Summary: You're not a slut, you're just really good at your job.
What if you worked in production on a movie that had Aaron, MBJ, and Lewis Hamilton?
I mean... you're not a slut... but some things can't be helped, can they?
You're assigned to all three men. You have to do whatever assistants do. Make them feel at home. Whatever that means.
On your first day with MBJ, he’s nursing a headache. A painkiller should fix it, but there’s none available, so you do what every dedicated assistant does:
You offer to empty his balls.
Guess what?
He feels better right after.
The problem? He now thinks you’re his. So he drags you into a dark corner every chance he gets on set to empty his balls—right into you.
So now you’re stuck gargling Listerine so your breath doesn’t smell like cum every time you open your mouth.
MBJ wraps, and you heave a sigh of relief. Your kidneys will fail if they have to process another dump of cum into your stomach.
Next, you’re assigned to Lewis.
He’s so sweet—he really is. Problem? He can’t stop staring at your ass.
See, you have a thing for skin tights. They’re super comfy. But they also show every curve of that wagon you’re dragging around.
So Lewis has the same problem every other man—and bisexual woman—has on set: he can’t take his eyes off it.
One day, when he’s had enough, he begs you like his life depends on it.
“Just a taste,” he swears. “I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”
So you let him bend you over. What’s the worst that could happen?
The worst that could happen? He’s grabbing your ass cheeks every chance he gets.
He’s standing nude in his trailer, running down your battery with calls, while precum drips from the tip of his flagpole because he’s been dreaming of backshots with you the whole time he was on set.
You’re not one step into his trailer before he’s dragging down your tights and heating himself up inside you, groaning out his gratitude and relief.
You go home full of cum every day.
The claps from his trailer had just started getting noticed when he wraps.
You heave another sigh of relief. It’s finally over, you say.
But then Aaron fucking Stone Pierre gets cast.
And guess what? You’re assigned to him.
Yeah... the gods hate your coochie.
His first day on set has you wearing panty liners for no other reason than to prevent a damp stain on your tights.
These are high-quality tights, but they’re definitely going to snitch on you. So you slap on those liners like a seal on your nether lips.
The first day with Aaron goes well. He’s so tender, so gentle, handles you like a cup of tea.
But by day three?
He’s staring at that ass like a starved man.
The day he asks you, it’s a different kind of request.
“Can you sit on my face?” His eyes boring into yours.
How can you resist?
So you oblige.
Peeling your tights off your skin, you plant your cooch right on his face... and he sends you straight to heaven.
Moments later, he’s wiping fluids from his nose and face while you’re struggling to rediscover your legs.
And so your routine starts.
Every morning before he goes on set, you sit on his face as you read him his lines.
Helping him memorize his lines is in your job description.
So what if you grind your coochie on his face? He’s not complaining, is he?
Evenings after he wraps his scene for the day have you on your back, holding your legs open as he pumps into you aggressively, taking out all the anger he held back on set.
He batters your love tunnel and fills your baby pocket with cum over and over again.
You take him, your cries and whimpers muffled by the panties he’d shoved into your mouth.
When he’s drained the last drop of cum, he takes out the tiny thong from your throat and kisses you.
So now you’ve been a good assistant to three good men. Helping them do their jobs, because that’s what good assistants do.
Aaron wraps now too—and suddenly you’re feeling alone. And bored.
One day, you get an invite to a private party.
You get dressed and arrive on time. When you open the door?
All three men are standing there… waiting for you to step inside—and close the door.
