The Boy Can't Help It

by Gavin Atlas

  The Boy Can’t Help It

  By Gavin Atlas

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2017 Gavin Atlas

  ISBN 9781634865111

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  The Boy Can’t Help It

  By Gavin Atlas

  Table of Contents:

  The Only Bottom for a Thousand Miles

  Blue Star Boy

  Simple and Easy

  Tristan Carcer

  Hercules to the Rescue

  Duel in the Sand

  Wet Pass

  Slavery by Degree

  The One Everyone Wants

  Cole State’s Top Recruit

  Claiming Danny

  Business with Pleasure

  Lust Like Moonlight

  The Boy Can’t Help It

  Acknowledgements

  Publication History

  The Only Bottom for a Thousand Miles

  You’d think it wouldn’t be possible to go from college gymnast to naked sex slave in the tropics in just a few weeks. It happened. At that moment, I was at the mercy of one of the resort’s guests, Mr. Dawson, who required only that I tell him the tale from the start.

  “So you lost your scholarship because of steroids?” Mr. Dawson pumped a small barbell while gazing upon my nude body as I lay in his bed. He was tall, dark-haired, and muscular, by far the best-looking guest on the island. A soft breeze blew through the bungalow. The sound of drums echoed in the distance. There were no natives on Palmyra Atoll, but the owners of the resort occasionally piped in music to make the island seem more exotic.

  “I never took steroids, but they found some in my urine. I don’t understand what happened. When I saw the job at the escort service, I thought I’d be making sure female students arrived safely at their dorms when they’d been studying late.”

  “But when you found it was about giving up your ass to rich men, you didn’t quit.” Mr. Dawson smiled to show he didn’t judge me.

  “Not exactly.”

  “So how did George Worth and Fred Gentry entice you to work at their new resort?”

  “They saved me. My parents wouldn’t talk to me after they found out I’d been arrested for prostitution. Robbins University kicked me out. Without Mr. Worth and Mr. Gentry, I’d have been homeless.”

  Mr. Dawson offered a cynical smile. “Two old men rescuing a hot young pup. How benevolent. Tell me, what exactly is your job description?”

  “I’m a designated bottom. It’s like those straight sex resorts they have in the Caribbean. Hedonism or whatever. I’m supposed to let any guest have my mouth or ass.”

  “Let me tell you, Coulter, there are no designated slaves at those clubs.” Mr. Dawson shook his head as he wiped sweat from his brow. “I can’t fathom why you let Worth and Gentry do this.”

  “Mr. Gentry is sweet to me. And it’s been mostly fun. Although the rules keep changing.”

  “Did the other guys who had to be naked all the time quit?”

  “I’m the only one that has to be completely nude all the time. Apparently that wasn’t in their contracts. But they were designated bottoms, too. The little guy from Thailand said he wasn’t getting paid enough, and I heard that string bean from Canada couldn’t handle the hot weather.

  “So now, halfway between Hawaii and Samoa, you’re the only bottom for a thousand miles.”

  “What? Nah, some of the guests or workers must submit at least once in a while.”

  “Don’t think so. There are about seventy men on this island including the twenty guests. And from what I can tell they’re all after your ass.”

  The thought almost made me come, and I hadn’t even been touching myself. I wasn’t allowed. “Really? I can’t be the only one. You’re just trying to turn me on.”

  “Well, I can’t be sure. But it does seem like you’re the only party people care to attend.”

  “Damn.” My chest moved with rapid breaths. “I guess seventy men are going to be making me sore until they get some other subs on staff.” I closed my eyes and felt myself grin from ear to ear. Mr. Gentry had been right. After you get used to being fucked, the more sex you have, the more sex you want until you live for it.

  The timer on my collar beeped.

  “Our half hour is up,” I said. “You’re sure you don’t even want to kiss me?”

  “Yeah, I want to.” Mr. Dawson bit his lip and gave me a hungry stare. “But I don’t kiss guys who have to kiss me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Reserve me for the mid-afternoon. My ass will need a break around then.” It hurt that Mr. Dawson resisted me even though it seemed like he found me attractive. I wished we had at least kissed.

  I hurried up the dirt path from the beachside bungalows to the thatch-roofed main house for my next assignment. In the high heat, few wore much more than shorts or an easily removable sarong, but as usual, I didn’t see anyone nude. I had thought nudity would be common at gay resorts, but here it felt more like a status reserved for me.

  As soon as I reached the cool interior of the main house, I saw Mr. Worth sitting in his wicker chair wearing a smoking jacket. He resembled Hugh Hefner except for an unruly mane of white hair and bushy mustache. He reached out for me and began fondling my ass.

  “Did our odd Mr. Dawson screw you this time?” he asked.

  “No. I think he’s just into voyeurism.”

  “I don’t know how he holds back. I have to fuck your hot hole practically every day.”

  “Yes, sir.” Being submissive for Mr. Worth made me hard even if we were just having a conversation.

  Roly-poly Mr. Gentry, Mr. Worth’s partner, came bustling in with a beverage in hand. “Are you staying hydrated, young man?” he asked. “I worry about our hot blond bottom spending so much time in the sun. Now be good and drink up.” His behavior may have been effeminate, but all the times he’d gotten me alone, he’d proved himself to be a hard-pounding top. Just like Mr. Worth.

  What Mr. Gentry gave me—cold water, nutrients, amino acids and yohimbe extract—had been designed by a scientist to allow the drinker to stay fit (though I still had to work out a little at the resort facilities). A side-effect of the yohimbe was perpetual, constant horniness. At least, that’s what they told me was causing it.

  “Next up for you is Mr. Conkran again,” Mr. Worth said. “He’d like to do a rape scene.”

  “A what? How?” I said.

  Mr. Worth rose and handed me a trash grabber and a bag. “Just start cleaning the beach by the east lagoon. He’ll happen upon you. You tell him ‘no
,’ but make sure he gets you anyway.”

  “I don’t know about this. If I start saying no when I mean yes, then how will people understand when I really do mean no?”

  Mr. Worth raised his eyebrows at me while kneading my rump. “But you won’t ever say no. Come on, Coulter, you can act. From what I’ve heard the one class you received an A in was Theater.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  The island of Palmyra would have been beautiful if not for the litter. Even though it had been largely uninhabited until Mr. Worth and Mr. Gentry bought it, trash lay everywhere along the shore. I’d been picking up milk cartons, soda bottles, pieces of sun-bleached cardboard, and thick, sinuous ropes of seaweed for a while when Mr. Conkran approached from the mossy glade of coconut palms behind me. It was way too hot for typical BDSM gear, so the gigantic Mr. Conkran made do with studded leather gauntlets and tight black shorts. I could see his huge erection protruding from twenty feet away.

  The entire resort gossiped over the intense plowing he’d given me a week ago in front of vacationers and staff alike as I lay passive on the main house’s pool table. Guests were told that sex in public areas is against the rules, but Mr. Worth had allowed Mr. Conkran to indulge himself. Everyone seemed to have loved watching. Now I have my legs put in the air in public all the time. It’s humiliating, but I’m always hard when it happens.

  “You know,” Mr. Conkran said, his arms folded over his massive hairy chest, “there’s nothing to do on this island except fuck.”

  I pretended to be nervous. “Oh, I-I’m sure there are plenty of other things. There’s the restaurant. There’s…there’s bird watching.”

  “Seen one seagull, seen them all,” he said, waving dismissively at a large bird in the distance.

  “I think that’s an albatross,” I said, deliberately bending over to pick up an empty carton instead of using the trash grabber.

  When I turned around, I noticed how Mr. Conkran’s stare burned with lust. “Whatever. You’ll never get the beaches clean. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because, naked ass boy, northern and southern currents cross here, and trash from all over the Pacific washes up. So you’ll never have a good beach to offer your guests. There aren’t any tennis courts, the pool is tiny, there’s no disco, and it’s always raining. All there is to do is fuck.”

  I edged away from him while bending again to pick up some candy wrappers. “I’m sure someone has a deck of cards.”

  He followed me. He reached over and grabbed my rear, shoving his index finger in deep. “And here’s the perfect ass for fucking! Smooth, round, and firm.”

  I tried to push his hand away. “I’m not some piece of meat!” I struggled to free myself but he held tight. Now he captured my dick with his other hand.

  “Mine for the fucking,” he said with a growl as he grabbed lengths of the ropy seaweed, all thicker than a garden hose. He dragged me back to the moss and forced me down on my back. He began tying my legs to two coconut palms. I pretended to fight for my freedom, realizing that if my attempt had been real, I still couldn’t escape from Mr. Conkran.

  “Mmm. Such flexible legs. You really are a gymnast, aren’t you?’

  How did he know that? “Please don’t!” I did feel a bit afraid of Mr. Conkran’s huge dick, but I had a raging hard-on.

  He bound my wrists with a third cord of seaweed and spat twice in my upturned asshole. Then he fingered me with rough jabs as I grunted in false-protest.

  In less than a minute, he had slipped on a condom and rammed himself inside me. I felt thankful my hole had become accustomed to such assaults. I cried out in earnest at his first huge thrust, but it felt wonderful instead of agonizing. Tendrils of pleasure ran up my sides and my spine, eclipsing any pain. For perhaps ten minutes I furiously jerked my hips left and right, pretending to try to dislodge his dick from my ass in hope that my resistance would give him the flood of joy he gave me.

  It was lucky my hands were bound above my head. If they’d been free, there would have been no way I could resist jerking off.

  “There’s no escape, bottom boy,” Mr. Conkran muttered, sweat rolling down his face. “I’m going to fuck you for the rest of your life.” His body began to spasm, and he shouted twice as he came inside me. “Holy shit. You have an incredible ass. One of the few times something is actually better than advertised,” he said between gasps for air.

  Advertised? I didn’t ask what he meant. I didn’t know if I could break character yet.

  Mr. Conkran pulled out of me and spanked my rear once. There was a cruel gleam in his eye.

  “You know, I think I’ll just leave you here helpless. Unable to stop anyone from fucking you.”

  “No. C’mon, you can’t. Please,” I begged.

  But Mr. Conkran simply walked away.

  At first, my predicament turned me on. I was vulnerable to anyone’s penetration just as Mr. Conkran said. However, the thought of sunburned privates started to worry me. Mr. Conkran’s half hour would be up soon, so perhaps someone would come looking for me.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Dawson strolled by and gave me a disapproving look.

  “A little help? Please?” I asked.

  “You have no idea how tempting it is to not untie you,” he said. He bit his lip again. “The things I could do to you.”

  I moaned. “Yes, sir.”

  “But that wouldn’t be right.” He slowly undid my bonds. “You’re lucky I found you before the coconut crabs did. They’d eat you alive.”

  “Holy shit. Really?”

  “Possibly. I know this is pure sex paradise for you, boy, but you need to get off this island.”

  That night after the guests ate dinner, I starred in a red-light show at the main house. When the resort first opened, the other two designated bottoms and I just danced a bit. Now two of Mr. Worth’s best-looking workers were paid extra to fuck my mouth and ass for the guests’ enjoyment while temporary red light bulbs in the ceiling fixtures glowed, and Mr. Gentry played disco on a poor-quality sound system.

  Despite being busy with the two workers, both muscular and hung Samoans just a few years older than me, I overheard Mr. Dawson ask Mr. Worth if all this wasn’t illegal.

  “Illegal how? I bought this island. It’s mine. It’s my own little country.”

  “Does Coulter’s contract actually say that everyone can fuck him?”

  Mr. Worth hesitated. “More or less.”

  Raging with testosterone, the workers ravaged me fore and aft. After no more than ten minutes, the man in my ass hit his peak, pulled out and spurted come across my back, barking a series of loud grunts. The man in my mouth pushed me over on my back and spread my legs so far that any man who wasn’t a gymnast couldn’t have endured. Being taken by tops whose names I didn’t know while being watched by perhaps three dozen men made me dizzy with heated humiliation, but I’d never been harder. I clenched my teeth in frustration at not being allowed to jerk off. Just as I was about to give in and touch my own dick, I felt the unmistakable rise in my groin that meant I was about to shoot my load hands-free. “Unnhhh,” I moaned as I lay writhing in the red light while the second top pummeled me without mercy. Seconds later, ropes of come shot out of me and landed across my stomach and neck. The second man pulled out and tore off the condom just in time to spray his seed on top of my own. The audience applauded like mad.

  The next day I’d been fucked twice before my scheduled appointment with Mr. Dawson.

  “Tell me what you meant when you said the rules keep changing, Coulter,” he asked as I again reclined on his bed.

  “I used to get Tuesdays off from getting fucked, and I could wear clothes that day. And my bungalow used to have a lock on the door.”

  “And now?”

  I shrugged. “Now I have to be available every day, and guests can barge into my bungalow any time of day or night to fuck me. I never get much sleep.”

  Mr. Dawson gave a low whistle. “I just bet. You�
�re so sweet and handsome. It’s hard to imagine anyone resisting you.”

  I blushed. Despite being used so often, I still couldn’t take a sincere compliment. “Thank you, sir. Although you seem to manage.”

  He smiled. “I have my reasons. Come sit by my feet for a sec. I want to show you the DVD Worth sent me about Palmyra.”

  I did as I was told, hoping that Mr. Dawson would at least run his hands through my hair or touch my shoulders as I sat beneath him. His kindness made me want his caresses more than the constant sex I craved.

  The DVD began with a sweeping view of the flat, verdant atoll from the sea. Mr. Gentry narrated as the scene switched to the tiny marina. “Welcome to Palmyra, the first gay country where every man’s fantasy can come true.” Then there was a shot of me walking away from the camera, nude of course.

  “Hey! No one said anything about filming me!”

  “I guess every man’s fantasy must be that rump of yours,” Mr. Dawson said. “Keep watching.”

  I couldn’t believe it. There was a montage of different men fucking me in different locations and positions. Mr. Worth’s voice said, “Enjoy our collegiate gymnast bottom any time you wish.” Holy shit. It occurred to me people I knew back in the States might see this. How many copies had they made? My face was on fire. The DVD kept going. So far they’d filmed seven different men inside me. Then eight.

  “This video could affect your whole life, boy, and they didn’t even ask your permission.”

  The humiliation made my stomach go hollow, but my dick remained rock hard. “I really am a sex slave. I wonder if my friends and family know about it.”

  “You’re the only reason people are visiting Palmyra.” Mr. Dawson shut off the television. “Have you even been paid yet?”

  “No. I get paid quarterly.” For the third time that day it began to rain.

  “Hah. I’ll bet. When did you start work as a designated bottom?”

  “December tenth.”

  Mr. Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “Have you seen a calendar, Coulter?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “A quarter was over three weeks ago. Believe me, they have no plans to pay you.”