I pushed open the studio door with a careful hand. I hadn’t heard a creak last time I’d been here, but utmost caution was called for. I crept inside, with Anton following closely, and saw the set was only partially lit, giving enough light to see by.
We moved toward the nearest corner of the plywood wall, where a small but usable gap separated the set walls. When I put my eye to the gap, I clearly saw Oscar and his companion lying on the bed. Both were already naked, with their hands all over each other. Big guy’s face was pressed to Oscar’s chest, where his mouth pleasured one nipple. Oscar’s hands stroked the guy’s head, sliding widespread fingers through the short-cropped hair.
But it was the tattoos which drew my eye. With tattoos covering his shoulders, back, and legs, there was no mistaking his identity. Gerry Gallway, the guy who’d walked out on Posthaste Studios and almost cost Zeb and Mitch their business. But what in hell was he doing here, in a set bed with Oscar?
Talk about being in bed with the enemy . . .
Gerry slid down to suck Oscar, peering up at the smaller man from time to time as his tongue worked its magic on his cockhead, shaft, and tight little balls. He only moved when Oscar begged him to stop. When he hovered between Oscar’s wide-spread legs, he stroked the thick shaft with a huge hand for a few moments before shuffling up the bed to kneel beside Oscar’s head.
Oscar tried his best to suck Gerry, but the swollen head was too big to fit in his mouth, so tongue and lips were used to lick and suck the shining skin. And when Gerry lay on his back, and Oscar straddled his hips, my eyes widened. Gerry passed across a bottle of lube, and a generous amount was smeared onto his thick shaft and head.
I watched breathlessly as Oscar positioned himself over Gerry’s upright cock and lowered his body onto the monster. His face crumpled; his jaw dropped, and he whimpered as Gerry slid into him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Anton move. When I looked across, he mouthed wow and returned to the peephole.
Oscar rose half an inch, sank down an inch, rose half an inch, and sank another inch. With every movement, tight cries rose from his throat, a sharp contrast to Gerry’s deep murmurs.
Of course, he didn’t manage to take the entire length, but I silently gave him credit for trying. He rose and fell slowly on the top half of Gerry’s erection, crying out each time he sank down, and whimpering every time he rose. His hands rose to stroke his chest; his fingers pinched his nipples.
“Fucking . . . hell . . .” he cried. “I fucking . . . love you . . . Gerry.”
Gerry chuckled, a deep rumble that shook the plywood walls.
“Please don’t . . . uhhh . . . leave me,” Oscar wailed. “I couldn’t . . . stand being . . . without you.”
“Come with me, then.”
“Not . . . yet. Need to . . . finish . . . tearing this . . . place down.”
“They’re history,” Gerry assured him. “No star, no crew, and you smashed their distribution contract today.”
“Not smashed . . .” Oscar said in a tight, high voice. “Fucked. I . . . fucked them. I fucked them good.”
“And now we’re fucking in their stupid, end-of-the-road studio.”
“Last fuck . . . it’ll ever see . . .”
“And the best,” Gerry rumbled. “Fuck my cock, you sweet little ass. Fuck me with your fucking tight little hole.”
Anton moved in my peripheral vision. When I glanced his way, he mouthed what the fuck?
I nodded my agreement. I’d never seen anything like this.