Adventures in Filmland

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

me

.

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

Well I'm

very

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was a well-appointed but small office, up on the second floor of an oldish building and as soon as I walked in I knew why the woman on the phone called herself Betty – she had Betty Page bangs, Betty Page legs and a Betty Page bust. Betty Page is just

so

fucking great, isn't she?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake, I could see, was impressed.

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

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

DOB: April 25, 1982

Height: 5ft 11inches

Weight: 140lbs

Tattoos: none

Penis: 8inches (uncut)

Fetishes: male domination

Likes: spanking, whipping, electro shock, water sports

Dislikes: shit

Drink: socially

Smoke: no

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake laughed. "That's a terrible line and no one ever, and I mean

ever

, uses it here," he informed me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rupert," I told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued.