THE ASSOCIATION
Disclaimer: This is a work of gay fiction. It will contain scenes describing sex between adult males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if it is illegal to possess such material where you are, then stop now!
I appreciate your constructive comments. Email me at letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com Copyright held by the author. Do not reproduce without permission.
SUBMISSION
The luxury jet ride was long, but the way to go as far as travel comfort is concerned. Most of us slept a substantial portion of the way. Franco, in his role as master, good-naturedly rousted all of us at one time or another to serve in some way. There was a uniformed steward who prepared the food and made it clear he did not want naked slaves in his galley-but he had us deliver and serve the food and beverages he cranked out of the tiny but fully equipped food prep space on-board. Of course, we enjoyed the delicious, top-quality provisions, too. I stirred once in my sleep to observe Peter fucking Franco back in the master's lair. On one side of them, Brendan fucked Joe, and on the other side, Patrick was slamming Jack. I knew my turn would be coming soon (of course, all three of those guys had already had my ass and cock for free), but the eight of us had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of stud work to do for our temporary owner. I toyed with the idea of fucking Nicholas out of his slumber, but set that notion aside. I would surely be needing ever drop of jizz and all the hard-on I could muster for my contribution over these next few days. I satisfied myself with admiring and stroking Nicholas' beautiful ass while he slept, and eating it out for him as he awoke.
I wondered how we would handle getting all of us naked men out of the jet once it landed at LAX. It turned out, we went to a smaller airstrip, taxied to a private hangar, walked over to an enormous limo, and piled in, without donning a scrap of cover. Only a couple of bored mechanics, who looked like they'd seen it all, observed us. It was tight in the limo for the dozen of us, but we were not averse to touching one another, after all. We drove for another hour on crowded freeways and city and residential streets before pulling up at the gate of an imposing property, one of many we had passed. The gate slid open, and the limo disgorged our group into an immaculate and expansive semi-tropical garden.
Franco's house proved to be a rambling, contemporary sprawl that went on forever, with mostly glass walls, gardens and fountains tucked in here and there, one side open to an impressive ocean view, and an enormous terrace garden on the other side. We were packed off to share two king-size beds for the night, with instructions to behave ourselves, get some rest, and report for duty by seven in the morning, with breakfast available at six on the terrace. The Hollywood guys disappeared for the night as well, leaving us wondering what was so important for us to do here that warranted such a high price for our services. But we dutifully piled into our beds (Jason and William, of course, joining me and Nicholas), and after some innocent cuddling and skin-to-skin, got several hours more of shut-eye.
We were accustomed to waking early, though, even by Eastern standards, and we were now three hours west. Nicholas woke up at 2:00 and amused himself licking on my tits. I was fully awake, and aroused, by 2:30, and before 3:00, the others were sitting up wondering what the fuck to do. We were used to a morning run, so we decided to go for it. The corridors of the house were empty and quiet. We made our way softly on bare feet to the terrace, but after only twenty feet, met the uniformed security man, who grinned at us with amusement.
Everyone looked at me, so I became spokesman. "We can't sleep and need a place to run."
"That ain't all you need." The guy was a comedian, it seemed.
"Well, what you see is what we've got. Any ideas?"
"Oh, hell, this time of night the cops have more on their minds than naked joggers. It's pretty obvious you ain't stealing anything. I'll let you out the gate and show you how to get down to the beach."
So Lenny (our new bud) ran through a list of turns and street names that would keep us off of major thoroughfares and give us access, down a long flight of wooden stairs, to the beach. It was wee hours, but even so, there were a good many vehicles passing the eight naked studs running in a pack. We got several car honks and whistles, but no police interest. The beach itself was deserted at first, and its firm sands a relief to our feet over the pavements. But after we had run an hour, we realized we'd better head back. And on the way back, we began to meet early risers walking and running on the beach as well.
Beach walkers and joggers are, apparently, an unusually tolerant lot. We got plenty of friendly greetings, but not one negative comment as we dashed by the bemused public. It got dicier once we headed up the long stair and back onto the streets, though. Now, the traffic was picking up with more panel vans and other delivery vehicles. Some of the honks now sounding more reprimanding. There were even a few, "Get something on!" type shouts.
We had just heard the estate gate clank behind us when two black-and-whites cruised slowly past. Fortunately, we were now out of sight in the lush landscape. Lenny gave the officers an innocent wave and returned to reading his morning paper.
Since we hadn't yet been assigned shower facilities, we commandeered the outdoor shower at poolside, and afterward, dived in to cool off. That's where we all were when Consuela and Jorge appeared to set up breakfast. They took finding eight naked college men in their pool in stride, and had our first cup of coffee in weeks served up in moments. We certainly didn't need it to wake us, but the aroma and flavor were a special treat we hardly realized we had missed. Consuela rolled her eyes at us with an amused and slightly embarrassed smile as we emerged, dripping, from the pool, but Jorge, try as he might, could not keep his gaze away from our midsections, gaping with open and reverent admiration.
Breakfast was light, but there was plenty of it. Promptly at seven, Franco's officious and very gay events manager Jerry pranced in, very full of himself and his importance, and determined to show that he was not in the least impressed by a phalanx of prime male specimens in the altogether, while at the same time surreptitiously drinking in every detail of our bodies. He had a habit of laying a hand on whoever he was talking to which got tiring, and he looked a little ridiculous in his "Hollywood casual" get-up, with his skinny legs and slightly paunchy waistline, amidst our tanned and buffed nakedness. Not, obviously, an Association man.
But he had big news and big plans for us.
The gist of it is: Franco and Company were planning a big motion picture, a colossal period piece the likes of which had not been done in years-shades of Cecil B. DeMille, Cleopatra, and Lawrence of Arabia. The title was to be The Glory of Sparta, and it would be a gory action feature about the Greek defeat of the Persian Empire, especially the heroism of King Leonidas and his men at Thermopylae. The story would be padded out with romance, intrigue, and sex, and it was planned to re-set the bar for the tastefully erotic portrayal of nudity, especially of the masculine kind.
That night, Franco would be throwing a huge, promotional extravaganza for potential investors in the film here in his own garden. Joe and Jack and three of the hottest female stars in Hollywood had been signed. The eight of us were to aid their spectacular entrance by carrying them in on an enormous palanquin, portraying Spartan soldiers. With passengers, the thing would weigh nearly 800 pounds-but the strapping likes of us, of course, that would be no problem.
Jerry put us to work as roustabouts, and we toiled all morning bringing in tables and chairs, sound equipment, tents and backdrops for the event. By 1:00, the place was transformed, and only detail set-up work remained. We broke for lunch, and Franco himself breezed through to give us a pep-talk about the importance of our role and advise us that he was giving us the bulk of the afternoon off for the express purpose of getting some rest-we'd need it, he warned, as the night would be a long, hard one in every sense of the word. Again he warned-no sex! Yet! Our 'nads belonged to him today.
So we racked out and, having had already a pretty active day, did catch several hours of sleep. At 5:00, we were unceremoniously invaded by a crew of make-up artists, mostly women, totally nonplussed at our nakedness, who examined every square inch of skin on us, applying cover to every blemish, real or imagined. They commented, laughing at how there wasn't much for them to do on such a canvass. Then the costume crew swept in, bearing, as it turned out, very little in costume for us. We each wore a light-weight helmet that looked more Roman than Greek to me, with an enormous, Hollywood-style white plume across the crest and trailing to the shoulder-blades in the back. We got thin-soled sandals, with flimsy gold-toned shin-guards. They took our P. A. rings out, and wrapped a three-inch-long gold metallic embossed sheath around the shaft of our cocks. In all our cases, that didn't cover the amount of meat we had hanging even at our most flaccid, but it did draw the eye to the region, and one couldn't help but note how much sausage was left over outside the wrapper.
That was all. As for clothing, we got not one stitch.
A couple of waiters came in with trays of light refreshment. Then we waited. We heard the noise of a large crowd building outside beginning around 8:00. There was music and a general hub-bub, with occasional loud-speaker announcements. Just before 10:00, we were led out, via interior hallways, to a secluded section of side garden, where our burden awaited us. We formed up four to a side. Jerry insisted that Nicholas and I be in front, because we were, as he put it, a "matched pair." Behind us were Patrick and William, then Anthony and Brendan. Dennis and Peter brought up the rear, because, "they had asses for it," according to Jerry. We hoisted the palanquin to our shoulders and, directed by Jerry, backed it up against a stairway balcony so that our passengers could load. We felt the weight increase and the balance shift as the stars of the film settled into the cushions above for their ride into the spotlights.
Jerry led us along a dimly lit path to the edge of the main garden, still hidden from view by plantings. There was a voice droning on about the film and what a great sensation it was going to be, how much money it was going to make for its investors. Pure hype, and I paid no attention. Finally, it was time to introduce the stars of the film, whose presence would guarantee full houses in theaters around the world. There was a crescendo of drumming and trumpet fanfare, and Jerry cued us to make our entrance.
We were to walk at a stately pace around the perimeter path of the garden to the point where the stage platform was erected, turn 90 degrees to allow our passengers to step off onto the stage as introduced, then back off, turn again, and proceed on around the remainder of the perimeter, exiting on the far side of the garden.
We hadn't been coached, really, but together we had decided that we had better keep in step and give verbal cues from up front on starting, turning, and stopping. I spoke softly, "Ready, set, LEFT," and off we went. Immediately a million megawatt spotlight erupted upon us. The crowd turned, drums and trumpets still blasting, and let out a soft "ooh," as they saw our glimmering plumed helmets and the elaborately decorated litter we carried, straining perhaps to see who was on it.
Then, it seemed that collectively, the crowd noticed all at once that the men carrying the litter were magnificent-and totally nude. There was an audible gasp from the garden, followed by whistles, cheers, and applause. We turned into the garden path, now presenting our flanks to the view of the spectators, and the uproar continued and even grew. Cameras were clicking, and some people pushed their way right up next to us for photos. Some of Franco's staff leaped in to shoo them out of our way so that we could proceed up the pathway. I was trying to keep eyes front, but in my peripheral vision, I saw face after face, male and female, with longing eyes, excited, admiring, leering grins. For the first time, I caught a glimpse of the exhilaration, but also the sheer madness, of celebrity mania, which the lucky, or unlucky passengers above us had to endure every day now.
We reached the stage.
"Ready...and...stop. Right turn. Ready...and...turn." We marched our burden toward the dais and stopped again before it.
Each one of the leading actors was introduced in reverse order of importance, but beginning with the three women, since this was essentially a guy film. All were very well-known performers. Each of the women, slender and breasty, emerged wearing heeled sandals, an elaborate head-dress, and a jeweled g-string, nothing more. Each was greeted onstage by a pair of female attendants who wrapped her in a gauzy thing like spider webs that hid virtually nothing but cast an air of mystique about her person. The women sashayed seductively to their marks to the screaming and wild applause of the crowd. Finally, Joe was introduced, and we felt his movements above in the shifting of the litter. He stepped off onto the stage and into my view. He was truly magnificent. And he was completely naked but for footwear like ours and a scarlet-plumed helmet. Two male attendants in scant tunics draped a gauzy red cape on his shoulders, and he strode proudly, to the thundering ovation of the crowd, to his place. His cape thing just barely, but not entirely, screened his genitals as he acknowledged the greeting. Then came Jack, and clearly, he intended to get his proper share of the adulation. He sprang lightly off the palanquin, as nude as Joe, but in no hurry to get his wrap on. He bowed graciously, as if completely unaware of his nakedness, leaving his attendants holding his flimsy robe behind him. Only when he was sure that everyone had truly gotten their eyes full, and taken pictures for posterity, did he step back to receive his garment. Even then, he moved to his position with the robe hanging open in the middle, and he never bothered to draw it around him in any way. The man had balls! (And I had sucked on both of them just a day earlier.)
On my cue, the team of naked bearers backed out from our docking, rotated, and resumed our stately way around the garden and out. People near us still screamed, clapped, and called out to us. I felt dozens of hands caressing my thighs and ass, but there was nothing at all I could do about it. Jerry tried his best to shoo the women away, but to no avail-they were absolutely shameless in their determination to touch our naked skin in some way. When we got out, Dennis discovered that his phallic sheath was missing. Someone had stripped it right off of him while fondling his cock and balls.
"Shit," Brendan commented. "Like walking through a giant Grope-Machine."
"I feel so used," wailed Anthony satirically. "Hey, can we go out there again?"
We all laughed, but mine was a bit hollow. I wasn't so sure I had enjoyed that. It felt right on the edge of dangerous to me. A crowd like that-even in privileged, sophisticated Hollywood-- was a live animal that could become a mob in a heart-beat. We were nothing but tools for fantasy, chunks of meat for transient pleasure only. Nicholas gave me an understanding look, and I figured we'd have some things to talk about soon.
But for the moment, we had work to do. James appeared, in his Hollywood chic clothing, with instructions from Franco.
"Head up to the showers, guys. Get rid of that ridiculous get-up. And get ready to earn your purchase price. This thing is coming to a close soon. When we send for you, there will only be a few dozen naked men left on the grounds. They are all members of the Association, who are very much looking forward to meeting you. Your instructions are to see to it that every one of them goes to sleep tonight with a great big smile on his face. Whatever it takes. Because when Franco calls them tomorrow, he wants to find them in a very generous mood."