Fade in.
A hotel room. Elegance. Fine stitches tie velvet and leather and thousands of threads.
The scene is what you would expect if you let a teenager put his fantasies into an AI image generator – stylized as Roman Art.
A gaggle of women in various states of undress sit in a circle. They’re all different colors and sizes, but all ass naked.
Condom wrappers. Empty energy drinks. Countless gas station boner pills.
The air stinks of sex and vape.
A cheval mirror stands in the nexus of the naked ass circle. The keystone of the circle, focal point of all these women, is a ridiculously sexy man flexing in front of the mirror. His manhood hands powerfully, swaying gracefully as he changes poses to ooh’s and ahh’s from the crowd.
He is Adonis. A Golden God. A rippling, rolling landscape of muscle. This specimen was built to do two things: fight and fuck.
“Hola MASQ and you’re welcome.”
You can’t see his face through his black and pink mask, but you can feel the magnetic smirk. It makes your private places tingle. His pure sexual energy is evident through his emerald eyes. You suddenly wonder if your wife is watching.
“I am King Homewrecker. Shhh, do you hear that? It’s the sound of all of your wives and girlfriends ovulating. HA! That’s right, you fat slobs, the very mention of me might impregnate your women.”
“That’s right King. I think I’m pregnant right now,” one of the women comments.
The King looks at the woman then to the camera and winks dramatically.
“Well, I have a plan for that. Now, onto business. How lucky – a threesome for my first match. But my opponents? Tsk tsk. A sniveling little runt and some comicon nerd.”
“They’re gross, King,” a woman calls out.
“Yeah you’re going to crush them,” another girl echoes.
King Homewrecker brings a finger to his lips softly to shush his hens.
“Not now, woman. I am working. TRIV, you are the exclamation point at the end of a bloodline of failure. Maybe I’ll find your mother and leave something under her Christmas tree. Climb through her chimney, no? How would you like a little brother, TRIV? HA!”
“And you Martil- nope, too many words. You’re Hammie. I bet you used both braincells coming up with that name. Terrifying indeed. I can only hope you shower before our match. You look like you smell of stale salami. That’s a mighty large hammer, fat man. Sounds like you’re compensating for something. You’re probably too dumb to understand that. You have a very small manhood.”
Homewrecker holds up thumb and index finger in a tiny measurement.
“MASQ, I’ve never lost a threeway. I am going to run through you like the clap at Olympic Village. So tell the smith to begin etching King Homewrecker in that gold.”
He pantomimes the belt around his waist – where it belongs.
“Remember my name, your señora will be screaming it later.”
Fade to black.