Career Guidance

"What is this shit?" Bernie Wasserman grabbed up tabloids in both fists and threw them across his desk at his client, who sat slouched and defiant in a club chair on the other side of the big mahogany desk.

"Those stories are exaggerated. I didn't know she was a man."

"Good god, Danny," Wasserman continued to bluster. "You are playing parts of a sixteen-year-old still. Caught being fucked by a transvestite in the back of your Hummer. What were you thinking? And a Hummer, god almighty. Who told you you could buy a Hummer? Your fans think you're riding bicycles. I didn't sign off on any of those bills."

"I'm almost nineteen," Danny blustered defiantly. "I don't have to tell you about every job I go out on anymore."

"You sure as hell do, Danny Delmonte," Wasserman yelled. "I've got your contract. I've represented you since you were ten. I own your ass."

"That's it, isn't it?" Danny shot back. "This is all because I moved out when I was eighteen. You'd convinced my folks to let me live with you and you were just licking your lips, playing it safe and waiting to fuck me when I turned eighteen—and I moved out instead."

"No, Danny," Wasserman said in a carefully controlled tone after taking a minute to pull himself together. "This is about your life. I've been lenient with you—and you've lived high on the hog. You've been spending it as fast as you make it. You've got maybe two more good years in your category and then it's iffy if you can transition to anything from the child roles. Very few are able to. And whoring around and getting high and making a fool of yourself in public isn't going to get you there. You need to come back under control. You need to move back in with me."

"No. You just want to get me in bed," Danny spat back. "And I'm going to beat that drug rap. The lawyer you got for me says it's a slam dunk."

"And what are you going to say about being caught in the backseat of a vehicle with a male prostitute in a car you weren't supposed to be driving as a condition of your release on the drug charges? Tell me about that. Tell me how happy the Children's Express Theater is going to be with this now if you sign this contract." Wasserman was waving a thick sheaf of paper that constituted a contract for three high school musicals.

"Fuck that. Fuck you. Fuck it all," Danny muttered as he sank down into his chair.

"This is your future," Wasserman said, his voice ominous and full of venom. "This is the only contract we have on the table. You already were aging out of these roles and now you've really fucked yourself with this stuff you are feeding to the tabloids. You are out of control. Do I tear up this contract and show you the door, or do we start this conversation all over again with you saying 'yes, sir' to me?"

Silence for a long minute with Danny looking at the floor. But his eyes came up fast enough at the sound of the tearing paper. Wasserman had torn apart one of the tabloid newspapers, though, instead of the contract.

"That got your attention, didn't it?"

Danny mumbled something into his chest.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"Yes." Just getting that word out seemed to be torture for Danny.

"Yes, what?"

Another moment of silence and then a muttered "Yes, sir."

"Stand up."

Danny looked up, he eyes showing confusion.

"I said stand up. And strip."

"What?" Now Danny was shocked.

"You said you were off the drugs. I don't know if I believe you."

"I never was on drugs—well not that kind," Danny said, his voice still showing his shock. And maybe a bit of fear now too.

"If not, then I won't find any marks on your body, will I?" Wasserman declared. "I can maybe clear this up—but only this last time—if you haven't fucked up your life more than just what's in these tabloids. If you're shooting up, you won't pass the studio tests and it doesn't matter if you sign these contracts or not. If not—and if I'm convinced you're not shooting up—I can get a doctor to say you were on prescription medicine because you were overworked and headed for a breakdown and that this is what has caused your behavior—but that you are back on the road to full recovery now. That always goes down OK in this town for at least the first time. So, if you want this contract, strip now and I'll check you out."

Danny looked all of the vulnerable sixteen-year-old role that he played so well as he meekly stripped down and stood there, naked, shivering slightly. He was a beautifully well-formed man—but still boyish looking, still about to pass as a teenager.

Wasserman sat behind his desk and looked Danny up and down as Danny's head hung in embarrassment and his hands crossed over his privates.

Wasserman opened a drawer in his desk and took out a couple of items and then, on his way around the desk, he dragged over a Chippendale straight-back dining room chair and plopped it down between where Danny was standing and trembling a bit, as if it was cold in Wasserman's office—which it wasn't—and his desk.

"Here. Sit," Wasserman commanded.

Danny looked up in confusion and just stood there.

"I said sit. And what do you say?"

Danny mumbled something, and Wasserman pushed the young actor down on his bare butt on the chair cushion. "What? I didn't hear you."

"Yes, yes, sir," Danny muttered. There were tears in his eyes now.

"This is all for your own good, Danny. You've gotten very cocky and beyond yourself. And you've lost control and you are this close to losing everything. And not just for you but for me too. I have given representation and career guidance priority to you for nearly ten years now. You need to learn control and discipline. You're fucking this up for both of us."

While he was saying this, Wasserman placed a wooden box and a couple of more items on a small cigarette table between the club chair and where he'd plopped the straight chair down.

To Danny's consternation and confusion, he was then strapping Danny's ankles to the front legs of the straight chair and pulling Danny's arms behind his back and tying off his wrists together.

"What the . . .?"

"Just shut up, Danny. You've been building up to this. It's time you understood who's the boss around here."

"God, Bernie, what . . .?" The exclamation was set off because Wasserman was stripping off his own clothes now.

And then Wasserman, naked, was pushing himself in under Danny's buttocks and thighs and onto the seat of the straight chair. Danny was blustering and objecting in words that no child star even should know how to pronounce and then whimpering and pleading as Wasserman got his body below Danny's and Danny was lapped.

After he had lapped Danny and his engorging cock was running up the small of Danny's back, Wasserman reached over to the adjacent table and retrieved a condom packet, which he torn open, and a tube of lubricant. He rolled the condom on his cock and he began to diddle lube into Danny's asshole with one hand palmed under the young actor's butt and, after lubing up his own crowned cock, slicking up Danny's cock as well.

Danny was moaning and pleading and cussing up a storm.

"Your trannie do this for you in the back of the Hummer, smart ass?" Wasserman asked darkly. "How many other cocks have you had up there? Ones I didn't know about. Ones before me. Oh, yes I waited. But who didn't wait? Tell me, Danny?"

"Oh, God, Bernie, no. No, not many. None before I left your house. Oh, don't do this, Bernie. I'll behave."

"Who's the boss, Danny?" Bernie said.

"You are; you are the boss, Bernie . . . just don't . . ."

Bernie was lifting Danny's buttocks and hovering it over his erect phallus, the bulb of which was touching the rim of Danny's hole. Danny was panting and whimpering. "Who's your daddy, Danny?"

"What?"

"Who's your daddy, I said."

"You. You. You, sir."

"No 'sir' now, Danny. Say it. Call me Daddy."

"Daddy. Daddy. Oh, no . . . oh my god, noooooo."

Wasserman was pulling the younger man down onto his cock, slowly bringing him down, as Danny groaned and moaned and writhed within the close embrace Wasserman had him in. At length, he was bottomed—fully skewered—and defeated. He just sat there in Wasserman's lap, fully impaled, moaning softly, tears streaming down his cheeks, collapsed.

But he had taken all of Wasserman with a minimum of effort. Danny wasn't anything close to a virgin—and this ticked Wasserman off. He had wanted to be the first and had waited and schemed for it for years.

"Who was the first, Danny? Who? Tell me."

Danny was moaning but Wasserman lifted the young actor's buttocks half way off his cock and slammed him back down, and Danny yelped and struggled out an answer. "Sid, Sid Soltan."

"Soltan? The director of your last movie. When? When, Danny? And where?"

"My eighteenth birthday. In his studio trailer."

Now Wasserman was upset—really upset. "Why that old fart," he thought. "All of my plans and he sweeps in with a trump card."

Wasserman sat up very straight in the chair, forcing Danny to arch back into his chest and Wasserman's cock to be driven deeper into him. Danny groaned. "It's all for our own good," Wasserman was growling in Danny's ear. "You were running away. Weren't paying attention. Completely out of control. You need discipline. You need control. You need to be dominated. Is that right, Danny?"

Danny was sobbing quietly.

"I said, is that right Danny? Aren't I right?"

"Yes . . . yes, Daddy," Danny murmured through his tears.

"You've been ass fucked before," Wasserman said, "enough to make the papers. There has to be something else, something more, to impress on you who is the boss here, who dominates."

"Please . . . please, Daddy," Danny muttered.

Then his eyes got really big and his body tensed and went rigid as he watched Wasserman open the wooden box on the table to reveal a series of size-graduated silver medical instruments—wands with slight bulbing at the tips—long, thin phalluses—arranged neatly in indentations in a blue-velvet foundation.

"What? What?" Danny's voice was filled with question and fear.

"The instruments of discipline . . . of ultimate domination, Danny," Wasserman said in a low, hoarse voice. "I want you to understand. I don't want to ever have to do this again—not as long as you have a career. Consider this career guidance. The best lesson you will ever learn from me; your salvation in being able to prolong your career. Your utter understanding of who is in charge here."

"No, please . . . don't, Daddy. I'll be good. I'll . . . Oh, noooo."

"Hold still. Hold perfectly still. But not rigid. It will be much easier if you are relaxed. But very still. Very, very still."

Danny was whimpering again and Wasserman couldn't feel him breathing he was holding so still. Wasserman had taken one of the smaller wands out of the box and was holding it in front of Danny's terrified eyes.

"Breath," Wasserman commanded. "Don't hold your breath. You won't be able to do so. We will be at this for a while."

"Noooooo," Danny whimpered.

When Wasserman had come under Danny, he had lifted the young man's arms over his head, so that Danny was stretched out against Wasserman's chest, his tied wrists at the back of Wasserman's neck. With his ankles shackled to the chair legs and his ass fully impaled on Wasserman's cock, Danny was sitting close in Wasserman's lap with little or no room to wiggle.

"Oh, nooooo, pleeaasee," he cried out as Wasserman ran the tip of the wand down Danny's belly, toward his crotch, as he cupped Danny's cock in the other hand, holding it at an angle jutting up from Danny's belly.

Danny began to pant and moan and sob for mercy as soon as Wasserman maneuvered the tip of the wand to Danny's piss slit and began to carefully insert it, sounding the young man's urethra in possibly the most intimate and dominating sex act one man can perform on another.

His cock deeply impaling Danny's ass, Wasserman was, in effect, fucking Danny's piss slit as well—or at least he was fully doing this when, after running the wand into the urethra channel nearly three inches, he began to slowly push it in and out.

Danny was moaning for real now, and gurgling sounds were coming up from deep inside him and he was holding very still but trembling and gasping and noisily taking in huge breaths of air.

"Who's the boss, Danny?" Wasserman asked in a low tone.

"You. You are, Daddy," Danny answered in a gaspy voice.

"And when I say you are to do something, what will you do?"

"Oh, god, oh god. Please stop. I think I'm going to come."

"No, no, you're not going to come, Danny. Daddy will tell you when you can come."

Wasserman slowly extracted the wand and laid it back in the case and picked another one of a larger size, and, ignoring Danny's pleas, began fucking the young man's piss slit with it in the same manner as he had done with the thinner wand.

"What will you do if I tell you to do it, Danny?"

"I'll . . . I'll . . . do it . . . Daddy. Ohhhhhhhh."

Wasserman brought his free hand up and cupped Danny's chin, arching the young man's head back into the hollow of his neck. He reached up with his thumb and pushed it between Danny's lips. "Suck this," he commanded. And Danny pulled the thumb into his mouth and gave it suck.

"This is it. This is how much I dominate you, Danny. Fucking you in all three orifices. No one owns you like I do, do they?"

"No . . . no, Daddy," Danny murmured in a thumb-strangled voice.

"And you will come home with me now—after we have signed these contracts—and I will fuck you whenever I want. And only me. And you will act the perfectly behaved, chaste child actor to the world. Right?"

"Yes . . . yes, Daddy . . . Oh. Ohhhh. I can't hold on any longer. I have to . . . come."

"Yes, you may come now, Danny," Wasserman said. And as he pulled the wand out of Danny's piss slit, the young man's cock burbled up in white fluid and he came in four jerks.

Danny was panting hard and Wasserman felt him relaxing and collapsing on his body.

Wasserman reached over and exchanged the wand for a larger-sized one.

Danny cried out in fear and frustration—and want—knowing now that the ordeal was not over and afraid of himself as he knew down deep he didn't want it to be over, but he was reduced to soft whimpering and shallow pants as Wasserman moved through two more sizes of wands and a second coming by Danny and until he felt there was no resistance in Danny at all anymore.

"I think we've made our point now," Wasserman said at length.

"Yes, Daddy," Danny murmured.

"OK, I'm going to unbind you now and I want you to reverse on my cock and face me and I want you to fuck yourself on my cock. Of your free will. You do that and we'll sign those contracts and get on with our life—together. If not, your career is over. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Daddy," Danny whispered in a voice of resignation.

And then, after he was unbound and turned himself in Wasserman's lap, Danny proved what a good actor he was by fucking himself to Wasserman's ejaculation, giving an Academy Award performance on selling that he couldn't get enough of his master's cocking, and trying to suppress the knowledge from deep inside him that this was exactly what he did want.