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Adventures in Filmland Ch. 01

By: adoration



I'd been in Los Angeles for a week from Boston when I came across the advertisement. It was in the "Situations vacant" section of Gay Movie Review and immediately attracted my attention because it was so me.

"Pretty sub boy needed for punishment film, must be between 20 and 25 and be able to absorb light to medium pain. Body must be excellent. Apply Jake Jack, director, Punishment Productions." And there was a phone number.

Well I'm very pretty, I'm 23 years old, I'm good at dealing with pain, I was taught by a really strict uncle, and I've got a fine portfolio of my still photographic work from the east coast. And I've got a smashing body, with what I think's an extremely suckable eight inch uncut cock. I dialled the number.

A woman's voice answered. "Hi this is PP films, Betty speaking, how may I help?"

I answered in my "honest and sincere" voice. "Oh, hi Betty, my name's Dirk and I'm calling about the advertisement you've got in Gay Movie Review, I hope it's not taken already," I said, sounding eager to please.

"Nope, you're in luck, Dirk," Betty told me. "I'll see if Mr Jack can fit you in this afternoon. Hold on a moment."

I did, then she came back. "We're out in Culver City, and if you can get here in 30 minutes, Mr Jack will see you then."

Well, I was staying in Santa Monica with a couple of friends, so it was a simple job of calling a cab, grabbing my brief case with my portfolio and whipping round to the Culver City address.

It was a well-appointed but small office, up on the second floor of an oldish building and as soon as I walked in I knew why the woman on the phone called herself Betty – she had Betty Page bangs, Betty Page legs and a Betty Page bust. Betty Page is just so fucking great, isn't she?

"Hey Dirk," she said, as soon as I opened my mouth – it's my Boston accent you see, ladies love it. Personally, I think it's the JFK thing.

She buzzed her boss and a tall, dark-haired man, aged about 40, opened his door and smiled at me. He had dark, piercing brown eyes, he was just over six foot and he was solidly built. I liked him immediately.

"Hi Dirk," he smiled, "come on in and let's chat." Then he turned to Betty. "It's almost 4, Betty, take an early afternoon off, I'll lock up after I've interviewed young Dirk here."

The way he said "young Dirk here" sent a little shiver of excitement down my spine, something like a hint of promise about it.

I entered his office, catching a whiff of his aftershave, which I took to be Envy, by Gucci for Men. I sat in a chair opposite his desk and clutched my brief case on my lap.

"Righto, Dirk," he smiled, leaning back in his large black leather chair, "tell me something about yourself. Nice hair cut, by the way."

Ohmigod, I think I blushed! I've got surfer's blonde hair, only it's cut in one of those sort of haphazard styles that look almost like I've been dragged through a bush backwards and you just know how much those fucking things cost!

"Thank-you, Mr Jack," I said, softly.

"Less of the 'Mr Jack', Dirk," he smiled, "call me Jake, everyone in the industry does.

"Now, how old are? Where you from? What's your experience of punishment? Fill me in."

"Well," I said, "I'm 23, I'm five foot 11, I weigh 140 pounds, I work out a lot and I've got an eight inch, uncut cock. I'm clean and I'm a submissive, I was trained by an older uncle and I think I've got a good pain threshold.

"I've just moved to the sunshine from Boston and I'm looking for work – well, that's obvious, since I'm here, isn't it? Er, I've got a portfolio here."

And I handed it over to him. Jake opened my resume. The first picture inside is guaranteed to grab attention. The woman who compiled it for me said it was essential to get them interested from the get-go.

On the first page inside the cover, which merely has my name on it, there's a colour picture of me taken on a beautiful summer's day. The sky is an azure blue above me and there's not a cloud to be seen.

In the picture I'm naked, I'm sporting my sexy hair cut, my tanned and toned body and my cock is standing up in what I think is a stunning erection! My foreskin is pulled back just a tad so my little piss slit is visible and part of my pink helmet.  

Jake, I could see, was impressed.

"Very nice, very nice, indeed," he said.

Then he looked at my details on the page opposite. After my name, he saw:

DOB: April 25, 1982

Height: 5ft 11inches

Weight: 140lbs

Tattoos: none

Penis: 8inches (uncut)

Fetishes: male domination

Likes: spanking, whipping, electro shock, water sports

Dislikes: shit

Drink: socially

Smoke: no 

Then he turned over and found my references – one from my uncle, which stated what a good little sub I am, and two from publishers of east coast gay magazines who had used me as a submissive in several photo shoots. The rest of the portfolio included pictures of me taken from those shoots.

Jake closed the portfolio and looked me straight in the eye: "Very impressive, Dirk, very impressive. You've done no film work, though, that right?"

I nodded, aware that this was very probably the Achilles Heel in my chances.

"That's no problem," smiled the movie man. "You'll be tied up most of the movie, anyway.

"Now I'll level with you, Dirk. It's between you and another fine young man. I know what he can do, but I don't know what you can do. You willing to audition for me?"

I looked at him intently. "You mean, er, you want me to ..." and my voice trailed off.

"I want to take you to my place," he said. "It's a 25 minute drive to my apartment looking out over the beach at Santa Monica, and I want to have you naked over a whipping bench while I see if you measure up. You up for that?"

I nodded. If I was going to do it in the movie, it seemed only fair that I prove to Jake that I could do it in real life.

I slipped my portfolio back into my slim leather brief case. "Ready when you are, Mr de Mille," I joked.

Jake laughed. "That's a terrible line and no one ever, and I mean ever, uses it here," he informed me.

"Sorry, Jake," I said, looking suitably sorry, I hoped.

"You gotta car?" he asked, as he slipped a jacket on over his brightly striped Tommy Hilfiger shirt.

I told him I'd arrived by taxi and we went to the building's basement car park and he drove us in his fire engine red Corvette to his place.

On the way, as he expertly gunned the little 'Vette through the afternoon traffic, Jake told me: "Dirk, it's a nice name, but it's not a fuckin' sub's name. That will have to go. We'll call you something like Jeremy – that's a real slave name, Jeremy."

I nodded. "Call me that then, so I can get used to it," I said, as he wheeled his sporty little machine into a driveway in front of a Spanish-style hacienda, looking out onto the hazy deep blue of the Pacific, with the white breakers rolling into the shore.

Inside, he told me to strip off to my underwear while he got out of his office things. "And help yourself to a beer from the fridge, I'll have a Dos Equis Amber," said Jake, disappearing upstairs.

I stripped down to my tiny little white thong, which was semi-see through, and got two bottles of Dos from the fridge.

Jake came back a minute later and I was impressed! His tall frame was superbly built, the sign of a man who works out diligently. He was wearing only a little black thong, which looked lovely on his muscular, sun-tanned frame.

He took the Dos I proffered, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Relax, Jeremy," he said, his face smelling of freshly applied Envy, "it's going to be fine."

We sat on a couch, which looked out onto the beautiful beach and he stroked my upper thigh. "You've got a great looking body," he said, taking a suck from his beer. "So far, so fuckin' good!"

"Thank-you," I said, relaxing in the warmth of the Californian sun. "You've got a stunning physique, yourself, Jake. You work out?"

He laughed. "Hell yes, sometimes twice a day, but I've not done a scrap today – guess it'll have to be with you, eh?"

I smiled and he looked me directly in the eye and then we kissed. His mouth was full and sensual, he tasted of beer and smelled of Envy. I felt secure with him. As we kissed, he swivelled to press his crotch against mine. I was acutely aware that he was as aroused as I was – our erections were straining for freedom.

"Let's get a six-pack of the Dos and take 'em down to the dungeon," he said, after we had unlocked lips. "Come on, I'm hot for you, Jeremy."

Jake fished around in the fridge, found a cardboard container holding six Ambers, and we went downstairs, into a basement, cluttered with sets of golf clubs, work-out benches and trainers, Nikes, adidas, New Balance, all makes.

In the far corner was a door, which he opened, snapped on a light and stood back to let me walk in ahead of him. There was a couch and a couple of easy chairs, a flogging frame in one corner and a flogging bench occupying pride of place in the center of the room. It was padded with gleaming black leather and had straps for ankles and wrists. I tried to mentally picture myself bent over it. It looked lovely.

Jake sat the beers on a table in one corner, then smiled at me: "Welcome to where I have more fun than anywhere else. OK Jeremy, show me those eight inches!"

I hooked my thumbs in the sides of my thong and slid it off, allowing my uncut cock to rise to full erection. Jake eyed me critically, then sat in an easy chair, patted one arm and said: "Over here, big boy, let me get a good look at that thing."

I walked across and stood by the side of the chair. Jake's hand, cold from holding his Dos, stroked my heavy ball sac, which I always keep hairless – uncle preferred it that way.

"Good, heavy balls," said Jake. Then his hand stroked my stiffness, running from the root to the tip.

"You shave the shaft," he remarked, gently fingering my lips at the helmet and lightly running over my piss slit.

"Yes," I said, my voice a thrilled whisper, "my uncle always insisted on it."

"Good ole uncle," Jake laughed, then he leaned forward and sucked on the cock, just down to the ring, but it was sweet and sexy. I liked it.

Then Jake stood, wrapped his arms around me and we kissed again, tongues flicking together, then disengaging to concentrate on a passionate, mouth-to-mouth embrace.

"Over the bench, darling," he hissed, his voice sounding excited.

I walked to the flogging bench and lay across it, feeling Jake's hands expertly strapping my ankles to its leather padded base, then doing the same to my wrists on the other side. A finger traced against my anus, gently, not invasively. "Nice buns, lovely buns," said Jake, still sounding aroused.

Then he walked round to face me and I saw that he had discarded his thong. His groin was totally shaved, I noticed, but what I noticed before that fact sunk in was his stubby cock, thick, strongly-veined and darkish brown in colour, the colour in sharp contrast to the pink helmet of his circumcised hard-on.

"Not as big as yours, baby," he said, "but seven and a half ain't bad, eh?" And before I could reply his pre-cum oozing cock tip was pressing against my lips and I took him in, sucking hungrily on his lovely rod.

He gave me a minute or two to enjoy his erection, then pulled away and knelt behind me and I could feel his tongue licking and caressing my anus.

The next thing I felt was his cock head nestling against my arsehole and Jake asking: "What's your uncle's name, Jeremy?"

"Rupert," I told him.

"Well, you just relax and think of dear old Uncle Rupert," he said.

"I'd rather think of you, Jake," I answered and then he was sinking his cock into me, driving it in until he was in me up to his pubic bone, his beautiful thrust making my own erection even harder, stronger and, I imagined, longer!

He fucked me faster and faster, before pulling from me with a groan and returning his dark-coloured cock to my mouth. Now it had a musky aroma and a tangy taste. I resumed my fellatio, but soon I stopped my work and relaxed as he began to face fuck me, his piston driving almost to the back of my throat.

Jake then pulled out, walked to a rack on the wall and brought from it a leather paddle, with a foot-long handle and about a yard of leather. He placed it across my buns and by looking in the mirror set on one wall, I could see that he was stroking his cock with one hand.

"You're doing so well, Jeremy," he said, throatily, "don't let me down now."

Then the paddle cracked home on my tautened buttocks, the impact making a sensational "Thwaaaaack" sound as it hit home. "Thwaaaaack" again, and again. The stinging was intense, but bearable, desirable even.

"I love you," I cried, "flog me, Jake, flog me!"

The paddle rained blows down on me, not severe ones, but enough to make me drag in a sharp intake of breath with each stroke. My backside was now burning and fiery, but I was still as hard as a rock.

Then, Jake dropped the paddle, swiftly knelt in front of the flogging bench and released my wrists. I went into the standing position and Jake looked at my cock.

"Oh fuck," he said, with admiration, "you're still erect, you darling thing, you." 

And with that he freed my ankles and took me in his arms, our cocks banging against each other, our chests straining with the excitement, our mouths melding into one with a kiss of such intensity I thought I might faint.

"Jeremy," he whispered into my ear, after we finally broke for breath.

"Yes, Jake?" I asked, my heart pounding away fit to burst.

"You just got yourself a part in a movie!"

To be continued.

Adventures in Filmland Ch. 02



I was so delighted to hear I'd won the part that I hugged Jake, then kissed him on the mouth, while he led me from his dungeon to his bedroom upstairs, with great views out to the blue Pacific.

Gently but firmly he lowered me to the edge of the bed. I knelt crouching and felt his cock penetrate my anus, then he was pumping into me, kissing me on the neck and throat constantly, until I heard him come with a groaning "Ohmigod".

I fell forward, then felt him placing warm cloths to my anus, cleaning me, then rolling me over before taking my aching erection in his hand and jerking me to a very quick climax. Again he used a cloth to clean up the results of my excitement from my chest.

We lay back on the bed, cuddling, for a few minutes, when Jake picked up his bedside phone and punched in a number. I traced my fingers along his beautifully sculpted upper body as he made his call.

"Hi, Sarge? It's me, Jake. Hold all calls on the latest movie - I've got the perfect boy for the subby. His name's Dirk, but hey, fuck that, we'll say something like 'Introducing Jeremy Jism', or something similar.

"He's from Boston. Pretty boy, great body, great cock, 'bout eight inches, and very submissive. You're gonna love him."

Jake fell silent as Sarge had his say, then Jake went on: "Sure, great idea. He's staying with me tonight, and I'm gonna flag the office tomorrow. Come on around about 10 and you and young Jeremy here can get acquainted."

When Jake had hung up, I asked him: "Is that the famous Sarge?"

"Sure is," said Jake, as he placed another cold Dos Equis Amber in my hand, and drinking from his fresh one. "Why? Don't tell me you've got anything against black men?"

"Of course not," I said, quickly, fearing my question might have been misinterpreted. "It's just that he's a bit of a legend with my uncle. He will be as envious as anything when he hears I'm going to star in a movie with Sarge."

I'd seen Sarge in several porn films. Sometimes playing the part of punisher of nubile young ladies, usually blonde and incredibly busty. Not that I'd cared much for the blondes, I was just besotted by the tall, muscular Sarge, with his pencil-slim Clark Gable moustache, his chocolate brown skin and his massive cock.

But it was the gay videos Sarge had starred in that had really got me up, hard and drooling. I remember one, in particular, where Sarge had dealt to a lovely young blonde boy, not very unlike me, in fact.

He'd taken him on a route march through some wooded terrain, Sarge comfortable in his camo fatigues and large Stetson, the blonde boy naked, save for rough work boots to protect his feet. Sarge had sure put the kid through his paces and now he was going to do something similar to me! My cock started to throb at the thought.

"You'll get along with Sarge famously," said Jake, as we sucked on our Ambers. "He's known in the business as 'The Punisher', don't matter whether it's young blonde boys or young blonde gals, Sarge is always 'The Punisher'."

"How long's he been in the industry?" I asked.

"Sarge has been on the scene for about six or seven years," Jake said, as we relaxed in the late evening sun which bathed the bedroom. "Came out of Dallas, or Houston - well, somewhere in Texas - and appeared in a heterosexual B&D movie.

"I first approached him about two years ago, asked if he'd like to play alongside one or two subbies I'd been wanting to star for me, and he chuckled that great big deep chuckle he's got, said 'Why not, I don't mind battin' both sides of the plate' and the next thing you know, he's all keen on fuckin' little boys! The rest, as they say, is porno history."

I slept fitfully all night, cuddling up to Jake but eagerly anticipating my first meeting with Sarge. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast, hash browns and bacon washed down by some lovely hot coffee, we showered together in Jake's bathroom, where I also shaved and dabbed on some of his Envy, by Gucci for Men. Jake then ensured my cock and balls were in pristine, hairless condition.

Next he threw me a red leather engorgement strap, which I buckled around my cock and balls before he tossed over a bright red PVC humiliation thong, its open gusset allowing my balls and cock to be displayed in total nudity. "Sarge likes his boys to display a certain respect," Jake explained.

Just before 10, the sounds of Sarge's great big Humvee could be heard pulling into the driveway in front of Jake's home. "Wait outside the lounge," said the moviemaker, kissing me on the cheek. "I'll let you know when you can come in."

After hearing Jake and his moviestar making some conversation, Jake called out: "OK, Jeremy, get your pretty ass in here!"

I stepped into the room, my cock displaying the most rigid, skyward facing erection I've ever sported and walked over to the easy chair, where Sarge sat grinning at me.

He was beautiful. His head was totally shaved and gleaming, like the rest of his muscular, chocolate brown body. His pectorals stuck out like peaks, shining and suckable, his abs were stunning. On his midriff, a shiny purple thong caressed the outline of what I knew was his mighty 10-inch cock.

"Get over her, pretty boy," he drawled, "and gimme a closer look at that rod you're so proud of."

I walked as nonchalantly as I could towards him and Sarge reached out a large but surprisingly gentle hand and cupped my balls, before stroking my shaft, then running his fingers into my foreskin and feeling my pre-cum, which had collected there.

"Very nice, pretty boy," he grinned, "now sit on ole Sarge's lap and let's chat."

I sank onto his fantastic, firm body and hugged him, feeling the wonderful warmth of his marbled flesh. Then, most forwardly, but I had to do it, I kissed him on his mouth, tasting coffee and the traces of a cigarette.

Sarge pushed me away with a sort of "Down, boy" motion and addressed Jake: "Now Jake, you got any decent beer in that big ole fridge of yours? And don't offer me no foreign crap. You got any Coors?"

"Er, no Sarge, sorry," said Jake.

"Well why don't you toddle off down to the liquor store and get a case of Coors while pretty boy and me here go down to the dungeon and start to get acquainted?" instructed the Sarge, in a no-crap tone.

"I'm on my way, Sarge," said Jake, "but say, I've had an idea. You keep calling him 'pretty boy'. Why don't we call him Floyd, like in Pretty Boy Floyd? What d'ya reckon?"

Sarge, to my amazement, gave me a strong, although mouth-closed, kiss on the lips.

"Jake, sometimes I wonder where you're fuckin' coming from, that's what I reckon," said Sarge. "Here you go, givin' the kid a perfectly good fuckin' name like Jeremy and the next fuckin' day you're tryin' to change it to crap like Floyd. I say Jeremy is just perfect for pretty boy, don't you darlin'?"

I'd have agreed to a name like Arbuthnot or Ebeneezer just for the opportunity to play alongside Sarge, but I stammered: "Er, Jeremy is fine with me, Sarge."

Sarge kissed me on the mouth again, this time a semi-open smooch. "See Jake? The kid just loves Jeremy. Now fuck off and get me some Coors 'fore they're all fuckin' sold out."

And with that, Sarge put his arms around me and picked me up in his arms and started to walk to the stairs leading down to the dungeon.

Once inside, he peeled down my humiliation panties and bent to strap my ankles to the whipping bench. Then he stood alongside me, kissed me on the mouth and took my cock in his right hand and started stroking it with his strong hand.

"Now I'm gonna give your buns a nice little spankin', pretty boy," he told me. "Relax and enjoy!"

As he was standing to my right side, I put my left hand out and stroked the front of his thong, feeling to my delight that he was erect, his penis depositing pre-cum on the satiny material. I felt so proud - I was arousing him! If he hadn't been hard I think I would have cried with shame.

Then his mouth locked onto mine as his left hand made a "Splaaat" noise on my left cheek. Then he stroked me gently, ran a forefinger against my anus, before striking me "Splaaat" on my right cheek. Meanwhile, his hand worked on my stiffy, while I stroked his magnificent member.

After some 20 hand strokes, Sarge let me go and ordered: "Bend over pretty boy." I lent down onto the coolness of the padded leather, but instead of him attaching my wrists where I placed them obediently by the straps, he knelt and ran his tongue over my anus, licking and moistening me, occasionally delving into the darkness for an exploratory probing.

The next thing I knew his cock head pressed against my anal lips and he was thrusting into me, driving me wild with lust as he filled me, causing my sphincter to tighten and increase my own hard-on what seemed ten-fold.

Uncle back in Boston had been pretty big, and sometimes his punishment intruder, which he used on me when I'd been really naughty, had been fairly thick, but nothing compared to the breadth of Sarge's monster. He was filling me in the most delicious way!

After several grunting heaves, Sarge pulled from me and bent at the front of the whipping bench to attach my wrists. Then he stood and presented his pink-helmeted penis to my mouth.

Now I've seen it often enough on video, of course, but believe me there's nothing like the first sight of his beauty in the flesh to drive home what a magnificent rod the Sarge has been endowed with.

I took the musky-tasting prick head in my mouth and Sarge gradually mouth-fucked me until I had about half his length down my throat. He was a surprisingly gentle fuck for such a big, brawny man. Then he pulled back and selected a paddle from Jake's equipment bench.

"Now I'm really gonna warm your lovely buns," said Sarge, standing off to one side behind me, his right hand on his cock, his left holding the heavy leather punisher.

"Thwaaack", the paddle hit home, forcing a sort of "Whuumph" sound from me, as the force flailed onto me. "Thwaaack", this time I was more prepared and sucked my breath in, taking the heat missile without crying out.

Then the Sarge went to work, beating a steady stream of torrid strokes onto my buttocks, the noise from the implement making a symphony of sound to a subby's ears!

When my backside was really burning, Sarge moved in front of me and once more presented his prick to my lips. As I sucked on his broad, thickly-veined penis, he took the paddle into his right hand and whapped a stroke down onto my left cheek. Then he switched hands and with the paddle in his left he delivered a cracker to my right cheek.

This angle of attack seemed to arouse him, and he soon started to grunt and then moan. As his orgasm started to become uncontrollable, Sarge started to rain the blows down, changing hands like a baton-twirler flicks the baton around during a parade, from hand to hand.

Sarge kept depositing blows on one cheek, then the other, until with a massive "Yeah, boy, that's it, suck that down boy!" he exploded a huge wad of semen into my swiftly-sucking mouth. Two more globs of spunk shot through his thick shaft, then he pulled away, before presenting his helmet to me for a final cleaning. Then he released me, and sank back in one of the chamber's easy chairs. "Fuck boy, that was good, you've got a great little asshole, tight and great for fuckin', but your mouth is a total fuckin' delight boy, you suck like a fuckin' angel."

I knelt by the chair and placed a hand on his still heaving and beautifully built chest. "Thanks, Sarge," I said, still tasting his salty semen on my tongue, "that was one of the biggest thrills of my life."

Just then, Jake entered the torture chamber, carrying a case of Coors, which he opened, handing one to Sarge, and stacking the rest in the fridge.

Noticing Sarge's detumescent cock, Jake smiled. "And whaddya think, Sarge. Was I right?" he asked, as Sarge sucked down the Coors in two savage gulps, then clicked his fingers, indicating he wanted another.

"As usual I take my fuckin' hat off to you, Jake," smiled the black pornstar. "This 'eres a little beauty. Great little anus, I love it - but his fuckin' mouth! Whatta beauty!"

"And his pain threshold?" said Jake, obviously delighted that his piece of casting had met with Sarge's approval.

"So far, so good," said Sarge, "but I'm gonna try him out on the floggin' frame in a little while. Get him set up in the frame, you can leave it in the corner by the mirror, so pretty boy here can watch me workin' on him, Jake."

The moviemaker motioned that I should stand by the metal flogging frame and he first strapped my wrists in its top corners, then my ankles at its base. Jake then adjusted the runners in the frame's posts, stretching my body until it was taut spreadeagled, ready for whatever Sarge decided to do.

The big black man stood behind me, and looking in the mirror ahead of me I could see that he had a rubber cat o' nine tails in his right hand.

"Now, pretty boy," he told me, "this 'eres gonna sting a little, but it won't be nothing to a slave like you, you'll have felt far worse. I'm gonna give you a barrage across your pretty little back. After about 20 I wanna hear you start begging for mercy - got me?"

I nodded, and watched with fascination as Sarge swung his strong arm in a sweeping motion and the flogger cracked home against my shoulders blades with a sweet-sounding "Tiiiish".

The flogging continued, warming my back and stinging, but not really hurting, until after about 19 or 20 strokes I started to blubber: "No more, for pity's sake Sarge, no more, I'll do anything, please stop, for fuck's sake stop!"

Jake, from his position on the couch, where he was sitting naked, stroking his stiffy and sucking on a Dos Equis, clapped his hands: "Excellent, fuckin' superb. Give that boy an Oscar!"

Sarge then came to my side and stroked my still erect cock. "Now the same routine with your buns, pretty boy," he said, "only this time really put some effort into that beggin'!"

The flogger's tails wrapped around my buns, stinging but bearable. Sarge worked efficiently, and by stroke 15 I started moaning, then increasing the pitch until I was groaning loudly.

After stroke 20, I let out a high-pitched wail and started to thrust myself against my bonds. "Aaaargh, I can't stand it, I'm on fire Sarge, pretty please stop, please, I'll do anything, only stop, I can't take any more, araaargh, ooowff!"

Sarge dropped the flogger and walked in front of me. "Very good, much more impressive, I think you'll do, I think you'll do just fine," he smiled, before kissing me, flicking his tongue into my mouth and cupping my balls with one hand, while stroking my erection with the other.

Then he moved the flogging frame on its castor wheels out into the center of the room. "Now for your front, boy," Sarge informed me. "Same drill, take about 20 then start beggin' me for mercy," he ordered.

Picking up the flogger he started on my upper chest, then moved expertly down until the cat was tangling its lashes around my cock and balls, the stinging now far more painful. I bucked and heaved in my metal cage, then started my pleading again.

"Oh no, not my poor cock, god have mercy, please Sarge, no, it's terrible, it's too much, stop for pity's sake!" I panted and cried, until my whipmaster halted my punishment.

Sarge dropped the whip and smiled at Jake: "Whaddya reckon Jake - is he a fuckin' natural or what?"

Jake stood and helped Sarge free me from the frame.

"So I've not lost my touch, eh Sarge?" he asked, as I stepped back onto the floor again.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, Jake," laughed Sarge, then he turned to me.

"OK, pretty boy, you must be feelin' darn frustrated after all that. What say I give you a nice little orgasm, then we can all lie out on the deck and suck on some nice cold beers?"

"Thank-you, Sarge," I said, rubbing my somewhat tender cock and balls, "that would be lovely."

And with that the big man took me to a corner of the chamber and made me lie on the floor. "Now climb up the wall," he instructed and I ran my feet up the walls until I was supported by my shoulders and my feet were high above me, my left buttock cheek resting against one wall, my right against the other.

Sarge stood over me, his hands pressing my feet against the wall to steady me and he bent to take my cock in his mouth. He sucked sweetly on me for a minute or two until I was sporting a raging hard-on, then stood back.

"Now you enjoy a nice cum, pretty boy," he said, stroking my stiffness, "and just see if you can catch it all in your mouth! You like the taste of your own cum, dontcha pretty boy?"

I had to confess that I did and Sarge laughed. "See Jake, we've got ourselves a real pervert here!" as he continued to pump my penis.

Soon his attentions had the desired effect and I panted "Almost there, Sarge, almost there" and he increased his stroke rate until a glob of semen splattered from my foreskin and sploshed down into my wide open mouth, then another, then a third, this one spilling slightly against my cheek.

Sarge knelt by me and fingered my semen, pushing the last little globs into my mouth. I swallowed the last little bits, then Sarge let me down.

"Looks like you missed some there, eh pretty boy?" he asked.

"Sorry, Sarge, I was a bit clumsy," I apologised.

He laughed, then helped me up. "Don't worry, kid," Sarge smiled, "it's gonna cost you, though."

"Cost me?" I asked.

"Sure," said Sarge. "Like, for example, when I'm ready for a piss, with all this Coors I'm gonna be drinkin', I'll have to use you as a fuckin' toilet. And you'd sure as hell better not spill any of my piss the way you spilled your spunk."

"Now fetch me another Coors, pretty boy, so's I can work on my first piss for you."

I almost sprinted to the fridge and fetched him his Coors. 

Jake laughed: "See Sarge, he's eating out of your hand. Like you said, I sure can I pick 'em."

To be continued... 



Adventures in Filmland Ch. 03



We spent the rest of the day drinking, with Sarge giving me an occasional golden cocktail, or when he felt like it a golden shower in the main bathroom. As he said, there was bound to be a golden shower in the movie we were due to start shooting on Monday, so I may as well get used to it. I didn't mind – as I said earlier, I'd had a pretty strict upbringing from my Uncle Rupert!

The week-end flew past and then, on Monday morning, Sarge arrived outside Jake's place in his Humvee and out of the vehicle climbed a sound recording man, two cameramen and the Betty Page look-alike from Jake's office who, I was told, would be responsible for make up and continuity.

While the cameramen were setting up lights in the main lounge, Jake explained that we'd be doing the interior shots first. Not many were needed, he said, it wouldn't take more than a couple of hours, but that did nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I was suffering from extreme stage fright.

The first shot involved me, sitting sprawled in an easy chair reading a lurid gay magazine "Gang Bang Glory Holes". I was naked for the shot and stroking my eight-inch hard on. Betty combed my hair, making it look pretty mussed up and when she was satisfied she'd got the right look, Jake called for the cameramen to start shooting.

"Start stroking that little ole cock, Jeremy," called Jake, as the filming began. For several minutes the cameras zoomed in and out on my erection and the cover of the magazine I was perving at. Then I had a rest, while Sarge prepared for his entrance.

I stood back behind the cameras as they filmed Sarge entering the lounge in his camo fatigues, then glaring and barking: "You filthy little slut! I told you to clean this place up? And what do I find? You reading a fuckin' porno mag!" They did a couple of takes of that, then I was put back in the chair and did a few attempts at looking scared shitless and calling out "Sorry master, I'm getting right onto it, master!"

Then there was a shot of Sarge telling me: "OK, you fuckin' little slut, for your fuckin' disobedience I can see I'm gonna have to give you a fuckin' route march!"

Shots of me looking absolutely fucking petrified were then taken, and then Jake had me kneeling on the floor in front of the Sarge, pulling on my erection and pleading with him: "No, master, please no, not a route march! My body still aches from the last one!"

Sarge's sneering response was caught on film, then Jake called for some "suck shots". Sarge dropped his trousers to reveal his burgeoning 10-inch erection and I began to suck on it, swallowing as much as I could of the monster.

"Give me some begging, Jeremy," called Jake as I worked on Sarge's huge prick.

"Please master," I cried, pulling away briefly from his erection, "not the route march, I beg you!" and variations on that theme until Jake was satisfied.

"Right, that's a wrap," said Jake. "Now we can get out to the farm."

I went with Jake in his sporty little 'Vette while Sarge followed on in his massive Humvee and the rest of the crew. On the way, Jake explained the "farm" was a desolate, barren spread out in the country some hour and a half's drive which was owned by a friend of his and was used as a location for a lot of "punishment film" shoots, both gay and "straight".

I still felt nervous, but Jake patted me on my thigh and assured me I was doing fine. "It's when The Punisher has problems getting it up you're not pulling your weight, but there's no sign of that," he assured me.

Out in the desert, the sun was bearing down, which added to my tension. For the rest of the day's shooting I would be naked, save for a pair of white sox and a sturdy pair of brown leather boots to protect my feet from the stones, sand and brush. Betty applied a thick layer of sun tan lotion and mussed my hair up real good.

"Right," said Jake, when I was ready, "let's have Sarge get him kitted up with the anal intruder and the cock and ball ring. Sarge, you ready?"

Sarge emerged from a small tent which had obviously been pitched overnight and walked out to where I stood, naked and apprehensive. He was wearing a sort of Green Beret's forage cap, a black leather waistcoat which revealed his wonderful pectorals and gleaming brown chest. On his hips were black leather chaps, which were crotchless, so his big ball bag and thick cock stood out from his groin. He was erect. On his feet were sturdy-looking black cowboy boots. His sinister air of menace was completed by a pair of dark Gucci shades.

"Right, Sarge," said Jake, "let's get him fitted into it. The boys are ready. You know the words, Sarge. Jeremy, just ad lib as the Sarge fits you into this thing."

"This thing" was a dark brown anal intruder which looked to me to be about six inches long. From its base a thick leather strap went to another circular strap, with a buckle.

"Right, you disobedient little cunt," said Sarge, as he was being filmed. "You know what this is for." He waved the gear in front of my face. "Bend over so's I can get it in your pretty little ass." "Please, Sarge," I pleaded, as I turned and displayed by bare backside to him, "please don't do this, I'm so scared." And to tell the honest truth, I really was. I was a newcomer to the film business, I was hot under the searing sun and Sarge was really playing the part of strong master to perfection.

Then I felt the intruder driving into me and I stiffened at the uncomfortable intrusion. Sarge then pulled the strap between my thighs and buckled the circular belt at its end around my cock and balls, thus acting as an engorgement strap for my eight-inches, which was soon standing stiffly to attention.

The cameramen said they were satisfied with the shots and we could move on. "Time for the yolk, Sarge – Betty, get it out of the tent," instructed Jake, and Betty, who had stripped to a black bikini and a large sun hat which showed off her Betty Page look-alike figure and features, went into the tent and returned with a heavy-looking wooded contraption, which she handed to Sarge. I didn't like the look of it.

"Just in case you thought I was a little easy on you last time, I'm gonna use my favourite yolk this time, you little cunt," said the Sarge, snarling as he spat the words out.

"Right, let's get a look at Jeremy looking at the yolk – nice expression of fear, please, ducky," said Jake, as Sarge held the heavy wooden contraption out to me.

I didn't really need to act as I regarded the implement of punishment. It looked heavy, it was padded with black leather and I didn't want it across my shoulders. Sarge, of course, had other ideas.

Soon I was attached to the yolk, my shoulders and wrists strapped to its arms by leather straps, and straps also went over my forearms just below the elbows. I staggered slightly as Sarge completed the procedure and as I did one of the cameramen called out: "Nice, great shot that!"

Jake proclaimed himself satisfied so far, then asked Betty: "The buggy whip, please, darling. Then we can really get this move moving!"

Betty emerged from the tent holding a buggy whip which was taller than she was! She handed it to Sarge, who took the implement in its golf-club grip and flexed the slim but cruel-looking leather strip.

Then I really started to earn my wages! With the cameramen taking shots from every conceivable angle, many of them up from ground level looking at my cock as it swayed in its horribly tight engorgement strap, Sarge flogged my ass and ordered me to march around in the blazing sun. He didn't strike me often, and most of the blows were not delivered with his full, considerable force, but I certainly felt them.

I was marched up hill and down dale, into thickets of bushes which scratched and grabbed at my poor naked flesh, across dusty expanses and through sagebrush. Sarge moved behind me, barking instructions, such as "High knee action, cunt, prance for me!" and "Marching on the spot – now!"

By the time we broke for lunch I was panting and exhausted from the rigors of filming and the disciplinary attentions of Sarge.

Lunch was great. A movie catering company provided us with a superb spread of cold meat salads, salami, tasty fish and even hamburgers. There was plenty of cool beer and juices, and Jake and Betty shared a bottle of chilled white wine. The two women from the catering company didn't even blink at my striped ass and back and the engorgement strap and anal intruder I was still wearing. I guess they'd seen a lot of things on Hollywood movie sets!

After lunch, and while the caterers cleared away, Sarge marched me out towards a thicket of trees, whipping my ass regularly on the march there – almost half a mile, I'd guess.

"You remember my favourite little spot, don't you cunt?" asked Sarge as we walked through the welcoming shade offered by the trees.

"Cut," Jake called. "OK, Jeremy, time for you to drop to your knees and start pleading. Things like 'Not the tree bondage, please, master, not the tree bondage' while you're sucking on his stiffy."

When the cameramen were in place, I went into action, falling to my knees, sucking on Sarge's huge erection and begging him not to put me in the "tree bondage", whatever that was.

I soon found out. Set in the path through the trees was a clearing, and on either side stood two, large-trunked trees. Hanging from the base of the two trees were thin ropes. Similar ropes were tied some way up the trunks. Obviously, I was going to placed into bondage between the trees.

The "takes" for this scene took forever. I was released from the rigors of the yolk and then Sarge would get me tied up, then the cameramen would call for a re-take. But after about 30 minutes, I was hanging, arms held out stiffly, legs dragged wide, in a most uncomfortable position.

Then Sarge started the flogging. There was no script, no dialogue to learn – none was necessary. After about 20 strokes across my buttocks and upper back I was screaming for mercy. Luckily for me, I remembered to call Sarge "Master" in my pleas, which meant that after about 10 minutes of the most severe flogging I had ever undergone, Jake was satisfied and called: "Cut!" It was the most wonderful word I'd ever heard in my life!

The crew them filmed me being released and my sinking to the dusty floor of the little clearing when I was at last freed. Then Sarge ordered me to stand and bend over. He roughly removed the anal intruder from my anus and was soon plunging his 10-inch titan into my rectum.

The cameramen demanded re-take after re-take of his entry. Then, he pulled from me and presented his smeared cock to my mouth for his completion. As he neared his ejaculation, he pulled out of my mouth and shot his load all over my face – the obligatory cum shot!

There was a brief break, Betty cleaned me up, then they filmed Sarge walking me – this time minus the yolk, but with my hands clasped behind my neck – back out into the searing sunshine.

Then, for my final humiliation, Sarge gave me a strong, stready golden shower all over my face, splashing cascades of urine from forehead to chin, before finishing with a growled command "Open up" and making me drink the last few gushes from his bladder.

The final scene showed Sarge pulling my blonde hair down and pressing me against his groin while asking: "Well, you little cunt, did you enjoy that?"

Jake looked at me intently, his head nodding up and down.

"Yes, master," I sobbed – truthfully, of course.

"That's good, cunt," smiled Sarge, "'cos we're gonna do it again tomorrow!"

"And that's a wrap," cried Jake and shooting was done.

About a month later, I was invited to Jake's place by the beach for a private preview of the movie. Jake was there, of course, and Sarge, Betty, the cameramen and the sound technician. There were also several people I didn't know.

After the film – it lasted 60 minutes and was titled "Route March Misery" starring Sarge, as The Master, and introducing Jeremy as the slave – one of the people I didn't know introduced himself to me as Rodney, and said he was an agent.

"I just love the way you acted in that," he gushed. I refrained from telling him that most of it involved no acting on my part whatsoever.

"Tell me, do you have a contract with Jake?"

I shook my head. "No, he paid me a straight fee," I explained.

"How much, my dear Jeremy?" asked Rodney.

I told him.

Rodney tut-tutted. "I can do much better for you than that," he said, "much better."

Then he steered me out onto the verandah, overlooking the beach. "Listen, you've got the most adorable tush in the business, you've got an adequate cock and you've got that sullen, slave boy look. You're a natural.

"Sarge is thinking of retiring from the porn business, and I've got a lad on my books who's going to be the next Sarge. In fact, he's gonna be bigger than Sarge.

"You and he were made for each other. What do you say?"

I didn't know what to say, then I was helped out by Sarge, who came out with Betty draped on his massive arm.

"Hi kid," he grinned. "Rod tell you I'm thinkin' of quittin' the business?"
 "Yes," I answered, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm going into bondage productions myself," he laughed. "We're gonna do a Betty Page revival series starring Betty here as the lady herself, ain't that right kid?"

Betty sort of simpered and smooched a slow kiss on Sarge's mouth. "Anything you say, darling," she whispered in his ear.

"I told Jeremy about Alan," said Rodney, when the Betty Page look-alike had disengaged from Sarge's mouth. "Tell him, Sarge."

Sarge looked at me and grinned. "You'll like Alan," he told me, "he's pretty, he's muscular and for a white man he's quite well hung."

So, to cut a longish story very short, I signed with Rodney. You'll be able to see the first of my movies with Alan soon, we've shot about six or seven and I'm rather proud of them.

Just look out for any videos starring Alan Adonis, as "The Master" and Jeremy, as "the slave". 

Alan's a real hunk, he's only 25 and I'm passionate about him, so much so that I've moved into his apartment and we're an item now. God, I love the movie business!

THE END