FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The fans turned on like clockwork as we settled into the conference room. The office space we rented wasn't anything fancy, and our air conditioning had been busted for months. It didn't take long for the room to start smelling like dude sweat, but after being here for a while, you got used to it. That's the thing about working for a porn mag; you tend not to see a lot of ladies around the office.

I guess I wasn't complaining though. Most would consider working for _Jizz Adult Entertainment Films Magazine_career suicide for a journalist, but reviewing new pornos every week was a lot better than writing boring articles about everyday life. Occasionally I'd even get to interview the stars, sometimes on set, but usually that was reserved for the more senior journalists. A small, somewhat shy mouse like me was a cornerstone of the critic's section of our publication. The interviewers sometimes affectionately referred to us as the "Right-Hand Review Crew."

We were all pretty young, though. The lead editor, a big wolf man we called Mr. Kessler was only in his thirties. With a title like Jizz_though, they were really going after their target demographic. But it's not like they could have called it _Chronic Masturbator Weekly.

Mr. Kessler took his spot at the head of the table, always preferring to stand like he was a sergeant debriefing us. "Alright, settle down," he said as the idle chatter fell away. "It's still early in the summer, which means things are still just picking up. Last week's run was good, and we're going to keep the momentum going. We've got two new films out this weekend and a lot to pick up on from last week. So, Righties." It was one thing when the interviewers called us that. But it was always a bit embarrassing when Mr. Kessler said it. "Donald, I want you to do Baker's Dozen. Ben, you got Ass Smash 3. Now, as for interviews-"

"Uh, sir?" I raised my hand.

"Yes, Mel?"

I cleared my throat and straightened my glasses, trying to look a little dignified, but not too strait-laced. "The review room is, uh, out of supplies."

"I'll write you a check for lube and tissues after the meeting," Mr. Kessler said. "But Donald can pick it up. I've scheduled you an interview with Buck Cummings today."

When I swallowed, it felt like a lump was in my throat. "Really?"

"Yes. You did a great review of Cock Market, and your gut was right; the numbers say it's a huge hit. That makes you the most familiar with his recent work, and we should do a follow-up after a big success like this."

"Right," I nodded. "Thank you, sir."

He narrowed his brow a bit. "I still want you on the Righty Crew, Mel. Man Cave 2 comes out on Sunday, and I want a review on my desk before press on Thursday. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I confirmed. A lot of the other guys considered getting stuck reviewing the gay film a form of punishment, but secretly I didn't mind too much. I couldn't tell if they did either, or it was all just a macho act, but I didn't care. Getting to do an interview with one of the biggest names in porn was a huge step for my career.

As we filtered out, my buddy Jake, a lean otter, patted my shoulder. "Hey, welcome to the interview team, pal."

"You heard him. I'm still doing reviews."

"Call it a transition period. But it's sorely necessary. We're going to be up to our balls in stories this summer."

"Happy to help," I replied.

Jake raised an eyebrow at me and grinned. "Happy to help, or happy to go on set and ogle some tits?"

"It's not all like that," I said, blushing.

Jake just laughed. "I can't believe you get so embarrassed. Why else would any of us be here? I mean, Kessler lays a star every week whenever he goes to do a story."

"No way," I said. "He's always in his office."

"Maybe you don't notice because you're always stuck in the review room, but he goes out every once in a while. Sometimes he comes back late. With a big grin on his face."

"You gossip like a woman," I shot back.

He just shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask him for tips, though. After all, the best interviews are personal, right?"

"Ugh," I groaned as I headed out. Jake was a natural for interviews. Charming, confident, funny, cute even. The kind of guy who was friends with everyone in the office. But as much as he liked to rib me, I didn't need tips. Whether I was reviewing or interviewing or filing, I tried to stay professional.

It might sound silly to say that, but in this industry, professionality was important. There was a lot of money in porn, and a lot of drama too, and keeping your buttons on was the best way to stay out of trouble. It was a great time to be working in it though. From where I stood, the porn industry was a ride that only went up.

It really all started about six or seven years ago. A minor law was passed allowing pornographic films and magazines to be displayed and sold openly, and soon after, every gas station and convenience store had racks by the door displaying tits and cocks. Some hated the changes, but it raked in a ton of dough for the first companies that were now the big studios.

The thing about porn, though, is there's never enough. Once everyone figured out how lucrative adult films and porno mags were, a bunch of studios started cropping up, but especially in the big coastal cities like this one. Within a few years, porn became a sizeable economic industry, no longer relegated to the corners of the internet trying to scrape some cash out of it.

Sea Salt City started getting a reputation, as studios started flying out the hottest and most talented stars they could find to make their films and magazines. Soon the city was recognized nationwide, perhaps even globally, as the center of pornography. With all the new media out, it paved the way for magazines like Jizz to start tracking it all, building on the foundation of what was quickly becoming a porn subculture, if it wasn't truly mainstream by now.

I fit in naturally. Being small, nerdy, and getting stuck with the name Melvin had resigned me to the life of a social outcast. Years of working on school papers had given me plenty of experience with journalism, plus a rather stagnant dating career. In college I tried joining a fraternity to make friends and get laid, but while my brothers were downstairs drinking and hooking up, I ended up alone in my bedroom jerking off to all the new films and magazines coming out and posting about it online. I may have remained a virgin, but I came out an expert in the burgeoning porn industry. _Jizz_snatched me up for their review crew quickly after I graduated, and I stayed with them ever since. I even managed to earn my minor title of "senior critic" with much dedicated jacking off in the office's review room.

But despite my reputation as the Expert Fapper in the office, I was more than ready to do some real journalism as well. I had seen every one of Buck Cummings's films, and knew as much personal information as was available, all of it stored away in my trusty dossiers on all the industry's stars.

The thing about Buck wasn't that he was the most hung or the most muscular, but he was certainly close, being six-foot-five, well over two hundred pounds, yet sporting a massive footlong dick that had yet to be outdone by any other star, thus setting the industry standard for males to have the biggest cocks females could fit inside them. But despite his jaw-dropping dick size, what made Buck one of the best was the way he performed. The man was a natural on camera, wielding his cock like an artist's brush, every thrust a masterpiece. Women moaned for him in a way they didn't for other stars. I chalked some of it up to his endurance. Once he was hard, he stayed hard until the shoot was over, and he came as many times as was needed.

To say I was a fan was a bit of an understatement. Not that he was my all-time favorite, which was a spot that had yet to be occupied, but it couldn't be denied that Buck made films that made money via a dedicated fanbase, something that only a few of the studs in the biz could claim.

Female stars could only hope to be so popular. They just didn't have fans in the way that the men did. When the industry was fueled by male lust, viewers only wanted to fuck the girls and knew them by name only, if they knew their names at all. But those same viewers wanted to be those studs they saw on camera, and it appeared that interviews and info was a way for those viewers to try and become more like their heroes. Call it sexist, but it's a sexist industry to be sure.

The viewers' desires were the guiding principle behind any interview. But I knew that the real key to a great interview was having all the right questions prepared beforehand. So with my notebook and tape recorder in hand, I headed off down the street where our offices were located, a long avenue that also contained most of the other studios' facilities, a street known as Money Shot Mile.

Money had certainly done well for it, too. This part of town wasn't dirty or dangerous like one might expect, but instead was within public transport distance of downtown on the coast, just near enough to feel the warm, briny breeze. There were a lot of bars and coffee shops to pass along with the studios, and many actors frequented these while on break during filming. One was certain to pass by a lot of beautiful people, whether they were directors or stars. I even recognized a few; Rex Goldrun, Sarah Sapphire, and Homer McRyne, the big rabbit with the even bigger bulge. While my eyes lingered, they barely took notice of me. Which was fine. I was used to having a one-sided viewership with them.

Luckily, Buck's home wasn't far from the Mile. It wasn't a mansion, but it certainly wasn't anything shabby; a new single-story villa. The black, cast iron fence marked him as a minor celebrity, and I could see a pool around back. I craned my head, looking for a way in. While I stood, I noticed more than a few people, men and women, lingering to catch a glimpse as well.

I saw a gardener, a middle-aged panther in a sun hat, come out the front door with a bucket of tools. I waved and he came over. "Can I help you?" he asked in a bit of a wheezy voice.

"I have an interview scheduled with Mr. Cummings today," I told him, flashing my press badge.

"Oh, so you're the little newsie? Well, c'mon in." He unlocked the gate for me and started leading me around the side of the house to the pool. Before we rounded the corner though, he stopped. "Ehh, actually, wait here a moment. Just gonna see if he's ready for you."

I stayed put, but craned my neck close to the corner to try and hear their conversation. It was a calm day, luckily. "Is there a problem?" I could hear Buck's deep voice.

"No, no. Just a reporter. You have an interview today?"

There was a pause. "Oh. Right. Yeah."

"I could have him wait a minute."

"Nah, send him back."

"Alrighty."

I could already hear the gentle sound of lapping water as I moved around back, clean tiles signaling a large pool area. And it was lavish as well, a modern, gauze-draped cabana built next to a large, multi-tiered pool surrounded by a high stone fence with a hot tub at the top. I blushed at the sight of three young does in only red bikini bottoms, really topless, who covered themselves at my intrusion. They were gorgeous as models, and I was caught off-guard by their presence; I wasn't aware Buck had any girlfriends.

My attention could only be drawn away by the man himself. Buck Cummings sat under the cabana, lightly shaded, lounging next to a blonde doe in a soft beach chair. He wore only a speedo and shades, and his chestnut body may as well have been chiseled from stone. Perfectly smooth, every muscle of his chest, arms, and stomach was defined and powerful, and he was far bulkier than most other deer could hope for. His dark hair was smooth and slicked back, and even his antlers had a whopping fourteen points. And of course, I couldn't help but check out his package, the curve of his flaccid cock and each testicle apparent in the elastic garment, his huge endowments stretching the fabric plainly. Yet he wore it with such confidence it was hard not to be awed.

"So, where are you from?" he asked, barely tilting his head toward me to examine his guest from behind his shades.

It took me a solid moment to remember how to answer. "Uh, Jizz Magazine, sir."

"Ah. You guys gave me a good review, didn't you?"

"Well... I did, yeah," I admitted. Buck lowered his shades at me, revealing his warm, but intense eyes. Even if I didn't know why I should feel intimidated, I was. Starstruck, I guess.

"I guess I owe you then," he said, leaning back again.

I shook my head. "Your film was excellent. The directing, the shots, the score... but you gave an excellent performance too. You got a good review because you earned it," I said earnestly.

Buck chuckled a bit to himself. "That's cute, kid." He paused a bit, getting comfortable in his pool chair. "Take a seat and let's do this," he nodded toward another pool chair across from him. As I took my seat, he called to one of his does. "Ella, get us two beers, please."

"I'll just have a soda, actually," I said, raising a finger. Even behind the shades, I could feel Buck's deadly glare. I held my silence until she brought the drinks out. When slim, perfect doe leaned down to place my soda on the table beside me, her buxom breasts hung low, right in front of my face, close enough that I could see every detail of her cleavage and her pink, pointed nipples, close enough I could just stretch my neck and suck on one. It was the closest I had ever come to a real pair of boobs before, and I'm sure Buck could tell from the look on my face.

He took a sip of his beer. "So. Shoot."

"Right," I said, snapping back into my professional mode. I snatched up my tape recorder and notebook, sitting on the edge of my chair. I cleared my throat. "So, it's obvious that Cock Market is another feather in your cap of successful films, but how do you feel about your performance, and the reception of the film?"

Buck answered off the cuff, as if he knew what I was going to ask before I spoke. "I'm tremendously pleased. Jazz was fantastic to co-star with, and of course an excellent partner during the sex scenes. As for the reception, the crew, director, all of us put so much of ourselves into making a great film that would resonate with people, and I'm glad that our passion translated well through the screen." Buck's voice was anything but passionate. Charismatic, warm, enchanting even, but he remained in his chair, reclined and easygoing.

I tried to shrug off the dissonance. "Okay..." I looked up from my notes, but found myself staring at his body again, every curve and muscle so expertly sculpted. I returned to the notes in my lap, but I could still feel his gaze examining me past his shades. "Do you have any favorite moments from the shoot you'd like to share?"

Buck thought for a moment, rubbing his chin, the sun glinting off his chestnut fur. "I do have to say, I did enjoy the scene where we did it bareback. There aren't many chances to do things without condoms, but the director insisted, and after we got our tests back, I think Jazz and I enjoyed ourselves that much more. It makes what you see on camera that much more... real."

Well, it wasn't the canned response I received on my first question, but now I recalled the scene vividly. Normally, the initial penetration wasn't shot up-close to obscure the fact a star was wearing a condom, but they got right between his legs, his perfect balls hanging over the top while we got to watch his bare manhood slowly sink into his prize. I had to shake my head to clear the image and keep taking my notes.

As much as I wanted to talk about the film, I knew the big topic was Buck's private life, and I was curious to discover more about it myself, being the fan that I was. "So..." I faltered, adjusting my glasses as I tried to breach the subject. "How long have you had... girlfriends?" I asked.

Buck inclined his head toward me, and I felt myself shrink. "They aren't girlfriends," he said calmly. "I'm not really sure you could define our relationship in words. They're not groupies, if that's what you're thinking. I suppose you could refer to them as... lovers."

I balked at him. "You... live with three women, who are happy to walk around topless for you, and you wouldn't call any of them girlfriends?" We were within earshot of the girls, and I was surprised they weren't offended.

Buck smiled lightly. "It's a mutual arrangement. I'm a pornstar. A man of pleasure. These women want to give me that pleasure. We are all primarily interested in... enjoying each other. That's all."

That was about the closest I could get to Buck admitting that he spends his free time fucking hot women all day, and I couldn't deny that I felt both a thrill at discovering this, but also an intense envy as well. As any normal man would, at least a little bit. And the way he admitted to it with such nonchalance only emphasized to me how very unlike him I was.

Nonetheless, I continued, especially after getting him to open up about his personal life. "I think it's safe to say you're one of the biggest names in the industry, and potentially the first true superstar in porn. How does that affect your day-to-day life? Apart from your lovers," I asked.

He chuckled at my comment, but stayed thoughtful for a moment. "I have to keep a pretty strict routine. I do a full-body shave after I shower each morning -"

"Full-body?" I interrupted.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Face. Chest. Armpits. Ballsack. All of it. You might not realize how important it is to be baby smooth on camera, but I'd say it's easily the most important aesthetic aspect of being a pornstar. Even more than having a good figure. Stubble can make or break a man's performance. During long shoots, I'll usually take a break about halfway through the day to shave my pits and balls again."

I'm sure he could read my surprise plainly on my face. "That's... pretty intense," I commented.

He smiled. "Yeah. But I do have the smoothest pits in the biz, at least." He raised his arms, reclining his head back, and indeed, the muscles curved and his body flowed flawlessly, from tricep to underarm to pectoral all in one smooth stroke, and it looked like he had never grown an armpit hair in his life. It was a minor detail, but it really did make him look like a living statue.

"Impressive," I complimented. "What next?"

"Well, after that is the gym. I spend two hours a day with my personal trainer with an emphasis on upper body and cardio. Cardio is, I'd say, the most important thing an aspiring male actor can work on. It improves blood flow to help maintain erections for long hours, not to mention helping you to keep thrusting for a full day of shooting without tiring out. I usually leave around seven in the morning."

"You're an early riser," I noted with a nod.

"You have to be," he replied. "During filming, I have to be on set by eight for makeup. We usually start filming at nine. If we're lucky, we get out at five in the evening and I can get dinner on time, but most shoots are ten hour days, so I get to put my clothes back on at seven. Then I usually come home, shower again, and enjoy my evening." He seemed to sense where my thoughts were going, and added, "After ten straight hours of fucking, sex is the last thing on the minds of most men. But sex on camera isn't like the real thing. If you're wondering, I do, in fact, get laid for real each night. Even more so on the rare day off I get. On a day like that, eight hours of sex is just recreational."

I nodded, my forehead feeling quite warm despite the shade of Buck's cabana. I scribbled to take notes on his routine, and couldn't help but think about how he made what was likely a clinical sex addiction seem so utterly cool. My next question just tumbled out my mouth while I wrote. "Do you ever fuck fans?" My pen stopped on the page, just like my heart.

Buck didn't answer for a long time. I only looked up when I realized he was staring at me intently, his eyes showing over the tops of his shades, boring into me, easily picking up on the fact that I clearly wasn't quite straight after asking a question like that. I shrank into my seat, intimidated that I had let slip to him what I hadn't managed to admit to any of my coworkers.

He flashed that charming smile as he removed his glasses at last, giving me a full view of his handsome features. "No," he answered, maintaining his demeanor effortlessly. "I hate to break the hearts of all the women who have supported me and enjoyed my performances over the years, but the studios are extremely particular about that sort of thing. At the end of the day, I'm an actor, and even if the sex I have with my costars is very real, the sex is still very much a performance. It would be like asking an actor who plays a cop to arrest someone. The sex that I have isn't my sex life, and it's critical to keep those things separated to avoid disaster. If I ever did fuck a fan, my agent alone would have my balls."

I wrote it all down. I had plenty to work with, more than I expected to have, even. Buck had been surprisingly chatty, as opposed to the normally aloof persona he displayed in his televised interviews. He was always cagey about his personal life, but perhaps his agent had advised him to open up a bit more this time? As much as I wanted to know more about him, to stay and pick his brain to satisfy my personal curiosity, I had reached the end of my questions, and I knew better than to take more of a star's time than was necessary. "Well, I guess that's it. Uh, thank you, Mr. Cummings," I said with a nod.

As I reached out to offer a handshake, he stood up. "Of course. We'll get you your cover and centerfold shots, and you'll be all set." I was seated before him, face to face with his bulge, but without warning, he simply removed his swimsuit, and I witnessed his priceless pornstar cock flop out into the open air.

To say it looked better in person than on camera was an understatement. At minimum, it looked bigger in person than on camera. Thick, smooth, and long as my forearm, it stretched down his thigh, a nice caramel brown shaft with a fat head I would have died to wrap my hand around, if the slab could even fit in my palm. Even the balls underneath were perfect, plenty plump, yet contained nicely in a perfectly smooth coinpurse that hung just low enough to emphasize their weight, but wasn't quite saggy or wrinkly, just dying to be palmed.

Buck replaced his shades, and posed, standing beneath the cabana, half of his body in shadow while the sunlight emphasized his face, chest, and package, looking out over the pool. He eyed me from the side. "How's this?" he asked to get me moving.

"Right! Good, good," I said. I scrambled to find my camera. I knew I'd be taking pictures before I arrived, but I had been so caught up in the interview, in the images he seemed to be deliberately placing in my mind, that I had forgotten about the shoot. And even though I worked for a porn magazine, it never occurred to me I'd be getting pictures of his naked body.

I spent a long time adjusting the levels on the camera, getting the shot just right. Viewing his body through the lens was a thrill on its own, and I couldn't help but stare at that fat cock. My heart raced as I snapped the first few shots, a voyeuristic pleasure coursing through me as I imagined all the poses I could have him take, all the ways I could capture his body for my own enjoyment. I circled around him, trying every angle, gently directing him to look this way and that, my voice quivering as I did so.

When I'd had enough of this pose, I thought about how I would suggest to try the next, something a bit more racy. But Buck, either reading my mind or out of well-worn routine, spoke first. "I imagine you'll want an erection for the centerfold?"

I just nodded, not even having the courage to say yes. "Maybe, lie down?" Buck did so, reclining once again in the pool chair. I froze, waiting for him to ask me to give him a handjob to get him up, but he didn't. His hand reached down, taking the thick pole in his palm as he began to stroke, slowly and languidly. I was amazed at how little it took. I watched with wide eyes as he slid his flesh along his shaft, seeing it visibly throbbed as his arousal built, yet he showed no signs of pleasure, not even a sigh or moan. The shaft grew, and although it was clear Buck was more of a shower than a grower, watching that thick pole rise up, growing stiff and proud, achieving its full twelve inch size, was truly a sight to behold. It reached up toward his pecs, touching the bottom of them while throbbing gently, and seeing it before me, it was amazing that any person could fit that thing inside them. When he released it, letting his erection stand up with towering triumph, I couldn't help but feel reverence for it. My pictures certainly couldn't do it justice.

"There we are," he said. "Ready when you are."

I nodded, but despite his body practically shining in the sun, along with the blue waters of the pool behind him, I knew there was more that could be done. "Maybe... raise your arms again? Since you mentioned how proud you were in your interview..."

"Good idea," he confirmed. He reclined some more, his whole body stretching out, smooth and enticing from antler to foot. With his vigorous erection, his balls now rested on the seat, hanging down between his thick thighs, and I was sure the camera's resolution would be able to capture for readers that he was just as perfectly sculpted and hairless for readers as he said. When I raised the camera, he smiled at me from over his shades. While it was a smile I had seen on camera plenty of times before, the way his eyes peered through the lens straight to me made it feel personal. I squirmed underneath his gaze, but snapped the shot anyway.

"That's... really nice," I said, perhaps a bit too obviously, but Buck didn't say anything. I captured plenty of angles, and made sure to zoom in on all the best parts just to have them.

"All set?" he asked, holding his pose, even his smile, like the professional he was.

I had enough photos, but I didn't answer. They were erotic, but they weren't anything new. Buck had been photographed and filmed a million times before, and I knew the shots I had weren't pushing anything. If I were a reader, I knew I'd gloss over them after an initial stare. But I also knew now that they failed to really capture the essence of the star stag. Buck Cummings, as professional and clean as he was, at his core was an honest-to-god real-life stud. And I knew just how to get the point across.

"Can we... get your girls in the shot?" I asked.

Buck smiled at me, a genuine smile, a white-toothed smile that admired me. "As long as you don't show their faces. Their identities need to be kept secret, for their sake, but..." he chuckled a bit. "I like the way you think."

He summoned them, and let me arrange them. Suddenly I was staring at not only a naked Buck Cummings in a beach chair, but three busty does ready to do whatever I said. I was tempted to start up a scene of my own, telling them to blow him, ride him, lick his perfect body like a popsicle, but I knew the best photos were teases that drew people to the films. So I told them to surround Buck, one on either side of him, and one standing over his antlers from behind.

"One more thing," Buck said. He reached into a cocktail glass nearby and pulled a few ice cubes from it. He handed it up to the does, who didn't need to be told to touch them to their nipples, instantly turning the soft nubs hard and pointed, accenting their perfect busts and making them seem all the more eager for their naked star. I could only hope my erection wasn't quite so obvious, even if had been throbbing painfully in my jeans for the last several minutes.

"Now, uh... just, lean in a bit, ladies," I ordered. Probably the first time I had ever taken charge of a woman in my life.

They did, and just as I hoped, their breasts draped down, hanging freely over Buck, but still plenty perky. Their plump bosoms framed him perfectly, and once we moved the chair to get the sun shining directly onto him, Buck stretched out once more. His winning smile, great chest, smooth underarms, fat balls, and massive cock all framed by tits, tits, and more tits. When I zoomed in enough to crop out the ladies' faces, Buck's impeccable, perfect body was truly surrounded by breasts, all his for the taking, with bits of the lavish pool and beer still in frame. Just as he said, he truly was a man of pleasure.

I snapped the picture, knowing it would be one I would treasure forever.

Leaving was a blur. Next I knew it, I had shook hands with him and had left the premises, walking down the street back to the office, still nursing an erection. By the time I got back to the office, it was nearly closing time. I knew I wouldn't have the time or energy to write up the interview article. It would take a lot of editing, but after getting so worked up during the interview, I found myself actually looking forward to my stack of films to "review." I knew if I didn't, my balls would be aching all the way home.

I passed a few of the other guys heading out of the office as I headed in. The receptionist, a polar bear girl about my age greeted me with surprise. "Oh, Mel, you're coming back?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah, I just finished the Buck interview," I told her. Constance, who preferred Connie, was the only female Jizz employed, and her presence always caused me no end of nerves. Even if she was a fairly plain girl, with big glasses and always dressing in floral blouses that hid her big figure, any girl was usually intimidating to me. "Umm... you think you could keep the review room unlocked when you leave? I... want to make sure I can get through everything before I write up the interview," I asked, trying to dance around the fact that I was basically announcing my intent to jack off within the next several minutes.

She piped up, "Oh! Of course! Um, I'm not doing anything, so I can stay late too and lock up when you're done," she said.

I wanted to tell her that wasn't necessary, but she had keys and I didn't. So I just nodded awkwardly. "O-okay," I said. With a pained smile, I exited the conversation and shuffled off to the review room.

Closing the heavy fire-proof door helped me forget that there was a girl outside who knew what I was doing, and ushered in a darkness and silence like a church sanctuary. No windows, no other doors, and only one bare bulb which we never turned on, relying solely on the light of the screen. A big, worn couch, a table beside it with a deluxe bottle of lube and box of tissues, a trash can on the other, and a big TV with all sorts of media players. On the table next to the lube and tissues was a stack of films waiting to be reviewed. And on top of the stack was Man Cave 2.

I locked the door and popped in the film. Like a sacred ritual, I let my pants and underwear drop to my ankles, my hard-on finally freed to the open air, and I sat on the couch, squirted a few pumps of lotion into my hand, and pressed play.

I knew the other guys found it too awkward to jack off at work, and only saved it for the top-notch films that forced the issue. I knew the other guys would continue to rib me for rubbing one out each time I reviewed a film. The lube and tissues were almost entirely for me, but I couldn't help it. It was part of my process. And as the action unfolded and my hand lathered up my stiff, slick cock, I couldn't help but moan loudly, believing that the review room was all but soundproof, and that I could finally release my tensions without inhibitions in this sacred space.

It was a good film, too. Starring the giant, muscelgut elephant Mammoth Biggs on top and the fit, firm, dude-bro rabbit Jax Ajax, it was the simple story of Mammoth being invited into Jax's new man cave, which inevitably led to the gay stuff, just like the first film. This one managed to bring some new flair by having the bottom own the man cave, and taking advantage of Jax's talent for passing as straight to create the core tension of the film. Mammoth was a natural top, but I thought Jax's performance was the real treat, his moans just submissive enough while still being masculine.

I came hard at the end, splattering the screen with my load as I pumped my dick fervently and moaned my head off. When it was over, I merely panted in silence, holding still for a bit. One climax was usually three stars, but a jizz-splattered screen would probably bump it up to a four.

Maybe it didn't deserve a four. But after spending all day with Buck, unable to get him out of my head, a gay film in which a smaller guy gets pounded by a stronger, more confident male really seemed to hit the spot. And even as I wiped up the evidence of my shameful lust, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about him for a while.

I decided to sneak Man Cave 2 into my bag on the way out. To give it a more thorough review at home.