A Wager

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GIF

GIF

© by the author 2015

GIF

© by the author 2015

“Wow, where did you find this?”

“I created it.”

“It’s so lifelike. I’ve never seen a statue move like that.”

“It’s not a statue. It’s a real human being. I’ve just programmed him to do that.”

“Programmed?”

“Yes.”

*****

When Jeremy had expressed polite interest in a painting hanging in the foyer, the man had invited him to view the rest of his art collection. “At least what I have in the house at the moment. Several pieces are on loan to museums. And then I keep another hundred pieces or so in storage—some because they’re too fragile to display, others because I simply don’t have enough room for all of them. I wish I could display them all. I’m a very visual person, and I like to look at my possessions.” The man’s art collection didn’t really interest Jeremy. What interested him was that the collection was so large that the man’s huge mansion couldn’t hold all of it. An art collection this large meant money.

He had hit the jackpot this time. The man had booked his services online using the link on Jeremy’s website. Lots of people tried to do that. The videos that featured Jeremy thrusting his generous endowment into various orifices of his fellow actors and the ecstatic looks on their faces as well as the explicit photos he had posted on his website had made him a star in the gay entertainment world. Jeremy intended to parlay that prominence into a permanent gig. He wanted to retire long before his physical charms began to fade. Marriage with a rich old man would set him up for the rest of his life. He foresaw no problems seducing a person who met his financial and age requirements and arranging for a marriage that provided a nice car, a generous monthly allowance, and life in a mansion staffed with servants to cater to his whims. Sex with someone rich enough to supply those was a small price to pay, no matter what the guy looked like. And he would see to it that the sex was spectacular. So spectacular that the new groom would happily bequeath his entire estate to Jeremy.

That’s why he had the website. It allowed him to check on the men who tried to hire him. The geek who had set up the website (Jeremy paid him by re-enacting a sex scene of the guy’s choice from one of Jeremy’s videos with the nerd cast as the bottom) supplied him with the address and financial data on everyone who filled out the online contact form. All that cost Jeremy was an occasional fuck. So much information was available online. With the address it was no problem to find pictures of the person’s house. Jeremy had already limited his search to a few select zip codes. He had no intention of leaving southern California—maybe for the occasional trip to Europe or Tahiti but certainly not permanently. It didn’t take any brains to look at a house and figure out whether it would meet his needs, but the financial data were harder for him to interpret. Another bottom paid in fucks who understood such matters helped Jeremy decipher the figures.

His criteria were simple. The target had to live in a certain area, he had to be worth over $250 million, he had to be single with no children, and he had to be over 65 (Jeremy wasn’t willing to wait forever for his inheritance).  Ross Kirkman easily met all those standards. His 6,000-square-foot house sat on 10 acres of meticulously groomed lawns in Holmby Hills. A high wall backed by thick groves of trees and shrubs insured privacy. The pool was perhaps not as large as Jeremy wished, but that minor detail could be fixed later. According to Kirkman’s biography on Wikipedia, he had been a professor of chemistry at UCLA. He had quit at age 38 to found Kirkman Pharmaceuticals and then developed Vyroxinile and several other major drugs. Jeremy personally did not need Vyroxinile, but enough men did to ensure that Kirkman became very rich. Kirkman remained the CEO of Kirkman Pharmaceuticals. His estimated wealth was well over Jeremy’s minimum requirement. Kirkman had never married and was an only child. There were no relatives close enough to contest an inheritance to a spouse of several years’ standing. Jeremy thought he could survive ten years of marriage to someone like Kirkman. If Kirkman didn’t cooperate by shuffling off on his own soon after that, there were other means of ensuring his departure. Death by vigorous fucking three or four times a day should do the trick.

The tour of Kirkman’s art collection took almost an hour.  Jeremy took careful note of all the treasures. He knew some of the names Kirkman mentioned. Picasso, Monet, Rembrandt (that one was just a small drawing, but surely a Rembrandt drawing would fetch a good price when he sold it after Kirkman’s death), van Gogh.  There were others he didn’t recognize, but they looked expensive and Kirkman clearly expected him to be impressed by the names. The house would also be worth millions, Jeremy thought. It sat on the crest of a hill, and the view from the upper stories alone would add several millions to the selling price.  He had lost count of the numbers of rooms they had been in, but there had to be at least ten bedrooms, each of them larger than his entire apartment.

Jeremy was lost in a daydream fueled by his forthcoming wealth when Kirkman stopped before a pair of closed doors and said, “I keep my favorite piece in here.” Kirkman ceremoniously opened both doors simultaneously and motioned Jeremy to follow him in.

The other rooms in the house were filled with objects. Paintings hung from every open space on the walls. Every table top was cluttered with objects. Statues and enormous Chinese vases occupied the corners. After all that wealth of art, Jeremy’s initial impression of the room was that it was practically empty. A small couch upholstered in a shiny white fabric faced a curtained-off area. In front of the couch was a coffee table made of stainless steel and plate glass on which sat a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket and two champagne flutes. Those were the only visible objects in the room. The windowless walls were painted white. The floor was highly polished dark wood. Ebony, Jeremy guessed.

“I intentionally kept the best for last,” Kirkman said. “Sit down. Champagne?”

He didn’t wait for Jeremy to reply. He opened the bottle and then poured Jeremy a glass before serving himself and sitting down beside Jeremy. He briefly tipped his glass toward Jeremy in salute and took a tiny sip. He set the glass down on the coffee table and picked up a remote.

Using the device, Kirkman turned off all the lights except a spotlight focused on the curtain. “A bit dramatic, I know. But there shouldn’t be any distractions. That’s why I keep this room almost bare. I don’t want to have anything else competing for my attention.” He lifted his champagne glass again, and said, “Drink up. It will put you in the proper frame of mind.”

Jeremy took a large swallow of the champagne. It was very good champagne. He had never had this particular kind before but he knew that it cost a lot. Far more than he could afford—at least for now. In truth he didn’t care for champagne, and this tasted a little bitter, but the price more than made up for that. He resolved to drink only this kind of champagne in the future. Nothing else would do for Kirkman’s husband.  When he sat his glass down, Kirkman refilled it.

“Now, I think you are ready.”

The curtain rose silently into the ceiling. The statue stood on a low platform in an alcove. It was lifelike down to the last detail. The flesh looked like human flesh, and the hair on the statue’s head and the neat patch of trimmed pubic hair looked like human hair. The statue depicted a well-tanned young man (no tan lines, Jeremy noted), with an athletic build, not unlike his own.

Kirkman pointed the remote at the statue and pressed a button. Jeremy gasped. The statue, the machine, whatever it was, began to move. Its right hand grasped its cock and began stroking. The cock quickly grew to an impressive size, almost as large as his own. Beneath the surface of the skin, the muscles rippled smoothly and realistically.

“Wow, where did you find this?” Jeremy dropped all pretense of sophistication and because what he was—a farm kid two years away from his high school graduation in Manteca.

“I created it.”

“It’s so lifelike. I’ve never seen a statue move like that.”

“It’s not a statue. It’s a real human being. I’ve just programmed it to do that.”

“Programmed?”

“Yes. I was inspired by GIFs. I was looking at porn online one day, and there was one of those GIFs in which a handsome young man endlessly repeats the same action. And I thought, why not create a three-dimensional object that endlessly repeats the same action? Paul will continue to stroke himself like that until I tell him to stop. I seldom keep him at it for more than a half hour, however. I don’t want to wear him out. So I don’t really know how long he can keep it up. Hours, I should imagine. He’s also been programmed to perform other actions, but this is my favorite. He has such a beautiful cock, don’t you think? It’s almost hypnotic to watch him stroking himself. I can’t get enough of watching him.”

“But he’s a human being?”

“Yes. So, of course, I can’t keep him on permanent display up here. He needs to eat, sleep. And he has his duties about the place. He takes care of the yard and the pool, and he has daily exercise routines. I don’t want his body to deteriorate. More champagne?”

Jeremy glanced down at the glass in his hand. Without realizing ti, he had emptied the glass. He held it out to Kirkman to refill. The bitter taste he had noticed earlier had disappeared. He must have gotten used to it. He didn’t know what to think of this Paul guy. When he moved in, he would have to do something about Paul. He didn’t want any competition for Kirkman’s attention. But it was weird. The statue, the whatever it was, was mesmerizing. He couldn’t take his eyes off Paul’s hand stroking his cock. He had to admit that Paul was almost as good-looking as himself. But the idea was repulsive too. A man under control like that. Paul’s eyes looked so lifeless. Now that he was moving, his eyes were the most lifeless part of him. It was like he was unconscious of what was happening.

“Does he know what he’s doing?”

“I don’t think so. The drug overrules higher brain functions, things like consciousness, the sense of self, the will.”

“What drug?”

“I’m head of a pharmaceutical company. We’re developing a drug for the military. It has several potential uses.”

“Is it legal?”

Kirkman shrugged. “Paul isn’t suffering.”

“But won’t he cum if he keeps doing that?”

“Not unless I key in that program.”

“Does he remember what he does?”

“He may. If he does, he hasn’t said so.”

“Aren’t you curious what he’s feeling?”

“Not really. The drug makes him anxious to please. Since he is pleasing me, I imagine he feels pleasure at that thought. But even if he doesn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He performs as programmed.”

Kirkman’s mad, thought Jeremy. He decided against letting his feelings show. Perhaps Kirkman wasn’t a good choice for marriage after all. Who knew what he would do if crossed? Best to pretend to be interested and then leave as soon as possible. “You said he does other things. What?”

“Well, that is the problem. He can do all the things one man can do by himself. At first that was enough to amuse me. But lately I’ve wanted more. I want him to interact with a second man.”

“A second man?”

“Yes. I’ve already selected the man and administered the initial dose of the drug. I’ll begin his programming shortly.” Kirkman pressed several buttons. On the platform, Paul ceased to move. His hand dropped to his side, and his cock grew flaccid. The curtain descended and the room brightened as the lights came on.

“I think that’s enough of a demonstration. Here, drink the rest of your champagne.”

Jeremy’s hand lifted the glass to his mouth. He emptied the glass in several swallows. He noticed that Kirkman had barely touched his glass. It was still full.

Kirkman took the glass from Jeremy’s hand and set it on the table. “I think that’s enough of the drug for us to get started. I have a lab in the basement. We’ll go down there and start your

programming. Your movies have given me lots of ideas. They’re very inspiring.”

10,000th page view

Around 9:30 EDT this morning (6/2/15), the page visitor counter on this site reached 10,000. This doesn't mean that 10,000 people have visited this site. Rather, an unknown number of people have opened 10,000 pages or posts. I made the first posting here in mid-June 2013. I reached 1,000 views on 3/1/14, or some nine months later. It took just over two years to get 10,000 views.  The count soared in January 2015 when this blog was mentioned by two bloggers on Tumblr (sleepermind and captionstojerkby). Just under 14 percent of the 10,000 views followed these two mentions, most of them within two weeks. Of course these numbers represent visits. The numbers say nothing about how many people actually read one of the stories or liked it.

The United States accounted for 6,445 page views, followed distantly by Great Britain (935), Russia (390), Taiwan (297), Australia (267), France (239), Canada (220), and Germany (145).

Thirty-one percent of the page views were made on Firefox, followed by Chrome (29 percent), Safari (21 percent) and Internet Explorer (9 percent). These four browsers accounted for 90 percent of the views. As for operating systems, Windows accounted for 49 percent of the views, Macintosh for 17 percent, IPhone for 13 percent, Android for 11 percent, and IPad for 6 percent. The Google statistics counter presents only the gross figures and does not display changes over time, but it's my sense that a growing number of visitors are using tablets or phones.

The most popular stories have been "Bliss" (402 views), "Hypnosis Files" (348), and "Doing the Laundry" (195). I suspect that many of the visits to "Hypnosis Files" result from searches on hypnosis, not an interest in reading stories about gay guys being hypnotized.

I haven't posted much lately, but I have been writing. One of my first stories featuring hypnosis was the novel-length White Noise, which I wrote in 2006. That version was very clumsily written, and I've long wanted to rewrite it. I'm about half finished with the revisions and hope to post the complete series in September.

You Bet Your Life

You Bet Your Life

z119z

© by the author 2015

“But isn’t it dangerous?”

The man shrugs his shoulders. “That’s part of the attraction.” In his hands the man holds a red silk tie. As you watch, he grasps an end in each hand and pulls it taut.

You don’t wear ties—you haven’t worn one since your mom made you wear one to your high school graduation. You didn’t even know how to tie it. Your stepdad had to do it for you. You pulled it off as soon as he snapped a picture of you and your mom after the ceremony. Two seconds later, you ran off to join your friends for a celebration in the city. You’ve been in the city ever since. You met Jackie in a club, and he took you to his apartment. You’re still living with him. Jackie’s the person who taught you how to sell yourself.

You are surprised at the length of the tie. It has to be five feet long at least.

The man had introduced himself as “Billy.” The name is at odds with his appearance. He isn’t a kid. He looks like a successful businessman or professional. He wears a charcoal grey suit, a white shirt, and black shoes and socks. Until a minute ago, the tie was around his neck.

You say, “I don’t know, man. I’ve never done anything like that before. You said you just wanted a blow job.”

“I’ll talk you through it. I’ve done it dozens of times, and I’m still here. And I still want the blow job.”

You look around as if something written on the hotel room walls will help you decide. In the end you use the phrase Jackie taught you to use when a john wants something weird. “It’ll cost you.”

The man doesn’t hesitate. He takes his wallet out of his pocket and counts out five $100 bills. He drops them in your lap. He’s done this before. He knows he has to pay extra, and he came prepared.

You look at the bills. They’re resting on your groin. It’s like the man wants to insult you. He doesn’t hand you the money. Just tosses on your moneymaker. You’ve got half a mind to dump it on the floor and grind it beneath your shoes and tell him to go fuck himself.

But you need the money. So far, your take for the day has been $35. An hour ago a guy paid you to unzip and pull out your cock. You stood on a toilet in a cubicle at some bar, and he bent over and sucked your dick. You came within three minutes. Unfortunately you don’t recharge quickly, not like some guys. It keeps you from earning more money. Once you cum, you can’t get it up again for several hours. So when Billy found your ad and texted you and offered you $300 to come to his hotel room and suck him off, you had rushed over. Guys who want a blow job don’t care if you cum or not. Now he’s given you another $500. Eight hundred for a blow job with extras. It takes you no time at all to decide it’s worth it. You pick up the money and fold it over twice. Your pants are so tight that you have to stretch out your legs and lift your ass to stuff the money into your pocket. You say, “What do you want me to do?” You’re cool. You’re a pro. You’ve done everything. Nothing surprises you.

“Get undressed.”

Billy turns away and begins undressing too. He hangs his suit coat and trousers in the alcove next to the hallway door and then removes his shirt and underwear. Those he places neatly on the foldout luggage rack in the alcove. He leaves his socks on. He’s got a good build for an old guy. He must belong to a gym and work out every day. Decent chest and a trim waist. His thighs are thick and muscular. Good arms. Not that you care, but at least he’s not some fat old slob. Some guys, you have to push aside the fat to find their cock. Billy’s maybe 40, 45. He’s taller than you, over six feet. Like many guys his age, his body’s covered with a lot of fuzzy hair.

A small wooden chair has been shoved under a shelf that’s pretending to be a desk. Billy pulls it out and places it at the foot of the bed, facing the full-length mirror on the back of the hallway door. He sits down in it briefly and then moves it back a foot. “Better,” he says. “The lighting’s better in this spot.”

As if you care. You toe off your sneakers. You drop your jeans and T-shirt on the floor. You aren’t wearing any underwear. Just a pair of white socks.

When Billy finishes his preparations, he sits down. Without even looking at you, he says, “Stand behind the chair for now. You’ll need the tie.”

You pick up the tie and walk over. You’re behind Billy. The tie dangles from your right hand. In the mirror, you can see your chest and head standing over his seated body. You say, “What do I do now?”

“Hold the ends in your hands and loop the middle of the tie around my neck.”

You look down at the tie. This is fucking weird shit. Billy’s hair is thinning on top. You didn’t notice that before. You were sitting in the chair in the corner next to the window, and Billy was standing.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, whatever, man.” You do as Billy told you and loop the tie loosely around his neck. The skin on the back of his neck is darker than the skin on his back. He must wear a shirt when he’s out in the sun. There’s a large mole on the right side of his neck just above the tie

“Now, slowly begin to pull on the ends.”

You take a deep breath and pull.

“Not so hard. Slowly. . . . That’s better. Now I want you to tighten it and then release it. Tighten it a little bit more each time and hold it for a bit longer.”

It’s kind of exciting—you have to admit that. It’s weird, but holding a man’s life in your hands sort of arouses you. The flesh on the back of Billy’s neck bulges over the edges of the tie as you pull it tighter. Weirder still, Billy isn’t paying any attention to you. His gaze is fixed on his own image in the mirror. To him, you’re just a tool. But he’s wrong about that.

Control. “I’m in control,” you think. Me. For once. Not some stupid “client” who just wants to rent your dick or your mouth or your ass for a few minutes. You loosen the tie around Billy’s neck and then move your hands back and forth in unison so that the tie slides around the creep’s neck. Messing with him. Playing. Showing him who’s in control now. Who’s the boss now, ya fucking jerk? That’s what Billy should call himself. Jerk.

Billy rolls his head. He’s enjoying this. Good. Maybe he’ll like this as well.

You pull the tie tight again. You lean forward over Billy and began rubbing the jerk’s nipples with the ends of the tie. Oh, the jerk likes that too. Maybe he’ll like this even better. You yank on the ends of the tie as hard as you can. Billy’s head snaps back. His eyes are closed. His lips are open. “Huhh, huhh, huhh,” he’s saying.

And he just sits there. He could raise his hands and pull the tie loose. He could say something. But he just sits there with his eyes closed, smiling.

“Tighter.”

It’s the first thing Billy’s said since you started. You giggle. “In a while. There’s no hurry.” You loosen the tie.

Billy’s head slumps forward. He gulps and takes a deep breath. “You’re getting the hang of this.” He stretches his neck and rolls it in a complete circle. “Give me a second. Let me catch my breath, and then you can start again.”

“How long you been doing this?” you ask. You’re beginning to find this new game fun. Jackie will be interested in this. Maybe he can add something to the profile he put online for you. Sort of a specialty. Jackie will know what it’s called. He’ll know the codewords that appear harmless to outsiders but clue in guys in the know. If you can earn this much money doing something this simple, maybe Jackie will let you stay longer. Maybe he’ll stop looking for new guys who still look young and can earn enough to make him happy.

“Since I was a teenager. Thirty, thirty-five years. I used to do it alone, but it’s much better with a partner.”

You nod. You don’t know what else to say. You’re not much on conversation. Some of the johns like to talk. Some of them, that’s all they want to do. Tell you about their miserable life. Others just want the sex. The sex guys are better. Keeps everything simple and quick.

“OK, I’m ready. This time don’t let go until I’m red in the face.”

It doesn’t take long. A minute maybe. Billy’s face turns a dark red  Still he just sits there. He doesn’t move a muscle. But he gets hard, real hard. He isn’t even touching himself. He gets hard just from being strangled. An hour ago, you wouldn’t have thought that possible, but the johns continually surprise you. Boy, he will have a story to tell Jackie tonight. $800 and a weird guy who got hard just from being choked.

“OK.” Billy’s croaks out the word.

You hold the stranglehold for a few seconds before letting go. It wouldn’t do to let the jerk think he’s in control.

“Now tie both ends of the tie to one of the rungs of the chair. Leave enough slack so that I can breathe a bit. When I push my head forward, it’ll tighten the tie. I want you to suck me off now.”

It takes a couple of tries to get it right. Billy tests it several times and then proclaims it “Just perfect.”

The chair blocks the narrow path between the bed and the wall. You have to crawl across the bed to get in position. You grab one of the pillows and put it on the floor in front of Billy. You know from experience that hotel carpets are hard and rough on the knees.

The jerk’s dick is hard and throbbing. Average size. Which is good. Big cocks trigger your gag reflex. You hate that. Although some guys like seeing you gag. Other guys are put off by all the junk spilling out of your mouth, especially if you get their clothes wet. You don’t have to worry about that today. Billy isn’t wearing any clothes.

You get on his knees and bend forward. Another plus. Billy’s cock is clean. He must have taken a shower. But then why would he get dressed again? Doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s one of those guys whose cock doesn’t stink.

Billy places his hands on your shoulders and begins guiding him. Up and down. Just close off your mind. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Just do it. It will all end soon. And now the jerk has a hand on the back of your head. Nothing strange about that. Guys do that. They like to push your head down onto their cock, make you take it all the way, shove your face into their nuts and pubes.

Billy’s cock is bigger than you thought. It reaches the back of your throat. But no worries. You can handle it. Just so long as the guy lets you breathe. Swallow it all. Try not to think about it. Don’t worry about the cum that gonna cum gushing out and blast all over your throat. Don’t think. Just suck. At least the guy is letting you move his head up and down. Not like some guys. You can breathe on the up strokes.

Billy’s chest presses down on your head. He’s leaning forward to pull the tie tight around his neck. That excites him. His cock gets even harder.

It’s odd. It’s exciting you as well. The more Billy struggles, the more you like it. Let the jerk strangle himself. It’s what he deserves. Suck him harder. See how he likes your hot, moist, young mouth swallowing his cock. Maybe the jerk will black out and then you can leave. It can’t be too soon. You just want to get this over and get out of there. The jerk is getting so excited that he’s really holding on tight. He’s squeezing your shoulders. It’s beginning to hurt. You’re going to have bruises.

Billy thrusts his cock upward and simultaneously pushes down hard on your head. His cock hits the back of your throat. You try to pull away, but Billy wraps his legs around your back and holds you in. Your hands are crushed against your sides by Billy’s thighs.

Who would have thought the guy was so strong? Jesus, he’s so excited. He’s squeezing even harder. 

And now his hands are around your neck. How long have they been there? And he’s choking you. Hard. He’s choking you. And he’s choking himself. He’s so caught up in his strangling fantasy that he doesn’t see that he’s strangling you too.

Can’t breathe. And he’s raping your throat with his monster cock, and he’s choking you and he’s oblivious to what he’s doing, and oh god you’re going to die.

And he won’t let you breathe. And he’s pumping faster and faster. And deeper and deeper, And need to breathe. Choking. And it’s so exciting. Your cock is hard, and you want to grab it and pump it, but you can’t reach it. More, Shove that dick into me. Harder.

Gushing. Cum filling your throat. So much. Can’t swallow. Can’t breathe. Blackness covering eyes. Can’t see. Roaring in ears. Can’t hear.

Release. Slump to floor. Ears still ringing. Dizzy. Billy pulls the tie off the chair and loops it around your neck. He pulls. His cum dribbles out of your mouth and onto the rug as you grab your cock and cum.

When you awake, Billy is gone. You don’t know how long you’ve been out. The clock next to the bed reads 4:21. When did you arrive? Hard to remember. Maybe around 1:30. The whole thing with Billy took maybe half an hour. Forty-five minutes tops. So you’ve been unconscious since 2:30 or so. Almost two hours.

You’re naked. Lying on the floor where you fell after Billy shot his cum down your throat. Your neck hurts, and your mouth tastes horrible. You sit up. The chair is where Billy left it. You have to move it back in place to get to your clothes. You check your pockets. Relief. Billy didn’t steal anything. There’s an envelope stuck in the frame of the mirror. There’s another $100 bill inside and a note. “Thanks. I’ll call you again. Chokestud.”