faire l'amour

by Jessica Gadziala

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  TITLE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  EPILOGUE

  DON'T FORGET!

  IMPORTANT!

  ALSO BY JESSICA GADZIALA

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  STALK HER!

  faire l'amour

  a novel by

  Jessica Gadziala

  DEDICATION

  This one goes to J.C.

  For reasons.

  Copyright © 2019 Jessica Gadziala

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for brief quotations used in a book review.

  "This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental."

  Cover image credit:

  Shutterstock .com/ Ksana_uk

  Shutterstock . Com/ Family TV

  faire l'amour

  ONE

  Preston

  For the average person, watching a live double-anal scene was not an everyday occurrence.

  For me, it was just another Thursday afternoon.

  "What do you think?" Coop, my assistant, asked, a notebook stuck under one arm, his ever-present cell perched in the other, eager to take down any notes or answer calls.

  Young, fit, brown-haired, classically good-looking, blue-eyed. I wasn't sure why he chose to be behind the cameras instead of in front of them, but was also equally grateful he'd made this choice seeing as I had gone through eight assistants before him - each more incompetent than the last. Stoners and obsessive vapers and soft-hearted guys with useless art degrees who had the choice between working for me or slaving away stacking shelves at the local big box store.

  All men, as was the rule.

  I'd found out the hard way that having female assistants led to them shyly eye-fucking me from a corner, or actively trying to get with the ex-porn-star of their teenaged fantasies.

  Work was for work these days, not fucking.

  I didn't need the distraction.

  And since I didn't bat for my own team, male assistants were the way to get work done efficiently.

  "I think she is barely phoning it in," I told him, listening to the too high-pitched shrieking sound she was making. Contrary to what many terrible porn movies over the years made you think, a woman's voice got lower when she was truly enjoying herself, not higher. And a pro should know that. "And I think there are marks on her thighs," I added. Maybe no one else would notice, but my eagle eyes were trained for anything that might be displeasing to the eye of our clients. Women with marks in a scene not meant to leave marks could take them out of the fantasy while watching.

  "She had a..." Coop started, going into his notebook, flipping to a page, "there it is. She had a D/s scene three days ago."

  "Since she's got the skin of a peach, we'll have to make sure she doesn't do any kink scenes within a week of any others."

  "Got it. And the new guy?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the man whose ass muscles were contracting almost distractingly as he thrust.

  "He's sweating like a fucking water fountain. But he's got a nine-inch cock. So we're going to have to work with him."

  Contrary to popular belief, it was men, not women, who liked to watch big dick porn the most. At least, that was what our demographics had shown us. Women tended to go for average or just slightly above.

  "Who else is doing a scene today?"

  "Just Merrick and Tiff."

  "Tiff? Again?" I asked, exhaling through my nose. Sure, there was no mistaking that she was one of the most popular on the service, but that was precisely why we had to be more sparing with her. There had to be anticipation, people dying for her next movie to go up.

  "Which brings me to the next order of business today," Coop said, flipping pages. "I have five women lined up to do an interview today. You mentioned needing new talent last week. I got on it," he explained.

  "You need a raise," I murmured as the woman across the room from us faked a ridiculous orgasm as the new guy pulled out, rubbing one out on her slightly pink ass. "I want to talk to her this afternoon," I said, jerking my head toward the scene. "I know she can fake it better than that. Something must be up." And it wasn't like it was her first DP. Hell, she was who we called on for all orgy or gangbang movies since she was an old hand at handling that much at once. Maybe she was getting burned out. Or she had some personal shit going on. Either way, if she needed to be backed up, I needed to know that.

  "Alright. When are the new girls getting here?" I asked, moving away as the actors wiped off, reached for their cells.

  It would never cease to amaze me how easily stars these days went from scrolling Instagram to fucking. There was no getting to know one another beforehand, no easing into it. It was, in my opinion, why porn had taken such a downturn. Save for a few names that were still out there, you could tell it was just a job, just a paycheck, that there was no connection, no intimacy. It was why I had started a company to begin with. To fix the issues that had plagued the industry since around the time I left it myself.

  Unfortunately, I couldn't force disinterested people to suddenly give a shit and get interested.

  People still paid for the subscription service. So I didn't have any right to bitch. But it hadn't been just about the money for me.

  Oh, well.

  One problem at a time.

  "They should be here now. I didn't expect you to watch the whole scene today."

  I wouldn't have if it had gone to plan. But some things couldn't be avoided.

  "Alright. Let's get this over with."

  With any new group of aspiring starlets, you could expect a few standard things these days. Too much makeup. Too many tattoos. And women too eager to please, too willing to jump in and do anything right away, signing up for female-female scenes when they never touched a pussy aside from their own before, or a D/s scene because they read a book once and thought it would be fun, but were not mentally or emotionally prepared for the act itself.

  You'd think as an owner of a porn company, I would be looking for women willing to do it all. But, in fact, the scenes turned out better if the woman was into it. It came through. It made them more compelling, more enjoyable to a viewer. So I preferred a woman who came in with her shoulders back, her chin up, and told me she absolutely would not be doing golden showers or fisting, but loved a good pegging or cuckold scene. A woman who knew what she wanted was a rare, but wholly welcome addition to the cast.

  The walk to my office would take us down a long hallway of rooms that used to be classrooms - a reality that did not ever fail to be interesting to anyone who signed on to work here. I had picked it up on a song and for the practicality of it. Buying an open warehouse would mean a ton of construction to build the rooms that would need to serve as soundproof sets. This way, each room could be set up permanently to serve whatever purpose we needed.

  A BDSM dungeon? Third door on the left in the basement.

  An all-white bedroom for the sweet vanilla scenes? Last door on the right.

  Schoolroom, office, store. You name it, we had a room for it. Three f
loors of rooms for it.

  Then there were the rooms of offices that had once been the main office with rooms for the principal, the vice principal, the guidance counselor. We kept the nurse's office as a hospital room for scenes. It meant I often heard moaning and thumping while in my office, but you had to make some sacrifices for authenticity. Besides, aside from the occasional rug burn or cut when the lashes from a whip went too deep, we didn't have need of an actual nurse's office.

  Coop reached for the door, pulling it open, revealing a space I had completely renovated to remove the memories of sitting on little plastic chairs with metal legs, waiting to get chewed out for whatever bit of trouble I had gotten myself into that week. It was a miracle I didn't end up expelled out of more than the two schools I had been booted from.

  Replacing the yellowing paint that had been on the wall was a matte gray, making the space seem less stark and unsettling. The battered linoleum - worn from thousands of sneakers and rubber-soled shoes over at least a decade or two - had been replaced with a white with gray wash hardwood. The chairs that had hurt my ass as a kid were tossed in a dumpster. In were brought plush black leather chairs, a long, low coffee table splayed with a mix of car and fashion magazines. A coffee bar was inside the door, complete with a mini fridge that Coop stocked with all that flavored shit some of the people in the building liked, despite the fact that we had two break rooms that each had their own coffee stations.

  Down the small hallway behind the new waiting area, you would find Coop's office to the left, mine to the right, and the nurse's room straight forward.

  As we moved in, one of the girls moved to stand. The others, as expected when the alpha made a move, followed suit, getting to their heeled feet, offering a smattering of confident and suggestive smiles. Except for one that I could only call, well, shy.

  Shy.

  No one would ever accuse a single person I had met in this industry shy.

  "Send them in one by one," I demanded, looking away from the smiles, not taking anything else in. I wanted to see them all individually, not as a group that would make them blend together a bit, would make them mimic one another instead of having their own personalities. And, as much as you might think it was all about having great dick-sucking lips or a pretty pussy, personality was something hugely important, something that easily came across on film.

  Or, at least, it used to.

  And those glory days were what I was trying to bring back.

  I mean, sure, we catered to the anonymous glory hole crowd too, but the endgame was to bring back actual talent, believable scenes, stars you could count on, not an endless stream of interchangeable bodies slapping into one another.

  "So?" Coop asked after the fourth woman walked out, hips sashaying a little too much to consider it her natural gait.

  "The blonde is a maybe if she's willing to dye it red. A deep auburn red, tell her. And let her fake tan go. She's giving off a bit of a desperate for attention vibe. If not, she's out. And the Asian girl, tell her I'd like to see a pic after she wipes that crap off her face."

  The too-much-makeup trend did not work well in porn except for in humiliation scenes where her makeup was supposed to be running down her face and smudging everywhere. "I'm going to say no to the dirty blonde."

  "Notes?"

  I reached up, rubbing the space between my brows. "Implants are too big. Viewers are trending toward natural tits these days. She's got triple-Ds on a size zero body. It just won't get the hits. At least not with our audience."

  "Okay and the girl with the pink in her hair?"

  She came off as almost a little grating. Aggressive. "Did she say she'd do dominatrix-type scenes?"

  "She specified it was what she wanted to do. With as little penetration as possible. Of her. She was happy to, and I quote, 'Fuck the shit out of some guy's ass'."

  "Alright then. We'll set her up for a scene. Wasn't there five women out there?" I asked, brows furrowing, distinctly remembering the shy smile, and knowing none of the women I had met with so far had anything close to that.

  "I'm not sure you want to meet with her," Coop said, shrugging.

  "Why's that?"

  "She's nervous."

  "They're all a little nervous," I countered. It was rare they didn't either feel intimidated because of who I had been or because of who I was now - someone who could be signing their paychecks. Or not.

  "Yeah, but she tried to pick up the coffee I made her, then had to put it right back down because her hand was shaking so hard."

  Yeah, well, that didn't sound promising.

  "Is she still out there?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, if she was willing to wait this long, the least I can do is give her a proper interview before having you tell her that we're going another way. Bring her in."

  Swiveling my chair, I checked an email as I waited. Some new vegan condom brand wanted to send us samples. Condoms. They weren't used much in the industry. With the strict regimen of testing, it was less likely a porn star would have an STI than the average citizen, despite having many more partners. But, hell, we'd take samples. We might even pimp them out on our personal social media if we liked them.

  The door closed with a quiet click, making me swivel back around to find a woman standing there.

  She was short and slight, but soft enough around the hips, thighs, and chest not to appear boyish. She wasn't as young as you'd expect either. Most of our girls came in between eighteen and twenty-five. I would put this woman around at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight with long, wavy dark brown hair, porcelain skin, heavy-lidded brown eyes, a petite nose that pointed up ever-so-slightly at the tip, and a somewhat small mouth with an upper lip that pouted slightly.

  Pretty.

  Not gorgeous or striking.

  Genuinely pretty.

  Girl-next-door pretty.

  And girls-next-door were popular. While men loved a fantasy, they also liked the idea of someone attainable as well.

  The other girls had dressed for their interviews in clothes that, while not inappropriately skimpy, were likely chosen because they showed off their figures.

  What did this new woman decide to wear to her porn star interview?

  A fucking floral sundress that didn't cling or cut short in either bodice or hem.

  It was positively virginal.

  "Have a seat, Miss..."

  "Page. Rosie," she added, offering that same shy smile she'd had in the waiting area as she moved over toward one of the charcoal gray chairs across from my desk - the one closest to the door.

  "Alright, Rosie. I'm Preston Renault."

  "I kno... it's nice to meet you," she quickly covered, shaking her head a bit.

  She knew.

  She knew because she had likely seen me before.

  Not in the numerous articles I had been a part of over the past few years as I worked to get my company on its feet.

  Nope.

  In movies.

  Back when I used to star in them.

  I'd say you got used to people meeting you for the first time and already knowing what you looked like naked, what kind of junk you were packing, how well you ate pussy, what you looked like when you came, but, quite frankly, it never became normal. I was always acutely aware of the fact as it happened, as recognition crossed someone's face.

  "So, you want to star in porn movies," I declared, as I had with all the previous women. But she didn't give me a nervous giggle like the first and third girls had. She didn't give me a slow, knowing smile like the fourth. Or a snort like the second. No. She shocked back away from the words like they had struck her.

  Her head shook, trying to knock some pesky thought free. A slow, silicon-fake smile turned her lips upward. "Well, maybe the word star is a bit ambitious."

  "Fair enough. Have you ever starred in an adult video before?"

  "No." The response was fast enough to be honest.

  We would check anyway. We didn't use someone else's talent. We
wanted fresh and exclusive. We wanted girls and guys you couldn't find elsewhere.

  "Did you ever make a home movie with a boyfriend?"

  "No."

  "Girlfriend?"

  "No." There was a small smile at that, like the idea was almost silly. So she clearly would not want to do female-female scenes.

  I wanted to ask why she was here. But it had been a piece of advice an old-time adult producer had told me.

  Don't ask them why they're here. Maybe it is simply money. Maybe they're getting back at their prudish parents. Maybe they would just like to be fucked right for the first time in their lives. And none of it is any of your business.

  And that was fair enough.

  I never much cared what possessed them to sign on so long as they did their job and didn't give me too much shit about it.

  But I found myself wanting to know what led this wide-eyed, unsure, shaky-handed woman to my office.

  Desperation? Wanting to take a risk for the first time in her life after getting sick of being a goody-goody? Wanting to find a really solid dom that she couldn't find in real life because they were few and far between?

  Somehow, the idea of this girl with a ball gag and lash marks made the muscles in my stomach tense.

  "Are you into BDSM?"

  To that, her brows furrowed ever-so-slightly. "You mean like in Secretary?"

  Surprised, an airless laugh escaped me. You didn't hear a Secretary reference. Not these days with fucking Fifty Shades being so popular.

  The rush of girls who wanted to experience D/s after that book made it hard to find people who came well-educated and sure of their interest in the field.

  "Yes, like in Secretary. And more," I added. It had been years since I watched Maggie Gyllenhaal walking around in her business attire with her wrists attached to a spreader bar, picking up paperwork with her mouth. But I remembered it being more about trust and eagerness than the actual scenes themselves.