Lawyer To The Porn Stars Sara

(Author's Note: I know parody is protected by Flynt vs. blah, blah, blah, but I've left off the last names of the girls in these continuing stories. These are all "present time" web flames of mine, but can't hold a candle to the Traceys, Tamaras, Victorias, Keishas and Christys of my youth. Maybe I'll do a retro version sometime. The astute porn surfers will figure out pretty easily who the girls are, but if you don't, or prefer your own imagination, insert whomever in your vision. I welcome any and all feedback. Enjoy.)

I sit here blearily, watching yet another half naked woman twist and gyrate herself upon the stage, along with half a dozen other similarly unfocused patrons of my local strip club. It's a Wednesday, about 10 pm and I've been here since six, after locking up my office when it became apparent that no one was in need of a lawyer today. Or at least not my services.

Who am I? Oh, sorry. I did forget to introduce myself. Name is Rod. Rod Steele. Yeah, I know. Parents must have had a sense of humor, right? Well, they must have used it all up prior to my coming along, 'cause I never saw it. Got out of there as soon as I could afford to do so after graduating high school. Put myself through college and took night classes to get my juris doctorate while working two jobs. So here I sit, ten years later, only 35, but feeling 53. To borrow a line from Soundgarden, "I'm looking California, but feeling Minnesota."

I don't look my age though, I look more like the college kids who come in and drink way too much and tip way too little. I have sandy brown hair, blue eyes and am tall, 6'3" and an even 200. I guess you could call me skinny fat. I don't work out or try to keep myself in shape, leaving that to my still healthy metabolism, too much coffee and the cancer sticks I need to quit.

That six figure, cushy, big firm job never came my way and I've spent the years since passing the bar scraping and taking every divorce, will, eviction, etc. that came my way. It's tiring and repetitive, but I make a living at it. Barely. With no family and no friends to really speak of, I spend most of my night's right here. Sucking down a couple of beers, smoking too many cigarettes and shooting the shit with the bartender and whatever strippers are waiting for their ride or are too bored/tired to work the room for the lap dances that line their pockets.

I guess they see me as harmless, somebody they can talk to and let their guard down with. I've never asked for or accepted a lap dance, even when they've offered me a freebie. I'm no two drink leech though. I tip 'em well, it's just that I've never really seen the attraction of having some unattainable hottie grind all over me and then leave me wanting more. I don't date, well, I don't date much. It seems every girl I've dated has always assumed there was going to be a progression to our relationship and once they realized I wasn't going to pop the question anytime soon, moved on to greener pastures. I mean, what's wrong with just dating? Hell, they weren't complaining when they were riding my big...more on that later.

I stub out yet another cigarette and scan the room while Todd the bartender brings me another overpriced beer. Three young guys have come in and are chatting up Sara, who is waiting tables until her chance to get up on stage. I like Sara. She's new to the scene, not jaded yet, which doesn't take long. Long brown hair extends down past her shoulders, most of the time with highlights if the tips are coming in like they should. She has pale greenish-blue eyes which twinkle when she laughs and she's also got the most incredible, natural, mouth watering set of jugs I've seen in a long time. I know it's a cliché, but if I had to describe her in a nutshell, it'd be "girl next door". What she's doing here is anyone's guess. Why are any of them in here? Too many bad decisions on the part of the older ones or no options for the younger ones. She probably falls into the latter category. If she's 21 I'll eat my next cig rather than smoke it.

It doesn't look like the normal strip club banter between the guys and Sara. I see her cross her arms over her bountiful chest and shake her head while they lean forward over the table, pleading whatever case they have. If I had a dollar for every time...what they are probably trying to do is what every kid thinks can happen at every strip club across America. Hey guys, let's convince her to come back to our place! Yeah, that'll work guys. Fat chance of that happening. Most of the girls have boyfriends, fiancées, and some families at home. These guys get all horned up and think they're going to be the ones to talk them into coming home and running a train with them. Riiiiight. I see Sara turn on her heel and stomp towards the bar, the guys calling after her as she walks towards me and Todd. She plops down on the barstool beside me.

"I can't believe those guys!" she huffs, flipping back her highlighted brown hair. Without asking, she reaches over and takes a swig from my beer. I laugh.

"What? Trying to convince you of the pleasures awaiting you at their parents' basement?" Sara laughs back.

"No, I know how to respond to that one, thank you."

Sara's got a boyfriend, significant other or something. I forget exactly, but there's now way they're getting her back at their place. Why subject yourself to that or possibly even worse for a couple of hundred bucks, when she can easily make that prancing around the stage or fake fucking suckers in the champagne room?

"Those three have just bought themselves a new camera and want to make movies." Todd and I laugh at this. With the advent of the digital age, it seems every guy with a handheld is out there "producing" his own content now. I've seen the sites. Picking up and fucking chicks in the back of some van, lonely MILFs at the supermarket who can't wait to spread their legs or "teens" eager to make a buck in an alley. What a load of shit! They probably give the girls a pittance of what their making on the net and in no time flat, any chance of her having a "normal" life is gone once it's hit the web.

"Well, make sure you get your money up front," I say. "And if they pull up in a panel van, head the other way quick!"

Sara laughs at this. "No, I've had those offers. This one was different. These guys say they have backers, some real green to lie out and want to offer me an exclusive contract. They say I have what their viewers are looking for." She needlessly hefts her big tits and jiggles them.

"I'll say you do," I laugh, earning myself a punch in the arm. The contract gets my attention though. "You say they have it in writing?" Sara nods her brunette head. "What's it say?" She produces a folded up piece of paper.

"Hell, I don't know. Just a bunch of legal speak." Suddenly her pale blue eyes brighten. "Hey! Rod! You can look it over for me!"

"Surely you're not really thinking about doing it are you?" I scoff.

Sara cocks her head. "I wasn't, but they're talking a lot of money. A couple of thousand per scene." Todd and I both whistle.

"That's a lot of money Sara," I say. "That is, until 5 black dudes with 50 inches between them saunter in and spend the next hour rearranging your intestinal track." This gets me punched again.

"No, no, no, nothing like that. They said I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to. You know, no anal, bondage, any of that shit."

"Well, make sure you take Leroy or one of the other guys with you," I say, jerking a thumb at the menacing bouncer guarding the door. I quickly scan the document. It does seem to have been written by someone with more than a passing knowledge of the law, but the long day and too many brews is clouding my ability to concentrate. I fold the paper and stick it in my back pocket. Sara's eyes light up and she leans over to kiss me on the cheek, a cloud of baby powder and perfume engulfing me.

"Thank you so much Rod! I really appreciate it!"

"Your welcome, but I will warn you. Now that you're making serious money, I am going to charge you." Her face falls and her brows crease. I rush to get that beautiful smile back on her face. "But only 5% of what you're making on the contract." She smiles again. "Go get their fax number." She jumps down off the stool and bounces across the room. My eyes follow her ass. It's not much of an ass as far as strippers go, but hey, I'm not much of an ass man. It's always been tits that get my motor revving and Sara has tits for days. I see her talking to the guys and one of them hands her a business card. She heads back my way.

"Here you go."

I look the card over. Blah blah blah productions and numbers to match.

"Ok," I say. "I'll look it over, fax them any revisions and you come by to see me after lunch tomorrow. Ok?"

Sara bounces on her toes and claps her hands together, setting off a tidal wave of ripples across the broad expanse of cleavage exposed to my eyes. She leans in and kisses me again, but this time on the mouth. I detect a hint of tongue before she pulls away, waves over at the "producers" and heads backstage for her set. The three guys raise their glasses to me. I return the salute, drain my beer and settle up with Todd.

The next morning, I drag myself to my humble office, check in with my non-existent secretary in the empty anteroom and head into my office. I light the first of what will be many cigarettes and start a pot of coffee. While I'm waiting for my fuel, I fire up the computer, retrieve the business card and decide to do a little prep work. Typing in the website address, I am first greeted by a pair of big tits filling the screen. I acknowledge all the usual warnings and begin to peruse the offerings.

These guys aren't doing anything ground breakingly new. It's the usual set ups and scenarios. You know, MILFs, teens, housewives, teachers, etc. All the stereotypical male fantasies. They do seem to use a better class, or rather better looking class of model for their scenes. Of course, they all feature guys with larger than normal cocks and I wonder if Sara is up to the task. I take out the contract and begin to read it over my cup of coffee.

Finishing it, I can't help but be surprised. It seems that porn has gone and got professional on me, though I wonder if it has been for some time. I mean, we are talking a billion dollar business and hard lessons learned by being burned by the Traci L.s of the world will probably do that. They are offering upwards of $1500 per scene, depending upon what she is willing to do. There is actually a list! Kind of a menu of options, ranging from plain old vanilla nude modeling all the way to multiple, male interracial partners. I laugh to myself and dial the phone number for Sara she jotted down at the top.

"Herro?"

I've obviously woke her up and decide to have a little fun.

"So Sara, what's it gonna be? A little self molestation or the full monty boys in the hood?" A pregnant pause greets this.

"Who the hell is this?"

I laugh and give myself away. "It's me Sara."

She groans. "Rod! I thought it was some pervert and I was right! What are you talking about?" I catch her up to speed. She doesn't disappoint me, drawing the line at mixed couples, multiple partners, anal, bondage and the like. She doesn't, however, seem to have any trouble letting them give her a facial, which I mentally note nets her an extra $500. I can feel my slacks tighten at the thought.

"Ok," I say, wrapping up the call. "I'll lay it out to them. I am going to make this a one scene contract though. That way if you don't like it or if you suddenly become a star, we can ask for more money. I'll see you this afternoon." I hang up the phone, her wet kisses and declarations of love reverberating in my ear. I pull up a word document and start typing.

Hours later and several back and forth faxes later, I'm happy. The boys weren't real pleased about the one scene or non-exclusivity, but I sense they are eager to have her on board in whatever capacity. Maybe I should have held out for more money I think, but there will probably be a next time. I put the contract in a folder and move to my other limited matters. The next few hours are full of returning phone calls and tidying up a few loose ends.

At one o'clock on the dot, I hear the door in the outer room open and close and her voice.

"Rod?"

"In here Sara." I push away from my desk and stand. My door opens and she pokes her head in. "Come on in here," I say, waving her forward. I clear a stack of folders from a chair and notice she's not alone.

"Rod, this is Trent. My boyfriend."

I turn and extend my hand to the weasel standing behind her with the shitty look on his face. I've seen him in the club before, but never bothered to introduce myself. I mean, why would I? He fits the stereotypical, to me at least, stripper boyfriend mold. Greasy, slouching and always on the lookout for how to further exploit his girlfriend's "talents". He ignores my proffered hand and I retrieve it, walking around to sit in my chair. Let the little shit find his own place to sit. Sara sits down and smiles at me. I again wonder what the hell she's doing stripping, much less considering getting into hardcore pornos.

This morning, her face is scrubbed clean of the caked makeup I usually see her in, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She's wearing a dark blue warm up suit of some indeterminate soft looking material. The zipper top is pulled down just south of tasteful, allowing me a somewhat unobstructed view of her sizeable melons encased within. For the benefit of the weasel, I will my eyes northward to Sara's face.

"Is it done?" the weasel demands right as Sara opens her mouth. I ignore him and hand Sara the folder.

"Here you are. I inserted a few changes..." Trent leans over and takes the folder from Sara.

"What kind of changes? Your not trying to screw us over are you?"

Us? Since when are you a part of this? I highly doubt you'll be the one flat on your back while some Neanderthal pounds nine inches into your body. Before I can answer he continues.

"5%? What is this shit? I could have done this." He drops the folder in Sara's lap as she starts to interrupt him. "Don't you think 5% is a little high?" I continue to ignore him.

"Sara, the going rate for this type of thing is probably closer to 10%, but I'm willing to help you out."

Weasel Trent snorts, "I just bet you are!"

Sara turns to the side in her seat, her full tits pressing against the running suit fabric deliciously. I use all my Jedi powers to keep my eyes on Trent, who has crossed his arms across his chest and is regarding me skeptically.

"Trent, why don't you take the car home? I'll catch a cab to the club once were done."

"And leave you alone with him? I don't think so," he snorts.

"Trent!" Sara says sharply. "Rod is a friend. Really, I've got this!"

"Fine!" he mutters and leaves. Sara turns back to me as she opens the folder.

"I'm really sorry about him Rod. He means well."

"Excuse my bluntness Sara, but he seems like a dick."

She sighs. "He's just overprotective I guess."

"Whatever," I reply. "You could do a hell of a lot better and trust me, do not let him go with you to the shoot! Notwithstanding the fact that he'll probably make an ass of himself, you need somebody like Leroy to watch your back." She nods as I talk.

"So what am I doing exactly?"

I stand and go around behind her, pointing to paragraphs within the contract. Gone is the cheap perfume of last night in my nostrils. Today, she smells of bath soap and laundry detergent. In a word, clean.

"Well, based on what you are comfortable with, the scene will involve you touching yourself, then a partner, male, performing oral sex on you. You perform oral sex on him, tittyfuck, missionary, you on top, doggy and the requisite money shot, to your face of course. All to the tune of $2000 dollars." She didn't reply, just stared at the papers. I could tell she wasn't reading. Most strippers move their lips when they do. I laid my hand on her shoulder and she jumped slightly.

"Sara?" I asked softly. "Are you sure your ok with this? Trent is not forcing you to do this is he?" She shook her head, her ponytail bouncing, but then sighed.

"No, well, he did encourage me once he heard about the money," she allows. "But I really want to do this. Not only for the money."

I step back behind the desk to hide the growing bulge in my pants from looking over her shoulder and down into the creamy valley of her tits. I wondered what the hell is getting into me. I mean, I spend at least three nights a week at the titty bar, staring at Sara's and every other stripper's rack and here I was getting wood off a little cleavage? I think it has something to do with the environment. In a strip club, you expect to see tits and nothing is left to the imagination, but here in my office, it's somewhat unexpected and the unexposed is just as exciting as the exposed. I shift in my seat and allow my hard on to poke down my pants leg.

"What else besides the money, Sara?"

She looks over her shoulder, then jumps up and leaves the room. I wonder if I've angered her somehow before I hear her lock the front door. Now my curiosity is peaked. She comes back in, sits in the chair and leans forward, her arms on her legs. I am treated to a long, exciting look down her neck and deeper into the dark valley between her melons. I struggle to look nonplussed.

"To tell you the truth Rod, I've always wondered what it would be like to be with a guy like...like that."

Ahh, now it comes out. I can fill in the blanks from here. Old Trent is probably a wham bam, no thank you ma'am. And his shitty attitude is probably a defense for his inadequacies below the belt. I nod my head sagely.

"I totally understand Sara, but it's not real you know. It's all fantasy."

She nods. "I know that. I don't expect some Romeo or anything, but I've heard the guys are...well, you know."

My eyes widen. "You mean...you mean you haven't even seen any of these before?!"

Sara giggles and sits back, taking away my free peep show.

"I know, right? Fresh off the bus, young dumb and eager for cum, right?"

I gulp and loosen my already unbuttoned collar. Is it getting hot in here? "Well, you need to know what you're going to be facing." I click on my computer as she rises and walks around behind me. I pull back up the website and click on the first preview, a "Big Tits Love Big Dicks" or some other nonsense. Sara gasps slightly behind me as the computer screen is filled with a big, thick cock pumping in and out of a kneeling, peroxide blonde's mouth while she moans and clutches her large, fake orbs.

"Oh my," she mutters. "Look how big he is!"

With Sara's close proximity and the lurid scene unfolding in front of me, my trouser snake has become decidedly uncomfortable, encased as it is in my pants. The scene ends, but rather than return to her seat, Sara leans over me and moves the cursor to another scene, this one of the same ilk, but with a housewife bend. A repairman has a woman wearing only an apron bent over her presumably non working dishwasher as he pumps his cock into her. Sara's breath is hot on my ear and I can feel the soft pressure of her tits wrapping around the back of my neck.

"I'm not sure I'm up for something that big Rod," she admits. "Trent has probably half of what that guy is sawing in and out of her. I haven't had a whole lot of experience to tell you the truth."

I chuckle nervously, my snake twitching in my pants as she clicks off the scene, and scrolls down the site, image after image of big tits, big dicks and the things you can do with them. "Well, you could always hire yourself a big dick lothario to educate you," I joke.

"Or," she says as her hand leaves the mouse and drops into my lap to clutch my iron bar. "I could get you to. What is this?" she asks as her hand runs the length of my pole. I almost cream in my pants right there. As it is, I jerk away and swivel the chair to face her as she stands upright, her hands on her hips and her full lips curled in a smirk.