- sov1,
Dear readers,
Greetings! I am Rubirosa, the authorized biographer of celebrity porn star Samson
. He is paying me a lot of money to chronicle his sexual exploits in a multi-volume memoir that will run more than a million words.
His first volume "The Wenchmaster" focuses on our hero's humble beginnings when the ladies still knew him as Lance Leo.
Lance is not your ordinary strip club bouncer. The underachieving stoner is slowly transforming into a barbarian sex god from an obscure sword-and-sorcery novel.
Like many of his peers, Lance spent much of high school as a shiftless stoner and hopeless virgin. On the night of his 18th birthday, however, a mysterious hiccup in the space-time continuum transformed him into a barbarian sex god from a galaxy far, far away.
Endowed with Herculean strength and godlike charisma, Lance did not use his superpowers to fight crime or save the world. The teen used them to get laid.
This story chronicles the chaos that ensued...
P.S. There is an insane amount of LPSG-related content in this book but this is a novel, not a stroke story. You'll need to be patient.
To support the project: https://www.patreon.com/Rubirosa
10AM
Sandra drew the shades inside her efficiency studio apartment. The darkness helped her focus. It had been a tumultuous spring. After getting rejected from Stanford, the one-time valedictorian impulsively dropped out of high school and took a job as a stripper. Exotic dancing paid a lot better than waiting tables.
Her laptop sat on the kitchen table awaiting her arrival.
She clicked on the icon for “Eye-Spy” to launch the application. It just took a couple seconds to boot up. For the past few months, Sandra had monitored Lance’s iPhone through the spyware.
A GPS map opened on her screen. A blue dot on Route 40 indicated his motorcycle racing down the highway. Just as promised, Lance was heading back to Peoria. At his current rate of speed, he probably would arrive there late that night.
Sandra experienced a combination of giddiness and dread at the thought of her ex-boyfriend’s return. In truth, Lance wasn’t really her ex. The dude had been a one-night stand that morphed into a sexual obsession for her. Though they shared nothing in common, Sandra felt an irresistible physical connection to him. The bodybuilding playboy could have modeled underwear for Dolce & Gabbana except for one flaw. However, his girlfriends considered the bulge in his underwear to be more of an illicit gift. Even limp, Lance sported a tool that would put most porn stars to shame. The teen stud knew how to use it as well. His dates invariably enjoyed the types of orgasms they only read about in Cosmopolitan.
Though Lance enjoyed his promiscuous lifestyle, Sandra wanted the prize stallion for herself. She did some very stupid things to claim the elusive heartthrob. Aside from bugging his phone and stalking him, her meddling resulted in a sex scandal that ended a promising career in college football.
So, along with insatiable attraction and obsessive jealousy, Lance stirred up feelings of unbearable guilt in her heart. Basically, she ruined his life. After Lance skipped town, Sandra could manage her emotions. As the old saying went, out of sight meant out of mind. But the eye of the storm would be sailing her way in a matter of hours.
11AM
Lance had covered about 100 miles on his Harley so far. He pulled into a rest stop to make a few phone calls.
The teen had enjoyed quite an adventure since leaving Peoria.
After joining a traveling circus, the high school dropout spent about three or four months on tour. In the daytime, he worked as a roustabout, lugging equipment and pitching tents. At night, he appeared on stage as “The World’s Strongest Man.” Lance had no job skills but his years of pumping iron had developed the ideal physique for a sideshow strongman.
Unfortunately, his boss fired him after the teen slept with too many dancers in the burlesque act that followed his performance. She gave him the boot on a Sunday. Payday would have been Monday. Lance didn’t have anything more than a full tank of gas and $20 in his wallet.
His first order of business was to find a crash pad. The second was scoring a chick for the night. He hoped to kill two birds with one stone in the luscious form of Jane Hawthorne. During senior year, Lance holed up in the guest room of the cougar’s suburban home after his stepfather threw him out into the street. Jane demanded rent in the currency of heartpounding sex. Lance dug the arrangement. He became a live-in lover for a buxom blond MILF that competed in triathlons.
Jane answered after two rings.
“Hey, babe,” he murmured in his sexy baritone.
“Lance, I’m sorry but you can’t stay here again.”
“Aw, c’mon,” he pleaded. “I know you want it.”
“Sure I do. What girl wouldn’t? But I moved on. You should too.”
The line clicked.
Lance felt a little bummed. He rarely heard a woman tell him ‘no.’ Chicks usually said ‘yes’ or moaned ‘fuck, yeah’ whenever the teen Lothario came-a-calling.
12PM
Sandra knocked on the door to Kagney’s apartment. The girlfriends always kept a lunch date on Sundays.
A cute redhead answered the door. She had an innocent smile. It belied her nudity. Sandra’s galpal usually went topless in the privacy of her own home. She wore plain black panties that day but her slim and stacked figure didn’t need window dressing.
Kagney shut the door behind Sandra and planted a scorching kiss on her lover’s lips. The women had a lunch date but they often skipped it for a deliciously sensual “dessert.” Ever since Sandra hit the stage at Gazonga’s as an exotic dancer, the lipstick lesbian couldn’t keep her hands off of the teen vixen.
“Sleep OK?” asked Kagney.
“Like a rock,” boasted Sandra. “I slept in until 9am.”
“That’s not exactly late for a Sunday,” teased her girlfriend.
“I usually kick off the day with yoga at 6am.”
“I know you do, honey,” winked the redhead. “Because I have to drag you back to bed at 8am.”
Kagney’s iPhone vibrated on the kitchen table. It vibrated again. And then again. She picked it up to read the incoming flurry of texts. Her face lit up with amusement.
“What?” Sandra finally asked out of curiosity.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just an SQA.”
“What’s an SQA?” Sandra asked without much interest.
“It stands for ‘Size Queen Alert.’ It’s a group text a few dancers around town send out once in a blue moon. They like to share intelligence about well-hung dudes at the clubs.”
“Really?” answered Sandra, trying to conceal her interest in the topic.
“Yeah. Someone spotted Triple-L on Tinder.”
“Triple-L?”
“Yeah, as in ‘Lucky Lance Leo,’”
Sandra’s heart skipped a beat.
“Who’s that?” she asked, pretending not to know the name.
“Triple L?” chuckled Kagney. “Oh, God… I’ve never met him personally but he’s kind of an urban legend in these parts.”
“How come?”
“Well, for one thing. He is supposed to have a really big dick. But it’s more than that. The dude is like a player’s player. He’s banged half the dancers in Peoria. That’s no mean feat. Whatever people say, strippers don’t put out very easily. Zillions of guys chase after us so we can be ultra-selective about our hookups.”
Sandra found herself at a loss for words so she let Kagney continue her story.
“The craziest part is that he just turned 18! Everyone thought the dude had to be 23, 24 years old. You don’t meet any teens with that level of game. But then he got in big trouble for – get this – sleeping with six or seven different teachers at his high school. The story has been in the news for months. It’s actually kind of sad. He had been offered a bunch of college football scholarships before the scandal broke.”
Kagney’s phone buzzed again. Her expression darkened at the message.
“What now?” asked Sandra.
“Johnny Mac violated his probation. He’s back in the joint.”
Truth be told, Sandra didn’t care too much. Johnny Mac worked as a bouncer at Gazonga’s. He demanded 10% of her tips. She thought the dude was a major creep.
“So what? Can’t Joe substitute for him on Monday?”
“Nope. Joe went on vacation last week. We can’t open the club if we don’t have a bouncer working the door.”
Sandra would have been more concerned had she not been preoccupied with Lance already. Truth be told, she felt a bit relieved that Kagney changed the subject.
“What about Paul? Can’t he hire a temp?”
Paul owned Gazonga’s. Unfortunately, most of the club’s profits went up his nose.
“Paul checked into rehab this weekend. And because I’ve worked there longer than anyone else, he deputized me to manage the club in his absence.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Listen, hon,” Kagney began apologetically. “Let’s hang out later today. I’ve gotta find a sub for the door pronto.”
Sandra gave her a warm hug on the way out the door. As she headed to her van, her phone vibrated. The teen immediately recognized the number on her Caller ID. Lance was reaching out. She froze like a proverbial deer in the headlights and let the call go into voicemail.
1PM
Sandra returned to her apartment and reviewed Lance’s call and text log on her laptop. Typically, he spent his day chatting and sexting with four or five different girls. Today, she found nothing else besides a single outgoing call to Jane and herself. It must have been a fluke. The jerk probably didn’t have time to screw around on the phone today because he had to pilot his Harley all the way back to Peoria.
Suddenly, the screen lit up with a new outgoing call. Lance had dialed up Morgan. As head of the varsity cheerleading squad, the foxy senior occasionally hooked up with Lance but also served as his confidante. Sandra turned up the volume of her laptop speakers.
“Babe,” Lance greeted her plaintively.
“No more hookups,” Morgan told him curtly. “Besides, I’m in Florida for the summer.”
“Listen,” he explained. “I just wanted to talk to a friend. I need some advice.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s about this girl I know. You see, when I think about most chicks, I feel something incredible between my legs.”
“You mean your dick gets hard?”
“Yeah, exactly. But there’s this other girl I’ve been thinking about. With her, I feel something in my chest. And it really hurts sometimes.”
“Good grief,” groaned Morgan. “Are you really this fucking dumb?”
“I don’t think I ever felt this before.”
“It’s your heart, dummy! You’re just crushing on her.”
“What should I do?”
“Well, ask her out on a date.”
“But I think she might be mad at me.”
“Why may that be? Is it because you sleep with a different girl every night? If you want a girlfriend, then you can’t do that anymore.”
“But that’s how I roll, babe,” he responded defensively. “I’m not like most guys. Don’t you know anything about…ummm… LGBQPT rights?”
“What?”
“Ummm… I saw this hashtag on Twitter. The abbreviation is like LGBLT or something…”
“You mean gay rights?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Lance, you’re fucking straight. What does that have to do with you?”
“Because I’m just expressing my sexuality. I need a little more action than ordinary guys. Is that a crime?”
“Lance,” she concluded. “You’re just an asshole.”
Morgan hung up.
Sandra needed a moment to digest the call. It confirmed both her hopes and fears. Though he hadn’t called in months, Lance hadn’t forgotten her. The dude wanted her bad. Just as planned, she really got to him the one and only time they hooked up. But the teen stud didn’t sound like he intended to change his rakish ways either. That was a dealbreaker with a capital ‘D.’
The blue dot resumed its slow crawl toward Peoria. Sandra stared at her phone with indecision.
4PM
Lance parked on the side of the road to smoke a joint and check his texts. His phone had been vibrating in his pocket like an electric toothbrush for the past two hours. The word got out. Lucky Lance Leo was coming back to town with a vengeance! He pulled out his mobile to scan all his incoming texts.
Score! More than a dozen chicks already reached out. Some of them sent nudes. He wasn’t going to lie to himself. The attention stroked his ego big time. Lance loved being a cocksman and didn’t care who knew it. For every Morgan, he could find ten new eager recruits for his bed.
Lance skimmed his backlog of texts. Who did he want to fuck first? About scrolling halfway down the list, his finger froze on a name. Sandra Kong only wrote two words: “Call me.”
That same uneasy feeling built up in his chest. For the first time in his life, Lance hesitated calling a girl. Though they rarely acknowledged their fears, a lot of guys got hung up on this step. It never bothered him personally because he had more experience than most playboys twice his age. But Sandra would have intimidated even the most seasoned Lothario. She didn’t play games. Full stop.
Lance thought through his next move carefully. A call would be too risky. So he texted her instead.
“Hey, babe,” he wrote. “My reception isn’t so good out here. What’s up?”
“1138 Crescent View, APT 2A,” she answered. The little bubbles that indicated more typing followed. They stopped. Lance felt his pulse begin to speed up. The bubbles started again.
“11pm. Be there.”
And that was it. Lance couldn’t fathom her precise intentions. Had it been any other girl, he would have assumed they were hooking up for the night. But Sandra proved herself utterly unpredictable. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t resist writing back.
“K,” he finally typed. She didn’t write back. Short and sweet seemed like the best way to end this chat.
Greetings! I am Rubirosa, the authorized biographer of celebrity porn star Samson
. He is paying me a lot of money to chronicle his sexual exploits in a multi-volume memoir that will run more than a million words.His first volume "The Wenchmaster" focuses on our hero's humble beginnings when the ladies still knew him as Lance Leo.
Lance is not your ordinary strip club bouncer. The underachieving stoner is slowly transforming into a barbarian sex god from an obscure sword-and-sorcery novel.
Like many of his peers, Lance spent much of high school as a shiftless stoner and hopeless virgin. On the night of his 18th birthday, however, a mysterious hiccup in the space-time continuum transformed him into a barbarian sex god from a galaxy far, far away.
Endowed with Herculean strength and godlike charisma, Lance did not use his superpowers to fight crime or save the world. The teen used them to get laid.
This story chronicles the chaos that ensued...
P.S. There is an insane amount of LPSG-related content in this book but this is a novel, not a stroke story. You'll need to be patient.
To support the project: https://www.patreon.com/Rubirosa
10AM
Sandra drew the shades inside her efficiency studio apartment. The darkness helped her focus. It had been a tumultuous spring. After getting rejected from Stanford, the one-time valedictorian impulsively dropped out of high school and took a job as a stripper. Exotic dancing paid a lot better than waiting tables.
Her laptop sat on the kitchen table awaiting her arrival.
She clicked on the icon for “Eye-Spy” to launch the application. It just took a couple seconds to boot up. For the past few months, Sandra had monitored Lance’s iPhone through the spyware.
A GPS map opened on her screen. A blue dot on Route 40 indicated his motorcycle racing down the highway. Just as promised, Lance was heading back to Peoria. At his current rate of speed, he probably would arrive there late that night.
Sandra experienced a combination of giddiness and dread at the thought of her ex-boyfriend’s return. In truth, Lance wasn’t really her ex. The dude had been a one-night stand that morphed into a sexual obsession for her. Though they shared nothing in common, Sandra felt an irresistible physical connection to him. The bodybuilding playboy could have modeled underwear for Dolce & Gabbana except for one flaw. However, his girlfriends considered the bulge in his underwear to be more of an illicit gift. Even limp, Lance sported a tool that would put most porn stars to shame. The teen stud knew how to use it as well. His dates invariably enjoyed the types of orgasms they only read about in Cosmopolitan.
Though Lance enjoyed his promiscuous lifestyle, Sandra wanted the prize stallion for herself. She did some very stupid things to claim the elusive heartthrob. Aside from bugging his phone and stalking him, her meddling resulted in a sex scandal that ended a promising career in college football.
So, along with insatiable attraction and obsessive jealousy, Lance stirred up feelings of unbearable guilt in her heart. Basically, she ruined his life. After Lance skipped town, Sandra could manage her emotions. As the old saying went, out of sight meant out of mind. But the eye of the storm would be sailing her way in a matter of hours.
11AM
Lance had covered about 100 miles on his Harley so far. He pulled into a rest stop to make a few phone calls.
The teen had enjoyed quite an adventure since leaving Peoria.
After joining a traveling circus, the high school dropout spent about three or four months on tour. In the daytime, he worked as a roustabout, lugging equipment and pitching tents. At night, he appeared on stage as “The World’s Strongest Man.” Lance had no job skills but his years of pumping iron had developed the ideal physique for a sideshow strongman.
Unfortunately, his boss fired him after the teen slept with too many dancers in the burlesque act that followed his performance. She gave him the boot on a Sunday. Payday would have been Monday. Lance didn’t have anything more than a full tank of gas and $20 in his wallet.
His first order of business was to find a crash pad. The second was scoring a chick for the night. He hoped to kill two birds with one stone in the luscious form of Jane Hawthorne. During senior year, Lance holed up in the guest room of the cougar’s suburban home after his stepfather threw him out into the street. Jane demanded rent in the currency of heartpounding sex. Lance dug the arrangement. He became a live-in lover for a buxom blond MILF that competed in triathlons.
Jane answered after two rings.
“Hey, babe,” he murmured in his sexy baritone.
“Lance, I’m sorry but you can’t stay here again.”
“Aw, c’mon,” he pleaded. “I know you want it.”
“Sure I do. What girl wouldn’t? But I moved on. You should too.”
The line clicked.
Lance felt a little bummed. He rarely heard a woman tell him ‘no.’ Chicks usually said ‘yes’ or moaned ‘fuck, yeah’ whenever the teen Lothario came-a-calling.
12PM
Sandra knocked on the door to Kagney’s apartment. The girlfriends always kept a lunch date on Sundays.
A cute redhead answered the door. She had an innocent smile. It belied her nudity. Sandra’s galpal usually went topless in the privacy of her own home. She wore plain black panties that day but her slim and stacked figure didn’t need window dressing.
Kagney shut the door behind Sandra and planted a scorching kiss on her lover’s lips. The women had a lunch date but they often skipped it for a deliciously sensual “dessert.” Ever since Sandra hit the stage at Gazonga’s as an exotic dancer, the lipstick lesbian couldn’t keep her hands off of the teen vixen.
“Sleep OK?” asked Kagney.
“Like a rock,” boasted Sandra. “I slept in until 9am.”
“That’s not exactly late for a Sunday,” teased her girlfriend.
“I usually kick off the day with yoga at 6am.”
“I know you do, honey,” winked the redhead. “Because I have to drag you back to bed at 8am.”
Kagney’s iPhone vibrated on the kitchen table. It vibrated again. And then again. She picked it up to read the incoming flurry of texts. Her face lit up with amusement.
“What?” Sandra finally asked out of curiosity.
“Oh, nothing. It’s just an SQA.”
“What’s an SQA?” Sandra asked without much interest.
“It stands for ‘Size Queen Alert.’ It’s a group text a few dancers around town send out once in a blue moon. They like to share intelligence about well-hung dudes at the clubs.”
“Really?” answered Sandra, trying to conceal her interest in the topic.
“Yeah. Someone spotted Triple-L on Tinder.”
“Triple-L?”
“Yeah, as in ‘Lucky Lance Leo,’”
Sandra’s heart skipped a beat.
“Who’s that?” she asked, pretending not to know the name.
“Triple L?” chuckled Kagney. “Oh, God… I’ve never met him personally but he’s kind of an urban legend in these parts.”
“How come?”
“Well, for one thing. He is supposed to have a really big dick. But it’s more than that. The dude is like a player’s player. He’s banged half the dancers in Peoria. That’s no mean feat. Whatever people say, strippers don’t put out very easily. Zillions of guys chase after us so we can be ultra-selective about our hookups.”
Sandra found herself at a loss for words so she let Kagney continue her story.
“The craziest part is that he just turned 18! Everyone thought the dude had to be 23, 24 years old. You don’t meet any teens with that level of game. But then he got in big trouble for – get this – sleeping with six or seven different teachers at his high school. The story has been in the news for months. It’s actually kind of sad. He had been offered a bunch of college football scholarships before the scandal broke.”
Kagney’s phone buzzed again. Her expression darkened at the message.
“What now?” asked Sandra.
“Johnny Mac violated his probation. He’s back in the joint.”
Truth be told, Sandra didn’t care too much. Johnny Mac worked as a bouncer at Gazonga’s. He demanded 10% of her tips. She thought the dude was a major creep.
“So what? Can’t Joe substitute for him on Monday?”
“Nope. Joe went on vacation last week. We can’t open the club if we don’t have a bouncer working the door.”
Sandra would have been more concerned had she not been preoccupied with Lance already. Truth be told, she felt a bit relieved that Kagney changed the subject.
“What about Paul? Can’t he hire a temp?”
Paul owned Gazonga’s. Unfortunately, most of the club’s profits went up his nose.
“Paul checked into rehab this weekend. And because I’ve worked there longer than anyone else, he deputized me to manage the club in his absence.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Listen, hon,” Kagney began apologetically. “Let’s hang out later today. I’ve gotta find a sub for the door pronto.”
Sandra gave her a warm hug on the way out the door. As she headed to her van, her phone vibrated. The teen immediately recognized the number on her Caller ID. Lance was reaching out. She froze like a proverbial deer in the headlights and let the call go into voicemail.
1PM
Sandra returned to her apartment and reviewed Lance’s call and text log on her laptop. Typically, he spent his day chatting and sexting with four or five different girls. Today, she found nothing else besides a single outgoing call to Jane and herself. It must have been a fluke. The jerk probably didn’t have time to screw around on the phone today because he had to pilot his Harley all the way back to Peoria.
Suddenly, the screen lit up with a new outgoing call. Lance had dialed up Morgan. As head of the varsity cheerleading squad, the foxy senior occasionally hooked up with Lance but also served as his confidante. Sandra turned up the volume of her laptop speakers.
“Babe,” Lance greeted her plaintively.
“No more hookups,” Morgan told him curtly. “Besides, I’m in Florida for the summer.”
“Listen,” he explained. “I just wanted to talk to a friend. I need some advice.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s about this girl I know. You see, when I think about most chicks, I feel something incredible between my legs.”
“You mean your dick gets hard?”
“Yeah, exactly. But there’s this other girl I’ve been thinking about. With her, I feel something in my chest. And it really hurts sometimes.”
“Good grief,” groaned Morgan. “Are you really this fucking dumb?”
“I don’t think I ever felt this before.”
“It’s your heart, dummy! You’re just crushing on her.”
“What should I do?”
“Well, ask her out on a date.”
“But I think she might be mad at me.”
“Why may that be? Is it because you sleep with a different girl every night? If you want a girlfriend, then you can’t do that anymore.”
“But that’s how I roll, babe,” he responded defensively. “I’m not like most guys. Don’t you know anything about…ummm… LGBQPT rights?”
“What?”
“Ummm… I saw this hashtag on Twitter. The abbreviation is like LGBLT or something…”
“You mean gay rights?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Lance, you’re fucking straight. What does that have to do with you?”
“Because I’m just expressing my sexuality. I need a little more action than ordinary guys. Is that a crime?”
“Lance,” she concluded. “You’re just an asshole.”
Morgan hung up.
Sandra needed a moment to digest the call. It confirmed both her hopes and fears. Though he hadn’t called in months, Lance hadn’t forgotten her. The dude wanted her bad. Just as planned, she really got to him the one and only time they hooked up. But the teen stud didn’t sound like he intended to change his rakish ways either. That was a dealbreaker with a capital ‘D.’
The blue dot resumed its slow crawl toward Peoria. Sandra stared at her phone with indecision.
4PM
Lance parked on the side of the road to smoke a joint and check his texts. His phone had been vibrating in his pocket like an electric toothbrush for the past two hours. The word got out. Lucky Lance Leo was coming back to town with a vengeance! He pulled out his mobile to scan all his incoming texts.
Score! More than a dozen chicks already reached out. Some of them sent nudes. He wasn’t going to lie to himself. The attention stroked his ego big time. Lance loved being a cocksman and didn’t care who knew it. For every Morgan, he could find ten new eager recruits for his bed.
Lance skimmed his backlog of texts. Who did he want to fuck first? About scrolling halfway down the list, his finger froze on a name. Sandra Kong only wrote two words: “Call me.”
That same uneasy feeling built up in his chest. For the first time in his life, Lance hesitated calling a girl. Though they rarely acknowledged their fears, a lot of guys got hung up on this step. It never bothered him personally because he had more experience than most playboys twice his age. But Sandra would have intimidated even the most seasoned Lothario. She didn’t play games. Full stop.
Lance thought through his next move carefully. A call would be too risky. So he texted her instead.
“Hey, babe,” he wrote. “My reception isn’t so good out here. What’s up?”
“1138 Crescent View, APT 2A,” she answered. The little bubbles that indicated more typing followed. They stopped. Lance felt his pulse begin to speed up. The bubbles started again.
“11pm. Be there.”
And that was it. Lance couldn’t fathom her precise intentions. Had it been any other girl, he would have assumed they were hooking up for the night. But Sandra proved herself utterly unpredictable. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t resist writing back.
“K,” he finally typed. She didn’t write back. Short and sweet seemed like the best way to end this chat.
