Trent Hardacre meets his match Chapter 4 - Revenge
Themes include fucking, sucking, group sex and humiliation. Average reading time 15 minutes.
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Trent Hardacre was pissed.
All he'd wanted was to fuck a fresh-faced bottom called Jacob Dax. He'd seen the boy arrive on the porn scene and had immediately wanted him with a lust he'd never felt before. (The fact that Jacob would no longer be fresh after being reamed out by Trent's 12" by 3" fuckslab somehow escaped the top's attention).
He'd quickly got his porn studio to arrange a scene for the two of them, but it hadn't gone well. Jacob had taken some new and experimental muscle relaxants that made his hole relax so much that Trent's giant cock had barely touched the sides. So used to breaking in tight holes, Jacob's looseness was a new and humiliating experience for the cocky top. His dick had gone soft and he'd barely been able to even manage a cum shot across the boy's face.
After that his feelings were so conflicted that he wanted to take revenge and truly control the boy. He asked the studio's doctor to hypnotise Jacob, giving him a powerful cock and cum lust. A hunger so big that the boy would have no choice but to beg the hung top to fuck him again (this time for real).... and then Trent could take great pleasure in slamming the door in the desperate bottom's face and Trent would be over his stupid infatuation.
Unfortunately, wires got crossed. Dr Campion - Hamilton Studio's medic - was so eager to please the company's star performer that he went slightly overboard. Instead of a lust for big cock, Campion gave Jacob a desire for having a big hole. And instead of a thirst for cum, Jacob had been conditioned to not be able to orgasm until he'd swallowed a lot of dick. 25 loads per orgasm to be precise. Christ, had the wires got crossed! Campion had even given Jacob hole dysmorphia - meaning that no matter how big Jacob's ass got he would always think it tiny and needing of more work.
Campion's over enthusiastic fuck-up was having immense consequences. Trent was nowhere near close to banishing his crush from his life, whilst the twisted effects on Jacob were obvious for all to see, though the young bottom didn't realise that anything had changed himself. Campion's meddling was so effectively done that the boy thought he was simply going about life as he'd always done. To him a crippling dildo addiction was simply who he was. And that hunger for cum? Standard.
As soon as Trent realised just how fucked up things had got he'd tried to rescue the boy and have him deprogrammed (something that may have still been just possible at this stage) but fate got in the way. He had foolishly followed Jacob to a bathhouse and overseen `his' boy being fucked by a rough black guy. The jealously ate him up on the spot, and he screamed for payback. He may not be able to have Jacob right now, but man could he take his frustrations out on that bathhouse fucker!
He used all of his clout with his employers to entice the man in for an amateur film shoot. Tyrone - Jacob's bathhouse shag - was bowled over when told the studio were looking for fresh talent. Although confident in himself, he'd never considered doing porn before. However, the sizeable and upfront performance fee was too good to ignore. And then to be told his scene would involve some intense cherry harvesting was music to his ears. He was straight but loved just how much punishment fags could take. His excitement meant he didn't suspect for a minute that he was going to be the cherry....
Horny as fuck - he'd resisted fucking his bitch Alyssa the night before - he turned up at the studio eager for action. He quickly signed the studio's standard contract, barely pretending to even read it.
He was led to a changing/dressing/green room and told to wait for his set to be ready. He was surprised to see Trent Hardacre in the room too. Tyrone was hung, but no-one had the numbers on Trent Hardacre! Were they going to be in the same film? It felt good to be in the company of such a living porn-god, though he felt on edge that the star had barely looked up when Tyrone walked in.
The tall and dark blue collar worker sat down in front of a wall of mirrors and looked back at his swarthy face and manly figure. He wasn't necessarily a handsome man - perhaps a bit brutish - but he knew how to fuck and was in good shape for his late-twenties. He was ready for his big moment.
Except... Trent's cold energy was kinda giving him jitters... why did he feel the porn star was throwing him shade?
Before he could do anything a buff, virtually naked guy walked in holding a tray of shots. He was wearing nothing more than a tiny, gold posing pouch that revealed far more than it hid, whilst his oiled-up muscles gave him the authentic air of a sleazy male stripper. The butch and salacious beefcake immediately took an interest in Tyrone, quickly offering him a welcoming shot.
The blue collar worker could hold his drink, but he wasn't sure alcohol before his shoot was a great idea - he wanted to be at his best. However, the tanned and pumped stripper willed him on and Tyrone knocked the tequila back. Another shot was then quickly put in his hands. He tried to say no, but the musclebound stripper became sternly insistent. Already on edge from the energy in the room, Tyrone relented and downed it one.
It was then that things started going off the rails.
At the other end of the room Trent stood up and casually pulled his sweatshorts down, nonchalantly turning to face Tyrone and giving the black top a full-frontal of his giant porn star dick. The sight made Tyrone feel strangely anxious. He wasn't here to compete on who was most hung, yet why was his body suddenly prickling with heat?
Trent then smoothly injected the shaft of his junk with liquid Viagra. It was an old porn trick and the results were always impressive. In seconds, Trent's dick went from lazily flaccid to intimidatingly huge: 12 thick inches of rock hard cock that would stay erect for hours.
Before Tyrone could wonder why Trent needed such a hard cock (and why the studio's highest billing performer didn't seem to have a dressing room of his own) the room was swamped by more strippers. Christ, did they move in packs? They were all as big as the first (who was thrusting yet another glass into his hand) and they all took an uncomfortable amount of interest in the new performer. Well, uncomfortable to Tyrone. Perhaps if he hadn't of drunk so many doubles he'd have twigged that he was on his set already, and that cameras behind the giant two-way mirrors were capturing everything in high-definition. Then again, each shot of the studio's special tequila had a few extra ingredients to take the edge off, so maybe he wouldn't have. The mix slowed everything down whilst heightening the senses, making everyone who drank it compliant yet shamefully aware of every moment. Oh, and uncontrollably horny.
Now on the back foot, Tyrone wasn't able to brush off the pack's attention. All their energy seemed to be focused on him. As soon as one stripper asked a question, another was there to hear the reply and so on. The questions quickly became salacious and it took a moment for Tyrone to realise that the strippers were answering for him. Like guessing the size of his junk (packing heat, I bet! look, we can see your bulge swelling up), exactly what his type was (you like `em big, right?) and how he liked to fuck (you look like you can take a lot, can you?).
He felt confused and struggled to keep up, not least with his dick getting painfully hard in his jeans. He tried to rearrange himself, but that only made things worse, almost colliding with a gold lamé dick mound that was uncomfortably close to his head. The strippers howled with laughter (getting hungry are you?). God, if this is what porn was like he wouldn't be coming back, good money or not.
"When do I get to do my scene?" he asked, determined to get things moving. "You know... my cherry harvest?" The first stripper replied they'd be starting any moment, but then asked whether Tyrone had manscaped in preparation? Of course Tyrone hadn't, he was an unreconstructed factory worker not a fag! He tried to be stern and say he had no need for that as his dick was impressive just the way it was, however, the strippers stopped him cold. They were shocked and appalled. Had no-one told him about the studio's strict policy for all Hamilton performers to have shaved balls? Two of the pack even pulled their own sacks out to show him (see? not a hair in sight!).
Tyrone shook his head, not believing this shit. He asked to borrow a razor and for directions to a bathroom. However, there was no way the pack would let him shave himself. What if he nicked his balls before his big break? No, they were old hands and would take care of it for him. Right now.
Before he could take stock he'd been pulled to his feet and his jeans pushed down to his ankles. In fact, a couple of the strippers proceeded to remove all of his clothes, saying they didn't want them to get covered in hairs. It was simply easier this way.
Now in just his boxer shorts he felt strangely bashful, not least as he couldn't remember his prick ever being this hard before. No time to be shy said one of the strippers, yanking his shorts down in one. Tyrone's drug-hard prick sprung free and he felt appraising glances from the entire group (oh, I thought you'd be bigger than that, aren't you guys meant to be hung?). Tyrone was proud of his 8 inches and yet he suddenly felt humbled. Worse was to come as one of the pack grabbed his balls for a much closer inspection (Jesus, does your headcheese always stink this much?), the sudden touch triggering his cock to ooze precum (christ, can't you control yourself? I don't want your fucking dick slop on me!).
Head spinning, one of the strippers got to work with a razor (man, this is one ugly sack - I'm gonna' need a hacksaw to cut these wiry pubes off). He had to keep perfectly still, and that meant he found it impossible to slap away one of the strippers who was now having a tug-of-war with his nipples.
He couldn't deny it was a close shave... but then the razor started to move round to his ass! He tried to protest - he'd always had a sweaty and hairy crack (Jesus! the musk down here! don't you ever wash?!) - but the strippers insisted. Two of them held his arse cheeks wide apart and told him to stop making noise lest they nick his hole. Finally it was done, though everyone's fingers running down his butt cheeks to check he was smooth felt deeply unnecessary.
The strippers stepped back to admire their handiwork. There was an awkward silence before one of them pointedly said just how shaggy Tyrone's pubes were. Suddenly it was agreed that his dense bush would look way better as a nice, sexy triangle. Swipe went the razor, and then again and again... (more off the right... no, now the left is too high!). Tyrone was almost in tears as his manly bush was hacked away. So much was removed to even it out that soon all that remained was a sliver of hair only a cunt-lick wide, pointing straight up from his dick. The pack seemed delighted but Tyrone thought he looked obscene. He hadn't been this naked since he was 9 years old and the tiny landing strip of pubes that was left didn't help at all, it was almost worse than having no hairs at all. And why wouldn't his fucking dick quit already?! He was rock hard and oozing more precum than he'd ever dripped in his life. Surely he wasn't getting off on this?
Suddenly, there was a flap. Time had flown by and Tyrone was told his set was ready and he couldn't be late. A cut-off hoodie and a micro pair of track shorts were bundled into his hands. He put them on without thinking and immediately regretted it. Jesus, he looked like a cheap tramp, not the big dicked top he wanted to be for his scene. There had to be some mistake! The only guys he'd ever seen wearing shorts this tight were out-and-proud-dyed-in-the-wool-fag-boys! The material was so thin you could fucking see everything. And Jesus! His thick stream of dick drizzle was already seeping through and turning the material transparent! He couldn't wear this!
By now Tyrone was feeling hot and queasy. Why did the room smell so much of sex? Was it just him? He was seriously off balance. The pack started to bundle him to the door but one of strippers suddenly demanded to know whether Tyrone had completed his initiation? His what, now? Surely shaving his crotch was more than enough?
He felt rather than saw all eyes turn to Trent, still lazily occupying the far corner, his dick standing proud with even the smallest veins on his shaft in sharp relief from the injected Viagra.
"Well remembered guys! No, he sure hasn't!" he said. Trent had watched the entire scene play out and had done his best to stay totally impassive as the strippers played their part. Now it was his turn: time to get payback on the guy who had dared to fuck `his' boy.
The confused Tyrone was frog-marched to the middle of the room and pushed onto his knees. He was so whacked out that he didn't realise the significance of the position, or the meaning of the stripper's excited babble. They were excitedly talking over each other, asking how could they have missed it, how silly they were... everyone hired to be a performer at Hamilton Studios had to blow the company's big name star. It was a rite of passage and all part of joining the team.
The reality finally hit Tyrone and he desperately struggled to say he hadn't been hired, that he wasn't even on the team, that he didn't even want to be on the fucking team, but his words got lost in the noise. He tried to shake off the muscled men, but they were holding him down too tight. He was straight, not a cocksucker god damn it! And yet here he was, held in perfect place to receive his first dick.
Trent approached Tyrone with evil intensity. He was naked except for high tops and a studio t-shirt. His cock walked a full foot in front of him, and as if that wasn't intimidating enough, Trent was gripping his shaft hard at the base to make his dick look even more imposing. His flared helmet led the way, thick strands of precum trailing rapidly behind. The look of horror in Tyrone's eyes only made the top harder.
The stripper pack had placed themselves to give Trent perfect access. The porn star positioned the tip of his juicy dick so it was just touching Tyrone's mouth. "Open up, bitch!" demanded Trent. The smell and close dick proximity made Tyrone wrinkle his face in disgust and he tried to pull away, shaking his head from side-to-side whilst his mouth clamped tight to refuse the big cock. All he achieved was to prolong the inevitable though... and to wipe thick streaks of Trent's fucksauce across his face.
The pack weighed in (come on, it's not that bad! we've all sucked Trent's bone and look at us!) before taking direct action to move things along. Tyrone's shorts were torn away and his junk painfully squeezed. He cried out in pain: the message was clear. Suck dick or have his own balls yanked off.
Tentatively he opened his mouth (there's a good boy, it was obvious you wanted dick from the moment you walked in, why else come to a gay porn studio?) and braced himself. Trent seized the moment and pushed his dick forwards, letting Tyrone feel the full weight and heat of his helmet on his tongue. Tyrone felt deeply ashamed as he experienced a new taste in his mouth, a taste that could only mean dickslop was leaking onto his tongue. He wanted to spit the dick out, but a stern warning in his ear from one of the stripper's told him to keep going and to not even think about using his teeth.
The oversized pole was then slowly and masterfully pushed further in. It was an intense struggle for Tyrone to open wide enough to let it in, but his fear kept him focused. Suddenly he choked as it reached the back of his throat, almost plugging his gullet. Dear god, please let it stop! he thought. However, Tyrone could see that were still long inches of Trent's fat dick still to come. Surely his virgin throat couldn't be expected to any more?
Suddenly, powerful hands held his head perfectly still and Trent pulled back: it was time to start face-fucking for real. Soon, long and powerful strokes were plunging in and out of the Tyrone's mouth. Each time the dick painfully forced its way that little bit deeper, triggering Tyrone's gag reflex over and over again. He valiantly managed to keep his jaws open, but soon thick strands of throat mucus coated the monster in his mouth and started over-running his lips. Tears streamed down his face as he realised his face had become nothing more than a receptacle for white dick!
Then he realised the worst. The hands that had been squeezing his junk were now expertly wanking his cock! He was appalled to feel his spunk rising - he couldn't be enjoying this shit, not him! He desperately tried to squeeze the orgasm away, but if anything that made the hands - and the big cock fucking his mouth - even more urgent. Jesus, through his tears he could see Trent's massive balls rising in their sack! This couldn't be happening...
With a giant scream, Trent came. The thick muscle that ran along the underside of his shaft pulsed fiercely and Tyrone felt the cock in his mouth unbelievably swell even more. Then a tsunami of cum hit the back of his throat. His head was released so he was free to choke and gag as the heavy spunk clogged his mouth, letting him wallow in what he had become. Still shooting, Trent strategically pulled his dick back to make sure his cum filled every inch of Tyrone's mouth. He didn't want Tyrone missing out on the taste of being baptised for the first time as a cocksucker!
It was all too much for Tyrone. A porn star was unloading in his mouth and he had lost all control of his dick. Despite the gagging, despite his mouth filled with the disgusting and foreign taste of mancum, he couldn't help shooting his own powerful load in unison. A great cheer went up from the strippers as the giant slugs hit the floor.
He couldn't believe what had just happened. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors: he looked a complete wreck. Tears in his eyes, thick salvia and worse covering his chin and cum burping from his lips. Ropes of his own jism stained the floor, but that was insignificant compared to the much bigger lagoon of Trent's cum that had escaped his mouth. Jesus, was this what he put all those fags in the bathhouse through?!
It was then he noticed how quiet the room had become. The cheers and whoops had dried up and some primeval instinct made his body tingle, as if the intensity had just shifted a gear. He sensed that he should look up at the top towering over him, but he hesitated. Lightning fast, one of Trent's hands painfully gripped Tyrone's chin and forced the black man's head up. His mouth opened in shock and he was rewarded by Trent expertly predicting the movement. A giant hock of Trent's salvia landed at the back of his throat.
"God, first your balls aren't shaved and now you can't even suck dick properly! Think you're too good to swallow my cum? Looks like I need to unload somewhere deeper... much, much deeper" said the top.
As if choreographed (duh!) the strippers pulled Tyrone up and swung him around to the counter top. His upper body ended up painfully spread out and held down hard, his face mashed into the cold surface. Meanwhile his legs were splayed wide, presenting his freshly shaved ass to the entire room. The realisation suddenly hit him hard: he was the cherry to be harvested! He tried to call out and escape but it was way too late for that.
Trent, who hadn't lost a single degree of hardness after cumming, used his spit and spunk soaked dickhead to massage Tyrone's tightly puckered hole. He loved how pristine and untouched it looked, no more than a pink indentation waiting to be thrust open. To Tyrone, it felt as every nerve-ending in his body was focused on his precious ass. He could literally feel his sphincter being lubed up.
Suddenly a small, open bottle was pushed under his nostrils and he was forced to take a deep, deep breath. He recognised the smell of poppers from the bathhouse - the fags sometimes used them to dilate their pussy's when he fucked them. Oh god, his head was spinning--
Boom! Trent had felt the tiniest relaxation in Tyrone's pucker and he used it to plunge forward hard, his drooling dickhead and giant helmet literally popping Tyrone's cherry. The black man squealed in agony! The pain in his arse was unbelievable - he could feel his hole being stretched taut by the huge column of meat being forced into his arse. He thought he would die, that he would pass out... and there was still over 9" to go! This is what Trent's dick was designed to do though: split tight hole wide open!
The top grabbed the factory worker's hips to steady himself as he ploughed forward with all his might. With a giant squeal, Tyrone was now fully speared by one of the biggest dicks in the business. His new hole - cunt, pussy, call it what you will - would never be the same again. To cheers from the strippers, now the hardcore fucking could begin...
Trent ravaged the black man's cunt, taking all his vexed frustrations out for Jacob not having come running back to him. It took a long, long time for the top to use all that hateful energy up, but finally the grudge fuck was over, a heavy load of scalding cum pumped deep into the savaged ass. Of course, that was the cue for the strippers - none under 9" themselves - to have their own turn.
Tyrone tried to keep up with it, but his head was as fucked as his hole. The pain is his arse had slowly transformed into pleasure (helped by liberal use of the poppers) and he'd even felt his dick rising again - even if it was painfully squashed against the hard counter. The fresh onslaught of dick was too much for him though and he passed out from the non-stop punishment. Not even a ridiculously thick butt plug being rammed into his hole to keep the cum draining out woke him.
However, Trent would put money on it that the plug would be the first thing Tyrone would feel when he came to. Tyrone's pussy would be clinging on to that fat plug for dear life, the brutalised hole frantically closing up around the tiny neck of the big plug for self-preservation. He laughed at just how fucking painful it was going to be for Tyrone to pull the stupidly thick body of the plug back through the gates of his tender hole. And how the cum deposited inside would then uncontrollably flow out through Tyrone's gaping ass lips. Perfect!
Tyrone woke a broken man. In pain, naked, covered in filth and dumped in a downtown alleyway. It was dusk and the day's events hit him in one giant flashback - his shaved groin and brutalised hole only confirming it. Jesus. His cherry had been well and truly taken, and he knew it must have all been caught on camera... damn, his arse fucking was probably splashed over every corner of the internet by now.
It wasn't kind. It wasn't nice. But it certainly make Trent happier. For a bit. Revenge fucking Tyrone somehow give him a little of his mojo back. See? He wasn't really affected by Jacob at all...
Next: Jacob feeds his cum hunger at the waterboy auditions, whilst Trent tries to stage an intervention.
Comments and suggestions welcome at stuhadley77@gmail.com
My other stories:
https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-curse-of-troy-fletcher/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-first-hand-school/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/the-reintegration-centre/ https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/the-wish