Dallas in Wonderland

By Evan Gilbert

Dallas Fox owns porn movie studio Wonderland and for him, sex is all about business. He hasn’t felt passion in a long time, so he is surprised when he develops an attraction for Johnny Roman, a college student who has recently become a porn actor for the studio, and Miguel Duarte, an office assistant. Dallas is even more surprised when he realizes they are as interested in him as they are in each other. Those attractions violate Dallas’s number one rule: no mixing business and pleasure.

Dallas slowly lets his guard down, and eventually winds up in bed with both Johnny and Miguel. Their painful backgrounds are similar, and they begin forging bonds that could grow into something much deeper. Miguel, however, faces a threat that could endanger them all and destroy any chance of finding the romance they want and need.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
• Release date: May 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781632169921

Book preview

Chapter One

DALLAS FOX lay with his weight balanced on his shoulders, his naked body bent double. His legs were spread wide, the front of his thighs pressed practically to the mattress, his knees held out to either side of his head in the grip of Ardie Dick Deadly Roberts. The dick on Mr. Deadly definitely lived up to the sobriquet: nine inches of hard, veiny meat as thick around as one of Dallas’s wrists. It was hardly the biggest cock Dallas had absorbed in his career, but Dick Deadly had stamina few in the industry could match.

Dick slammed his oversized, condom-covered piece into Dallas’s upturned ass again and again like some heavily oiled piston. He growled, snapped, cursed, and snarled with every impassioned thrust, his face twisted with his famous lust of fury as he vented his scripted rage on the body beneath him.

For his part, Dallas squealed and squeaked, I’m sorry, mister! Ow! I promise…. God…! I promise I won’t do it again! Oh, jeez! The scene’s storyline called for Dallas’s character, a homeless, punk-kid surfer, to be caught stealing from Dick Deadly’s character, a big, buff, middle-aged lifeguard with an attitude. The power fuck was the lifeguard’s idea of punishment for the crime. Dallas managed appropriate expressions of fear and pain as his rear end was plundered. In actuality, he was thinking about how the hell they were going to market this crap once the production was completed. And how they needed to switch to a lubricant that didn’t smell like strawberries. He hated strawberries.

There were other distractions. The lights illuminating the set were literally hot as hell, making both actors sweat like pigs (which would actually be a good effect for the libido of the film’s audience). Three cameramen captured everything on high-definition video, one going in for shots of the actors’ faces, the second circling for wider shots of both tussling bodies, while the third went in for extreme close-ups of Dallas’s outrageously stretched sphincter as it rolled in and out on itself with each slick plunge of the deadly dick.

Come on, Dallas, the director, Sierra Sue, yelled. She was a big woman, looking very much like a high school principal in her black cotton pantsuit. Show me more pain, dammit!

Irritated, Dallas focused on the situation at hand. It wasn’t difficult to manufacture more agony in his expression. Mr. Deadly had been screwing him nonstop for the past forty-five minutes, which would yield lots of great footage but at a high cost to Dallas’s butt. All Dallas had to do was think about how sore he was going to be in the morning to add more depth to the display of suffering on his face.

That’s it, Sierra Sue cooed approvingly. Technically, Dallas was the big boss of the shoot, since he was the executive producer, and he considered himself a passable actor, but he knew from experience he was not good at directing, especially when he was acting in a scene. He’d hired Sierra Sue several times before because she knew what he wanted in a shoot, wasn’t shy about making demands of her actors, and possessed an uncanny knack for turning out exceedingly hot gay erotica.

"Take it, pussy boy! Fucking take that big dick, you little bitch!" Dick Deadly let go of Dallas’s left knee and reached down to apply that newly freed hand to Dallas’s left butt cheek. Smack! Slap! Dallas mewled with each vicious swat, knowing the man’s big hand was quickly raising a bright red blotch on one side of his ass. It would look great on camera, but it hurt, and not in a delightful way. The thick knob of the deadly dick hit Dallas’s prostate at just the right angle before plunging on into the deeper regions of his lower gut. In the long ago, such stimulation of his sweet spot would have given Dallas a raging erection.

Sierra Sue would pitch a fit if that happened now. She wanted her bottoms to be completely submissive, to be objects dominated for the sole pleasure of the powerful top and cast aside afterward like a sloppy condom. An erection on a bottom was as unacceptable on her gay sets as an exposed wet pussy. She’d stop the shoot and force the bottom to jack off before she’d put the top back to work on him. Dallas had been subjected to such mandatory masturbation in the past, but there was no chance of an erection on his part today. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually displayed wood, on camera or off.

Dick huffed and snorted and roared and spanked. Dallas grimaced, cried, tossed his head, and begged for mercy. He saw Dick’s eyes roll back, a telltale sign the man was approaching climax. Finally, thank God. The money shot had to be the final degradation. Sierra Sue wanted copious spouting all over the bottom’s face. She wanted jizz up the nostrils, in the ears and eyes, on the lips and tongue. She wanted to see the bottom choke on the stuff. Dallas hated getting cum in his eyes—the acrid crap burned like crazy—but he’d have to take it, as usual, because it’s what bad, little punk boys like him deserved.

Shit, I’m gonna cum! Dick growled in warning.

Quick, pull out. Take off the condom, jack off in his face, Sierra Sue snapped at Dick. Dallas, open your mouth, get ready to take it.

Breathing heavily, Dick obediently yanked his huge piece out of Dallas’s ass, stripped off the condom and cast it aside in virtually one motion, and then scrambled up on his knees to straddle Dallas’s chest. Dallas lay there gasping, his mouth open like a toilet bowl, as Dick violently stroked himself.

Oh yeah, bitch, here it coooommmeeesss…!

Tops were supposed to avoid sex in the days before a shoot to ensure a satisfyingly thick onscreen explosion. Dallas decided Dick hadn’t shot a wad in weeks. Dick’s hot, white jism spewed volcanically over his face and neck. Many of the shots went straight into his mouth and hit the back of his throat. He resisted swallowing, letting the stuff accumulate until Dick finished spouting. Then, after Dick swatted him in the forehead a few times with the still erect shaft, Dallas forced the cum out of his mouth, letting it dribble over his lips and down the sides of his face. He blew out a long, exhausted sigh through his nostrils and closed his semen-speckled eyes.

Cut! Perfect. Sierra Sue swept out both hands, shooing the cameramen away from her spent actors. Great job, Ardie. Dallas, you were fantastic, as usual.

Suck-up, Dallas thought. He would have said it aloud, but there was still cum in his mouth and he didn’t want to swallow any of it. He swatted impatiently at Ardie, and the big man climbed off him. As the crew began to scatter, Dallas slid off the bed and grabbed the robe Joy Lancaster, his personal assistant, held out to him. He immediately wiped the sleeves across his eyes. He’d leave it to Sue and the editors to review the footage and get it down to the final cut. Right then, he wanted to wash every trace of sex off him and get back to normal.

Ah. Normal. What he’d just done was normal for him, and had been so for more years than he cared to admit. How many times had he walked off a set with his asshole loose, his butt crack slick with flavored lubricants, and various fluids running down his inner thighs? How many times had he finished a shoot with another man’s spunk and his own sweat burning in his eyes? This was his job. Sex was his livelihood. Sex was business. Sex provided the paychecks of everyone on the set. His ass had started a pornographic empire and made him rich.

Joy hurried after him as he left the huge space of Studio 2 and headed down the hall toward the showers. He could hear the two-note beep of his cell phone going off in her hand.

She answered in her crisp, professional voice. Dallas Fox’s line. This is Joy. How can I help you? Wonderland Warehouse was a sprawling complex that housed both the offices and the studios where most of his production company’s pornographic films were shot. The studios could be set up as suitable backdrops for almost any scene, including those taking place outdoors, which saved the company the trouble of arranging location shoots.

Joy extended his phone to him. Dallas, it’s Hal.

Harold Skinner was the senior casting director for Wonderland. What the hell did he want? Dallas turned to Joy—a petite, pretty brunette in her late thirties—and pointed at his goo-thickened mouth to remind her that he couldn’t speak just now. Then he used his finger