Chapter 7 – Couch Studies 101
by Kleo Erili“Tomorrow?”
The word barely crossed her lips.
Ben guffawed suggestively. “Oh yeah! He couldn’t wait. Randy performs in the scenes himself, you know, and he can’t wait to get his hands on you.”
Chloe swallowed hard.
“The standard deal is five hundred bucks for the scene, plus a five hundred bonus if the video does well afterwards. So bring your A-game.”
A pause. Then, with a hint of impatience when she didn’t say anything: “You’re ready for this, right?”
Chloe forced enthusiasm into her voice, but it was difficult. “Oh my God, yes! Absolutely! Thank you so much!”
Her voice wavered slightly, but Ben didn’t seem to notice. Or he didn’t care. He probably didn’t care.
“Great. I’ll send you the address and all the info. Don’t be late. Randy likes enthusiasm. Give him that and you’re golden.”
“I will! Thank you!”
He hung up without saying goodbye. Typical Ben.
Chloe just sat there, phone in hand, Cassie’s frozen face on the laptop suddenly seemed completely out of place. Even the big hoodie that was so cozy just a moment ago suddenly felt like a lie. Like a costume she wasn’t allowed to wear.
Tomorrow. Not next week. Tomorrow.
Her brief escape was over and reality crept up her spine like ice.
Her throat tightened. Her hands trembled slightly as she got up and began pacing back and forth.
The phone buzzed again and she flinched. Ben’s text with the address, time, and instructions lit up the display:
Three exclamation points. As if she hadn’t gotten the message already.
Randy Miles. Casting Couch Cuties. Tomorrow.
I’m not ready.
But she had no choice. That was the plan. It was her own fucking plan, after all.
She closed the laptop, then opened it right back up, closed Webflix.
Randy Miles.
She typed the name into the search bar and pressed Enter.
The results appeared on the screen. Videos, pictures, social media profiles, industry news. Randy Miles was well known in the industry.
The first picture showed a man in his mid-forties with a receding hairline and a disgustingly smug grin. He was tall, built in that unpleasant way that some men would call “stocky” while others would simply say “overweight”. His eyes were small and set deep in a fleshy face that clearly had been reasonably attractive twenty years ago.
Tomorrow he will… we will…
She couldn’t finish the thought.
His Hitter profile had 23,000 followers and the bio was: “Making girls cum hard and dreams come true, one couch at a time 😉🛋️”
She scrolled through his posts. Lots of photos with performers, he had always his arm around them and always that sleazy grin on his face. He did lots of promo posts for new releases. “Check out this week’s guest on our couch!” it said under a picture of a pretty brown-haired young woman who looked shyly and somewhat doubtfully into the camera.
@randymiles
An interview video with him. She clicked on it. Randy sat in a cheap studio, talking about his “art.”
“What we do at CCC is give girls who want to get started in the industry a chance,” he said, gesturing wildly with his hands. “They come to us excited and eager, and we give them their first taste. Sure, it’s not for everyone, but most stick with it and take their first steps in their careers with us. It’s deeply satisfying to see those happy faces week after week. It’s beautiful, really.”
In the CCC scenes you mostly just heard him vaguely asking questions from the off or moaning, so she heard his voice basically for the first time in this interview and it was exactly as she had imagined it. Oily and smug, with an undertone that made her shudder.
She studied his face. The way he spoke, the way he moved. Tomorrow, this man would…
He’ll fuck me in front of a camera.
She quickly shook her head to banish the thought. Chloe hesitated.
Then she made the decision she had been putting off since Ben’s call.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She took a deep breath.
“Samantha Sparkles Casting Couch Cuties”
Enter.
There it was. A few similar search results leading to reuploads on several sketchy porn sites, most of them around four years old. The thumbnail showed Samantha on the infamous black leather couch, smiling, nervous.
Chloe’s hand trembled slightly as she clicked on the link.
The video loaded. The familiar CCC intro played, the cheesy music went off and the logo floated into the screen from the site. Then Samantha appeared.
She was younger than Chloe remembered. Of course she was, the video was from the beginning of her career after all. Her brown hair was tied back in a high ponytail. She was wearing a yellow summer dress that accentuated her tanned skin. Her legs were crossed, her hands folded in her lap.
“Hi! I’m Samantha!” Her voice. It had been three years since Chloe had heard it. It hit her like a punch in the stomach and tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.
“Tell us Samantha,” Randy’s voice came from off-screen, “why do you want to do porn?”
Samantha giggled the way she did when she was nervous. “Well, I love sex and I could really use the money, soooo…”
She shrugged, playfully, but Chloe could see the tension in her shoulders.
“How many guys have you been with?”
“Um, like… maybe ten? Twelve?” Samantha played with a strand of hair. She always did that when she lied. The real number was probably three or four, back then. Maybe five, Chloe wasn’t sure. Enough, in any case, that John had thrown it in her face that he thought she was a slut.
But let’s be honest, even one would probably have been enough for him to think that.
“What’s your favorite position?”
“Cowgirl, definitely! I like putting in some work, you know?” The broad smile, the enthusiastic energy, a little too much to convince Chloe. But well done. Samantha had always been a good actress.
Chloe watched every movement, every gesture. She saw where her sister was acting and where real nervousness shone through when she moistened her lips and rubbed her slightly trembling hands together.
“You ready to show me what you can do?” Randy’s voice was suggestive and expectant.
Samantha’s smile widened. “Yeah! Absolutely!”
What followed…
Chloe forced herself to watch. Not with the analytical gaze of her previous research. This was Samantha. Her sister. Who had braided her hair when she was little. Who had been her best friend and her greatest role model. Who had comforted her when Mom died. Who had always been there for her.
And now she was on this screen, being fucked by Randy Miles.
The camera angles, the positions, it was all standard CCC. But Chloe wasn’t paying attention to the action, her focus was on Samantha’s face. The brief furrowing of her eyebrows when something was uncomfortable. The blush that flushed her cheeks. The genuine flash of surprise when…
She actually had an orgasm.
It was subtle, but it wasn’t a fake one. Samantha had actually come, on that couch, with Randy fucking Miles.
The video ended with a money shot and Randy pressing cash into Samantha’s hand. “Welcome to porn, baby!”
Samantha’s smile. Exhausted but satisfied. “Thank you!”
The screen went black.
Chloe sat in the silence of her shabby apartment. Tomorrow she would be there. Same couch. Same setup. Same guy. Same cock.
She was following Samantha’s exact path.
The thought should have scared her. It did. But there was something else. A kind of… connection? Samantha had done it. She had taken that first step and then moved on, built a career, became successful.
If Sam could do it, so can I.
A new understanding of her sister formed. Respect. And fresh grief. Samantha had gone through all of that, persevered, worked her way up. And then…
…someone killed her. Why?
“For you, Sam,” Chloe whispered to the dark screen. “I’m doing this for you. And I’m going to find out who killed you.”
She stood up. She needed to move. Her legs felt stiff from sitting.
What would she wear? Ben’s text still lit up on her phone: “Wear something cute but not too fancy. Randy likes the girl-next-door vibe for CCC.”
She pulled options out of her bag. The short denim shorts and white crop top? Or a summer dress? She laid both on the bed, considering the choices.
It would be the shorts and the top. Simple, cute, approachable. Just what Chloe Heart would wear. Not too dressed up, but still… inviting.
She placed the clothes on the chair next to the bed where she would see them tomorrow morning.
It was only 9 p.m., but she had to try to sleep. Tomorrow would be a… she didn’t even know what to call it. A big day? The first real day of her infiltration?
She brushed her teeth and got into bed. Closed her eyes. Then opened them again. Stared at the ceiling. Her mind just wouldn’t stop racing.
Tomorrow at 2 p.m. The couch. The camera. Randy Miles.
She tried to think about the mission. About Samantha. About why she was doing this. About justice and truth and all the noble reasons.
But the anxiety was still there. Cold and heavy in her stomach.
She turned over and reached for Samantha’s photo. The only one she had brought with her. In the dim light coming in through the window, she could barely make out the details, but she knew it by heart anyway. Samantha on the beach, laughing, the wind in her hair.
“I can do this,” she whispered to the photo. “I can do this.”
She repeated it like a mantra. She placed the photo on the nightstand, where she could just make it out in the darkness.
Then she closed her eyes and began her breathing exercises. Inhale, hold, exhale. The same routine as in yoga.
In. Hold. Out.
Slowly, her heartbeat calmed down.
In. Hold. Out.
The exhaustion of the day caught up with her. Her body was tired, even though her mind refused to stop racing.
In. Hold. Out.
Eventually, sleep came. It was restless sleep, interrupted by brief periods of her waking up, looking at the clock and by dreams she couldn’t remember. But it was sleep nonetheless.
Tomorrow would come soon enough. Whether she was ready or not.
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