by Blaire Drake
Dear Professor
Pretty Pornstar (Coming Spring 2016)
He watched her.
He knew that it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop. It was becoming an addiction, one that was starting to cost him a lot of money. He’d tried to stop—by God, he had. But, after the slog of grading papers and marking tests, he lived for the thirty-to-forty minutes when she’d be on his screen.
His cock strained against his pants as she bit her lip and removed her bra. Her delicate hands cupped her sizable breasts and massaged slowly. She teased her nipples, saying words he could barely register. He was mesmerized by her every movement, from the way her finger and her thumb pinched her pink, pebbled nipple to the way her raven hair fell around her shoulders.
I want you to touch yourself, he typed.
He knew the exact moment the message appeared on her screen because she paused. It was only momentarily, and he doubted that anyone else watching would have noticed. Not that anyone was watching. Oh, no. This show was for him and him alone.
He liked it that way. Loved it, even. Every movement was for him.
She lay back and raised her hips. She slid her tiny, black thong over her toned ass and down her long legs until she threw the scrap of material onto the floor. As she grabbed her pillow and got comfortable, he stood and unzipped his jeans. They fell to the ground, swiftly followed by his underwear.
His cock sprang free, and he sat back down, grasping the hardness with his hand.
On the screen, Darcy Hamilton eased her hand down her body and between her legs. There, he watched raptly as her middle finger zoned in on her little, pink clit. He watched her as her body jerked in pleasure at that one single touch.
Desire flooded his body. Fuck, how he wanted to be the one to do that. How he wanted it to be his fingers exploring her wet pussy, pumping in and out of it. How he wished her fingers were his cock.
Soon, a voice whispered in his mind as he stroked himself. Soon, she will be mine.
The thought made Professor Jordan Keaton smile.
Dear Professor, I should have known. Wouldn’t things have been so different? Xoxo, Darcy.
The sharp sting of his hand connecting with my ass cheek tingled across my skin.
I was in a severe state of indecision about whether or not this guy was giving me an orgasm or if I was imagining it. It felt like I’d been hanging on the thread that separates the ohgodyeah and oh…yeah for a good five minutes. Maybe longer—I’d lost track of time.
As far as fucks went, he was pretty good, if a little robotic. God only knew that my back was aching from all the arching: my attempt at getting him to do something other than thrust, thrust, thrust. I wanted to reach back, grab his hair, and whisper in his ear that he could roll the heck outta those hips, because those seven inches pounding inside me would be fucking heaven sent if he had any idea what to do with them.
Honestly, it felt like a bit of a waste. Seven inches of cock should not, under any circumstances, be wasted with a guy who banged a chick like he was banging a nail into the wall—carefully so he didn’t hurt his ickle, wickle fumb.
After another minute of his mindless thumping, I realized that the spank was a one-off and, if I wanted to come, I had to do it myself. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable with screwing on camera. I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. I just wanted that sweet hell over with—sooner rather than later.
I tilted my head toward the screen and saw the message right as it came up.
Touch yourself.
Now that I could do.
I dropped down to my elbows then reached beneath me, straight to the apex of my thighs. My middle finger found my clit almost instantly, and using the wetness of my pussy, I pressed down on the tiny bundle of nerves and circled it incessantly. After a minute or so, the sweet convulsions of my muscles signaled that what I was doing was working, and I moaned—mostly for the client’s advantage.
Good girl, came his message.
I smiled but bit down on my lip to hide it. Hell, if I was gonna do this a few times a week, at least someone had to get some enjoyment out of it. It was unfortunate that it happened for the client far more than it did me, but I couldn’t complain. I had known what I was getting into the day I’d stepped through the doors of Dalton House.
Pleasure sizzled through my body as I brought myself to my own climax. His fingertips tightened on my hips, and I clenched my pussy muscles extra hard.
It took him two seconds to groan and collapse on top of me.
My client clicked off without another word. It was always the same with this one. He watched me at least two times a week, just like clockwork. The show changed every week. Sometimes, it was solo; sometimes, it was with another guy. Sometimes, I got lucky with the guy my boss brought in.
This week was not that week.
I fought back a sigh as I shut the window down. It occurred to me then, as the guy behind me pulled himself out of me, that I didn’t even know his name.
Sloppy Seven-Incher would do. Names were far too personal for this job. There’s a reason porn stars, for the most part, don’t use their real names.
I shut the laptop screen and reached for the towel I kept on hand. I wiped between my legs and across the tops of my thighs, removing any traces of come. What I couldn’t wipe away, however, was the feeling of yuckiness that remained there.
One more show. I hated doing the couple show first because it always made me feel vile for the second one, and there wasn’t always time between them to shower quickly. It didn’t matter that the second one was my solo show. That was the risky one because my face could be seen, but it was also the one that made the most money.
No law school in the country would accept me if they found out I was whoring myself out several times a week to pay my way. Most other girls I knew had a part-time job at a bar or waiting tables. Even in retail.
Fuck that though. You wouldn’t catch my ass in retail. I’d rather go broke. Three years working part time at the hardware store in my hometown and dealing with arrogant fuckers had put me off that shit for life.
No—my plan was tight. Cam girl my way through college. Then, when law school hit, I’d get a job in a law firm even if all I did was make coffee, take calls, and schedule appointments.
I knew what I wanted, and by fuck, I was gonna get it. I’d worked too hard to let anything stand in my way.
I slid my panties up my legs and over my butt. The slight ache from my fuck-buddy’s spank was still hanging around, but I forced myself to think past the sensation and focus on grabbing my bra and putting it back on.
“Hey.”
I paused, my bra half clipped, and turned to face him. My tits were still out, but really—what did I have to hide at that point? Not a lot.
“What’s up?” I asked him.
His nerves were palpable. I could taste them. They were strangely thrilling.
“Could I… Could I get your number?”
Oh, Jesus. I always hated it when they asked that.
“Sorry,” I replied, fully clipping my bra and twisting it. “I don’t give my number out.”
“That’s all right. Worth a shot, right?” He smiled as if he didn’t care, but I could see the hit his ego had taken.
As I stared into his dark-brown eyes, I felt the familiar snake of guilt overcome me. “Oh, what the hell?” I slipped my bra straps up my arms and reached for my phone. “Give me yours. Then I’ll call you.”
His eyes lit up like I’d promised him I’d give him a blow job and swallow.
I almost felt even guiltier for the trick I was playing, but hey. A girl had to be smart in this industry.
He reeled his number off, and I dialed it, hitting the green call button at the last minute. His phone vibrated in
his hand, and I cut the call off. He grinned like he was the Cheshire Cat as he tapped away at his screen, clearly saving the number.
It’s a shame his call would never be answered. Ah well. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, right?
He tucked his phone into his jeans pocket and stepped back for his T-shirt. Then, with his shirt in his hands and me still standing in my underwear, he approached me and leaned in to kiss me.
Whoa now, buddy.
I pressed two fingers to his lips and leaned back, lifting my eyebrow to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. Someone had jumped the gun there, clearly, and it sure as hell hadn’t been me.
He’d just screwed me on camera, for another man to see, and now, he thought he could kiss me?
Uh, no, babe. If there aren’t flowers, there isn’t kissing. End of story.
He got the message, because he backed off with a sheepish look and scurried out of the room.
The room that happened to also be my bedroom.
Yeah. It wasn’t exactly a fact I tended to share with the guys who came there for the cam shows. If I wanted anyone to know, they’d know. I’d taken careful measures not to put anything too “me” on show in my room… At least, nothing that couldn’t be easily hidden under the bed.
It still stood that the sweetest moment of this job was the moment I could stretch out and slam my door behind the guy.
That was also the moment I decided to fuck the rules. I grabbed my towel from my laundry pile in the corner. Then I wrapped it around my body and headed straight for the bathroom I shared with the other girls at this end of the hall. It was mercifully open, and I twisted the lock with glee.
I didn’t care if I would be late for my next show. I’d stay under the hot spray for two hours if that was what it would take for me to get clean. Besides, surely a wet, naked body had to be better than a dry one?
That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
Ten minutes later, I got back into my room, freshly showered and feeling much better. I still had enough time between now and my second and final show to run downstairs and get out of my bedroom before I was confined for however long.
Before that, though…I dried off, threw on some panties, shorts, and a tank, and dropped to my knees in front of my bed. My hand instantly found the plastic tub, and I pulled it out. The solid, black color of it hid the contents perfectly, but I knew every single thing that happened to be inside it.
I cracked the lid open and pulled out the makeup bag containing various lubricants first. My favorite mini vibrator and full-sized one were the next things to come out, and I gently put them on my wet towel before resealing the box and sliding it back under my bed.
Nine more months, I reminded myself as I headed for my door. Nine. More. Months.
Jenna groaned as I put the mug of steaming coffee in front of her. Her only acknowledgment of my action was the way her hand slowly moved toward it and curled around the handle.
“Thanks, Darcy,” I said. “You’re welcome, Jenna.”
“Thanks,” she mumbled, forcing herself to sit up and propping her head up on her hand. She yawned, her nose scrunching as she did so. “Next time I do a late show before I have an eight a.m. class, fucking hit me, will you?”
“I tried to tell you,” I reminded her, putting my own mug under the coffee maker and hitting the button. “We had this conversation last week too.”
“I know, I know. But they pay so”—she paused to yawn again—“good.”
That much I knew to be true—especially if you did a late weekend show. That was when the guys who’d thought they’d get laid didn’t get laid and turned to us. They were also usually hammered, and if you got the rich boys with an ego problem and a bucket-load of demands you’d fulfil, they’d give you enough money that you could take a week off.
Not that I’d ever done that. I think I was the only girl who hadn’t. I didn’t pay off the majority of my student loans by taking weeks off. I guess I was one of the lucky ones though. I had a partial scholarship and an almost perfect GPA I worked my butt off to keep.
Fucked my butt off to keep it too.
“Lou can’t keep changing out her shifts because she leaves her studying until the last minute. We need to call Nisha,” I told Jenna and took the seat opposite her at the table.
“What for?” Bella’s sweet voice filled the room as she bounced in.
At a dinky five foot three with brown hair to her waist and giant, almond-colored eyes, she looked like she should be in a damn tree baking cookies instead of in a house for cam girls.
Her happy disposition made me want to vomit before coffee. I had no idea how she could be so…alive. I felt like I’d run ten 5ks every morning.
“What do you think?” I asked her.
“Oh fucking hell, Jenna. You did it again, didn’t you?” Bella instantly morphed from sweet and sunny to annoyed.
I loved it when she swore. It sounded hilarious coming from her cute self.
“I told you yesterday morning to change back with Lou.”
“I knowwwwww,” Jenna groaned, running her hands through her short, blond hair. “I did ask her. She has a test this afternoon. She said she’d be up at seven to do last-minute studying.”
I raised an eyebrow and leaned back in my chair. “You’re a sucker. Every time. She’s still in bed.” This I knew for a fact—Lou’s bedroom was right next to mine, and she snored like a pig behind a megaphone. “She was serenading me as I got ready this morning.”
Bella giggled and put bread in the toaster. “No shit. I thought we were being bombed when I walked past her room this morning.”
I smiled behind my mug as I sipped. Cute as a button, but as dirty as a sailor. That was our Bella.
“Bitch,” Jenna muttered. She grabbed her mug and took two or three giant mouthfuls. “I’m gonna put a cockroach in her pillowcase.”
“You can’t stand ants,” I pointed out with a snort.
“I swear to God, Darce, I will cut your favorite thongs into sewing thread.”
The very thought made me want to wince. My favorite thongs were my favorites for a reason. And that was because I wasn’t the only person who liked them, if you get my drift.
“All right, all right.” I finished my coffee and got up. Then I put the empty mug in the sink. “I hafta go. I need to go and see Professor Banks before class. I need her letter.”
“Is that all of them?” Bella asked, biting daintily into her toast.
I shook my head and swept my curly hair around one side of my neck. “No. Banks, then Keaton, then I’m done.”
“Keaton.” Jenna sighed and leaned forward again. “The man is dreamy.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t deny that fact. He certainly made history more enjoyable than it would be otherwise.
“I bet you regret not taking history classes now,” I said.
“Hardly.” Her dreamy demeanor disappeared like a flash. “I don’t like being reminded of what I did last week.”
“That’s because you found out the guy you went out with only asked you because he wanted a live show. In his bedroom. With his phone camera,” Bella pointed out.
That was helpful.
Jenna’s dark eyes narrowed as she fixated on the tiny brunette. “I could flick you and snap you. Do you know that?”
“Bitch, please. I’m like a fucking ninja. I’d just duck and then your fat ass would have to chase me.”
“Aaaand I’m out,” I said quickly, grabbing my purse from the back of my chair. “Try not to kill each other, okay?”
Their silence as I walked to and opened the front door wasn’t all that comforting.
Dear Professor, well played, sir. Well played. Xoxo, Darcy.
I licked my finger clean of the sauce leftover from the pizza. Bella wrinkled her nose as I finished chewing on the crispy crust. It was always obvious whose side of the pizza belonged to who, and not just because of the toppings, but because, by the time the pizza
was gone, my side was empty and hers had a stacking of crusts in the corner.
“I don’t know how you eat the crusts.”
I leaned over, grabbed one of hers, then took a giant bite out of it. The disgust that crossed over her delicate features made me laugh, and I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from spitting the food out.
“You make me sick, you know that?” she questioned, taking the crust out of my hand with her finger and thumb. She dropped it in the box and then sealed it, presumably so I couldn’t make her feel any more nauseated than I already had. “What time are you on?”
I swallowed what was in my mouth and then grabbed my phone. “Ten minutes. Shit. You need to go.”
“Mhmm.” She jumped off my bed and looked at my legs. “That stocking has a hole in it.”
“What?” I moved my robe to the side and rested my ankle on my knee.
I saw it almost instantly—one giant fucking hole on my inner thigh. Not so bad if the color of the stockings was nude, but it wasn’t. They were opaque black.
I groaned. Great. Now, I was going to be even less ready because I had to change them.
Bella rolled her eyes. “Get some more, and I’ll throw these in the trash.”
With a grimace, I pulled my robe up to reveal the garter belt attached to them.
“Suck it the fuck up, buttercup,” she retorted to my silent protest. “You’re gonna have to go garterless. I love you, but I’m not getting that close to your pussy. If I’m not getting paid for it, I’m not touching it.”
That was reasonable. I wouldn’t do it unless I was being paid either.
“All right, all right,” I said. “Just go. I need to be ready and logged on, like, now.” I ripped the garter belt and stockings off. “Hey!” I yelled, balling the things up. Then I threw them at her with a grin.
She picked them up with another eye roll then shut my bedroom door behind her. Sometimes, it helped not having to live in total secrecy. Like when you needed your garter separated from your stockings pronto.
I opened my laptop, and while it loaded, I pulled a new pair of stockings from my drawer. I had little to no desire to do this tonight, but as soon as this was done, I had tomorrow free. My time would be my own. Which meant catching up on the studying I hadn’t done tonight and wouldn’t want to do after this show.
