Scene: Through the Lens
Ethan had filmed a lot of scenes.
It wasn't what he thought he'd be doing by now. Not by a long shot.
He had big plans once. Thought he'd be working on real productions--indie films, maybe a gritty docuseries, something with artistic merit. But adulting was expensive, and unpaid passion projects didn't keep the lights on.
So, here he was. Another set. Another paycheck. Another night filming people fucking.
Great conversation starter over beers. Shit conversation starter with mum.
Still, he liked the work itself. The challenge of getting the right angles, adjusting for lighting, keeping a steady hand. Capturing the details most people wouldn't notice--the glint of sweat on flushed skin, the way bodies moved together, the tension in a hand gripping too tight. He prided himself on framing things perfectly, making sure every shot pulled the viewer in, whether it was a close-up of lips parting on a gasp or the way fingers dug into flesh.
It wasn't glamorous, but it paid. The gigs came in steady, and the money was good enough that he could ignore the gnawing sense that he was wasting his talent. He told himself it was temporary, that he'd get back to real work soon. Just a few more gigs.
Now? He barely thought about it. The shock value had long worn off. He'd seen it all--every kink, every act, every possible way a body could be stretched, filled, taken. At this point, it was just angles, lighting, timing.
Get in. Get the shots. Get out. No different than filming a commercial, just sweatier.
So when he walked onto the set that night, he wasn't expecting anything special.
But then she walked in.
And suddenly, it wasn't just another night.
Scene: A Moment Before the Chaos
The office set was well-dressed, convincing in its corporate sterility. A sleek glass desk. Leather chairs. A massive window overlooking a fake cityscape. Nothing too flashy, just another polished space for a woman who commanded power.
Ethan had seen plenty of scenes like this--roleplay setups, story-driven scenarios meant to add a bit of extra flavor before things got messy. CEO and subordinates. Always a crowd-pleaser.
The crew bustled around, setting last-minute lighting and checking marks. The actors--her men--were all dressed in their tailored suits, sleeves rolled up, ready to deliver their lines of frustration. It was the usual setup, except for her.
She sat at the desk, perfectly in character, flicking through a prop contract with an air of complete authority. High heels. Silk blouse, buttoned just enough to hint at something more. The picture of untouchable control.
But Ethan had been on enough sets to know when someone was playing a part--and when they were living it.
She was adjusting her straps when he caught her eye. A small smile flickered across her lips--not the plastic kind, but something real.
"Long night?" she asked.
Ethan huffed a quiet laugh. "Aren't they all?"
She tilted her head, studying him. "You don't seem like the usual camera guys."
"Yeah?" He raised a brow, keeping his tone casual. "And what do they seem like?"
She shrugged. "Checked out. Detached. You're... watching."
That made his pulse jump. "It's my job to watch."
"Mmhmm," she hummed, playful but knowing.
He checked his settings, double-checked his lens. Professional veneer firmly intact.
She smiled, and something in her expression told him she liked making men squirm. Maybe especially him.
The cameras rolled. The men stepped into frame, their roles set. Tired of her nonsense. Fed up with her orders. Ready to put her in her place.
Little did they know--She had them exactly where she wanted them.
Scene: Slipping Control
She wasn't playing for the camera. She wasn't performing.
She was lost in it.
Her lips parted, stretching around the first cock as a hand tangled in her hair, guiding her down. A deep, eager moan vibrated through her throat. Behind her, another man gripped her waist, hands claiming.
Ethan adjusted the focus, forcing himself to stay professional.
But fuck. She wasn't just taking them--she was devouring them. Desperate, eager, as if she'd been waiting for this. Every touch, every thrust, every drop given to her--she took it all.
The man in her mouth groaned, his fingers tightening. Another cock slid along her cheek, smearing across her lips before she gasped for air, her mouth already open for the next.
Ethan swallowed hard. This wasn't like the others. This wasn't just a scene.
And fuck, it was going to be a long night.
Scene: Unraveling
His knuckles whitened around the camera grip.
The room pulsed with heat--bodies pressing in, hands gripping, guiding, taking. The rhythmic sound of flesh against flesh, groans of satisfaction and surrender. Complete submission.
He should be adjusting the angles. Checking the light balance.
Instead, he was staring.
She was on all fours now, offered to them. One man rocked into her from behind, slow and deep, his grip firm. Another guided himself into her mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair, controlling her pace.
Ethan licked his dry lips, shifting his stance.
Stay detached. Stay professional.
But fuck, she was something else.
They weren't just using her--they were worshipping her. Making sure she felt every inch, every thrust, every claiming touch. And she was giving as much as she was taking, moaning around them, rocking into their hands, begging for more.
His cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, aching.
But he wouldn't touch himself.
He just kept watching.
Scene: Just Out of Reach
Ethan steadied the camera, but his hands were starting to shake.
He had seen plenty of shoots like this. He had filmed women moaning, taking cock after cock, cum dripping from every inch of them. He had seen gape shots, double penetrations, raw, desperate fucking--but this?
She was something else.
She was hungry for it.
Bent over, she gripped her ass, spreading herself wide as the man behind her pulled out of her tight, stretched hole. Ethan zoomed in, capturing the obscene view as her rim gaped, dripping under the warm studio lights.
She held herself open, panting, sweat-dampened hair clinging to flushed skin.
"God, that's beautiful," one of the men murmured, running his tip along her stretched entrance, teasing. Just barely pressing inside.
Ethan gritted his teeth, watching through the lens as the guy slid in an inch, then pulled back out, letting another thick trail of cum dribble from her ass.
Again. And again.
Just putting on a show for Ethan's camera. Letting the world see how thoroughly used she was.
"Fucking hell." Ethan breathed the words, adjusting the focus. His jeans were painfully tight, his cock throbbing as he watched her body take everything they gave her.
Another man knelt in front of her, stroking himself over her parted lips. Her tongue flicked out, eager to taste. He gripped her jaw, tilting her face up, groaning as he spilled his release across her cheek, her lips, her waiting tongue.
Ethan swallowed hard.
He imagined himself there. Grabbing her hips. Sinking into her slick, used cunt. Feeling her squeeze around him, warm and dripping with everyone else's cum.
He imagined being the one she moaned for. The one who filled her mouth, her ass, her pussy. Leaving his mark on her.
The man behind her groaned, finally thrusting deep, burying himself in her ass while she moaned around the cum still coating her tongue.
Ethan nearly lost it.
He adjusted the camera again, shifting his stance.
He shouldn't. He's here to work.
But fuck. He was the only one in this room who couldn't actually have her. And he wanted her, not just for a scene. Not just for a few thrusts before swapping out with the next guy.
He could take her home. Stretch her out all over again. Fuck her raw and slow. Make her beg for it in a way none of them ever would.
And right now, that thought was going to break him.
Ethan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus through the lens.
But his resolve was cracking.
Scene: Breaking Point
CAMERA POV: Tight shot on her body--slick, spent, taking everything they give her.
Ethan tightens his grip on the camera, shifting his stance again. His jeans are uncomfortably tight, his cock straining against the rough denim, but he refuses to adjust himself.
