’Fuck! THIS IS REAL! I got a real woman! A real fucking biological female standing in my house!’
As Kyle guided Stacy further inside, his brain just short-circuited. He was a super virgin. The only "girlfriend" he’d ever had was the one who stuck around for his money and ditched him the second he lost his job. Having another woman step into his place—not for some polite visit, not for hanging out, but for straight-up sex—felt like one of those moments that split your life into before and after.
’Am I dreaming? This has to be a dream. How the hell is a baddie like this actually walking into my living room right now?’
He kept glancing at her from the side while they moved. That Wasian face was even better under the actual apartment lights—soft tilted eyes, sharper nose, full lips, light freckles across her cheeks. Dark hair loosely tied back with a few strands falling around her face. Lean body with those soft curves in the exact right places. Slim waist. Soft hips. Chest that filled out the black crop top in a way that made his throat dry. The tattoos on her forearm and collarbone caught the light every time she moved.
"Where do I put my bag?" Stacy asked once they were fully in the living room.
"Ah—anywhere. Couch is fine." He pointed, trying to keep his voice from cracking.
She set the black duffel bag down on the cushions. "Also, where are we shooting the tape?"
"Bedroom," he said, already moving toward the door to open it for her.
"Alright."
She didn’t wait for the bedroom.
Right there in the middle of the living room she reached under her crop top, unclasped the sports bra, and pulled it off in one smooth motion. Her tits bounced free right in front of his face—round, firm, holding their shape perfectly. Light-pink areolas a few centimeters across, nipples already starting to tighten and stick out from the cooler air. They looked soft but still perky, the kind that would feel heavy and soft in his hands. The sudden skin and the way they sat on her chest made his mind go completely blank for a second.
’WHAT THE FUCK—’
"WHAT—what are you doing?" The words just blurted out of him before he could stop them. His face went red instantly. He squinted like he was trying not to look even though his eyes were locked on her chest and refusing to move.
Stacy froze, visibly confused, still holding the sports bra in one hand. "Huh? What happened?"
"I—I mean... why are you taking your clothes off already?" He forced himself to look somewhere near her shoulder instead of straight at those pink nipples, trying to claw back even a little composure. His heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his ears.
She tilted her head, a little suspicion creeping into her expression. "Why? I’m getting ready for the video. Is something wrong?"
[Make up some shit, you stupid bastard!] the system yelled inside his head.
"N-no, nothing’s wrong," Kyle said quickly, voice a bit higher than normal. "It’s just... it’d be more arousing for the viewers if you strip in front of the camera while we do foreplay. Instead of just appearing already nude. Looks more natural that way. More real."
He threw the excuse out as fast as he could while his brain was still in pieces. His eyes kept drifting back down no matter how hard he tried.
*Clasp.*
"Oh. That actually makes sense." Stacy’s voice warmed up a little. The shy edge softened and her eyes even looked a bit excited, like she thought he had some kind of plan after all.
She didn’t put the bra back on. She just held it loosely and stood there with her tits out like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Do you have a storyline for the video?"
’What the hell is she talking about?’
There had been zero discussion about any storyline. It wasn’t like he was some director or Shakespeare who could just cook up a whole storyline on the spot.
...
She noticed his silence and the way he kept glancing down. "What happened?"
"Nothing. Storyline... I wouldn’t say we need one." He cleared his throat.
"I want to keep it natural. If we plan a whole story we start looking like actors. I want it to feel amateur—like two people just recording their own private stuff. That’s why I want you to keep your clothes on for now. Make it look real. Like it just happened."
The experience of being a software developer who had spent years inventing excuses to avoid unnecessary work was finally paying off in real life.
’Fuck... why am I getting a boner right now of all times?’
No matter how stressed and panicked the situation was, a pair of perfect tits hanging right in front of him was still a pair of perfect tits. He could already feel the bulge forming in his jeans, pressing against the fabric. His eyes kept dropping to those light-pink nipples and the soft weight of her chest instead of staying on her face. The tattoos on her collarbone and forearm only made it worse—every little detail was burning itself into his brain.
Stacy leaned in a little closer, finger on her chin like she was thinking it over. When she leaned, her bare chest brushed lightly against his lower torso. The soft warmth of her skin made his dick twitch hard inside his pants.
"You’re right," she said. "Natural porn hits different. Even I get turned on by my own solo stuff sometimes because it looks so indie and real."
’She actually bought that bullshit?’ he thought, half baffled and half completely distracted by the fact that her tits were basically touching him now.
"Your idea’s great," she continued, still not putting the bra back on.
"Especially since it’s our first time recording together. It’ll look even more genuine this way."
Stacy was a bit of a perfectionist about her content, even if it was just MoreThanFans work. She liked things to look good but still feel real, not overly staged or fake. His messy, panicked excuse somehow lined up with that, so she accepted it without pushing further.
"Exactly. That was the plan," Kyle said, pushing the idea harder now that she was on board. His voice was still a little rough.
"I just wasn’t sure if you’d like it. Figured you’d want something more professional."
"Don’t worry about it. It’s a good idea. And I’m an amateur at this too now, so stop calling me professional."
The earlier shy-and-cold edge of her was fading fast. She sounded more comfortable, more open. She finally tossed the sports bra onto her duffel bag on the couch and left her crop top off as well, standing there in just the high-waisted shorts with her chest bare.
They stepped into the bedroom.
It was ordinary but tidy—he’d cleaned every corner before she arrived. The main camera sat on a tripod right in front of the bed, lens already pointed at the mattress. Two extra phone tripods were set up: one beside the bed for a side angle, one higher on the shelf for a top-down view. The sheets were the cleanest ones he owned.
Kyle rubbed the back of his neck again, eyes still drifting to her bare tits every few seconds.
"This is my room," he said. "You can get familiar with the space. I’ll... uh... double-check the everything real quick."
****
I apologize for disappearing but I am alive.
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