Chapter Text
Another meeting greets him. Stiles doesn’t welcome it, and it returns the sentiment. He’s stuck in a room yet again with Ennis, a producer who may as well be his nemesis. It’s unsurprising. Little surprises Stiles anymore. He’s been in the business of modeling for years now. While it has given him more than he would have imagined; it isn’t more than he could’ve assumed. The men are, like Ennis Carmichael, quite predictable. They’re all creatures of habit, but more than that they’re creatures of expectation.
If something is expected, expected that they do something; they will. If they’re expected not to; they won’t. But Stiles has never been good with stagnation, routine, or living up to expectation. The expectation for years now has been the one thing he loathes; submitting.
He’s expected to submit. Shifters are expected to not. It rules the adult entertainment industry as a tacit law. They can only submit to those above them, never below.
Instead of listening to the blustering oaf in front of him, he sits quietly in a far-off land, replaying how he got to this moment. Long before he joined any official organization, he’d done cam work. It was nothing special, just videos done in the individual room of his college dorm when money was tight. “I just need to get through this semester,” He’d told himself one too many times for it to be reasonable.
It was that at first, back when he was known as Mischief’s Missionary. Setting it all up was a matter of ease. As a senior arts major specializing in set design and lighting the process was a cake walk. It was easy, nearly muscle memory. A few softer lights up high, a couple of powerful lights in the right spots to give a good view of his burgeoning muscle definition when he was in his better angles. In moments, he could be a half-decent facsimile of the statue David.
Next thing he knew the men were chomping at the bits to view the pallor he’d hated growing up with. They’d all wished he’d submit to them, those viewers he’d gained so easily. And they made their intentions quite clear.
Their expectations were set long before he’d graduated. He’d be submitting to whoever else was on that camera. The viewers wouldn’t abide anything else. Convinced he was a virgin, they frothed at the mouths to think they’d see him be taken for the first time live on camera.
Stiles laughs just thinking about how much of a virgin he wasn’t. It earns him another disgruntled shout. “Are you listening to me punk?”
“No,” he thinks.
But Stiles always has been a sucker for a good grift. Even when he was just a kid, he’d taken to selling candy to his classmates that he’d gotten off his allowance money. If these men allowed their baseless assumptions to drive their money into his coffers, who was he to deny them? It was a fantasy he was selling after all, and profit is profit. He’s always known what to sell, even if he can’t sit and answer critical questions in less than an hour.
He played that role he sold to great acclaim. His full length video “Cam Boy Gets Taken by a Wolf” even won an “Best Premier Amateur Performance” in Shifting Stallion’s adult film streaming awards the year he released it. His viewers wanted it to hurt, that fact sank in after about the three-hundredth time someone commented how completely they’d wreck his hole in his private chatroom. As any gracious host should, Stiles pretended it did.
He bayed and whined in perfect form as Iron Claws “ravished” him for the audience. In reality, Iron Claws was a nice middle-aged man from Rhode Island. He hardly gotten a lasting scratch from the man and his touches were all feather light.
But he knew how to make the hits land. They were loud without causing more than a shock of pain. Everything else they did was the same.
All in all, he loved the experience. He loved the power of feeling eyes on. All it took was a pose, a sound of fear -sweet and tender- and his patrons were enthralled. And Iron Claws made that easy on him.
It was almost too easy. Stiles thought the words as he rolled his eyes at yet another request to let some loser up and coming meat head bite him. “I don’t need the exposure. I’m not doing it. I have a contract.”
He’d picked up said contract with the help of an agent he picked up not long after that video at his side, he negotiated a far better deal than he would have otherwise. The reward for that contract thus far has been sweet. But the formula has been less so.
Ennis Carmichael, a real bald and mad about it type guy, blusters at his dismissal predictably. His presence is to Stiles’ great displeasure as he’s the only one that Stiles dislikes working with. Being the most bullheaded producer on staff, Ennis is pushing Stiles hard. But for all his whining he’s having no great effect.
“I’ll make him the same offer I always make. You get him to take it and the scene is all yours,” Stiles interrupts the man’s ranting. Instead of poking the bear, which he could, Stiles simply shifts in his chair and positions himself towards the window. “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again, Mr. Carmichael, please don’t ask me to waive my contract,” Stiles says voice flat as a week old glass of soda. “I won’t do it unless my scene partner films a shoot with me where I fuck him first. Until then, my skin will remain unblemished by tooth-marks.” Stiles flicks the paper he’d folded into a boat some ten minutes ago across the table. It’s trajectory arches and slaps into a poorly placed tchotchke on a nearby desk, sending it to the floor. The moment it shatters, Ennis roars in frustration.
“You’re such an asshole! You have no respect for my vision! Or my belongings. The ratings would be insane! Mustang couldn’t even turn you. He’s not an alpha.” Ennis rises from his seat in a show of petulant frustration. “Get the hell out of my office.”
“That’s not the point,” Stiles sighs, completely unaffected and leaves. Having no remaining meetings for the morning, he leaves for home.
The return is quick. Only Fangz’s office and recording studios are in a small central California town a stone’s throw from Yellowstone National Park. He’s lived there for long enough to know the roads home blind.
He’d moved there from his smallish town of Beacon Hills a few years after college. That move had been just another twist that a younger version of himself never would have predicted. But he hadn’t expected that his job would be making him several hundred thousand dollars a year before he turned twenty-three. Nor did he think at that point that he’d be able to sign a contract with the world’s largest shifter adult film house in such stellar fashion that he’d eventually eclipse that income doing fewer videos only two years later.
The result of all these twists is a calm life set in a veritable mansion. But he’s never done well with calm; that’s what got him into this line of work in the first place. Well, that and the desire to alleviate his cash-strapped nature. But now, he’s learned to cope with the boredom to an extent. When he’s working, he gets enough excitement for a crowd all to himself.
One whistle upon the opening of his front door and a huge grey and brown mastiff comes running to him from the other side of the house. Stiles kneels and braces himself, awaiting the inevitable rush of what amounts to one-hundred pounds of dog barreling into him.
“Oof,” he lets out as he’s knocked flat on his back. “I love you too Carmen.” He hugs the huge beast fiercely and gives her a good shake. Eventually, she lets him up and he can survey the area and finds it lacking. “Where’s your brother Juni?” He asks her. Stiles whistles again, beginning to move through the house. When he gets to the kitchen, he hears a slovenly drag of nails across tile as the second dog begins to approach. Juni catches up to him and greets Stiles with a soft brushing of his body into Stiles’ leg.
“Hey boys,” Stiles says and receives a soft bark in response. Stiles gives him a pat and starts up a pre-workout shake his assistant premixes for him every week. This week is more kelpy than he’d prefer, but he chose Monday and it’d be rude to whine about it more than once. He drinks as much as he can stand and waits a while for it to settle.
While it does, he checks all of his cameras and devices are ready before the start of his traditional Thirsty Thursday Stream that is to start at ten a.m. He’s worked with a nutritionist, personal trainer, and several other lifestyle engineers to manufacture his workout routine.
It’s all designed to keep Stiles lean. He chose this approach to reinforce the image of youth and vulnerability that his audience likes to fantasize about.
In accordance, he’s kept his hair cropped short and his muscles away from anything approaching bulk for years. But that effort is getting harder. Now that he’s approaching thirty his muscles are starting to weigh down on his bones differently. They’re not quite the sinewy thin fiber they once were. Even with a lessening of his routine’s actual exercising his muscle is more substantial than it was just two years ago.
He tries not to worry about it and on his better days he doesn’t. Today he is.
With five minutes to spare, he gets everything in position and tests his cameras to avoid any potential obstacles. When the timer goes off, his stream kicks on automatically.
“Hey guys,” he says entering the shot from the left. “Lovely to see you all again today. I hope you’re all ready to work out with me this morning.” Stiles gives the camera a suggestive wink. “I’ll be starting the morning with some stretches. So, follow along however you’re able and remember, wear whatever’s comfortable and gives you the best range of motion.” Then he immediately turns to the side and gives a squat. The action allows his shorts that are so tight they could be considered sexual harassment to flex and stretch across his ass. “We don’t need any of you in restrictive clothing or thick sweats that’ll make you overheat. Summer’s approaching. Don’t forget to hydrate.”
He bends low to pick up his bottle of milky white protein shake and sprays it into his mouth. Just before the end, he makes sure to spray just a bit too hard, causing a little to dribble down his chin. “Oops,” he says and wipes off his face with his thumb dramatically. “No need to waste any,” he says and licks the fluid off his own thumb. “Alright.” He sighs. “Let’s get started.”
Stepping backwards, Stiles puts himself further back into the frame. Now in the center of the room, Stiles produces a curved black remote he’d stuffed into his shorts just before the camera turned on. The lights dim a bit and fade into a warmer hue. Then, some soft, studio-owned music begins to thrum over the speakers. He shoves the remote back into the tiny pocket that’s placed between his butt cheeks.
“First thing’s first, we should open up our hips, thighs, and hamstrings. Follow me and do as I do.” He turns to the side, allowing the tight work out shorts to flatter his assets for the audience. “I’ll demonstrate and you mirror me,” he says, pivoting his hips into a forward bend. The white shorts stretch severely making them next to sheer by the time his fingers are approaching his feet.
After a minute on each side, Stiles progresses into a series of lunges and balance poses that he plays to the camera masterfully. Each motion exposes himself just enough to give a peek at what’s behind the thin cloth veil. By the end of them, he’s working up a minor sweat due to the high heat he keeps the room at. “Whoo!” he exclaims. “That’ll get us started.” He reaches his hands up, provocatively exposing his abs and then wipes his brow with the semi-sheer black undershirt he chose for the stream.
At that, the screen next to his camera alights with a series of cat calling messages requesting the shirt come off with one dollar donations. Stiles chuckles in response. “Now boys. We all know my shirt stays on until it’s fully soiled,” he chastises. He runs a hand over his head and gives his legs a shake, showing off his thighs. “Let’s keep going,” he says and continues his stretches with a series of extensions and warrior poses.
In a few more minutes he finishes. “After legs should we do cardio or our traditional basic training of push-ups, sit ups, and pull ups.” Stiles turns looking at his own ass for the camera and produces the remote again. He hits a button, and a poll opens. Votes pour in.
He goes to the back of the room and grabs a water. By the time he’s back in position, cardio has won by a landslide. “For the fifth week running, cardio has won. You boys sure do love your tread mills.” He gives the camera a wink and walks over to his.
He clicks a different button on the remote and cameras two and three take over the stream. Two gives a direct view of his ass while he’s running and three gives a view of his front perfectly split by the tread mill’s control panel. Stiles turns the tread mill on and gets to running.
Not long into the circuit, his mouth starts rambling from topic to topic. Every so often his package slips out of his shorts, revealing the dark black sheer mesh thong that’s restraining him. When they do, he adjusts them leisurely and puts everything back where it belongs for another few moments. He never addresses it, but the complaints roll in each time.
Before he knows it, his shirt is drenched. The moment he decides it’s enough he enables some more emotes. Several donations ping over the sound of the music. Each of them has the same tag line. “Sweat check!” comes on quietly over the speaker each is accompanied by an A-line shirt emoji on his screen.
He pretends not to notice for a moment but slows down anyway. Coming to a stop, Stiles talks to the camera. “You know these tank tops are very special to me.” He gives a pouty face. “These tank tops I wear are the exact same design Wolverine wore in the X-men movies when I was growing up. He was always my favorite.” Stiles scoffs. “I bet none of you can guess why.”
He peels the sweat soaked shirt off his chest and gives his body a jiggle. This gives his package a hefty bounce for the camera and his chat flares up with a rush of cherry emojis. He pretends to have no idea what he’s done and moves back to the center of the room, taking the remote with him. The moment he hits his mark, he adjusts the cameras once more. “Alright guys, it’s time for the basics.”
A choir of boos are let loose on the chat, as always.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. If we skip steps, I won’t be ready for later. You know how I need my muscles to be nice and tired when I go out to get some sun. I won’t be able to rest well if I don’t do this first.”
Gently lowering himself to the ground, Stiles gives the camera glimpse of his bulge straining against gravity as it pushes into his shorts. Then once he’s decided he’s waited long enough, Stiles starts up his series of push-ups, sit ups, and pull ups. All the while, he pretends that they’re more difficult than they are, playing up his exhaustion. Every time he groans or stops to heave in a labored breath, he gets a burst of blushing emojis.
Once he’s on the sit ups, he’s in a position so that they get an up-skirt shot of him, exposing himself to the camera and revealing his face to them each time his makes it to the summit of the exercise. The chat goes quiet as his watchers are hypnotized by its motions and gyrations. The push-ups are similar, but the frame stars his ass instead. The pull ups, however, focus on his lower abdominals. He’s carefully maintained them for maximum definition. And he’s shaved his treasure trail to highlight them best, or so his grooming assistant says every time they engage in the banal task.
By the time he finishes the rest of his calisthenics, he’s allowed his “adjustments” to drag his shorts and thong down to the verge of revealing his shaft. “Thank goodness its over,” Stiles gasps once he finishes his final jumping jack. “Now we can all relax together.” He picks up the remote and exits the room.
A press of another button and the automated camera he rigged in his spare time comes to life. Per it’s coding, it follows him on a set path from his gym to his sun deck. When he gets there, he turns to the camera and slips off his shorts the rest of the way.
“Poll time again boys!” He hits the poll button again. “Tan lines or no tan lines?” The small tablet display shows another deluge of votes as they’re entered. “Ugh again?” Stiles mock whines when no tan lines win. “Alright I guess I’ll embarrass myself for all of you alphas out there as demanded.”
Making a spectacle of it, Stiles grumbles as he pushes his thong off slowly. Promise you won’t make fun of me. It’s still soft. Us humans are usually pretty small when unaroused. Not like you big virile shifters.” Letting it pull his dick down, the thong stretches his modest soft cock to its limit before causing it to bounce back up when the thong finally drops away entirely. On cue, he allows himself to blush and bats his eyes when the mocking begins.
He feels the sun on his flesh and waits for it all to settle in. Knowing he’s not much to look at when soft but grows into a good size for most men when hard, Stiles accepts the ridicule with little thought put to it. They all know that, but it’s part of the game. He clicks the remote and the set cameras for the deck take over. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it’s not that small.” He wipes aware a forced tear and lays down on his deck chair.
He opens his legs and leans over to reach his hand into the shade bin of lotions beneath his chair. After a moment of digging, his hand lands on the sunscreen. He makes a big show of slathering it all across himself. “We have to make sure not to get burnt right guys? Don’t want any peeling skin.” When he’s done. He swaps it out for lube. “Are you big guys gonna show me how big you are today? I need something to aspire to.”
He hits the button for submissions and the tablet is filled with a window for the submissions to pop up. “Whoever sends me the best picture gets the honor of being my inspiration for proving myself to you all today. You want to be on my wall of hottest alphas, right? And you know what comes along with that right? A three-month subscription to my page and four free submissions as well.”
A slew of one-dollar donations come in with submissions accompanying them. Stiles flicks through them leisurely giving each a few seconds on his screen to evaluate it until one makes his brain grind to a halt.
It’s a picture of a long cock, around ten inches maybe more, and its thick. Its got a slight downward curve attached to a fit lower abdomen with a nice spread of greying chest hair. But those things aren’t what catches his eye.
What causes his pause is the end of a spiraled triskele on the hip just above the man’s bush that’s being partially obscured by his dick. Stiles lets out a short huff and then laughs, shaking off his excitement. “You guys shouldn’t tease me like this.” He puts up the image on the stream. “I’d prefer you don’t catfish using my favorite retired porn star’s photos. And the offer to bite me of twenty thousand is a total low ball, by the way.”
Before Stiles can move on from it with the chat fully, another twenty-dollar donation with a video attached pops up. The jump in price gives it some priority. It’s frozen on the triskele this time. The donation is titled “I’ll make you a real offer then.”
When he plays it, a sultry voice accompanies a tight squeeze of the man’s heavy balls. The squeeze causes his hefty cock to pump up and down slowly. “I’m not a catfish. And thanks for the compliment, Kyle. What’s your price?”
Stiles lets out a nervous chuckle and tries not to show how unnerved he is. He strokes himself slowly, trying not to let the performance falter. But he’s rattled, so his normally strong erection is weaker than it would otherwise be. Likewise, his usually easy smile is all teeth and lacks its usual charisma. “You sound like him. I’ll give you that.” Stiles rolls the facts around in his mind. It can’t be him. ‘Siah Retired. “Alright guys, the jokes gone far enough,” he says. “If Fanged Messiah were really in my chat, he could just call me to arrange this instead. He’s in charge of my entire production house. He has my contract. Why even drop such a low-ball offer? Knock it off and send me real videos only.”
Less than a minute later, a call comes through. Stiles freeze mid-stroke. After a panic-stricken moment, Stiles grabs his phone off the cart. There’s no identified name, but the number is from Neckz N’ Throatz generic corporate number. He chews his inner cheek and turns it to the camera. “Well guys, this is it. Either the boss of my entire department is trying to fuck me or one of my work friends is playing a rather nasty prank. Should I answer? Yes, or no?”
The poll fills in fast. But the answer is a narrow margin of maybe a handful of votes leaning yes. He looks up at the camera and licks his lips, bracing himself to press the answer button. But just before he connects the call, it drops.
Stiles’ mouth dries out. But putting on a brave face he looks to the camera in earnest. “You heard them. They want me to answer. Call again and I will.” He makes a series of clicks and displays the video again. The username is just a series of letters. FMPH.
For a moment, everything is caught in suspension as he awaits the second call. A cold chill runs down his spine despite the heat of the sun shining down upon him. Stiles relaxes as a wave of relief washes over him when the call isn’t immediately presented. He lays back down, resting more fully and restarts the performance for the stream. “Well, looks like I lost the fish,” Stiles says brushing off the moment.
Yet again before he can move on and get back to stroking himself to any real effect, another call comes in.
Just like that his throat seizes again. It’s the same generic number. He looks down to see a one-hundred-dollar donation. Another video of Fanged Messiah accompanies it. Audio plays when he clicks it. “Scared to find out if it is really me?” His laugh fills Stiles’ ears. “I didn’t know I was your favorite prior to today. I’m flattered. Now answer the phone.” His voice is dominant yet playful, exactly the way Stiles remembers it.
Stiles looks down at his phone, swallows down the lump in his throat, and answers.
“Hello Kyle, or do you prefer Mischief’s Missionary when you’re streaming. It’s nice to finally interact with my most profitable acquisition. Getting them to agree to your outlandish demands was not easy the first time around. Convincing them of your second contract was hardly any easier.”
“Getting them to meet… my demands,” Stiles echoes.
“Your split of the profits on your work is far above the industry standard. You know that. But I crunched the numbers. Using them, I convinced the partners in finances that your expected revenue would more than make up for the disparity in cost. I’m pleased to see I was correct. Both times.”
Stiles can hear the smile on his face. He can sense the tone that beguiles the fact that Peter knows something he doesn’t and that he’s baiting a trap Stiles will willingly fall into. Stiles hates the way he’s going to let himself. Stiles puts the phone on speaker.
“Your videos are the websites’ most popular by far. That’s why I understood your clause and its necessity. You can’t market yourself as unattainable if you give it all away.” Peter pauses. “What do you say? Want to give this washed up performer a ride? We’ll fulfill your every demand and I’ll even give you a bonus.”
“What kind of bonus?”
“You’ll have to say yes first to find out,” Peter taunts. “This is a limited time offer. If you say no, it’ll never be on the table again. I’ll never be on the table again.”
“One more condition.”
“My you are capricious. What’s the condition?”
“Send a video of you getting off for me. I want your face in it and my name on your lips.”
Peter chuckles, low and dangerous. “You’re something you know that? Carmichael is right. You’re a problem.” Peter moans into the receiver and Stiles feels the blush creep up his neck. “Fine, but it’ll take a few minutes.”
“I need something to keep if this ends my career,” Stiles says to the chat, he licks his lips. “I’m waiting.”
Stiles hears a buzz, followed by a door opening. Feet shuffle into the room. “Yes sir?” a shocked voice says.
“Brett, be a darling and get a crew in here. I have negotiations to complete. They’re going to require video evidence of my commitment to the project.”
“Right away sir.”
Ten minutes pass while Stiles waits for anything to happen. He pulls at his length leisurely, edging himself happily for the audience. One of his hands finds his nipples and he lets himself moan every so often when he finds the right pace.
Wheels squeak over the phone. The sound of disparate footfalls begins to fill the room and Peter begins to give orders.
“I need a light over here.”
“No, you need to position the camera lower. Angle it up. There you go.”
“Yes. Yes. Come on. You get over there.”
“Hand me the Slick! I may as well get some product placement in.”
“Can someone please brace the desk? This is going to be a show. I’ve been edging for the last hour. It’ll buckle without support.”
“Perfect. Now rolls the tapes.”
Over the next few minutes, Stiles hears a building climax as Peter strokes himself vigorously for the camera. The desk rattles beneath him. Then with Stiles’ pseudonym on his lips, Peter cums in a roar. The desk slides maybe a half inch as the person bracing it staggers.
Once Peter’s breathing calms, Stiles hears a licking sound. “Enjoy the view. You’ll be doing this for me next.” His voice is husky in Stiles’ ears.
“Cut!” he shouts. “I need the raw footage sent to my computer at once. Everybody out!”
Once all of the footsteps fade, Peter’s voice returns. “I’m glad to see you’re still with me. In just a few moments, we’ll have a verbal agreement. I look forward to seeing you next weekend. Clear your schedule sweetheart. You’ll need the rest.”
The call drops and a few minutes later video pings with another hundred-dollar donation. The title is “Feature this prominently. I expect one in return.”
Stiles starts the video and is treated to a video of Peter from beneath. The camera looks up at the man from between his legs centering his cock in the shot, glistening in all its glory. His hand comes into the shot and squirts more Slick! on to his cock. He places it back onto the table. He strokes vigorously in long hard strokes for the camera and Stiles mirrors the motion.
Before Peter even approaches his orgasm on the recording, Stiles is spilling over. Ejaculate covers his face is harsh rapid white lines. Gasping in his chair, it gets in his mouth causing him to buck harder, hips pistoning up, from surprise. “I’ll see you then ‘Siah.” He says as he recovers. He gives an exhausted chuckle and ends the stream.
