Canoga Park - Episode 10

The new male talent walks onto set for Blue Balls and the Curse of the Pearl Necklace. He’s tall, already half-hard in his jeans. I’ve got the camera rolling when we collide—literally—our foreheads knocking in the doorway. The sting makes us laugh, then it shifts. He reaches for my face like an apology, thumb brushing my lip. Before I know it, we’re grinding against the craft-services table, his cock thick and hot through denim, mine aching against the zipper. Lights are still up. Someone’s still adjusting reflectors. Doesn’t matter. He spins me, palms flat on the cold Formica, yanks my pants down to mid-thigh. His breath is ragged on my neck as he spits in his hand and works two fingers inside me, slow at first, then deeper, knuckle-deep, scissoring me open while the boom mic swings over our heads. I hear the director mutter “keep rolling” and the sound guy pretends not to adjust his headphones. The new guy pulls his cock out—long, flushed, already leaking—and slides in raw. The stretch burns sweet. He fucks me in short, brutal strokes, hips snapping, balls swinging, every thrust shoving the table an inch across the floor. Pearls from some forgotten prop scatter under our feet. My hole clenches around him, wet and greedy. He reaches around, fists my dick, strokes it once, twice, and I shoot across the smooth tabletop, ropes splattering the clipboard someone left there. He follows right after, pulling out just enough to paint my lower back, thick spurts that drip down the cleft of my ass. Then he laughs—soft, surprised—and rests his forehead between my shoulder blades, both of us breathing like we ran a mile. The camera’s still rolling. The lights never dimmed. Nobody says cut.