Niko’s condo was in one of the new buildings on Ocean. Lovely security. Parking available. And a unit that was designer chic from floor to ceiling.
“I didn’t do it,” he told me, motioning around the room as he led me through to his desk. It was near a balcony that had a great view of the Pacific, so dark and quiet under a cloudy sky. “Vance, all the way.”
“You’ve had photo shoots, here,” I said, recalling the sofa and artwork on the walls.
“No, he had photoshoots of me here. All to build my image or brand or whatever the fuck it was. And this ain’t his only place and I ain’t his only boy. Or girl.”
“Is there an area that has hidden cameras?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised. So I never bring anybody home unless...
Unless ordered to. He didn’t need to say it.
He woke up his desktop with a click of his mouse and input his passcode. “They’re all scanned in here,” he said. “I’ve got printouts but those're in storage.”
“Vance’s?”
“Oh, hell no. But he does know about it. Here we go.” A folder for last year’s taxes opened with two dozen files on it. “Dunno what you’re lookin' for...”
“Neither do I,” I said, sitting in his chair. “But I do my own taxes. Something I learned from my dad. CPAs are too careful...or too crazy. Always better to do it yourself.”
He shook his head. “I’m no good at numbers. Want somethin' to drink? Beer? Water? Coke Zero. Got a ton of that.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “I saw those commercials. Do you really drink it?”
“Sometimes,” he said as he entered his kitchen. He opened the fridge before continuing with, “Oh, shit, none cold. How 'bout a Bud Lite?"
I rolled my eyes, but it’s impolite to turn down the offer of a drink so I said, “Water?”
“Yeah, Perrier. In a can.”
“That’d be great.”
His taxes...well, on the surface they looked nice, but the expenses were way over the top. If he ever got audited, he’d really get screwed over by the IRS. The one positive is, this actually had been done and signed for by a CPA, so that might minimize the damage. But they were deducting things that looked like meals in Milan for a hundred bucks a pop and service fees for arranging his travel...on top of regular charges. Taking full rent charges off as office expense? And tips to everybody, from valet parking to hotel maids? Shit, no wonder he only had two-fifty-five in the bank.
“Niko, this is bullshit,” I said as he poured the Perrier into a glass.
“Figures,” he said. Then he handed me the water.
I took a decent swallow of it and it tickled my nose as I dug deeper into the tax form.
“Just a quick glance and if you get audited, maybe twenty...twenty-five percent of these deductions'll be disallowed. With penalties and fees, you’d owe the Feds a chunk of change.”
He looked over my shoulder at the screen. “Shit, you think?”
“Not positive. A lot of that is stuff I wouldn’t even consider deducting. You ought to get some other firm to look these over before things go crazy.”
“So Vance is settin' me up to get fucked financially, too. Fuckin’ shit.”
“How does he pay you?”
“Straight into my checkin', every month.”
“Does he provide an itemization of it?”
“Yeah, here.”
He leaned over me and pulled up another folder then opened a file. Up popped a form that looked more like an invoice than a pay stub. It was for a job he’d done in Paris, three weeks earlier.
“Fuck, they put you up at the St. Jerome?” I asked. “Thousand bucks a night?”
“I think that’s Euro. Exchange rate is at the bottom.”
Exactly. It was even worse, thanks to the dollar’s value.
“Shit, no wonder you only wind up with ten percent.”
Then it hit me. The amount transferred to Niko was nearly ten-thousand dollars. A week ago. That unsettled me.
“Niko, where’d all that money go?”
“What money?" He looked over my shoulder and took a sharp breath. "Oh...shit...that...uh...”
I looked at him and he gave me this huge shrug...
And the world spun into darkness.
I woke in a tent in the forest in the middle of the day.
At least, I think it was the middle of the day. I was pretty groggy so unsure about anything, right then. Especially considering the disconnect from being in a condo in Santa Monica, one minute, to a half-moon camping tent, the next. In clothes that were not mine! Ragged jeans. Ratty t-shirt. Well-worn plaid shirt, and walking boots laced halfway up with thick socks bunched atop them. I was also wearing some kind of bikini briefs, and I was face down in a sleeping bag.
And behind me some man was saying, “Look-it what we got here...”
I jolted around to see four or five men staring at me through the opening of the tent.
With two men flanking the inside of the opening, each with a cell phone pointed at me.
“What the fuck...” is all I got out before the guys piled in on me.
All five of them...no, six of them! Arms, legs grabbed, one guy for each. A cloth rammed into my mouth by another while the last tied a cloth around to hold it in place. Then they hauled me out of the tent.
The guys with the phones followed.
More guys with phones were recording outside, dancing around to keep out of each other’s way. I was carried over to an old picnic table and slammed on top of it, face up, then my hands were yanked up over my head and I was bound in place, by rope. Another length of rope had already been lain crosswise on the table’s top, at the level of my middle chest. The two ends were each slung over me and tightened to the point I could barely breathe, and then I was tied down so I could move very little.
Now through this whole thing I’m fighting like a son-of-s-bitch. But there’s only so much you can do against six men, and these lads were...let’s just put them all in the bear category. Muscular. Solid. Hair on their arms and faces. Grins I might have loved in any other situation. And the way they were grabbing at my legs and ass and pecs and head were nothing new to me. I could have enjoyed it...with one or two, not six.
They wore what city people think of a country shit...plaid shirts, rough jeans, motorcycle boots. Maybe they were supposed to be a biker gang that had come upon me, or something, but I didn’t care. I still believed in consent...
Well...usually. Depending on the circumstances.
Throughout, their hands were completely invasive as they were grunting amazingly stupid things like Oh, yeah, boy. You look good, boy. You’re gonna be lots of fun, boy. We’re gonna show you what men are about, boy. Using boy to punctuate every fucking sentence. This was worse than alliteration; it was an assassination of the English language.
Once my hands and chest were bound, one of them tore open my shirt...and I do mean tore. Didn’t just rip open the buttons; he ripped it at the pocket and pulled at the seams of the sleeves...but didn’t take it all the way off. Same for the t-shirt. Torn partway open with shreds left to semi-cover me. Then he rubbed my pecs, muttering, “You got pretty tits, boy.”
And he pinched them.
Hard.
I actually screamed from the pain and shock of it.
Now something that added to my irritation was, I’m not a boy. I’m halfway to forty but look like I’m thirty. Have since I was twenty-five. Even when I was fifteen, I looked old enough to vote. And by seventeen I could go to a bar and not get carded. I didn’t like being called that name. Especially by men who were tearing at my jeans.
I had no belt but that was immaterial. They left them buttoned and zipped. Just grabbed the front pockets and ripped them open that way. My right leg was torn complete open while the left was only halfway. I tried to kick at them, but three of the bruisers were at my feet, two holding my calves as one unlaced my boots.
Since the fly of my jeans and that seam were still intact, one of them shoved it aside to grope at my dick and balls while the other dug his fingers into my left calf...then marched his way up to shove a finger in between my cheeks. With those fucking briefs still on.
He maneuvered around, pushing at my hole, found the back seam of the briefs and tore a small hole in it. Then he poked his finger up inside me.
Not deep, but I knew it was there.
That did it. I knew what was happening, now, and if those motherfuckers expected me to cry or beg or call for help, they were going to be very fucking disappointed.
I lay back and clenched my ass around that shit’s finger and twisted, which...while it was not comfortable for me did come close to spraining his finger. He yanked it out, howling in pain.
The little pussy.
Then he punched me in the gut, two...three times. Which did jolt me.
He was about to do a fourth but I heard Vance’s voice snarl, “No hitting.”
Of course. That motherfucker. This was what it was all about. Just because I’d fucked up his initial plan he’d come up with another.
And fucking Niko had helped him.
No...fucking Nicky.
“He almost broke my finger,” another voice said.
“You should’ve waited till he was under control. Keep going.”
As if they’d stopped grabbing at me or mauling me or whatever.
Four of the guys took my legs and raised them up, then the back of the jeans was torn away.
As was the back of the briefs.
Then a pair of hands grabbed hold of my cheeks and spread them enough...to let him dive in and stick his tongue into my hole.
I froze...because that really felt good. And this guy knew how to work it right. Shit, I wanted to know his name for later reference.
Then he spit on it. Slavered it around a little more. And pulled away.
And a moment later, I felt the head of his dick push against me.
All right you little fucks. You think this is rape? A nice little gangbang? Really? Fucking amateurs. I’ll show you how it’s really done.
Nothing that was happening now...I mean aside from the bondage...was something I’d never had done to me before. On my back? Legs up? I love that position, because it lets me kiss my partner and toy with his tits and belly and drive him fucking crazy.
Of course, I was a bit limited, here, but I still had the muscles in my ass and cheeks.
So I relaxed. Let him glide in to hilt. Let him groan with pleasure. Even pump in a couple of times.
I looked up at him. A beard more like scruff not quite hiding how cute he was. Not a bear, more of a cub, and every bit as adorable. Big brown eyes, too. Kissable lips. A chin perfect for him. If his shirt had been unbuttoned, I’d probably have gone gaga and reached up to suck on his tits.
Well...except for being bound and gagged.
Then he leaned down, propped on his elbows. Fucking me and fucking me. So just for fun I rubbed my nose to his.
Startled him. He pulled back a bit, to look at me, confused.
I winked at him...then tightened my anal muscles around him. Hard as I could.
He gasped. Didn’t move...so I did, rubbing myself against him.
He gave me the loveliest lopsided grin and joined my rhythm. Harder. Faster. Deeper. On and on and on. I was giving him a master class in fucking. Deeper and deeper...
Until he gasped and whimpered “Oh, no....oh, no...oh, no...”
I knew what was needed next, and even though I was gagged I managed to grunt, “Pull out. Pull out.”
He yelped and did just in time. I felt him cum all over my ass and balls. Shoot a stream up my chest to hit my chin. Again.
And he just kept whimpering, “Oh, no....oh, no...oh, no...”
Then one of the other guys said, “Fuck, Dave, that was killer.”
Dave, huh? Cool.
He was yanked away and another took his place. Not bad looking. More beard than Dave, but hazel eyes that told me he wasn’t really into this. He was also buttoned up.
I felt someone climb up on the table, behind me, and looked back to see one phone was recording straight down my body to catch my dick and balls bouncing as this guy’s shirt hid his dick from him. The other was at a three-quarter view, which wasn’t very good until the guy running it moved the fucker’s shirt out of the way.
“Got it,” Vance said. “The rest of you? Shirts off before you fuck him.”
Then number two reached his final point faster than Dave had, dammit, but he knew when to pull out and let it fire all over me. He didn’t shoot as much...probably because I hadn’t helped him. His fucking loss.
Okay, so if they were going to get shots of guys deep in my ass, I was going to mess with them, all.
I changed my mindset into this being some rough sex, and let my dick start growing. If all they did was fuck me...the next four...if they were as good as the first two...I could probably get myself to cum. So...that is what I set out to do.
Number three didn’t have the greatest chest or tits. Nasty piercings that made them ugly, and tattoos that screamed I’m bad...but nothing else about him fit that. In fact, I’d swear I saw needle punctures on his forearms. He had what I call poached egg eyes and I think the only reason he had a chin was letting his beard grow out. He was done pretty quick, thankfully. I doubted he’d be in the final version of this.
Number four was a gym rat who’d stopped shaving his big, bad chest so he could fit in. It was still pretty obvious. And he had those jowls that his near-beard didn’t really cover. So a juice junkie. I was rather disappointed. He had the nicest-looking dick...but he also finished in rabbit time. Shit, these two had not been helpful.
Number five was closing in on fifty and still in fine shape. Lots of silver hair, salt and pepper in his beard. Twinkling blue eyes. Hands that were almost tender. He was the most gentle. The kindest. The slowest. And him I did everything I could to help. He leaned in close enough for his tits to dance against mine, his chest hair tickling me. He even rubbed his belly against my dick and balls, adding to the sensations I needed to close in on getting off.
Him, I brushed noses. If ever I wanted a daddy, he’d be the one.
He finally came inside me, before pulling out and shooting more to mingle with the others. His smile brightened his face and I wished I could match it. But all I could do was wink at him.
He winked back.
By this point, I’d had enough of the fucking, but one guy was left. And I hoped to God he was quick because between my mind and them inside me and the last dude’s hair on my dick and balls, I was primed.
So he took his position...and he looked familiar. Really fucking familiar. His chest looked familiar. The tattoo on his arm screamed, You know him from somewhere. That jolted my concentration. But when I saw his dick, and it was just like any other hard-on. No underwear but that's not unusual for moments like this.
He rubbed it over my balls. Slow and easy. Smeared the cum all over my belly and chest. Pulled at my dick, which was almost hard...
And which went the rest of the way to being erect...and was all primed up...
By this point I wasn’t fighting them holding my legs up, so he wrapped his arms around my thighs and positioned himself where everyone else had gone, and slid inside, and leaned forward. That raised my ass up into a less than comfortable position. I twisted to try and get away but he was solid and sturdy and could not be moved.
This was not helping me shoot my wad, dammit...
Then he stroked into me. And out. And in. And out. And his hands released my legs as he leaned against his elbows on the table...
And his thumbs caressed my neck and this cold, desperate, needy look filled his dark, dark eyes...and I knew who he was.
The guy who’d almost strangled that actor in my first film.
I hadn't recognized him because he wasn't in a jockstrap.
And I got the feeling he was about to strangle me.
Well...this was an unexpected turn of events.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
