After a deep breath that definitely does nothing to reassure him, I say, “I know you want an answer right now. And I know exactly what you mean, I really do. This is a huge shift in our relationship. But to be honest I haven’t had a moment to think since this all started. It started with money, but you’re right. It’s definitely something more. I’m just not sure what yet.”
“It wasn’t just about the money for me.” He’s pouting. “Not from the very start.”
“It wasn’t for me either. I wouldn’t have even considered Greg’s message last night if I didn’t feel something for you.”
“So what’s the problem?”
I shake my head. He’s just not letting this go. “I told you that I don’t know where this is going. I don’t want either of us to get hurt. And I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”
Brice sits up, clearly riled up. “But you just said you had feelings for me. If we both care about each other, why can’t we just commit? I don’t want to lose you either, but I don’t want to just be friends with benefits.”
I don’t just sit up like him; I throw my legs out of bed. “I know I said I have feelings for you, but it’s not that simple. I need some time to figure this out.”
“That’s what I don’t get. What is there to figure out?”
A scream of frustration erupts from my throat, but I try to keep it from being too loud so as not to wake Brice’s mother. Still, I can’t stop myself from stomping to his door. “I said I needed time, but if you won’t give it to me, I’ll just get some for myself.”
With that I slide back into the hallway on silent footfalls, tiptoeing back to the couch, holding back tears the whole way. I curl up under the ancient quilt and wonder if I’ve just ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Chapter 7
“Couldn’t sleep well?” Maggie asks over a simple breakfast of toast and eggs. Brice and I don’t look up from our plates. He manages a grunt, but I continue to stare holes through the table.
By the time we finally get outside and hop in a cab, we still haven’t spoken a word to each other. We each lean on our own door in the back of the taxi, leaving a canyon of space between us. At Greg’s studio, we continue on with the mutual silent treatment while listening to the plans Greg has cooked up for us. He’s got three scenes slated today, the first of which will have us acting as the customer and employee of a shoe store.
“Gotta throw the foot fetishists something every now and then,” Greg explains.
In the dressing room, we automatically gravitate to opposite sides of the room. Following Sally’s directions to wear something tight but mostly normal, I choose a sundress with a flora pattern running along the bottom edge. I slip back into the sandals I wore on the way, figuring that showing my toes off from the get-go is going to be the best approach for this demographic. By the time I’ve finished changing, Brice is gone. When I get to Studio A, he’s already inside, putting on the green smock he’s supposed to wear to show that he’s a worker at this fake shoe store.
Looking closely enough, it’s easy to see that this ‘shoe store’ is nothing more than the bedroom set from yesterday with the bed pulled out and a dozen boxes of shoes set up around a white vinyl floor that’s been rolled out.
“So the focus has to be on the feet,” Greg starts saying the moment he spots me. He’s shepherding us both on set, motioning for me to sit. “Cross your legs and sort of rock your foot back and forth. That’s right. Like that. Brice, you need to aim to try three pairs of shoes on her. But each time make the process a little slower. A little more sensual. After the third time, go for it.”
“Any lines?” he grunts.
“We’re ad-libbing for this one. But my advice is if you don’t know what to say, just keep your mouth shut. Let your bodies do all the talking. Especially her feet.”
We nod at Greg, still refusing to look at each other.
It takes half an hour of adjusting camera angles, testing audio levels, and moving around lighting before Greg is happy to move forward with our first take. Brice and I have been sitting in silence this whole time, refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence.
All the time has given me space to think. What I’ve figured out is that Brice has no reason to be angry with me. He’s just being a baby because he couldn’t get his way. If only he’d never mentioned our relationship and where we go from here, we’d still be good. We wouldn’t have to fight like this. We could have slept in the same bed last night, enjoying each other’s warmth.
But he had to go and make it weird.
“Ready to go?” Greg calls out, clapping his hands, trying to drum up the energy that’s obviously absent in the air between Brice and me. Greg then rolls his hands and says, “Alright, here we go. Cue!”
Brice pulls the sandals I’m wearing off my feet. Opens a box and pulls out a pair of black pumps. “Do you know what you want?” he asks while holding up the shoes. At first, I’m not sure if he’s talking in character or as Brice. “Because I have a good feeling I know exactly what you need.”
I clear my head with a simple shake that I play off as not being into the heels. “Actually, I’m not sure what I’m looking for today. But it’s certainly not this. How about something in red?”
Brice nods his head as if that makes perfect sense. He places the black pumps back in their box and reaches for another. From this one he produces a glittery pair of flats. They make me think of the shoes Dorothy steals from the Wicked Witch.
Playing his part to perfection, Brice slips the shoes on with one hand while rubbing my calves with the other. As confused and angry as I am with him, the sensation of his skin against mine—rubbing a little higher each time, reaching up to my thighs and just under the hem of my skirt—is enough to send shivers across my being, clouding over any lingering thoughts of last night’s talk.
We don’t make it to the third pair of shoes. With the second pair, he only gets one shoe on me before he takes my bare left foot and brings it to his mouth. He begins sucking on my pinky toe, licking it while it’s in his mouth.
Now, I’ve never been one for foot stuff. It just always seemed a bit silly. But I’m taking it seriously now that a guy is really working this unexplored (at least for me) erogenous zone. His lips slowly travel up my toes. He’s supporting my foot with one hand while using his other to graze up my inner thigh. His thumb eventually caresses the edge of my panties, just barely touching my clit, but that’s enough to send me over the edge.
The divide from last night falls away as I literally leap across the distance and mount him. I doubt this is what Greg had in mind for this scene, but I don’t care anymore. This isn’t about making good videos, and any section of my rational brain concerned with that or the money evaporates under the heat of the endorphins raging across my body.
Brice goes right along with me, making me hope that all of this nonsense we’ve been fighting about is behind us for now. That we can move on and enjoy these new pleasures.
I don’t bother removing clothes. Instead I hike my skirt up, move my panties to the side, and—after pulling an extremely erect cock from Brice’s pants—slide down over him. During all of this, I’m dimly aware of the cameramen pulling in for close-ups and standing so near that I can practically feel their breath on the back of my neck.
But I don’t care.
All I can do is rush towards the wondrous oblivion that only Brice’s body can provide. I think that’s what has led me to take charge of this first scene since our fight. Brice doesn’t need another reenactment of yesterday’s sensual filming. It could too easily be misconstrued as the beginnings of love. No, he needs to see that this is nothing but carnal lust fulfilled by two friends hoping to enjoy life and earn some money along the way.
Maybe, just maybe, it will develop into something deeper. But I’m not ready for that step just yet. So Brice needs to slow down his heart while letting his libido rip full throttle.
Due to my fervor, we’re both approac
hing orgasm far faster than usual. Brice has pulled me down on top of him, but I close my eyes when he tries to catch my gaze. And when he moves to rub his hands up and down my back, I pop back into a sitting position. This has to be all about the sex. No signs of further affection.
Quivers run down my legs when I orgasm first, my fingernails digging into his chest. He keeps pumping despite my sensitivity, which soon throws me forward into another cresting wave that ends in both of us continuing to hump each other even after Greg calls, “Cut!”
Once the cameras have stopped recording, I breathe out, “Are we good?” After that little performance, I don’t know how we couldn’t be good again, but I have to check.
“Sure, we’re good,” he says, but his tone says otherwise. As does his body language. He doesn’t help me up. Doesn’t give me a little peck to seal our argument in the past. His whole aura is stiff, as though he were talking to a coworker, not a friend. “We’re friends with benefits. That’s all. Just like you said.”
That is what I said I wanted (for now, at least), but the way he’s saying it gives the words a different meaning. When I said that, I meant it as a way for us to come closer, but his rendition of my words only manages to push us apart.
“Yeah,” is all I manage to get out before he’s turned his back on me and walked over to Greg.
“Was that take good?” Brice asks. “Can we move onto the next scene?”
“Sure, sure,” Greg is saying. “That was absolutely beautiful. I really loved the passion. You two are really bringing your A-game.”
Brice nods at this and walks out into the hallway towards the changing room. He doesn’t look towards me or wait for me. For the first time I wonder if I’m the one screwing this all up, not him. Because there’s a definite wall between us, and I’m not sure which of us put it there.
When I pass Sally in the hallway, without looking up from her phone, she says, “Next scene is in a classroom. Brice is the teacher. You’re the slutty student.”
“Not very original,” I mutter under my breath.
“Don’t fix what ain’t broken,” Sally says back, glaring up at me. “This scenario is the first one I ever filmed. So you might say you’re walking in my shoes.” She points to the shoe closet in the changing room. “And if you wear those gray trainers, you’ll literally be walking in my shoes. Not that anyone cares how this studio wouldn’t exist without me. No, heaven forbid anyone take me serious.”
I give her a faint smile to show I understand her bitterness, but when I turn away from her, I curl my nose at the thought of wearing shoes she broke in filming a similar scene. This sets me down the dangerous road of wondering what else in the changing room she’s worn. It’s a thought I quickly dash from my head.
Brice has selected skinny slacks, a shirt he only buttons halfway up, and a corduroy jacket with elbow pads. He looks like the quintessential sexy professor. And despite just cumming with him minutes ago, I want to climb up him and ride him again.
Ten minutes later, we’re back in the studio, the shoeboxes replaced with a few desks and a blackboard on wheels. The young guy in charge of the lights is copying a complex math equation from his phone onto the board. As if that’s what people are going to be looking at when they watch this video.
The only guidance we receive for this shoot is that Brice is supposed to be sitting at his desk, grading papers, when I walk in. I’m trying to convince him to take my paper late. The way I finally get him on my side is to get him under me, so to speak.
That’s how it’s supposed to work, but this scene isn’t going smoothly at all.
“Cut, cut!” Greg calls out for the third time. I was just pulling up my skirt, revealing that I’m wearing no panties underneath when apparently I twisted my face. And not in a sexy way. “What the hell happened to your energy from earlier?”
Brice simply shrugs.
“I’m sorry,” I say and get back in starting position. “Let’s just try it again. I’ve got this.”
But I don’t have it. I don’t have anything. The truth is that Brice is tripping me up. He’s doing everything right in front of the cameras, but I know him deeper than some lens can see. His body language is saying that he’s committed to the scene, but his eyes hold nothing but contempt for me. Each time our eyes connect, I lose my focus and either forget what I’m doing or grimace as though I’m about to cry. This does not make for quality adult entertainment.
“Once more from the top then,” Greg announces in an exasperated tone. “Let’s at least try to get far enough for a cutaway to a different camera this time, shall we?”
I manage to get further into the scene this time. I’m giving Brice a lap dance, turned away from him quite on purpose. But eventually we have to face each other again, and when those judging eyes fall on mine, I simply lose it.
“What’s the matter with you?” Breaking character, I leap off of him and scream so that the sound guy yanks his headphones off at the sudden rise in volume.
“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Brice is playing it cool, but he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I can’t deal with this right now,” I say, careful to keep what I’m saying vague enough that nobody realizes what’s going on between us. After pulling my clothes back in place, I take off, right past Greg. “I just need five minutes.”
My feet lead me down the hallway to a stairwell I’ve never seen before. Then I’m walking up until it ends three more stories up at the roof access. The door’s not locked, but I prop it open in case it locks from the outside. The weather has taken a turn from the crisp blue skies of the morning. A gray haze has infected the air, filtering the sun’s light so that it’s merely a glowing patch of lighter gray amidst the dreary landscape.
If I was hoping the air would clear my mind, I’m left wanting. Even distance and time and silence leave me without an answer as to what to do about Brice. Ever since his stupid talk the night before, the fracture between us has been growing. Not with loud outbursts that would release the tension and get everything out in the open, but with a silent pain like walking across town in shoes half a size too small.
Allowing myself only three minutes, my mind goes in every direction at once. Imagining a future with Brice if I were to give us a chance. Thinking back to the past and how, if I’d just been a little more careful, he never would have found out about the cam side of my life. Wondering where we go at the end of this month when our deal with Greg wraps up.
The feelers of my mind spread out, reaching as far as they can in the little time I give them before reeling them back in. Despite all the ground my thoughts have covered, I’ve gotten nowhere. I’m still standing on the roof with no idea of how I can make any of this better.
I quit two years ago, but, god, could I use a cigarette right now.
Back down the stairs, I’m practicing the words I can say to Brice to make this all better. Vague promises that I’ll consider what he said last night. I don’t want to lie to him, but we need to get through this day, this week, this month. After we’ve earned our money, we can worry about us and what this all means. Until then we need to leave out feelings outside.
Which is exactly what Brice seems to be doing when I walk back in the studio.
“You’re good to go?” Greg is asking Stellar, one of the women I met in the changing room the day before. She’s wearing a similar school uniform to me; only she’s rolled up the waist of her skirt so her bare ass is hanging out the back. Brice is sitting at his teacher’s desk. He notices me walk back in but refuses to meet my eyes.
“What’s going on?”
Greg turns and pulls me to the side. “Brice said that you needed a break, but we really need to get this filmed before lunch, so I thought we could just substitute Stellar in for this one scene.” Seeing the way this obviously hits me, Greg misinterprets the reason I grind my teeth and look to Brice. “Don’t worry. This doesn’t affect our agreement in anyway. It’s not like I’m petty enough to deduct
this from your pay. Everyone has off days. Just get yourself together and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Then his focus is back on the stage, and he’s repositioning one of the cameramen.
Stellar and Brice are talking. Something he says makes her giggle and slap his forearm. This instantly makes me hate her, which is weird because she was so nice to me the other day. I have no reason to have anything against her. But she’s hotter than me, her dark skin perfectly unblemished, her eyes big and deep, and her breasts at least twice the size of mine. All this and she’s clearly flirting, which is something I should brush off. There’s no reason to be jealous. I mean, that’s the whole reason for this spat between Brice and me in the first place. I don’t think our friendship needs to be redefined in any way except to add ‘with benefits’ after our label of each other.
Greg calls for the studio to quiet. Then the scene begins.
It’s all I can do not to throw myself between Stellar when she sits on the corner of Brice’s desk, unfolding her legs so that I’m positive he gets a complete view of her pussy, which I know from the other day is shaved except for a heart-shaped tuft of hair. My blood then bounces around in my ears to the tempo of my heartbeat when she rubs one foot against his crotch.
I shouldn’t be jealous. I shouldn’t be jealous.
But the mantra of my brain has no effect on my heart, which is pulled from all sides by far too many emotions. Hatred for Stellar. Disbelief that Brice would do this to me. Confusion at why I keep thinking that it should be me—and only me—up there with him. It’s not like we agreed to exclusivity when signing on for this job. I thought it was implied, but I’m seeing now that I was clearly wrong about that. In fact, it’s pretty clear that I was wrong on a number of things I considered fact. Like the fact that Brice was falling for me as more than friends. That’s what he was talking about last night. That’s why I thought we’re having our current spat. But his heart must have been on pretty loose footing, because he seems to have no problem swapping out another pair of genitals for mine.
Cammers With Benefits (FWB Series Book 1) Page 6
