by Harley Rayne
She’s calling.
I answer a little too quickly for me to pretend as though I wasn’t waiting for some sign from her. “You realize you have to be on set in five or six hours, right?”
“Don’t you, too?” She’s smiling. I can hear it in her voice.
“Eight. Check your call sheet.” I pause. “What did you want to know about?”
“Porn.” Any hint of the Kylie who admonished me for my career or reluctantly admitted to watching my work is gone. Instead, she sounds amped up, and wired.
“Porn? As in, the thing I do for a living?”
“Yeah. I started writing. It’s a screenplay, actually, and I wanted to know a little bit about how the industry works.”
I bark a laugh, trying not to be delighted by this change of events. “There is not enough scotch in the world to have prepared me for that question, Kylie. Holy shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, get it out. Start me out with terms. The basics.”
“Terms?”
“Yeah, like… fetishes, or kinks, I guess.”
I balance the phone against my ear so I can rub my hand over my mouth. She’s taking this so seriously, and she’s in for one hell of an education. I couldn’t be more amused to give it to her. “Okay, so let’s start with the basics. I think you can figure out what orgies are. Blowjobs, anal, doggie, interracial, deepthroat… those are pretty self-explanatory.”
I hear her typing quickly in order to keep up with me. “Yeah, I got those.”
“Alright, so then we’ve got BDSM, acronym for Bondage, Domination, Sadism, and Masochism. There are a few variances out there, but that’s the predominant one.”
“Whips and chains? That kind of thing?”
“Yeah, or just plain domination. It can be a mental thing, too. Yes Master, or no Ma’am, that kind of thing.”
“Got it… okay. Next?”
“Bukakke.”
“Boo… what?”
I snort a laugh, trying not to scar her too deeply when she’s actually trying to learn something. “Bukkake. B-U-K-K-A-K-E. It’s when a bunch of guys come on a girl’s face.”
“Thrilling. And you’ve done that?”
I can’t help but smirk. “Just assume I’ve done everything I’m telling you about.”
“Noted. What else?”
“Creampie.”
There’s a pause, and I wait out her reaction to it. It’s what I expected. “Sex with food?”
“No,” I say plainly. “It’s when a guy comes in a woman’s pussy and then...”
There’s another pause, and I wonder if she’ll hang up. She doesn’t. What comes next is pure curiosity. “I thought there were laws that said you had to wear condoms.”
“There are regulations on porn sets, and some people are fighting for those laws to be in effect, yeah.”
“Do you want that?”
I take a small sip of scotch, debating honesty here. I finally decide that she asked because she wanted to know. She said she was writing about the industry, so I’m going to be honest about the industry. “No. I don’t think porn actors and actresses should be required to use condoms or dental dams, if proper safety precautions are taken and regulations are followed.”
“So… you don’t use condoms when you film?”
“Me personally? I’ve used condoms for the last four or five years, but that’s my choice. Before then, no, I didn’t always.”
“What made you start? If you don’t think it should be required, I mean.”
“I don’t want to risk it.”
Kylie lets out a small hum, like she’s considering the words. “That makes sense. You’re… thirty-four?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah. Makes sense.”
I smile. “Are you saying I’m old?” I shift the phone and hold it between my ear and shoulder so I can have a hand free to grab a throw pillow. I toss it to the far end of the sofa and lay down, lowering the scotch to the floor beside of me.
“Yeah I am, Grandpa. Okay. Give me one more term.”
One more. I’ve got to make it a good one. “Hm.” From my place here, my eyes are growing heavier. I fight to stay awake, but now that I’m horizontal, I’m losing steam fast. “Mature,” I manage, my voice lower.
“Isn’t all porn mature?”
I’m about to explain when everything drops away, except for the remnants of Kylie’s voice in my ear. As I’m drifting off, I have a thought. I didn’t even set my alarm. But frankly, I’m too fucking tired to care or respond.
Kylie says my name quietly. “Brett…” Her voice lulls me completely. I’m asleep before another thought comes into my head.
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Kylie
It feels wrong to watch porn that involves anyone other than Brett now. He’s given me permission. He’s encouraged it, even. It’s strange to me how something so torrid and controversial can cause such a sense of curiosity now. And the inspiration is just… well, that’s the cherry on top.
I don’t know where I’m going with this screenplay. I don’t know what it’s going to be. Documentary? Mockumentary? Drama? Comedy? All I know is that the subject of what happens behind the scenes is far more complex than I initially understood, and I want to dive in deeper.
So I start with Brett’s website.
I wonder if there’s some kind of IP tracker so he’ll be able to tell that I’ve visited, but Brett doesn’t strike me as that tech savvy, so I doubt it. I have to verify my date of birth before I’m even granted entrance. Once I do, I’m greeted by photos of Brett. Naked.
It takes me a moment to recover. What did you expect, Kylie? Jeez.
There are images scattered around the site, thumbnails that seem clickable, of Brett in various states of intercourse with women. A few with multiple women. There’s an image of two women with their tongues on his shaft, and I swallow hard at the thought of it.
At the top of the page are categories, and I scroll through them, stopping to catch a glimpse at the ones he mentioned.
Mature.
I click on the tab and a row of videos shows up. All of the women are older. Ah. So it’s the women who are mature. Makes sense. And Brett seems so into them. The way he’s looking at them sends a shiver through my spine. I click on one that seems to showcase Brett far more than the woman he’s with, but I’m taken to a page to input my credit card information.
I debate. It’s a low subscription at only $2.99 a month (he must get a lot of web traffic in order to make this worthwhile), but then again, do I really want a porn site on my credit card statement?
I’m reaching for my purse anyway when my phone rings. I imagine it’s Brett calling back, after he fell asleep on the line with me, so I answer, “Hey.”
“Hey…” It’s not Brett. It’s Rob.
I sit up straight in bed, scoot back against the headboard, and try to put on my most casual tone. “Are you… just leaving set now?”
“Yeah, so I thought I’d call. You left pretty quickly there.”
I hesitate. What the hell to say? Yeah, I left quickly, asshole. Look at what you did. I’m amazed YOU didn’t leave quicker to get home to Hannah.
Instead, I answer, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“I’m sorry… did I wake you?”
“No, I’m up.”
His voice takes on a cavalier, confident tone. One that has made me swoon time and time again, but now only makes me sick. “Maybe I should come over. Help you fall asleep.”
Two days ago, I would have come on the spot. He would have had me in the palm of his hand, and I would have been nothing but his, his, and his. But now, it just seems painfully manipulative, and while he makes it seem like I’m the only person in his life when he’s with me, I know the truth now. It spoils everything else in a major way.
“No, it’s okay. I’m actually a little busy right now,” I say, hoping he lets it go there.
He doesn’t. “What are
you doing?”
The words come out before I can stop them. “Watching porn.”
There’s dead silence on the other line for a few lingering seconds, though it feels more like an hour. Rob isn’t sure he’s heard me correctly. “Sorry, what? Porn?”
I clear my throat. I’m feeling awkward, until I realize that this is kind of perfect, actually. This is a small measure of payback that I couldn’t dream up if I tried.
“Yes,” I say, and it’s more confident now. “Porn. With Brett in it. I thought I should probably learn the cast a little better. Besides, I was curious. Haven’t you seen it? I mean, you’d have to have, if you cast him.”
“Uh…” Rob is floored. I’m beside myself with excitement over this change of pace. “I don’t really watch porn.”
No, you just make it a game to catch and fuck women.
“Sure you do. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I, uh… I guess so. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Okay, sweet dreams.”
I want the last word in this conversation so I hang up, proud of myself for taking the step forward and being the stronger person here. I don’t know who this woman is, but I like her.
I turn my attention back to the page online, and click the FREE tab at the top of Brett’s page. It takes me to a row of thumbnails again, little video clips, all samples of what lies beneath.
I click on one of the Amateur videos. Brett said that these were women, normal women, who decided to sleep with him for his website. That, to me, means more than a porn star who does it for a career. Besides, it seems more approachable. It’s like a soft introduction to his lifestyle.
The video begins with Brett and the girl talking.
“Just to confirm, you’re over 18 years old.”
She’s grinning. Shy. She nods. “Yeah. Twenty.”
Brett is charming in a way I haven’t seen. He is on. He slips an arm around her back, his fingers running up and down her waist. “What kind of things are you into?”
“Um…” She’s brunette, and she tucks a bit of that hair behind her ear. She’s too nervous to look at him. I see the same star-struck expression on her face that I used to see in the mirror when I thought about working with Rob. “I like a lot of kissing.”
Brett lights up at that, leans in just a bit. “Oh yeah? Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you since we sat down. You think I could do that?”
The woman nods slowly. Brett tips her chin up with his thumb and catches her lips with his. She melts immediately.
I’ve seen him on set, kissing Melanie for the camera, but this is different. This is immersive. There’s no script here, he’s just kissing her. He kisses her deeply, his mouth parting, and I can catch a glimpse of his tongue intruding against her lips. She opens them, and he deepens the kiss.
The scene cuts quickly to a hotel room, and he’s got his shirt off. His hands find her ass, and he lowers himself a bit to get a good angle. Before I know it, he’s lifted her off the ground and into his arms, and she purrs along with it. He carries her to the bed and lies her down, then stands at the foot of the bed with his hands on her knees. She looks shy again, coy.
“You think I could take off your panties?” he asks her, and he looks starved.
The girl pulls up her skirt, showing him what’s underneath. “I’m not wearing any.”
Brett chuckles, honestly pleased, and reaches forward to trace his fingers over her labia. “Holy shit, that’s fucking hot. You’re drenched, look at you.”
There’s another scene jump, and she’s still got her skirt bunched up over her hips. Her sweater, however, has come off, and she’s got her hands over her breasts, tugging her nipples. Brett has crawled onto the bed and his head is between her legs, licking her. From the angle of the camera, I can see his tongue move, parting the lips of her pussy, the tip of his tongue circling her clit. She’s writhing on the bed, panting, and I can only imagine how good it feels to have his tongue there.
It’s expert as he moves, and he groans, enjoying her taste. I’m flooded by a wave of dizzying arousal, and my hand rests over my pajama pants, thumb pressing in against my pussy over the fabric.
With a film cut, he’s suddenly got her on her hands and knees. His hands are gripping her hips, and her skin is gathered into his demanding fingers. There’s no more stopping her panting now; she’s crying out as he spears his cock inside of her, thrust after merciless thrust. He grunts with each, and one hand abandons her skin to grab her hair, pushing it off to one side.
“Look at me, Molly, come on. Let me see those pretty eyes.”
She does, and they both groan, and his pace slows for a few moments in order to slam his hips against hers, harder and deeper.
The next image is of the woman against the wall with Brett holding her up effortlessly, their eyes on one another’s. His hips are moving quickly, jutting up into her, but there’s something so intimate about the moment that I can’t believe she’s more or less some woman from the street. They look like they’ve done this before, and like he knows every inch of her body.
She’s back on the bed, but this time on her back. He’s standing next to it, holding her thighs up around his hips, and her back is arched so it comes off of the bed. This time, his hips move in rough, disjointed circles, a firm thrust each time he comes around.
I don’t get to see the moment when they both come. I imagine you have to pay for a subscription in order to get that. Instead, it cuts to the two of them sitting in bed. They’re both sweaty, red, and glowing. She’s giggling, euphoric, and he’s got his arm around her, keeping her against him.
“That was amazing,” he says, and she nods in a post-coital haze, tipping her head against his shoulder.
“Let’s do it again,” she says, and the video ends.
I’m turned on.
I grab my phone and press the home button so the screen pops up. It’s almost three in the morning. I have to be on set around 7:30am. I debate staying up at this point, but a few hours of sleep are better than no hours, so I shove my feet under the covers, close my laptop and store it on my bedside table, and turn out the lights.
As I lay down, I decide to humor myself. My eyes drift closed, and I envision Brett here, beside me. He’s looking at me with the same eyes he looked at the girl in the video.
I picture his mouth tracing kisses down the length of my body, and I dance my fingers along the places I imagine his lips would go. I reach my pajama pants and I shove them down, drawing one leg out of them, but too hurried to remove the other. I part the folds of my pussy, exposing my clitoris underneath the covers. I’m amazed at how incredibly wet I am right now.
I draw a finger along my entrance, teasing myself, and I finally press it in to my knuckle. How badly I want it to be Brett’s tongue now. This shameless fantasy of mine is going to send me straight to hell in a handbasket.
I don’t care. I shouldn’t. This is precisely why he makes these movies in the first place.
I’m panting and writhing, giving myself no relief with no friction on my clitoris whatsoever, just to draw out the tease, when I’m interrupted with buzzing. I curse out loud with a groan and roll over to grab the phone. I’m expecting to see Rob’s number on there, but it’s not. It’s Brett.
Were his ears itching or something?
I leave my finger inside of myself as I pick up the phone with a somewhat quiet, “Hey…”
He sounds groggy. “I fell asleep on you. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay.”
“I didn’t know if you’d be awake or not. I figured I’d leave a message.”
“I’m up.” God, the sound of his voice now is so gruff. I don’t know how I never noticed it before. I’m probably just a stupid girl on a stupid rebound, but I suddenly want him. I’m half tempted to ask. I don’t. There’s a moment of quiet that passes between us, comfortable, before I finally admit to him, “I just watched another
clip of you.”
There was embarrassment before, but I’m bold now. I don’t care if he knows. Strangely enough, I want him to know right now. There’s a kind of hazed foolishness that comes from being so aroused, and I wonder if he can tell.
I don’t have to question for long.
“Are you getting off thinking about it?”
“Mhm.”
“Fuuuck.” It’s a groan of a noise and it sends a shiver through me, even though I’m tucked neatly underneath a thick pile of blankets. “Do you want help?” His voice is soft and yet so firm. I nod, but I realize quickly that he can’t see me.
“Yeah…”
He probably thinks I’m drunk or something, but his voice lowers an octave, pure gravel against the quiet of the room. “How wet are you, Kylie?”
“Very…”
I’m not good at talking dirty, and I’ve never gotten off on the phone with anyone before. I tried once, when I tried to make things work long distance with my boyfriend from high school, but we’d both dissolved into giggles.
There’s no laughter here, however. I’m all wicked nerves and arousal, and my hands are shaking.
“Good… and that’s all for me?”
“Yeah…”
“Tell me…”
“I’m wet for you.” The confession comes out in a breath, and I hear Brett moan softly with it. I imagine him pulling out his cock now, a fantasy more or less confirmed when I hear his breath pick up in a steady rhythm.
“You sound gorgeous, Kylie. Are you rubbing your clit? Finger fucking yourself?”
I clear my throat and shift, my phone pressed hot against the pillow with my head turned to keep it in place. “I’ve got a finger inside me.”
“Good. If I was there now, I’d pull your finger out so I could replace it with my tongue instead. Lap up every bit of that sweet fucking wetness.”
He’s good at this. Of course he is. He’s painting a picture for me, and I whimper once in response. The noise clearly sends a ripple because he moans himself, and I’m so turned on by it that I feel a flood through me, my fingers getting slicker.
“I wish you were here,” I murmur. It sounds almost stupid, and completely desperate, but I do. He’s gotten me to a place of lurid desperation and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
