Blue shark video

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Int. A spacious lounge area in chrome and glass, clean and modern. Sofas and minibar in background - Night. For all the difference it makes to Roman, this attractive living space may as well be a dungeon. Note that the character of Mr Suave has now been recast and reimagined as someone not dissimiliar to myself. Suave was a useful action movie shorthand for the bad guy - and, boy, are we here to be bad - just as the massacre of Roman's legion served as a handy shortcut to Roman's breakdown and capture/surrender. Depending on which scene you chose. This kind of movie isn't big on in-depth psychological study, so corners have been cut. The question is... But now the movie's underway, the lead aggressor is revealed as a version of me, Zac Sharkey. A man without the time or patience to be suave, and from nowhere near the American Deep South. I've skipped from being a 1980s movie bad guy to a 1990s one, a brutal Londoner. I'm now far more thuggish-looking than either of my henchmen, who remain smartly suited while I stand tall and leanly muscular in my black vest and jeans. Hair shaven, enigmatic tattoos on arms. Action! Roman is brought into the long-shadowed mood lighting of the lounge. His mind still whirling with grief, guilt, and more, it's with remarkable ease that he is persuaded to slip his hands behind his back for the handcuffs. It takes only a gesture from me, in fact, and he does it quite willingly. Their use is more symbolic than practical, but having given up the struggle, Roman perhaps realises there is no point in resisting every fresh quirk of the script. My second henchman, Rob, keeps hold of his arms behind his back regardless. He enjoys holding the hunk in place. My other heavy, the cruel-eyed Gregory, slips his jacket off and limbers up. As Rob holds on to the unresisting Roman, we head over to the fridge and pop open some beers. I check my voicemail. Alexander tells me Ramon has arrived back safely, jokingly refers to him as damaged goods. I think about that, decide to leave it for later. Worlessly, a small ritual then begins. Maitland and Gregory switch on the huge screen home cinema, I head down to the library, blue key in hand. I return a few minutes later with the double pack video set, holding up the Revenge on Roman video in our new slave's eyeline before slipping it into the custom-made entertainment centre. I take a seat with my drink as the movie plays. The titles begin as Gregory slowly paces the floor, loosening his shirt buttons almost to the waist, and rolling up his sleeves with slow deliberation. Glimpses of his olive-skinned muscular physique show through. His body is on a par with Roman's, if a few inches shorter. The movie begins over a montage of scenes accompanied by the power chords of some soft rock ballad. It's projected at such a size that the image blurs. Roman, our Roman standing submissive in Rob's arms, looks on in confusion, a confusion not helped by his near-breakdown and our drugs. Aspirational scenes play of Roman Decker's once-charmed life. We see him eat, and flirt with the waitress in a seafood cafe... And Gregory unleashes a solid punch to Roman's washboard stomach. The surround sound of the movie soundtrack is lost beneath the deep, guttural "Guuunghffff!" as Roman tries to double up but is held neatly in place by Rob. He splutters, Gregory grabs his hair to lift his head back to face the screen.

There we see Roman as he was, jogging over the hot sands of an endless beach, torn denim shorts and nothing else. His hulking body is a wall of rippling muscles. His sweaty pectorals are mighty, his abs angular, his striding legs powerful and defined. I groan in pleasure as the image of this cocksure, free Roman Decker contrasts with a second exclamation of pain from ours as another, harder punch flies into his hot abs. A grinning Gregory lets go of Roman's hair as he coughs harder and saliva drools from his mouth and onto his bare toes. The ritual continues until the credits end. I'm kicking off my shoes as the combined thudddd of each punch and its deep grunting "Uuuuunnnggggh" from Roman fill the air. I mute the movie's soundtrack, and then switch it off. Roman groans longer in deep-voiced agony each time. Then I nod to Rob and he releases our slave, who drops to the floor, awkwardly cushioning the fall with his shoulder as his hands stay trapped behind his back. He coughs convulsively, more spit dribbling from his mouth. An instinct makes him press his battered stomach to the coolness of the floor for what relief it provides. Gregory's pacing about, adrenalised and eager for more. "Over here, boy" I beckon to the suffering man, as I peel off my socks. "Let's get you accustomed to your new life." With arms cuffed at the wrist behind his huge back, the cunt cannot crawl, and he wriggles over as best he can, on his front like a reptile. His strong legs propel him a good part of the way. We watch the stunted manoeuvres in delight. Halfway across the room, he makes a struggling attempt to rise to his feet, but Maitland quickly puts him back to the floor where he he belongs with a nudge of the foot on his meaty shoulder. "Let's make that lesson one, sweetheart" Maitland hisses with venom. "You never stand in our presence without permission." Roman is unable to resist a horrified glance at Maitland, shocked anew by the hatred he sees in the face of the man he thought of as his best friend, at the contemptuous, degrading endearment. Maitland returns the glance with steely, contempt and a glint of the purest malice in his eyes. I can see why Maitland came to me to make a deal. He has burned with secret lust for this man all of his life. Roman continues his wriggling journey, goaded on by the hired help: "Just a little further, son, you can make it." The demeaned stud arrives at my naked feet. "Okay, boy," I tell him, "Now, you know that we're gonna be spending the whole rest of this night fucking the hell outta you, don't you. I know jock prettyboys like you can be a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but you've got to have worked that out by now. Yeah?" To my surprise, he simply nods. It arouses me when I see the strain in his neck because he has to lift his head off the floor before he can nod it. "Great. Not as fucking dumb as you look." I think. Then add: "Hmm. We might have to put a bit of extra effort into keeping you in line. Don't want you thinking up any ideas above your station. Anyway, son, us guys, we're kind of romantics, really. Sure, we could slam you up against that wall there and start ramming home our cocks up that tasty tanned arse of yours, but - well, we think it's important to get you into the mood a little first." "You should thank us, really," volunteers Maitland. I chuckle. "Yeah. Yeah, you should." There is silence for a moment. Darkly, I growl "Go on, then. Say thank you." Still wheezing a little, Roman mutters a breathy "Thank you" into the floor. "Lesson two!" Maitland snaps impatiently. He grabs Roman's hair at the back and gets right into his face. "Thank you, what?" "Th ... thank you, sir," Roman offers. Maitland releases his hair, satisfied. But I'm not. "Son, I never liked that 'sir' thing. Not nearly humble enough, if you ask me. We're not your army commanding officers or something, and you're not our soldier. What you are is a slave, and us - we're your fucking lords and masters. So you'll call us that, every one of us. Call us 'master'"