An RedLetterMedia Erotica By ProHackFraud

Chapter 1:

Man-Breast of The Worst

Huge balls...of water streamed down the window of the small, Milwaukee liquor store. Cold liquid pitter-pattering against the glass as a slightly warmer liquid slid down the throat of the store's last patron of the day. It was Mike Stoklasa, testing one of the bottles from the large paper sack he held. The other bottles in the bag rattled with the sound of a wind chime as he faltered slightly, a result of his voracious guzzling. With a loud clank he quickly set the bag on the nearby shelf, squinting and choking slightly as a small drop of booze run from the right corner of his mouth, he rubbed his tanned forearm across his pursed lips. Resting his hand on the shelf, Mike gazed out the rain-stained pane and stood still for a moment, observing the distorted headlights of cars passing by outside. His melancholy eyes wavered, "Rich..." his thoughts called out. He bit down hard on his lower lip. Squinting once again. He wiped the booze and spit from his forearm on his acid-wash denim jeans. With some agitation he took up his sack of beer and approached the check-out counter. "Not here..." he thought. "Not again." He forced him from his mind and set his sack on the counter. He tilted his head back up to the cashier, But quickly shot his gaze back down to the counter. The cashier was the same man from THAT night. When Mike couldn't control his urge. When Mike learned he could force the lust from his mind but never his heart...or his pants.

Mike pulled a bulging newspaper from his sack and unfurled it above his head. He made a dash for the car. As he ran he saw the light beaming from inside, the rain-distorted, silhouetted figure inside had seen him and the engine hummed, the windshield wipers had begun their seemingly eternal cacophony. Mike held the sack of booze between his body and the side of the car and awkwardly swung the door open, a single beer bottle crashed to the pavement, he plopped into the back seat and violently pulled the bag over his lap, sending bottles flying onto the adjacent seats. "Ahh fuck" he exclaimed, peering over the bottom edge of window, as if mesmerized by the beer gushing out over the concrete of the parking lot.

"You were in there for a long time...even for you." the voice from the driver's seat said in half-jest, breaking the beer's spell. It was Jay, still silhouetted, now by the wavy glare of street lights. Mike said nothing and with a strain and huff, tossed a beer towards the front of the car, sending Jay scrambling to catch it. Mike bent down and sent his puffy fingers probing across the car's floor, a seemingly vain attempt to find a non-rusting bottle-opener. Jay, oblivious to this, popped open the glove compartment and chose a nigh-pristine bottle opener from a variety of styles. Mike stayed silent still and committed to a only half-rusted opener from the floor's selection. Jay's laser-green eyes shot into the rear-view mirror and unwittingly penetrated Mike's concentration. Jay said his usual "Cheers", reverting straight back to his equally usual positive tone. However Mike had already hurriedly taken his first swig, in an attempt to hide his eyes from Jay's. Jay had no outward reaction and stepped on the gas. Propelling the car towards the road.

"RLM HQ" was a modest facility. A calmness washed over Mike as they pulled up, the only vehicle in sight. Jay said something about editing and that he would work on building the new set later. Mike didn't hear the individual words of Jay's speech, only the implication. Mike was in a haze of near-arousal, and he knew how he could get out of it.

Even in lustful, half-drunken stupor, Mike knew two things. Jay's office was too close to his and Jay would be in his office for several hours. Mike slowed his pace, and observed Jay as he exited the hall. As Jay passed through the doorway and the office light flicked on, it was one last silhouette, it outlined and accentuated Jay's lower body, the wiry strength of his thighs, the firm tightness of his ass.

A ripple moved around Mike's own thighs and a tingling rose in his rain-soaked crotch. With a new speed, almost as if running from the memories of the past, those memories that had haunted the edge of his psyche all night, of those collage-days hours-long film discussions and those unspoken-of acts which followed. Mike dashed into the warehouse portion of the building, where the "Half in The Bag" set was located. Almost automatically sitting on his usual left-side chair, he almost leapt to Jay's chair thinking "Yes, this...is hot!" Mike whipped out his phone and then his bulging wallet "These will be uncomfortable to sit on". Then he pulled out his cock. He sat up and grabbed the camera that was facing the set, they had filmed with Rich that day. He scrolled to the media-viewing mode and found a take with Rich, he began slowly rubbing the underside of his cock, at first with just his index and middle finger.

"Ohhhh f-ffuck" he whispered

SLAM!

"A car door! It's Rich!"

At this new excitement, at merely the mental acknowledgement of Rich Evans' presence, Mike's cock swelled to it's fullest extent. Hurriedly he stuffed his bulge into his jeans, abandoning the camera for fear that facing it's voyeuristic lens he may climax. Mike practically flew off the set and into the hallway, his plan was to run to his office and feign sleep. But the moment he stepped into the hallway, he turned at the sound of the front door opening. It was Rich. Wearing his blue VCR-repair costume from the shoot earlier. His flaming eyes in shadow, completely soaked, utterly wet. His clothes clung close to him; his nipples, hardened and engorged with cold, his chubby, breast-like man-tits jutting from his celestial form, like puffy sacs of bliss.

Mike felt a weakness in his knees, they and his ankles began to quiver, then shake; Mike fell to them (his knees). He cupped his hairy hands over his half-zipped in bulge and whimpered. And finally ejaculated. His ass-cheeks practically vibrating. It took all his strength not to fall to the floor. Rich stepped into the full light of the room, slamming the door behind him. Assuming Mike was mocking him, Rich simply stepped over him without a word.

"I'll put on the suit, Mr. Stoklasa" he said with a defeated tone.

That tone and that "Mr. Stoklasa" sent Mike hurtling back to what he was "supposed to be" sexually. He rolled into a ball, or as near as could being so obese. He wanted to cry. But he dare not cry out, even a beckon could be taken as a dominant order. Mike stood up with a sniffle and zipped his cock into his head hung low, he approached Rich's room.

He found Rich slumped on the edge of the bed, already in his leather gear and firmly squeezing, almost chocking his balls, thinking Mike's hallway display was a demonstration. He had laid the whip next to himself. Mike saw what Rich had lain out for him, Mike's usual order: A "Future Zone" glove replica and David Carradine wig, along with a VHS copy of "Action By Design in Association with Reel Stunts Productions Presents Randy Butcher's Backyard Stunting: 'Hits and Misses': A Video Guide to Stunting for The Amateur Filmmaker Featuring Professional Stuntman Randy Butcher".

With tears streaming down his face like rain on a liquor store window, Mike put on his gear and approached the now prone Rich Evans, whip now in hand. Mike wailed and moaned, not in sexual pleasure but in emotional pain as he struck the balls of Rich Evans, he tried desperately to make him sit up, Rich leapt up under this order, causing Mike to screech in sadness. Mike's head fell limply into Rich's lap, Mike turned his gaze upward, coming face to man-tit with Rich. Rich took this refusal as an intricate "withholding domination" domination technique and his boredom turned to arousal. Sweat mixing with not yet dry rain, Rich shifted his position, sending his bulge into Mike's third chin. Rich bent over to pick up the whip from the floor, but had some trouble, also being very obese. As he struggled to his former sitting position, whipping himself, his arousal turned to a cold disappointment as he heard the door slam and raised his head to an empty room.

Mike clumsily swayed down the hall and through the distortion of his tears, saw a light coming from the warehouse, he now stepped quietly to the doorway and saw Jay moving a large beam of wood.

Jay's hair was perfectly quaffed, his face slightly red, sweat gracing his brow and streaming down his perfectly trimmed bread. His shirt was hung over a nearby chair, and the definition of his muscles was brought out by the partial strain of his competent lifting. Finishing his task, he sat in Mike's chair, his back to the doorway, a single drop of sweat raced down his spine. A chill went up Mike's.

Mike quietly fell to the ground, laying on his back, confused, conflicted, he was completely still, his eyes darted back and fourth. And the beating of his heart matched the pitter-patter of the rain on the warehouse roof.

TO BE CONTINUED...