Insatiable. Asa Akira

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СКАЧАТЬ porno was still on the screen, but it wasn’t my scene anymore. “Teacher, you wanted to see us? Is this about our recent tardiness?” Laila is a fucking pro.

      “I hope you didn’t call us in to punish us. We really are very good girls.” I was shocked to hear my own voice chime in on this role play. The inner dialogue running in my head was far different. Shit, I left my Mace in the bathroom. What kind of teacher wears a fucking robe? This is corny. Maybe it’s not too late to go grab my Mace. I could say I have to pee.

      “Maybe Teacher can tell us how to work to our full potential.” My mouth was making words that must have been ingrained into my brain from all the schoolgirl scenes I had shot over the years.

      “You’re good girls. Teacher thought you might like to earn some extra credit.”

      In this moment, I realized that people are actually into these tired, old, clichéd porno scenarios. Every time I shoot a student/teacher scene, I’m baffled at how the scripts never change. On the other hand, seeing how into the scene he was put me at ease. I probably didn’t need my Mace.

      I hoped my lack of enthusiasm wasn’t too obvious.

      We bent over against the TV screen and showed off our asses.

      “Like this, Teacher?”

      “Is this what you want? Does this make Teacher’s cock hard?”

      “Why don’t you girls kiss each other? Put on a show for Teacher.” Frederick sat on the sofa and stroked his dick while watching us. His cock was rock hard. I couldn’t believe this cheesy half-assed act was working.

      With my eye on Frederick, I kissed Laila as I put my hand on her pussy. I could tell immediately from the change in his breath that it drove him crazy.

      And it dawned on me. Here we were, two girls he had been jerking off to for years. We were making this man’s fantasy come true. In his eyes we could do no wrong. Everything we did was sexy. He had been waiting for this to happen for who knows how long. We were on a pedestal.

      He was so obsessed with me that he was willing to pay for thirty lousy minutes with me.

      I was starstruck on myself.

      I was starting to enjoy this.

      In true porno style, as if it were second nature to us, Laila and I dropped down to our knees in sync and crawled over to him on the sofa. I took his shaft in my mouth while she took the balls. I thought about how many times he had cum thinking about this moment.

      Often, I think about the guy on the other side of the screen while I’m shooting. If I’m not particularly fond of my partner for the day, I know I can rely on the idea of the guy at home watching, jerking off to me to get me wet. Right now, right here, this was my favorite part of my job coming to life.

      “Teacher, I want to be your favorite student.”

      By the time the condom was on and he put his dick in me, I was soaking wet. I screamed like I did in the movies for him. I shook my ass. Laila and I slapped each other around, just like we had done so many times before on camera. Only this time we had a live audience.

      Like Laila had said, once we started fucking, it lasted about ten minutes. Like in the scene he was watching earlier, he came on our faces. We went to the bathroom, took turns showering, got our money, and left.

      She was right. It was the easiest money I had ever made.

      I saw Frederick again, on my own, the next day. We acted out a similar scenario, minus Laila. The sequel felt underwhelming. Maybe because I was alone . . . maybe because the novelty had worn off. Maybe because he wanted me to wear the same outfit as the day before, and it hadn’t been washed. Or maybe it was the fact that he had asked me to fuck without a condom on, which just reminded me of how many girls in this business are fucking their clients raw. It made me sad. It turned me off. I never saw him again. He texts me from time to time, but I never reply. What’s the point? The spark I felt on our initial rendezvous had gone. I had given the guy too much credit. Strike two.

      Feeling confident about the gig, but not necessarily needing to experience it again, I told Laila hooking wasn’t my thing. So the next time she mentioned a client, I smiled and told her, “Tell him ten grand.”

      I was joking. I never thought someone would pay that much for sex.

      But Joe did.

      The agreement was that I would meet him for dinner. If I felt uncomfortable in any way, I would walk away right there with a thousand dollars. If I went home with him, I’d get ten grand up front, cash. The holidays were just around the corner. It was an offer I couldn’t turn down.

      “I watch about five hours of porn a day,” Joe confessed to me at dinner. His brutal honesty charmed me. Most people would consider this the kind of information you kept hidden on a first date. Then again, this wasn’t a date. Like Frederick, he was kind of handsome. He was the kind of guy I’d like to watch a character-driven documentary on. Nerdy, socially awkward, and though I’m no psychologist, to me he seemed like he could be on the Asperger spectrum. After dinner I was more than thrilled to go back to his place. We stayed up all night and talked. Joe was smart, and I felt like I could listen to him talk forever. He was the kind of guy I could really learn from. I told him I had only hooked once (half true), and we were so enthralled in conversation, we didn’t even get to fucking until five in the morning.

      I think the True Romance–ness of it was what drew me in.

      After the sex, we took a nap, went out to breakfast, and I drove home. I couldn’t shake him off; I was fascinated by him, his brain, the whole scenario. I romanticized the situation, fantasized what it would be like if he were my Captain-Save-A-Ho.

      The next week was Christmas, so my schedule was clear of shoots. Joe took me on a first-class trip to Hawaii. Everything was top-notch. The resort, our suite, our limos, everything. He worked the whole time we were there from his computer but had rented out a cabana for me by the pool for every day we were there. I lounged by the pool, went hiking, explored the resort, and shopped with his money while he worked all day. Then we’d meet up for dinner, fuck in the room after, and stay up late talking. It was perfect.

      On the last night, we took a stroll along the beach after another fancy dinner. “How much longer do you want to do porn?” It was happening. The inevitable question. What it translates to is I don’t want to say it now but eventually I will ask you to quit your job for me. Every guy I’ve dated has eventually brought this up; it’s not a matter of if they will, it’s a matter of when.

      I imagined what my life would be like if I were with this guy. Could I really give up this life I was living? Sure, he was rich. I’d probably never have to work again. Ultimately, though, I knew what our destiny would be. I’d been down this road before. The first step would be for me to make faraway promises I knew at the bottom of my heart I couldn’t keep. Then when the time came, I’d come to my senses and realize that I wasn’t ready to give up my dream job. We’d argue, both make compromises, only to realize that our relationship would never work because ultimately I need to do what makes me happy, which is porn. We’d part ways and never speak again.

      We didn’t fuck that night. I hardly even spoke to him after he asked that question. He knew what my silence meant. The next day we flew back to Los Angeles. We said an awkward goodbye at the airport, and I knew I’d probably never speak to him again.

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