By Alfonso
Brad Pitt stormed out his lawyers’ office. he had just gotten the news….there was little to nothing to do about that outrageous set of pics PlayGirl printed of Brad Pitt, stark naked, hanging around his gal Gwyneth at that resort in the Bahamas. His celebrity status did not protect him from the intruding paparazzi, even at a high priced Caribbean resort.
He was a STAR, for Chrissakes! Worshipped all over the world! And some two bit photographer got the goods on him! And not a damn thing he could do about it! Though, in his heart of hearts, Brad had to admit that he looked DAMNED good. They were great pics, for what they were. And the idea of millions, maybe billions of people, in all parts of the world, knowing what he looked like stark, bare-assed NAKED……Brad did start to get a woody every time he thought of it. He was so absorbed in his crazy mixed up thoughts, Brad didn’t hear, much less see, the dark limo pull up next to him. Brad wasn’t’ even to the sidewalk when the sleek limo came to a halt. A young valet stepped out and held the door open for the dashing actor. Brad got inside and slouched down on the plush seat and raised his arm to rest across his forehead.
The young valet re-entered the car, closing the door behind him. Seeing Brad’s obvious distress, he reached into the small cooler and pulled out a terry cloth rag. Reaching up, the valet took Brad’s arm.
“Relax,” he said in a soothing, almost condescending way.
Before Brad could open his eyes, the cold cloth was laid across his eyes. Brad certainly didn’t see the smile break across the valet’s face, nor did he notice the nod the young attendant gave to the driver. His head went back onto the soft headrest as he replayed the conversation with his lawyer over in his mind. Sprawled across the seat, he didn’t even feel that his silk shirt had pulled free of his jeans. His personal attendant didn’t miss it, though. The last button of Brad’s shirt was just above his navel, the ends of the shirt had flapped open, offering a clear view of the dark hair line running down Brad’s lower belly, trailing into his underwear. Leaning ever so slightly forward, the valet could see just the top of the waistband of Brad Pitt’s white underpants. Jockeys? Fruit of the Loom? Calvins? He couldn’t quite make out the brand, but knew, as the limo picked up speed, that it would only be a matter of time.
Brad felt thirsty. then he remembered that he left a half drunk bottle of Arizona Tea in the beverage compartment; he was ALWAYS leaving a half drunk bottle of Arizona Tea in the beverage compartment, as Gwyneth always liked to remind him, in that teasing cute way that always made him hard. He was at half mast the day he got his picture taken in the Bahamas. He could feel the hot sun, see the achingly clear blue sky, as he stretched and yawned in the luxurious seat. Unconsciously, he rubbed his right nipple with his hand, the way Gwyneth did when she felt horny and kittenish. In seconds, he was asleep.
The valet, Giancarlo, smiled. The plan was going far more smoothly than he could ever have anticipated. He rubbed the chauffeur’s knee. They both laughed. Tonight they would truly enjoy their work.
Giancarlo said, “You’ve been to David Geffen’s place before, right?”
Jay, the chauffeur, said. “The producer? Oh, all the time. Wild parties up there. Great place. Huge. I hear he let Keanu Reeves move back in!”
“Yes he has,” Giancarlo said. “That guy’s full of surprises.”
They both laughed uproariously.
Brad stirred in the back seat. In his dream, he was at the Academy Awards. He had just won an Oscar. He sprinted towards the stage. The moment the statuette was handed to him, all of his clothing, right down to his underwear and shoes, totally vanished. He felt his skin tingle as the whole audience burst into wild laughter and applause. In fact, he could swear that he could hear laughter coming in from outside as well. The whole world could see him! And they were all LAUGHING! Like a deer in the headlights, all he could do was stand there and let billions of people get a good look at his naked body. His cock started to get hard, it was the only part of his body that could move. Embarrassment swept over him like a wave, he could feel his face flush beat red. And the laughter got louder. And Louder. And LOUDER!
The limo finally rolled into Bel Air. The palms swayed in the gentle breeze and the smells of sand, saltwater, fruit, and pure unadulterated sunshine filled the air. The mansions lined the the sun-baked streets. The “haves” lived here, nothing but the best. Brad Pitt stirred in the limo, not quite wanting to become fully awake. The dream was oddly pleasant. He could feel his cock stiffen in his jeans and arch along his thigh. The dream was always the same and it had been recurring more and more frequently.
“The envelope please,,, and the winner for Best Actor is…..BRAD PITT!”
The most coveted prize in Hollywood. As he moved on stage, his well-wishers’ faces contorted into taunting, teasing smiles. Every handshake and pat on the back served only to remove his clothes. Jacket, shirt, tie, each item disappeared until by the time he stepped to the microphone, he was stark naked. Try as he might to break the dream, it never ended there. The Oscar was handed to him amid gales of laughter. Camera angles zoomed in to capture the hunky star, buck naked in front of thousands of Hollywood’s finest. The Oscar itself was a perverse representation of his sexual misconduct. A gilded, nude male figure lifting an enormous, rocket-shaped dildo. Holding the phallic symbol on stage, Brad continued to blush and stammer his thanks to the academy. Looking down, noticing his complete exposure to all of America, Brad’s face turned deep red, matching the mushroom head of his erect cock.
The limo was turning onto the long paved drive. Brad lifted the wash cloth from his eyes and looked out across the sprawling tree covered lawn of David Geffen’s estate. Giancarlo looked attentively to Brad. Brad nodded his thanks as he handed the now empty bottle of Arizona Tea. As if rehearsed, Giancarlo proffered another iced bottle and watched as Brad lifted it to his mouth and swilled the refreshing liquid down his parched throat. Setting the half-emptied bottle in the tray, Brad stretched and rubbed his legs from ankles to knees and knees to thigh. He could feel his erection subsiding and wondered if it had been visible to the ever-watchful eyes of Giancarlo.
The party had already started, as planned. Jay had noticed other limos parked along the side garage building as they wound their way down the drive. Jay eased the limousine around the circle drive in front of the sprawling porch, lined with massive white pillars. Giancarlo opened the car door and hastily exited, holding it as Brad made one final check inside. He climbed the steps confidently and was instantly greeted by one of David’s butlers. He walked in the mansion and in what was soon to be his worst nightmare. When David Geffen HIMSELF (not his assistant, former Colt model Kyle Jessup) called Brad two weeks ago to invite him to one of his special parties, Brad was flattered in spite of himself. Brad had heard of David’s soirees, where only the creme de la creme of both male and female pulchritude was invited. The party scene in Eyes Wide Shut was based on what Stanley Kubrick had seen at David’s during a Halloween party. Even the scene between Tom and Nicole, in front of the mirror, was based on a couple who had performed in front of David’s guests. The parties were notoriously pansexual anything goes affairs. Though Brad had certainly been around, he had never been to anything so extreme. Brad had been around Hollywood long enough to be used to guys ogling him. Early in his career, he had even allowed producers and directors to blow him to further his career (Hell, if it was good enough for Clark Gable, it was good enough for Brad Pitt). But Brad really did prefer women…. Still an invite from David Geffen was not to be ignored. But, in the afternoon? Probably just a pool party, a little skinny dipping, maybe a quickie in the pool house with some eager young actress or actresses. Brad smiled. He always liked the look on a girl’s face when he, BRAD PITT, stripped for them. God he loved showing off his body. But on HIS terms (DAMN Playgirl!). Robaire, the butler (a tall black man who looked like the guy in The Green Mile) led him down a hall, the walls covered with some of the most sexual art Brad had ever seen, stuff that would even make a jaded star like Brad blush. Brad wondered if he ever really could blush. Suddenly, Brad felt a quivering in his stomach. Something was wrong, really wrong. Then it dawned on him. The house was totally silent.
CHAPTER TWO
Jay and Giancarlo watched from the limousine as Brad bounded up the steps and entered through the ornate front door, held open by the always-dashing Robaire. As Jay wheeled the limo forward, he remembered back to the party held a month ago. The following morning, Robaire had arranged to meet a number of the other valets and drivers in one of the guest houses. Stripped and sprawled on the bed, Robaire had no less than three guys sucking and licking his long, thick cock while others sat around the bed masturbating shamelessly as they watched the live sex show. The fact that three of them could savor the tastes and smells of his man-meat attested to the splendor and size of Robaire’s impressive male organ. Jay remembered licking the fat knob until it fountained cum on his face and into his open mouth. Breaking from his reverie, Jay nodded to Giancarlo as the limo pulled alongside others parked at the garage/ security building.
“This will be fun to watch,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for this night ever since that cocky asshole strutted around on “Seven” like he owned the fucking studio. Freeman wasn’t acting when he kept his fuckin’ rookie partner in check!’
Well hidden surveillance cameras were mounted around Mr. Geffen’s estate and the valets and attendants had been talking for days about the special events planned for the party.
Absentmindedly rubbing his crotch, Giancarlo smirked, “I want a front row seat in front of that t.v. monitor! This is going to be great!”
As Brad followed Robaire down the hall through the large entertainment floor of the mansion, the overwhelming silence of the house became more and more noticeable. Everyone’s outside, he told himself. This is what I want and this is what I’m going to have, he mused as his eyes took in the opulence of Geffen’s manor. Robaire was heading to the expansive back lawns. Brad knew the pools, gardens, and entertainment patios lay sprawled behind the gleaming patio doors to which they were heading. Odd that no guests seemed to be milling about inside the house. Granted the day was ideal for an outdoor party, but still. It wasn’t at all unusual to see couples pawing at each other in the halls and rooms of David’s showpiece home. He had images of plenty of guys standing with pants down getting blow jobs, girls up on tables getting fingered and fucked, all while guests milled and drank like they were at a Roman orgy.
Robaire stepped to the side as he opened the French doors leading out to the patio. Brad walked past him and stepped back into the bright California sunshine. David, himself, was seated in an unusual chair directly facing young, dashing Brad Pitt. Brad met his eyes directly, but briefly, and then took in the unusual, almost surreal surroundings in which he found himself. The entire patio area, The biggest in Bel Air, in fact and the whole thing is set up like a miniature version of the Roman Collosseum. David himself was seated on a kind of makeshift throne in the center of the pit. David Geffen sat there, wearing a Roman toga. David had grown a stache and goatee and the effect was diabolic. Keanu was a standing next to him, dressed like a Roman gladiator.
“Well, look who’s here? ” David purred.
Brad felt a flutter at the pit of his stomach. But why should he be nervous? He looked up at the stands. He saw a number of noted actors, producers or beautiful wannabes. And the women, actresses, models, singers, a few gorgeous Beverly Hills society matrons. He saw several point at him and smirk or giggle. Brad was beginning to get a BAD feeling about this…
“Hi David, Keanu…wow quite a party you got here…”
“Yes Brad, ” David purred.” All here to see you Brad. To see you thoroughly …honored.”
“A tribute….for ME?” Brad exclaimed.
He just didn’t know what to think.
CHAPTER THREE
“Yes,” David smiled at him. “You’re a star, a celebrity extraordinaire.”
Brad didn’t like the look of the smile, the eyes, nor the tone of David’s voice. Geffen was noted for throwing ‘theme’ parties, but Brad had to admit he had outdone himself this time. God, he looked good with that goatee!! There were only five tiers of steps surrounding the pit in which David sat, but the effect was almost surrealistic. The guests were clad in various colorful costumes of the period. The thin spray of laurel leafs wound around David’s head was unnecessary. He exuded power and control; there was no question he was the emperor, the controlling magistrate of this manor. Brad recognized several starlets, wrapped in luxurious silks. A handful of girls to the side were clad in, what appeared to be, only beads. The evening’s entertainment? Brad found himself wishing it so, hoping to ease himself from the limelight. Hollywood was out in full force. Actors, most of whom were recognized by Brad, were sitting about on the stone steps behind David and Keanu. Others strolled near the pools to the far right where life-sized statues were pouring water into the deep blue water. It didn’t take much for Brad to feel as if he were transported back in time. He was at a Roman festival, standing before the reigning ruler. Brad spoke, just above a whisper.
“I’m afraid I didn’t dress appropriately.” David simply nodded. “I mean, I didn’t know. I don’t remember you mentioning it on the phone. I guess I’m a little…..I’m going to be honored?” he babbled on, looked around, and began to feel more and more uncomfortable.
David finally spoke,”Yes, this is your party, Brad. You see, we’re here to pay tribute to you.”
Brad didn’t like the sound of that last word. His look must have signaled a sense of ignorance.
David went on slowly, deliberately choosing his words, “It seems you wish to elevate your status in your own, unconventional ways. We are here to assist you as you rise to stardom. Your indiscretion a few weeks ago did not go unnoticed.”
David’s arm gestured out and Brad noticed the small pile of PlayGirl magazines on the small bench.
“You are our honored guest,” Geffen continued. “Let the festivities begin.”
With that, actors and actresses, Hollywood’s elite, moved and made their way forward. Keanu was the first to reach Brad and stood in front of him.
“Let me help you.” he said as he began unbuttoning Brad’s shirt.
Brad instantly grabbed Keanu’s wrist.
“What are you doing?” the blonde star asked. His voice conveyed a confidence he did NOT feel. . . at all.
“CHILL out, dude,” Keanu said.
Brad smirked; Keanu sounded even more like a dork in real life than he did on screen. Brad opened his mouth, he had nothing against Keanu, but something strange was going on.
David laughed. All the others joined him, except Brad and Keanu, who just stood there and stared at Brad, stared at him as if…. As if he were NAKED!
“Look Brad,” David said heartily. “Those pics in Playgirl made you look like a Greek or Roman God. That’s when I got the idea. In ancient Rome, they had many festivals. One of those was the festival of Apollo, god of love. The Roman’s celebrated this holiday with feasts, entertainment and….a living tribute. One lucky man was selected from the population to represent Apollo. For the whole day, this man was treated and worshiped as a God! YOU are our Apollo today!”
David began to clap, the sound echoing through the yard and through the arena and house. The others joined and soon the sound almost deafened Brad. He began to breathe easier. He smiled, knowing that everyone would be dazzled, as they always were by the site of all that expensive porcelain. David held up his right palm, and the applause stopped.
“Brad,” David said, his eyes studying Brad intently. Are you familiar with ancient art?
“Well, David…….no, not really–“
“But you’ve seen pictures of Apollo. Those old statues.”
“Uh…..yes….Yes I have…”
“What’s the one thing ALL those statues have in common?”
Brad saw something out of the corner of his eye. Five huge bodybuilders, dressed in nothing but black loincloths appeared from behind the columns. And strolled towards him. Brad did not like the hungry look in their eyes.
“I….I….I don’t really know David–“
“SURE you do!” David snarled. “Just think. For a change.”
“They…. were all made of marble–“
“Close! REAL close,” David said, as if talking to a child. He loved the anger and fear that Brad’s face was starting to display. This was going to be good!
“They….they’re all…”
“Yes?”
“They’re all….like…totally….naked!”
David roared with laughter. The others joined and now the sound was even more deafening than the applause. Brad turned to leave, but all the bodybuilders blocked his way. they all had menacing smiles on their faces. Brad felt his heart pound, his pulse race.
“Brad, you’re absolutely RIGHT! I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we ALL want to see Apollo in all his glory!” David announced.
Brad felt as if he was going to die on the spot. But die he didn’t. Brad found himself slowly turning to face the five scantily clad bodybuilders moving toward him. His own legs felt like lead, molded to the patio as if they were cast in plaster.
“Apollo was…was naked…and…I…” the sentence trailing from Brad as he struggled to think.
David debated about letting Brad ramble a bit, so exquisite was the wide-eyed look on the handsome actor’s face. Brad was so cocky, yet so vulnerable. The textbook blend of innocence and bravado. One of the men stood before Brad and began to unbutton his shirt.
Brad reached his hand up to the buttons, saying, “I can do this, I can get them.”
“No, no.” David quickly interjected. “They are here to serve you.”
Brad’s arms went down to his side as his shirt was unbuttoned. The guard stood behind him and slipped it off his broad back, pulling it down his arms. The guard casually dropped the silk shirt on the patio, near David’s flowing toga. The unmistakable blue-red waistband of Brad’s white Tommy Hilfiger underwear rose above his khaki pants.
“Can I, at least, like have a small breechcloth?” Brad asked, with a noticeable plea in his voice.
David smiled at Brad and glanced over to Russell Crowe, sitting on one of the stone benches arching the small arena.
“Your contacts provided these costumes,” David said. “What did they say for our young Apollo?”
Russell smiled, scratching his chest as spoke, “Apollo has no costume, Sir. His body is too handsome, too virile to be marred or defiled by clothing.”
Brad detected a note of cynicism in the voice of the actor. It was a well known fact that Brad’s agent failed to convince the studios that Brad was right for the role as Gladiator. The tabloids continued to play up Brad’s bitterness and resentment, especially after the Academy’s nominations were made public.
“I don’t know about being naked, David. I mean, come on. Fun is fun…but please, I just don’t know if I can go through with…”
David theatrically held up a hand, silencing the party crowd and the dramatic gesture had a finality to it that stopped Brad in mid sentence.
“You seemed to have no compunction in exposing your body to the teeming masses in this publication. You are to be honored…worshipped….adored.
“Brad missed the smile forming on David’s face as his attention was drawn once more to himself. Another guard knelt before Brad and began to unbuckle his brown leather belt. It was only when another man’s hands started to undo the snap on Brad’s pants that he could feel a slight dampness under his arms. Brad felt a drop of sweat trickle down from his armpit. As the pants came off, Brad almost gasped as the cool air hit his muscular legs. Another bodybuilder slipped the star’s brown Bally shoes off, then the Armani socks. As the giant man pulled on the socks, Brad’s foot twitched violently and he had to bite his lip to suppress a giggle.
Now Brad stood before everyone dressed only in his tight Tommy underwear. the whole thing started to look like a dream, even the colors seemed brighter, the whole scene stretched out and surreal. Everyone’s eyes were on….him! Brad instinctively covered his crotched with his strong, manicured hands. David let out a laugh and again, everyone followed suit. Brad began to feel a familiar heat in his groin. His mouth dried up and his jaw clenched tightly in rage and fear.
David nodded in Keanu’s direction. The young actor clapped his hands three times. Brad felt his heart skip a beat. the he heard the sound of sqeaky wheels emerge from behind the decadent crowd. brad could see people form the back part; something was being wheeled through. The seconds stretched painfully, He could see Sharon Stone, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Russell Crowe and others part. Then Brad could see what it was… Brad’s eyes popped and his jaw instantly slackened. He turned on his heels and ran towards the house. The sight of Brad turning and running back to the gleaming, mirrored patio windows, clad only in his white underwear, was comical. Reaching for the polished handle, Brad twisted it, willing it to open. Realizing the futility of his struggle with the unyielding handle, Brad slowly turned around to face his host and fellow guests. Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were picking up Brad’s clothes and stuffing the shoes, socks, shirt, and pants into a large plastic bag.
“When his briefs come off, we’ll save them for you, Caprio!” Ben chided loudly.
Leo held up his middle finger and resumed massaging Ray Harley’s chest.
Brad watched as the bag holding his clothes was handed to one of the body builders. In the confusion of his mad dash to the veranda, Brad momentarily forgot the squeaking wheels until he looked to see three men coming through the crowd pulling a small raised platform.
“Return to us,” David beckoned him, “we want to pay you tribute.”
Brad walked reluctantly toward his host, feeling the eyes of Hollywood on him. The paradox of the situation in which he found himself was unnerving. He DID want to be adored, he DID enjoy flaunting his good looks, he DID brag of his sexual prowess. But on his terms! Not like this. This is twisted, he thought. Naked?
Slowly he approached the dais on wheels. Three steps and he was on the carpeted platform. He stood embarrassingly in the midst of his ‘admirers.’ His buttocks clenched involuntarily and he felt faintly damp between his legs. He brushed his hand nonchalantly across the front of his briefs, as if smoothing the fabric. He fought desperately to keep from getting an erection. The bodybuilders rushed up and tied Brad’s wrists with gold silken cords to the poles on either side of the dais. Gold eye hooks protruded from the top and the bottom of the poles. They forced his legs apart roughly and gave Brad’s ankles the same treatment. Brad legs were so far apart now, he was afraid his balls would pop out of his shorts.
David ceremoniously handed Keanu a long knife, gold hilt and encrusted with precious stones. It curved menacingly in the sun. Many of the celebrities gasped at the sight of it, others clapped and laugh.
Brad heard someone say (James Woods?), “Now the show begins!”
Many laughed at that line. Brad felt goose bumps pop up on his legs and butt. Keanu smiled widely. He was TOTALLY enjoying this! Brad saw David give some kind of hand signal. Suddenly, the air was filled with steady drum music. Everyone became utterly silent. Keanu now stood in front of the honored guest. Brad’s eyes bulged as Keanu lowered the knife towards the starts crotch. Keanu lifted a piece of material away from Brad’s thigh and started cutting. Slowly. Very slowly. Brad’s left nut popped out. Brad heard a couple of “oooohs”. His cock started to twitch again. Keanu let out a low evil laugh and started cutting on the other side, again with agonizing slowness. The drum beats seemed to match Brad’s heart pounding in his chest. He had never felt so much total fear and excitement at the same time. /What the hell am I so nervous about?/ Brad thought. /It’s not as if this was being photographed or filmed. Once this is over, I can have my pick of anyone here to have sex with. Hell, I’ll fuck Angelina Jolie right here on the dais. They’ll LOVE that. Shit, I’ll become a LEGEND, like Errol Flynn!/
Then, his other ball fell out. More gasps from the crowd. Brad felt himself getting even harder, he was 90% hard now. Keanu grinned,
“Now comes the fun part, you arrogant prick!” he whispered.
He grabbed the waistband, hanging by a thread, and pulled quickly. Brad’s naked body was now on full display. The guests applauded and laughed, pointing at the actor and muttering amongst themselves. Brad was TOTALLY hard now, his long, thick cock pointing straight up. With all the laughter and mocking comments he managed to catch, this didn’t feel like worship at all! Brad felt his face flush. The fantasy was one thing, but the reality was…….embarrassing! All his peers and bosses could see him NAKED and HARD. The humiliation of it all started to creep up on him. He looked down and saw that his chest and legs were getting red too! He was blushing all over! And the laughter got louder. Suddenly, Keanu grabbed the humiliated star’s cock and balls and pulled them away from the body.
Brad yelped in protest, “Ouch! Stop this shit NOW!”
“Is that any way for a god to talk?” David cooed.
“Stop this,” Brad pleaded, his voice cracking.
“But, we’re not done, Apollo! David said, and clapped his hands three times.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brad saw two more gladiator/bodybuilders headed towards him. They carried a golden tub between them. As they laid the tub before him, Brad saw that the tub was full of soapy water. They were…going to bathe him?
“Oh, Apollo,” David said rising up from the chair, “Surely you did not intend to appear before us with the body hair of mere mortals. Surely, you wanted the exquisite pleasure of having your humble servants remove this unsightly body hair.”
“Noooooooooooo!” Brad screamed
When his agonizing plea finally stopped, Brad could hear the catcalls and comments from the crowd.
“Sounds like he wants a shave…” “A remake of Samson and Delilah….”
“He sure seems to be enjoying this Kodak moment…”
“Look at his rising splendor…”
“An invitation to David Geffen’s party, $500. Brad “Apollo” Pitt getting shaved, priceless!”
Brad twisted and struggled against the silken ropes. His torn underwear was grabbed off the platform and tossed out to a group of guests. Two cameramen wheeled their equipment in from the side and angled their lens to capture the entire scene. David always insisted on his own private tapes for later viewing and possible blackmail. The security cameras mounted around the estate were relaying the entire spectacle back to the devoted attendants and chauffeurs. In fact, Giancarlo ejaculated uncontrollably when Brad’s white briefs were getting cut from him. Brad Pitt’s erection was drawing considerable attention as the young star struggled and swayed on the raised dais. It arched up from between his legs, long and thick. The wide helmet cap was flushed deep red, a contrast to the paler coloring of his veined shaft. His scrotum hung heavy under the cock stalk; two sizeable testicles visible in the pouch. Dark pubic hair fanned out around the base of his cock shaft until feathering out to a dark line running up to his navel. The hair slowly diffused between his legs, a dark shadow snaking between his muscled cheeks. Brad’s outstretched legs gave an unobstructed view of the dark hairs that swirled enticingly to and around his puckered hole. An occasional slap of the mushroom head across his abdomen could be heard as he struggled and squirmed, tethered to the poles.
Keanu appeared to have been given David’s full permission to carry out the proceedings. The warm oil that Keanu had inconspicuously massaged onto Brad’s stiff cock when he held it caused the long shaft to glisten in the late afternoon sunshine. Brad’s straining and constricting of his groin muscles slowly burped up pre-seminal fluid and a large drop of clear pre-cum formed at the slit of his penis. Brad felt it, looked down at his flushed chest and stomach and watched as the big drop beaded until gravity caused it to trickle down his turgid cock.
“Help me,” he pleaded to Keanu when he saw the heavy tub placed next to him on the platform.
“Of course, I’ll help you.” Keanu answered. Tickling a finger along Brad’s bush, he added, “You’ll feel so much better to be rid of this hair.”
Two young men set a small table on the dais. Brad looked nervously down at the tray on which lay four silver-handled razor blades, a large can of shaving cream, a bottle of baby oil, and several pearl-handled mirrors of assorted sizes. The two young men, who looked Middle Eastern, were very well built twenty-somethings. One of them gestured to the bodybuilders and two of them came forward. All of this was happening so smoothly. The four huddled into a circle, Brad could here their low, cold, evil laughter. His heart pounded so hard, he felt as if it would burst through his chest.
Brad could see the cameramen out of the corner of his eye. Yes, of course, David would film it; he had a rep for having the largest porn collection in Hollywood, his most famous being a four-way between Alec Baldwin, Kim Basinger, Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, mostly guy/guy, girl/girl stuff. Proof positive that two of the most famous marriages in Hollywood were lavender. Brad distracted himself with these thoughts to drive down the panic he felt, this party was bad enough, but it would soon pass into Hollywood legend…but what if any of this got out! The four guy broke their huddle and approached Brad with dramatic slowness. /
“They’re trying to drive me nuts, watch me squirm. I’ll show that old queen! /
The drum music sounded louder now. All eyes were on Brad, spellbound. Most everyone had a wicked smile on their face; this scene was intense even by Hollywood standards. Brad took deep breaths and visualized a golden light around himself, just like his Yoga teach taught. The four guys grabbed the four silver handled razor blades. One of the Middle Eastern guys grabbed the large can of shaving cream, and filled the outstretched, cupped hands of the others. Then they began to spread the cream with insistent hands over the hairy parts of Brad’s body: pits, crotch, balls, legs, a small tuft of hair between his pecs.
Brad continued his deep breaths which would have worked except for one thing, Brad’s ticklishness. When his pits and balls were being lathered, Brad had to bite his lower lip. But the sensations were building up and Brad suddenly let out a laugh. This unexpected turn rippled through the guests like wild fire. Everyone started to laugh, all at once. One of the bodybuilders discovered that Brad balls really jumped when when he lathered them up and he took ruthless advantage of this new knowledge. The two Middle-Eastern guys looked at each other, laughed, and went for Brad’s feet. In moments Brad was fully hysterical, tossing his head back, and laughing so hard, he almost couldn’t hear all the others. Almost. All his attempts to calm himself went straight to hell. One of the bodybuilders, a six-foot six giant with dark red hair strolled behind Brad. Brad could barely think at this point; his body had one command and that was to /laugh/.
But one thought did cross his mind…Oh NO, not there! The redhead bent down and, with his catcher’s mitt hand, opened Brad’s perfectly sculpted butt cheeks. Brad’s mortification was beyond words now. He wanted to/ beg/, to/ plead/, for this to stop. He never felt so embarrassed, even beyond the day those Playgirl pics came out. But all he could do was laugh! Brad felt his cheeks spread wide, wider than he thought possible. The crowd oooed and ahhed and laughed as they saw Brad’s hole lathered up with agonizing slowness. The crowd gathered closer, closing in around platform. Brad was lathered in the rich shaving cream. Only the periphery of arm pit hair poked out from the cloud of white cream. The foam was smeared across his chest almost obscuring his two stiff nipple tips. The pink peaks and a small area around them were still visible. What seemed to get the most attention was his crotch.
One of the men on the platform, Armand, was applying the shaving cream like paint to a canvas. His long fingers slowly applied the cream to Brad’s navel, following the hair line down to his full bush. More than once, Armand had to hold Brad’s thick cock to the side in order to more evenly apply the foaming cream. Assad, his twin brother, was juggling Brad’s heavy balls in his hand, having already lathered Brad’s muscled thighs. It was this teasing massage that was causing Brad to squirm so delectably on the dais. Brad’s heavy testicles were phenomenally sensitive. In high school, he never could keep himself from ejaculating when some slut sucked his nuts into her hungry mouth. Now, his entire body was being stimulated. Perhaps it was the over-stimulation that kept Brad from ejaculating somewhat prematurely. His feet were being mercilessly tickled, hands were roaming up and down his legs, he felt his butt cheeks being opened and slathered with shaving cream, and his balls were being bounced lightly up and down in the palms of guy Brad didn’t even know.
Brad’s struggling noticeably changed to incessant squirming. Keanu observed Brad’s weakened resistance and nodded to the “Roman centurions” waiting at the side of the platform. They mounted the platform and loosened the silk cords from the poles. Like a lamb led to slaughter, Brad was brought over to the arena pit which had been cleared. David’s chair was replaced by a padded throne of sorts, crossbeams jutting out from the leather cushion. Brad stumbled along as the guards positioned him into the chair. It wasn’t until they were lifting his legs that Brad seemed to realized there was no way out. His legs were bent in order to strap and attach his ankles to the metal rings on the two low crossbeams. Arms outstretched, his wrists were pulled up and fastened to similar rings on the top crossbeam. Leverage allowed the men to hoist Brad high, his head at a slightly lower angle than his buttocks.
“Help me, someone, please!” Brad wailed.
Brad’s face flushed a deep red as he realized that not only were his butt cheeks spread wide, his hairy crack and puckered hole were completely exposed to the laughing throngs. Lathered in shaving cream, his fate was sealed. His pendulous balls hung heavy at the base of his throbbing erection which bobbed across the snowy white mounds of shaving cream.
“We have come to worship you, o mighty Apollo!” sneered Russell: a gold medallion hung between his hairy pecs, advertising his recent win from the Academy.
Don’t do this to me, Mr. Geffen. Please! Don’t shave me, please don’t!”
A new idea quickly hatched in David’s head. With a simple splicing of the film, this would be Brad Pitt’s final undoing. This would work.
“Don’t do what? Don’t do what to you?” he teased the sweating, squirming star.
“Shave me. SHAVE ME!” Brad bellowed, realizing his stupid mistake instantly
“You’re wish is our command!,” David announced.
Brad opened his mouth to yell, but it was soon stuffed with Brad’s own TH underwear. The red-haired bodybuilder had a huge smile as he stuffed the star’s face with the designer shorts. He tied it to Brad’s head with a lace from Russell Crowe’s shoe (the actor had been more than eager to lend it when he was told of it’s intended use).
Keanu’s face was now centimeters from Brad’s,”Listen up, Apollo Ass,” he whispered. “Stay still as these guys shave you. You don’t want that hot bod all cut up, do you? You’re gonna feel terrific afterwards. And the /exposure/! None of these people here will/ ever /forget what you look like totally bare-assed naked, hard and shaved, man! This is a day this town will never forget!” Keanu chuckled.
And the Arab twins and the bodybuilders began their task of removing Brad’s body hair. With great care and precision, they took up the silver handled razors, and gently removed the hair from Brad’s pits, chest, arms and legs. They saved the best for last. The Arab twins skillfully removed the crotch and ball hair and the hair from the perineum (the part between the balls and asshole). Brad felt as if his entire body were blushing. Hot blood rushed to every part of him, from head to toes. He could see the guests smirking, giggling and pointing, How would he ever be able to face any of these people again?
As sensitive as he felt, He just held his breath and commanded himself not to move as the razors glided over his body, It actually felt good. Too good. He wanted to squirm and writhe, but he didn’t dare. Suddenly, they stopped.
“The worship of Apollo goes beyond space and time!,” David announced, obviously loving his role of high emperor. “We have something new to add to these sacred proceedings!”
David clapped, the sound echoed. throughout. Brad’s heart almost stopped when he saw what was in store. There had been a recreation of a Roman banner draped over the from of the balcony, depicting a Dyonisian scene of nymphs and satyrs. After David clapped, Kevin Kline and Sigourney Weaver, dressed as Roman nobles, pulled down the banner. And behind it was…..a HUGE monitor! Suddenly the screen flicked. Murky colors then crystal clarity. Then a full screen of Brad’s ass still covered with shaving cream. A hand appeared, the hand of the red-haired bodybuilder, holding a fresh razor.
“Apollo should see the best part,” David announced.” It’s only fitting!”
Brad not only felt the blade glide over his perfect glutes. he could see it all happening right in front of him. The laughter and rude comments from the audience increased as the blade got closer and close to…the hole itself. With great care and precision, the huge man used the blade with the skill of a doctor, hands calm, yet strong. Then, there was no hair left. Brad screamed as the Arab twins poured ice cold water over his now hairless body. They had each brought two buckets and they emptied their chilling contents one bucket at a time. Brad yelled and pleaded with each bucket. When they were done, Brad shivered in the still hot California sun.
“Gaze upon the Mighty Sphincter!”, David yelled.
Wild applause as Brad’s face turned even more red than ever. All eyes were gazing at his asshole. Brad’s futile attempts to move, as if he could possibly cover himself, only caused MORE laughter and applause. Without thinking, the humiliated star, puckered his hole open and closed. Now the laughter was positively thunderous!
“Isn’t that/ cute/!”
“Hey, Brad, can you get it to sing, /Stoney End/?”
“Look at his DICK! Just LOOK at it! It’s so goddamn hard, we could use it as a battering ram!”
It was true. Brad’s cock had /never/ been so completely erect. And he was so embarrassed, he just wanted to crawl out of his skin. Every nerve was on fire. Never had Brad been so aware of every single inch of his exposed flesh, exposed to the view and pleasure of everyone present. And no way of putting it to a stop, no way at all to cover himself, to stop this humiliation. And his cock! It had never felt so completely aroused ever! He had never felt less in control of his sex organ, the one now in total display.
“And now, the ritual begins,” David announced. “Citizens of Rome, don your masks!”
All the guest, removed masks from their robes, plain leather masks, scarlet for the ladies, royal blue for the men. The Arab twins reappeared, one carrying an intricately carved table, the size of a modern end table, the other carrying a brass bottle, the type usually seen in Arabian Nights films of the Forties.
“You will each lined up in the order you have been assigned. You will pour sacred oil on the palms of your hands. And you will pleasure the great god. If he bestows his divine seed in your hand, a million will be given to your favorite charity.”
Brad’s mind reeled! NO! David wouldn’t let…..all these people…his peers…play with his /cock/! But as Tom Cruise (he had seen him put his mask on) took his place in front of Brad, the star new he was in for it. He could see the camera coming in closer. The screen above filled with the image of Brad’s face and chest, his totally erect on one side. On the other, a masked Roman nobleman applying oil to his aristocratic palms. One of the Arab twins ran up and deftly removed Brad’s gag. Brad sputtered in relief.
“Don’t do this! I….AGHHH! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Suddenly, Brad felt something soft against his hairless hole. He couldn’t see the red-haired bodybuilder stroking the star’s anus with a fluffy feather. The bodybuilder was beyond camera range. On screen you could only see Brad laugh hysterically as his steel hard cock was being stroked by a masked personage. All of the partygoers had been given strict instructions NOT to make Brad cum, except for the last guest in line. David kept time with a stop watch, he gave each guest exactly ONE minute. Brad laughed and squirmed with each new hand on his cock. He would get SO close to cumming only to have that feeling end while another “Roman” took over. /
Poor Brad, /David thought, /I wonder if he realizes that there was Viagra in his tea?/
One hundred minutes of non-stop jacking. Brad was given the occasional sip of water for a gilded cup, then the jacking would start again. Brad was covered with sweat. His body glistened, his face red from forced laughter and utter humiliation. Then the last guest stepped up. Russell Crowe. Brad could tell by the arms and the attitude. Russell played with Brad’s nuts and stroked his cock.
Brad but his lip. /I will NOT cum! Not in front of all these people. I could take it! everyone seeing me cum, like an animal! I couldn’t take it!/
But Brad could feel the moment of truth welling up inside him. The moment he feared and not a damn thing he could do about it! Russell leered. He was given more time than the others, it had be pre-arranged. He had stroked Brad for a good fifteen minutes now. He could see from Brad’s eyes that the time was nigh.
“All right, you bloody bastard,” Russell snarled. ‘Cum for papa! Cum for all these people, boy. We’ve seen so much already, Might as well see it all….cum….cum….CUM!”
And Brad sprayed a gusher. Russell deftly stepped aside while the arc of Brad’s seem shot through the air amid titanic applause and laughter. Every inch of Brad’s exposed body quivered and spasmed as the star came and came and came. His performance was impressive, even by the standards of the decadent company present.
Then he fainted.
As directed by Mr Geffen, the bodybuilders unfastened Brad from the platform and carried him back to the room where the servants had been watching on the monitor; Mr. Geffen was /very /nice to the help
ONE YEAR LATER
Six blocks of Santa Monica Boulevard in West Hollywood, the gayest city on Southern California, were cordoned off. David Geffen’s production company was filming it’s latest movie. The blazing noon day sun could not keep away the throngs of fans, at least half of them gay men, from hanging around the perimeters for a chance to view one of their favorite icons. All of these fans either had camcorders or cameras. The many burly men hired to perform security were having a hell of a time keeping the crowds back. The guards also had to fend off annoying questions like, “Are those rumors true about what’s going to happen today?” Within the cordoned area, some of the best male and female stunt drivers were poised within the many new and not-so-new cars on the street. The BIG scene was coming up, and the very heat in the air seemed an anticipation of things to come.
Brad emerged from the his huge white trailer, wearing a a baby blue terry robe and simple black shower thongs. He had a resigned look on his face. He was flanked by five personal guards, the bodybuilders who had served him so well at that fateful David Geffen party. Brad’s previous film with Geffen, which began filming days after the party (the original leading man, Jude Law, had mysteriously bowed out of the production at the last minute) had been a huge hit. The film, a romantic private eye spoof called /The Naked Detective, /had been the biggest moneymaker of the year. The story revolved around a detective, Brad and his adventures in Los Angeles, adventures wherein Brad would invariably lose his clothing in the worst situations. He was stripped naked by Chicano gangs, chased down the street naked by an irate husband in broad daylight through the streets of Beverly Hills, kidnapped by the Hell’s Angel’s and driven at dusk through the canyons of the city, hanging naked from the back of a motorcycle.
Even before it was released, David Geffen had been so confident in its success that he put the writer to work writing the sequel. He told the writer to make sure that there were even more nude scenes in this film. Today, in the scene about to be filmed, Brad would break out of a van, where he was being held captive, naked of course, by a gang of high-level drug dealers and their minions. They had just kidnapped Brad, stripped him, and were driving him to a discrete location where he would be killed. The driver, a stupid hulk of a man, cruises into a gas station; he had neglected to fill the van before the kidnapping. In a scene already filmed at the studio, Brad uses his formidable martial arts skills (done largely by a double) to overpower the two armed toughs in the van. The exterior shots filmed on this day would show Brad emerging naked from the van and fleeing for his life through the busy streets of West Hollywood. He would be running along the sidewalks, then across traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, then on to the Design Center, a huge blue structure reminiscent of a Lego building, where he would seek aid.
The film was mostly a satire on the detective genre and Brad’s character was beautiful, but not particularly bright; he had neglected to steal a gun from one of his kidnappers. The sidewalks were packed with extras, 3/4 of which were obvious gay men who looked like circuit boys, porn stars or wannabes. Whether in the cars or on the sidewalks, the extras, like the throngs of fans beyond the barriers, were virtually salivating with anticipation. Brad’s guards led him to the van, waiting for the star at the gas station, his co-starts, the actors playing the thugs were already inside The red-haired guard opened the back door and winked at Brad as he entered the van, still dressed in his robe. The same guard smiled knowingly before closing the door.
This was a particularly well-organized production, even for Geffen. First time film director Paul Reiser sat in the director’s chair, Geffen in an identical chair by his side (unusual for a producer to be quite so “hands-on”, but then the producer was himself unusual). Reiser used his bullhorn to bark out orders to camera men and other crew members. Suddenly, a pause.
“Action!”, he yelled.
The doors of the van burst open and Brad flew out of it. His toned, perfectly proportioned and very naked body took everyone’s breath away; he was in even better shape than he was in the PlayGirl spread. Every muscle flawlessly toned, all-over tan totally even, chest and body hair shaved, save for his pubes, which had been merely trimmed. Hundreds of cameras and camcorders from the crowd recorded all this for posterity. Pics and clips would be on the Net and all over the world within a few short hours. As Brad sprinted through the laughing and pointing sidewalk extras and then through the “outraged” car drivers, the thugs emerged from the van and started shooting blacks in his direction. The extras screamed and yelled as directed to earlier. Geffen watched all this with great pleasure. The shoot was going very well. But Paul was very fussy and very anxious to do a good job on his first major film, as Geffen knew he would be.
“CUT!”, Paul yelled. Brad stopped, just as he had reached the other side of Santa Monica Boulevard.
“Brad, get back to the van. You have to REALLY jump out of there, remember, these guys are out to KILL you! Back in places everyone…….”
Brad strolled back as everyone assumed their previous positions, staring at the naked star as he walk among them. No matter how many times Brad did these kind of scenes, he still felt acutely embarrassed. Thousand of people, staring at him, totally NAKED…he tried to push these thoughts out of his mind. He was a consummate professional, a STAR, one of the best paid actors in the business. Still, that long term contract Geffen had compelled him to sign filmed him with dread for the future. How much further could the producer go with the star? How many more years would he have to endure this extreme public exposure? At least, this time, Brad hadn’t gotten HARD.
As Brad began to step back into the van, the red haired bodybuilder put his beefy hand on the star’s shoulder. His other hand held a bottle of Arizona Tea.
Handing the bottle to Brad, the guard said, “From Mr. Geffen.”
Brad waved to Geffen as he took the tea. /At least the son-of-a-bitch is half-way considerate, all things considered./ / /
Geffen/ /waved back and chuckled. /Poor Brad…that drink is loaded with stuff that makes Viagra look like aspirin./ / /
Geffen stretched back, “Ah, there’s /really/ no business like show business!”