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. I previously published this story on NCMC and am presenting it here with minor revisions.
<<< PART 4: Take a Bow - Curtain Call >>>
It took a while for my asshole to recover from the stream of double penetrations I'd endured during the `master class' I delivered at my former high school. I was walking bow-legged for nearly a week, which earned me some odd looks and smirks from people I passed in the street.
Luckily, Hank was as considerate as ever and arranged for me to have an easy shooting schedule until I was back to fighting form. He even recommended what he called a sure-fire method to speed up the healing process. I must confess that I don't know how much good it did to insert the vaguely phallic "balm applicator" into my distended asshole. I would normally have presumed it would set back my recovery rather than enhance it, but I was confident that Hank knew what he was talking about. At first, it was very difficult to fall asleep with the applicator vibrating in my man-pussy, I mean butt. Eventually, however, I came to find its steady, pulsing rhythm strangely soothing and nodded off to sleep. Perhaps it was a little too soothing, as I would wake up to find myself covered in dried cum, having shot off during the night.
These nocturnal emissions proved especially embarrassing during the Memorial Day weekend, when my adopted brother and our high school drama teacher, Kirk Garland (or Mr. G, as his pupils called him), visited the city for Cam's audition. At Hank's prompting I had permitted Cam to stay with me, even though I only had the one bedroom. Naturally, I expected Cam to sleep on the couch, but Hank had gazed reprovingly at me until I begrudgingly offered to let Cam share my bed. (Hank had invited Mr. G to stay at his place, having thanked me for my warning about my ex-teacher's suspect sexuality but brushing it aside nonetheless.)
I hadn't known that Hank would meet them at Penn Station and bring them directly to my apartment. I was still asleep at ten in the morning, having experienced another restless night due to the vibrating applicator, so Hank had to let himself in with the spare key I'd presented him.
Cam's shriek woke me from my slumber. "Ew! He's spunked all over himself!"
I groggily reached for the duvet to cover myself, only to discover that it had been pulled off by Hank.
"I dare say he couldn't help himself," said Hank calmly. "The balm applicator has that effect on men who can't control their body's response to anal stimuli." I blushed.
"Balm applicator?" Mr. G repeated curiously.
"Colt, get on all fours and show them the applicator." As I reluctantly assumed the degrading position, Hank explained how the applicator's constant vibration was intended to aid my anal recovery.
"I do admit that it would be more effective if someone could manually operate the applicator and ensure that it goes in really deep."
Mr. G thought for a moment. "I know! Why not get young Cam here to help his brother out with that? The two of them will be in bed together for the long weekend, after all."
I groaned. In contrast, my brother leapt at the chance. "I'd be more than happy to help Colt with his, uh, anal recovery. I do feel kinda bad that my suggestion was the reason his man-pussy ended up in this condition. I'll make sure the applicator goes in as deep as possible."
"Good lad," said Mr. G. "That's some brotherly spirit!"
Hank concurred. "I know you'd probably much rather spend Memorial Day with your girlfriend back in Albany, so I'm sure your brother is just as appreciative as I am that you'd give that up to come down here for your audition and assist Colt with his recovery at the same time. On that note ... there is one more thing you could do to help Colt out."
Cam looked thrilled at the prospect of abusing me further under the guise of "aiding my recovery". Unfortunately for him, the assistance Hank had in mind was not going to please him either.
"As you've already noticed, Colt is unable to prevent himself from cumming as a side-effect of the balm applicator. Under normal circumstances, this loss of protein would be inconsequential to a virile young man like your brother, but in his current weakened state he needs all the nourishment he can get. That's where you come in, Cam. When your brother blows his wad in the middle of the night, it'll dry on his body. You can lick up the mess and, instead of swallowing it, feed the nutrient-rich mixture back to him using your mouth."
I was struck by how similar the whole procedure sounded to the gay sex act of "snowballing" which Randy and I had once had to enact on the show. Even the recollection sent shivers down my spine.
Cam was just as aghast. "Why can't I just scrape the cum off his body with a spoon and feed it to him?"
"I'm sure you've noticed that your brother has flawless alabaster skin. We can't risk blemishing it by scraping it with a spoon."
"It's just protein, Cam," stated Mr. G. "It's no big deal. You can do this small favor for your brother, surely."
"We're not related!" cried Cam in frustration, taking the words out of my mouth.
"We know that; we wouldn't even suggest this if you were biological brothers. What sort of perverts do you take us for?" The hurt was palpable in Hank's tone, and I instantly felt ashamed for thinking ill of his suggestions which were purely for my wellbeing.
Cam evidently felt the same way, for he hastily apologized and swore to assist my recovery in any way he could.
"Well, there is another way we could ensure Colt regains any lost nutrients ..." began Hank.
That night, under Hank and Mr. G's watchful gaze, Cam gingerly lowered himself onto my stiff pole. Hank had proposed that, if I unloaded my protein in a closed environment (i.e. Cam's ass), it would be much easier to retrieve, and I would additionally benefit from the nutrients in my brother's anal juices when I sucked his ass. We still had the snowball-esque fallback in the event of a second orgasm in the middle of the night. (This wound up being required every night that I slept with the applicator inside me.)
I guess I'd been wrong about Cam and his swimming buddies fooling around with each other because his teenage ass was ridiculously tight. I could practically guarantee he'd been an anal virgin up to that point. I wouldn't put it past the loser to have been saving himself for marriage or something lame like that. It made it doubly ironic that he was losing his butt cherry to me. I smiled to myself; maybe I would open up his back passage for his teammates to have a go.
Cam bleated pathetically as I breached his tiny, pink sphincter. He pleaded with me to be gentle on him, but I recalled how he'd viciously initiated me into the act of double penetration. (Funny how these sissy boys turn into ferocious tops when given the opportunity to stick their dick in man-pussy: first Randy, then Cam.) The painful memory didn't exactly incline me to mercy.
He had barely an inch of my dick buried inside him when I gave him a little nudge that made him lose his balance and fall the rest of the way down my erect dong. You should've heard him scream! It's a wonder none of my neighbors called the cops thinking that someone was being murdered in my apartment.
"Oh God, take it out of me! Take it out!" he begged.
It took all of Hank's (considerable) charm to induce him to stay in position.
Weakling that he was, Cam all but collapsed from the agony of being impaled on my dick so I was left to propel the rest of the fuck. Not that I minded in the least. It had been too long since I'd sunk my cock into pussy and I didn't care that this was man-pussy, much less that it was my so-called brother's.
I propped up the profusely sweating, whimpering teen and pounded his ass with full strength. I'd positioned him in an angle that ensured maximal penetration, and every one of my powerful strokes was accompanied by a pained squeal from Cam. I was only sorry that the fuck didn't last longer, but the homo's hot, tight pussy practically squeezed the spunk out of me within 10 minutes.
Hank advised me to let my sperm baste in the warmth of Cam's man-pussy for another few minutes to absorb his ass juices. Meanwhile, he said I could supplement my protein dose by licking up the mess Cam had made all over himself. Despite his nonstop wailing, the little fag had actually shot his own load while I was deflowering him. I hoped to get away with a few cursory licks but Hank insisted that I consume all the bodily fluids on Cam, including the sweat which coated his hairless body.
The main object remained Cam's cream-filled ass. I was forced to spend far too much time with my face buried between his butt-cheeks, slurping my sticky semen from his steamy insides. Needless to say, this significantly dampened my earlier euphoria. I could distinctly taste Cam's anal juices flavoring my sperm, and it was only Hank's encouragement that made me persist in sucking the man-pussy dry. Cam's whimpers had turned into moans as he enjoyed my oral attentions on his sore, swollen hole.
"Alright, boys, you've both done well tonight," said Hank. "Now cuddle together and get some rest; Cam has his audition in the morning."
It was an uncomfortable night, to put it mildly. The sleeping position Mr. G coaxed us into was reminiscent more of two gay lovers than of brothers, despite what he might have said about repairing our sibling relationship. We slept on our sides, face to face, with our legs wrapped around each other and our cocks rubbing together. Cam had his hands prying my butt-cheeks apart and plunging the balm applicator in and out of my man-pussy. I'm sure he put extra force behind his thrusts as revenge for my deflowering of him. The only thing that kept him remotely in check was Hank's helpful suggestion that I bite down on Cam's nipples whenever I wanted to cry out.
The next morning, an irritated Cam (whose puffy aureoles resembled a woman's tits) had to lick up the dried remnants of my nocturnal emission. He did this with ill grace, tonguing my body very roughly and nipping at my cum-crusted skin with his teeth. Perhaps unsurprisingly, my own nipples were the common target of his rage.
Just as he was snowballing the pungent, sticky mouthful back to me, Mr. G arrived to take Cam for his audition at the studio. The mention of the audition seemed to revive the brat's spirits. I guess he assumed it was the beginning of his path to stardom. I dearly wanted to see his expression when he discovered that he was auditioning to play a gay character. I didn't know the exact details of his character but I knew he would be entering into a love triangle with the gay teens played by Randy and Brent.
I'd seen some of their scenes being filmed in the past and they were stomach-churning in their obscene portrayals of faggotry. Much of the filmed scenes doubtless didn't make it into the final cut of the broadcast episode but I still couldn't fathom how a gay couple could be so insanely popular. (I had once brought it up to Hank, who speculated that it might be due to Brent's Australian accent and sexy surfer look. I had to concede that Brent wasn't bad looking, but how could viewers look past the gay sex scenes that he was always acting out?)
Several hours later (I lost track of time treating my man-pussy with the balm applicator - I swear the ache wasn't going away no matter how deep I shoved the applicator), Cam returned to my apartment alone. He looked deeply disturbed and I spotted dried cum in his hair. I imagined he'd been double-teamed by Randy and Brent. I bet the little faggot would have loved that.
"How did the audition go, twerp?"
"I, uh, I got the part," stammered Cam.
"What was the scene you performed?"
"I don't want to talk about it," was the mumbled response. "I need a shower." He literally ran into my bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.
He was noticeably subdued for the rest of the day, which was very unusual because he normally prattled on and on even though no one had any interest in his lame life. (Only mom and dad had obligingly faked it.)
That night we repeated my treatment and I was able to discern that his pussy was looser, which lent credence to my suspicions about his audition.
"Were Randy and Brent there?" I asked him as he rode my cock.
"Sorry?"
"At your audition - did you do a screen test with them?"
"Y-yeah." He didn't want to meet my eyes.
"Which one are you going to be making out with?"
His shocked gaze met mine. "You knew?"
"From the start," I boasted.
"And you set me up for this?"
"You're the one who claimed to be so keen to get into the acting biz. Anyway, don't pretend like you haven't made out with boys before. That's probably all your precious swim team ever do in practice."
"That's not true!" protested Cam. "I'd never kissed another boy before today!"
I rolled my eyes. "Right. Whatever. So you did kiss Randy? Or was it Brent?"
"Both," he mumbled. "Hank wanted to see whom I had greater chemistry with."
"Yeah, well, Hank knows a little homo-slut when he sees one."
Cam looked like he was about to cry. The truth hurts.
"Don't start sniveling. It might work with Mom but it won't with me. I always knew you were a fag."
"I'm telling you I'm not!" Cam cried in frustration. I silenced his pathetic denials by savagely jack-hammering into him.
Like I was about to believe him. I'd bet good money that he was secretly wetting himself in anticipation of more sex scenes with Randy and Brent. Queer Randy would probably be just as eager, but I felt sorry for Brent, the only straight one in the trio. Maybe he should've stayed in the Australian television industry, which he reported didn't pander to the gay agenda like Hollywood did. Maybe, I thought wistfully, I should have done the reverse of his trip and tried to get into acting in Sydney.
Cam had the chance to meet the rest of the cast and crew at Hank's Memorial Day pool party. It came as no surprise when he donned a pair of scanty red Speedos for the occasion since they was essentially his uniform on the school swim team, but I was astonished to find my fellow actors clad in the same skimpy style of swimwear. In fact, Randy and Brent had opted for even more revealing thongs. Randy I could understand, but Brent?
I was relieved to see that at least Hank and Mr. G were dressed identically to me in baggy boardshorts and Hawaiian-print shirts. I waved to Hank and was puzzled when a frown appeared on his face. He immediately came over to my side.
"Colt, my man ... what are you wearing?"
"Hey, Hank. Uh, the same as you?"
Hank shook his head. "No, no, no. Take a look at your cast-mates. Do you see any of them covering up like you? Even your brother's had the good sense to wear Speedos and he's not even officially signed to the show. That's why I gave you the entire set of swimwear from that fashion shoot you did."
I began, "But you, and Mr. G ..."
Hank cut me off. "Kirk and I aren't in front of the camera, Colt. You are, and that means you need to look your best. A nice tan is part of that, and I'd rather you cultivate one naturally than use something from a bottle."
"Oh." Now that Hank mentioned it, it did make sense. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any other swimwear," I said regretfully.
"That's fine, just slip out of those clothes and sunbathe naked. I'm sure your brother will be happy to apply sunscreen for your back, like Randy is doing for Brent right now."
I glanced across the pool at Brent lying flat on his stomach while Randy rubbed cream into his bare ass. He was firmly kneading the muscular orbs and I suspected that his fingers were straying into the butt-crack rather deeper than was necessary. The distressed look on Brent's face all but confirmed my suspicion. Nearby, my other straight co-star Ross was unenthusiastically giving Mr. G a lap-dance. ("Demonstrating his stripper routine," claimed Hank, but that didn't quite explain why Mr. G had his hand down Ross's Speedos.)
I unbuttoned my shirt, shrugged it off and tugged down my boardshorts. It made me feel incredibly self-conscious being the only fully nude guy there and I tried to cover my crotch with my hands, but a reproving glare from Hank made me quickly drop my hands.
"I think you're in need of another full-body shave," Hank murmured, eyeing my naked physique critically.
The stubble on my groin and under my arms hadn't escaped my notice - how could it, when it itched like crazy? However, I'd been hoping that I might be allowed to keep my pubes and pit hair now that my character was no longer a wrestler since his gay porno had been publicly screened at the championship finals.
"You're not the only one either." Hank had cast his gaze towards his other actors in their various states of undress. "Everyone seems to have been slacking off. This simply won't do."
I resigned myself to losing my pubes and pit hair again. Hank maintained that female fans had an aversion to body hair on the guys they saw on TV. I don't claim to understand it, since I would've thought it emphasized their manliness - I certainly felt emasculated every time my body was shaved smooth - but I suppose the fans are always right (one of Hank's maxims).
I was splayed out full-frontal by the poolside as Cam took the razor from Hank and began shaving my armpits.
"It's just like swim team," he exclaimed, referring to the `shaving parties' held before the start of each swimming season, where the swimmers took turns to shave each other's bodies smooth. (See, I told you it was totally gay.)
Unnervingly, Hank's pool party seemed to be turning into a shaving party too. Everywhere I turned, scenes of men shaving other men were playing out.
On my left, Randy was naked, having divested even his thong, and had his legs spread widely so that Mr. G could shave his furry man-pussy. As a result of Randy's Italian heritage, he was a lot hairier than the average 18-year-old, so Mr. G had his work cut out for him. I doubt that either homo minded though. I could hear Randy cooing like a little whore as Mr. G fingered his pussy under the guise of applying shaving foam.
On my other side, Brent had flipped over onto his back for Ross to shave the wispy, dark pubes on his groin. Brent was not a natural blond; he'd been instructed to dye his hair to look the part of a sun-bleached surfer dude. We both thought this was pretty gay although we accepted that Hank knew what he was doing.
Brent suddenly let out a guttural groan. I was amazed to see his unmolested cock was spurting a fountain of cum into the air.
"I couldn't help myself," he gasped, crimson with embarrassment. "Randy's massage ... and now Ross's hands ..."
"That's quite alright," said Hank. "Don't wipe it up. It'll do Colt here some good to up his protein intake, and the natural stuff is best."
I cringed. I hadn't wanted everyone to know about my protein deficiency and how I was tackling it. Moreover, me licking up Brent's seed wasn't going to do any favors for the casual friendship we had going.
Nevertheless, I dutifully applied myself to Hank's command, my tongue flicking over Brent's smooth, tanned and cum-spattered torso. Some of his spunk had even splashed on his face, which made for some majorly awkward moments as I licked his face.
"Don't forget his dick," Hank reminded me. "It's coated with plenty of protein."
Brent and I locked eyes; I gave him a sheepish look before moving down his body and enveloping his sticky cock in my mouth. I must have used too much suction because he ended up squirting a second time, straight down my gullet. Some of his juices dribbled down his ball-sack which meant I had to polish his balls. Although his taint was devoid of cum, Hank insisted I lick that clean too. Sniffing and tonguing another straight guy's ass was really not how I'd wanted to spend my holiday.
Immediately after the party, Cam and Mr. G left to catch the train back to Albany. Cam was to return to the city as soon as he graduated from high school and could begin shooting his role on the show, although I would see him before that at the Daytime Emmy Awards in Vegas. Hank had convinced me that observers would regard it as "adorably sweet" if I brought my little brother as my plus-one to the ceremony. I would have much preferred to be photographed on the red carpet with a gorgeous girl on my arm to counteract all the unwanted gay-leaning publicity I was receiving, but I had absolute faith in Hank's PR wisdom. So I half-heartedly invited Cam, who delightedly accepted.
The next day, we returned to the studio to continue shooting the fallout from my character's very public gay porn reveal. As you can imagine, it caused quite a furor in the fictional town where the show was set, not least because Max and Jake were both from prominent families. Max faced a tough challenge explaining his actions to his parents and the rest of the town without divulging how he had been blackmailed into making the video in the first place. I enjoyed playing these scenes because they allowed me to flex my acting muscle (rather than my other muscles).
Unfortunately for Max, his secret was soon out in the open. The sleazy pornographer was hauled up by the cops for filming non-consenting participants in a sex video, and he came clean about the secret with which he had blackmailed Max.
Now, I had assumed that, given Max's family background, he would somehow wrangle out of serving time for deadly assault. I was thus dismayed when I read in my script that Max's family background would instead lead the judge to make an example of him and sentence him to prison for his violent crime. Incarceration customarily meant a long off-screen stint for the actor.
"Are you writing me out of the show?" I anxiously asked Hank.
"No, not at all," Hank assured me. "How could I possibly write out my greatest star? No, on the contrary, this is the start of your next big storyline. We want to explore how prison affects and molds the young men who get sent down."
"Didn't we just do a prison rape story with Ross not too long ago?"
"Yes, but that was shown only in flashbacks. It merely skimmed the surface of a much larger social issue. For your character, we want to chart the day-to-day experiences of a privileged teenager like Max thrown into prison with hardened criminals. We've even hired actual ex-cons to play your fellow inmates, to lend a bit of realism to the show while helping rehabilitate them back into society."
I didn't feel entirely comfortable acting opposite real ex-convicts, and said as much to Hank.
"Don't worry, buddy," he said. "You'll have a familiar face sharing your scenes. I'm sure that'll be a great comfort to you."
"Who?" I asked curiously.
Hank stepped aside to reveal my high school football coach.
"Coach! What are you doing here?"
"Hank here called me up and asked if I'd be up for appearing in his show. He remembered what I'd said about having some acting experience back in college, and it turns out he was impressed by my effort in your master class."
"Reeve will be playing a prison guard who looks out for Max," elaborated Hank. (Since when had he been on a first-name basis with Coach Barton? Heck, I hadn't even known Coach's first name was Reeve.)
"Actually, Hank," Coach interrupted, "I wanted to talk to you about that. The proposed storyline of Max getting raped by the inmates is awfully similar to the one Ross did a while back."
Thank you Coach, I said silently. Maybe I'd get out of being gang-raped by ex-cons after all!
"Hence, I was thinking we could mix it up a little," continued Coach. I read about how prison guards sometimes single out inmates, especially young ones from privileged backgrounds, for cruel treatment. That would give a fresh spin on the old story, don't you think?"
Wait - what?!
"Hmm, that's a fair point, Reeve," Hank replied thoughtfully. "Max being assaulted from all sides would make for some truly dramatic material, not to mention provoke audience sympathy for his otherwise unlikeable character. There's nothing like a good rape scene to get viewers to root for you!"
I gulped. This was not good.
While Hank engaged the scriptwriter in discussion to make the necessary amendments, Coach Barton changed into his prison guard uniform. For an older dude, he had some serious muscle mass; he had been a bodybuilder in his college days. Of course, his biggest muscle was the foot-long python hanging between his legs. When he shed his boxers, my asshole twitched at the memory of being fucked by that monster. I'd hoped I would never experience that again, but it seemed like I was due a repeat performance.
In retrospect, another pounding by Coach's giant dong would have been preferable to what was actually in store for me.
A couple of extras playing prison guards walked me into the prison vestibule where Coach was waiting. I stared at him apprehensively, hoping to glimpse a trace of our old camaraderie.
No such luck.
"Well if it isn't the Commissioner and DA's precious son," he sneered. "I bet Prince Charming here never thought he'd see the inside of a prison."
The extras laughed mean-spiritedly.
"Strip!" barked Coach, making me jump.
I hastily pulled off my clothes until I was left in only the magenta bikini briefs wardrobe had given me.
"Nice panties," mocked Coach. "Now take them off!"
Acutely aware of all the cameras on me, I removed my last shred of clothing.
"Hands at your sides!" snapped Coach as I tried to cover up my full-frontal nudity. "Arms out, legs apart, and open your mouth wide!"
As I reluctantly obeyed, I was subjected to lewd comments by Coach and the extras about my total lack of body hair.
"I wrestle, okay?" I shouted defensively.
"I bet you love it too," retorted Coach. "Grappling with other half-naked men. You'll fit right into prison, princess."
My jaw dropped in shock. Was this nastiness really necessary? Coach was getting a bit too passionate about this role.
"Keep that mouth open," remarked Coach. "I need to search you for contraband."
Before we started shooting, Coach had shared with me that he'd watched some videos on `how to conduct a strip-search' to prepare for this scene.
"Don't worry, kid - I'll make sure it's as thorough and realistic as possible."
Not exactly what I'd wanted to hear.
Coach slapped on a pair of latex gloves and started probing around in my mouth. I realized for the first time how huge his hands were when he stuck a couple of fat fingers down my throat, making me gag.
He then ran his spit-slick gloved hands over my torso, in a pat-down that was eerily reminiscent of the molestation I'd suffered at the hands of the male stripper/choreographer. I honestly don't know what he thought I might be hiding when he twisted and tugged on my nipples.
He rapped his knuckles on my washboard abs before moving down to my junk. I couldn't help letting out a little shriek when he gave my balls an eye-watering yank.
Coach gave me an amused look. "I think we've got ourselves a squealer, boys."
I glared at him through teary eyes. I'd like to see him hold on to his composure if I tried to rip his bloody balls off!
"Alright, turn around and put your hands on the wall. Keep those legs spread. I said spread! Wider!"
Any wider and I'd be doing a split!
"Well, princess, if your porn stint is anything to go by, you won't be a stranger to this," Coach chuckled as his gloved hands, now cold and slimy with lubricant, prodded my man-pussy. Recalling the size of his fingers, I prayed that he'd used lots of lube.
One thick finger breached my sphincter, followed by another, and another. By the time Coach inserted his fourth finger, it was all I could do not to whimper. Damn - his fingers were so thick, and he kept sawing them in and out of my pussy at a furious pace. Even being violated by Coach's monster dick might have been preferable to this torture! Still, I bore it stoically, not wanting to disappoint Coach. From my years on his football team I knew how strongly he felt about sissy boys who couldn't handle a bit of pain.
Coach happily rooted about my insides for ten minutes before announcing, "Hmm, I don't know if I'm getting deep enough. I think there might be something in there that I'm missing." He nodded over to the extras. "Guys, keep hold of the prisoner - I'm going all in."
It took my brain a moment to process the implications of his words. My eyes widened in horror and I opened my mouth to issue a protest but I was too late to prevent him from tucking his thumb beside his fingers and pressing his entire hand into my stretched pussy.
Remember what I said about Coach's cock being preferable to his four fat fingers? Well, a baseball bat would have been preferable to all five of those fingers! I screamed like a banshee as his fist tore through my ass. I was in a world of pain. My knees buckled and I only remained upright because the two extras were holding me up by my arms.
Watching the playback of this scene later, even I couldn't decipher the pitiful wails coming out of my mouth while it was being filmed. It made no difference either way; Coach didn't pay them any heed. He fist-fucked my ass for another ten minutes, by which time I was sure my innards had been pulverized by his massive fist. I was very surprised when Hank later revealed that I was uninjured except for a distended sphincter which would "hopefully" be back to normal within a few days.
"All that extra gym work I told you to put into your glutes really paid off," noted Hank.
"I knew you could take it, kid," boasted Coach.
"Are you freaking kidding me?" I snarled. "You just rammed your whole damned fist up my pussy! I mean my butt! Why couldn't you just keep to the script?"
Coach was taken aback by my outburst. "Dory, I was only trying to help you out. You weren't giving a very convincing performance of a teenager who has only ever been ass-fucked twice in his life."
"Reeve is right," Hank added. "Until he put his entire fist in you, you were taking that cavity search like a seasoned hustler who takes big dongs up the butt twice a day."
I flushed with shame. Not only had I yelled at Coach when he was actually trying to help me, but I'd also given away the fact that I, unlike my character, had been butt-fucked countless times.
"You should be thanking Reeve for reasserting the realism of your scene," Hank continued pointedly.
"I'm sorry, Coach," I mumbled. "I know you meant well. And of course I could take the pain. I just wasn't prepared for it."
"That's alright, kid. I'm always glad to help out a former player. Sure, you screamed like a little girl but there aren't many guys out there who can endure their first fisting silently." Coach spoke as if he had prior experience in fist-fucking guys!
"Besides, it can't have been all bad," commented Hank, pausing the video at the moment I had ejaculated while Coach massaged my insides with his giant fist.
I turned beet-red. For all my howling I had somehow managed to have a hands-free orgasm during the ordeal. Totally faggy right? Yeah, I wanted to pretend like it never happened, but Hank made it difficult.
"You'd better lick that up," he urged. "You can't afford to lose protein like that, not right before you experience a very realistic prison environment."
I sank to my knees in front of the sperm-splashed wall and ate up my own mess.
When I was done, Coach declared it was time to put me in "gen pop".
I wasn't given any clothes. Instead, Coach dragged me naked through a corridor lined with prison cells. The inmates housed within were pressed up against the grilles, baying at the "fresh meat".
"Not so fresh," observed one inmate who'd noticed my waddling. "Looks like the guards broke him in already."
"He'll still make a good bitch," called another. "Teen flesh, mmm."
Not liking the lascivious gazes of his inmates, Max asked about his prison garb.
"Sorry, we're fresh out," was the unsympathetic response. (I had queried this line in the script, but Hank explained that it was part of Max's persecution by the unfriendly guards.)
"You can't do this to me! My dad's the commissioner and my mom's the DA!"
The catcalls from the neighboring cells swiftly turned to boos.
"Bright idea kid, outing yourself as a cop's son and the DA's to boot!" sneered Coach. "That'll make you real popular `round these parts."
"Oh shit," I breathed. "Please, you gotta put me in protective custody. Please! I can't last out here."
"But princess, you said you wrestled. Surely you can beat off a couple of horny cellmates? Ah, here we are. Clovis, Boyd, here's your new cellmate, Max."
I shuddered to see the two huge black guys. Hank hadn't introduced me to the actors' beforehand because he wanted my reaction to be as true to life as possible. (I say actors' because they were really ex-cons hired as glorified extras.) However, I didn't have to affect intimidation when faced with these two giants. Both Clovis and Boyd were well over six feet tall and built like the proverbial brick shithouse.
I turned to Coach. "How come we're three to a cell? There's only two beds in there."
Coach shrugged. "Overcrowding." (Another blatant lie, because some of the cells we'd passed had only a single occupant.) "Now enough with the questions - get inside."
I stumbled on the threshold as he shoved me into the cell.
"You boys do me a favor and look after princess for me, okay?" Coach told Clovis and Boyd.
"Sure thing, boss."
The cell door slammed shut behind me. I felt very naked and very vulnerable.
"Uh, hi guys. Look, I don't want any trouble ..."
"That's cool, because we don't want it either."
"I'm fine to sleep on the floor, if there's an extra blanket or something ..."
"Now why would you want to sleep on the floor, princess? It wouldn't do your soft, smooth white skin any favors. No, you can share one of our beds."
"Uh, no thanks, I'm okay with the floor-"
Clovis, or maybe it was Boyd, smiled unpleasantly. "Pick a bed, princess. And then you can tell us if you like staying a brunette, or prefer to go blonde."
I was perplexed. "What are you talking about?"
My other cellmate produced a pair of women's wigs. "Personally, I prefer blondes."
"Oh no. No, no, no, NO!" I ran towards the grille and banged on it. "Somebody help me! Help! Heeeeeeeelp!!!"
It was definitely a dramatic shot to close out the episode on. Me totally naked, but with my junk strategically hidden behind the lock on the cell door, while two big black thugs advanced menacingly in the background.
Unfortunately for me, Hank was a stickler for method acting and he had the scene play out past its scripted cliffhanger. He explained that selectively-edited clips of the subsequent scenes might be needed to portray flashbacks in the future.
"Don't forget, bud, there's always next year's Emmys. Or it might even help you win this one. Strictly speaking, it doesn't affect your 2014 nomination but it wouldn't hurt to show the Academy voters that you're a consistent performer, and not just churning out good material once a year to put on your Emmy reel."
The thought of that trophy was the only thing that kept me going through the next scene. I'd done a lot of demeaning, emasculating things for my art, but this was a new low.
I was easily overpowered by Clovis and Boyd, who stuck the blonde wig on my head and garishly applied cherry-red lipstick to my lips. Then they spun me around to appraise my physique.
"That's one mighty fine ass right there." A hard slap landed across my buttocks.
A finger pried its way into my man-trench. "And she's already wet and ready too."
"And look at them tits. Just as nice and meaty." Firm, rough hands mauled my pecs.
"Those nips need some jewelry." A pair of alligator clips were produced and clamped painfully onto my aureoles.
"She does make a pretty bitch," whistled one of my cellmates.
"Yeah, I'm getting horny just lookin' at her," moaned the other, rubbing his erection through his pants. To my dismay, the bulge indicated that he was at least as well-hung as Coach!
I was soon proven right when Clovis and Boyd stripped off. It had to be a crazy coincidence but they were two of the best-endowed men I had ever encountered! I swallowed hard when I saw their respective 13- and 14-inch tools. They wasted no time in spit-roasting me between them. If I wasn't choking on one gargantuan cock, the other was spearing my guts deeper than anything I'd experienced up to that point.
"Yeesh, I can barely feel his pussy around my dick," complained Clovis. "It's like a fucking tunnel, just totally swallows up my dick."
"Yeah and he can't get my entire pecker down his throat either," replied Boyd.
"Well, that's the one good thing I can say about his ass - it takes me whole, no problem. If only it weren't so loose."
I could sense my two fuckers exchanging a glance over my naked back.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
I was dreading the answer.
Just as I feared, they both crowed at the same time, "Double-dicking time!"
They said it like it was the punchline on a fucking sitcom, and not like they were about to double-stuff my aching man-pussy with their enormous dongs. I was like putty in their big, strong hands as they manipulated me into a position that allowed both of them to penetrate me simultaneously.
"Oh fuck," I groaned as they bounced me on their cocks, always taking care to keep me fully impaled on one of them at any one time.
"Bitch likes it," cackled Boyd suddenly.
"I don't! It fucking hurts."
"Then why's your little pecker stiff?" he asked, fingering my boner.
Shit, not again. My rapists picked up their pace, slamming into me with wild abandon, evidently convinced that I was a willing participant. Of course it was hard to deny when I wound up spewing my load over my abs.
My pussy squeezed their cocks as I came, and Clovis and Boyd grunted that they were nearing their climaxes as well.
"We're gonna breed you, bitch. Mark you as ours."
I closed my eyes, wondering if there was any end to my debasement. Surely, two ex-cons flooding my insides with their seed had to be as bad as it gets.
I was sadly mistaken. The ultimate humiliation came after they'd blown their wads and scooped their spunk out of my pussy with a spoon (a fucking spoon! That should tell you just how widely stretched my hole was) to feed it back to me.
That was when Clovis announced that he needed a piss. "I always need one after a fuck."
"It's a good thing we've got a toilet right here," responded Boyd.
It occurred to me that our sets didn't actually have functioning toilets. I pitied the janitor who'd have to empty the prop one in the cell set once Clovis was done with it.
As it turned out, Clovis had no intention of using the prop toilet.
"Open up, bitch," he ordered.
Without thinking I opened my mouth and he slipped his dick in. Seconds later I felt a warm gush of acrid urine flowing down my throat.
I immediately spat out his cock and my mouthful of piss. "What the fuck!"
Undeterred, Clovis continued pissing all over my face and chest until I scrambled to my feet.
"It's okay, Dory," called Coach. I hadn't realized he was still set-side. I wanted to die when I realized that he had witnessed me, his macho football player, getting double-dicked while made up to look like a trashy blonde whore.
He didn't convey any disgust though. "I read about this when I was doing my research on prison brutality. It's not uncommon for convicts to mark their bitch this way."
"But he was pissing into my mouth!"
"Think of it as dogs marking their territory," offered Hank. "It's a good metaphor for how the prison environment sends people back to their animalistic origins. Now get back into position and hopefully Clovis has some piss left to feed you."
"It's okay, boss. If he's dry, I got more of the same," Boyd chipped in.
And that was how I, a Daytime Emmy nominee, ended up drinking two loads of piss.
The next couple of weeks were a struggle. Hank wanted me to have a truly immersive prison experience so I could portray it realistically on screen, which meant that I was trapped for hours on end on the prison set with a bunch of randy ex-cons. I also had my nipples pierced because, apparently, the alligator clips weren't cutting it - something about them limiting my exposure. Part of me was glad because those clips hurt like hell whenever they were removed, until I discovered that the thick gold rings they pierced my aureoles with were visible through all of my shirts. Then Clovis and Boyd took to leading me around like a dog on all fours with a chain threaded through the rings.
I soon learned that my two cellmates weren't alone in being incredibly well-endowed; so were all the extras. It was almost as if humongous dicks had been listed on the casting call for the ex-cons. Regardless of ethnicity, they all sported boners of 10" at a minimum. I knew this because I would become intimately acquainted with each and every one of their cocks over the course of my `incarceration'.
With such a large number of ex-cons, double penetration was practically requisite. My poor pussy took quite a battering. They had a contest going to see how many men I could satisfy at once. The winning result of eight was achieved with some careful maneuvering. They actually contrived to squeeze three dicks into my pussy, two more into my mouth, another two for me to jerk off with my hands, while the last guy rubbed his cock between my tits until he spurted. Then the eight of them signed their names on my body using permanent marker which took over a week to fade away.
It would have been one thing if the inmates were the only ones to victimize me. Alas, the prison guards led by Coach Barton's character were also intent on persecuting me. If he could find a reason, however flimsy, to penalize me, he would jump right on it. One favorite punishment was stringing me up totally naked and whipping my butt until it was on fire. (This invited comments from the ex-cons about my rosy cheeks.)
Other times he'd use a taser-gun to give my balls or pussy an excruciating jolt or two. But the vilest torment was what Coach called the "pussy-buster". He and another guard would shove their long, thick batons deep into my man-pussy and then wrench them apart in different directions. Man, that was total agony! What sort of research papers was Coach even reading that detailed out these sadistic punishments?
I hardly need say that Hank's balm applicator got quite a workout every night when I returned home.
"Is Max ever going to get out of prison?" I asked Hank despairingly.
"He did beat a person nearly to death; he's hardly going to be out of there in a week or two," pointed out Hank.
"I know, but I'm not sure I can take much more of this. Those guys are animals!"
"Calm down, bud. Eyes on the prize - that's your mantra. You can't give up now, not with awards night just a week away! Anyway, Max WILL get out of prison soon. I'm only keeping him there to draw sympathy votes from the Academy members. Sometimes their feelings for the character can translate into their votes."
"Gosh, that's really smart of you, Hank. I'd never have thought of that."
Hank smiled modestly. "And you shouldn't have to. Leave the strategy to me, and just concentrate on delivering a strong performance."
The following week we flew over to Vegas for the Daytime Emmys. I was pretty buzzed about it, and not even the company of my irritating brother or my awkward walk on the red carpet (due to a very sore pussy) could negate that. The soap press was hotly tipping me as the favorite to win the Best Younger Actor prize. I thought that, once I had my trophy, I could move to primetime, which I hoped would be less demanding than daytime with its emphasis on method acting and proliferation of gay-themed stories.
I was surprised to see Hank had brought Mr. G as his plus-one.
"I felt he should be here when his student wins the prize," explained Hank. It was very noble of him since escorting another man to the ceremony was bound to fuel unwanted (and totally unjustified) rumors about his sexual orientation. In a way it had actually worked out that my plus-one was Cam, because not even the press would sink as low as to accuse brothers of incest. The worst I had to deal with were the questions on how it felt playing a prison bitch.
Of course, you still had idiots like Randy who brought his onscreen love interest, Brent, as his plus-one. The press had a field day with that. I can understand Randy inviting Brent to accompany him (I bet the fag secretly had designs on him) but I have no idea why Brent would acquiesce. I couldn't possibly be wrong about his heterosexuality.
Anyhow, we all settled into the ballroom and the ceremony began. I didn't have long to wait before the time came for the Best Younger Actor award to be presented.
"The nominees are ... Timothy Decker." A selection of clips from Timmy's performances in 2013 was shown on the big screen. I glanced at it disinterestedly. There was nothing in it that would make him a serious contender. Scrawny kid, and was he serious about that hair?
"Colton Dory." My reel played. Why was I either naked or making out with Randy in every single clip? Christ! Surely they could have picked a better reel to show the guests. Why not the one which I had actually submitted, featuring some of my best dramatic moments? I suppose at least the voters would have seen that one.
"Skyler Mason." Right, the gay kid on that other soap. He'd already won two years in a row. I didn't think he was all that as an actor (he had the most annoying tics) but Hank said the gay mafia in the Academy would be pushing for a homosexual character to win. Skyler had cunningly slipped a couple of gay kisses into his reel to appeal to them. (They seemed really chaste kisses compared to what we had on our show.)
"Pacey Roche." Another newcomer, a former underwear model whose physique his show failed to adequately exploit. Hank said that all but ruled out a win despite his arguably solid performances. Maybe next year he'd have the balls to go nude and I'd have real competition.
"And Randolph Trelawney." Yes, Randy had somehow snagged a nomination. It had come as a shock to all of us at the time. I can only say that the Academy must have been very short on candidates. I swear the little queer only has two expressions: blank and deer-in-the-headlights. He demonstrated both on his reel, which seemed to consist exclusively of his gay love scenes. Just as I'd noted earlier, he showed far more homosexual passion than Skyler in his reel.)
"And the Emmy goes to ..." The presenter tore open the envelope and I prepared to stand and make my way onstage.
"Randy Trelawney!"
THE FUCK?!
<<< EPILOGUE >>>
I still cannot believe Randy, of all people, won the Emmy. Randy! Fuck!
I was basically numb with shock as the little fag skipped up on stage to receive his prize. I barely noticed that his instant reaction to the announcement of his win was to French-kiss poor Brent.
Hank had to do his bit to applaud and congratulate Randy but he hurried to my side to comfort me immediately afterward.
"You still have another four years before you age out of the Younger Actor category," he reassured me. "Maybe what we need to do is radically reinvent your character. Randy's win shows what the Academy considers worthy of the Best Younger Actor Emmy."
"A gay character?" I guessed.
Hank nodded. "Did you see those reels? Skyler had a couple of tepid kisses while Randy was burning up the screen with you and then Brent. No wonder he won."
"But Max isn't gay. He can't suddenly turn gay. It wouldn't make sense."
"Actually I'd disagree on that," remarked Hank. "On a soap where people routinely come back from the dead, discover identical twins and long-lost children they never knew about, changing sexual orientation is hardly beyond the pale. Besides, Max is still young enough to come to the realization that maybe he likes being Clovis and Boyd's bitch girl."
"What?!"
Hank glanced at me. "You're right. That could be the trigger that sets Max on his journey of self-discovery, but it shouldn't be the end goal. Maybe you can capitalize on your chemistry with Randy and form the fourth corner to his love triangle with Brent and Cam's characters. We could even test you opposite Brent. The blonde/brunette combo is always a stunning visual. I can already picture the two of you rolling about naked in bed together. And Cam, your real-life brother, would be your rival for their affections! The soap press would lap it up."
Great. Just fucking great. I'd hoped that winning the Emmy would let me dictate more of my own storyline and move away from homoerotic plots, but instead I was trophy-less and `graduating' to literally homosexual plots for at least another year, if not four. Fuck my life.
Hank was watching me closely. "So what do say, Colt? Are you in? It'd be a shame for you to have sacrificed so much and have nothing to show for it."
He'd made his point. I was in no position to disagree with his singular logic.
"Okay," I sighed. "I'm in."
<<< THE END >>>
Soap operas go on forever but this one is a wrap! If you liked this story or would like to read a sequel from Randy's perspective, write to me at haventesla@yahoo.com
I'd love to hear from you! Thanks for reading.