Little Dickie - Ch. 01
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story picks up where "Bleached Blonde Latinas" ends. Many of the characters contained herein have appeared in my previous works.
Connie sashayed past the reception desk, radiating massive sexuality. It was game-on, as far as she was concerned, and she smacked her lips in anticipation. She walked down the corridor and into the locker room, reveling in the attention she was getting from the camera, not to mention the penises that were off-camera. She stood in front of her cubicle and stopped. She had on a black sleeveless top and an insanely short, pink miniskirt. The mini was neither too tight nor too loose; tight enough to highlight her assets, but loose enough to offer hope to upskirt perverts. It was the same skirt that once caused Herman to blow a load of unwanted cum her way, and it was the same skirt she wore the evening she turned William into jelly, the handsome, muscular black Adonis with the twelve-inch bone succumbing to her seductive power.
Connie had gotten into porn strictly out of vanity; she wanted a legacy of her youthful hotness that would sustain her as she got older, and Donkey Productions offered her the best scenario. She could get all dolled up, wear her sexiest outfit, tease and flirt with a few naked men, and that would be that. On the set, however, she met a virile, body-building stud, the likes of which she had never met before. That he was black was irrelevant, but add to that a humungous penis, the likes of which she had never seen before, and everything changed. Connie had worn the shortest, most revealing skirt she owned that day, and by day's end, she was seen leaving arm and arm with the big black dick. But that was yesterday's news, only mentioned because she was wearing the same skirt today.
Penis don't lie, and didn't Jane know it. She had always prided herself on her long, lean legs and perfectly toned thighs, but it was Connie's meaty thighs that were the boner-benders. Jane saw first-hand how cocks reared and neighed like bucking colts when her 'thunder thighs' showed up, especially since they were always protruding out from under a short skirt. Jane saw Connie leave the building, walking arm in arm with William. Fatty thighs and short skirts were apparently a thing, a fetish; how else does one explain it? Connie hadn't understood why Jane always insisted that she wear the same pink skirt until she realized that it attracted studs like flypaper.
When Connie sat and crossed her legs, all men's eyes were riveted on her crotch. Sitting cross-legged was where the juxtaposition of thick thighs and short minis reached its zenith, and Connie smiled demurely as she leaned forward to remove her stilettos. It was a smile that suggested she knew she had everyone's attention, along with the reason why, but at the same time it also hinted at bewilderment over what the fuss was all about. That dichotomy, part porn-star and part girl-next-door, all summed up in a smile, was the essence of her allure, and it was also why she agreed to appear in Jane's video. It was no longer about having a legacy; it was now about sexual fulfillment. She loved it that men stared at her crotch, she loved seeing them aroused, and she especially loved knowing that people watching this at home would be masturbating to her. Most men started at her crotch to see what color panties she had on, but others were simply mesmerized by crossed legs, a little cellulite and a barely-there miniskirt.
She got up and placed her shoes at the bottom of the cubicle, doing what she could to show a rear-view panty, but Jane told her not to overdo it. If it happened, it happened, but it had to appear natural or else she couldn't use it. Connie didn't wear thongs - she had too much meat on the bone, she liked to say, and today she opted for old-school, light blue, cotton panties that covered her entire butt cheeks. She could definitely sense Herman's intense glare bearing down on her, which was always disconcerting, even though he had been neutered. Jane had found a chastity clamp made of hard plastic that fit so tightly around his dick that there was no room for growth. With just a tiny opening at the tip for urinating, and a tamper-proof lock, there was no way Herman could stimulate himself, which meant no beating-off. To remove any doubt over who was the boss and who was the bitch, the clamp was lavender in color, and Jane held the key.
Connie saw five heads and torsos peering around a wall, stealing glances at her, but from Jane's vantage point she saw five aroused pee-pees, dangling and dancing in anticipation of what was to unfold. The men were bunched close together, their bodies and genitalia in contact with each other, but today was strictly hetero. The torrid homo scene that would be the video's opener had not yet been filmed. Donkey Dan was one of the men, and he was rocking a semi-bone, which he was playfully rubbing and slapping against Jovi's backside. This is solid gold, thought Jane, this is why I make porn.
Connie was also smart and cunning. Jane's husband, Hideki, wanted to fuck her so badly that he was willing to make her the Producer of the porn serial series he was financing. She had no experience other than a college degree, but once he buried his face between her spread legs, and after she clasped them around his neck, the job was hers. Not content with having emasculated the aforementioned William, she had unceremoniously dumped him for Big Tony, who just happened to be beefier, blacker, and bigger, and who just happened to snag the male lead on
Soapland
, insuring that his stud services would be available to her whenever the urge struck. Along the way she had divorced her husband, embarked on a sexual odyssey and, if the rumors were true, personally screen-tested all the actors who auditioned for roles on the porn serial she produced. Pornography had liberated Connie, and she underwent a metamorphosis from a demure tart, slightly embarrassed to be doing porn, into a ball-breaking, cock-teasing slut who had unlocked the secret of what turned-men on.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and envious of
Soapland's
success, Jane wanted to produce a porn serial of her own. But what? After careful deliberation, she finally settled on
chikan
, or molesters, by which they were also known; young men who ran around with impunity and did nasty things to women in public. In Jane's version the men would be naked at all times, and semen would fly off the shelf. The biggest selling point was the variety the scenario offered. There was nothing preventing
chikan
from being bisexual, and the show's theme could change continually, based on whatever message Jane's vagina sent to her brain. The current messages were rough sex followed by harsh retaliation, with the victimized women gaining the upper hand and doing nasty things to their attackers.
Jane's work routine was ironic in some ways. For her the thrill was not in the filming of the porn, it was in the creation; the thought process, the scripting, the casting; the writhing around in ecstasy as her vibrator worked its magic, telling her how the scenes should play out. Once actual filming had begun, her mind would wander off to the next project, and thus she was already writing and casting for it well before
Bleached Blonde Latinas
had wrapped.
Connie took it as a compliment that Jane asked her to be woman number one in the series pilot. It validated her. A porn producer herself, she had embraced the lifestyle, and appearing in front of the camera posed no problem. She was now sitting back down again on the locker room bench. Having been instructed to "hang there for a minute and look pretty," she stretched and arched her back backward and then forward, offering the audience her cleavage, but Jane didn't want cleavage right now; she wanted a money-shot, which in Donkey terminology meant panties. After a little more flirting with the camera, Connie re-crossed her legs, and Jane had her money-shot. The penises peering out from behind the wall were indicating their readiness. Jovi had since leaned back on Dam's rigid bone, which was now pressed straight upward against his body. Dan has his legs spread and looked like an angry tiger, wanting nothing more than to stick his stiff prick into something, Jovi's rectum, if need be, which he obviously could not. He'd have to wait until tomorrow for that. Dan's supersized cock-head was enraged, having turned bright red. He hadn't stopped grinning with anticipation ever since Jane told him who he'd be working with. Jesus, just what was it about those thunder thighs?