Buc Goes Pro

1.

At half past ten am Buck emerged from the bathroom into the set, an airy atrium, where natural light centered on a king-size bed. He'd increased his training and it showed -- his warm ivory skin, unmarked by tan lines, stretched taut over testosterone-laden muscle. His thick cock, too noble for any measure as crude as inches, swayed rhythmically over his heavy balls with each step, his posture that of a young gamecock.

All eyes turned to Jack for his response. Kyu and the two-man crew, and the two bottoms. None were new to the business, and with any other first-timer they'd get right to business. But the unique dynamic on this particular shoot -- Jack's return and his proprietary interest -- called for some deference.

Buck was a stunning physical specimen. No question. And if anyone knew, it was Jack.

"Looking good, sport," he said, mustering a cool affect. "You don't have to get hard yet."

"S'okay," Buck replied with a shrug.

"You got a long time to go," Jack added.

"I'm good," Buck answered.

Jack sighed, glancing down at Buck's stiff prick. "Yeah, I'll bet you are."

It had been nearly two decades since Jack had been on a set, and the new technology fascinated him. It was hard to keep from putting his hands on Matthew and Eduardo's cameras. He'd always had a keen mind for such things, despite lacking formal education in this or any other subject. As he took in the changes, it set his blood pumping.

The atrium was in a Pacific Heights home, discreetly loaned for the filming. Kyu had a knack for finding such locations, properties of well-off gay fans who were thrilled to have their homes featured in his scenes. He chose his sets with the eye of a painter, seeking natural light which he augmented with his own sleek lamps. Lush foliage and carefully placed furniture created clean, composed color blocks.

The high-end look of the setting wasn't lost on Jack. It was a sight better than anything they'd used in the '90s, where cheap hotel rooms were the order of the day. Even when Jack took control and made his own improvements, their sets never reached this level. Honestly, it felt a little much, missing the raw quality that defined his style.

Back then, Kyu had captured every golden hair on Jack's tawny hide in ways no other cameraman could. His camera loved Jack, how he moved with a predatory grace, the barely contained power of his body. Jack had known, even then, that Kyu was different.

Now, Jack wanted that same magic for Buck. To capture his unblemished marble skin, the perfect swell of his tits, the tension in his heavy cock. To let the light catch the subtle curves of his body.

Kyu was the only man he trusted with this job.

He grinned, watching his old friend work with quiet focus, placing his cameras and gauging the shifting sunlight by eye, shifting from one perspective to another until satisfied. Kyu had come a long fucking way from being the skinny immigrant art student kid with a video camera on his shoulder.

"Looking good to you?" Jack asked, working hard to not hover.

Kyu had volunteered to supervise the camera team as a favor, and Jack wanted to show appropriate respect and gratitude. Now a big name director himself, it was no small thing for Kyu to take a back seat.

He'd be the first to say he owed his career to Jack, after all, and the techniques Jack pioneered. But they were both gentlemen after a fashion and had an understanding. They didn't need to discuss these things.

Kyu nodded, approving. "What name's he using?"

"Not sure," Jack answered. He'd wondered himself. "Just Buck so far."

"Ah," said Kyu, in one of his inscrutable sounds that Jack understood to have a deeper meaning, though he never knew quite what. "Okay then."

Kyu silently nodded to the crew to assume their places. Jack considered one last check-in with Buck, to see if he was sure he wanted to do this. But they'd talked enough over the last few weeks. The boy was set on it.

"Alright you guys." Jack pushed his blond cock's comb of hair back and pulled his blue cap tight over it, visor forward.

He'd doubled up his own workout in the last few weeks and could feel the sleeves of his black polo shirt tighten on his thick biceps as they flexed. A big grin spread over his still-handsome face.

He was really on the set again. "Let's make porn!"

"Aright Dad," said Buck with a cocky smirk.

2.

Jack had hoped Buck would become a lawyer. No one in the family had gone to college before, and though Jack did well for himself without it, he assumed Buck would be the first. He'd socked away enough for a princely education, but he felt a surprising swell of pride when Buck told him he wanted to follow in his footsteps. And facts were facts; Buck had the body, the face, the dick. And Buck loved to fuck.

Maybe I shouldn't have named him Buck, Jack mused, as if the rhyme had predetermined the boy's fate.

He'd never been the kind of father who wanted his son to be a junior version of himself. Not in name or career. He hated guys who wouldn't let a son have their own identity. As a name, Buck sounded enough like Jack to link them without being a copy. It seemed like a no-nonsense name for a standup guy, which Jack hoped his son would be -- what he was shaping up to be, discounting ordinary youthful fuck-ups.

There was no reason the kid couldn't become a lawyer later. Everybody had a past nowadays, what with the internet and all. And the kid really did have the aptitude for fucking professionally, and more importantly he had the attitude for it: curious, up for anything, a strong will to perform well. And maybe a little more desire for appreciation than ordinary people.

Knowing Buck, once he made the decision he'd take the most impetuous route, set up one of those OnlyFans accounts. Why not let Jack's production company make it for him? A little investment to have it done professionally, own the product -- a gift from Jack -- and keep all the profits himself?

It was enough to pull Jack out of retirement to direct.

He could still recall his own first scenes, before he was star enough to call the shots. It was a high-risk line of work if you weren't smart about it, and he'd be damned if he'd let some random sleazoid take advantage of his boy. The way he saw it he'd help out until the kid knew the ropes. Just this one scene and a couple more, or maybe a few more after that.

The kid was already more sophisticated than Jack had been at that age, but also more naive. His privileged life was in its own way more sheltered too. Jack reflected he'd maybe been too much Buck's buddy and not enough his father. It had always been hard to know where to draw the line.

He wished he could have slowed things down at the end there to help get Buck ready to be a man. Not forever, just a little longer.

But Buck was 18 now, his birthday just a few weeks ago, New Year's Day. It was a miracle he still wanted to spend time with his dad. God knows Jack had no time for his own bastard father at that age. From here on he'd have to decide for himself what kind of man he wanted to be.

And strangely enough, at 44 and change, with a soon-to-be-empty nest, Jack would have to do the same.

3.

The bottoms, Tyler and Griff, were experienced but so much to intimidate Buck. Jack saw to that. He screened them both, but let Buck make the final choices. He'd had to fuck enough guys with no chemistry when he started out. He wanted better than that for Buck, as a father and as a director.

Same as in real life, there was nothing better than chemistry in a fuck scene. It could manifest in a lot of different ways, but it couldn't be faked for any amount of money.

Tyler was a good looking black guy, dark and muscular. Not with Buck's mass, but cut like a diamond. Good attitude too, easy to smile. Griff was -- maybe middle eastern, maybe Latino, Jack couldn't tell. Handsome with plush lips, his olive skin stretched tight over an athletic frame that would stop traffic in any other context, here eclipsed only by Buck. They were both vers, so the trio could be used in any configuration.

Jack had them start standing beside a console table that could double as a seat if needed. As they stripped and began to kiss, Jack could feel in his crotch the planning coming together. As their clothes fell to the floor, tongues lapped and fingers spread over each other's firm young flesh. Buck's creamy skin flushed a soft rose, his pecs rounded and firm as Griff's hands traced their contours. His mouth was at turns receptive, eager and aggressive. And with two darker guys on either side, Buck, with his pale, luminous skin, looked like a snowy white young bull.

Not to say it wasn't weird for Jack, of course. He was no stranger to the idea of Buck being sexual. He'd witnessed the parade of his son's fuck partners through the house, and the near-constant sound of his headboard banging the wall.

On top of that, the kid still jacked off every day from the sound of things, not counting the times he was probably doing it at school or wherever. But he'd never seen Buck in action, with his full-lipped mouth opening for alternating tongues diving into it, and his own wet tongue firmly thrusting back.

Griff latched onto a dusky rose nipple on Buck's beefy pec while Tyler dropped down low to get a hand on Buck's big staff of a cock. The boy groaned and his body surrendered to the worship, as if he was born to the work -- which in a way, he was. It was almost as if Jack and Kyu and the camera guys weren't there at all.

Tyler and Griff expertly maneuvered around Buck, his creamy skin with just the faintest blush of exertion, the swell of his pecs catching the light as Griff cupped them from behind. Tyler opened his pretty mouth to take in Buck's cockhead, and then to go down further, inch by inch, swallowing him.

Holy fuck, thought Jack, watching Buck's thick cock be engulfed by those chocolatey lips. Seeing Tyler's throat flex to take it in. He shifted his weight in his folding chairs, flipped his cap to face backward and leaned in for a better view. That boy has a gift.

The camera guys did their jobs, silently gliding around the trio, getting their various standard shots, being sure not to get each other on camera. With nods and gestures, Kyu urged them to additional angles: the release when Tyler came up for air, a thick strand of saliva hanging from his bottom lip to Buck's cock, Griff's hands on Buck's muscles rolling under his marble skin. The faraway look on Buck's face as his cheeks and lips flushed like cherry blossoms.

The Boy cupped his own pec, running a finger over one nipple and then the other and turned to kiss Griff as Tyler returned to his cock, gulping down all he could.

"Fuck," Buck groaned against Griff's lips, shuddering as Tyler swallowed him again. "I want you both to suck me off at the same time."

Jack froze. Off-script already? A knot of surprise and dread of conflict so soon tightened in his chest. He'd always plotted loosely, letting the chemistry of the performers take over, keeping things unpredictable. But for Buck he'd been more determined to get it right. And now it was already derailing.

Kyu was also motionless, but observant. Waiting to see what would come next.

Griff weaved around Buck and came to his knees, mirroring Tyler, their two mouths working his length and girth. Buck took their heads in his big hands, guiding them as he slowly thrust forward with his hips, fucking both mouths together. "Fuck yeah," he groaned and his top lip trembled.

Then with his cock gleaming and dripping with spit and precum, he turned to face the wall, running hands over his rounded ass cheeks, prying them apart to expose his hole.

Kyu slowly nodded yes, and with a graceful wave of his fingers indicated to the camera guys where to position themselves to focus in on Buck's virgin hole.

Jack didn't take it as well.

Goddamnit, he thought, vexed at the boy's improvisation. He was the director. He'd blocked this out. His frustration was tempered only by how both guys hungrily worshiping Buck's straight-up cock made for a good show. The kid had the instincts all right. If he could show some self control he might just be the total package.

"Oh yeah, that's so good," Buck grunted as they took turns tongue fucking him.

Tyler stood up to kiss Buck, the taste of his own ass on his mouth. His own hard cock slid up along the crack of Buck's ass, just gliding between the full cheeks. A stream of precum gushed from his cockhead.

Jack lurched forward and then caught himself. He pulled his cap off, rubbed his face and put it on again, visor forward.

It was some protective instinct. Stupid and unnecessary. He knew how these scenes went, and the swell in his own pants told him this was right on the money. Keep your director pants on and your dad pants off, he thought. But that didn't sound quite right either. He shifted in his chair, unable to find a comfortable position.

He reminded himself he was there for a job, and Buck, despite the off-script moment, was a pro, in the making.

4.

Jack got his start in the late 1990s.

Leaving the backwoods with a high school diploma he knew only one thing: Your head will lead you astray from time to time, and the heart's a deceiver. But your boner will never lie. A hard dick is the one true compass a man has in this world. And he trusted it to serve him well.

When he landed in the big city he could see the better option between the choice of breaking his back on construction jobs or getting his cock sucked for cash. He'd never had trouble throwing hard on command or going back-to-back with loads. Never had a problem fucking dudes, either. Even back in Oklahoma there were guys hungry for a guy with his looks and his dick.

The money in gay porn was better too. Or it could be, if he played his card right.

The studio wanted to give him a stupid hardon-reference name like they did in those days -- Steel, Girth, Rod. But Jack insisted on his own first name and added Chance.

He liked the sound of that. He had no weight to throw around other than his cock, but he was hot as fuck -- dirty blond chest hair just filling in, shoulders that looked carved from some working-class marble, muscles real and earned, not gym-manufactured. And no sleazy director cared enough to fight him on it. He could see right off how "Jack Chance" could be a pun goldmine in video titles. He didn't mention that to the directors, banking the idea for his own future use.

He'd never had a problem playing dumb and spent most of a year of asking questions during shoots and in post-production to figure out the business. If they could do it he could learn it, he reasoned. And if some jackoff was going to make a buck off the literal sweat off his back, no one was better suited or more deserving than Jack himself.

He used a loophole he'd spotted and saved, back when he signed their clumsily drafted contract, to get out of the studio so he could start his own company. Of course the studio was shocked that the dummy with the big pecs and the power dick could read after all. Jack liked that almost more than freeing himself. Blessed by nature with a bewildered face and a wily mind, he'd always enjoyed being underestimated.

Even in those days with shit production values, it took some money to start up a company, and Jack was only just getting to be popular, not a bankable name yet. But he leveraged that into "loans" from some older, moneyed fans. He could have just kept the cash. They wouldn't have cared much. But he wasn't inclined to owe anyone anything. So he worked hard to pay down the debt with interest.

But what a way to do it. Every thrust in every ass he topped, he could hear the cash register's ka-ching. Every trail of sweat that ran down the small of his back while he humped some pretty boy mapped the path of independence. The cumshots were -- well yeah, those were fun.

Jack had no training, so he made videos the way his gut said to. No processed looks, no poofy hair or shaved-bare crotches like the studios shelled out. His look was more natural, with dark-blond body hair and real muscles from real work. His videos had balls.

Some scoffed at his first releases as amateurish or unsophisticated. A few praised them as revivals of old Bijou and Bullet productions. Jack didn't opine. He thought of his vids as just guys doing shit guys do. If people wanted to pay to see them, so much the better. And pay they did, more and more with each release.

He pulled out of his back pocket his old ideas for plugging his name in video titles. He never could resist a pun. He produced Chance of a Lifetime, Snowball's Chance, Last Chance (the first of several profitable "final" vids), Second Chance (the first of the even more profitable comeback vids), and so on. He insured his dick for a million dollars as a publicity stunt. He released One In A Million Chance, and when sales dipped issued a special collector's edition that came with a copy of the insurance certificate.

There was just one kink in the plan, so to speak.

It came in the form of his co-star Savannah Smiles in his bi video, Fifty-Fifty Chance. He'd never lost control like that in a shoot before, not even in the first ones. But he fucked his load right into her, and in a fluke it took hold. He could tell even before she knew, when she showed up on the set the next day and her tits looked bigger and higher than the day before: she was knocked up.

Buck's birth wasn't documented on video, but his conception was, captured by a young film student named Kyu, shooting porn to make rent money. He didn't just have porn star parents, he was literally made in and of porn.

Once Jack knew he was going to be a father he got even more serious about making money. Having only the example of his own shitty father, he wanted to do it right, and on his own terms. He'd need to pay off Savannah for full custody, and then he'd have a kid to be responsible for. More than ever, he had an incentive to control who made the real bank off his broad back and his big baby-making balls.

He produced a record number of videos in the months before Buck was born, putting them in the vault to release over time. Jack had no shame about his actual work, but now that he was going to be a father he intended to keep his porn life at arm's length -- or in his case, dick's. He wants Buck to have as ordinary a childhood as possible, especially since he wouldn't have a mom around.

He wished there was another way around that, but Jack knew Savannah had no interest and no business in being a mother. She had her own fucked-up childhood shit to work through, worse than Jack's. But if things had been different -- if things had only been different -- what a woman she was. The only person to ever make Jack lose it in a video, with that yielding open mouth of hers and her own powerful gift for pleasure.

Fatherhood aside, Jack could see the business was changing. The internet allowed for new amateur sites to provide porn directly to the customer, bypassing the studio system. The performers were cleancut-looking jocks, not as built as Jack or the big studio stars. But for $15 a month, subscribers could get unlimited access to new videos every week, downloaded straight to their computer, rather than the $65 to buy a Jack Chance movie on VHS or DVD. Guys would subscribe to these sites directly, Jack knew, at least until they figured out a way to pirate them.

It was the democratization of porn, Jack said at the time. And just like the other kind of democracy, the upside was anyone could do, and the downside was anyone could do it.

But there was still a buck to be made. Jack developed a new amateur site with no connection to his name. He had a good feeling about Kyu, the young cameraman, and invited him to manage it, 50/50 partners: Jack's capital and Kyu's work.