When I found David’s porn stash, it was an accident. I went to grab my sweater from his closet, and when the cardigan wasn’t on its hanger, I figured it had fallen. So, I started rooting around on the floor.

My boyfriend had already left for work. But I had the key to his place, regularly coming and going as I pleased.

I liked David a whole lot. He was easy to be around, good-looking and an absolute beast in bed. But that day I discovered he also owned a lot of porn. A lot. There were DVDs, stacks of them. Unable to squelch my curiosity, I hauled them out for a better look. They had gaudy, salacious covers.

At first I was amused. I hadn’t ever watched porn in my life. But David evidently liked dirty movies. His selections had stereotypical porno titles — a lot of double entendres and smutty variations on mainstream film names.

Then I looked more closely at the covers. Eventually I noticed one particular female performer starred in each film. I’ll call her Missy, but she had an utterly ridiculous pseudonym. I rolled my eyes. Why did her fake name have to be so over the top?

Missy was often naked in the cover photos. She had ample tits, luscious curves and appeared to be a true sexual athlete. Her face, I had to admit, was rather pretty, though in every picture she wore a predatory grin that made her seem more animal than woman.

Plainly, David had collected this trove of porn because of this woman. Missy may have even been his obsession. What else could explain such a lurid interest?

I thought of popping one of the movies into David’s DVD player. But that seemed almost childish. The woman wasn’t a threat to me. If David wanted to indulge in fantasy, even in so specific a fantasy, he should be allowed to. I didn’t want to be that girlfriend, after all. The controller. The prude. I was none of those things and didn’t want to start any new habits.

But curiosity got the better of me. I put in a disc and sat back to watch my very first porn movie.

The production opened with a little exposition to explain the supposed plot. But before much of anything was established, a man with a big, hard cock was strapped to a table in a modern dungeon. A woman entered, wearing only high heels and dark glasses. It was Missy.

She moved in a slinky fashion and wore an amused yet pouty expression. Some brief dialogue ensued, but soon enough she was tormenting the man on the table, pinching his nipples and slapping his erect cock. She grinned at his every grimace.

Before long, she climbed up on the table and lowered herself onto his still hard dick. She rode him vigorously as taunting words tumbled from her lipsticked mouth. Evidently, the man was her prisoner, and there was some campy espionage intrigue involved.

The movie continued from there, with Missy in almost every scene. She did another guy, then that guy’s wife, and finally at the movie’s climax — Get it? The climax! — she was the centerpiece of an elaborate orgy that somehow tied up the story’s very loose plot threads.

I didn’t watch any more of the films. I didn’t need to. But I brooded on the whole deal. It would have bothered me a lot less if David’s porn collection had been more random. The Missy factor was, I had to admit, troubling me.

Maybe it was some throwback fixation. Maybe she was the first porn star he’d ever seen, and he had imprinted on her. Then to torture myself, I started to wonder if those images played in his head when we were screwing.

Nauseated, I wanted to fling the pile of DVDs out the window, but of course I didn’t. I returned them to their place in the closet — all but the one I’d watched. David was working a short shift that day and would be back soon. So I waited.

Upon his return home, he appeared surprised and glad I was still there. I held up the movie case.

“I watched this today,” I said, putting forth my questions. I watched for signs of guilt or anger.

But David shrugged and simply said of the starlet, “I dated her. For almost a year. The studio gave her copies of her films and she gave lots of them to me.”

He must have seen the shock on my face as he asked, “You didn’t get jealous, did you?”

I blushed, and he chuckled — but not in a mean way.

“Hey, how can I make this right?” he asked gently before adding: “Wait. I’ve got an idea!”

He dove into that same closet and came out with a camcorder.

“Let’s make our own movie!” he said, enthused.

A blunt rejection of the idea sprang to my lips, but froze there. I was jealous — of Missy’s infamy, in part. But I realized if I did what he was suggesting, I’d feel I was on more of an even footing with the woman who’d been my boyfriend’s lover for a year.

We went into the bedroom, and David set the camera on its tripod, aiming it at the bed. He flipped the viewfinder around so we could see what the camera saw.

“Get on the bed,” he instructed. “Say anything you want.”

I undressed and lay down. I was acutely aware of the camera. It made me nervous. But there was some other feeling beneath that, which stirred seductively inside me.

David stepped into the frame, and I saw him on the viewfinder.

“So,” I said, “you think I’ll talk just because I’m taking you to bed?” I was mimicking the arch dialogue from Missy’s porny spy movie but creating my own story on the fly.

David instinctively assumed the role of a dashing counteragent. He started to undress, and I let myself visibly respond to the sight of his muscular body. When his hardening cock sprang into view, I gasped. But my reaction wasn’t fake.

He came onto the bed, and we immediately fell into each other’s arms. Our mouths came together. I improvised a little resistance at first, but he “overcame” me. Soon our tongues were tangling as we rolled around on the mattress.

All the while, the camera watched us. That day I’d seen my first porn movie. Incredibly, hours later I was in one! Though not really, of course. David would never show the recording to anyone. Yet the presence of that lens changed the atmosphere in the room. I kept sneaking looks at our naked bodies in the viewfinder.

We looked hot!

David kissed my throat before moving further down so his lips could caress the upper swells of my breasts. I heaved my chest, and he shifted his mouth to my aroused nipples. He sucked and nibbled the sensitive buds, and I made exaggerated moaning sounds, porn star-style.

He kept his due south course. I spread my legs, knowing the camera was seeing my exposed pussy, gleaming with ready wetness. It was a vulnerable feeling, but also exciting. Even if nobody ever saw our movie, the fact that we were making a recording seemed wonderfully wicked.

Maybe David and I could watch ourselves later,I excitedly thought.

My boyfriend slid down between my outspread thighs. I saw that he, too, was sneaking covert looks at the camera. I hoped the experience was turning him on as intensely as it was me.

He kissed my inner thighs, which sent ticklish thrills through me. Then his mouth moved to the main event. His breath warmed my slick pussy lips when he lowered his head. His tongue slithered up and down my slit, and a bolt of pure pleasure rocked me. David always gave good head, but the voyeuristic presence of the camera added to the experience.

His tongue focused on my clit. As he stroked and licked my lively bud, I moaned some more. My reactions weren’t exaggerations because my pleasure was fierce.

I reached for his shoulders, but my hands slid off into his hair. I took a fistful of it and humped hard against his face. David tongued me mercilessly. I attempted to utter more corny dialogue, even as my climax hit me with amazing force.

David came up for air, his chin and mouth wet with my juice. I pushed him onto his back and seized his cock. Without further chatter, I lowered my mouth onto him. I swirled my tongue over his cockhead, making sure the camera could see us.

I dropped my lips down his sturdy shaft, and he groaned. I wriggled my tongue busily up and down his staff, even though the camera couldn’t capture that part. But I figured it was what my character would do.

Was I taking our impromptu movie seriously? Maybe a little. It was fun. My nervousness had melted away, and I wanted the camcorder to catch every detail. I wanted it to see my face stuffed with cock as I pleasured my man.

I sucked David down to his balls with every plunge of my mouth. Never breaking the seal of my lips, I kept a steady suction going as he started thrusting up into my mouth.

I pulled back before he could shoot. A proper fuck scene needed proper fucking, I told myself. Grinning, I lay back, and David moved hurriedly on top of me. He shifted slightly, so the lens would have a clear view of the penetration. I appreciated that he, too, seemed to be taking our activity seriously.

He brought his cockhead to my cleft, then stroked inside my pussy. He thrust at a steady rhythm, never rushing.

I basked in my mounting joy, and my earlier jealousy now seemed ridiculous. I didn’t want to be Missy. I didn’t need to be.

David picked up speed, and I matched his thrusts, lifting my ass off the bed so he could impale me fully. A climactic wave swept me up and carried me away, and David was right behind me.

But my cunning boyfriend had the presence of mind to pull out at the last possible second and spray a huge load of cream all over my tits and face.

After all, our movie needed its money shot.

And I felt like a shining star.