S + J

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“What are you doing?” His voice made you jump, knocking the miniature tripod over as you turned to face him, breathing heavy. Dieters’ hair was wet from his own shower, messy and curling around his ears in a way that made him look younger, the grey in his beard more playful than distinguished.

“Fuck, sorry!” you said, turning away to feel your face burn at his amused expression. “I’m used to being alone, it’s a pandemic habit to talk to myself”

He laughed, deep and rich enough to pull you from embarrassment as you giggled alongside him.

“I still do most of my own marketing -  are you happy for me to film us a little bit?”

Dieter raised his eyebrow, cocking his head to the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor, the mirror standing with its memories of what you had done less than an hour before.

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Not porn stuff. For Instagram?”

“Fine by me, just tell me what to do.”

Your spine shivers at that comment. He’d said it before, something similar, to order him around right before he had taken you to pieces with his fingers in your cunt and his lips on your ear. You grab your phone, ignoring the pleasant tingles through your skin as you walk into the living room for the best lighting.

“I’m thinking just a story, you don’t have to say anything, just be in the shot, and maybe… um, if it’s okay? Hold me a little?”

Dieter tries to hide the grin. You’re fucking adorable, it’s messing with his head. This absurd combination of hesitancy and filth that’s making his dick twitch and his ears buzz. He’s filmed with new performers before, he’s done far filthier things to people than get them off in front of a mirror. So why were your little breathy gasps and plea’s scratched into his brain? Why did he have to jerk off in the damn shower, unable to get rid of the stubborn erection any other way. He had to film with you this afternoon, coming down the drain was a waste product. But you had hours before the crew showed up, and he knew he would spend it diamond hard and aching in his pants if he had to spend them in this house and not fuck you.

He couldn’t wait to fuck you. His manager called with the offer, and he almost turned it down on the spot. He’d worked with newbies in the industry before, and he was too old, too seasoned to talk you through camera angles and the business side of the industry with anything like the grace you deserved. But he agreed to check your content anyway, see if he was interested, a free 30 day subscription to your channel and a lazy afternoon on his couch, waiting for his delivery dinner to arrive.

He saw it on the first video. You had a headphone in, and you cheated your eyeline off to the side. You were watching something, there was something on a screen out of sight of the cameras, you sped up and slowed down in time with something he couldn’t see or hear. It was smart, and idly he wondered what you were watching. He fell into your content unexpectedly. Twenty-minute videos that were half vlog half porn, with you making charming jokes at the camera before you stretched yourself open on all manner of toys. He could see why you were so popular.

It was deep in your archive that he found it. One of your earlier videos, where you were still a little awkward with setup, sincerity and enthusiasm as you giggled. He could see you were filming by holding your phone, the video not as high quality. But he caught it, in the reflection he could see his own face. He was younger, not by much, just after he signed exclusively with this studio. He was cleanshaven then, one of the most popular videos on the site. He could see the snarl curling his lip as he grabbed the actress by the hair, yanked her up to growl in her ear, her shrieks covering his words.

It made him hard. Lying on his couch watching you ride a cheap plastic cock, your sweet little whimpers filling his ear as your eyes flicked to him just offscreen. Were you imagining it was him fucking you? You’d chosen an inadequate toy if that was the case. Or were you among the legion of fans that loved his voice, that told him he could whisper a grocery list in their ear, and it would be enough. He was only half aware of doing it, talking over the sound of production in the background, an easy way to get out of his own head.

He fucked his fist at thoughts of hearing those little whimpers in his ear as you squirmed underneath him, trying not to scream. In your videos you referenced neighbours, a need to keep quiet as you bit your lips swollen and your fist clenched. You didn’t fake it. He knew what that looked like, and the way your eyes rolled back, the uneven bucking of your hips, that was all real.

He called his manager and accepted the job the next day.

Dieter hooked his chin over your shoulder as you held your phone aloft. He grinned into the camera, cocky and confident as you spoke to an unseen audience, teased the content incoming, that you had already filmed. His hands roamed your stomach, pulling you closer into his broad chest as you stumbled over words and laughed. He bit into your shoulder, kissed your cheek, playfully growled at the camera as you filmed hints of what was incoming, uploaded it with a smack to his hand.

“You hungry?” he asked, his arms still around your middle as you dropped your phone onto the couch. You wondered briefly why, his nose buried at the nape of your neck, his lips skating your skin as he asked. He didn’t have to act right now, there was no camera pointed at either of you, no intimacy to capture and package. With a shrug of agreement, you supposed it was easier, to stay in the moment all day, rather than switch it off and on as required.

He had brought food. Little protein balls he admitted he had made beforehand, knowing that these half day shoots were terrible for snacks. You sat on the couch with him, sipping Gatorade and talking about your favourite TV shows, how you both got obsessed with Tiger King & Animal Crossing in the early days of the quarantine. You try not to think too much about the fact that your feet are in his lap, his hands naturally rubbing your arches. That you laugh easier and lighter than you have in months, that his laugh makes your chest expand.

Fuck he didn’t kiss you enough. Just that brief moment in the afterglow wasn’t enough, your heavy breathing on his tongue, release on his fingers as you scrabbled weakly at his shirt. The way your mouth curves into a smile is making him want to kiss you, the way your laugh exposes the pulse in your throat is making him hard. It feels domestic, sitting on a couch with you as you scroll TikTok, showing him animals and dances and singing along in a way that’s so uninhibited. You’re so comfortable on him, your feet thrown over his legs that if he wanted to, he could pull you fully into his lap.

It's just a job. He repeats, over and over until it becomes meaningless noise in his head. It’s been too long since he shared actual intimacy with a person. He loves his job, enjoys his colleagues, and cherishes the trust they place in him with their bodies, but its never this. It’s never easy and sweet and careless, something to treasure as a forgotten joke in the future. You asked him about himself, not about his work, and seemed genuinely interested in his answers. Your eyelashes flutter when you blush, and he wants to make you blush. It’s foreign, he’s been in this house a dozen times, spent days shooting with co-stars he considers his closest friends, but sitting here with you is making him feel like he’s brand new again, nerves pooling in his stomach that you’re going to see him naked, that he’s going to be given the privilege to touch you.

“So” you ask, rolling your head to the side, sucking your lip between your teeth. “Is it real?”

Dieter feels the ice in his veins at your words. Do you feel it too? Is this some elaborate act you’re both playing out, that you think he’s just playing along?

“Your name” you clarify, with a grin. “I’m curious”

“Well, legally, I changed it, so yes it’s real”

Your eyes widen, taking on a pleading quality as you scramble off his lap, climbing to your knees on the couch as you bounced, hiding a wide grin behind your hand as you giggle.

He sighed, knowing he was going to tell you, knowing that the look on your face was going to be enough for him to crack and tell you. Rolling his tongue along his bottom lip, he wondered what else he would tell you, if asked. He tugged on his earring as he looked away from your smiling face.

“David. It’s David”

In your defence, you try. You try and hold it in as long as possible, looking at the messed-up strands of his hair, dried into wild curls he doesn’t bother taming, the patchy beard that you’ve felt on your neck, his fidgeting hands and feet, the inability to sit still and look away from you. But it doesn’t work. You start laughing, a giggle that turns into a belly laugh as he looks at you in mock offence.

“Doesn’t have the same ring to it. David! Ohhhh! Daaaavid” you whine, a mock parody of the worst actors in the industry. Your laugh turns into a shriek when he tackles you onto the couch, wrapping his arms behind your waist, snaking into your hair.

“Somehow I think you’d still scream it for me” he whispers, that same deep sinful voice running through you like a chill. His weight on top of you blocks the sun as you shift, your legs wrapping around his hips, your fingers tracing his jaw. You nod, unwilling to speak, sure that you’re going to ask him to kiss you again.

You don’t have to ask. His nose bumps against yours as he tightens his grip on you, your shirt bunching in his fist as you rock together in a slow rhythm. He kisses you, gently at first, asking for permission as you slide your fingers to the nape of his neck, pulling him harder on top of you. Its syrup slow, the drag of his tongue against the seam of your lips, dragging a whimper into his lungs. It’s intense, it feels different, the weight and purpose of his hands on your skin, the way he pulls you closer to him, holding you moulded soft and pliant against his body.

That’s how the crew finds you, tangled together on the couch.

“We ain’t even set the cameras up yet bud!” comes a voice from behind you both, making you jump apart, caught in the act like teenagers in a darkened basement. You feel your skin burn as you look at the floor.

Dieter laughs, coming around the couch to wrap the director in a hug of greeting. There are four of them, a small crew. Director, camera, sound and makeup. They’re all polite and happy as they introduce themselves to you, excited for the shoot. You want to say something to Dieter, ask him what that was, what it meant, but you’re dragged into the guest bathroom by the makeup artist. They’re young and giggly, dragging a case of makeup behind their rainbow striped dress.

You decide in thirty seconds that you like Blake. Energy and joy comes off them like a wave as they seat you on the counter and pull out a ring light. They’re wearing a rainbow dress with piercings through their cheeks, black hair buzzed to the scalp and eyeliner that looks like butterfly wings. They talk your ear off, smoothing their soft hands across your cheeks as you try to get a word in edgewise, end up laughing at the story they’re telling you instead.

“Okay, so I’ve got instructions here, but you stop me if I say something you don’t want, ok?”

You nod, curious.

“It’s basically the usual, glossy lips but paint that wont smear, lots of mascara that will, and flushed cheeks so you look horny from the minute we start rolling. Is that cool? Any allergies? Okay”

You let yourself be pampered. You usually have to do this yourself, applying light makeup before you film, just enough to look put together, clean and pretty. This is professional makeup, light layers added one after another with a deft flick of Blake’s wrist. Instead, when you turn in the mirror you’re surprised by the artful talent. Your eyes look huge. Thick lashes make the colour pop, your lips plumped by just a hint of gloss. There’s colour scattered across your nose and cheeks, making you look like you’ve twirled in the sun.

You change into the exceptionally slutty lingerie, using Blakes shoulder as an anchor to slip into the heels you brought, towering and plastic, they make you laugh in their absurdity, but achieve their goal in making your ass look incredible in the mirror. It feels like armour, like you’re wearing a uniform, something to elevate and lift you up to the status of performer.

The director gives you a once over as you exit the bathroom, nodding his approval he shouts at Dieter.

“Fuck off for five”

Dieter nods, grabbing his phone and leaving the house as you turn a quizzical eye to the director.

“Standard. We’ve gotta do the paperwork, and I prefer to do it separately so you’re comfortable and don’t feel any pressure.”

“Oh, I don’t feel any… I mean”

“Not from him!” the director clarifies “Mr Bravo is a pro – but standard op is standard op regardless of talent. Now, this is the form, if you could look over it for me and check down your limits”

It’s a list. A little spreadsheet in neat font with checkboxes. “yes” “pause to discuss” and “no”. There are little checkmarks already filled in in red ink, and the director hands you a black pen.

“So yes is things you’re comfortable with as standard. No is an absolute never, and obviously in the middle we can pause at any time to discuss an act before it happens, just use your word”

“I, uh, sorry, didn’t I already do one of these?” you ask, scanning the list before you. It’s extensive, alphabetical and typed.

“Yes, you did. But we like to do one on the day as well, because your mood changes as you go. You might not be interested in doing something today that you’re interested in doing generally you know? Gives us a good feel for where you’re at so everyone starts on the same foot.”

Your eyes skim the paper, most of the boxes are checked yes. Anal play, rimming, spit play, breath play, throatfucking, squirting… all listed in neat little check marks in a red sharpie.

“And um… Die… Mr Bravo has to fill this out as well?” You already know the answer.

“He already did” the director confirms. “This is his list; with your answers we can see where you’re compatible. I’ll give you a few – take your time, there’s no wrong answers, and don’t feel like you’re going to have to do something just because he said he would; Bravo’s up for anything, he wants you to be comfortable”

You smile to yourself at that. You could feel that from the beginning, his easy smile as he greeted you, the open posture and warmth in his eyes. It makes you feel warm, despite the chill of wearing next to nothing. You look over the list, making your way through it honestly, finding no surprise in your answers aligning almost perfectly with his own.

“Right, I’ll check this over, we’ll be good to go in about twenty – you feeling good?”

“Yep” you answered, feeling a sink of nerves in your stomach as you nod. It’s the same nerves from this morning, anticipation a burning stone through your belly as you stand awkwardly in the living room, your eyes avoiding the couch and the questions it raises.

“You look gorgeous” his voice comes from behind you, making you spin as he grins. He’s changed into jeans, loose and hanging low on his hips and a shirt that fits tight across his chest. Someone (Blake, probably) has attacked his hair with a wet comb, clearing it off his forehead, making him look more put together. You can smell a hint of cologne that wasn’t there before, and he’s chewing gum.

“You nervous?” he asks, coming to grab your hand as you teeter on heels, making you spin under his arm.

“A little, I don’t know… am I supposed to… um, how do you act?” you laugh, letting him draw you into an absurd slow dance.

“Don’t worry about that. The acting’s only a little bit. I’m going to lay on the bed, you’re going to walk into the room, and that’s all you have to do. Dieter will take care of the rest”

Fuck. That laugh is driving him insane. He’s glad Blake bullied him into jeans, hiding the fact that he’s half hard already, looking at you in little scraps of lace. Your nipples are hard underneath the bralette and he’s desperate to get his mouth on you, impatient for the director to finish setting up so he can finally touch you the way he’s been wanting to for hours, for weeks really. He pushes away the thought that it’s the only time he’s going to get to.

“Alright you pair!” the director hollers from the bedroom. “Let’s get this show on the road”

It’s surreal, to sit on a bed and listen to someone tell you how to have sex. The director runs you through what they’re hoping for in the scene. Banking on your built-in audience, he wants you on top, Dieter fucking up into you as opposed to the usual you riding a toy. He wants you to show off your lack of gag reflex, a blowjob for the cameras with a warm cock instead of a silicone one. He wants you not to hold back noises.

“Now. We aren’t going to cut. The editors will, they’ll do the scene transitions for us. You both have your word?”

“Pineapple” you chant in unison, making Dieter laugh until you elbow him in the ribs. The director raises an eyebrow at you both.

“Use it if you need anything. Foot cramp, use your word. Glass of water? Use your word. Sun is in your eyes? Use your word. Got it? Okay, we’re going to have Bravo on the bed waiting, and I want to get some tracking shots of you walking in from behind okay. Don’t be scared to talk to the camera Diet – show her off for us, ok?”

Dieter nods, giving your knee a quick squeeze before you stand. You meet his eye and he offers you a wink, a roguish grin that makes your heart skip a little as you exit the room. You hear them call action, you hear the shuffle of feet behind you as you tiptoe into the bedroom.

He’s waiting exactly where he was a minute before. Legs spread leisurely with his elbows on his knees, fingers and toes tapping a rhythm to a song only he can hear. He grins as he looks at you, better at ignoring the cameras than you are, standing to greet you with a kiss.

His shirt is soft on your skin as he pulls you closer into him, his hands travelling down your sides to grab your ass, span the globes and pull you open, grinding into his hips as he smiles against your mouth. Biting your lip he manoeuvres you both, standing you at the foot of the bed as he runs his thumbs under your underwear.

You thought it would be more difficult. The nerves in your stomach would outweigh everything else, that you would be stiff and still in his arms, the weight of multiple eyes on you making you freeze, deer in headlights. But he keeps grabbing you, pausing to talk to the camera, rotate you on the spot as you see the camera sweep your form in your peripheral vision, a mic hanging over your head as he licks a spot on your neck that makes you shudder.

“You’ve seen her videos” he purrs in your ear, sweeping a palm across your stomach. “I’ve watched them too, seen her swallow that thick yellow fake cock like it’s water. I know you’ve wanted to watch her swallow something bigger”

He grabs your chin, making you look at him. You can see a sincerity behind his lashes, the scrutiny he’s hiding as he searches your expression, sweeps a thumb across your bottom lip.

“I’m bigger, aren’t I pet?” he asks, pulling your lip free as you nod. You’re half embarrassed, the ease with which the dark chocolate of his voice has you melting for him. You’re already struggling not to rub your thighs together, the sweep of his hands against your skin enough to make you want.

He takes his own shirt off. Briefly you’re struck by the absurdity of wearing clothing at all, knowing where this is leading, an understanding of what you’re going to do, your hands already at his waistline, undoing buttons and a zipper. He sits back on the bed, pulling your mouth to his with a hand wrapped behind your neck, tangling in the strands of hair as you sink to your knees in a move you hope looks grateful. Someone outside of frame slides a pillow towards you and you position it under your knees, thankful for the help.

He is bigger. Much bigger. You’d thought, wondered if maybe it was a trick of angles. If the size and shape of him was manipulated by professional lighting, made more attractive by the high-definition cameras. But real life is no mistaking it. Your hand can’t fit around him. Your fingers don’t touch at the tip of him, longer than your hand, thick as your wrist and already leaking. Clear drops of precum stretch to his stomach, his cock a shade darker than his skin. You’re fascinated, the pulse of a thick vein in front of you, dragging your finger down it and seeing the slightest twitch in his hips. You pull his jeans further down, allowing him to kick them off into some forgotten corner of the brightly lit room and study him, watching the way his thighs prickle in gooseflesh when you drag your hand down the soft skin.

Dieter is in trouble. He can’t look at you, see the fascination in your eyes as you trail a delicate finger along his length, swirling the drops of precum he’s been leaking since you walked in. He can’t see you on your knees in front of him, the way you dropped so eagerly making his balls draw tight to his body. Your breath on his skin, the way he can feel your lips hovering right over the tip of him, making his hips flex unconsciously. He needs to be professional right now, he needs to not blow his load all over your face the minute he feels that bubble-gum sweet tongue.

He tastes like salt and earth. Something deep and rich, red wine and fine meal on your tongue as you slip him between your lips. he makes a sound as though he’s been punched, agony in his stomach as you sink further down, feel the head of him slip through the back of your throat. The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, burning hot and alive and it makes you rub your thighs together, feeling the scrap of lacy fabric catch on your clit as you moan around his cock.

You watch from the corner of your eye his hand in the sheets, the white-knuckle death grip he has beside his hip as he curses, his hand tightening in your hair, holding your nose to his belly as you look up at his face. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth parted as he swears, almost angry into the room.

“Fuck, fuck, Come here. Come. HERE” he pulls you off him, dangling saliva down your chest as he drags you to his mouth, his hand coming to your ass again, sliding his hand beneath the fabric to swipe at your folds.

“Gonna make me fucking lose it” he mumbles, just for you to hear, the thick pads of his fingers circling your clit as you writhe on top of him, arch your back into his touch. Its different than before, no teasing as he rolls his fingers over you, pushing your body into an orgasm without warning, your nails digging into his shoulder as you cry out, a bullet ricocheting between your legs as he grins.

“Payback” he grits, rolling on top of you to kiss you through breathless gasps of air, fitting his broad hips between your legs as he sits back off you, idly stroking his cock as he looks at you, splayed out beneath him. He traces your lips, still spit slick and swollen with his fingers, opening your mouth so he can test your lack of gag reflex, dragging the spit from your mouth and watching it drip on your skin in the afternoon light.

“God dammit you’re pretty” he says, almost to himself as you laugh, allowing his hands to massage your skin, skate across the hard pebbles of your nipples, down your stomach. “I want to fuck your face, use that pretty throat”

The growl in his voice makes you clench, your mouth falling open as he nods, standing off the bed as you scramble, ridiculous shoes hanging off the edge as you watch him walk to stand beside you, looking at your splayed form upside down. He kisses you, the angle ridiculous as he tweaks a nipple between thumb and forefinger, sending shocks of pleasure through your spine

“Pinch my thigh” he whispers, another little phrase just for you, a silent promise as you nod, tilting your head back to accept him into your mouth.

He feels bigger this way, streaming salty warm precum down your throat as he slowly thrusts into your mouth. You try to be mindful of teeth, but a scrape across the head of him makes a rumbling groan escape his mouth. You note that he likes a sting of pain with his pleasure.

This he can focus on. This he has to focus on. He watches your hands, for any sign of fingers inching to his thigh. Your mouth is heaven, warm and slick and tight around his cock as you let him use your throat. It’s filthy and debauched and absolute bliss. But he keeps an eye on your hands, tries to ignore the sound of your mouth, sloppy and wet on his cock as you somehow up the ante, and swallow around him, the tight muscle contracting around him making stars blot his vision. He watches your hand creep down your own stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear.

Something primal takes his mind. He wants that. He wants to give you that, it’s his. Reaching over you, the angle somehow deeper this way he moves your hand aside, sliding his own fingers into your cunt. You grip him tight and mewl, the vibrations rocketing up his spine as he hooks them inside of you, sweeping for the places that make you moan around him, finding his own pleasure by getting yours. It sounds obscene. He can hear the wet slick of his fingers inside you, matching the lewd sounds of his cock in your mouth and he wants to see it. Needs to see you cum with his dick in your throat.

He's stretching you just right. Pressure, you feel so full with his fingers hooked inside you, the steady thrusting of his body over yours, just enough to make your breathless, but never nervous, as you jerk your hips into his hand. His speech is garbled, half sentences you barely catch as he growls them into the air. He’s calling you perfect, he’s saying you’re beautiful, he’s calling you a filthy girl with a perfect cunt and he wants you to cum.

He's everywhere. All your senses clouded by him as your body shakes against his hand, those thick fingers hammering inside you until you can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but the pleasure he’s wringing from your body, the slide of him inside your mouth another sensation as he takes you everywhere he can reach. You want to fight it, it verging so close to too much and not enough with every breath as you spiral, whining and half screaming around his length before you shatter.

It might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Watching you explode around his fingers, soak his wrist and the decorative underwear, the sounds you make as your back arches his fingers pushed free to rub your clit, draw it out longer, make you shake and scream as you mindlessly sink your teeth into his thigh and moan into his skin.

He stands up to look at you. His cock is angry, shiny with your spit and pulsing, bobbing heavy as he watches you come down from the high. There are mascara tracks on your cheeks, there’s a thin sheen of sweat on your skin and you’re tits are heaving with every breath. Kissing you isn’t enough. Laying his weight on top of you isn’t enough, ripping your underwear and bra off and biting down on the soft pebbled flesh of a nipple isn’t enough.

You’re begging him to fuck you, your voice weak and whimpering as you feel his cock slide between your folds. You feel empty, weak and fevered, desperate as you hear your voice, reedy and high as he kisses you again, matching your intensity with every squeeze of skin.

He knows they have to get the shot. Knows enough, from muscle memory alone to spread you wide over his thighs and kneel. The heavy slap of his cock against your clit makes a great visual, the thick length looking intimidating as he presses it between your lips and slides into you.

Oh. Oh he’s so fucked. You’re still coming down. Your cunt is still pulsing as he pushes inside you, going slow as you groan and arch your neck. He watches the line of your body as he nudges inside you, you’re so fucking tight and wet around him, your legs hooked behind his back and he can feel the heel of those ridiculous shoes at his spine. It’s everywhere, fireworks behind his eyelids as he drops his face to your chest, slides his cock deep inside you and holds every muscle of his body still. He's going to fucking cum, one fuck inside your heat and he’s a goddamn goner, a newbie on his first day.

“Don’t move.” He murmurs. “You can’t move”

His voice is broken, hitched breathing as he fills you. How can you not. He’s deliciously thick, rubbing against you in places you didn’t know felt this good, the weight of him on top of you comfortable and hot as he trails a finger down the underside of your thigh, breaths hot against your neck. You can’t help it, its not conscious as you roll your hips into him, your clit grazing against his pelvis as you whimper, desperate for something more.

“Fuck it” you hear him say, then louder “We’re going twice”

He slams into you, your eyes bursting white as he grabs your body and fucks into you once, twice, three times before you feel it, bursting hot and sticky on your insides as he groans your name, grabs your hand and squeezes.

He hasn’t come that fast in years. Usually it’s the opposite, something about the cameras always makes it harder to come, the finish line in sight but never closer, edging himself until he forces it, jerking himself all over someone’s face or tits or ass. It’s an asset, something he prides himself on, that he’s got time and stamina to last the day if needed. But he’s come twice today with nothing but your face in his mind and he doesn’t have the time to sort that out, because you’re still writhing beneath him, and it’s going to take a few minutes before he can fuck you properly again. The crew is mercifully silent as he pulls out, still filming in the background as he pushes your legs back, folds you in half and stares. You’re dripping with him. Smeared white around your folds and swollen like lush summer fruit, the ripe berry of your clit appearing as he thumbs you open.

His mouth takes you by surprise. You thought he was getting the shot, something to finish with as you feel yourself leaking cum, open and raw under his gaze. Instead, you watch as he drops his head and latches his mouth to your clit, drawing it between his own soft lips and sucking with a groan of delight.

Of course you taste like heaven. He knew you would, the brief appetiser of you on his fingers was enough to know that he was going to want to lick your cunt forever. The taste of you mixed with him, something salty and sweet as he drinks from you, listens to the way you react to him, knowing that your heads thrown back, your hands are tugging at his hair, your thighs shaking around his shoulders as he drags your closer to his mouth, licking inside you to chase the taste that’s making him feel drunk.

He devours you, licking hole to clit as he finds your hand, iron on the covers to twine your fingers and squeeze, sweeping his thumb across your knuckle to soothe your keening whimpers as he keeps tasting you, searching out every spot that makes you cry his name, his tongue snaking between your folds as you shake and burst around him. You’re not sure if you’re coming again or coming still, the long drawn-out wire in your belly still vibrating through your system as you squirm against his iron grip.

“We got the shot man” a voice breaks his concentration, pulls his face from between your thighs as the director coughs behind you. How long has he been eating your cunt? Dieter isn’t sure, but he knows he’s not ready to stop, not with the way your hips jerk into him, the way you fuck his face with abandon, the way you taste, bursting sweet across his tongue.

“I know but look at her” he says, spreading you open for the camera, slapping lightly at your clit, dripping wet and shining. “Look how fucking soaked she is”

You want to say that its him, that the fucking magic he’s casting with his mouth is making you wet, that you’ve never felt this, not with toys or other partners, this desperate need inside you to keep going, rocketing higher with each stroke of his fingers. That you don’t care about the shoot, you don’t care about anything except the way he’s touching you, the way you want him to keep touching you.

“One more, yeah?” he says, meeting your eyes and winking. “One more and then we’ll fuck, right baby?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to say anything else as his mouth seals across your clit again. You watch him this time, his hair dry and curling again, the scrape of his beard against your thighs as he locks his gaze on yours, one arm across your stomach to keep you still on his face, sucking at your clit as you shatter on his tongue again.

He doesn’t wipe his mouth before he kisses you, letting you taste the salt-sweet tang on his tongue as he grips your jaw, pulls you on top of him, his body broad and hot beneath you as you straddle his thighs. He’s hard again, the head of him catching your sensitive clit as you writhe on top of him.

“Fuck me” he says, angling you so you sink onto him, that same stretch feeling so familiar and wonderful that your neck tilts back.

This you can do, this is muscle memory, this is a thousand times in your apartment to a camera, your hips rolling as you ride his thick cock with abandon. His voice is in your ear again, but this time its real. You can hear every word he’s saying as he reaches to palm your tits, pinch your nipples as you fuck him, slamming yourself onto his cock until your thighs tremble.

He takes over when you can’t, pulling you flush against his chest as he fucks up into you, hammering, deep thrusts that steal your breath as he starts talking, words meant just for you.

“You feel so fucking good pet. You’re a filthy needy little thing aren’t you, need this cunt filled properly, been looking for just the right toy. I’ll be your toy baby, I’ll fuck you anytime you want, you feel perfect, you fit me so good. Can you imagine how you look right now? All fucked out and messy, stretched so open for me while you let me fuck this perfect hole. I want all of them, I want all of you, want to have you full of me in every single one, every single day, you hear me?”

He's spreading you, open for the cameras you assume as his palms knead your ass again, the sharp slap to one cheek skittering white blasts of light across your vision.

“Gonna come, gonna come again baby, I want it on your face, want to watch those gorgeous lips swallow me, can I, fuck, can I?”

You move, faster than you think he was expecting to lick at the head of his cock. You can taste yourself, can taste him, can taste all of it as you watch his hand fist his length, shiny with your release and his own, rough and fast as he aims his cock at your waiting mouth.

He streaks your tongue and lips with it. His toes curl and you watch his chest flex, his stomach ripple as his neck strains, a strangled, pained cry wrenched from his lips as he comes hard across your mouth. He tastes like saltwater taffy, warm and slightly sweet as you swallow, greedy for it, watching his hips twitch with the overstimulation.

You sit back on your ridiculous heels after, watching him run a hand down his sweaty face, messing his hair as he opens his eyes to look at you. His gaze is soft, warm and almost glowing as he reaches for you, wipes a drop of cum into your mouth with his thumb. You want him to kiss you, but the scene is over now, and melancholy is already settling into your skin.

Dieter grabs for you, seeing the storm come across your face as you come to the same realisation. But not yet, not yet, just a few more moments of it, and then he’ll let you go. Just kiss you once more, just feel you in his arms for a while as you lay together and he strokes your hair from your face. Get you to laugh for him again, a giggle that he can keep like a butterfly in a cage.

“Well. That was something” the director sounds airy, happy and light as his voice floats into your consciousness.

“Um… good something?” you ask, unwilling to move from Dieter’s arms, wrapped around you and tight.

“Very good something. You guys are great together… yeah… it’s really something. We’ll grab you some Gatorade, ok?”

He leaves the room as Dieter pulls a blanket over you both, kissing your forehead with something that feels like relief.

“I think I need a shower” you say, feeling the fabric stick to your skin.

“That is a reasonable assessment” he replies, making you laugh as you sit up, feel an ache settle in your limbs as you twist.

“Feeling okay?” He asks, a twinge of concern as you finally kick off the stupid shoes and stand up to stretch.

“Feeling fucking great, David” You respond with a wink, laughing as he throws a pillow at you, darting into the bathroom.

You shower, redressing in the warm afterglow. You feel fuzzy, high and sated all at once, your limbs ache but feel soothed, your body is a contradiction. Drinking water and snacking as you pack your things you feel the slightest twinge of regret. Was this it? Would you ever see him again? You don’t really want to leave if that’s the case.

But he’s a professional, this was just a day at work for him, and now he would go home, water his plants, eat dinner and go to bed. It didn’t mean anything to him, and pretending it was anything more than something you got a paycheck for was going to set a dangerous precedent going forward. You styled your hair with more aggression than was necessary and reminded yourself of that.

“You gonna ask her out or what man?” Dieter is staring at the closed bathroom door when Blake’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“What? Why would I?”

“Um, because none of us are blind?” They reply, rolling their eyes.

“What are you talking about”

“Okay, you’re blind. I’m out Bravo, see you on the next” Blake punches his shoulder lightly before he leaves, dragging a heavy makeup case as their dress swishes around the corner.

Dieter returns to staring at the door, confusion clouding his mind. Blind to what? Sure, it was an amazing shoot. But that was just because you cosmically matched sexually. It didn’t have anything to do with anything other than work. You were fun to hang out with, sure, and your laugh made his chest do this weird thing, but that was probably nothing, just some weird new thing in a post pandemic world. He’d been stuck inside too long, it had nothing to do with the way you made him laugh, and the fact he hadn’t left yet didn’t mean anything other than he wanted to be polite, say goodbye properly, maybe apologise for making a goddamn fool of himself the minute he started fucking you.

“You’re still here”

He stands up, and is suddenly really, uncomfortably aware of his hands, not sure where to put them he settles on shoving them into his pockets, twisting them into uncomfortable fists as he looked at you, scrubbed clean in the shower and dressed again in comfy clothing. You’re still so goddamn pretty. It’s not fair.

“Wanted to walk you out” he shrugs, half a lie as he grabs your heaviest bag, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him.

“God, those shoes” you mutter, treading lightly on the path as the sun dips below the horizon, streaking purple in the sky. “Never again”

“They made your ass look great though” he quips, loading your bag into the back of your car.

“My ass always looks great, thank you” you reply, giggling in that way that makes his spine tingle. There’s a silence that falls over the two of you, a curtain of finality, weight on both your shoulders.

You kicked your feet in the driveway. Was this it? How do you say goodbye? A handshake seems too formal, but it is work, but a hug would feel better, do you thank him? What the hell are you supposed to say? How do you end this, shake it off on a silent drive home. This was work, it was nothing but work and he was going to forget you the minute he shut his car door.

“Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly. Dieter is scrubbing his hand across the back of his neck, squinting into the sunset, refusing to look at you. “There’s this taco truck about ten minutes away, they, they uh, have some good stuff”

You could feel the grin pulling your cheeks.

“Yeah, that sounds great”

He wraps and arm around your neck, yanking you into his embrace with a sigh that sounds heavy with relief, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

How were you still so nervous? Pulling into the inconspicuous driveway in the morning, you were sure there were eyes on you as you fished the key out of the lockbox, let yourself into the house. You were positive, that the neighbours knew you were there, knew what you were there do to, who you were there to do it with. That they were already on their phones, tweeting and texting everyone they knew that they were filming a porno next door.

You tried not to care. But this was the first time outside of your apartment walls, and the excitement had mixed with anticipation in your belly, turning it into a sour wave of nerves. You still had half hour before he got here. It was ridiculous, this was a job, you were here to work. It didn’t matter that work today was indulging in a fantasy you’d been clinging to for a few years now.

Only Fans was supposed to be a little extra pocket money on the side. Pandemic boredom made you monetise what you were already doing anyway, fucking yourself stupid in the daytime, passing the hours by browsing adult shopping websites, finding toys that seemed like feats of space engineering, designed to make you come with precision.

You hadn’t expected it to take off. A solo performer, sitting on mirrors and riding toys to completion, uploading once a week with photos in-between. But it did. They cleared out your Amazon wish list, you made enough to pay your rent, then you made enough to pay a year’s rent. Then you were in the top 0.1% of creators on the site, your face featured in articles, think pieces about the changing of the pornography landscape.

It was fun, you enjoyed every aspect of your job, put up with the thigh strain of straddling a piece of furniture, the endless waxing, the perfecting of makeup and hair. It was a rush, a zing through your skin whenever you uploaded, and 18 months after you started, you had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

They had reached out to you. Your favourite website. Professional and slick they offered you a one-off contract. Film a scene with them, your first with another performer, and they would loan out that talent to you, whatever you wanted for your content. They wanted nothing but what you were willing to give, looking to bring traffic to their site with your name recognition, more clicks to watch you take a warm cock instead of a glass one.

It was an easy decision. When you read the proposal sparks flew through your belly. You’d been wanting to for a while, interested in branching off into partnered content, the routine becoming stale rather than exciting. But you didn’t know how to make that step, you didn’t have a partner, and you lived alone in your apartment. The idea of meeting a stranger on Tinder and introducing them to the world of adult entertainment, of having a business partner to share profits made your head swim.

But they wrote the contract for this. Your lawyer looked it over, judged it more than adequately fair. You’d asked him to put in a no contest opt out for both parties, and he laughed and said it was already in there, their first point that anyone could back out at anytime with no penalty. It calmed any remaining hesitation you had about it, made the decision more concrete as you signed your name.

When they gave you choice of talent your eyes went wide. Their roster of male talent was the best in the industry, notable for their hyper focused attention to their female partners, willingness to embrace toys as allies not enemies, and a general skew outside of heteronormativity that was only just starting to bleed into mainstream.

Dieter Bravo was the only name on your list. When they asked why you had played it off, said that one of his videos was in the background of one of yours, and you thought it would make a nice moment of symmetry. They bought it without question.

In truth, it was because his were the only videos you watched. Just out of your cameras eyeline, a headphone in one ear, you stretched yourself open on toys and plugs to the sound of him fucking someone, the rapid pistoning of his hips matching your own as you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to pretend it was him, just for minute, just enough to push you over the edge.

He was a legend in the industry. More than a decade under his belt he was famous, infamous really. Thick and strong, with a cheeky grin and a huge, heavy cock, he was most famous for his mouth. You could never quite hear it in the videos, save for a few grunted phrases, but the low rumbling timbre of his voice was present in every one of them. He would hold actresses by their hair, yank them close to whisper something, make their hips bounce faster, make their backs bow more. For all you knew, he could be telling them to angle for the camera, what they were going to order for lunch. But it set you off anyway, the conjured fantasy of him behind you, towering over you as he split you in half, calling you a dirty little slut with affection and warmth.

Even now, it sent a shiver through you. You hoped this was going to go well. Your friends had warned you; you were setting yourself up for disappointment. That you should never meet your heroes really, that they could never live up to expectations. But it was too late. His beat-up truck had just pulled into the driveway.

With shaking fingers, you pressed record.

He was wearing sweats, a rumpled t-shirt, and was barefoot as you opened the door. He flashed you a grin as he took his sunglasses off, hanging them on the neckline of his shirt. He shook your hand as you introduced yourself, your voice surprisingly calm. He confirmed that you had no requests for changes to the shoot today and promised to check in with you again after your scene.

“You all set up?” He asked, putting his phone and keys on the kitchen table.

“Master bedroom” you said.

“Sick. After you” he said, gesturing ahead. Your eyes traced the contours of his fingers. You swallowed heavy.

He checked out your setup as you readjusted angles. Part of the contract was that this footage was yours, under your copyright, and therefore you were responsible for it all. Both cameras were already recording, you had a few hours before they ran out of space. You hoped you wouldn’t need that much.

“Filming already?” he asked curiously, looking at the setup you had dragged together. Pillows in a nest on the floor, facing a mirror. Two cameras, one pointing at the mirror, one pointing at the spot on the floor where you would be sitting.

“Yeah. I find it easier if I sink into it naturally, I feel less like I’m performing that way, makes it easier to get off”

He laughed at your bluntness, pointing to the cushions. “You want me here?”

“If you wouldn’t mind”

He was more handsome in person. There was less smoothing to his features, the wrinkles around his eyes, his hair had flecks of grey in it. He looked soft, the sweats he wore hugging tight to his hips as he arranged the pillows beneath him, spread his legs comfortably and waited for you to undress.

He watched you. You could see his eyes in the mirror, their caramel slow journey across the dip of your spine, the curve of your ass, down your legs and back up. You watched from the corner of your eye as he licked his lips, just slightly, shifting his weight on the cushions.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“A little.”

“You remember your word?”

“Pineapple” you said with a deep breath. You had agreed upon it in email beforehand. A way for either of you to stop immediately, to call it off and retreat. He nodded and gave you an achingly sweet grin. Your stomach turned over again, excitement wriggling itself between your legs as your eyes darted to his fingers, drawing absent patterns on the carpet next to him.

“You fake it?” He asked.

“Will I need to?” You shot back.

He laughed. It was unexpected, a bark of happiness as his shoulder shook.

“Come sit in my lap before I put you over my knee.” He patted his thigh.

He was broad. His embrace swallowed you, turning you towards the mirror as you caught the light. The morning was best for this, windows open as soft sun danced across your naked body. Checking that you were in the correct spot, you took note of him behind you, the shoulders wider than your body, the way you fit up against him as he reached to trail a single finger down your arm.

“How much film do you have in these cameras pet?” he whispered.

Fuck. His voice was sin. Deep and echoing through your body, the whisper of heat from his breath just tickling your ear. It was Pavlovian at this point, your thighs clenched, that low rumble making you wet, the first tingle of excitement zipping between your lets.

“Few hours” You replied, shifting yourself so you were seated fully in front of him, your legs still together.

“Mmm. Good” he said, hooking his chin over your shoulder, meeting your eye in the mirror. “Too good to rush”

“You have to say that” You replied, your voice wavering ever so slightly, a hint of insecurity in your tone.

“Do I?” he asked. You watched as he ran his hands up your arms, warm and soft skin that made your body break out into gooseflesh, turning you fully to face the mirror. You watched as he kissed your neck, dragging his lips slowly up your pulse as he pulled your arms away from your body, encouraged them behind your back as you leaned further into him.

“You think I want to rush today? Get through it like it’s just another job, when I’ve got you, and I know exactly just how sweet you sound when you cum”

You whimpered. Just a little, just enough that you knew he felt it, the quiver of your skin as you twitched.

“I’ve seen your videos. I watched after my agent called me. Don’t think I didn’t notice my videos in the background. It’s like we’ve already fucked pet, I’ve made you cum, you’ve made me cum”

Your legs spread of their own volition, his hands rubbing your sides now, scratching lightly against the skin as you let your head fall back onto his shoulder.

“That’s it, I’ve got you. Watched you work so hard, riding those fat fake cocks until you burst, watched the way your thighs shake. But you can relax today, Dieter’s gonna take care of you”

You huffed slightly, half a laugh as he continued his slow exploration of your body. “You always talk about yourself in the third person?”

“Nope” he said, popping the p as you opened your eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of his cheeky grin in the mirror. He scrunched his nose at you, wrapping an arm around your stomach, pulling you back closer into him, your ass grinding against his crotch.

He slid his hands to your breasts next. Holding them, testing the weight in his palm as he let out a soft sigh. He was watching your body, the reaction as he brushed his fingers gentle over your nipples, watched them tighten under his touch.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this first” he hummed. “Get to find all my favourite spots on you”

“What do you mean?” You asked, your own voice dropping husky and low.

“Well. These seem sensitive” he said, pinching lightly at one of your nipples, your back arching into it. “Means that later, I’m going to put my mouth on them, get them all shiny and wet for me, nice and hard like they are right now. Look at yourself pet. Back arched and grinding into me already, so needy.”

Your legs spread further. In the mirror you could catch a glimpse of your cunt, just barely visible between your thighs. You were wet already, the lubricant stashed beneath the pillows clearly wouldn’t be needed for this. You could feel his cock, slowly thickening at the dip of your spine as he ran his hand down your stomach, teasing at the top of your legs.

“I want to pin you to me. Your form said that was okay, are you still okay with it?” he asked. His voice took on a flatter tone, a little more businesslike as he stilled his hands and waited for your answer. You nodded.

“Out loud for me pet, is that okay?”

“Yes. Please” You gasped, feeling his palm slip between your thighs.

“That’s so good for me, you’re so obedient. Spread these pretty legs for me yeah? I know you’re flexible, show me how much”

You split yourself wide for him, spreading your legs open as he shifted behind you, your arms folded behind your back. You could appreciate that the manoeuvre pushed your breasts out, arched your back almost gracefully as he hooked his legs over your own. With arms wrapped around you, he was effectively holding you still. Your limbs matched to his limbs as you watched his fingers trace against your inner thigh.

“Look how wet you are for me. I was going to ask if you wanted to fake it, but I don’t think you do, do you pet? I think you want me to make you cum. I think you’ve thought about it haven’t you?”

“Yes” you breathed. He slid one arm between your breasts, resting his hand on your throat. No pressure, just the contrast, his thick fingers around your delicate neck as he rested his hand lightly on your pulse. You knew he wasn’t planning on squeezing, just holding you upright, steady, that the view for the camera was you raw and vulnerable and open, his thick frame keeping you in view.

“I’m going to feel you scream for me” His teeth scraped your shoulder.

He was torturously slow. As if each lazy pattern he drew on your thighs wasn’t making you squirm, your body trembling properly now from anticipation. Your skin was hot, you could feel the sheen of sweat forming on your back as you tried to roll your hips, held firm by the weight of his legs.

“Look at this gorgeous pussy. You’re dripping wet already for me, I haven’t even touched you properly yet. Needy, hungry little thing aren’t you pet?”

You couldn’t watch anymore. His blunt fingers torturously close to where you wanted him, competing with his voice, liquid sin and burning you alive. He was tracing your lips, learning the contours of your cunt with whisper soft touches, mouthing at your shoulders, your neck, running his nose behind your ear.

“God, you smell like heaven. I can’t wait to eat this gorgeous cunt. They’re going to have to drag me off you by the scruff of my neck. I can already tell you’re going to make me ravenous. You feel how hard I am? I can’t wait to watch this tiny pussy stretch to take my cock”

Every word he says is making you whimper now, soft whines and moans falling from your mouth without permission. His teeth are scraping your skin as he moves like a viper in grass, slow and deadly against your body, an unbroken rhythm of lips and teeth, his fingers spreading you open, lewdly displaying you in the mirror.

He circles your clit, ghostly soft and light the contact makes you jump, an electric shock through your system as he slips down your folds, gathers the pooling slick at your entrance with a satisfied moan. The sound ricochets through you like a gunshot in a canyon, making your thighs tremble.

“Fuck that’s pretty. Look at you, this needy little cunt is gaping open for me already, it’s begging to be filled. Bet I could lift you up and slide you right onto my cock, would you like to see that? How fucking stretched you’re going to be on me. You’ve watched my videos haven’t you little pet, you know how fat my dick is, you know I’m going to fucking wreck you. Those toys are nothing compared to me, you know that don’t you – that I’m going to stretch you out, wreck this little hole so you fit me perfectly, so my cock is all this needy little cunt ever wants again.”

You can barely breathe. How had you ever thought him quiet. His voice is a roar in your ears. Rushing like a broken dam over you as you clung to his shirt, your fingers weakly scrabbling behind your back, pressing into his belly as his grip turned firmer, holding you steady as you tried to turn away.

You watched him in the mirror, his pupils blown wide as he studied your reactions, repeating the motions that made you arch, sliding his slick fingers all over your folds, learning your body like a savant with an instrument, playing your body like a fiddle as you took deep heaving breaths, tried to centre yourself against the taut string pulling in your belly.

“You’re doing so good for me pet. Just a little longer, can you wait for me a little longer?”

You nodded. There were tears gathering in your eyes, you were biting against your lip as you arched further, your body seeking more, more of the feeling of his sturdy frame against your back, the dizzy experience of his voice in your ear, the scrape of his teeth against your jaw.

He slipped one finger inside you. Easy, so easy, curling upward as he slid deep into your cunt, a growl vibrating through your ear as he murmured more praise. He stretched you, scissored fingers inside you, peeling you open for his gaze. You could feel his cock against your back, the twitches of its heavy weight on your spine, he breathed with you, the expanding of his chest calming your own as he felt your pulse.

Dieter slipped his fingers free, and you watched as he quickly pulled them to his mouth, slipping them between his plush lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the soft sucking sound in your ear as he licked your taste off his fingers, your body squirming as your hips bucked.

“I know pet, I know. It’s okay, I’ll make you cum now, you’ve been so good for me, I’m so proud of you, being so patient. You taste amazing, I couldn’t help myself, it just looked so sweet.”

His fingers, slick with spit and pressing harder, rolling your clit as you moaned, loud and long as your body went limp with relief. Dexterous and firm, he pressed into your swollen folds, his hand still resting on your neck as he sped up his ministrations sinking his teeth into your skin with a grunt.

You were going to cum, helpless to move, helpless to resist the tidal wave gathering on the horizon as you heard the moans being torn from your throat.

“Tell me, you going to cum?”

“Yes! fuck, yes, right there oh my god, Dieter, FUCK”

It crested, blinding white and scorching, an atomic detonation as he began to lightly slap your cunt, the loud wet smacks making you scream. You knew he could feel it against his palm on your throat. You lost control of your limbs, bucking and writhing, your fingers squeezing into his shirt as he roared into your ear, encouraging you to keep going, drawing the needle-sharp pleasure until it turned almost painful, wrenching your legs from beneath his to draw together, needing relief.

There were tears on your cheeks. The air in your lungs felt icy as he pulled you closer to him, his voice turning soothing as he fluttered his fingers on your pulse.

“Oh, you did so good for me. I’m here, I’ve got you, it’s okay pet, just breathe for me okay, I’m right here. I’m right here”

You clung to him, somehow turning in his embrace as he hefted you across his lap, running his hands over your shoulders, your body shaking as you let your eyes drift shut, sinking into the softness of his tone, allowing it to envelope you as you caught your breath.

“Hey, you back with me?” he asked after a minute.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m good” you said, feeling tingling in your fingers, your senses coming on delay.

“Dieter made you cum” he said with a grin. You laughed, a tension sloughing from your skin as he encouraged you to cuddle against him, stroking softly against your skin. “Can I kiss you? Is that okay?”

“Yeah… yeah that’s okay” you said, feeling a flip of something new in your stomach.

He tilted your face to his, fingers under your chin as he tenderly pressed his lips to yours, sliding a hand to the back of your neck. He hummed lightly into your mouth, slowly moulding his lips to yours as he licked gently into your mouth. It was almost unfair, for him to kiss you so tenderly, your body flayed raw by the orgasm. He broke the kiss, running the length of his nose against yours as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“You wanna jump in the shower? I’ll order us some lunch and then you can take a quick nap.”

“God, fuck yeah that sounds awesome” you said, attempting to move out of his embrace.

He tightened his grip on you, brief enough to kiss you again before letting you stand. You quickly shut off the recordings, stretching your loose limbs as a burst of energy ran through your veins.

Lingerie was the answer. Every time you asked him, birthday gifts, holidays, anniversaries. He always wants you wrapped like a gift in lace or silk or leather. It’s half a joke at this point, two years into a relationship that was started as a farce.

He needed to calm down and you needed to grow up. A child star trying to break into more grown-up roles, an actor with a partying playboy image who wanted to win an Oscar. Your managers shook hands. Three months of holding hands coming out of Starbucks, walking on a red carpet, staged candids together, two birds with one stone and a story you could include in your memoire twenty years from now.

You didn’t expect him to make you laugh. He took nothing seriously, sitting in the meeting with both your managers and slipping you fun-size Snickers from pockets of his robe as they hammered out details. He was faithful when he didn’t need to be, it was a fake relationship after all, but he did it anyway. When you asked before you parted, he just shrugged, saying it wouldn’t be fair to have you dragged into a cheating scandal, knew it would follow you forever.

He played the role of dutiful boyfriend better than you would have thought possible. In the fake dates at coffee shops, he remembered your order, avoided anything with mango once he found out you were allergic. His eyes went believably huge when he saw you before the first time you walked a red carpet together.

Your first kiss was for cameras. Shouted at by paparazzi on that same red carpet, wearing rented expensive jewels, dripping wealth and itching under the hot lights. He squeezed your hand as he dragged you from interview to interview, touting the agreed-on story as he wrapped an arm around your neck and grinned when you slapped him from messing up your hair.

He dipped you, over the top and theatrical as he kissed you, fingers tangled at the nape of your neck, wrapped around your waist, your breath caught in your throat. It was the top trending moment on Twitter, you saw it filtered on Instagram within a half hour.

What they didn’t see was the minute ten minutes before, when he scrubbed his jaw and asked your permission, half shy and not meeting your eyes as he suggested it. You had agreed, not thinking much of it until it struck a match in your belly. You spent the rest of the night chancing glances at him, wondering how you’d never noticed how effortless he was in his beauty.

Your managers were shocked when you moved in a month later. You were photographed for real this time, him lifting you onto his shoulders in the middle of the ocean, catching you both in a rainstorm, laughing and hiding and kissing under an alcove. They definitely figured out you had fucked between the Oscars and the afterparty, your lack of lipstick and his lopsided tie blog-fodder for days.

Two years and he still made you laugh. He was irreverent and childish and took nothing seriously. In the middle of an argument, he half tackled you into a pool, clothes and phone and all and kissed you with chlorine cold lips. He said that if you were going to argue like wet cats you may as well look the part. You couldn’t remember what the fight was about.

You were pretty sure he was going to ask you to marry him soon. You were surprised you hadn’t ended up in front of Elvis in a t-shirt dress in Vegas yet. You would have agreed. He made everything seem like an adventure. He built forts in your living room and spent thousands of dollars on jewellery, only to lay you still on a large bed and place diamonds on your nipples.

“Do I get lingerie for your birthday?” he asked, coming up behind you as you fixed your hair in the mirror. He was distracted kissing your neck before you could answer. You had laughed at the thought, the idea of Dieter in some cheap polyester boxer shorts with red candy kiss marks on them making you shake your head. Your birthday was still months away.

It got caught in your nails though, a piece of fabric knotted at the cuticle, an idea, something that would make him laugh for a change. You liked the way his eyes crinkled. You ordered it from your phone and promptly forgot, your day on set filled with the dramatic scenes you had yearned for when you first started dating him.

Two days later and you were both due to attend a gala. Fine jewels and fancy dresses, forcing him into a suit. You were surprised to get home and already seeing him showered and dressed, happily eating packet ramen over the sink as he waited for you. There was a glint of mischief in his eye as he smacked your ass and told you to hurry up. He usually hated these things. They were boring and overlong and you weren’t in the mood for staying too late.

The garters were his favourite, the silk ones, no underwear because he couldn’t figure out how to get them off quickly and ripped them every time. Matching balconette bra, moulding your tits to hold the teardrop diamond necklace he bought you for your anniversary. Hiding lingerie under your dress made the nights go faster. Dieter usually figured it out quick enough for you to slip away. Sometimes not even home, usually to the bathroom, where some unsuspecting A-Lister had to wait in line for him to finish with his head between your legs.

You were grown-up. And he was calmer. In the way we built boats bigger to weather the storms. You partied in countries where paparazzi weren’t a thing, greased the palms of bartenders to pretend they didn’t recognise you when Dieter put a hundred-dollar bill in a stripper’s G-string, when that same stripper came home with you both, waking to a tangle of limbs and your assistant ordering breakfast.

Nude beaches, parties where you put your keys in a bowl, more than one trip to stores curating the sale of whips and silicone. You found his adventure matched your own and settled into a comfortable rhythm of shocking each other with something new to try. The abstract art in your kitchen was a canvas you’d fucked on. It was featured in your Vanity Fair home tour. Nobody noticed.

“C’mere” the gala was boring. It took half an hour of semi decent canapes for him to drag you into a dark corner, curated for just such moment when celebrities needed a brief second away from prying eyes. His teeth were on your neck, arms wrapped around your waist as he pressed you deeper into the shadows.

“Wearing them” he said, biting your earlobe in a way that made your brain fuzzy. He clouded all your senses from the minute you met. It took a moment, just a brief second for you to realise what he was saying.

“Wearing… oh they arrived?”

“Waiting on the counter when I got home. Got all excited when I saw the label. Thought you bought something for me, but you bought something for you. Didn’t you dirty girl?”

They were silk. Nothing special, a high cut bikini brief in the same lavender of a t-shirt he once owned. A scalloped trim of lace. Your mind conjured the image in a second, his strong thighs, that scattered dark hair, the trail from his navel that thickened so deliciously, dipping into the delicate panties you had purchased on a whim. You swallowed.

“W-… How do they feel?” You asked. He grinned, teeth flashing white in the shadows as he saw your reaction.

“I wasn’t sure at first, never tried it before… they’re fantastic. It’s like those fancy fuckin’ sheets you buy are cupping my balls. I love it.”

You laughed, smacking his shoulder as he crowded you further.

“They’re so soft. They’re just like you babe. Like I’ve got the memory of that delicious cunt on me at all times. I’ve been half hard since I put them on. Can we get the fuck out of here please”?

You don’t switch on the lights in the house, Dieter half dragging you to the bedroom as you drop keys and phone and purse in the entrance, kicking off shoes up the stairs as he drags you by the hand to your bedroom.

“Turn around” he says, his voice low and gravelly in a way that always makes your knees quiver, his knuckles scraping over your spine as he unzips your dress, pulls it from your shoulder and lets it puddle to the floor.

“Oh, look at that, we both wore our best lingerie”

He kisses you hard enough to bruise, gripping your jaw and a handful of your ass as he pulls you in closer, his erection grinding against your belly as you moan into his mouth, the air cool on your fevered skin. Your hands are frantic on his suit, shoving it from his shoulders as he nips your bottom lip, grins against your mouth.

“Show me”

You step back from him, your knees hitting the bed as you let yourself fall back onto it, watching as he removes his belt, unbuttons the top of his pants, your eyes focused on his thick fingers, playing with the fly. He lets his pants fall to the floor and you actually audibly gasp.

He’s beautiful. He stands still in front of you, giving you a minute to take him in. somewhere deep in the cavern of your brain, excitement bubbles at the role reversal. He’s wrapped up like a gift, for you. Like you’re his pretty little doll to play with, your favourite new toy.

They’re a soft lavender, cut high on his hips, fitting him like a second skin. He favours boxers usually, so the smooth expanse of his upper thighs is rarely on display. Thick, broad muscle tanned and warm looking, strong full hips. The fragile lace cutting under the curve of his stomach. He was hard, the outline beneath silk, pressed against the fabric, twitching slightly under your gaze. Your mouth waters.

“Is this what it’s like for you?” you ask quietly, reaching to scratch a manicured nail across the seam. You watch his skin break out in goosebumps, his stomach ripple as his breath hitches.

“Yeah” He says, shifting on his feet, distributing weight as you run a hand down his thigh. There’s a size difference, there always has been. He makes you feel safe and cocooned in his embrace, soft and cuddly against your back. There’s always the dark thought in your brain that he could break you if he wanted to, wrap a meaty hand around your neck and cut off your air flow, destroy you with nothing but the power in his body.

The dichotomy is short circuiting your brain. It fizzes and sparks and catches, and you’re aware of a throbbing, deep ache between your thighs. When you shift to your knees on the bed, you’re not surprised you can feel it, slicking your skin, touching the stockings you haven’t taken off yet.

“You’re wet” he said, his voice coming out shaky, slightly higher as he reached to finger the strap of your bra.

“You’re pretty” you replied, watching his cheeks pink as he wrinkled his nose. “Come here, pretty boy”

He moans into your mouth, tumbling with you on the bed, his hands gripping and squeezing your skin as he grinds between your legs. You can feel the silk against your cunt, his cock hard beneath, the friction making you twist.

“Will you do something for me?” Dieter asks, his breath gasping as you brush the soft curls off his forehead.

“Anything sweet boy”

“I want you on my face.”

You smile, tugging his hair just enough to watch him wince, biting your lip as he whines.

“Yeah, you want that? Have me ride your face while you’re in these pretty silk panties till I come all over your mouth”

He smacks your ass, snapping at the garter still connecting your stockings as you laugh.

“Yes, you fucking minx. Get up here, I want you to watch what you do to me”

He grips your thighs, hard enough you know you’ll have little bruises in the morning, knowing they’ll match the colours already present on your skin. He likes to grab at you, watch them fade like rainbows on your skin, scattered light patterns he can make with his fingers, tongue and teeth.

His breath is warm against your folds as you kneel over his shoulders, bracing yourself on his thighs. The tightness of his underwear means you can watch him twitch, see the first drop of precum stain the fabric dark. He palms at you, spreading you open as he pulls you closer, the tip of his nose just grazing your clit. You watch him twitch again, the throb of him.

The fabric is strong but thin, you can trace the outline with your gaze, the girth of his cock sitting heavy and gorgeous beneath the fabric, the thick vein on the underside you know he likes nibbled, the dip and contours of the head, those ridges that feel so delicious inside you, make you feel full, like you’re going to burst.

He jokes often that this is how he wants to go, your cunt on his mouth as you ride his face, your confidence only growing with time, that he wants the weight of you on his tongue, wants you to use his lips, his nose, his chin to get yourself off, that he’s happy and sated with your release colouring his cheeks. He pulls you into him, sucks your clit into his mouth with relish, holding you to his face as he sinks into the mattress.

You try and keep your eyes open, you want to watch the ripple of his stomach, the buck of his hips with each pass of his tongue, the way he widens his legs, plants his feet to fuck into the air as he spreads you wider with his hands, fucks you with his tongue with a groan.

You grind your hips on his face, shameless in the way you wriggle on top of him, moaning loudly as you dig your nails into his thighs. It’s messy, fast and building as you fuck against his mouth, his hand cracking on your ass as he moans in delight. Its muffled, the sound simply vibrating through your body like a tuning fork as you catch breath in sharp gasps.

“Oh, fuck Dieter, yes. That’s so good, good boy”

You hear him whine, you watch his cock jump with those words, precum staining dark and spreading across the lavender underwear, the strain they’re under to hold the weight of his cock as he spreads his legs wider, his hips rolling with yours, matching your rhythm.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, just a scrape of teeth in a way he knows will make you cum, fast. He’s growling into you as your head drops lower, spreading you wider for his relentless assault as you breathe hot and damp over his clothed cock, which spurs him on further. You’re so close, your nails digging into his thighs as you wantonly ride his face.

You’re right there, so close it hurts. Without thinking, your nail catches the edge of his panties, snapping the fabric against his skin as you whimper

“You’re just so fucking pretty baby”

You see stars when you cum, your vision streaking galaxies as his grip turns iron on your thighs, sucking and drinking from you as you shake on top of him, the pleasure zinging up your spine as you ride the wave of your own release. You just barely catch it, your eyes widening with pleasure at the sight.

His hips shaking as he cums, aching and thick, leaking through the soft silk underwear, sticky and seeping over the hem, oozing through the fabric as you watch his cock pulse, erratic and slow. You put your mouth over the tacky head of him, hear him hiss at the contact as you taste the fabric, the salt musk of his release. You press soft kisses on his softening cock, rubbing your cheek against expensive, ruined silk.

“Fuck, babe, fuck.” He sounds drunk. Rearranging yourself you can see his eyes are glassy, heavy lidded and dazed, hair messed and face shining you drag a nail across his ribs, making him jump. He’s ticklish, but only in the afterglow. You kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth as he tangles his fingers in your hair, affection and lazy love on his lips.

“Well,” you say, breath still heaving, reaching to snap the elastic again. “These are ruined”

Dieter laughs, still hoarse and breathless. Wrapping his arms around you he pulls you into him, his skin is warm and tawny soft.

“No, they’re not” he says, nosing at your temple.

“No?” you ask.

“Mmm, no. They’re going to look fucking great when I shove them in your mouth and fuck you over that vanity, you minx.”

With a yelp he grabs your ass again, the globes of your skin warm as you laugh together.