Method Acting

METHOD ACTING By Haven Tesla

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. To maximize reading pleasure, please leave logic behind at the door - this story aspires only to be funny and sexy (unless you're the narrator), not to be seen as a representation of reality (from which it is far removed).

All characters are over the age of 18 while any resemblance to real persons is totally and wholly coincidental. The daytime television industry and Emmy Awards are similarly fictionalized.

If you enjoy this chapter and would like to read more, do drop me a line at haventesla@yahoo.com – I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading and for supporting Nifty.

<<< PART 6: Learning the Trade, the Hard Way >>>

I hadn't consulted Cam before "inviting" Jet to move in with us, but of course I didn't need to, since it was MY apartment after all. The only reason I put my so-called brother up in the first place was because Hank had suggested it.

I hadn't expected Cam to be thrilled with the new arrangement, but even I was taken aback by the vehemence of his objections when I brought Jet home that evening.

It soon emerged that Cam and Jet had a history ... of the acrimonious kind. I suppose it should not have come as a revelation since I'd known that, being the same age, they had to be peers at my old high school. But what did come as a surprise to me was that Jet had been one of the jocks who had mercilessly bullied Cam over being a "swim-team fag".

Now don't get me wrong: I made no secret of my own profound disdain for the team of hairless sissies prancing around nearly naked in their skimpy Speedos; it was about as gay as you could get in sports (well, that and gymnastics). But then I'd had grounds for expressing those sentiments since I was a football jock. However, for Jet to similarly cast shade on Cam was a bit much. As a wrestler, his costume consisted of a tight, revealing singlet and he spent his time grappling homoerotically with equally under-dressed dudes.

The real sting in the tail was that, after filming commitments had forced Cam to break up with his girlfriend, Jet had wasted no time in swooping in on her. He then bragged to everyone who would listen about how he was showing her what a real man was like in bed, since the only comparison she had was (what Jet claimed to be) her decidedly lackluster sexual experience with Cam.

So yeah, Cam was NOT pleased that he was going to be sharing my one-bedroom apartment with Jet.

At least, he wasn't ... until I revealed that we'd been tasked with breaking Jet in and teaching him the tricks of the trade to prepare him for his role on the show as a(nother) prison bitch.

You should've seen the transformation that came over my little brother when I let him in on this piece of information. Far from his usual guileless expression, he looked distinctly evil as he surveyed Jet, who was still trembling and looking very much worse for wear after Coach and I had smashed his anal cherry to pieces with our mid-air double-dicking. He was so dazed from that brutal introduction to the art of method acting that he hadn't realized his asshole was still leaking my sperm and Coach's, staining the seat of his pants and attracting the stares of commuters on our subway ride over. (I'd made sure to stand well apart from him in the carriage.)

Cam turned to me and asked eagerly, "So do we take it in turns to teach him then?"

"Well, he can take a double-dicking," I replied with a grin, being no fan of Jet's either.

An even wider grin spread across Cam's face. He returned his attention to Jet and ordered him, "You heard him. Strip!"

Jet just stared at us both, uncomprehendingly. I don't know if his brain was just too frazzled to understand how it had come to this. A few hours ago, he'd thought he was going to have a thinly-veiled excuse to fuck MY ass over the entire summer. Instead he'd wound up being the one getting his barely-legal ass handed to him. I almost felt sorry for the poor fucker. I could tell from Cam's over-the-top enthusiasm that he was in for a world of hurt.

Cam lost patience with Jet and tried to rip off Jet's clothes himself. This finally got a reaction out of Jet and he tried to fight off Cam. It was a losing battle for Cam, of course; his slender but toned swimmer's build was no match for the muscle-bound Jet's wrestling prowess. I let them struggle for a few minutes before entering the fray to assist Cam. Jet had no hope of competing with the two of us and we had him stripped buck-naked in a matter of seconds.

The aggrieved Cam violently shoved three fingers inside Jet's battered, oozing pussy, which had just barely recovered its original shape after the pounding Coach and I had given him. The blond teen shrieked in agony, much to my contempt. For all his tough-guy act, Jet had a very low threshold for pain.

"Listen up, bitch," sneered Cam. "Hank's entrusted us with training you up. As my brother can tell you, it's no picnic being a prison bitch. So we're gonna go in on you hard from day one."

Cam wasn't kidding. What seemed like five seconds later, he had Jet bouncing on both our dicks at the same time, without the benefit of lube because, as Cam nastily put it, "your cum-logged ass has all the lube it needs". He paid no heed to Jet's pathetic mewling that it hurt too much, that we were too big for him, or that he could only handle one of us at a time.

"Stop sniveling, bitch," snarled Cam. "We know you can already take two cocks. Heck, by the time we're done with you, you'll be taking a lot bigger. Yeah, a whole lot bigger." He balled his fist in front of Jet's eyes to make clear what he was referring to and I saw Jet's eyes widen in terror.

I have to say, this was a whole new side to Cam. Who knew the little punk could be so vicious? Perhaps I should've had an inkling; after all, I'd been on the receiving end myself, from that time when he'd convinced my coach and drama teacher to lead the students in double-penetrating me during my masterclass in acting. Jet had been there too, pretending he was interested in acting when what he really wanted was the chance to sink his cock into my pussy after fingering me publicly on the wrestling mat in front of the whole damn school.

That memory of Jet's cruel smirk could not have been more different from his pitiful, tear-stained visage at that very moment. I could definitely see the appeal in taking the fucker down a peg, or two, or a hundred.

I gave an almighty thrust into Jet's overstuffed pussy. That brought a halt to the bastard's pathetic pleading as he squealed in agony. Undeterred, I reached for the nipples and gave them a rough twist.

"Stop being such a cry-baby," I told Jet harshly. "I bet the inmates are really gonna love you. The more you weep like a girl, the more determined they'll be to turn you into THEIR girl."

That didn't shut him up. In fact, it made him wail even harder. I shook my head and exchanged a look with Cam. For once in our lives, we actually agreed about something. Huh. Who would've thought? Mom and Dad would've been astonished if only they knew.

In tandem, both of us began to really hammer away at Jet's ass, giving him one hell of a ride. At one point, we fucked him so hard that he nearly flew off our cocks - this despite his no-longer-virgin pussy being tight as a vise when it was crammed full with two cocks. I wasn't about to tell him but he was an awesome fuck, but I don't think I'd ever cum so much in my life.

I could tell Cam was enjoying himself too, although I'm not sure how much of that derived from the double-penetration itself and how much from humiliating Jet. I heard him whisper loudly in Jet's ear, "This is what a real man's like in bed, huh? Glad to finally find out."

Jet might've been a complete wreck, bawling his eyes out (how the heck did he still have any tears left?), but he still turned bright pink at that razor-sharp jibe.

We went at him for a solid two hours. Both Cam and I shot our loads three times, but it was Jet's twin orgasms that merited the most comment. After all, our `straight' wrestler had claimed to be in unbearable pain, yet he still managed to eke out not one but two loads of fresh boy-cream from his untouched cock. Cam took great pleasure in quite literally rubbing it into Jet's face.

At the end of our marathon session, Jet's pussy looked even worse than it had after Coach and I reamed him out. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes onto the bed when we let him climb off our dicks, but I reminded him he was sleeping on the floor.

"Besides," interjected Cam, "he can't rest until he's given us our baths." He smirked at Jet's confusion. "Full-body tongue baths."

The golden-haired teen recoiled, but Cam was deadly serious. Any time Jet flagged in his tongue-washing of our sweaty bodies, Cam was on him instantly, giving his ass a hard spanking. No doubt my brother was inspired by his own character's ongoing storyline, which explored the appropriateness of corporal punishment. His character's overambitious, widowed father was Hank's gender-flipped take on the Asian `tiger mom' stereotype. I'd watched as the older actor took immense pleasure in stripping Cam naked and spanking his ass until it was as red as Cam's face whenever his character failed to make the highest grade in either academics or sports.

I was 95% certain that Bradley, the actor playing Cam's dad, had to be gay in real life because he openly fingered Cam's ass after burnishing it crimson under the pretext of applying a soothing cream to it, and I'd overheard him propose to Hank that his character's physical abuse of his son should escalate and take on a sexual dimension. Hank had demurred on account of the similarity to a concurrent storyline where our Australian co-star Brent's character was being groomed by his swimming coach, but Bradley had convincingly argued that the two plots explored different facets of abuse. Moreover, he deemed it particularly relevant to raise social awareness on the severe under-reporting of sexual crimes against boys and men.

Hank had obviously agreed, because the following week saw Bradley's character follow up his customary spanking of Cam with a brutal rape. Cam yelped once as his burning ass was immediately plopped down on Bradley's stiff cock for a hard pounding. However, blind obedience was so ingrained in the character from years of corporal punishment that he did not resist or even question his father but accepted the anal assault as punishment for being a disappointment to him. You could tell Bradley really enjoyed Cam's ass because he felt the need to rehearse their fucking scenes several times a day under the guise of perfecting it and he even dropped by my apartment on the weekends to continue these sessions. When I walked in on him savaging Cam's ass on my carpet, he cheerfully told me not to mind them as they were merely `rehearsing'. Cam's tearful, red face was buried in the carpet so I could not get verbal confirmation of this from my brother - not that I gave a damn either way! Bradley was absolutely welcome to turn Cam's ass inside out for all I cared, if only because the ordeal left him in a subdued state for the rest of the evening, which I could definitely appreciate.

Cam's tanning of Jet's lily-white ass had a similar effect in cowing the new recruit, although there remained a couple of natural limits to his compliance that took additional effort to breach. Jet still balked at licking our armpits and asses.

Cam retaliated by making him suck each individual armpit hair clean of sweat. But it was the rim-jobs where my brother displayed his mean streak to full effect. He had Jet bury his face in our ass cracks for a full half-hour each, and I really mean bury. The poor bastard saw, smelled and tasted nothing but male ass for an entire hour. If his tongue wasn't going in deep enough, if he wasn't sucking our ass juices enthusiastically enough, if he wasn't eating us out like his life depended on it, he received another brutal spanking.

By the time he'd tongue-bathed both of us to Cam's satisfaction, Jet was absolutely filthy, not to mention parched. Cum, sweat, saliva, and anal juices coated his face. His previously blindingly-white ass was a dusky pink and cum freely flowed out of his overtaxed hole.

"Can I have a shower please?" he asked tentatively.

"Fuck no!" snapped Cam. "Do you think prison bitches get to shower whenever they want? You'll stay like that until morning."

Jet's face fell. "At least a drink?" he ventured.

There was a wicked glean in Cam's eye. "Sure," he said. "I do need a piss now that I think of it."

I saw horrified realization dawn on Jet's face. Serving as another man's urinal was not something he'd experienced yet, but he was about to. I was astounded by the swiftness and absoluteness of his downfall, but it didn't move me to pity.

I joined Cam in feeding Jet our piss, forcing both our cocks simultaneously into his mouth just as we'd ravaged his other orifice. I relished the look of sheer, wretched desperation on Jet's face as we gave him an aching jaw to go with his bruised and battered ass. He struggled frantically to accommodate both our dicks, stomach the novel taste of our acrid urine and still swallow everything without spilling a drop. He didn't succeed, obviously, so he got another spanking in addition to having to lick up whatever he'd dribbled onto the floor.

I found him a spare duvet and couch cushion and ordered him to make himself comfortable on the floor. He wasn't happy about that - he had, after all, intended to stay with his uncle who'd offered him a proper guest bedroom - but he didn't have any real choice in the matter if he wanted to be a part of our show.

When Cam and I returned from our shower, we found him out like a light, sleeping on his front because his ass was presumably too sore to put his weight on it. I was fine to let him sleep, because I was tired myself after a busy day on set, but Cam had other ideas. He pulled off Jet's blanket and prodded his upturned ass with his big toe. Jet stirred but was so tuckered out that he didn't wake. Then Cam grew impatient and plunged his toe into Jet's gaping asshole.

That brought the blond teen to his senses immediately. He looked back over his shoulder and, realizing he was being toe-fucked, whimpered miserably. I could easily imagine what was going through his mind: was there no end to the humiliation he was forced to undergo?

I could've told him otherwise, but I felt that was one lesson he had to learn for himself. Cam wriggled his toe in Jet's ass, reveling in making his onetime rival squirm, before pulling out and offering the same, sperm-soaked toe for Jet to lick clean. By this point, Jet was so defeated that he would likely have done anything Cam commanded him to.

I didn't want Cam thinking he was at the top of the pecking order so I decided to give him our nightly fuck. Jet perked up a little at this but was left revolted when he had to eat out the load I'd dumped in Cam's ass. It was like an invisible barrier physically prevented him from fastening his lips to Cam's leaking pussy, so I placed my hand on the back of his blond head and firmly pushed his face into Cam's ass. Even then, he wouldn't do much more than giving the rim a half-hearted lick, so I kept up the pressure until I was satisfied that he'd sucked out every last droplet. Well before he was finished with his chore, he started struggling and gasping for breath but I didn't relent. He learned the score and hastened his pace to get the job done before he suffocated on Cam's ass.

The next few days were a blur, as I discovered that getting an untrained actor up to speed is a lot of work, and Jet was as raw as they come. And no, I don't mean his pussy, although that was indeed plenty raw after multiple fingerings and gang-bangs.

Jet was rubbish at blowjobs, as Cam and I learned that first morning when we tried to get him to orally service our morning wood. His gag reflex was too strong and he ended up spitting out our dicks or grazing us with his teeth. We gave up after several failed attempts and settled on double-fucking his other orifice again (although it was still distended), but this workaround was never going to fly with Hank. Giving expert blowjobs was, after all, a mandatory skill in a prison bitch's repertoire.

Hank and Coach tried everything to cure Jet of this defect but eventually had to admit defeat and fit him with a spider-gag so that he was forced to keep his mouth open during blowjobs. This modification took a bit of getting used to for the ex-cons; the first time Boyd made use of Jet's mouth, he didn't realize the boy had no way of expelling his 14-inch monster that plugged his throat and Jet's face turned purple from the lack of oxygen before Boyd had the sense to pull out. Boyd got a reprimand from Hank for that but I doubt it was of much comfort to Jet, who wasn't given any recovery time before being put back into service.

We also put Jet on `The Churn', as Coach had come to call the diabolical contraption he had rigged up, ostensibly to soothe my irritated anus. If I had to endure it, I saw no reason Jet shouldn't have to, especially considering that he was a lot more vocal about how badly his pussy ached from repeated violations. I was gratified to see that The Churn didn't appear to help him any more than it did me. If anything, Jet's wailing indicated that he had it worse from the dildo-like balm applicator (which, in case it wasn't obvious, derived its nickname from its signature rotational motions).

Cam really cemented his place as a hardnosed trainer. Man, was I ever thankful that he hadn't been around when I first adopted the method acting technique! I'll be damned if he didn't work Jet to the bone. I'd wake up at all hours of the night to find Cam rutting away at Jet's battered pussy, although we'd both already had him (several times) earlier that evening. Jet cried and begged for a respite but Cam was having none of it; if anything, it spurred him on to be even harder and crueler on the blond bitch, twisting his nipples, squeezing his balls and whatever else he could do to make Jet hurt.

"Bitches have to be constantly ready," was his refrain. I suspected that he saw it as a form of vindication for having to constantly give up his own ass to Bradley.

If Cam saw me awake, he'd tell me to have another go while he got some sleep. After Jet inevitably climaxed from the sustained anal stimulation, Cam would ignore his tearful pleas not to mercilessly jerk off his sensitive cock to another orgasm. The orgasm was typically dry; even a horny 18-year-old can't produce enough semen for close to a dozen substantive ejaculations a day. I could never decide whether it was Jet's face, cock or ass that was the darkest shade of red by the time Cam was done with him.

With all this going on, it was beyond me how Jet managed to get enough rest. Perhaps he didn't, which explained why he actually fell asleep in the midst of filming a double-penetration scene. Not that the incident garnered any sympathy from Cam, who delighted in pointing out that Jet must have grown very accustomed to playing a boy-whore if he could doze off while getting his pussy cored out by two well-hung ex-cons at the same time. Jet was thoroughly humiliated.

However, it was the next studio open day that really drove home (in the truest meaning of the phrase) the depths to which Jet had sunk.

By now, Jet had been deemed up to the minimum standards of playing a prison bitch so he had begun filming scenes on our prison set. Of course, he was still far from a master thespian - I think even the likes of Randy and Cam had him beat - but perfectly adequate for the introductory scenes Hank had scripted for him where he spent all of his time getting his brains fucked out by prison inmates and guards alike. Hank had relayed how he was trying to ease Jet into the role so that audiences would be familiar with the character before giving him an actual storyline.

In a nod to viewers who might have recognized Jet from his earlier guest stint on the show, Hank had written in an explanation about Jet's character, Talbot, being incarcerated for a near-fatal altercation with a rival. This bore striking parallels to my own character's roid-rage-induced assault; Hank hoped it would encourage conversations about the link between toxic masculinity in athletic circles and the propensity for physical violence.

I personally found the link tenuous and the whole "toxic masculinity" thing bullshit, and I knew Hank did too, but he was obliged to carry out the instructions from politically-correct network executives who were eager to be seen as in sync with public sentiment. Hank had shared that he hadn't felt right pressing the issue so soon after the execs had relented to his plan for a slow-burn, multi-year arc for my character.

Given their belief, borne out by market research, that present-day viewers craved instant gratification, it had taken substantial effort by Hank to convince them that my character's journey from normal heterosexual male to willing cock-sucker could not be told in a matter of months without sacrificing any semblance of realism.

I'll be honest: I wasn't thrilled either at the story stretching out across multiple years since my original intentions had been to grab that Emmy as quickly as I could and move on to the brighter lights of Hollywood. Hank had assured me that, this way, even if the Emmy win didn't happen this year, I'd still have a solid storyline to fall back on for the next four years (at the end of which I'd age out of the Younger Actor trophy category). Knowing that Hank had gone out on a limb and taken on the network execs in the interests of my career, I couldn't in good conscience bring myself to complain, much less wriggle out of signing the legally-binding, multi-year contract extension he proffered.

With my stay in the soap opera industry locked in for the foreseeable future, I'd hoped that I would at least get a bit of a reprieve with Jet's casting to lighten my work burden. Alas, I was out of luck because, even with another bitch on tap, there were still way more convicts than bitches and I was used just as hard as before - if not harder.

You see, the ex-cons got it into their heads to create a contest (a "bitch-off", as they unflatteringly named it) to distinguish who, between Jet and I, was the "alpha bitch" versus the "beta bitch". I'd balked at the idea that I had to compete with another actor, especially an amateur like Jet, to determine, in essence, who was the bigger whore. I had my doubts about whether this was really practiced in prisons or whether the ex-cons had simply made it up on the fly as a new way to humiliate privileged white boys.

But Hank took me aside and explained that, while one might not read about it in any of the abundant literature that had been written about America's huge incarcerated population, this was indeed an authentic way to determine prison hierarchies. He extolled this as one of the major benefits of hiring actual ex-cons as extras: you got the real lowdown on what goes on inside our country's justice system. He went on to say that incorporating these practices into our scripts would lend realism to our depiction of prison life and strengthen the `truth' of our method acting.

When Hank put it like that, I had to begrudgingly buy into the whole concept and participate in the varied but consistently demeaning challenges which the ex-cons set for Jet and me. In an ironic throwback to the scenes I'd filmed with Jet in our former high school's gymnasium, they devised another wrestling match for the two of us, except this time we were both fully nude, oiled up and thrown into an inflatable pool of Jell-O.

I found the scenario utterly implausible (how the fuck would a bunch of inmates get an inflatable pool and enough Jell-O to fill it in prison?) but it got a rise out of Jet as soon as he heard about it. He was still resentful about the last time he'd been on the show when he, the school's wrestling champion, had to pretend to lose to me in a scripted wrestling competition. He was all for a rematch.

Despite the nudity and the slippery combination of oil and Jell-O, which must have been doubly disconcerting to a professional wrestler like Jet, he easily overpowered me. I'd known from the outset that I would be defeated - wrestling was, after all, Jet's forte, not mine - so I opted to complicate his path to victory. Hence, I focused on inflicting as much pain on him as I could: yanking on his swinging balls, biting down on his puffy nipples and shoving as many fingers as I could up his exposed (and very tender) pussy.

I've got to hand it to Jet: although he squealed like a girl every time I pulled one of these dirty tricks, he never wavered from his commitment to winning "fair and square". I guess a wrestler's coaching is hard to break. To be perfectly honest, he didn't need to resort to unsportsmanlike behavior; he had the moves and something to prove, and together those were enough to propel him to triumph.

He grappled with me like a man possessed, repeatedly shoving my face into the Jell-O so that I was wrestling half-blind most of the time - not that the match lasted very long. Once he had me pinned, facedown and immobile, he mounted my ass with only the oil and Jell-O for lube. Then, and only then, did his professional mask slip; he demolished my pussy with the most brutal fucking. All the pent-up frustration of having to serve up his own pussy to me and my brother, day and night, came pouring out like a torrent and he channeled it into every vicious thrust. I'd been double- and triple-dicked but this single cock-piston felt like it did a lot more damage to my ass than those encounters. I alternated between gasping for breath (there were moments when I feared I was going to drown in Jell-O) and, I'm ashamed to admit, squealing like a bitch.

When he finally let me go after nutting in my ass, I was able to roll onto my back and saw his signature smirk that had been absent since Coach and I had deflowered him on his first day.

Of course, that smirk was swiftly wiped off his face. He might have won the wrestling match, but it didn't change the fact that he was playing a prison bitch. After witnessing their two boy-whores battle it out in the Jell-O-filled pool, the ex-cons were horned up and raring to have a go at the victor. I had the satisfaction of hearing Jet be the one scream as Boyd and Clovis immediately pulled him into a double-penetration on their oversized pricks. The dumb bitch kept sniveling that it wasn't fair because he'd won - protests which, predictably, went unheeded.

Since Jet had established that whoever won a challenge had the right to fuck the loser, I was determined to turn the tables on him.

Luckily for me, the subsequent challenges were more up my street than Jet's. We were both positioned at opposite ends of a terrifyingly long and thick double-ended dildo which the ex-cons had branded `The Anaconda'. It was marked at one-inch intervals, from 1" to 30", and challenged to see whose ass could swallow more of it.

Jet's low tolerance of pain, and his need to vocalize it, proved to be his undoing. While he wasted precious time griping about having to take the gigantic dildo up his ass, I gritted my teeth and backed myself onto it. Let's be honest here: he was regularly taking 13 and 14-inch cocks; so why on earth would he need to start bawling before he even reached the 10" mark?

He realized his mistake once the ex-cons started cheering me on. He was stuck at 10" from his end and I was already at 14" from mine. By then he was going to have a very tough time catching up to me. I bellowed as I forced another inch of that thick, python-esque dildo into my already-crammed guts while Jet scrambled to make up for lost time. I was already at the halfway mark, and there were stars in my vision. I'd never felt so full in my life. The pain was excruciating; the dildo felt like it was about to burst into my chest cavity. I genuinely worried that I was inflicting internal injuries on myself. But I knew that, to win, I had to push on. I simply had to.

With another scream of pure agony, I gave another push, and the last half-inch slipped into my guts. And not a moment too soon, because I felt Jet's sweaty back press against mine. He had made it to past 14" in those few short minutes; but I had already surpassed the 15" mark. I had won by an inch, and he had lost.

I wasn't allowed to claim my prize - Jet's pussy - straightaway. The ex-cons insisted that, although he'd lost, Jet was compelled to "match" my achievement of 15.5 inches. They didn't bat an eye when the teenager passed out from the pain, instead ordering me to jolt him back to consciousness with his penalty fuck. I was happy to oblige, but I asked that we leave the double-ended dildo inside his pussy while I stuffed my dick in alongside it. I wasn't one to pass up the opportunity to get my own back. Jet came to as I began to ream out his distended pussy and wept like the bitch he was upon discovering the reason for the acute pain in his ass.

You'd think that Jet would have learnt his lesson after that and thrown himself into the next challenge whole-heartedly, but I can't complain since it was ultimately my good fortune (and competitive advantage) that he didn't.

The final contest was meant to assess which of us could elicit the greatest number of orgasms from our fuckers over the course of an epic, eight-hour, nonstop orgy. There needed to be visual evidence of each orgasm, so our fuckers had to pull out of whichever orifice they were penetrating and spray their sperm onto some part of our anatomies.

Hank discreetly advised me to load up on the calories so I could keep my strength up during what was bound to be a very long day. I'm glad I took his advice to heart because the ordeal was physically and mentally draining. I was no stranger to prolonged fuck-a-thons but this one took it to a whole new level. My assailants had ample time to take a breather in between fucks, but neither Jet nor I were afforded such a luxury.

I knew what I had to do to win so I swallowed my pride and resolved to give the convicts the ride of their lives. I clamped down on their cunt-busters with my well-honed ass muscles, milking them for all I was worth until they lost control and blew their wads. In fact, I did such a good job that a couple of them didn't anticipate the rapidity of their own orgasms and wound up ejaculating inside me - much to my chagrin, because I'd been warned that internal cream-pies would not be counted towards my total.

In spite of that, my lead over Jet grew by leaps and bounds. Three hours in, I was all but certain that I would beat him handily. He was struggling to get the men off with his lackluster blowjobs; the spider-gag, necessitated by his overwhelming gag reflex, had the unfortunate side-effect of limiting his ability to provide proper oral stimulation.

Even then, all was not lost. He could've used his other orifice to its maximum potential like I was doing. But he either didn't know or didn't want to, and it took the men noticeably longer to cum while plundering his teenaged boy-pussy, which technically should've been tighter.

Once I had what I felt was an unbeatable lead over Jet - two dozen orgasms to his 15 - I began to relax and slack off. This was a mistake; Boyd immediately picked up on it and told me in no uncertain terms that I was expected to keep up the pace I'd set myself or forfeit my lead over Jet. It was distinctly unfair to introduce new rules halfway through a contest and I voiced my objection, for all the good it did me. Hank sided with the ex-cons and reminded me that bitches lacked the right to dissent, no matter how unjust their treatment might be.

That saddled me with the exhausting task of averaging eight orgasms an hour for the next five hours. I was resigned to the truth that double penetrations were a necessary evil to achieve that target since each of the ex-cons had already blown their wad on me once and it would be that much tougher wrangling another orgasm out of them unless I upped my game.

"Fuck it," I growled, "double-stuff me already."

The ex-cons didn't need to be asked twice; they were ever ready to ruin my pussy. Two seconds later I had the two biggest cocks crammed into my throbbing hole.

With another two dicks down my gullet, I barely managed to keep up to my own record. But to my astonishment, that failed to light a fire under Jet. Halfway through our ordeal, my lead over Jet had widened to 13, meaning his pace had actually slipped from 5 cocks an hour to just four. It was like he'd given up. Didn't he understand that, whatever my final tally was, he'd be expected to match it - and then some?

I wasn't about to waste time trying to divine the reasons for Jet's lack of urgency though. I had another 32 cocks to work my way through in four hours; that was going to require all of my resolve and concentration.

The last two hours were a real slog. Each of the ex-cons had already cum twice on me and at least once on Jet. Squeezing out a fourth (or fifth) orgasm was always going to be a challenge. Ten minutes before the seventh hour was up, Boyd warned me I was falling behind - I'd only managed three orgasms that hour. Even if I could get off both the men using my mouth and the other two in my ass, I'd be one short.

I couldn't help letting out a moan of despair. There was an obvious solution but the mere memory of its devastating toll on my man-pussy made me shudder. Sadly, I could not think of any other recourse. I spat out my mouthful of hard man-meat to give Boyd the go-ahead. From the cruel glint in his eye, I suspect he had been anticipating that all day. He made the men who were already double-dicking my wrecked pussy scoot over so he could cram his own mammoth cock in alongside theirs.

"And baby makes three," he joked to his fellow fuckers. There was nothing remotely babyish about his tool, especially when it was one of THREE monstrously huge dongs squeezed inside me.

The white-hot pain of triple penetration seared my insides and a shriek escaped my lips. Not even Hank's supportive thumbs-up could distract me from the sheer torture of it all. I saw Jet shoot me a look of derision but I was too consumed by my own anguish to issue a perfectly justified retort about how he regularly squealed like a girl taking just one dick.

I actually cried with relief when Boyd added his baby batter to the revolting mixture on my face. He wasn't the only one either; the guys watching were so turned on by my abuse that many of them jerked off onto some part of my body. I felt those should be counted towards my orgasm count, but Boyd didn't agree.

"None of them were fucking you," he pointed out. "They naturally enjoyed watching a privileged, straight, white muscle-boy get his pussy destroyed" - I didn't think there was anything natural about that! – "but that doesn't mean you were in any way responsible for those cum-shots.

"Rather than arguing with me, I suggest you get on with it before you fall behind again because I don't think even a sloppy-assed whore like you could take four cocks at once."

That shut me up. I didn't think it was anatomically possible to fit four cocks into my pussy but I wouldn't have put it past this gang of perverts to try it.

In the end I notched up 65 orgasms (there were two more triple penetrations in the last hour since I'd set the unfortunate precedent).

Jet, by contrast, had only managed 35. I'd lost track of what his tally was as I was increasingly stretched (literally and figuratively) and was surprised by just how low his final number was. He'd have to continue through the night to get to 65, before I had my chance to assert my winner's privileges and become #66.

I gingerly got to my feet; there wasn't any part of my body that didn't ache but the pain was worst in my battered pussy and jaw. I was completely crusted in the emissions of 65 orgasms, both dried and fresh. I desperately needed a shower and sleep.

But it was not to be.

Throughout the contest, we'd had visitors to the studio's open day milling around, gawking at the sight of Jet and me getting our pussies handed to us by the ex-cons. I had become so accustomed to their presence that I had all but tuned them out, although once in a while a scathing remark filtered through and made me cringe in shame. Unlike previous open days, when the visitors had the opportunity to get really up close and personal with the actors, the nature of the day's filming had relegated them to the sidelines.

However, with the contest formally over, they were allowed on set. Since I was about to leave, everyone made a beeline towards me, unable to resist a quick tweak of my nipples, fondle of my cock or fingering of my tender pussy.

All except a rather short, barrel-chested Hispanic man in his forties accompanied by two identical teenagers who I presumed were his twin sons. The trio zeroed in on Jet like a laser, without even looking my way.

Jet's scenes were yet to make it to air so I couldn't believe he already had such devoted fans that they wouldn't even throw me, the show's young male lead and Emmy nominee, so much as a passing glance. My curiosity got the better of me and I postponed my plans to retire to my dressing room to see what they had to say (and do) to Jet. Cam evidently had the same idea because I saw him suddenly emerge on set despite not being on the day's filming roster.

Jet had his eyes squeezed shut because most of the ex-cons had been entertaining themselves by seeing who could hit him in the eye with their stinging cum. His mouth, permanently held open by the spider-gag, was an overflowing pool of saliva, semen and piss. (His tormentors must have ordered him not to swallow.) His body, like mine, was absolutely caked with man-cream, except for his dick and nipples, which had been molested too often to allow any cum to harden on them. He was propped up like a rag doll on the combined cocks of two extraordinarily well-hung ex-cons who delighted in simultaneously ravaging his once-tight, teen pussy. Yet the sexual torture had not prevented him from growing a dripping erection that thwacked audibly against his washboard abs with every bounce on his fuckers' humongous schlongs.

The older visitor called out Jet's name several times until the boy's eyes opened. I saw recognition followed by horror. Jet tried to say something but, between the spider-gag and the mouthful of bodily fluids, his words were unintelligible. He tried to rise up and off the two dicks on which he was impaled, but his fuckers were having none of it and restrained him. Jet's eyes visibly filled with fresh tears of shame at his helplessness while his fuckers, thrilled to put on a show, quickened their pace of pounding his pussy.

The man shook his head in amazement. "I just had to see it for myself. I couldn't believe ... not in a million years... even with the video evidence right in front of me it was too incredible to be true."

"We told you it was true, Dad," one of the twins insisted.

"Yeah, he's always been so over-the-top with his bigotry that he had to be hiding something ... and now we know what," rejoined his brother.

"Sorry," interrupted Boyd, asking the question on my mind. "Who are you?"

"Gonzalo Gutierrez," said the man. "Jet's stepfather. And these are my sons, Federico and Fernando - though they go by Rico and Nando." I noticed for the first time that Rico was wearing an Upper Albany High Aquatics t-shirt while Nando was sporting one from the same school's gymnastics team. My eyes narrowed as Cam sidled up next to Rico and exchanged a few quiet words with him. Did they know each other from the swim team?

"Oh, are you here for the open day - to support your stepson?" I found it astonishing how Boyd could carry on a conversation while tea-bagging Jet, making the boy suck on his enormous balls.

"Actually," corrected Mr. Gutierrez, "I'm here because of the video that made the rounds this morning. Jet's mother is very distressed. Not because of his sexuality - of course she loves him regardless - but the shock of finding out this way ... especially about his, er, fetish."

I was just as mystified as Boyd and Hank, who had joined us once he noticed the commotion. What video was he talking about?

Mr. Gutierrez seemed to latch on to our confusion. "Oh, you don't know? The silly boy sent it to his girlfriend this morning - probably by mistake, as I'm very sure he didn't intend her to see that. She was understandably upset and, in a fit of pique, forwarded it to the rest of the school. The twins received it and the missus caught them watching it. Show them, Rico."

Rico readily whipped out his phone and played the recording. On screen, a naked, sweaty Jet was riding the cock of a man whose face was hidden behind the blond teen's torso. We had a clear, unrestricted view of the cock plunging in and out of Jet's hole because his fucker was holding the teen's balls out of the way.

Jet's voice was just as clear. "Oh yes, Daddy, give it to me. Give me all of that yummy salami. I want it so bad, Daddy. Fuck my pussy. Fuck my hungry pussy. Harder, Daddy! I've felt so empty without your cock."

Jet's fucker produced a large dildo and slipped that, too, into Jet's pussy. I could see from the way Jet was straining and his abs were pulled taut (even I had to admit the kid had an impressive six-pack at 18) that this was not at all comfortable but he kept up an unrelenting spiel of dirty talk about how `Daddy' was stuffing him full of all that thick, hard man-meat just like he'd craved all along.

"Ungh, Daddy, that feels so good. So fucking fantastic. I need it so fucking bad. Go deeper, Daddy. Balls deep! Yeah, really stretch me out. Destroy my hole. Are you going to cum soon, Daddy? I want your babies. Flood my boy-pussy with them, Daddy. Breed me like a bitch and get me pregnant. I want all of that hot man-cream. Fill me up like a twinkie, Daddy."

Jet could not hide how incredibly degrading he found it to say shit like this - the blush on his face spread all the way down to his sculpted pecs.

Nor could he hide how aroused he was by the double-dicking. His stiff cock bobbed wildly in the air, spewing pre-cum as he rode that daddy-dick with feigned enthusiasm.

"Oh, fuck!" he gasped suddenly. "I'm going to cummmmmm!"

Without touching himself, Jet shuddered and blew his wad, spraying a fountain of cum into the air, onto his own face and into his open mouth.

It was a truly perverse display, and I could understand how traumatic it must have been for Jet's mother to watch. But I also realized what the others apparently did not: Jet had been set up. I recognized the room in which the scene had been filmed: it was my own bedroom, and the identity of the mysterious `daddy' was not a mystery to me. Far from being an older man, it was my little brother, Cam! That cunning snake! No wonder he'd suddenly materialized on set; clearly eager to witness the results of his own malicious handiwork.

He must have told Jet that they needed to record his performance so that they could play it back later to critique his acting style. It was a common enough teaching method that Jet would not have questioned him (if he had worked up the nerve). Then Cam must have ordered Jet to `help' him rehearse his own scenes with Bradley, except with the roles switched and Cam playing the abusive father instead of the victim. Cam hadn't been holding onto Jet's balls just to keep them from obscuring the camera's view of his anal penetration, but also to squeeze them whenever Jet deviated from the script. Anyone who managed to pull their gaze away from the hardcore fucking on screen would have been able to see that - not that many would.

Of course, it had to have been Cam who'd circulated the video since Jet had been with me on a hot set, where phones were prohibited, since 7 that morning.

The truth would not make much of a difference. The damage had already been done; Jet's reputation in our hometown would never recover after that video had made the rounds. Who would believe it was all a setup, when Jet had said all that crap and shot his load while not one but two cocks cored out his hole?

Cam had really done a number on him. Who would've thought the little twerp had it in him to be so devious?

Mr. Gutierrez was explaining to Hank about Jet's daddy issues. "Jet's always been something of a daddy's boy; Hugh Willis could do no wrong in his eyes. Even after he got sent down for embezzlement, Jet would always take up for his dad against his mom and opposed the divorce. He really hated it when she decided to remarry, especially to a Latino. He'd make all kinds of derogatory remarks about us belonging in Mexico, even though my sons and I were all born in this country! We hoped that he would at least warm to having stepbrothers since they are so close in age but instead he was always putting them down and saying that only homosexuals would join sports like swimming and gymnastics."

I glanced again at Rico and Cam standing side by side with evil smirks on their faces and another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Not only did they know each other, but they were friendly enough with each other that Rico must've told Cam all about Jet's daddy issues, which Cam had exploited fully in filming the video.

Mr. Gutierrez went on. "I'm sure you'll agree, that video is terribly damning. My wife now has questions whether her ex-husband abused Jet as a child or if it was Jet alone who had an incestuous but unrequited crush on his father. She was too distraught to travel, and anyway we couldn't get a babysitter at such short notice - we have a baby boy of our own - so I assured her I'd come up here with the twins and handle it.

"To be honest, I initially thought the video had to be doctored in some way. It just didn't jive with the Jet I knew. There's been any number of girls coming in and out of his bedroom, and he's always been very vocal about his distaste for the gay community.

"But during the train journey here, the twins explained to me about self-loathing homophobes and I've seen myself how much he enjoys a tumble with his wrestling buddies in their tight, skimpy singlets and the pieces began to fall into place. Actually witnessing him on set, reveling in a thorough dicking, well, that just confirmed it."

Jet was shaking his head frantically; I presume he had also worked out what had transpired because he was glaring balefully at Cam and the twins but the spider-gag was preventing him from saying anything. And I'm not sure he would have been able to change his stepfather's impression anyway. In an unfortunate bit of timing, his continuously-battered prostate gland chose that particular moment to betray him and his rock-solid cock spurted with several jets of sticky, white boy-juice that landed all over his face and body, much like in the video. Some of it even went into his open mouth.

Talk about bad optics. It really looked as though Jet had been aroused to the point of ejaculation from watching himself getting double-dicked by a daddy. Mr. Gutierrez shook his head reprovingly while his twin sons and Cam tittered.

Hank addressed Mr. Gutierrez. "I have to say this comes as a surprise to me, too. I make it a point not to question my actors about their sexuality because I always feel the best actors can play whatever is written for them. In retrospect, Jet's eagerness to join the show and be placed among a cast of older men should've been the first hint. He really was most enthusiastic to get the part of an extra in the prison storyline, among a group of convicts not unlike his father.

"I'm sure Jet didn't mean to be outed like that but I tend to think it's healthier to have it all out in the open. Secrets can take their toll on mental health - I'm not sure if you watched our story with the character of Jake, who was terribly depressed when he had to keep his homosexuality under wraps. I'm sure Mrs. Gutierrez would rather her son be happy and out then miserable and closeted."

I gave Hank the side-eye because I didn't think he really meant that but was forced to be politically correct in front of Jet's stepfather since he had already indicated homosexuality was not an issue for him or his wife.

Sure enough, Gonzalo said, "It's the whole daddy aspect that's really troubling her. Was there something that we should have done - that I should've done, as the father figure in his life - to prevent him from developing a sexual obsession with his real dad?"

"It won't do to beat yourself up unnecessarily, Mr. Gutierrez," Hank told him firmly but sympathetically. "It sounds like Jet was a racist, homophobic teen by the time you married his mother. Even if you'd discovered his predilection, it would have been too late to nip it in the bud, and he would hardly have welcomed your intervention anyway. I admire your compassion and concern for Jet considering he hasn't exactly returned the favor to you or your sons. If you are still serious about wanting to help him, there is only one piece of advice I can give you now."

"What's that?"

"We're doing an incest story with another character - in fact played by Cam here - and doing my research into the issue has really opened my eyes to the lasting psychological harm done by fathers who prey on their own sons. Even after that predatory relationship has ended, the boys often find themselves fixated on older, paternalistic men. You'll likely never be able to truly cure Jet of that predisposition, but you can at least redirect his passions towards someone besides his biological dad. As you noted, you are the other father figure in his life."

I could scarcely believe what Hank was suggesting, but Mr. Gutierrez was nodding along enthusiastically. "Of course, I want to help Jet in any way I can, to rid him of his sick sexual fascination with his own father. And you're right, I am the ideal candidate. What do you suggest I do?"

Hank gestured for Boyd and his fellow ex-cons to back away from Jet's prone, cum-drenched body. I edged closer in the gap that had opened up, my exhaustion overcome by my curiosity to witness what Gonzalo Gutierrez was about to do to Jet.

"Ankles up by your ears, Jet, and hold them in place," instructed Hank. Although wiped out, Jet barely hesitated to obey. This gave everyone in the immediate vicinity an unobstructed view of Jet's asshole. We could all see right inside his pussy, which was like a yawning chasm. His sphincter was badly distended and abraded, utterly unable to hold in the filthy river of cum that was flowing out from his battered rectum.

Despite my dislike of the teen, I winced in sympathy, guessing that my own pussy didn't look very different.

"Oh, wow," exclaimed Mr. Gutierrez. "That looks extremely sore." He reached out and touched Jet's swollen sphincter and the boy instinctively shuddered in pain.

"Oh, this is nothing," Hank said dismissively. "Colt here has taken some very sizable fists up his pussy with barely a murmur." Well, I wouldn't have made it sound quite so easy, but I was glad that Hank had impressed upon Mr. Gutierrez that I was a lot more talented than Jet.

"An entire fist?" Mr. Gutierrez appeared very intrigued by the concept of fisting. "They can take that?"

"Well, Jet hasn't, at least not yet. But he does have an appetite for a proper ass-stretching, as you saw."

Mr. Gutierrez kneeled on the ground in between Jet's beefy thighs and spread them wider apart. His face was so close to Jet's hole that, for one disgusting moment, I thought he was going to lick it.

"Damn, that's one hot pussy," he observed, almost admiringly. He ran a long, spindly finger down the smooth cleft of Jet's ass (well, smooth save for the crusted seminal and anal fluids). "And he doesn't have any body hair either!"

Hank smiled. "It took some convincing, but Jet was the first actor to agree to a full-body electrolysis." Hank was downplaying it if anything; it had taken all of Hank's (considerable) persuasion skills to get the teen to consent to the permanent removal of all the hair on his body below his eyebrows.

Rico snorted. "I'll bet; he used to give me grief for shaving my body hair for competitive swimming." He reached out to fondle Jet's hairless pits, while his twin felt up the equally smooth crotch.

There was a guttural groan from Jet; Mr. Gutierrez had slipped his finger into the teen's sore hole. His pussy swallowed it up easily, and Mr. Gutierrez summarily added a second finger. Still not encountering any resistance, he thrust a third digit into the boy. Jet was obviously feeling the fingers now because he was squirming and moaning.

"Do I need some kind of lubricant?" Mr. Gutierrez asked Hank.

Hank shook his head. "We're trying our best to recreate a realistic prison environment here. Lube wouldn't be readily available to inmates and, even if it was, it would be a luxury which they wouldn't waste on a bitch. But I do make some concessions for my actors' wellbeing - in this case, nature's lubricant: semen."

Nando piped up helpfully. "Yeah, Dad. Coach Barton takes a collection at school and all of the sports teams send in cannisters of the stuff every week." I saw Jet grimace in consternation as he realized that he (and I!) had been consuming his stepbrothers' sperm for weeks.

"It's a very productive partnership," agreed Hank. "I've always wanted to encourage a passion for method acting among American youth, especially jocks who rarely have any inclination towards the arts, and this was a perfect way to get them actively involved."

Mr. Gutierrez nodded absent-mindedly, his focus on fingering his stepson's pussy. Hank's assurances had dispelled any lingering concerns he might have had about hurting Jet. All four of his fingers were now buried deep inside the blond teen's pussy and he was wriggling them about, causing Jet obvious discomfort.

Hank continued, oblivious. "In the corrective justice system, boys like Jet have a target on their backs. Straight-acting, well-muscled, white, teenaged – he ticks pretty much every box. All the other inmates will want to cut him down to size. So it's not just sex they have in mind when they pass him around – it's humiliation. They want to embarrass him, degrade him, teach him a good, hard lesson that, on the outside, he may be on top of the world, but in here he's the lowest of the low. And what better way than to make him shoot his load while being anally violated?

"If you root about a couple of inches down his rectum, you should be able to feel a little walnut-sized gland; that's his prostate. Squeezing that will ... well, you can see the result already." Jet's cock was standing stiffly to attention, and the teen's face was crimson with shame.

"Go ahead and slip your thumb in," urged Hank. "It's past time Jet got a taste of fisting."

That was a step too far for Jet, whose training was, after all, incomplete. He also lacked the same level of dedication. The wuss released his ankles and prepared to bolt, but his stepbrothers were having none of it.

Rico and Nando immediately restrained him, making him hold the doubled-up position. I noticed they both had their cocks out; when had that happened? The identical phalluses were hard and leaking pre-cum onto Jet's face.

As the blond teen twisted and turned in a desperate attempt to free himself, his stepfather tucked him thumb in alongside his fingers and thrust inwards. The widest part of his hand breached Jet's already weakened sphincter and, in what seemed like a flash, his entire hand was buried inside the teenager's pussy.

Jet made a sound that was barely human. His words were garbled by the spider-gag but I had a strong inkling that he was begging his stepfather to take his fist out of his abused pussy.

The older man didn't pay him any heed. He slipped his hand even deeper into Jet's ass as the distressed teen tossed his head from side to side.

"Oh Jesus," sighed Mr. Gutierrez, "this is amazing! His ass fits my hand like a glove."

"Try getting deeper in, Dad," urged one of the twins – I think it was Rico, because he was the one with no body hair, but it was hard to tell now since they'd both stripped off and were no longer wearing their distinguishing t-shirts.

"All the way up to your elbow," chimed in the other twin, glee unmistakable in his voice. Both siblings were jerking off over Jet's face at the prospect of their hated stepbrother's utter violation.

Mr. Gutierrez looked to Hank for assent and, upon receiving a nod, proceeded to cram more of his forearm into his blond stepson. This took some effort because Jet was thrashing about in agony; I was buoyed by the fact that he wasn't just sweating buckets (which I do, too, during a fisting) but also bawling like a baby.

Finally Mr. Gutierrez's entire forearm was buried inside Jet, right up to his elbow. Even I was agog; not even Coach Barton had attempted to go that deep with me. I could tell the last couple of inches had been a real slog because Gonzalo's forehead was beaded with perspiration. Of course, that was nothing compared to the pain Jet had to be in.

Unconcerned for his stepson's suffering, Gonzalo remarked, "Phew, that was harder than I imagined. You wouldn't think his ass would be that tight after all the action it's seen today, but it's still a real squeeze! And he sure squeals a lot."

The spider gag in his mouth had not stopped Jet from making a lot of (unintelligible) noise throughout the entire procedure.

Hank smiled. "You'll have to forgive Jet; he's still in training. Like I said before, Colt is much more experienced at taking a fist."

Gonzalo Gutierrez and his twin sons transferred their gazes to me and sized me up with what looked uncomfortably like hunger. Suddenly I didn't feel quite so thrilled with my front-row seat to Jet's torment. I tried to back away from the scene but found that the ex-cons had crowded behind me, blocking any chance of a hasty exit.

"Maybe he'd like to demonstrate?" suggested one of the twins.

"Yeah, side by side with Jet," added the other twin.

"Of course," exclaimed Hank. "What a great way to compare their abilities, with your right fist in Jet and the left in Colt." He turned towards me expectantly, and my heart sank.

Oh crap. Now I really regretted my decision to stay on and watch Jet's humiliation instead of heading back to my dressing room for a rest.

Before my mind could even process what was happening, the ex-cons had "helped" me onto the table beside Jet, flat on my back with my legs folded up towards my shoulders.

"Colt won't be quite as tight, for obvious reasons," Hank noted almost apologetically, "but he will definitely demonstrate to you what a consummate method actor he is. Isn't that right, Colt?"

I nodded reluctantly. Just once, I wished Hank would refrain from holding me up as the gold standard in method acting when it meant putting my body through more degrading and excruciating abuse.

Gonzalo Gutierrez appeared keen on living up to the `excruciating' part. I'd assumed he would be as cautious as he had been when fisting his stepson for the first time, but either he had gained a taste for rough man-on-man sex or Hank's vote of confidence in me had prompted him to abandon all restraint. (I can't imagine it was down to any fatherly affection for Jet.)

Without ceremony, Gonzalo plunged his fist into my aching hole in one swift thrust. Of course, my very recent triple-penetrations helped ease his passage into my back channel but that didn't make it any less agonizing. To avoid shrieking like crybaby Jet, I bit down on the nearest available limb, which happened to be my calf.

"Damn, Dad, that was brutal!" exclaimed one of the twins. Far from being aghast at this lewd display of dual fisting, it actually spurred him to shoot his load right onto Jet's face, some of it landing on mine, too.

Gonzalo proudly proclaimed, "That? That was nothing. Wait till I get elbow-deep inside him!"

He didn't waste any time living up to his promise. I'd never had someone go that deep inside me with their fist. Not even 15.5 inches of dildo had been this extreme!

"Wow, I can actually feel your fist inside him," enthused the other twin, pressing down on my abs and adding to my (already considerable) discomfort. "Awesome, Dad!"

"Don't forget to stimulate their prostates," reminded Hank. "It's crucial that you get them off while they're being fisted to multiply their shame and achieve the effect we're going for."

Gonzalo nodded and began punching his fists in and out of us. It struck me that this was like a truly depraved game of foosball. Our spectators added to the effect by cheering on Gonzalo and wagering whether Jet or I would cum first. Each time Gonzalo yanked out his forearm up to the wrist, he'd firmly squeeze our prostates. His ministrations had the inevitable outcome, and soon both my cock and Jet's were fully engorged.

I wanted to retain my hard-won victory, but Jet had cum more recently and ultimately I blew my wad before him. Hank was right about the crushing shame. I was already caked in spunk but adding my own sperm to the mix felt like a personal defeat. Not that my audience minded; they crowed in delight and I witnessed several dollar bills exchanging hands. Most dismayingly, I caught sight of Hank accepting a $10 note from Clovis! Even he had bet against me!

Still, I hoped that would be the end of it – since I'd cum, I'd be allowed to return to my dressing room and collapse for some much-needed sleep. After all, it was Jet who still had 30-odd men to service before he could call it a day.

Unfortunately, Clovis was evidently still smarting from losing his wager to Hank and, in a transparent attempt to make back his money, had the bright idea that they should extend the bitch-off to include a side-by-side fist-fucking relay.

I decided I had to protest. "But that would bring the total number of contests to four, and possibly end in a tie!"

I thought it was a valid concern, but Hank obviously didn't agree. He knelt down to whisper in my ear, "Come on Colt, you don't really believe you would lose to Jet in a fisting contest, do you? You're going to look bad in front of our guests ... and right after I extolled your talent, too."

He sounded so aggrieved that I felt rotten for pursuing the matter and relented - I certainly did not want embarrass Hank when he was my biggest supporter - but not without voicing another concern.

"How are you going to judge the winner of this contest? How will you know when a fisting is complete?" A valid question, I would've thought, since unlike a blowjob or butt-fucking that ended once the top ejaculated, there was no natural conclusion to the act of fisting.

Clovis appeared so flummoxed by my query that, for one brief moment, I thought I'd successfully put the brakes on his ill-conceived fist-a-thon, but then one of the blasted Gutierrez twins spoke up.

"Surely it would be once the bitch blows his wad?"

The other twin chipped in, "Or at least a dry orgasm, if the bitch is completely out of ball juice."

Hank clapped the second twin on the back. "That's a brilliant solution: fist the bitches until they cum, wet or dry, and the winner is the bitch who cycles the fastest through every one of the inmates here - well, the ones who want to partake."

Oh Christ. There were two dozen of them, all of them practically rubbing their hands with glee. I didn't think any of them would not take up the offer. After all, they were genuine ex-cons and, as Hank had observed earlier, they would definitely enjoy ruining a young, privileged, straight, white muscle-boy.

"So I guess I'll go first," announced Clovis cheerfully. I eyed his fists with dismay; like the rest of his towering, bulky physique, they were massive and would give Coach a run for his money.

Getting fisted by those ass-wreckers was going to hurt.

But the humiliating display was still not complete. While Gonzalo reluctantly withdrew his fists from Jet's ass and mine, Cam decided to offer up a suggestion of his own. "How about forcing the two bitches to suck face and rub their clits against each other while they're being fisted? That would really up the shame factor."

I glared at Cam, but his proposal was greeted with cheers by the ex-cons and it was decided: Jet and I were rolled onto our sides, facing each other so we could make out while we got our asses demolished by our fist-fucker.

I swore I would get my own back, but thoughts of revenge were instantaneously driven from my mind when Clovis, without warning, practically punched his way through my sphincter.

Jet and I howled in unison at the brutal penetration, but our audience only laughed at our ordeal and grabbed our heads to mash our faces together. Someone had removed Jet's spider-gag but without giving him a chance to defend himself - though I doubted that it would have made any difference.

Conceding the futility of his position, Jet shoved his tongue down my throat. I hate to say it, but his lips were a welcome distraction from my anal agony. I'm sure that we looked to all the world like a pair of horny faggots hopelessly in love with each other and with having our asses destroyed by giant fists.

We'd forgotten about the second part of Cam's suggestion, frottage, but Clovis `kindly' remedied that by using his buried fists to bring our crotches right up against each other. Having the lower half of my body lifted by a fist deep within my ass was not something I ever want to repeat.

I didn't know whether the added friction helped or it was purely down to the pressure on our prostates, but we were both nursing full boners within a matter of seconds.

Either way, facing a teenage competitor, I was thankful for whatever helped me get off sooner. How sick and twisted was that?!

I desperately tried frotting against Jet's cum-crusted abs in an attempt to cum before him, but his relative youth worked against me. To my dismay, he shot his load first, drenching my own cock and balls with his spunk.

I realized then that I had to play dirty if I wanted to retain my victory. After Boyd took Clovis' place, I waited until I sensed that Jet was ready to blow - in such close proximity, I could feel the telltale tension in his body that preceded an orgasm - and that's when I made my move. Breaking off our kiss, I leaned down and bit his nipple, hard. The sharp, sudden pain made Jet's erection wilt and granted me a few precious seconds to catch up to him.

Revealing my hand so early turned out to be a mistake. Now wise to my tricks, Jet proved a quick study and flicked my balls painfully just as I was about to shoot my wad.

Needless to say, this game of one-upmanship continued in a similar vein for the rest of the competition. Every time one of us got close to climax, the other would attempt to derail it. It was tough enough that our balls were running on empty - I only managed two more orgasms and Jet four before we were shooting dry. I realized quickly that we were just prolonging our own agony but unless Jet was willing to stop - and he wasn't – I sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to call it quits.

It took us nearly eight hours, and 27 orgasms apiece, before we were able to service all the ex-cons, plus Cam and the Gutierrez twins. Yeah, the last three weren't part of the original deal but somehow they managed to wriggle their way in while Jet and I weren't paying attention.

I'm ashamed to say Jet completed the challenge twenty minutes ahead of me. Even more than the physical and mental exhaustion, it was the look of disappointment on Hank's face that affected me the most.

"We'll think of a tie-breaker in the morning," Boyd declared sunnily. "You," he told Jet, who was trying to stand unsteadily, "aren't going anywhere. You still have thirty cocks to service."

Jet collapsed with a wail.

At Hank's instigation, Clovis threw me over his shoulder and carried me effortlessly back to my dressing room, with Hank following closely behind. To my complete mortification, my slack hole farted great gobs of cum and piss every step of the way.

Clovis dumped me on the daybed and departed, complaining loudly about having to rinse my muck off his back and adding to my shame.

Hank and I were alone. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, "I know I let you down."

Hank sighed. "I won't lie, Colt; I was really disappointed by your poor showing just now. But I like to think of myself as a fair boss, so I'm not going to act like this one failure erases all your sacrifices and accomplishments. It just means you'll have to try harder from now on, and embrace every acting challenge whole-heartedly."

"Of course Hank!" I replied readily. "I won't let you down again, I promise!" I tried to sit up because I felt awkward lying in bed like an invalid, but shuddered at the incredible bolt of pain that ripped through my ass when I did.

Hank eyed me with concern. "I think you need to use that balm applicator urgently."

I groaned. "I don't think I have the energy to do squats on that thing."

"Let me help you there," offered Hank.

"Oh no, Hank, I can't ask you to do that," I protested, but Hank was not to be put off. He squeezed a good amount of balm onto a gloved hand and made me lie back. I hissed in pain as his greasy fingers worked my way into my aching hole but bore the intrusion stoically.

"Now, there's one more thing I wanted to discuss with you, Colt, and I think it's something you'll be very pleased by. It's about your next storyline."

I perked up at that.

"Something every young leading man will love," Hank continued. "An espionage plot."

That made me really sit up, barely registering that Hank had inserted his whole fist inside me and was pumping my prostate energetically.

"For real?" I exclaimed.

Hank nodded with a smile. "I was sure you'd like it. I've been wracking my brains about how to get you out of prison so we can move you on to your ultimate storyline, exploring Max's bisexuality, and snag that Emmy. We needed to hitch your star to all the zeitgeists of this decade: the new, darker James Blond; Fifty Shades of Rainbow; Orange is the New Lavender ..."

I was growing more excited by the second. Those were all terrific cultural phenomena and any one of them would do wonders for my public profile, but all of them? Jackpot!

Hank's smile grew wider as he saw my reaction. "Yes, this plot ticks absolutely all those boxes. So here's how it'll go. The FBI will approach your character to go undercover to expose a criminal racket operating out of the prison. To incentivize Max, they'll dangle the offer of an early pardon from the governor, which neatly solves how you'll be able to move on to stories outside the prison environment."

"Oooh," I warbled due to the intense prostate stimulation. Was Hank actually flexing his fingers inside my ass? "What kind of criminal enterprise do they want Max to uncover?"

"Take a guess."

I tried to think, which was difficult when the burning sensation of Coach's special balm began in earnest.

"Um, a white supremacist gang?"

Hank shook his head. "Nah, Just A Single Lifetime already did that one."

"An organ-harvesting ring?"

"Sands in the Hourglass."

"A mafia boss running his crime syndicate from inside?"

"Central Medical."

I was running out of ideas. "Contraband smuggling?"

"Pretty much every other soap."

"I give up," I croaked.

Hank tutted and gave my prostate a very firm squeeze, which was enough to push me over the edge. My entire body nearly levitated off the bed as I managed to produce a bit of watery cum that drenched Hank's free hand. He pressed it under my chin for me to lick clean.

"I would've thought my mention of Fifty Shades of Rainbow was a dead giveaway. Obviously, the FBI would want to recruit Max, a known porn performer, to infiltrate a prison racket that's making inmates available for BDSM sex work."

Fuck!

To Be Continued ...

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