Chapter 13 – Swallow Your Pride

Sunday evening Chloe stared at her phone and read Ben’s message with the details for Wednesday, which had just arrived. Studio address, time, and then the name she had been hoping for: Trevor Knight will be your scene partner.

Trevor Knight. The guy Samantha had complained about.

At least this way I can get to him.

She rolled over on the squeaky mattress, opened her laptop, and typed into the search field: “how to suppress gag reflex”.

She wasn’t the first to seek help. There were threads in support forums with titles like “how to deepthroat HELP!” and guides with names like “Gag reflex training for beginners”. She clicked through all of them, taking notes as if for an exam.

“Relaxation techniques, breathing through the nose, desensitization.”

One post in a forum for industry professionals from a performer named CandySweet was especially useful: “NEVER use bananas or cucumbers to practice!! I know a girl who almost choked on a broken cucumber, and even a toothbrush or something like that can be swallowed. Use your finger, you can’t accidentally swallow that. If you really need something bigger, use a dildo with a flared base, but only once you’ve made progress.”

Chloe leaned back and rubbed her eyes.

This is my life now. Gag reflex training.

She went into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Then she opened her mouth and slowly pushed her index finger along her tongue, deeper and deeper, until-

The gag reflex came immediately and hard. Her eyes watered, she coughed and had to lean over the sink.

Shit.

But she tried again. This time she got a little further before her body rebelled. After twenty minutes, she gave up, her throat already felt a bit sore. Could you get sore muscles in your throat?

How the hell am I supposed to do this in three days?

~

Monday morning at 7 a.m., Chloe rolled out her yoga mat and did her normal routine, but with some extras this time.

She opened her mouth wide, moving her jaw in a way she had found in a guide. Left, right, forward, backward. It felt absolutely ridiculous, like she was practicing a silent scream, and she was glad no one could see her doing it.

This was followed by some breathing exercises she had found. Breathe in deeply through the nose while holding your mouth open, hold your breath, exhale slowly through the nose to get used to breathing without using your mouth.

After yoga, she went back to the bathroom. Finger in her mouth, slowly, controlled. The reflex came, but later than yesterday. A tiny step forward.

She spent the day researching by watching dozens of Throat Me videos to study the performers’ techniques. How they breathed, when they closed their eyes, little tricks she could perhaps use herself.

What discouraged her a little was that even those who seemed to be quite good at it had to gag from time to time, because that just seemed to be the way it had to be. Down in the timeline bar of the video, she could see that these moments were among the most repeated parts of the videos.

Later, she read some more threads on the industry forum. One performer swore by gargling with warm salt water beforehand, another recommended pressing your thumb into your fist, which was supposedly an acupressure trick against nausea.

The next practice session afterward went better. She was actually able to slide her finger along her tongue into her throat without gagging immediately now. But as soon as it touched the back of her throat, the reflex kicked in anyway.

In the evening, she threw on a jacket and made her way to an adult store six blocks away. The selection of dildos was definitely large, an entire wall full of flesh-colored, black, pink, even rainbow-colored phalli in every conceivable size.

Without spending too much time choosing, she grabbed a medium-sized flesh-colored one with a flared base, just as CandySweet had recommended.

The cashier, a bored-looking overweight guy with a full beard, scanned the item. “Do you need lube with that?”

“No, thank you.”

He shrugged and put the dildo in a black plastic bag. “Have fun.”

I wish.

~

On Tuesday morning, the finger exercise went a little better, probably because she was finally able to concentrate on breathing through her nose. At least it worked with her finger now. As long as she paid attention to her nasal breathing, she could leave her finger in her throat for as long as she wanted. 

Time for an experiment.

She sat down on her bed with the dildo in her hand, brought it to her mouth, and slowly pushed it in. The width was a challenge because she now had to stretch her lips, but at least she managed to keep her breathing under control.

Deeper. A little deeper. Almost there.

It seemed to work for a few seconds, then the tip hit the back of her throat, she forgot to breathe through her nose for a moment and was immediately shaken by violent and loud gagging. She pulled the dildo out, coughed, and tears ran down her cheeks.

This will never work. I can prepare as much as I want, it won’t be enough.

In the evening, Chloe sat on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hand. Ben’s contact was already on the display. All she had to do was dial. One phone call, some made-up illness, and she’d be out.

But her gaze wandered to Samantha’s photo on the nightstand.

No. I’m going through with this.

One last practice round went slightly better than before. She was able to hold out for almost a minute before her reflexes got the better of her.

When the sun had set, she set the alarm for 7 a.m. and lay down in bed, but sleep was slow in coming. She turned on her side and pulled the thin blanket up to her chin. In a few hours, she would get up, get ready, and then…

Don’t think about it.

At some point, it must have been after midnight, she slipped into a restless sleep.

~

The alarm clock rang at seven sharp, but Chloe was already awake. Again. She still felt a little sore from yesterday’s training with the dildo in her throat, which was now back in its packaging under her bed. Not exactly the best conditions.

She rolled out of bed directly onto her yoga mat and went through her routine mostly out of habit to calm her fluttering nerves. In the shower, which as always oscillated between almost cold and lukewarm, she again shaved her legs, armpits, and between her legs.

While she let her hair dry, she stared at the bread on the counter in the tiny kitchenette. She was definitely hungry, but her stomach turned at the mere thought of eating. Besides, she remembered Marc Weston’s advice: “Don’t eat beforehand. Trust me.”

She now understood exactly what he had meant. She definitely didn’t want anything in her stomach today that could come back up. Instead, she drank plenty of water, hoping that wasn’t too much.

Chloe put on comfortable clothes, just sweatpants and an old T-shirt, because Ben had written to her that she would be dressed on site. They would also do her makeup in the studio, so she could save herself the trouble.

She also packed her toothbrush, toothpaste, travel towel, and a water bottle in her gym bag. She did everything without thinking, her brain on autopilot as she imagined horror scenarios of what might happen later.

Her cell phone showed 11:30 a.m. The shoot was at 1 p.m. It would take her about half an hour by bus, plus ten minutes on foot. She should leave now.

Her reflection stared back at her in the smudged bathroom mirror. Pale, dark circles under her eyes, her blonde hair tied back in a careless ponytail.

“You can do this,” she said to her reflection.

Hopefully.

She grabbed her bag and left the apartment.

~

When she arrived at the studio address, a massive concrete block of a building, a man in a black T-shirt was waiting at the entrance, scrolling on his phone. As she approached, he looked up.

“Chloe Heart?”

“That’s me, hi!”

He nodded and put his phone away. “Excellent, then you can follow me right away.”

As she entered, she was immediately hit by cool air conditioning. Inside, it was surprisingly clean. The walls looked like they had been painted within the last decade, the floor and furniture looked neat, and even the cables were neatly routed along the walls instead of scattered wildly across the floor like at CCC. This was clearly a more professional operation.

They followed a corridor, past open doors through which she caught glimpses of equipment stored there. Props, cameras, tripods, softboxes, and a whole arsenal of microphones.

“Can you move the wall more to the left? No, more to the left. I said LEFT! Mike, can you help him with that, please?”

It seemed quite busy, but not chaotic.

They passed through a large room where the actual set had been built, a replica bedroom, fairly generic with dark bedding and a few fake plants. The bed looked solid, as it probably needed to be.

“The dressing room is here.” The man in black pointed to a door. “Lisa is already waiting.”

He knocked and opened the door without waiting for a response.

The room was small but tidy. There was a clothes rack on the wall, a large mirror, a small sofa that had seen better days, and a small area separated by a screen for changing clothes. And in the middle of it all was a woman in her fifties with short gray hair, a black T-shirt, jeans with paint stains, and a polite smile on her lips.

“Chloe?”

“That’s right, hi.”

“I’m Lisa.” She had a slight German accent. “I’m in charge of the wardrobe. Let’s get you fitted out, okay?”

Lisa quickly estimated her size, then turned to the clothes rack and went through the various hangers in search of the right outfit. “Nothing too fancy,” she said over her shoulder. “The plan is for it to be torn off you anyway, so the clothes here aren’t that sturdy.”

Yay.

Lisa pulled out a black dress, if you could even call it that. It was more like a scrap of fabric, tight, short, with very thin straps. The material was really cheaply made.

“Try this on, it should fit.” Lisa handed it to her along with a pair of ballerina flats so she wouldn’t have to walk around barefoot. “It’s best to leave the underwear off, then you’ll have less stress with it later during the scene.”

Chloe disappeared behind a screen and somewhat reluctantly peeled off her comfortable clothes. The black dress slid over her skin, clinging to every curve, and the fabric was even slightly transparent up close. It was also so short that she couldn’t bend over without revealing everything, and the straps were so thin that a strong tug would be enough to tear them.

Probably exactly the plan.

She stepped out from behind the screen. Lisa examined her with a professional eye, tugging here and there.

“That should work. It always breaks my heart a little when I can’t dress pretty girls like you as nicely as you deserve.” She nodded a little remorsefully. “I’ll take you over to makeup.”

They left the room and walked a little further down the corridor. Chloe kept her arms crossed in front of her breasts, even though it was completely ridiculous.

Almost all of them will see the goods in a few moments anyway.

She dropped her arms but pulled the dress down a little.  

“This way in,” Lisa said, waving goodbye and going back into the dressing room.

The makeup station was in a brighter room and had a real mirror with Hollywood lighting around it, plus a swivel chair, tables full of brushes, palettes, tubes, and everything a cosmetics enthusiast could desire. An Asian woman in her forties sat on a stool sorting lipsticks. She looked up when Chloe entered.

“Hi, Chloe!”

“Hi!”

“I’m Mai.” Her voice was deeper than expected and very pleasant. “Have a seat, then we can get you ready for the camera.”

Chloe sank into the swivel chair. She looked pale in the mirror, with dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Mai immediately began wiping her face with a cotton pad.

“Nothing on, that’s good.” She reached for some foundation. “Who are you shooting the scene with today?”

“Trevor Knight.”

Mai paused for a moment, then smiled. “Oh, Trevor! He’s intense on camera but actually really sweet. Don’t let the on-screen persona freak you out.”

She applied the foundation with pleasant, even strokes using a sponge.

“That’s good to know,” Chloe murmured.

“Yeah, I know his reputation, of course.” Mai reached for a powder brush. “But he’s a real pro.”

Mai worked silently for a while, then continued explaining as she reached for the mascara. “I’m using waterproof base but extra water-soluble mascara.”

A short pause.

“They want it to run during the deepthroat.” She managed to say it completely matter-of-factly. “It’s part of the aesthetic they’re selling.”

Yeah, I saw that during my ‘Throat Me’ binge the day before yesterday.

“Makes sense,” Chloe managed.

“Don’t worry,” Mai applied the mascara carefully. “It looks wilder than it is, the makeup is really designed to run at the slightest touch. Most performers aren’t crying that much, it’s really just a little bit.”

Chloe suppressed a snort.

After ten minutes, Mai was done. Chloe stared at her reflection. Chloe Heart stared back. She looked really cute and innocent in the makeup. Her lips glistened slightly from the lip gloss and her eyes looked bigger than usual. That was probably exactly the contrast they wanted to create.

The man in the black T-shirt reappeared in the doorway. “Ready?”

No.

“Yup.” She stood up, took a deep breath, and said goodbye to Mai.

She followed him down the corridor back to the set, past a few crew members rushing around, who at least made an effort not to stare too openly. The tension in her chest grew with every step.

This is really happening. In a few minutes…

She dismissed the thought.

One step at a time. Don’t panic.

When they reached the set, Trevor Knight was standing by the camera talking to the director, a thin guy with glasses and a headset.

Trevor was taller than she had expected, muscular but not ridiculously so, he wasn’t a bodybuilder. He had dark hair that he had styled casually. A tribal tattoo, which Chloe found incredibly ugly, snaked down his arm.

Like in the videos, he had this cold confidence in his posture, as if the whole room belonged to him and everyone else was just an extra.

When he noticed her arrival, their eyes met. His eyes were appraising, and for a second Chloe felt like a piece of meat being examined by a butcher. Chloe forced herself to flash her wide Chloe Heart smile, and Trevor nodded curtly before turning back to the director.

The man in the black T-shirt cleared his throat. “This is Trevor.”

Trevor broke away from the director and walked leisurely toward her. Up close, she could see that his eyes were gray and quite beautiful.

“You must be Chloe.” His voice was really deep, but not unfriendly, rather quite neutral.

“Yeah, I’m happy to meet you.” She hid her nervousness behind feigned enthusiasm, but her voice trembled slightly at the end.

He looked her over briefly, then raised a hand. “Okay, before we start, we need to talk about something. Safewords obviously don’t work in deepthroat scenes.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“That’s why we’re using signals. If it gets too much for you, pinch me here” – he poked himself in the back of the knee – “and I’ll stop immediately. Understood?”

Chloe nodded.

“How much experience do you have with deepthroating?”

She hesitated. Should she tell the truth? Probably better. “Not… not too much.”

A brief frown flitted across his face. “Okay. I’ll try not to overdo it. We’ll take it slow for the first few minutes to ease you into it.”

Wait a minute, he’s almost… considerate?

“Thanks,” she murmured, genuinely confused. That didn’t fit with his reputation at all. Maybe Mai hadn’t just been trying to calm her down.

He gave her a thumbs up and turned back to the crew, talking briefly with the cameraman about angles and positions.

Then the director came over to them. “Alright, let’s quickly check the database to make sure everything is clear with you guys.”

They both took out their phones and logged in. Green check marks everywhere.

“Perfect, then we can get started.” The director pushed up his glasses. “Okay, get into position. Chloe, you stand here for now, Trevor here in front of you. We’ll start without dialogue or anything, we’ll get right down to business. First a little groping, then he rips your dress open, then we start with you on your knees and then move to the bed for the second half.”

He briefly explained the camera angles, what to expect, where to look. Chloe barely processed a word of it. Her heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure the microphones would pick it up.

Trevor had already taken his position, standing with his back to her, rolling his shoulders. She could literally see his body language change. His shoulders tensed, he pushed his chest out, even stood somehow more dominantly.

“Alright, let’s go,” called the director. “And… action!”

Chloe stood there in the tight, cheap dress, wearing nothing underneath, feeling the studio lights warm her skin. Her heart was pounding wildly, a drum roll in her chest, as she stared into the camera and tried to put on her bright, innocent smile.

Trevor approached her with confident steps, stopping directly in front of her, towering over her, and then he grabbed her without a word of warning. He was rough and his fingers dug through the thin fabric into the soft flesh of her breasts.

He squeezed them so hard that Chloe gasped, which she quickly turned into a moan, and her nipples hardened involuntarily, poking through the fabric.

“Oh yeah, you little slut, you like it when you’re handled rough, huh?” Trevor growled in a deep, contemptuous voice. “You’re practically begging me to use you.”

Chloe bit her lip to keep from flinching, then forced a lascivious smile onto her face.

Breathe, Chloe. This isn’t real. It’s just for show.

“Mmm, yes, that’s soooo good,” she lied with a moan.

He’s just playing his part. Don’t take it personally.

The cameraman moved in close to capture a close-up of her breasts as Trevor kneaded them. Then suddenly Trevor yanked at the neckline of her dress and ripped it open with a brutal tug.

The fabric gave way, tearing with a loud rip, exposing her breasts to the bright lights and the hungry lens of the camera, and now they hung there, full and heavy, for all to see.

Trevor laughed dirty, grabbed them again, kneaded them even more roughly, rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pulled on them until Chloe couldn’t suppress a soft whimper, which she tried to disguise as a cry of pleasure. “Come on, say it. Tell me you’re my slut.”

Chloe swallowed hard, her cheeks burning with shame, but she remembered her role. “Yes… yes, I’m your slut,” she whispered. “Do whatever you want with me.”

Trevor pushed her roughly to her knees. The hard studio floor pressed against her kneecaps, and when she looked up, she saw him towering over her, his eyes drilling into hers, full of contempt, but she realized he was exaggerating for the camera.

“Come on, unzip my pants. Show me how much you want my cock,” he barked, pulling his T-shirt over his head to reveal his defined abs, which glistened under the studio lights.

Chloe nodded obediently, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled at his belt, unzipped his fly, and pulled down his pants.

Then she pulled down his boxers, and his cock sprang out, heavy and large, a little bigger than the dildo she had been practicing with. He was circumcised and the glans was fortunately relatively small.

Trevor grabbed his cock and slapped it against her cheeks, left, right, a meaty slap each, then held the tip in front of her mouth. “What are you waiting for? Take it in your mouth! That’s what you’re here for, to suck cock, isn’t it?”

She swallowed her pride, forced her emotions into an iron cage, and then opened her mouth. Trevor immediately pushed the tip in and she wrapped her lips around it, sucking gently and feeling the smooth, warm skin on her tongue, salty and foreign.

The director shouted: “More spit, Chloe! Make it really sloppy!”

She obeyed, letting saliva collect in her mouth, drooling over his shaft and making it slippery with loud slurping sounds.

Trevor groaned dramatically and grabbed her head. “Deeper, you slut! Take it all in!”

Chloe took a deep breath, relaxed her jaw, and slowly pushed forward. Her lips stretched around his girth and she breathed through her nose, calmly and controlled, until she had actually taken him all the way in and her nose bumped against his shaved pubic bone without gagging even once. A spark of pride flickered in her.

I can do this. I can actually do this.

Slowly, he began to move, just small thrusts, and then it came, a quiet gag, her throat tightened, but she quickly regained control, pulling back briefly for a gasping breath, thick strands of saliva connecting her mouth to his cock, hanging from her chin, dripping onto her breasts.

The cameraman knelt down for a close-up, just a few inches away from her, and one of the sound guys held a microphone close to the camera to record her gasping.

Chloe took him back into her mouth, worked him with her tongue, and let herself sink back down to his base. Just as hope began to blossom in her and she thought it might work, that it was actually quite bearable, the director shouted, “Trevor, don’t go so easy on her, this is Throat Me, not cuddling.”

Trevor grinned, almost apologetically, gathered her hair in his right fist, wrapped it around his hand for a firm grip, so tight that she felt a painful tug on her scalp, and grabbed her jaw with his left hand.

Chloe knew what was coming next, took another deep breath, and yes, he slowly pushed his entire cock into her throat, letting it slide deep inside. She tried to accept it, relaxing as best she could, but it was so much, so fucking much.

“Chloe, look up at him!” the director instructed her, and she looked up at Trevor.

Then, with her hair firmly in one hand and her jaw firmly in the other, he fucked her throat. Rough, but she also felt that he was still holding back. The thrusts went deep, but he wasn’t brutal.

Again and again, his tip hit her throat, her eyes widened, a loud “glug-glug-glug!” escaped her with every thrust, wet and gurgling, and then he thrust his cock deep inside, pushing her all the way to the base and kept her head there.

Tears welled up in her eyes involuntarily, but she continued to look up at him and did her best to keep breathing calmly through her nose, which was pressed against his pubic bone, while he held her down.

She struggled hard to keep her breathing calm, but there was nothing she could do, the gag reflex hit her violently, causing her throat to convulse around his cock and bile to flow over. The sound man tried hard to capture the disgusting noises.

Trevor held her tight. “Yes, that’s it, gag on it, you worthless fuck hole.”

The words burned, her throat cramped, and she let her hands wander down his legs, to the backs of his knees, and she was so close to pinching him, to giving him the signal, but a strange, defiant pride, an almost ridiculous competitiveness, held her back.

I can do this. Look him in the eyes.

She looked up at him, saw him through a veil of tears, and at the edge of her field of vision, she also saw the camera zooming in for a close-up, capturing her struggling face and smeared makeup, and how she was almost choking on his meat in her throat.

Finally, he pulled her off his cock, her hair still gripped tightly.

“Bluuughh!” Chloe coughed as the cock left her throat, gasped, and took a deep breath as best she could. Tears streamed down her cheeks and there was drool everywhere, on her chin, her breasts, and his cock, which throbbed glisteningly in front of her.

Quietly, so quietly that only she could hear it, Trevor whispered: “You’re doing well. Gonna go a little harder now.”

Chloe nodded almost imperceptibly and the throat fucking continued. He thrust deeper and faster for minutes on end. Every now and then she gagged, but it got better. Not pleasant, fuck no, but somehow doable.

The saliva continued to flow freely, but they found a rhythm and Chloe even found a way to breathe around his cock in small, shallow breaths.

Only once did she have to pinch him in the back of the knees when he held her down a moment too long, when the air was running out and a slight panic rose in her, but he reacted immediately, pulling her off his cock and letting her breathe.

“Move over to the bed for the lie-back throatfuck,” the director ordered. Trevor helped her up, as she had difficulty getting up because her knees hurt from the hard floor, and they walked over together while the cameraman followed them. “Chloe, on your back, head at the edge.”

She obeyed, lay down on the bed, and slid back until her head hung slightly over the edge and she saw the world upside down. Trevor stood over her with his glistening cock dangling directly above her. As he approached, she opened her mouth and he pushed it in, right down her throat.

To her surprise, it was much easier this way. The angle was right and his cock slid in smoothly, without much resistance and without triggering her gag reflex so often.

Chloe concentrated, keeping her lips and tongue moist, her throat aligned so he could slide in and out easily. She gagged less, but instead his balls slapped against her face, soft and hairy, an annoying thud with every thrust.

“Mmmph!” she moaned around him, for the camera, while the sound guy held the mic closer to capture the wet noises.

Trevor reached over her, kneading her breasts for a while, and then he even spat on his hand, stretched to reach between her legs, and rubbed her clit. The touch was rough, wet from spit, but under the circumstances, with her throat full of cock and the studio full of people, it did nothing for her. Not a spark of pleasure, just discomfort.

“We’ve got the runtime, Trevor. Cum whenever you’re ready,” the director finally said.

Trevor pulled his cock out of her throat, grabbed her arm, and dragged her off the bed and onto her knees in front of him. “Suck the tip, whore, and stroke me with your hand,” he ordered.

Chloe did as she was told, wrapping her lips around the tip, sucking and circling her tongue around it, wrapping her hand around the shaft, which was slippery with saliva, and pumping it in a fast rhythm.

After about a minute, he pushed her head and hands away, grabbed her hair again, jerked himself off with a few hard strokes, and came with a loud grunt. “Take it, you little cumslut!”

Thick, hot strands of cum shot all over her face, into her hair, stuck to her cheek, lips, forehead, dripping down her chin. Chloe tried to smile with her eyes half closed. “Yes, give me all your cum!”

It smelled of salt and man, and Chloe felt his load running down her chin and dripping onto her breasts.

“Stay like that, Chloe! Close-up, camera!” The director waved, the cameraman held the lens right in front of her, and another guy with an SLR camera snapped dozens of photos, flashes blinded her, capturing every detail, the cum, the drool, the tears, her smeared makeup, and that exhausted smile she somehow managed to muster.

“And… cut!”

Chloe groaned as she got up, stumbled to the bed, and collapsed onto it, exhausted and breathless. Her chest rose and fell frantically, her throat burned, and her entire face was a sticky mask.

I fucking did it.