“Mr. Ibanez will see you now,” the platinum blonde secretary said, her bright, high-pitched voice sounding a perfect mix of bored and curious. The girl hadn’t taken her eyes off Erik from the moment he’d entered the offices.
Russell stood and motioned for his client to follow him into Martin Ibanez’s office.
“Welcome, welcome,” Martin said from behind his desk, sweeping a hand out to let the two men know they should sit down.
He squinted hard at one of the men, then squinted harder, so intently that he thought for a moment he might have a stroke. The younger man didn’t look quite right. He was too perfect, too blonde, too chiseled in all of his exposed places. Martin was sure the walking perfection would be twice as chiseled in all the right, hidden places.
“You like him?” Russell asked as he and his client took a seat.
“Sure, sure, is he the hot new kid on the block?” Martin asked, watching the blonde god awkwardly sit in the chair.
“He’s so hot, the sun would melt around him,” Russell said with an exaggerated wink.
Martin groaned. He’d never heard of Russell Hampton, but a quick check on the internet showed him that the man at least had proper credentials. He’d represented mostly C-list actors in Hollywood until he’d switched it up and went to Japan. A string of recognizable clients in Japanese slasher films had apparently put some money in the agent’s pocket, though the website’s translation was a barely comprehensible mish-mash of Engrish.
“Is that so?” Martin asked casually.
He’d seen a thousand young studs and three times that many young starlets wander through the industry on their way to whatever life held for them once their adult movie career was over. The kid across from him was hot, a hunk, a stunner, even, but every kid with a big dick thought he was going to be a porn star. Only a few made it beyond poorly lit XXX theater gangbang videos, and even then their manhood would half-betray them.
“Mr. Ibanez, as a lifelong fan of IbaNger Films, your production quality plus Mr. Granger’s directorial prowess, I knew I had to come to you first, to give you the exclusive opportunity to forever change the adult entertainment industry, and better yet, reap in even more profits.”
Martin looked at the agent, noting the man’s slick suit, slick hair, and slick smile that enhanced his slick eyes. He looked like every other agent that showed up claiming to represent the next John Holmes or Peter North.
“Erik the Red here is going to revolutionize porn, and you’re giving me the chance to get in on the ground floor?”
“He’s blonde, but yes. Now, I know it sounds like a fast-talking salesman’s wet dream—pun intended, by the way—but I can assure you that once you’ve seen this perfect piece of machinery in action, you’ll thank me a hundred times over. Maybe a million, if we’re both lucky.” He gave Martin another slick wink.
“Listen, Mr. Hampton, and no offense, but I see twenty of you a day sometimes, all telling me they’ve got the next great dong that I just gotta have—”
“No offense, Mr. Ibanez,” Russell interrupted, cutting the producer and part-owner of the studio off in mid-rant,” but I’m not here to waste your time with whatever bullshit every other Tom, Dick, and Harry tries to convince you with. This fine piece of machinery is the real deal.” He held up a hand to forestall any argument Martin might give him. “Tell you what, I’ll demonstrate, or rather Erik will, and I’ll even guarantee that you’ll be impressed.”
Russell produced a stack of hundred dollar bills and laid them on Martin’s desk, never taking his eyes off the producer.
“I’ll bet five thousand dollars that by the time this demonstration is done, you and I will be in business, and if not, you can keep this money.”
“Why wouldn’t I just agree to your wager, then tell you to get the fuck out of my office for a free five grand?” Martin asked, suddenly interested. The agent was up to something, as no one dropped five large on a bet unless it was a sure thing. Or if the bettor was stupid, which was a good bit of the time in Martin’s experience.
“Because you’re a smart man, and when you see what I’m about to show you, you’ll realize that you made five thousand dollars by watching millions of dollars in profits walk out the door.”
“Okay, Mr. Hampton—”
“Please, just call me Russell.”
“Fine, Russell. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Let’s see what he’s got.”
The agent held up a hand. “How about a demonstration? Any kid can show up with ten inches and a hard body. But can he deliver the perfect size, the perfect technique, and finish with a sweetness that will have the ladies begging to be with him when the cameras stop rolling?”
Martin scratched his chin, intrigued more than ever.
“That’s a pretty big bag of claims,” he said to the agent across from him.
Martin glanced at the kid, who’d been silent the whole time, though he seemed to be following the conversation well enough. Martin wondered if the kid even spoke English.
“Who’s your best, most demanding girl?” Russell asked, a gleam in his eye, as if he’d just been caught plotting to steal the cookie jar.
“Carmel Sunshine,” Martin answered reflexively.
It was a no-brainer. Carmel Sunshine had shown up one day after getting off the bus she’d ridden from Carver, North Dakota, and had helped propel IbaNger Films into the top tier. Her first year with Martin and his business partner and the studio’s director, Rudolph Granger, saw her win seven Adult Video Award statues out of the twelve categories she’d been nominated in. The next year, she won a record eleven times.
“I was hoping you’d say her name,” Russell said, a grin eating up the lower half of his face. “She’ll be perfect.”
Martin picked up the desk phone and told the receptionist to get Carmel Sunshine in his office ASAP.
Fifteen minutes later, an annoyed Martin Ibanez greeted his biggest star. Martin had tried to get some kind of hint or visual as to what made the blonde kid so special, but the agent had just winked and tsk’d him a few times.
“Hi, Martin,” Carmel said as she came into the office. “Hello, gentlemen,” she said to the two seated in front of the desk.
She noted the slick, greasy agent right off the bat, having seen the man’s clone a thousand times since hitting it big in the business. She paused for a second at the big blonde kid, her eyes noting how perfect he seemed to be.
“Ms. Sunshine, would you care to give this young man the test?” Martin asked.
The starlet smiled and walked to the kid. He didn’t fidget nervously, something all the wanna-be’s did when they realized The Carmel Sunshine was going to be part of the audition. She knew keeping one’s nerves was not the same as dropping pants and having sex with a stranger on command. Less than one in fifty could pass the Sunshine Industries Adult Film Performance Aptitude Test, a made-up title that made Martin cackle like a hyena every time he heard it.
“What do you say, Sugar?” she cooed as she sat in the blonde kid’s lap. “What’s your name?”
“Erik Lidstrom,” he said, surprising the producer and actress with his soft, British accent.
“Well, Erik, don’t be shy,” she purred, tracing a fingernail down the back of his neck.
“One second, if you don’t mind,” Russell said. Carmel glanced up at the agent. “Since this is a test, let’s make it more interesting.”
“Go on…” Martin said, giving Carmel a mini-shrug when she glanced over at him.
“Ms. Sunshine, what do you look for in a man, a sex partner?”
“As in, during a film shoot?” she asked. “Or do you mean my private life?”
“Either will work, but since we’re in a movie studio office, let’s keep it professional.” He gave her the same exaggerated wink he’d given Martin several times.
“Uh, okay.” She stood up and walked to the big desk, leaning her rear end against it. “I like all colors, so doesn’t matter. And besides, it’s not like Erik can be a black man, or an Asian, or anything but… Swiss? Swedish?”
“Close,” Russell said, his salesman’s grin bigger than ever. “He’s Japanese.”
Martin’s eyes grew as wide as Carmel’s at that piece of info, but Russell knew if he could hook them, it wouldn’t matter if his client was a shape-shifting lizard alien here to colonize Earth.
Carmel crossed her arms. “Look, is he going to fuck me, or are we going to play Q&A all night?”
“Ms. Sunshine, and might I add, you are by far one of the best adult actresses I’ve ever watched… lord knows you’ve helped me through many lonely nights in a motel while I was on the road… Anyway, Ms. Sunshine, please, just humor me. If you could describe your perfect man, regardless of height, weight, body type, skin color, and penis size, what would you say?”
She looked at him with suspicion and more than a little annoyance. She glanced at Martin, who only shrugged then nodded his head. He looked as suspicious and annoyed as she did.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “He’s a beautiful man, so I wouldn’t change his face…”
Carmel stepped forward, taking a seat in Erik’s lap once again. She put her lips close to his neck and paused. His skin gave off a faint hint of citrus, lilacs, and… chocolate?
“I like my boys chiseled, tanned, and with hair only on their brain head,” she said, lightly kissing Erik’s neck while running her fingers through his thick, fine blonde hair. “As for what’s down here,” she said, rubbing her hand across the front of the kid’s Dockers, “it don’t matter much as long as it’s big enough to feel, though if he’s got the goods, I certainly won’t turn it down unless it’s some weird-looking mutant.”
“So… ten inches?” Russell asked with a wink that was beginning to annoy Carmel. “Or…?”
Carmel tugged on the leather belt in Erik’s pants. “Kid, if you got a foot of meat, I’ll give you the ride of your life.”
The disappointment was evident in her voice. She’d barely felt a nub in the his trousers.
“Good, good. Well, let’s see if you’re as good as your word.”
Carmel decided if another wink formed on the agent’s face, she was going to slug him. She sighed again, scooted off the chair and onto her knees, her hands already expertly undoing the belt, top button, and zipper.
She gasped loud enough that Martin leaned forward over his desk to see what had surprised her. He blinked at least ten times before he stopped, his eyes tearing up.
“Is that?” was all he get out before his mouth clamped shut.
“Holy shit!” Carmel giggled, grabbing onto the largest cock she’d ever seen.
She wasn’t a stranger to some of the larger sex toys that men wanted to see her insert into her body, so she knew she could take most of the monster that she held in her hand. She giggled again when she noticed how small her hand was compared to Erik’s fully erect penis.
“Go on,” Russell offered, “have a taste.”
He winked again, but neither Martin nor Carmel were looking at him. Both stared at Erik’s member with round eyes, Martin’s brain already calculating the potentials sales figures, as well as immediately thinking up at least five titles for movies. Carmel marveled at what she held in her hands, running the tips of her fingers all around it, especially the head. She couldn’t help but think of the German army helmets from World War Two, and from her vantage point, it looked like an old army helmet would fit snugly on the head in front of her.
She looked up into Erik’s eyes, giving him her best seductive, sexy expression, though it was hard to keep the excitement from her face. With her free hand, she began to unbutton the dress shirt he wore, the other hand slowly sliding up and down the thick shaft that promised her a pleasant ache if it held up.
At the third button, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue out and over the ridges of his glans while stretching her jaw as far as she could. Carmel wasn’t a deep throat queen, though she could hang with all but the best on a good day.
Her eyes widened again when she tasted the familiar hint of honey, lilac, and chocolate. She rolled her tongue slowly over the head, enjoying the taste, her tongue catching passing moments of strawberry, coconut, and even cinnamon.
Carmel’s free hand roamed over Erik’s stomach, feeling the hard, chiseled marble. She was sure that when her eyes finally got a good look at what her hand was exploring, she’d see a perfect six-pack, a perfect navel, perfect pecs, perfect everything.
Jaw relaxed, she took as much of him in her mouth as she could, paused a second to relax her throat a little more, then squeezed in another inch before feeling her gag reflex begin to respond. Carmel held it as long as she could, her eyes watering, her stomach almost rebelling, before pulling her head back and gulping for air.
“Fuck me,” she commanded, kissing the war helmet (as she’d unconsciously called it in her mind for some strange reason) one last time, licking her lips at the sweet, faint taste of banana that remained on her lips.
She stood up, slid her shorts and panties down to her ankles, turned around, grabbed Martin’s desk with both hands, throwing her head back to look at the young man with a feral, greedy grin.
Erik stood, his shirt and pants falling to the floor, revealing the perfection that Carmel’s fingers had sensed.
A soft but powerful hand grabbed her hip. She gasped again when she felt the massive head begin its journey into her, appreciating the pause Erik gave her as her own muscles made room for him. His other hand clamped onto her hip, pulling her slowly to him. Carmel’s eyes rolled up, her breathing became shallow, and she trembled before letting loose a warbling wail of ecstasy.
Martin’s eyes became even wider, and he shot a look at the slick agent. Russell was watching the couple with interest, as if he were calculating exactly how many orgasms Carmel would have before the demonstration was concluded.
“Oh. Fuck. Yes!” she shouted. Her breathing turned into panting, her words becoming garbled moans of pleasure as Erik began to increase the tempo.
“So,” Russell said in a conversational tone to the actress, who tried her best to listen to him while in the throes of what she was sure was a divine string of orgasms. Russell tapped the kid on his elbow, and Erik immediately slowed down, getting into a slow rhythm that made Carmel squeak each time he sank himself to the hilt in her.
“What flavor would you like?” he asked once she could focus a tiny bit more attention on the agent.
“What flavor? I’m sure that while semen might have a taste some girls thoroughly enjoy, I’ve been told that for the most part, it’s a gamble as to whether it will be fruit juice or battery acid.”
Carmel frowned at him, squeaked when Erik buried himself in her again, then began to giggle.
“Pineapple sounds good,” she said, her eyes threatening to roll up in her head again.
“Final question, Ms. Sunshine,” Russell said, a salesman’s smile plastered on his slick face. “You like a lot of cum, or just a little?”
“If it’s sweet pineapple,” she panted, “then I want as much as he’s got.”
“Just say the word and he’ll come when you’re ready.”
“He can ejaculate on command?” Martin asked, still thinking up marketing materials and licensing rights. He had no hesitation at signing the kid unless his agent demanded too much.
“Yep,” Russell said, producing another exaggerated wink.
Martin and the slick agent watched the two go at it for another twenty minutes. Carmel was insatiable, as if a hidden gear had been found in her sexual drive. She tried every position she could think of, which wasn’t many considering her head swam so deep in the clouds of pleasure that she felt like she’d forgotten to breath more than once.
When her waves of ecstasy began to shift into a slight burn, she kissed Erik on the mouth, tasting again a combination of flavors that made her forget the pain of friction from something so big for another ten seconds.
“I’m ready,” she purred, climbing off the Nordic god.
Erik waited until her mouth was in position before thick white ropes of cum erupted from his cock. Carmel wasn’t expecting it to truly taste like pineapple, and almost gagged on it when it first hit her tongue. A gob splattered across her cheek, and she immediately wrapped her lips around the throbbing head, swallowing every last drop that he produced. When she was sure he was spent, she wiped the sticky, sweet fluid from her chin into her mouth with a finger. Carmel’s eyes closed, her breathing became shallow, then she shuddered so violently that the couch vibrated the floor enough for Martin and Russell to feel it through their chairs.
“I’ll assume it was to your liking?” Russell asked, the salesman’s grin back and locked in.
“What else can he do?” Carmel asked, reaching over to run her fingers across the kid’s hard nipples.
“How about a big black cock?” Russell asked through his grin. “Well, maybe a little smaller of a cock. Twelve inches is pretty extreme.”
The producer and the actress gave Russell a puzzled look.
“You have a black guy waiting in the other room or something?” Martin asked, wondering what the agent was up to.
“Actually,” Russell said, “he’s in the room with us right now.”
“What do you mean?” Carmel asked uneasily, pulling her hand back from the beautiful Swede, as if powder might rub off his skin and reveal an Africa-American man underneath.
“I’ll show you, but only if you promise to not freak out,” Russell said, knowing he’d already closed the deal, but ready to show them exactly what it was they’d be getting if the two parties could come to terms.
“You’re not going to do anything fuckin’ weird like have him shit on the floor then spread it all over his skin, are you?” Carmel asked, now more suspicious than ever.
Russell laughed heartily, and even Erik joined in.
“I’m not going to defecate anywhere, Ms. Sunshine, Mr. Ibanez,” Erik said.
The light British accent was a satisfying, enjoyable sound to Carmel’s ears, and she could feel herself beginning to respond, the ache having gone silent at the sound of his voice.
“Okay then,” she said. “Let’s see your big black cock.” She mimed an exaggerated wink at Russell, torn between feeling annoyed at the man for his smugness, and the desire to immediately jump on Erik again and ride herself into an orgasmic coma.
Martin almost fell out of his chair, and Carmel did fall off the couch when Erik’s skin began to darken, slowly at first, then rapidly until he was a uniform tone, a milk chocolate that was punctuated by the scent of cocoa emanating from his skin. Martin did fall out of his chair when he watched the Swede’s facial features and hair change from the blonde Scandinavian to what he assumed was Kenyan, maybe Nigerian, but definitely African in descent. Erik’s straight, fine, blonde hair became a short, tight afro of coarse black hair, while his facial bones seemed to rearrange themselves until he looked like an Nubian god. Carmel glanced down to see the foot-long white penis was now an eight or nine inch uncircumcised, fully erect rod.
Todd Rambulance took off his jacket after entering the house. Like most houses used to shoot porn scenes, this one was luxurious, with white marble floors, dual staircases, and a back wall that seemed to be made of nothing but sliding glass doors. He could see Rudolph Granger, the studio’s co-owner and director, giving instructions to Donnie, the lighting guy. Todd could just make out Leena and Mike, the two sound engineers. He smiled at the thought of how much shit he’d give Mike and Leena. It was constant joke with him about how pornographic movies didn’t really need sound since the scenes always had the stereotypical “porn funk” music drowning everything out except for the dubbed panting, moaning, and grunting.
“Todd, what’s shakin’?” Martin asked as he passed the producer in the hallway.
“The bull has arrived,” Todd said with his usual swagger. He peeked into one of the bedrooms to see which ladies he’d be working with.
“Good, good,” Martin said, a smile on his face.
Todd peeked into the bedroom opposite the girls’ makeshift dressing room.
“Who the hell is that?” he asked over his shoulder when he spotted a young, blonde, extremely toned kid with a slimy looking older guy.
“Ah, old bull, meet the new bull,” Martin said with a wink. “He’ll be your new ‘buddy’ for a while, so take him under your wing and make sure he’s ready for action.”
“You replacing me?” Todd asked, the wound to his ego evident in his voice.
“Nah,” Martin answered, looking up from his laptop screen. “New blood. The kid’s got the goods. In fact, I’d say he’s rather special.”
Todd frowned at the odd grin Martin gave him. “What’s so special about him?”
“Calm down, Rambo,” the producer said with a chuckle. “Your meal ticket is still IbaNger Films for the foreseeable future, so chop that worry up and spit it out. As for the kid… you’ll see soon enough.”
“Is he… bigger than me?” Todd asked, hating the whine he heard in his voice.
“Size isn’t important,” Martin said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Sure, Martin. No problem. I’m gonna go get ready.”
Todd walked away wondering just how big the new kid’s cock was. Martin’s answer might as well have been “seventeen inches,” as The Rambulance knew anytime the “size isn’t important” card got played, it most certainly did mean that a new king had shown up. Todd had held the title of “Best Dong in the Industry” for four straight years. He had a trophy case full of awards, from the small porn websites up to the AVN statues. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to punch the new kid or cry that his reign had come to an end.
“Fuck that,” he said, rounding into the bedroom. “What’s up, noob?” he asked the blonde kid in a friendly-but-patronizing tone.
“Hello,” the blonde said in a British accent. Todd groaned inside. The fucker couldn’t simply have a twenty-inch piece of meat. He had to be British as well. “My name is Erik Lidstrom.”
The kid held out a hand. Todd stared at the hand for a second, feeling the urge to punch the owner of it once more. He reached out and took it, a greasy fake grin spreading across the lower half of his face.
“Pleezdameethca,” Todd said. He frowned at how soft the kid’s hands were, yet how firm, how strong his grip was. “I’m Todd Rambulance.”
“Yeah, hey!” the slick guy said, looking up from his tablet. “How’s it hanging, Todd?”
“Who the fuck are you?” Todd asked. He hoped it wasn’t some weird scene he was doing that involved him and a male fan tag-teaming one of the girls.
“My apologies,” the man said, standing up. He gave Todd a bigger, faker smile than Todd had plastered on his own face, then delivered a wink so exaggerated he was afraid the man was having a stroke. “I’m Russell Hampton. Erik’s agent.”
“This is a dressing room for actors only,” Todd said with a sneer.
“Right, right, no worries,” the agent said with a chuckle. “I was just getting Erik some last minute pointers. Being his first day, and all.”
Todd groaned. The kid really was a noob. He waited until the agent had vacated the room, then turned to the rookie.
“Listen, kid. Martin says you got something like a two foot cock.”
Erik seemed embarrassed, which told Todd that two feet of meat might be on the conservative side.
“It’s not that big,” the kid said.
(still working on it!)