Chad Corbett wasn’t going to look at the thing in the corner.

He looked up at the mirror on the ceiling instead. Reflected back in it he saw his nude form lying on a pink silk bedspread. Chad was tattooed and buff. He was proud of his body. It had taken long hours at the gym to develop that chest and abs.

The bed was big and fancy. It was a proper fancy tart’s bed. It was the bed of someone that liked nookie and liked it often.

Chad liked nookie too.

That was how he’d ended up handcuffed to the bed. His wrists and ankles were chained to the bed posts. They weren’t handcuff handcuffs. They were covered in fluffy pink fur--the type of thing you might find in a sex shop, for use in kinky sex games.

Chad was well up for kinky sex games on a fancy tart’s bed. That was why he’d allowed himself to be handcuffed to the bed posts in the first place.

In hindsight that wasn’t the smartest decision in the world.

His gaze strayed back towards the corner. He checked himself.

No, we are not looking at the thing in the corner.

He looked up instead. A fancy camera was mounted on a corner bracket and pointed down at the bed. Chad could see his reflection there too, in the blank lens.

“Mr Corbett, are you ready to play?”

The voice came through a speaker on the wall. The owner sounded like a well-to-do woman in her late forties or early fifties. The accent was very plummy.

No, Chad wasn’t ready to play. This wasn’t the game he thought it’d be.

Ineffectually, he tugged at the handcuffs. He stared up at his buff reflection in the mirror. His muscles flexed and bulged, but were no match for steel chains.

His head fell back on a soft, scented pillow.

How the hell did you get yourself into this mess, Chad? he thought.

He found himself looking towards the far corner of the floor. He snapped his gaze back to the ceiling.

Don’t look at the thing in the corner.

It had started with a conversation down the pub. Chad had had a few. His mates had had a few. As the night wore on the conversation became boozier and less inhibited. The topic of sex came up, as it inevitably did. With it came the usual bravado of young adult men getting beered up.

“Perfect career--porn star,” Chad said. “What’s better than fucking hot women all day and...” he paused for emphasis “ ... getting paid for it.”

“I dunno,” his mate, Owen, said. “I’ve heard it’s harder than it sounds.”

“Or rather, isn’t always as hard as it sounds,” another mate, Jez, added with an elbow and guffaw.

“Nah, not all of us have that problem,” Chad jabbed back with a wink.

“It’s more difficult than you think,” Owen said. “I read this magazine piece about a kinky tour operator that was offering weekend breaks on the set of porn films, so people could see what goes on behind the scenes, even take part if they want. Some took them up on the taking part bit. The porn actress they interviewed said hardly anyone was able to perform. Said it takes a special sort to get hard and stay hard when all the lights are on them and they’re surrounded by a film crew.”

“I could,” Chad stated.

“Hardy said the same,” Jez said. “You remember him--Andy Hardcastle? Randy Andy. Was always in the knickers of some bird or other. We were out in Prague for a cheap weekend of booze and sex. Hardy and some of the other lads found a brothel with a really weird business model. You didn’t have to pay anything. Instead you gave them permission to film it all and put it up on the internet as cheap porn.

“Didn’t interest me,” he continued. “Having film of me having sex put up on the internet for the whole world to see, forever ... I’d rather slip a tart a couple of notes and be done with it. Hardy was well up for it, though. Free fucking? No way is he turning that down. He’s the only one of us mad enough to go for it, so the rest of us bugger off to the nearest pub and wait for him.

“About an hour later he comes back looking like someone’s just run over his favourite puppy.

“‘Couldn’t do it, lads,’ he said.

“‘Were they all minging?’ we asked. I mean, if they’re giving it away for free they’re hardly likely to be the hottest chicks in the world.

“‘That was the worst part,’ Hardy said. He told us she was a really fit Russian bird. Really top totty. But once he looked up and saw the camera on the wall, that was it.”

Jez held up a finger and curled it down while making a sad trombone noise.

“I’m not Hardy,” Chad said. “It wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Okay, let’s say you are one of those people that can get it up in front of the cameras,” Owen said. “It ain’t just that. You have to keep it in until the right moment. Getting too excited and spunking your load too early is just as bad as not getting it up.”

“You don’t know my rep,” Chad came back with. “I’m Mr Control. It’s how I’ve always been. I get hard when I want to get hard and I don’t come until I want to come.”

Chad was used to people doubting that. When he was younger he hadn’t even thought it was that big of a deal. Wasn’t it the same for everyone?

Apparently not.

“How else do you think I’ve got three on the go ... at the same time,” he added, and there was much laughter.

“If you’ve got the control, this might be up your street,” Benny Barker said to him later the same night.

Benny Barker was a guy that hung around on the fringes of their crowd. He wasn’t much older than Chad, but he looked way older. His face was pudgy and most of his hair had washed away. Chad’s sister described him as ‘creepy-looking’. He was proper fugly in Chad’s opinion. Nice enough bloke, but proper fugly.

Benny handed him a plain pink card. There was some small handwritten text and a phone number at the bottom.

“Found this on the noticeboard of the sex shop on Coronet Road.”

That Benny spent time checking the noticeboards of local sex shops didn’t come as any surprise to Chad. Benny was so fugly Chad reckoned the only way he could get laid was by paying for it.

“It’s some kind of challenge,” he said. “Filmed. They try to get you off within twenty minutes and if you’re able to hold out you win a hundred quid. I looked into it, but it seemed a little ... weird.”

Chad reckoned Benny had gone for it, only to be turned away for being too fugly. Turned down by prozzies--it didn’t get lower than that. Chad was almost drunk enough to let the whole pub know. Almost. There was bantz, and there was being a cunt, and he was still sober enough to know that was being a cunt.

Benny gave him the card. “Check it out if it sounds interesting.”

Chad checked it out. The voice at the other end of the line confirmed what Benny had said.

“Yes. That’s right. The prize is one hundred pounds.”

The woman on the other end of the phone spoke very plummy English. Proper prim’n’proper. Chad pictured a woman in her forties or fifties with flecks of steel in her hair, probably dressed in a no-nonsense business suit.

“You will have twenty minutes. If you can withstand the attentions of one of our elite personnel for that long without ejaculating we will pay you the money, cash.”

A hundred pounds and a fuck, where do I sign up? Chad thought.

The woman on the phone gave him an address and time.

Challenge accepted!

Not that there was any challenge to it. There was no chance of Chad Corbett walking out of there without a hundred-pound note. He was Mr Control.

The address led to a nondescript industrial estate on the edge of town. There’s was the last in line--a blocky white building with no signage at all.

Benny had been right about the weird part. On the other side of the main entrance was a short corridor terminating in a solid metal door. Chad pressed a doorbell and was buzzed through into a reception area.

With no receptionist.

Everything else was there--armchairs, coffee table, magazines, watercooler in the corner. Everything but staff. Instead of a live human receptionist there was a speaker sitting on the middle of the reception desk.

“Good afternoon, Mr Corbett. So glad you could make it.” The same yummy plummy voice Chad had heard on the phone came out of the speaker.

They didn’t want to show themselves? Freaky, Chad thought.

He looked around and saw two CCTV cameras mounted on corner brackets at either end of the room. He gave them a wave.

“Before we can start your challenge there is some paperwork I need you to fill out, Mr Corbett. You’ll find the forms on the desk next to this speaker.”

Chad picked up the papers.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A standard waiver, Mr Corbett. It grants us the right to use your image in any footage we shoot on these premises.”

The form was written in dense legalese. Chad got about as far as the second paragraph before the words started to blur together. Seemed to be what she said.

“So you’re going to film this?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr Corbett.”

“And put it up on the internet for pervs to perv over?”

“That is the intention, Mr Corbett. Does this bother you?”

“No. No,” Chad said. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to do porn work.”

He skimmed to the end of the paperwork and left his signature at the bottom. He looked up at the cameras for further instruction.

“As soon as you’re ready, please go through the far door. Your room is the third door on the left.”

Chad followed her instructions and entered a fancy-looking bedroom.

This was more like it, he thought. A real fancy tart’s room. He saw a massive bed covered in frilly pink sheets that reminded him of a massive overflowing cake. An equally large mirror was mounted on the ceiling above the bed. A room with only one purpose--proper filth.

“If you could take your clothes off please, Mr Corbett, and lie naked on the bed, our attendants will be along shortly to secure your restraints.” The instructions came through another speaker. This one was embedded in the wall to the right of the bed, about halfway up.

Chad had noticed the handcuffs attached to the bedposts. They were of the novelty kind and covered in a layer of soft pink fur. Their presence didn’t surprise him. The woman on the phone had told him one of the conditions of the challenge was that he had to be bound to the bed. It was to make the challenge fair, supposedly. And safe for the girl. She would have total control.

“Having second thoughts, Mr Corbett?”

“Nah,” Chad replied. He took off his clothes and climbed on top of the bed. It was soft and the sheets were silky smooth.

Chad hadn’t done the kinky handcuffs thing before. He was curious to see if it was as sexy as people said.

“Ready,” he called out.

The door clicked open and a pair of attendants walked in. They were two tall, leggy girls dressed from head to toe in shiny black latex bodysuits. Very kinky, Chad thought. Even their faces were hidden behind featureless black masks. He wondered how they could even see. Wordlessly, they attached fluffy manacles to his wrists and ankles and checked they were securely attached to the bed posts.

Chad admired their bodies while they went about their work. Their skintight latex outfits showed off their curves to good effect. His gaze lingered on the glossy swell of their behinds as, their work done, they walked out of the room.

“If you’ll please be patient, Mr Corbett. “Your partner is being brought to your room.”

“Don’t I get a choice?” Chad said. He fancied trying out one of those leggy beauties in skintight latex.

“No.”

“What if she’s not my type?”

“Then it will be considerably easier for you to walk away with a hundred pounds in your pocket, Mr Corbett.”

He couldn’t fault that logic.

He wished they were a little quicker in bringing his girl to the room. There was a clock on the far wall. He watched the minute hand sweep by seven minutes with nothing happening. He guessed this was deliberate--make the bloke wait and let his excitement bubble up and up until all they had to do was touch his cock for him to spunk all over the place.

Well it wouldn’t work on Chad Corbett. Chad Corbett was Mr Control. He didn’t come until he wanted to come. He’d been that way even back during his first time.

He didn’t have to wait too long. After eight minutes the door clicked open and the two latex-clad manikins returned pushing a flatbed trolley between them. And on the flatbed trolley...

That was the moment when things went from kinky-weird to full-on crazy-sci-fi-TV-series-weird.

On the low, flatbed trolley was ... something. It looked like an egg. Not the typical chicken egg you could pick up in cartons of six at the nearest supermarket, but something else, something alien. Something that looked like a prop from a science fiction or horror film. It was approximately four feet high and ovoid in shape. It was purplish-red in colour and covered in a web of thick knotted vines. Chad couldn’t tell if it was animal, vegetable, fungus, or even some combination of all three.

The two latex-clad beauties carefully lifted the egg off the trolley and placed it in the corner of the room. Then, their jobs done, they walked out of the room and shut the door behind them, leaving Chad chained to the bed and alone with the alien object.

The ‘egg’ was big enough to hold a full-grown person inside, providing they were crouching down with their knees tucked up. It was alive. The sides slowly moved in and out as if it was breathing.

Fuck this. Chad tested the chains tethering him to the bed. The manacles might be covered in fake fluffy fur, but they were none the less effective for it.

“Is there something the matter, Mr Corbett?”

Chad looked up at the camera. “What the fuck is that!”

“That? That’s your partner, Mr Corbett. Or she will be when she hatches.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“Not at all, Mr Corbett. The terms of the challenge are the same as before. If you can hold out for twenty minutes without ejaculating, we will send you home with one hundred pounds in your pocket. I’m a woman of my word.”

Chad looked at the egg. It continued to pulse like a still-living organ dissected from a body. Something was going to hatch out of it.

And she said the challenge was for him to hold on for twenty minutes. Chad could laugh. His dick was currently so shrivelled up with fear it was practically inside out and trying to burrow back inside him.

He thrashed on the bed and tugged at his chains until the veins were standing out on his neck and saliva flecked his lips.

“Mr Corbett, please cease this childish outburst. If you’d just open your mind to accept other possibilities you will find this to be an extremely pleasant experience.”

Chad stopped struggling. Mainly because it wasn’t doing anything. He lay back and stared up at his reflection in the mirror. He banged his head back against one of the over-plump pillows. He’d really got himself into a right mess.

And that was how Chad had ended up chained to the bed next to ... no, don’t look at it.

Thinking with his wrong head. That was the problem. It was just like that time he thought he just had to give Rex Kershaw’s missus a good dicking behind Rex’s back. Rex had found out and the resulting fight had put both of them in hospital. To make it worse, Rex’s missus hadn’t even been that good of a shag.

Chad pulled at his chains. They weren’t going anywhere.

He was screwed.

Ugh, pick a better word.

In a few moments he might actually literally be screwed ... by some weird tentacled alien thing.

Don’t think about it. Don’t even look at it.

It could be a prop. It could be a prank. Everyone was putting pranks up on Youtube nowadays. It was a special effect. Any minute now some twat was going to burst out of it just so they could film Chad losing his shit.

Chad looked at the egg.

It was not a prop.

Chad banged his head back against the pillow. He wondered how the fuck he was going to get out of this one.

Mostly he waited...

And waited...

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting like this, Mr Corbett.” The voice returned through the speaker. “Predicting the exact moment is not an exact science. If you’ll please be patient, I’ll start the timer as soon as she’s hatched and ready.”

Chad gave a sarcastic smile and thumbs up to the camera. It wasn’t as if he was going anywhere anytime soon.

A muted pop and a quiet hiss like air escaping a saggy balloon caught his attention. He looked over and saw the egg was hatching. Peach-coloured slime dribbled out of the cracks.

“Ah, I didn’t think we’d have to wait too long.”