The Bad Thing with Drew Koles

Scoring a movie can be a hard job, especially when you're doubling up as a production assistant, working with one of the most talented, emotionally demanding groups of people in the business. But it gets easier. Ideas turn into scripts, scripts turn into shoots, shoots turn into hiatuses, and re-unions turn into fireworks. Like a whirlwind, four long years of production were coming to an end - welcome to the last shoot. Today's scene? Sex. Love. Drive. Passion. Melrose.

We'd only caught eyes a couple times, but the chemistry we shared was immeasurable. He acts. I watch. He speaks. I listen... I couldn't stop thinking about Canada's top teen-import, Drew Koles.

He was a couple of years older than me. I liked that. The Hart of Dixie star was attentive and caring, so of course, he swept in like a knight in shining armor when my car battery died. Soon enough, we were sharing our daily commute together, lingering on moments shared smoking Parliaments (Full Flavor.) One day, our shoot wrapped late. It's 11 o'clock at night. I'm not walking home.

"I noticed you watching me." Drew spoke, his eyes fixed to the road, nodding along to the metal pumping over the speakers.

"It's just study - I think your performance is really going to help me write the music." I shot back, hoping I deflected any suspicion.

"No. This... This is music." He turns the Periphery up louder. "You can't just be watching me for the acting. This isn't the first time a man has wanted to use me."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You ever hear of the casting couch? How do you think I landed Melrose?" Drew retorted.

I was in shock. Just the thought of Drew Koles with a thick, fat cock in his mouth was enough to make me shift in my seat. Yeah. I think he noticed.

"Michael, when I was young, my dad had this saying he used to tell me... by a Dr. David Duke, I think." He pauses. "In this world, you can either do the good thing, or the bad thing to get what you want."

"Do you want to know something?" He asks. "I think we should do the bad thing."

He moves my hand to his thigh. I think know what to do.

My hand shifts towards the bulge in his slacks, stroking and caressing the outline of his shaft. He moves around in his seat. I think I'm doing a good job.

He puts his large hands over the top of my head and pushes me where he wants me. Oh... He's one of those. I tease the tip of his cock, running my tongue up and down his pole, getting him right where I want. Yeah. I'm gonna make him wait for it. But I don't think he's going to wait for it.

He forces my head down further. I take his throbbing meat-stick in my mouth, gagging and choking as he thrusts deeper and deeper into my throat. I wonder if he's still paying attention to the road.

"Your name is Michael? They should call you Misha Manwhore"

He's right.

Harder, faster. Throatfuck.

I don't even think he's fully hard yet. He lets me up for a breath of air, drool hanging off my lip leading to the tip of his cock. This is sloppy. I wonder if he's ever sucked a cock like this. I wonder if he's ever taken a dick like his.

ring ring

It's my fucking roommates. Something about parking spots. Typical. Like, I have a dick in my mouth Zoe, it's a little hard to talk right now.

But silence leads to ideas - the good things and the bad things. And when I was done receiving information on new gluten-free microwavables, it was time to see where Drew pushed me next. I think he knew where I wanted to go all along, because it was only after I got off the phone that I realized the car had stopped. He turned to me, staring me down with his piercing heterochromatic eyes.

"Michael. Tonight, I'm going to fuck you so good, they're going to put me on the cover of a Wheaties box."

I'm his and he knows it.

I get out of the car, expectant and awaiting what I've been anticipating since I first signed on Melrose. He lingers, and switches songs in the car. "Physical Education" by Animals. Fitting.

I bend over, waiting for him to probe me. He turns me around, grabs my throat, and throws me back on the hood. I'm his to take. I'm his and he knows it. He pounces and pounds, each thigh-slapping thrust shaking my core harder than the last. One... two... fourty... eighty... They just keep coming, and my body can't stop shaking in ecstasy, my insides wrapping and gripping against his leftward-sloping dick. He stops. He didn't need to tell me. I already knew.

I'm bent over the hood of Drew's Corolla, panting, shaking, cum leaking out of my brown asshole. He spanks my ass and gets back in the car. I'm his and he knows it.