Aaa Modeling Agency

This story is a fantasy set in the real world. Obviously, any similarities between characters appearing in it and the real world are purely coincidental. This is also copyrighted material. So while you're welcome to make a personal copy for yourself, any other reproduction or reposting is not allowed without the prior written consent of the author.

Any comments or criticisms should be directed to Rafi at rafidaud69@gmail.com. While suggestions are welcomed, the ten chapters of this story are already written. I would, however, consider any suggestions in future stories.

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AAA Modeling Agency

Chapter 10

"You're late."

"Sorry. We got kind of hung up." Taylor looked blandly at the boy in front of him. He had never liked Troy and, over time, he'd come to realize that the dislike was mutual. Of course, that didn't keep Dean's son from nailing Taylor's ass whenever the model had to spend a weekend with DeMarco; if anything it probably increased the little prick's enjoyment. It was bad enough having to play the pussy for his old man. But having to service his son, too, was a real pain in the butt. Literally. Fortunately, it wasn't Taylor's or Kerry's pussy that was on the line today.

Taylor cast his eyes down Troy's body. Clothing wasn't optional when you stayed at Dean's - it was forbidden, not only for his guests but for Troy as well. So Taylor was used to seeing Troy walking around bare-assed naked. And used to seeing his hard dick bobbing in the air, too. Looking closely at it, however, he saw the unmistakable signs of fresh anal slime.

"I see you started without us," Taylor jibed, keeping his eyes on Troy's crotch.

"Fuck," Troy snorted. "I started in on our little whore Friday night. Can't even count how many loads I've dropped up his leaking boytwat since then. Almost as many as my old man. But I have to give the bitch credit: he's still amazingly tight, given all the dick he's already taken. He's got an amazingly resilient fuck-hole - kind of like our friend Kerry here."

"Speaking of which," Troy continued with a malicious grin, turning his head to look at the redhead, "how's your hole holding up, Kerry? Taylor hasn't stretched it out of shape yet, has he? He's got some major meat between his legs. Course, that's what you like about him, isn't it?"

"Watch your mouth," Taylor angrily intervened as Kerry's skin turned a bright crimson.

"Sorry," Troy quickly replied in a mockingly apologetic tone. "I was just asking."

"Anyway," Troy continued, turning back to Kerry, "you won't have anything to worry about today. It's not your pussy on the block - it's Callum's. Maybe you can pay him back for the way he reamed out your twat-hole on Thursday. He really did a number on your butt. Fucked you real good. I know it got my juices going just watching him do you. Taylor's too, I suspect."

Kerry's blush deepened and Taylor scowled again. But before Taylor could say anything else, Troy turned around and started walking away. "You can drop your duds on to the pile," he called back over his shoulder. "We're all out at the pool."

Taylor and Kerry stepped over to the pile of clothes strewn on the floor just next to the door. Judging from the size of the pile, Taylor figured there must be quite a crowd out back. Taylor quickly added his own clothing to the collection and then watched as Kerry stripped down. He couldn't help but notice that his lover seemed visibly upset by Troy's barbs.

"Hey, Ker," he soothed in a soft voice. "Don't let that little prick get to you. You know what an asshole he is."

"Yeah, I know, Tay," Kerry admitted. "I shouldn't let him bother me. It's just...I didn't think the word about us would get out...at least not so soon."

"What do you care, Ker? Nobody gives a damn what that little fucker thinks."

"Oh, it's not him, Tay," Kerry explained. "It's the other guys. What are they going think about us....being together, I mean?"

"Ker, Ker," Taylor murmured. "They're not going to think anything about it. None of them will give a shit. I mean, it's not like they don't know you're gay. That's pretty obvious, Ker, at least to guys in the business like we are."

Kerry smiled, a little sheepishly. "I guess you're right about that, Tay. But I was more concerned about you. I mean, what are they going to think about you being with me?"

"They won't think anything of it. I know these guys; they don't care about that stuff. They won't give a shit, really." Taylor paused. "Except maybe for Jackson."

"Jackson's going to be upset?" Kerry asked with surprise.

"Fuck, no," Taylor replied, laughing. "He's going to love it. He's always told me that I was nothing but a little faggot at heart, just waiting for the right guy to come along to settle down and play house with. Guess that black bastard was right. Jacks is going to have a ball when he hears the news."

Taylor looked at Kerry, his deep brown eyes twinkling. "C'mon, kid," he finally said, "we better join the party before someone comes looking for us and finds us doing the dirty right in the middle of DeMarco's entryway."

"Besides," he added, as he picked up Kerry's hand and started leading him to the back of the house, "I've got some serious payback to administer and I don't want to miss out on that. I'm going to teach that fucker Callum what it's like to get power-fucked. And, when I'm finished, I want you to do the same. I don't want you going soft on that asshole. He's only getting what he deserves."

"Don't worry about me, Tay," Kerry assured his lover. "I haven't forgot how he treated me. I want to show him that a 'little faggot' can fuck just as hard as a straight stud. You just watch the way I pound his pussy, Tay. Just watch."

"Oh, I intend to Ker," Taylor laughed. "I intend to. And I'm going to enjoy the hell out of it." He squeezed Kerry's hand and moved on to the back door, right outside the pool deck.

When Taylor and Kerry stepped out on to the sun-drenched deck from the darkness of the house, they were momentarily blinded. They stood there for a few moments waiting for their eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. Taylor shielded his eyes with his hand and looked out at the pool. "Look likes a full house, Ker," he noted. "A dozen guys, probably. But I don't see the guest of honor."

Just then, they both heard a loud groan, followed by a plea to "Fuck me harder, sir. Fuck my bitch pussy harder."

Turning to their right, they saw Callum stretched out on a sling, his arms and legs held far apart by leather restraints, his ass being violently pummeled by Cary. "That's right, you fucking bitch whore," they heard Cary sneer, not missing a beat as he plowed his huge meat in and out of Callum's ass. "Beg for it. Beg me to fuck the shit out of your fucking bitch twat."

Kerry and Taylor looked at each other with amused surprise. It was hard to believe but somehow, over just a few days, DeMarco and Troy had managed to turn a raging homophobe into a cock-hungry fuck-boy. As their vision slowly cleared up, however, they realized that the situation wasn't quite the way it had first seemed to be.

Oh, yeah, it had sounded as if Callum was enjoying himself, begging to be fucked harder and squealing with pleasure. But when you looked at the boy's face, it was obvious that his squeals were squeals of pain not pleasure, that despite his continuing pleas for Cary to fuck him harder and harder, Callum was, in fact, writhing in discomfort, the tears flowing freely down his face as his boy-hole was savagely brutalized by Cary's 11-inch horse-cock.

The contrast between the boy's verbal pleadings to be fucked harder and harder and the contortions of his face which showed he was in obvious agony was almost laughable. Taylor could only wonder what mind-games Dean and his twisted son had run on the boy. It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for Callum. Almost, but not quite.

Just then, Dean caught sight of the two models standing in the doorway. He motioned them over. Kerry and Taylor had just started wending their way across the pool deck when they heard Callum shout, "Fuck my cunt. Fuck it hard, sir. Make it hurt." Judging from the shriek that immediately followed, Cary was doing just that.

"I'm sure you know everyone, Taylor," Dean said as they reached the man who sitting in the shade of an umbrella, surrounded by various of his working boys, "but, Kerry, you may not. So why don't you introduce yourself." There were three models there that Kerry hadn't met before - Sax, Jared and Leon - and Kerry quickly made their acquaintance, each one ignoring Kerry's proffered hand and instead wrapping him in a tight bear-hug, as Dean looked on smiling. It was obvious that Dean expected his boys to be touchy-feely with each other. They were, after all, working boys.

Kerry knew he shouldn't feel self-conscious about this close physical contact. 'Modesty,' Taylor had reminded Kerry, more than once, 'is the last thing a guy in our line of work needs.' But it was still awkward for Kerry to embrace naked men who were all sporting full erections while his partner stood there watching.

Kerry knew he was being silly. After all, it was just a matter of time before he'd be having full-blown sex with each one of these guys, very possibly while Taylor was similarly occupied. Having sex, with each other and with total strangers, was their job. Kerry knew that and he accept that - at least intellectually. But actually doing it, particularly if Taylor was watching, was going to take some getting used to.

Fortunately, once the introductions were completed, the guys sitting around Dean quickly returned to the conversation that had been interrupted and Kerry and Taylor just pulled up a couple of chairs and listened in. Kerry had already discovered that when two or more models got together the prime topic of discussion was almost invariably their work and today was no different. Dean had apparently been expounding on his future plans for Callum. And it was obvious that he had marked the boy for special treatment.

"You're not saying," Sax asked, "that you're going to keep him in chastity permanently, are you, sir?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Dean replied. "For the foreseeable future, I'm planning on marketing Callum in his chastity cage."

"But how can he top a customer?" Sax pressed.

"He can't," Dean agreed. "He's going to be marketed as an exclusive bottom."

"But doesn't that limit his value to the agency," asked Jackson, joining the conversation. "Won't it hurt the bottom line if he can't top? No pun intended," he quickly added as a few other models groaned. Jackson really didn't give a damn what DeMarco wanted to do with Callum - he could make Callum a full-time piss-bitch for all Jackson cared - but he was interested in hearing how DeMarco was going to justify his plan. After all, every time Jackson asked that he only have to top DeMarco wouldn't hear of it because, he claimed, it would limit Jackson's marketability. Admittedly, DeMarco now charged a premium for those who wanted to fuck Jackson, half of which went to Jackson. But the boy would just as soon forego the extra cash and not have to get fucked. DeMarco, however, was always adamant in requiring Jackson to take any bottoming requests from clients willing to pay the extra charge.

The subtext of Jackson's question was not lost upon Dean and he was prepared for it. "I don't think it will have any impact on Callum's 'bottom line' as you put it. At least not at first. The interest on the website is already incredibly high and virtually every email I've received has been sent by subscribers interested in fucking him - 'fucking the shit out of him' is how most of them put it. I'm sure it's going to be a long time before the interest in fucking his pussy wanes to the extent where his inability to top affects the agency's ability to market him. If and when that time arrives, I'll revisit the way I market him."

"Admittedly," he continued, trying to forestall a different line of questioning, "a lot of guys who top enjoy seeing their bottom shoot off a load while they're screwing his boytwat, particularly when the bottom's a straight guy like Callum who obviously doesn't enjoy getting fucked. But I have plans in the works to accommodate those individuals on an ad hoc basis."

Dean left it at that. He had no intention of explaining how he was planning on making more money by letting clients pay a premium to rent the key to Callum's cock-cage. Knowing his boys, he was sure that a number of them would be more than willing, if extra money was in the offing, to have themselves marketed the same way - though they wouldn't want to stay in chastity during their down time, that was for sure. But, at least for now, Dean had no intention of marketing any of his other boys in a cock-cage. He was sure that its very uniqueness would make it more attractive to Callum's customers - both on the website and through normal bookings - and he didn't want to undercut that allure.

"But isn't it going to be really rough on Callum to spend week after week in chastity, at the same time as he's going up on the block and being booked for private sessions," Leon asked. "I mean, I'm as straight as the next guy but you get a well-hung dude pounding away at your prostate and you really can't control yourself. Sometimes, it's all you can do to keep from cumming before the client want to see you shoot. Going through that day after day without ever being able to get off could drive a guy nuts."

"That would be fine with me," Taylor ventured. "That fucker deserves everything he gets."

"Jesus, Tay," Jackson remarked. "That's pretty harsh. I mean he's an asshole and all that, but what did he ever do to you? Use too much teeth when he was sucking you off?"

"It's not what he did to me, Jacks," Taylor began to respond to his friend, "it's what he did..." Abruptly, Taylor shut up. He had been about to say it was what Callum had done to Kerry. Just saying that, of course, would have made it perfectly obvious to everyone there that he was involved with Kerry. He didn't mind sharing that information with guys he was good friends with, like Jacks or Cary, but he wasn't quite ready to make it general knowledge. After an awkward pause, Taylor simply said, "He such a fucking bigot. I mean, he deserves what's happening to him."

Taylor looked at Jackson and saw that his black friend was enjoying this immensely. And it dawned on him that Jacks already knew about him and Kerry and had just been gigging him. "Well, Saints be praised," Jackson exclaimed. "Let me go get my 'God loves Fags' banner and the two of us can march with the 'Friends of Gays' contingent at the next Pride parade."

"You asshole," Taylor muttered under his breath, softly enough that only Jackson, who was sitting next to him, could hear.

"Fag lover," Jacks retorted, equally softly. But then he added, "I'm happy for you, dude. I really am."

Despite himself, Taylor couldn't help grinning at his friend.

While Jackson's sally had pretty much thrown the entire discussion off point, Leon, for some reason, wasn't about to let it drop. "But still," he began again. "Can Callum handle it - could any of us handle getting fucked day after day and not getting off? I mean when I fucked him his damn dick looked like it was ready to split the plastic. If he's this god-damned horny already when getting fucked is still really painful for him, which it pretty obviously is, what's it going to be like when he starts getting used to it or if he ever gets to the point where he actually enjoys it? I mean, he could end up as one really twisted mother-fucker."

"I must say, Leon, the intensity of your interest in Callum's welfare is unexpected," Dean rejoined, "especially seeing how the only time you've even had the opportunity to exchange any words with him was while you were banging the hell out of his pussy an hour ago."

Leon had been working for the agency for more than three years so he wasn't put off by DeMarco's attempt to change the focus from Callum to him. "I don't know Callum, sir. You're right. All I know about him is that he's good-looking and a good fuck. And apparently he's a bigot, too," he added with a glance at Taylor. "But what I also know, sir," he continued, turning back to face DeMarco, "is that you constantly tell us that we should look out for each other - that we're a family. Obviously, Callum's going to be a part of this family and I'm just trying to look out for him like I would for Jackson, or Taylor, or Sax, or even Kerry, here, who I don't know either."

Kerry, who been sitting there quietly, taking it all in, was surprised by the older model's willingness to confront DeMarco. Kerry was still new enough that he viewed the man with a certain amount of awe and fear. Obviously, other models were beyond that. DeMarco, however, seemed to take it in stride.

"Your concern is noted, Leon," DeMarco responded, making it obvious that he'd heard enough on the topic of Callum and his chastity device. "Don't worry," he added, "I'll be monitoring the situation very closely. In fact, Callum will be staying with me for the foreseeable future just so I can personally monitor his response. You can be sure that, if I feel that the pressure on Callum is too great, I will remove the chastity cage and allow him to empty his balls. I already did it once yesterday and he shot off a massive load. I would imagine the reason he seemed so aroused to you, Leon, was because he's on the juice. You all know how that affects you. I want him real horny for his session tonight, so I've been keeping him on the juice full time."

There was dead silence at this last disclosure. Even Taylor had to wonder what it would be like to be locked into chastity, getting fucked repeatedly and being on the juice at the same time. The poor bastard was probably consumed by the need to cum. They all knew the effect DeMarco's 'juice' had on them - they all took bottles of it along with them when they went out on assignments. During a twelve-hour session, no model could keep it up all the time without using pharmaceutical aids - and in that regard DeMarco's juice was spectacular. As Taylor had remarked to Kerry just the day before, when you were on the juice you could get it on with a one-legged hunchback like he was Zac Efron. One good-sized gulp of the juice and you'd be boned up for hours. The idea that Callum was on the juice full-time and also locked into a chastity cage was really perverse. It had to be like having the worst itch you ever had and not being able to scratch it. And it would never stop itching as long as you were on the juice. Even Kerry with his limited experience had to figure that Callum would be crawling the walls by the time he got to Walensky's.

The silence was finally broken by Cary, who had apparently finished with Callum and quietly joined the group. DeMarco looked at him with some surprise. "You sure didn't take long, Cary," he said with a note of disapproval.

"What can I say," the lanky model replied nonchalantly. "The kid's got a tight pussy and he got me off fast. I enjoyed him even if it was pretty obvious that he didn't enjoy me doing him. I didn't know there was some minimum time-limit I had to be in the saddle. I thought we were here to have a good time. Sorry if I screwed up. Sir."

While Cary's words had implied an apology, nothing in either his tone or his manner indicated any remorse on his part. In fact, Kerry had the distinct impression that Cary was pissed about something. And it was also clear that DeMarco wasn't particularly pleased by his model's attitude.

"I thought I had made it pretty clear that you were all here for a particular purpose - introducing Callum to the rigors of bottoming," Dean said, in a clipped cadence that underlined his irritation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," Cary replied with a bite of his own in his voice. "I hadn't realized this was a regular assignment and we were being paid for our time here. I thought this was just an afternoon party with friends and coworkers."

From where he was sitting, Kerry could see the flash of real anger in DeMarco's eyes. For a moment you could see the man formulating a sharp retort but then he obviously thought better of it. Instead, DeMarco stood up and looked at his son. "C'mon Troy," he directed. "Seeing how the boy's pussy is free," he said, glancing disapprovingly at Cary, "we can hone his skills handling a good spit-roasting."

"Sound good to me, Dad," Troy immediately responded, still recovering from the shock of hearing that Callum would be staying at the house with him and his old man. He tried to tamp down the feelings of elation that threatened to overwhelm him. Could it be that he'd been right? Could Callum be the one who was finally his ticket to freedom? Would he finally be able to shed his role as his dad's bed-bitch? He could only hope. Feeling better than he had in months, Troy followed his father over to Callum's sling.

Even though he was a good five yards away from the boy's widely-spread legs, Troy could see the fresh cum dribbling out of the swollen and gaping ring in Callum's ass-cleft and splattering on to the floor below. That boy was going to be sore as shit before he even arrived at Walensky's. Which was fine with Troy. Just imagining the long, agonizing night Callum had ahead of him was enough to get Troy's juices really flowing.

There wasn't anything Troy enjoyed more than fucking a straight dude's aching ass and watching him writhe in pain as Troy plundered his hole. Today, though, he was more than willing to let his old man play the stud. He'd already decided that if Callum could displace him in his father's bed he'd be willing to forego ever screwing the boy's tight ass again. Knowing his dad, that sacrifice probably wouldn't be necessary, which was great because Troy really enjoyed banging the dumb-fuck, but he'd be happy to give that pleasure up if that's what it took.

Right now, though, Troy was more than willing to assume the supporting role. He walked up to Callum's head and roughly jerked it towards him. Without saying a word, he proceeded to bury his hard bone deep down Callum's throat and then turned to watch as his old man, without the slightest preparation, buried his own hard cock to the hilt in Callum's already ravaged boypussy. Troy smiled contentedly as Callum gurgled in pain around the hard dick lodged in this throat and then, synchronizing his thrusts with those of his father, he began to brutally fuck the boy's face.

Meanwhile, back on the pool-deck, Dean's boys were involved in a heated discussion, scarcely aware of the muffled screams coming from the sling. "Jesus, Cary," Jackson was saying, "you've got to be more careful with DeMarco. You really pissed him off this time."

"Fuck him," the sandy-haired model replied with force. "I'm sick of all this bullshit, Jacks. I really am. He thinks he's the fucking puppet master and we're all his puppets and all he has to do is pull our strings and we'll all dance around and do his bidding. Well fuck that shit."

"I'm not arguing with you about that, Cary," Jackson replied. "You know I totally agree with you about that, buddy. He is a total prick. But he runs this agency and he can control the assignments you get. Piss him off enough, Cary, and you could end up with a weekend exotic gig."

"Let him try it," Cary said. "I'd quit before I'd take another one of those and he knows it. I did it once and it was disgusting. I told him then I'd never do it again and I wasn't kidding. You never did one of those sessions, Jacks, but take it from me - it's sick."

"I'll take your word for it, Cary. And I'm sure DeMarco knows how you feel and what you'd do if he gave you that type of booking but, piss him off enough, he might do it just to get you to quit. That way, he'd get rid of you without having to fire you."

"You know, Jacks," Cary said in a calmer voice, "maybe it's time that I just hang things up. I've been doing this for six years and I've just about had it with DeMarco. The money's great and I actually enjoy the work - I suppose it helps being gay - but I'm sick of being at DeMarco's beck and call. This shit with Callum just epitomizes everything I hate about the man."

"Look, guys," he continued, looking around the table, "I know you all think Callum's an asshole. Maybe he is; I don't know. What I do know is that the dude hates getting fucked, I mean that's obvious as all get-out. But he's lying up there in a sling, getting gangbanged by the biggest guys in the agency, because DeMarco has so twisted his mind that he thinks this is his ticket to fame and fortune."

"But it is," Taylor interrupted. "It is his ticket to fame and fortune. That dumb-fuck is going to end up making more money than he ever dreamed, more than any of us, probably. And he will be famous, too. Maybe not with the general public but definitely with that small subset of rich perverts who have the desire and the money to rent good-looking straight-boys to play out their carnal fantasies. He's going to achieve fame and fortune, exactly the way he deserves it - at the end of a hard dick."

"My God, Tay," Cary exclaimed, obviously taken aback by the vehemence of Taylor's response. "What did he ever do to you?" Cary asked, unknowingly echoing Jackson's earlier question.

Jackson couldn't help but smile at that. "I'll fill you in later, buddy," he told Cary. "But Tay does have a point," he continued. "I hate getting fucked, as everyone here knows, but I do it. What's the difference?"

"The difference, Jacks," Cary responded, "is that you know exactly what's going on. You know what the score is at the agency. Just like we all did, long before any of us ever went out on an entertainment assignment. Oh, sure, maybe at first - maybe those first few weeks with the agency when we were stripping down for DeMarco and he was getting his jollies at our expense and filming us for his website - we didn't really understand what we were getting ourselves into. But long before any of us went up on the auction block we all figured out that what the agency was selling wasn't our faces and physiques - it was our pussies, and mouths and cocks. Every one of us realized that we were being peddled as boy-whores and the agency was our pimp. But we did it anyway because the money was so good."

"Well, some of us may have done it because we found out we really liked it, too," Jackson added with a smirk.

"Touche, Jacks," Cary nodded at his friend. "Touche."

"But that's the difference, Jacks," Cary went on. "We knew what was going on. But that dumb fuck up there," he said, gesturing with his thumb, "doesn't have a clue. He actually thinks that all the shit he's going through is merely the seamy side of modeling and acting that everyone has to go through to make it big in the movies. DeMarco actually let it slip that Callum thinks that this is what Mark Wahlberg did to make it big. Seriously."

Hearing his friend continuing to express sympathy for Callum, Taylor couldn't keep quiet. "You know, Cary, everyone knows what a real sweet-heart you are." "No, I mean it," he added when a number of the guys at the table, including Jacks, actually snickered, "Cary is probably the nicest guy in the agency and we all know it. But man," he continued turning back to the blond, "you're wasting your time worrying about that dude. Callum is a fucking homophobe who wouldn't give you the time of day if he knew you were gay. Just ask Kerry."

"So what, Tay?" Cary replied, obviously unimpressed by Taylor's argument. "I was a complete homophobe until I discovered I was gay. I was stupid just like Callum is now. And a bigot to boot. And, look how I turned out," he added with a flourish, adding a note of levity into a discussion that he even he felt was becoming a little too serious.

"Cary," Jackson said, "you were never as stupid as that boy is." And then, after a slight pause, he added with a sly grin, "and you're still a bigot."

"Say what?" Cary asked with real surprise.

"You're a bigot," Jackson repeated. "Didn't you just tell me the other day that black dick was better than white dick?"

"No. That's not what I said," Cary responded. "What I said was that your black dick felt better than any white dick I'd ever had up my pussy. And that's true. But that's not bigotry - that's fact."

"Well, I certainly can't argue with that, Cary," Jackson agreed.

Now that the temperature of the discussion had lowered, Cary had one last thing to say. "Look guys. All I'm saying is that I don't like being part of the twisted game DeMarco's running on Callum. If he wants to mind-fuck the kid, that's fine. I just don't like being forced to help him do it."

Cary pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. "C'mon Jacks, let's shoot a game of HORSE."

"Usual stakes?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah," Cary replied as he headed off towards the small basketball pad set up just beyond the pool area. "I win, I get fucked. You win, you get to fuck me."

"Sounds good to me," Jackson agreed as he followed behind his buddy, admiring, as he always did, the blond's great ass. And he thought, as he had on countless occasions, 'if only that boy had a cunt and a pair of boobs, I'd be set for life.' Joe E. Brown had famously noted in "Some Like It Hot," that 'nobody's perfect.' For Jackson, Cary was damn close. The question he'd never been able to resolve for himself, though, was whether close was good enough.

The same thought was occurring to Taylor as he watched his two friends head off. They made such a perfect pair. If only Jackson wasn't such a hard-core straight dude. And then Taylor turned to look at Kerry and he felt his hard cock stir. 'Thank God, I'm more flexible than that,' he said to himself, though right then his rigid cock felt anything but flexible.

The departure of Jackson and Cary left Sax, Leon, Jared, Taylor, and Kerry sitting around the table. There was a momentary pause before Sax began speaking. "Look, Tay," he began with a glance at Taylor, "I'm pretty much with you. I don't give a fuck what DeMarco wants to do to Callum. But Cary's got a point. It's what I've been saying for a long time. Fucking DeMarco treats us all like serfs. He tells us to go and we go; he tells us to bend over and we bend over. We're probably lucky he doesn't tell us when to take a shit. But who knows? Maybe that's coming soon."

"Not again, Sax," Jared complained, speaking for the first time.

"Jarhead, hear me out," Sax answered.

Jared's mouth formed itself into a thin line and his lean, muscled body visibly tightened. "First off, Sax," he said, his soft mountain twang bristling with anger, "the name is Jar-red not Jar-head. Jar-red, like in the color of the blood that's going to come gushing out of your nose if you get it wrong one more time."

"Excuse me," Sax replied in a needling tone. "I thought you Marine boys looked on the term with pride."

"Somehow, Sax," Jared responded, "when you say it I get the feeling you're not referring to my Marine background. I don't know, maybe it's just the way you squids talk. Anyway, my named is 'Jared' and I'd appreciate it if you learned how to pronounce it correctly."

"But, regardless of how you pronounce it," Jared continued, "I'm not particularly interested in another Sax lecture on how much better off we'd all be if we just dumped Dean and all went into business for ourselves. Shane tried that, if you remember, and things sure as hell didn't work out for him and I ain't particularly interested in following him down the rabbit hole."

"Now I'm not about to sit here and tell all you guys that Dean is the fucking Second Coming. He's got his problems - just like we all do. But he runs a damn good shop. I may be an ignorant jarhead, Sax, but if you ask me I think we've got it pretty good at the agency. I got me a nice little apartment, a bank account with more than $300,000 in it and a brand new truck. Now, where I come from, everyone would tell you I'm doing good - damn good. And I figure that in two or three years' time I'm going to have $500,000 saved up. Me. A fucking Jarhead hillbilly with half a million fucking bucks. And what I'm going to do then is quit this business, move back to fucking Newcote, find me a willing woman with nice broad hips and breed me a passel of little devil dogs. And I'm going to spend the rest of my fucking life in those Tennessee hills living off the earnings I'm making now, as happy as a tick on a fat sow. And I ain't about to risk that for some glorified pipe-dream."

Jared stood up. "So you boys can count me out. I'm staying put. But I'll share with you a little piece of learnin' I acquired growing up in Tennessee: the grass isn't always greener on the other side of the hill - sometimes, it's an open pit mine. And if I'd wanted to be a miner I would have kept my ass home in Tennessee and never even joined the Marines." He gave a curt nod and then, with a mumbled "I need to cool off," he dove into the pool.

"That went well," Taylor observed tartly as Jared swam to the other side of the pool.

Leon, for his part, just sat there and glared at Sax. "I told you not to press him," he finally said.

"Ah, fuck it," Sax replied, clearly unrepentant. "Jarhead was never going to join us anyhow."

"And why do you keep calling him 'Jarhead,' Sax?" Leon asked, his own voice showing his irritation. "You know he hates it. All you succeeded in doing was pissing him off."

"Fuck him," Sax said. "He's an asshole."

"No, he's not," Leon retorted. "I've worked with him a lot more than you and he's a stand-up guy. He's good at what we do and he doesn't make waves. Maybe you could learn something from him, Sax, if you ever stopped talking long enough to listen." And, with that, Leon stomped off in the direction of the basketball court.

"You know, Sax," Taylor began, "we're trying to get as many guys as we can who want to go into business together and dump the agency. There's bound to be a number of guys like Jared who aren't going to be interested. But it doesn't do us any good to get into fights with them. If anything, it just makes it more likely that one of them will spill the beans to DeMarco."

"What the fuck is he going to do?" Sax asked, querulously. "Fire all of us?"

"No," Taylor agreed. "He wouldn't do that. But what he might do is fire one or two of us and figure the rest would get the message. That he might do."

Sax mulled that over for a while. "Yeah," he finally conceded, "he could do that, I suppose." He sighed. "Okay, Tay," he finally agreed, "I'll soft-pedal things for a while. But it's frustrating being so close. I mean we've got five solid with us - you, me, Jacks, Cary, and Leon."

"I wouldn't be so sure about Leon," Taylor noted.

"Oh, don't worry about him," Sax assured the dark-haired model. "DeMarco pisses him off way more than I do."

"Well that still only leaves us with five," Taylor pointed out, "and we all agreed that we need a minimum of six and preferably seven or eight for the plan to work. What about Cort? You said he might be interested."

"You can forget Cort," Sax said, "I talked to him yesterday and he's now a definite 'No.'"

"What happened?" Taylor demanded, his brow furrowing.

"Don't look at me, Tay," Sax rejoined. "I didn't have anything to do with it. It seems that Ashley is pregnant again."

"Again," Taylor exclaimed. "Jesus Christ, how many is that, four?"

"Six at least," Sax corrected. "Maybe seven. I've lost count. I wouldn't be surprised if Cort has too."

"What is he? A fucking Catholic?" Taylor asked, obviously exasperated. "He never learned about birth control?"

"No," Sax explained. "He's sure as hell not Catholic. But Ashley can't handle the pill and Cort hates using a rubber. And, apparently, that boy never shoots blanks. He told me when I talked to him that the way Ashley keeps popping the babies out the front he's going to be taking cock up his rear until he's fifty. I'm pretty sure he was joking."

Sax paused for a moment in recollection and then added. "And then he told me it was probably time to start training Seth - that's his fourteen-year-old - to follow in the family business. That way, when he's eighteen he'll be fully trained and ready to go to work. To be honest with you, it didn't sound like he was joking about that."

"His own son? No way," Taylor scoffed.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Tay," Sax countered. "Cort's always been a really free spirit when it comes to sex. Hell, he was twenty-eight, married with three kids, and straight as a board when he started working here, and he never had any problem taking dick up his man-hole. He always told me 'it's a job like any other and I'm glad to have the work.' Fuck man, he's always the go-to guy for the exotic shit - of course, at thirty-five he can't afford to turn down any assignment, especially when it pays that much. Banging his own boy? I really don't think he'd see that as a big thing. He'd just see it as preparing the kid for life and setting him up in a really lucrative field. And, at thirty-five, Cort's only got so many years left himself - he'd see it as planning for the future, too."

"Wow," Taylor just said when Sax was finished. He took a deep breath. "Well, regardless of what happens with his son, I guess we have to cross Cort off our list. But fuck, man, we're losing ground rather than picking up new recruits."

"I know, Tay. I know," Sax commiserated. "Maybe that's why I pressed too hard with Jared. I'm just getting desperate."

Kerry had been sitting there quietly, trying to absorb what was going on. From what he could piece together, it sounded as if a number of models were planning on leaving the agency and going out on their own. "You guys are planning on setting up your own business, am I right?" he asked, wanting to get his understanding confirmed.

"We've been thinking about it, Ker," Taylor admitted, "but it's not easy, as you may have gathered. I told you how DeMarco handles it when one of his models quits. The threat of cutting off any customer from access to the rest of his models has been good enough to keep even regulars - guys who hire the same model at least once a month - from continuing to patronize any model who bails. After all, those guys generally like variety in their sex lives and even a model's regulars might not want to lock themselves into only hiring him. But some of us figured that if enough models left together and opened their own agency we might be able to lure a number of our regulars into sticking with us. To make it work, though, we probably need between six to eight models to make the regulars comfortable with abandoning DeMarco. But, so far, we've only got five models who are prepared to do it."

Kerry thought for a moment. "Well," he finally said, "I could be the sixth. I'd be willing to go with you, Tay."

To Kerry's considerable consternation, Taylor shook his head 'no.' "Sorry, Ker, but that wouldn't work. You're too new to the business. Right now, you're still in the 'get-acquainted' stage with our customers. They're lined up to get a chance to have a go at you, I'm sure of that. But none of them really knows you yet. You haven't made the type of connection with individual customers that makes them want to hire you over and over again. Don't get me wrong, Ker," Taylor hastened to assure his lover, "with your looks and your personality, there's no question that you'll make those types of connections eventually. I don't have the slightest doubt that you're going to end up one of the most popular models in the agency. But right now, you haven't been working long enough to have any 'regulars' and those are what we need to make our plan work."

"Besides, Ker," Taylor added, taking Kerry's hand in one of his, "it wouldn't be fair to you to let you join us. All of us who are talking about leaving have been in the business at least two years. We've all built up a significant nest-egg to see us through the transition. You're just beginning to make the really big bucks. You're on track to make an enormous amount of money over the next two years and it would be criminal to let you risk that. Even if we got enough guys to make the plan viable, I wouldn't let you join us, Ker. Not for a couple years, at least."

Kerry turned to look at Sax, silently appealing to him. But Sax totally agreed with Taylor. "He's right, Kerry. You wouldn't really be bringing much to the table if you joined us and you'd be risking way too much. Listen to your boyfriend, Kerry."

'Boyfriend?' Taylor thought. 'Boyfriend? What the fuck, does everyone in the agency know about me and Ker? Is it that fucking obvious?' Taylor appreciated Sax's support, but he was flabbergasted that his relationship with Kerry seemed to be common knowledge already. Then, looking down and seeing the way he was holding on to Kerry's hand, he almost laughed out loud. 'Yeah,' he realized, 'it is that fucking obvious.'

Kerry was still formulating a response, when further discussion was aborted by the return of Dean and Troy. Troy was almost cackling as he recounted the spit-roasting they'd just given Callum. "I had my fucking prick buried down his gullet and his eyes were just fixed on mine, pleading with me to let up on him, the tears bubbling out as he struggled to breathe. My dad was deep-dicking the little whore at the same time and every time he plunged back on in, the kid's throat would spasm around my cock. It felt so fucking incredible. I couldn't help myself - I shot two fucking massive loads straight into his stomach. And when it was over, the bitch actually thanked me for feeding him my cock. What a wuss!"

Hearing Troy gloat about how he'd raped Callum's mouth, Kerry could understand why Troy was so despised by all of the models. He really was a sadist. Sax quickly got up and excused himself and it looked liked Taylor might be planning on doing the same when Dean forestalled him. "You're up, Taylor," Dean announced with a grim smile. "And you can follow your boyfriend," he added looking at Kerry, removing any lingering doubt that DeMarco, too, was aware of their new relationship. "I expect both of you to give him a good work-out."

"And don't disappoint me, like Cary," he added as the two of them headed towards the sling.

Taylor was leading the way, though he could feel Kerry close behind him. For the first time since he'd arrived earlier that afternoon, the dark-haired model was beginning to feel some qualms. He knew Callum was a real asshole and had treated Kerry like he was a piece of shit. The boy certainly deserved to be punished. But at what point did righteous punishment morph into simple revenge. He'd listened to DeMarco lay out his plans for Callum and even he'd been surprised by the calculated cruelty of their design. It was obvious that there was something very personal animating DeMarco's treatment of his newest model. At the time, Taylor had suppressed any misgivings he might have had by telling himself that it was no more than Callum deserved.

But hearing Troy brag about the way he and his father had abused the boy had made his skin crawl. Taylor had always viewed DeMarco's son as a warning of how twisted a person could become if he gave unfettered rein to his baser impulses. Taylor had been banged frequently enough by Troy over the years to know that Troy fucked another guy like he was a thing - a mere conduit for getting off, something to be used for his pleasure and then discarded. And he had always hated that. Merely the possibility that he was becoming something like Troy was enough to worry Taylor.

Taylor's queasiness wasn't eased when he positioned himself in between Callum's out-stretched legs and the boy looked up at him, glassy-eyed, not even focussing on the face of the boy about to fuck him. Instead, in a flat monotone, like some mindless automaton uncomprehendingly repeating programmed lines, he begged Taylor to fuck him. "Please fuck me, sir. Fuck my pussy," he asked. That was when Taylor decided then that he was going to fuck Callum - and fuck him hard. He really didn't have much choice in the matter. But when he fucked Callum he was going to keep reminding himself that the boy beneath him was a person - an asshole to be sure, but still a person. Not an object. Not a thing. But another person, just like him. Taylor wasn't Troy, and didn't intend to become him, either. Fortified by this resolve, Taylor began thrusting his big cock in and out of the boy's well-slimed hole. In no time at all, Callum began responding with the squeals and moans that were the clear signs of a boy getting his pussy reamed out good.

And, after Taylor finally shot his load, Kerry mounted up and took Callum for a long, hard ride. By the time he finished, Callum had two more notches in his belt and two more hot loads of man cream leaking out of his pussy.

It was a little after 4:30 p.m., Callum estimated, when Mr. DeMarco and Troy finally released him from the sling. Mr. DeMarco had sent his other models home about a half-hour earlier and Callum had just been trying to recover from the endless onslaught of hard cock. It had been an unbelievably exhausting weekend and there didn't seem to be a single muscle on Callum's body that didn't hurt, though the worst pain was centered in his raw throat and his battered pussy. His pussy had taken a terrific beating since Friday afternoon and Callum didn't know how he'd be able to survive having seven more men go at him non-stop for twelve hours.

It had been rough enough when he'd only had Mr. DeMarco and Troy training him. They had taken turns fucking him, one after the other, for most of Friday night and all day Saturday. And Mr. DeMarco had been right, as he always was. Callum's pussy had loosened up after a couple hours of hard fucking and it hadn't hurt quite so much. Of course, it was still incredibly demeaning and humiliating having another guy fuck him, but Callum had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who had screwed up and it was only fair that he be the one to set things right. After all, that's what a man does. He takes responsibility for his mistakes and accepts the consequences. Callum had risen to the challenge and showed Mr. DeMarco that he was a real man. Though it was hard to feel like a real man when his asshole was discharging a continuous stream of man-scuzz, constantly replenished by repeated fuckings.

But Mr. DeMarco had been proud of him. He told Callum so, many times during the weekend. And Troy had been supportive, too, in his own way. Callum had been surprised to discover that Troy lived with Mr. DeMarco, but Mr. DeMarco had explained that Troy was his personal secretary as well as the office receptionist so it made sense that the boy would have his own room at Mr. DeMarco's house. And it was a good thing, too, because when Mr. DeMarco got too tired to continue fucking Callum, Troy was willing to fill in and keep his training regimen going.

Troy liked lying back and watching Callum pound himself on the receptionist's big dick, and the boy had made Callum mount up over and over again during the weekend. Eventually, after God knows how many loads he'd popped up Callum's aching fuck-hole, Troy had admitted that he was impressed by the way Callum seemed to crave cock, the way he wanted to cram every last inch of dick into his pussy. It made Callum feel good to hear that, since Mr. DeMarco had been impressing upon him the importance of giving the appearance that he was enjoying himself - after all Callum was supposed to be a faggot - and if he could fool a faggot like Troy into thinking he was having a good time when, in fact, Callum had experienced few things in life as painful and demeaning as skewering himself on Troy's hard dick, it was just a sign of all the progress he had made.

Mr. DeMarco had told Callum that convincing other guys that he loved getting fucked would hone his acting skills and Troy's compliments showed that he was doing just that. He knew that when prospective casting agents saw the films of him getting fucked they were bound to be impressed by how dedicated he was to his acting career and just how far he was willing to extend himself to achieve success.

It had rattled Callum a little bit when Mr. DeMarco told him that he was being filmed during his training sessions. It was bad enough, Callum thought, that he had to submit to being fucked by other dudes. Knowing that a video record was being made of all these sessions and that total strangers might one day see him getting his pussy reamed out by a well-hung dude's hard dick had really embarrassed him. Callum knew that most guys seeing that would assume he was a faggot. But Mr. DeMarco had reminded him that he couldn't afford to care what ignorant losers thought about him if he wanted to make it big in modeling and acting. "What's important, Callum," Mr. DeMarco reiterated to him, "is what hiring agents and casting agents and those other individuals who can advance your career think about your performance. And, from what I've seen, they will definitely be impressed."

They'd been alone in Mr. DeMarco's bed when the man had told him about the filming, Mr. DeMarco's cock still fully embedded in Callum's well-worked hole, the man unflagging in his efforts to help Callum fulfill his potential. It was then that Mr. DeMarco had shared the incredible news that he already signed Callum for a starring role in an upcoming movie. "The film is being produced by one of the leading Hollywood independent producers," Mr. DeMarco explained. "It's an unusual company called Thug Videos. It's not a general release type studio; rather it aims for more of a niche market. But the market includes many of the major producers and directors in Hollywood. I can't tell you how many major Hollywood stars got their start with Thug Videos."

Callum was, of course, elated to hear the news. But Mr. DeMarco had warned him that just landing the part wasn't the only thing. He had to be able to perform. "The producers at Thug Videos have a well-deserved reputation for being very demanding of their actors. They'll take an actor right up to his limits and then beyond. They're going to work you hard - really hard. But, if you do everything they tell you to do and you perform as well as I know you are capable, I don't have the slightest doubt that the film will be an underground smash hit and you'll be well on your way to becoming a star in this business."

With an upcoming film-shoot in the offing, Callum wasn't surprised that Mr. DeMarco really bore down on him during the rest of the weekend. Callum really appreciated all the dedication the man showed to helping Callum become accustomed to getting fucked. Not only Mr. DeMarco, but Troy, too. Their stamina was truly impressive.

And even when Mr. DeMarco wasn't pounding away at Callum's pussy, he never missed an opportunity to advance Callum's training. Callum was particularly impressed by the way Mr. DeMarco was able use one lesson to reinforce another. Early on, Mr. DeMarco had told him that it was very important that he learn to refer to his asshole as his 'pussy' or his 'boytwat' or his 'boycunt.' That was the proper term for a faggot's fuck-hole and, as a faggot, he'd be expected to use it. Of course, Callum wasn't a faggot; but he was trying to pass himself off as one, so he promised to change his vocabulary.

It had been hard at first to break the habit of a lifetime. Besides, it was really demeaning to refer to his asshole as a 'pussy.' Callum was constantly screwing up and asking Mr. DeMarco to 'fuck my asshole' when he should have been asking him to 'fuck my pussy.'

To break him of this habit, Mr. DeMarco decided that Troy would spank Callum for ten minutes every time Callum failed to use a proper term to describe his male fuck-hole. Mr. DeMarco had already informed Callum that faggots loved to spank each other's asses - which was news to Callum - so Mr. DeMarco's plan not only helped Callum get used to routinely referring to his asshole as his 'pussy,' it also helped him become accustomed to being spanked frequently.

It occurred to Callum early on that there was a certain rough justice in being spanked by Troy for failing to refer to his asshole as his 'pussy.' After all, he had delivered the same punishment to Troy when the receptionist had called it a pussy weeks earlier. But as his ass was spanked over and over again and it reached the point were merely touching it was painful, the sense of irony disappeared and was replaced by the all-consuming fear of being spanked again. Defensively, Callum not only began calling it his 'pussy,' he began thinking of it as his 'pussy.' So much so that, by the end of the evening, if you asked Callum what he had between his ass-cheeks, he would have answered 'my pussy,' or 'my cunt,' or 'my boy-twat,' or 'my boy-snatch,' without the slightest hesitation. It had become the way he thought about it. The word 'asshole,' at least in reference to his own body, had been driven out of his vocabulary.

All in all, even Callum had to admit that he had made real progress over the weekend. The only fly in the ointment, as it were, was that all the fucking his pussy was taking seemed to aggravate his erection problem. The more Callum got fucked, the more aroused he seemed to become. And that was really embarrassing. Callum knew he was completely straight. There wasn't any question about that. But it was hard to reconcile his heterosexuality with the reality that the more he got fucked by Mr. DeMarco and Troy, the more Callum felt the overwhelming need to orgasm.

He'd been wearing the erection trainer since he'd arrived on Friday afternoon and he'd been leaking steadily since then. Right at the start, Mr. DeMarco had insisted that Callum stop wedging toilet paper, which he referred to as Callum's boy-tampon, into his trainer. A faggot would never be ashamed of a dripping cock, he told Callum, and if it blotted his shorts or panties or any other article of clothing he was wearing a faggot would flaunt it as a sign of his availability. Callum had to remember that all faggots were big whores and Callum had to be sure that he assumed that role, too. It was for the purpose of helping Callum get used to whoring around that Mr. DeMarco had invited a number of Callum's fellow models over on Sunday afternoon.

But Mr. DeMarco was disappointed that all the homosexual abuse that Callum was enduring seemed to have no effect on dampening his sexual excitement, even if the erection trainer did prevent him from shooting off. As Mr. DeMarco had explained, because Callum was straight he had assumed that being fucked and used like a faggot would dampen Callum's sexual ardor, but it had actually seemed to make it worse. It was a clear indication just how out of control Callum's hormones had become. It was likely, therefore, that the erection trainer would have to become a permanent part of Callum's attire.

Fortunately for Callum, Mr. DeMarco recognized that a young guy like Callum couldn't go indefinitely without sexual release. He agreed to let Callum shoot off a load, though he warned Callum that he'd only be allowed to cum in circumstances that were painful and demeaning. As Mr. DeMarco explained his thinking, if Callum could be brought to the point where his unconsciousness associated sexual orgasm with discomfort and embarrassment, Callum's over-active sex drive might ultimately be brought under control. Callum wasn't sure if he agreed with this theory, but he trusted in Mr. DeMarco's good judgment, so he went along with Mr. DeMarco's plan.

However, while Mr. DeMarco was willing to let Callum eventually relieve his bursting balls, he asked Callum to hold off as long as possible - until the need to get off was simply beyond bearing.

Callum managed to hold out for most of Saturday. But by Saturday evening he had reached the breaking point and had been reduced to begging Mr. DeMarco to be allowed to cum. Finally, Mr. DeMarco leaned over and picked up the key to the lock on Callum's erection trainer. Then, he moved on to his back and motioned for Callum to sit on his cock. Callum straddled the man, wincing as the hard meat once again forced its way up his pussy. Callum had expected the man to start fucking him right away but, instead, he called for Troy.

Callum heard Troy come into the bedroom and then felt him scrambling on to the bed. He looked at Mr. DeMarco questioningly. Then, to his complete shock and terror, he felt Troy's cock butt up against his straining hole, right next to Mr. DeMarco's. Before he could even voice an objection, his ass exploded in pain as Troy began to ram his own big dick inside Callum's already-stuffed pussy. There was a brief struggle as Callum's sphincter sought to hold back this second invader but then an ear-piercing shriek filled the room as Troy battered his way through and relentlessly plunged his own throbbing boner into Callum's hole alongside Mr. DeMarco's hard cock until it was fully lodged within the screaming boy.

Callum tried frantically to stand up but Troy and Mr. DeMarco held him down. And then, unbelievably, they both began fucking him in tandem. Callum would never have believed it was possible to suffer such pain. He howled in agony as the two rampaging cunt-busters reamed out his hole. He begged and pleaded with the two of them to stop, the tears just streaming down his face. But they were undeterred. Over and over again, they rammed their pulsing tubes of flesh into the boy's quivering hole, ignoring his shrieks and entreaties. Finally, Callum just collapsed on top of Mr. DeMarco, knowing the battle was lost, that the two of them would just keep fucking him until they had shot their loads.

It was only at that point that Mr. DeMarco made his move. He picked up the key and undid the lock to Callum's trainer. Seconds later, he'd removed the plastic sheathing from around Callum's cock. And, almost immediately, Callum's nine-inch dick sprang into a full, aching erection. Suddenly, Callum was aware not only of the monstrous pain spreading from his doubly-impaled pussy but of the miraculously blooming pleasure emanating from his own liberated cock. In an instant, Callum was on the verge of cumming and he knew it. Without any conscious thought, he moved his hands towards his crotch.

Immediately, Mr. DeMarco intercepted them. "No," he ordered imperiously. "You have to wait, Callum." And then, while Mr. DeMarco and Troy continued to thrust and grind their cocks into his hole, Mr. DeMarco kept a firm grip on Callum's wrists, preventing him from achieving the release he craved. It was only when Callum could feel the twin towers within him erupting with scalding cream that Mr. DeMarco let go and grabbed Callum's pulsating member. All it took was two good swipes and then it was Callum's own cock that was exploding into the air.

Callum, in the throes of an all-consuming orgasm, jerked up and down on the two impaling cocks like a puppet out of control, his movements spastic and uncoordinated. As spurt followed spurt, some actually rising high enough to coat his face, Callum was subjected to wave after wave of alternating pain and pleasure as his bruised and battered ass-channel spasmed against the two cocks still-throbbing inside of him while his own cock continued to spew a seemingly endless supply of stud-cream.

Feelings of elation and disgust warred within Callum: elation that he had finally shot off and released, at least temporarily, the sexual tensions that had been wracking him mercilessly the past few days; disgust that he had achieved this release while he was being fucked not just by one but by two cocks, obscenely crammed into his pussy, disgorging their own separate loads deep inside of him like he was the most craven whore. And, as his monstrous eruption finally came to an end, it was disgust which won the battle. He had never felt so fundamentally corrupted, so dirty, in his whole life.

Even though he'd been allowed to shoot that one time, however, Callum had felt no subsequent diminution in the level of his sexual excitement, contrary to Mr. DeMarco's expectations. This was pretty embarrassing since there was no way of getting around the fact that Callum's sexual arousal was clearly being triggered by an almost non-stop orgy of anal penetrations. And, if anything, Callum's level of sexual arousal had increased on Sunday afternoon as each one of his fellow models took his turn fucking Callum's leaking and sore boy-twat. Callum was beginning to face the uncomfortable truth that he was, for reasons which he couldn't fathom, sexually aroused by having his pussy fucked by other males.

The only consoling element was that all of these guys knew Callum was straight and wouldn't take Callum's obvious sexual excitement as being indicative of any faggot tendencies on his part. But Callum was afraid that the men he was scheduled to entertain tonight, being strangers to him, might easily assume that Callum was, indeed, the faggot he professed himself to be.

Of course, Mr. DeMarco's whole purpose in subjecting Callum to the weekend of sexual abuse he'd just finished was to allow Callum to pass himself off as gay - as a faggot. But the weekend had been designed to train Callum how to act like a faggot, not to actually become one of . those perverts. Callum's great fear was that somehow, during the course of his training, some internal mechanism had been triggered that was turning him into a faggot - a queerboy who got off when other guys fucked his pussy.

Callum definitely didn't want guys to fuck him. Lying there while one model after another had mounted him, rode him, and then dropped a load of their scuzz inside of him had been just about the most degrading experience of his life. Of course, there'd been a lot of degrading experiences in Callum's life recently and it was getting hard to decide just which one was the worst. But definitely lying there as one well-hung stud after another banged his boytwat was one of the worst, particularly when Callum looked up and realized that it was that faggot Kerry who was banging him like Callum was some back-alley bitch. Kerry was using Callum like he was just another faggot, making Callum squeal and buck as the boy battered Callum's prostate, actually making Callum cum just as Kerry was creaming Callum's pussy. That was so fucking humiliating that just thinking about it afterwards was enough to make Callum blush.

And Callum had most certainly not enjoyed any of it even though, as instructed by Mr. DeMarco he had tried to act as if he did. But there was also no denying that, somehow, being gangbanged by his fellow models must have sexually excited him. Even Callum had to admit that he was way hornier after the afternoon fuck-fest than he had been before - and there had to be something wrong with that.

And even worse than the growing concern that he was actually turning into a faggot was Callum's fear that Mr. DeMarco would notice it, too. What would he think of Callum, if Mr. DeMarco came to believe that the boy was a perverted dick-gobbler, a fucking faggot who got off on getting his fudge packed? As embarrassing as it was having to present himself to prospective employers as a faggot, as humiliating as it felt having to act like he enjoyed getting his pussy fucked by total strangers, how much worse it would be if he lost Mr. DeMarco's respect. Losing Mr. Demaro's respect was simply the worst thing Callum could conceive. Callum didn't know what he would do if Mr. DeMarco discovered he was turning into a fucking queer. He didn't even want to think about that so he forced that possibility from his mind and tried to concentrate on his up-coming dinner with Mr. Walensky and his friends. Of course, Callum realized he wasn't a guest - he was the entertainment. And he needed to get ready for that. He needed to get cleaned up.

As he slowly trudged up the stairs to the second floor, his time in the sling finally over and, per Mr. DeMarco's instructions, heading toward the bathroom and a long shower, Callum tried to clamp down on his stretched out boy-chute and keep all the man-scuzz that had been pumped inside his pussy from dribbling out on to the clean wooden steps. All he could hope was that the shower would revive him and a couple of douches would clean him out before he left for tonight's entertainment session. He knew that first impressions were really important and he wanted to impress the men tonight. He wanted to arrive clean, inside and out, even if he knew it was unlikely that he'd stay that way long. He just hoped that, when everything was over, Mr. DeMarco would still be proud of him.

Later that night, Dean took a phone call. "I'm sorry to hear that, Sam," he commiserated. "And I'm sorry about the key; I'd meant to send that with him. But other than that, I trust he's performing satisfactorily." "Good. Good. Glad to hear that. I'll send Troy over around 8:00 a.m. to pick the bitch up. Feel free to use him until then." With a visible smirk, he hung up.

"That was Walensky," he explained to Troy, even though his son had already figured that out. "He was a little pissed. He said he found Callum way looser than he would have expected for a straight guy new to the scene and he wasn't happy that Callum was locked into his chastity cage - a number of the guys wanted to see him bust a load while they were reaming him out."

"Fuck him," Dean chuckled, thrusting forward and eliciting a groan from his son. "Maybe next time, he'll think twice before he tries to fuck with me." He gave two more hard thrusts and then lay back down, easing his cock from Troy's ass, just a dollop of his creamy load bubbling out of his son's hole as it slowly closed.

Grateful for the respite, Troy immediately turned to face his father, hoping that he was done for the night. With all the action he'd seen that weekend, Troy had figured his father might be sufficiently sated to go one night without banging some guy's butt. But not his old man. And with Callum at Walensky's there'd only been one butt around - his. All Troy could hope was that, with Callum moving in, the call for his fuck-hole would become increasing infrequent.

It was clear to Troy, though, that when Callum wasn't available he was still going to be servicing his father and his dad had warned him that Callum would be out on the West Coast shooting a film soon. "What's this movie Callum's going to be shooting?" he asked, hoping to transfer his old man's focus from his ass to Callum's.

His father looked at him, his face almost beaming. "It's fantastic, Troy," he answered. "It's the best movie deal I've ever brokered. It took a lot of haggling, too. But I'd sent them some of the tapes from Callum's sessions both at the agency and here and they really wanted him. He leaves a week from next Sunday and returns the following Monday."

"Eight days?" his son asked, surprised. "What gives? Their normal shoot is only four days."

"That's true," Dean acknowledged, "But this isn't going to be a normal shoot."

Troy had expected his father to go on and explain but, instead, the man left it that. Looking at his father, though, it was obvious that he was just bursting to tell the whole story, so Troy gave him the prod he obviously wanted. "C'mon, dad," he cajoled, "tell me."

Smiling broadly, Dean began to explain. "Well, I've already purchased the tickets. Callum leaves at 11:00 a.m. and will arrive in LA about 2:20 p.m. They'll meet him at the airport and whisk him off to their studios and begin filming right away. Of course, they'll give him the standard Thug Studio treatment, strip him down in the car and keep him naked from then on, bat him around and rough him up, let him know that he's going to be bedded down every night with a different group of boys, you know the drill. After he's sufficiently cowed, they'll start in on the gang-bang scene. They're planning on filming it Sunday night, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Of course, they won't get much shot on Sunday but they want to give him a taste of what's coming - put him in his place right at the start."

"But three full days?" Troy interrupted. "That's pretty long for a single scene - even a gangbang."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "but it's hard coordinating everything when you have fourteen guys to handle - fifteen if you count Callum."

"Wow," Troy exclaimed. "Fourteen guys. That's incredible."

"Yeah," Dean concurred, in obvious good humor. "It's the biggest gangbang they've ever filmed. The logistics are going to be complicated, particularly since they want to get a mouth shot and an ass shot from each one of their tops. Fortunately, with that many guys taking a go at Callum, they'll all have plenty time to recharge between cum shots."

"But, jeez, dad," Troy said, after having done the figures in his head, "if you figure an hour shooting for every ten minutes that hits the screen, and figure five minutes screen time per cum shot that works to 14 hours of shooting time. And that doesn't even take into consideration time getting the set back in order, or dealing with the inevitable lighting problems, or feeding the cast and crew, or dealing with having to massage the egos of fourteen big-dicked prima donnas."

"That's why they've scheduled the gangbang shoot over three full days," Dean explained. "And that's also why they're shooting the double-penetration scenes separately on Thursday."

"Double penetrations scenes?" Troy asked, emphasizing the plural.

"Yeah. Three of them."

"Holy fuck, Dad!" Troy exclaimed. "Callum will be lucky if he can still walk after that."

"You don't know the half of it, Troy," his dad chuckled. "They wanted LeRoy and Trig - their two twelve-inchers - to do him together. I said no way. I mean, I know I'd enjoy seeing Callum taking those two monstrosities at the same time, but I do have a long-term investment to look out for. So I insisted on a limit of twenty-two combined inches for any DP scene."

"Twenty-two inches," Troy laughed, "you're all heart, Dad?"

"I know. I know," he said, laughing himself.

"Anyway," Dean continued, once he got control of himself, "they'll be giving Callum a break on Friday, of sorts. They're going to spend that day filming piss scenes. They're planning on one huge piss bath with all fourteen guys whizzing on him in a tub, followed by individual piss scenes where they'll have their actors piss in his face and down his throat, a couple of piss enemas that they'll have him empty into a bucket, and then cap it off with a trip to a local dive where Callum will be chained to a urinal and take on all-comers. They'll be using a spider-gag in the last scene to make sure Callum keeps his mouth open."

"I don't see how that's much of a break for Callum, Dad," Troy observed.

"Well, it will be for his pussy," Dean argued, "if you ignore the enemas and the fact that he'll be spending another night entertaining some of the boys after the bar scene's wrapped up."

"Anyway," Dean continued, "Callum's sure to find it a lot easier than Saturday when they film the S&M scenes. They'll start off with a full-body whipping, front and back, move on to an extended CBT scene that I'm sure will be a real eye-opener for the boy, then introduce him to a series of super-large studded dildos and butt-plugs and finally end up with a hard caning of his ass and his feet. By the time Saturday's shoot is over, Callum will be looking forward to his evening session with the boys."

"Then on Sunday they'll shoot the fisting scenes."

"Fisting scenes?" Troy asked, again emphasizing the plural. "I thought you were worried about your long-term investment?"

"There're only two fisting scenes," Dean replied innocently, "and I okayed the fists, myself. They're decent-sized, big enough to really stretch the little fucker out, but not gigantic. And I put the kibosh on any double-fisting, which is what they wanted to film."

"Anyway, after the fisting scenes are done, they're planning on throwing a post-shoot party for the entire cast. Needless to say, Callum will provide the entertainment. Then, the next morning, they'll give him back his clothes and let him get dressed and drive him to the airport. He's due back here at 3:20 p.m. I'd like to say I'm going to put him right to work but, realistically, he's going to need three or four days to recover. Then, we'll put him to work."

"Fuck, Dad," Troy remarked. "Eight days, double-penetrations, fisting, S&M, just how much are they paying for Callum?"

"That's the incredible part, Troy," Dean crowed. "They're paying $20,000. Of course, we split that with Callum, but it's still the most they've ever paid."

"Holy shit, Dad," Troy exhaled, truly impressed. Troy didn't say anything about splitting the money with Callum. It was a sore point between him and his father. Troy figured they should be paying their models a flat rate for their services and any money over that should go solely to the agency. His dad insisted that they share everything 50/50 with the models. 'It's one of the ways we keep them tied to us,' his dad argued. 'They know we don't dick around with the money.' Troy didn't really see how the models had any choice but to take what the agency gave them and that it was stupid to give them more than necessary. As it was, the average model was making close to $250,000 a year and Troy thought it was crazy to be paying 'whores' that much. But his father was intransigent on this question and Troy knew it was pointless to argue with him.

So, suppressing the urge to challenge the 50/50 split, Troy simply said, "I can't believe that. That's way over what they normally pay. How the fuck can they make any money on the video if they're paying that much just for Callum?"

"Well, Drake Simmons told me they figured they could still make money," Dean explained. "He didn't spell out how, but I thought it was pretty obvious. There's no way they're going to spend $20,000 on Callum and take eight days filming and expect to recoup their costs on one video. But the reason they're not worried about that is because they're obviously planning on issuing multiple videos. Fuck, they'll have over two hours in the can just from the gang-bang sequence. I would expect they're going to cut the shoot so that they get a minimum of two and probably three separate videos out of it. Assuming they get three videos, it works out to paying under $7,000 per video for Callum's services, which is actually $1,000 less than their going rate for a four-day shoot to complete a single video. They'll make out fine."

Troy thought about this for a moment. A malicious gleam came into his eyes. "I don't know, Dad," he observed, "it seems to me that if they do get three videos out of the shoot, we're the ones getting screwed. We could have made $24,000 if you'd insisted on three four-day shoots, rather than let them have Callum for one long eight-day shoot."

His father seemed totally unperturbed by Troy's criticism. "You're right, Troy," he admitted. "That's exactly what I thought when I was negotiating with Simmons. So I had him sweeten the deal. In addition to the upfront payment of $20,000, I got them to throw in ten- percent of the take from the first video and agree to hire Callum five more times over the next year at the standard rate of $8,000 per four-day shoot."

"Oh," Troy responded, clearly deflated, "you got ten percent of the net from the first video?"

"No, Troy," Dean corrected his son, enjoying Troy's disappointment. "I got ten percent of the gross, not the net. If I took ten percent of the net, we'd never see a dime - the way they'd cook the books the video would never make a profit no matter how many copies were sold. And, as far as Callum's future bookings are concerned, they're required to make payment even if they decide not to go ahead with any of the planned shoots. So if they're right and the Callum videos are a big hit, everything's fine. But if they're wrong and the market isn't as strong as they think, we still make an additional $40,000 over the next year - though half would go to Callum."

"Of course, I did have to agree that we'd advertize the first video on our site for free. But I could scarcely charge them for that when we're making money off of every copy they sell. Besides, I figure it'll also serve to highlight Callum, too. We agreed that the first video will be titled 'Callum Phillips: From Straight Stud to Cuntboy.' Once they start advertising, we'll change Callum's listing on our site to Callum, aka Cuntboy. After a couple more weeks, and assuming the video's a success, we'll just drop the 'Callum' and list him as 'Cuntboy.' From then on, that's how we'll market him, as just 'Cuntboy.' Somehow, I think the name fits."

"The only thing I couldn't get them to agree to was keeping Callum in his cock-cage for the entire shoot. I thought that would be really hot, but Drake just wouldn't buy it. He said his customers really liked seeing a white muscle-boy shoot a load while he's taking big black dick. He was adamant on that point. He did agree, though, that he'd put Callum back into his cage when shooting was over for the day and he even agreed to shoot the bar piss scene and the cast-party with Callum in his chastity cage. Of course, seeing how they'll be juicing him throughout the shoot, that means that Callum will be getting a lot of ice baths, but that can't be helped. Besides, the boy's likely to be so out of it at the end of each day's shoot that he probably won't even notice it." Dean couldn't keep from chuckling just visualizing how Callum would look at the end of a day's shoot at Thug Studio.

"All things considered," Dean concluded with a triumphant grin, "I'd say I made a great deal. Wouldn't you agree, Troy?"

Reluctantly, Troy admitted that he did. It was, in all honesty, a great deal. And Troy definitely loved the idea of advertising Callum as 'Cuntboy.' His father probably couldn't have come up with a more humiliating and demeaning nickname. Troy could hardly wait for the first time he got to call Callum 'Cuntboy' to his face.

Feeling very pleased with himself, Dean just lay back on the bed. Soon, however, he felt the unmistakable stirrings of renewed sexual arousal. He reached over and turned Troy on to his side so that his pretty fuck-hole was once again available for use. He edged forward pressing his big cock in between his son's butt-cheeks. A few seconds later, he thrust hard enough to wedge the crown of his cock inside of Troy and was gratified to hear his son grunt in discomfort.

"One last thing, Troy," he added, as he prepared to begin another assault on Troy's tight little boy-twat. "Tomorrow, I want you to let the premium subscribers know that Callum will be available for bidding starting this Friday. We might as well start putting the boy to work right now. I figure we'll be able to auction him off three or four times before he leaves for his movie shoot. When he gets back, we'll alternate between auctions and straight-out rentals. He's going to be a real money-maker and we need to get his pussy out there, raking in the dough."

"Yeah, Dad," Troy muttered, as he felt his old man's dick plowing its way back into him until his father's prickly pubes were scratching Troy's shaven buns.

As Dean concentrated on banging his son's hole for the third time that night, Troy was focused on Callum, soon to be known as Cuntboy. And he wasn't thinking about all the money Callum could make for the agency. What he was fixating on was having Callum take Troy's place as his Dad's cunt-boy on a permanent basis. The problem was that every time they auctioned off Callum's pussy or rented it out or sent him to make a video, Troy would have to resume his old role as his dad's fuck-hole. Troy could appreciate the amount of money they stood to make off Callum's pussy but Troy was willing to sacrifice that so long as he never had to bottom for his old man again.

Troy knew that in the short-term, at least, there was no way his father was going to forego all the money that Callum was going to bring in to the agency. What he had to do was somehow arrange it so that his Dad had a greater interest in keeping Callum for his own use than he did in making money off of him. But how could he do that? That was the question.

And as the mattress on which he was getting fucked moved up and down at an increasing rate as his father approached another orgasm, Troy thought he had an idea. Somehow he had to make his father jealous. He had to stoke his dad's jealousy until Dean's desire to keep Callum for himself overwhelmed his love of making money. But could he do it? That was the $100,000 question. And only time would tell.

Well, guys, that's the story - at least for now. I'm sure that some readers are thinking, "What the fuck. What happens at Walensky's? What about Callum's first auction? His trip to Thug Studios? Will that dumb-fuck ever figure out what's going on or will he spend the next ten year's 'entertaining' other dudes just waiting for his big break? Or will he eventually realize he's being put to his highest and best use? Will Callum replace Troy as his father's house bitch and will Dean or Troy ever get what they truly deserve ane learn to live with that? And what about Kerry and Taylor? Will they settle down to a life of domestic bliss or will their work as boywhores drive them apart? And will enough guys ever get it together and leave the AAA Modeling Agency?"

Well, all of that is in the future. And the future unfolds at its own pace. And any story always ends 'in the middle of things' because that's just the nature of time. I'm not saying I'll never return to Callum and Dean and Troy and Kerry and Taylor and all the rest of the guys at AAA Modeling Agency but it is over, as I said, at least for now. I want to thank everyone who read the story and took the time to write to me and let me know what they thought. I appreciated every one of your emails. And I want to particularly thank Jax for all of his sage counsel, Brandon and Chris and Ryan for making the process of posting the story far more enjoyable than I could have ever imagined, and especially Josh/Sb for providing me with a wealth of insight and more material for future stories than I'll ever be able to do justice to. Thank you all very much. And Erik, if you're still reading my stories, I'm glad.

And, finally, if you've enjoyed reading my story and you can afford it, I'd like all of you to consider making a donation to Nifty which has provided the forum for all this. Without Nifty, there probably would never have been an AAA Modeling Agency and a lot of you readers would have missed out on some of the 'pleasure' you found in reading the story. LOL But, seriously, consider donating if you can.

Thank you,

rafi