BDSM Library - Story: Cody, Chapter: Part 5 Star Shots

Cody 5 - Star Shots

by Emile

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Two weeks after I moved in to Horaces cabin, I took a break to drive back to Cody's campus. I'd booked his first modelling shoot on my agency. Before I left I had to take care of some things. First, I grabbed a poster from Horace's latest movie. It featured a close up of the hunky stud, from armpits to mid-thigh, every tanned muscle in high definition. He was porn star perfection, flawless honey skin wrapped taut over his oversized rippling torso, the now smooth skin contrasting with his dark aureoles, hanging from the square base of his pecs, like little caps, just a little stretched from our ministrations. He filled the whole poster with his brawny body, except the glistening brown shaft visible between his legs, sliding slickly up his bubble butt. His arselips were just visible gripped around the thick horsecock - actually a plastic prop since the real horse could hardly keep still long enough - but the same cuntsplitting thickness and length of the real thing, and lathered with real horsecum for authenticity. Across the centre of the poster, held in Horace's strong hands (just the hint of bicep flexing either side of each pec), was the word "HORSEHUNG" stencilled out of sheet metal. But my favourite part was Horace's silicon swollen nads, resting full and tight on one thigh, a tight rubber band clearly visible high on the hairless sac, cutting into the skin, while his half hard choad flopped down from his smooth crotch over them, just a drop of precum dangling from the dicklips, above the poster edge. We'd milked him to the brink of orgasm before taking it, and then smacked his plump balls hard until the engorged log bobbed down, giving it that sexy needy arch towards the camera. His bloated tackle was like a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, a sure winner when it hung above him at all the public (and private) signing sessions we'd booked for him in the nation's adult stores. But this poster was destined for a different poll position, right over Cody's frathouse bed. I even had it autographed - "Great Fuck! Horse" across the other thigh, while I pumped his raw arse full of my spunk.

I even took time out to say goodbye to Horace - in public - a nice long tonguefuck as I roamed his hunky naked body with my hands, making sure his cock was hard and drippy, throbbing helplessly against my palm, before leaving him cold and horny. It was just before shooting started, so all the guys stood there, ogling and cheering. If Horace had been relieved when I first told him I was taking a break, by now he dreaded it. Not only had I instructed Pedro and Luis to keep up the nightly suck-and-fuck lessons, but I'd forbidden Horace from cumming until he sucked off 10 cocks in one day - something he was a long way off. His fat dong and swollen balls jutted out from his tight, smooth waist like a lever every day on the set, and his 'condition' made the musclehunk the butt of laughs and jeers from all the crew. Still he'd begged me not to make his cocksucking public, as he knew once he was branded a cocksucker, his porn career would only sink to new lows.

So I left Horace with instructions on how to get dicked while I was away, in thick marker pen up his forearms, the list coiling around his wrist until his brawny arms were covered in explicit commands. He was pretty cut up about it, crying and begging me to stop, since he spent his life in singlets or shirtless. As I gave him my farewell tonguefuck, all the crew could see the start his perverted list, curling from under the sleeves. When he stripped, it would get worse - it was hard keeping the lines in proportion on his beefy biceps and shoulders, and some words, like "clean knob" bulged out at the viewer in massive letters. For the backchat, he got another message, down his throbbing shaft, as the crew would soon discover, "keep me aching / stop me cumming" - one line down each side.

The snaking black letters were permanent marker, and although one of the commands was not to wash it off, I relished the moment he secretly tried, and discovered the lettering would not fade for weeks. Against his bare shaved skin and taut rippling muscles, the effect was electric, he looked like a hard core prison slut under his master's thumb. Perfect for "Cellblock Cocks II - The Impaled". If all went well, perhaps we tattoo it on. I set up a webcam in the trailer to monitor him, gave the squirming buck a final french kiss while squeezing his perpetually collagen swollen tackle, and left for town.

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Cody's gig was a fashion shoot for a boys magazine. Swimwear was the excuse for the flesh piece, and there'd be plenty of near naked shots in there. After spending so long around fucked out beefcake, I was looking forward to the more exquisite pleasure of taking the lean college jock down another peg. The surprise humiliation would be that Cody would be the cover boy - staring out at everyone from the magazine racks - wearing only a pair of soaked white boxer cut swimwear, the translucent fabric revealing his pierced horsecock to the world. He'd have fame to match his cocky blonde attitude (well, the attitude he once had) - the publishers had his name, campus and blog site - although maybe not the fame he'd aimed for. This, of course, he'd find out later - since he'd begged me to keep any photos 'private'.

I picked him up late, enjoying the scene as he hopped from one bare foot to the other, the loose running pants and thin muscle tee doing little to stave off the cold. I handed him two pills as he climbed in the car. He told me he didn't do drugs, but I backhanded him, still in the parking lot so his fratmates could see. Meekly he swallowed them, and I gunned the engine, patting him on the thigh. He squirmed around, resisting the touch, so I reached further over to give his cock a friendly squeeze. It was hard already and I could feel the loose skin, now freed from its tether, sliding down the shaft, enveloping the mushroom head. He drew his breath in with a hiss when I squeezed, both from embarassment and pain, as the hard cock throbbed against my hand. I smiled, knowing how much more awkward it would be when the Viagra kicked in, when we got to the shoot. The other pill was a little relaxant, that'd make him seem a bit punch drunk on the set, but would give him a wide goofy smile for the shots.

I gave him the poster, and as he unrolled the filthy image, I told him he was to hang it over his bed, while starting to finger his cock through the running pants. He squirmed in horror and discomfort, so I made him put the poster away and shuck his threadbare tee, so I could distract him with a slow aching handjob , turning the heat up to max so he broke out in a sweat. He begged me to stop, but didn't resist, fear still in his eyes. Every now and then I fingered his barbell piercing sitting high on his fat wet pecflesh. He winced as I twisted it, the homeboy jock still burning at the helplessness of his predicament. His throbbing, tethered cock didn't help either. I traced down his smooth sweat-beaded chest, following the damp cuntlick of hair to his crotch and gave it one last squeeze. "Eh don't get too excited boy, we're here!"

Now Cody was a seasoned model, having shown off his sexy body since he was a grommet, but somehow I knew it would be different. None of the solicitous comments and shy fans on this set. Instead of the thousand dollar locations, with their armies of professional assistants, this was a smaller affair - just a few dozen guys crammed into a basement. To offset intense heat of the lights, the air-con was on full blast, making Cody's nips pouty as he walked in shirtless. The makeup artist, a fat, flouncy guy in a floral shirt, threw his arm over Cody's shoulder, drawing him towards the bench. Suddenly, at the top of his voice, he screeched "Ugh, you smell TERRIBLE! Such filth!" All eyes swivelled around, boring in to Cody's flesh. He self conciously hugged his shoulders as the queen carried on. He pushed him towards a makeshift shower in the corner, demanding he clean himself up. It was priceless to watch Cody awkwardly shuck his shorts, his half flaccid dork and balls flopping out in front of everyone (to shrieks of "Ewww, the smell..."), and climb in to the tiny cubicle, so small his elbows touched the sides, and he had to lift his hands high to wash his pits. The water barely drizzled out, and the shower curtain only reached half closed, so all the crew got a great look at the hunky jock as he desperately tried to soap off the sweat and precum. "CLEAN PROPERLY UNDER THAT HOOD" the queen screeched, "I CAN SMELL DICKCHEESE FROM HERE!" By now most of the crew were sporting bulges, as they stood arms folded, watching Cody struggle to get his arms forward and wash under the hooting skin. True enough, as he retracted the hood for the first time in weeks, a powerful smell of old dickcheese wafted out. With any luck, a few more weeks of this and he'd attract a nasty infection, a great excuse to get him cut. He winced as the industrial soap stung his pecker, the water barely strong enough to wash it away, and he had to all but step out of the cubicle, dick dangling, to soap his bubble butt. When he turned off the taps at last, we all went back to preparing the set, and he got out, naked and drippy, soap still streaking his lean body, and asked desperately for a towel. We ignored him, even the makeup artist had managed to disappear, leaving him shivering until he reached back into the shower, wrung out the facecloth, and scraped off most of the water with it. The cold gave him goosebumps, and his dick was shrivelled, eliciting further screeches from the queen.

Then he was packed into the makeup chair, buck naked, and forced to sit thighs apart with his equipment exposed while he was prepared. I don't know what was worse for him, having some fat old queen fondle your balls and caress your chest in the guise of preparation, or the running commentary he gave at the top of his voice to the room. "Oh MY, I'll need extra powder for those fat balls of yours. Look how shiny they are, there's not a single hair on them. They're like boy balls, big big balls!" He had to sit with his hands above his head, thick corded upper arms hanging next to his perfectly framed face, pits exposed and heaving chest out, while the guy primped and primed his flesh. He was told to tighten his abs and hold them, each one incised clearly, for 10 minutes while the guy did his business, clearly a hard ask for anyone to stay in that position for long, especially given how exposed he was, but worse for Cody since every time a trickle of sweat emerged from his pit, the queen screeched at him, swiping at his offending lats like a bear cub. Just like a cub, his nails caught the flesh each time, leaving red scratches across his sides which he had to powder out. His face was a mask of pain and embarassment. Finally, when every hair on his head was styled and every curve of his musculature highlighted, we got him up, finally handing him the first item for him to wear, a ridiculously small purple thong. By now the drugs were kicking in, so as well as his swelling cock, arching painfully against the tether, his face sported the start of that sexy goofy grin, and he had trouble co-ordinating his movements. He tried to say something like "This ain't right", but the words were slurred. I grabbed to helpers, nice buff boys who were grinning at him, and the three of us 'helped' him into the thong, pulling and grabbing at the basket until his fat schlong was mostly encased by the material, although the waistband was pulled down inches from his waist. Clearly following the makeup artist's example, they pinched and mauled his cock and balls as they worked, but despite his grunts, in his punch-drunk state his swinging arms could barely fend us off. Finally, I slipped one finger down his crack, burying the fabric deep, and he was ready. We got about a dozen shots in that suit, filthy poses. First he sat sprawled, legs wide and held apart in his big hands, arms flexed while he grinned at the camera. Then a karate kick towards the camera so his big bulge was exposed. He fell down after that which was a laugh. Some shots of him fingering himself - playing with a nipple, the other hand slipping just below the waistline - it was all great stuff.

The second suit was a green neck-to-knee lycra wrestling suit, but in mesh so nothing was hidden. His aching dork was so swollen now it stretched the holes wide over the cockskin, every vein visible, even the line of his glans under the semi-retracted foreskin, the piercing bulging out of the cloth. When we repeated the shots with that suit, the images were so explicit we thought the magazine might need to be sealed. I mean what kind of straight jock wearing a mesh wrestling suit would scoot up the leg hole and finger his fat knob, prefuck spraying over his fingers, while sporting a cheesy grin for the camera? We'd fed him another few pills, so he was pretty pliable now, although also whacked. He kept stumbling around and hurting himself, which was kind of light entertainment in itself. Finally, we stripped off the suit and got his third and final item - the white translucent swim trunks. He was already sweating again under the bright lights, but we oiled him up to give him the sexy 'wet look' sheen the shot demanded. We gave him swimming goggles, as his eyes were glazing over, and draped him sexily over a diving board prop, one knee up so his whole crotch was exposed. It was all we could take, snapping the last few shots before descending on him like a hungry pack. The helpless stud didn't know what hit him, vainly trying to fight of the dozen or so guys now mauling his slippery body. Two minutes later, and the sexy leer was replaced with a stunned 'O', as his trunks were slipped to mid-thigh, and he was skewered on my stalk - the photographer snapping a few shots (me thankfully hidden behind his brawny torso) for the spread. Hands clawed at his flesh on either side. Then even the photographer gave up, surrendering his camera so he could release his own dripping dick and plunge it between those sexy lips. We all fucked him, passing him around like a rag doll, until his lean model body was covered in scratches and welts, and his arse leaked cum in a steady stream. His pouty mouth too was glistening and swollen from a couple of loads shot down his gullet. The photographer, wiping sweat from his brow, snapped a couple of post-fuck shots of the sprawling hunk, and the shoot was over.

When he came to, Cody found himself sitting in the passenger seat of my car in a dark parking lot, wearing the green mesh wrestling suit, now stained with cum and sweat soaked in from his body. It was late, and the music from distant dorm parties drifted over the grass. He was still groggy, brawny arms hanging limply by his side, as I pushed his tee, shorts and poster into his lap, giving the aching cock one last squeeze, before leaning over and unlatching the door. He just managed to utter 'where am I' as the door flew open, and I pushed him out of the car. "You're on campus baby, near the gym. I know it's a while away from the frathouse, but I thought you'd enjoy the run. Now go quickly, it's obscene what you're wearing, you don't want to get caught now!" It was amazing how sexy he still looked, blonde and chiselled, despite the look of confusion and fear on his face. I watched as he hauled his tight arse up, and began running across campus, his big cock visibly swinging against the thin material. Now, I thought, try explaining that away!