The fourth part.

As Baxley thrust himself deeper into me, I felt the first boy's cock pumping into my throat; as soon as he was out and leaving his cream behind, another prick took its place. I started sucking that and the still-unfulfilled other prick, knowing that I wouldn't be out of here until I had sucked all ten boys here... and until they, in turn, had blown me.
The youngest of the lot had crawled under me and was tasting my own cock, groaning over it as he licked the full length. Squeezed in next to him was another one, moving his mouth back and forth from one of my sacs to the next, and all the while the cock inside me kept pounding away. "MMmmmm..."I mumbled over the penises, excited at the way they felt on my tongue and at how Baxley's prick was starting to drip in me. "Ohhhhhh...MMMMMMMMAAARRRR!!!"
"Oh yes Vic... fuck yes... you've got an ass to die for here....!!!!" Baxley's voice shot up as he filled me up, slapping against me as he came, becoming the first boy to fuck my no-longer-virgin ass. As he pulled out and gave me one last slap, I didn't even have time to come down before I felt another pair of hands. A blissful smile, lightly covered with drops of the come from the boys I'd just made come in my mouth, came to me...

* * * * * * * * * *

I don't know how long it took before the boys had had their fill, but I do know that later on I was upstairs, asleep on Baxley's bed. The others had left, and Baxley had let me rest up until I was ready, sticky and sweaty, but happy.
Slumbering, moving in and out of sleep, I was thinking about how things would change now. Now I knew about what some of them held secret, I could either hold it over their heads or just let it lie there... power was wonderful, and sexual power was the most wonderful of all. At least one of the guys who'd pounded his cock in me loved boasting about all the girls he'd fucked - now I knew he was full of it...
No. No blackmail. In and out of slumber I had seen images of girls in my head from time to time, and I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd been left limp by all of them. But I wasn't. Maybe he still liked girls, maybe he was pretending. The thing was, I wasn't going to say someone - anyone - was gay if they weren't. I myself was in the middle, and loving it.
The last thing some of the guys had said to me before leaving was something about next time. That was the last thing that went through my head before I felt two hands on my back. Two older hands. Two older hands belonging to someone who thought I was asleep.
Two older hands moving down my back towards my trousers. "...nice botsy..." the man who thought I was asleep grunted. "...sexy botsy... beautiful botsy.. beautiful big botsy..."
I knew that voice. It was Baxley's dad; I was willing to bet it wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. And he probably thought I was asleep as he pressed his hard cock against my cleft.
He grunted as he thrust forward, his hand slipping under me to stroke my cock as he moved. "Good boy... gorgeous boy..." he groaned, fucking me for the first time that morning, thinking I was asleep, and thinking that I would have tried to escape if I was.
He was wrong on both counts.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Hey, Victor."
Scott slapped my shoulder with an envelope. "That's yours."
"What for?" I asked.
"For last week. By the way, Bradley wants to meet you." Scott gave my ass a discreet squeeze before sidling away, freeing me to peer into the envelope and widening my eyes at what was inside; some little folded coloured pieces of paper that I recognised instantly, and a note next to them.
Vic -
You earned it.
B
Making boys - and increasingly men - happy, and getting paid for it. And no more teasing; they knew how to keep their mouths shut.
Or most of them did. If I'd known that another classmate had gotten another envelope linked to me, I might not have been so cheerful.

If KS is still interested - and other random ramblings.

I've decided to send him those CDs. The player might have to wait, though. (He knows what I'm talking about.)
Meanwhile, it should have occurred to me before. Annoying voice, grating mannerisms, always off work, saying the dumbest things possible, unwavering belief in own correctness... no wonder Esther is a Bush supporter; barring her being black, from Africa, very fat, poor and not in the White House, they're like two peas in a pod.
Weeds is still not pulling me in yet. I'm beginning to think Mary-Louise Parker might have to do a nude scene like she did in Angels in America for me to hang on for all of this season.
And finally... that's it.

End of the most senseless post of any blog ever?

Is it okay if I bitch a bit? It is? Oh good.

I hate the fact that our new bosses paid us in cheques last week. Cheques.
I hate how Abbey National waits three business days to clear them.
And charges £30 for every time my account goes into debit.
I hate that Veronica Mars is ending next week and Britain's Next Top Model isn't.
I hate how my prescription's going to arrive after I've run out of one of the pills.
I hate how no one will dare assassinate the Smirk because then Dick Cheney'll be the Commander-in-Chief.
I hate how one homeworker drops by to give us his stuff so early in the fucking morning.
I hate the mere mention of the name "Doctor Who."
I hate how multi-region DVD players aren't widely available in Britain.
I hate being almost as slow as Mr. B, writing-wise.
I hate certain Firefly fans for insisting that Serenity was a hit long after it became clear it wasn't.
I hate Charlotte Church more and more every day.

I like Nicollette Sheridan's Maxim spread, Brooke Burke's calendar and Assa Guerrass ((c) Jennifer Orangio) naked.

The end.

When I was 23, it was a very good year...

It was a very good year for discovering that there were more people who bought the wares of Varese Sarabande and Intrada and La-La Land and so on. And for discovering that there was actually a magazine for people interested in such things, the wonderful Film Score Monthly. Now this was what I was talking about... Lukas Kendall, R. Mike Murray, Jeff Bond and the rest were regulars in my reading material from then on. Even when it eventually stopped being monthly, and became Film Score Magazine.

Of all the magazines I ever bought, or subscribed to when it became hard to get hold of in London (if this is the world's greatest city, why are there hardly any soundtrack stores here, eh?), this is the only one that I have every issue of since I started getting it back in 1993, even unto buying every available back issue to fill the gaps. So it was not a pleasure when it was announced that the next print issue will be the last; now there's only Music from the Movies left (Soundtrack! expired some time ago), which isn't the same. True, the website as linked to below will continue, but...

Sweetening the blow? All subscribers get one free CD per three issues or part thereof remaining on their subscription - FSM moved into soundtrack production a few years ago, and it's now a major part of their bread-and-butter. So bags me The Appointment (with the rejected score, the used score, and the television rescore) and The Egyptian (the Batman Begins of its day inasmuch as it was a teaming of two A-list composers). And then more of their stuff, before they eventually run out (they only do limited runs of everything).

As to why there's a link to Hayden Panettiere and Paris Hilton - well, it's my blog...

The Cindy Spot: The last one.

Wait wait wait... it's not the last time I'm ever going to be mentioning Cynthia Ann Crawford. She hasn't crossed the line into please-fuck-off-foreverhood (lifetime president: Madonna. Second-in-command: Christina Aguileraisacunt) that Charlotte Church has, nor has she gone into a nunnery or something.

It's just that after consistently failing to write that "column" regularly, the best thing is to just rename the blog. Making everything a Cindy Spot and solving the problem, and leaving the Cindy Inc. name for my stories. And also giving me something to wash the sight of Paris Hilton naked (albeit probably Photoshopped that way) out of my mind.

So to make the blog-only stories debut, any requests? Apart from the obvious ones. (And if Jen is reading this, Laura Prepon works for the opposition. Sorry.)

Well, at least I've got something in common with Jen.

You are Lamentations.

Which book of the Bible are you?
As they used to say on American TV shows, "brought to you by..."

What's the difference between "Totally Scott-Lee" and Sonic the Hedgehog?

Sonic the Hedgehog has a discernible point. Several, in fact. :)

Before I go into meltdown over this MTV-hogging no-talent ex-member of the ex-pop group Steps (trust me, you don't want to know about Lisa Scott-Lee. You really don't), let's talk about something else.

Like my managing to do the rent for the month early for once.

Or communicating with another Cindy-lover over on Superiorpics (called IloveJLH, which shows excellent taste).

Or wondering why LivingTV is burning off Veronica Mars on weekdays and dithering over Ghost Whisperer (which is right up their supernatural alley - buy it, dammit! It probably won't be as good as Medium, but it's got Jennifer Love Hewitt!).

Or discussing 2006 calendars.

Okay, let's do the calendars. If Cindy still did official calendars, she'd be in like a shot. But sadly she stopped years ago. (It's not like she hasn't got the body for it. Trust me.)

The Charmed one would normally be a shoo-in, like it wasthe last two years, but this year Brian Krause and some new guy managed to worm their way onto it, thus causing this to break my most important rule about calendars: No Guys Allowed. Ever. I am a single man; when I wake up I want to see something pleasant, something which will give me some nice thoughts to start the day. No one with a penis who is not a shemale has that capability. (There are probably fans of The O.C. who feel that way about Rachel and Co., which is why there's a separate one about the lads of said show.)

No pets, no countries, no flowers... and no modes of transportation. All out.

I also don't like cartoon calendars on walls, so I have to pass on The Simpsons. (Probably the only time I will ever arrange those words in that order.)

So we're back to the eye candy. The Lost, Alias and Desperate Housewives calendars all fall by the wayside for that same reason as Charmed (big plus: waking up to Maggie Grace, Jennifer Garner or Eva Longoria. Big minus: waking up to just about any of the guys, but especially Naveen Andrews [facial hair? Ugh], Victor Garber or that one who plays Carlos); no soap babes will ever adorn my walls; and since Britney has been unable to do a calendar this year for obvious reasons, that accounts for the singers (Kylie Minogue? Jessica Simpson? Rachel Stevens? Get out).

Models? No chance - I couldn't live with myself if I put up Abi Titmuss or Lucy Pinder (with or without Michelle Marsh). And as for Jordan...

So we're left with actresses (and I bet you can see where this is going). And who's the final choice? Um... yes, that's right... the Alba. (Not official, but better than nothing. Especially since the only other option is the Fantastic Four calendar. Too many Y-chromosomes.)

More homoerotic porn during the week.

The continuation.... still can't think of a title.

There were about ten of them there, all bunching in up close to me as if we were in the world's smallest locker room, rather than the generously sized living room of one of their houses. My ego swelled on seeing that some of them had swellings lower down...
They soon had their hands on me, some on my chest, some on my legs, one or two on my crotch. "Hey, wait a minute guys," I laughed, "you'll all get some... and NO TEARING! You want people to start asking questions?"
Rogers let go my shirt as the others let me start to strip. They waited all of four seconds before tugging the rest of my clothes off, until I was lying there, the only naked guy in the room with ten horny boys. Just what Charlotte Cambridge always wanted, I bet.
"Fuck me," Baxley moaned, freeing his throbbing rod from his jeans and letting them drop to the floor as the other boys stripped. "You tell anyone about this---"
"---and you'll kill me, I know, I know," I said casually. "Now who wants to go first?"
I knew I shouldn't have said that. They landed on me, grabbing and kissing what they could find, and lifting me off the sofa. Within seconds, I found myself unable to get air - because Rogers and Kelly had rammed their cocks into my mouth, black and white blending together in my damp mouth. As I sucked and swallowed their lengths, the heads rubbing against each other inside my mouth, my hands were busy stroking Riley and Foster's organs, pulling them as if I was thinking about the Adderley sisters, but this time with added groans from the guys.
Kisses and caresses were landing on my sides from Tony, Simon, Francis, Richard and Dennis. They were murmuring comments about my legs when not stroking them with their cocks. It wouldn't be long before I felt them get covered with something sticky.
And Baxley? With his hands spreading my ass open and something smooth being put around my opening, I knew what was coming.
When he slammed it in, soon it would be me....

Some more of the below.

This time without Presley or Kaia. For the most part.

Imagine her with your favourite together. (Warning: May not work if you are strictly gay.)

Cindy. Cindy. Cindy.

And some people wonder why we don't all love bloody Kate Moss. From being in Mexico with her kids. And just when I needed some impetus for writing as well.