Anthony

Anthony's Story

"Uh, Manuel. Please. We can't."

"You are a tease, Anthony. I am becoming weary of it."

The slim dancer rolled out from underneath the larger, muscular Cuban, who sat up on the bed and snorted his frustration. The two had been in a sixty-nine position on the bed, the dark-skinned Cuban on his elbows and knees suspended over the dark-complexioned, smaller man with the sultry, almost pretty face, and the black curly hair. Nonetheless, as a background dancer in movie musicals, he was as hard bodied as the muscular Cuban and could crack walnuts with his thighs.

The two had been stretched out in reverse and sucking cock. Manuel had also let his fingers wander into Anthony's crack, with his middle finger toying with the rim—which Anthony had moaned for but not objected to—and from there tapping on the hole itself and starting to sink in. That had moved into taboo territory. Manuel didn't force the issue, but he did test it on occasion.

Anthony, whose pay was low despite having worked in movies since he was sixteen, had lived in Manuel's apartment since he had turned eighteen two months previously. As a saxophonist in background orchestras and at clubs, when he needed cash, Manuel was better off financially than Anthony was.

Manuel had taken Anthony in at a cut rate as a roommate because he wanted to fuck the luscious little dancer of Italian origin. He'd been working on doing that for the past two months. He wouldn't take the smaller man by force, though. It had to be Anthony's choice. Anthony had continually said it was what he wanted, but that it couldn't happen yet.

"Why?" Manuel asked out of frustration. "I can understand waiting until you're eighteen, but I didn't lay a hand on you until you were—I didn't take you in as a roommate until you were. I'm not doing anything more than you keep saying you want to do with me. You suck my cock and let me suck yours. You let me come in your mouth. Why don't you let me fuck your ass? Are you afraid of it? Am I too big for you?"

"Yes, of course I'm afraid of it. Of course it's big—it's huge," Anthony said, forcing a grin, trying to take the edge off Manuel's suppressed anger. "But that's not it. Just be patient. Probably just for a few more days."

"Patient for just a few more days. You can't do something today that you will be willing to do in a few days?" His eyes went to the nightstand and to the book laying there. "Say, this doesn't have anything to do with the interview you said you had tomorrow with that movie producer . . . what's his name . . . Atkins . . . Ted Atkins, would it?"

"Why do you ask?" The tone of Anthony's voice was suddenly defensive.

"You're reading this book—

Danny's Choice

. And I've heard Atkins is going to produce a movie on it. Jorge is composing a soundtrack score, on the hush hush, and is already lining up an orchestra. I said I'd play. But does this timing have anything to do with Atkins? I've heard about him and his first-time fetish. How he collects young men's cherries. You're not saving yourself for him, are you?"

"That's a lot of questions, Manuel," Anthony said, but he was looking away from Manuel. He couldn't look the Cuban in the face.

"OK, let's count them off, then. And be truthful with me or you might find your suitcase out in the hallway. You've teased me long enough. Are you reading this book because you want to audition for a part in the movie? You know it's to be a graphic underground homo coming of age movie, don't you?"

"That still isn't one question."

"Answer them." It wasn't a request.

"Yes, I know what the screenplay will be about. And, yes, I want to audition for a part."

"With the producer himself? Aren't minor speaking roles worked out between central casting and your agent?"

"I'm not auditioning for just any role. I'm auditioning to be Danny."

"The lead?"

"Yes."

Manuel whistled. "That's quite a jump from the dance line. And you're going to try to get the part by letting the producer fuck you? To take your ass-channel virginity? Is that it? I can't fuck you in the ass until Ted Atkins has fucked you?"

"Yes, that's right. But it's more complicated than that."

"Sounds pretty complicated to me already. How much more complicated can it get?"

"Ted Atkins has already paid for my virginity. He did that two years ago. He just accepted that he couldn't cash in until I was eighteen. I had to promise to wait for him to exercise his option."

"Exercising an option on an ass? That doesn't sound just complicated. It sounds Byzantine. What did he pay for this privilege? Looking around at what you own in this apartment, I gotta say that you must have sold yourself cheap."

"Not cheap. If I reneged, I have no idea how I'd pay him back. When I came to Los Angeles, I couldn't find any jobs better than a restaurant dishwasher. And I had a talent, a skill for the entertainment industry. Do you have any idea how few male dancers there are compared to female ones?—I'm not talking about Chippendale pole dancers. Classically trained dancers to work the stage and in movie musicals." He didn't wait for Manuel to guess.

"Ted Atkins saw me at an audition. I didn't get that gig, but he made a deal with me. If I'd give him my virginity when I reached eighteen, he'd make sure I'd have work from then—when I was sixteen. He's been good at his word. I've had work."

"Not great work, and not work that advanced you."

"But work. I managed to stay in Hollywood and to feed myself—and to be in the movies and do some stage work too. I wouldn't even have an agent if Ted Atkins hadn't gotten one to take me on. I wouldn't have worked the last two years at what I wanted to do. I probably wouldn't even still be in Los Angeles."

"But your ass. You sold your ass."

"I am gay. I knew when I was sixteen I was gay. I've shown you I want male sex, haven't I? I just haven't done it all with you. That doesn't mean I don't want to or don't intend to. I'm not sure whether Mr. Atkins would be thrilled to know how much I've done with you. It's just for a couple of more days, I'm sure. I got the interview—for 6:00 p.m., when it would be just him at the office. He'll call in the chit, I know."

"I don't know."

"And, don't you see? I'm asking for more. I'm taking advantage of what he could—and probably will—demand to hit him up for the lead in

Danny's Choice

. If I can make him want me again and again, I maybe can parley this into my big chance."

"You might have to fuck a lot of toads. You might become Atkins' boy toy."

"If Mr. Atkins has a plucking off first timers fetish, I'll have to work hard to keep him wanting me. And if I can do that, I can work it to my advantage. A lot of the big names in Hollywood have done that to get to the top. And it's nothing to you; I'll be coming home to you. Fucking toads will be worth it if I can come home to you. Don't you have any idea how hard this holding off has been for me too? I want you to fuck me—to fuck me silly. But there's so much to lose by not waiting just a few days."

"I don't know if you have thought through how rough this can be for you." Manuel reached over to the nightstand, picked up the copy of

Danny's Choice

, opened to a passage he seemed to already know well, and began to read.

"You're going to split me!" I hadn't meant to cry out, but I hadn't been able to keep it in.

Soothing shushing. "It will take it; I won't split you. Open to me; you'll be fine."

"There, in to the root," I heard him whisper in my ear through heavy breathing. "When you learn to open to it faster, there won't be this pain." And indeed, now that he was all in and had stopped pushing at me—and I began to relax, knowing that I wasn't resisting anything that hadn't already happened—the pain was a bit less. "Turn your head, look into the mirror over there. Here, I'll turn your ass a bit. Look at what's inside you. You can take it. You have taken it."

I moaned at the sight of how thick the root of his dick looked to be as reflected in the mirror, where just the base of it was visible in my hole. And my hole. Who would have known it would open that wide? I didn't find his "help" in showing that to me in the mirror reassuring. Well, not immediately, but there was a little thrill of having taken all of that. And that's as big as his dick would get—surely. But maybe it would get bigger while he fucked? I moaned again.

And the pain. When the hell does the pain lessen, I wondered as I moaned and groaned and voiced every variation of "ouch" and "oh, shit" that bubbled up to my lips. "Ouch" didn't express a fourth of the pain, though.

"So sweet, and fresh. I've wanted to do this for months. And so tight. I'm the first one, right? Tell me I'm the first one. I paid to be first."

"Yes," I answered through shallow pants and clinched teeth. "You're the first one."

He was. Would I be doing this if he didn't have something I wanted badly? I wanted a speaking part in the Broadway play he was producing to go on stage in 1964.

"Good boy." His hands were off my hips and gliding over my torso, patting and pinching. "Sleek young body—if I hadn't seen your birth certificate myself, I'd—"

My groan covered what he was saying. Not only had a hand found and encased my dick, but I also felt movement in the throbbing dick inside me—or at least I thought the dick was throbbing; I knew my channel walls were throbbing from the alien invasion. He was beginning to move the dick inside me. Drawing back, pushing in, drawing back, pushing in farther than he'd reached before.

"Take it, take it, take it." Each thrust punctuated with a command.

"Oh, shit, Oh Fuck! That hurts like hell!" All senses returning to my ass channel. What he'd done before tying my wrists together wasn't being fucked. This was being fucked! Pumping me as I writhed under him. His grip on one of my pecs and on my dick vice-like now. The grip eased and he was stroking me with his hand to the rhythm of his dick stroking my channel.

"Stop! Stop," Anthony cried out. He was writhing in Manuel's embrace, the arm of the Cuban encircling his shoulders and holding him close while using that hand to hold the book. The Cuban's other hand was stroking Anthony's cum-streaked cock, the young dancer having come sometime during the reading.

"It needn't be like that," Anthony whispered. "But we have to wait for whatever it is."

"If I can't do all I want to do to you right now, at least I can make what I can do real interesting."

"What do you mean . . . what are you doing? Oh shit." He was laughing as Manuel grabbed him—Anthony was no match for the big Cuban in strength—went up on his knees on the bed, upended Anthony, and pulled the smaller man into his body. Anthony was plastered to his torso upside down at the level where Manuel could take Anthony's cock in his mouth and vice versa. Anthony wrapped his arms around Manuel's thighs for stability, but he did a perfect straight-leg split with his legs above Manuel's head. The two resumed sucking each other off.

The dancer's limberness and dexterity had been a key factor in Manuel's campaign to land him. Manuel was intrigued with the male Kama Sutra. He had big plans for how to use Anthony's body.

* * * *

"Would you like a beer?"

The question had come as soon as Manuel walked in the door the next day—or, rather, night. He'd done a gig in a nightclub and it was 2:00 a.m.

"Thanks," he said as he reached out for the can. "You get out of bed to greet me?"

"No. I was waiting up for you." Anthony was dressed in a sashed robe. He went back to the kitchen island counter for his own bear—or rather hobbled a bit to the kitchen island counter. Manuel gave him a piercing stare.

"You OK? You're walking a little funny."

"I'll be OK."

"You interviewed with Atkins today, didn't you? He fucked the stuffing out of you, didn't he?"

Anthony looked away from Manuel. He was standing next to the kitchen island counter. "The important thing is that I'm no longer a virgin."

"Oh," Manuel said. He took a big swig of his beer.

Anthony set his beer can down on the island counter, pulled the sash of his robe off, shrugged his shoulders out of the robe, and let it fall to the floor. He was naked underneath.

"The important thing is that I'm not a virgin anymore," he repeated.

"But are you too fucked up to be fucked again today?"

"I don't want to give you a single excuse not to do what we've both wanted."

Manuel fucked him first at the end of the bed in a modified missionary position, crouched over Anthony's prone body, their foreheads touching, as Manuel said he wanted to see the expression in Anthony's eyes during everything Manuel did to his body. Anthony managed to hold his legs up and spread out on his own throughout the fuck.

They had been sitting on the side of the bed, kissing, Anthony trembling as Manuel held Anthony in a close embrace with an arm around his shoulders and ran his free hand over the young dancer's naked body.

"Be good to me," Anthony whispered.

"As good to you as Atkins was? Was Atkins good to you, Anthony?"

The book,

Danny's Choice

, was still on the nightstand, and, without waiting for Anthony to answer, Manuel reached over, picked it up, opened to a passage, and started to read.

He was pulling out of me—such a relief—and carrying me over to an overstuffed chair in a dimly lit corner of his office half way up the Empire State Building. He sat in the chair and pulled me down into his lap. He started to pull my shirt up and off my back, encountered my bound wrists, and took the time to unbind them and then rebind them with the scarf once I'd been stripped of the shirt. I was naked except for my socks, and he was still fully dressed except for his shirt gaping wide open and his dick jutting up out of his open fly. Somehow the discrepancy made me feel doubly vulnerable and this whole situation seem sordid.

I'm not being raped; I'm not being raped, I chanted in my mind. I want something he can give me badly enough to do this.

His fumbling with my shirt and the binding was a pause I probably didn't need. The fear of the first taking and what might yet to be flowed back in.

Once my wrists were rebound, my arms went over his head, my wrists lodged behind his neck. "Run your legs up the back of the chair on either side of me," he commanded. "You're a dancer; you can do it."

When I'd done that, he lifted and spread my buttocks and speared my now-more-open ass entrance with the bulb of his dick. I panted hard as he pulled me down on the shaft, whispering all the time, "Breathe, breathe, relax, open to me, baby. You're doing fine. Oh sweet Jesus you are so nice. And I fucked you first."

"No, it wasn't like that," Anthony murmured in a voice edged by a sob, his hand closing the book Manuel was reading from. "It was worse. And, yes, he says I have to keep going back to him when he wants me. Make me forget that, Manuel. Fuck me. Punish me for what I gave him and wouldn't give you. You should have been the one to take my virginity. You were so good about not forcing me. But take whatever you want from me now. Fuck me."

"I was saving this for a special time," Manuel said, as he laid the book back down on the nightstand and opened a drawer. He took two black leather straps out of the drawer. "Do you know what these are?"

"Yes, wrist restraints."

"Atkins bound you. Shall we take up where he left off?"

Anthony licked his lips and whimpered.

He was on his back on the bed, his arms raised and spread, his wrists bound to the headboard over his head. Manuel was on his knees, between Anthony's legs, arched over Anthony's torso, Anthony's thighs running up Manuel's thighs, his knees hooked on Manuel's hips.

It started awkwardly with Anthony panting hard and almost crying when Manuel had no more than his bulb inside.

"Did he tear you up? Did that monster split you?" Manuel growled.

"No, no. It's not that. You're bigger, so much bigger than he was."

Manuel laughed. "In time I'll have your channel reamed to my size. We'll go slow this time, though."

And he did go slow, at least initially, at least until he was fully saddled and until he lost control in the heat of the pumping. By then, though, as painful as it was, Anthony was consumed by lust and, rocking back and forth on his shoulder blades and pulling at the restraints on his wrists. All of his screams were cries for "Yes, harder. Yes, deeper. Fuck me. Screw me. Punish me. Split me. Ream me out!"

Manuel got more inventive as the night went on. So much lust and frustration had built up that the virile Cuban stud fucked all night and into the morning. Though increasingly exhausted, Anthony stayed with him. The dam had burst. He could fuck whoever and however much he wanted to. And now he wanted everything Manuel could give him. The big Cuban was a cum factory, and each ejaculation made the slide easier. With each fuck, Anthony's channel walls were coaxed to stretch and loosen more. Anthony couldn't wait to be fitted for Manuel's cock to the point that the fucking would be all pleasure, no pain.

Taking Atkins the next time now would be a piece of cake.

They showered together after the first fuck, with Anthony thinking that was probably going to be it for the night. It already was nearly 3:00 a.m. It had taken some time for Anthony to take the whole cock, and once in and Anthony able to take the pumping, the virile stud pumped forever, Anthony coming and getting hard again before Manuel creamed him.

They had showered together and horsed around quite a bit. Coming out of the bathroom and toward the bed, Manuel grabbed Anthony from behind and pulled the dancer close into his body. He crouched down and commanded, "Jut your buttocks up and back at me." When Anthony did that, he immediately cried out, as a hard cock was moving up inside him. Manuel encircled Anthony's waist with one arm and lifted the dancer off the floor. Manuel's other hand palmed Anthony's throat and held Anthony's head into the hollow of his shoulder. Anthony was dangling in front of Manuel, embraced and immobilized while the Cuban fucked him.

Manuel didn't come in that position, though. When he came, he had reversed Anthony, the two face-to-face, with Manuel standing on the floor in a crouched position for balance, and Anthony's legs hooked on Manuel's hips, his wrists locked behind Manuel's neck, and Manuel's hips thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

After he'd filled Anthony's ass with cum, he tossed the young dancer on the bed and came down beside him, flinging his arm over Anthony's chest. "Now I rest."

"You rest? What about me?"

"You can't take any more."

"I want more."

"That's not an answer to the question asked."

"I know."

"The interview today. Did you get the part?"

"I don't know. I have to meet with the investors."

"You have to fuck each one of them?"

"There's an investors' meeting I have to go to—at Atkins' house—next Tuesday."

"And you have to fuck all of them together."

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly. If you've got to fuck that many toads, you'll need more practice."

"Manuel. Don't you think . . . Christ almighty you're hard again."

"And I'm a little tired, so this time you fuck me."

Manuel turned, lifted Anthony's body up, his biceps and pectorals bulging, and held Anthony over him, Anthony making his body go straight with his own strong muscle power, until Manuel was on his back.

"Sit on my cock facing my bent legs and hug the legs. On your knees, feet running back toward my shoulders. Yes, like that. Now fuck yourself on my cock." Half way through the fuck, Manuel wrapped his arms around Anthony's chest, pulling Anthony's shoulder blades back into his own pecs and jack knifing Anthony's bent legs to a degree that only a limber dancer could manage. He raised his own pelvis up, using his bent legs and feet planted firmly on the bed for leverage, and piston fucked up into Anthony's channel.