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Wesley Harper sat at the end of the bar at Number One Fifth Avenue. He had recently reached his majority and was comfortable knowing he could order a drink legally. He was also pleased that the young bartending didn't proof him, as though his new maturity was evident.
Wes had his first job. It was easy to land. His Uncle Max was head of an advertising agency in mid-town and Wes was taken on as a copywriter. Wes did have some experience in writing at Yale, supplying ed.columns all during his undergraduate days.
He was on his first drink, a Manhattan. A little old style but at least when ordered "extra sweet" it was a bearable hard liquor drink. By coincidence he was meeting an old client of the agency, a liquor distributor, who had several well-known brands in his stable. He was introducing a new brand. Wes decided it was a hard sell. He wondered how he could whoop up interest in orange flavored vodka.
As the time moved on. He realized that he had been here about forty-five minutes. The client knew he was there and could have called the bar to say he was late. Perhaps he just forgot the appointment. Wes ordered his second drink.
The first drink made him feel relaxed and cheerful. He was aware of eyes checking him out. Even the bartender stared at him as he ordered his drink and smiled seductively at him. Wes was used to it. He was definitely not gay, but he was, like so many young guys today, not anti-gay and felt that the admiration he saw in other men was not threatening but rather a compliment. Besides, at six three and 215, he was physically unafraid of male rape.
Marna, his current girl friend once broke into tears because she said he was better looking than her. It was true he mused later, Marna complemented his sexually, what he craved and needed: a juicy cunt that he could sink his not unsubstantial cock into and ride to a great cum. He was also a devotee of giving oral sex, not that receiving was bad, but often a distraction from the eating of that hot place.
Like real straight guys he loved everything about women: their voice, their skin, breasts and-and-the whole setup. Marna was ideal for him and he intended to hold on to her as long as possible. She was gorgeous. She loved sex, but treated it as fun. She was well educated, elegant in taste, looked outstanding on his muscled arm. He realized he was getting a little hard thinking about her. There was a date this evening at her place. Little Wes would have to calm down and be patient. He surely wasn't going to wack off in the men's room and waste good spunk on the urinal.
Bobby the bartender and other men who sat at tables in the bar, or passed on the way to the pisser, or sat at stools near him stared with hot eyes at him. He excited the curiosity of other men, even straight men. This was not a gay bar so the steady stares were from his sexual brothers.
What elicited this attention? Was it his extraordinary face, with classic features, the smooth skin of his cheeks, the clear forehead crossed with tumbling curls from his midnight black shiny hair or the eyes? Yes it could be that. Wes had large eyes, long eyes, heavily lashed eyes set with a jewel of a dark blue pupil. His never tweezed eyebrows arched over giving a perfect comment to the glistening orbs below. Finally he sported an imperfection, an artifact that some people consider remedying. It was a faint connection of black hairs between his brows. Marna said it made her cream. Wes was one of those guys who just looked fantastic without any work. He was hardly conscious of the fact that in a world of billions, he was probably part of a few hundred specimens of his perfection. His body was made for clothes, but he didn't seem to notice. He worn ordinary pants and jackets, a blue blazer or a tweed jacket over chinos or jeans were his wardrobe mainstay. But those mundane choices looked great on him. The reason was his broad shoulders and small waist and probably his carriage. He looked like the product of military training. That came from four years in a military prep school.
He looked at his expensive gold wristwatch, a graduation present from his Dad. "Look prosperous, even if you aren't." he advised. "People are uncomfortable with someone poorer than they are. Get an apartment in at a good address, even if it is studio size. You can always move to a larger one later, but you can't remove the negative effect of your first impression.
He occasionally brought clients, and before that, girls. It was sparsely and manly furnished. He often lied, "This is my New York City hole up. My house is up in Connecticut, too far after dinner or theater to drive up." Oh yeah, it had to be a Porches. Dad told him that even an old one has cache.
The second drink had lulled him into a nice cotton-batting comfort. He hardly minded being stood up. But his reverie was interrupted by a smooth throaty voice near his ear on the left. It belonged to a nattily dressed guy in his fifties. His words were pronounced in an upper class British accent. Wes turned to regards him. His gray mustached, florid face, quite close emitted a pleasant citrus smell. He had a big face, smooth fat cheeks atop a loudly checkered sport coat, a lime-colored cravat denting his jowled, carefully shaved neck. "What did you say?" asked Wes, expecting the usual come on line. It never made him mad. He usually and politely turned the attempt away. He always felt a little sad for these poor bedeviled homosexuals.
"I said 'have you thought of modeling?" He ended the words by handing Wes and heavy, real parchment business card. It proclaimed the name of a famous modeling agency and showed Malcolm Foster as president. This guy had real backup to his approach.
"I have a job, but thanks." He turned back his drink.
The guy did not leave. "Surely you can use another, say fifty thousand year and you can still keep your day job."
Now that sounded interesting.
"What I'd have to do, pose for porno?"
"Not at all (he pronounced it as notatal). We have a client in the $3000 a copy suit business. I'm wearing his trousers. I mean, trousers made by his company. You are the perfect 42 long. Few chaps of your height six three I guess can wear that size. You'll get a few fee suits out of it and $300 an hour to start."
Now this was interesting. "I can't say I couldn't use the dough. Living in the city, parking my car and the other goodies really costs. Maybe I am interested. What should I do?"
"Come up to our offices, by the way, close to this Hotel. I'll set up an appointment with the owner. His name is Chiu Tsing, a Chinese chap," he added unnecessarily."
He told the suave Brit that he'd think about it. During the next few days he felt that heavy card whenever he put his hand in his pocket. Now the last few days were hell for Wes. Several of his ideas were shot down at the creative meeting. The chance of picking up so much dough began to seem more and more interesting. Then too, he had a suppressed desire to flaunt his beauty. The only time he could when in a sexual situation. Last night Marna was busy and he met a gal at the café he frequented. There was mutual flirtation, a move to her table, veiled sexual remarks passed between them, then: "Come up to my place," he said. She agreed. Within minutes they were undressed. She was more admiring of him than any other girl he could remember. She rhapsodized about his body, even his feet. "You have the nicest man feet I have even seen, smooth, no crooked toes and no protruding toe knuckles. Even the bottom is pretty. "Do you use some ointment?" He assured her that he used nothing but soap, that he was lucky. His armpit hair started her off again. "It's so neat and shiny. Smells excellent too. No stale smell, no creepy deodorant." He found that when he came it was a long hard one. He was kind of puffed up with himself and the compliments.
Two days later he called Malcolm Foster. It was tricky getting to him. He had to go through three secretaries, all male incidentally, each of who questioned him about his business with Mr. Foster. Finally Foster's honeyed voice came over the wire. "Yes dear boy, I remember you very well. The outstanding dark haired lad with perfection of face and body. That's you isn't it?"
Wes wasn't sure how to respond to this accolade so he just asked if he could pursue the modeling idea that Malcolm had suggested. "Righto. Let me check with Chiu. I think he is interviewing another laddie tomorrow evening and perhaps we can make it a double header, What? Give me your cell number and I'll get back to you."
About an hour passed and the appointment was gelled.
Wes found the building easily, he had passed it so many times, a white stone double wide former residence. The agency occupied all the floors. The elevator took him to the top floor. There was no entry, it was locked, but he rang the bell and shortly the door swung open, hydraulically and revealed Foster's stocky body jumping up and down enthusiastically. "Welcome my boy, the others are waiting. Drinks also. First sign this release. Of no consequence and Mr. Tsing will notarize it later."
Inside the private office suite Wes found two other personages. One was a very handsome, well-built, young blond fellow, wearing brief under shorts and nothing else, posing in a mockup of a beach scene. The other figure, directing the shoot and manning a camera was, Wes surmised, Mr. Chiu Tsing. Here was a surprise. Wes had to banish any pre-assumptions about Asians. Tsing was close to seven feet tall, slim as a reed and wore a thin, 30's Hollywood style moustache. The boy waved limply at him and waggled his plucked eyebrows, Tsing stared with widening eyes. Foster got busy as host and carried a tray of pink drinks. Tsing waved him away, the young blond, who Wes learned was named Hans, refused the drink. In a barely understandable German accent he stated, "I do not require your fuck drink." Then he laughed in an ascending giggle that seemed to embarrass the other two.
Wes internally shrugged and the phrase, 'In for a penny', passed through his mind. He took the drink and tasted it. It was actually quite good but as a cocktail it was more booze than mixer and he felt it going down and warming his chest quite quickly. Foster drank his down in almost one swallow and poured another from the shaker. He quickly filled Wes's empty glass and Wes sipped the second one.
A moment later he saw that Hans had changed into a more revealing type of underwear, more a pouch tied in the back. Wes couldn't help but notice that the young German had a prodigious penis straining the thin fabric. Tsing called out, "Hans your German sausage is slipping to the side. Maybe we should photograph this with your own little weenie."
Wes began to feel as if he had fallen down a well and was now at a movie set of some crazy moviemaker. He was a little dizzy from the drink, but his main feeling was that no one was paying attention to him. Foster now was busy adjusting the boy's pouch and Tsing was waving his arms directorially. 'Now comes the rabbit staring at his watch' thought Wes, but then everything dramatically changed. Tsing strode over to him. "How come you haven't taken off your clothes? Quick, you are wasting time."
The monumental Foo Man Choo's very deep voice was loud and the command unmistakable. Wes felt that he should obey. Maybe it was the drink, but he removed his tie and shirt exposing his fine smooth chest. He could hear sounds in the room. Hans gasped, Foster waved his fat hands about and cooed, Tsing released a long held breath. "Excellent!" he said, "Now the rest."
Meekly Wes sat on the couch and took off his loafers, socks, then stood and slid off his pant. "Mein Gott, look at those gorgeous legs," called out Hans and began fingering his crotch. Foster just fell back in a chair and waggled his head in amazement. But it was Chiu who came close and pulled off Wes's striped shorts before he could reach down to hold them. His cock dangled invitingly and Chiu asked, "May I touch it?"
Wes gulped at few times, feeling more naked than he had ever imagined. "No, I'd rather you wouldn't."
He could hear Foster, who was behind him. "Lad, you've already earned $300. If you're a good boy you may leave with almost a thousand. What say?"
Actually Chiu didn't need permission. His long fingers reached out and hefted the cock, his other hand reached under and lifting Wes's balls sack. "H-m-m, very nice indeed. Bend over mister and let me view your ass."
Wes realized that Chiu had a Brit accent also, must have been to an English school in Hong Kong. All this crazily went through his mind as he tried to divert himself from the horror that his dick was filling with warm blood and slowly thickening and he could feel the head pushing through his foreskin. He meekly leaned over and Hans took one cheek and Foster the other as Chiu leaned in and examined the now sweating ass hole. 'I will wake any minute from this dream,' he thought but part of him was loving the attention and admiration.
There was no question, he had blacked out a moment, maybe more, for the next thing he remembered is that across the room, Hans was lying across an ornate desk, the usual desktop stuff was scattered on the floor, Foster was sans his expensive trousers and his sausage-like schlong was entering and retracting from the German kid's white ass. The kid was howling with pain or pleasure and Foster was occasionally spanking him.
Wes was sprawled on the couch. He tried to rise, but he felt leaden. Suddenly he realized, as he stared over the expansive back of the Chinese Chiu, that his cock was being expertly sucked and it felt fabulous. The Asian had technique from the sages that was nearly driving the yuppie nuts. That rimming under the foreskin, that pushing and trying to enter his piss hole, that tickling of the back of his balls, he was fast reaching a thunderous cum.
Foster took a moment from his shagging of the German and looked over. "Nice matey, what a sight. I've got a few juicy pics of you in ecstasy. You are cute beyond belief. Uh, Uh, got to get back to my porking, Hans is impatient."
Wes pushed the tall Asian away from his cock. "Stop a minute. Let me get my breath."
Chiu lifted up and smiled widely, his mouth and chin covered with his spittle. "Turn over dear boy and I will please you in another way." Wes automatically turned over. "What's wrong with me?' Chiu lifted Wes's hips up and placed his hands cross under his head. He then pushed at the dark curls until his head was down and his handsome ass was pushed into the air. A cool breeze from the air conditioning chilled him. He felt venerable terrified of being fucked, but instead an indescribably exciting feeling banished all fears. The long, smooth, slick, experienced tongue flicked across his anal hole that had been tightly clamped in fear. In opened up welcomingly and pulsed in delight. Chiu took advantage and slipped the tip of his tongue inside and swirled it all around the inside of the sphincter. Wes began to vocalize shamelessly for the first time. "Oh, oh, you filthy shit eating bastard, you pig, oh, oh, don't stop."
Now the magnificent Asian stuck his tongue further and rubbed it back and forth across the young man's firm prostate. Wes jumped in surprise. "What is that? What are you doing?"
"Do you want me to stop American boy?"
Wes groaned. "Do it. Shut up and do it."
Now the tongue reached in as far as possible and Chiu began a tongue fucking motion that had Wes howling in joy and thrust his ass back to get more of that delicious tongue. 'I've become, in two hours, a male whore, but I love every minute. Never felt anything like this before.'
Suddenly Chiu pulled his tongue back, grabbed the limp Wes and sat him up. Chiu stood before him, his exceptionally long slim penis standing and bobbing before him. "You have had your fun pasty boy, now Mr. Tsing is ready to unload in your pretty mouth. Take my cock and lick it."
Wes pulled back in horror. "I'm no fag. I don't do cock." From across the room Foster was being cock sucked by the compliant Hans who was humming with pleasure as he sucked. Foster called to him that he was a queer now and he had pictures to prove it.
Wes still gamely stared at the pulsing cock and resisted. The Chinese pulled his slim hand back and smartly slapped Wes across one cheek. "You are bought and paid for, you will do as I say or you will be in trouble."
Wes wasn't sure what that meant but the slap had rattled him and his self-confidence and ability to fight was destroyed. The tip was wetting his perfect lips with pre-cum and he licked it away. It tasted faintly like ginger, nice, it wanted more and pushed his head forward and accepted the slim cock and shaft into his mouth. Without realizing it, his tongue began a virgin dance around the cock. After all, he had plenty of labial experience with women. Mr. Tsing quickly became transported by the mental image of this most beautiful boy and the treatment his sensitive organ was enjoying. He began crooning softy in Cantonese, the dialect of his boyhood. His slim coffee-with-cream colored hips undulated back and forth as he tried to maximize the sensation. Suddenly all crystallized into a gigantic sexual explosion, which captured his body, vibrated his testicles and caused his ass hole to open and close rapidly. He began his cum, babbling and crying in pleasurable agony. At last he spew thin streams of tasty cum down Wes's gulping throat. They separated, both breathing hard.
"Strange," Foster mused, "How each of us have our own cum song. I usually vocalize "God Save the Queen". I don't mean HRH but rather myself." He now stepped into the middle of the room assuming as much dignity as he could muster, being naked. "It's time to give young Wesley the finish of his life." He lifted his hands as if he was holding a bugle and voiced the 'call to arms'. "Now I, as senior will organize this tableau. The inscrutable, but not unscrew- able Chiu will station himself as the rear guard since he is already familiar with that hole and Wes here does enjoy the treatment. Hans is slathering to get busy on Wes's feverish cock, already dripping honey in anticipation of its final relief. And I will offer my English banger as a teet to calm our boy and bring him back to his infancy."
They began. The room was filled with moans and cries, Wes seemed the most vocal as he kept loud crowing as a new thrills reached his brain. The first to unload was the fat sausage of our English friend. He was quite shaken up by the experience and Wes had to wrap his perfect arms around the fat guy to keep him from sinking to the floor. Then Wes, unable to bear the exquisite stimulation of his hot button plus the vigorous sucking of Hans bawled out that he was cumming. His body convulsed and he went into a short blackout from the sensation.
Chiu left off his ministrations, fell on his back and stroked himself to a Chinese New Year of a second cum.
Now everyone was quiet. They arose and slowly dressed. Wes saw Chiu handing a lot of bills to Hans but he also heard him tell the Teuton that his services were no longer needed. Wes was treated a little different. He got all the money promised and a chit for a suit. Malcolm kissed him on the cheek and told him that he was welcome to return. "We will be interviewing boys in a few days. Maybe you would like to launch your ass."
The best part of the liaison was that clients began to pop up at Wes's agency asking for him. He had been recommended by Malcolm. This was good and the compliments he got for his spectacular gray striped suit was gratifying.
He never returned to the opulent office and the superb boys. He, like the prisoner, returned to hetero sex immediately. Marna noticed that he expressed a new depth of passion.
End