A Boy Who Came In from the Cold Ch. 12

The first explosion, when it came, was a blissful relief. There were others, but he sank into that first one like some sweet panacea, letting the cooling balm wash over him and soothe his fears away.

ON SCREEN:

In the car on the way to Beziers, Rayne was unusually quiet. He sat up front with Terry whilst three of Arturo's boys whispered and giggled in the back. Even the burly, blond Cockney's pointed jibes failed to elicit much response and Terry soon gave up trying to provoke him and concentrated on the road, to Rayne's relief. Aldo had gone ahead in the Alfa with Arturo and the twins and another boy he did not know – although he was now aware that by the end of this afternoon they would 'all' be much more intimately acquainted.

Ant and Thierry had not come with them. He saw Ant only briefly before they set out, and not to speak to. Perhaps that was wise, he thought now. Another argument would not help his mood. He thought that the older man had looked rather sorry for his predicament and hated him passionately for it.

Anything would have been better than pity; disgust, loathing... anything at all.

It felt strange to be dressed. He had put on his ripped blue jeans because they were at least well ventilated, and a black muslin shirt with the unbuttoned sleeves rolled down over his hands and arms. More than one of the newbies had tried to sneak a look at his scarred wrists and he could only sit and wonder what Crepe and Nellie had told them. He would not ask, or even bring himself to make small talk with them.

They arrived in the old city of Beziers just as it was closing for the siesta. Rayne leaned against the window frame and let the hot breeze fan his face as they drove along. He looked up at the tall, peeling, dusty facades of the buildings as they passed by. Once they might have been imposing mansions but now they seemed virtually derelict. Only the flutter of drying laundry on the occasional balcony told him that there was still life somewhere beyond those warped, faded shutters. As the aged Mercedes prowled back and forth along the winding streets , climbing steadily higher on the constantly winding thoroughfares, he caught brief glimpses of a pale yellow cathedral, standing like a crown at the crest of the hill upon which the town had been built. The journey felt like a dream. Rayne was sleepy in the shimmering golden heat, his mind filled with the words he had read on those twelve hateful pages.

He knew somehow that Daniel Leland was going to enjoy this day and that – if he survived it – he was going to find a way to make the old bastard very sorry for that.

When Terry's car finally stopped, it was in the courtyard of an old house built of dark stone, with varnished walnut shutters. The building rose for four storeys, crenellated on top like some ancient fortress, perched high on the side of the hill. After the hot white glare of the day the interior was a blissfully dark and cool place. It smelled of wood polish and warm old leather and reminded Rayne of school. There were tall, glass-fronted bookshelves on the long, high-ceilinged corridors and he wanted to stretch out his fingers and touch the spines of the books as he passed, but everything was shut away.

In a warm, sunlit sitting room where the shutters had been thrown open, Leland and P J McNamara were talking in French with a lean, weathered man in a dark, undertaker's suit. His grey moustaches were stiffly waxed like Salvador Dali's.

P J was wearing a loose, elegant looking cream two piece suit and a white vest that stretched tightly over his rippling chest. His red-gold hair was pulled back in a casual tail at the nape of his neck and the soft, supple, pale brown leather shoes, worn over bare feet, were very probably handmade. His blue-grey eyes found Rayne's as the boy entered the room and a half-smile twitched his mouth, though he did not stop talking. Rayne had been ready to be angry with him too. After last night, Paddy had no reason to greet him so gently. As it was, just that quiet acknowledgement snatched at his gut and squeezed hard. Rayne turned away at once, sure that his feelings were scrawled all over his face like hieroglyphs. He let his gaze wander over the sunlit walls, taking in the paintings and the green-leather spines of yet more caged volumes, whose gilt-edged titles he could barely translate, rather than confront the man who turned him on so unbelievably.

Whilst he was pretending to check out the bookshelves, Mikkal wandered in casually, his long, white-blond hair also caparisoned down his back with a silver clip; clad in tailored, artfully-faded, button-fly blue jeans and a crisp white linen shirt. He wore white cowboy boots under the bootleg denims and grinned at Rayne, his Nordic blue eyes mischievous behind the huge round lenses of his reactolite sunglasses. He was carrying a clipboard and looked less like a porn star and more like a rogue librarian on his day off. The cut of his jeans just spoiled that. Rayne had never seen a librarian quite as well hung as Mikka Saarinen.

"You okay?" the tall Finn asked him in a conspiratorial tone. "No butterflies, huh?"

"Only a few," Rayne lied, glad to see him all the same. A friendly face was a big plus right now.

Mikkal was carrying a large black canvas satchel slung over one shoulder and he checked his expensive watch, then fished in the bag. The package he produced was about a foot long and shrink-wrapped in bluish plastic.

We'll shoot in about 25," he said practically. "You can relax your throat on that if you want. You might wanna rinse it first though, it's sterile but the wrap tastes..." He pulled a comical face, wrinkling his nose and running his tongue between his teeth.

Rayne grinned in spite of his nerves. He held the dildo gingerly in the fingers of his left hand as if it might bite.

"We're just doing the oral stuff this morning?" he asked, whilst he still had Mikka's attention.

"You've not had the schedule?" the other man asked him incredulously, with a little click of his tongue.

Rayne shook his head once. "I only read the Treatment this morning."

For a moment Mikkal just looked at him rather oddly, Rayne thought, then he cast a more searching glance at P J and Leland before running a hand through his silver hair.

"I am managing amateurs," he stated dramatically, then grinned again to show the younger man that he did not mean this disparagingly. "Costume is down the hall, first right. I will get you the schedule. For the boys it is one scene and even cattle can do one scene! 'You'..." and he pointed at Rayne, "...should have the schedule. Do you have a watch?"

Rayne shook his head numbly but Mikka waved away this technicality.

"By this afternoon you will have one. I will give you the time calls. Go get changed and try to relax. There is water in the dressing room, and lubricant. Tastes better than the shrink-wrap, yeah?"

Rayne could only nod at that. There was no stepping back. Twenty-five minutes, Mikkal had said. Probably twenty now. And no schedule! He felt cold inside and followed the Finn's directions. All he could think was that Aldo had promised to be here, but there was no sign of the Italian. He felt ill.

In the room he had been directed to, the boys were already part-dressed from a rail against the far wall. They wore an assortment of rather archaic looking garments; loose black pants and white shirts with ruffled cuffs and collars, dark, cravat-style neckties and long, dark over shirts with slashed open sleeves. They were laughing and trading insults as he came in but one by one they clocked him, then fell silent, regarding him with expressions that ranged from the benignly curious to the openly hostile. From the Twins, the latter was de rigeur; he already knew that Crepe and Nellie did not like him, but from complete strangers it was a bit much.

"Awright Lady Muck," one of the Twins remarked, his faux cowboy twang completely abandoned this morning. "Thought you'd 'ave a room to yourself."

Rayne let his eyes run over each of them, taking his time. Experience had taught him not to back down from pack predators like these. Deference was the only excuse they needed to make his life a misery. Enough time for that once the cameras had begun to roll, he decided grimly.

"Why would you think that?" he asked instead, moving over to the rail and smiling determinedly as he noted how the other lads moved aside for him in spite of their forced camaraderie. "Makes it harder for you to get it up for me, huh Craig?"

"He's Neil, 'I'm' Craig you stupid tart!" the other Twin sniped from somewhere just beyond his right shoulder. "Can't even get that right!"

A ripple of uneasy laughter followed this remark. Rayne unhooked the bag with his name on it and checked that it had not been tampered with. He guessed that Leland would give them hell if it had, but it never hurt to check.

"I reckon that when God gave out personalities, he just split yours down the middle," he said coolly now, without looking round. "Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber! Who 'needs' to know the fucking difference?"

Several lads caught their breath at that, but he heard a stifled giggle among the anticipatory mumbling before he turned around. Craig (he guessed it was Craig from the closer position and the look of sheer outrage on his face) was still hovering by his left shoulder. He was about four inches taller so Rayne 'had' to lift his chin a little to look up at him.

"We're gonna enjoy this morning you dirty little cocksucker bitch!" Craig said coldly now. "You reckon you're God's fuckin' gift or something? Well Paddy likes the novelty, stupid! Once he's fucked you, it'll wear off pretty quick! Then what'll you do, huh?"

Rayne held his furious gaze for a moment, staring up at the younger man in bewilderment. This close he could see that Craig's eyes were hazel, flecked with mint green. His skin was not the best but he had covered it well with foundation and he smelled delicious but a little bit scared too. There was a sheen of fresh sweat across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was part hostile, part afraid and Rayne wondered why.

"I'll think of something," he said evenly, at last. "Because 'I' have a brain, unlike 'some' people! Remember me, Craig Davenport... or whatever your real fuckin' name is... because when you're too old to be a twink and you're stacking shelves at Tesco's, 'I'll' still be doing something good with my fuckin' life. Wank off to 'that'!"

There was a frigid silence behind his words for just a few seconds. He could feel the electricity in the room as every eye turned to look at him. Just for that moment he had them.

"You'll go back on the game!" Neil sneered from the doorway, fracturing the tension with his childish bray. "He'll get bored with you Princess Candy Stripes!"

In silence, Rayne pushed his way to a clear corner and stripped off his shirt and jeans. He made sure that every boy in that room got a good look at the welts that were fading into the rich colour of his naked back and thighs. Again they gasped and whispered more urgently.

"You reckon I give a fuck what some muscle brained Irish Yank thinks, do you?" he demanded without turning to look at them as he wriggled into the loose white shirt. It came down to his knees and he played with the drawstrings on the ruched cuffs, tightening them so that his hands remained free. "Paddy McNamara can suck my dick! In fact..." he added, turning around as he pulled up the soft black pants and tucked in the voluminous shirt carefully; "... he already 'has' and it was fuckin' mad!"

The mumbling increased but this time when he looked up there were a couple of admiring faces among the cynical ones. Rayne sighed and shook his head. He was still fastening the cravat awkwardly, since some of the boys were hogging the room's only mirror, when Mikka came back and called; "Ten minutes, girls!"

He spotted Rayne and came to him at once with the schedule, as promised. Rayne scanned it and found no real surprises.

"Who's playing the director of the school?" he asked quietly, pointing to the second scene on this morning's filming schedule.

Again Mikkal gave him a look that said he ought to know more, but he just said ; "Leland is," and straightened Rayne's tie.

As the Finn left him to compose himself, Rayne unscrewed the cap from a bottle of mineral water and drank the lot without stopping for breath. Even that did not completely get rid of the sour taste in his mouth. He knew now why Mikka had given him the dildo.

Retreating into a small anteroom off the main dressing room he found a sink with two ancient looking chrome-plated taps and a shelf to one side with more bottles of water and some tubes of gel. Taking a deep breath he unwrapped the toy and ran the flexible length of tan-coloured rubber carefully under the cold tap. It felt very supple; almost as soft as a real cock, although it was much longer than the average male member. Rayne focussed all of his attention on it now, shutting out the animated chatter from the next room. He could feel how nervous some of them were; anxious but keen to get on with it.

They were playing around, teasing one another physically. He could tell from the little sighs and the nervous laughter that some were helping others to get aroused. They left him to his own preparation and he was quietly glad of that. With shaking hands he slowly lubed the foot long monster in front of him. Tentatively he squirted a little gloop of gel onto his tongue and swirled it around his mouth but it tasted better than some he had used; slightly buttery with a hint of strawberry Opal Fruits. He swallowed it quickly then began to play with the dildo.

"Five minutes!" Mikkal shouted from the hall.

He heard one of the boys tell another to 'go more slowly'. Rayne tuned out their breathless mutual masturbation. He took the head of the rubber dong into his mouth and worked his jaws around the thickness of it, swallowing slowly, taking it down. He got to seven inches easily then withdrew a little, applying more lube. His throat accommodated it beautifully, with barely a hiccup and at eight inches he knelt down in front of the basin and unfastened his pants as he felt his own sex respond to the pressure in his mouth and down his gullet. Cock sucking always got him hot. It was almost embarrassing but even the thought of a nice, thick tool riding his tongue gave him a hard-on. Brian had trained him well. Rayne kept swallowing, eyes closed tightly, one hand over the protruding end of the toy and the other dipped between his legs, stroking his aching member very gently; his long fingers contracting and releasing rhythmically around his sex. Any faster and he would get cum all over the front of his black pants. Not a good start!

"Fuckin' hell!"

A quiet voice from the doorway broke his near trancelike state of absorption. He felt his throat muscles tighten reflexively and pulled back.

One of the Newbies was watching him intently, stroking his own cock as Rayne 'stretched' in front of him. His dark eyes were wide now, mahogany hair flopping down over his flushed, perspiring face.

"Don't stop," he almost pleaded, as Rayne drew back to about four inches and let his tongue flicker around the thick rubber shaft between his lips. "Jesus! How long 'is' that thing?" the boy panted, jerking harder.

"Three minutes!" Mikka called and there was movement outside.

"What you doing?" Another stranger came to put an arm around the voyeur.

"He's amazing," the dark haired lad huffed, tugging on his cock. "Look at the size of that thing! He'd got nearly all of it down."

Rayne let the dildo slip slickly between his lips. He rolled his tongue around the head, never taking his eyes off the pair in the doorway.

"Paddy's is bigger," he said when neither of them moved. "And 'much' tastier!"

He pushed himself to his feet and zipped his pants, then ran a sticky hand through his hair.

"'scuse me," he grinned, loving the way they both fell aside for him.

"Two minutes! Places girls!" Mikka's voice echoed down the hallway.

ACTION:

Boys in dark flowing robes spilled out into the corridor like crows. There were lights rigged up in the dark hallway now and a couple of nondescript cameramen in loose jeans and tee shirts wandered around metering the lighting, checking against a group and then a single boy. Terry was up on the rostrum at the far end of the hallway but there was no sign of Leland or of PJ McNamara.

"Rayne! Come to me for a count of five. When I shout 'action' everyone else is to start after him. You've read the 'treat' you all know what to do," Terry bawled at them.

Mikka had the clapboard and he met Rayne's eye as he began to count down from ten on his long fingers. Nine, eight, seven, six...on five the boy began to walk, slowly, a step at a time. Four, three, two one...

"Action!" Terry yelled, and there was a clatter of footsteps behind him. The cameras were running and Rayne blanked them out and lengthened his stride. On four he heard voices behind him and moved faster. As Terry made the call someone shouted; "There he is!" and he broke into a run, transported back around six or seven years to his own school days as he took to his heels and sprinted down the long, gloomy corridor.

Up ahead he could see the camera on its dolly, gliding away from him effortlessly. It stopped smartly as he almost tripped over his long sleeves and then the pack descended on him, en masse. Rayne braced himself, on his hands and knees, as someone grabbed him by the hair. He was not surprised when his head was jerked up and he found himself looking into Craig's small, bright, vicious eyes. It was certainly Craig; this time he knew it. If there was a difference between the two of them, then Neil was the more submissive of the pair. Craig was simply spoiling for a fight.

"You owe us, you little bitch!" he spat now as the others milled eagerly around him in a loose horseshoe formation so that the camera could still find him. "We let you off the last time but nobody's gonna get in our way now. You're gonna suck us 'all' off!"

Rayne closed his eyes for a moment. He let himself switch off and felt his cock get hard again as he heard someone unzip close by his left cheek. It was like a charm. He closed himself to the cameras and the watching eyes and let it happen.

Craig was long and lean and rock hard; only about seven inches but very sleek and salty. Rayne wrapped his lips around that hot, eager cock and took it down, sucking and swallowing at once. He could hear the others muttering and panting, trying to get closer, all wanting a look; all wanting to be next. He kept his eyes closed. Craig's fingers tightened in his hair and the young man bucked hard against his face; fucking his mouth, pulling up his shirt with the other hand so that the camera angle was unimpeded. Rayne's tongue flickered greedily along the underside of his thrusting cock and Craig pushed himself deep and cried out huskily; "Uurrrggghhh... God!"

That was all it took. Cum bubbled out of the corners of Rayne's mouth and almost too easily he felt Craig's rod wilt and slip away. Other fingers closed around his dark hair and immediately another prick bobbed against his lips. He opened wide and took it in; thicker and shorted than Craig's but still keen and ready for action. He nodded over it greedily. To his left his heard a little grunt of amazement and felt a splatter of hot, wet semen against his hair and the side of his face. He opened his eyes, astonished.

All around him the boys had their flies undone and were jerking their cocks vigorously. Another spurt took him across the forehead from the right this time. He curled his tongue up around the chunky rod between his lips and felt it begin to squirt. Someone pulled his head right back immediately and two hard pricks sparred for the mastery of his empty mouth.