Date: Sun, 20 Feb 2011 11:45:46 +0000 From: Davey R Subject: BlueShark-Video-6 Authors's note: This is sheer fantasy, with sex and violence and some dark elements. Not cool in real life, and not to be taken seriously. Just to be clear, any movies, actors and television shows named are totally fictional. ------------------------------------------- BlueShark Video 6 Every man Sharkey claims for himself, no matter how beautiful or favoured they may be, no matter how adoring or submissive they are or how benevolent he feels towards them - every one of them must wear the collar. The morning after the party at Mr Alexander's mansion, swift private negotiations take place at breakfast between Sharkey and the austere Bertoldt. They're witnessed only by Bertoldt's sullen emo boy, in the manner of a sleepy dog sitting at his master's feet. The Asian kid has heavily-painted eyes and threadbare black panties held together by safety pins. Note that he also wears a variation on the collar. Even distracted by having to make these negotiations on the spot, and by his urgent infatuation with the absent Ramon, Sharkey can't help the occasional glance at this pretty boy, wondering what his stern master's whims hold in store for him. Wondering what it would feel like to have the sweet young body pressed beneath him. Probably not the time to find out, he decides. Ramon's freedom from the headmasterly fiend is far from assured. Bertoldt can more often than not prove as grim and unyielding as his appearance suggests. Sharkey's luck is in, and the grisly bastard cuts him a deal. Unable to resist a sly wink at the Japanese boy as he and Bertoldt shake on it, Sharkey goes back to the suite where he'd told Ramon to wait. Ramon had looked nervous about it, as he'd yesterday been given instructions by Mr Alexander to start the morning clear-up first thing. But he obeyed, sensing without daring to ask about it that the kinder Mr Sharkey might prove to be his route out of his tormented life here. And if that didn't happen - well, Mr Alexander might simply punish him for being disobedient. The truth was, Mr Alexander needed little reason to punish him, and it would probably happen anyway. "Good news, sunshine," Sharkey tells the beautiful boy when he arrives back. "You're coming home with me." Ramon is delighted, hugs and kisses his master adoringly. Soon they are heading home on Sharkey's plane. He settles his business with Bertoldt and Alexander on his laptop during the journey, while a relieved Ramon sleeps like a baby in the brightly coloured beachwear he dressed in quickly before leaving. Ramon has not only had a long night, but a long two or three years. He rests, complacently reassured that his new master will be kinder. At his own huge modernist home, Sharkey feels it only right to carry the still-sleeping Ramon over the threshold. It gives him an elusive feeling of satisfaction to do so, and he leaves the gorgeous boy sleeping on a sofa a while longer. In the meantime, he goes down to the complex downstairs to check on those he keeps down there - his current batch of human sex toys. You've seen what happened to Roman Decker; well, it's happened to a lot of others too. There are two on the premises at the moment - three, if you count Ramon. The tenderness with which Sharkey kisses the sleeping Ramon on the forehead contrasts sharply with his treatment of the hunky surfer guy Jordon, who he wakes with a hard slap to the face. While Sharkey has been away since early yesterday, Jordon has been left trapped face down on a bench - the same position we last saw Roman Decker in, in fact, being drilled and penetrated by a whopper dildo on a sleek fucking machine. This morning, despite the vigour of the device in its current phase, the buff blonde has fallen asleep - or more likely passed out. Sharkey picks up the remote and switches the machine off as his prey comes round. Sharkey takes some bottled water and has the groggy surfer drink it. He does so keenly, parched, and is sure to croak "Thank you." Feeling kindly as he thinks of the lovely Ramon, Sharkey decides Jordon has had enough for now, and released him from his restraints, letting him sleep further, soundly and softly, in his slender, minimal bed. He consults with his henchman Rob. The other slave on site has been fed and watered - and, he adds, has given him some fucking awesome blowjobs. Sharkey doesn't want to hear about that little shit down below right now. He lets Rob know about the new guest, Ramon, whose treatment he is to take much more care over. While we're on the subject of these unfortunates, though, notice the lo-fi flashy red block in the corner of the screen. If I pause here and click on it, we can see a series of illustrative clips: -------- Sharkey has given Ramon his liberty - that is to say, as much liberty as a slave such as him can expect. He's freed him from the cruel caprices of Mr Alexander, and from the terrible consequences of that man's boredom and indifference, And he intends to give the boy luxury and happiness, and all the sex with big horny men he craves, because it pleases him to do so. But still, he's determined that Ramon know he is his property, and that the boy's liberty only exists to the extent that Sharkey allows it. Sharkey demands and imposes absolute submission to his will from boys like this one. Ramon, that luscious little creature, must know his place. 'Freedom' for Sharkey's slaves means the relaxation of his aggression towards them. It is rare that he can feel desire without some measure of lust for control. And so we see here Ramon, like others before and after him, is sealed into the collar. It's streamlined down to an incredibly slender size now, resembling a tightly-fitted blue necklace. I do hate the clumsy slave collars and restraints associated wiith S&M. And the comical leather and caps, just ridiculous - an exercise in garishly camp dressing-up. The collar Sharkey uses now is sleek and efficient, and not too noticeable. It's easy to mistake it for some fashion accessory - even bearing the tiny, raised logo of BlueShark Video. But this tiny unassuming decoration is in fact an excellent device for instilling submission. It can crush any flare of disobedience or resistance in the less willing ones by incapacitating them instantly, and is particularly convenient when Sharkey wants to quickly punish someone with a very minimal effort. For that matter, it's a great toy when he's bored. That fallen he-man Roman Decker, for example. Flashing forward here, we see the footage as he is put into his collar, the very first morning of his life as Sharkey's slave. His old friend Maitland Storr holds him by the arms, unabashedly fondling them like he's always wanted as a truculently grinning Sharkey slips the collar around his thick neck, and it clicks damningly into place. The thing may look slender, but it's as tough as iron, and attempting to tamper with it just activates it. Having fastened it, it of course always has to be tested. And that's always a particular treat. Sharkey has a few means of activation at his disposal, but he tends most often to use the dedicated key on his phone. Maitland Storr releases Roman, somewhat unwillingly, from his grip, and stands back to watch as Sharkey lightly presses the button on his keypad, and the two men watch in gleeful satisfaction as Roman screeches out like a fucking pussy and crumples, convulsing, to his knees and then the floor. Sharkey waits longer then strictly necessary for the purposes of a test to press the button again for 'stop'. And then he does it another ... oh, say about eight times as he and Maitland laugh and high-five. What can I tell you, seeing the mighty Roman in pain is totally addictive. Look, they can't even wait 'til he recovers to start in on fucking the prick ... Oh, the clip's over, and there's another, to further illustrate the point. Whoah, it's even harsher than the last. A scene from the climax of Ambush at Blood Bay, the cheap late-night TV action movie starring the surfer guy Jordon Lunar. Seen out of context, not everything here is immediately explicable. For example, why the leanly muscular Jordon stands in a crisp, neat living room looking like he has only just emerged from the water. His sexy body glistens, his long hair plastered to his head and considerable shoulders. He's in just his speedos - man, you've gotta love these movies - but has sand caked around his bare feet and up his legs. In the background, one of his airhead friends is being held tight and gagged by a heavy, a different one from those we've seen in the Revenge on Roman movie. There's a briefcase with cash spilled all over the shimmering floor, and a smashed mirror in the back of shot. Stirring dramatic music comes in midway toward a crescendo. And we see the bad guy's hands - the villain another version of Sharkey, a different actor again, more stout and pugnacious - reaching out to clip the familiar little collar around Jordon's glistening, freshly shaven neck. Clicking into place, the brute stands back and activates an unlikely-looking gadgety block of a control pad. The hunky surfer squeals as the unanticipated shock surges through his body, then his cry sinks deeper as he clutches at his neck and the agony continues to pound through him. As he sinks to the floor, his bare, muscular back hunched over, the stand-in Sharkey growls at him in unrestrained fury: "You piece of cheap faggot meat!", and kicks the helpless surfer in the ribs, "You were MADE to be my toy!" Ooooofff! Fuck!! He gives him another kicking. The surfer's prettyboy face crumples in pain and --- Oh man, the clip's over. The fury remains unexplained. By contrast, the next scene we see, even though it basically illustrates the same scenario, is almost romantic. Ramon, of course, needs no coercion to give himself up to the collar. He knows perfectly well what it is for and volunteers to his master readily. He even says "Thank you" as Sharkey puts it on him. His obedience is such a turn-on. Made to be my toy. Are those words dubbed softly back into the soundtrack? That music seems to echo. It has to be tested, but Sharkey doesn't draw the process out on this occasion. As he presses the button, Ramon lets out a high, gurgling wail and sinks to his knees clutching his neck. As Sharkey switches off the incapacitating shock, Ramon pants and moans on his hands and knees, drooling a little and then raising a trembling arm to wipe it away. It does always - always - feel good to have them powerless before you. Even wallowing in his ripe infatuation with this beautiful boy, Sharkey is tempted to give him a second blast - - and so am I, my thumb hovering over this remote control and ready to choose the option that will see Sharkey take it a step further and change the course of the narrative - - but the youth almost immediately shows his worth to his master by crawling forward and kissing his shoes. "I love you, Mr Sharkey, master" he slobbers as he does so. Thus, Sharkey's seething, heedless urge to punish is held in check. Most likely, he'll never activate Ramon's collar again... The video goes on to greedily document Sharkey's obsession with his boy. Ramon's body is pored over by the camera in the kind of solo scenes that almost always seem a waste of time in pornography, unless you know they're going to lead to something more involved. Here, we know there is more on the way. Here, I just want to stop for this - for Ramon fondling his perfect buoyant arse for the camera. Here, the sound is crisp and definite, and we car hear the smoothness and firmness of his buttocks as he pulls at them with his fine dark fingers. Look at the way they spring back from his grip. Look at the mosaic of rutting formed by this scene selection screen. Sharkey pursues a consuming, obsessive need to be fucking Ramon at every moment. Were it humanly possible, his cock would never leave the place where it most belongs, Ramon's hot, tight clenching insides, and his arms would never stop gripping the lithe young beauty's body that is both soft and feminine yet muscular and taut. He wants that body underneath him, pressed tight against his, constantly, always. Perhaps he wants to keep his boy trapped, frozen, paused like a videotape - like this very videotape we're watching - at this precise moment of his young manhood. Keeping his unfolding beauty held right here at its ripest, like if he holds on tight enough, fucks and penetrates, and buries himself deep enough, he'll keep the gorgeously submissive slut right where he wants him forever. Or perhaps he wants the triumph of being the one to savour this creature, this fucking piece of meat that drives him wild with feverish lust. Yes, he must have this eye-fluttering pouting little bitch boy, and he must keep the beloved pussy to himself, must make sure no-one else can have it. Just the thought, the notion of anyone else being able to claim this fuckhole the way he does scorches him with imagined jealousy. Ramon's hole - and his mouth, yeah that mouth - must be his alone. More his than they are Ramon's, that's for sure. Ramon will never resist him - Sharkey can't even imagine what he would do if he did. The slut knows his fucking boy pussyhole belongs to his master. More than that, he offers it up insatiably. And no amount of porking him is enough. Sharkey cocks his doe-eyed little cunt in every position, in every way he can. Ramon's legs are flexible enough to push way the fuck behind his head, and the relative size of the lush babe and his master mean Sharkey can lift him up off the ground easily enough, those legs wrapped tight around Sharkey's back, his arms with their lean iron-bar muscles around Sharkey's neck. But it's clear from what we see that Sharkey is greediest of all to have the gorgeous motherfucker squeezed in his grip, Ramon all folded up beneath him, feet jutting helplessly in the air. Or spreadeagled, Sharkey smothering every prone part of him. And the more the fucking goes on, the more amazing and arousing the variety of moans and squeals and whimpers and shrieks this submissive spunkdump can produce. His delighted gasps give way to agonised grunts, and periods of long, animal moans, and girlish giggles, and hoarse, gurgling rasps of what could be taken for gut-thump anguish, if he didn't then beg cravenly for more. Listen to his enormous belching wheeze the first time Sharkey viciously fists him, sinking his forearm in an inch at a time and not taking it slowly, his other hand clutched around Ramon's neck. Oh fuck yeah, this is what Sharkey wants, to reduce his prize to the most bestial feeling, an elemental grinding of pain and pleasure, erasing everything but the knowledge and experience of being fucked. It is good to hear Ramon tell him how much he loves to be fucked, but it's even better to strip the words away from him, make him unable to form anything but these straining fucknoises. But he needs more. And so, for all that he revels in keeping his prize to himself, he is, finally, glad for other men to fuck his beautiful Ramon, as long as it is at his instigation. It turns him on to picture his boy on the receiving end of other mens' desire, it proves he is a prize worth having. Every fresh pairing he can conceive makes him see Ramon anew, and reignites his lust for him. He doesn't let his rough and sadistic henchmen have a go at him - or at least, not right away. He has a sweeter idea. The first time he shares Ramon with another is here, this scene: -------- Sharkey drives downhill and into town one sunny afternoon. He uses his carphone to call a number that we see come up on screen as JUSTIN. The number rings for a long time, but Sharkey patiently lets it continue. He knows Justin Benchley has seen who is calling, and is hurrying to find some place private to answer his phone. Checking out the time, Sharkey knows that Justin will be at work right now, a bit less than an hour from finishing, and that this means Sharkey should be right on time to pick him up from the diner where he works - or somewher close by. "Hello?" crackles the voice at the other end of the line. Give the guy an Oscar, he's got everything into that one word - secrecy, anxiety, excitement, guilt. Greed. "Justin." Sharkey states rather than greets. There's only one reason why he ever calls the guy, so he doesn't waste any time. "So how about it - wanna earn a couple a hundred bucks?" There's a brief pause. "W... Yeah. Well, how much exactly? Um ... yeah." "Let's say five hundred. Couple of hours work, maybe a little longer." Another pause. "Yeah. Sure yeah, okay. Um, hold on a moment." There's a sound of clatter, of Justin saying something inaudible to someone else, then the slam of a door. "Hi. Um, yeah, sure, okay - when do you want to-" "Where are you now?" "Dumpster out back. I'm still at work, so -" "Yes, I know. I'll pick you up right after you finish. Let's say at that car lot, four blocks away." "Yeah, sure ... er. I'm, kind of hungry, so I was gonna -" "Right after you finish, Justin. You should know by now, never get fucked on a full stomach." Sharkey smiles. He can picture what Justin's doing now, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone's listening in. "Sides, you know how much protein there is in a guy's jizz?" he teases. "Better than one of those fucking shakes. Right after work, Justin." "Yeah. Yeah, okay," Justin snaps. "Good boy. Don't worry, I'll feed you up good afterwards. And hey, I'm feeling generous. We'll call it six hundred bucks. Another step closer to the big day, ain't it?" Justin sighs heavily. "Yeah. Thank you." "Plus, I've got a nice surprise for you ..." "Okay. I've gotta go now. Bye" The line goes dead. Justin rushing back to work. Sharkey drives into town and finds a place in the nearly deserted lot behind the disused office blocks from more prosperous days. He's an impatient man, so the ten minutes it takes for Justin to turn up are interminable. As the lad approaches, Sharkey notices some of the extra time he's taken has been spent changing. Justin can't stand the bow-tied uniform he wears in the diner - a shame, because Sharkey is always just that bit more turned on by him wearing it - so he's changed in the back room before leaving. Not that Sharkey can complain too much about the ensemble the kid has on now. A turqoise tee with a plunging collar, denim shorts and battered hi-tops. He looks cute and carefree. Justin Benchley, it should be said, is a college-aged guy - twenty years old, though not actually a college student. A bit less than medium height - in fact, kind of short. He's a real boy next door type, with a pleasant face that may one day be handsome but for now is most definitely pretty. Hmm. You think. There's something familiar about him. And his name. Where have you heard that name, Justin Benchley, before? Anyway. There's something very fatalistic about this shot here, from way overhead. Justin, the bright blue blip sauntering slowly over to the single car in this particular corner of the lot, slicing across two spaces on the fading grid. Then we're back to medium shots and close-ups as Sharkey clicks open the door for him and he climbs into the passenger seat. Justin nods a greeting. Sharkey says nothing, moves off. He puts on the radio. An upbeat dance track by KrisTiano. "Good day at work?" Sharkey decides to say, more in the manner of a mocking impersonation of normal behaviour than a genuine question. "Sure. Whatever." And the minutes pass. As they drive out of the town's limits, as if that is the signal, Sharkey reaches over to rest a hand on Justin's thigh. "I've got something a little different planned for tonight, kid." Justin restrains himself from flinching in trepidation. "Oh yeah? Is it that ... 'surprise' you were talking about? Can I...? what is it." This is how he says it, as if he expects the question not to be answered. "Relax babe, I think you're gonna like it. I've found you a little playmate. Gorgeous guy, about your age. You're going to have a lot of fun. And I'm going to watch you having a lot of fun. And maybe join in if the mood strikes me. Okay?" "Sure," he shrugs. "So long as I'm getting paid for it." "Here's the money. Take it right now," Sharkey says, reaching into his pocket and taking out a wad of notes, which Justin accepts and begins to count. "You're a lucky boy, Justin. All that money, and you're going to fucking love it." "I just need the money. Okay" Justin insists quietly, wanting Sharkey to understand that he doesn't do any of this for fun. Even though Sharkey knows different, because he's seen how well and how eagerly Justin gets into it once he starts. See, Justin is engaged to his childhood sweetheart, and saving all his cash for a big wedding, a honeymoon, a mortgage, plus the child she insists on conceiving within a year of their marriage. It runs into thousands of dollars, all of this. So Justin has started taking shortcuts, and found a route to some easy money. It started one night in that diner where he works (at least, it did in this version; if you don't mind spending your credits you may want to seek out more details). Anyway, here it is long story short-style. Sharkey finishing off his coffee, Justin in his cute-as-a-button bowtie asking if he could get him anything else. Sharkey flashed his cash, persuaded him to suck him off behind those dumpsters out back. He didn't do it very expertly the first time, but Sharkey soon went back for more. It happened a couple more times - further away from work on these occasions, as Justin didn't want to repeatedly risk being discovered - and it wasn't long before Sharkey was back asking for more than just a blowjob. He correctly reasoned that it was only a matter of offering the right price. And so, despite his inevitable reluctance, the evening finally came when sweet boy-next-door Justin Benchley gave up his asshole to Zack Sharkey in the back of his car. And what an asshole it was. Sharkey couldn't give this up in a hurry, and so it became a regular indulgence - a swift handover of cash and Justin Benchley became remarkably willing. Sharkey considered taking him to motels after that, but in a small town, Justin knew that was just asking to be found out, and instead Sharkey started driving him up into the hills, to his own home. It was well hidden from sight on all the main routes, and Justin was surprised to find something so huge and opulent stood there. Justin also realised this guy he'd been letting fuck him was loaded. That there was an inexhaustible supply of cash waiting for him every time he let the guy use him for a couple of hours. This was a fucking cash cow for him. The wedding, the deposit on a house, the honeymoon of Beth's dreams - he'd be able to pay for it all in a matter of months. And - though he'd never admit it, probably not even to himself - he did start to enjoy it more and more each time. And so here they are, arriving at Sharkey's house for the umpteenth time. Sharkey parks the nondescript old Ford he bought especially for his liaisons with Justin in the cavernous garage, with his array of rather more impressive vehicles. Loaded, Justin thinks again, with quiet glee. As they get out of the car, Sharkey handles Justin unnecessarily, pushing him along in the small of his back, resting a hand on his shoulder. He bundles him kind of roughly into the house, even though Justin knows the way by now. Once inside, Sharkey takes hold of Justin's face and kisses him greedily. He grows. "Mmmmmmm, you're fucking delicious. And wait til you see him. This is gonna be sweet." He sits Justin on a sofa in the lounge, hands him a fat spliff, tells him to make himself comfortable. Justin does so. He has to admit, the pot at Sharkey's place is out of this world. Makes him relax into it so much more easily. He mentioned this to Sharkey once, high. Didn't get Sharkey's "Cheech and Schlong" joke but giggled at it for a long time anyway. Sharkey returns a few minutes later, also smoking a fat one, which he drops into an ashtray as they sit side by side on the sofa for a while. "Not fond of that t-shirt are you?" he asks finally, taking hold of Justin's arms by the wrists and lifting him up from the chair. "Because I've been dying to -" he grips his hands around the wide, chest-baring collar and rips it wide open - "ever since you got into the car." Justin, already a little high, smiles playfully, crossing his arms to reach around and pull the now torn shirt up over his head, drop it on the floor. He knows Sharkey will buy him another one, it's happened before. "Now that's nice," Sharkey says, resting his hands around Justin's ribs and his slender waist. Justin has a fit, mostly hairless boyish kind of body, athletic and strong but not bulging with muscle. His stomach isn't toned, but is totally flat. He has nicely rounded shoulders, and unusally developed triceps. Sharkey loves these best about him, loves holding them against the palms of his hands as he lies on Justin's back and plows into him. Sharkey takes his own shirt off, reveals what is far more of a man's body, adorned with dark hair on the chest and stomach and forerams. Two decades older than Justin, we see the differences the years create. The inevitable puckers and creases at the edges - avoided as well as humanly possible in Mr Sharkey's case, it has to be said - and the veins in the arms and lower abdomen. Justin's fine hands reach out to touch Sharkey the way he knows he likes. He runs his hands softly over Sharkey's pectorals and abs, raises his head to kiss the taller man as Sharkey holds him tightly around the waist, then reaches down to undo his flies and push down his shorts. Justin steps out of them awkwardly. Then Sharkey pulls away suddenly, and in one quick move reaches behind and beneath Justin to lift him up in his arms. Obligingly, Justin, now in just his oversized boxers, reaches up to wrap his arms around Sharkey's neck. Sharkey carries him to one of the bedrooms. This is actually Ramon's own, decorated all soft and plush and feminine like him. There Ramon waits on a huge silky bed, bare naked, freshly showered and scrubbed and perfumed. He wears a little golden anklet on his one bent leg. He looks a little apprehensive about this. Entering the room, Mr Sharkey puts Justin down on his feet. Justin feels a bit weird in his boxers. He hadn't expected this guy Sharkey told him about to be so much of a fag. If ever a guy can be said to look like a femme fatale, it is Ramon. If ever a guy can look like he is of no use to women, and is meant for the pleasure of other men, it is Ramon. What a total, total pussy. "Good as my word, Ramon, here's someone for you to play with. Now -" Sharkey takes off his shoes and pants, unleashing a cock that is already erect. He sits back in an armchair. "- let's see you boys say hello to each other with a nice kiss" Justin heads over to the bed as Ramon sits up. Climbing up onto it, Justin ends up on all fours, and Ramon quickly mirrors his position. With a glance at his master for approval, he climbs over and gives Justin a few quick pecks, before going in for something more substantial. Sharkey strokes his cock approvingly as he watches the pretty boys kiss. They stroke tentatively at each other's faces. Still kissing lightly and softly, neither one of them the aggressor, Sharkey's little angels fall against the bed and begin fondling each other in a performance of insatiability that they know and he knows is staged entirely for his benefit. Boyish Justin Benchley is not Ramon's type, because he is not a big, powerful man who can dominate him. Ramon is not Justin's type because Justin only likes girls - or as Sharkey suspects, he likes girls but he also likes cock inside him, the physical sensation of it. Ramon is too much a fag and too much a wuss to do anything for Justin. The simplicity of Sharkey fucking him is something he can deal with - it's almost a sporting activity or a particularly difficult workout: he deals with it as a test of his mettle. But this aimless petting and stroking with Ramon nearly repulses him. He's stupid, Justin Benchley, thinks Sharkey, because he can't really imagine how you could not want to kiss and fondle the beautiful Ramon, how you could look at his lithe, rich little body and now want to drive yourself into him with all your might. But no matter. Ramon wanted to see these little beauties kissing and making love for him, and fuck it, that's what they're doing. Because he wants it. To see Justin occasionally wince and squirm despite his best efforts not to, just delights Sharkey the more. He enjoys his power over the boy, holding him in his grip so easily with the promise of more money. Left to his own devices, living his own life, Justin would never be making out with another boy on a bed. But Sharkey has made it so. Oh fuck yeah, and he likes it. As they relax further into into, sinking deep into the welcoming contours of the bed, Ramon is naturally the first to turn his attentions to the other boy's cock. Justin's sick is barely chubby when Ramon first begins lapping at it with his tongue, but the adoring attentions of his mouth and the delicate, playful touch of his fingers soon have the youth's fine, healthy young dick rising into action. Soon it is thick and fat and full, and as Ramon's mouth kisses with greater abandon, and his fingers stroke quicker up and down the shaft, Justin becomes fully hard, a cock bulging with blood, and Ramon fucking sucks it like his life depends on it, with the deep and satisfied moan that always stirs from right the depths of his cocksucking chest, right from the base of his very being. Sharkey approaches to finger Ramon's butthole as he does it, Justin closing his eyes to enjoy the sensation without thinking too much about any of what's going on - except that he can't resist the occasional excited yelp of pleasure as he discovers the blowjobs he's 'enjoyed' from his fiancee are totally fucking lame compared to what a hot pussy of a guy like Ramon can do. This is the first time he's had a guy suck his cock and fucking deep throat it - it's not something Sharkey has ever been remotely interested in doing, though he's happy now to watch it being done by someone else. Sharkey burrows his face way into Ramon's cleansed and perfumed ass til he finds the heat and the stink deep inside of him, like buried treasure. He loves it in here, makes out with it, his world becoming warm and dark and perfect. He has to drag himself away to sink a couple of fingers in, always something that makes Ramon quiver and clench much more than simply shoving his cock inside, because of the dangerous, uncertain potential of his fingers to move and twitch and bend. Ramon does not consciously become nervous, but his asshole becomes involuntarily scared and twitchy whenever the fingers start probing and prodding inside, Judging from Justin's increasing gasps of pleasure, Ramon's response to this is to clamp down on the cock filling his mouth, suck it all the harder and deeper. Sharkey uses his free hand to get that whole wider, to sink a third finger up inside his boy. He pushes gently, twisting just a little, nudging forward, just a little. Pushing, nudging turning pushing nudging turningpushingnudgingturning... until with an extra twist, a fresh jolt of strength, in it sinks. In sinks his fist, swallowed up in Ramon's pussy asshole. Now Ramon's mouth comes away from the thick boy member in his mouth to let out a half-ecstatic, half anguished, straining groan. "Keep fucking going at that cock ..." Sharkey instructs, "Do it, slut. Don't stop sucking on that dick you fucking love so much ... bitch ... uhhhh yeah ... fuckin' slut bitch ...." Gasping in ragged breaths, convulsing, Ramon makes his way back to the beloved cock, accepting and enjoying the fist of his master ramming its way into his asshole. Holding his fist in there almost up to the wrist - and all without lube too, Sharkey grins, although he remembers that he did have Ramon grease himself up quite a bit beforehand - he watches Ramon's gorgeous display of cocksucking for a while longer. The more he watches, the though, the more he wants to see and enjoy a similar masterpiece of oral action from the other boy, from sweet boy-nextdoor Justin Benchley, who looks so hot now. He removes his fist from Ramon with a tight plopping sound, takes hold of him by the torso and shifts him casually aside. Ramon looks hurt. "Great bit of cocksucking, huh, kid?" he asks Justin. "So come on, let's see if you've learned anything." He takes hold of Justin's legs by the ankles to yank him down towards him a little. His head's now propped up by pillows as Sharkey moves forward to straddle the pretty boy's taut chest and shove his imposing great cock squarely in front of the coveted face. Justin looks at Sharkey's cock, takes it all in; seems to take a breath, gather up his nerve before diving in for something he's done so many times before. Sharkey doesn't care that this boy thinks he's doing it for the cash - he knows that he likes it a little too, that the money just gives him the mental get-out he needs to go ahead an enjoy a man's great big dick in his mouth. Closing his eyes, Justin tenderly kisses and licks at the bulging, starkly ridged cock helmet, worships it with his petulant mouth, wrapping a hand lightly around the base as he cranes his neck forward to do the job better, sinking easily into this just as he has so often before, the worship of a man's cock, the taste and feel of it against his tongue, the clenching insides of his mouth. He sinks slowly back again as Mr Sharkey slowly, inevitably begins softly humping his face. "Come on, boy," Sharket chides, "Hundred bucks bonus if you can do it better than my ace little slut Ramon here" Justin takes the bait, trying harder to suck with the same wildness, the same frenzied catlike moves that animated Ramon's orgiastic swallowing of his own cock. He makes a move he's never done before, reaching around Sharkey to hold onto his his steely buttocks - man, he's got rock-hard muscular ass cheeks, Mr Sharkey - embracing the cock and the thrusting pelvis that grinds it forward. He swivels his head, taking it deeper into his throat than he's ever done before, gagging wonderfully, an outpouring of drool escaping the side of his mouth as he works hard for his dough. Sharkey doesn't take it easy on Justin's throat. "Come on, fucker, all the way in. Give me my goddamn money's worth. Hundred and fifty bucks, how about that? No way you can do it better than this slut!" Ramon, meanwhile, is softly kissing Sharkey's arm and shoulder. Sharkey flexes a steep bicep and Ramon sucks and slobbers at it adoringly. Justin really fucking chokes and gags as he goes after Sharkey's cock, his face turning red and then almost purple as he desperately attempts to be the better cocksucker. Finally - it's amazing how long he resists doing it - he has to break away, turning his head and wheezingly coughing up saliva on the pillow. He takes huge whooping breaths, tears pouring from his eyes. Sharkey wipes them off roughly with the back of his hand, gives Justin an encouraging pat on the side of the face. "Close but no cigar, kid. Come on though, I'll give you another chance for a bonus ..." Thus, having established a competitive dynamic, Sharkey is able to reap the rewards for the rest of the the evening. Justin Benchley wants to be the best at pleasuring him because he wants his money, and because a young man is naturally competitive, even at something that his peers tell him he should be ashamed of. And Ramon wants to be best because he wants no-one to be better at satisfying his mighty master's desires than he is. And that's how it is that Sharkey is able to stand upright and erect, a hand on the heads of two delicious young men as they kneel side by side before him, each trying their damnest to be the greatest at sucking his balls and his cock. It is fucking heaven, sexy guy nirvana. He doesn't even fucking care who's the best - the feeling is far too wonderful for him to be concerned with alloting pissy little scores. All he wants is these boys on their knees before him. All he wants is the fucking power, man. Ramon and Justin kiss each other as their lips meet around his thick member, eager to please him, each acting insatiable for the other even though neither of them are, at all. The practically push each other out of the way, nudging at each other with their shoulders to get that cock all to themselves, to take it way into their mouths, leaving the other with only Sharkey's hairy great bollocks to worship. When Justin forces Ramon out of his way to do so, Ramon shuffles around on his knees, desperate not to lose out on his master's favour, and starts kissing Sharkey's ass. "Ahhhhhhhh man... ahhhh FUCKyeah, that's awesome," Sharkey growls, fighting hard to stop his strong legs trembling with the pleasure as the boys' ripe, wriggling tongues work overtime to drive him towards orgasm. Oh man, ultimately it's irresistible not to take hold of Justin's curly-haired head tightly in his hands, really start pounding it with his cock. He yanks him down to the floor to get on top of him like he's doing push-ups, crotch over Justin's face, porking him hard and brutal in the mouth, ramming it home over and over as the cunt gags and chokes. Trying to hard his disappointment, Ramon continues to dutifully kiss Sharkey's ass, whispering "Oh yeah, fuck him master, fuck him ...oh yeah, fuck that face so hard ..." and finding that in spite of his jealousy he means it anyway. Then Sharkey is pushing forward so hard, it's like he's trying to crack Justin's skull open between himself and the floor. Veins bulging in Sharkey's forehead, he's consumed with pleasure, the sheer, coursing, beat-all joy of dominating another man, as he blasts volleys of jizz into the nearly crushed head of the boy whore. A nearly blue-faced Justin is revealed when Sharkey takes his bulky form out of the way, his lips temporarily blanched of colour. He gags and coughs, and stringy gobbets of cum splatter out of his mouth entangled with strands of saliva. He rolls over on one side to splutter some of the offending gunk from his throat, Sharkey contemplatively holding onto his nice bare shoulder and perfectly formed tricep as he does so. He goes to his pants, counts out some money, leaves it on the dresser. "Nice work, babe" he sneers. Sitting back in his chair, smoking another joint, he then has Justin and Ramon 'passionately' make out with each other again until he's ready to return to action and fuck them both, one at a time. ------------------------------------------------- Thus Sharkey eases himself into the process of sharing this new, special one with others. Usually he's quite happy to share his slaves around - the more the merrier, it's great to reduce some arrogant stud to a piece of meat to pass around with abandon. But his confusing adoration of Ramon, the strange and unfamiliar protectiveness he feels, changes things. He wants Ramon all to himself, and yet Ramon is so intensely fuckable that he needs to see him being fucked all the time, as much as possible. Ramon not being fucked is Ramon wasted. Even when Sharkey is not around, or even when he is too tired or already spent to fuck, Ramon's holes should always be being plugged. But the dedicated fucking machines he keeps downstairs aren't what Sharkey wants for Ramon. He overcomes his possessiveness by letting other men fuck Ramon, but thinking of them all as extensions of himself, expressing his own lust. So while he turns a blind eye to whatever casual brutality men like Rob and Gregory unleash on his other slaves, just so long as they are left undamaged, Ramon can only be used with Sharkey's permission, and as he watches. Sharkey's romantic like that. Ultimately, of course, Ramon does become shared around almost as widely as all the others before him, because Sharkey soon becomes addicted to the stimulating novelty of seeing new men having their way with his special boy. He enjoys treating himself by pairing Ramon with beautiful youths - particularly Justin Benchley - and revelling in their gorgeous lovemaking, but he also has a strong urge to see Ramon given over to uglier, harder, more brutal men - guys like his henchman Gregory who have no real appreciation of the boy's lush, excessive beauty. Sharkey enjoys watching the radiant Ramon crushed under a rutting brute of a man. When Gregory asks with an optimistic glint in his eye whether he can rough Ramon up a bit too, Sharkey gives it some real consideration before deciding the answer is no. It's still a no the second and third time he asks, before the thug finally gives up on the idea. Undoubtedly goes off and takes it out on someone else. After a while, Sharkey begins taking Ramon with him on business trips and his other travels, treating him more like he's a proper partner. He takes him to New York and buys him extravagantly expensive suits, dines with him, shows him off to his associates at parties without offering him up as part of the evening's entertainment. Well-dressed, his little Ramon-about-town could easily be a model, or a wealthy young playboy. But always this is foreplay for Sharkey. He can't wait to tear the suit off Ramon, can't wait to get him home from the restaurant and fucking go at him. He'll savour the greedy gazes of others as they stare at his boy, and it'll make the fucking that much hotter later. At one gathering, a spoilt heiress sets her sights on an immaculately tailored Ramon, and an amused Sharkey - apparently mistaken for Ramon's bodyguard - lets her flirting go on for quite some time before cornering her politely in a hallway, and telling her the truth about Ramon, and all the fucking awesome horny things he's going to do to him that night. So, Sharkey allows Ramon a level of freedom usually unheard of for any of his lovers - but it remains a charade, a game he's playing for himself. Extended foreplay. Ramon worships Sharkey, is totally content in being owned by this man. He considers himself spoilt by Sharkey's generosity. One day they lie together in the scorching sun on a secluded beach. Relaxed and happy, Ramon tells Sharkey how much kinder he is than his former master, Mr Alexander. Sharkey snorts, laugh uproariously in disbelief. He sits upright, looking out to sea. No-on has ever described Zac Sharkey as kind. "Kid," he sighs when his laughter, dies down, "You have no idea." Then, mirth dying away, he finds himself suddenly angry that this is what Ramon thinks. He doesn't actually realise - because Sharkey has never exposed him to it - how vicious a tyrant Sharkey can be. In effect, he doesn't appreciate how lucky he truly is to have Sharkey's favour. Sharkey is an absolute bastard through and through. The idea that Ramon might think him kind - perhaps even a soft touch compared to Alexander - alarms and irritates him. "Here's how 'kind' I am, sweetheart," he says. "The day I took you home from Alexander's place, I sentenced that faggot brother of yours to death." Ramon sits bolt upright like when a character in a movie wakes from a nightmare. He looks stricken, then bewildered. He looks pointlessly to sea and then the rocks like they're going to help him. Then he asks the only question a movie character such as him can ask in these circumstances: "What ... ?" Sharkey goes on to explain patiently how Mr Alexander had tired of Ramon. How, for whatever reason - maybe business, maybe just a whim - he had arranged for him to be taken away by their contact Bertoldt, who deals in human organs. How Ramon would then have underwent a series of operations that would have soon erased him bit by bit from the face of the earth. And how Sharkey had bought Ramon's freedom by arranging for his brother Luis to take his place. Ramon is pale, starts to tremble. "Th-thank you for saving me, master," he remembers to say. The horror of the fate he escaped dawns on him simultaneous with the realisation that his brother has now been given over to that fate. Ramon looks like he might be sick. Sharkey places a hand on Ramon's back. It reminds him of the scars there. Scars that are there partly because of his beloved brother. There are other stipulations in the deal he made with Bertoldt. But Sharkey's not going to go into them now. Ramon looks at Sharkey, and says with much more feeling, and a depth in his voice that normally isn't there: "Thank you." Tears are streaming down his cheeks. Sharkey pins him down and makes love to him as he weeps. He licks the salt tears from his face. He doesn't know why this should be so good, but it is. It's one of the hottest fucks he's ever had with Ramon. ----------- And now, he decides, Ramon is ready to know more about his master's dark side. He will be introduced to the others. Sharkey has kept Ramon unaware of his captured slave boys for a surprising length of time. Ramon has an inkling of their existence, because he has after all came from a very similar set-up ran by Mr Alexander. But he's a good boy and doesn't ask questions. He's overheard the occasional remarks by Sharkey and his staff about keeping 'them' fed or watered or exercised or whatever, but it's so quiet and vague, you might just assume Sharkey has pets or some small animal shelter or something. Even putting two and two together, Ramon has no particular reason to think the 'them' under discussion live in the same house as him, albeit in reduced circumstances on lower floors he has never seen. Well, that changes quickly. Once the idea strikes him that he can have fun putting his existing slaves together with his special new one, Sharkey wonders why he didn't do so earlier. ---- First, he introduces him to Jordon Lunar. Takes Ramon to the screening room first, to show him a little montage. Jordon Lunar is a character straight from stock. An airhead hunky surfer, blonde and vacant. We see clips of him working in a milkshake bar and heading out to catch the waves with a colourful board under his arm. The scenes may just as well be from a Saturday morning cartoon as from the trashy action movie Ambush at Blood Bay. Jordon's most distinguishing features are the colourful array of stars tattooed on one side of his chest - a pattern duplicated on a bigger scale on his surfboard - and his fantastic butt, which is both pert and meaty. Jordon supplements his income as a stripper - we see him in his stylised cop's outfit, and then out of it, at a couple of hen parties. He waxes his armpits. The rest of his broad, tanned body isn't troubled with a great deal of hair. Another distinguishing feature is his buoyant optimism. He's a sunny kind of guy. Oh man, Sharkey was itching to trap him, right from scene one. This boy, Sharkey tells Ramon, conspired with a group of his dumb friends to extort money from Sharkey. Sharkey goes into no further details, fast forwards the boring bits, but lets Ramon know that this made him mad as hell at the boy, and that he decided to dispense his own justice. Exercise his power. The clip we see now is the same furious, inexplicable fragment as before. "You piece of cheap faggot meat! You were MADE to be my toy!" Ooooooof! Talk about cutting to the chase - we've gone way the fuck past even that. Then, no further preamble, he switches on his laptop and shows Ramon the live footage stream from below stairs. Shows him this same Jordon Lunar spreadeagled on his stomach, strapped to a worn-mattressed bed. He seems to be sleeping. There's no-one with him. "Now Jordon Lunar belongs to me," Sharkey tells Ramon, who seems to take it in his stride. In fact, he shows no surprise at all at Mr Sharkey keeping sex captives here. "He's been mine for about eight months now," Sharkey smiles in satisfaction. He clicks a key to zoom in. "Hmm, no-one around. Looks like someone's been having a good time, though." Ramon sees what he means. There's a copious, fresh stream of cum up Jordon's back. "Not too long ago either." He shrugs. "Come with me then, Ramon. I want you to see how I treat little fuckwads who betray me." He takes Ramon's hand and leads him to an elevator whose entrance the catamite has always taken to be a wall panel. They descend briefly to a lower level. Ramon feels a little twist of fear in his stomach, remembering the times he was taken to be whipped for the gratification of groups of baying men. He has a sudden fear that Sharkey has deliberately lulled him into a false sense of security. Perhaps with a sadistic flourish his master will drop him right back into the hell he has not long escaped. But at the same time he wonders if he has at last found himself on the other side of the equation. Perhaps he is now to be entertained with a display of suffering from this man, this Jordon. Maybe he is now on the side of the baying predators, if only in the capacity of a plus one. The lower floor, when they emerge, is real sci-fi stuff. Ramon hadn't thought before that he was in that kind of a movie. He had half expetced something like a medieval dungeon. Instead there are sleek, chrome-looking corridors with the occasional tiny blinking lights on panels - something to do with the security set-up. There are a lot of huge and very secure-looking doors like something from the vault of a Swiss bank. Does Sharkey run an extensive prison down here? How many ... Ramon asks the question out loud: "How many men do you have down here, master?" Sharkey smiles, takes hold of some of Ramon's hair and curls it around his finger. "That's for me to know, sweetheart." A softly spoken but definite answer. Ramon won't be asking again. The floor is cool beneath Ramon's bare feet as they walk, Sharkey with a possessive hand in the small of Ramon's back, pushing him towards the inevitable. He keys in a code on one of the doors, then inserts a metallic blue key which release a massive-sounding locking mechanism with satisfyingy chunky sounds. As the door opens, the youth within gasps, looks around. He is, as we have seen, spreadeagled on a sturdy-framed bed, unclothed, limbs tied to the bedposts at the wrists and ankles. What was not noticeable on the footage is the ball gag strapped into his mouth. He breathes thickly through his nose as he looks up and around, unable to completely flick the pretty blonde hair away from his eyes. He makes a sound in his throat as Sharkey approaches, a purring, anguished sound. A curious little moan as he takes in the unfamiliar sight of Ramon. "Christ's sake," Sharkey tuts, "How many times do I have to tell them to clear up their mess afterwards?" He reaches for an alcove in the wall, takes out a sponge and scrubs the pearly slick of cum roughly off of Jordon's broad, muscular back. Then he throws the sponge back into a sink in the alcove. "Ramon, see who's cum that is. Wait 'til you see this, Jordy boy. Bet he gets it right" "But master -" Ramon says, taking in the casual menace of Sharkey as he speaks to this trapped, wretched boy - "You just cleaned it away." "Not all of it," Sharkey corrects, pointing to Jordon's ass. And he's right, it's thickly smeared around this hunk boy's prone, twitching fuschia-pink hole. Ramon looks at his master and grinning wickedly, bends over cupping his hands around the meaty buttocks, greasy with sweat, and sticks his tongue into the hole to taste the cold, sloppy cum. Sharkey is careful to watch Jordon's reaction as Ramon tongues his hole. Ramon lets out an "mmmmmm" sound almost involuntary. "It's Rob's, master." Sharkey smiles indulgently. "Your favourite, huh?" "My favourite after yours, master." "Suck it all out, babe. Get all of it" Ramon makes out with this Jordon's lovely warm asshole, easing out every last drop of the cool, creamy cum he finds there. Jordon's nice toned thighs twitch. Jordon begins a muffled protest, shaking about on the bed, arms and legs straining uselessly against his restraints. Sharkey is running his hand up and down Jordon's back tenderly. He can afford to be tender with someone he has already defeated. Ramon lifts his head from the butthole. Jordon is gesturing towards Ramon with his head, face pink. "Looks like he's trying to talk to you, sweetheart," Sharkey says. "What do you think, shall we hear what he's got to say?" Sharkey reaches for the strap of the ball gag, which fastens with a buckle at the back of his head. Then he takes his hands away from it. "Nah!" He pats Jordon on the butt with satisfaction as the hunk mutters uselessly on, protesting against the gag. Before leaving, Sharkey decides to unfasten the restraints on Jordon's limbs. Curiously, there is no effort on the part of the surfer hunk to wriggle out of them quickly and attempt escape. His limbs are perhaps too sore and stiff. Or perhaps he has attempted this before and knows it's useless. Anyway, Sharkey takes Ramon by his slender hand and they leave, the huge door locking into place behind them. It's only then that Ramon really registers the panels on the walls in the room they've just left. Cartoon representations of this Jordon guy, really stylised. And familiar ... Jordon's cartoon likeness is like something Ramon saw in a Saturday morning cartoon in his youth ... The strange sensation passes. Ramon and his master return to the upper level, to bright daylight. ------------------------ A few days later, Ramon and Sharkey sit watching footage stream direct from the subterranean slave gym on his laptop. The surfer's subjugation has already started to seem like just another TV channel to Ramon. He remembers with bitterness the exclusive videos of himself being whipped stupid on BlackShark Video Streaming. So far, he's seen nothing so horrible happen to Jordon Lunar. Right now they're watching him working out, something he seems to be allowed to do quite frequently. "Sexy cunt, ain't he?" Sharkey asks, as they study the naked young hunk sweating through his workout with the weights. Under normal circumstances, Jordon has a broad, fleshy sort of body. Not fat in any way, but bulky and robust. But as he exercies, his muscles come into sharp definition - what is normally a flat, smooth stomach buckles with steely, carved abdominals. His butt clenches into an even more amazing, jutting bubble than it is already. His bunched biceps are tough and almost unnaturally steep looking. The quads in his legs are maybe the most fascinating of all. Damn, he must have looked good in a wetsuit back when he was free to go surfing every day. Course, he couldn't have looked half as good as he does now. He exercise aggressively, angrily. Lifts the weights like he fucking hates them, grunting and straining and gritting his teeth. His broad face flushes bright pink and his blonde hair, soaked through with sweat, clings all shiney and golden to his short forehead and his big jaw. He works at building up his bod with fury, perhaps in the belief that if he builds up enough physical power he can find his way out of here, a moment of opportunity to utilise his brute strength. That moment won't come, Sharkey assures Ramon lightly, and with amusement. Or perhaps the grunting rage with which Jordon pumps iron and pounds the treadmill is simply the only outlet for his howling anguish at being reduced to another man's sex toy. A straightforward venting of something otherwise inexpressible. That would explain the primal roar as he strains with superhuman effort to raise the enormous barbell over his head, inch by satisfying inch. Oh man, look at this. Every time he strains like this, he gets a chubby on. His cock's thwacking to the side against his thigh as it fills hesitantly with blood. Is it simply involuntary because he's a healthy young man and boners are inevitable, especially when he's given no opportunity to put them to use? Is he taking pleasure in his own physical prowess as he sees himself in the mirror? Imagining impressing some girl? Or does he know this footage will be watched and wanked over by other men? Sharkey honestly can't remember whether he has ever told him this. The surf beauty doesn't have any right to know, of course, but Sharkey may have mentioned it to taunt the lad if the mood struck him. Jordon's biggest fury is reserved for the punchbag, of course. He goes at it for more than an hour. "You know, babe," Sharkey smirks at Ramon after a while, "I think our little Jordon might just be picturing my face on that punching bag. You reckon?" This gives Sharkey an idea. He takes out his cellphone, presses a key. "Gregory, hey. Listen, I'm in the mood to get in the ring with our boy Jordon. Little boxing match, yeah? Yeah. So let him know, get him ready, give him a couple extra hours for training each day. We'll schedule it for next Saturday. Cool. Thanks, man." Sharkey slips the phone into his pocket, kisses Ramon roughly, greedily, as he always does. "Let's give our little boxer stud there, his big chance, huh?" Sharkey's cock is swelling worse than Jordon's onscreen, and Ramon slips off the couch and onto his knees to unleash it and suck his master off. Sharkey wraps his hands behind his shaved head, his own tattoed arms flexing impressively with muscle as his boy sucks gorgeously on his cock and he watches his other, less willing boy Jordon pose erotically for his pleasure. The airhead youth may think he's keeping his body in shape for his own benefit. Sharkey knows it is so he can enjoy owning it all the more. Over the days that follow, Sharkey's henchmen dutifully follow his instructions in preparation for the fight, disappearing down to the lower level for long periods. Ramon is glad, as he doesn't like being left alone with the staff - particularly the horrible Gregory who always eyes him half with disgust and half with a greed Ramon knows well, and fears. Left to his own devices - but still wandering the house in only his tiny, flimsy underwear because that is what his master likes best, and the way he wants him to find him if he does return home, Ramon's curiosity is aroused. He doesn't desire the bimbo surfer boy exactly - Ramon likes men older than him, strong men he can serve, as a girly boy like him ought to - but he wants to see more of Jordon in action. He is trying to picture this fight that will take place between Sharkey and this bulky-muscled young surfer. He realises he wants to see his master fight the young man in the ring, and defeat him. The upstart young hunk needs to learn who's boss. Knowing the correct shortcut on his master's laptop, and hoping Sharkey - who is away on a business trip - won't mind, Ramon tunes in to the direct footage stream from the gym. Sure enough, he sees an intense-looking Jordon in training, and gets a little rush from tapping the computer's keys to choose different angles. It feels like the blonde youth is performing these rituals entirely for his entertainment, a little taste of the power Sharkey knows every day. Unusually, Jordan is allowed to do his workouts in little black shorts rather than butt naked. He's in deadly earnest about it too. "A fight for my freedom, huh?" he grunts as he goes at the punchbag. Ramon recoils for a second, thinking this feed goes two ways and that Jordon is addressing him. In fact, it soon turns out he's talking to Gregory, who he hears replying, raspy on the intercom. "Mr Sharkey gets some fuckin' weird ideas into his head sometimes. Lucky for you, shithead. He's so sure you can't take him down in a fight, he says he'll ... uh... how'd he put it ... 'release you from your contract' ... if you manage it." Jordon aims blow after savage blow at the punchbag. "Guess he figures there's always another fag. He don't have nothing to worry about anyway," Gregory continues. "Little fairy like you won't last two minutes. 'Sides, what'd you do without all that cock you been getting up your ass since we brought you here? That fuckin' sweet pussyhole of yours is gonna be achin' for our dicks the day after you leave." Jordon grimaces with boiling anger, ready to knock the stuffing outta the punchbag. "No, you're going nowhere, fruit. Coz you fuckin' love it here." A sharp click as the intercom disconnects. A growling Jordon batters the punchbag left and right, lands a vicious roundhouse kick that sends it swinging. "Unnngghh! Grrrrruughhhh! Fuck you! FUCK YOU! I'M GONNA FUCKIN' ..." He charges at the punchbag and grapples with it, like he's trying to wrestle it to the floor. After minutes of this struggle, he sinks panting in a heap, fists clenched. "I'm gonna fuckin' do it ..." he repeats to himself. "I'm gonna fuckin' do it..." Ramon switches off, thrilled in an unfamiliar way. He's never even seen anyone try to challenge Sharkey. He has always thought of his beloved master as part of a natural hierarchy of dominant men in whom power - aggressive, unyielding capricious power - is invested. Men like Sharkey and his former master Mr Alexander are lodestones of masculinity, a force that is awesome and beautiful, but also cruel and terrible. Acolytes flock around them, and people and their rules and order bend and buckle to their wills. Like vampires, they feed on it to become ever more powerful, ever more deadly and virile. He thinks Jordon is foolish not to accept his place under Mr Sharkey's rule. Ramon himself feels honoured and affirmed to be Sharkey's slave. He knows exactly who he is, and where he stands. Or rather does not stand, but kneels. He is most himself as he kneels before his master and worships the cock of a powerful man. He sees no reason why Jordon should not accept his place on his knees too. ----------------------------- It may seem strange for Sharkey to have a gorgeous sex slave like Jordon Lunar kept on ice in his basement, and then look elsewhere for someone to have a good time with once he gets in the mood for some more three-way fun with Ramon. But Sharkey, controlled as he tries to be in his behaviour, is a man of reckless appetites, and his craving, on this lazy golden Sunday, is for that fine young man Justin Benchley. Besides, what use a slave if you start to feel obliged to use him? So he calls Justin on his mobile. The lad explains that he's going to the mall that day with his fiancee. Yeah, Sharkey says - on the hunt for more pricey wedding crap, no doubt. He then makes Justin a cash offer, and then another, and then a final one he can't refuse. Sharkey loves that moment of give when the irresistible Justin bends to his will, loves knowing the price of this young man's obedience and being more than happy to pay it. He only wishes he could watch as Justin Benchley makes his feeble excuses to his girlfriend, wonders exactly what it is he says, what form of resentment he has to face - yelling? The sullen silent treatment? Jeez, at least the little fuck knows what he can expect from Sharkey. He sends a driver to pick up Justin at an arranged meeting point in an undistinguished car. Justin is a little jittery at the slow drip of other people who seem to know about his and Sharkey's relationship - that is to say, their arrangement. There is Ramon, of course. There was another bodyguard guy once who seemed to work for Sharkey. Now there's this driver who's never met before (and never will again - Ellis is on loan on a short-term contract). Justin is anxious that something which started out as clandestine and furtive seems to have ballooned into an operation involving many people. A whole rota of people who now know that he, Justin Benchley, a squeaky-clean good kid (albeit a kid aged twenty) takes it up the ass on a regular basis for cash, and sucks cock like an expert. At this point, though, there is nothing he can do about it. It has all happened bit by bit - all he can do now is blot it out and hope that the two worlds won't collide. Or rather. won't collide any further. There were already those dangerous - (SCENE DELETED. DON'T MISS THE EXPLOSIVE SEASON FINALE OF ROPER'S REACH) Justin's luck is, in any case, not in. Way before his arrival, Sharkey decides to expand his planned three-way into a four way, and summons a rent boy the way you might order in a pizza. This butch Hispanic guy goes by the name of Darkel. Sharkey's used him a few times and trusts him, hasn't even bothered to make the easy enquiries that would reveal his real name. Darkel's a handy contact when Sharkey is looking for a spare big dick that can go for hours. This afternoon is easy money for him, as he cheerfully loves to top and doesn't often get the chance in his work. Hairy-chested Darkel always turns up in a black vest and worn leather jacket, always revealing a well-cleavaged chest covered in wiry hair. Man, he's cheap, like something drafted in from 70s porn or the cover of an old pulp paperback. He turns up wearing a sugary-sour cologne that smells like bubblegum wrapped around a nettle. He's a straightforward kind of guy; he likes fucking, and drugs. More pot is enjoyed, and they get going with Ramon about an hour before Justin Benchley is due to arrive. Relaxing on a plush blue rug in Sharkey's lounge, Ramon is a lush, ripe recipient of their probing cocks. He sucks on Darkel's mighty member as Sharkey lazily porks his ass, enjoying long, throbbing protracted spasms of pleasure and sharing lines of coke with his rent boy accomplice. They kiss gently - Sharkey's not so accustomed to kissing guys with stubble, five o clock shadows scraping together - taking turns to plug Ramon's florid, swollen mouth and his velvety, clenching ass tunnel. Justin arrives, and is led into the lounge by the driver, who quickly departs. He is faced with a mass of sweaty limbs, muscles and flesh heaped on the the vast, comfy lawn of a rug. Man smells and marijuana smoke filling the air. Justin realises he likes those now familiar aromas, that he finds them erotic - yeah, the warm stink of a guy's sweat as much as the sweet aroma of the weed. There's a couple of seconds as he works out what he's looking at, a stretched-out tiny moment of time as he picks out the various bodies, the familiar and the unfamiliar, and realises there's one more person there than he's expected. For one ridiculous, stomach-churning moment, the idea flashes through his brain that somehow Sharkey has become some two-headed creature, that there's more to him than just one man. It comes to him with clarity, like a nightmare suddenly remembered in details, then he forgets it just as quickly as Darkel, the first one to notice him, slurs: "Hey, kid. Get over here and join in the fuckin' fun, man" Sharkey slowly disentangles himself from Ramon and Darkel. "Oh man, this is the guy," he says to Darkel as he gets up. "Told you he was fucking cute, didn't I?" He greets Justin by grabbing his jaw and kissing him deeply, Sharkey's mouth is hot and wet like steam. He strokes and grabs greedily at Justin's loosely curling hair. "Thanks for coming," he says, unusually graciously, and wastes no time in peeling the tight-fitting white T-shirt from the youth's lovely taut torso, raising his arms above his head. He kisses Justin's smooth bare chest, his little nipples. "Treat for you, babe," he says, and moments later he has arranged his man puppets so that Ramon and Darkel are on their knees licking Justin's cock into arousal, and Sharkey stands behind Justin, hands on his shoulders, grinding his moist saliva-covered dick against the small of his boy's back. Justin, for whom this started as a simple arrangement between himself and some wealthy homo, now finds himself swamped in man sex, overwhelmed by the possibilities this scenario suddenly presents - possibilities he himself has no control over. He is anxious, in too deep, but horny too. Sharkey is kissing his neck lovingly. "Mmmmmm, dammit boy, you know if things had worked out different ..." He doesn't quite get what this means, doesn't want to. Declines the offer of some cocaine. After all, he's a good kid... It's somehow inevitable that the weight of these three lusty men and their oral attentions to his body should gradually drag Justin down to the floor. Having brought his fine upstanding young member up to speed with the rest of them, they resume their erotic soup on the rug. Ramon and Justin are encouraged to kiss and fondle each other, boy they look cute together, and the older two men have no choice but to dive in and start buggering the fuck outta them. A nod from Sharkey, and Darkel takes Ramon, Sharkey making out with Justin's ass before lubing it and easing his way inside. The horny guys fuck the beautiful boys as the beautiful boys kiss with more abandon - Justin seems to like it more now, exploring Ramon's bee-stung excess of lips, surprised by them, the way they're more feminine than any girl's he's ever experienced. Ramon reaches an arm behind him to clumsily squeeze Darkel's bulky frame closer against him - an unnecesary effort really, but it expresses his appreciation of what is an enormous and vigorous cock that's pumping him like he needs. Sharkey kisses at Justin's ear, close in on his face as he fucks him, craning in for a three-way kiss between himself and the gorgeous boys. Sharkey is dimly aware of some probing unconscious effort in the back of his mind to feed on this moment, to understand the root of his desire for this young man. Why should it be that he needs to hold this boy's supple young sense of promise in his hand? Yes, its is power, but what is the power for? The questions flicker through his mind absently, an unfocused need to master his own lusts which is itself just another desire for power. The reiterated beauty of Justin and Ramon, seeming to flash before his eyes as a fresh revelation with every thudding beat of his heart, quickly blots out this futile reverie. When the boys are taken to the bedroom, that's the closest he comes to getting an answer. Justin Benchley and Ramon Reis, both on all fours, side by side, being fucked by himself and Darkel. Oh yeah, their fuck-mewling, their bowed heads, the submission of their receptive arses. Yes, in his lust-craze, in his druggy high, he sees this vision as his template for perfection; imagine not just these two pretty boys stacked side by side in assfuck humblement; imagine hundreds more, stretching off to infinity, every youth and every man he's ever had the slightest desire for - every species of lust from a second glance to a lifelong infatuation - think of every one of them bowed forward and surrendering their prone cunthole to their masters. Yeah, and their masters, every one of them, are him. holy fuck Lost in this giddy, burning whirl of shapeless need, that's when he jizzes, that's when he pours a thick, dripping puddle of himself all over Justin Benchley's back and smears it in like lotion. ------------------------------------------------------- Cross-fade. The night of Sharkey's boxing match with Jordon comes around. It takes place in a well-kept professional-style ring Ramon has not previously known about, which he discovers stands behind a usually locked door in an antechamber of Sharkey's private gym.The gym itself isn't really different in setup from the one his catamites use on the level below. Most of the equipment is the same. The difference here, unsurprisingly, is the spaciousness, the vast windows and air conditioning. There's a television screen and a sound system, luxuries not afforded to the imprisoned Jordon. Sharkey's employees and a couple of his friends gather around the boxing ring in this large room. It's not elaborate enough a setup that there are rows of seats, but there are a couple of large, long leather sofas set into the walls, such as you might find in a chic bar. So it's appropriate that there is also a well-stocked bar here. Sharkey always has every possible luxury in every conceivable place, Ramon finds. His presently favoured henchmen Rob and Gregory are there. There is Maitland Storr, an east coast whitebread jock kind of guy with whom Sharkey is developing some deal. Ramon doesn't ask about these things. There's Chris, a rough, shabby guy of around Sharkey's age, visiting from England. Ramon guesses they are childhood friends. Their tattoos are similar, maybe they got them at the same time. Chris does not appear to be part of Sharkey's elite, not part of the 'empire' to which he belongs. Ramon notices that he looks on slightly jealously, when out of Sharkey's view. Not jealous of Ramon, though. Chris likes to fuck girls. Go figure. Ramon is treated by these men as what he is - a slave with privileges, who enjoys Sharkey's indulgence. He knows that at a click of the fingers from Sharkey, he could be dragged off and locked away for future tortures as readily as Jordon or Pilce, or those other names they sometimes mention, mockingly, from the past. They converse casually with each other, but the idea of their talking to him appears unthinkable. They talk about him, however, as if he were an object. Rob and Gregory boast about the awesome times they've had screwing him, casually abusive and derogatory. And, as ever, he wears only underwear, sitting curled up by himself in frilly pink panties, arms wrapped around a sleek bent leg. His master has left the room to change for the fight, and he waits patiently for him. He is relieved when Sharkey reappears, not least because his master too, wears very little. Sharkey wears only a pair of black briefs, and handwraps. The guys let out leary cheers and boisterous wolf whistles. A smirking, confident Sharkey adopts a 'bring it on' stance and gives them the finger. His sculpted body looks magnificent. "Hey, Zac, I've been watching the movies of your opponent there," Chris teases, "You better watch out, old man, you're going down. Kid's twenty years younger'n you at least." "We'll see, huh?" Sharkey grins. "Hey, Rob, go get our little contender ready and bring him up. Let's see if he's got the fuckin' eye of the tiger" Ten minutes later, Jordon is brought in by Rob, welcomed by a sarcastic smattering of applause. His jaw is set in determination as he looks ahead at the ring. He can win his freedom, and he can do it by giving Sharkey the vengeful beating he has longed to dish out. He isn't distracted by these men. He looks right at Sharkey, who mouths a callow little kiss. When first brought into the room, his hands are cuffed behind his back. Rob unlocks the shackles and helps him wrap the black bandages on his hands. Standing at opposite ends of the room, Jordon and his opponent put on their black leather gloves. If Sharkey wears little, Jordon wears less. He has been dressed in a shiny black thong, which bares his meaty, grabbable ass almost entirely, while unforgivingly squashing his cock and balls. The guys limber up for a while before stepping up to the ring. Gregory appears to have been appointed the referee. "Alright, guys," he says to those gathered around, "You know what this is all about. Jordon here wants to fight for his freedom. Seems the little puke don't care for our hospitality!" Maitland and Chris give a sneering laugh, staring cold and hard at Jordon, sizing him up. Jordon's hands are flexing in his gloves. Gregory continues: "Mr Sharkey, meanwhile, he's just the mood to dish out a beating, yeah?" He looks at Sharkey, who grins sadistically but doesn't say anything. "So ... three minutes a round. Winner's the one who puts the other guy down for the count. My money's on Mr Sharkey. Match starts when I ring this bell" He holds up a small remote control and, moving aside, touches the key to set off a clang from the speakers. Rather than charge into action, as might have been expected from his burning eagerness to get into this fight, Jordon is careful. Mitts up, he paces his opponent. Sharkey does likewise, the near-naked men circling each other. The ring appears to be lit to emphasise the form of each man, stark with light, but with dark shadows in every crevice, caressing every contour. As they circle, we see both their backs go by, each broad and sexy. Sharkey makes a feint but then does nothing, laughing a little. "Come on then, Jordy boy, what are you waiting for? Here's your big chance!" Then he spreads his arms apart. "Come and get it" Jordon knows he's being taunted, and that Sharkey will avoid his blow, but can't resist the chance to pounce upon this wide open target. Even better for him, he intuites which way Sharkey will move when he does it. And so Jordon pounces, and Sharkey flits aside, but Jordon anticipates it, and gets him with a solid punch to the jaw. Sharkey flinches. "Not bad, son. Strong punch you've got there," he says, and in the same instant he's flying at Jordon like he means to return the favour. Jordan defends his face and Sharkey gives him a glancing blow across the ribs. The men separate again, Sharkey once more waiting for his opponent to make the first move. Then he leaps at Jordon quickly, and again, backing him close to the ropes. Jordon grits his teeth and goes for Sharkey with a left hook, then a punch in the solar plexus with all the strength of his upper body behind it. Sharkey lets out an "oof!", slams his gloved fist right into Jordon's nose, which starts to bleed. As Sharkey bends forward from Jordon's blow, the surfer attempts an uppercut which his self-appointed master counters. Jordon ducks a roundhouse punch from Sharkey, but then Sharkey slams him with an uppercut of his own, which impacts Jordon's jaw with a crunch. Something snaps in Jordon and that's when he goes for it, unleashing a furious barrage of punches, some of which Sharkey counters, others hitting home in his ribs and stomach. The bell goes and the men go back to their corners. "Ramon, where are your manners?" Sharkey asks as he sits down, obviously hurting in the ribs. "Get overe here and dab the blood off of Jordy's nose." Ever obedient, Ramon makes a move. "No need" Jordon grunts, wiping at his face with his glove and then his forearm as he stares ahead at Sharkey. "But you can get ready to pick up the pieces when I finish up with your fuckin' boyfriend here" The next round starts and Jordon flies at Sharkey again. Sharkey lashes out with a move that very nearly thrashes Jordon across the face, but Jordon deflects just in time, and hurtles a heavy punch into the top of his chest, the base of his throat. Sharkey chokes for a second and splutters, eyes watering, and, fired up, Jordon seizes his chance to take aim and give the bastard a bust nose of his own. As Sharkey reaches up to his face, Jordon punches him in the gut quick as a jackhammer, three or four times. An enraged Sharkey lashes out, but misses the fast-on-his-feet youth, who darts out of his way and gets a jab in at his ribs. The adrenalised Jordon leaps about, avoiding Sharkey's every lunge. Frustrated by his ever-shifting opponent, Sharkey readies a power punch at Jordon's midesction, but with an amazing, sexy flinch of his hips Jordon escapes it - ... "Whooahh... Zac, man, you're losing your touch" his friend Chris chides ... - and as Sharkey's punch goes wide, he slips into an ungainly lunge forward. Quick as a flash, Jordon gets him full in the face with a brutal uppercut. Sharkey's head snaps back in a shower of blood droplets and he almost loses his footing. Now blood is pouring from his nostrils and covering his mouth. Jordon breathes heavily, all his rage at this man oozing out of him now. Sharkey shakes his head, sending splatters of saliva and blood either way. The guys are making jeering, ominous sounds. Only Sharkey's old friend can risk a jibe, though. "Jeez, Zac. Fighting for his freedom? I might as well go pack his case for him now" "Pack this" grunts Sharkey, going after the boy with fresh fury. He gets some jabs in at Jordon's ribs and stomach, Jordon gets a graze on his side, but the surfer hunk continues to do a good job of blocking him. Sharkey coughs again from the punch that hit his throat. The bell goes. Gregory the 'referee', separates the men, sends them to their seperate corners. Rob comes and dabs the blood away from Sharkey's face. On Sharkey's instruction, Ramon does the same for Jordon, who is not bleeding as bad as Sharkey. "Hey kid, kiss him better" Sharkey suggests, and Ramon plants a kiss on Jordon's plump cheek, all but fluttering his eyelids at Sharkey as he does so. "Get off me, fucker!" Jordon spits at Ramon, elbowing him in the face. Ramon flinches, not really hurt. Sharkey just shakes his head slowly with his bloodied smirk. Rob stands back in time for the bell to ring, but catches Sharkey's eye with a meaningful glance. Sharkey nods. It's time. The bell goes. This time it's Sharkey who flies at Jordon, who is immediately on the defensive. The pair manage a few jabs around each other's ribs. "Come on, dickhead," Sharkey mutters in a gravelly voice as their faces get up close to each other, "Let's see what you can do" Then he takes a couple of steps back, beckoning Jordon towards him. "Come on, sweetheart" And Jordon raises his fists, gets his footing and - - and Rob takes a small remote control from his pocket - and makes a move forward and - and Rob presses a button - and Jordon receives a brief, incapacitating blast from his slave collar, and stumbles, arms reaching involuntarily for his neck. Sharkey steps forward, teeth gritted savagely, and launches a powerful blow into his stomach. "UNNNNHGhghhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" comes the whoop of air from Jordon's lungs. He doubles over, legs wobbling, almost sinking to his knees but just keeping his footing. He reaches to cradle his stomach with his weaker arm and looks up at Sharkey, ready to - ready to - ZAP! Another searing blast all across his body. He wobbles like a jelly, both arms temporarily numbed, clutching uselessly at his own torso. Sharkey strolls forward, walks behind Jordon and trips one of his feet. Sexy Jordan tumbles onto his back, the wind knocked out of him. "Oh man, kid, you were doing so well," Sharkey commiserates. "Come here." He reaches a gloved hand out for Jordon's forearm and helps pull him to his feet. Panting, Jordon doesn't know what to say. Can it make any difference for him to complain Sharkey is cheating? Desperately, he raises his fists again. He can do this, he knows he can. Sharkey can't be so vicious as to - As the shock comes, Sharkey raises a leg and rams his big bare foot way the fuck into Jordon's abs. Jordon cries out and is sent sprawling for the ropes, just turning around in time to land on his hands and knees, the rope against his face, this far from being in his mouth. The guys clap and cheer Sharkey on. Rob brandishes the remote control brazenly. Jordon hears Sharkey's musing voice coming from behind him. "No technique, boy, I think maybe that's your problem." Then he kicks Jordon squarely in the arse. "AAAarrgghh!" Jordon sobs. He's struggling to get up when Sharkey kicks his arms from under him and he lands flat on his face. A swaggering Sharkey leans down to whisper in his ear. "Or maybe I'm your fucking problem, huh, son? Because if you think I'm ever gonna break our deal and let your sweet ass go free, you're sorely fuckin' mistaken." He stands up. "You know what 'sorely' means, Jordy? Kind of like this." With a moan of delight, Sharkey kicks his prey in the ribs. He lets the agonised Jordon writhe and then paces away, allowing the surfer boy time to get back to his feet. It's slow going, and as he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees and uses the ropes to struggle to his feet, the flush of redness on Jordon's broad face seems as much embarrassment as pain. As he looks at Sharkey in absolute hate, his conqueror smiles back with an air of easy, effortless triumph. "Mmm, you're fuckin hot when you're hurting" Sharkey goads. "Don't you think so guys?" "Hell yeah" Maitland agrees. "Fuck, man" Chris says in disbelief - though at what isn't clear. "Let's see how much hotter we can get you, huh?" grins Sharkey. "Come on, come and get me, son. Punch me in the face. Think of all them times I've owned your ass, huh? Think how many more times I'm gonna do it again!" With a strained gurgle of hate, Jordon makes his move for Sharkey. He can't resist it. There's nothing else he can do. But because he expects another punishing shock, and then it doesn't come, he hesitates long enough for Sharkey to get him right in the gut again, and then when he doubles over, to shove him to the mat. "Shall I count him out?" Gregory suggests, moving forward. "He's already fucking counted out!" Sharkey grunts, gesturing Gregory to get out of the way. Obligingly, Gregory steps out of the ring. The bell goes. "Fuck that," Sharkey snorts. He removes his gloves, strolling over to throw them out of the ring and, starting to take the bandages off, he wanders back over to the curled up Jordon. "Gloves are off, babe. Tell you what, how's about you get onto your belly and come worship your master's feet, and I'll take it a little easier on you?" "Noo.... fuckin... way..." Jordon wheezes, getting up again on trembling arms and legs. "Cool. I was hoping you'd say that. Come on then, get up, dickhead. I can't wait forever to give you your pounding, you know" Jordon gets to his feet, aims a wobbly punch at Sharkey. Sharkey lets it hit him to show Jordon how poor an effort it is. "Wow, man, you've really ran out of steam in this round. Hope you don't mind - 'coz I'm just warming up!" With his hand now ungloved, he takes a hold of Jordon's wrist, twisting his arm up behind his back and getting the buff beauty in a headlock. He licks and kisses at Jordon's delicate little ear surprisingly tenderly as he squeezes the abused slaveboy hunk in his grip. As he does so, Sharkey continues to moan and growl in total, overwhelming pleasure at the sexy young hunk's sheer helplessness in his grip. If he remembers the other guys are there watching, he seems not to care any more. Revelling in his power, he grinds his hips rhythmically into Jordon's almost totally exposed butt, orgasmically growling into the slut's ear as he makes out with it, as Jordon whines helpless in his tyrant master's grip. His package is pressed tightly into Jordon's buttocks, but it's obvious how hugely erect Sharkey is now. "Submit to my power, boy," Sharkey whispers, "Feel your master's power overwhelming you and give in. You are nothing, Jordon Lunar ... fuck.... oh fuck yeah, that's good, having you in my arms" Jordon struggles in vain, but Sharkey's choke hold on him tightens and he ceases his fight. "... you're mine, Jordon Lunar, you're the property of Zac Sharkey ... you are my pussy to fuck ... see, I want you to know in every bone of your body that I am your master ..." Sharkey slowly lets go of the hunk, gives him a little push forward. Jordon stumbles and turns round to face Sharkey, holding his sore arm. His reddened face looks petulant and ... and really fucking dumb, now you notice it. "F - fuck you" he mutters lamely, as Sharkey triumphantly steps out of his briefs to unleash his massive rock hard cock. Jordon forgets to resist as his master gives him another punch in the stomach, now with his bare knuckles, and falls onto his knees. Sharkey plants a foot beneath Jordon's face and the mat. "Ahhh, fuck yeah, kiss my feet, boy. Grovel at your master's feet or I'll have to punish you some more." The collar gives Jordon another blast courtesy of Rob and he wobbles and collapses, drooling on Sharkey's foot. "Do it, you pathetic fucking bitch, or I will smash you." A beat. Then Jordon lets out a low moan of despair. Yes, he's defeated. Hope gone. Ramon watches his master from behind the ropes, rapt. He is so turned on by his master's power and ruthlesness. Even more so by his complete lack of honour or sense of playing fair. Jordon the surfer airhead never had a chance against the vicious, dirty bastard. Ramon revels yet more in his favoured place in the monstrous, sexy Sharkey's affections. And Jordon kisses his master's feet softly, sobbing quietly. Sharkey stretches his muscled body in pleasure. Oh yes, this is what it's all fucking about. Having a boy he lusts after humbled and abased, broken to his will. "Man, you're a perv, Zack," Chris chuckles uneasily, taking another swig of his beer. "This is the fuckin' hottest, mate," Sharkey says with assurance. "I can't live without my little fucktoys. You've never turned a cocky young guy into your personal grovelling faggot, you've never lived." Still mewling, Jordon kisses and licks at Sharkey's feet. "You say so," Chris shrugs. Sharkey thinks. "Get up here, man. Get your kit off and let the little fucker do the same for you." Chris laughs nervously. "No way" "Come on, mate. I guarantee you're gonna fucking love it Own him, man. Do it." Chris resists a bit longer, but of course he's curious - fuck, who wouldn't be - and the jeering and encouragements of the other guys soon persuades him. Stripping to his underwear, white briefs that are kind of grubby - guess he didn't expect to be doing this - Chris steps awkwardly up into the ring. He's a really skinny guy,not big like his pal. Sharkey places his hand on his friend's shoulder, unselfconscious about the way his big erect dick is waving around as he moves. "Here you go, man, give it a try." Chris tentatively pokes his foot in front of Jordon's face, like he's dipping a toe in to test the water. At a word from Sharkey, the broken Jordon begins kissing at his feet. "Good boy," Sharkey says, slowly circling the two of them like he has to see this multi-angle. Chris meanwhile, well, he has to admit he likes the view from where he is now. It gives him an inexplicable, surprising thrill in his gut to see this strong, beautiful young man spread out on the mat before him, way down at his feet. The feeling of Jordon's mouth at his feet is something he can take or leave, but the sense of winning some forbidden victory is the real, unexpected turn-on. He recognises instantly how good it is to have this guy as his bitch. "It's good, huh?" Sharkey says, looking between his friend's face and that of the humbled Jordon. Chris smiles. "It's okay, I guess" "Only okay?" Zac snorts. "Come on, Jordy boy, put your fuckin' back into it," he spits and then, back to Chris, "I tell you man, there have been times he's tongued me into orgasm just doing this." Sharkey enjoys long, leisurely strokes up and down his cock as he continues to circle, eyes on Jordon. It's not long before he gives into temptation and positions himself behind the grovelling fool, squatting over Jordon's tanned legs to take hold of the slender waistband on his skimpy thong and pull it slowly off of him. Tonguing Chris's feet, the surfer lets out a little moaning sound that acknowledges what is happening, but whether it's a sound of discomfort, or anguish, or pleasure, is hard to say. Nor is it important as the slender underwear slides dlowly down his smooth meaty thighs and over the backs of his knees and calves. Sharkey slowly raises one of Jordon's feet, then another, to take the skinny little pants off and drop them on the mat. "Keep going, moron," Sharkey instruct. He grins at Chris, whose initially awkward stance with his arms by his sides is replaced by a gentle stroking of his own cock through his underpants as he gets more and more into this hot power rush. He's poking his feet more aggressively into Jordon's face, raising them one at a time to let him lick at the soles. "Suck my toe, ya little homo," he blurts, surprising himself, and as the reluctant little slut does so, Sharkey turns his attentions fully to Jordon's asshole, resting on his elbows and eating it out greedily. He doesn't really care if the other guys in the room are watching any more - though they are, all of them - he's just enjoying the dirty fun of totally dominating this hot guy in an arena designed for men to face off as equals. He wants Jordon to know he is not his equal, that he is the superior one. Jordy groans some more as Sharkey has his fun with the tight pink hole - that it's still so tight is amazing, considering the things Sharkey and his men have done to it these past months. He nuzzles right in with his face, grunting and growling appreciatively, rocking backwards and forwards in rhythm with his hips. When he can wait no longer, he takes his face away, licking his lips and looking at the gorgeous, beefy young body laid out for his pleasure. "Damn boy," he says, kind of in disbelief at the fierceness of the lust he feels. And he mounts the helpless hunk and guides his cock to its target, to that moist, sweet hole between those awesome curvy buttocks. Ooooh fuck, there it is, the inside of Jordon's hole, the heavy whumph of air from Jordon's throat as he is penetrated once again by his master. There are his hot shoulders held in Sharkey's strong, clutching hands as he gets inside and fucks, fucks, fucks the bastard. "Yeahhh... that's it boy.... don't fight me.... you should know you can't fight your master.... don't you know that yet, huh, son? I know you're a fuckin' airhead ... ahhhhh yeaaah, that's good ..... ahhhhh...fuckyeah.... but even a dumb fuck like you .... ggggghhhhrhrhr .... should have learned his lesson by now .... I own you, boy ... ahhhhhh fuck yeah .... I own you ..." Chris steps back as, overcome with his vicious desire, Sharkey wraps his arms around Jordon's torso, crushing the slut in his arms and making him totally unable to go on any longer with his foot worship. Sharkey ruts violently as he envelopes his trapped prey, panting and grunting as he savours his dominance, revels in the bitch's helplessness as the bitch himself mewls and whines, his will to resist broken. Then slowly, slowly Sharkey tears himself away, red in the face with exertion. Still panting heavily, he moves back, takes Jordon by the arms and flips him around roughly onto his back. Teary-eyed, Jordon does nothing to stop his master as Sharkey takes the boy's legs and spreads them, lifts them up over his shoulders. "Hey Chris," Sharkey says, "Get your fuckin' pants off now. We can all see you're hard, what ya trying to hide? Get your pants off and fucking sit on his face." Chris looks briefly over to the other guys, who are all goading and cheering him on to do so. He laughs, takes off his underpants, throws them to the side of the ring. Holding on to his stiffy, he positions his feet either side of Jordan's brightly blonde head, squats, places his bare, hairy arse just above the face, hovers a moment - - and then plants his butt squarely on top the handsome surfer dude's bloodied features. Instinctively, Sharkey enters the cunt's fuckhole again at exactly the same time, and watches in orgasmic delight as his old friend braces his hands against Jordon's buff starry-tattooed chest and gets into the sensation of grinding his arse over that gorgeous, stupid face. The more roughly he fucks, the more roughly Chris is encouraged to assault Jordy's prettyboy face with his boney arse, bouncing up and down on it, his erect cock thrashing around. Sharkey holds onto Jordon's thick, fat erection with one hand, jerking it hard. "See? You fucking love it, don't ya, boy? Bet you've always wanted some guy to come along and treat you like a piece of meat ... fuck, I bet you've been just praying for a master like me to put you in your place ... this is your place, you horny faggot. This ... uuuunnnnnhhh.... is where you belong! Fuck, boy, this big hard cock of yours doesn't lie ... its nearly as big and stiff as mine is ... course, I don't have to tell you that, do I? ... Cuz you can feel how big and stiff your master's cock is ... right now ... you feel that? .... yeah? ... tearing up your insides ... show us how much you love it, man ... by giving some attention to my mate's arse ...." And Jordon does his best, but it's hard enough just to get his breath as Chris's eager butt, getting really into this, virtually smothers him. "Uh oh, man," Chris gasps, "... think I'm gonna ..." and he lifts his arse an inch from Jordon's face, and just as Jordon takes a welcome gulp of air, Chris lets out an almighty fart. Sharkey feels the way the boy's athletic body tightens and convulses as the hot stink engulfs his face. He laughs as the other guys cheer and clap. "Whoah, that's better," Chris sighs, slamming his arse back down on the beleaguered face of the little pussy, whose arms clutch helplessly at the mat, hands still gloved. Chris becomes more turned on at the license to do something so disgusting to the boy, and be cheered on for it. He's seeing the appeal of having a young man as a slave. Sure, he can't have a titfuck - but this ain't fucking bad either! He starts fondling his cock as he feels the bitch boy's face squashed underneath him, almost wishes he had another rotten fart inside him to release. You should be aware by now that Sharkey's passion to dominate and control needs no special trigger. He does not need to be angered or wronged. All he needs is to see what he wants, and to take it, by any means necessary. But a brief flashback here may reveal a little more of why Jordon enflames Sharkey's hateful passion so much: We see Jordon and his dumb-ass pals around a kitchen table, plotting. The ultimate fate of these other surfer guys is unknown from our present perspective, but you can't imagine Sharkey let them get away with their plot against him. Part of the plan they discuss involves getting Jordon to pretend to be a gay guy and lead Sharkey on a bit. The guys all agree, in the most macho, jokey way possible, that Jordon is the prettiest of the gang - - and a close-up here on his best friend Kyle suggests that Kyle knows this only too well, that his love for Jordon is more than brotherly - - and nominate him to 'accidentally' bump into Sharkey in a beachside bar and get something going. At this point, the guys believe Sharkey to be a cog in the machine they're trying to defraud. They have no idea he is the machine. Nor do they know him by his real name. And here is Jordon sitting in his vest and shorts at a fireside, making lovey-dovey eyes at Sharkey, taking Sharkey's hand and letting him stroke his cute blond hair, then backing away, saying he doesn't want to lead him on. Jordon impersonates a coquettish gay boy quite well, you wonder where he's had the practice. Then he finds his excuse to leave. It's possible, it's just possible, that Sharkey has never forgiven him for this - leading him on so knowingly, teasing him so deliberately. Almost mockingly. And now he's showing him. Jordon wanted to lead him on, make him hot - well now he's getting everything he had coming to him for doing it. Don't mess with me, fuckhead. Sharkey watches Jordon squirm and wince under his good friend's arse, and he feels the burning jet of cum that's ready to shoot out of him, but holds onto it, withholds it as much as he can, savouring this moment of consummation, of the boy's perfect subjugation to him. And then he bucks and thrusts wildly and feels the scorching heat tear through his abdomen and his cock to invade the fucking beautiful boy, his seed up inside the irresistible little cowed stud. He cries out victoriously, panting and sweating. Chris continues to rub his arse over Jordon's cute, dumb-ass face, balancing well on his haunches as he rubs one hand up and down the length of his cock. Sharkey shrugs off Jordon's sexy legs, dropping them onto the mat. He stands up, holding on to his still hugely erect dick. "Come on, man, your turn. See what it's like to fuck him." But Chris refuses, not ready to go that far. "Your loss," Sharkey shrugs, but encourages his mate to hump Jordon's face: "Fuck, man, you'd have a wank and wipe it off on a rag, wouldn't you? Well, do you know what this is?" - he gestures at Jordon - "This, mate, is what I use for a jizz rag. Have a go, man - try out a fucking luxury jizz rag!" There's a rumble of lusty approval from Sharkey's heavies. Chris, more horny than he'd like to admit, can't resist. Getting up off Jordon's face, he positions himself over the sunkissed hunk so he can rub his cock up and down on it instead. Getting on his knees, but staying on the same spot with Jordon's head upside down beneath him, he climbs over and plants his hands around the human wank cloth's waist. He starts humping Jordon's broad, miserably pouting face, his hairy dark bollocks against Jordon's blonde hair, his cock grinding against the boy's forehead, nose and chin, scrotum rubbing over the cowed slaveboy's forehead. "Uuuurhhh ..." he breathes. "Ohhh.... oh man ... oh fuck yeah ..." Backwards and forwards he goes, getting harder and faster, roughly grinding his cock over the stupid bastard's face. "Unnnnhhh ... fuck, yes. Oh fuck yeah, you little shithead, this feels awesome! Unnnnnhhh! UUNNNNGHH!" Gregory and Rob lean against the ropes, watching. "Go for it, man! The little pussyhole can't get enough!" Rob is scrawny, but hard and lean, and almost all the muscles in his body show up in the stark light as he has his way with the luscious young beach stud. He ruts determinedly, ruthlessly. "OOHHHH! OH MAN! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he yells, arms and legs trembling as he shoots a thick load of cum right over Jordon's chest and stomach, and then another volley that splatters over the bastard's chin, a third that manages to aim at the mouth. Sharkey snatches the remote from Rob's hand and gives Jordon a quick blast with the collar as his pal's hot seed splatters all over the stupid fuck. Cum dribbles into Jordy' mouth as he opens it to cry out. Chris feels some of the shock in his own body, and it just intensifies his orgasm. "Fuck ... fuck ... holy shit, that was hot ..." he admits as he climbs off Jordon's prone, jizz-slicked body, gets up onto his feet. "Not bad, huh?" Sharkey smirks, making a move forward to 'help' Jordon to his feet. "Get up, fuckface, I'm not done with you yet. Guys, help me out here." Sharkey's heavies step into the ring and help him manouevre the helpless spunkdump over to the ropes. "Gonna take my time a bit more now..." Sharkey says. Now he's bending Jordon over the ropes. His men climb back over the other side, and each take hold of one of Jordon's arms to keep him in position. The two dark-suited men keep hold of the naked jizzy stud, his long yellow hair dangling and hiding his face, as their boss holds the beautiful muscle boy tight around the waist and begins another fuck, this time long and leisurely. As he rams his cock up the stupid fuck, he tells Chris he may as well take a seat, and instructs Ramon that he is to worship Chris's cock - that is, if Chris accepts the invitation. Which, of course, Chris does. No-one in their right mind could resist Ramon's mouth at work on their dick. Not only are Ramon's plush lips bigger and prettier than those of the vast majority of guys' - they're bigger and prettier than the vast majority of girls' too. Chris sits back with a beer, spreads his skinny legs, and lets Ramon kneel before him and do his thing. Sharkey is in heaven as he watches Ramon slobberingly perform his expert cock worship while giving another gorgeous slave faggot a deep, hard ass pounding. When Sharkey finally cums up inside his boy again, after more than forty minutes, he nods to his men to release the slave. As they let go, Jordy doesn't move for a moment, and then almost collapses as he tries to stand up. Legs and arms numb, his puckered asshole and pounded prostate as sore as hell, he gets upright for just long enough to clutch at the ropes and ease himself onto his knees. Panting and gleaming with sweat, red in the face, his trembling white-knuckled hands then let go the lowest rope and he falls onto his shoulder, curled up nearly foetal on the mat. Sharkey smiles down at him, delighted as the subdued hunk lies helpless and hurting at his feet. He plants a foot on Jordon's shoulder. He keeps it there as he leans against the rope to watch Ramon deep-throating his friend. Chris is clutching Ramon's head and bucking convulsively as the son of a bitch pleasures him in a way he couldn't have imagined. Sharkey knows no woman could ever have given him as much ecstasy with her mouth as Ramon is capable of. Ramon is the perfect cocksucker. Gregory and Rob pace the room, stretching their arms and backs. Holding Jordon in position has been nearly as draining for them as it has for Jordy himself. Well, maybe not quite as much. Anyway, the guys are taking off their jacket and loosening their ties now. A groaning, yelling Chris hugs Ramon's head tight against his crotch as he finally jizzes right down the beautiful girly boy's throat, directly into his belly, it seems to him. When he's totally spent, he lets go, releasing Ramon's hair and relaxing back against the chair. Having spunked his load, he bats Ramon away like he doesn't know what the slut is doing there and glugs another mouthful of beer. Sharkey takes his foot away from the whimpering Jordon. "You know the funny thing about this dumbass?" he calls to Chris, "It's not even the first time he's fallen for that trick." Getting out of the ring, he says to his henchmen: "All yours for now, guys." Rob and Gregory don't need telling twice. Already removing their clothes, it's not long before they're up in the ring again, marauding menacingly towards Jordy as he struggles to get back up on his hands and knees. Sharkey and Chris sit and chat about old times as Sharkey pets Ramon's hair, Ramon sitting like an obedient dog at his feet, face still glittering with jizz. The surfer boy's cries and moans come thick and fast, barely noticed by the two men, as Jordon Lunar's ordeal continues into the night. -------- But the poor, punished Jordy is far from being the most unfortunate creature in Sharkey's possession. Ramon has yet to encounter Daniel Pilce ...