PORN: A Novel of Extreme Horror, Sex and Gore

by Matt Shaw

  I tried my best to relax. It probably would have helped had I been able to smile at least but - like the first picture - he wanted it completely neutral. My heart was racing as I heard the camera ‘click’. Another picture taken.

  “And turn to your side.”

  I did as instructed. Another ‘click’.

  “And turn your back to me.”

  Another ‘click’.

  I started to panic as I wondered how far this process was going to go. Was he going to want me to have sex with him on camera? Is that how these interviews work?

  “Okay. Good.”

  I turned around and saw that he was unscrewing the camera from the tripod.

  “Are we finished?” I asked him. “Can I put my clothes back on?”

  “Just a couple more shots needed,” he said. He pulled the camera free from the tripod as soon as he was able to and pointed me towards a leather settee at the side of the office. “I just want you to kneel on there - on all fours,” he said as he ushered me towards the settee. I walked over and did as I was told. Another surge of nervous energy rushed through me as I heard a ‘click’ from behind as he took a picture. “You have a nice pussy,” he said, “should get some attention.”

  I closed my eyes as I half expected to feel his touch (or worse) against my skin. Nothing. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief as I heard him walk to the other side of the room. I turned round to see what he was doing. He was putting the camera back on the tripod.

  “You can get dressed,” he told me, “we’re just about done.”

  I climbed off the leather settee and made my way to my pile of clothes. “That’s it?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll load the pictures up, fill in your profile and then send it around to people this afternoon. They’re always looking for new talent so, if we’re lucky, we might start hearing back soon.”

  “And you really think I have a chance at this?” I asked him. Part of me wanted him to say ‘no’ but another part of me knew he had to say ‘yes’. If I were to be able to stay here, in the city, and not go home to mum and dad - I needed him to say ‘yes’ and I needed the work to come in fast.

  “You have an innocent look about you,” he said, “would work nicely in role-play scenarios; like school girls, daddy and daughter - that kind of thing. Popular at the moment.” He paused, “How’d you feel about that kind of thing?” he asked.

  * * * * *

  Harry tried to speak around the ball-gag. Once again his words were muffled. I undid the buckle on the back and pulled the ball from his mouth before dropping it to the floor. It bounced twice, despite the leather strap, and rested by his foot.

  “What the fuck has this got to do with me?” he asked.

  It had nothing to do with him. I was just reminiscing. I guess I was trying to figure out at which stage I had lost my innocence. Whether it was there or on the first shoot - I’m not sure. Probably when I initially signed up with the agency. I remember leaving the office wondering if I’d ever hear from them again. So many stories of these agencies who charge an administrator’s fee and then - that’s it - you never hear from them again.

  “That was your choice!” Harry pointed out.

  Yes. It had been my choice. I, more than anyone else, am aware that it was my choice. But that’s not to say I chose what happened to me. That was completely out of my control and not asked for. And what happened - on that night - that was his fault. He was the director after all.

  “What do you want?” he asked. He started to strain against his restraints. Pointless. He continued regardless, “This is nothing to do with me!”

  It was true. This part of my life - the early days of my career - was nothing to do with him. But I wanted to show him where I’d come from, where I’d got and where he (they) took me. I wanted him to see it all. I wanted him to truly understand what he had done to me and - to do that - I had to start at the beginning.

  “Do you remember the first thing you ever filmed?” I asked him.

  “Just let me go.”

  “I remember my first scene.”

  MY FIRST SCENE

  A few days went by without so much as a missed call from the agency that I had signed with and I was starting to feel as though I’d wasted what little money I had. No job offers from ‘normal’ acting roles I’d applied for and no interviews for ‘real’ jobs - one of which being a waitress job in a cafe close to my flat. In fact the only phone call I had taken all week was one from my concerned mother. I hadn’t spoken to her for a week and she had started to panic; the need for constant communication to reassure her that I was safe and well. She asked how things were going and, before I knew it, I found myself lying.

  “Things are going well,” I had told her before going into various roles I was currently working on (despite not actually doing any of them for real).

  When the phone did ring with a local number, my heart skipped a beat before I’d even answered it. I knew who it was. Don’t ask me how, I just knew. I answered it with a press of a button and held the phone - nervously - to my ear. It was my agent; the man who had signed me up before taking my photographs. He’d gone on to explain that a producer had seen my photographs and was hoping to have a chat with me. I asked him what that would entail and he informed me that it would be an initial conversation before filming a scene with one of the male actors. There was a promise of additional scenes if I got on okay with the first. Apparently the agent had informed the producer I was new to the industry and - although keen - I might not have what it took to do more than one scene. That was fine with me. I didn’t want to find myself in a position where I’d be stuck with them for days if I didn’t feel as though I was suited to the role. It was one thing in my imagination but to actually do it - for real - well that was something else entirely and only time would tell (and the cameras rolling) whether I was cut out for it.

  “What do I have to do?” I had asked him.

  He explained to me that that was what the initial conversation with the producer was for; a little chat about the film they were doing and the scenes they wanted to create. Apparently I’d be given a choice as to which scene I wanted to try out for. I just had to tell them what my limits were and they’d take it from there. Seemed fair enough. Especially when they informed me it would most likely be a couple of hours worth of work and I’d take home two hundred and fifty pounds in cash. I agreed to meet with the producer and was told a car would pick me up the following morning.

  By the time morning had come round I hadn’t slept a wink. All night I was plagued with thoughts as to whether I was doing the right thing. Questions popping into my head which - truthfully - should have come up sooner than the night before I was to be collected. Thoughts like - what if my mum and dad saw the films? What if their friends saw them and then told mum and dad about them. My parents (and their friends) didn’t come across as the sort of people who’d venture out to watch an adult movie but - even so - it didn’t stop the thought from being there in the forefront of my mind. I started to feel sick in the pit of my stomach as I tried to desperately put the thoughts from my mind. I’d be nervous enough, when I met the producer, and the last thing I need is the thought of mother and father bouncing around in my brain.

  I think I had been gently dozing on the settee when there was a knock on the door, as the thumping noise - someone’s fist against the wooden panels - startled me and made my heart race; a sensation which didn’t stop when I realised what the noise was. If anything it raced harder. I jumped up from the settee and checked my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall just above the electric fireplace. Thankfully I hadn’t smudged my make-up whilst dozing and I still looked presentable for the upcoming meeting. I made my way through the small flat to the front door and opened it with the best possible smile I could muster up.

  “Hi,” I said - a bright smile beaming.

  I wasn’t sure whether the man standing in front of me was a driver or whether it was the actual producer. He was stand
ing there, dressed in a black suit with a black tie and white shirt. I’d opted for a short skirt, a pair of heels and a crop top. I thought it made me look the part but looking at him - now I just felt like a dirty tramp; the kind of girl you’d usually see walking the walk of shame through the early hours of the morning, shoes in hand and cum leaking from her sordid encounter with yet another one night stand. It didn’t help that I’d gone for typical ‘porn-star’ make-up too; heavy in order to hide every little blemish that the camera could have picked up on. If I was to go on film, I wanted to look my best.

  The man smiled at me (I saw him clock what I was wearing) and said, “Victoria Sheldon?”

  I nodded, “That’s me.” As if he didn’t already know. How many other girls did he see dressed like this so early in the morning.

  “I’m here to take you to meet Mr. Adams. If you’d like to follow me, the car is right this way.”

  He took a step back from the door, giving me the room to step from the safety of my flat. How I even managed to walk I don’t know. My legs were like jelly.

  * * * * *

  “You’ve had your fun,” Harry spat, “just let me go.”

  I hadn’t even started ‘my fun’ yet.

  “Do you know Richard Adams?” I asked him as he continued to tug against his restraints. Of course he knew him. It wasn’t the name attached to the films he made - for that he had a stage name - but he had never made a secret about who he really was; a producer of one of the biggest adult film companies in the UK. A true gentleman and a professional. Everything Harry wasn’t.

  “Of course I know him.”

  “He requested me, having seen my photos. Apparently he wanted to do a scene with me to see how I was on camera. The agency I signed with said - if I impressed him enough - I would get more scenes with him.”

  Harry was getting angrier by the minute, not that it mattered - he wasn’t going anywhere, “Why are you telling me all of this?” he shouted.

  I walked closer to him and whispered, “Because I want you to know what I had to do to get where I was when you found me,” I purred. “Do you know what he made me do after an initial conversation?”

  “Of course I don’t fucking know!” Harry yelled.

  “I had to take his man actor in my mouth and pleasure him until completion,” I said. “I started by kissing him,” I leaned forward and kissed Harry on the lips. I ran my hand across the bits of his chest not covered by chain. He wasn’t shouting anymore. I kissed him softly again and even felt him pucker up for me. Another kiss for luck before I moved away (slightly), “I ran my hands over his body,” I said as my hands continued to roam over Harry’s body. My right hand tickled his inner thigh with my nails scratching across his skin gently. I caught his penis as I moved my hand and was pleased to see that - despite the situation he was in - it'd started to grow erect. “I remember how big he felt in my hand,” I whispered as I took Harry in my own hand. “His sighs as I stroked him,” I continued as my hand mirrored what I was describing by stroking Harry slowly. Up and down, up and down…” He sighed at the sensation of my delicate touch. I couldn’t help but smile - not because of the pleasure I was giving him but more so because I knew it wasn’t going to last. “When I felt he was hard enough…” I leaned in close to Harry’s ear as I stroked him faster, “I got down on my knees and slid his cock between my wet lips..” Harry sighed - clearly aroused by the words and the touch. I kissed my way down his body until I was face to face with his pathetic cock. I closed my eyes - taking myself to a better place - and slid it into my mouth. Another sigh from Harry. Slowly, but firmly, I started to move my head backwards and forwards - listening closely to his reaction. After a couple of seconds I pulled away and let his cock slide from my mouth. “I was surprised at how easily I forgot anyone else was in the room. Just kept my eyes shut and got on with it - occasionally opening them to look up at his reaction to see if I was pleasing him. Of course, his eyes were closed - and his head tilted back against the settee we were on.” I slid Harry’s penis back in my mouth and started sucking. Harder and faster this time – let him have the false hope that I’d take him to the point of ejaculation. I looked towards the camera, still filming attached to the tripod at the side of us, and gave it a wink. A second later and I bit down. Not hard enough to do much damage - certainly not as hard I wanted to - but hard enough to cause him some pain. He screamed out loud as I pulled my mouth away. “You don’t get to cum,” I hissed, “I’m not finished with you.”

  * * * * *

  The producer, Richard, had shouted ‘cut’ and the cameraman began packing the camera away. I was sitting on the edge of the settee in my underwear. My breasts lifted up over, and out of, my bra so my co-star had been able to get to my nipples - whether to tweak them or suck them; the choice was his.

  My co-star - a pleasant (and good looking) man called Darren (not his working name) - was using a towel to clean my saliva and the remnants of his sperm from his penis. “You have a little bit on your chin,” he smiled.

  “What?” I raised my hand to my chin and - just as he’d informed me - felt a small amount of sperm hanging from there. I couldn’t help but laugh as I wiped it off with the back of the same hand. “Thought I’d got it all,” I laughed. “Can’t believe how much there was!”

  “Sorry about that,” he laughed.

  Richard was watching the file back on a laptop - having slotted the memory card into the cardreader. I looked, from where I was sitting, and saw he was at the end of the film - the money shot as they called it. “That was great,” he said. He turned to Darren, “I take it you don’t have any complaints?” he asked.

  Darren shook his head, “Maybe we need to go for another take,” he joked. “You know, just to be sure.”

  Richard turned his attention to me, “And how was it for you? Everything okay?”

  I nodded, “I loved it.” I actually did. I had worried all the previous night that I’d feel dirty after the shoot - used - but that wasn’t the case. I didn’t feel used and I didn’t feel dirty. I felt great. I felt alive. More alive, in fact, than I’d felt for as long as I could remember. I knew - from a few moments into acting out the scene - that I’d made the right decision. This was the right call. This is what I wanted to do.

  “Okay, well…” Richard paused a moment. You could tell from his face that he was still trying to make up his mind which direction to go in. I was waiting on tenterhooks for a decision. This is the man who could make or break me.

  * * * * *

  “Well you know how that day ended. Had it gone badly,” I told Harry as he continued to whimper, “we would never have met.” I laughed, “I bet you’re wishing we’d never met now, aren’t you?” I looked down at his softening cock; my teeth marks still visible. “He invited me back to film some more scenes.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” He sounded pathetic. I could only hope the camera was close enough to hear his voice; hear how pathetic he was. So when it hit the web, when what I do to him goes viral - everyone will be able see how much of a pussy he was. “Just tell me. Why are you doing this to me?”

  I sighed, “Because of what you did to me.”

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “That’s the problem. You didn’t do anything. You didn’t do anything yet you organised everything. What happened - you’re to blame. It was your design. It was what you wanted. Just as this - and what happened to your colleagues - this is my design. This is what I want.

  “I didn’t know!” he insisted. Whether he knew about…him…That was by the by. The point was I was in that position because he forced me into it. Despite all my screams, my pleas for them to stop, he left the cameras rolling. He wanted them to capture it all. Just as I want this camera to catch all I’m about to do to him.

  “Well soon you’ll know everything. Which takes us to my name.”

  GETTING A NAME

  “You don’t want your real name in the credits,” Richard told me as we sat down to lo
ok through and sign the paperwork; the most important part being the consent form giving him permission to use the footage we’d just filmed. “You don’t want some of the viewers trying to track you down,” he advised me. The footage he’d shot, a little earlier, playing through on his laptop once more.

  I felt comfortable with Richard. He seemed to genuinely care about the people he worked with. All my worries and stresses about what may have been asked of me, in this industry, were appeased the moment he introduced himself. He’d told me to relax and that nothing would be asked of me that I wasn’t comfortable with. He went through the list I’d compiled, with the agent, double-checking the boxes the agent and I had ticked. It was then he suggested we started with something relatively straight forward; in this instance the act of giving someone a blow-job. He’d gone on to explain that he found it the best way of seeing exactly how comfortable a girl was going to be on camera. After all - unless you’re mentally prepared - it’s not as easy as it sounds; to suck someone off whilst another person films. Certainly most of my friends deemed a blow job to be a more intimate act compared to the act of letting a man fuck you. It also showed that, if need be, you were more than capable of taking charge of the situation. Nine films out of ten, according to Richard, started with the act of giving head. The girl would kiss the man, he’d grope her as she worked her way down to his testicles and then she’d start to suck him off. A few minutes later she’d move around to enable the man the opportunity to lap at her pussy as she continues to suck him off. That was about six minutes of film. Then she’d move down and get into the reverse cowgirl position, squatting down on the man, in order to fuck him. A few more minutes of film - and then the man would take charge. The only major difference in the films was the ‘plot’ at the beginning to get the proceedings started, the dialogue spoken throughout (depending on the type of scene it was) - at least, that’s the way ‘vanilla’ porn films seemed to go.