Reginald Gallagher

"You can name a chaperone if you want—although he is 18, and technically an adult."

"He's a good boy. He does what I and his mother tell him to do. His mother and I expect he will go to college. This could not in any way harm his academic performance—or tempt him away from going to college. Let me discuss this with her. I'll let you know. Did you discuss this with Reg?"

"No, I didn't. We barely met." (Bob almost choked on his inadvertent use of that word.) "Here is my card. I'm leaving Dallas this afternoon, but you can call me anytime. I think you could have a son with enormous potential—and earnings power. Some of our models make more than $100K per year. Thanks for your time. I look forward to your call."

The Reverend had no intention of discussing the prospect with anyone. He would decide. In fact, he had already done so. Reg was going to go to New York—and save the church and the Reverend from financial disaster. His brother Joe could be a chaperone—at least for the first visit, although he realized that Reg's value would be reduced if he brought along the added expense of a companion for every shoot—assuming he was signed. And he could threaten Reg with hellfire if his grades dropped. Reg was a good boy. He would do what the Reverend wanted. Reg might be the gift from God that would save him, and Zion. He fell to his knees and said a long prayer of thanks to his Heavenly Father.

*********

Two weeks later, Reg and Joe were seated on an American flight from Dallas to LaGuardia. They were met by a driver with a Publicis sign and their names, driven to a small boutique hotel on Madison, and given a schedule for the next two days. Everything was walkable—two or three blocks from the hotel. The first day would be taken up by still photographers. The second by filming, including reading specific lines (to determine whether the model had "the voice" so important in TV commercials). Reg and Joe had dinner, charging it to the room (and Publicis), and then returned to the room.

The room had two queen beds. Joe laughed, "What do they think we're going to do with the other bed? Why are you still dressed, boy. Strip. And then undress me. We're gonna try out that big shower." Reg responded instantly, as he had been schooled. Soon both guys were liberally using the body wash under the rain shower. As they rinsed, Joe placed his hands on Reg's shoulders and pushed him down to his knees. Reg understood the drill. He moved in, sucked in, and starting stroking Joe to full erection. By then, he could almost deep throat Joe's impressive cock, but only when positioned on his back on the bed with his head dropped over the edge. But, he tried anyway and broke away, coughing and sputtering in the shower spray. Joe tapped his head and Reg rose. He toweled Joe dry and then dried himself. He walked over to the bed, pulled back the covers, and positioned himself in the center, shoulders and knees on the mattress, a large pillow under his gut. He lubed his fingers and used them to open himself up. Then he waited.

Joe walked to the mini-bar, grabbed a few small amber colored bottles and poured them into a tumbler with a few pieces of ice. He sipped, pronounced it perfect, and took another gulp. Suddenly, he had an idea. He reached into the ice bucket and iced his hand, keeping a few cubes in the palm. He turned to the bed and climbed behind Reg. He reached under and took Reg's cock in hand. Reg hissed in surprise, but didn't dare to move. He had been taught well and knew punishment (typically denial or a whipping) would follow if he broke protocol. Almost simultaneously, Reg felt the tip of the lube dispenser inserted and a spurt of cold lube inside. Joe's gut soon rested on his back and the enormous throbbing pole was slammed into Reg. It was sensory overload—a freezing dick and a thick hot poker up his ass, pulsing steadily against his love nut. "I'm gonna cum Joe. You're too much for me."

"I give you permission, Reg." Reg exploded onto the sheet and dropped. Joe followed and filled Reg with his hot thick spunk after only a few thrusts. He withdrew, pushed a plug into Reg and moved off to his side. Then he threw an arm and a leg over Reg, wrapped him in a big spoon and pulled the duvet up. "You've got a big day tomorrow. I don't want to wear you out. Sleep well, boy." Reg reveled in Joe's embrace and pushed his ass cheeks into Joe's gut, forcing the plug deeper inside while feeling his spunk on the sheet beneath him.

"My favorite uncle, my favorite sleeping position. Thanks, Joe." Reg was completely enslaved to his favorite uncle. Every day he was getting deeper.

********

A wake-up call had been left for 7:30 so that there would be time for breakfast before the first (9 a.m.) photo shoot a few blocks away. Reg had been told to wear casual clothes as the photographer would have a variety of outfits for him. Joe was invited, but asked to remain in the waiting room. At first he protested—he wanted to see what his boy could do—but he was told in certain terms that no observers were permitted ever. If he wanted to terminate the process, he had every right to do so. Joe seethed, but went and sat on a comfortable reading chair and picked up a newspaper. Reg was brought into the studio area. He was pointed to a dressing room. "Strip down to your underwear, then go to the next room for makeup and hair."

"Do I really need a beauty parlor?"

"Get used to it boy. No one is photographed without some prior work."

A half hour later, Reg appeared in the first "costume"—khaki shorts, a tight polo and tennis sneakers. "This is for the basic All-American A&F look." Being a novice, he was posed for each shot by an assistant who was obviously gay. Reg was handled like a mannequin—and the assistant was very hands-on—moving arms, legs, turning his body—even unzipping, reaching in and rearranging his stuff to create a recognizable bulge in his crotch. Reg just accepted all the attention as normal and his due.

Successive shoots were in a suit, white shirt and tie; jeans and a cowboy shirt; board shorts with and without a cropped tee: and, finally a small, tight competition swim suit. For the final two shots, the white suit was wet down and became almost transparent. Throughout, Reg kept quiet; did what he was told; and watched the faces of the pros—they obviously liked what they were seeing.

Then, after a quick lunch, he was passed to the head shot studio—after additional makeup was applied and his hair was styled and cut. Dozens of close up photos were taken. He was asked to smile, to frown, to put on a seductive face, to pout, to express anger and revenge etc. Throughout, his dark face with remarkably sculpted features caught the light in various ways, casting shadows, flashing his very purple eyes, showing his magnificent white teeth.

He was told nothing about the results and was released to Joe around 3. "Please wait here. We are sending some of the proofs up to the executive floor. They will decide whether additional shots are required." About one hour later, an assistant came into the waiting area. "Please follow me. We have one more set of takes before you leave tonight."

Reg was brought into a room that looked like a gym locker room. "The big guys want some underwear shots. Six different poses in each of six different pairs." Reg was pointed to a pile of underwear on one of the locker benches. "Please start with the white ones." It didn't seem that anyone was going to leave him privacy, so Reg stepped over and stripped, chose the white briefs and slipped them on. He stepped up on the stage and bright lights were turned on. The photographer looked through the lens and pointed to the assistant who walked up to Reg and mechanically slipped his hand into the front and rearranged Reg's cock. He looked back at the photographer who nodded approval and started taking stills.

"Okay, next try on the pale grey boxer briefs." Reg realized that he was already chubbing up and would soon be in full erection. He started thinking about the ugliest girl in his school, picturing her trying to swallow his dick. It didn't work. So he started reciting childhood nursery rhymes. Then he stepped on the platform; the assistant again re-arranged his stuff; and smiled up at Reg—he knew Reg was becoming erect and he knew that they had a giant cock on their hands (so to speak). The second set of photos was taken. This was followed by two more—regular white boxers and a colorful pair of knit boxers. After four shoots, Reg was rock hard.

The photographer had obviously been in this situation before. He looked at the assistant and said, "I'm going out for a smoke. Take care of that."

So the assistant walked up to Reg, pulled down the knit boxers and started to suck Reg's manhood. He was good—Reg had never had a better blow job. He sucked hard and used a lot of tongue as his hands stroked the base and massaged his balls. Joe had never sucked him off. The guy tried and failed to swallow—he was just too big. It took only seconds as the guy probed his asshole with a large lubed index finger. Reg spasmed, swore an obscenity that would have destroyed his father, the Rev, and filled him with hot cum. Then the assistant carefully washed him clean and pointed to the last two items—a thong and a bikini brief.

These were photographed quickly, but with less intense and more dramatic lighting. The assistant carefully posed Reg into dominant, challenging poses and then into subservient poses. The photographer and the assistant both agreed that the sub poses were a waste of time—Reg was not a sub. Reg projected a natural dom—at least in still photos. Then Reg was given his schedule for the next day and released to Joe.

By this time of course, Joe was furious. He had been snubbed all day, told nothing, and treated as a useless appendage. They had not even offered him lunch. They really wanted him to just disappear for the day. He intended to make someone pay—probably Reg.

Reg and Joe walked back to the hotel, stopping only at a package store to pick up a cold six pack and a bottle of Johnnie Black. As they walked into the room, room service delivered the ice which had been ordered at the desk as they went by. Joe poured himself a large scotch on the rocks and handed a cold can to Reg. "I guess today must have gone pretty well for you. I was bored. So it's time for you to make it up to me. On your knees boy." Joe stripped off his pants and shirt and moved to the only chair in the room. He spread his legs and Reg moved in—an action for which he had had so much practice. Using no hands, he teased Joe's cock to erection with his lips and tongue. Then holding it high, his tongue moved to the big, full balls that hung below. Joe raised his legs and placed them on the arms of the chair and slipped lower—opening his anal opening to Reg's tongue. Reg did the expected, curling his tongue, sucking the rim, and bringing Joe to the edge of orgasm.

"On the bed, Reg. On your back. I want to see your face when this monster fills your boy pussy. Reg stripped, moved to the bed and spread-eagled his arms and legs, a sacrificial lamb waiting to be impaled. Joe took another big gulp, lubed his dick and plunged into Reg without any further preparation. He pumped just three times and splurged into Reg's cavity. "Don't touch that dick. I didn't give you permission to cum. Now tell me everything that happened today."

Reg proceeded to recount the entire day, deciding to leave out the blow job he had received from the photographer's assistant.

"Did anyone try to fuck you?"

Reg was pleased he had asked the question that way. "Absolutely not. The photographer was totally detached So were the dresser, the hair stylist and the make-up woman."

"So they did hair and make-up? Were they trying to make you look like a woman?"

"Yeah. I thought that was strange, but they said it was normal and necessary."

"Did they try to get you to pose for any nude pictures?"

"No. I would have refused anyway."

"Good boy. If they want nudes, they'll have to pay more—big time in fact. Let's get some dinner. Then I want some more lovin' from you before we sleep tonight."

Publicis had arranged a dinner tab at a steak house a few blocks away. Actually, Evensted had hoped to take Reg to dinner, but when he realized that the chaperone was Joe and not the Rev, he decided it was futile to try to seduce Reg until the next trip. Joe did seem awfully proprietary; much more so than the Reverend who seemed to have lost touch with reality. They walked to the steak house and each had expensive steaks, appetizers, and desserts. Joe had two more drinks, but restricted Reg to club soda. By early evening, they were back in the room. Joe was a little high and, when he rested on the pillow before a TV baseball game, he was asleep. Reg wisely decided to take the other bed. And soon it was morning again.

The next day was nearly identical—except this time he was filmed wearing various costumes and was required to read some lines. He did notice that the videographer kept the camera rolling while Reg changed. So Reg decided to give him a show. He wasn't at all modest. He gave the camera full frontal nudity and a chubbed big cock at every opportunity. In fact, Reg noticed that virtually everyone in the room was showing signs of crotch discomfort as their dicks responded to his frankly sexual invitations. Already Reg had learned to sell himself—or at least his best features. But no one touched him.

Reg was told that Publicis would call after reviewing the proofs, and he and Joe left for the airport and home. After all, he had already missed two school days and it was near the end of the school year.

**********

About a week later, the Reverend received a call from Evensted (please call me "Bob" as we are going to be working together, I hope). A visit was set up and Evensted was soon in the pastor's office with a proposed contract: Reg had potential; starting compensation $1000 per shoot, with a minimum of $75K per annum (when the Reverend frowned, Bob quickly changed it to $100K), a tutor, airfare to New York, up to 100 days per year—most of the summer and less during the school year. Reg would be housed in a chaperoned condo. Evensted didn't mention royalties and the Reverend was too proud to involve an attorney, so he didn't ask. (That probably left hundreds of thousands on the table as it later turned out.) He also failed to mention that the condo was his and he would be the chaperone. The Reverend asked and was assured that there would be no nude photos and that no films involving sex would be "published." (Evensted carefully did not use the word "made" for he fully intended to create a library of this boy's nude body and sexual activity.) Evensted noted that Reg would have a tutor and that no additional companion was needed—but if the Reverend wanted, he would make arrangements and deduct the cost from the fees. Quickly, the Reverend dealt Joe out of the equation. All fees would be paid into a trust account that the Reverend would establish—presumably for the benefit of Reg, but requiring only the Rev's signature. Publicis would also arrange for "pocket money" in New York.

The shooting would begin in two weeks when the school year ended. The Reverend signed and called Reg in to tell him the news (and incidentally to have him sign as well).

Reg was left to give the news to Joe. Joe was visibly upset and decided to take out his wrath on Reg's ass over the next two weeks. Reg knew what was likely to follow and uncharacteristically warned Joe that he couldn't scar his body or the photo shoots might not go forward—all while expressing sympathy for Joe's disappointment. Reg was walking a fine line: he was pleased to be liberated from his father (while his father was delighted to have the extra cash), but not quite ready to break with Joe.

Nevertheless, the next two weeks were wild. Joe and Reg were inseparable. Needless to say, Joe kept Reg in a constant state of sexual arousal—penetrating often, filling often, plugging regularly, denying often. Joe even tried a little bondage, cuffing Reg to Joe's brass bed for long periods in which Joe edged Reg to near hysteria and took him at will. When they were not in Joe's bed, Joe was pushing Reg hard on the track, in the gym, or on his cycle. Joe intended to establish his claim (his indispensability) and their respective roles before Reg left for New York. He felt he could plant a deep yearning in Reg through muscular memory hypnosis—something he had read about in voodoo kinestheology articles.

Reg seemed upset to be leaving Joe and didn't know fullness of the decisions that his father had made for him. He confided in Bob who didn't reveal the discussions with the Reverend. Bob detected Reg's reluctance to part with Joe, did some research, and decided he needed to neutralize Joe at a minimum, perhaps enlist his help if possible. So Bob called, suggested that he "knew" about Joe's activities with Reg, probably ante-dating his 18^th birthday and offered Joe a carrot and a stick: a threat of exposure and a payment. Thus, Bob was buying Reg from Joe. Joe, recognizing he had been out-maneuvered, at least for now, accepted the sum and backed off.

**********

Within a week of the first shoot, Reg's inaugural public photos appeared in Esquire (due to a cancellation and a quick substitution just before the print deadline). Reg was caught in a sultry pose, wearing white CK boxer-briefs, hips thrown forward, cock arguably visible under the tight knit fabric, in a dimly lit room. The photo was an instant success. Publicis was deluged with requests for their new model-star. Reg's career was launched.

For most of the summer, Reg was scheduled into almost daily shoots for various print publications. By the end of the summer, he had already "earned" more than half his annual guaranteed minimum compensation. (He was unaware at that time that Publicis was charging five times his fee.)

Joe was left in Dallas so Reg was theoretically on his own. Bob had invited him to stay at his condo with another model who came and went during the summer. The condo had two bedrooms (one Bob's), each with a spa like bath with shower. Both had king-sized beds. Bob's biggest client was CK, and as a consequence, he himself and his "guests" were asked to wear only CK at all times when in the condo—and nothing else. Reg didn't give it a second thought. He loved his body and loved showing it off. The apartment building had a spectacular gym—and Reg spent virtually all of his free time in the gym, lifting or riding on a stationary cycle, or running in nearby Central Park. "Virtually" means that he was involved in shoots for about 6-8 hours every day and was often required to "meet and greet" potential clients. He was developing a spectacular physique and had gotten the sultry facial expression that the photographers seemed to want.

The other model (and house guest) was Reg's exact opposite: a metro-sexual twunk, with pale skin, lightly-developed muscles, slim hips, no body hair, soft-rounded facial features, big puffed-up lips and huge dark eyes framed in long lashes. In only one sense did he resemble Reg: his cock was a slim 91/2 incher with pendulous low-hanging balls. Dwight, who lived nearby in New Jersey, stayed at the condo several nights each week. When he did, the two guys slept together and quite naturally Reg assumed the top role. Dwight was a natural sub and fell immediately for Reg's huge dark cock. It started with a remarkable blow, then proceeded from there. Within a day, Reg was fucking Dwight mercilessly in every possible position. And Dwight, the super-slut, began to crave that super-dick and to drink that super-spunk. Other than a few occasions during high school, this was Reg's first prolonged period of aggressive topping with a guy. Only the needs of photography kept Reg from completely destroying and branding this cute city-boy—but they did have sex, many times each night. And of course Dwight fell in love with this dusky god who owned him in every sense of the word. Reg began to wonder what was in it for him. He decided nothing. Dwight was not going to become a fixture in his life; he was just a convenient receptacle for the enormous amount of cum that Reg, the "cum factory", was producing. He was quick to abandon Dwight at the end of the summer.