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Rab looks mortified, standing there behind the tripod. He glances at Nikki, then at Gina, who's already peeling off her top. Nikki starts to take hers off as well and I pause for a second to admire the motion of it being pulled over her head. Fuck me, that lassie's well fit. In quite a wholesome, sporty, PE-girl manner, Nikki says to the crew: — C'mon boys, as she removes her bra and exposes those tanned tits, which look firm as rocks, sending a strong radar signal to my groin. She unbuttons the skirt and then pulls down her pants and steps out of them to expose a freshly shaved minge.
— Ni-kay, I say, involuntarily sounding like Ben Dover in his videos, that appreciative punctuation absolutely essential.
— Ready for action, she pouts and purrs.
Concentrate, Simon. I take refuge behind the lens, trying to snap into technical mode.
Now Gina's big tits are bouncing around everywhere and Terry's eyes are popping out of his head. Sometimes he distresses me, this sordid appreciation for quantity versus quality.
Poor Rab is still shiteing it, but you can tell that he wants to stay. — I'm just on the creative side . . . my fiancee's having a kid . . . I don't want to do this . . . I want to be a filmmaker, not a fuckin' porn star!
— Well, the crew can do what they want, but I'm getting into the spirit of it, I announce, taking off my T-shirt and glancing at the wall mirror.
Wanda looks up and announces in a smacked-out drawl that the sexiest-looking guys are the ones with their clothes on, which disconcerts me and the rest of the talent.
My tactic has worked, though, because soon Terry and Melanie are really going for it and I'm getting horny. Then Nikki comes over to me and says: — I think I'd like to sit on your knee?
I'm almost ready to respond with 'go away, I'm directing' but it comes out as: — Okay, in a low gasp as those delightful buttocks are gracefully lowered onto my thigh. I feel my cock stiffen and bend up into the hollow of her spine as we watch Terry and Mel in action. I must remain focused, remember that I'm in the director's chair. — Lie back, Terry; sit on it, Mel . . .
Discipline.
Mel's sucking on Terry's dick, flicking the end, slurping the shaft and after a bit Terry guides her across the back of the big padded chair . . . Nikki twists a little, easing further back against me . . .
Discipline will ease my hunger . . .
Mel's elbows are on the chair and Terry's slipped one in from behind. Nikki's hair flows down her back, its peachy scent dancing in my nostrils . . . threatening to drench my senses . . .
Discipline will quench my thirst . . .
Now Terry's withdrawing and I cough out some words of encouragement as my hand rests idly on Nikki's thigh, that smooth, unblemished silk-like sin . . .
Discipline will make me stronger . . .
Terry's in a gain and he and Mel are fucking piston-hard now, Mel setting the pace, thudding back into that dick of his like she's trying to devour it. Terry's got that complacent, dreamy look men have when they're enjoying sex, like it's no big deal. That kind of zoning-off when you're with a tidy bird to stop you from blowing your muck, or when you're with a hound, only then it's in order to keep it up. Basically, though, it's the same fucking thing.
. . . if it doesn't kill me first . . .
I decide to stop the action there. — Cut! Stop, Terry! STOP!
— What the fuck . . . Terry groans.
— Right, Mel, Terry, I want you to try the Reverse Cowgirl, the classic shot we need for a porn movie.
— Terry looks over at me and moans: — Ye cannae git a good fuck that wey.
— This isnae aboot you having a good fuck, Terry, it's aboot you looking as if you're having a good fuck. Think hireys! Think art!
I briefly glance round to see that the others are sleazing each other up, except Rab and the crew. Gina's looking at me with a predatory smirk on her face. She asks: — When dae we go in?
— I'll tell you, I nod, fully intending, even at this point, that most of her scenes won't survive the edit.
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