Tough Love

Maynor petted Allison's pretty head.

As he'd searched the streets for her, he thought about how he might use her. He never imagined she'd make herself so vulnerable in the interview. Her delicate hands opened his fly and took out his erection. Gazing up at him, she stroked his cock and smiled.

She could be the shy girl who got in over her head.

She pumped his cock with her fist. Slipping his cock into her mouth, she allowed her head to follow the action of her fist. He gathered her hair. He waited for her face to go forward and then closed his fist on her hair, jamming her nose into his pubic patch. His cock muffled the sounds of her shock. She raised her chin, eyes wide with fear.

He framed her face in the camera.

Her fingernails dug into his thighs, her neck and shoulder muscles tensed, straining. She tried to extricate herself, but he squared his hips with her face, holding her fast.

He didn't want to choke her. It was just the best way to present her to customers, manufacturing a little reluctance. She was, after all, a girl with an obligation, a girl who needed to pay her dues. It was what customers wanted to see.

Soon she lowered her chin, her head going limp against his hand. Her submission made his dick swell, his heart thump. He rocked his hips, humping her face. Small wet noises came from her mouth. He had a directional mike pointed at her throat. In the finished video, he would turn up the levels on those noises, accentuating her predicament.

Afraid he might come, he let her hair go and she went right back to kissing and licking his shaft. No complaints. No harm, no foul.

What a great kid.

He took his wet shaft with two fingers and raised it.

"Balls," he said.

She dutifully put her mouth on his penis, but he pulled his dick free. "Balls," he said. She looked at him blankly, brushing the hair from her face.

"Do the balls," he said with mild irritation. "Do the balls."

A look of comprehension flashed across her face and she squatted lower, putting her chin under his cock. She took one of his hairy balls in her mouth, nuzzling it. His wet shaft flopped on her face. He could feel her silky hair on his cock, her warm mouth on his nuts.

He bent her over a waist-high counter, a position she seemed reluctant to try. He slipped in behind her, running his thumb down the delicate knobs of her spine. She arched her back, looking over her shoulder with a pensive expression.

Putting his foot between her legs and tapping her ankles, he got her to open her legs for him.

She was panting. He couldn't tell if it was fear or passion. Closing her mouth, she looked ahead, then immediately twisted her trunk to meet his eyes. She looked like she was about to say something, but he didn't wait to hear what would come out. He put his cock inside her. She was warm and tight. As he sank inside, she exhaled heavily and grabbed onto the far edge of the counter. He took her slender waist in his hands and rocked his hips. His groin made a slapping noise against her ass.

She reached one hand toward him, her fingers splayed.

He swung his hips hard. She gasped, grabbing onto the counter with both hands. He slapped her ass once, and then again, and then once more, all in the same place. A red handprint appeared on her bottom, glowing hot.

"Coach, coach, coach," she whispered, her voice low and needy.

She worked her legs closed again.

His cock was still inside her, and he stroked her hips and ground himself against her rear. She looked over her shoulder and smiled hesitantly at him.

"Put this knee up on the counter," he said, tapping her thigh.

Her smile disappeared.

She looked to the front, wordlessly raising her knee.

He had to stand on his toes to bury his cock inside her. Taking her hips in his hands, he lined himself up, then fucked her hard, sending his cock into her again and again. She didn't drop her knee, but she made a low rolling wail that grew in intensity. The windows were open. He slapped her ass in the same spot as before, then grabbed a fistful of her hair. She stopped howling, looking at him like a feral animal.

He slowed his strokes. Soon he let go of her hair.

He winked.

He ground his groin into her, then pulled himself back, letting his wet cock slip from her sticky slit. Tapping her thigh, he gave permission for her to remove her knee from the counter. Lowering her leg, she gave little shuddery exhales.

He gestured with the fingers of both his hands for her to come to him.

She melted against his chest, hands clasped in front of her. He put his arms around her shoulders, his cock heavy with blood and bobbing between them. He stroked her head and she closed the small gap between them, crushing his erection against her tummy. Her shoulders shivered. The pace of the session could be much different from the pace of the tape. He whispered encouragements into her ear. He only needed about twenty minutes of footage, but for Allison it would be the most humiliating sex of her young life. He could afford to be generous, to go slow. He could get the shots he needed a little at a time, spread out over the course of the entire afternoon. He gathered Allison tighter, cooing into her ear. The thought of what lay ahead made his cock throb against her flat tummy.

***

4

You could never know what a girl might do.

You had to get her clothes off. Get her comfortable, get her past the barriers.

You had to get her to forget the cameras. Lower her expectations. Maynor was not a bad looking man. He had a square chin and cold blue eyes like a fast moving river. He went to the gym, watched his diet. But he was forty-two. Softer, rounder, than a guy like Raoul. When a girl agreed to work with Maynor, she was making a small concession. The best tapes were a series of these tiny concessions, each made on the fly, one right after the other. Often the girl was the one most surprised at how far she had been able to go.

There was the freckle-faced redhead from Tennessee last year.

She was twenty-two, a sophomore attending a prominent Southern bible college. After months-long email correspondence and a few chats on the phone, she agreed to come see the studio during spring break, no obligation.

He paid for roundtrip Greyhound tickets. She stayed in a hostel downtown.

In her interview, she mentioned her longtime boyfriend, a guy she'd known since elementary school. Maynor asked if the boyfriend knew she was in Carnal, and she batted her pale lashes, cheeks turning to fire. "Don't judge me," she squealed, laughing with the confidence of a girl who knew she wouldn't be judged. Maynor laughed. He said new experiences were valuable, a necessary part of life. Later that afternoon, he used the same argument to convince her to take his cock in her ass. He bent her over, facing a camera. She was a Southern girl, raised on values like obedience, acquiescence. She made no sound as he sank his cock into her freshly greased ass. Her jaw dropped open, and she screwed her eyes shut. Her lips formed a silent "O" as she clutched the countertop, waiting for him to finish. He put her on her back next. She was a small girl and he gathered her in his arms, giving her deep soul kisses. She tried to resist his tongue, but his cock was between her legs, spurring her on. Soon she gave in, kissing him like a lover. Her green eyes were glassy, her breath coming in shuddery gasps. Touching his sweaty head to hers, he whispered, "Sexy little whore," and she moaned softly, giving him an expression that was hard to read. She dug her nails into the flesh of his back. He'd taken her ass, her tongue—now he wanted her soul. "This hot little slut needs some cock," he said.

And on it went.

Soon she gave in, repeating his words back in a breathy voice, referring to herself in third person. He didn't ordinarily include footage of missionary position, but her nasty monologue made it too irresistible to leave out. Taking a fistful of her hair, he tugged her head back, exposing her neck. He put his lips just below her ear and sucked.

"Oh, yeah," she said, making a little squeal. "Fuck the whore," she said. "Fuck the bitch."

He grinned, raising his sweaty chest off her. Holding the backs of her thighs, he speared her molten core. "Give it to the little slut," she whispered, her voice rising to soprano.

He palmed her tits, rocked his hips, and gave her an orgasm.

Her back arched.

"Dirty fucking slut," she hissed.

He led her to the place in the studio where he could record her facial, his cock bobbing with an urgent need. She walked on wobbly legs, kneeling where he showed her, pushing her heavy hair from her face.

Her eyes had that dreamy look of afterglow.

He came on her face, pumping the thick fluid onto her cheeks, her forehead. Great ropes went into her hair, onto her shoulder. He praised her and she grinned, her face holding a messy sludge of his semen. She tried to wipe a small amount of his cum from the corner of her mouth, but he stopped her.

"I have to take stills," he said. "Don't get your fingers in it."

He continued to lavish her with praise for her performance. He didn't use words like whore or slut anymore. He said she was hot, a real dynamo. The best he'd ever seen. The words rolled effortlessly from him. It was all cheap talk.

He hated himself right after he came.

He hated the girls a little bit, too, but he didn't like to let on. At the end of every session, he took still pictures, even though customers didn't want stills anymore. He took them mostly for his own amusement.

He liked to chat with the girls, as he photographed their messy faces. How do you think you did? Do you think you can do this kind of work? Sometimes the responses were comical. The black girl from Michigan grew anxious with his cum pooling at the corners of her mouth. She would only nod, eyes wide, assuring him she could do adult work. He pointed the camera at her and trigged the flash. The studio was well lit, but he always used a flash for the stills. It was a bit of theatrics that he'd come up with all on his own. The studio held so much automated camera equipment the girls often forgot the cameras were even there, but for the stills he liked to remind them. Soon he would stop chatting and just take picture after picture, moving around, sometimes kneeling, sometimes standing or using the step ladder, the only sound the whir of his lens, the whistle of the cooling flash. In the first few minutes, a girl would often tilt her head back, trying to actively manage the semen slowly traveling down her face, trying to keep it out of her hair or mouth. Some of the girls pressed their lips together in a bid to clear their lips without swallowing. He would watch the eyes—especially the young ones. If there were shame and remorse, it would appear in her eyes first, in the way she'd look away from the camera, stop making eye contact. She'd soon allow the semen to slide unhindered down her cheeks, or simply go ahead and lick her lips clean. She was thinking about all the concessions she'd made, the things she'd done, or allowed him to do. Or maybe she was listing in her mind all the people who might one day see these images. Parents, brothers. Teachers. Or people she might hope to know. A husband. Sons, daughters.

The girl from Tennessee was like this.

The glow from her orgasm evaporated and her face grew slack. She let her mouth hang open, staring across the room. He had to ask her to look into the camera. Her eyes glistened, his camera flashed. She raised her finger to the corner of her eye, apologizing. He snapped more pictures. She grinned, but her eyes didn't match her expression.

"I'm sorry," she said.

She dabbed at the corners of her left eye, then her right.

"It's okay," he said.

He lowered the camera and smiled.

When he stood, his swollen cock banged against his thighs. He felt the way it wobbled heavily between his legs and grew ashamed. He wished he'd put on pants. She looked between his legs, making a loud sniffing sound. There was an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, but something in her tone changed. She averted her eyes.

He heard the change in her voice and his embarrassment dried up. He closed the distance between them, his cock moving in front of him like some perverse divining rod. Stowing the camera near where she knelt, he turned to face her, putting his hands on his hips.

"It's okay," he said.

His cock swayed only inches from her nose.

She looked around the studio. "Do you—" she said, her voice wandering off.

He gazed down at her. She'd never been in a position quite like this before and didn't know how to navigate it. Her face held the remnants of his drying cum. She was a go-getter who'd been unable to get through the session. She couldn't have anticipated her own discomfort, much less his reaction. "Should I—" she said.

He grinned.

He did not make any demand of her. He didn't have to. She had been raised to yield, to always comply. She was an overachiever, constantly willing to please. Rising on her knees, she tilted her head and opened her mouth, scooping his cock inside.

He sighed with relief. Her mouth was warm.

Brushing her hands from his shaft, he stroked himself. He knew exactly what he wanted from her. Soon he felt an orgasm rising. Placing both hands on her head, he waited on the very edge. It was luxury, his dick in her moist mouth. Just before he came, he leaned back so he could see her eyes. "I'm going to come," he said.

She didn't move.

He wondered if she'd heard him, and in the weeks that followed he would return to this moment, considering it often. In the end, he decided that she had heard, but had just given up. Her final concession. He growled as the first jet of semen pulsed into her mouth. His groan was followed by a short snort of laughter. His eyes had fallen on a box of tissues. In her interview, she'd talked about giving her boyfriend head and always making him fire into a wad of tissue. She laughed about it. She said that now he always seemed to keep a box of tissue on hand in his car.

Maynor petted her hair as he fed her the rest of his cum.

He felt guilty after he came. He gave her a box of wipes to clean her face. "Did you swallow it?" he asked, although he already knew the answer. She knew he knew. It was a question only a pornographer would ask. Her mouth made a grim little smile, and she didn't respond. She wouldn't look at him. She wiped her face.

He drove her to the hostel, telling her stories of other models. He did most of the talking. At the curb, she gathered her backpack into her lap. She looked him in the face and thanked him. Thanked him. He was incredulous. "No, no," he said, suddenly at a loss for words. He was the smooth operator scrambling for something, anything to say, and finally settling on something mundane, something obvious. "Thank you," he said.

She tugged on the door handle, and then she was gone.

He edited her tape to amplify her infidelity. That, Maynor reasoned, was the thing that had allowed her to talk about herself with such abandon. That was why she let him come in her mouth, why she had swallowed his cum.

She felt guilty.

She was punishing herself for being in Carnal. Or maybe she was redeeming herself for never swallowing cum. These were the things Maynor liked to think about as he worked. He edited the tape so that the part of her interview where she mocked her boyfriend replayed itself just before she swallowed her first load of cum. In the soundtrack, she is still giggling about her boyfriend's tissues, while the image switches to Maynor leaning back, telling her how he intends to use her mouth. Then the scene switches to a new angle, a camera that frames his hips on the left, her face on the right. His hands rest lightly on her crown, the muscles in his bottom clench, then release. He groans, snorts a little laughter. Her hands rise, fluttering at his hips. His bottom clenches again, and then again, and she places her hands on his thighs, works the muscles in her throat and neck to keep up.

Customers loved it.

He knew it would be gold even as he edited it.

He worked on her tape for four hours, then set it all aside and went looking for her. Her bus would leave in the early morning. He wanted to take her to dinner, some place nice. Get her some seafood, or maybe a steak. He went to the hostel but her stuff was already gone. He checked at the bus depot, where her return trip ticket to Tennessee sat unclaimed. He couldn't find her at the train station, nor was she standing on any of the nearby onramps to the interstate or even the turnpike.

He drove around thinking about her, his cock hard.

He didn't feel guilty.

He could have used tissue. He preferred to use her mouth.

***

5

He let Allison ride him cowgirl. He wanted her to have the feeling of being in control. She straddled his hips, then fed his cock between her legs. Settling onto him, she rocked forward, using his pelvic bone to stimulate herself.

He let her settle into a comfortable rhythm. "Do you remember," he asked, placing his hands on her hips. "That championship meet up in Morristown?"

Her mouth was open, her face slack with desire. Suddenly she grinned, looking away. She did remember. It was an out-of-town, overnight meet. Allison and two other girls—his daughter included—had slipped out of the motel sometime in the middle of the night and then still hadn't made it back in time for breakfast. All three girls appeared at the gymnasium in time for their late morning match, but they played miserably.

She rocked herself back on her heels. He used his thumb to rub her clit.

"Coach," she said, panting. "I can't . . . I can't really remember."

He held her hips and gave her his cock, stopping only when he was out of breath. She was on all fours over him. Taking her ass cheeks in his hands, he sent his fingers into her ass crack, massaging her tight little asshole. Her brows rose up on her forehead, her breath coming in gasps. But then she squirmed her hips, clamping her ass cheeks together, until she managed to get his fingers away from her ass.

Rising up, she made a nervous little laugh. She rocked her hips, avoiding his eyes.

"You remember," he whispered. "You snuck out in the middle of the night."

She grinned. Bit her lip. As the game started, three boys had galloped into the stands. He saw the looks those boys passed one another, legs splayed out in the stands. They wore heavy white sneakers with the laces undone. They punched one another's shoulders, grinning and touching themselves between their legs. He saw those three girls whispering amongst themselves, returning looks of their own.

He put her on her back, pushed her knees to her chest, and then got into position over her. He gathered her in his arms, his dick hovering over both her holes. She was the kind of girl who might benefit from a good, hard dick up her ass, but first someone would have to convince her to bend over. He tried to kiss her on the mouth, but she twisted her head away. He put his lips on her neck, sucking until he left a raw, wet mark glowing on her skin.

She squirmed under him, clamping her knees on his torso.

He laughed to show there were no hard feelings.

"Little slut," he said.

Her eyes widened with a hurt expression. "Oh, coach," she whispered. "Please."

He pressed his thumb against her sweaty asshole.

She mewled, raising her ass.

"I want you to try anal," he said.

He bent his head for a kiss, but she twisted her head away.

He grinned. "I got lots of grease."

She exhaled heavily, pressing her knees against his sides.