Scorched by the Sun

"No, wait. Keep yours out while I piss," he said. And I did, mine stiffening up as I watched him urinate into the urinal out of that monster cock.

"Can't keep it from stiffening up for me, can you?" he said, with a knowing laugh. I looked around to see how private the stalls were, but he didn't. He just laughed again, stuffed his cock back into his jeans, and went over to the wash basins to wash his hands.

He had his hand on my arm as we walked back to the car. Just that much of a touch kept me his captive. This time, as I was getting into the driver's seat, Thorn was getting into the passenger seat.

"Does your seat recline?" he asked, his voice hoarse. I knew the look he gave me, and my first thought was "about time." "If it reclines, do it," he said. I reached down for the levers at the side of the seat and found the one that made my seat recline a bit. "Good."

He twisted toward me, putting his left arm around my neck. His face came down to mine and we were kissing. He unzipped me with his right hand, fished my half-hard cock out, and stroked me off. When he felt me tense, he pulled his arm out from around my neck, leaned over my lap, and took my cock in his mouth, going down on me nearly the whole length of my shaft.

"I'm gonna come," I hissed, giving him fair warning to pull off me in time, but he just made a muffled noise and kept sucking. I jerked three times in shooting off my load. He took it all in his throat.

He'd been beating himself off too, and when I'd come, he twisted back around, reclined his own seat, and stroked himself to completion, expelling his ejaculate into a handkerchief he had in his left hand.

I lay there in my seat, turned toward him. I had reached out to take his cock in my hand to jack him off, but he had brushed my hand away.

When he had come, cleaned himself off with his handkerchief, folded his cock back into his trousers, and zipped up, he returned to the backseat and I resumed the trip up into the mountains. It had started to snow.

And that was it. I'd had sex with one of the big-time TV stars. I had arrived in Hollywood in yet another dimension of tinsel land success.

* * * *

The cabin was made of logs and looked rustic on the outside, although it was quite modern and well-appointed inside. There was a view down into southside Los Angeles and its suburban areas. It wasn't dark, but it was promising to be so in another couple of hours. The cabin contained two bedrooms, each with bath, and an open living-dining-kitchen area. Thankfully, someone had already been in and turned on the heat and some lights and had laid a fire, ready to be started.

Thorn stood, looking around at the walls, in the middle of the great room while I brought the provisions and his suitcase in. He gestured toward the bedroom he would occupy but neither of us spoke. Neither of us had spoken as the car rose in the mountains, under the lightly fallen snow. I don't know what he was thinking of as we drove, but I was thinking of that big cock of his—and was aching for him. All thoughts of this not being a good idea were pushed out of my mind.

He followed me into the bedroom when I took his suitcase in. He stood at the foot of the bed and started taking his clothes off. I couldn't help but watch him.

"You too," he said. He was going to fuck me. He wasn't going to ask if I'd let him.

I stood just inside the door to the bedroom, by his suitcase, and stripped. We looked intently at each other, enjoying the look of the nakedness of the other, as we disrobed. No further words were spoken. We both knew where this was going and that he was going to top me—that had been conveyed by him back when he'd first shaken my hand and signaled he was a top and interested.

When he was naked, he sat on the foot of the bed, his legs spread. I walked to him, knelt, and took his cock in my mouth. He was too big for me to take all of him, and he was engorging further, but he showed that it was important to him that I try to deep-throat him, so I tried. I gagged and kept coming off the cock in defeat but then tried again. He mercilessly buried his fingers in my black curls and held me there, pushing in every deeper, as my eyes watered and I gagged, but then he relented and let me pull off his cock. When I tried to take it with him being less insistent and forceful, I managed to sheath it all.

When I'd done that a couple of times, he put his hands in my pits and gently nudged me up onto my feet. I stood there, dumbly, head lowered in submission, still both of us silent, as he stood and turned me and pressed me down onto the foot of the bed, on my back. Putting his hands under my thighs, he lifted and spread them, went down on his knees, and, as I moaned for him, he buried his face in my ass crack.

When he stood, he let my legs, spread, lower themselves. I watched as he rolled on and smoothed out a condom. His shaft was humongous and I already was groaning and moaning.

"You're going to lay there and let me do this," he said, almost as an afterthought.

"Yes. Please hurry," I murmured.

He just grunted at the belatedly voiced acquiescence. I raised and spread my legs and lowered my hands to grasp and spread my butt cheeks, as he leaned over me, taking my mouth in a kiss and, with his right hand, positioned his cock and entered, entered, entered me. His hands went to my throat and he controlled my breathing while he started to pump me deep.

He fucked the shit out of me. Not more than a couple of words had been spoken since we'd left the rest stop at the foot of the mountains. He had assumed I'd take him, although, almost begrudging, he done the legal of thing of asking me. And I gave him what he wanted. I gave him what he wanted in the car, and by deep-throating him, and then by opening my legs to him and taking his cock. I gave him everything he wanted. And then, after we'd rested, I gave him everything he wanted again. He was the star. Whatever he wanted, he got.

As he went off to the bathroom for a shower, he spoke for the first time since the rest stop.

"Fix us some coffee. I trust the studio included coffee in what they sent. Stay naked. I like to see a young man moving around nude."

Luckily for Thorn, I knew how to make coffee if most everything else you could do in a kitchen was a mystery to me. Thorn showed me what else you could do in a kitchen. He padded out from the bedroom, still naked and in sheathed erection, while the coffee was still perking. He bent me over the kitchen island and covered and fucked me from behind.

Long after the coffee had perked, he pulled out of me, poured a cup, and took it to a table by the window, looking down into the valley. He immersed himself in his scripts. I went into the bedroom and on to the shower. He took breaks to fuck me throughout the afternoon—on the sofa in front of the fire . . . bent over the dining table. Each time his mind was still half on his script work until we were well into the heat of passion. Then he went into overdrive. And then I let him have whatever he wanted and danced on the clouds for him, laying there, gasping and open and vulnerable to him until he'd finished me and returned to his work.

He was not shy about what he wanted me to do for him, just positioning my body as he wanted it and taking his pleasure as and when he wanted it. He assumed I was there fully for his pleasure, and I proved that I was. He treated me like I was a rent-boy, with no mention of rent being paid, and I was totally submissive to him. I asked no questions about where this was going beyond today and he showed no indication there was anything beyond today. When he was inside me, stroking, I didn't care.

"I'd better get back before the snow accumulates," I said, as we stood at the picture window of the cabin and looked out over the spread of twinkling lights in the city below early that evening. It wasn't snowing too hard, though.

"Let's see what the studio provided for dinner before you go," Thorn said. "No, stay naked."

I rummaged around in the meals the studio had packaged and zapped a couple in the microwave, being too jumbled up mentally to even know what they are. Afterward we stood, with snifters of brandy, still naked, both of us erect again, and watched the snow begin to stick. This time we were looking out toward the road, the gravel still visible under the dusting of snow. The car just dusted as well.

"Call the studio and tell them you're snowed in and will drive back down to the city in the morning. Don't ask to speak to Brad Luck when you call."

"The snow isn't accumulating too much. I can make it down this evening," I said.

"Call the studio," he insisted.

He doggie fucked me on the bed, me on my knees, my tail raised, my chest plastered to the mattress, and Thorn saddled on me high, riding me hard with that monster cock of his, when we first went to bed. Later in the night, him on his back and me stretched out beside him, turned to him, I woke to him embracing me and kissing me. He nudged me in the direction he wanted me to go in, and I took the hint. I reversed myself on him and moved over him. Each of us took the cock of the other in our mouth. He entered me with a finger and finger fucked me as we sucked each other engorged.

Then I saddled myself on his cock and rode him in a cowboy. The snow had stopped falling. I could have left the cabin at any time and made it down into Los Angeles without trouble.

I remained in the cabin, fucking, fucking, fucking. I didn't think of anything but the here and now.

When the left for the solitary drive down into L.A., leaving Thorn there to study his scripts, I lingered a bit, thinking he would say something about how much he'd enjoyed his time with me—how accommodating and satisfying I'd been. I'd given him everything he wanted, and he certainly didn't complain about my looks or my body. But he was absorbed in his scripts and just waved me off with a distant smile.

I was one with the furniture.

* * * *

"Sorry I wasn't here last night," Scott said Saturday afternoon, when he came into the apartment. He was carrying an overnight bag. He hadn't been there when I returned. I didn't know what to tell him about not having been home the previous night myself. Now I didn't have to tell him. "We were in the middle of a meeting and realized we had to fly down to Las Vegas to put a fire out. It turned out not to be much of a fire. I tried calling you on your cell to let you know I'd be gone last night, but you didn't pick up."

"Sorry, I was on the job and told to go cellphone silent," I said.

He bought it. "I missed you. I was horny for it," I said, to get the conversation into a path I knew would distract him every time. He was highly sexed. For that matter, we both were.

"We can take care of that right now," he said.

He did. He covered and fucked me on the bed in a missionary, his knees pushed up under my buttocks, lifting my back up high, and my ankles hooked on his shoulders.

He did me well—as good as he had ever done me. And I don't think he perceived the difference. But, alas, I did. All the time he was pumping me, I was thinking of Grant Thorn dominating me with that monster cock of his. I couldn't help it. I wanted to think of Scott and me together, but the image of Thorn kept intruding. I participated in the fuck and came as readily and copiously as I ever did with Scott. But it just wasn't the same. I didn't know if it ever would be the same again.

He had opened his suitcase but hadn't unpacked when he went off to the shower after fucking me. A slip of red-silky material caught my attention in the corner of the open case. I pulled it out. The bikini briefs weren't Scott's style and they were smalls. At least they were a men's brand. Then I caught sight of the small section of a split condom packet. I put the briefs back. I couldn't say I was surprised. Scott wasn't as lonely last night as he'd claimed to be. No way I could bring that up, though. He couldn't have been more astray than I was.

Served me right, I decided.

After I showered, I called the studio to find out when on Sunday I should pick up Thorn in Snow Valley for the return trip. I already was figuring out how much earlier I should be at the cabin for us to get in a couple of good fucks before we left. I felt less guilt about Scott now.

Brad Luck came onto the line. "Other arrangements have been made to pick Mr. Thorn up. And you've been moved over to another program. On Monday report to the set down at Malibu Beach. You're working on the Mandy Spicer production now."

"A changed assignment?" I asked, dumbly.

"Yes, Mr. Thorn called in this morning and asked for a different driver—and that you be transferred." He didn't explain. As far as Luck was concerned he didn't have to explain. The looks he'd been giving me and Thorn before made complete sense now. He knew where this was heading. He'd been there before. He'd known what Grant Thorn would do—and then do thereafter. Grant Thorn was a one-and-done man. It was up to Brad Luck to do the cleanup now—to contain any fallout that Thorn's prey might cause. I was just a loose end for the studio now, one who had to be handled to be kept quiet.

"It's OK, Jacob," he said when I wasn't giving him anything back in response other than attempts to control my breath. "You're not in trouble or anything. You'll do fine on the Mandy Spicer production. It's just the way it is here."

At least he was showing concern about how I would react. I had some power in this circumstance.

I clicked off and looked at Scott, in just a robe, wolfing down a sandwich and smiling at me as he perched on a stool at the kitchen counter. I knew it was going to be what he called a "lazy Saturday"—that we'd spend it in bed, fucking.

I'd fall in with that, remembering how good it was back before I'd touched the sun and been scorched. Thorn's world might be the way it was at the studio, but, because of my own weakness, the way it had been here, with Scott, was never going to be the same, not nearly as satisfying, as it had been before. I wouldn't be like the last guy who flew to the sun with Grant Thorn and got scorched, though—and became a nuisance to the studio then. I was a true go-along-to-get-along submissive. I'd do everything I could to keep in the good graces of Brad Luck and the studio. But I'd be more careful about keeping Scott happy with me too.

I wondered how Brad Luck swung and what his sexual tastes were.