sed since I’ve first infiltrated Illicit Entertainment. It’s been three months of filming simulated sex for the virtual reality marvel that is the Illicit Escape. Three months where I’ve become the face of the new product. Three months where I’ve fallen in love with Ethan.
I know what you’re thinking, babe, and you don’t need to worry.
I’m not having real sex on set. Ethan isn’t having to watch me fuck another guy.
Anytime a real cock is needed, guess who’s filling in?
That’s right. Mr. Kane himself.
But even those times are really for still shots, or when the viewer maybe wants to look down and see me blowing them, you know? Like we don’t use a real cock for much because for the first time, the viewer is moving from viewing to participating.
It takes POV porn and goes one step closer.
But that means in filming, I only ever really film anything by myself.
It’s harder than I expected. If you don’t believe me, try pretending to have sex without anyone having sex. Like try scrunching your face in an orgasm when there’s no cock inside of you and without using your fingers.
But we only ever film maybe one day a week. The rest of the days are photos, touching up some shots, and other housekeeping.
Filming porn for virtual reality, where the user expects to have the sensation and experience of having sex with me is actually a very lonely endeavor. I’m actually spending a large amount of time in front of a green screen holding ridiculous poses.
The other day, I spent five minutes holding my hand in front of my mouth as if I was grasping a cock and guiding it inside. The day before that, I must have lay there for ten minutes with my legs spread out as they used my image and then moved it around in their computer systems to get it ideally pixelated for the I.E. experience.
It’s safe to say that being so close to sex, but not having real sex is enough to make me want to jump Ethan when we get home.
Afterwards, I go take a bath while Ethan fixes dinner.
Then we cuddle on the sofa and watch TV.
Well, let me actually correct that. Ethan watches TV and I lie in his arms, feeling them surround me and keep me safe. I like the sex, but smelling his cologne and feeling him wrapped around me is probably the most satisfying feeling I’ve had in years. I usually fall asleep there and he carries me to bed.
Every night.
One.
That’s how many weeks I’ve known that I’m pregnant.
I know, right!
I’m pregnant!
I mean, yes, I’m happy. It’s okay. Don’t worry, this is so a good thing.
Oh, yeah, I first found out when I missed my period. I’ve never been late in my entire life. It has always been on the dot. And somehow, I just knew. Something was up.
One home pregnancy kit later, I knew that my body’s sixth sense was spot on.
And no, Ethan doesn’t know. I’m sorry, hun, but I need you to keep one more secret from him for me. You can’t tell him this until I tell him.
And I haven’t told him just yet because I’m still not sure what to do about Simon.
I mean, I would love to go and tell Ethan and have him pick me up in happiness. I’d love to start buying baby things with Ethan. I’d love to start teasing him about naming our little boy Wilfred and our little girl Juliana and watching him cringe at those names.
But I can’t.
I either have to wait until Ethan releases his prototype, or until I can get Simon off my back.
But I don’t know how to get out of this situation and so I’ve been keeping quiet.