This is the long-awaited third episode of `A PORNOGRAPHIC AFFAIR.' I had a good response to the first two, so I thought I'd have a crack at a third (with four and five very much in the pipeline).
As per usual, if the thought of guys getting their rocks off with other guys makes you want to bring up your lunch, or if you're too young and immature to know what the phrase "getting their rocks off" means, then please don't read beyond this point.
Have a read (hopefully after reading the first two) and then drop me a line at: super_shaft@hotmail.com to give me your thoughts, comments, praise, criticism, ideas, or just write to say hello. I look forward to hearing from you.
A PORNOGRAPHIC AFFAIR (EPISODE THREE)
I guess I expected to find the studio tucked away in a dark, seedy ally somewhere, in a decrepit part of town. Yet I stood in the exorbitant foyer of a multi-story building in the heart of town, waiting for the lift to transport me to the ninth floor and to, 'Murphy Video Productions.' It wasn't nearly as 'underworld' as I thought it would be.
Arriving at the ninth floor, a middle-aged female receptionist greeted me pleasantly as I stepped out of the lift and into a waiting area. Directing me to Aaron's office, she gave me the same look you give someone who is buying a condom from a locker room vending machine. A, 'I know what you've got coming to you' look. I thanked her, and walked down a narrow hallway to his office.
A young, brawny-looking guy dressed in a blue robe pushed past me before disappearing down another corridor. "Sorry," I called out, despite the fact it was he that bumped into me. I had an awful habit of apologising for everything, no matter who was at fault. He just kept walking.
I arrived at Aaron's open door, and was invited in. The view from the wall-length window behind his desk as the morning sun peeked above the city's high rise was postcard perfect.
Aaron reached across his cluttered desk and handed me a ream of paper. It was a script - 'Jail House Cock.' The title was as trite as the script itself. But as he said, people don't watch porn for witty titles and Oscar-worthy acting. "Just as well," I thought.
"You're just in the one scene for now, Nicholas," Aaron explained. "We're filming it first, so you'll need to go and get ready. Benjamin and Trent will be going at it in a jail cell. You'll come in later to watch and jerk off."
He spoke in monotone, as if it was the most mundane of things to be asking me to do. "There's more direction in the script," he continued. "Have a read over it. There are no second takes, Nicholas. Remember that." His reminder only elevated my apprehension.
"You're ok with this?" he asked, with the clemency of a Drill Sergeant. "Sure, I'll be fine," I replied, trying desperately to remain composed.
I was ushered into a large, communal dressing room further down the hall which, thankfully, was empty. I planted myself on a leather coach and flicked to my scene in the script. Not that it was much of a script - improvising skills were a necessity.
"Ready to roll in ten minutes, dude," an unfamiliar voice yelled from the other side of the door. "Your costume is in the far cupboard." "Thanks," I yelled back, before rising to retrieve my threads.
Before pulling on the drab inmate ensemble, I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. "I can do this," I told myself unconvincingly. I reached down and gave my placid cock a good squeeze. "I can do this," I said again, gently stroking my veiny shaft. I remained unconvinced. I pulled my ultra-baggy pants up to my waist, slipped on the similarly coloured shirt, and headed to the studio.
"Over here, sweetie," an effeminate voice called from across the room. He waved his arms about like an air traffic controller on a drug high to get my attention. As I followed the high-pitched voice, my eyes darted around the modest, but well-equipped mini sound stage. Cramped into the dark confines of the studio was a jail cell set, complete with a bed, basin, bars (which I was sure you could slip between) and a tiny window on the back wall.
The gaggle of people busily running around the studio was disconcerting. Aaron sat next to the camera in the director's chair. Benjamin and the guy I assumed was Trent were sitting on the bed casually chatting. There was a middle-aged guy manning the camera, a kid on the wrong end of a boom microphone, another guy above fiddling with the lights and the make-up artist in the corner.
I sat in front of a mirror and had my face plastered with make-up and hair gelled. "You're adorable, you are," the make-up artist said in his disturbingly shrill voice. I didn't respond.
"Ok people, ready to roll," Aaron bellowed, rising from his chair. The crew scurried into action. "In your places Trent, Benjamin. Nicholas? Where's my boy Nicholas." "I'm here," I replied timidly. "Nicholas my boy, you look great. You know what to do. Have fun, kid." Benjamin caught my wandering gaze and smiled sweetly.
"Ready?" he asked, glaring at each of his crew. Most nodded. "Rolling. And...action!"
"I miss that," Benjamin said gruffly. He was pointing to a porn magazine opened on the bed in front of him. Both boys were sitting on the single bed side-by-side, propped up against the wall. They starred at the magazine. "Fuck, me too," an equally surly Trent agreed.
Both had been miscast. The script called for two hardened, rough- around-the-edges juvenile delinquents. There was nothing rough about these boys, save for the messed-up hair and slight stubble on their flawless faces. "If there were boys in jails like this pair, turning to a life of crime was a serious possibility!" I thought to myself.
Trent shared his screen partner's visual charm. He was beautiful, no question. But he possessed a quality that, like Benjamin, went beyond beauty - one that had your eyes struggling to look anywhere else. His rounded, olive-toned face oozed charisma. It was boyish, enchanting and slightly cheeky as he playfully spared with Benjamin. His brownish hair, slightly bleached by the sun, was cropped short but stuck up in varying directions. It all sat on an imposing frame; tall, with broad shoulders and long, well-defined legs. At least, that was my guess, as the unshapely pants revealed little.
"Fuck, it's hot," Benjamin said, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Trent followed suit. Their flat, bronzed torsos were exposed for the world to see. The ripples were in all the right places.
"My girlfriend used to give the best fucking head ever," Trent announced, turning a page. "I know," Benjamin smiled. Trent pounced on his cellmate and after a brief struggle, pinned him to the bed. Trent ground his pelvis into Benjamin's. Propped up on his elbows, Trent looked longingly into Benjamin's eyes. "Suck it, man." Trent looked at his restrained captive in disbelief. "Suck it," Benjamin repeated. Trent remained silent.
Benjamin pushed Trent off his body and sat on the edge of the bed. In a hypnotic-like state, Trent got off the bed and kneeled before his fellow jailbird. The chemistry was almost visual.
Trent reached forward and grabbed Benjamin's swelling cock through the thin material of his pants. The loose slacks allowed for a full-fist grip of Benjamin's dick as it reached its full girth. Reaching into the pants, Trent fished for cock. With the catch of the day firmly in his grasp, he worked the foreskin back and forth in his fist. As he manipulated the now-hard boy meat in his hand, Trent looked up at Benjamin's pleasure-ridden face. "Suck it, dude," Benjamin hissed. "Suck it."
Trent stuck out his sizeable tongue to meet with the end of Benjamin's dick. They hit it off instantly. His tongue dexterously worked over the tool, dancing on Benjamin's bloated, purple cock head before sliding down the length of his pole. Before long, Benjamin's equipment disappeared down Trent's seemingly boundless throat. Benjamin blissfully threw his head back, as if auditioning for a shampoo commercial.
And that was my cue. With my heart pounding against my chest, I stepped out of the shadows and into the world of porn movies.
"Fuck," I said in my best, though somewhat erroneous, don't-mess-with- me prisoner voice. "Should have known you two would be the first to turn." "This fucker gives amazing head, man," Benjamin told me. "I'll take your word for it," I said. I couldn't help but grin broadly.
As Trent continued to work diligently on bringing his partner off, I reached into my pants to retrieve my pecker. I was engrossed in the action before me; oblivious to the half dozen people gathered to watch us. It was almost intrinsic (though scripted) for me to stand before the boys and pump away at my rod. With a firm grip on my shaft, I stood not more than a metre from them and milked my cut snake with purpose.
"Ooooh yeah," Benjamin sighed as he kneaded Trent's scalp. Trent was working magic on Benjamin's wand, sucking down to its base while giving the head the tongue lashing it deserved. He massaged Benjamin's furrowed ball sac in his spindly fingers while groping for his own dick with the other hand. "Milk it, man. Take my hot load," was the cry from Benjamin, synchronising his pelvic thrusts with Trent's frenetic mouth.
My own jerking became as frenzied. I moaned softly as my cream bubbled to the surface. "Here it comes," I almost screamed. "Oooh yeah." After a climb like no other, the summit was breathtaking. Only matched at the hands of Benjamin days earlier, I brought myself off. The first round fired at Benjamin's chest; resulting rounds less powerful. I closed my eyes and squeezed the last drops from my gun.
Suddenly becoming aware of my surroundings again, I opened my eyes in time to watch Benjamin wank his own cock to a powerful orgasm. Trent was bathed in cum as his partner dumped his hot load. A camera invaded their space to capture the firing range close-up. "Ooooh man. Super suck dude...super suck," Benjamin chuckled.
"Cut! Awesome stuff, boys. Print it."
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