Latest Forum Posts:


Take One, Take Two

Talia Richards is offered a job opportunity she can't refuse.
The sound of her phone going off screeches through the apartment, and Talia jumps. Her head whips over to where it's placed on the nightstand, flashing LCD screen almost painfully bright against the darkness of the room. Her stomach feels like it's tying itself in knots as she reaches over and snatches it with trembling hands.

The screen reads e-royal, and she swallows heavily. Her eyes close and she squeezes the cheap piece of plastic in her hands so hard the edges dig into her skin.

I was the ship who was too proud to ever sink, her phone sings at her.

She thinks this moment will be imprinted in her memory for the rest of her life.

Talia opens her eyes. She fumbles with the phone and snaps it open, gaze fixated on the caller I.D.

She presses the green button, brings it to her ear, and with a shuddering breath asks, "Hello?"


You hear about people being kicked out of their homes all the time, for a number of reasons. Sometimes it's a result of abuse, sometimes it's to break free from controlling family members, sometimes it's because of sheer differences of opinion.

Talia falls under the last category.

She knows her parents aren't keen on homosexuality—you'd have to be an idiot not to notice how twitchy they become whenever the topic's brought up within hearing distance—but she always figured it was something they could talk about. Discuss. Compromise on.

In her head she imagined telling them, "Mom, Dad, I'm bisexual and it isn't going to change and I hope you can learn to be okay with it because I'm still me," and what would follow would be countless nights of awkward phone conversations and miserable weekend dinners, sometimes with or without her female partner. She would be so frustrated, and they'd argue all the time, but they'd get over it eventually until one day it wouldn't even be a thing anymore.

She doesn't expect the look of fury that comes over her parent's faces. Doesn't expect the yelling, the vitriol. Doesn't expect to be thrown out on her ass, the clothes on her back and whatever she can fit into her knapsack the only belongings to her name, with absolutely nowhere to go.

She regrets not accepting her friend's offer to share a room off-campus so that she could save money by living at home.

She regrets a lot of things right now.

When her girlfriend, Amy, breaks up with her a week later because this wasn't what I signed up for, Talia, I'm sorry, she feels like this is it for her. She's going to die hungry, homeless, penniless, and single.

She hopes her parents suffer with her student debt loans for a long, long time.

When she bumps into one of her friend's friends and the girl slips a phone number on a scrap of paper into her hands with a sickening smile of reassurance, Talia fights the urge to throw it in the girl's face and pockets it, instead.

She makes the call.


The interview lasts all of three minutes before they're whisking her away to an office to go over paperwork.

She's beautiful, they say.

She has a look about her, they say.

She's going to be a hit, they say.

They say a lot of things, but Talia can barely hear most of it over the sound of her pounding heartbeat and the scratch of the pen as she signs away her soul.


The night before her first shoot she's so nervous she can't sleep. She lays in bed for hours, staring up at the bumps on the ceiling and forcing herself not to think.

When the morning light spills past her parted curtains and illuminates her bedroom she forces herself to sit up and get out of bed. The moment her feet touch the cold tiles she bends over and retches onto the floor. She sits down on the edge of the bed and doesn't move.


She expects something a little different from the "room" they bring her to. A revolving bed, animal print sheets, a disco ball. Perhaps even an assortment of toys and condoms and lube.

Not this. The room/set is girly, with hints of pink and purple and delicate furniture pickings strewn about, but that's all that can be said for it. It's what she expects any teenage girl's room to look like, minus the celebrity posters and magazines. There's even a teddy bear lying against the pillows. It's mortifying.

This is today's role, possibly one of many. They're obviously using how young she looks to their advantage.

You look sixteen , the manager had told her during the interview, eyes roaming over near-naked body. He said it like it's a compliment, like it's something to be proud of. He didn't how know much she loathes looking like a child when she's twenty-three, didn't know that her adolescent appearance made things unbearably hard for her.

He probably couldn't see anything past the dollar signs flashing in his eyes.

She'd left the interview feeling like her skin was crawling, and she'd only been naked for all of one minute in front of three people. She doesn't know how she's going to handle being objectified in such a way by an entire crew of people. By the hundreds more who'll be watching this video at home.

Don't think about it, she tells herself. It's a mantra she's adopted, and while it only half works, it's almost enough.


It takes her a moment to realize that they're calling for her.

Because Sasha will be her name while she works here. Her porn name. She bites down a hysterical laugh, not all that confident that it won't taper off into tears, and looks around.

The director of the movie, a man named Cole Johnson, is waving her over. She stumbles towards him, stopping a few feet away.

"Relax, Miss Moore—," her new last name, "—you don't need to worry so much. Believe me, it's not as terrible as you think it's going to be."

There's a bark of laughter behind him, and Talia finally notices the guy standing there. He's tall, definitely well over six feet, and he's tanned, like her. His eyes are a shade of green so rarely seen outside of television and his smile is bright and wide. He has wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth indicating that, for all his boyish charm, he's not nearly as young as he appears. He must be in his mid-to-late thirties, she reckons.

"Quite right," he tells Mr. Johnson with an English lilt, "however, nothing but first-hand experience is going to teach her that."

He looks at Talia and, almost impossibly, smiles wider.

"You must be Sasha Moore. I'm Jackson Hughes. It's a pleasure, dear."

Jackson Hughes. It takes her a moment to recognize the name, and when she does she flinches.

Jackson Hughes. Her partner.

"I now understand the term "deer in headlights" rather well," he says offhandedly. His smile has dimmed a little, but he still looks amused.

Talia thinks she might hate him.

"You all ready, Jackson?" Mr. Johnson asks him.

"Of course," he says. "Just wanted to see what the new bird looks like in person."

Talia definitely hates him.

Mr. Johnson rolls his eyes and, thankfully, pushes him away. "Remember Anna Morgan? Find her, she'll help you get ready," he tells her before turning around and steering Jackson away.

He follows easily, and Talia is just about to start searching for the blond woman when Jackson looks back and winks at her.

Talia gives him the finger, and a huge smile breaks across his face before Mr. Johnson slaps his arm to regain his attention.

Somehow, she manages to breathe easier.

Mrs. Morgan is waiting for her in a small antechamber attached to the bedroom/set.

"Mrs. Morgan?" Talia asks. She hates how nervous she sounds.

The woman eventually looks up from the box she's going through and smiles at her. "Hey, Talia. Call me Anna. Now, come here, will you? You've got to start get getting dressed."

Right. Because she's playing the role of an innocent high school student and her baggy, low-key clothes clearly don't cut it.

The anxiety that seemed to have diminished in the wake of her conversation—if she can even call it that—with Mr. Johnson and Jackson springs back, and she bites her lip and crosses her arms over her chest. Doesn't move.

Anna walks over to her and gently grabs her arm. She pulls her into the room, closes the door behind them, and brings her over to the table.

"We call them "newbie nerves". Everyone gets them. This probably doesn't help to know, but you'll get used to this. Your contracted for, what? A year?" She waits for Talia to nod before continuing, "Then try to relax. You'll be with us for a while. It'll take you a while to notice, probably, but we're very professional here, and your comfort is our first priority."

Talia barely holds back a derisive snort.

Something must have shown on her face, though, because Anna pats her on the shoulder once before returning to the box. She pulls out a bundle of clothing—Talia can see a hint of plaid and figures it's the skirt—and hands it over to her.

"That's your costume. Socks and shoes are in the chair behind you. There are a few bottles of water in the fridge right over there—some fruits, too, if you're feeling hungry—and the bathroom's right behind that door. You can leave your belongings on this table, no one's going to be entering this room besides the two of us and the director, so your things are safe. Hm. Pick your hair up into a ponytail—preferably a high one—and then go to room 34B, it's two doors down from this one, for make-up. After, meet everyone in the main bedroom, alright?"

Talia nods.

"You're going to be fine, don't even worry about it." Anna tells her warmly before slipping out of the room and shutting the door.

Talia looks at the bundle of clothing in her hands, walks over to the stool by the table, and sinks down. She hunches her shoulders and buries her face in the material.

It smells freshly washed.


She expects the make-up to take longer. Expects it to be something like on television where the artists take their time to carefully apply each necessary layer of paint and cream and powder.

They brush some blush onto her cheeks—for color, they say, not that she really needs it—and apply some gloss to her lips and that's it. The artist cups her chin and moves her head this way and that for a few seconds before nodding and waving her away.

She decides to take it as a compliment.

When she walks into the room they're going to be shooting in there's a noticeable difference in the number of people occupying it. Mr. Johnson, Jackson, and someone Talia doesn't recognize are having a conversation in one corner. A group of three are at another corner, playing with the cameras—

(Talia quickly looks away. Don't think about it, don't think about it.)

and there are a few other people scattered around.

Someone claps, loudly, and then everyone's moving, some leaving the room and others finding places to sit or stand or play with something.

The lights on the ceiling turn on and Talia feels like she's been blinded.

The gravity of the situation, of what she's about to do, hits her. Her chest suddenly feels painfully tight and she can't breathe, oh god, she can't breathe, and what the hell did she think she was doing by accepting this job, oh god she can't, she can't do this, she can't, she needs to leave, she can't, she can't breathe

"Breathe, Talia."

Large hands grip her shoulders and she shudders and lets out a gasping breath.

"Good girl. Now again. And again. One more time, love."

Talia obeys until she no longer feels like her breath is being held hostage in her throat.

When she looks up Jackson is staring at her intently.

"The lights are always disconcerting in the beginning," he tells her. "Do you need some water?"

She nods shakily.

"Water!" he calls. In an instant someone is handing a bottle of water over to her and Talia snatches it—doesn't even bother trying to apologize for her rudeness—twists off the cap and chugs it down. More than half of the bottle is empty when she finally tears her mouth away. She caps it and wipes at her chin.

"Thanks," she rasps, grudgingly.

"Your very welcome," Jackson says. "Are you alright now?"

Talia nods. It feels like that's all she's been doing today.

"Good. We're on in about ten minutes. Can you still do this?"

No , Talia thinks.

"Yes," is what she says.


They go over the scene one more time.

It's her first shoot, so it's going to be simple. Jackson is her teacher, and they've been in an illegal, albeit committed relationship for a few weeks now. Talia—no, Sasha's parents are away for the weekend, and she invites Jackson over hoping that, come morning, she won't be a virgin anymore.

There's very little acting to be had. Just a few lines, and then sex. Shouldn't take longer than twenty, thirty minutes. The video is going to be a part of a larger series following a theme of illicit relationships and if everything goes well their video will be the main feature.

"Just have fun with it," Jackson tells her right before he exits the room. "That's the point. Well, no, money's the point, but the fun aspects shouldn't be forgotten about. You're not Talia here, you're Sasha Moore, a sixteen year old student who fancies her teacher more than anyone else in the world. You're nervous, but you're excited, too. Don't forget that."

When he leaves Talia has to clench her hands into fists to keep from reaching out and demanding he stay by her side.

She's twenty-three years old, but at this moment she feels closer to the age she's expected to portray than anything else.


Don't think about it , she tells herself when the clapperboard snaps and the call for action is made.

Don't think about it, she thinks when the doorbell sounds and she moves off-screen.

Don't think about it, she reiterates as she takes Jackson's hand and pulls him into the bedroom.

You're not Talia Richards. You're Sasha Moore. You're sixteen years old, completely oblivious to the world around you, ignorant to the hardships you'll have to face when you get older.

They sit on the bed and Jackson leans forward and presses a kiss against her lips.

You're young, and blissfully unaware. You're happy.

His tongue slips into her mouth and she opens up for him, eager for his taste.

Your parents still love you. You have an amazing man in front of you, one you can't believe is paying you—gawky, awkward, inexperienced you—the slightest bit of attention.

He licks into Talia's mouth, suckles on her tongue, nips and bites at her lips. A dribble of spit leaks out of the corner of her mouth but she ignores it. The fact that she doesn't know whose spit it is arouses her.

Your life is fantastic, and by the end of the night you're no longer going to be a virgin. You'll be a woman, and the thought excites you more than you can say.

Jackson—Mr. Hughes—pushes Talia down onto the bed and moves over her.

"Are you sure, Sasha?"

Talia nods. "Please, Mr. Hughes. I—I want you."

Mr. Hughes smiles at her.

You're too young, too stupid to realize that childhood will be the best time of your life. That growing up is overrated. That adults are far crueler than children can ever be.

"What is it you want, exactly? I need to know, Miss Moore."

" Everything."

The rose-colored glasses you wear blind you to the fact that this isn't real. When you're older you'll see his soft demeanor for what it is—a disguise. His smile will seem more predatory, his actions more manipulative, his words more slick. You'll be able to look into his eyes and see him for what he is—a pervert, a control freak, a collector, an abuser. The kind who likes to catch butterflies and pin them while they're still alive, then put them on display for the world to see.

Mr. Hughes' hand presses into Talia's skin, just beneath her breast. His fingers skim over her ribs, then move lower down her stomach, past her navel, stopping just centimeters away from her panty line.

"Even here?"

But for now… for now you're young. For now his smile is warm, and his words are like honey, and his eyes are an endless abyss to be lost in. His touch is reverent, his kiss sickle-sweet, and he loves   you. Because people don't have sex with each other if they're not in love.

Because people don't hurt the ones they love.

Sasha Moore opens her eyes and breathes, "Yes."


He takes his time in removing her clothing, like she's a gift he slowly wants to unwrap. She feels treasured.

The kisses he places on her skin—in the arch of her neck, in the swell of skin above her breast, above her belly button—makes heat flare across her skin.

Sasha lies on the bed, clad only in her panties and bra, and stares up at Mr. Hughes—Jackson, now—with wide eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asks her, one hand splayed over her thigh and the other massaging her arm.

"Yes," Sasha says. Then, "Please."

"Please what?"

Her heart feels like it's going to shatter against her chest. The throb between her legs feels unbearable, and if she can only get him to touch her there…


His knuckles glaze the side of her sex and she arches and moans.

"You have to tell me what you want, love."

The endearment makes her chest swell.

"Please touch me," she whispers. She's shaking so hard the mattress feels like it's vibrating.

"Here?" Jackson prompts, placing a hand over her mound.

Sasha whimpers and spreads her legs a little.

"Please," she says again.

Jackson smiles adoringly at her, and some of the tension seeps out of her. She still feels boneless when he hooks his fingers beneath the elastic of her underwear and pulls them down.

When she peaks at Jackson again, it's to see him staring at her. At it.

"Look how wet you are," he breathes.

A flare of embarrassment turns her stomach cold and she tries to close her legs, but Jackson holds them apart.

"Don't," he tells her. "I like it."

"Y-you do?" Sasha asks, hopeful.

"Why wouldn't I?" Jackson replies. "You got this way for me, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Sasha sighs, relaxing a little.

"So wet," Jackson murmurs. He swipes a finger between her tingling lips and she jolts and lifts her hips.

"So responsive." He looks up at her. "Can I touch you?"

Sasha nods eagerly.

"Lick you?" he presses.

Her eyes widen.

"Penetrate your hole with my tongue?"

Sasha's elbows give way and she falls against the pillow with a moan.

"Please." She begs.

Jackson doesn't need telling twice.

He pushes at her thighs, urging them to spread wider, and then takes her clit between his fingers. Sasha cries out when he begins rubbing it, moving it in circles, pinching it, tugging it.

No one has ever touched her there, and it feels fantastic. She's a little worried that she's making stupid faces, making stupid sounds, but Jackson doesn't seem to mind so she tries not to feel too self-conscious about it.

Her aspiration lasts up until Jackson settles down onto his stomach and swipes at her with his tongue.

She flails and thrashes and shouts, hands fisting the sheets as he laps at her sex. Her fingers touch something soft—her teddy bear, she realizes—and she grabs it and hugs it against her face, it's warm fur muffling her needy cries.

He licks her from the very top of her sex all the way to the bottom, to where her hole is. He sucks the walls and nibbles at the crevices, takes her clit into his mouth and suckles it like it's candy, and Sasha seriously thinks she's going to die.

She's chanting, "Please, please, please, please," up until his finger presses against her hole and the very tip pushes in, and then she's cumming too hard to form any words, let alone any semblance of thought.

She keens and whimpers as he continues to eat her out, and tries to push him away when it becomes too much.

When he finally leaves her twitching area alone she peaks down at him from behind her teddy, eyes glazed over from pleasure, and notices that his face is shiny with spit and her own juices. She groans when he leans forward and kisses her. She can taste herself on him and she shouldn't find it so arousing, but she does.

"Have you ever seen a man's penis before?" He asks her suddenly.

Sasha shakes her head shyly, embarrassed.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes," she whispers.

Jackson cups her cheek. "Good girl."

He climbs off the bed and unbuckles his pants. They slide off him easily, and he kicks them off. He hooks his fingers into his boxer-briefs just as he looks at Sasha and asks, "Are you sure?"


He wastes no time in pulling them down.

Jackson's cock is big, is the first thing she thinks. It's big and hard and almost scary looking. The skin is pink, the bulging veins and balls beneath are even darker, and the tip of the head is oozing something she figures must be pre-cum.

She doesn't know how it's going to fit.

"What's the matter?" Jackson asks, catching on to her discomfort.

"Y-you…it's…b-big," she finally gets out, hating how panicky she sounds.

Jackson chuckles. "Believe me, love. That's a good thing."

She must still look as uncertain as she feels because Jackson tsks and walks over to her, cock bobbing with each step he takes.

If it weren't for the fact that the penis belonged to Jackson, and that it was going to be inside of her soon enough, she might have laughed.

"Why don't you touch it? To see what it feels like."

Sasha glances up at him and swallows.

"O-okay," she says, and tentatively lifts her hand and touches him.

It's…hot. Really hot. And hard. But it's also sort of soft, too. She closes her hand around it and her fingers barely connect. She looks up at him again.

He nods at her to go on, and with a shaky breath she does.

She runs her hand up and down, palm tingling as it grazes over the ridges of his veins and the dip connecting the shaft to the head. The hairs at the base are coarse, the color interesting, but she doesn't spend much time there. She's too fascinated by the front of his cock, and the way the skin slides as she strokes him, and the beads of liquid that keep pouring out of the hole there.

She boldly places the tip of her index finger against it and presses down, and is rewarded by Jackson groaning.

"You're so perfect," he tells her, running his hands through her hair, over her face, down her neck. "So perfect. I love the way you touch me."

Emboldened, Sasha grabs him with both hands, grips him tighter, and tugs him from base to tip. She experimentally circles her hands once and does it again when Jackson shifts into her with a grunt.

"So perfect," he says again, and she flushes with pride. She's making him feel good. She's giving him pleasure.

The rush of power it gives her makes her a little dizzy.

"Can I taste you?" she asks, and watches as Jackson closes his eyes and bites his lip.

"No," he says after a while, and Sasha feels a wave of mortification hit her and tries to back away but Jackson's hand closes over hers, stopping her.

"Sasha, I would love nothing more than to let you suck my cock, but if you so much as touch me with that tongue of yours I won't be able to last much longer," he says bluntly.

She looks up at him and nods, still uncertain.

"What I want right now is to make love to you. The proper way. Next time," her heart soars a little at the promise of next time, "we'll do all the things we didn't get to do tonight, but right now? Right now I want to be inside you. Is that okay?"

Sasha doesn't trust herself to speak, so she nods.

"Excellent," he says, letting go of her hands and stepping away.

"Take off your bra for me, love."

She does, quickly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Her small breasts spill out the moment the clasp is undone and she shoulders out of the straps.

"Gorgeous," he admires. Then says, "Lie down."

She does.

Jackson moves around the bed, then crawls onto it.

"Open your legs," he tells her.

She parts them, and he situates himself in between.

He grabs a red packet from the corner of the mattress and it takes Sasha an embarrassingly long moment to realize that it's a condom.

Jackson expertly removes it and slides it on, and she forces herself not to think about the cause behind that. Jackson is an adult. He's definitely been with people before her. She doesn't have a right to get jealous over past lovers. Besides, he's with her now.

He loves   her now.

"You ready?"

"Yeah," Sasha swallows. She holds her breath when the head of his cock presses against her.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promises. And then enters her.

It burns. It burns a lot. She flinches and tries to scoot away from him, but he holds her still by the waist.

"It's just your hymen, love. The burn is going to fade soon. Shh, relax. You're okay. Shh."

She pants and shakes as she waits for the burning pain to ebb. It eventually does, but just barely.

"Is it a little better now?"

Not really , she thinks.

"Yeah," she says.

"Okay. I'm going to start moving slowly, okay? Let me know if it becomes too much."

She licks her lips and tries to smile for him.

Jackson slowly slides out and then in, and she snaps her eyes shut and tries to breathe through it. It hurts, though less so than the first time. She makes a sound of pain when he moves a little too quickly and Jackson reaches forward and squeezes her nipple between his fingers.

She gasps and arches a little.

"Your breasts are perfect, do you know that? So small. I love the way they feel in my hands." He cups them to emphasize, and her entire breast is covered by his palm alone. "And god, Sasha, your nipples. So puffy and pink and wide. They feel so bloody amazing." He rolls them against his fingers and she groans and presses into him.

The burning between her legs has started to diminish. There's still discomfort, but it's not nearly so bad anymore. She thinks it might be starting to feel a little good.

Jackson plays with her breasts for a while—cupping and squeezing them, rubbing and pulling them—before his hands progress downwards.

The first contact of his fingers against her clit makes her gasp.

He thrusts into her a little harder, a little faster, and quickly rubs her nub, alternating between speed and pressure and direction, until everything going on between her legs is vastly building unadulterated pleasure.

"You feel so good, Sasha. So warm and wet and tight, squeezing my cock like you're trying to suck me in deeper. I love being inside you, love the feeling of you clamping over me. Tell me how you feel, love. Do you like it?"

"Yes," Sasha moans.

"Tell me," he commands.

"I love it," she forces herself to say out loud. "Love how y-you're stretching me, f-filling me. Love the feel of you, the w-warmth of you. I love you."

"You too, sweetheart. So much."

Joy erupts in her chest and she wants to shout her elation. At that moment, though, Jackson snaps his hips firmly and presses down on her clit a little too hard and Sasha can do little else but stutter and gasp.

"So good. You're completely wet for me, aren't you? Every time I pull out all your juices spill right out. There's a little blood, too, because you gave this to me, didn't you, love? You're giving it all to me."

"Yes!" Sasha cries as her orgasm crashes through her. She feels like she's being suspended in the air, her body weighing almost nothing. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin and every inch of her feels so sensitive. She can almost feel the air of the room brushing against her skin, it's that keen.

Jackson removes his hand but doesn't stop pounding into her. Rather, he picks up the pace and his thrusts becomes erratic and wild. Every strike against her g-spot makes Sasha moan and jerk and tremble.

Jackson eventually stills, and she knows he's cumming inside her. He lets loose a soft groan and thrusts his hips three more times before he slumps over her and kisses her.

The kiss is soft and messy and wet, and Sasha relishes in it, lips and tongue tingling and moist. After a few moments she feels like she can finally breathe again, and the violent tremors wracking through her body soften to something manageable.

"Can I stay inside you for a while?" He rasps against her throat, eventually.

Sasha nods shakily.

"How was it?"

"Perfect," she croaks. She doesn't think anything in life will ever come close to this.

"Good," Jackson says tiredly. "How about we sleep, yeah? Your parents won't be home until tomorrow night—correct?"

"Yeah," Sasha agrees, eyes already drooping shut.

"G'night, love."

"G'night. L've you," she mumbles. Jackson, still nestled inside her, tucks her against his chest and pets her hair.

She falls asleep.


"And cut!" The director yells. The clapperboard snaps.

Talia jerks to awareness and blinks.

Some people are clapping, some are barking orders, others are bustling around trying to move things around and get things done.

Talia blearily takes note of the fact that she's naked, and that there's a body literally attached to hers, and that Jackson is watching her.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks, smirking.

She narrows her eyes at him.

"You can pull out now," she snaps.

He laughs and does.

Her body shivers when he leaves her, and her pussy clenches from emptiness, but she ignores it.

"Shit," she curses, grabbing the blanket and tucking it up over her chest. She feels dizzy and disoriented and honestly has no fucking idea what the hell just happened.

She must say that out loud because Jackson grins and answers.

"When you're that deeply immersed in a role, disconnecting can be rather distressing."

"You don't seem all that bothered by it," she mutters.

"That's because I'm not a newbie," he gloats.

She scowls her eyes at him and he laughs at her again.

"You're really interesting, do you know that?" he says, casually, and Talia is so thrown off by his wayward remark that she can't stop her mouth from falling open a little.

"No, really. One moment you're impersonating a wide-eyed bambi and the next you're acting like you've been doing this for years. I'm looking forward to working with you again—and not just 'cause you're hot."

He winks, and Talia hits him on the arm.

"Haven't even been together for a day and already I'm a victim of domestic abuse," he complains jovially. "Well, it's to be expected, I suppose. Mum always did try to warn me about fast women."

"I hope your mum has enough money to fund your funeral because I'm about a second away from killing her son," Talia tells him, seriously.

Jackson looks absolutely delighted by the threat.

"I really hope we get to act together soon," he says again. "But until then, ta!" And then he hops off the bed in all his naked glory and struts away.

Talia barely has time to think that he has a nice ass before she drags her eyes away and shakes her head.


"Miss Moore!" Mr. Johnson calls from across the room, and Talia looks up to see him and the director and some other person she doesn't know start walking her away.

She stares at them, and it suddenly hits.

Holy shit, she just had sex in front of all these people.

And it's going to be made into a video. Which will be purchasable online and in stores. Which hundreds, if not thousands, of people are going to see.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

"You were fantastic!" Mr. Johnson says as he approaches.

"A natural," the director agrees.

The other woman is saying something but it's garbled and distant, and really, Talia's too busy passing out to pay anything much mind at this point.

She hits the bed with a heavy thud.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

To link to this sex story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="">Take One, Take Two</a>

Comments (8)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.