Justin Case: Finding Fortune

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Chapter 14

Thursday arrived with little fanfare. Okay; zero fanfare. To be honest, I was actually a little nervous. This would be my first time fucking in front of an audience. Okay, second time if you count my audition in Gordon’s office. But I wasn’t going to let butterflies in my stomach get in the way of a decent fuck, structured and controlled as it might be.

I showed up on time at the address I’d received in a text message from Colleen in which she also hinted that her address was also available if I was still interested. Being the new guy, I had no idea who was who and decided it best to just wait around until someone approached me. I must have really looked out of place because that happened rather quickly.

“Mornin’,” said a thin, longhaired guy in his thirties as he walked straight to me, clipboard in hand. “I guess you’re the new dick in town; Case Hardin?”

I was momentarily thrown off by being called by my anointed stage name, but recovered quickly enough.

“You’d guess right,” I replied with a smile.

“Yes, I do possess a significant grasp of the obvious,” he added with a slight smile. “I guess that’s why I’m the director on this gig. Name’s Eric. Eric Bradley.”

We shook hands. His grip was a little weak, but not effeminate.

“I understand this is gonna be your big debut,” he said.


“You must have some pull to start a career so near the top.”

“I’d like to think that I’m just a really likeable guy.”

“Well, you still have to pass muster with Bonny,” he warned. “If she says no, the shoot’s off.”

“And that makes you nervous,” I observed.

“My next paycheck is relying on Bonny’s boobs and your dick. She’s my meal ticket; you’re chopped liver until you prove yourself.”

“No pressure there, Eric,” I said, smiling.

“Okay, keep in mind that we’re not necessarily looking for an Oscar-caliber performance, here. It’s masturbation and not Macbeth. Think ‘Get Your Rocks Off’; not ‘Gone with the Wind’. Got it?”

“So, all of those correspondence courses in acting I took have all been for naught?”

“Unless the acting classes were specifically for your dick, I’d say you wasted your money.”

“I got a coupon out of a box of Cracker Jacks.”

Eric laughed. “Just as well. I don’t need some prick asking me, ‘What’s my motivation?’ ”

“What’s my motivation?”

“I meant your dick, dude.”

“I thought you were talking about me,” I replied. “I was being a prick.”

“You’re gonna fit right in,” Eric said with a wink.

It wasn’t long before my outfit was brought to me by a pretty good-looking young man who watched me get out of my street clothing and into my costume of the day, documenting my every move with his eyes while rubbing at the bulge in the crotch of his jeans. I quickly determined that the handsome lad was one of Bobby Dare’s pool of hopeful gay actors.

Now I was dressed in a pair of gray coveralls that were too short in the legs and a bit snug around the chest. I was assured the high-water length of the pant legs wouldn’t be seen in the scene, and loosening the zipper made the upper half of the coveralls tolerable.

I was to play a delivery man who arrived at the back door of a woman’s home, delivering some produce that was supposed to convince a very well-endowed woman with raven hair to take my dick between her massive tits as she gave me a blow job.

No need to twist my arm… or dick.

The actress I would do the scene with was Bonny Bountiful, a little older than some of the more popular porn starlets, but her face was smooth and unwrinkled, and the skin of her breasts looked satiny smooth. We’d been introduced and she’d sized me up and after some apparently serious consideration was okay with what she’d seen of me so far.

“Saul says you’re a little different,” she told me while seemingly looking into me for something more. “If Saul’s good with it, I guess I can give you a shot.”

Eric the Director showed me the script – more of an outline, really – which read like a pimply-faced virgin teenager’s fantasy.

“I’ve already picked up that you have a knack for comebacks,” he said. “You good at improv?”

I skipped telling him that my whole existence as a private investigator depended on a lot of improvisation.

“Improvising has gotten me laid a lot,” I replied. “How much ad-libbing does it usually take for a tit-fuck?”

“Do you think you can just give me a few minutes of reasonably believable dialog to lead up to the action, Case?”

I looked over Miss Bountiful and her buoyant breasts, barely held in check by her yellow sun dress. I’d have no problem trying to talk my way between those soft pillows even if this weren’t a porn flick. The fact that I was guaranteed to score no matter how banal our chatter might sound was a nice reward.

“Yeah,” I replied, smiling at Bonny. “I’m sure that the lovely lady will follow my lead.”

“Lead on,” she said with a smile.

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