Pornography, you understand. You can screw pornstars until the cows come home, it's crushing buns with regular people that gives you trouble. For starters, most people don't have the stamina to keep up. Or any stamina at all. After years of saving the money shot for that perfect Kodak moment, it's become reflexive, and now anyone you flip horizontal outside of work complains it's taking too long. Which brings you to your next dilemma: work.
The business you're running is like a bad joke gone on for so long nobody can tell when it finally throws the punchline. You got into this because sex is something you've always been skilled at, and girls are all over it like chimpanzees on the jack-knifed big rig spilling bananas all over the freeway.
"C'mon doctor Dick, does everything check out?"
The dialogue is utter shit but the new chick is nailing every line. You still can't tell if she's acting or if this is her actual personality. You're not sure which thought is more discomforting. She introduces herself as Roxy, but you're not sure that's real either.
"Let's have a looksee," you say, easing her foot into one of the stirrups.
The gynecologist scenario is always a crowd pleaser, but you only booked the office for two hours to film. You doubt it'll take that long. This is going to be a cakewalk, you can tell that much just from looking at her. She's still wearing a crop top and denim skirt when she spreads her legs, because authenticity is only the priority of a select few, none of whom watch your videos.
Her thighs jiggle when you tear through the fishnet stockings to reveal her panties, already stained with excitement. You snap the latex gloves for the benefit of your fans, dig your fingers into a jar of vaseline, and probe around inside her.
"Hmm…" you say, pretending to be thoughtful. A third finger slips in almost too easy when you twist your wrist. "Precisely how much dick are you getting?"
"Oh doctor," she says, breathlessly, fanning her false lashes. "Never enough."
When you're finished getting her clam saucy, you stick your fingers in her mouth because that's what she likes; that's what the girls who watch your videos always like. She drools onto your fist and bucks. You used to worry about being too rough, but women can take more than the world gives them credit for.
"Breast exam is up next," you remind her curtly.
Tits aren't really your thing, but you pull down her shirt until they pop out of the neckline anyway. She gasps as goosebumps rise around the exposed skin. You slip the stethoscope from around your neck and press it to one nipple, and then the other, while pretending to check her pulse. When you grab one in each hand and squeeze, she squirms and rubs her thighs together. There are pink marks when you pull your hands away and lower the exam table flat. Her mouth forms a circle when she falls back.
"Am I sick?" she asks, with such concern in her voice that you almost wonder yourself. Is she?
"Looks like I'm gonna have to write you a prescription," you say, peering at her from over your clipboard. Diagnosis: slut. Cure: more cock. Same old, same old. You tear off a sheet of paper and slap it to her belly. "Prognosis looks good, so as long as you follow my explicit instructions."
"You sure some d will do the trick?" She smiles and gives the camera a sneaky look. "Maybe you should gimme my first dose now. I don't think I can make it to the pharmacy in this condition."
You slip the pen into the pocket of your white lab coat and set down the clipboard. "I'll administer it myself," you tell her, unzipping your pants.
Usually, you can tell when a woman is faking it. Moans are exaggerated or ill-timed, the pitch is all wrong, and the tremor never makes it to the pussy. This isn't one of those times.
The table paper rips when you flip her over and ruck up her skirt. She isn't all that heavy compared to the weights you lift at the gym. You finish tearing through the stockings before delivering a blow to her bare ass. The next smack makes her squeal like a pig, a sound so surprised it has to be genuine.
"I'm getting dizzy, doc. I think I need it bad."
You yank on the pink thong wedged between her cheeks until her ass is lifted into the air, underwear sinking into her slit. When she squeaks you release your hold and she drops back against the table with a soft thump.
"I'm going to inject you now." The words feel like rotary, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Remember, we have to get it all inside if you want to get better."
She heaves like a cat ready to throw a hairball when you enter her. Once you're sheathed inside you grab her by the waist, pulling her close and grinding your pubes into her ass. Her pussy fits your dick like a glove, but all you can think about is shoving a thumb in her other hole and having at her backdoor. You snap your hips and bear your weight down from above, quite literally fucking the breath from her lungs.
"Oh god," she groans. "Oh god, oh please."
You grab a handful of her hair and she moans, pushing back against you. She glances over her shoulder but instead of looking dazed, her eye contact sears you like the handle of a cast iron frying pan. You shove her head back onto the exam table and hold it there while drilling her from behind.
"There you go." You talk to the girls like you would a spooked horse, because it's easier than treating them like actual people. "That a girl."
The violence is working her up just like you knew it would, adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. She's the first person in a long time who can match you thrust for thrust, and the only one with enough cognizance to keep doing kegels. She screams when you find that perfect angle, pounding the Konami code into her pussy.
"Gonna cum," she tells you, like you can't feel her slippery cunt contracting. "Gonna cum all over your dick."
You don't finish inside her, you never do. Instead you pull out while she rolls over, inching toward the top of the table until her head hangs off. She's seen enough of your work to know the drill; that you're going to fuck her throat and then bust on her face while her mascara is still running.
She smiles at you upside down when you push the blunt head of your cock in her mouth. Her jaw goes slack like an unhinged snake's as soon as you slide into her throat. You hold it there until after she gags, before pulling out and letting the spit leak down her face and mix with tears.
The warmth of your own palm is familiar and easy, like a pair of run down sneakers you can't stop wearing. You tighten your fist and lose yourself in the rhythm, trying not to think about the other person in the room. It takes you less than thirty seconds from the time you start to blow; you're so used to cumming it's practically a non-event.
"Make sure you swallow all of it," you say, using your cock to mop up the cum and deliver it to her open mouth. "Doctor's orders."
The top drop doesn't come until later, when you're handing her a towel and her fingers graze your own. It falls to the floor and you're left staring at, wondering how her touch could make you flinch when you just felt her inside-out.
"Be more present next time," Roxy says with a girlish laugh. "Or people might start to think you're gay." She kisses you on the cheek afterward and says "psyche!" but you're not too sure you believe her.