Zack was paying the price for his uncontrolled fury after he discovered that his boy Darius had disobeyed the rules and got fucked by an outsider, a guy from the leather bar he frequented. 

The raging leather master first banished Darius from his sight, a move that most of the tribe viewed as too savage. As brave young Brandon had told Zack to his face, "That punishment was way over the top, sir." For that advice Brandon was treated to an irate stream of insults from Zack and pushed out of his wheelchair.

Bob got much the same verbal abuse when he tried to reason with Zack and he too was knocked to the ground, much to the fury of the ever-protective Randy.

Zack eventually relented and downgraded his boy's punishment to a ritual display of physical punishment which Darius stoically endured, to the admiration of the whole tribe. But when it was all over and Zack's rage subsided, he knew that he had over-reacted, and he set out to make amends to the guys he had abused, starting with Darius.

The master/boy roles were reversed and, in an erotic series of sex acts, Darius had made his master submit to him. It was the boy's ultimate fantasy of a muscular top-man sobbing in defeat, spread-eagled in bondage, his ass impaled on his boy's massive rod. Zack had at last atoned to his boy in a dramatic way, which had the effect of drawing them even closer than ever.

Next morning Zack went to the master suite and confessed to Randy how he had assaulted Bob, resulting in a major fight powered by the raging testosterone of two powerful alpha males. Bob intervened and Zack's ultimate punishment was to get double-fucked by both huge cocks.

When it was over Zack sighed, "That was intense, guys. Maybe I'll insult Bob a few more times just to get double-teamed again." Randy grinned, "Don't push your luck, buddy. Next time we'll invite Mark and go for a triple. Hey, I'm fucking starved. You think those twins have got food on the table?"

Not only was Sunday Brunch on the table but most of the men and boys were round it, waiting impatiently for the three men to appear. When at last they did it was obvious from their smiles that peace was restored and they were greeted by cheers and whistles. Mark strode up to them and said, "Well done, guys. At least no one murdered anyone."

"Close, though," Bob laughed in a round of fist bumps and bear hugs. Randy and Zack grinned at each other with a long, bone-crushing handshake. Their respect, admiration and love had been restored, stronger than ever - brothers under the skin.

"One bridge mended," Pablo whispered to Darius, "one more to go."

As if reading his mind Zack asked, "Hey, where are Pete and Brandon?"

"Still up in their bungalow, sir," Darius said. "They're gardening - putting the final touches to the landscaping Mario did for them. They'll be down later." Zack glanced at Darius then at Bob and they both knew what was going through his mind.

At that moment behind their bungalow Pete and Brandon were weeding the garden, working contentedly side by side, their faces and hands streaked with dirt. Pete smiled at his boy. "I have a strong feeling we won't be left alone for long, boy."

"Zack, sir?"

"Hell, I always forget how smart you are, kid. Yeah, Zack. I know he feels real bad about what he said to you, the way he treated you - kicking your chair over and all. But he's a good guy and he'll be itching to make amends and do penance." He smiled quizzically at Brandon. "But I think I'll leave the choice to you what happens to him, so start thinking about it."

"Oh, I don't need to think, sir. I already know exactly what I want from Zack. Yeah, I've known that for a long time. All I need, sir, is your approval."


Pete agreed heartily - he could never refuse his boy - and he even made a few preliminary preparations. It wasn't long before their prediction came true and they heard the crunch of tires on gravel outside their house.

A few seconds later Zack strode into the garden and Brandon gasped. The rugged muscle hunk looked awesome in his usual black jeans and boots, and an old greasy tank top hanging over his sculpted chest. With his gleaming ebony skin, shaved head and piercing gray eyes he was a homoerotic icon of a tough construction boss.

One feature that didn't fit, however, was the expression on his face. Far from dominant it was apprehensive, nervous even. Sensing his anxiety Pete went up to Zack and shook his hand warmly. "Hey, good to see you, buddy. We were kind of expecting you."

Zack cleared his throat, "You won't be so pleased to see me when you hear what I've got to tell you, Pete."

"Hey, if it's about you and Brandon I already know. My boy hides nothing from me - he told me every detail." Zack was taken aback and glanced anxiously at Brandon as Pete continued. "But Brandon puts it all down to your anger and confusion over what Darius did and, as he says, 'no bones broken'."

"No, that won't do. See, like everyone, I love your kid, Pete, and I wince every time I think of what I said and did to him ... and he was only trying to be helpful. He helped me see reason and without him I might not have made peace with my boy. What I did was way out of line and I can't leave here without making amends of some kind."

"Sir," Brandon said, "don't sweat it. I already know just what I want and Pete has given his permission. So why don't we just cut to the chase?"

Zack looked at Pete with a half-smile, impressed as always by the boy's boldness. "OK, Brandon, I'm in your hands."

"First," Brandon said, "I don't want anyone to get really hurt. There's been way too much pain going around lately. Also, even though I was cool with what you did to me, my master was not so he's the one who should take revenge as well as me."

"OK," Zack said, "so what do I do, man?"

"You leave everything to Pete. He's in charge."

Pete faced Zack close up with his back to Brandon and murmured with a grin, "I guess we got our orders, big guy." Brandon didn't hear that and when Pete turned round his smile had been replaced by a stern expression. He knew exactly what Brandon wanted.

Like most of the other boys Brandon's biggest fantasy was the thought of a muscle-hunk alpha male getting tied up and worked over by another. He often jerked off thinking about it and had told Pete he wanted to see the real thing. It would be even more exciting with his master Pete as the top man and the muscular black construction worker as the captive.

But Brandon also knew that a simulated act of retribution, with all the appearance of ferocity and suffering but without real pain, could be even more erotic than the real thing. He had learned about that in the past when he used to watched wrestling videos and jerked off to staged, homoerotic images of muscle hunks seemingly howling in painful submission holds.

That explained his insistence that 'nobody gets hurt', and why he had no fears as he pulled back a few feet, locked his wheelchair and watched, his hand already stroking the bulge in his pants.

Zack stood in the middle of the garden awaiting his fate. Pete had prepared for this (under Brandon's guidance) and now picked up the loose end of a long rope whose other end was tied round a branch of a tree some ten feet away. Pete tied the loose end round Zack's bull neck and the big man's reflexive reaction was to try to pull the rope away from his neck with his hands. Failing that, he walked forward until the rope tightened and he tugged at it with his neck like an animal jerking to get free.

Brandon could see the erotic scene taking shape and he pulled his cock out of his shorts. He stroked it intermittently, careful not to cum as he watched the domination scene unfold. Pete picked up a shorter length of rope and tied Zack's hands behind his back. Pete's final act of preparing his captive was to rip his tank top off his back so the shredded remains hung down from his waist.

"Holy shit," Brandon muttered and his imagination went into overdrive. He fantasized that the muscular black construction boss had been captured, stripped half naked and tied to a tree to be sold as a slave.

Brandon held his breath as the prisoner tested the ropes, jerking his head forward, trying to break the rope round his neck, at the same time pulling hard in a futile attempt to separate his wrists behind him. With the remains of his shirt hanging from his waist Zack's upper body was on full display, his shoulders bulging, chest and abs flexed hard, his handsome face grimacing as he tugged at the rope round his neck.

It was a spectacular, pornographic image for Brandon - the powerful construction worker stripped to the waist in beltless black jeans and boots, bound helplessly in humiliating captivity.

Pete went into the house and came back brandishing a whip, a cat o' nine tails with its dozen braids of rawhide. A cat was perfect for lashing a man without causing too much pain. Pete pushed the whip handle sideways in Zack's mouth, like a bridle-bit in a horse's mouth, then walked over beside Brandon, his hand resting on his shoulder.

They gazed at the incredible sight of the shirtless construction boss with the rippling black muscles, chiseled features and shaved head, his stubbled jaw biting down on the whip, his gray eyes glaring at them defiantly. It was classic pornographic art, a macho, musclehunk top man roped to a tree, like a slave being sold at auction.

Pete squeezed his boy's shoulder. "How's that look, kid? Is that what you wanted?"

"I'll say." Brandon was spellbound. "It's a perfect fantasy, sir. So gorgeous, so sexy. I could have come a dozen times already."

"Don't shoot yet, boy. It gets better." Brandon pulled Pete's head down and whispered in his ear, "Don't hurt him, sir."

Pete walked back to Zack, pulled the whip from his mouth and tapped it in the palm of his hand. "You attacked my boy, asshole. Now he wants to see the construction boss get worked over."

"Fuck you, man," Zack growled.

"No," Pete grinned maliciously, "fuck you." Pete pulled off his T-shirt and flexed his muscled torso, looking formidable stripped down to his workpants and boots, his handsome face streaked with dirt from the garden. He cracked the whip on the ground and said, "Brace yourself, stud."

He went behind Zack, raised his hand, and lashed the whip against the bound man's bare back, hard enough to sting painfully. Zack cursed, "Fucking bastard!" and instinctively stepped forward and arched his back to escape the whip, until the rope jerked his head back. Brandon's cock pulsed and he almost lost his load as the next lash landed harder and this time the roped muscle-god howled in pain.

It was an incredible sight, the brawny, shirtless construction boss bucking and writhing to get free, like a shiny black stallion rearing up wild eyed under the lash, pulling at the rope round his neck. Then the Ranger came round to face the struggling man and whipped the slabs of his pecs. Pete yelled, "All you have to do is submit to me, man - surrender to me and my boy.

"Go fuck yourself, Ranger ... aaagh!" Zack howled as Pete alternately whipped his back and chest.

Although Brandon trusted Pete he was applying increased force and tears were brimming in Zack's eyes so the boy didn't want this to go on too long. But he was dazzled as his gaze swept down from Zack's grimacing face, down his roped neck and whip-striped pecs, over his ripped abs, his slim waist and ... Brandon gasped as he saw the long rod-shaped bulge under Zack's jeans. His dick was rock hard! The pain of the lash on his flesh had given him a raging boner.

The sight of his massive bulge, and the very idea of a macho alpha male getting turned on by being tied up and whipped, fascinated Brandon and he moved hypnotically forward. He looked up at Zack's face thrashing from side to side and said to Pete, "Sir, would it be a submission if he busts his load, sir?"

"Damn right, boy," Pete growled. "Whipping a top-man into an orgasm is the most humiliating surrender there is. But this guy's tough ... he can take everything I throw at him."

Brandon grinned, his eyes shining. "But he's not tough enough for me, sir. I was trained by the best." He reached up, ripped open Zack's jeans and pulled them down over his ass, dodging the steel shaft that sprang up erect. "No..." Zack moaned. He looked down at the salivating mouth and tugged again at his bound wrists, his shoulders bulging with the strain. "I can't take that ... no ...!"

The construction worker's protests excited Brandon's lust even more and he went to work at what he did best. He pressed his cheek against long black club, then opened his mouth and swallowed every inch of it. Pete directed the whip at Zack's exposed ass and at the first lash Zack yelled and reflexively jerked forward, ramming his cock deeper down the boy's throat.

Brandon didn't gag once. Eddie had trained him to gulp, breath through his nose and squeeze his throat muscles hard round the cock as it pulled back.

Zack was driven wild as the twin globes of his ass bounced under the lash of the master, while his boy sucked on his cock. In a trance he heard the Ranger's dominant voice. "Maybe you can endure the lash, big guy, but you gotta surrender to my boy's mouth working that shaft of yours. You're finished, man ... beaten by a boy."

Although he still resisted Zack knew his climax was only a matter of time. But Brandon tormented him by squeezing his cock in his throat and bringing him to the brink of orgasm, then suddenly relaxing and denying him the release he craved. His cock was trapped in the boy's mouth and his ass cheeks were on fire, striped by the marks of the whip.

The near-naked construction boss, straining in bondage, his pants round his knees, was desperate to bust his load and his defiance collapsed. "I gotta cum, man," he groaned, "you're driving me crazy. Make me cum, boy ... please, I'm begging you. I submit, sir. Aaaagh...!"

Pete delivered one last, heavy lash across his ass, he jerked forward and his cock buried itself in Brandon's throat, exploding deep inside with a torrent of hot sperm. Brandon pulled back, then pistoned forward again, squeezing another stream of jizz that the boy gulped down like nectar from a god. Which, to Brandon, it was.


Zack gazed down at the boy's face beaming up at him, blinking hard behind his black-rimmed glasses. His mouth was open wide, white juice running from the corners and down his chin, tongue hanging out and panting hard like a grateful dog after eating his food.

Zack was starting to relax after getting ass-whipped and cock-sucked at the same time. He grinned down at Brandon and said, "You finished with me boy?"

"Yes, sir, but I hope you haven't finished with me, sir. I want you to fuck me in the ass."

"What, with this?" Zack shook his hips and his long, limp cock waved in front of Brandon's face. "Hell, I just blasted a massive load down your throat. And you want me to fuck your ass!?"

"Oh, no problem there, sir. I can make you hard in seconds." Zack looked desperately at Pete who simply shrugged, "He can too. I speak from experience."

Brandon bent his face under Zack's swinging cock, sucked in the head and then the entire length. This time there was no force, no torment, only a gentle deep-throated massage that caressed his cock and roused Zack even more than the pounding had. Brandon felt Zack's cock stiffen and grow steadily harder until it was the iron rod it had been a minute ago. The boy's boast was proven and he smiled up in triumph. "Will you fuck me now, sir? Please."

Pete moved behind Zack and untied his wrists. Then he cut the long rope to the tree, freeing Zack but leaving a short length round his neck as a reminder to Brandon of the slave image. Zack looked at Pete who nodded his consent. Zack kicked off his boots and pulled his jeans all the way off.

He towered over Brandon whose imagination again took flight. What he saw in his fantasy was the naked black muscle hunk with the slave rope round his neck, still being sold at auction. The master was buying him for his boy as his sex stud, and was testing him now to make sure he pleased the boy.

Zack bent down and scooped Brandon from his wheelchair into his arms and carried him under the shade of the tree. He laid him gently on the ground on his back, then stood astride him, stroking his dick that was already well lubed by Brandon's blow-job. "You sure you want this big club in your ass, boy?"

"Yes please, sir."

The naked muscle-stud knelt between Brandon's legs, hooked them over his shoulders and looked down at his exposed butt. "A fine ass you got there, boy. And I'm gonna bury my thick black rod inside it." He pressed his dick between the boy's ass cheeks and pushed slowly. Brandon took deep breaths and gazed into the hypnotic gray eyes as he felt the man's huge shaft penetrating him.

"Aaah," he sighed. "That feels awesome. Please, sir, fuck me and make me cum."

"Right, but you're not to touch yourself. You won't need that."

There followed a long, slow, gentle fuck session that again ignited Brandon's fantasies, enhanced by the rope round the man's thick neck. Again it was the black slave on trial, proving he could satisfy the master's boy and serve as his permanent sex slave, on call whenever Brandon needed his massive dick.

Zack knew from his glazed eyes that the boy was deep into his own fantasy, no doubt starring Zack himself. So he played up to it with his piercing gaze, his clenched jaw, flexed muscles and his insistent rod sliding ever deeper into is ass.

Brandon was in fantasy heaven, gazing at the beautiful slave. The dappled sunlight coming through the tree played over his perfect body, his square-jawed features and shaved head. The man was his, to fuck him and make love to him whenever Brandon wanted it ... which he would all the time. He reached up to touch the rugged face, then the rope round his neck, pulling on it each time the cock ploughed into his ass, setting the rhythm of the mounting fuck.

It was the whole fantasy, coupled with the euphoria of the man's shaft filling his ass, that sent Brandon over the top. Zack grabbed the boy's wrists, leaned forward and pressed them on the ground. The deep voice said to him, "Now you're my prisoner, boy. Your arms are pinned to the ground and your ass is impaled on my dick. And now you're gonna unload your jizz. I know you're ready boy ... I can feel it."

He pulled all the way back, paused, then slowly slid his massive cock inside him, all the while saying, "Cum for me boy ... let me see your sweet juice. I love you, boy. I love you."

Brandon's fantasy reached its climax. The beautiful slave, hired just as a sex-stud, had fallen in love with the master's boy ... and the boy with him. The rest of the world fell away and all Brandon saw was the man, all he felt was the rod in his ass and a loving warmth consuming his body. "I'm cumming, sir," he said, transfixed by Zack's eyes. "You're making me cum. It feels so good ... sooo good ... aah ... aah ... yeah ... yeah ... here it comes ... aaagh!"

His cock shuddered and spurted ribbons of semen straight up, splashing on Zack's chest and abs, then more over his own body. Zack pulled his cock out, stood up and pointed it down at Brandon, while Pete came close, stroking his dick.

Zack grinned at Pete and said, "Shall we let him have it?"

"Why not?" Pete chuckled. "About time we showed the punk who's boss."

Brandon looked up wide-eyed and took off his gasses as two streams of cum splashed down on his face and chest, then more in his mouth making him swallow a flood of semen. Getting drenched by the juice of two masters, Brandon started to laugh uncontrollably, releasing all the pent-up exhilaration of fantasy sex with the magnificent Zack and his very own master, Pete.


The men lay on the grass beside Brandon who, between his laughter, said "Sir, I don't mind getting rolled out of my chair again if it results in this every time. I'd end up bruised but happy."

"Hey," Zack laughed, "what about me? Not sure I wanna get my ass whipped every day by your master here."

"Yeah, and next time it'll be the real deal," Pete said. "I got a bullwhip in the house, ya know. So you finally satisfied, kid? You sure got your money's worth from Zack. But I still think I gotta get a reward for you of my own. I'll look out for something real special."

"Maybe I can help out there, guys." Of all people it was Grady coming through the trees with a six-pack of beer. They all greeted him cheerfully as he went on, "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I saw that you were finished." He blushed. "OK, I'll come clean. I was coming home from the studio and was passing your house so I thought I'd drop by with an idea that you might go for. I brought this as a peace offering." He put the six-pack down beside them.

"But I guess I got here too soon and ..." he blushed deeper. "Hell, you know me, guys - I can never resist gorgeous men. So... well, I'm sorry guys but I stuck around and watched 'til you'd finished. I'm glad I did 'cos, holy shit, that was one hell of a scene - the whipping, the blow job and then that crazy fuck. Man, it was so hot it got my fantasies working overtime."

There was a pause as the three men looked up at him expectantly. Grady grinned his affable grin. "What? You want details?

"Yeah!" they all said in chorus. "Duh!" Brandon added, which pretty much said it ll.

"Hey, you know me, guys. I got no secrets. OK, here goes. The sight of Zack, stripped to the waist, tied by the neck to a tree, his hands tied behind his back - well, he has to be a slave at auction. He gets whipped by the master and sucked off by the master's boy and forced to submit. That gave me another idea - the master was gonna buy him as a sex-stud for his boy."

Grady warmed to his story. "The trial run was sensational. The slave fucked the boy, and when he shot his load and yelled 'I love you, boy,' well that fantasy blew me away. See, the big musclehunk, whipped and sold as a sex slave for the master's boy, had fallen in love with the boy! And the boy, arrogant at first, fell in love with his slave. Wow, pity it ended there. Someone should write a story about that ... has all sorts of possibilities. I'll probably jerk off imagining about what happens to them next."

Grady grinned and blushed again. "Kinda crazy, uh?" he asked. "OK, I know - I've been watching too many movies. But you did ask, and no one else would think up a story like that."

"Oh wouldn't they, sir?" Brandon asked shyly and blushed bright red. Suddenly they all knew that Brandon's fantasy had been much the same and Grady grinned at him. "You too, eh kiddo? We should get together and swap fantasies - maybe act them out. Anyway," he laughed, "enough of that craziness. It brings me to the reason I dropped in."

They all took a swig of beer and Grady flashed his dazzling smile. "See, the studio lets me bring a guest to the set from time to time, provided it's not a closed set. Well I was impressed by the way Brandon intervened in that mess with you and Darius, Zack, so as a kind of reward, I thought I would invite him to the set tomorrow, provided he gets permission from you, Pete, and Jamie gives him the time off work.

Brandon's eyes opened like saucers behind his glasses. "Me, go to the studio to see you work? Sir, that would be awesome." Then, turning to Pete, "You think it would be OK, sir?"

"I don't see why not." Pete laughed. "Look guys, how could anyone say no to that face?"

"But sir, what about my buddies? I wouldn't want them to be left out."

No sweat," Grady said, "their turn will come. But I prefer to keep it one at a time, 'cos you have to keep real quiet and there are often long waits while they set up. If we had you 'three amigos' there together you'd get so bored you'd end up gabbing like you always do. But, as Adam would say, 'no worries there, mate'. I'll take Eddie and Ben in the next couple of weeks.

"The reason I suggested tomorrow for you is that I only have a few pick up scenes - mostly swinging from the vines and a fight scene with the soldiers, so my call time isn't until noon. You can drive me to the studio and then home again as you've often done before, and while I work, what more natural than that my driver waits for me? So kiddo, you up for that?"

Duh - was he up for it? Brandon's mind was racing already. "Thank you, sir. Watching Tarzan at work? Wow. I'll check with Jamie and if it's a go I'll pick you up at 11:30, sir."

After big hugs with all three men Brandon raced off in his wheelchair to spread the news. The men finished their beers and Zack said, "He's one hell of a kid, Pete. I never met anyone with such erotic fantasies as him ... except maybe for you, stud," he grinned, raising his bottle in a toast to Grady. "Guess that's what comes of being an actor."

Pete said, "Brandon and his buddies are always talking about the mysteries of a film studio and now he'll get to see it and no doubt make fantasies of it. I'm real grateful to you, Grady."

"Ah, think nothing of it, Pete. How about we go down to the big house and get some chow? Sunday brunch down there always seems to last right through the afternoon."


Brandon was way ahead of them as his wheelchair sped down the hill. The other boys knew that Zack had gone to "make amends" to Brandon and when the gate crashed open and he shouted, "Hey, guys, you'll never guess ..." they mobbed him.

Darius took command and organized them in a circle, listening breathlessly to Brandon's description of Zack's bondage scene, embellishing it with his own slave auction fantasies, climaxing in the slave fucking him and falling in love.

"But there's something else, guys, and we're all in for a treat." He told them of Grady's offer and explained that it had to be one at a time and they would all get to visit the studio in the next few weeks. He was going tomorrow, depending on ... He pulled Jamie aside and said, "Sorry if I got ahead of myself there, sir. (Jamie smiled inwardly. When Brandon called him 'sir' it usually meant he had a favor to ask.). "Of course I won't go unless I can get the afternoon off work."

Jamie made a pretense of considering the matter and said, "Well, work's gonna be pretty slow tomorrow and it's one of Eddie's days in the office ... so sure, I guess I can spare you, dude. Have a great time."

"Thanks, Jamie..." (The favor granted, the 'sir' disappeared.) "You're the best boss a guy ever had."


Brandon felt butterflies in his stomach the next day as he drove Grady down to Warner Studios in Burbank. Not only was the muscle-jock's closeness enough to make him nervous but he was afraid the studio might be overwhelming. And it turned out he was right. The movie was a major production, taking over the biggest sound stage, some adjoining stages and the Jungle Lagoon.

When Jason led Brandon through the doors he gasped. The whole cavernous space had been transformed into a jungle setting - trees hung with vines and a huge tank disguised as a jungle pool. Grady had explained that they would be spending three weeks on location in Guatemala to get real jungle shots, but most of the close-up work would be shot here. Sound, lighting and cinematography were much more easily controlled on a sound stage, Grady said.

Brandon's intimidation quickly disappeared as Grady led him through the busy studio and was greeted with ribald shouts of affection. "Hey, Tarz, how come you're wearing a shirt today? Thought your contract insisted on shirtless. Studio gotta get its money's worth out of that perfect bod."

Grady laughed, "I brought my buddy Brandon today to see what a grizzly bunch of deadbeats are working this movie. He circled a clenched fist high in the air and yelled, "Say hi to Brandon, guys."

"Hi, Brandon!!" The response was deafening and Brandon grinned broadly and raised both thumbs in the air. Many in the crew were thinking how typical it was of the compassionate Grady to befriend a boy in a wheelchair.

They went into his dressing room where Grady took off his shirt. "Better give them what they want," he grinned. Then he dropped his shorts and was standing naked when there was a tap on the door and two women came in. "Oh no," one gasped with fake horror, "a naked man!" She was gazing through parted fingers and pretended to drool.

Then they laughed, "Hi Brandon, Doris and Cathy from wardrobe. And we brought today's costume, Grady. Surprise, surprise." She held up a scrap of rawhide - Tarzan's loin cloth. "For all the millions being spent on this movie it sure ain't going into Grady's wardrobe. 'Course, I suggested doing away with the loincloth altogether. The real Tarzan was probably naked anyway, like his ape buddies. Besides, it would double the box-office." Doris sighed mournfully. "But I was overruled."

Brandon got a sense of the crew's giddy mood as the two women fitted the loincloth carefully. He could think of many guys who would pay good money to have this job. "Don't want any wardrobe malfunctions," Cathy said. "Though it would send the box office through the roof."

"Right," Grady said, "hair and makeup next." Now Brandon got a real look at how Grady was the center of this universe as people gathered round him, tousling his hair to perfection and applying makeup to his face and body, complete with streaks of dirt and scratches.

Finally Grady was called to the set and Brandon's heart beat faster as he sat in the shadows and watched his hero prepare for battle - a few more takes of the fight scene the director had called for. The first shot was the most difficult one, a move Grady had rehearsed endlessly with the two muscular stuntmen playing soldiers in olive tank tops and military fatigues. Even with the best preparation there was some risk of injury but Grady insisted on doing the stunt himself to add more authenticity.

Brandon watched him climb a ladder to a platform that was disguised as a tree branch, and he grabbed a rope that looked just like a thick vine. "You ready Grady?" the director asked. Grady nodded tensely. "OK," the director shouted. "Quiet please ... aaand ... Action!"

One of the soldiers came out from the trees, stumbled forward and stopped on his mark near the sand at the edge of the pool. Brandon held his breath, watching nervously as the jungle man suddenly swung down from the tree straight at the soldier and wrapped his muscled thighs round the soldier's chest.

The momentum propelled them forward and they fell on the sand and rolled over into the shallow water, wrestling, punching, struggling for the advantage. Tarzan pulled up on his knees straddling the soldier's chest and hammered at his face and chest. He was clearly the victor ... until the second soldier/stuntman came running from the jungle and, holding his rifle lengthwise at both ends, pressed it from behind against Tarzan's throat, savagely pulling him to his feet.

Grady screamed and frantically tried to pull the rifle from his neck, his face and body streaked with sand and dirt, his muscles bulging with effort. But the pressure increased, supposedly cutting off his breath until it seemed he was near to collapse. The soldier released the rifle, leaving Tarzan dazed and disoriented, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

The first soldier got to his feet, raised his arm and slammed the back of his fist against Tarzan's cheek, making his rugged face jerk sideways with an agonized yell. His body spun round, only to meet the second soldier who smashed his fist against the tortured man's other cheek.

Brandon tensed as he watched the soldiers take pleasure in alternately thrashing him. The handsome, muscular jungle man, naked except for a loincloth, was spinning helplessly round the clearing under the rain of blows, limp as a rag doll. His sculpted body suffered mightily but he stayed on his feet.  

The agony continued until the soldiers tired of their sport and one of them taunted, "Go down man. You know you're finished. You're beaten ... go down." He rammed the butt of his rifle into Tarzan's stomach, making him double over with a final agonized howl and crash to the ground, face down in the water. The soldier towered over him, hooked his boot under him and kicked him over on his back, out of the water.

The handheld camera hovered over the unconscious Tarzan, his body covered in dirt and sand. Suddenly there was the discordant intrusion of two makeup girls running in to paint realistic bruises on his body and face. They disappeared and the camera continued to roam over the unconscious hero, like it was making love to the magnificent muscle-god lying broken on the ground. Then it pushed in slowly on his face that was sagging to one side.

Brandon had a view of a monitor close by and he gazed in awe at a Grady he had never seen before. It wasn't Grady - it was Tarzan, lying bruised and battered on the ground, thrashed senseless by two brutal soldiers.

The camera pulled back slowly, far enough to show a full length, homoerotic shot of the naked muscle-god spread-eagled motionless in the dirt. A deep off-camera voice growled savagely, "Shit, am I gonna enjoy torturing you, ape-man." The final shot was of the soldiers dragging Tarzan's limp body across the clearing to a tree.

And that's when Brandon lost his load. He had pulled his tray table down low and he was in the shadows, so nobody noticed him stroking his straining bulge, or heard his muted gasp as he creamed his shorts. The pornographic sight of the battered Tarzan had finally been too much. Fortunately the boy's heavy breathing also went unnoticed under the director's shout - "Cut!"


Even though Brandon knew it was all acting he was still taken by surprise when Grady jumped to his feet and shook hands with the stuntmen. One of them said, "Sorry about that right to the jaw, Grady. It wasn't meant to connect ... my timing was off. You OK?"

Grady grasped his jaw and jiggled it from side to side. "Ah, no sweat, dude. Just needs to be reset - three or four weeks in the hospital ... production shuts down ... and you pay the medical bills. Other than that, no harm done."

"Asshole," the stuntman grinned. "You had me going for a minute there. Shouldn't do that me, dude - I have a weak heart."

'Yeah, I noticed," Grady chuckled with a fake punch to the chest. The director's voice sounded over the chatter. "OK, guys that was great. We don't need to go again on that one. We already have several takes of that scene, but that was the best, the one we print. But I want a few more takes on the torture scene. We're a bit short on coverage and I wanna be safe."

Grady dragged his director's chair, with his name on the back, over to Brandon. An assistant director threw a dressing gown over his shoulders as the air conditioning had come on when they stopped shooting. "So what do think, kiddo? That get you off?" Brandon grinned and raised his tray table a little, giving Grady a glimpse of the wet patch on his shorts."

Grady threw his head back and laughed. "Good for you, kid. I hope you saved some for the torture scene. Make the most of it, we'll only do a few takes. And don't worry, the whips are fake, made of fabric not rawhide, though they look real. Gotta go, looks like they're ready."

Brandon lowered his tray table, grabbed his crotch under it and watched as Grady slipped his hands through loops on ropes hanging from a tree branch that pulled his arms up in a V - Tarzan spread-eagled in bondage. Two women touched up his makeup, freshening the bruises and painting whip marks on his chest. Grady took a moment, closed his eyes, then his face slumped sideways.

"Quiet please. And ... action." The camera was in extreme close-up on Tarzan's agonized face as he slowly regained consciousness. It pulled back slowly to reveal the full muscular figure of a man stripped down to a loincloth, spread-eagled, tied to a tree, his magnificent whip-striped body dappled in the light streaming through the leaves.

Brandon's cock jumped as the homoerotic scene unfolded. There was a monitor close by and he saw playing on it a scene they had already shot, from Tarzan's point of view, a blurred image of the two soldiers coming slowly into focus. It became clear that they were both carrying stock whips and were leering brutishly.

They walked toward him and Grady's head fell forward, but one of them shoved the butt end of his whip handle under his chin and pushed his exhausted face up. "Ready to talk, ape man? You're tough, I'll give you that - take a lot of punishment. But we gotta have the location of that family ... and we'll torture that beautiful body of yours 'til we get it."

"Go to hell," Tarzan groaned. But he screamed in pain as the whipping began again, one lashing his chest the other his back." Brandon watched wide eyed as the near-naked body thrashed from side to side, yelling in pain, his tortured muscles bouncing under the lash.

When at last they took a break the soldiers stood in front of their bound captive taunting him. But suddenly Tarzan inhaled deeply, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazed. Howling like a wounded animal he strained at the ropes, applying all his great strength, his muscles flexing and rippling with the superhuman effort. The ropes (pre-cut of course) suddenly began to fray.

The desperate man pulled himself up, feet off the ground, raised his legs and slammed his feet against the thugs' chests, sending them sprawling in the dirt. Tarzan grabbed the frayed segments of the rope and heaved himself up and down, jerking at the ropes until they snapped and his feet touched the ground. In an instant Tarzan picked up the broken length of rope still tied to his wrist and rushed the dazed soldiers as they struggled to their feet.

He wrapped the rope round both their throats and pulled tight. They dropped the whips and their arms thrashed wildly. They managed to land a few punches on his body, but soon their arms dropped, their eyes bulged and they slumped into unconsciousness. The jungle man let go and they fell in a heap in the dirt. Towering over them, legs astride, the victor stared up at the sky, raised his fists in the air, and the jungle rang with the triumphant Tarzan Yell.


"And cut!" Grady relaxed and pulled the stuntmen to their feet. "Terrific," the director shouted. "I think we nailed that one - one of the movie's highlights. But I want to go again - a few more takes for close-ups of the fraying ropes, the faces, and maybe a crane shot of the whole scene. Plus more close-ups of the ape man's physique. We paid for muscles and we're gonna make the most of them."

"Hey, wait just a goddamn minute here," Grady yelled in mock protest. "Is that all I am to you guys - a mindless muscle jock? I thought there was a bit more to me than that - something up here, ya know?" tapping his head with a goofy look on his face.

"Ah," the director moaned. "Poor Grady's feelings are hurt. Help him out guys. Poor Grady."

"Poor Grady!!" The noise was deafening as the entire crew joined in, followed by raucous laughter."

Grady raised both middle fingers in the air, "Fuck you all," he yelled. "I'm the only one getting his ass whipped out here you know."

'Ah, poor Grady!" rang out again and Grady collapsed with laughter. "I love you guys!"

It was at that moment that Brandon realized just how popular Grady was with the director and the whole crew - just like his popularity at the house. And this stunning man was actually his friend! Just one thing though - he wanted to cum again. He couldn't let this unique visual fantasy go to waste. He was encouraged by the director's words "a few more takes."

Subsequent takes were just like the first to Brandon - and just as exciting. Watching the erotic scene over and over again was like watching a porn movie scene on an endlessly repeating loop like he used to do. He was dazzled by the endless torture of the jungle king, his magnificent body writhing in pain, his incredible escape and ultimate victory.

Brandon held his orgasm back as long as he could but the third time his friend Grady stood astride the rumpled bodies and raised his fists triumphantly with the Tarzan Yell, Brandon busted another load in his shorts. This time his gasp was audible and he clamped his hand over his mouth as if stifling a cough, until after the director's "Cut" when he coughed loudly. That fooled everyone, all except Grady who flashed a smile in his direction.


Grady was sitting next to a dazzled Brandon again who hung on his every word. "See, Brandon, this is just principal photography, but when special effects are added in post-production it'll be mind-blowing." Then he frowned as he looked over to what seemed to be an uneasy huddle round the director who was clearly displeased.

Soon the director came over to him. "Shit, Grady, I'm sorry but we're gonna have to lose that scene with the boy. I was all set to do it now 'cos it's only a short scene and then we have to strike the set right away. But the kid cast as the boy is a no-show, seems he's sick. I could murder his agent, he only just let us know."

Grady shrugged. "So use one of the young crew guys. He only has one short line - three words as I recall."

"Nah, no can do. See, it's only a minute or two of film but the writers made the kid handicapped to highlight the pathos of the scene - you know, showing Tarzan's gentle side against all the macho rough stuff."

"So stick the crew guy in a wheelchair. Hey, you can use Brandon's chair here."

The director shook his head. "Won't work. See, in their wisdom the producers wanna be politically correct. We could get a lot of bad publicity for using a non-handicapped actor playing a disabled boy. That's the way it is these days - you know, Asian playing Asian, that kinda stuff. Except there are precious few actors actually confined to wheelchairs, though Casting found this one." He shook his head. "Nah, it was now or never, so it looks like never."

"Sir," said Brandon with a flash of spirit, blinking rapidly behind his glasses. "I'm in a wheelchair and for your information we don't say 'confined to" a wheelchair anymore, not if you wanna be, as you say, politically correct.  And I'm not disabled.  I'm able to do most anything other guys do - totally independent."

Grady grinned and shrugged at the director, who said, "Hey, kid, you wanna rewrite the script or something?" Then it was as if a light went on. "Or, failing that, you wanna play the part? There's not much to it - just wheel yourself over some leaves, then when Tarzan appears you look at him awestruck and say "I'm lost, sir." Then Tarzan carries you off and 'Cut'." Think you could do that?"

Brandon flashed his mischievous smile. "Like I said, sir, I can do anything other guys do - and then some."

The director grinned at Grady. "I think we're onto something here, Tarz. Look, kid, there's no time for you to see the script so I'll give you a short version of the back story. See, there's a couple in this cockamamie country who are threatened with persecution and are fleeing the military with their son - the wheelchair kid. They hide in the jungle but become separated from their son. They are searching for him when Tarzan comes across them and takes them to a safe sanctuary. Then he goes back to look for the boy.

"In his one scene in the movie, which takes place before the fight scene, the boy is struggling on a path through the jungle when Tarzan appears and rescues him. Like I said, a short scene but it makes the audience love Tarzan, saving a handicapped kid confined to... oops, sorry dude ... a plucky kid in a wheelchair."

He stood up and shouted, "OK, guys, the scene's a go! Wardrobe, get that ragged shirt for this boy. His shorts are fine ... that's what the kid would be wearing. We're short on time so I want hair and makeup done here. I want him scratched and disheveled with tears on his face. We'll keep the glasses - great touch."

The set came to life and the director and Grady led Brandon over to the start of the jungle path. "See, kid, it's actually a concrete path covered with leaves so it should be easy to roll over."

"Sir," Brandon frowned, "could I suggest that you put a deeper layer of leaves and small branches on the path. I can handle it, been doing stuff like that all my life, but it would be more of a struggle and much more realistic."

The director smiled at Grady and raised his eyebrows. "Hear that guys?" he yelled to the crew. "The kid wants more leaves and stuff. Seems he's one of those pushy actors, so better make sure he gets what he wants."

As the crew chuckled and piled on more leaves Brandon was taken to the other end of the path. "Now this is real important," the director said. You have to stop exactly here ... see this mark here? It has to be exact because the lighting is set up for your close-up, looking awestruck when Tarzan shows up."

Brandon frowned, trying to imagine how he could struggle with his wheelchair and still keep an eye open for his mark. "Sir," he said, "how about putting a big log across the path there. That would automatically stop me, so I don't have to look for my mark. Plus it would look more dramatic. The wheelchair bumps against a log ... the boy has come to the end of the line ... no escape ... trapped."

The director shot an amazed look at Grady. "He's fucking right, you know. The kid's right. OK, guys, my boy here wants a log."

After that Brandon was caught up in a whirl of make-up and hair, a couple of women painting scratches on his face and body, and a clear gel for tears, while another lady tousled his hair, put twigs in it and sprayed it. They replaced his T-shirt with the ragged shirt from Wardrobe, torn and sweat stained. Beside him Grady was having all the whip marks and bruises removed, transforming him from the bruised and bloodied Tarzan to the magnificent King of the Jungle.

"OK, guys," the director said, "I want to try this in one take with a hand-held camera. It'll look more realistic and, tell you the truth, I don't wanna go into overtime." He smiled at the disheveled Brandon. "So how's my jungle-boy doing? You sure look the part. Think you can give it to me in one take?"

"Sir, like I said ..." The director laughed, "Yeah, yeah, you can do anything. And I'm starting to believe it, kiddo."

Brandon was led to his place in the trees and looked along the path to the end, where Grady ginned at him with two thumbs up, then disappeared into the trees. The cameraman and several assistants stood facing him a few feet away and the First A.D. said, "You ready, Brandon?" Brandon nodded, already trying to ignore the camera and focus on the path that was now buried under leaves and undergrowth.

"And ... Action!" After that all Brandon saw was the formidable obstacles before him. The cameraman and assistants walked slowly backwards before him, getting wide shots of his wheelchair, then going closer on his wincing face, his eyes blinking behind his glasses. But Brandon ignored them as if they were not there and concentrated on the obstacles before him.

He had asked for a difficult path and that's what he got. He grunted with effort and his muscles tensed under the torn shirt as he forced the wheels over deep leaves and cracking branches. The path seemed longer than he had thought and he was becoming genuinely exhausted when suddenly he heard a bump and came to a halt.

He looked up in surprise at the log, swore under his breath and desperately turned the wheels that spun helplessly, kicking up leaves. Real tears were running down his face. Suddenly a shape swung forward on a vine and landed beside him, as if it had dropped from the sky. Startled, Brandon looked up and gasped as he found himself staring at the chiseled features and muscled body of a magnificent man in a loincloth.

The boy wasn't acting. Lost in his fantasy he was truly awestruck by the sight, even though a camera was close to his face. But even so he didn't forget his line. "Sir, I'm lost," he said plaintively, his eyes blinking under his glasses, tears running down his cheeks.

"Don't worry, boy," the deep voice said. "I'm here to help you. Your parents are safe. I'll take you to them." Brandon felt strong arms scoop him out of his wheelchair. He lay on his back, cradled in the man's arms, his head resting against his bare chest, as Tarzan ran off with him into the trees.


"Cut!" There was a tense silence as the director reviewed the playback. He raised his head, smiled and yelled, "Perfect! Abso-fucking-lutely perfect!" The whole set erupted in cheers and applause as Grady came back on the set with Brandon in his arms and replaced him gently in his wheelchair.

The crew crowded round him with their congratulations as hair and makeup moved in. But Brandon said he'd like to go home looking like this. He smiled at Grady who knew he was eager to show the boys how he looked. The wardrobe lady said he could keep the ragged shirt as a memento of his day in the jungle.

The director leaned down and hugged him. "Now I believe it, Brandon. You can do anything any other guy does - and then some. And no more 'confined to' out of respect for you. Hell, you're not confined to anything."

The director looked at Grady. "That looked so damn good I'm gonna speak to the writers and ask them to write a short scene where Tarzan delivers the boy to his parents. You know the kind of stuff - tearful reunion, then they look up to thank Tarzan but's he's already disappearing back to the jungle to confront the soldiers in the fight scene.

"Sounds terrific," Grady grinned. "By the way, your office can sort out all the paperwork and the pay with my manager. I'll tell her to expect it."

"Pay?" Brandon said. "I get paid for that? I'd have done it for free - hell, I'd have paid you!"

"Work for free?  Not allowed," the director smiled. "There are rules - SAG minimums and all that stuff. Besides, kid, you were worth every penny. Shit, I'd pay you double if they'd let me."

Grady and Brandon finally left the soundstage with applause from the crew and a concerted, "Goodbye, Brandon ... you're a star."


Brandon was silent as he drove Grady out of the studio and headed for home, lost in his own silent fantasy, replaying again and again the erotic sights he had seen, especially his rescue by the beautiful man now sitting next to him.

Finally Grady broke the silence. "Brandon, you remember how yesterday we agreed that your fantasies are a lot like mine. Like, I was wondering what happened to that boy after Tarzan rescued him and carried him through the trees. Before he took him to his parents, I mean."

Brandon smiled at Grady, his eyes shining. "You too, sir? I was just wondering the exact same thing. And I kinda know how it turns out."

"You do eh? Listen, I'm still kinda wound up, so how about you drive me up to your place and we relax over a drink and compare notes, see if we agree on what happens to the boy. After all, I said yesterday that we should get together some time and swap fantasies.

"I remember, sir." And you also said, 'maybe act them out'."

"Yeah, that too" Grady smiled.


TO BE CONTINUED in "A Trial Of Strength" - Chapter 289


Rob Williams

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