Work Text:
Chrissy’s a liar. Lying is part of the job. Lying is what divides her from people who hover at amateur level for a few years and then disappear. It’s what puts her in the category of girls who hit it big and work as much as they like and eventually pay expensive rent from a single shoot. So Chrissy goes to conventions and swears on her mother’s life (no one has to know Chrissy sometimes sits around hoping said mother will keel over and die, anyways) that she could fuck forever, that all the sex acts she does feel great, and that she loves making porn not just as work but on a personal level.
In reality, Chrissy’s cool with her job as a normal job with bad and good and in-between days. But the shit she spews about it to make her seem like the world’s horniest and most perfectly suited little porn angel is a lie and a promotional tool.
The fact of the matter is Chrissy’s work is frequently uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. Consent is in a different framework than real life; more about what you can handle than what you’d actually want to do. You often have to lie there and resist the urge to kick your foot out at the person fucking you and say if you keep touching me like that I will kill you and instead moan like it feels good. You hold yourself in bendy positions and let people have sex with you in ways that your body doesn’t personally enjoy for aesthetic reasons, and you often do it for hours.
You can’t ask for a mental health day when a shoot is booked and secured, and sometimes you have to have some man you’ve only met a few times talk to you like most people are only talked to by their long term partners, while you pretend to smile and not think about your big list of things to do and the fight you just had with your friend.
Chrissy doesn’t ever publicly mention any of these facts. The most she says — the most she ever shows her hand — is specifically when she’s carefully selecting her words among young people curious about joining the industry. In those situations, Chrissy mentions that porn is a lifelong commitment and something that should be considered more seriously than they probably think (though she softens this blow, too, by claiming she doesn’t give a fuck what people think — mostly true, but it’s inevitable that she sometimes thinks about personal and career-based doors being slammed shut because of what she does for a living).
But every once in a while, in an extremely blue moon, Chrissy has a shoot that feels like actual good sex. Sex that Chrissy would want to have in her personal life. Sex so good she sometimes watches the videos back and gets off on them on her own in her more vain moments.
These were extremely rare. She could count them on one hand, probably. A lesbian threesome she did once where one of the girls was a little assertive and a lot good with her mouth and Chrissy felt so good she nearly forgot to offer to switch positions. That second ever shoot with Eddie, where his soft but demanding tone and the way he placed the palm of his hand on her had gotten Chrissy into a headspace she’d never been in before, and she’d felt like she literally could take whatever he gave her for days instead of the allotted three hours. A run-of-the-mill, vanilla-ish scene with some guy who worked out of the guest room of his apartment and just had a body that fit well with Chrissy’s body; he didn’t do anything special, just hit all the right spots in such a way she didn’t fake a single reaction. There was a scene where she actually was relatively untouched, and a couple went at it in front of her while she was meant to watch and squirm (something producers would never waste someone as famous as Chrissy on now, but she had said yes to everything early on). That last scene had inexplicably turned her on so much that she had to hastily touch herself in her beat-up Honda before driving to her shitty first Los Angeles apartment, where she had proceeded to get off again over the thought of being ignored, something she hadn’t meaningfully unpacked since then, and hadn’t ever had the opportunity to recreate.
Point being, amazing shoots were rare, and the good ones were seared in Chrissy’s memory with a vividness. Every time she had one of those next level shoots, she was always certain it would be her last. And now that she was with Eddie, who fucked her exactly how she wanted with painstaking precision and affection (offered in its own, weird, special, Eddie way, which only made it even better), she really thought that one of those random, perfect shoots would never happen again.
Which is why she’s so surprised by today.
For the last shoot of the series she was doing for Hopper’s new company, Chrissy was shooting a threesome.
She had giggled when she got the call sheet, a little oh my God passing through her lips as she showed her phone screen to Eddie next to her in bed. “Harrigton and Hargrove? Oh my God, it’s like a day off,” he’d laughed. “You could do that in your sleep.”
“Right?” Chrissy had agreed.
So maybe part of why it’s happening is that she came in with such a relaxed headspace. Or maybe it’s that Eddie and her haven’t fucked in a couple of days. Or maybe it’s that these two are relatively good in bed.
Whatever it is, Chrissy is fucked up.
“Oh—oh my God, yeah,” Chrissy nods encouragingly as Billy adjusts their position, pinning her legs against her shoulders and pressing into her from the new angle.“Holy shit.”
“That good?” Billy asks, as if the answer isn’t clear as day.
“ Yes!” Chrissy calls back.
Billy looks up to Steve, who’s sitting behind Chrissy with his hand resting beneath her head as he watches. She should probably be touching Steve, if she could focus on that kind of thing. The two men laugh softly at her earnestness.
(Chrissy had been like this from the very beginning of the shoot, before Steve had even shimmied off her too-short daisy dukes. After a shockingly short time of having his hand dipped beneath her shorts, Chrissy had been close. “Can I—” Chrissy corrected herself quickly, hoping no one would notice the force of habit she’d picked up in her personal life. “I mean, I’m gonna come.”
The corner of Steve’s mouth had twitched into a tiny smile of recognition over her slip-up, but he’d played it off with ease. “Do it, Chrissy,” he’d nodded, leaning in to kiss her. “Lemme see.”)
“I think I’m gonna come,” Chrissy breathes once again.
Steve adjusts slightly, reaching his arm across so he can touch just above where her and Billy meet. Chrissy lets out a truly pathetic little wail. Steve hums softly, almost empathetically, in response.
“That feel good?” he asks.
Chrissy nods.
Steve starts circling her clit a little faster. Chrissy nods encouragingly. “Please don’t stop, exactly like that. Both of you — oh fuck. I’m actually gonna come so hard.”
Billy moans appreciatively.
“Give it to us then, baby, let us have it,” Steve encourages.
Chrissy comes with a choked-out whimper. Billy kisses the side of her knee.
Steve lets up and leans back when Chrissy starts twitching.
Chrissy sits up on her elbows and angles her chin up so her face is in reach of Billy’s. “Kiss me, please?”
Billy smiles and leans in, opening his mouth to offer her a kiss that’s wet and messy, teeth clicking together. Chrissy finds herself chasing him as he starts to pull away.
“Easy, firecracker,” Billy laughs at her intensity. “Don’t you think Steve should have another turn?”
(Steve’s first “turn” had been with Chrissy in doggy style, while he had half-dirty talked, half-chatted to Billy like she wasn’t even there. Chrissy had come so hard Steve had to hold her by the hips so she didn’t collapse into the couch. “Nice one,” Billy had complimented Steve, like they were throwing darts and not fucking Chrissy.)
Chrissy nods, enthusiastic. “Yeah, please, yeah.”
She turns to Steve, seeing he’s already sitting up on the other end of the couch. Steve gestures to her. “C’mere.”
As Chrissy settles on him, she lets their foreheads meet with a soft clunk so they can both gaze down at her moving up and down for the first few thrusts.
Steve holds her down the next time she has him fully inside her, moving her hips in a little back and forth motion so she’s grinding against him. Chrissy clings to his shoulders and squeezes her eyes shut, so sensitive she feels like she might shout.
“Oh my God, Stevie,” Billy laughs from the other side of the couch, where Chrissy opens her eyes just briefly enough to see him playing with himself — casual, unbothered strokes while he watches. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. She’s about to lose it. I can tell from here.”
“I can’t stop coming,” Chrissy offers stupidly, like she needs to explain herself. It comes out in this breathy, almost pained whine.
“I’ve noticed,” Steve says lightly, tucking a strand of her hair that’s come out from her ponytail behind her ear.
Chrissy gets that feeling she sometimes gets when Eddie really works her over, that sensation of being almost nervous about the next orgasm’s intensity after having so many. But it barrels toward her anyways.
“Let’s see it,” Steve encourages. “You come one more time and then Billy and me are gonna use your pretty mouth for our turns, okay? That sound good?”
Chrissy clutches onto Steve’s shoulders and finishes with a drawn out, wavering moan of yes, yes, yes, yes . She’s trembling so hard she can hear it affecting her own voice.
“Whoa,” Chrissy whispers as Steve guides her off of him. She’s worried she might topple right over. Steve seems to be worried, too, by the way he holds her tightly until she’s comfortably seated next to him.
The director instructs from where she’s sitting. “Okay, we can take two minutes! We want to get a handheld camera for the blowjob anyways.”
“Okay!” Billy calls back, speaking for the group.
Chrissy places a hand on her tummy and breathes in deep.
Steve runs a hand along her thigh. “All good?”
Chrissy nods. Steve smiles.
She lifts her arms into the air for a full body stretch as she gets ready to settle on the floor.
“Chris,” the director’s voice carries from her chair. “Any limits you want to remind the group of before we do any oral stuff?”
Chrissy shakes her head. “No. These two are good at reading me. I’ll tap if I need a second.”
The director nods.
Chrissy shifts a little against the leathery couch, mindful of getting any sort of patterned indents on her ass and legs. “Do you want me touching myself?”
“I mean, if you want,” the director shrugs. “But you don’t need to, like, keep yourself ready or anything. We’re done penetration.”
“Shucks,” Chrissy says, and it’s only half a joke.
Billy laughs as he fiddles with the camcorder they’ve just handed him.
“Chris, can you get into position so we can make sure these boys know what they’re doing with their cameras?” the crew member who’s setting up the camera asks.
Chrissy nods and kneels on the little shag carpet. Steve and Billy hover over her with their respective cameras.
“Alright, looks good, don’t move those cameras around too much, please, boys,” the director instructs.
“Smile, Chrissy,” Billy teases as he angles the camera, practicing before hitting record. Chrissy offers him a cheesy grin. “Gosh, you’re cute,” he jokingly coos, leaning down to give her a little pinch on the cheek.
Chrissy’s hand slips between her kneeling legs before they’ve even called action. Something within her has snapped during this shoot, she’s certain of it.
*
When it’s all said and done, Chrissy feels inexplicably guilty. The feeling first creeps up on her when she’s showering. It doesn’t really make sense — this is her job, which is fine, and her body reacts differently on different days, which is fine. But there’s something about the fact she was fucked in a way she’d like to be fucked even without cameras that feels like she had just cheated the system. Not necessarily cheated on Eddie— who was not just understanding, but in the same career as her—but sort of stepped around the general framework of “average, work sex stays at work and good sex stays with Eddie”.
Chrissy takes longer than usual in the studio showers, having to reapply make-up and put on a nicer outfit (as opposed to her usual post-work sweatpants and tank top) so she could be ready to go straight to happy hour. It gives her extra time to ruminate, until she’s basically worked herself into a tizzy — she’s a bad girlfriend, and she shouldn’t even be thinking about accessing that kind of pleasure at work. The odd real orgasm or moment of connection is fine, but allowing herself to just give in to two hours of good sex so openly is not right.
Chrissy takes a steadying breath as she finally leaves the bathroom and goes back into the studio. Steve and Billy—now also showered and back in their jeans and t-shirts—are chatting with the director and crew. As Chrissy approaches, she sees Hopper is now standing among them.
“There she is,” Hopper says with a smile. “Heard it went well today.”
Chrissy turns her head so she can accept his friendly kiss on the cheek. “I think so, yeah! You shoulda stopped by earlier to make sure it was going okay!”
As Chrissy chats, she finds herself looping her arms around Steve’s waist and leaning her head against his chest. He rests a gentle hand on her shoulder in response. It feels really nice to be close to him. (So nice, in fact, that the words “That feels good, thank you”, rest on her tongue, though she can’t bring herself to say them — that would be too weird. She’s just getting a hug from a friend).
“I only get the best people to work for me, so what would me hovering around help with?” Hopper returns.
Chrissy shrugs. “Well, me and Steve and some of our friends are going to go get a drink now if you want to join and catch up on anything. I don’t even know how the last few videos are doing, I haven’t checked in a second.”
She knows the answer before she’s even finished asking — asking Hopper if he wants to come join you for something social is like asking your college professor or your cool uncle—it’s polite, but it’s an immediate no.
“That sounds great, but I got date night,” Hopper shrugs off easily. “And as for your videos—you’re making us more money than is sane to make, Chrissy. But I feel like you could’ve guessed that.”
Chrissy smiles at Hopper’s praise before turning to Billy. “You coming?”
“I promised my girl I’d be home for dinner. She’s getting on my case about my work lately, so,” Billy shrugs. “Gotta be extra good.”
Chrissy feels a little relieved. She wants to shake this day off as quickly as possible, and parting ways with Billy will be a good start. “Alright, next time.”
Steve tugs Chrissy even closer. “Let’s get outta here, I need to get drunk.” he smiles.
Hopper reaches out to give each of the boys a little clap on the shoulder before squeezing Chrissy’s arm one more time. “See you kids soon. Be good.”
*
Eddie hates when he’s running late. He likes being in control of his schedule, and he likes making sure those involved in his social life feel cared for. Eddie is a person who likes to make others feel tended to.
Aftercare had taken longer than usual. The girl at work had been fine — actually, the girl had been really good. A little too good, which is why it had taken her so long to get her back to a stable headspace.
“I liked that so much,” she whispered as Eddie undid the knots around her wrist.
“Did you?” Eddie said, friendly.
“I’m so, like, happy,” she laughed softly. “I feel like I’m stoned.”
“That happens sometimes,” Eddie said, reassuring. “You’ll be back in a second, don’t worry. Just a big dopamine hit going on up there.”
“Sorry, this is so, um,” the girl’s eyes were still shut, almost as if she was afraid to open them. “Would you hold my hand or something for a second? I feel like I need…”
She trailed off, but Eddie got the gist and hummed affirmatively. He opted to lift her head a little so he could cradle it in his hands, and ran his thumbs soothingly along her temples, pressed his fingers into her jaw to make sure her muscles were all relaxed.
“That okay?” Eddie asked.
“Awesome, yeah.”
Eddie chuckled.
“I promise I’m not trying to start anything,” she continued in a soft, hazy voice. “I know your girlfriend. I’m booked with her soon, actually. So I wouldn’t ever — I just felt like I needed someone to, like, be there.”
“No one thinks you’re trying to start something,” Eddie said with a little huff of a laugh. “Don’t stress. I get it.”
“I think I wanna do more of that in real life,” the girl rushed out, like she was confessing.
“Yeah? That’s great,” Eddie pressed his thumbs into her temples in another soothing motion before opting to stroke her hair for a minute. “I can send you some stuff on how to do all of it safely.”
“I’d love that,” the girl answered earnestly. Her eyes fluttered open so she was looking up at Eddie. She seemed like she was thinking hard. “Why’d I like that so much?”
Eddie shrugged. “Same reason I like doing it to people so much. Some people just are built for it. I wouldn’t overthink it.”
“Could you tell I was going to be into it?” she asked.
Eddie laughed loud enough that the girl jumped a little before laughing as well. “No, I’m not so sadistic that I can literally smell it on someone,” Eddie answered.
The girl shrugged. “Had me fooled. You’re scary when you’re in it.”
Eddie smiled. “Lucky for you.”
The girl giggled. “Guess so. Can I come back?”
She absolutely could. Eddie was being honest that he couldn’t tell, at first, that she had any genuinely submissive or masochistic tendencies (which, obviously — there was no “tell” for that), but once they got going, he sensed she was starting to resonate with it on a level most girls just pretended at.
Every time Eddie gently (and then, over time, less gently) reminded her that she had to ask before coming, and that everything out of her mouth should be followed by sir, he could see her sink a little deeper. She seemed downright delighted by some of his implements (“God, that actually hurts, ” she’d called out when he’d swatted her with a crop, but she’d said it like she was pleased by the surprise). By the time she was overstimulated and bucking against what he gave her—while Eddie quietly called her a slut and told her he was pleased he could be the first one to break her in—he got the sense she was having a bit of a personal revelation on his table. Which was nice. Really nice, actually. That was not the kind of thing that ever happened at work.
“You sure can. We’ll see if we can push some of those limits, yeah? Try out some new stuff. You’ll be a whole new woman,” Eddie teased.
She’d come back to herself, drank a bit of water, breezed through her exit interview, and then left with a little wave and a shy nod as Eddie instructed her to eat a full meal and drink double the water she usually would.
As he drove over to drinks (Steve was driving Chrissy there, Eddie driving was Chrissy home, because you could not get that girl to have only one or two drinks for love or money; she was all or nothing), Eddie felt a little pang—so acute and sudden that it was almost physical.
Because Eddie hadn’t brought someone so inherently and freshly submissive into that headspace for a very long time. It was a heady experience, one that for the first few years he was in kink he had chased almost compulsively. He liked the way it boosted his confidence, and the way it felt like he was reaching inside someone and neatly unknotting something they didn’t even know was tangled.
Once he was in the industry, though, this experience became a very rare one. Girls rarely got into any sort of authentic submissive headspace on set. It wasn’t an expectation—there were way too many other elements to account for, and even with Eddie being notorious for strict standards and extremely precise ethics, girls understandably often stayed alert and a little nervous when they were strapped down on a table and being poked and prodded at by a relative stranger.
And before Chrissy, but after being deep into porn, when Eddie went out to get laid in his personal life, he wanted to do it with people who were experienced. Eddie didn’t have the time or energy to coax someone into and through early BDSM forays, to read people’s miniscule cues the way they needed to be read in their early scenes.
But the fantasy never totally goes away. Eddie bets any authentic sadist would agree that there’s always a small part of them longing to break in a newbie. It just feels so good to watch them be almost shaken by the way Eddie could crack open and shift their perceptions of pain and shame and submission. So girls, like the one today, stick. Not romantically, or even sexually—in fact, Eddie was so focused on pushing her into the space he could sense she was teetering toward that he never even got hard—but on that spiritually, inherently sadistic level that rests somewhere in his sternum.
Eddie feels like the scene is sitting somewhere between his (now deeply settled and secure and fulfilling) personal relationship and his carefully compartmentalized work relationship with kink, and he’s not a panicker, but he will admit he does feel a little bit unsettled as he walks into the bar.
The moment he’s inside (it’s one of those spots that “looks” like a tacky dive but has $15 beers—not Eddie’s speed, and very much the speed of his girl and his friends and their Los Angeles rich bitch proclivities) he’s cued by a wolf whistle. Steve is waving both hands in the air.
Chrissy is already half a nauseatingly blue-shaded drink down, and is nodding along to something Robin is talking about, her hand interlaced with Robin’s as she speaks. Eddie sees Chrissy’s placed her purse on the seat next to hers in the corner, as if anyone else but Eddie might come and she’d need to defend his spot. His possessive baby.
“Hi, guys,” Eddie smiles as he sits.
“You’re uncharacteristically late,” Robin notes, pretending to be stern. “What happened? Finally actually fingered a girl to death?”
Chrissy wraps her arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his jaw. “Hi, honey.”
Eddie opts to pay attention to Chrissy instead of Robin, turning to her and kissing her on the cheek. “Hi, baby,” Eddie says softly. “You doing okay?”
Chrissy moving in with Eddie had been even better than he’d imagined. He was a little concerned that she would feel overwhelmed without her own space to skitter back to when she was struggling through something. But they’d been really good about reading each other, and had naturally fallen into a rhythm where they were both okay doing their own things when they needed space. They were doing freakishly well right now.
“Good, yeah,” Chrissy smiles. She strokes at Eddie’s face affectionately. There’s a certain aura coming off of her—not sad, but subdued. A little quiet, or a little fatigued, maybe. Eddie bridges the gap between them and kisses her.
“Missed you, pretty girl,” Eddie says. They hadn’t had proper time together in a few days. Most nights this week they’d only been able to properly reconnect as they fell into bed at night—and that time was cut short by whoever had the longer day and conked out quicker.
But Eddie liked it that way, especially now that they always came home to the same space. They always ended up wrapped up with each other in the same bed, and pouring coffee for one another the next morning in the same kitchen — a week with less waking time together didn’t shake him all that much with these newly added little pleasures.
*
Chrissy usually likes when her group ends up devolving into talking shop, especially when everyone has a light buzz on. It feels nice to be able to talk to people about work who understand it, and who don’t waste her time eroticizing her or grilling her or judging her.
“What am I supposed to do, though?” Heather is mid-complaint. “I can’t just work every day, but I also have so many places I want to say yes to, and I don’t want to be in bad standing, or pick the wrong one.”
“You just have to go with who pays the most,” Steve shrugs.
Eddie snorts. “Or the ones that you want to work with the most. You could, like, be happy.”
“Chris?” Heather turns to Chrissy.
Chrissy shrugs. “I’d say this is a good problem to be having, Heather. Means you’re hitting it even bigger.”
Heather smiles at the compliment. “Guess you’re right, yeah.”
Heather looks between Chrissy and Steve. “How was today’s shoot? Good?”
Steve smiles and fiddles with the straw on his margarita. “I don’t know, Chrissy, was today’s shoot good?”
Chrissy shrinks in, a little sheepish. She was nervous, for some reason, about this coming up.
Robin notes Chrissy’s body language immediately and looks between the two of them. “What’s that about? What happened?”
Chrissy shrugs. “Nothing.”
“I was just kidding. Nothing bad. Chrissy was just on one,” Steve explains.
“On one?” Eddie presses curiously. He’s got one arm slung around the back of Chrissy’s chair and the other hand resting in his lap, instead of where everyone else’s hands are curled around their drinks. Where Chrissy has already had two-and-a-half drinks, but Eddie is barely three-quarters through his first beer.
Steve nods, grinning even wider. “You know when she gets that kinda —” Steve squeezes his eyes shut and lets out this punched-out breath from his chest in an imitation of Chrissy coming. “Like one of those?”
“Yeah,” Robin says. The rest of the table nods in recognition.
Chrissy’s jaw drops.
“What’s with the nodding?” she cries, incredulous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why are you embarrassed?” Heather laughs. “That shit pays for your house.”
“That’s just what you do when you’re really coming hard, I dunno,” Robin shrugs.
“Is that true?” Chrissy turns to Eddie.
Eddie shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like I see many fake ones, but you do that when you’re really into it, I guess, yeah.”
“Like that’s when you know things are going very well, if we get one of those,” Robin tries to further explain.
“That’s the thing , ” Steve leans forward conspiratorially. “Chrissy came like that three times today. Between other ones.”
“ Three? ” Eddie looks at Chrissy with jokingly widened-eyes. “My god, Christine, what was in your coffee this morning?”
“Nothing! It just went well, I guess!” Chrissy says, and she cringes at the way she sounds way too defensive.
Heather is rubbing Steve’s shoulders. “That’s my baby, big day at work, huh?” she jokes.
“I do what I can,” Steve shrugs, pretending to be smug.
“Once you get one or two of those out of her she really can get into a mood, huh?” Eddie chimes in softly, like they’re chatting about the weather.
Steve nods. “I guess, yeah. They were coming pretty fast midway through.”
Eddie turns to Chrissy and teasingly coos. “Such a good girl, huh?”
Robin and Heather both pretend to gag.
“Oh, my God, save it for the bedroom,” Robin says.
Eddie pretends to pout. “But I wanna hear more. I’ve hardly been able to see my girl all week, I wanna hear what she’s been up to.”
“We really don’t have to harp on it,” Chrissy mutters.
“No! Let me!” Steve protests. “When else do I get to brag to someone’s boyfriend about fucking their girlfriend in front of my girlfriend and it’s okay?”
“God, we have such a good job,” Robin sighs wistfully.
Chrissy sighs. “What if I don’t want to talk about it?”
“About what? Be specific,” Eddie teasingly prompts, clearly not realizing Chrissy isn’t playing along.
“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk about when she went all stupid,” Steve smiles.
Eddie leans forward on both his elbows. “Oh, I was just teasing before, but please actually say more.”
Chrissy feels herself go hot. She doesn’t usually “go stupid” on set. “Going stupid’ is a mean name for it, one that she should probably push against, but she knows they’re talking about when she has a harder time speaking. The words are all there, but she can’t get them out. (The actual reason is one she hasn’t admitted to anyone, not even Steve or Eddie, who have heard it a few times; when Chrissy was little, she had a gnarly stutter, one that her parents spent thousands upon thousands of dollars fixing. She had it trained out of her quick — partially out of sheer fear of her parents — but now when she wasn’t focusing on it, as in when someone had fucked half her brains out, it could come back. Lucky for her, men seemed to love a “p-p-please”, not least of which her boyfriend, who would often hear her stutter and ask if “her brain had gone all to her pussy”).
“It’s alright, we figured it out, it was all just ‘please’ and ‘harder’ and ‘I’m coming again I can’t believe it’, anyways,” Steve shrugs.
“She couldn’t believe it?” Eddie sounds almost gleeful.
“That’s what she said,” Steve shrugs. “Seemed very surprised. Even though she was touching herself near constantly, so not sure what she thought was gonna happen.”
Chrissy shrinks in on herself, absentmindedly adjusting her little jean jacket around her.
“If I didn’t know any better I’d say I was jealous,” Eddie smiles. Chrissy feels her tummy knot.
Chrissy reaches out to rest a hand on Eddie’s thigh. “That’s stupid, Eddie. I was performing, I know what I’m doing.”
Eddie pats her hand absentmindedly, dismissively. “She is so precious when she goes all ditzy. Totally built for her job, it’s so cute.”
“We’re in public, at a bar,” Chrissy finally snaps. “We don’t need to talk in depth about me getting railed, do we? It’s fucking work, it’s not special, or romantic. And it’s not automatically part of our shit, Eddie.”
“Say that,” Robin nods. “Little miss agency. Total weird and submissive freak, but little miss agency.”
Eddie looks at Chrissy properly for the first time in a few minutes, and gives her face a little scan. “You’re totally right, Chris.” He’s smiling, easy. “Just teasing you, but of course you’re right.”
Someone clears their throat. Robin starts talking about how some lesbian indie singer just followed her. Chrissy feels like an uptight bitch.
*
Eddie was glad Chrissy pulled the plug on his teasing at the bar when she did, but he feels that immediate guilt he always does over not reading someone properly. She usually likes when they lightly dig into her well-known sexual interests — to be totally honest, it usually ends with her getting him home and giving him eager head and asking him to repeat himself.
But he guessed. He took it for granted and he guessed.
Eddie was a little guilty about it, but mostly deeply relieved that Chrissy was willing to draw a line in the sand the way she did and put him in his place, respectively speaking.
The conversation had moved on, but he sensed that Chrissy never totally shook off the little back-and-forth entirely. She actually stops drinking after her third drink, seemingly avoiding getting plastered—by the time they’re in the car she seems practically clear-eyed.
“Listen, Chris,” Eddie starts after Chrissy finishes fiddling with the AUX cord and popping on some shitty, pseudo-melancholy pop music. “I just want to talk about what went down in there.”
“Nothing went down,” Chrissy shakes her head. She doesn’t sound stubborn, or dismissive. She just sounds like she really doesn’t want to talk about it. “I just wasn’t in the mood for ribbing.”
“Right, but it wasn’t ribbing,” Eddie says. “You correctly pointed out that I was trying to do some light version of our dynamic, and I did it without a check-in. I know we’ve done it enough that we can be a bit more flexible, but that doesn’t make it okay to just dive into.”
Chrissy doesn’t like when Eddie “makes a big thing” (“big thing” is usually just direct communication). But this time she doesn’t fight back.
“It’s okay,” Chrissy says, and it’s earnest. She reaches out to rest a reassuring hand on his thigh. “Really, baby. I wasn’t even thinking about it like that.”
“What were you thinking about it like?” Eddie ventures. He hopes continuing the conversation won’t cause Chrissy to snap shut.
“I was embarrassed. And guilty,” Chrissy answers honestly.
Eddie slows to a stop at a red light and turns to her. “Guilty?”
Chrissy nods quickly, looking a bit like a nervous little kid as she does it.
“Honey, about what?” Eddie says soothingly.
“Well, snapping at you. But also, the whole shoot, to be honest.”
It’s Eddie’s turn to offer a reassuring touch—he reaches across the space to stroke his thumb along her cheekbone. “Did something happen?”
Eddie’s pretty lost, to be honest. They don’t have any boundaries about each other’s shoots. There was nothing she could do that would be a betrayal from Eddie’s perspective. In fact, they rarely even talked about work in detail, unless either of them had an interesting or funny story (or unless Chrissy got like she sometimes did and wanted to listen to Eddie talk about other girls until she was so riled up she basically jumped him). Whole shoots could go by basically unmentioned if both of them came home tired and ready for a joint and dinner.
Chrissy sighs, like she isn’t sure what to say. “It was just a really good shoot.”
Eddie chuckles, confused as to what that has to do with anything. “Okay?”
“I felt like I was getting away with something,” Chrissy says. “I felt like I was getting something just for me.”
“Because you came a few times?” Eddie clarifies.
“No, because I would’ve enjoyed that sex without a camera and a paycheck. That almost never happens. And it definitely hasn’t happened since I’ve been with you.”
Eddie hums thoughtfully. “Alright. Well, we’re almost home. We’ll talk it out, okay?” Knowing where his girl’s head goes—which seems to be immediate abandonment whenever they even skirt near conflict—Eddie adds an afterthought, “I’m not mad at you, by the way.” (Quite the opposite, actually — Eddie is totally indifferent about her good scene and deeply endeared with the way she has communicated so well all throughout tonight. But if he tries to praise her all sickly sweet in the middle of her trying to communicate, she may clam up and accuse him of not taking her seriously).
When they get inside, Chrissy places her purse on the hallway table and clatters her shoes off. She moves directly towards the living room, where she chucks herself onto the couch and looks to him expectantly.
“Am I running this discussion?” Eddie laughs as he moves to go sit on the floor across from her.
Chrissy nods. “Can you? I’m trying my best, but I —”
“I noticed you’re trying your best. You’ve been very communicative tonight,” Eddie nods. “It’s been really good, Chrissy.”
Chrissy shrugs, a little shy. “Alright, well, now I’m stuck, so.”
“How about you just tell me every detail that’s making you feel guilty, and then I’ll let you know how I feel, okay?” Eddie offers.
*
Chrissy appreciates the guidance from Eddie. She doesn’t get the sense this is one of their games — in fact, she gets the sense Eddie is being extra cautious after she snapped at dinner.
So she won’t play it all pouty and breathy, she’ll opt instead to just be honest.
“Okay,” Chrissy nods. “It’s nothing that crazy. I just started the shoot, and I got genuinely horny pretty quick.” Chrissy looks down to her hands, slowly rubs them back and forth in a small, tense gesture. “And then Steve and Billy, I guess, have worked with me enough to read me well.”
“That’s not really detail, that’s just feelings and thoughts. What did they do? Or what did you do?”
“Um, normal shoot position pattern, I’d say. But Steve is really good at, like, touching me? I guess? He’s good at knowing what pushes me over the edge.”
Eddie nods encouragingly. “Okay.”
“So that sort of got me going, and then Billy is just—he’s just—” Chrissy actually knows exactly what she wants to say; she just doesn’t know how to say it to her boyfriend’s expectant face.
“He just…” Eddie prompts and trails off as well, trying to get her to spit it out.
“He fits right.”
Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Huh. Okay.”
“He just fits right, and knows how fast I like it, and so it just happens whether I try for it or not. And it’s not like with you, where I can work on trying to hold it, or where we can start and stop. I was really just —” Chrissy stops herself again. At one point on set she’d been basically silent, her mouth opening and nothing coming out as Billy hammered into the same spot over and over and she came so hard you could hear her soaking him. (“Fucking hell, that’s right,” Billy had gritted out, fist in her hair. “That’s right, Chrissy. You keep coming on it. God, you’re making a mess.”)
“I just really got going, and I couldn’t stop. Actually, when no one was touching me I was handling it myself.”
“Meaning?” Eddie asks.
“Slipped my own fingers in myself and came a few more times.” (Also an understatement. She’d had to pop her mouth off of Steve at one point to work her orgasm out of her properly, half-heartedly stroking him as she crooked her fingers against her own spot. The director had swore under her breath as she missed the chance to have a camera trained on Chrissy coming so hard she did what she rarely did and squirted, her orgasm splashing onto the floor. All they got was her twitching abdomen, a small puddle, and Chrissy’s wet fingers. Chrissy had been so mind drunk at that point she’d just begged for Steve to get back in her mouth and hit the furthest point of her throat).
Eddie nods.
Chrissy can’t stand the silence. “And then, to be honest, I was a little sad when we were done. It was just really good.” Chrissy drops her head into her hands. “Jesus. God, I sound like such a bitch saying that.”
Eddie is quiet for a moment.
“OK. Well in that case, I think you should quit,” Eddie says decisively.
“Really?” Chrissy asks, her heart dropping at the suggestion.
Eddie bursts into laughter. “No! Chrissy, I’m fucking with you! This shit does not matter at all. You had some good sex during a work obligation, where the sex usually sucks. That’s all that it is.”
Chrissy feels relief flood all of her body.
“You’re not a bitch, either. A nympho, maybe. But not a bitch,” Eddie says definitively. “You’re a little sex-addled sweetheart, that’s all.”
The way he says it makes Chrissy’s heart squeeze. He’s shifted gears—gone patronizing and aloof on her in that way she loves.
“You haven’t even asked me about my day,” Eddie follows-up.
“Sorry?” Chrissy guesses at what he wants in response.
“Ask,” Eddie nods encouragingly.
“Did you have an okay day?” Chrissy follows his command.
“Chrissy, I had the best day. I had the hottest fucking scene I’ve had in, like, centuries. And I don’t feel bad about it. Do you want me to feel bad about it?”
Chrissy smiles and feels a rush of warmth in her chest. “No, that’s okay. You can feel good about it.”
“You’re sure there’s no creeping jealousy in there? It was, like, really good.”
“Nuh-uh. Happy for you.” Chrissy means it. Which means she knows Eddie must mean it when he says it about her.
“Would you like to hear about it?” Eddie asks. He stands as he does it, like he’s going to move toward her. Chrissy feels that flutter of blind anticipation she gets when she knows Eddie is going to do something she can’t guess.
Eddie stops in front of her, standing with his legs apart. He reaches for his belt and unhooks it, but pauses before he goes for his jean button.
“I said,” Eddie reiterates with a finger under Chrissy’s chin, tilting her up. “Would you like to hear about today’s girl?”
“Uh-huh,” Chrissy blinks up at him.
Eddie unbuttons his pants and pulls himself out of his boxers with a little sigh.
“I don’t do dirty talk about my work for free,” he murmurs pointedly as he gives himself a few cursory strokes. “How ‘bout you put your mouth on it?”
Chrissy swallows hard. Her jaw is a little sore, voice a little tired.
Eddie seems to sense her hesitancy. “I’m not gonna fuck it, baby. Not after the day you had. You can pick the pace, or just hold it there, I don’t care. But it has to be in your mouth, okay?”
Chrissy is appeased by his words. She leans her elbows onto her knees and cranes her neck out. Eddie takes a small helpful step forward and guides his cock into her mouth.
He lets out a happy hum.
Chrissy looks up at him. Eddie gives her cheek a little tap.
“Cute little thing.”
Chrissy bobs her head once in response to the praise. She wants so much to hear about his day.
Eddie rests his hand on the top of her head. “New girl at work today,” he starts casually. “Same type as everyone else at first glance. Toned, tan, bright-eyed. A little nervous during the paperwork.”
Chrissy swallows around him. Eddie strokes her cheekbone as she hollows around him.
“But then once I started tying her up, I could just sense this shift in her. By the time I had gotten her hands behind her back and her panties down, something in her brain just opened up. She relaxed right into me. She was so pleased when I told her she was doing well, so grateful when she came.”
Chrissy presses herself down on Eddie’s length a little further, spurred on by his lulling voice.
“And this girl fucking loved to get hurt, Chrissy. Just adored it. And she didn’t even know she liked it until I got my hands on her. Had never considered it. It was like I was changing her fucking brain chemistry.”
Almost out of habit, Chrissy gets a rhythm going. She can’t just sit there, it goes against everything in her. Eddie groans softly.
“By the time I was working her last orgasm out of her, she was fucking gone. Just destroyed. I had her saying it’s all yours, sir and meaning it. I asked if her boyfriend was going to be upset about all of her belonging to some random guy like me and she came all over my hand. I called her a slut and she just said again, please. I spat on her and she tried to lick it, I rubbed her ‘til it hurt and she just took it and let her brain shut down. Played with her ass and said that not everyone just takes it anywhere like she does and all she said was I’m sorry if I’m being bad and took another finger. Just an absolute tried and true masochist, who didn’t even know it, and was hand-delivered to my studio. It wasn’t even like work, it was like a fantasy I’d jerk off to in the shower.”
Chrissy gets Eddie down as far as possible and holds herself there.
“You don’t seem all that upset about what I’m telling you,” Eddie grins.
Chrissy pulls off him with a gasp and replaces the movement of her mouth with that of her hand. “M’not. I know what you like, baby. And I know you love me. Some fun new girl on set isn’t gonna change that.”
“So why can’t you cut yourself the same slack?”
Chrissy doesn’t have an answer for that, so opts instead to try and put Eddie back in her mouth.
Eddie grips her by her roots and yanks her away. Chrissy gasps at the sting.
“Not an answer,” Eddie shakes his head.
“It’s hot when I hear you talk about it. About work. It turns me on.” (This is a well-documented fact. Chrissy has an inkling she’s a bit of a voyeur, or something, though she’s never had the opportunity to test this theory out, as she is always the one getting fucked—at work and in her personal life. But Eddie sometimes talks about past scenes while they fool around and it almost always makes Chrissy mind-numbingly horny).
“You think you talking about getting fucked right doesn’t turn me on?” Eddie returns.
“Does it?”
Eddie stares at her like this should be obvious.
*
They rarely have sex on Chrissy’s more intensive shoot days. If she’s working with more than one person, or if it was some sort of multi-part or multi-sex-act shoot, she usually comes home starving, stretches a bit extra, and then lays in bed (or, now that she lives with Eddie, on the couch, because he’s not going to put a TV in his bedroom no matter how much she pleads—that’s for mid-life married couples and people experiencing bed death and is bad for your brain. The bedroom is for sleeping and fucking) until she can’t keep her eyes open.
After a shoot like today, fucking is essentially out of the question.
Essentially being the key word, apparently, because Chrissy has hauled Eddie to the bedroom and is making quick work of his clothing as she straddles him.
“Hey, hey,” Eddie slows her down with a hand pressed to her sternum. “Are you really feeling it, or is this a guilt thing?”
“I wanna tell you more about my day,” Chrissy answers as she reaches behind herself and unzips her top.
Eddie reaches up to trace the curve of one of her tits. “Alright. How about you lie down and we’ll make it even for the head you just gave me, huh?”
Chrissy shakes her head and unbuttons Eddie’s pants. “If I wanted things even or fair in my sex life I’d hardly be dating you, would I?”
Eddie snorts. “I’m capable of reciprocating.”
Chrissy scoots back a little on his thighs so she can get him out of his jeans. “I want to fuck you.”
Eddie tries his best to think clearly as she gets him hard. He hadn’t gotten off when she’d given him head on the couch, which is already making him think at a lag. It’s not technically harmful for her to do anything if she’s feeling like it. She’s, at most, a little sore. And she’s good at setting gaps in her scheduling, so she won’t be all out of sorts for tomorrow or anything.
They should probably talk about it some more. But Chrissy’s literally hovering over him, with the tips of her fingers circling her clit.
Eddie sighs. “Alright, go ahead.”
Chrissy seats herself on Eddie slowly, a little wince appearing on her face as she bottoms out.
“Baby, are you a little sore?” Eddie means it earnestly—he’s hoping she’ll take it as an opening to tap out if she needs.
Instead, though, Chrissy gives him this theatrical pout. “I’m really sore, yeah,” she huffs. Chrissy’s played up tone is a purposeful showing of her hand, a blinking sign of “OKAY, NOW FUCK WITH ME” above her head.
Eddie’s never going to be one to say no. He tips his hips up and she gasps. Her hands grapple out toward his shoulders, looking for something to hold onto. “ Fuck, ” Chrissy hisses. “Fucking sensitive.”
“You took it real hard today, huh?” Eddie asks, stroking a thumb along her hip.
Chrissy nods. “Yes,” she says, and it sounds like it takes effort.
“And that made you feel badly?”
“Felt dirty,” Chrissy answers, taking one more breath before she starts moving up and down on Eddie.
“I don’t mean to minimize your feelings, baby, but you get fucked hard all the time.”
“Don’t usually like it so much,” Chrissy sounds strained as she gives him a bigger bounce. Eddie trusts her to stop when she wants to stop, though it’s taking everything in him not to decide for her. “Don’t like people knowing how to make me like it.”
It’s one of those things that just slips out, the same way that some people get to the heart of their issue at the very end of a therapy session. Make her like it. Huh.
“What do you mean by that last part?”
Chrissy hasn’t looked up at him in a moment, hyperfocused on staring at where she’s riding him slowly and steadily. But his follow-up question has her glancing up at him, as if she just realized what she said.
“Um,” Chrissy considers her words. “I usually have control. Over how much I let myself go on set. Actually, usually in all my sex ever I have control over that.”
Eddie doesn’t mean to, but that brutally slow pace Chrissy is setting has him accidentally thrusting up into her again, one quick twitch of a pump. She makes this fucked-out whimper he’s never heard in his life. “That hurt?”
“Yeah,” Chrissy whines. “But want you to make me - ah - take it, if you want.”
Eddie is going to make her have the most catastrophic orgasm of her life as soon as he can. But he wants her to finish her train of thought. “I want you to keep explaining what you meant.”
Chrissy nods. Her eyes flutter shut, like she’s focusing. “Okay. What was I saying?”
“Fucking bimbo,” Eddie mutters affectionately. Chrissy shudders like he’s just hit a sweet spot. “You were saying you don’t like how people know how to make you like it. I don’t know what you mean.”
“I just meant Steve and Billy, they just really — I was getting all desperate, like I needed them to keep — like they could’ve just kept making me come and I would’ve kept asking. I even got off while I gave them head, I was so —” Chrissy stumbles and stutters, saying all of it like she’s in some confessional.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut to keep from coming at the image of Chrissy having one of her hazy-eyed final orgasms while giving two smirking men her desperate porn-star-trained head. “Fuck, Chrissy, that is so hot. God, they broke you in, didn’t they?”
“I came all over the floor,” Chrissy whispers almost imperceptibly. “Without even meaning to.”
Eddie’s going to pay full price for this scene when it drops. He’s going to watch it in his bathroom with headphones in like a teenage boy.
“I’ve never had that on set, I felt so — I never thought anyone would be able to get how I tick like that, it’s how I kept control, and now I have a fucking boyfriend and fucking coworkers who can just work me over like it’s nothing. It’s so fucking vulnerable, Eddie.” Chrissy sounds like she’s about to start crying or coming or maybe both.
“Okay. Hey, it’s okay. What’s gonna make it less scary, baby? What do we need to do?” Eddie asks softly.
Chrissy considers his offer. “I think,” she finally says, “I just have to learn to trust you guys to not misuse what you know about me.”
Eddie smiles up at her.
She looks down at him with a frown. “What? Why are you smiling like that?”
“Chrissy, did you just say you were going to start letting people in ? You’re gonna let go like that?” Eddie can’t believe she’s not processing this as a breakthrough like he is.
Chrissy smiles shyly. “I mean, is there another option?”
Close up tight like she used to. That’s another option. Or ask people to stop getting her to a level where she’s experiencing pleasure that untethers her. That’s another option. But why put ideas in her head? Why let her choose a worse option?
“No, baby, you’re right. That’s the only one,” Eddie nods. “Now how about you let me make you like it some more, okay?”
Eddie slips two of his fingers into his own mouth before sliding them under Chrissy.
She makes this startles little ah gasping noise that makes Eddie feel like his eyes are going to roll back in his head. It’s not like it’s a surprise for him or for Chrissy that he’s so into it. All he ever wants to do is make girls come until it hurts. He likes ruining nice things for nice girls. He’s not ashamed of it. Would he be rich like he is if it was shameful?
“Gosh, that sounds like it’s pretty sensitive,” Eddie plays dumb, rubbing his fingers in quick circles that are making Chrissy’s thighs tug inward and outward without her even meaning them to.
“It is — it’s, it’s —” Chrissy starts to stutter.
“It’s – it’s — what? Good? Bad?” Eddie presses harder. Chrissy makes this accidental little grunt and tries to squirm away from him. He holds her down by the hip and she gives in immediately. He loves his life so much. He must have done good in a past life to just manhandle submissive freaks who take it and sniffle all day long in this one.
“If I come it’s going to hurt so fucking much,” Chrissy calls out, like she’s explaining it to herself.
“I know, sweetie. Why do you think I’m so excited about it?” Eddie asks rhetorically.
“I came a lot today,” Chrissy whines.
“Yeah, you did,” Eddie nods. “Went to work and got fucked and fucked and it still wasn’t enough, had to rub a few more out while you gave head, and then you came home and fucked me . And now you’re surprised that it hurts. You have an excess issue.”
With the hand still on Chrissy’s hip, Eddie holds her down and starts moving her in a back and forth motion.
Chrissy chokes on a whine. “God, it’s gonna be too much, Eddie.”
Eddie shakes his head. “It’s not gonna kill you. It’s important you do it, Chris. Didn’t you just say you’re gonna start trusting the people who can handle you right?’
Eddie can tell Chrissy is close, but in desperate need of that extra edge to push her over. He pulls the two fingers that were touching her away and back into his mouth. Chrissy doesn’t even seem to notice, eyes shut and shoulders tight, seeming to be both chasing and running away from her climax.
As her lips part with another shaky inhale, Eddie sticks his two fingers past her lips—one quick, fluid jab to the back of her throat.
Chrissy is startled by the intrusion, a reflexive, almost-dry cough of a heave leaving her mouth as Eddie prods the back of her throat.
“What? Didn’t you like that earlier?” Eddie smiles.
Some spittle trails after Eddie’s fingers from Chrissy’s mouth, breaking their connection along her lips and the bottom of her chin.
Chrissy cracks then, holding herself down on Eddie with a groan. “Fuck, oh my God, no, holy fuck.”
And then, before she’s even come down, she starts grinding on Eddie at an almost vicious speed. Her eyes open in a wild panic as Chrissy slips her hand down to press the heel of her palm against her clit, rubbing in hopelessly rough circles. She’s making this sound, this sort of constant ah, ah, that lifts an octave every few gasps.
“Jesus fuck,” Chrissy finally sputters. “Oh, I’m gonna — again, I’m gonna come again, oh —”
Eddie resists the urge to thrust up into her, resists the teenage boy urge to go faster or harder when what your partner actually needs is for you to just keep doing exactly what they’re doing. By the way Chrissy is riding him like he’s not even there, what he needs to keep doing is absolutely nothing.
“Fucking Christ,” Eddie murmurs. “You fucking snapped, huh? You ever ride your own hand like that before? I’ve never seen you rub yourself like that. Working yourself like you’re losing feeling down there.”
Chrissy tries to say something, or at least he thinks she does, but her jaw just goes slack. As she comes, one eye thuds shut, like a broken estate sale doll.
She looks a fucking mess. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone more. He needs to know how to do this to her more often, how to make it like this all the time.
Chrissy is writhing on him, body and brain at total disconnect as she seems torn between pulling off him and grinding some more.
“My goodness, did someone break? Does my baby need someone to slap her back into shape? Huh?” Eddie coos.
Eddie sits up a little and takes her by the jaw so she stills. Chrissy is wild-eyed. Eddie removes his hand, but only distances it a few inches before giving Chrissy one firm tap to the cheek.
It’s like something in Chrissy’s head lodges back into place—or maybe just lodges into a more docile place. She stills, and she quiets, and then she lifts her hands up and away from where they were clinging to Eddie.
“Sorry, you just —” she speaks so, so softly, almost inaudibly. “You just tell me what to do. Please. I need — please.”
Eddie could tell from the way Chrissy looked to him that she was in desperate need of some guidance. He sensed that her consciousness was floating about five feet above her actual body.
“Okay, how about we get you onto your tummy,” Eddie starts, opting for a softer tone in hopes of relaxing her taut shoulders and the way she’s submissively folding up and into herself.
Chrissy nods and allows Eddie to carefully swing her leg over his body, gently easing himself out of her.
He’s so in his body that he feels like his brain is stuffed with fleece; not particularly conducive to managing the suddenly very pliant and unguarded Chrissy. He has to come soon.
Chrissy seems able to hold onto Eddie’s command, easing herself first onto all fours and then gradually flat down onto her stomach on the mattress. (He watches her do this move in yoga often—the chipper woman on TV guiding Chrissy from a plank onto her stomach and then up into a back-bendy cobra. Chrissy probably uses these flexibility practices more than anyone else at any other day job besides the virtual yoga teacher herself). She even has the wherewithal to reach for a pillow and rest it under her head, though Eddie gently takes it from her before she’s settled.
“How about this, instead?” Eddie suggests softly, lifting her hips up and sliding the pillow under it. “I think your back has probably taken enough strain today, huh?”
(The arches required of girls in mainstream porn when they were taking backshots were pretty absurd. It made a pretty shape on camera, but it was a killer on the small of your back, no matter how much you prepped for it. Eddie just doesn’t want any repercussions that can’t be resolved from one good night’s sleep after Chrissy going so hard today).
Chrissy nods and folds her arms under herself for a makeshift rest for her head.
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks and runs a hand down her back—she doesn’t flinch or tense, and seems happy to be pet gently. “You’ve gone a bit quiet for my liking.”
“Can’t think,” Chrissy responds softly. “Done thinking.”
“Should we wrap up?” Eddie suggests. Eddie usually tries to keep his language open-ended in these power dynamics, so it’s easy for those playing with him to answer honestly, For example, he doesn’t ask if someone’s having fun (unless he’s being actively condescending mid-scene). Instead, he asks how they feel. And he doesn’t ask if they’d like for something to happen (unless, again, he’s mid-scene and asking for someone to beg for something painful or shameful), he instead asks what they think about the act he’s negotiating.
But sometimes there’s no option but to be as specific as can be. Eddie can’t read minds, and can’t tell if Chrissy feels positively about the way she’s gone all soft, or if she’s avoiding answering in fear of disappointing.
“If you’re done with me,” Chrissy answers.
“Never done with you, silly,” Eddie kisses between her shoulder blades softly.
“I’m having fun,” Chrissy finally sighs against the crook of her elbow, half-sulky, like Eddie’s just suggested it’s time for bed or for her to finish her plate.
Eddie smiles. “I am, too. I just wanted to check.”
“Softie,” Chrissy grumbles.
Eddie laughs in earnest, surprised by her complaint. He leans forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Apologies. I didn’t understand I was dealing with such a bossy bottom. I’ll stop caring about your wellbeing.”
Eddie lines himself up with Chrissy and pushes in with one fluid motion. Chrissy inhales tightly.
“Did you forget what this was going to feel like while you were getting all comfy?” Eddie says — too softly, too sweetly — as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear.
Chrissy just places her forehead against her wrists and whimpers.
Eddie’s not comfortable with her going so quiet on him, even if she is just trying to enjoy herself and focus. With one hand balancing on her hip, he reaches forward and gently holds her hair in his fist. Not pulling, just gathering it.
“Chrissy,” Eddie instructs. “Every time I push into you, I’d like to hear a thank you, sir . Do you understand me?”
Chrissy hums affirmatively. Eddie tests it out by thrusting deep and fast into her.
“Thank you, sir,” Chrissy rushes out.
“Atta girl,” Eddie murmurs. “You’re very welcome.”
Eddie sets a steady pace then, not wanting to rush the choked little gratitude Chrissy forces out every time his hips are flush against her asscheeks.
“How’re we feeling?” Eddie pauses deep inside of her, when a thank you, sir comes out particularly strained.
“I’m —” Chrissy breathes. “I think I might be able to have another one.”
“Might be able to, or might want to?” Eddie urges a clarification.
Chrissy bites down on her lip as Eddie (who is not going to be able to hold himself together for another second) grinds into her as he waits for her response.
“I can’t tell, I can’t tell,” Chrissy rushes out. “I don’t want to decide that, please.”
Eddie kisses the back of her neck. “I’ll pick for you after I’m through with you, okay?”
“Thank you,” Chrissy utters under her breath.
Eddie gives two more sharp thrusts into Chrissy (with two equally quick and sharp thank you, sirs being uttered in response) before pinning her hips down and coming with a strained exhale.
“God, you’re good for that,” Eddie whispers with a little tap to Chrissy’s hip. Chrissy sighs, almost princess-like, in response.
Eddie is quick to roll Chrissy over after he pulls out, wanting to be able to watch her carefully for cues she may not be capable of or wanting to share.
Eddie parts her legs gently. “You want another still?” he asks as he thumbs gently along her clit. Before Chrissy can answer, Eddie slips his two center fingers inside her. Chrissy’s head falls back against the mattress and a weak groan comes from somewhere deep and unencumbered within her.
Chrissy’s hot to the touch. Eddie feels almost empathetic toward how sensitive she must be. Almost. He begins crooking his fingers at a quick enough pace—not brutal, but not easy.
“Oh,” Chrissy sits up on her elbows, as if a thought has just occurred to her. She says it like she’s about to ask Eddie to add oat milk to the grocery list. “Eddie, didn’t you just come in me?”
“Yeah?” Eddie laughs, confused as to what her point is.
“And now you’re —” Chrissy looks down at where he continues to thrust his fingers inside of her. “Touching me. Where you just—”
“Is that seriously making you squeamish?” Eddie chuckles. “It’s my own come, baby. We gotta expand your palette a bit, huh? Those sanitized sets are getting to you, got you thinking about the same four sex acts in the same order.”
Eddie speeds the movements of his fingers up. Chrissy’s upper body collapses back down.
“Did you really make a mess today on set? Or were you just saying that?” Eddie muses as he pauses his motions to rub at the soft spot inside of Chrissy and see her squirm.
“I did,” Chrissy swallows hard. “I almost never—definitely not by myself on set. But it just came out.”
“That doesn’t happen by yourself or on set, huh?” Eddie pulls away from her briefly so he can get flat on his stomach and properly angle his hand. Eddie doesn’t want to show his hand too early, but thinks he’s probably safe with the way Chrissy’s been totally spaced the last half hour. He risks hinting at what he’s aiming for by laying his spare palm flat on her tummy. “So where does it happen?”
“With you,” Chrissy answers, seemingly not even picking up on the way that Eddie is so obviously fishing.
Eddie speeds up his movements even more. Chrissy’s thighs twitch, and she lets out a moan that borders on dejected, almost as if she’s surprised by what she’s feeling.
“I guess that does happen sometimes,” Eddie muses. “You do occasionally make a mess.”
It actually is pretty rare that Chrissy squirts. Eddie’s been with people where it’s basically a guarantee, and Chrissy is not one of those people. Which is fine. Eddie feels neutral about it, maybe even a little soured or cynical about it in the sense it’s almost demanded in modern porn. But something about the fact that Chrissy’s already done it today makes him want to see if he can work it out of her one more time.
He feels fairly confident it will happen with the way she’s so relaxed; having to accept just taking what Eddie’s offering, and far beyond being capable of her usual performativity.
Eddie feels his brow furrowing as he moves quickly, massaging in upward strokes with flexes of his forearm in the way that tends to do the trick.
“You must be happy with how today went,” Eddie begins laying on the degradation thick, wanting to take her out from the knees figuratively speaking and get her to really give into his touch. “Worn out by three men? You sure can take a pounding. You’ve got, like, factory made pussy.”
Chrissy has begun an almost chant of oh god oh god oh god from where she lays above Eddie.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got the job you’ve got. Who knows what depraved things you’d agree to on days like this if you didn’t have friends who liked railing you on camera, huh?.”
A rattled gasp cuts through Chrissy as she comes against Eddie’s movements.
Eddie presses firmly on her stomach and she comes the way he wants her to, dampening the sheets below her as she groans. Eddie thinks she may be trying to say something, but it’s coming out as soft nonsense.
“There we fucking go,” Eddie’s voice wavers with the speed of his arm’s movements. “Fucking slut. Ruined, aren’t you? Well-used.”
“I’m not — am I actually fucking squirting right now?” Chrissy asks in a voice so high and devastated that Eddie actually has to bite his lip to keep from moaning.
“You can’t tell?” Eddie asserts meanly. “You are. All over my clean sheets. Sit up and look.”
Chrissy lifts her head in time to see the last twist of Eddie’s fingers push a little more out of her.
As if out of her control, one of Chrissy’s hands flies out to swat at Eddie’s hand as her thighs close in. “I’m — I — Fuck, no, it’s actually — I’m—God, I think you broke me.”
Think you broke me echoes through Eddie’s head like a poem, just the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.
Chrissy looks almost frightened by her own sensitivity, trying her best to scramble back into the headboard and away from Eddie’s touch.
“Okay, okay, okay, easy,” Eddie says softly. “Not touching you anymore, you’re done, you’re done.”
Chrissy seems not to be hearing him as she mutters her own desperate pleas. “I’m done, I can’t, I feel so —”
Eddie crawls up the bed and pulls Chrissy toward him—noting her instinctive flinch away from him. Once he gets her against his side, arms wrapped around her tight, she settles a little.
“Okay, alright,” Eddie soothes. “You’re fine.”
“Sorta, like, dizzy,” Chrissy says against his shoulder.
Eddie’s not stressed. When they push Chrissy, she tends to have a bodily response—sometimes gets hiccupy, or even a little tummyachey, like the sensitivity or intensity of their play leaks into other parts of her.
Chrissy doesn’t usually get this skittish. In fact, Eddie’s not sure if he’s seen Chrissy this wild-eyed, ever.
Which is when it dawns on Eddie that maybe Chrissy has been a little bit overstimulated and dopamine-overloaded not just since they got home, but maybe even at the bar, maybe even at the shoot. And this is the first time she’s been tended to since then— which meant she’d been a little off for hours .
Eddie isn’t able to check with in her in her currently wired state.
“Okay. One deep breath for me. In the nose, out the mouth.”
Chrissy takes the instruction well, and he feels her settle into his touch better.
He decides to go through his bare bones checklist, utilized when someone is genuinely fucked right out of sorts. He’s found that asking things like “are you hungry/thirsty/do you want to be touched” can be really difficult for someone genuinely overstimulated, which Chris seems to be at the moment.
“Do you feel hot or cold?” Eddie asks.
“Cold,” Chrissy responds.
Eddie reaches for their duvet and begins tucking it around her as a placeholder.
“Do you feel like there’s too much on you or too little?” Eddie isn’t sure how she could feel like there’s too much on her considering she’s ass naked, but he could figure something out. He mainly wants to see if she feels overexposed.
“Neither. Fine.”
Eddie nods. No adjustments needed.
“Is it easy to breathe?”
“Yes.”
Eddie runs a finger across the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t flinch or wince, which is good, but she doesn’t lean in to the touch either, which he’d prefer.
“Do you feel clean or dirty?”
“Like on my insides?”
Eddie laughs softly. “No, your insides can be whatever they want. I mean your body.”
“What part?”
“Any part. Could be your hair, could be your skin, could be where I was just touching you.”
“Don’t feel dirty, but think I’ll wake up feeling gross if I don’t clean myself.”
“Okay. Does a shower sound like a lot?”
Chrissy nods against him.
“Okay. That’s fine. Do you feel happy when I touch you right now? Safe?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. I can clean you up here, then. Or bring you something to clean yourself up. Same with brushing and braiding your hair.”
“Okay.”
Eddie extricates himself carefully from where he was laying half underneath Chrissy and moves to the bathroom to find a hair brush, some dry shampoo, some baby wipes, some mouthwash and a disposable cup. All evil sadist man essentials.
*
“Baby?” Eddie asks from the foot of the bed, where he’s gently running fingertips along her shin.
Chrissy got really fucked up at the end of tonight. She felt like a big long discordant piano chord, all jangled and loud. She’d been ready to kick Eddie square in the chest at one point, simply out of chaotic panic.
She didn’t want to talk about it with him, because she didn’t know how to explain it. He’d essentially shut her down, her brain going into some chaotic reboot after he’d fucked her so good she’d literally started losing control of things like speech and movement. It was so beautiful and so terrifying.
“Mm?” Chrissy asks, and pretends to be really focused on the moisturizer she’s carefully applying after removing her make-up. Eddie had brought her a whole little self-cleaning station as he settled her, looking at her and letting her take the lead like she was a wild horse who needed soothing.
“I have to ask you something. It’s okay if you don’t know or don’t remember,” Eddie begins.
Chrissy can’t help the displeased wrinkle in her nose as she looks at him. “Kay.”
“Not a big deal thing. Just, you know when you got sorta noodley on me?”
Chrissy thought dating a man in BDSM would be all this fancy lingo, that it would be like constantly utilizing the terminology found in the subsections of the BDSM test she took online at 17. Instead, outside of work, outside of play, her boyfriend used terms like “noodley”.
“Like when I go quiet? Or need more help moving through stuff?” Chrissy asks.
Eddie nods encouragingly at her descriptor. “Mm. Yeah. That.”
“I understand,” Chrissy nods. “From all the, like, dopamine. Your brain can get fuzzy.”
Eddie pats her ankle. “Good student,” he smiles. Chrissy grins back. “Yes. That,” Eddie affirms. “Did that happen earlier today? Maybe before I was even around?”
Chrissy pauses her motions, stops massaging her cream along her jawline. “Um. I dunno.”
Eddie squints, appraising her. “You don’t know? Or you think I’ll be upset with you for sharing?”
Chrissy drops her gaze. “Things got a little funky at the end of the shoot, yeah. I did some stuff I probably normally wouldn’t because I was feeling … noodley.”
“And did that feeling ever totally go away?”
Chrissy thinks back—to her clinging to Steve, to her irrational defensiveness at drinks, to all her hazyness the moment she sat on the couch.
“I don’t think so,” Chrissy says, sounding almost surprised.
Eddie nods. “And were you okay letting that happen on a set?
“I was scared.” Chrissy doesn’t realize that’s how she was feeling until she says it aloud. She feels her eyes brim briefly and sharply with tears. “It’s usually all play pretend. I felt a little scared that it wasn’t. That I can relax enough now that some stuff can affect me on set is, um, it should be good but it’s—scary.”
Eddie nods, like it makes perfect sense. “Maybe this is something we should be talking about? With some of your scene partners?”
Chrissy feels a little defensive flare in the center of her chest. “How? ‘Steve, please don’t fuck me well, my brain shuts down and I let anyone do what they want for a good time?’ Does that sound good?”
Eddie flinches a little at her defensiveness. “Chris. There are ways to talk about it all that keep everyone safe. Had to do it today when that girl went a little hazy on me. Didn’t change anything, didn’t even go easy on her. Just had to talk out what was happening. You deserve to protect big feelings.”
Chrissy nods.
“Healthy and safe first, yeah? Always. Don’t ever want you feeling scared or overexposed.”
“Healthy and safe,” Chrissy reiterates.
Eddie leans down and presses a kiss to her ankle. “I’ll take care of the big feelings here. We don’t need to outsource that.”
“What if I can’t help it? What about next time?”
“You enjoy what you’re comfortable with, and if that brain starts going a little haywire, you call a break and call your boyfriend, who is perfect and has the perfect solution to everything. He’ll talk you through it.”
“Not that simple,” Chrissy sighs.
“Oh, but it is,” Eddie grins, all mean corners and pretty white teeth. “It absolutely is. You’re a very simple girl, Christine. Easiest nut I’ve ever cracked, actually. Just want it hard and want it lots, and want to feel a little bad while you get it. It’s why you’re my favorite.”
Chrissy feels her brain sizzle the slightest bit at that comment alone, like water droplets on a hot stove.