Jungle Boy

Jungle Boy 15

by George Gauthier

Fair warning: This story features explicit and graphic depictions of gay sex. The story takes place forty years in the future.

Chapter 1. Story Conference

Movie producer Martin Fletcher thanked Luis, his attentive houseboy, for the tray of lemonade then settled back in his lawn chair to await his visitors. Fletcher preferred the informality of story conferences at his Hollywood estate rather than at the office. Informally laid out landscaping ensured privacy in his 10 acre domain.

First to arrive were Fletcher's friends and colleagues, director Jim Nichols and studio production chief Leon Potter. On their heels came Fletcher's two favorite movie stars, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles. Though both were in their early twenties, everyone called them "the twinks". Indeed, with their slight builds and fine-boned features, they looked more like boys in their late teens than young men.

Sandy was much prettier than any boy rightly ought to be -- blessed as he was with delicate features including a straight nose, finely arched brows, a chiseled jaw line, high cheekbones, and large green eyes topped by a thatch the color of straw. Terry was an impossibly cute red head, with sky blue eyes and a peaches and cream complexion lightly dusted with freckles that reflected his Irish heritage. As Terry settled into his chair he gave a wave and a wink to Luis. The houseboy had a terrific crush on the cute red head.

Luis hung around, fussing at this and that, pretending to check the temperature and chemical balance of the water in the swimming pool. He hoped his boss's younger guests would go for a swim after their story conference, and that he might join them. As usual when he was working around the house and grounds the dark haired Latino was in the nude. He looked so cute, kneeling on the tile, brown cheeks resting on bare feet, lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as, test tube in hand, he went about his humble chore, firm muscles playing under his reddish brown skin. The young mestizo looked so very alive, a fine specimen of the human animal.

It was something of a naughty game among A-List celebrities to see whose house boy was the most brazen. That meant clothing was quite out of the question. Fletcher's boy thought nothing of stepping out the door in the buff to fetch the paper or walking down the street to the mailbox in the nude. Casual public nudity was no big deal in the fifth decade of the twenty-first century.

Not that Fletcher was fey himself, but cute houseboys of the gay persuasion were all the vogue in Hollywood these days, the cuter the better. The stunning looking mestizo lad was not only Fletcher's houseboy. These days Luis was also an aspiring actor. His youthful male beauty had won him bit parts in Fletcher's pictures, supporting Terry and Sandy plus a couple of TV gigs recently. He might not be headed for stardom, but it looked like he had a promising career ahead of him in supporting roles.

The last to arrive was the actors' agent Ed Veronese, himself once a supporting actor.

"So what is the word of the day, Fletch? Or dare I even ask?" Jim Nichols inquired knowing Fletcher and his surprises.

"My friends, the word of the day is 'Ambergris'."

He spelled it. The older men frowned, clueless, but the faces of twinks lit up with understanding.

"Oh, a picture about whaling, is that what you have in mind, Fletch?" Terry asked, speaking for the both of them.

"Exactly"

Terry turned to the older men and explained that ambergris was a precious substance worth more than its weight in gold. It originates as a secretion in the intestines of sperm whales and is used in the manufacture of perfumes.

Fletcher explained:

"The concept is 'The Jungle Boys meet Moby Dick and Robinson Crusoe'."

That brought theatrical groans from his interlocutors.

"Come on, Fletch!"

"Hey, give it a chance". Fletcher protested. "This concept is better than it sounds."

Fletcher went on to explain that the picture would be about a whaling voyage out of New Bedford Massachusetts that ends suddenly when the ship is struck by a rogue wave. The only survivors are the two cabin boys who eventually wash up on a tropical island. After an idyllic two years as castaways, a frigate of the Royal Navy shows up, but instead of rescuing the boys, her captain tries to impress them into the British Navy to help fight the War of 1812. The boys refuse to turn traitor to America and flee back to their island paradise where they fight the English guerilla style till an American frigate arrives and blows the British ship out of the water.

Sandy and Terry rolled their eyes. Here we go again, castaways on a tropical island. Been there, done that. The plot was a whole lot like their remake of 'The Blue Lagoon' from just a few of years ago, which was already a cult classic. Why couldn't they do that musketeer picture Terry had his heart set on. Sandy spoke for both of them.

"This time, I don't even have to ask how we get naked in the picture. I don't suppose cabin boys on whaling vessels wore clothes much even before they became castaways."

"Of course not. Why should they, especially cruising the whaling grounds of the tropical latitudes. Given the heat and an all male environment, it was only sensible for the younger lads in the crew to go about in the rude nude. When you consider that a whaling voyage might last two or three years, and that the crew are mostly lusty young men, well, they had only one outlet for their sexual energies: the cabin boys. As sex toys for the whole crew, the cabins boys certainly had no reason to be body shy."

"And, if you guys do this whaling picture, without complaints, I promise that our very next movie will be 'The Young Musketeers'."

"Yay!" the twinks cried in unison. Then Terry added hurriedly.

"I've got first dibs on D'Artagnan!"

"I wouldn't think of depriving you of your chance,Terry. I've given this a lot of thought, everyone, ever since Terry got talking about this project. I'll play Olivier d'Athos, Comte de la Fere. We'll keep the Dumas characters, of course, but ditch the silly plot about the Queen's necklace. Instead the action will focus on matters of state, especially the Bourbon-Habsburg dynastic rivalry that led to France's participation in the Thirty Years' War."

"Our movie will be a coming of age tale about D'Artagnan. He and Athos are both young men near the same age, maybe five years apart. After an initially prickly beginning to their relationship, Athos takes the boy from Gascony under his wing. He helps him explore his sexuality, and they become lovers. Under his tutelage, the boy becomes a man and earns the tabard of a musketeer."

"And Fletch and Jim, be sure to cast a red-head as Milady de Winter, someone who can play a fiery Irish colleen. We'll want a starlet with a boyish build who looks a lot like Terry. Athos's sexual ambiguity is what is behind the tragic tale of the fallen nobleman and his wicked former wife. Athos has two great loves in his life, the fallen woman he kills, and the brave boy who turns his life around."

Everyone nodded in agreement. Sandy's concept was terrific. A gay romance between the characters would reflect the real life relationship between the young actors playing the principal roles. Sandy's concept was far better than Terry's original notion which had Sandy playing the villainous Comte de Rochefort who finally sides with the Musketeers after he falls for the young Gascon. Of course Terry meant that as a joke.

Though both young actors were twenty-three, Terry would have the easier job playing a lad five years younger. With their slight stature and pretty faces, the twinks really did look eighteen. To seem older to the audience, Sandy would use actors' tricks like careful and deliberate diction in contrast to the excited chatter of the young Gascon, neater and more subdued clothing compared to the careless dress of the young provincial lad, and hair neatly combed compared to the farm lad's tangled thatch, that sort of thing.

There was still a role for Rochefort as an apex in a love triangle. With Sandy's concept, the Cardinal's henchman is incapable of true love and pursues the young Gascon out of a desire to gratify his base lusts.

"Works for me," Ed Veronese observed, "Sandy's collaboration with the writers will earn him a story credit too. Also I am sure Conrad will be happy to play Rochefort. After all, this echoes his and Terry's relationship in their successful Dracula pictures."

"What was their back story anyway, Athos and Lady de Winter? I am pretty hazy about all that." Nichols asked.

After more than a year of study, Terry was an expert on musketeer lore. He explained how Milady's tragic history formed her character. She starts out as a teenager forced into a convent where she falls in love with a priest. They run off with church gold to pay for a new start in life in another part of France but are caught and branded by the local intendant, standard punishment for a thief. Later she takes up with a man in Athos' domain, pretending to be his sister. The young nobleman falls in love with her and, despite her humble origins, marries her.

"Let's do the back story as a montage," Sandy said. "I don't want to play a full love scene with a female. I know my limitations as an actor. So do the fans. We don't want them laughing at us, do we?"

"Go on Terry with what you were saying."

Terry resumed his explication. Came the day when the count and his new bride are out for a ride. She falls from her horse, and he discovers the brand on her shoulder which identifies her as a convicted criminal. Believing she married him only for his money and feeling betrayed and dishonored, Athos hangs her from a tree right on the spot. As Comte de la Fere, he is empowered to administer justice at all levels: the high, the middle, and the low. So the hanging is strictly legal, but Athos considers himself a murderer because his motivation was not justice but revenge. That self-reproach explains why Athos drinks so much. Meanwhile, all unbeknownst, Milady has survived the hanging and soon marries the Baron de Winter, whom she murders to secure his wealth and her own freedom of action. In time she becomes a spy and assassin for Cardinal Richelieu.

"We also need a role for a person of color. "Nichols pointed out. "How about Luis for Planchet, the servant of the musketeers? As the confidant of his employer Athos, he is the one of the few who understand the full extent of the relationship between the nobleman and the young Gascon."

"Fine. I'll get writers working on scripts for both pictures, boys." Fletcher assured the young actors.

With business concluded, the twinks dropped their shorts and went to join Luis at the pool. Fletcher was an understanding boss and he did not mind if his houseboy goofed off for a while, in dalliance with the twinks.

Needless to say, Luis was ecstatic about the part they had arranged for him in the coming picture. He, Luis Vasquez, would be a featured player in a big budget movie. And playing opposite his friend Terry Knowles. The money was good too, enough to pay for all his college courses and then some. Life doesn't get any better than that!

The three boys had a good time in the pool, splashing, horsing around, playing the grab ass games dear to the hearts of young males. This was definitely not a day for Sandy and Terry to swam laps. After an hour or so, the trio adjourned to Luis's quarters in the guesthouse for a three way frolic. They tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of clean limbs and smiling faces, three beautiful young men at the peak of their sexual prowess. Their energetic couplings were part wrestling match, part fuck session, and one-hundred percent fun. Luis's futon shook from the constant movement of taut bodies and smooth limbs.

The paparazzi would have made a fortune with footage of their lovemaking. What a sight it was, three comely youths, one blond, one red-headed, one dark, their eyes flashing green, blue, and brown respectively, their skin tones varying from Luis's natural reddish brown to Sandy's deep suntanned bronze to Terry's lighter tan. Each boy in turn found himself at the bottom, plugged at both ends, cocks thrusting into orifices, tongues licking and slurping, ass muscles squeezing and milking the cocks that impaled their sweet asses.

Good thing the walls were thick. Otherwise the sounds of lusty sexual congress might have carried to Fletcher who was dozing in his lounge chair. Even their youthful energies had their limits, so after a couple of hours, the boys stretched out on the big bed, tired and drained, enjoying the afterglow.

"I sometimes can't believe how lucky we all are." Sandy muttered out loud.

"Amen to that," Terry and Luis chorused.

Chapter 2. On Location in France

For various reasons, the whaling picture was postponed till after 'Young Museketeers'. So it was only two months later that the boys were hard at work on the swashbuckler on location in the south of France. The walls of the historic fortified city of Carcassonne were standing in for early modern Paris. Restored in the late nineteenth century, the dramatic fortifications include a double ring of ramparts and fifty three towers.

This was to be a long production since they were really filming two pictures at once, much like with the classic musketeer movies of the 1970s. That was fine with Terry, since it gave him a lots of scenes in the second movie where he gets to wear the blue and silver tabard of a musketeer. In the first picture, as a mere aspirant, the young Gascon goes around in drab provincial garb, except for his nude scenes, of course.

In any movie with Sandy and Terry, there always scenes without any garb at all. Like when Athos first encounters Charles de Batz, the boy later ennobled as the comte D'Artagnan. While riding in the country, he finds the young Gascon bathing in a pond and mistakes him for a girl.

"Oh, so sorry, little miss. I did not mean to intrude," Athos remarks from atop his horse, turning his head away politely. On private business, the swordsman does not wear the tabard of his regiment.

"What do you mean, little miss? You cretin, can't you see that I am a man!" Charles exclaims, striking the water with clenched fists, very much annoyed. But then Gascons are known for their quick tempers.

"Nay, my pretty one. With just your head and shoulders above the water, I had only your comely face to judge by." Athos returns mildly. "Anyone would have taken you for a girl. With those fine-boned features of of yours, you must know that you are prettier than any boy rightly ought to be."

As the irate lad stalks out of the water, he shouts:

"There, you can see for yourself that I am a male, not a female. Even a numbskull like you surely knows the difference."

"A male you are, youngling. That I must grant you. No offense, but what I see is a youth on the threshold of manhood, a lad trying very hard to be act like a man grown, and not succeeding." Athos says, shaking his head doubtfully at the young hot head.

"Arh! You deliberately wound me, sir. First you name me a girl then you belittle me for my youth. You sir are an insufferable boor. I've a good mind to chuck you into the water, fine feathered hat and all."

Athos says nothing in reply, communicating to the audience his character's thoughts and emotions with looks, facial expressions, body language, and actions like rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he assesses the nude boy. The camera follows his gaze.

Athos drinks in the sight of the youthful male beauty. Yes this is a boy and a right comely one at that. He is so very well formed, short and slender and with a wiry musculature, smooth and hairless even at the fork of his legs. No doubt he shaves down there to thwart the annoying critters which might otherwise take up lodging in his pubic hair. Athos does that himself.

The lad is blessed with a face far lovelier than a male's visage rightly out to be. Still though he might be as pretty as a water nymph, that is no excuse for such rudeness in return for Athos' courtesy.

"Time to teach this feisty youngster some manners," Athos murmurs to himself as he slides off his horse and stalks forward, drawing on his gauntlets.

"What do you think you are doing, you oaf? Keep away from me." yelps the startled lad, backing away, suddenly aware that his quick temper has once more gotten him into trouble.

Here he has gone and provoked this stranger though he himself is unarmed and stark naked. His wet clothes are hung on bushes to dry, his horse and sword well are out of reach. Nowhere to run either, not with his back to a stream and the man on horseback. The boy realizes that he is in no position to confront a grown man, fully clothed, and armed with sword and dagger and pistol.

"Look, I am sorry for what I said just now. It happens when boys like me get excited. You were right on that score, sir. I have seen but eighteen summers. Can we just forget about this?"

"Nay, pretty one. This is one day I want to remember and fondly. You need a lesson lad, and I know of no better way to get through to an obstreperous young male such as yourself than with a good spanking. After all, that was the way I was brought up not so many years ago."

With that Athos brings his heel down on the boy's bare foot. The sudden pain in his toes immobilizes Charles momentarily, long enough for Athos to grab the boy's arm in a wrestling hold and throw him belly down over a fallen tree. Straddling his back to pin the boy, facing aft, Athos goes to work, spanking the taut buns till they are bright red though the only real damage is to the youth's pride and dignity. Young Charles kicks ineffectually, yelling and cursing but finally subsides, accepting his punishment as manfully as he might.

Athos eases up on the boy, honest enough with himself to admit that he is perhaps having entirely too much fun spanking the comely lad with the shapely derriere. Before long he removes his gloves. Athos' smacks are now more like pats as he jiggles and squeezes the firm buns so ready to hand and eventually starts to caress them, pulling them apart to inspect the deep cleavage and what he can see of the pink rosebud in between.

"Hey! What's going on back there?" the Gascon lad scolds, shifting restlessly, nervous about these unseemly attentions to his posterior. When a man fondles a boy like that, it usually means only one thing.

Restraining himself, the musketeer stands and pulls the boy back by the shoulder to help him stand up. The young Gascon trips over the man's boot and falls onto his butt. Charles scrambles to his feet, rubbing his sore buttocks, glaring defiantly at his tormentor, though remaining silent, cautious for once with his tongue.

"I trust you have learned your lesson boy." Athos says evenly.

"You wouldn't have been so bold, sir, had I my sword in my hand. I would be the one giving the lesson then."

"Oh?" Athos says, smiling evilly.

He walks over to the boy's horse and draws and tosses him his rapier.

"Show me."

Charles gives Athos a moment to strip off his jerkin and shirt. He will fight bared to the waist.

What follows then is a tightly choreographed fight scene between the partly clothed musketeer and the nude boy. It is all very exciting and sexy as the youngsters battle away, lunging and parrying, darting around tree trunks and rocks and jumping onto or over the downed tree in a calculated display of athleticism. Terry's buttocks clench and flex fetchingly with his movements. Muscle bundles stand out on shoulder and arm as he wields his rapier. He breathes hard; sweat is pouring off him. He looks rather like a boy in the throes of a sexual coupling. Sandy as Athos is equally graceful in his movements, though only his upper body is totally on display.

At first the fight goes all Athos' way. His dazzling swordplay humiliates the Gascon lad, whose skills are hampered by his fury. Athos has fun slapping the boy's sore butt with the flat of his blade when he gets turned around and snipping away a lock of his red hair. Then the Gascon lad gets a grip on his temper and starts fighting with his head, using all the skills his father has taught him. He manages to fight the older swordsman to a draw. Each winds up bleeding from very minor wounds. Tired from energetic swordplay and also aware that neither has any desire to kill or cripple an opponent whom he has come to respect as a redoubtable fighter, they step back and point their swords to the ground.

"Young man, we both have drawn blood. I will concede that you are very good indeed with that sword of yours, as skilled as any soldier I have met in battle. And perhaps I did go too far just now, spanking you like a child when there are only five years between us. Shall we say that honor is satisfied?"

"Agreed. Let us have peace between us, sir."

With that they shake hands and introduce themselves. Looking somewhat abashed for flying off the handle the way he did, young Charles de Bratz remarks:

"I admit my spanking was only too well-deserved. I know that I can be a real brat when I am provoked, but then what boy of eighteen isn't that way sometimes? I hope you can overlook my youthful failings. I would very much like us to become friends."

"That too is my wish, my dear Charles."

"Please don't think I am a sore loser, sir, but the way you stomped my toes just now was rather a nasty trick. You might not have subdued me otherwise. It is no brag to say I am nearly as good a wrestler as I am a swordsman.

"You are right of course. It was a dirty trick but a soldier soon learns to takes what advantage he may. If there is one thing I learned in combat it is that all is fair in love and war."

"Ah, so you are a soldier. But I see no tabard. Which is your regiment then, Athos?"

"I am one of the King's Musketeers!" Athos declares proudly.

"Mon Dieu! I would give anything to wear the tabard of a musketeer," Charles declares fervently. "It is why I am traveling to Paris. I carry a letter of introduction to Monsieur de Treville, Captain of the Musketeers."

"None other than my commander. Listen lad, no one becomes a musketeer merely on a recommendation. It is an honor that must be earned by deeds. Can you even handle a musket?"

"As well as I handle a sword, maybe better, Athos. I can load quicker than anyone else in Gascony."

In those days, muskets were very short ranged and quite inaccurate, and very slow to load and fire. The role of the musket was to pierce the armor of pikemen, the armored fist of the infantry. Prowess with a smooth bore musket was measured not by accuracy but by the rate of fire. Nimble lads like Charles de Bratz with their quick hands were well suited to wielding the long musket of the day despite its weight. Their skill with the weapon relied on superior hand and eye coordination.

For personal protection, musketeers also bore a rapier. Success with a rapier, a stabbing and thrusting weapon, likewise depended on speed and agility, which favored small and slender young males like Charles and Athos for the musketeers. This was in contrast to the Germanies, where big men called landsknechts bore six foot swords wielded two handed to break up a pike formation.

"And you say you can wrestle, young Gascon?"

"Indeed, you might have found yourself overmatched there, my new friend, had we wrestled instead of dueled. I know I am small, but I am quick and wiry and a lot stronger than most folks take to be. Opponents tend to underestimate me because I am small and girlishly pretty, but I can more than hold my own against most men."

"Nor would you have had an advantage in size over me, and I would be much harder than you to grapple with, all naked and wet as I was when I came out of the water. Whereas your clothing and straps offer many ways to get a good grip on you."

"Yes, well I would have enjoyed trying it anyway, grappling that sweet body of yours."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing, Charles. Just thinking out loud."

Athos frowns. Only the audience hears his murmur as he chides himself for nearly blurting out that this young beauty has stirred his interest with his beauty of face and of form. Even his temper is a plus to Athos who always likes his boys with a bit of fight in them. No doubt this innocent lad would be shocked at the carnal thoughts the sight of him arouses in Athos' mind. Shaking off these ruminations, the musketeer speaks up with a hearty voice.

"Ride with me then, my new friend. I will gladly sponsor you as an aspirant musketeer, though you will have to win your tabard by your own deeds."

"Fair enough!" declares the young Gascon.

"Not to be critical boy, but mayhap you could put your pants on first."

The boy laughs, delighted with the wit and wisdom of his new friend, a seasoned musketeer despite his extreme youth. Why the man is only twenty-three himself and hardly looks it.

Audiences of course will be aware that despite their initial contretemps, these young men have started to fall in love though neither quite realizes it yet.

"Cut"

Terry and Sandy had every reason to be pleased with their afternoon's work. They had nailed the key scene which introduces both principal characters to the audience. They had even finished early. That left time for a swim. Sandy stripped off his Athos costume and joined Terry in the stream. At first they floated on their backs, sculling slowly with hands and feet, relaxing rather than exercising, easing their tired muscles. The water was cool on their skins after such hot work. It felt wonderful. Then they indulged in minor horseplay, splashing around and joking.

The photographer for the Making Of video captured their byplay, two pretty boys frolicking nude in the French countryside, utterly unmindful of the crew packing up or the locals watching from a nearby knoll. As the boys left the water, the onlookers surged forward, seeking autographs or just to chat up the famous movie stars. Some of the bolder ones among them pressed close enough to touch the boys, stroke their flanks and rumps. Nothing too forward of course, not out there in public among the neighbors.

Finally the boys went into their trailer to get dressed for the ride back to town.

Chapter 3. The Dungeon in the Chateau

The rest of the movie built on that first encounter between the musketeer and the Gascon youth. Like all the twinks' best pictures, this one was an exciting combination of action-adventure, tongue-in-cheek humor, and gay romance. Fans grooved on the lively banter between the two young principals, as quick and deft in its way as their on-screen swordplay. And everyone chuckled at the improbable plot and outrageous premise of this gay-themed re-imagining of the The Three Musketeers. In the novels Athos takes an fatherly interest in the Gascon youth. He certainly does not want to get him in bed. Porthos and Planchet provided comedic relief while Aramis, in training as he was for holy orders, acted as the moral compass of the group of young adventurers. With villains like Rochefort played by Conrad Held and aging leading men in the cameo roles of Cardinal Richelieu and Louis XIII, 'Young Musketeers' offered something for every generation of movie fans.

Once production ended, Sandy and Terry went on a tour of the Loire Valley by bicycle, their gear carried in panniers fitted on either side of the rear wheels of their bikes. It was just the two of them. Luis had already returned to LA. He had done really well as Planchet, his first substantial role. It was a real stretch for the cute Latino houseboy cum character actor. Though Planchet functions as comic relief, an actor has to play him straight even in the pratfalls.

Flowing north then west to the Atlantic Ocean, the Loire is the longest river in France and drains a fifth of the country. Unusually for Western Europe there are few dams or locks to obstruct its natural flow. Known as the Garden of France, the Loire Valley has been shaped by centuries of cultivation into a carefully tended landscape of exceptional beauty. Its banks are lined with vineyards and picturesque chateaux.

The boys enjoyed the hot summer weather and the fresh air as they pedaled the length of the scenic valley taking in the scenery stopping to visit a few of its three hundred chateaux including its crown jewels Blois and especially Chambord. That enormous pile boasts 440 rooms, 365 fireplaces, and 84 staircases. Looking like castles out of a fairy tale, these romantic residences were not built as serious fortifications despite their crenelated walls, towers, and moats.

Cycling was not only their mode of transportation but also a good way to maintain their fitness. Keeping their physiques trim and taut was important for their movie careers and for their self-image as cute twinks with tight bodies. Besides, extended cycling induces an endorphin "high' as readily in cyclists as it does in runners.

In the heat of high summer, the boys wore just low cut cycling shorts made of a super-lightweight tan thru fabric without the usual padding for the saddle, plus sandals. Their slender bodies glistened as they rode roundabout routes from one chateau to the next turning heads all the way. Gay or straight, man or woman, everyone appreciated the sight of two impossibly cute young males riding next thing to naked, their only garments shorts so tight and molded to their narrow hips they might have been painted on. Nor were the boys oblivious to their effect on others, smiling and waving, taking all the fuss they created as no more than their due. Some might fault the boys for vanity, but their exquisite looks made it easy to forgive them.

Sometimes the young lovers found a quiet section of a stream and went skinny dipping not only to cool off but for the sheer naughtiness of it. Inevitably a simple swim turned into fun and frolic, with lots of splashing and laughter. Once though they left the water only to find an unsympathetic gendarme standing on the bank taking pictures. Fortunately, Terry's French was good enough to talk their way out of trouble. When the gendarme realized who they were, how they had just shot a major motion picture in his country and one about The Three Musketeers at that, he let them go with a wink and a warning. He later shopped his snapshots to a fan magazine.

With their simple needs, the boys stayed overnight at different country inns along the way, taking pot luck rather than making reservations. These young men had no interest in shutting themselves up in fancy hotels where they would never get to mingle with the locals. It was also a chance to try out new foods. French cuisine really is among that proud people's greatest contributions to humanity, though the boys always conceded a high place to Italian and Chinese cuisine too.

One day, the boys turned off the beaten track to visit one of the lesser known sights, a real fortress up in the hills dating from the Middle Ages. It featured a fully equipped and restored dungeon. Terry just had to see it. A downpour caught them on the road, and they arrived sopping wet. Securing their bikes to a rack under a shelter, the boys trotted over to the front gate.

There they found that the young tour guide was about to lock up early, figuring no one else would venture so far out out of the way in a storm. In fact, though he let the boys in and accepted their entrance fees, he locked the door behind them and put up the sign saying they were closed for the day.

Their sexy guide could not have been more than twenty-five, tall and lean, dark haired and with startling grey eyes. He was dressed like a torturer, bare from the waist up, in tight leather pants, heavy boots, with leather bands around his upper arms and a ring of keys jingling from his belt. Fortunately he did not wear a mask letting the boys see that he looked like a reincarnation of the late Alain Delon from when that actor made 'Purple Noon'.

The young Frenchman looked both boys up and down, a saucy grin on his face, nodding in approval. Even wet and bedraggled, he could see that these American kids with their pretty faces and taut physiques were visions of youthful male pulchritude. If he played things right, he would have his way with both of them in his playroom, as he called the dungeon. These Americans would not be the first to come for a look around only to be drawn for a few days into a perverse sexual adventure.

"Bonjour, my name is Etienne Tremblay. I will be your tour guide for today. Normally I would ask you to put on a shirt, but it would hardly be reasonable to force you back out into the rain. In fact are you sure you don't want to get out of your wet things?"

This was said with a little laugh showing he was not entirely serious, but there could be no doubt about his interest in seeing them without their clothes on.

"Thanks, but no thanks. We'll be dry in no time, with this special fabric. See"

As Terry propped one leg up on a step, the young guide slid his hand under the hem of Terry's shorts, rubbing the thin material between his fingers, noting the many tiny perforations. He nodded his understanding.

"Ah, a solar tanning fabric. You don't like tan lines then. I'll bet you enjoy nude sunbathing spots like the Englischer Garten and run around starkers whenever you can."

"Hmmn fine smooth limbs too, " he added, as his questing hands explored Terry's thigh and calf. "No body hair either. And quite an impressive musculature on a frame as slight as yours."

He threw a stage wink to both of them. The boys looked at each other and rolled their eyes. No doubt now what was going on; this was foreplay. Each wondered which one of them would bed the sexy Frenchman first.

"I should explain that a natural hot spring under the castle keeps the dungeon warm year round. It is neither dank nor chilly. You should be comfortable enough, despite being next thing to naked in those flimsy shorts of yours. And another thing, the way your sandals are squelching you'd better kick them off. Wet rubber can slip so easily on stone. Besides, you'll like the feel of it under your feet anyway. It will make your tour more sensual -- touching as well as seeing these old stones. "

Knowing a cue when they heard one, the boys slipped off their sandals. Terry winked at Sandy and wiggled his toes. Bare feet were a promise of things to come. All they had on now were their form fitting low-rise shorts, just a single thin layer and nearly sheer; the intricate pattern printed on the material tricked the eye and kept it from being entirely see through. The whole thing could not have weighed a hectogram (3 ounces). And Etienne had already tried to get them out of those right off, though perhaps that was not a serious effort. How soon would he persuade them to get fully naked?

"Please follow me."

The boys did so quite willingly, anticipation an exciting sexual adventure with the manly young Frenchman.

Etienne led them down a staircase to the dungeons deep underground. Both Terry and Sandy ogled his ass as he descended in front of them, a fact Etienne was fully aware of though he pretended not to notice. Okay, let them look. He intended to have his own fun with these two cuties. They hadn't realized that Etienne had recognized both of them and knew of their wild ways. What he had planned for them would someday make an exciting story for their memoirs.

Water dripped down the walls and bats disturbed by their passage fluttered in dark corners. The only illumination was from the occasional faux torch set into a sconce in the walls. The tour guide went into his standard patter, pointing out the solid construction of the walls, the cells, the forge for heating irons, the rings set into the walls to shackle prisoners to. He spoke of the history of the fortress and of the many unfortunates who had found their way to these dungeons over the centuries.

Terry took it all in, fascinated by the atmosphere of menace and all the torture devices he knew just from the movies: the rack, the strappado, the boot, and the Iron Maiden, which looks like a mummy case with sharp spikes pointing inward.

"Wow!" Terry enthused. If only our set director could see this. We gotta have something like this in one of our movies."

"Uh, Etienne, would you mind if I climbed up onto the rack to, well, you know, to try it out?"

"Ah, my young friend. A bit kinky are we? If you are going to try the rack you cannot do it like that, in modern cycling shorts. Why not strip them off and hand them over? Then I will secure your limbs to the rack. After all, it was standard practice then to keep prisoners naked."

"Uh, Terry," Sandy started in. "Maybe this is not such a good idea."

"Oh come on, Sandy. It sounds like fun. Anyway, what could happen?"

"Oh, all right, but I am going to keep an eye on you."

"Very well, Sandy" Etienne said, "but you will have to strip off too, otherwise your presence in clothing would be jarring and would spoil the scene. So strip off now, mon choupinou."

Gulping at the peremptory tone, though not sure just what a choupinou was, Sandy obeyed Etienne's command, stripping off like Terry, handing his shorts over then watching while Etienne smiled then threw them down a oubliette, a round hole in the stone floor.

"Out of sight, out of mind. Now we are all properly medieval: torturer and captives. My, what slight builds you boys have, so much like a pair of fawns, lovely and vulnerable, especially naked as you are. You are, of course, lovers. Anyone can see that."

"Wow," Sandy thought, "Etienne sure works fast. In no time he has got us stark naked and has brought up the subject of gay sex."

The young actor was impressed that in mere moments the Frenchman had got both him and Terry out of their clothes. First their sandals at the top of the stairs and now their shorts. Nor were their shorts left where the boys might find them again. He had made them disappear down a hole in the floor of the dungeon. Neither of them had raised any objections to getting rid of their clothes. At heart they were happy for an excuse to get naked with Etienne. This was so very exciting. Sandy wondered which one Etienne would go for first.

Sandy fervently hoped it would be him. He thanked his lucky stars that he guys as cute and sexy as he and Terry were, could attract the attentions of good looking manly sorts like Etienne. Sure it was none of their own doing -- just good genes -- but was it so wrong of them to take advantage of nature's gifts? That would be the worst sort of ingratitude to Mother Nature. Sandy and Terry knew that being dominated and getting fucked by manly sorts like Etienne was a large part of why they had been put on this planet in the first place.

Etienne led a very nervous but excited Terry over to the rack and fastened his limbs in place. He took up a few turns on the windlass getting the red-head boy stretched out full length, absolutely helpless. Next Etienne wrapped a leather thong around Terry's balls forcing them to the bottom of the ballsac, making the boy's hairless scrotum look like a red plum. He now had the boy by the balls, literally. By this time, Terry's cock was rock hard and throbbing with perverse excitement.

"Now it's your turn, Sandy. Step over to the wall here so I can put you in irons."

"Uh, I don't know. I really don't like to be restrained." Sandy demurred, images of his time with The Brotherhood coming unbidden to mind.

"Not to worry, my young friend. Do you see this release on the wrist irons? Press here and it springs open. It's for the tourists you know. In their minds they carry memories of all those cartoons of prisoners hanging forlorn and woebegone from dungeon walls. They can't wait to try it out themselves as a photo opportunity."

Etienne said this shaking his head tolerantly at the follies of the human race. Somewhat reassured by the man's humor, Sandy raised his arms to one of several sets of irons fixed to rings set high in the wall and let the tour guide fasten them to his wrists. What he did not notice just then was that his wrists were shackled to different sets of irons. There was no way he could bring his hands close enough to work the quick releases.

Smiling predatorily, Etienne fixed shackles connected by a spreader bar to Sandy's ankles. Next the big man pressed his body to Sandy's humping the nude prisoner. Sandy responded to the stimulation, pressing his naked body Etienne's, rubbing against the leathers of the dungeon master. Gosh, Etienne was so manly and so sexy. He was glad the man was playing with him first. Too bad for Terry, but he would have to wait his turn.

Etienne smiled seeing Sandy acting like a bitch in heat. He reached forward and played with his captive's genitals.

"I have so much planned for these. But that is for later, much later. Hmmn, I think a gag too for you, Blondie and then we can begin."

Sandy did not get a chance to argue before a gag with a thick leather flap was presented to his mouth. Sandy clenched his jaw shut, but Etienne simply reached down and cracked the captive boy's nuts. That forced his mouth open, allowing the gag to be inserted and buckled in place. Abandoning Sandy temporarily, Etienne turned to Terry.

"No gag for you, Terry," Etienne crooned. "I want to hear your screams."

"Screams? What do you mean Etienne? Please, I think you are taking this much too seriously."

"And you boys not seriously enough. Why do you think I work in this place? It is certainly not for the pittance I earn as a tour guide. I do it for the fringe benefits which include access to this dungeon and to pretty boys like you silly enough to put themselves in my power."

As Etienne went into his dungeon master act both boys wondered whether they might have made a big mistake. No one knew where they were. Here they were held prisoner in a dungeon, chained up naked by a scary talking guy. What would happen to them now?

"What...what are you gonna do to us? Please don't hurt me." Terry stammered.

Etienne smiled. The way Terry's voice came out -- so young and shaky -- was music to his ears. The boy was begging, already cringing subserviently. Excellent. Now he had both of these pretty boys trussed up and at his mercy. Such fine boy toys they were too, one a cute as hell red-head with sky blue eyes stretched on the rack, the other a preternaturally beautiful blond with eyes the green of growing things, chained to the wall in a classic dungeon pose, his body totally on display.

Etienne leaned over Terry's outstretched body and kissed him hard, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, playing with Terry's tongue. Meanwhile he drew his fingers lightly over Terry's belly then down to his groin and to his inner thighs, stroking and rubbing. He cupped the boy's ballsac, which was already drawn up tight to the fork of his legs in arousal. He patted Terry's cock which was cantilevered out from his groin, throbbing with the beat of his heart, dripping pre-cum onto the bound youth's flat belly.

Terry hissed as Etienne fixed alligator clamps to his nipples. The man smiled fiendishly as he tugged hard on the chain that joined them, making sure they were set properly. A couple of its teeth broke the skin of the nubbins, and a few drops of blood oozed out of the minor puncture wounds. Etienne draped the chain down Terry's belly. reaching as far as the bound boy's navel. Then the dungeon master drew the links of the chain over the boy's corrugated abs and belly.

"You like the touch of metal on your skin, don't you, little one. The shiny clamps with their sharp teeth and the thick links of the chain are like jewelry to someone like you. Admit it. The very feel of it excites you.

Terry was too embarrassed to speak, but his blush gave his excitement away. Terry wanted this man to do things to him, naughty things, sexual things.

The tour guide cum dungeon master next offered Terry his fingers, warning him he better get them wet if he wanted any lube for his hole. Then he slid his hand between the boy's legs, sticking first one then two fingers into his anus working the spit in, poking and prodding, finally touching the boy's prostate. Terry gave out an "urk" as a sudden flash of lust swept through him. He was really getting off on the rough treatment.

"What a tight quim you have, Terry. And your cock is quite respectable for someone your size, certainly nothing to be ashamed of. I can't wait to try my acupuncture needles on it. I know I am going to have a lot of pleasure toying with you."

He reached up to open the door of a wooden case hung on the wall. Inside was a collection of dildoes and butt plugs, all of them of formidable dimensions. No trainer sizes here. Some were smooth, others with ropy veins molded into their surfaces. One looked like a billy club studded with rough knobs, another like a scabrous truncheon. Terry tried to clench himself shut, fearing that those outsized artificial cocks would soon be presented to his tight hole. Couldn't the Frenchman see that Terry was a little guy. How far did he think Terry's hole would stretch? Alas Terry was once again in the clutches of a size queen.

Selecting a dildo as big around as child's fist Etienne slathered some lubricant on the shaft, held it up before the boy's alarmed face then poked it at the helpless boy's hole. Terry tightened his pucker, trying to repel the invader but it was no use. Etienne would not be denied. With an expert twist and a shove, the Frenchman got the first couple of inches past the first anal sphincter.

Terry gasped at the sudden penetration, his slender body writhing in its bondage, his anal ring overstretched and burning. The boy breathed hard and squeezed his ass muscles, trying to expel the invading shaft, but it was no use. Etienne just fed him another couple of inches. Slumping back against the rack, the boy whimpered in defeat, his defenses irretrievably broached.

He couldn't help wondering why these things kept happening to him. The last few years, so many rough men had simply seized him and used him to gratify their perverse lusts. Did he have "fuck toy" tattooed on his forehead or "fuck me" tattooed on his ass, or what? Still, realistically, should he have expected anything else, human nature being what it is. After all, didn't Terry make movies in the altogether, all those scenes of gay romance, if he could call it that, as well as many scenes of capture and abuse and rape. And how many videos were out there of Terry and Sandy running trails in the nude or swimming at a nude beach or just being themselves around their town house. Terry might as well have been trolling for dominants eager to seize him.

And here he had led poor Sandy into trouble with him. Terry knew this was all his fault. How thoughtless of him to pursue his own pleasure so careless of Sandy's needs. Even if they both got out of this OK, Sandy might suffer from nightmares and terror sweats once again in their bed. Terry soon convinced himself that he deserved to be punished hard enough to provoke screams. Let the whips fall on his back and ass. At the very least that would keep their captor's attentions away from Sandy.

Meanwhile Etienne was working Terry's hole, sliding the dildo in and out, poking left and right, aiming for the boy's joy button. He kept the stimulation up even as he bent forward once again. Terry gulped as he felt his erection swallowed by the warm and wet mouth of his tormentor. Aroused by all this foreplay, Terry knew himself for a kinky lad whose body could not help but respond to the Frenchman's ministrations. Terry turned his head in a silent appeal to his friend, but there was nothing Sandy could do for either of them.

At least not just then. Maybe later they could use their Houdini training to escape their bonds and their confinement.

Chapter 4. Souvenir

Etienne inflicted the sweetest of torments on the oversexed twink. He knew just how to work on a bottom boy, stimulating his libido almost to the brink of release when he could almost touch it, but then backing off to let his frustrated captive cool off. Etienne tweaked and pinched and bit the boy's nipples. He stroked the soft flesh of the inner thighs or squeezed the bound up ballsac, not always gently, to show his total control of the boy and his sexuality. Whenever the man put his hands or mouth to Terry's cock, the boy would thrust with his hips, trying to get himself off, all to no avail.

Terry whimpered and pulled uselessly against his bonds, overwhelmed by the contrary feelings coursing through him. His head was spinning. Here he was naked and shackled and helpless and afraid. And yet there was a fire in his belly. Etienne's attentions made him feel incredibly slutty, like some cock crazy pansy from a porno film. Maybe it was male pheromones, he didn't know, but his whole body shuddered with lust, his nether hole clutching at the dildo impaling his ass. Terry had lost control of his body. His dominator was in charge of it.

The boy begged for release. He promised anything if only he could get off. Surely someone as good looking as Etienne, so masterful and sexy could understand a boy's need to come? It was their birthright as males. Sure Terry had a couple of hungry holes that needed filling, but he had a cock too, a swollen cock that needed to shoot.

It didn't help matters when the man injected what he called an aphrodisiac at the root of the boy's cock. Whatever it was, Terry's erection engorged beyond all previous bounds, looking swollen, em-purpled, and angry. The turgid member throbbed with the beat of his heart, the tiny lips at the tip twitching reflexively, trying to spit the white gism trapped in Terry's bound balls. Etienne stuck a pair acupuncture needles into the root of his ballsac, twirling and bending them, raising Terry's arousal to new heights.

Suddenly with only a quick intake of breath and a tightening around the boy's closed eyes to show that his climax was at hand, his proud cock engorged even beyond its earlier prodigious girth and began spurting and spitting Terry's white seed onto his face and chest. The first shot was a continuous rope of gism that reached past his shoulder. Even after six more spurts, the gism continued to drain from the tumescent shaft though now like a lazy stream, emptying into and collecting in a pool in the hollow of his belly.

The ejaculate glistened with golden highlights from the spotlight shining on the boy. Below the surface microscopic carriers of life in their millions swam and thrashed and corkscrewed in search of an impossible consummation. Terry gave a big sigh and fell into an exhausted swoon, his ejaculate congealing on chin and pectorals. From the limpid pool in the hollow of the belly a milky rivulet drained down his right hip. He looked so cute and sexy, a boy who had literally fucked himself senseless.

Even then the man did not remove the dildo. He braced its base against a locking bar placed on the rack between his victim's outstretched legs. At least he let the exhausted boy drink some water through a straw.

Then it was Sandy's turn for sexual torment.

"You know, as much as I enjoy working over a boy on the rack, it does have one disadvantage. You cannot fuck the boy's ass, not with your own cock anyway. Now here you are hung up in shackles, much like on a vertical rack. Only this way I can get at your hole."

With that he lifted his captive's legs and slipped between them, the bar between the bound ankles sliding down Etienne's back to just under his buttocks. He freed his cock from its leather confines and slathered it with lube. Bending at the knees he poked forward, finding the tiny muscular whorl behind Sandy's cleavage and thrust himself inside lifting Sandy up bodily, taking almost his entire weight on his cock.

Sandy gasped, twisting his head left and right, trying to adjust to the sudden total impalement. Maybe he had taken bigger cocks, but Sandy couldn't remember when, not just then, not with this truncheon lodged in his guts. Inevitably though Sandy adjusted, becoming aroused by the cock up his ass, the scent of Etienne's sweat and of Terry's cum, and by the sense of his own helplessness. The thought of how must he look now, trussed up with a big one up his boy quim, made his head whirl with lust.

As Etienne continued to fuck the boy, his hands were everywhere on the small bound body of his captive. He loved these small twinks, with their slender limbs, smooth skins, and narrow hips, not to mention this boy's preternaturally lovely face, one that just begged to be kissed. This was what boys like Sandy were born for: to gratify the lusts of dominant males like himself. The man's powerful thrusts soon brought him to climax. He spurted his seed deep into the boy's innards, filling him with a warm wetness.

Etienne slumped against the boy, laying his face against Sandy's chest.

"Please, Etienne, sir. I need to cum." Sandy whimpered.

The man smiled and slid down enough to lick the boy's painfully erect cock. No sooner had his tongue lapped the sweet spot that the boy came, shooting his gism onto the man's face. Etienne stood up and had his captive lick it all off and swallow it. Then he sat down in a chair built like a throne to admire his captives and to take some refreshment, a glass of white wine. After a half hour he turned Sandy's face to the wall and fucked his ass again. This time he did not let the boy come.

Then it was Terry's turn for more teasing and torment. Under Etienne's ministrations Terry's cock was soon fully erect. It was so red and swollen that it looked like it might burst open from the pressure of the blood that engorged it. Terry lifted his head to stare at it. It looked like fleshy cannon that required only a spark at the touch hole to set it off. That spark turned out to be an acupuncture needle which Etienne inserted carefully into the glans of Terry's cock. It stood there upright, just the tip embedded in Terry's flesh as a drop of blood oozed out of the tiny puncture to glisten under the spotlight. The sight of it pushed Terry over the edge and his ejaculate flew out of his member to splash his face and chest. Etienne was delighted with how loud the boy screamed at his moment of his climax.

Afterwards, the man took Sandy down from the wall, though careful to ratchet heavy handcuffs about his wrists before releasing them from the irons. With those and his leg irons, the boy was unable to offer effective resistance as he was led to a poorly lit cell where he was soon joined by Terry. Like Sandy his wrists were cuffed in front though he did not have leg irons.

Once they were alone, the boys put their heads together.

"What are we gonna do, Sandy? I mean the sex with Etienne was outta sight, the hottest bondage scene ever. But what happens next? We don't know how long he plans to keep us. I am not interested in a future as a full-time sex-slave, if that is what he has in mind. OK, I sometimes play bondage games with people I know and trust, but this Etienne Tremblay is a stranger."

"You're right, Terry. He got to me too for a while with all the atmospherics of the dungeon itself, that aphrodisiac of his, and his lovemaking technique. No question he is terribly sexy. But we would be idiots to let him stay in control. Even if he isn't trying to really hurt, I like some say in who gets to fuck me, thank you very much. And we have our lives and careers to get back to. So we gotta find a way to escape, to seize the initiative. Then we shall see how things lie with our host, Monsieur Etienne Tremblay."

The boys examined their handcuffs. At about an inch thick they were much heavier than regulation cuffs and took a larger key. If only they could find something to pick the locks. They spent the night there, sleeping on a straw mattress set directly on the floor, spooned together, tired, sweaty, and very hungry towards morning. They did drink from a tap in the corner which flowed constantly, and the sanitary arrangements, though primitive, were adequate.

The next morning, Etienne and another young man came for them. Etienne introduced him as his cousin Paul. There was something of a family resemblance: the same dark hair and grey eyes though Paul was pretty rather than handsome and considerably shorter. Terry recognized Paul as the waiter at the cafe where they had stopped. He was the one who had recommended a visit to the fortress, even supplying a brochure. Terry was proud of being able to translate it for Sandy who spoke only tourist French though his (and Terry's) Spanish was very good indeed.

"Don't you have to open up for vistors today? How will you explain two naked captives in this cell. Are we supposed to be medieval re-enacters or what?" Terry asked sarcastically.

"Very good. You show spirit, my young friend. Of course, that doesn't mean I won't punish you for your effrontery. And for your information, we are closed for a holiday. It is August 15th, the Feast of the Assumption."

After providing their captives a light breakfast, both young men worked the boys over that day. Afraid though he was of their ultimate fate, Sandy had to admit that these young men were not really trying to hurt them. Oh they talked a good whipping but their cat of nine tails inflicted only reddened welts on their backs and asses. It did not cut the skin or leave permanent markings. The acupuncture needles stung a bit, but less than a flu shot did. Etienne did have a way of snapping a quirt at a bound boy's cock, but only once or twice at a time. Yes Etienne did get Terry to scream but from repeatedly frustrated lust, not from pain as the boys had first assumed he would.

They also laid a lot of trash talk on the American boys, a lot of it with French words for the naughty parts of the human body mixed in with the English. Little need for a translator. It was obvious that a 'cul' was an ass and a 'bite' was a cock, and so forth. Though Terry did have to explain that when Etienne called Sandy a 'con', he didn't mean he was a convict. He meant he was an fool for falling for his trick with the wrist irons.

For the most part, this did not affect Sandy as the cousins hoped it would. He had heard much worse from The Brotherhood and from their captors several years earlier in the San Jacinto Mountains. With his more intellectual approach to life, Terry shrugged it off even more easily, treating the trash talk as an impromptu language lesson, a chance to brush up on the kind of naughty French they don't teach in school.

Still it was obvious from what the cousins were saying that Paul was relieved that it wasn't him in chains this time. Evidently he had served for the last few years as Etienne's default bottom boy. Now it was his turn to dominate.

By dawn of their third day in captivity, the boys had managed to release themselves from their nighttime shackles easily enough, picking their simple locks with a loose nail which Terry had pulled from the frame of the rack. The lock on the cell door was another proposition. A old fashioned lock, its heavy mechanism was difficult to manipulate with only a single implement. You really needed a pair for such work. Sandy was still trying when the cousins showed up early. The boys moved back to the wall of the cell, frustrated no end that they had come so close to escape.

"Attempting to escape, are we? Etienne asked with a friendly smile, finally talking out of character. "Looks like we got here just in time, eh Paul? Who would have thought these American twinks could be so resourceful. Congratulations boys on your skills and your ingenuity -- though you need not have gone to all that trouble. We're here early to release you anyway."

With that he used one of his keys to unlock the door to their cell and handed the boys their shorts.

"You're letting us go? Just like that?"

"Of course. Did you take us for monsters? We were just messing with you, as you Americans say. You are free to go, though I hope you will join us for breakfast."

"Food sounds good, but aren't you worried Etienne? What if we report this afterwards to the police?"

Etienne gave a very Gallic shrug. "My uncle is the departmental prefect and my brother-in-law the captain of gendarmes. Besides, our story is that everything we did was consensual. We have carefully edited video to prove it too -- all those times you begged to be fucked or allowed to cum."

"With your reputations for kinkiness, whom do you think they will believe: upright French citizens such as ourselves or brazen American exhibitionists, notorious for not being able to keep their pants on in public? One look at the way you habitually dress, if you can call it that, and they will conclude that you must have been asking for it."

"Besides, you must admit, we had you going there. The way your bodies responded, you had to have enjoyed this weekend. You may have said NO in the beginning but your bodies soon were shouting YES to everything we did with them. Admit it. You had a great time of it too, didn't you? I've never seen a pair of boys come so much. Who would have thought those diminutive ballsacs of yours could hold so much juice? I think you had as good a time as we did, Paul and I."

Sandy and Terry looked at each other and shook their heads. They knew when they were outplayed. No point going to the authorities even if they were still mad at the cousins, which they were not. Hadn't the boys practically volunteered for what happened, descending to a dungeon next thing to naked, both of them trembling with lust. Terry had asked to be stretched on the rack, and Sandy had allowed himself to be shackled. It was like they were in one of their movies playing the role of prisoners. No need to wonder at Etienne's seizing an opportunity like that.

Etienne himself was just grateful that Mother Nature had created so many sweet slutty submissive bottoms like Terry and Sandy, boys who just could not get enough of rugged masculine company. He had long ago realized that such lads needed a firm hand to keep them in line, not to mention shackles and chains. Eh bien, that was why the dungeon was the perfect venue for such goings on.

Etienne and Paul were very good actors themselves, completely convincing, playing the dominant role in bondage and discipline games. They had been gotten through to the boys' craving for submission. These few days had been one of the most vivid experiences of their young lives. Throwing their heads back, the boys laughed long and hard at themselves till tears came to their eyes.

Once the former captives recovered their equanimity, Paul served everyone a tasty continental style breakfast. On the menu were fresh croissants, jam, and strong coffee, plus scrambled eggs and Potatoes O'Brien to suit the Americans' preference for more substantial breakfast fare. It tasted great. Paul sometimes helped in the kitchen at the bistro where he worked.

All the while Etienne explained about the operation of the dungeon. By day it was a historic site just as it purported to be. By night, Etienne had a lucrative sideline entertaining boys who surrendered themselves to dominant men hired to give them the rough treatment they craved. Sometimes it was the boy himself who paid and sometimes his sugar daddy.

"Just like you with that biker gang in Mexico, Terry." Sandy reminded his lover.

"Or both of us with the Purgatory's Angels at the Vasquez Rocks in LA," Terry added.

"You know, Etienne, you could probably make a fortune with that aphrodisiac you used on us," Terry observed. "What sort of drug was it anyway?"

Etienned chortled as he explained.

"Saline. Just a saline solution. My aphrodisiac is one part atmospherics, two parts the power of suggestion, and three parts my own sex appeal, if I may be so immodest as to say so myself. Perhaps I flatter myself that I bear a resemblance to Alain Delon, but I am not the only one who thinks so."

Paul and Etienne mentioned they were big fans of Terry's and Sandy's and had a complete collection of their movies plus all of the official Making Of videos and most of the private video of their salacious escapades over the last four years. Etienne was proud to add his very own production to the collection. It was only fair to give his young stars a copy too. Etienne handed the boys a data disk with the video of their ordeal, a big smile on his face. In his best tour guide intonations he added:

"A souvenir of your visit to the castle. Please come again, by all means."

As the boys rode off on their bicycles, Terry piped up.

"You know Sandy, a return visit might be fun. How about next year?"

"You cannot be serious, Terry!" Sandy exclaimed in mostly feigned outrage.

"Just messing with you Sandy" Terry replied with a wink.

That earned him a swat on his butt from Sandy.

Still the seed had been planted. Who knew if they wouldn't come back someday for another hot and heavy session with the French cousins.

Author's Note

This is another tale about the lives of a pair of young gay actors in Hollywood and their utterly improbable adventures in the movie business. It takes place maybe forty years in the future. This fifteenth installment continues the story of the pair of protagonists, Sandy Barnett and Terry Knowles, introduced in Jungle Boy 6, in place of Jason Eberly, the original Jungle Boy of the first five tales (who has an occasional cameo in these new tales).

If Alexander, the Daphne Boy in my series of that name, is "the ultimate twink" then Jason, Sandy, and Terry are "the penultimate twinks". I just love writing about them. These kids are hot.

This tale is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. Neither the author nor any of his heirs or assigns has any connection whatsoever to the movies except as fans. Occasional references by characters to real motion pictures and actors and others in the movie business are simply to lend verisimilitude to a tale about persons in show business. None of the real people mentioned in passing is in any way part of the tale.

The pseudo-historical incident on which the whaling movie was based is described in my story 'Castaway' in the 'Naked Prey' series in the Nifty Archive.

Readers who like the Jungle Boy series should try either of my series of historical novelettes. The 'Daphne Boy' tales depict an eternally youthful protagonist and his adventures in exotic climes and times. The settings for the 'Naked Prey' series are equally exotic, but each story has its own cute twink protagonist. My other series are the 'Track and Field' stories in Gay/College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to all my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive for George Gauthier.

Comments and feedback welcome at georgegauthierdc@gmail.com

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