Green-Eyed Ginger Fetish

Owen sighed and moaned. This wasn't like what men did to him in the alleys. It wasn't even the quick positioning and the "get right to the fuck" he'd usually gotten from Lamar Lewis.

Chandler brushed his flared trousers off his legs, moved over and above Owen's trembling body, and lifted his legs, one after the other, hooking Owen's ankles on his shoulders.

"Going to do you again now. Going to do you good," Chandler growled, and Owen realized that was a line from one of the man's movies before he drilled a bad guy with a bullet.

Chandler drilled Owen with his hard cock.

"Oh, fuck. Shit. FUCK!" Owen exclaimed, as the man, hovering above him, his eye's locked on Owen's, pushed inside him, and began to pump in long, strong thrusts.

Chandler didn't speak again until he was done for the second time. "I want you to come home with me for a couple of days. I'll pay you... unless, of course, you have other engagements." He gave a short laugh at his little joke. They were putting their clothes on and drinking off the last of the beer.

"I can't leave my stuff unguarded that long."

"You have stuff that needs guarded? In an alley somewhere?"

"No," Owen said, indignant. "It's under a bridge."

Chandler laughed. "I'll drive you to this bridge and you can bring it to my house--I have a house in Malibu, on the beach. You'll like it."

"Just for a couple of days?"

"Yes, that's all."

Owen wasn't sure he liked that. Chandler was good with him. He wasn't cruel. He hadn't slapped Owen around like some of the men did in the alleys, and he wasn't too big for Owen to take comfortably. He obviously had money... and he was a movie star. Maybe not as young as the movies showed, but a star nonetheless. He had this gorgeous Bentley with a comfortable backseat for fucking. And he said he had a house on the beach in Malibu.

And he gave Owen beer. He didn't care that Owen wasn't old enough to drink--or to do what Chandler did to him. He seemed to like that Owen was only eighteen.

As promised, Chandler made a stop at the bridge under the Hollywood Freeway to pick up Owen's duffel bag tucked up in the little spot several homeless guys used up the stone incline where the undersides of the girders right under the roadway gave some shelter from the wind and rain. Owen's friend, an old guy named Stan, didn't believe that Owen was going off with a movie star for a couple of days, but he followed Owen back down the incline far enough to see the silver Bentley with the aging movie star at the wheel--and to believe. He thought maybe he'd never see the kid again, and, in this, he was right. Knowing what kind of world this was, Stan memorized as much of the license plate number as he could before the car drove off.

* * * *

Owen heard the men speaking as he came up the wooden stairs from the Malibu sand to Brad Chandler's beach house. It wasn't much more than a bungalow, almost a wooden shack, and there was only one bedroom, in what was an attic area. The house sat on what must be a million-dollar postage-stamp-sized lot, though. Chandler had said they'd only need one bedroom the previous night, and he'd been right. But it had a nice terrace and pool between it and the drop off to the beach below and the Pacific Ocean. Owen knew that the men were there with Chandler, stretched out on lounge beds under the awning between house and pool. After being introduced to them and asked to skim the pool while they watched him moving around in a Speedo, Owen had been sent off to the beach so that they could talk business.

He knew that the pool didn't need skimmed and that he was asked to do so to provide eye candy for the old men.

The two of them, Jacob and Derick, were old--maybe in their fifties and a bit pudgy. They were pasty white against Chandler's golden tan. They obviously rode desks for a sixty-hour work week. They seemed to be some sort of movie producers. They talked like they were all business, but Owen knew that he was part of the business they were talking.

Owen stopped near the top of the stairs, where they couldn't see him but where he was close enough to hear them. He had paused not because they were still there and still talking business, but because they were talking about him, Owen. Chandler was telling them about what he did with Owen in sex--the positions he used and how yielding Owen was and the sounds he made when he was being fucked good--and it was evident that Owen was some part of a deal--and not just because he was conveniently there. The men were asking Chandler if he'd gotten from Owen some of the positions and servicing that they said they liked. Chandler had said Owen was such a slut they should try it all with him.

"I didn't know it would be that hard to find an eighteen-year-old with ginger hair and green eyes, Jacob. I didn't know what the difficulty was in meeting your needs. You've seen him, though. He'll do, won't he? That'll help swing the deal of me getting the part in Jungle Down Under, right?"

"You say he'll ride a cowboy?" the more quiet man, the one who was called Derick, said.

"And he gives it without a struggle and will take us both?" the other man, Jacob, interjected. "At once," he added in case Chandler had realized what he meant. The men laughed about that.

"He's a wanton little piece. He'll beg you both for it," Chandler said. "Now, about the lead in Jungle Down Under."

Owen turned and quietly descended the staircase back to the beach. He sat down on the bottom step. So, Chandler had picked him out for the color of his hair and eyes, and he was some sort of bartered property to get Chandler a part in a movie. Owen had been hoping for something longer term and based on attraction. This going out on his own was making a fool of him. He'd thought that getting out from under his parents' thumbs would show that he could take care of himself and find the relationship--with a man--he wanted. That certainly hadn't been the case.

He could just walk away from here--walk down the beach and up some other staircase and back to L.A. But how stupid was that? He was barefoot and in a Speedo and it was a long way back to L.A. And his duffel bag and the money Chandler had given him that morning--$1,000--were upstairs in the bedroom. He should have known that for a thousand he was going to have to do more for Chandler than just let him fuck him in the back of his fancy car and then here at the beach house last night, in his bed.

No, he'd go ahead and do it. He'd go on up there, let the two men fuck him and earn that money. They weren't bad looking--just old and not in the best of shape. They didn't have the sculpted bod that Chandler had and made the movie goers swoon. But, of course, he wasn't as hunky looking in person as they made him on film, either. And he wasn't packing anything like Lamar Lewis was.

Ah, the cop, Lamar Lewis. Too bad there were complications there.

"Oh, there you are, Owen," Chandler said when the young man they'd been talking about reached the top of the stairs from the beach. "Remember what I gave you this morning and mentioning that I'd tell you what I wanted you to do to earn it?"

"Yes, I remember. You want me to let these two men fuck me in exchange for you getting the part in a movie."

That set Chandler back on his heels. Derick looked a bit embarrassed, but Jacob snorted and gave a little laugh. Owen looked at the two men. A bit paunchy, a bit old and pale. But for $1,000, not impossible. He'd done far worse guys in alleys for far less in the last few weeks. He felt a little jolt of pride that not only had he attracted a major movie star, albeit one with side motives, but he could earn his way this way if he wanted. It was only the things he'd wanted to prove when he left home. Before then, his neighbor had been taking it for free.

It was that Jacob he'd have to look out for, though, he now could see. Derick was just following along. And Brad Chandler? He was signaling that he was close to the end of this gravy train. He was having to barter favors to get movie roles now. Owen felt a bit sorry for Chandler--but not enough so to help the man save face for what he had to do to get a movie part now.

"Well... yes, as a matter of fact," Chandler said. "It's just that..."

"It's just that one of these men has a fetish for young guys with red hair and green eyes--and you need to be able to star in another movie."

Jacob snorted again. "I like this little piece; he's got spunk," Jacob said.

"Are you going to go upstairs with these men, or not?" Chandler's voice had taken on a hard tone.

"Whatever you want--for what you're paying me," Owen answered. He wanted to establish with these guys that that was what he was doing it for--for the money.

* * * *

Derick lay on his back on Chandler's double bed, and Owen rode his cock in a cowboy, facing him. Jacob was moving around the bed, touching Owen here and there, helping in the positioning, and reaching around and stroking Owen's cock as Owen fucked himself on Derick's shaft. Chandler was sitting off to the side, watching. All of the men were naked, working their cocks.

Jacob broke away and went over to Chandler, sitting in the chair. He grasped the movie star's legs; draped them over the arms of the chair, rolling Chandler's pelvis up, put himself into position, penetrated as Chandler groaned and gasped, and fucked Chandler while Owen was riding Derick's shaft.

So, Chandler was willing--and reduced to the need--to give far more than Owen's ass to get this movie role he coveted. Owen found that amusing--and a bit pathetic.

And Owen had been right--that it was Jacob who had to be watched out for.

And then that became obvious, as Jacob left Chandler, came to the bed, saddled up behind the eighteen-year-old, encircled Owen's waist with one arm, grasped the young man's cock with the other, entered him above Derick's cock, and did all of the heavy thrusting in a double penetration. Moaning, gasping, and writhing until he just collapsed and took it and took it and took it, Owen was sandwiched between the two large, heavy men and somehow survived his first double-penetration fuck, Derick just lying there and panting, but Jacob being forceful and cruel.

Owen had known it was Jacob who had to be watched out for.

* * * *

Owen was walking the Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, moving away from Brad Chandler's beach house and toward downtown L.A., dressed now and carrying his duffel bag, the $1,300 in all he'd earned the hard way from Chandler safely tucked away, when the blue sedan rolled up beside him and kept a slow pace with him until he stopped and turned.

He'd been left lying on Chandler's bed, stretched out on his back in an open, vulnerable, sacrificial position, blowing bubbles and whimpering, when the other three men had gone back to the terrace and to their beer. The double penetration hadn't been the end of it. Chandler had fucked him in a doggie and then, recovered, Jacob, the one with the small, ginger guy with green eyes fetish, had had one final go at him in the missionary position.

Groaning, Owen had finally rolled off the bed, managed a shower, and slipped out of the house with what he'd brought with him, plus $1,300, without the other three knowing he was gone. He'd heard them saying they'd be back to fuck him again after drinking a couple of beers and watching the activity on the beach. He'd thought $1,000 was a lot of money for the session with the producers, but now he thought it wasn't near enough to justify what he had to do to earn it.

The passenger-side window of the blue sedan scrolled down and Officer Lamar Lewis called out, "You want a ride into town? It's one helluva walk from here."

"Sure," Owen said, sighing as he climbed into the car. "How did you know I was out here?" he asked when the car began to roll again.

"I'm a cop, you know," Lewis said. "It wasn't that hard. I found you under a bridge--your bridge--didn't I? I figured you were living under that bridge and I knew you were working the Sunset Strip area. Somebody at the grocery store you sometimes work at saw a movie star--Brad Chandler, she said--pick you up. And one of your homeless friends saw you get into a silver Bentley and took down enough of the license plate number for me to trace it. From there it was a piece of cake to find Brad Chandler and to check out his in-town apartment and his Malibu beach house. By the time I got out here, you were leaving the house and walking the road. Bet I don't have to ask what you were doing in Chandler's beach house."

"Everything you thought I was doing," Owen said--and more, he thought.

"There were a couple of other cars parked outside of the house."

"Yes. I was gangbanged. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Yes, it is," Lewis said. "Did you enjoy it?" Owen didn't answer that.

They didn't say much after that while Lewis drove into the city. He didn't ask where Owen wanted to be left off and Owen didn't make a request. He rather thought they were headed for the Mission Motel, and that was OK with him. It would have been one long walk into the city from Chandler's place, and as far as sex, Lewis was a whole hell of a lot more satisfying than any of the three men Owen had just let fuck him.

Owen was surprised, though, when Lewis stopped the car in front of a North La Verne swank house on the Live Oak Reservoir. "This is my house. How did you know I lived here?"

"I'm a cop, you know. We have our ways. I was with you often enough to figure it out. What I can't understand, though, is why your parents haven't reported you as missing--why you ran away from here--what's going on in your family? Should I be bringing you home or finding you a place to hide?"

"Nothing's going on with my family. My parents are in Europe for the summer. They think I'm at my aunt's house. I take their calls regularly. They don't suspect I'm having an adventure."

"An adventure. Is that all you've been having? You just told me three men gangbanged you. You said you were doubled."

"I've been checking out what I want."

"What you want sexually?"

"Yeah. That's the struggle. I wanted to try out liking men."

"So, have you been getting what you want, Owen?" Lewis asked.

"For the most part, yes," Owen answered. "From you, yes, except for the complications."

"Life's full of complications, Owen. They'll work themselves out. So, nobody's at home here--and aren't expected back for a while?"

"No, the house is empty."

"Have you been all adventured out for a while now? You want me to drive you back to under the bridge, or do you want to be here, at home, for a while?"

"I think I'll be here for a couple of days and then go to my aunt's. She thought I'd be at a friend's house for a couple of weeks. I don't want to get her in trouble with my parents."

"You want to be home alone or do you want company?"

"Do you want to come in and fuck me into tomorrow?"

"Is that what you want, Owen?" Lewis asked.

"Yes, that's what I want. Fuck the complications."

"Good boy."