#What is Direct Selling Industry

[directsellingnow]

Health, Wealth, और Direct Selling Industry: Dr. Debi Prasad Acharjya का मिशन, जो बदल रहा जिंदगी

Direct Selling Industry: Direct Selling और Wellness के क्षेत्र में Dr. Debi Prasad Acharjya एक जानी-पहचानी हस्ती हैं। उनका मानना है कि individual health, wealth, और well-being ही वैश्विक स्वास्थ्य और वेलनेस को प्राप्त करने का सही तरीका है। Dr. Acharjya का यह मिशन सिर्फ एक करियर की तलाश नहीं, बल्कि यह उनकी जिंदगी का सबसे बड़ा उद्देश्य है। Dr. Acharjya का सफर Dr. Acharjya का सफर एक मजबूत शैक्षणिक…

[tronmodels]

Welcome to TRON MODELS – The Future of Modeling Begins Here

At Tron Models, we redefine the modeling industry with a focus on freedom, authenticity, and purpose. Part of TRONFORM and the Tron Civilization, our premium modeling agency is built to empower models to express themselves without compromise and without degeneracy.

What We Stand For: Authentic Expression: Models can embrace their style, creativity, and individuality while upholding elegance, sophistication, and values that inspire others. Flexibility & Empowerment: No need to conform to outdated standards or sell themselves to succeed. Tron Models offers opportunities for ambitious individuals to thrive.

TRONFORM Representation: Models will proudly represent TRONFORM, showcasing luxurious, innovative, and bold fashion that matches their persona.

Vision of Civilization: Part of a broader directive under Tron Civilization, we build a culture of strength, innovation, unity and progress, where models inspire a generation to look cool, feel good and beautiful and live with purpose.

Why Tron Models? We’re not just an agency. We’re the new wave of modeling, combining professionalism, creativity, and integrity.

Here, models are not just faces – they’re ambassadors of change, bringing style, elegance, and TRONFORM’s luxury to the forefront of culture and innovation.

Join us and be part of the revolution. The future of modeling is here. By @hugotitantron@tronform@troncivilization

#TronModels#ModelingAgency#LuxuryModeling#Elegance#Innovation#PremiumModels#ModelingReimagined#FutureOfModeling#Empowerment#LuxuryFashion#StyleWithPurpose#BoldAndAuthentic

[reasonsforhope]

It’s an open secret in fashion. Unsold inventory goes to the incinerator; excess handbags are slashed so they can’t be resold; perfectly usable products are sent to the landfill to avoid discounts and flash sales. The European Union wants to put an end to these unsustainable practices. On Monday, [December 4, 2023], it banned the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear.

“It is time to end the model of ‘take, make, dispose’ that is so harmful to our planet, our health and our economy,” MEP Alessandra Moretti said in a statement. “Banning the destruction of unsold textiles and footwear will contribute to a shift in the way fast fashion manufacturers produce their goods.”

This comes as part of a broader push to tighten sustainable fashion legislation, with new policies around ecodesign, greenwashing and textile waste phasing in over the next few years. The ban on destroying unsold goods will be among the longer lead times: large businesses have two years to comply, and SMEs have been granted up to six years. It’s not yet clear on whether the ban applies to companies headquartered in the EU, or any that operate there, as well as how this ban might impact regions outside of Europe.

For many, this is a welcome decision that indirectly tackles the controversial topics of overproduction and degrowth. Policymakers may not be directly telling brands to produce less, or placing limits on how many units they can make each year, but they are penalising those overproducing, which is a step in the right direction, says Eco-Age sustainability consultant Philippa Grogan. “This has been a dirty secret of the fashion industry for so long. The ban won’t end overproduction on its own, but hopefully it will compel brands to be better organised, more responsible and less greedy.”

Clarifications to come

There are some kinks to iron out, says Scott Lipinski, CEO of Fashion Council Germany and the European Fashion Alliance (EFA). The EFA is calling on the EU to clarify what it means by both “unsold goods” and “destruction”. Unsold goods, to the EFA, mean they are fit for consumption or sale (excluding counterfeits, samples or prototypes)...

The question of what happens to these unsold goods if they are not destroyed is yet to be answered. “Will they be shipped around the world? Will they be reused as deadstock or shredded and downcycled? Will outlet stores have an abundance of stock to sell?” asks Grogan.

Large companies will also have to disclose how many unsold consumer products they discard each year and why, a rule the EU is hoping will curb overproduction and destruction...

Could this shift supply chains?

For Dio Kurazawa, founder of sustainable fashion consultancy The Bear Scouts, this is an opportunity for brands to increase supply chain agility and wean themselves off the wholesale model so many rely on. “This is the time to get behind innovations like pre-order and on-demand manufacturing,” he says. “It’s a chance for brands to play with AI to understand the future of forecasting. Technology can help brands be more intentional with what they make, so they have less unsold goods in the first place.”

Grogan is equally optimistic about what this could mean for sustainable fashion in general. “It’s great to see that this is more ambitious than the EU’s original proposal and that it specifically calls out textiles. It demonstrates a willingness from policymakers to create a more robust system,” she says. “Banning the destruction of unsold goods might make brands rethink their production models and possibly better forecast their collections.”

One of the outstanding questions is over enforcement. Time and again, brands have used the lack of supply chain transparency in fashion as an excuse for bad behaviour. Part of the challenge with the EU’s new ban will be proving that brands are destroying unsold goods, not to mention how they’re doing it and to what extent, says Kurazawa. “Someone obviously knows what is happening and where, but will the EU?”"

-via British Vogue, December 7, 2023

[selarina]

Guys, you know how in schools teachers place the loudest kids next to the silent ones hoping their silence will rub off on them?

Yeah, this happens with you and Gojo Satoru, but you don’t rub off on him entirely. He carries his boisterous (albeit somewhat lovable) energy well into adulthood.

He does quiet down though, at times. Gojo spends his time watching you, not with any intent but with something closer to curiosity.

His eyes can’t help but zero in on your quiet concentration. You're all precision in a sense — the way you scrunch your nose, the way your brows pinch together when you don’t understand something. It mildly bothers him, how noiseless you are in all your movements.

Soon, the bell rings, and he realises he’s been silent the whole class, his time spent entirely on studying you.

His eyes trace your form as you rise, and join your friends, leaving the room without a second glance in his direction.

And what should mean you fading into the bustling background of his school’s hallway becomes finding you front and centre, everywhere �� in the sports field, in the cafeteria, at the school assembly when you’re front and centre reading the day’s agenda.

And this odd phenomena lingers in adulthood too.

“Sir—” Higuruma’s voice manages to cut through.

Gojo blinks, a daze simmering beneath the surface as he forces himself back into the present.

“Yes, yes,” he says, brushing off the conversation with a dismissive wave of his hand and a cheerful smile. “Let’s buy them!”

Ijichi clears his throat, chuckling in unease. "We're selling them to Murasaki Industries, sir."

"Oh." Gojo’s mind catches up, but only just. "Right. Let’s do that, then."

His phone vibrates in his hand, and he glances down, the screen illuminating a picture of you as his wallpaper. You’re wearing his hoodie, working on a laptop, surrounded by the half-finished mess of the apartment you both recently bought.

The message in front is simple, reading: i’m here. i'll wait outside

He grins, already moving, already leaving. “Meeting adjourned,” he calls out over his shoulder. “I have to see my wife.”

Behind him, the murmur of exchanges continue. Higuruma and Nanami exchange weary glances before staring dead straight into Ijichi's shifting figure.

“Um—“ Ijichi speaks up, nervously.

"Yeah," Nanami interjects, his tone dry. "We'll need to revisit this. I have serious doubts about his capacity to enter into a legally binding contract based on this meeting. Under the Mental Capacity Act 2005, one could argue he wasn’t of sound mind—seemingly intoxicated. I don’t want you coming back at us for this later."

Higuruma nods, muttering in agreement as they prepare to leave. "The whole time, he was just staring at his phone."

Nanami scoffs. “Why do we need him again?”

Ijichi’s ears catch a faint response from Higuruma. “Well, he’s rich.”

[mlmdiary]

MLM or Network marketing is a business model that involves a pyramid-shaped network of people who sell products directly to consumers. The primary goal of MLM Companies is to sell their products through a network of independent salespeople, also known as distributors, who earn commissions based on the sales they generate. The distributors, in turn, are encouraged to recruit others to become distributors, and they earn commissions on the sales made by their recruits.

Want to know more about this so read our Blog: What is MLM or network marketing? How it Works and Benefits for Individuals and Businesses

[feeder86]

The Curse of Deansgate

An understudy for Chris Peterson? Most of Ned’s friends could not believe it. Nor could Ned, to be fair. The fact that Chris was even doing Broadway was almost just as unbelievable. Hollywood superstars, like him, rarely gave up the time for a twelve-week stint in a production like ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’. It was going to be, without a doubt, the hottest ticket in town.

Ned watched through some of Chris’ old movies before rehearsals began. He devoured them all: the romantic comedies, the science fiction classics, as well as the action hero thrillers where Chris’ shirt was pleasingly absent for multiple scenes. Ned swooned, still feeling unable to comprehend his good luck. He’d done the Broadway circuit for a few years now and was slowly building a name for himself. A major role in his last show had earned him the attention he craved within the industry, despite the show actually selling rather poorly. But Ned simply loved the theatre and couldn’t wait to see Chris in action on stage. He imagined that the guy would feel quite nervous performing to a large crowd every night, especially after exclusively working on movies for so many years. And, as his understudy, Ned would be sure to support him. He fantasised about them becoming best friends and forging a bond like no other. He felt the bubbling excitement in his stomach as the days ticked down, getting closer and closer to the beginning.

The media coverage was already everywhere, even before the two week rehearsal period. ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was a rarely performed production due to the superstition surrounding its commercial failures in the past. Written in the early twentieth century, ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ had apparently never once completed a full run in any theatre; although Ned doubted that to be completely true. Like all superstitions, it made Ned laugh to think that the play would make the usually level-headed investors go weak at the knees; much like all the actors he had met over the years, too superstitious to utter the words ‘Macbeth’ on stage. But a ‘cursed’ play certainly made for an awful lot of clickbait; cleverly helping to fuel the audience’s anticipation, as well as the advanced ticket sales.

However, there was also another reason why the play was being discussed so much; one that Ned felt a little more nervous about. The director would be the incredibly talented Gordon Harrison; an absolute master; especially here on Broadway, crafting incredible productions over a career that spanned decades. He had once played the lead in ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ back when he was in his twenties, and was resurrecting it now, perhaps as a form of nostalgia for himself. However, if anyone was to meet Gordon, it might not have been his ingenious directing creativity that they first noticed. Gordon was known to be one of the largest men working in the industry; a ginormous gut and wide butt, weighing in at a waddling five hundred pounds or more. 

Ned was sure that many people had probably made fun of Gordon’s weight over the years, but none so publicly as Chris Peterson. It had apparently happened early on in Chris’ career, when he was still making a name for himself, playing a small role in one of Gordon’s rare movie productions. When asked what he thought of the renowned director, a young, pretty-boy Chris had been less than complimentary, remarking to a journalist about how grotesquely greedy and lazy the fat director was on set; rarely getting out of his reinforced chair to offer notes to the hardworking performers and crew surrounding him; also referring to him as just another ‘failed actor’ who had shifted to directing once his first career ended. They were throwaway comments, but even Ned remembered the media storm that inevitably came from it. 

Perhaps not for the right reasons, Chris Peterson undoubtedly became better known afterwards. He’d been remembered and picked for bad boy roles where a little edge to the character’s personality was definitely a requirement. From there, he’d only gone from strength to strength, after his management eventually taught him to hold his tongue a little more when it came to badmouthing people he had worked with. Now, the director’s offer of the lead role in this play had been widely seen as an olive branch to the handsome actor, as a way to leave the past behind them; one that had been graciously accepted by Chris’ management team who convinced him to sign up straight away. And so, for the first time ever, the money was pouring in from investors, hoping to get a slice of success as ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ was about to be performed to the public for the first time in thirty years.

Some men just had that aura about them. It was the thing Ned most remembered about Chris Peterson, the first time he strolled into the theatre. Like any Hollywood hunk, he was painfully handsome, not to mention stylish. But Chris was also incredibly tall and muscular, giving the perception that he could have turned his hand to any sport at all, had the acting career not worked out so well for him. Ned remembered how aroused he was, sitting in the wings, watching the final act, when Chris rehearsed the penultimate scene, completely shirtless: the broad back, the stunning chest, the insane six pack. Not that Ned was a stranger to the gym himself, it was pretty much given in his line of work, but there was just something so awe-inspiring about the physique of a true Hollywood leading man.

Unlike any other production Ned had ever been involved in, there were journalists waiting outside from day one of rehearsals. Gordon had made it clear that no one was to talk to them or pose for pictures, but that didn’t stop them shouting for attention each time the cast walked out. Usually they wanted to know about Chris, or about how Gordon was doing, working with a guy who had so badly insulted him almost ten years ago. If Ned had been allowed to answer them, he could have told them that, in fact, everything was absolutely fine. Ever the professional, a now twenty-seven year old Chris took to the theatre work with ease, and Gordon didn’t seem in the least bit resentful towards him at all. Perhaps that was the point. The reality was so fundamentally boring, keeping the air of mystery kept the media writing about the play and building that appetite for it.

As for Ned’s dreams of becoming best friends with Chris Peterson, well, that had always been unlikely. Although the man had learned all their names and was friendly enough, Chris kept himself to himself during break times and retained that Holwood mystique with the rest of the cast; continuing to be one of the only people Ned knew who could get away with wearing sunglasses indoors and still look sexy. But, in regards to being an understudy for him, Gordon had told Ned straight out that it was never going to happen. People were coming to this production to see Chris and that was exactly what they would get. It was the investors who had insisted on there being an understudy, just in case, but Ned was never going to actually get the chance to perform to an audience. He would simply stick to his significantly smaller role, dying before the end of the first act each and every night.

“Break a leg!” Ned smiled at Chris as the curtain was about to go up on their first night. He still got butterflies each time he had the opportunity to talk to the guy, even after the long rehearsals.

Chris smiled back, seeming as cool as could be; as if none of this phased him in the slightest. Then, with a final intake of breath, he stepped onto the stage, in front of a cheering crowd, surreptitiously dotted with some of New York’s harshest critics.

There was the strangest of feelings in the theatre that night; like an unheard frequency that was somehow ringing in the ears. Chris’ performance was powerful and moving; rising above anything they had witnessed in the rehearsals. Ned could already see the awards and accolades the Hollywood star was about to amass. The final act was a marvel, and Ned saw their large, oversized director sitting in an extra large chair on the front row, smiling with pride the entire time. When the final curtain fell, the audience rose to their feet, but Gordon remained seated. He looked pleased with himself, like he had just accomplished something he had been working towards for many, many years.

At the afterparty that evening, the excitement was electric. Everybody knew that the show was a hit; perhaps the biggest success they would ever be involved in; the pinnacle of their careers. Their director stood, having graciously acknowledged everyone in the cast and crew for all they had done, only leaving one final man to congratulate. He called Chris to stand beside him and slipped his big, heavy arm over the hunk’s broad shoulders.

“You’ve joined a very exclusive club this evening,” Gordon smiled. “There are very few ‘Gentlemen of Deansgate’ out there!” he nodded; acknowledging the fact that he too had once played the part, some twenty-five years ago. “You’re never going to be the same after this.” 

The grin on Gordon’s face was a little too perplexing for Ned. He couldn’t quite make it out. He held Chris’ stare for an almost uncomfortable time, until finally raising his glass and toasting the biggest Broadway smash in many, many years.

The reviews the next morning sang with praise, just as they had all expected. Ned poured over them all, hoping for even a brief mention of his own performance. Instead, Chris had stolen the show, and the promotional image of him in the final scene, shirtless and steamy, dominated much of the pages that were dedicated to the reviews. By lunchtime, Ned could recite almost all of them word for word. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had felt the curious atmosphere in the theatre that first night. Each review, every single one, seemed to comment on it in some form; like some magical awakening of acting greatness. Still, Ned cut every last one of them out, saving them all for his own personal scrapbook.

“Do me a favour,” Gordon insisted, raising his hand to get Ned’s attention as everyone else busied themselves backstage for the second night. “Drop these off with Chris, will you?” he insisted, thrusting a box of doughnuts towards Ned.

“What? Take them to his dressing room?” Ned asked, delighted and nervous about getting the opportunity to go and see Chris before the curtain went up. “Does he even eat doughnuts?”

Gordon chuckled. “Oh, he eats them alright!” he smirked, already waddling away to deal with something more pressing.

Ned held the large tray of doughnuts in his hands, feeling empowered, simply to go and see the star of the show before he went on stage. He raced along the corridor like a man on a mission and knocked firmly on the door until he heard Chris’ deep, masculine voice telling him to come inside.

Half dressed, Chris’ fine torso was on show as he collected all of his bits for the first act. Ned felt like he had entered at the absolute perfect time. “Um, Gordon sent these over,” he mumbled, trying to think straight and not stare too much at the gorgeous man in front of him. Just how many people would have paid serious cash to be standing exactly where he was right then?

“What are they? Doughnuts?” Chris asked, dropping his belt on the floor and heading straight over. He reached in and grabbed one with each hand, pushing one immediately into his mouth with the biggest bite Ned had ever seen. He moaned aloud and chewed quickly, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

“I didn’t know you were so keen on doughnuts,” Ned chuckled awkwardly, simply standing there, holding the box, not knowing where he could put it down. Chris was still purposefully in front of him, seemingly getting ready to take another round.

Chris didn’t answer. He simply moaned as he gorged on doughnut after doughnut; not even caring that his mouth was now covered in sugar. Ned stood there, watching the car crash in slow motion as the entire box was devoured in less than three minutes flat.

“Fuck!” Chris chuckled, swallowing the last of it all. “I had no idea I could do that!” he smirked, turning to look at himself in the mirror, then laughing at how immediately bloated his stomach had become. “Bring me another one of those trays after the show and I’ll let you suck me off,” Chris suddenly declared, reaching his hand down to his crotch and readjusting the suddenly obvious erection that was pressing against his purposefully tight pants. 

“What?” Ned asked; his heart beating faster than ever before. Had he heard that right?

“Don’t act coy,” Chris shot back. “You heard me. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Bring me another tray of doughnuts after the show and I’ll let you suck me dry,” he repeated, reaching for Ned’s limp hand and placing it directly across to his boner. “Deal?” Chris asked, knowing that there was no way Ned would ever refuse him.

Ned left Chris’ dressing room almost shaking with elation. Was this really happening? The hottest, straight hunk in the world was going to let him go down on him after the show? Surely this was just a dream? 

With the first act soon over with, Ned snuck out to the doughnut place across the street and bought the exact same tray of treats that had been delivered earlier. He stood around, pretending to wait purposefully in the corridor, having concealed the order under a pile of clothes in his small, shared changing area. 

The next thing Ned knew, he was back on stage for the curtain call. He’d started to doubt himself; to dispute reality. He was going insane. Chris hadn’t really made such an advance on him, nor made the bizarre request! He was just slowly succumbing to madness. But as they all cheered their way off the stage, Ned felt a very firm hand on his shoulder and the Hollywood superstar bringing his mouth close to his ear, whispering. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

After the buzz of the first night, the second night always felt anticlimactic, with people darting off quickly after the show ended. Ned waited until there was a slight lull in the noisy corridor, until he stood outside Chris’ dressing room holding the doughnut tray, knocking until he heard the call for him to enter.

This time, Chris was sitting. already stroking himself in his chair; legs parted and pants removed, ready for Ned to do what he had come here for. Of course he had a large penis, Ned thought to himself, watching the sexy guy stroking it like he was filming a porn scene. 

“Give them to me!” Chris demanded, having eyes only for the tray that Ned was carrying. He reached out, ripped them from him and immediately began gorging, like he had before. Then, with only a nod of his head, he ordered Ned down to his crotch.

Slipping onto his knees, Ned could hardly believe what he was about to do; something he never imagined could be done. He started slowly, determined to get it exactly right; to give Chris as much pleasure as he could. If he delivered Chris the best blow job of his life, he would. He pursed his lips and worked his tongue to perfection, hearing Chris moan with pleasure as he pushed those doughnuts into his mouth. He felt the guy’s large, sticky, icing-covered hand press onto the top of his head, pushing him deeper into his crotch. Ned obliged, willing himself not to gag as his throat opened further. Then, absolute magic. He’d done it. He’d made the Hollywood superstar climax in what sounded like the most intense orgasm imaginable. 

Ned stood, feeling proud, looking down on the hunk slouched in the chair. The man was a mess, covered in icing and sugar all around his face; his toned stomach now bloated and hard. The man seemed dazed, either from the eating, or the intense relief of having ejaculated so forcefully. He sighed multiple times and began tapping his own face as if to bring himself back into reality. “Fuck! That was good!” the man growled, before sitting up and casually feeding himself the larger fragments of doughnut that had fallen onto his chest during his rampant gorging minutes earlier.

Grinning, Ned knew that this was a tale he would be able to recount for the rest of his life: the day he sucked off Chris Peterson in his dressing room!

“What are you doing this evening?” Chris asked, finally getting to his feet.

“Um, nothing much,” Ned replied, feeling the shadow of the large man cross over him.

“You know this city, don’t you?” Chris pondered. “You’re from here, aren’t you? You can take me out.”

“Yes,” Ned answered, without evening thinking; his heart almost leaping out of his chest. “But I wouldn’t know where to take a Hollywood star like you. We’d be harrassed by journalists the whole time if I took you to the bars I usually go to.”

“Then don’t take me to the bars,” Chris shot back. “Take me back to your place and order in.”

“You… you want to come back to my apartment?” Ned spluttered, overjoyed and simultaneously embarrassed by the thought of hosting Chris Peterson in the miniscule space he rented in the city. Still, he had kept the place fairly clean… Maybe Chris just wanted another opportunity for them to be alone together again.

“Is it far from here?” Chris asked, already gathering all that he needed and slipping a few items of clothing back on. 

“Not far,” Ned replied, realising that he didn’t really have a choice either way. “We can head out through the back and be there in five minutes.”

“Good,” the man nodded, already pushing Ned towards the door. “Lead on.”

Just over an hour later, Ned was accepting the second delivery at his apartment whilst Chris lounged on his couch, gorging himself on the pizzas that had arrived five minutes earlier. The moment he went back in, Chris dropped his greasy pizza down and made to grab the bag of Chinese food, not caring that the slice landed topside up on the couch, leaking the oily residue into the material. 

“I didn’t know that you were such a foodie,” Ned sighed, hoping that Chris’ hunger wasn’t going to get in the way of them having more fun later on. He ran to grab a cloth and began attempting to get the stain out.

Chris’s kisses were passionate and arousing after all the food. Ned had seen some bizarre Hollywood diets in his time, but this binge eating of Chris’ had bloated his stomach up like nothing he had ever known. He was gentle around the man in the bedroom, wondering whether he might throw up should things get a little energetic. Hosting a Hollywood superstar, making him climax in his very own apartment, it felt like a moment Ned had been waiting for his entire life; an experience he could boast about for years to come. Had Chris wanted to stay the night, Ned would have been more than delighted, but the man seemed restless and keen to get back to the hotel he was staying in, ordering himself a ride and bidding Ned a goodnight.

Gordon didn’t seem to care when Chris didn’t show in time for their pre-show meetings, rolling in with just enough time to get into costume and get on stage. For the first time, the backstage crew began to grumble about him, knowing that they were only one week in, with another eleven long weeks to go. But just as the lead actor had seemingly lost all passion for it, so had their esteemed director; no longer bothered by the silly little mistakes that were made by the lighting department on the fifth night, nor the fact that Chris had missed his cue several times by the start of week two.

On their opening night, the show had felt like a slick, well-oiled and ambitious machine. Now things were getting sloppy and haphazard. The excellent reviews of the previous week were being replaced by curious clippings in gossip columns about Chris’ amateurish performances. Not only that, but a rogue cell phone had snapped a picture of Chris during his shirtless scene looking significantly thicker than he had seemed in the promotional shots. Ned had seen it first hand as he continued to slip into Chris’ dressing room after a performance for some fun. He’d known that the make-up department had painted on a six-pack for the last three performances. However, nothing could mask the unmistakable width of Chris as he turned to his side; a distinct paunch starting to form. All of a sudden, that one picture seemed to be everywhere and all of the press interest in the play turned directly towards Chris’ weight gain.

“There’ll probably be more people trying to get pictures of you tomorrow,” Ned warned as he snuck into Chris’ dressing room and caught the guy gorging himself on a couple of boxes of cookies that had been left in there for him.

Chris scowled and nodded for Ned to lock the door behind him. “That’s tomorrow’s problem,” he grumbled, sliding down in his chair and pulling out his hardness for Ned to suck on as he ate.

Ned assumed the position, noticing the roll of stomach fat that was beginning to encircle Chris’ waist. His fingers slipped onto it as he took Chris’ hardness in his mouth, noticing the soft and doughy nature of it, slyly ruining the ultimate Hollywood sixpack. Ned knew he was in some way enabling Chris by not walking away and failing to challenge him on his eating but when else in his life was he going to have the chance to be with a global superstar like this?

With the doughnuts gone, Chris stood up and removed the last of his clothes, ready to fuck Ned over the table at the back of the room. Ned obliged, catching the view of Chris’ softer glutes in the mirror as they began kissing; the back fat standing out so much, the skin starting to roll. “Chris…” Ned started, knowing that he could no longer stay silent. “Don’t you think you need to do something about this?” he asked, pinching the actual lovehandles that had blossomed in just over a week.

“Do you want to get fucked, or not?” Chris growled back, clearly too consumed with arousal to think of anything else. Discussions about the guy’s weight were clearly off the table. Ned, lay across his table, spread his legs and allowed the horny glutton to at last get some exercise.

Their esteemed director seemed slightly different over the following days. Unlike Chis’ stomach, which seemed to grow more prominent each day, Gordon appeared to be deflating. His large gut didn’t seem quite so extreme as he strolled about at a faster pace, going from department to department. There was a twinkle in his eye as he saw Ned and a look that suggested that he knew exactly what went on between him and Chris behind the closed doors of the dressing room.

The man had rejected calls for the shirtless scene to be altered so that Chris could cover himself with a shirt, positively laughing at all the press that surrounded the hunk’s sudden gains. “All publicity is good publicity,” he grinned as if he hoped for a boost in ticket sales from it all; not that there was any need. The show had been booked out for weeks before they’d even started rehearsals. 

News outlets began reporting that Gordon had insisted Chris diet immediately and that he had threatened to kick him out from the show should he not comply. However, none of it was true. Of all the people working on that production, the director was the only one who was not in the least bit flustered by it all, even as Chris’ management seemed determined to find a way to get him out of the play and end this constant barrage of bad publicity. 

Ned felt it all very personally, having fallen for Chris during this strange period of his life. But with so much gossip and speculation flying around, how much longer could his fling with Chris stay a secret? A public ‘outting’ was absolutely the last thing either of them needed right then.

“Eight more weeks to go!” Gordon sang, almost tauntingly at them all as Chris stepped up behind the curtain, a rounded stomach pressing out, ready for the shirtless scene. Gordon appeared to wait, listening intently for the inevitable gasps of the stunned audience as the former hunk went out on stage. Then the director would chuckle to himself and stroll happily away.

Getting in to see Chris was becoming harder and harder. A team of people seemed to surround the man the entire time he was at the theatre; men and women who had been flown over from Hollywood to kick Chris into touch. None of it seemed to be working. Even under the strict eyes of his babysitters, Chris’ stomach seemed to be expanding daily. Tensions with the director seemed to flare up as Gordon failed time and time again to renegotiate the star’s watertight contract. The looming fear that the play would end hung like a dark cloud over all of them. As Chris’s belly blossomed into a small, stout and rounded beer gut, each of them looked at each other and sighed. Would this be their last show? How much longer could this insanity continue?

Like a petulant child, Chris appeared to detest all the fussing around him. Sometimes, at night, he would appear at Ned’s apartment, having snuck out undetected from his hotel. He’d order take-out, complain bitterly about his situation and completely fail to show any self-awareness of his own part in the evolving crisis that surrounded him; even as he gorged on pizza after pizza. He’d drawn Ned in, making him feel like the only one in the world who could sympathise with him; the one sane person in his life whilst all the madness threatened to consume him. Ned had been flattered. He felt special. And even though he could see the giant ball of stomach fat growing larger and larger; even as a double chin began to spread itself under Chris’s handsome face and his tight glutes softened with each passing day, Ned still fell for him and stayed up late into the night, pleasing him in any way he could.

It was week four when everything seemed to crash around them. Ned saw the news flash up on his cell phone before anyone at the play got in contact with him to let him know. Chris had left the production, paying a hefty, multi-million dollar fee for exiting early and ending the show.

“You’re up!” Gordon sang down the phone an hour or so later. “You’re my Gentleman of Deansgate!”

“But I thought…” Ned mumbled back; his head spinning.

“One last performance!” Gordon exclaimed excitedly. “Chris’ team were quite insistent upon it as they added a nice buffer into the cheque they signed this morning to get him out of his contract.”

“Why?” Ned asked, remembering how adamant Gordon had once been that he would never allow Ned to understudy for Chris. “What does it matter to them?”

“Just be here early,” Gordon replied, immediately ending the phone call.

Ned didn’t know how to feel. The last few weeks had been the strangest of his life. On the one hand, he felt elated that he was about to have the biggest career highlight to date, seeing his name appearing in the articles about Chris’ sudden departure as the Gordon’s team sent out their official press release about the final show. However, he also knew that he was unlikely to see Chris ever again. The media had already reported that he had left New York for his home in Los Angeles. Just like that, it was all over.

Gordon positively skipped about backstage, racing between the different departments. There was no denying that he had lost a significant amount of weight in the last few weeks and the spring in his step seemed to catch everyone off-guard. Everything had to be perfect once more and the sloppiness of the last few weeks had to end immediately. Yet, despite all the demands and high standards Gordon was insisting upon, there was still a smug, sickly grin plastered all over his face.

“He’s just had a massive payout from Chris’ people,” whispered one of the lighting guys as Ned watched the man with obvious confusion etched across his face. “I was here late last night when they were all negotiating.”

“Well, I expect it must be a relief for him now all the tickets will have to be refunded for the rest of the run,” Ned nodded.

“That stuff’s all covered,” the backstage man replied, shaking his head at Ned’s misunderstanding. “I mean Gordon himself. He’s just had over five million dollars from Chris to let him go early and to ensure there’s this last performance tonight.”

“They paid Gordon personally?” Ned asked. “But that makes no sense!”

Twenty minutes later and the crowds were starting to move into the theatre, bitterly disappointed that the main attraction for attending this play had inexplicably left the production. Ned had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to please the audience, no matter what he did that night. Ned had braced himself for Gordon’s assertive approach to managing him, yet the man had barely uttered more than a few words. Despite micromanaging everyone else, as the new lead actor, Ned felt almost as if he was going into the whole thing blind. Gordon stood behind him as the music began to rumble into life, placing his hand on Ned’s shoulder just before his cue. The role had been Gordon’s once, many, many years ago. Perhaps he felt like he knew how Ned was feeling. “Welcome to the club,” he whispered, grinning excitedly and nudging Ned onto the stage.

If Ned could have found the words to describe the feeling as he acted on stage that night, his explanation would have been akin to the accounts of out-of-body experiences. It was as if he no longer needed to recall the lines of dialogue; like they simply flowed through his body. His movements did not feel like his own; his walk and stature had altered. It was as if he embodied the character and had no control over any of it at all. In the papers the next morning, they would criticise him for mimicking Chris’ performance to the very last detail, but in Ned’s mind, the only thing he had actually done was to step out onto that stage. Everything else had been autopilot.

Unlike the final show of every other production Ned had ever been in, the mood that night was too low to celebrate afterwards. People hugged backstage and collected all their things, knowing that they would not have an opportunity to do so at any other time. Meanwhile, after all the obligatory praise, Ned headed back into the main dressing room as if his mind had drifted below a dense fog. He simply sat in his chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. What on earth had come over him?

Half an hour later, a drunken Gordon came skipping into the room, holding a glass of champagne for himself. “You did wonderfully!” he beamed at Ned, despite the fact that Ned had already been told that Gordon hadn’t seen a moment of it; too busy celebrating backstage. “And now, no one else will perform this play for many decades to come!” he beamed. “‘The Curse of Deansgate’ has struck again! An incomplete run, just like every other time it’s been attempted. No financial backers will go near it again,” he laughed, as if this had all been such a vast, cunning plan from the very beginning.

“Everything worked out pretty well for you, though,” Ned managed to utter, catching the scent of something sweet down the corridor and suddenly feeling remarkably hungry. 

“Even better than I expected,” Gordon nodded emphatically, running his hand down his surprisingly deflated gut. “But the curse has never been about financial ruin, has it?” he laughed. “The curse has always been something much more insidious. I taught that arrogant fuck a lesson and got a very decent payout at the same time.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror, seeming pleased with what he saw. “It’s been a very successful few weeks!”

“You never really did forgive Chris, did you?” Ned asked, feeling the strangest sense of familiarity with Gordon. The man’s last words to him before he had gone on stage had been to welcome him to the Deansgate ‘club’ and now that Ned was there, he felt as if he could ask Gordon anything and be told the exact truth.

Goron closed the door that he had been propping open with his large body and stepped inside so that he could not be overheard. “Of course not,” he laughed. “And you sealed your fate the moment you started sucking him off back here after each performance.” He looked down at Ned disapprovingly. “You’re a serious actor. You should have known better than that!” he scolded him. “Perhaps I should have fired you then and saved you from all this.”

Ned dropped his head. Gordon was certainly right there.

“I hadn’t ever planned to let you take the lead. But when Chris Peterson’s management figured things out, the opportunity to throw you under the bus was simply too easy.” He looked down at Ned with triumph dancing in his eyes. “Lay down with dogs and you get fleas.”

“What did they figure out?” Ned asked, having the strangest feeling that the way his mind was so clouded at that moment was all related to something much larger.

“Here,” Gordon grunted, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “I’ve been told to give you this.”

An envelope was thrown into Ned’s lap without Gordon even making an effort to step forwards. Ned opened it up and found a plane ticket to Los Angeles, departing at 2.05am. 

“Lover Boy wants to see you!” Gordon explained, holding back a snarl.

Silently, Ned felt elated. From the moment he’d read that Chris had left New York, he had believed that their fling was over. Now he was realising that he hadn’t been forgotten after all. “Well, I guess there’s no point in sticking around here these next few days, anyway” he sighed, looking around the dressing room he would have to vacat shortly.

“No, I quite agree,” Gordon smirked. “I’ll message him to let him know that you’re on your way.” He placed his hand on Ned’s shoulder. “Now that you’re the very latest Gentleman of Deansgate instead, I have a feeling that you’re about to meet the real Chris Peterson at long last…”

Ned felt eyes on him the entire time as he made his way to the airport and flew across the country, not really knowing what was going to happen when he finally arrived. In the arrivals lounge, a driver was waiting, holding up a banner with his name written across it. Ned’s only backpack was taken off his shoulders as he made his way to the expensive car that was to carry him away. 

They pulled up forty minutes later at the most obscene residence, overlooking the Hollywood hills. The whole residence seemed llavish beyond words. Unlike the chill of a New York winter, the sun shone gently on Ned’s face and he sighed in appreciation at his own good fortune.

A member of Chris’ extensive team came straight out to greet him, ushering him inside almost as if he was expecting a team of photographers to ambush them from the gates . Everywhere was pristine and surprisingly immaculate, from the large marble pillars to the extensive windows at the back of the property, overlooking an enormous swimming pool and the incredible view across the valley.

Ned sat down at the large breakfast bar in the kitchen, where pastries and snacks filled several plates for the members of Chris’ entourage. He was told to help himself whilst the man left the room to let Chris know that he had arrived. Whilst Ned ate, he heard the splash of someone emerging from the pool and suddenly saw the large, looming shape of Chris Peterson marching across the terrace towards the expansive kitchen. Dressed in only his swim shorts with a towel lazily draped over his shoulders, Chris moved with an assertive speed that Ned had not seen from him before; although, his fat stomach popped out in front of him, firm and rounded under his large pecs.

“Excellent!” Chris cheered, spotting Ned and striding straight over to place his hands on his secret lover’s shoulders as he ate. Chris’ strong fingers massaged Ned’s shoulders, not offering any other sign of affection, most likely because his team were all so close by. “Did anyone see him arriving?” Chris asked someone behind them.

“No, sir. It was all very fast and discreet,” replied a deep masculine voice.

“Good,” Chris replied, his hands massaging more softly now and leaning in to whisper into Ned’s ear. “I bet you’re hungry after all that travelling.”

Chris suddenly stood bolt upright and marched about once more, heading to the refrigerator and pulling out as many things as he could.

“Sir, sir…” counselled a woman from his staff. “You don’t need to do that. We’ve got this covered. You can head back to the pool. We’ll look after Ned.”

Chris looked across at Ned, as if calculating whether he could trust his entourage to do what they were promising. “Fine,” he spat, turning around and marching straight out, clearly in a mood about something. “But I need results. I need all of this mess sorting out now!”

Coming down from the high of his great performance the night before was almost impossible. Ned had hardly slept at all on the plane and he had the remarkable feeling of being almost drunk. Time seemed like nothing at all as Chris’ friendly team fussed around him. He was led out onto the terrace to watch Chris’ gruelling swimming training with his coach. Every now and then, the unnecessarily angry actor would call out to his team any time he looked up and saw that Ned wasn’t being looked after with something to eat or drink.

“You’ve got one fucking job!” he yelled from the pool, making them all rush about to serve Ned something else.

Ned was half asleep when he heard Chris’ voice mumbling around him. “Fucking wake him up then!” he ordered one of his team, before huffing and coming over himself. “Ned… Neddy…” he called out in a voice that was barely soothing. “It’s dinner time, buddy!”

Ned opened his eyes.

“He’s awake,” Chris nodded to two guys, who promptly lifted the back of Ned’s deckchair up so that he was sitting upright. “It’s time to eat now, buddy,” Chris explained to Ned, like he was a toddler, using the kindest voice he had heard from him all day. “Mmmm! Look at all this!” he cooed, as a perfect height table was rolled underneath the deck chair so that a table sat just in front of Ned, loaded with different items.

Overcome with hunger, Ned set to work without questioning any of it. Once food was in front of him, nothing else seemed to matter.

“Good. This is good,” Chris nodded again at his team, as he looked back and forth between them and Ned. “He seems to like this the best,” he pointed at one of the dishes, as if that was a cue for them to get more. 

Faced with so much food, Ned found it hard to concentrate. He was given large, chocolate flavoured drinks that were thick and almost difficult to swallow, however Chris seemed to nod his head in approval each time Ned managed to get one down.

Ned wished that everyone else would disappear. He felt so uncontrollably horny for Chris, yet there were always people around, making it impossible for them to come together. Something about the food seemed almost… erotic. He’d never felt this way before, nor eaten so much in only a few short hours; although he wasn’t quite sure how much that was.

As night time approached, Chris entered Ned’s bedroom carrying a large tray of doughnuts. “A little treat before bed!” he winked charmingly, throwing them down on the mattress.

Ned felt his body lunge for them and he began stuffing the first one into his mouth. Chris hopped on beside him, throwing his arm over Ned’s shoulders like they were old friends, rather than lovers.

“That fucking play, huh?” he grumbled to Ned as the guy ate. “Gordon did us both dirty with that one… and I had no fucking idea!” he laughed, like he had had some lucky escape. “That’s why it’s always important to have people looking out for you behind the scenes. That could have been the end of my whole career!”

Chris noticed a large piece of Ned’s third doughnut break off as the houseguest ate a little too fast. Chris picked it up, not caring about the sticky icing that had spread across the sheets, but keen that Ned should get it down him. 

“I’m afraid I’m not going to try and stop you eating, like you did with me.” He looked down at his own, stout gut and sighed. “Look at all this!” he complained, grabbing a large wedge of it. “How the hell did you ever let me fuck you, looking like this? It’s disgusting!”

“You’re beautiful,” Ned mumbled through a mouthful of food, spitting a little out.

Chris tutted and exhaled in frustration. “You’re wasting it!” he growled in annoyance. Getting more fed up when Ned tried to apologise and did the same thing again. “Look, just sit back a bit more and let me take care of this,” he insisted, handing Ned yet another doughnut and feeling his hand into the eager guy’s crotch, grabbing at the hardness, but not stroking until Ned started to eat. 

Ned had never known bliss like it: the tastes on his tongue and the pleasure down below. Each time he swallowed and opened his mouth to moan, in went a fresh doughnut. There were multiple points when he felt like he could have climaxed, yet Chris seemed to hold him back until the very last moment. He came, feeling like a strong jet had erupted from his groin, opening his eyes moments later to see Chris dropping the emptied doughnut tray onto the floor and wiping his hands on the bed sheets. “Was that nice?” he asked, returning to that slightly patronising tone.

Ned nodded, feeling utterly spent.

“Good,” Chris smiled. “Would you like the same again tomorrow?” Chris asked, like he was trying to bargain something out of Ned. So when Ned nodded, stuffed full of food and bloated, the man couldn’t help but chuckle, heading back to his own master suite.

Chris had lost weight. With all his training and determination, Ned had never seen a belly shrink so quickly. Yet, over the coming days, he felt an onslaught of fat begin to slide onto his own stomach, inflating it with softness in an unnaturally speedy manner. Sometimes he would wake from an afternoon nap to find a measuring tape had been wrapped around his arm or thigh, by a member of Chris’ staff; no one seeming in the least bit surprised at the sudden transformation, despite monitoring it closely.

Ned knew he should be paying more attention to his body. But food was everywhere and his brain felt like it was in such a fog. Dressed only in a pair of swim shorts, he couldn’t detect a stretching in his clothes, nor remember where he had even put his cell phone to communicate with the rest of the world outside of Chris’ incredible house. Nothing he seemed to do from that point on appeared to annoy Chris, with the man’s face lighting up each time he saw a shirtless Ned lazily trotting towards the breakfast bar to eat. The other staff were relaxing too, with fewer of them there in the day now. The ‘crisis mode’ of the previous week was now over. 

Chris lifted his arm and still felt a slight stubborn clinging of fat around his love handles. “Do you want some ice cream?” he asked Ned, as if this would somehow remedy the problem. Without waiting for an answer, he headed over to the freezer to fetch it and dumped the complete tub in front of Ned, along with a large spoon. 

Back Chris went to the mirror, turning and flexing, all the while keeping a watchful eye on Ned.

“It’s almost time for you to go home soon,” he smiled. “A couple more days and things should have worked themselves out.”

“I don’t think I want to go home,” Ned replied, feeling his heart sink.

Chris laughed and came over to pat his chubby friend on his back. “I know. I know,” he smiled. “But what am I supposed to do with you once I’m back to my old shape?” He looked down at Ned’s shirtless body and seemed to grimace at the rolls of fresh blubber along his side. “You’ll just be getting more and more out of shape and I don’t really want that hanging around outside by the pool.” He ruffled Ned’s hair playfully. “I’m sure you can understand that,” he laughed, pulling a fresh bottle of water out from the refrigerator and sliding a bowl of potato chips closer to Ned instead. Then, off he went onto the terrace, diving into his pool once more.

Ned didn’t see Chris after that. The guy had disappeared later that afternoon after a lucrative advertising deal had emerged. He read later on that Chris had claimed his appearance in the play had been caused by some form of abdominal distension, unrelated to weight gain. Several so-called ‘experts’ disputed that, but when the hunk reappeared in beach shots looking just as fit as ever only a few days later, all other explanations seemed to be implausible.

No such rapid recovery came for Ned, however. Once home, his ravenous appetite seemed to consume him and he was dropped by his agent only six months later after piling on a ridiculous amount of weight in that period. And, although he could never prove it, Ned always had a suspicion that Chris Peterson’s team had been at least partly behind his declining career; desperately wanting to reduce his influence after everything that had happened with their golden boy.

Ned’s handsome face seemed to bloat and his chiselled jawline was engulfed and framed by an unflattering amount of neck fat. His pecs drooped within a month and his stomach fat swelled into a giant ball of surprisingly squishy blubber. Pants were hard to come by, given how wide his rear had become after the first year. Ned found that he had to detach himself from his old life and form something new; taking inspiration from the only other man he had known to have gone through the same experience….

It was thirty years later when Ned sat in the same old theatre where they had performed ‘The Gentleman of Deansgate’ all those years ago. It had taken him decades to finance a new run and convince his investors. But, at long last, the show was ready to audition the lead roles. 

Years ago, after Ned had had time to think and understand it all, unemployed and gaining pounds and pounds of lard by the day, he wrote it all down; every last detail of that play he would one day hope to direct: the lighting, the sound, the timings, the instruments. He didn’t know which parts were important to whatever power fuelled the curse that he had lived with for so long; transforming him into the gluttonous man he had been all these years. Everything had to be perfect.

“I’m very grateful to you for coming all the way over here to audition,” Ned smiled at the handsome, young hopeful standing on the stage: the image of his beautiful father. 

“I’m very flattered that you wanted me,” the athletic twenty-seven year old replied. “I believe you were the understudy for my father when he performed here? It was his only Broadway appearance.”

“Yes, yes,” Ned nodded. “That seems like a lifetime ago!” he lied. “And I’m sure your father would be very proud to see you standing there now, ready to fill his shoes,” he smiled, pretending to be sorry that Chris Peterson’s drug-fuelled car crash had claimed his life five years earlier.

The audition went well; not that Ned had ever seriously considered anyone else for the role. Revenge could come in many forms, but few as sweet as this poor boy.

“I think this show is going to be a huge success!” Ned grinned, eyeing his new lead actor’s cute butt as he skipped out of the theatre having just signed a watertight contract. “I can’t wait to get started!”

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 10: The One About the Audibly Loud Lukola FanFic

I’ll address the elephant in the room. And, no, I’m not talking about Jake Dunn’s brown suit! Or, that he’s posing with a man. Or, that Tyler commented “Bellissimo!!!!” on Jake's post.

I don’t think a lot of people understood the connection I was making this morning about “Mis-Directed,” Gwilym Lee, and Jake.  So, now I feel the need to explain because I don’t want people running with a narrative that goes in the opposite direction of where I was taking it.

Sorry, JVN, you’re getting pushed to the side again. I promise, I’ll get to you one day.

Let’s go back two months…

On September 25, Nicola posted to her Instagram stories a link to Alex Babsky’s post, which was a picture of Nicola. She had her hair and make-up done but she was wearing one of her own dresses (the black dress she wore in Australia and Brazil). Babsky captioned his post “[pink bow] @nicolacoughlan in London today for…well, never mind what for actually [laughing emoji with hand over mouth] [winking emoji] [shushing emoji].” Nicola responded, “You’re amazing it was so gorgeous to see you xxx.”

Babksy’s caption sent the fandom into hysteria wondering what the hell Nicola was up to. It didn’t help that this was the same day Luke updated his Instagram bio and used “Xx” and it didn’t help that Nicola was wearing the black dress she allegedly wore on her beach walk in Brazil with Luke.

Do you want to know what I thought the photo of Nicola was from? I’m not going to lie – I thought it was pre-wedding makeup. Seriously, not kidding. It reminded me of my own wedding day. Formal hair and makeup and my own dress that was easy to take off without messing up the hair and makeup. I never said I wasn’t a little bit delulu.

On November 5, an author named Lucy Parker announced on her Instagram feed that she had a new Audible book called “Mis-Directed” being released in February 2025. The post came with pictures of Nicola wearing the black dress and the same hair and makeup as the September 25 post. Nicola (presumably) is reading the part of Hattie Murton, and Gwilym Lee (presumably) is reading the part of Anthony Rafe.

Oh, okay.

Turns out, I was wrong.

So, Nicola and Luke didn’t get married.

Fine.

I have always liked crows.

But, wait a minute – what the fuck is this Audible book about? A woman who stars in a romantic drama called “Leicester Square” (what the fuck?) which was adapted from a best-selling romance novel (what the fuck??). Then, in comes our antagonist, Anthony Rafe, who plays opposite of Hattie and, let me quote here, “But when very real chemistry sparks during their scripted love scenes, Hattie begins to think the industry’s legendarily heartless Bad Guy [Anthony] might just a have a pulse after all. And Anthony, for his part, is caught off-guard by the way his heart races when he’s around his aggravating onscreen lover. As reality starts to imitate art a little too close for comfort, the world’s most unlikely couple might just have more in common than they thought…” (what the fuck???).

Let’s start with Leicester Square. What the hell is Leicester Square? Oh, the name of the fake television show on which Hattie and Anthony star. Sure, Jan. Is it odd to anyone else that Leicester Square is the name of the location of where the London premiere of Bridgerton Season 3 took place? You know, the event that happened hours before Papsmear.

Then we have the make-believe show being adapted from a best-selling romance novel. Mmm hmm.

Let’s try and not make the connection between Luke and Anthony. Mmm hmm.

And, let’s add fuel to the fire and have two co-stars falling in love with each other.

Yeah, we get it. It’s a Lukola FanFic being read by none other than Nicola. I mean, the only way it could be any better is if Luke was reading the part of Anthony Rafe! But, no, that part is being read by Gwilym Lee (who is fantastic in everything he does, by the way).

Who is Gwilym Lee? Well, he’s an actor (my father calls him “Midsomer”). Ask Mr. Google about him. But, if you check out his Instagram feed, you will find that he knows Jake and has since, at least, 2022. Is it possible that Nicola met Gwilym through Jake? Yeah, it is.

Now, why do I find this situation intriguing? Specifically, why did I find the post from Jake this morning posing with Gwilym interesting (and a bit shady)? Let me explain.

The Jakholes took the “Mis-Directed” FanFic as shade towards the Lukolas. Yes, they went there because that FanFic does not (in the least) fit nicely into their Jakola narrative. I mean, if it wasn’t shade to the Lukolas, how weird the storyline must have been for Jake! The writing was audibly on the wall, in big red letters, but the Jakholes chose to spin it into something messier than my hair in the morning after sleeping on it wet.

What exactly is this theory? Well, per the Jakholes, Nicola hates the Lukola fandom so much that she sat and read (likely, for hours) this Lukola-coded FanFic just to spite us! I mean, Anthony is a bad boy in this story and “everyone loves to hate” him (don’t forget, Luke became the devil incarnate after Papsmear). And, Hattie is tired of the “brutal press, overly invested fans, and a cutthroat industry…[that] would give even Pollyanna an edge of cynicism.” The Jakholes believe this means Nicola is saying she’s really in love with Jake and she wants us all to know that by reading a Harlequin-style romance about a woman who falls in love with her costar! Oh, my God!! How could she?!

What in the actual fuck are the Jakholes drinking with this bullshit? I know, I know. I shouldn’t expect anything better from people who ship Jake with Nicola. In fact, if I was a Jakhole, I might buy into this conspiracy theory. But, I’m not a fucking Jakhole. And, guess what Jakholes? I don’t mind breaking the hearts of Lukolas by saying we’re probably never going to see sexy-hot Brazil pictures of Luke and Nicola, so I don’t mind telling Jakholes to put this theory back into Davy Jones’ locker and feed it to that bitch Kraken.

Let’s talk a bit further about the absurdity of this “Nicola is shading Lukola” subplot from Hell.

We will pretend Nicola hates Luke. She hates Lukola. She baits the Lukola fandom for shits and giggles.

What would this make Nicola?

It would make her a villain, for starters (and “villain” is me being extremely nice).

More importantly, it would make Nicola a PR nightmare.

Even if Nicola and Luke despised each other, do you believe Netflix, Bridgerton, and Shonda Land would allow Nicola to play games with the Lukola fandom? Talk about playing with fire!

The reality is the lines between Polin and Lukola are heavily blurred at this point. I hate to say it – and maybe a lot of you will view me as a complete asshole after I say this – but, if I learned Nicola was shading the Lukolas (therefore, in my opinion, trolling Luke), I would not be interested in Bridgerton Season 4. Or, Season 5. Or, any season after that. Or, in Nicola, for that matter. You’re welcome to have your own opinion about this but I would feel incredibly betrayed, and not just by Nicola. On top of that, for me, Polin has become Lukola. They’re so blurred, they don’t even resemble a line anymore. Maybe that’s a bad position to be in, but that’s where I’m at. Sorry, not sorry.

I’m not going to rehash the breadcrumbs left by Nicola that support Lukola – if you know, you know (or you can catch up by spending an afternoon on Tumblr). Even Luke, in his own way, leaves Lukola-coded crumbs. We also have damn convincing evidence that Netflix, Bridgerton, and Shonda Land support Lukola. I mean, even they’re blurring the lines with “Nicola and Luke’s Cutest Moments” and interestingly timed images of Polin. So, do you think they’re going to let Nicola fuck with that on a public forum?

That would be a cold, hard NO.

But, this Audible book – “Mis-Directed” – is loud and made louder because Nicola is reading it.

So, what is this Audible book? Shade? Or, Nicola being cutesy? I’m going to place my bets on the latter solely because, like I said, the Corporate Office is not going to let Nicola shade Lukola because it has a direct effect on Polin.

That’s not to say that the excitement of this Lukola-coded “Mis-Directed” FanFic wasn’t attacked by the Jakholes from all sides, and the wind – for the moment – was kicked out of it. That’s a different story for a different day.

But, what I found so intriguing about Jake’s post today is that, of all the people he could have included in his photo (because there’s obviously lots of people at this event), he chose Gwilym. And, this means people will look into Gwilym. People will realize that Gwilym is the other side of “Mis-Directed.” People will realize Jake and Gwilym are friends. People will realize that Jake’s friend is reading a Lukola-themed romance novel with Nicola.

And, if we agree that the book is not shade towards the Lukolas and we agree that Jakola is not real, what is the significance of the connection between Jake and Gwilym? Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m overthinking it. But, the connection – at least in my mind (and it’s been there since November 5) – is that Jake supports “Mis-Directed” because he supports Lukola and he has always been there, helping Nicola lay the breadcrumbs. He wanted people to look into Gwilym and make the connection. Jake could very well be the one who suggested Gwilym read the part of Anthony. Jake is the degree of separation.

I want to close this out by noting that Jake also liked the post Nicola has pinned on her Instagram grid – the black and white one about her Time 100 article. You know, the one where Nicola says, “A lot of people really want me to marry Luke.” Follow the links and it will take you to this article. That’s an interestingly placed like by Jake, in my opinion – as is his photo op with Gwilym.

[derinwrites]

How can I make money writing fiction?

I'm gonna be straight with you. There is no guarantee that you'll make enough as an independent writer to make it worth your time. You very well might -- I make a liveable wage as an independent writer -- but many don't. Most writers I know also have a job. And luck plays a big part in it.

If you're interested in going forward in spite of this, you have two main options for monetisation open to you, and you are going to have to pick one. I call them the sales model and the sponsorship model, and you are going to have to pick one.

The sales model involves writing stories and selling them to readers. You can put books up on Amazon or Smashwords, sell them direct from your own website, enlist the help of a traditional publisher to handle that for you and let them decide where to sell, whatever -- the point is that your money is made from the sale of books to readers. If you go with a traditional publisher, you're using this model (though they will give you some of the money ahead of time in the form of an advance). Most indie authors also use this model, publishing through draft2digital, Ingram Spark, direct through Amazon, whatever. I've never relied on the sales model and can't give you any advice on how to do this, but Tumblr is full of indie authors who probably can.

The sponsorship model involves soliciting small amounts of money from various readers over time. This is ideal for web serials, and it's what I use. I use Patreon, which is designed specifically for this purpose, but you can use other sites such as ko-fi. This model involves providing regular content for free, with bonuses for those who support you.

"Can't I do both? Sell books and have a Patreon?" You absolutely can! I know several indie authors with a Patreon. I sell my completed books as ebooks and will eventually sell them as paperbacks. But your time and attention is limited, and so is your audience's, and you're going to have to half-arse one of these in order to have enough arse to whole-arse the other. You're going to make a lo of decisions that benefit either the sponsorship model or the sales model, not both. So pick your primary income source early and commit.

I can only advise on writing web serials and using the sponsorship model, so I'll go ahead with that assumption. If you want to make a liveable wage doing this, not only will you need luck, you'll also need patience. This is not a fast way to build a career. at the end of my first year of doing this, I had one single patron, and they were a real-life friend of mine. When I reached an income of $100/month, I threw a little party for myself, I was so happy. It had taken such a long time and was so much work. I reached enough to cover rent/mortgage after I'd been doing this for more than four years. It's a long term sort of career.

Here are some general tips for succeeding in this industry, given by me, someone with no formal training in any of this who only vaguely knows what they're talking about:

Have a consistent update schedule and STICK TO IT

The #1 indicator for stable success in this industry (aside from luck, which we're discounting because you can't do much about that) is having a consistent update schedule. Your readers need to know when the next chapter is coming out, and it should be coming out regularly. Ideally, you should have no breaks or hiatuses -- if you're in a bus crash or something, that might be unavoidable, and your readers will understand if you tell them, but if you're stopping and starting a lot for trivial reasons, they WILL abandon you. You can't get away with that shit if you're not Andrew Hussie, and I'm pretty sure Andrew Hussie doesn't message me for career advice on Tumblr. If you find you need a lot of hiatuses to write fast enough then you're updating too often; change your schedule. A regular schedule is more important than a fast one (ideally it should be both, but if you have to pick between the two, pick regular).

2. Pay attention to your readership, listen to what they want from you

Your income is based on a pretty complicated support structure when you're using the sponsorship model. this model relies on people finding your story, liking your story, and continuing to find it valuable enough to keep paying you month after month. This means that your rewards for your sponsors should be things that they value and will continue to pay for ('knowing I'm supporting an artist whose work I enjoy' counts as a thing that they value, to my great surprise; there's a lot of people giving me money just for the sake of giving me money, so I can pay my mortgage and keep writing for them without needing a second job), but it also means supporting the entire network that attracts readers and keeps them having the best time they can with your story -- being part of a rewarding community. Because this is advice on making money, I'm going to roughly divide your readership into groups based on how they affect your bottom line:

sponsors. People giving you money directly. The importance of keeping this group happy should be obvious.

administration and community helpers -- discord moderators, IT people, guys who set up fan wikis, whoever's handling your mailing list if you have a mailing list. You can do this stuff yourself, or you can hire someone to do it, but if you're incredibly lucky and people enjoy being a part of your reader community, people will sometimes volunteer to do the work for free. If you are lucky enough to get such people, respect them. They are doing you a massive favour, and they're not doing it for you, but to maintain a place that they value, and you have to respect both of those things. My discord has just shy of 1,300 members and is moderated by volunteers. I'd peel my own face off if I had to moderate a community that large. If you've got people stepping up to do work for you, you need to respect them and you need to make sure that they continue to find that rewarding by doing what you can to make sure that the community they're maintaining is rewarding. Sometimes this means taking actions and sometimes this means staying the fuck out of the way. Depending on the circumstances.

fan artists. Once you have people drawing your characters, writing fanfic of your stories, whatever, treat these like fucking gold. Give them a space to do this, and more importantly, give them a space to do this without you in it. Fanworks are a symptom of engagement with your work, which is massively important. They are also a component of a healthy community, an avenue for readers to talk to each other and express themselves creatively to each other. Third, fanworks act as a bridge for new readers. When readers share their art on, say, Tumblr, it can intrigue new people and get them into the story. Your job in all of this is to give them the space to work, encourage them as required or invited (I reblog most TTOU fanart that I'm tagged in on Tumblr, for instance), and other than that, stay the fuck out of their way. These people are vital to the liveblood of your community, the continued engagement of your audience, and the interest of your sponsors. Some of the fan artists will be sponsors themselves; some won't be. Those who aren't sponsors are still massively valuable for their art.

speculators, conversers, theorists, livebloggers, and That Guy Who's Just Really Jazzed For The Next Chapter. Some people don't make art but just like to chat about your story. These people are a bedrock of the community that's supporting your sponsors and increasing your readership, and therefore are critical to your income stream. Give them a place to talk. Be nice to them when they talk to you. Sometimes, they'll ask you questions about the story, which you can choose to answer or not, however you feel is appropriate. They'll also want to chat about non-story-related stuff with each other, so make sure they have a place to do that, too.

that guy who never talks to you or comments on anything but linked your story to ten guys in his office who all read it now. Some of your supporters are completely invisible to you. You can't do anything for these people except continue to release the story and have a forum they can silently lurk on if they want to. But, y'know, they exist.

If you want to focus on income then these are, roughly, the groups of people that you will need to listen to and accommodate for. You can generally just make sure they have space to do their thing, and if they want anything else, they'll tell you (yes, guys, paperbacks will be coming eventually). Many people will fit into multiple groups -- I have some sponsors that are in every single one of these groups except the last. Some will only be in one group. A healthy income rests on a healthy community which rests on accommodating these needs.

3. If you can manage it, try to make your story good.

It's also helpful for your story to be good. Economically, this is far less important than you'd think -- there are some people out there writing utter garbage and making a living doing it. Garbage by what standards? By whatever your standards are. Just think of the absolute laziest, emptiest, hackiest waste-of-bandwidth story you can imagine -- some guy is half-arsing that exact story and making three times what you'll ever make on Patreon doing it. And honestly? Good for him. If he's making that much then his readers are enjoying it, and that's what matters. Still, one critical component of making money as a writer is writing something that people actually want to read. And you can't trick them with web serials, because they don't pay in advance -- if they're bored, they'll just stop. So you have to make it worth their time, money and attention, and the simplest way to do that is to write a good story.

This hardly seems mentioning, since you were presumably planning to do that anyway. It's basic respect for your audience to give them something worth their time. Besides, if we're not interested in improving our craft and striving for our best, what are we even writing for? I'm sure I don't need to tell you to try to write a good story. The reason I list this is in fact the opposite -- don't let "I'm not a good enough writer" paralyse you. The world is full of someday-writers who endlessly fuss over and revise a single story because it's not good enough, it's not perfect, they're not Terry Pratchett yet. Neither was Terry Pratchett when his first books were published. If you're waiting to be good enough, you won't start. I didn't think Curse Words was good enough when I started releasing it -- I still don't. I started putting it out because I knew it was the only way I'd get myself to actually finish something. I don't think it's all that great, but you know what? An awful lot of people read it and really enjoyed it. And if I hadn't released it, I'd have been doing those people a disservice.

Also, it taught me a lot, and based on what I learned, Time to Orbit: Unknown is much better. If I'd never released Curse Words, if I hadn't seen how people read it and reacted to it and seen what worked and what didn't, then Time to Orbit: Unknown wouldn't be very good. And it certainly wouldn't be making me a living wage, because it was the years writing Curse Words that started building the momentum I have today.

And Time to Orbit: Unknown as it is today has some serious problems. Problems that I'm learning from. And the next book will be a lot better.

So that's basically my advice for making money in this industry. Be patient, be lucky, be consistent. Value your community; it's your lifeline, even the parts of it that don't directly pay you. And try to make your story as good as you can, but make that an activity you do, not a barrier to prevent you from starting.

Good luck.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 7

[prompt: praise kink]

male reader x shen xiaoting

7k words

Well - from a glance, Xiaoting is flawless.

Every photographer makes the same movement as soon as she steps foot onto the stage - almost as if she's commanding them - but it's not a fair competition and she knows it.

The tiny black dress wrapped around her waist, hugging every meticulous angle in its stretch, isn't exactly the most practical of options, but then again nor was the sleeveless cut or the low-backend, nor the slit in the skirt that shows however much leg you're curious to see, nor the five-inch Louboutins with little ribbons at the ankles, crystals in their mesh like a real-life glass slipper - so, truly, anything about this outfit.

But in this industry, red carpets are about one thing: image.

(Something Xiaoting wields in excess.)

She pauses the subtle sashay of her hips mid-way across the stage, and pivots around, straightening out the waves in her hair, done-up and perfect-in-pink, over her shoulders. She lets the flash of every camera illuminate the swell of her lips in full - reflect and shimmer in the sequence of diamonds dangling under her ears. But it's all in that little smirk, the tilt of her chin. Everything working together to sell the moment; how breathtakingly beautiful she is, how proud, confident and seemingly indifferent to all the commotion happening around her - to every person calling her name and pleading for her to look in this specific direction.

You can watch how deliberate she holds her posture. See it. Understand it. Watch how she tips her head. The genuine kind of smile that could drive anyone to absolute ruin.

Maybe the more obvious: how the cameras love her - love the flash, the shine and glitter and sparkle of the fabric, love the turn of a heel onto where her legs are poised, her profile a perfect angle for every shot and more and more and more.

There's not even the slightest suggestion of just how overwhelmed she is.

-

"You're not supposed to be back here," is the very first thing you hear, as soon as Xiaoting catches your reflection in the vanity mirror.

You hold up a press pass with a headshot that loosely looks like you. Like in a really dark, kind of out-of-focus photo sort of way. Xiaoting simply lets out a slightly disapproving sigh.

"Someone's probably looking for that, you know."

"What's the worst thing that could happen? Someone doesn't get to ask you what your favorite color is, or what you had for breakfast? God forbid we need to know your TMI."

She slips the crystal bracelet off the end of her narrow wrist and places it gently next to the red carpet gear strewn across the surface in front of her. A necklace. The earrings, similar in their shimmer. A matching headband, an evening clutch in white. It's all sitting, not necessarily disorganized, but it's in the mess that Xiaoting is all the while searching for things; lip gloss and makeup, small hair clips.

"You could get us both in trouble, for starters."

When she looks up at you, briefly, there's an attempt at a scolding expression - a short-lived one, how it quickly gives way to a grin, a laugh, all the things she can't help when it's you in particular.

"I'll make sure it finds its way back where I found it," and with a hand over her shoulder, "or at least somewhere close enough. If anyone asks."

Xiaoting bounces an impossibly sweet smile off the mirror at you when her eyes find yours again. And while she starts unclipping pins from her hair, lifting and tousling and adjusting the curls into a more familiar shape, you're almost entranced in the way her shoulders loosen and her eyelashes flutter. In this light, she's even more devastating: an illusion of something both fragile, and immensely resilient.

"At the very least," she says, "I won't hold my breath for anyone else to find their way into my dressing room anytime soon."

She gets a hold of a simple clip, pulls a stray strand of pink off her cheek, and tucks it behind her ear. The gesture is fluid, elegant even, and so singular.

She really is, gorgeous.

The fact that you have to occasionally remind her of that is a different maddening issue entirely. You've always wondered - and always will continue to wonder, really - why it is the prettiest girls seem to have the hardest time understanding they're beautiful. It makes you crazy, makes your head hurt.

There's an entire world worth of things for her to fixate her attention on: her job, her fans and career; a hundred more names and faces to learn - people who would probably agree to hang the stars in the sky for her, given the chance, the mere opportunity. But instead she can only bring herself to stare into a mirror and compare notes and point out all these things she doesn't feel ready for.

This interview, or her performance, or the next.

"They're talking about me. Those 'insiders'," she explains, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the voices in the hallway. "Said, my styling this past year has been too 'soft.' Too 'girly.' No one's buying it," and with a pout: "now, or then, apparently"

"Always works for me," you tell her, in a way that implies it's absolutely none of their business at the end of the day; what colors Xiaoting shows up in, how she wears her makeup and dresses, her shoes or perfume.

She floats her fingers up to the dip of her collarbone, weaving them into your hand. The contented look on her face, now a near permanent fixture in the space she keeps between the two of you, suggests that of all her accessories - gifts and borrowed things she wears in a perpetual game of dress-up - you're the one she would prefer most.

"Well," she says, fixing you a mischievous twist of her brow, "you'd say that if I was up there wearing nothing at all."

"Oh, not a doubt in my mind."

(As usual, the both of you laugh far too much.

As usual, neither of you manage to care.

Your lives have always been about soft edges. A little nonsense here and there, so long as it means having more of her.)

She brings your knuckles to her lips, careful and reserved, and holds the tips of her fingers gently to your neck. "How much more do you have tonight?"

"The rest of the hour is probably asking too much." You help Xiaoting onto her feet, arms wrapping her middle, and with a kiss dropped into her hair, you tell her, "should probably report in, let someone know I haven't gotten myself expelled."

"Thought you said you were a terrible liar."

"Oh, I am," you say. "That's just how much trouble I've already been making for myself tonight."

Xiaoting watches you kiss her shoulder, her neck, all in amusement, eyes never breaking contact as your lips brush and linger against the delicate shape of her wrist. A shiver in her exhale - almost a laugh, an 'I'm listening,' in a form of its own - and you find her body shifting into a natural and familiar hold; the outline of her mouth so unbelievably tempting when it parts so naturally - that when it comes down to a choice: Xiaoting against you, you and her in her private room, the hustle and bustle, and rush-hustle of the building and people and machines outside your door -

It really doesn't take too much convincing.

"Fifteen minutes. They'll start wondering," you tell her, already dipping forward to capture her in your arms. She falls right back, perfectly content as though she doesn't belong anywhere else. "We'd have to be really quick."

"You're bad," Xiaoting hums, winding further into your arms, smiling between the warm, warm kisses you're trailing along the collar of her dress, where the zipper is resting and ready to be drawn down.

The moment is candid: you pressing your lips into the bare skin of her shoulder, following it up with something that's part laugh, and part the kind of sigh people make after too long without sleep. You're already struggling against the curve of her waist - the swell of her hips, all her curves - while your nose nuzzles in deeper, a delicate exploration into the bend of her neck, against her shoulder, the hint of perfume. 

"Only one of us can be perfect, sweetheart." The damn truth, even if she hears it all the time and from everyone else. "You're gonna have to settle.”

You watch her expression melt into that self-composed, self-confident mien when you say it - in a quiet, contented kind of way; an ethereal sort of assurance. As though she was never meant to be touched by anyone, much less held by you, but somehow decided to allow it nonetheless. That look in her eye, it makes your heart twist. Every damn time.

"What about an accident," she muses, "something keeping you longer. Twenty maybe?"

"Oh," you chuckle. "Those happen in the hallway and parking lot. Where everyone can see. Never behind the scenes, for a totally unlikely and unrelated reason."

"Technicalities."

She turns to face you, fully, eyes lit and shimmery under the room's lighting; pink hair, all shades of glitter and silk and the smoothest, warmest skin. Your touch grazes up her sides, palms smoothing over the fine print, the sequins in the fabric, her hands all the while busy weaving, needily, around your waist, underneath the line of your shirt, finding and tracing along the ridges in your hips and spine.

Xiaoting wants you - plain and simple as that. The look on her face says as much.

And if you don't touch her now, kiss and feel her against you - all of it at once - she'll make sure you regret ever prioritizing anything over her. Over the two of you, and how perfectly and neatly you fit together, even if that means you're both absent for press calls, or a segment, or an interview she can't be late to. She'll blame you and it'll be okay.

"Fourteen minutes now," you inform her. "If it’s something you're counting."

"Give or take a few," Xiaoting smiles. Her words slip against your cheek, hot and honey-coated. It's tempting. Her teeth find your jawline and the gentle nip against your skin is hard to ignore. "Did you lock the door?"

"Believe it or not, that was the first thing I did."

And with her hips in your palms, you steal a kiss, because you can - because she's kissing you right back - her forearms wrapping over your shoulders, holding you tight around your neck, and, ahh - Xiaoting's mouth - how eagerly, so desperately, she parts your lips and slips her tongue over your teeth, humming, mumbling happily into a second and third and fourth kiss. Then, once the heat of the moment sweeps in, melting into something slower, sweeter, lingering, a little deeper, it's another.

And another after that.

She leans into you, the rise and fall, slow-down-then-start-again, of her chest and of her breathing and of the tiny, stifled noises she’s kissing into your lips. Only you're pinching the fabric around her waist, slowly lifting the hem of her skirt further up her thighs and reminding her that there's a promise for slow later, that she can take all the time in the world to map and remember the planes and edges of your body; trace the curves of every little sensitive spot and learn again how she fits into your hands, in the time and space that's left to the two of you alone.

"Thirteen-"

"Minutes," she echoes breathily against your ear and over the sound of her fingers in your belt. "I know. Got it."

Xiaoting's hasty. She has to be; reaching and fumbling to pop open your pants while the heat of her mouth finds you first, her tongue sliding smooth across your throat, chin, the warmth and the taste, then along the corner of your mouth - your tongue chasing hers and turning it into a mess that's as intimate and satisfying as it is clumsy; breath catching in both your mouths, hands intertwining, needing the contact with just as much fervent abandon.

Off, off, off, she's murmuring into you, thumbs perched dangerously on your waist, dipping into the fabric, tracing the rim, taking a tease down a little farther with each lazy caress, and, in the very back of your mind, there's a small voice in agreement that insists you are most definitely in no hurry at all.

It grows louder when the small shape of Xiaoting's palm is all the way down the rise of your pants, all over where you're beginning to grow hard - straining and twitching and almost painfully, impatiently interested. You hold her closer and clutch harder because the need is like a burn - one that's seared itself comfortably, wonderfully between your hips, where you feel each brush and curve and fond stroke of her touch.

Her eyes lift to meet yours, gleaming and knowing and laughing, no doubt aware that you're both going to be wrecked no matter which of these games she wins.

"Nothing we can't solve here and now." She tells you.

"True."

"I'll get my mouth on you later, make it all better."

"Later?" Your voice, completely a mess and breaking just enough, forces its way between a kiss that feels anything but. You're pleading for her, into her lips. "Oh, is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"A promise," Xiaoting gasps. "Or a threat. Depends how fast you're ready for me."

"Hush." And you hold her mouth open with yours, devour and drink the sounds falling from her tongue, each one that starts off shallow then trails deeper and deeper and deeper, until her hands have settled over you, and her fingers are finally pushing below the hem, and working the length of your cock, up and down and along it all.

"Hey,” she says, far too inviting, “aren't you supposed to be, like, tearing off this dress by now?"

Xiaoting smirks up at you. With a slight motion of her hand, the other having come to wrap fully around your shaft, the two fingers twisting along your tip, spreading the beading moisture into a long stroke.

"Very gentlemanly of you, wanting to keep it all nice and put together-" and with a wiggle of her brows, "-unsuspicious."

You clench your teeth through a gasp - a jolt at the sudden brush of her fingertips over the base, further down. Xiaoting has that mischief to her - she always has - a certain inclination to press and test the boundaries until they're unrecognizable, to poke and prod where she shouldn't, only the slightest bit concerned.

"Trust me, I would. Only this is a dress I can't afford to ruin, sweetheart." You're leaning her against the vanity, freeing one of her hands to press around behind her, against the cold, cluttered countertop, feeling how the sharp breath in her lungs goes soft and hot immediately, wanting.

"In that case," she tells you, a knowing tilt in her mouth, "you'll just have to ruin me in it."

That's a little closer to your budget given how fast your arm slips under her hip, pulling her up onto the vanity and angling her into you. Her skirt ruffles and follows, the material all too eager to keep you and the lithe frame of her body nice and snug together. There's that sharp gasp in her chest again, at the hand you're running up her thighs; an approval to your arrangement in the sound of her laughter, to your kiss, and all the fever-filled strokes jerking your cock that she's busying herself with again.

You can feel an urge you both share and want to make real and tangible, to peel down and past and over those tiny black panties; feel the heat rising, the wetness there, and all the eager, eager noises of her pleasure.

"Ten minutes." Your teeth are grazing into her lip, her mouth, while she whimpers so pretty into your throat. "Does that put any ideas in your head?"

"Nearly everything." Xiaoting lets your pants fall and uses the back of her heel to skid them down around your feet. "But maybe, especially your cock right here, if you’re going to slide it so slowly over me-" she sucks on her next breath, holding her hand where her panties are; smoothing against you with her hips rocking forward.

You feel her head drop, slightly, when she whispers into a heated kiss, "right between, the most tender way, where I'm aching the most."

"I bet you'd look beautiful with it," you say, all kinds of things, leaning and mumbling into her neck, all that exposed skin. "My cum on you. Sitting so good right here, in such a tight little-"

She stops your teasing with her kiss, pushing forward to the point where her ass is bumping right against your hips, your hand, your cock; coaxing you in closer.

And then, a particularly stern warning, probably warranted, sneaks out through the bite of her lip; just barely restrained: "I swear to god if you make a mess anywhere - don’t, if you know what's best for you.”

"That's a pretty roundabout way of asking me to cum inside you, Xiaoting. Wording matters."

"Telling." Her smile is all kinds of sly; all for you to witness and tuck safely in your pocket later. "Not asking."

"We’ll see what we can do with nine minutes," you tell her, and your cock is snug against the lace of her underwear - right where she's so fucking wet - you can already hear it in the little, jerking huffs in her voice and on her breath and how your hands are touching her through the fabric. How between hot, clumsy kisses, she's lifting and drawing her body as close as possible and curling into you.

(God.)

"Easy," she mouths, all hot and hazy as she drags the lacy band of elastic aside. It's your turn to inhale and jerk and gasp, but there's hardly anything there to catch you, just her whisper that says, "there you go, honey, fill me up real slow. Right to the very, very top," her voice arching high when you've begun to nudge your cock into her, opening her up and up and up with a slow, steady thrust. "Just - like - that."

And in the seconds, maybe minutes (you’re trying not to lose track), that follow, you are holding your breath against the heat blossoming through her cheek. Against Xiaoting, flushed and whimpering, hands buried in her dress and her hips starting to roll back on your cock. It's a tiny adjustment; nowhere to go but deeper, further - grinding together however you can manage.

It's one thing to love each other quietly, discretely and with all that discretion.

It's another entirely, in times like these, to give in to a raw-edge impulse that hits suddenly and leaves just as fast. Your hips snap in and in and in, Xiaoting's chest rising and rising, her head turned and pressed into the shoulder of your shirt, her hand already caught in a fistful of sleeve. And you - the friction is so soft and so good, a slick, easy glide of your cock - full - all the way to the very last inch.

Just her seedy, whimpering whine fills the back of your neck and your ear, and her arms and her legs locked in around you, like a coil ready to burst, that ache coming to a head.

The ends of her hair are soft and sweet where you gather a fistful of pink around your wrist, hold - pull, like a taut string. Xiaoting gasps a fluttering note as her chin tips up, the smooth canvas of her throat begging to be kissed and roughed up in just the right places. Reddening like the insides of her thighs, the heat there, where they're pinched around your waist - delicate little marks of where you're fucking her open and bare and deep and so well.

You could drink up each and every noise - all the keening and humming, the ruffled, strung-out sounds; how you're both breathing into a shared mess of gasping and panting, of Xiaoting whimpering into your throat, clinging on like she'll die otherwise. "Faster," she pleads all desperate and urgent. "More. Fuck this pussy like it deserves, don't you want it? So wet, can't you feeling how I'm aching?"

You can. Hot and wet and absolute.

You can feel the shudder-wreck, the absolute throe - there's not an ounce left between you; nothing but her slick, warm cunt clutching and hugging your cock, letting it stretch her apart and fill her again and again, the little ridge between your hips slipping over her clit on a forward, upward stroke and grinding there, with a shaky hand cradling her lower back for support while you drive back into the thrust.

"Ting, fucking christ - Ting, your tight little pussy is incredible." You groan into her skin. "Taking me, fucking, taking every, last, inch-"

"I can feel you fucking throbbing," Xiaoting tells you, all teasing and exasperated as she lets your name turn into a series of vibrating hums against your lips. "You're going to make me fucking lose it, the way you're hitting me inside."

See, you fit together, inside-and-outside so perfect; that when you begin to really fuck Xiaoting, when she's making it clear, over, and over, yes, harder, give it to me, and the table she's sitting on is giving away each-and-every one of her whimpers, you lose yourself in the rhythm and pace and the fact that Xiaoting's creaming cunt is working itself hot and messy and pulsating around you; so fucking tight, tight, - slick all around - almost drawing you in, then resisting and tensing every-time your cock finds just the deepest angle.

It's something to push, something that makes you greedy and drive her ass into the cabinet even more; make sure you're slipping along her walls just enough, and doing so with every few inches or less that you're managing to drive, working over a pressure so sensitive it might be making her see stars, every time a thumb digs a little deeper into her hip bone.

"All the way, baby," she's saying, whispering, making you want to fuck the words out of her in broken pieces. "So. Close. Just a little-"

She's gone, her back arched - bending into an incredible sight. And there's the most beautiful look on her face, even under the frantic-urgent rush. Your hands are all over her: pressing into the divots above her hips; petting the expanse between her tits, then down again, feeling out her ribcage, her belly, in between her thighs and parting them wider - like if she were any more spread open, she'd be coming right off the table.

Then, the thumb tangled into the sleeve of her dress, the rough pad of the other rubbing circles over her swollen clit - here you'll figure she'll cum; she's never shy about it - but it's more a question of how many times. How it always builds up and comes apart.

You're obsessed, really, with the details: her eyelids fluttering, the sounds of her skin sliding down onto the cabinets, her lips that can never get themselves closed.

"Oh, Ting," you're panting, licking all over her parted mouth, "do you need-"

Her nails begin to cut half-crescents into the small of your back, where she's been gripping at you; a moan falls straight out from her tongue, straight into your own, the closest she'll ever come to asking for anything: but it's easy.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby, I'll give you whatever you need-"

You slide your fingers higher up her folds, pushing onto her hot cunt right over the spot where your cock is disappearing inside her.

"I know that's what you need to be fucked silly, right? Need some extra friction so I can have the entire inside of this fucking cunt dripping-"

Xiaoting makes a noise that tells you, good guess. And you're playing her closer and closer to her orgasm, watching her teeth sink into her own lip, knowing that she's the one on a timer - which makes it all the easier, because you know exactly what to say next, because you've played this game enough - when you've already been fucking her and fingering her through one or two and her noises are telling you her body needs just one more, and then, the words usually roll right out, not the slightest bit contrived:

"That's it, sweetheart, you look so fucking good. So, so pretty cumming on my cock, baby. You're fucking gorgeous, you know that? I can't get enough of you."

Her mouth falls open, eyes screwing tight with it - the praise, the way you can talk her right into it every fucking time - the way it all but kills her: even when she's getting pumped full of pre-cum and sleeved around your cock like a glove, you know that sometimes the words are the only thing she's chasing, and her jaw starts to trembling just like the rest of her. This full body tension, head to toe of perfection you're whispering in her ear. She's pressing her heels harder than before against the back of your legs, digging, her whole chest shaking for a gasp of air she doesn't seem to ever be able to fully catch.

"But god, I wish you were looking at me," you're begging, sincere, with a deep sort of pining, when you get the the sharp twist of her neck, like it takes everything in her, then, like it's a miracle - those lidded, still-water eyes focused right on you. "I want to make you fall apart, just looking at me, sweetheart."

(Your poor heart. An obsession. So in love with her.)

The kiss you steal from her lips is deeper, your tongues playing a familiar song, the push, pull - how easy and perfect she fits.

When she cums, it always starts quiet, not like what she's just started doing: the kind of cries and moans that begin to make it past her teeth, desperate and panting, her fingers crushing down in place where they're pressed to your skin. Those whimpers that start quiet, get loud, fast, and then Xiaoting's arching right up from the table and clenching her entire body. With you inside her, she's so wrapped up in how good it is, the pleasure spiking past her pussy and into her veins.

"Shh," you soothe her, lovingly brushing her hair to the side when her breath shudders hard; the mess you made, sliding a palm against her cheek when the first few tears gather, the way they always do when Xiaoting's overwhelmed and torn down in such a good, beautiful way. 

You could kiss her, when you feel the curve of her trembling lips. You do, again-again; slip and wet and parted and sliding when Xiaoting lets you hold the base of her chin between your forefinger and thumb, and bring your mouths together like that.

You could hold the moment longer. Keep kissing her and not moving - except Xiaoting has that meek, "Fuck me," mumbled into your open mouth, her half-wits returning and giving her the very start of a wicked grin - all sloppy with orgasm. "However you want, whatever will make you cum fast-"

"Turn around for me. I'm going to show you how pretty you are, looking just like that-"

"Y-Yeah- '' Xiaoting is trying, her joints trembling as she moves her body. She's so good, listening, rolling onto the surface of the table with her ass up, palms spread out and supporting her into this perfect line. Xiaoting's defining the curve: where her lower back and tight little ass begins and ends, right up into her shoulders and spine. Her hair has fallen across one side, and now you can finally see how much she's blushing in the mirror, the messes that her eye makeup has smudged into, how good she's been, and now how sweet and pliable and worked open her muscles are.

The view alone could have you blowing your load before you can even do it properly inside her.

But, god - the fact that her dress was hanging down on one shoulder, then on none, exposing her naked skin entirely; the fact that you can't resist grabbing a hand around a waist-full of her body and dragging her back closer, slotting your thighs under hers and her ass up against you, cock sliding into her still-clenching cunt without the help of your hands, just finding it where it belonged. You give it to her like she's meant to take. Fast. Hard. Deep. Making sure each-time your cock is in its base-deep place and sliding right back out, pulling slick, creamy strands out from her fucked-out pussy. Bathing you in her want, her need, pooling along the base of your cock; seeping everywhere.

There's just so much of it. The sounds echoing off the empty walls, so distinct, unmistakable, so full and thick. The way your whole body seems to tighten and tense along with hers - everything tight, you can see it, your eyes sweeping from Xiaoting's thighs to the reflection of how she just takes you. Shaking each time, the lines of her body wobble forward when your hips land a heavy thrust and slide along every bit velvety-wet inside her: no room for your cum when she's this overflowing, you figure, wondering how full of it she could even get.

"Fuck," the word just slides off you. "Fucking god, you're the best fuck," you praise her. Like heaven.

Because Your hand is in her hair again, wrapped up in and smoothing over the tangles; feeling her like silk. But now you're grabbing too - holding her steady, a fistful between the roots; you want her back arched, canted just that one angle higher that you know would push her past all limits.

“Oh my god,” she gasps out, once your get her knee planted up on the counter - once she's spread herself even further for the weight of your body. "That's it - holy shit, please-more-"

There are little whispers too - stuff that makes your cock twitch a few times, pulsing in warning - not even fully aware that she's cumming down all over your waist, praises like the hottest of filth, please and yes and I need it and fuck and fucking christ, keep going and don't stop don't stop please baby I'll do anything anything-

Xiaoting's voice reaches the same high pitch she does when her clit is getting hit, not sure what part of her body you're touching or just the overwhelming sensation, but god she doesn't know which way to turn her neck and face. She just ends up taking it all in, breathing in the gravity of the moment - her reflection, yours, the feeling - a tremor building up, her eyes flickering back-forth when she realizes they've started to close, forcing herself to look at the both of you.

You fuck your cock through each inch of her quivering cunt, each one hotter, tighter, wetter than the last - until you're spilling cum - cumming deep and fast inside her -

Reaching so far she can feel the thick pool of it getting fucked further into her with every shallow snap of your hips; her ass flushing back up against your stomach. Filling her to the brim - enough to feel it drip and seep and slide.

And she doesn't stop, the way she has her hips rolling down your length and staying there, your cock rooted into her deepest spot. If there's one more thing she gets off on it's being filled, milking the remnants, emptying you, and - because she's almost fucking teasing you, you feel it when she's clenching the remaining dredges right out of your body; out and leaking hot along your over-sensitised skin. The sharp sting of it has your hands tight on her waist, her ass spilling through the gaps of your fingers - deciding what you'll do.

"Three minutes," she says, panting, "is enough-"

You squeeze through the sculpted round of her ass. Spank it. Knead it.

"You want me to fuck another one into you - can you take that? You'd be such a good girl if you can take a fucking like that."

"I mean it," Xiaoting rasps, hips still lifted and angled toward you, as she meets you in the mirror; her eyes looking past your reflection, still coming down, wrecked and fucked raw, but making the message clear. "I'll make it easy for you."

And with that's she got her hand on your still-hard cock; not nearly enough softness in her voice for the rough grip and the sloppy pumping - fucking filth out of her still, if there was ever any hope of getting it out the way she's pulling and using and moving the slick all over you, spilling it onto the floor. "Think I can make you cum again, right here and now."

The thing about Xiaoting is:

She makes bad decisions, but always with the best intentions. That's why you always know what she'll say.

Because it's almost always the same answer: a pair of crossed wrists and a coy-eagerness that's enough of an invitation for you to make use of what she's given.

And this is the exact way you find yourself dragging the fabric of her dress down her shoulder, her middle, her breasts falling back down from their bounce when you unwind it, then twisting the end tightly into itself before shoving it into the soft valley of her mouth.

I love your tits, you know that?" you tell her, mouth open and hot against her shoulder blade. “So fucking pretty all over, Ting, your entire body's amazing and it does things to me-if I could, I would keep my cum inside this tiny little pussy, over and over, keep filling it. Make your tummy swell for me, sweet baby, and never let a single drop-"

"Do it-" she moans out, words garbled by the fabric. Her eyes are wide and full of the darkest innocence, like anything could happen; anything you wished. "Do it, your fucking cock, want to feel you-"

You spank her again, and she keens.

The mirror is showing you how her chest reddens under the rush of your hands kneading at her, almost violent, before sliding down the back-insides of her thigh, pushing, "But, what you look like with my cock buried inside you, stretched out and still so fucking tiny around me."

It's not new. It's what makes Xiaoting give you the dirtiest, sexiest little hum around the cloth wedged inside her mouth.

Then her cunt clenches down on your cock, and you're groaning, "christ," watching the way her face tugs at the stretch, watching, when her back is pushed out again - the angle. You're lining up, sucking in the full and naked and glistening display of her body before letting your hips fuck into hers again. It feels even better than the first time: tightening like a vise around the thickness of you, your cum pouring back inside her, then with her eyes fixed to yours in the mirror, you get to watch her lips straining; a drooling, whimpering mess.

Then. You're slamming her waist into the table. Rough, reckless. Desperate to reach another edge, rough enough that she can barely look up from her bowed elbows, elegant features twisted into something a little more awful, a little more pretty - just there, and - and - 

A third time. Four. More.

Xiaoting's whimpering, just so spent she has nothing else left, your cock filling her up so full and hot with your spill; she's sloppy and flushed and you're pressing her up into the cool surface of the mirror, with her legs giving in when she collapses over her heels and nearly tumbles over; her own body weighing nothing.

If she asked, "carry me," in any way, you'd be on her like clockwork; you'd get her turned around into a loose-limbed pile, a leg thrown over each of her waist; she'd already have her cheek nestled against your jaw, halfway asleep, a warm bundle pressed up and waiting to get tucked into bed and swept into all of the things that would make her purr and melt; blankets and warm-clothes and showers and tending.

You'd always make a show out of sweeping her off her feet. Because the thing is, Xiaoting deserves it.

And you let her know that:

"You're always the sweetest, aren't you? Taking a fucking like that," you tell her, burying the dying gasps of a laugh right into the sweat-sticky back of her neck. You can feel her throat vibrating out a small sound, her brain almost definitely not able to formulate words, maybe only just registering the tones of your voice. "You are just so breathtakingly gorgeous, babe, the prettiest baby. The fucking world must be upside down, because no one tells you nearly often enough."

And -

Xiaoting - really, above all else, is fucking gorgeous. Because her tired laugh echoes a small part of itself straight down your spine, filling all the dips between each of your vertebrae. Genuine smile and all.

It has your skin crawling back to life, warming up.

There's a murmured 'thank you' said somewhere into the back of her hand, between her pinky finger and her ring, a small, stifled breath that pulls on her tired voice; it's a sleepy sound, like honey, and maybe that's why you choose to tell her one more time.

You glance at the clock on the wall. It's been a good fifteen-plus-extra minutes. You can live with that.

"Told you we'd be late," you say, smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

Which means this is the second time she says: "Nothing there we can’t solve with a little..."

"Carelessness?"

"Misdirection. Pretty convenient for some of us," Xiaoting murmurs with the lingering sweetness of your kiss on her lips. "Who have that charming talent with words."

She looks up, wincing and dabbing at the dried tracks on her cheeks where her eyelashes have swept away all the makeup and tears, like a soft brush sweeping away the layer of snow, she lets her head rest there in your palm and the other soothes, warm, on the back of her neck - her shoulders a little slack when you feel her whole body relax.

"Love you," Xiaoting says, after a heavy breath; a shaky exhale, just under her tongue; "even when we're a little crazy."

Your cheeks warm as they squish themselves around her grin.

"Love you. Now hold still," you say - taking it slow, kissing the damp pink curls right behind her ear. Then, for the most part, it's back to business. Back to normal.

Makeup wipes and wet washcloths. Clearing and setting the furniture upright. Hastily undoing the locks, so that to anyone who's passing by and smelling the raw, irrefutable evidence of sex and sin, they can turn away and think twice - no one's fault except the wicked thoughts swirling and forming in the back of their thoughts.

(No matter how many times you do, it's no different with Xiaoting; her smile turns the wheels in your head - still spinning. You can't help it when she laughs with her eyes still half-mast - fucked-out; a headiness, her tone like velvet.)

And the 'yes, we do,' on her breath when she hums again, is the beginning of an I-told-you-so, when you tell her, "c’mon, we've got places to be."

[autisticlalna]

how to watch Skyblock Kingdoms!

because i'm dragging all of you down with me.

what is Skyblock Kingdoms?:

Skyblock Kingdoms, or SBK, is a Skyblock survival server made by VikingPilot where 18 20 players are split into groups of 2 and have their own island to take care of. each island has a unique wood type, and have a monopoly over that wood type! trade between kingdoms is allowed and encouraged, but any saplings belong solely to their original island-- with the exception of oak, which is a freebie anyone can have.

the teams are theoretically a mix of seasoned skyblockers and people not as familiar with it, but in practice there's more novices than experts so comedy has quickly ensued.

what's the story?:

in most cases, SBK is more of a casual improv vibe. think Hermitcraft rather than Empires. what this means is that there's no overarching story everyone is following, but some players have bits they've decided to commit to that, in typical MCYT fashion, are spiraling. some perspectives stay away from the action, some are playing along with whatever bit is tossed their way, some have their stories to tell, and Avid is the reason i'm having to rewrite this paragraph.

we've got capitalists! we've got OSHA! we've got witches feeding the void to try and appease it so it stops eating their bridges! we've got signs of the timeline falling apart! we've got a fortune-telling wizard! we've got something trapped deep down in limbo! we've got somebody cursed to be a monkey by british sun tzu! we've got selling your soul for a weekly lootbox! we've got a kingdom being overtaken by snow and sculk! we've got an airline with a 75% mortality rate! we've got a lawyer?

as of this version of the post (Avid's episode 17, Marma1ade's episode 15, Viking's episode 13, Vintage's episode 13), the first major story arc has wrapped up and things are going in a very interesting direction.

what's the format?:

there are edited videos being released regularly on Youtube by most of the creators, but a couple of POVs are stream-only so far. however, you can easily keep up with the server shenanigans without watching any streams-- there's some stuff that doesn't make it into videos, but not anything that would leave you locked out of the loop.

you can find all of the episodes out so far in release order in this one massive playlist by Doovid! thank you Doovid <3

on top of videos and streams, SBK has songs written and performed by Avid for his episodes! please listen to Through the Void, it's really good. there's also an animation for it that's used as his intro, which is also really good. if you want to listen to cool tunes made for SBK by one of the creators, you should watch Avid.

who to watch?:

depends on what you're looking for!

if you want a focus on building, then Fixxitt and KingElffe are both working on large-scale projects that are downright stunning to see in Skyblock. if you're interested in the Void storyline, then your best bets are Avid, Marmalade, and Trog-- and if you want lore in general, you can add Rubyco, Vintage, Milkman, and Anathra (and potentially Viking) to the list. if you want something chill, then Doovid, M1G, Kale, Anathra, and Leon are pretty laid-back. if you enjoy cinematic editing, then you should check out Avid, Trog, Doovid, Leon, and Viking. if you're here for comedy, then you'll want to check out Viking, Doovid, Milkman, Leon, CodeNeon, and Kittrix, but honestly everybody gets in on that one as they mess with each other constantly. and that's still not covering everybody!

i recommend watching everyone's episode 1 to get a feel for their style and go from there. Anathra, Artemis, Neon, and Leon's perspectives start around the Ender Dragon fight, and Fool and Tea are stream-only.

who's on the server?:

as mentioned, some of these POVs are stream-only!

Dark Oak (VikingPilot + Fixxitt 412) - industry on a massive scale Cherry (Rubyco + vintage_applesauce) - friends with everyone Jungle (AvidMC + Doovid) - the universe has it out for them. Birch (TheFoolsFam + SadMilkman) - the villain is always capitalism Bamboo (M1G + KaleHameron) - space samurai shenanigans Mangrove (Marma1ade + Teaish7) - witches with a void problem Acacia (Dr. Trog + Kittrix) - triangle-loving chaos-causers Spruce (AcornBandit + Anathra) - very chill (both definitions.) End (CodeNeon + LeonSBU) - have been here the whole time! Mushroom (KingElffe + Artemis8bit) -

tl;dr Watch Skyblock Kingdoms.

[fillinforlater]

Just Testing

Male Reader x Wonyoung, Eunbi, Sakura, Yena, Yuri, Chaewon, Nako, Hitomi, Mina, Nayeon, Gaeul, Rei, Sua, Yoohyeon, Jinsoul, Yeojin, Tiffany, Sooyoung, Winter, Sullyoon, Xiaoting, Miyeon, Yiren, Arin, Seungyeon, Hwasa, IU, Chaeryeong, Somi, Rose (31some)

Length: 31,577 words

FIC STARTS AFTER THE #

FIC IS SPLIT INTO MULTIPLE POSTS

Tags: SQUATTING FACE FUCK + ANAL PRONE BONE, PORN, stupid satire, self-aware smut, seductive, flirting, charming, perfect!you, GAME SHOW, testing mouths, blowjob, sweat, sweat kink, messy sex, sub/dom dynamics, sex in water, double anal (@kaedespicelatte), female orgasms, rough sex, overstimulation, stocking and high heels kink, gaping, terrible jokes, teasing, gagging, breath play, banter, fuck buddies, weird relationship, sex on the ground, temperature play, petite body, hard anal, sex toys, vibrator for overstimulation, elegance, keeping warm, huge tits, tit play, TW: golden shower, water sports, piss kink, couch sex, size kink, dom!idol, edging, threatening, heavy jerking off, blue balled, TW: brat, brat taming, forced deepthroat, cursing, undressing, name calling, degradation, dub-con?, GAME-SHOW-CEPTION, outside sex, public sex, getting caught, rent is due, sex sells, scent kink, slow sex, caring anal, rough face fucking, slut, runny mascara kink, choking, fingering, porn tropes, sex while watching porn, screams, fucking into submission, suddenly missionary, bimbofication, blonde bimbo kink, are you on drugs?, cumshot, cum on tits, cockwarming, sex doll, lube, lube play, fighting, brat breaking, a lot of lube fr, first time, teaching, slow bj, hot and steamy, body worship, abs kink, almost loving, suddenly painting, male overstimulation, death by orgasm?, self-degradation, very loud, break everything, food play, cherries, whipped cream, biting sheets, why did you read all of that???

TW: a lack of editing, cringiness lol and this has all the kinks, SPOILER! Scene 7 has watersports, Scene 29 has foodplay, Scene 11 has heavy degradation, Scene 20 bimbofication, but tbh, read at your own risk lol

Inspiration: my hate relationship with porn and the industry behind it. This has a lot of satirical themes, terrible jokes and allusions to other things/media, especially K-Pop lyrics and song titles. This is also kind of a flex and a tribute to the insane amount of hot people we get to see as fans of this music genre.

Also, I'm a bit insane and like the squatting and prone-position a bit too much.

(A/N: Kaede is already tagged, also @worldsover for Arin and Yena, @writerpeach add Xiaoting and Kkura to the list, @sinswithpleasure Winter, @midnightdancingsol for Jinsoul, @iznsfw for Eunbi, Hitomi and Nako, @capslocked for Miyeon, @praeluxius for Sullyoon and Chaewon, @firagaarmor for Gaeul, @authorsquidward for Wonyoung and Yeojin, @craycr4y, @co-reborn for Mina, @nsfwmaemi for Xiaoting. Sorry, not sorry.)

#

“So, this is going to be the first take, right? How many do you usually need?”

The stylist combs your hair with her delicate fingers a final time before deeming it perfect. It literally is, clean, black and utterly unleashed. Whatever the producers think fits best for your personality. The show must go on—something like that, as long as you have any hair, you don’t mind what it looks like. Okay, to be fair, even if they would ask you to go bald, you would. This job is just too precious to pass on.

“Oh, I only need one take, darling,” you say and look at the stylist through the crystalline backlit mirror into her crystalline brown eyes. Something tells you that they are usually not this wide open and shocked, call it an instinct if you will, something to pair with one of your three divine strengths:

Irresistible charme.

“Well… if you say so,” she stutters and tugs a strand of her blonde hair behind her cute little ear. She directs her gaze towards the door, but you know she isn’t thinking about leaving, not with the way her hand rests on your shoulder or her tummy cushions the back of your head when you lean backwards to look at her from a different angle. 

She is quite pretty, with the tiny moles on her bright skin. One could’ve easily mistaken her with one of the many women you’re about to work with, but apparently she has chosen a different career path. Too bad for you, or her, or the camera. Nothing a couple of perfectly placed words couldn’t change.

“I only say it, because it’s true,” you say with a defensive hand gesture and stand up from the confines of your chair, the same, favorite chair that is following you around the world. “Looks like you’re the same, Miss—”

“Sharon, just Sharon,” she finishes your sentence, the pitch of her voice higher than before as she looks up at you. “B-but what do you mean by, ‘the same’?”

“Oh, it’s because your styling is literally perfect. You don’t have to go for a second take either.” Gently take Sharon’s hand into yours and rub the back of it with your thumb. “Just like me.”

“Y-you’re too kind.”

“Now tell me, Sharon: that’s not your real name, right?”

Sharon shyly looks to the ground. The tip of her feet move closer together and you feel a bit of sweat build up on the tip of her fingers. Oh, the professionalism, it’s slipping away.

“You got me there,” she giggles. “My real name is Mina, I’m from—”

“Japan. I can tell. Your accent is giving it away.”

Now she is melting, either in embarrassment or because of the compliments. Judging from the new color on her cheeks, red like fresh strawberries, and the small smile below her beauty spot, it’s the latter. 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, Mina, your English is fantastic and your accent is, let’s call it as cute as your face.”

Mina looks up, dreamy, her hands automatically move up to your chest, but if she wants to go further she has to really stretch. Thank the Gods for the other divine feature they have given you:

Incredible height.

195 cm, 6’4’’, wow so big; you better know all the ways to measure you. All of it rolls off your tongue so easily although you don’t have to announce it. It’s obvious, imposing even, yet not impractical. At least it wasn’t, until your Asia Tour started. Most things are a bit too small now, but you won’t complain, no, you’re literally not allowed to. Your contract says so.

“Thank you, Mister,” Mina hums and her nails reach your nape when sudden steps behind the door make her back off with lightning speed. Who dares to block such a nice development?

“Okay, change of plans,” shouts JJ, your manager, agent and favorite pest as he bursts into the dressing room. He is drenched in sweat and about as stressed as usual before any one of your shoots. Time to give him your favorite punishment for coming in so rudely.

“Ah, JJ, good to see you. This is Mina, a wonderful, talented japanese stylist,” you say with a bright grin, knowing how much he hates it when you interrupt him with something so casual, yeah, how dare you be nice when he is literally an impetuous bull. 

“Oh, uhm, hello Mrs. Mina,” he stutters, shakes his head, bows, then groans. It’s worth cherishing if you’re honest. “Anyways, we have more important things right now. There have been communication issues and uhm, all of them are here already, so we’ll shoot the scenes ping-pong wise.”

“Hold on, hold on, JJ. You’re saying, all thirty of them are? How could that happen?”

“Well, th-the Koreans thought the second time I sent them was meant as an alternative date, you know, if there are problems or something. Oh, and it’s not thirty. One woman quit at the last minute, she had doubts and a lot of fear.”

“Which is absolutely okay,” you say calmly and look at Mina for a second. She tries to seem occupied, but you know she is staring and listening intently. “If she doesn’t want to, I don’t blame her. We can shoot with twenty-nine and we can shoot them all in one go if we have enough rooms.”

“Yeah,” JJ says with a sigh of relief at your non-violent reaction, which is the norm. “We were able to get some extra rooms. The company really wants this episode and they are willing to make it a two-part special, I was just worried that you couldn’t—”

“What? Handle thirty?” You laugh with a wide charismatic smile, which leaves JJ cold—such a shame that he is completely resistant to you, but it makes him the perfect manager to control if need be—but does a lot of things to Mina. The japanese woman gawks, drools at you from the side. She does not notice that you can see it from the corner of your eye through the backlit mirror. 

“Whatever you say,” JJ groans and rolls his eyes. “It’s still only twenty-nine.”

“Unlees,” you say and turn towards Mina, bowing down to be on eye-level with her. “Someone new joins us right now. Would that be possible, JJ?”

“I mean, s-sure. We have some lawyers, contracts, money—oh, wait, you’re not serious, are you?”

“Mina,” you say with a low voice and guide her hand to your chest. “I won’t lie, I saw the way you were looking at me. You have a great face and from what I can see a fantastic body. Allow me to be so incredibly rude and ask you:

“Do you want to join me in this shoot?”

Mina bites her lips and blushes again. From the touch of her fingers you can tell a lot of things. She is not rejecting the idea completely, so there is no spouse or partner in her life, at least none she is loyal to. Mina also works as a stylist for porn artists, so maybe her social circle won’t be too harsh on her. It’s still a difficult step, one she shouldn’t take lightly.

Then again, you’d really like to fuck her today.

“Can I think about it for a bit longer?” she whispers and you immediately nod, much to the dismay of JJ behind you. However, he remains silent. he ha too many fuck-ups today.

“Sure. Go with JJ and talk with the lawyers. They will make sure you’re properly informed, but in the end it’s up to you. The shoot will take quite long, so you can either join in last or—”

Gently knead her hand on your chest and smile at her adorable, unsure, yet needy expression.

“—live a life outside of this crazy industry. Both things will be worth it, my beautiful penguin.”

“Wha—how did you kn—”

“I can tell,” you whisper with a wink and make way for the door, where JJ gives you a bombastic side eye. You ignore him, which is worth a thousand words, but it’s better to keep them down now. Only a couple of minutes, then it’s showtime.

"Director, is everyone in position?" you ask nonchalantly, as if you didn't just open your shirt and stepped out of your white dress pants. As per usual, you can feel them all stare, staff, cameraman, hosts. It makes for an even better feeling when you peel off your briefs to reveal your manhood, the perfect indicator for your final supernatural power of the Gods:

Undrainable stamina.

You present yourself, fully nude, while your co-host walks onto the set. Unlike you, he is dressed in his marine blue suit with a bow tie and dress pants in the same color. He looks expensive, serious, a true professional, which makes you shake your head.

"Come on, man, you're always so stiff and stuck up! Let's give the people a fun show," you say and kindly grin at him. Works like a magic spell. He drops his shoulders and cocks his head back.

"You're right. It's hard to say some of these lines with a straight face anyways. I just worry…"

He pauses and looks at you, down your pecs, chiseled abs, phallus hanging in between your strong legs, then back up again with a blush.

"Don't worry, man," you calmly respond and point towards a door where JJ discusses something with some important looking people. "My manager fucked up today, yet the company still wants the video. In their eyes, it's all a good product, as long as we just do it. The show must go on, so relax, will ya?"

"I-I guess, b-but thirty is so many," he says in fear and looks at the director signaling the last thirty seconds before shooting starts.

"Thirty is not that much. Count them down like seconds, and I promise you, they'll pass by so quickly, you wish we had another thirty."

"Take one, everyone on set!" someone shouts and you feel the adrenaline reach a new peak. The slate falls, the cameras start. Almost perfect silence, but you swear you can hear the neediness in this building. The company really booked the entire floor of a luxurious hotel, combined with the outdoor area. Don't lie, you've seen crazier, but their efforts are still impressive.

"Hello, dear viewers!" your co-host greets the main camera with an eye smile. "Welcome back to Season 3 of our show. Actually, we are already at the second to last episode of this season."

He pouts. It's kinda cute, so you play along and mouth a little 'aww' at the oh-so sad statement. 

"I'm your co-host and right next to me is the one and only; the one you are watching for and the only one you need to know."

"Hello World! Hello Asia!" you shout enthusiastically, to the main camera, then to the one that is only focussing on you and your most prized possession. Speaking of which, it's slowly getting hard with increased excitement.

"Good to have you here." Your co-host turns to you and peeks at his cue card for longer than usual. This is where the old script is probably falling apart.

"Thank you for having me," you say and do a couple of silly bowes to the staff. The microphone catches all their gasps and laughs. "I'm really excited for today. I heard it's going to be some sort of special."

"You're right about that one. Today is a double special, combo special about, uhm—"

He stutters, panically shuffling through his cue cards without knowing how he even started his sentence. Poor guy, having a blackout right at the start. In an effort to save him, you improvise and reach for his first card.

"Here, it says 'combo special for Just Testing'. Maaaan, just read it," you say in faked annoyance. Part charisma, part professionalism that can save a take and make the viewer smile—if they haven't skipped to their preferred part yet. Your co-host looks at you gratefully, before slapping his forehead and groaning.

“You’re right, of course! ‘Just Testing’ is going for double today, Twice the testing, twice the fun.”

“And twice the work,” you add, much to the bemusement of the director, who constantly gives you thumb ups. “I’m so ready for it. Can you tell me what I am going to test?”

“So,” he points at the large, black loosely hanging curtain behind you. “There is a long hallway with a lot of rooms behind this curtain. With the help of some beautiful support, you will test all kinds of loungers. We have different kinds of beds, couches, but also more unusual things to lay down on.”

“Oh, nice, I’m going to sleep on them? This will be a relaxing episode then.”

You stretch your arms upwards and fake a yawn, before he slaps them away.

“No, you’re here to work. On each lounger there is one woman lying prone. Your job is to test if having sex with them in this position is comfortable. Give your thoughts while making sure to thoroughly test them.”

“The women or the loungers?”

“The loungers, silly!”

“Oh yeah, you’re right. How many loungers are there?”

The co-host hesitates. He nervously looks to your agent, who shrugs, then to the director who shrugs as well but with more urgency. After a brief pause, the co-host acts like he is counting on his fingers. 

“Let’s just say there are a lot,” he finally says. “More than two for sure.”

“More than two?” you respond, cock twitching again, everyone’s pervy eyes notice it. “So why is it called a double-combo-special-episode?”

“Well, we have a different thing you need to test today. On your right, you can find an example. Say hello to Arin!”

Cheers and applause from a parting crowd of staff members. A woman emerges from them. The first thing you notice are her soft-looking, reddish-pinkish lips. They are a bit plumb, perfect for what is to come. Other than that, she is gorgeous. Pale skin and a yellow-beige crop-top contrast the long, wavy hair flowing down her back and shoulders. 

“Wow, you look wonderful,” you say with a delighted smile and stretch out your hand for the taking. “Nice to meet you, Arin.”

“Hello, it’s a pleasure,” she says and squeezes your hand. She is sweaty all over, from her pretty face to her arms and hands. The nerves of being the first today, hell, maybe it’s her first adult video shooting ever. You’d surely remember such a pretty face.

“Okay, Arin,” the co-host says. “You know what to do? If you’d please squat down in front of the curtain, thank you.”

Arin gets in between the two of you, her eyes scanning you top to bottom, but then fixating on your cock when she squats down.

“I think I know what’s about to happen,” you whisper and wink at the camera.

“It’s a bit more complex than that. While testing their throats, you need to use your creativity. Find out what they like, what they are best at and what you can teach the viewers while you’re going to town on their mouths. Give comments on everything, sort of like a teacher.”

“Y’all are insane!” you laugh, then nod eagerly. “Alright, I’m down for it. Is there any timer, some goal I need to achieve like in the last episode?”

“Only one rule:” the co-host says as he inches out of the frame. “Enjoy yourself.”

Everything changes with the blink of an eye. From the introduction and stupid banter to the main reason why people spend money on this. No one pays for a fucking box with the title ‘Around the World Season 3 Episode 4 Combo Special Just Testing’ to see you standing there naked. They want to see you do what they can’t: fuck more than a dozen of beautiful women without breaking a sweat and giving perfect remarks. Do your job and give them the addicting rush of awe, envy and lust.

“Arin, are you nervous?” you ask the young woman squatting before you.

“No, not at all,” she responds with a smile that can break every boy’s heart. “I’m very excited though!” 

“I’m just asking because your face is quite—let’s call it wet.”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I know I can sweat a lot, it’s…” Arin’s self-aware stutter ends in her averting your gaze. You reach for her head and give her a few pats, while giving your dick a few strokes. 

“You’re perfect, no need to be embarrassed.” Put your cock to her lips and Arin sighs. She forms a perfect O and you slowly glide into her. At this point, with you still only half-erect, it’s easy for her to take you. The feeling of getting harder inside such a pretty mouth is only surpassed by really fucking it. You’ll get there eventually, until you’re sick and tired of it.

“Here is the thing,” you casually say, making sure the main camera captures Arin’s face and the small bulge in her cheek. “Some people sweat more than others. In the case of our beautiful Arin, I’d use this as an easy way to make her messy. Look, she has so much hair, so many long strands, and they can easily stick to her face.”

You ruffle Arin’s hair with both of your hands as you slowly pump into the soft cheek. The wavy nutella-colored hair fans out, sticks to Arin’s sweaty shoulders, then her arms and lastly her forehead. You brush aside the rest for now and tell the second camera man to come closer.

“Take a look from my angle. Look at how wonderful this is. To all the guys who think their girl looks beautiful while you’re out with family or in public—try bringing her home afterwards and then do this. That orderly girl, a complete mess. It's awesome.”

Arin’s eyes have locked onto the camera. If this really is her first time, she is a star already, perfect for all kinds of blowjob and face fucking videos. Maybe she is already a pro, then you surely have to try out if she can take you fully. She is still able to handle your growing erection inside her, but now you have to go all out.

“To all the ladies,” you say and position Arin’s head towards the main camera again. “Take a look at how Arin forms her lips. Literally, look at the perfect O when I pull out. That’s the way to get a good grip, to make your man go weak.”

You slowly back off, your cock pops free and Arin gets it. She keeps the shape of her mouth the same way as before. The lipstick makes it look like a circle, mathematical pure, but otherwise very lewd. Trail your fingers along them as some of the staff members give their well-timed ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. It’s all for the show. 

Suddenly, you roughly grab the sides of Arin’s bewildered face and shove your cock hilt deep into her mouth. The O was too tempting, the tension inside your loins too strong, and the gags are too perfect to stop. Arin reaches for your thighs to keep herself steady, while her hair bops and sways, the mess coming more and more to fruition.

“Entering is easy,” you say with your unbroken teaching-voice. “Your boyfriend or husband can penetrate you effortlessly when you keep the O. Arin is a pro at it, but you can learn it too.”

Again, the secondary cameraman scoots closer, films from the level of your hips into Arin’s face. She gags and coughs, drool pools on the underside of your relentlessly pounding dick, which sadly can’t fully enter her, despite your best efforts. At least Arin tears up and makes her face even messier. Her hair is now blocking most of her view as it clings to her forehead and makes for quite the barrier.

Groan when you pull out your long hard-on, let Arin cough and breathe freely. She slobbered up a lot of saliva, most of it spread on your cock, the rest running down her chin. Something about her beady, needy eyes makes you want to fuck her until she is the ultimate mess, chaotically whimpering because she wants it so much, but you will have to pass on that today.

“Good girl, Arin, well down,” you praise her and point to the camera. “Keep looking at the camera and spread your knees a bit apart.”

Arin does as told, though she struggles to stay in her squatting position without falling backwards. You kneel behind her and hold her in place. Just a tap on her knees, and she spreads them until you’re satisfied.

“You’re not wearing anything under those jeans,” you state and put a finger on her crotch. “It’s kind of disappointing, I thought you were a mess down there already. 

“Do you want me to make you a mess down there too?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then use your suction-cup-lips, baby,” you whisper and get back into position. This time, you give Arin time to prepare. No surprise attack, let her relish in the feeling of your large phallus blocking off her airflow and disheveling the remaining fragment of her innocence. 

Arin licks and sucks, all while humming everytime you don’t force a gag out of her. She is determined in her want for your cock, as much as she can handle, which still isn’t every last inch, but to be fair, she makes up for it. This undeniable passion, even the highest quality camera and best directing cannot capture it. 

Most impressive of all however is that Arin remains in her squatting position. She has balance and posture, sure, but maybe it’s her want for you that keeps her stable like this, through potential back pain. Admire her for it by making the last thrusts violently hard, until her jeans are ruined.

“I think we’re done, fuck,” you curse enthusiastically and the camera immediately goes in between Arin’s legs. “What a beautiful mess. You did very well, Arin.”

Circle the denim with your fingers and bite her sore lips. The lipstick has mostly transferred to your cock, an indicator on how much she was missing for the ultimate triumph. But Arin is no deepthroat pro, she excels in other areas.

“This is definitely a way, a way to make things work, to ruin or be ruined,” you croak out, realizing your throat is too dry to continue babbling. Someone hands you a water bottle, you down it quickly. “Sorry for this interruption, Arin, let me tell you that you would pass any test with ease.”

“Th-thank you,” Arin squeaks, her throat not dry, but surely sore. “Glad you li-liked it.”

Kiss her on the cheek.

“A pleasure to meet you, but I have to go now. My bed is calling.”

Cheers from behind you when you pass through the curtain, two cameramen following you, the director and co-host right behind them. A wide, well-lit hallway opens to you. Every door looks open and you can sense the nudity, the lewdness, the sex that emanates from them like a seductive odor. With a gleeful smile you turn to the co-host, who quietly points at the first door to your right.

“Guess we’ll start here—although I cannot see any beds in here. Is this a pool, or what?” 

To your surprise, you find the room mostly tiled and flooded with a few centimeters of warm water, perfect to wash your feet and maybe doze for a couple of minutes—which is exactly what a young lady pretends to do in the middle of it all. She lays prone in front of a large bouquet, only wearing a skimpy bikini to hide the private parts of her slender body with surprising curves. 

“Hello there, beautiful,” you say cheerfully and kneel next to the dozing woman. “Are you comfortable?”

“Hello,” she responds, a sleepiness and hunger evident in her eyes. “It is amazing. I could stay here all day.”

“Begs the question:” you interject and closely inspect her short, black hair with those meticulously styled bangs. “Is it fun to have sex in here?”

“Should we find out?” she asks and moves her fingers to the string holding her bikini in place. You quickly grab her wrist and guide it back up and at a snail's pace. 

“Now, now, young misses. I don’t even know your name, and you already want me to fuck you on these hard tiles? Where are your manners? Maybe you’re still in dreamland. What’s two plus two?”

“Four, I’m not stupid—”

“Six plus six?”

“Twelve. Look I—”

“Eight plus ten?”

“Eighteen—”

“Your plus name?”

“Huh?”

Someone snickers behind the camera set up. Other staff members try to find a spot in the narrow door to watch the spectacle unfold, but no matter how distracting they may be, your professionalism will not falter.

“Oh, uhm sorry,” the girl says, still more puzzled than surprised. “I’m Chaewon, the wannabe mermaid. Sorry for being rude, I got here early and now I’m so relaxed, God, I can’t think straight.”

“Good for you, Chaewon.” You inspect her face, small, sharp jaw, impeccable shape with an adorable nose and the already mentioned bangs that just make it look a bit more perfect. “Stay relaxed then, because I believe it is one of the many perks—

“—of having sex in this water instead of a bed.” Increase the volume of your speech so the viewer knows that they should pay attention if they want to learn something. I mean, who doesn’t watch to learn how to have sex with a doll for a woman in perfect shallow water? That’s what you’re all about.

“Chaewon, should we get started?”

“Sure.”

This time, Chaewon is allowed to undress. She does so lazily, flaunting her body almost accidentally, yet with all the purpose of the world. Firm, mid-sized tits and an even firmer, even bigger butt make for excellent curves on this gorgeous, small woman. After discarding the bikini in the tiny waves of the tiny pool, if you dare call it that, Chaewon lets herself fall back into the prone position, chin barely above the water.

What is not barely above the water is her ass, which she pulls open a bit for you to catch a glance yet not see her glorious hole in all its beauty. She is really on her lowest level, no effort and fucks given. 

“Guys,” you sigh and whine. “Only do this with your girl if you are okay with her being not only absolutely passive, but also a little hindrance. Don’t expect her to do anything. You’re the workhorse for today. Ladies, I’d urge you to do exactly what Chaewon does. Add nice smelling flowers and candles, relax and just exist. Don’t even spread your ass for him.”

Chaewon giggles and releases a long, barely audible moan when your fingers dig into the flesh of her butt cheeks and pull them apart. 

“Get a camera on there,” you say with dramatic shock. “Quick! Film this perfect, perfect hole. Holy shit, Chaewon, why did I not know of you? You must be such a butt slut.”

“All training~” she chicly says and lazily looks over her shoulder. “But it’s rarely this relaxed.”

Don’t even waste time grinding on the smooth skin of her butt or in between her big cheeks. You immediately insert your tip into the puckered hole and slam down half way. Chaewon moans, satisfied and rests on her crossed arms as if she is getting a massage.

“Hold on, you all see that? I mean, you can’t feel it like I do, but,” you pause and start to slowly fuck Chaewon’s ass, giving her more and more of your length the longer it goes on. “I have never felt something like this. You must be training every day, all day, huh?

“Chaewon, I’m talking to you. You’re also on cam, so please don’t sleep.” 

“There is always something inside me,” Chaewon babbles in a cute, dreamy voice. You decide to wake her up by pushing your tip as deep as possible, and it actually works. Chaewon jumps, stretches herself and you lean to her ear. Tug away the straight, black strands so she can hear your most quiet whisper.

“Yes, but it never reaches this deep. Your hole is so loose around me, but my tip feels great. But this won’t do.”

You turn to the camera with a dumbfounded expression, which bemuses the ever chattering and peeking staff members, especially when your cock slips from the not-so-tight confines of Chaewon’s ass.

“We need to change it up,” you say and point to your co-host. “Give me one of our products, I think this bubble-butt-bitch needs more than one thing inside her.”

Chaewon laughs at the joke, innocent at first, but her laughter turns lewd when she eyes the massive dildo the cameraman hands you. With piqued interest, she watches over her shoulders as you align both your shaft and the fake shaft with her loose entrance. 

“I think I don’t need to elaborate that this is not the norm. Please only use one of these on your bottom, okay? I’m not liable for damages.”

Finding the right angle is a lot more difficult with this added width, but you’re able to get inside Chaewon. Her ring puts up some resistance at first, yet when she takes a longer breath, you get inside and immediately begin to thrust.

“Ah, fuck,” Chaewon groans happily and lets her upperbody sink into the water again. “This is, this is better than I thought.”

“Yeah, let’s just pretend that this happened from the start,” you giggle. “Chaewon feels pretty tight now. Her ass is warm, just like the water and her backside is almost as pleasing to the eye as her face.”

“Can you tell us more about the ground, what’s it like to have sex here?” the co-host asks from behind the camera, eyes glued to where you double-penetrate Chaewon’s ass. 

“Right, that’s why I’m here. Let me be honest, this was not my first thought and I was a bit skeptical. There are a lot of factors that have to be right, otherwise, fuck, otherwise it might not be that pleaseant. Colder water would make her tense up, that’s a no-no. If the tiles below are too coarse, it won’t feel great either; they could also be too slippery, which might sound fun but actually—”

Suddenly a loud, deep groan by Chaewon, followed by quick breaths. You must have found some special spot inside her ass. She starts to tremble, her entire body shaking with pleasure when you continue.

“Sorry about that distraction. All the worries aside, if you set it up perfectly, like here, and have someone who can take it up the ass like Chaewon, it might actually be the best way to fuck someone prone, period. The water makes you feel so clean too, although you are literally—

“—literally cumming from your ass. Isn’t that right, Chaewon~?”

The entire crew stops breathing for a moment. Chaewon starts to whine at your precise, hard thrusts. For the first time, the young woman tenses up. Inaudible screams leave her lips and she cums violently. Her ring has a tight grip on your base, both you and the dildo are stuck in the bottomless pit for the time being. 

“Yes, oh God, yes!” Chaewon shouts out, still high on the pleasure. “So good!”

“Solo double-anal; ever had that before?” you ask and brush her wet hair with your wet hand. 

“No, but I definitely need it again.”

Chaewon begins to relax and you are able to free yourself. With a bit of regret, you leave the warm water. Would have been nice to stay for longer, especially with such a fascinating specimen, but you need to take your leave. After all, there are still dozens of girls waiting for you.

“Sure. Hit me up. My number is on screen right now.”

“Wha—” the director gasps and quickly proceeds to cover his own mouth.

“Hey, it was just a joke. Anyways, see you later, Chaewon.

“Now, can someone hand me a towel, please? And some water as well, all this water left me thirsty.”

Turn to the camera as people rush to bring you the requested items.

“That’s another tip from me: drink a lot of water. Helps with everything and is literally vital for your survival. I recommend non-carbonated water, the way God intended it to be.

“Now, where is the next room?”

“Right across the hallway,” the co-host says. “We’ll move on in a zig-zag motion from room to room for most of the testing. However, there is a special part which we will film somewhere else.”

“Sounds exciting!”

You dart to the next room, the filming crew barely able to keep up. Shaky footage will either be used for jokes or transitions, so there is value in seeing nothing but a blur of your backside and other surroundings. This time the door is only slightly ajar, yet you still burst in with no care in the world. A woman in front of a mirror jumps, her brush with white polish hitting the floor.

“Jesus, who the—you fucking asshole!” she shouts, anger in her face from being pranked like this. You smirk when you recognize the woman's face. No need to apologize to this long time partner in crime.

“How did you know I was just fucking an asshole, Tiffy?” you ask her with a playful, stupid voice while wrapping your arm around her small waist.

“No, that is literally not what I meant, I said—”

Tiffany shuts up as soon as the first cameraman is in the room and up in her face. 

“What did you say, hm? C’mon~ tell the world how you just insulted a friend of yours.”

“We’re not friends, just fuck buddies,” she snarks back and looks down at the floor, stained with polish from the brush she dropped. “Look, you made a mess. These stains won’t ever go away, idiot.”

“Everyone,” you say to the camera, cheerfully ignoring everything Tiffany just talked about. “I think you should know Tiffany. She was on this show already and we had quite a good time with her. She did too, by the way.”

“No,” she whines and pouts. Lift her onto the dresser in front of the mirror. “What are you doing now?”

“I know that you’re here for the face-fucking-testing and I already know what we will do, but first, I really wanna see your pussy again. Is it still so pink and pretty?”

Tiffany blushes hard, it’s one of the things you love most about her features. In photo and porn shooting, she looks fierce, like an impenetrable Domme, a wall of confidence you can’t overcome, but with you around, she’s almost like a virgin. 

“D-don’t call it pre-pretty! I-I haven’t shaved,” she stutters, face hidden behind a hand with freshly painted nails.

“But it is so pretty. Let them have a look.”

Spread her legs with both your arms. If Tiffany really wanted her cunt to remain unseen, she could’ve just jumped from the dresser, but instead she plays timid—which seems like a ridiculous farce, because she is not wearing panties beneath her short, tight dress.

“Tiffy, why are you embarrassed? It’s such a cute pussy, and the hair just makes it better.”

“Stop using that name,” Tiffany growls behind gritted teeth. The lens of the camera is now on level with her crotch, while you drag your fingers up her massive thigh to her labia. A quick rub, and Tiffany tenses up, fearing you would notice her arousal—futile. You know her too well, her sweet spots, how mad she is for your cock. Sadly…

“I don’t get to fuck your pussy today, but I think you guys watching are excited to know more about her throat, more precisely hear more about it.”

“You’re such a tease, you could have a-at least given it a lick.”

Tiffany crosses her arms as she gets off of the dresser. The black dress really fits her figure, the color even more so, especially because it’s accompanied by black high-heels and a black overcoat. They all synergies so well, there is no question which color fits Tiffany the best.

“But if I had started eating you, I would not have stopped for at least a couple of hours, and this crew clearly does not have the time for that,” you say with a bit of sas before changing your expression back to something more serious. “Enough with the chit-chat, you know why we’re here?”

“Yes,” Tiffany says, flushed wiped off her face in an instant. “I hope I can hold this position for long enough. Squatting is tense.”

“If I were you, I’d worry more about if you’re able to hold your breath for long enough. We both know your gags are loud, violent and one of the most arousing sounds in the world, so—

“How about I shut up and you show them how deepthroating is done, Tiffany.”

“Bring it on,” she says and opens her mouth. You lay your cockhead on her idle tongue, knowing that it will not be idle later, when it does its deadly dance. It must be said that Tiffany is a pro at almost everything, yet her ability to suck cock is quite underrated amongst your peers. You told them back then that it would make for a great show and today, you’re about to show them.

Adjust your footing, while Tiffany adjusts her posture and tilts her head slightly back. Her lips open up more, letting your length glide into her already watering hole. Tiffany is great at knowing the perfect pace of your first entry, how to go above her limits, how to take you whole. 

You look down at her, but she is focused, not interested in any more shenanigans, only interested in showing off her skills. A first gag, loud and imposing, then her jaw opens fully. Nothing is holding you back, and when Tiffany’s tongue starts to tease the underside of your cock, you know she is ready to be fucking loud.

With both hands you begin to fuck her head onto your rod. Bursts of saliva shoot out on the sides of Tiffany’s mouth, but no one can pick up their slooches. Chokes and gags fill the hotel room, fill the microphones and soon the homes of many adults wondering: Is she going to be fine?

Probably.

In tandem with your hands, which start to entangle with the brunette's hair, you add the occasional hard hip thrust, which forces Tiffany’s nose to meet your crotch and your balls to be drenched in drool which she chokes up and slobbers through puckered lips. The gags inside her throat start to sound like rapid gunfire, and in your own delirious state of mind, you need to check if Tiffany can still handle it.

Probably?

Her eyes roll back to her head from time to time, but everytime they return, she looks more and more dazed. The rest of her body is starting to reject you, but you can’t pull out yet. There is something so satisfying about not having to explain things. The people can just watch and hear and then judge if they like it or not. Maybe you should add a disclaimer that not everyone is so in control of their gag reflex.

“This—this is gold, heaven really,” you groan and reluctantly give Tiffany time to breathe while your cock remains at her lips. She sucks cool air into her mouth, probably purposefully. You hiss at the difference in temperature. Tiffany chuckles in between her final chokes and squeezes your cock in torturous strokes.

“Tell them, big boy, tell them how special I am.”

“Shit, let go of my dick first. You can’t tear it off and expect us to stay friends.” 

Tiffany grins triumphantly. She kneads you with both her hands now and has the audacity to lean back a little. Your cock is misused as a rope to hold onto, and your mind goes haywire at the double pain, which somehow makes it feel great.

“Less whining, more praising~” Tiffany says and you speak your mind quickly and freely. Get those words out fast, or she’ll really make you a couple of inches shorter.

“Hng, okay, okay. Reminder for everyone: Tiffany, fuck, Tiffany is very fucking good at this. If you ever intend to try this at home, remember, you ain’t no Tiffany. Things could get really messy.”

“Thank. You.” 

Tiffany lets go of your manhood and falls backwards on the carpet. Her chest heaves, otherwise she remains motionless, a cocky grin on her face. It makes you raise your eyebrows and curse a bit. Why didn’t you continue? If she’s this calm already, you could have fucked her throat a bit longer. Make it sore, until she can only communicate with sign language for a couple of days.

“Next time, I’ll do it harder.” 

You return the cocky grin and leave the room, everyone but the two of you confused and speechless. Finally, the co-host steps up and shouts his question behind you.

“What is your business with her? Did something happen in the past?”

“Ah, you know, it’s just our dynamic. Your behavior depends on whoever you meet, where you meet them, what your mood is, what the occasion is—it’s the same for me too. The last time I had a shoot with Tiffany was months ago, and afterwards I kinda ignored her. Then we met at a random party, had a good chat, a couple drinks and next thing I know, she pins me to the wall and sucks me off. 

“I swear to God, I thought she was going to kill me, suck my soul out, stuff like that. She was pretty pissed I ignored her, which I didn’t really get so you know—fight and stuff; people have conflicts, it happens.”

As you tell the story, even the last stylist and technician flock around you. They form a cage to watch naked-you spill the tea, like it was any of their business. Not that you care, it’s all fabricated anyways, but they surely believe it. The editor will have a great time blurring them all out, especially those smart enough to get behind you, right in its focus.

“Uhm, what is happening?” you ask dumbfounded and watch the director from the corner of your eye. He is furious, pointing out to staff members to get out of your way. Swear to God, there is never a shoot where things go smoothly. Luckily, you can just smile, smile, smile it away and disappear behind the door with nothing but a single cameraman. 

“Hi, nice to see you again,” a girl greets you with her arms wide open to hug you. You need a second to remember the face. It’s been a while since you’ve worked with her.

“Rose, how pleasant to find you in this—okay, what the hell is this room?”

Black stained glass tiles on the floor and white stained ones on the ceiling, that’s it. No furniture, no carpet, no lamp, no nothing. Large windows let in enough light to make filming possible, but you doubt that this room is meant to be filmed in. 

“I was confused too at first,” Rose says, pulling down the straps of her thin dress and revealing to you her small breasts. “Apparently they want you to test me on the ground.”

“Oh, I see. So everything on the ground?” you ask the cameraman and he makes a nodding motion with the large device. “Whose idea was this? I’m sorry, Rose, I think you deserve better than this.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” she says with a kind smile while stepping out of her dress. Hands on her hips she reassures you: “Really, trust me. I think it will be an interesting experience.”

“Hm,” you hum and reach for one of her nipples, small and stiff and apparently very sensitive, because Rose mewls at the simplest touch on them. “Do you like this?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then how about we make good use of the coldness of the glass,” you lean down to Rose’s chest and lick all over Rose’s tiny tits. “and let your cute tits rub all over them?”

“Ha, yes, anything you like,” Rose moans, delighted, her thin legs shivering. 

“Perfect. Get on the ground, please.”

While lying prone, Rose’s very slender frame shines even more than when she stands upright. The only outlier are her hips, which have surprising width and are the first thing you get a hold of. Rose adjusts herself on the cold, sleek surface, lifting up her butt so you can enter her easily. In an agonizingly slow push, you start to fill her cute little ass with your way-too-big cock. Rose shimmies underneath you, nipples gliding over the tiles and making her breathless.

“Pl-please, b-be careful. F-feels bi-bi—g—ood.”

Rose’s cute plea halts your inner desire to ravish her tight hole. Only gently, you start to move in and out, never enough to get you closer to orgasm, but the way she squeezes down on you makes up for it.

“You are very, very tight Rose. Is the ground too cold?”

“I-it’s fine,” she whimpers. “It feels good on my chest.”

“That’s something,” you sigh and stare at the camera in annoyance. Where the hell is the director? Whose idea was this? Back when you read the script, ‘Rose - On The Ground’ sounded a lot better in theory. You expected a carpet or at least a warmer surface, but now Rose is grinding on the floor and—actually tightening? 

“Oh fuck, Rose, I don’t remember you being this tight. Looks like the glass has some benefits.”

“Ha, hng,” Rose moans and interrupts her own sentence. “Ju-just my boobs, ni-nipples feel so good. Please, don’t stop!”

“As long as you’re enjoying yourself, I guess I can live with you being a cocksleeve,” you laugh, then hiss at Rose starting to move on her own, her butt creeping up and swallowing your entire dick. “Fellas, I think in some rare cases, fucking on the cold, hard ground isn’t too bad, shit.”

It’s too early, you can’t cum yet. Put a hand in between Rose’s legs, feel her smooth thighs, warm and wet unlike the floor, until you reach the source of her heat. In circles, you rub over her labia and Rose begins to fidget and gasp. In a lucky swoop, you find her clit and place it in between two of your fingers. You can only play with it for so long, Rose is already close and without warning, she cums on your hand. Luckily, you were able to pull out in time, or else her ass would have sucked out your life-sparking liquid like a hungry vampire. 

“That was,” you turn to the camera, out of breath from your last second escape. “better than I want to admit. I’m angry and satisfied at the same time. Everyone, I’m sorry, but I can’t really rate this. Try it if you feel frisky, but maybe, you should just fuck in bed.

“You on the other hand were amazing, Rose. High five?”

But Rosie is already dozy and has fallen into a deep slumber. Right, you remember her being like this after strong orgasms. One moment she is screaming in bliss, the next she snores like a married spouse of twenty years. At least she fell to the side, so you take the chance to look at her breasts again. So small, yet so sensitive and overwhelming. Put a mental reminder up that you will have to suck on them one day.

“Okay, so why did no one come with me in this room?” you irritatedly ask both the director and co-host. They look at each other and shrug, a scripter writer beside them points at one of the many scripts, but from this far out it’s impossible to recognize any letters. You stretch your back and sigh.

“Ah, fuck it. Let’s just move onto the next. Maybe you can give me an intro this time?”

“S-sure,” your co-host responds, shuffling cards while trotting at the edge of the screen. “Next up we have Miss Xiaoting from China. If you like the squatting pose, she will probably be your favorite today. Make sure to awe at the way she—”

There she is—and he is damn right. Xiaoting squats in front of a light pink wall, her short dress in wrinkles, large gloves the same. She watches you enter with a small smile, then starts to pose as if hundreds of cameras were clicking to capture every quantum of her beauty. 

“Hello,” you slowly say to the woman down before you.

“Hello,” she gently responds, peeking up at you.

“You look very elegant, Xiaoting.”

“I know.”

She drags a finger along her thigh and over her knees which not only sit neatly side by side, but also fold in such a gorgeous way that you would want to drag your tongue all over them and feel the stretched, spotless skin. 

“Do you also know what I like to do with elegant women?” you ask, expecting her to either play dumb or be dumb.

“I do, actually,” she responds with wit, her small smile now a smirk. “If you would take my hands, kind Sir?”

Intrigued by the Chinese girl, you offer her your hands. Xiaoting takes them with her cotton gloves to remain steady while her angled legs start to part and reveal what’s beneath the short dress. Panties, of course, but they are not the normal kind. Very skimpy, already wet with what can only be her pussy juice. Then you take a closer look.

“Is that a vibrator?”

“You are right, Sir. It’s the biggest that I have. One push on the button on the top of it, and it will steadily increase its speed.”

Xiaoting looks up and whispers in what can only be described as the lewdest kind of mind control known to man.

“Time to make this elegant woman become a needy bitch, hm?”

Reach down to where the sun does not shine and find the plastic device embedded in soaked panties. In the meantime, Xiaoting reaches for your cock, to keep herself upright on those thin, fragile heels of hers. Unlike Tiffany, she grabs it with care and awe, but you would prefer her bare hands to the

fluffy, dry cotton. Luckily, you don’t have to ask: Xiaoting wraps her lips around your tip with grace and gratitude as the vibrator in her cunt begins to purr.

“Ha, thank you,” she moans and kisses all over your dick with excellent elegance, fitting for her. “Keep pace with it, pretty please?”

“I’d love to,” you husk and stroke her straight hair, which smells fresh and would make for a great masturbation aid—but who needs hair when you can go straight for her pretty mouth?

A slow thrust into Xiaoting’s slobbering mess of a mouth. She has yet to react to the vibrator in her cunt, even the first audible increase in its intensity gets ignored. Give her a harder thrust this time, to the point she has to gag. Xiaoting tenses up and looks up at you, making your heart rate go up with a single glance.

“Fuck, something about your expression is just perfect. Always flaunting your beauty, always waiting for someone to stuff your holes. I can’t wait for the vibrator to make you tremble.”

Xiaoting releases your cock with a pop and gives it a couple of quick pumps.

“Me neither. Damn, I wish there were two of you.”

“This, ladies, tell your partner this, and he will give you twice the effort. He might not have two dicks, but he will fuck you like he has. And don’t feel shy, ask him about bringing toys to your playtime. You will see why in a second.”

Xiaoting puts you back to her lips and opens wide, greedy yet gracious, a paradox fateful to her character. She will do great in the adult video scene. She could shoot the same porno over and over again and people would still be attracted to her, and would still indulge in what she brings to the table.

Especially when she starts to twitch.

At first, it’s just her pussy. The third level of speed from the vibrator finally makes her cunt milk it, desperate for more movement along her slick walls. From there, the twitching creeps up her torso and down her legs, making her wide hips tremble ever so slightly and removing the first bits of stability from her beautiful, confident feet.

“See? Focus on her legs,” you tell the cameraman. “It has begun. God, to see your thighs tremble while getting your pussy pounded is probably worthy of a painting. Sadly, I’m a terrible painter, so the only thing I can provide is a couple of videos.”

“Yesh, pleash,” Xiaoting bubbles through the blockade in her mouth and you take this as an indirect call to fuck her face harder. She appreciates it by whimpering and showing the increasing giddiness in her head through glassy eyes. 

“I think you all know—,” you speak up like the professor in one of his many lectures. “—that if she speaks while you go down her throat, you need to go harder or faster or both. Make her shut up. Obvious lesson, but here is how you can still communicate. Girls, pay attention.

“Xiaoting, please pinch my thigh if I go too rough, okay?”

Xiaoting nods, but could never have expected the onslaught of pumps and the reckless depth your manhood finds in her throat. Her eyes jump wide in shock, then fear of suffocation. Violent gags and she immediately pinches your thigh. You halt and pull out.

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” you murmur with slight concern.

“I-I’m fi—oh, fu—y-yeah, I’m fine.”

Xiaoting can barely get words out. She might not be suffocated anymore, however another stuffed hole starts to get violated and it resonates throughout her entire frame, no body part is safe from the trembling, especially not her vocal cords.

“Oh, sounds like we are up to level four. Just listen to her moan, everyone.”

Both camera and microphone move closer to the action. They capture Xiaoting’s eyes flooded with tears, shaking, her lips covered in drool, shaking and then her hand still on your leg, shaking, of course. Her moans will be played on repeat for so many people and they’ll imagine her huffing on your balls, licking on your shaft and lapping up your pre-cum. Oh fuck, it’s a bit early for that.

“Damn, you are so good at that,” you whisper below the volume of Xiaoting’s moans and the vibrator in her pussy. You’d love to see it go crazy, maybe wiggle it a bit side to side, up and down to get her over the edge. No, you cannot get distracted, she will get to her orgasm soon enough. You should experience it while plugged into her mouth.

“Come on, Xiaoting. Let yourself fall, lose all this fake, nonsense elegance. Let yourself fall, on the ground and cum, cum on the fake cock in your pussy and I promise…

“One day, I’ll stuff it myself.”

Push past her lips, drown out her response in gags. The sides of her head in the palm of your hands feel so natural, the gratification of smearing your precum to the back of her throat so deserved. Yes, you work your butt off for this shit, you deal with dumb managers and even dumber directors, who give orders like they have either never seen a porno or too many. There is never a session where things go without a mistake.

All the bullshit is forgotten when you take a step back, watch your cock spring from Xiaoting’s tender lips and she begins to squirt. Level five, the strongest setting, has her spasming, droplets flying everywhere, streams running down her thighs. You predicted she would fall over, but somehow Xiaoting remains in her position, even as the orgasm rocks her body.

“Fuck, too much, too much, ah~!”

The Chinese woman throws her head back and reaches in between her legs. She jerks the vibrator a couple of times, extending her orgasm and leaving you hard as a rock in the air, dangerously close to your own arrival. But you cannot go out like this, it would be a stain on your legacy and the freshly cleaned carpet. 

“You are amazing, Xiao,” you cheer for her as she gets down from her high and pulls out the vibrator. “Oh my, it’s bigger than I thought.”

“Th-thanks, i-it’s the biggest I’ve ever taken.”

“I know what I would rate this experience, easily the highest grades, so I’m interested in how you liked it.”

Xiaoting pouts and thinks. There is a hidden cute side to her, something you’d like to show to your parents when you invite her over for the first time. They would be thrilled and don’t have to know that she can look so desperately slutty. 

“I’d give it a nine out of ten, but only because—,” she smirks and stares at your rigid erection. “—next time, I need to squat on you.”

“I think we can arrange that.” You wink. “See you later, Xiao!”

Xiaoting blushes at her new nickname and waves you goodbye. Everyone waddles out of her room, you on the forefront, heart rate decreasing at a much slower pace. Some of these girls try to get in there, but you can’t let yourself get fooled. Be the actor and act, don’t think too much of it has basically become your mantra ever since the girls you worked with have gotten prettier, clingier, more loving. 

Nothing is gained by falling for them, so you reach for another bottle of water and take a large sip. You need to cool off a little bit, which is a huge badge of honor for Xiaoting and her visuals, but she will never hear it. One of the staff brings you a coat, and for a second you are utterly lost to why in the hell she would do that. Then you remember the next scene and that you are still on cam. 

“Oh, thank you. Dammit, they know what you need. I can feel the cold from the room coming already. Are you going to put me into a freezer or something?”

Put the large coat over your shoulders and loosely close it at the front. This is where your impressive size comes in handy. Your entire body might be wrapped into it, but the coat can’t cover the last couple of inches of your cock. 

You dramatically over act the cold when you enter the next room. It has neither a bed nor a couch, so the woman is once again laying on the ground.

“Guys, not again! Look at her, she must be freezing.”

“Quick!” the woman says with urgency as she turns her head towards you. “You should wrap yourself in something warm and I have just the right place.”

The woman spreads the cheeks of her denim-covered butt to show you a small opening placed right where you assume her asshole is. Her short black hair reminds you of Chaewon, but unlike Chaewon, she is putting in the effort to take you. She is even unbuttoning her shirt in this quite chilly room. 

“Stop that,” you try to reason, yet can’t help but walk closer and look at her cleavage. “You, you might catch a cold.”

“We will both catch a cold if you don’t act quickly,” she whines and presents her ass again. “Put it in and we’ll both be warm.”

You can’t say no to that, she sounds very reasonable after all. Pull your coat open and lay down on top of her, your cockhead feeling the denim of her jeans, the cotton of her shirt, you have to adjust yourself some more until you find the hole. You poke one of her voluptuous cheeks, which makes her hiss in excitement.

“Can I lay down on top of you?” you whisper into her ear. “I think we’ll be even warmer then, Mrs—”

“Eunbi,” she responds, a bit annoyed that you’re keeping her waiting. “Do whatever you want, just put it in already.”

“I’d be my pleasure.”

Quite literally, it is. Eunbi’s puckered hole puts more resistance than you would have imagined, certainly more than Chaewon’s did. The reward however astonishes you. Her insides are hot and soft, wrapping around your rod like a cozy blanket on a cold winter night. 

“Show them your face, Eunbi,” you groan and get a hold of her chin. Guide her face towards the lens of the camera, which hovers right in front of Eunbi’s stunning features. The tiny string of drool hanging from the tip of her luscious lower lip flips her visual from adorable and kind to lewd and needy. Eunbi is not satisfied with your slow half-pumps into her ass. Time to change that.

“Oh, fu—y-you feel so warm,” she moans, her hole stretched by your twitching phallus gliding in and out. A second camera behind you films the action between your legs. At this point in your career, you are able to ignore it, to just go to town on her while feeling more of Eunbi’s hot body. 

“You too, Eunbi. I think there is something we can show them to make them feel warmer as well.”

Eunbi smirks and pushes herself up with both arms while you still cling to her back and keep yourself deep inside her rectum. With a hand creeping up her stomach—damn, you can feel her amazing muscles—you finally find and open the last couple of buttons of her shirt to free what would warm any straight man’s heart. 

Eunbi’s massive, perky, bare tits. 

“Take a look at them,” you say with awe and Eunbi giggles. “So big, so soft and so warm. If you have breasts like this, you can both give and get the warmth you need to make this session fun.”

You begin to massage one of Eunbi’s breasts and she throws her head back to the point where you can see her face. She smiles at you, rosy cheeks, tired eyes and a bone structure to die for. Her hair, the color of dark chocolate, hangs down and bops with every new thrust you give her warm ass.

“How is that? Do you like it?” you ask and smile back.

“I just wanted to ask the same thing,” she giggles, but then you force a drawn out moan from her when you roll her nipples in between your fingers. “It-it feels good, fuck.”

“That’s nice to hear, because I feel the same. You are literal heat, Eunbi. I’d have not problem fucking you outside, even at night.”

Press your lips on her cheek and before she can return the peck you rail her harder, onto the cold floor, both her melons in eager hands. Attack her sensitive spots, watch and feel how the heat from inside her radiates, making even the director sweat. Eunbi herself tries to wring something out of you, so you have to stop her ass from slamming backwards by pinning it to the floor. 

The added stretch to her cheeks combined with a pinch to her nipples makes Eunbi lose it. In a deep groan, her entire body tenses up one final time, before she cums rather quietly, only whimpering at your final set of thrusts. Her upper body sinks back to the floor and you make sure to tug her tits behind the shirt again. 

“Don’t catch a cold, okay?” you whisper into her ear and pat her head.

“I won’t,” she reassures. “Why didn’t you fill me with your warm cum? It would have made so much sense!”

“Sorry, darling, the script says otherwise.”

Hopefully the sound crew did not pick that up. You have to sell the illusion at least, the illusion that this is all happening at random, off script, as if no one gave you the list of women beforehand, as if no one told you what to do with them and how they like it, as if none of this is completely fake. Well, even if you fail to be illusive at times, the editors can just cut it out. No need to worry. 

You and Eunbi get up from the floor simultaneously, bodies still close to each other. Suddenly, she wraps an arm around her nape and pulls you down into a kiss. That one is off script, not planned, but with her following reasoning it might stay in the final cut.

“I think this will keep us both warm~”

“You are right about that. I’ll hopefully see you again?”

“Whenever you like, big boy. Have fun, bye~”

On your way across the hallway, you suddenly stop and curl your finger towards your co-host. 

“I think it’s time that you say the line,” you tell him with a serious expression as he steps over the wires into the frame.

“Oh, I see you have something planned. Well, everyone, I’d like to remind you that not everything on this show will be to everyone’s liking. Feel free to skip forward, thank you.”

‘But what about their suspension of disbelief’ you once argued with the show runners, but they blocked you off. 

‘It has to be this way, what once started cannot be undone. We also need him to be in the frame at least a couple of times,’ all bullshit reasons in your opinion. It’s the way it is, can’t really do anything about it.

The camera is right behind you again, it films you opening the door and finding a familiar woman leaning against a black wall, phone in her delicately manicured hand, skirt too short for public, but just right for filming. Her silver high-heels clack when she wordlessly approaches you and pins her straight, blonde hair behind an ear. 

“If I knew I’d be filming with you, I would have worn something nicer,” she husks with lust, her hands pressed flat on your chest.

“What are you talking about, Miyeon, you look fucking amazing!” you counter her words and put an arm around her small waist. “Turn to the camera, sweetheart. I think everyone would agree.”

Like the superstar model she could have been, Miyeon poses, gaze arrogant, as if to say that no one is worthy of being in the same room or breathing the same molecules as her. With these looks she could have made millions by just wearing clothes. You’re glad she chose a different career path, one that she calls ‘a lot more exciting.’

“What are we going to do today?” Miyeon asks. “I hope you don’t bore me.”

“Has Just Testing ever been boring?” you laugh out loud, but Miyeon looks unimpressed.

“Yeah, but I have had my face fucked countless times. On my knees, in heels, while upside down—go a bit crazy for me, boy!”

“Oh, so you’re down for anything new?”

“Yes, please!”

Miyeon gets into position, hands resting on her thighs expectantly. You brush her hair back to get an uninterrupted path to her mouth. Not your first time she has you on her lips, but back then it was just for a quick cumshot. The rest of the time you railed her against the wall. She also wore heels and the wall was black as well. The set-designers went with some nostalgia it seems. 

“Open up, my pretty little bitch, and rub across my stomach. I promise I’ll give you something you never had.”

Miyeon does as told. It has the effect you had hoped for. The soft phalanxes of her fingers slowly moving across your skin put more pressure to your filled bladder. The hunt for an orgasm gets pushed back by the impending feeling of having to release yourself. It has been there for a while now, but it has not been this overwhelming.

“Good job, such a pro at it,” you praise Miyeon, then turn to the camera. “For those of you who want to try it, man, woman, whatever, you have to follow a simple rule: Drink lots of water. It’s healthy, filling and won’t stay inside of you as long as calories do.”

“Why are you talking about this?” Miyeon groans in annoyance, lazily licking your cockhead, not attempting to put it past her lips. 

“You will find out soon enough. Keep your mouth open though.”

“You just want me to shut up, don’t you?”

“I don’t want you to miss what’s coming, Miyeon.”

“We already filmed a cumshot scene, idiot.”

The script could not have timed it more perfectly. The moment you wanted to release coincides with the moment you can’t hold it in anymore. With a roaring gasp, you reach for your cock to point it perfectly at Miyeon’s perfect face and unleash a strong stream of clear piss. 

Miyeon almost falls backwards from her squatting posture, but after her initial shock she keeps herself steady. Like a good girl, she keeps her mouth open and catches most of your gushing piss in it. The rest covers her face fully, streams down her neck or drips directly onto her slightly bloated white crop-top. 

Miyeon throws her head back when she swallows, letting you shower her in the gradually fading stream of clear liquid. Piss splashes on her thighs, feet, her skirt gets drenched when she parts her legs. You swing your cock around at the end to get rid of the last droplets, which rain onto her golden hair and for some reason make her moan in ecstasy.

“Oh God, what was that? I knew you would not disappoint me.”

“Everything for you, Miyeon.”

“I think I can throw these away now.”

Miyeon smirks when she gets up. A pull at her button and her skirt falls to the floor on its own. God, how you’d love to fuck her shaven slit right here, right now, with her covered in your release, marked as yours. Like so many things, it has to wait.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you ask and raise an eyebrow at the blonde girl starting to finger herself. “I have places to be.”

“I just want to get you ready again. Look, you can’t fuck someone being this soft!”

Fingers, covered in Miyeon’s pussy juice, wrap around you. Her full strokes have always been top level, barely outmatched by anyone. She is so good at jerking men off, there are videos of her doing just that and setting speed records. They are called Awesome Cum Done Quick and should be an embarrassment for all the record holders. Then again, they had Miyeon fucking the winner, so he certainly had the happiest twenty-three seconds of his life.

Keep your act together and squeeze her wrist when you are fully hard again. No need to get on any spot of that leaderboard. Miyeon sighs in disappointment but lets you go. 

“Thank you. Fuck me again, will ya?”

“Sure,” you groan in fake annoyance and leave with a smile. This should be about the time that the people skipping your last scene will join back in. You neither want to keep them nor your cock waiting. Jump into the next scene without warning and the small woman lying atop an old, worn out couch shrieks.

“Ah, what the—you scared me!”

“Sorry, I just wanted to test you—I mean the couch—I mean… I’m just testing.”

That one was unintentional, an off script joke that the actress has to deal with now. She seems to be unfazed, watching back to you over her shoulder, her forehead in many wrinkles of doubt.

“Oh, you better do it thoroughly then. I can’t fucking stand being scared like that,” she responds and wiggles her cute butt up in the air. 

“Sure, but can I get your name first?” 

“Jieun,” she sternly replies.

“Nice to meet you Jieun. How tall are you?”

“How dare you—”

Muffle Jieun’s rage with your lips on hers. A spell that simply works, at least in porn. The woman calms down, her defense falls until she is yearning for more, dragging out the make-out session. Now is the perfect time to pull down her thin, tight shorts to where her socks start and knead one of her buttocks.

“You are such an asshole,” Jieun murmurs into the kiss and you look at her wide open eyes full of need. Suddenly, you push your middle finger into her butthole and feel her clench around it. Her eyes fall shut as she hisses and you quickly bite her lower lip.

“Say that again?” you tease while getting in position behind her. Jieun remains silent, her mouth pressed to the side of the small couch to keep herself silent when you enter, but it’s no use. She screams manically at your first push. And at your second. At the third she falters, trembles and surrenders herself into the cushions of the couch.

“Some of you might think that I hate fucking on these couches,” you say to the camera. “But I really don't. Some of them get thrown away too early. You can still have sex on them. Stains don’t need to bother you, their bagginess is great and even if they seem a bit small, you can still make it work.

“Just watch.”

Jieun has this tendency to push her ass up. Call it defiance, maybe it’s the way she likes it, but either way you have to deal with it. If you want to feel the couch below you and want to rank it properly, you will have to slam down hard into Jieun—and with glee, you do.

Hammer your cock into her, crash into the leather surface, yet she still bounces her ass up like a bouncy ball. It’s kinda like dribbling a basketball, just a lot more fun. Jieun is your cheerleader, her ‘hmph’s’ and ‘ah’s’ a motivating chant with how she repeats them on every single dribble of yours. 

“You got such a nice little ass,” you groan into Jieun’s ear while the camera is focused on filming the penetration from behind. “I bet you were envious of girls with bigger asses, so you started to flaunt yours. But then some guys asked if they could fuck it. You were hesitant at first, but after the first thrust, you already loved it. That’s why you keep pushing your butt up.

“Isn’t that right, Jieun. I bet you cum hard from just anal.”

“Ah, I—I, hng!”

Jieun starts to gush. Her knees give out and you finally feel her stay flat on the cushions. Time to give this couch a proper review while Jieun is still weak and shaking from her orgasm. You intentionally dig your legs and fingers into the smooth leather curves, partially stained by sweat and Jieun’s arousal.

“This couch in particular might not be premium,” you elaborate, interrupted by Jieun’s hard panting. “But even though it’s small and slippery, you can still use it to your full advantage. Bend her over the back, make her sit on you, hell, Doggystyle will be great no matter how big you are. I’d recommend not going for 69 or missionary, unless she is as small as our Jieun here.”

You end your review with a chuckle, expecting Jieun to snark back or at least flip you off. From what you’ve heard she reacts pretty harshly to being called small, so it’s surprising to see no reaction apart from her butt still swaying side to side. 

Get down to her face again, a gentle hand on her red buttocks. Jieun’s gorgeous, gorgeous face is mixed with emotions. Shock, bliss, anger, desperation, the list goes on with each scrunch of her tiny nose and flicker of her eyelashes. For some reason, it makes you feel bad.

“Hey, sorry if I went too far.”

“I’d call you good, because you are, but really—”

Jieun flicks your forehead, her middle finger leaving a red mark as you hiss.

“—fuck off. Don’t call me little!”

Fuck off you do. The door to the second to last room opens automatically. Inside you find the color of love and passion spread across the floor and up the walls. On shelfs and beds spread across the room you find toys usually used in BDSM sessions, everything from whips to gags to large dildos. You’re glad they spiced up the layout. Only red would have been boring.

“To the wall,” a voice suddenly commands from behind you. 

“Oh, I see how it is,” you exclaim, voice oozing with joy, but the other person is not having it.

“To the wall, and hands above your head,” she repeats, this time pinching your side with rather pointy nails.

“Ouch, okay, okay, no need to get aggressive, young-lady-who-tries-to-sound- hard-with-a-soft-voice,” you babble, leaning back to the nearest wall and stretching your arms when suddenly, two hands stroke your cock.

“Shut it,” a tiny woman—really, even compared to Jieun she is tiny—in an extravagant dress snarks. She starts to twist both her hands in a corkscrew motion, one clockwise, the other counter-clockwise. Your cock feels grinded, violated and so you shout a quick apology.

“Ah, fuck, okay, I’m so-sorry. Please, s-stop.”

“No. You will suffer.

“And if you cum, I’ll kill you.”

She squats before you, her miniscule frame elevated lightly by the tall heels she wears. Otherwise, her mouth might not reach your dick properly. Speaking of which, she still has it twisted and you whimpering. To make matters worse, her hands are nothing compared to your size, so your swollen tip is still exposed, wide open to attacks from her wide open mouth. 

Okay, maybe matters aren’t worse, she is quite talented at swirling her tongue over your sensitive slit while bathing you in her hot breath. She is a dragon, strangulating its victim to death and giving it a first feeling of what hell feels like.

“Pl-please, have mercy,” you wail, then side-eye the camera filming down from your shoulder. “I-If your man says this, ladies, your d-doing a good job.”

Suddenly, the twisting stops. Your tortured cock longs for something cold to ease the pain of its contorted skin. The mercy is short lived however. Her thumb and middle-finger form a seal around your base, like a cockring. Warm drool runs down from your tip in what feels like cruel streams of lava. It burns, you wince.

“Wh-what’s your—”

“Shut it, no words.”

Stubborn, unapproachable, she is a wall you cannot climb. You can only gawk in awe when she begins to jerk up and down in the same rhythm her mouth bops up and down. The pistons to a machine, well-oiled with her own saliva, it’s purpose: to make you cum. It’s a loud machine too, moaning, whimpering, stuttering.

Grit your teeth. Try not to think about the sweet release, your cum shooting right into her mouth. God, she would hate you for this sudden defiance, an insult and betrayal of the highest order. But she is too good and knows when to quicken the pace of her hands or press her lips down just below your cockhead. You are so close to losing it, and as you slowly glide down the wall, you have to announce it.

“N-no, fuck, I’m so clo—”

“Don’t,” she shouts and stops all her movement. The ring of her fingers squeezes down and you watch your cock stand swollen and throbbing, ready to do it—she does not allow it. You feel your orgasm vanish before it can properly hit you. 

She looks pleased with your expression, with the tears in your eyes, with the fact that she has you blue-balled. Her job here is done, she lets go of your cock and with another stinging pinch, this time to your thigh, she kills your resolve. ‘Get out, you piece of shit,’ her eyes tell and you flee to someone who can salvage what's left of your lust. 

“Th-this was insane,” you scream and run to the next door, through the next door. “What in the hell are you doing to me? This show is crazy. Girls, don’t do this to your husband without his agreement, he might just have a heart attack. This shit hurts, oh my God!”

“Now, now,” your co-host says calmly. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Well… uh…

“It was, let’s say, something new. But now I really need something to get me going again.”

Scan the room side to side. It looks like a furniture store, the olive green and dark oak brown giving off cozy vibes. Amidst all the decorative furniture, you find something, rather someone, who clearly doesn’t fit the color scheme. She is wearing an oversized, yellow sleeveless top, which even covers her butt, and her bright, white-blonde hair sticks out like a candle in the dark night. With her lying prone on a brand new, excessively large couch, one might assume that she is sleeping. It’s all an act of course.

Scoot over to her and tap her cheek. You have to tap it a couple of times, like an old button to make her brown orbs appear. They are so perfectly round, perfectly big, you could get lost in them.

“Hello, how was your sleep, beautiful?”

“I didn’t sleep,” she responds, her voice deep and sexy. 

“Well, this definitely sounds like your morning voice.”

“Actually,” she responds and pulls up the sleeveless top to just above her wide hips and firm butt. “I’ve been waiting for you. I bet you don’t care about the couch and just want to test me out.”

“Actually,” you whisper, mimicking her deep voice with your own husky tone. “I’m only here for business reasons. It’s just testing the couch, nothing more.”

“Such a tease,” she complains when you press down your shaft on her back entrance. “You—ah, fuck—you can just tell me that I am hot.”

“All I know is that your ass is hot, damn,” you groan up into the air. There is happiness over yet another tight hole to fuck, but also a considerable amount of leftover pain from your cock getting treated like the prey of an anaconda. This mixture of feelings makes for a surreal experience where you find yourself holding back from pouding this young woman senseless because you couldn’t handle it. 

“Ts,” she hisses. “You s-s-slide into me, not ask-ing for my name, and then you don’t even do your jo-job, ah!”

“I’d call this couch an inferior bed,” you suddenly say to the camera, making sure the slut below you is stimulated enough to not interrupt you. “It does not have the charme as the old ones and it lacks character. You would need to fuck on it a couple of times to give the right vibe, you know? Other than that, it’s comfy and big, so if you need space, while fucking each other—I’d still recommend a bed, to be honest.

“I also recommend you telling me your name, so I can deliberately not moan it.”

Bunch the blonde waves up and pull them back, not to hurt her, but to let her know that she was the one you were talking about. With tears in her eyes and a pained smile between her pink cheeks, she turns to look at you.

“Y-you’re so mean. What if I ju-just want to be loved?”

“Then you came to the wrong place, whore. I’m all about couches, really.”

“D-damn, that sucks. I’m Jinsoul by the way.”

“That was the weirdest time for you to tell me your name, you know that?”

Jinsoul murmurs and tries to avoid your eyes, but you force her head to stay close to yours. Something about her acted stupidity, paired with that illegally hot voice makes you want to ravish her more. There is nothing to be said about this couch, it’s mid and that’s it, but Jinsoul is quite intriguing. Unfortunately, the scene is not supposed to play out in a way that would reveal more about her. 

You can change that however. Who would stop you? The director with his raging boner, too occupied to look at the footage that you've already filmed? Certainly not. Thus you take matters into your own hands.

"So you want to be loved, Jinsoul? Appreciated, admired, cared for? Why should I? I've had sex with countless porn stars; you'd have to make a pretty good case for yourself."

Stop your thrusts to let Jinsoul think, adapt to the changed style of the scene, to not make things awkward for the viewers or you. With an elegant flip, she sends her hair flying and presents to you her side profile.

"Have you ever seen a jaw this sharp?" she asks expectantly. "I'm sure it can cut itself into your heart."

You can't hide your amusement at Jinsoul's shenanigans and give her slow, deep thrusts that press her abdomen deep into the fabric. She moans happily when you nuzzle close to her, cheek to cheek. It'd be somewhat romantic if it weren't for the large 4k cam right in your face.

"You're a whole package, I'll give you that," you praise the woman below you. "Don't compare yourself all the time though. It can really harm your self-worth."

"Oh, now you're saying sweet words. I don't have to compare myself, I'm just that good, thank you very much."

"I think you love yourself enough, no need to inflate your ego more."

Hanging out with Jinsoul must be a fun time, she is very chill, can take a joke and has her own kind of humor. It just gets better when you have skinship with her. Let the viewers’ imagination play out the fuck buddies to lovers story with her, you’re just an insert.

Jinsoul clenches her butthole with excellent timing. The jolts of your pelvis onto her buttocks are met with firm resistance which urges you to go a tad bit faster until she clenches less and just lets her normal tightness do the job of giving you both pleasure.

For her this pleasure ends in a loud climax, not because she is a screamer, but because her pussy squirts hot liquid like a geyser. She has marked the couch, it's hers now. The smell won't go away, which you would definitely appreciate as her boyfriend. Jinsoul smells of sex, of playfulness, of want, always willing to go for another round.

You'd gladly go again with her, but you have to pull out. That's the only thing that consistently happens, apart from the annoying switching of rooms which appears to have ended. Jinsoul's room was the last one on this floor. 

Next to it is a wall with a mirror which spans from the marble tiles to the ceiling and across the entire length of the floor. You curiously inspect it.

“I have to be honest, but I haven’t even noticed this until now. Putting this mirror here is a brilliant idea, it tricks you into thinking the corridor is twice the actual length. Anyways, I’m not here to test mirrors now, am I?”

“No,” someone responds in a frisky, feisty voice and you turn your head to look at her. “You’re here to film with me.”

The director, the staff members, basically everyone but the one cameraman who has been filming you this entire time stayed in Jinsoul’s room, so it’s obvious who said it. You would have noticed her anyways, even among a crowd of hundreds she sticks out. Long, slim legs that seem to never end have her high above most women you’ve met during your Asia Tour. Add to those legs a body wrapped in a luxurious black suit and an equally luxurious face plus the most expensive MiuMiu handbag on the market, and you got yourself a princess. 

“Nice to meet you, Wonyoung,” you grin down at her. “It’s a pleasure to finally film something with you.”

“Likewise,” she reciprocates with a disinterested, skeptical smile, before looking down to your crotch. “Though I have to admit… I thought you would wear, well, something different—anything!”

“Now, now, no time for drama. I thought you knew about Just Testing.” 

“Yeah,” she taps the tip of her white high-boots on the floor in slight annoyance. “but I also thought that you’d make an exception, because, you know, I’m here today.”

The implicitness in her tone leaves you stunned. She is demanding of people she has never met before, and it’s a natural thing for her. For her, the concept of rudeness seems to only apply to others—she is Wonyoung after all, she deserves everything. This attitude must have been in the making for quite some time, otherwise she wouldn’t have killed with it in her three debut videos, all high quality, all with guys whimpering and cumming all over themselves. 

Begs the question if her manager told her that you are different from them.

“Oh,” you say surprised and scratch your chin in exaggerated wonder. “So you think that I would dress up right after shooting with, let’s see, ten different women, who couldn’t care less about clothing while we—”

“Are you done?” Wonyoung interrupts, her voice firm and more than slightly annoyed now. She crosses her arms and the handbag slides from her shoulder down to the crook of her elbow. Something about this posture empowers not only her bitchy attitude, but also your desire to, let’s say change it. 

“Why should I be done?” you ask and mimic her posture, though you could never do it with such confident indignation. 

“You think too much, you talk too much. I’d rather have my male colleagues be quiet.”

Like the arrows fired by a skilled archer, your arms find Wonyoung’s slender frame, more accurately, her pits, and you lift her up easily. Enough with her looking down at you when she is literally twenty centimeters smaller. Enough with her inflated ego when she is literally the skinniest woman you’ve seen today. Enough with her spoiled-princess attitude when she is literally begging for your ruining rod—well, she isn’t yet, but you can change that.

“What the fuck are you—hey!”

Turn to the mirror and press her against it. Wonyoung flails and kicks around with her high boots, but she is too high up to reach the ground. Make sure to keep her on exactly this level—below your eyes and above the ground. She is hovering in an uncomfortable limbo and by being so splendidly light, you can keep her there all day long.

“Should I answer your question?” you snark at her livid face. “Or would that be ‘talking too much’?”

“You pathetic, pathetic little creature!” Wonyoung barks back and slams her fists onto your biceps repeatedly. “You have nothing on me—”

“Oh, Wony, you have no idea. This is not school or college where you can bully the smaller girls and get away with it because of your looks. This is also not your debut video, where you get what you want. No. This time, I am the bully.

“Now strip.”

Silence, except for the cameraman scooting around you, filming the enthralling scene with his keen eye for detail. Getting Wonyoung’s face on tape while she scrunches is an easy task, but showing your erect cock poking her abdomen in the same frame is true craftsmanship. 

“How dare yo—”

“Strip, Wony.”

“Don’t call me tha—”

“Then beg. Beg me to put you down again and I’ll call you by your full name, bitchy-princess.”

Wonyoung fights back, harder than before, but her punches are still laughable and her kicks don’t land where she wants them to land. To make her situation even more desperate, you press yourself against her, putting an end to her efforts. The only thing that can free her are those dreadful words that would poison her prideful character.

“Fuck you,” she mouths. “How the hell am I supposed to strip like this?”

“What? You think just because you’re suspended in the air you can’t open the buttons on your suit? I never thought you were this stupid, Wony.”

Though totally unwilling, Wonyoung starts to get the tips of her long fingers to her buttons and pop them open to reveal a plain shirt underneath. After short hesitation and an exasperated eye roll, she goes for the second rows of buttons, opening them slower and slower until she almost stops. 

“Go on,” you say and pin her harder to the mirror. “Or do you need help?”

“Ts, you would ne—”

Wonyoung doesn’t blink in the time it takes you to drop her down and tear open the rest of her shirt. A black lace bra hides her small tits, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes. There was no need to wear this many layers for a fucking porno shoot. Oh well, at least you can show Wonyoung and the viewers, who might have skipped the rest to just watch this scene that you’re still the protagonist of this show.

Pull at the bra and somewhere the fabric is unable to resist you. Wonyoung stumbles forward and you let her drop to the floor, straight into the crouching position intended for her. The opened suit and the tatters of her shirt slide down her shoulders, her hands fail to pull them back together to hide her pale collarbone. 

"Why are you so timid now?" you ask and let your fingers run through her hair. "Was all this bitchy attitude fake?"

Up to this point, Wonyoung has been consistent and predictable in her character, as you'd expect from a talented yet experienced rising star. So it really takes you by surprise when she suddenly switches things up and goes off script. She rids herself off the remaining clothes and uses her sudden nudity as a flashbang: too busy gawking at her stunning, slim and slutty frame, you can't stop her from wrapping her lips around your dick.

"What do you think you're doing?" 

"Making you beg. Consider it a deserved punishment."

First your butt, then your entire back firmly falls against the cold surface of the mirror. Wonyoung's tongue not only twirls around your tip, it also makes your head twirl. Your mind shortly spins, spins towards losing control, until you regain control with a rough pull at Wonyoung’s hair. Entangle it more while she cries in pain and has to back off.

“Ouch, fuck, fuck! It hurts, stop!” she screams and fights back the tears in her eyes.

“I said that this is not your debut,” you growl in anger and hit her shivering lips with your rod. “You don’t control anything, and if you don’t start acting like it, I’ll force you to.”

Force her, you do. In a single push you break past her puckered lips, into the depths of her mouth and against the barrier in her throat. Wonyoung flails as she panics, but you just pull her hair harder and begin to rhythmically fuck her face. Her small chin takes slaps from your full balls; after all, you need to make sure that she adjusts to every last inch of your cock. It also feels great to know that this young slut finally gets pulled off of her high horse, and what better way to do it then drag your nuts over her messy face.

“N-no, my-my mascara!” Wonyoung whimpers, but you only need to pull her jaw down a bit to see her tongue flop out and drool on the floor. Fuck her face again for a couple thrusts more so that the camera can catch her throat bulging and gags escaping. 

“You want to fix it?” you ask sarcastically and yank her head to the mirror. “Good thing that we have a mirror right here.”

Wonyoung cries more, the way you’ve ruined her make-up unbearable for her to look at. Instead of looking away however, she continues to stare at herself. She becomes passive, an observer to what you do to her body. The slaps of your cock on her increasingly glossy lips and puffy face don’t affect her, the hair pulling is nothing but a hot visual and the way she deepthroats you makes her pussy twitch. 

“I don’t think you need fixing,” you groan while you poke the inside of her cheek with more gentle thrusts. You join her and the camera by inspecting her top to bottom, from dazed orbs across a small chest to her white boots. Wonyoung has started to spread her legs, hence the incredible view of her prominent abs and tight-looking pussy. 

“Ah, fuck it.”

Smash Wonyoung’s head down on your phallus. The unexpected vigor makes her lose her footing. She falls to her knees, but you continue to slam her down, make her gawk on you. Wonyoung has resigned herself to your heartless, reckless use of her throat and gags mindlessly. Like a fleshlight you jerk her onto you with one thing in mind: a quick climax. 

You have already filmed so much content, had many asses or faces to fuck and maybe fill, but it is only now that you want to finish quickly. The bickering with Wonyoung has been long enough. She has somewhat learned her place, and you want to make sure it sticks in her mind, so you got to give her something sticky. 

The edging session by the nameless girl from before has you hesitant for long enough that you don’t cum deep in Wonyoung’s throat, but in her mouth. Sperm shoots out of you, fills her feisty cheeks and then oozes through the tiny gaps on each side of your cock. Wonyoung is crazy enough to suck some of it in, so you pull out to make her an absolute mess. An avalanche of pearly white runs down her chin and chest, down to her navel. It doesn’t happen in one go, but two, three, four spurts while Wonyoung struggles to swallow and instead gurgles it up.

“You disgusting whore.”

“I-I did not—fuck, there’s s-so much of it.”

“Welcome to being a cum slut, Wony. Next time, I’ll make sure that your cunt looks just like your mouth right now. Fits you better than the bitchy-princess-thing you’re trying to pull.”

You clean your cock by rubbing it over her forehead. Wonyoung’s entire being is frozen, no response, no emotions, no attempts to clean up. Is it still acting at this point? Who knows, it fits what you were going for in this scene. Although you’d really like to hear her thoughts (and maybe get her number), you don’t have time right now. The other cameraman is already filming you walking down the marble hallway, while the co-host walks up to you with applause.

"Bravo! This must be a new record. In such little time you have tested one, two three, four, five, six, seven—"

"Eleven," you interrupt him. "Eleven sessions of testing."

"Which is amazing, but are you up for the challenge and ready to continue right now?" He looks at you expectantly, but you just walk past him with determination.

"It seems that you don’t know me. Of course I’m ready.”

“Splendid. Please follow me outside and listen closely because we will spice things up a bit.” You follow him closely through the familiar dressing room and then an inconspicuous door you haven’t noticed during your preparations. “Are you familiar with our Role Playing Game?”

“The game where you give a prompt and I have to adapt my behavior to it?”

“Exactly. I need you to be focused, because we will play four rapid fire rounds,” he says, the last doorknob firmly in his hand. “Right behind this metal door, is the outside. Don’t worry, we have guaranteed privacy—”

“Dammit—I mean…”

That one was for the show, though you have to admit that public sex with the possibility of someone catching you and either getting extremely flustered, angry or aroused is a huge turn-on for you. But these companies always make sure to rent private property, hidden gardens or those fake buses for the shootings. No one will even sniff a hint of the juices your going to fuck out of the women on the next view sets.

“Well then, too bad for you,” the co-host brings you back from your dreams and starts to read from his cue card. “Here is the first prompt: Never having played golf before.

“And action!”

Push through the door and get greeted by the bright, warm rays of sunlight beaming from above. Beneath your bare toes, the cold marble from before pales in comparison to the soft grass you now walk on. It’s not any kind of grass either; it’s the light green grass of a tiny golf course, complete with starting spot, sand bunker and putting green. On said putting green lies a woman in a green and white golfing outfit, surrounded by a colorful palette of golf balls. She holds a golfing club upside down in one hand, the other suddenly points at you.

“You there!” she shouts. “Come here, I need your help.”

“How can I help you, Miss…”

“I’m Sooyoung and I have a confession to make: I have no idea how to play golf, but I’d really like to try.”

“Well,” you say awkwardly and scratch the back of your head. “I only know the basics of golf, so I might not be a big help, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Sooyoung cheerfully smiles, fitting for her pretty features. “We’ll find out together. I believe you are a big help already. Tell me what you know.”

“I think golf is about putting something into a hole,” you claim and then claim the position behind Sooyoung.

“Hm, there is a hole right here,” Sooyoung notes as she gathers the balls around her in sweeping motions of her arm and then hastily rolls them into the deep golfing hole. “But it’s already stuffed.”

“Well, here is a hole that is not yet stuffed.” Pull up the hem of Sooyoung’s skirt and spread her cheeks to reveal a puckered, clenching entrance. “Maybe this is the correct one.”

“You should go first. You’re the sexper—I mean expert on gol-f-ing.”

Sooyoung has a special place in your heart already. Her lines on paper were underwhelming, but the way she casually rolls them off of her tongue has you enjoying things until now. Her initial moans only increase the respect you have for her, as they sound more like someone being in awe because they're seeing their favorite sport for the first time than someone getting her ass penetrated. Her experience in acting shows.

“Oh damn,” she giggles. “So this is golfing. I-I think I have to get used to it first.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised too. I did not know the hole would actually keep it inside. I thought you could just pull out and play again.”

“Maybe noobs have to live with only playing one round~”

What a perfect tease, you can’t deny that. Not bitchy and demanding, more a challenge to spur you on and get the best out of you. Sooyoung is somewhat like a coach that fires you up—what fires you up further is her tight asshole relaxing, getting ready for a couple more rounds.

“Well, I think I have to repeatedly train to go from noob to a respectable amateur,” you groan and start to move your hips up and down in a pistoning motion. 

“Yes, yes! L-let’s train together to have more fun at golfing.”

Sooyoung gradually sways her ass thus you poke all over her insides. She finds a spot that she likes your cock to violate and pulls her cheeks apart to announce it. Something about ‘a bigger hole makes playing easier’ was in the script, but the two of you are too caught up in pleasure to add it here. That does not mean that Sooyoung has given up on playing her role yet.

“Oh yes! I-I think you just got a hole-in-one!”

“That do-does… is… not on par with my golf knowledge.”

Sooyoung digs her teeth into her lip to not laugh, not cum at exactly this moment. Unfortunately for her, you have different plans and drill your cock a faster than she was able to handle before. The woman below you rocks back and forth on the grass, both sets of lips leaking. It’s a last second orgasm for her because—

“Round 1 is over” the co-host mouths barely in your field of view. You pull your cock out of Sooyoung’s ass and don’t fight the urge to give her cheeks tiny slaps with your cock. After that, the crew is already urging you to move away from the golfing course. Your co-host points to a spot behind what is supposed to look like the hidden corner of a school yard with hedge-like bushes, construction fences and trash baskets. 

“The second prompt,” the co-host shouts from behind the cameras. “A sexual agreement, gone wrong!”

Get into character. Hide behind the bushes and look for anyone who might pass by. Every movement, may it be just a gust of wind, makes you jump. You’re on your toes, ready to run away if one of the professors passes by. Luckily, you don’t have to wait any longer. 

“Sorry,” a girl dressed in tight, rebellious attire, a short red skirt and a cropped varsity jacket whimpers in between huffs and puffs. Her take on the local school uniform must leave every professor speechless and enraged. “I got scolded by the math prof and she just didn’t stop.”

“Jeez, at least try to sneak here,” you scold here while putting a construction fence next to the wall as an extra barrier. “What if someone saw you. Gaeul, I swear to God, these bitches have a bad influence on you,”

“Oh, and you don’t, huh?” Gaeul crosses her arms. “And don’t call them bitches, okay? Yujin and Liz are my friends!”

“They are tyrants and only see you as a minion to do their stuff. How many times have you gotten in trouble for them?” Gaeul stays silent, looking at you angrily, though there is a hint of longing in her eyes. “See, I told you they were no good.”

“You’re no good either. Look what we’re about to do.”

“But it was your idea, Gaeul. I didn’t ask you to eat your pussy after classes.”

Gaeul rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue at your words. A faint blush on her cheeks however betrays her. You have no doubt that she is greedy to get your tongue inside her. You love her for this confidence and you despise that she always gets away with it.

“So? Will you finally eat me, pretty please?” Gaeul tries to imitate the shy virgin she surely isn’t and you’ve had it with her antics. Watch her put a finger into her short hair, it’s color the same as the hazelnuts underneath your toes, and curl the hair playfully. You want to do the same.

“Nah, I’m actually pretty pissed,” you tell her and step closer. “So how about we play rock, paper, scissors. One round, whoever loses has to pleasure the other first.”

“You mean to tell me that I have to suck you off?”

“Can’t be that weird to you, considering what we do so often—or are you scared to get caught with cock in your pretty little mouth?”

“N-no, of course not,” Gauel stutters and pulls the finger out of her messy hair. “I’ll win anyways.”

A tense face off, both contestants have their fists stretched from their body. As the rhythmic saying starts, they both swing their arms side to side rapidly until the final word reaches its final syllable and the two hands explode into their respective symbols—that’s probably how a commentator would describe the match.

Gaeul has two of her fingers spread apart to show scissors. You on the other hand kept your fist compacted in a solid block. Your rock smashes Gaeul’s unstable scissors, though she tries to stab you with them by going to town on your chest.

“You. Fucking. Bastard.”

“Calm down, I’ll eat you out afterwards. Now stop being a sore loser and get down.”

Make sure she can only keep eye contact while starring skywards. The height difference is incredible, Gaeul can’t help but gulp. But maybe that gulp was because she puts her hand under your cock and cannot imagine it fitting inside her mouth. 

“F-fine.”

Gaeul hesitantly squats down, gives you a glance that speaks volumes to how much she just wants to get licked and tongue fucked. She puts a lot on the line for your wet muscles entering her cunty-cave and wiggling inside it. She might not look forward to a big career after college life is over, but she still has a strong sense of honor and cares for her public perception. Getting caught like this is a substantial risk.

Gaeul slowly opens her mouth, your cock resting on her lower lip. Deep breaths widen and narrow her nostrils, her hands don’t know what to hold onto. In your bedroom, she is not this cautious and her pace is far from that of a fucking snail, so you get a hold of her head and push her onto your rod.

“My God, Gaeul,” you groan, finally not the dry air, but gentle wetness around your tip. “You’re getting on my nerves. Do it on your own, or you can forget about the agreement.”

Your hands get swatted away and in rage, Gaeul bops her head up and down over the first third of your cock. This is much more to your liking, similar to how fast she does it while you’re sitting on your bed. If she continues and you get a sweet release, she certainly qualifies for passionate nibbles around her clit, while you do everything in your power to make her drown you in sweet girl-cum.

God, Gaeul tastes so damn sweet, you could talk about it all day every day, but at this moment, your mind is too occupied with focusing on her taking more inches with slower bops. Gaeul gurgles and spits, a sudden gust of wind forces goosebumps all over your skin. Coldness on your cock, then the warm mouth, is she planning this?

“Fuck, this is good,” you coo and try to pat Gaeul’s beautiful short hair, but she stares you down, her gaze a great threat, although you don’t know what she could actually do to you. You’re a lot taller, stronger, calculated—but she has her teeth very close to your cock. Makes you think.

“Excuse me, hello? What are you doing there?”

Oh fuck, someone found you. You peek over the hedge and see a professor of almost equal height look right back at you. He approaches the hedge from the other side with this cliche look of an angry, unstable teacher approaching what they assume is students breaking rules—and you’re not only breaking petty rules, but also damn laws.

Gaeul has a natural reaction and hopes to quickly get you out of her mouth and try to look as innocent as possible, which is absolutely futile because you're fully naked and you actually reach for the back of her head. ‘What are you fucking doing?’ her eyes scream when you shove her back down until the professor reaches the construction fence.

“You kids these days think you’re allowed to do anything, huh?” 

He frantically shakes the metal beams as your legs copy their motions, but before you can cream into Gaeul’s still sloppily licking mouth, you have to abort everything. Get out of Gaeul, out of the unveiled hideout, out of the scene. 

“The third prompt,” the co-host announces in something resembling euphoria as he pulls your arm to a camping van. “Trying to sell a van in only one minute!”

There is no time to breathe, it all has to happen fast. To switch from one character to the other might be well-prepared, but you can never underestimate how hard it actually is. Turn to the camera, treat it like a person you’re trying to convince, like you’re selling them a motorized vehicle, not the illusion that is this video. 

“This van is our flagship product. It comes in two colors: black and silver, but I’m sure you do not care about the exterior. Height, width and weight are all in the manual that you will get later on. The real gem of this model is inside it. Please follow me.”

Step up a tiny ladder into the van’s cozy interior, with a tiny kitchen area in the back, an even smaller toilet room in the back and a mattress that basically fills out the rest. No one would be convinced that this design is sensical or practical at all, if it wasn’t for the naked woman lying on top of the mattress.

“This van has got everything, but I’m sure you have heard this phrase everywhere, so I will tell you why exactly our product is superior. If you travel the world as two or three or maybe even four, you have enough space to sleep on and do other activities, like this.”

You climb up on the bed and give Hwasa’s fat ass a couple of rubs before you find her familiar hole and drill yourself inside. You know from previous sessions with her that anal makes her hum for some reason and that these hums suddenly turn to deep, deadly groans, which could either scare the customer off or attract them even more. Anyways, you don’t have time, so speed up.

“No matter how hard you like to do it, no matter—oh fuck—how loud you are, no one will hear you. Imagine being alone in the woods, loving the sun, nature, life itself—and then fucking your brains out like rabbits. You get what I mean? Isn’t this feeling worth so much?”

For the camera, you’re begging the customer for money. In your head, you’re begging for Hwasa’s butthole to not squeeze you too tightly. She wrings out so many men, has them cum all over her smooth, sun-kissed skin, but for you she is extra tight. At this point you might be stuck, and you’re not talking about what’s next in the script.

Your hands move to Hwasa’s shoulder, pin her down while you jackhammer her hole deep, widen it with the entire circumference of your dick to the point the van starts to vibrate throughout. Suddenly, the camera slowly backs off. You should give the customer a final catchphrase to make sure they’ll call back soon to get the van and all its features. Hwasa fights the script and wraps one of her strong arms around your neck to keep you right there, motionless inside her for a few seconds longer.

“F-fuck, I need to—”

“Fuck the director, really,” Hwasa groans back, but you can’t stay. No, no, no, you really can’t, yet it’s quite scary to tell her that. Given that she is small, you can just run away—again. Storm out of the van under the angry roar of Hwasa, right to the awaiting co-host.

“Prompt four?” you ask, pretending to be joking and out of breath.

“Well, yeah, there is a fourth prompt. Right at this wall.”

He points to one of the outside walls of the hotel, which has been painted to resemble… something. You actually care too little about this detail, the hard cobblestones below you are a much bigger issue to you. They feel uncomfortable to stand on. At least you can rely on your fellow actress to deliver. She’s already leaning on the colorful stripes painted on the wall’s paneling, immersed in her role. 

“The fourth prompt: the rent is due and she has no money. Go!”

“Hey, Ms. Wang!” You jump into character without warning, making Yiren’s shocked reaction a genuine one. “You’re late on your payment, again. This is the third time already this year, for fucks sake, it’s not even June yet!”

“Please calm down, y-you will get it soon,” Yiren tries to bargain for more time. She tends to get out of trouble with her charms, her cute, small face for example, but she has crossed all of your red lines already. She will pay up now or suffer the consequences, legal or illegal ones.

“No, I wanted it a week ago. You know I give everyone an extra week all the time, but you’re the only one who needs it regularly, and today I’ve had it. I woke up, checked the bank, and you still haven’t paid! This is the last straw, Ms. Wang.”

“I-I’m sorry, okay? It’s been rough, I couldn’t get the mon—”

“We had an agreement! Fuck it, either you leave until Friday or I’ll kick you out myself.”

“No, please!” Yiren drops to her knees and lowers her head. “Please don’t kick me out, I-I can only stay here!”

“I don’t want to hear any weak excuses, I just want my money,” you groan and turn away from her. 

“I don’t have any money. Y-you can check, it’s all gone.”

“Then you should leave, Ms. Wang, no need to make this ugly.”

“I-is there no way…”

Yiren looks up to you with perfect timing to catch your gaze at her mesmerizingly marvelous features.

“...I can pay you differently this time?”

“What do you mean?” 

Raise an eyebrow when Yiren begins to squat before you and grins lewdly. 

“I can make you want me forever. All I need is this.”

Her fingers go for your base, they glide alongside it, then down to your balls. Wordlessly, she then adds her lips to them, only for a moment, until she wanders to your thigh and places kisses all over it. To show approval, you rake her slightly damp hair with your sweaty hand. An odor of strawberry and salt faintly stimulates your senses. Yiren was in the shower not too long ago, she is a lot cleaner than you are. Go figure, after fourteen scenes a couple of scents are bound to stick on you like a layer of lustful perfume. 

“This is indeed good,” you whisper and nod in the pattern Yiren strokes your base. “But it’s not yet worth the rent of your flat.”

“I haven’t even started yet, Sir.”

A final kiss on your now lipstick-covered thigh, then Yiren jumps to your tip to proceed with the much smaller, much more sensitive surface. Her delicate strawberry lips part a little for the smooches she so tenderly uses to get your blood out of your head into your head. It’s very effective.

“Wow, I did not know you could suck cock like a hungry whore.”

“How did you think I make my money?”

“Honest work?”

Yiren chuckles. It’s adorable, her outer appearance as a whole is, but apparently the rumors about her were true. As her landlord, it could cost you a lot of money if you keep falling for her skills after this one session. Maybe it’s her strategy to get new customers, and you have fallen for it like a fool.

“Wait a second,” you hiss just when Yiren is about to suck you in deeper. “Why didn’t you just make money then? Who would reject such a woman if she was offering herself.”

Yiren simply shrugs.

“I was just lazy, I guess. This cock right here will save me so much money.”

“And what if you’re all talk and I say you haven’t deserved it yet.”

“That’s not going to happen, Sir.”

Is Yiren really up to the challenge? To say that the answer is a doubtless ‘yes’ is still an understatement to how fucking good she actually is. Millions of people have rolled their tongue along and around a swollen glans, yet none have mastered it the way this chinese beauty has. Everywhere her tongue touches, it doesn’t matter if it’s the underside or the topside, bursts of pleasure electrify your nervous system. 

“Oh, shit.”

Take a step back, search for the wall with your hand to find stability during Yiren’s knee-shaking, mind-melting blowjob. There is not much to see for everyone watching this, thus you have to go all out with your reactions. You know Yiren is not the best at taking it deep down, you have to work around it; luckily, she knows how to.

“I see you like it?” Yiren laughs with casual confidence, slapping you against her lips before finding your balls with them. Your cock rests upon her forehead, yet her eyes still try to stare at it. She crosses them while slobbering all over your perineum area. “Isn’t this so much better than rent?”

“You fucking hooker, fuck,” you groan with no need to exaggerate your volume for the cameras which capture both your and Yiren’s point of view perfectly. It’s going to end up in a wild porno, however you can’t deny the craftsmanship that goes into getting the pictures. Ah, don’t kid yourself: if it weren’t for all these girls being so hot and your dick being this long, no one would spend their hard earned money on this.

“Our customer service can also finish the job,” Yiren says with the voice of a skilled saleswoman, her skilled hands giving you a sample of what she can provide.

“I-I think I’ll have to come back then.”

“Does this mean you’re satisfied with the new way of collecting rent?”

“Ah, fuck, yes. Fuck you, you fucking hooker.”

A cheerful eye-smile and a pop to free your sack ends the scene with Yiren. Your stint of acting while acting was a short, stamina-draining one, though the self-immersion in these dumb characters has helped you keep the second load for later. These four vixen might have been great, but ‘cumming without control’ was never part of any of the prompts. Those viewers who like to see an orgasm to finish themselves off still have to wait and edge. Good boys and girls. 

“Are we going back in?” you ask the co-host who skips towards an emergency door on the far end of the hotel.

“Yes, yes! We, no, you have so much left to test. Please go to the booth on the right.”

He is filled with a sense of hype, maybe it’s all the sex clouding his mind in horniness. As long as he does his job, there should be no problem. You do as he says, finding a booth about the size of the rooms from before. There is a huge lamp on the ceiling for proper lighting and a cozy carpet on the floor for proper testing. It has the color and smell of lavender—or is it the girl under the lamp that smells like the famous flower? 

“Nice to meet you,” you greet the girl with her lavender colored lips and skirt, though the tightly wrapped piece of clothing is a stronger shade of purple. It resembles lavender the best, now that you think about it.

“H-hi,” she stutters and waves her hand in tiny. “My n-name is Rei, I’m from Ja-Japan.”

“You are a very attractive woman, Rei, the make-up looks great on you, just like the buns.” You flood her with compliments, your charm does the rest. Rei’s tense shoulders relax a bit, and they stay relaxed when you step closer to her, 

“Th-thank you, that’s very nice of you.”

“Are you nervous?”

Rei’s trembling hands move to the hem of her skirt and she loosens it to show her hairy pussy. Her thighs are too big, they keep the skirt from falling all the way down. 

“A bit, yes, but I really want this.”

Rei points to your cock which starts to poke her tummy, a few centimeters above her hidden clit. You place your hands on her sides and delicately spin her around. To your surprise, Rei not only has monumental breasts, which sadly are not your focus today, her buttocks are also round and firm, definitely well-trained. 

“You’re excited?” you ask her, fingers running circles on her ass. “I know I am, your body is very ruinable, perfect for testing.”

“Y-yes. Pl-please be gentle with m-my a-ass.”

“I will, trust me. Just relax and lay down.”

Rei’s curvaceous body sinks into the thick, fluffy carpet, which, to your surprise, might actually work very well as a surface to fuck on. Align yourself with Rei’s booty, which could also be described as thick and fluffy, and before penetrating her tight ring, you lean close to her ear.

“You’re still not fully relaxed, Rei,” you coo, your thumb drawing circles on her painted cheek. 

“I-I’m trying—”

“Don’t try. Take deep breaths. Tell me what you like, and we can make it work, hm?”

Rei takes deep breaths under your touch, her bountiful bosom heaves for what could be an amazing visual. The camera only catches her cleavage and her tongue starting to protrude from her lips.

“I la-la-la-like my tongue being played with,” Rei hums timidly, but you show no hesitation and move your fingers inside her mouth. Wiggle her tongue in between them and feel her hot breath graze them while you graze the immaculate ass crack. 

With a reminder to be gentle, you insert yourself into Rei. About half of your cock fits inside of her, then she starts to bite down on your fingers. You hiss, but try not to make too much of a show out of it. With slow thrusts you let her asshole get used to the new sensation that is your length and width. 

Rei’s expression must be one for the ages, as the cameraman filming her face seems absolutely thrilled about the footage he is getting. It might just be Rei’s charm or make-up, who knows what these crazy guys like. They have seen it all, over and over again, to the point where they can only feel something when you hit them with a baseball bat.

“How does it feel, Rei?” you ask her without stopping your rhythm-less short thrusts.

“V-very big, very good, ah! I-I can feel all of you.”

“But… I’m not even all the way in.”

“What?”

You feel Rei’s jaw drop and take the opportunity to explore her mouth more. Your fingers roam and fiddle everything they can find, making Rei fall into a haze. 

“Should I put it all the way in?” 

You hold yourself back from slamming down, waiting for Rei to groan her response past your fingers. It’s to your liking.

“Yesh, pleash. I can tak it.”

Can’t deny a lady her request, especially not one so urgent and easy to fulfill. With pleasure your tip searches for your pleasure, her pleasure, in an apparently endless cavern of pressure—it’s not the first you’ve explored today. They are all unique, special in their own way, narrow goodness that engrains onto the skin of your thoroughly used cock.

“You’re doing so good, Rei, I’m so proud of you. Having sex on a carpet is great, but you made it unforgettable.”

“Th—ha, oh my~” 

Swear to God you slipped. No, really, you wanted to retreat from the darkest part of the cavern, but then your knee was unstable on the carpet and you gave Rei a hard jolt. It luckily ended in her moaning stupidly and not flailing and crying. 

“I think I’ll have to pull out, sorry about that.”

“I-I love it, th-thank you!”

Another girl you made addicted to anal; it’s a great feeling to convey to an unsuspecting, silly audience who at this point has surely lost their mind at the insane length and scope of this episode. You will treat them to so much more, which is why you hurry to find the next actress. 

You begin to recognize her from afar, the long, slender frame, covered in torn fishnets and overall skimpy clothing. Her lips are crimson red, her tied-up hair black and blonde—

—the massive choker around her throat is the final detail, absolutely crucial to your kinky plan.

“There will never be a day where I am not ready to fuck you, Yoohyeon.”

“Wow,” she replies in shock. “I have never been greeted this rudely. Have these girls made you stupid?”

“Get down and pray that these shoes will keep you from falling, because I won’t.”

You reach for the back of her choker and roughly yank it. In short bursts Yoohyeon loses her connection to the fresh air surrounding her. Things get worse for her oxygen flow when you shove your cock into her mouth without interrupting the strangulation. 

Instantaneously, Yoohyeon is a crying, gagging mess, her humanity turned off in favor of the primal instinct to survive. However, she is not strong enough to break free, your cock is like a constant pendulum swinging deep into her throat. From the outside, the ring of her choker helps you with stimulation. It presses right on your slit, milking some of your clear and salty precum out. 

“If your girl is a freak like Yoohyeon,” you address the camera, still lost in Yoohyeon’s empty, glassy gaze. “Make sure to switch, switch, switch things up. Become unhinged, unpredictable, unstoppable. Do stuff like this!”

Grab Yoohyeon’s ponytail and rapidly move her head in circles, creating a wet tornado of saliva when you pull out. The constant forced motion makes it fly everywhere. Yoohyeon voices her dizziness with shrieks, which will not become words.

“Or this.”

Smack her right cheek with the back of your hand, it slips right off due to all the tears and runny make-up. This time, you not only shove your cock all the way in, you also move forward. Yoohyeon has to lean backwards further then she ever has during her face fucks. Her many scenes did not prepare her for this, her large boots start to lose her grip.

“Show her your new side and why you’re special,” you end your demonstration and the camera catches how Yoohyeon falls over, free from your filling cock, searching for air. Before she can complain or ask for more, you must flee.

Sneak away, around the corner, it’s just a couple of steps into what appears to be a dark alley. Three beds are placed on one side, different sizes, different styles, and opposite of them are three very different doors. One looks like it leads to the room of a young, single woman still living with her parents. She is too lazy to change the pink door with the Hello Kitty stickers from her childhood, so it stays. The second door has a hostel vibe to it. Brown color has been painted on it and now flakes off along with the century old mold below it. The last door looks like it has been stolen out of a world famous hotel. It’s the color of marble, has gold ornaments neatly spread around and the number ‘30’ is in the center of it. 

“What the fuck is this?” you think out loud, hearing the footsteps of multiple people behind you.

“Hey, y-you’re too quick,” the co-host complains from behind. “Let me explain what’s about to happen here.”

“I’m all ears. Seriously though, why can’t we just go back to the real hotel rooms? Did you really have to steal a door from the hostel across the street? And what about the—”

“A-nyways!” the co-host interjects with an awkward laugh and swipes his hands like windshield wipers. “We need your expert opinion on these three models. Their sheets are the same, the differences not as obvious—”

“What are you talking about?” you complain. “You don’t need an expert for this. We have a big bed, then a small bed and then a bigger bed, end of story.”

“J-just lay down on the first one, you’ll get it very soon.”

You cut some corners in the dialogue, which is mostly because you didn’t want to torture the dear viewers with terrible jokes—something with bet, bad and bed, makes you want to throw your career away. Without further instructions you climb into the first bed, wrap yourself in a blanket and pretend to sleep. Yup, this is a bed alright. Literally your everyday bed, nothing too fancy, nothing that could annoy you. 

“Okay what do you want me to say about this?” The camera catches your annoyed eye-roll. “Am I test-sleeping now?”

“Far from it. Yena, it’s your turn.”

The pink door opens, a girl in a white hoodie and short, plaid skirt walks into the scene and before you can blink twice, she is in the bed with you, pretending to use it like it’s hers. For a minute you watch her, as she plays on her phone, rolls around a bit and then suddenly decides to fiddle her panties out from underneath the skirt. 

You see erotic videos pop up on her phone screen. Yena starts to caress her thighs, rub the shaven area near her clit, never daring to go all in. She bites her lips as overacted moans screech from the old speakers on her phone. This is not doing it for her—even the overstimulated consumer who is still watching your video knows. Luckily, she has what she needs right behind her.

Wordlessly, you bunch up her skirt and search for her puckered hole. Yena instinctively lifts up one of her legs. She winks at you before her mouth opens wide in a moan that echoes through the hallway. Finally she has what the women on the screen have: a large cock in her ass. In the video she basically sees what’s happening to her rectum. You stretch it apart, widen her hole, a new entrance for pleasure.

“What are you waiting for?” you devilishly growl into Yena’s ear. “Use your fingers, and I’ll promise that you’ll cum harder than her.”

It is with ridiculously perfect timing (like there was a script) that the porn star on Yena’s screen loses control of her body, it rocks and jerks in all directions as the cock stops fucking into it. You know that Yena takes a close look at the actress's face, covered in sweat and happiness when her fingers dive to her clit.

“Yes, please, make me cum,” she begs, out of breath from her own touch, your pelvis hitting her butt and your cock stuffing her hole. 

Reach for the leg Yena struggles to keep up in the air and use it as a lever to slam faster into her. Meanwhile Yena’s fingers are eager to quickly send her over the edge in what can only be described as the best of two worlds. Her small, cute thumb is slow and soft, treating her clit with utmost care, while the rest plunges and curls inside her wetness recklessly, harsher than you would allow yourself to treat her. You can even feel her rub you from the other side and figure that you’re just a prop now, a dildo for Yena to masturbate with. 

“Ah, I’m so close, God, I’m cuuuuummmmmiiiiing!”

Okay, she definitely watched too much porn and read the wrong kind of fanfiction to have such a ludicrous, forced reaction. You’re not here to judge her, so you hold her slutty waist steady and thrust up until Yena’s body mimics that of her idols. She trembles uncontrollably, moans, screams, her eyes roll back—the entire porno-package—basically your life in a nutshell. 

“Finger yourself stupid,” you command. Yena does not notice that you're suddenly absent from her gaping hole, she is too engaged in what she can do to herself without anyone’s assistance. The crew films glimpses of Yena still going at it, cunt pierced open, clit hard and clearly protruding. 

“No, I’m cuuuummming agaainnnnnnnn, ahhhhhh!”

That’s enough for you. Jump onto the next bed without much care, it creaks and squeaks, the springs feel old and used. This won’t be the first time someone fucks on this mattress. At least they changed the sheets before letting you test it. You also can’t deny their attention to detail: this bed clearly fits the vibe and feel of an old, suspicious hostel.

“This is not comfortable, ouch,” you whine to the camera, half acted, half serious. “No one intended that two people would use this bed at the same time, but at the same time I really think that no one ever slept here alone. If they did, poor soul.”

“What if we let you sleep in there alone?” the co-host asks and wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m just kidding—”

“And I’m just testing!” 

Kill me. Not now, but after this shoot, make sure to shoot me.

“Sua, it’s your turn!”

The ancient door opens, a woman in a yellow crop top and a skirt with teddy bears and blueberry muffins printed on it walks into the scene and before you can blink twice, she is in the bed with you, pretending to use it like she’s owning it for the night. For a minute you watch her, the toned muscles on her back, her biceps, her spotless legs, until she pulls dark glasses out of her even darker hair. 

“You know what beds like this and nights like these are for,” she suddenly sighs, putting the glasses on her pointy nose. “Don’t keep me waiting, boy, or I’ll make you see stars.”

The contortion of disgust on Sua’s features make her already attractive face an illegal amount hotter. The glasses add a surprising touch, the pictures really do not do her justice. Move your hands underneath the shorts and they are no more, discarded in the room like Yena, who still masturbates. 

“This is better,” Sua hums, nodding in approval at the alignment of your erection. “Come, give me a kiss.”

Natural is the way your lips go down to get hers. Sua has the tone of a demanding teacher, who uses strictness and rewards to get the best out of her disciples. The notion of being above her because you have a greater pool of experience fades when she takes the lead. Your thrusts, their strength and their speed are under Sua’s full control. 

“Lower. Lower. No, not there.”

She smacks your collarbone, threatens to pull you down by the throat if you don’t get your act together. The bed is long forgotten, Sua’s pleasure comes first. To hear her moan is a completely different feeling, the gratification not connected to the tightness around your rod, but the knowledge that you’re doing it right.

“That’s the spot, yes.”

“Should I go faster?”

“A little bit. Be careful not to slip out.”

“I won’t.”

Things are a lot calmer, quieter, not the kind of content you usually produce. Being approved by the producers, you trust that this is what at least someone likes to see: slow sex, low moans, hands respectfully resting on the other's body—and of course Yena’s sounds of blissful self-love in the background.

“I won’t say a positive thing about this shitty bed,” you speak towards one of the microphones, noticing that the cameramen are occupied with getting Sua’s ass and her face on tape. “I can only say positive things about this woman though, she—”

“Shhh, I don’t want to hear it. Keep on fucking, that’s a lot better.”

She is goddamn right, it is better. Sometimes even a talking head like you has to shut up and do the part of your job you’re actually good at. Your muscles start to feel the wear and tear of the intense session you’ve powered through to get here. Sua’s wish for you to keep the same pattern does not help, you need some way to let loose, or else your stamina will run out before you’ve reached the end.

“Fuck it, I’m going in!” a voice suddenly shouts from another room. Though it may be subdued, you can hear the neediness in it. 

The luxurious door opens, a woman in a thin, way too short emerald dress and beige high-heels walks into the scene and before you can blink twice, she is in the bed next to you, combing her blonde strands with her hands. For a second you watch her and the bratty look of defiance on her face. 

‘Somi, get the fuck back here’ one of the crew members mouths, you see him flailing his arms angrily in the corner of your eye. Also in the corner of your eye is Somi sticking out her tongue to the guy, whose face turns every shade of red and blue until he gives up and leaves the set. Finally there is some chaos here, time to use your impromptu acting charm to save this mess.

“Excuse me for a second,” you whisper to Sua, stroking along her raven hair. “I have to do something asap. I’ll be back.”

“Sure,” she groans quietly.

“Hey, you!” you address Somi and walk along the massive bed. “Who are you and what are you doing on this bed?”

“I’m Somi.” A bitchy smirk. “And I have claimed this bed, sorry. First come first serve.”

“Unfortunately I have to test this, so do you mind getting off of it?”

Somi clicks her tongue and tries to look past you, but her eyes are drawn to the massive size of your glistening cock.

“I do mind, I’m not going to move and if you don’t get this fucking thing out of my face, I’ll call security.”

“You’re getting closer to it, Somi, I bet you can’t wait to have it inside of you.

“Let’s make a deal: I test the bed, while I fuck you prone.”

“Tempting,” Somi murmurs, nails tapping the side of your phallus. “I doubt that it will be fun though. Can you even satisfy me~?”

“Bitch, everyone can satisfy a bimbo like you.”

As soon as you get on top of the sheets, Somi takes a defensive position. She is on her back, the pointy end of her heels pointed dangerously close to your eyeball. The director, unable to influence the scene at this point, has his nervous, sweaty hands up in his hair. He knew all too well that Somi does what she wants and that her persona has to be tamed by another force on screen—you. After this, you’re going to ask for a fucking raise each time you’re forced to work overtime to control these fucking brats..

“Yes, keep looking at my pussy,” Somi purrs and pulls up her dress up to her waist. “But you can’t touch it. Touching is for men only~”

“Unimpressive, really.”

You form fists around Somi’s ankles. In a single powerful motion, you fold her in half, feet hovering next to her head. Somi yelps when her sizable ass is presented to you and she yelps again when you pull the laughable piece of clothing over her head. Through the messy strands of her disheveled hair, she can muster up no bratty reaction, not until you penetrate her asshole.

“Oh, you thought!” you shout out the moment Somi’s wrong hole becomes the definition of tightness. “You thought I’d fuck your pussy, but your oh-so pristine cunt has literally been fucked by a thousand guys—it’s loose!”

Smack Somi’s buttocks faster than you plunge in and out of her, make her ass turn redder than Yena’s and Sua’s faces as they watch from their respective beds. When you don’t spank Somi, your hands are too occupied with keeping her thin legs folded to do anything enjoyable, like grabbing her small waist or those massagable jugs. At first glance these perky tits look fake to you; it might just be the blur of pleasure though.

“Bimbo slut! Nice fake tits!”

“Y-you’re, ah, so, fuck, mean! Th-they are real!”

You lean forward, as far down as your flexibility allows, and spit and nibble all over Somi’s apparently real melons. Stare up at her, but the blonde has her chin up high, head thrown back. 

“Oh my God!” Somi grunts. “I’m so-so close, hng!”

“Is that so?” You completely stop every movement, balls deep inside. “Then admit it, say it out loud, ‘I’m a blonde bimbo slut’!”

“N-no—”

“Or you won’t cum.”

Somi twitches, the little fight left in her curvy frame gone like vapor in the wind in light of her approaching orgasm. She gleefully reaches for her own legs, holds them steady and gives you ample opportunity to finish the job. All you need is the code word.

“I’m a blonde bimbo slut, I’m a blonde bimbo slut, I’m a—oh shit, ah!”

Right on cue, you put some of your reserve energy into your lower body and do what you have done all day with insane power that makes your own mind spin aimlessly: fuck ass, rough and deep. Somi screams and squirts, both come out stupidly violent and then abate with time. She numbs your ears and drenches your crotch, the clear fluid shoots from her well-used cunt like a broken fountain and washes away the smells of all the other women. 

Somi is gorgeous and filthy, mixing both parts of what sex can be in one person who happens to fully focus on delivering on her bimbo image. It’s too late for her to rebrand, sadly, you’d totally try to feel her tits in a loving way, but who are you to complain?

A better question is: Where are you? 

Somi had you on the verge of cumming, which would go against your pride. To cum in a bimbo after only a few minutes is unacceptable. You had to edge yourself, take labored breaths, think of… unsexy things, otherwise the script writers would be disappointed. Ever since then, only flashes remain. Your co-host guiding you away, a familiar room, two, maybe three girls. One of them wears a cap—

You’re in her mouth. This is bad. She is already sucking, lazily, but it’s very good, holy fuck! Your efforts of holding back are ultimately too late. An earthquake hits your entire body, head to toes, to announce your eruption. Instead of rapid spurts it’s one uninterrupted beam of cum, vacuumed out of your balls. 

The girl is overstrained with your orgasm. She gags up the baby batter and it tumbles down her chin right onto her exposed nipples. The rest either makes its way down her throat or all over your dick, where it creates a sticky situation, slowly cascading downward.

“Ha, f-f—” the victim of your unwanted, overwhelming attack tries to catch her breath. “Wh-at the hell? Are you fucking stupid? Do you always cum in other people's mouths the second they touch your useless snake?”

“S-sorry, Seungyeon!”

Seungyeon makes you shout your apology, because her ruthless hands get a hold of your dirty dick and jerk you off without thinking about the painful overstimulation they are causing. Okay, no, she is definitely thinking about that, just in a rather heartless manner. You have to grit your teeth to not wince as she grinds your blood-filled, hyper sensitive cockhead in between her dry fingers. 

“Too late for any apologies, you can drop dead for all I care.”

“Please, Seungyeon-unnie, don’t kill him, I ne—I mean, that would be sad,” an angelic voice complains.

“Minjeong, you would understand if he did the same to you. Look at this fucking mess!” 

Seungyeon points at the white globs trailing down her body. Some of it pools in the gap between her massive honkers, creating a lake of fertility or some other unholy creation. Minjeong kindly smiles at the sight.

“Isn’t it fun, Unnie? The feeling of all the warm cum, avalanches of tasty semen on your toned skin and milky boobs.” 

Minjeong takes one of Seungyeon’s breasts into her mouth. In hunger she cleans them of any residue of your mishap, gleefully she swallows all of it, but only after showing it to you in her slutty mouth. The things you would do to her if you could.

“Fine, you can have his useless cock,” Seungyeon groans and hands Minjeong your semi-hard and burning manhood, like someone would pass their mic on stage. Instead of hitting fabulous high notes, the girl in her messy dark oak colored bun and fishnet stockings devours you like a treat. She nibbles off the remainders of white from you and in consequence forces you to loudly show your resignation.

"Stop, stop, please!" you wail. "I can't handle this, please, let me… let me rest."

To your surprise and delight, Minjeong not only has an angelic voice; her character at least somewhat mirrors the kind, heavenly being. She stops her movements completely, letting you rest inside her warm mouth. There is literally nothing you can do without the pain of overstimulation resurfacing again. Good thing that you don’t need to do anything to feel pleasure. 

This kind of kink is probably frustrating to watch, but frankly, for these few minutes you don’t give a damn. Should these horny fucks edge themselves while Minjeong’s adorable yet cock-hungry face fills the screen. You won’t budge, except for a hand that caresses the girl's bangs.

“This hair looks great on you, Minjeong.” 

If she could move her lips, they’d form a smile.

“You are quite the pretty girl.”

If she could talk, she’d say ‘thank you’.

“Also, thanks for cooperating. This was quite… unforeseen.”

“Keep your compliments to yourself,” Seungyeon snarks from the side and punches your hips with her balled fist. “You're such an idiot, you haven’t even greeted her yet.”

“Oh, no no!” another girl tenderly says, your eyes only now catching her. “It’s not my turn yet. I will wait.”

“What’s your name?” you ask, scanning her tiny frame. A denim two piece covers her private parts, her milky skin a perfect contrast, especially to her tight up black hair which seems to shimmer in blue. The most noticeable thing about her are her slender arms, tied up behind her back with the straps of handbags. 

“Yeojin.”

“Why are you tied up, Yeojin?”

“Because I want you to use my mouth as the teeny-teen fleshlight it is meant to be.”

A sentence like an aphrodisiac. The desire to plunge into something with your slightly sore dick returns. It overrides even the concerns for your stamina. Give credit where it’s due, Minjeong has done a fantastic job in keeping you warm until now, but Yeojin is what sends you over the edge again. 

“Okay, fuck. Thank you Minjeong, I will treat you to something nice later—”

“But now you want her?” Minjeong giggles. “Understandable. Make it a show. Test her fucking mouth.”

Yeojin might look small, in your large hands however she is even smaller. No reason for her to back off, she does not look like she regrets her words, in fact, the opposite seems to be true. With the look of a stupidly stupid sex doll, she slightly opens her full lips and you part them wide, their softness on you at all times. Grab the tied-up strands to handle her like a proper fleshlight. Mercilessly thrust her face onto your cock once, and gasp in surprise when all of you easily fits inside her—gagless. 

“What the hell, are you a professional or something?”

Yeojin doesn’t respond, her face shows minimal reactions, eerily similar to a sex doll. Her posture remains unchanged, even when you go harder there is no strong reaction. Your mind can’t wrap around this yet, the script writers did a terrible job at explaining how insanely good yet awfully confusing she is. Yeojin, real-life sex doll with pouty mouth—this description does not do her justice. 

“Seungyeon, Minjeong,” you call out to the girls behind you. “I need your help.”

“What for?” Seungyeon groans, while Minjeong already crawls to you.

“I want you, Minjeong, to undress this petite sex toy. Seungyeon, grab that ponytail and smash her face onto my crotch, I want to feel this nose on my abs.

“Help me destroy her.”

The two get to work immediately. Seungyeon swats your hands away before you have time to remove them and she starts slamming. Your cock disappears and reappears at an insane pace, the outline of Yeojin’s throat changing from thin to massively bulged. Minjeong kneels behind Yeojin, digs her fingers into the denim top and yanks it down to the rest. Leaving out unnecessary teasing, she removes all of it by finding the zippers. Hands rubbing over Yeojin’s exposed skin, Minjeong presents it to you.

“She has a petite body, small waist and shoulders, her hips are a bit bigger but look: her tits are even smaller than mine, basically nonexistent.”

Minjeong cups Yeojin’s chest playfully, and she is right there isn’t much to show. For those that love this type of body, Yeojin is the perfect sex doll. You step to the side for a moment to let the camera film the perfect view. Right on cue, Minjeong spreads Yeojin’s legs.

“Her pussy looks very tight~ I bet you don’t fit in there. Those thighs are the only thing with at least some meat. Round and firm!”

Minjeong smacks them. Watching them wiggle was a mistake, as Seungyeon angrily shoves Yeojin’s face back onto your cock. Fuck, if she continues at this pace, you might cum too early again. Maybe it’s time to abort this room and flee. You don’t gotta catch them all, there is still so much to do. Luckily, a familiar voice saves you from Yeojin’s wet throat, which might literally suck someone’s soul out.

“Magnificent, truly magnificent!” your co-host raves. “There is still so much to do, please follow me!”

JUST TESTING CONTINUES HERE

(A/N2: Sorry, Tumblr is a little bitch and I had to cut it here cuz the fic is too long. Seriously, I hate this site)

[communistkenobi]

something I’ve been thinking about is like, the internet is this magical system of technologies, never before seen in human history, and one of its capabilities is to answer virtually any question you ask of it. Which is not even remotely a novel observation obviously lol. But I’m thinking about this in the context of a point that Adorno & Horkheimer made (in The Culture Industry I think?) about the radio: that to expedience the radio, to live in a social context where there is this vast incomprehensible system of technological infrastructure that you do not understand or control, and which allows you, a mere peasant, to listen to news broadcasts, music, and advertisements, is effectively like listening to the voice of god. Like the average person’s relationship to modern telecommunications is so mystifying, incomprehensible, and abstract that we experience technologies like the radio as an all-powerful, indestructible authority, and this (obviously) shapes our relationship to the information that is shared through it. People make jokes on here about how transmission towers are angels, but like tbh that is essentially how we experience them - vast, incomprehensible, highly dangerous objects whose impact on our lives are at once all-consuming and unknowable. We do not just turn on the radio and listen to the news, we tune into what the voice of god has to say today - right now he’s selling toilet cleanser!

and all that to say, I always find something a bit incomplete about discussions about wilful ignorance online - that we live in an age of mass information and yet people still seem as ignorant as feudal peasants, or whatever. Nobody googles things, nobody tries to branch out and experience new kinds of art, nobody educates themselves on important topics they don’t understand. and like this frustration is very real and well taken, I feel it frequently, but what I’m grappling with is whether this is the correct framing - that maybe “why don’t people just google things” is the wrong question to ask, because I tend to find the explanations offered unsatisfactory. Like specifically I’m thinking of discussions on here that are about like, “anti-intellectualism”, kids these days are so ignorant even though they grew up with the internet, reading comprehension is piss poor, and so on. Recently I’ve seen a lot of weirdly moral-panicky posts about children not knowing how to type on computers because back in my day we were forced to learn how to touch-type by age 8 even though we couldn’t look up any tutorials on YouTube to help us, etc etc. And like I just do not buy that people are individually choosing to be ignorant, that people are “getting dumber,” and that this state of getting dumber is inversely related to the amount of information we have access to (which makes “getting dumber” even more dumb). An unstated assumption that goes into a lot of these “anti-intellectualism” discussions is that “information” is this universal object that has a standardised enlightening effect on the people who interact with it - that the only reason to have an ignorant, sheltered, or ill-formed opinion on something is because you have individually chosen not to Look At Information that will cure you of your ignorance. And so going back to the god radio thing, having regular access to the google search bar is not just having access to an encyclopaedia or dictionary - it is like having a direct line of communication to god, this authority that can answer any question you ask of it. But it’s not just one answer, it’s many answers, more answers than you could ever possibly read through. Google reports the number of hits it returns for whatever you type in - you will regularly get millions of answers to your question. And these answers are embedded with advertisements, just as radio news broadcasts are. Like if god is selling you toilet cleanser while telling you the number for a suicide hotline or news about what’s happening in the world, how do you psychologically deal with that, how is your relationship to capital-I Information shaped by this relationship?

The corollary to “we live in an age of mass information” is “we live in an age of mass misinformation,” but they both show up as answers on google (again, not a novel observation). but in the face of that how do you not simply stop asking questions? & of course this decision to stop asking questions is given form and substance by social circumstance, it reinforces systemic privileges and violences, and so this decision is not one free from consequence, and in many cases it is not an innocent decision. a white person deciding not to read the news because it’s too hard to figure out what is happening/too frightening/etc has the consequence of reinforcing the white supremacist outlook that is foundational to the social context of white people because they’re not reading anything that challenges that outlook. ignorance has many social contexts and many of them are violent. etc. like the consequence of “why does nobody google anything” is just a continuation of the status quo, just with this supposedly glaring and easy fix to it (simply google it). but that just leads us back to a discourse of individual choice, of people individually choosing not to “google shit.” it is a deeply individual fix to a systematic social problem. and so maybe the question is not, why doesn’t anyone google shit, but rather, why is the primary delivery system of knowledge a god that sells you toilet cleanser 

[thefugitivesaint]

A host of 'Star Wars' advertisements from magazines published in the late 70s and early 80s. 'Star Wars' toys, games and tie-ins have become the most profitable franchise merchandise ever sold. There was a time when 'Star Wars' merch was inescapable. It was everywhere. Ubiqituous. Of course, no one thought that would happen. After 'American Graffiti' became a hit (it became one of the most profitable movies ever made), Lucas was afforded greater leverage over the pre-production of 'Star Wars'. Most of the profits he got from 'American Graffiti' went into the pre-production of 'Star Wars'. He created Industrial Light and Magic, hired artists to help create the aesthetics of the original film, and eventually waved his directing salary in favor of receiving greater control over the production of 'Star Wars' (plus any sequels) and over all the ancillary rights of the film. One of those ancillary rights was merchandise. George Lucas sought out toy makers like Mattel and Mago to produce toys in advance of the release of 'Star Wars', only to have company after company turn him down. Lucas eventually cut a deal with Kenner (then a division of cereal maker General Foods) for a flat fee of $100,000 per year, indefinitely. "The designers knew they wanted to make toys of the spaceships, but the usual 8- or 12-inch dolls would make that impossible, so they instead created 3 ¾-inch plastic action figures that would become the new industry standard."

The crazy thing is, Kenner didn't expect the popularity of 'Star Wars' and that means they didn't anticipate the demand for 'Star Wars' toys. They ended up selling a kind of IOU to customers, what they called an ‘Early Bird Certificate Package’ which could be redeemed later for four 'Star Wars' action figures. Given that popularity, between 1977 and 1978, Kenner sold $100 million worth of 'Star Wars' toys. As of me writing this very truncated history of 'Star Wars' toys (for no real reason), the merchandise makes around $3 billion a year. The one thing I do remember as a wee lad was mailing out for an early version of the Boba Fett action figure before the release of 'The Empire Strikes Back' in 1980. I was one of the fortunate kids who actually got a figure in the mail while other kids received an apology letter promising them a figure ASAP (one of my friends was a recipient of one of these cards). That Boba Fett figure was the only surviving toy from my childhood and I had it up until 2014 when it disappeared one day never to be seen again. Where did it go? I have no idea. The world's an impermanent place and all things are transitory (I should note, before I go, our culture's entire economy being predicated on producing an insatiable appetite for consumerism is collectively killing us. Just saying.)

[apas-95]

What do you mean by "unproductive labor" ? I thought all forms of labor produced commodities, even if those commodities are not tangible, like service or cleanliness

To just reiterate what I said in the post, productive labour is that labour which produces surplus value for a capitalist. Thereby, labour which does not produce surplus value for a capitalist is unproductive labour.

Marx wrote:

Since the direct purpose and the actual product of capitalist production is surplus value, only such labour is productive, and only such an exerter of labour capacity is a productive worker, as directly produces surplus value. Hence only such labour is productive as is consumed directly in the production process for the purpose of valorising capital. [...] Every productive worker is a wage labourer; but this does not mean that every wage labourer is a productive worker. [...] It emerges from what has been said so far that to be productive labour is a quality of labour which in and for itself has absolutely nothing to do with the particular content of the labour, its particular usefulness or the specific use value in which it is expressed. [...] Milton, for example, who did Paradise Lost, was an unproductive worker. In contrast to this, the writer who delivers hackwork for his publisher is a productive worker. Milton produced Paradise Lost in the way that a silkworm produces silk, as the expression of his own nature. Later on he sold the product for £5 and to that extent became a dealer in a commodity. But the Leipzig literary proletarian who produces books, e.g. compendia on political economy, at the instructions of his publisher is roughly speaking a productive worker, in so far as his production is subsumed under capital and only takes place for the purpose of the latter’s valorisation. A singer who sings like a bird is an unproductive worker. If she sells her singing for money, she is to that extent a wage labourer or a commodity dealer. But the same singer, when engaged by an entrepreneur who has her sing in order to make money, is a productive worker, for she directly produces capital. A schoolmaster who educates others is not a productive worker. But a schoolmaster who is engaged as a wage labourer in an institution along with others, in order through his labour to valorise the money of the entrepreneur of the knowledge-mongering institution, is a productive worker. [...] The same kind of labour (e.g. gardening, tailoring, etc.) can be performed by the same working man in the service of an industrial capitalist, or of the immediate consumer. In both cases the worker is a wage labourer or a day labourer, but in the first case he is a productive worker, in the second an unproductive one, because in the first case he produces capital, in the second case he does not; because in the first case his labour forms a moment in capital’s process of self-valorisation, in the second case it does not. [...] The productive (and therefore also its opposite, the unproductive) character of labour therefore depends on this, that the production of capital is the production of surplus value, and the labour employed by capital is labour that produces surplus value.

[pridesobright]

hours later and it still doesn't feel real. i'm heartbroken and even more distressed due to the gruesome nature of his passing.

after 12+ years of being a directioner, i know all too well that one direction achieved immense highs at the cost of many lows. people see harry styles selling out massive venues but i see a 16-year-old boy being called names no minor should ever be called. i see louis and the grief he already suffered through enough for a lifetime. i see zayn coming back from so far. i see niall. i see liam.

i'll never be able to forget what the media, the industry, and their own label expected of them at such a young age. i'll never look past some of the vile people who gravitated around them for too long.

and i think perhaps this is why i'm all the more sad. because i know not everyone gets a redemption arc. i know not everyone deserves one. it is true liam made choices i'll never understand or excuse. i just naively thought that after everything those five men went through, life would finally be kinder. i guess i was wrong.

[dc-polls]

Biggest DC Misconception

Round 1 - Match 5

Tim Drake grew up next door to the Waynes

Misconception: that Tim spent his entire childhood living next door to the Waynes, in a suburb of Gotham rather than the city itself. Canon: In the post-Crisis pre-Flashpoint era of comics, Tim Drake's family had at least one residence in Gotham City on the island itself, and are never directly referred to as living anywhere else. After Tim's mother Janet dies in the comics, Tim convinces his father Jack to buy a house in Bristol (a mainland suburb of Gotham) next door to Bruce Wayne (Alfred found the listing for the house and passed it along to Tim). A few years later in-universe Jack, Tim, and Tim's stepmother Dana have to sell that house (referred to as Drake Manor) and move into an apartment once more in Gotham City on the island itself. Some fans see Tim living in Bristol for part of his comics, or see other fans mention it, and assume that Tim grew up in that suburb next door to the Waynes his entire childhood. This leads to misconceptions about his family's relationship to the Waynes, Tim's relationship to Gotham City, and what his early childhood experiences may have been like. It can further lead to fans insisting Tim has less connection to Gotham than other Bat team members.

And another submission...

Fanon constantly puts Tim at Drake Manor as a child but he didn't move in until after Jack woke up from his coma. Alfred gave him a newspaper listing for it. Bruce made a secret tunnel to the Batcave under a cistern in the basment. And they had to sell it after Jack made some bad investments in the stock market, lost Drake industries, and they had to move back to the city. Tim was at Brentwood during this and had to go to public school and wasn't rich anymore, just upper middle class. (Also he didn't inherit Drake Manor as his father didn't own it when he died)

--

Stephanie Brown is from Crime Alley

Stephanie Brown was solidly middle class when she was introduced. Although a lot of her problems (pill popping mother, villan father, teen pregnancy) were viewed as "poor people problems" she was not. She had a regular house in the suburbs and had her own motorcycle and equipment (although she could have stolen it from her villan father). (I think she was supposed to be relatable in that these problems can happen to anyone but fannon has taken that away from her and said that those are poor people problems so she must be poor)

And another submission...

The misconception is that Stephanie Brown (Spoiler, later the 4th main continuity Robin, later Batgirl) is from Crime Alley, also known as Park Row, or sometimes other impoverished areas of Gotham City such as The Narrows. In the Post-Crisis Pre-Flashpoint era of comics, Stephanie is canonically from a mainland suburb of Gotham, not the island city itself. In her introductory arc, the Bats specifically track her down to the "Manchester suburb" which is seen as having a low skyline, unlike the tall buildings of Gotham City. In a later comics, Stephanie describes herself as Spoiler as the "defender of the suburbs", pointing out that Batman and Robin focus on the city. Why it's important to know: fans who place her childhood in Park Row or the Narrows are often drawing direct parallels between her and Jason Todd or Duke Thomas, and a contrast to non-urban-childhood characters, completely inaccurately, ignoring her actual canon experiences. Suburbs of Gotham still deal with similar issues, but they aren't interchangeable with the urban center itself. Characters can have parallels without having grown up in the exact same place as each other; the misconception flattens and simplifies all of them. Additionally, this era of comics had Stephanie dealing with stigmatized issues such as a criminal father, a drug addicted mother, a teen pregnancy, and childhood abuse. The canon made it clear these are problems kids in the suburbs may experience. The misconception that Stephanie is from Crime Alley reinforces the stereotype that crime, drug addiction, and teen pregnancy are only urban issues. Reinforces the classist myth that suburbs are "nicer" and "safer" than the city.