I can’t blame her. I want to commit this to memory too, every detail, the stray lock of hair on her forehead, the way her lips stretch around my girth, the way her eyes search mine, asking for permission or affirmation or absolution.
And then her hands slide around my hips and her fingers find my ass, digging in as she starts sucking me.
“Holy fuck, Devi,” I say raggedly (and maybe a little too loudly) but I can’t help it. Her mouth is like this Valhalla of wet silk, her lips sealed tight to create the kind of suction that would make a man weep. And believe me, I’m near weeping.
She holds my ass and swallows against me, making me groan, and then she pulls off to focus her attention on the tip, sucking and swirling.
“I want to go deeper,” I manage after a few deep breaths. “Can I go deeper?”
“Yes,” she whispers with her lips still mostly occupied, smiling as if I’d just offered her a brand new car instead of asking to shove my dick down her throat.
What a woman.
I reach back to find one of her hands and then I move it to my front so that it’s braced against my hip and she can easily stop me if I go too deep. And then I cradle her face with one hand as I feed my cock to her with another, pushing past her lips and teeth and tongue until I hit the back of her throat, and fuck me, she’s so perfect, even more perfect than I remember from Real Playdates. She takes me so willingly, so easily, and I feel the armored plates of my control beginning to chink open and fall away.
I pull back, giving her a minute to breathe, and then I shove in again, a little rougher this time. Kneeling is not the easiest way to deepthroat, and I don’t want to hurt her or make her gag. But even though her eyes water a little, she swallows me without issue, her eyelashes even fluttering up at me coquettishly. Trusting that she’ll stop me with her hand or snap her fingers to signal if she needs to slow down or stop, I pick up the pace, driving in deeper and faster now. My hands look so large wrapped around her head like this, large and powerful, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say this fuelled my lust even more. The power exchange, this young woman kneeling in front of me while I fuck her face, it turns me the hell on, and the fact that it’s a young woman I love and respect—
that makes the pretend degradation even sexier.
I thrust in again, this time so deeply that I feel her nose press into my stomach, her lips and tongue reflexively swallowing and tightening around my base, and I could come like this, just like this, feeling that nose against my stomach and her head in my hands, and my tip being squeezed so tightly.
My balls draw up in anticipation, but I’m not ready to come yet. I want this to last forever.
Even though she’s not snapping or pushing, I sense she needs a breath and I pull back, letting her breathe, and she does with a gasp, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and smudging her eye makeup. I don’t know why, but she looks so insanely beautiful right now, her makeup blurry and her hair impossibly tangled, and I take some of that hair in my fist now and pull her up—not hard, but hard enough that she scrambles to her feet.
My mouth crashes down on hers, and I taste traces of myself—salt and soap—and her mouth is wet and gasping. She kisses me back messily, desperately, as if she’s struggling against her own need to breathe, and I am practically clawing at the lace on her hips to yank her thong down. I finally manage to get it past her knees and then my fingers are there in her secret place, which is so impossibly wet right now. She’s so wet that her thighs are slick, and it’s pure instinct that makes me step forward and grind my dick against her. I feel the taut skin of her stomach, the silky curls between her legs, and then her hands are sliding between my slumped jeans and my ass again, pulling me even closer.
It’s an accident, or at least I think it is, the first time she raises up on her toes and my cock slips between her thighs. One second, I am grinding on her like a horny teenager, and the next second, my dick is squeezed between her wet thighs, which are so wet that I can slide in and out of them easily.
“Fuck,” I mumble, because it feels good, because I want it to keep feeling good, but thigh-sex isn’t exactly the hottest category on my website, and also it’s dangerously close to the real thing and that’s not the plan for tonight.
But then it happens again, and I stop caring. My hands are everywhere—inside her dress, on her ass, thumbing her nipples—and it feels so good to push between her thighs, especially with that wet pussy moving against the top of my shaft. Without me saying anything, she brings her feet together and crosses her ankles, making it tighter for me.
I hiss out a string of swear words, and she giggles, and I decide that I want to know what it sounds like when her giggles dissolve into moans. So I hook a hand around one of her thighs and haul it up to my waist, raising her up enough that I can bend my head and take a nipple into my mouth through the fabric of her dress.
She does indeed start to moan, and I’m sucking the tip of her breast as hard as I can, and we are both unconsciously squirming and grinding, and then all of a sudden it happens. I feel my swollen crown not just brush past her folds, but for the barest of seconds, push in.
“Shit,” I whisper, raising my head to look at her.
“Shit,” she agrees in a moan, and her face is a mask of desperate, frantic longing.
I can’t seem to pull out, even though I’m barely in, and then she says, “What if you did it just once? Felt the inside of me just once and then pulled right back out? That wouldn’t count, right?”
“Cass…” I say, my voice stretched to the breaking point. I can feel how wet she is against my tip, as if her pussy is kissing my crown, and I’m about to ignore everything I know I should do—like stop and step away and really, seriously stop—and just thrust home. But I can’t, and the reasons are legion: the show, plus we haven’t discussed sex yet, plus even if I were going to do this, I need to get a condom…
“Just once,” she pleads. “Then we can stop. But I can’t—you can’t stop now. Just once, Logan, please.”
And then she’s pulling me closer and murmuring all those dangerous words, just once just once please please please. And there’s no way in hell I can win this battle, even if I wanted to.
Which I don’t.
I never advocate not-thinking when it comes to filming porn, I never advocate shifting a scene’s acts outside of the agreed-on list beforehand, but I’m so far gone and we are so far outside of what constitutes a normal scene now that maybe God and the county of Los Angeles will forgive me for what I’m about to do.
I wrap an arm tight around her waist, press my hand to her cheek, and lock eyes with her as I shift my hips and then slowly, so slowly that it almost feels like I’m barely moving at all, press inside. The minute I truly breach her, she lets out a loud gasp, and I clap a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.
Her head drops forward to lean on my shoulder and I keep going. I have to bend my knees and angle myself, reach down and hike up her leg again, but it feels so fucking good that I wonder how mad she’d be if I came right now.
Her pussy is tight, tighter than I could have ever imagined, and so wet that even with the squeeze of her channel I can slide in with almost no resistance. The flared edge of my crown drags against her g-spot and she moans and shakes against my hand, and then I’m pushing up and up and up, deeper and deeper, until her pussy is stretched wide around my base, her pelvis flush with mine. I grab her other leg and pull her up so that she’s got her legs wrapped around my waist and I’m supporting all her weight with my hands under her ass. I lean back a little so that I can look at where we’re joined, and then I look up at her.
“Cass?”
Her mouth is open and her pupils are huge and black. “Move in me,” she begs. “Just for a minute.”
Jesus fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut for a minute to stave off the waves of fire her words ignite in me. “Okay,” I murmur, eyes still shut. “Just for a minute.”
I push her against the wall and move, the kin
d of deep, rolling movements that cameras don’t capture well, but goddammit my body can feel perfectly, and hers too, judging by the amount of noise my hand is blocking. I can feel my tip tracing circles and lines and angles in the deepest parts of her, can feel how tightly she’s stretched around me, and every time I move in her, she moans against my palm.
I shift, ever so slightly, moving my pelvis against hers so that my lower abs knead her clit as I grind into her. The effect is instantaneous—her muffled moans rise in pitch and frequency and her thighs clench tight around my waist.
“Are you going to come, Cass?” I whisper in her ear.
She nods.
“Because...I don’t think I can make it through you coming,” I confess. “If you come, then I’m going to come so fast…” Saying it aloud helps me think, helps me figure out what to do. I can’t come inside of her. This is already so outside of the bounds of pornography film restrictions and what I consider personally okay, and I assume she’s on birth control, but what if she’s not? That would be an asshole assumption to make, when I have just as much power to exercise caution as she does.
On the other hand, now that I’ve felt her pussy, I’m hungry to make it come, eager to feel it squeeze and flutter around me. And the idea of holding her so close as I pump my own way to climax...appealing isn’t nearly a strong enough word.
More like necessary.
Luckily for us both, I’m a good problem-solver.
I lift my hand from Devi’s mouth, and then I back away from the wall and maneuver us so that we separate and I can set her on her feet. It’s the third time I’ve denied her an orgasm in the space of twenty minutes, and her wild eyes and stunned pout tell me all I need to know.
“Don’t move,” I tell her, and then I reach for the slender wallet in my back pocket. I locate a condom and pull it out, dropping my wallet to the floor, where it lands with a flat-sounding smack. My patience is so ragged-thin that my hand is shaking as I raise the wrapper to my teeth to tear it open. Devi’s feral eyes are on me the entire time, as I roll the condom down my dick, which is so hard now that the crown is a swollen, angry maroon color. I give it a few hard pumps as she watches, and I feel the last of my control evanesce away, disintegrate into nothing.
“Turn to the wall, like before,” I say. My words are short, staccato rasps, and I hope she forgives me for being brusque, because I can’t be anything else right now. Not with that wet pussy within reach. Not knowing that I can fuck her without any worry or reserve.
The minute she turns and spreads her legs, I’m behind her and it only takes half a second for my sheathed cock to find what it needs. I slam in, letting out a low hiss at the same time she lets out a guttural groan, and I think I hear someone ask, “Did you hear that?”
But there’s no stopping now. I wrap her long coffee-colored hair around my hand and yank her head back to me. “If you want to come, you have to be quiet. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Oh Logan, I’m so close, make me come, make me come.”
I use my other hand to find her clit and start rubbing her there. I’m pounding into her hard now, her ass cheeks shaking, the wet, sweet sounds of her pussy getting loud and distinct against the backdrop of music and conversation.
I keep a hold of her hair, forcing to arch her back and keeping that ass at such a delicious angle to me, and I rub her clit harder and faster, until I can feel every muscle in her body tense up, her legs and her shoulders and her stomach, all of her tightening and tightening like a guitar string. And I’m so close now too, so close to exploding inside this girl I’ve craved for so long, and I feel the years of tension, the years of secretly jacking off to Devi when Raven was asleep, twisting at the base of my spine.
“Your pussy is so good,” I tell her in a low voice. “I’m going to come so hard for you, going to come so fucking hard…”
“Logan,” she gasps. “Oh, fuck, Logan, that’s it, that’s it, oh my God—”
I feel her crescendo, the split second before all the tension unravels, and then she’s unspooling around me, clenching and releasing and clenching again, and I look down at where my cock disappears in and out of her, and I remember what she felt like raw and think of how good it would feel to come inside her without a condom, how satisfying it would be to see my cum dripping out of her, and then my balls draw up tight and then I’m coming so fucking hard that my vision goes fuzzy and my hearing fades out and there is only the tight heat of her cunt and the surges of roaring pleasure and the mindless drive to rut as hard and as long as I can.
My cock convulses, and I’m grunting, still fucking my way through the orgasm, and I feel her peak again, her hands flying out to grab at the brick ledge as she tries to keep on her feet, but her knees are buckling and she’s going to collapse. I wrap an arm around her stomach, holding her upright as she rides out the tremors, as I finish releasing my pent-up lust inside her, and we gradually come down together, panting and sweaty and I realize I’m not sure how loud all that just was.
I don’t care. So worth it.
Once I’m certain she can stand on her own, I circle the bottom of the condom with my fingers and slowly pull out of her pussy. Everything is wet—her, the condom, me on the inside of the condom—and this is one of the moments I usually love least in a scene, pulling out with all my cum still contained. I know, it’s probably domineering and wrong of me, but there’s something so gratifying on this deep, primal level about seeing my cum in a woman’s pussy or on her tits or on her ass. The condom makes things safe, and I respect that, but at the same time, it makes things sterile, and Devi Dare is the last woman on earth I want to be sterile with.
But, despite all that, despite the sterility, as I pull out, I mostly only feel this intense gratitude and wonder. I got to be inside Devi, I got to feel her come on my cock, I got to touch and experience her in the most intimate way possible, and it’s like fucking her has taken the torch I carry for Devi and fanned it into a fucking wildfire.
It’s so strong that I’m not even going soft right now. I could put on a fresh condom and go again...and probably again a few times after that.
I’m still staring down at my dick and Devi is still braced against the wall catching her breath as the footsteps approach, and there’s no time, no time at all, and then a tiny white-haired woman—bespectacled and lost-looking—rounds the corner with her quad cane. We freeze and she keeps walking, mumbling something to herself as she does, and then all of a sudden, she sees us, her head snapping up and her eyes going wide like dollar coins.
“Um,” I say, my hand still around my cum-covered dick and my jeans around my ankles. “Howdy.”
“Howdy,” Devi parrots, still bent over with her dress hiked over her ass.
For a few seconds that seem to stretch into infinity, the old lady blinks at us, too stunned to speak. And then she makes a hasty retreat, shuffling backwards around the canvases until she’s out of sight.
Devi explodes into snorts and giggles, and I start panic-laughing as I frantically tie off the condom and try to pull up my pants and grab all my stuff at the same time. My pants are zipped but not buttoned and my bag slung over my shoulder as I take Devi’s hand and pull her towards the fire exit door, where we emerge into the California night wheezing with the giddy laughter of people who’ve been caught having raunchy public sex by a tiny old grandma.
And then I drop everything to the ground and pin Devi into the fiercest, longest kiss I’ve ever given, wishing she could know with every trace of my tongue and every brush of my lips how much I’ve fallen in love with her.
* * *
The old lady must have kept our secret, because when we presented ourselves to the gallery owner after closing after all the other patrons had left, she didn’t say a word of censure or reproach to us. And so we were able to have the night I planned—some wine and snacks I packed, and a campout on the gallery floor, the camera trained on us from a perch at the foot of the sleeping bag.
; This is possibly the silliest thing I’ll ever admit to, but right now, the mere fact that Devi and I are sharing a sleeping bag makes me feel floaty. A side effect of being a porn star is that I don’t have very many firsts to share with women. I hardly have any firsts, actually. But I’ve never spent the night with anyone in a place other than my house. I know, that’s insane, but it’s true. Raven and I were always so busy with work that there was never a chance of our travel schedules matching up...so no hotels. And because I’m so busy, she (or the girlfriend I had before her, Tessalie), always came to my house after a day’s work. I have fucked women in every imaginable space, public and private, but when it comes to actual, honest-to-God sleeping, when it comes to snuggling and spooning and talking about whatever random stuff floats to mind, it’s only ever been in my bed. The novelty of sharing this first with Devi is better than a whole bottle of eighteen-year-old scotch.
“You don’t seem like the kind of person to have a two-person sleeping bag,” Devi points out dreamily as we lie on our backs and look at the strings of fake stars above us. “Do you camp a lot?”
“I’ve only been camping once with a church group and I hated it. Showers are very important to me.”
She gives a rueful sigh. “I think I’ve been camping more times than I can count.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. No, my parents got this for me a couple Christmases ago because they never know what to buy. What do you get the man who has everything—or at least gets to fuck everything? And the answer is usually the kind of gift you see in catalogs on the airplane.”
Devi rolls over onto her elbow, her face suddenly serious. “Do you think that you want to be the man who fucks everything forever?”
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