We watched Boogie Nights up until the scene where the newbie pornstar, Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) is filmed by the seasoned director, Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds), making love to his wife, Maggie/“Amber Waves” (Julianne Moore). At that point, Lo was too turned on from watching the movie while cock-warming me to continue. We retired into the bedroom where she proceeded to ask me, “I bet you’d like to film me auditioning all those men who want to be pornstars, wouldn’t you Daddy?”
“I thought you were sore?” I asked her, referring to her masturbation marathon earlier in the day.
“Sore, but not satisfied. Fuck me. I like it when it hurts.”
I slid in her slippery snatch and she moaned with pleasure and pain.
“I think you’d like to be auditioning them,” I responded to her.
By the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, I could tell that the image of her being the older seductress, seducing young, aspiring actors, getting them to break through the role and into the authentic enjoyment of her body, was turning her on.
While her fantasyland role was screening in the adult theater of her dark and dirty mind, my own thoughts were scrawling across my cerebrum. Since I had cum on my own earlier that day, my stamina was augmented. I had plenty of time, while Lo bounced up-and-down on my rod to the beat of her own drum, to explore the following musings.
I began with Boogie Nights and the thought of how, yes, Lo was right, I could easily see myself in the role of the director, Jack Horner, filming his own wife as she slept with various pornstars. Turning her lustful liaisons into works of art was already my forte. My mind then turned to the late, great Orson Welles and his love affair infatuation with Oja — his muse, mistress, and movie star of films such as F for Fake, and The Other Side of the Wind. A documentary about the making of the latter movie came out a couple years ago and in it, those who were on set with Welles recalled how he wanted to film, at great length, a pornographic sex scene starring Oja with Robert Random (actual actor’s name). Perhaps the aging Welles (he was between 55 and 61 while making it) took delight in seeing his young mistress (she was between 24 and 30 while making it) getting delight from a younger man who could give it to her. Sounds familiar.
“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she whined as she rode me, startling me out of my musings.
I opened my eyes and saw her pulling at her nipples over me. “Am I your pornstar?” she asked.
I tried to meet her descending hips with ascending thrusts of my own. She needed to feel the tip of my shaft on that magic spot deep inside her. If I were larger, longer, harder, I would press that button without even trying. But, alas, that was not the case.
Her question turned my thoughts from directors making their muses the material of art, to that wannabe pornstar who used her creative powers of writer, director, and actor to live out her clear fantasy of being fucked on camera. Frankie Shaw, in her series SMILF, used every opportunity to get naked, get laid, and get herself off in her show. I wondered how her husband, Zach Strauss, enjoyed watching her perform completely gratuitous sex scenes on the show. Let’s be clear, none of her sexpoloits were essential to the story — from her fantasy gangbang in the pilot where she is fucked by a basketball team of black men, to her seducing the boy she babysat, to the creepy scenes of her naked in a bathtub with her fictional child. None of that advanced the plot in a way that it couldn’t have done without those scenes. But, given the creative license she had, she used it to be as licentious as she could, making her the star — the pornstar.
Lo wasn’t cumming. She got up, off of me and commanded, “Get behind me and fuck me, hard!” She was on all fours on the bed and needed me to stand up, perpendicular to her, as she looked in the full-length mirror before her, watching us fuck, as she might watch a porno.
“Come on, Daddio! Really ram it home,” she called over her shoulder.
I thrust at her with all I had. I was panting, sweating, wondering if my back was going to be sore for a week.
Mercifully, she began to cum. I could feel her pussy clenching, preparing to eject me and ejaculate. Her voice was insistent. “Cum! Cum!” she demanded, knowing that there were mere seconds left before I wouldn’t be able to remain deep inside her.
“Where do you want me to cum?”
I don’t do well with cumming on command. If she had said, “Whatever you do, don’t cum,” then there would have been no problem. Besides, I had, at her recommendation, already cum once that day. I was near my limit.
It was already too late. The torrent had been unleashed. The spillage had gushed down her legs and now the dam was about to break, flooding me right out of her.
Her legs were quivering and she was pounding the bed with her fist as she screamed “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”
I backed up and watched the demonic possession take hold as she lost control of her faculties, senses, bodily movements, and sanity.
Her orgasms are simultaneously a full-body and out-of-body experience. They are sublime to watch, in the full sense of that word: terrifyingly beautiful.
The bed covers were drenched; her body lifeless on top of the mess she had made.
Slowly, her breathing steadied and resumed regularity.
She rolled over as if she had been hit by a Mac truck.
“Wow!” was all she said. And then, a little while later, “I won’t be able to walk, sit, or cross my legs tomorrow!”
“I guess you’ll just have to lie in bed all day.”
“That’s ok, it’s my favorite place to be and my favorite position.”
She got off the bed and began cleaning up the sodden bedding, throwing all of it in the laundry basket.
“You didn’t cum,” she had the gall to complain.
“I did, just not with you.” I knew that remark would piss her off.
She gritted her teeth and growled at me.
“You told me to fuck Stoya, remember?”
“But on these short days in January, I really needed an injection of vitamin D, if you know what I mean.”
“It would have just come out in the wash anyhow.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
She thought for a moment. “I like to have the power to make you ejaculate on command.”
“Talk about a control freak. I did ejaculate on command — your first command. You told me to jack off while you masturbated to oblivion.”
“But I thought you knew the Golden Rule: Love thy woman as thyself.”
“Oh, is that the rule? I thought you said it was: Love thyself and often.”
“That’s my rule. Not yours.”
“So, why did you tell me to go away instead of letting me watch?”
“Well, you made me jealous when looking at all those women.”
“You’re the one who wanted to look at them with me!”
“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissively. “I wanted to make you jealous.”
“Oh, so it had nothing to do with being turned on by them?”
“There was that too. But now I feel so slutty.”
“No, Daddy. I mean, not only was I cheating on you. . .”
“It’s not really ‘cheating’ if I know about it and condone it.”
“I was corresponding with a guy online.”
“Yeah, well, like every day.”
“His name is John. I call him my internet boyfriend.”
“I think you mentioned him to me.”
“And I was cheating on him with another guy. Or maybe I was cheating on the other guy with John. I don’t know. It all gets so confusing.”
“Let me see your other boyfriends.”
She showed me their cumtribute photos.
“Looks like I have stiff competition!”