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This is a work of Fiction. If the names of the characters bring to mind actual people that you may have seen somewhere . . . perhaps on television? . . . I assure you these characters are not those actual people. This is true even if, as you read this story, and you picture all that it describes (big as life on the flat screen between your ears), some of these fictional characters look and sound remarkably like people you may have seen on TV.
IN THE TENT How It Started
Eventually, the investigators traced it back to a plate of madeleines.
Golden brown, light and airy, with a slightly springy texture and a delicate lemon scent, the little cakes were irresistible. It was never clear who made them or how a generous plateful of them came to be in the tent, but as soon as Paul tasted one, he offered the plate to Prue.
"This is gorgeous; you've got to try it."
She agreed: "Totally worth the calories!" and passed them round to the four bakers.
Kind-hearted Tamal offered the plate to a nearby assistant. (The first time he competed on the show, the anesthesiologist with the tousled black hair, liquid brown eyes and full red lips was dubbed the heartthrob of his season. He's filled out a bit since then but is still delectable.)
The assistant passed the madeleines among the crew (despite production company rules) till every single person in the tent had eaten one.
They were LITERALLY irresistible.
You can see the effects in the footage for the Valentine's Day special (which, sadly, never aired) starting as small, innocent actions.
Andrew walks over to Tamal and pats his back, giving him a warm smile. The baker from Northern Ireland is thirty now, but his face is as fresh, his ginger hair as bright and his skin as pale as when he made the finals a few years before. (Apparently an aerospace engineer never gets to see the sun.) Andrew's patting progresses to rubbing and then stroking; the bakers' eyes lock, and their smiles grow more intimate.
Prue takes Paul's arm and beams at him, then leans her head against his shoulder.
One of the camera operators (Nigel, a compact Geordie with a well-deserved reputation as a horndog) zooms in, quite inappropriately, on the stiffening nipples of the sound recordist Prakash. The hard nubs are outlined like chocolate kisses beneath the candy pink polo shirt that hugs his melon-sized pectorals.
Prakash is standing ready for action, a boom mic cradled in dark, hairy arms, his biceps stretching the sleeves of the pink polo. Nigel's camera caresses his body, drawing him intimately close, but Prakash doesn't notice. He is staring intently, a hungry expression on his rugged face (perfectly framed by candy pink turban above and full black beard below), at the set runner, Tobias.
Tobias is just nineteen, the youngest person in the tent and the only transgender member of the crew. He is dressed in baggy sweatshirt and jeans that hang loosely on his slender body. Despite the eye-catching earplugs and multiple nose rings (and a long, soft, impressively full beard), you sense that he prefers to disappear into the background. He seems unaware that anyone is looking at him, much less filming him, and unaware as well that he has started rubbing his crotch against the stool in front of him.
You can see David, with his movie star face and athletic body, discreetly adjusting the growing package in his tight jeans. The sizable bulge is all the more obvious on his zero-body-fat frame. How on earth does a baker maintain a figure so trim? Cycling, perhaps? (Judging by the perfect hemispheres of his arse, he must do a LOT of cycling.)
Agnieszka has her arm wrapped around Meg's waist. This is not surprising (the Polish electrician and the Irish lighting tech have been an acknowledged couple for over a year), but the fact that they are snogging, sloppily, right there in the tent, is new territory.
There's a glimpse of another of the camera operators, Hamish, whose height and sheer bulk make disappearing into the background an impossibility. (He has been called `Hagrid' often enough, either playfully or by accident, that at this point he simply answers to the name.) His bushy auburn beard and massive hands are in scale with everything else about him (EVERYTHING else, as we will later see), and one of those massive hands is holding a camera that is trained, as you might expect, on Glenn, the fourth baker. Hamish's other hand is down his pants, however, where you would not normally expect it to be during a shoot.
Glenn is tall and big around but not as big as Hamish (no one is as big as Hamish), and though he is prematurely grey at forty, his trim beard and handsome round face give him a youthful charm. We see him make a little gesture with his head, paired with an impish smile, and one of the assistants bounds over: a tall, unreasonably thin twenty-year-old originally from Lisbon.
Joao is all dark curls and dark eyes and pale olive skin, with a puppy-like eagerness to please. At Glenn's request he begins enthusiastically scratching an itch on his back that the baker simply cannot reach. Once his hands are on Glenn's body, they do not leave it, and as the scratching turns to caressing, Joao's hands find their way around Glenn's ample torso and are soon rubbing his chest and tweaking his nipples. Joao looks in heaven, his long, skinny body pressed against Glenn's wide back, his arms wrapped tight around his bulk, his hips involuntarily humping the baker's backside as he fondles his tits.
The third cameraman, Dodzi, is a handsome Londoner born in Ghana. Visitors to the tent frequently mistake him for Selasi, a contestant from a previous season. Dodzi is actually a few years younger and a few inches shorter, but his sexy good humor and dazzling smile make the visitors' confusion easy to understand.
Dodzi's camera pans around the tent, capturing bakers, judges, hosts and crew. Hands are everywhere, and there are at least a dozen couples kissing: even a threeway kiss as Agnieszka and Meg welcome Guy, a pink-haired electrician with a punkish look, into their makeout session.
The camera shakes a moment as if Dodzi has been startled, and it tilts suddenly down to show a closeup of William kneeling in front of the camera operator, nipples erect in his tight shirt. The posh young recording tech is rubbing Dodzi's cock through his jeans. He glances up with a seductive smile, his eyes just visible under a floppy fringe of soft brown hair. He unbuttons the jeans, fishes out the long, thin cock (already hard) and starts to lick it, now and then flicking his eyes up demurely towards Dodzi's face and camera. His peaches-and-cream complexion contrasts dramatically with the deep brown of the shaft, and his pink tongue is a visual echo of the deep rose of Dodzi's cockhead. William makes little nummy noises as he slurps, as though the African's cock was a delicious piece of candy.
Nigel is capturing his own point-of-view footage, showing his cock (on the small side, but absolutely rigid) sliding in and out of Tobias's arsehole. The set runner's baggy sweatshirt is pushed up, revealing his slender, smooth back and the peach fuzz covering his bum. Nigel's free hand is caressing the fuzzy arse cheeks; we see a tattoo of a rooster on the camera operator's sinewy forearm.
Tobias moans and shivers and rubs his clit as Nigel slides in and out of his bum, but his moans become muffled once Prakash presses a fat cockhead against his lips. The Sikh's hairy, dark hands encase Tobias' head, gently adjusting its angle and position so his cock can go deeper and deeper into the young man's mouth.
Nigel's camera shifts to pan the room: Glenn's trousers are now around his thighs, and Joao is humping his arse for real. Even from a distance the assistant's Portuguese sausage is impressive, and the long, fat dick looks even more enormous on such a skinny body. He is pumping hard, driving his cock in deep and pulling it nearly all the way out before driving it back in again. The baker's eyes are closed, and his mouth is curled in a private smile as if he is savoring a large spoonful of an especially exquisite pudding.
Noel is on the tent floor, skinny black trousers pushed down, fucking someone from the production team, her face obscured from the camera's view by an inconveniently placed chair. It is probably Elizabeth, the director. The host's normal goth pallor is suffused with pink as he pumps away, and for once he seems not to be setting up an over-elaborate joke.
Matt, his co-host, is kneeling in front of David. His bald head is shining under the lights, his lips glistening as the athletic baker fucks his mouth. His round little body is still mostly clothed, but his trousers are down just far enough to expose his plump bum. He is digging a few fingers into his arse, stretching one hole while David stretches the other.
Tamal is leaning back against his baking station, eyes closed, ripe red mouth open, apron askew, trousers around his ankles. Andrew is on his knees, nearly naked, his slender pale body almost glowing in contrast with the warm brown of the cock in his mouth.
There's Meg riding Guy's cock with her face buried in her girlfriend's pussy. Guy is on his back on the floor of the tent. His T shirt is pulled up behind his neck, exposing a wealth of tattoos on his lean torso. Agnieszka pulls away and squats down so she and Meg are face to face; they kiss as the electrician grinds her pussy into Guy's face. All we can see of her fellow electrician's head is a glimpse of bright pink hair between her thighs, but the way the hair is wiggling it is clear that Guy is muff diving with gusto.
Nigel's camera continues to glide around the room, pulsating with half-naked people kissing, sucking and fucking, before coming to rest again on Nigel's own cock, still thrusting in and out of Tobias's arse.
It is obvious in reviewing the footage that the camera operators love their job and are very, very good at it. Even as the shoot fell to pieces (as bakers stopped baking and directors stopped directing and assistants were busy assisting activities utterly unhelpful for shooting a show) the camera operators somehow kept operating. The fact that any sense could be made of `the incident' after the fact is due entirely to the three men's dedication to their craft . . . and perhaps to a voyeurism that may be inherent in their profession.
Regardless, Nigel, Hamish, and Dodzi all kept filming as they roamed the tent, capturing vignettes, lingering on some interactions, zooming in on others, participating in many themselves. You can easily guess where their personal interests lay by the plethora of man-on-man action they captured, in loving detail, while their cameras tended to glide past other combinations.
Alpha-male Paul seems to have spent the first two hours of `the incident' working his way through the younger women in the tent, never lingering long with any one of them, his jeans pushed down to mid-thigh and his shirt hanging open as he thrusts into mouths, pussies, and arses.
From the beginning, Prue establishes herself on the `gingham altar' at the head of the tent, where she welcomes a string of men into her arms. She gives the impression of a decidedly unstuffy pagan priestess, in chunky jewelry, thoroughly enjoying her role in some ancient fertility rite.
Roly poly Matt is seen skipping around the tent, grinning broadly and giggling constantly as he licks people in odd places (the back of a neck, a forearm, behind a knee) then skips off, the curves of his smooth pale body and smooth pale head gleaming under the lights.
One of the people the co-host licks is Dodzi. Matt follows up on his lick by shoving his face in the camera operator's gorgeously rounded black arse, running his tongue from the hairy balls up past the hairy hole and halfway up the smooth back. Dodzi spreads his legs to give him better access but pauses only briefly to enjoy the sensation. Then he's pumping away again into Glenn, who is lying on the floor underneath him, on his belly, wearing nothing but an apron. The baker bear is grunting happily with every thrust Dodzi gives him.
Glenn chest is propped up on his elbows, raising his head to the ideal height for Nigel, who is kneeling in front of him.
Nigel's dick is in Glenn's mouth. The baker's chin is dripping gobs of spit as he slurps and slobbers on the camera operator's modest shaft.
Prakash's prick is in Nigel's mouth. Nigel is avidly sucking his own arse juices off the muscular sound recordist, who stands with feet firmly planted on either side of Dodzi and Glenn. The pair on the floor basically ignore the Sikh as they fuck away between his legs.
Nigel's arsehole is oozing Prakash's freshly deposited load. The warm cream is forming a sizable puddle on the floor of the tent. Matt is eagerly lapping it up.
Nigel's camera still manages, somehow, to pan round the tent. Although he appears determined to do his job despite the distractions at hand, his framing and focus at this exact moment are not quite up to his usual standard.
We see Hamish holding David in front of him, two huge hands cradling the baker's perfect arse cheeks. David's legs are wrapped around the Scotsman's waist, and his arms are wrapped around his neck, and he is slowly impaling himself on Hamish's cock. The cock is massive . . . truly heroic in scale . . . even thicker and longer than Joao's Portuguese sausage. And it is disappearing inch by inch into David's tight, muscular body, till not a glimpse of the huge rod is visible. David's face registers pain and determination in equal measure, and when Hamish finally bottoms out, David looks as triumphant as if he's just taken first place in a particularly difficult technical challenge.
Anthony, the show's production manager, has his cock buried in William, who is bent over, his head resting on his folded arms on a baking station. Anthony is nearing fifty and clearly has not been to a gym in at least a decade, but his doughy body offers a decently nice-looking face topped by a pale blond flat top and a decently large cock crowned with a dark blond bush. William is completely naked, and though the posh recording tech is in his early twenties, his body is so smooth and soft and hairless he looks like a schoolboy. This gives Anthony the appearance of a particularly randy headmaster, a role he seems to be playing with great enthusiasm. As he thrusts his cock repeatedly into William's arse he gives it an occasional slap, alternating his hands so that both cheeks of William's creamy arse are mottled with scarlet handprints. Each time Anthony's hand makes contact, William punctuates his breathy moans with an excited squeal. When Anthony gasps and blows his load, William squeals even louder and squeaks out,
"Breed me, sir! Thank you, sir!"
Prakash and Joao are in a 69, their pricks too big to fit more than a few inches in the other's mouth. They roll around on the floor, first one on top, then the other, each one playfully challenging the other to take his cock deeper. Finally, when Prakash is once again on top, he pulls his prick from Joao's mouth and settles his firm round bum on the young assistant's face. The Portuguese twink digs in with his tongue, pulling the Sikh's muscular thighs towards him so his tongue can reach deeper. Prakash grabs Joao's skinny legs and draws his bony arse upwards, Joao's back curling into a slender arc. The assistant's torso is so long that Prakash barely has to lean over to stick his tongue in the winking hole. With the warm brown of the Sikh's skin, the pale olive of the Iberian (cross-hatched all over with black hair), and the bright accent of the pink turban, the two men look like a highly decorated capital D from an illuminated manuscript . . . one drawn by particularly kinky monks.
Tamal is on all fours on the tent floor. Andrew's cock is in his mouth, and Nigel's prick is in his arse. Nigel's camera slides back and forth, traveling the length of Tamal's hairy brown back. It captures a closeup of the doctor's pillowy arse welcoming the camera operator's stiff prick and a closeup of the aerospace engineer's pale cock sliding in and out of Tamal's succulent lips. We see Tamal's soft brown eyes flick upwards towards his fellow baker's face, his lips curving into a smile as he continues sucking.
There is Paul again, still in his open shirt but naked now from the waist down, save for his white trainers. The judge is fucking Tobias, the set runner, face-to-face on the floor of the tent. Tobias is completely naked, the scars from his top surgery barely visible on his slender, furry chest. His arms and legs are covered in fine brown hair, and the luxuriant beard has tumbled down around his neck. He is squirming happily, arms wrapped around Paul's back as Paul thrusts repeatedly into his pussy. As Hamish's camera moves in for a closeup, Paul's ice blue eyes shoot him a look that stops Hamish in his tracks. As the camera swings away, Paul returns to snogging Tobias, the short bristles of his white beard catching on the fine hair of Tobias's.
There is Matt squatting under a table, holding a bundt pan in front of his face so only his mouth is visible, calling out to no one in particular,
"Look! I'm a glory hole!"
Dodzi swaggers over and sticks his dick through the hole in the cake mould. His dick is long enough to reach several inches into Matt's mouth, even with the pan in the way, but Matt soon discards his glory hole, grabs Dodzi's thighs and impales his face on the black dick, repeatedly taking its whole length down his throat.
Agnieszka and Meg are sitting on the floor off in a corner, facing each other and sharing a rolling pin as a double-headed dildo. One is eating out Elizabeth, who stands astride her, and the other is sucking Guy, who stands arse to arse with the director. Elizabeth is pinching her nipples, her face a picture of ecstatic concentration. Guy is looking down at Meg tenderly, his hands caressing her hair as her head bobs back and forth.
Near them on the floor, Anthony the production manager is now lying face down with Joao on top of him. The skinny assistant is rabbitfucking the older man, his huge dick plunging deep into the soft arse, one arm wrapped tightly around the doughy body, the other rubbing the blond flattop. Anthony looks a bit startled at the scale of the dick that is rearranging his insides, but Joao's face is a picture of contentment beneath his dark curls.
Richard, one of the carpenters, approaches Glenn. He is a hot Welsh daddy, muscular, bearded, thick around the waist, and literally a daddy, with a wife and four adult children. He seems almost shy as he addresses the baker bear,
"Hi. I've always fancied you, ever since I saw you on the telly."
Glenn responds by pulling him in for a long kiss, then turns him around, bends him over, and gets down on his knees behind him.
Richard's eyes bug out. Apparently rimming had never been on the menu in his household, and he is suddenly aware of what he's been missing. He grasps the edge of the baking station and pushes his arse back against the baker's face, closing his eyes tight in concentration.
Glenn eats him out for quite some time before standing and caressing Richard's hole, slick with spit but still shut tight. Clearly no one has ever been in there. With the help of some butter he works a finger in, and when he finds the Welshman's prostate, Richard's eyes open wide again. Glenn's other hand, also shining with butter, is working his own cock. It's not a large cock, neither long nor thick, but the shaft is smooth and straight, and it ends in a flaring helmet wrapped in velvety foreskin.
The single finger begins to move more actively, gently fucking the hole, coaxing it open. A second finger joins it. Glenn says, "God, you're tight" in a reverent tone, then pulls his fingers out and smears more butter on his cock. With a look of great concentration, he lines up his cock and presses it against the virgin hole. There is a faint but audible pop when the helmet head breeches the ring.
Glenn starts slow, his big hairy body pressed against the carpenter's even hairier back, his hips gently pushing in and pulling out. As Richard relaxes and arches his back and pushes his hips back the baker starts to pick up speed, wrapping the butch daddy in a tight bear hug. Before long he is pounding Richard's hole, and Richard is cursing and yelling and egging him on, begging him to give him more and give it harder. Finally, Glenn whoops, and his arse cheeks clench, and he baptizes Richard's guts with hot spunk.
Glenn pulls out and falls to his knees, staring at the hairy arse just inches from his face. Richard collapses onto the tabletop with a "Whoa!"
The baker presses his face into Richard's arse crack and politely requests that he push out. Judging from the length of time Glenn spends guzzling from the carpenter's hole, the baker has either shot a huge load up there or shot it really deep. Maybe both!
Eventually Richard straightens up, turns around, and presents his short but fat prick to the baker, who takes it in his mouth. The Welsh daddy gently face fucks him, caressing the bear's mop of grey hair and looking down at him with a soft smile that sits oddly but sweetly on his craggy face.
Richard blows his load in Glenn's mouth, the inch of dick that is visible between lips and pubes pulsing visibly as he delivers shot after shot of fresh cream. Glenn rolls it around in his mouth, savoring the flavor before he swallows it all. He shakes his head like a dog and clambers to his feet, and the two men embrace, thick hairy hands roaming thick hairy bodies and tongues exploring in a long, deep kiss as the camera moves on.
. . . to be continued . . . .