Copyright 2009 by Luc Milne lucmilne@telus.net All rights reserved. One copy may be downloaded for personal reading.
MEAT SCOUT 6 by Luc Milne
THE KIDNAPPED BRIDEGROOM
Part One: "The Buy"
One of the most valuable pieces of flesh I ever handled came to me entirely by a fluke. It was late in the evening and I was on my way to a Youth Remand Centre in New York to take a private peek at an intake of delinquent boymeat for possible procurement before the kids got too deeply into the system to extricate. A call came through on my cell phone from the owner of a (straight) brothel in nearby New Jersey. He wouldn't say exactly what he had to offer, but promised me that I wouldn't be disappointed in the goods he had accidentally acquired. I had dealt with the man twice before when he had offered up customers of his whorehouse for sale: men who had misused their girls and refused to pay for the damages. The Corporation likes this kind of product: there's a real market for straight rapists and tough guys who can be turned out and made into cumbuckets by clients with sadistic tastes.
But what he had to offer on this night was completely different he said. I played a hunch and turned my rental car around, heading away from the city out into the New Jersey jungle. The brothel was called Pinky's Gentleman's Club and was in a stripmall along with an adult video store and a chinese takeout place. When I arrived at the Club, pinky met me at the front desk in the lobby and started his spiel immediately.
"Ya won't believe what I got for ya, Nick. This is somethin' you'll really go for. These guys come in, see. and they--"
I broke in: "Just show me the meat, Pinky." With these guys it's always best to get down to the basic business--buying man flesh by the pound. It cuts through the crap.
"Sure, Nick, sure," he said. "Come on back, I've got the kid in my best room." We walked through a sort of lounge with a small bar in it, into a corridor lined with doors, most standing open since it was early in the evening and there wasn't much business yet. The place was decorated in "Whorehouse Pimp Deluxe". One of doors had a hand-painted sign reading "The Mae West Room" and that's the one we went into. Pinky had very dated delusions of grandeur when it came to naming the rooms in his whorehouse, or, as he called them, "the love suites". The Mae West suite was a suffocating cubbyhole of soiled cream satin and grimy lace. The lighting was strictly 20 watt, but the bed was illuminated by a golden pinspot which set off the prime specimen of meat stretched out on it like a priceless gem resting on silk in a Tiffany window.
I knew at once that I could find a use for the guy, assuming there weren't any insurmountable difficulties about taking him and that he could get a hardon. But it was when Pinky said he was a bridegroom due to be married the next afternoon which guaranteed my determination to buy him. So I decided I'd better let the pimp tell me the story.
"These guys come into the club early, 'bout eight o'clock this evening. Four of them, lookin' kinda like older college kids--mebbe early twenties. They're all flying on something--real high--and one of them, this one here, was being held up by the others, really out of it, ya know. So the leader--turns out he's this guy's Best Man for the wedding tomorrow--tells me they were having his stag party and decided they should give the future bridegroom a treat--'let him taste freedom one last time' he said. They wanted to get the kid laid on the night before his honeymoon night--see what I mean?"
"Yes, Pinky, I'm way ahead of you. Skip to the 'love suite' and the guy handcuffed to he bed." One of his wrists was hooked up to one of the cuffs that was standard equipment for beds at Pinky's, along with ankle cuffs and spreader bars--Pinky ran a classy establishment!
"Well, that was the funny thing, Nick. While we were undressing him, I said to Mike--he's the best man--why do we have to cuff him? He ain't gonna run away when one of my girls gets up on top of him is he? And Mike says yes, that's just what would happen. By now the bridegroom here was kinda squirming around trying to get loose. They'd given him a half a roofie to keep him quiet, but it was starting to wear off, you know? And he was saying something like 'Val, where's Val' over and over. Turns out this Valerie is his bride-to-be and she's kinda prissy--real religious and all caught up in the no pussy before marriage thing. She tells this guy when they got engaged that there's gonna be no fucking until the honeymoon. And the schmuck agrees! So for the last two years his dick--nice size ain't it?--hasn't had anything to play with 'cept his hand. This kid is ripe, Nick. I checked his driver's license--he's 24--that's a long time to go without twat. Even with half a roofie in him his cock was waving around looking for a hole to plug. And drooling--see that shiny shit on his stomach where the head of his dick is laying? That's pure cocklube, Nick, money in the bank for your kinda queer customers. "
I gave him my most menacing "steely eyed stare" and he grovelled.
"Oh, sorry, Nick, no offence meant. You know me, I'm a complete pussyhound, just don't understand what one guy sees in another guy's asshole. So, that's why the kid had to be handcuffed. He's still dopey, but I think he's pretty aware of what's going on."
I also suspected the young man on the bed was listening to every word, even though his eyes were closed.
"So, make a long story short, I knew that I was on to a good thing here, Nick. Good profit for you and me both. The problem was how to get rid of the three friends. Mike said they wanted to stay in the room and watch the bridegroom shoot his wad into two or three of my ladies. Maybe play around with the sluts themselves, too. Well, I told him that would be extra--watching another guy get laid is expensive I said and all three of them would have to pay the full price, plus pony up for any extras like sloppy seconds. Then I named a four-figure price so high I knew they'd never go for it. And sure enough they backed off. One of them said 'C'm on Mike. Let's go back to your apartment and drink some more beer, put on some pussy porn, and jack off.' And that's what they did! Mike paid me the dough we agreed on for just the kid and said they'd be back about six o'clock in the morning to pick their friend up, and that his nuts should be so drained his bride would have to suck him like a cumbitch to get him hard on their honeymoon night. Nice friend to have for your Best Man, uh, Nick? So I called the special number you gave me, and here we are. Whaddaya think?"
During his story I had walked to the bed and sat down beside the young man. His skin was unblemished ivory with just a sprinkling of dark hair on the "treasure trail" from his navel down to the small pubic bush above his cock, which lay heavily up against his abs. His plum sized nuts hung in a soft velvet sack between his legs, almost deep enough to rest on the satin sheet below. One smooth thigh was cocked to the side, opening up his crotch, seeming to invite exploration by my hand. I rolled his nuts in my fingers and stroked the erector muscle of his dick until I could scoop up some of the precum honey on the tip of my finger and sample its flavour. His body tensed under my attentions and he rolled his head back and forth, moaning. His face was strikingly beautiful: long straight nose with full nostrils, extraordinarily thick black lashes and neat, slightly arched eyebrows, full wide mouth with the lower lip slightly swollen, begging for penetration by tongue or cock; short dark hair with an unruly forelock falling onto his sweat-moist forehead. He had just the beginnings of a five-o'clock shadow which contrasted with the sensuality of his features, giving him an air of virility mixed with a promise of pleasure that made my cock swell.
Nick's voice brought me out of my trance: "But if we're gonna kidnap this bitch it's gotta be now and it's gotta be fast. When his pals come back in the morning, I gotta be able to say he left on his own, round midnight, real pissed off. I can tell them he was raving on about the wedding being off and how his friends were all creeps, and how he had to go somewhere and think about things--shit like that."
At the word "kidnap" the bridegroom's lids opened and he stared at me with horrified green eyes.
"You don't have to take me away," he pleaded in a soft drug-fogged voice. "I can pay you. I've got a little money my parents left me. You can have it all--over fifty thousand dollars. It's all you'll get for me: I don't have any other family and my fiance's family isn't rich. We can go to my bank tomorrow morning--it's open on Saturday--and I can get you cash. Please."
I smiled comfortingly at him and caressed his firm pecs, circling one big nipple with my thumb. He drew his breath in sharply and pulled at the handcuffed wrist, trying to move farther away. "What's your name?" I asked.
"It's Adrian" he answered, "Adrian Long, I'm an investment advisor, just starting out. I'm going to be married tomorrow afternoon. It's a big church wedding. My fiance Valerie is a school teacher. We've been engaged for a long time."
"I hear that Valerie is a tight-assed little cunt, Adrian: won't open her legs for you; makes you go home every night and beat off under the sheets. She doesn't sound like much of a catch."
"No, no, she's not like that. She's just a really nice girl, and her family are religious. I'm glad we've waited: it's going to make tomorrow night really special. Don't talk about her like that. I agree with her that men have to learn to control their lust, to be worthy of their wives."
I took his thick tumescent meat in my fist and worked the loose skin up and down over his perfect helmet shaped glans. So much precum oozed out that it puddled and overflowed down my hand. "It doesn't look like your cock agrees with your fiancee, Adrian." His body arched up off the bed as I worked his dick, seeming to fuck my fist. "In fact, it seems to me like your whole body disagrees with Valerie. I think this cock wants some pussy and wants it bad."
"Please, Sir, please stop. Don't take me away. I'll...I'll do anything you want, Sir."
"Now that's what I like to hear, Adrian. In my business a spirit of cooperation is a big plus. I've got clients who will pay a lot of money--way more than your fifty thousand--just to get a taste of your ripe body. You are prime meat, Adrian, and I know men who will fly in to your sale from all over the world, just to have a chance to bid on juicy bridegroom flesh. You'll get your honeymoon kid, but it will be in ways that you've never even dreamed of." I had to let his cock go, to fall back onto the plush cushion of his throbbing balls. I didn't want to milk him yet--that would come later, during transport to the auction site, when I had more time, and help, to determine just exactly what I'd bought. There was one last thing I had to check. I got up and moved around the bed, kneeling on the other side. I put my hands under Adrian's hip and lifted him up and over so I could see his ass. Like the rest of him it was perfect. I lightly squeezed the firm globes of his butt and pressed them apart so I could look down at the pink rosette of virgin pucker hiding between them.
"Why are you doing this" he cried, as I rolled him back. "What kind of person are you? I don't deserve this."
"I'm doing this, Adrian, because I can, and the men who are going to do other things to you will be doing them because they paid for it. I'm just doing my job, which I am fortunate enough to love. If I had time, I'd take out my dick and show you how much I love buying boymeat and manmeat to use and sell. But you should be proud, Adrian. You're not just run-of-the-mill goods. You are special--grade A, triple X, gourmet flesh for the Deluxe Market. And you do indeed 'deserve' it. A man with the capacity for giving pleasure like yours, deserves to be used as hard and as long and in as many ways as his buyers desire. Now swallow this little pill: it'll calm you down and make the next hours go by like a dream. And just lie stlll for a moment because I want to take your picture with my phone."
After making sure that Adrian had in fact swallowed the mild tranquilizer, I took Pinky by the arm and we made our way to his grungy office to close the deal. Unfortunately he had heard Adrian offer to pay fifty thousand bucks for his own ransom, so I couldn't get away with a purchase offer lower than that. But the final figure was still a bargain, knowing what I knew about our Deluxe Market clients. I used his computer to contact The Corporation purchasing department and arrange for a money transfer to Pinky's account. Then I called my boss, the Head of the Procurement Division and told him about the acquisition. I sent him the photo of "The Kidnapped Bridegroom" as he would undoubtedly be called in the Auction announcement to the select list of potential buyers. He agreed with me that it was imperative to move quickly and move the goods before complications could arise. He said the auction would be held the following night, the same night when Adrian would have been enjoying the gushing release of two years of pent-up fucklust. I was to take the young man in my rental car, cuffed and bound, to a nearby private airport, which he named, and wait for the arrival of the Corporation plane which he was ordering. We discussed some possibilites for avoiding any police interest in the abduction and he agreed to my plan, which I would put in motion while we waited at the airport. Before he hung up, he asked if I had any suggestion for the Code Name that would be assigned to the young man, since Corporation property is never sold under its real name. Almost without thinking I said "Adonis. We'll call him Adonis." It seemed natural that Adrian should be code named for the handsome greek god of desire and manliness who was forced to spent his life moving between the upper and lower worlds of light and darkness.
In only a little more than half an hour I had made a spectacular buy and was ready to transport it to the Auction House for an exclusive black-tie bidding war. Pinky would tell his tale to Mike the next morning when he came to pick up his pal and Valerie and her prim family would start their own "cover-up" stories to save face. (You might be interested to know that within one year the "Best Man" Mike married the prissy Valerie himself. Maybe his joke on Adrian was something more than a stag night prank!)
Part Two: "The Flight"
A couple of hours later, we were on a Corporation private jet going from New Jersey where I had picked up Adrian, on our way to the southwest S/M Ranch where the special auctions are held. In the case of a kidnap of this sort is important to move quickly and get the meat into the hands of its new owner as fast as possible. A select list of wealthy men had been contacted and told of the availability of a bridegroom abducted the night before his wedding, announcing the viewing and sale in the Luxury Auction Rooms of the Hacienda Hotel at the Ranch. The sale was set for the late evening of this very day. It was now two o'clock in the morning and we would arrive at the Ranch's private airstrip in a couple of hours.
"Adonis" was seated on the cream leather sofa that ran down one side of the plane's cabin. I had stretched his arms along the back of the sofa and attached his wrists to padded cuffs that the furniture was specially fitted with: executives and clients of The Corporation often brought toys along to amuse themselves with during their flights. The young man's thighs were spread and his ankles cuffed to the base of the sofa. He was, of course completely naked, and still dazed from the mild tranquilizers. I sat next to him whispering into his ear, while the plane's slave steward knelt between his legs caressing his cock.
"You're just fine, Adrian. You're going to be just fine. We're going to a nice place in the desert and you're going to be presented to some people who will appreciate all your special qualities." I massaged one of his pecs gently while I assured him that things were as they should be.
"No, no," he slurred, "Valerie, where's Valerie?"
"Valerie's at home: she's dreaming about tomorrow, thinking about your wedding and the honeymoon night. I'll bet you used to put her hand on your leg and try to get her to stroke your dick, didn't you? And she couldn't help herself could she? Right now in her dreams I'll bet she's remembering this big cock she used to stroke so timidly for you, and wondering what it's going to feel like when you fuck her with it." I moved the slave steward's hand down to cup Adrian's nuts while I put my hand around the meat and pressed it, pulling up slowly on the skin and twisting it teasingly. "But she's going to be disappointed tomorrow, isn't she Adrian? She's going to be told that you've run off--got cold feet about the marriage. There will be a note from you saying you need time to think. You wrote it back at the airport while we were waiting for the plane Do you remember?"
He shook his head slowly: "No I didn't...didn't write note...didn't run away..."
"Yes you did, Adrian, you just don't remember--too many drugs, I guesss, but you did it, and signed it. So nobody will be looking for you right away. That will come later, long after you're all settled in some man's pleasure palace or some Sheikh's harem, or in a billionaire's villa on a private island." I licked his ear lobe and moved my hand to the slave's head pulling it down so his mouth could open and take in the meatus of Adrian's semi-hard cock. "Don't suck him," I murmured to the steward, "just mouth him a little. Keep him hot."
My hand went back to his nipple. I pulled it, twisting slightly. He hissed.
"Stop...don't...that hurts...please don't.."
I gave his tit a vicious pinch and pulled it out as far as it would go. He started to yell. I had one arm around his neck along the back of the sofa and I bent my wrist against his head, sticking two fingers into his mouth, muffling his cry. "Don't ever say 'stop' to me again, Adrian. 'Stop' and 'don't' are no longer words in your vocabulary. Understand?" I pinched his tit again.
"Yes, yes, I understand. Please, don't..."
"What did I just say, boy? You will never say 'don't' to a man again when he uses you. Is that clear?"
"Yes, yes...please...please..."
"That's right, baby, soon 'please' will be your favourite word. You'll beg your owner to use you anyway he wants." I tapped the slave steward bent over Adrian's cock, to get his attention. When he looked up at me, I wiggled my middle finger at him--his signal to start probing the young man's ass pucker. "Just tickle him," I whispered.
Adrian had let his head fall back against the wall of the cabin while he was getting his glans sucked, but when he felt the finger move under him and work its way to his asshole, he jerked up, galvanized by an invasion he had never felt before. "Oh, God, no, no, please no." he moaned, with panic in his eyes.
"Good, Adrian. That's just what your new owner will want to hear when he fucks you on your honeymoon night. Just keep saying 'oh, God, no, no'. He'll love that. It will make him go deeper and deeper into that ripe virgin ass of yours. And pretty soon you will be saying 'oh, God, yes, yes, yes' because you will learn to love that feeling of fullness in your ass and that heavy movement of a man's big meat reaming you out. Try saying it for me. Say 'oh, God, yes yes,' just so I can hear how it's going to sound."
"No, no, I can't, God, no."
The wrenching twist I gave his nipple convinced him to do what I told him. "Say it." I ordered. "Oh, God, yes, yes, yes".
And that's what he said, over and over again.
"See that's not so bad. And not long after that you will be saying 'Oh, God, more, please, more.' And then 'Oh God, deeper, deeper, faster, please, yes, yes, yes.' And your owner will never refuse you: you'll get everything in life that a man could ever desire." I was still speaking with my lips right at his ear. He turned his head away, trying to escape my voice.
"Just let me go," he moaned, "don't hurt me."
I put my hand on his jaw and turned him back toward me, until our faces were inches apart. "Look into my eyes, Adrian. Does it look like I'm going to hurt you?"
"I...I...guess, maybe, not, " he mumbled. His eyes were green, like sea water with the sun gleaming through.
I hardened my voice: "And do I look like I'm ever going to let you go?" His eyes glazed. "DO, I?"
"No", he said, trying to turn away again. As I forced his face back toward mine, his body tensed. I realized that the steward was pushing deeper into his asshole with his finger. I slapped the slave's face sharply and told him to lay off, then pushed his mouth back onto Adrian's cock. The bridegroom's asshole had to be kept virgin for his buyer.
"You're a beautiful man, Adonis. You're truly worthy of your code name." I licked at his face with my tongue--across his eyelids, down his cheek, circling his full lips with my tongue. I pressed my mouth on his and forced my tongue inside, exploring, stroking his tongue with mine. I sucked hard on it so that it protruded from his lips, where I could lap at it like a cat. He fought against me, trying to pull away from the invasion, making incoherent sounds. "What's the matter Adrian? Never been frenched before? Didn't Valerie like that? Was it too 'dirty' for her. She must be a really prissy little cunt."
"No, she's not," he protested between the probings of my tongue. "She's just shy. She's saving herself for our wedding night."
I pulled away a little, looking into his sea-green eyes again: "But you like it, don't you? I can tell. Your lips are all moist and you're panting a little bit. You like a man's tongue in your mouth, don't you?"
"No, it's disgusting. I hate it."
"Well, you're going to have to get used to it. In fact you're going to have to get used to a lot of disgusting things in your mouth. Like my fingers, for instance. When I put my two fingers between your lips, like this, and circle them around, pressing out the insides of your cheeks and pushing to the back, tickling your gag ring...yes, just like that...you'll open up and let anything that wants in go deep into your throat and fill your gullet 'til it bulges." I corkscrewed my fingers through his gagring, making him choke and bring up a flood of saliva. "That's a good boy, Adrian. Get my fingers all wet. That's what your new owner will want--a mouthful of warm spit to soak his big cock in. You are going to be a juicy suckboy, Adrian." When I pulled my wet fingers out and rubbed them on his cheek, he sputtered and hawked. "Don't worry, baby, you'll soon get so you can swallow ten inches of cock and a flood of cum without batting those pretty eyelashes. And remember, the more spit you leave on your master's dick, the easier it will be to take it up your ass." He slumped and his head dropped forward: I knew that bit by bit, image by image, he was seeing his unbelievable future. But I didn't want him completely beaten and passive: it was time to give him a little pleasure--show him that his life to come could also have its rewards. For every moment the god Adonis spent in darkness, he also experienced the bright delirium of desire.
As I pushed the sucking steward off the head of Adrian's cock, the door to the cockpit opened and the co-pilot stuck his head in. What's happening?" he asked. "Is It cooperating, need some help making It behave?"
"Hi, Clint," I answered, "come on back if you've got a little free time. I'm just about ready to milk this boy and you could give him a sugar cock to suck on while I do it." Clint was legendary in The Corporation for servicing executives and clients on cross-country flights. His mammoth cock had been down throats and up assholes from Seattle to Miami and back again. Some of us wondered if he was actually a pilot at all, since we'd never seen him put to the test.
"Get up on the sofa on your knees and feed just the head of your cock into his mouth. Don't deep throat him--that's for his owner. Just give him a pacifier. Let him swallow a little of that famous cockhoney of yours." Clint's precum was as copious and as tasty as his semen. As he pushed down his trousers and got into a face fuck position, I knelt between Adrian's legs ready to milk him. "Get a cum cup" I ordered the steward as I bent and took the bridegroom's tumescent penis in my mouth. Above, he moaned around the plum sized meatus that was stretching his lips.
I heard Clint say "That's it baby, use your tongue...lick it harder, bitch. Get your tongue in my cumslit. Eat that stuff."
I began a vigourous suck, stripping the cock which swelled down my throat, pulling up hard with my tight lips, slavering his glans with my tongue, then plunging fast and deep, letting his cockhead push through my gagring, massaging it with contractions in the way all Pleasure Corporation cocksuckers are trained to do. It didn't take long. I had, in effect, been "edging" him for hours, ever since I first began examining his equipment, keeping him half hard and unwillingly horny. His jism had collected in the ball reservoirs and only needed a little rough pulling to make the gusher erupt. I've sucked enough cock to be able to know exactly when a guy is going to shoot, so I can pull off and collect the semen: I reached for the cum cup the steward was holding as I pulled my mouth off the throbbing meat and took the shaft in my hand, directing the cumlips down into it to catch the bridegroom's first captive cream. The special cups hold about 6 ounces of jism and Adrian filled it over half full. Not bad for a "reluctant" shooter. His owner would almost certainly want Corporation specialists to enhance his supply, though. A Luxury Slave has got to be lusher, and bigger and more satisfying in every possible way.
When the semen spurts ebbed to a dribble, I got up and pushed the steward down in my place for cleanup and to give him a little fun for his help. He began slurping so hard on the sensitive moist glans that Adrian trembled and squirmed, protesting around Clint's meat that was probing his cheeks, making them bulge grotesquely. "Better pull out, Clint" I warned. "I know what happens if you get carried away when you're plugging a pussy's throat--sometimes he can't talk right for a week afterwards. Besides, I want to get your opinion about this beauty's cum."
Clint swung off the sofa and pulled up his uniform trousers, letting his thick cock arch heavily through the open fly. We stood looking down at the exhausted young man, his head lolling and his chest heaving, while the slave between his quivering thighs squeezed out the last drops of his milk from the gaping cumlips.
"This stud is gonna make some rich bitch very happy." he said.
"I'm not sure about that, Clint. He may be bought by a rich stud who'll make HIM a bitch. Part of the appeal of a kidnapped bridegroom is the possibility that he may become the bride for his buyer. But let's sample the boy's cum...I need to fill out a taste and texture report for the Auctioneers."
We both took sips of the cream, letting it soak into your tongues, savouring the sweet vanilla taste. Then we took bigger sips, emptying the cup, rolling it around in our mouths, getting a feeling of the rich, buttery texture. It was ambrosia. And its flavour lingered in the back of the throat like fine wine. His buyer was in for a constant, mouthwatering feast. I pulled the slave up off of Adrian's groin and handed him the cup: he stuck his long obscene tongue into it and licked out the last drops, smacking his lips and grinning. Looking at me for approval, Clint pressed the naked slave down to his hands and knees, then mounted him from behind, pushing his cock brutally into the steward's hole, while I stood at the slut's head and stuffed his neck with my own rampant dick. As we fucked the slave front and back I glanced at Adrian and saw that he was watching: his cock had started to swell again.
"Adonis" was going to be a winner on the auction block!
Part Three: "The Viewing and the Sale"
I was a little late getting to the viewing. By the time I arrived the five potential buyers were there and Adonis had been rolled in through double doors at one end of the sale salon in the Hacienda: he was loosely strapped to a display board at a forty-five degree angle on a twelve foot by twelve foot platform: everything was covered in black leather and Adonis' creamy skin glowed against it. The buyers could step up onto the platform for closer inspection, including reasonable manual and oral stimulation. The display board and platform were positioned under warm spotlights from the ceiling, while the lights in the rest of the large room were dimmed. On a large spanish style sideboard along one wall there were icebuckets of champagne, fruit juice and other drinks the buyers might require. Two naked Ranch slaves stood ready to serve. It was all very elegant and subdued: light classical music played softly in the background. It may seem odd that only five buyers had accepted the invitations to the special Luxury Auction, but the notice had been short. The wealth and avidity of the men who did come more than made up for their small number. There were all from the top twelve of The Corporation's best and richest clients for "Special Luxury Meat."
I had spent the day supervising the preparation of Adrian for the viewing and strictly monitoring his mood, giving him small doses of mood enhancers and hits of sex stimulant as needed. On my instructions he was shaved with an electric razor just enough to retain the light five o'clock shadow that so enhanced his appeal. His pubic hair was trimmed a little and his nipples were subjected to moderate vacuum suction cups to plump them up for presentation. He was bathed and rubbed down with a lotion which gave a sheen to his alabaster skin. I made sure that his ass-pucker was massaged with a cream that left a rosy shine to the delicate corrugations of tender flesh around it. He was fed the usual pineapple, mango and papaya mix with all their natural sugars and sprinkled with cinnamon, cardamon, and peppermint to make his semen taste sweeter for the inevitable sampling. He drank lots of water to flush out any toxins that might affect the flavour appeal of his cum. I sat by him in his room, whispering in his ear, reassuring him that things were going to be fine and that his life wasn't over, it was just taking a new and exciting direction. Whenever he started calling for "Val" I licked his tears off his cheeks and caressed his cock to calm him down. I told the attendants who would roll the display platform into the viewing salon that just before, they should paint his lips with precum honey which continued to ooze from his cumlips and rub cinnamon oil on his nipples to give them a tang. Their last task was to pump his cock to semi-tumescence and suck it briefly so it lazed back heavily and wetly against his abdomen.
I was so exhausted from all this I overslept and had to rush getting into my tux for the Viewing. When I came into the salon one of the five potential buyers was on the platform seeming to give some sort of lecture as he held up Adrian's cock for the others to look at.
The buyer holding forth was code named THE LEADER. All valued elite personal clients of The Corporation have code names to protect their identities. The Leader wanted to be called "Der Fuhrer" but the Auction division didn't want that title appearing in the records and sale catalogues. The Leader fancies himself a charismatic high commander of a small private "army" of neo-fascists, skinheads and "aryan brothers" of various nationalities who live under his rule at his compound, The Bunker, on the Corporation island called The Last Resort. It is a very private spot in the West Indies, 6 miles long and 4 miles wide where wealthy clients have villas and estates devoted to their extreme or eccentric tastes. The Leader's "army" parades in full black Nazi SS inspired uniforms, drinks beer from huge steins, sings old marching songs, watches Leni Riefensthal Third Reich films over and over again, and generally live in a loony paradise where Hitler won the war. The Leader's cheques are usually drawn against obscure banks in Paraguay, the Cayman Islands, and Austria, but they never bounce, so he must have a lot of closet supporters.
Dressed in what probably passed as formal SS Evening Uniform, The Leader was explaining to his fellow bidders that Adrian's cock, which he held in the palm of one hand, while he stroked it with the other, was the "perfect aryan penis of the 'western aryan' variety. Not perhaps as glorious, he said, as the magnificent Nordic cock, but still beautiful and superbly potent.
"Note, my friends, the solidity--the sheer heft of the aryan penis, and the pendulous testicles ripe with semen: an ideal breeding machine for beautiful aryan boy babies. This 'Adonis' is a model example of the western aryan type: dark haired, green eyed, muscular without being gross and exuding the kind of mystic charm that the aryan races will use to conquer and rule the world."
I noted that Adrian was staring at this madman with disbelief and loathing, and I didn't blame him. I found this drivel laughable, since I knew very well that all The Leader's "soldiers" enjoy the amenities of an "SS Brothel" at his island compound, staffed with slave boys of the so-called inferior races, purchased for their use by The Leader. Very little "breeding of aryan babies" will occur where there isn't a woman in sight. In fact, considering the mammoth "inferior" cocks on his brothel boys, it is likely that it is the asses of the skinheads and white-power brothers which are getting "bred."
But The Leader was getting into his main area of interest--what he calls "Racial Enhancement". In plain terms this involves a team of Corporation scientists working in The Bunker's laboratories to create the bigger cocks, heavier balls, floods of semen, and rivers of precum that The Leader manaically desires, not to make better babies, but to satisfy his own, and his soldiers' insatiable appetites. The Leader's infamous miniature genitals apparently motivate him to compensate by buying and enhancing men and boys until their equipment is so massive they can hardly support it without body harness and tackle. It is rumoured that the scientists have also medically altered and enlarged The Leader's own throat and rectum to accomodate the mutant results of his size mania.
The fascist freak's lecture seemed to run down as he became mesmerized by the thick meat he was compulsively milking. "This will make an excellent prototype" he mumbled, "a paragon of what an aryan penis can become. I have scientists who can double its size--triple it...it will be thick as an mailed fist...Adonis will be the Supercock of the Ubermensch..."
I moved up onto the platform and tactfully pried The Leader's fist off Adrian's shaft, leading him carefully down to join the others who were watching with various expressions of awe, disgust and amusement. I prayed that Adrian would not be a victim of The Leader's obsessive search for the Giant Aryan Phallus. I myself enjoy looking at a handsome well-built man with swinging meat halfway down his thighs, but I didn't want to see it dragging on the floor! I guided The Leader, who still had a crazy gleam in his eyes, to the drinks sideboard and pressed a fresh champagne flute into one hand while I guided the other to a very substantial cockshaft on one of the slave attendants, and encouraged him to massage it while he came out of his "Aryan Dream".
After an awkward silence, another of the potential bidders stepped onto the platform and stood for a moment gazing down reverently at Adonis. This was Mentor.
The buyer code-named Mentor has been a client of The Corporation for over thirty years. He is the last-of-the-line childless bachelor heir to a rich old New England family. They made their money first from whales, then from Civil War armaments, and finally from banking, managing to hold on to most of it. He is a professor of Classics at an Ivy League college, but spends most of his time at his "Cottage", a walled estate in the country with a 45 room mansion on it. He calls it The Academy in honour of the ancient greek school where Socrates and Aristotle taught (and perhaps corrupted) their young pupils. It is Mentor's fancy to acquire unsophisticated and uneducated young college age men and turn them into gentlemen sex-playmates. He gives them lists of books to read when they are not being sucked dry by his voracious mouth or doing stud service in his scholarly ass. He teaches them to speak clearly and intelligently by forcing them to recite the poetry of Robert Frost while holding the fat cocks of fellow students in their mouths. When his pupils (slaves) get too old to amuse him any more, he sells them back to The Corporation where they are retrained for rather less refined employment. Mentor is a tall, greying, ascetic looking man who wears old-fashioned spectacles. His hands are narrow and aristocratic, and he likes to move them lightly over male bodies. He traced Adrian's torso and thighs like a connossieur in a museum stroking the marble flesh of a greek statue. His dialogue with the bound beauty was typically "philosophic". "Tell me, Adonis," he said, "do you ever think about Life? Do you ever wonder why the gods have made you so beautiful and so desireable to men?" He sat his champagne flute down on the platform and gently fondled the young man's balls in his long fingers while, while his other hand he pinched the tender cocklips between his thumb and forefinger.
Adrian winced and protested with a puzzled frown, "I don't know what you mean. I have my own business. I'm a financial advisor. I tell people when to buy and sell stocks. God has nothing to do with it."
Mentor squeezed the cockhead once again, coating his fingers in the flow of precum. "I didn't say God--I said gods, Adonis. Don't you ever ask yourself why the ancient forces that created you gave you such beautiful flesh and caused your penis to give up such nectar?" He moved his fingers to Adrian's face and rubbed his sticky thumb over the young man's full lips. "Taste your syrup, Adonis. This is the honey that men will fight for at your cumlips."
The Socratic question and answer continued, as the other buyers became restive, until Mentor suddenly seemed to lose interest. He abruptly turned away, licking his fingers as he moved to the sideboard where a slave poured him more champagne. Adrian's perplexed look remained, but it was accompanied by a mysterious massive erection of his meat, which swayed heavily like a beast with its own needs, sniffing out its prey.
A third buyer clambered heavily onto the viewing dais. This was Moscow Maxx, always insisting on the double "x's" because he likes to think he is one of the heaviest hung men in the world. He's a Russian Red Mob chief of the old school: tending to fat, with coarse features, piggy eyes, and a gold tooth glinting behind blubbery lips that have ravaged the cockmeat of countless boyslaves. His sadism is well-known. In London his base is The Ritz Hotel, where he is required to take an entire floor so that other guests won't be disturbed by the yells and squeals of his travelling boy companions. Two of his bodyguards have been trained by former KGB interrogators and they are masters at abusing a kid without depriving him of the ability to cum. He was poured into his tux like oatmeal in a potato sack and he grunted as he worked his zipper down to pull out the veiny monster of his cock. He moved close to the display board and plopped his meat into the palm of Adrian's hand hanging off one edge and held down by a velvet rope across his wrist.
"Jerk me, pretty boy," he ordered. "Wrap your fist round my cock and squeeze me good, cunt." Adrian tried to do what he was ordered, but the strap hindered his movement. "Harder, slutboy, beat my fat Moscow dick." He put his paw on Adrian's chin and forced his head to the side, so the boy could look into Moscow Maxx's mean eyes. "What's the matter my little pancake? You never felt nothing this big before? You American pussy boys don't know how to slam a real man's meat, make him feel good, get him all hard and ready to screw your little chicken asshole." Furious, because Adrian couldn't mangle him hard enough, he slapped the boy's hand away and moved to the foot of the inclined board. He leaned forward, lowering his heavy body onto Adrian's, grinding his cock and balls against him. The young man gasped under weight. "I buy you, I teach you good, little whore. Screw your brains out with my fat hog. I got some guys, make you squeal like a lil' puppy, make you beg your Maxx to cram his kielbasa in your pink pussy hole." Maxx pushed his face into Adrian's neck and licked it with a slobbery thick tongue, grunting and grinding his crotch against the helpless man. It took me and both the slaves to pull him off before he caused real damage. Swearing, and pushing us away, he staggered to the drinks table and tossed off two shooters of vodka, mumbling about "fucking american fagboys". I suspected he didn't really want to buy Adonis, he just wanted to show that he was one of the big boys able to play at the high stakes table. If he did win the auction I had the bad feeling he'd probably give Adrian to his bodyguards for their entertainment.
On the platform another buyer was unstrapping the panicked Adonis and turning him over gently so that he lay on his stomach with his enticing buttocks on full view. I stepped back onto the dais and helped him reattach the wrist and ankle ropes so the beautiful fan of his deltoids was visible and the wide spread of his legs opened slightly the cleft between his ass cheeks. This buyer was code named Desert Prince and he is always addresssed as "Your Highness". He was dressed in full arab array of cream coloured dishdasha kaftaan beneath a voluminous filmy black abaya with real gold trim, and the classic shora head scarf with a fancy saudi head rope. He was the mythical desert Sheikh personified. The Prince is the head of a cadet branch of a middle east royal family and he comes to The Corporation for beautiful boys to furnish his desert oasis male harem. A cultured man educated at Marlborough School and Balliol College, Oxford, he speaks in an upper class english accent and is as comfortable in his tailored suits as he is in traditional robes.
As I watched him caress Adrian's thighs and softly stroke the swell of the luscious globes, I was glad that he was one of the potential buyers. He had money resources as deep as his oil wells, and was known to be a humane master to his young male slaves. His harem was in an ancient family fortress on the edge of a date palm oasis: theI had never been there but knew that his slaves were never sold once they entered the place: after their usefulness as pleasure boys was finished, they became house servants and trainers of new boys.
His Highness is an "ass man" to put it crudely, and it was clear from his fondling of Adrian's glutes that the boy attracted him. He turned to the other buyers and said, "This Adonis will be the finest rose in my collection." He grasped the melon globes in his hands and gently pried them apart, revealing the pink rosette of pucker flesh. "Here, gentlemen, is the fount of all delight, the gate of all earthly pleasures." He tugged Adrian's balls down further between his legs, then gently pulled the half-swollen cock down as well, until it lay heavily in full view on the board. "Unlike many of my world, I do not find this young man's uncircumcised penis unclean or ugly. See that ivory shaft, the throbbing muscle, the tinge of pink, a cockblush as sweet as that on the cheeks of a young girl! To me it has the thrill of the forbidden, and I delight in the taste of its golden nectar." He gently pinched a bit of Adrian's foreskin between his thumb and finger and pulled the cock up so that the weeping cumlips could be seen. "This is the soothing jelly, the balm that I will use to coat my manhood so that it slides more easily into him. And when I ride him face up, with his legs over my shoulders I will grasp this shaft in my hand, like the rein on a young steed, pumping and twisting it as we ride toward paradise. When his boyseed gushes like a spring in the desert, I will lean down and slake my thirst with the sweet milk. I will chew the succulent glans beneath its protective covering of soft skin, savouring it, as my young sons savour their sweet sugar-coated cubes of Turkish Delight" He began to stroke the tender circle of pucker skin with his finger, pressing lightly into the quivering opening. Adrian groaned and shuddered, which the Prince took as signs of anticipation and need. "I call this the delicate flowerbud of youth, the secret door to paradise. I caress it with my lips, moisten it with my tongue, press through the trembling portal to kiss the silken lining inside. The boy will writhe with joy, thrust his rose against my mouth, and plead with me to take him. My trainers will have prepared him for my curved sword of flesh: he will take it with nothing more than a sigh of unspeakable joy and I will ride in and out of him, moving again and again over that hidden nub of flesh deep in him--the magic trigger for his fountain of honeyed semen. He will be mine forever, then. No other man's flesh will satisfy him: he will worship me with his sweet lips and straddle my pelvic girdle, sinking on my thick tower of cock, then ride me, head back and mouth gaping until he reaches once again the gates of heaven." He caressed the side of Adrian's face with his knuckles and leaned in to peer intently into those green eyes. "This boy," he announced, "will be mine!"
At that moment a house servant entered and announced that dinner was served. The five buyers began to move toward the door to the adjoining private dining room. There, after dinner, over the port and cigars, the Auction would take place. Adrian, rested and refreshed after the viewing ordeal, would be led in by a leash attached to a heavy gold ring around the base of his cock and balls. He would be directed onto a large round pedestal and the leash would be clipped onto a hook set in its floor. He would stand in a pool of light with his wrists bound behind his back, thrusting his pecs forward, and his attendant would keep his head up with the tap of a riding crop under his chin if it drooped. To the side, the Auctioneer would stand at his lectern and invite the five potential owners to make their bids.
But one of the buyers hadn't spoken or gone onto the viewing platform to look at Adonis up close. That was The Boss. The sole owner of a multi-national group of businesses that began with Texas oil, progressed through computers, and finished with the dot.com mania, without losing a dollar along the way, The Boss is one of the richest persons in the world. He is a big, solid man of the "self-made" variety. Moody, gruff, and unpretentious, his appetites are gargantuan, but sometimes odd and quirky. It is hard to say just what his sexual preferences are because the range of his requests and special orders is so varied. I have supplied him with black gang thugs, Turkish oil wrestlers, and the young sons of cash-poor English lords. He hadn't really participated in the examination of Adrian's flesh. He just sat in a big chair a little distance from the foot of the platform sipping his champagne and watching as the others staked their claims. As he moved toward the dining room he passed me, looking me straight in the eye, and dipped his head in a single, blank-faced nod. I thought, maybe the bidding will come down only to the four others.
I went with Adrian to his room, where he laid on his bed and listened while I spoke quietly into his ear, trying to calm his fears and telling him to just let fate take its course. He was terrified that he would be turned into a freak by the nazi, or given to brutes by Moscow Maxx, but I told him focus on the other possibilities which had more promise. I described The Desert Prince's castle to him (even though I hadn't seen it) and talked about the beautiful boys and young men I had sent there to live in luxury. I told him that The Mentor's Academy was actually helpful in some ways: he could come away from it after a few years with education and style that might help him get ahead in The Corporation. I emphasized that I and The Corporation kept track of the Deluxe Slaves and sometimes offered to buy them back from bad situations. Eventually he drifted off to sleep. I sat watching his chest rise and fall, letting my gaze wander over his thighs, widespead so that his magnificent cock and balls draped sensuously down between them, coming back to his handsome face turned in profile against the pillow. Images of what might be done to him by his buyers passed through my mind exciting me to a swelling lust mixed with revulsion. My head drooped and my eyes closed.
Shortly afterwards we were called back to the dining room for the Auction. After all that had gone before, it was strangely anti-climactic. The Auctioneer made the usual low key pitch--"unique offering", "unparalled beauty", "the essence of virile young masculinity", "untouched", "virgin territory" and so on Starting at 50,000 dollars and progressing by tens, then fifties, then hundreds of thousands into the millions, the progression came to a crashing halt when The Boss, tiring of the process, made a pre-emptive bid of 25 million. After a short silence, the Auctioneer said, with unusual suppressed emotion, "I have 25 million. Do I hear 28?"
The Desert Prince said quietly "28 million".
Before the Auctioneer could open his mouth, The Boss firmly bid "35 million dollars".
The others, realizing that this man could go on forever, supported by his seemingly infinite resources, retired more or less gracefully. The Desert Prince understood that his oil Euros and Moscow Maxx knew that his drug cash could never win out over The Boss's determination to buy the beautiful Adonis. The Leader saw his dream of the perfect Aryan Cock fade away, and Mentor sniffed at the vulgarity of the whole thing. But The Boss was magnanimous in victory. He invited the four others to stay over another night and join him in his first sampling of the delights of the Kidnapped Bridegroom in the "Presidential Suite" of the Hacienda. Mentor apparently felt that he could not bear to watch his greek god so sullied and abused, so he declined. But the others agreed readily and smiled at the prospect of watching the Rape of Adonis by The Boss.
I was also invited to attend, and to participate if needed, along with a selection of other superior Ranch slaves who would help to entertain the guests as they enjoyed the show. We were all in for a surprise!
No one asked Adonis how he felt about the result.
Part Four: "The Honeymoon Night"
The following evening we all arrived together at "The Presidential Suite"--so called because the corrupt president of a minor South American country had once played there--to witness The Boss's "first use" of his new Deluxe Toy. We found him in the master bedroom, standing at the foot of a kingsized bed, legs spread, fists on hips, a smile on his face, and wearing nothing but a navy blue jock strap. "Come in boys" he called, "the fun is about to start." He motioned us to the comfortable chairs placed around the bed where we could get a ringside view of the "slaughter of an innocent". Two slaves stood by ready to serve drinks or clean up spills, both accidental and otherwise.
The Boss's body was an impressive mass: moulded blocks of firm muscle from the square plates of his pecs, down his ab-slatted torso to his solid hips and thick columns of thigh. But what I couldn't take my eyes off of were the iron filings of his black body hair, pulled into lines and swirls of force by the sheer magnetism of the man. It was as if his whole tanned body was an iron magnet with wire hairs sprinkled on it and pulled into curved lines down to his cock and balls packed into his jock. In Corporation sex codes a man wearing a dark blue jockstrap is announcing to the company that he is a Fucker by choice and inclination, just as I had expected. Adrian's cherry would get truly popped before the night was over, I thought.
But then the double doors opened and Adonis was led in. He was not at all what we were expecting. He was in full studded leather body and cock harness. This neck had a wide strap and his wrists were circled by heavily studded leather bands. To complete the transformation he was wearing magnificent knee length riding boots.
His head and his face looked different: the softness and vulnerability seemed to have gone: his hair was roughed up and looked wild and unkept: his shadow beard was heavier and more menacing. The way the leather strap in his groin made his swollen cock and balls stand out from his body seemed aggressive rather than inviting. And although he was being led by a chain attached to his neck band, he came not as a defeated slave, but rather as a young gladiator being led to the arena. The former puzzlement in his green eyes was now a wariness and his gaze was harder. I wondered what kind of stimulant the attendant had administered to bring out this aggressive side of Adonis.
As he advanced toward The Boss, another astonishing thing happened. The Boss dropped to his knees and bowed to the floor, kissing Adrian's boots. Then he came back to a kneeling pose and began to lick at the pole of flesh jutting from the young's man's crotch. Adrian looked down at the nearly bald head of the man worshipping his cock, with a blank face. His lips curled slightly and his nostrils flared. The room was silent except for the wet sound of The Boss's tongue on the swelling meat. The huge meatus began to emerge from its cover of moist foreskin. Adrian made what seemed a low growl in his throat.
Hearing this, The Boss immediately climbed onto the bed, on all fours, facing away from the young man, presenting his solid rump for Adrian's use. "Take me, kid" he ordered.
Without the slightest hesitation Adrian stepped forward, until his cock nosed the crack of his owner's butt and, in one vicious thrust, plunged balls deep into the older man's hole. Although he'd asked for it, even The Boss seemed stunned. And what followed was even more shocking. Adrian began to ravage the hole, slamming into it without mercy, slapping the Boss's butt cheeks and flanks hard with his hands, driving so savagely forward that The Boss struggled to hold his position. The angry scowl on Adrian's face as he pounded chaotically into his owner suddenly made sense to me: this was the mother of all "payback" fucks--the revenge rape of this man and all the others who had taken him from his bride and abused him and offered him for sale to monsters. I moved on to bed to steady The Boss as he suffered the onslaught. "Do something, Nick. The kid's gonna ruin me," he pleaded, both horrified and thrilled at the beating his ass was taking.
I put a restraining hand against Adrian's chest as he pushed forward, and said "Easy, Adrian, not so hard. Take it slower." He seemed to snap out of his bloodlust and looked at me resentfully. "I know what you're going Adrian, I understand. But revenge should be taken slowly and deliberately--make it last--tease the bastard with your dick, taunt him with it. Let me help you."
As I got off the bed and moved around behind him, I motioned The Prince over to assist me. Putting my hands on Adrian's hips, still pressed hard against his owner's ass, I pulled back so his cock slipped from its ravaged sheath. "Just take it in stages, Adrian. We'll guide you." The Prince knew exactly what to do. He took the heavy penis in his hand and guided the lubricated head just to the circle of flesh on the ass pucker, stroking with it, like a paint brush making circles. The Boss shivered and groaned. "You see, Adrian, you've got to tease him, make him beg for it. Now His Highness is going to press just your cock head through the opening...like that...feel how the ass ring catches on the ledge of your meatus and squeezes it...that feels good doesn't it? Now, feel how I'm making your hips circle around? Feel how that makes your cockhead circle around in his asshole, stroking that sensitive skin inside?" The Boss grunted and made a kind of "nnngh" sound in his throat. "This bitch wants you to fuck him, Stud, he's gagging for it. C'mon, let's pork this cunt. Just keep your corkscrew going and press on in...that's the way, baby, ream out that hole...listen to the bitch whine. You like to hear that don't you Adrian?...Now you're in to your balls...time to just let your meat soak in that hot mancunt a little while. Try to flex your dick, make it throb, just to remind him you're there...can't do it? We'll help you again."
I looked at The Desert Prince, who willingly went down on his knees and reached to take Adrian's balls in his fist. He gave them a hard tug and twist that made the young fucker buck a little, and apparently flex his cock in the depths of The Boss's hole, because the older man said, "Yes, oh, yes, do that again, please, please." His Highness kept up the nut-cracking a little while longer and Adrian's cock throbbed so mightily that The Boss descended yo constant moan of "yes, yes, oh God, yes."
Finally I got up close to Adrian's ear and whispered, "Okay, Stud, you've got this cunt where you want it, now take it home. Jackhammer that ass 'til it's numb...make him scream...he's all yours now." Adrian froze for a moment, seeming to gather his strength, then he began a violent pounding into his owner's ass once again, but this time he was in control, long-stroking for minutes, then taking short jabs, digging at the assring, then pulling completely out with a wet sucking noise, teasing the gaping pucker mouth, and ramfucking down the hole full bore again and again. "Fuck you!" he cried. "Fuck you! Fuck you, cunt!"
To my left I heard another sucking and slurping noise: I looked over to see The Leader stretched out on his back on the floor with Moscow Maxx's naked crotch pressed on his face, cramming Russian sausage down the nazi's gagging throat. The Russian yelled as he unloaded his jism down the bitch's gullet, visciously power-drilling it. Maxx seemed to be happy with the sticky mess of cum and saliva that welled up and coated his victim's mug, greasing up the hairy crotch that was plugging it, because he reached down with one chubby paw and pushed both his fat dumplings into The Leader's face hole as well causing a further gagging flood of slime. Der Fuhrer flopped about like a dying fish, his mouth and neck stuffed with inferior slavic cockmeat. I hoped the scientists at The Bunker had taught him how to breathe while he was getting force fed.
On the bed, Adrian's revenge rape was coming to its spurting climax. With a last paroxysm of ass-clenching and strained thrusting he filled his owner with the bitter cum of his anger and resentment. They both collapsed flat onto bed, and I saw Adrian's face unconsciously nuzzle into The Boss's neck and mouth it with wet caresses. Feeling this, The Boss turned over so they were lying front to front and pulled Adrian down into a long probing kiss. The Sheikh directed my attention to the shaft of Adrian's cock which began to fill and stretch once again, pushing down against his owner's balls, ready for another round of "payback".
So it seemed that the bridegroom had his honeymoon night after all. And everyone, except Mentor, was satisfied. The Leader got fed; Moscow Maxx got drained; and I got a nice commission on the sale. The Desert Prince and I repaired to an adjoining bedroom with two pretty bubble-butt slave boys, where he taught me some of the sophisticated and delicate techniques of his harem. Eventually I found, though, that His Highness could rutfuck a young cumditch just as down and dirty as the rest of us.
Part Five: "Afterwards"
About six months later I was visiting a grim Russian Army training base for new recruits, hundreds of miles east of Moscow. The officers at the camp regularly skimmed off the cream of the young recruits and sold the innocent unused meat to The Corporation in order to augment their pitiful army pay. The naive country boys with their long juicy uncut cocks made excellent young breeder studs and they were pathetically grateful for the attention and praise they got from the men whose asses they fucked. As I was finishing my sampling of the officers' current offerings, I received a text message from The Boss inviting me to a "special event" at his Pacific South Seas island villa the following week. In a back and forth exchange of notes it was arranged that I would be met by a speedboat at a larger island nearby which had a landing strip.
So it was that I found myself debarking from the sleek boat onto the hot dock of The Boss's private island. I was met by a young man wearing dark glasses and a wide straw sun hat, dressed in a silky green robe open to reveal a mouthwatering body covered by nothing more than a well filled thong. It was only when he said "Hello, Mr. Tarn, welcome to Nirvana" that I realized it was Adrian! I gave him a quick hug and said "Adrian! I almost didn't know you."
"It's not Adrian here on the island sir; here I am Val. Adrian is only for when we are home in the States." As I pondered this, he hooked his arm through mine and led me toward the wonderful open house that had been created, I learned later, by a famous stage designer as his 1930's "Nirvana" hideaway. We were greeted by The Boss, resplendent in a dark blue kaftan and I was introduced to other male guests, there for the "Celebration".
The next morning, while it was still cool, with a fragrant breeze stirring the curtains, we witnessed the formal wedding of Val and his master. "Adonis" was dressed in an ivory lace open robe with a short train that dragged across tropical blossoms strewn in the aisle of the pavilion. His cock and balls gently bulged beneath a pouch decorated with small orchids, and his swollen gilded nipples glinted beneath the filigree of the flowing "gown". A circlet of orchids adorned his head with its tangle of gleaming curls. His eyes were ringed with back kohl and his lids shimmered with iridescent green shadow. A blush of pink rouge on each high cheekbone and glistening crimson lips, painted full and luscious, completed his transformation from handsome groom to blushing bride. The scent of tuberoses wafted as he passed.
He advanced slowly to stand finally at his owner's side. The groom was dressed in a navy blue sulu, the male knee length skirt of the Fiji islands, with an embroidered shirt open to show off his muscular torso and a flower lei around his neck.
An elder of some neighbouring native island chanted the "rites" and drums rumbled softly in the background. When the whispered exchange of vows had been made, The Boss took "Val" in his arms and kissed him lovingly. A day long celebration feast and swimming party followed, ending at dusk when the groom took Val onto the huge teak bed that had been moved into the pavilion for the occasion. The four poster was hung with semi-transparent netting, and through it we could make out the body of Adonis lying prone with his legs bent at the knees and pulled back to give his husband full access to his "secret door to paradise" as The Desert Prince would have called it. We all watched with increasing carnal appetite as The Boss's hulking body plunged and rose and plunged again behind the filmy veils. Val's cries and whimpers floated like music on the night air.
Pairs of guests and natives slipped off into the shadows around Nirvana to add their own songs to the sexual serenade. I found myself thinking of Val and Adrian and Adonis, as the anvil shaped head of an islander's cock pounded and thrummed deep inside me.
"So The Boss got a handsome husband for Home, and a beautiful wife for Holidays--the ideal arrangement" I thought.
Then, there was no more time for thinking--there was only mindless passion, limitless desire, and the shuddering eruptions of lust.
End of Chapter Six