Just go home for now

After a tiring walk, you get home to your bachelor-pad apartment and grab a coke out of the fridge and sit down on the couch to watch some tv. You've were laid off from your job a few months ago, and you've just been waiting out the rest of your savings ever since until you'll have to move back in with your parents.

After about an hour, you get a text from Nikki asking to make sure you got home alright. You reply that you did and thank her for asking and for a fun night, mentioning that the two of you should do it again, and she replies likewise. If it wasn't obvious, it was her apartment that you had just come back from, after arriving the previous evening for a planned night of pizza and video games, a tradition you two had had since you had met in high school after bonding over a shared love of retro gaming. You two and spent the previous night marathoning Super Mario World on her old SNES after watching a movie, but she said that she had work to do in the morning, a sentiment you couldn't share, but you understood and didn't want interfere, which led to you taking the early bus route home.

You try to return to the show, but you have a hard time keeping track of what's going on because of a feeling of whiplash. You know, well, you suppose that you don't "know", but you definitely feel like you have stumbled onto something unusual. You just can't explain what it is, but it ad something to do with this morning. After an another hour or so you get up to make some lunch from whatever is left from the scraps in your fridge, realizing you didn't have breakfast. And you are about to do that when you curiosity finally gets the best of you. Everything else can wait. It's not like your life is going down the drain any faster. You find that piece of paper with Jessica's personal phone number in the drawer you left it in when you came in, and put it into your phone contacts, and then you place text message.

"She must be on her lunch break by now," you say to yourself.

And sure enough, after a few minutes you see she is typing a response, asking who you are. You tell her, and then say that you want to meet to discuss her business offer. She sends you an address and lets you know when she will be home. You confirm and before you put your phone down you scroll through those photos you took of her earlier that day. You look at her holding her tits and presenting them towards the camera with a smile on her face. You grow hard in your pants, but rather than do anything about it you plug your phone into your laptop to charge and go to see if there's any bread in your kitchen with which you can make a sandwich.

Skipping ahead to several hours later and it's dark and you are ringing the doorbell and double checking the address to the house to make sure that it matches the one on your phone. After a few seconds the door opens and you are as relieved to see Jessica's face as she is to see yours.

"Come in," she says.

You look around, and what you see only confirms your assumptions about her life. It was extremely nice, and from the looks of it, all hers. You already noticed there was no ring on her finger, and the house looked like she was the only one who lived there. She leads you into the living room where she invites you to sit down.

"All things considered," she says, "I would like to thank you for calling me. Honestly, I thought you would just disappear without a trace and someday I would stumble upon those photos online somewhere. So I'm glad you took me up on my offer."

But you had priorities of your own.

"Listen," you say. "Now before anything else, I need to ask you some questions."

"What happens if I don't?"

"Humor me, otherwise I can take my photos and leave. I don't want to, but I will." And then you say sincerely: "Can you just try to not make this as difficult as possible, please?"

She thinks about it for a few seconds, and then says: "Fine. Ask away."

"First of all, while we are on the topic: why are you so difficult?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously."

"I work a job which requires me to make shrewd decisions, and the first thing they teach you at university is that you never agree to a deal until you know the score."

"The score?"

"I shouldn't agree to answer any questions from you until I have a guarantee that afterwards you will be willing to negotiate selling those photos, because otherwise you could keep asking me questions and stringing me along with no clear end in sight, but I suppose that doesn't matter now because, as you mentioned, we are in a **** situation where you have all the leverage and I have none, so I truly have ****. Is that good enough?"

"Yes, that is plenty. Now, why did you agree to take those photos in your office?"

"Because I didn't want to take them on the bus."

"Okay," you say. You already knew that part. "Why did you agree to take the photos in the first place?"

"Because you instructed me to."

"Why would you listen to me?"

She makes a strange face at you.

"I don't understand," she says.

You can tell that the direct approach isn't working, so you decide to another method instead.

"Alright then, let's try this," you say. "Why do you think I took the photos?"

"Well, because it's your job."

That seemed to work. She was indirectly giving you information now.

"And what is my job?"

"You don't know what your job is?"

"Of course I know what my job is," you say, bluffing, “but what do you think my job entails exactly?"

She begins two look a little worried.

"Why? Did I do something wrong? Did I make a mistake? Is that why we are doing this?"

Once again she was hinting at something that you weren't aware of, but this approach of pretending to know is working, so you keep at it.

"Yes," you say, "you made mistake." Then you decide to lay it on a little thicker. "And frankly I'm a little disappointed."

Surprisingly, rather than fold further, she actually gives you a little bit of sass.

"Well I don't know what you expect, hiring an amateur like me?"

"I knew you were an amateur, but I didn't think that you would be that inexperienced."

“Well sorry,” she says sarcastically. You expected her to say more, but she stopped and waited for you to ask another question. This was getting frustrating.

“How do you know me?” you ask.

“What do you mean? I don’t know you.”

“You know my job, or at least, you claim to.”

“Well maybe I don’t know all the little details but when you started pointing a camera at me I got the main idea.”

“So it was my phone then?”

“Yeah,” she said but then it looked like she wasn’t quite confident in that answer.

“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry I’m such an amateur, but I just assumed at first, and I was right. It wasn’t until you asked me to take my top off that I knew for certain.”

“How did you guess it with just my phone out? You know there are a lot of perverts around, why didn’t you think I was one of them?”

“Is there much of a difference? Sorry, that was rude. To answer your question, I don’t know. You just gave off the feel of a director.”

“You think I’m a director?”

“Yeah, of a kind, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to think of a follow up. This was good, you were getting somewhere. “And I was filming you.”

“Yeah, not exactly how I thought I would end up, but I didn’t want to screw up your shoot.”

“Right.”

There was a pause.

“Are we done with the questions now?” she asks.

“Maybe,” you say.

“I don’t know what you gained from that. It sounds to me like I didn’t tell you anything you already know. But I played along, so let’s talk about those pictures.”

“Alright, let’s talk about the pictures.”

“What were you thinking about selling them for? And I’m talking the originals, not just copies.”

“I dunno, about five?” you say.

Five bucks per photo didn’t sound to bad. You didn't know how you felt about making her buy these photos back, since you had half a mind to give them back anyway. You wanted to piss her off on the bus, and she did turn out to be a little rude, but if she didn't want the photos to exist, you were willing to hand them over, especially if they got her fired.

“Five each?” she says.

“Yeah. I mean, do you even want the photos from the bus? Or just the topless ones?”

“You’re right, I forgot about those. How many did you take on the bus and in my office?”

You pull out your phone and scroll through it.

"Fifteen total, twelve with just the office photos," you say.

"Alright sit tight, I'll be right back."

She runs upstairs and you hear some footsteps and doors closing. After about a minute she returns with a bundle of cash in her hand. She puts in your hand.

"There, count it," she says. "I want all the photos, just to be safe."

You count it out and nearly forget to breathe. You were holding over seven thousand dollars in your hand! You count it again and when you are sure that it's $7500 exactly, you realize that she must have thought you meant five-hundred for each photo. But you decide not to clear this up and instead you stuff the cash into your pocket.

"So," you start, your mouth dry, "do you want to just watch me delete the photos? I assume you don't want copies."

"Yes, that's right."

You pull your phone out and show the photos to her as you delete them one by one, knowing that you gain five hundred dollars each time you do. When you are done you look down at the phone in your hand, and then back up at her, thinking about what she said before. Although she has gotten what she wanted out of this exchange, and you've certainly made out like a bandit, you still haven't gotten what you came for, which was answers. You pulled open the camera on your phone and pointed it in her direction.

"What are you doing?" she said, and then her eyes open wide in realization for the second time today.

"Yeah," you say, "for those photos."

"You're still not done with me?"

"I'm afraid not." You felt a twinge of guilt at doing this to her, especially with what she just paid you. But with the transaction over, you were worried that she would ask you to leave. And the only way to find out what was going on was to stay and play the part. Or so you told yourself, since there was also a small part of you that was interested in this apparent control your phone gives you.

"More photos? Or a video this time?" she asks.

You think about it, and then say "video."

She lets out a big sigh of defeat.

"Alright, fine, I can handle this," she says to herself, rubbing her temples. "I won't be fired if I make a porno in my own home. I will probably get a few dodgy looks, but I'll survive."

She turns back to you.

"Let's get this over with," she said. "What do you want?"

"What will you do?"

"Don't fuck with me. You're Mr. Big-Shot Director. Direct me."

For a brief moment, a quickly demand for clarity flashes through your mind. You consider that fact that you have found yourself in a situation where you are about to film a porno film with this woman in her home, even though she doesn't seem to thrilled about it, but you still need more information, or so you tell yourself.

"What is the rest of your house like?" you ask her.

"Oh, so you want to film in other rooms?"

"Possibly. If were going to do this, might as well do it right, right? If you're going to become and unwilling pornstar," and you pause at this, pretending to take a breath and clear your throat. You were only repeating information she had given to you back to her. She mentioned filming a porno, and if she was staring in it then it only follows that she would be a pornstar, so you called her one to see what she would do. When she doesn't react to you or object to what you calling her that, you continue: "You might as well be a good one."

She thinks about it, and then shrugs her shoulders and says "yeah, but with a guy using a cell phone instead of an actual camera. Whatever. Follow me."

She gives you a brief tour of her very nice house. You see a bedroom, bathrooms, a kitchen, a living room, closets, etc. And you tell her to go to bedroom, to which she replies "of course."

"We're here," she says. "What now?"

"Get on the bed."

She climbs on the bed, but seems unsure about what to do.

"How do you want me to sit?"

"Um, how about you sit cross-legged in the middle," you say. And then you add a "for now" at the end.

She does as you say.

"So what kind of movie is this?"

"Do you watch much porn?"

She hesitates, and answers yes.

"We're doing a fake casting video, but in your case it will be real since you never done this before."

"Okay, so what do I do?"

"You just be yourself, and answer all the questions I give you."

"It's always questions with you, isn't it?"

"And when I start, no more of that. Pretend that you actually came to me wanting to be apart of this."

"Alright," she says, looking more comfortable now that she has some instruction.

"And action!" you say, pressing play.

You point the camera at her. "Hello there," you say. You try your best to seem like those guys behind the camera in the porn you watch.

She smiles and says "hi," waving at the camera, and suddenly she has become a top tier actress because neither the **** or attitude appear anywhere in her face.

"Would you please introduce yourself to the folks at home?"

"My name is Jessica Dumast, I am thirty-two. Is that good?" she says, although through her suddenly expert acting you can't tell if this was in character or a genuine question.

"Yes, that's fine. And were are we?"

"We are in my bedroom."

"And what are we doing here?"

"We are making a movie."

"What kind of movie?"

"A special kind of movie."

"Special? What do you mean by special? What's special about it?"

"Well..." she says, seeming to hesitate on purpose, rather than being actually ashamed. "We are making a dirty kind of movie."

"So you've invited a man over to your house with a camera, and now you are going to do dirty things for him while he films you in your bedroom, is that right?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You must some kind of slut."

"Maybe I am."

"You must do this kind of thing all the time, right? No?" you stay as she shakes her head.

"Nope," she replies. "This is my first time."

"Wow, we've got a virgin here. But you're not an actual virgin, are you?"

"No, no, I've had sex before."

"Really, when's the last time you has sex?"

"Wow," she giggles, "that's a really personal question."

"Don'y get all shy now."

"Well, it was probably about two years ago."

"Two years. What happened?"

"I've been busy."

"Too busy? Who was the last guy you had sex with?"

"It was my boyfriend..." she starts.

"Or do you like girls?" you interrupt her. "Sorry, I talked over you."

"No, it's alright. I don't like girls, no."

"Never been with a woman?"

"No."

"Ever thought about it?"

"Maybe," she says, but you can't tell if this is a real answer or just a part of the act.

"Well, we don't care about that right now. Anyway, tell us about the last time you had sex. You said it was with your boyfriend. Boyfriend of how long?

"About a year at that point."

"Did the two of you break up?"

"Yeah, not long after that."

"Why did you break up?"

"Like I said, I was too busy."

"So you just worked worked worked, so much that he just wasn't happy?"

"No, I left him. I wanted to focus on my career. I was up for a promotion, and I didn't really want a relationship."

"Was he your first?"

"What? Oh! No, definitely not. Like I said, we had dated for about a year. I had lost my virginity in college when i was about twenty-two."

"Twenty-two, that's still pretty late for most people, in college too."

"Yeah, I didn't have sex until my final year there."

"What happened? I mean, how did it happen?"

"It was at a party."

"Ah, the upstairs room, right?"

"Yeah, with, like, everyone else downstairs, and they all saw you go up and they all know what is going on. And you just hope that the music is loud enough that they don't hear anything."

"Anyways," you continue, "you said you were doing to do some dirty things for us today, but so far you've only talked about dirty things."

"I have, haven't I?"

"Yeah, it's pretty selfish of you. I think you need to make up for it."

"Make up for lost time? Yeah?"

She sits up and turns around on the hands and knees, showing her ass in her jeans. You film her running her hand over it.

"How's that? Or are you more of a boob guy?" she says as she turns around and feels her breasts. "Do you all call them boobs in 'the industry', or do you call them breasts? Or tits?"

"Breasts, tits, boobs, whatever goes baby," you say. "Why don't you show us some more?"

"Some more?"

"Yeah."

"Alright."

She pulls her shirt over her head, exposing her bra.

"More?" she says. "All the way?"

"Yes please. All of the way."

She reaches around and unhooks her bra and pulls it down slowly, covering her nipples with her arm until she has thrown the bra on the floor. Then she slowly moves her arm and then starts felling her breasts and showing them to the camera. Nothing you hadn't seen before.

"You are such a little tease," you say.

"I guess I am," she says. "Forgive me."

You were getting a little impatient now. You were hard again, looking at those tits, and you wanted to see just how far you could push this camera trick.

"Get on your knees," you say.

Without a word, she gets off the bed and kneels in front of you, her face and crotch level.

"I think you know what to do," you say.

She nods, and smiles with what looks to be an afterthought, before unzipping your jeans. She pulls your underwear down and reaches inside, pulling out your erection.

"Suck it," you say.

She nods once more, and with a slight hesitation, the only kinds she has shown so far, she points your cock towards her open mouth and begins sucking on it. It feels really nice. She occasionally takes it out of her mouth and licks it up and down, base of the shaft to the head, while looking up at you with those pretty pornstar eyes. You look at your phone screen and make sure you are capturing a good angle.

After a few minutes, you feel like you are about to come. You are unsure if you should say anything, so you try to signal with your hand outside of frame, which ends up being confusing and making her look away to the side and away, which is distracting, but she seems to catch your meaning and she speeds up her hand jerking on your saliva covered cock. She tilts her head back and sticks her tongue out and after a few seconds you shoot a rope of come which lands on her forehead, a little bit getting in her hair. This catches her a little off guard and she closes her eyes to protect them. You shoot a few more ropes which land on her upper lip and nose and then dumping a few more right into her mouth.

Trying to focus after the orgasm, you say "show it to me baby," and she opens her mouth to show you the pool of semen in her mouth.

"Alright," you say. "Swallow."

She does, and then opens her mouth again to show you her empty mouth as evidence.

"Good job," you say, the camera still rolling.

"Thank you," she says. "And thank you for your come."

"You're welcome," you say. "Anytime. Now say goodbye to all your fans."

"Goodbye," she says, waving at the camera. "I hope you enjoyed that."

"And cut," you say, pressing stop on the phone.

The two of you stand there in awkward silence, your dick still hanging out of your pants and your come still on her face.

"Well, uh, I guess I should go wash this off," she says as she stands up. "You can let yourself out."

"Wait," you say, not knowing exactly why.

"Why?" she says. "The shoot is finished. Unless there's something else...?"

Thinking quickly, you say, "I want some photos of your face."

"Oh, of course," she says. "That makes sense."

You switch your phone to photo mode and point it at her.

"Smile," you say.

She does and you have a repeat of the day's earlier topless photoshoot, but this time with semen slowly dripping down her face.

"Okay," you say. "We're done."

"And I don't suppose I can buy that one off you."

"No," you say, your post-nut clarity making you feel a twinge of guilt.

"Fine. That's fine. You gave me the offer for the photos that would have gotten me fired. I can live through this. I don't suppose I am getting paid for this?" she asks.

You look at her with surprise. You hadn’t even thought of that. After all, she was just a pornstar in your film, and you did have several thousand dollars in your back pocket, some of which you could return to her. But she responds before you can.

"Fair enough. No contract, no money owed. I know how business is."

And with that she walks away into her bathroom. Meanwhile you put your phone away and stuff your flaccid cock back into your pants and zip. She come back out, still topless, dabbing an wiping the men off her face with a tissue.

"Well I guess that's it then," she says. "I assume I can expect that video to pop up on some porn site one of these days?"

"I guess so," you say.

"Alright. Do I need to walk you out like this, or can you do find the door yourself?"

"I'll be fine, thanks."

And with that you walk out the door and consider stopping by the bathroom yourself, but decide not to overstay your welcome, and you reach the front door and leave. On the walk home you run through the situation again and again in your mind.

She immediately assumed that you were some sort of porn director, just from you pointing your phone at her. And from the sounds of it she was willing to do just about anything you demanded of her, even something that would get her fired from her job. Was she crazy? It didn't seem like it. She didn't seem the type. Besides, her decision making was too logical, aside from the obvious. But if she wasn't crazy, then what had happened?

You felt your phone in your back pocket, remembering it had on it a porno film with her face and your dick in it. And you also had a lot of money in your pocket, which you didn't return to her. And you had gotten your dick sucked. You decided whatever dilemma you had found yourself in, it would be tomorrow's problem, and for now you will enjoy your quiet walk back home, where you will enjoy a good night's rest and at the end of the week you will use this money to pay your rent for another month.