Blue Boy 1: Bullet
Garrett Leigh
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Loose Id Titles by Garrett Leigh
Garrett Leigh
Blue Boy 1:
BULLET
Garrett Leigh
www.loose-id.com
Blue Boy 1: Bullet
Copyright © November 2013 by Garrett Leigh
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN 9781623005511
Editor: S.N. Graves
Cover Artist: GD Leigh
Published in the United States of America
Loose Id LLC
PO Box 809
San Francisco CA 94104-0809
www.loose-id.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * *
DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practice, especially those that might be found in our BDSM/fetish titles without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither Loose Id LLC nor its authors will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Dedication
For Big G—my love, my life, my world. And for those who see art and soul wherever they look. Namaste.
Chapter One
A trickle of sweat ran down the center of Levi Ramone’s chest. More beaded his brow. He shook his head, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. It was too long for working on broken-down motorbikes, too long for his momma’s liking, and definitely too long for porn.
Hot, lube-slick fingers dug into his hips, jolting him back to reality. He looked down at the boy writhing beneath him. Boy. Levi smirked. Zeb was twenty-six, like him, but his smooth, hairless body and baby face made him appear much, much younger. The barely-legal-twink thing didn’t really do it for Levi, but it wasn’t like he was fucking Zeb for fun. Nah, this was work—this was his job. At least the only job he had that paid real money.
Zeb pulled on his hips again. “That all you got, cowboy?”
Cowboy. The word was his cue to move things along. Levi bent and scooped Zeb’s much smaller frame into his arms and lifted him from the back of the leather couch. He glanced at the watching cameras, checking the angles, before he deposited Zeb on the fake bearskin rug. “Hold on tight,” he warned, sliding back into Zeb’s tight body hard and fast.
Zeb moaned and arched his back. “Fuck me, damn it. Fuck me.”
Levi obliged. It was getting late, and he had stuff to do. He put his hands flat on Zeb’s chest and pounded him until he was a jabbering wreck. They took a break for Zeb to work himself hard again. Levi switched off, almost detached. His mind drifted when the scene resumed, and he barely noticed when Zeb came with a ragged cry. After that, it didn’t take long for him to find an absent release in Zeb’s talented mouth.
They wrapped the scene, and Levi hit the large communal wet room, left over from the studio building’s factory roots. At Blue Boy Studio, showers were a communal thing where models came together to clean up and compare shoots. Today was no different. Levi found himself sharing his space with Caleb, another regular top. Out of habit, he chanced a glance over Caleb’s long masculine body. It was very similar to his—strong, subtly defined, and dusted with real body hair. No tattoos, though. The twinks had more ink than the tops at Blue Boy.
That was one of the differences between this place and most of the gay-for-pay studios out there. Blue Boy wasn’t about bronzed, muscled, straight men pretending to be gay, or vice versa. The models were genuine gay men who loved fucking and/or really needed the cash. Levi reckoned most fell into both categories. He knew he did.
He rubbed shampoo through his dark hair and rinsed it out before reaching for the shower gel to wash the remnants of sweat and other bodily fluids from his skin. Beside him, Caleb went through similar motions. Levi turned to him with an amiable grin. Though pressed for time, he felt genial enough to be polite. “Good shoot?”
Caleb leaned back against the tiled wall with a lazy, shit-eating grin. “Hell, yeah, I had Theo in the weight room. Dude, I nailed him so hard he ain’t gonna sit right for a week.”
“Yeah, I got Zeb pretty good too.” Levi swallowed his disgust and played his role to perfection. He’d learned long ago life was far easier if he said what people expected him to say.
“Damn straight.” Caleb held up his hand to high-five. “Saw your scene with Diego last week. You’re the motherfucking man.”
Levi smirked and slapped Caleb’s hand. He’d heard that before. With his unshaven jaw and chest, dark hair, and brooding brown eyes, he was one of the studio’s most popular models. “That shoot was kinda cool. Not sure about the barn setting, though. It was a bit cliché, even for hard-core porn.”
“Gotta give ’em what they want.” Caleb shrugged. “With that accent, you’re like the ultimate cowboy fantasy.”
“I’m a mechanic,” Levi said drily. “I’ve never touched a damn horse.”
“Yeah, but you sound like one, and you’re hung like one. It’s a no-brainer.”
It was true on both counts. He had a big dick, and he could trace his roots back to a tiny farming town just east of Austin, Texas. His accent was as deep as his momma’s, but he could barely recall the time he’d spent in the South as a child.
“Not like it matters, though,” Caleb went on. “Folks just want to see a twink get rammed. No one cares about the rest of it.”
Levi grunted in reply. He didn’t give much consideration past the actual filming of his scenes. He just wanted to get laid and paid.
Other models began to drift into the showers. Levi acknowledged them all with a grin. Many faces he no longer knew. After dabbling in other studios, he’d worked exclusively at Blue Boy for three years, but models came and went a lot, and turnover in the business was high. These days, he couldn’t separate the faces he’d already fucked from those he’d never met.
The wet room filled with naked men, all fresh from a round of filming. The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial. A few had been posing for photo shoots and were still horny and game for some fun. That was the other thing about most of the models lacking normal work-colleague boundaries. Inhibitions were nonexistent, and Levi had enjoyed some good times in the shower room lately. But he wasn’t in the mood today. He turned down a blowjob and left them to it.
He dressed in loose, faded jeans and a T-shirt, stepped into his flip-flops, and made his way out of the dres
sing area. He nodded good-bye to some of the crew and the pretty chick who worked the reception desk. She waved and smiled a rueful smile. Levi knew she was fonder of him than she wanted to be.
“Levi, can I see you for a moment?”
He stopped, his hand on the exterior door, and turned to face Jon, Blue Boy’s director and owner. “Right now?”
“If you can spare the time,” Jon said with a grin. He tapped his checkbook on the door frame, the universal sign that he wanted to talk business. “It won’t take long.”
Levi bit back a sigh and let the door swing closed. He had stuff to get done at the garage, but Jon wasn’t a guy who took no for an answer, especially when he was waving his checkbook around. He was, after all, the man who paid Levi for his work, and Levi knew he paid him well.
He followed Jon into his office and shut the door behind him. Jon pointed at a chair not too dissimilar to the ones used as props in the studios. “Have a seat.”
Levi sat, glancing around the office as he slouched down and stretched his legs out in front of him. Like the rest of the building, it was fairly utilitarian, save the fancy computer. “What can I do for you?”
“What can I do for you is more the question,” Jon shot back. “I’m putting together next month’s schedule, and I wanted to talk to you about changing it up a little.”
“Changing it up?” Levi sat up, instantly wary. He’d heard that phrase before. In fact, he heard it every time he stepped into the office and Jon offered him increasingly crazy sums of money to perform in one of the bespoke scenes that made the studio unique in the industry. The scenes where rich clients could pretty much write the script.
“Yeah, I know we’ve talked about it before, but I was wondering if you’d thought any more about the offer I made last time. I know bottoming isn’t your thing, but I’m getting requests all the time to put together a special scene. There’s a lot of money on the table, Levi. There’s gotta be something we can do to make it happen.”
Levi shook his head, the refusal already on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t bottom. Never had. Never would.
Jon knew that all too well, but he spoke again before Levi could get the words out. “Okay, okay, let me put it this way. What about if we got together a three-way? We could put the scene together so you only had to bottom for a few minutes, get it over and done with, hard and fast. You wouldn’t have to come, or fake it. Just let the camera see you take it. Play it up, make it special. That’s all they want.”
For now, at least.
The rich dudes who had the money to request specialized scenes were like an angry mob. The more he gave them, the more they wanted. He’d done it all—three-ways, four-ways, orgies. If he agreed to this, what the hell would they want him to do next? Get fucked by a damned horse?
“What if I paid you something like this?”
Jon wrote a figure on a page of a notepad and slid the cock-shaped scrap of paper across the table. Levi glanced at it, expecting to see the usual amount, an amount he could bring himself to ignore. The extra zero stopped him in his tracks.
What the fuck? Is he for real?
The ridiculous sum of money was enough to pay off his momma’s credit cards, maybe even enough to make a dent in her medical bills. It was too much, too good to be true. It had to be. “You want to give me that much money to bottom for just a few minutes?”
“I’m not giving you the money, Levi. I’m paying you to do your job, and giving you a way to carry on doing it. You’ve been doing this shit a long time now. You have to know you can’t go on forever. The way I see it, this is a good way to keep you fresh in your twilight years. You have a huge following, and the prospect of you bottoming has started a bidding war. Seriously, take a look at this. This could be the most profitable scene we’ve ever done.”
Jon spun his computer monitor around, but Levi averted his gaze. The less he knew about the co-op of porn fans clubbing together to make his life hell, the better, and he didn’t want to think about the fast looming end of his porn career. It wasn’t the job of his dreams, but he needed the damned money. He sat back in his seat and rubbed at his dark beard. It was getting long, growing beyond the buzz of stubble he liked to wear on his face. “Who else have you got in mind for the scene?”
If Jon was surprised that Levi hadn’t flat-out refused him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he leaned forward with eager eyes. “What about Rex?”
“Rex? Are you kidding me?” The words were out before Levi could stop them. Rex? No fucking way. The dude was massive, from his broad shoulders and tree-trunk legs to his mammoth nine-inch cock. Levi had never filmed a scene with him, but he knew his magic numbers. Each Blue Boy model had the size of his dick recorded on the wall of fame.
“If you’re nervous, I’m sure we can—”
“It’s not that,” Levi snapped, though, of course, it was. Even if he liked to bottom, any sane man would balk at the prospect of having Rex’s monster cock crammed into his ass. “I just…”
“Just what?”
Silence. He didn’t have the ending to that sentence, and Jon knew it. What was he supposed to say? That he was scared? Yeah, because that would be the quickest way to unravel his hard-earned rep as one of the industry’s most ruthless tops. There was a whispered saying in the industry that you weren’t a real star until you’d taken as much dick as you’d given out. He didn’t care much for accolades, but he cared about the money—he had to—and without giving the viewers what they wanted to see, the cash would soon dry up.
Jon was a pretty cool boss—the kind of boss who kept him at one studio when others appeared to offer more money. Levi had faith he wouldn’t even try to force him to do it, but Jon was one of very few souls privy to what had lured him into the porn industry in the first place, and he wasn’t above making Levi an offer he couldn’t refuse.
Levi knew what he had to do—he had to roll over and take it like a man. Trouble was he just didn’t want to. “Let me think about it,” he said reluctantly.
Jon grinned, sensing victory. “Don’t think for too long. I was considering getting Sonny on board too, and I want to get this schedule wrapped before I head out to Vegas.”
Great. This shit just got better and better. Sonny was a dancer from Silver, the club Jon owned across the street, and one of the industry’s rising go-go boys. Bigger than the average twink, he was tattooed and compact, a perfect package of stunning beauty, and totally fucking annoying. He’d never so much as glanced Levi’s way, and they’d never filmed together. As far as Levi knew, Sonny stuck to solo scenes and promotional photo shoots.
It wasn’t going to happen. There was no way he was shooting a scene with Rex and his monster cock and some kid who couldn’t hide his disdain. Screw that, or rather, no chance in hell. He opened his mouth to say as much but was cut off by a light tap on the door. The door opened, and there he stood—all five feet and seven inches of Sonny fucking Valentine.
Chapter Two
Levi stared at Sonny. For some reason, the sinuous dancer was the last person he’d expected to see. Sonny glared right back through his sharp and soulful hazel eyes. In fact, Levi found himself musing that Sonny’s eyes were his best feature, aside from his tousled blond hair, taut abs, and smooth inked skin, hidden by his hip-hugging jeans and tight T-shirt…
Stop it, jackass. You don’t even like the kid. Why are you eye-fucking him?
He reined himself in and averted his gaze. Sonny let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a vexed puff of air, but before Levi could respond in kind, Jon shut his desk drawer with a bang.
“Hey, Sonny, we were just talking about you. Levi’s gonna think about being the third man in on that three-way I mentioned to you. You two haven’t shot together, have you?” He glanced between them. Sonny shook his head, but Levi maintained a mutinous silence. Jon knew full well who had shot with whom. The whole studio was set up around his own perverted fantasies. It had to be. Why else would a man own a porn company? “Okay, well,
why don’t you hang for a bit, swap numbers or whatever? Be good to get to know each other, eh? Might help Levi here grow some balls to match that huge rod.”
Jon laughed like he’d made the funniest crack he’d ever heard, slapped Levi on the back, and left the room. Levi watched him go, knowing he should get up and follow, but something had left him frozen in his seat, caught between fury and a building sense of apprehension smoldering deep in his belly.
Sonny waited for the door to shut, then turned back to Levi with an elegant, arched eyebrow. “Did I hear that right? You’re going to bottom?”
“Looks that way,” Levi replied tersely. Sonny ventured farther into the room. Levi noticed he was barefoot, like he’d come straight from a shoot too. “Did you film a scene today?”
“Yep.” Sonny leaped like a cat over the back of the chair Jon had just vacated and slid into the seat. “Some crappy jerk-off scene with Jay and Nico. Man, that shit is so contrived.”
“Why do it, then?” Levi snapped, irrationally feeling the need to defend the profession he was growing to loathe. “I thought you were just a dancer?”
“Just a dancer?” Sonny shot back. “I’m not just anything, asshole, and maybe you should answer your own question. You’re the one all torn up about a bottom scene you obviously don’t want to do. Maybe you should worry more about yourself than me. Looks like you’re about to get a taste of your own medicine.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, please.” Sonny reached forward, snagging a shiny green apple from the bowl on the desk. The movement caused his shirtsleeves to ride up. Levi caught sight of the script tattoo on his inner bicep. He’d never gotten close enough to read what it said, and now that he was, he could see it wouldn’t have done any good if he had. The whole thing was in a language he didn’t know.
“Please what? You got something you want to say to me, kid?”
“I’m not a kid, dude. I’m twenty-two.”
