Porn Star by Laurelin Paige
And then I drop down to my knees, my palms sliding up the back of her thighs to her rump. I inch the hem of her skirt up until she’s mostly uncovered and then I spread her cheeks to see a thin strip of lace covering her pussy. She’s wearing a lace thong, as white as fresh snow, and I get the most maddening glimpses of what that lace is hiding—tiny curlicues of glistening pink, small semi-circles of smooth bronze.
Without hesitation, I bury my face there, the flat of my tongue running over the lace to press against her clit. She gasps above me, her legs widening to grant me better access, and I oblige her unspoken request, repeating the motion over her clit and then moving my tongue to her entrance, she and I together thoroughly soaking the lace all the way through. I can taste her through the fabric, and the taste is a perfect balance of sweet and female, a taste that triggers all of my most primal, male impulses.
I hook a finger in her thong and pull it aside, and the moment my tongue makes unfettered contact with her cunt, she sucks in a breath and raises up on her tiptoes. Finger still holding the thong aside, I lick from her clit to the small button of firm flesh in between her cheeks, and I repeat the process several times, until I can sense her breathing speeding up. Then I add a finger, then two, curling them against the sensitive front wall of her pussy as I bite and suck on her ass.
She’s breathing hard now, her thighs tense, and I abandon her entrance and start rubbing her clit fast and hard. She throws her head back, her fingers turning into claws against the brick, and then I withdraw. Completely.
She spins around, dazed and angry. “Don’t stop,” she pants, and I shrug with one shoulder. I bring my fingers to my mouth to suck her taste off them, and her eyes narrow. I do a little internal victory dance when she doesn’t glance at the camera once as she steps forward. I knew that to distract her from the filming would mean making her focus only on me, and making her angry and needy seemed like the best way to do that. Looks like I’ve succeeded.
“Finish me off,” she says in a furious plea.
“But you’re so cute when you’re angry.”
“Don’t fuck with me—finish fucking me.”
“What about,” I offer mischievously, “you give me head, and then I’ll think about finishing you off.”
“You bastard. I can finish myself off.” She pulls up her dress and then moves her hand underneath her thong, slumping against the wall when she finds her clit with her fingers. God, I’m so fucking glad I’m filming this, even if she’s forgotten.
I stare at her hungrily, watching her fingers move under the lace and her nipples bead and strain against her dress. I don’t have to look down to see that my dick is practically sobbing at me to do something; I can feel the wet spot growing on the inside of my jeans.
But still I wait, wait until her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are closed, when her orgasm is imminent, and then I grab her wrist and pull her hand away from her pussy. Her eyes snap open and an expression of beautiful, incandescent rage lights her face. Behind us, I hear the gallery music change into a soft melody, which makes the footsteps on the gallery hardwoods and the animated chatter seem even closer, like any minute people could push through the fabric and find us.
I fucking love that.
Devi, however, looks like love is nowhere near what she’s feeling, and she tries to wrench her wrist away from me. When I don’t let her, she tries to push her other hand down to her cunt, and I don’t let her do that either, sandwiching her body between mine and the wall and leaving no room for her to touch herself.
“Fuck,” she groans, trying to squirm against me, and I grin.
“You seem like you want something,” I say cheerfully.
“Fuck you.”
“Hmm,” I respond, slowly guiding her hand to her mouth. She doesn’t resist, letting me push her fingers past her lips to touch her tongue. She licks her own taste off her fingertips in curling, deliberate licks, like a cat, and I watch her tongue obsessively. Fuck, I can’t wait until it’s on my cock.
“I think that you might want something,” I repeat, my eyes still on her mouth. “And you know else what I think?”
She raises an eyebrow at me but not very high. Her eyes are glazed with lust and her pulse pounds hard in her throat, and I think she’s barely at the edge of coherent thought right now.
“I think that thing you want would feel even better with my mouth than with your fingers.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and to demonstrate my point, I carefully suck one of her fingers into my mouth, nibbling and licking.
She moans quietly.
“Don’t you want me to use my mouth? Put my mouth on your pretty pussy?”
She nods.
“I want to do that too. At least, I think I do. Maybe you should convince me.”
As soon as I say it, I have a quick moment of clear-headed panic. Even though we planned tonight’s scene to be a blowjob, I think I’ve done a pretty effective job of disorienting her and pulling her out of the typical scene mentality. Which was what I wanted, obviously, but I also need to make sure she isn’t so dazed that I’m coercing her into anything.
I lean forward, my lips moving against her ear. “Remember, you can snap your fingers at any time, okay?”
“I know,” she murmurs back and when I move my head to look at her, her eyes are clear and lucid.
Perfect.
Keeping my fingers curled around her wrist, I reach down with my other hand and work my belt buckle open. She keeps her eyes on mine as I unbutton my pants, as I tug my zipper down with a faint purr.
“God, I’ve been wanting this,” I mutter. “So fucking much.” My dick is finally free, and Devi gives me a naughty little nip on my jaw before she moves down to her knees. Jesus fuck, even just that is almost too much, with the way the bite sends a small zing of pain straight down my spine, with the look on her face as she kneels, as if she’s about to give me the fiercest blowjob in history.
Yes, please.
She tugs my pants down more so that my whole shaft is exposed, and she takes me in her hand. Normally at this point, a porn actress would pump my dick a few times, maybe even smack her lips with it, and I always like it fine whenever actresses do that, because hey, a woman playing with your dick is a woman playing with your dick. Don’t look the gift-horse in the mouth and all that.
But Devi does something different, and it does something to me, drives me crazy. She holds my cock and looks at it, her lips parted and her eyes wide, as if she can’t believe that she’s actually holding me. She slides her fingers up and down slowly, not to stimulate me, but to feel me and touch me, measure me and weigh me. Learn me and memorize me.
Everything about her hands and her expression makes it seem like she’s stunned and eager and grateful, and goddammit, it’s so fucking sexy. And by the time she presses her lips to the underside of my dick, I’m ready to explode.
More than ever, I’m aware of the people shuffling around near us, of the fact that if someone looks under the painting they’ll see the legs of my jeans sagging around my ankles, Devi’s knees on the floor. But as long as they stay on their side of the art, I don’t care. In fact, it makes it that much hotter, but never mind that now, because Devi is kissing my cock.
Not sucking. Not licking.
Kissing.
Sweet little kisses, from my base to my tip, soft and warm. And then that she’s so fucking young feeling comes back, but I’m too far gone to care or feel about it now. Instead, I revel in it, revel in the small, innocent kisses and her wide, dark eyes, which have gone from angry to imploring.
And like a flash, my mind is back to Raven’s Real Playdates, to the eighteen-year-old Devi worshipping my cock with her mouth. As soon as I saw her on that set, I was entranced. She was beautiful, fresh, soft and firm all at once, and after watching her go down on Raven, her thick ass in the air, I didn’t need any prep whatsoever when it was time for me to walk on. Watching her with my then-girlfriend had made me rock-hard, and then when she knelt
Well, the director almost got one more pop shot than she’d paid me for.
I used to justify my body’s response to Devi that day as a perverted reaction to her youth or maybe just a natural reaction to a new woman, but the truth is staring me in the face right now with dilated amber eyes: it’s none of those reasons. It’s Devi. She does this to me, brings me to the edge, and it won’t matter how many times she sucks me off, how many times she touches me or I touch her, it will always be like this.
Hell, at this point, even I’ve almost completely forgotten about the camera, and I know I should make this blowjob last longer, should back off a little, because if I’m this far gone without her even taking me in her mouth yet, if I’m this close just with these kisses…
But fuck it. I want this. I want it like this.
I reach down and stroke her hair back from her face.
“Lick it,” I instruct, and she does, starting with my base and licking up towards the tip. Over and over, teasingly, maddeningly, and I realize she’s mimicking how I tongue-fucked her earlier with the long, taunting licks.
“Very cute,” I say. My thumb finds her lower lip, and I pull her mouth open. “But you know what I want.”
She smiles, my thumb still on her lip. “Then why don’t you take it?” she teases.
Well, then.
I fist myself near my root and nudge my crown against her lips, tracing the heart-shaped pout once—and then once again—before I lazily push past that pout to the wet heat inside. For a moment, she does nothing but stare up at me, her tongue soft and still against my dick. And it’s not as if she’s being passive out of inexperience or reluctance or even naughtiness...once again, I get the feeling that she’s trying to commit this to memory, the way my face looks right now and maybe the way I feel against her tongue.
I can’t blame her. I want to commit this to memory too, every detail, the stray lock of hair on her forehead, the way her lips stretch around my girth, the way her eyes search mine, asking for permission or affirmation or absolution.
And then her hands slide around my hips and her fingers find my ass, digging in as she starts sucking me.
“Holy fuck, Devi,” I say raggedly (and maybe a little too loudly) but I can’t help it. Her mouth is like this Valhalla of wet silk, her lips sealed tight to create the kind of suction that would make a man weep. And believe me, I’m near weeping.
She holds my ass and swallows against me, making me groan, and then she pulls off to focus her attention on the tip, sucking and swirling.
“I want to go deeper,” I manage after a few deep breaths. “Can I go deeper?”
“Yes,” she whispers with her lips still mostly occupied, smiling as if I’d just offered her a brand new car instead of asking to shove my dick down her throat.
What a woman.
I reach back to find one of her hands and then I move it to my front so that it’s braced against my hip and she can easily stop me if I go too deep. And then I cradle her face with one hand as I feed my cock to her with another, pushing past her lips and teeth and tongue until I hit the back of her throat, and fuck me, she’s so perfect, even more perfect than I remember from Real Playdates. She takes me so willingly, so easily, and I feel the armored plates of my control beginning to chink open and fall away.
I pull back, giving her a minute to breathe, and then I shove in again, a little rougher this time. Kneeling is not the easiest way to deepthroat, and I don’t want to hurt her or make her gag. But even though her eyes water a little, she swallows me without issue, her eyelashes even fluttering up at me coquettishly. Trusting that she’ll stop me with her hand or snap her fingers to signal if she needs to slow down or stop, I pick up the pace, driving in deeper and faster now. My hands look so large wrapped around her head like this, large and powerful, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say this fuelled my lust even more. The power exchange, this young woman kneeling in front of me while I fuck her face, it turns me the hell on, and the fact that it’s a young woman I love and respect—
that makes the pretend degradation even sexier.
I thrust in again, this time so deeply that I feel her nose press into my stomach, her lips and tongue reflexively swallowing and tightening around my base, and I could come like this, just like this, feeling that nose against my stomach and her head in my hands, and my tip being squeezed so tightly.
My balls draw up in anticipation, but I’m not ready to come yet. I want this to last forever.
Even though she’s not snapping or pushing, I sense she needs a breath and I pull back, letting her breathe, and she does with a gasp, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and smudging her eye makeup. I don’t know why, but she looks so insanely beautiful right now, her makeup blurry and her hair impossibly tangled, and I take some of that hair in my fist now and pull her up—not hard, but hard enough that she scrambles to her feet.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and I taste traces of myself—salt and soap—and her mouth is wet and gasping. She kisses me back messily, desperately, as if she’s struggling against her own need to breathe, and I am practically clawing at the lace on her hips to yank her thong down. I finally manage to get it past her knees and then my fingers are there in her secret place, which is so impossibly wet right now. She’s so wet that her thighs are slick, and it’s pure instinct that makes me step forward and grind my dick against her. I feel the taut skin of her stomach, the silky curls between her legs, and then her hands are sliding between my slumped jeans and my ass again, pulling me even closer.
It’s an accident, or at least I think it is, the first time she raises up on her toes and my cock slips between her thighs. One second, I am grinding on her like a horny teenager, and the next second, my dick is squeezed between her wet thighs, which are so wet that I can slide in and out of them easily.
“Fuck,” I mumble, because it feels good, because I want it to keep feeling good, but thigh-sex isn’t exactly the hottest category on my website, and also it’s dangerously close to the real thing and that’s not the plan for tonight.
But then it happens again, and I stop caring. My hands are everywhere—inside her dress, on her ass, thumbing her nipples—and it feels so good to push between her thighs, especially with that wet pussy moving against the top of my shaft. Without me saying anything, she brings her feet together and crosses her ankles, making it tighter for me.
I hiss out a string of swear words, and she giggles, and I decide that I want to know what it sounds like when her giggles dissolve into moans. So I hook a hand around one of her thighs and haul it up to my waist, raising her up enough that I can bend my head and take a nipple into my mouth through the fabric of her dress.
She does indeed start to moan, and I’m sucking the tip of her breast as hard as I can, and we are both unconsciously squirming and grinding, and then all of a sudden it happens. I feel my swollen crown not just brush past her folds, but for the barest of seconds, push in.
“Shit,” I whisper, raising my head to look at her.
“Shit,” she agrees in a moan, and her face is a mask of desperate, frantic longing.
I can’t seem to pull out, even though I’m barely in, and then she says, “What if you did it just once? Felt the inside of me just once and then pulled right back out? That wouldn’t count, right?”
“Cass…” I say, my voice stretched to the breaking point. I can feel how wet she is against my tip, as if her pussy is kissing my crown, and I’m about to ignore everything I know I should do—like stop and step away and really, seriously stop—and just thrust home. But I can’t, and the reasons are legion: the show, plus we haven’t discussed sex yet, plus even if I were going to do this, I need to get a condom…
“Just once,” she pleads. “Then we can stop. But I can’t—you can’t stop now. Just once, Logan, please.”
A
Which I don’t.
I never advocate not-thinking when it comes to filming porn, I never advocate shifting a scene’s acts outside of the agreed-on list beforehand, but I’m so far gone and we are so far outside of what constitutes a normal scene now that maybe God and the county of Los Angeles will forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I wrap an arm tight around her waist, press my hand to her cheek, and lock eyes with her as I shift my hips and then slowly, so slowly that it almost feels like I’m barely moving at all, press inside. The minute I truly breach her, she lets out a loud gasp, and I clap a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
Her head drops forward to lean on my shoulder and I keep going. I have to bend my knees and angle myself, reach down and hike up her leg again, but it feels so fucking good that I wonder how mad she’d be if I came right now.
Her pussy is tight, tighter than I could have ever imagined, and so wet that even with the squeeze of her channel I can slide in with almost no resistance. The flared edge of my crown drags against her g-spot and she moans and shakes against my hand, and then I’m pushing up and up and up, deeper and deeper, until her pussy is stretched wide around my base, her pelvis flush with mine. I grab her other leg and pull her up so that she’s got her legs wrapped around my waist and I’m supporting all her weight with my hands under her ass. I lean back a little so that I can look at where we’re joined, and then I look up at her.
“Cass?”
Her mouth is open and her pupils are huge and black. “Move in me,” she begs. “Just for a minute.”
Jesus fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut for a minute to stave off the waves of fire her words ignite in me. “Okay,” I murmur, eyes still shut. “Just for a minute.”