Breaking the Last Barrier
Emily’s fingers trembled around her coffee mug as dawn light bled through the blinds. The memory of Jake’s cock pulsing against her tongue—the way her throat had convulsed around him, the violent shudder of his release—played on a relentless loop behind her eyelids. She swallowed reflexively, her esophagus still raw from last night’s brutal throat-fucking. The phantom taste of him lingered, salty and primal, clinging to her taste buds like a brand.
Last night had been practice. Today was the performance.
Her thighs clenched under the kitchen table, the dull ache between them impossible to ignore. The garage floor had left bruises on her knees, but it was the memory of Jake’s hands fisting her hair that made her breath hitch. She’d swallowed gallons of cum in her career—yet nothing compared to the thick ropes of her own son’s seed flooding her stomach. The depravity should have repulsed her. Instead, her fingers crept under her robe, tracing the damp cotton of her panties. She was slick with anticipation.
Jake’s footsteps echoed in the hallway—deliberately heavy, telegraphing his approach. Emily didn’t turn. She felt the heat of him before his calloused hands slid over her shoulders, his thumbs kneading the tension from her neck. His erection pressed against the small of her back, rigid even through two layers of fabric.
“Director’s coming in an hour,” he murmured against her ear. His teeth grazed the shell, sending electric shivers down her spine. “You sure about this?”
Emily turned her head, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth. The bite drew blood—copper tang mixing with last night’s memories. “Fuck me properly first,” she demanded against his mouth. “Let me feel you inside me where I’ve been empty for years.”
His growl vibrated through her bones as he lifted her onto the counter, porcelain clattering to the floor. The robe fell open, revealing the lingerie she’d chosen specifically for this moment—black lace straining over nipples still tender from his mouth. Jake’s pupils dilated to black pits as he gripped her thighs, yanking her to the edge. The first thrust would tear through pretense, through morality, through every boundary left unbroken.
Emily arched her back, offering herself completely. “Make me yours.”
Jake descended upon her like a starving beast, burying his face between her thighs with a ferocity that tore a primal scream from her throat. His tongue speared into her folds, lapping at the honeyed slickness already pooling there. The scent of her arousal—musky, sweet, undeniably hers—flooded his senses as he devoured her. His nose pressed against her clit, grinding against the swollen nub while his tongue plunged deep, fucking her cunt with relentless precision. Emily’s fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as her thighs trembled around his head.
The taste of her was intoxicating—like salt and summer and something uniquely ‘Emily’. Jake growled against her flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through her core. His fingers joined the assault, two thick digits curling inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her back bow off the counter. Her moans crescendo into broken pleas, her hips rocking against his face in a desperate rhythm. “Oh fuck, Jake—just like that—yes—”
He added a third finger, stretching her deliciously, his tongue never ceasing its brutal assault on her clit. The squelch of her arousal filled the kitchen, mingling with her gasps and his hungry grunts. Emily’s thighs began to shake violently, her orgasm coiling tight in her belly. “I’m gonna—Jake—”
“Come for me, Mom,” he commanded against her slick flesh, his voice rough with want. “Let me taste it all.”
Her climax hit like a freight train, her cunt clenching around his fingers as she screamed his name. Jake drank her down greedily, lapping at her pulsing folds as wave after wave crashed over her. Only when her trembling subsided did he pull back, his chin glistening with her release. His eyes burned with dark promise as he licked his lips clean. “That was just the appetizer.”
The doorbell rang—Marcus had arrived. Jake smirked, helping her off the counter. “Now let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”
Emily shuddered, still tasting herself on Jake’s lips. She adjusted her lingerie, the damp lace clinging to her thighs. Flashbacks of her early career surfaced—the adrenaline of a shoot, the hungry stares of crew members barely hiding their erections. She’d been young then, eager to prove herself. Now? The thrill was sharper, darker. This wasn’t acting—it was surrender.
Marcus set up cameras with clinical efficiency, his gaze flickering to the fresh bruises peeking above Emily’s stockings. “Same safe word as before?” he asked, adjusting a boom mic.
Emily nodded, Jake’s fingers tracing her spine under the pretense of “blocking.” She remembered her first anal scene—how she’d panicked until her costar whispered filthy encouragement, making her want it. Jake’s breath hitched now as she ground against him subtly, her ass pressing into his hardening cock.
The director cleared his throat. “We’ll start with the tease. Emily, arch over the armchair—Jake, kneel behind her but don’t enter yet.”
She obeyed, the leather cool against her flushed skin. Jake’s hands slid up her thighs, thumbs brushing her soaked folds from behind. Emily gasped—not acting. His whisper curled into her ear: “Remember how you swallowed me whole last night? That’s how I’m taking this cunt.”
Marcus adjusted a close-up lens, capturing her shudder. Emily licked her lips, catching Jake’s gaze in the monitor. Her pulse spiked. This wasn’t just porn anymore—it was a confession.
“Action,” Marcus murmured.
Jake descended, his tongue spearing into her folds with the precision of a starving man. The sound—wet, obscene—filled the studio. Emily’s fingers clawed leather as his nose ground against her clit. The director zoomed in on her thighs trembling, on the slick shine between them. Jake’s groan vibrated through her cunt when he discovered how swollen she was, how her inner muscles fluttered around his probing tongue. “Fuck, you taste like sin,” he growled against her flesh, the words muffled but clear enough for the mic to catch.
Emily’s back arched violently, a broken noise escaping as Jake’s thumbs spread her wider. His tongue fucked into her with brutal strokes, mimicking the penetration their audience craved. Saliva dripped down her thighs, mixing with her own arousal—the camera captured every glistening strand. When he sucked her clit between his teeth, her hips jerked off the chair. “Oh God—right there, baby, just like that—” The pet name slipped out unbidden, raw and genuine.
Marcus signaled Jake silently. On cue, he pulled back, letting the camera focus on Emily’s gaping, glistening cunt—the way it pulsed visibly, begging to be filled. Jake’s lips shone with her juices as he smirked at the lens. “You hear that, boys? Momma’s ready for her son’s cock.” The crudeness wasn’t scripted. Emily whimpered, her thighs clamping around nothing. The director’s grin widened. This wasn’t just good—it was revolutionary.
Jake dragged her up by the hair, spinning her to face the camera. “Open,” he commanded, thumb tracing her swollen bottom lip. Emily obeyed, tongue lolling out—a trained reflex. His cock slapped against her cheekbone before sliding into her mouth with one brutal thrust. The mic picked up the wet choke as her throat convulsed. Subscriber counts skyrocketed in the corner of the monitor: 200,000. $2 million a minute. Jake pistoned her head onto his shaft, her gagging drowned out by the obscene squelch of saliva flooding past her stretched lips.
The director zoomed in—her mascara streaking, nostrils flaring with each ragged breath snatched between thrusts. Jake’s fingers tightened, forcing her nose into his pelvis. Emily’s hands scrabbled at his thighs, her nails leaving red welts. Authentic panic flashed in her eyes—then submission. The camera caught the exact moment she swallowed around him voluntarily, her throat muscles fluttering visibly under her skin. Jake groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck, she’s milking me—”
Marcus signaled to cut. The screen froze on Jake’s cockhead breaching her throat, her lips sealed tight around the base. A masterpiece. Emily collapsed, coughing, her chest heaving. Jake wiped her chin with two fingers, shoving them back into her mouth. “Save your hunger,” he murmured. The director checked the stats—300,000 live viewers now, $3 million per minute. Jake’s grin turned feral.
Emily shuddered, her cunt dripping onto the studio floor.
Marcus adjusted the lighting, casting Jake’s silhouette in sharp relief against her sprawled body. The director’s voice cut through the tension: “Jake, enter her slow—make them feel every inch.” Jake knelt between her thighs, his cock glistening with her arousal. Emily arched her back, her breath hitching as the swollen head pressed against her entrance. The stretch burned—not from pain, but from the sheer, impossible thickness of him. Her cunt fluttered wildly, muscles spasming as Jake bottomed out with a groan that shook his entire body.
The camera zoomed in, capturing the moment her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, the way her flesh resisted before yielding. “Fuck,” Jake gasped, his hips stuttering. “You’re so tight—like you were made for this.”
His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled out agonizingly slow, only to slam back in with a wet slap that echoed off the soundproofed walls. Emily’s scream was raw, unfiltered—half pain, half ecstasy. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving angry red trails. Jake’s rhythm grew brutal, each thrust driving her body up the leather chaise, her tits bouncing with the force of his pounding. The director panned to their joined flesh, the slick mess of her arousal coating Jake’s balls, her folds stretched taut around his shaft.
Marcus signaled for the angle change, and Jake flipped her onto all fours without breaking stride. Emily’s ass jiggled with each thrust, her cunt gaping slightly every time he withdrew.
Jake leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear. “You feel that? How deep I am?”
His hand snaked between her legs, thumb circling her clit in rough, erratic strokes. Emily sobbed, her body torn between the overwhelming fullness and the sharp pleasure coiling in her belly. “After I fuck your cunt,” he growled, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, “I’m going to take your ass too.” The promise sent a fresh flood of wetness down her thighs. The camera caught it all—the way her body betrayed her, the way she pushed back against him, begging silently for more.
By coming in Emily’s throat earlier he could make the money shot last. The camera lingered on the creamy proof of their sin leaking from her ruined hole; the anticipated penetration drew 500,000 viewers, spending $5,000,000 per minute.
Jake’s pace turned frenzied, his balls slapping against her clit with every snap of his hips. Emily’s vision whited out as her orgasm ripped through her, her cunt clamping down hard enough to make Jake curse. He thrust through her convulsions, his own release building.
“Gonna fill you up,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic. “Mark you inside.” The director zoomed in—the moment his cock pulsed, the first thick rope of cum painting her walls. Jake held himself deep, grinding as he emptied into her, his groan reverberating through the studio. Emily collapsed, her body trembling, her cunt still fluttering around his softening cock.
Jake pulled out slowly, watching his cum drip onto the leather. He smirked, swiping a finger through the mess and pushing it past her swollen lips. “Get ready, Mom,” he murmured. “Round two’s gonna hurt.”
Emily arched her back, her fingers digging into the chaise. The live viewer count hit 750,000—$7.5 million a minute—and still climbing. Her asshole clenched instinctively at the thought of taking him there, raw and unprepared. But she’d taken worse. She’d taken bigger. The director had once paid her triple to fist her ass on camera. The memory burned through her nerves—the stretch, the searing pain, the rapt faces of the crew watching her tear. Now Jake’s cock twitched against her puckered hole, slick with her own juices. She exhaled sharply, pushing back against him.
Let them watch.
The first inch burned like hellfire. Emily’s scream tore through the studio, raw and unfiltered. Jake froze, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Breathe,” he growled. She did—shallow, panting gasps—as he pushed deeper. The stretch was obscene, her rim clinging desperately to his girth. Tears blurred her vision, but she forced her body to relax. Jake’s thumb circled her clit roughly, the sudden jolt of pleasure cutting through the pain.
“Look at the camera,” Marcus ordered. Emily turned her head, meeting the lens with mascara-streaked defiance. The monitor showed her asshole stretched taut around Jake’s base, his balls pressed against her dripping cunt. The viewer count hit one million.
Jake bottomed out with a groan, his hips flush against her. “Fuck,” he hissed, his voice ragged. “Like a fucking vice.” He pulled back slowly, watching her rim cling to his cock before slamming home again. Emily’s sob morphed into a moan as he found a brutal rhythm, each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. The pain blurred into pleasure, her muscles surrendering to the invasion.
“Harder,” she gasped, her fingers clawing at the leather. Jake obliged, his pace turning savage. The slap of skin, her choked cries, the wet squelch of her ruined holes—it all fed the frenzy. The viewer count skyrocketed. Emily’s vision swam, her body alight with pleasure and pain. Jake’s hand fisted her hair, yanking her head back. “Come for me,” he snarled.
She did—violently, her body convulsing around him. Jake followed with a roar, his cum flooding her ass in thick pulses. The camera zoomed in, capturing every twitch, every drop.
Marcus cut the feed. The screen went black.
Silence.
Then the notifications exploded.