PORN: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  I was a little startled by Harry’s sudden outburst but tried not to show it. Of course he’s going to try and say things to catch me off guard, to distract me from what I am trying to do - anything to try and save himself. I had known this before I had put the plan into action. I knew he’d try it. I just need to block it from my mind. Just need to shun it. He laughed, “How do you think I find girls like you?” he continued. “You really think I get to people like you through your agents? Come on - they wouldn’t work with me. They wouldn’t send people my way for work, no matter how much money I offered.”

  “What?” Panic rushed over me. I had presumed that my agent had given Harry my number. I had presumed it was because of him that I had ended up on that shoot. I blamed him. I took out my initial anger on him; my agent.

  “You think I wouldn’t have been shut down already had I gone through the proper channels already? We would have been out of business before our first film had even been released.”

  “Of course you went through my agent - how else would you have got my number?” I asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of my gut made me feel as though I wanted to vomit at his feet. I held it in and dismissed it; wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “One of your newfound girlfriends in your - what did you call it - ‘happy family’ passed on your details to me. They wanted you off the scene before you’d even got on the scene to take work from them,” he laughed. “It’s how I get all of my girls. Same thing every time. Your numbers are passed onto us by people who’d sooner you vanished from the scene…”

  * * * * *

  All the smiles around the table, pointing at me, and I couldn’t help but notice the one person who looked angry, Jodie. The lady who was leaving the industry to follow her own passions. She was staring at me and just looked pissed. I couldn’t help but feel she was angry because Richard had turned everyone’s attention towards me and away from her on her ‘goodbye meal’. A night which should have been used celebrating her, as a person, and wishing her success in the future had entirely been turned away from her. But that wasn’t my fault. I didn’t have a say. Surely she could have seen by my flushed cheeks that I’d have rather not been mentioned at all - other than a quick introduction (maybe one on one) just so I could try and learn their names. Not this though. This was just awkward. I smiled at her hoping my own smile would cause the same from her but it didn’t. She simply turned her attention back to Richard who was still addressing me with his good luck speech and how excited he was to have me at their table. Someone please just shoot me and put me out of my misery now. So embarrassing.

  * * * * *

  “Jodie.”

  Harry laughed, “You just told me the meal was like a leaving do for her. According to you she was going to go and follow other pursuits. If that was the case - why would she want you away from the scene? Maybe if you were looking at setting up a lingerie range, or something, she may have wanted you gone but…Come on. She was out of the game. You weren’t competition for her.”

  “She was the only one who didn’t seem pleased to see me at the table,” I defended my accusation.

  “Here’s this man singing your praises in front of everyone when really he should have been spending the night singing hers. You’re an idiot. A fucking idiot. You know that, right? It wasn’t this Jodie girl and it wasn’t your agent…” He started to laugh - no doubt he’d seen the panic on my face. “What have you done?” he asked, a smile on his face.

  I stepped away from him and returned to the work-bench where my own sandwich and (drug-free) drink were waiting. I kept my back to Harry so he couldn’t see my face.

  What had I done?

  AN AGENT FIRED

  I had numerous missed calls from my agent. I knew why he was calling. I knew why they were all calling. They wanted to find me. They wanted to track me down so they could finish what they started (and caught on film) before I had the time to go to the police to tell them what had happened. They wouldn’t find me here; not at my parents’ house.

  Mum and dad instinctively knew something was wrong. The bruises which had been visible were healed now and the ones on my body, which hadn’t entirely healed, were hidden from their sight with jeans and long sleeved tops. They didn’t ask what the matter was though. I’d been raised in a family where problems weren’t discussed unless the one experiencing the issue was the one to bring it up; and I wasn’t about to do that. Even if I had wanted to - where would I have begun? How much would I have had to tell them? They didn’t know what I’d been doing for the last few months and, hopefully, they’d never get to know. It was to be my dirty little secret - not that I felt embarrassed about it. Initially I had been apprehensive about becoming that sort of actress but those apprehensions had soon disappeared the more roles I had taken on and the more familiar I had become with the way the industry worked. Just because I was at ease with it though didn’t mean the rest of ‘normal’ society would have been. They'd have labelled me (incorrectly) with such titles as ‘prostitute’, ‘slut’, ‘tramp’ and ‘whore’. All mum and dad had said was that if I wanted to talk I knew where they were.

  It broke my heart not being able to tell them what had happened. I felt as though I needed to get it off my chest but knew that I couldn’t; unless I lied about the circumstances surrounding the events and I didn’t want to lie. Not anymore.

  Even though I was safe with my parents and away from the city, I felt as though I were trapped. I couldn’t leave the house for fear of them finding me and I couldn’t stop from playing back the events which had occurred; my mind seemingly torturing me by not letting me forget and constantly questioning how it had come to be. Each time the latter question was answered with the same conclusion; it had come to be because of him. My agent. I guessed he must have been offered a vast amount of money, probably the money which had initially been discussed as my own payment. The way the evening had gone, they had never had any intention of paying me so it would have been fitting that he’d get it. The only thing I couldn’t understand, or contemplate, was why he’d have accepted it. Surely he would have earned more by keeping me alive. I had become a name within the industry with more and more producers stepping forward to work with me. Surely, with his commission, we could have both gone on to make some decent money? The only answer I could come up with was the possibility of his greed getting hung up on the fact that this payment, the most I’d ever been offered, was upfront. He didn’t have to wait. He didn’t have to hawk me around to the producers. He just had to make me sign on the dotted line and then - done - that was it. The money would be his just as soon as they’d finished with me.

  The thought of his betrayal made me feel physically sick. More so when I wondered how many other women he’d led down this darker path. How many other girls had gone where I had ventured to but not been so lucky? And once those thoughts dissipated from my mind - all I could think about was hurting him. Not just him. All of them. Everyone who’d been involved in the deal and the production. I wanted them to suffer as much as I had. Worse.

  The nights were filled with broken dreams; nightmares where I relived the scene again and again. Every time I woke up, and then finally drifted off back to sleep, the dream seemed to pick up from where it was initially left. There was no escape from it. Nothing I could do to stop it from playing out in my subconscious. And every time I relived the moments, I always felt the pain and suffering that I’d been forced to endure. If anything, in this dream state, it seemed to be magnified.

  Days and nights became blurred into one. I can’t remember how often mum and dad came into the room to check up on me - to see if I wanted anything. Both of them were aware I hadn’t been eating properly since coming home that night. I just wasn’t hungry. The sickness in my stomach refusing to leave me. I felt unsettled. Hardly surprising that I had started to feel bad a few weeks later. Without eating properly my body was starting to ache. Felt run down.

  * * * * *

  “What did you do to y
our agent?” Harry was still laughing; his laughter pulled me from my thoughts. He knew what I’d done to my agent. He’d received the same treatment as the others. He received what I felt he deserved. What I wrongly believed he deserved. There’s that sickness in my stomach again. “Oh man,” Harry continued to laugh, “this is too good. You did, didn't you?” Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. “This is fucking priceless.” He tried to stop laughing, “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you didn’t…” He paused, waiting for me to deny it but I couldn’t. He knew it and I knew it. “You killed him.”

  I hurried over to the pillar and spat in his face, my anger getting the better of me, “Fuck you!” I hissed. Even with my spit running down his face he continued to laugh at me.

  “You killed an innocent man. Look at you thinking you’re on some sort of mission of justice. A fucked up crime-fighter bringing justice to the evils of the world,” he was teasing me, “yet look what you’ve gone and done. You’re no better than me. No, scratch that, you’re worse than me. I’ve never killed anyone.” He continued, “So how does this work? You can’t stand here preaching to me about the rights and wrongs of the world when you’re no better than me - when you’re worse…”

  “Shut the fuck up!” I reached into the bag and pulled out a hammer. I put it against the side of his head; a threat to show him how easy it would have been to swing at his skull.

  “Just do it!” he shouted. “If you’re going to do it, fucking do it! Put me out of my misery.”

  I pulled the hammer away. Clever. He’d nearly got me. Or rather, my temper had nearly got the better of me.

  “You can’t do it, can you? You’re fucking pathetic.”

  I shook my head, “You think it’s going to be that easy? I don’t think so.” I dropped the hammer to the floor where it landed with a thud - a thud which echoed around the large room. “I see what you’re trying to do and I understand why you’re doing it but…we have the whole night together, baby, and…” I pointed to the camera, “…people are going to want us to put a show on for them. We have much to talk about yet and we have much to do.”

  “LET ME OUT OF HERE!” he screamed at me - rattling the chains again.

  I smiled sweetly and moved closer until my mouth was next to his ear. I gently blew with every word I whispered, “Want to know how I killed my agent?” I purred. It bothered me that I’d killed someone who didn’t have anything to do with what had happened but I couldn’t let that show. Not again. I needed him to believe I was fine with taking a life.

  * * * * *

  My agent, Frank, opened the door to his apartment and peered down the corridor.

  “Anyone there?” he asked.

  I was there. Not that I replied to him. I stayed quiet. Tucked against the door to his neighbour’s apartment so I wouldn’t be seen. I had knocked on my manager’s door and retreated back to where I couldn’t be seen.

  “You’re not funny!” he called out.

  I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was trying to get him out of his apartment. I wanted him to walk down the length of the corridor of apartment doors, right up to the end of the corridor so he could look down the next which lead the way to the lifts and stairs. That was why I hid outside this apartment. There was nowhere for anyone to go if they ran this way so little point in Frank coming this way.

  “Fuck off!” he called out as he stepped back into his apartment.

  Damn. Didn’t come out. Didn’t venture to the end of the corridor in the effort to catch any possible pranksters. I waited, patiently. There was little point in knocking now. Not with him so close to the door. I know he’d be waiting for another knock (my fourth). I know he’d be trying to catch me out. I had to be patient. I had to wait for him to go and make himself comfortable again. I counted away the minutes in my head and waited for five of them to pass. That should do it. That should have given him enough time to go back to doing whatever he was doing in there. I left my rucksack on the floor, next to the door where I’d been waiting, and made my back to the next door. Again, just as I had done on the previous occasions, I hit the door with my clenched fist. Three hits and I hurried back to my hiding spot and waited.

  The door opened again. Frank didn’t call out but I could still hear that he was seething at the thought of someone pranking him. And then I heard what I was waiting for; footsteps. I carefully peered around the corner and noticed he was walking away - towards the corridor with the lifts. I seized my opportunity and grabbed my bag from the floor before darting into his apartment.

  The television was on, a dirty movie. Not just any dirty film but one of my earlier films. I watched, for just a second, and instantly remembered filming the scene. One of the many school-girl roles I’d played. It was me and another lady. In the scene we took our teacher by surprise during a late, after-school detention. He was getting masterful with us when we started to masturbate in front of him. He just sat there, for a few minutes of footage, rubbing his crotch through his trousers as he watched as we fingered ourselves (and each other). After the initial scene-setting minutes, we made our way to him. We got on our knees and freed his pulsing erection from his trousers. I can’t remember the lines we had to say. Regardless, it ended with us both going down on him; licking and sucking on his shaft whilst he moaned and pushed down (from time to time) on our heads, causing us to occasionally gag as he penetrated our throats. The apartment door shut and brought me back to the present. I hid behind the living room door before he saw me. Just in time too. Seconds later he walked into the room and took his seat in front of the television. I peered out from my hiding place and watched as he quickly stood up; long enough to pull his trousers down. Bare-assed, he sat back down. Seconds later and I could hear exactly what he was doing with his hand; the sound of skin on skin. Rubbing. At this rate he wouldn’t even make it past the initial minutes - the tamer opening scene. I nearly laughed.

  I slammed the door and he jumped up, still with his cock in his hand. He face instantly red.

  I was smiling at him.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. Panic on his face. Hardly surprising considering he’d been caught with his pants down. He pulled them up.

  “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t. Never really saw you like that before but - wow - impressive.”

  Despite my instruction to leave his pants down, he pulled them up.

  * * * * *

  “He wasn’t the only man I’d seen standing in front of me with a surprise erection,” I purred into Harry’s ear. My hand roamed downwards, to his genitals. The viagra was working and his cock was pulsing under my touch. Harry sighed, enjoying the feeling of my touch once more.

  * * * * *

  “You’re a fan?” I asked Frank.

  He turned to the television and realised he’d been busted watching one of my movies - not just any dirty movie. Not that either scenario was less embarrassing than the other.

  “Where have you been?” he stuttered. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  I stayed by the door, unsure as to how he was going to react at me being in his apartment. Clearly he wasn’t expecting to see me again. Clearly, after sending me to the film shoot, he didn’t want to see me again. Cock in hand or not, potentially he was dangerous.

  “I know. I was taking some time for myself. Collecting my thoughts.”

  “I’ve been trying to find you,” he said.

  “I bet.”

  He wasn’t making a move towards me, or doing anything to defend himself. I’m not sure why but this surprised me. I thought he may have tried to finish what they had started but here he was - standing in front of me - pretending as though everything was okay between us. Well…Everything was okay other than the fact I’d caught him masturbating to one of my films.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “So - what brings you here?” he continued.

  I took a step closer to him. He st
ill didn’t make any effort to move from where he was seemingly rooted to the spot.

  “You.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I missed you. Wanted to see you.”

  His face reddened again.

  “Well, I’ve missed you too,” he stuttered again. “So many jobs have been coming in for you. Had to tell people you were on a holiday. If you want, I can grab my laptop and we can go through them now.”

  I shook my head.

  “Not here for business.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  He paused, “I don’t understand - why are you here?”

  “Pleasure.”

  “What?”

  I walked over to him. Before he had a chance to move away I reached down and cupped his testicles. His cock was still erect. A typical man. They forget all common sense, leave it all behind, when there’s a pretty girl in front of them. More so when said pretty girl has a hold of their cock.

  “Why’d you put it away?” I asked.

  He hesitated, “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “No need to stop what you were doing,” I leaned around him and nodded towards the television, “it’s getting hotter.”

  He turned to the screen where the two girls were now taking it in turn to suck on their teacher’s cock.

  * * * * *

  “He seemed to have a harder time taking his eyes off the screen this time,” I purred as I started stroking Harry’s cock harder and faster - a grip I’d learned most men were unable to resist. “I told him to sit down,” I continued, “and pushed him back onto his seat. I told him to keep watching the television as I mirrored my character’s actions on screen; taking him into my mouth and sucking him, licking him, nibbling him..”