Nexus Facility: Part Two

Brooke stopped in her tracks as she heard the new arrival.

There was a slim, female figure at the doorway to the Nexus Facility, clad in a black leather biker jacket, full, closed, glossy black helmet on their head, shiny skintight black wet-look leggings and matching ankle boots.

She wasn't used to being interrupted at work. Technically, caught in what could be described as a compromising situation, as a consummate professional and a woman of vast experience - quite a lot of it horizontal - Brooke was a little surprised at the new arrival’s announcement, although it took quite a lot to knock her back.

We are, after all, talking about the porn goddess that had been the face of the ‘Cock Breath’ series, not only a star-making role but a multi-film franchise, and, indeed, to some, a way of life.

‘Cock Breath’ itself had been an interesting entry in to the porn flick universe. Brooke often found herself reflecting upon it. The title itself had not immediately meant to depict the kind of activities that were performed in the film, unusual in itself in the porn business, but then hardly likely to be the subject of claims made via the Trade Descriptions Bureau.

Actually, it had been dreamed up by some coke up Valley dickhead looking to try for a distinctive title. And as usual all the best titles had already gone.

And while the first film did feature a 12-on-one no holds barred absolutely zero-pussy-gangbang of which she herself with the centrepiece, the phrase itself was merely a synecdoche to indicate the kind of shameless, sperm addicted, pneumatic, Bad-Girl-Can't-Get-Enough SLUT that she was portraying. It was the part she was born to play. Getting cored out by studs. Yum.

She liked it when they queued up behind her one by one, and then took them all together. There were more cocks than holes by quite a distance. No matter. She made them fit.

However, what had happened was that Brooke’s performance in the film had been so riveting, her raw enthusiasm the likes of which would have shamed a wild rabbit, allied to her depraved imagination, her penchant for engaging in the most lurid activities possible, her uncompromising tendency to fuck her counterparts into literal ‘We-need-a-medic-here-stat!’ comas, made the film a smash hit. The had to do a post-credit sequence where she visited the guys in hospital afterwards to show that there were no hard feelings.

There were, inevitably, hard feelings. And then one thing led to another. And then another gangbang. By the end of the visit there was enough footage for ‘Cock Breath 2 – Nurse Fuckey’s return’ and before anyone knew it the ward needed to replenish the IV drips to keep the talent hydrated.

‘Cock Breath 3’, riffing on is title while attention in the series was at his peak, featured a prologue where Brooke, looking directly at the camera, turned her head to the side and inhaled the most gigantic penis ever shot on film, all the way from tip to base before disgorging it and letting the hard shaft slide out of her gullet, covered in slobber.

And, turning back to the camera, Brooke breathed out and announced huskily, ‘I've got cock breath…’ Smiling moodily, the camera pulled back, and ten more immense penises filled the frame, circling her like a clock face, pre-ejaculate leaking from the majority of them so thick and potently that several of the guys were able to tip their cocks back and try to land them on her face like they were casting fishing lines.

That seemed to seal her stardom, and after that Brooke found that she was offered contracts with whatever studios and stars she liked. Other girls took the cock breath mantle.

However, the success of the series had stimulated a regrettable and tiresome tendency amongst her contemporaries in the business to clock when she was approaching, dive into the groins of any male that was proximate to them, instantly deepthroat them, and inhale whatever musk they could before greeting Brooke by belching the often-noisome aroma in her face and mimicking her signature line.

‘I’ve got Cock Breath…’

Then they would giggle.

At first Brooke would laugh too.

That in and of itself was fine. ‘Say the line, Brooke!’ Sure. She went with it.

But that had being before it went viral as an internet craze.

Of course any old slut could host a gangbang. A little bit of training and just about anyone could do it well and make it worth watching. And, of course, everyone instinctively knows the top names of superstar fuckdoll harlots that caused the most amount of males to jack-their-beanstalks till they kerplunked. Brooke had her looks, her Enthusiasm, had a sense of style: a sense of class. Brooke could eyefuck most studs she chose into premature ejaculation just with a quick look, the parting of her luscious lips, and the flick of her tongue.

Gush. Pop. Pop.

She also betrayed a proclivity for getting inside people's heads quick smart. Rather than the traditional method of the pornstarlet crawling around on her hands and knees in front of the crescent shaped assemblage of Prime male flesh, ranged in front of the camera, Brooke displayed an incredible capacity for getting those studs to kneel in front of each other, stroke bulges hidden under trouser legs almost as if it was against their apparent will, and even to the point where they were so addled by her dominance and sexual charisma that they would be goggle eyed, and do the girl’s job of yanking waistbands down and flinching as long rods of meaty brawn sprung wildly out.

It was pretty unique.

She took a baseball bat to most orgies and certainly not for the purpose of delaying improper advances or to tapping away unwanted insertions of appendages. There was no such thing as an unwanted insertion of an appendage. Brooke would frequently take a double vaginal and double anal pounding, and had become renowned as one of the most experts in the biz. It didn’t matter how many cocks showed up, she could make them all disappear inside of her, all at the same time.

But the title of cock breath… stunk. There was more to life than mega jugged bimbos belching in her face. And to be honest, they were bigger cocks to be had. Much bigger cocks. As soon as she got back in touch with Vixxxen and been apprised of her revolutionary discovery of penal gigantism and hyperspermic production, Brooke was a female-shaped cloud of dust on her way to the UK.

The rest was history.

So when the new arrival turned up at the door, and Brooke was absolutely plastered in semen, she wasn’t too fazed.

She held a finger up.

‘Would you give me a second and I’ll see you in my office?’

Brooke pointed the way, and nipped into the shower.

*

Ian White looked at his diary. As usual, it was rammed. The simply wasn't enough space to squeeze in the tiniest little break. He was wall to wall. Not that he minded. He loved his job. The pay was generous, the hours were agreeable, and he had taken quick advancement since he had been initially enrolled as a supply teacher at the school. Incredibly quick advancement. And he loved opening new minds.

Of course, it wasn't merely new minds that he was opening. Ian White was opening all manner of things. Breaking them open. There wasn't an 18-year-old girl’s asshole around that he hadn't busted into and the subjected to radical enlargement. More and more he tried to get it in at the very first time he met them. Preferably it was best administered on the open day or at applicant stage, before they even enrolled at the school. Really helped them get a feel of the place.

If he could spare the time, while her parents were being shown around the building, a new applicant would be ushered into Ian’s office, and the instant the door closed, she would be greeted by himself and another senior member of staff, like Charles Woodcock Splatterwell or Mr Reamer, with a current student there like Robert Cummings. If she got past the initial shock of staring down the veiny barrel of three foot-and- a-half inch, cum-dripping flesh monoliths pointed directly at her, she was accepted. If she got on her knees, she was accepted. If she said something funny or cute, she was accepted. It was actually very difficult to fail the interview stage.

Ian leaned back in his seat.

There wasn't a single huge breasted, teenage whore that Ian White hadn't throat fucked so that his balls were bouncing on her chin. His dick was always lodged in the most glorious hyper-sexual teen orifices of the most willing and debauched porno schoolgirls that it was possible to imagine. All he ever heard all day where the words ‘Oh My God.’ Occasionally a teenager would tell him that she was ruined for all time because his inhumanly huge beastcock had split her in two and implored him to do it again and again. Every single 18-year-old slut that he ran into in the corridors of this school found some way to try to charm his penis out of his patents. Invariably the thing swung out, and they were on their knees, transfixed. They told him over and over that they were in love with his cock and after even a few seconds of him coring them out, every single one of them was simply Gaga for him.

After a few weeks of his employment at the school, it was decided that Ian was too valuable a member of staff to tie down to a single discipline or subject. Instead, it was suggested that he worked on his own recognizances and went around the school doing good as he saw fit. Ian didn't have a regular class to teach, and he was given an office from which to conduct his operations and free license to roam around the school to beef up the operation.

Beefing up, as it happened, was what he did best.

Beefing up. Well, that was one way to put it. How else to describe what he was looking at? He was sat in his oak desk in his office, chair pulled back, diary open in front of him and laptop on the table. Between himself and his diary was a 19-inch column of flesh. There was no avoiding it. It was sticking up horizontally from his groin. Trousers had become less of a necessity, and more of a showbiz trick to conceal the goods until the proper moment arrived for its disclosure. However, when seated, since Ian was never ever flaccid, the thing became something of an impediment, a monstrous, flesh pole between his torso and whatever he was concentrating on.

He never anticipated that he would have to peer around the enormous bulbous tip that crowned the immense, veiny prong that sprouted from his loins if he wanted to so much as watch television, look at his laptop, or do basic paperwork. If he read a novel he propped the spine on the massive dorsal vein that throbbed atop his inhumanly massive masculine appendage. Even looking at it in now, he himself, even in these isolated and quiet in moments of his life, found it difficult to take in. He had a groin weapon that comfortably surpassed a foot and a half in length to, that was as thick as his forearm, that was branched all along with a complex tracework of bulging veins, that was as hard as an iron bar, and that constantly, without interruption, leaked a glutinous, potent oily pre ejaculate juice that continually slid down it in oozing waves.

If he wanted to, he could do all sorts of extraordinary things with it. He could, for exert the muscles in his groin to make it smack down hard on the table in front of him with enough force to make the laptop jump and the tea cups on the side of the desk rattle. Equally, if he wanted to, he could gently tip it up towards his own face and take the head inside his own mouth. There was no real incentive for him to do the latter, but he had found over the past few months that as a party piece it was something that got the huge majority of the females within the school frothy with excitement.

But to be honest, everything sent them frothy with excitement. The thing between his legs turned female brains to goo.

It just turned them to goo.

Not just legs - jelly legs at the thoughts of Ian's monster, not just jelly stomach at the idea that the enormous sperm cannon could be entrenched inside any of their orifices and pound the living shit out of them until they could barely walk - but it turned their actual brains to goo. When confronted with Ian, a bimbo became a fuck doll. A slut became a whore. A size queen became a size Empress. Completely ordinary professionals performing totally innocuous administrative roles unfailingly became, on production of Ian's massive penis, carnivorously lecherous vixens that fluently spouted lewd, vulgar, and drippingly sensual porn vernacular.

Ian had taken everything within his stride after the bumpy first couple of days. As soon as he was over the initial shock he threw himself into his job with vigour and abandon. It seemed the proper way. Apart from anything else he had met Miss Hart and embarked upon what he laughingly characterized as a romance. There were no constraints upon his behaviour, which was a good thing, since a usual working day required him to penetrate between 80 and 100 teenage girls, and Ian certainly didn't begrudge Laura her fill all of prime penis at any end every opportunity.

It was not a typical workplace romance and was all the better for it. #

Everything was perfect. But something was troubling him.

He checked the laptop on his desk. The screensaver was on, and was relaying a series of remarkably vivid images of the highlights of his teaching career. Diamond Gazongas balancing his cockend on her tongue as a waterfall of heavy cum spewed out of her mouth and over her tongue onto her balloon tits. Sanddy Sexton with a thumbs up as she cupped Lana ‘Easy’ Lay’s buttcheeks to the side to better display how Ian’s lamppost thick semen pump was distending her rectum. His dick between Laura’s tits at a recent prize giving as she sat at the table in an immodest dress that would have better suited a lapdancer as she hefted a champagne glass at the camera. His first form group where each of the sixteen girls’ faces was so heftily covered in thick, white, gluey balljuice on their knees in front of the blackboard that it was impossible to tell them apart. The time that the Lixxx twins made a huge sign that said WHORES with a big arrow on it and held it behind the backs of a group of nervous applicants while he was giving them their welcome speech.

He tapped the pad and the screen went to the display of one of the work scheduling applications that the school used. A notification said that he’d been added to cover a couple of classes in Science later in the week. He furrowed his brow. This was happening more and more. Increasingly, teachers were taking time off sick. The funny thing was, they weren’t recovering and coming back. They were staying off.

The school really ought to get hold of another supply teacher.

Ian knew that his talents weren’t best used on cover any more. It was time for some fresh blood. The staff were stretched thinly across teaching duties.

Just as he was considering mentioning it to Miss Taylor (head of supply), his phone rang. It was Miss Taylor.

‘I was just thinking about you,’ Ian said.

‘Oh really?’ Gina Taylor said playfully, ‘any particular hole? Or perhaps it was my tits. Want to know what I’m wearing?’

‘Always,’ Ian said.

‘Well since you’re so interested, it’s nothing,’ Gina said, ‘I just got railed in the dance studio by the gym team. I’ve got a bit of cum on me but yanno… It’s not like you…’

‘I’ll blast you later, Gina, I promise,’ Ian said.

‘No stud,’ Gina said more seriously, ‘blast me now. As in get your ass up to Classics and meet me there. I’m hearing disturbing things about Mr Cross and we may need emergency cover.’

Ian put the phone down and looked at the spreadsheet. Another one down?

***

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ Brooke said.

‘That's quite alright.’

The new arrival was standing at the window in Brooks office. Her back was to Brooke, and she was looking out over the lawns towards the back of the facility. The motorcycle helmet was on her desk. Brooke stopped in the doorway briefly and marvelled at the physique of the new arrival. It was a teenager with a billion-dollar booty, stacked, jacked, and, as she turned around, racked.

The girl had an eye-popping figure that was poured into the leather and spandex, every inch of which was bursting out of the skintight fabrics.

The tits were colossal. The girl had opened her bikers jacket up so that a low cut skintight vest with slashes across the front of it could be seen, with what appeared to be a pair of tanned, gleaming bowling balls sticking out of the top of it.

She was blonde, with an undercut, a couple of neck tattoos, and the most seductive almost shaped eyes imaginable peeked over an N95-mask, which obscured her face.

‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not from the job centre?’ Brooke said.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Somewhat.’

Brooke crossed the room and took her seat. She gestured to the empty chair across from her. ‘Please.’

‘Thanks.’

The new arrival sat down. Brooke grinned. Her hair was wet from the shower and she had slung on a skintight vest top and a white drs coat.

‘Did Vixxxen send you?’ Brooke asked.

The girl looked up, ‘Vixxxen, no, doesn’t ring a bell.’

‘But you’re from the… School. Is that right? I called earlier? They sent someone… you?’

The girl smiled, agreeably, ‘O yah! That’s me. They didn’t know what to do with me so they said do you want to go and help out here. I said sure. They even made me type a CV.’

The girl proffered a document. Brooke looked at it, then at the girl.

On the top of the piece of paper it said: CURRICULUM VITAE: DEMI PUMP

Brooke picked it up. 

'Are you ready for a quick interview and a tour, Miss Pump?'