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Rafael Nadal Is Rock Bottom
Part 5
As the three men looked on, Pitt reached for the trousers he had so quickly thrown off before jumping onto Nadal's lap.
"Wait," said one of the men, "what do you think you're doing?"
"What?" Pitt asked, then realised what the man wanted.
Without another word, Pitt lay back on top of a small coffee table nearby, put his legs up in the air and began to push Nadal's spunk out of his asshole. Zac Efron, the man who had asked Pitt what he was doing, dropped to his knees and crawled over towards the dripping mancunt.
"Don't want any of this to go to waste, do we?" Efron smiled, his tongue licking at the leaking asshole.
Efron began sucking at it, determined to lap up every last bit of Nadal's sperm. Nadal looked on in wonder, surprised at how much this display was turning him on. He had an erection again already.
Pitt groaned as Efron continued his work, his lips now covered in Nadal's spunk and Pitt's ass juice.
"Fuck me, that's hot," said one of the other men. It was Alexander Skarsgård. Beside him was the other man, another film star, Ryan Gosling.
"I'll fuck you later," Gosling smiled at Skarsgård. Skarsgård smiled back, clenching his ass a little at the thought of Gosling's monster cock entering him again as it had last week at a Hollywood sex party.
Efron had finally finished cleaning up Nadal's mess from Pitt's hole, and Gosling was becoming impatient. He was horny as fuck and needed to get off.
"Come on then, guys," he said as Efron stood up, his lips glistening with leftover spunk.
"You missed a spot," Skarsgård said to Efron, moving towards him and kissing him full on the mouth.
Skarsgård's tongue ran over Efron's lips until all traces of leftover cum were gone. Gosling watched this from near the door, his erection pressing against his underwear. He had had enough.
"Right, Pitt, get up," he said, "Efron, Skarsgård, grab the whore."
"What?" Nadal said, before realising that he was the `whore' in question.
He tried to move away, but Efron and Skarsgård were on him in a flash, grabbing hold of the tennis player's arms. He pushed with all his might, freeing his arm from Efron's grip, but Efron got a hold of him again with Pitt's help. Gosling was coming towards him now. He had picked up a small metal box from a table nearby, and now opened it, taking out a syringe.
"What are you doing?!" Nadal shouted, struggling against the three men who held him in a vice like grip.
"Just a little something to get you in the mood, baby," Gosling said, before adding "well, actually it's just to knock you out really."
"Please, no! Brad, don't let them do this! You said I had a say in what went on!"
"Oh, you did," Gosling went on, "but only while Pitt was here. He's a softie. You're playing with the big boys now. And I don't show any mercy."
Nadal tried to get away again, but it was hopeless. He felt the syringe prick his skin and his vision slowly became fuzzy. His limbs felt like lead weights, and he flailed around, the three men no longer holding him. He made for the door, his feet tripping underneath him, as Gosling's cruel laughter filled the air.
"I think he's ready, boys," Gosling's sadistic voice said.
"No, no, please," Nadal slurred, his voice betraying him as well, `I can't, no--"
"You can, and you will," Gosling whispered in Nadal's ear, "you've no choice."
Nadal became more flustered, fell to the floor and continued to the door. He crawled slowly, then tried to reach for the handle. The last thing he heard as he slumped over was the mingled laughter of the four men. His eyes closed, and he blacked out.