So You Want to Be in Movies

He was the mature Paul Newman type—with watery blue eyes, good facials, and silver gray hair, which, on him, as was the case occasionally, made him look younger than a guy should be with a full head of gray hair. He had a nice smile, and I liked that he was keeping this interview balanced—selling me on his project as much as testing me for suitability for the gig. He had a smooth and easy delivery. A perfect salesman type, but one of million-dollar projects, not used Edsels. He also, from what I could see, was as cut—especially for his age—as any of the young guys at the volleyball net. He was wearing a silver-gray-colored sports coat, but under that was a form-fitting black polo shirt. It all went perfectly well with the watery blue eyes, open smile, and perfectly cut gray hair.

The only incongruity I noticed, and I had no idea how to even ask about it, was that he was wearing close-fitting black-leather gloves. It didn’t seem to limit the dexterity of his hands, though. There had been no hesitation or awkwardness in picking up his beer glass. He seemed completely at home in the gloves. But I kept looking at those gloves as he talked.

I had no idea how I had gotten there. I was bound, naked, in a spread X, on my back, on a bondage table, my mouth gagged with a ball gag. A man in a devil’s mask and black cape, but otherwise naked except for black-leather gloves and a studded chest harness, was standing next to the table, hovering over me, slowly stroking my cock. His build was mature and I could see the gray hair above the devil’s mask, but his body was trim and well-muscled. He was hard, and what he was swinging was nothing to laugh at. I was already hard too and was raising my pelvis to the jacking, curling my trapped fingers and toes, and pulling hard at the bonds. Wanting to be free, but not for escape anymore. No, I wanted to do more in the sexual encounter. His stroking, going off beat now and then to make me shudder, was driving me crazy. Relentlessly stroking me, sending me high above the clouds. I came, but he didn’t stop stroking. He slowed down from the crescendo he’d reached, but he didn’t stop. It was painful at first, and I begged in muffled sounds through the gag for relief, but he didn’t stop, bringing me hard again and then to another ejaculation. Pulling on my cock with that gloved hand. No sense of the passage of time, knowing only that he had been at it for a long time. Starting for a third time . . .