Ryan and Micki Make a Porno (smootch!)

I am mildly befuddled at how well this production has been going. Hank and Dana knocked out a perfect scene in one take, and we recently finished filming Conrad and Laura in the library. We did four takes altogether, and only because Laura had the giggles with a little of the opening dialogue. Man, were they ever professional once it got going; they gave us a good eight positions, ending with Conrad banging Laura against a bookcase as she screamed "Send me Home!" in an endless mantra. Convincing *and* in character. Incredible.
Conrad's already begun blowing about teaming up with her in future films. I have to admit that they also had great on-screen chemistry. There have been no shortage of set breaks. Which has been positive for me. I think I'm ready for our scene, now that it's about to happen. It's after dinner break, and we are set up in Conrad's personal wing, which has the right look for an apartment, being that it has it's own kitchen and living room along with a bedroom tucked toward the back. Plus, the decor is all Don Johnson pastels, which could translate just as easily into a woman's place. I didn't tell that to Conrad, though. He has a mean aim. I wouldn't want to be all bruised up for our big debut. I've just strapped myself into my Slutbuster jumpsuit and Laura has burst into the bathroom behind me to rub me down with oil, followed by Elliot to discuss blocking and angles. No rest for the wicked.
Audrey and Dana are getting Micki ready in the bedroom with her costume and makeup. I wonder which one is rubbing her down with oil? Now I'm realizing that I need to quell thoughts such as these. Filming, much less directing attractive people doing it live in front of me has transformed me into some sort of permanent boner monster. Also, the image of Micki standing naked in front of me this morning keeps interplaying on a loop in my mind along with some of the finer points of the day. Not helping me one iota.
I can't believe we're actually gonna go through with this.
Elliot finishes with me and busies himself with finalizing the shot set up, shortly after Laura finishes her essential oil rubdown and joins Conrad and Andy over by the monitors. I'm debating whether or not to close this bathroom door and engage in another pre-emptive strike when the back bedroom door opens and Dana and Audrey emerge.
"She's *gorgeous*, Ryan." Audrey beams as they float on past me.
"Have fun." Dana echoes teasingly in passing.
"You're going to be a tough act to follow, Miss Precious Canal." I say over my shoulder.
Micki steps into the doorway and I am blown away by her hotness. God-damn. She's got on this short little pink floral kimono and matching silk stilletos, her hair is down and a little wild, and her makeup is without flaw. She's glowing, and very pretty in pink. "Ed Wood, I presume?"
"Why Betty Able, as I live and breathe." I joke in a southern accent, "You look...I mean, you're always pretty stunning, but this is just...*Wow*." I fumble as she gives an embarrassed-for-me grin. We're scheduled to do it, pretty much. I would be shocked if I *weren't* at least somewhat tongue tied.
"You look great, Ryan." she compliments back, "I think I'm feeling ready to do this."
"Me too."
"I don't feel like a bad person going through with this, either."
"There's no reason why you should. I sure don't feel that way. This has been a lot of fun so far." I say in jovial defense, inching closer and getting an arm around her waist.
"Yes, surprisingly so." she replies as I lead her into the 'living room' area, "More fun than what we normally do, at any rate."
"I could film the act of coitus for the rest of my life and die a happy man." I add in a nonchalant tone.
"I'd be happy for you. You're really talented at this." Micki praises, "I've been pleased with your performance so far; but I suppose that now comes the real test." And she resorts back to teasing.
"Just *pretend* that I'm rocking your world, will ya?" I quietly mention as Conrad approaches.
"Today my name is Katherine Hepburn." she smiles at me, pinching my cheek.
"I thought you was Dana Bare-It-All, girl!" Conrad argues.
"Yes, I am." she says to him.
"What?" he asks, confused.
"What?" she counters, equally as perplexed.
"Never mind that," Conrad ends their awkward exchange and gives us a whistle, "You two need to brush that pimp dirt off your shoulders, because you look freakin' badass. Don't let the fact that you're the main characters for this feature bug you out, either. I said it before; just forget that the rest of us are here and keep it real. Y'all are gonna take some names. I have confidence."
"Thanks Conrad." I say, "That means a lot coming from a veteran."
"Shit, you just keep being the Super Director that you are and we might just produce the greatest porno ever made." Conrad claps me on the back, "I'll leave y'all to it. Listen to your boy, Micki. He knows what he's doing."
"How should this play out, Mr. Director?" she asks in conspiracy.
I explain in a low voice, "Dana has just made a call to the Slutbusters on account of the lesbian ghosts in her fridge who are going at it all hours. They've been keeping her up at night, and heavily aroused..."
"So Dana's already switched on before Peter arrives?" she interjects.
"Correct. When he shows up at her door there's an instantly fierce mutual attraction. Have you ever come across someone that you were so attracted to, it hits you like a bolt of lightning, it's so strong?"
Micki nods, "I think I know what you mean."
I know this feeling well myself, being that's what happened when I first laid eyes on *her*, "We'll start the scene with me knocking on your door, dialoguedialogue; Dana shows Peter the fridge, there's no ghosts, argumentdialogue; then Peter offers to help Dana in a different way. With her horniness. Bow-chica-wow-wow." I add in a mock salacious tone that forces her to giggle.
"Sort of that whole 'When in Rome' concept, huh?"
"Yeah. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. You got it." I beam in agreement, "How's it looking in the cameras, El?" I yell in his direction.
"Fan-fuckin'-tastic, Amigo. Micki, the cameras are loving the hell out of you, by the way." Elliot answers, displaying a thumbs up, "You two ready for places?"
Micki gives me the nervous-anticipation grin and nods, "Let's make magic!" I call, "Could you maybe start from the bedroom to answer the door?" I ask her as I make my way to my mark.
"Sure thing."
This is happening. Really happening. Alright, maybe it would be a good idea to get into character. My name is Peter Shankman, and I'm about to meet Dana Bare-It-All for the first time, and nail her. That's not Micki Foster, I'm not Ryan Dallion, and we aren't joint store owners who spend most of our time hunting down cursed antiques infused with the power of Satan. We've never met before in our lives.
Conrad calls for quiet on the set, Audrey slams the marker, followed by "Action!"
I, Peter Shankman, funny guy and superhero Slutbuster, give the door a casual knock. A Peter knock. Shave and a haircut. Two Bits.
(Ohmyfuckinggod, Ican'tbelievewe'reactuallydoingthis)
'Dana' swings the door open and poses seductively with an approving light in her eye when she sees me.
She's the epitome of fantasy and that's the truth. I let out a loud wolf-whistle and give her the 'ol up-and-down glance, "I'm looking for Dana Bare-It-All? Peter Shankman with Slutbusters." I add, indicating my nametag.
"That's me." she answers, "Thank goodness you've come. I have an infestation of sluts in my refrigerator who do nothing but have sex day and night. Can I show you what I mean?"
I follow her inside the 'apartment', "Sounds terrible." I say absentmindedly as I visibly examine the way her backside moves, "It must be very distracting."
We stop at the refrigerator and I am vaguely aware of Elliot moving close by with the handheld.
"It is." Micki/Dana continues. She opens the door to the fridge and we're greeted by a partially eaten birthday cake that reads 'ppy rthday, Fawnsworth' and a few forty ounces of Old English. Luckily, in pornos, your audience isn't really paying attention to the little details.
I give 'Dana' a suspicious look as she appropriately feigns shock and confusion, "Were there *really* ghosts in there?" I ask in a slightly condescending tone.
"Why would I call you if there weren't?" she argues with conviction, moving on her mark toward the living room couch, "Just minutes ago there were two beautiful women in my fridge going at it like loud jackrabbits. I don't understand."
"So they're *loud* fornicating slut ghosts? Do you think they left for good?" I try to confirm as I follow her and make it to my own mark standing behind her as she sits down.
She shakes her head as I start on a shoulder rub, "Oh, they'll be back. They get off on torturing me because I'm so very lonely." Micki/Dana complains in a moany whine.
"A gorgeous girl like yourself should *never* be lonely." I counter, ceasing the shoulder rub and working my way back in front of her to perch on the edge of the coffee table, "The concept alone sounds downright illegal. I mean, look at you!"
"But I am." she protests, "I'm lonely, and I'm always aroused. These slut ghosts want to drive me insane, Mr. Shankman."
"Well, until the ghosts show, there's not much I can do, but I may be able to help you with your other problem." I soothe her, moving my hands to rest on her knees and massaging lightly upward to about mid-thigh. Her skin is softer than a baby chick. I can't believe this is actually happening.
"Y-you can?" Micki/Dana stammers, fists balled tightly at her sides. She sucks in an audible breath and her eyes flash at me with something that I thought I saw this morning.
"Sure. I can cure your loneliness with a little remedy called 'Satisfaction'." I say, raising my eyebrows and moving my hands just a little higher up her thighs. She gasps as I abruptly pull back, "Of course, I can't do a thing until you tell me that you want me." I tease her (for once).
"I want you." she says in a quiet, labored voice. Her chest is heaving quite nicely.
"What? I couldn't hear you." I joke, putting a hand to my ear.
She rises slightly, gripping *my* upper thigh for support as she leans in to my ear. She slaps my hand away from it with her free hand, growling, "I want you. To fuck me. Now."
I think I've grabbed on to her too roughly as our mouths clash, but it's a bit late for apologies. The show must go on. That punch drunk dizzy sensation has reappeared as our kiss causes me to fall backward onto the table, taking her with me as she climbs into a straddle on my lap. My hands are Lewis and Clark exploring the New World of her body, travelling under the kimono to lands unknown. Maybe if this goes well we can reconsider our relationship to something less torturous for me. One that involves more encounters like this. I tried, but I can't deny it. I'm in the midst of laying carpet with Micki Foster, she's seeming like she's really into it, and so I want to do right by her. I sit up and move my mouth down her neck. My next step is ripping open her robe to take my time on each of her delicate breasts. She's liking this, I think, because her hips are grinding into my lap and she's doing her best to get me out of this now stifling uniform.
I'm free of the top part now, thanks to her, but spurned on by the idea of *really* giving her satisfaction, I overpower her and move her off my lap and under me, all the while kissing downward on various parts of skin until I reach the place that I've been *dying* to kiss. I figure I'll go down on her for a good ten minutes at least. She'd be smitten by that. She'd want to redefine a relationship for that. My teeth tug at the edge of her pale pink panties as I shift my knees down to kneeling on the floor. I happen to glance up at her. I've rarely heard her breathe this hard before, which, considering the amount of danger we've been through together, means a lot. Her face is a lovely blend of arousal, beauty, and what looks a little like bewilderment. And I thought she was glowing *before*. Shit. I can't deter myself from my task, so I begin with the removal of the underwear, lifting her gorgeous legs up to unhook them from around her ankles, resting a thigh on each shoulder as I settle into position and get down to business. Mmm-mm. Also better than I had imagined. She must have taken advantage of the melon plate Fawnsworth had out earlier, because she tastes like a scrumptious honeydew. Judging by the way she's started to moan and places her hand in my hair, I have a feeling ten minutes of this would incredibly easy. A happy cake walk. I take it back. I would die a happy man if I could do *this* for the rest of my life. Leave it to Micki to exceed the expectations of a healthy male imagination.
I've been buried in tasting her heaven for quite a while (longer than ten minutes, certainly) when I feel her body give off the signal of climax, and she starts to make what sounds like abrupt, closemouthed squeaks that are altogether adorable and bring my aching cock to surge against my pants with my own torturous arousal. I've been watching people do the horizontal lambada all day, and now I am ensconsed by her intoxicating hips bucking into my face with sensuous grace. I force myself to run baseball stats in my brain as she rides it out, kissing my way back up her abdomen when her undulations slow down, then reconsider halfway up her torso and dive back down into it. I think I can make her come once more this way. Micki gives me a startled, approving moan and I know I did the right thing, because she climaxes again almost immediately, tugging my hair upon completion to get to the main show.
I fumble with the fly of my coveralls and push them down my waist as quickly as I can, raising her hips with me as I rise to a mostly standing position. Her ankles rest on my shoulders, and her ass is poised fully of the edge of the coffee table as she rests on her upper back, her sex level with my own. She's so very beautiful. I push my way inside and it feels so good I could black out. It gets even better when I start to move and establish my rhythm. Scratch all my former statements; the sensation of being inside Micki Foster is what could bring about the joy that will carry me to my grave. The visual of her being fucked belongs in it's own category; the effect of her sweaty, glowing skin, breasts moving along to the motion of my thrusts, and seductive, feral look on her face has a superiority that requires it's own definition. To be the guy that's privileged enough to cause this wondrous sight is something I won't take for granted, and I believe it's time to switch things up, so I lean down, her legs folding a little like an accordion as her thighs rest against my torso, and reach for her hands, getting a little deeper penetration at this angle. This position also allows my face to be close enough to hers to kiss her again, and I try not to get lost for too long in that lightheaded feeling I'm still experiencing from it, even though we're *way* past kissing, by miles.
I mouth her bottom lip a bit, give another shove, "You want to try this a different way?" I whisper, then shove up a little harder than before. I have to watch myself if I'm going to erase the memory of every other sexual encounter she's ever had. That one almost did me in. Jesus, she's fantastic. I've never felt anything as good as the way she feels, and I'll be struck down willingly if that's a lie.
"This is nice (oh!), but if you think you can (ah!) do better..." She answers, attempting to kiss me again, but I'm pulling away and out of her altogether.
I try to get on the surface of the table and almost trip. Oh, that's right. My coveralls and boots are still in a wad at my feet. I reach down and get rid of them with haste, then join my lovely object of affection of the glass table top, granting her the meeting of lips that was denied earlier. I turn her slightly on her left side and slide my body against hers, entering her again from behind as I fling an arm across her waist and clutch her left breast, pushing in a moderate tempo. I nip at her ear with my teeth, "Better?"
"Mm, ohhhh Yeah!" she yells, following by a tensing of her body as she begins coming *again*. As easy as it would be to just let myself give in and go with her at this point (three is a good number), I don't want to be done yet. I will myself to bring back the baseball stats and keep going. My hand retreats from her breast and travels up to grip the shoulder closest to me, using it as a lever to get onto my back and shifting her so that she's on top of me with her back against my chest. This causes my efforts to be a little on the shallower side of things and her wild mass of hair is threatening suffocation, but the feel of her body writhing on top of mine is still nothing if not amazing. Soon, I'm using both hands to grip her shoulders while under her and am pumping my hips as hard as I can at about half-speed, the tactile sense of her open kimono's silken material flapping at my sides allowing me adequate distraction for delaying my inevitable.
I can't see a thing with her curls in my face, so I reluctantly release her shoulders and prop myself up on my elbows. Which works to my advantage, because she sits up and readjusts her legs, sinking back down in a reverse cowgirl position into my lap, using her knees to assist in riding me like a champion. Wowie-wowie-wow. I reach up and pull on the back hem of her robe, yanking it hard enough that it slides off with relative ease so I can better enjoy the view. The way her hips are moving defy all laws of motion in the best of ways. Up, down, circle, repeat at a langorous, medium pace. Splendidly hypnotic; I'm hanging on lightly to her hips to not disturb the dance. Fuck, I'm close. I think she is again, also, because her grip on my thighs has intensified. I'll get taken out soon if I don't do something fast, so I sit up, kissing my way up her back, pull her momentarily from my lap, standing her on her knees as I straddle slightly on my own behind her and slam back in. We've gotten on the loud side now with our moans; when we started, mainly heavy breathing only, accompanied by a whimper or two. But goddammit, she just feels so ingenious I can't help myself. I'm kissing anywhere I can at this point, a side of a forehead, the shoulders, neck, and sometimes her mouth. Anywhere within reach, my mouth is on top of things. I can't help clutching onto her breasts as I can guess she can't help reaching behind her to hold onto my hips for dear life as I use my own knees to pick up the tempo again.
My fever for her burns harder than ever as she pants and whimpers her way through one orgasm, shortly and more powerfully followed by another, and on that second rumble I'm gone. Knocked off the rafters by the Orgasm of the Gods, because this feels like divine intervention to me. I am blown into the fifth dimension, experiencing heights of pleasure I had left undiscovered before this. What a fool I had been. What a buffoon. I give out a startled yell through it all, and is she?...She's actually *barking* like a little lap dog. Tiny Tim on a crutch, this is amazing. I'll say it a thousand times and it will never get old. Eventually, our noises and movements gradually subside, and I'm hugging tightly onto her waist and panting into her back when reality comes crashing down in the form of "Cut!" and enthusiastic applause.
"Hell Fuckin' right, Dallion!" Conrad exclaims, "That's the way to Fuck, y'all! *This* is why those are my main people; God *Damn*!"
"Ow!" I hear Andy echo, looking above me and spotting him perched on the ladder with the boom mic, grinning like an idiot. He catches my look and winks, "Thank you. Thank you." Andy mouths gratefully, hooking his finger and thumb into an OK.
Laura approaches with our cover ups, "Super job, you two." she tells us as she hands them over, lingering a bit longer on mine, "Hiiii, Ryyyyan." Laura coos flirtatiously before walking away, swishing her hips.
I really *had* forgotten that everyone else was here. I didn't really think that would happen, honestly. I can't believe all these people just saw that. Well, I *can*, being I've been involved in viewing and filming others doing the same for a better part of the day. I'm still holding on to a softly panting Micki while we both clutch our robes in (I'm assuming on her part) mild disbelief. It's official. Our relationship has crossed the point of no return. It'll never be the same again. Right now, I can't say that I'm sad about that.