LaRusso’s Sex Shop.
The lights are completely off, but we can see that the inside of the once bustling shop has become nothing more than a wave of empty shelves, liquor bottles, piles of various drugs, and is covered with the smell of what could best be described as a combination of sweat, shame, and hooker. Well, multiple hookers, but the general smell of stank that comes with that brand of woman.
A single light from the backroom breaks the darkness and we find ourselves sitting in the once office of now pornstar Lance LaRusso. It has been cleared out ever since his rise to stardom in the porn industry, the only remains of his previous life here being the cum stains on the floor, the condoms slung onto the ceiling, and the innocence of at least three separate barely legal girls as well as one Vietnamese Parakeet. Though, if you asked Lance, we don't talk about the parakeet. We see, sitting in the light of the desk, a figure holding something in his hands. A heavy sigh is heard followed by the sounds of snorting, the snort cut of rather abruptly by the door to the office being flung open and the lights being forced on.
"Lance? What the hell are you doing here?"
The man behind the desk, no revealed to be the man of the hour himself, the King of Cock, the Human Panty Dropper, the Pansexual Playboy, AND Disappointment to all parents everywhere! Lance LaRusso. The playboy looks up at Ashley, a ring of white around his nose and his eyes absolutely bloodshot. He looks like he's focusing for a second before giving a big cheesy smile to his friend.
"Ashhh! What're you doin' here man? Aren't you like, supposed to be prepping for my shoot tomorrow?"
"I did prep for the shoot, Lance. It's been set up all week, in fact, it was supposed to be shot yesterday but YOU weren't around for that. Care to explain where you were, man? I kind of needed you on set, not sure if you realize, but as your manager, I only get paid when you get paid. Also, not sure if you realize this, but making a bunch of people wait to get paid, a bunch of people with equally angry managers from not getting paid, is a REALLY bad idea."
"Don't worry about it, man! Believe me, I know what I'm doing. I just had to stop by here for... something."
"Hidden cocaine stash? Lost dildo? Or did you just pop back here because you forgot this place isn't your home slash BDSM room anymore?"
"Uhh a bit of both."
Lance shrugs, still holding the item in his hand, which is revealed to be that of a picture frame. Ashley looks at it and rolls his eyes.
"Okay, I see, you went back to snort some coke and this is your favorite frame?"
Lance sighs, placing the picture on his desk.
"No it's... more like... something to sober me up a bit. I like to look at it when I know I need to do something, rather, it's a reminder that I should be better than I am."
"What is it?"
Ash's demeanor shifts, having never seen Lance like this before. He loses his edge ever so slightly as he walks forwards, Lance wiping off the photo and standing up.
"It's not important, Ash. Let's go to wherever the shoot is, I think I need to pregame. Besides, that orgy isn't gonna win itself!"
"Wait, how the fuck do you win an orgy?"
"You obviously haven't read the script."
The duo makes their way out of the office, flicking the lights off as they head out into the night. The camera slowly pans around, landing on the picture illuminated under the lamplight, revealing a picture of Lance and the Highwaymen standing side by side, neary a coke smudge to be found on it, instead, the trail of the drug sitting pristinely on the desk next to it.
LaRusso Enterprises, a pornography company directly under the control of Lance, not to be confused with LaRusso Incorporated, the company owned and operated by Lance's parents, is seen in the light of day for the first time on CWF's screens. A camera crew surrounds the outside of a local... 'arena' of sorts. A specially built space totally meant to operate and put on shows that could only be described by Lance as 'wrestling but kinkier'. In a joint production with Kink.com and Ultimate Surrender, Lance's new brainchild had been created.
"The Browntown Crown?"
Ash Williams is dumbfounded as he reads off the name from the script, almost wanting to drive heave as Lance, decked out in nothing but a green jockstrap embroidered with his name in purple and gold on the front, places his arm around Ashley's shoulder and takes in a deep breath, letting it out with a smile as the smell of lube and poorly cooked craft service food fills his lungs. He looks at Ashley before taking the script from his hands with a smirk and tossing it away.
"Of course. What's the opposite of north? South, and what's south on a body? BROWN TOWN BABY!"
"And why pray tell, did you pull in Ultimate Surrender? Isn't it a little too on the nose for a former wrestler to take part in what is literally the fetishizing of wrestling?"
"Oh, it is, Ash. But you need to realize something, while it is on the nose it is also the perfect way to warm up for my way back into the ring!"
Ash looks Lance up and down, shying away a bit and trying to take the arm off of him, only using two fingers to move it though Lance doesn't seem to notice all that much as he points across the room to a group of men and woman walking around the linoleum floor in the center of the building, a group of cameramen getting ready to set their shots up. In the middle of the floor are two men who take quite a bit of the attention to themselves. They throw off their clothing to reveal rippling muscles, hairless bodies... and comically long loincloths. Ash looks at them, examining their bodies and outfits before looking back at Lance.
"So wrestling two muscleheads with what I can assume are... above average cocks is what's going to get you back in shape for this? Lance, you're good but I'm not sure you win that one, they look unbeatable! If there was a championship for lifting dumbbells with your cock they look like they'd be standing on top of that mountain!"
"Nay nay, Ash. You see, those two are... well I can't remember their names since they aren't my type enough nor have I fucked them and found them good enough to warrant a number in my phone. But let's call them... Jones and Styles."
"Oh, here we go. They remind you of your opponents and so you invited them here because you're certain you can beat them at their own game and now you're going to go on a long rant about-"
Lance throws a hand over Ash's mouth, clasping it shut without breaking his manic smile and looking down at the large group of pornstars standing together.
"You really take all the fun out of trying to surprise you, Ash. You know that?"
"I'm not taking my hand away. And what's more, I'm onto something here. Think about those two, they are the TOP of the game right now, they were invited to a shoot that is both a well-paying gig they can show off at but also one that has an air of legitimacy where they can strong-arm their way into things because they are hanging with a manager at all times who waits on hand and foot for them, giving them oil, getting them fluffed, sticking his tongue up their asses and telling them how amazing they are, the usual."
Ash rolls his eyes, at this point obviously not caring enough to fully listen.
"You're exactly right about them! Think about these two, you and I are just now seeing them, right? But the whole world already knows the name LaRusso. These guys are practically up and comers compared to me in the porno industry despite them already having been here forever, but when I made my debut as the King of Cock and the winner of a few very prestigious awards for my performance while they were stuck waiting around and hoping for a big break. I did all this fueled on cocaine, spite, and apparently a low lying Oedipus complex relating to my mother that I'm still going to therapy for."
Ash yanks the hand away from his mouth in disgust.
Lance shoves his hand back over Ash's mouth, keeping it on tighter.
"We talked about this and I'm sensitive about it so shut it."
Ash looks at Lance for a moment, politely peeling the hand from his face.
He places the hand back, Lance looking at him and rolling his eyes before looking back at the duo.
"Where did I leave off? Oh right, these two. I made myself what I am. A Millionaire Playboy Pornstar."
"A headstart from my parents doesn't make me having millions any less impressive."
"No, it doesn't! Now as I was saying, these two have egos that are bloated from their newfound rise to the top. They have been outperforming old workhorses of this industry such as BJ Flair, Harley Huge Rod, The Lost Suck, Harvey Bang-her, and Orgasxia."
"The wrestling parody field is teeming with pornstars."
"But do you know WHY they rose to the top?"
Ash finally frees his mouth enough to take a breath, putting it down at Lance's side before brushing himself off.
"Because they're willing to get on their knees and blow every Harvey Weinstein and Louis C.K. that they come across?"
Lance looks at Ash with a huge smile.
"Aww, you do care! You read my blog?"
"You have a blog?"
"It's mainly pictures of my dick alongside discourse about the porn industry. I can link it to you if you want."
"Well, you're right on the money. They're exactly like Jones and Styles. Do you want to know why? Because they rely on those handouts from whoever they're hanging with at the time and will use them to get ahead of anyone, even if it means stealing their spots for certain shoots or just muscling them out of the industry all while getting blown by whatever dude decides he needs a money shot then and there."
Ash shrugs a bit, eying the men again.
"Well, they have to be good at what they're doing, right? You can't just say they don't deserve it. I mean look at those loincloths! They have to be hiding something massive under there!"
"Not at all. I did my research, those loincloths are just for show, they're kinda like those title belts hanging around Jones and Styles' waists. Behind them are micro-dicks!"
"Then how do they make it in this industry? Shouldn't they be on set for like, a fetish shoot?"
"No, because you see, part of their gimmick is this fantastical thing we call cock sheaths."
"They're like strapons for guys. They go over the cock and more often than not they add like an inch or if you're not a loser they have an open tip and you get them for the texture. Kinda like a ribbed for her pleasure condom but, ya know, better. I have one that makes my cock look like a dragon's junk, it's great."
"So why are you on them for using them?"
"Because they use sheaths that are way bigger than their cocks, I haven't measured but I would guess a good twenty times the size. They are SMALLER than they say, they cum fast, and they have the balls of a chihuahua. Why do you think they're always together, always hanging with one manager or another? They can't keep it up by themselves and are just there to pad out the ranks. But I'm gonna set that straight."
"Have you never seen Ultimate Surrender? You wrestle your opponents, strip them down, then fuck the loser. And the Browntown Crown? It's a tournament of my design. You need the stamina and the wherewithal to survive round after round of dick pumping pussy popping action! Now if you excuse me, I have a shoot to do."
"Don't you need a partner? I read in the script that this was two on two."
"No thank you, I have all the partner I need right here!"
Lance rips the jockstrap off of himself to reveal... the four faces of the Highwaymen tattooed above his cock. Lance, Harley, Harvey, and TLS all placed in solidarity above his cock. Ash looks at it with wide eyes and an expression that reads as 'Oh my god', 'What the fuck', 'Why?', and 'Lance you didn't' all in one.
"Mrs. Danger is going to murder you."
"Don't worry, I'm like fifty percent sure it's temporary. Now if you excuse me."
Lance barrels down the steps towards the center of the arena, cock flapping in the wind as we fade to black.
We fade back in upon the aftermath of the shoot. Two cock sheaths are found tossed aside on the floor alongside a collection of various spandex clothing, bras, panties, and jockstraps all sitting in a huge, gross pile. And sitting in the center of the room atop a pile of pornstars, naked, covered in lube, spunk, and what can only be described as the grossness of a thousand orgies, is Lance LaRusso. The playboy looks down at Ash, the nerd looking traumatized and absolutely disgusted, balled up and rocking in a seat as he contemplates what he just witnessed. Lance shrugs, laying back on the out of breath pornstars and sighing contently.
"Ash! I think I'm warmed up for take two!"