Date: Sun, 12 Dec 2010 11:06:57 -0500
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthierdc@gmail.com>
Subject: Jungle Boy 15

				Jungle Boy 15
				by George Gauthier

Fair warning: This story features explicit and graphic depictions of gay
sex.  The story takes place forty years in the future.

			Chapter 1. Story Conference

Movie producer Martin Fletcher thanked Luis, his attentive houseboy, for
the tray of lemonade then settled back in his lawn chair to await his
visitors. Fletcher preferred the informality of story conferences at his
Hollywood estate rather than at the office. Informally laid out landscaping
ensured privacy in his 10 acre domain.

First to arrive were Fletcher's friends and colleagues, director Jim
Nichols and studio production chief Leon Potter. On their heels came
Fletcher's two favorite movie stars, Sandy Barnett and Terry
Knowles. Though both were in their early twenties, everyone called them
"the twinks". Indeed, with their slight builds and fine-boned features,
they looked more like boys in their late teens than young men.

Sandy was much prettier than any boy rightly ought to be -- blessed as he
was with delicate features including a straight nose, finely arched brows,
a chiseled jaw line, high cheekbones, and large green eyes topped by a
thatch the color of straw. Terry was an impossibly cute red head, with sky
blue eyes and a peaches and cream complexion lightly dusted with freckles
that reflected his Irish heritage. As Terry settled into his chair he gave
a wave and a wink to Luis. The houseboy had a terrific crush on the cute
red head.

Luis hung around, fussing at this and that, pretending to check the
temperature and chemical balance of the water in the swimming pool. He
hoped his boss's younger guests would go for a swim after their story
conference, and that he might join them. As usual when he was working
around the house and grounds the dark haired Latino was in the nude. He
looked so cute, kneeling on the tile, brown cheeks resting on bare feet,
lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as, test tube in
hand, he went about his humble chore, firm muscles playing under his
reddish brown skin. The young mestizo looked so very alive, a fine specimen
of the human animal.

It was something of a naughty game among A-List celebrities to see whose
house boy was the most brazen. That meant clothing was quite out of the
question. Fletcher's boy thought nothing of stepping out the door in the
buff to fetch the paper or walking down the street to the mailbox in the
nude. Casual public nudity was no big deal in the fifth decade of the
twenty-first century.

Not that Fletcher was fey himself, but cute houseboys of the gay persuasion
were all the vogue in Hollywood these days, the cuter the better. The
stunning looking mestizo lad was not only Fletcher's houseboy. These days
Luis was also an aspiring actor. His youthful male beauty had won him bit
parts in Fletcher's pictures, supporting Terry and Sandy plus a couple of
TV gigs recently. He might not be headed for stardom, but it looked like he
had a promising career ahead of him in supporting roles.

The last to arrive was the actors' agent Ed Veronese, himself once a
supporting actor.

"So what is the word of the day, Fletch? Or dare I even ask?" Jim Nichols
inquired knowing Fletcher and his surprises.

"My friends, the word of the day is 'Ambergris'."

He spelled it. The older men frowned, clueless, but the faces of twinks lit
up with understanding.

"Oh, a picture about whaling, is that what you have in mind, Fletch?" Terry
asked, speaking for the both of them.

"Exactly"

Terry turned to the older men and explained that ambergris was a precious
substance worth more than its weight in gold. It originates as a secretion
in the intestines of sperm whales and is used in the manufacture of
perfumes.

Fletcher explained:

"The concept is 'The Jungle Boys meet Moby Dick and Robinson Crusoe'."

That brought theatrical groans from his interlocutors.

"Come on, Fletch!"

"Hey, give it a chance". Fletcher protested. "This concept is better than
it sounds."

Fletcher went on to explain that the picture would be about a whaling
voyage out of New Bedford Massachusetts that ends suddenly when the ship is
struck by a rogue wave. The only survivors are the two cabin boys who
eventually wash up on a tropical island. After an idyllic two years as
castaways, a frigate of the Royal Navy shows up, but instead of rescuing
the boys, her captain tries to impress them into the British Navy to help
fight the War of 1812. The boys refuse to turn traitor to America and flee
back to their island paradise where they fight the English guerilla style
till an American frigate arrives and blows the British ship out of the
water.

Sandy and Terry rolled their eyes. Here we go again, castaways on a
tropical island. Been there, done that. The plot was a whole lot like their
remake of 'The Blue Lagoon' from just a few of years ago, which was already
a cult classic. Why couldn't they do that musketeer picture Terry had his
heart set on. Sandy spoke for both of them.

"This time, I don't even have to ask how we get naked in the picture. I
don't suppose cabin boys on whaling vessels wore clothes much even before
they became castaways."

"Of course not. Why should they, especially cruising the whaling grounds of
the tropical latitudes. Given the heat and an all male environment, it was
only sensible for the younger lads in the crew to go about in the rude
nude. When you consider that a whaling voyage might last two or three
years, and that the crew are mostly lusty young men, well, they had only
one outlet for their sexual energies: the cabin boys. As sex toys for the
whole crew, the cabins boys certainly had no reason to be body shy."

"And, if you guys do this whaling picture, without complaints, I promise
that our very next movie will be 'The Young Musketeers'."

"Yay!" the twinks cried in unison. Then Terry added hurriedly.

"I've got first dibs on D'Artagnan!"

"I wouldn't think of depriving you of your chance,Terry. I've given this a
lot of thought, everyone, ever since Terry got talking about this project.
I'll play Olivier d'Athos, Comte de la Fere. We'll keep the Dumas
characters, of course, but ditch the silly plot about the Queen's
necklace. Instead the action will focus on matters of state, especially the
Bourbon-Habsburg dynastic rivalry that led to France's participation in the
Thirty Years' War."

"Our movie will be a coming of age tale about D'Artagnan. He and Athos are
both young men near the same age, maybe five years apart. After an
initially prickly beginning to their relationship, Athos takes the boy from
Gascony under his wing. He helps him explore his sexuality, and they become
lovers. Under his tutelage, the boy becomes a man and earns the tabard of a
musketeer."

"And Fletch and Jim, be sure to cast a red-head as Milady de Winter,
someone who can play a fiery Irish colleen. We'll want a starlet with a
boyish build who looks a lot like Terry. Athos's sexual ambiguity is what
is behind the tragic tale of the fallen nobleman and his wicked former
wife. Athos has two great loves in his life, the fallen woman he kills, and
the brave boy who turns his life around."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Sandy's concept was terrific. A gay romance
between the characters would reflect the real life relationship between the
young actors playing the principal roles. Sandy's concept was far better
than Terry's original notion which had Sandy playing the villainous Comte
de Rochefort who finally sides with the Musketeers after he falls for the
young Gascon. Of course Terry meant that as a joke.

Though both young actors were twenty-three, Terry would have the easier job
playing a lad five years younger. With their slight stature and pretty
faces, the twinks really did look eighteen. To seem older to the audience,
Sandy would use actors' tricks like careful and deliberate diction in
contrast to the excited chatter of the young Gascon, neater and more
subdued clothing compared to the careless dress of the young provincial
lad, and hair neatly combed compared to the farm lad's tangled thatch, that
sort of thing.

There was still a role for Rochefort as an apex in a love triangle. With
Sandy's concept, the Cardinal's henchman is incapable of true love and
pursues the young Gascon out of a desire to gratify his base lusts.

"Works for me," Ed Veronese observed, "Sandy's collaboration with the
writers will earn him a story credit too. Also I am sure Conrad will be
happy to play Rochefort. After all, this echoes his and Terry's
relationship in their successful Dracula pictures."

"What was their back story anyway, Athos and Lady de Winter? I am pretty
hazy about all that." Nichols asked.

After more than a year of study, Terry was an expert on musketeer lore. He
explained how Milady's tragic history formed her character. She starts out
as a teenager forced into a convent where she falls in love with a
priest. They run off with church gold to pay for a new start in life in
another part of France but are caught and branded by the local intendant,
standard punishment for a thief. Later she takes up with a man in Athos'
domain, pretending to be his sister. The young nobleman falls in love with
her and, despite her humble origins, marries her.

"Let's do the back story as a montage," Sandy said. "I don't want to play a
full love scene with a female. I know my limitations as an actor. So do the
fans. We don't want them laughing at us, do we?"

"Go on Terry with what you were saying."

Terry resumed his explication. Came the day when the count and his new
bride are out for a ride. She falls from her horse, and he discovers the
brand on her shoulder which identifies her as a convicted
criminal. Believing she married him only for his money and feeling betrayed
and dishonored, Athos hangs her from a tree right on the spot. As Comte de
la Fere, he is empowered to administer justice at all levels: the high, the
middle, and the low. So the hanging is strictly legal, but Athos considers
himself a murderer because his motivation was not justice but revenge. That
self-reproach explains why Athos drinks so much. Meanwhile, all
unbeknownst, Milady has survived the hanging and soon marries the Baron de
Winter, whom she murders to secure his wealth and her own freedom of
action. In time she becomes a spy and assassin for Cardinal Richelieu.

"We also need a role for a person of color. "Nichols pointed out. "How
about Luis for Planchet, the servant of the musketeers? As the confidant of
his employer Athos, he is the one of the few who understand the full extent
of the relationship between the nobleman and the young Gascon."

"Fine. I'll get writers working on scripts for both pictures, boys."
Fletcher assured the young actors.

With business concluded, the twinks dropped their shorts and went to join
Luis at the pool. Fletcher was an understanding boss and he did not mind if
his houseboy goofed off for a while, in dalliance with the twinks.

Needless to say, Luis was ecstatic about the part they had arranged for him
in the coming picture. He, Luis Vasquez, would be a featured player in a
big budget movie. And playing opposite his friend Terry Knowles. The money
was good too, enough to pay for all his college courses and then some. Life
doesn't get any better than that!

The three boys had a good time in the pool, splashing, horsing around,
playing the grab ass games dear to the hearts of young males. This was
definitely not a day for Sandy and Terry to swam laps. After an hour or so,
the trio adjourned to Luis's quarters in the guesthouse for a three way
frolic. They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of clean limbs and smiling
faces, three beautiful young men at the peak of their sexual prowess. Their
energetic couplings were part wrestling match, part fuck session, and
one-hundred percent fun. Luis's futon shook from the constant movement of
taut bodies and smooth limbs.

The paparazzi would have made a fortune with footage of their
lovemaking. What a sight it was, three comely youths, one blond, one
red-headed, one dark, their eyes flashing green, blue, and brown
respectively, their skin tones varying from Luis's natural reddish brown to
Sandy's deep suntanned bronze to Terry's lighter tan. Each boy in turn
found himself at the bottom, plugged at both ends, cocks thrusting into
orifices, tongues licking and slurping, ass muscles squeezing and milking
the cocks that impaled their sweet asses.

 Good thing the walls were thick. Otherwise the sounds of lusty sexual
congress might have carried to Fletcher who was dozing in his lounge
chair. Even their youthful energies had their limits, so after a couple of
hours, the boys stretched out on the big bed, tired and drained, enjoying
the afterglow.

"I sometimes can't believe how lucky we all are." Sandy muttered out loud.

"Amen to that," Terry and Luis chorused.

			Chapter 2. On Location in France

For various reasons, the whaling picture was postponed till after 'Young
Museketeers'. So it was only two months later that the boys were hard at
work on the swashbuckler on location in the south of France. The walls of
the historic fortified city of Carcassonne were standing in for early
modern Paris. Restored in the late nineteenth century, the dramatic
fortifications include a double ring of ramparts and fifty three towers.

This was to be a long production since they were really filming two
pictures at once, much like with the classic musketeer movies of the
1970s. That was fine with Terry, since it gave him a lots of scenes in the
second movie where he gets to wear the blue and silver tabard of a
musketeer. In the first picture, as a mere aspirant, the young Gascon goes
around in drab provincial garb, except for his nude scenes, of course.

In any movie with Sandy and Terry, there always scenes without any garb at
all. Like when Athos first encounters Charles de Batz, the boy later
ennobled as the comte D'Artagnan. While riding in the country, he finds the
young Gascon bathing in a pond and mistakes him for a girl.

"Oh, so sorry, little miss. I did not mean to intrude," Athos remarks from
atop his horse, turning his head away politely. On private business, the
swordsman does not wear the tabard of his regiment.

"What do you mean, little miss? You cretin, can't you see that I am a man!"
Charles exclaims, striking the water with clenched fists, very much
annoyed. But then Gascons are known for their quick tempers.

"Nay, my pretty one. With just your head and shoulders above the water, I
had only your comely face to judge by." Athos returns mildly. "Anyone would
have taken you for a girl. With those fine-boned features of of yours, you
must know that you are prettier than any boy rightly ought to be."

As the irate lad stalks out of the water, he shouts:

"There, you can see for yourself that I am a male, not a female. Even a
numbskull like you surely knows the difference."

"A male you are, youngling. That I must grant you. No offense, but what I
see is a youth on the threshold of manhood, a lad trying very hard to be
act like a man grown, and not succeeding." Athos says, shaking his head
doubtfully at the young hot head.

"Arh! You deliberately wound me, sir. First you name me a girl then you
belittle me for my youth. You sir are an insufferable boor. I've a good
mind to chuck you into the water, fine feathered hat and all."

Athos says nothing in reply, communicating to the audience his character's
thoughts and emotions with looks, facial expressions, body language, and
actions like rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he assesses the nude boy. The
camera follows his gaze.

Athos drinks in the sight of the youthful male beauty. Yes this is a boy
and a right comely one at that. He is so very well formed, short and
slender and with a wiry musculature, smooth and hairless even at the fork
of his legs. No doubt he shaves down there to thwart the annoying critters
which might otherwise take up lodging in his pubic hair. Athos does that
himself.

The lad is blessed with a face far lovelier than a male's visage rightly
out to be. Still though he might be as pretty as a water nymph, that is no
excuse for such rudeness in return for Athos' courtesy.

"Time to teach this feisty youngster some manners," Athos murmurs to
himself as he slides off his horse and stalks forward, drawing on his
gauntlets.

"What do you think you are doing, you oaf? Keep away from me." yelps the
startled lad, backing away, suddenly aware that his quick temper has once
more gotten him into trouble.

Here he has gone and provoked this stranger though he himself is unarmed
and stark naked. His wet clothes are hung on bushes to dry, his horse and
sword well are out of reach. Nowhere to run either, not with his back to a
stream and the man on horseback. The boy realizes that he is in no position
to confront a grown man, fully clothed, and armed with sword and dagger and
pistol.

"Look, I am sorry for what I said just now. It happens when boys like me
get excited. You were right on that score, sir. I have seen but eighteen
summers.  Can we just forget about this?"

"Nay, pretty one. This is one day I want to remember and fondly. You need a
lesson lad, and I know of no better way to get through to an obstreperous
young male such as yourself than with a good spanking. After all, that was
the way I was brought up not so many years ago."

With that Athos brings his heel down on the boy's bare foot. The sudden
pain in his toes immobilizes Charles momentarily, long enough for Athos to
grab the boy's arm in a wrestling hold and throw him belly down over a
fallen tree. Straddling his back to pin the boy, facing aft, Athos goes to
work, spanking the taut buns till they are bright red though the only real
damage is to the youth's pride and dignity. Young Charles kicks
ineffectually, yelling and cursing but finally subsides, accepting his
punishment as manfully as he might.

Athos eases up on the boy, honest enough with himself to admit that he is
perhaps having entirely too much fun spanking the comely lad with the
shapely derriere. Before long he removes his gloves. Athos' smacks are now
more like pats as he jiggles and squeezes the firm buns so ready to hand
and eventually starts to caress them, pulling them apart to inspect the
deep cleavage and what he can see of the pink rosebud in between.

"Hey! What's going on back there?" the Gascon lad scolds, shifting
restlessly, nervous about these unseemly attentions to his posterior. When
a man fondles a boy like that, it usually means only one thing.

Restraining himself, the musketeer stands and pulls the boy back by the
shoulder to help him stand up. The young Gascon trips over the man's boot
and falls onto his butt. Charles scrambles to his feet, rubbing his sore
buttocks, glaring defiantly at his tormentor, though remaining silent,
cautious for once with his tongue.

"I trust you have learned your lesson boy." Athos says evenly.

"You wouldn't have been so bold, sir, had I my sword in my hand. I would be
the one giving the lesson then."

"Oh?" Athos says, smiling evilly.

He walks over to the boy's horse and draws and tosses him his rapier.

"Show me."

Charles gives Athos a moment to strip off his jerkin and shirt. He will
fight bared to the waist.

What follows then is a tightly choreographed fight scene between the partly
clothed musketeer and the nude boy. It is all very exciting and sexy as the
youngsters battle away, lunging and parrying, darting around tree trunks
and rocks and jumping onto or over the downed tree in a calculated display
of athleticism. Terry's buttocks clench and flex fetchingly with his
movements. Muscle bundles stand out on shoulder and arm as he wields his
rapier. He breathes hard; sweat is pouring off him. He looks rather like a
boy in the throes of a sexual coupling. Sandy as Athos is equally graceful
in his movements, though only his upper body is totally on display.

At first the fight goes all Athos' way. His dazzling swordplay humiliates
the Gascon lad, whose skills are hampered by his fury. Athos has fun
slapping the boy's sore butt with the flat of his blade when he gets turned
around and snipping away a lock of his red hair. Then the Gascon lad gets a
grip on his temper and starts fighting with his head, using all the skills
his father has taught him. He manages to fight the older swordsman to a
draw. Each winds up bleeding from very minor wounds. Tired from energetic
swordplay and also aware that neither has any desire to kill or cripple an
opponent whom he has come to respect as a redoubtable fighter, they step
back and point their swords to the ground.

"Young man, we both have drawn blood. I will concede that you are very good
indeed with that sword of yours, as skilled as any soldier I have met in
battle. And perhaps I did go too far just now, spanking you like a child
when there are only five years between us. Shall we say that honor is
satisfied?"

"Agreed. Let us have peace between us, sir."

With that they shake hands and introduce themselves. Looking somewhat
abashed for flying off the handle the way he did, young Charles de Bratz
remarks:

"I admit my spanking was only too well-deserved. I know that I can be a
real brat when I am provoked, but then what boy of eighteen isn't that way
sometimes? I hope you can overlook my youthful failings. I would very much
like us to become friends."

"That too is my wish, my dear Charles."

"Please don't think I am a sore loser, sir, but the way you stomped my toes
just now was rather a nasty trick. You might not have subdued me otherwise.
It is no brag to say I am nearly as good a wrestler as I am a swordsman.

"You are right of course. It was a dirty trick but a soldier soon learns to
takes what advantage he may. If there is one thing I learned in combat it
is that all is fair in love and war."

"Ah, so you are a soldier. But I see no tabard. Which is your regiment
then, Athos?"

"I am one of the King's Musketeers!" Athos declares proudly.

"Mon Dieu! I would give anything to wear the tabard of a musketeer,"
Charles declares fervently. "It is why I am traveling to Paris. I carry a
letter of introduction to Monsieur de Treville, Captain of the Musketeers."

"None other than my commander. Listen lad, no one becomes a musketeer
merely on a recommendation. It is an honor that must be earned by
deeds. Can you even handle a musket?"

"As well as I handle a sword, maybe better, Athos. I can load quicker than
anyone else in Gascony."

In those days, muskets were very short ranged and quite inaccurate, and
very slow to load and fire. The role of the musket was to pierce the armor
of pikemen, the armored fist of the infantry. Prowess with a smooth bore
musket was measured not by accuracy but by the rate of fire. Nimble lads
like Charles de Bratz with their quick hands were well suited to wielding
the long musket of the day despite its weight. Their skill with the weapon
relied on superior hand and eye coordination.

For personal protection, musketeers also bore a rapier. Success with a
rapier, a stabbing and thrusting weapon, likewise depended on speed and
agility, which favored small and slender young males like Charles and Athos
for the musketeers. This was in contrast to the Germanies, where big men
called landsknechts bore six foot swords wielded two handed to break up a
pike formation.

"And you say you can wrestle, young Gascon?"

"Indeed, you might have found yourself overmatched there, my new friend,
had we wrestled instead of dueled. I know I am small, but I am quick and
wiry and a lot stronger than most folks take to be.  Opponents tend to
underestimate me because I am small and girlishly pretty, but I can more
than hold my own against most men."

"Nor would you have had an advantage in size over me, and I would be much
harder than you to grapple with, all naked and wet as I was when I came out
of the water. Whereas your clothing and straps offer many ways to get a
good grip on you."

"Yes, well I would have enjoyed trying it anyway, grappling that sweet body
of yours."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, Charles. Just thinking out loud."

Athos frowns. Only the audience hears his murmur as he chides himself for
nearly blurting out that this young beauty has stirred his interest with
his beauty of face and of form. Even his temper is a plus to Athos who
always likes his boys with a bit of fight in them. No doubt this innocent
lad would be shocked at the carnal thoughts the sight of him arouses in
Athos' mind. Shaking off these ruminations, the musketeer speaks up with a
hearty voice.

"Ride with me then, my new friend. I will gladly sponsor you as an aspirant
musketeer, though you will have to win your tabard by your own deeds."

"Fair enough!" declares the young Gascon.

"Not to be critical boy, but mayhap you could put your pants on first."

The boy laughs, delighted with the wit and wisdom of his new friend, a
seasoned musketeer despite his extreme youth. Why the man is only
twenty-three himself and hardly looks it.

Audiences of course will be aware that despite their initial contretemps,
these young men have started to fall in love though neither quite realizes
it yet.

"Cut"

Terry and Sandy had every reason to be pleased with their afternoon's
work. They had nailed the key scene which introduces both principal
characters to the audience. They had even finished early. That left time
for a swim. Sandy stripped off his Athos costume and joined Terry in the
stream. At first they floated on their backs, sculling slowly with hands
and feet, relaxing rather than exercising, easing their tired muscles. The
water was cool on their skins after such hot work. It felt wonderful. Then
they indulged in minor horseplay, splashing around and joking.

The photographer for the Making Of video captured their byplay, two pretty
boys frolicking nude in the French countryside, utterly unmindful of the
crew packing up or the locals watching from a nearby knoll. As the boys
left the water, the onlookers surged forward, seeking autographs or just to
chat up the famous movie stars. Some of the bolder ones among them pressed
close enough to touch the boys, stroke their flanks and rumps. Nothing too
forward of course, not out there in public among the neighbors.

Finally the boys went into their trailer to get dressed for the ride back
to town.

			Chapter 3. The Dungeon in the Chateau

The rest of the movie built on that first encounter between the musketeer
and the Gascon youth. Like all the twinks' best pictures, this one was an
exciting combination of action-adventure, tongue-in-cheek humor, and gay
romance. Fans grooved on the lively banter between the two young
principals, as quick and deft in its way as their on-screen swordplay. And
everyone chuckled at the improbable plot and outrageous premise of this
gay-themed re-imagining of the The Three Musketeers. In the novels Athos
takes an fatherly interest in the Gascon youth. He certainly does not want
to get him in bed. Porthos and Planchet provided comedic relief while
Aramis, in training as he was for holy orders, acted as the moral compass
of the group of young adventurers. With villains like Rochefort played by
Conrad Held and aging leading men in the cameo roles of Cardinal Richelieu
and Louis XIII, 'Young Musketeers' offered something for every generation
of movie fans.

Once production ended, Sandy and Terry went on a tour of the Loire Valley
by bicycle, their gear carried in panniers fitted on either side of the
rear wheels of their bikes. It was just the two of them. Luis had already
returned to LA. He had done really well as Planchet, his first substantial
role. It was a real stretch for the cute Latino houseboy cum character
actor. Though Planchet functions as comic relief, an actor has to play him
straight even in the pratfalls.

Flowing north then west to the Atlantic Ocean, the Loire is the longest
river in France and drains a fifth of the country. Unusually for Western
Europe there are few dams or locks to obstruct its natural flow. Known as
the Garden of France, the Loire Valley has been shaped by centuries of
cultivation into a carefully tended landscape of exceptional beauty. Its
banks are lined with vineyards and picturesque chateaux.

The boys enjoyed the hot summer weather and the fresh air as they pedaled
the length of the scenic valley taking in the scenery stopping to visit a
few of its three hundred chateaux including its crown jewels Blois and
especially Chambord. That enormous pile boasts 440 rooms, 365 fireplaces,
and 84 staircases. Looking like castles out of a fairy tale, these romantic
residences were not built as serious fortifications despite their
crenelated walls, towers, and moats.

Cycling was not only their mode of transportation but also a good way to
maintain their fitness. Keeping their physiques trim and taut was important
for their movie careers and for their self-image as cute twinks with tight
bodies. Besides, extended cycling induces an endorphin "high' as readily in
cyclists as it does in runners.

In the heat of high summer, the boys wore just low cut cycling shorts made
of a super-lightweight tan thru fabric without the usual padding for the
saddle, plus sandals. Their slender bodies glistened as they rode
roundabout routes from one chateau to the next turning heads all the
way. Gay or straight, man or woman, everyone appreciated the sight of two
impossibly cute young males riding next thing to naked, their only garments
shorts so tight and molded to their narrow hips they might have been
painted on. Nor were the boys oblivious to their effect on others, smiling
and waving, taking all the fuss they created as no more than their
due. Some might fault the boys for vanity, but their exquisite looks made
it easy to forgive them.

Sometimes the young lovers found a quiet section of a stream and went
skinny dipping not only to cool off but for the sheer naughtiness of
it. Inevitably a simple swim turned into fun and frolic, with lots of
splashing and laughter. Once though they left the water only to find an
unsympathetic gendarme standing on the bank taking pictures. Fortunately,
Terry's French was good enough to talk their way out of trouble. When the
gendarme realized who they were, how they had just shot a major motion
picture in his country and one about The Three Musketeers at that, he let
them go with a wink and a warning. He later shopped his snapshots to a fan
magazine.

With their simple needs, the boys stayed overnight at different country
inns along the way, taking pot luck rather than making reservations. These
young men had no interest in shutting themselves up in fancy hotels where
they would never get to mingle with the locals. It was also a chance to try
out new foods. French cuisine really is among that proud people's greatest
contributions to humanity, though the boys always conceded a high place to
Italian and Chinese cuisine too.

One day, the boys turned off the beaten track to visit one of the lesser
known sights, a real fortress up in the hills dating from the Middle
Ages. It featured a fully equipped and restored dungeon. Terry just had to
see it. A downpour caught them on the road, and they arrived sopping
wet. Securing their bikes to a rack under a shelter, the boys trotted over
to the front gate.

There they found that the young tour guide was about to lock up early,
figuring no one else would venture so far out out of the way in a storm. In
fact, though he let the boys in and accepted their entrance fees, he locked
the door behind them and put up the sign saying they were closed for the
day.

Their sexy guide could not have been more than twenty-five, tall and lean,
dark haired and with startling grey eyes. He was dressed like a torturer,
bare from the waist up, in tight leather pants, heavy boots, with leather
bands around his upper arms and a ring of keys jingling from his
belt. Fortunately he did not wear a mask letting the boys see that he
looked like a reincarnation of the late Alain Delon from when that actor
made 'Purple Noon'.

The young Frenchman looked both boys up and down, a saucy grin on his face,
nodding in approval. Even wet and bedraggled, he could see that these
American kids with their pretty faces and taut physiques were visions of
youthful male pulchritude. If he played things right, he would have his way
with both of them in his playroom, as he called the dungeon. These
Americans would not be the first to come for a look around only to be drawn
for a few days into a perverse sexual adventure.

"Bonjour, my name is Etienne Tremblay. I will be your tour guide for
today. Normally I would ask you to put on a shirt, but it would hardly be
reasonable to force you back out into the rain. In fact are you sure you
don't want to get out of your wet things?"

This was said with a little laugh showing he was not entirely serious, but
there could be no doubt about his interest in seeing them without their
clothes on.

"Thanks, but no thanks. We'll be dry in no time, with this special
fabric. See"

As Terry propped one leg up on a step, the young guide slid his hand under
the hem of Terry's shorts, rubbing the thin material between his fingers,
noting the many tiny perforations. He nodded his understanding.

"Ah, a solar tanning fabric. You don't like tan lines then. I'll bet you
enjoy nude sunbathing spots like the Englischer Garten and run around
starkers whenever you can."

"Hmmn fine smooth limbs too, " he added, as his questing hands explored
Terry's thigh and calf.  "No body hair either. And quite an impressive
musculature on a frame as slight as yours."

He threw a stage wink to both of them. The boys looked at each other and
rolled their eyes. No doubt now what was going on; this was foreplay. Each
wondered which one of them would bed the sexy Frenchman first.

"I should explain that a natural hot spring under the castle keeps the
dungeon warm year round. It is neither dank nor chilly. You should be
comfortable enough, despite being next thing to naked in those flimsy
shorts of yours. And another thing, the way your sandals are squelching
you'd better kick them off. Wet rubber can slip so easily on
stone. Besides, you'll like the feel of it under your feet anyway. It will
make your tour more sensual -- touching as well as seeing these old
stones. "

Knowing a cue when they heard one, the boys slipped off their
sandals. Terry winked at Sandy and wiggled his toes. Bare feet were a
promise of things to come. All they had on now were their form fitting
low-rise shorts, just a single thin layer and nearly sheer; the intricate
pattern printed on the material tricked the eye and kept it from being
entirely see through. The whole thing could not have weighed a hectogram (3
ounces). And Etienne had already tried to get them out of those right off,
though perhaps that was not a serious effort. How soon would he persuade
them to get fully naked?

"Please follow me."

The boys did so quite willingly, anticipation an exciting sexual adventure
with the manly young Frenchman.

Etienne led them down a staircase to the dungeons deep underground. Both
Terry and Sandy ogled his ass as he descended in front of them, a fact
Etienne was fully aware of though he pretended not to notice. Okay, let
them look. He intended to have his own fun with these two cuties. They
hadn't realized that Etienne had recognized both of them and knew of their
wild ways. What he had planned for them would someday make an exciting
story for their memoirs.

Water dripped down the walls and bats disturbed by their passage fluttered
in dark corners. The only illumination was from the occasional faux torch
set into a sconce in the walls. The tour guide went into his standard
patter, pointing out the solid construction of the walls, the cells, the
forge for heating irons, the rings set into the walls to shackle prisoners
to. He spoke of the history of the fortress and of the many unfortunates
who had found their way to these dungeons over the centuries.

Terry took it all in, fascinated by the atmosphere of menace and all the
torture devices he knew just from the movies: the rack, the strappado, the
boot, and the Iron Maiden, which looks like a mummy case with sharp spikes
pointing inward.

"Wow!" Terry enthused. If only our set director could see this. We gotta
have something like this in one of our movies."

"Uh, Etienne, would you mind if I climbed up onto the rack to, well, you
know, to try it out?"

"Ah, my young friend. A bit kinky are we? If you are going to try the rack
you cannot do it like that, in modern cycling shorts. Why not strip them
off and hand them over? Then I will secure your limbs to the rack. After
all, it was standard practice then to keep prisoners naked."

"Uh, Terry," Sandy started in. "Maybe this is not such a good idea."

"Oh come on, Sandy. It sounds like fun. Anyway, what could happen?"

"Oh, all right, but I am going to keep an eye on you."

"Very well, Sandy" Etienne said, "but you will have to strip off too,
otherwise your presence in clothing would be jarring and would spoil the
scene. So strip off now, mon choupinou."

Gulping at the peremptory tone, though not sure just what a choupinou was,
Sandy obeyed Etienne's command, stripping off like Terry, handing his
shorts over then watching while Etienne smiled then threw them down a
oubliette, a round hole in the stone floor.

"Out of sight, out of mind. Now we are all properly medieval: torturer and
captives. My, what slight builds you boys have, so much like a pair of
fawns, lovely and vulnerable, especially naked as you are. You are, of
course, lovers. Anyone can see that."

"Wow," Sandy thought, "Etienne sure works fast. In no time he has got us
stark naked and has brought up the subject of gay sex."

The young actor was impressed that in mere moments the Frenchman had got
both him and Terry out of their clothes. First their sandals at the top of
the stairs and now their shorts. Nor were their shorts left where the boys
might find them again. He had made them disappear down a hole in the floor
of the dungeon. Neither of them had raised any objections to getting rid of
their clothes. At heart they were happy for an excuse to get naked with
Etienne. This was so very exciting. Sandy wondered which one Etienne would
go for first.

Sandy fervently hoped it would be him. He thanked his lucky stars that he
guys as cute and sexy as he and Terry were, could attract the attentions of
good looking manly sorts like Etienne. Sure it was none of their own doing
-- just good genes -- but was it so wrong of them to take advantage of
nature's gifts? That would be the worst sort of ingratitude to Mother
Nature. Sandy and Terry knew that being dominated and getting fucked by
manly sorts like Etienne was a large part of why they had been put on this
planet in the first place.

Etienne led a very nervous but excited Terry over to the rack and fastened
his limbs in place. He took up a few turns on the windlass getting the
red-head boy stretched out full length, absolutely helpless. Next Etienne
wrapped a leather thong around Terry's balls forcing them to the bottom of
the ballsac, making the boy's hairless scrotum look like a red plum. He now
had the boy by the balls, literally. By this time, Terry's cock was rock
hard and throbbing with perverse excitement.

"Now it's your turn, Sandy. Step over to the wall here so I can put you in
irons."

"Uh, I don't know. I really don't like to be restrained." Sandy demurred,
images of his time with The Brotherhood coming unbidden to mind.

"Not to worry, my young friend. Do you see this release on the wrist irons?
Press here and it springs open. It's for the tourists you know. In their
minds they carry memories of all those cartoons of prisoners hanging
forlorn and woebegone from dungeon walls. They can't wait to try it out
themselves as a photo opportunity."

Etienne said this shaking his head tolerantly at the follies of the human
race. Somewhat reassured by the man's humor, Sandy raised his arms to one
of several sets of irons fixed to rings set high in the wall and let the
tour guide fasten them to his wrists. What he did not notice just then was
that his wrists were shackled to different sets of irons. There was no way
he could bring his hands close enough to work the quick releases.

Smiling predatorily, Etienne fixed shackles connected by a spreader bar to
Sandy's ankles. Next the big man pressed his body to Sandy's humping the
nude prisoner. Sandy responded to the stimulation, pressing his naked body
Etienne's, rubbing against the leathers of the dungeon master. Gosh,
Etienne was so manly and so sexy. He was glad the man was playing with him
first. Too bad for Terry, but he would have to wait his turn.

Etienne smiled seeing Sandy acting like a bitch in heat. He reached forward
and played with his captive's genitals.

"I have so much planned for these. But that is for later, much later. Hmmn,
I think a gag too for you, Blondie and then we can begin."

Sandy did not get a chance to argue before a gag with a thick leather flap
was presented to his mouth. Sandy clenched his jaw shut, but Etienne simply
reached down and cracked the captive boy's nuts. That forced his mouth
open, allowing the gag to be inserted and buckled in place. Abandoning
Sandy temporarily, Etienne turned to Terry.

"No gag for you, Terry," Etienne crooned. "I want to hear your screams."

"Screams? What do you mean Etienne? Please, I think you are taking this
much too seriously."

"And you boys not seriously enough. Why do you think I work in this place?
It is certainly not for the pittance I earn as a tour guide. I do it for
the fringe benefits which include access to this dungeon and to pretty boys
like you silly enough to put themselves in my power."

As Etienne went into his dungeon master act both boys wondered whether they
might have made a big mistake. No one knew where they were. Here they were
held prisoner in a dungeon, chained up naked by a scary talking guy. What
would happen to them now?

"What...what are you gonna do to us? Please don't hurt me." Terry
stammered.

Etienne smiled. The way Terry's voice came out -- so young and shaky -- was
music to his ears. The boy was begging, already cringing
subserviently. Excellent. Now he had both of these pretty boys trussed up
and at his mercy. Such fine boy toys they were too, one a cute as hell
red-head with sky blue eyes stretched on the rack, the other a
preternaturally beautiful blond with eyes the green of growing things,
chained to the wall in a classic dungeon pose, his body totally on display.

Etienne leaned over Terry's outstretched body and kissed him hard,
thrusting his tongue into his mouth, playing with Terry's tongue. Meanwhile
he drew his fingers lightly over Terry's belly then down to his groin and
to his inner thighs, stroking and rubbing. He cupped the boy's ballsac,
which was already drawn up tight to the fork of his legs in arousal. He
patted Terry's cock which was cantilevered out from his groin, throbbing
with the beat of his heart, dripping pre-cum onto the bound youth's flat
belly.

Terry hissed as Etienne fixed alligator clamps to his nipples. The man
smiled fiendishly as he tugged hard on the chain that joined them, making
sure they were set properly. A couple of its teeth broke the skin of the
nubbins, and a few drops of blood oozed out of the minor puncture
wounds. Etienne draped the chain down Terry's belly. reaching as far as the
bound boy's navel. Then the dungeon master drew the links of the chain over
the boy's corrugated abs and belly.

"You like the touch of metal on your skin, don't you, little one. The shiny
clamps with their sharp teeth and the thick links of the chain are like
jewelry to someone like you. Admit it. The very feel of it excites you.

Terry was too embarrassed to speak, but his blush gave his excitement
away. Terry wanted this man to do things to him, naughty things, sexual
things.

The tour guide cum dungeon master next offered Terry his fingers, warning
him he better get them wet if he wanted any lube for his hole. Then he slid
his hand between the boy's legs, sticking first one then two fingers into
his anus working the spit in, poking and prodding, finally touching the
boy's prostate. Terry gave out an "urk" as a sudden flash of lust swept
through him. He was really getting off on the rough treatment.

"What a tight quim you have, Terry. And your cock is quite respectable for
someone your size, certainly nothing to be ashamed of. I can't wait to try
my acupuncture needles on it. I know I am going to have a lot of pleasure
toying with you."

He reached up to open the door of a wooden case hung on the wall. Inside
was a collection of dildoes and butt plugs, all of them of formidable
dimensions. No trainer sizes here. Some were smooth, others with ropy veins
molded into their surfaces. One looked like a billy club studded with rough
knobs, another like a scabrous truncheon. Terry tried to clench himself
shut, fearing that those outsized artificial cocks would soon be presented
to his tight hole. Couldn't the Frenchman see that Terry was a little
guy. How far did he think Terry's hole would stretch? Alas Terry was once
again in the clutches of a size queen.

Selecting a dildo as big around as child's fist Etienne slathered some
lubricant on the shaft, held it up before the boy's alarmed face then poked
it at the helpless boy's hole. Terry tightened his pucker, trying to repel
the invader but it was no use. Etienne would not be denied. With an expert
twist and a shove, the Frenchman got the first couple of inches past the
first anal sphincter.

Terry gasped at the sudden penetration, his slender body writhing in its
bondage, his anal ring overstretched and burning.  The boy breathed hard
and squeezed his ass muscles, trying to expel the invading shaft, but it
was no use. Etienne just fed him another couple of inches. Slumping back
against the rack, the boy whimpered in defeat, his defenses irretrievably
broached.

He couldn't help wondering why these things kept happening to him. The last
few years, so many rough men had simply seized him and used him to gratify
their perverse lusts. Did he have "fuck toy" tattooed on his forehead or
"fuck me" tattooed on his ass, or what? Still, realistically, should he
have expected anything else, human nature being what it is. After all,
didn't Terry make movies in the altogether, all those scenes of gay
romance, if he could call it that, as well as many scenes of capture and
abuse and rape. And how many videos were out there of Terry and Sandy
running trails in the nude or swimming at a nude beach or just being
themselves around their town house. Terry might as well have been trolling
for dominants eager to seize him.

And here he had led poor Sandy into trouble with him. Terry knew this was
all his fault. How thoughtless of him to pursue his own pleasure so
careless of Sandy's needs. Even if they both got out of this OK, Sandy
might suffer from nightmares and terror sweats once again in their
bed. Terry soon convinced himself that he deserved to be punished hard
enough to provoke screams. Let the whips fall on his back and ass. At the
very least that would keep their captor's attentions away from Sandy.

Meanwhile Etienne was working Terry's hole, sliding the dildo in and out,
poking left and right, aiming for the boy's joy button. He kept the
stimulation up even as he bent forward once again. Terry gulped as he felt
his erection swallowed by the warm and wet mouth of his tormentor. Aroused
by all this foreplay, Terry knew himself for a kinky lad whose body could
not help but respond to the Frenchman's ministrations. Terry turned his
head in a silent appeal to his friend, but there was nothing Sandy could do
for either of them.

At least not just then. Maybe later they could use their Houdini training
to escape their bonds and their confinement.

				Chapter 4. Souvenir

Etienne inflicted the sweetest of torments on the oversexed twink. He knew
just how to work on a bottom boy, stimulating his libido almost to the
brink of release when he could almost touch it, but then backing off to let
his frustrated captive cool off. Etienne tweaked and pinched and bit the
boy's nipples. He stroked the soft flesh of the inner thighs or squeezed
the bound up ballsac, not always gently, to show his total control of the
boy and his sexuality. Whenever the man put his hands or mouth to Terry's
cock, the boy would thrust with his hips, trying to get himself off, all to
no avail.

Terry whimpered and pulled uselessly against his bonds, overwhelmed by the
contrary feelings coursing through him. His head was spinning. Here he was
naked and shackled and helpless and afraid. And yet there was a fire in his
belly. Etienne's attentions made him feel incredibly slutty, like some cock
crazy pansy from a porno film. Maybe it was male pheromones, he didn't
know, but his whole body shuddered with lust, his nether hole clutching at
the dildo impaling his ass. Terry had lost control of his body. His
dominator was in charge of it.

The boy begged for release. He promised anything if only he could get
off. Surely someone as good looking as Etienne, so masterful and sexy could
understand a boy's need to come? It was their birthright as males. Sure
Terry had a couple of hungry holes that needed filling, but he had a cock
too, a swollen cock that needed to shoot.

It didn't help matters when the man injected what he called an aphrodisiac
at the root of the boy's cock. Whatever it was, Terry's erection engorged
beyond all previous bounds, looking swollen, em-purpled, and angry. The
turgid member throbbed with the beat of his heart, the tiny lips at the tip
twitching reflexively, trying to spit the white gism trapped in Terry's
bound balls. Etienne stuck a pair acupuncture needles into the root of his
ballsac, twirling and bending them, raising Terry's arousal to new heights.

Suddenly with only a quick intake of breath and a tightening around the
boy's closed eyes to show that his climax was at hand, his proud cock
engorged even beyond its earlier prodigious girth and began spurting and
spitting Terry's white seed onto his face and chest. The first shot was a
continuous rope of gism that reached past his shoulder. Even after six more
spurts, the gism continued to drain from the tumescent shaft though now
like a lazy stream, emptying into and collecting in a pool in the hollow of
his belly.

The ejaculate glistened with golden highlights from the spotlight shining
on the boy. Below the surface microscopic carriers of life in their
millions swam and thrashed and corkscrewed in search of an impossible
consummation. Terry gave a big sigh and fell into an exhausted swoon, his
ejaculate congealing on chin and pectorals. From the limpid pool in the
hollow of the belly a milky rivulet drained down his right hip. He looked
so cute and sexy, a boy who had literally fucked himself senseless.

Even then the man did not remove the dildo. He braced its base against a
locking bar placed on the rack between his victim's outstretched legs. At
least he let the exhausted boy drink some water through a straw.

Then it was Sandy's turn for sexual torment.

"You know, as much as I enjoy working over a boy on the rack, it does have
one disadvantage. You cannot fuck the boy's ass, not with your own cock
anyway. Now here you are hung up in shackles, much like on a vertical
rack. Only this way I can get at your hole."

With that he lifted his captive's legs and slipped between them, the bar
between the bound ankles sliding down Etienne's back to just under his
buttocks. He freed his cock from its leather confines and slathered it with
lube. Bending at the knees he poked forward, finding the tiny muscular
whorl behind Sandy's cleavage and thrust himself inside lifting Sandy up
bodily, taking almost his entire weight on his cock.

Sandy gasped, twisting his head left and right, trying to adjust to the
sudden total impalement. Maybe he had taken bigger cocks, but Sandy
couldn't remember when, not just then, not with this truncheon lodged in
his guts. Inevitably though Sandy adjusted, becoming aroused by the cock up
his ass, the scent of Etienne's sweat and of Terry's cum, and by the sense
of his own helplessness. The thought of how must he look now, trussed up
with a big one up his boy quim, made his head whirl with lust.

As Etienne continued to fuck the boy, his hands were everywhere on the
small bound body of his captive. He loved these small twinks, with their
slender limbs, smooth skins, and narrow hips, not to mention this boy's
preternaturally lovely face, one that just begged to be kissed. This was
what boys like Sandy were born for: to gratify the lusts of dominant males
like himself. The man's powerful thrusts soon brought him to climax. He
spurted his seed deep into the boy's innards, filling him with a warm
wetness.

Etienne slumped against the boy, laying his face against Sandy's chest.

"Please, Etienne, sir. I need to cum." Sandy whimpered.

The man smiled and slid down enough to lick the boy's painfully erect
cock. No sooner had his tongue lapped the sweet spot that the boy came,
shooting his gism onto the man's face. Etienne stood up and had his captive
lick it all off and swallow it. Then he sat down in a chair built like a
throne to admire his captives and to take some refreshment, a glass of
white wine. After a half hour he turned Sandy's face to the wall and fucked
his ass again. This time he did not let the boy come.

Then it was Terry's turn for more teasing and torment. Under Etienne's
ministrations Terry's cock was soon fully erect. It was so red and swollen
that it looked like it might burst open from the pressure of the blood that
engorged it. Terry lifted his head to stare at it. It looked like fleshy
cannon that required only a spark at the touch hole to set it off. That
spark turned out to be an acupuncture needle which Etienne inserted
carefully into the glans of Terry's cock. It stood there upright, just the
tip embedded in Terry's flesh as a drop of blood oozed out of the tiny
puncture to glisten under the spotlight. The sight of it pushed Terry over
the edge and his ejaculate flew out of his member to splash his face and
chest. Etienne was delighted with how loud the boy screamed at his moment
of his climax.

Afterwards, the man took Sandy down from the wall, though careful to
ratchet heavy handcuffs about his wrists before releasing them from the
irons. With those and his leg irons, the boy was unable to offer effective
resistance as he was led to a poorly lit cell where he was soon joined by
Terry. Like Sandy his wrists were cuffed in front though he did not have
leg irons.

Once they were alone, the boys put their heads together.

"What are we gonna do, Sandy? I mean the sex with Etienne was outta sight,
the hottest bondage scene ever. But what happens next? We don't know how
long he plans to keep us. I am not interested in a future as a full-time
sex-slave, if that is what he has in mind. OK, I sometimes play bondage
games with people I know and trust, but this Etienne Tremblay is a
stranger."

"You're right, Terry. He got to me too for a while with all the
atmospherics of the dungeon itself, that aphrodisiac of his, and his
lovemaking technique. No question he is terribly sexy. But we would be
idiots to let him stay in control. Even if he isn't trying to really hurt,
I like some say in who gets to fuck me, thank you very much. And we have
our lives and careers to get back to. So we gotta find a way to escape, to
seize the initiative. Then we shall see how things lie with our host,
Monsieur Etienne Tremblay."

The boys examined their handcuffs. At about an inch thick they were much
heavier than regulation cuffs and took a larger key. If only they could
find something to pick the locks. They spent the night there, sleeping on a
straw mattress set directly on the floor, spooned together, tired, sweaty,
and very hungry towards morning. They did drink from a tap in the corner
which flowed constantly, and the sanitary arrangements, though primitive,
were adequate.

The next morning, Etienne and another young man came for them. Etienne
introduced him as his cousin Paul. There was something of a family
resemblance: the same dark hair and grey eyes though Paul was pretty rather
than handsome and considerably shorter. Terry recognized Paul as the waiter
at the cafe where they had stopped. He was the one who had recommended a
visit to the fortress, even supplying a brochure. Terry was proud of being
able to translate it for Sandy who spoke only tourist French though his
(and Terry's) Spanish was very good indeed.

"Don't you have to open up for vistors today? How will you explain two
naked captives in this cell. Are we supposed to be medieval re-enacters or
what?" Terry asked sarcastically.

"Very good. You show spirit, my young friend. Of course, that doesn't mean
I won't punish you for your effrontery. And for your information, we are
closed for a holiday. It is August 15th, the Feast of the Assumption."

After providing their captives a light breakfast, both young men worked the
boys over that day. Afraid though he was of their ultimate fate, Sandy had
to admit that these young men were not really trying to hurt them. Oh they
talked a good whipping but their cat of nine tails inflicted only reddened
welts on their backs and asses. It did not cut the skin or leave permanent
markings. The acupuncture needles stung a bit, but less than a flu shot
did. Etienne did have a way of snapping a quirt at a bound boy's cock, but
only once or twice at a time. Yes Etienne did get Terry to scream but from
repeatedly frustrated lust, not from pain as the boys had first assumed he
would.

They also laid a lot of trash talk on the American boys, a lot of it with
French words for the naughty parts of the human body mixed in with the
English. Little need for a translator. It was obvious that a 'cul' was an
ass and a 'bite' was a cock, and so forth. Though Terry did have to explain
that when Etienne called Sandy a 'con', he didn't mean he was a convict. He
meant he was an fool for falling for his trick with the wrist irons.

For the most part, this did not affect Sandy as the cousins hoped it
would. He had heard much worse from The Brotherhood and from their captors
several years earlier in the San Jacinto Mountains. With his more
intellectual approach to life, Terry shrugged it off even more easily,
treating the trash talk as an impromptu language lesson, a chance to brush
up on the kind of naughty French they don't teach in school.

Still it was obvious from what the cousins were saying that Paul was
relieved that it wasn't him in chains this time. Evidently he had served
for the last few years as Etienne's default bottom boy. Now it was his turn
to dominate.

By dawn of their third day in captivity, the boys had managed to release
themselves from their nighttime shackles easily enough, picking their
simple locks with a loose nail which Terry had pulled from the frame of the
rack. The lock on the cell door was another proposition. A old fashioned
lock, its heavy mechanism was difficult to manipulate with only a single
implement. You really needed a pair for such work. Sandy was still trying
when the cousins showed up early. The boys moved back to the wall of the
cell, frustrated no end that they had come so close to escape.

"Attempting to escape, are we? Etienne asked with a friendly smile, finally
talking out of character. "Looks like we got here just in time, eh Paul?
Who would have thought these American twinks could be so
resourceful. Congratulations boys on your skills and your ingenuity --
though you need not have gone to all that trouble. We're here early to
release you anyway."

With that he used one of his keys to unlock the door to their cell and
handed the boys their shorts.

"You're letting us go? Just like that?"

"Of course. Did you take us for monsters? We were just messing with you, as
you Americans say. You are free to go, though I hope you will join us for
breakfast."

"Food sounds good, but aren't you worried Etienne? What if we report this
afterwards to the police?"

Etienne gave a very Gallic shrug. "My uncle is the departmental prefect and
my brother-in-law the captain of gendarmes. Besides, our story is that
everything we did was consensual. We have carefully edited video to prove
it too -- all those times you begged to be fucked or allowed to cum."

"With your reputations for kinkiness, whom do you think they will believe:
upright French citizens such as ourselves or brazen American
exhibitionists, notorious for not being able to keep their pants on in
public? One look at the way you habitually dress, if you can call it that,
and they will conclude that you must have been asking for it."

"Besides, you must admit, we had you going there. The way your bodies
responded, you had to have enjoyed this weekend. You may have said NO in
the beginning but your bodies soon were shouting YES to everything we did
with them. Admit it. You had a great time of it too, didn't you? I've never
seen a pair of boys come so much. Who would have thought those diminutive
ballsacs of yours could hold so much juice? I think you had as good a time
as we did, Paul and I."

Sandy and Terry looked at each other and shook their heads. They knew when
they were outplayed. No point going to the authorities even if they were
still mad at the cousins, which they were not. Hadn't the boys practically
volunteered for what happened, descending to a dungeon next thing to naked,
both of them trembling with lust. Terry had asked to be stretched on the
rack, and Sandy had allowed himself to be shackled. It was like they were
in one of their movies playing the role of prisoners. No need to wonder at
Etienne's seizing an opportunity like that.

Etienne himself was just grateful that Mother Nature had created so many
sweet slutty submissive bottoms like Terry and Sandy, boys who just could
not get enough of rugged masculine company. He had long ago realized that
such lads needed a firm hand to keep them in line, not to mention shackles
and chains. Eh bien, that was why the dungeon was the perfect venue for
such goings on.

Etienne and Paul were very good actors themselves, completely convincing,
playing the dominant role in bondage and discipline games. They had been
gotten through to the boys' craving for submission. These few days had been
one of the most vivid experiences of their young lives. Throwing their
heads back, the boys laughed long and hard at themselves till tears came to
their eyes.

Once the former captives recovered their equanimity, Paul served everyone a
tasty continental style breakfast. On the menu were fresh croissants, jam,
and strong coffee, plus scrambled eggs and Potatoes O'Brien to suit the
Americans' preference for more substantial breakfast fare. It tasted
great. Paul sometimes helped in the kitchen at the bistro where he worked.

All the while Etienne explained about the operation of the dungeon. By day
it was a historic site just as it purported to be. By night, Etienne had a
lucrative sideline entertaining boys who surrendered themselves to dominant
men hired to give them the rough treatment they craved. Sometimes it was
the boy himself who paid and sometimes his sugar daddy.

"Just like you with that biker gang in Mexico, Terry." Sandy reminded his
lover.

"Or both of us with the Purgatory's Angels at the Vasquez Rocks in LA,"
Terry added.

"You know, Etienne, you could probably make a fortune with that aphrodisiac
you used on us," Terry observed. "What sort of drug was it anyway?"

Etienned chortled as he explained.

"Saline. Just a saline solution. My aphrodisiac is one part atmospherics,
two parts the power of suggestion, and three parts my own sex appeal, if I
may be so immodest as to say so myself. Perhaps I flatter myself that I
bear a resemblance to Alain Delon, but I am not the only one who thinks
so."

Paul and Etienne mentioned they were big fans of Terry's and Sandy's and
had a complete collection of their movies plus all of the official Making
Of videos and most of the private video of their salacious escapades over
the last four years. Etienne was proud to add his very own production to
the collection. It was only fair to give his young stars a copy
too. Etienne handed the boys a data disk with the video of their ordeal, a
big smile on his face. In his best tour guide intonations he added:

"A souvenir of your visit to the castle. Please come again, by all means."

As the boys rode off on their bicycles, Terry piped up.

"You know Sandy, a return visit might be fun. How about next year?"

"You cannot be serious, Terry!" Sandy exclaimed in mostly feigned outrage.

"Just messing with you Sandy" Terry replied with a wink.

That earned him a swat on his butt from Sandy.

Still the seed had been planted. Who knew if they wouldn't come back
someday for another hot and heavy session with the French cousins.

			Author's Note

This is another tale about the lives of a pair of young gay actors in
Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. It
takes place maybe forty years in the future. This fifteenth installment
continues the story of the pair of protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry
Knowles, introduced in Jungle Boy 6, in place of Jason Eberly, the original
Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has an occasional cameo in these
new tales).

If Alexander, the Daphne Boy in my series of that name, is "the ultimate
twink" then Jason, Sandy, and Terry are "the penultimate twinks". I just
love writing about them. These kids are hot.

This tale is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person
living or dead. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any
connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans. Occasional references
by characters to real motion pictures and actors and others in the movie
business are simply to lend verisimilitude to a tale about persons in show
business. None of the real people mentioned in passing is in any way part
of the tale.

The pseudo-historical incident on which the whaling movie was based is
described in my story 'Castaway' in the 'Naked Prey' series in the Nifty
Archive.

Readers who like the Jungle Boy series should try either of my series of
historical novelettes. The 'Daphne Boy' tales depict an eternally youthful
protagonist and his adventures in exotic climes and times. The settings for
the 'Naked Prey' series are equally exotic, but each story has its own cute
twink protagonist. My other series are the 'Track and Field' stories in
Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my
stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George
Gauthier.

Comments and feedback welcome at georgegauthierdc@gmail.com

All rights reserved.