Wesley Harper sat at the end of the bar at Number One Fifth Avenue. He had

recently reached his majority and was comfortable knowing he could order a

drink legally. He was also pleased that the young bartending didn't proof

him, as though his new maturity was evident.

Wes had his first job. It was easy to land. His Uncle Max was head of an

advertising agency in mid-town and Wes was taken on as a copywriter. Wes

did have some experience in writing at Yale, supplying ed.columns all

during his undergraduate days.

He was on his first drink, a Manhattan. A little old style but at least

when ordered 'extra sweet' it was a bearable hard liquor drink. By

coincidence he was meeting an old client of the agency, a liquor

distributor, who had several well-known brands in his stable. He was

introducing a new brand. Wes decided it was a hard sell. He wondered how

he could whoop up interest in orange flavored vodka.

As the time moved on. He realized that he had been here about forty-five

minutes. The client knew he was there and could have called the bar to say

he was late. Perhaps he just forgot the appointment. Wes ordered his

second drink.

The first drink made him feel relaxed and cheerful. He was aware of eyes

checking him out. Even the bartender stared at him as he ordered his drink

and smiled seductively at him. Wes was used to it. He was definitely not

gay, but he was, like so many young guys today, not anti-gay and felt that

the admiration he saw in other men was not threatening but rather a

compliment. Besides, at six three and 215, he was physically unafraid of

male rape.

Marna, his current girl friend once broke into tears because she said he

was better looking than her. It was true he mused later, Marna

complemented his sexually, what he craved and needed: a juicy cunt that he

could sink his not unsubstantial cock into and ride to a great cum. He was

also a devotee of giving oral sex, not that receiving was bad, but often a

distraction from the eating of that hot place.

Like real straight guys he loved everything about women: their voice, their

skin, breasts and-and-the whole setup. Marna was ideal for him and he

intended to hold on to her as long as possible. She was gorgeous. She

loved sex, but treated it as fun. She was well educated, elegant in taste,

looked outstanding on his muscled arm. He realized he was getting a little

hard thinking about her. There was a date this evening at her place.

Little Wes would have to calm down and be patient. He surely wasn't going

to wack off in the men's room and waste good spunk on the urinal.

Bobby the bartender and other men who sat at tables in the bar, or passed

on the way to the pisser, or sat at stools near him stared with hot eyes at

him. He excited the curiosity of other men, even straight men. This was

not a gay bar so the steady stares were from his sexual brothers.

What elicited this attention? Was it his extraordinary face, with classic

features, the smooth skin of his cheeks, the clear forehead crossed with

tumbling curls from his midnight black shiny hair or the eyes? Yes it

could be that. Wes had large eyes, long eyes, heavily lashed eyes set with

a jewel of a dark blue pupil. His never tweezed eyebrows arched over

giving a perfect comment to the glistening orbs below. Finally he sported

an imperfection, an artifact that some people consider remedying. It was a

faint connection of black hairs between his brows. Marna said it made her

cream. Wes was one of those guys who just looked fantastic without any

work. He was hardly conscious of the fact that in a world of billions, he

was probably part of a few hundred specimens of his perfection. His body

was made for clothes, but he didn't seem to notice. He worn ordinary pants

and jackets, a blue blazer or a tweed jacket over chinos or jeans were his

wardrobe mainstay. But those mundane choices looked great on him. The

reason was his broad shoulders and small waist and probably his carriage.

He looked like the product of military training. That came from four years

in a military prep school.

He looked at his expensive gold wristwatch, a graduation present from his

Dad. 'Look prosperous, even if you aren't.' he advised. 'People are

uncomfortable with someone poorer than they are. Get an apartment in at a

good address, even if it is studio size. You can always move to a larger

one later, but you can't remove the negative effect of your first

impression.

He occasionally brought clients, and before that, girls. It was sparsely

and manly furnished. He often lied, 'This is my New York City hole up. My

house is up in Connecticut, too far after dinner or theater to drive up.'

Oh yeah, it had to be a Porches. Dad told him that even an old one has

cache.

The second drink had lulled him into a nice cotton-batting comfort. He

hardly minded being stood up. But his reverie was interrupted by a smooth

throaty voice near his ear on the left. It belonged to a nattily dressed

guy in his fifties. His words were pronounced in an upper class British

accent. Wes turned to regards him. His gray mustached, florid face, quite

close emitted a pleasant citrus smell. He had a big face, smooth fat

cheeks atop a loudly checkered sport coat, a lime-colored cravat denting

his jowled, carefully shaved neck. 'What did you say?' asked Wes,

expecting the usual come on line. It never made him mad. He usually and

politely turned the attempt away. He always felt a little sad for these

poor bedeviled homosexuals.

'I said 'have you thought of modeling?' He ended the words by handing Wes

and heavy, real parchment business card. It proclaimed the name of a

famous modeling agency and showed Malcolm Foster as president. This guy

had real backup to his approach.

'I have a job, but thanks.' He turned back his drink.

The guy did not leave. 'Surely you can use another, say fifty thousand

year and you can still keep your day job.'

Now that sounded interesting.

'What I'd have to do, pose for porno?'

'Not at all (he pronounced it as notatal). We have a client in the $3000 a

copy suit business. I'm wearing his trousers. I mean, trousers made by

his company. You are the perfect 42 long. Few chaps of your height six

three I guess can wear that size. You'll get a few fee suits out of it and

$300 an hour to start.'

Now this was interesting. 'I can't say I couldn't use the dough. Living

in the city, parking my car and the other goodies really costs. Maybe I am

interested. What should I do?'

'Come up to our offices, by the way, close to this Hotel. I'll set up an

appointment with the owner. His name is Chiu Tsing, a Chinese chap,' he

added unnecessarily.'

He told the suave Brit that he'd think about it. During the next few days

he felt that heavy card whenever he put his hand in his pocket. Now the

last few days were hell for Wes. Several of his ideas were shot down at

the creative meeting. The chance of picking up so much dough began to seem

more and more interesting. Then too, he had a suppressed desire to flaunt

his beauty. The only time he could when in a sexual situation. Last night

Marna was busy and he met a gal at the café he frequented. There was

mutual flirtation, a move to her table, veiled sexual remarks passed

between them, then: 'Come up to my place,' he said. She agreed. Within

minutes they were undressed. She was more admiring of him than any other

girl he could remember. She rhapsodized about his body, even his feet.

'You have the nicest man feet I have even seen, smooth, no crooked toes and

no protruding toe knuckles. Even the bottom is pretty. 'Do you use some

ointment?' He assured her that he used nothing but soap, that he was

lucky. His armpit hair started her off again. 'It's so neat and shiny.

Smells excellent too. No stale smell, no creepy deodorant.' He found that

when he came it was a long hard one. He was kind of puffed up with himself

and the compliments.

Two days later he called Malcolm Foster. It was tricky getting to him. He

had to go through three secretaries, all male incidentally, each of who

questioned him about his business with Mr. Foster. Finally Foster's

honeyed voice came over the wire. 'Yes dear boy, I remember you very well.

The outstanding dark haired lad with perfection of face and body. That's

you isn't it?'

Wes wasn't sure how to respond to this accolade so he just asked if he

could pursue the modeling idea that Malcolm had suggested. 'Righto. Let

me check with Chiu. I think he is interviewing another laddie tomorrow

evening and perhaps we can make it a double header, What? Give me your

cell number and I'll get back to you.'

About an hour passed and the appointment was gelled.

Wes found the building easily, he had passed it so many times, a white

stone double wide former residence. The agency occupied all the floors.

The elevator took him to the top floor. There was no entry, it was locked,

but he rang the bell and shortly the door swung open, hydraulically and

revealed Foster's stocky body jumping up and down enthusiastically.

'Welcome my boy, the others are waiting. Drinks also. First sign this

release. Of no consequence and Mr. Tsing will notarize it later.'

Inside the private office suite Wes found two other personages. One was a

very handsome, well-built, young blond fellow, wearing brief under shorts

and nothing else, posing in a mockup of a beach scene. The other figure,

directing the shoot and manning a camera was, Wes surmised, Mr. Chiu Tsing.

Here was a surprise. Wes had to banish any pre-assumptions about Asians.

Tsing was close to seven feet tall, slim as a reed and wore a thin, 30's

Hollywood style moustache. The boy waved limply at him and waggled his

plucked eyebrows, Tsing stared with widening eyes. Foster got busy as host

and carried a tray of pink drinks. Tsing waved him away, the young blond,

who Wes learned was named Hans, refused the drink. In a barely

understandable German accent he stated, 'I do not require your fuck drink.'

Then he laughed in an ascending giggle that seemed to embarrass the other

two.

Wes internally shrugged and the phrase, 'In for a penny', passed through

his mind. He took the drink and tasted it. It was actually quite good but

as a cocktail it was more booze than mixer and he felt it going down and

warming his chest quite quickly. Foster drank his down in almost one

swallow and poured another from the shaker. He quickly filled Wes's empty

glass and Wes sipped the second one.

A moment later he saw that Hans had changed into a more revealing type of

underwear, more a pouch tied in the back. Wes couldn't help but notice

that the young German had a prodigious penis straining the thin fabric.

Tsing called out, 'Hans your German sausage is slipping to the side. Maybe

we should photograph this with your own little weenie.'

Wes began to feel as if he had fallen down a well and was now at a movie

set of some crazy moviemaker. He was a little dizzy from the drink, but his

main feeling was that no one was paying attention to him. Foster now was

busy adjusting the boy's pouch and Tsing was waving his arms directorially.

'Now comes the rabbit staring at his watch' thought Wes, but then

everything dramatically changed. Tsing strode over to him. 'How come you

haven't taken off your clothes? Quick, you are wasting time.'

The monumental Foo Man Choo's very deep voice was loud and the command

unmistakable. Wes felt that he should obey. Maybe it was the drink, but

he removed his tie and shirt exposing his fine smooth chest. He could hear

sounds in the room. Hans gasped, Foster waved his fat hands about and

cooed, Tsing released a long held breath. 'Excellent!' he said, 'Now the

rest.'

Meekly Wes sat on the couch and took off his loafers, socks, then stood and

slid off his pant. 'Mein Gott, look at those gorgeous legs,' called out

Hans and began fingering his crotch. Foster just fell back in a chair and

waggled his head in amazement. But it was Chiu who came close and pulled

off Wes's striped shorts before he could reach down to hold them. His cock

dangled invitingly and Chiu asked, 'May I touch it?'

Wes gulped at few times, feeling more naked than he had ever imagined.

'No, I'd rather you wouldn't.'

He could hear Foster, who was behind him. 'Lad, you've already earned

$300. If you're a good boy you may leave with almost a thousand. What

say?'

Actually Chiu didn't need permission. His long fingers reached out and

hefted the cock, his other hand reached under and lifting Wes's balls sack.

'H-m-m, very nice indeed. Bend over mister and let me view your ass.'

Wes realized that Chiu had a Brit accent also, must have been to an English

school in Hong Kong. All this crazily went through his mind as he tried to

divert himself from the horror that his dick was filling with warm blood

and slowly thickening and he could feel the head pushing through his

foreskin. He meekly leaned over and Hans took one cheek and Foster the

other as Chiu leaned in and examined the now sweating ass hole. 'I will

wake any minute from this dream,' he thought but part of him was loving the

attention and admiration.

There was no question, he had blacked out a moment, maybe more, for the

next thing he remembered is that across the room, Hans was lying across an

ornate desk, the usual desktop stuff was scattered on the floor, Foster was

sans his expensive trousers and his sausage-like schlong was entering and

retracting from the German kid's white ass. The kid was howling with pain

or pleasure and Foster was occasionally spanking him.

Wes was sprawled on the couch. He tried to rise, but he felt leaden.

Suddenly he realized, as he stared over the expansive back of the Chinese

Chiu, that his cock was being expertly sucked and it felt fabulous. The

Asian had technique from the sages that was nearly driving the yuppie nuts.

That rimming under the foreskin, that pushing and trying to enter his piss

hole, that tickling of the back of his balls, he was fast reaching a

thunderous cum.

Foster took a moment from his shagging of the German and looked over.

'Nice matey, what a sight. I've got a few juicy pics of you in ecstasy.

You are cute beyond belief. Uh, Uh, got to get back to my porking, Hans is

impatient.'

Wes pushed the tall Asian away from his cock. 'Stop a minute. Let me get

my breath.'

Chiu lifted up and smiled widely, his mouth and chin covered with his

spittle. 'Turn over dear boy and I will please you in another way.' Wes

automatically turned over. 'What's wrong with me?' Chiu lifted Wes's hips

up and placed his hands cross under his head. He then pushed at the dark

curls until his head was down and his handsome ass was pushed into the air.

A cool breeze from the air conditioning chilled him. He felt venerable

terrified of being fucked, but instead an indescribably exciting feeling

banished all fears. The long, smooth, slick, experienced tongue flicked

across his anal hole that had been tightly clamped in fear. In opened up

welcomingly and pulsed in delight. Chiu took advantage and slipped the tip

of his tongue inside and swirled it all around the inside of the sphincter.

Wes began to vocalize shamelessly for the first time. 'Oh, oh, you filthy

shit eating bastard, you pig, oh, oh, don't stop.'

Now the magnificent Asian stuck his tongue further and rubbed it back and

forth across the young man's firm prostate. Wes jumped in surprise. 'What

is that? What are you doing?'

'Do you want me to stop American boy?'

Wes groaned. 'Do it. Shut up and do it.'

Now the tongue reached in as far as possible and Chiu began a tongue

fucking motion that had Wes howling in joy and thrust his ass back to get

more of that delicious tongue. 'I've become, in two hours, a male whore,

but I love every minute. Never felt anything like this before.'

Suddenly Chiu pulled his tongue back, grabbed the limp Wes and sat him up.

Chiu stood before him, his exceptionally long slim penis standing and

bobbing before him. 'You have had your fun pasty boy, now Mr. Tsing is

ready to unload in your pretty mouth. Take my cock and lick it.'

Wes pulled back in horror. 'I'm no fag. I don't do cock.' From across

the room Foster was being cock sucked by the compliant Hans who was humming

with pleasure as he sucked. Foster called to him that he was a queer now

and he had pictures to prove it.

Wes still gamely stared at the pulsing cock and resisted. The Chinese

pulled his slim hand back and smartly slapped Wes across one cheek. 'You

are bought and paid for, you will do as I say or you will be in trouble.'

Wes wasn't sure what that meant but the slap had rattled him and his

self-confidence and ability to fight was destroyed. The tip was wetting his

perfect lips with pre-cum and he licked it away. It tasted faintly like

ginger, nice, it wanted more and pushed his head forward and accepted the

slim cock and shaft into his mouth. Without realizing it, his tongue began

a virgin dance around the cock. After all, he had plenty of labial

experience with women. Mr. Tsing quickly became transported by the mental

image of this most beautiful boy and the treatment his sensitive organ was

enjoying. He began crooning softy in Cantonese, the dialect of his

boyhood. His slim coffee-with-cream colored hips undulated back and forth

as he tried to maximize the sensation. Suddenly all crystallized into a

gigantic sexual explosion, which captured his body, vibrated his testicles

and caused his ass hole to open and close rapidly. He began his cum,

babbling and crying in pleasurable agony. At last he spew thin streams of

tasty cum down Wes's gulping throat. They separated, both breathing hard.

'Strange,' Foster mused, 'How each of us have our own cum song. I usually

vocalize 'God Save the Queen'. I don't mean HRH but rather myself.' He

now stepped into the middle of the room assuming as much dignity as he

could muster, being naked. 'It's time to give young Wesley the finish of

his life.' He lifted his hands as if he was holding a bugle and voiced the

'call to arms'. 'Now I, as senior will organize this tableau. The

inscrutable, but not unscrew- able Chiu will station himself as the rear

guard since he is already familiar with that hole and Wes here does enjoy

the treatment. Hans is slathering to get busy on Wes's feverish cock,

already dripping honey in anticipation of its final relief. And I will

offer my English banger as a teet to calm our boy and bring him back to his

infancy.'

They began. The room was filled with moans and cries, Wes seemed the most

vocal as he kept loud crowing as a new thrills reached his brain. The

first to unload was the fat sausage of our English friend. He was quite

shaken up by the experience and Wes had to wrap his perfect arms around the

fat guy to keep him from sinking to the floor. Then Wes, unable to bear

the exquisite stimulation of his hot button plus the vigorous sucking of

Hans bawled out that he was cumming. His body convulsed and he went into a

short blackout from the sensation.

Chiu left off his ministrations, fell on his back and stroked himself to a

Chinese New Year of a second cum.

Now everyone was quiet. They arose and slowly dressed. Wes saw Chiu

handing a lot of bills to Hans but he also heard him tell the Teuton that

his services were no longer needed. Wes was treated a little different.

He got all the money promised and a chit for a suit. Malcolm kissed him on

the cheek and told him that he was welcome to return. 'We will be

interviewing boys in a few days. Maybe you would like to launch your ass.'

The best part of the liaison was that clients began to pop up at Wes's

agency asking for him. He had been recommended by Malcolm. This was good

and the compliments he got for his spectacular gray striped suit was

gratifying.

He never returned to the opulent office and the superb boys. He, like the

prisoner, returned to hetero sex immediately. Marna noticed that he

expressed a new depth of passion.

 

Annon

[email protected]

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