Chapter 1

Dawn gazed down at the man sweating underneath her. He'd been there for the past hour and a half, working desperately to earn to his paycheck. Thanks to the wonders of modern medicine- misapplied, like many other things in her recent life- he'd been rock hard the entire time and would, quite likely, be hard for another hour or so to boot.

Rather than a use a traditional shoot, her company, J and O Productions, had been able to cut down on the personnel required at a scene by building what they referred to as "The Playroom." Littered with cameras and audio pick-ups, The Playroom allowed the company to conduct a shoot without anyone physically present, instead requiring only that the raw footage be edited together to create a film. Despite the fact that the angles were fixed, The Playroom allowed J and O Productions to coax in those who would otherwise be fearful of appearing in their films, able to offer them reassurances that only the performers would be directly present during a shoot. This had enabled them to draw in amateurs and practitioners of some rather ... unusual ... forms of sexuality, happy to be able to do their thing without having a director barking instructions or a cameraman wandering around trying to get a better view of proceedings. In the end, the trade off was more than worth it, especially at times like these.

The performer underneath her was a consummate professional. He'd be more than happy to appear on a conventional shoot. But Dawn wanted this to be special, private. For legal reasons, if nothing else. The man she was riding, bareback, wouldn't be able to appear with her under normal circumstances. Some things she could get around; voice-modulation software they used to clean up the vocals during a performance had allowed her to leave messages for him; handling the negotiations at arm's length via the company had taken care of most of the rest. Only a few things couldn't be directly disguised, forcing her to wear a bondage mask, a full-body leather and Lycra suit, and to keep as quiet as possible, much to her ongoing distress. It was so good.

For a long time, Dawn had been desperate to fall pregnant. Her husband had divorced her some time ago, which had initially forced her into the business. But she had plans in place to punish him for his actions, oh yes ... During the nineties, things had been hairy at times, but Dawn had managed to dodge all the bullets and was still going strong, having learned how to work behind the camera as well as in front of it.

Her thoughts were bought abruptly back to the present as Brad's hands clamped down on her hips. "Fuck, yes. Fuck me. Why don't you ever talk to me, honey? Why don't you ever tell me your name?" Looking down through the slitted mask, Dawn smiled. Why don't I ever tell you my name? Because I'm not sure how you'd take it. Because I need your cock, and I don't want to loose it, not yet any way. Because until I'm sure I'm going to be having your baby, I'm not going to give this up. No hope.

He groaned, then moved his hands up to the leather cups around her breasts, gently lifting and squeezing them. "And why do I never get to see these, touch them properly?"

Because if you saw them, you might know. You might recognise the pattern of moles and the tan lines. Though why you'd be looking there normally...

Dawn gasped, renewing her efforts on him. She knew exactly what to do to induce his ejaculation, how to move, how to clamp down on him, how to run her gloved hands across him. Leaning in for a kiss, she felt him spasm, shooting his cum inside her, adding it to his previous two efforts. Still not content, Dawn straightened back up, intending to continue her assault. This time, Brad was having none of that; he reached up, took her by the shoulders, and twisted, throwing her down onto the bed. Dawn panicked. What if he tried to unmask her? She'd taken a risk last time, untying him a week ago during their marathon session. He'd behaved himself them, leading to her decision this week, but now he could throw that all into disarray...

Brad put his hands behind her head. Dawn blanched. "Can I see your face, baby? Please? This is the fourth time we've done this. I want to know who I'm with. I want to see her." Dawn shook her head, preparing to fight or run, depending on what opportunities presented themselves. She couldn't afford for Brad to know who she was.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Maybe next time, huh? We're still on the clock, though. Mind if I go on top this time?"

Dawn felt a surge of arousal, her vaginal sheath tightening on his rampant cock. He laughed, even before she could nod. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

Rearing up, he repositioned Dawn, laying her more comfortably on the bed and lifting a pillow beneath her raised head. Then he slid back down onto her, holding her in his arms and kissing her exposed mouth, sliding his tongue between her lips for a French kiss. It was wonderful, better still when he started moving. Multi-orgasmic, Dawn had gone unfulfilled for many years, all the way up to embarking on her new career. Only lengthy gang-bang scenes, medicated co-stars, or living out her fantasies as she did now had given her real satisfaction, and this was one of the best, one she'd acted out by herself so many times in the dark; Brad on top of her, pumping away in her depths, adding to the loads he'd left behind. It was better than she'd dared imagine. Soon, she was gasping, moaning, and grunting as he rode her to another orgasm. No answering spurt from him, though, milked almost dry during their furious lovemaking throughout the day.

Dragging herself back to some kind of coherency, Dawn attempted a thick accent to disguise her voice. "Do me doggy."

"Doggy style?" Brad asked, with an arched eyebrow. Yes, Dawn ached to answer. Do me doggy style. Breed your bitch. Make her yours. Silently, she nodded. He slipped out of her backed down the bed, then knelt, waiting for her to assume the position.

Rolling over onto outstretched arms, Dawn settled onto all fours. Turning back to look at him, Dawn rasped out a single word, risking discovery again. "Hard."

Brad chuckled. "Oho, getting daring, are we?"

Worn down by the day's efforts, it took Dawn some time to get used to the constant, slamming fuck she was getting. The many joys of youth; with the drug keeping him hard, the only limit to their performance was their own endurance, something that was beginning to flag. It took Dawn the best part of a week to get over these sessions physically, though she was still randy throughout, desperate to get back into the studio. The first two times had been experimental; last time had been her best attempt, and this was to try again. Of course, she wouldn't really know for sure if her efforts had been in vain for a week or so yet, but even in a worst-case scenario, all that would mean was a few more sessions like this. Definitely not the worst thing in the world...

Though her body continued to rock and she made the appropriate noises, Dawn allowed her mind to wander. This had been a long time coming. She'd first seriously considered the idea some eight months ago, when she heard through the grapevine that Brad had entered the world of porn, but it had taken a while to consider the logistics and then work up the courage to do what she was attempting. Without a husband or partner, doctors had been reluctant to prescribe her anything that could improve her chances of conception. Thankfully her business had provided a solution there; they'd discovered a doctor at a major fertility clinic was one of their best customers, and with the threat of exposure married to the reward of all their catalogue at his fingertips, he'd caved in and made the same course of hormones issued to infertile customers available to her.

Dawn wanted the best chance possible for this to work out. From there, it had been a matter of convincing Brad to ride bareback, something performers were loath to do these days. A few more falsified medical documents- not that she had anything, any way- in her stage name, along with a hefty sum of money and an extended contract- had swayed him, though, leading perfectly into last week's first attempt at fertilisation and this week's follow-up effort. Nothing could be guaranteed, but Dawn and her medical "assistant" had ascertained that this week would be her most fertile time, and she had done her best to take advantage of that.

Tuning back in, Dawn found Brad ready to finish again, using his hands on her hips to saw her back and forth as he dragged himself to orgasm. Finishing in her, he fell over backwards, exhausted by his hard day's work. An alarm sounded in the background, signalling an end to proceedings even if either of them felt up to going on. Stretching languorously, Dawn found herself face to face with Brad, who smiled and slid and arm around her. Cuddling up, he kissed her, again darting his tongue into her mouth, drawing out the moment. Intimacy not usually reserved for a co-star, especially in this business, Dawn thought, revelling in it. Gently squeezing her, Brad let her go, sitting on the end of the bed and staring into the distance.

"You know, I'd really like to know who you are. You're fantastic. And, you know, if you're not doing anything later..." He trailed off, looking expectantly back at her. Drawing herself up onto one elbow, Dawn gave a wry grin, but shook her head. Her heart fluttered. Brad wanted her. " ... no, of course not. I guess it was silly to ask. Well, next week, I guess. I'll see you then." Disappointed, he slunk out of the room, off to the facility's showers and, from there, home.

Dawn got up herself, crossed the room to the other door, opening it and sliding the deadbolt closed. Slipping on a handy pair of panties and sliding a pad down into their crotch to sop up the semen still spilling out of her, she went up into the control room, stopped the cameras and began to watch the playback.

Brad had been fantastic. He'd truly outdone himself.

One Week Later:

Brad wiped the remains of dinner away from his mouth, feeling bloated after the massive plate of spaghetti he'd just consumed. He still wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew better than to ask. If she really was loosing the plot, she'd take it out on him; if not, if it was just another one of her impulses, it would pass soon enough any way. She was constantly fidgeting, looking away every time he made eye contact with her. Giggling at his jokes like a little girl. Twirling her hair around her finger whilst she spoke. Almost as though she was flirting with him. But that was insane.

However, there was definitely something up. Excusing himself from the table, Brad made his way to the toilet/bathroom of his mother's one-room apartment. Relieving himself, his eye was drawn to the small bin beside the toilet itself, usually a haven for dead cardboard rolls and the other mysterious detritus of feminine hygiene. Wait, what was that?

Zipping himself up, Brad knelt, lifting away a tissue covering the object that had drawn his interest. A pregnancy test? What the hell? And ... it's blue. Brad's brow wrinkled. So that's what this was about. She wants to tell me about this, but can't figure out how. And she's nervous and spun up, and ... whose is it? Dad's gone, she's not dating anyone ... not that I know of, any way. Well, she'll tell me when she's ready. If she's ready. I'll just drop some hints for her during desert.

Waiting patiently and fishing for information from his mother had been a chore. Brad had hoped she'd be ready to confide in him, as that was obviously why she'd invited him over for supper, but apparently it wasn't to be. As the inanities progressed, Brad paid less and less attention, thinking about tomorrow and his ongoing arrangement with the mystery woman. Eventually, his mother shocked back into the moment when she stopped talking and stared at him intently. "Have you even been listening to a word I've said?" "Uh ... no. Sorry. I, uh ... kinda lost it there. Ah ... what did you say?" "I said, so how about you? Met anyone special lately?" Oh, here it comes. She's working around to it. Maybe it was a one-night stand? "Well, kinda," he said, thinking about the mystery woman. How she tightened up when she came. The little noises she tried to choke back. The softness of her lips, the only part of her she ever let him see aside from her genitals ... He coughed, feeling a familiar stirring. Now wasn't the time." Maybe. I don't know. There is this one girl-"

"Oh," she jumped in. "How do you know her? Do you work with her? Did you meet in a bar somewhere?" She giggled. "Would I know her?" "I kinda work with her. I guess. I don't know her that well. I asked her out the last time I was with her, and she didn't seem interested. But I don't know, I kinda hope that she might change her mind." His mother eyed him off. "Maybe she was just afraid to say yes. Professionalism, and all that. Any girl would be lucky to have you." "Hah. Yeah. Well, I guess you never know..."

Brad subsided into silence. If she was going to say it, now would be the time. Instead, the silence just lengthened, deepened. She wasn't going to say anything, after all. Brad cleared his throat. "Well, I guess that's dinner done. Do you need a hand cleaning up?" A formal offer, really, since she had a dishwasher and loved using it. Thankfully, she gave the answer he was hoping for. "No, son. I'll just throw it in the dishwasher. Besides, you need to get home soon. Tomorrow will be a busy day, I'm sure."

Relieved to be getting out of the awkwardness, Brad stacked his used dishes and cutlery, then shrugged into his jacket before delivering the obligatory kiss on the cheek and round of goodnights and goodbyes. Oh, yes, he thought. Tomorrow's going to be busy like you won't believe...

The next day:

Dawn was beside herself. Both of the next stages of her plan were coming to fruition. Her home pregnancy tests had been banding blue since Wednesday, and her trip to the doctor on Thursday had confirmed it. From the changes made to her artfully-arranged wastebasket, she knew that Brad had made the discovery last night. J and O Productions, baby. Jocasta and Oedipus. So long as he doesn't know until it's time. And as long as there's no eye removal involved...

Disappointingly, today was the last day she'd be with Brad, at least in the immediate future. Still contracted for another two appearances including today, the perfect opportunity to make use of him had presented itself that very morning, meaning that she'd have to make today count for as much as was possible. She'd decided to give Brad a treat; instead of the full suit, she was wearing a pair of crotchless panties, a long pair of opaque stockings held in place by a suspender belt, and a specially-made bondage top consisting of a corset with cut-away bra cups and long sleeves with matching gloves. With most of her distinguishing moles and blemishes covered by the material over her cleavage, Dawn was reasonably sure that Brad wouldn't be able to recognise her, but the outfit gave him better access than he'd ever enjoyed before, as well as a clear view at her breasts. Although she thrilled at the thought of having her son fucking her whilst she was pregnant with their child, she was disappointed by the knowledge that today could be their last chance. Once she began showing, she wouldn't be able to take the risk, but there was no guarantee that he'd renew his contract, especially after her seeming rejection of his advances last week.

Swallowing nervously, she unlocked the door. Brad waited on the other side, smiling broadly. Her eyes immediately fell to his erection; he followed her gaze. Grinning lecherously at her exposed body, Brad reached down, effortlessly picked her up, and carried her to the bed. Laying her down gently, he sent two hands questing across her, one hand reaching for a breast, the other sliding to the juncture of her legs. Finding her already wet, he nudged her legs apart, then slowly eased himself into her, beginning to fuck her.

Dawn relaxed. He was magnificent, rearing above her. She thought of him striving to bring them both off, ignorant of the truth. Completely unaware that his efforts had already paid off. Blind to the fact that she was already pregnant. Through slitted eyes, Dawn watched her son at work, giving him free reign to take her as he pleased, penance for rejecting his advances last week. The e-mails she'd sent during the week had indicated a change of contact, including a substantial bonus payment. Her body was his for the session, to be used in whatever positions he desired so long as he always came within her vagina and did not engage in anal sex. If he agreed to it, she would kill the lights- switching the cameras over to infra-red- and remove the costume, allowing him unprecedented access to her body. Her heart was still in her mouth, hoping that he'd take her up on that offer as he'd said he would answer that in person rather than via impersonal e-mails.

Three orgasms and an hour and a half later, the moment of truth arrived. Brad embraced her tightly, whispering "Turn off the lights, love."

Dawn smiled victoriously. Sashaying across the room, she manipulated the wall switches, plunging the room into darkness and activating the cameras' IR functionality. Undoing the complicated knotting of the corset, she made her way across the room, stripping her clothes away completely. Feeling her way to the bed, she found Brad waiting for her, his rands ready to roam over her body. He reached first to her head, running his hands through her hair. She'd had a haircut before the day's play and would have another one later that afternoon, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to identify her by that. His fingertips moved across her face, as though he was trying to imagine her smooth beauty. But without eyes, he had no idea of who she was. Frustrated in his attempts to identify her, Brad gave up and drew her down on top of him, ordering her to ride him cowgirl style. Smiling in the blackness, she obliged, making more noise than usual in her heightened state of arousal. This time, the cameras would leave no doubt to the identity of the two people participating in the act.

That delicious thought alone bought her to an almost-instant orgasm...

Allison sighed and tried to pay attention. Things had been going badly for her since she'd left home to pursue studies at University. Her casual job at a clothing store had slowly cut her hours back, eventually leaving her unable to cover her rent and weekly shopping costs. Three months ago, they'd fired her without notice, and with the only job on her resume refusing to give her a worthwhile reference, she'd found it impossible to get anything else. Her grades at Uni, whilst solid, weren't enough to get her into the tuition positions the Uni occasionally offered, leaving her spiralling deeper and deeper into debt. Right now, she owed more than three grand, heavily in arrears on her car loan and with a roof over her head only because her housemates had banded together to cover the gap caused by her inability to make the payments.

Needing a quick fix, she'd sold her dignity by becoming a stripper at a men's club near her campus. Oh, they'd tried to salve her ego by calling her a "hostess," but really, it was just another word. After a series of disastrous attempts on the main stage, they'd kicked her to the waitressing division, which required her to parade around topless and in a g-string, for all the patrons to drool over and try to paw. Officially, the patrons weren't allowed to touch her. In practice, though, the club turned a blind eye as long as the gropers were regular, big-spending customers, meaning that she'd constantly be goosed. It was the only job she could hold down, though, and it was just barely enough to eke out the money that she needed to cover bus fares and food. The fact that she hated it and didn't want to be there made it all the worse, and they, too, were cutting her hours back and charging her for dropping glasses and meals. The only reason they kept her on at all was her appearance- tall, slightly-built, but with pale skin, some freckles, and red hair that was as natural as the C-cup bust they constantly leered over.

Sinking deeper, she was approached by one of the patrons with what seemed to be the only way out- he was prepared to pay her five grand for a single day's work ... doing porn. A seven-hour workday; one hour of solo masturbation and dildo play, two hours of one-on-one interracial, and the remainder of the day in a longer threesome sequence. Too shocked to reply to the appalling offer, Allison had dumbly taken the proffered business card and mumbled a platitude about considering the opportunity. Two weeks after that, the strip club had finally let her go, leaving her with absolutely nothing. She'd tried to find another job, but it was coming to the crunch and she needed a way out. One day's work would clear all her debts and leave her with almost two grand spare, and it was to be paid in cash so the government wouldn't be getting anything, either. She'd let it go for almost two weeks, but unable to even pay for her groceries, her housemates had finally issued her an ultimatum- pay up or get out.

She'd thought about going back home to her parents, but ultimately that wouldn't get her anywhere. After their divorce, her father had left their mother to care for Allison and her brother. No-one knew where her father was, and her mother lived in a one-bedroom flat too small to house a guest. Besides, going back would only prove she couldn't handle independence. She was already living at the mercy of the only friends she could depend on to put her up, and her brother had a one-bedroom apartment but was always travelling for his work. No, she needed money- straight up, and fast.

So, finally, she'd made the call. They had her come down the next day for a fitting session- little more than an excuse for a weedy, greasy little man to grope her breasts and vulva- and had asked her to come back the next morning at nine sharp.

The first part of the day had been a horror- unable to attain arousal with an audience present and camera clicking away, she'd been forced to use KY jelly just to take her fingers and, later, the dildo into herself. Mercifully, the session had only lasted an hour, and after taking a break to compose herself and change for the next scene, she'd dutifully shuffled off to prepare to meet Darryl, the African-American giant with whom she'd filmed a completely sexless interracial scene. For her, it had been almost like a rape, as she had no desire to participate in the sordid event, and Darryl had been so stoned on pot it was all he could do to respond to the director's orders. Frustrated, the producers had called the shoot off early and demanded that she put in a better effort in the final shoot of the day, which would be changed in length and focus to make up for the loss of revenue on the other two wasted shoots.

Instead of the straight-up scene that was originally planned, they'd called in a dominatrix and another male actor, and would be filming some kind of perverse BDSM fantasy. Unlike her early contract, she'd be forced to do the scene bareback, though she was given reassurances that her co-stars were frequently tested and completely clean.

Tuning back in, Greg, the director, was introducing her to Sylvie, the dominatrix. Sylvie was, somewhat surprisingly, a petite woman with dimples and a ready smile. Sensing Allison's nervousness, Sylvie began chatting, re-assuring her that the shoot wasn't going to be as sordid or frightening as she feared; although it would feature bondage and some discipline, there would be no cattle-prods or boiling wax, no torture with oversized toys. Taking her into the fitting room, Sylvie produced Allison's costume- a black leather corset, teamed with a black vinyl g-string, suspender belt, sheer black pantyhose, long vinyl gloves, and a pair of black leather high heels. She also gave Allison a bondage mask, which would allow her to conceal her identity, something that had terrified Allison in the other scenes. What if her family learnt of what she was doing? Bad enough as it was without having to worry about that, she thought.

Once in costume, Sylvie had helped Allison prepare by braiding her hair up and settling the mask on her head. It was a tight fit, and as Allison could tell from trying to jam it on herself, if improperly worn was difficult to get down and worse still to wear. After getting the mask on, Sylvie settled the rubber O-ring into her mouth, spreading her lips wide open and making it difficult to communicate. Following Sylvie, she stepped onto the set, where a long steel bar awaited underneath a metal chain.

"OK, so the way this is going to work is this. We're going to get you to raise your hands up above your head- that's it, stretch out ... and we'll set the chain to the right length. Now stretch your legs apart whilst I get this on..." The cool metal of the spreader bar sent chills up her spine, raising goose bumps across her body. Within a few moments, she was held largely immobile, the chain forcing her to arch her back to keep from swinging about on the tether. "That's it. Now, dear, we're about to start filming. I'll remind you again that the contract you're on and the script we're doing calls for you to have no name. You'll simply be referred to as 'Slut, ' nothing personal, mind. Your co-star will just be called 'Stud.' Now, lucky for you, he's the absolute best in the stable, so he'll be able to take care of you. He understands it's your first shoot and all, so we're going to make sure we do right by you. The last thing is this; because it's BDSM and I'm supposed to be in charge, if you feel the urge, you need to ask permission."

"Eee uurg?" Allison's tongue worked feverishly to draw the spittle back into her mouth. The O-ring was, she could tell, going to cause trouble. To counter-balance the drying effect it had on her mouth, she was salivating more than usual, but she couldn't swallow it away, either.

"To, you know, cum. Believe me, this guy, it's going to happen. You have no idea. Any way, that's pretty much everything we need to cover, so the only other thing is this. No talking except to ask, but you can make all the other noise you want. Got it?"

Allison nodded.

"Good. Great. OK, so I'm going to zip these up now." So saying, she slid the zippers covering the eyeholes closed, blinding Allison. Now bereft of both movement and vision, Allison's heart began to race. She struggled to keep her breathing even, fearing she would faint.

She could hear a dor opening and the soft footsteps of someone not wearing shoes. Her co-star, she thought. The actual filming was being handled by a number of cameras set into the room, obviating the need for actual people to be present. Struggling to relax, she startled when she felt hands on her.

"That's right, Slut. Your new best friend has arrived. Stud, must remain standing but may do as you please to this Slut. And you, Slut, remember what I said before. If you misbehave, there will be a penalty."

Trembling, Allison twitched as the Stud slid his hands over her. Unlike Darryl, he kept well away from her breasts and groin, instead running his hands from her wrists down her arms, along her underarms, and to her hips, then sliding them back up again. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he leant in, placing his head next to hers, and whispered "Relax." So saying, he began to kiss her, beginning at her left shoulder and moving upwards, over her collarbone and along her neck, eventually planting his mouth over hers, careful not to obstruct her breathing. Slipping his tongue into her mouth, he began to slowly entice her into participation. Not pushing her, not pulling her, just going slowly and allowing her to come with him.

He slid his hands around her, one just above her hip, one against the middle of her back. Embracing her. That was new. No pressure, just patience. She was beginning to warm to the idea. Beneath the mask, she was anonymous. And this stranger, the Stud, was obviously experienced. She began to relax, corded muscles slowly untensing. His hands slid further still, dancing on the leather over her buttocks, sliding over the smooth skin covering her shoulder blades. Gently. Carefully. Caressing. And the slow, insistent kisses kept coming. This time, when he placed his mouth over hers, she tangled her tongue with his, entwining them inside her mouth. Beginning to breathe heavily, she did what she could to lean into him, felling her nipples stiffen beneath the restrictive leather.

Across the room, she heard footsteps click across the concrete. Sylvie. She'd forgotten the other woman. "That's it, Slut. Didn't I tell you how good he was? And we're only getting started. He's only using his hands on you, only holding you, only kissing you. Just wait. Imagine what he's going to be like when he has his fingers buried inside you, when he eats you out, when he starts to ram that cock in and out of you."

Allison shuddered. On one hand, his hands felt so good. She'd been so long without a boyfriend, concentrating on her studies and trying to hold down a job. And a day of attempted sexual encounters had left her more frustrated yet. On the other, she would be having sex... fucking ... in front of another woman, taped for the rest of the world to see. But still, the mask shielded her. All anyone would see was her body, not her face. Nobody would ever know for sure who it was underneath. She tried to relax more.