Pornographer's Daughter: Genesis
This is the first in a series of stories. Each can be read independently. I anticipate half-a-dozen episodes, maybe more, plus a finale to wrap things up when I'm done. Look for an ordered list on my profile page. I will post at least two stories at the beginning to gauge reaction. Be sure to vote high and favorite them. Thoughtful comments are always welcome.
All characters depicted in sexual situations are over 18.
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In The Beginning,
a film I made as a side-project, paid for my house. I was working as an industrial videographer, turning out training films on bus repairs for public transit agencies who hired mostly inexperienced and sometimes illiterate mechanics to fix the vehicles your kids ride to school. A friend who owned an independent VHS rental store told me that under-the-counter porn generated a third of his sales. Yes - that was a long time ago when porn was void and without form or high-speed internet connections into every teenager's bedroom.
So, one weekend I brought a crew into the rented garage/studio and reshot a script for a diesel valve job we already were filming. I hired a cheaper porn-version of Pamela Anderson and told her to bring a dick to play the other mechanic. We cut-up a set of overalls, leaving not much but the name tag. She fucked the wrenches and the dick. The stud worked on his own cars and did a credible job as our mechanic doing the valve job. The valve job he did on Pammy was more than credible; his Rigid tool performed well and repeatedly.
The next weekend, I cut the new principal photography into the existing training module and kept the original voice-over instructions. I added a little porn muzak in the background and ran up a hundred copies on our duplicator. At the end of the video, I added a slide with a P.O. Box and a message that this and other films could be ordered from - I just made it up - Genesis FilmCo. The name for the video followed the same logic - no logic at all.
I dropped off ten copies with my friend and told him I had ninety more in stock. In four days, he called to get the rest. He had liked it and gave it to one of his distributors. They wanted the whole catalog. The mailbox was jammed with inquiries and orders. At the end of the month, my friend gave me a check for five thousand dollars - he said that was my cut. I didn't complain.
My lawyer created Genesis FilmCo as a Nevada corporation with my identity concealed by another paper entity. He also created a variety of film and film rights acquisition and license forms I could use. I spent two thousand dollars buying all the rights and master tapes for some old motorcycle and classic car repair videos from a failed company. I stuck with the formula. I shot new principal scenes using look-alike porn actors, and then I hired two part-time editors to weave them into the original videos as smoothly as they could without burning up too much time. The quality of old-to-new was terrible, but all the nudity and sex were well lit using pro porn stars.
Before the product work got started, my lawyer created a distribution company and negotiated a deal with an existing distributor. I told my lawyer to be a tough negotiator, but to let them win a bit on the money, but to make sure that we learned the business and ended up with lists of customers. Then I sent catalog sheets to everyone who had inquired from the first video, and to everyone else in the business directory related to the porn industry. I hired an accountant/bookkeeper in the same business park to do the books on the condition that they would ramp-up to handle any order taking and collections work. At the end of six months, not six days, I rested.
And I bought a house, new video production equipment, rented a warehouse to use as a sound stage, and contracted with several young film school grads to bring their own teams to shoot at my locations with my gear. I made sure to keep post-production and distribution in my hands.
The business has changed a lot since then. Now I own data center space in Amsterdam, and a few other places around the globe. Everything's online. The old sound stages are now video-on-demand sets. I'm looking for locations off-shore where the laws are favorable, and where I can convince blonde SoCal girls they will have fun and good pay for a month. Sorry - trade secret - I'm not giving it away.
It's a tough business. Everyone wants free porn, and there is lots of competition that is not always as polite and non-violent as me. I don't mess with the Russians or the Ukrainians; that's too bad - the girls are beautiful. Security is expensive. Technology is expensive. Top talent can be expensive, but there is a steady stream of new actors wanting to get into the business. So while I'm not one of the super-rich, and I can't buy a large country, I can rent small politicians, and I can afford anything you can think of except death and taxes. I was getting good at avoiding both.
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Today was one of the days I didn't like. My first contract with look-alike Pam, way back at the beginning, was something I wrote up, not my lawyer. Once a quarter, Pam showed up at my office, expecting a big check even though that old video was dead-and-gone. To avoid a court fight where my new lawyer said she might win a quarter of the company, I paid her. Each year I paid a little more; each year, I had her sign a release as my lawyer tried to extinguish any claim she might make. Each quarter I told her I was happy to cut her a check even though I didn't need to and could stop anytime. So, each quarter I had her give me a blowjob. Even older look-alike Pam is hotter than anyone at your office, and she gave a professional blowjob.
I said, "You are the only girl in the world getting $5,000 for a blowjob. It's worth every penny."
Pam-a-like looked up at me and tried to smile with my cock in her throat. "unk u," she gurgled. She pulled off my cock and started jacking it. "Thank you. I may have to stop. Both my therapist and my pastor say it's wrong, but I need the money."
"How about I just send you a grand a month for old-time's sake? I'll have my lawyer write up a new contract. Just go by his office to sign it. Plus, I'll still hire you for special events, if you want to work. Now that porn's online, there is a customer for everything," I said. It was true. There were a surprising number of porn searches for Botox-fail sex videos. She could still make me money.
"Now, what do you want to do with this load?" Pam asked as she pumped me.
"Since this might be our last, I want to paint that pretty face," I said. I stood up from my desk chair and started jacking my cock. Pam settled on her knees with a groan and looked up. As I squirted my usual globs on her, I said, "I'll call you Helen of Troy, the facial that launched a thousand clips." I used my cock to smear my cum around on her face. "We'll always have Paris - or maybe, One Night in Paris." In my book, that's the funniest porn ever made. Hot!
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After Pam left, I called my lawyer to tell him the good news. He said he would set up a separate company to consolidate and isolate all her claims from the rest of my business. For fun, I dialed up the old video to watch the heiress do her best work. I was rooting for the blonde, not the jerks she was jerking. After a while, my daughter came into my office. I had heard someone come in through the garage while I was busy with Pam; I figured it was Traci home from college. She was early; I wasn't expecting her until later in the evening.
"Hi, Daddy," Traci said as she plopped down on the couch. She looked troubled or distracted.
"Hi, baby. You're home early. Should we order delivery, or do you want to go out for dinner? And, why so glum?"
'Oh, just thinking," she said. "I talked to that old porn hag as she was leaving. I hate that she is still coming here. I saw what you were doing. I'm thinking of quitting school."
Shit, not this again. I said, "Three classes before graduation? Good plan - I can't wait to hear the details. That settles it - we're going out to Truants for dinner. Get dolled up. I'll get you drunk on fine wine, which I can afford, thanks in part to that old hag. Now, scoot. I've got some work to do before we go."
Traci always hated how I made my living. When she was in high school, she told people I made toilet plungers; she thought it was ironic and witty. I didn't blame her. We lived in the most expensive neighborhood with the best schools. I can guess it was too embarrassing to say what I did, even though she always had great clothes and a new car.
When it came time for college, she refused to go to film school. I was disappointed but not surprised. Instead, she wanted to go to a nearby small, private, expensive liberal arts school to major in women's studies. I told her I would pay if she double-majored in technology, or pre-law, or business. The college was near the beach - she chose business. She liked the college, she liked her friends, but she never really liked the program. Now she had three business classes to finish for her degree: two finance classes and a business ethics class. She wanted to go to Europe with her friends this summer, I knew, not do the math or write the ethics paper.
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All eyes turned toward us at Truants. I'm 47, tan, fit, good haircut, nice clothes, not Hollywood-handsome but presentable. They weren't looking at me. Traci looked like a modern Grace Kelly; I'm not sure everyone appreciated the comparison. Grace, or rather, Her Serene Highness Princess Grace of Monaco once she married, was an actress who still sets the bar for blonde screen goddesses. Grace was tall, cool, smart, and playful on-screen. She looked refined and elegant in every scene and made everything she wore seem like the most important clothes in the world. And she was a guy's girl who could spar with the best. That was her film persona; it seems the Prince thought so, too; in real life, he gave her a role she carried with dignity her whole life.
Traci reminded me of that Grace with the way she carried herself and was comfortable in every situation except talking about what her father did for a living. She shouted feminist slogans at me for her first two years at college but had stopped without further comment. She dated, and had brought a few young men home, but only for one visit; I never saw any of them twice. She was continually reading good books, plus a few trashy novels, that I picked up from the table by the pool. Her mother had been a reader; she split early-on for a literature professor she met in England. For Traci's eighteenth birthday, I gave her rally-style track driving lessons, and a classic convertible 450SL from the 70's that I had rebuilt for her with stiff race suspension, brakes, roll-bar, and a re-tuned engine. On the highway, she was a safe driver, but out on the coast road, she used her track skills more than I liked to drift in the corners. She was good at everything she worked at with diligence. Somehow, her educational program was not getting her attention.
For dinner with me, she wore a slim-fitting dark grey skirt, heels, her pearls, and a sheer dark blue silk blouse she had left mostly unbuttoned. No bra - her large breasts moved freely under the silk. No stockings and no panty lines - every guy checks every girl. When she sat down at her table, I got a glimpse of one pink nipple. The waiters seemed determined to get several more peeks; I don't think she let them.
"Look, baby," I said. "I know what you want. And thanks for dressing for me - you look sexy and sophisticated. I know you want to join your friends for the grand tour. That's not going to happen. You know what I want."
I stopped talking while the waiter poured an excellent chilled pinot blanc from Oregon to go with our appetizers. "I want you to finish school," I said as we clinked glasses and sipped.
