

	But to Callum's considerable confusion, while Troy was in
Mr. DeMarco's office conferring with his boss when Callum arrived, Kerry
was nowhere in sight.  His surprise was so great that, contrary to all
office protocol, he just blurted out "Where's Kerry?"

	The look Mr. DeMarco cast in his direction was enough to make
Callum know that his transgression had not gone unnoticed.  Quickly, he
dropped his running shorts, stepped out of his flip-flops and assumed the
expected position: legs apart, hands clasped behind his neck, elbows
parallel to his torso.  "Sorry, sir," he apologized.

	Mr. DeMarco acknowledged his apology with a curt nod of his head.
"I was just discussing that subject with Troy, here.  It seems that Kerry
has come down with a rather severe cold and, as you know, summer colds can
be the worst.  He was willing to come in anyway, but I didn't want to risk
the possibility of you contracting it, too.  Not when we have your first
interview with a hiring agent finally scheduled for next Tuesday
afternoon."

	"Yes, Callum," he confirmed, seeing the excited expression which
had lit up the boy's face, "you have an interview and audition scheduled in
four days with Sam Walensky, who's the agent for a number of sportswear
companies we deal with.  So I want you in peak condition."

	While Callum was elated that he was finally going to be sent out
for an audition, the more pressing problem right now was his heightened
state of sexual excitement.  "That's great, sir," he told the man.  "I'm
really excited about going out for my first interview.  But, like I
mentioned on the phone, my excessive testosterone problem seems to have
resurfaced and I was hoping that Kerry could help me out with it, like he's
done in the past.  It's really bad, sir.  I've been dripping pre all day."

	"Yes, I can see that," Mr. DeMarco replied, pointedly looking down
at the tip of Callum's erection trainer.  Callum had removed his 'boy
tampon' when he showered at the gym and somehow forgot to replace it when
he got dressed.  When Callum followed Mr. DeMarco's gaze and looked down at
his crotch, he was mortified to see that his pre had already begun dripping
through the hole in the bottom of the trainer onto the carpet.  He glanced
back up at Mr. DeMarco and smiled ruefully.  "Sorry, sir," he muttered.
"But you can see my problem."

	"Yes, I can," Mr. DeMarco assured his model.  "That's why I asked
Troy to join us for this session."

	Callum gave Troy a quick look and saw that the office receptionist
was clearly smirking at him.  Somewhat disconcerted, Callum turned back to
Mr. DeMarco.  "To tell you the truth, sir, I'm not sure having Troy blow me
will do the job.  I mean, I know he can get me off - he's a real good
cocksucker - but in the past the relief I've felt has only been temporary.
It hasn't worked nearly as well as when I fuc....when I use Kerry to get
off."

        Callum began to fidget, not sure whether it was okay to call Troy a
cocksucker, even though that's what the faggot clearly was.  Not that he
had meant it insultingly - Troy was a great cocksucker.  Even Callum had to
admit that.  But Mr. DeMarco had been really working hard to curb Callum's
tendency to use derogatory terms for gays - constantly reminding him that
the wrong term carelessly thrown out might have a very negative impact on
his career.  Callum had to hope he hadn't just earned himself another
disciplinary session.

        They'd become pretty frequent in the last few weeks and his butt
was still sore from the hard paddling he'd received two days ago.  That had
been particularly painful and demeaning, but Mr. DeMarco had explained that
he'd hurt his hand and had no choice but to use a paddle as a substitute.
While Callum could understand that, the paddle had hurt a lot worse than a
regular spanking and he sure as hell didn't want to undergo another
punishment session before he was sure that Mr. DeMarco's hand had
recovered.

	But, when Mr. DeMarco began explaining why Troy was in the office,
Callum's fears of punishment were bruited aside by his surprise at
Mr. DeMarco's proposal.  "You're right, Callum.  I don't think that having
Troy suck you off would solve your problem, but what I thought might - and
what Troy has agreed to, somewhat reluctantly - is letting you fuck him.
That's what works with Kerry and I figured it'd probably work with Troy."

	"So, Troy," Mr. DeMarco continued, turning to his receptionist and
not giving Callum even the opportunity to object, "why don't you take off
your clothes and go lie down on the sofa."

	Callum couldn't help watching Troy as he stripped.  It had been a
while since he'd seen the little faggot naked and he'd forgotten how
well-developed his body was.  Troy was on the slight side but his body was
totally ripped.  While he was smaller over-all than Kerry he somehow
manifested a more masculine aura - which Callum found pretty surprising
knowing what a nelly queen the boy really was, though even Callum had to
admit that lately Troy had been toning it down.  He figured Mr. DeMarco
must have said something to the boy.

	But it wasn't until Troy positioned himself on the sofa that real
doubts arose as to whether the substitution of Troy for Kerry would work.
Troy laid down on his back, raised his legs and then used his hands to grab
them under his knees, spreading them apart.  Disconcerted, Callum turned
back to Mr. DeMarco.

	"Kerry always lies down face forward," Callum noted.  "I think I
prefer it that way, sir."

	"Unfortunately, Troy has a bad back and lying in the supine
position is best for him," Mr. DeMarco responded.  "Under the
circumstances, I think it's best if we accommodate him, don't you agree?"

	Judging from the tenor of his response, Callum had to assume that
the 'supine position' referred to lying on his back as opposed to his
stomach.  While Callum could somewhat sympathize with Troy's situation, it
didn't in any way ease Callum's discomfort with the prospect of fucking him
face to face.

        Seeing Callum still hesitating, Mr. DeMarco asked him, "Is there a
problem, Callum?"

	"Ahh, yes, sir," Callum reluctantly replied.  "There is."

	"Well, what is it?" Mr. DeMarco asked when Callum didn't elucidate,
a note of impatience creeping into his voice.

	"Well, sir.  Troy is a guy and I...I just have trouble fucking
another guy."

	"Well, Kerry's a guy, too, and you sure don't have any trouble
fucking his ass."

	"But Kerry faces the other way," Callum tried to explain.  "I don't
see his face when I'm fucking him....or his cock."

	"That's it?"  Mr. DeMarco asked, clearly peeved.  "You can only
fuck a guy if you can't see his cock?"

        Mr. DeMarco looked at Callum with tightly controlled anger.  He was
definitely upset, as he made clear when he continued speaking.  "I thought
we were passed that, Callum.  I really did.  And I've already explained to
you why Troy has to lie on his back.  I'm certainly not going to ask him to
turn over and risk physical injury just because you can't get over some
minor hang-up.  But, if it means that much to you, we'll just forget about
it.  We'll wait for Kerry to get over his cold.  Of course, that means
cancelling your audition on Tuesday but that can't be helped.  I'm sure as
hell not going to send you to see Sam Walensky with your erection problem
uncontrolled.  God know what he would think - about you and about the
agency, too.  He's far too important a hiring agent to risk alienating."

	"Troy," he continued, now addressing his receptionist.  "Why don't
you get up and get dressed?  We're done here."

	"No, wait," Callum hurriedly interjected.  "Please, sir.  I'll do
it.  I'll fuck Troy."

	"Oh, please," the man responded sarcastically.  "Don't do me any
favors."

	"No, sir," Callum responded in his meekest manner.  "I'm sorry.  I
really am.  I know I have some hang-ups that I need to overcome.  But I'm
working on them, sir.  I really am.  I'll fuck Troy, I will.  Please, sir.
Let me fuck him."  Just a month ago, the idea that Callum would be begging
to be allowed to fuck another dude would have struck him as preposterous,
but there he was pleading with Mr. DeMarco to be allowed to fuck Troy.

	The irony of the situation was not lost upon Dean DeMarco, though
he managed to suppress his amusement and maintain an angry mien.  Slowly,
he allowed his face to soften.  "Well, okay then, Callum.  You can fuck
Troy.  But this is the last time I want to hear of any hang-ups about you
fucking another man.  Is that clear?"

	"Yes, sir," Callum replied, immensely relieved that he had avoided
jeopardizing his up-coming interview but still unsettled by the fact that
he was going to have to fuck Troy while he was looking at him, looking at
his cock, too.  Glancing over at the couch, Callum could see that the boy's
dick was fully engorged, actually sticking up from his stomach.  It was
going to be rubbing against Callum's belly as he fucked him.  There was no
way he was going to be able to kid himself that it was some chick he was
fucking.  He was going to be fucking another dude and he wasn't going to be
able to pretend otherwise while he did him.

	But then Callum caught himself.  He was thinking about this wrong.
He needed to get in the mind-set he used when he fucked Kerry.  Troy wasn't
another dude - he wasn't a bro.  He was a bitch, just like Kerry.  Sure he
was a bitch with a cock - a good-sized one, too.  But he was still a bitch,
a little faggot bitch.

	After all, Kerry had a cock, too.  And it was rock-hard when Callum
was fucking him, as Callum had inadvertently discovered more than once when
he'd worked a hand under Kerry's body while he was pounding the slut's
tight little butt.  It hadn't bothered Callum because he'd figured that's
what bitches do; they get excited when a stud is fucking them.

	So, Callum told himself, why should he care that Troy was sporting
wood at the prospect of getting fucked by Callum.  Callum was used to
bitches getting excited by the prospect of getting plowed by his big dick
and Troy was just another bitch - just one of the male variety.  It stood
to reason that he'd be boned up at the prospect of getting a real man to
fuck his faggot ass.  If he looked at it right, it was a tribute to
Callum's essential masculinity, a sign of what a real stud he was.

	Mentally refortified, Callum approached Troy with his own smirk.
Looking at the fleshy buns separated by the anal cleft he'd soon be
plundering, he realized what they needed.  They needed a good ass-tanning.
So, without the slightest hesitation, Callum proceeded to do just that.

	Troy tried to maintain an air of stoicism as his butt-cheeks were
alternately squeezed and slapped but every so often, when a particularly
vicious swat had landed full-bore on one of his cheeks, a muffled cry would
escape.  And hearing those swallowed groans was an incredible turn-on for
Callum.  By the time Troy's ass was a vibrant scarlet, Callum had totally
forgotten about any inhibitions he'd had about fucking the boy's ass.  Now
he was hot to trot.  He quickly spread the precum he'd been leaking along
the length of his cock and, without any other lubrication, buried it to its
root in Troy's ass.

	The receptionist tried but couldn't stifle a howl of pain as the
giant tube of meat was brutally thrust all the way up his hole.  And that
just turned Callum on more.  In no time at all, he was violently pistoning
his cock in and out of the grunting bitch's little fuck-hole.

	Despite his best efforts, as the fuck went on Troy couldn't hide
how much it was hurting him.  And it suddenly occurred to Callum that he'd
been stupid to object to fucking Troy face to face.  It was actually hotter
seeing the effect his big dick was having on Troy's face than it had ever
been when he merely listened to Kerry gasp and moan as his bitch-hole was
ravaged.  Next time he fucked that bitch Kerry he'd take him in the
missionary position just like he was doing to Troy right now.  He'd enjoy
seeing Kerry grimace and squeal as he got plowed out by a real man.

	Callum would have liked to draw out Troy's first fuck but, just
like it always was with Kerry, all the spunk that'd been stored up in his
balls for the last twenty-four hours would not be denied.  In mere minutes
he was creaming the inside of Troy's fully-stuffed asshole.  Having popped
his first load, he collapsed on Troy's well-spread thighs, pleased when he
heard the bitch groan in discomfort as he was forced to hold up all of
Callum's weight with his glutes.  Callum was really getting into fucking
Troy.

	And his pleasure was only heightened when, during his next fuck, he
began squeezing the bitch's tits.  They seemed particularly sensitive and,
after only a few minutes rough work tenderizing them, Troy was squirming in
pain, emitting little squeaks on an almost continuous basis.  While Callum
definitely enjoyed seeing Troy jerk around trying to ease the pain that was
flaring from his abused nipples, what he really appreciated was how the
waves of pain coursing through the bitch's body were causing his entire
back channel to spasmodically squeeze itself around Callum's rampaging
fuck-tool.  That felt fantastic and, during the rest of his assault on
Troy, the receptionist's tender nubs seldom had a moment's respite.

	It took Callum three more loads to completely drain his balls and
finally quell the sexual excitement that had been building up for the past
twenty-four hours.  When his cock finally receded from the bitch's battered
hole, Callum leaned back on his heels and looked down at Troy.  The smirk
on the little whore's face had been wiped out early on and his eyes had a
glassy sheen.  Looking down the boy's torso, Callum was struck by how
bruised and swollen Troy's nipples were - they were at least three-times
their normal size and actually looked like a bitch's tits - and the chasm
that now yawned between Troy's thighs looked every bit like a tired whore's
used-up pussy.  Callum couldn't help but be pleased with himself: he'd
given the faggot a fucking he'd never forget.

	Just before he got up from the sofa, Callum was overcome by an
irresistible impulse.  He leaned forward and gave Troy a peck on the cheek.
As he did so, Troy's eyes seemed to refocus and fix on Callum's face, eying
him warily.  Callum made no effort to hide his own smirk as he thanked Troy
for the fuck.  "I'm definitely looking forward to the next time," he added
with a chuckle.  Suddenly, even as he watched, a visible glint came into
Troy's eyes.  "So am I," he answered, with conviction.  "Believe me, so am
I."

	Surprised by Troy's response, Callum quickly decided that, despite
all appearances, the little bitch had actually enjoyed having his body
ravaged by Callum.  'Fucking faggots,' Callum thought.  'They really are
all little whores.'

        Callum eased himself off the sofa and turned around.  Mr. DeMarco
was sitting behind his desk, a big smile lighting his face.  "Now that
wasn't so bad, Callum, was it?"

	"No, sir," Callum responded with his own grin.  "That was great.
You were right - as always.  Sorry I can be such a problem for you."

	"Well, all's well that ends well," Mr. DeMarco replied, obviously
once again in a good mood.

	The man stood up and moved around the desk.  He had Callum's
erection trainer in his hand.  "Let's get you suited up and you can head on
home."

	"Yes, sir," Callum replied, assuming the proper position.  As he'd
expected, this time the plastic sheath slid easily inside and in just
seconds his cock was snuggly encased in the trainer's tubing and
Mr. DeMarco had locked it securely in place.  It still felt a little
uncomfortable having the contraption dangling from his body but, day by
day, it was beginning to feel totally natural to be wearing it.

	Still smiling, Mr. DeMarco looked at his model as he stood there in
his 'erection trainer.'  "I'll want to see you Monday afternoon after your
tanning session on the roof so that I can properly prepare you for your
audition.  But, right now, why don't you get dressed and head on home. I'm
sure you've had a long day."

	"Yes, sir," Callum happily agreed, bending down to pick up his
running shorts.  He quickly stepped into them and then slipped his feet
into his flip-flops.

      While Callum was putting on his minimalist attire, Mr. DeMarco turned
around and picked up a large plastic bag.  "Here's your energy supplement,
Callum," he explained, passing the bag to the boy.  "There's enough to get
you through the weekend.  You can pick up some more on Monday when you come
back."

	"Actually, sir," Callum responded, "I was intending to stop by
tomorrow - you know, to keep my tan going."

	"No need to do that, Callum" Mr. DeMarco reassured him.  "Your tan
looks great.  I don't think taking a few days off is going to adversely
affect it.  I want you to get a good rest this weekend.  Other than going
to the gym, I want you to just stay home and relax."

	"If you think so, sir," Callum replied, surprised by the unexpected
days off.  For the past month, at Mr. DeMarco's insistence, he'd been
tanning on the office roof virtually every single day.  His intensive
tanning regimen had pretty much achieved the desired results.  His old tan
lines were totally gone and he now had a golden overall coloration that
really complemented his muscular physique.  Looking down at his torso, he
thought that maybe he could go a couple of days without working on his tan.

	"I'm sure of it," Dean replied, once again hiding his amazement at
Callum's apparently limitless naivete.  The boy's body had reached the
perfect tanning point over a week ago and, since then, the only thing Dean
and Troy had been concerned with was maintaining that level.  Every third
day in the sun was more than sufficient to do that.  Though Callum
obviously hadn't realized it, on most days Troy was applying a total sun
block to Callum's skin and the boy wasn't getting any darker despite all
the hours he spent in the sun.

        The real reason Dean had insisted that Callum come in every day was
to make him undergo daily blowjobs from Troy to continue undermining
Callum's visceral antipathy to sex with another man and also to make sure
Dean could manipulate his 'energy supplement' on a day-to-day basis,
juicing it up when he wanted him hot and horny and then tapering it off on
the days after he fucked Kerry, helping Callum begin to associate fucking
another man with sexual relief.

	Dean was glad it was so easy to manipulate Callum, but it was
almost too easy.  Of course, the true test was coming up in the next two
weeks.  While Dean had succeeded in eradicating Callum's objections to
topping another dude, the ultimate goal had always been to get him to
accept bottoming for a man.  After all, giving great blowjobs and getting
fucked were what Dean's models were known for and he wanted Callum to
become a prime draw in his stable of boy-bitches.  And they had now reached
the point where that training was about to begin.

	Not that Callum had the slightest clue as to what was coming.  But
that was as it should be.  It's what had made Callum such a hot prospect -
that and his sculpted physique and movie star looks, of course.  Beautiful
and dumb - you couldn't ask for anything more.  Just thinking what was in
store for the boy over the next couple of weeks brought a smile to Dean's
face and a tingling to his groin.  But he forced himself to re-focus on the
present.

	"I really want you to take this weekend easy, Callum," Mr. DeMarco
repeated.  "I want you fresh on Tuesday."

        "Well, okay then, sir.  See you on Monday, I guess."  Callum turned
around and started across the room.  Just as he reached the door, he turned
to look over at the sofa where Troy was still lying down.  "Thank you,
Troy," he said, with a sincerity that was, for once, unfeigned.

	Troy didn't say anything but he did nod in acknowledgement.
Feeling on top of the world, Callum opened the door and headed out.

	Dean DeMarco watched Callum close the door behind himself.  An
audible snort made its way out of his mouth.  "That kid is simply too much.
He is fucking dumb as an oyster.  We're doing the world a favor getting him
off the streets.  And him, too.  God only knows what he'd be doing with his
life if we weren't here to guide him along."  He shook his head in wry
amusement.  "Dumb as an oyster," he repeated.  "But he's going to make one
dynamite boy-whore."

	"Fuck him," Troy growled from the couch where he was finally
beginning to stir.  "He's a fucking asshole and I'm going to make him pay
for what he did today."

	"Well, he certainly did you," Dean observed, never missing a chance
to bait his son.  "I haven't seen a guy get as totally reamed out as you
just did since Davey was gangbanged by eight guys at Thug Studio.  Once the
video of his session with you hits the website, they're going to be begging
me to put your ass up on the auction block."

	"Fuck that shit," Troy snarled.  "I've told you before, Dad.  I
don't give a shit how much those assholes are willing to pay for a chance
to fuck me.  It's not going to happen."

	Slowly, obviously still in pain, Troy made his way across the room.
"Where you going?"  Dean asked.

	"I'm going to take a shower and a douche.  I'm fucking leaking cum
like a sieve right now."

	"You just hold up, Troy.  Your work here isn't done yet."

	Troy looked at his father with real anger.  "You've got to be
fucking kidding me.  You saw how he fucked the living shit out me.  I'm
sore as hell right now."

	"That's not my problem, Troy," his father retorted.  "Besides, I
like it when you're sore; it makes you more attentive to my needs.  So just
get your ass over here and bend over.  I've got a big load of cum in my
gonads and it's got your name on it."

	"Ah, come on, Dad," Troy pleaded.  "Give me a fucking break."

	His father stood there staring at him for a brief moment and then
deliberately began undoing his pants.

	"Jesus Christ, Dad," Troy complained, slowly edging his way over to
the desk.  "You can be a real asshole, you know that?"

	"You've got that right, son," Dean agreed affably.  "I can, indeed,
be a real asshole.  But right now I'm fixing on fucking a real asshole.
Yours.  So just get your pretty butt over here and bend down."

	As Troy slowly made his way back to his father's desk, a loud fart
ripped through his ass accompanied by an effusion of Callum's ball juice,
spurting out and dribbling down Troy's hairless legs.  "At least let me
clean myself out, Dad," Troy asked, clearly embarrassed by his leaking
hole.  "I'm spewing his ball scuzz all over the place."

	"No problem, son," his old man responded with a smile.  "You can
clean the mess up when I'm finished with you.  And look at the bright
side," he added as his son glared at him again.  "At least you're
well-lubed.  Now you just bend over and get ready to take some more dick.
I'll let you know when you're finished for the day."

	Troy knew that further words would be useless so he just did as he
was told, trying to ignore the steady stream of spent cum that was now
seeping from his aching butt, promising himself that one day - one day soon
- he'd pay his father back for everything.  And he'd pay Callum back, too,
for the number that fucker had done on his ass.  They'd both pay and when
they did, Troy wouldn't be the one with the sore and leaking butt-hole.