Murdrdocs Fic - Tumblr Posts
80s pornstar logan; age gap; pornstar reader x pornstar logan; doggy; brat!reader MDNI 18+ w/ LOGAN HOWLETT
logan doesn't trust you.
he doesn't know you well enough for you to have gained his trust, but he refuses to get to know you. there's no point. in logan's eyes, there's no reason for you to get comfortable.
you won't be here for long.
he doesn't care how much the studio believes in you, he doesn't believe in you. how could he? you're so fucking green that he can smell it on you. only starred in a couple movies before this one, both nothing compared to the expansive record that he has.
gum-smacking, lip gloss shining under the sun, flowy shirts, and tiny shorts. compared to his cigars, fitted jeans, and plaid, the two of you are polar opposites. even though logan sees something in you. that same arrogance he had at your age. it just looks different on you.
you confront him first. standing beside his car in the studio parking lot, resting your hip on the door like it’s your vehicle. you’re blocking the entrance, lazily smacking your gum as you squint at him.
logan doesn’t say anything. he stands there, hands on his hips, his restless fingers tapping against the worn leather of his belt. he shamelessly lets his eyes rake down your body, taking in the natural shape of your tits through your loose shirt, the expanse of your legs barely covered by your tiny shorts. briefly, logan wonders if you’re shaved like some of the other younger girls he’s filmed with.
he finds himself wanting to find out.
he’s wearing his shades, the thin wire-framed ones with brown lenses. he knows they aren’t opaque, he knows you can see the path his eyes take, but he doesn’t care. he holds off a smile when you adjust your stance and scoff.
“what’s your problem with me?”
logan shrugs dismissively.
apparently, his nonchalance upsets you even more. he expects you to give him some speech about how rude he is, how you deserve to be here just as much as he does, how you earned your spot in this production. whatever your little brain can come up with.
but you give him none of that. you push off of logan's truck, step out of his way, and saunter off with a final call of, "see you on wednesday!".
logan lets his eyes linger on the switch in your hips and the shape of your ass.
his eyes find that same spot on wednesday, his view unobstructed now as your bare skin is illuminated underneath the studio lights. he's just staring and he can't stop. his eyes watching the way your skin ripples as he fucks you from behind, following the curve of your back, all the way up to the crown of your head which reaches for him.
he knows at some point he's supposed to grab the ponytail you have. the director wants him to mess it up as much as possible, providing a good contrast from how dolled up you were before. most of that has been done naturally. for some reason, everything with you seems natural. logan's been in the game for a while, he's had to fake scenes before. it's part of the job description, to act according to how the audience would want the sex to go. but with you, logan doesn't think he's been acting at all.
the energy buzzes around his entire body the entire time. he doesn't ever forget that you're both being filmed, it would be hard to, but he loses himself in it. he loses himself in the way you know just what to do. the way you angle your body perfectly according to the camera position, the way you speak to him, the way you're so visibly remembering every single direction you were giving before filming began.
your competence is hot.
by the time filming is over and a production assistant is handing you a warm towel and your robe, logan's fucking spent.
you're just there grinning, watching logan down an entire bottle of water in one go. when he comes up for air, you stand before him, keeping your eyes on his.
"i see why you're known for your stamina," is all you say to him before you turn away and disappear, possibly unaware of the semi that was brewing beneath the towel covering logan's hips.
the next time logan sees you, it's through a headshot. sitting on the casting director's desk, amongst three others, all labeled with names and facing him. he stands there for a second, hands crossed over his chest as he scans every picture.
"we just need to know who you think would be good for the next job," the casting director reiterates, his words smooth as they wrap around logan's mind.
logan doesn’t know why he’s pretending, why he's taking so long to answer a question that he knows the answer to.
he slides your picture up higher than the rest and leaves it at that.
this and a cold diet coke
normal, not insane thoughts being had about fucking old man logan.
thinking about him lifting your big shirt up to lay a hand over your tits, easily taking one in his palm while his other hand yanks your panties down your legs. he undoes you so easily, it doesn’t take much effort at all. by the time his fingers, newly roughed up, tweak your clit a few times, you’re already whining. you’re always so ready for him, always so eager. his look just does it for you.
the grey hair, the reading glasses that he keeps hooked on the collar of his neck.
logan thinks it’s weird, but he doesn’t complain. not until you turn into a maniac, trying to fuck him again and again even when he reminds you that he needs a break now. things have changed.
but he still fucks you with vigor. rolling his hips into yours with skill. hooking your legs around his hips and over his shoulders. he squints down at you, watching his cock disappear and reappear over and over again. there was a time where he could see every little detail, down to the mixture of slime that’s surely coating his cock.
now, he relies on other senses. touch, mostly. his hearings still here, too. he listens to the sloppy sounds of him fucking you. the messy moans you let out.