Intergalactic Porn Star

Author's note:

Intergalactic Porn Star is a work of gay male fiction, set in the distant future, about an organisation that provides hard core porn to the colonies.

In this episode, Ryan learns more about Ashley's extended contract with IGPN, and is tasked with helping him retain his sanity.

* * *

The next day was Sunday, and the performers were back on their regular shifts. Greaves had organized another day's pain training for me, this time working with electrical devices and toys. Another eye-opening session.

After the lesson, I asked if I could speak to him in his office.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, as he took his seat.

"Ash."

He snorted.

"What?"

He composed himself. "No, go on."

"Is it true that IGPN's charging him six million credits to get back to Earth?"

He rested his hands on his desk. "What's your question, Ryan?"

"Why charge him so much? He just wants to go home."

"Are you sure of that?"

"That's what he said."

Chester leaned back in his chair. "You've been here now for three days. What's your impression of Ashley so far?"

He's a manipulative little bastard who'll do anything to get what he wants.

"He... seems fed up and homesick."

"And?"

He's twisted as fuck.

"I think he might be a little unstable."

Greaves chuckled. "He certainly can be a handful. I'd advise you to speak with his handler, Harvey Reed. In fact, since you've been allocated Ashley as your scene partner, I suggest you go and speak with him now, and express your concerns. Best to get these things out of the way sooner than later."

As I got to my feet, he added, "And Ryan? Don't make Ashley any promises you might come to regret."

"Like?"

"I'm just advising you to think of your own future. Put your own oxygen mask on first, as they say."

He smiled at my confused expression.

"Tell Harvey I sent you."

*

Harvey Reed was a physically large man with an even larger presence. I realised he'd likely fucked Ash, and stared at him, trying to picture it. The thought of skinny little Ash bouncing on his dick was hot, in its own way.

"Yes?" he asked, pulling me back to reality.

"Uh, hi, Sir, Ryan Hamilton. Chester suggested I come see you to talk about Ash."

"Ah, yes, of course, you must be the new boy. Come in, come in."

He looked me over as I stood in front of his desk, his gaze lingering on my flaccid member. I stood there for a good minute while he eye-fucked me, the weight of his gaze making goosebumps raise on my arms, leaving me unsure what he might do to me.

Finally, he brought his eyes back to my face. "Turn around."

I turned my back to him, and he got up from his desk. I felt his breath against my neck as he stood behind me, squeezing my shoulders before running his hands down to test my biceps. He pulled my arms away from my sides, then ran his hands from my armpits to my waist, pulling me back against his crotch. I leaned back into him, thinking he wouldn't be the first or the last instructor to fuck me, but he was just toying with me.

He let my hips go and squeezed my ass, then gave my right butt cheek a hard smack.

"Very nice," he said, massaging my slapped ass. "Turn back to me."

I did as he said, and winced in surprise as he took my balls and hefted them in his hand.

"A good weight."

Jesus, he was making me feel like a piece of meat. Worse, his touch was stirring me.

"Responsive," he said, eyeing me appreciatively.

He wrapped his hand around my hardening cock, urging it to grow with long, slow strokes.

"How long are you when you're hard?" he asked.

"Just over seven inches," I said, a little breathless from being handled. "Six and a quarter around."

He stroked the underside of my balls as he handled me, and my cock plumped out even more. He fingered the head and I could see his lips shape as if he was subconsciously imagining taking me in his mouth.

"Quite a tasty find." He continued stroking my cock with one hand, and placed his fingers against the side of my neck. "Do you kiss?"

I nodded, and he pressed his lips to mine. I opened my mouth to accept his tongue, but he pulled away. He stopped stroking me and gazed down at my now fully-hard dick with admiration, giving it a friendly squeeze.

"Not huge, but more than enough."

Huh. He wanted me to fuck him, I could see it in his eyes. I was confident he'd suck me if I asked him to. Good to know.

"Have a seat."

He went back behind his desk, leaving me doing my best to think my erection down as I sat in one of his leather armchairs.

"So, Chester's told you you've been assigned as Ashley's scene partner?"

I nodded.

"Are you happy with that?" he asked.

"I... don't have a problem with it."

"Good. Anything else I can help you with?"

I debated if I should do this. Greaves had intimated Ash wasn't being honest, and I was new here. I had two years to go, locked in close confines with these men in charge of every aspect of my life. Did I really want to risk pissing them off?

"Ryan, I'm very busy."

"I wanted to ask about Ash's contract." The words just tumbled out. It was wrong, I had to say something.

"Ah, I see. I'm afraid I can't discuss another performer's contract with you." Harvey studied me. "What's on your mind?"

"Can you at least tell me if it's true that he asked to go home when his contract ended, and you quoted him six million credits for a place on the hop transit?"

He chuckled. "My, he works swiftly, that boy. But it's good. You need to bond. You need to understand him to give a compelling performance."

"Did you charge him six million credits or not?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, Ryan, do you considering yourself to be dominant?"

I shrugged.

"But you understand the dynamics we're creating here?"

"Sure. Dominant top, welcoming bottom."

He laughed out loud at that, a laugh that shook his whole body. "Oh, you boys and your moronic misconceptions. That's not what W.B means."

"What does it mean then?" His condescension was getting old.

"Your contract, D.T., stands for Designated or Dominant Top. W.B, on the other hand, originally meant 'Wild Boy'. It's old terminology now, outdated. Hence, we abbreviate the terms on our contracts, though we keep the initials for sentimental reasons. Do you know, you're one of the first to ask what it means? Do you boys even read your contracts?"

"Do you really want us to?"

He looked amused at that. "Ashley is exceptionally good at what he does. It's in his best interests to stay here as long as can."

"So, you make it impossible to go home? For his sake?"

"Without discussing his contract with you, I

will

tell you several things you should keep in mind when dealing with Ashley. If he wants to go back to Earth on the hop transit, he'll be charged the standard fee. The same price we'd charge any casual passenger travelling to Earth from Luyton B."

"So, no one gets to go home?"

"Many of us consider this home."

"Convenient."

"Watch your tone, Ryan. Any more disrespect and you'll be on punishment. Think very carefully before you speak."

I took a deep breath. "Sorry, Sir."

"Good," he said approvingly. "You have self-control. That'll help you through the next two years."

"Ah, what else should I know, Sir?"

Harvey smiled, and I could tell he was happy with my display of deference.

"Well, while he might not be able to afford to hop, he could take a standard transit home now, and still have enough in his account to not work for the next fifty years."

That was a lot of money, even if he lived modestly. But of course, he'd lose ten years of his bio life getting home, twenty chrono. I couldn't imagine Ash locked on a transit ship. He'd go insane. So would everyone around him.

"The last thing you should be aware of, is that over the past six months I've received several requests from Ashley's previous scene partners to transfer donations from their accounts towards his, in an effort to help him return home."

His words made me realise I hadn't thought this through. Was that what Ash was angling for with his speech in the garden? Money?

"Now, I refused to transfer those donations, of course. We don't agree with our employees placing their own financial futures at risk for the sake of another."

Put your own oxygen mask on first.

"To be clear, Ryan, this also extends to Ashley. We don't allow him to forgo nanite healing treatments, even if he begs to keep his bruises. We disincentivise him from performing punishment scenes more than once every two months, despite his frequently provocative behaviour. We don't allow him to work with true sadists, and we don't allow him to harm others."

"Harm others?"

"Ashley's recruiter had a gifted eye for talent. He chose the best man for the job. But Ashley came from, shall we say, troubled beginnings. We do our best to guide him towards... good influences. Moderate personalities."

"Like me."

"Like you." He nodded. "The reports I've received from the content team over the past three days suggest things are developing nicely between you. Looking at your training progress, I think the two of you will make a good pairing. This'll work out well for you, Ryan. You'll have plenty of opportunity to earn bonuses, working with him. I can see his sponsors picking up on you very quickly."

The fact we were constantly monitored had become part of the background noise so quickly, I'd forgotten someone was sitting behind the cameras, watching us eat, sleep, fuck. Evaluating everything we did, to decide if it should be broadcast as 'content'.

"But you want me to help you control him?"

"I do appreciate this is an unexpected responsibility, but yes, I'd like you to encourage him to concentrate on what's best for him. Two more years and he can hop home. Who knows? The fee structure may have changed by then."

So, that was the game. A stick that became a carrot just before they shoved it up your ass.

"Why can't it change now?" I winced. Too insolent. I tried again. "Isn't there anything you can do, Sir?"

I didn't want to wind him up, but did he really expect me to believe he was doing this for Ash?

"Think how hard he'll work to earn his way home. Think how much he'll have in his pocket when he finally gets there."

"And how much he'll put in yours in the meantime."

"What do you think he'll do when he gets home, hmm? He'll be twenty-five, with a long life ahead of him. He's mentally unstable, incapable of protecting himself from his own urges. Drawn towards risk. The longer he stays here, the more resources he'll have to sustain him."

"When he gets home, he can get a job like anyone else."

"What kind of job do you think he'll find on Earth, after working for IGPN?"

He had a point. On Gliese, Ash would be a rock star. On Earth, he'd be viewed as a whore. A crazy one at that. It was a grim thought.

"You may not believe I'm thinking of his best interests, but I can assure you, this'll benefit him in the long run. Who knows? Perhaps you'll prove to be a calming influence. He craves order, focus. To know his place, and to be secure in it. I believe you can give him that."

"How?"

"From what I've seen so far, I suggest you trust your instincts. They'll guide you in the right direction."

I wanted to believe him. He was almost as convincing as Ash spilling tears while he took his punishment, or the longing in his voice when he talked about going home.

"You really think I can stop him losing it?"

"I certainly hope so. I would hate to see him still here in two years' time, waving goodbye to yet another scene partner. Broke, because he'd had all his bonuses stripped for bad behaviour."

And there it was. The hammer the network used to adjust its delicate machinery.

"Anything else?" Harvey asked. "I have a lot of work to do before dinner."

One thing came to mind. "Did Ash know about the donations from his scene partners?"

"Not unless they told him."

"And if they had told him, you'd know, right?"

"Yes, I would imagine so," said Harvey. "The content team would most certainly have picked that up."

Unless Ash had talked to them about it in the garden.

"Now, I really do need to get back to work." Harvey gave me a pleasant smile. "You'll do well here, you're a smart man. You've a lot going for you. Just be yourself, Ryan, that's all anyone can ask of you."

He gave me a lingering look, and as I shut the door to his office, I wondered if my 'oxygen mask' looked like him riding my dick.

*

I searched for Ash when I hit the food hall, and didn't see him, but Greg caught sight of me and waved me over.

"Your boy's in trouble," he said, as I took a seat.

"Christ, what's he done?"

Greg nodded past me towards the kitchen. "Supposed to be on serving duty. Threw a plate of stew in a guy's lap. Currently in the kitchen being reamed out."

"Literally?" It was an honest question.

"I heard e-rraised voices," said Greg, leaning on the 'r'. "I'd say he's in for something that's

not

going to earn him a bonus."

Danny, the kid I'd fucked on my first day, came out balancing two steaming bowls of stew, and a basket of bread rolls. He put one bowl in front of Greg and one in front of me, and as he turned to go, I grabbed his wrist.

"Hey, what's happening with Ash?"

"I'm not allowed to talk to you, Sir."

Ah, of course, the stupid rules.

"What are they going to do to him?" I kept a hold of Danny's wrist as I asked Greg instead.

"Honestly? Probably just make him do another week of serving shifts. Maybe dock his bonuses."

"They do that?"

"Yeah, if you break the terms of your contract—and I'm pretty sure throwing food at someone counts."

As on edge as Ash seemed to be after his punishment, if they made him serve for another week, I thought there was a good chance he might stab someone. If they docked his bonuses... I could imagine how much that step further away from freedom would piss him off.

I thought back to Harvey's speech about Ash craving order, and to know his place. I could think of at least one way I could achieve that, but he wasn't going to like it.

I had two choices. I could let this play out, or I could help him get this over and done with as quickly as possible. He might not appreciate option two while it was happening, but it'd be better for him in the long run than losing his bonuses.

"Tell them to send him out to me. I'll take care of him."

"As in—?" Danny asked.

"As in, I'll punish him."

I was pretty sure Harvey would approve.

Danny headed back to the kitchen, and a second later, a short guy in a white chef's outfit came out, directing Ash with a hand on the back of his neck.

"He's all yours."

The chef strode back to the kitchen, and I noticed he held a finger near his right ear, the way some older people did when they heard speech through their headware. Nothing in this place went unnoticed, unreported. Harvey would be watching.

"Get on your knees," I said to Ash.

He transferred his weight to one hip in response, his eyes glittering with defiance.

"I said get the fuck on your knees!"

The hall went still as everyone turned to watch us.

Ash went pale. Paler than usual, for someone who hadn't seen the Earth sun in two years. His eyes stayed angry, but he got on his knees.

"What did you do? One sentence."

"I dropped a plate."

"You fucking threw it at me!" floated across the hall and I held up a hand.

"Shut up! He'll tell me."

Something kindled in Ash's eyes. Admiration? That wouldn't last long.

"Did you drop it, or did you throw it?" I asked.

"Dropped it," he said, all innocence, but there a smirk in his voice.

"On purpose, or by accident?"

His lips parted, but before he could fire off a glib answer, I leaned forward and gripped his jaw. "Before you lie to me, think very hard about the last chat we had. On purpose, or by accident?"

His voice became sullen. "On purpose."

"Why?"

"He called me a weeb."

"He can call you a weeb. That's what you are."

Ash looked as if I'd slapped him. He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to the floor, his cheeks burning.

"You're going to go say sorry. Then you're going to clean what's left of the mess you made off him with your tongue, and then you're going to suck his cock. And you know what happens next."

His eyelashes fluttered as he played it out in his mind. I let him think about it long and hard, knowing anticipation was far worse than the act. He'd taught me that the day before, in the garden.

I let go of his jaw and gripped his hair, forcing him to look at me as I said quietly, "There are better ways to get my attention. Remember that, when he's pissing down your throat."

His face went bright red, and his eyes started to gloss.

Using my grip on his hair, I pulled his head closer to mine and said into his ear, "No, Ash. No tears. You do as you're fucking told. And when you're done drinking his piss, get back in the kitchen and do your fucking job."

I let go of him, and trembling, he got to his feet.

"Go. Now."

He gave me a last, nervous look, and I nodded towards the other man's table. Everyone in the hall watched as Ash walked across the food hall to where the pissed off top, who was sandy-haired, six four, and built like a wrestler, sat waiting for him, his steps weighed with lead.

He reached the table and looked back at me, and I gave him a hard stare.

"Get on with it." I didn't speak loudly, but in the silent hall, the words carried well enough.

Ash looked up at the ceiling, as if he was hoping for divine intervention, and the disgruntled top flicked his naked chest.

"Proper stance when you address your superiors."

Ash stiffened and seemed about to fight. But then his eyes flickered towards me, and he stood up taller. He clasped his hands behind his back and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"I'm sorry I dropped your food... Sir. Please feel free to punish me in any way you see fit."

The big guy gave him a look of contempt. "I intend to. Now get the fuck down there, weeb, and clean up your mess."

Ash's jaw worked as he fought with himself not to snap back, but under my stare, he said, "Yes, Sir."

I watched until he disappeared under the table, then went back to eating my dinner.

"Jeee-sus!" said Greg, as conversation resumed throughout the hall. "Remind me not to get on your bad side. You are one mean son of a bastard."

"Yeah, you sure showed him," said Sam, no inflection in his voice.

I glanced up, but he'd put his gaze back on his food.

Next to him, Vinnie gave me a lift of his head that said he thought I'd done well. The psychopath approved. Not quite the affirmation I was looking for.

*

After dinner I did some laps in the pool, hoping the exercise would tire me out enough that I could sleep. But I couldn't get Sam's flat voice out of my mind. He didn't understand why I had to be so hard on Ash. How could he? His relationship with Josh was completely different. Josh liked to be at Sam's mercy, but he didn't like the darker shit Ash needed to help him vent his frustrations. He also didn't throw food on people.

My taking things in hand had most likely saved Ash from having his bonuses docked. He was one step closer to getting home, thanks to me. I had nothing to feel guilty about. The guy was clearly at breaking point, and frankly, I trusted myself more than I trusted anyone else at the network to take care of him.

Harvey's story of a kid with a broken childhood, filled with self-destructive urges, was a compelling one, but even Harvey couldn't deny the forces working on Ash right now were the result of his situation, not his childhood trauma. Ash felt trapped, and any man would go crazy if he felt powerless long enough.

We worked six days a week, and our nights and our one day off could be sold to anyone who wanted to buy them. There was no escape. Nowhere to go where we could relax and stop being IGPN's product. I knew it'd get to me eventually, but I made friends easily, while Ash... seemed to universally piss everyone off.