Guy Cannon, undisputed king of porn and proprietor of monstermales.com, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was in his office, on the top floor of monstermales studios, staring dumbfounded at the video playing on his computer. He thought he had seen everything. He really did. But nothing had prepared him for this.
Incredibly opulent, marble-floored, white-walled, Guy sat behind his famous oak desk. Not famous because of the dark brown desk hewn from a thousand-year old tree, but famous for the method of its customisation. Guy had had a hole cut in the centre of the desk, directly in front of where he sat.
The hole was famous, for it had become Guy’s custom over the years after he had retired to the executive life, of inserting his famous cock through the hole and let it protrude out. If he was flaccid, the immense, girthsome log of flesh would snake over the further mere foot towards the edge of the desk where the giant, pulsating purple helmet would loll over the edge, the pisshole weeping thick, oozing, clear droplets of precum from the cumslit which collected in a puddle on the floor. Such a display of masculine potency caused any such corporate interloper to quail, and any employee, whether functionary or stroppy talent, male or female, to cavil to submit to decree. When erect, the thing became a thick, vein-ripped rock-hard column of flesh that reached high into the air, where porn sluts would lose their mind and just start running their lips over it.
Cannon’s equipment was as legendary as the studio he had built up around it. He was the one individual most responsible for changing the face of porn forever. Loved and hated in equal measure, he had appeared on the scene as a callow twenty year old youth thirty-five years before with two assets: an iron will and a gamechanging cock.
It was twenty-five inches long, an absolutely inhumanly-sized beast of a schlong, and it suited exactly his towering seven and a half-feet frame, filled with thick, bulging slablike muscles. He had laid waste to conventional porn, once the original hysteria of was-it-real had died down. It was all too real, and it was matched with an unrelenting and ferocious stamina for fucking that tore through the preliminary gaggle of second rate porn-sluts that he was paired with. By the time the bigger studios had sat up and taken note, he was smashing through triple-A gold-contract pinup porn whores with abandon. The incredible intensity of his virile on-screen exploits made for a torrid encounter that few starlets, from stripper to pornqueen, could endure for too long.
Galaxia Whore’s asshole was so badly broken she spent a month on crutches. Linsey Staxxx passed out, went comatose, and awoke a month later speaking Russian. Lucky Lockheart and her sister Lucy were sectioned and ended up in adjoining padded rooms in the same psychiatric hospital. The cast of ‘Guy’s Cheer Squad’ retired to a commune en masse. There was a massive, concerted clearing of the decks and an instant dearth of female talent.
And the sluts loved him. They lined up to be in his movies. The bimbos were blissed out after fucking Guy’s massive cock. But it wore them out. Soon the whole accent of porn movies changed. Extreme, excessive male virility took centre stage, every available porno stud competing against another to get as jacked as possible. Hugely-endowed male stars entered as Guy’s protegees, then co-stars, and the precedence, and then omnipotence of monstermales.com was assured. When Guy retired from performing, he had done the unthinkable. But the female talent was at a thin ebb.
Rick had summoned Guy immediately upon encountering Steve’s corpse in the media centre. Guy, who lived around the corner, was there before the emergency services. Passing an ashen Roxy De Bauch in the corridor, Guy shouldered into the room.
In the dim light, the video on the screen still played in the still room. Everything was still except for Steven’s still solidly erect and sticking out prong, which periodically belched a spray of sticky cum that arced upwards and splattered into the keyboard, now thick with it, in front of him.
Guy didn’t need to ask. The video was captivating. A teenage blonde slut with the biggest, most solid set of tits he had ever seen had her ass in the air and was getting simultaneously piledriven by five monstercocked studs. Around her the gleaming, heaving bodies of four studs gasped helplessly like fish on dry land.
‘Her name’s Diamond Gazongas,’ Rick informed his boss, unable to tear his eyes from the video.
‘Get Roxy.’ Was all Guy said.
Blinking, Guy went back into the corridor, took Roxy by the arm, and guided her back into the room.
Not looking at her, Guy pulled his trousers down. His immense schlong hung down between his calves, swinging, although instantly the organ was flooding with blood and inflating until it was pointing out away from him.
‘This slut is what we need,’ Guy said, as his megacock attained its full twenty-five inches of length. It’s head had smacked into Roxy’s pussy, splitting her lips, precum roping off it between her legs onto the floor, forming a puddle in the middle of her six inch heeled stripper shoes.
He turned to Rick and Roxy.
‘Invite her for an audition tomorrow. My office. We’ll break her in.’
Guy split Roxy’s pussy in two on his cock.
