Tough Love



Maynor Smith powered up the small handheld video camera, rested it on the edge of his desk, and then pointed it at the girl on the couch. His chest felt hollow, his heartbeats reverberating inside him like an old bass drum. It always felt this way at the start, especially with a new girl. He ignored it, knowing it would soon pass. It always did. He framed her smiling face, her delicious body. He loved the prim way she held her knees together. Her parents had taught her to sit like that. Her schoolteachers, her priests, even her classmates had played a part in teaching her appropriate behavior for a girl. He would use all that.

Allison grinned at him.

She was cute. Silky dark hair that hung to her shoulders. Nineteen. He would have to ask her for two forms of ID to prove her age, but with Allison that was merely a formality. He knew exactly how old she was. He'd known her since she was fourteen. She was the same age as his own daughter, and the two girls had been good friends through most of middle and high school. He had coached them on the local youth volleyball team. He knew, for example, that Allison possessed a terrific serve.

"Why don't you introduce yourself?" he asked.

Allison nodded. "Right here?" she asked. She raised both her brows. Clear, bright eyes, the small, upturned nose. A shallow cleft in her chin.

"Stand up," he said.

He pointed to show her where another camera was. He had them strategically placed throughout the small studio. It was a loft he had purchased for his wife to do pottery and painting, but the neighborhood had always been a little dodgy, and it had only gotten worse, so she didn't like to come out here anymore. It occurred to him that he was being unfaithful to his wife, but this was more of an afterthought, not the cause of his anxiety, his discomfort. He didn't consider this infidelity. A siren wailed in the streets below. He was working.

Allison stood and licked her lips. She was nervous.

"Take a deep breath," he said.

She inhaled, swelling her chest, then blew the air out. She was wearing a pair of cutoff denim shorts, a long sleeve shirt cut to bare her midriff. It wasn't the sexiest outfit, but she'd be out of it soon enough. They were his daughter's clothes. He'd brought a bag of stuff for Allison to select from. He wanted her to have something clean to wear for her interview.

She cut her eyes to him.

"Go ahead," he said. "And remember. These are men you're talking to."

She nodded her head, a vacant look on her face.

"Men," he repeated firmly.

She raised both her shoulders, twining her arms together in front of her, just as he'd hoped she would. He beamed at her, his dick swelling in his pants. This was Allison's shy girl act. It was how she related to men, especially men she didn't know. He'd watched her do it with every new assistant coach he'd ever hired. She'd done it with him, too, of course, but he knew how to get her to give him her best. He wasn't even sure if she was aware she did it. It probably had something to do with her relationship with her father, a hard driven and demanding man that Maynor knew well.

Leaning back in his chair, Maynor clasped his hands behind his head. Allison went through the little spiel they'd planned out. Fake name (Alice), fake hometown (L.A.) She toyed with her hair and said she'd been a model for a few weeks.

His customers would eat this up.

She finished her speech and then stood twisting her hands together and grinning. He invited her to sit back down and she did. At this point, his competitors would have their young models strip, get on with the show, but that's not how Maynor operated.

"Tell me about yourself," he said.

She looked lost.

"Your sex life," he added.

The lost look transformed itself to something uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath and grinned. Rubbing her hands on her slender thighs, she looked at a point on the floor and said nothing.

"How many partners have you had?" he prompted.

"Two," she said, her voice barely audible.

She bit her lip and grinned. "No, wait. Three," she added, a little louder.

She nodded her head, pursing her lips.

She tilted her head and shot her eyes to the ceiling.

"Do blowjobs count?" she asked.

He laughed. She explained that she was inexperienced, a little shy. He wondered if this was more of her shy girl act. It didn't really matter. He didn't care. He didn't need the truth. Moving her hands as she spoke, she flipped her fingers through her hair and grew more animated. Allison was relaxing.

"Tell me about your last relationship," Maynor said.

She looked around the room as if she were going to bolt. He raised his brows and sat up in his chair, looking for a way to rescue her. She bowed her head, her cheeks reddening. Pulling at her eyebrow, she grinned sheepishly. "To be honest," she said, her voice meek. "It was in rehab." She took a deep breath and then launched into a story about using heroin, getting strung out, and then dropping out of school her freshman year at college.

He felt relieved.

He already knew about her drug problem. Her father had confided it to Maynor two weeks ago. It was late, almost closing time at the Roma, a small dive bar on the lower eastside. The two of them had been drinking and watching football most of the night. Speaking through clenched teeth, her father said he'd had to kick her out of the house. Maynor had been pretty drunk, but his ears perked up.

"Do you want a drink?" Maynor asked. "Some wine?" Her honesty about her drug problem surprised him, but he continued with the illusion that he didn't already know. She wasn't exactly relaxing, but she was investing, and that seemed just as good.

"Yes," she nodded, fanning herself with both her hands.

He poured two glasses of wine, but left his sitting untouched on the desk. She explained that her last relationship was with one of the other patients in rehab, and that relationships weren't allowed, so she'd had to leave sooner than expected.

Maynor let her talk. He watched her sip the wine. After the night at the Roma, he'd begun searching for her. He drove past abandoned buildings, graffiti-marred underpasses, and crack houses at all hours of the night. He cruised the local Greyhound and Amtrak stations. It took a few days, but he finally found her in an uptown playground, six blocks from the red light district. She sat with a group of young people, slowly revolving on a merry-go-round, passing a bottle in a brown paper bag between them.

She got to the end of her story and her wine at the same time. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she set the wine glass on the floor. She smiled, but her eyes were glum.

Maynor nodded his head sympathetically.

When he'd first approached her in the playground, a young man she was with behaved aggressively, but Allison quickly put him in his place. It was a good sign. A girl on the street often teamed up with a man, but these arrangements rarely proved beneficial to the girl.

"My mom," Allison said, "isn't speaking with me right now."

"That's fucked up," Maynor said. He waited for her to look up. Her eyes were misting, and he felt something lurch inside his stomach. "But it's not all bad," he said.

A hopeful look passed over her face.

"We'll make this tape," he said, nodding to the handheld. "I'll send it around to producers. Soon you'll get work, start making money."

He grinned at her, his hands outstretched.

"Big money," he said, raising his brows and lowering his hands.

He let his words hang in the air between them. He wasn't just some kid on the street with a bottle of wine. "Parents love it when you start making money," he whispered in a confident tone. "You can go buy yourself a little car."

She grinned and ducked her head. She chuckled.

"A Jetta," he said. "Parents love Jettas."

She nodded and chewed her lip. He chatted with her about this year's prospects for the high school football team, a recent grease fire that had shut down a local fried chicken restaurant, and the annual strawberry festival that was in danger of cancellation because a mite infestation had decimated this year's strawberry crop.

"Ok," she finally said. "Ok." She held up both her hands, palm out.

He slid the paperwork to the edge of the desk.

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He still felt some trepidation, but now it was just a slight fluttering in his chest, and even that was fading fast. He watched her sign the release. She used big loopy swoops to make her name. When it was done, she raised her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

He met her gaze and smiled.

His cock was hard.



He invited her to remove her top and she smiled sheepishly.

She stood and turned her back to him, tugging the shirt over her head. When he'd given her the bag of clothes, she went into the bathroom to change. It was cute. Good girls don't strip in front of old men. She reached behind herself, undid her bra, and then turned to face him, holding her bra to her chest. His cock was hard, but he kept his hands on the desk.

He smiled to boost her confidence.

When she removed her bra, he sucked in his breath. Picking up the handheld, he came out from behind the desk. He wore dark pleated slacks, a button down shirt and tie. He always dressed business casual to lend the interview a more professional vibe and help the girls relax. As a bonus, the loose fitting slacks hid the inevitable erections. A big part of making a successful tape was managing the girl's expectations.

Her breasts were small, with large puffy nipples.

He looked her in the eye and told her that her breasts were lovely. Her grin widened. The girls on the team would make jokes about him behind his back, but he was an authority figure and his opinion carried weight, even if the girls didn't want to admit it. He pointed the camera at her chest and allowed his gaze to follow. He was also a man, and teenage girls craved validation from men. He noted the size of her areolas and the texture of her nipples. She lowered her head and studied her breasts as if she were seeing them for the very first time. He praised the color, shape and firmness of her little boobs. For a time, the entire room was focused only on her chest: him, her, the camera.

He asked to touch and was pleased when she threw back her shoulders without hesitation. Touch was a big barrier. He used just the soft pad of his fingertips. Her nipples grew stiff with only slight provocation.

He retreated to the other side of the desk and asked her to remove her shorts.

She opened the button and he stopped her. This time he asked her to turn around, rotating his finger in the air. "Leave your panties on," he said. She pointed her bottom to him, grinned over her shoulder, and then lowered her shorts to the floor.

She held her ankles and looked to him for instruction, a timid look on her face.

He grinned at her.

He asked her to remain bent over, reach up, and then lower her panties. She did it perfectly the first time, exposing those firm, deliciously round cheeks, but he made her do it a few more times, as a sort of desensitizing exercise.

He beamed at her with pride. Allison always had a great ass. She was a standout in those tight fitting volleyball shorts, even at fourteen.

"Allison," he said.

She held her ankles and raised her brows, her hair touching the floor.

"You have such a perfect body," he said. "Your legs are long and beautiful, and you have such muscular calves." She gave him a look of desperate longing and he held the camera high. She had a fine little ass, but he wanted that hungry look on her face in the frame, too.

"So," he said. "Let's talk about experience. You've had sex already and you know how to give a man head?"

She nodded, her face bright and grinning.


Her head stopped nodding. She hugged her cheek to her ankles.

He looked at her matter-of-factly.

"Once," she said.

"Didn't like it?"

Allison shrugged. She was not lying about her inexperience. He laid the whole of her sexual capability bare in two minutes. No anal. Never kissed a girl. Always took a single partner at a time. Her face was turning bright red, either from the shame of her tame admissions or the position of her head at her feet.

He suggested she stand then came around the desk with the handheld.

Kicking off her panties, she seemed intimidated by her own lack of experience. He set her at ease. "You'll be fine," he said. "I promise."

He meant it. He fully intended to fuck her in the ass.

Allison grew comfortable without her clothes. Instead of hugging her little frame, she let her arms hang at her sides. Another barrier down. He asked her to pose to show off her front, then lavished more praise upon her. Instead of the starry-eyes and beaming grins, now she gave him soulful looks, making soft little whimpering noises. Allison needed an orgasm.

"Sit here baby," he said.

He positioned her on a chaise lounge and then pointed a large fan with slow moving blades toward her head. A camera was focused on the soft folds of her pussy, leaving her face a warm blur in the background.

This time he didn't point out the camera. He wanted her to forget the cameras.

Opening her knees, he used his fingers to part her lips. She'd shaved most of her pubic hair, but it was already growing back. He didn't care. He put his finger on her clitoris and she rolled her hips and exhaled. He penetrated her first with one finger, then with three. Finally he curled his fingers inside her pussy, searching for her G-spot. She raised her ass up off the lounge and he finger fucked her to a roaring orgasm.

He stood, using a small towel to dry his hands. Sweet little Allison basked in afterglow, her legs spread obscenely.

It was time to hustle her past the last barrier.

Maynor had shown Allison one of the first demo tapes he'd ever made. It featured a beautiful young Hispanic man named Raoul who was exactly the kind of guy a young woman entering the industry wanted to see: dark hair and olive skin. A chiseled face and hairy chest. Muscles. Maynor had filmed Raoul making love to his girlfriend, but to viewers it appeared as if the girl had come in for an interview, met Raoul for the first time, and then enjoyed riding his big cock and stubble chin. Maynor didn't make tapes with couples anymore, but he liked to show this one to the new girls to better manage their expectations.

"Stand up honey," Maynor said. He grabbed the handheld.

She got to her feet, toying with her hair and grinning appreciatively.

"I'm going to need some footage of you having sex with a guy," he said. He held the camera like a football. He needed to tell Allison she would be working with him. And by working with him, he meant that she would be sucking his cock, balling him.

Allison tucked her hair behind her ear and waited for what would come next.

Some girls found out and asked for money, but Maynor never gave the models money. His service was to make the tape and provide an industry contact. The girls who asked for money were the easiest to persuade. They were already whores who only wanted to wrangle the price. The good girls were the challenge. They needed time to think about the change in venue. He loved to capture the look on a girl's face as she weighed her options. The standard line was that she could always put her clothes back on, and he would destroy the tape. Most of this was true. Any model was free to leave at any time, but if she'd already signed the release, then the tape was going to be published. Sometimes it was a treat to watch a girl retreat, pulling on her clothes all shamefaced.

"So here's what I want you to do next," Maynor said, raising the camera and pointing it at her face. "Get down on your knees—"

Her eyes widened. She stopped stroking her hair.

"And suck my cock," he said.

Her mouth dropped open.

He grinned. If he'd felt conflicted earlier, he felt no compunction about sticking his cock in her now. He loved the girls who suddenly got all sanctimonious at the very end. In this respect, Allison did not disappoint. "Coach," she said, her voice a breathless little murmur.

His smile widened. He would have to edit that out.

She looked at a spot on the floor, her face clouding.

"Mister Smith," she said looking at him. "I don't know."

Because Maynor had so much history with Allison, this was probably the greatest barrier of all. In middle school, his daughter would invite Allison and some of the other girls over for sleepovers. Maynor would pull out his photography equipment—umbrellas, lights, and backdrops—and the girls would try on princess costumes and pose with glitter wands. He would light the girls like little movie stars, and they would shriek at one another as they looked at the results. In high school, he would take them to weeklong volleyball camps in the mountains in the summertime, and then championship tournaments in a neighboring city in the fall. They would stay at motels, coming down from their rooms in the morning with their hair mussed and sleep in their eyes, ready to eat continental breakfasts. Allison had already found a way to rationalize so much of what he wanted from her. He just needed her to go the tiniest bit further.

She curled her toes under her feet.

She stood on one leg and then used the other leg to scratch her calf.

"Look honey," he said. "It's just a little sucking and fucking. When we're done, I'll come on your face." He didn't bother to use euphemism or romantic language anymore. She looked at him with a pained expression, even though what he was suggesting was exactly what she'd seen in the tape with Raoul and his girlfriend.

"I won't get any cum in your mouth or eyes," he said. "I'll put it all on your cheeks and forehead, your hair, and maybe even a little on your tits."

Allison looked at her breasts and stopped stroking her hair. She bit her lip. Rubbing her palms on her hips, she looked at the clothes she'd just discarded.

"Will Veronica know?" Allison asked.

She was asking Maynor if his daughter would know. He almost snorted a laugh but managed to suppress it. He explained that he would edit the tape so nobody would know he was in it. For the most part, only his cock would appear in the scenes.

"The producers don't want to see my old ass," he said.

She grinned, her first smile since he'd told her who she was going to fuck.

Taking a step toward him, she reached out and touched his forearm with the tips of her fingers. He asked if she were ready and she set her chin and nodded her head. It was the sort of look she'd give him before one of the big championship games.

"That's my girl," he said. "That's my big girl."

He'd always said that to her so she would push her body to its limits for her teammates and her school. Now he wanted Allison to push her body just as hard, but for a different purpose. He wanted her to use her pintsized boobs and fine round ass to amuse his customers, to provide him with an enjoyable afternoon of studio work.

He raised the camera to his chest, framing her pretty face.

She lowered herself to her knees.

"Whenever you're ready," he said.

His dick throbbed.



Every session needed its own sensibility, its own flavor.

Maynor's job was to gauge a girl's capabilities, then determine how best to present her to customers. It took a particular kind of insight and he was good at it. There was the pretty black girl who drove down from Michigan after a few weeks of trading emails. Beautiful girl. Brown eyes, strong cheekbones. In the first five minutes of her interview, Maynor knew that an interview wouldn't work for her. She was too confident and opinionated, answering all his questions with her clipped, Midwestern accent. When she told him she'd been a child model and then admitted that her career in fashion had been undone by her lack of height, Maynor struck on how he ought to use her. He said, "So the fashion industry doesn't want any short models," and she smiled and nodded her head. That smile was the last footage any of his customers would see from her interview. The next shot featured a close up of Maynor's cock buried deep in her pretty mouth, the wet sounds of her labor. He made her into something his customers wanted, something they could understand.

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