Chapter One

Intro

I am framing random things around the smoky hotel room when suddenly the viewfinder is filled with swollen cock. I have to zoom out a little to get it all in. Although I knew it must be coming, I am easily distracted and thus failed to capture the making of this engorgement. Some recorder of events I am. The proud owner of the stiffy is busy sprinkling a line of coke along its upper side, pinching the powder off the mirror it has been chopped up on by the anonymous blonde who is now on her knees before him. He is wearing that hideous skull ring in silver, the one with the rubies for eyes. The lens picks up that his nails, as always, are grubby. He notices my focus upon him and turns to point his thing at me.

“Oh, you want this do you, baby?” he smirks. “You want to take some shots before I shoot right up that tight round ass of yours?”

My eyebrows arch as a sign of nonchalance, but I keep his erection framed, since that’s essentially what I’m being paid for.

“You know damn well that thing’s never going anywhere near me,” I reply. “And don’t say ‘ass’ – you aren’t American however much you pretend to be. You’re every bit as Welsh as daffodils and slag heaps.”

I take my eyes off the camera to confirm that the slight has struck home. He should know better than to take me on but he can’t help but try to act the big man in front of the adoring blonde.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with it,” he sneers.

He is more right than he knows. It might be assumed, especially considering what I normally do for a living, that I am some kind of Goddess of Sex, one well schooled in the erotic arts. The truth is somewhat different. Eroticism and sexiness have always excited me but I could never be accused of over-indulging in naughty business. I’d like to say I’m merely fussy, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. Despite my provocative looks I tend to give off an air of remoteness which is a bit of a passion killer. I have my reasons, as tenuous as they are, and I know that I’m more comfortable if the sexy business is going on around me and not with me at the heart. I seem to have resolved to be happy enough remaining on the outside looking in. Fortunately, I have the wits and gumption to fend off advances from the likes of Russell here, so my limits are seldom tested.

He is waving his thing gently from side to side at me, careful not to disrupt the little furrow of narcotic upon it. I cannot deny it is an impressive appendage, right from the shaved smooth ball sack up to the chrome, Prince Albert-pierced tip. The exposed head is bulbous and purple, always looking fit to burst with its shining, smooth skin. The shaft is both thick and long, with a sharp upward curve that puts me in mind of something bestial or satanic.

He is so enormously proud of it, enough for it to be exposed thus for what seems like ninety percent of his waking hours. At age thirty, if he were now flipping burgers or humping boxes as his intellect suggests he might only be good for, I doubt he would have spent so much of his day with his hardened prick poking out of his leather jeans for the attentions of und