Mr. President:A Billionaire & Virgin Fake Fiance Romance(168)

And sometimes-although it's rare-filming porn can be downright  embarrassing for some of the entertainers. Like the one time I watched  as another woman was scheduled to give a quick blow job. I never eat  right before filming scenes. That's just my personal rule. Eating is a  rookie mistake. But there she was, gorging on pizza without a single  regard to the consequences. So, the director brings her in front of the  camera and as soon as the guy jams his cock down her throat, she throws  up all over him-and the set-and we all watch as she runs to the bathroom  as fast as she can in stilettos. The director had to call me in to  cover, and let me tell you-I was happy to do it. No one can deep throat a  cock like I can. I won an award for that scene.

Simon clears his throat and starts talking again. He can tell I'm lost  in thought. "Today, Ethan Kane announced a new technology that is going  to revolutionize the porn industry-Illicit Escape," he says, bringing me  back to the present.

I shrug my shoulders. "Good for him. I mean, that's where porn's  going-if companies aren't embracing technology, they're losing out. What  else is new?"

"Listen, darling. I need you bring me the plans for the Illicit Escape  technology, and you'll do that by getting back into porn, and trapping  Ethan by getting him to fall in love with you."

Where does this guy get off giving me commands like that? "First off, I  don't fucking take anyone's commands. Second, your plans sound good in  theory, but I've already said no," I reply firmly. "How many ways can I  say it? No means no."

Simon looks exasperated but undeterred. "I wouldn't come to that  conclusion if I were you. I'll pay you-a sum that will make you-"

I cut him off. "I'm making enough money without this gig," I say. "Hire  some developers, bring in the best augmented reality and virtual reality  platforms that money can buy, and make it yourself-if you've got as  much money as you say you do."

"I'm not interested in doing any of that, and there's more," Simon  continues, indifferent to my recommendations. "I'll also give you a  file."

"What kind of file?"

"There's a man by the name of Robert," he says. "Perhaps that name rings  a bell? He could be told where to find you at any time …  any place."

The name causes me to freeze. I wonder if it's the same Robert I'm thinking of …  It has to be.

"Are you threatening me?"

"It's not a threat darling," he says. "It's the truth."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I nearly shout. Now he's taken this  too far, threatening my livelihood. I have one hand in my purse, my  fingers resting on a cold, hard can of mace. I carry it for emergencies  and I consider taking it out and spraying it into those beady eyes of  his.

He senses what I'm about to do and says, "I wouldn't do that if I were  you. Be smart and do the right thing. Be the predator and not the prey.  You can walk away from this with a lot of money. Believe me, it'll make  your current wealth pale in comparison. Or …  and I hate to think about  this path darling …  but if you don't make the right choice, you'll walk  away the wounded gazelle with her throat in the lion's mouth."

Shit. How did I end up in this spot? Just when I thought my life was  gaining the kind of positive momentum I've always wanted for myself,  this asshole comes along. I told you that I'd tell you about my past  hun, and I promise we'll get to that, but I will say right now that the  name Robert sends a chill up my spine. It's taken a lot of work to move  beyond my past-and I'm stronger for it, but when Simon sits here and  tells me point blank that he can tell Robert where to find me …  well,  let's just say I'm in no mood to see that happen.

I consider what he's asking for a moment.

"Fine," I say. "I'll do it. But this will cost you."





134





Ethan





"Am I interrupting?" I ask walking into the casting studio.

"Not at all, sir," Joel the casting director replies back to me.

It's been three days since the announcement of the Illicit Escape in  Times Square. And wouldn't you know it, within minutes of the fucking  announcement our website traffic began to pick up.

But it wasn't just guys looking to jerk off.

No, these were women.

They began to submit their profiles. Head shots. Body shots.

People started messaging our Facebook Page. They began to send us messages on Twitter and Instagram.

Hell, people even started sending resumes on LinkedIn and messages on  KiK. All told, within 24 hours of the fucking announcement we had over  12,000 applicants.

The next 48 hours saw over 25,000 people apply.

Now, it's important to realize that there are a lot of people who want  to get into porn. You wouldn't believe the slush pile our casting  director has. And it's not just guys. Girls apply probably more than  guys. And Cheryl looks through all of them. She watches all the fucking  videos and reads all their letters. That's how dedicated she is.

But at the end of the day, we need a certain girl.

So after a frenzied level of activity that meant literally taking less  than half a percent of those that applied, fifty girls were called in,  specifically from the New York Tri-State area.

I know they were looking for people with prior experience. We had a  couple stars come out of retirement to be a part of this project. But  even with experience, we also want a fresh face. A face that doesn't  scream out slut. Because this shit is going to go mainstream. Someone  should be able to put on an I.E.-Illicit Escape-in a crowded library and  no one should be able to know that they're watching porn.

I mean, you ever been on an airplane with your kid, and you're sitting  there and the dude next to you has his iPad out and he's watching two  chicks fucking blow a dude? With your son or daughter just sitting there  and you're like what the fuck, right?         

     



 

Think about how disrespectful that fucker is. Now, if he had an I.E.,  then he can zap out and you wouldn't have to worry about your kid being  exposed to shaved pussies until you know, later on in life when he knows  how good fucking feels.

But enough about this shit. I actually came here today because sure, I'm  a bit curious as to the quality of these girls that we're casting.

"We were just going through some exercises to classify the girls, Ethan," Joel tells me. I nod and sit down.

‘Going through exercises' means that Joel is looking for ways to separate out the wheat from the chaff.

I sit down on a folding chair in the room across from five couches with  fifty girls in various degrees of scantily clad attire. Some girls are  sitting there in sweat pants and others are sitting in just a bra and  panties. A few are topless, thinking it helps their chances.

Not likely.

"Alright, ladies," Joel says going through his clipboard. "Let's give us all sexy faces."

It's fucking hilarious how the mood seems to change as fifty girls go  from various stages of being bored but trying to look excited, to trying  to look smoldering hot. They scrunch their noses, wrinkle their eyes,  leave their mouths open, bat their eyelashes, and start breathing  heavily.

I scan the girls. Yeah, you heard me; I'm enjoying the fucking view.

I mean, who knows, I could end up fucking one of them.

Fuck, I wouldn't mind taking my turn through all of them. In fact, a  part of me wants to hire them all and bring them over for one night and  fuck all of them.

But that would probably end the casting call in disaster. We'd fall behind in our product launch. All for what? Pussy?

It's not worth it.

Or is it?

My eyes set upon a girl in the middle. She's wearing a tight black dress that hugs her legs and ass like a second fucking skin.

Oh, fuck. Yes, I definitely would love to tap that fucking ass. She's  got a slender fucking body with curves in all the right places. Her  blonde hair is shoulder length and her eyes are bright and intelligent.

She's wearing a sticker on her chest-similar to the other girls. Her sticker says #26.

And she couldn't look more bored if her life depended on it.

"Numbers 3, 4, 6, 9, 12, 24, 34, 38, 43, 45, 49, 50, thank you," Joel says looking at his clipboard. "You can go now."

So that's it. After dragging themselves all the way down to our Times  Square studios, they sit around on couches for a while, and then they're  told they can go. Which is a polite way of saying fuck off.

Normally, this would be my fucking cue as the girls with the numbers  mentioned get up and proceed to the door. I'd be up and following them  out, looking to fuck one of these sluts and take her home with me for  the night.

But right now, I'm fucking entranced just look at #26 sitting there, even though she's completely bored out of her fucking mind.

I look down at my casting sheet and try to find a name that matches #26. There it is. Brittney Roman.

"Alright, ladies, let's get up and bend over," Joel says. "Show me that ass."

Jesus, is he for real? This is what he fucking does for work?