Jungle Boy

Jungle Boy 7

by George Gauthier

Author's Note: This is a tale of a pair of young actors in Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. This seventh installment continues the story of the pair of new protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles introuduced in the sixth tale, in place of Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body and of sexual activity between adult males, the youngest of whom is seventeen years old. It depicts scenes of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity, bondage and submission.

If any of this would offend a reader, proceed no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction that applies.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. Occasional references by characters to real motion pictures and actors and others in the movie business are simply to lend verisimilitude to a tale about persons in show business. None of the real people mentioned in passing is in any way part of the tale. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my 'Daphne Boy' historical tales or my 'Naked Prey' series of tales in a modern setting, posted in the Gay/Beginnings section of the archive. Also, try my 'Track and Field' stories in College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George Gauthier.

All rights reserved.

Chapter 1. Hunting Dinosaurs

The movie location at the Vasquez Rocks in Agua Dulce, California had seen a lot over the decades. The dramatically slanted rock formations had been the background for hundreds of movie and television productions from 'Flame of Araby' (Universal, 1951) to the clash between Captain Kirk and the alien Gorn (Star Trek episode 'Arena' 1967). Now it was witness to a fight to the death between Hollywood's latest incarnation of the Jungle Boy, actor Sandy Barnett, and a rampaging Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Of course, the T. Rex wasn't really there. It would be inserted into the action with CGI during postproduction. For the location shoot, a stunt man stood in for the dinosaur. Dressed in a special green suit, stamping and roaring on cue, he carried a pole with a green beach ball tacked to the end to represent the head of the monster. All of that would be digitally edited out later and the monster substituted. Meanwhile the cameras captured images of two young actors, one a stunning blond boy the other a cute redhead, scampering nude among the rocks. The Jungle Boy saga was notorious for the skimpy or non-existent costumes of its principal actors. For the dinosaur movie, the assumption or back story was that clothing had not yet been invented, which was why the two youths would appear in every scene entirely unclad.

It took imagination to see the scene as the director expected it to look when they finished it in post-production. Two slightly built youths against a carnivore as massive as an elephant, the boys' youth and nudity emphasizing their vulnerability. It looked like an unequal match. The monster, when it was finally realized in CGI, would be a giant, a dozen meters long (42 feet) and four meters (13 ft) high at the hips, all muscle, teeth, and ferocity, but the cavemen were slender nude boys, not much over five foot tall, armed with only the most primitive of weapons. They would have to rely on their wits instead of their strength to win this contest. Their only hope was to turn the creature's own size and ferocity against it.

Their agility as well as their wits would come into play. Human beings are hard to run down, being small and quick and nimble creatures, able to jink and dodge and change directions on a dime. Humans can climb trees, run along limbs, or clamber up rock faces. Natural runners, humans have the kind of endurance and cardiovascular fitness that puts many other animals to shame. It is not very well known, but in a very long race over several days, a man can outrun a horse.

Sandy Barnett and his red-haired ally, portrayed by Sandy's real life lover Terry Knowles, were tag teaming the monster, continually tormenting and teasing it, keeping it confused and not knowing which way to turn, leading it this way and that, each hunter ducking into cover when he could, in spots reconnoitered beforehand on their chosen killing ground. No sooner would one hunter drop from sight that the other young hunter would pop out of his hidey hole to sling rocks at the killer beast, to taunt and lure the dinosaur into abandoning a fruitless pursuit, to turn and lumber off after the second boy. After dodging and jinking a while, the second boy would go to ground in a cave or hole. Then it was the first boy's turn to torment the beast. The idea was to keep the beast furious and in constant motion. Of course the script called for any number of close calls as when its tail snapped viciously at one young hunter and hurled him into a ravine.

The key to their strategy is that human beings regulate their body temperature by perspiration and exhaling water vapor. As a reptile, a cold blooded creature, the saurian could not regulate its body temperature that way. Kept constantly active, sooner or later, the beast would keel over from sunstroke, thanks to the heat built up by its exertions as well as that absorbed through its hide from the bright sun overhead. Then the cavemen would finish it off with their spears and axes. That is what the script called for anyway. Sandy's character, the Jungle Boy, would drive his spear through the downed beast's eye straight into the brain while his cute ally used the obsidian blade of his axe to chop through the spinal cord at the neck. Between them, the two kids would slay the mighty carnivore then slice off the finer cuts of meat, leaving the carcass to scavengers. Cooking and feasting on the beast's flesh -- that was turn about for you.

This was one of the early scenes in the movie to establish the credibility of the two callow youths as wily hunters, capable of taking care of themselves as they crossed a landscape populated by giant saurians. After this successful combat, the audience would appreciate that human cleverness could indeed make human beings a match for the giant beasts, despite the physical mismatch.

Like the original Jungle Boy, Jason Eberly, Sandy and Terry were both cute twinks, slightly built beardless youths in their teens (eighteen the both of them). Sandy stood no more than four inches over five feet (163 cm) and weighed in at only 112 pounds (51 kg). His lover and co-star was not more than a centimeter taller and maybe two kilos heavier. The two youths had the same kind of fawn-like physique, very boyish but with a wiry musculature, toned and taut from daily swimming and running. Sandy had more of a swimmer's build than Terry, who was more of a runner. He had run medium distance on the track team at school.

The camera loved them. Both youths were poetry in motion. They were doing several slo-mo shots just to show off their athleticism and raw animal appeal. Although short, their bodies were well proportioned and incredibly toned, taut and trim with killer abs and all-over tans. From their tiny red nipples to deeply indented navels, to narrow hips framing surprisingly ample manhoods for boys so slight in build, Sandy and Terry were real beauties both sleek and smooth, deeply and evenly tanned from much exposure to the sun while in the nude at the beach or outdoor pool. The sheen of sweat on their skin made them shine in the bright sun, their wiry physiques a vision of youthful male pulchritude.

As for their looks, both were pretty boys. Sandy, the blond, was preternaturally beautiful, much better looking than a boy had any right to be, with delicate features, a straight nose and high cheekbones framing large green eyes with hair the color of straw. Terry was no slouch himself in the looks department. Incredibly cute, he had red hair, blue eyes, and a lightly freckled face as befits a fine looking Irish lad. Like his lover, he was totally smooth, without any body hair, the look of most young males as the middle of the twenty-first century approached. Neither had ever had more than wisps in their armpits and at the fork of their legs. Nevertheless they had submitted to treatments to remove all the hair on his body including the light dusting on their arms and legs, leaving him permanently smooth and boyish.

"All right kids. Let's break for a late lunch." director Jim Nicholls called out. "I know I've been running you ragged with all these takes, but I needed to get this big action scene just right."

Sandy and Terry handed their stone age weaponry over to the prop man and sank gratefully into chairs set up under the shade of a canopy, their weary bodies just dripping with sweat. It beaded up on their foreheads and dripped off the ends of their noses. It slid in runnels down their torsos, filling and overflowing their navels. Since all their scenes were in the nude, the boys saw no point in slipping into robes or even shorts between takes. Well into their third week of filming, they were getting used to going around naked on location. Terry bent forward to dislodge a pebble jammed between two toes then leaned back, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm and said.

"I just wish they'd finally get global warming under control. I felt like I would pass out from the heat there on that last take."

"Me too. It's really brutal out there in the midday sun. No wonder the sweat is just pouring off us. Still I am glad we got the chance to climb all the way to the top, jammed toes, scrapes, and all. It was worth it. We were kings of the mountain!"

"I'll go along with that Sandy, but I'm not sure your Tarzan style yell and all that chest beating were entirely in character for the Jungle Boy." he said with heavy irony.

"That is entirely for me to decide, Mr. Jungle Boy, Junior. Remember who is getting top billing in this picture."

Suddenly Sandy leaned over to lap at the pool of sweat in Terry's navel.

"Hmmn, rather salty. That explains your critical attitude You usually taste so sweet, my young friend."

Terry snorted. Sandy was only three months older, after all. Still he could not help but smile when Sandy reached his hand over to tweak and roll Terry's left nipple.

Their banter was typical of young men who are at ease in each other's company, confidant their remarks would be taken as the gentle joshing they intended.

A young grip came over with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses and put them on the low table between them. Human beings can get sunstroke too, and the producer was taking no chances with his young stars. They had orders to keep hydrated. Their beverage had extra electrolytes in it, like a sports drink, but otherwise it was honest lemonade, with a cut lemon floating among the ice cubes.

"Thanks, Phil" Terry said to the young assistant. "This is just the thing to cool us down, but don't forget Ed, our T. Rex over there" he added pointing to the overheated stunt man who had sunk down on a rock nearby in the shade, blowing heavily from his own exertions.

Suddenly the man's eyes rolled up and he slumped to the ground, unconscious, his body trembling. The boys reached him first and saw that the man's skin was flushed and dry and hot to the touch. Sandy and Terry looked at each other and diagnosed in unison: "Heat stroke".

Sandy poured the contents of the pitcher of lemonade on the prostrate man then grabbed a five gallon water can and upended it over him, guiding the stream of water over his body. Terry ran to the ice chest and dragged it to the man's side. He stuffed handfuls of ice cubes into the man's wet clothing, and pressed more ice to his head with a towel. The boys knew that ice and water were the most effective way to absorb the man's excess body heat and get his core body temperature down into the safe zone, where his brain proteins would not unravel inside his skull. The aid man ran up and nodded his approval of their actions as he took the man's vitals and called for an ambulance. The quick thinking of the two lads may well have saved the man's life just then, but he really belonged in a hospital till he was declared out of danger.

That mishap cost the production part of an afternoon's shooting, but it reminded everyone that accidents can occur on any location, even one so familiar and close by as Los Angeles' Vasquez Rocks. At least, as partial compensation, a cameraman got fine footage for the 'Making Of' video showing Terry giving first aid the stunt man, putting ice next to his skin. The footage caught the nude boy from the rear, kneeling on the ground, butt cheeks resting on bare feet, genitals dangling between slender thighs, his lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as he and Sandy worked to save the man's life. Sandy himself was filmed from the front, standing over the man, the heavy water can held high, the musculature of his arms and shoulders and belly straining with the weight to direct the stream of water all over him. Then came the moment when both looked straight at the camera; their honest and open young faces made them seem like angels of mercy ministering to the stricken man.

After that incident the crew really warmed up to the two young actors. During their first days on location, the veteran crew had felt a little funny making a picture with two teenage co-stars who were not only openly gay but lovers and spouses in real life. The boys had recently joined their lives and fortunes in a civil union. This was something of a first even for liberal Hollywood. Also the lads went before the cameras stark naked for every scene. They usually stayed naked all day on location, during breaks or for lunch, donning shorts and flip flops only after the end of the day's filming. Never salacious, their nakedness seemed more the result of youthful exuberance and self-expression.

Even before the incident with the stunt man, they were respected and liked by most. Neither of them had gone Hollywood or put on airs. These fine lads had not let success and good fortune go to their heads. Every morning at seven, they arrived punctually on the set, driving up in Terry's beat up old car. No fancy wheels for these kids. They listened to the director tell him what he wanted them to do, then they did it, hitting their marks and saying their lines. After some of the insufferable young bastards the crew had had to work with in the past, it was a pleasure to work with Sandy and Terry. They were genuine: no attitude, no drugs, no tantrums, and no entourage either to get in the way.

Anyone could see this was a pair of decent kids, even if they seemed to have trouble keeping their pants on or their hands off each other. Well the lads were terribly cute specimens of young manhood and very easy on the eyes. They were young, this was their time, and their juices were flowing.

Chapter 2. Hollywood

Two months later, movie producer Marty Fletcher looked up with a grin as a pair of young actors breezed into his office.

"Look who's here" he said to director Jim Nicholls, Leon Potter, production chief for the studio, and Ed Veronese, the actors' agent.

Still eighteen the both of them, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles were the stars of a new series of Jungle Boy pictures. They were meeting to pick stories for their next few pictures. As the principal star, Sandy had a three picture deal. He and Terry had just co-starred in their remake of 'When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth'.

"Hi Sandy," Nicholls grinned, looking him over. The young man was a vision of youthful male pulchritude in his khaki hot pants and dark green tank top. The blond boy's tight clothes showed off his trim and taut physique. Flip flops and a gold neck chain completed the ensemble. Terry was dressed much the same though with a shell choker.

The runaway success of their last picture allowed them to take a little more time with their next projects. They wanted to find concepts that would play to their star's strengths, then set writers to work on the scripts.

"How about a tough guy film noir role?" piped the young red headed actor. Sandy and I could play guys on opposite sides of the law who eventually become allies. I think the fans would like that."

Terry wanted them to branch out to avoid typecasting, to get occasional roles where they could keep their clothes on some of the time. Not that he minded nudity in front of the camera. He knew that his and Sandy's sex appeal helped sell the pictures. Indeed there was the real reason Sandy and Terry got their break in pictures. They were both willing to work in next to nothing or even fully nude as in their last picture. In their dinosaur movie, both of them were naked throughout. In one of Sandy's previous pictures he had worn a loincloth that amounted to a G-string and feathers in his hair. Oh many actors will do a nude scene or two, but these boys would do an entire picture stark naked.

It was a good thing that attitudes toward nudity had changed a lot in the first four decades of the twenty-first century, even in America, the last hold out for nudity taboos. The law too had changed with the times. There were many clothing optional beaches around now with nude beach volley ball competitions, nude swimmers, and nude runners. The larger parks in major cities had sections given over to nude sunbathing. Runners for cross country teams at some colleges thought nothing of running down the back road absolutely starkers. There was serious proposals to revive the practice of the ancient Greeks at the Olympics requiring athletes to compete in the nude, at least in track and field and aquatics. That way there would forestall the arms races in sports equipment -- no more expensively engineered running shoes with computers and actuators or super-slippery swim suits. Athletes would bring only their natural endowments to the competition.

Similarly restrictions on what could be shown in the movies or on television were virtually non-existent at this late date, some sixty years after the first instance of full-frontal nudity on American TV. As always, Europe was way ahead of the U.S. Almost anything could be presented on screen, as long as moviegoers had notice of what was on offer. You had to do something pretty outrageous these days to get arrested for what they used to call public indecency. As for the increase in nudity in film, the justification was that Hollywood had always relied on selling sex appeal, from the moment Clark Gable pulled off his shirt in 'It Happened One Night' or Jan-Michael Vincent walked directly at the camera in the swimming hole scene in 'Buster and Billy', full monty and all. These days, the movies were just more frank and open about it. Why not show their stars in the buff. Practically everyone else was doing that in real life anyway.

"How about this," Leon Potter began. "We cast Sandy as Billy the Kid and Terry as Pat Garrett, his best friend and the lawman fated to gun him down in the end. You could play Billy the Kid easy, Sandy. You're just the right age, and the right size. He was a little guy whose six gun was his equalizer."

"Let's do a surprise ending too, "Nicholls urged. "Like 'The Sting', where we suddenly realize it was all a scam and that Billy survives and settles down with Pat Garrett back East.

"Sounds good, but how do we get their clothes off in a western?

Terry rolled his eyes, and Sandy gave him a conspiratorial wink.

"That's easy. We've been there already with Jason and his picture about Billy the Kid." Potter assured. "You see, Pat Garrett catches up to the infamous desperado while he is swimming in the river. He throws a lasso around him, then drags him from the water and ties him up. The kid will look great all wet and bare assed. His helplessness will make the audience sympathetic too, especially when Garrett takes the end of a rope to his bare hide."

Of course, the young actor would not actually feel the sting of a rope end on his back and rump. For most shots of the beating, the director would use forced perspective, shooting from directly in front or back so it would look like the rope actually struck the trussed up hero but in actually it would fall short. They would use a soft silk version of the rope when they wanted to film it curling around the outlaw's hips or ribs. Make up artists would apply welts and fake blood to the boy's delectable body. And all through the whipping, the nude boy would writhe erotically and hiss and cry out with pain to make it look good.

"Garrett will also force his captive to hike all the way into town barefoot and naked, leading him like a captured steer down the main street, humiliating him before the townsfolk as they gaze on the dreaded outlaw now rendered no more dangerous than a yearling calf. Garrett will clap the nude outlaw into a cell, not even allowing him a blanket to cover himself. Later at night, the lawman will slip into the boy's cell and have his way with him."

Now it was Sandy's turn to roll his eyes. Here we go again, he gets captured and put into bondage, roughed up and humiliated, even raped. Sandy gets captured rather a lot in his pictures, often stripped and brutalized then thrown in a cell, at least till he gets away and turns the tables on the bad guys.

"Let me guess," Terry began. "Garrett was a spurned lover or a former lover. So that is why he goes after Billy and treats him so harshly. It is only when he is raping the captive outlaw that he realizes he still loves the guy after all. So he lets him slip out of jail and eventually arranges a phony shootout."

"Right, and when the posse chases after him, we'll have him riding bareback while barefoot and bare assed. That's very suggestive in and of itself!"

Everyone thought that was a great idea for a movie about Billy the Kid. Sandy's gay fans always liked a gay angle in the plot. His sexual orientation was old news to his fans. Even the gals in the audience liked to fantasize that they would be the one female to straighten him out.

"OK, one down, two more to go." Potter.

"How about doing a horror movie?" Sandy suggested.

A horror flick was almost mandatory for a young actor's resume. Hollywood and the fans just loved to see movies about young people, in various stages of undress, at the mercy of some slasher or eldritch horror. These flicks were quick and cheap to make, so they were unusually lucrative. Most of the filming could be done on sound stages, in front of a green screen, or on the back lot, no need to go on location.

The group decided to go with a ghost story. Sandy and Terry would play a pair of friends and go-go dancers sharing a room and a bed in a spooky old mansion long since turned into a rooming house. Potter had an old script he could reuse once it was re-written for the two of them. Lots of opportunity to show skin in a flick about go-go boys prancing on stage in tiny G-strings or less, shaking their booties, kneeling to let the patrons feel them up or stuff bills under the strings that supported the tiny pouches cupping their genitals. There would be scenes of the two boys in bed together, filmed tastefully with chiaroscuro lighting effects to emphasize their bare skin as they made love. They could also lay on a long chase sequence through the Never Never, both boys starkers and desperate to escape the clawed horrors howling after them. The fights would also show off their athleticism and trim taut bodies.

Their third picture would count as another Jungle Boy epic. It would be a kind of remake of the 'Blue Lagoon', told from a gay perspective. Terry and Sandy would play the teenage versions of two young boys cast away and stranded on a desert island in the Pacific Ocean. The script would draw on elements from 'Swiss Family Robinson' and Jules Verne's 'The Mysterious Island' including a gay Captain Nemo who conveniently destroys the pirate ship that threatens the island idyll of the two beautiful young lovers.

This version would have a happy ending too, none of that stupid suicide stuff with poison berries as in the prior versions. These lads would live happily ever after. In this production too, the principal actors would be naked for virtually every scene. The studio's budget would allow for good production values, so this picture would be filmed on location, probably in the West Indies. Afterwards the young actors could take a Caribbean vacation together before gearing up for further pictures.

After that, an awkward silence reigned. They had run out of ideas. Fletcher's notion of a gender bender 'Lad and the Tiger' got rejected outright by the group.

"By the way," Potter continued. "I hear that your fans are picking up on an old trick they used to pull on Jason Eberly. In fact, I've heard rumors that he might be the one putting them up to it."

Potter was referring to the early days in Jason's career when he had chronic 'wardrobe malfunctions' thanks to eager fans who literally ripped his clothes off right out there in public on the street. True he made that rather easy for them. In his neighborhood he liked to walk around wearing either a simple sarong wrapped around his hips or a very loose fitting pair of jeans, the kind with lots of ventilation. Since he typically went bare chested and barefoot, all the fans had to do was remove a single garment to leave him stark naked on the sidewalk.

These bold fans sometimes worked in teams, one to distract the actor, the other to grab his sarong and pull it off him. The trick with the jeans was to come up behind the slender young actor and pull his pants down sharply. That would make them fall to his ankles, hobbling him long enough for his assailant to step on his pants and push him forward, forcing the surprised young man to step right out of his pants. In all the confusion and hilarity, it was easy for the miscreants to make their escape, leaving the young actor out on the street in the rude nude. Some of the cops thought he put his fans up to it. Others blamed the paparzzi. Either way, these mishaps became part of Jason's legend.

Now Terry and Sandy were living in a townhouse in the same walkable neighborhood. They emulated their predecessor in usually going about lightly dressed, bare chested and barefoot or maybe moccasins. Instead of jeans or sarongs these boys liked to wear hot pants which were extremely short shorts that had been popular in the 1970s and were fashionable once again fifty years later. With a very low rise waistband and a two-inch inseam and a loose fit, the hot pants lived up to their name. Anyone standing behind a boy could look down his rear cleavage, and the inseam was barely enough to contain him in front. You didn't wear any underwear with hot pants either. So one sharp tug and the pants were around his ankles and soon he was out of them entirely. So far Sandy had been publicly stripped four times and Terry three times including once when they had been double teamed.

These incidents were captured on handheld video cameras as well as security cameras on the street and in shops and telecast later on the news, gossip shows, blogs, etc. Bookies laid bets on the next time the boys would be forcibly stripped naked in public. Of course the young actors had a sense of humor about things, and realized that some of this was just the price of fame. It's not like public nudity was anything new to either of them. Besides their movies, they were often photographed at the nudie beach or running along cross country trails entirely bare ass, so what was the difference? Mostly one of expectation and propriety. At the beach the boys went naked voluntarily and expected to have cameras directed at them. On a busy city street there were different expectations.

Sometimes the fans really inconvenienced the lads. There were times you really had to complete that errand to the post office or drug store, which you could hardly do when suddenly rendered starkers by overly enthusiastic fans. One photo showed poor Sandy with a 'Oh not now!' look on his face in front of a phalanx of Japanese tourists, all busy snapping away with their cameras. One of them offered him a baseball cap to hold in front of him, but he just shook his head wearily. That train had left the station already, especially after all the full frontal shots in his movies. Usually someone took pity on the lad and offered him a ride home. Twice it had been the cops, but no charges were filed.

Sure at Terry's home in Florida they might trot along local residential streets over to the running trails in the nearby park. Locals were used to seeing the Barnett kid jogging naked along their byways. That wasn't the same as sudden unplanned total nudity on a busy commercial street. Besides public nudity still offended some folks. The boys steered clear of churches especially on Sunday, not to mention the nearby parochial school.

Embarrassing as those incidents had been, both lads were gratified that their genitals didn't look all shriveled up like with so many guys. Sandy had a smooth cock with a vein running along the top of the shaft from his belly to where the foreskin hugged his cock head, outlining the ridge of the glans under the skin, leaving just the slit at the tip of the head visible. Terry's genitals were also well formed. In his case, the sheath of his cock completely covered the head with the folded tip extending perhaps a finger's breadth farther. For both boys, their cock and balls were reasonably sized but neither wouldn't be scaring the horses. That was just fine when you were running cross country bare ass with your dangly bits bouncing about.

It was as good thing that they couldn't really lose any valuables or documents. These days everyone had a RFID chip implanted in his right arm. The chip served as a passport, wallet, driver's license, health insurance card, etc. Any standard reader could access his account information, medical records, and so forth and make transfers with a proper PIN or password or from a fingerprint or even a retinal scan.

Chapter 3. The Blue Lagoon

Their first pictures as co-stars had Sandy and Terry playing boyhood friends, shipwrecked and exiled on a desert island and now grown into young manhood. This setting was everyone's favorite fantasy, a life of leisure on an island paradise where coconuts fall from trees. Nothing to do but gather the breadfruit, do a little fishing and other light tasks. Its appeal to the modern urbanite was obvious: no job, no commute, no boss, no taxes, no clothes or laundry. In short, no cares. This version was a gay oriented remake of the 'Blue Lagoon' with two cute young male leads, full frontal nudity, and no coy camera angles. The plan called for location filming over two months with the principal male stars totally naked in all of their scenes.

As a partial remake of two earlier versions of this picture, the script writer and producer were not shy about incorporating elements from those earlier productions. This was a practice long honored as hommage rather than plagiarism. The boys had a great time doing many of the dramatic stunts in the originals including the tandem slide down the waterfall or swinging on vines over the pool at the bottom. Their underwater scenes were especially authentic given that both were fine swimmers who could hold their breath underwater for several minutes at a time. Good thing too. Sandy had a really scary moment when a small octopus latched onto his wrist and wouldn't let go. He finally had to stab the poor creature to get it to release him. He felt bad about that. The octopus was merely defending its territory after all.

As teenagers just recently fallen in love themselves, Sandy and Terry were just perfect as two young lads exploring their bodies and discovering their sexuality together on a desert island. Looking younger than their eighteen years anyway, they were utterly convincing as kids whose urges culminated in their inevitable joining. You could not ask for more authentic scenes of gay love. These boys really were lovers. Their bodies knew each other. They moved in the dance of love in a way two strangers never could.

That said, this was no porn film and nothing the cameras captured for the film involved actual sexual intercourse. Oh the heavy petting was sincere enough; the boy were real life lovers after all, but they were actors too. Sure they used their real emotions to lend credibility to their performances, but those were performances. For the real thing, you just had to listen outside their tent at night. Terry especially was very vocal when getting fucked.

One day the script called for Sandy and Terry to paddle their canoe across the lagoon, closely followed by a pair of Zodiacs with cameramen and the director, Jim Nicholls, to film the action. In the script's timeline, the characters had just become lovers, adding a physical and sexual dimension to the close relationship. The canoe journey to an off shore island was in celebration of their new found love.

The two young actors looked terrific paddling away, the muscles of arm and shoulder and back moved erotically under their deeply tanned skins. They were both kneeling in the primitive canoe, bare buttocks resting on their heels, their fine deep cleavages on display for the camera and fans. Sunlight glistened off the calm waters of the lagoon and the spray thrown up by their paddles. Once in a while Sandy or Terry deliberately splashed each other, a bit of improvisation to demonstrate the boys' exuberance and happiness.

Suddenly Sandy spotted a huge sea turtle swimming on the surface.

"What a magnificent beast! I'm going to ride it!"

Setting aside his paddle, he dove headlong into the sea next to the turtle and grabbed the forward edge of its shell. The turtle continued paddling along, placid, little caring that the boy had latched on to him. His slight mass and the hydraulic resistance of his slender body meant nothing to the powerful sea creature which must have weighed five hundred pounds (240 kg).

Sandy exulted in the sensation of sliding through the sea effortlessly, his legs trailing behind, letting the water flow over his body, sluice through his cleavage, and lave his manhood. The great beast's flippers propelled them faster than he could swim himself. Meanwhile Terry paddled behind, gamely keeping pace, grinning widely, sharing the experience with his lover. The blue of the sky, the green of the waters, and the white of the clouds and the sandy beach painted the scene with a vivid palette of colors, one they would never forget as long as they lived.

At one point a pair of dolphins surfaced nearby and kept pace with the sea turtle. Terry thought he saw an invitation in the look from the larger dolphin, so he took a big chance and dove into the water, grabbing onto its dorsal fin. Just as he hoped, the dolphins were in a playful mood and did not try to dislodge him. Terry's mount sped up, swept past, then circled around in front of the turtle, its sonar clicking away.

Terry timed his breathing with the undulations of the big dolphin. At several points, he had to hold his breath longer when his mount dove deep under the sea turtle and came up on the other side. An air breather itself, the dolphin seemed to understand that the human boy he was giving a ride to needed to take in air too, so he never kept Terry down for too long.

The turtle proceeded stolidly ahead, ignoring the dolphins weaving their way back and forth across the lagoon. He knew they were no danger to him. Nothing really was in these waters, not even the strange two tailed creature that had somehow attached itself to his shell. For nearly a quarter hour the turtle tolerated the boy's presence. Finally the turtle grew tired of the sport and dove for deep water, staying down for so long Sandy had to let go and swim up to the surface for air. Terry abandoned his own ride and swam over to the canoe, now being towed by one of the Zodiacs. He helped Sandy clamber in. They lay together in the bottom of the canoe, catching their breath, Terry's head resting on Sandy's chest, listening to heartbeat of the boy he loved, both of them thinking, life doesn't get any better than this.

"Cut!" the director called. "That footage was terrific, kids! Sandy and Terry you have great instincts, diving in that way to ride the animals. You can't script something like that, but when it happens, it gives the movie an unmistakable air of authenticity. Back in Hollywood, they are probably gonna think I used a mechanical sea turtle and dolphin for that scene. And we got some terrific underwater footage of you Terry with the camera drone, not to mention that nice cuddle in the canoe. Hoo rah!"

Indeed the footage was dramatic and exhilarating, evocative of the natural paradise that was the boys' island of exile. Naturally the production would have to fill out the sequence with close ups, towing the actors through the water on ropes, but that would hardly lessen its authenticity. This scene would really help at the box office. Footage that didn't go into the movie itself would be part of the 'Making Of' video.

There were smiles all around at this latest success during the production. Everything was going swimmingly. This was a happy company. Everyone got along with everyone else, crew, cast, support folks. That was how Nicholls liked it on his movies, and these days he had enough clout in Hollywood to pretty much get his way. You never worked more than once for him if you were a troublemaker or a sourpuss. Life was too short to spend any of it with unpleasant people, not matter how talented or competent.

"You know, I hate to be a spoilsport, Jim" Sandy ventured over lunch the next day, "but to me the the shallow waters of the lagoon look more green than blue. Or am I missing something?"

"What you are missing, my young friend, is that this is Hollywood, where minor inconsistencies like that can be completely ignored. For example, there was an old disaster movie called 'Krakatoa: East of Java'. Terrible picture. The fact is that the volcano Krakatoa was in the Sunda Strait due west of Java, and the producers knew it. They just thought "East" sounded more exotic. Then there was that el cheapo monster movie 'Giant Gila Monster' where the title role was actually played by a Mexican Spotted Lizard. The local pet store must have run out of gila monsters that week. Why the sudden concern for verisimilitude? I thought that was Marty Fletcher's hang up. And wasn't your last movie about cavemen and dinosaurs?"

Sandy chuckled at that. Yes, dinosaurs had died out 60 million years before cavemen evolved on this planet. He'd also heard that blonds like himself probably hadn't been around longer than ten thousand years, long enough for humans to migrate out of Africa to where the glaciers were in retreat in Scandinavia. Light skins presumably let humans make enough Vitamin D for strong bones and teeth. Nowadays dairies added it to milk for that very reason. He said as much to the director who nodded, then grimaced as he remembered.

"Too bad our fresh milk spoiled in the cooler. I really hate powdered creamer with coffee."

"No problem, boss," Terry piped up. "I'll get us some coconut milk. I've been practicing my climbing. Watch."

Suiting actions to words, Terry shinnied up a nearby coconut palm, a knife gripped in his teeth. He used the friction from a rope joining his ankles to give him a grip on its smooth trunk. It helped the novice coconut gatherer that the tree he chose leaned over at an angle. After some hacking away among the palm fronds, he managed to dislodge several coconuts.

"Bombs away!"

Nicholls was glad to see that the cameraman doing the Making Of video was right on the job, capturing the candid action.

The boy has gone up the tree nimble as a squirrel, his taut tanned body looked completely natural in this setting, a real nature boy. These two kids were not only breathtakingly lovely, they went about these days quite unselfconscious about their perpetual nudity. With them it never seemed salacious, more about the beauty of the human form that sculptors tried to capture in marble or in bronze except these young males were alive, kinetic sculptures, as it were. Sandy and Terry didn't just strike poses. They were real action figures. Just look at those shots of Terry's tight brown buns and straining legs as he hiked himself up the palm tree. Nicholls particularly liked the comical ending to Terry's climb when part way down the trunk the boy lost his grip with the rope and slid the rest of the way down the trunk of the tree landing in the sand rather hard on his tush.

"I guess Terry needs a little more practice."

Sandy observed, as his co-star and lover got to his feet, brushing sand off himself. The redhead looked so cute standing there nude, rubbing his sore butt cheeks with both hands, trying to recoup his dignity, embarrassed over his clumsy descent but with a boyish determination to do it right the next time. Meanwhile, Sandy picked up the knife and expertly whacked the top of the coconut off, holding it out to Nicholls. The kindly director didn't have the heart to tell the lads that coconut milk in coffee tastes just awful.

Anyway, what a picture Sandy's stance made, the boy's slender arm extended, deltoid and biceps tensed, the veins running from armpit to wrist standing out like on a fawn, his scrumptious young body leaning forward, as if he were offering himself, not just the coconut. A still would make a great printed poster or an image for a digital wall frame. Fans would love the way the lighting from the side accentuated the corrugations of the boy's washboard belly and his adam's girdle. The boy's feet were about shoulder width apart, allowing his nicely formed genitals to hang freely between slender hairless thighs. What great beauties they were, both kids, and by now both totally blase about being stark naked in front of a camera.

Nicholls liked working with very young actors like Sandy and Terry, personable boys who were not quite men. Nicholls had never had sons of his own. That was probably why he had developed such a strong avuncular interest in some of the young actors he had taken under his wing over the years, actors like Jason Eberly, the first Jungle Boy, several others, and now his successors. If some of their antics and doings bordered on the outrageous, well they were so very young. Anyway, neither Sandy nor Terry had a mean bone in his body, so Nicholls was inclined to indulge them. They kept things lively on the set or location. That was for sure. More power to them, the both of them.

Nicholls considered the movies an authentic art form. Its medium was not just film (really digital video) but scripts and actors, words and actions, places and special effects. How gratifying it was for him to be able to preserve the beauty of these two lads forever, just like an artist who worked in clay or paints. On film, they would always be young and sexy, athletes in their prime, fine exemplars of the human form.

Finally, with the filming finished, Sandy and Terry went on an island cruise to relax from the long location shoot. They would rejoin the production company back in Hollywood for any post production touches. For Terry, the Caribbean was heretofore unexplored territory. Sandy had visited the islands several times on vacation from his native state of Florida.

Chapter 4. Bottom Boy in Bondage

One morning a week into the cruise found wavelets making slapping sounds on the hull of their anchored excursion schooner, but it was the light of dawn that awoke the naked youth sprawled on deck, a pretty red head lad in his teens from his slight stature. He sat up and looked around, marveling once again at his surroundings, a sight he never tired of. The lagoon was a terrestrial paradise of blue skies, green sea, white sandy beaches, and a tropical sun that had turned his skin a tawny gold.

The schooner swung at anchor amid the Turks and Caicos Islands. Small limestone or coral uprises, ancient relics of coral reefs, the small rocky islands are for the most part uninhabited, but were famous for their beaches, green lagoons, dramatic channels, and the peculiar umbrella shapes of many of the islands themselves. Other islands looked on the map like nothing so much as a colony of amoebae, each with small peninsulas stretching like pseudopods in every direction enclosing tiny bays and sounds.

An early riser anyway and a light sleeper, Terry Knowles drank some juice and water, then started his daily stretching routine. The sailor on watch nodded to the slender lad, noting that like many lads on this gay cruise, Terry was well muscled, with the taut and toned physique of an athlete and acrobat and the suppleness of a dancer. His morning stretches were just to get the kinks out though they would have been delighted his lover sleeping in their cabin below with the display of his trim musculature and sexy little body, posed and contorted in erotic ways. It was an eclectic set of poses, some based on yoga, others on tai qi. Terry's slim form transitioned smoothly from one difficult pose after another, each held, relaxed, then repeated a prescribed number of times.

Once prepped Terry got onto his board and windsurfed in the light morning winds, relishing the solitude. The other guys could be noisy once they got going. Yes, there was a time and place for horsing around but surely not in the solitude of early morning. Much as he was in love with Sandy, he needed occasional solitude too. So Terry relished his chance to sail alone for a change. The schooner disappeared from sight once he passed behind a couple of the small rocky islets.

The sun kissed his skin all over since he never wore a life jacket either, good swimmer that the was. Terry's trim musculature was on display as his thighs absorbed the shock of the waves, his buns clenching rhythmically, dimpling and smoothing as they flexed. Muscles in his back rippled as he pulled on the sail, tacking back and forth. He laughed as he sailed back and forth, soaking in the sun and relishing the spume and splash of the sea. His body glistened with sweat and droplets of sea water, the sun's rays refracted as from tiny diamonds.

He seemed so totally at home that he looked like a vision risen from the sea itself, some mythological denizen of the sea, a sea sprite maybe or a mer-boy. For those who admire lovely boys, the sight of Terry on his board was almost a religious experience, provoking the thought that the existence of such exquisite beauty might evidence a benign deity.

There was just him, the board, and the transparent sail skimming over the clear waters of the lagoon. The scene was almost primeval with no sign of the modern world. It must have looked like this centuries ago, when, at any moment pirates or a war party of cannibals might appear from behind a rocky islet. True Terry was there among the islets on his board, but a slender nude boy is hardly an intrusion of civilization.

Nearly an hour into his sailing, just as he was ready to turn back, Terry came upon a schooner anchored in a cove. Buoys and flags indicated they had divers down. Curious, Terry sailed closer for a better look. The crew were the dark skinned descendants of slaves from nearby islands and dressed only in skimpy loincloths. Spotting Terry's approach they grew alarmed. Several jumped into a dory and sped over to Terry, quickly overtaking him. He tried talking to them, but could not understand any of their speech, evidently some kind of French Creole. They wanted him to come with them to the schooner but their fierce expressions made him wary. He waved them off to no avail. The crewmen shrugged and grabbed the boy, dragging him into their craft. Squirm and struggle though he might, Terry was no match for five sailors.

They seem to take delight in grappling his trim body, gripping his limbs and torso, holding him tight to their own nearly nude bodies. Even after the hapless boy was made a captive, his arms tied behind his back and ankles roped together, their hands continued to roam over his physique, exploring, delving into crevices, squeezing and fondling. One man especially liked to stroke Terry's red locks, quite an unusual color for these climes. Forced to kneel in the bottom of the dory as they headed back toward the schooner, Terry's could only watch as his sail board floated abandoned and adrift.

The name of this new ship was the Albatross. Terry fleetingly wondered why the owners had chosen the name of a bird of ill omen. He hoped it was not a bad omen for himself. Transferred to the schooner, Terry worried about what he had stumbled upon. Were these men modern day pirates, smugglers, terrorists, or what? The crew seemed native to these islands, men with very black skins. Nearly all were tall and lean; they all would overtop little Terry, even if he had not been forced to crouch on deck, looking fearfully at the long knives they carried in scabbards at their waists.

While all this was going on, two scuba divers came up to the surface and climbed onto the schooner, discarding their equipment.. They were white men in their late twenties, both tall and well built and clad in blue Speedos. The crew chief filled the divers in on what had happened while they were on the bottom. The big blond dropped his rebreather, mask, and shin fins on a bench then stepped over to the boy.

"Well, well, well. So this is the catch of the day. What do you think, Frank?" he said to the other diver, a dark haired man with a trim beard along his jaw line. "Looks kind of undersized doesn't he? Maybe we should just throw him back!"

He chuckled at his own attempt at levity. The demeanor of the other man named Frank was more serious. Toying with his diving knife, he spoke to Terry in a menacing tone.

"Not before we make him talk. So little one, what is a pretty thing like you doing nosing around in these waters."

Terry stammered, trying to brave it out, but his voice came out very young and shaky. He tried to explain that he was just on vacation, a tourist traveling with a friend, taking in the natural wonders of the islands. Bound as he was hand and foot, Terry felt very small and vulnerable, a nude boy kneeling before two tough looking men and completely at their mercy.

"A likely story." The man said dismissively. "I think you are a spy. Who sent you? Was it Cavendish? No doubt he thought you would distract us with your impossibly pretty face and that fine round rump of yours. He knows our tastes in boys."

"Very likely." The other man agreed. "He does have the look of a rent boy, doesn't he, Frank, too pretty by half, totally blase about public nudity, showing himself off like this. Let's search him." the blond added.

"What do you mean, search me?" Terry squeaked out in surprise. "How can I have anything hidden from you. You can see for yourself that I am stark naked."

"Heh, heh, heh. Do you take us for fools. For all we know, you might have swallowed the pearls, or shoved them up your tight quim."

"Pearls? Please, sirs, I don't know anything about that." Poor Terry was practically in tears, confused and afraid. "Please don't hurt me." he added in a tremulous voice. In his anxiety, he didn't notice the conspiratorial wink that passed between the two men. It isn't often that a cute kid this naive falls into your hands. They would play this scene out for all it was worth before they let him go.

"Well let's get a good look at you, pretty one. Here stand between between these hatch covers."

Frank signed for the crew to move back and give them space. They could watch the boy's deflowering from the bow, but must not interfere. Frank and Sean examined their prize. Even though they were sitting on the hatch covers and the boy was on his feet, Terry still had to look up at them. Their hands pawed his trim lithe physique, as they men commented, mostly favorably, on his various attributes. They were clearly taken with the boy's beauty of face and form, clearly a rare treasure to anyone who appreciated a lovely lad, healthy and in the bloom of his youth, looking all the more delectable for the way his slender body trembled in its bondage.

Frank put his big hands on the youth's shoulders, slid his palms over the flaring pectorals, ran his hands down the impressively scalloped belly and circled his navel with his thumb, then ran his fingers over the boy's prominent hip bones, brushing the flat belly with the tips of his fingers. From behind, Sean ran his hands down the boy's shoulder blades and flanks to the flare of his hips and on to the curve of his buttocks, giving them an experimental squeeze with hands that could have crushed a coconut, then slid the blade of his hand between, flashing a quick smile at the sharp intake of breathe the boy took as Sean's finger tapped the small hole between the firm globes and slipped inside very briefly. He reached forward testing the firmness of the muscles on the back of Terry's slender thighs and of his calves. Hmmmn. Impressively muscled for such a slim lad. Frank smiled at the boy's embarrassment, the way the intimate visual and physical scrutiny had stimulated him, plumping his cock up a bit, a drop of clear fluid glistening at the tip of the foreskin.

There was no doubt that the boy had a beautiful tanned body, toned, taut and muscular with strong shoulders, well defined abdominal muscles, and narrow hips. His hands were small and his legs well muscled with veins prominent under the skin because of a body fat percentage virtually in single digits. No hair interrupted the flow of its faultless lines. Small veins just under the skin of the belly led the eye downwards to the fork of the legs. From his tiny red nipples to a deeply indented navel, to narrow hips framing a surprisingly ample manhood for one so slight in build, the boy was real beauty.

His manhood was a smooth tube with a vein running along the top from his belly to where the foreskin hugged his cock head, outlining the ridge of the glans under the skin. Cock and balls were of reasonable size but he wouldn't be scaring the horses. It might take both this boy's small hands to cover his erection, but only one when he was soft. Terry carried so little body fat that his flat belly showed a tracery of downward pointing veins just under the skin. The beat of his heart was visible on the left side of his smooth chest. He was sleek and smooth and deeply tanned, his wiry physique a vision of youthful male beauty.

The proportions of his physique were especially attractive. With many slightly built youths, the legs are disproportionately short, accounting for most of the deficit in height. Terry's trim form was smaller in proportion, retaining the classic ratios which artists have discovered please the eye and excite concupiscence. His rump jutted out just the right amount, a double handful of firm, ripe flesh. Besides his alluring physique, the boy had one of those faces that literally turned heads. Men and women of all persuasions did double takes and stared at the boy, wondering how anyone could be that good looking.

Frightened though he was, Terry could not stop his body from reacting to the stimulation of the men's hands as they explored it. Their hands were everywhere, stroking, weighing, delving, rubbing, squeezing. Terry felt a rush of heat to his belly as his knees went weak. He was mortified at the thought that he might throw a boner. What would these men think of him then. The fact is, that though he had not explored that side of his nature very much, a bondage scene like this turned him on unbearably. It was just like back at the police station in the Yucatan.

Though they merely stood back and watch, the crew were all eager witnesses to Terry's humiliation, chatting and smiling among themselves, pointing at the hapless lad. It got to him too. Poor Terry knew himself for a confirmed bottom boy. A scene like this, in front of onlookers, with him helpless and in bondage, a captive of two large dominant males, on their home ground, was a real turn on. Poor little Terry was excited at the prospect as only a natural submissive can be. He trembled with lust that he hoped his captors would ascribe to fear.

Unfortunately his virile member betrayed Terry's sexual excitement. It had long since engorged and slid out of its sheath. Now it was painfully erect, flat to his belly, rigid, and throbbing with the beat of his heart. Frank pulled the stiff member out at a forty-five degree angle and let it slap back to Terry's belly with an audible thwack. A dominant of long experience, he knew that sometimes to get the attention of a young male, you had to grab him by the balls. A stiff prick made a good handle too. He rubbed his thumb on the sweet spot below the glans, eliciting the emission of a droplet of pre-ejaculatory fluid from the slit at the end. His other thumb tweaked a nipple. He was gratified by the boy's quick intake of breath as his arousal took hold. Frank turned a bit to give his friend a good look and pulled the rigid member down nearly parallel with the floor before he let go. The resulting smack was louder.

"Nothing wrong with his equipment, Sean."

"I saw, Frank, though it's his holes I am interested in. So which will it be, head or tail?" Sean asked his friend. No it wasn't about a wager on a toss of coin. Sean was just allowing his pal first choice of which of the boy's orifices to explore.

Terry's head was in a whirl, his belly on fire, his cock so hard it hurt, his nether hole twitching in anticipation. He had never felt so aroused, so ready to be fucked. Whoever these rough men were, they excited him as no one had ever done before. He felt a growing need to submit to them, to let them do things to him, sexual things he had only fantasized about, to use his trim little body for any lascivious purpose they cared to. Terry had always known that he was a bottom boy, a live sex toy for strong men to play with. Though his sexual activity with Sandy was very satisfying, they were both bottoms, who did a lot of sixty-nine and such. Much as he loved his spouse, he had always felt something was missing: a sense of danger and loss of control. He wanted very much to be taken willy nilly.

These brutes who had taken charge of him were exactly what his libido had yearned for, rough tough males who would take what they wqnted, forcing him to obey their will. Terry was at their mercy, a helpless captive, belittled and humiliated by their trash talk, in tight bondage, forced to endure their intimate examination with a double teaming in the offing. He shivered in anticipation of what he fully expected to be the hardest and best fuck of his young life. Gosh, what kind of a boy slut did that make him?

Given the scenario, Terry knew that they would expect him to struggle, to put up a fight, to pit his wiry strength against theirs so they could truly say they had conquered him. So he writhed and wriggled in Frank's powerful arms, bucking and pushing to get away even though he was fully aware that had nowhere to go really. The big man chuckled at the boy's struggles, admiring the play of muscles under the boy's tawny skin. Nothing like a kid with bit of fight in him to get a man's juices flowing. He had an easy counter to the boy's ineffectual efforts. He simply grabbed him from behind, putting him in a wrestling hold. Frank bent him forward, exposing Terry's buns to his own assault and the boy's pouty lips to Sean's rampant cock. Each took advantage of the tempting orifice at hand. Helpless in the wrestling hold, Terry gave up struggling, surrendering himself totally to the overwhelming physical mastery of the two divers.

Frank's moved down to his ass, fingers squeezing leaving finger marks on the supple flesh, marks of ownership. His thumb and forefinger encircled his taut ballsac, pulling it down and back. Terry was surprised to feel Frank's lips licking his balls then kissing his anal ring, rimming him, getting him ready for penetration. He groaned at this unexpectedly gentle approach and responded by pooching his nether ring open. Frank's fingers quickly found their way into the open hole, poking and prodding, smoothing some lubricant on the distended muscle. Good, at least they weren't going to dry fuck him. Frank also coated the boy's rigid cock, pulling it down and back between his legs, milking it like a cow's teat. Between that and the stimulation of the joy spot in his ass, little Terry was delirious with lust, the hormones in his bloodstream turning him into a wildly responsive sex toy.

At his other end, he greedily sucked on Sean's truncheon of a cock, his tongue flicking over the gnarled veins standing out from its surface as the member slid inside then withdrew. With his nose buried in the man's close clipped pubic hair, the boy inhaled the masculine scent of the man. Sweat and pheromones and the man's precum made a heady bouquet for the highly sexed teenager. He widened his throat letting the cock slide deep inside till his own lips made contact with the man's belly. Sean made sure the boy could breathe, even impaled as he was, giving him a chance to adapt to his rhythm. The boy flashed the man a look of gratitude with his bright blue eyes, his pouty lips locked about the tube extended down his throat. He was no virgin at sucking cock after all.

Frank's thumbs spread the boy's nether hole, opening the way for his cock to slip in though not easily despite all the preparation and lubricant. Frank was very well endowed indeed, his virile member a veritable club, battering its way through the boy's last defenses, breaching his inner sphincter, slipping in further, inch by inch. Finally he was fully inside. After a pause to let the boy get used to his girth, he began thrusting rhythmically. Each thrust of Frank's cock hit the prostate gland up his ass setting the boy to shuddering. Terry gave himself up to the pleasurable sensations coursing through his body. The shudders traveled from his ass up his back to his head, now held in Sean' firm grip to keep his own cock in that delectable mouth. The two big men had never know a boy as beautiful a Terry, nor one who responded to their rough ministrations so positively. This youth was a natural, a kid who needed to be fucked hard and often and by men who knew how. That was their department for sure.

Suddenly the muscles in the boy's ass clenched around Frank's cock as his small body went into orgasm. His ass muscles squeezed around the cock that had penetrated him. In turn, the erotic pressure this caused on his cock, deep in the boy's ass set Frank off as well. Their faces and moans showed Sean that the other two were cumming. That pushed Sean over the edge. All three came simultaneously in an orgy of ejaculation and inarticulate utterances. In their post coital lethargy, the men collapsed on top of the boy's small frame. Fortunately they quickly realized that their weight threatened to cut off the boy's breathing, so they rolled off him. Frank absently stroked the boy's prime ass, as Sean lifted the boy's chin with his hand and kissed him deep, getting a taste of his own male juices in Terry's oral cavity. Their tongues twirled around each other, all three males basking in the afterglow of orgasm.

Frank kept his cock up the boy's ass as the three of them lay there together, enjoying their closeness. For him this boy was a walking wet dream. He never wanted that moment to end. Terry himself was a little embarrassed. Here he was supposed to be the captive and he had been even more aroused that his captors. What kind of rape is it when the "victim" throws himself into it so enthusiastically?

"Now Terry. That wasn't so bad, was it, kid?"

Terry responded with a smile and slow shake of his head. It had indeed been just about the best fuck of his life.

Chapter 5. Kink

"I'm betting you would like a rest after being double teamed, so let us get you out of these bindings. Consider your captivity at an end, little one. By the way, I am Frank and this is Sean." He eased himself out of Terry's distended hole and helped the boy sit up, taking the opportunity to plant an affectionate kiss on his lips.

"As you probably guessed by now, we are not really pirates or anything like that but we do have a legitimate reason for secrecy. That is why our men took you into custody when you showed up like that so suddenly. The exact location of these pearl beds is worth a lot of money."

"To that man Cavendish, you mean?" Terry asked.

Frank chuckled. "Actually Tom Cavendish is our financial backer. His name is the first one that popped into my head when we were playing the role of bad guys."

Unbound, Terry checked himself out. Aside from a few rope burns and some soreness down there, he was none the worse for wear. Sean drew a bucket of seawater from over the side which Terry upended, letting it pour over himself from head to toe, washing the sweat and smell of sex off him. With his skin wet and glistening he looked even more like a sea sprite or mer-boy to the two divers. The two men were impressed by the way he handled the heavy bucket. There was a lot of strength packed into that small wiry frame all right.

Refreshed, Terry asked what the schooner men were up to. It seemed that the schooner had a license to search for pearls in those waters, so everything was on the up and up. That did not mean that others with less scruples might not take advantage and jump their claim, working any pearl beds they discovered when they were not on station. They needed at least a couple more weeks to thoroughly check out this part of the lagoon. Then they could sail to the capital to cement their claim to the pearls in these waters with the government getting a big share of the proceeds.

Terry explained about how he had windsurfed over from the excursion schooner. Could Frank and Sean give him a ride back there? The two divers agreed to take him right after lunch, first calling over by radio to reassure Sandy that his lover had not been taken by a shark or whatever. Lunch was tasty, grouper grilled cajun style and served with a good white wine properly chilled. Terry's two glasses were enough to go to his head. He had little tolerance for alcohol, especially given his body weight of only 53 kilos (117 lbs). Just as well then that he got a ride back on their Zodiac. He likely would have fallen off his board otherwise.

The two divers were locals well known to the crew of the excursion schooner. Terry then introduced them to Sandy. Seeing the two youths standing side by side made Frank slapped his head as he remembered.

"Of course! I knew I'd seen Terry somewhere before. You kids are Hollywood's new jungle boys! Sean, these were the guys in that dinosaur picture we saw a couple of months ago. I could hardly believe it when a pair of bareass kids went toe to toe with a T. Rex and came out on top. What a hoot. Great picture. Clever plot too, coming up with ways two twinks like you could take down such ferocious creatures, even those flying pterodactyls. My oh my! You guys are just as cute and sexy in real life as on screen."

Terry was gratified that the divers were relating to him a person now. He did not want them to think that he was just an oversexed boy toy from the way he had responded so readily to their advances, if you could call them that. Oh you could argue that he had been raped, but Terry had really been turned on by the experience and very much a willing participant as they got into it.

"You were pretty convincing actors yourselves, making me think you might be pirates or slavers. For a while, I didn't know whether I would ever get back here with Sandy."

That brought a raised eyebrow from his spouse. Terry turned pink with embarrassment as he confessed what had happened aboard the Albatross. He showed his rope burns, but did not try to deny that he had responded to what the divers had done with his delectable body once they had put him in bondage, how aroused he had been by the situation, how much he had come to crave the kinky things they did to him. To add to his humiliation he had to stand there there starkers, the two large divers dressed respectably in shorts and T shirts, as he related how they had played with his body, probing his orifices, stroking all his erogenous zones, spilling their seed within him.

He fully expected Sandy to be angry with them and especially with him, to get all possessive and jealous over Terry's sexual misadventures, but that sensible young man, wiser than his years would indicate, just enfolded his lover in his arms.

"Terry, I know that there is a part of your libido that craves kinky stuff like that. Like with cops in the Yucatan and that gang bang in their jail. And it's OK that some part of you needs kink. I have been curious about bondage myself. I just wasn't sure whom to trust. You take a real chance. If you hand yourself over to the wrong guy, then voila, you might find out he wants a real slave boy, 24/7 and 365. That is not for me."

"Nor for me, either, Sandy. Gods, life is too short to spend it in some dank dungeon, no matter how exciting the sex. I want to be out and about in the fresh air and sunshine, with you, with family and friends, traveling, working. We have our whole lives ahead of us, I want to do all those things with you and more."

Frank and Sean nodded sagely to this exchange, agreeing one hundred percent with Sandy's caution and with Terry's perspective on bondage and dominance games. Dominants though they were themselves, they looked on the bondage scene strictly as recreation. It wasn't for real. They had no use for creeps who took it seriously or forced themselves on unwilling subjects.

After a shared lunch, Frank and Sean invited the two young actors to spend some days on their boat. There, the youths could safely try out some of the kinky stuff that two experienced tops with vivid imaginations could inflict on two submissive pussy boys like themselves, lads who wanted to experience light bondage and discipline from guys who were not loonies.

Well Sandy and Terry were on vacation anyway, so why not transfer to the Albatross. Fine, but the divers insisted that the boys come aboard just as they were, that is, stark naked, and sail away with them without taking any clothing along with them. It was a wild idea, but one Sandy and Terry found exciting and sexy. How outrageous it would be to sail off like that wearing nothing more than their suntans. After all, for the duration of the voyage, they could consider themselves slave boys. Who ever heard of a sex slave wearing clothing?

Over the next two weeks, during daily sessions, the divers introduced the young actors to their style of bondage and discipline. They were good teachers too, careful not to really hurt or damage their new friends. Both boys responded sexually to the discipline, bondage, pain, and humiliation. Sandy was surprised by how much it turned him on to be rendered helpless, strung up spread-eagle, unable to protect his belly, back, ass or his orifices. Blindfolded, he could only guess when the next stroke of cane or riding crop would land on his poor tush or maybe his nipples. All the while his tormentor degraded him with all manner of trash talk.

"You call that a cock, pussy boy?" Frank asked with a sneer."Why it doesn't reach anywhere near your belly button, you little pansy. Now this is a cock." he said pointing to his own truncheon of a virile member. He laid their cocks together so the captive could feel the difference in size. It worked too. Sandy felt pretty small beside the big guy, especially when the man started batting the bound boy's cock back and forth with his own much larger manhood. Sandy could only hang there in abject humiliation as the man circled behind to ram his erection into the boy's well greased hole. His energetic thrusts sometimes lifted the boy's feet clear off the deck.

The boys were really put through their paces with lots of ass and mouth action. They spent a lot of time kneeling or on all fours. Sometimes their worst torture was to be aroused again and again nearly to the point of consummation, then left alone to cool off, only for the torment to start all over again. Sandy and Terry found themselves begging to cum, howling their frustration when Frank and Sean stopped stroking them and told them to jerk themselves off, which was impossible, bound as they were. That torment was designed to put the boys in the right frame of mind, to accept that their sexuality was under the control of their masters, and that they could come only on command. Actually Terry found a way to turn the tables. He might be strung up by his wrists with his ankles tied together, but he could bend at the hips, bring his slender thighs up enough to close around his erection, then rub himself till he came.

Frank and Sean had to admire the kid for his agility and determination, though for dramatic purposes they professed to be outraged that their slave boy had cum without permission. Terry paid for his cleverness and audacity with a good spanking.

For Frank and Sean, these two youths were the best boy toys they had ever played with. Small, cute, complaisant, submissive, and very vocal during sex or punishment. Good actors, they knew when to writhe their bodies sexily as the soft leather cat-of-nine-tails lashed their torsos, leaving no more than light red welts. They gave out piteous cries as the light weights attached to their balls jiggled during their whippings. Frank liked to scare Terry with the sharp teeth of the alligator clamps he attached to the boy's nipples. True, the clamps sometimes drew a trickle of blood, but Frank always made sure to wipe both the clamps and the boy's tits with alcohol ahead of time to prevent any infection, and he never left them on too long.

Anyway, the boys spent only a couple or three hours a day as slaves. The rest of the time they were simply two carefree teenagers, guests on a sea cruise. The food was good, Frank and Sean were good company when the weren't working the pearl beds, everything was fine.

Of course, the boys had plenty of free time to sun and swim and to dive with the older males for pearls. For boys their age, it was great fun, a real treasure hunt. Neither boy used a rebreather. They always free dived, equipped only with goggles, shin fins, and a knife, though always, for safety, in the company of one of the two professionally equipped divers. They even found a few small pearls themselves though none of them were the fabled black pearls Frank and Sean were looking for.

At night, the boys enjoyed each other's company just as if they back on board the excursion schooner. Though energetic, the sex they had together was gentler and more affectionate, the joining of two souls as much as two bodies. Sure the kinky stuff with the older males was fun. What the two boys did together with each other was making love. Their experience aboard the Albatros was a safe way for inexperienced lads like them to learn the difference between wild recreational sex and the deeper bonding that united lovers and spouses.

The divers knew that the videos they took would make them the envy of their S&M crowd. Sandy looked so cute and desirable there with his hands shackled behind his back being led along a beach by a leather thong tied around his ballsac or clipped to a dog collar. Terry looked so pitiful, strung up to a whipping pole, red welts crisscrossing his back and ass, gism dripping from his stretched hole. Of course none of that footage would go into any Making Of video. Terry did wonder if any of it would ever get out to the wider public. Sandy was afraid that was inevitable, no matter how sincere Frank and Sean promises about discretion. Friends they shared it with would likely filch it for their own pleasure, then post the footage on the web.

"Kids, if you are going to worry about anything, worry about the guys who write the scripts for your Jungle Boy pictures."

"What do you mean, Sean?" asked Sandy.

"Don't you get it? Those Jungle Boy movies already had a strong subtext of sadism and masochism if you know to look for it. Why do you think the Jungle Boy runs around naked so much, gets captured, verbally humiliated, and slapped around, sometimes whipped before getting thrown into some dungeon. Count on a lot more of that in your scripts if word gets out that you two like to play at being slave boys and sex toys."

"You mean they might write stuff like that into our movie scripts?"

Sandy was quite sure his mother was not ready to watch her first born being led about by a thong tied around his nuts, a red ball gag jammed between his teeth. Terry was similarly apprehensive at his own mom's reaction to seeing footage of Terry bound to the mast, a string of pre-ejaculate dangling from his cockhead past his knees. Terry was a leaker.

"Maybe not quite so explicit as our sex scenes, but I would sure feel sorry for the Jungle Boy if he ever falls into the clutches of the bad guys."

"That's when, really." Sandy said resignedly. "He is always falling into the clutches of the bad guys. The Jungle Boy stories are sagas of adventure, conflict, capture, physical abuse, and escape, climaxed by revenge or a righting of wrongs."

"The worst thing Sandy," Terry added, "is that if they make us act out such scenes in front of the camera, I couldn't help getting turned on. There I would be, maybe roped to the yardarm by pirates or to a tree by Indians on the warpath with my cock sticking straight out, throbbing to the beat of my heart, dripping with my juices."

"OK, Terry, I get it. This bondage stuff is only for once in a while anyway, so we have to be careful whom we play with."

Of course, despite their discretion, the secret of the boys' occasional indulgence in bondage did get around Hollywood, if not to the general public. Perhaps that is the reason why, in their next picture but one, Sandy found himself crucified with spikes to a "Tree of Woe" [think Arnold in 'Conan the Barbarian'], cawing ravens pecking at his nipples, threatening to tear the flesh right off him, while poor Terry found himself bound in coils of barbed wire, the sharp points cutting his smooth skin from neck to groin, blood dripping from his wounds as he was forced to walk the gauntlet between two rows of modern day pirates. Of course the barbs were plastic, the blood fake, and the ravens purely CGI.

Such explicit scenes played especially well in Japan, where they were considered a cinema version of a popular genre of manga, really gay S&M, (though sold mainly to females!) featuring lovely innocents who fall into the clutches of brutes who use the lads in appalling ways to gratify their bestial and perverted lusts. It was nothing for young men and women to read those comics on the commuter train to work, despite the lurid covers and interior illustrations of hapless lads, shackled in a dungeon, while all manner of indignities, to put it mildly, were visited upon their delectable persons.

But that is another story.