Sean, Cassius, Mourning

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“Where’d you even get these?” Sean asked, looking at a red King’s Guard uniform.

Cassius took it from him, inspecting it probably to make sure Sean hadn’t gotten something on it. That had happened one time and it hadn’t been his fault they’d been filming a Jam Boy scene right before. “I had them made.”

Sean narrowed his eyes. Cassius had way too big a budget for a child porn director (not that Sean knew what the usual budget for child porn was, but based on what he’d found online, it was pretty low), but knowing Cassius, they weren’t ethically sourced. “Made?” he asked, even though he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “By who?”

“Whom,” said Cassius, rapping his head. “And by slave children, obviously. They do good work and you don’t have to pay them.”

Sean rolled his eyes. Obviously. “I don’t want to get fucked by a guy in a colonial costume made by enslaved Burmese children.”

Cassius rapped him again, but harder this time. “Who the fuck said anything about Burma, you racist little jerk? These are locally sourced; my cousin has a sweatshop in his basement.”

Oh, for… “Is there anyone in your family who doesn’t torture kids for a living?” Sean wanted to know.

“Yeah, my other cousin Caspar. His wife is rich as hell so he does his kidfucking pro-boner at a local youth shelter.”

“Pro-bono,” Sean corrected, knowing he’d regret it.

“You have your washed-up eighties rock bands and I’ll have mine,” Cassius said, cuffing him again, this time with a dick slap to the face. “Though U2 is British. Maybe Come As You Are would make a good song for the third act. I’ll be right back.”

Sean decided to just let him leave rather than telling him about the multiple problems with what he’d just said. He went to go get ready, which sucked. Normally getting ready for a shoot just meant having a shower or something, but this time he had a whole costume to put on because Cassius wanted him to be a slutty schoolboy. He had to do lines and an accent and everything. Ugh.

But he got ready and was in position—bent over a desk with his pants down, some guy playing his teacher fucking him—when the cameras started rolling. He had to cry on command when he found out that the queen had died, which sucked because he also had to look cute while he did it. Then he had to go “home” and get his dad to put a cage on him because patriotic boys didn’t cum when they were in mourning.

To make it realistic, Sean and all the other actors hadn’t been allowed to cum since it had happened in real life. And wouldn’t be until a month after the movie was released. For realism.

By the time they got to the first twenty-one cum salute scene, Sean was grateful. At least at that point he didn’t have to really act anymore. He could just lay there and get fucked by the guys in slave-made outfits and listen to God Save the Queen on endless repeat.

Or of course, he could have done that if Cassius hadn’t decided after the first take that none of them seemed patriotic enough, and made them do the whole thing again.

Sean sure hoped that whatever kidfuckers out there cared about the death of the queen would find themselves comforted in their mourning by this movie. Because if they didn’t, he’d end up hearing about it.

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