Confessions

by Amber Stephens

  I was wearing a short tunic, with no knickers underneath. Firstly I lay down on the dais and a male slave came over with a bowl of hot water, soap and a razor. He was actually one of the make-up guys and he was totally uninterested in my snatch other than in a professional way, if you get my meaning. Most of the make-up guys travelled the wrong way up the Bakerloo line. I was glad about that because it meant his hand was steady. He gently rubbed foamy soap between my legs and shaved me quickly and expertly. I’m glad he knew what he was doing because that razor was damn sharp. As I lay there I was kicking myself for not getting my clit insured for a million pounds. It was a weird feeling, and I was surprised to find the heat from that sharp blade got me wet. Maybe it was the danger of it, or the novelty. I’d never been shaved before.

  Then they told me to sit up on my knees. Jessie lay naked on the dais and I shuffled forward till I was knelt over her face. I lowered my head until we were in a 69 position. I dove in and started eating her out while she jabbed her hot little tongue into my pussy. I could feel my juices dribbling out over her face as she slid her mouth across my smooth, shaven mound.

  Then Johnny got into the action. He came around and presented his cock to my face. I left off licking Jessie’s snatch and took him into my mouth. I could only fit half of it in and his girth was such that it was all I could do to avoid choking as he slid himself in and out of my mouth. I focused on his bronzed six-pack twitching before my eyes. Jessie was all the while working on my pussy, but I wasn’t ready to come.

  Johnny pulled out and went around to the other end. I returned my attentions to Jessie’s dripping snatch as I felt her fingers opening me gently so that Johnny could slide in between my wet pussy lips. I felt myself being stretched as he thrust himself deep inside. Ten inches is a lot to take, even for a girl like me. As he fucked me, Johnny held my hips better to force my haunches back against his pelvis. Jessie reached around and fingered my ass. I was dimly aware of the other actors watching intently, and beyond them the cameras and lights, but mostly I was thinking about the massive penis pumping slowly into me, the nimble, mischievous finger in my anus and the hot, wet mouth working against my labia.

  I exploded in an orgasm as bright as a supernova. I honestly felt I was going to die, it was so good. I swear my life flashed before my eyes. Johnny never stopped his rhythmic, steady fucking and Jessie never let up with her finger and tongue. Eventually I had to pull away and I collapsed on the dais, sobbing with relief and emotional release. The director loved it; it seemed the little slave girl was finally satisfied.

  But when the shooting stopped for the day and the cameras were shut off, most of us stayed on; enough eating, drinking and fucking to make the Romans themselves blush pinker than a tart’s fanny.

  I had sex with dozens of people that night, working my way through the cast, then the crew. Everyone else was on coke, or ecstasy, or something. I got through on coffee and naked lust. I woke the next morning, stark naked, sleeping on top of two enormous spear carriers.

  Later that day one of the producers approached me and asked me if I was interested in something a bit different. I was out of my mind with exhaustion and I felt like someone had stuck a broom up inside me, brush end first. I shrugged, and told him to contact my agent.

  ‘It’s a farmyard scene,’ he said, when I called him the next week.

  ‘What, you mean I’m shagging some farmhand on a horse?’ I asked.

  ‘No, I mean you’d be shagging the horse.’

  I burst out laughing. I’d thought I couldn’t be shocked by anything but I was wrong.

  ‘Actually I’m all right, thanks. I’m not that fussy about who I have sex with, but at this stage in my career, I think I’d prefer to stick with the human race.’

  It was an eye opener though. What I was hearing was that people saw me as a girl who’d do anything. I decided that I was going to go for the high-class stuff from then on. My agent got me some auditions for some softer stuff, arty films, you know. Still real sex, but not so hard core. I was comfortably off by then and I could afford to do fewer and better films, just two or three a year. I wrote a couple of books, or at least I had a couple of books ghostwritten for me. They made a joke about me on the News Quiz, they said I was the only woman ever to have written more books than I’d read. I had a guest appearance on a soap opera, I even got on a couple of late-night talk shows and nearly made it into the mainstream, but then the tabloids started printing double page spreads of my early pictures and stills from some of the hard-core stuff I’d done. They’d known about my background all along of course, but they obviously decided to wait until I’d become reasonably well known before they splashed on the story.

  That was it for going mainstream. I ran away to LA for a while. The industry over there is much more professional, and if you’ve got your shit together, you can earn a lot. I quite liked it there, but everything just seemed fake, the tits, the tans, the teeth, even the sex. You could never be sure whether the director really thought you were hot in a scene, or whether he said the same thing to all the girls. You could never be sure if the guys were that into you, now Viagra was commonplace. ‘Oh yeah, that’s so good,’ they’d say in a monotone. ‘Yeah suck it, bitch,’ in a voice like they’d rather I did anything but.

  Some of the stuff was good. I did one film which was a take on David Cronenburg’s Crash, and the cast and I drove around in flash cars giving each other oral sex and shagging against the steering wheel. We didn’t actually get to do any crashing though; the budget didn’t stretch that far. We had to give the cars back at the end – just as well the seats were leather or else the dry-cleaning bill alone would have bust the budget.

  Mostly though, the films were uninspiring and mediocre. No proper story, just a series of gratuitous excuses for shagging. Not turning my nose up, you understand, a cheque’s a cheque and a cock’s a cock, whichever side of the Pond you’re on, but, y’know, I guess I’d known for a while I was missing something in my life. I didn’t understand what, but I figured I wasn’t going to find it in California.

  So a couple of years ago, once I’d earned a decent pension, I came back. I’d intended to retire, maybe meet a nice guy who didn’t watch porn and who didn’t know who I was, if there were any. Maybe even have a kid? I didn’t know. I dropped right out of the business, or at least I dropped out of the sex part. I needed to keep myself busy somehow, so my agent hired me as his assistant, it helped him to have someone who knew the business from the inside, so to speak.

  Problem was, I missed the sex too much. I’d never stopped enjoying that. The money wasn’t so important. I had control of my life, I had my comfortable house, I even had some friends. I’d always stayed in contact with Maya, and there was my agent and some others from the early days. But it wasn’t enough. I found it easy enough to find men at clubs, or on the net, but they were either dull as shit, or crap in bed, or both. I had a string of one-night stands and to be fair I never gave ’em a chance I suppose. I was like an alcoholic trying out different sorts of fruit juice. I missed Johnny Brooks, and Trevor the Truncheon. I’d send these young, hopeful girls out to shoots around the country, and all the while I’d be wishing it was me going off, not knowing quite who I was going to be working with, or what I’d be asked to do. It was that slight sense of wrongness that I missed. The sense of danger I loved. Like the feel of that hot razor against my pussy lips.

  So I talked to my agent and he shrugged and said I should go for it. I made a comeback. This time on the internet. I’d never done this kind of thing before but there’s good money in it. There’s this company that does interactive stuff. Where you and some bloke, or some girl, sit on a bed and wait for the punters to e-mail you what they want you to do. I found it pretty dull. Most of ’em didn’t have any imagination.

  ‘Do it to her doggy style’, or ‘suck her tits’. And there’d be long periods where nothing would happen so you’d just sit and look at each other trying not to laugh.

  I tried
to get back into films but I wasn’t eighteen any more, and of course I’d lost my reputation as the girl who’d do anything. There were plenty of girls who would. I stumped up some money to produce the sort of things I wanted to do. Films with a story. We did a hospital thing, Erection Room, and a lawyer one called Banging the Gavel, but they never came to much. We lost money in the end. I kept it going longer than I should have, I didn’t have my mind on the numbers, just on the opportunities to have sex. My after-shoot parties were legendary, there’s footage of me on the internet at one of my own parties being penetrated by three men at once while drinking a glass of champagne. Think about it.

  Eventually it was Maya who brought me down to earth. No one else had the balls to tell me the truth. ‘You need to stop now,’ she said. ‘It’s time to leave the set.’

  I’d always thought I wanted control, that I just needed to be in charge of myself. But that wasn’t totally true. Or at least it was true in my head, but down between my legs it was different. Down there I’ve always needed a bit of risk. I’ve needed to be coerced, or pushed, or surprised, or … or something, I don’t know. I’m not explaining it well. It was all sorted in my head before I started talking, but I can’t get the words right. I need help. I need to understand why I can’t be happy with what I’ve got. Or why I can’t learn to just love one man, or one woman for that matter.

  And so I came here.

  Chapter Seven

  Eight pairs of eyes stared back at Rose in utter silence. Shelley was gobsmacked. She hadn’t expected anything like this. She’d thought it’d be all ‘His hand caressed my knee and we went back to his for a nightcap’; not ‘He fucked me with his pick-axe handle of a dong until I was red-raw and mewing like a kitten.’

  Nor had she expected such intimacy and openness. Rose had really given it everything and Shelley was filled with admiration for her bravery. Confident, articulate and fiercely intelligent. Totally unfazed by the random people sitting staring at her, open-mouthed.

  Maybe it was easier that way. Maybe talking to strangers is less terrifying than talking to people you know? People you have to work with, or live with.

  Shelley almost wished she’d been the one to go first. Almost.

  Cian broke the silence by initiating a round of applause. Everyone joined in, muttering of appreciation. Larry whistled loudly, and Rose finally looked embarrassed, though she smiled sweetly through the blush. They’d walked into the room strangers, but already it seemed they’d formed a bond. Verity walked over and touched Rose lightly on the shoulder, whispering something to her Shelley couldn’t hear. Rose looked up and nodded.

  When things had calmed down a little, Verity spoke up. ‘Now, we’ve overrun a little. We were to have some rec time, but as dinner will be served in half an hour, I suggest you get yourselves comfortable in your rooms first. Here are the keys. I should point out at this time that you will be sharing rooms.

  There were intakes of breath and a bit of grumbling from Will.

  ‘I expect you to help each other out here, during this course,’ Verity went on. ‘You have to keep a close eye on one another. If someone starts to waver, then I expect the others to step in. Your roommate has been selected carefully, as the person you are most likely to find more of a help than a hindrance in this regard.’

  Shelley shrugged, it made sense. Having someone else in the room not only made it less likely you’d sneak out to molest a poor unsuspecting cleaner, it also meant you were less likely to give yourself a little treat. Putting Cian in with one of the girls might have backfired of course, so he was in with Larry. Will was sharing with Cliff, Cheryl with Abigail and Shelley was sharing a room with Rose.

  Shelley smiled shyly at her new roommate as she held the door open for her. She was terrified Rose might start asking her about her own experiences.

  ‘Sorry I went on for so long,’ Rose said as they went up the stairs. ‘I’ve been wanting to tell that story for years. The books they wrote for me were just wall-to-wall sex.’

  ‘No, I loved it,’ Shelley said, thinking to herself that Rose’s version of the story was hardly The Princess and the Pea. ‘I mean, I feel for you, but you seem like such a strong person, so … together. I wish I had your confidence, I don’t know how I’m going to manage when it’s my turn.’

  As they reached the door of their shared room, Rose paused and looked back at Shelley, smiling. ‘Well, if you want, you and I can work on it together, if you’d like to share?’

  ‘That’s very kind,’ Shelley replied, ‘I may well take you up on that.’

  The room was basic. Just two beds, two cupboards and a tiny en-suite. Nothing sexy about it – the beds were so narrow as to make it inconceivable two people might be able to share, unless they were size-zero models but then they wouldn’t have got much sleep, what with all the sharp elbows.

  ‘Do you mind if I hit the shower first?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ Shelley replied, eyeing her bag, apparently untouched, on the bed. ‘I’ll have one after dinner.’

  ‘Great,’ said Rose and lifted her top off in one smooth motion. Shelley couldn’t help but stare. Half the porn stars on the planet had had their lips wrapped around those babies, she thought.

  Rose winked and walked off into the bathroom. Shelley noticed she left the door slightly ajar.

  As the shower started up Shelley snapped out of her trance and took the BlackBerry out of her jacket pocket. She wouldn’t have time to write Rose’s story out now, not with two thumbs, certainly, but she needed to check it worked.

  Hey Binster, here I am at Shag General. Hot stuff already. How are things?

  Briony’s must have been at her desk: the reply came straight away.

  Hi Shel, nice to hear you’re getting some action. Any idea where my pink vibrator is? Need it for my article.

  Shelley decided not to go into details about whatever column her friend was cooking up.

  How would I know where your pink vibrator is? Not getting hot action! Getting hot story! Have to go. Roommate getting out of shower.

  Shelley snapped the lid shut. That should keep Briony intrigued, and no doubt the Vixen office as well, knowing Briony’s less than strict approach to discretion. She found herself hoping Aidan too would want more details. Opening the gadget again, she fired off a quick text to Aidan.

  Help, need more details of my past sexploits.

  Shelley turned the BlackBerry off, hid it carefully in a tampon box and shoved it deep into her bag, just as Rose emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing a towel, but then immediately took it off and began burrowing into her own bag. Shelley was left staring at the porn star’s rounded, peach-like backside. She closed her eyes and tried to stop thinking about arses, Aidan and axe-handles.

  On the way down to the dining room, they passed Nurse Sandra. She was muttering as she stomped along. ‘Could have been a psych nurse, but no, here I am waiting hand and foot on a bunch of deviants who can’t keep their hands to themselves …’

  Shelley and Rose glanced at each other and burst into giggles.

  Shelley sat and stared at the enormous banana split in the dish before her, by now certain this was some kind of test. Two ice-cream scoops were positioned at one end of the seductively curved fruit. And a splodge of cream decorated the opposite tip. Someone in the kitchen had an odd sense of humour. The first course had been asparagus spears, which Shelley was sure were supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Second had been fat sausages, and now this. She looked over to the kitchens and thought she spotted Sandra through the serving-hatch.

  Shelley had wanted to sit with Larry and Cian, or failing that, Rose. But instead she’d been button-holed by Verity as she came in and found herself sitting with the prim counsellor on one side while Will had plonked himself down on the other. She glanced down the table to see Larry and Rose falling about over something Cian had just said. Meanwhile Will chattered on beside her.

  ‘… I’m a romantic at heart. You know what my favourite
film is?’

  ‘Brief Encounter?’ Shelley said, taking a wild stab.

  Will blinked. ‘Er, yes. Isn’t it fantastic?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Shelley said, guardedly. ‘A little unrealistic maybe.’

  ‘What, that Trevor and Celia would have risked everything because of a chance encounter on a station platform?’

  ‘No, that British Rail would have managed to get them both to the station in the first place.’

  Will smiled faintly. ‘I love it though. Such a beautiful love, and they never even kiss. Do you know, Trevor Johnson only touches her once in that film. Right at the end he lays a hand on her shoulder as he leaves for the last time.’

  Shelley frowned. ‘That’s not true, he kisses her in the tunnel.’

  ‘He kisses her in the what?’

  ‘In the underpass. At Woking. Hardly the most romantic of places, I grant you, but they definitely snog.’

  Will was about to say something else, but Verity cut him off, perhaps wondering, like Shelley, whether Will was edging toward flirtation.

  ‘So Shelley. I hope your reluctance to speak will not cause a problem. You should let Rose’s performance today be an example and an inspiration. It really is important for us to get a full picture of the awful excesses … Ooh, Dr Galloway!’ Shelley looked up to see a rather dishy-looking man had just entered the dining room. He wore a pristine white coat over a black shirt that looked as though it might have cost more than Shelley’s car. Galloway had sweeping black hair, tanned skin and an air of gravitas. Seeing Verity, he waved and came over.