Movie Money


The room was large with a high ceiling, beams, and a bare, worn, wood-planked floor. It had once been a storage loft. The windows were high in the walls. Spot-lights were suspended some height from the floor. Its only furniture was a large bed, three chairs, a table, and a screen for changing behind. A cage-fronted goods lift in the corner made a sound like steel being scraped around an empty oil drum. "That'll be them," said a large man in a singlet, lots of hair on his chest and shoulders, and arms, and a stomach that had seen beer in gallon lots. He looked about forty years old and needed a shave. He nodded towards some floodlights on tripods on the floor. "Enough bulbs?" he asked.

The second man in the room, whose name was Wally, was a younger version of the same. Wally nodded, "More than enough." Wally was fiddling with spotlights on a tripod, adjusting their aim at the bed. He also wore a singlet -- the lights, when on, were hot -- and shorts, and flip-flops on his feet that scuffed as he slouched from light to light. The cargo lift appeared, a couple of students inside. The loft was just off campus, the local college. The guy, late teens, called out, "Mr Farmer, you there?"

"Yeh, yeh," shouted the hairy man in the singlet without turning. "Come on in, Timmy. You're late."

"How do I open it?" called out the kid, staring at the closed door of the cage.

The hairy guy turned. "Pull on the fucking door," he shouted. Muttering after it, "dumb bloody kids!"

The kid discovered how to open the cage. Opened it and led the way out. He was late teens, gentle looks, thin, an unruly mop of thick blond hair.

"This the girlfriend?" said Farmer, eyes on the second of the kids, a very pretty girl, same sort of age, blond hair cut short like a boy.

"Yeh. This's Amy."

"Amy," said Farmer, nodding. "Amy, I'm Farmer, but you call me Buck." He held out his hand.

Amy stepped forward and took it, shook it. "Nice to meet you, Mr Farmer."

"Naw, Naw," said Farmer, shaking his head but keeping her slim hand in his. "It's Buck. Buck, got it."

The girl nodded. "Buck," she said, her hand still deep in his.

"You're pretty," said Buck, his other hand around hers as well, stroking it as if it were a mouse, held gently captive. The girl's eyes went to the fourth in the room. "That over there, is Wally," said Buck, his eyes following hers. "Best light man in the business." Buck give the girl her hand back.

She walked over to Wally, and held it out. "Hello Wally, it's nice to meet you. I'm Amy." Wally, as if caught unawares, wiped his palm on his baggy shorts, and held it out.

"She acted before?" said Buck, to Timmy, both of them watching his girlfriend.

Timmy shook his head.

"She know what's involved?"

Timmy nodded.

"You know what's involved?" shouted Buck, to the girl.

The pretty girl turned. "I think so. Timmy and I are to ..." she left it at that, "and you guys will make a movie of us doing it." The girl blushed.

"How old are you, Amy?" asked Buck.

"Nineteen," said the girl.


"Nearly," she added, stretching herself to her full five foot six. She was very well built and could easily have passed for nineteen, or older than that, but for the face. The eyes were too big and too innocent, the expression too pure, the skin too soft, and her plump pouting lips were almost babyish.

"Done this sort of thing before?" Buck asked, walking towards her.

She held her ground. "No," she said, no waver in her voice.

Buck walked round her. She was well filled out. Nearer five foot seven than six, he guessed. She had the neatest little ears he'd ever seen. No wonder she cut her hair short. He was back to her front. "But you've fucked before," he said, letting it come out vulgar.

"Yes," she responded, dropping her eyes to her feet. They were neat and dainty too, white knee socks in open toed sandals.

Buck nodded. Let his eyes run lingeringly up her front. Then said, "Alright, honey. We shoot on the bed. We need to check the lighting," he ran the back of his hand down the girl's smooth cheek. "Make sure we've got your skin tone."

"I understand," said the girl, standing her ground, leaving her cheek where it was.

"What do you want us to wear," asked Timmy.

"What you're in is fine," said Buck, leaving the girl, moving towards the central tripod, camera fitted. A second hand-held video camera sat on the floor. Wally continued fiddling with his floodlights. Amy had moved towards the bed, so had Timmy. They stood by it, looking at each other uncertainly.

"Move about a bit," said Buck. "Kiss, or something." The teenagers looked at each other. The lights came on bathing the bed in a bright white light. "Make it warmer, Wally," Buck snapped. Wally did some fiddling with his floods, off they went, on again -- the white now a warm honey glow. "Lift your skirt, Amy, sweetheart," said Buck, one eye glued to the eyepiece. Amy stared back. "I need the flesh of your thigh," he explained to the unmoving girl. She reached down her right hand, caught the hem of her short pleated skirt and lifted it up. Her white knee socks ended just above her knee. Her skirt was scarlet, pleated, it's hem a good deal higher than her socks. With the skirt falling straight it left a band of skin high on each leg. Now she was showing the skin of surprisingly lithe-looking thighs. She had excellent legs.

"You swim?" Wally asked, absently. She nodded, eyes down. "That's good," encouraged Wally, pulling down a stop. "Okay ... let it drop"

Relieved, Amy let the hem drop back.

"Can you two do something," suggested Buck, eye at the eyepiece. Timmy tentatively put an arm around his girl-friend. Buck made more adjustments. Timmy pulled his girl-friend close, but nothing more. Buck let out a groan. "Timmy, baby, this is a fuck movie, not a Sunday school picnic. Kiss her. Excite her a little, will ya?" Timmy moved his lips onto hers. Amy tried to help, pursing hers in response. But it wasn't great. Buck took his eye from his camera. Shook his head. Glanced at Wally -- who was staring at the two of them, nervously embracing at the end of the bed, as if someone had just told a really bad joke.

"Timmy, Timmy, Timmy ..." said Buck, sounding pained. "You said you could do this. You said you had this gorgeous girl-friend who loved sex, was wild in bed. That she was soooo hot," he mimicked the kid. "That you'd make a great pair." He shook his head again. "But what do we have here? A couple o' plastic kids!"

"I'm getting her ready, for christ sake," said Timmy, sounding hurt, pulling her harder against him. Again, she tried to help.

Buck wondered who the money from the shoot would go to. Which of them needed it most? He shook his head at the kids' childish embrace. "Timmy," he said. But Timmy continued the kiss. "Timmy, stop!" said Buck. He didn't. "Stop!" Buck shouted. Timmy broke from the girl. "Timmy. Behind the screen you'll find some clothes and a false moustache. Just next to the sink." He frowned. "And maybe some blacking on your jawbone." Timmy stared at him, then at the screen. Then at Amy.

"What about Amy?" he asked.

"Just do it, Timmy. Leave Amy here."

Amy gave Timmy a quick smile. "Do as they say," she urged.

Timmy shrugged and made his way off, miffed. The two men watched him go, then turned back to the bed. Buck was chewing his lip. To the girl, he said, "You sure you're up for this?"

She nodded.

Buck shrugged, then turned to Wally. "You get her ready."

Wally at first looked uncertain, then licked his lip. His voice broke as he queried, "You want me to ..." and he twirled his two forefingers, eyes on the girl.

"Christ, Wally. Do I need to spell it out?"

"What should I do?" asked Amy, pretty blue eyes going from Buck to Wally.

Buck's eye was back on the eyepiece, "Just act normal," he said, catching the girl centerframe as Wally reached her. She looked up at Wally. Wally gave her a crooked smile that Buck supposed was meant to be encouraging, then reached out for her. She acted 'normal' as Buck had advised -- which meant she didn't knee him in the groin but rather let him pull her close, and when he closed his eyes and angled his lips towards her, she did the same towards him. They kissed. Buck had the girl central lens, long legs, nice hips, lithe waist, great tits ... sensational skin ...

"Just go with whatever Wally does," said Buck, lazily, mind on the picture in his lens: his slightly dumb but relatively harmless nephew becoming vaguely intimate with a gorgeous student way away out of his league. (The hidden benefits of porn!) But Wally was into it quickly. His hands wandering the pretty student's back and waist, down over her pert little buttocks. Amy let him. Then the hands were pulling her skirt up, trying to get underneath, closer to her warmth. Amy let him do that too. "Try and relax, Amy honey," mumbled Buck, as Amy froze with Wally's hand around a panty-covered buttock, hem of her skirt round her waist. Amy did. "Put your arms around him," Buck said next. After the briefest hesitation the girl's arms snaked around Wally's neck.

Wally leaned back from the girl. Buck was about to object, then heard his light man say, "Open your mouth, Amy, honey." Amy did, though more in surprise at the request than in obedience, but before she could close it again, Wally's was over hers. Movement in her cheeks indicated Wally's tongue was in there, wandering about, exploring. The girl appeared to relax, as if resigned to her fate. Her legs spread cautiously to admit Wally's hairy knee, in baggy shorts. Then her own tongue appeared to start a dance with his and her arms tightened further round his neck. Amy was up on her tip-toes.

"Jeesus!" Came Timmy's surprised exclamation as he came from behind the screen, dressed in an older man's clothes, wearing a stick-on moustache, jowls blackened as if he had a three day's growth of beard. His eyes were locked on Amy -- and what Wally was doing to his girl.

"Shhhh!" hissed Buck, eye not moving from his camera. It was running.

"What'ya doin!" hissed Timmy, now at his side, horrified eyes on Wally and Amy.

"Fucking shut up!" hissed Buck back at Timmy.

Timmy looked hurt. But as his eyes grew larger, he clamped his mouth shut.

Wally broke the kiss. Amy opened her eyes. Timmy went forward.

"Leave her," he hissed at Wally, eyes like daggers. Buck hadn't moved. His eye was still glued to the eyepiece and the camera continued to run. "Timmy, step back from the girl. Back, out of frame. Amy, just relax, go with the flow. Wally, turn little Amy around and give me her full frontal, then caress her." The only sound in the room was the hum of the rolling camera. Timmy's face, now horrified, switched from front to back to front, from camera to girl-friend to Buck. "Step back, Timmy, or leave!" snarled Buck, his tone ice-like. Amy stayed as she was against Wally, her arms around his neck, waiting for Wally to move her. Timmy stepped away as he was told, reluctantly, unhappily, eyes still locked on his girl-friend's pretty face. Amy's eyes lifted to the man she was pressed against. Wally gave her a nod and she let herself be turned in Wally's arms until she faced the camera.

"Like this?" she asked Buck.

"Great," said Buck, eye on the eyepiece. "You're doing great, sweetheart. Wally, caress her as if you mean it. As if she's driving you nuts."

"Caress her?" Wally queried, stupidly, eyes going from Buck, to Timmy and back.

"Caress her. Excite her," Buck explained, patiently.

"Excite her?" repeated Wally, arms around the student, Amy leaning into him.

Buck brought his eye from the camera and shouted at Wally: "Fuck it, Wally. Surely you can figure out how to do that."

Wally blanched at his uncle's raised voice, then blushed.

Buck's eyes went back to his eyepiece. Wally gently eased the pretty teenager more firmly against him, her buttocks fitting neatly in his groin. Her head came back against his shoulder, next to his. He put one hand on her stomach, the other on her chin. He started to nibble the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. Amy closed her eyes. Wally was in his late twenties, not a great hit with the opposite sex. His looks weren't great, and his conversation had never been his strong point ... though here there seemed no need for conversation.

His hand wandered softly over Amy's neck ... and cheek ... and face ... while the other roamed her body lower down ... over her tummy, onto her legs, pausing briefly on her pubis to give it a gentle caress. After exploring the firmness of her thighs he brought the hem of her short pleated skirt back up with his hand, then returned the hand to her pubis to give it more attention. The student twisted away but his hands followed her. She seemed briefly to ponder this, then relax. As if she had rationalised the situation, appreciated what was involved: what they needed her to do.

Her eyes stayed closed as her pelvis relaxed. She let Wally's hand, which she'd caught in her own as she twisted from his touch, go back to work over the front of her brief cotton Sluggies. His other resumed its caresses higher up, of her face, her neat little nose, her chin, down her neck to the V of her blouse, and into the V. The pretty student's back gently arched; her hands went from loosely by her side, to covering Wally's forearms, then they moved as he moved -- his hand into blouse, over breast ... as the other, under skirt, cupping pubis, caused a gentle parting of her legs.

Timmy turned away, his face a mask of anger. "Aw shit," he hissed.

But no-one took notice of Timmy, not even little Amy.

"C'mon, Buck," said the boy, beseechingly. "This is not part of the deal."

Buck continued to ignore the boy.

Both Wally's hands had moved to Amy's chest. Each cupped a breast and gently fondled what they cupped. And as he did, Amy's hands lay uncomplaining on his forearms, letting him, allowing him, permitting him his play. Wally's nibbles had advanced and now his open mouth and tongue ran up and down her neck. He'd raised his knee between her legs, it looked out from between her young thighs like the shiny head of an ageing nag.

He started opening Amy's blouse.

Her hands jumped to prevent this intrusion but then, once her fingers were curled around Wally's, she seemed to think again about what she was doing ... then she moved her hands away and let him continue unbuttoning her blouse.

"Throw it on the bed," said Chuck, when Wally had Amy's blouse off. Her eyes had opened as he ran it down her arms. Wally's tongue played in her ear as he reached behind him and dropped it on the bed. Amy's glance went briefly to Chuck, then Timmy, then back to Chuck. Her bra was soft cotton filled to overflowing with plump, handsome breasts. The imprint of nipples was sharp and pronounced, positioned high up on each breast. Wally's hands ran up the skin of her side, to her ribs, then on to her breasts. Mounted with reverence; gently squeezed. Amy's head tilted up towards the ceiling; her eyes seemed to grow in astonishment as if at the feelings she felt. He stroked the cotton that covered her breasts, lifted them softly, pressed them respectfully -- then his broad fingernails started to lightly scratch each nipple through the cotton of her bra. Her huge blue eyes glazed over.

"C'mon Buck," groaned the boy.

But Buck hissed savagely back, "Shut the fuck up, or get the hell out."

Timmy shook his head, made a face, clenched his fists at his side, but said no more. His eyes climbed sadly to his girl-friend's lovely face as her soft blue eyes drifted closed yet again. She moaned as she gently arched her back. She didn't resist as the older man's hands started lifting her bra. His knee, from behind, was tight between her legs. Her feet were wide apart. Her pelvis seemed to gape as the thigh eased home between her legs, her private regions pivoting to greet it. Her lips appeared to slacken, then to part. The older man's tongue was in her ear.

His hand lifted her bra from a breast and hungrily attacked it when the plump mound eased free of constraints. He raised his thigh even harder between her legs until the girl was stretched on tiptoes yet again, as if riding the thigh like a horse, groaning and gasping, eyes closed, back arched. Her delicate fingers clutched his broad forearm as she let her pelvis open further for his hand, fingers easing in above the thigh, probing and exciting what she had between her legs. Kissing down her neck, under her chin, along her shoulders. Lifting up the bra from her other breast and going to work on that as well. Amy was gasping now, breathing hard and much too fast. She had one hand around his forearm, the other stretched behind her to his head. Fingers tangled in his hair as she ground her pelvis on his thigh and moving fingers, as Wally continued with his efforts to disorient the girl.

"Buck," said Timmy, softly, close up to the man. "This isn't right," he pleaded.

"We're looking for a film that'll sell," said Buck, his eye still glued to his eyepiece -- but it lacked his earlier rancour.

Perhaps he was getting his film?

"But look ..." started Timmy again ... and when Buck didn't immediately shut him up -- Buck didn't do anything other than keep his focus on Wally and Amy: his kinda dumb and boring nephew arousing one of the most drop-dead gorgeous little cuties he'd seen in years! -- Timmy started to explain why it would be better if it was he who was getting it on with his girl friend, rather than Wally -- who was really supposed to be working the lights. As Timmy lectured Wally on what would be best where his girlfriend was concerned, Buck took off Amy's bra. She knew her chest would be red, as would her neck and her face; she always got flushed when aroused. Then she felt that melting sensation, as the light man's hands closed over her breasts, and her bra joined her blouse on the bed.

"So what do you suggest?" asked Buck, eye on the eyepiece, focus on the girl's expression of relaxed surrender ... panning to his nephew's hands on the lovely plump breasts ... zooming in to broad fingers toying with perfect coin-shaped nipples ... easing focus out to the flush and tremble that spread across the girlish skin of youthful shoulders and womanly neck. She was divine. There was no other word that could describe her looks and condition, her reaction and response.

"I should be doing this!" said Timmy in desperation as Wally turned his girl-friend round. Her pretty soft breasts became pancakes as they pressed against the big man's hairy chest. Amy let him kiss her, kissing back. Timmy saw the movement in her cheeks. The movement of the light man's tongue. Searching hungrily. Spittle intermingling. Wrestling back with her own much younger tongue. Roaming round the inside of her mouth. He couldn't watch. "Please," he said to Buck.

"Well ..." said Buck, as if considering the matter. Timmy turned and looked away. Three grunts, a moan, a clutch of groans. Timmy turned back. They were conjoined, the two of them, his lovely girl, this hateful man, face to face, skin to skin, body to body, legs entwined. The fingers of a hand this hateful man had wrapped around his lovely girl were inside the waist-band of her briefs, cupping buttock, moulding hard. His thigh was high between her legs, her legs astride and riding it as if it were a horse. Her back was arched, her naked breasts against his hairy chest. (Timmy was not 'an hairy man', and wasn't sure he trusted those who were.) Her slender arms were tight around his neck, her pelvis thrusting wantonly against him. Her open mouth and lips and active tongue were working as diligently against him, as his were on her. What was she doing?

"Well?" Timmy prompted, watching the light man's fingers slip further inside his girl-friend's panties. They moved from buttock to buttock. The stretched waistband of her panties cut a line across his wrist. His fingers were bumps low down within cotton. Amy didn't seem aware of this. Or if she was, she chose to ignore it. How could she ignore a stranger's hand inside her pants? "Well?" he said again, to Buck, louder this time. Little groans were coming from his girl-friend in time with the rhythmic open and closing of her thighs. "WELL!" Timmy shouted.

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