130 Idol Crash

130 Idol Crash
Part 1 of 6

XHeight, unlike many popular boy bands that include some gay members, this band did not. XHeight, with its lead singer Quentin Quartz, formed a few years ago and began climbing to fame as Midnight Red's opening act. Their music video for their breakthrough single "XHeight the Hell Out of Me" got over 2.6 million views in the first three months, but that was a very long year ago. Since then, things have changed big time, and this is the story of Quentin Quartz’s fall from having been a famous international celebrity to the forgotten gutter-world of disgrace and disgust. It all started when XHeight had just finished a fabulous concert. It had been an incredibly long day, and all the guys were wiped out. They hadn't had a break for months and ran on total adrenaline.

Quentin seemed to be in a trance and just wanted to get back to the hotel to sleep when he saw one of the record execs from their label standing at the door to the parking garage.

"Quentin, could I have just a minute? My son is a big fan. He asked if he could meet you. Todd sings, and I thought it might be nice if you could give him a few pointers."

Quentin couldn't believe it. This idiot exec wanted him to give career advice to his son at 2:00 AM? After a concert? What the fuck was he thinking?

"Look, now really isn't a good time. Later, okay?" Quentin said politely as he continued to his Jeep.

The exec grabbed Quentin's shoulder. "I know you're tired, but ten minutes would mean the world to Todd. He's 16 and trying to make some career decisions right now." Todd was just standing there, looking at his hero, Quentin.

Quentin snapped. "Get your fucking hands off of me! We can do this later!" Both the exec and Todd looked shocked as Quentin got into his Jeep.

"What a fucking prick," Todd spat out. "Who the hell does he think he is? Stupid faggot queer. He can't talk to you like that, Dad! You're a fucking executive! All those boy bands are just stupid fucks who take it up the ass and beg to be fucked harder."

"Look, son, I know you're disappointed, but Quentin Quartz and his group are not gay; they’re probably the only music group of that kind that seems to have no gay members at all.” He paused and said, “Look, Todd, I'll arrange a meeting before his next concert tomorrow. We can make this work. Don't get upset."

The teenage Todd watched as Quentin drove away. "Yeah, do that. I want a private meeting with that fuck. I'll show him he can’t treat my Dad, or me, like useless shit."

The next morning, Quentin received a call from the exec telling him how disappointed his son had been the previous night, and Quentin felt bad. Quentin apologized and agreed to talk to the boy, saying to have him come by his hotel suite later, and he would talk to him.

Later, as Quentin exited his shower, he heard a knock at the door. He peered through the peephole and saw Todd standing there with his father.

Quentin opened the door and said, "Hey, guys, I'm really sorry about last night. I was totally exhausted," as he invited them both in. They sat down, and there was total silence as Todd glared at his father.

"Oh, well, I guess I'll leave you two alone.” Dad said, then turned to his son, “Don't take too much of Quentin's time, Todd. He has a hectic schedule."

Then, the father left, leaving Quentin and Todd alone. "So, how long have you been singing?" Quentin asked to get the conversation started.

"Several years." Todd briskly answered and quickly added, "So…you fuck a lot of pussy up here?"

Quentin was caught off guard. "Well, that's not really an appropriate question. And besides, you must have read that I’m engaged to be married, right?"

"Sorry, dude. I shoulda figured. So, you get fucked hard by a lot of studs, then?"

"Look, I'm trying to be nice here, but this is really out of line. After Jennifer Lawrence and Chris Martin, you know, of Coldplay? Well, they split, and, well … she and I have been dating hot and heavy. I plan to marry her next year, so stop that gay stuff - it isn’t happening. Look, Todd, I'm trying to do you a favor."

"Oh, ‘next year’ … Right. Well, whatever. You got anything to drink in this fucking hotel suite?" Todd demanded as he got up, went to the wet bar, and started digging in Quentin’s refrigerator.

"Look, sorry, dude. I'll be good. What do you want to drink, Quentin?"

Quentin looked at him and decided to be patient. "I’ll have a Diet Coke, please."

Todd grabbed a Coke and a Diet Coke and poured them into glasses, gracefully slipping two pills into the Diet Coke before giving it to Quentin.

"Cheers. Drink up. Let's start over, and I'll ask 'appropriate' questions." Quentin smiled. He was glad that all the rudeness was over. He certainly didn't want any hang-ups with the boy’s Dad.

"So, what advice would you give a 16-year-old who wanted to get into show business?" Todd asked.

Quentin offered with several tips, but Todd didn’t seem all that interested in the advice from the pro. Todd asked more questions, and Quentin patiently answered. About an hour into the conversation, Quentin started to feel ill; he excused himself and went into the bathroom. He felt so tired, and his stomach felt sick. He threw up and felt as if he were going to pass out. Quentin remembered kneeling on the bathroom floor, leaning over the toilet, and looking up at a smiling Todd. Then he blacked out.

At that moment, Todd immediately went to work. He held Quentin's nose closed and shoved three Viagra tablets down his throat with some water. He then dragged the 38-year-old out into the living room and stripped him naked; the teen quickly called someone and waited. About five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Todd opened it and let in his 15-year-old bud, Simon.

Simon stared at Quentin's naked body sprawled out on the floor. "Shit, this is fucking incredible. I can't believe it's really Quentin Quartz, the idol of XHeight! Awesome!"

By now, the overdose of Viagra started to take effect, making Quentin's dick hard as Todd worked it a little. It was about seven inches, nicely shaped, sticking out from his crotch, jutting over his smooth, firm stomach.

Simon was in heaven. “Awesome!”

The passed-out international star was right there in front of them, totally helpless on his back, arms lying limply at his sides. His size ten feet stretched out at the end of his long, well-toned legs. His head rolled to the side, eyes closed, not a blemish on his smooth face. He looked so peaceful lying there.

15-year-old Simon stared down at Quentin. He had jacked off hundreds of times fantasizing about his boy band hero, thinking about what Quentin must look like naked. Now he couldn't believe he was looking at the man himself. “Awesome.” Quentin wasn't well-built, but he did have a decent chest that was mostly smooth with two sexy brown nipples, each about the size of a nickel. Quentin's cock was average size and beautiful, with a slight curve stretching out from his crotch, the tapered mushroom head arcing lightly over his stomach. A thin line of brown hair traveled from his crotch up to his belly button, an ‘innie.’ Simon got very excited, staring at his exposed hero, who was vulnerable and just waiting to be used.

"Okay, you know the plan. I've got the camera. You get stripped." Todd ordered. Simon happily stripped down and went over to his naked dream boy. "Okay, start licking his cock," Todd said.

Simon needed no more coaxing than that simple direction. He knelt over Quentin and took his cock in his mouth as Todd clicked away with his digital camera. After taking a bunch of pics of Simon’s sexual assault, Todd reached over and slapped Quentin hard across the face.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since I first met you,” Todd smirked.

He wanted Quentin to achieve a small bit of consciousness, so he moved his head from side to side, but the drug had Quentin confused. He was groggy, and everything was blurry, and he heard everything with a slow-motion echo effect. Quentin tried to get up but was too weak to position his feet under him, so Todd slapped him again, this time even harder. "Come on, you fucking pussy faggot. Get the fuck up!" Todd yelled.

Simon and Todd grabbed Quentin under each arm and half dragged him into a kneeling position. Todd then had Simon get on all fours before Quentin, positioning his ass close to Quentin’s hard cock. Todd lubed up Quentin's dick and carefully guided it toward Simon's ass; the teen had plenty of sexual experience, so it wasn’t too difficult to penetrate Simon’s asshole. Todd then slapped Quentin's ass hard, causing him to respond with a loud grunt.

"Come on faggot, fuck Simon's pussy. Ram it in. Fuck it hard. You know you want it." Todd ordered.

Quentin couldn't figure out what was happening, but when his ass was slapped, then slapped again, he instinctively thrust forward, and his cock rammed up into Simon's ass, causing Simon to let out a gasp of pleasure. Quentin's hands found Simon's shoulders to hold on to, all the while desperately trying to figure out where he was. Still, he couldn't focus his eyes on anything. Whatever additive was in the Coke he had consumed was very dulling - all Quentin knew was that he was horny and painfully erect.

"Fuck him, little Quentin. Fuck your ass on his cock, Simon," Todd said as he snapped pictures. Simon began to thrust his hips back and forth on Quentin's cock, which caused Quentin to move his hips in motion with Simon as he fucked the 15-year-old boy.

It lasted but a few minutes, but that was all Todd needed. "Okay, I've got it. You can pull off him now, Simon."

Simon, feeling disappointed, crawled forward, and Quentin's hard cock plopped out of his ass. Quentin collapsed forward and landed spread-eagle on the floor; he slowly began humping the carpet with his smooth, rounded ass cheeks clenched and his toes digging into the soft carpet. But then he passed out again, still hard and without having cum.

Simon looked meekly at Todd. "You said I could fuck him if I was good. Can I, please?"

Todd smiled. "Yeah, you've been good. Have at it."

Simon, with his leaking six-inch dick, stared at Quentin Quartz, his hero, passed out on the floor. Simon's lust-filled eyes took in the head-to-toe view. The star’s arms were stretched out across the floor in front of his well-toned body. “Awesome,” he said as he feasted upon the pale bubble butt sticking up, his long legs spread out, tapering down to his ankles. The soles of his broad feet looked magnificent as they arced from his rounded heels down to the toes pointing out behind him. Simon couldn't take it anymore - he straddled Quentin, lined his lubed cock up with the boy’s ass, and shoved it in. Quentin jerked and began to moan as the teen rammed his cock in and out of the mega-star’s ass.

"Oh God yeah, take my cock, you fucking prick. You act so fucking superior, so fucking perfect. Now take my cock like the little queer faggot boy you know you are. Take my dick up your ass. I'm the man. Take it hard. I own your fucking ass.” Simon raged on.

Todd watched and smiled. He had no idea his young friend was so energetic and over-the-top excited. He knew the kid worshiped Quentin, so he guessed this is what happened when you loved a guy who didn’t know you existed. Simon's cock wasn't that big, but he was doing his best to fuck Quentin as hard as he could.

Todd was amused, but he wanted more pictures of Quentin being fucked by the twink teen. “Simon, make a face of extreme pain. Look like you’re crying,” he said as Todd continued to shoot more photos. He watched and smiled as Simon took out his pent-up, blissful anxiety on the unconscious singer, but with a phony look of agony on his face.

Quentin woke up in bed the next morning but couldn't remember where he was. He looked out of the window and couldn't even remember what city he was in. That happened all the time – he always felt that way first thing in the morning – but this time, he felt strangely nauseous, as if he had a throbbing hangover, but he never got drunk. As he passed the mirror, he then realized, in shock, that he was completely naked and had a massive hard-on.

He shook his head and looked for his boxers but couldn't find his clothes in the bedroom. Shit, what had happened? He remembered being sick in the bathroom and seeing Todd at the bathroom door, but what happened after that? He went into the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and brushed his hair; his dick was still hard. He was so confused, so out of it.

He slowly walked back into the living room of his suite and was shocked to see Todd sitting there. Quentin jerked back, startled to see the boy and embarrassed to be seen naked, especially with a hard-on.

"Ahh, I see you're finally up. You were out for a few hours. Hah! I see you still have a hard-on. Well, I guess that's what happens with three Viagra!" Todd said.

Quentin was mentally lost. He grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wrapped it around his waist before responding to Todd. Then he saw that Todd had Quentin's laptop computer out and was using it.

"What the fuck are you doing with my computer, you idiot?" Quentin said, sounding as bold as he could while standing in the room with the teen while wearing only a towel.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm just downloading some pics from my camera to my website. Wanna see?" Todd coyly asked.

As Quentin walked over to where Todd sat at the small desk, he yelled, “I don’t give a fuck about your goddamn photos, AND GET THE FUCK OFF MY COMPUTER! NOW!”

But Quentin stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed a picture of himself, totally naked and on his knees, fucking what was obviously a young boy. His mind spun. “What the fuck?” He knew the web was full of fake naked pics of him and the other guys in the group, but these photos didn't look fake because they clearly showed him in his hotel suite. Plus, he had just woken up naked. The young boy in the pictures looked in a lot of pain.

"Just looking at some pics of you raping a little boy. I would have never guessed that you were into little boys. I always saw you as the kind of guy bent over so real men could fuck your little pussy hard. Oh well, to each his own. I just hope nobody ever sees these. Gosh, what would the public think if they found out that America's favorite international boyband idol fucks little boys? That wouldn't go over very well, I don't think. Your parents probably wouldn't be too happy either. Oh yeah, and the police. I think they tend to put guys like you in jail when they rape kids. I wonder what would happen to a famous pretty boy like you in prison? And my poor friend Simon - he told me he was terrified. You lured him here, forced him to strip, held him down, and brutally raped him. Well, I guess I should go and give him my support while he goes to the police to report the rape."

Quentin just stood there, shocked; his brain couldn't take all this in. It seemed like it was just minutes ago that he was trying to advise the record exec’s kid on how to make it into the music business. Now, there he stood, naked except for a towel, head swimming, and seeing pics of himself apparently fucking a child.

"Wait….what….I don't understand ... I … I … never …" Quentin stammered.

"Oh, I think the police will understand. How does it go? A picture is worth a thousand words? It's really sick that you had photos taken of yourself raping this poor boy. Presumably, I guess, so you could jack off to these photos later. Good thing Simon grabbed the camera as he ran out of the room, isn't it? Now he has lots of pics of you and him. Well, have a good life." Todd said as he got up to leave.

"WAIT! FUCK! … HOLD ON! This isn't right. I mean, I don't understand!" Quentin stammered as he sat on the sofa, rubbing his hands through his tousled hair as he tried to remember what happened. His bare feet rubbed the carpet as he tried to regain some memory of last night.

"Look, you mega-star, boyband fucks think you own the world. Everyone is here to serve you; you only have to snap your fingers and get whatever you want. That you can fuck whomever you want, whenever you want. You think that you are better than everyone else. Well, guess what? You are wrong. You and all your pussy faggot friends can go to hell. I'm sick and tired of you arrogant sons of bitches thinking you control everything and everyone. Well, fuck head … you don't control these photos, and you don’t control me … or Simon. With this, I control you. Understand, faggot? Understand? The power has shifted. I have the power, and you are now the useless fuck. Got it, boy? I fucking own you now. You so much as look at me wrong, and I will fuck up your life so bad that you will wish you were fucking dead! Got it, boy?"

Without a memory, Quentin could only stare at him blankly.

Todd just sneered. "I'm fucking sick of looking at you. I've got some errands to run. And oh, I found your wallet. $500 fucking bucks? I thought you were loaded. Get some more cash. I'll be back later."

Todd walked out the door as Quentin just stared blankly. When the door slammed, he leaped to his computer. A lot of obscene pictures had been downloaded to the website he was looking at, but Quentin couldn't figure out how these disgusting photos came to be. He stared at the image on the screen: there he was, on his knees, totally erect, ramming his cock up the ass of a little boy who looked like he was crying in agony.

Oh, my God, Quentin thought. I am fucked.

Quentin took a shower and tried to clear his head. After four hours, his dick was finally growing soft. He pulled on a clean pair of boxer briefs, took two aspirin, and climbed into bed to continue his sleep; hopefully, it would all make sense when he woke up.

He had been sleeping for several hours when there was a pounding at his door. He climbed out of bed, found his robe, stumbled to the door, and looked out the peephole. Fuck, it was Todd.

Quentin slowly opened the door to peek out, but Todd quickly pushed it fully open. “Get out of my way, faggot," Todd demanded as he shoved his way in. He plopped on the sofa and grabbed the remote, absently flipping through TV stations. "What a fucking useless hotel. You pay like $700 a night for a room, and the TV only gets crappy channels. You get any more money yet?"

Quentin wasn't sure what was going on. "Look, I'm not sure what happened, but I'm sure we can work this out. I need to talk to your friend."

"No fucking way. After you grabbed him and raped him? No way you'll ever see him again unless it's in court with him telling the judge what happened. But hey, it doesn't have to come to that. You stick with me, and I'll make sure he never talks. I'll make sure no one ever sees those pics. But hey, it'll cost you, so just think how much money the National Enquirer would pay me for those pics. Shit, it will cost you plenty. I'm thirsty. Get me a Coke, you fucking faggot."

Quentin was frozen with fear but went to get a Coke for Todd. Handing it to him, "Look, I'm sure we can deal with this. You get me the pictures, and I can get you a check. How much do you need? We must be careful because my lawyers will ask questions if it's too much."

"Shit, I don't think you understand. It'll cost you plenty, but that's not all. I own you now. You and I will become good friends before all this is over. I'm gonna be a friend like you've never had before. I told Dad that you thought it would be a good idea for me to join your tour to see first-hand what it's like to be in show business. I'm your new assistant! I’m your fucking shadow. I'm going with you everywhere, and you'll do whatever I want. Got it?"

"Look …." Quentin started.

"I said, 'Got it?' faggot? Yes or fucking no? This isn't hard. Do what I say or go to jail. No skin off my back." Todd said as he continued to flip through the channels.

"I'm sure we can reach some understanding…" Quentin replied.

Then 16-year-old Todd, the son of Quentin’s record label’s exec stood, threw the remote on the floor (shattering it), and screamed, "Don't you get it dipshit? There is no bargaining. No understanding. I'm in charge – YOU DO AS I SAY, OR ELSE. GOT IT, FAGOT?!"

Quentin blushed bright red. He stammered and quietly said, "Yes."

"What the fuck was that? Let me hear you!"

"Yes, I understand," Quentin answered.

"You better fucking understand. Look, I bought these sunglasses with your cash. What do you think?" Todd said, showing his new $500 sunglasses.

Quentin looked. "Yeah, they're cool," he said, unsure what else he was supposed to say.

"Yeah, my Dad is way stingy with the cash. Now that you and I are best friends, I need you to get me more money. Lots more money. Get on the phone and get someone to bring over some cash. Let's say $10,000 to start with. Okay, boy?"

Quentin hesitated but then decided to cooperate for now. He went to the phone and called his lawyer. "Yeah, I need $10,000 … No, in cash … No, everything is okay. I just need to take care of something. Yeah, right away. Thanks."

Todd smiled. "Cool. We can go shopping later. So, you like to fuck little boys? Let's see what you've got. Lose the robe."

Quentin, a 38-year-old international singing star in the sensational boyband XHeight, was shocked. He had never had anyone treat him like this before; he felt powerless. But he slowly dropped his robe and stood in front of this boy in his boxers.

"The boxers too, faggot boy," Todd ordered.

Idol Crash
Part 2 of 6

Quentin was terrified as he slipped his thumbs into his boxers and pulled them down.

"Okay, boy, on your knees. Start jacking for me." Todd said, smiling.
Quentin sunk to his knees grabbed his dick which was still sore from earlier, and slowly began to jack it. He had never felt so helpless or humiliated in his entire life.

"Come on, jack it harder. You can do better than that, faggot boy. Grab your little faggot cock and whack it like a real man. I want you to cum hard for me. Show me how you boyband faggots jack off."

Quentin pumped faster. He shut his eyes and let his instincts take over, jacking like he had so many nights before.

"That's it, faggot. Show your new friend how hard you can cum. Do it, boy, cum for me. Do it now."

Quentin started to moan. He had never jacked off in front of another guy before; he felt hollow inside, empty, totally used, totally powerless. He moaned louder and could feel the cum building; his hips moved back and forth, his crotch jutted out, his shoulders hunched over, his butt cheeks clenched, his ass dimples showing as he jacked faster and faster. His toes curled up tight as the pressure in his balls grew.

"Cum, you faggot boy, cum! Grab your fuck snot in your fucking hand. Don't let it spill, you understand, faggot. Catch it in your hand, all of it."

Quentin grunted as the cum started spewing out. Quentin's chest heaved - a thin layer of sweat had formed across his chest and small brown nipples. He shoved his hand over the end of his dick, catching the cum. He moaned as the cum throbbed out.

"Yeah, that's a good faggot. Cum hard. Okay, now lick it up. Be a good faggot and lap up your fucking cum."

Quentin looked at Todd in disbelief but spoke softly and calmly, “Look, enough is enough. I …”


Slowly he raised his goo-filled hand and stared at the sticky, milky cum that covered it. He slowly stuck out his tongue and began to lick. Oh my God, it had been a normal day just hours earlier. Quentin Quartz of XHeight, naked, still on his knees after jerking off. And, in front of this psycho-teen from hell, was now licking up his own cum, as ordered. He had never felt this exposed. His dick slowly drooped, still dripping cum, as it softened and hung between his legs as he knelt on the floor. His tongue moved across his sticky palm, and when it was cleaned, he sucked on each finger, inserting them deep into his mouth. He felt his own salty cum going down his throat. Oh fuck. Was he eating his cum? Surely this would end soon - certainly, no one would/could ever degrade him like this, again, could they?

The next day, he was still stuck with coming up with $10,000 for Todd. It wasn’t the money that bothered him so much as it was the act of blackmail, and as he tried to deal with this, he became angrier. He spent that day in a state of panic, talking to his lawyer at length about how much money he could get to solve a little problem’.

He also called the record exec to try to talk about Todd.

"Hey Quentin, you are just super. You can't believe how happy Todd is to spend time with you on tour," the executive gushed. "He's been so moody lately, but he really seems to be into this. I think it will do my boy some good to get out on the road with XHeight."

"Yeah, um … well, that's why I'm calling," Quentin stammered. "Listen, has Todd said anything about, well, you know, what he’s doing with me?"

"What? Well, Quentin, he said you were really nice and wanted to take him under your wing. I can't thank you enough."

"Yeah, well, is there anything you could do to help me to … well ..." Quentin struggled to find the words. "I mean, I'm in a bit of a jam. Todd is a little, well, overbearing. A little pushy. He's making a lot of demands…"

"Well, boys will be boys, right?" the executive said. "Todd has always been rather assertive. I've always taught him to play to win and get whatever he wants. But I'll speak with him before you join your tour if you want."

Thinking that Todd would not like him talking to his Dad, Quentin thought it best not to bring it up. "No, that's okay, I'll handle it myself. Don’t mention this call to him. Thanks," Quentin said before hanging up.

At about 2:00 that afternoon, Quentin heard a knock at his door. Quentin opened the door and let Todd in.

"Hey, faggot. Have a good night? I sure did. I went out and spent a butt load of cash. Shit, I bought stuff I don't even want, and it felt fucking great. I'm gonna need some more cash today, okay, boy?"

Quentin stayed calm. "Yeah, Todd, we have to talk. Look, I've talked with my lawyer, and I think I've got to lay my hands on a considerable amount of cash without raising eyebrows. Here's the deal: I don't think it's a good idea for you to come on the tour. If you give me the pictures, I can have a cashier's check for you by the end of the day for $500,000. Okay?"

Todd was sitting on the sofa. He looked at Quentin and then slowly got a malicious smile on his face. "You really are cute, aren't you?" Todd said. "You think you've got this all figured out? Yeah, get me the half mil. That's a nice little start. You think you're pretty smart, don't you? Well, you still just don't get it, you fucking little cock sucking faggot.”

Todd continued. “Your money? Yeah, I'll take it, but that's just the beginning. And, oh, I'll be on your tour - you won't be able to turn around without seeing me, understand? Look, boy, you don't have any room to negotiate. I've got the pictures, and that means I own you. Got it? Say it, fuckboy. I own you. Say, 'Todd owns my ass.'”

"Come on, Todd, there's got to be something I can…." Quentin started.

"GOD DAMN IT! SAY IT! JUST FUCKING SAY IT! Say it, you cocksucker! 'Todd owns my ass.' Say it now, or I'll walk out the door and start sending out pictures."

Todd stared at Quentin, then started for the door.

"Wait, okay, look, um, Todd owns my ass. Okay?" Quentin stammered.


"Todd owns my ass," Quentin said, staring at the floor.

"Say 'I'm a faggot boy slut. I like to take it rough up the ass.'" Todd said, smiling.

"Come on, Todd, I'm not gay! Everyone knows that. Let’s just …” but Quentin was cut off.

"SAY IT NOW, FAGGOT!” Todd yelled.

Quentin looked like he had just been punched in the stomach. His eyes were sad. He started slowly, "I'm a faggot boy slut, and I like to take it up the ass … rough." He felt humiliated.

"Yeah, you’re a faggot, and don't forget it. You do whatever I say from now on. Whatever. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Quentin quietly replied.

"Okay, get on the phone and do whatever the hell you've got to do to get me the half-million now. And hurry - we've got somewhere to go this afternoon." Todd demanded.

Quentin looked confused but went to the phone and arranged to deliver the check to the hotel.

Todd was stretched out on the sofa, flipping through TV channels. Quentin looked at him: he looked just like a typical teenager, with baggy jeans, an oversized shirt, and beat-up sneakers. He was lying haphazardly on the sofa, staring at some idiotic show. Quentin couldn't believe this was happening. He was THE international player in the entertainment world - why couldn't he get himself out of this mess now?

"Okay faggot boy. Let's roll," Todd said, jumping up and not bothering to turn off the TV. "We've got folks waiting for us."

"Where are we going?" Quentin asked.

"Does it matter? It's not like you have any choice. Where are you parked?"

"Um, my Jeep's in the underground parking," Quentin answered.

"Cool. Give me the keys. I've always wanted a Jeep." Todd said, snatching the keys from Quentin.

They got in Quentin’s pride and joy with Todd in the driver’s seat. "Sweet! Totally loaded. Cool. When we get back, I want to arrange to have it signed over to me. Got it?"

"Yeah," Quentin quietly answered, even though he was mentally plotting how to stop this.

After a short drive, they turned into a residential section. "Okay, bitch boy. Here we are," Todd said, pulling into a driveway in front of a small house. "My friends are waiting."

Quentin and Todd walked to the front door and rang the bell.

Todd stared fiercely into Quentin’s eyes: "You do whatever I tell you, got it? You say whatever I tell you to say, understand? If you make me mad, it's all over." It was obvious to Quentin that Todd was not kidding and would not allow him to dial it down in any way, shape, or form.

"Yeah, I got it," Quentin whispered, staring at his feet.

The door opened, and a young man stood there. "Hey, Todd. Shit, it really is Quentin Quartz! Totally cool. The guys never thought Quentin would really be here."

"Hey, Cory. Are all the guys here?" Todd asked.

"Yeah, I called the whole team. They're all waiting."

Quentin was shown to the living room. It was full of guys, about a dozen. They looked to be about 16 or 18.

"Well, guys, I promised you Quentin Quartz, and here he is. Quentin, this is my high school varsity soccer team." Todd said as he guided Quentin to the middle of the room. "Here's the deal. We have a disagreement. Cory here says all you boybands are fucking queers and that the XHEIGHT guys fuck the X Factor. Jerry, over there, says that you are all fucking queers but that the X Factor fucks you XHEIGHT fags. So that's why I brought you here. Which is it? I promised the guys that we would finally get an answer today."

Quentin looked around the room at all these boys staring back at him.

They were all smiling and seemed to be enjoying this. Quentin felt very uncomfortable; he desperately didn't want to be here and had no idea what to say. He just looked at Todd.

"Well, faggot, you are queer, aren't you?" Todd demanded.

Quentin remained silent and looked at Todd in a way that begged him to not do this. What did he want him to say?

"Come on, faggot! Tell the boys that you are a faggot queer."

"Um, yeah, I'm a faggot queer." Quentin quietly said.

The boys went wild. They couldn't believe that Quentin was actually in their presence and that he was saying he was gay. All their girlfriends adored Quentin and XHeight, so naturally, the guys hated that competition. The guys on the team knew that Todd's father was a record exec, so when Todd said he would bring Quentin over, they thought it might be possible. Still, they couldn't believe Quentin was letting Todd treat him like that.

"Come on. Say it louder. Let all the guys hear." Todd demanded.

"I'm a faggot queer," Quentin said, turning bright red. He felt stupid, surrounded by teens, and forced to say this stuff. All the guys were smirking. This was cool, watching superstar Quentin squirm!

"You like it up the ass hard and rough, don't you, Quentin?" Todd asked.

"Yeah." Quentin stammered and spoke now without much hesitation.

"Come on, say it faggot."

"Yeah, I like it up the ass hard and rough," Quentin answered, his southern voice cracking as he forced himself to say the perverted words.

"Well, I guess that answers our question," Todd said with a huge smile. "XHEIGHT likes to be fucked by the X Factor. Do you all get together, strip, kneel, and let the other boys open your asses? Do you take turns, or do all five of you get on your knees at the same time?"

Quentin turned bright red. He looked at Todd, unsure if he was supposed to say anything.

"Yeah, I bet you all take it at the same time. You, Eric, and JC strip down, get on your knees and beg to have your pussy asses filled. I bet Nick rips you open good. Now there's a real man! I bet you beg Nick to ram his cock up your pussy ass. Beg him to rip you open. Beg him to fuck your faggot brains out. Am I right, boy?"

Quentin just stared at his feet, hoping this would all end soon.

"Alright, boy. I promised the guys they would see a sample of your technique, so fucking strip." Todd demanded.

Quentin's eyes bugged out like those of a shocked cartoon character. Todd had to be kidding! The verbal humiliation was one thing, but this couldn't happen.

Quentin whispered to Todd, "Hey, wait a minute. This wasn't part of the bargain. Please, Todd, be reasonable. Come on, man…." Quentin said.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, ASSHOLE! And don't fucking embarrass me in front of my friends.” The soccer team members were in awe of Todd’s power and control, especially over the great Quentin of XHeight.

Quentin began to cry. He looked pleadingly at Todd, and almost in a whisper, he choked out, "Why are you doing this to me?"

Todd stared back at Quentin and answered in a slow, icy monotone. "Because I can."

Todd then began to yell. "FUCKING STRIP NOW! Do it or suffer the consequences!"

Quentin was unbelievably scared. He began to shiver, his eyes filled with tears; he felt so helpless. His mind raced - what could he do? He looked at the boys in the room, all of whom were staring intently at him, and then he looked back at Todd, who had a huge smile. Quentin slowly pulled off his shirt.

Not only were the soccer players feeling great because there was a huge superstar in their very midst, but also because they had just learned that this macho idol of so many women was actually a fucking faggot. On top of that, their little high school buddy, with his slight build and all, told this international celebrity what to do. Holly fucking shit! AND … the faggot was doing it!

The boys couldn't believe their eyes and ears. First, Quentin admitted that he was queer. Second, he takes it up the ass, and third, he was stripping before their eyes! Un-fucking-believable! They watched intently as Quentin slipped off his shoes and socks and dropped his jeans. He was now actually standing in the living room wearing only his boxer briefs.

Instead of Todd saying something like, "OK, Quentin, drop the shorts." Todd simply pointed to Quentin’s underwear and snapped his fingers. FUCKING WILD! Quentin was like Todd’s fucking well-trained dog.

Quentin closed his eyes and slowly slid his boxers down until they were bunched around his ankles. His dick hung softly between his legs, but there was nothing erotic or sexy about any of this. Zero. Quentin heard several of the guys begin to laugh, and he felt fully exposed.

“Now I know you guys are baffled by how Quentin responds to me. I mean, he is known around the whole fucking world as the number one recording star, and yet he obeys me at the snap of my fingers. Well, you see, Quentin here has a fetish. He gets off on being told what to do. Some time ago, he saw a photo of me that my Dad had on his desk. When he saw it, Quentin desperately fabricated some story about how he wanted to teach me some things about music. Well, as it turned out, it wasn't music he wanted to teach me.” Everyone laughed and howled. “No, it was all about his fetish need to obey younger guys. And … get this … he loves to pretend he isn’t a faggot; Quentin gets excited when he is pretend-forced to do stuff. You know, like a sex scenario, a play-acting thing. So, that should solve the mystery.” All the guys applauded and cheered. Quentin’s face turned redder, feeling more embarrassed now than ever before, even though none of this was true.

"Okay, boys, as long as I am telling you all of his secret fantasies, I might as well share this one, which happens to involve all of you.”

He then turned to naked Quentin and said, “Sorry faggot, I know you wanted me to keep this as our little secret, but I just can’t.” Then Todd turned back to all his buds and said, “When I told this faggot that we were coming here, he got really horned up. Being on tour doesn’t give him time to get the hard fucks he needs. He told me that his ass has felt totally empty for way too long, so I told him that you guys just might be kind enough to help fuck the shit out of him. Believe me when I tell you that he got so excited he started drooling.”

“So, who wants to be the first to help Quentin out? He loves to suck cock. He loves to take it up the ass. He told me in the car that he wanted to be fucked hard by all my team members, so come on, boys, let's get this party started and give wonder boy exactly what he needs! Have at it."

Cory stood up first, walked over to Quentin, and pulled out his hard dick. "I'll take a blowjob, faggot boy."

Quentin Quartz, a 38-year-old international singing star and the leader of the sensational boyband XHeight, was shoved to his knees and felt Cory's dick shoved into his mouth; this was the first time Quentin had ever sucked a cock. Quentin began to choke as Cory rammed his cock down his throat.

"Hey guys, look at me! I'm fucking Quentin Quartz's mouth! My girlfriend adores him - wait until she hears that he sucked my cock! Fuck, I knew all those boybands were fucking queers, but this is incredible. Hey, someone, take my photo.”

But Todd quickly said, “No photos, period! If any of you take his photo, we will leave immediately.” He was unequivocal: after all, anyone having homoerotic sex photos of Quentin would have power over him, and Todd wasn’t about to share any power over his faggot fuck toy, so he would take the photos himself.

“Guys, I will take all the photos here,” Todd said as he got some great shots of Quentin sucking boy dick; these were great additions to Todd’s growing collection of blackmail evidence.

Like most teenagers, it didn't take long before Cory spewed out his cum. It poured down Quentin's throat, and as soon as he was done, Quentin looked up and saw another dick waiting to ram down his now vacant throat.

A minute later, Quentin felt someone behind him, grabbing onto his hips. Quentin turned and saw a red-headed boy kneeling at his back end. With a snap of the fingers and a gesture from Todd, Quentin understood he was to go from kneeling to getting down on all fours, so he did.

"Look at me, guys!” the redhead yelled, “I'm gonna fuck this faggot’s little ass! Oh shit, his ass is gonna be mine. Look at this whore on his hands and knees. I'm gonna fuck this fag doggie style." The boy then slapped Quentin's ass and said, "Shake your fucking ass for me, you fucking dog, and get ready for my cock. Check it out: I'm only 16, and my cock is already bigger than his!"

Quentin panicked as he felt his knees being shoved wider apart. He then let out a muffled scream as the boy rammed his cock in Quentin's tight ass; he felt like he was being ripped open. This was too much! Here he was, totally naked, on his hands and knees, with one cock down his throat and another cock rammed up his ass. This couldn't be happening! It hurt so much, and it wasn't supposed to be like this - he wasn't gay! Oh, fuck, what was going on?

The red-headed kid rammed his cock into Quentin's throbbing ass. Quentin began to whimper as the other dick was still rammed down his throat. His knees and legs began to ache as his legs were forced open wider, and his ass was ridden hard. His mind reeled as he felt a hand grab his dick. His toes curled, and every hair on his body stood on end. The red-head fucking him had reached under his belly to grab Quentin’s hardening dick and squeezed his balls hard.

Then, in a loud voice, Todd said to Quentin, “Hey faggot, stop enjoying this! I promised you we would help you out with your fantasies, remember? So I want you to pretend that you have never been fucked before and are suffering a lot of pain now.” All the guys laughed, believing Todd. “Now scream and pretend to resist!”

Idol Crash
Part 3 of 6

"AAAAGGGGHHHHH," Quentin screamed, and it was for real, but the team members applauded Quentin for his good acting. The louder he protested and tried to resist, the more they all laughed. For the next hour, Quentin was fucked on both ends simultaneously, seemingly by every combination of these athletes. He had never felt so out of control, violated, or utterly used. He cried in pain and humiliation as one high school teen after another raped his ass and mouth.

All the while, Todd, the 16-year-old blackmailer, sat on the sofa and watched; he seemed to be enjoying the boy orgy in front of him. And while Quentin was on his hands and knees servicing the whole high school soccer team as a sex slave, Todd took more photos and videos. Quentin took dick after dick after dick - no condoms - just loads of boy cum running down Quentin's throat and up his ass. Teenagers are amazing: they can cum down your throat and, a few minutes later, cum up your ass too.

Todd especially liked the look of revulsion and pain on Quentin's face. He could tell he was miserable. After all, he had been stripped in front of a bunch of guys, most 20 years younger than him. Then he was forced to say he was a faggot who enjoyed sucking and being fucked by their cocks. This was humiliating and degrading, but Todd would now – obviously - let him go after this.

Todd smiled. It served the little fucking arrogant boyband bastard right. When all the boys were through, Todd stood up and said, "Okay, guys, I promised you, Quentin, and you promised me $50 bucks apiece. Pay up."

Meanwhile, Quentin lay in a lump on the floor, covered in cum. His ass ached, his jaw ached, and his dick and balls were sore from being manhandled; he could still feel the cum in his ass oozing out. He felt miserable and thoroughly violated - he just wanted to get out of there and never see any of these little bastards again. As he lay there, he watched the boy find their pants and fish cash out the money to pay Todd. It made no sense: Quentin had given Todd $10,000 yesterday and was getting him $500,000 today – so why was he now demanding more money from these kids? Probably because he knew it would just make Quentin hate himself even more - Todd had turned him into a prostitute to serve the entire team.

"Okay ‘superstar,’ get up. Your playtime is over." Todd said as all the guys applauded and cheered. But there was a mix of feelings amongst the teens: some of these guys hated Quentin for being a phony who presented himself on the world stage as a straight, high-class celebrity, but others truly believed this was Quentin’s secret fantasy which he wanted to live out, and so they were happy to help him by fucking him over good.

Quentin slowly stood up to get dressed. “Whoa, who said you can get dressed? You’re fine as you are. You know you are a horny, perverted exhibitionist, so, no need to pretend you have any modesty now.” The team applauded and cheered, thinking Quentin loved this humiliation.

Todd went to the door and out onto the front porch with naked Quentin at his side. All the boys, now fully clothed, joined Todd and Quentin outside in view of everyone passing by. He was the only one naked.

“Ok, fag, we all know how you acted like these were the first dicks you ever got shoved in your holes, but now it’s time to go. Now, speak up and tell everyone you are grateful for this experience. Tell us all the sleazy details about what you just did with these high school athletes.”

Quentin fully understood what Todd wanted him to say. There was no doubt about that, but Quentin didn’t notice that Todd had stepped back, taken his cell out, and was now recording a video of Quentin’s little goodbye speech on the pouch.

Quentin began to stumble through his words - he couldn’t control himself any longer and suddenly burst out in tears that the teens mistakenly understood to be tears of joy, so they all cheered as Quentin turned and walked down the driveway. Then Todd embraced Quentin and petted him like a big puppy, “It’s OK. We all understand how you enjoyed acting out your slut fantasy. We can go now.” As Todd walked Quentin to the Jeep (that Jeep that used to be his), Quentin completely broke down. In a weepy-whisper to Todd, he said, “I am so fucking sorry for anything I ever did to you. I am so fucking sorry. Please, please, just let this be over. Anything, anything I have in the whole fucking world is yours, all of it, but please, in the name of God, please, Todd - I am fucking begging you, please just end this now.”

Todd’s reaction came as a surprise; he smiled broadly and ruffled Quentin’s hair as one does as a sign of affection to a little boy. On the drive home, Quentin quietly sat in the Jeep's passenger seat, thinking he must have pleased Todd. He had made Todd look powerful and important to all his soccer buddies, and Quentin was sure that made Todd very happy and content. Todd was now the big man on campus. He had shown everyone that he had power over the number-one singing sensation in the world. Yes, that little pat on the head said it all. Because of that, Quentin felt sure this would all end soon, and he didn’t care what it would cost him - he would gladly pay any amount. Oh, fuck, what relief he began to feel!

Then, finally, Todd broke the silence. "That was fun. It's gonna be great traveling with you! We can have that kind of fun every night - find great parties in every city, whore out your fucking ass. God, this is going to be a great summer!” Quentin just sat in the Jeep, staring into the distance, and again began weeping and shaking his head.

After that day, Quentin was left alone for a few days. It had only been a week since Quentin had first met Todd, but it seemed like years. Todd did indeed join the tour, and he never left Quentin's side. All the band members noticed that Quentin looked miserable. Eric, the keyboardist, tried to talk to him, but Quentin just wanted to be left alone, except that he was never alone because Todd was always there. The other members of XHeight were bewildered by Todd’s constant presence, viewing him as an odd boy and completely out of place among them. Certainly, they thought, he had no business with the group on their tour.

And then, one day when XHeight had the day off, Todd showed up at Quentin's door. "Come on, boy, let's blow this joint. Let's see what fun we can have in the city."

Quentin followed Todd to the Jeep without asking any questions, got in, and rode for 20 minutes. Eventually, they pulled up in front of a tattoo parlor.

"This is fucking perfect. Oh yeah, so totally cool." Todd seemed very excited. "What kind of tattoo should we get for you, boy? And where do you want it? Gosh, so many choices.”

"Look, Todd, be reasonable. I've been good. I've done what you wanted, but this is permanent. You can't permanently disfigure me." Quentin explained, looking intently at Todd.

"Disfigure? Who said anything about disfigurement? I promise it will be tasteful. I mean, I'm not going to make you get ‘FUCK ME’ tattooed on your ass, although that could be fun, too! Naw, let's do something more refined. Let's see, I think you need to have ‘SLUT’ tattooed on your arm," Todd said with great glee as they entered the ink parlor.

Todd turned to the tattoo guy. "Can you tattoo the word ‘SLUT’ in big letters just below his shoulder?"

"Yeah, no problem," the guy said, "What color do you want?"

Todd was almost giddy with excitement. "You got a favorite color, boy? Oh, God, wait, it's got to be green! I want the tattoo to perfectly match your eyes! That would be so fucking cool." Todd looked back to the tattoo guy. "Can you make it match?"

"Yeah, sure. Okay, boy, take off your shirt," the tattoo guy said.

Quentin listened to all of this, totally unbelieving it. Shit, giving Todd money wasn't too bad - Quentin had more than he could ever spend. The gang fuck was horrible, but at least it only lasted a couple of hours, and Quentin knew he was strong; his parents had taught him to survive the tough times, which had kept him going for the past nine days. He knew this shit with Todd would end soon, and he could return to his life. A tattoo, however, was a different thing. That would be forever … on his arm? How would he ever explain that? Quentin stared at Todd. Surely this was a joke.

"You heard the man, you little slut. Take off your shirt so you can be marked so that everyone can see that you are just a little faggot SLUT." Todd said menacingly. "Take your shirt off now, or I'll fucking rip it off, and then everyone will see your tattoo when we leave.”

Quentin realized that he wasn't kidding. Shit, this was going to happen! Quentin looked around, saw the needles, saw the patterns. His heart sank as he slipped his T-shirt off. He wasn't built, but neither was he embarrassed by his chest; he always wore sleeveless shirts in concert. He knew people stared at him, but today, he felt like a piece of meat as he stood in the tattoo shop, shirtless, with Todd and the tattoo guy staring at him, discussing the color and style of the tattoo as if Quentin weren’t even there.

It hurt a lot as the tattoo was slowly inked on. The letters were almost three inches tall in bright green ink. ‘SLUT.’ It covered the top of his right upper arm. He knew he would never be able to go shirtless or wear a sleeveless shirt in concert again. He would have to change his wardrobe for the concerts in the future.

Shit, it hurt. His arm throbbed, and he felt cold sitting in the shop without a shirt for over an hour. When it was finally done, he looked at his arm in the mirror. Oh fuck. This was so horrid!

"Pay the man, you little SLUT," Todd laughed. If it wasn't bad enough that he had been permanently marked, now Todd was making him pay for it!

"Alright, boy, we have more stops to make. We need to find something new for you to wear for your performances. How about we go to an S and M leather shop?" Todd said, then quickly added, “Just kidding.” Todd smiled.

Quentin's heart began to beat faster. He knew he had to change his wardrobe, but XHeight always had similarly-themed clothing on stage. He’d just have to explain to the group that he wanted this new look, whatever that would be. And besides, he was the leader of XHeight.

When they stopped, Quentin's heart began to beat even faster: they were at a leather fetish store. "Okay, SLUT, let's go get something for you.”

“But … but … you said … you were kidding. You said …”

Todd was having great fun pulling things off the shelf in the store and holding them up. There were about 15 guys in the store, mostly middle-aged. They were whispering, pointing at Quentin - he had been recognized. One guy, all dressed in leather and wearing motorcycle boots, came over. "You're Quentin from XHEIGHT, right? I've always thought you’d look good in leather gear. I think it’s you, or at least it should be you. I'd love to make you my slave boy."

Quentin looked disgusted. "Look, just leave me alone, okay? I don't want any trouble."

"Come on, Quentin, be nice to the man. I think you owe him an apology. Say you're sorry, Quentin." Todd demanded. The leatherman was aghast that the twink teenager told the biggest superstar what to do. It was now obvious to him that the teen was the Master, and the big-man singing idol was the sub-slave.

Quentin looked demoralized. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude."

"I don't think that's good enough. You need to show this nice man that you are really sorry. Beg the nice man to forgive you." Todd ordered, smiling.

Quentin's head dropped. He stared at the ground. "I'm really sorry. Please accept my apology. Please forgive me, Sir."

The man looked at Quentin and smiled. "You've got him trained pretty well. I always guessed he was a fucking bottom boy, like all those queer band guys. You fuck his ass?"

Todd smiled even bigger. "Naw, not really MY thing. But HE loves to take it hard and rough up the ass, don't you, boy?"

Quentin still stared at the ground. "Yes, Sir. I like to take it up the ass."

"Hey, Quentin, show the nice man your new tattoo!"

Quentin slowly pulled off his shirt, and Todd made him unwrap this upper-arm bandage to show off his new green ‘SLUT’ tattoo.

"That’s great! Have you also considered writing ‘SLAVE’ across his forehead? I wish I could make my boy get a tattoo!" the man said.

"It's elementary. Quentin begged me to let him get it, didn't you, boy?" Todd said, poking Quentin's side.

"Yeah," Quentin whispered.

The man reached out and grabbed Quentin's brown nipples. "So, Quentin Quartz is a total SLUT." He began to lightly twist the nipples in his fingers.

Quentin's face contorted in pain. His arm still hurt, and now his nipples were pinched and twisted hard; he felt helpless as the other men in the store gathered around to watch.

"Come on, say it! Show all these real men how a good boy behaves." The man ordered.

"I'm a slut." Quentin said, "Please, it hurts, please."

"Please, what?" the man demanded.

"Please, Sir, it hurts," Quentin answered.

“Not what I was going for,” Todd said. “You like that, remember?”

“I mean, please hurt me more. Pinch harder, Sir, oh yeah.” Now Quentin was nearly crying.

"Yeah, boy, it's supposed to hurt. It shows a boy how to behave in front of a real man. Don't ever forget it, SLUT,” the leatherman said and then spat in Quentin’s face before letting go and moving away.

"Hey, this is a cool place. Well, I wish we could stay and play, but we still have errands to run. Maybe we can play some other time!" Todd said to the men watching.

"Yeah, that would be hot," the man at the counter answered. "Bring your boy around anytime. I'll show him how to behave." The man stared at Quentin as they headed to the register. Todd had picked out a tight pair of very old Levis and an interesting cock and ball harness ring for Quentin. Quentin paid, and they left.

The next day, just before the concert, Todd met Quentin in his dressing room. Todd unwrapped Quentin's arm; the tattoo had turned out well. The bright green letters were outlined in black, making them stand out sharply against his arm.

Todd seemed happy. "Shit, they did a good job. It really does match your eyes!"

All of Quentin's normal wardrobe was laid out for the concert, but Todd told Quentin to ignore it. Todd then made Quentin strip naked, then pulled out the fancy cock and ball harness. It was the type that encircled the balls, separating each, as well as encircled the dick. The black leather and the chrome ring stood out perfectly. It took a while, but it went on very snugly. Todd put his finger in Quentin’s mouth to steal a glob of his spit, then he rubbed it on his wrapped-up dick. Quentin had a major boner when Todd handed him the ragged jeans. "Here, boy, here's your fucking costume for the night."

No way did Quentin want to wear those torn-up pants, especially on stage, but he was stuck, so he grabbed a pair of boxers to put on first. “WHO TOLD YOU TO PUT ON UNDERWEAR?” Todd yelled.

With shaking hands, Quentin took the pants, which were so full of holes that there were almost more holes than material. He sat on the sofa and tried to pull the super-tight jeans on, but when he pulled, they almost tore, so he had to be very careful. He held one pant leg open and tried to shove his bare foot into it, but it was difficult because the pants were tapered to fit very tightly around the ankles. Quentin's bare ass rubbed against the sofa as he struggled with first one leg, then the other. Once he was in and the pants were up to his knees, he had further difficulty getting them up over his bubble butt. Todd watched Quentin's chest and arms flex as he struggled with the tight jeans. Eventually, the toes on his right foot poked out; his size ten foot arced and followed his wiggling toes. His left foot followed via the same ordeal. Finally, he yanked the waist up and over his crotch and hard cock.

The jeans were several sizes too small, and they fit like a second skin, and with all the holes, you saw a lot of his first skin! Quentin managed to wiggle his thin hips into the jeans, which now indecently showed off his tightly curved ass. Worse, his hard cock was clearly outlined. And the pants were so low cut that the pubic hair above his dick was showing, and the top of his ass crack was barely concealed. After getting them on and buttoned, he realized that the jeans were entirely worn through in places - you could see the bottom of his ass cheeks and his thighs just below his crotch. Both knees were worn through.

"Come on, Todd, no way management will let me go out like this! There is no way you can make this happen!" Quentin argued.

"Fuck management. When you show up right as the curtain goes up, do you think they will cancel the concert if you don't change? You think they are willing to lose all that money? There'd be a fucking riot from the fans! You look perfect! All ready to go!"

"Ready to go?”

Quentin looked around for his shirt, any shirt. “What about the rest of my clothes?" Quentin said in a panic.

"Nope, that's it from now on; your new costume is just these jeans. You guys are such fucking cock teasers anyway. It's about time you show some skin. There is no shirt, just this thin layer of worn jeans between you and your fans. It will be good for all of you."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. "Two minutes to curtain, Mr. Quartz, please."

Quentin's mind raced. He looked at himself in the mirror and looked obscene - everything showed. He couldn't go on stage like this. Shit. His ass, his dick, everything could be seen through the jeans. He felt almost naked. He had never performed without a shirt before, and what about the tattoo?

“Ok, fuck! Ok, where are my shoes and what color socks do …” Quentin was cut off.

“Nope, no shoes, no socks, just as you are. It’s a come-as-you-are-party!” Todd giggled.

Quentin had never tried to dance barefoot. Shit, could he make it through all the moves with his bare feet jumping around on the cold stage?

Todd grabbed Quentin by the arm and quickly hurried him down the hall to the stage entrance. Then, unceremoniously, he pushed him immediately onto the stage. Eric immediately glared, saying only, “WHAT?” It caused all four members of XHeight to look at him in shock, but there was no time for anyone to comment or to resist the start of the performance. The crowd cheered as the curtain went up.

The other XHeight members started playing the first song's opening bars. Quentin stood at the mic wearing only a pair of really ratty jeans that looked like they were made for a 15-year-old. JC, the lead guitarist, wondered where the hell his shirt and shoes were and what the hell was that on his arm? SLUT? Oh shit, this was too fucking weird. Quentin was supposed to be the conservative one, the brains of the band, who held them all together during times of disagreement.

"What the fuck is this?" Eric yelled as the music got louder.

"Please, just leave me alone - I'm changing my look," Quentin mumbled as the guys burst forward and began dancing their number. The crowd went wild. The JumboTron operators weren't sure what to make of Quentin's new look; should they do close-ups of him? Of his chest? Of the obvious outline of his cock? Of the bright green SLUT tattoo?

Quentin just closed his eyes and went through the dance steps as he had every other night, singing his parts. His bare feet felt odd on the cold stage, but he kept with the beat. He felt indecent, especially because of the younger fans in the audience. When it was his turn to do his solo part, the girls screamed. It had to be obvious that everyone up-close was staring at his sweaty chest, bare feet, bulging crotch, and the patch of light brown pubic hair proudly displayed just above his super-low-fitting jeans. The pubic hair accented that the top fly button never closed properly and couldn’t be refastened. His small brown nipples were erect, standing out from his chest.

After the introductory song and dance, it was his moment to thank the huge crowd for coming. "Um, thanks for coming tonight. You're a great crowd." But no one could hear him. He had never heard screams like this before. He was nervous and terrified of being the focus of attention, but he persevered.

Idol Crash
Part 4 of 6

When the concert ended, he immediately rushed off the stage, down the hall, and out of the building, stopping for no one. He couldn't bear to face the guys or the management. He just wanted to be alone.

The guys were furious. JC, in particular, was overwhelmed with anger and very confused. What the hell was Quentin trying to do? The group's success depended on each one of them. Had he gone crazy? They had always respected each other, but had Quentin just turned himself into a total slut? And to make matters worse, he wouldn’t even talk to them or return their calls - he just showed up minutes before each concert and went on stage. The guys were totally pissed.

After that first embarrassing show, Quentin decided to lay low, causing the press to think he was recovering from an illness. A few XHeight concerts had to be canceled, but a few went on without Quentin, all of which was a big mess for the band. However, for Quentin, all his energy was directed to either doing what Todd wanted him to do or reasoning with him to end all this social and sexual misery. Miraculously, Todd actually did leave him alone for a couple of days. But then suddenly, Todd showed up at Quentin’s place one mid-morning and pounded on the door. When Quentin opened it, he was shocked to see Todd again and again without warning. Now what? "Okay, it's showtime!" Todd said as he walked in.

“You have an appointment in 30 minutes downtown. Let’s go.”

“But I need to shower, to change, and I have to be at …,” Quentin couldn’t argue with Todd and was immediately yanked out the door and escorted to the Jeep.

“No buts about it - you need to get to Playgirl right now. They want to photograph you for their cover and maybe their centerfold. Those slacks look fine.”

When they arrived at the Playgirl office, the receptionist looked up. Todd smiled. "Mr. Quentin Quartz of XHEIGHT is here for his photo shoot," Todd announced loudly.

Quentin turned deep red. He looked around to see who might have heard, and then he just stared at his feet, unable to make eye contact with anyone. He was mortified.

"Yes, Mr. Green is expecting you. Please go right in," she said, pointing toward the hallway behind her.

Todd and Quentin walked down the hall, where they were greeted by a young man. "Hey Quentin, it's a great pleasure to meet you. You can't believe how happy everyone was when we heard you agreed to pose and be on the cover. You know that you will be the centerfold this month, don't you?"

Quentin just looked at his feet.

Todd jumped in. "Don't be rude, Quentin.” Then he turned to the young assistant, adding, “He's a little shy. Well, let's get this started."

The assistant smiled, obviously eager to see Quentin naked. "Right. Mr. Green has everything set up in his studio right down here," she said, leading Quentin and Todd down the hall.

The studio wasn't large, but about ten guys were there setting up lights and umbrella reflectors and staging a few pieces of furniture. The photographer, Dave Green, was giving directions. When Quentin walked in, everyone stopped and applauded.

"Welcome, Quentin. This is a very great pleasure! I'm really looking forward to working with you." Dave Green said.

Quentin, a 38-year-old international singing star in the sensational boy band XHeight, mumbled: "Yeah, it's good to meet you, too."

Dave looked at Todd. "Are you going to stay? You look a bit young ..."

Todd quickly responded, "Hey, I'm Quentin's manager. You want Quentin. You get me. Understand?"

"No problem. Whatever Quentin needs, we will make it happen." Mr. Green answered. "Well, let's get going. Quentin, the changing room is just through there, so if you can get undressed, we can start."

Quentin’s shoulders drooped as he slowly walked to the changing room. He shut the door, sat down, and untied his shoes. Fuck, what the hell was going on? Was he going to strip, go out naked in front of a room of strangers, and let them take photographs for a major magazine? All of his fans would see him naked - young girls and boys would look at their role model spread out and naked. Old guys would whack off looking at his dick. Oh fuck, how could this be happening? How could he get out of it? But he knew he couldn't as he slowly pulled off his socks and shirt.

There was a full-length mirror on the wall. Quentin watched himself as he unzipped his slacks and stood in the room wearing only his gray boxer briefs. Then, those were also discarded, leaving him naked.

Todd, the 16-year-old blackmailer, had made him shave his balls and his chest and trim the hair on his crotch; he was now totally smooth except for the very short hair above his dick, and he felt ridiculous. His chest was not huge, but it was well-defined. He looked at the SLUT tattoo on his arm and wondered if that would be seen in the photographs.

He was a good-looking guy. Lots of girls wanted him, and lots of guys too. He was also an intensively private celebrity - he hated for other people to know the private details of his life. Can you get any less private than this? Oh fuck, what would the guys think when they found out? Eric had already taken him aside and told him to shape the fuck up, or they would throw him out. Would this ruin his career?

Shit, what would his parents and family think? They were all very religious and thought pornography was the devil's work. Quentin … on the cover of Playgirl? He knew he would never be able to face his mother again. He wanted to die. He sat on the bench and began to cry.

"Hey, hurry up. Everyone is waiting," Todd yelled as he banged on the dressing room door.

Quentin stood up and looked at himself in the mirror again. How did this happen? He dried his face and opened the door.

Todd's face was beaming as Quentin stood in the doorway bare-assed naked. "Come on, boy, everyone is waiting. The whole world is about to see all of you."

Quentin was completely humiliated as Dave asked him to lay on the sofa and began to position his dick so it lay on his thigh. Quentin never liked other people touching his junk, so to have this guy who he had met just minutes ago manipulate the position of his dick was unbearable. Just visualize it: the guy placed his dick up on Quentin’s belly, then on one thigh, then on the other, then back to his belly. He had never felt more like an inhuman piece of meat than now.

But Quentin did as he was told as this room full of guys ogled his naked body. He had never felt so exposed in his life. Dave tried to make him feel comfortable, telling him how the camera loved him, the light made his dick look magnificent, and how happy he would make millions of people feel. Shit, millions of people were going to see Quentin naked. He felt horrible.

"Okay, we need some hard shots, Quentin. Can you jack yourself a little so I can get some good erect shots?" Dave innocently asked.

Quentin looked around and realized he was expected to jack off in front of all these random guys. Fuck, what could be more humiliating? Quentin looked at Todd, who just smiled bigger and bigger. Quentin sat up, his bare feet brushing against the cold floor. He slowly grabbed his dick and started to rub. He closed his eyes. He could feel the blood rushing to his face as he began the slow rhythm of jacking his cock.

He was only seven inches when erect, which always felt a little small to him for a superstar. However, that had always been his business. Now, it would be the business of millions of people worldwide. Shit, he was jacking faster now and was now getting fully hard. He spread his legs, curled his toes, and jerked harder. He kept thinking, “Please let this be over soon!”.

"Okay, you're looking pretty good. Keep your knees spread, and put your arms out to your sides. Let's get some good photos of you hard and spread." Dave said this as if it were an everyday experience. Quentin looked into the camera with his arms spread out to the side, his legs spread, sitting on the sofa with his cock rock-hard.

Click, click, click. The camera action never seemed to end. Dave must have taken a thousand photos during the session.

"We can't take too many pictures. After all, how often do you get Quentin Quartz to agree to pose nude?" Dave said as he continued to take more pictures. "Okay, let's get you on your hands and knees, legs spread, dick hard. Look into the camera. Smile! Now look sexy - look like you want to have really wild, dirty sex right now. Show off your beautiful ‘SLUT’ tattoo. Look into the camera with your best ‘fuck me’ look in your eyes." Dave bantered on as he clicked.

"Now let's get some good ass shots. Look over your shoulder. Look into the camera; let's see your face begging me to fuck your asshole.
I want the camera to know that you need it bad. You need a hard cock right now. Come on, Quentin, show me the lust. Show me your best ‘take me hard, take me rough’ look. Give me your ‘I'm a SLUT boy, and I need to be taught a lesson’ look. Give me a good ‘spank me, use me, hurt me' look."

Quentin wanted to die. He wanted it all to end right now. There he was, naked, on his hands and knees, with a total stranger taking pictures of him in the most intimate poses. Dave told him to beg the camera to fuck him, and Quentin thought, “God, just let me die right now.”

It took two hours for the photo shoot to conclude. Quentin quickly returned to the dressing room and got dressed. He again looked into the mirror. What had he become? How would he survive this? His parents, his friends – how would he tell them why he posed naked for Playgirl? God, at least it was over.

Todd never mentioned that he received $250,000 for Quentin’s shoot. It was twice what the magazine ever paid for a celebrity model. But, since Todd gave Playgirl the rights to use all photos repeatedly and republish them in other magazines and in internet media, they were happy to pay. The next day, Todd dropped in on Quentin. When he opened the door, Todd said, "Hey, faggot. Thanks for the great dinner. I took 20 friends out. We spent almost $10,000 of your hard-earned cash. You wouldn't believe the look on the waiter’s face when I gave him a $3,000 tip. Shit, you can't believe how much I like your money."

Quentin looked at the 16-year-old boy and desperately tried to figure out what he needed to say to stop all this.

"Okay, faggot. I want you naked right now," Todd demanded as he walked inside.

Quentin slowly stripped as Todd had made him do dozens of times over the past two weeks.

"I think we should try something new tonight, you little faggot boy. I think we need to show off more of your body."

Quentin didn't understand. How could he show off more than he already had in the Playgirl photos?

"I was talking to my friends tonight at dinner. They totally like your new costume at concerts and think all the guys should perform barefoot, wearing only tight jeans. However, they thought you have too much hair for a faggot slut." Todd said. He talked loudly, indicating he had too much to drink.

"Too much hair? But you've got me shaved almost smooth right now! You made me shave around my dick, chest, and even my ass." Quentin said, not believing what he was hearing.

"Shut the fuck up, faggot boy. I want you in the bathroom, and I don't want to see you again until you are fucking smooth from the neck down. Arms, legs, chest, crotch, ass. Everything. Got it, boy?"

Quentin stared at his bare feet. "Yes, Sir."

Quentin stumbled into the bathroom and got out his shaving cream and razor. He started at his crotch. It took almost an hour, but he managed to remove all the hair on his body. He looked in the mirror. His pale, well-defined torso was absolutely hairless. Without any hair, he looked younger, like a teenager. Quentin always looked boyish, but now he felt ridiculous, like a little kid. With his clean-shaven face, Quentin looked more like Todd's little brother. He was 38, and Todd was only 16, but for the first time, he felt younger than Todd. It was odd, but he had never felt more naked or vulnerable; he was smooth and exposed.

Quentin reported back to the living room. Todd was watching TV and turned to look at Quentin. "Shit, boy, you don't look like a man anymore." He began to laugh. "You're a fucking little boy. Shit, a fucking little faggot queer."

Quentin stood there quietly, head hung in shame, dick hanging limply from his smooth crotch between his smooth legs. Todd examined his entire body. His armpits were smooth, his rounded ass cheeks had been shaved, and Quentin's well-toned arms and legs were smooth. Quentin had even shaved the tiny hairs off each of his toes, leaving his feet smooth as well.

"Well, I think we need to show you off. Get dressed, boy. We're going out." Todd demanded.

Quentin pulled on his jeans, navy T-shirt, and dress shoes and followed Todd to the door. They went to his Jeep, which was now signed over to Todd, and Todd drove.

"Shit, you are a pathetic little faggot boy. You look fucking pathetic with no body hair."

Todd drove to the mall and parked. "OK, I need a few little things. Let’s see how much of your money we can spend, pussy boy." Quentin thought that at least, being shaved and dressed like this, no one was likely to recognize him, but he was wrong. Lots of girls pointed at Quentin and whispered. He got lots of weird looks from people, all of whom were trying to figure out if it was really him.

Todd headed to the electronics store. He pulled out Quentin's credit card and bought $20,000 of… “ stuff.” He shopped around the mall for about two hours, and before they left, Todd had spent more than $100,000 and arranged for the stuff to be shipped to his home.

"God, I love your money. I'm 16, and I'm worth $10 million! How much do you have? Oh yeah, you've got nothing! You're absolutely broke! Oh well, easy come, easy go.” Was $10 mil an exaggeration? It could be true.

A week later, the Playgirl magazine hit the shelves. Even Quentin was shocked - Todd had given an interview on Quentin's behalf – as his Power of Attorney and good, good friend. On the cover, below Quentin's naked chest, it said: "XHEIGHT's Quentin Quartz says, ‘I'm Gay, And I Like To Take It Up the ASS!"

Quentin hadn't told anyone about the photos – he was embarrassed. He stayed in his small apartment for a couple of days, refusing to answer the phone. His manager called and left messages. The guys called an emergency meeting to decide what to do and see if Quentin could stay in the group.

His Dad called and left a long message. "Look, son, you have been a total stranger for the last month and have done some horrific things! And it is just too much for us to deal with. You have never embarrassed your Mother and me more. My God, what the hell were you thinking? Your Mother is in her room crying. We can't show our faces in this town. Mom will never be able to show her face in church again.”

His Dad continued, “I love you so much. I have reached out to you, but you tell us nothing. It’s like you are divorcing us. After seeing that magazine, I am so disgusted with you. Consider this the last phone call you will ever get from us. You have made your bed; now lie in it. You don't respect us. Well, from now on, I don't have a son. You make me sick. Your Mom and I have made so many sacrifices for you, and how do you thank us? You have become a total national laughingstock. An internationally disgusting fool. I hope this is what you want. What all your celebrity friends like, because it just doesn't fly here in Mississippi. When you sold your home last week, OUT OF THE BLUE - I knew then you didn't want to return here again. Well, good, because you are not wanted here. You make me sick. Showing off your body for money? You're just a whore. You hear me? A whore! I have no son!”

Quentin sat in the dark apartment, crying as he listened to the messages coming in. His friends were calling to tell him he was sick. Randomly, some weirdo people called to tell him how hot he was, that they would just love to fuck a good slut. Men left graphic messages, offering to fuck him. Quentin finally turned off the phone machine.

Todd arrived around 8:00 that night. When he let himself in, he had a copy of Playgirl in his hand and a huge smile on his face.

"Well, faggot boy, you look hot! What a great photoshoot. There you are, spread wide, dick hard, ass open, with a big ‘fuck me, I'm a total faggot' look on your face. Fucking beautiful. I especially like the centerfold, your hard dick, and the SLUT tattoo showing. Imagine the guys jacking off to that right now, thinking about fucking your ass rough and hard. Making you their boy.”

Quentin had hit total bottom. He felt he had nothing left to lose. Why was this happening? Why was this boy doing this to him?

"Okay, faggot, time to go out for the night. Come on, we've got lots to do."

Todd drove Quentin to a seedy-looking piercing joint. Quentin's heart jumped. Oh shit, what the hell was he going to get pierced?

"Hey Frank, I talked to you over the phone; good to see you. As I mentioned, I need to get my boy here pierced." Todd said to the guy in the shop.

Frank looked at Quentin and smiled. "Well, if it isn't Quentin Quartz. Hah! What the hell happened to you? Weren't you the goody-two-shoes boyband guy? Mr. Church-going, straight-as-an-arrow, holier-than-thou guy? Then, out of nowhere, you pose nude and give a graphic and degrading interview. What a fucking perverted way to come out and tell the world that you're gay! Going on and on about how much you liked to be fucked. I probably wouldn't have told the whole world I like little boys, but I guess you can say whatever you want in your interview."

Quentin just stared at his feet. "Okay, Frank, I want your largest ring through his piss slit. Now that he's told the world that he's a faggot bottom boy slut, it's time to show the world that his dick isn't needed to fuck anything. I want everyone who sees him to know that he is a bottom and only a bottom. Make it a huge ring. Got it?"

Frank voiced some concerns. “I must warn you that the ring you’re asking for will be 1.5 inches in diameter, and thick metal. That’s pretty hefty. It will be awkward and difficult to pee. Usually, the urine squirts all over the place. And, it’s quite uncomfortable when wearing tight clothes or even turning over in his sleep.” Tood said only one word, “Perfect!” "Well, boy, you gotta strip,” Frank told him, “but I guess that's not a problem for you. You seem to like being naked in front of other people.”

Quentin's eyes filled with tears as he opened his pants and dropped lowered them to expose his dick. “Frank said, ‘strip,’ that means totally,” Todd commanded. Quentin then proceeded to pull off his dress shoes and socks, and then remove his pants and shirt. He stood there naked.

"SHHHHIIIIIITTTTTT!" Quentin screamed. Frank's huge needle pushing through his piss slit and out the underside of his dick almost made him pass out. Quentin had never felt anything so painful. He lay on the table, totally spread out, naked, with Frank's hand firmly around his erect dick.

Frank grabbed a thick metal 1.5-inch ring and carefully threaded it through his new piss hole. Then he got a pair of pliers and forced the ring shut. Then, a quick bit of solder. This ring was never coming out. Quentin looked down, and he looked ridiculous; his whole body shook. He felt as if he were in shock. His bare feet were cold, and his body was covered with sweat and goosebumps. He stared at his dick. His body was smooth, and he now had a huge ring at the end of his dick. It was clear that his fucking days were over - with this huge ring, his dick would never fit into anyone else again. He was a total bottom for life. Actually, he could go to a doctor or another piercing place and have it removed, but just having heard, “Now that’s in to stay. It ain’t never coming out!” was too overwhelming to ignore, and so he believed it.

"Hey, that's great. Okay, Quentin, pay the man." Todd said.

Quentin crawled off the table and limped to his jeans, his bare feet shuffling across the dirty, cold floor. As he bent over to get his jeans, his bare smooth ass stuck up. He grabbed his wallet, and immediately, a wave of embarrassment overcame him - he saw that it only had $16. "Um, Todd, you've got all my money."

Idol Crash
Part 5 of 6

Todd sneered. "What the fuck do you want from me? You want me to pay for your fucking piercing? You shoulda thought of that before you begged me to let you get it. Well … Looks like you'll have to make a deal with Frank."

Frank smiled. "I'm sure we can arrange something," he said as he locked the front door. "Alright, Quartz, on your fucking knees. Time to pay."

Quentin, an international singing star in the sensational boyband XHeight, resigned to his fate; he dropped to his knees on the dirty floor before Frank.

"Spread your knees and put your fucking hands behind your head, boy!" Frank yelled. His huge dick slipped out of his jeans and quickly filled Quentin's mouth. Frank grabbed the back of Quentin's smooth head and rammed his cock in, filling the naked, kneeling boy's mouth and throat. Quentin felt cold as the cool air blew against his exposed, smooth body, and his knees hurt on the tile floor.
"God, what a fucking queer! I'm fucking Quentin Quartz's mouth! Shit, millions of little girls have Quentin posters on their walls, and now he's naked and sucking my cock! I guess now that you've outed yourself in Playgirl, all the little girls will replace your poster with Eric or JC. Just think of all the gay men who will put your naked centerfold on their walls - America's new favorite faggot boy! I loved the interview, too. 'I like to take it up the ass. The rougher, the better. I need to be used hard.' Fucking beautiful. And I liked the bit where you said, 'I'm just a big slut. The more, the better. Sometimes I get fucked five or six times a night.' Well, boy, prepare to be used hard right now, you fucking slut!"

Frank pulled Quentin off his cock, bent him over the table, and rammed his cock up Quentin's smooth, curved ass. Quentin let out an anguished scream - it wasn’t a pleasant fuck, but a hard, ramming one, the kind that’s meant to hurt. It was the kind that showed a sub-bottom that he was there only to be fucked and not to get any pleasure. The kind of fuck that turns the bottom into a useless cum hole.

Frank rammed in and out and began to slap Quentin's ass. "Yeah, take it, your fucking whore. Take my cock. Feel what a real man is like. I know you like to be fucked by little boys, but tonight you will be used by a real man. You feel my man cock up your fucking boy ass? You feel what happens when a real man rips your sorry worthless ass open? You fucking queer band faggot - you go out on the road; girls beg for you to just look at them. Well, queer, now you know how a real faggot gets fucked by a real man. Get used to it, boy - this is how you'll be from now on, naked, bent over, ass in the air, begging a real man to make you his bitch. You're nothing but a piece of fuck meat. A hole to be filled. A useless fucking whore."

Quentin almost passed out from the brutal rape. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his mouth hung open, drool dripping out. He was bent over the table, his chest forced onto the cold surface, and his ass was being ripped wider than ever before. He desperately tried to get away, his hands grasped at the table, his bare feet pushed helplessly against the tile, and his body twisted. He began to scream, beg for mercy, and make it stop. "Please, God, please, help! Pleassseee! Oh God, it hurts! Fuuuccccck! Stop! For God's sake, stop! I'll do anything! Please! Anything you say! Please stop!" The sobs grew until Frank couldn't understand what the boy was screaming.

Frank just laughed as he continued to ram his cock in faster and faster. "Oh yeah, you fucking boyband faggot. Believe me, I'll take anything I want from you, don't you worry. Keep begging bitch. Keep begging me to stop. Beg me to make it end. Come on, you faggot, let me hear you. Show me what a fucking whore you are, and you might just make it through this, bitch."

Quentin could hardly breathe. He hoped he would pass out. At least then, this nightmare would end… for a while. He lost track of the time, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor, cum oozing from his battered ass. He thought he would throw up - it felt like he had been beaten raw. And then a shoe kicked him in the side.

"Get up, faggot boy. We still have places to go." Todd yelled.

Quentin looked up and saw that Frank was dressed and ready to reopen his shop. Quentin's whole body ached more than ever before; he could barely move, but he managed to pull his jeans back on, slipped on his navy T-shirt, and pulled on his dress shoes. He stumbled after Todd as they got back in the Jeep.

"That was hot to watch. Frank knows how to get the best out of his fucks. A real man. He knows what his boys need. We may have to go back there again. I totally love it when you scream."

Quentin just closed his eyes and leaned back in the seat, trying to hold back the tears.

"Okay, boy, out!" barked Todd.

Quentin saw that they were in the parking lot of some club. He felt weak and sick but managed to get out of the car and follow Todd to the door, where they were stopped by the bouncer.

"Hey, don't you know who this is? This is Quentin Quartz of XHEIGHT. Let us in, you idiot." Todd barked to the bouncer.

The large man squinted, staring at Quentin, trying to recognize him, "Oh, sorry. I didn't recognize you. Come right in, please."

Todd led them in and took Quentin to the bar. The place was full of men since it was obviously a gay club. Several go-go boys were dancing on small stages. Todd whispered to the bartender and handed him Quentin's credit card. The music stopped, and the bartender made an announcement.

"Gentlemen,” then waited for all to be quiet. “We have a special visitor tonight. Quentin Quartz of XHEIGHT is here. To make everyone feel at home, Quentin has offered to pay for everyone's drinks for the rest of the night. Let's hear it for Quentin!"

Everyone applauded and cheered as they rushed to the bar for free drinks. Todd left Quentin to fend for himself and went to talk to the DJ. When Todd returned, he said, "Okay, boy, here's the deal. To promote your Playgirl photos and to show off your new piercing, the DJ has agreed to let you do a number for the guys."

Quentin looked mortified. "Look, I really can't sing tonight. My throat is fucked soar, and you know that. Please, this is like the worst day of my life, please, don't …"

"No, you stupid faggot, no singing. The DJ has your latest album. He's gonna play the music. You have to get on the bar, strip, and dance."

Quentin looked like he had just lost his last friend in the world; in reality, he probably had. The Playgirl photos and interview had seen to that. Millions had already seen him naked in the magazine, but now, Todd wanted him to show off to all these guys in person.

"Please, Todd, please, I can't please …" Quentin implored.

The first notes of his latest hit, "My Body’s For Your Use,” started over the loudspeakers.

"You've got exactly thirty seconds to get on the bar, you fucking faggot," Todd yelled.

But Quentin didn’t move - he had had it. So Todd took out his phone and yelled, “Hey, what’s the number of the local police here? … Oh, wait, I can just call 911.” And Todd did. He held out the phone close to Quentin’s ear, and they both heard the dispatch operator say, “911, what is your emergency?” Quentin leaped onto the bar as Todd dismissed the operator. Quentin looked at Todd, saw his wicked smile, and pulled off his shirt. He slipped off his dress shoes and unzipped his jeans. He couldn't understand why, but his dick grew hard as he stood on the bar surrounded by cheering fans, his new fans in the leather and S and M community.

Todd looked up at him. "What are you waiting for faggot? Start dancing."

Quentin had danced to this song thousands of times. He went into autopilot, jumping, thrusting, and gyrating. There must have been about three hundred guys in the place, all clapping and hooting. Lots of the guys pointed at the massive ring that pierced the end of Quentin’s cock and laughed at his baby-smooth body. They laughed at his SLUT tattoo and his huge, boned-up dick.

Quentin had danced to this song many times but never nude. His hard cock slapped around, hitting his firm stomach and thighs; he felt humiliated. The dance steps were very high-energy, with lots of jumping and quick moves, and they were very sexual. He felt so fucking exposed as he put his hands behind his head, thrust out his crotch, and began hopping down the bar. His exposed armpits were smooth, and his hard dick flopped in front of him as he realized he had just hit a new low. Nothing could ever be worse than this, he thought, as the music to “Tramp Love” started, and he continued dancing.

Quentin spent almost an hour dancing on the bar. Lots of guys snapped pictures, and even more were on their cell phones, calling friends, telling them that Quentin Quartz was naked, hard, and dancing on the bar. Some were even holding their phones up so their friends could hear.

When the “Slide Your Love in Me” song started, Todd yelled, "Start jerking, boy!" Quentin looked down at him - this couldn't be happening. He couldn't bear it.

"I said, start jerking your dick, now!" Todd screamed. Quentin grabbed his cock and started pumping as he danced. All the guys were in a frenzy, shouting, "Pump it, Quentin. Shoot for us! Show off your cock. Beat it off!"

The intensity of it all was getting to Quentin. His body was drenched in sweat. His head was swimming in the music, the catcalls, and the utter humiliation. His hand was jerking his cock, his bare feet on the bar were moving to the dance steps he knew by heart, and he felt the pressure building in his dick. He was jerking it quickly. The music was loud. The crowd broke into a uniform cheer, “PUMP IT! PUMP IT! PUMP IT! PUMP IT!” Oh my God, he couldn't believe it. He was shooting cum!

Quentin's shoulders pulled back, and his pelvis thrust out as arcs of cum spurted out of his rock-hard dick, raining down on the crowd of gay leather men. The crowd let out a huge cheer, and then another stream of cum shot out. Quentin felt his butt cheeks clench; his legs were spread as he went up on his toes. His back arched, and his head fell back as he screamed. His southern Quartz voice echoed in the bar, "PUT IT IN ME! OOOOOOOH FUUUCCKK!"

Quentin's whole body shook. His fist continued to pump his dick as four huge spurts of milky cum shot from his hard cock. Cameras flashed. The screams were deafening. These guys loved watching Quentin fully exposed, hiding nothing, and falling into utter humiliation and animalistic behavior.

Quentin was in a trance; he had sunk into the lowest black hole on Earth. He was still dancing on a bar, sweat dripping from his shaved body. His dick was still rock hard. He was empty of cum, but no one cared. Hundreds of total strangers watched as he grabbed his dick and tried to beat out even more bad-boy juice. Quentin had never felt so ashamed. He looked at Todd, and the boy smiled, motioning to Quentin to keep dancing. Quentin wanted to die.

When the evening was finally over, Quentin looked around for his clothes, but his jeans and T-shirt were nowhere to be found; nothing was there. What had happened was, earlier, Todd had tossed everything, including his shoes, socks, and underwear, into the cheering crowd. As Todd was slowly making his way to the door, the naked Quentin tried to hurry to him and get the fuck out. But he was stopped by dozens of guys who grabbed his ass and crotch and rubbed his chest and nipples. Some men even gave Quentin their phone numbers, and several guys offered to fuck him hard right then and there.

Finally, Quentin made it out the door and followed an ecstatic Todd into the Jeep. "That was fucking incredible! You may be a total faggot loser, but you are a great dancer. It was fucking beautiful, watching your body arc back as your cum shot out over everyone," Todd said.

Just then, Todd, who had Quentin's cell, received a call for Quentin. After Todd answered it, he said, “Hey faggot, it’s for you,” and handed to phone over.

“Hello? Who is this?” Quentin said nervously.

"This is Arnold, your band member. You do remember XHeight, don’t you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I just got off the phone with a guy who said you were dancing naked on a bar! You are a total fucking useless idiot. What was the Playgirl interview all about? God, are you trying to ruin all of us? Look, you've been a friend for a long time, but I don't even know you anymore. Us guys met, and we've just had enough - you are no longer in the group, understand? Don't try to call, and never talk about XHEIGHT again. And no more interviews either - you are dead to us, understand?"

The next day, Todd told Quentin he’d make a deal to set him free. Todd would give Quentin all the photos and call it even … if …. Quentin would sign a Durable Power Of Attorney document. Quentin was confused.

“But I already have an attorney,” Quentin told Todd.

“I don’t give a shit about who you had before…I want to be legally in charge of all your financial affairs now,” said Todd.

“No! Go ahead and turn me in to the police. It can’t be any worse in prison than what you have already done to me, and I won’t give you control over the rest of my property. No.” Quentin finally stood up for himself, although it was too late.

“Look, faggot, I don’t need control over your fucking finances forever. Let’s say, well, for … 10 days. Yeah, after 10 days, the agreement would be void, and I would no longer be in charge of your wealth.” Quentin remained silent.

“Look, asshole, I will give you all the evidence back! All the photos, all the copies of the negatives, every fucking thing I have on you. PLUS, I’ll even get a notarized statement from my 15-year-old buddy, Simon, to say it was all a prank and that we set you up.” Todd explained, “You’d be free of me, FOREVER!”

Quentin looked at his life as now being completely fucked up … FOREVER! But was it repairable? Could he ever get his old life back? It would take a lot of work, and he knew his music career would be over, but the rest of his life, or most of it, could be earned back … IF TODD WERE TRULY GONE. Yes, he thought, it would be worth it. It would be only for 10 days, and he’d see to it that the POA agreement would end in 10 days, no tricks.

It may sound insane, but Quentin felt there was nothing more Todd could do to him, so why not just power through it? Maybe he’d get his girlfriend back, his family, his friends, and even get re-established with his buddies in XHeight. FUCK! All would be well again, and he could tell everyone that he stupidly got hooked on dangerous drugs but was now recovering and returning to his old self. Yes.

And so he did it. The document was drafted, signed, and notarized. It was a sealed, irrevocable deal! Quentin went home; he went home because Todd could do nothing more to him. He couldn’t fully believe it, but it all seemed to somehow make sense. He had the envelope in his hand with all the media images and videos, and … he also received a notarized statement from Simon. Could it possibly be all over? He was so happy.

Quentin didn’t see or hear from Todd for the next five days, halfway through the 10-day period when it would be officially over.

Unfortunately, one of the things Todd did with his Power of Attorney was to cause a quick sale of Quentin’s expensive and gorgeous home. That sale included all his furnishings - all of them. One might think that selling a home would take months. But if it was owned by the most famous international star in the world, a fast sale would never be a problem; there would always be some rich guy who could just fork over the cash, which was exactly what happened. Todd pocketed eight million dollars from the sale, and, in addition, he closed every checking account, every savings account, and every stock investment account Quentin had. He transferred all the funds into his own name, which was all legally done. Todd could now afford to get a powerful attorney of his own. Todd got one: the same attorney he used to research all of Quentin's holdings, all of which were now zeroed out.

Quentin didn’t find out until a couple of days later when he went to his attorney and was made fully aware that everything was gone. Not one account anywhere was left intact, nor was any of the furniture and clothing at his home. His attorney was so sad for him and told him that everything, even his personal items, went to the buyer of the home. All he had left were the clothes on his back and whatever was in his wallet. Of course, the attorney no longer served Quentin any purpose, so they parted ways, saying, “Oh, here, Quentin, here’s a hundred bucks,” adding, “And good luck.”

It was a stunning shock. Quentin realized it was all over as he left his attorney’s office. It finally sunk in. He was financially, physically, and emotionally broke. He had no job and no job prospects. No family, no friends. He started to cry right there on the street - everyone had abandoned him. Just then, he saw his car pull up – the Jeep he used to own. “Hey, shithead, come over here,” Todd yelled out. “Come here, asshole!”

Quentin went up to Todd wanting to be angry, scream and yell at the top of his lungs, and cuss Todd out for all he was worth, which, at that point, wasn’t much, but he was still in a daze. He was trying to deal with all of his new nothingness.

“What is it?” Quentin asked, actually, quite calmly. Maybe he had just gotten used to all the abuse. He was numb to anything Todd could say or do.

“Come on, get in. I may have taken your house, furniture, clothes, and shaving kit,” Todd chuckled like a little kid, “but … I do have great news! I have rented you a place to live!”

Quentin didn’t know what to think. Had Todd actually found a little kindness? A little heart? Quentin allowed himself to smile. Could it be that Todd would give him most of his stuff back? He smiled a little more. He got in the Jeep, and they took off.

As Todd drove through the city, he said, “Yeah, I got you a cute little place. Oh, it ain’t too big, but it’s a nice one-bedroom you can be proud of. And the rent is paid, so there are no financial worries. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Interesting. Did Todd have a sudden change of heart? He was being kind to Quentin for the first time…was he trying to make amends? Obviously, he wasn’t leaving Quentin homeless as he was kind enough to rent a house for him so that he had his own place to live and wouldn’t be out on the streets, even though it turned out to be only a tiny one-bedroom with a couple of pieces of furniture.

Idol Crash
Part 6 of 6

As Todd drove him through a rough area of town, Quentin wondered why they were there; was this just a shortcut to his new apartment? Then their surroundings got even worse, as Quentin realized they were in a Latin gang-infested ghetto with graffitied, broken, and trashed homes everywhere.

All of a sudden, at the end of the street, Todd pulled over and stopped. There you go. It’s that white clapboard house there, the one with the broken front window.” Todd said as he pointed to what looked like an old, abandoned, dilapidated house.

Quentin blinked his eyes and mumbled, “Here?” He looked around; the street didn’t even have streetlights. He felt sick to his stomach. “Wa … wa … where’s the key?”

“Actually – and here’s the good news - the landlord told me that the front door lock is broken, so you don’t even need a key.” Quentin’s mouth fell open as he thought, “Me - an international star … living … here?” Todd drove off and left Quentin on the sidewalk.
He wandered toward the “house,” his new rental, and walked up the dilapidated stairs onto the porch. He just had to push the door open. When he stepped inside, the house was awful, obviously being rented by a slumlord. The lock on the front door wasn’t just broken. It was missing. One window was smashed, and another window was simply gone. There was a gas stove, but the gas was shut off … as well as the electricity. There was no fridge, which made him wonder what he would eat - he had the $100 the attorney gave him, but how far would that go? He looked in the kitchen cabinets and saw some cans of Alpo Dog Food. There was a manual can opener, but he noticed that there was no dishware or utensils to eat with, not that he would eat dog food anyway. Or would he? On the floor, in the corner of the kitchen, there was a large plastic dog dish.

Quentin was dizzy and confused. How could anyone do this to him? He noticed a few pieces of furniture, all in poor condition, but no bed. In fact, no bed, sheets, blankets - nothing. He was all burned out, totally empty. He crashed on the torn sofa and slept for a long time. Maybe this nightmare would be over when he woke up.

Todd knocked on his door three days later, which was odd because there was no lock. This was the first time Todd showed any sign of respect - was something good about to happen? Quentin got up from his sleep and went to the door; he put his fingers into the hole where the lock should have been and pulled it open. “Hey, good buddy.” Todd greeted him with a joyous smile as he walked into Quentin’s new home carrying several boxes. Quentin wondered about the mystery boxes - what the fuck?

“I know I was hard on you,” Todd said, for the first time not also calling Quentin a faggot. “But even so, you’ve cooperated fully with me. I mean, you’ve trusted me at every step, and your dancing naked on the bar that night made me think you really should have what you truly deserve. You have been, really, from the start, fucking-un-believable, so I have a wonderful surprise for you. It’s fabulous! Fucking great! You don’t like living here, do you?”

Quentin shook his head, not understanding what was happening, but sensed a glimmer of hope.

“You don’t like it here? Then, enough said. You shouldn’t be in a place like this. You are … I mean were … one of the most famous guys in the whole fucking world, and if my buddy doesn’t want to live here, then please allow me to fix that. I want to make everything right for my buddy. I want you to have every fucking thing you truly deserve.”

Could it be? Was Todd about to unwind all the crap he did to him and give him his life back? Really?

“So, whadda ya say, Quentin, let’s pack up all your stuff in these empty boxes and get you properly taken care of. OK, buddy?”

Quentin practically fell to the floor; his head was spinning. He was sobbing and wanted to hug Todd and thank him profusely. FINALLY, HE WAS GETTING OUT OF THERE AND ENDING THIS RELATIONSHIP WITH TODD! A huge weight lifted off his shoulders as he continued to sob tears of joy and happiness. He saw the empty boxes, and those meant he’d be moving out! FUCK! If only he could hug Todd to show his appreciation. Quentin Quartz of XHeight is coming back!

Quentin didn’t have anything, just what he was wearing and a few things he had bought with the $100 he was given - some snack foods, some toiletries, toilet paper, and stuff like that; he had only $15.76 left from the hundred. He wondered where he’d be moving to, thinking that he would first get a burger - anything was better than the dog food Todd had bought for him a few days ago. Anyway, he didn’t want to think about the past. He thought he should move slowly, get a nice apartment in a nice area, and just relax for a few days to recover. Quentin was finally allowing himself to feel better and smile a bit.

But then there was a knock at the door.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Open it, Quentin." Todd barked. “Quentin,” Todd called him. He was glad the name-calling and insults had stopped.

Quentin opened the door and saw two guys in overalls waiting with dollies.

"Hey, we're the movers. Is this the place for the furniture pickup?" the lead guy asked.

"Yep," Todd interjected. “Let the guys in, buddy.”

In less than an hour, the movers carted out the few pieces of furniture from the apartment: a chair, the sofa, the stove, window coverings (torn as they were), a lamp, and an end table. Apparently, Todd had placed the furniture in the house just after renting it, so he could now take everything and empty it. The two boxes that held all his personal items went next, and Quentin then noticed the last can of dog food in the cupboard. ”THANK GOD!” he screamed inside his head. “I don’t want to ever see dog food again!” The guys had loaded all Quentin's stuff on the truck, and his shack of a place was now completely empty. Todd had told them to take it if it wasn't bolted down.

Then one of the movers asked, "Well, that's it. Could you please sign the form indicating that you are donating all these items to Goodwill?"

Todd yelled, "Hey, Quentin, he needs your signature to show you are giving all your stuff to charity.”

And just then, his world fell apart again as Quentin realized he wasn’t being moved to a nicer place; in fact, he wasn’t moving at all. Everything he had in the world was just taken from him. He fainted - he just collapsed on the floor. Todd slapped his face a few times, and Quentin came to.

“Hey buddy,” Todd said with a smile, “These guys need your signature to verify your kind donation to Goodwill.”

A pen was placed in Quentin’s lifeless hand, and a clipboard was pushed under the pen; Todd helped him to scribble his name. That was it - everything was gone. Quentin couldn't believe it; he now had absolutely nothing left.

"Thanks. We'll be off." said the Goodwill guy.

"Hey, there's one more bag. Can you guys wait for a second?" Todd said to the movers.

"Sure, we'll be in the hall."

The door shut, and Quentin noticed Todd had that wicked smile he always flashed when he was about to do something awful. "Okay, faggot, strip. Put your clothes in the bag." He held out the opened paper bag to Quentin.

Quentin stood there, frozen. Everything he had was gone. All he had left was the clothes he was wearing, and now Todd wanted to take them as well?

"What?" Quentin stammered. "You want me to …"

Todd interrupted quickly. "Strip now, you stupid faggot. These guys have been very nice to you. Don't be disrespectful by keeping them waiting. Fucking strip now!"

Almost in a trance, Quentin pulled off his shirt, pants, shoes, and socks. He removed his wallet and held it as he carefully placed each item in the bag. He stood there in only the tiny bikini underwear that Todd had given him at some point. It was his only vestige of clothing, and you could see the metal dick ring slipping out the leg hole of the bikini briefs.

"Fuck! What is that?” Todd yelled, pointing up to Quentin’s necklace.

Quentin was puzzled until he realized that Todd was asking about his silver necklace with a small silver cross hanging around his neck. "Please, please, my mother gave it to me for my Holy Confirmation; I've worn it since I was twelve. It's been in the family forever, please…"

"Now! Hand it over. Put it in the bag now!” Todd demanded, still holding the bag open.

Quentin's hands trembled as he slowly unfastened the chain at the back of his neck and carefully placed the silver cross in the bag. The very last thing that Quentin owned was gone.

"Good boy. Now, wait here, you little fuck." Todd opened the door.

"Here's the last bag. Thanks, guys." Todd said as he closed the door again. He looked at Quentin: there he was in a stripped-down, bare apartment. Even all the shades and window coverings were taken. He had no privacy. The room was now stark-looking and cold due to a cool breeze coming in through the missing window.

Quentin seemed so small and insignificant as he stood in his skimpy bikini in his empty apartment. He looked like a helpless, abandoned puppy waiting to be rescued. Todd smiled. "Well faggot, I guess that's it. All of your stuff is gone. I've got all of your money, closed all your accounts, and even closed your phone account. Now that you have no phone, it only made sense.

“I even closed your Facebook and Twitter accounts after posting your final message to millions of fans and followers. Oh, you’ll love this - here’s what I wrote for you:”

‘Since you won’t hear from me anymore, I want you to know I’ve found a new, wonderful, fulfilling life. I feel so happy and content to be sucking each and every dick I can beg to worship, and I love it when guys fuck me up the ass as hard as they can. I can’t admit that I do the big ‘nasty’ with minors because I don’t want to get arrested, but if you happen to see me on the streets, please let me serve you in any way you wish. I am now so fucking proud to finally be what I have always craved to be, a fucking asshole cum slut cunt!’

Todd laughed after he read his masterpiece of degradation. “Fag, don’t think of me as totally cruel to you. I’m not. You will notice I graciously left you with that prissy bikini cunt-cover, right?” Todd glared with a glowing smile. “I want to leave you with that bikini so that no one could rudely say, ‘Todd took every shred of your dignity.’ See, I did leave you with that one shred.” He joked.

“By the way, the short-term lease I negotiated on this place ends in two days, but, again, look on the bright side - you won't have to do housework anymore; that makes this a nice tidy wrap. You have absolutely nothing: no friends, no job, no money, no furniture, no clothes. Maybe you could sell your ass for a quarter? I don’t know, but then again, I don’t manage your finances anymore, remember? That Durable Power of Attorney you made for me only lasted 10 days, so it officially ends today. I’m not your manager anymore, so I no longer have anything to do with your financial situation.”

Quentin, leaning against the wall, finally allowed himself to slither until his ass was on the floor. He was glassy-eyed and in a mindless state, kind of blubbering, “Oh God, please, you can't leave me here, Todd! Please, please, please, I've done everything you said! Everything!" It was hard to understand Quentin as his sobs were so loud, with tears streaming down his face. "Oh God, what else do you want? Please, please, don't leave me here!"

Todd sneered at Quentin. "What do I want from you? What the hell do you have to give me? I've already taken everything. Most guys who lose everything manage to keep some shred of their dignity, at least.

“You have got to be the stupidest faggot who ever lived. Shit, you allowed a 16-year-old to take everything! You are a worthless fucking whore, dancing naked on a bar and jacking your pathetic little boy dick in front of everyone, exposing yourself to the world. Letting yourself get shaved, pierced, tattooed. You willingly let a teenager end your career, turn you into a fucking whore, and sell your ass for money. You let teenagers fuck you for cash. And now you let a teenager strand you naked in your empty, filthy cubby hole? Well, it’s your home until the day after tomorrow, anyway. You are pathetic.”

Todd was disgusted as he looked at Quentin. "God, why would I do anything for you? You've got nothing to give me. You are a total fucking worthless piece of shit. And then he added, “That’s what you get when you are rude to people like you were on the first day I met you.”

“Oh shit! I just now thought of something!” Todd walked to the open window and looked out. The movers were packing the truck and securing the last of the furniture. “Hey guys, hold on a second. I forgot something.”

Todd gleamed, “Hey fag, I just had a wonderful idea. This is going to be such a hoot! I’m sure you’ll crack up when you hear it. What a fabulous idea. I know you’ll love it. I sure do!”

“You know how I just allowed you to keep your little bikini panties? Well… I was just kidding!” Todd laughed his head off. “You are so gullible! Fag, take off those sissy panties. Isn’t this a great joke? What a sap you are. My god, my cleverness never ends!”

Quentin was babbling as he slowly slipped the skimpy cloth off his hips and down his legs; he likely didn’t even know what he was doing. He didn’t have the awareness to hold them up to Todd, so Todd picked the bikini up off the floor. Todd returned to the window and yelled, “Hold off. I have one last important item for you. Please come up again.” The mover waved in acknowledgment.

Soon, the two guys were back at the door. “Oh yeah, here you go. This asshole was so selfish to hold out on you two nice gentlemen.”

“Oh my, well, thank you so much.” One man said as he was about to leave.

“Hold on a sec,” Todd said and then turned to Quentin. “Don’t you think they should get a tip?” Quentin wasn’t sure what he was saying. Todd went over and took Quentin’s wallet out of his limp hand. “I think $10.00 for each of you two would be appropriate.”

Todd opened the wallet and found the $15, with 38 cents in the coin pocket. “Well, here, $15.38, and sorry, but there’s no more here, so take the wallet too.” “But this has his I.D. and his …” the worker started to say.

“Really? Look at him. What’s he need that stuff for?” All three laughed a good belly laugh.
Then Todd had a thought, “Oh wait, here, let me have those three pennies back. I’m going to give them to Quentin so he can’t say I left him penniless.” Todd laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. As he was leaving, he turned back to Quentin. "Oh, by the way, my Dad says I can't hang with you anymore. He says you're a bad influence, a sick faggot-lowlife. Well, I'm out of here - I’ve got to spend more of your money." Then Todd walked out, leaving the door wide open, still laughing.

Just over a month ago, Quentin Quartz of XHeight, who had just turned 39, had been one of the world's most cherished and beloved men. He was one of the most eligible bachelors and the brains behind XHeight. Today, he was sitting naked on the floor, curled up in the corner of the living room of his dilapidated “home,” his smooth, curved ass resting on the broken tile. His knees were pulled in tight to his smooth chest as he hugged them there, his bare feet flat on the floor. His arms were wrapped tightly around his knees, the word ‘SLUT” clearly visible on one forearm, his limp dick stretched to the floor by his non-removable, heavy Prince Albert dick ring. Huddling like this was the only way to try to keep warm; the door, having no lock or latch, just kept swinging back open. He had no idea what would happen when he got evicted in two days, but at that moment, all he could do was fall asleep dreaming of the high life of his former celebrity.

Epilogue When Quentin left his rental “home” the next day, walking naked on the street, a police car pulled up and stopped him. After a brief exchange, the officer covered him in a blanket and drove him to a homeless shelter. There, they gave him used clothes, and within a week, county services set him up in temporary public housing and gave him a $ 300-monthly stipend. His social worker helped him get his cock ring removed at the local hospital. Then she helped him get the tattoo removed as well. Quentin felt better now, more human. He took his new life slowly, step by step. However, Quentin never gave the welfare department his real name or identified himself as a member of XHeight. But the social worker knew who he was and figured he just got messed up on drugs and tried to help him. Less than a month later, the lead singer of a famous band, Societal Rage, was killed in a car accident. Societal Rage was not internationally known. It was up and coming. In fact, they had their first contract to perform at the converted venue, Radio City Music Hall. It was three months away, but now, the band needed to cancel it. It was their big chance to reach heightened celebrity and really make it. It was the social worker, a huge fan of both music groups, who put two and two together. She personally arranged for Quentin to meet the members of Societal Rage. What fucking luck! All the members of Societal Rage knew it was Quentin Quartz and instantly came to a deal. The only stipulation was that Quentin could not use his real name or mention XHeight. Quentin came up with the name Damon Diamond and changed his look by dying his hair blonde and growing a mustache. The concert at Radio City Music All went on as planned. It was a tremendous success. Damon Diamon and the Societal Rage band were heading to stardom. It would take a few years, but everything was going well. The End
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