The Bionic Stud: Twisted Sister

NOTE: For those of you joining us for the first time, this story is a vignette from Rubirosa's series "C*ck Star." The chronicle focuses upon the private life of a public figure.

As the most accomplished porn star of modern times, SAMSON lives out popular male sex fantasies on a daily basis. This story focuses on our hero's early adventures when he was just an everyday high school gigolo and championship bodybuilder by the name of LANCE LEO.

Lance has just turned 18. Like many seniors at Peoria Tech, he plays football, smokes pot, and dates cheerleaders. He listens to hip-hop but prefers heavy metal bands. He scored in the 38

th

percentile on his SAT's. His GPA hovers just below a 2.3. Lance wears Magnum XL condoms and is able to sleep with any woman he desires. This is his story.

After catching the ball, Lance ran like hell down the length of the football field. A defensive tackle or two blocked him but proved no match for six-and-a-half foot tall juggernaut. He mowed down every player in his path.

"Fast as a shotgun, Leo getting outside 20 yards!" cried the sports announcer. "15! 10! 5! Touchdown to Lance Leo! The Peoria Panthers pull out a win with only five seconds on the clock!"

The crowd went bonkers. His strength appeared remarkable to the high school spectators but Lance was no ordinary teen. The Special Forces veteran had been the subject of a classified program in the CIA that engineered soldiers with enhanced physical and mental capabilities. The teen could run a five-minute mile, perform 25 pull-ups in 30 seconds, and bench 400 pounds without breaking a sweat. Along with his exceptional brawn, he developed the mindset of a thoroughbred alpha male. The heroic youth easily commanded social situations and proved fearless on and off the battlefield.

When he reached the goalpost, Lance performed a little end zone dance just like the NFL players did on TV. Coach Manning glared at him from the sidelines. After calling a time-out at the end of the fourth quarter, the old man had devised an intricate play for the team to follow. Lance completely ignored the coach's instructions. The star quarterback followed his own playbook and seldom shared his plans with anyone else. Lance would have been benched for life had he not scored three or four touchdowns that game.

As the game broke up, he got mobbed with his biggest fans... the cheerleaders. 'The Pantherettes' wore tight spandex shorts and white crop tops that hugged their ample breasts. They eagerly invaded his personal space, feeling up his 24-inch pythons and rubbing their nubile bodies against his crotch. Lance took off his helmet and shook out his mane of long wavy hair. The teen stud looked more like a rock star than a high school jock.

"Yo!" Morgan called out. "Nice game."

The blonde flashed a lusty smile and high-fived him.

"So, Triple L..." she continued in a lower voice. "What are you doing tonight?"

Triple L

stood for 'Lucky Lance Leo' and, yeah, he had been on a hot streak as of late. On his first day of school, the transfer student hooked up with Morgan who happened to be the most popular girl at Peoria Tech. After seducing the head cheerleader, the rest of her squad fell for him like dominoes. In the space of a week, he banged Tori, Megan, Bridget, Zoe, Jillian, and Courtney. They wanted him just as badly as Morgan and all of them were 9's or 10's. Lance was also a 10. 10 inches. None of the cheerleaders wanted to pursue a serious relationship with the 18-year old Lothario but they loved riding his big cock.

Lance ogled his pom-pom harem with unconcealed delight. Football bored him but the alpha thug enjoyed being a player of a naughtier sort. During his first week at school, he had scored seven girls in seven days. That was a record for him at the time. But Triple L did not rest on his laurels. In fact, the cheerleaders only whetted his appetite for more pussy. The megastud loved the thrill of the chase. The night was young and he yearned for a new conquest. That's when he saw Melissa.

Even though Lance was already surrounded with groupies, the top-heavy teen temptress walked right up to him. The cheerleaders parted like the Red Sea for the alpha babe. Only Morgan stood her ground. The rival teen queens eyed each other warily. "My turn," Melissa told her curtly. Morgan blinked first. The blonde blew an air kiss to Lance and edged away from the couple.

"Got a light?" asked Melissa, pulling out a cigarette.

"Don't smoke," he answered.

Mel pulled a Zippo lighter out of her purse and sparked it. Lance gave her the once over. The chick wore daisy dukes and a Guns' N' Roses halter that revealed her pierced navel. She looked trashy as fuck and sexy as hell.

"Got a name?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I do," she told him. "Ask around. Someone will tell you."

She spun on her heel and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" he called after her.

"To work," she answered, glancing back at him over her shoulder with the slightest of winks. "I dance at Jerry's on Fridays."

Jane had warned him about Jerry's. His stepmother pretty much let her charge do whatever he wanted but she imposed a few ground rules. First of all, the playboy couldn't bring his girlfriends home. The house was off limits for hookups. Secondly, he had to service his guardian whenever she wanted. Lance didn't mind. Jane was a buxom cougar that spent her life at the gym. He gladly banged her box on a daily basis. But, most importantly, she forbade him from patronizing Jerry's. Jane permitted him to visit any bar that would accept his fake ID but the notorious roadhouse spelled trouble. Naturally, Lance couldn't wait to pay a visit.

After a quick shower and a shave, Lance emerged from the locker room in his civvies. He wore a leather jacket that once belonged to his father. It was a size too small for him. Mike was big. Lance was bigger. And Jane did not fail to mention that he was "bigger all over." Somewhere in heaven, his father must have been laughing at his son's good fortune. Lance was so blessed that he barely could zip his jeans over the bulge in his briefs.

The star player breezed past the post-game throng that milled outside the school. The teen fist-bumped his teammates. He shook hands with parents and teachers. Lance didn't mind the adulation but he couldn't wait to skip. Peoria Tech wasn't his scene.

The teenage rakehell tore out of the parking lot on his 1974 Harley Sportster, the nicest thing he inherited from his father besides a big dick. He waved goodbye to Morgan and her cohorts. They looked crestfallen. No worries. He would fuck them all next week.

The ride to Jerry's took about a half-hour. The owners built the roadhouse out in the sticks to avoid zoning laws and municipal police. As the city lights of Peoria gave way to dark, unlit roads, Lance had the time and space to think. The juvenile wondered if he always would feel like an outsider at school. Sure, all teens had growing pains but Lance experienced the kind that added inches to his dick.

During his stint in Special Forces, the CIA had pumped a lot of experimental drugs into his growing body. Along with boosting his strength to superhuman levels, the classified program must have altered his personality. While his peers also had hormones, he acquired the will and ability to act on his desires. Lance knew he wasn't 'normal.' An ordinary teenager didn't nail seven cheerleaders in seven days. He didn't initiate an affair with a female gym teacher and bang her in the shower of the girls' locker room. And senior prom did not lead to a threesome with two foxy bi-babes.

But none of his dalliances proved quite as exotic as Lance's arrangement with his father's old lady. After Uncle Sam booted him out of Special Forces, Jane Hawthorne agreed to adopt the wayward youth. On the very first night of his discharge, Lance seduced her. It did not turn out to be a one-nighter either. No matter how many other girlfriends he juggled, the sexually precocious teen always came home to fuck his stepmother after a hot date. Though he craved a variety of lovers, a lot of his high school hookups felt like warm-up acts to Jane. Sure, some girls might chart on the Lothario's Top 40 (or even his Top 10) but his stepmom had held the #1 position for three months running. The two of them shared remarkable chemistry.

Maybe that explained why he was riding his motorcycle to a roadhouse to pursue a chick that barely knew him. The mystery blonde reminded him of his stepmother. Like Jane, she had a

je ne sais quoi

about her that stopped just short of arrogance. During their brief encounter, the stranger held her own with Lance. Not only did he not get her phone number. She didn't even give him her name.

As the school stud, Lance intimidated a lot of girls at Peoria Tech. Without the slightest effort on his part, the most popular seniors instinctively lay and spread for the star quarterback. While the teen enjoyed having cheerleaders gush over him, Lance also enjoyed fire and fury. Jane could turn from kitten to cougar in the bat of an eye. If he left the toilet seat up, she would cuss him out. If he forgot to wash a dirty dish in the sink, she would throw it at him. And if he came home late from a date ... Well, his ten-inch cock soothed Jane's temper but Lance could never tame her.

The location was secluded. An old wooden sign marked the turnoff for the roadhouse. Lance drove past the joint twice before hanging a right onto the gravel road that led down to the parking lot. There were two cars and several dozen motorcycles out front. Jerry's looked to be a hardcore biker bar. Lance only had seen places like that in the movies.

The teen dismounted his Harley and strode up to the entrance. Two security guards manned the doorway. They were bald, fat, and surly.

"ID?" asked the first.

"Left it at home," Lance smirked at him. The guards exchanged glances and smiled. The kid had balls.

"Well, we will need to pat you down at least," answered the second.

Lance lifted up his arms so the first guy could scan him with his security wand. The device beeped. The metal chain of his chain wallet set it off. The second guy scrutinized a noticeable bulge that ran down his right pant leg.

"Not a gun, dude," Lance finally told him. "That's my dick."

The guards laughed and let him walk inside.

The room looked Friday-night packed. Motley Crüe blasted from the sound system. Melissa danced on stage in fishnets and lacy lingerie. The rakish brute stood a head taller than the rest of the crowd so she spotted him immediately. Their gazes locked. She smiled before turning her bare back on him and sashaying to the other end of the stage. Lance wondered when she got off work. He never fucked a go-go dancer before.

The teen stud elbowed his way to the bar. "Jack Daniels," he yelled to the barmaid over the music. "Double on the rocks." In a flash, the biker babe spun around to pour his drink. Lance admired her posterior. She rocked skintight leather chaps and a low-cut tank that exposed her tatted back. The bartender served his JD on a cocktail napkin. Lance reached for his wallet. "On the house," she told him. Lance dug her style. She had a black dye pixie cut, not unlike a younger Joan Jett. He glanced down at the napkin. The fox had written down her name and number. Lance wondered if Joanna got off work before Melissa. He wanted her too.

Lance stuffed the napkin into the pocket and turned to leave. The other patrons glared at the stranger. Some of them had been trying to order a beer for ten minutes. Pretty boy had jumped the queue. The biggest and meanest of the bikers walked right up to him. He took a drag of his Marlboro and blew it in his face.

"Hello, pardner," he drawled. "Who do you ride with?"

"Huh."

"You a Bandido? An Outlaw?"

Lance surmised the stranger spoke about motorcycle gangs. He had seen a rerun of

Sons of Anarchy

once.

"Out here, you're in Cossack country," he told him. "Far from home."

Indeed, Lance noted a great many patrons in the bar wore leather vests with 'Cossack' stitched on the back. The name definitely wasn't a clothing brand.

"So let me ask you once last time," the gang leader growled while ashing his cigarette at Lance's feet. "Who do you ride with?"

"Your old lady," he responded. In the back of his mind, Lance knew that might not have been the right answer. But the alpha stud didn't care much either. He could take him on. Lance often employed hand-to-hand combat in Special Forces. The biker wound up his arm and landed a solid punch to his gut. Lance didn't flinch. "Is that the best you can do?" he mocked. "Try it again, fatso." The biker threw his entire weight behind the next punch but he might as well have smashed his fist against a brick wall. Lance had abs of steel.

The crowd drew back to give them floor space for a knockdown, drag-out fight. The gang leader aimed a right hook at his jaw. Lance caught his fist in mid-air. With his other hand, the teen grabbed him by the neck and lifted his body clean off the ground. His legs dangled in the air helplessly as he gasped for air. Lance's iron grip nearly cut off his windpipe. The other bikers looked impressed. A move like that required incredible strength.

BOOM!

A shotgun blast sounded from behind Lance.

"That's enough," rasped a female voice. "Party's over."

Lance turned around. The gal trained her Smith & Wesson on him.

"Hands in the air," she ordered.

Lance dropped the semi-conscious biker to the floor and raised his hands. The patrons backed away from him, distancing themselves from her potential line of fire.

"Now, go on," the owner told him, motioning with the barrel of her shotgun toward the door. "Get out."

Jerry looked hot. Despite the gun, Lance could not help but admire her body. He always had a thing for mature brunettes, especially voluptuous ones.

"Can I finish my drink?" he asked politely with his most charming smile.

"Jo," she growled. "Give him his fucking drink." The barmaid came from out behind the counter with his shot of Jack Daniels. Lance downed it in one gulp.

With that, he headed to the door. A couple Cossacks looked at him angrily. Lance looked tough but they outnumbered him ten to one.

"Don't even think about it," she told them. "No one leaves this bar until he reaches the county line."

Lance took off on his Harley like a bat out of a hell. Thankfully, no one tailed him. He drove a few miles and pulled to the side of the road. Lance fished the cocktail napkin out of his back pocket with one hand. He took out his smartphone with the other.

"Sorry, I had to leave," he texted the bargirl.

"Crestline Motel," she texted back. "Room #12 in 20 mins."

Lance didn't need to ask for the addy. He partied at the hot-sheets motel with a lot of chicks. You could walk right up to your door from the parking lot. The joint was very discreet.

Still on guard for hostile bikers, Lance took back roads all the way to the motel. He drove without a headlight and looked over his shoulder every few minutes. All clear.

He scoped the motel from a hill that overlooked the property. Late-model sedans and SUV's filled the parking lot. No bikes.

Lance quietly cruised into the lot. He piloted the Harley into the cornfield behind the motel. No one would spot him there. He shut off his engine and headed for Room #12.

His fuckdate answered the door in a bathrobe with a lit joint in hand.

"Hello, Lance," she smiled and motioned him inside. "Have a seat."

The motel room had a king-sized bed and a threadbare couch. Lance opted for the bed.

"How did you know my name?" he asked her.

"Word gets around," she told him and handed him her joint. Lance took a big drag.

"And what's your name?" he coughed. The bargirl smiled and shook her head.

"She's not a names type of girl," announced a voice from behind. The mystery blonde emerged from the bathroom. She wore the same bathrobe as her nameless companion. The teen temptress approached the bed. She sat to his left. Her girlfriend sat to his right. Lance was sitting pretty.

"Hope you don't mind company," she told him.

Lance looked at the blonde. He looked at the pixie. Their vibe felt chill.

"So what's the deal?" he asked disingenuously.

"The deal is that Melissa saw you first," began Joanna.

"But you texted Joanna," continued Melissa. "So we're just going to have work things out."

"Oh, yeah?" he challenged.

His companions each grabbed a shoulder and shoved him to the mattress.

"Yeah," Melissa finally answered with a purr before kissing him lightly on the neck. She felt his palm on the nape of her neck, gently urging her toward his lips. Mel felt her skin prickle from the contact. Her lips parted open and his tongue darted inside her mouth. Lance proved a formidable kisser. Most guys either slobbered or let their girl take the lead. But Melissa actually lost herself with him for a moment. Her panties grew moist, the fabric clinging to damp flesh as her pussy juiced up.

"Be right back," he whispered after breaking the kiss. Lance turned to Joanna. She leaned in toward him. Their faces merged together. They kissed inches away from Melissa. She heard their labored breath and the smacking of lips. Joanna clambered on top of Lance. The pixie looked tiny with the sexy brute. She had to straddle his midriff to reach his mouth. Their passion escalated. Joanna ground her crotch against his abdomen. She moaned out loud.

Lance broke their kiss and turned to Melissa. "C'mere, babe," he told her. She snuggled up against his shoulder.

"Are you cool with this?" he asked both of them point blank.

"Like, duh!" laughed Joanna. "

We

invited you here

."

"And you're cool with each other?" Lance probed. His voice grew softer.

His girlfriends nodded. Joanna and Melissa never shared a guy before but they experimented with each other after hours at Jerry's.

"Guess it's your lucky night," smiled Joanna.

"Maybe it's

your

lucky night," he replied with a smug grin. "You found someone who can pull this off."

They broke up in laughter.

"I said this guy had a mouth on him," Melissa told Joanna.

"And I got a cock on me too," he retorted. "If you say please, I might let you touch it."

Jo playfully shoved him. So did Mel.

"C'mon, ladies," he smirked. "I just want to show you a good time. Let's kiss and make up." Lance gently stroked Joanna's chin with a finger and tilted her face up to his lips. She sighed audibly when they made contact. He palmed the back of Melissa's head and guided her into their kiss. His tongue glided from one mouth to the other with casual ease. Despite its novelty, his three-way kiss felt remarkably natural. Lance set a slow and enchanting rhythm for his companions to follow. Joanna was impressed. The 23-year old had mixed feelings about hooking up with a high schooler but she couldn't deny the teen playboy had both girls wrapped around his finger or, more precisely, his ten-and-a-half inch cock.

As they made out with him, Lance undid the sashes of their robes. "OK, girls," he told them, ending the kiss. "Let's see what we are working with tonight."

Joanna and Melissa exchanged glances. Did he really say that? Lance flashed an audacious grin. Yes, he did. The robes came off. They wore nothing underneath. Joanna could have done pinups for Suicide Girls: black lipstick; pierced clit; inked from head to toe. Melissa was a dishwater blonde with a dancer's body and a Brazilian wax. Lance clocked her figure at a perfect 36-24-36.

Their nudity heated up the room. The girls began to bump and grind against each other. They shared a moment. Lance edged back to watch the show. Melissa kissed Joanna full on the mouth. The contact felt electric.