Flip Mecum Ch 03

Flip has his first BBC and begins to make porn films

This is an original, fictional story. None of the persons or places is real—even if their names seem familiar. Everyone engaged in sexual activity is over 18. © Brunosden 2024. All rights reserved.

[A quick recap for those joining the story here: Flip, a South Texas gay, escaped a stifling little town and arrived in Houston where he was promptly recruited by a gay club owner as a "dancer." After months of seasoning and tons of paid, casual sex, the owner pulled in the reins, demanded a bigger share of the "tips" and ultimately started to "rent" Flip to a prominent "partner" of the club. Flip has gone from the beginnings of boy-play sex with a few companions to the big time sexuality of professional gay sex exploitation, and he hardly realizes it. He more or less goes with the flow, enjoying himself and banking more than he ever dreamed might be possible. The story continues in the young man's first person voice.]

Sunday was always my day or rest. But, it was Amy's birthday and I had promised to take my sisters to brunch. I woke around 10, showered and logged into Marty's computer: "Going to brunch with my sisters. Somewhere near Galleria. Don't know exactly. They picked it. Back around three. And I'm working tomorrow, construction site in Katy. Gone all day." I certainly didn't want to test his potential for "punishment" while out with my sisters or while working on a circuit breaker box.

The brunch was very pleasant. We ate outside even though it was January. I was almost warm and not so humid. We were on very good terms now. Amy had been paid back the loan she had made to me. And we got together from time to time. I regaled them with stories about the mistakes and stupidities of our so-called master electricians. They joined in with tales about Pop's life and issues. And I carefully avoided any mention of my other career. Amy asked if I was dating. I said yes, but nothing serious. I'm young—and I want to establish myself before I get too far along with anyone. If only they knew.

Almost exactly at three, I got a txt from Marty. ### Your new friend expected at 5. Meet in my office. ### It was Sunday, but. I quickly responded with an acknowledgement. I dropped the girls back at their place and headed to the Studio. I showered, douched and carefully lubed myself deep inside and pulled on my Ranger duds—not knowing what he expected. My two roommates were watching a movie and remarked about my costume with questions in their eyes. "Marty called. He needs me. And, in character."

Jimmy called out, "I guess the escort business works on Sundays. Haven't they heard, 'Never on Sunday.'"

"Yeah. I know. But, I do what I'm told. It's like I'm back home," I whispered as I headed downstairs. Marty's office was open—and remarkably, the bed had been freshly made. But he wasn't in evidence. A few minutes later, "Danny" (which I now knew wasn't his real name) entered, ducking so as not to hit the top of the door jamb. He was a giant. He was dressed casually in tennis whites, obviously headed for the courts, not coming from them as he was fresh and clean—or maybe using a tennis match as an alibi. I had looked him up. He was married with four kids, an elder of Third Baptist, a second term (term limited) mayor, with eyes on state politics. But that was going to be difficult. Houston and San Antonio were the only Democratic strongholds in a very red state. And he was a Democrat. There was of course no suggestion that he was bi, let alone gay.

"What's your name, boy? I can't keep calling you boy if we are going to be friends and bedfellows."

"Flip Mecum, Sir."

"Flip, really?"

"For Phillip."

"Well, it's going to be Phillip for me. But, we are definitely not going to flip. But, I guess I'm gonna 'fill up' Phillip from time to time." He laughed at his own joke. "And I don't need the Ranger dress-up stuff. It just takes more time than we have. Strip off them duds, Phillip. I want to see you, all of you, in daylight."

I did. Then he smiled as he too removed his polo and shorts. "Fuck, boy, you're darker than I am. And a really nice bod. Dick's a little small, but you aren't going to need it with me anyway."

I knew I wasn't small—except in comparison to him. He was not even close to human. He finished undressing, sat in Marty's chair and pulled me into his lap. He drew me into his chest and easily lifted me over his rigid cock. "For your first act, I'm gonna let you dance your way down, Phillip."

I looped my hands behind his neck and began a swirling, swiveling movement that massaged his cockhead and finally sucked it in. It hurt, but the pain quickly was replaced with a pleasurable feeling of being totally full of another guy. When he bottomed, I leaned in and locked our lips, murmuring, "Welcome home, Your Honor."

His eyes shot up. "I guess anonymity isn't possible in this business." He removed his hands from my ass cheeks and I plunged four or five inches, feeling even more stuffed after every one. He was definitely rearranging me inside.

"Fuck, you are so big." Just as he raised his ass from the leather and impaled me completely. I collapsed in pain on his chest.

"I guess that hurts, huh? But, you'll get used to it." Then he started bucking. My prostate was on fire and my dick expanded to its full 8 inches, bouncing on his rigid abs.

"I'm gonna cum, Danny. You're pushing it out of me."

"Remember. Not before me, boy," as one hand reached for my shaft and ringed the base in an iron clamp. He continued to pump as his lips took mine. His moves were like those of a dancer—precise, smooth and deeply professional. He was an absolute master. He deserved a harem of women and men. There was certainly enough of him to go around. When he released me, my lips went to his dark nipples. I sucked hard and he gasped, more in pleasure than pain. I squirmed a few more times until he finally exploded into my gut. So much that I knew I was going to leak big time when he pulled out—if he pulled out. But, I still hadn't cum. He was strangling my dick, bottling my stuff inside as my dick throbbed in his palm and in pain.

It turned out I was right. He didn't pull out. Instead he stood holding me tightly to his chest, like a toy. He turned and brought us to the bed. Then, in a remarkably dexterous move, he pushed me onto my back while jack-knifing my legs under his powerful arms, never pulling out. He stood at the edge and rolled me up under him. His piercing dark eyes were drilled into me. Then he carefully watched my expression as he pounded again and again. It felt wonderful. His cum was lubing; I was adapting; and, the pressure on my prostate was almost unbearable. "I told you that you'd learn to love this. No one is going to take you like this ever again, boy. You've been in the hands and riding the dick of a superman." And with those words, he stroked deeply and started to spray inside me. I knew he was right. And I also guessed our "affair" might be short-lived. I knew who he was. And now he knew I knew. He was a public figure. Closeted, bi, I guessed. His words seem to suggest that we were almost already done. He would end this soon before it became dangerous for him. And then what would I have left? Would Marty let me return? Did I want to?

Suddenly, it was over. He pulled out. I hadn't cum. I had a raging hard on, so hard I was in pain. He wiped his dick on my jock. "I might be back Thursday night. But, I might be too busy. I'll expect you to be ready anyway." And he was gone.

I got up and started to dress, my rigid leaking dick making it a little difficult. I thought that the way he looked at me when he set me up for Thursday didn't look genuine. I've had guys before who promised and didn't deliver. It's sort of standard for our business. Then, I realized that Danny had not completely closed Marty's door. I wondered how long it had been open. As I climbed the stairs, I saw that Jimmy was just in front of me, using his card key to open the door to the third floor. When I reached the landing, he said, "I've got it all on the cell. I know who that guy is. You're playing with fire, Flip."

"It's not my call. Marty set it up. And I'm relieved from duty except when His Honor calls."

"If I sent this to the press—or the Republicans, he'd be ruined."

"And Peacock would disappear. Is that what you want?"

"Maybe we can use it as leverage with Marty. We all think he's gone too far. The success of this place is built on our asses—not his." He snickered at his own literal joke.

"I think you need to think carefully about you might do. And I wouldn't mention it to Don yet. He's got a big mouth and not much brain to keep it shut."

"He knows I went down to spy on you."

"But he doesn't need to know you filmed it—or who my john was. I could have been anyone that Marty set up."

"I'll think about it. I'll send you a copy. I presume you have a cell that Marty doesn't monitor." Then he smiled. "But that scene I just witnessed has really horned me up. There's no way I can find a partner this late on a Sunday—particularly without alerting Marty that I was leaving Peacock. So that leaves you. I want you to fuck me. I need it. Now."

I was still hard and full, planning to jerk in the shower. Danny had not let me cum. So I didn't protest, and we moved to my bed. He stripped off his shorts, pulled my pillow under his gut and stretched out on his belly. It had been months since I had topped—actually since I left Hanover. But, my dick certainly knew how—and Danny had not gotten me off. I was ready to blow with almost no stimulus. A few seconds later, my wrapped dick was penetrating his cute little ass. "I'm not going in bare after that bastard. Can't tell what he might have left as a going away present."

He squirmed as I entered. I was big, probably much bigger than most of the guys he took regularly. But he wasn't a first timer. He knew the routine. He used his anal muscles professionally and began to milk my cock to bring about a rapid orgasm as his moans betrayed his pleasure at the fullness I had produced. I found his prostate and punched it repeatedly. He complimented me on my technique and my size. Then, I pushed deep inside and grabbed his balls to squeeze his cum into action. I filled the condom as he finished quickly, and I rolled off. Somehow it just felt like I had just relieved myself. There was no pleasure at all. (Well, that's almost true.) Then, I realized he had cum on my sheets. I'd need to change the bed. What a bastard!

He started in again as though nothing had just happened. "I'm guessing you might never see him again. I heard that last promise. But we've got the film—and I just sent it to my best bud with a password lock. Someday you might need it. Maybe you're okay with the new rules. But not me. I've got a guy that wants me permanent and exclusive. I'm gonna talk with him. I'll let you know what I'm doing before the shit hits. But, if I were you, I'd be looking for a new gig."

I showered and douched as thoroughly as I had ever before in my life. Then I headed back to bed, knowing that I wasn't doing any electrical tomorrow morning.

******

I awakened late on Monday. My two apartment mates were already off for the day, and the place was quiet. There was no filming downstairs that day, and the Peacock Club didn't open until 7. It was winter, but still hot and humid in Houston. I had been out of Hanover now for just over six months.

I lay in the bed, with the already hot sun streaming over my face, with my eyes closed. I had cast off all the covers. So I was stretched out on my back naked. Soon I was daydreaming (my word, at the time, for self-introspection), something I rarely did at that age. I remembered the fun that I had had with the rag tag outsider clique of fags in Hanover. And my father's threatening attitude. My introduction to sex had been innocent young boy play, condemned by Pop. Nothing serious. No commitments. It was all about pleasure. Enough that we were willing to risk the consequences. I guessed that was true of most young gays.

I had fled that life and landed in Houston, without a plan. I admitted to myself that I loved dancing—particularly the adulation I received from the crowd. I was getting quite good with the pole and in finding ways to make the costume new. In a sense, my dancing was a continuation of the play mentality—particularly the after-dance time on the floor of the club. Without realizing it, I had monetized my play: I was making money from my body, my cock and my ass. Sex was the new coin of my realm—and the center of my life. And I loved almost every second of it.

I had been a faithful patron of the local gym at least three days per week. I had found a trainer, who was providing his services for a blowjob two or three times a week, and I was bulking up nicely. My cut muscles were beginning to show. And because I kept my diet to almost nothing—cum being perhaps a major source of protein, the definition was pronounced and improving. I was a stud. I had partners two or three times a night when I danced. A few had become regulars. And perhaps more importantly, I was clearly the star of Peacock. Or at least I had been. Wasn't this a gay boy's dream? I was getting paid to fuck, or more accurately usually, to be fucked. Sex was now not playtime; it was my job.

But, I had no friends. Almost no one to talk to. Certainly no one to enjoy the romantic sex I had dreamed of. Had I left the unwelcome desert of Hanover for the commercial lonely sex of Houston? I didn't see a ready alternative. It would be another five or six months before I could apply for and take the electrician's exam—and until then, the wages I was making would not permit me to have an apartment outside Peacock, even if I used up all my treasure chest—which now exceeded $12000. I was beginning to think it was a waste of time. I was netting nearly $2K per month—at least until the last set of rules Marty had just announced—and of course the unknown value of my sale to the mayor. Would I ever want to be an electrician after I had tasted the good life?

I wasn't sure exactly what was going to happen now at Peacock. Presumably His Honor was gone. I never did find out what he had given Marty, but my share was a payment of only a few hundred for each "date." I had been benched from the stage for only two weeks. So, if I returned to the stage now, I probably wouldn't lose most of my regular support. Marty hadn't said anything, but he probably hadn't heard anything from the client—it had only been a few hours. But I was already out about a $1000. Chalk it up to experience, I thought.

Marty had talked in my hiring interview about porn filming. But, he had never mentioned it again. I decided to raise it with him. And ask him to restore me to the stage. And I didn't intend to use Jimmy's cell video, at least not yet. So my mind was made up. I would try to pick up at Peacock where I had left off and build from there. I had already taken the day off from the jobsite. So I dressed and headed for the gym. It was like going to church before beginning the work week.

Just after lunch, I returned. The place was still quiet. As I went upstairs, I noted that Marty's door was open. He called out to me when he spotted me. Apparently, he had been waiting. "Got a few, Flip? We need to talk."

I walked in and apologized. I was soaking and I stunk.

"No need to apologize. I sort of get off on male funk. If I didn't enjoy the smell of testosterone, I'd have invested in a different business years ago. You're lookin' really good Flip. Hungry, cut and sexy. The muscle you are adding definitely adds to your gaunt, dark attractiveness. You are losing the boyish innocence. I think we must consider filming you soon before it is completely gone. But, are you happy here?"

He was obviously baiting me. I wasn't sure where it was going. So I kept it short. "Yeah. I'm okay. I think I liked it a little better when I was performing. My only client is not showing much personality yet. I could go mad with one guy, twice a week, almost always mute—however big his dick is. And there is barely enough money to pay the rent."

"Well. That's over. As soon as you recognized him, he was done. He had counted on you being new to Houston and a dumb-assed Texas cowboy who wouldn't figure things out. At least not so soon. He's not into risk-taking. We won't be seeing him around here for awhile—maybe until after he leaves politics, but by then he'll be useless to me."

"So here's the prop. I'm gonna' keep you from the stage and the club for another week, just in case he decides to change his mind. Then you get to go back. Same rules; and I'll advance $500 if you need it until you start dancing again. But, this week, I want you to do some screen tests. I'd like to see how you look in our videos. I know you have a job most days. If the tests are good, the film fees and royalties will make you a wealthy young man. I'm trying to decide whether I want to fuck you now, when your funky and dirty or after you shower. I'd like to do it now, but, I got a dinner date and I don't have time to change. So, you need to shower. I'll be waiting."

Fuck. Just like that. I'm back. And I'm going to get a chance to make films. There went my earlier introspection. I had always been a today kind of guy. Shit, I'm not even 20. I can be an adult later. My only concern: I would need to continue to put in at least two full days per week to qualify for the electrical license. I could do that, I was pretty sure. So I showered, dressed only in my Lone Star jock, my trademark hat with the peacock feather, my boots and of course my bronze neck ring. I appeared at the door twenty minutes later as Marty had asked when I left.

He looked up from his desk and leered. "Boy, you are developing some nice muscles. The camera is going to love them. Give me a little of your routine while I finish signing these checks."

I stepped on the platform—which I had not done in more than six months. This time the dance was professional. Even without the clothing props and lighting that I normally used to extend the dramatic effect. He dropped his pen and stared as I pulled the jock below my balls and wagged my shaft at him. He couldn't resist licking his lips. So I walked around the desk, stood behind and started unbuttoning his shirt. I pulled it out of his jeans. Then I moved around and sucked on the nipples, almost biting them. He jumped up, spun me and pushed me over the desk. I heard the belt unbuckled and the zipper and the jeans hit the floor. He was behind me and already rock hard. He swept the desk clean, leaned in and forced me further onto the top, sliding his massive dick along my crack.

His fingers moved to my hole. "I guess you're not technically a virgin any more. Danny certainly took away that last vestige of your youth." I think he meant that as a warning. Because his previous gentleness ("He was saving me for the paying clientele.") was immediately replaced with a ferocious assault on my ass—which was still smarting a bit from Danny's last session. Two lubed fingers were quickly replaced with three. A little perfunctory stretching which didn't even touch my nut. Then he jammed hard and bottomed. His arms pushed me up onto the desk so only my toes touched. This caused me to stretch my legs and tighten my abdomen. He batted the thighs apart. Then he pounded again, scraping the prostate with a pressure—and a shock of pleasure--that I felt in the back of my neck—and this time when I felt him at the second ring, he broke through. I felt the hot liquid, a combo of my internal juices, his precum and the lube. He had not wrapped as usual. He was a real animal.

After the violent entry, he slowed down, released his chest from my back, began humming one of my dance numbers and used his hands to caress my nipples, then my balls and shaft—which hung just over the edge of the desk. His strokes were timed to the beat of the tune. I think maybe this guy had some feelings for me, perhaps even more than the profits that I regularly paid over to him. But it really didn't matter. I wasn't really into him. He nipped me a few times under the ring, but was careful again. He didn't want hickeys when we started filming. I decided I wanted this over. So I shimmied my ass cheeks and used my anal muscles to massage his dick—something I had learned with the johns. It definite tended to bring things to a climax.