Dick Dynasty: Porter Part 10

I quickly pulled a vibrator off the shelf, lubed it up, and flashed her a wicked smile. I drove it into her without warning and my d.i.c.k gave a quick jump of approval at the gasp of surprise that escaped her.

I flicked the switch on the bottom and the thing buzzed to life. I drove it into her again and again, knowing that it wouldn't be long before she came. She threw her head back, causing her hair to tumble down the perfect curve of her spine. I felt her body tighten around the vibrating latex and she screamed against the rubber gag in her mouth.

I removed the vibrator in one quick motion, causing her to moan sadly at the lack of sensation.

I retrieved the crop from its position next to my knee and brought it down on her a.s.s once more, harder than the last time.

She jumped and moaned as her a.s.s tightened around the plug.

"That's twice without permission," I brought the leather-tipped rod down across her a.s.s again, "Why is it so hard to find someone who learns from their mistakes in this city?"

The crop came down once more with a snap before I discarded it on the floor next to the bed.

A stagehand scurried through the shadows to retrieve it then vanished back into the darkness without a sound.

I took my position between her thighs and put the head of my shaft against her slit. Each time she tried to back up onto me, I pulled away just enough to keep myself from entering her. I did this until she had backed up so far that her arms were completely stretched out above her head.

Then I leaned forward, still careful not to push inside of her, and rolled each of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger. They stiffened at my touch and she all but pulled her arms out of their sockets in an effort to get me inside her.

I held my hand out for a condom and the same stagehand that had scampered off with the crop dropped one into my palm.

I quickly rolled it on, knowing that the process would be edited out of the final product, and returned my hands to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

I continued to tease the tiny nubs at their peaks with my fingertips and slid the length of my shaft along her slit. She was so hot that I could feel her heat blowing onto me like a furnace through the condom.

I lowered my left hand to rub quick circles over her c.l.i.t. She came fast and hard.

I drove myself into her as she rode that high. Buried to the hilt, I sat still and waited for her to finish. Her entire body convulsed with the power of her climax this time and I couldn't help but take pride in my ability to get her off.

When her body finished shaking, I began to sharply piston my hips into her. I could feel the rubber plug rubbing along the top of my shaft and wondered briefly what it felt like for her.

I slipped my fingers under the strap of the gag at the back of her head and jerked it backwards, "You enjoy being punished, don't you?" I snarled. I slammed my hips against her a.s.s, driving the plug and my c.o.c.k even deeper inside of her. She whimpered in response, but the gleam in her eye and the way her body responded to mine told me that she loved every minute of it.

I performed my end of our job spectacularly, making her erupt in fits of ecstasy again and again. She made sure to up the dramatics for the cameras and the director and crew stayed quiet. We both knew how to work it and they knew it.

After her sixth o.r.g.a.s.m since the shoot began, I pulled out of her and yanked off the condom with a snap. I'd go all day with one of those d.a.m.n things in the way. I took matters into my own hands and quickly worked myself to a climax of my own.

As the hot spray of my own o.r.g.a.s.m landed across the base of the plug and up her back, she wiggled her a.s.s and moaned. After the heady high of a good o.r.g.a.s.m finally cleared, I reached down and slowly removed the plug, discarding it on the floor the same way I had the riding crop.

I brought my open palm down on her flushed a.s.s cheek.

"Maybe next time you'll remember who's in charge."

I walked off set without another word and bee-lined it for the bathroom.

I could hear the chatter of the crew outside the door as they began to wrap up. The whirr of power tools joined the cacophony as they began to tear down the set. I heard Chardonnay's voice as she pa.s.sed the door but couldn't quite tell what she was saying. I didn't care enough to go find out either.

Moments later, there was a sharp knock on the door and I remembered my "a.s.sistant" that I had left on set. Hopefully he had brought me my clothes that I'd left in the closet of a dressing room.

"It's open!" I called.

When the door swung open, I was surprised to see Ken standing behind me in the mirror.

"What can I do for you, Ken?"

"Nothing," he replied, trying to sound casual, "I just thought I'd pop in."

He seemed sheepish.

"You thought you'd pop in? While I wash my d.i.c.k in a bathroom sink?"

The man blushed. That was the moment I knew I'd seen it all. A p.o.r.n director had just blushed like a schoolgirl right before my very eyes.

"N-n-n-no," he stammered and gently closed the door behind him, "I guess I just wanted to apologize. I was an a.s.shole when you got here. After seeing the magic you just worked out there, I can promise you it would have been worth waiting another twelve hours. The things I said earlier were uncalled for. You've got talent, kid."

He left the room without another word. I just stood there, stunned, with my d.i.c.k in my hand and the water still running in the sink.

The sound of water hitting the floor pulled me back to reality and I quickly shut off the faucet to stem the flood.

I scrubbed the leftover lube off my hands and groin and was about to make my way back to the dressing room to get out of the d.a.m.n harness and into my own clothes when there was another knock on the door.

I pulled it open and Brandon stood there with my board shorts, tee s.h.i.+rt, and flip-flops in his hands.

He was decked out in a brand new pair of Diesel jeans and an Affliction tee.

"Where'd the new duds come from?" I asked as I stepped into my shorts.

"The director felt bad for giving me a coffee shower, so he sent someone from wardrobe out shopping during the shoot. You guys kinda kicked a.s.s from what I gather, so everyone pretty much stood around with nothing to do."

"He also realized that if he ever wanted me to work with him again, he had some a.s.s-kissing to do," I clarified as I slipped into my sandals, "Let's blow this joint and get me back to my car."

We walked companionably back to his black sedan where, out of habit, he opened the back door for me.

Instead of insisting that I ride in the front seat with him, I dropped into the back seat and sprawled out. I wasn't in the mood for idle chitchat and that late in the afternoon; it was going to be a long drive through L.A. traffic.

I needed a power nap.

Becks' words had been ringing around in my head for days: "When did you become so judgmental, Holly?"

She didn't think anything of it, but I had been carrying that single question around with me like a hookworm. It had been nearly a week since my failed dinner with Porter and I was beginning to go crazy.

It didn't make me a bad person to have standards, right? I mean, Porter Hale has more money than Donald Trump, more friends than Oprah, and a s.e.x drive comparable to Ron Jeremy, but we had nothing in common. We couldn't even get through a simple meal together without drama.

We'll ignore the fact that my body and my brain had disagreed on how to approach the situation, causing said drama.

It just wouldn't work. Plain and simple.

There was a soft knock at the door of my office and I looked up to see Mitch's head poking around the corner.

"You busy?"

"No," I sighed, "What's up?"

I beckoned for him to come in and he closed the door behind him.

"What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you Holly Nash?" He plopped down in the chair across from my desk and draped his legs over one arm. "You've been moping around this place like an abused puppy for a week now. I can't take it anymore. It's almost like you're," he waved his hand in circles as if trying to conjure the right word, "agreeable. I don't like it. It's freaking me out."

I was thinking about how much of the story to leave out when he caught my gaze and said, "Don't even think about bulls.h.i.+tting me."

I blew out a frustrated breath and dove in headfirst.

"My date, if you can call it that, with Porter last week was a total failure. The man is simply impossible to talk to. We have nothing in common and I spent the entire time uncomfortable. It was awkward."

And my v.a.g.i.n.a wanted to eat him alive.

"So I called Becks on my way home and made her meet me at the house for drinks. You know how she gets when she drinks," I paused so he could nod his understanding, "Anyway, she started spouting off about Porter and I and somehow managed to get it in her head that I'm judgmental and that I have painted Porter as a stereotypical p.o.r.n star."

"My Holly Nash? Judgmental?"

"Exactly!" I cried, thrilled that someone was finally on my side, "I'm so not judgmental!"

"Holly," he swung his legs forward and leaned over to place his elbows on his knees, "I don't send anyone into your office if they have blonde hair or weigh less than one-fifty. Why? Because I know it's a waste of time. It doesn't matter how much talent they have or how impressive their resume is, you will either send them out of here in tears, or never send them on a single audition. Now, I don't know what you have against skinny b.i.t.c.hes and blondes, but it's there and it's real. You judge every person who walks through that door before they even have a chance to open their mouths."

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but he held up his hands and continued before I could get a word in.

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing, honey. We all do it. I think you'd be amazed at how many people I turn away as soon as they walk in the door. In this industry, the ability to judge someone in a few moments is paramount and you know it. What you haven't seemed to master yet, is how to turn that s.h.i.+t off when you leave the office. If you keep turning people away because they're wearing the wrong brand of jeans that day, or because one sock is sitting lower than the other, or because his smile is too white, you could very well miss out on something huge. You have got to start giving people a fair chance to make you happy, Holly. It's time for you to let yourself live."

"Don't you think you're being a little bit dramatic?" I really hate it when people are right.

"When was the last time you got some d.i.c.k, Holly?"

"Personal, much?" I asked, avoiding the topic.

"It was a week after you had graduated from college. From a guy named Herman. Now, I don't know if Herman was a pity f.u.c.k because his parents hated him, or if he was just hung like an ox, but that was almost half a decade ago, girl. Your kitty is hungry for some real meat. I'm not saying run out and marry the dude, but for the love of all things Cher, let him pop the cork on your vacuum sealed v.a.g.i.n.a before the d.a.m.n thing grows over and vanishes completely."

"You're disgusting," I chastised, trying not to smile, "and his name wasn't Herman. It was Herbert."

"His name doesn't matter," he rose and headed for the door, "I'm still right and you know it."

"My v.a.g.i.n.a is fine!" I yelled as he stepped into the hallway.

"Use it or lose it, honey!" he yelled back as he made his way back to his desk.

Killing him had suddenly become a very viable option.

I scrolled through my mental contact list for someone that would have my side and tell me that I'm right. I had to know someone who would advise me not to sleep with the richest p.o.r.n star on the planet.

Somehow, I came up empty handed.

Moments like that made me wish that I could just pick up the phone and call my mother. She would've been the voice of reason. She would have known all the right things to say, asked all the right questions, and, in the long run, convinced me that it had been my idea to sleep with him all along.

"I'm so screwed," I complained to my pen holder.

I put my head down on my desk and tried to block out all thoughts of Porter Hale and the traitors that I called best friends. I couldn't find a good reason not to pursue something with Porter. There were lots of bad reasons and shallow excuses, but nothing that could convince me to forget the way my body lit up every time he looked at me.

I could tell myself that I wasn't attracted to him until I was blue in the face: My body would still call bulls.h.i.+t.

I pushed myself back against my chair, squared my shoulders, and took several deep, calming breaths.

"Okay," I encouraged myself, "I'm gonna say it out loud. Acceptance is the first step to recovery, right?" I sounded like an idiot, even to myself, but I needed a pep talk in a bad way before I allowed the next words out of my mouth.

"I like him. A lot."

The knots in my stomach gave way to b.u.t.terflies and I could feel the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I was practically giddy.

"Like who?"

My eyes snapped open and I jumped, tipping my chair dangerously far back. My arms pin wheeled out to the sides and my legs shot forward to try and regain my balance.

All of my attempts were in vain. I could feel the chair going over and I was powerless to stop it. The world moved in slow motion as Preston's shocked face disappeared from my sight and I found myself staring at the ceiling. My legs were still sticking straight up in the air and my skirt was slowly sliding up my thighs.

I lay there frozen for several seconds, deeply considering the merits of faking a head injury or coma. I finally blew out the breath I'd been holding since the fall and let my legs relax over the edge of the chair.

Preston's worried face appeared between the ceiling and me.

"You okay?" he quickly extended a hand to help me up.

"I'm fine," I groaned as I accepted his hand.

"Are you always this graceful?" he asked once I was on my feet.

"Usually," I ran a hand over my hair, embarra.s.sed.

He hefted my chair upright and made a show of brus.h.i.+ng it off.

"No harm no foul!" He had the most disarming smile I'd ever seen, "It's as good as new!"

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?" The question shot out of my mouth as more an accusation than anything and I fumbled to smooth it over, "I mean, I didn't know you were dropping by. There's nothing on my schedule. Mitch usually announces when someone's here to see me. I was surprised is all."

Stop talking now, Holly.

"Mitch," he smiled, "He's cute. He told me I'd need an appointment to see you. Put up a fuss about you not accepting walk-ins. He's pretty good at his job, Holly. Fortunately for me, I'm Roman Ruff. All I had to do was take off my shades and flash him a smile. He turned into an adorable little puppy dog and happily pointed me in the direction of your office."

So Mitch was a Hale family fanboy. That explained a lot.

"So you broke my a.s.sistant and scared the s.h.i.+t out of me all in one visit? I commend your ability to make an entrance, but that still doesn't answer my question." I returned to my chair and motioned for him to sit in the chair Mitch had recently vacated mere minutes before. "What can I do for you, Preston, my dear?"

He sat down and slid a manila envelope across my desk, "I just wanted to drop this off and say hi."