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Old 08-12-2014, 01:31 AM   #1
OregonWriter14
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Sex Survivor: "Fantasy Island" (Closed)

Survivor: "Fantasy Island"


"Now...?" Sean Taylor asked, his nervousness visible in just that single word.

"In a moment," the Director said. "We're having a problem with the sound."

The crew dinked around with their equipment for another couple of minutes, giving Sean a moment to consider what he was doing -- and consider backing out before it started.

This wasn't his kind of gig. He was just a local model with a few local credits to his name: he'd modeled tee shirts for JC Penny's, run on a treadmill for Sports Authority, and ridden a lawn tractor for Sears.

What the hell was he doing becoming a contestant for "Sex Survivor"? Hell, he hadn't even had sex yet, not really, anyway. And now, he was going to have it with women he didn't even know ... live, on the internet?

Sean slid off of the stool and opened his mouth to tell them he couldn't do it when the Director suddenly called out, "Finally! Okay, Sean, we're ready for you. Hop up there so we can get a focus on you."

Sean hesitated, then backed up and sat again. He didn't want to do this, but then again, he didn't want to back out. He'd signed a contract and taken a $5,000 advance, money that his long unemployed father had already used to get the mortgage caught up so they could keep the house.

"Rolling film," the Director called out, even though -- because everything was digital these days -- there wasn't really anything rolling at all. He began in his interviewing voice, "Sean, tell us something about yourself ... oh, and while you're doing that, why don't you shed that sweater and show our female audience a bit of what they'll be drooling over during the next seven weeks."

Sean felt his face explode in heat at the Director's suggestion. The most undressed he'd ever been on camera was for a Fruit of the Loom boxers spread, and even then, his face had been cropped out of the shots because he'd only been 16 at the time.

"Well ... um ... my name is Sean, like you said," he began nervously. "I'm 20 years old, though some people say I still look and act 16 at times."

Out of view of the camera, the Director grasped his own shirt's hem and make the gesture of removing it to Sean.

Again, the young model felt his face redden. He stood from the stool and pulled the sweater up over his head, revealing his well sculpted body. After a moments hesitation, he dropped his sweater and continued, "I grew up in a little town in Eastern--"

"Pants, too," the Director said. When the man saw Sean's face turning white, he said with a soft voice, "Think of it as dressing down for practice, Sean."

Sean's sport of choice had been swimming, which the Director of course had seen on his written application for the program. It helped to think of it that way -- dressing down -- yet it still took Sean about three times as normal to end up in nothing but his tight fitting sports briefs.

"Good," the Director said, continuing, "Now, finish what you were saying about ... what was it, Eastern Oregon?"

Sean continued with the taped interview, slowly becoming more relaxed with the thought of being filmed for a world wide audience in nothing but his underwear. By the time he neared the end of the questioning, he was feeling pretty comfortable and confident.

It was then that from behind the bright lights that had prevented Sean from seeing much farther than the camera man and Director, that a tall, leggy woman in a skin tight dress stepped slowly out to stand next to the Director. The thin fabric of her dress allowed Sean a clear view of her hardened nipples; and the hem line barely reached past the lower roundness of her ass, making Sean think that he could actually see her ... her...

Oh god, is that her...?

Sean suddenly realized that his gaze had been set upon where her thighs met, and he looked back up to the camera again. A moment later, he realized that the front of his briefs were pressing outward, too. He lowered his hands quickly to cover his crotch as his face and neck turned fiery red.

There was a giggle from somewhere amongst the crew, and a moment later the Director -- pleased with the shot they'd gotten of Sean's sudden erection -- called out, "Cut. We're done here, Sean. Feel free to get dressed ... if you want, that is."

As a more conspicuous round of laughter spread through the crew, the Director smiled broadly. He turned to the beautiful woman, raised a hundred dollar bill that he pulled from his slack's pocket, and said, "That's seven for seven, my dear. Didn't think you could do it, but ... you win."



Three days later, the float plane pulled up to the island dock with Sean, the other six contestants, and eight filming crew members. Sean had had most of the day to get to know the other men, and already he knew that he was going to be the first man voted off the island.

The other contestants were all older than he, ranging from 22 to 52. There were some hunks amongst them, including a private trainer and a former NFL wide receiver. There were outdoorsmen, one of whom had climbed the eight tallest peaks on the planet; and another of whom had once stripped to his birthday suit and walked into the forest with nothing but a hunting knife, coming out exactly a year later, fully dressed in hides and woven things and weighing ten pounds heavier than he'd been when he went into the woods, due to the ample diet that he'd been able to hunt and gather. There was a doctor, a wild herbs specialist, and a nature photographer who had once lived with the gorillas of East Africa.

These were real men, and Sean was nothing but a fucking boy. Actually, not even a fucking boy: he was a yet to be fucked boy, on a show that was all about sex.

I just might as well get back on the plane, he told himself. As if God had heard him, the engine of the float plane fired up, and a moment later, it was heading back out into the bay to head back to Fiji.

"Right this way, gentlemen," a program staff member called. "Let's get you set up in your bunk house. Then, once you're settled in, we'll introduce you to the ladies, who arrived a couple of hours ago."

Sean stood still, allowing the others to pass by him. Then, he realized that a camera man was standing at the end of the dock, recording him. He smiled nervously toward the camera, then hurried off to join the other men.

Last edited by OregonWriter14 : 08-12-2014 at 09:12 AM.
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Old 08-12-2014, 09:41 AM   #2
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If he'd known about Sean's discomfort during his own video session, Tyrone Lee would have found it ironic that he'd so easily -- and so confidently -- struck a pose for his own session before heading for the island. The boy who though himself a professional model, shy at being recorded in his underwear...? Really?

The Director at the shoot had had to stop "Ty" as he reached for the waist band of his briefs, ready to removed them, too. The Director had laughed, telling him, "Save it, big boy ... save it for the island."

It was because of Tyrone's reaction to the leggy friend of the Director that the bet had been made and she'd returned for each interview. Upon see her, the former NFL wide receiver's cock has swelled so large and stiff that it head has escaped the bounds of the tight fitting under garment, without ever once causing Tyrone to concern himself with covering up or adjusting to hide his obvious interest in the woman.



Finally to the island, Tyrone couldn't wait to get started with the games. Unlike the young Sean Taylor, Tyrone had a great deal of experience with the ladies due to his fame as football player, dating all the way back to when he became the first Freshman at Harrison High to make the Varsity football team. A bet with a Senior Class Cheer Squad member that he'd never score a touch down resulted in Tyrone scoring with her later that same evening.

After that night, his life had been ruled by two obsessions: scoring with a football, and scoring with the bitches.

The idea of being paid to be a competitor in what amounted to a month long sex-fest on television -- okay, the internet -- was like a fantasy come true for Tyrone. He'd been seeing his popularity in the media wane following the knee injury that killed his career, and even a recently exposed sex tape of him and a popular, barely-legal Sports Illustrated swimsuit model had barely made a bump in his Tweet count.

He needed a hell of a performance in "Sex Survivor: Fantasy Island" if he was going to get a bump in his second career, acting. While he'd still been in the NFL, he'd been approached to play supporting roles in a handful of movies, which had caused him to catch the acting bug. But the roles were, as he's described, racist, stereotypical black man bullshit. Crack heads, gangstas, back alley rapists, and the like were all that were being tossed at him. He wanted something better, something real, something that would make him the next Dwayne Johnson or, reaching back to his grandfather's era, the great Jim Brown.

Of course, Tyrone wasn't going to get those offers. While he looked great on camera and had a background that might bring in an audience for his first on-film appearance, the man simply couldn't act. The first time he'd been told that -- by, of all people, his mother -- he'd quietly gone out to find an acting coach. But after the woman had taken $10,000 in pay, she'd offered to give some of it back, telling Tyrone, "You're traveling a desert road with no water at the end."

Well, he was going to show the critics they were wrong here. He'd been hand picked for this role by a talent scout: that had to mean something, didn't it? He'd show the world that he cold act; he'd show the world that he could fuck; and he'd be the last man standing, with his engorged, 10 inches worth of rock hard cock pointing out at the world as if to scream, "You! Come suck on this!"
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