Being deep in the hole creates a special kind of desperation. A tunnel vision obscuring all the nasty tripwires that lay in wait as you blindly scramble to any solution that could present itself.

Bunny, as he came to be known, had been occluded by such desperation. The trap had sprung innocuously enough, with a slip of a business card and promises of quick and easy cash.

It started slow. 'Modeling' increasingly revealing clothes. Then the raw flesh meets set lighting and a director is requesting spontaneous masturbation in the middle of shoot, cold cash offered on the spot. And from there it was all downhill.

Bunny presents on command, ass up and legs spread. A slicked up cock jabs unceremoniously deep into that lubricated pucker to stir his insides. His own neglected prick leaks copiously despite the shame boiling in his heart. A shame which never goes away. He dribbles onto the shivering pet beneath him, just more pretty meat for the pit.

They ask him if he wants more. His response is bound by contract. Bunny reluctantly stammers 'yes' and they give it to him. Hard, grueling fucking until he's a shuddering gaped mess gasping on the spattered floor of the fuck chamber. And still there's more cocks waiting their turn. They hoist him up, slide a cock into each hand and several into his face as he slaps his ass down onto another. And it goes on and on...and a new tunnel of desperation stretches out and seemingly boundless in his dimming minds eye.