*** The Stories of Leslie Schmidt ***
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First Time Films
By Leslie Schmidt
     The sign on the door read “First Time Films.”
“OK, Mrs. Brogan, there's just one more thing before we can sign the contracts.
You know that it requires that the girl have an intact hymen prior to filming.
In the past, well, we've been surprised and that has created some, well,
uncomfortable issues.”
“Oh, I can assure you, Sarah is a virgin.”
“Yes, but, sometimes girls actually are virgins but, somehow, they've had their
cherry popped. You know, it can happen if she hits something hard. I once heard
of it happening to a girl when a horse reared and she was hit really hard by
the saddle horn.”
“I see. So you want to make sure she still has her cherry.”
“Yes.”
Joan looked over at her daughter, sitting in the other chair in front of the
large wooden desk. “Honey, you're going to have to take your pants off and let
Mr. Anderson look at you.”
The color drained from the eight-year-olds face. “What?”
“Come on, honey,” her mother responded. “In a few minutes you're going to be
naked in front of a whole bunch of people, you can't feel uncomfortable about
this.”
“Actually, there's only three of us,” Anderson broke in. “I'm handling the
camera, I have a girl, Sally, who does make-up, lighting and sound and then, of
course, there's Charlie.” He paused, “And, of course, you'll be there too.
That's required by the contract.”
“Come on honey, take off your pants and let Mr. Anderson look at your vagina.”
The little girl slowly stood up, her eyes were big, she was obviously
uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“It's alright,” her mom said, “he just has to look.”
Sarah undid the snap on her jeans, then unzipped them. She looked at her
mother, then at Mr. Anderson and then back at her mother.
“Don't worry honey, it's perfectly all right.”
She bit her lower lip and pushed her jeans down over her hips, taking her
panties with them, to her knees.
“You have to take them off hun, otherwise he won't be able to really see.”
Sarah bent down and untied her sneakers, then slipped out of them. She fell
back, sitting on the edge of her chair and pulled first her left, then her
right sock off. She tried to push her pants down but they bunched up and she
had to lean down and work them over her feet. When her left leg was free she
stood up and, stepping on the right cuff with her left foot, worked her right
leg out of the blue jeans, leaving them crumpled on the floor. She straightened
up and looked nervously at Mr. Anderson.
Standing there, bottomless in a red USC tee, she was really cute. Small chin
and mouth, pointy nose and wide set brown eyes framed by shoulder length
chestnut hair. Mr. Anderson got up and walked around the desk.
“Here honey, sit up on the desk,” he patted the mahogany top.
Sarah stepped to the desk, then turned around and pushed herself up on it,
sitting with her knees together, her hands next to her thighs.
Anderson put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed. “Lay back, dear.”
The eight year old sank back across the green leather desk blotter. Anderson
quickly moved the sheaf of contract papers to the side. She looked up at him,
her face tense, eyes wide. He put his hand on her left thigh, just above her
knee and gently pulled.
“You need to spread your legs dear so I can see.”
She complied, lifting them slightly so the back of her knees would clear the
edge of the desk. Anderson leaned down to inspect her preteen pussy. Mrs.
Brogan stood up and stepped to the other side of the girl.
“You need to lift your legs up more and let your knees flop out,” she said as
she lifted Sarah's right knee.
She put her heels on the edge of the desk, then with her mother's guidance, let
her knees fall out to the sides, spreading her pussy open.
When she felt Mr. Anderson's fingers on her pussy lips, Sarah put her hands
over her face and shivered.
“Don't be nervous, dear,” her mother said. “No one's going to hurt you.”
Anderson used two fingers to spread her soft outer lips, uncovering her pink
ridge that ended with a darker red point. Lower down, the full lips stayed
together. He moved his fingers down and pulled them apart, opening her pussy.
Inside the reddish start, her vagina was closed off by a pinkish-white membrane
that covered her tube except for a hole in the middle.
“No problem there,” he said, straightening up. “That's great honey, you can get
up now and get dressed again.”
“You see, that was just fine,” her mother said as she helped the child sit up,
then slide off the desk. As the girl pulled her panties and pants back on,
Anderson and Joan Brogan sat back down and he handed her the contract.
“OK, as I explained, you get $500 right now, just for signing, and the
remainder of the $5000 ($4500) cash when we finish filming. Not bad for an
hours work, eh? Then, for the first month, you get 2% of the gross receipts of
memberships to the website. Recently we've been grossing around $200,000 a
month, so that's another $4000. After that, you get one half of a percent for a
year. After one year we reserve the right to sell the film to anyone of our
choosing but it may stay on our website as long as we want.
“What about follow-on films?” Joan asked as she shuffled through the papers.
“For a month, this will be the only film on the site, but you may make more.
After the first month we can put up more movies. The pay for follow on movies
depends on how many hits we get on this one, sort of demand determines how much
we pay. Usually we just pay a lump sum for those, but we've had a few times
that the hits were so good that we did royalty contracts. In two cases we
actually put up new websites.”
“How do you know how many hits there are?”
“We're contracted with a firm that monitors our site, counts the hits.”
Mrs. Brogan moved to the edge of her seat and put the contract on the desk.
“Got a pen?”
Johnson pulled one out of his pocket and handed it to her. She stopped and
looked at her daughter.
“This alright with you, you know what you have to do?”
“I guess so,” Sarah replied.
“You know, we really need the money. We'll be able to stay in our house, keep
the bank from taking it.” She turned back to the paper, holding the pen over
it, then looked back. “You're sure?”
“OK.”
She signed the paper.
“Great!” Mr. Anderson said. “Let me make a phone call to see what time.”
He picked up the phone and hit a speed dial number.
“Hello Charlie, how'd you like to make a movie this afternoon?”....There was
some indistinct talking on the other end.... “Sarah” …. “8” …. “Yeah, she's
pretty cute” …. “No, not fat, just right” …. “Yeah, I checked, all around with
just a small hole” …. “OK, then around one?” …. “Yeah, see you then.” …. “OK”
…. “Bye.”
He put down the phone. “OK,” he said as he opened his top drawer and took out a
stack of bills. He counted five $100 bills out on the desk.
Mrs. Brogan was looking hungrily at the money. “What about the follow-up films,
are they with the same guy?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “I have a couple of friends who make those, occasionally
I've made one myself.”
Mrs. Brogan reached across and picked up the money. “What about ones like
today.”
Anderson leaned back in his chair. “Generally no. You see, I'm a little too
big, hurt the girls too much for a good movie.”
“Oh.” Mrs Brogan stood up with a small smile on her face. She was followed by
Anderson and her daughter. She reached across the desk, they shook hands. “One
o'clock then,” she said.
“Yeah, 'bout an hour and a half. Go have yourselves a nice lunch.”
Mrs. Brogan was digging in her purse. She took out her wallet and opened it.
“Really could with this much money,” she smiled across the desk.“Is there
anything we have to do? Like clothes you'd like her to be in, maybe her hair?”
Joan asked.
“No,... not really. She's just fine. We'll brush out her hair and put a little
make-up on her, that's all.
Then he turned to Sarah and held out his hand to her. “See you in a while,
Sarah.”
She took his hand, looking uncomfortable like children do when they shake
hands. “Yes sir.”
“Hey! Don't worry, you'll make a great movie and have fun doing it.”
“I hope so,” Mrs. Brogan said.
In the car, Sarah rolled down the window, the air blew her hair across her
face.
“Honey, you're really doing a great thing, I can't tell you how much I thank
you. With this money I'll be able to stop the foreclosure and we can stay in
the house until I find another job. You know, unemployment barely covers
groceries and gas.”
“Can we get the air conditioner fixed?” (The A/C in the car had gone out two
months ago).
“If you smile and laugh and are real enthusiastic I'll take the car in
tomorrow. Where do you want to eat?”
“I don't know.” Sarah continued to look out the window. “Mom?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever made a movie like this?”
“Oh, heavens no!” she said. “They aren't interested in old ladies with floppy
tits and stretch marks like me.”
“I mean, when you were younger?”
“Well,” she looked over at her daughter. “A couple of times your father made
movies of me.”
“Where are they?”
“Oh, he took them with him.” She continued driving through traffic. “Want a
burger?”
“OK.”
With a sudden inspiration, Joan made a U-turn across South Coast Drive, then a
quick turn into Hooters. “This place has great burgers.”
During lunch, after Sarah had emptied her Coke, Mrs. Brogan surreptitiously
emptied her margarita into Sarah's cup. “People will think it's just a
smoothy,” she said, patting her daughter's hand.
Before they left, Joan had Sarah go to the Ladies room with a pack of moistened
towelettes. She had instructions to clean herself up really well.
* * *
Charlie liked to think of himself as 'compact' rather than small. At 5' 6”, 145
lbs he was too big to be a jockey but too small for most other sports. He had,
however, wrestled in high school but that had ended with his tour as a Marine.
Four years after leaving the Corp, he was still in excellent shape, had a
really impressive build that he worked on a lot at the gym. In keeping with the
rest of him, all of his parts were proportional, not too small but 'compact'.
Some said that it wasn't size but talent that mattered, but Charlie had grown
up understanding that that was false. From about the age of 13, Charlie had
discovered that, while the girls his age usually tried to ignore him, younger
girls really appreciated his attention. It was when he was 15, and 'dating' an
11 year old, that he discovered just how far this appreciation could go. Since
then he had cultivated a talent for making little girls feel at ease and
getting in their pants. It was a chance meeting with Joe Anderson in a strip
club that had turned into his current part time job. At first he was really
skeptical but, Joe's talent convincing down-in-their-luck parents, coupled with
Charlie's talent in seducing preteen girls, and some rather sophisticated
software that could seamlessly replace a face in a .mpg, had convinced him.
Besides, he'd have done it for free, the $250 was just a bonus.
The youngest girl he had ever fucked was six. He was amazed when her puffy
little girl pussy lips had opened up and his cock head had popped inside her.
She wasn't a virgin, her daddy had seen to that, but still, just the idea of
fucking a six year old was awesome. The film of his jez oozing out of her tiny
cunt had made hundreds of grand. These days, three years later, she was a
regular on the site and had probably swallowed more cum than most woman do in a
lifetime.
If things went well this afternoon he'd recruit another little slut that'd make
them all a lot of money. Joe relied on Charlie to introduce girls to making
films and not scare them, or their parents, off. It was the return girls that
really made the money for the site—the cost for the first-time films was too
high, it was the $200 fuck films, with no royalties, that made the profits. All
in all, this sideline was paying for Charlie's Porsche. Last year Joe had given
Charlie a $10K bonus check at the end of the year and Charlie had used it for a
cruise and new furniture. He lived a hell of a lot better than the other guys
who worked at the warehouse, and he had to be politely evasive about were his
extra cash came from.
He double clutched the Turbo 911 into second gear and shot across Harbor Blvd
into Croddy Way, then half a block and right into the parking lot. 12:48, just
about right. Hopefully the girl wasn't there yet, it was more awkward if they
ran into each other in the reception area.
* * *
First Time Films was on the second floor, the door was down one of the
corridors, not on the balcony above the atrium. Charlie took the steps two at a
time, he avoided elevators, preferring the exercise. Sally looked up from the
reception desk.
“Hi Charlie, we have a real cutie for you today.”
“Great. Are they here yet?”
“No, due any time.”
“Joe back from lunch?”
“He's in his office.”
Charlie went through the door. Joe was sitting at the computer table to the
side. On screen was a movie that had been shot the day before, he was editing
it.
“Ah, Georgette,” Charlie said when he saw the face of the twelve year old after
some guy had pulled out of her cunt (doggy style) and she had turned around to
take it Bukkake. “Who's the lucky guy?”
“Phil, she likes him.”
“She was a real good sport.”
“Yeah,” Joe said, turning away. “She's getting a bit old now, this'll probably
be her last one with us.”
“They grow up too fast.”
“Especially around here.”
Sally stuck her head through the door. “Joe, Sarah and Joan are here.”
“Great!” he responded. “Take them into the studio. How long do you think you'll
need?”
“Oh,” Sally looked over her shoulder at Sarah, “no more than ten minutes.”
“See you then,” Joe said.
Sally closed the door and went across to the couple. She looked down at the
eight year old. “We need to take you into the studio and get you ready. OK?”
Sarah looked up shyly. “OK.”
Sally took the girl's hand and started down the hall. “Come on, Mrs Brogan,
you're invited too.”
She led the couple to a door at the end of a short hallway. Inside, the room
had a higher than average ceiling, maybe 9 or 10 feet. It was the size of a
large living room, painted a light beige with white ceiling and trim. There was
a thick pile carpet, silver-blue. On the wall to the right was a closet, the
folding doors were open, inside was photographic equipment and linens. Another
door opened to a bathroom with a large whirlpool tub, a clear glass enclosed
shower and double sinks in a granite counter top. Opposite the closet and
bathroom was a large white vanity, complete with stylist's chair, sink, lit
mirror, and a vast array of makeup and hair care items. Finally, against the
far wall was the bed, a queen four-poster with a silver-gray coverlet and beige
sheets. Around it stood four studio lights and a couple of folding chairs.
Everything was very neat and clean. There were no windows but the walls held
several large prints, impressionist paintings of women in groups or singly,
some clothed, most in some state of undress. A couple were truly erotic
renderings of women on beds or in chairs.
“This is were most of our new clients make their first films,” Sally said. “But
a lot are made a Joe's house in Mission Viejo.” She turned and looked at Sarah.
“You're such a pretty thing, I really don't need to do much more than brush
your hair.”
She had the girl sit down in the stylist's chair. “There's a fridge right
here,” she pointed at a small ice box next to the vanity. “Help yourself to
anything there.”
As Sally started brushing out Sarah's chestnut hair, Joan looked in the box. It
was stocked like a mini-bar with a wide variety of liquors, set-ups, cans of
beer and small bottles of wine. She took a bottle of red wine, then got a clear
plastic cup from the top. She poured the wine, thinking that she'd actually
like something a lot harder except that she had to drive back to Anaheim after.
She watched as the woman brushed out her little girl's hair, then put just a
small amount of rouge on her cheeks. It was quiet, she could hear the low
murmur of men's voices in the next room.
“OK, we're done with your hair,” Sally said. “Now, let me look at your nails.”
Sara held her hands out. Her mother had put silver polish on them just that
morning.
“Oh, those look really nice.” Sally said. “What about your toes?”
“I don't have anything on them,” the girl said.
Sally stooped down and started untieing the girl's sneakers. “Well, let me look
anyway.”
She pulled the child's shoes and socks off, then held one of her little feet.
“My God child,” she said, “every part of you is just perfect.”
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