Vice, Virtue & Video, page 2
Of course, no one behind the camera really gives a shit. This is just another day at work in our industry and there are a few people standing around, totally ignoring me and Misty going at it a few feet away. I can hear our hair stylist talking to one of the lighting assistants about American Idol and there’s even a guy sitting off to the side reading a People magazine.
We pause for stills, close ups, all the usual interruptions, and then get back to it.
“You want me to let you come?” I ask Misty.
“Yes!” she moans.
I stop my motions and slap the side of her ass hard—actually, it’s just an open-handed smack, but it makes a good noise and her skin brightens up nicely. She pretends to wince and whimper.
“Yes, what?” I say sternly.
“Yes, Sir!” she mewls.
“Good girl,” I say, resuming my motions, but at a torturously slow pace.
Power play is the name of the game and I’m in charge of her pleasure. If I get her right to the edge, but don’t let her come, it’ll drive her totally crazy and I’ll be fully in control of her orgasm. At least that’s how it will look on film. In reality, all of this shit is planned out in advance and we know exactly what we’re supposed to do—and more importantly, what we’re not supposed to do—in each position and situation.
She starts moaning loudly, so I stop. “No, no,” I say harshly to her, “you’re not allowed to come yet. Not until you beg me.”
“Please! Please, Sir!” she whines.
“Try again,” I growl.
“Please, Sir! Please let me come! Please!” she whimpers weakly for dramatic effect.
“Very good. Since you begged like a good girl, I’m gonna let you come,” I say, speeding up my pace.
With that, I start going really hard and fast. Misty’s groaning with pleasure, some of it real, some of it played up for the cameras. If I remember right, she likes it really deep, so I grab her hips and shove into her as far as I can. She starts moaning like crazy, but these moans are all real. One of the reasons I got so big in the industry so fast is that the girls like working with me because I make sure they get off. I don’t just know how to make it look good, I know how to make it feel good too, and they always enjoy themselves. If the girls like you, you’ll always get work in this business.
Misty’s eyes look up at me and I know she’s about to feel it. Sure enough, I feel her quivering inside and she cries out loudly. Another job well done. I swear, I don’t think I could ever get tired of making girls come.
“Get down on your knees!” I command as I quickly untie her.
She hops off the table and kneels down in front of me with her mouth open and waiting. I thrust myself into her mouth and she eagerly sucks me. I can tell she’s putting more into it than the usual scene and, from the way she looks up at me, I get the impression that she’s thanking me for making her come—a lot of dudes in our industry don’t really give a shit about whether the girls are digging it. I smile down at her, breaking character for a second or two to let her know that we’re on the same page. It's cool though, the guy's face is never in the frame when they're doing a facial come shot.
“Ohhhhh, fuck!” I exclaim as I reach my release. I pump out onto her face and she flicks her tongue over me.
“Perfect!” our director calls. “Nice pop shot, you guys!”
We pause as the still photographer steps in and takes some close ups of the aftermath all over Misty’s chin.
I reach down to her and help her up as the dude with the towels comes in and hands one to each of us. She wipes off her face and slips on her robe before giving me a big smile.
“That was fucking great!” she says with that calm, content, just-fucked smile.
“It’s always great working with you,” I smile warmly and kiss her cheek.
“You too, James,” she smiles back. “Can’t wait until the sequel.”
I give her a flirty grin before I head back to get showered and cleaned up. I still have a scene with a brunette where we'll be using a butt plug and a riding crop this morning and, later this afternoon, I'm doing a regular scene with a blonde who's going to be suspended from the ceiling and flogged before we fuck. I wonder if I’ll be too tired to stop by the grocery store and pick up tilapia for fish tacos tonight. I told Lola I’d make them and I don’t want to disappoint her. Before I have time to think too much about it, I need to start getting my shit together for my next shot. Just another day at work for me.
Chapter 3 - Lola
I’m zoning out at my desk when Janice, my co-worker at the accounting office, comes up and interrupts my daydreaming.
“Come on,” she says, “let’s get lunch.”
“Gladly!” I smile, scooping up my purse and heading out the door without so much as a second glance.
I’ve been working at Fraser, Hoffman & Associates for about a year now and it’s generally pretty boring and soul-crushing. I only started working here because they were the first place that gave me an offer when I graduated and decided I wanted to move out to L.A. to be near James. I have no interest in finance, tax codes or math in general, but I’m basically a secretary and my biggest challenge is getting through the monotony of my day without passing out.
My boss, Peter, is a delightful curmudgeon—minus the delightful part. He’s in his early 50s, average height, balding in the front with curly, wiry hair in the back and round glasses like John Lennon, though you need a lot more than love to make it through a day with him looming over you.
Thankfully, I have people like Janice, who just turned 32 and has that kind of tenacious drive that will no doubt earn her a partnership—if Peter ever realizes that women can be just as intelligent as men, that is. She’s a tough cookie and I like that. She’s short, like me, though she’s still a few inches taller than me. She’s got jet-black hair and blue eyes, quite pretty, but she plays down her looks so that Peter and the gang here will take her more seriously. James has met her a few times before and he describes her as a “business hottie”, in other words, sexy in a professional, executive kind of way. She says she’s not into him, but I know that he’d end up charming her right out of her clothes if I left them alone together for too long. I swear, sex appeal is like his superpower.
Janice and I hit the elevators and head outside into the sun, one of the nice parts of living in California. We go down the street to a Thai place and sit down at a table. She tells me all about how Peter is making her work on some stupid project, but that she has to do it because she thinks it’s a test to see how committed she is to the firm. After a while, the conversation turns to workplace gossip, which is the real reason we like going to lunch together.
“So, how’s Eric?” she grins at me.
“Fine,” I reply with a coy smile.
“Has he asked you out yet?”
“Maybe” I giggle.
“Spill it, Caraway!” she laughs.
“He asked me to dinner. He started out saying, ‘We should grab a bite to eat sometime,’ but then it turned into, ‘We should grab a bite to eat this week.’”
“He’s so sexy,” she sighs. “I don’t know how you get two cuties to go crazy for you at the same time.”
“Who’s the other one?” I chuckle.
“Tim,” she says like it’s obvious.
“Tim is crazy for me? Sure,” I dryly reply with a raised eyebrow.
“Girl, how could you not see that?” she laughs. “I see how he looks at you when he talks to you. The other day he was practically drooling when you wore that pencil skirt.”
“Yeah right!” I chuckle.
Tim is kind of like Peter’s apprentice, but he also has the title of “official office cute guy”. He’s about James’ age, maybe a couple years older and he’s tall and handsome. He’s got deep brown eyes, a nice, square jaw and thick, lustrous, chestnut hair—kind of like James’ except he wears it short and pushed back in that classy, GQ kind of way. He’s flirted with me a little bit, but he never made a move, so I assumed he wasn’t interested.
“You’re working your magic, Lola,” Janice teases. “You play the doe-eyed, innocent card better than anyone I know.”
“I don’t play any cards!” I say through a big laugh.
“Sure, sure,” she grins. “You just needed Tim to help you with the Deep Rock because it was too heavy for you.”
She’s referring to the water cooler incident a couple days ago in which Tim rolled up his sleeves and hoisted one of those giant bottles onto the cooler for me after Peter assigned me the task.
“Oh my God! Whatever!” I cackle, my cheeks turning pink. “Those things are heavy and my feeble little arms really couldn’t swing that thing up and around like that.”
“Yeah, ok. You weren’t batting your eyes at him the whole time,” she teases with a wink.
“You’re insane. I don’t think I’ve ever batted my eyes at anyone—well, maybe at Eric a couple times.”
“Hey,” she shrugs, “no shame in your game, girl. It works for you. Two sexy men are crushing on you. Go ‘head with your bad self.”
I laugh loudly and take a sip of my iced tea. Janice is so nuts. She and James ought to get together and start a conspiracy theory club about all the men that are supposedly interested in me.
We chitchat about Peter and all the stupid busywork he’s been dishing out lately. He’s seemed extra grumpy these past few days and Janice and I are suffering the wrath. If he keeps it up I’m going to start applying for other jobs. I know I should be putting my education to better use than this, even if it pays ok and it’s not too far from my apartment.
There is a little Post-It note on my door when I come home after work. In James’ handwriting, it reads:
Lo-
Still down for fish tacos tonight?
XO -J
A smile comes across my face and I hurry in to put my stuff away and change out of my uncomfortable work clothes. I put on some jeans and an old Queen t-shirt and head over to James’ apartment.
“I’m still down for fish tacos,” I say as I walk right in. We have an open door policy and we both have keys to each other’s apartments.
“Hey, Lo!” he smiles, coming over from the kitchen to give me a hug. His hair is damp from a recent shower and he smells divine, a lovely combination of conditioner, fresh laundry and a hint of masculine, virile male. “How was work?” he asks.
“Boring,” I shrug, “but Peter was pretty busy today, so it gave me some quality Facebook time. How about you?”
“Good,” he nods, giving me a sly smile that dares me to ask more.
“Any exciting new adventures in the world of torturing girls?” I tease as I follow him towards the kitchen.
“I don’t torture them!” he says, standing back and pretending he’s outraged. “They’re getting paid and they like it.”
“They like it,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Bullshit!”
“They do,” he chuckles in protest. “I spanked Ashley so hard today I thought she’d start crying, but she kept begging me to do it harder.”
“And you don’t think any of that was performance?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow.
“I’m sure some of it was,” he concedes, “but she was digging it and she knows she can always safe-word if she doesn’t like it. These chicks are professionals, Lo. They know how it works.” He looks at me like I’m silly for thinking otherwise.
“I just don’t understand how you can be so sweet and so brutal at the same time,” I say, my voice giving away all the judgment I’ve been trying to suppress.
“I’m not brutal,” he replies. From the tone of his voice, I think he’s a bit wounded by the accusation.
“But you hurt these girls,” I protest. I know my expression is looking more troubled as I think about what he does in his films. “You spank them and whip them. It has to hurt, no matter if they come or not.”
He pauses for a second and then sighs before leaning over the counter so he can look in my eyes. “I’m sure it hurts them a little bit,” he yields, “but they wouldn’t do it if they didn’t want to. Besides, pleasure and pain can be the same thing for some people. This isn’t like the shoot with Carina Cole and Jenna Tyler.”
A couple years ago, James did a scene with the aforementioned porn stars and it got a little out of hand. He and Carina were playing a married couple that kidnapped Jenna and made her their sex slave. He told me that Carina was being so aggressive to Jenna that he had to take charge and dial it back. After the shoot, he saw Jenna smoking a cigarette out by the parking lot and he asked her if she was ok. She played it cool at first, but then she burst into tears and told him how she passed her limits and she felt like she totally lost who she was. It was all supposed to be a bit of kinky fun, but it genuinely shook that girl up. Stuff like that is why I can’t understand the whole “pleasure in pain” thing.
I purse my lips at the table as I try to think about it. Though I haven’t had sex yet, I can virtually guarantee that I wouldn’t want to do it like one of James’ videos.
“It’s not for everybody, babe,” he gives me a slight smile. “Some girls just like it real rough like that.”
“I can’t even imagine it,” I bashfully confess. “I always picture some guy being gentle and loving with me. I think I’d freak out if somebody came at me with handcuffs or a butt plug.” I giggle on that last sentence, not even able to mention his brand of sex without blushing. I hate how sex talk transforms me from an intelligent, mature, college grad into a pre-teen girl at a slumber party.
“Shit, Lo,” he laughs, “I think I’d freak out if somebody came at you with a butt plug!”
I snicker loudly.
“You know I’d have to beat the shit out of somebody if they ever tried that shit with you, kid. You’re not like these girls,” he smiles sweetly, “and you’re right, you should be treated all loving and gentle. You deserve a lot more than all this rough bullshit.”
I can’t help but smile. I recall my first high school dance when my date, Marshall Kittredge, got a little too familiar with me on the dance floor. James, who was a big, strapping junior at the time, had been keeping an eye on me all night and, when he saw Marshall’s hands on my ass, he intervened. He cut in and danced with me, glaring right in Marshall’s face and intimidating the hell out of the kid. It was no wonder most boys were afraid to touch me until James graduated. Even today, he’s incredibly protective of me.
James serves up our plates and we sit down at the table. The tacos are delicious, just like everything he cooks, and I love them so much that I have to close my eyes as I savor the first bite.
He snickers and watches me. I think he likes watching me eat the food he makes. He always seems proud when I enjoy it—which, of course, I always do. Sometimes I think he likes knowing he’s mastered something outside the canon of sexual prowess.
“Will you make me dinner every night, like, forever?” I ask adorably.
“I totally will,” he replies with a warm smile.
“You’re a fucking amazing cook, James,” I praise. “You’re so much more than just a world-class cocksman. You’re actually quite the multifaceted man.”
He gives a hearty laugh and takes a sip of wine. “You’re damn right about that, little girl.”
I snicker and roll my eyes.
“So,” he asks after a beat, “how’s Eric?”
“Great!” I smile excitedly. “Oh, I wanted to tell you, he asked me to dinner.”
“Are you gonna go?” James says. I can see the worry in his eyes and he tries to hide it by looking down and taking a sip of wine.
“I want to,” I reply casually. James never thinks anyone’s good enough for me, so I’m sure he won’t like me going on a real date with Eric. “I like Eric, you know? He’s smart and he’s cute and he’s always really flirty with me. He was totally checking out my ass in the elevator today. I saw through the mirror,” I giggle.
“Lola,” James sighs with exasperation, “you shouldn’t be psyched that a guy was scoping your ass in an elevator.”
“Oh please! What’s the big deal?” I shrug. “He likes me, I like him, it’s kind of cool to know that he thinks I’m hot.”
“Just like how Marshall Kittredge thought you were hot?” Leave it to him to bring that up like it’s some sort of evidence of my shitty judgment.
“That was totally different,” I argue. “Marshall was a grabby, hormonal, high school asshole who thought he had free reign to squeeze my ass because he asked me to the fall formal.”
“And what if Eric’s a grabby asshole too?” James retorts with a raised eyebrow. “You’re so sweet, Lola, so innocent. You’re really special and I don’t want you to be with anybody who doesn’t deserve you.”
He’s trying to be sweet, I know that, but when is he going to cut this overprotective thing? What’s the big deal, anyway? None of this concerns him. Why does he even care?
“Chastity advice from a man who fucks for a living.” I roll my eyes. It sounds bitchier than I’d intended.
“The girls I fuck are professionals, Lola,” he says slowly like he’s explaining it to a child. “You are most definitely not a professional and I don’t want you giving it up to some guy because you feel obligated to. That’s all I’m saying. Just … just don’t fuck Eric because it’s convenient, alright?”
This is really bothering him and I can tell. I used to hear this warning a lot from him when we were in school, but he’s gone above and beyond with it since I moved to L.A. It’s like he thinks there’s some queue of guys lurking around every corner waiting for their chance to have sex with me, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. The only guy who’s shared my bed in the past six years is him and that was for sleep.
“Ok,” I smile, placating him, “I won’t sleep with Eric unless I’m sure I really, really want to.”
“Good,” he smiles and I can tell he’s feeling triumphant. “Now finish your dinner.”
