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|The move to Los Angeles happened in due course. John worked the fuck zombies hard, preferring to draft them into service as movers rather than using a company. Packing was an intensely erotic process involving exercises wherein John fucked people while forcing them to continue their wrapping and packing activities at the same time. Everyone was very happy and very satisfied. They worked round the clock.
The new residence was an estate on Malibu Beach, a cubist edifice of glass and bleached wood overlooking the ocean. The beach was private, as would be necessary; John was already planning all-night parties on the sand. The house had been decorated by one of those decorators-to-the-stars one saw on the evening entertainment news. He was an ugly old queen in whom John had no sexual interest, though several of his design assistants fell under the sword of John's lust.
When the new domicile was entirely pleasing to John, the move happened. Everything was carried out with slavish efficiency, and John's pleasures were not interrupted by the transition. Soon he was happily ensconced in his new environment, fucking and sucking with undiluted abandon.
No sooner had they settled in but Carson, perhaps inspired by the proximity of Hollywood, decided it was time to do an epic. No one had ever before produced a high-budget porno blockbuster, and he aimed to go down in history. John sat across from him at the brainstorming meeting, pleased by how utterly Carson's ambitions had been corrupted. His former plans for cinema greatness were now all entirely at the service of John's lusts.
There were several of the fuck zombies he wanted to use, but a casting search would be required for the other roles. John agreed to this wholeheartedly. The film was to be a two-hour sexual marathon, starting with John alone, then moving on to one sex partner, then two, then three and so on, culminating in a spectacular, half-hour-long orgy at the end. It would require a soundstage, a costumer, and a considerable staff. Lighting and cinematography Carson would handle personally.
John cheerfully approved all expenditures.
"So Miss Thing says, 'Perhaps you'd care to make a contribution to the policeman's widows and orphans fund.'" Callen sat with his arms around Best watching the sun set out over the Pacific. The beach sand was still warm on their butts. "What a cretin. There is no widows and orphans fund, I checked. So I bribed my first official today. It was fun."
"So, this guy won't be bothering John any more."
"The state attorney general's office will drop its investigation tomorrow. No pornography, no racketeering. It was a very big bribe."
"John's mastery of the world remains undisputed."
"Why shouldn't it, sweetie? He's got the power. John's where its at."
"You're such a heterosexual," Best chided.
"My father told me that lawyers need to stick with the people with the power, and John's got more than anybody. I'm all his, darling. Anything he wants."
"And a little mine, I hope." Best snuggled against him, his tits flexing winsomely. Best was not above using the fuck zombie's mental feebleness to please himself, and he had made ample use of their sexual availability. Life in John's house was indeed an endless succession of delights. Callen was his favorite.
"Well, of course yours too, baby. But service to John supersedes any other commitment. You must feel that to."
"Oh... yeah. For sure. But we can be lovers anyway, can't we?"
"As long as it doesn't interfere with my service to John, yes."
Ply me with words, you silver-tongued devil, Best though resignedly.
Jimmy and Craig, two of the less recent fuck zombies, ran up carrying a leather shoulder bag. "Hey, Callen, check it out!" one of them exclaimed. He pulled a peculiar looking device out of the bag, obviously a dildo but with some interesting alterations.
"Fabulous!" Callen cried. He immediately slipped off his trunks, stood and bent over. One of the others rammed the device into his ass. He groaned ecstatically.
"Ooh, sexy, sexy!" he moaned.
Best got up and left.
John lost no time in casting the new artistic effort. He had moved to Los Angeles because it, above and beyond all other cities in the world, was chockablock with stunning men. He felt he had pretty much depleted his field of prey where he was before. New prospects were required. And LA supplied them in droves. John was busy for months fucking the new influx of delicious bodies and perfect faces. Finding his costars was no challenge. He had soon assembled a pantheon of new performers, some of whom would embark on careers that would go down in porno history before their untimely deaths from drug overdoses and murder.
But we are getting beyond our story.
Lamont whirled on the wheel while the Guerney Brothers lashed him with spike-tipped bullwhips. Blood spurted. Lamont shrieked with pleasure. Best had quickly sought out John and encouraged him to come watch. He knew with John in the room and aroused, Lamont would be unharmed. Gary and Todd had progressed from being silly queens titillated by a little bondage to full-blown psychopaths. Another blessing of their relationship with John.
John stood and watched, smiling benignly. The flow of blood stopped. He put Andrew on cock duty and the lad sucked vigorously while John sighed with pleasure.
"Do you see his jaw?" Best whispered to Callen, pointing at Andrew.
"What about it?"
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Callen! Come on off your hormone daze for a second! Can't you see how distended it is? Like a fucking boa constrictor."
"John's the biggest," Callen said with finality.
"Yes, far too big for anyone to fit in their mouths. And yet Andrew does it. Don't you see the impossibility of it?"
Callen frowned and stared.
Kenny collapsed while cleaning the kitchen the next day. He went into some kind of seizure, his jaw locked, his muscles spasming. The other zombies watched him with morbid fascination. Lamont called the ambulance and Kenny was carried away on a stretcher, still convulsing.
The emergency room doctors determined that he was suffering from a catastrophic lack of salt in his system. This did not surprise them since they had ample experience with bodybuilders struck down by the excesses they inflicted on their bodies in preparing for competition. He was salinated and put in a room for overnight observation.
John was in a meeting with Best when Andrew reported the situation to him.
"What will you do, John?" Best asked.
"Obviously, Kenny's got to go. For his own good."
"He won't go willingly."
"Willingly? Is that a word?"
John decided that Best was the perfect person to break the news.
"When he walks into a room, I get horny," Callen said. "I mean, I don't even have to know he's there. If he's standing behind me, I get turned on."
"Exactly," Best said with a knowing nod. They were at their usual spot on the beach. Behind them, a party was in progress in the residence. It was not the usual LA power party. John needed no business contacts and what contacts he had curried favor with him and not the other way around. The guest list was comprised entirely of the most beautiful men the fuck zombies could seek out. John was looking to expand his harem, and to get rid of some of his more faded acquisitions. The laughter and babble had just begun to erupt into faggoty shrieks and groans of ecstasy. John was doing his thing.
"And now," Best continued, "he's going to fuck everyone in that room, It will take days."
"How does he do it?" Callen had finally cleared his mind sufficiently to realize that Best was right: John was not merely sexy.
"With the power, that's how he does it."
"But what's the power?"
"I have a more important question. Where did it come from?"
Callen frowned. "What's that got to do with anything? Why do you want to know where it comes from?"
"Because I want it. I want it for us, Callen. Don't you?"
Callen thought for a moment and then grinned wickedly. They had sex on the sand while the house exploded with lust behind them.
"John has decided this is for the best, Kenny." Lord, what a job this accounting position was turning out to be! Kenny sat opposite him in the library--a room conspicuously devoid of books--in wing-backed leather chairs.
Kenny seemed not to understand his words. "Go?" he said weakly. "I can't go. Where would I go?" He sounded pathetic. His distorted musculature looked misformed, broken.
"Out into the world. Back to your life. You used to have a life, remember? Before John came along?"
Kenny looked down blankly at the costly oriental carpet. He seemed to be digesting the situation. Suddenly, he went from bewilderment to rampant hysteria without interval. "I can't LEAVE! ARE YOU CRAZY! I CAN'T GO!"
"Now, Kenny, look at the positive... "
"I'LL DIE WITHOUT HIM! I LOVE HIM! I LOVE HIM!"
Best slapped Kenny hard. This seemed to bring him back to sanity, however tenuously. Best grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled his face close. "Now, you listen to me, you dimwitted queen. John is about as lovable as a rabid dog. The idea of anyone actually loving him is laughable. You love his cock, and that's all you love. You love your own pleasures, like every other worthless faggot in the world. If you don't get out of here, you're going to die. Do you want to die, Kenny?"
Kenny seemed to consider this. After a moment, he appeared to come to a conclusion. But this was only an illusion He raised his head and said: "I want to see John."
"You can't see him. It will be much easier for you if you don't."
"I want to see John!" He looked wildly around the room. "John! John, I know you're listening! John, please talk to me!"
"Kenny, don't make me do this... "
"Please, John! God, you can't do this! I love you, John! I love you! I'll always love you!"
Reluctantly, Best nodded to Carl and Claude, two of John's more enormous helots, both competing bodybuilders. They stepped forward and pinned Kenny's arms. He screamed in protest, struggling wildly, but in his disoriented condition he was no match for them. They dragged him out of the room. They continued to drag him out the front door--which was held open by Lamont--into the elevator, down to the front and out onto the sidewalk. They gave the doorman instructions never to admit Kenny again.
Upstairs, Best turned to the two-way mirror, behind which he knew John lurked. "That was fun," he said flatly.
On the other side, John sighed with pleasure. A new zombie, an eighteen-year-old gymnast name Locksy, was enthusiastically sucking his penis. John came, sending a flood of jism down the boy's throat. John came and came until the boy choked on the enormous flux and had to break off. Having already come several times himself, he was unable to stand; he lay at John's feet while John splattered him with one surge of semen after another.
Best had said some harsh things. John unlovable? His love for himself disproved that. But then, he had given Best a difficult task and Best said whatever was necessary to complete it. No offense taken. Besides, this new boy had such an excellent mouth.
John's subjugation of people had many beneficial side effects. Callen was not doing so well at law school before he met John. A mediocre student, his grades skyrocketed when John made good grades contingent upon his continued presence in the residence. John needed a functioning lawyer, not another pneumatic fuck-toy. Likewise, he gave a similar proviso to Artemisio, a ballet student whose career was so far undistinguished. With John inspiring him, he was on his way to becoming one of the greats. His ass became hugely muscular and hard. Clearly, John was a positive influence on the new generation.
Best stared sadly at the floor. He didn't have high hopes for Kenny. He didn't have high hopes for any of them. John didn't rotate his entourage simply because he grew tired of them; the constant onslaught of sexual pleasure eventually caused their minds to disintegrate. Brilliant professionals were reduced to gibbering party faggots who could think of nothing besides getting their pussies fucked as often as possible. They fucked their way to their own doom. A rather characteristic form of gay self-destruction. They would all have to be replaced regularly. He wondered how long it would take to effect Carson, withering his genius. Or Callen. Callen was doing great in school now after John's threat to evict him if his grades didn't improve. But for how long would his concentration stay focused? They had done experiments years before on rats, plugging an electrode into the tiny creatures' pleasure centers and then giving them a lever that would send a charge that would cause an orgasm. The rats starved to death in front of those levers, hitting them, and hitting them again, and again, and again.
John was a petty little man in a god's clothing. Clearly he was unworthy to wield such inhuman power. The mantle needed to be passed to someone who could put it to good use.
"Fan clubs are up to 4,000 globally," Andrew intoned. "A club just started up in China." John, Kevin, Carson, Callen and Best sat in a semicircle listening to this month's stats and info. A zombie named Locksy, a very young man with a spectacular upper body, was assigned to stand behind John during the meeting, stroking his chest and admiring him. These sessions were not so much for the imparting of information as for the flattering of John's ego. He loved to hear about the spread of the Word. John was conquering the world from home.
"4,000," he said. "Better. What about the suicide club?"
"Suicide," Best said.
"Still digging," Andrew said. "If it exists, they'd be very secretive, of course."
"I want to know. The idea excites me."
Andrew beamed. "We'll find them if they're there, John."
Best knew Andrew would lie about such an organization if it would please John and get his kitty fucked. The perfection of John's world was in part illusory, supplied by eager-to-please slaves.
The discussion moved on to another incursion by the Justice Department for interstate transportation of pornographic materials, but Callen assured the gathering that John was not culpable. Callen, with a year of law school to go, was evolving in to a regular criminal mastermind. He had bribed officials, quashed accusations of rape and had even arranged a hit on a rival pornographer, though circumstances changed and it was not necessary to carry it out. There was no crime he would not commit for John.
"The opening of John's Desire is scheduled for November 14," Andrew continued. "Will you be ready, Carson?"
Carson nodded. "Filming won't take long. John's a natural."
He and John exchanged a knowing smile. Carson maintained his straight mannerisms, but otherwise was indistinguishable from the other fuck zombies. He had not had a woman in a long time. Kevin, on the other hand, was beginning to develop faggoty characteristics. This pleased John immensely.
Andrew went on to report on the underground sex clubs forming around John's videos. All-night orgies, in which participants were surrounded by TV screens emblazoned with John and more John, were commonplace. The bars were half-empty. Bathhouses were completely out of fashion. Faggots eschewed human contact and stayed home with their VCRs. John was single-handedly destroying the social fabric of the gay community. Connections between people were deteriorating rapidly. Soon, there would be no reason for anyone to talk to anyone except to say things like "Fuck me hard, baby."
Best wondered how long it would take before the gay media realized that John was causing a major collapse of community coherence and come after him. But no, he knew from his own sexual adventures that gay men never even thought of such things. If they had any idea how to have a relationship in the first place they wouldn't be hanging around the bars. Best has used this deficiency to manipulate any number of people.
"There are also reports of some women's groups starting up."
"Inevitable," John said, thoroughly disinterested in the subject. "Move on."
"We have interview requests from the Advocate, Genre and Frontiers."
"Tell them to send extremely beautiful reporters," John said.
Andrew grinned. "Are you going to fuck them?"
"We want good press, don't we?"
The group chuckled amiably.
Andrew displayed several designs for posters for the upcoming movie. Posters had presented a problem in that people stole them out of the display cases outside theaters. Still shots of John were hard to come by, though some enterprising pirates had found a way to extract them from the videos. The fates of these people and their customers were unknown. The proposed solution was posters that included only text, or pictures of John's ravishing costars.
The thrust of the meeting was clear: the entire world was falling under John's power. Imagine, having every faggot in the world at your feet.
Best salivated at the thought.
All the zombies were required to keep their bodies in top condition. Anyone slacking in this was banished forever. This produced a great deal of extreme behaviors, particularly around diet, which the zombies made absurdly complicated. Best stayed out of all of it. He knew how to have a body, and he stuck with what he knew. The zombies, their brains scrambled with pleasure, became eccentric on the subject.
John supplied all of them with memberships to a local fitness center, one with a particularly well-appointed free weight room; John liked the muscles. Best continued his physique regimen dutifully as he would have done in any case.
He walked out onto the gym floor. The place clanged and bellowed with activity as always. Faggots in Spandex clustered in corners blathering. In gyms, the people with the hot bodies and the people with the boring bodies could as easily be divided into the people who didn't talk and the people who never shut up. If somebody was running his mouth during his workout, chances are the body would not be up to par. The muscleboys were there for only one reason, and it wasn't to socialize. They did not speak. Socializing was the reward, not part of the process. Chatting dissipated the energy and concentration required to develop a truly extraordinary physique.
Best did not talk at the gym.
He went into the small room set aside for squat racks to begin his leg routine. He came upon Kenny, over-tanned and oversized, blasting out an excruciating series of squats with an utterly enormous poundage. He had no training partner, but the other musclebunnies were more than happy to assist him with spots and shouts of encouragement.
Best turned to make a hasty retreat, but Kenny had seen him. He interrupted his set, put the bar ponderously on the rack and scurried over to him, his mouse-like movements contrasting weirdly with his ungainly physique.
"Hi, Best," he said as if seeing a new lover by accident in the course of the day.
"How's John?" His adoration was on him like a halo.
"Well, Kenny, how do you suppose John is?"
Kenny smiled lovingly. "On top of the world, eh?"
"Will you tell him I said hello?"
"No, I won't. John doesn't want to hear from you, Kenny. He's done with you. Figure it out."
Kenny was secretive. "Oh, he's not done with me. He just thinks he is."
"Check it out." He stuck a bodybuilder's pose, a double biceps. Best gasped. His arms were mammoth, brobdingnagian. His body exploded with muscle. His legs were so enormous he must surely have trouble walking normally. Kenny was developing the kind of physique Best could never relate to: one that looked good only when posing in bathing trunks on stage. A competitor's physique.
"The regionals are coming up next week. I'm going to win them. Then John will see what he's missing."
"He'll want me back. You watch."
Best thought it would probably be unwise to watch.
Later on, he ran into Lamont in the aerobics room. He looked horrible. He was more magnificently muscled than he had ever been, but his body was a mass of scar tissue. Even his face was heavily scarred by Todd's and Gary's experiments. Best wondered how John had originally targeted Lamont for his attentions.
"How have you been, Lamont? I feel like I haven't seen you around."
"I've been quiet, that's for sure."
"Lamont, the scarring is getting a little scary. Don't you think it's time to lay off? Gary and Todd will find another pin cushion."
Lamont shook his head with sage smile as if he knew the secrets of the universe. "John loves what we're doing. If it pleases John, well, you know how that is yourself. You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?"
"Don't fret, little Best. He'll start fucking you some day. Then you'll understand."
"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I really think you should lay off for a while."
"Not likely. We've got a session scheduled for tonight. 8:00 sharp. Todd likes exact scheduling. Power thing, you know."
Lamont's affability was blood-curdling.
Kevin and Carson made John work hard. Their born natures rebelled against sexual relations with another male, and it took constant domination to keep them subdued. He loved them for it.
That evening, they sat around a table in John's colossal master bedroom and talked about the new film. The room was darkly sleek with black satin bedsheets and cool stone accouterments. The bed had no bed spread because it was never made. The walls were festooned with various bondage and torture devices bolted solidly in place.
In the midst of their talk, John stood and came around Carson who was expounding rather pompously on the artistic merit of some camera angle or something. It was boring. He began to massage Carson's shoulders lovingly. Carson stopped talking and emitted a luxurious rumbling sound. John's fingers were superhumanly strong. They expressed confidence.
"Time for a break," John said. "Backrubs."
He had Carson stand with Kevin standing in front of him and they gave each other backrubs.
"Everybody feel good?" John asked.
"Fantastic," Carson crooned.
"Hey, but nobody's pleasuring John."
The broke off and turned to him. "Yes, John," Carson said. "Do you need some pleasure?"
"You're already giving me pleasure. Look." Indeed, his cock was fully erect.
The pair looked down at it, much to John's amusement. How he loved that quality in them, that reluctance! A homosexual would have immediately fondled him or plunged the organ into his mouth. But these two merely stood and stared at it with a mixture of desire and fear.
He took Carson's hands. "Help me, Carson." He placed them on his throbbing equipment. "I need your help. Please help me."
Carson dutifully massaged the cock, instantly sending a shattering broadside of ecstasy through John's body. It pummeled his brain and momentarily blinded him. Kevin groaned. John knew the two of them both felt the same thing. While Carson jacked him off, he pulled Kevin to him and kissed him with romantic immoderation.
Carson moaned, a capitulating sound, and took John's cock into his mouth. There was no question of refusing this ecstasy, regardless of whose body it came from, man or woman. Kevin's hands came up and caressed John's shoulders. John treasured this moment in his time with the two of them, the independent macho-man attitude slowly crumbling into obedience and capitulation. How he loved them both! They were his prize possessions. He loved them as a pet owner loved his dogs or his fish and with the same unwavering attachment.
"Why are you wearing so much clothing?" he asked them. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable if you took your pants off?"
They complied. John found it very sexy to be with a man in a shirt with no pants. It was an old preference left over from the old John. He pulled them both against his crotch, one delectable set of buttocks in each hand and massaged them. They both set to work on John's throbbing member and vibrating testicles, stoking the fires. John's breathing became labored.
A cry of pain erupted in the room next door, the bondage room. John smiled his crooked smile. "Todd and Gary are entertaining Lamont again. Shall we go watch?"
"No, John," Carson said in baby voice. "We want to stay here with you."
"Very well, my sweet boys." He stood back and made them fuck each while he masturbated. This softened them up for the rest of the evening. And besides, he liked the heft of his tool in his hand. When he tired of that, he had Carson strap Kevin to the wall and they took turns fucking him. John was deeply aroused, but he felt no compulsion to take them to new heights--or rather depths--of depravity. Sex with Kevin and Carson was like a night home watching television. They were family.
Terrible cries came from the party next door. John was eaten up with curiosity about what they were doing, but Kevin was giving him the sweetest hanging blow job and he didn't want to interrupt.
He decided to reward them with their favorite treat: a triple fuck. Kevin inside Carson and John inside Kevin. It was a challenging position, but the two of them loved it and were athletic enough to maintain it for some time. Of course, there was always an argument about who got to be in the middle, so John always performed the act twice, though it really didn't matter who was in the middle because everyone got the same pleasure, John's pleasure.
He pumped Kevin's ass luxuriously and Kevin did the same for Carson. This excited John very much. Not only could he dominate straight men, but he could do two at a time! He masculinity outweighed theirs in every way! John would get himself a whole harem of straight men, men who would fight him every step of the way, every sexual encounter. Men he would disgust and horrify even as he subjugated them with sex, men he could grind into the mud! They would all know his dominating superiority! Oh God, this was fucking! This was power! Power! Power!
The three of them came simultaneously, paralyzing, mortifying, exalting. The boys exploded with passion even as they recoiled with revulsion. John tore their natures in two every time he fucked them. He hoped he didn't destroy them too soon.
As they came, a spine-freezing scream detonated in the next room. It was followed by two more. But they were so swept up in their own pleasure they were incapable of responding to it. They collapsed on the floor in a gratified heap.
John, of course, recovered first. He smacked their naked butts. "Rise and shine, you two. Let's go see what that was about. We'll continue this later."
He sprang up and pulled them up together, clasping each with one hand. He dragged them with him into the hallway. They were rag-doll limp in his grasp.
The zombies were clustered around the door to the bondage room, looking vague and unfocused. And strangely aroused. John pushed through them to see what was what. Todd and Gary stood off to one side. They were smiling, and covered with thick, red blood. Hanging on the wall was Lamont. His body was opened from sternum to crotch and his entrails draped out on the floor in what appeared to be an artistic arrangement. His face was hideous, distorted with horror and pain. His jaw hung and his terrified eyes were open. At his feet was one of the medieval torture devices, one John had never picked up. Apparently it was for the use to which it had been put.
Obviously, John's radiant sexual energy diffusing itself through the wall had sent them over the edge. Like John, their lust had driven them through any barriers of moral reluctance they might have into a dark and open space. John would no doubt have done the same sort of thing by now, were it not impossible for anyone to be physically harmed in his presence.
He looked to Todd and Gary for an explanation. Both were smiling broadly with glassy eyes.
"It was so fabulous," Gary said.
"He did it for you, John," Todd said. "He loved you. He wanted to show you how far he would go for you. He wanted to give you everything he had. This is his love-gift, John."
John looked at Lamont's remains, his guts strewn about the floor. My God, had Lamont done this to show him the depth of his subservience? To give up one's freedom and identity as a gesture of adoration was one thing, but--sweet Jesus, to be dismembered for him!
John's awareness of his own strength surged up in him, filling him with pleasure. His cock went hard. He was lord of the universe! People would die just to please him! He would fuck them all and then kill them! The ultimate act of domination! He was their ruler! He was their god! He was power!
He came extravagantly, firing his jism across Lamont's remains like a shower of holy water.
"Who do you want to be next?" Gary asked.
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