Fluffer Ch 04

WEEKS TWO AND THREE:

For the next two weeks, our sex life was fucking amazing.

Every night she came home horny. Not just turned on, soaked. Like her body hadn't cooled off once all day. Like she was carrying the heat of the studio inside her and bringing it straight to our bed.

And every night, we had homework.

Sandy insisted we watch all the studio's titles, every franchise, every one-off, even the cheesy compilation reels. She said we had to "get up to speed." She said it with a wink, but I could tell she meant it. It wasn't just for fun. She was studying. Learning. Absorbing.

Some nights we'd be naked on the couch within ten minutes, fucking while a scene played in the background. Other nights we'd actually finish an entire movie, pausing it constantly to talk about lighting, actors, camera angles... and, of course, the way the actresses moaned when they got filled. Then we'd fuck. Or I'd eat her out while she described what it felt like to be on set, or what she imagined it would feel like to take a cock like the one on screen.

She started narrating her thoughts more. Telling me who she found hot. What positions turned her on. Which scenes made her wet during the day. Sometimes she'd climb on top of me and whisper the plot into my ear, like she was retelling it from memory, but with her soaked pussy grinding against my cock the entire time.

She rode me while watching Anal Step-Moms: Volume 3, and when the actress screamed out during the final cumshot, Sandy screamed with her, then gushed all over me, soaking the sheets, her thighs shaking. After that, she started watching certain scenes on her lunch break at work. Said it helped "keep her inspired."

We talked more. Fucked more. Laughed more. It was the most alive I'd seen her in years.

She wore tighter clothes. Started doing her makeup again. Wore matching lingerie under her jeans and work shirt, said it helped her stay in character when she was at the studio. Some nights she'd come home and pull off her pants to show me the lace thong underneath, already stained from how wet she'd been all day.

And I'd bury my face in it and lick her pussy, every time.

WEEK 4: MONDAY NIGHT

I was in my office finishing up an email when I heard her walk in the kitchen. I got up and went out to greet her and give her a kiss.

"What's up?" I asked.

She grabbed a La Croix out of the fridge, cracked it open, and leaned against the counter with a smile I hadn't seen in years.

"You're looking at the new acting producer."

I blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. Alice is taking a leave. Family emergency, her mom had a stroke. She flew to Atlanta this morning, and she's gonna be gone for at least a month."

"Shit. That sucks."

"It does," she nodded. "But Paul called me into his office around lunch and told me he wants me to take over while she's gone. Not just paperwork. Everything. Scheduling, scenes, crew, budgets, the whole thing."

I got up, walked over, and wrapped my arms around her. "You're running the show?"

"For now," she said, but her grin told me she liked the way that sounded.

"You're gonna kill it."

She nodded. "I think so too. So tomorrow I have to manage production on the new title. It is called Creampie Coeds. They just started shooting part eight."

"That's a real title?" I asked.

"Oh yeah. Huge following. Paul said it prints money."

We laughed, kissed, and ended up on the couch, fully clothed, just being normal and laughing and joking, watching tv. That night, we didn't fuck hard. We made love.

WEEK 4: TUESDAY NIGHT

She came home silent.

Not angry. Not sad. Just silent in that way where you know something went wrong, and you're better off letting her come to you.

She walked in, dropped her purse, and sat on the edge of the couch without even kicking off her shoes. Her face was a mask of disappointment. The total opposite of last night's high.

I muted the TV. "Bad day?"

She exhaled, leaned forward, and rested her elbows on her knees.

"Erica's out. Sick. Flu."

I waited.

"Paul and Debbie had to fly to LA last-minute for some contract negotiations. So I was alone. In charge, like I wanted... but total disaster today."

I sat up straighter. "What happened?"

"Erica is the only one who knows the lighting system, Luke. And she's the fluffer. Without her, the whole place just fell apart."

"Shit."

She nodded. "We were four hours late getting the lights up. The fill shadows were wrong. Makeup looked off on camera, so we lost more time fixing that. We tried to shoot the first scene of Creampie Coeds 8, and it was already tense."

"And the fluffing?"

She looked at me, her expression flat. "James is in this one and he couldn't keep it up. Said he wasn't 'feeling it' without Erica there. She always gives him a blowjob before the scene starts and then keeps him hard between takes. The female star is a fucking dud! She can't suck a dick to save her life, she does not seem to enjoy the sex and the male actors feel it."

I didn't say anything.

"We had to scrap most of the footage. Everyone stood around pretending it was fine, but it wasn't. We wasted hours."

"You couldn't have done anything differently," I said gently. "Shit happens!"

"I know. But it still felt like it was on me. I'm the one in charge now. I'm supposed to solve problems. We have no backup staff. I asked Paul and he says it is that way on purpose, he is very strict about STD testing on actors and staff and in his view the less people the better."

I moved beside her on the couch, wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned into it.

"I wanted to crush it this week," she said. "Instead I looked like I had no idea what I was doing."

"Tomorrow will be better."

"I hope so," she whispered.

Then she broke down and started crying, holding her face in her hands. I reached around her and held her close.

She looked up at me, eyes red and full of tears. "What if that asshole Neil was right? What if I am a fucking loser? A fucking disaster. If I don't fix this, Paul is going to have to come back from LA and clean up my mess. Just like Neil said!"

"Fuck him!" I said. "He is a piece of shit, and you are awesome at what you do. I think the problem is that Neil got in your head one last time and made you feel insecure. Do you think all of their porn productions have always run smoothly? No set runs perfectly and you know that!"

She rested her head on my shoulder. "I know! I know! I just want to do good, that's all."

"Listen, if they didn't like your work or have confidence in you, then they never would have left you in charge. Remember, you have a lot of experience in mainstream production, and it overlaps with porn."

"I know! Thank you for understanding. Tomorrow will be better. I just needed to vent and feel sad, that's all."

I kissed her on the forehead and held her tight.

WEEK 4: WEDNESDAY MORNING

I woke up to the sound of drawers sliding open and hangers clinking. Sandy was standing in the closet in her bra and panties, sifting through her clothes, and she had a ton of clothes in that closet.

It wasn't just the way she moved, it was what she chose that made me realize she was depressed.

She was holding a faded pair of jeans. Loose fit. Comfy. The kind she wore when she had yard work to do.

Then she grabbed a plain black Nike t-shirt and laid it across the bed.

I sat up. "You okay?"

She shrugged, not facing me. "I'm fine. Just... comfy today."

"You don't look fine."

She turned, and I saw it on her face--the stress, the doubt, the burnout setting in before she even had coffee.

"You're still producer, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah. And unless Erica makes a miraculous recovery or Paul teleports a new actress from LA, I'm stuck with the same broken crew I had yesterday."

I watched her for a moment. Then an idea hit me.

It felt insane. It felt perfect.

"Then why don't you be the fluffer?"

She turned like she didn't hear me right. "What?"

"Seriously. Why not?"

She blinked. "Luke. Come on."

"I mean it."

She crossed her arms, her bra pressing her tits together. "You want me to fluff the male talent?"

"I want you to fix your set. Keep the day on track. Yesterday fell apart because nobody was doing what Erica does. But if you do it, just for today, just to get through, you could save the shoot. And honestly... you'd probably be amazing at it."

She stared at me like she was waiting for the punchline. But I wasn't smiling. I was serious.

"Are you... actually okay with that?"

I nodded. "I want you to succeed. You earned that role. Don't let it crash just because one girl's out sick."

She looked down for a second. Thinking. Processing. Then, slowly, her expression began to change. Her lips parted, her brows lifted and then she smiled, a real smile.

"You're not just saying that to be kinky?"

"I mean... it is kinda hot," I admitted. "But no. I'm saying it because I believe in you. And because it'll fix the fucking problem."

She let out a breathless laugh, one hand brushing her hair back. "Holy shit."

"You'd have full control. You call the shots, remember? You're not the fluffer, you're the producer."

She walked toward me slowly, her smile growing wicked.

"And you'd really be okay with me... sucking cock at work today?"

"More than okay. I'll even help. I can come by and run the lighting for you. I have helped you out many times over the years. You know I can work the camera, the lighting, the sound... everything."

She stopped in front of me, that flicker of lust dancing in her eyes now. "You would?"

"Yeah. You know I've run studio lights before."

"You're insane."

"Probably." I said, and now my cock was starting to harden.

There was a pause, just long enough for the weight of it all to land. Then she grabbed my face and kissed me, jumping up on the bed.

"Okay, I need to dress like Erica does on set, sweats and a loose tee." She said, sounding excited again.

Sandy jumped off the bed and went back to the closet, holding up two outfits, one in each hand. The comfy jeans and tee were in her right. In her left: a pair of gray sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt that I hadn't seen in years.

She looked over at me, playful but a little nervous.

"I need fluffing clothes."

I blinked. "Fluffing clothes?"

She nodded. "Easy access. Comfort. Breathability." Then she held up the sweats. "No panties under these. Easy to pull down or push aside."

I swallowed.

She raised the white tee next. "And this shows my nipples even if I just think about cock. Erica wears almost this exact thing every time she's on set. I used to wonder why. Now I get it."

I stared. "I am so glad you are taking charge hon!"

She smiled, half wild, half turned on. "Okay, get ready, you are running lights today and helping Mike with whatever he needs."

She pulled the shirt on with no bra, and those big, perfect nipples immediately poked through. Then she slid the sweatpants up her legs, bare underneath. No makeup. Hair in a high ponytail. And still, she looked sexier than ever.

By the time we were walking out the front door, I was half-hard and she knew it.

We didn't talk much on the ride. Just shared glances and grins. I couldn't stop looking at her tits shifting under that thin cotton, or the way the waistband of her sweats hugged her hips without any lines.

She kept one hand in her lap the whole time, fingers moving lightly.

"You touching yourself?" I asked quietly.

"Not yet," she whispered. "But my pussy's soaked already."

She gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"You sure you're ready for this?" I asked.

Her answer was immediate. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

We made more small talk and finally arrived at her work.

We walked into the converted warehouse, the scent of fresh brewed coffee hanging faintly in the air. Sandy led the way in, her stride confident, tits gently bouncing under her thin white tee. She made a beeline toward the small crew already gathering near the main set.

The set itself was a mock-up of a dorm room, tight, simple, and the lighting was off and I knew already what the problem was. The walls were painted a warm, almost too-yellow shade meant to feel cheerful but came off more like student housing beige. A standard twin bed sat in the middle with a cheap-looking plaid comforter, flanked by a basic nightstand that looked straight out of a campus furniture catalog. A fake college logo banner hung crookedly on the wall, completing the illusion with just enough effort to sell the scene if you didn't look too hard.

First up was a chubby guy in cargo shorts and a faded hoodie, adjusting a camera mounted on a tripod.

"Mike," she said, getting his attention. "Quick heads-up, Luke's helping out today."

Mike looked up, surprised but not annoyed. "Luke?"

"My husband," she said. "He's got experience with lighting and production. He'll be filling in wherever we need a hand and he knows lighting."

Mike wiped his hands on a towel and stepped forward to shake mine. "Oh, cool. Nice to meet you, man."

"You too."

"We're running lean today, so that actually helps a lot."

Sandy nodded. "Exactly why I brought him."

She turned and gestured toward the two male actors chatting by the set.

"Gregory," she said, pointing to the slightly younger one, clean-cut, friendly, dressed in sweats and a hoodie. "And James, obviously."

James gave me a grin. "Mr. Taylor... er... Luke... Glad you're here, man."

"All good," I said, returning it with a nod.

Sandy cleared her throat lightly to get everyone's attention. "Alright, just so everyone's up to speed. Erica's still out, so I'll be handling fluffing duties today."

No one reacted like it was unusual. Mike just gave a short nod. Gregory and James exchanged a quick glance but said nothing.

A few moments later, as the crew started to scatter and prep the scene, James drifted over to me.

"Hey," he said quietly. "You got a sec?"

I nodded and followed him a few steps away from the set.

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly unsure how to phrase it. "Look, uh... I just wanted to check in. You're really cool with this? With Sandy stepping in like that?"

I met his eyes. There was no judgment there, just concern. The kind that comes from knowing each other for years.

"She's like a second mom to me," he added. "And you've always felt like a second dad. I guess I just needed to hear it from you."

I smiled. "James, it's okay. Really."

He gave a short breath through his nose, still unsure.

"I mean it," I said. "We talked it through. I'm here because I support her. She's not doing this for attention, she's doing it to save the shoot. She's earned that right."

James nodded slowly, letting it sink in. "Alright. That's all I needed, man. Just didn't want things to get weird between us."

"They're not weird," I said. "We're professionals today. Let's keep it that way."

He smiled. "Cool. Thanks, Mr. T."

"Call me Luke on set, so it doesn't get weird for you and call her Sandy." I said.

"Okay... will do. Thanks, Luke!"

Finally, Sandy brought me to the last member of the group, a young blonde with long, smooth legs and a perfect fake tan. Her shirt hung open, her bare tits out, nipples already hard in the cool air. Below, she wore only a pair of tiny pink shorts that showed off her ass. She was clearly seconds from being on set, already half in character.

"This is Tabitha," Sandy said. "Our lead actress for today."

Tabitha looked me over slowly, her gaze shameless, almost hungry. Her lips curled into a teasing smile, like we were already in on something together.

"You're the husband?" she asked, her voice sweet but thick with suggestion.

"Yeah."

She bit her lip slightly and stepped a little closer. "Nice to meet you. Your wife is awesome! You are a lucky man."

Sandy didn't respond right away. Her face stayed neutral, but I could read the subtle shift in her jaw. Not jealousy, just irritation. The same look she gave bad interns back when she worked in broadcast.

"Tabitha," she said calmly, "wardrobe's still waiting for your outfit adjustment. You'll need to get that done before we block the opener."

Tabitha turned without a word, hips swaying, and wandered off with that same empty little smile.

Sandy watched her go, then muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "If she put half as much effort into performing as she does into flirting, I wouldn't have to babysit."

I grinned. "I Think she knows you're in charge!"

I took the opportunity to change some lighting on the set, a few diffusers and adjustments and it was good to go.

Tabitha was finally on set, spread out across the narrow dorm bed like a girl trying to look natural while showing off everything. One leg bent, the other extended, her hand slowly working between her thighs. The yellow walls behind her glowed under the key light, making her tan skin pop. Her shirt was off now, tossed in a heap on the floor. The pink shorts were gone too. She was naked and glistening, moaning quietly for the camera.

Mike stood a few feet away, steady behind the main rig, tracking her movements with practiced ease. "That's good," he said softly. "Keep touching... yeah, just like that."

Just off to the side of the set, a large gray ottoman sat near the edge of the lighting rig. That was Erica's spot, the unofficial fluffing station. A soft, out-of-the-way perch where talent could stay ready without interrupting the shot.

Today, Sandy was sitting there.

She looked composed. Focused. Hair tied up. No makeup. Nipples still poking through her white tee, her sweatpants loose at the waist, no lines underneath. She wasn't talking. Wasn't smiling. Just sitting still, waiting for the job to start.

I was already hard. I knew she was waiting for the first cock. Ready to suck and make it hard.

I picked up the smaller handheld camera from the gear table and flipped it on. The red light blinked to life, and I brought it to my eye. Not the main shoot, just behind-the-scenes. Whoever watches the bloopers at the end might see some of this.

Footsteps approached. I turned slightly and saw James walking toward us, already naked. His cock hung soft, swaying slightly with each step.

He glanced at me, grinning. "This is gonna be great footage." I nodded, camera still rolling. My pulse was pounding. I was so horny, this was surreal, here was my wife, about ready to suck the cock of our son's best friend. Someone who has spent more time in our house than I can count, and he was like another son to me, and that's what made it awkward and erotic at the same time, taboo without being taboo.

He stopped in front of Sandy, standing in front of my wife completely naked. She looked up at him but didn't say a word. She just sat there on the ottoman, her gray sweatpants framing her curvy thighs and her nipples clearly hard through her white tshirt. Her face was level with his cock and she looked up at him and gently bit her lower lip, a clear sign she was turned on.

His cock gently curved down towards the floor because he was still half soft. He was holding it at the base, and gently, pointing the soft head at her lips. She stared directly at his cock, I wondered what she was thinking, if she was struggling with having to actually suck his cock; did she feel like a mother to him? Did that turn her off in some way? Any question I had was put to rest when she leaned slightly forward and gave the head a gentle and soft kiss.

She leaned back away from his cock, clearly teasing him. She was now looking up at him, maintaining intense eye contact between the two of them.

"What? What do you want?" She asked in a low raspy, sexy voice.

James moved forward slightly and still holding his cock, carefully and slowly rubbed the head of his cock across my wife's lips. She sat still and kept her lips sealed, denying him access to her mouth. He stroked his cock a little, it was starting to harden and grow visibly. Her teasing was having the desired effect.