Flip Mecum in New York Ch 12

Could it be any more obvious what he was setting up?

We moved out to the pool. Paul's tennis partner was there, in deep conversation with Ross, their heads closer together than I would normally expect. The partner's hand was planted firmly and possessively on Ross' thigh. Both had frosted long glasses on the table in front of them. No women were in evidence. Perhaps catching my surprise, Paul remarked that Marylyn would be around for brunch on Saturday to meet her new son. I blinked a few times. "That's you, Michael." Fuck, he was acting like I already had the part. What was I doing here? I knew I was out of my element. I'd need to be very careful. Hopefully, I wouldn't need to give too much away before the papers were signed.

We sat around an umbrella-d table as the sun set. I had taken a beer, but the others all had mixed drinks, all "clear"—gin or vodka, most likely. And Ross was alone smoking—weed obviously. Even the expensive stuff has the same sweet aroma. A few times he blew the smoke toward me, not apologizing (he was sharing), and I could already feel the relaxation it was causing. He offered one to me, but I decided to abstain. I was still very unsure about this world.

After a half hour or so, Paul pushed his chair back and remarked, "I'm going in for a swim before we eat. I need to cool down some. You're all welcome to join me. Then he stood, moved to the chaise and stripped. He was totally nonchalant about nudity—even though I detected the first signs of two saddle-bags. He'd have to pick up his squat routine—and quickly. But he had dark black pubes, not graying at all. Jameson, Paul's tennis opponent, soon joined him in the pool after similarly removing all his whites, leaving them on the stone deck. Jameson was much younger and really fit. He probably had the biggest dick on the terrace. Maybe he was Paul's trainer—or more.

Ross looked over at me, suggesting this was new to him. "When in Hollywood....," he murmured, as he stood, dropped his jeans, pulled his tee over his head and dove into the deep end. As he swaggered to the pool, I noted that Ross was muscled and compact, but thin, really thin, and hairy, all-over hairy, and that his cock was like a dark fire-plug surrounded by deep weeds. Clearly not a gym rat. Maybe high most of the time.

I paused for only a moment. I needed to fit in here. I wanted that part. So I stripped. As I bent to finish pulling down the slacks, Paul whistled loudly, "That's the ass that got you this role, Michael. I've never seen one more delicious."

Curious comment in front of two other guys. And a curious-er use of the word "delicious." I knew he was gay at that second, even if there had been any previous doubt.

We swam for awhile as various suggestive and lascivious remarks and even more obvious strokes punctuated the quiet early evening. This was foreplay—LA-style. Then Ross and Jameson emerged from the pool and disappeared inside, arm in arm. Now I wondered who Jameson's playmate really was. "Just call me Armie" swam up behind me, and I felt his arms surround me.

I was near and facing the edge watching the sunset and really had nowhere to go—even if I had wanted. Armie pulled me into his hard dick and fisted mine to keep me in place. His cock moved into my cleft. He rubbed it a few times. Then he lifted me a bit, and his dick moved under and poked my balls which had tightened into my body. I felt the heat of his chest on my back and his chin on my shoulder. He was positioned and ready to take me right there. "I'm not a rapist, Michael. I want you. I want you badly and I want you now. I've seen the porn. And I've seen the teasing shots in Storm House. Fuck, you've already got me so hot. I've been edging by your videos for more than a week. But, just say no, and I'll back off. There are other guys—obviously not as perfect as you—just salivating for this part. They'll take my dick and my cum anytime I want. Now tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this. Or, I'll back off, and you can go home tomorrow."

There it was. It had taken only a couple of hours. I had the full outline of the deal. I'd become his whore, his bitch, living in his guest house while we made the film. And I guess I'd be eye-candy around the pool for his friends. No one had mentioned a screen test—I think in fact that this time at the edge of his pool was the test. No one had talked about money—but my agent had said mid-six figures were offered plus residuals.

And so I bit. "I'm ready Paul. But you've got to wrap. I'm not taking bare dick from someone I just met two hours ago. No matter how powerful he is—or how rich."

"Thank you, Michael. You won't regret it. And as to the wrap, I'm a firm believer in the old adage that once you've said yes, we've established the principle; later we'll discuss the details—and the price. Ross and Jameson will be busy for some time. Let's head over to the guesthouse. I haven't shown you your new home yet."

(Somehow I had that strange thought that "my new home" was again a gilded cage—and Armie was going to be my keeper.)

He took my hand and led me to the guesthouse—really two rooms; one was an enormous living space with sliding doors that rolled into the wall leaving the entire room open to the pool. Behind this was a large bedroom, entirely mirrored, including the ceiling and a shower-bath—with the shower easily accommodating a half-dozen. No kitchen, but a well-equipped bar (including several drugs-of-the-moment and hand-rolled smokes) and an espresso-maker.

We skipped the preliminaries and moved to the king—where the duvet had been conveniently pulled back, revealing pale grey-blue linens. I noted the headboard and footboard were equipped with convenient spots for tie-downs. (Only a porn star and former escort would notice details like that.) The top-drawer of the side table was open, showing various lubes, wraps, dildos and toys. Obviously, a full service guest-room!

He pulled me to him and began to paw my ass cheeks. "Fuck, these are so hard. I couldn't tell from the films." His lips sought mine and his tongue invaded. So much for an antiseptic escort fuck. He wanted my mouth on his and his tongue in mine. Then he backed off a bit and touched our dicks side to side. They were of almost identical length and both cut. His was a bit thicker. I'm pretty sure that if I'd been bigger, I might not work. He was the dom, the top, the client in this situation. I was going to do what he wanted. Everything was about him.

He pushed me toward the bed, and I stretched out on my belly, spreading my legs. I reached up and grabbed the brass bar on the headboard. It was the sacrificial pose of a whore. I was going to think about Flip. I knew that I couldn't put myself in another place. He was too experienced. He'd know. So I was going to be part of this. I was going to cum—and I was probably going to enjoy it. But, at least I could picture Flip on top of me.

He stood by the bed gazing at me. " That ass is going to make you famous, Michael. It's the best I've ever seen or felt. Perfectly shaped. Nice deep dimples. Palm sized glutes. Fuckin' Michelangelo would have creamed in his toga if he'd had you to sculpt. Now, separate those cheeks."

I didn't think they still wore togas when Michelangelo was alive, but....

I reached back and pulled them apart.

"Fuck, a pink juicy rim! And not a hair!" I released and returned my hands to the bar waiting for him to finish appreciation and start exploration.

"Oh no, Michael. Roll over boy. I'm going to be studying your eyes. You are going to love this. I guaranty it. Or I'll know. This is your screen test, Michael. I've heard you're a method actor. You need to feel this in every nerve of your body. Make it good, Michael. I'll know."

I rolled over and stared up into his hungry eyes. Paul knelt between my legs and raised them. I grabbed behind my knees and pulled up, rolling before him. He slipped a silken pillow under and bent in to feast. His tongue came out to wash my cleft. It rolled up the back and enveloped the head, sucking me hard and deep. I could feel the tongue. He alternated between sucking and swirling his tongue. He had me as hard as I had ever been. This guy was a pro with years of experience.

Slowly he rimmed me, lubing with saliva, then with a cooling lube that caused me to shiver. "Just what I like in a boy. Shivering in anticipation. Then squirming in heat a few minutes later." His tongue curled and entered and reached deeply inside, almost to the nut. Then I felt the lubed fingers playing with my prostate. There was no way to escape those shocks of feeling. I darkened and started to leak. He reached a finger up, swiped some pre-cum and, after tasting it, slipped his fingers into my mouth.

I heard the crinkly wrapper being torn and felt his cockhead at my entrance. "I'm taking you on a ride, boy. You're about to find that a man of my age has got a few tricks to use on you young stallions. You're gonna beg, boy. Beg for release, before I'm done."

He popped in and with a slow rock achieved greater penetration with each thrust. I felt the bottom and his wiry pubes touched my butt. He was thick and I felt the stretch of my chute. Then he froze. All I felt was the fullness and the insistent throbbing of his heart pumping blood into his shaft to hold it rigid. He bent over catching the backs of my knees in his arms. His head was just above mine. His eyes were just inches away. "I see some depth of color in there, Michael. I guess I'm warming up the engine."

He began a relentless pump, scraping the prostate with each down-thrust, making me gasp with each one. I was close, very close. My dick was leaking copiously—so much that a few drops fell on my face—which eh quickly licked up.

But he froze again. Then he sat back, pulled out and his tongue invaded my hole again after curling around the rim. The lube had menthol, I was sure. It cooled me instantly, and I shivered again.

"Is my boy cold? I'll have to do something about that, won't I," as he bent in again and plunged deep. This time his pounds were hard, fast and very deep and he had curled his hands around to my pecs and was squeezing my nipples to exquisite hardness. God, these old guys really knew how to fuck. And how to boil your blood.

Once again he positioned his face and our eyes connected. By then, I knew my eye color had changed to the darkest blue of the deep sea. "Aha. Now I know the score. Your eyes tell it all. You are mine, boy. I can hold you here forever—or I can bring you relief. Eyes are windows on the soul—and maybe your dick." I was pouring out the precum and the room was richly scented with our musk. "I know you're gonna want this all the time, aren't you? Beg me boy. Beg me to let you cum."

I knew what he wanted. He wanted ownership. He wanted to feel he was the man. But, it wasn't intellectual or passive for me. This guy had me. I'd rarely had anyone better. Fuck, I was an orgasm-junkie. Put a big talented dick in me, and I'll perform—and love it. So, I smiled and spoke. "You got me Armie. Whatever you want. Whenever you want it. Just let me cum. Before you make me mad." With these words, I pulled my legs from his embrace and wrapped them around his butt. Then I reached up and brought his lips to mine. He pumped a few times as I rose from the mattress to meet him. He wasn't going to edge this time. My hands reached down and my index finger penetrated. I contracted my anal muscles and held him tightly inside. He tried to pull away and stop, but I held him fast. I was cuming this time—and he was going to be right there with me. He wasn't fucking an amateur! I wasn't his "boy."

His face went red. His lips opened in a silent scream. I felt his ass push back into my finger. Then, he plunged again, and he exploded into the bulb. Even if I couldn't feel the ejaculation inside, I would have known of his orgasm—he came with his whole body. He stiffened and shook, straining to pour himself out into me. And at just that moment, I too began to spasm, shooting cream over his nice smooth moist chest and dripping down onto his nice clean sheets.

"That was everything I thought it would be, Michael. You're good. Maybe great. We're gonna be very good together. You're going to make a great movie, and I'm going to have some real fun."

He got up, wiped himself down and left for the shower, throwing the towel on me. Later we had a good dinner. Ross and Jameson had obviously had a nice appetizer. And we sat around, continuing to drink, all bare-chested, wearing just loose terry pool shorts.

"The car will take you back to that ancient hotel, Michael. But, I'm sure you'll agree that the guest house is better for the time when we are filming. By the way, do you drive? I don't collect cars, but I own a large piece of the Porsche dealership—and you can choose one when you come back to LA. (Aha, the explanation for Ross' car!) Just be on your best behavior with Marylyn tomorrow. She's a real bitch. But she's a pushover for a young cock like you. The second part of your screen test is with her—in the guest house tomorrow afternoon. The car will pick you up at noon. Don't worry. The fix is in. You just need to make Marylyn feel young and sexy."

I rose to leave and Ross followed and walked out with me. He whispered just before we reached the door. "The third screen test is with me, Michael. I have full cast approval rights. Expect me at your hotel cottage for drinks tomorrow night. Make sure it's stocked with Ketel One. I can't handle Marylyn when she's sharpening her claws for a new conquest. So I'll not be here. See you tomorrow at six."

"Oh, one more thing. Watch out for Croft. I'll explain sometime."

TBC BD