by Tyler Knight
Normally, a crew would bullshit about their weekends or whatever while we wait for camera to roll, but these guys, all veterans of hundreds of porn sets, have their heads all up Aisha’s ass. Even the makeup girl, who orbits Aisha while reapplying powder to her face, is googly-eyed over her. I know what to do. Ignore her.
I whip out my cell phone and return texts. The crew and makeup girl leave. Apparently, the silence becomes unbearable to her because after a moment she says in her Slavic accent:
“I hope dick works.”
I take my time to respond. Without looking up from my cell phone, I say, “Let’s see what happens.”
She says, “I not understand.”
“I know.”
I text and text, chugging water every so often. She probably thinks I’m gay, also. Perfect. The sounds of my cell phone keys clicking and her restless shifts on the sofa seem exaggerated in the otherwise silent room. My cell phone takes up my field of vision and I have not once looked at her this entire time. There is some arguing and yelling from the far end other end of the house, and a moment later Gil jogs onto the set. He paces back and forth like he has to pee before he speaks. Gil says, “Not gonna happen with Joe! I really need you for the other scene!”
Fuck yeah, motherfucker! A male talent’s failure. I get his scene and his cash. Plus, when I crush both scenes it makes my “Marquis” value rise. I get called first for gigs, and I justify my higher rate. Both critical in today’s market. “Sure,” I say, “just give me fifteen minutes after I pop from this scene to recover. Most likely the softcore and stills will take twenty minutes alone.”
“Thank God you’re here!”
The crew returns and the cameras roll. Euro girl masturbates and coos.
She says, “You put cock in pussy now!”
I stand off camera, right next to Gil, directly in Aisha’s line of sight, continuing to text in a show of faux indifference. With a wave of the hand, Gil gives me my cue. I turn off my cell phone, take my time undressing, stroll into frame and proceed to fuck her to within an inch of her life. My sneak attack may as well have been a Taser shot to her spinal cord, because she’s frozen in place.
The best defense is a great offense, so I give her a merciless pounding. After a while, her internal circuit breaker flicks. Her eyes go from “Holy shit, I’m going to come!” to “Okay, you wanna play motherfucker?”
She snatches my cock and sucks, siphoning my soul out of my body. Spit flies everywhere. My toes involuntarily curl, which of course she notices, and doubles her efforts. She pushes me onto the sofa and lowers herself onto me reverse cowgirl. I’m not gonna lie, it is all I can do not to shoot my load. The vision of her butt cheeks bouncing right in front of me is not helping so I gaze up at the ceiling and count the stucco stalactites. Pinned down, I steel my resolve not to be turned into a two-pump chump by letting her pop me too soon as she pounds me into the sofa cushions.
Aisha leans back and taunts me by whispering into my ear, “Pussy feel good, no? Want to come? I know, you not need answer…you come now.”
Enough of this shit! I toss her off of me then bury my face between her legs, pausing to admire her pussy… Skin rivaled only by buttery upholstery of a Porsche. Dimples where her ass ends and the legs begin… Not one hair or as much as a stubble to be seen anywhere. I could die here.
I snap out of it and attack her swollen clit, but she pushes my head off as she approaches her apex. Poor kid is squirming away. Not so fast, girl. I bend her over the sofa, sink my cock into her snatch. She can afford to come as often as she likes, but I can’t, and she knows this.
This game of chicken goes on for three more positions. Each new position gives her new and creative ways to put me in check, leaving me scrambling to castle and then counter attack. I see three moves ahead to where this is going. Best I can hope for is a stalemate.
The girl shoves my body onto the sofa and mounts me cowgirl for her coup de grâce. I’m a defeated man, resigned to my fate. She grins… She begins her victory lap on my cock. The warmth of her pussy starts the process of milking me dry. Her lips part and she purrs, gloating. She says to “Shhhh…” giving me a final push off the cliff.
Oh no she didn’t! If I’m gonna come, I’m taking her with me.
I lock my hands behind her ass in a wrestler’s Gable Grip, and grind my pubic bone into her clit. Balls deep. Both of us panting, locked together.
“Cut,” Gil says, “That was fucking hot!”
I push her off me. “I’m Tyler Knight, goddamn it.”
The crew laughs.
• • •
Most people choose to actually fuck during softcore filming because it’s the most practical way to hide the penis from the camera. Not us. As soon as the hardcore was done, the Berlin Wall went right back up between us. Whatever. I won’t make it through the softcore if I have to fuck her. I have a close call when I have to reinsert for the stills, but I get through them.
Softcore and stills done. Pop shot time. Aisha drops to her knees and licks the side of my cock while I stroke my knob.
A pair of porn starlets, ostensibly barely legal teens, walk on set behind the camera. Ass cheeks squeezed into booty shorts. Knee socks. Baby doll T-shirts, one pink, one yellow, tied in knots, reveal their bellies. Pigtails. They stare at my cock, drooling. Pink Shirt pulls her shorts down and shows me camel toe underwear. The other girl rubs her friend’s clit.
I pop. The teens wave and bounce off.
Aisha says, “You fuck good.”
“Yeah…you almost popped me.”
She smirks. “I know.”
We shake hands.
Gotta keep hydrated. I kill the rest of the bottled water and ask a production assistant to bring me another which I finish in two passes.
• • •
The living room. The white backdrop is gone, and a dining room table has been pushed back into its place. Gil is attacking a sandwich.
He says, “Joe is gone.”
The teenie girls and some male talent wait on the sofa. Small talk. One teenie girl rubs her legs together up and down, grinding her clit in subtle masturbation upon learning that I handled Aisha, and am going throw down on Rita next.
I avoid the girls, but it’s not for the benefit of the other male talent. Sure, me putting my cock inside girls they have to work with, right in front of them, may fuck with their heads and intimidate them, but I don’t give a damn about that. I have another scene to do, and money always comes first.
I make my way down a hall to wash up for the next scene. When I leave the bathroom, the Caribbean teenie girl with the camel toe saunters by. She rubs her round little ass against my crotch. I avoid touching her but I don’t exactly back up either.
I say, “Careful little girl or I’ll fuck you right here on the floor.”
Teenie rubs her ass on me and says, “Ooh, fuck this young thing, Daddy.”
“Careful, I ain’t playin’.”
I slide my hands up the back of her stretchy shorts, drop to my knees, and cup my lips over her pubic mound…if I could bottle the aroma of young pussy in heat, I’d be rich… I blow hot breath through her shorts.
On cue, Gil appears, mock chastises me, and together we escort the giggling girl into the bathroom. I lift her up on the sink as Gil pulls down her stretchy short shorts. Her pussy glistens. I finger her as Gil sucks on her nipple…everyone panting…my cock screams to life again and I hold the tip against her butterfly wings-shaped lips, but I remember my day is not finished so I kiss her on the forehead and leave them.
Money first.
As soon as I shut the door behind me, Gil opens it and emerges, smiling.
He says, “I just wanted to see if I could.”
Heh, male ego. It’s still a long day ahead for Gil, and a little diversion is always tempting, but professionalism is paramount. Many oth
er directors would have fucked her. I gained new respect for his restraint.
Gil says, “Anyway, thanks for not cock blocking. I appreciate the gesture.”
“It’s all good.”
“Ready for the next scene?”
Right then, I realize the entire episode in the bathroom was a ruse for him to keep tabs on me so I don’t fuck up and blow my load off camera. Clever motherfucker.
Teenie girl leaves the bathroom walking between Gil and me. She makes a point to touch our crotches as she passes.
“Yeah,” I say, “let’s knock it out.”
On the way to the set I snag another water from the ice chest and chug it.
• • •
Rita smiles when she sees me. We don’t wait for the camera crew to get ready. We fuck. We get the scene in the can in one take.
Once again, pop shot time. Same drill, but with a twist.
Rita does the lemon squeezer. She double fists my cock and corkscrews her hands while sucking, and I come harder than I ever have in my entire fucking life. When I’m done nutting, my bladder releases all the water I’ve been drinking and I soak her in piss.
She is drenched.
Rita says, “Cough-cough!”
Gil says, “HOLY SHIT!”
I drank a lot of water so the pee is clear and it’s hard to tell, so I decide to play it off. “Ha-ha, man, where did all that come from?”
• • •
The living room. Gil and his partner are going over the call sheet to see where they are in the day’s shooting schedule.
I say, “You guys should have just had me do both scenes to begin with.”
The partner says, “Did you actually fuck Rita again during softcore?”
“Yep.”
Gil says, “What the hell did they feed you today?”
Teenie girl moans in the distance. My dick twinges.
“I’m the greatest.”
Gil laughs. “Right now, you probably are.”
Thanks for the cash, bitches!
• • •
I sit in my Roush-tuned Mustang, parked in my driveway. Motionless. It’s quiet. I sniff my fingers, spit in my hand, and rub one out to Teenie Girl’s short shorts. But nobody pays me for that.
Most Unclean
The home’s interior is decorated in a way that suggests the owners are scratch-off ticket instant millionaires and have only recently escaped the weight of poverty. Sofa, still wrapped in plastic. New pool table with side-by-side stand-up Space Invaders and Ms. Pac-Man arcade machines. A spool for a coffee table. On the far wall, a dining room table sized plasma TV that’s wider than I am tall, accessorized with a Wii, a PS3, and an X-box 360. Watching over all this, a velvet Jesus painting.
Lumbering toward me, a man whose stature suggests he grew up next to a nuclear power plant. Skittles-colored bodybuilder pants billow with each step as if he’s some kind of African genie. He’s got on a too-small T-shirt with the V-neck that exposes his pecs.
The man thunders closer. His face is chipped onyx, slick with sweat that gives it a look of high-gloss polish. When he stops in front of me and extends his hand, I don’t know if he wants to shake mine or curl me. I have to look up at a forty-five-degree angle to meet his eyes.
“Hi, I’m Frank.” He takes my hand in his and squeezes. In my mind’s ear, the sound of wet celery snapping.
“Yep. Nice to meet you.”
Frank’s head is between me and a bank of recessed ceiling lights. From my angle looking up, it’s like looking into an eclipse. He shoves some papers at me. “Here’s the releases and whatnot. The script for both scenes is there, too. Look it over when you get a chance. It’s not too challenging.”
Frank stomps off and I find space on the floor to sit. The paperwork is the boilerplate release and proof-of-age bullshit. Then there is the script.
Is this a joke?
The script is one page, two paragraphs, divided by “Scene One” and “Scene Two.” I read the first scene description… What! The! Fuck!?
• • •
My face is pressed against the sliding glass door, hands cupped around my eyes to cut the glare. I look inside. She is there.
A chestnut-haired girl stretches on the floor with her back turned to me. She’s got bubblegum short shorts that fail to cover her ass. She parts her legs and leans over each one to get a full stretch. No underwear. She turns to profile and shows off tits like Jell-O shrink-wrapped in skin which strain against the fabric of her baby-doll T-shirt. Jiggly Girl, oblivious to me because of the iPod plugged into her head, bounces off some jumping jacks.
There is a mist of dew on the glass from my breath, I wipe it with my sleeve to clear my view. She bounces.
I slide the door open, not concerned with making noise, and let myself in.
She doesn’t see me at first. Not until it’s too late anyway. To her, I just materialized out of thin fucking air to the soundtrack of Blink-182. It takes her a moment to realize what this is. Recognition melts to horror across her face. She runs, I chase. She trips, I grab. She rolls from her belly to her back in an attempt to fend me off, kicking with her sock-clad feet and scratching up at my face but it’s futile. I’m too big.
She continues to struggle so I give her a backhand slap to settle her down. With a fistful of hair, I drag Bubble-Butt Barbie to the sofa, scoop her up, and dump her. Those juicy tits strain her shirt and there is enough space between the warp and weft of each thread that I can see her skin beneath. I rip it open. She screams. I smile.
I lace my hands around her neck and squeeze. She claws at my hand for a while before she goes limp and her pupils focus on the Infinity.
There’s the taste of salt on my tongue as I suckle her fist-sized areolae. I unzip my pants and take out my cock. It’s ripping out of its skin, looking like a shellacked table leg. Sliding down her body, I shove my nose in her camel-toe and take deep inhalations of expired fear. Next, I rub myself on her cleft.
She stirs, moans, and her eyes come back from the Void. I wrap her iPod cord around her neck and finish the job.
“Cut!”
The girl springs up, as alive as she was when she stepped off the makeup chair before we started. She laughs. I stare at the floor.
Frank says, “Fuckin-A, that was inspiring! You are an amazing actor, Tyler! I didn’t think you had it in you!”
Great, I’m a psychopath. Swell…file that under shit I learn about myself I wish I never knew.
Sweat drenches my T-shirt’s armpits. “I’m full of surprises.” I break my gaze with the floor and look at my costar. “You okay, Stephanie?”
She pouts, and under different circumstances it would be cute. “Yeah, I’m fine. Frank, why didn’t you let him stick it in me? That was hot!”
What?
Frank says, “No can do, honey. That’s why I cut when I did. Snuff, or even portraying snuff, is no bueno. My viewers will be disappointed though. They are the ones that submit these scenarios, and I film them custom just for them.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Yeah, thousands of people from all over the world. It’s a hell of a niche. Not my taste but hey, it paid for my BMW so what the fuck do I care? Ninety percent of the shit the fans suggest ain’t even close to legal, though. There are some sick bastards out there.”
My erection is still going strong.
Yeah.
“Okay,” Frank says. “Next scene!”
• • •
The sofa. Scene of my last transgression. This time I’m dressed like a teenager fucking around with the PS3 controller. The girl walks in.
This one is made up to look like a female Golliwog doll: skin blacker than mine, schoolgirl outfit, hair going every which way and tied off with plastic beads in places. She looks at me as she drools all over a lollipop.
Golliwog says, “I’m so glad Mommy and Daddy left us alone! You’re the best big brother a girl could ever hope for!”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Thanks.”
Little sister stands between me and the TV. Her skirt fills my field of vision. My sibling straddles my lap. No panties underneath. The heat of her vagina soaks through my pants.
She says, “I always get soooo jealous when you take your dates in Mommy and Daddy’s bed.” She slurps on the candy. “I think about all the naughty things you’re doing and it makes my special place soooo wet.” She grinds.
I look across the room to Velvet Jesus. I’ll get no help there. “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?” I mumble.
Sis slides off the sofa and kneels in front of me. “Oh no, brother. I would never do that! If we make a deal, that is.”
I can’t do this! Okay…use my imagination and it will be over soon. She unzips my pants. Hot little palms and fingers wrap around my cold penis. Golliwog’s hands knead.
All I have to do is just sit here and lie back and turn my mind off… That’s it.
I remember my single scripted line of dialogue. “Gee, baby sis. I dunno—this is soooo naughty! What if Mommy and Daddy find out?”
She strokes me. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She takes me into her mouth.
I purse my lips together. Shut my eyes. Exhale. Go to my fantasy wank bank? Please. The shit I’ve done, that motherfucker’s long overdrawn. I peaced it out and replaced it with my growing Flip Book of Horrors that’s now as thick as a dictionary.
Her lips vacuum-seal my shaft, and her tongue whorls around.
I pull the flip-book off the shelf and I flicker fucked-up movies on the screen behind my eyelids, and the room dissolves away and there is no sofa, and no “little sister” and no Velvet Jesus.
I don’t last long.
“Cut! Excellent, we got it.”
“Here’s your mon—”
Running down the driveway. Into the car. Upshifting onto the freeway with a series of clicks, I put the accelerator through the floor.
