Making of a Porn Star

“Here we are again with our favorite American sub porn star, Brady Boyd. Say hello to your fans out there, Brady.” The voice behind the camera at the foot of the bed was a low, sensuous one, speaking in English, with an accent--slightly English English but something else as well. I, of course, knew that Costas was Cypriot and that we were in the studio in his house in the hills overlooking Limassol on the southern coast of the island.

“Hello fans,” I said, giving a bit of a wave and a smile. I was sitting against the headboard of the bed to the right of a big, black hunk of a man, similarly propped against the headboard. I was in gym shorts and a tank top; he was just in gym shorts. He had a beefy arm around my shoulders and his left hand on my thigh, just above my knee, the fingers underneath the hem of my gym shorts. I had my legs bent and spread, with my feet flat on the surface of the bed. Costas had posed us there before starting to film. There were two other cameramen, out of range, on either side of the bed. As Costas asked the question, and as he had instructed me to do, I moved my leg to lay on top of the other guy’s thigh, and he ran his hand further up my thigh under the material of my gym shorts.

It wasn’t an accident that his hand puffed the material of my shorts out so that the camera could see all the way up to my balls. Nor was it an accident that the camera could see the black guy's fingers fondling and rolling my balls.

“You are our star for this film, Brady, and you are quite experienced now, but you haven’t been doing this for long, have you?”

“No, just a few months,” I answered. “But this is my fifth shoot.”

“And you aren’t yet nineteen, are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen next month,” I answered. I was older but I passed as younger, and those subscribing to Costas’s subscription Web site apparently liked to think of me as younger.

“Where are you from and what do you do?”

“Other than porn films?” I asked, and gave a little laugh. Iwas told to do that--to act the innocent.

“Yes, are you a student?”

“Yes, I just started college. And I’m from a farm in Colorado. Just left home for the first time.” I’d actually started graduates chool before this came along, and I was from further north, where they still were producing sunny Scandinavia blonds. My gig here, though, was freshness, submissive vulnerability.

“Well, we have a real treat for you and the viewers today, Brady. You’ve told me before, but tell the viewers what you like in a man.”

“I like bulls. Big black bulls,” I answered, looking into the camera Costas was holding and giving a shy smile.

“Contrasts,” he’d said. “Give them sweet and savory.”

“I like to be dominated and manhandled,” I added. And it was true--I did.

“And we just happen to have that for you today,” Costas said. “This is Sami, who will be fucking our porn star, Brady, today. My, you are a big one, aren’t you, Sami? Where do you come from?”

“I’m French. But I’m from Algeria.” The voice was a bass, the French accent noticeable. He’d been told to speak slowly and distinctly--and not much. But he wasn’t here to talk.

“He’s a big brute, isn’t he, Brady? You think you can handle him?”

“I’m hoping he’ll handle me,” I said and gave a weak little smile. We’d practiced this line before, as well as the expression I’d put with it. It was clear from what the audience could see that he was handling my balls already, and, from the expression of my reactions, that I knew the brute had me by the balls. “But, yes, he’s big.”

“How old are you and what do you do, Sami?”

“I’m twenty-four and I fuck little white boys.” Costas laughed. This too had been a devised line to parallel the one I’d given earlier.

“Are you a student too? And have you done porn before?”

“I work in construction,” Sami answered. “And, no, this is my first time doing a movie.”

“But you like topping young men like our star, Brady, here?”

“Just what I like, yes. I’ll break him if you let me.” On cue he gave a mean, thuggish look and then changed it to a grin. He moved his big, beefy hand from my balls to my belly, running his pinky in under the waistband of my gym shorts as he’d been instructed to do. This, of course, wasn’t his first film. He was a star top in his own right, but mostly in regional films in France until Costas had gone on a recruiting drive in the States and stopped in Paris on his way back to Cyprus. Costas’s studio was international, but his Web site was registered in forgiving Cyprus.

“That should be interesting,” Costas said, which was an understatement. It was the whole hook of this film--the contrasting sizes, the submissiveness of me and the dominance of the big black bull. The hint of brutality to come--of being able to see a big black bull actually break a small white guy on the screen.

“The differences between you are striking,” Costas said, as if this had just occurred to him. “You are small of stature, Brady, and Sami here is so big. Does that frighten you?”

“A little bit, yes,” I answered. “But it arouses me too.” Sami moved his hand to my basket and pulled me closer into him. I laid my head against his bicep and moved a hand to his basket. I gave a little look of surprise and concern when I felt how big he was--just as I’d been coached to do. As if the audience was in on a secret that I wasn't--that I was going to be completely broken, to my surprise.

“Let’s give our viewers a sense of the differences. How tall are you and how much do you weigh, Brady?”

“I’m five foot six and weigh 142 pounds,” I answered.

“That’s 170 in centimeters and sixty-four kilos. And you, Sami?”

“I’m 198 centimeters tall and 104 kilos.”

“For our American viewers, that six foot six, a whole foot of difference, and nearly ninety pounds of difference too. And the more vital measurement?”

“You mean dick size?” I asked, and then answered, “Let’s just say I’m normal sized.”

Sami gave a grin. “twenty-one,” he answered proudly.

“That’s over eight inches. Very impressive. You think you can handle that, Brady?”

“I can try,” I said, showing him a cringe.

"Have you taken that much before?"

"I . . . I don't know. I don't think so." I most surely had.

“I’m not sure we have a condom to cover that, Sami.”

“I don’t use condoms,” Sami growled. Barebacking was a hallmark of Limassol Films, and Costas liked to work it into the introductions that it was going to be barebacking, to enhance the audience’s arousal. He wanted his viewers to come the first time even before the top got his dick inside the bottom. He also liked to reflect that it hadn’t been planned to be barebacking. Sometimes he had the actors get into the film and either “forget” to use a condom or be too much in heat to take the time to use one, or, for some other reason, bring one out but toss it aside without using it. That gave the viewer an extra little jolt of pleasure.

“Brady?”

“That’s fine with me.” And it was. We were tested and medicated to make it as safe as possible, and I did prefer the raw effect of flesh directly on flesh, the release of cum inside me, and the cum serving as extra lubricant when the brute kept on stroking.

“You’re so much bigger than he is, Sami. You are going to show him mercy, aren’t you?” Costas said, milking the anticipation for all it was worth.

“No, I’m going to fuck the shit out of him--leaving him sobbing like a baby--if he's conscious at all.”

“So, do you want to back out of this movie, Brady?” Costas asked.

“No, it’s what I want,” I answered. “If he can break, me, I want him to.”

Lamb to the slaughter time.

“Show it to us--show us what’s going to stretch you to the limit, shred you, if he can. Pull it out, Brady.”

I pulled Sami’s gym shorts down and he lifted his buttocks to aid in that. He took over and pulled the shorts completely off, leaving him fully naked on the bed--and magnificent both in form and erection.

“Don’t be shy, Brady. Hold it up for us.”

I didn’t have to hold it up. It was proudly jutting up from his trimmed, kinky pubes. I moved my hand up and down it, though, and I could feel Sami shudder. His hand of the arm he had around my shoulder closed tightly on my bicep. “It’s black, jet-black, darker than the rest of him,” I said, in amazement. I wasn’t really all that amazed, though. He’d fucked me already--when we’d first been introduced, later on the terrace of the Limassol house by the pool just because we wanted to fuck, and earlier today in rehearsals for the filming. And it wasn’t really jet-black. It had a bluish tint to it. It was huge, though, and I'd had to work hard to take it all.

“Yes, really black. Just the way you like it,” Costas said.

“Yes, just the way I like it,” I agreed.

“Then perhaps it’s time to stop talking and to do something useful with it,” Costas said.

That was Sami’s cue. He pulled the tank top over my head and brought us closer together by pressing on my bicep with his hand. I turned my face to his, and we went into a kiss. His left hand pushed the front of my gym shorts down, and he fisted my cock. I was already stroking his with my hand.

He pushed my down, into his lap, and I took his cock in my mouth, nearly deep-throating it. Gagging on it. Just like I was supposed to.

When he rolled over on top of me, I turned my face to the camera and showed the audience every nuance of every reaction I had to every thick inch of his big black cock that was sinking into me, moving to reflecting the moment when I realized that the black bull really was going to break me.

* * * *

I didn’t seek out appearing in porn films. That was the farthest intention from my mind until after I already was in them. I was entering graduate school, or at least appearing for my first graduate degree semester at the anthropology department of the University of Arizona in Tucson. I wanted to be an archeologist and had shown up in Tucson on a hope and a prayer. I’d barely been able to scrape together the money for undergraduate studies, and here I was, at twenty-one, an orphan with no means of support and bills appearing for tuition and room and board. I’d applied for scholarships but none had come through.

I was in a last-ditch effort to gather some experience in archaeology before the university discovered I wasn’t going to pay any bills--that I couldn’t. That’s what led me to be on a study project right off the bat at the Mesa Verde National Park, in Four Corners, where Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona met, where a group from the university was included in excavating an eight hundred-year-old Pueblo Indian cliff dwelling that had recently been discovered. We were to be there for a month. Other groups, of course, would be there longer and at different times. It wasn’t going to be a dig that would be completed in a year or even five years. But for that month, I’d have a tent over my head near the dig and meals provided. It would take theuniversity that long, I thought, to discover that I couldn’t pay for the classes that would build on this excavation experience. I was holding out hope that a scholarship would come in before then or that one of the senior archaeologists would decide that I was such a brilliant student and worker that they would take me under their wing and pay my way.

That’s essentially what happened, although not nearly in the way I imagined or hoped it would.

I’ll also establish that I wasn’t a complete innocent sexually by the time and I knew I probably was gay--probably, because I hadn’t done all that much about finding out for sure. I had tunnel vision concerning becoming an archaeologist. Just a smaller-and-younger-looking Nebraska farm boy, born late in life to a couple who didn’t make it to the end of my undergraduate days, with a blond, oh-my-gosh look, a small, but toned body, and a dream about what I would be doing with my future.

I had done some fooling around, but nothing too heavy--a bit of fondling during wrestling practices with other guys my age--I had been a high school varsity wrestler in the 140-pound weight class and a gymnast a swell and had been good but not good enough for a collegiate scholarship. There also had been some hand jobs and a few blow jobs with a coach who got skittish and convinced me that we should forget it ever happened. I’d done enough to know I liked that better than the alternative, but I’d never gone any farther than dreaming of bottoming for another guy.

So, although I was taken advantage of and maneuvered and coaxed into films, I can’t say that I said no anywhere along the line and, if I regretted it, which I don’t, really, I couldn’t really blame anyone but myself.

There were several groups working the Mesa Verde cliff house excavation when I was there. The professor heading up the university’s group decided that we’d get better exposure if he assigned us individually or in pairs to other established teams. I was assigned to a European one. Mores pecifically, the team was from the island of Cyprus in the Mediterranean, an island that had a rich history in settlement that went all the way back to the Neolithic period. I had read about the excavation that was going on there in Cyprus, and I knew I’d give my right testicle to do work there.

That’s essentially what I did.

The archaeologist in charge was named Costas Nikolides. He had gotten his doctorate in England and his was a name I had heard before. He was an imposing man, with a booming but velvety baritone voice and charming mix of Greek and English accent. He had a commanding presence and the physique of a Zeus--a thick, but muscular body that brought “powerful” to mind rather than “fat.” He wasn’t tall but he was a handsome man, always giving the impression that he was moving with purpose and determination. He had the dark, olive-toned skin of the Mediterranean man and black hair, which lightly covered his body in tight, curly swirls. He liked to work bare-chested, wearing low-riding khaki cargo shorts, a bush hat, and construction boots with thick, white socks.

His shorts rode unusually low on his pelvis, showing the crease between torso and thigh as it curved under his belly, taking the eye down to his pubes. I think that seeing that every day is what aroused me to wanting to lie under him. I had no idea how he managed to keep the shorts up.

Although his team at Mesa Verde was a hodge-podge of Europeans and Americans of all ages and both sexes, all of whom were in awe of him and treated him almost as a god, he had two right-hand men he’d brought with him from Cyprus. They both were young. One was a Greek Cypriot named Xantos Michaledis, who was maybe in his late twenties and was gaunt and sinewy. He was handsome in a foxy or hawkish sort of way, but he was quiet, hanging on every wish and order of Nikolides. He was the ultimate gofer and “would die for” Costas appendage. I was told that his family went back to the time when Genoa ruled the island and that he was of Jewish Italian descent, long having, by necessity, dropped the Jewish for Greek Orthodox.

The other assistant was a big, black man, central African by descent, Benji Ougala, and I never quite figured out how he had hooked up with Costas, although it evidently was connected to his talent as a photographer. He always--except sometimes when he was fucking someone--had a video camera or still camera in his hands, recording whatever Nikolides pointed to. He was big, strong, and muscular. Like Nikolides and Michaledis, he worked on the dig in just shorts, bush hat and construction boots. His body was nearly overdeveloped muscular, hairless, and gleamed ebony in the sun. He probably was closer to forty than thirty and he was always smiling--not necessarily a friendly smile; more of an “I could eat you alive and I just might” smile. I stayed out of his way as much as possible for as long as possible--but then, once he’d fucked me the first time, I couldn’t get enough of him.

The style of dress of Costas and his assistants caught on with the team, and it wasn’t long until all of the men were down to shorts and a head covering of some sort and the women were only adding halter tops or bras. I didn’t have the fancy cargo shorts and construction boots, but Costas didn’t seem to mind my skimpy cut-off jeans shorts and sandals and remarked a couple of times that I was turning berry brown and had a nice, lean body.

I desperately wanted to go work for Costas Nikolides on Neolithic excavations in Cyprus from the very first days I was with him. He was thoroughly professional and brilliant in his deductions and discussions of what we were working on. He was mesmerizing and charismatic. My focus changed from studying at the University of Arizona to following him to the ends of the earth. I made myself as indispensable and promising, as an archaeologist, as I could, nearly throwing myself at him in worship. And he noticed. At the beginning of the last week I was to be with the dig, he said he had a proposition for me and would I come have dinner with him at the park’s lodge, the Far View Lodge, that evening. He wasn’t tenting with the others near the dig site. He was staying at the park’s hilltop hotel.

There was no question whether or not I would attend him at the hotel that evening. It was what I was hoping a praying for.

“You can drive up to the lodge with my assistants and me,” he said. “I’ll have Xantos drive you back afterward.”

* * * *

“You are a very impressive young man.”

We were sitting on the Spruce Tree terrace, Costas Nikolides and I, after having dinner in the Far View Lodge’s Metate Room Restaurant. The lodge in the Mesa Verde Park was a balance of rustic and sophisticated. The views over the semiarid red rocks cliff area were breathtaking. Twilight had fallen while we were eating dinner by a window wall and watching the deer and other wild animals coming to the stream in the meadow below to drink. Costas had been quite solicitous of me, sitting close to me and touching me when he spoke to establish a connection that Mediterranean folks like to have when they are conversing--or that’s the explanation he gave me.

We had moved on to the terrace with a bottle of wine and two glasses. It was our second bottle, and, being nervous and wanting to make a good impression without thinking that drunk didn’t produce a very good impression, I had a buzz on. I’d drunk most of both the first and second bottles of wine. Costas had urged the wine on me, and I couldn’t tell him no politely. I also felt the sexuality of the handsome, charismatic Greek Cypriot, and a small thrill went through my body at those moments that he touched me with his fingers on my forearm.

“I’m happy that you like my work,” I said. “I’ve tried hard to learn the basics of site excavation.”

“You do that well, yes--you are quite competent with the basics of the work--but you are impressive for more than that. You are a beautiful young man.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not as strong--as well developed as, say Xantos or Benji, to be able to do the heavy work.”

“It’s your youthful look and supple body that makes you impressive in that way,” Costas said. “You can go into tight places that Benji can’t and you are more careful, better at working with artifact fragments, than Xantos is. But there are other aspects about you too that impress me and have prompted me to make a proposition to you.”

(God, I was being dense, I now realize.)

“A proposition?”

“Yes, if you can delay your studies here in the United States, I would like for you to come back to Cyprus with me--to work for me on the excavation we are doing at the Lemba Neolithic site on Cyprus. I’ve watched you when I’ve told the team of this work, and I can see that it interests you.”

“Yes, it does,” I answered.

“I can see you look at me too,” Costas said in a lower-pitched voice, “and if I’m not mistaken, I think I interest you too.”

I didn’t respond to that, but looked away, down into the meadow, at the shadows of the deer moving around the stream. I couldn’t deny it. He did interest me.

“Sexually,” Costas whispered.

I couldn’t deny that either.

“Are you, Jeff? Are you interested in me sexually?” My name was Jeff then. The stage name, Brady Boyd, was picked up later. “I ask,” he continued, “because I’m interested in you sexually. I go with men, and I am interested in covering you. Do you go with men too? Could you be interested in lying under me?”

I still didn’t respond, but surely he could see me trembling. It dawned on me. The man was going to fuck me. I bypassed completely in my mind that I had an option here. The man was going to fuck me. Still, was I up to it? Would he be disappointed with me and send me away after I didn't perform well?

“Jeff?”

“Yes,” I said in a low voice, struggling to get it out.

“Yes, you go with men? And, yes, you would be interested in me bedding you?”

“Yes, I’m interested--and flattered--but I’m afraid. I have little experience with men. You say bedded. You want to fuck me? I’ve never gone that far . . . I don’t have experience in--”

I heard him give a low laugh. “I have enough experience for both of us. . By bedded I don’t mean that I want you just once. I want you in my bed to enjoy over and over again, in many different positions. I will teach you in everything. I am a highly sexed man. I could pleasure you beyond your wildest dreams. Your freshness is a large part of your charm. I would develop you. Train you. I would like you to sign contracts to come to Cyprus with me, but I would want it to be contingent on you serving me fully--for you to be in my bed, writhing under me. I would work your beautiful little body hard. Make no mistake about that. Can you do that?”

Did he know just how destitute I was? How much on the edge I was living? How I couldn’t afford to continue my studies here even if I  wanted to without a scholarship--or a mentor? And did he know how persuasive he was in his raw sexuality? I was hard just from what he said to me.

Yes, I’d thought of giving myself in exchange for being supported through my studies. I knew there were professors and administrators in Tucson who had signaled the possibility of such an arrangement. And I had come to the place of considering them. How was this different from what Costas Nikolides was proposing? If he paid me over and above all the rest, I could come back to Arizona for my studies and I’d have important archaeology work  on my résumé. I’d always figured I would be in some man’s bed some day. This was an opportunity.

“You have contracts to sign, you say?” I asked.

“Yes, here in this briefcase. You realize that a nondisclosure statement would have to be signed. Have another glass of wine while you sign them.”

He had me at a disadvantage. He'd obviously done this before. But it was his obvious experience in addition to his sensuality, his saying that he would take me and train me to serving a man expertly that had heightened my arousal--an arousal that already had been high.

After handing me the papers and a pen, he placed a hand, with long, sensuous fingers, on my thigh and squeezed. I could barely do more than scan the top few papers as his hand moved to my basket. I was trembling almost uncontrollably as I signed here, there, and there again. I only now was realizing that I very much wanted him to make love to me--that I’d ached for him sexually almost since the first moment I’d seen him.

It didn’t help that he put his lips to my ear and whispered, “I can’t wait to be inside you. I am very big, you will find, but you will adjust to me with practice. I will take you with a passion such as you have never felt before. I will work you to a glorious exhaustion."

* * * *

Finding Xantos and Benji, bare-chested and in their low-rise cargo shorts and with video cameras in their hands, in Costas’s room when we got there was a shock, but, his hands already on me intimately to add to the effect of the drink in stripping my inhibitions away, Costas was quite straightforward.

“You said it would be your first time having a man inside you. It’s a special occasion--for both of us. I work in film, in recording history. This will be just for us; you’ll be glad--we’ll be glad--to have this recorded for us to enjoy later. And you will appreciate having a film you can view to review the technique used.” He was whispering, Xantos and Benji already were recording, and Costas already had our shirts off and our trousers and briefs pushed down off our pelvises and his hand frotting our engorging cocks. He was moving us both toward the bed, which dominated the room.

And he completely dominated me, not giving me the time and space to object to two men filming us fucking--or, rather, Costas fucking me, dominating me completely. Having his way with me. Laying me out on my belly and coaxing me up on my knees that first time and taking me in a deep-sinking doggie position.

It was only later, when I was fully enthralled to him and dependent on what he gave me, that I learned how much of it was lies. His comment on working in films--which was the most truthful thing he said to me a she was taking me totally--could have alerted me if I hadn’t been half looped and aroused to the heights by him. The film wasn’t just for the two of us. That had been an idiotic assertion on the face of it. Xantos and Benji were in the room too, recording it when they weren’t participating in it. It was my debut on Costas’s subscription Internet site.

He was more pornographer than archaeologist, and among the contract papers I’d signed on the terrace of the Far View Lodge, while he was distracting me with his sensuality, was a release on the viewing and distribution rights for my maiden porn film. The film in which I lost my anal-sex virginity became a best-seller. Costas later told me that my response to the popping of my male cherry was one of the most realistic scenes he had in his collection and continued to sell month after month. I knew how real and excruciating painful and, ultimately, passionate it was. I was there.

That maiden film would be followed by films in which I symbolically would lose my virginity again and again before Costas moved me to the big black bull taking category. The fantasy of it became more important to buyers than the reality of it.

My first time started off on familiar ground, standing against Costas and receiving his kisses and the touch of his sensuous fingers, and moved slowly into escalating intensity so that when the height of being taken--and not so gently--came, I was as well prepared as I could be and it wasn’t abrupt. He told me to pay no attention to the cameras and soon was working my body to the point that the cameras were the least of my concern--nor were Xantos and Benji when Costas gave way and let them ravish me as well.

I had sucked a man before, so it wasn’t new ground when Costas sat at the foot of the bed and pressed me down on my knees between his legs and presented a thick, hard cock to slide along the roof of my mouth and to my throat, where he would withdraw when I gagged, but soon was pressing again until I was able to take him deep. When he pulled me up onto the bed, our bodies stretched against each other in reverse and he started doing the same to me that I was doing to him, this both engaging at once was new, but not a great leap from what I’d done before.

When he was tonguing my entrance and whispering to me what he was preparing me for, these were new, not unpleasant sensations. At this point the camera, held by Xantos intruded, coming close to my face to capture my facial expressions in response to Costas’s attentions, while Benji recorded the action lower on my body. I know I was being expressive and vocal, and Costas encouraged me not to hold back.

I certainly didn’t hold back when Costas turned me on my stomach, coaxed me up on my knees, covered me close from above and behind, and slowly, painfully, relentlessly entered, entered, entered me. Unsure, not liking the pain of the entry, I struggled against the invasion--enough to get across my apprehension; not enough to make him consider stopping. He said he liked having to fight for it a bit--that he loved the passion-pain I was expressing while he was taking me the first time.

"Keep that feeling and show it each and every time," he whispered.

 When he was inside me, though, which entailed a good bit crying out and grunting, groaning, and begging for mercy from me, I went docile and submissive for him. I already was undone, I had known that I would be undone at some point, and the man who grabbed my virginity from me was a magnificent stud. Costas later told me that he liked my complete surrender to him as much as my initial struggle.

Once saddled and me cowed, he held there, waiting for me to open to him, which, miraculously, I did, slowly and with much panting, groaning, and whimpering, all of which was caught in close-up on tape, with Costas whispering encourage murmurs of “Good, yes, open to me. Take the cock. You are so sweet, and so tight. I’m going to be so good to you.”

Initially, he worked me slowly, solicitous to my ability--fuck my willingness at that point--to receive him, cooing encouragement to me and assurances that the pain would recede into pleasure as he inched inside me, his hard, throbbing cock relentlessly moving deeper, stretching me, coaxing me to open to him, which I did as I trembled and nearly sobbed from the possession of him. And I believed him about the pleasure overtaking the pain and I could feel that that was becoming so. But he suddenly changed, raising to his feet and crouching over me, covering me close from above and behind, graspingmy wrists, and beginning to mine my channel with rapid, possessive deepstrokes. Breathing heavily in my ear, muttering obscenities of what he was going to do to my body, how totally he was going to master me, how relentlessly he was going to pound me. That he was going to break, conquer, and reduce me to his sex slave.

And then he proceeded to do all of that.

I surrendered all to him, my mind no longer on the cameras and Xantos and Benji moving around the bed, vying for the best angles and careful to stay out of each other’s field of camera vision.

Costas turned me over on my back, slapped my legs open, grabbing them under my knee and spreading them, kneeling between my thighs, sliding inside me again, and pounding me deep. I flung my arms wide, arched my back, and moaned my submission, with Benji coming in close to get a total surrender shot.

"Yes, yes. That facial expression always," he whispered. "The camera loves you. The men will love you."

Costas came deep inside me. He hadn’t worn a condom. None of them did. None of the men who subsequently covered me on film would. Barebacking was a hallmark of Costas’s films, with the signature shot being the cock coming out to the surface enough to catch the ejaculation and then sinking inside again, the deep stroking continuing as long as the top could do it. That first time, he took it on faith that I’d never been anally fucked before. After that it was a stringent medical checkup of all men involved in the films.

The moment of ejaculation and the sinking of the cock back inside me, sliding through the cum, was, I’ll have to admit, a moment of high arousal for me--all three times that night. When Costas did it, when Xantos did it, and, most assuredly, when the horse-hung cock of the black bull, Benji, did it. Each successive time was made easier by the extra lubrication of each additional man. Each separate fuck was caught on film.

After he had come, Costas pulled out of me and went off the bed at the foot, pulling me down to him with fists grabbing my ankles. He pulled me all the way down to the floor on my knees, with my back against the foot of the bed and my head arched back onto the mattress. I stretched my arms out along the edge of the bottom of the mattress, suggestive of a crucifixion position, Costas whispering for me to do so as a symbol of my sacrifice and surrender and because he said the camera would love it. He stood over me, facing me, grabbed the hair on the back of my head, and made me take his cock in my mouth again to clean it and to let it probe the back of my throat.

Meanwhile, Xantos went down behind Costas and between his legs, took my cock in his mouth, and invaded my entrance with the fingers of one hand, while filming what he was doing with the other. What he was doing extended to pushing his knees under my buttocks, hooking my legs on his hips, getting his long, thin cock inside me, and stroking to an ejaculation while I was servicing Costas’s cock with my throat. Xantos was easier to take than Costas. The apprehension that there would be no pleasure to overtake the pain was gone, and, though he was longer than Costas, he wasn’t nearly as thick.

He lacked Costas’s stamina. He came quickly and withdrew quickly to return to filming the scene from a distance.

Benji was the last, the most taxing, the thickest and longest, and the most virile and longest lasting, as I lay, docile, and moaning slightly in surrender under him on the bed, as he went into a pushup stance and fucked me in the missionary position on the bed, with Costas and Xantos capturing everything on camera. With Benji, the pleasure far outstripped the pain--the exotic sensation of being taken by a man of color, with a beautiful, muscular body, and of now being able to sheath a man as thick and long as he was heightened the arousal. Added to that, I now was well open and lubricated. I sighed and nearly was purring at his ejaculation, my arms outstretched in supplication, my chest arched up to his mouth devouring my nipples, Xantos’s camera trained on a close-up of my face, showing an expression of ultimate surrender and satisfaction.

"You seem to be partial to a black bull," Costa said to me when we were done and I was lying, stretched out and panting on the bed.

"Yes," was all I could manage.

"Good. That will become a hallmark of yours. The men will love it."

Days later, when we reached the rambling stucco and glasshouse in the hills overlooking Limassol, Cyprus, and I learned that I now was under signed contract to star in porn films on an equal basis with excavating at the Lemba archaeological site and that my initiation film wasn’t really something just for Costas and me to share, I learned that my first film had broken all records of download sales on Costas’s Web site.

At the Limassol house, I joined a large group of other men who were featured in Costas’s films in three separate studios in the house and who were kept busy around the clock working on or in the productions, or both.There were three directors, but Costas kept my films for himself, and hestarred with me in several films.

As Costas had indicated, my films specialized in me being ravished by a big black bull.

I was making good money above the free room and board--and the experience I was gathering and the credit for my résumé from working on the Lemba dig would give me free sailing through graduate school at the University of Arizona and on to a professional position in archaeology.

Someday. I couldn’t play the young innocent on film forever and those who remained stars as they aged were mostly tops. I was a submissive. And I’d found that I loved having a man--or two or three--fucking me. And I loved watching myself being fucked on film.

I didn’t know when I’d move on from this.

* * * *

I heard Costas whisper that they were coming in for close shot of me deep-throating the Algerian’s thick, black cock. I knew just what beleaguered look I was to give at that moment. I could even make my eyes water.

“Ever the virgin,” I heard Costas whisper approvingly in th ebackground. “Incredible. Provides the illusion of having his male cherry popped each time.” As long as I could play this role . . .

When Sami was on his back on the bed, his broad, strong hands gripping my waist, as I straddled his pelvis, the bulb of his big, bluish-black cock nestled in my hole, I cried out, on cue, in pained ecstasy as he pulled me down on the impossibly thick cock. Xantos and Benji moved around the bed, catching close-ups and long shots, ever mindful to keep each other out of the camera lens and their shadows unseen as well. In the background, Costas whispered directions in a voice that would be edited out of the final film. He was excited and I caught glimpses of him stroking his shaft as he watched. He would fuck me either on or off camera after the scene with Sami was concluded. And as long as I could keep him interested in doing that  . . .

I cried out and flopped around, pressing my fists ineffectually into Sami’s meaty pecs as he slammed me up and down on his cock. He was filling and working me hard inside and I was in ninth heaven, but my responses for the camera had to show that I was being taxed to and beyond the limit.

On instruction from Costas, I swooned and went limp, as Sami continued slamming me up and down on the shaft. I arched my back, letting him hold me in position with his hands gripping my waist. I let my head arch back too and my arms to go limp at my side. There would be some who would interpret that I had been fucked unconscious and was continuing to be fucked--the virgin taken beyond the realm of endurance. At length, Sami pulled me up enough to show his bulb emerging from the hole and shooting off. I groaned a low, exhausted groan, and he slammed me down on the cock again, showing his cum oozing out of the hole around his shaft. A few more slides, and Sami let me fall back between his legs onto my back. He came with me, covering me in a missionary, and continued shafting me.

To the extent that being broken by a fuck could be shown on film, this was it.

The camera came in close to my face to show a beatific smile and my eyes rolling up into my head. The camera panned out as I flung my arms out wide from the sides of my body, taking on a cruciform stance of total surrender, as, his knees pushed under my buttocks and his hands grasping my waist again, Sami continued pulling my inert body on and off his cock.

The crucifixion surrender stance is my  signature position. The small white virgin being totally debauched by the big black bull is my signature theme. The buyers on Costas’s Web site love seeing me ravished and snatch up every new film showing my signature moves.

I was a porn star.

I am a porn star.