Filthy Dirty Normal, Volume 1

by Lexi Maxxwell

“Not Playboy. I’m afraid my connections are not that high up. Even posing nude for magazines, you’d be knocked down to lesser publications, and the pay is shit. Pardon me. The pay is not great.”

  “But you said I’d do well,” she said.

  “Sit down.” He gestured at the couch.

  Sit down. Have a chat. Do some business with your tits out. She was smiling at the ridiculousness.

  He sat behind the desk and said, “I didn’t say nude modeling. I said in the adult business.”

  She just stared back at him. Like fetish modelling? She wasn’t sure.

  “Don’t dismiss it out of hand,” he said. “You are already here, nude in front of cameras.” He gestured at the cameras in his office. “And the pay is very good.”

  Porn. He means porn.

  She was suddenly extremely aware of her nakedness. And also aware of her wetness, which may well be leaving its mark on the couch. She was suddenly desperate to get her panties back on if for no other reason than to spare herself some embarrassment.

  “Good stuff. Classy stuff, like for couples. Not cheap, bargain-basement porn. These places, they pay thousands of dollars per day.”

  Her eyes widened. She already liked sex. She’d been with a fair number of guys. It’s not like she didn’t have a past as a sexual person, so was it really so unthinkable to make thousands of dollars a day doing something she enjoyed?

  “Does the idea appeal to you?” he asked.

  “Thousands per day?”

  “Easily.”

  Her arms uncrossed. “Okay. I guess can try it.”

  Some part of her heard herself say it and yelled out. She squashed it. She was used to being the one in control of sexual situations, and this would at least put her back where she belonged. And it’s not like anyone would need to know.

  The agent came toward her.

  “Good. I will show this audition tape to the people I know. And if they like what they see, they will contact me, and I will contact you.”

  “Um … okay.” With thirty seconds as a possible porn star under her belt, she already couldn’t believe she was agreeing to even consider this. Her heart was going a mile a minute.

  But … damned if she wasn’t getting wetter and wetter. She was going to leave a stain. Anything to put a layer of cloth between herself and embarrassment.

  “But the people I talk to, they have a large investment when they bring someone in, you see,” he said. “And it’s very common for a new girl to come in and change her mind and not do the scene.” He gave a businesslike shrug as if she weren’t sitting in front of him with her boobs waving in front of her chest, her nipples hard enough to cut glass. “Those thousands of dollars are a great enticement, but when it comes right down to it, many of them can’t commit.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “And even when they don’t back out, sometimes a studio will shoot a whole scene, and the girl will be terrible. She’ll move wrong, or will make bad faces, or will not have any chemistry with her co-star. Sometimes she’ll look bored, which kills a scene entirely. And when that happens, the studio has to pay her because she did it even though she did it poorly, and the studio gets nothing usable in return.”

  “I can see how that would happen,” said Amanda. She wondered if that would happen for her. Not the bad performance — she was a total pro and never left her suitors complaining — but the hesitation. She’d never done anything as overtly over the line as porn would be. She wondered if she could cross that line. Porn was the only field in which the minute you did any work at all, you became a star. She’d forever be Amanda Bellings (or perhaps something like “Staci Cummings”), the porn star.

  “So there needs to be an audition, where they can see how you move before they commit to hiring you.”

  He picked up the camera that was on the desk, removed the tripod, held it in his hand, and pointed it at her face.

  “And that way, they can use that audition tape to see if they want to hire you.”

  Oh shit.

  “So, what I need now is for you to suck my cock.”

  She could feel the way her face changed, and could only imagine the look that must be on her face. She actually felt her breath catch. She didn’t have to do it, of course, but she couldn’t believe she was in this situation. She was alone in a room with a strange (but attractive … and why did she even think that?) man, sitting in front of him without a stitch of clothing on, while he stood with his crotch just a few feet from her. All that stood between the current situation and the one he proposed was a layer of denim.

  He watched her face, both with his eyes and the camera, and said, “But if you don’t want to, it’s okay. I can delete these tapes and you can go. No problem. Totally your choice.”

  “I shouldn’t … I didn’t think….”

  It wasn’t that she was opposed to the idea; the problem was the shock of how quickly the situation had changed. Twenty minutes ago, she’d been in front of that polished brass plate, nervous about applying to be a fashion model. Now she had a camera in her face with her legs slightly open (and when had that happened?), tasked with taking a stranger’s cock into her mouth.

  She looked up. He stood placidly in front of her with the camera, waiting to hear her answer. He wasn’t drooling or frothing. It didn’t even seem like his dick was hard. If he’d seemed eager, bells would have rung all over the place, but for some reason, his businesslike demeanor made the idea seem more businesslike, and even soothing, than scandalous.

  “It’s just necessary for the business, you understand?” he said. And she did. Of course girls would run off. Of course an industry so steeped in taboo would need to do some pre-screening. And by the way, when had she agreed that she was going to do this? That little nugget had gotten lost in the surprise of the blowjob request, but here she was — not weighing whether or not to do porn, but whether she wanted to get into porn badly enough to suck this guy off.

  She took a deep breath. “Okay.” Um… said an inner voice. She ignored it.

  He nodded toward his belt. “Go ahead.”

  She reached toward his pants hesitantly, suddenly a virgin who’d never done this before. But that was ridiculous. Hell, she’d blown Ted Flemming in the bathroom of a restaurant just six months ago, and that bit of indiscretion had been her idea.

  Sex. Money. Sex. Money. What did it matter?

  Amanda grabbed the agent’s waistband decisively, perhaps a little too eager to put her hands to use before she lost what small amount of nerve she had. She unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper. Then she reached into the V the zipper created and felt for his cock. What she found was thick but not hard, and it was already large.

  She pulled it out of his pants.

  Then, pushing herself before she lost her nerve, she leaned forward and put it into her mouth. She felt herself respond immediately. The flow from between her legs increased. She could feel wetness beginning to coat the insides of her thighs.

  She wondered just how the hell she could be turned on by this. She knew she should be ashamed, but right now, the notion of shame was fuzzy and buried. Something else was on top of it, smothering it. And suddenly her entire middle, from her belly button to the tops of her legs, felt hot and full, like it might burst.

  With the cock sliding in and out of her mouth, now getting hard, she felt a hand slide between her legs. A finger began to play with her wet folds, tracing them slowly and deliberately as if it were curious.

  A very small voice inside of her said that the hand between her legs wasn’t part of the deal. This was supposed to be a blowjob. But a much larger voice told her to stop kidding herself, and then that voice took hold of her hips and made them rock against the finger.

  She could already feel an orgasm building … and fast. She shouldn’t be so turned on by this awkward situation with this strange man who wanted to put her into the movies. The very notion of cumming from his attention was embarrassing.

  “That feels so
good,” he said.

  She pulled his cock from her mouth and ran her tongue around the rim of the head, underneath, where it was sensitive. He jumped, and she was pleased to see a visceral reaction from her partner in this strange business transaction. Then she slid it back between her lips, her tongue tracing its underside as it went. She could taste precum at its tip.

  She scooched forward on the couch, pushing his fingers more firmly against her clit. He responded, beginning to trace circles around it. He ran his finger over the little bump, letting it roll underneath. Each time it popped up after his finger had rolled over it, she made a tiny noise of pleasure that was almost a whimper.

  He traced up and down, then plunged his fingers inside. She involuntarily clenched against them, feeling her face contort. The fingers came out, ran over her clit. All four of the fingers moved back and forth, slowly. And now her entire center was so swollen that she thought she might pop, her pussy running tendrils of sensation out from its center that grabbed at the rest of her. Then the sensation pulled in, and she became nothing but one big contraction. The contraction held at the precipice for an unbearable second and then she was riding waves of pleasure down from the top, her entire body clenching. Her mouth opened over the hard, hot thing between her lips and she yelled out, unable to stop herself.

  The agent’s thick cock came out of her mouth as she fluttered down, and she didn’t want to see it go.

  “Lay down,” he said.

  The request — and, of course, what it implied came next — was a little presumptuous, but she didn’t think for a second about refusing. She didn’t want to. She made her pile of clothes into a pillow and leaned back. She didn’t even flinch when, after stripping off the rest of his clothes, he held the root of his cock and pointed it at her opening without having donned a condom. This was how the business worked, which was also why he was doing it all with a camera in his hand.

  This is backwards, she thought. You came here for a fashion audition, and you’re about to get fucked by a stranger. The only problem was that only one part of her seemed to matter right now… and that part was throbbing, warm and wet, begging for him to go on.

  She didn’t know where to look. Some part of her mind didn’t want to watch him enter her, and another part told her that meeting his eyes was too intimate. So she looked into the camera. If she was going to do this, she might as well impress the people who mattered.

  She felt him slide inside of her. The sensation was wrong, and amazing — and all the more amazing, she realized with shock, because it was so very wrong.

  What would your parents think? What would your friends think?

  But oddly, those shaming thoughts only turned her on even more.

  He slid inside of her to the hilt, his weight on top of her. With the pressure on her belly, his cock was squeezed tightly between her sensitive, swollen walls. Then he started to rock. She could feel him pull out, but then he pushed back inside, and the friction was delicious.

  With one orgasm already under her belt, she found herself easily cumming again. She stared into the camera as it happened. The orgasm spread from between her legs, through her abdomen, into her legs and chest. With each wave, she flinched and breathed a desperate moan, her eyes locked onto the lens.

  It occurred to her that men would watch this, and that with the camera on her face, they’d be getting off not on her body but on the intensity of her pleasure. The very fact of her satisfaction would make their cocks hard. The thought only turned her on more. She fell into it, determined to put on a good — but very real — show.

  The agent had started thrusting faster. He raised his torso off of hers, and without his chest on top of her, her nipples felt exposed and cold. His thrusts made her breasts bounce. The sensation between her legs changed. It became not as full, but throbbing and pulsing, faster and wetter. He pointed the camera down to watch as he slid into her, alternating between filming his cock pushing into her pink folds and watching her face, her breasts.

  As he thrusted, wet squelching sounds started to come from her. She was entirely too wet after her two orgasms. He even pulled out and wiped his cock against her short, modestly trimmed pubic hair to gain more friction.

  She hadn’t known she would be fucked on camera today. If she had, she might have shaved. As it was, she was glad she’d just thought to shave her legs. She’d known that her legs would be on display, after all. Her bush, not so much. That was supposed to be private access only. Only she and a select few others were ever supposed to see it.

  His tempo increased. Despite the camera and despite the fact that this was, in the end, a professional transaction, he was still a man about to cum. He started to breathe heavy, his mouth opening and his eyes trying to close. He kept them open, on the screen of the handheld camera.

  “I’m going to cum,” he said.

  Oh no you’re not, she thought. Not inside me. She was on the pill, but this was a bit much. Sure, she’d let a stranger stick his cock inside of her. But letting him cum inside of her? Well, now … that would be slutty.

  But because it would ruin the mood to complain, she changed what she was going to say to a lusty request. “I want you to cum on my tits,” she said.

  He pumped faster. His breathing became heavier. She could even see beads of sweat forming on his lean chest.

  “I want to feel your cum on my tits,” she repeated. “I want to rub it all over them.”

  “I’m going to cum in your mouth,” he said.

  With her breasts bouncing up and down, feeling herself on the crest of another orgasm, with this man’s cock slamming into her, she decided that was a satisfactory solution. “Okay,” she said. She felt like she should say more, but she wasn’t a porn star. Yet. Except that she also kind of was.

  He made a few more thrusts, then grabbed the root of his cock and scrambled up to aim it into her mouth while he stroked it. His other hand pointed the camera at her face. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do — simply wait, or take it in her hand?

  Her right hand stole to where his cock had been. The area suddenly felt empty. She ran her fingers over her clit, then ran two fingers inside to fill the emptiness. And felt her own pleasure rise to the precipice again, waiting.

  Then his cock was in her mouth, and now, at least, she knew what she was supposed to do.

  Her right hand was still between her spread legs, now pushing inside with three fingers, so she used her left to stroke his shaft, her mouth moving back and forth. His ass began to clench as his orgasm arose. The idea that he was about to cum in her mouth — this man she didn’t even know — made her own hand work faster, her own sensations building.

  Then, suddenly, she could feel him shooting hot spurts of cum into her cheeks and over her tongue. With her hand working below, it was all too much. She felt herself go over the top and crash for the third time into her own orgasm. Her legs came together, opened wide, closed. Her hips buckled, and she tried to scream out … but there was a cock in her mouth. She could feel it pulsing as contractions ran through him, as each new pool of milky cum struck the insides of her cheeks. Her legs squeezed her right hand between them, her ass clenching and rising off the couch. She kept her other hand and mouth working on his cock, squeezing below the head on each stroke as if trying to milk it out of him.

  He twitched a few more times, sighed deeply, and pulled his cock from her mouth. Then the camera was in front of her face again and he said, “Now open your mouth.”

  She did.

  “Let the cum run out.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. I’m sorry. I swallowed it.”

  He laughed. “You swallowed it your first time on camera? You will be good in this business.”

  Naked on the couch, her legs spread, her pussy so wet it was dripping, her hand idly playing with her still-swollen opening, she wondered if his comment amounted to saying she was a slut. Then she decided that even if he was saying she was a slut, he meant it as a compliment, and she gave a
shy smile.

  He turned the camera off, set it aside, and then grabbed a few tissues. He gave a handful to her and kept one for himself. After they’d cleaned up, he began pulling his clothes back on. Amanda took a cue and did the same.

  “I will show this around to my contacts and will let you know,” he said. “I expect good things, though. You did very well.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but she was already starting to feel awkward.

  When she passed the polished brass plate at the front of the building on her way out, she didn’t stop to gaze into it. She simply wondered what would happen next as the last of the strange man’s salty taste ran down her throat.

  Sex with a Stranger

  Kaylee was drunk.

  Or at least, she was getting there. She felt tingly in her extremities, and she felt much more interested in singing and dancing than she normally did. She didn’t think her judgment was impaired, and she didn’t feel like her head was spinning or like she was going to fall over, but a couple more drinks and she might be on her way.

  Her roommate Miranda had suggested they all go out. Kaylee said she was game, but back in high school, “going out” meant hanging with a mixed group of friends at a restaurant for hours and hours. She’d never been much of a drinker. She liked to dance, she’d never been much for clubs, either. In college, “going out” apparently meant heading to three different dance clubs in an hour and then ending up at a bar because, apparently, there wasn’t enough alcohol at dance clubs even when they were liberal about who they served, be they underage or not. And, apparently, this was fine to do on a Thursday, because … hell … it was the day before the day before the weekend. It seemed to make its own kind of perverse sense.

  The way the night had unfolded was all very new to Kaylee, who was used to her “nights out” being small and intimate. Seven girls had piled into two cars and headed out of their private college campus (which was lame) and onto the campus of a large state school half an hour away. It took them a while to find a place to park because, apparently, Thursday night partying was the rule around here, and when they did find a place, it was on a small side street without much overhead lighting. Kaylee had felt exposed, but nobody else seemed bothered by the dark, so she tried to stay in the middle of the group until they reached the main street where the clubs were, which was much brighter and much more crowded. There were ropes out in front of all of the clubs, and large bouncers at the end of each of the roped-off lines. The seven girls stood in one of the lines until a bouncer at the front looked at their IDs and let them in — without marking their hands, because they were too young to drink.