Adventures in Filmland

We spent the rest of the day drinking, with Sarge giving me an occasional golden cocktail, or when he felt like it a golden shower in the main bathroom. As he said, there was bound to be a golden shower in the movie we were due to start shooting on Monday, so I may as well get used to it. I didn't mind – as I said earlier, I'd had a pretty strict upbringing from my Uncle Rupert!

The week-end flew past and then, on Monday morning, Sarge arrived outside Jake's place in his Humvee and out of the vehicle climbed a sound recording man, two cameramen and the Betty Page look-alike from Jake's office who, I was told, would be responsible for make up and continuity.

While the cameramen were setting up lights in the main lounge, Jake explained that we'd be doing the interior shots first. Not many were needed, he said, it wouldn't take more than a couple of hours, but that did nothing to calm the butterflies in my stomach. I was suffering from extreme stage fright.

The first shot involved me, sitting sprawled in an easy chair reading a lurid gay magazine "Gang Bang Glory Holes". I was naked for the shot and stroking my eight-inch hard on. Betty combed my hair, making it look pretty mussed up and when she was satisfied she'd got the right look, Jake called for the cameramen to start shooting.

"Start stroking that little ole cock, Jeremy," called Jake, as the filming began. For several minutes the cameras zoomed in and out on my erection and the cover of the magazine I was perving at. Then I had a rest, while Sarge prepared for his entrance.

I stood back behind the cameras as they filmed Sarge entering the lounge in his camo fatigues, then glaring and barking: "You filthy little slut! I told you to clean this place up? And what do I find? You reading a fuckin' porno mag!" They did a couple of takes of that, then I was put back in the chair and did a few attempts at looking scared shitless and calling out "Sorry master, I'm getting right onto it, master!"

Then there was a shot of Sarge telling me: "OK, you fuckin' little slut, for your fuckin' disobedience I can see I'm gonna have to give you a fuckin' route march!"

Shots of me looking absolutely fucking petrified were then taken, and then Jake had me kneeling on the floor in front of the Sarge, pulling on my erection and pleading with him: "No, master, please no, not a route march! My body still aches from the last one!"

Sarge's sneering response was caught on film, then Jake called for some "suck shots". Sarge dropped his trousers to reveal his burgeoning 10-inch erection and I began to suck on it, swallowing as much as I could of the monster.

"Give me some begging, Jeremy," called Jake as I worked on Sarge's huge prick.

"Please master," I cried, pulling away briefly from his erection, "not the route march, I beg you!" and variations on that theme until Jake was satisfied.

"Right, that's a wrap," said Jake. "Now we can get out to the farm."

I went with Jake in his sporty little 'Vette while Sarge followed on in his massive Humvee and the rest of the crew. On the way, Jake explained the "farm" was a desolate, barren spread out in the country some hour and a half's drive which was owned by a friend of his and was used as a location for a lot of "punishment film" shoots, both gay and "straight".

I still felt nervous, but Jake patted me on my thigh and assured me I was doing fine. "It's when The Punisher has problems getting it up you're not pulling your weight, but there's no sign of that," he assured me.

Out in the desert, the sun was bearing down, which added to my tension. For the rest of the day's shooting I would be naked, save for a pair of white sox and a sturdy pair of brown leather boots to protect my feet from the stones, sand and brush. Betty applied a thick layer of sun tan lotion and mussed my hair up real good.

"Right," said Jake, when I was ready, "let's have Sarge get him kitted up with the anal intruder and the cock and ball ring. Sarge, you ready?"

Sarge emerged from a small tent which had obviously been pitched overnight and walked out to where I stood, naked and apprehensive. He was wearing a sort of Green Beret's forage cap, a black leather waistcoat which revealed his wonderful pectorals and gleaming brown chest. On his hips were black leather chaps, which were crotchless, so his big ball bag and thick cock stood out from his groin. He was erect. On his feet were sturdy-looking black cowboy boots. His sinister air of menace was completed by a pair of dark Gucci shades.

"Right, Sarge," said Jake, "let's get him fitted into it. The boys are ready. You know the words, Sarge. Jeremy, just ad lib as the Sarge fits you into this thing."

"This thing" was a dark brown anal intruder which looked to me to be about six inches long. From its base a thick leather strap went to another circular strap, with a buckle.

"Right, you disobedient little cunt," said Sarge, as he was being filmed. "You know what this is for." He waved the gear in front of my face. "Bend over so's I can get it in your pretty little ass." "Please, Sarge," I pleaded, as I turned and displayed by bare backside to him, "please don't do this, I'm so scared." And to tell the honest truth, I really was. I was a newcomer to the film business, I was hot under the searing sun and Sarge was really playing the part of strong master to perfection.

Then I felt the intruder driving into me and I stiffened at the uncomfortable intrusion. Sarge then pulled the strap between my thighs and buckled the circular belt at its end around my cock and balls, thus acting as an engorgement strap for my eight-inches, which was soon standing stiffly to attention.

The cameramen said they were satisfied with the shots and we could move on. "Time for the yolk, Sarge – Betty, get it out of the tent," instructed Jake, and Betty, who had stripped to a black bikini and a large sun hat which showed off her Betty Page look-alike figure and features, went into the tent and returned with a heavy-looking wooded contraption, which she handed to Sarge. I didn't like the look of it.

"Just in case you thought I was a little easy on you last time, I'm gonna use my favourite yolk this time, you little cunt," said the Sarge, snarling as he spat the words out.

"Right, let's get a look at Jeremy looking at the yolk – nice expression of fear, please, ducky," said Jake, as Sarge held the heavy wooden contraption out to me.

I didn't really need to act as I regarded the implement of punishment. It looked heavy, it was padded with black leather and I didn't want it across my shoulders. Sarge, of course, had other ideas.

Soon I was attached to the yolk, my shoulders and wrists strapped to its arms by leather straps, and straps also went over my forearms just below the elbows. I staggered slightly as Sarge completed the procedure and as I did one of the cameramen called out: "Nice, great shot that!"

Jake proclaimed himself satisfied so far, then asked Betty: "The buggy whip, please, darling. Then we can really get this move moving!"

Betty emerged from the tent holding a buggy whip which was taller than she was! She handed it to Sarge, who took the implement in its golf-club grip and flexed the slim but cruel-looking leather strip.

Then I really started to earn my wages! With the cameramen taking shots from every conceivable angle, many of them up from ground level looking at my cock as it swayed in its horribly tight engorgement strap, Sarge flogged my ass and ordered me to march around in the blazing sun. He didn't strike me often, and most of the blows were not delivered with his full, considerable force, but I certainly felt them.

I was marched up hill and down dale, into thickets of bushes which scratched and grabbed at my poor naked flesh, across dusty expanses and through sagebrush. Sarge moved behind me, barking instructions, such as "High knee action, cunt, prance for me!" and "Marching on the spot – now!"

By the time we broke for lunch I was panting and exhausted from the rigors of filming and the disciplinary attentions of Sarge.

Lunch was great. A movie catering company provided us with a superb spread of cold meat salads, salami, tasty fish and even hamburgers. There was plenty of cool beer and juices, and Jake and Betty shared a bottle of chilled white wine. The two women from the catering company didn't even blink at my striped ass and back and the engorgement strap and anal intruder I was still wearing. I guess they'd seen a lot of things on Hollywood movie sets!

After lunch, and while the caterers cleared away, Sarge marched me out towards a thicket of trees, whipping my ass regularly on the march there – almost half a mile, I'd guess.

"You remember my favourite little spot, don't you cunt?" asked Sarge as we walked through the welcoming shade offered by the trees.

"Cut," Jake called. "OK, Jeremy, time for you to drop to your knees and start pleading. Things like 'Not the tree bondage, please, master, not the tree bondage' while you're sucking on his stiffy."

When the cameramen were in place, I went into action, falling to my knees, sucking on Sarge's huge erection and begging him not to put me in the "tree bondage", whatever that was.

I soon found out. Set in the path through the trees was a clearing, and on either side stood two, large-trunked trees. Hanging from the base of the two trees were thin ropes. Similar ropes were tied some way up the trunks. Obviously, I was going to placed into bondage between the trees.

The "takes" for this scene took forever. I was released from the rigors of the yolk and then Sarge would get me tied up, then the cameramen would call for a re-take. But after about 30 minutes, I was hanging, arms held out stiffly, legs dragged wide, in a most uncomfortable position.

Then Sarge started the flogging. There was no script, no dialogue to learn – none was necessary. After about 20 strokes across my buttocks and upper back I was screaming for mercy. Luckily for me, I remembered to call Sarge "Master" in my pleas, which meant that after about 10 minutes of the most severe flogging I had ever undergone, Jake was satisfied and called: "Cut!" It was the most wonderful word I'd ever heard in my life!

The crew them filmed me being released and my sinking to the dusty floor of the little clearing when I was at last freed. Then Sarge ordered me to stand and bend over. He roughly removed the anal intruder from my anus and was soon plunging his 10-inch titan into my rectum.

The cameramen demanded re-take after re-take of his entry. Then, he pulled from me and presented his smeared cock to my mouth for his completion. As he neared his ejaculation, he pulled out of my mouth and shot his load all over my face – the obligatory cum shot!

There was a brief break, Betty cleaned me up, then they filmed Sarge walking me – this time minus the yolk, but with my hands clasped behind my neck – back out into the searing sunshine.

Then, for my final humiliation, Sarge gave me a strong, stready golden shower all over my face, splashing cascades of urine from forehead to chin, before finishing with a growled command "Open up" and making me drink the last few gushes from his bladder.

The final scene showed Sarge pulling my blonde hair down and pressing me against his groin while asking: "Well, you little cunt, did you enjoy that?"

Jake looked at me intently, his head nodding up and down.

"Yes, master," I sobbed – truthfully, of course.

"That's good, cunt," smiled Sarge, "'cos we're gonna do it again tomorrow!"

"And that's a wrap," cried Jake and shooting was done.

About a month later, I was invited to Jake's place by the beach for a private preview of the movie. Jake was there, of course, and Sarge, Betty, the cameramen and the sound technician. There were also several people I didn't know.

After the film – it lasted 60 minutes and was titled "Route March Misery" starring Sarge, as The Master, and introducing Jeremy as the slave – one of the people I didn't know introduced himself to me as Rodney, and said he was an agent.

"I just love the way you acted in that," he gushed. I refrained from telling him that most of it involved no acting on my part whatsoever.

"Tell me, do you have a contract with Jake?"

I shook my head. "No, he paid me a straight fee," I explained.

"How much, my dear Jeremy?" asked Rodney.

I told him.

Rodney tut-tutted. "I can do much better for you than that," he said, "much better."

Then he steered me out onto the verandah, overlooking the beach. "Listen, you've got the most adorable tush in the business, you've got an adequate cock and you've got that sullen, slave boy look. You're a natural.

"Sarge is thinking of retiring from the porn business, and I've got a lad on my books who's going to be the next Sarge. In fact, he's gonna be bigger than Sarge.

"You and he were made for each other. What do you say?"

I didn't know what to say, then I was helped out by Sarge, who came out with Betty draped on his massive arm.

"Hi kid," he grinned. "Rod tell you I'm thinkin' of quittin' the business?"

"Yes," I answered, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm going into bondage productions myself," he laughed. "We're gonna do a Betty Page revival series starring Betty here as the lady herself, ain't that right kid?"

Betty sort of simpered and smooched a slow kiss on Sarge's mouth. "Anything you say, darling," she whispered in his ear.

"I told Jeremy about Alan," said Rodney, when the Betty Page look-alike had disengaged from Sarge's mouth. "Tell him, Sarge."

Sarge looked at me and grinned. "You'll like Alan," he told me, "he's pretty, he's muscular and for a white man he's quite well hung."

So, to cut a longish story very short, I signed with Rodney. You'll be able to see the first of my movies with Alan soon, we've shot about six or seven and I'm rather proud of them.

Just look out for any videos starring Alan Adonis, as "The Master" and Jeremy, as "the slave".

Alan's a real hunk, he's only 25 and I'm passionate about him, so much so that I've moved into his apartment and we're an item now. God, I love the movie business!

THE END