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‘A rising star’ - 2019-08-22
Wild Ride with a Pornstar.
Peter’s rising star.
***
The three black thugs used my white bubble butt in turn. Each ramming their massive black meat deep inside. Treating me like the dirty escort whore I was. I had to use all my experience to make sure they got their money’s worth. They took me hard, my ass muscles worked overtime. Milking them dry. One after the other could not withstand my hole for long, though. Filling their XXL condoms with loads of spunk. As rough sex goes, this was up there. But I enjoyed the thugs a little more than I should have.
***
Let me tell you how it came about that I was on a call-out with three black thugs. A lot happened before my first call out to a prospective client, though.
The heavy clang of the iron gates of Tony’s mansion wasn’t a goodbye; it was a ringing reset. As the rhythmic hum of the Intercity took over, I felt the tension in my chest finally begin to decompress. I wasn’t leaving Tony — I just needed a place where the Italian Stallion’s gravity couldn’t pull at my code.
Up North, in the quiet of my own apartment, I could finally analyze the trajectory of my life on my own terms. I was a free agent for the moment, a man with emotional baggage and a plan, ready to see if I could still function as a standalone system before I merged back with the star I had grown to love.
The idea of stepping into the adult industry on my own terms was already loading in the background of my mind. I was even starting to enjoy the daily workout routines Damian and Tony had taught me; the results were already showing a little, and I caught myself considering a tattoo or an earring to complete the transformation.
My peaceful data crunching on the train was shattered by my phone vibrating against the tray table. It was James, the boss of ValeriusX Management.
“Hello, boi,” he said in a predatory voice. “T. set up an escort account for you. I need you to come over here to go over the details and see that you’re ready for our club. So prepare your asshole. Dress in something nice for the photos, and make sure you bring your medical—”
I didn’t let him finish. I interrupted him, my voice cold and loud enough to make the businessman in the seat across from me look up.
“Thank you for calling, Mr. James,” I said with as much contempt as I could muster, “…but Tony had NO RIGHT to do that! You MUST follow the Vx rules. Only the escort himself can apply!”
I continued, annoyed. “You can send your details to my email. I’ll look at them when I get around to it. Delete that account now, or I’ll contact Jeff about your breach of protocol. Do not make my lawyer put this in writing.”
“Look here, boi!” the manager snapped. “Tony only wants the best for you! Get your fucking boy cunt over here so we can take a look at it. NOW!”
I stayed silent for a long, heavy minute, letting the sounds of the train tracks fill the line before hanging up without another word. The people around me were staring now, having overheard a good portion of the exchange. Before, I would have wanted to sink through the floor, but after the last few months, I didn’t care. I just leaned back against the headrest, my cheek still tingling from Tony’s hand, and watched the Dutch countryside blur past.
• Operation dungeon escort.
At home, I finally had time to get my thoughts in order and my life back on track. I worked remotely on the Vx porn sites, optimizing the back-end to generate massive revenue without cluttering the user experience with intrusive banner ads. The work was satisfying; the architectural changes I implemented drove a surge in traffic that quickly outpaced our competitors. It caught the attention of the entire industry — some even tried to scrape my ideas, which I took as the ultimate professional compliment.
Later that week, Cliff and Jeff reached out to check on the situation with Tony. Even Cody called a few times; we’d talk shop for twenty minutes before descending into filthy phone sex.
Other performers began calling, eager to have their content featured on our premium platform. I managed them all, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in my growing influence. Everyone was reaching out — everyone except Tony. I wasn’t about to break protocol and make the first move.
Then came the day of the ‘Birthday Surprise’ for Ethan-John. Robby had coordinated the logistics via encrypted mail. The plan was simple: Robby would lure EJ into the dungeon for a ‘private celebration,’ and I would execute the tactical abduction.
Robby and EJ were alone in the main club of ‘The Three Brothers.’ They had played there before, so the setting didn’t trigger any alarms for EJ. Since it was his twentieth birthday, he was expecting Robby to take the lead. The club was still closed to the public, though a few staff members were already prepping for the private party later that night. For now, the two of them were alone in the shadows.
The elaborate role-play session started when I snuck in through the service entrance. While Robby kept EJ distracted, I moved in like a phantom. I threw a heavy black hood over EJ’s head and delivered a sharp, open-palm strike to Robby’s chest — the sound echoing through the empty club. Robby played his part perfectly, letting out a choked gasp and collapsing to the floor as if he’d been neutralized.
I grabbed Ethan-John roughly, pinning his arms. To ensure he didn’t recognize my voice, I had strapped a compact electronic voice-changer — a sleek piece of tech I’d modified — beneath my leather mask. When I spoke, my voice didn’t sound like Peter; it was a distorted, gravelly, mechanical growl that vibrated with predatory intent.
He began to tremble uncontrollably, his athletic frame turning to jelly as he obeyed my every command. Sobbing and whimpering, he allowed me to drag him toward the dungeon. I leaned into his ear, letting the digital distortion of my voice-box enhance the threats I whispered about what I would do to him and his ‘fallen’ boyfriend if he resisted.
In the dungeon, I had already prepared the ‘workstation’: a heavy-duty straight-backed chair outfitted with reinforced leather cuffs and bondage ropes. The black-out room was bathed in a deep, clinical crimson light. Between the hood and my leather face mask, I was a ghost in the machine. I had embellished my gear with heavy chains and steel handcuffs; a grim gallery of whips, paddles, and oversized fisting dildos sat on a tray beside the chair.
I pushed and prodded EJ, asserting total dominance until his cries for help dissolved into hopeless silence. He realized no one was coming to save him — and that every sob only earned him a sharper sting from my hand.
• Preparing the unknowing slave.
With his head still hooded, I pressed my frame against EJ’s backside. My heavy leather gear creaked with every menacing, calculated move I made. I started with a deceptive calm, stroking the bulge in his pants to ground him, before shattering that peace by flicking open a tactical knife inches from his ear. The metallic snick was the only warning he got before I sliced through his belt and forced a hand down his waist.
I pressed the flat of the blade against his throat as my gloved fist found EJ’s hairless scrotum. He could barely stand; his powerful swimmer’s legs were trembling so violently I could feel the vibrations through my boots. Through the digital growl of my voice-changer, I commanded him to reveal himself. He obeyed, exposing a beautiful, heavy length that I forced him to stroke.
As I let out a mean laugh, I ordered EJ to jack himself harder, calling the beautiful dick pathetic and threatening to cut it off if he didn’t comply. The humiliation did nothing to calm him, especially when I used the knife to shred his T-shirt, revealing that tight, V-tapered swimmers’ torso. I traced the edge of the blade over his distended nipples, letting him feel the cold threat of the steel against his skin. EJ’s nerves got the better of him; he could not get stiff no matter how hard he tried. And believe me, watching him struggle, I wished his fist were clenched over my own rod instead.
After slicing the remaining denim away, I hauled him onto the fuck-chair. I secured his wrists to the metal armrests and, after hoisting his legs, bound his ankles to the uprights. The leather straps cinched until they bit into his skin. He began to beg and shout, the terror of the unknown finally breaking his composure. I silenced him instantly, shoving a ball gag into his mouth and securing it with the very jockstrap I’d just cut from his body.
He slumped back against the chair, effectively neutralized. Behind him, I had pre-staged a harness and a set of chaps. I began the process of ‘branding’ him in leather, just as Robby had requested. I worked his cock with a gloved hand; EJ was a grower, and soon I had seven inches of hard, throbbing man-muscle gliding through my palm.
He tried to resist the pleasure, but his body betrayed him. He let out a muffled moan as I shifted my focus to his ‘starfish’, pulling his ass to the very edge of the leather-covered seat to expose his hole to the cameras. I worked him open with a rhythmic intensity, alternating between sharp slaps to his thighs and the rough insertion of a long, slender dildo.
I climbed onto the chair, the straps of my harness boots digging into EJ’s shapely sides. As I straddled him, I pressed my leather posing pouch against his nose, letting him breathe in the scent of the rawhide and my own musk before ripping the hood off.
Ethan-John’s eyes went wide — the classic ‘deer in the headlights’ look. He stared in absolute horror at the array of fisting dildos and BDSM hardware I’d staged around the room. He screamed around the gag, but the dungeon walls swallowed the sound. My aggressive, ‘in-your-face’ stance ensured he still didn’t have a clear view of my identity.
I didn’t give him time to process, either. I replaced the ball gag with my own cock, stuffing it straight down his throat while reaching down to grab his low-hanging sack. His heavy nuts swung free well below the seat of the chair, and as I squeezed, his moan shifted from terror to a deep, visceral pleasure. Ethan-John turned out to be a natural; he avoided biting and went straight down the shaft, tilting his head of his own accord.
I hauled him upright, cinching a heavy leather chest harness over his torso and obscuring his vision with a blindfolded leather mask. I swapped the toys again, forcing a massive vibrating plug into his tight heat. It was twice the diameter of the last one, but with enough lube, his body surrendered and eagerly sucked it in.
It was clear now who the top was in their relationship; EJ didn’t have the capacity Robby did for taking massive pornstar cocks, but he was learning fast. I applied nipple clamps, the silver chains sticking against his sweaty chest. After twisting the massive dildo in his tight hole, I began to fuck him with the vibrating toy, whispering filth through the voice box and calling him my new slut as I snapped photos for Robby’s archives.
We had set up a live feed, capturing every inch of the 10-inch fat vibrating dong as I buried it in his ass. I wanted Robby and the staff upstairs to see every detail on the big screens. EJ was entirely mine now. I forced a confession out of him for the camera, making him claim his status as my slave and forcing him to denounce his boyfriend. As I zipped the heavy leather chaps over his quivering quads, the transformation was complete. With the leather chaps, harness, and mask, Ethan-John finally looked the part of the slave.
• The final birthday delivery.
With EJ now dressed in more leather than the cute swimmer had ever worn, I placed a slave collar and leash on him. By now, he clearly suspected what was going on, but he didn’t mind; he was thriving under the rough treatment. Ethan-John finally seemed to understand the attraction Robby felt for the leather that unleashed his inner demons.
EJ begged for punishment. I grinned, removed my voice-box and leather mask, and slid my rubber-clad eight-inch length into his tormenting heat. I grabbed one of the cameras to film the penetration close-up. EJ screamed as I disappeared past his stretched sphincter, then I slammed my hips forward, my leather-clad thighs banging against his taut buttocks.
I nailed him with brutal force, taking the helpless, tied-up leather twink faster and harder. He begged for more, but I stayed in control. I wasn’t like Tony, the Italian Stallion, who would lose himself in a first-class compartment just because his Amsterdam clients had pissed him off. I was a technician.
As I pulled out and jumped onto the chair, I stuffed my tingling cock into his mouth. I yanked the blindfold off his sweat-drenched face, my hands momentarily obscuring his vision. At that moment, Robby rushed in. He wore leather jeans, a modern collarless motorcycle jacket, and a leather ball cap, looking every bit as masterful as I felt. Talk about a role reversal; I watched over my shoulder, stunned, as the bottom Robby began railing his boyfriend’s ass with absolute ferocity.
EJ’s world collapsed — a dick in his mouth and another up his bum. It was a good thing the reinforced chair was bolted to the floor. Simultaneously, Robby and I unloaded over EJ’s face and chest. I stepped off the chair, finally letting him see who was behind him. Robby grinned from ear to ear as EJ realized this had been an elaborate birthday surprise.
Robby bent forward to kiss him. “Happy Birthday, EJ… I love you! Dang, you look great, sweetheart. You should wear more leather… Peter was my gift to you.”
All Ethan-John could gasp was, “Oh god… yes… use me… take me… I am so close… God, I can’t stop… I’m cumming again… Oh yeah… Here it cums…”
He screamed as his own load landed across his torso and Robby’s leather jacket. Standing half behind Rob, I leaned over to lick it all up, moving from EJ’s dripping cock to his chest and face. I kissed them both dearly.
“Happy birthday, guys,” I panted. “I hope you liked the gift, EJ.”
Robby wasn’t finished. He guided my throbbing prick into his own ass, riding EJ while sliding his butt over my shaft. I rubbed my hands over both their leather-clad bodies as we ground toward another climax.
As we came down from the high, we untied EJ. He thanked me from the bottom of his heart; the two hours had flown by, and I was rewarded handsomely for my service. We cleaned up, and EJ dressed in spare clothes Robby had brought along. Though, to my surprise, he pulled the stained leather chaps over his skin-tight jeans and kept the harness on under his Vx polo. He said he would have them cleaned for me.
When we returned to the main club’s dance floor, the staff and the owners, Carl and David, gave us a standing ovation. We had forgotten about the six or seven high-end cameras; the staff had followed every move on the club’s TV screens. As we sat at the bar, the guys sang happy birthday, serving cake alongside some well-deserved strong liquor.
• From live performance to global release.
Suddenly, EJ asked if I could produce a movie from the footage so he and Robby could relive the experience. Robby even suggested selling the sex tape, and surprisingly, Ethan-John went right along with it. The club owners, Carl and David, were on board as well; they saw the club’s marketing potential.
As I said my goodbyes, Carl handed me a €1,000 check — a bonus to help promote ‘The Three Brothers’. Tired but satisfied, I headed for the train station. David caught up with me on the way home and offered a ride. Once we arrived, he boldly asked what it would cost for a blowjob. I didn’t name a price. I just pulled him close and serviced him for a solid half hour until he couldn’t hold back any longer. I swallowed his spunk like a dirty little whore, thanked him for the ride, and was rewarded with another handsome payment.
After a long shower, I crashed. It wasn’t even 9 PM, but I was spent. At 11 PM, a text woke me: “Money well spent! You were amazing! Top-class Roll-Play. We’ll definitely book you again, Peter!”
I texted back a link to my independent escort review page.
I hadn’t used the ValeriusX Management site — I wouldn’t let my data anywhere near James until that predator was sidelined. I didn’t trust him one bit, and I wasn’t about to give him a percentage of my hustle. Instead, I used a third-party subscription platform, keeping control of my own destiny. Sure, it had far fewer security features than I had built into the Vx Modeling and Escort site. However, the escorts only paid a one-time setup fee and a small monthly subscription; I liked the freedom it provided.
By the time I woke up, the page was flooded with glowing reviews. I had added a few tactical shots of the event to my profile, and the response was massive. It had been a trying first escort, but the ‘Return on Investment’ was undeniable. My private mailbox was already approaching its storage limit due to new requests.
The next couple of days, I retreated into the custom editor suite I’d built into the ValeriusX backbone — a high-performance software suite explicitly designed to handle 4K raw footage. Keeping track of every frame we captured.
I spent hours scrubbing through the files, selecting the most visceral angles. Once I had a solid assembly, I uploaded a raw cut to the NOT FOR PUBLICATION folder on the Vx backbone. Within minutes, Jeff’s production company editors halfway across the world were logging in to take a private look at the ‘Sir Pete’ debut.
Jeff called me soon after sending a dick pic that showed his stomach drenched in cream. “Good edit, Petey. Fucking hot! I bet those guys loved it?”
“Yeah, they did. And they want to release it officially,” I said.
The line went quiet. I could hear Jeff jerking off at the thought of the revenue.
“Oh, hell yeah! I’ll send the contracts and put you in touch with my lead editor, but honestly, Peter, your director’s cut is top-tier. You’ve got an eye for detail. I hope they paid you well, though. You’re worth every penny. The website works like a dream.”
“It was all in a day’s work, Jeff. But that means a lot coming from a producer like you, sir,” I replied.
Keeping the almost €2,500 paycheck to myself.
“Kiss ass!” he joked.
“Yes, please,” I shot back, jokingly, making him roar with laughter.
“I am going to send Cody to your place. We have something for you. See ya, Peter.” Jeff ended the call rather abruptly, but he left me smiling nonetheless.
I worked with Jeff’s production team to tighten the pacing, making the edit faster and hornier. They provided high-end audio files and updated title screens to cross-promote ‘The Three Brothers’ and our own sites. When the final cut was ready, Robby, EJ, and I met in the club’s attic cinema for a private screening.
Seeing ourselves going at it with that level of ferocity on the big screen was both terrifying and exhilarating. We signed the paperwork — securing a significant cut of the royalties — and celebrated on a large leather mattress. It was a strange, perfect mix of brutal hardcore and tender lovemaking that lasted until dawn. We left as more than just business partners; we were friends.
The master tape went to Jeff, and two weeks later, the shipment arrived. High-quality DVDs, beautifully packaged. Jeff, as the executive producer, had personally signed a box of giveaway copies for me. I delivered the first ones to EJ, Robby, and Carl. We held a premiere party at the club that night, and the stock sold out instantly. We even auctioned a signed copy for charity. On the technical side, the promotion worked perfectly — paying visitors to our website doubled overnight.
• The luxury of freedom.
The next day, Cody dropped by my apartment. We talked about the cool-down period with Tony; he agreed that giving the Italian Stallion space to miss me was a high-level tactical move.
“But buddy, that’s not the only reason I’m here,” Cody said, a sneaky grin spreading across his face. He unzipped his jeans, and I saw a red silk ribbon tied in a bow around his thick length.
I’d grown accustomed to these kinds of ‘gifts’ from adult entertainers. It didn’t phase me as it would have the old Peter. Eager to please, I knelt and took the growing Canadian length, worshipping the shaft with my hands and lips. I admired the reverse tramp-stamp ink on Cody’s V-taper, thinking I might as well get a tat or two of my own — just to butch up the image.
I didn’t rush for the red ribbon. I swallowed the ‘gift,’ getting Cody nice and hard before my fingers joined the party. As I stroked him, I felt the nine-inch swell. I plucked the end of the ribbon, and out popped an Audi key fob. I looked up at the athlete, his cock-head lodged between my lips, and the car key dangling from the ribbon in my hand.
Cody smiled down and put a hand behind my head, thrusting his meat deeper. He skull-fucked me for a moment or two — or forever. When he finally came, he groaned my name and collapsed against the sofa.
“We got you your car, Petey. It’s from all of us,” Cody said proudly, watching the keys dangle from my finger. “Consider it a performance bonus for the film and the architecture you’ve built for the Vx backbone. We can’t have our star player riding the Intercity train like a regular guy anymore, can we?”
Back at my old job at the chemical plant, I didn’t need wheels; a Dutch bicycle was all I required. But if I really wanted to ‘move up’ in this world, this was a necessity. You can’t exactly do high-end escort work on a push-bike.
We walked outside, and there it stood, idling in the parking lot like a predatory beast. My breath hitched. It was exactly as I had envisioned it during that first time meeting Jeff.
The finish was a sleek, light-absorbing matte black that made the boy-racer look like a stealth fighter. The custom honeycomb grille and aggressive front spoiler gave it a mean, low-profile stance. Then I saw it: the shiny black Vx logo painted onto the hood. It was subtle — black-on-black — visible only when the light hit the logo at just the right angle. It was the mark of the empire I was helping to build.
I looked down at the custom gloss-black wheels, which barely concealed the massive, oversized performance brakes. This wasn’t a stock build; it was a tuned-up monster.
I pressed the start button on the fob, and the 5-cylinder engine barked to life, settling into a deep, rhythmic growl that vibrated through the soles of my boots.
I opened the door, and the scent of premium black leather hit me. The interior was a masterpiece of dark luxury — diamond-stitched Nappa leather racing seats and a cockpit flooded with the high-end telemetry gadgets I’d obsessed over. The digital dashboard was already synced to the Vx network, showing me real-time performance data.
If this wasn’t freedom, I didn’t know what was. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw my reflection. “Petey, you need to get your ass to Amsterdam and get a few sexy upgrades yourself,” I thought to myself.
Apparently, Cody was thinking along the same lines. He ran his fingers through my IT-guy hair and suggested a new cut with some highlights.
• Optimizing my storefront.
Cody drove me down to the affluent district of Amsterdam to the Valerius XXX flagship store, run by Max and Brad. The Adult Shop and the Vx agency occupied two 18th-century monuments of the Golden Age. Their lofty ceilings and weathered brickwork reflected the wealth and status of the area along the Keizersgracht. The vibe in these parts was different — less urban ‘street’ and more high-end and professional.
Brad had suggested a few performance upgrades for the online store, and I wanted to see how my debut film, ‘Sir Pete’, was performing in the physical world. Cody mentioned on the drive over that we needed to shoot some professional headshots for the modeling agency. I had tried to postpone them, but it was a requirement for all ‘stars,’ and I realized now was as good a time as any.
“It’s flying off the shelves, kid,” Max said happily, clapping me on the shoulder as we walked past racks of leather, sextoys, and rows of DVDs. “But look at you. The video is a hit, but if you want to do escort work, ‘the man’ could do with a final polish as well.”
We talked like old friends — or even lovers. I could see myself in this world. The shop looked as sleek as the high-end venues I’d visited last summer, though thinking back on that particular weekend made my gut twinge. I felt a sharp pang of longing for Tony. However, when I told Max I wanted an elaborate 3D tattoo, an earring, and a haircut, he quickly provided a few addresses.
Bard suggested a renowned local tattoo artist — someone who specialized in heavy, blackwork geometry that would match my analytical mind. I felt the idea loading in my brain: a permanent modification for a permanent career change.
I agreed to stay in the apartment above the shop for a week to help Brad implement some much-needed tech improvements to their point-of-sale systems and inventory tracking.
• James, the system bug.
The peace was shattered on Tuesday when James stormed into the shop. His office was right next door, and he must have seen me leaving the Vx apartments above the shop. He ignored the many customers, marching straight up to the counter where I was debugging a terminal.
“I’ve seen the numbers on the debut film, boi,” James barked, his face a shade of purple that suggested high blood pressure. “And I’ve found that independent escort profile you set up. You must sign with us! Or we will pull your movie from our servers. You owe Valerius Management a forty-percent finder’s fee for that footage. You’re not allowed to play ‘freelance.’ Pay up, or piss off!”
I didn’t even stand up. I kept my eyes on the code.
“The contract for that film was signed with Jeff’s production firm and ‘The Three Brothers’ gay club, James. You weren’t the agent; you weren’t even the producer. You have zero claim to the metadata or the royalties. So bark at your own dog. Not at me — not in front of our customers.”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” James slammed his fist on the counter.
I looked up then, my voice cold and flat. “No. And if you threaten my distribution again, I’ll personally lock you out of the Vx backbone. You must follow protocol, James. And right now, you’re a bug in the system. Get out.”
James’s reaction was unlike anything the guys had seen. He didn’t just yell; he shook with a silent, terrifying rage before spinning on his heel and slamming the door so hard the glass rattled in its frame. The shop went silent. Max looked at me, impressed but worried. “You just kicked the hornet’s nest, Peter. He will want revenge!”
• Peter’s new professional look.
The transformation began at the tattoo shop Max recommended — a high-end studio specializing in ‘3D Blackwork.’ I’d always been fascinated by the brutal aesthetics of human freeze branding, but I wanted the look without the uncontrolled scarring. My vision was a paradox: a simulated wound anchored by industrial geometry.
The centerpiece was the Vx logo on my left shoulder. The artist rendered it with disturbing realism, using layered reds and soft pinks to make the edges look raw, burned, and perpetually peeling, as if a cryogenic freeze-brand had just been lifted from my flesh.
To frame the ‘wound,’ I had him weave a complex Tribal lattice around it. The Tribal wasn’t flat ink; it was a three-dimensional masterpiece of shading that looked like a black-metal exoskeleton bolted over my shoulder. Each geometric line had depth and weight, casting tiny, realistic shadows onto the ‘branded’ skin beneath it. It looked less like a tattoo and more like a cybernetic modification.
I also added a matching ‘happy trail’ lower down my V-taper, mirroring the placement of Cody’s ink — a silent nod to the man who had first unlocked my potential.
It wasn’t just art; the sharp, mathematical patterns were a permanent hard-wiring of my identity to match my analytical mind. The artist was equally skilled at handling my ‘hardware’; he’d seen my debut movie and was clearly impressed by the squirting eight-inch needle.
As the needle etched the ink, it felt like a final commitment to my new life.
Next came the ‘UI’ update. The ‘IT-guy’ mop was replaced with a sharp, disciplined cut — shorter on the sides with subtle fringe highlights for an expensive, ‘off-the-yacht’ look. A single black stud in my left ear provided the final ‘butch’ edge.
By the end of the week, Cody and the Vx photographer staged a high-end portfolio shoot. We used the matte-black Audi RS3 as the backdrop, its stealthy lines mirroring my own. I wasn’t just posing; I was presenting a finished product. I wore a mix of unbuttoned designer denim and custom leather, looking every bit the high-performance Top the forums were already buzzing about.
When the raw files hit my editor suite, I knew the rebrand was complete. The ‘IT-guy’ was dead; the professional asset had arrived. I updated my independent escort profile and the model page on the Vx site with the new headshots.
• The outlier.
I spent the rest of the week upstairs, working late into the night on Brad’s store upgrades and Max’s persistent, throbbing urges. It was during one of these late-night sessions — surrounded by the scent of new leather and sex-wax — that the message arrived.
The profile belonged to a Dutch Caribbean leather hunk, only a few years older than me. The hung stud looked magnificent. In the scene, you didn’t often come across black men in full, classic leather gear, even if you went looking for it. Seeing him in those kinky profile shots, harnessed and booted, pushed every one of my buttons. I spent a bit of time studying the high-resolution images he’d sent; he was a rare specimen, an aesthetic anomaly that I felt compelled to explore.
But as I scanned his chat, my internal firewall went up. The syntax looked too familiar — not the content, but the rhythmic cadence and the specific way he structured his demands. It felt like a ghost in the machine, and I’d built this machine from the ground up. Over the past few weeks, I had seen countless Vx profiles like this pass across my screen, but this one felt like a mirror.
Whoever was behind this knew my likes. This call-out had all the hallmarks of a ‘man-in-the-middle’ attack. Yet, the metadata on the images was authentic. The ebony hunk was real, even if the situation felt staged.
I didn’t rush out. I moved with calculated precision. I took a quick, scorching shower, scrubbing away the smell of the shop. I spent twenty minutes with a set of silicone plugs, carefully stretching myself to ensure I was ready for whatever ‘nasty’ punishment this hunk had discussed.
Once I felt loose and primed, I laced up my heavy biker boots and checked my GPS-sync with Max and Brad. They wished me well. I climbed into the RS3, the matte-black beast growling as I steered it toward the city’s outskirts. It was time to find out if this outlier was a high-value client or a bug that needed to be purged.
• The trap and the twelve-inch test.
The door to the motel room was indeed ajar, but inside, the space was dark and deserted. I barely had time to register the silence before a burly, black thug with a face mask lunged from the shadows. He hauled me inside, the door slamming shut behind us.
The lights flickered on, revealing two other men in hoodies and joggers. My captor, however, was dressed for a different kind of violence: heavy leather pants with a full crotch-to-back zipper. They shoved me around, a few calculated blows to the ribs and face to establish dominance, until I was forced onto the floor.
The leader snarled, ripping open the zipper of his leathers to unleash a massive, twelve-inch cock.
“Open your fucking mouth, boy,” he commanded. “We’re going to teach you what a first-class whore really looks like. You want to play dirty? Suck it. Suck it good. If you bite, it’ll be the last thing you ever do, Bitch.”
His buddies joined in, hauling their own heavy, cock-ringed gear out of their joggers. They were wired, their eyes glazed with a chemical high. I looked up at the ringleader, my analytical mind scanning his tattoos. The pattern recognition clicked — I’d seen this ink before on the Valerius Management servers.
The penny dropped. This wasn’t a random assault; it was a calibrated ‘stress test’ from James. A desperate move to degrade me or see if I’d break after I’d brushed him off.
I didn’t panic. I smiled. If James wanted to see what his ‘asset’ could handle, I was going to give him a masterclass. I opened my mouth wide and took the twelve-inch monster down my throat in one deep, fluid surge. The ringleader’s bravado vanished instantly. He grabbed his buddies’ nuts in a reflexive, painful grip as they all screamed — not in anger, but in sheer, terrified awe. They hadn’t expected a professional; they’d expected a victim.
• Processing the black ballers.
Setting to work, I quickly got Bobby, the ringleader, to peak hardness. As his pre-cum began to leak, I pivoted to the others. Jimmy had a fat, ten-inch curved ‘ass-buster,’ while Clive, the smallest at nine inches, had an unusually large glans. They moaned heavily as I processed them, my analytical brain already calculating the most efficient way to drain them.
They manhandled me onto the bed, rudely tearing my denim jeans open. Bobby’s twelve-inch anaconda-dong penetrated me raw and dry, ramming into my tight hole in a split second. He fucked me with the reckless aggression of a madman, but I didn’t break.
His buddies tag-teamed him shortly after, railing my gaping asshole even wider. Clive went first, his nine inches scouring my gut, followed by Jimmy’s fat, curved black banana. He slammed into me so hard I felt a momentary surge of concern, but I held my ground. They smacked my ass until my bubble-butt was bright red, but I was absorbing the onslaught, out-performing their violence.
It took every skill in my arsenal to transform their aggression into my own pleasure, ensuring they got more than their money’s worth. They were visibly stunned to see a ‘white twink’ handle their combined black new world power vibe with such cold efficiency. Once the initial rough-housing stabilized, I found the tempo. I used my boy-pussy to milk them, one by one, draining their balls of every drop of testosterone-fueled energy.
As the three of them lay panting and spent on the floor, I stood up with smooth, predatory grace. I demanded payment, but they were too spent to respond. I didn’t wait. I pulled on Bobby’s kinky leather pants since he’d ruined my jeans, then systematically emptied their wallets. I took my hourly wages, plus a ‘danger fee,’ and then threw them back in their faces.
A loaded gun tumbled out of a discarded hoodie pocket. I picked it up, feeling the weight of the metal before sliding it into my biker jacket. I laced my boots and looked down at the pathetic heap of ‘gangsters.’
“Tell James I’ll be dropping by to collect the rest,” I spat. “You pathetic excuses for James’s rentboys couldn’t even last three minutes on my ass. Tell James he needs to provide better training — your performance was amateur at best. I haven’t even broken a sweat.”
• Debt collection.
Angrily — but oddly satisfied — I raced to the offices of Valerius Management. After all, I did like my men rough and a little nasty; Tony had taught me that much.
James lived above the agency, and it was well past midnight as I pushed my way past reception to confront him. I didn’t say a word; I just showed him the photos of his three goons lying drained and broken on the floor. I slammed the loaded gun onto his desk.
“Since your rentboys were lightweights and broke,” I said coldly, “I’m here to collect the rest of my pay.”
James stared at me in complete shock. “Oh, God… everything Tony said was… shit… boy… What the hell? How did you—” he stammered, his face pale. This was the last thing he had expected.
I told James I required payment for three hours’ work by three men, plus a travel fee, interest, and a rough-housing bonus. Flabbergasted and visibly shaken, he counted out the cash. It was the high-end paycheck I heard Tony talk about. Times nine. As he handed it over, he began to spiral, screaming nastiness about Tony and me, demanding I leave the building.
I stood up, pocketing the bundle of cash in one hand and the gun in the other. I gave James the finger as I turned to go. In a fit of impotent rage, James grabbed a chair and hurled it at me, only to miss and shatter his own glass office door. I walked out laughing, the sound of breaking glass a perfect soundtrack to my exit.
After leaving James’s office, I didn’t flee for the outskirts. My adrenaline was spiked, and I needed a secure perimeter. I parked the RS3 in the private alley behind Valerius XXX.
Upstairs in the shop apartment, the air smelled crisp — Max had clearly had the space scrubbed while I was out. I fired off a group text to Max, Brad, and the ValeriusX CEO, Jeff. I kept it brief: I was back at base and safe, but James’s goons had tried to pull a stunt to get even with me. Jeff’s reply hit my screen instantly: “I’ll deal with James. Too many complaints about that asshole.”
I locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed, finally looking at the object I’d taken. Fascinated by the machined precision of the gun, I turned the weapon over in my hands. I did not feel guilty taking the gun from the wannabe thugs. But I quickly set it aside on the table. Feeling a little aroused by the new ‘admin tool’ for my arsenal.
I had slept better than I had done in months, the soft hum of the Amsterdam night vibrating through the old brick walls. Early the following morning, I grabbed my clothes and computer gear and drove away into the Autumn dawn. The glare of the streetlights reflected off the shiny Vx logo on the hood of my RS3 as I headed back home.
• Back together again.
Because I was closer to Tony’s estate than my old place, I decided it was time to close the loop. It was just past 9:00 AM when I pulled up to his drive. Tony must have been watching the monitors; the iron gates swung open immediately, and he was down the front steps before I could even cut the engine. Tony looked haggard, like a man who hadn’t slept well in weeks.
“Oh God, Peter… I’ve missed you so much,” he said, his eyes glassy as he reached the car. “I am so sorry. I was a fool, I should never have—”
I cut him off, stepping out of the Audi in my new leather pants and boots. “Come here, Tony.” I stepped into his space, no longer the timid geek he’d met months ago. “No, you shouldn’t have interfered with my business. But I forgive you.”
I gave him a firm, grounding hug. As we pulled apart, his eyes drifted to the aggressive, matte-black beast idling in his driveway. “Nice wheels, man. Since when do you drive a stealth fighter? It fits your new clothes and macho hairstyle, buddy.”
“A gift from Cody and Jeff,” I said, leaning against the hood. “A bonus for my back-end work and my first film.”
Tony looked at me in disbelief, but the sight of my well-filled money clip and my new ‘Master Peter leather hardware’ told the story better than words could. I reached into the glove compartment and handed him a gift-wrapped DVD. He unwrapped it with wide eyes, staring at the cover of Sir Pete.
A slow, proud grin spread across his face. “I guess the pupil finally outdid the Master,” he whispered, pulling me back into his arms.
“I’m glad you’re happy for me,” I said as we walked toward the front door. “I was worried you’d take the news hard.”
Tony squeezed my waist, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re the only thing I like to take hard, Peter.”
He stayed true to his word that day. Tony watched my debut film, his eyes fixed on the screen as he nailed me with a passion that felt like a celebration. Afterward, the dynamic shifted; he gave himself entirely to me, acknowledging the man I’d become.
The bane of my existence in the Vx universe was finally ousted, leaving the path clear for me to become a Vx escort. As promised, Tony took me on The Job with him a few times after that, letting me help him dominate high-end clients in some heavy role-play sessions. By the time the snow started melting, I had finally moved in with my Italian Stallion.
In the space of nine months, my system had been completely rewritten — from a sheltered IT tech to a leather-clad partner to the stars.
Sincerely yours,
Peter.
• The End •
Thank you for reading this story.
Please give it a 👍 Like or a Comment if you are inclined to do so.
And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - January 2026
