Boys of Vice City Page 3

  “Aw shit, that’s good,” Jeff moaned. “Go lower, kid, really get in there, that’s it.”

  Gil’s probing tongue moved lower down as Jeff parted his legs farther to let the boy’ s mouth get at the ridge of tight skin between scrotum and ass. Gil’s eyes were closed, he was lost in the amazing sensation, thinking to himself, God, I’m really doing it! He knew he would have to try it sooner or later and wanted to with a sudden desperation. He knelt on the tiled floor fully, deep between Jeff’s splayed thighs, head upturned, tongue flitting between balls and the very edge of that inviting asshole.

  He heard Jeff moan, “Go on kid, eat me, eat me.”

  And Gil did. He thrust his pointed tongue up into the crack, wondering as the powerful sphincter muscles gave, allowing the tongue to be almost sucked up. Straining to his uttermost, Gil thrust and retreated and thrust up again, knowing that Jeff was shuddering with delight. Gil was so worked up by what he was doing that he was soon on the point of shooting his load.

  Suddenly Jeff tugged at his shoulder. “Hey, hang on. We don’t want this to end too soon.” He pulled the boy back onto his feet. “That was great, Gil, but I really need to fuck you.”

  “I—I don’t know whether I can take it.”

  “Well, let me try. I won’t be vicious.” He saw Gil’s fear. “I’ll blow you after.”

  Gil smiled briefly. “What do I do?”

  “Just kneel on the floor, on your elbows. That’s it. Keep your ass up in the air, legs apart.” Gil felt Jeff kneel down behind him and begin greasing his crack with the juice from his big cock. Then Jeff pressed his meaty weapon up to the hole. “Just relax, it’ll hurt less that way.”

  Gil was then treated to the most amazing sensation yet.

  Unbelievably, Jeff’s vast tool penetrated him. There was an instant of pain and Gil cried out, but he stifled a second one and gritted his teeth, determined not to let Jeff down. Suddenly it got easier and he began to appreciate the wonder of having another person in his body. When Jeff was in almost to the hilt he grasped Gil’s flanks and began to fuck him for real. They were both slipping about on the streaming shower stall floor as Jeff yanked back on Gil’s hips, driving the boy’s body hard onto the rigid shaft of his cock. With each movement Gil grunted as the wind was shaken from him and yet each time he willingly let himself be pulled back again onto the impaling violator. Then Jeff held him down and fucked him from the hips, plunging in deeper with each powerful thrust. Again and again the big fat cock rubbed against the lining of his asshole, touching something deep in there with every thrust that sent electrical thrills right through his body and made him go weak at the knees.

  “Oh, what is that?” he gasped.

  “Your prostate,” came the answer. “The sweet spot.”

  The pace grew faster and more furious, and now Jeff was able to pull himself almost right out and still slam back into the eager passage as hard as he could so that both of them got the full benefit of the enjoyment. After a minute of this Jeff’s breathing became loud gasps and then with a deep groan of ecstasy he exploded, pumping his hot jism into Gil. Gil was crying in a mixture of pain and delight as he felt the hot cum flowing out in a warming glow.

  Jeff was barely finished when he pulled his cock out and flipped Gil over onto his back, pushing his knees up and sliding him along the floor so that the youthful prick was brought straight to his waiting mouth. Gil saw Jeff’s long tongue go to work, probing inside his foreskin, then folding it down to get at the glans beneath. Gil writhed delightedly as the warm wet ring closed down around his hard rod and Jeff gripped it tightly with his lips. Jeff worked his way to the tip and then fell down around it again. He started going faster and harder. How much better he was then the Italian had been.

  Gil’s world became a hazy dream of steam, stinging spray, and unearthly desire. His balls ached to release their weight of cum. Suddenly he could bear it no longer, and crying out louder than before, ejected a long streamer of sperm. The first gush happened as Jeff had reached top dead center, so it sprang from between his lips and fell back onto Gil’s heaving stomach. The second jerk squirted over Jeff’s eager tongue and Gil saw its whiteness highlighted against the redness of Jeff’s mouth as it went down his throat. Then Jeff went down hard on him and Gil thought he would scream with impossible pleasure as the remainder of his release was voided deep into Jeff’s convulsing throat.

  An hour later, they were still lying on Gil’s bed, pretending to be drying off after the shower.

  “Hey, you,” Jeff muttered. “I have to get back to Harry, or he’s going to wonder what the hell’s happened to me.”

  “Is Harry…er…as well?” Gil asked, unable yet to bring himself to say the word.

  “Gay? Shall I just say we flipped a coin for you,” Jeff grinned disarmingly, removing some of the sting from his words.

  “Gee, thanks,” Gil replied, blandly.

  “Don’t get me wrong, kid. You’re okay. I’d say you’re going to go far on this film, if you carry on like this.”

  “I’m not a whore, you know.”

  “Ooh, don’t go all prickly on me. Who’s not? In this business everybody’s a whore of one sort of another. I’ll tell you one thing you won’t regret. Get in with that desk clerk who was on today and you could earn yourself quite a bit of bread, hustling ass around here.”

  “You’re putting me on.”

  “It’s easy money when you’re not working your rocks off on the studio floor.”

  “Well, I don’t think I’m into that.” Gil hated how he sounded prissy all of a sudden, but this information was a bit hard to take in.

  “All the Italian kids do it.” Jeff got up. “Anyway. It’s time for evening chow soon. See you down there. Yep,” he added, looking down at Gil, “a real humpy little gofer.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  A Day On The Set

  At six in the morning Gil made sure he was ready for work and waiting in the foyer of the hotel with the rest of the film crew to be bused to the studios. The vast Cinecittà complex lay outside of the city, not far from Rome’s second airport at Ciampino and not so far from the crew’s hotel. As on his first day the weather was hot, hotter than his native California, so he was glad he’d had the foresight to wear his cut-off denims. As he sat on one of the leather sofas feeling slightly left out of the good natured fooling going on between some of the younger members of the unit, a hand brushed lightly across the nape of his neck. He swiveled around. “Oh, hi Jeff.”

  “How’re you doing, Gil baby?”

  “Bit nervous.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing. You’ll be okay. The production super will get you set up when we arrive.”

  “Am I dressed properly?” Gil asked shyly.

  Jeff grinned and gave him a quick look up and down. “Mmm, fine for me. You don’t look out of place.” He waved a hand at the milling unit. Gil noticed several men in short shorts and T-shirts. There was one kid in particular Gil had seen briefly at dinner the previous evening who was now wearing khaki safari shorts with cuffs on them. They were so tight and short that they hid nothing, showing off the perfect curve of his neat ass; and they pulled into well worn, crisp folds at the front, smoothing out to a seductively compressed bulge. Gil was attracted to his sparkly rounded face, topped with a mop of dark, almost black hair.

  Jeff saw Gil’s interest. “Are you into him?”

  Gil blushed. “Oh now—I was just wondering who he was.”

  “That’s Mike. He’s another runner like you but with the sound department—I don’t know where they’ll put you. Hey, Mike!” he yelled. The boy glanced around and waved at Jeff. “C’mon over and meet your new colleague.”

  Mike finished his conversation, clapping whoever he had been talking to familiarly on the shoulder and walked over. H
e was a bit taller than Gil, slightly broader of shoulder, with hair cut in a way that made Gil think him not to be an American. A tiny silver stud glinted in the lobe of his left ear. Greeny-brown eyes smiled curiously at Gil as he came up to them. Gil got to his feet and returned the smile.

  “Mike, this is Gil, the new production runner. Gil, Mike Smith.”

  The two boys shook hands. Mike’s was a firm short grip. “Hello and welcome to the mad house,” he said.

  Gil gave a surprised reaction. “You’re British!”

  “Er…actually, English to be precise,” Mike replied apologetically.

  “I thought this was an American crew.”

  “The sound crew’s from England and I came with them. Anyway the stage hands, props, and sparks are all Italian, so it’s a mixed bunch.”

  At that moment there was a general exodus for the door.

  The two studio buses had just pulled in. Jeff bid Gil good luck and went off with Harry and the lighting cameraman for a pre-shoot chat in the front seats. Gil found himself sitting next to Mike with the other sound people.

  “Do we get to see anything of Rome itself?” Gil asked shyly.

  Mike shook his head. “Not on this run. We’re billeted well to the south of the city, although the over-grandly named Hotel Vittorio Emmanuele isn’t too bad, considering the area. No, this is just a shortish drive to the studios.”

  As the bus trundled along over the rough roads packed with traffic, Gil couldn’t help glancing down at Mike’s well-formed crotch, barely contained by the provocative shorts. As his new friend’s hips swayed in counterpoint to the jostling motion of the bus, the bulge and its attendant folds did a kind of disco boogie all of its own. Sunlight pierced the scratched windows, throwing Mike’s chest and trunk into high relief. Perhaps Jeff was right: Gil was rather into Mike. There was also the novelty value. Gil found himself wondering what it would be like to do it with an English boy. He had met so few on the West Coast that Mike held an exotic quality for him.

  Mike’s smooth, rounded face was constantly alive with amusement as he kept up an unending riot of banter with his “mates,” as he called them, so Gil had plenty of opportunity to indulge in daydreams and secretively look at his new friend’s body. They were now passing interminable rows of multi-story apartment blocks, all of which had the same yellowy-brown-gray appearance. Laundry hung drying on lines everywhere. They passed under a major highway, and Gil, tearing his covert eyes from Mike, stared with fascination at the jigsaw puzzle of Italian traffic directions.

  Gil realized Mike had said something to him. “Sorry?”

  Mike laughed brightly. “You were miles away. I said, I suppose you don’t know anyone on this unit?”

  “Nope, except Jeff.”

  “Oh. Where do you know him from?”

  “Only last night and the day I arrived. He came to help me settle in.” As soon as he’d said it, Gil regretted the way it sounded. And he saw from Mike’s expression that he had taken it that way. Mike’s eyebrows arched up.

  “Did he?” He smiled enigmatically and kept looking Gil straight in the eyes. Gil blushed and glanced away. He didn’t see Mike’s conspiratorial wink across the aisle at one of his “mates.”

  When the bus arrived at Cinecittà, Gil lost contact with Mike as they each went their separate ways. The rest of the morning was lost in the unfamiliar chaos of a film set in full production. Gil was thrilled to see the big Panavision camera on its huge tracking dolly and crane, the boom swinger standing up on his microphone chariot, the bright hot lights, people rushing hither and thither like panicky lemmings, and the sultry Italians standing around in groups, chatting among themselves. The orchestrated bustle aroused in him a fierce determination to do his job right and make sure the production staff would always want to hire him again in the future.

  One sight puzzled him. Jeff and the man who had been pointed out as the director were peering at what he thought was a television screen. Harry saw the boy’s curiosity and came over. “It’s a new idea. The Panavision camera has a tiny video camera built in, which relays what it sees to that small TV screen. We can even record the takes on a U-matic video recorder, so the director can see what he’s getting without having to wait for dailies the next morning. Amazing what technology can do these days…”

  At one point Gil delivered coffees in styrofoam cups to Jeff and Harry, both sitting high up on their seats, Harry behind the viewfinder of the camera and Jeff at his side, fiddling with the massive lens. Returning to the production office, which was in a maze of corridors off the main sound stage, Gil rounded a corner and ran full tilt into Mike coming the other way. As they disentangled themselves Mike murmured, “We mustn’t keep meeting this way,” and ruffling Gil’s hair he rushed off, leaving Gil with the pleasant impression of their cocks pressed up against each other in the accidental embrace. Jeez, he was feeling randy. It must be something in the Roman air. He never had it quite this bad back home.

  As soon as he was freed for ten minutes in the afternoon Gil shot off to the john for a piss. He pulled his cock out from under the imprisoning denim and relieved himself. The very action made him feel worked up and as he shook away the last drops the action naturally turned into a stroking motion. In a second or two he was jacking off for real. It was while he was beginning to get a really good feeling up that he became aware of the presence of someone else. He stopped and stood still, listening. There were definite sounds coming from the cubicle next to his. Breathing and shuffling noises. More than one person. Curiosity drew Gil closer to the wall and he saw that there was a small gap between the panels. He lowered his eye to the gap and squinted through.

  At first all he could see was faded brown cord trousers, then the wearer moved slightly and Gil got a glimpse of someone’s head. Gil knelt down on the floor to get a better look and found that the gap widened slightly as it ran down to the tiles. By the look and their muffled comments, the occupants of the next stall were two Italians. Gil could see one was obviously sitting on the john while the other stood up in front of him. The one sitting down was about twenty-five or so, longish black hair falling forward over his brow. The other Gil recognized from seeing him standing around on the studio floor, admiring the legs of one of the bit-part actresses. He wasn’t doing that now. Gil knew the studios only hired people over eighteen but the boy looked younger, a thin slip of a thing with a sad, brown face and big black eyes and, as Gil now saw, a huge cock. Not very thick but extremely long.

  The older man withdrew this pointed tool from his mouth and started licking its tip copiously. The boy gave a soft groan, evidently enjoying the attentions of his partner. Gil’s own cock, which had gone limp as soon as he ceased rubbing it, grew rock hard again as he watched the action from next door. The older man was now undoing the old cords, easing them down over the boy’s legs. The kid wore nothing underneath, so the Italian stagehand was free to really get down to some good sucking. First he made the boy turn around and bend over. Gil couldn’t see properly but the kid was obviously holding onto the door. He could see the flat stomach tautened with excitement running into the bony flanks. They almost made a perfect right angle. Gil shifted position slightly and the older man’s head came into better view. He was eating out the kid’s ass, giving great big cow licks, while both hands milked at the long cock, now projected downward between the boy’s thin legs.

  Gradually the man pulled the cock further until it was jutting backward, incredibly seeming to issue from his ass. In this position there was still plenty of it left for the man to suck and, slowly he shifted his attention from the ass to the rigid javelin with its arrow-shaped head. The Italian kid started gasping pleasurably as the older guy worked the cock in and out of his mouth, slapping his wide tongue wetly against the rippled shaft. Then he grasped it firmly in his hands and began wringing it almost like a washerwoman getting rid of moi
sture from clothes. In response the kid wriggled and squirmed. Then he got deeply sucked again. The man kept on alternating these actions until the poor kid was in an agony of delight. His hollowed butt shook with his exertions.

  At the same time Gil was now jerking off furiously and realized from the wetness of his hands that he had already shot his bolt once and was virtually ready for another orgasm.

  He glued his eye firmly to the crack and was rewarded with one of the best cum shots he had ever seen. The man sitting down was bent forward eagerly, still wringing that long shaft, now swollen with desire and ready to bust at the seams, his tongue flashing with blurry rapidity around and around the cock’s tip. Gil heard the boy’s raspy breath getting faster and then he grunted and let fly. The first sign was a silvery dribble which issued from the gaping hole and was immediately mixed up with the man’s saliva, then a second later a great gout of cum streaked out. It curved upward with the force of its emission, a gluey gossamer thread that shot past the man’s tongue, leaving a trail across his swarthy cheek, and out into the dark space of the cubicle, highlighted like a comet. The second streamer was even harder, but as the kid wriggled he aimed his cock more at Gil. The squirted cum again missed the man’s questing tongue and shot straight at the crack behind which Gil hid. Although Gil hadn’t noticed in his extremis, he had stuck out his own tongue in sympathy with the Italian. The cum hit the cubicle wall with an audible splat and a generous quantity of it fell on Gil’s tongue. He lapped it in automatically and it tasted thin and sweet. Not at all like Jeff’s or the custom officer’s. Its efflorescence drove Gil into a frenzy. He gasped and the other two heard him.