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Be Careful - Part 3 of 3.
Making porn is hard work.
• The whole story and more.
It was 2:30 p.m. on Friday afternoon when Stryker snuggled up on the loveseat beside my man. Usually, he would have gone to bed after a morning shift as a cleaner at the meatpacking plant. But this afternoon had been something else. We — two formidable adult entertainers — screwed him silly. And Stryker would not have passed that opportunity up for anything in the world.
We smelled clean and fresh after the three of us had scrubbed the day’s sins off in the shower. I watched John ‘Stryker’ Jenkins gaze into Rick’s eyes, his expression a silent, loving ‘thank you’ for the leather jacket now hugging his cute frame. Truth be told, I was a little jealous watching the two snuggle. Johnny looked damned good in my husband’s old gear. But I didn’t let it simmer for long. I knew Rick, and I knew our marriage — he was definitely going to share this treasure with me.
The writer in Stryker took over. He leaned into Rick’s space and finally began to unspool the answers to the rapid-fire questions my husband had left hanging — his age, his day job, and the secrets behind that ‘Stryker-J’ handle — stripping away the online persona to show us the real man underneath.
“Well, Master Pain —,” he started to say, but Rick stopped him.
“Stick with Rick, bro… I am not about to hurt you, kiddo. Well, not unless you really want me to… Darek brought all his whips and paddles — And I know a few tricks that would make you scream… Even some that might leave permanent marks if you don’t do as I say,” he laughed maliciously.
“Okay… Well, as I was about to tell you, I am John Jenkins. Twenty-five. I am gay… Have been since I was twelve — That is to say, I regularly had sex with guys from school. After my best friend rather rudely took my virginity in the school showers, we kept it secret for a long time. I loved it, though. But he turned out to be an entitled prick! — Not a friend at all. The asshole never moved on from high school… To this day, he is still raping little boys behind our local dancing for money. I HATE HIM! —” shouted Stryker suddenly.
“Is that the guy who accosted you in the diner?” I asked Stryker. Putting a fatherly hand on John’s chest. Sitting on the loveseat’s armrest next to him.
“Yeah, George Edward Barnabald Mason the TURD… Entitled pedo,” said John in anger. Rick snorted in his whisky and laughed. Flicking his eyebrows up at the boy.
John continued, “I have tried girls in high school for a while. But sex with guys just felt so much nicer — I haven’t met anyone I really like, though… There are not that many gay guys in this area, either… Or maybe I am being too picky? But I like my freedom,” sighed John, recalling his first time.
“I work shifts at the meatpacking plant in town… As a cleaner. Oh, please don’t give me that look, Payne! It’s an honest job, it pays well, and I am good at it! All the meat I can eat — and suck — at the factory. Those butchers do get ever so lonely sometimes. So, who am I to complain?” snarled Stryker at Rick’s disgusted look. Twisting his lips into a naughty grin.
“I also like to write… I majored in English at college — And I freelance for the local newspaper… As I told Darek, I don’t shout about being gay. It’s not a smart thing to do in this city! You two take a heck of a risk shooting a gay movie in this town, though. However, I am delighted I bumped into your husband, Rick… Surprised — But very glad,” said Stryker, warning the two of us.
Rick laughed warmly. Flashing his gold tooth at the boy. Resting his sizeable black hand a little too close to John’s dick, rubbing his inner thigh.
“The pleasure is all ours, bro… What do you do for amusement around here? Darek told me Middleberg lacks a good red-light district — or gay bars, for that matter. — So, we should invite you to New York… We live on the same street as the Eagle — a leather bar in Manhattan. We can take you clubbing and introduce you to a dungeon darkroom we both like. Damn, bro… You do look cool in that jacket. It suits you better than me, Johnny.” Rick Payne said. Briefly kissing Stryker on the cheek, ruffling his hair.
Stryker smiled. He looked first at Rick, then back at me. Muttering, “Hmmm… Sounds like fun. You two need to train me up a bit, though. I never been to a dungeon. But you are right, Rick… I do love the look and feel of your jacket — I can combine it with regular pants too, and still feel sexy as fuck… Thanks, man!”
“It’s not my jacket, bro. It’s yours now — You’ve earned it, Stryker,” said Rick Payne, brotherly. He had the same look in his eye as I had. Rick saw the dude as his little brother, too. They were only six years apart. You had to overlook the skin color difference. But other than that, Rick also loved this musculin dude.
“Let the boy finish his story, Rick,” I said. Silencing Payne with a quelling look. If Rick started talking, he usually got going for hours. And I wanted to learn more about John ‘Stryker’ Jenkins.
Stryker stroked his hand over his leather-clad chest and sighed. Moaning and yawning a little, looking like he could not believe his luck. Johnny continued explaining himself.
“For my sexual release… I love to write about my fantasies on sites like GayDemon… But that’s just it — Fucking fantasies. Until today, I had no actual experience in bondage or domination… And I know I have not even begun to experience it for real… Hope you guys can help, though. Let alone having sex dressed in fucking cool leather… I loved it, Darek! — Thanks, guys,” sighed Stryker, kissing Rick on the cheek. Rubbing over the bulge in Payne’s sweatpants.
“You should be much more careful about what you write online, bro,” muttered Rick Payne.
“Ha, that’s what’ve I told him too… But I am fucking glad he did, though… Or we would have never met,” I said to my husband.
“I never expected that people from the industry would read those stories, though!… So, imagine my surprise when Darek left me messages there!… I was convinced those were all fake!” said Stryker.
“And as for the pseudonym Stryker-J — Well, I wanted some privacy online — Hoping no one around here would find out who was behind writing that filth… Jeff Stryker is one of my favorite porn stars of all time — Well, apart from Darek Steel, of course… You remind me of him, actually, Darek — But I also like people like Jeff Palmer or Peto Coast… Especially if they dress up in leather… Shit… I do watch a lot of porn — Anyway, I chose Jeff’s last name and added the first letter of my first name to it… Also a ‘J’, come to think of it,” said Stryker, smirkingly as we let him talk into silence.
• Reading and yawning.
I handed Stryker tomorrow’s amended script to read. Standing up behind him, I put a hand under his chin and bent his head back. John let my tongue part his upside-down lips.
“I fucking love you, son! I’m thrilled we finally got to meet! Take a look at this script. The executive producers didn’t want to pay extra for adult actors who could deliver their lines convincingly. We managed to invite some of our friends, though — you’ll meet them later while we rehearse,” I sighed disappointedly.
Looking aside at my husband, I said worriedly, “Sad to see the producers pushed Oswald on us, Rick. I’ve worked with him. He’s too — umm — too straight for my liking. Will he be joining us tonight?”
“Yes, I know, right? But what could I do? We’ll make the best of it, bro. We always do, nigga,” Rick said to me.
Stryker gasped, hiding it as a cough. I pretended I didn’t see his shock. Mainly because that’s how Rick and I always talked to each other and Rick’s ebony friends. A bit of gritty ‘raceplay’ could never hurt our relationship.
“Who is that Oswald guy?” asked Stryker, eyes scanning the script, pretending nothing offensive had just slipped out. His response was cute, though. Even Rick smiled at his reaction.
“Oswald Roper is the director. Older guy, short gray crew cut, glasses — German, I believe. Very strict! Best to avoid him,” Rick explained half-warningly.
We let Stryker read the dumbed-down script. The boy clearly wasn’t impressed.
“Damn. I had expected something else. I can imagine what this will look like. Sure, it has its kinky bits that I love, but the storyline has many gaps. However, it doesn’t flow — it has no beginning or end. It doesn’t tell a story. Most porns don’t, but I had expected something more. This ain’t no budget flick, is it?” John said as he stifled a wide yawn.
“Shit, bro. Is it that boring?” Rick asked, surprised by the yawn.
“Oh — sorry. No, man. It’s not that bad. It just needs a little something extra to tell the story. And screwing your man was hard work, too! That, and I came off my last of a series of morning shifts around noon today. I hate those! I’m more of an evening-shift kind of guy. Normally, I would’ve eaten and dived straight into my bed,” Stryker said tiredly.
“I can’t agree more with you, bro,” Rick said, letting out a whistling breath of despair about the script.
Suddenly, Stryker put up his hand, one finger pointed in the air, asking for silence even though no one was speaking. He thought hard for a moment and took out his phone. John called a guy named Miguel Soto. From what we overheard, John asked if we could rent the diner for an hour or two in the early morning, telling him we’d be shooting a little movie and needed a place for the opening scene. The boy said nothing about the rest of the film or the gay sex.
He told the diner’s owner it was about a couple of rough bikers listening to a few loose women talk over breakfast. Stryker even pre-ordered food and drinks after asking us how many actors and crew would be needed for the scene.
The owner said he would throw in the food and drinks for free if we showed the diner’s name in the film. When John Jenkins told Miguel Soto that it wasn’t that kind of movie, the owner just laughed loudly. He evidently understood that John was working on an adult feature. He told his favorite customer that he needed to consult his cook and hung up.
• Reworking the script.
Stryker didn’t waste a second. He pulled Rick’s laptop onto his lap and started hammering out a new vision for the opening scene. He pitched us his angle: the girl the logging boss had been tormenting finally catches a break and escapes. She treks all the way back into town, desperate to warn her girlfriends to stay away from the sexually frustrated lumberjacks in the woods.
Stryker even wrote a few simple lines for the four women in that scene. Two of them told her they had also run afoul of the lumberjacks while jogging in the woods, saying they’d watched the filthy, oversexed men having gay sex with each other as well. This tied in nicely with the rest of the gay script. The brawny, leather-clad bikers would sit on the other end of the diner, overhearing the women talk. Outside, the gay bikers would decide to take matters into their own hands since the cops did nothing to remedy the situation.
Fifteen minutes later, the diner’s owner called John back to confirm the appointment. Stryker put him on speakerphone. The older Mexican man’s voice told us all we needed to know about him. He was out; he was proud. He was queer as fuck! We should start around seven-thirty and be out of there around nine, so the diner can prepare for the Saturday brunch rush. Soto didn’t even seem to mind the nature of the movie.
In fact, he tentatively asked if his twenty-three-year-old dishwasher could play a small, non-speaking part, adding softly that the youth was gay as well. This startled John; obviously, Miguel Soto knew the boy better than he’d let on.
Stryker reluctantly laughed, telling the Mexican he’d ask the producer, suggesting that the boy could play a waiter serving the bikers in the background. Rick nodded in agreement. This pleased Miguel Soto so much that he let us use the diner for free.
Rick couldn’t hold it in his pants any longer. The long, sleek ‘black mamba’ stood proud and needed some definite attention of its own. Stryker glanced at the leaky glans, swiped the pre-cum off, and tasted it eagerly, looking as if this obscene action was the most normal thing in the world in polite company. This kid was something else!
If Rick and I weren’t impressed with John ‘Stryker’ Jenkins before, we definitely were now! He’d single-handedly saved the movie. John returned Rick’s computer and lay his head on the back of the loveseat.
“Okay… yeah… that should work,” said Stryker, talking more to himself as he thought over the slight change of plan. “Rick, you have to create a little B-roll scene where the abused girl escapes this cabin — preferably in the early morning light. Make it look like she’s been held captive for a couple of days, though. Used and bruised by a few men… or something like that.” Stryker rubbed his sleepy eyes and curled into Rick’s lap.
He let the beautiful black dick stroke his hair. Usually, Payne didn’t get this excited about a script. Still, the horny ebony bastard looked like he regretted his decision to quit acting now.
“Okay. You’ll need to take a nap, kid,” I said as I lifted the yawning Johnny up and carried him back to the master bedroom. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready, son. Does Chinese sound okay to you?”
“Ooh yeah… love me some Chinese, Sir,” he said as I kissed him goodnight. John looked exhausted. He kicked off his boots and took off his pants, but Stryker kept his cafe-racer jacket on. He looked like an angel as he dropped off to sleep. Well, no — more like a thorny, mother-fucking little devil.
Rick and I were going to have such fun with this one! I wasn’t old enough to be his father. Yet, I could see myself doing a full-fledged porn with him as my ‘gay-curious step-son,’ showing him how guys fuck each other and teaching him what the nasty birds and the bees do at night — sharing his holes with a couple of biker friends. Shit, that script wrote itself.
• Cast and Crew.
Late in the afternoon, people started arriving at the cabin. Some of my friends — whom I’d already worked with — came by car from the East. Others had driven to Middleberg in rentals or taken an Uber from the airport after flying in from California, complaining that we were in the middle of nowhere.
The female actors, the lumberjacks, and Oswald Roper arrived a little later in a minibus. Last to arrive were Chris Darkhardt and Ryan Longfellow. Both looked as impressive as ever; old friends of Rick and me.
At twenty-seven, Darkhardt was the youngest of the crew. Chris is a professional lumberjack by trade, but he also acts and does stunts for mainstream movies. His portfolio included a gay OnlyFans account where he loved to roleplay in different outfits and let his fans join him on-camera as an escort, earning a shitload of money that way. Tomorrow, the stud would be our safety guy, since the script called for the use of chainsaws.
Ryan Longfellow, a thirty-four-year-old ebony Jamaican, could’ve been playing NBA basketball. With his sporty, robust six-foot-seven frame, he was certainly tall enough for it. But Longfellow chose to become an internationally renowned cameraman instead. He dabbled in directing porn, too, and even let his foot-long ebony ‘baseball bat’ join the party on occasion.
The good-looking ebony hunks, Ryan and Rick, had known each other since primary school and had grown up on the same block. They used the word like a handshake — ‘nigga’ this and ‘nigga’ that. They even started calling me their favorite ‘white nigga’ when we were behind closed doors. It was their way of letting me in, even if I knew the rules: they could say it, but I wouldn’t. I do like something hot and black inside me, preferably with two lumpy sugars. These friends took care of that need with pleasure.
I was glad Chris and Ryan were here to help Rick and me with this movie. The two men would be staying in the cabin with us; with Johnny, that made five. The rest had rented lodgings in town. Outside, I quickly explained the presence of John Stryker to Ryan and Chris.
Apparently, Chris had heard of him, too. He seemed excited to meet him, so I told Darkhardt all about him — how we met and what Rick and I had done with him already. Chris’s ‘Hardt-wood’ woody told us enough. Chris grabbed three professional chainsaws and orange safety chaps from his truck, following Ryan and me inside.
The party had already started. Everyone was merrily chatting about the upcoming movie shoot, eating appetizers, and downing the drinks I’d prepared for them.
• The Director’s retreat.
Oswald was already in a foul mood. Rick had handed him the last-minute script changes, effectively clawing back the control he’d lost over the production. The director and producer were arguing harshly in the living room, their voices echoing off the lavish log cabin walls.
Oswald Roper’s mood didn’t improve when he saw an unknown John Stryker enter the room. The young, sporty stud was still wearing his new cafe-racer jacket and baggy black cargo shorts, though he’d swapped his sneakers for his tougher black work boots.
“And who the fuck are you?” Roper yelled at John.
I put up a hand to stop Stryker from answering.
“Roper! Mind your manners, man. Mr. Stryker is here as my guest. It’s his script idea — he’s here to ensure this movie works as Rick and I intended. And might I remind you we paid for this location out of our own pockets?” I barked at the director. I saw Stryker blush, looking demurely at the floor and swaying a little on his feet.
“Ah, good! I like the new script much better, anyway. I love a good storyline,” interjected Ryan Longfellow from the kitchen area where the cast had congregated.
“Ich möchte darauf hinweisen, dass —” Roper started to scream in German. Realizing no one but him understood a word, he switched back to English. “I want to point out that I don’t shoot movies with — with outsiders watching!”
“Good. John is my PA, and he’s a damned good fluffer, too. So, not an outsider at all. I’ll pay him myself. Stryker is here to stay!” I gruffly countered.
“Well, come on, guys. — Ich werde diese Scheißshow verlassen! — I’m leaving this shit show! I can’t work like that. Are you coming?” Oswald commanded the actors he’d brought along. He looked daggers at the guys playing the lumberjacks and the older logging boss. When none of them moved, he turned his aggressive glare toward the women.
One of them, Clarissa, called out, “Piss off, Roper. Read the script! It’s a good one!” She brandished the new pages at him; Stryker’s name was right there as co-writer.
“Exit stage left,” Ryan Longfellow laughed. “Rick, buddy — make sure you stop his salary,” he added nastily as Roper stomped away in a fit of rage.
The drama was a bit much for poor Stryker. Chris Darkhardt saw it, catching the swaying boy and guiding him to the couch.
“Ricky, can you go over the new script with us? Are we still on for tomorrow?” Chris asked on behalf of the assembled cast and crew.
Johnny looked imploringly over at Rick and me, clearly fearing he was the cause of the blow-up.
Chris leaned close to him and whispered something in the boy’s ear that none of us could hear. Whatever it was, the discussion cheered Johnny right up. Chris put an arm around John’s shoulder after the boy nodded vigorously, his eyes wide, before he kissed Darkhardt in thanks. I wondered what that was all about.
However, I had more pressing matters. I looked around at the others in the room. They all — no exceptions — nodded approvingly. Only John Wilde spoke up.
“Who will direct the movie then?”
Wilde was playing the older logging boss, the only bisexual-straight guy in the room. He’d agreed to get used by the gay bikers; in fact, the ‘heteroflexible’ guy had openly said he was looking forward to being abused in some hardcore BDSM action. That was the only reason I’d agreed to have sex with the flabby sixty-two-year-old. John Wilde expected his lack of experience with men couldbring an authentic edge to the film.
Rick looked quizzically at his long-time friend. Ryan Longfellow agreed to film and direct the movie in a heartbeat, which instantly cheered the group up. Some of them had worked with Ryan before; heck, some had even enjoyed the intimate pleasure of the black stallion’s twelve inches. Even the women eyed him longingly.
“Good, that’s settled then!” Rick exclaimed in his producer voice. He ruffled Stryker’s hair and gave him a wink. He handed the new script to everyone who needed a copy, and we went over it in detail until the Chinese food arrived.
• Rehearsals with the new team.
After we finished dinner, the women began rehearsing their lines for the diner scene. Although the guys and I included Stryker as best we could in our male bonding antics, it was clear he’d never been in a room with this much gay testosterone. Yet, Stryker kept looking distractedly at the women as they worked.
“Okay… umm… what can I call you? Girls? I don’t want to offend you —,” he started to say.
“Buddy, you can call me anything. You’re sweet. I hope you’ll play one of the lumberjacks,” Clarissa said, wishfully stroking the boy’s cock and balls over his cargo shorts.
“Thanks, but sorry. No. I’ll stay on the other side of the camera. Besides, I’m more into those biker guys myself,” John grinned, looking around the table at the men. He enjoyed the women’s affection nonetheless.
The remark didn’t go unnoticed by the guys playing the brutal bikers; they barked their approval in a chorus of deep voices. Apparently, the young man impressed both sides of the aisle. But Chris Darkhardt looked at Johnny ‘Stryker’ Jenkins and shouted, “I call dibs!”
“Shhh… I’ll let you know in what order and at what intensity I’ll take any of you,” Stryker said sternly. “But sure. Let me sleep on Chris tonight — umm, I mean, sleep on that tonight. So, no more alcohol! Early to bed and be here on time. Anyone in the opening scene arriving after six o’clock is out of a job. Understood?” John Stryker barked at the actors. “We’ve got lots to do in one day!”
He looked over at Rick Payne, and my husband nodded in total agreement. I saw the boy for what he was: an assistant producer, a writer, a visionary, and a fluffer extraordinaire.
• The final instructions from a professional amateur.
“Anyway… umm, girls,” the boy said to the female actors, and the room fell quiet. Everyone listened to what Stryker had to say.
“Don’t learn these lines by heart. Instead, understand the direction this story is going in. Use your own words.”
The writer, director, and producer in him took over as he explained: “Clarissa, you come walking bedraggled into the diner — having escaped the logging boss and his nasty men. They’ve beaten you up and screwed you meanly for three days straight. You want to warn your girlfriends to stay away from the woods.”
“Two of you tell Clarissa you caught the lumberjacks having sex with each other. They caught and used you in the woods, too. But make it sound like a normal yet urgent conversation you four are having. Do you understand what I’m saying?” The female actors fully understood.
“Oh? Can I do some fake bruises and whipping marks on Clarissa?” asked the older woman who did the wardrobe and makeup.
“Yeah! Maybe some choking marks on my neck, too. I have a few of these white blouses; we can tear one up and add some traces of blood and shit,” Clarissa called out in glee.
“Blood okay, but no shit!” laughed Stryker. The room doubled up with laughter.
“Guys?” Stryker said to the biker gang and me. “In this opening scene, you six have a few lines in the parking lot outside as well. Think about what you want to say — deciding to teach those lumberjacks a painful lesson.”
“Darek, make sure you bring your bullwhip. We only have a little time for that scene; it’s in a public place, and we should not attract any unwanted attention.” My man and I understood and put our heads together. Hearing Johnny talk in images, rather than words, gave us all goosebumps.
“Longfellow?” asked Stryker. “The diner scene is short and simple enough, but it makes or breaks this movie. The bikers will park outside. The girls will sit halfway down the restaurant. You can set up three cameras: one close on Clarissa from the East, one from the west for the wide view with the bikers in the back, and one from the kitchen doorway for the girls’ discussion of current events.”
“And you may want to shoot some B-roll of the outside, too — watching the bikers enter and drive away afterward,” the boy said, drawing the diner’s layout on a napkin.
“Ah… thanks for this info, bro. That helps speed up the proceedings,” Ryan said warmly, stroking Stryker’s leather-clad shoulder.
• Praise and old pen pals.
I pulled John ‘Stryker’ Jenkins aside, making sure Rick and Ryan were well within earshot. “Keep this up, and we’re paying you Oswald’s cut,” I said, my voice thick with genuine pride. “You keep doing exactly what you just did. I’m so impressed with you, son.”
Rick nodded vigorously, his eyes shining with agreement.
“No need, Sir. In fact, you’ve already given me more than enough,” John replied, his gaze flickering warmly toward Rick. “This is going to be fun. Hard work, sure… but so much fun.”
Rick shook his head, a low rumble of affection in his chest. “Nah, bro. Before you leave us, I want to see you dressed like a sexy young biker in full leather — your own gear. Ryan, Darek, Chris, and I are going to take your holes for a ride you’ll never forget. We’ll train you up right in bondage and domination, kid… give you enough material to write about for a year,” Rick murmured into Stryker’s ear, his words a dirty, loving promise that had the kid beaming.
I stepped in closer, adding my own vision of the love we had to share. “Just imagine it… Four guys in full leather, filling you up and showering you in thick, juicy cum. Christening that new leather outfit of yours,” I sighed, the heat of the moment settling over us like a heavy blanket.
“Ha! You’d better stop right there, Darek Steel, or I’m going to jizz my pants on the spot,” John laughed, leaning into us. “I love the idea, though. Are you guys really going to take turns on me?”
“Bro, we absolutely will,” Ryan Longfellow promised with a grin. “And we’re filming every beautiful second of it.”
“Cool. Just don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Stryker playfully challenged, reaching out to squeeze Ryan through his sweatpants.
Chris Darkhardt draped a heavy, protective arm around Stryker’s neck. He’d been listening to the three of us with a soft expression. Johnny tilted his head back, kissing the lumberjack with a sweetness that made them look like they’d been boyfriends for years.
“What did you tell him earlier, Chris? When you sat beside him right before Oswald stormed out?” I asked.
“Oh, that?” Chris chuckled. “Well, it turns out Stryker and I were pen pals all through college. He let slip years ago that he wrote porn online, and I found his account. I’ve been chatting with him on GayDemon under a pseudonym for a long time. This gossiping fucker told ‘me’ everything about Chris Darkhardt. So when we finally met tonight, I whispered that I was going to do all those dirty, naughty things we’d discussed over the years. Make him mine. I only live three towns away, so I asked him if he’d like to date me for real. I’m ready to settle down.”
“And I said yes!” Johnny sighed happily, melting into Chris’s side. “Easy as that. Meet my meat… Chris Jenkins-Darkhardt,” he joked, pulling his man in for a deep, lingering smooch.
There was nothing more to be said. My chance meeting with John ‘Stryker’ Jenkins had set a beautiful destiny in motion that none of us could have foreseen.
“Just forgive the noise we’re about to make tonight,” John teased, looking at the excitedly nodding Chris.
“Chris is going to ram his tree trunk up my ass and fill me with his wood glue. And I told him he can suck all the sap out of my seven-inch twig, too. I think he’s looking forward to it.”
“Looks like it’s just you and me this week, Darek,” Rick joked, playfully swatting Johnny’s cheek.
“Hell, no!” Stryker exclaimed hopefully. “After the shoot, the two of us are at your service. I don’t work again until Wednesday. I need all the teachers I can get! Chris can prep my ass for you and Darek, and Ryan said he wanted a piece of the action, too. It’s going to be perfect, right?”
Ryan didn’t need to say a word. He simply let his erect, twelve-inch ‘stallion’ free from his sweatpants in the center of the room. Chris, Stryker, and I all reached out at once, our hands finding home on that massive, warm weight, while the dark, juicy head still poked proudly out the top.
• Team building exercises.
The kid was a natural, working the room and jawing with the cast like he’d been on set for a decade. He even dropped to his knees to get a proper look at Ryan’s legendary twelve-inch sausage, measuring the weight of it in his palms. Stryker had clearly figured ‘Longfellow’ was just some cheesy stage name; seeing the reality of that ebony foot-long pipe in the flesh had him nearly speechless. The air in the cabin was thick enough to chew on, and it wasn’t long before the living room TV was blaring the wet, rhythmic thudding of unbridled porn to set the mood.
Even the old-timer, John Wilde, was getting into the spirit of things. He was cornering the bikers, talkin’ shop about exactly how they planned to wreck him — discussing limits, safewords, and just how much leather he could handle. One of the studs eventually hauled Wilde off to a bunkroom to give the ‘logging boss’ a brutal preview of tomorrow’s action.
He left Wilde’s pale, spanked ass locked tight in the stocks, calling out for reinforcements to keep the man warm. A few of the guys took him up on it; some just watched while others took turns plugging the mark, stretching him out in preparation for the main event tomorrow. Wilde took the abuse like a champ, though he looked damn relieved when the last guy finally popped the pins on that wooden stockade and freed his neck and wrists.
One of Clarissa’s girlfriends climbed onto Stryker’s lap, the two of them glued to the bi-porn on the screen. She was kissing him hard while he went to work, burying three fingers deep into her muff until she was halfway over his pumping hand.
The kid’s thumb was punishing her clit so ruthlessly she let out a window-shaking scream, squirting a four-foot arc right across the brown leather cushions. A dozen horny eyes watched the show while Longfellow and his crew kept the cameras rolling, capturing the raw heat from every filthy angle.
By ten o’clock, Rick stepped in and ordered the pack to hit the racks. He put out the word: ‘5:45 a.m. sharp for wardrobe and makeup.’ It was a brutally early call for a porn shoot, but Stryker’s vision was all about that raw, early-morning light.
Having the cast and crew bond like this was outside the norm, but I could feel it in my gut — this movie was going to be legendary because of it. We were actually going to enjoy this job. Rick and Ryan had the shot list locked down, and by now, everyone knew their roles. The guys and girls had their improvised lines ready to spit.
And Stryker? The kid was right there beside Longfellow, barking out directions like he owned the place. Everyone was buying what he was selling. Why wouldn’t they? Dressed in that slick cafe-racer jacket, he looked like the real deal. He might’ve been the youngest guy in the room, but he stood his ground and didn’t flinch. I had to respect that.
The nervous fan from this morning was gone; in his place stood a man who’d grown up fast over the last twelve hours, taking his seat at the table like a seasoned pro.
• The day of the shoot.
Chris and Stryker were the first to stir the next morning. I doubted they’d clocked more than five hours of sleep, what with having a bunkroom to themselves and a decade of pen-pal fantasies to burn through. They were fucking like rabbits, but they still managed to crawl out and set up a breakfast bar before the rest of us were even conscious.
By the time the coffee was black enough to stand a spoon in, the makeup mirror was live. Clarissa and the wardrobe mistress were the first to arrive, painting ‘war marks’ on the actress that looked convincingly painful. Clarissa was a mess of fake black eyes and choking marks, draped in a ripped white blouse stained with fake cum.
Stryker, ever the perfectionist, found some red ink and thickened the liquid before smearing it on her collar for that raw, fresh-from-the-woods look. Longfellow and his crew were already hauling gear, setting up the escape scene at first light. Before long, the cabin was a hive of horny, professional energy, everyone itching to bring this vision to life.
The scene inside Soto’s diner went off without a hitch, though Stryker called for a re-take almost immediately. He’d spotted some local rubberneckers watching the crew from the street and didn’t want the fourth wall cracked.
The actresses were on fire, delivering their lines so naturally that they even convinced Ryan. The second time the kid stopped the show was for a local delivery truck with ‘Middleberg’ plastered on the back; the dude had eyes like a hawk for continuity. I watched it all from a distance, leaning on my bike as the gang leader. The boys looked like pure, leather-clad menace.
Even the queer dishwasher held his own. We bullied him a little in the background, keeping it quiet but rough. The bulge in his apron told the story — he was loving every second of the butch, leather-dressed studs toying with him. Rick Payne made sure to take care of Miguel and the kid, paying them for their time and promising them a free copy of the flick once it was cut.
Back at the cabin, John Wilde and Clarissa got down to business. He took her while she resisted with everything she had; they’d clearly rehearsed the struggle, and Longfellow only needed two takes to put the action in the can. They’d be at it again later, amping up the ‘bruising’ on the captured girl. It’s the beauty of porn — it looked and sounded brutally sick, but it was all just high-end choreography.
The same went for the scene between the lumberjacks and the ‘local sluts.’ They chased them down, tied them over freshly felled hardwood trees, and threatened them with nothing but raw dicks and idling chainsaws. Stryker was a godsend, hovering just off-camera to keep a couple of the guys hard while the close-ups were being filmed.
It was nasty, gritty work, but it got a hell of a lot worse for the loggers the ‘next day’ when the five of us caught up with them. In the real world, these scenes were only hours apart, but with some movie magic and a dark filter, we made it look like the dead of night.
We gave those loggers a face full of leather-clad hardwood to deal with. After the rough outdoor sessions, we dragged the bastards back to their camp behind our bikes, fought off three more woodsmen, and cornered the whole lot of them — including the boss — inside the cabin.
What followed was a goddamn pandemonium of gay bondage and domination. Stryker was on top of everything, making us re-take a heavy scene because one of the greener actors had tweaked his outfit between shots.
The kid was snapping photos between setups, checking for continuity like a pro. Rick and Ryan loved it; their focus was on the lighting and the meat, so having Stryker catch the small stuff saved us a week in the editing room.
• Making nerves tingle.
Stryker was loving the shoot. Like a spider in the center of its web, he was in complete control — or so it seemed. Chris Darkhardt had stepped in to replace one of the lumberjacks who’d failed to show, and Ryan Longfellow made sure Chris’s face stayed off-camera. Still, Stryker found it difficult to watch when two of the bikers were called in to brutalize his new boyfriend.
I wasn’t in this scene, so I stood behind the kid. “It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered quietly into his ear. “Chris isn’t going to get hurt. He screamed harder when you took him last night. You’re not jealous, are you, son?”
Stryker shook his head.
“Good boy. Just watch and learn,” I said. Apparently, that was the right thing to say, because Johnny looked a lot happier now.
He checked the script and the schedule, noting that we were an hour ahead of the clock. “Good. That’s all thanks to you, buddy,” I whispered proudly.
My big scene with the logging boss was up next. Before I stepped on set, Stryker deployed his primary weapon on my rod. Those plump lips woke my nine-inch dick up like a pro. Even the other guys couldn’t help but grin naughtily at his skill, clearly wishing they were next in line.
My men had cornered the logging boss in his office. They worked him over until he crumbled in fear. I used the short bullwhip on him, tearing the office shirt from his chest like Zorro, yet leaving no mark on the flesh.
I heard Stryker whimper from behind the monitors. Rick Payne had to step in to calm him down. “Don’t worry, bro. Darek knows his way around a whip and paddle. He can knock the hairs off an ant’s sack with that thing.”
On camera, it looked like attempted murder to Stryker, but Chris just stood quietly before the boy. “Dude, it’s all fake,” Darkhardt muttered. He kissed him while Rick held the kid from behind. The baggy shorts had already dropped around Stryker’s ankles; the dude had long since dispensed with underwear.
The two of them started making love to him right there in the middle of the living room. They didn’t make a sound, but they were fucking and sucking Stryker at the same time. Rick’s big black cock disappeared so deep it practically lifted Johnny off his feet. In turn, Stryker’s dick throated his man until he started to shake uncontrollably, soundlessly ejaculating into Darkhardt’s throat.
• The unforgivable curse.
“Cut! That’s a wrap —,” called Ryan Longfellow. However, looking at what was happening right behind him, he laughed. “Get a room, you three. Ricky — call me if you need a hand. If John can take ten inches, then our Stryker can surely take my foot-long. That does look like fun, though.”
Riding the testosterone high, a reckless smirk tugging at his lips, Stryker joked, “Who are you calling Shirley — nigga?”
The words jumped out before he could process the thought — a pure, unthinking reflex. The carefully guarded boundary had simply evaporated in the post-scene haze. But the second that unforgivable word vibrated in the air, the world seemed to tilt.
Stryker looked like he wanted to sink through the floor, wishing he could reach out and snatch the sound back. Under the hot studio lights, his skin felt like it was on fire. Ryan Longfellow didn’t miss a beat; he let out a loud, rumbling chuckle, his dark eyes locking onto Stryker’s with a gleeful, predatory weight.
“Aww, man. Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to say that —,” Stryker stammered, his confidence vanishing instantly.
“Ha. Well, white boy — don’t sweat it,” Ryan said soothingly, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer. “Just keep your ass lubed. I’ll take it out of there at the end of the day.” He gave a slow, deliberate wink that told Stryker exactly who was in charge now.
I watched as Chris turned his back to the boy, presenting his buttocks to him. Rick aimed his tool directly into the presented love tunnel. With a loud moan, some choice swear words, and a deep sigh, Stryker’s cock disappeared inside Darkhardt.
The boy had tears in his eyes, though. He was mouthing to Ryan Longfellow how sorry he was for using the ‘N-word’ on him. The off-camera, impromptu threesome was watched by most of the cast, but Ryan just laughed derisively, mocking the boy. He stepped nearer when Johnny started to cry for real, grabbing the cute white dude by the chin and sticking his tongue down Stryker’s mouth.
• Wrapping up a 12-inch day.
Meanwhile, the crew set up the master bedroom scene between the biker gang and the sixty-two-year-old logging boss. His men watched, terrified, while sitting, hanging, or lying hogtied against the wall. Whipping and punching marks — both real and fake — were clearly visible.
My men joined me in fucking the straightness out of them, warning them never to use or abuse the local girls again. We threatened those lumberjacks while we seeded, pissed over, and fisted the lot; the camera loved the raw domination and bondage action.
After dinner, we wrapped up the day by tying up some loose ends. Three more scenes needed to be canned, but slowly the cabin grew much quieter. It had been a hard day’s work. Every one of us felt that this was going to be one of the roughest movies out there, and no one felt that more than Stryker.
We all agreed this production was only possible because of him. Yet, the boy was avoiding Ryan Longfellow like the plague. Johnny turned red whenever Ryan even looked his way.
Chris gestured at Ryan, urging him to go talk to Stryker, but Ryan just shook his head. Longfellow knew John had meant no harm — it had just slipped out in the heat of the moment as a joke.
But when Chris kept insisting, Ryan finally walked up to Stryker.
“You. Me. Bedroom. Now!” Longfellow snarled into John’s face.
Stryker hung his head. He knew he was in for it now!
Ryan grabbed the boy by the forearm, guiding him violently toward the master bedroom and slamming the door closed with his foot. He pointed to a spot on the floor in front of the blanket chest.
“On your knees!” Ryan commanded.
Stryker complied in trepidation. He started apologizing again for using the ‘N-word’ earlier, trembling in fear of the tall Jamaican. Ryan smacked him across the face with the back of his hand, telling him to stop talking shit.
Ryan Longfellow dropped his pants and ripped his shirt off, even kicking off his high-tops. Fully naked, he called out, “Open wide —”
“Wider than that, bro,” Ryan commanded boomingly. “How is all of this going to fit in there, boy?” He pointed to his semi-erect monster cock.
“Swallow!” he called, stuffing twelve inches of ebony goodness into Stryker’s mouth. He tried to force himself deep into the boy’s throat, using both hands to prevent him from pulling back.
We already knew that Stryker had little to no gag reflex, but this time, he nearly puked. Shortly after, the boy finally managed to feel the hairs on Ryan’s black nuts tickling his chin. He’d taken the flexible brown sausage deep into his esophagus.
• Friendships that linger and experiences that last.
It was over just like that. All the vicious anger had abated. No deep-throat pounding, no brutal face-fuck. Was this just another test? Like so many tests the boy had to endure over the last twenty-four hours, the tension snapped into something else entirely.
Longfellow put a hand on the blanket chest and instructed, much more calmly and sweetly, “Now you can fuck my black ass, buddy. Only a handful of guys ever managed to take all of me like that. That earns you the right to call me whatever you like in my book, bro. Please, fuck me hard, Stryker! Tear me a new one!”
When the stunned boy didn’t instantly react, Ryan turned around again. He hooked his huge hands under Johnny’s armpits. He lifted him bodily off the floor, throwing the boy from a height onto the leather-covered California King.
Longfellow stripped the rest of Stryker’s clothes off and sucked him hard before straddling the dude’s waist. He grabbed Johnny’s trembling cock in one hand and slid his ebony hole resolutely over the seven-inch, veiny prick. He started riding him like a cowboy.
“Do you — do you really not mind? It just slipped out,” Stryker sighed, his voice thick with relief.
“Just take care your dick doesn’t slide out. Let me do the rest. Fuck me hard, white nigga! Take my black ass like a thug, bro. Do me!”
It was a good hour and a quarter before the two joined us in the cabin’s living room. They were barely dressed, covered in sweat and body fluids, smelling of the intense sex they’d just shared. Stryker looked a fucking hell of a lot more impressed with himself now; Longfellow had turned the white boy into a ‘black-worthy thug.’
Chris, Rick, and I watched the men return to the living room arm in arm. My man handed Ryan and the sperm-covered Stryker a beer. We’d watched most of their antics on the TV screen; Longfellow had streamed it on a closed loop, using three cameras he’d secretly set up to record the heavy action.
After Stryker had topped the ebony bull, he got his ass handed back to him. Ryan spanked the living daylights out of Johnny, fucking that twelve-inch, flexible schlong into the white twink like a pro, screwing the dude harder than we’d ever seen him do. The ‘black stallion’ even hung him from the ceiling, choking and paddling him a little while using some of Rick Payne’s favorite rope tricks. He’d bred and fed Stryker three or four times; the action was good enough to sell by itself as a high-end feature.
Stryker plopped onto Chris’s lap. Darkhardt looked impressed and asked, “Did you enjoy that?”
“Yup. Hard work… but well worth it. However, I bet you can do better, Chris,” John said, smirking at his boyfriend.
“At least the hard work is over. You’re nice and loose now,” Chris joked back, sliding a hand over the gaping hole.
Stryker raised his bottle. “To everlasting friends, with benefits!”
“TO FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS!” we all echoed.
• The End • (-perhaps-)
PS.
Tell me where to take this from here. I feel there could be at least one more part to this story.
Thank you for reading this story.
Please give it a 👍 Like or a Comment if you are inclined to do so.
And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ – January-2024
Edited: January 2026
