Date: Tue, 7 Sep 2010 21:55:25 +0100 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-2 Cut to: Int. A spacious lounge area in chrome and glass, clean and modern. Sofas and minibar in background - Night. For all the difference it makes to Roman, this attractive living space may as well be a dungeon. Note that the character of Mr Suave has now been recast and reimagined as someone not dissimiliar to myself. Suave was a useful action movie shorthand for the bad guy - and, boy, are we here to be bad - just as the massacre of Roman's legion served as a handy shortcut to Roman's breakdown and capture/surrender. Depending on which scene you chose. This kind of movie isn't big on in-depth psychological study, so corners have been cut. The question is... But now the movie's underway, the lead aggressor is revealed as a version of me, Zac Sharkey. A man without the time or patience to be suave, and from nowhere near the American Deep South. I've skipped from being a 1980s movie bad guy to a 1990s one, a brutal Londoner. I'm now far more thuggish-looking than either of my henchmen, who remain smartly suited while I stand tall and leanly muscular in my black vest and jeans. Hair shaven, enigmatic tattoos on arms. Action! Roman is brought into the long-shadowed mood lighting of the lounge. His mind still whirling with grief, guilt, and more, it's with remarkable ease that he is persuaded to slip his hands behind his back for the handcuffs. It takes only a gesture from me, in fact, and he does it quite willingly. Their use is more symbolic than practical, but having given up the struggle, Roman perhaps realises there is no point in resisting every fresh quirk of the script. My second henchman, Rob, keeps hold of his arms behind his back regardless. He enjoys holding the hunk in place. My other heavy, the cruel-eyed Gregory, slips his jacket off and limbers up. As Rob holds on to the unresisting Roman, we head over to the fridge and pop open some beers. I check my voicemail. Alexander tells me Ramon has arrived back safely, jokingly refers to him as damaged goods. I think about that, decide to leave it for later. Worlessly, a small ritual then begins. Maitland and Gregory switch on the huge screen home cinema, I head down to the library, blue key in hand. I return a few minutes later with the double pack video set, holding up the Revenge on Roman video in our new slave's eyeline before slipping it into the custom-made entertainment centre. I take a seat with my drink as the movie plays. The titles begin as Gregory slowly paces the floor, loosening his shirt buttons almost to the waist, and rolling up his sleeves with slow deliberation. Glimpses of his olive-skinned muscular physique show through. His body is on a par with Roman's, if a few inches shorter. The movie begins over a montage of scenes accompanied by the power chords of some soft rock ballad. It's projected at such a size that the image blurs. Roman, our Roman standing submissive in Rob's arms, looks on in confusion, a confusion not helped by his near-breakdown and our drugs. Aspirational scenes play of Roman Decker's once-charmed life. We see him eat, and flirt with the waitress in a seafood cafe... And Gregory unleashes a solid punch to Roman's washboard stomach. The surround sound of the movie soundtrack is lost beneath the deep, guttural "Guuunghffff!" as Roman tries to double up but is held neatly in place by Rob. He splutters, Gregory grabs his hair to lift his head back to face the screen. There we see Roman as he was, jogging over the hot sands of an endless beach, torn denim shorts and nothing else. His hulking body is a wall of rippling muscles. His sweaty pectorals are mighty, his abs angular, his striding legs powerful and defined. I groan in pleasure as the image of this cocksure, free Roman Decker contrasts with a second exclamation of pain from ours as another, harder punch flies into his hot abs. A grinning Gregory lets go of Roman's hair as he coughs harder and saliva drools from his mouth and onto his bare toes. The ritual continues until the credits end. I'm kicking off my shoes as the combined thudddd of each punch and its deep grunting "Uuuuunnnggggh" from Roman fill the air. I mute the movie's soundtrack, and then switch it off. Roman groans longer in deep-voiced agony each time. Then I nod to Rob and he releases our slave, who drops to the floor, awkwardly cushioning the fall with his shoulder as his hands stay trapped behind his back. He coughs convulsively, more spit dribbling from his mouth. An instinct makes him press his battered stomach to the coolness of the floor for what relief it provides. Gregory's pacing about, adrenalised and eager for more. "Over here, boy" I beckon to the suffering man, as I peel off my socks. "Let's get you accustomed to your new life." With arms cuffed at the wrist behind his huge back, the cunt cannot crawl, and he wriggles over as best he can, on his front like a reptile. His strong legs propel him a good part of the way. We watch the stunted manoeuvres in delight. Halfway across the room, he makes a struggling attempt to rise to his feet, but Maitland quickly puts him back to the floor where he he belongs with a nudge of the foot on his meaty shoulder. "Let's make that lesson one, sweetheart" Maitland hisses with venom. "You never stand in our presence without permission." Roman is unable to resist a horrified glance at Maitland, shocked anew by the hatred he sees in the face of the man he thought of as his best friend, at the contemptuous, degrading endearment. Maitland returns the glance with steely, contempt and a glint of the purest malice in his eyes. I can see why Maitland came to me to make a deal. He has burned with secret lust for this man all of his life. Roman continues his wriggling journey, goaded on by the hired help: "Just a little further, son, you can make it." The demeaned stud arrives at my naked feet. "Okay, boy," I tell him, "Now, you know that we're gonna be spending the whole rest of this night fucking the hell outta you, don't you. I know jock prettyboys like you can be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but you've got to have worked that out by now. Yeah?" To my surprise, he simply nods. It arouses me when I see the strain in his neck because he has to lift his head off the floor before he can nod it. "Great. Not as fucking dumb as you look." I think. Then add: "Hmm. We might have to put a bit of extra effort into keeping you in line. Don't want you thinking up any ideas above your station. Anyway, son, us guys, we're kind of romantics, really. Sure, we could slam you up against that wall there and start ramming home our cocks up that tasty tanned arse of yours, but - well, we think it's important to get you into the mood a little first." "You should thank us, really," volunteers Maitland. I chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, you should." There is silence for a moment. Darkly, I growl "Go on, then. Say thank you." Still wheezing a little, Roman mutters a breathy "Thank you" into the floor. "Lesson two!" Maitland snaps impatiently. He grabs Roman's hair at the back and gets right into his face. "Thank you, what?" "Th ... thank you, sir," Roman offers. Maitland releases his hair, satisfied. But I'm not. "Son, I never liked that 'sir' thing. Not nearly humble enough, if you ask me. We're not your army commanding officers or something, and you're not our soldier. What you are is a slave, and us - we're your fucking lords and masters. So you'll call us that, every one of us. Call us 'master'" My cock swells that bit more as the cowed beefcake says "Thank you, master." "Good," I nod. "And as I was saying, we're letting you learn your place nice and easy here. You've had your little beating from Gregory there to soften you up, show you the kind of treatment you can expect in future ..." "Anytime", Gregory puts in meaningfully. " ... and now you can get to work doing what you were born to do. Grovelling at your master's feet" Man, my boner is ready to bust through the zip of my pants as I give these instructions to the sexy he-man. "I want you to worship my feet with your mouth. I want you to kiss and lick and suck and smell them like you can't believe your fucking luck. Hey, who knows, maybe you can't. I've seen your type get right into this kind of lifestyle before, shitloads of times. A relief from playing the fucking tough guy, huh?" Maitland is nodding slowly but keenly. Gregory says "I figured him for a fucking pussy right away. Soon as I saw him mincing around that fucking gym of his in his little shorts." 'Mincing' does not in fact describe Roman's purposeful stride, but, hey, we're breaking him in here. "And keep going 'til I tell you to stop. Keep going like you can't get enough," I instruct. "I don't care if your lips crack and your tongue gets dry as goddamn sandpaper. Now, begin." I raise my outstretched feet onto the heels and our handsome hero gets to work. He hesitates only for a moment or two, confused as to where to begin. Then I shiver in pleasure as I feel the warm, wet tip of his tongues land in the centre of the bare sole of one foot. A quick lick, and then a gentle kiss. Another kiss against the heel, and his tongue licks its way up the underside of my foot, and suddenly my big toe is enveloped in the beautiful stud's mouth. I can only imagine the tension in his sexy square jaw as he sucks - oh well, I can watch the movie ... ... I am watching the movie, with you ... ... but the guys are enjoying the show already, and taking a seat to get a good view. Me, I cup my hands around the back of my head and close my eyes restfully. It is sheer bliss having Roman Decker, this man with the body of a Greek god, worship at my feet, as I feel his hot breath and slapping lips and the rolling of his tongue. His mouth is still slick with the saliva he coughed up during Gregory's punches, making for a handy lubricant. I'm stroking my hand over my cock in time with the attentions of his mouth, which licks now at my smallest toe, and as the session goes on he begins on the other foot and becomes more and more adept, soon taking all the toes into his mouth and sucking lovingly. "That's it, faggot, that's it," I whisper encouragingly. "This is fucking hot," says Maitland. "Man, I've waited so long to see this dickhead on his knees." "Always worth the wait, ain't it," I say. "Nothing beats taking a hot fucking guy like this and grinding him down. He's a quick learner too - trust me, by the time he gets to you, it'll feel like he's been grovelling at his masters' feet all his life." "Like he should have been all along," adds Maitland, bitterness and hunger in his voice. Oh man, his mouth feels so good at my feet. His neck must be hurting from the strain - he is truly abased as he lies flat on his front. He divides his attentions equally, almost conscientiously, from one foot to the next. He goes at it so fluidly I wonder if he half-believes this is all some nightmare, that he needs to get through it so he can wake up. But it's no nighmare for our handsome leading man, what it is is a fucking dream come true for us. The soft slurping and smacking of his mouth goes on and the other guys, too, start fondling at their crotches. Maitland begins undressing, and soon, like Roman, he is down to his underwear - black trunks as opposed to Roman's skimpy white briefs. He sits back down and starts stroking again at the as-yet unreleased bulge of his hugely erect cock. My two heavies are not so forward - they are, after, all still in my employ. "Make yourself comfortable, guys," I tell them. "It's a Roman orgy!" They laugh on cue, and Gregory starts to strip down too. Tight dark blue briefs. He's got big nipples and a thickly hairy chest. It's a big contrast with Roman's bare - probably waxed, the vain fuck - chest and tiny brown jutting nipples. Though muscular, he's bulkier with fat compared to our slave. His chest isn't so sculpted, his waist not so slim, and he doesn't have anything like the stark visible abs he's just enjoyed pounding on Roman. He's a menacing looking guy, though. I look forward to seeing him on top of the faggot, pounding his ass instead of his stomach. It's a good half an hour before I'm ready to let our little bitch stop. It's edited down here, but you can see it in the deleted and extended scenes. Other pleasures await over the course of the night, but there's no need to hurry them along. All the time in the world. As the minutes wear on, the strain on Roman's neck does start to become more obvious, and I hear him sighing gently with the struggle to keep his head raised from the floor. I sense just from the movement of his head that his neck may be trembling a little with the effort. A thick neck like that, too. You'd think the bastard would have included stringent neck exercises in his obviously vigorous workouts. Stupid dickhead obviously hasn't trained hard enough to prepare for the life of a slave. "Straining there, huh, faggot?" I ask. "You're gonna have to fuckin' man up and deal with it, 'cos there's still another three of us waiting for just the same treatment. In fact, your pal Maitland wants to go last of all, and I shouldn't wonder if he wants some extra effort putting in. He's waited long enough for you to get down on your fucking knees before him." "Hey, don't worry," Maitland says. "I don't plan on being short-changed. Practice makes perfect, right?" It amuses me to think of all the years of feigned friendship between this pair, who are similar in many ways, almost like brothers, except that Roman is broader and bulkier. I have a vision - we see a flashback - of Maitland's glances at Roman in the high school locker rooms. Slapping him on the back when what he wanted to do was slap him down. Dreaming of having total power over him. The hunk struggles on obediently, the timbre of his voice coming through more and more in the laborious breaths between the sucking and kissing and lapping of his mouth. Damn, we've done a number on him. Maitland is right - practice makes perfect. "Okay, boy," I finally sigh unwillingly. "That's enough for now. Not bad. Now wriggle the fuck over there and do the same for your master Gregory." "Yeah, get over here, faggot," Gregory shouts, loving this perk of the job. "Don't know how your friend there managed to wait so long to put you in your place. I've known you for about a fucking week and I've been fucking dying to dish out what you got coming to you. Hurry the fuck up, faggot, what you doing, stopping to powder your fucking nose? Put your lipstick on?" When Roman drags himself over, Gregory shoves the sole of his foot roughly into the handsome face of our beefy catamite. This is fun, I enjoy being able to sit back and watch the slave in action. Gregory enjoys the foot-worship more aggressively than I did, feeling and fondling at Roman's rapidly reddening face, occasionally pushing it aside with his toes to - pardon the pun - wrongfoot the faggot. "Hey, no breaks!" Gregory warns as he does this. Then: "Here, ya fucker, wet your mouth on this," tipping some of his beer on Roman's head and over the tips of his own feet. Roman, thirsty now, struggles to slurp this down. "Whaddya say?" "Thank you... master..." Roman gasps, his breath ragged. "Should think so too, bitch." The worship goes on, harder and harder for Roman to keep up. Nevertheless, Gregory taunts him: "Damn, boy, bet this must be as much a dream come true for you as it is for us, huh? Yeah, I bet that day you first saw us come in to your little sissy gym you got all moist in your little pink panties, just thinkin' how much you'd love a bunch of guys like us giving you the treatment a pussy like you needs. Fuck, you should have taken us out back and blown us there and then. I bet you were fucking dyin' to. Probably you fuckin' went home and sucked on the dildo you keep under your pillow, huh? Deep-throating that dildo of yours and fucking imagining it was my cock. Stupid fuck, you could have gone down on us one by one right there in your gym, shown all your lady customers how to suck cock like an expert..." It's hard to tell if the tears twinkling in the corners of Roman's eyes are simply from the strain to keep his head raised, or the effect of Gregory's words. Then again ... it's hard to fucking care! Gregory's abuse goes on as he wriggles his toes and shakes his feet aggressively, forcing the grovelling Roman to keep up with them. Finally, Gregory reaches down and smacks the side of Roman's flushed face hard to push it firmly aside. "Enough for now, slut," he snaps, the sole of his foot resting on the back of Roman's head and pushing it against the floor. He gets up to go for a piss. Which gives me an idea. I ask Rob to pick Roman up and walk him over to the bathroom, one of the other ones on this floor. Rob reaches around Roman, clutching at his bowling ball biceps from behind and hauling him up. "Come on, fairy," he says, "Just coz you belong on your knees now don't mean you've forgotten how to walk. Get up." Roman does so. For a moment his eyes dart and his body flexes like he's planning on making some kind of effort to resist. With his vision no longer full of our feet, it's like he's realised anew the situation he is in. "Yeah. You just dare," Rob warns, squeezing tighter on his arms. Roman seems finally to slump in defeat, his spirit broken, and is walked obediently to the bathroom. "Sweetheart," I say into his dazed face as he steps into the brightly-lit room, "Seems to me you're getting a bit parched. Time for a drink." Rob's hands land on Roman's meaty shoulders and force them down. Shoved roughly to his knees again, Rob duly clutches the hair at the back of his head and shoves his head into the toilet bowl. I flush. Roman writhes as he gets his refreshment. Ungrateful little cocksucker's lucky I didn't piss in it first. His luck's not likely to hold out either. Rob pulls his head out, he gasps for breath for a few moments, then down he goes again. A further flush. He gurgles pathetically then is pulled out, coughing and spluttering. "Some tickle in your throat you've got there, boy," I say. "I think we'll have a special medicine for your throat soon enough though. Nice creamy remedy, know what I mean?" "So, my turn?" Rob asks, and we herd him back to the lounge, where the soaked man bitch begins his worship of Rob's feet. We can fast forward this, I think ... oh no, stop here. I like this scene. As I watch the fucker's wonderful humiliation, and see his beautiful butt dancing around accidentally as he worships another master's feet, I realise that I'm itching to get those tight white underpants off him. They're like a concession to his dignity, and why the fuck should he have that? I get on the floor behind him and gently take hold of the waistband. He flinches, tries to look round. "Hey! Eyes on your fucking work, you stupid shit" orders Rob, grabbing Roman's head and forcing it back to where it should be. "That's it boy, suck that toe like a lollipop" My fingers hesitate over the waistband and I decide first to have a feel of these gorgeous buttocks through the cotton of his pants. The palms of my hands press slowly against the curve of each one, and I begin to massage slowly. "Mmmmm, this is one fucking horny arse you've got, son. If you seriously haven't been offering this up for geezers to have a bit of fun with, it's a crime against nature." "Course he fucking has," says Gregory, now back in the room. "Cock-lovin' faggot like him, I bet he begs real men to give him a good fucking. Probably has a back room in that gym of his specially for him to get a good seeing-to. Probably gives out a special brochure showing all the fucking positions he can get into. Ain't that right, slut?" Showing another glimmering of resistance, Roman shakes his head. However, the side-to-side movement appears to hurt, and as he loses track of the foot he's kissing, I suspect he's having a headrush. "Hey! No napping!" Rob yells. Soon enough our slurping fuckface is back in action. I fondle at his arse through the underwear some more, thumbs sliding nearer and nearer the centre and having a little exploratory push towards the hole, whose warmth I can feel through the fabric. I'm kneading appreciatively at his wonderful muscular arse, admiring the care he's taken of his body just so we can have this exquisite pleasure of owning and abusing it. All that hard work, just to make himself irresistible for us. I lick at the groove in the centre, still through the cotton, a tease. Then, I pull the underpants down, revealing the skin of the arse beneath. "Goddamn it, you are a slut, aren't you boy? What kind of guy keeps his arse this hairless? Jesus, what a pussy. Gregory, my man, you were on the money." I wonder, does Roman have some deleted scenes of his own? "Course I was," Gregory nods, taking an appreciative look at the tremendous butt of our toppled titan. "Fucking Brazilian wax, yeah? Probably gets it done down at the beauty parlour, if he can tear himself away from that fucking dildo of his long enough. I only hope you've not stretched your little faggotboy cunt out so much we can't enjoy it like all those thousands of other guys must have." "Looks pretty tight to me," I comment. "Only one way to find out for sure though". I'm pushing my thumbs close to the tender skin around his hole, still gently. "Hey, Gregory, pass me a pair of scissors. Let's get these off. Just your pants, bitch, don't panic." No, it's not a horror movie. The underwear is removed, thrown in the trash. Now entirely naked, Roman continues his degrading work at Rob's feet. I stand back and admire this colossus in his nakedness. I revel in owning his every flexing muscle in that huge rippling, constrained back. I own every one of those vertebrae, I think to myself. And that arse, all mine to enjoy, and to offer up to others. I rewind to his earlier tough guy stand against us. And now we've brought him to this. The question is ... Without waiting for Rob to tire of Roman's grovelling attentions - Rob is after all working for us - Maitland announces: "Okay, my turn. And better make it good, you cockteasing dickhead, or you'll find out what you get when you make your master angry. Get over here." "Yes master," Roman says unbidden to his former friend, and longtime secret enemy. And as he crawls, I see his cock is chubby. And as he begins to suck, and kiss, and worship like the pitiful slave he is, he begins to moan and sigh in what sounds like pleasure. He says "Mmmmm" as he licks at his friend's sweaty feet like he's enjoying the most delicious fucking ice cream you've ever tasted. "Fuck yeah, that's good," Maitland says in surprise. "Hey, hold on a moment there, boy" And Roman seems barely able to tear himself away from the feet of his master - Maitland stands to take off his underwear quickly, unleashing his massively erect boner that is almost touching his navel, and sits back down again. "More, you fucking prick", and Roman is back to work at once, gorging himself on the feet of his superior while Maitland strokes and strokes at his mighty cock. Roman's moans increase as I knead and fondle his arse yet more, and as I push my thumb a little way into the tight arsehole, and then a little way further than that. Roman's amazingly renewed efforts spur Maitland into a pitch of ecstasy. He couldn't be enjoying this more if he was fucking the bastard already. "That's it, worship me, boy" Maitland grunts orgasmically at the humiliated beefcake, "Worship at the feet of your lord and master. You fucking gorgeous hunk, I always knew you'd be my toy one day. Fucking kiss my feet more - uhhhhh yeah, feel it, muscleman, feel your abasement before your superior. You were made to be my faggot ... every moment of your life bringing you here, here to your master's feet ..." "Mnnghhrrfff ... mnnghhhh .... mnghhh ... master... mmmf..." Roman breathes as he slobbers over the feet of his owner like an animal, as my thumb probes at his tight pink hole. I'm pulling off the last of my clothes. This is it, this is it, it can't wait now. Reaching about for whatever's close, I splash the last of a beer can onto his hole and spit in it several times. "Yeah, boy, this is your place. Daring to think we were friends and equals - probably thought you were fucking better than me, didn't you, you cocky piece of shit..." Roman sucks and gasps: "Mnnngg... ohmm... ohmaster... mmm ... mmm" "Well now you're down where you belong, way down on the floor, and you will stay down there at my feet forever. I have fucking defeated you, Roman Decker. Unnnghh, yeah... oh yeah ..." He grabs beneath Roman's armpits, wrenches up his pink-faced prey, whose eyes continue to stream tears. And I move around, I place my hands with satisfaction on those powerful shoulders, straddle my legs about his hot muscled back, admire the big steely arms restrained at the wrists by cuffs. "Grrrrrrr ... FUCK! OH FUCK!" Maitland growls. "Now, my boy, now you may suck deep on your master's cock!" Roman opens his mouth wide. His dark blue-green eyes look up into his master's as he takes the fat cock head into his mouth, and takes more and more into his throat in a matter of seconds. At the same time, one of my hands clutching his shoulder, the other taking hold of his handcuffs. Oh yeah, fuck yeah, so motherfucking hot, oh man, just feel that fucking electrifying power rush of owning this mighty alpha male stud. I plunge my throbbing member into the pulsing heat of the monster hunk's arsehole. There's a gagging choke as he cries out against the huge dick filling his faggot throat. The question is ... which is hotter? The capture? The surrender?