Porn: From The Inside (Part 2 of 3)

(Continuing the story, from Part 1, which can be found here.)

The Perks

The Internet porn industry is a fiercely competitive field. Anyone who looks at it and sees easy money is only seeing the shiny surface. Every day, people are coming out with new, more outrageous stunts to shock viewers and win some sign-ups out of pure curiosity. The sites that cannot keep pace will often fold into obsolescence. It's a wonder, then, how Matt managed for so long to maintain a site in which none of the girls were artificially enhanced (either by surgery, makeup or digital airbrush); nor did they ever co-star with a team of naked circus dwarves, let alone a standard issue stud with a giant penis. His secret is as simple as getting the hottest girls, getting them before anyone else did, and shooting them in a nice comfortable environment. His secret was my very unprofessional pleasure.

Matt occasionally kept models away from my desk if he felt that they could not perform with a nerd with raging hormones in the room. Sometimes, we had girls who thrived on it. For example, Violet.

I remember Violet as the stripper from San Dimas. She had driven over an hour and a half just to earn some money so that she could pay the rent or buy some drugs - who knew. She wasn't a knockout, so you could argue that any attention you gave her was appreciated. She had a few crooked teeth and it was obvious she didn't exercise anywhere else besides the stripper pole. Along with some tattoos and piercings, she had (fittingly enough) violet streaks running through her raven black hair. In other words, she had a great personality.

After her photo shoot, Violet was supposed to leave, but Matt left to run some errands and gave me the task of showing her to the door. I didn't really get around to that, though. We talked. She told me about how she plays dungeons & dragons and does drugs too. I could have sworn that I was turned off to learn of such things, but somehow I found my hands cupped over her breasts, gripping them firmly for the lens of our office webcam. Isn’t it funny how these things rush up on you?

Violet told me that she liked to be spanked. Like any true gentleman, I gave her what she wanted. Slap after slap after slap, my palm and fingertips were going numb against her denim-clad ass. She begged for more as I quietly wondered what the hell made this woman tick. I hoped that I could satisfy her before I broke a blood vessel in my hand. She moved to lean against the wall. I was taking running starts with each slap now, and with each one she moaned, and I wondered if my rosy hand would ever regain its natural pasty hue.

Matt walked back into the apartment with a droll look on his face and I suddenly realized that I had crossed the professional boundary. I apologized, acting meek, subtly insinuating that she came on to ME. Matt became amused when he heard what we had been doing. He reprimanded me, insisting that next time I needed to get it on video. Slightly humbled and confused, I turned to Violet and shrugged. She grinned back at me.

A couple weeks later, Violet was back for the video shoot. I had been mentally preparing myself for this moment ever since it was suggested. You have to be really focused when you're about to beat someone senseless entirely for their pleasure, right? The thing that really interested me was the fact that Violet got anything out of it at all. I suppose I was happy to be able to give her a little pleasure, but at the time I would rather have given her a nice massage as she basked in a bubble bath. I was such a pussy back then.

I discussed with Violet what she wanted me to do and what I was not allowed to do. Whipping, spanking, pinching, twisting, squeezing, rubbing, scratching: yes. Kissing, licking, spreading, fucking: no. It occurred to me that the concept of romance was entirely lost on some people. The next issue was tying her up. I played with the nylon bondage rope that Matt had acquired for the day, but was ultimately lost as to what I was supposed to do with it in relation to the task at hand.

As an aside, I want to state how awkward it was working inside my boss’s personal living space. While it created excellent opportunities for bonding, some things became too familiar too quick. For example: Matt’s own little form of bonding with his girlfriend.

Matt was happy to help me tie Violet up. He took the rope and quickly demonstrated a few techniques for me, then called Violet over and began to bind her wrists and ankles together. I observed with an uncomfortable look on my face. Something I wasn't particularly willing to let enter my mind at the moment wiggled its way in. Images of the random props strewn about the apartment every morning flashed before my eyes. One thing in particular, the Bondage 101 book I had only given an uncaring glance at before, hovered above me in my mind. I told my brain to shut up.

With Violet prepared, her ankles together and her hands bound behind her back, I put on the finishing touch; a strip of cloth to gag her. The camera began to roll and I threw her down on the red couch, ripped off her clothes, and spanked and whipped the hell out of her for all I was worth. At least I thought I did. Friends who saw the video later told me that I looked like I wanted to apologize after every slap. So much for my budding porn career.

We took a lunch break in the middle of the shoot and ordered pizza. Unwilling to go through the process of tying all the knots again, we left Violet tied up, much to her sick pleasure. As the front desk called up to announce the arrival of the pizza delivery man, an idea crept into my head and I gave everyone their direction. We dragged Violet over to the hallway that lead to the front door. The doorbell rang and Matt went to open the door. He opened it wide. When Violet's eyes met those of the pizza delivery guy, she began to scream against her gag and squirm in her restraints. I moved into the picture, gave the pizza guy an accusing look, grabbed Violet and dragged her out of view.

Matt said the look on the guy's face was priceless. It took a few minutes to fully explain himself to the man so he wouldn't call the cops. We had a little chuckle and ate our food, keeping an eye on Violet as she attempted to eat with her hands and feet incapacitated. She assured us, through it all, that she was enjoying it. Violet, we salute you.

April Fools

A job in the porn industry would not be nearly as enjoyable as this was if not for the awesome relationship between Matt and myself. And what's the fun of such a tight bond between two people if you can't test it out once in a while? I'm not a religious guy, and I certainly don't stand on ceremony, but April 1st is the one holiday I celebrate with devotion.

When your life revolves around one thing and one thing only, you pray against anything ever happening to it. Even if you're not religious, you pray. Example: One time, Matt's domain name (the dot com Internet address) had been stolen by some teenager from Turkey. Matt was crushed. Luckily, the kid felt too much guilt to hold out for a ransom, and he released the domain for Matt to re-acquire. Witnessing the worry and stress apparent on Matt's face throughout the whole ordeal concerned me. He really would have been fucked if not for one young boy's remorse. Five years of work almost down the drain. I felt sorry for my dear friend. Not sorry enough, though, to resist pushing that button again for my own sick amusement.

On that holy day at the start of April, I set my diabolical scheme in motion. I programmed every page on the site to specifically detect our Internet connection when we access the site. The instructions I placed on the files when it detected our connection would replace the normal page that everyone else saw with the following plain text message:

"fuck you matt
im tired of being teh ass of all your jokes
u and ur web master can go to hell
happy fucking 500 models i deleted them all
rg"

"rg" were the initials of a particular photographer who we frequently made fun of. It was a flawless plan. No business was interrupted and Matt would think that his site got hacked. In time, apparently. It took until about 2pm that day for Matt to notice the surprise. Brian Adams went dead silent in the middle of "Summer of '69" and you could sense it in the air. His weak, shaken voice warbled through the hall.

"Umm... Andrew?"

The patter of Matt's footsteps clamoring toward my office was exquisite. He busted into the room and I put on my best puzzled face.

"What's wrong with the site?" he asked.

I gave his question a brief moment of inward contemplation, then swiveled my chair around to face my computer. I loaded the site on my computer and was greeted with my ingenious note. I didn't even have to read it, but I acted as if I were absorbing it word by word.

"Woah. That is fucked up."

All Matt needed to hear was the worried tone of my voice and he was running back down the hall to his own office. I heard him get on the phone with Tim, our server host. He was asking Tim what happened to the site. He was on the verge of tears. I didn't have the heart to let it continue further. The last thing I wanted to do was to explain to Tim why Matt was chewing his ass out over the phone. I sent Matt a short little instant message. "April Fools."

I got him good. However, I wasn't done. As I mentioned before, Matt's girlfriend is a model. I ran her website as well. She was off at a photo shoot while all of this transpired so the fix was on. I ran through the same process with her site, except her message revealed her real name, her address, her cell phone number, and a really bad picture of her. I even threw in her mother's phone number for kicks. The initials this time were those of a photographer with whom she recently had a little argument. Matt was in on it with me this time. Having felt the power of my mighty maleficence, he was anxious to see where this could possibly go.

Later on that night, when she got home, her site was the first thing she checked after she walked in the door. Screaming. Hysterical screaming. She ran into Matt's office and demanded that he fix it right away. Matt was quite the actor himself, so he did his best to calm her down before placing a mock phone call to Tim. Pretending to be speaking to his host, he argued for a moment with the imaginary Tim.

"How long will it take to fix the site?"

......

"THREE WEEKS?!?!"

Screaming. Hysterical screaming.

At that point Matt chickened out. He had to dump the blame entirely on me or else he wouldn't get laid that night. I can't say that I blame him. They both vowed revenge on me the following day. Good fucking luck.

With all the fun that I had at that job I can't help but feel that it was absolute luck that I was in the right position to be hired. Matt later revealed to me, after I told him the thing about the shoes at the interview, that he simply saw a skinny nerd without a tan and knew that I was exactly what he was looking for. Ahh, but even skinny nerds have their day of glory.

(Stay tuned for part 3 tomorrow!)