Your erotic stories

1

Maynor Smith powered up the small handheld video camera, rested it on the edge of his desk, and then pointed it at the girl on the couch. His chest felt hollow, his heartbeats reverberating inside him like an old bass drum. It always felt this way at the start, especially with a new girl. He ignored it, knowing it would soon pass. It always did. He framed her smiling face, her delicious body. He loved the prim way she held her knees together.

Her parents had taught her to sit like that. Her schoolteachers, her priests, even her classmates had played a part in teaching her appropriate behavior for a girl. He would use all that.

Allison grinned at him.

She was cute. Silky dark hair that hung to her shoulders. Nineteen. He would have to ask her for two forms of ID to prove her age, but with Allison that was merely a formality. He knew exactly how old she was. He’d known her since she was fourteen. She was the same age as his own daughter, and the two girls had been good friends through most of middle and high school. He had coached them on the local youth volleyball team. He knew, for example, that Allison possessed a terrific serve.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself?” he asked.

Allison nodded. “Right here?” she asked. She raised both her brows. Clear, bright eyes, the small, upturned nose. A shallow cleft in her chin.

“Stand up,” he said.

He pointed to show her where another camera was. He had them strategically placed throughout the small studio. It was a loft he had purchased for his wife to do pottery and painting, but the neighborhood had always been a little dodgy, and it had only gotten worse, so she didn’t like to come out here anymore. It occurred to him that he was being unfaithful to his wife, but this was more of an afterthought, not the cause of his anxiety, his discomfort. He didn’t consider this infidelity. A siren wailed in the streets below. He was working.

Allison stood and licked her lips. She was nervous.

“Take a deep breath,” he said.

She inhaled, swelling her chest, then blew the air out. She was wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts, a long sleeve shirt cut to bare her midriff. It wasn’t the sexiest outfit, but she’d be out of it soon enough. They were his daughter’s clothes. He’d brought a bag of stuff for Allison to select from. He wanted her to have something clean to wear for her interview.

She cut her eyes to him.

“Go ahead,” he said. “And remember. These are men you’re talking to.”

She nodded her head, a vacant look on her face.

“Men,” he repeated firmly.

She raised both her shoulders, twining her arms together in front of her, just as he’d hoped she would. He beamed at her, his dick swelling in his pants. This was Allison’s shy girl act. It was how she related to men, especially men she didn’t know. He’d watched her do it with every new assistant coach he’d ever hired. She’d done it with him, too, of course, but he knew how to get her to give him her best. He wasn’t even sure if she was aware she did it. It probably had something to do with her relationship with her father, a hard driven and demanding man that Maynor knew well.

Leaning back in his chair, Maynor clasped his hands behind his head. Allison went through the little spiel they’d planned out. Fake name (Alice), fake hometown (L.A.) She toyed with her hair and said she’d been a model for a few weeks.

His customers would eat this up.

She finished her speech and then stood twisting her hands together and grinning. He invited her to sit back down and she did. At this point, his competitors would have their young models strip, get on with the show, but that’s not how Maynor operated.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

She looked lost.

“Your sex life,” he added.

The lost look transformed itself to something uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath and grinned. Rubbing her hands on her slender thighs, she looked at a point on the floor and said nothing.

“How many partners have you had?” he prompted.

“Two,” she said, her voice barely audible.

She bit her lip and grinned. “No, wait. Three,” she added, a little louder.

She nodded her head, pursing her lips.

She tilted her head and shot her eyes to the ceiling.

“Do blowjobs count?” she asked.

He laughed. She explained that she was inexperienced, a little shy. He wondered if this was more of her shy girl act. It didn’t really matter. He didn’t care. He didn’t need the truth. Moving her hands as she spoke, she flipped her fingers through her hair and grew more animated. Allison was relaxing.

“Tell me about your last relationship,” Maynor said.

She looked around the room as if she were going to bolt. He raised his brows and sat up in his chair, looking for a way to rescue her. She bowed her head, her cheeks reddening. Pulling at her eyebrow, she grinned sheepishly. “To be honest,” she said, her voice meek. “It was in rehab.” She took a deep breath and then launched into a story about using heroin, getting strung out, and then dropping out of school her freshman year at college.

He felt relieved.

He already knew about her drug problem. Her father had confided it to Maynor two weeks ago. It was late, almost closing time at the Roma, a small dive bar on the lower eastside. The two of them had been drinking and watching football most of the night. Speaking through clenched teeth, her father said he’d had to kick her out of the house. Maynor had been pretty drunk, but his ears perked up.

“Do you want a drink?” Maynor asked. “Some wine?” Her honesty about her drug problem surprised him, but he continued with the illusion that he didn’t already know. She wasn’t exactly relaxing, but she was investing, and that seemed just as good.

“Yes,” she nodded, fanning herself with both her hands.

He poured two glasses of wine, but left his sitting untouched on the desk. She explained that her last relationship was with one of the other patients in rehab, and that relationships weren’t allowed, so she’d had to leave sooner than expected.

Maynor let her talk. He watched her sip the wine. After the night at the Roma, he’d begun searching for her. He drove past abandoned buildings, graffiti-marred underpasses, and crack houses at all hours of the night. He cruised the local Greyhound and Amtrak stations. It took a few days, but he finally found her in an uptown playground, six blocks from the red light district. She sat with a group of young people, slowly revolving on a merry-go-round, passing a bottle in a brown paper bag between them.

She got to the end of her story and her wine at the same time. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she set the wine glass on the floor. She smiled, but her eyes were glum.

Maynor nodded his head sympathetically.

When he’d first approached her in the playground, a young man she was with behaved aggressively, but Allison quickly put him in his place. It was a good sign. A girl on the street often teamed up with a man, but these arrangements rarely proved beneficial to the girl.

“My mom,” Allison said, “isn’t speaking with me right now.”

“That’s fucked up,” Maynor said. He waited for her to look up. Her eyes were misting, and he felt something lurch inside his stomach. “But it’s not all bad,” he said.

A hopeful look passed over her face.

“We’ll make this tape,” he said, nodding to the handheld. “I’ll send it around to producers. Soon you’ll get work, start making money.”

He grinned at her, his hands outstretched.

“Big money,” he said, raising his brows and lowering his hands.

He let his words hang in the air between them. He wasn’t just some kid on the street with a bottle of wine. “Parents love it when you start making money,” he whispered in a confident tone. “You can go buy yourself a little car.”

She grinned and ducked her head. She chuckled.

“A Jetta,” he said. “Parents love Jettas.”

She nodded and chewed her lip. He chatted with her about this year’s prospects for the high school football team, a recent grease fire that had shut down a local fried chicken restaurant, and the annual strawberry festival that was in danger of cancellation because a mite infestation had decimated this year’s strawberry crop.

“Ok,” she finally said. “Ok.” She held up both her hands, palm out.

He slid the paperwork to the edge of the desk.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He still felt some trepidation, but now it was just a slight fluttering in his chest, and even that was fading fast. He watched her sign the release. She used big loopy swoops to make her name. When it was done, she raised her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

He met her gaze and smiled.

His cock was hard.

***

2

He invited her to remove her top and she smiled sheepishly.

She stood and turned her back to him, tugging the shirt over her head. When he’d given her the bag of clothes, she went into the bathroom to change. It was cute. Good girls don’t strip in front of old men. She reached behind herself, undid her bra, and then turned to face him, holding her bra to her chest. His cock was hard, but he kept his hands on the desk.

He smiled to boost her confidence.

When she removed her bra, he sucked in his breath. Picking up the handheld, he came out from behind the desk. He wore dark pleated slacks, a button down shirt and tie. He always dressed business casual to lend the interview a more professional vibe and help the girls relax. As a bonus, the loose fitting slacks hid the inevitable erections. A big part of making a successful tape was managing the girl’s expectations.

Her breasts were small, with large puffy nipples.

He looked her in the eye and told her that her breasts were lovely. Her grin widened. The girls on the team would make jokes about him behind his back, but he was an authority figure and his opinion carried weight, even if the girls didn’t want to admit it. He pointed the camera at her chest and allowed his gaze to follow. He was also a man, and teenage girls craved validation from men. He noted the size of her areolas and the texture of her nipples. She lowered her head and studied her breasts as if she were seeing them for the very first time. He praised the color, shape and firmness of her little boobs. For a time, the entire room was focused only on her chest: him, her, the camera.

He asked to touch and was pleased when she threw back her shoulders without hesitation. Touch was a big barrier. He used just the soft pad of his fingertips. Her nipples grew stiff with only slight provocation.

He retreated to the other side of the desk and asked her to remove her shorts.

She opened the button and he stopped her. This time he asked her to turn around, rotating his finger in the air. “Leave your panties on,” he said. She pointed her bottom to him, grinned over her shoulder, and then lowered her shorts to the floor.

She held her ankles and looked to him for instruction, a timid look on her face.

He grinned at her.

He asked her to remain bent over, reach up, and then lower her panties. She did it perfectly the first time, exposing those firm, deliciously round cheeks, but he made her do it a few more times, as a sort of desensitizing exercise.

He beamed at her with pride. Allison always had a great ass. She was a standout in those tight fitting volleyball shorts, even at fourteen.

“Allison,” he said.

She held her ankles and raised her brows, her hair touching the floor.

“You have such a perfect body,” he said. “Your legs are long and beautiful, and you have such muscular calves.” She gave him a look of desperate longing and he held the camera high. She had a fine little ass, but he wanted that hungry look on her face in the frame, too.

“So,” he said. “Let’s talk about experience. You’ve had sex already and you know how to give a man head?”

She nodded, her face bright and grinning.

“Swallow?”

Her head stopped nodding. She hugged her cheek to her ankles.

He looked at her matter-of-factly.

“Once,” she said.

“Didn’t like it?”

Allison shrugged. She was not lying about her inexperience. He laid the whole of her sexual capability bare in two minutes. No anal. Never kissed a girl. Always took a single partner at a time. Her face was turning bright red, either from the shame of her tame admissions or the position of her head at her feet.

He suggested she stand then came around the desk with the handheld.

Kicking off her panties, she seemed intimidated by her own lack of experience. He set her at ease. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “I promise.”

He meant it. He fully intended to fuck her in the ass.

Allison grew comfortable without her clothes. Instead of hugging her little frame, she let her arms hang at her sides. Another barrier down. He asked her to pose to show off her front, then lavished more praise upon her. Instead of the starry-eyes and beaming grins, now she gave him soulful looks, making soft little whimpering noises. Allison needed an orgasm.

“Sit here baby,” he said.

He positioned her on a chaise lounge and then pointed a large fan with slow moving blades toward her head. A camera was focused on the soft folds of her pussy, leaving her face a warm blur in the background.

This time he didn’t point out the camera. He wanted her to forget the cameras.

Opening her knees, he used his fingers to part her lips. She’d shaved most of her pubic hair, but it was already growing back. He didn’t care. He put his finger on her clitoris and she rolled her hips and exhaled. He penetrated her first with one finger, then with three. Finally he curled his fingers inside her pussy, searching for her G-spot. She raised her ass up off the lounge and he finger fucked her to a roaring orgasm.

He stood, using a small towel to dry his hands. Sweet little Allison basked in afterglow, her legs spread obscenely.

It was time to hustle her past the last barrier.

Maynor had shown Allison one of the first demo tapes he’d ever made. It featured a beautiful young Hispanic man named Raoul who was exactly the kind of guy a young woman entering the industry wanted to see: dark hair and olive skin. A chiseled face and hairy chest. Muscles. Maynor had filmed Raoul making love to his girlfriend, but to viewers it appeared as if the girl had come in for an interview, met Raoul for the first time, and then enjoyed riding his big cock and stubble chin. Maynor didn’t make tapes with couples anymore, but he liked to show this one to the new girls to better manage their expectations.

“Stand up honey,” Maynor said. He grabbed the handheld.

She got to her feet, toying with her hair and grinning appreciatively.

“I’m going to need some footage of you having sex with a guy,” he said. He held the camera like a football. He needed to tell Allison she would be working with him. And by working with him, he meant that she would be sucking his cock, balling him.

Allison tucked her hair behind her ear and waited for what would come next.

Some girls found out and asked for money, but Maynor never gave the models money. His service was to make the tape and provide an industry contact. The girls who asked for money were the easiest to persuade. They were already whores who only wanted to wrangle the price. The good girls were the challenge. They needed time to think about the change in venue. He loved to capture the look on a girl’s face as she weighed her options. The standard line was that she could always put her clothes back on, and he would destroy the tape. Most of this was true. Any model was free to leave at any time, but if she’d already signed the release, then the tape was going to be published. Sometimes it was a treat to watch a girl retreat, pulling on her clothes all shamefaced.

“So here’s what I want you to do next,” Maynor said, raising the camera and pointing it at her face. “Get down on your knees—”

Her eyes widened. She stopped stroking her hair.

“And suck my cock,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open.

He grinned. If he’d felt conflicted earlier, he felt no compunction about sticking his cock in her now. He loved the girls who suddenly got all sanctimonious at the very end. In this respect, Allison did not disappoint. “Coach,” she said, her voice a breathless little murmur.

His smile widened. He would have to edit that out.

She looked at a spot on the floor, her face clouding.

“Mister Smith,” she said looking at him. “I don’t know.”

Because Maynor had so much history with Allison, this was probably the greatest barrier of all. In middle school, his daughter would invite Allison and some of the other girls over for sleepovers. Maynor would pull out his photography equipment—umbrellas, lights, and backdrops—and the girls would try on princess costumes and pose with glitter wands. He would light the girls like little movie stars, and they would shriek at one another as they looked at the results. In high school, he would take them to weeklong volleyball camps in the mountains in the summertime, and then championship tournaments in a neighboring city in the fall. They would stay at motels, coming down from their rooms in the morning with their hair mussed and sleep in their eyes, ready to eat continental breakfasts. Allison had already found a way to rationalize so much of what he wanted from her. He just needed her to go the tiniest bit further.

She curled her toes under her feet.

She stood on one leg and then used the other leg to scratch her calf.

“Look honey,” he said. “It’s just a little sucking and fucking. When we’re done, I’ll come on your face.” He didn’t bother to use euphemism or romantic language anymore. She looked at him with a pained expression, even though what he was suggesting was exactly what she’d seen in the tape with Raoul and his girlfriend.

“I won’t get any cum in your mouth or eyes,” he said. “I’ll put it all on your cheeks and forehead, your hair, and maybe even a little on your tits.”

Allison looked at her breasts and stopped stroking her hair. She bit her lip. Rubbing her palms on her hips, she looked at the clothes she’d just discarded.

“Will Veronica know?” Allison asked.

She was asking Maynor if his daughter would know. He almost snorted a laugh but managed to suppress it. He explained that he would edit the tape so nobody would know he was in it. For the most part, only his cock would appear in the scenes.

“The producers don’t want to see my old ass,” he said.

She grinned, her first smile since he’d told her who she was going to fuck.

Taking a step toward him, she reached out and touched his forearm with the tips of her fingers. He asked if she were ready and she set her chin and nodded her head. It was the sort of look she’d give him before one of the big championship games.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “That’s my big girl.”

He’d always said that to her so she would push her body to its limits for her teammates and her school. Now he wanted Allison to push her body just as hard, but for a different purpose. He wanted her to use her pintsized boobs and fine round ass to amuse his customers, to provide him with an enjoyable afternoon of studio work.

He raised the camera to his chest, framing her pretty face.

She lowered herself to her knees.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.

His dick throbbed.

***

3

Every session needed its own sensibility, its own flavor.

Maynor’s job was to gauge a girl’s capabilities, then determine how best to present her to customers. It took a particular kind of insight and he was good at it. There was the pretty black girl who drove down from Michigan after a few weeks of trading emails. Beautiful girl. Brown eyes, strong cheekbones. In the first five minutes of her interview, Maynor knew that an interview wouldn’t work for her. She was too confident and opinionated, answering all his questions with her clipped, Midwestern accent. When she told him she’d been a child model and then admitted that her career in fashion had been undone by her lack of height, Maynor struck on how he ought to use her. He said, “So the fashion industry doesn’t want any short models,” and she smiled and nodded her head. That smile was the last footage any of his customers would see from her interview. The next shot featured a close up of Maynor’s cock buried deep in her pretty mouth, the wet sounds of her labor. He made her into something his customers wanted, something they could understand.

Maynor petted Allison’s pretty head.

As he’d searched the streets for her, he thought about how he might use her. He never imagined she’d make herself so vulnerable in the interview. Her delicate hands opened his fly and took out his erection. Gazing up at him, she stroked his cock and smiled.

She could be the shy girl who got in over her head.

She pumped his cock with her fist. Slipping his cock into her mouth, she allowed her head to follow the action of her fist. He gathered her hair. He waited for her face to go forward and then closed his fist on her hair, jamming her nose into his pubic patch. His cock muffled the sounds of her shock. She raised her chin, eyes wide with fear.

He framed her face in the camera.

Her fingernails dug into his thighs, her neck and shoulder muscles tensed, straining. She tried to extricate herself, but he squared his hips with her face, holding her fast.

He didn’t want to choke her. It was just the best way to present her to customers, manufacturing a little reluctance. She was, after all, a girl with an obligation, a girl who needed to pay her dues. It was what customers wanted to see.

Soon she lowered her chin, her head going limp against his hand. Her submission made his dick swell, his heart thump. He rocked his hips, humping her face. Small wet noises came from her mouth. He had a directional mike pointed at her throat. In the finished video, he would turn up the levels on those noises, accentuating her predicament.

Afraid he might come, he let her hair go and she went right back to kissing and licking his shaft. No complaints. No harm, no foul.

What a great kid.

He took his wet shaft with two fingers and raised it.

“Balls,” he said.

She dutifully put her mouth on his penis, but he pulled his dick free. “Balls,” he said. She looked at him blankly, brushing the hair from her face.

“Do the balls,” he said with mild irritation. “Do the balls.”

A look of comprehension flashed across her face and she squatted lower, putting her chin under his cock. She took one of his hairy balls in her mouth, nuzzling it. His wet shaft flopped on her face. He could feel her silky hair on his cock, her warm mouth on his nuts.

He bent her over a waist-high counter, a position she seemed reluctant to try. He slipped in behind her, running his thumb down the delicate knobs of her spine. She arched her back, looking over her shoulder with a pensive expression.

Putting his foot between her legs and tapping her ankles, he got her to open her legs for him.

She was panting. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or passion. Closing her mouth, she looked ahead, then immediately twisted her trunk to meet his eyes. She looked like she was about to say something, but he didn’t wait to hear what would come out. He put his cock inside her. She was warm and tight. As he sank inside, she exhaled heavily and grabbed onto the far edge of the counter. He took her slender waist in his hands and rocked his hips. His groin made a slapping noise against her ass.

She reached one hand toward him, her fingers splayed.

He swung his hips hard. She gasped, grabbing onto the counter with both hands. He slapped her ass once, and then again, and then once more, all in the same place. A red handprint appeared on her bottom, glowing hot.

“Coach, coach, coach,” she whispered, her voice low and needy.

She worked her legs closed again.

His cock was still inside her, and he stroked her hips and ground himself against her rear. She looked over her shoulder and smiled hesitantly at him.

“Put this knee up on the counter,” he said, tapping her thigh.

Her smile disappeared.

She looked to the front, wordlessly raising her knee.

He had to stand on his toes to bury his cock inside her. Taking her hips in his hands, he lined himself up, then fucked her hard, sending his cock into her again and again. She didn’t drop her knee, but she made a low rolling wail that grew in intensity. The windows were open. He slapped her ass in the same spot as before, then grabbed a fistful of her hair. She stopped howling, looking at him like a feral animal.

He slowed his strokes. Soon he let go of her hair.

He winked.

He ground his groin into her, then pulled himself back, letting his wet cock slip from her sticky slit. Tapping her thigh, he gave permission for her to remove her knee from the counter. Lowering her leg, she gave little shuddery exhales.

He gestured with the fingers of both his hands for her to come to him.

She melted against his chest, hands clasped in front of her. He put his arms around her shoulders, his cock heavy with blood and bobbing between them. He stroked her head and she closed the small gap between them, crushing his erection against her tummy. Her shoulders shivered. The pace of the session could be much different from the pace of the tape. He whispered encouragements into her ear. He only needed about twenty minutes of footage, but for Allison it would be the most humiliating sex of her young life. He could afford to be generous, to go slow. He could get the shots he needed a little at a time, spread out over the course of the entire afternoon. He gathered Allison tighter, cooing into her ear. The thought of what lay ahead made his cock throb against her flat tummy.

***

4

You could never know what a girl might do.

You had to get her clothes off. Get her comfortable, get her past the barriers.

You had to get her to forget the cameras. Lower her expectations. Maynor was not a bad looking man. He had a square chin and cold blue eyes like a fast moving river. He went to the gym, watched his diet. But he was forty-two. Softer, rounder, than a guy like Raoul. When a girl agreed to work with Maynor, she was making a small concession. The best tapes were a series of these tiny concessions, each made on the fly, one right after the other. Often the girl was the one most surprised at how far she had been able to go.

There was the freckle-faced redhead from Tennessee last year.

She was twenty-two, a sophomore attending a prominent Southern bible college. After months-long email correspondence and a few chats on the phone, she agreed to come see the studio during spring break, no obligation.

He paid for roundtrip Greyhound tickets. She stayed in a hostel downtown.

In her interview, she mentioned her longtime boyfriend, a guy she’d known since elementary school. Maynor asked if the boyfriend knew she was in Carnal, and she batted her pale lashes, cheeks turning to fire. “Don’t judge me,” she squealed, laughing with the confidence of a girl who knew she wouldn’t be judged. Maynor laughed. He said new experiences were valuable, a necessary part of life. Later that afternoon, he used the same argument to convince her to take his cock in her ass. He bent her over, facing a camera. She was a Southern girl, raised on values like obedience, acquiescence. She made no sound as he sank his cock into her freshly greased ass. Her jaw dropped open, and she screwed her eyes shut. Her lips formed a silent “O” as she clutched the countertop, waiting for him to finish. He put her on her back next. She was a small girl and he gathered her in his arms, giving her deep soul kisses. She tried to resist his tongue, but his cock was between her legs, spurring her on. Soon she gave in, kissing him like a lover. Her green eyes were glassy, her breath coming in shuddery gasps. Touching his sweaty head to hers, he whispered, “Sexy little whore,” and she moaned softly, giving him an expression that was hard to read. She dug her nails into the flesh of his back. He’d taken her ass, her tongue—now he wanted her soul. “This hot little slut needs some cock,” he said.

And on it went.

Soon she gave in, repeating his words back in a breathy voice, referring to herself in third person. He didn’t ordinarily include footage of missionary position, but her nasty monologue made it too irresistible to leave out. Taking a fistful of her hair, he tugged her head back, exposing her neck. He put his lips just below her ear and sucked.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, making a little squeal. “Fuck the whore,” she said. “Fuck the bitch.”

He grinned, raising his sweaty chest off her. Holding the backs of her thighs, he speared her molten core. “Give it to the little slut,” she whispered, her voice rising to soprano.

He palmed her tits, rocked his hips, and gave her an orgasm.

Her back arched.

“Dirty fucking slut,” she hissed.

He led her to the place in the studio where he could record her facial, his cock bobbing with an urgent need. She walked on wobbly legs, kneeling where he showed her, pushing her heavy hair from her face.

Her eyes had that dreamy look of afterglow.

He came on her face, pumping the thick fluid onto her cheeks, her forehead. Great ropes went into her hair, onto her shoulder. He praised her and she grinned, her face holding a messy sludge of his semen. She tried to wipe a small amount of his cum from the corner of her mouth, but he stopped her.

“I have to take stills,” he said. “Don’t get your fingers in it.”

He continued to lavish her with praise for her performance. He didn’t use words like whore or slut anymore. He said she was hot, a real dynamo. The best he’d ever seen. The words rolled effortlessly from him. It was all cheap talk.

He hated himself right after he came.

He hated the girls a little bit, too, but he didn’t like to let on. At the end of every session, he took still pictures, even though customers didn’t want stills anymore. He took them mostly for his own amusement.

He liked to chat with the girls, as he photographed their messy faces. How do you think you did? Do you think you can do this kind of work? Sometimes the responses were comical. The black girl from Michigan grew anxious with his cum pooling at the corners of her mouth. She would only nod, eyes wide, assuring him she could do adult work. He pointed the camera at her and trigged the flash. The studio was well lit, but he always used a flash for the stills. It was a bit of theatrics that he’d come up with all on his own. The studio held so much automated camera equipment the girls often forgot the cameras were even there, but for the stills he liked to remind them. Soon he would stop chatting and just take picture after picture, moving around, sometimes kneeling, sometimes standing or using the step ladder, the only sound the whir of his lens, the whistle of the cooling flash. In the first few minutes, a girl would often tilt her head back, trying to actively manage the semen slowly traveling down her face, trying to keep it out of her hair or mouth. Some of the girls pressed their lips together in a bid to clear their lips without swallowing. He would watch the eyes—especially the young ones. If there were shame and remorse, it would appear in her eyes first, in the way she’d look away from the camera, stop making eye contact. She’d soon allow the semen to slide unhindered down her cheeks, or simply go ahead and lick her lips clean. She was thinking about all the concessions she’d made, the things she’d done, or allowed him to do. Or maybe she was listing in her mind all the people who might one day see these images. Parents, brothers. Teachers. Or people she might hope to know. A husband. Sons, daughters.

The girl from Tennessee was like this.

The glow from her orgasm evaporated and her face grew slack. She let her mouth hang open, staring across the room. He had to ask her to look into the camera. Her eyes glistened, his camera flashed. She raised her finger to the corner of her eye, apologizing. He snapped more pictures. She grinned, but her eyes didn’t match her expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She dabbed at the corners of her left eye, then her right.

“It’s okay,” he said.

He lowered the camera and smiled.

When he stood, his swollen cock banged against his thighs. He felt the way it wobbled heavily between his legs and grew ashamed. He wished he’d put on pants. She looked between his legs, making a loud sniffing sound. There was an awkward silence.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, but something in her tone changed. She averted her eyes.

He heard the change in her voice and his embarrassment dried up. He closed the distance between them, his cock moving in front of him like some perverse divining rod. Stowing the camera near where she knelt, he turned to face her, putting his hands on his hips.

“It’s okay,” he said.

His cock swayed only inches from her nose.

She looked around the studio. “Do you—” she said, her voice wandering off.

He gazed down at her. She’d never been in a position quite like this before and didn’t know how to navigate it. Her face held the remnants of his drying cum. She was a go-getter who’d been unable to get through the session. She couldn’t have anticipated her own discomfort, much less his reaction. “Should I—” she said.

He grinned.

He did not make any demand of her. He didn’t have to. She had been raised to yield, to always comply. She was an overachiever, constantly willing to please. Rising on her knees, she tilted her head and opened her mouth, scooping his cock inside.

He sighed with relief. Her mouth was warm.

Brushing her hands from his shaft, he stroked himself. He knew exactly what he wanted from her. Soon he felt an orgasm rising. Placing both hands on her head, he waited on the very edge. It was luxury, his dick in her moist mouth. Just before he came, he leaned back so he could see her eyes. “I’m going to come,” he said.

She didn’t move.

He wondered if she’d heard him, and in the weeks that followed he would return to this moment, considering it often. In the end, he decided that she had heard, but had just given up. Her final concession. He growled as the first jet of semen pulsed into her mouth. His groan was followed by a short snort of laughter. His eyes had fallen on a box of tissues. In her interview, she’d talked about giving her boyfriend head and always making him fire into a wad of tissue. She laughed about it. She said that now he always seemed to keep a box of tissue on hand in his car.

Maynor petted her hair as he fed her the rest of his cum.

He felt guilty after he came. He gave her a box of wipes to clean her face. “Did you swallow it?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. She knew he knew. It was a question only a pornographer would ask. Her mouth made a grim little smile, and she didn’t respond. She wouldn’t look at him. She wiped her face.

He drove her to the hostel, telling her stories of other models. He did most of the talking. At the curb, she gathered her backpack into her lap. She looked him in the face and thanked him. Thanked him. He was incredulous. “No, no,” he said, suddenly at a loss for words. He was the smooth operator scrambling for something, anything to say, and finally settling on something mundane, something obvious. “Thank you,” he said.

She tugged on the door handle, and then she was gone.

He edited her tape to amplify her infidelity. That, Maynor reasoned, was the thing that had allowed her to talk about herself with such abandon. That was why she let him come in her mouth, why she had swallowed his cum.

She felt guilty.

She was punishing herself for being in Carnal. Or maybe she was redeeming herself for never swallowing cum. These were the things Maynor liked to think about as he worked. He edited the tape so that the part of her interview where she mocked her boyfriend replayed itself just before she swallowed her first load of cum. In the soundtrack, she is still giggling about her boyfriend’s tissues, while the image switches to Maynor leaning back, telling her how he intends to use her mouth. Then the scene switches to a new angle, a camera that frames his hips on the left, her face on the right. His hands rest lightly on her crown, the muscles in his bottom clench, then release. He groans, snorts a little laughter. Her hands rise, fluttering at his hips. His bottom clenches again, and then again, and she places her hands on his thighs, works the muscles in her throat and neck to keep up.

Customers loved it.

He knew it would be gold even as he edited it.

He worked on her tape for four hours, then set it all aside and went looking for her. Her bus would leave in the early morning. He wanted to take her to dinner, some place nice. Get her some seafood, or maybe a steak. He went to the hostel but her stuff was already gone. He checked at the bus depot, where her return trip ticket to Tennessee sat unclaimed. He couldn’t find her at the train station, nor was she standing on any of the nearby onramps to the interstate or even the turnpike.

He drove around thinking about her, his cock hard.

He didn’t feel guilty.

He could have used tissue. He preferred to use her mouth.

***

5

He let Allison ride him cowgirl. He wanted her to have the feeling of being in control. She straddled his hips, then fed his cock between her legs. Settling onto him, she rocked forward, using his pelvic bone to stimulate herself.

He let her settle into a comfortable rhythm. “Do you remember,” he asked, placing his hands on her hips. “That championship meet up in Morristown?”

Her mouth was open, her face slack with desire. Suddenly she grinned, looking away. She did remember. It was an out-of-town, overnight meet. Allison and two other girls—his daughter included—had slipped out of the motel sometime in the middle of the night and then still hadn’t made it back in time for breakfast. All three girls appeared at the gymnasium in time for their late morning match, but they played miserably.

She rocked herself back on her heels. He used his thumb to rub her clit.

“Coach,” she said, panting. “I can’t . . . I can’t really remember.”

He held her hips and gave her his cock, stopping only when he was out of breath. She was on all fours over him. Taking her ass cheeks in his hands, he sent his fingers into her ass crack, massaging her tight little asshole. Her brows rose up on her forehead, her breath coming in gasps. But then she squirmed her hips, clamping her ass cheeks together, until she managed to get his fingers away from her ass.

Rising up, she made a nervous little laugh. She rocked her hips, avoiding his eyes.

“You remember,” he whispered. “You snuck out in the middle of the night.”

She grinned. Bit her lip. As the game started, three boys had galloped into the stands. He saw the looks those boys passed one another, legs splayed out in the stands. They wore heavy white sneakers with the laces undone. They punched one another’s shoulders, grinning and touching themselves between their legs. He saw those three girls whispering amongst themselves, returning looks of their own.

He put her on her back, pushed her knees to her chest, and then got into position over her. He gathered her in his arms, his dick hovering over both her holes. She was the kind of girl who might benefit from a good, hard dick up her ass, but first someone would have to convince her to bend over. He tried to kiss her on the mouth, but she twisted her head away. He put his lips on her neck, sucking until he left a raw, wet mark glowing on her skin.

She squirmed under him, clamping her knees on his torso.

He laughed to show there were no hard feelings.

“Little slut,” he said.

Her eyes widened with a hurt expression. “Oh, coach,” she whispered. “Please.”

He pressed his thumb against her sweaty asshole.

She mewled, raising her ass.

“I want you to try anal,” he said.

He bent his head for a kiss, but she twisted her head away.

He grinned. “I got lots of grease.”

She exhaled heavily, pressing her knees against his sides.

He pressed his cockhead against her pussy. “I got a little dick,” he said.

Her brows arched upwards.

He sank himself into her.

“Lots of girls like it up the ass,” he said. “Girls just like you.”

Her eyes widened.

He bent his head to kiss her. When she twisted her head away, he put his lips at her ear and whispered: “Good little girls. Good little slu—”

“Coach,” she cried, cutting him off.

He grinned.

“I didn’t do it,” she said. “We didn’t do it.”

He started to move his hips. He could hear the urgency in her voice, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to shame her into taking a cock up her ass.

“It was Cho,” she said.

He smiled. He moved his hips with a comfortable rhythm.

“Cho fucked all three of those boys,” Allison said. Her tone was earnest and firm. “Cho is the slut. Cho is the whore.”

He met her eyes and she didn’t waver. She launched into the story of that night in Morristown, at the Red Roof Inn. It was a strange story, mainly because the truth of it was something he’d assumed he already knew. He’d never pressed any of the girls for details. He just drove home with them in a quiet bus, his chin on his chest. Cho knew one of the boys and set up the rendezvous. They went to a house party where the boys gave them ecstasy. Cho sucked off the boy she came with in the den, with everyone watching. Veronica and Allison cheered Cho on, but refused their dates. Eventually all three boys fucked Cho.

“She’s the whore, coach,” Allison said. “Cho’s the slut.”

He said nothing. He had fallen into a pounding rhythm with his hips. It was surreal. Little Allison Manning was under him, his meaty cock stuffed between her legs, and she was making a compelling case for why he couldn’t call her a slut. And she was doing it by throwing one of her teammates under the bus.

Allison’s tight little ass squirmed under him as he used her pussy.

He watched her jaw jerk with each of his thrusts and realized he was fucking her too hard. He was punishing her, and she was accepting it. She wanted something from him. She watched his face intently, an earnest expression on her face. “Cho took all three at one time,” Allison whispered, saying it like a lover.

He stopped moving his hips.

“They took turns coming in her mouth,” Allison said. “Cho said it was her birth control strategy.”

Turning his head, he looked at a studio wall that held nothing.

He grinned.

He shook his head.

“Cho,” he finally said, “is a slut.”

Allison took his head in her hands and kissed him full on the lips, her warm tongue invading his mouth. His eyes were open, his tongue thick and unresponsive. He’d never been in this situation before and wasn’t quite sure how to navigate it.

Allison broke their kiss, but kept her fingers pressed into his scalp.

She outmaneuvered him. He could feel her warm breath on his chin. She got the best of him. She tentatively pressed her lips to his again, her tongue snaking its way back into his mouth. He returned her kiss with his tongue this time, knowing he wouldn’t get her ass.

They kept their sweaty heads near one another.

“I always knew Cho was a slut,” he said.

Allison snorted soft laughter. A car alarm sounded in the street below.

“How?” she asked.

Her question hung in the air. He was already thinking about how to salvage his tape. When he realized she was waiting for an answer, he said: “She looks like a slut.”

Allison laughed, but Maynor didn’t.

He met her eyes, his face unreadable. He had an idea about Allison. He might not get her to bend over, but there were plenty of other things he could ask for. He had an idea about how to get what he needed from her.

***

6

He led her to the area he used for facials. It was an alcove he’d modified, calling in an electrician and carpenter to embed cameras in the ceiling and walls. It had cost a lot to create, but it was worth it. The facial was the money shot. Customers loved them.

Allison knelt inside the alcove.

He got a folding chair, opened it, and placed it in front of her. He showed her where the cameras were and made sure she knew the importance of this shot. He was curt, businesslike. She had robbed him of a little of his authority as the producer and he intended to get it back.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he warned, raising his brows.

He sat in the folding chair and opened his legs. He waved her closer. She walked on her knees, resting her arms on his thighs. She grinned.

He lifted his shaft. “Start by licking my ass,” he said.

Her smile wavered and her eyes widened. She swallowed. Leaning her head back, she looked at the area below his balls. Maynor was a hairy man. He slid his ass to the edge of the seat.

Allison chucked her shoulders forward, expelling her breath in a series of little gasps. “Coach,” she said, her voice sweet and low.

She took his shaft in her hands.

“Coooooach,” she said. She lowered her head to his cock, licking his head and gazing up into his eyes. “Coach, please let me suck your cock,” she said. “Oh, please, please, pleeeease,” she whined, her eyes pleading.

Rising on her knees, she leaned toward him, cuddling his cock between her breasts.

“I’ll do the balls,” she said earnestly.

She popped one of his testicles into her mouth and nuzzled his scrotum. She was saying something else—it might have been “please,” or maybe it was just more of that sexy little girl pout that Allison did so well—but it was hard to make out because she filled her mouth so completely with his balls.

“I’ve known you for a long time Allison,” he said. Her brows rose on her forehead and she grew silent. “You’re Veronica’s friend, and I know your mom and dad. They’re both good people.” She stroked his shaft with her fist, nodding her head to how he was characterizing their relationship, the relationship of their families. “You’re a good person—a beautiful girl. A good student and an even better teammate.”

Her hand stilled on his cock.

“You can always suck my cock or do my balls.” A relieved smile broke across her cheeks. She resumed the action with her hand on his cock, wet sucking noises coming from her mouth.

“But right now,” he said, tapping his knuckles on her head.

“I need you to lick my ass.”

Her face fell.

She let his wet sack fall from her mouth. Rising on her knees, she looked past him, her arms resting on his thighs.

Her lip quivered and she grew still.

“Come on baby,” Maynor said, raising his shaft. “All the girls do it.”

This was a lie. Maynor rarely asked for rim jobs, which didn’t go over well with his customers. Heterosexual men didn’t want to see images of a fat cock, hairy thighs, and the top of a girl’s head. The truth was Allison had used her pretty little pink tongue to challenge him. Now he wanted her to use it to lick his ass.

She narrowed her eyes, looking off into the middle distance.

He’d seen that same look from Allison once before. In her senior year, he benched her in favor of another girl, a freshmen dynamo. The next day Allison’s father paid Maynor a visit. Her dad was determined to win her position back, and he did.

He rescued his daughter.

Allison sighed, rubbing Maynor’s hairy thighs.

Her daddy couldn’t save her this time. He’d put her out on the street to teach her a lesson. She met Maynor’s eyes, giving him a resigned smile. All she could do now was accept her instruction.

Lowering her shoulders, she pointed her chin under his balls.

Maynor grinned, his cock throbbing with desire. His chest soared. He felt her first few hesitant little licks in the place between his asshole and his balls. He sighed, settling into the folding chair to give her better access to his ass.

“That’a girl,” he whispered. “Good girl.”

He didn’t call her a slut or a whore. She didn’t like to hear that kind of language. She thought of herself as a good girl, so that’s what he told her.

“That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” he said.

She used the flat of her tongue to wash his ass. Heaving one of his thighs up over her shoulder, she pressed her mouth into his crack. She folded her tongue into a V, pressing hard against his sphincter. He soon felt her tongue penetrate his asshole.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” he whispered. “Fuck yeah!”

She moved her chin and face to give his asshole the stimulation it needed. He laughed and rode her pretty face. Every so often she would stop, out of breath, her cheeks red with exertion. He would let her rest for a bit, then lift his shaft, nodding his head.

He used her this way for ten or fifteen minutes. A sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead and her bangs grew damp.

He finally stood. “You ready?”

She brushed the hair from her face and tilted her chin up.

Standing before her, he stroked his erection. “Open your mouth,” he said.

She opened her mouth.

“Wider,” he said.

Her eyes held an anxious expression, but she dropped her jaw, opening her mouth wider. She fidgeted on her knees.

“Here it comes,” he said.

He held his cock at the base, and suddenly a thick load of milky semen appeared on her pretty forehead. He stroked himself, putting more sperm on her left cheek, then even more on her right. Somehow a thick rope of cum appeared in her fine, silky hair, just above her ear. He made soft grunts of pleasure. She let her jaws relax, tilting her head back. He put the last of his hot cum on her delicate little chin.

His cockhead dripped with semen. Ordinarily he would flick this last bit into a girl’s face, a playful way to end the scene. This time he put his hand on his hips.

“Okay, sweetie,” he said. “Suck the rest of that shit out of there.”

Her eyes shot up to meet his. This is what he had in mind for her. You make a girl lick your ass for ten minutes, suddenly sucking a little sperm from your dick was no big deal. Opening her mouth, she took his messy cockhead between her lips. Lowering her eyes, her cheeks went concave.

“Good girl,” he said with enthusiasm.

He made a lusty grunt.

She bobbed her head, her thin hair flying wildly about her face. Soon she pulled her mouth from his cock with a noisy pop. Gazing up at him, her face was a sticky mess. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks and forehead. She shook her head, but the hair wouldn’t come loose.

He laughed.

She reached to her face to brush the hair away, make herself look more presentable, but he stopped her hand. “Oh, honey,” he said. He laughed softly.

They both knew what she looked like.

Allison looked pained. Her brows shot up on her forehead in a silent plea. His snickering grew louder. He held his spent cock in his hand. She looked away. “Oh, sweetie,” he said. “Look at you, look at your pretty face,” he laughed.

Her lower lip started to quiver.

She met his eyes.

“You,” he said, sniggering. “You are such…

“A little…”

She tilted her head as if in preparation for a slap, an incredulous look on her face. Her chest expanded as she gasped for air, her eyes widening.

“Wild thing!” he said, laughing.

“You’re so amazing! So hot…

“So sensual…

“So perfect.”

Allison blew the air from her lungs, a look of great relief on her face. Her shoulders slumped. His praise was obsequious, lavishing her ability to turn him on, to turn any man on. She brushed the hair from her face and he allowed it. He wanted her to feel comfortable. She listened to him intently, soaking up his approval. Her eyes welled, but with tears of joy. She absentmindedly licked the semen from her lips.

“I’ve never seen a girl quite like you,” he said. “Can I get a thumbs up?”

Allison gave him two thumbs up.

Holding her hands up near her messy face, she grinned willfully. She made a kissy face with her lips, then a lusty sneer. The cameras captured it all. Her eyes shone with satisfaction, her face smeared in semen.

He only asked it on a lark, but this image of Allison holding her thumbs up would change everything for Maynor.

It would change his whole financial picture.

The way the pornography business worked made it hard to attribute an exact dollar value to any particular image or girl, but Allison’s smiling, cum-drenched face was the most successful advertising campaign he’d ever launched. He attributed its success partially to the fact that it was a family-friendly image—it didn’t show any tits or ass—so it was available on a wider range of websites, calling out to a larger pool of men. Its success was predicated by its decadence, the innocence of her young face, the look of pride and satisfaction in her eyes, the double thumbs up sign—a gesture known internationally as a positive image, combined with her mug smeared with milky warm sperm, an equally well-known gesture, with much different connotations. And when a customer clicked through (69% click-through rate, unheard of in online advertising), her video did not disappoint. Maynor had made Allison into the shy little girl who needed to do porn. Needed it. Between her heartfelt confession, initial reluctance, and then the way she wholly embraced her degradation, customers found it an uplifting tale of redemption. For porn, it was very positive, very popular. She’d succeeded, capturing a dream. Customers found themselves cheering for her.

Allison was the little girl who could.

In two weeks, Maynor had paid for Veronica’s sophomore year at an Ivy League school. Soon he made a down payment on twelve-meter yacht, securing one of his own longtime dreams. In honor of Allison, he named it The Painted Lady. He took to wearing a sailor’s cap. He beamed whenever he told friends or acquaintances the name of the boat, and he mentioned it often, always looking for ways to drop it into the conversation.

More than finances, though, the image changed Maynor’s outlook about the work he did with the girls. He no longer felt guilty after he came, or at the start of an interview. He came to believe that he had a gift.

He came to this realization slowly, in the heady weeks after publishing Allison’s tape.

Maynor ran into Allison’s father at the Saint Lawrence Club. Maynor went to his friend, asking him about his business, his wife. Finally Maynor inquired about Allison. Had she turned up at the house? Was there any news?

Allison’s father grew silent. His lips made a tight line across his face.

He’d sent Allison to inpatient treatment out of state. She was in a facility somewhere in Minnesota, and it would cost as much as an entire year at a private Ivy League school. Clapping his friend on the back, Maynor tried to be supportive. He said a father’s greatest asset was his little girl, and wished Allison’s father luck.

Later that night, at closing time, Allison’s father shuffled down the bar. He slurred his speech. Putting his hand on Maynor’s shoulder, Allison’s father whispered that Allison had made a pornographic movie.

“She did it all,” he said, his voice cracking.

He pulled back, looking in Maynor’s eyes. “She did everything,” her father said.

Maynor kept his face carefully composed.

He listened to her father, whose guilt was extensive. He wondered aloud if he’d made the right choices. He said he doubted he had. Maynor sat quietly, his lips pressed together. He gazed into his glass. A single thought rang over and over in his mind, tolling like a church bell, causing him a tinge of his own remorse, which he hid from her father.

Not everything, Maynor thought. She hadn’t done it all.

As her father droned on, Maynor mulled Allison’s kisses over in his mind. He invited Allison’s father and the rest of his family up to the lake.

It took the men a few weeks to find a date that would work. By then Allison had come back from Minnesota and moved in with her family. She got a large tattoo of some sort of bird on her shoulder. She took a job as a barista at the local farmer’s market and began dating a man who rode a motorcycle and wore black leather. They all piled onto The Painted Lady, and Maynor stood at the helm, wearing his cap. Allison didn’t have much to do with Veronica that day, both girls somehow realizing they were now on separate paths. When Allison’s father asked about the name of the boat, Maynor shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Allison smiled, hanging onto her boyfriend’s arm. No shadow of shame passed over her face. She didn’t realize the significance of the name, nor understand how the boat was financed.

Maynor decided he didn’t like Allison’s tattoo. She went below and pulled denim shorts over her bikini. As she stood in the bow, he found himself gazing wistfully at her tight little ass.

Allison’s father helped moor the boat while the others went to the cabin. Maynor pointed out that Allison looked healthy and she seemed to be doing quite well.

“Phenomenal,” her father said. He said he’d been amazed at how it had all worked itself out. He felt as if he had made all the right decisions, even his decision to put her out, especially his decision to put her on the street.

He called it tough love.

He said it meant he’d given Allison exactly what she’d needed to get where she was today. He seemed satisfied with himself. He no longer felt guilty. He didn’t act remorseful.

Maynor thought about it a lot.

He liked the idea of giving a girl what she needed most. In the studio that day, Allison had sat quietly for her stills, his cum on her face. He waited for the shame, but it never arrived. When Allison began to yawn, he ended the session. Each girl was so different, had such different needs. The closest Allison came to remorse was as she wiped her face clean.

“Do you think my dad will see this?” she asked.

Maynor smiled. Every male on the planet between the ages of 14 and 74 would see it. That was just how porn worked at the start of the twenty-first century. Moreover, the images would remain intact for future generations. Allison would age but the images of her as a teenager, covered in semen, would remain frozen in time, for a very long time. With data retention policies being what they were, improvements in storage, transfer, and the wide distribution rate of porn, perhaps even forever. But Maynor didn’t say any of that.

His smile turned to a grin. “What would your dad do if he saw this?”

Her eyes widened, then she laughed. She shook her head and kept wiping her face. Her idea of how her father would react was so much different than how he had reacted.

It was a wonder.

In the car after they’d left the studio, she’d asked for money. A lot of the girls did this at the end of a shoot. Maynor always politely turned them down. Allison pleaded. She offered to pay him back. Maybe because they shared such a long history, or maybe because he liked her father so much, Maynor gave in this one time. He told her she could earn it.

He asked her to suck his dick and let him come in her mouth.

“Oh, coach,” Allison whined, a pained expression on her face. “Please,” she said.

Maynor grinned. His cock stirred.

He felt certain it was the first time she sucked a cock for money. He felt just as certain she hadn’t intended to prostitute herself when she woke up that morning. It was just the way her day was working out. She negotiated for more cash. He agreed, gladly, insisting she swallow. As he filled her pretty mouth with his cum, he wasn’t thinking he was giving her the thing she needed most. He certainly wasn’t thinking about tough love. He just wanted to push her a little further, see what sort of hoops he might get her to jump through.

Boat secured, Maynor fired up the gas grill.

His guests were scattered about the deck. It was a lovely evening, just starting to turn cool. He loved the brisk promise of an early autumn night. Tipping his cap back on his head, Maynor considered renaming his boat.

The Painted Lady was a tacky name, hard to explain.

He liked the idea of giving a girl what she needed, even if what she needed was something a little harsh. He thought he might call it, Tough Love.