A Load in Every Hole Ch. 04

"I'm very sorry I said that!" I blurted, but he held up his palms.

"No need to apologize. Lots of women, hell mos' women come to me thinking about doing a vid but feel the exact same way you do—that's it's so nasty they can't imagine it. But, if you think about it, ...thas what makes it work. On both ends. The woman gets charged up knowing they're doing something so... forbidden, and guys watching a real woman, not some hooker or porn actress, cross that line and go black, BOOOM! No substitute for that authenticity. That's why I don't ever do second shoots of the same chick, jus' wouldn't be the same.

It's made me the second largest producer of interracial in the country starting with nothing five years ago. And I use every single skill I learned at USC, except CGI of course," he laughed, "no need for CGI when you've got guys packing what my guys got."

"How does it work?" Mark asked, clearly intending to give me a break. "I mean, the business end?"

"Pretty simple," AJ said.

"First thing is I start with the best of the best in the business for my posse. I've got each one signed up to an exclusive. Been offered seven figures to assign those contracts, never even considered it. They don't just look good. They know exactly how to treat a woman. What she wants, how she's different from the others we've shot with, how far to go, when to rein it in, when to let it back out.

Had to make a change three months ago. Zee OD'd. He was getting' to be a whack job, we could all see it commin'. Tried getting him help but he wadn't havin' it. Ran into a skank out in Henderson on his off day and didn't last the night. She didn't either, died three days later. Can't bitch over what you can't fix. Traded up with Markus. One hundred percent trade up. You'll meet him if we do the deal."

Every woman I work with is a volunteer, but we still pay a one-time fee for every shoot. Makes it simpler, legal, quid pro quo. She signs a contract, every time. Payment after the shoot, not before.

We pay most women $2,500 for a shoot, but you aren't most women. You're not a name who'd command the big dollars, but you're also one in a thousand, maybe one in ten thousand, so you'd get more, lots more. Be disrespectful if I din't.

We film starting the second she pulls up to the location for the shoot because some bolt. When she bolts, we catch that, and show it. It tells the customers that this shit is real and we're not dealing with professionals. Right now, on local distribution we have 84 full length features and seven are bolters. One of our most popular sets is a bolter who came back the next week and had her time. Customers like watching those two back-to-back. Stats show they'll watch 'em over and over.

Contract gives us full rights to the production, copyright, trademark, distribution rights, all of it. We sell the vids to arcades like the one you saw us in all over the country, 461 in all, every state but Alaska. They get an exclusive for six months, and we get to carry it on our website after that. Over three hundred fifty thousand monthly subscriptions and growing. Like I said, #2 interracial.

I don't give no freebies and I prosecute the shit out of pirates. I've shut down twenty-two sites and collected over a mill five in fines. Local federal district judges know our lawyer on a first-name basis. We never lose because we cross our "t's" and dot our 'I's'."

My head started to blur as AJ spoke on. I was simply overwhelmed. It had taken every ounce of courage I had to get in the SUV with Mark to get to AJ's place at all. Now the nuts and bolts of his business were coming at me like water from a fire hydrant and made my head spin.

"Please stop! Stop, stop, stop!" I said holding my hands up. "This is making my head hurt. I... I... don't even know if I want to do this!" I gushed. "Now, all this stuff, this...it's like I'm going to bust hearing it."

"Mark let's just go. Mr. Johnson, I'm sorry I've wasted your time this afternoon. I just don't think I could ever do anything like what you're talking about. What if a family member saw me doing..."

"My posse?" AJ interrupted with the barest of grins.

"Your posse," I finished. "I just can't be seen like that."

"I understand completely, but...." AJ began.

"Can I ask a couple of questions?" Mark chipped in. I read him like a book. He was anxious both to see this happen, and equally anxious for it to not look like he was pushing it.

"Sure," both AJ and I answered simultaneously.

"I guess the first question is: 'how often do women get found out by their friends or families?'"

"Where you from?" AJ asked.

"Fargo," we both answered simultaneously.

"North Dakota? Shit! Thas the boonies. Here's the way it is. If you're in one of our hot sites, like LA, you gon' get found out fo sure. Within days, a week. We sell to 42 arcades in SoCal alone, so if you lived in SoCal and had family there, they gon' see you, no ifs, no ands...

But you don't live in LA. You live in bumfuck, pardon... but it's bumfuck. So, I can do a 'no go' in North Dakota and it would help some."

"A no-go?" Mark asked.

"No sale on the vid, jus' don' sell it in North Dakota, no distribution at all in the whole state. Cuts the amount a woman makes off the shoot when I do it, but I can do it."

"I'd want to cut North Dakota and Minnesota. I have lots of family in the twin cities," I heard myself say, a disembodied voice floundering to keep my head above water.

"But then you put it on the internet after six months anyway, right?" Mark asked, "doesn't that mean you lose any effective control over who sees it?"

"Yes and no," AJ said, then leaned over his desk to key in a few commands to his computer. "Huh! Who'da thought that?"

"Thought what?" I asked.

"We don't give out freebies—no free samples on the big porn sites like everybody else. So, it ain't random access. Comes down to whether folks have memberships where you live. Three hundred eighteen subscribers with Fargo North Dakota internet addresses or within 50 miles. Damn! Some fuckin' horny Norwegians. We don't do "no go's" on the net, don't have the tech, maybe we should.

Yeah, you gon' get found," AJ concluded, with those numbers sooner or later dude you know gon' see you in the buff gettin' buffed. But remember this, they don't want to admit they been goin' to my sites."

"No, they want to whisper that someone told them that they saw me in a video screwing three black guys. That settles it," I said, "I'm not doing that!" I said.

"I agree," Mark said, "even a one in a thousand chance that the girls might see it, or the folks from church, or my partners... it would be a complete disaster."

"Yep," AJ answered, "Unless..."

"Unless what?" I asked.

"Unless you want a glamour shot."

"A glamour shot?" I asked.

"Well, we actually call it a glamour... well... never mind ...that don' matter." AJ murmured.

"A glamour cumshot," I said quietly, "very clever."

I knew what glamour shots were, of course. They became popular in the late 1980s when I was a little girl. Wives looking to give their husbands something unusual for their birthday teamed up with professional photographers to create a small private portfolio of photographs. Many were tame, the wife dolled up in a new dress and nice makeup, but others were not, and these were called "boudoir" photos.

But this was glamour shots on steroids. Glamour cumshots was an entirely apt name.

AJ rose and walked over to a cabinet in his office, pulled out a long drawer and tore top sheets off two different stacks. He then opened another drawer below it and pulled out two sheaves of paper, each about 15 pages long and bound at the top by a paper clip.

"This is the last of the business part, I promise," he said. "Then I'll give you the tour, and I guarantee you'll enjoy it. This is a contract for a shoot, my standard contract," he said holding up one sheet with language on the front and back. "This one is for a glamour shot. Night and day different: key part is you own 100% of the video and still shots from a glamour shot—ever last bit. We don't even keep a copy—turn it all over to you. You can come inspect our computers to make sure we're not holding on to anything or you can send your computer-man to do it.

One thing, though," he concluded. "You pay the money and do a no show on me, I keep yo' money. Once you say, 'I'm in,' I get eight people in, set up the site, bring in all the equipment, whole nine yards. If you leave, before the shoot or during it, I keep yo' money."

This," he said with emphasis, "is our next script. We're doing it Saturday and you'd be perfect in it. In fact, I'm going to make you an offer. I think you'd be all that. You got that look, look of a woman who runs hot, but hides it, who once she gets going, she be raisin' all kind of hell. And you're beautiful. Way beautiful. So, I'm gonna offer you 10K for a shoot on this script. That's four times my going rate. My accountant gon' bitch at me, jus' because she likes to bitch at me, but you worth it, so Ima gon' bet on you.

Think about it overnight. I got a gal lined up to do it already, but you put her to shame. But she ain't bad, so if you say "go," we'll find something we can do with her later, you say "no," and we'll go with her. She local. She can come back later. Deadline is five tomorrow. I need to know by then.

"It's not the money," I said "ten thousand dollars for a day's..." I burst out laughing. "I guess I wouldn't call it work, would I? Anyway, that kind of money for a day of...fun, sex, whatever you'd call it...well, that's crazy. But it's not the money, you could offer a hundred thousand and I still couldn't do it."

"$15,000," AJ said out of the blue.

"What?" I asked, confused, was he increasing his offer? Trying to hard ball me? Right after I told him I wouldn't do it for a hundred thousand? He could see my confusion.

"I'm answering the question Mark's about to ask, which is: 'how much does a glamour shot cost,' zat right, Mark?"

Mark just smiled.

"Oh my God!" I huffed. "That's crazy!"

"No, it aint," AJ said, "it's rock bottom. Location is $1,000 for a day, my guys average $1,500 a day, got a makeup artist, two professional cameramen, a lights man, a sound editor, and a fluffer, then I need to make some money off the script and my work. $15,000 is what it is."

"What's a fluffer?" I asked, less interested in learning what one was than buying time.

"You won' splain that one Mark?" AJ said, grinning.

"Jus kiddin.' We have some long gaps in filming when we move things around, change positions, change rooms, set lights up, whatever. Don't want the posse to go limp and need to start all over from scratch, and don't want to wear my woman down, so the fluffer...she fluffs, like you fluff up a pillow, only it ain't a pillow."

"I see," I responded weakly. This was indeed another world.

"Come on, let me show you the studio before you head out!" AJ said proudly, "and no, we're not filming anything right now, so you won't have to hide your eyes. We do about forty percent of our shots here, and most of our glamour shots, but not yours. Yours we'd do on site."

We walked back into the studio. It looked like I imagined a real Hollywood studio might appear: one primary shooting area with cameras banked at 45-degree angles to an oversized bed, moveable walls and wall coverings to change the scene in dozens of different ways, dozens and dozens of pieces of surprisingly high-end furniture designed to create different looks, tapestries, rugs, paintings, the whole nine yards. It was...impressive.

Throughout AJ held forth, regaling us with stories of his shots, of some of the funnier "bolter" episodes, of the odd things that happen on a porn set, and he was downright hilarious. My blood pressure dropped back down to normal, and I found myself enjoying the tour, and his company enormously, even though my cynical side told me he'd given this speech many times before.

We walked through a door in the back and into a small intimate high end bedroom setting.

"This is where we do test shots," AJ said, as if that were self-explanatory.

"Test shots?" Mark and I both asked.

"Test shots," AJ said. "Woman comes to us, doesn't know if she wants to or she don't. So, we do some test shots to see how the camera likes her, and how she likes bein' in front o' the camera. We do jus' what she wants. No more."

"Mary, have a seat on the bed and let me take just one good shot of your face. Trust me, everything stays on, nothing crazy, just show us something you like about yourself, face, hair, arm, knee, don't matter as long as you happy with it. I'm gonna show you how it happens.

I take a shot, and it'll show up on this big screen right here behind me on the wall where you can see it. It'll stay there until it's replaced by the next shot. You say keep going, we keep going. Minute you say stop, we stop."

I looked behind the tripod-mounted camera where a 70" diagonal screen sat high on the wall above him.

"What happens with the shots?" Mark asked, ever the conservative businessman.

"Smart boy, Mark." AJ replied, "you can buy 'em for a thousand at the end of the shoot, or watch me delete 'em, at no cost. My time here is my investment in you. It's your call," AJ answered.

"Fair," Mark said, and nodded his approval.

I sat on the bed. AJ motioned to him, and Mark took a seat behind the camera and off to the side of the screen.

"Now, everything on, nothing fancy, just show me one of your best features," AJ repeated.

The next twenty minutes were spent taking a series of pictures that while entirely chaste, were sexy, attractive, and very reaffirming. From the look on Mark's face, I knew we'd be buying them even if I did nothing more.

AJ's easy manner and detailed conversation about the technical aspects of the shoot made it easy for me to relax and enjoy it. He was a pro, I had to admit. He would take a shot, show it, then make a few suggestions about how I held my hand, or my head, or the orientation of my eyes, or move the camera or support lights slightly, then take it again. The improvement in each shot was dramatic. He was a miracle worker at putting me in best possible light.

"Mark, what you wanna see?" AJ asked.

"More," Mark choked out. His hand had crept into his lap, and I could see his hardening cock even from across the room.

"Up to you Mary," AJ said non-committally. "Let's try something sexy, but safe. You not wearin' a bra are you?"

"No," I answered anxiously.

"Sit over here so the sun from the skylight drops across you and the bed. Take off your sandals so's you barefoot, put both your knees up under you looking away from me. That's right. Now, undo a couple of buttons up front and drop the dress off your shoulder, no boob but the top showing. I'm going to take the shot from behind you. When I tell you, look back at me like you want to eat Mark alive."

I lowered my head, focused on the thought process AJ had suggested, but to my embarrassment, I thought not of Mark, but of Ty when I looked backwards. The camera went click. The big screen didn't show Mary Bolskie Terry, mother of two and devoted housewife: it showed a vixen, a temptress, the kind of woman who drove men to madness.

"Perfect!" AJ gushed, "You got it girl! Now, look away towards the floor, like you're thinking bout something sexy, something you've seen that makes you want it—bad." CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

"Jesus!" Mark repeated, staring at the big screen. "That's amazing!" The shot was even more provocative than the first. I had not been thinking about Mark then either. I'd been thinking about the way Ty's speedos tented when the blonde rubbed oil into his back. My face was a dictionary entry for "lust," the eyes were distracted and unfocused, my lips parted, full and red, and my tongue held just at the tip of my lower lip.

"That is amazing," I said.

"That's why I do what I do, right there. Thas' a hundred-wank picture right there!" AJ replied.

I laughed despite myself. The very idea that a photograph's quality could be measured by the number of times a man would want to masturbate to it was laughable. Or was it?

I looked at Mark and the air hung thick with expectations and reservations: Mark's expectations, my reservations. His hand was on his crotch, squeezing his balls and cock gently.

"Do you want to see more, Mark?" I asked, teasing him quietly.

"Yes," he whispered in a voice choked with desire. "Much."

I felt safe where we were, inside this little studio with my husband right there, having the ability to obtain all the photos or destroy them. For the next half hour, we walked the yellow brick road, or maybe it was Alice's trip through the looking glass. AJ was fabulous, very slowly and thoughtfully unwrapping a "package" for my husband. The first shot focusing on my breasts didn't simply expose them but was of my blouse stretched tight over my erect nipple, then of my hand inserted between the folds of my blouse tweezing it, my mouth pried opened by the heat flowing through me. Slowly I lost clothing until only the canary yellow thong remained.

I have no explanation why I did it. In my "right mind," I would never have disrobed for a virtual stranger, I had difficulty at times appearing naked in front of Mark, who'd been my husband for over two decades. Years of upbringing screamed that a good woman simply didn't "do that." But AJ's warm voice and Mark's hot desire both egged me on, and I loved seeing them both grow more excited with each new shot.

AJ was a perfectionist. We must have taken twenty shots of my index and middle fingers dipping beneath the elastic hem of my thong alone before deleting all but three of them. Mark's desire, and AJ's affirmations, that I was "fabulous," "hot," "sexy," "smokin' made me both comfortable, and very wet. My thong was soaked through completely.

That I was able to generate such desire was astounding, I thought, since Mark had sent me to the moon twice just a few hours earlier and twice the night before. Yet here I was showing my wares and gushing like a fountain, and ooohhh, wanting so much more.

Mark looked like he was about to lose his mind, so I said, "take it out honey. Take it out and work it. I'd like to see it in your hands." Mark stood quickly, undid his pants and stripped them and his boxers down to the floor in one motion.

"Yessss!!" that's it, I said as his rock-hard cock popped into view.

"Would you like to use a prop, or use Mark as a prop?" AJ asked.

"A what?" I said, momentarily confused.

"A prop." He went to a cabinet drawer behind the camera and pulled out three items, returning to drop them on the bed beside me. A pair of nipple clips, a small flesh colored dildo about 6" long, and a massive 12-inch black dildo that had to be four or five inches in circumference. Mark's breath drew in sharply, his eyes all in on the big black dildo.

"Put this one away," I said handing him the smaller pink rubber cock. AJ stored it.

I dangled the chain connecting the two nipple clips over my finger. Mark had brought a set just like these home years before. They were still encased in their original plastic container. But now in this unique place and time, it felt like electricity was flowing from them straight into my clit as I rubbed the tip over my nipples. CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.

"I've never worn these before, is there a trick?" I asked quietly.

"You adjust this little screw right down here to make it tighter or looser. If you a first timer, start looser and work your way up," AJ recommended. I fiddled with the adjustment and started to slip the clip over my nipple.

"Wait!" AJ said. "Not yet. Mark, give her a lick and a bite and get those nipples nice and big and hard." Mark didn't need to be asked twice. He bolted to my side, leaned down, and took my brown nipples in his mouth, sucking and licking them until the blood flowed to them like a river. CLICK, CLICK, CLICK. My back arched and I clutched his head to my breast. I couldn't help it. The effect on my breasts was remarkable. My nipple had doubled in length and reddened, not to mention the river his tongue had made of my slit.