Seven Dirty Sins: A Hot New Adult Erotic Romance Boxed Set

by Morgan Black

  I watch the glorious sight of my hot, white come oozing out of her gaping asshole into the martini glass.

  Damn, that’s a lot. I didn’t shoot that much with the two Texas girls last night.

  Once I’m satisfied most of it is in the glass, I pick her up, sit her on the barstool next to me, and hand her the martini glass.

  “Your drink, Miss Porn Star,” I say.

  She takes it and slurps it into her mouth with a big whooshing sound. Then she smiles at me, opens her mouth, and sticks out her tongue covered in thick white sloppiness. I kiss her, our mouths swirling around the delectable mixed drink of ass and come.

  Oh yeah, we’re going to have some fun, for sure.

  Ten minutes later, I’m hard and back inside her.

  Chapter 5

  I don’t remember ever fucking like that with one girl for so long. God, I spent so much time in her asshole that I figured eventually she would need some kind of rectum replacement.

  She can take it. Boy can she ever! And she comes that way like no girl I’ve ever known. Could have left her pussy alone for weeks and she wouldn’t have noticed.

  I was in heaven.

  Asshole for breakfast. Pussy for lunch. Asshole for dinner.

  Insatiable.

  Marcellina. And me.

  This goes on for weeks. She joins us on the road, which is a little rocky at first with Anna and Jason. Anna wants to press charges after the whole fake lawsuit thing, but I don’t let her. Harry Decker even rips me a new one over the phone.

  Once the tour ends, she moves into my new estate in Miami with me. Right on Biscayne Bay. I even design a little private outdoor courtyard for her, right along the water but hidden from view.

  At Anna’s insistence, we keep our relationship from the press. She’s concerned about my image … and rightly so.

  While Marcellina is special, I know that if I’m seen with a porn star my reputation would be severely damaged.

  Jason comes up with the idea of Friday night parties at my estate, in order to enhance the image that Damien Cage is forever “available”.

  He even goes to extremes, outdoing himself by getting famous DJs and celebrity bartenders to come. Then he adds a private show where he dresses up as a female dominatrix. Which he seems to enjoy a lot. Oddly, he’s now attracting more women than ever before from these shows. Jason was always bad with girls on his own. I tried coaching him to be more masculine, but it just never worked.

  While the Friday night parties were to distract attention away from my new relationship, they eventually took on a legend of their own. Not to mention garnering the attention of Detective Goffman of the vice squad, who has sworn to rid Miami of me.

  Publicly, I banned drugs of all types from our parties. Privately, we didn’t fully enforce the rule. Sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. Hard to separate them.

  Unfortunately, there are arrests. Lots of arrests. All of this just to cover the fact that I have a porn star living with me.

  All I know is I’m happier than ever before. Marcellina is surprisingly well-read, quotes my man Ralph Waldo Emerson, and some nights even kicks my ass at Jeopardy! Bitch.

  One night, while we’re fucking, I ask her, “How’d you get so fucking smart?”

  She pauses her bouncing. “I remember everything I read and see,” she says. “No college. Dropped out of high school. Yet if I read a page in a book, I remember it forever. It’s a gift.”

  Then we continue fucking.

  We bring in other girls whenever we want. Being a porn star, Marcellina has probably has had as much pussy as I have. And likes it as much as I do. Life is good.

  The funny thing about being in a relationship with a porn star is the stark realization of how much she has faked.

  Is she faking it with me? I wonder sometimes.

  Most porn stars couldn’t fake a full relationship. But Marcellina isn’t like other porn stars. In fact, Marcellina isn’t like any other woman I have ever known.

  I’m never completely sure what she’s capable of. Like the morning about three months later when she lays her pitch on me.

  Again, I don’t see it coming. With Marcellina, I never see it coming.

  * * *

  Coco Beach, Antigua, 10:42 a.m.

  We’re sitting on our private veranda, enjoying the warm Antigua morning. Our bungalow is the largest offered by the resort. Magnificent views of turquoise waters framed by jagged green hills. Windsurfers dot the ocean here and there, enjoying the perfect day.

  “You know,” Marcellina says as she sips her papaya juice, “Jason acts so gay, but he’s straight.”

  I have my laptop fired up—checking numbers, confirming plans—I can’t help it. I’m addicted to my life.

  Glancing at her, I laugh. “Jason and I have talked about that. He’s considering a change ... a big change.”

  “He’s going to become a girl, isn’t he?”

  God, she’s smart.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m all for it. Ever since I met him, I knew something was off. He’s this big, tall black kid, but I’ve always gotten a sense of something ... female from him.”

  “So?”

  “So he’s going to transition slowly. Check it out. See if it feels right. He’s been wearing panties under his jeans.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “You know, Damien Cage Rock Star, you are not an ordinary man.”

  “Glad you noticed. What do you mean?” I ask, adding up a column of numbers in Excel.

  “Most men would be threatened by another man who decides to let out the woman within, but you’re okay with it.”

  “I’m for individual happiness,” I say. “Whatever makes you joyous during the day and gets you through the night is fine by me ... as long as you’re not hurting anyone else.”

  “That’s unique and amazing.”

  “Just like you. We’re two of a kind.”

  She stares off at the ocean. “Damien …”

  “Uh-huh?” I say absently, trying to make sense of one of Anna’s spreadsheets.

  “I’m so happy it doesn’t bother you I was in porn.”

  I glance up from my laptop. “I never said it doesn’t bother me … as long as you’ve been tested and you’re done with it.”

  “Oh, I’m done with it,” she states firmly.

  “Better be." I hit send on an email. “Not to mention that other shit.”

  She holds out both of her arms in front of me. Tiny trackmark scars are visible, but almost nonexistent.

  “See any trackmarks besides these old ones?”

  “Nope. Good girl.” Returning my eyes to the laptop screen, I begin writing an email to Harry Decker.

  “But what I really wish I had the opportunity to do is act,” she says. “You know, like serious acting.”

  I look up at her.

  God, she’s gorgeous.

  Even now, three months after hooking up with her, I can’t find a flaw. Her skin glows in the Caribbean sunshine, the perfect shade of light caramel.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Hm?” I say. “Oh yeah, you wish you had been an actress. Not a problem. I’ll get you in movies.”

  I take a sip of my mango drink as she quickly sits up, leaning forward with a big smile on her face.

  “Really?”

  I give her my patented Damien Cage You-Didn’t-Think-I-Was-Really-Serious stare.

  “Ummmm ... no,” I say. “I’m not a film producer. And you’re smart enough to know the stigma.”

  She flops back in her chair, turning to look at the ocean with a frown. “I don’t believe in that,” she says.

  I laugh. “Okay, don’t accept reality. But there’s no way in hell anyone can put a porn career—a somewhat successful one at that—behind her and just become a regular movie star. It doesn’t work that way.”

  She turns to me with a fierce, determined look. “Why not?”

  “Oh, come on,” I say. “Do I have to expl
ain to you how the world works? Really? You’re smarter than that. Hollywood is driven by what sells. What sells is what women choose to buy. I know it’s counter-intuitive, but all entertainment is somewhat skewed toward what women want to see. There is an unwritten rule that porn is bad, even though deep down most women have no problem with it. In fact, most I’ve known rather enjoy it.”

  “So what’s the problem then?”

  “The problem, my round-butted, anal slut, is that the rules dictate women are not allowed to be sexual creatures. They must be creatures of love. It’s okay for men to be sexual creatures because men are knuckle-dragging beasts. That’s why all of the romantic movies center around a dominant male who fucks a lot of women until he meets The One.”

  I make Dr. Evil quotation marks when I say The One.

  “The man,” I continue, “must give up his slutty ways in order to win the true love of the woman. Now, you and I both know that women love sex as much as men. They just can’t admit it because society labels them as whores and tramps. Men don’t get labeled whores and tramps. Ergo, a woman such as yourself—who I will, for our purposes label ‘an enlightened and liberated woman who is in touch with reality’—is a threat to the system. The very fact you got your butthole pummeled by a thousand guys on film makes you unworthy to play the kinds of parts that are required to please the Hollywood movers and shakers.”

  She stares off at the bright turquoise water. A windsurfer loses control and spills into a wave. “But don’t we live in a different world now? Can’t you just make a movie on your own anywhere?”

  I look down at the white sand beach. “True, it’s a bold new world. Bands are becoming popular selling songs from their own websites. Authors are cashing in publishing directly to online retailers, bypassing the publisher. Where are you going with all of this?”

  She smiles that devious smile that I love.

  My God, did I just use the word love?

  “I have a script,” she says.

  “All written?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who wrote it?”

  “I did.”

  “You’re fucking kidding.”

  “Why is that so ludicrous? I wrote the scripts for several of my films. Directed two of them.”

  “Porn films,” I say with a smirky laugh.

  “It’s good training! You learn a lot about production and budgets and shit.”

  “Okay, what’s your script about?”

  “It’s part autobiography, part wishful thinking.”

  “Go on.”

  She smiles while glancing down at the beach. Her eyes glisten. The aquamarine reflections make her eyes green in this light. My cock throbs to life like she’s made it do a thousand times already. She turns to me.

  “It’s about a girl from the streets who’s really smart, but she grows up around criminals and thugs. She’s raped by a relative when she’s six years old, then finds herself passed around to various men.”

  I can see in her eyes that this is a true story. My heart skips a beat.

  “To stay alive, the young girl uses heroin,” she says. “It’s the only thing that keeps her from killing herself. Then, one day she gets an offer to do porn.”

  “I see problems already,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Wait! So the girl gets all ... empowered. She stops using. She becomes a star. Porn saves her life! So then, she starts her own company, producing her own films. She gets girls off the street, off drugs, and makes big money. Then she auditions for a major Hollywood movie and gets the part. What do you think?”

  I chuckle and swat the back of my neck where a bug landed. “It will never sell.”

  “I think it’s a touching story,” she says.

  “Every screenwriter thinks the one they wrote is a touching story. Doesn’t mean it will sell. And that won’t sell.”

  She looks down, then up. The big brown-yellow eyes hit mine.

  Fucking bitch. She knows … she knows when she does that, she can make me move the world.

  “But don’t you think it might find its own audience?” she says.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Dammit, I didn’t mean to say uh-huh. I had No fucking way on deck and ready to launch, but those eyes ... my God, those eyes.

  She’s closer to me now.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see me in a regular movie? A real one?”

  She’s on my lap now, legs splayed wide. How does she do that? Move without moving.

  “Uh-huh,” I say as her lips touch mine.

  I don’t believe this. I’ve become your average chump, haven’t I? What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like shooting stars, rainbows, cliff-diving. That flying high feeling. Better than any drug.

  “Fund my movie,” she says, half of her tongue in my mouth.

  “I don’t put my money in porn.”

  “It’s not porn. It’s a movie. A real movie. Didn’t you hear me?”

  Luckily, I get some of my reason back. “I still maintain it can’t be done. You can’t fight the stigma. It’s too big and too powerful. Nobody has ever broken from porn into the real world.”

  “I’m going to be the first,” she says.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Isn’t that what people said to you when you told them Eon Sphinx was going to top the charts when you didn’t even have a record label?”

  Fuck me. She knew exactly where to strike.

  “That was different,” I say.

  “Oh, that was different, huh?” She’s pressing into me now, her crotch grinding on mine, her arms dangling on my shoulders.

  Cue cock. Annnnnnnnd I’m hard.

  She knows what she’s doing to me. She’s a master manipulator. I know what she’s doing to me because I too am a master manipulator. And yet I let her.

  Why?

  “Is it that you don’t think I can really act?” she says, nibbling on my ear.

  “I’ve never seen any of your performances,” I say, biting her shoulder. Her head goes back as I lick her neck. My hands find her sides, traveling down and around her legs. “Well, except for the one with Alonzo in front of the mirror.”

  “Why that one?”

  “It was the first one on Google at the time. It was the day you punched me. Right after the show.”

  “Did you jerk off to it?”

  She puts her hands on my cock over my shorts. I’m done. Totally done.

  “Yes. First porn I jerked off to since I was a teenager. Never needed it. But when I saw you ... I had to.”

  “Really?” she says with a big smile, squeezing my hardness.

  I groan.

  “Yeah, really. I didn’t care that you had punched me in the face at an airport. I was determined to fuck you if it cost me a million dollars.”

  “It might still cost you that. Maybe more. Movies are expensive.” She sticks her tongue in my ear.

  “True,” I say. “What’s the name of your movie?”

  “Tattered Angel.” She rubs her cheek next to my ear, which she knows drives me crazy. “And you know what would be great?”

  “What?”

  “If you would write the soundtrack music.”

  “Un-huh,” is all I can get out.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” she says as she drifts down to my cock, freeing it from my shorts. “You will.”

  Oh God, here we go.

  “Will you at least read the script?” she says right before her lips wrap themselves around my tip.

  “Oh sure.” Leaning my head back, I fall into pure ecstasy.

  Chapter 6

  “Stop,” she says mid-fuck.

  “What?” My ten inches are firmly ensconced in her pussy.

  “One sec.” As she climbs off me and goes to the stereo, I notice tears in her eyes.

  Oh my God, she’s crying!

  I’ve never seen her display emotion like this.

  A new song plays and she returns. Tears gone.

  “No
w where were we?” she says, impaling herself back onto my cock.

  “Yo, hell no,” I say. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Nothing. Let’s fuck.”

  She starts bouncing, but I grab her arms and hold her still.

  “No!” I say. “Tell me.”

  “It’s that song,” she says. “I ... I’m sorry.”

  “That song? “Far Away” by Nickelback?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re friends of mine.”

  “Really? Oh.”

  “What, did you have a fling with one of them?”

  “No, no ... nothing like that.”

  She’s seriously fighting back the tears now. She sits up, my cock just patiently waiting inside of her, and wipes some tears away.

  “My father,” she says. “In the hospital. Heart attack. He survived, but only for three days. I had gone into porn the month before. That song was top of the charts at the time ... and h–he ... my dad said that to m–me ... I forgive you. And now he’s s–so ... far away.”

  She goes into a full-on sob. I pull out of her and lift her up, bringing her next to me, and hold her tight as she cries.

  That’s when I know I’ll do anything she wants. I’ll fund her movie. I’ll die for her.

  That was genuine. There is a real person in here, no matter what anyone says.

  * * *

  Miami, Florida, 9:20 a.m.

  “Well, what do you think?” she says, her hands squeezed together between her thighs. She’s wearing tight jean shorts and a white tank top.

  We’re back home, sitting in my lounge on a bright winter day. It’s far too cold to sit outdoors. I’m reading from her iPad.

  “It’s okay,” I say, placing the iPad on the cedar stone coffee table I hate. Can’t get rid of it, though. My mom bought it for me.

  “Okay?” she says. “What do you mean okay?”

  Leaning back, I stare at her and try not to give away how I really feel. But like always, her look gets it pouring out.

  “Okay, you got me,” I say with a smile. “It’s fucking brilliant, all right?”

  She beams. Her face lights up like a thousand flashing neon lights.

  God, I love her.

  There, I said it. Okay?