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Living in Triple X

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Looking at the camera’s screen, he watched, as a large erect penis entered the field of view, obscuring a woman’s face as she lay with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. The camera operator was enjoying the feeling of his own hard cock beneath his pants when the large penis in the camera started smacking the woman on the forehead. Whack- whack- whack! Her eyes wide open now, a shrill scream filled the warehouse studio and the woman cried, “Heath! Get this God damned mother fucker out of here before I kill somebody! You know I don’t do oral!”

There was a burst of laughter from the crew. Then a clear baritone voice said, “Ace, get your fuckin’ cock out of my shot!” The penis left the screen.

The camera man widened the angle and then the full figure of the woman came into view, her body, like fresh carved ivory lie between two rugged young men, muscles rippling as they hunched into her. The camera man reached down to his own crotch to push his prick back. He could feel the cloth itching beneath his penis. He watched the woman’s face as her eyes became slits and her mouth relaxed back into a large red “O”. Her wavy red hair was splashed above her head on the white sheet. There was a black man on his side behind her. Two inches of his cock would come into view each time he made a thrust, her ass mushrooming out with each pump. Another man was fucking her pussy. His torso was moving back and forth as the taught muscles in his thighs struggled to maintain the awkward position between her legs. The man fucking her in the front had his elbow beneath him on the bed while holding on to her ribcage with the other. The red in his face stood out, even through his dark tan. His sandy blonde hair was getting wet with perspiration.

“What do we do about the interruption in the shot boss?” The camera man asked in a low voice.

The director, a tall athletic man, stepped near the camera operator and calmly said in his baritone voice, “We’ll just dub in some moans and screams as needed while we’re splicing the scenes together. It’ll just look like a little S&M.”

The two men smiled, the Director, still watching the action on the bed, while the camera operator lifted his hand from his pants and looked back at the miniature screen. The blonde man in the front was gnashing his teeth and grunting in time with his thrusts. The black man fucking her in the ass had a solid grip on her waist with both hands and was coaxing her like a race horse, “C’mon baby, just a little longer. Hold on honey, I can feel it comin’. I’m gettin’ it ready, just a little longer.”

She was staring at a white set curtain and telling herself in her mind to breath. Her gaze was empty and long, like looking across an arctic landscape. The view never changed and time seemed to go on forever. It had been awhile since she had done a double penetration shot and her raised leg was burning. It was a difficult shot because she had to maintain enough rigidity to let the men gain full penetration while still remaining pliable enough to endure the shot and not cramp up. She maintained steady rhythmic breaths. It was difficult with the two large cocks ramming inside her. She tried not to listen to the men, feeling the front one plunge into her and then as he was backing out for the next attack she could feel the cock in her ass press into her. The two men were not synchronized with each other and were in the full fury of their final physical peak, their need to have a release. The heat was almost unbearable beneath the bright lights and she could feel rivulets of sweat running from her hairline down to her neck. There was a pit in her stomach and her tongue was dry. She closed her mouth and tried to swallow but there was nothing. She let her mouth hang open and continued her regular breathing. How long are these guys going to last she thought. Then there was a sudden rush of tissues in her ass expanding back into place as she felt the huge cock pull out of it. Unaware of her own voice, she let out a short high yelp. The head of the black man’s cock lodged into the small of her back and she felt the shaft between her butt cheeks. Seconds later there were hot wet streams shooting up her back. She could hear the black man’s voice in her ear, “Ohhh yeah baby! Get it all out! That’s it! Papa needs that ass!” She moved her hands from the hips of the man in front of her and put them on his back. She pulled the blonde man into her and rolled onto her back, bringing her knees forward and thrusting her pelvis up. She gasped and her eyes rolled up beneath their lids. With each pump from the man now on top of her she let out a groan and it wasn’t long before his butt cheeks dimpled, his legs went taught and he pulled out. She felt cum hit beneath her tits and then streaks of it landed on her mid rift and belly. The man above her was looking up and making hissing noises. When his sack was empty, he relaxed, lowering himself enough to give her a friendly kiss on the side of her neck.

“Cut!” The director yelled. “Ortiz, did bursa escort you get all that?”

“Yes, sir boss,” a young man on his knees with another camera said.

“How about you Ernie?”

“Huh. . . Yeah boss, I got it,” said the first camera man standing behind the tripod.

“You might want to go take care of that,” said the director flashing his eyes at Ernie’s crotch. Ernie touched the wet spot and then headed toward the plastic porti-san toilets at the far side of the warehouse.

“Boss,” said the other camera man, who had dark skin and thick black hair. “How can you let her get away with that shit? She should have had full occupancy. She should have been swallowing that man’s cock!”

“What the fuck do you know Ortiz? You should have had that camera on her snatch the whole time! There better not be any waver on that close up. You’re not even 21 yet. How many movies have you made?”

“You know boss you hired me.”

“You’re God damned right you horny little fucker. Let me tell you something, when you have been in this business as long as I have and you know what kind of woman it takes to carry a picture then you can make the decisions. Now, you see that woman over there.” The director pointed toward the woman who had got up from the bed. She was now standing naked with the black man and the blonde man near a folding table.

Joy had taken a moist baby wipe from one of the plastic containers on the table. She was wiping the semen from her stomach. She threw the wipe onto a sheet of plastic spread on the floor. As she was taking another one, she said to the man behind her, “Hardy could you please wipe my back. I would really appreciate it.”

“Sure honey,” he said in a deep voice. It was his regular voice and Joy thought it was sexier than the voice he used on screen. “How can I pass up a request from such a sweet ass as you?”

“Thank you darling.”

Ortiz looked at the woman holding her long red hair up with one hand and wiping her stomach with the other.

“You see that Ortiz,” his boss was saying. “See the line that woman makes with her profile, how her tits slope smoothly from her chest, curve beneath the nipple and then form perfect hemispheres, like gravity itself worships the very atmosphere she stands in. Look at her stomach, how flat it is, no paunch, and at her age. Look at her skin, how perfect, like a porcelain doll, how it covers her thighs and rolls over her knees like distant hills on a spring shire then tapers into those delicate, yet strong ankles. And her hair, it’s incredible, long wavy red hair, waves like on a mild ocean, not those big or tight curls, and it flows down her back like silk, like a scarlet kimono on a budding geisha. And look into her eyes, those piercing blue eyes, like blue diamonds, blue that absorbs every color that hits it and sends it back out blue. Have you ever seen a blue diamond Ortiz?”

“No boss, what’s it look like.”

“Like that woman’s eyes when she’s in love. It’ll make you’re little pecker explode out of its skin like a Vienna sausage in the microwave.”

“You sure have a way with words boss, but we’ve had plenty of beautiful women on our sets. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Ortiz, you’re young dumb and full of cum. Let me tell you how it is. Red heads, beautiful red heads, are rare. Most of them look like the red headed step child that was beat and thrown into the ugly tree, only to come back down worse. The poor parents never get their wish and their child doesn’t die. They get some ginger thing with skin and blemishes like a crocodile, a red afro and chubby limbs like Popeye. That is why when men go to the brothel to pay for a woman after they have tried every variety; they end up paying the most for a genuine red head that doesn’t look like the afterbirth of a cow left on the pasture. Beautiful redheads cost money, big money, and they are difficult to find, let alone get a piece of, or get on camera.”

The director took a large cigar from the pocket of his bright orange Hawaiian shirt and put it in his mouth. He reached into his brown dress slacks and removed a box of matches. He slid it open, removed a match, lit it, and held it up to his cigar. As he inhaled the end glowed and then smoke exited the sides of his mouth. A short squat man, like a toad, rushed up next to him. Although the man was short he was still a head taller than Ortiz. He had long dark hair surrounding his bald dome. “Boss,” he said gaining the director’s attention. “Do we need Ace for the next scene?”

The director looked down at Ernie who had come back from the toilet. He had a square of toilet paper sticking up from the front of his trousers. He thought that the disheveled little man reminded him of Peter Lorre whenever he spoke, with a voice that was thin and smooth, shortening vowels towards the end of phrases. “Look over on the fluffer bench boss.”

The director had short dark hair, cut in a military flat top; it was graying on the sides. He looked over at a long bursa escort bayan wooden bench beneath a bare light bulb. It was pushed against a wall in a shadowy alcove. There was Ace Gun, his face in a grimace of ecstasy, framed in his yellow blonde hair. A chubby dishwater blonde woman with her knees on the floor was between his legs sucking his cock. The porn star had his back against the wall and his hands were messing up her hair.

The director puffed at his cigar and then took it from his mouth. “Look at her go boys, her head is just like a chicken in a grain silo. Leave them be Pismire. If she’s going to put all that work into it, she definitely deserves something.”


“Heath,” a woman’s voice called. The director turned around and there was Joy. She was dressed now. Her hair was up in a bun and she had on a pair of baggy jeans and a large brown sweater. She referred to these as her laundry day clothes. She would always wear them home after an evening of shooting. “Do you have my keys?”

“Right here sweet heart.” He jangled a key on a thin cheap wire ring in the air. She took it from his hand. “You know where the motel is?” He asked.

“I turn right out the door and it’s on the next block, right?”


“You mind telling me what that shit with Ace Gun was all about?”

“Joy, Joy, don’t be angry sweetie, me and the boys were just having some fun.”

“Fun my ass. You wanted to see if I would suck his dick.”

“Well, you can’t blame us for trying, you would have got paid.”

“Not with what I charge you cheapskate.”

“And how much would that be?”

Holly stepped back with her eyes wide and mouth open in feigned shock. “Come here you big ass hole.” She pulled him down by the shirt collar and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. Don’t be giving these jack-offs any more ideas.” She gave him a wink and walked to the door and was gone.

She stepped out into the cool night and stood on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. It felt so good to get out of that stuffy warehouse and into the fresh air, away from all the stink of men and their semen. She walked slowly to the next block, enjoying the crisp evening. She went up some concrete stairs in front of a seedy looking building that she guessed was at least circa 1930. After the heavy wood door creaked closed behind her, a thin grey man came out of a room and stepped up behind an oak counter. In his quivering voice he asked very nicely, “Is there something I can help you with Madame?”

“Uh, yes, do you have a room here for Joy Foreman?”

The man looked down at a pad on the counter. He put his fist up to his mouth and coughed. The wrinkled flesh hanging from his jowls and neck shook. “Yes, you go up those stairs there and it’s the second room on your right, 204.”

“Thank you,” she said and went up the stairs.

In her room, Holly seen that her suitcases had been brought up. The room had a musty odor of wood polish with a faint tinge of ammonia. Despite the faded curtains and paint, the room was very clean. There was a sound of distant traffic; these industrial areas always seemed to be fairly quiet at night. She put one of the suitcases on the bed and opened it. She removed a large cotton night shirt and took a zip lock bag with toothbrush, paste and floss from the side compartment. In the bathroom she undressed and stepped into the shower. She used one of the small soaps, tossing the wrapper out on the floor. She scrubbed herself well and then stood in the steaming stall with her head beneath the water until it became cold. She stepped out feeling refreshed and wrapped her hair in a towel. Using one of the wash cloths she wiped the fog from the mirror and stood naked brushing her teeth.

Dry and in her shirt, she went to the suitcase and took out a BlackBerry. She sat on the bed and began navigating through some screens. It took her about twenty minutes to read, organize, and save what she needed. She didn’t bother answering any of her messages. She could save that until tomorrow. She turned the device off and then took a package of sleeping pills into the bathroom. She took two with a glass of water and then went back in the room and put the suitcase on the floor. She climbed into bed and turned out the light.


He poked his toast into the yolk of his egg, watching yellow strings stretch and then break with each dipping motion.

“Are you going to eat that or are you just going to keep playing with your food?” The man in the black business suit said, sitting across from him. The man had on a splash of expensive cologne and his professionally cut hair emphasized his balding head, giving him the appearance of a mature professional. In fact he was. “You’ve been sitting here the whole time I have been talking and now you decide to eat. That egg is probably cold by now. You’re going to wind up sick from salmonella.”

“Hey, did I wake you up in the escort bursa morning to drag your hung-over ass into this cafe and talk to you about some chicken shit asshole who can’t burn a Koran?” The two men smiled at each other.

“What? Are you some kind of militant tea-bagger now? You going to start making fun of the president?”

“Jasper, you know me. I would never burn a book of any kind. It’s just ridiculous. The terrorists or whoever burn our flag and then all these stupid people get worked up about some wacko burning God knows what. I bet he hasn’t even got a Koran. I bet he doesn’t even know what a Koran is. It’s probably written in fucking English. I thought this was supposed to be a free country. What the hell did you bring me down here for anyway?” He put the toast in his mouth, bit off nearly half the slice and exaggeratedly chewed it, like a horse eating hay.

Jasper looked at the handsome young man sitting in the booth across from him. His black dress shirt with grey pinstripes was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his jet black hair was sticking up in all directions and his white teeth showed between his pink lips and five-o-clock shadow as he ground the dry bread into paste. “I brought you here because there’s a new gallery in town and I showed them some of your stuff and they want to exhibit of your work.”

The black haired man stopped chewing. He took a drink of his coffee. “She wants to show my work and not that fucking pussy shit I do to keep my dad happy.”

“If you call staying up all night getting drunk and painting hookers with cesarean scars art I suppose so.”

“Hey that shit’s going to be hanging in a museum someday.”

“That’s nice. I suppose she gave you a blow job and you get the comfort of knowing that after your dead some eccentric crackpot is going to petition some museum to hang her picture in a dimly lit room in the back with the other forgettable artists. When is the last time you went on a real date Vernon?”

He looked at jasper without moving his eyes or face and dipped his toast again and took another bite leaving a piece between his finger and thumb. “Last month,” he said pointing at Jasper with the bit of toast. “And I didn’t touch that woman last night. Women have issues with my work schedule and they can’t be in my studio with my paintings. They have issues with the human body.”

“They have issues with other people’s naked bodies.”

“That’s not my fault. You won’t catch me sneaking out after sex with a woman because I suddenly see her paintings in the light.”

“It’s like a freak show in there. It’s like being in Caligula’s basement. Why don’t you get another place?”

“You’re going to pay for this breakfast aren’t you Jasper?”

“Yeah. What? You think I’m a tight wad? You think I don’t take care of my people? How long have we known each other Vernon?”

“You think you can spare like twenty bucks?”

“What the fuck do you do with your money Vernon? How much do you get from that annuity your father has set up for you? For Christ’s sake, the guy is fucking rich and here you are begging twenty bucks from me. What do you do with all your money Vernon?”

“Well I certainly can’t paint hookers for free now, can I?”

“You can’t spend that much on hookers.”

“Well, I give to charities. I fund the art program for the developmentally disabled, the state mental institution, and the alternative school. Where do you think I get my inspiration from?”

“I’m afraid to ask. I’m guessing you would fund the art program at the state penitentiary if you could find a way to keep your father from knowing.”

“You know I’m good for it Jasper. Don’t bust my balls.”

“I’ll tell you what. Here’s fifty bucks.” Jasper slaps a fifty dollar bill on the table and then takes a drink of his coffee. As Vernon is reaching for the bill, Jasper smacks his hand, sets his coffee down and raises a finger. “Now. If you take that money, you have to ask one of these fine normal ladies in this diner out to dinner. And! And– if she says yes, there’s another fifty in it for you.”

“She has to have a pretty face. Do you see one with a pretty face?”

Jasper raises his hand at somebody behind Vernon. “Yeah. Pardon me miss, could we get the check. What the hell do you want with a pretty face? She needs a good body. You can get her plastic surgery or something. If you have to sleep with some big greasy sow you’ll get sick grasping those rolls. There could be diseases beneath that shit.”

“Diseas– esss- ess- es,” said Vernon laughing through the word.

“Yeah Diseases, infections, like old food rotting in some corner of the kitchen. And if you end up with one of those steroid jockeys, one them body building chicks, it’ll be like sleeping with a fag, all hard and dominant, grinding her stubble on you.”

Vernon felt himself laughing conspicuously. He put his hand on his forehead and his elbow on the table and tried not to make a scene. “What about your wife. She isn’t miss U.S.A.?”

“She could have been when we were younger. Her body is still good. I remember the woman I married and she’s just as good now.”

“Awwwwh. That’s sweet Jasper. I didn’t know you had a soft side.”

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