Beach Boys (14 page)

“My little pet,” Master Pi said.

Another rope, this time wrapping round Rice’s waist and around Shy’s and back again. When these tightened, they drew the two slaves together like panels of a corset. Contact evoked a fresh shiver.

“Now, dance for me,” Master Pi ordered.

Rice began. His hard body was a furnace, pouring heat into Shy’s. He swayed against Shy, body grinding in a slow side-to-side motion. A cobra enchanted by the seductive tune of a charmer’s pipe. Soon, the air was rich with the black man’s musk and flavored with sweat salt. Shy matched the motions as well as he could, then countered them. Soon they were rubbing back and forth, around and about.

The rubbing was hot in more ways than temperature. The air around them soon grew charged, ready to launch lusty lightning to the surrounding crowd or possibly attracting errant heat-born sparks. As their bound forms ground through their sluttish dance, more and more eyes found their ways over.

Eager gazes energized Shy. Hungry minds and spirits fueled their dance.

Soon, Shy’s leather bound erection brushed against Rice’s. This was a wholly different sensation. Tingles of anticipation tensed and relaxed his muscles in orgiastic orchestrations.

“Enough,” Master Pi ordered. Rice stopped in an instant. Shy continued only a beat longer. “Such defiance! How poorly your name fits you, Shy.” Master Pi lashed a hand across Shy’s ass. Contact and then only the lingering ghost of a slap. Slowly fading.

My God
, Scotty thought. But Shy smiled, wordlessly begging for more.

Master Pi chuckled. “You must earn it, Shy. Will you serve me, tonight?”

“Yes.”
Oh God, yes
!

Master Pi held out a hand, and one of his furniture servants put an oddly thick, off-balance boomerang into it. No, Scotty realized, it was a gag. Arching dildo on one side, smaller, fatter dildo on the other. One for insertion into a mouth, the other for inserting—elsewhere.

Shy was salivating at sight of the thing.

“Oh,” Master Pi said, “this is not for you. Or, I suppose it is.”

Now it was Rice’s turn to preen.

“Yes, Rice,” Master Pi said. “You may sodomize this impertinent catamount. With this.” He shook the gag tantalizingly, then clipped it to Rice’s mask. After a couple of gagging moments, Rice knelt at the ready. His breaths came moist around the plug in his mouth.

Master Pi undid the ropes. What had seemed so taut, so unyielding, fell away with only a few gestures. Master Pi put a boot sole on Shy’s sternum and shoved Shy onto his back, rendering him helpless as a turtle. How strong for such a slender man! Another throaty chuckle followed as the top gazed down upon the prostrate bottom. “Position this catamount.”

Two brawny slaves emerged from the growing throng of onlookers. They took hold of Shy and turned him over. Arranged him. He was on his knees. Bent forward, ass raised and ready.

Someone, perhaps Master Pi, perhaps one of the brawny lads, yanked the g-string aside, baring the puckered asshole.

“Look at him twitch,” Master Pi observed. “Lubricate him.”

Scotty recoiled at the touch of strangers, but Shy was once more energized. Every moment the sharp smelling, lubricated fingers rubbed in and out of his asshole, slicking the skin, readying it for the coming dildo, flowers of lust spread their petals inside Shy’s body and mind and soul. My God, Scotty thought,
what am I becoming?
Then, a sudden dawning revelation:
Have I ever really known myself before this moment?

“He is ready,” an effeminate man’s voice said, “Master Pi.”

“Position Rice.”

Sounds of movement, of exertion. Grunts and unsteady steps, and then the clink of DRings. Sensation: a thick, room temperature object nudged Shy’s ass. Scotty recoiled, once more, and Shy shoved back as though he might impale himself upon it.

It remained ever out of reach. Rice moved in time with him, teasing but offering no payoff.

“Please,” Shy whimpered. “Please fill me.”

A hand cuffed him across the buttocks, and Shy yelped. “Easy now, my little catamount. Easy.”

Rice growled, animal-like and eager. What were they doing to him? Were they slicking Rice’s ass, too? Would it be a chain of buggery?

The idea brought such fascinating images.

From further back, Master Pi’s voice came again. “Now, Rice.” The dildo’s tip slipped into Shy’s ass, spreading the winking hole wide, wider. A strange sensation, that. So much more than anything he had attempted. Tiny plugs, no wider than his ring finger had been all Scotty could work up the courage for. Even his few bouts with pegging had been with narrow implements. And the occasional tongue. Nothing like—this.

The dildo was fat, and his ass yawned wider than ever before. The stretching sensation was at once terrifying and indescribably amazing. At first, he instinctively squeezed shut. All these people watching made Scotty nervous. However, squeezing shut around the dildo tip only sent pain shooting through him.
I have to relax
, Scotty thought,
but how
? Shy relaxed instinctively.

Even before it had entered completely, Rice’s dildo gag slid back out again. Shy’s asshole felt enormous, as though anyone might be able to glance inside and see straight to his core.

Rice grunted through his gag, whimpering as Shy had been whimpering. Scotty realized,
Rice’s being fucked, too
. A daisy chain of sodomy, how dirty-beautiful.

Then, the dildo was back inside him again, surging forward, eager to spread his ass ever wider. Shy screamed for it to fill him. Howled for more, more, more. He begged while the crowd watched, grinning at him, touching each other. Slaves fellated their masters, while tops relished the entertainment.

Watch me
.

Fuck me
.

Out again. Had the dildo yet reached its halfway point?

Rice panted for cock. Then the dildo was in Shy once more.

My God
, Scotty thought,
yes
.

Yes, yes, yes-yes-yesyesyes
!

On the fourth entry, Rice’s face reached Shy’s cheeks. The dildo was completely in, stretching his ass beyond imagining. The rubber shaft moved side to side, sending new currents through Shy’s body. He strained at the ropes. He screamed in pleasure. It was too much.

His limbs felt extraneous. Out of control. How could so much sensation fill one body? Surely, he must burst! He—

Out again.

In.

Out.

In. Yes.

Shy’s cock had never been harder, its head strained against the leather.

Out.

In.

Then faster. Impossible to tell just where that dildo was. So much sensation poured through Shy’s body, his consciousness blanked on the moment. The crowd smeared amidst tears of pleasure. His knees were raw against the floor. His back strained, his muscles burned, his entire body begged for release—

Finally, the eagerly awaited order arrived: “Release, my pet.” Master Pi! “Sing to me of your release!”

In that moment, dildo buried to the hilt, Shy did sing. His cock spat into the black leather cup, and his voice went through all the octaves of desire, of pleasure, of freedom.

When his voice broke, he lay in shivering shock.

These waters, he had discovered, were more than deep enough for him to dive into.

* * * *

The next morning, a set of knocks roused Scotty from dream recollections of the last night’s explorations. It was Mel, the friend who talked him into trying this little cruise in the first place. Breakfast was ready, and Mel had brought a selection to Scotty’s cabin.

“Just a minute,” Scotty said, “Let me find my robe.”

His ass was still pleasantly big this morning. All through the night when he had been trying to get to sleep, he had felt the need to go to the bathroom. Number two. Of course, he really did not have to go. It was only a mental association side effect of the ass stretching.

The sensation lingered even now.

After finding his robe, Scotty let Mel in. They shared eggs and waffles while exchanging good morning pleasantries.

Finally, Mel got to the real question on his mind. “Are you having a good time?”

Scotty glanced toward the hat box where the mask and harness waited. Black leather, chrome snaps. Would he be in the gag, tonight?

“Yes,” said Shy Scotty without a moment’s hesitation. “I am.” The two voices were almost indistinguishable now. After tonight, would there be a difference at all.

by Clarissa Duquesne

I noticed Janice’s car in the parking lot when I arrived, a powder-blue Ford Escort with a Save the Whales sticker in the back window. Phil would no doubt have traveled with her, and that was really something I didn’t understand at all, why somebody so obviously heterosexual would act in gay porn movies, and how his girlfriend could be so blasé about him fucking men, but it wasn’t my business. As long as Phil turned in a decent performance and Janice captured it on film, whatever compromises they made with their sexuality in their private lives was up to them. Certainly they appeared perfectly happy, and that was something I envied. I wished I had a guy who would look at me the way Phil looked at Janice.

The beach was virtually deserted, just as our location scout had reported, though it would fill up later in the day. The only people I could see were a middle-aged couple ensconced within a circle of matching windbreaks and baking in the early morning sun, their bodies basted with suntan lotion and naked except for strategically placed strips of brightly colored material. They looked like they were settled in for the day, and I was glad about that as the last thing we needed was a stream of passing foot traffic. Not wanting to draw attention, I detoured down to the waterline to give them a wide berth.

As I walked, something caught my eye, an object nestling in the sand that captured the sunlight coming off the water and threw it back with a dazzling radiance. Curious, I stopped to see what it was. The neck of a bottle protruded from the sand, waves washing in and out around it. I waited a moment until the tide retreated, then dashed forward to seize it from the ocean’s grip. The bottle resisted at first, as if the sand wanted to keep hold of it, then gave so suddenly, I
almost fell over. It was a rather plain-looking piece, green glass so thick you couldn’t see through it, a cork in the neck, the only distinguishing feature strange marks in a vertical line down one side. I thought they might be Arabic, but it was only a guess. The bottle had no doubt been thrown overboard from a passing ship and washed up here. My friend Callie collected ornamental glass and this might be of interest to her, so I slipped it into my duffel bag.

As I did so I thought I heard a voice speak, but when I looked all around me there was nobody near, only gulls circling overhead and the susurration of the waves on the sand, which suddenly seemed slightly more intimidating than before, a sense of relentlessness about it. It was as if the sea was sending out feelers, threatening to wash over my sandaled feet with each fresh inroad it made on the beach. Feeling slightly foolish, I stepped back out of the waves’ reach. .

A hundred yards or so down the beach, I could see the others: Phil and Gerry had already stripped down to their Speedos and Janice was studying them through the lens of the camera, looking to get their best sides, taking into account stuff like sun reflecting off the water. I stepped up the pace, and within a couple of minutes I was alongside, dropping my duffel bag down on the sand.

“And here’s Martin, late as usual,” said Janice, but there was no criticism in her voice.

“It’s my trademark,” I said and shook hands with everybody. “You guys know what’s required?”

“Sucking and fucking,” said Gerry. “Just like in the last hundred films we’ve made.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” I said, hurt by the dismissive nature of the comment. This wasn’t high art, as I’d be the first to admit, but I did make some effort to inject a little variety into my scripts.

“I’ve got a screen test over at Boyz R’Us early this afternoon,” said Phil, “so could we please get a move on?”

“Fine with me,” I said, not for the first time confirming to myself the truth of Hitchcock’s observation that actors were cattle, but he’d never had to direct gay porn stars. If so, I’m sure he’d have come up with an even more derogatory metaphor.

They’d set up in close to the cliff, so nobody walking on the path up above could easily look down on us, and in a natural cleft in the rock face so that we had at least a little shelter, from both the breeze and prying eyes. A couple of windbreaks provided yet more protection, and Phil was stretched out on a tartan beach blanket between them, naked except for black Speedos that set off perfectly the copper color of his finely toned physique. Gerry wandered off down to the waterline clutching the multi-colored beach ball that was his only prop.

“Okay, action,” I called, and then for the next half hour tried to keep out of shot, while offering minimal direction and keeping an eye out for intruders. This was probably the most important part of my job, as none of us wanted to get arrested for public indecency, and public indecency was most definitely on the menu for Big Boyz Beach Balls-Up.