The greater Los Angeles area only receives an average of 15 inches of rainfall year. That’s a small percentage compared to other areas of the country. But to compare that to other areas of the country is pointless. Most LA natives don’t concern themselves with other areas of the country. LA is the center of their universe and all they know is that they don’t get a lot of rain.

Sensing the onslaught of a midsummer’s downpour, the ill-prepared scatter like herds of sheep under the attack of prairie dogs charging from all directions. Film execs and movie producers run for the cover of their Studio City high-rises. The homeless run for the security of their crumbling cardboard condos lined along Fifth St. in The Nickel. Trannys, tourists, waitresses, and wanna-be actors alike run for the cover of plexiglass bus stop cages and overhead awnings above pricey specialty shops and boutiques. Crusty old broads with too much perfume strap plastic grocery bags to their heads to preserve the stiff knot of freshly groomed hair. Businessmen draped in Armani pull suit coats over their heads and employ the use of briefcases to shield themselves from the liquid assault. Squinty-eyed hipsters in tight jeans struggle with the weight of designer umbrellas and drug dealers retreat back into the dry, dark nooks of the dope spots throughout the Central District.

Heavy rainfall in the Los Angeles area is a hazardous phenomenon. The downpour throws people off. Experienced drivers seem to forget how to operate a motorized vehicle and there’s an underline feeling of anxiety that can’t fully be expressed with words. Perhaps it’s the extra element of danger that rainfall in the LA area presents to its unique landscape. Highways and bike paths are often subjected to rock and mudslides and on a rare occasion you may spot an elderly Asian couple trapped in a late model station wagon being swept away in the muddy rage of a flash flood. An extra element of chaos in an already chaotic environment.

There’s a smell in the air after a hard rain in Los Angeles. Something comparable to the coat of a wet dog and the carcass of road kill that’s been repeatedly neglected by LA Streets and Sanitation. The subtle smell of death in the heat rising from the streets of unachieved dreams, carried down through the hillsides by a salty ocean breeze.

For Simon Felix, the event of an LA downpour brings a welcomed sense of calm. A reason for isolation. He prefers the company of his solitude these days so it’s comforting when he’s presented with a justifiable excuse. To call him a recluse would be an unfair statement but to say he welcomes the opportunity to shine in the spotlight of yesteryears would be a great exaggeration. He’s become increasingly frustrated over time with being recognized in public. It’s not the attention that bothers him. It’s the reason for the attention that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He’s that special kind of celebrity who attracts intoxicated frat boys with demands to appear alongside in a photograph. His autograph is a sought after item and even on a quiet day he’s still subject to the leering eyes of half-cocked heads and the vibrations of whispers on the back of his neck. He has a following in both the gay and straight communities as well as the admiration of both male and female and those who fall in the category of in-between. His fan base is worldwide and though most experiences are positive, he’s not exempt from negative encounters. He’s been called a pig on more than a few occasions and he was once attacked by a mob of overweight feminists armed with dildos molded from his very own cock. He’s a figure who’s just as easily recognized in the world of mainstream celebrity as he is in the world of porn.

Simon Felix is that rare icon. His career spans over three decades of on-screen sex dating back to the time when celluloid copulation first leaped out of the dark closets of dingy sex shops and onto movie screens across the country. An era when adult filmmaking was on the forefront of an evolving sexual revolution and was embraced publicly as part of a chic new movement. It wasn’t rare at that time for couples to be seen lining up to experience cinemas exciting new vision. Pressure from activist groups and lawmakers would eventually shame the monster back into the alleyways and seedy jerk booths in the worst parts of cities across the country but for a brief moment in time adult films were all the rage. The seeds had been planted and sex on film was destined to spread like wildfire. Simon Felix would play an important role in making that happen.

The early years were fresh and exciting. As dark and shadowy as the "behind-the scenes" still were, they were simpler times. Almost innocent compared to the no-limit standards of today. A time before AIDS. A time before cocaine was cooked into crack. A time when chicks rarely had dicks. When disco was cool and vaginas still came with hair. Early 70’s classics like Deep Throat and Behind the Green Door thrust performers like Linda Lovelace and Marilyn Chambers into the same spotlight as their Hollywood counterparts. Porno in the 70’s had arrived in a big way and those who were there from the beginning would forever be marked as pioneers of the original outlaw entertainment.

Time being the unstoppable beast that it is would naturally find the industry boiling over into the 80’s. The new face of porn was realized in performers like Christy Canyon, Jeanna Fine, Tori Welles and blonde bombshells like Nina Hartley, Ginger Lynn, and Seka. The industry would have an audience like never before in the years to come and there was no shortage of willing participants to offer their service of sex in motion picture. With the invention of the VCR in the early 80’s, porn was taken from a wide open public setting and given new life in the privacy of the home. By 1984 almost every household had one. Hell, it was the reason most people bought one. Adult videos could now be bought and rented and traded like baseball cards at an adult playground. The growth of the industry was unprecedented thanks in part to the invention of that ingenious little machine. Prior to the VCR, top producers of porn were generating over $800,000 a year in profit. In the post-VCR era, those same producers were averaging $10 Million in profit annually. Primal-minded degenerates became rich overnight and every scumbag from New York to LA wanted a piece of the hair pie.

Like many of his contemporaries, Simon Felix found the video surge of the 1980’s something that required a getting used to. Discussions ensued over issues of aesthetic and direction. Porno of the 70’s was often cheesy and low budget but it was filmmaking none the less. There was an emphasis on character development and the sex was usually part of a larger story. When the video age arrived you were lucky if a story was part of the sex. The video age would turn the industry into a meat market. Porno was being churned out quicker than people could jerk off. The quality of the production began to diminish and was quickly traded for quantity. Although there was more money and opportunity, there was also more competition and pressure. Demand was on the rise.

Despite his initial reservations, Simon’s popularity would soar in the 80’s. His name was already established from the 70’s and in a time before Viagra, he was an actor who could always get the job done. The flood of wanna-be male porn stars found out rather quickly how difficult it could be maintaining an erection with a crew of sweaty cameramen hovering over yer balls and shoving lights in yer ass. Throw in the added pressure of blowin a money shot on request and the rest were weeded out.

The 80’s would come and go and Simon would usher the filth into the 90’s. New faces replaced old ones and stars like Janine, Houston, Julia Ann, and Silvia Saint would dominate the market. It was in the mid 90’s where his distaste for the industry first began to the surface. He didn’t mind the mass production of poorly produced sex in the 80’s and he quickly got over the idea of his work being shot on video instead of film, but something changed when porn went gonzo.

Mainstream porn in the late 90’s became increasingly more aggressive and violent. The storylines were all but gone and subgenres that were once considered fetish and reserved to a smaller audience were now becoming the norm. Gangbangs, extreme insertions, bondage, gaping, gagging, cum-swapping, fisting, pissing, double anal, double vag - degrading sex acts passed off as casual entertainment were now being consumed on a larger scale. The invention of the Internet only added to the demand for more extreme forms of porn. Although he had no control over the evolution of the industry, Simone couldn’t help but acknowledge the role he played in bringing porn to where it now stood. He began to bear the silent burden of a great moral dilemma. Never before had he questioned a producer, a director, or a sexual partner on the direction of a film but by the end of the 90’s he began to vocalize his opinion on the matter. Simon couldn’t keep up with the young bucks and something inside him questioned whether or not he even wanted to.

By the early 2000’s Simon Felix had seen enough. By 2004, he found himself very much retired from the industry. Years of arguments about demoralizing sex acts, battles over money with producers, disagreements about direction with directors, and disbelief over the shit young girls were willing to do on film had taken its toll. What he’d taken away from it all was a damaged conscience, a vicious resentment, and an increasing drinking habit. Quite the predicament for a man whose life was dedicated to a career of sex on film.

His legacy remains fully intact to this day. He’s still in demand as a performer and there are a number of actresses who would jump at the opportunity for an onscreen bust down. He's aged gracefully over the years and despite his drinking habits he's still in great physical shape. His blue eyes still shine bright accented by a full head of jet black hair that has yet to turn grey at 57. His skin tone is a constant shade of red thanks to frequent touch ups at the tanning salon. His 6 foot 2 physique still stands strong and firm and he could still outperform the Viagra-fueled pretty boys oversaturating the industry today. He’s constantly propositioned for comeback scenes but the offers are kindly refused. In 2009 he was inducted into the AVN Hall of Fame and was a no show.

Simon Felix doesn’t have the answers for the questions that dance around his head. For now he prefers a place far away from reality. A place that’s neither located in the past, the present, or the future. Unmapped by time or space. Falling somewhere just below the realm of reality where the consequence of action isn’t realized until the trip is over. A state of numbness. A place that requires no less than a bottle of Johnny Walker Black to get there.

As he relaxes on the balcony of his three story loft overlooking the city's landscape, he tries to remember the last time Los Angeles suffered a rainfall like the one it's fallen victim to at the moment. It feels like an eternity ago. He wonders if this would be the deep cleanse that would wash the city clean of its filth and impurity. He's quickly snapped back into reality with the crack of thunder and realizes that what’s been done to this city can't be washed away. Nothing could get rid of a stain like that. The lights may shine bright at night but there’s a dark side capable of snuffing it out in the blink of an eye. An underbelly of greed and glamor where the lines are always blurred.

Staring out into the gloomy LA skyline, Simon takes a deep breath and focuses on the sounds of the raindrops exploding on the rooftop above.  He looks down a catches a glimpse of his reflection on the glassy surface of his gold tinted scotch-whiskey. He stares back into his eyes as a lifetime of industry-related events flood the landscape of his mind. He chuckles to himself at the idea of people visiting his handprints outside the old Pussy Cat Theatre on Santa Monica in West Hollywood. He reflects back to 1982 at the time he testified for John Holmes as a character witness in the Wonderland Murder Trials. He recalls the industry being turned upside down in 1986 when it was discovered that Traci Lords was only 15 when she first fucked on film. He looked back in sorrow at the death of friends and co-workers over the years.  Shauna Grant left a dark stain on the industry in 1984 after putting a .22 long rifle in her mouth and pulling the trigger. Fellow co-worker Savannah ended her life in the same way ten years later with a momentary lapse of judgment fueled by drugs and depression. The more recent deaths of long-time friends from suicide like Jon Dough and Anastasia Blue were a reminder of how damaging the industry could be on the psyche.

Simon catches himself dwelling deep in the past and makes a conscious effort to interrupt the flow of his racing thoughts. His mind switches to more entertaining images of water-soaked passersby’s running for shelter from the rain on the streets below. Sounds of the past generated from memory are replaced by imagined noises of high heels clicking on cracked concrete and soggy sneakers splashing in oil soaked puddles.

Just as Simon begins to doze off into an alcohol induced coma, his nod is interrupted by the Hotel California ringtone of his cell phone. It’s his hanger-on of a protégé and wanna-be pornstar Thomas ‘The Hook” Walts. He's either calling to inform Simon about a job opportunity or he's calling to talk him into a night on the town. Simon lets it go to voicemail and thinks to himself, "Who wants to be out in this weather anyway?"

Across town a slender blonde with a tight grip dangles effortlessly from the high point of a stainless steel pole. Her clear stiletto heels angle upward towards the heavens as she throws her head back letting the breeze of an industrial sized fan direct the flow of her bleached out hair. Her eyes glow a bright blue even in the darkness of her position high in the sky. A black silk garter wrapped tight around her tanned ankle secures a folded stack of $20’s, $50’s, and $100's. Her full breasts, accented by a pair of large, flesh-toned nipples, hold firm from the curve of her chest. Aside from her God-given assets and a few cheap accessories, she hangs naked and twisted in full glory of exhibition.

Twenty feet off the freshly waxed stage, she loosens the squeeze of her thighs and descends slowly towards the intoxicated patrons below. She pauses for a moment and throws her breasts from side to side in sync with the continuous pound of a hard techno beat that engulfs the room. She drops a few more inches down the pole in quick, jerky movements, toying with the idea that at any given moment gravity could shut the show down for good. The tension adds to the energy of the performance and as she falls closer to the stage she pushes her butt far off the pole supporting her weight with a toned shoulder and forearm.

With inhibition lost to a cocktail of pills and the right amount of alcohol, she pulls the crotch of her panties to one side exposing a shaved pussy and asshole. She tucks the panties up against her inner thigh and the scrunched up g-string holds in place by the bulge of her plump vagina. With shoulder taps being passed down like a row of falling dominos, it doesn’t take long before she becomes the center of attention for the majority of the club. With a gaze of seduction and a smirk across her face, she brings her left hand up towards her head. She licks her lips and slides her middle finger into her mouth. Before releasing the finger from its warm, wet clutches she simulates a felatio act that starts at the fingernail and ends halfway to the middle knuckle. She repeats the process a few times while arching her lower back even farther from the pole. She pulls her finger away from her mouth and lets a string of clean, clear drool dangle loosely from her tongue to her middle finger. The spit glistens with each flash of the multi-colored stage bulbs, throwing fragments of light from one side of the room to the other. The pulse of the generic techno beat pounds faster.

The string of saliva pulls thinner and thinner as she brings her hand further from her mouth and closer to her exposed privates. When it reaches its limit, the string snaps sending one end back to her tongue and the other to her fingertip. The dancer scans the room for any authority figure quick to dish out a fine for inappropriate behavior. She spots the club owner distracted with the door girl who’s been convinced he hasn’t been watching her pocket admission fees for the last week. The Champagne Room host is busy tryin to talk a new dancer into suckin a high-rollers dick, and the floor hosts are preoccupied kissin ass for their next tip. She establishes that the coast is clear and proceeds with the show.

She tilts her chin up towards the ceiling and places the front side of her lubed middle finger on the swell of her asshole. She rubs her finger in a circular motion around the perimeter of the entrance. A teardrop of spit breaks loose and drips down to the stage below. The stage lights escort it down to the glassy surface below where it splashes silently between rows of thin scratches etched out from the heels of a thousand forgotten dancers. With her asshole wet and the right amount of pressure applied, her finger slides into the tight warm tunnel of her anal cavity. Her finger disappears and stops only after reaching the imitation diamond ring resting at the base of her knuckle.

Enthralled with her own sexuality, she moans a little as she massages the lining of her interior. She presses her finger on the inside wall of her asshole. The movement creates the visual effect of something trying to push its way through the back of her vagina. She presses hard and holds her hidden finger in place, turning herself inside out for the intoxicated on-lookers. When she feels the desired results have been achieved, she pulls out and admires the conclusion. She has just destroyed the will of every drunk, drugged out, lonely degenerate in the club. She makes a point to tap her asshole one last time before placing her panties back to their original position over the mound of intricate pink flesh. She raises her finger back to her lips and inserts it back into her mouth.

Radiating with the disposition of a fallen angel, she clamps both legs back onto the pole and bends backward, stretching her arms over her head in victory. The pulse of the techno beat slows as she finishes her decent back to the stage, resting on her back with relaxed breasts and open legs. Hypnotized by a beauty far beyond their potential, the glassy-eyed patrons were now more than prepped to hand over this week’s rent money with the utmost enthusiasm. The DJ solidifies the performance with a raspy groan into the microphone. “Gentleman, give a round of applause for Miss Crystal Delight. She’s now available for private dances.”

Pilson and eventually Crystal Delight. She wanted an alias that could pass as an everyday name but one that still had the selling power of an exotic dancer by night. It was a marketing technique she picked up from a fellow stripper and mentor who went by the not-so-subtle name of Champagne Cox.

“You ain't gotta hide from anyone out here little girl. We ain't gotta be like them corn-fed bitches from Indiana who ride to Chicago to strip so their daddy’s co-workers don’t recognize em grindin on cock. This is motherfuckin LA bitch. Ain't no one really from here. And you want your customers to be able to know you by name inside and out of the clubs. For references you know?”

Most people in the course of their lives won’t go through a name change but in Los Angeles it’s all part of the Hollywood experience. A name change in Los Angeles is an opportunity to present yourself to the world in a way that you’ve always wanted to be seen. Creating a fresh image to mesh with your new audience’s expectations. Making yourself more memorable and appealing to your new target audience. The remnants of your former self having been abandoned in the shit-smeared bathroom of the stuffy bus you crawled out of; eventually being kicked off three states later for not having a ticket, doomed to wander the terminals with all the other lost souls searching for their new selves that left them behind. Most wouldn’t be recognized if they were to be found.

Every year approximately 110,000 thousand people make the move to Los Angeles. 80% of that number do so with the intent of becoming the next big thing in the world of film, music, and whatever else is left. They’ll sleep on piss-stained couches and cram themselves into bedrooms the size of closets, snuggling up to the cockroaches that’ll still be around long after their dreams have crashed and burned. By the end of the year, 40% of that number will have caught the bus back to their hometowns. Of the 40% who haven’t yet been chewed up and spit into a Starbucks trash bin, 20% will go through the awe-inspiring name change. They will adopt new names for a multitude of reasons - to sound less black, less white, less Jewish, less Midwestern – to sound more rockstar, more pornstar, more superstar, more marketable in their chosen field. And if by small chance you do become famous in the land where image is everything, you better have a name that matches.

If your shitty hair metal band makes it big do wanna be grindin out the chorus of a song titled “Talk Dirty to Me” as Bruce Johannesson or as CC DeVille? Would “Welcome to the Jungle’ still have the power it has today of it was screeched out by Bill Bailey instead of Axl Rose? Would the young black man screamin “Fuck the Police” have been as much of a “Nigga with Attitude” if Oshea Jackson appeared in the credits instead of Ice Cube? Do you wanna see Frank Farrano Shout at the Devil or do you wanna see a character named Nikki Sixx? MC Hammer's real name is Stanley Burrell. The list goes on and on.

Stacy Thompson, a.k.a Crystal Delight, shares a story typical of the small town Hollywood transplant. She grew up 50 miles south of Cleveland, Ohio in a small town named Wooster, an unimpressive little city named after a revolutionary war hero and barely famous as the birthplace of physics Nobel Prize winner Arthur Compton. When she was a little girl she spent more time than what would be considered healthy flipping through her Grandfather's vast collection of vintage magazines from the 50’s and 60’s. Her Grandfather slaved his whole life in a small print shop and his appreciation for the medium could be gauged in stacks upon stacks of old LIFE magazines, Esquires, and Playboys. The pages were stiffened from moisture, yellowed by age, and smelled like mildew from years of collecting dust in the basement, but those magazines were her dolls and the images she absorbed at such a young age were burned into her DNA. She would get lost for hours in pictures and articles about Marilyn Monroe, Betty Davis, Elizabeth Taylor, Betty Grable, and Jane Mansfield. Her first crushes were on stars like James Dean and Marlon Brando. She was fascinated with their beauty and the way they were captured in a photograph. The hair styles, the jewelry, the make-up, the outfits. She would fantasize about the lives they must have lived and wondered what they were really like in private. She imagined herself as a personal assistant to the stars, preparing them for those photo shoots. She wasn’t the brightest little girl but she always had an active imagination and a wild spark for life. She knew from a very young age that she was destined to live in the area of Los Angeles called Hollywood.

Her world was turned upside down at the age of 7 when she lost her mom to breast cancer. She was too young to understand what happened but she was just the right age to feel the effects. All she was told was that her mom wouldn’t be around anymore. Her step father was a county sheriff and could give two shits about his inherited daughter after the death of his wife. She became a nuisance and was a daily reminder of the love he had lost. She was regularly pawned off to relatives on his side of the family and the only affection she received from an adult figure after the death of her mother came from her step-fathers alcoholic brother. He’d creep in her bed at night and tell her that he understood what it was like to feel alone. That it was OK to turn to him for comfort. A shoulder to cry on. He would brush the tears away from her cheeks with his left hand and finger her with his right. That was a weekly occurrence up until the time he went to prison for involuntary manslaughter in a drunk driving accident. Crystal grew to the age of 14 before the abuse came to a halt.

Crystal developed into an attractive teenager and was a bombshell even before arriving in LA. Coming from a small town she was very naïve about her looks. The boys were too shy to pay her the attention she would later receive and she never had a reason to get dressed up. She was a natural beauty. Tall with with long legs and large, perky breasts. A naturally tanned complexion and a healthy, toned figure. Her button nose was overshadowed by a full set of lips and her natural blue eyes were hypnotizing.

Her looks would eventually be nurtured by her West Coast environment and her full potential as a sex pot would be realized with all the fake Hollywood could muster. Her natural blonde hair would become an exaggerated white with carefully placed black streaks. The black only drew further attention to her shockingly blue eyes. Her already large breasts became even larger with tight, leopard skin push-up bras hidden under black rock tees. It was as if God had created a limited edition mold and dressed it to kill. Crystal Delight was it.

To say that she was completely naive about the current state of Hollywoodland would be unfair, but when she arrived in California it didn’t take her long to see that the glamor of 50’s Hollywood falsely captured in the magazines she worshiped as a child had been replaced by a seedy element haunted with the reality of dreams never achieved. She quickly fell in with a crowd of like-minded LA transplants searching for something that didn’t exist. Searching for a life of glamor and opportunity - for some kind of success that would validate their existence in the land of milk and honey. Until that day came, Crystal Delight would be the best stripper LA had ever seen.

Crystal picks herself off the cold stage platform, bracing herself on the pole for support. She makes her way gracefully towards the stairs bouncing each breast in concession with every step. She approaches the stair rail and snatches up her white bikini top throwing it over her shoulder. She takes the stairs with caution careful not to miss a step in her hazardous stiletto heels. She makes it down without incident and heads toward the dressing room at back of the club. She spots a group of guys she’s been expecting and makes a quick detour to the left and up a few more stairs to the VIP section.

The exclusive seating arrangement is occupied with an array of slick looking characters. Mostly white, dressed to impress, weaving in and out of their mid twenties and early thirties. Crystal hands out a few hugs before focusing her attention to the rough looking character sitting in the center of the black velvet couches. Ramone "Sanchez" Vandetti is the ringleader of this Motley Crew and his three-piece suit glares in contrast to his weathered face and heavily tattooed flesh peeking out from underneath the suit. Inked above his left eyebrow is an outline of the LA logo. Across the way above his right are the letter D.M.S. The tops of his hands are covered with black and grey images incorporating brass knuckles, guns, knives, and roses. Inked across his top right knuckles were the letters D.O.P.E. His left knuckles tied the phrase together with the letters S.I.C.K. The finger knuckles on his right hand spelled the letters A-D-I-L. The left ones had the letters H.R.K.L. When he interlocked the hands, the seemingly misplaced letters spelled out HARD KILL. His entire neck up to the jawbone from the front to around the back featured an intricate portrait highlighting a baby angel under the protection of winged guardians sporting AK-47’s. Across his forehead at the hairline of his shaved head was the word SKARHEAD. His skull from front to back acted as a canvass for an elaborate Biblical-themed war scene incorporating images of warrior angels battles demons for the rights to Christ's soul.

Crystal maneuvers her way around buckets of ice hosting bottles of Grey Goose and expensive champagnes. She approaches Sanchez, offers up a smile, and plants a kiss on his cheek. He puts his hand on her thigh as she arches her hips closer in a playful manner. She bends down and whispers something in his ear. He says nothing but nods in the direction of an equally tattooed character standing a few feet away. Crystals smiles and walks over to the ruffian dressed far less fashionably than Sanchez. She throws her arms around him and wraps her leg around his lower back. She pulls him closer to her with her calf. The sidekick makes a quick scan of the room and slips an Eight-Ball along the lining of her g-string. Securely in place, she guides the plastic bulge toward the center of her panties and pushes the knotted up baggy inside her crotch. Crystal makes some meaningless small talk and flirts a while longer before heading back toward the dressing room.

“Did you get it?” Asks the knock kneed, rail thin brunette following in tow behind her.

“Of course I got it Chelsea. Settle the fuck down ya tweak.”

Chelsea and Crystal were best friends and roommates. Individually they were trouble. Together they were ruthless. They met on the Greyhound traveling cross country from their hometowns to LA. Crystal left from Ohio and Chelsea hopped on shortly thereafter in Chicago. They survived the grueling 3 day, 72-hour bus ride together and were forever bonded from the experience.

Chelsea and Crystal head to the bathroom and each enter their own stalls. Crystal reaches into her g-string and pulls the bag of coke from her special hiding spot. She struggles with the tightly-knotted bag and eventually pulls it loose. She carelessly dumps a pile of the white powder onto the top cover of the black toilet paper dispenser. She secures the baggy and hands it to Chelsea underneath the connecting stalls.

Chelsea takes the hand-off and whispers through the metal divider, “So what’s the deal stickin yer finger up yer asshole like that?”

Crystal didn’t answer. She was concentrating on cutting her pile into three fat lines. Within seconds all three rails vanish up her nostrils.

“I got bored.” Crystal mumbled as she frantically wiped at the burn coming from deep in her nasal cavity. “And I felt like fingerin my ass.”

That was a good enough answer for Chelsea.

They both clean the top of the dispenser of all evidence with a quick swipe of an index finger before leaving their stalls. They then clean the residue off their finger by rubbing their gums. Crystal walks out of the stall still in the act of the numby.

Chelsea looks at Crystal and makes a gross facial expression, “You just had that finger in yer asshole.”

Ramone Vandetti, known in the industry as Sanchez, is the founder and CEO of Liquid Punishment Productions, a studio notorious for pushing the limits of sex on film. The company was founded in 2002 and gained public recognition when obscenity charges were filed against them for a series of “fisting-themed” films. The charges were aggressively and expensively fought and the case was won under conditions of the First Amendment.  Any publicity is good publicity and thanks to the attention the case received, Liquid Punishment found its place on the map. Ramone “Sanchez” Vandetti took advantage of his newly obtained notoriety and built his company upon the premise of ‘anything goes”. Of the $12 billion U.S. dollars the porn industry generated in 2002, $300 Million filled the bank accounts of Liquid Punishment. Ramone “Sanchez” Vandetti was 23 years old.

Sanchez however, is no stranger to the business. His father, Ramone Vandetti Sr. was founder and CEO of Lights Out Entertainment, one of the longest running and most successful adult studios in the industry. Vandetti Sr. saw unlimited potential in the video revolution of the 1980’s and took quick advantage of it from the beginning. He started his company from the ground up and funded his first series of films with money borrowed from friends and family. Thanks to his careful selection of female performers, a large profit was generated and he was able to continue producing films long after the borrowed money was paid back. Once established, he began involving his relatives in the company’s everyday operations. His younger brother Vince Vandetti signed on as his partner and he employed uncles and cousins to work in positions ranging from warehousing and sales to set design and video duplication.

Long-term success of the company was furthered in part by innovative business decisions, creative marketing techniques, lucrative investment plans, and a production aesthetic that stood apart from most of the garbage that was being churned out at the time. Lights Out was the first company to establish the “contract girl”, signing performers to work exclusively for that company. That idea would play a major role in branding the company and catapulting it to the top when other studios remained stagnant, or completely faded away. They were the first company to offer censored versions of their box covers enticing commercial chains like Tower Records to carry their product. They were also amongst the first handful of companies to secure deals with hotel chains offering pay-per-view adult movies in suites. Riding high on the success of their endeavors thus far, they began producing their own line of sex toys and adult novelties using their performers to market and promote the product. They would later tap into dozens of other markets including book and magazine publishing, phone sex hot-lines, and a clothing line specializing in lingerie and other adult wear. Ramone Vandetti Sr. owned 100% of the rights to everything he signed off on. He was a keen business man and made long-term relationships not only in the outlaw world of adult entertainment, but also in mainstream markets. Lights Out Entertainment is still one of the most successful studios in the industry.

Despite the explicit nature of his career endeavors, Vandetti Sr. was a devout family man and a loyal husband who played an active role in his only child’s life. He provided his son Ramone with everything he ever needed or wanted – and that was always the problem. Ramone Vandetti was spoiled from the beginning. He demanded upgrades on everything he was given and his requests were fulfilled without hesitation. From the toys he received as a kid to the cars he was bought before he was old enough to drive. He wasn’t satisfied until he knew he had the best. His son’s pickiness never bother Sr. and he saw it as an admirable characteristic it and summed it up as high regard for quality. “That’s my boy! What can I say? The kid likes the finer things in life.” You name it and Ramone Vandetti Jr. had it.

Vandetti Sr. never kept his work a secret from his son and Ramone grew up around the inner sanctums of the family business. He was the cute little kid behind the scenes who was carted around in limousines to all his father’s events.  He was known around the tight knit circles as Little V and his father’s associates simply adored him. The girls would pinch his cheeks and the guys would poke him in the chest and tell him what a lucky little man he was. No one dared question Vendetti Sr. as to why he let his kid run around porno sets and after a while no one paid any attention. Junior’s formative years were spent at all night Hollywood parties under the careful watch of his father’s eye. He’d bounce from table to table swigging down kiddie cocktails and watch with curiosity as the adults sniffed mysterious white powders up their noses. If he was caught staring too long at any number of explicit activities, his father would smack him in the back of the head and tell him to move along. Junior was exposed to a world of sex and drugs at a very young age and he loved the life before he was old enough to even comprehend what it was all about.

Vandetti Senior wasn’t blind to the things his son was exposed to. He wasn’t naïve either. He understood the ways of the world and new that certain elements existed both inside and outside the world of the family business.  He believed it was only a matter of time before his son would be introduced to the harsher ways of the world and if Vandetti Sr. had any say in the matter then he would be the one explaining these things to him. Not some drug dealer on the street corner or some punk he went to grade school with. Vandetti Sr. lived by a specific code of ethics that would have been instilled in his son whether the family business was in construction or accounting. It just so happened that the family business was sex. He saw no reason to shelter his son from his world. He prided himself as an active father and believed dearly in how he raised his son. He encouraged his son to ask questions. No topic or concern was off limits. Unfortunately, it can’t be predicted how a child receives and retains information and it was impossible for Vandetti Sr. to truly know to what extent Ramone was processing the things he saw. How it affected his perception of human interaction and relationships. How they distorted his perception of reality. Vandetti Jr. grew up believing that his world was the norm.

It was expected that when Ramone was at the proper age he would join his father and uncles in the family business. When the day came when Ramone was old enough to have a legal, active involvement, he was too engulfed in the lifestyle that came with the business to be bothered with how the business was run. Ramone was a trust fund baby and saw no reason to work. Everything he needed was provided for him.

Like their mainstream Hollywood counterparts, the “other” Hollywood also had their young and, spoiled rich offspring and the group Sanchez ran with despised their mainstream Hollywood peers. Sanchez had built a loyal group of friends his same age who came from similar backgrounds and he earned a reputation around town as a street brawler with a short fuse. He was arrested for felony assault charges for the first time at the age of 17 after pummeling Griffin O’Neal, son of Ryan O’Neal, outside West Hollywood nightclub. Griffin was 32 years old. Charges were later dropped after a conversation occurred between the two fathers. He was arrested again two years later outside the same nightclub for assaulting Scott Caan, the son of actor James Caan. Sanchez had a volatile personality. He was cocky and charismatic. He wouldn’t back down from anything and if he ever got himself into any real trouble he knew he could use his family’s connection to get himself out of it.

Relationship between father and son became strained. The deeper his son became intertwined in LA’s underworld, the less his father saw or heard from him. When the two did see each other, the moments were either cherished in silence or celebrated in argument. Vandetti Sr.’s worst fears were becoming realized as junior began to separate himself more and more from the family and the business. Sanchez began rubbing elbows with the high end low lifes that haunted the streets at night and the only way Senior knew how to deal with the situation was through threats of separation from the family business and all the ‘blessings” that came along with it. The threats had very little substance behind them and they only fueled young Vandetti’s thirst for personal and financial independence.

Sanchez turned the tables on his father and cut himself from the family before they had a chance to do it themselves. As a half-hearted jab against the family, he produced a low budget porno for a competing studio and arranged a deal to distribute it through the same company as Lights Out. The film was a made up of a collection of scenes filmed in the back of his father’s limo with the Lights Out logo in full view of the camera the entire time. Sanchez titled the Walk Away, named after the parting words spoken to the female performers once the on-screen demoralization was complete.  Before the last drop of ejaculation was splattered across the performers face, the door was swung open they girl was told to “walk away”. To the surprise of everyone, the film turned a healthy profit and Liquid Punishment Productions was accidently born. Sanchez was ecstatic and saw the same unlimited potential that his father saw when he first started his company.

The relationship between the two took its hardest hit when his Sanchez began stealing his father’s contacts and building Liquid Punishment off the relationships his father spent his whole life establishing. He began working with competitors and in the process, dragged the family name through the mud. The betrayal did little to effect Lights Out revenue stream but Senior was unable to look past what he was often heard describing as a “great betrayal of blood”. Pride and ego prevented any progress being made in repairing the damage between the two and their personal relationship would never heal. All opportunity was lost when Ramone Vandetti Sr. died of lung cancer in the midst of his son’s obscenity trials. Sanchez made no efforts to attend any funeral proceedings and refused all rights to an inheritance. Friends and family never understood the reasons that led Ramone to stray in such a dramatic and vindictive fashion and no contact has been made from either side since the passing of Vandetti Sr. Lights Out Entertainment was taken over completely by Vince Vandetti and the two Vandetti studios remain fierce competitors.

Today’s shoot would be a relatively small one. The crew would be filming a 2 girl/one guy POV scene to be included in the fourth coming installment of Liquid Punishment’s award winning series Anal Spit Swap. Today’s crew consists of Sanchez’s  hair and make-up girl, a lighting tech, a sound tech, and three cameramen with the main camera being operated by the male talent himself, a French actor named Renee Dupree. Dupree is an established performer with a reputation for the aggressive treatment of actresses during scenes, a depraved and misogynistic approach fueled in part by an ego that comes with operating one of the largest penises in the business. Dupree is Sanchez’s star attraction and they’ve built a strong business relationship over the last five years. They’ve worked together on over 150 scenes and Dupree has a flexible directing and distribution deal through Liquid Punishment Productions.

For his latest scene Sanchez has rented out a five bedroom, 9,000 Square Foot Mediterranean-style Villa in the Hills of Hollywood located at Castilian Drive just off the Sunset Strip. The property overlooks Los Angeles from a grassy knoll hidden behind an array of purple Jacaranda trees rising from the hillside below. The area is haunted with the scent of Crimson Bougainvillea vine and blooming Jasmine carried up through the foothills by a breeze born somewhere far off in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The atmosphere is tranquil and quiet and exists in glaring contrast to the chaos of the city below.

Sanchez is very specific about the locations he chooses and considers the settings in his movies to be of equal importance as the performers themselves. Panoramic views of the city from mountain tops high in the sky. Endless seascapes of ocean reaching as far as the eye can see. Sweeping views of the skyline showcasing sunrises and sunsets from attainable distances. Mammoth structures of architecture featuring cathedral ceilings in the interior of the buildings. Winding staircases leading to multi-level heavens. Koi ponds for decoration in the back yards, solid oak exterior sauna rooms, fire pits, gazebos, spas with walls of flowing water, and most importantly, in-ground swimming pools cut intricately into their concrete foundations. Sanchez opens every scene in an outdoor setting either in or near a pool area. He admires the aesthetic of the natural California sunlight and utilizes the water to showcase his female performers. Despite the nature of his business, Sanchez is quite the connoisseur of extravagant scenery. Anything less would be an injustice to the high end filth of consumerist eros he’s built his company’s name upon.

For functionality purposes he’s converted one of the Villa’s seven Victorian-style bathrooms into a make-shift dressing room. The bathroom is layered in solid marble from floor to ceiling with the walls covered in elaborately framed, oversized crystal cut mirrors creating the illusion of the room being bigger that it already is. The bathtub is solid marble and the sinks are decorated in hand-cast fixtures with jewel-like designs. At each end of the room are two self-cleaning toilets controlled by wireless remotes. The room is dimly lit by a dangling Vienna, full spectrum, 42-inch wide chrome and crystal chandelier. Behind the center mirror in is a built-in flat-screen TV currently showcasing Sanchez’s last release We Own That Ass.

Relaxing on vanity stools in front of the center mirrors are the two female performers for the day. One blonde. One brunette. Both of Lithuanian decent and stunningly beautiful for the line of work they’ve chosen. Both could pass for Victoria Secret models but opted for the outlaw side of the coin instead. The blonde goes by the name Liza and the brunette calls herself Eva. They wear expressions of fierce grimace creating a stone cold intensity that could turn a man to dust if engaged in eye contact a moment too long. Their European accents are thick and convey tones of acute authority. These girls are here for business. They aim to deliver a product. And they will be proportionately compensated for the acts they are willing to perform on camera.

Sanchez is rarely disappointed with his roster of European performers and prefers employing their services over his American talent. American-born actresses have a tendency to posses diva-esque qualities acquired from cultural excesses occasionally resulting in behind-the-scene disputes - especially when dealing with the type of sex acts Liquid Punishment specializes in. Veteran performers are the worst and new comers from the States are either too shy or lacking in on-screen presence. European-based performers, in the opinion of Sanchez, are a solid package. They do what they’re told and they rarely complain. They come with strong personalities can adapt to difficult situations when a scene calls for it. They’re priorities differ from that of American woman and they actually are much more business savvy. The journey that has brought them to the States has taught them a respect for other cultures and an appreciation for the earned dollar. It’s provided them with street-smarts of a whole other level. Most Europeans who come to the US still recall what it was like growing up in places like Communist Russia before the dissolution of Soviet Union into independent Republics. They grew up waiting in lines for food and water and if the ration ran out for the day they’re families went hungry. They remember growing up in police states and living in fear of accusations of dissenting opinion. Growing up in that environment birthed a hardened demeanor and cautious outlook on life for most all who experienced it.

Back in the make-shift dressing room Eva blows gently on her freshly painted fingernails as the make-up girl applies the finishing touches of thick black eye-liner to her bright blue eyes. Liza wanders around the bathroom naked after completing the final step of her twelve-hour internal preparation for a scene with Sanchez. Her process begins the night before ceasing the consumption all foods after 8PM. Before going to bed she’ll swallow down a double dose of a liquid laxative. She’ll wake up sometime in the middle of the night to clear out what’s left in her stomach. When she wakes the next day she’ll prepare a deep cleans enema using a 2 quart enema bag and 4 quarts of warm, distilled water. She flushes her colon with two thorough rinses and repeats the process an hour before the scene with a single 6 oz. flush insuring a clean, accident-free shoot.

Just as Liza completes a full swipe of her ass from a sterile baby wipe, a camera man named Stones enters the bathroom area. He’s been instructed to conduct pre-scene interviews to be included as extras on the DVD. The rarely viewed footage will cater to the type of people who appear regularly at Adult Expos seeking a chance to meet their favorite performers live and in the flesh they so desire. The behind-the scene interviews are an opportunity to get to know the performers on a personal level and its required footage as part of pre-production.

Rick “Stones” Cedeno is Sanchez’s right-hand man on the production end of things and is known in the industry for his veracious appetite of all things narcotic. Stones and Sanchez are childhood friends and his nickname was acquired in his teen years after beating a drug dealer half to death on the Santa Monica Pier for selling him a bag of crack containing rocks cut too small. He was spotted standing over the unconscious dealer screaming “Save that shit for the tourists’ nigga! I want the STONES!” His entourage found the scene quite amusing and from that day forward referred to their buddy only as Stones.

Stones has a little too much fun with these segments and has been known to degrade the actresses if he picks up on any nervousness or insecurities.

Stones zooms in close on Eva’s face with her make-up still being applied and with a shit-eating grin asks, “What's yer name sweetheart and does your daddy know what you’re about to do today?”

Eva gently brushes away the make-up girl and reaches over to a cigarette burning slow in a white ceramic ash tray. She stares hard into the camera and replies in her thick European accent. “You know already what my name is Stones.”

“Well your new fans prolly don’t. Why don’t you tell us what brings you here so early on this beautiful sunshiny day?”

“What you think I’m here for you fucking piss-on!? Chiulk bybi kol kaula rasi. Bibiagalvis! I’m here to fuck! Not for interviews!”

Sanchez enters the dressing room as the last drop of venom sprays from Eva’s mouth. The tension hangs thick in the air and Sanchez lets out an amusing laugh. “Atta girl! Leave my bitch alone Stones. She don’t wanna do no interviews, man.”

Sanchez walks up to Eva and plants a reassuring kiss on the back of her neck. “Just let me know when yer ready babe and we’ll get this thing done. O.K.?”

Sanchez struts back towards the door with his eyes glued to Stones the entire time. Before disappearing down the hallways he cracks a smile and throws Stones a playful wink.

More entertained that deterred; Stones turns the camera in the direction of Liza. “How bout you beautiful? Can I get anything outta you?”

“Analfabetas!”

“Well alrighty then.”

Outside neatly organized on a round glass table next to the Grecian shaped pool lay a specific set of props requested for the day. Two over-sized, stemless martini glass, two clear plastic speculums, a variety of water-based lubricants, ball-gags, handcuffs, and a selection of multi-colored, multi-textured dildos ranging in size from the tiny to the utterly preposterous. On the edge of the table sits party platter containing every pill one could ever need to survive a scene for Ramone “Sanchez” Vandetti. Viagra and Cialis for the men. Vicoden, Morphine, Xanax, and a variety of other street pharmaceuticals to unshackled the moral code and disguise the pain. In the center of the tray sits a large crystal bowl of the purest powder cocaine money could buy.

The girls have already found their way into the shallow area of the pool by the time Stones enters the patio. Stones is Cam1 of a three part team and Sanchez orders him to begin filming immediately. Fidgeting with his Canon XL3, he makes a quick b-line to the party tray before powering up and swallows down a handful of the assorted pills. Half the pills make it down while the other half lodge themselves in the back of this throat.  He grabs a flat, warm beer that’s been heating up on the edge of the table since early morning and takes a giant swig. He chokes a little then points the camera in the direction of the girls. 

Stones opens the shot with a close-up of Liza’s burgeoning C-cups. He zooms out slowly as Eva’s mouth creeps into the frame, attaching itself to her left nipple. The girls take turns sucking and foundling each other’s breasts, brought to full salute by the cool breeze flowing through the hillsides rising off the Strip. Liza’s hands disappear below the surface of the water as Eva tilts her head back. She lets out a soft moan. The pool water is a crystal blue and visible just below the soft ripples on the surface are Liza’s fingers deep inside Eva. After a moment of aggressive hand-play, Eva’s hips begin to jerk violently as she dropped her head hard into Liza’s chest. She finishes off what may or may not be an authentic orgasm then buries her tongue deep down Liza’s throat.

Sanchez directs the girls out of the water with a subtle flick of the wrist as Stones glides backwards to capture their figures rising out of the water. They emerge slowly, one step at a time from the aquatic marble staircase holding hands as their tan, wet bodies glisten crisp in the natural sunlight of the California sky. Stones moves out of the shot as Cam2 positions himself behind the girls capturing they’re backsides as they head towards an arrangement of pool chairs set off to the side. Cam2 zooms in on their asses as the backs of their thighs disappear under the crease of flesh created in succession with each step they take. Their soft hair, wet at the tips, hangs heavy down to the smalls of their back. Their shoulders are strong and firm and their hour-glass figures peek at the hips and continue downward towards a shapely calf muscle tapering off thin at the ankle. Their bodies are flawless and their flesh has the texture of airbrushed porcelain.

Sanchez stands off in the distance and instructs the girls to begin their showcase discussed prior to the scene. Cam2 kneels down pointing the camera upward as the girls arch their backs and spread their asses apart. They suck in and push out their assholes performing a novelty act termed in the industry as “winking.” The flesh of the asshole expands and retracts with every flex of the anal muscle. When the final retraction is complete they both turn to display what they’re working with from the front. Both girls are shaved clean and well endowed vaginally. They pull at their clits and slip fingers in and out of themselves with ease from the assistance of their bodies’ slick natural lubricants. Cam2 tilts aims the camera upward at the round underside of Eva’s breasts as she swings the C-cups from side to side with the subtle motion of her torso.

Cam2 turns his attention towards Eva as she walks off to a one-piece, acrylic chair set off to the side. The structure is transparent with fluid angles molded to fit the contours of the body resting in it. Cam2 positions himself behind the backrest and kneels down filming upward through the back rest of the chair as Eva turns to sit. She spreads her ass before squatting down pressing her flesh onto the seat. She bends forward and grabs her ankles. Her breasts dangling just above the concrete. Cam2 zooms in on her ass from underneath the seat. Her pussy and asshole smoosh into the plastic as she rocks back and forth. The delicate flesh of her asshole ass remain locked into place on the smooth acrylic as the meaty flesh surrounding shifts from side to side. She lifts herself up slightly creating a gap of air between her asshole and the plastic. The area begins to fog up from the heat of her body. Liza walks into the frame and begins to lick the underside of the furniture like a lost housewife kissing her husband through the plexi glass of a penitentiary visiting room.

Standing just off camera wearing nothing but a pair of tight black boxers is Renee Dupree.  His pulsating phallus, fueled by the charge of 2,000 milligrams of Viagra, stands at full attention poking through the flap in his cotton linens.  The veins in his penis pump to the tune of his heartbeat and he’s more than primed for action. He strokes his dick with his left hand while examining the buttons on the Canon XL-3 with his right. He waits anxiously for the girls to finish their solos.

Dupree orders Liza down on her knees with her back side facing the camera and instructs her to lean forward. She supports the weight of her upper body with her forearms and elbows resting her head on the back of her hands that are locked together palms down on the cement. Her breasts press tightly into the concrete with the sides squeezing out from the sides of her armpits. She arches her back upward and points her ass high in the air. Eva mounts herself over Liza and rests her ass on the small of her lower back. She leans forward and grips each cheek spreading Liza’s ass wide apart. Dupree crouches down in front of the Liza and admires for a moment what he gets paid to indulge himself with. Stones stands over Dupree and angles the camera downward on the action. Cam 2 positions himself out of the shot to captures extended angles to be edited together in post production. Dupree starts out slow with carefully placed kiss on the side of Liza’s hip. He moves in closer with each kiss as the flesh around Liza’s pussy begins to blush and swell. Liza arches her back even farther as Dupree buries his tongue deep inside her pussy. He attacks the inside walls with a fury admiring the taste and texture of the canvas. He pulls out slow and laps up the cum that begins to flow down from her body. Her clit hardens with every swipe of Dupree’s industry trained tongue. He takes turns switching techniques as Liza backs up and grinds into his face. Cam2 positions himself carefully to capture the tight shots.

Dupree's chin glistens with Liza’s juices as he switches his attention to her puckered asshole. He glides his tongue over the tangled knot and with his tongue flexed and stiffened, inserts it as far as the muscle with reach. He tongue fucks her ass sending signals of zest to her brain from the nerve endings encircling the sensitive flesh of her anus. Her anal muscles relax with more with each attack from Dupree’s tongue until she gapes effortlessly in still motion. She lets out a long sigh as a fresh trail of cum oozes from her pussy coming to rest at the tip of her erect clit. Dupree backs away and lets the camera capture the aesthetic of the clear liquid glistening in natural light of the bright sun. Stones zooms in from above and just as the droplet of cum is about to detach itself from the fleshy hook, Dupree d\lunches forward and clamps his mouth tight around her swollen lips giving one last tug from the suction of his mouth. He completes his oral examination of Liza with one long swipe of his tongue starting at the clit and ending at her pulsating asshole.

Sanchez motions the girls to lye side by side on their backs with their legs over their head. He’s already applied a healthy dose of lubrication to a pair of dildos from the table of props. He hands the toys to Dupree where he distributes them as previously discussed in pre-production. Liza gets the slick black donger and Eva gets the clear inflatable dildo. Liza examines her toy before placing it to the opening of her vagina. She admires its size and prepares herself mentally for the process. An object of its size must be treated with respect and is capable of damage if taken lightly. She teases her clit for a moment then plunges it deep inside herself. Her stomach expands visibly with the introduction of the large object and she lets out a moan as that represents both pain and pleasure. While Liza works on her pussy with the big black dong, Eva slides the slender pump dildo deep inside her ass. The object that was inserted with simple ease would not be the same toy that was to exit. Dupree grabs the handle of the pump and fills the toy with air to its max capacity of 12 inches in diameter. With her legs clamped together over her head, Eva slowly rolls over to her side. She buries her head into her forearm to conceal the look of pain that has come over her face. Dupree tugs at the inflated object creating an abstract visual effect. When he makes his first actual attempt to pull out the mass bulge, he has trouble making it passed the tight exist. He applies a little more pressure as her asshole stretches around the toy opening wide and snapping shut in a single smooth, motion. Eva lets out a loud grunt followed by a long, deep sigh.

“Good girl.” Dupree whispers in a strangely romantic tone due in part to his buegue French accent.

Dupree slaps Eva on the ass and orders both girls on their knees positioned in front his swinging cock. Sanchez powers up the other Canon XL-3 and hands it to Dupree who takes over as the main camera operator. He aims the camera on the girls as they make-out for a brief moment with his meaty prop swinging in the foreground. With her tongue swirling around Eva’s mouth, Liza reaches up and grips the swollen phalace. She tugs at it for a moment before turning her attention towards it. With her eyes still closed, she wraps her lips around the purple tip. She takes her time and then hands it off to Eva.

They glide their mouths up and down taking turns wrapping their lips around the throbbing tip. Dupree’s cock is so big they can barely wrap their lips around the head. The lighting tech stands over Dupree’s shoulder adding an extra shine to the saliva-coated cock.

Sanchez walks over and hands Dupree the giant crystal martini glass. He places it on the cement just underneath the girls. Dupree places his hand on the back of Eva head, rubbing his hands through her hair taking a moment to relish in his career choice. Without warning, he pushes her head down hard on the molten member. The same object that she could barely take down manually disappears deep into the back off her throat with force. Her neck expands wider and the veins in begin to bulge. She’s coughs and chokes as her eyes swell up with tears. A bubble of spit appears from her left nostril and when her head is finally released from his clutches she pulls back hard and lets a puddle of clear bile pour out of her mouth and into the martini glass below. Thick strings of spit dangle from her chin connected to Dupree’s cock as she takes a deep breath and dives down for more. The process is repeated a few times before Liza takes the reins. When the martini glass is full and overflowing with spit Dupree pushes Eva down on her back. She stumbles a little on her heels and falls backward. Dupree grabs her angle and forces them over her head.  Liza walks over to the table and grabs one of the speculums.

Before returning to the action she dips her pinky nails in the bowl of coke scooping up a large pile. She raises her finger to her nose and in one quick sniff the powder vanishes deep inside her nasal cavity. She pauses for a brief moment and lets the cocaine drip down the back of her throat. She walks back to Eva and grips her ass with both hands. She pulls her ass apart and spits hard in her asshole. The cocaine spit hits the side off her asshole and sticks before slowly disappearing down into the swollen black abyss. She reaches for the speculum and slides in deep in her ass.  She squeezes the trigger until her asshole is spread wide open. She locks the clamps in place and then reaches for the martini glass. Spit spilled out of the glass and down the rim as she lifts it up to the speculum. She dumps the glass in Eva asshole and then releases the lock. Her asshole swallows up what must be a gallons worth of liquid and then shuts close.

She carefully stands up as Liza switches positions with her and gets on her back. Dupree slides the speculum into Liza’s ass and clamps in open. Eva stands over Liza and positions herself over Liza’s gaping ass.  Once in position she pushes and unloads a flow of liquid from her asshole into Liza’s asshole. Dupree aims the camera looking down inside as the spit splashes from side to side. When the transfer his complete, the speculum is once again unlocked and Liza’s asshole closes shut. Liza rolls

Stones is bored with the scene and getting antsy with the hot sun shining down on him. His first handful of pills didn’t do the job and concocts a quick plan to make his way back towards the table. He pretends to have trouble with the battery on his camera and signals to Sanchez that he needs to switch it out. He waits for his boss to throw another creative direction to Dupree and snatches up another handful of pills from the party tray. He pretends to cough as he brings his hand up to his mouth tossing the cocktail of pills down his throat. He switches batteries and heads back towards the action giving a guilty looking thumbs.

With an as full of spit, Liza mounts herself over Dupree in reverse cowgirl. Eva offer up a few pulls of his dick before guiding it towards in her partner’s asshole. She rubs it the tip in a circular motion around her tightly shut asshole, careful to keep the martini glass full of liquid locked inside. Heavy lubricated, Dupree’s cock slides in will an uncanny ease for its length and width. Liza lets out a moan as she drops down on it. It takes a moment for her brain to register the subtle pain and euphoria of the invasion and when she does she lets out another soft moan. She bucks up and down for a short time before quickly standing up, dumping the liquid from her now gaping asshole all over his dick and balls.

Liza falls forward on her hands and knees making way for Eva who faces Dupree and straddles him. She grabs his cock and guides it towards her asshole. She eases the tip in slow then drops down hard on it. She throws her chin up, arches her back, and braces herself with her hands behind her, palms down on the concrete. Dupree takes over control with long deep strokes, hittin the back of her colon wall with every thrust. The backs of Eva's thighs slap hard off the tops of Dupree’s throwing splashes of sweat and lube in every direction. Sensing that Dupree needs a break,  Eva takes over the work. She’s a squirter and she’s workin for the money shot. She takes her left hand rubs her clit furiously while Dupree takes control again this time fucking her asshole even harder. Eva’s hips begin to shake and her legs start to buckle. Eva cries out with thick European one-liners and after a brutal pounding lets out a few tiny squirts if clear, watery liquid. Time seems to slow to a halt as the final thrusts are made before a total eruption as she blasts a chaotic stream all over Dupree's chest. The liquid splashes in all direction leaving water spot on the camera lens. She sprays out another hard line with even more volume then drops down hard on Dupree, grinding convulsing away in uncontrollable spurts.

Just now getting into the swing of things, Dupree stands up pushing Eva off to the side like a rag doll still quivering orgasmic bliss. He grabs Liza by her hair and forces her to her knees. He presses her face hard against the concrete and locks it in place with his foot on the back of her neck. He strokes his cock a few times to get the blood flow pumping then slams it deep and fast into her ass. With her butt in the air and her face brutally secure to the cement, Dupree orders her to put her hands on her ass and keep herself spread. He dismantles her anal cavity one pump at a time and pulls out fast to capture her orifice in all its gaping glory. Dupree orders her to spread wider and push. She turns herself inside with the applied pressure exposing her insides painted with texture of cow brains.

Sweating profusely and needing a breather, Dupree takes his foot of Liza’s head and lies down on his back. Liza’s picks her brutalized body off the ground and stands hovering over Dupree’s hips for a moment to gather herself. She takes a deep breath and squats down on his dick leaning forward to brace herself with her hands on Dupree's chest. The expression on her face remains cold and professional and whatever psychological damage is being done due to this kind of treatment will surely end up buried deep down inside Liza’s survivor-like mentality.

The cocaine moves through her veins with every furious pump of her heart causing her to rise and fall on the cock in long deep strokes, rising up fast and crashing down hard. The slap of their flesh is thunderous and constant, splashing speckles of sweat in all directions upon contact. Eva’s positioned behind Liza sucking hard on Dupree's balls. In a brief moment of misplaced friction, Liza rises up a millimeter to high off Dupree’s cock. The tip of his dick pops out of her asshole just as she on her way back down. Dupree’s cock is no longer inside of Liza’s ass and is wedged in the area between her pussy and her asshole. With the fleshy area pulled tight to its limit Liza still pressing hard in a downward motion, Dupree’s cock bends backwards t in the middle at a complete 90 degree angle. His cock can no longer withstand the weight careening down upon it and snaps, folding down backwards on itself.

Within a split second all the damage that could be done has been done. Dupree shoves Liza forward across the pool patio and drops the camera. The blood pumping through his cock does its best to send the penis upright but it only makes it half up and then falls over to the side at the middle immediately going limp followed by a pain he has never felt before. The ligaments in Dupree’s penis have been torn to shreds. A small amount of blood begins to trickle from the tip of Dupree’s rapidly bruising cock.

Tripped out from the cocktail of pills, Stones stares in retarded wonder doing his best to digest the visual of a dick cracking in half before his very eyes. Dupree jumps up and runs towards Sanchez in a moment of adrenalized fury and in an almost childlike manner, grabs his balls tight with his knees knocking inward and lets out a shriek that could be heard for miles down the hillside. Sanchez, more concerned with having to scrap an entire scene near completion, slaps Dupree hard across the face and tells him to put his clothes on. A trip to the emergency room is in order.

Sanchez and crew weren’t the only ones filming a scene that day. In a slightly less extravagant property positioned directly East of Sanchez’s rented paradise, a selection of gentlemen draped in buttoned down suits took post in a number of third story rooms looking down on the Villa across the way. The men had been observing the activities of the day from the time the Sanchez arrived on set until conclusion of the shoot do to the unfortunate incident involving the broken dick.

In addition to the photography taking place from the property across the way, the interior of Sanchez’s set had been fitted with recording devices to provide a neat little soundtrack to accompany the outlandish footage. As of recent, a specific group of individuals have taken interest in the activities surrounding the business dealings of Ramone “Sanchez” Vandetti and his creative endeavors with Liquid Punishment Productions. As a result of the carefully planned stakeout, the men were quite confident they got what they came looking for.

COMING SOON!