King: Cocksure

Chapter IV

Porn Party of the Century

This novel include graphic sex scenes, some involving minors, rape and forced sex. It is purely a fantasy and is not depicting real people or events. It is intended as a satire and is meant to be both funny and stimulating. The stories have a political slant as you will see. I hope you enjoy them. New chapters will be published as they are finished.

(Mffffffffff)

My first night back at my Malibu mansion was the most relaxing I’d had in awhile. I fell into my bed alone about 5 p.m. took a long nap and woke up about midnight nearly fully recharged. In fact my adrenaline kicked in. Being around Dez and her ‘family” the last week was so cozy and warm I missed human companionship. I had only returned because I was due to speak at the corporate board meet the next day and had, indeed, skipped a good part of the week’s meetings to spend time with Dez. My office had expected me back on Monday. You can get by with that behavior when you own the company.

I sorted through the mail to see what had accumulated in my absence. It was quite a stack, but a perfumed invitation in a black envelope with pink and silver trim found its way to the top of the pile. I opened the envelope after looking for a return address as clue to who had sent the invitation. There was no return address on the envelope and nothing on the invitation to indicate the sender. The invitation said simply:

You Are Invited As a Special Guest

Of the True King of Porn To the

Porn Party of the Century.

Behold the Wonder of It All and What Is To Cum.

10 pm to Whenever, Thursday July 10, 2008

Then followed an address I knew to be about six miles distant. People call me the King of Porn but I’ve never pretended to be royalty. I was concerned that someone might be impersonating me or might be a pretender to my imaginary throne. I checked my watch. Festivities ought to just be really taking off. A drive down the Malibu Highway on this hot dry night might relieve some of the tension I was feeling. Besides, how could the King of Porn miss the Porn Party of the Century?

On the drive in my top-down convertible, a crisp Santa Ana-like wind ruffling my hair, I wondered if the party might not be an event some of my employees might have planned as part of the week of corporate meetings in LA. They would have assumed that I would be back in town for sure on Thursday night before the main board meeting and actually expected me back much earlier in the week so that I would have received the invitation in time to make plans to attend.

I pulled into the cul-de-sac in a quiet neighborhood where cars were parked haphazardly on sidewalks, lawns and in driveways in the vicinity of the mansion indentified on the invitation. Nothing indicated who lived here but a few late arrivals like myself were sauntering toward the house, most in groups of two or four, and wearing some outlandish costumes.

I walked in behind a pair of beautiful blondes in glittering evening gowns with a swish in back that revealed their asses in every detail. Stepping up behind them, I flashed my invitation to the security guard who patted me down for weapons and then nodded me in.

Down a corridor in a vast, pulsating main ballroom, music concocted in hell swelled above the din of people intermingling and dancing in a closely packed throng. White spot lights flashed above the crowd that seemed to levitate above a dry ice fog.

I walked over to a small stage illuminated from above where a nearly naked woman in a pink wig and silver sash rested on her hands and knees, butt arched skyward. Behind her a group of naked men were lining up with Keystone cop clumsiness stroking their hardening members. She’d already accommodated three men in her ass and another in her pussy. Now the fifth was trying to fit his cock in her pussy but having difficulty getting in position with the other dudes already pumping in unison into her holes. Another dude stepped forward to pry her mouth open.

I’d worn dark glasses to somewhat conceal my identity. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seen here until I knew who was hosting the party. I studied the air tight woman on stage for clues as to her identity. Something about her pneumatically arranged hard body with the too-big breasts and her dark tan seemed familiar, but her wildly swinging pink hair concealed her face.

Suddenly something made her look up at me. Her mouth was engorged with cock and she kept pumping her butt back as she spoke, but what she said “melmo moss,” was meant to be “hello boss.”

“Jasmine?” I said.

She removed the cock from her mouth momentarily.

“Hi,” she said. “Care to take a hole?”

The dude who’d been displaced from her mouth kept poking her in the face, impatient to return his prick to the moist, warm confines he’d vacated. Jasmine lost patience and pushed his cock away.

“You prick,” she said. “Would you wait a minute?”

“No, thanks for the offer, Jasmine,” I said. “Looks like all your holes are occupied tonight.”

“I still have two nostrils, two ears, a belly button and a dimple on my butt.” she smiled. “I’m going for the record tonight.”

Jasmine St. Thomas was one of the biggest, best-known stars of our main porn line, the fantasy of males across the country. She was known for her gangbang scenes wherein she crammed as many cocks as she could in her holes and indeed, already claimed the cock-cramming record at eight simultaneous penetrations. The record, however was in dispute by another porn starlet in our stable of stars, Vickie Vagina, who said that one of the cocks Jasmine poked in her pooper was not full engaged. Vickie claimed she’d taken nine cocks but had yet to submit video documentation. So Jasmine was demonstrating she had the extra cavity capacity to handle a full load of nine.

“Do you know who is hosting this party?” I asked her.

“Nope, I was just told to show up here tonight to perform and I could earn some good money,” Jasmine said. “I’m making $2,000 a cock.”

“Great,” I said. “Just don’t stretch things out too much tonight because I know you have some scenes to shoot for us next week.”

“Boss, have I ever not shown up for cock?”

She had an indisputable point there, actually nine of them, and the one she’d pushed from her mouth was banging on her chin for re-entry.

“Just a damn second,” she said.

Then she turned back to me.

“Sorry, boss, I gotta get back to work,” she said. Actually, that’s what I think she said because the cock jammed down her throat caused much of what she said to be garbled.

I told her good bye and moved on through the raucous crowd. I removed my dark glasses so it was a little easier to see. Besides, the glasses were not doing much to conceal my identity anyway. Suddenly, a deep voice came over the microphone and directed all eyes toward the ceiling where eight nude acrobats, six female, two male, were spotlight illuminated on a ring of platforms fifty-foot above our heads. The women were all lithe and beautiful; the men muscular and tan.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Flying Fuckers,” the voice boomed.

There was no safety net below them, but the eight nude trapeze artists all launched them selves into the air simultaneously converging toward a central point above us. The men’s erect penises had been painted a bright, glowing pink. Two of the women targeted those clearly visible markers and neatly caught them in their vaginas as they met the men in mid air. Their spread legs entwined sinuously around the men’s waists and with the glowing cocks still inside them and hanging upside down, they left their swings and joined the men on their backward momentum toward the platforms on which the men had originally been standing.

The women were deposited on those platforms while the two men swung back to pick up two other female traveling companions. The new women caught the mens’ cocks just as the first two did, but instead of hanging precariously by their legs, they threw their arms around the mens’ necks and hung on for the backward portion of the journey. They began pumping furiously up and down on the glowing cocks while kissing the men with deep soul kisses and bathing the mens’ chests with their tongues. This pattern was repeated several times as the men swung from perch to perch, depositing the women on board and picking up new women on the outbound flight. Sometimes the men stopped on a perch to regain momentum, but the overall illusion was seamless, almost as if the men were fucking six women simultaneously. Their pink cocks popped in and out of view due to the women’s piston movements and created a strange illusion of magical appearance and disappearance in mid air.

After a dramatic pause, the men flipped in the air on to vacant perches, then swung out again where two women again caught their cocks, only this time in their mouths. The illusion was perfect for it appeared they were hanging only by the mens’ cocks, but some hidden neck brace must have been supporting most of their weight because suddenly they were twirling their bodies around the pink appendages in their mouths. They spun above us in this fashion for a long time, or maybe it just seemed long because they seemed to have such a tenuous grip that I feared they could fall to their deaths at any time. When the twirling women finished, the cocks’ of the two men no longer glowed pink.

Almost as suddenly as it began, all swingers were back on their platforms and the ceiling above us was again plunged into darkness. The crowd was surprised by the suddenness of the trapeze artists’ disappearance and a smattering of applause spread across the floor.

Two new spotlights illuminated two naked tiny Chinese gymnasts tumbling across a mat spread out on the floor that had not been visible until the dry ice fog was cleared by hidden fans. The girls bobbed and flipped and their legs were often spread to reveal their puffy hairless pudenda.

“They don’t look to be 16,” one guest behind me commented.

New spotlights revealed two balance beams placed at the center of the mats. At either end of the balance beams there were glistening metal spikes embedded in the floor. The girls each hurled them selves maniacally toward the balance beam nearest them and made perfect two-point landings squarely in the middle of the beams. Now began a slow erotic dance to ethereal symphonic strings that exposed every part of their lithe young bodies. The girls pirouetted in unison, flipped backward and forward , and took dare devil leaps that seemed certain to impale them on the metal spikes on the floor that gleamed so menacingly. Yet after every terrifying tumble they regained their precarious balance on the beams. Occasionally, the spotlight highlighted a slick moist patch at the nexus of their legs.

“I think we are going to have a dismount, mount,” said a woman with a look of awe , terror and arousal on her face.

I, too, was feeling aroused. Sex and danger always go hand in hand with me and the girls certainly seemed to be about to attempt a dismount that would leave no margin for error.

There was one final death defying tumble and suddenly the girls were spinning backward toward the metal spikes in the floor. I confess, I couldn’t watch. I opened my eyes only when I heard the crowd explode in a paroxysm of approval. At opposite ends of their balance beams, the girls were spread eagled on the floor with the spikes buried deep in their tiny vaginas. Annie Oakley never had a better more meaningful bull’s-eye. I noticed that tiny spots of blood dotted the mat around the spike on which one girl was impaled. She’d apparently been slightly nicked inside but she was lucky to escape with her life.

“I wonder how often you have to practice that before you get it right?” said the woman behind me.

The crowd was still roaring its approval when I found myself surrounded by four tiny elves. In the din, four more tiny naked Chinese girls had snuck up behind me and grabbed my clothes. Smiling, they tugged on me until I started moving out toward the center of the mat where we were suddenly caught in a spotlight from above.

The four girls accompanying me were joined by the two others and I found myself suddenly the focus of all eyes in the crowd. In unison, the girls dropped to their knees, pulled my cock out of my trousers and began to fellate me to full erection. My dick was not painted pink, but it was certainly standing out in the crowd. I felt the eyes of the women in the audience gravitate toward that spot as the tiny Chinese girls passed my member back and fourth among each other.

How did I feel about this? Well, let’s just say that I understand now what women mean when they say they get looked at as sexual objects. I felt a little abused, but in addition to the exquisiteness of the girls’ ministrations, I didn’t want to walk away for other reasons. I hoped that my cooperation would reveal the host or hostess of the party.

With my dick now at full mast, the girls encouraged me to lay back on the mat. Now one girl fisted my penis so it pointed straight toward the ceiling, and the other girls began to hoist themselves into slow handstands and to raise and lower themselves so they could engorge, lick and nibble at my dick and balls. Without warning, one after the other, they tumbled forward and backward, impaling their pussies on my dick. The pace was excruciatingly frenetic. One girl bounced off and was instantly replaced by another. This continued for some time and the crowd began to chant in rhythm to the girls’ comings and goings.

My face was abruptly covered by one of the girls butts, cutting my view of the proceedings. She began rubbing her moist, sweaty posterior over my face.

Then my hands were covered by the butts of two other gymnasts on either side of my face. What the hell, might as well go with the flow, I thought. I stuck fingers up the holes of both girls who responded with giggles, squeals and wiggles. I had barely begun playing when I noted my shoes and socks had been removed and two other tiny Chinese gymnasts had impaled themselves on my toes. They were wiggling and giggling too. The girl assigned to pumping my cock continued to use her tiny hands to keep me erected and pointed toward the stars.

In truth, the girls were so light, I could have thrown them off in one powerful movement, but I was by now, fully committed to see this through. What followed, I did not witness, but was told by others there who did see. Suddenly a billowing ribbon of pink and black cloth dropped from the darkness of the ceiling and hovered directly above me. One by one, each of the female trapeze artists—who I learned later were members of a famous Italian family circus troupe—dropped rapidly down the cloth and impaled their butts or their pussies on my cock. Their timing was even more synchronized than the Chinese gymnasts’. They hit with such sudden force and bounced up and off so hard and fast, my cock could no longer could take the strain. The sixth and final gymnast who was a tiny, beautiful short-haired vixen—the youngest daughter of the family patriarch—seemed almost to levitate from a geyser of foam erupting from my cock. At least that’s what I’m told. I couldn’t see and could barely hear with the Chinese girl’s thighs enveloping my face and her rubbing her slobbery ass vigorously back and fourth.

She came when I did and although she was no Terry Dendridge, she was quite a little squirter. She drenched my face thoroughly.

The audience thundered approval. The girls all dropped to their knees to clean up the cum. I am told it was the best-attended, most appreciated Chinese-Italian meal since the days of Marco Polo.

Later, the girls stood around smiling at me as the attention of the audience was drawn to other sexual spectacles elsewhere in the building. The Chinese girls spoke very little English, but an interpreter told me some were alternates on the Chinese Olympic team.

The Italian aerial artists were fun and refreshing. The youngest, a dark eyed pixie who’d been practically airlifted off my cock by my spurt of cum, spoke the best English. She told me she was attending school here in the states, but that back in Europe she and her sisters and the husbands of her sisters were part of a legitimate circus troupe that traveled throughout the continent entertaining commoners and royalty.

“So the men up there you were sucking and fucking were actually your two oldest sisters’ husbands,” I said. “Don’t your sisters get jealous of you sharing their husbands’ cocks.”

“A leetle bit,” she said, “but eet is part of our act when we are asked to appear for these company.”

I tried to get the name of the company she referred to or the name of the party’s host, but she either hadn’t been informed or refused to tell. At last I changed the subject and asked her to introduce her family.

“I am Volaria Radiana and I am 16,” she said. “My oldest sister there ees Bombasa, 21. Next ees Carolyn, 20.

Daria, 19, is next. Lasita, 18, stands beside her. And Gwendolyn, here next to me, is only nine months older than me.”

“You father must have been a busy man,” I said.

“For heem, the circus life, everytheeng,” she said. “We did not see heem so much when were little, but he did teach us all the ways of the circus and now eet ees our life, also. All of my seesters and I have a different mother so we are all drawn together by our relationship to our father.

By now the two male aerial performs had made their way down from their platforms and Volaria introduced me to them as Adamo and Carlo. The language barrier between me and them was almost as intimidating as between myself and the Chinese girls.

“They very much admire your work,” Volaria said.

“Beeg cock,” Adamo said, holding out a muscular arm for a powerful jerking handshake. “No need neon. Girls find your beeg cock easy.”

“I hope they didn’t mind me penetrating their wives pussies,” I said to Volario. These guys looked as though they could mop the floor with me.

“No, uv course not.” Volario said. “My seesters would have keeled them if Adamo and Carlo had tried to stop them. My seesters admire you as much--no much more--than them. My sisters are upset that they could only pay your deek a small visit and hope they can stay on longer next time.”

I admit that prospect sounded intriguing. I asked Volaria how long she and the rest of the troupe were in town.

“I am here always now because of school,” Volaria said. “Carlo and Adamo must fly back to tomorrow, but my seesters here until September. They leeving with me in Bel Aire.”

“Well, if you are really serious about that return engagement, Volaria, come to my mansion in Malibu any time,” I said, handing her a card with my private number. “I won’t be home all day tomorrow, but you can come this weekend and you and your sisters can swim and enjoy the sun.”

“Meester Brad, I weel call you Saturday,” she said, planting a deep, wet kiss on my mouth.

I started to turn to leave, but as I did, one of the Chinese girls caught me and kissed me just as Volaria had. Soon, all of the little gymnasts were lined up awaiting their kiss. I was a little astonished and didn’t know what to say.

“They want to swim and cum, also, Meester Brad,” Volario said with a laugh. “Can we bring them along? They stay in a hotel not far from where we leeve.”

“Of course, they can come,” I said. “How will they get to my home?”

“I weel make to get them there to swim,” Volaria said. “You must make them cum.”

“I will send a limo,” I said. “You will all fit nicely.”

“And all of you Meester Brad weel fit nicely in us,” Volaria said with a mysterious smile.

I wandered around the mystery mansion looking for clues as to who was hosting the party. I bumped into several employees of my company, all of whom had been extended invitations, but none knew the identity of our mystery host or hostess.

“Brad, that was terrific when those Italian aerialists plopped down one at a time and landed in your lap,” Lenina Huxley, vice president of our fetish line told me. “I think everyone in the audience was as astonished as you were.”

“I just want to find out who is throwing this shindig,” I said. “Are you sure Gloria or one of the Grisham twins didn’t throw this to surprise me? I mean this rivals even our big New Years’ party in Vegas.”

“Brad, you know I don’t go out of my way to talk to Gloria,” Lenina said. “Gloria’s tastes are sicker than mine and remember that I’m the director of Pregnant Pussies From Punjab and Plumper Ponygirls from Pissburgh.”

Lenina has the looks of a young Audrey Hepburn and this night she was dressed in a demure almost school girlish checkered outfit that didn’t seem to fit with the leather, lace and glitter other women at the party were wearing. She looked like she’d just stepped off the cover of Vogue and somehow that made her look all the hotter. She and I had had our fling long ago but we were still very affectionate, almost like a married couple who had put aside their passion but maintained a close friendship.

It’s hard for men in porn to maintain long-term love interests. Temptation is everywhere and no matter how much they love you, women eventually grow tired of waiting for their white knight to come riding home to them alone. Still, Lenina was a top notch business woman who knew the fetish market inside and out and had a twisted side that belied her ingénue good looks. We loved each othe as friends and business colleagues even if our passion had cooled.

“Are you coming to the board meeting tomorrow?” I asked.

“Hey, my group had record profits this quarter and I spend a fraction of what Gloria spends to make her movies,” she replied “I wouldn’t miss this meeting for anything. Word is I’m getting a big bonus.”

I knew she was but I wanted it to be a surprise, so I left her wandering around the around the ballroom still in doubt about what was going to happen the next day. She was searching for great fetish talent and that is often hard to find. Not every woman likes to be hogtied and whipped or have hot needles and clips applied to her tits and the women who did Lenina’s movies were a breed apart.

Two other well-known directors from our group bumped into me that night. Lexi Lincoln who make a lot of rough sex movies and edited our Rough, Rough Rough! Magazine featuring outtakes from the movies her group shot recommended I go to a room at the back of mansion where some interesting events were transpiring. Her companion, Yana Daniels, worked in Lexi’s group and concurred that what she’d seen aroused her. Of course, both women were well known subs whose fantasies ran to the extreme.

“I don’t this anyone is pulling punches back there,” Yana said. “It’s full contact.”

I wondered toward the back room to see what was going on. At the door, I had to flash my invitation again and it was obvious that had the guards not recognized me, I would not have been admitted.

It took awhile for my eye to adjust to the light, but I soon saw that there were perhaps 10 women chained naked to the walls around the room who were undergoing some form of S&M torture. One women writhed in pain as electricity charged metal clamps were attached on either side of the lips of her vagina. Another woman had a similar probe drive deep inside has ass. Her screams were a mixture of pain and pleasure.

In a corner, a young blonde was being anally pounded while her assaulter slapped her repeatedly across the face as hard as possible. “Harder,” she screamed, “please, harder.”

Some women had clothes pins pinching their nipples. Their male tormentors were slapping the clothes pins with their hands to increase the sensation of pain. The womens’ thighs were moist because they had not been able to control their bladders due to the intensity of their pain.

“Are you enjoying the view?” a woman in a mask who had approached me from behind whispered in my ear. Her face was concealed but with her long jet black hair swept up in a bun and sculpted body in a tight tan and gold gown, she was unmistakable.

“Hello Miss Marin, I did not realize how soon we would meet again,” I said. She looked lovelier even than she had that day in the VIP room at the St. Paul club.

“I am really surprised you showed up here and prayed you were smarter,” she said. “I was hoping when you were in Minnesota you’d know what was good for you and stay there.”

“I received an invitation to the Porn Event of the Century,” I said. “Nothing could keep me away.”

“Isn’t it obvious that they want to intimidate you, show you what you are up against,” she said.

“And when you say ‘they’, exactly who do you mean?” I said.

“Mr. Cocksure, I am a facilitator,” Loyola said. “Do you know the meaning of the word?”

“I think so,” I said, “but perhaps you should explain what you mean.”

“I help procure raw sexual talent for men and women of means,” she said. “I consider myself to be the best at what I do and one of the unbroken laws of people in my profession is that we never reveal who our employers are. Even if I knew who was employing me—who was hosting this party—I could not tell you.”

She removed her mask to reveal her lovely face. She had deep, wide violet eyes that simmered with rare sensuality and ntensity. It was as if the screams and squeals of pain in this room somehow stimulated her senses and made her more alive.

“Well I know Rep. Exeter is one of your clients,” I said.

“Exeter is nothing, a buffoon,” she said. “I help him and the Republicans occasionally for special projects but they are nothing compared to the people who threw this party. No, your hosts tonight will remain anonymous. They have no need for the media spotlight, but I can tell you that for a long time they have been jealous of the money you make off of porn here in the United States and your status as the King of Porn.”

“I really don’t have an ego on that issue,” I said. “If they want to be called the King of Porn, that’s fine with me. I never sought that title; it was sort of bestowed upon me. Titles mean nothing to me and there is plenty of money to go around.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Loyola said as if she were a teacher trying to explain to a schoolboy. “Whenever they target a market, they go in to win and dominate. They will not be satisfied until you are crushed beneath their heals.”

“Why would they want to do anything so nasty?” I said with a laugh.

“Because they have always been so,” she said. “It is their nature. They represent the monied interests of Europe, the Middle East and Asia. There, they control and share the porn and the sex trade and they do it total anonymity. They have watched your company make inroads in those markets and are determined to not only destroy you there but also here in the United States.”

“If they are so powerful,” I said, “why have they waited so long to come out and challenge me? A few years ago , we were so small, it wouldn’t have taken much to break us.”

“Thanks to your wars and the incompetence of the Bush leadership, American power and prestige around the world is lower than at any time since before World War II,” Loyola explained. “Now is the time for them to strike, while you here in this country are most vulnerable.”

“Well, you know a lot of very powerful interests have mistaken our strengths for weakness before,” I said. “I hope they know what they are getting themselves into.”

“This party in your backyard, so to speak, here in Los Angeles, is their statement,” Loyola said. “They want you and everyone else in the industry here in LA to know they are coming. They believe you will turn tale and run.”

“I think they will find that we are a lot less easily intimidated than they think,” I said.

“I hope you are right, Brad,” Loyola said. “As a facilitator, I sell my services to the highest bidder. I go where the money is, but I was born an American and that is where my loyalties lie. I don’t believe you can prevail; you are so naïve. But, for all our sakes, I hope you do.”

“When I took the stage name Cocksure,” I said. “I did it because I had confidence about my performance on screen. That has also extended into my business life. I’m not about to change my name to Cock-Not-So-Sure or Cock-a-Doodle-Don’t.”

“I did enjoy the performance you and the gymnasts and acrobats put on earlier,” Loyola smiled. “Perhaps we can get out of here and you can demonstrate exactly what you can do with your Cock-a-Doodle-Do,”

Later back at my house in the early morning hours, neighbors would complain they were prematurely awakened by a rooster in my backyard. They were right about the rooster, but it was the hen who crowed the loudest.