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Chapter 1.As if I hated it… She was being fucked to the hilt. There were no two ways about it. She did seem to like it, which was unusual for this line of work. Watching, I felt more uncomfortable than usual. A lot of guys think this is the dream job. They would be wrong.


There are lights. It's hot. People sweat—even I was sweating—and not all people smell good when they sweat.

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Then there are body fluids. And gasses. People let those out right along with their semen and vaginal releases. It didn't matter. They were two pretty people. It wouldn't matter to the greater audience that would see yet not smell them.

So I stood watching her getting fucked by a guy who probably had been fucking since he could walk, all the while trying to not put my shirt over my nose. They were into it, their minds turned off to the less pleasant aspects of my current life. We were all being paid, so what the hell was I complaining about, right? "Oh, God!" Here she goes.

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I've seen her work. She arches her pelvis and slaps back against her vaginal assailant just before she- "Gail.

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Lights." I reached up and pushed the back of the Kino downward and to the left. The director, Rod Sterling, wanted her face lit, and I was behind. He would get on my ass a little about that later. I didn't care. He was one of those creatives who always felt the rest of the world didn't understand them, and it was their job to educate us lesser beings.

It didn't matter in the end. Art was for those people who couldn't dig ditches or light sweaty fucking people. No matter what he would say, I did my job well, and he knew it. I slipped occasionally. Three hours sleep will do that to you. A scream pierced the air, and I knew Candy Lipps had made it home. I kid you not. Candy Lipps. Directed by Rod Sterling, a man who rose up in the ranks from porn star actor to director because his creativity couldn't be denied.

Oh, and the man providing the pistoning was a large Italian stallion named Leon-hardo Dahvi. Really. Personally, I believe he had someone pick that out for him. As much as I don't like putting people down, Leon wasn't the sharpest hammer in the drawer, just the longest and thickest. Hammer-boy, sorry—Leon—looked over at the director for when he should apply the final moments of his sperm's life. This meant he looked right at the camera, because the shooter also happened to be Rod the director.

It was a low-budget scraper—just scraping by—so that wasn't unusual. Looking at the camera though…well, I always cringed at that. In most of the film industry that would have been a no-no: you simply don't look at the camera or the man holding it. I've been on multi-million dollar gigs, and the pros know how to read a script…well, they actually have a script with words.

I think Leon got the picture-book version. They all got the picture-book version. Ah, fuck it. Why was I complaining? I was getting paid. It did grate on me.

I won't deny it. The whole thing just kept reminding me of how low I had gone in life. Poor Leon grated on me because I detested a lack of intelligence. I never in my life want to become like him and, somehow, holding the lights for his base efforts made me feel…made me feel stupid.

But I couldn't say anything. I brought it on myself.

Rod got almost as excited as Leon and pointed five fingers in the air with a little waving motion. Leon was confused a moment, and then he understood: cum on her back in five seconds. It was at moments like this I wished I was at home in my chair, drink in hand, watching reruns of The Munsters.

Now that was a good show. Fred Gwynne could laugh with a childish honesty and innocence that no one—no one—has been able to imitate since. And Fred never had to ask where or when to shoot his load. I sighed and watched and listened to Leon's grunts and then the final explosion that had him growling and gasping as if he just passed a watermelon through his colon. It sickened me just a little bit.

I looked at the floor, my stomach grumbling for a drink in a bad way. I glanced up long enough to make sure the lights were on him and Candy's glistening, wondrous face. Yeah. Candy… I think I'll ask her out. Chapter 2 …Who? I know what you're thinking—was it all an act?

No. Not by a long shot. And that surprised me. Candy slammed back on me with a gusto that nearly broke my hip. Some of my rum and coke shot out of my mouth onto her back. "Oh!" Candy said, squirming on me. I think she thought that…hell, I hadn't the slightest idea what was going through her head.

And I didn't care.

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I was just enjoying myself. A bit too much perhaps, but that's for my shrink to worry about. My shrink being my old friend, Brian.

The one who introduced me to my first drink and started me on this fucked-up slush. Candy reached back and cupped my balls and immediately took my mind off of Brian. For a while. "That's it, you fuckin' whore, pull me into you," I said, resisting the urge to set my bottle on her back. I don't normally go for that whore stuff, but apparently Candy can't do without it. Setting the bottle on her back…yeah, I could get into that were it not for the chance it could spill.

I might be a cheap date, but this shit was precious after the day I had. I took another swig as Candy came on my dick.

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Yeah, sometimes the fucked up slush world wasn't so bad, after all. I woke with a sharp pain in my left cheek. "What the fuck?" I asked. It was Candy. Candy's well-manicured finger, to be exact.

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I pulled away and she kept with me, poking that finger in my skin like it was meant to be there. "Damn, woman," I said. "What're you doing?" "You didn't cum," Candy said. There was a resolute sternness to her voice and lowered brows. "Wha?" For a second I couldn't put together what the hell she was talking about, when it hit me. Well, that, and the fact that she held up my used condom with her other hand.

"I checked." "Well, good for you," I said. I was being smart. I get that way with a sharp finger in my cheek and a sour stomach.

I needed a drink. "That doesn't happen," Candy said. She meant it. I was at the point of thinking what the fuck this crazy woman might do to me now. I tried to create a little more space and got up on an elbow. I winced and took her accusing finger in my hand and put it to my lips.

"That happens with me sometimes," I said. Her finger tasted like her pussy, and I wasn't complaining. It took my mind off my stomach for a second. "Nothing you did. I'm okay with it, really." "Not with me, it doesn't," Candy said. "And it isn't okay, either." She threw the condom to the side and flung off the covers that were partially hiding her body.

Yeah, even in the dim light, she cast an impressive figure. She was tight.


Muscles lightly accenting her fleshy swells. God, I could even smell her now. She had been working herself while I was asleep.

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Before I could say a thing, Candy pushed my face to the side and slid over my upper chest. In one swift motion, she had my arms pinned down under her legs. She let my head go only to grab it forcefully in both her hands. She then slid her supreme wetness directly over my lips and pulled my head into her. "Now," Candy said, using one of her hands to reach behind her to grab my cock.

Hard. "Mmmffhh!" I said, struggling. Well, maybe not struggling. And maybe not exactly saying.

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I couldn't pronounce words any better than if I had been punched in the lips for an hour by Mike Tyson. Only this was sooo much better. Candy got off on that. Just the thought of me struggling, that was what did it for her.

I could see it in the gleam in her eyes, feel it in the pressure on my mouth as she pulled me in closer and squeezed her legs. I found my fingers completely useless. Along with my arms, my legs, my brain. They were all under her ministrations, and I was a willing patient.

Stomach? I didn't even know I had a stomach at that point. My cock was active, though. She had so expertly cupped its length and was stroking it…the only thing I could see was everything she was doing to it. "Now," Candy said, deadly serious. "I don't get off until you do.


Am I understood?" I didn't know who the hell this was. Not the slightest fucking clue. Earlier, she was everything willing and submissive and…hell, even a pleading victim for me to fuck her senseless. But that woman was not here now. She wasn't even in the same country. And… I didn't exactly hate that. At that moment, I think I would have paid good money to keep her out.

I stopped thinking after that. Candy ground herself expertly into my mouth, over my nose and then back again—all the while never releasing my cock or breaking her stroking or pressure. I couldn't think even if I had wanted. I came—fuck did I cum! And there's never any thinking when that happens. (PM me for questions, this is part of a much larger work)