Chapter 24: Add Ventures
The sound started slowly, a soft clapping from the shadows of the shower corner that grew into a solid, appreciative rhythm. Ben, Danny, and Shane emerged from the darkness, their faces split with wide, genuine grins. "Fuckin' hell, lads," Shane said, shaking his head in awe. "That was... fucking art."
Trent, still panting and slick with sweat, helped a trembling Mike to his feet. "Come on, Daddy. Upstairs. You've earned a soak." He supported Mike's weight, guiding him out of the dungeon and up to the main bathroom, leaving the three contractors happily cleaning up as thanks for the performance.
The bath was deep and hot, clouded with Epsom salts and the sharp scent of eucalyptus. Trent lowered Mike into the water, then climbed in behind him, pulling him back against his chest. For a long time, they just sat in silence, the heat seeping into Mike's sore muscles, Trent's hands moving in slow, kneading circles over his pecs and shoulders. The tension bled away, replaced by a profound, buzzing contentment. By the time the water began to cool, Mike was practically chirpy, humming an old rugby tune as he toweled off.
"Right," Mike announced, wrapping the towel around his waist. "I'm making dinner. And it's not going to be fucking quinoa." He padded downstairs and threw himself into the kitchen, whipping up a massive bowl of chili, with white rice, salsa, guacamole, sour cream, nachos and cheese.
As Mike cooked, Trent gathered the three men in the living room. The earlier ease was gone, replaced by a focused seriousness. "Look, lads," Trent began, running a hand over his head. "What we're doing here... it's next level. Mike and I, we might have screwed ourselves letting you in this deep. These videos are completely anonymous. Our faces, they don't appear. This has to be a vault. Are you sure you can keep it that way?"
Shane spoke for all of them, his voice low and steady. "Trent, mate. What happens in this house stays in this house. We're not idiots. This is... it's special. We're in." Danny and Ben nodded vigorously.
"Would you be willing to sign NDAs?" Trent asked.
"Absolutely," Ben said without hesitation.
"And... what about being in them?" Danny ventured, a blush creeping up his neck. "Like... properly in them. Like the video with Mike on the dildo. That was fucking hot."
Trent was taken aback. "You'd be up for that? On camera? Knowing it'll be sold?"
"Are you kidding?" Shane laughed. "We've just watched you two go at it like animals for nearly a week. We're fucking invested. Yeah, we're in."
A slow smile spread across Trent's face. "Okay. Then we're partners. All profits from any video you're in, you get a twenty percent cut each. Mike and I take forty."
"Nice one," Danny said, grinning. "A few extra quid is always welcome."
Trent picked up his laptop, opened a private banking tab, and turned the screen towards them. The number on the screen made all three men freeze. Ben whistled, long and low. "Fuck me," he whispered. "That's... that's a very, very nice holiday."
"That's what our other videos have made," Trent said quietly. "In a few months."
The mood in the room shifted instantly, from casual agreement to stunned, grateful commitment. "Christ, Trent," Shane said, his voice thick. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," Trent replied. "You've still got work to do."
They spent the next hour in the dungeon, not as spectators but as crew. They scrubbed every surface, stocked the shelves with fresh toys and lube, and rigorously tested every anchor point, every chain, and the powerful jets of the new shower. It was a professional, efficient operation.
Later, sated from the hearty food, Mike and Trent collapsed onto the living room sofa. Mike let out a contented sigh, his head resting on Trent's shoulder. The house was quiet, the only sound the hum of the refrigerator.
Trent’s hand stroked slowly up and down Mike’s back. "I need to ask you something, Mike. Seriously. About your hole."
Mike shifted, turning to look at him. "Okay."
"It's... different now. It's more resilient. Takes me easier, bounces back faster. I need to know how you're feeling. I don't want to break my favourite toy."
Mike chuckled, a low, warm sound. "It's never been better, Trent. Honestly. I feel like I can be fucked almost anytime. My bowel movements are like clockwork now, better than they've been in twenty years. I barely need to clean after; one quick douche and I'm pristine. The tenderness... it's mostly just pleasure now. A reminder. It feels good."
Trent's eyes darkened, a wicked grin spreading across his face. His hand slid down, cupping Mike's ass through his sweatpants. "Yeah? So what you're telling me is that your fuckhole is basically indestructible now."
"I suppose I am," Mike murmured, his own arousal stirring.
Trent leaned in, his lips brushing Mike's ear, his voice a low, possessive growl. "Then it might be time to test out just how far my Daddy can be ridden."
The promise in Trent’s voice, a low thrum of pure intent, left a deeper ache in Mike’s gut than any physical stretch ever could. He just nodded, swallowing hard, already feeling the phantom pressure of what was to come.
Sleep claimed them quickly, a heavy, satisfied oblivion in their tangled limbs.
Mike woke first just after 7:30 a.m., the pale Saturday light filtering through the blinds. He lay perfectly still, watching the slow rise and fall of Trent’s chest, a dizzying wave of contentment washing over him. Gay at forty-seven? His wife, Maria, seemed genuinely happy on their weekly calls, off on her own adventure. The money from their videos was a staggering, real number in a bank account, likely meaning he could leave his soul-crushing office job forever. And the sex… it was more than his teenage self could have ever conjured in his wettest dreams.
His cock stirred against Trent’s thigh, a natural morning hardness that roused the younger man.
Trent’s eyes fluttered open, a slow, sleepy smile spreading across his face as he focused on Mike. “Mornin’, my gorgeous Daddy,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. He leaned in and nuzzled Mike’s neck. “Look at you, all warm and hard for me already. My perfect man.”
The easy affection, so different from their initial antagonism yet still underpinned by their raw dynamic, made Mike’s heart swell. They lay there for a while, just gossiping about the contractors, how Danny and Ben seemed so much happier and more themselves now.
“Almost like we’re all related in a weird way,” Mike chuckled, tracing the lines of Trent’s abs.
Trent burst out laughing. “Christ, we are, aren’t we? You’re my stepdad. It’s a fucking family business.” The absurdity of it cemented their comfort, the laughter a warm blanket around them before they got on with their routine.
Their shakes were consumed in comfortable silence, the gym session a general weights workout that pumped blood pleasantly through their muscles without the brutal focus of previous days. The boys turned up as they were finishing, and Trent, showing a domestic side Mike adored, cooked them all a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and thickly sliced toast.
“So, Ivan’s at 7.30pm, right?” Mike asked later, helping Trent clear the plates. “I’m excited to try more of that rope work.”
“Yeah, it should be fantastic,” Trent said with a sly grin, his own anticipation evident. Mike, clearly possessed by a more immediate, pressing need, moved behind Trent, pressing his hardening cock against his ass. “So… what about before then? I’m fucking horny, Trent.”
Trent leaned back into the pressure. “If you can wait just a couple more hours, I have an idea. A good one.” He headed into the study to edit, and Mike, unable to keep his hands to himself, followed.
As Trent clicked through video timelines, Mike curled on the cushion at his feet, pushing up the legs of his baggy shorts and freeing his already thickening cock. He took it into his mouth, not with frantic hunger, but with a slow, sucking devotion, his hand working the base. Trent let out a soft sigh, his fingers never stopping on the keyboard. “Fuck, that helps me focus, weirdly,” he muttered, his hips giving a slight, involuntary thrust.
Just before midday, Trent saved his work and stood, pulling Mike up for a deep, claiming kiss. “Basement. Now.” He gathered Shane, Danny, and Ben with a look.
In the dungeon, the air was cool and still smelled faintly of leather and sex from the night before. Trent sat himself on the padded bench, pulling Mike onto his lap so his back was against Trent’s chest. Shane sat next to them, a knowing glint in his eye.
“Right, you two,” Trent said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space as he looked at Danny and Ben. “You clearly want to fuck each other senseless. So why not now? We’re all here.”
The two men were very quick to obey, their hesitation vaporizing in the charged atmosphere. They moved together, kissing with a sudden, desperate hunger, their hands tearing at each other’s work clothes. Shirts were ripped off, trousers and boxers kicked into a pile on the concrete floor.
Danny pushed Ben down onto the rug, his mouth trailing down his chest before swallowing his cock whole. Ben’s head thrashed back, a guttural “Fuck!” tearing from his throat. After a minute of this, Danny turned him over, spreading his cheeks. “Been prepping this, haven’t you, you slut?” he growled, before burying his face in Ben’s hole.
Ben groaned, pushing back against Danny’s tongue. “Yes! For days, hoping you’d…”
Danny’s fingers, slick with spit, soon replaced his tongue, working first one, then two into the tight heat. “So greedy for it,” Danny grunted, scissoring him open. “Gonna get my whole fist in here soon enough, I promise you.”
Ben groaned at this, the sound a mixture of want and overwhelm. As Danny flipped Ben on his back and positioned himself to drive his thick cock home in one smooth, brutal thrust, Ben’s body seized up. A sharp, shocked cry left his lips, and a hot stream of piss arced from his own cock, splattering across his stomach and the matt beneath him. The stream came in spurts, matching Danny's thrusts, making Ben gurgle and babble in crazed delight. Once the last spurt of piss had ended, his orgasm followed instantly, his cum mixing with the urine as his channel clamped down on Danny’s shaft.
The sight and the violent clenching of Ben’s hole was too much for Danny. He pistoned into him twice more, a ragged shout echoing off the walls as he emptied himself deep inside Ben. They collapsed together, panting and covered in fluids, before eventually stumbling to the showers in the corner to clean up.
Whilst that was happening, Mike was a man possessed. He moved between Trent and Shane, lowering himself onto Trent’s massive dick with a choked cry, riding him with frantic energy before shifting to impale himself on Shane’s thicker, shorter cock. The three men groaned in unison, thoroughly enjoying the show playing out before them and the one they were creating themselves.
As Danny and Ben emerged from the shower, clean and dazed, Trent looked over at them, Mike still bouncing slowly on his lap. “If you lads ever want that filmed,” he said, his breath hitching as Mike clenched around him, “you just let me know.”
“We’re keen,” Danny said immediately, Ben nodding vigorously beside him.
At 2 p.m., Trent cooked a healthy lunch of grilled fish and steamed vegetables for them all, and they ate around the kitchen island, the conversation easy and filled with laughter. As they ate, Trent’s phone buzzed again. It was Ivan, calling to postpone, his voice fraught with academic panic. "Ivan, mate... I get it, yeah. Yeah, we were looking forward to it... it's just a week man. Go smash those text books." Next week, he promised.
Disappointed, the two men finished cleaning up in silence. “So now what?” Mike asked, the restless energy back in his eyes.
Trent picked up his phone, a new idea forming. He messaged Robert, the ginger farmhand. Fancy heading to Spartacus again tonight?
The reply was almost instantaneous. Already going, mate. Been invited by some guys I hooked up with the last couple nights. You should come. There's a private space, but I can add you to the list. Be there at 7.
Be there at 7.
The message glowed on Trent’s screen, a concrete invitation in the vague afternoon. “Right then,” he said, turning to Mike whose eyes had already lit up with predatory interest. “We’re going out.”
They told the lads in the kitchen. “Spartacus again. Help yourselves to the weed and beer in the fridge, just don’t take the piss or trash the place,” Trent instructed, pulling on a fresh shirt.
Shane grinned. “We might wait up. Want to hear all the filthy details.” Danny and Ben nodded in eager agreement.
The unmarked door at Spartacus led to a narrow staircase carpeted in deep burgundy. At the top, a silent attendant in a crisp white polo shirt greeted them in a locker room that smelled of sandalwood and antiseptic. The lockers were rich, dark wood; the benches, plush leather. “Friends of young Robert. Excellent,” the man said, his voice a soft murmur. “He is expecting you.”
He gave them thick, white towels and showed them the facilities: a steam room veined with eucalyptus-scented vapour, a dry sauna with cedar planks, and showers with rainfall heads. Everything was quieter, richer, more contained. Once they were stripped and wrapped in the towels, the attendant gestured to an archway. “The gathering is in the lounge.”
The lounge was a circle of deep, taupe-coloured vinyl chairs, all facing a central padded table that looked medical in its clean, utilitarian design. The floor was a seamless, non-porous material that gleamed under soft, indirect lighting. About a dozen men stood or sat in towels, chatting in low tones. The air hummed with a different energy—less frantic, more assured.
They spotted Robert immediately. He stood taller, his shoulders relaxed, a easy smile on his face as he talked with a muscular Asian man. He saw them and waved them over. “Trent! Mike! Glad you made it.” He introduced them to Marcus, then to others: Karl, a tall Scandinavian with a blond beard; Javier, compact and powerfully built; Leo, whose hairy chest couldn’t hide the solid muscle beneath.
A joint was passed to them. Trent took a hit, held the smoke, and passed it to Mike. “Just weed for now,” he murmured to Mike, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the small vials and pipes that were also circulating. “But maybe another time.”
The hookups began not with a signal, but as a natural convergence. Two men in the corner began kissing, hands roaming under towels. Another knelt, his head bobbing in another’s lap. It was a slow, spreading fire. Trent looked at Mike, a question in his raised eyebrow. Mike’s answer was to push Trent into a vacant chair and straddle him, their towels falling away, presenting his broad, hairy back and the tight curve of his ass to the room.
Robert came up behind them, whispering to Marcus. “I told you. Look at it. Isn’t it fucking amazing?” His voice carried a possessive pride.
The whisper rippled out. Conversations hushed. Eyes, previously casual, now fixed on Mike’s asshole, the puffy, well-used centrepiece displayed so openly. A collective hunger tightened the air.
“They all want to see that hole, Daddy,” Trent growled into Mike’s ear. He stood, taking Mike’s hand, and led him to the central table. “Up you get.” Mike hoisted himself onto the cool, padded vinyl, lying on his front, his legs spread. Trent stood at his head, stroking his hair. “You ready for this? A proper party?”
Mike turned his head, his eyes dark with want. “Yes. Do it.”
Trent looked at the ring of men. “Who wants to break in my Daddy’s famous fuckhole?” A dozen hands went up. “Okay. Form a line. One at a time. No piss, no pain. Just load after load. I’ll be last.”
The first was Marcus. He was already hard, his cock a thick, curved thing. He positioned himself between Mike’s thighs, spat into his hand, and slicked himself up. He pushed in with a single, smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Mike grunted, his back arching. Marcus fucked him with deep, measured strokes, his balls slapping against Mike’s taint. “Tight old slut,” he grunted, his pace quickening before he slammed deep, his body stiffening as he unloaded a hot, heavy rush inside.
He pulled out, his cum already seeping from Mike’s stretched rim. Karl was next, his longer, thinner cock sliding easily into the slick channel. He fucked with a frantic, piston-like rhythm, his breath huffing. “Take it, you greedy pig,” he chanted, before groaning and adding his own spend to the mix.
Javier went third, his short, stout cock stretching Mike’s entrance wide again. He gripped Mike’s hips, pounding into him with brutal, efficient thrusts. “¡Coño!” he shouted, pumping his seed deep on the fifth brutal slam.
The fourth was a bald man with a tribal tattoo snaking up his side. He entered Mike with a grunt, his thrusts slow and grinding, aiming for Mike's prostate with each roll of his hips. Mike cried out, a shudder wracking his frame as the man came with a long, low groan, filling him further.
Number five was lean and twitchy, his cock already dripping. He didn't last three thrusts before he was spurting, his orgasm a sharp, surprised yelp.
Six was another big, hairy guy, similar to Mike but younger. He mounted Mike from behind, his heavy balls slapping a frantic rhythm. "God, that's a good hole," he panted, before driving in one last time and pulsing inside him.
Seven and eight came almost together, a brief, messy overlap of bodies and grunts as one pulled out and the other shoved in, both adding their hot, sticky contributions to the growing pool within Mike.
Nine was older, his movements deliberate. He worked his cock in and out slowly, savoring the tight, wet heat, before finally stilling and releasing a surprisingly voluminous load.
Ten was young, eager, his cock thick and veined. He fucked Mike hard and fast, slamming his pelvis against Mike's ass cheeks until he came with a guttural roar.
Eleven was Robert. He looked down at Mike's ravaged, dripping hole, now gaping and puffy. "Beautiful," he whispered, before sliding his cock in, joining the others with a deep, satisfied sigh, adding his own offering to the collective deposit.
The room stank of sweat and sex and weed. Mike was shuddering, his body glistening, his hole a wet, ruined rose, overflowing with cum. Trent moved then, his own monstrous erection leading the way. The crowd parted for him.
He pushed Mike’s legs wider, his thumb rubbing over the slick, stretched rim. "My turn to seal it all in, Daddy." He positioned the broad head of his cock at the entrance, now loose and dripping. He pushed, not with force, but with a slow, inexorable pressure, his greater girth stretching Mike one final, breathtaking time.
Mike screamed, a raw, torn sound of ultimate pleasure as Trent filled him completely, burying himself in the sloppy, warm mess left by the others. Trent fucked him with a possessive, deep rhythm, each thrust sloshing the accumulated loads inside him. "This is all mine now," Trent grunted, his hands gripping Mike's hips hard. "Every last drop. You're my fucking cum bucket."
His rhythm became frantic, animalistic. The table creaked. Mike was sobbing, his own cock jerking, spraying untouched cum onto the vinyl beneath him. Trent’s final thrust was a brutal slam, his body locking as he roared, pumping his own hot, thick semen into the mix, claiming it, topping the dozen loads that already filled Mike to overflowing.
He stayed buried for a long moment, both of them panting, before slowly pulling out. A gush of pearlescent fluid followed his retreating cock, pooling on the table. The room was silent except for their ragged breaths. Then, a slow, respectful round of applause began, not raucous, but appreciative, from the men who had watched, and participated, in the spectacle.
Trent leaned down, his lips close to Mike's ear. "Let's go home, Daddy. I think the lads will want a full report."