Sex Writer Symposium: 04

In porn, it is believed, at least practiced as though, people -- guys mainly of course -- don't notice whose cock is splattering a hot babe.

Because, as you might imagine, every guy's cock is the only cock, and hence the only one believed to be splattering inside, or all over, a girl.

So, prudent producers determined, let's use as many cocks as necessary to get a girl fully fucked -- drench her in sperm, any sperm, all sperm. Guys will never know the difference.

But we, we here at PND, are different. We do this strictly for everyone's pleasure. Oh, we definitely use multiple dicks to provide plentiful puddles of semen -- we just don't pretend to do otherwise.

We just invite whoever is so moved into the fuck and let the cameras roll.

Thus, when our illustrious camera guys abdicate their cameras to join what they should be filming, no less a talent than Zhay herself walks over to pick up Kevin's camera, and casually passes it off to Bridgette with quickly-whispered instructions - a kudo for Elle's directorial debut.

How often would you see this in a Jon Thomsen porn flick? Camera men that forsake their cameras and join the fuck? They'd never work in the industry again. Only in a Porn Next Door production do we all move at will between sculpting the fuck and fucking.

But, then, this is just...too...good. Too real.

Too fucking real.

Even if Rich's dick wasn't stretching my mouth wide open, my mouth would be wide open with wonder watching what Elle is doing.

It's beautiful, magnificent, breathtaking.

Gorgeous Elle, with beautiful Beth's hand lovingly twisted in her hair holds tight in her mouth the gargantuan cock of the man who saved their lives a day or two ago, waiting patiently for him to come.

How many people will ever see this?

The entire electrified room waits with her.

I watch in reverence with the cock of the other lifesaver, the other gay lifesaver, deep inside me.

Jack, my helo pilot Jack, air transporter last week on that near-fatal day, though spent now all over Beth and us girls, watches Elle and Rich with quiet respect, his dick now once again parked right there on top of Beth's fully-fucked pussy.

Kevin, yes gay, gay Kevin with his dick in Elle's model mouth. It appears as a thin flow of clear gel evenly around Elle's tight lips. Anyone watching sees his cock throbbing, veins hard. And, well, everyone is watching.

No swallowing per se, just flowing flesh inundating Elle's fertile fellating girl mouth.

Kevin, henceforth, often to outsider's curiosity, forever renamed call-sign STATUE, holds firm and rigid, unabashedly filling Elle.

My God, my God. Kevin. Fuck...her...mouth...full.

Elle...never...flinches.

She must feel that freedom from that almost certain watery death from which Kevin pulled her two days ago, dislodging her captured foot from the rocks six feet below the churning whitewater rapids, seconds before it was too late. Beth struggling, accidentally attached by rope to Elle's waist, floundering inches below the surface of the water, grasping for that surface scant two inches away, with an accidentally-knotted rope gone awry binding her to Elle and certain death.

Elle ritualistically substitutes Richard's liquid flood for that rush of icy water crushing her lungs a couple of days ago.

As hard as she resisted that liquid, she welcomes and ingests this.

We can't tell Kevin has finished until Elle slowly slides her body back from, off of, Kevin's cock, holding what he left thick in her mouth, letting a little of it lube up his length as he is released.

No greater love has...

Elle turns to us girlfriends to share the love.

I, Heidi am no longer the whore -- rather, now, I am Heidi the discerning chef, the taster.

I insert my tongue into Elle's mouth. Distinguish the taste.

Beth? Yes, I taste Beth. Kevin? Unmistakably Kevin -- thicker, richer, man. Jack? Always Jack. Forever Jack. I lean and suck my spent Jack into my body and make mouth love to him to feel real with him now.

It fades now.

Did I ramble?

* * *

But finally, of most importance to this rambling narrative, in the far corner:

Denys and Zhay, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i...

No. Denys and Zhay standing in a back darkish corner. Zhay's arm lightly around Denys's lower back. Good sharpshooter eyes (like Heidi spy's eyes) catch it from across the room: Zhay's fingernails tickling Denys's side, not provocatively, not seductively -- naturally, knowingly.

Zhay's soft smile warming the whole room of Elle's debut film fuck. Fingers fucking Denys' side without her even noticing what her fingers are doing, maybe not him noticing; after all, they are immersed in our fuck. Been there before.

Just watching us fuck. Liking us fuck. Wishing us fuck. Wishing us good fuck. Best of fuck.

Denys has pulled down his zipper, loosened his top button, the money button - you know, the one button that lets it all out when you pop it.

Well, he's popped it. His dick is gleaming huge in the softer corner shadows and he is moving it up and down, adolescent par excellence, watching me, Heidi Writer, and my friends fuck for his cameras.

Unashamed, hungry, horny, Denys is jacking off to porn, peter panning his prick in an adolescent boy's ever, ever land.

Goddess Zhay tickles Denys's side and smiles when she feels him tighten, sees his surrender.

Denys watches us with guy love, hard longing gray guy eyes wanting fuck to be everything. You know, being a guy.

Pretty, pretty maidens all in a row, pussies wet and oh-so-willing, but Sheri's Denys stares hungrily at us fucking, fucking, fucking girls and he adolescently fucks Sheri's mind with his calloused man hands from a million miles away, mentally coming to Sheri's cunt, reaching across the miles for her mind.

Where exactly is Sheri tonight?

Denys's fingers now a brawny blur, his balls bounce and now blast white torrents of seed stuff high in the air, a fuck fountain soaring upward toward Zhay's safely high smiling face, looking down from above, as Denys finishes his fuck with his absent Sheri, lucky Sheri, luckiest Sheri. Most-fucked in the room Sheri.

Where exactly is Sheri tonight?

What comes up, must come down. And semen settles like snow on Denys's clean white shirt, soaking into his clothes, painting his gripping fingers, releasing his hard-working head from the woman-web spread before him like the lightest cream cheese frosting on a carrot cake.

Zhay chastely draws him close for a huge hard hug around his waist.

No further.

Any other girl in this room, maybe in this world, after watching what we've done and seen here tonight, watching Denys's chaste promiscuity, would be rubbing blisters on her knees, licking his fingers clean, chewing liquid Denys meltdown out of the fabric of his semen-soiled duds.

Not Zhay. Not now. Not tonight.

Who gets Zhay off? When? How?

As a well fucked evening of love and imagination blurs about Heidi Writer and cast, Heidi wants to detonate her cunt with dynamite, Heidi's fingers are the plunger.

Oh, yes. There you are, darling. Come for mama.

Where is Sheri tonight...?

Who gets Zhay off? When? How?

Heidi checks out of Zhay's Sex Writer's Symposium, Day 4.

* * *

Good choice given hell looms in Day 5.