Models: Johnny Sins & Chanel Preston

‘Good evening, Miss Harlow. And what brings you to my side of town?’ The handsome PI looked up from the sheaf of papers spread across his desk with a smile plucking at his lips. He took a sip of coffee, raising an eyebrow as he eyed his visitor lustfully. She had hiked up her black lace dress to reveal her underwear and his eyes trailed down her magnificent legs, imagining the warmth of her skin against his own.

Then the voiceover kicked in. I’d always been a bad girl, came the sultry voice of the actress playing Miss Harlow. And nobody knew that better than Detective Richards. He’s locked up more of my exes than any other lawman around. Got them on everything from embezzlement to black market deals. A girl can’t help it if she’s attracted to bad men, can she?

Slumped back in his sofa, Max was too busy eyeing Miss Harlow’s ass to pay much attention to her story. He vaguely heard her mention something about having developed an attraction for the detective, but it didn’t really register. Instead he watched her slink up to the PI’s desk and lean forward to provide him and the camera with an incredible view of her cleavage.

Just as the camera was zooming in though, static fizzed across the screen. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he complained. When the film didn’t come back, he hauled himself from the sofa and shuffled over to the TV.

He’d bought the TV cheap at a second-hand store. It was an old box of a thing but it had been dirt cheap and that was enough for Max. ‘I heard the previous owner just disappeared,’ the store owner had told him. ‘Cops never found out what happened apparently. But since I got all his stuff after the investigation finished, I ain’t complaining,’ he added with a toothy grin.

It was only when Max got the thing home that he found out it only played adult channels. Despite flicking through a seemingly endless range he’d found nothing except porn. Not that he had any issues with that. As a single guy with nobody to interrupt him, he could think of worse ways to spend his evening – that was if the blasted TV could hold a picture for more than five minutes.

Smacking the top of TV, he gave a satisfied nod as the picture returned. But as he headed back to the sofa the screen spat out a loud electric crackling sound, followed by a burst of grainy grey light that filled the room and forced him to scrunch his eyes closed.

When he opened them again, the world had changed.  

Max was no longer in his apartment. The worn sofa, significantly less worn armchairs (Max didn’t get many visitors), and walls bearing more pop culture posters than wallpaper were all gone. Now the walls were grey, the floor mostly dominated by a large shag rug, and the sofa had been replaced by a familiar desk.

There was no denying it: he was in Detective Richards’s office – albeit in colour rather than black and white.  

But most concerning of all was the fact that Max now found himself in the busty, lace-shrouded body of Miss Harlow. Her hefty tits were heavy on his chest, her soft curves sensitive as the lace hugged them tight. He could feel her wavy brown hair splayed over her bare shoulders, could taste the flavoured crimson lipstick painting her lips, could see the mesh of her fascinator descending over her eyes. His cock was gone, replaced by her pussy, which he was alarmed to find was throbbing with arousal, filling his insides with the lust her voiceover had been describing in great detail before the flash. Max felt like he’d been stuffed into some kind of weird costume, yet the sensations of Miss Harlow’s body were far too real for that.

Before Max had time to panic, however, powerful hands were groping his body.

‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist me,’ Detective Richards growled, kneading Max’s tits with powerful fingers. He pulled down the bust of her dress to get a better feel. ‘All your talk about craving the bad boys, but all that time you were following the wrong path. A body like this deserves the affections of a man. A real man. Not dumb brutes like your exes. I think it’s time I showed you what you’ve been missing, Miss Harlow.’

The first groan almost startled Max enough to pull away. For a few seconds he didn’t even realise it was his. The detective’s hands felt so good on his tits: so strong, so hot, so forceful. The way he squeezed Miss Harlow’s rack, his grip endlessly shifting so that he never grabbed her in the same place twice – it was as if he couldn’t bear the thought of even the tiniest patch of her breasts going unloved.

By the second groan, Max had already succumbed to the pleasure. Though part of his brain told him to resist, to try and find a way out of this, most of his mind was overwhelmed with desire. Miss Harlow’s desire, to be specific. Max wanted Detective Richards as much as she did. And as her persona bled into his own he allowed her groans to bubble from his lips uninhibited.

Leaning into the detective’s broad chest, Max heard Miss Harlow’s voiceover continue, though whether it was real or just in his head he couldn’t say.

He was right of course. I had been missing out. Part of me thinks he got off on the fact that he’d not only put all my exes away, but now he’d robbed their girl too. But I wasn’t complaining. Never realised it until his hands were on me, but now I’d finally found a man who knew how to play with my body.

And now I was in his clutches he was going to make sure I didn’t slip through his fingers.

Max’s mind was a whirlwind of confused ecstasy. He could no longer think straight, much less try and figure out a means of escape. Before he knew it he was bent over the desk with his dress bundled around his waist. His lover stood over him like some kind of erotic god, shirt open, tie undone, trousers around his thighs and immense cock mouth-wateringly hard. The detective snatched up a letter opener and used it to slice off Max’s panties. A heartbeat later he was inside Miss Harlow’s tight pussy, his impressive length gliding into her dripping wet sex with ease as her juices provided all the lubrication he required.

The orgasmic sensation crippled whatever was left of Max’s resistance. In that moment he and Miss Harlow blended into one mind, their personas merging into a woman with a memory of two lives but just one future – a future spent on the end of Detective Richards’s perfect cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ she gasped breathlessly. ‘Oh fuck, you’re so big. I don’t know if I can take it, Detective.’

‘Bigger than those dumb thugs you’re used to fucking?’ he asked with a grin. As if to make sure she hadn’t misjudged his length he thrust in harder, forcing a series of whining groans from her rouged lips.

‘Yes. Yes, yes, yes,’ she babbled frantically. Her tits jiggled with each thrust – and they weren’t the only things. Her fat ass, her thick thighs, even her soft arms, they all rippled endlessly, a visual representation of the orgasmic waves rolling through her insides. Every sensation still felt foreign, yet the pleasure drowned all that out until she found herself rocking against him, desperate for more.

I never wanted it to end. No man had ever shown me such ecstasy. This was the hottest sex I had ever had, and with the detective’s hands clamped on my ass as he thrust in deep and rhythmic, I was in heaven. I let myself bask in the bliss of our passion, praying it would last forever.

It was only once she and Detective Richards had ascended onto the top of the desk that Miss Harlow noticed the TV in the corner. She wasn’t sure if it had been there since the beginning or if it had just appeared; her mind was too saturated with lust to recall.

The film was still playing, only now it was more like a projector overlaying real life with the scenes from within the screen. Miss Harlow watched her own face twist with pleasure as Detective Richards drove up into her, his big hands gripping her flanks and holding her down against his chest. Her fleshy tits pressed against his shoulders and as she reached back to spread her ass cheeks wider with a silk-gloved hand, so did the version of her on the screen. It was impossible to say whether the screen was reflecting her actions or if she was the one doing the mimicking. All she knew was that nothing had ever turned her on more than watching herself get fucked.

By now, Miss Harlow’s dress and underwear lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The detective’s clothes were nearby. Yet they had both been so horny for one another that they’d only removed the necessary items. As such, Miss Harlow’s heels bobbed over the edge of desk as the two of them writhed against one another.

As Miss Harlow’s orgasm began to build, the buzzing hum that had preceded her transformation returned. Arcs of red light crackled across the television screen, their intensity increasing as her climax grew ever closer.

Rising up to ride Detective Richards properly, Miss Harlow tossed her head back and allowed her moans to flow freely. She bit her lip, smearing her lipstick slightly. Taking her lover’s hands she guided them to her bouncing rack. ‘Grope them, baby. Fuck, please, grope my tits. It feels so good when you do. So much better than with them. I’m so glad you locked all those dumb fuckers up, otherwise we’d never have crossed paths.’

Detective Richards was more than happy to satisfy her needs, his hands playing over her bosom while she rocked her hips back and forth with increasing fervour.

‘You know, Miss Harlow, despite how many times our paths have crossed, I don’t believe I ever learned your first name.’

Her response with breathy and shallow, the peak almost upon her. ‘Maxine. My name is Maxine.’

As if the admission of her new name had been the final chain holding back her orgasm, raw euphoria finally flooded through her, drawing a howl of lust from her lips. She came hard, her pussy clenching tight around the detective’s cock which in turn pushed him over the edge. Her insides hot with his cum, her entire body writhed as she struggled to process the intensity of the pleasure; though her body had experienced sex many times before, her mind was new and virgin. When she finally descended from the high she was panting and spent.

Nevertheless, on instinct she continued to rock her hips. Detective Richards likewise continued to thrust, apparently undaunted by the huge load he’d just emptied inside her.

The sultry woman’s blended psyche reminded her of two things. First: this was a porn film – if anyone was going to have impressive stamina, adult models would be top of the list. And second: this was a porn ­film – she wasn’t simply an actor, she was a character, a fictional woman who no longer had to abide by the rules of reality. And neither did Detective Richards. They could fuck forever and never tire, which was very fortunate indeed, because she had no desire to stop now.

Behind her, the TV looked ready to explode. So much red light buzzed over the screen that the picture was completely obscured. Then, all at once, there was another bright grey flash, and the world around them changed again.

The lovers were in bed together. Detective Richards’s bed, to be precise – a huge king-sized thing that dominated the new room. A huge wardrobe was set against one wall, while an equally large desk sat in one corner, a lamp atop it serving as the only source of light to illuminate their passion.

Except the light wasn’t the yellow glow of an old-timey bulb. Instead it was pale white, all the colour drained out of it.

In fact, as Maxine’s eyes fluttered open, she found that the whole world was now in grayscale. Everything from her scarlet lips to the striking blue of the detective’s eyes were now reduced to monochrome, the sordid scene playing out in black and white.

Not that she cared. Maxine was still riding her man, his hands clamped around her thighs as she bounced on his cock, all while her own hands fondled her tits. It didn’t matter what colour palette she saw the world in so long as his dick was stretching her holes and his load was hers alone. Undaunted by the sudden shift in location she allowed lust to guide her increasingly frantic rocking, her moans swirling through the arousal-charged air.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she could remember walking back to the detective’s place, chatting amicably as if they hadn’t just fucked like animals in his office. She could recall how they had shared wine in his lounge, how he had presented her with the stunning, multi-layered pearl necklace now nestling in her cleavage. And how the alcohol had led them up to his room where she hadn’t even waited for him to undress before pushing him down, sucking him hard and mounting him with the intent of extracting every last drop of cum from his swollen balls.

Yet at the same time, she also knew that in reality they had been in his office only seconds before. Those memories had surfaced to fill in the blanks of how they had progressed from one place to the other, but they were simply the underlying backstory intended to stitch the scenes together – a strange reminder that her new reality was in fact entirely fictional in nature.

One thing had followed them from the office though. The TV stood in the corner. It was quiet now, all the crackling and buzzing gone. And rather than mirroring their passion, it instead showed a colour image of Max’s lounge: dark, messy, and deserted. All the furniture of the detective’s office had transformed back into Max’s grubby furnishings, the strange physical projection sucked back into the screen.

Maxine’s eyes fluttered open just long enough to notice the TV before it abruptly blinked out of existence, taking the only colour left in the world with it.

I guess that explains what happened to the previous owner. That guy in the shop did say he vanished, after all. I suppose he’s somewhere in here too, sucked into the body of some other horny character. Still, wherever he is, he can’t be enjoying himself as much as little old me. Who’d have thunk it? The best night of my life is spent riding the man who put all my exes in the slammer.

A devious smile twisted Maxine’s dark grey lips as the final line of the voiceover echoed through her mind. Still, I suspect the detective will be happy to let me carry on being a bad girl – just so long as I’m being naughty beneath his bedsheets…

Thanks for reading!

Okay, so I flat out love this one. I’m sure most creators would agree that creating anything is rarely more exciting than when you’re experimenting with something new, and that’s exactly what this story offered me. Having never used black and white pictures before I really wanted to include them in a way that actually made sense to the story, especially given that half the images for this scene are full colour and half are grayscale.

Obviously having Chanel Preston as the focus of the scene really helped inspire this piece given how much I love her work, and to be honest I think in this case the black and white images are actually even hotter than the colour ones. Still, I wasn’t confident I could edit the colour images to be consistent with the grayscale ones in terms of contrast so I decided to work the change of palette into the story.

While there are undoubtedly many stories on this blog I am immensely proud of, experimental pieces like this one are always a bit special to me. They remind me why I started writing in the first place, long before I ever began this blog, and they encourage me to keep going knowing there are other experiments to try and a lot of fun to be had trying them.

Just as a quick aside, there are actually three models in this piece. The male model in the final three black and white images is not Johnny Sins, however the man wasn’t credited on the film by Brazzers, nor on any adult film database I’ve looked at. He seems to be an extra rather than an adult model. I know my readers probably won’t have much interest in me pointing this gentleman out, but as you know I always try to make sure I credit everyone in the images I use since without them those images wouldn’t exist in the first place, no matter whether they are a famous model or a faceless extra.

Anyway, once again thanks for reading – I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did! And I hope to see you next week for March’s first release.

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2 Thoughts on “Shades of Grayscale

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