Duped!

DUPED! by Pete Brown. petebrownuk @ yahoo.com

Read all of Pete's stories in groups.yahoo.com/group/petebrownseroticstories

Part 1

Like a lot of young guys, I was bored. Things hadn't worked out with my long-term girlfriend, and although I'd got a job at the local sports centre after I'd finished at Uni (well, I did do sports management as a major), it just wasn't very exciting. I could see myself working there for the next forty years just getting older and going grey, and never achieving anything. There had to be more to life than this. I just couldn't see how I was going to get on, to see the world, to afford to buy a house on my salary.... Mind you, there were some benefits, I suppose: I never had to buy drinks in the bar as the patrons always liked to drink with the instructors. And some of the younger women in the exercise classes, especially those who had just broken up with a boyfriend, were after a "kind" man to help them, and once you've got her crying on your shoulder, it's but a very short distance into bed. Compared to being unemployed, or starving, or whatever, I wasn't badly off for a twenty six year old, but it just wasn't enough for me.

It wasn't even as if I could look forward to getting a big chunk of money from my parents - they'd never been well off anyway, and when they were killed in a car crash when I was eighteen, that was it: dad's business went down the tubes, and they took the house to help pay the debts (not that there was all that much value in it, as he had a big mortgage). As I sat there in my small rented apartment on one of my days off, I really did wonder what I was going to do to break out of this stifling straight jacket of a relatively low paid job with few prospects. I'd been having this conversation with Derek the night before in the bar - he's one of the guys I play squash with at the Centre (I don't just work there - I do enjoy sport and using my body as well!) And we'd gone through a list of things, none of which seemed practicable even when we'd had a few beers: rob a bank, get a job as a merchant banker, go into the army, marry a rich widow... Only this last one seemed even vaguely possible, but, as I pointed out to him, most of the widows at our club were scrawny and old as the young women didn't marry anyway! "Yes, Steve", he'd said, almost choking on the beer at his own wit., "But with a cock like yours you'd be able to drill right through them and then you'd be a rich widower". I do sometimes wonder about Derek - I mean, we've been in the showers together at the club and everything, so he knows I'm well hung, and there's never been any overt approach to me and I don't think he's queer. But he's never really had a steady girlfriend, and he does like to keep making remarks like that about a bloke's tackle.

All in all, I suppose I was pretty depressed. No, that's the wrong word - you ought to keep that for the blokes who're really badly off, with a proper clinical depression. That's no laughing matter. No, it was more that life seemed to hold no promise, there was no fun in store, there was no excitement. I'm surprised really that I even bothered to tear open my subscription copy of "Fitness Professional" when I got home that night - I really just wanted to go to bed and wank, but I was somehow restless, and there was nothing good on TV, I'd seen all my DVDs, and I couldn't be bothered to trawl the Internet for sexy pictures. So I opened the post, and leafed through the magazine, and it was as if fate had finally intervened on my behalf: there, staring me in the eyes, was the advert for the perfect job.

"Young, unattached, a trained fitness coach?" It asked in big staring headlines. Well, yes, I was, so I couldn't help reading on. "We're looking for men with a background of working in the fitness professions for a different career opportunity. Based in a tax-free zone with a fantastic climate, you could be spending your days doing something entirely new, but utilising your existing knowledge of fitness and health. Build up your tan, and your bank balance! We're looking for a number of young professionals, with the right background and attitude, to join us on medium-term contracts. This could be the career boost you need - after working tax free, you could be in the position to have saved enough to start your own business. We offer free accommodation, pay all your travel expenses, provide generous staff benefits, and offer a lifestyle based on a healthy mainly outdoor existence, working with some of the richest men in the world."

I could hardly believe it, as I read on "Because of the nature of the accommodation, we are unable to offer opportunities for men with family commitments, but for single men who still need to build a career and who wish to utilise their existing standard of physical fitness, and who would enjoy the challenge of working in a foreign environment, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime. If you are interested, telephone this number to arrange for an interview."

Well, this looked like me! Young, unattached, fit... abroad, something totally different - this could be just the thing I was looking for. And it seemed to mesh with my training and experience, too. It must have been fate, I thought, that made me come home and look at this tonight. I was so eager to get an interview that I dialled the number on the off-chance that there'd be an answering machine or something, and to my surprise got trough to a proper living person almost immediately. The girl at the other end of the line sounded like a fun person to me, and I gladly told her my age, height, weight, and details of my previous experience. She sounded surprised when I said I wasn't married or even dating seriously any longer - but I guess she could tell I wasn't gay as I tried to come on to her and get her to meet me for a drink later in the week! We chatted on for a bit, then she fixed me with an appointment for an interview in two days time, and just before we finished, told me to attend it with a set of exercise gear, as one of the things they'd want me to do at the interview is demonstrate that I really was fit and strong.

I was only in half a mind to go to the interview that Thursday. For one thing I had to get a day off work as this interview was in a big hotel in the centre of London. And for another I'd picked up a girl at the club and we'd almost hit it off - she wanted to meet that day and I knew that if we got together there'd be a good chance we'd fuck. But on Thursday morning when I woke up with my usual morning hard on, something inside me was saying that my whole future was more important than a casual fuck - and only a chance of it at that, I had to admit - so I just wanked as I lay there.

It's always a problem when they ask you to turn up with exercise gear. Should you be very smart, in all new kit, to show them you're taking he interview seriously? Or should you go along in the work-warn stuff you use at the club every day, so they can see that you're a real worker and not just a poser? After I'd showered and shaved, I took a long time pulling together something that was a kind of compromise: faded cotton shorts in pale blue, my regular dark grey trainers and short white socks, and a new-ish tank top that was actually quite loose but which I thought showed off my shoulders quite well. I didn't think about underwear, and just threw into my sports bag a pair of the white briefs I always wore when working - well, I do need support, as I am well hung.

The more I thought about it the more I considered I'd made the right choices, as the shorts were quite tight and showed off my hard bum and thighs, and the pale colours complemented my dark-ish skin (I do sit in the sun!) and dark black hair. What to wear for the interview itself was a problem, though. I've got a suit - bought it for a mate's wedding - but I always feel uncomfortable wearing it; and I think you can always tell blokes who're wearing their "one suit" anyway, so that was out. A sweat shirt would be too casual, a jacket and tie too formal.... I realised time was running out if I was going to catch the train, and in the end went with the stuff I'm happiest in: my tight Jeans that showed off my body well, a snowy white T that matched my boxer shorts, and a casual shirt loose over that: it was a warm day anyway, so it didn't matter if I'd got a jacket or not.

I slung all my gear and a towel into my gym bag, then had to go at quite a fast walk to get to the station on time. I'm used to London, well, not like a native, but I can find my way around and eleven o'clock saw me actually on time for the interview at a big modern hotel up the Edgware Road. At reception they directed me to one of the conference suites, and inside there was a nice looking girl who smiled, checked my name off on a list, and asked me to wait - offering me coffee as she did so. In the next room there were eight other guys, all much like me: in obvious good health, all lean and trim looking, and around my age or a few years older. We all smiled nervously at each other as you do at these things - we were all in competition, after all, for what might only be one job, exchanged a few remarks about this and that, and sat her waiting patiently as, on after the other, we were called through into the next room.

My turn came eventually, and I went in to find three middle aged men sitting behind a table, with a chair in front of it evidently intended for me. They were very businesslike at first , checking my name, age, qualifications, and the other stuff that I'd given over the phone. They seemed pretty interested in my domestic arrangements, and I assured them that I had no attachments, and explained about my family, and they nodded sympathetically.

"So, Steve, what do you think this job is all about?"

I looked a the e questioner, as that's always a good thing to do, and said politely "Well, sir, I guess you're starting a new health club somewhere, and you need staff... And well-trained staff with the proper background are hard to find, so you're recruiting in London for a job abroad..."

"Partly right, partly wrong. Yes, we are recruiting here as we're after native English speakers, and in the USA and Australia too. But we're not setting up a health club - we're making a movie and we're looking for new young talent to star in it."

I grinned, and half rose. "Well, that rules me out, then! I couldn't even get a job carrying a shepherd's crook in the nativity play at school! I've never done any acting or anything like that."

The chief interviewer smiled "Oh, don't worry about that - what we're looking for is men who come over well on the screen. The camera's funny, you know: someone who's stunning across the table here can look dreadful on film, and conversely the ordinary guy in real life can light up the screen when they get into the shot. But tell me, when could you be ready to leave London? We need to get started relatively quickly, as we think we're the first into this new way of doing films, and we're concerned that one of the major studios might try to pre-empt us by rushing some rubbish out..."

"Well, I have to give four weeks notice... I guess I could be packed up and ready to go in four weeks and one day... But, as I said, I can't act...."

"Oh, that's a pity - we really are keen to get going. Perhaps your current employers might let you go earlier, assuming you pass the auditions, that is? A few simple tests and we can tell if you're suitable, and ability to act isn't important as we want it to be 'natural'."

"Well I could ask. Of there again, I could just walk out - if I'm going to be into the movies, I don't suppose I'll ever want the job back!"

"That's the spirit we like to hear, Steve! Look, we're not promising you a major role, but I think you've got what it takes - we're all impressed here, anyway. It will be hard work, mind, and long working hours - movies are not easy, especially not the way we're going to make this one" The other two men nodded in agreement, and he went on "So if you've got no more questions...."

"Well I did actually, sir... Stuff like the salary...."

"We'll pay you whatever you're getting now."

He saw me looking surprised, but went on "Well it's hard, until you're established. So we're just offering everyone the same as they're currently getting: we'll want to see a current salary advice, obviously to confirm that. But think about it for a moment - we're paying your travel, all your accommodation expenses, all your food, all your clothes.... And it's tax free, so effectively everything you earn goes straight into the bank, and stays there: that's pretty spectacular saving..."

I nodded, but was still unsure. "But I can't act... I do want you to know that. I don't want to take this job under false pretences, get there, and find that I'm useless..."

"You let us worry about that. We'll test you here for your 'camera appeal', and that's all that's necessary, really. The whole essence of this new method of movie making is that it's 'natural' - those taking part react as they would normally, and it makes for a difference experience for the viewers. And there's another advantage, too, for men like you who have never acted before: no lines to remember: we make the film 'as it happens' and the director issues instructions. Anything you say to him and to the other actors is 'real' and 'natural'', which is the whole idea."

"But what is this movie about, sir?"

"Well it's about a group of young men who are making a new life for themselves that's radically different to the one they currently have. See, it's going to be easy..."

I nodded. He must know what he was about, I suppose - it did sound odd, but they were spending a lot of money, as even this interview, hiring these rooms in the hotel, couldn't be cheap.

"No more questions then, Steve? " I shook my head, deciding I might as well run with it and see what happened. After all, I could always turn the job down, and I was here now. "Right - go through and change into your exercise kit- you did bring some? Good. Well, change into it, then we'd like to see you working out a bit - we've got a room set up as a gym. Use any or all of the machines, as you wish. You choose the settings. We just need to see what you look like in motion, really - and we need to make sure you've got the stamina to get through a hard day's work - being in movie isn't as easy as it looks, you know.

There were just some of those standard hotel conference chairs in the next room, a few of them with piles of clothes on them, so I took one and changed, leaving my stuff there. Then I found that the biggest room they'd hired had been turned into a kind of gym - about ten machines of various types scattered around, half of which were already occupied with guys working out. There was an open crate with lots of bottles of water lying there, and the only difference really between this and a normal gym was the presence of two guys with a movie camera - one of those professional ones, carried on the shoulders of one man, with the second guy carrying a battery pack and cable, and a microphone.

I walked around inspecting the stuff and smiling faintly at the other guys, but wondered what I ought to do. If I set the machines low, it would be easy, and I might look good. But then I wouldn't sweat. On the other hand, if I set them too high, I'd have to strain at my workout, and if it went on too long I'd look stupid. But of course they might be interested in seeing how hard I could work.. they had mentioned long days... It all seemed to be too complicated, so I just used the settings I was comfortable with from the machines at my own club, and left it at that.

I have to say I thought I did well. I worked away for more than an hour, moving from machine to machine, and had a nice sheen of sweat all over me after a few minutes. It was actually reasonably warm in the hotel, and my singlet soon had that bar of wetness down the front and back that I always think is kind of sexy. Well, I mean, I'm a bit of a hot looking guy, even if I say so myself, and the presence of the sweat just adds to it, making me look really masculine. I noticed though that some of the guys were cheating - I'd take a machine over and find it set to almost nothing, and they spent a lot of time preening themselves and trying to push their faces into the camera. The camera operator wasn't having any of it, though - he took what he wanted, and I think I was reasonably well represented.

Afterwards, we all sat around and had a buffet lunch - we hadn't changed, and some of the men almost shifted away from me as if they were afraid of a bit of good honest sweat! Then one by one, as we sat and drank a coffee, we were called back into the interview room.

"Stand if you like, Steve", the chief interviewer said not unkindly. "You're still sweating. Sorry there aren't any showers, as we're here in this hotel.

But at least it shows you really did work out - we liked that, didn't we?". The other two nodded, and he

pointed at a big TV screen where just shots of me were playing: the way my face screwed up when I pulled the torsion bar down, the heaving of my chest as I stood there gasping in-between exercises, my backside, as I ran (I don't jog!) on the running machine, that kind of thing. They seemed to have concentrated on body shots, though - there wasn't all that much of my face.

"Frankly, we like what we see. You're one of the few men who bothered to really show us what you were capable of. And you come over quite well on the screen, too. All other things being equal, we'd like to offer you a job - but first, we do just need to confirm that you have no blemishes."

"Blemishes, sir?"

"Yes. You know, unsightly birth marks on your skin, disfiguring moles, that kind of thing.

"Oh no, sir, I've got none of that stuff!", I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"I'm sure you haven't, Steve. But we're investing a lot in our little enterprise, you know, and we just have to make sure. There are bound to be some scenes when you're at a swimming pool, or even in the showers.... And we do need to make certain. So just slip off those exercise clothes for us, please."

He saw me hesitate, and added "Oh, come on! Surely you're not embarrassed? We're all men here, and you must be used to stripping off at work."

He was right, of course. I couldn't imagine why I even thought about it. I pulled my shirt over my head, dropped my shorts, and stood there in my trainers, socks, and white briefs. I stepped out of the shorts where they'd pooled at my feet, and turned around in front of them, saying, lightly, "OK, gentlemen?"

"Thanks, Steve. But we do need to see all of you - can you take the shoes and socks off, and drop the briefs, please, only for a moment?"

"But why...?"

"As I explained, we're making a big investment here, and it's got to be right. For all we know, you may be missing a toe or something - customers don't like that. And although you seem to be well hung ,we need to make sure there's no problems there - the costumes, you know..."

Look, it's no big deal, is it, really? We were all men together, and I'm not particularly body shy. But it nevertheless did feel a bit odd, in front of those three men in their smart business suits, sitting behind a table watching me in this hotel conference room! I hopped around from one leg to another as you do when you're taking stuff off your feet without sitting down, and I remember still the odd sensation of the carpet on my bare feet: well, it's usually tiles in a changing room, isn't it. And hotels seem to have different kinds of carpet to those at home - thicker, more luxurious: I wanted to almost wriggle my toes. I slipped my briefs down then, feeling them excite the hairs on my legs as they fell, and stepped out of them. It was pure reflex at that point - I did it without thinking as I'm so used to it: I reached down and gave my cock that little "flip" to free it from where it was stuck to my balls, as the briefs were reasonably tight to support me, and I was very, very sweaty down there from the workout.

I noticed the men nodding almost appreciatively, then, before I could stop it, the camera guy was zooming in and out on my naked body as I stood there - on the TV monitor I saw flashes of the whole me, then a burst showing a nip, standing out proud and dark from my pec, a couple of seconds of my hairy butt, then a close-up of my dick, showing it lying there over my low-hanging balls. I went to call out ,but it seemed stupid - after all, it was only seeing what they were looking at, so I kind of gave a mental shrug, turned around a couple more times so they could all see I was "unblemished", then politely asked "OK, gentlemen?"

They nodded t o each other, but made no sign of telling me to dress. I stood there in front of them, bollock naked, and the chief interviewer said "Thank you, Steve. You have a nice body, a handsome face, an a pleasing smile: you seem to come over well on the screen. We'll make a final decision by the end of the week, but then, assuming you are selected, which is highly probable, we'll need to move quickly and have you on a plane ten days later. Do you think you could manage that?"

"Well, yes, if I had to..."

"Good. Now, would you mind dressing in the other room, as we have another candidate to see. An on the way out, there's an envelope with cash for you, that I think you'll find adequately compensates you for a day's work...."

He smiled, and it was that sort of smile of dismissal that brooks no further discussion. I bent down to pick up my discarded clothes, now rather aware of how my nude body must look, walked out across the room with all sorts of strange feelings inside me. And not only that, but the physical sensation of walking across the carpeted expanse in my bare feet, with my cock bobbing up and down.

I hate having to wipe my body free of sweat with just a towel without a shower, but I dressed and went out, and was very pleasantly surprised to see how much they apparently valued one day of my time at - especially as it was all in cash, so the Inland Revenue wouldn't get their cut! And, to tell you the truth, for the rest of the week I was on tenterhooks about the job - it seemed intriguing, and, after all, if I was a success, who knows where it might lead? Modelling, TV shows.... They were always looking for "celebrities" who had done something, even if it was just a bit part in a movie. It would be a real change from my boring, regular life. Even Derek was surprised at my change in attitude when we went for a drink after work - he commented on how much happier I seemed to be, but I think he overdid the cries of shock and horror when I actually paid for both rounds - it's not as if I'm not generous, but I usually just can't afford it (but with a all that cash in my pocket, it made me feel more of a man).

It wasn't a letter or anything, but a call to my mobile from the same girl who'd been at the interview.

She told me I'd got one of the jobs, and that I should turn up at the same hotel at 10:00 exactly two weeks from that day. I muttered something about it being very short notice, but she said in a very cheery voice "Oh come on, Steve! Most single men could throw a few things in a bag, pack the rest up and store them, and just walk out: it's not as if you own a place or anything. Just leave the keys for the landlord, and tell him he can have any of your stuff that he wants - if you come back, you'll easily be able to buy new."

"If I come back...?"

"Oh come on - a whole new life out there, you might never want to return."

"You're right!", I told her, and checked the details again, and she told me to be in for the postman the following morning as there's be another envelope for me with "more expenses, to help you with packing an clearing up". She also cautioned me about luggage - no more than a gym bag that could go as hand baggage, and to be sure to bring my passport. I wouldn't need foreign currency, as "everything is found for you, remember?"

Well it all seemed simple enough, but my employers were pissed off, told me they'd never give me a job again - as if I cared - and insisted I stay on working the full two weeks. I ought just to have walked out, but I'm pretty responsible and stuck it out, but it made all the business of packing my few possessions into crates and sending them off to a store that much more rushed. I was so busy that I hardly had time to see any of my mates to say goodbye, and only got to have a farewell drink with Derek on my very last evening, when I was completely shagged out so we didn't talk all that much, and I really couldn't give him too many details of where I was going or what I was doing. - well, I didn't have all that many anyway, I suppose.

There were five of us at the hotel the next morning, and after we'd all been given coffee and had brief introductions, we went down to a minibus to go off to the airport. The other four were not unlike me: early to late twenties, fit-looking, and all with the sort of toned body that says "this man takes care of himself, but hasn't turned himself into some muscle hunk with steroids and too many hours at the gym.". Neat, trim, attractive, I think you'd characterise us by, and we were kind of uniform too: none too short, none too tall.

We all sat there in the minibus speculating about where we were going, but none of us knew, and neither did the driver, who had just been hired from a hire company to pick up at the hotel, and drop off somewhere near Heathrow. We were all a bit surprised therefore when the bus dropped us off outside one of those warehouse type buildings that always abound near airports, rather than taking us directly to one of the terminals. We asked the driver if he was certain this was right and he said yes, and all then stood there wondering what to do, when the girl I'd first seen a the hotel poked her head out of the door in the featureless walls of the place and called to us to come inside.

"The flight's later today", she told us, and it's nicer to be here than in those awful terminals. Now, you've got a long flight in front of you - would any of you like to work off some of your excess energy, as we have a gym here?"

Some of the guys said yes, but frankly I was tired from all the stress and work of packing and so on, and would rather have not. But when you're in a group, you need to do what the group wants, don't you? So I mumbled a "yes", too, and we went through.

It was a good gym, too - no expense had been spared in fitting it up. And there was a bench with hooks over it, so we all stripped off and pulled our kit out of our bags, and went off to use the machines. Actually, even if you are tired and stressed, it's good to give your body a good, hard workout: once the blood starts to flow and the endorphins to flood your brain, you really do feel better: mentally refreshed, even if you're physically tired. The camera guys were much in evidence as we went through our routines, but when the girl came in and told us to hit the showers, we laughingly pushed him out when he tried to come in there and film us!

I'd just turned off the water and was reaching for a towel when the door at the end of the room with the showers burst open with a great crash. There were four men in some kind of half-uniform: tight jeans, black boots, a crisp polo shirt in white. At their head was the chief interviewer, and after our initial surprise, when we saw him we calmed down.

"Right, you five. All ready for your new life?"

"Yes", we all chorused, happily.

"Right. Follow these guards here out to shipping. Don't bother with your clothes. You won't be needing them."

We all began to shout, and suddenly there was a zinging noise, and one of us fell onto the wet floor of the shower. He was lying there, unable to speak, his whole body spasming and contorting, and he looked as if he was in a lot of pain. Working at a fitness centre you have basic first aid training, of course, so I at once knelt down and tried to get him in the "safe" position so he can't choke on his vomit. As I knelt there, naked, beside his naked form, I shouted "Call an ambulance..."

"Silence!", the interviewer shouted above the uproar. "And there's no need of an ambulance. Your colleague has just been the unfortunate first one of you to experience the prod!"

We all went quiet, and I was conscious of the random dripping sounds from the shower heads in the background. "The prod is modified from the devices they use in slaughter houses and the like to control cattle and sheep. Modified so that it's more powerful, although what you see here is it operating at only half power. Every time you men disobey a direct order, one or other of you will fell the prod, and, believe me, you will not want that as it is extremely painful, as you can see."

Actually the guy on the floor by me did seem not to be recovering, and as he tried to move his arms and legs, he was groaning.

"If necessary", he went on, "We will use it on full power, whereupon you will be rendered unconscious - not painlessly unconscious, but with agonies in your body when you come around."

"What the fuck's all this about? You can't treat men like cattle...."

"Oh yes we can. Because that's what you are now - animals, rather than men. And when animals refuse to obey the orders of their owner, they are punished."

"For fuck's sake, we're not animals, we're off to make a movie..."

"Indeed you are! But perhaps not in the way that you envisaged. Now, help that man to his feet, and come through into the shipping department so we can get started. That's what happens to animals, you know - they get shipped!"

One of the guys started to protest again, but a guard advanced on him holding a short rod with a metal tip out in front of him. "Shut up!", the guard snapped. "Do you want a dose of the prod, too?"

We saw that all the guards were now holding these things, and I for one, and I'm sure the others too, all felt extremely vulnerable as we were totally naked, and wet. With bad grace, and some muttering, we allowed ourselves to be almost herded through into the next room.

End Of Part 1