Chapter 35 LET'S PRACTICE PORN 3
LET'S PRACTICE PORN 3
ROSIE
I woke up sore. My thighs ached, my lips were tender, and my whole body hummed with the echoes of Jerry’s touch. For a moment, lying there under my thin sheet, I wondered if last night had been a dream. But then I shifted, and the ache between my legs was a cruel reminder that it had been all too real. Jerry—the guy next door, the man I’d been fantasizing about for months—had finally fucked me. And not just fucked me. He’d claimed me, like he’d been waiting for that moment just as long as I had.
The thought made my cheeks burn.
I should’ve felt embarrassed, maybe even ashamed, but instead I felt… alive. My body still buzzed with the heat of it, and when I closed my eyes, I could see his face, the hunger in his eyes, the way he took control without asking.
And now, I had to face the day—my first day on set. My stomach churned with nervous energy as I got up and showered, scrubbing my skin, trying to wash away the lingering scent of Jerry but failing. No matter how hard I tried, I still felt him. His fingerprints were on me, inside me, under my skin.
I pulled on a simple dress, something casual but cute, and slid my makeup kit into my bag. My reflection in the mirror looked like a different woman—eyes wide, lips swollen, a secret flushed across my cheeks.
The Uber ride to the studio felt longer than it was. I couldn’t stop fiddling with my hands, rehearsing polite smiles, wondering how it would all go down. Porn production. It sounded dirty, unreal. I kept telling myself it was just acting—performance. But my stomach flipped with unease.
When I arrived at the address Mia had texted, I thought I had the wrong place. The building didn’t scream “porn studio.” It looked normal—polished glass doors, a discreet lobby, and a hallway that smelled faintly of coffee and sanitizer.
A receptionist smiled and directed me to Studio 3. My heels clicked nervously against the floor as I followed her directions, clutching my bag like a lifeline.
I pushed open the door.
And froze.
Jerry.
He was standing there, casually leaning against a desk, clipboard in hand, like he owned the entire room. His eyes met mine, and a slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.
“Rosie.” His voice was smooth, confident. The same voice that had whispered filthy things in my ear last night.
My stomach dropped. “You—what are you doing here?”
He stepped closer, and my heart raced. “I told you I play basketball for fun. I never said what I really do.” His eyes darkened. “This is my studio, Rosie. I’m the one who recommended you.”
The room tilted. My mouth went dry. “Y-you… you set me up?”
He didn’t flinch. “I gave you an opportunity. And after last night…” His hand brushed mine, deliberately, possessively. “…I already know you’re perfect for this.”
Before I could respond, Mia appeared with her clipboard, chirping instructions, oblivious to the storm inside me. She walked me through the basics—release forms, camera placements, lighting. The crew was small, professional. Nobody looked at me with judgment; to them, I was just another actress.
But I wasn’t.
I was Jerry’s.
And he knew it.
When it was time to prepare, Jerry took his position as the male lead. I sat on the edge of the bed they’d staged—a simple white set, soft lighting, cameras angled from every side. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Jerry leaned down, his lips brushing my ear as though he were just whispering stage directions. “Relax. Just follow my lead. You don’t have to act with me. Just feel.”
My skin erupted in goosebumps.
The cameras rolled.
At first, I tried to remember what Mia had told me about hitting marks, keeping my face angled toward the lens, projecting sound. But the second Jerry touched me, it all vanished. His hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher, and my breath hitched loud enough for the mic to pick up.
“Rosie,” he murmured, his fingers ghosting over my panties. “Wet already?”
I wanted to deny it, to say it was nerves, but the truth spilled out as a moan. I was wet. Just like last night. Maybe more.
He kissed me, slow at first, then harder, hungrier, as though the cameras weren’t even there. His tongue tangled with mine, his hand gripping my hair, and the world dissolved into him.
The crew faded. The set disappeared. There was only Jerry and the way he devoured me.
When he peeled off my dress, I didn’t think about the cameras capturing every inch of my bare skin. I thought only about the way his eyes burned, hungry and proud, like he wanted to show me off and keep me for himself at the same time.
He didn’t rush. He teased, sliding his fingers inside me while making me look at the camera. “Let them see how sweet you are,” he whispered. My back arched, my mouth opened on a cry, and I couldn’t stop it.
Every touch was fire. Every command left me trembling.
When he finally pushed inside me, I forgot all about being nervous. His body filled me, stretched me, claimed me. The cameras might have been recording, but this wasn’t acting anymore. This was raw, messy, real.
“Jerry…” I gasped, clutching at him, nails digging into his back.
“Louder,” he ordered, fucking me harder. “Let them hear how good I make you feel.”
And I did. I screamed his name, sobbed with pleasure, my body tightening around him as wave after wave crashed through me.
By the time it was over, my body was ruined, trembling, drenched in sweat. Jerry kissed me one last time before pulling back, his smirk lazy, satisfied.
“Perfect,” he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face. “You were perfect.”
And as the cameras stopped rolling, I realize
d something terrifying—
I didn’t care that it was recorded.
I just wanted more.