Twintimacy (1/2): M/m+, NC, INC

Twintimacy

Chapter One 

The movie is to be shot as four scenes. My actors will be given live direction, and more detailed feedback in the breaks between shoots. Self-criticism is mandatory. They’ll know me as an uncompromising creator.

Ample opportunity for rehearsal has been given, over the last three days. Moves have been talked through then practised, but always in clothes: dry runs, literally. Naturalness was addressed, in terms of the need for on-screen fluency, and a seamless dynamic. Across the table, over several sessions, the question of how enthusiasm could be manifested was discussed, alighting on bright ideas such as BIG smiles, sensual touching, and lewd verbals.

Of all their challenges, the boys will struggle most to portray mid-scene lust at the level I require of them. But it’s important they manage to act eager, because if I judge this movie to be a flop – and it will come down to my discretion – both of them will be consigned to desperate engagements the nature of which I’ve disclosed, to keep them focused.

***

01 – Shower

There are two rainfall heads the size of dinner plates, dispensing water at sufficient volume and heat to create a fog of steam. Yes, it’s very hot under there, beyond merely uncomfortable, but the boys know they mustn’t give signals of distress or step away from the scorching rain.

The film is to be shot with handheld cameras, throughout. Subject to this limitation the final edit will have something of the home movie about it, which has admitted drawbacks but gives a sense of intimacy to a production. Anyway, there are three cameramen covering different angles; they are porn professionals, and their equipment is of the best specification.

Our boys must proceed as though they are alone together, ignoring the voyeuristic trio darting around the wet room, searching always for the optimal composition in their viewfinders whilst evading their own shadows. There will be no privacy.

The purpose of the steam, boosted by the low ambient temperature of the wet room, is to lose the boys in cloud over the first section of film, to the extent they’re barely discernible figures on camera. Our title and key credits will flash over these opening images.

It’s the easiest three minutes work they’ll get, standing discretely under personal shower heads suspended an appropriate distance apart. The supposed venue isn’t revealed, but visual prompts encourage the viewer to think of a gym, and a post-workout cleanse after a heavy session, shared.  

An impression will begin to form that these figures are big kids, bossing their spaces under the row of shower heads. Reference to wall-mounted fixtures leads to a deduction that the boys are tall, though not unusually so. They are, however, top quartile broad across their shoulders.

The two of them have backs turned to each other, to start, and they’re busy soaping themselves down with gel that throws-off a surplus of foam, in contact with their skin. There appears to be just the one bottle of shower gel in use, passed between them. Soon they turn – not synchronised but one-by-one, quite casual – to face into the room and therefore directly at cameras, still working liquid soap over long limbs in a carefree way, luxuriating. Those gym weights were heavy, PBs have been smashed, and muscles are tired.  

Now, we turn down the water temperature so it becomes comfortable. Sure, there are rotating knobs on the pipework which look as though they’d control these adjustments, but they’re dummy dials. The shower outputs are managed remotely by my production team, and the boys have no say. The purpose of reducing the heat is not their comfort, which is incidental. Our aim is to dissipate the mist enveloping the pair, and we speed this by activation of an extractor fan.

The steam clears slowly, and a process of revelation ensues. My customer base being gay – mostly – the dick-obsessed might gawp at the two fat pricks emerging from cloud and start to compare meat, before remembering they’re watching identical twins at play. They’ve paid a premium for a taboo movie, not an everyday PornHub fuck flick.

One of the boys wears a gold necklace of chain links that’s chunky enough to draw the eye, and the other boy doesn’t. I must be able to identify them easily, to give targeted direction through the discreet earpieces they’ll wear throughout filming. It’s Struan who models the jewellery – not his own – and ultimately he will be our top, but that’s down the line.

The twins will hear me, and when I speak they’re expected to listen well and implement my instructions that second, without fuss or a distracted look. Having practised the minimal script and maximal list of moves, these boys shouldn’t, in theory, require much intervention, but I’m a perfectionist on behalf of my customers.

It’s time for the first move of significance. They’ve both rotated again, ninety degrees on elegant feet to face each other. Struan soaps the length of his dick, languid, as his lips curl into a smile of the cocky kind, neck tilted. Cameron has been lathering his muscular butt mounds, but his long fingers halt, across his crack, as he fixes on his brother’s gaze and laughs.

‘You’re so hot.’

It’s said by the twin who will become the bottom, though it’s not heard around the torrents of the showers. Cameron is caught in close-up by camera 2, though, and he’s careful to deliver his sentence slowly, for the benefit of lipreaders at home.

Struan joins in the awkward laughter, then leads in the pivotal transfer of hands from myself, to my twin.

The boys edge closer, to the peripheries of their personal rainfall zones. Now those hands can reach anywhere, though the pioneering exploration steers clear of genitalia.

Our shower gel is Lynx Black – not that we’re getting product placement fees! – which the boys apply unsparingly to the chest of the other in dollops, smearing it in then passing over the bottle, in keen expectation of reciprocity. They’ve been shown how to work on each other sensually using their hands, with watchwords of gentleness and love, at an unhurried pace.

Get the measure of your brother’s shoulders; tweak tit nubs; stroke laterally across the bumpy ridges of his six pack, I’d told them in their dry runs.   

They’ve made each other foam abundantly, with flat palms travelling well, but there’s something lacking and it is, I admit, the hardest detail to perfect. I can speak to them as one by radio, or individually as needs dictate:

<Universal call>   ‘I need big smiles… adoring looks. Do it!’ 

In the nature of directing action, my instructions are to-the-point without wasting words. There is no courtesy; no leeway for the depravity of what’s being demanded of them.

I see gleaming white teeth on my feeds, now, as they move self-initiated to their next phase, of hands across buttocks.

Those asses are hairless and the cracks, deep. They’re not required to probe boy hole (yet), but they know I must see fingers slide with grace, across globes and – non-negotiably – fingertips slipped into those dark divides between mounds.

They’ve begun to move on their size 11 feet, shifting from stiff planted positions to something more fluent, enabling the wrapping of arms behind the other boy and the caressing of flawless ass meat. In doing so, the twins become closer. They apply shower gel with broad circulations of the hands, letting digits play peekaboo in cracks, as I’ve asked. The boys confect smiles and remember to move their heads in cocksure ways, grinning at the illicitness of their actions whilst they gaze at one another: Full of lust, the screenplay instructs, but pause the playback, look again as a critic, and you’d conclude these athletes are dead-eyed behind a facade.

The next move is the kiss, and it’s due, but the twins delay the escalation with extended soaping of the other, reaching for solid thighs and tracing the sweeping curves of pectoral muscle as water cascades in sheets over their torsos, clearing the boys of suds with efficiency. There’s no technical difficulty with over-runs, as sequences can be trimmed in the editing suite and, in theory, more content ‘in the can’  creates more highlights. No, my problem is with the twins straying from their schedule, wilfully. Call me old-fashioned, but I value disciplined obedience.

<Cameron only>  ‘Timewasting! Onto the kiss, now.’

Hearing my direction, Cameron breaks-off and his identical takes a step back, too.

Struan mouths something that will be confirmed as ‘Shit!’, and with that profanity he lets his eyes flick down to the wet floor for three seconds too long, suggesting reluctance. Cameron, meanwhile, has bitten his bottom lip whilst fidgeting on his feet. They’re behaving really badly, knowing – as they do – that the integrity of my film can’t be compromised, so soon. 

<Universal call>  ‘Fucking KISS! Move!’

Having stunning girlfriends, there’s no question of ignorance around technique. In their practise sessions they didn’t touch lips, but I encouraged the twins to consider, and then rehearse, where their arms would go, how their necks would slant to engage with the other, and the looks of unfiltered joy that would fill their faces.

Well, the cameras catch thin smiles as the boys pause, almost touching faces, gulping. They are unable to magic-up bravado, but if you didn’t know the circumstances then you might, at a push, see longing, supressed for years and now overwhelmingly exciting.  

They join lips, and though it looks clumsy it has authenticity.

<Universal call>  ‘Hands! Necks!’

I bark at them. They’re wooden, yet this is supposed to be an instinctive encounter. Not wanting to disappoint me, the hands dangling purposeless by their flanks switch to wrapping broad backs, and the backs of necks. They smooch more tightly, mirroring the neck movements of their kissing partner.

<Universal call>  ‘Tongues!’

We’ve agreed this will be a French kiss. I know the mutual squirming of muscle in mouth will be difficult for them but, whatever their reservations, their eyes must continue to sparkle for the camera crew.

Struan and Cameron become accustomed to the strong masculine taste of each other. As they do, the action becomes good enough, by which I mean convincing. The pressing of palms into back-of-neck scruff, leveraging the other twin into a deeper kiss, looks greedy. Those necks, once arthritically stiff, twist over an extended range as the twins lock. Cameron lets a hand wander down Struan’s back, skating across the wet expanses but lingering, sometimes, in a muscular caress. In turn, Struan lays a hand over Cameron’s ass meat, pinching and kneading the pale mound.

<Universal call>  ‘Intimacy!’

I demand more from their kissing. The pair take a quick break for air, coinciding with my direction, and I’m sure I note a despairing shake of the head, from Struan, though he’s cute to disguise it with a gormless grin. They re-engage, grinding torsos. Despite the clattering din made by the shower jets under which they make-out, their kissing can be heard, now, as lips alternately sucker and pop apart. Their brown eyes pass my sparkling test, obsessed with the other twin and following him as they entwine.   

Without my direction, but as per their notes, Cameron’s free hand delves between their bodies to find Struan’s prick. Helpfully, it’s a big slab of uncut meat and hard to miss, even flaccid. The boys push back at their hips, leaving Cameron more room to toy with dick. He strokes his twin slowly but thoroughly, root to crown, as the kissing nears a finale.

They’ve been told I want to see wood in Struan’s dick, as though a semi could be summoned on command. I don’t care that it’s not fair.

<Cameron only>  ‘Jerk him much harder!’

With a petulant shoulder slump – brief, but still wrong – Cameron gets pumping his bro, really tugging to tease some juice out of that hose, though I’d settle for a horizontal salute. They remember eye contact, and try smiles with my preferred look of naughty cheekiness: It’s only an indiscretion – surely most twins try it on together, at some point!!?

There’s definitely some spine in Struan’s dick, induced frictionally and without pleasure, though my viewers will delight themselves with whatever hot take they wish to put on the origination of a fraternal semi-hard.

Cameron leaves Struan in penile limbo, edging away from both their kiss, and his stimulation. Struan’s dick wavers awkwardly, mid-air. They don’t know where to look, in this moment. Cameron recalls he must turn a dummy valve, behind him, and on our cue we cut the water supply to the shower heads, leaving the twins standing, dripping, facing each other with loose hands.

They have scripted lines of dialogue to spout:

Cameron: ‘I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that.’

Struan: ‘You didn’t enjoy it?’

Cameron: ‘Fuck, Stru… it felt… hot, though. You?’

Struan: ‘Well, you saw me get hard. But yeah, I guess it shouldn’t have happened, right?’

Cameron: ‘Sure… yeah… it’s wrong. It’s bad.’

Struan: ‘I don’t know what to think, Cam.’

Cameron: ‘Nobody knows. It’s okay.’

Struan: ‘Nobody must ever know. It’s freaking wrong.’

Cameron: ‘Fuck, bro!’

Struan: ‘We better get changed.’

Cameron: ‘Yeah… no point just standing here.’

Struan: ‘But… fucking hell, Cam!’

They exit the shower array. As drilled, Cameron leads with Struan following hard on his tail. During the short walk to the lockers, Struan has specific instructions – highlighted to him as VV IMPORTANT! With an open palm, he slaps the right ass cheek of his twin, hard. The collision of firm hand with damp butt muscle makes a sharp crack that’s captured on our AV equipment. Spanked, Cameron stops, turns his neck, and winks to his horny brother:

‘Cheeky fucker!’ Cameron says.

Spanker and spankee. Necklace, and unadorned.

With white cotton bath sheets, the boys towel themselves dry around benches with wooden slats. We have a bank of lockers, against the far wall, giving a sense of location to the viewer. 

The twins work their towels unembarrassed, legs spread as they rub down their backs, sex left uncovered and swinging. I should say, they are very identical: if there are moles or tiny birthmarks to tell them apart, I’ve not noticed and neither will the cameras. They possess pubic bushes that are dense around the dick root, but which don’t encroach untidily upon their shafts. And, as those pubes dry from wet and dark, we can see their natural colour is a strong iron brown tone, verging on ginger.

The hair on the twins’ heads dries to mops of tight curls, full, with curvy bangs flopping to shade their eyes. The colour is a predominant dark auburn, with fiery hints of orange and red setting-off the freckles dotting their noses and beyond, underneath the eyes. These are Scottish twins, which isn’t an astonishing deduction once you consider their given names.

The brothers had a comfortable, middle-class, Edinburgh upbringing. Not for them the drug-riddled squalor of Trainspotting notoriety, nor the grey, gritty high-rises of Glasgow, come to that. I enjoy working with boys, such as the twins, who’ve had limited exposure to adversity and adhere to a certain moral uprightness – a modern Protestant conception of good and bad; right and wrong; indolence, versus hard work.

Emerging from the showers, flustered after kissing, the boys’ skin tone was muted pink with patches of lobster. Then, after two minutes of vigorous towelling, they’d rubbed themselves red. Now, bath sheets wrapped and worn as skirts whilst they check missed notifications on their his’n’his iPhones – retrieved from lockers as a priority** – their skin reverts to its regular state, of lightly tanned Scottish pale. The high definition of our cameras reveals a smattering of small moles across their square upper backs, and if you had sufficient time, counting them might provide a tell-tale to distinguish one from the other.

** De-activated prop handsets for filming purposes, not their own mobiles, of course.

Arms are raised vertical, and deodorant is sprayed liberally from aerosol cans into hairy pits, one arm at a time with the can swapped between hands, until fragrance mists around them. A squirt, too, into sculpted pectoral clefts patched with token fluff, barely visible.   

They’re sat on a bench, knees spread wide, Struan’s right grazing Cameron’s left in that casual boys’ locker room way, though it’s not normally a family affair.

Cameron gives his twin some side eye, taking a long look down at his groin and checking for bumps in Struan’s fluffy towel. The script requires Struan to notice the ogling:

‘Bro, are you checking me out!? Again!’

Cameron, guilty as charged, gives an embarrassed giggle and the best beetroot flush of the face he can manage for the cameras. ‘No, I swear, I wasn’t looking!’ he lies.

‘Like fuck you weren’t!’ Struan says, making a good job of a scathing tone and a mock serious face. He rises from the bench and unhitches his towel skirt. His balls drag heavy and low. Struan gathers his towel – unwieldy as a sail when opened fully – fashioning it into something snappy enough for his intentions. Cameron, anticipating what’s next, stands and drops his own bath sheet to marshal a defence.

‘You’re such a perv, Cam,’ Struan says, grinning.

‘Takes one to know one, yeah?’ Cameron hits back.

And they’re off, circling the island of benches with Struan chasing his twin, flicking out with his folded towel, and – when his family target gets within range, fleetingly – deploying it as a whip.

The twins flash around the locker room, laughing and switching direction abruptly to catch the other out. This sequence is designed to showcase their naked athleticism, powered by downy thighs that launch them fast, this way and that, then spin them on the spot, agile. Creamy butt mounds flex and tense at their spurting movements and hard braking.

Both twins have towel floggers so there’s parity of weaponry, but Cameron uses his defensively, mostly, whilst getting chased, with Struan as the aggressor twin who does the hunting. It’s all planned and, for the purposes of drama, there’s mutual excitement in this locker room.

The towel fight makes the boys red again. Struan breaks, raising a Stop! hand gesture to Cameron, and they stand facing each other, hands back on slim hips and panting, chests rising and falling quickly, towels discarded untidily by their feet.

‘Someone might come in,’ Struan says, only now considering the risk.

‘We better get some clothes on,’ Cameron agrees.

The final sequence in scene 01 has the twins bumping fronts, as both of them grab the dick of the other and jerk it as their coded alternative to a high five. Embracing, they backslap in an overtly masculine way. The dick-swinging twins separate to their own pegs at the bench, where they’ll dress. As the screen fades, they’re pulling underwear up muscular legs. It’s Calvin Klein trunks for both 22-year-olds: black in colour for Struan, and salmon pink for his twin.

***   

02 – Rim

Ladies and gentlemen. Struan opposed the rimming scene because ‘it’s dirty’. (I’m sure Cameron wasn’t happy, either, but his tongue won’t feature, so it was hard to get him animated on the subject. Our Cam has bigger concerns.)

It’s preposterous. Number one – Cameron has just showered. Number two – as though Struan would honourably decline a rimming offer from his hot girlfriend! Give me a break.

My cameras have moved to the ‘bedroom’, with the boys. It’s a king size bed but they’ve filled it top to bottom (or bottom to top?) with their substantial physical presence, arranged in a line as tractor (Cameron) and trailer (Struan). Cameron is on knees and elbows, back dipped a little, ass reared high. Directly behind him Struan is also on his knees and crouching, but his hands are in active service, prising his twin’s ass mounds apart to facilitate his access.

They must look enthusiastic about rimming, and that goes for both of them. Now, if you have a reluctant boy then the ideal role for him is the rimmer, because all the time his face is lost between cheeks, it doesn’t matter whether he’s smiling or scowling – the cameras won’t observe the emotion. As I told Struan, when he got stroppily negative with me:

‘If you’re finding it hard, bury yourself in Cam and get licking. Be as huffy as you like, clamped to asshole, but make sure that winning smile re-surfaces with you.’

Struan’s thumbs are hooked between globes, holding his brother’s butt clamped wide whilst he rims. Mostly the cameras capture his curly hair, bobbing and thrusting with his face as he goes mouth-to-ass on his bro.

This will be thorough. The perineum must be worshipped with long, devoted tongue strokes, to be heard like paint applied with roller. The boy hole requires detailed attention; those virgin ass lips circled with deliberate care by the tip of the tongue, ticklish, before their resistance is tested gently, then assertively.

I wonder what sensations Cameron is feeling. He’s looking straight ahead, to the wall, avoiding his miserable brother lapping away at his dumpster. Touched in the right place, the right way, there’s the danger of an erotic spark that would take the evening to a whole new level of bad, for the two of them.

They’d didn’t have to perform in this way, for my movie with the title Twintimacy. There is a complete storyboard written for an alternative film, with the more cumbersome name of Twins Accelerated Toilet Service – though that dormant project is known by my team more snappily as ‘TwATS’. It didn’t appeal to these boys.

Their other option – there wasn’t unlimited choice! – goes by Double Sacrifice, available if they’d decided to get things over with quickly, on the assumption I was untrustworthy and unlikely to grant them a way out of here.

To inform the decision of Struan and Cameron I treated them to a movie afternoon, even supplying popcorn. Screening in that matinee was a compilation of my greatest hits: The Drop, Progression, Capstan, Ended etc. Just so they knew I was a serious sadist, and how deep a hole they were in.

I’ve given these twins positive vibes, but no promises: Encouragement, but not commitment. I’ve been clear with them that their futures rest in their own hands. As special brothers they must work hard for each other, not just themselves, because their fate is indivisible.

Specifically, if their choice was Twintimacy – the easy screenplay – then my expectation was excellence from them. The production must exude authority, resonating as a tale of taboo – twin boys falling head over heels in lust with each other.

Following their movie afternoon, Struan and Cameron believe me when I tell them how difficult things could get, if I don’t see brilliance in the studio. They understand how keen I am to film TwATS; how much interest I’ve received in the on-paper project from my customer base, and how few suitable twin brothers are available. As I summarised for the boys:

‘The toilet service film is the place I’d like to take you, and I reckon you’d just about cope with the demands, over three months. When you go out there to shoot Twintimacy, your job is to convince me you’re better than pigs, and that I should leave the $300k in guaranteed profit from the filth movie, on the table. So, persuade me well, yes?’

‘Sir!’ they’d answered in unison. That’s not how they would address me straight after their abductions, but I’d adjusted attitudes along the way.

I digress. An invasive cameraman is doing close-ups of Struan, and the kid is trying to model perfection in his rimming, taking long, exaggerated swipes up his twin’s crack, and curling his tongue to push at Cameron’s puckered rosebud.

They’re perspiring, through anxiety more than heat, though I keep it stifling in the ‘bedroom’. The bed linen is unobtrusive – plain light blue – and the set is sparsely furnished with a single bedside table (plus lamp), and a desk in one corner with a computer monitor, strewn personal effects and a video gaming chair. Affixed to the wall above the bed, with a pat of Blu Tack in each corner, is a large team poster from Heart of Midlothian football club – one of the two big Edinburgh soccer teams – reminding the viewer they’ve entered the domain of a sporty, straight-presenting boy.   

<Universal call>  ‘Make some noise!’

They’ve been too quiet, and I’ll I’ve heard is Struan’s tongue work. Responding to me with obedience, the boys taper-in a clichéd porn soundtrack:

‘Ahhh…. yeah!’ (Cameron)

‘Ahhh…. FUCK yeah! (Cameron)

‘Mmm… tastes so good, bro!’ (Struan)

<Struan only>   ‘Take control of his ass, yes? Slap. Give him verbals.’

With intelligence, because he knows I’ll be judging his performance, Struan feeds in my commands such that the actions appear natural.  

Breaking from mouth-to-ass, Struan flexes on his thighs, kneeling, and delivers a volley of convincing slaps to Cameron’s taut mounds. It’s administered fast, using both hands and to each globe in succession, catching the twin off his guard: spank, spank, spank – spank, spank, spank. The prime Scottish ass meat is tenderised, palm imprints clear.

‘Awww!’ (Cameron)

‘Fuckin give it up for me, Cam. Make that pretty hole wink.’  (Struan)

‘FUCK yeah!’ (Cameron)

And Struan is back into ass, this time dominating with his tongue, digging fingernails into Cameron’s rump as he stripes the interior of the crack with his spittle then pushes strongly at the gatekeeping ring, no longer asking for surrender but demanding it.

<Cameron only>  ‘Hand to dick, now. Start stroking.’

Absent mindedly, Cameron acknowledges my message to his earpiece with a flurry of nods that would look random to viewers, so won’t make the edit. He balances on one hand, turning the forearm vascular with his bodyweight as he shifts the other paw to his knob and gets jerking. It’s a slow stimulation that Cameron works-up, tugging from root to uncut crown whilst basking in the fraternal tongue-bathing of his unexplored hole.

Excavating, as he knows he must, Struan finds unpleasantness. Cameron may have showered, but he hasn’t douched prior to filming: that level of hygiene was off-limits to these fresh kids, though in their naivety they failed even to anticipate, and ask the question.

Eating-out boy ass, Struan gets deep enough to encounter faecal matter, and his instinctive reaction is one of recoil, gagging and horrified.

<Struan only>  ‘Smiling face! NO GAGGING.’

<Struan only>  ‘Get back in. Stay deep inside Cam, and dine on him. Work through it.’

Instead, Struan gives his first significant gesture of defiance: the raising of his neck, away from Cameron’s ass, accompanied by an exaggerated shake of his head, eyes full of despair.

<Struan only>  ‘Last chance, Struan, or it’s onto that TwAT movie for both of you.’

He mouths, but doesn’t say out loud, Fuck!

And Struan gets his head back down, onto it and into it, face buried in his twin’s ass to hide his scarlet anger, and maybe sullen tears, from the roving camera crew.

We’ll decide later whether Struan’s moment of petulance, poignant as it was, has a place in the final cut. At some point in the film the disposition of the boys is seen to change – that’s the arc of the production – but it’s inevitable there will be further deviations from the agreed screenplay, with the twins unable to retain emotional control through the perversions I’m demanding of them. It may be that we save the pivot, for viewers, until scene 03 – Fuck, because you can only really change direction – lay bare the conceit – once, with impact.

<Universal call>  ‘Let’s see more activity. Cameron – jerk harder, and groan. Struan – eat ass hungrily, not timidly. Let the camera see your poked tongue – it will be with you for close-ups in a few seconds.’

They want to stop, but the coveted twins will rim for another ten minutes. Cameron will get a hard-on after sore efforts with his shaft, and with his brain, but he won’t cum in scene 02. Struan’s face will be rarely filmed in this time because it’s easier for him to hide away, muffled and concealed inside Cam, free to be furious, than it is to take a rest and smile for the cameras, poking cheekily with his brown tongue and winking. (Yes, I’d demand a wink via the earpiece, if he dared to re-surface).

They’ll get a few reminders about their rimming verbals, though Struan is necessarily limited whilst he remains ass-clamped:

‘Mmmm! Mmmm!’

From Cameron, voiced, I’ll expect much more, and he’ll give it after my encouragement:

‘Mmm… yeah… hit my sweet spot!’

‘Oh fuck!’

‘Awww… feels so good when you’re really deep inside of me!’

‘Bro… that’s so hot.’

 It’s not easy for Cameron to act cool, when he knows the rimming is prep.