Fucked to fame and fortune.

"OK, you two. It's time. I'm going to give you a quick explanation of what's going to happen and then we do it."

Both Lance and I nodded at the director. I was all business at this point and Mr. Davis appeared totally serious. If he'd handled the rest of the shoot like this, I probably wouldn't hate his guts.

"The crew has the set ready for us to begin. I'll run the cameras and you two act the scene. There won't be anyone else here to screw things up. I have a way of doing this. I'll have some loud classic ballroom music playing so you can say whatever you like. There aren't even going to be microphones in there. The editing crew will take the soundstage recordings and splice them in so even you'll wonder later if it wasn't said on set. All I need from the two of you is a lot of grinding together. The camera will probably pick up the little bit of the clothing you are wearing but edits will fix that too."

Once again both of us nod along, I get the feeling all three of us just want to get started so we can be done with it.

"One last thing. We only get one shot at this. I have a pair of mist projectors in there that makes my trademark light shimmer in the air during these takes but I only have about 5 minutes of solution left for them. If we screw this up, we'll have to try again after I get more in and that'll take three days."

I'm certain he saw my face blanch at that. There is no way I could take that big a pay hit! He smiled and then nodded at me.

"Yep. A three-day delay will hurt all of us a lot. Me and my crew can work minor miracles in the editing room though. All I need is for the two of you to give me film. It won't even be a long scene, the projectors will work for about 5 minutes and the residual in the air for maybe another 5. So the longest this can take is 10 minutes and I think the both of you can tolerate each other that long."

"We can do this. Let's get it over," I reply looking carefully at Lance who hasn't said anything yet.

"Sure. I don't see why not. It isn't like you're repulsive to look at or anything," Lance cracks back.

I give him the nastiest glance I can muster but really don't care. This is it, it's the end.

"Let's do this," I say as the director leads us through the door to the set.

As usual, it looks all fake as I look around. There's a raised 10' by 10' platform in the middle of the room with a deep brown carpet covering it. Two sides have fake wood-paneled walls attached to look like the interior of a room with a few cameras perched atop facing down. There is a fancy looking red chaise longue in the center of the platform and a door built into the fake side wall. You can see a pile of men's clothes on the floor beside the long chair. On the outside, there are sets of stairs leading up onto the platform in various places including one on the other side of the door. Davis points to the setup.

"This is pretty easy. If you remember the last scene, Naomi promised Charles she'd be right back and stepped into the bathroom. He spent the last few seconds on camera starting to strip down. So we'll pick this one up with Naomi walking in wearing her robe, she drops it and you two embrace. He'll push you back to the sofa thing, you'll kiss and stuff and then pretend you're screwing for a few minutes. We'll edit in a fade out and it's all done. Can we do this in one go?"

"Sounds like cake," Lance says as he looks over at me.

"Yes. Let's get it done so we can log this in before the deadline."

"Good," the director says. "Lance lose the robe and get next to the clothing pile. Gillian? You're on the stairs behind the door. I'll turn the music on for the mood, then the projectors on and both of you watch me. I have a flashing light attached to the top of the main camera I'll be behind. When it goes off, start the scene."

He walks over toward the camera and Lance nods again. Then without a word, Lance gets up on the platform and tosses his robe off the set. He's a very muscular man, he'd be very attractive if he wasn't a sex-crazed buffoon. It's clear the only thing he's wearing is a flesh-colored pouch holding his cock and balls attached to a string around his waist. It appears to be the same material holding your thong on. It'd best be strong because a wardrobe malfunction could ruin everything.

The director yells to the both of you.

"Remember! Trust me and the editors to clean the picture up, just perform until the music stops."

I climb up behind the door and watch for the light. When he fires up the speakers, the sound of Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich fills the air. That classic reminds me of dance class as a teenager. I close my eyes and sway along with the music. Then I fill my brain with thoughts of my fiance back in Italy and hope I can get into this enough to forget who Lance is. I actually begin to feel a little turned on remembering the last time my fiance and I hit the dance floor with this playing. Then the light goes off on the camera top. I open the door and walk onto the set, dropping my robe as I go. I stop, stand still, and raise my arms. Lance needs no other encouragement as he stalks toward me. My first inkling something may be wrong was the wicked leer on his face. He looked a bit crazed.

He wrapped his arms around me tightly and we locked lips. I felt one of his palms slip behind my head as his tongue invaded my mouth. My eyes grew wide as saucers not expecting this. We were supposed to be acting not making out. Then I felt his other hand slip down past the small of my back and snap the fine string holding my thong on. He turned us so my back was toward the lounge and **** me in that direction. Of course, it'll look totally natural on film, I thought. We're both supposed to be madly in lust at this point. I felt the panties flutter down my legs to the floor. I broke the kiss and looked up at him. I could swear I saw fire in his eyes as he returned my gaze.

"What the hell are you doing!," I almost yelled to be heard above the music.

"I have 5 minutes to fuck the hell out of you, bitch. I'm not wasting any of it."

"You can't **** me to do this!"

"No. You can push me away and storm out if you like. No one will believe your story at this point though and you'll have to deal with the penalty for breaking the contract."

I felt the lounge butting against the back of my knees as he slowly pushed me back.

"Last chance," he yelled, smug satisfaction evident in his voice.

As I slipped back on the chair, he knew my answer. Of course, he'd already guessed I couldn't afford the lawyers on my savings. Broadway had paid well but not like his acting had. Besides this was my chance to make it big! What real choice did I have? They had me right where they wanted me. He fell between my legs and leaned in to kiss my neck. Then I saw him flick his harness line, breaking it and releasing his fully erect cock. I could feel his head pushing at my entrance. Then he looked into my eyes and yelled at me.

"I owe you for being a stuck up bitch, Gillian and I'm going to enjoy the hell out of this!"

With that, I feel his weight on my hips then his manhood push into me, slowly but deliberately. I'm embarrassed by the fact I'm slightly damp, the music and thoughts of my fiance from earlier had me feeling a bit horny. My pussy reacts quickly to his probing member, churning out lube quickly as he pushes into me.

"Damn, Gillian. This is going to be fun. You're ready for some meat, baby."

He leans down against me, mashing my tits against his chest as his hips bucked back and forth into my welcoming slit. Biology betrayed me to him, I could feel my pussy hugging his sizable cock as he pounds in and out of me faster and faster. All the while he stares down into my eyes. I tried to turn my head away but he reached up and grabbed me, making me look up at him.

"No, slut. Your juicy cunt is doing this to me. It's working hard to milk me dry. I want to see the look on your face the moment I spunk inside you."

I stare up at him and grunt as he continued to **** my womanhood with his relentless hammering. He keeps yelling down at me through it all, telling me what a great ride I am and the like. All while I could feel my vagina welcome him, making me feel warm like I was on fire between my legs. All the while I knew Davis was watching through that lens. Maybe he was pleasuring himself while he watched Gumbell use me in front of his camera, for his audience. Millions would watch Lance claim me, maybe not knowing that was exactly what was happening but I would every time I saw the scene. I'm sure Lance could feel me getting more excited. My twat grabbing at his rod, gripping it, trying to milk it. It felt like his hard organ had claimed my tight tunnel for hours by this point. I was well past caring now, I was as into the act as he was. I was just moaning along, convulsing around his conquering weapon like a bitch in heat. Then he thrust into me one last time, the look of a victorious warrior on his face. He exploded, firing ropes of jizz deep inside my hungry womb screaming "Take it!" over and over again as I milked him dry.

Lance wordlessly stepped back and looked down at my leaking pussy, enjoying the sight of his handiwork. Then he stepped off the platform and threw his robe on. The music finally stopped as he yelled to the director.

"Yeah, that Italian bitch was as tight as you guessed she was. We should import them more often!"

He walked straight to and out the door. I slowly got up and quietly threw my robe on. I climbed off the platform and couldn't even bring myself to look at Marvin Davis. I knew he'd arranged this. This was probably the secret behind his hit sex scenes. Likely every time I yelled at either of them, they took it knowing this would come. I walked out the door defeated but strangely sated too, cum leaking down my thighs as I went to my trailer. That film would launch my career to dizzying heights. All I'd had to do was essentially shoot a porn scene. No one but Lance, Marvin, and I would know that part though.