The Assignment

Jack rolled over, found all he was sharing their bed with was...Al, Barney’s German Shepherd, who was sound asleep and, unfortunately, having a gas attack. Nothing gets you out of bed faster than a farting dog particularly when, in their sleep, they liked to suck whatever cock they find-a hobby of Al’s. Just to show there was only some  malice, Jack held his nose, leaned over, gave Al one in his testicles, then headed, quickly, toward the bathroom and a door that could be locked. As with any male, Al did not like to have his nuts knocked any time but especially in his sleep.

From behind a closed door, Jack could hear an annoyed woofing plus clawing on the door. Jack just laughed. Hey, you play with the big boys, you get treated like the big boys and that meant taking one in the gonads every so often.

It was a big bathroom, when he’d bought the place, he’d knocked two bathrooms together along with turning what had been a bedroom into a sitting room; It was Barney’s favorite place. Well, when he wasn’t fucking Jack in their own bed. Or being sucked. Or….in the two years he’d now lived in California, he’d advanced his knowledge of gay sexual activities to a professional status; Working at a porn studio could do that and it had. From the first days when he didn’t know where to look, every man seemed to be naked or fucking or….a lot of things, to now when, as he wandered through the studio, he’d stop and make suggestions as how to do something better or differently. In his head a Della Reese song sometimes played; “You Came A Long Way From St. Louis”. Actually it was Columbus, Ohio, via New York City, but he had indeed come a long, long way; Just seeing the fly tattooed on the head of his cock confirmed that.

When he’d first come to write an article about porn, the thought, the concept, the idea of putting a tattoo on any part of his genitals was anathema. Now, when it was out and hard, sure enough, one fly climbing up the side of the head. Real good work, too, almost see the wings fluttering. Jack had not been happy when he first saw it, wondered why the hell he’d had it done? Who did it? And, again, Why? It was not something he wanted Barney to have.

Actually Barney had answers but started with one that shot Jack down. Asked him if he remembered Jerry at the BadAss Barber Shop, Internet Cafe and Tattoo Parlor he’d taken him to the second day he’d been at the studio? Who continued to cut his hair. Why? It amused him to have it….and, Jack should prepare himself if that had given him palpitations, start taking his blood pressure medicine as he had some other ideas…..That said, he pushed his partner’s head down saying, in a very determined voice, “Kiss it….”

Barney had abandoned driving entirely-the roads and traffic in Los Angeles did that. Jack had given him a Cadillac Convertible for Christmas only to have it returned with a request for an amount equal to the cost of the car put into an ‘Uber’ account. Well, no, that didn’t fly. Jack was not willing to turn Barney loose with anyone but those he trusted meaning...the Bulls, Jerry, Jeff, his director/porn star and, of course, himself. The other reason, and it was certainly valid, was that to turn Barney loose in a car with no one to tell him where to go….it was entirely possible he’d have ended up in the Mojave Desert.

His paranoia about losing him added to his obsessive protection of him, had ripples of conversation, not at the top, but some of the new performers at Harde One Studios wondered why he was seemingly plutonium, do not touch. The results of doing that were made clear when a newly hired performer took the moment and the liberty to rub Barney’s nicely emphasized crotch one day when he was wearing his leather jeans. One of the Bulls saw this, grabbed him, summoned his partner then took the young man….somewhere private in the studio. Learning started with him on the floor, chained there, facing two good sized cocks that were his to drain of cum after they’d drained them of piss. Then….they got down to business. There was a brief discussion as to which produced the most pain? The wooden paddle with holes in it or the hard rubber scourge? Only way to find out, they tried both of them on the kid’s ass. Not sure which one was better but damn sure his lesson was not completely learned, he was tied into a chair, given a lecture about touch versus no touch then the chair was turned on. This was the one with a built in dildo, adjustable to depth, speed and size. Setting him for one hour, medium speed (a poke every ten seconds) with a rubber studded dildo, they flicked the switch, turned out the light, closed the door then wandered off assuming by the time they remembered to go back, a good part of the lesson would have been learned. Conveniently, this was in a solid concrete room Barney had built as a film set so gags weren’t necessary- once the door was closed.

When he showed up with the fly on his cock, all the above rumors were taken out, renewed, polished then had embellishments added. In his office, knowing the storm he’d created, he waited to see who would first show up  for a form of show and tell. Fuck the tell, just show.

There were other rumors about that room, rumors that Barney had tastes of his own that were not widely known. Rumors that he liked to take a man to the point of death then let him hang from the ceiling. Rumors that he had taken a scalpel and almost cut off a guys cock. The most chilling rumor was that as the live-in lover of the studio owner he could do what he wanted and nothing would be said….Of course Barney heard these, encouraged them, thought up new things to be whispered about; It was part of his control ethic and worked nicely. He remained the polite, good looking man he’d always been but the hint, the tinge, the merest suggestion that there was a kink, a dark side, a streak of cruelty….got him respect. Only one of those was true and only one person had a suspicion about it. And it wasn’t in the list wandering about the studio...wondering.

Jack had every reason to want Barney safe and happy-whatever it took. Since he inadvertently came to Harde One Studios, he’d raised everything from the take at the gate-by millions-to the quality of the product, to the reputation of their product. His muted determination got a lot done, his decisions were regarded as absolute, not to be questioned. Jack backed him, Jeff backed him, Jerry backed him and if that didn’t seal the deal, the Bulls would beat the shit out of you until you backed him as well. That was the group that surrounded him and getting closer knit quickly….while it was not true you’d best be on your knees, head down, thinking of yourself as Oliver Twist begging for more food if you wanted something, but that was a good role model to have in mind. It was also rumored that kissing the fly had some traction with him as well….not that anyone they knew had done it but still…..it certainly seemed….possible.

Two years had produced a head writer, sexual partner to Jack, good friend to most of the men with whom he worked and a made over Barney. It was an atypical day that started almost without meaning to; For some reason the studio was quiet, Jack was at a business meeting in San Francisco, Jeff and Jerry  just...elsewhere which left the Bulls and Barney. They were off to their gym, suggested, to kill a couple of hours,  he come, maybe grab a work out, then they’d scoot down the coast to the beach bungalow in La Jolla. Great. Sounded like a plan. Maybe hit the nude beach. Better plan.

That he was surrounded by men in shapes varying from ‘swimmer’s bod’ to packed on muscle was only of interest to him when casting one of his major pieces. Never occurred to him where these bodies came from how they were maintained...he had a sort of mini work out area near the pool in the home he shared with Jack and used it often enough to keep him taut, in shape but not someone who would appear in his own films. His keen Irish good looks, easy smile and dusting of freckles were his identity...plus the five Irish shamrocks that he’d had tattooed years earlier, maybe his Freshman year; His up yours to what he wouldn’t have done at home in Columbus. His other ink, a fraternity crest, also meant nothing to anyone even Barney; He got his the day a bunch of the guys did...right after they got slightly drunk. However, when it was first new, he shocked Jack when, one evening, he held him, kissed him then said, sorry, the ink on his dick-a  fly-was, for a few days, a no fly zone.

To Jack, who believed he knew the calm, thoughtful man as well as anybody, showing up with a tattoo on his dick was….almost surreal. This was Barney? He was finally told he could get on his knees then kiss near it…. He forgot to mention working over his nuts...but that Jack did so was appreciated; A fact he demonstrated shortly there after when he suggested “Doggie Style” with Al locked elsewhere. Barney was the bitch in heat.

That was the emergent Barney, the one who went back to the Badass barber shop and got a badass hair cut. Not as extreme as the first one, but far from the nondescript, if perfectly fine, cut he usually sported. This one was simplicity to some  except it was on him. Jerry, the barber,  clippered all his head to almost noting but, leaving only a one off Mohawk less than a quarter an inch tall, inch wide, completed shaving his skull ending with a point where his natural hairline was. As he was 6’2”-without his cowboy boots- not everyone could even see this change (Jerry, his barber, suggested dying it white.) and, after several months, that it was different from the ‘old’ Barney went without comment. After all this was Ellay where the extreme was only casually noticed and his  ‘extreme’ did not even come close to that. The fly on his dick? Well, yeah….depended on who you asked to define ‘extreme’. For example, Jerry at Badass Barbers, thought it was ‘bitchin’ cool’ while the other Jerry,  Head technical and camera person at Harde One, wished it were the proverbial fly on the wall and go away….

Differences from the ‘old Barney’ were there and in profusion but had been slid in over time so that all most would say was, yeah, there was something different...and forget it. To those recently hired, the way he looked was...just Barney. In one sense, what he wore changed in that what had been ‘office casual’ in New York would now seem like something worn to a wedding or a funeral of the first class. He kept the pair of black leather 501’s now so worn they were soft, fitted him but were just what he routinely wore, over a leather jock with a cock ring built in, nothing to notice. No one would mistake him for a fugitive from the leather culture. They were usually worn with a graphic printed “Harde One” T shirt, leather flips, that was just Barney. One other shirt, also available for sale online from Harde One was their logo, now a German Shepherd looking at a man’s crotch but on each sleeve, a naked cock (cut) in the same color as the shirt which made it somewhat less obvious. As with many of his ‘throw away’ ideas, this one made a steady income; They’d been approached by a men's underwear manufacturer in China about a line “inspired by Harde One” but he was leery of sizing of the garments made in China other wise, he would have accepted. Jack had suggested they fly to the Orient to “have a look around” but was told, fine, go ahead, look around, bring back samples. Jack was to leery of leaving Barney alone, even with the Bulls almost cuffed to him, to go that far and for that long. Occasionally he went as far as San Francisco, just to see what the competition was up to-that Vietnamese who ran a veritable factory of all manner of porn, successful as hell but….Harde One was becoming a trade mark to deal with, look for their product, notice their quality so, just to show solidarity, Jack and the Vietnamese guy would ‘happen’ to meet, have a coffee, share some unmeant compliments then both retreat thinking the other was a fool.

The gym the Bulls used wasn’t typical in that it was devoted to men, gay men usually, who probably appeared in porn and wanted to really bulk up. The Bulls in other words. They were the first friends and champions of Barney when he came to do an article for a prestigious New York magazine. For whatever reason they made themselves his palace guard, a situation Jack tacitly approved even encouraged. Jeff and Jerry were great guys, both assets to the studio but the Bulls….would knock the snot out of anyone who got too near Barney or behaved in a way that suggested they might. To do that was to find about 435 pounds of well defined meat muscle distributed between two men, each 6’4” looking at you which, generally was all it took.

Professionally known as the ‘Bull Brothers’ they were not but did bear a striking resemblance which they enhanced at their gym and by their matching ink, muscles, manner of speech. When Barney got his fly, and they were the ones who drove him when he did, they seriously considered getting the same, but realized that Barney was, in  all ways, an original so to copy him….they also thought he wouldn’t appreciate it; This was what he wanted. Happy to pay for anything they might have in mind but flies on their cocks? No.

Serge Biryokov owned and ran the ‘muscle studio’ as he called it where the Bulls and several other men who were into size, bulk, and porn appearances worked out. His methods might have seemed...unusual perhaps even extreme but the results wiped away however they may have been achieved. If you could read them he had all manner of qualifications, not to mention his officer rank in the Red Army, from a day, not so far back, when his methods were not really noticed even if, unfortunately, an occasional death was the cost. Realizing that there was a loosening of the new Russian system in the mid ‘90’s his ‘methods’ were easily too closely examined, he had found it convenient to take the train to Helsinki where he asked for, and got, immunity-their Olympic Committee recognized him, the work he’d done if not his tactics in achieving what he got. His path to Los Angeles was best not followed however, like Barney, he hadn’t meant to stay there.

Barney was somewhat taken aback. When he thought of ‘gyms’, he realized, perhaps a trifle naively, he thought of the YMCA, open, smiling, all the guys buddies. At this sort of studio, smiles were almost non-existent, sweat and pain were a maxim of the place not to mention, he’d never seen men gaining bulk by, first, taking a whipping. Again, Serge, his methods, the good old days….What no one could deny were his results; The bulls being just a little over typical but cut from the Serge model of what a power lifter who also wanted-and in many cases needed for professional purposes-more than just bulk, it had to be arranged to look like shaped body strength. Obviously, since the Bulls appeared in films they presented him with an interesting challenge, find a way to work them well worked out but keep the results within the realm of reality. One thing he knew, when other men saw his guys, they would not think they could look like that, even want to look like that until….it was on the screen showing cocks, balls and oh so tasty asses.

Indeed just assure those cocks and balls were desirable, he took measurments then added weights to produce low hangers and longer cocks. Painful? Well as he said, “ Отсутствие усиления без боли”. It was on his wall which of course meant ‘No gain without pain”. He provided the pain and the men came up with the gain. That was what Serge could and did produce.

He and Barney did the gentlemanly shake hands, offered compliments, a tour of the facility...and some conversation. Coffee? Sit down?

“You know you’re the most famous person in porn that no one has seen on screen.”

Barney didn’t quite grin. “Well, I didn’t show up to be as, uh, involved as I seem to have become. You know it was all kinda accidental?”

“I know that ‘accident’ made Jack and Harde One both rich and famous. Not to mention some of the others, not as big as some but all very watchable, I still laugh when I think ‘Zip Tang’. Fuck that jerk in San Francisco and his production line sex, you have what he doesn’t, reality….don’t know how you do it but...each time I watch one of yours beyond admiring the work….Tell you straight up...”

“Odd choice in this industry.”

They both laughed. “Da but what I’ve wanted is to meet the man who makes these what they are, almost gay cinema verite.”

“Nice compliment, thanks. Guess that all comes from Columbus, Ohio, not New York…”

Serge finished the list, “ or Yekaterinburg or Vladivostok or ….”

“But….what you’re turning out here is antithetical to my guys. Jesus, look at either Bull, you see that on Wilshire or Fifth Avenue….?”

“...or somewhere around that Arbat...We both know while I think people would stop and look...”

“...Except our here where, you tell me, what’s the norm? Go out looking or being however you are and it’s...the norm”.

Serge calculated he was probably twenty, twenty five years older than the charming man across from him. In his eyes, the age wasn’t relevant, only one thing was but….how?

They stopped, drank their coffee, watched what was going on around them. It did not miss Barney’s attention that brutality was tangential to the weight training. Guys were cuffed into a spread eagle then both fucked and whipped-atypical for any gym anywhere. There was a wrestling ring right where their side men, if they could be called that, urged their men to grab their nuts, twist their tits…..”

An hour went by of conversation interspersed with Serge explaining...why handcuffs or manacles or whips were part of they body building process. Not heavily used, he was to understand but his own, proved, way of motivation;

Part of his “method” he’d had success with in the USSR, then Finland and now...California.

Barney mentioned the ring.

“That’s how you earn your way in here, this is a private place,  I don’t take guys off the street, I don’t give a shit who sent you. You come in, want my help….Get in that ring, fight like hell and maybe….”

“Well, sorry, buddy, but I’m no candidate for your services ….” then laughed, sort of.

“No? Make you a friendly offer….”

“Better be ‘friendly’ cuz from what I can see around me, I want no part of something ‘unfriendly’”.

Serge halfway laughed, “Da, but this is not what I would offer you...this is for men who, well, you understand, you use them in your pictures.” He stopped and looked at the good looking man lounging with a mug of coffee at his lips.

“What you offer is a fantasy of normalcy, no one really is like that, has sex like that only here…” He tapped his head.

“Well, and here..,” Barney touched his leather covered bulge. Serge smiled. “Yes, well there, too but it’s all fake…”

“No, sorry I don’t write fake, what I write may be somewhere between reality and fantasy but, I’d never thought of this, what I write is something that a man, men, can watch, lean back, pull out their cock but not because what he sees is arousing but because what he’s looking at reminds him of….a version of him. Remember “I’ll Show You Mine”? The Bulls in four different roles and I cannot remember how many sexual bits and pieces but they all started off with two guys coming into a gym and whatever happened after that. Serge, before I showed up at Harde One, my experience with gay porn was almost zilch. What I knew was that it was two guys doing something to each other with their dicks or whatever. But something happened, I watched and was annoyed that it all seemed to start halfway through. No explanation as to how they got started, maybe the audience didn’t give a fart but….I did. I wanted to see some snippet of a story line….remember I’m journalism major….that fulfilled my curiosity about how it all got started.”

Serge drifted into his mind…. “.;...how it all got started….yeah, never thought about it but seeing how it starts makes it...more real. More...for the guys out there, they just walked through a door….”

“And think about the ones that start with some schmuck chained up having whatever done to him. Do I believe it? No. Sure, if he’s into bondage but...I want to see him looking forward to whatever, I want to hear some one tell him, and the viewer, after he’s secured most of what’s gonna happen, I want to see his face if what he hears isn’t what he planned on….I want the viewer to understand the pleasure or very real punishment he’s getting from whatever is being done to him..”

“While he’s screaming fucking hell?”

Barney smiled. “Yeah, that too as long as it’s a real scream, a scream that pain caused and not part of some acting class.”

Serge looked out at men in his place accepting a sort of punishment to validate their willingness to accept pain for increased physiques. Almost without meaning to he said…. “It’s just like here, sorta….Just like….”

He looked at Barney. “I don’t suppose I can kiss you….”

“Well, you can try but two of your, uh, students won’t like it, may feel they have to take you out.”

“He guards you very closely, but...why?”

“Well, smart money would say he had a helluva time getting me, I’m surrounded by men who, he thinks, would be only too happy to take his place...You do know he’s the only man who’s ever fucked me?”

That set Serge back. “Just Jack?”

“Yeah, well, of course there’s my dog who sucks cock, sometimes when you don’t really want your cock sucked….” He smiled thinking of Al and how much happier they were in California, so many more men, so many more willing cocks….Beat New York all to hell.

Serge had a lot on his mind suddenly. Sure, he’d heard about Barney; The Bulls were Magpies, told anybody everything but especially about Barney and their special relationship to him-they really did care for him. What Serge remembered was that they had been used in a major production which Barney had written specifically for them.; In fact they were the only two performers and, just as they’d discussed, it started with two men coming into a locker room. The men were different in purpose and why they were there from one to the next but in all of them...there was a definite start.

Serge, who like most people who were around men and sex, had actually been aroused by the harsh, darkness of the piece. The Bulls had been great-who knew they could act?-and the picture made, supposedly, a substantial amount of money-the word was Harde One with their screenwriter were making an awful lot of money. Barney had the idea to sell T shirts with their logo as well, on a limited edition, the opening credit from “Zip Tang”.  

 One unexpected effect was that it made the two men so attached to Barney that if they detected any negative action, you might be knocked through a wall. Any person wondering if sex with him was that good would be stunned to learn they’d never so much as touched his cock.

Serge thought for a while, a long while. “Dumb question….could you write a story for anyone who wanted to be in a porn flick? Me?”

Barney paused, seemed to consult the ether. “Never thought about it….all the guys I’m surrounded by want to be in porn, want me to get the lead out and fucking write something, preferably, you can guess this….for them.” He paused, looked for the Bulls who were doing something involving a lot of weight and looked….painful.

He looked at Serge then said, “Yeah, if you wanted it, I could write one for you...or is the question rhetorical?”

He altered the subject. “Take some guy who walks in, wants to strip, get down, get nasty, be in pictures...whatya do?”

“That happens, don’t encourage it but it does happen and oftener than you might think-generally they’re thanked for their interest, told to leave a portfolio and, say it with me, ‘We’ll call you’.

You’re a trainer, or whatever you call yourself, some guy here whose worked out a lot, great shape, lets say you know me, call me at the studio, say you’re sending some one over, give him a look/see. What do I do?”

“I dunno, professional courtesy, friendship, see him?”

“Dumbest thing I could do. I’m going to tell you what you should know, get him to a photographer, head shots, body shots, front and back then send them to me along with his measurements and more than height. How long is his cock? How low do his nuts drop? Girth? Think a big dildo could be stuffed up his ass? What’s he into? Send me all that then I’ll look it over, maybe in a couple of weeks, if- what’s his voice like by the way-IF I see something I can use, then you can send him over but, ‘friend’”-Barney smiled- “You get no guarantees and for the love of God don’t say to him, I’m your buddy, you’re sure I’ll do ‘something’ for him cuz what I’m likely to do is turn him down and send him back to you. Tell you to pimp him, should get pretty high dollars...Something, I’d guess, has happened  before” There was a pause. “Remember the Bulls and their chattiness? Lets say they told me about  your stable of men...” He stopped, diverted by a scream from...someone.

“I’m in the cat bird seat, I’m the buyer, people know that. Our product may not have the touches of a bigger studio but we’ve done fucking damn well, check our grosses.

There was a pause. “Now, Sir, why did you want to kiss me?”

“Some thing else the Bulls said, you’re lonely.,….You play hard ball.”

“Serge, I learned the very hard way, hard ball in this cockamamie business is the only way. When I first was there, hadn’t a clue what to do, every guy there hit me up with an ‘idea’ for a picture starring, well, you can guess, them. Then came ‘Zip Tang’….

“Jesus did it ever….what the Bulls say? about right on the grosses?”

Barney smiled; He knew the guys, he was their man, they would tell someone it made more than “Star Wars”. “What’d they tell you?”

“Ten mil….”

Barney chuckled. “Jack would have loved that number but not quite and you’re closer to reality….it’s still making money but ten is not only optimistic but impossible. Whatever else it is, it’s still a gay porn flick.”

“It’s a great picture.”

“Thanks, glad you liked it. Wish there was a ‘director’s cut’ I could send you that takes it farther than it goes...”

“Hey, while you’re here and since I can’t talk you into muscles, how about a plunge in the whirlpool and….I give a great massage.”

Barney looked right at him and smiled. “Sneaky way to see if it’s true, if there’s a fly on my cock; Since I suspect we actually may become friends, just ask, I’ll do the show and tell. The pool and the massage sounds great, you can even take a picture of it if that’s what turns you on.”

There was a pause while Barney looked around at the various ways men were being ‘trained’ and wondered if training including replacing machines in the field to drag a plow, be ridden, turned out to stud, had their semen sold….

“Uh, why are we going to become friends? Won’t that disturb your man?”

“Not when I tell him you’re coming on to be a consultant for a picture I’m writing. Besides, I like you in a painful sort of way.” They both laughed.

Serge smile. “Hey, I never said I wanted to be in pictures….”

“Heard it before. They all say that just before they strip and get fluffed…Amazing how getting your cock sucked changes your mind...don’t even notice the camera going for a close up when you spew cum dragged from you by a man who knows how to suck and you’re screaming, Oh Yeah, Sweet Jesus, eat that meat…..” He sipped his coffee. “When they recover, I could film them fucking a picture of Howard Hughes and they’d do it. Sex and exhibitionism does straight things to a man...”

Later in the tub that was more the size of a fountain in a plaza in Rome, Serge got to see the fly, no problem Barney hauled it right out. “Yep, it’s a fly alright. I know you’re tired of being asked….”

Barney looked at him in a way that was not what he’d seen, he sensed he was being read, considered, decided upon.

“Forget all the bullshit you probably heard, if you heard any...”

“The Bulls…..you want their version?”

“Someday when I need a laugh.” There was a long pause while Barney considered the man and what he was about to say. “I got it because I wanted to find out about pain-I write about it but don’t know what I’m writing... and the shock value.”

Serge thought…… “I’d guessed one part, just knowing about you, the shock value seems not something you’d care about.”

“ But it’s there to shock only a limited group, it’s there to put them on edge, to make them wonder….what will he do next? Like you, I have people around me all day and, like you. I need some form of whip….”

Serge found a smile of recognition forming within himself; He knew, suddenly, why he and Barney would be friends. It was crystal clear; Both of them were surrounded by people who, at base wanted something from them, didn’t matter what but had nothing to give back. The strength that a friendship with Barney was that neither wanted anything from each other so it was logical that they could give to each other and it would be appreciated. . He leaned his head back……

“Figured it out didn’t you.”

“Most of it….you, me, alone on the iceberg, the polar bears trying to climb on board…..”

“Hmmm...get me a very large chunk of ice, two guys who don’t mind having their nuts almost frozen off and there’s a helluva picture...”

“The bears?”

“Who else? The Bulls.”

Serge laughed, his head thrown back seeing the whole thing.

“Friend?”

“Nobody better. Now you can kiss me….seal the deal.” Somehow the two of them slipped beneath the water, not even bubbles hit the surface.

Serge lived up to his word; Next to Butch, his was the best massage he’d ever had and it might have lasted….

Rapid pounding on the door…

“You locked it, didn’t you? Wanta guess who’s on the other side?”

“No” With certain reluctance he threw a towel over Barney’s ass then went to the door. The way he opened it, suddenly, the Bulls fell through and onto the floor.

“Okay, boys, this better be good….cuz I can make it hurt….you’ve still got your cuffs on.”

“Uh…...Barney…..we, uh, we couldn’t see him so we….”

“I know what you thought.” He reached behind him and came up with some sort of whip which he immediately applied to the men on the floor. “It takes a certain kind of dirty mind to think what you did….”

“Get up, turn around, hands up and lean into the wall. Count ‘em. Whatya think, Barney, ten a piece?”

“Leave it to you but...guys…..for your memory books, just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean shit. Where are we? Serge’s place do you honestly think he’s going to let anything unfortunate happened to anyone here? And what you’re gonna get now isn’t unfortunate, it’s punishment for sticking your nose in my business. What do you plan on telling Jack? You caught me having a massage? Okay, but make it five, I think they’re being filmed tomorrow and I do not need a pair of red asses. Jesus….”

Suddenly Barney slipped off the table then joined Serge in whipping  them; It felt….amazingly good.

At one point, around stroke 3, he turned to Serge and became involved in kissing him. Found he was exhilarated by the experience, by Serge. When they released Serge whispered….. “I want you to come back...” but meant….I want you….no hope so he dismissed the idea.

Before he hopped back up on the table he nodded his head and resumed laying on his side, looking bored while Serge alternated from what he was doing to what he knew he could now do. As Barney made accepting noises, Serge finished his hand warmed skin with a lashing. At the end, the one on the table rolled over and into the arms of a man holding what he’d wanted.

It was very quiet in the car driving to the beach cottage in La Jolla-after he saw their red cheeks, the shoot was postponed. The Bulls were having a hard time sitting even with a couple of layers of thick sweat shirts. Serge knew what he was doing and, just before he finished with them and threw them out, he had Barney notice the slight marks then winked at him.

Somewhat after that, just before he got the Bulls and said they could go, he unobtrusively dropped something small in one of Barney’s pockets, looked at him, then went back to the Bulls.

“I’ve talked Barney into coming here occasionally for some light work outs, a good whirlpool, a deep massage and you’re to bring him. One of two ways, I can and will chain you to the ceiling or you can agree to not snoop…..If I were you, I’d take option 2. Are we clear?” To make his point he snapped a whip on the floor.

The Bulls stared down, mumbled something, nodded their heads then went to fetch the car.  

“Want a whip? I’ve got lots. Here, take two, look great on the wall in your office or mount one and stick the other one in your belt.”

Barney smiled, put out his hand to accept the gift then pulled the giver to him. It was a friendly kiss but a kiss none the less. He watched his new friend as he left the building, got in the car as the door was opened for him then, just as they were moving away….he thought he saw a wink.

For the first hour it was silence. Barney sat in the back seat and seemed to stare at their backs, wishing they hurt more; To emphasize this, he practiced snapping his new gift from Serge on the floor. He could see them cringe, they knew he meant it and, now, would not hesitate to use them whenever he saw fit.

“I want you to listen to me because I mean every word I’m going to say. When I take a shit, I do not want or need your noses up my crack. When I’m working in my office I do not want or need anyone to look in then say, ‘just checking’. For what? See if I’m out of typewriter ribbon? I’m 30 years old, I can take care of myself. I am fully aware that Jack has you bird dogging me although to what purpose…...Does he think I’m going to find another man, fucking me? Is that what you think? Jeff thinks? Jerry thinks? Because if it is...you only think you’ve seen me pissed off. I do appreciate all that you do for me, truly, but you’re getting too close and either Jack ordered that or you have some sort of weird suspicions. I’m not gonna even ask cuz I don’t want to know.” There was a silence.

“Oh, I’m gonna say just about this to everyone including Jack and, if he can’t pull off the troops, Al and I will have to find some place else to live. Got it ?

Nod your heads that you understand and shut up until we get to La Jolla and I’m not sure I’ll let you speak them. Serge didn’t give me these whips to only decorate my wall. Looks like one a piece….Got me? Nod again.” They did.

The three days at the beach were overcast but not as stormy as inside the little house where the three men were passing time, or, if you were the Bulls, doing time. Barney answered questions, if he answered at all, in one word, usually ‘yea, it’s open, come on in’. He’d gone to his bedroom closed the door which meant knocking did not yield his usual friendly self but his  self in person at the door; The longest time the door stayed open was when a pizza was delivered and it was almost dropped.

Knowing full well they’d do it, not to mention he knew their intelligence wouldn’t tell them not too, they slipped out then called Jeff and Jerry-Jack was still out of town. Of course they had no advice not quite grasping what had happened but knowing Jack had ‘suggested’ that everyone ‘help’ Barney, ‘keep an eye on him’ the theme being make sure he had what he wanted. That was easy enough, he seldom wanted anything, asked for nothing, worked quietly at his desk or, when home, at the ‘desk’ in Jack’s room which was the large bed they shared. (After some training, Al, the cock sucking German Shepherd, had grudgingly learned to sleep in his own bed...in another room….most of the time.)

Several months went by, uneventful months, almost pleasant months. Several productions were released, did well, one would get a sequel. Jack was increasingly called away on business which meant that Barney was left in bed with Al….and, quite often, Jeff with whom he was working on a screenplay. That was the easy part but the piece involved using a complicated to make and shoot apparatus, a gimble, which could put the actors through all three axis at once. (He said he got the idea from watching a Fred Astaire Movie during which Mr. Astaire danced on all four walls of a stateroom on a ship that was experiencing heavy seas. ) Initially, the three men involved were attached to safety harnesses and then….tried to fuck each other, plus some other sexual activity, while seeming to spin, bounce off walls, ceilings etc. Mr. Astaire apparently knew something about dancing in air they did not. Of course, he kept his clothes on and wasn’t trying to blow, fuck, suck, handle….

Jeff enjoyed curling up next to Barney while Barney verbally ran scripts adding and subtracting bits of business, dialogue, comments, whatever came to his mind. As Jeff was going to direct these, he needed all this input for what he knew would be a complicated shoot no matter how clever the situation and what was said; Saying it upside down while being fucked was a problem. What he did not like was occasionally sharing the bed with Al and his infernal habit of attaching himself to his cock and just staying like that; At some point, what felt good didn’t and, besides, Al had a tendency to drool.

Another problem was casting. Effectively, whoever played the roles not only had to be sexually adept but physically capable of dealing with constantly changing attitudes. At one point he wondered aloud to Jeff if perhaps they should wander by “Cirque du Soliel” looking for men who were not only acrobats in great shape but would enjoy a film in which their sexual preferences would be displayed? Jeff said no.

He’d been going with the Bulls to see Serge who eventually talked him into a kind of informal training. Serge’s purpose was just to get him into a visual shape that was very masculine, appealing but did not lop over into body builder-just a guy who others guys would envy. Plus, of course, a massage and whirlpool. The two men had become friends, found they had strange things and kinks in common, had the same sense of humor-which many around them did not understand-and simply enjoyed each other’s company. If there was one disappointment, at least to Serge, it was that the studio was the only place he saw Barney; He’d like to just have the two of them jump in a car and...drive, going nowhere. And nowhere was a good idea as Serge was as prone to get lost in Los Angeles as Barney.

Serge found he had a stunningly good ear for languages and began teaching him Russian; Their time together took on an intimacy that increased as Barney’s ability to pronounce the difficult alphabet as well as add to his vocabulary. Many days, particularly as he massaged him, he put them in total immersion, no English; The day he knew his pupil was well beyond the ‘tourist’ version of the language was when without thinking, he spoke to him in Russian not realizing he had. Yes, poorly pronounced, yes the grammar atrocious...but it was understandable and what it said was that it was a difficult thing to do, something you’d only do for someone….slightly more than a friend.

Also, Barney wondered if Serge could find guys for his three dimension sex show; He said he’d see what he could do but….this was asking a lot of anyone. As he said, some people don’t even look good fucking on a bed much less flying through the air….although it would be very interesting. As a laugh, he suggested they get two parachutists to fuck while floating or, better, sky divers…..Barney smiled….and thought; How would you film that and hoped Jerry wasn’t afraid of heights….

The massages had, increasingly, turned into a gunch session for Barney. He was grateful to have a man, who wasn’t involved at the studio, to talk to, complain to and...just be with. Not infrequently after the massage was over, Serge would oil both of them, turn on a heat lamp then lay beside what he increasingly considered to be...his man, big towels covering both of them. Just his arm over Barney’s shoulders….and, once, tears when Barney said he wondered about Jack and his constant absences….It was unfortunate that, for all his cold way of running the studio-in Jack’s absence, that’s what he was doing-he was kind hearted and desperately lonely. Serge, too, wondered where Jack might have gone-that often-and, using some of his contacts, asked some questions…..

While Barney tried to figure out his 3D structural problems, the studio had been turning out a series of solo videos. Essentially every man they used in other films, made a twenty minute, give or take, video in which they did whatever they wanted, sexually, and that they felt they did well. At first Barney had been concerned that there was no market value-everyone could see a guy jerking off-but when he saw that even a humble session with a man and his cock could be stepped up, say, a dildo up his ass which fucked him while his hand worked his cock. Oiled looked good as well. As usual, these weren’t just filmed in any available spare; Depending on the action, there was backing, some sort of set and the guys were encouraged to talk to their audience, tell them what they were doing, how it felt. Even Jeff got roped into doing one, quite elaborately, where he was put in a milking machine, by unseen hands, bound and, with only a timer as his companion, was turned on to see how far and how many times he could squirt. As it went on, Jeff squirmed, moaned, screamed for someone to turn the fucking machine off but….only when he was on the verge of collapsing did a hand come in, turn off the device then remove the receptacle holding his sperm production; One last thing before he was released, he was made to drink his own milk. It was one of their better sellers although Jeff accused Barney of pulling a bit of kink on him without mentioning it. In return, Barney handed him the sheet showing the grosses….and that night in bed, Barney was especially affectionate... making sure Al was no where in sight or bed. Jeff thought, how he’d like to make love to Barney, suck him off, let him fuck him….whatever but, no, that didn’t seem likely. However, being held, having his tits played with while another hand jacked him off…..apparently Barney had been watching his own films as he did that kind of action very well indeed.

Where the picture came from….nobody knew. It was in a large manila envelope, unsealed and left on Jeff’s desk. Just one Monday morning, along with the drek mail that seemed to accumulate and could easily be trashed but wasn’t as once in a while….like the envelope.

Jeff sat there staring at the contents, stunned, almost comatose with dismay, horror at what he saw. Worse, he’d have to show Barney….eventually. He just sat there, staring at it, trying to ask himself questions that made no sense, had no answers. Finally he pushed it back in, stood up and almost as if his feet were in cement, set off to find his friend then give him….this…..

Barney looked up at a blank faced Jeff who did nothing but slide an envelope across his desk. Without looking down he shook out the contents not looking at the picture.

“Where?”

“On my desk, this morning….”

He took it out, looked at it, saw who….

“Wonder why it wasn’t given to me directly.” His voice was already shaking, his skin blanched, tears were dropping. He put it back in the envelope. “Anyone else get this?”

“Not that I know about.”

Barney sat there staring beyond..anything. Jeff, the wall behind him, the studio wall….just nothing. Put his hand on the picture as if to absorb the horribleness of it.

It was an eight by ten, in color, of Jack, on his knees, his ankles and wrists chained behind him, a slave collar around his neck. He was between two fat, hairy legs and from the way he was bent over, either he was sucking the man or had or would….made no difference.

The two men looked at each other but….what was there to say? Speculation would have been pointless. Barney tried to compose himself, rose, gave Jeff a hug, said he’d see him in a few minutes, just wanted some time….The other man left the room knowing that there could not be enough time, ever.

Barney locked the door behind Jeff then staggered to his desk, his head and hands collapsing on the surface. He cried or, beyond that, let his body and emotions drain him of tears, spasms of despair, the whole series of things that drags love from one then lets it fall to the floor, a virus, a poisoned thing, the sudden vacating of feeling for another that leaves...nothing.

When he could he looked up, about, tried to see where he was, understand it as it now must be seen. He stood. From his pocket he took a very small electrical piece that only connected him to one other person; He pushed the button and seconds later it was answered. Barney tried to say something, but the surge of his vanished emotions took away anything….He heard, “Go out the front door, walk away from the studio ….stop, wait for a man driving a pickup. He’ll stop, call your name, get in it”….the connection was broken.

Somehow he got by Jeff’s office only looking in with some sort of fraudulent look saying he was going out for a bit...give him a call later…A few minutes later he was holding on to a light pole just to avoid falling down when a battered gray pickup slowed, door opened, “Barney?”. He got in and went away not being sure where he was going just...away.

The guy in the pick up said he was ‘Buzz’ and he’d been sent to collect him then bring back to the muscle studio. That it wasn’t where they were going didn’t matter, just then Barney didn’t give a damn, just that he was away from his office, still clutching the envelope was enough. He’d grabbed the darkest tinted, wrap around sun glasses he could find but that didn’t conceal the disaster going on inside him.

Why? No explanation but he leaned against Buzz who put a kind arm around him, said nothing, just held him. He could remember times when he needed a kind arm to put around his shoulders and, though it solved nothing, was going to get this nice guy where he was going and to someone who could and would help.

Bad timing but just as Serge got the call from Barney, he had the Bulls bent over holding their ankles and was whipping them. No reason, it just kept them in line and, he knew, dependent on him for all the things he really did do for them. The whipping? Well, bad boys need that now and again and just now was when they needed it. Leaving someone to shackle them to a weight bar to start their lifting session, he zipped out a door little seen from the main part of the building, got in his car and headed to… a place.

Serge didn’t really have a residence as such-he lived at the studio-but he had purchased a pleasant suburban home in the Valley, complete with pool,  occasionally went there as a get away. Buzz and his partner, Jody, lived there, kept it up, made it comfortable, what Serge wanted, on the rare occasion he came by; Suburban peace and quiet plus someone who really knew how to massage his back.

Of all the men around him, Buzz and Jody were the two men he most trusted. Former Marines, they’d met at a rehab place where they’d been sent to try and repair some of their injuries. Buzz had extensive thoracic surgery, missing fingers, toes, bad third degree burn scars while Jody was blind. With these problems had come talents that neither expected but Serge recognized and found useful work for them, work they found interesting and relevant to themselves; They took men who had suffered mental trauma and helped them back to reality. Without knowing that, the two guys expected their next case was inbound. Buzz, who’d collected the ‘patient’, was sure of it. When Barney leaned against him, he could sense the disaster this nice young man had just been through. At one point the picture in the envelope fell on the floor giving Buzz a look and while he didn’t have the whole story, that was certainly part of it; He recognized Jack and didn’t need a guess as to what he’d been doing. Only thing, this was not from a picture his studio had made. Whoever else was in that picture was not the man curled up against him. Now, figured, his former partner. And something else, he and Jody had discussed it….the man beside him could be what Serge needed, wanted, would do for him what he could do for Serge….if he could stop sensing his mental plunge toward the abyss, to death….to the silence and freedom it would give him. He pulled Barney closer and, as he knew to do, started the soft almost non words, more a muted sibilence with a tune of sounds to cover the thoughts inside, to try to beat the desire for death. And he held him harder, tried to do what his partner Jody could do but he only barely could, feel his soul, try and touch it, make it turn to what he was saying….

Serge had got to the house just minutes, he thought, before Barney and Buzz would roll in. He was about to get a break he needed; There was a text from Buzz saying to expect a long delay. No explanation, though had they turned on the television, they would have  been treated to the sight of a 50,000 gallon milk carrier turned sideways and spewing heavy cream all over the Golden State Freeway. The sort of situation that wasn’t quickly solved for, unlike cars, you couldn’t just shove a tractor and what it was hauling off the road.

Then there was the problem of the milk fountain; Several motorcycle officers

were going to need a skin out-hell their boots were filled with milk-change and quick before it went sour or turned to cottage cheese….Yep, they were there for some little while.

Alone with Barney, Buzz desperately wished for his partner, Jody, who was an empath, a person who could read by touch the emotions of others. To some degree he could but now, he knew, Barney was headed into the disaster of the mind where….it cannot find reason to continue. It was blocking the urgent signals from the heart to accept the pumped blood, he was fighting mentally fighting for life only because he thought that was what he needed to do. He could not see that the Jack in the picture was a man that he did not know, he was a man to whom Barney was a name, a cash cow, a person in his bed, something to fuck when he felt like it but to suggest….love, caring. All of that now was streaming into Barney.

Mercifully, they got through the white log jam of officers looking more like an odd ball Frosty the semi melted man and onto the Ventura. Fuck the laws, Buzz floor boarded it-nothing unusual in California-and headed for the Encino exit. Why hadn’t he brought a phone, a walkie talkie, a smoke signal, anything to try and get through to those who were waiting….and not patiently.

Because he was without sight, the television meant nothing to Jody but to Serge who, if he stall walked anymore was going to Charley Horse both his legs, it was at least something. Good thing. There was the answer, the milk, the Golden State, the delay. While it didn’t help in some ways, it at least explained the absence, assure Serge there was a reason. And then he went back to pacing.

Perhaps he couldn’t see it but the metronomic sound of feet on carpet was disturbing Jody, blocking his mind from what he would need to do but….also read and reach this man. Finally he rose, stopped Serge, got him into a recliner, lay on top of him, put his hands on his head, stopped his own emotions and waited until Serge’s ideas began to come through.

He put his arms around Serge, held him, told him with his mind and whispers that….he knew he loved the young man, that he had denied himself, that the pain he felt from desolation of affection he could not display was wracking him….Slowly Serge put his arms around Jody, pulled him to him and silently began to cry. Concurrent to that, if Barney had been hurt….Serge knew what might have happened, things he’d been told, whisperings of betrayal, of greed, of how one man was the prize but he had to be held onto no matter how.

Jody loosened himself,  gently took him to a bed, removed his clothes, covered his eyes, shuttered the room then lay down beside him prepared to give him a relief that did not rely on the past or the future but would derail his mind….rolling him on his stomach, feeling for his back, reaching for a drawer that contained what he needed, he took up a scourge and began to beat him, hard, immediately causing ripples of red….groaning for a bit until his brain sensed something...it loved. Pain. He gave himself over to the sweep of the long, thin leather strands, each tipped with a smooth, hard steel bead.

Serge spontaneously ejaculated and then lay quietly wondering, waiting….wanting….

This was what Barney saw. The shock of this man bleeding, nude on a bed, a leather instrument of pain laid across his back. A man behind him now striping him, pushing him to the bed, gagging him, laying him so his face could see the other man. They were bound together, all their limbs.

Buzz had one and Jody had the other whip. They alternated between sides knowing the two men would look, see each other, be bound by what they both wanted but realizing their deep affection was not just sealed by strokes of increasing misery, one for what he was finding in the other, one letting the agony wash away the thought of death in his mind. Their eyes demanded to be able to touch, they tried to make someone know  but only when the shower of leather stopped and a man put his head on both of theirs did the bonds come off, gags come out and two men withdrew from the dark room knowing that the future was about to be found in rivulets of red gore now to mingle.

Serge had to speak. “What happened? Are you….?”

Barney tried to rise but the attraction of the other man would not allow that.

“I have a picture...”

“Of Jack?”

He nodded.

Serge pulled him close. There was a lot to say but this wasn’t quite the moment. He pulled a finger across his man’s back, bringing it to his mouth, encouraging Barney to do the same.

“I found out I…. love you.”

Barney wanted to cry but instead just rolled a bit, put his arms around the other man, covering his biceps with blood. But he could not say a thing. Inside him, he wondered if he might be mute the rest of his life?

As will happen after the shock and deliverance of pain, suddenly they both collapsed into slept. Not quite intertwined but together in ways that matter most. As Jody could have told them, they weren’t in love, that was too simply, they were deeply into the spirit and soul and acknowledgment of something too long denied and now mutually shared, to always have that. They were at the entrance to what they could and would share forever.

Awake, laying there in the dark room, the crusted blood being their clothing, Barney asked his new companion, the man he knew he loved and who loved him.

“You know, I’ve never really been fucked, just had a cock stuck in me.” He stopped.

Quietly, with absolute meaning, “Since the first day I rubbed you, I wanted to have you, enter you, suck you….” and drawing in a deep breath “...to hurt you the way I wanted to be hurt.”

Barney almost laughed. “You know, we should have a crest, two crossed whips on a field of knots.” He lay there thinking. “That’s why I put the spider on my cock….it was waiting for a fly and now...”

“Yeah, and now its caught the prey. Roll over spider, the prey wants to crawl up your ass.”

 A month later Jack was sitting at his desk not doing very much. The Bulls were wandering around, waiting for something to do, or, actually, waiting for Jerry to send up word that they were ready for Jack.

The story was as simple and disgusting as was the explanation and conclusion. Jack, overcome with greed, had found a way to what he thought was a ‘slightly’ crooked source for big money; With the studio making money, the monies for a bigger studio were approved but only with one absolute demand; He keep Barney as the writer, how he did it, no one cared how just that he keep him and keep him writing.

What ever affection he had for the kid with the four leaf clover tattoos was easily amped to seem like….love-after all, what was porn but fiction about love? After one fight about nothing, he apologized, told Barney he loved him, got a positive response and two days later Barney was no longer a virgin and Harde One studios had a head writer in residence.

Fine, for a while. The money for the new studio was paid to Jack who….spent it elsewhere. Drugs as it turned out, his many absences were spent high and/or loaded, on men who came to him hoping to be in pictures but not on a new studio. Eventually the money people felt they’d been had so decided to discuss the situation with Jack, a discussion during which he was chained and made to do degrading acts-some of which were photographed. One of which was slipped to Barney. Intentionally. It was a classic case of fuck you and keep the golden goose. After the day the picture showed up in Jeff’s office, Barney did not see Jack for...a long time. Even in drug-paid for directly by Barney- rehab his new position at Harde One was made clear to him. Paying for it simply cleaned the slate in Barney’s mind, he’d paid back whatever he thought he owed.

Serge was not for that, had other ideas, knew people who knew people who knew Jack. Who had an interesting and oh so pornographic fate for him but Barney refused, what Serge told him was tempting-and writer that he was, could see the story and the visuals as a film with some of the more grotesque elements removed.

Take today, Jack was in his usual office, nothing seemed amiss, there was a production going on, Jerry was overseeing that, Barney and Jeff were in a conference still discussing the faltering project involving the gimbel with sex in the air paying no attention to what was going on.

The Bulls, in their watch dog mode were doing precisely what they’d been told to do which was wait until called then produce Jack. They held the keys to the shackles on his ankles which kept him looking, if a bit unhappy, at his desk in the owner’s office. He wasn’t any more but….that was of no concern.

Serge did have contacts in the underworld, some left over from his association with the Russian Mafia. He still had their respect so they ‘helped’ get rid of the previous loaners, reset the deal so...Barney, Serge and Jeff were now the proprietors. If you wanted proof, all you needed to do was follow the Bulls as they took Jack, still bound, down to the set to participate in a story especially written by Barney for his former...whatever he had been.

Jack was stripped, chained into a taught spread eagle, first whipped until his screams hit a certain octave-Jeff and Barney closed the door- then bent over a fucking station while ten of the most heavily endowed men shoved their cocks up his ass as a milking machine worked overtime on his cock. Since this was a Barney story, there was running dialogue, done by himself and Serge, about how the foolish could make deals then welch on them only to find the punishment did fit the crime.

The fade out over Jack’s cum dripping ass was of the studio emblem, two whips on a field of gold cocks almost shaped like knives.

After his participation Jack was cleaned up, medically stapled where necessary put in a body bag, nose open, and sent off to some place and a meeting with some men who had never tried something but wished to.

Months later “Jack In The Box” opened to stunned reviews and intensely brisk sales. The reviewers were all in agreement that this was a side of Barney no one had seen but it represented a major step for Harde One now, apparently moving into fetish and bondage along with their already quality products, just another inspired step for Hared One which had a reputation for presenting surprises, off beat but elegantly produced. Even in this one, the many people who knew Jack were stunned to find him a participant and, when it ended, even more shocked at what they’d seen. Even if most had wet stains on their pants if they hadn’t taken out their cocks and shucked them down. Even in what was probably his final appearance, Jack still had the touch to portray sex.

Serge and Barney lived over the muscle studio where men who understood what they did-they did it themselves-could offer the pleasure of punishment they enjoyed. Laid out on the massage table, oiled, secured, waiting for their pleasure, and, until the first whirl through the air of leather, quietly contemplated what next? Barney’s growing tattoo collection emphasized men in pain, on racks and, his back piece, a downward look at a man nailed to a crucifix...and, as was to be expected, his whole cock was covered with flies; Serge had Wasps on his.

Barney thought about the fucking later, how he loved Serge, the satisfaction they enjoyed, one they both relished. He remembered when both of them, chained and collared into chairs, sat and knew the coming pain as first their nipples, then for each a guiche ring often worn with a chain between them was pierced….the first of many body modifications they’d planned. As they had the time, now forever, contemplating them, imagining their installation was a pleasure they did not deny themselves.

Serge, knowing what Barney had actually suffered, though he didn’t quite see it like that, made a pledge to himself to allow him anything. Problem was, he sometimes laughed, Barney didn’t want very much, just him and to be able to write...plus get a massage and a dunk in a hot tub.

The only thing that made many shudder was the hot brand on each cheek just below their eye; The symbol for eternity. Each had been completely shaved save for a triangle shaped patch just above their cocks. Part of their happiness came in knowing that nothing would be refused, no instrument of pain could not be used….but this not only made them the men they wished to be but gave both of them the serenity of knowing they were complete, they accepted themselves. They accepted each other.

At some point a letter from his former editor had arrived. From the letter that had fired him with some vitriol. Now word of his success had reached him, he now wondered if Barney would like to write a ‘think piece’ on the male porn industry. Thinking about how best to answer that he got Jerry to set up a static shoot, just two people, black and white, 8 by 10, matte. He wondered what the schmuck thought when the picture slid out of the manila envelope revealing him hung by his hands from a chain while a man, actually Serge, was on his knees performing oral sex on him. They both autographed it. The only note, signed with a black Mt. Blanc pen, with the suggestion that they use this as the cover for a series of pictures they would be happy to supply. Their agent would call to discuss the price. No answer was received but, in fact, the book was made. If not exactly something for your coffee table, perfect for the well appointed dungeon. Jerry had done a magnificent job with text and captions by both Jeff and Barney.

And, of course, Al, who had a place in the Muscle Studio finding nude men fastened, naked, cocks hanging out….some days he was so filled, he just burped and laid down.