A wealthy man in the LA hills has paid for a very specific evening. A hired stranger lets himself in through the side door, and the scene they’ve scripted plays out exactly the way he wanted. By Harlan Maddox-Powell.

Warning: this story contains scenes of a sexual nature, including: a pre-arranged and paid role-play scene with a scripted threat, consensual filming, oral sex, bareback anal sex and internal ejaculation. This story is written for adults and is not for minors.

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The security pane slides over the porn the moment the side door opens.

I keep the remote in my fist and leave both pictures running: the actor on his back across the big screen, and the smaller feed in the corner that covers the service corridor and the mouth of the kitchen. A man in a dark cap steps through as if the house is his. He doesn’t look at the camera first. He looks along the hallway, then into the living space, and only then at me on the couch.

Knox.

We set the night two weeks ago in a message thread that never used either of our full names. I wrote the time and the door, then the line I would use once he was in the room. He wrote back that he had the line, that he was fine with the camera and that his word for stopping was red, a word he has never needed. I paid the balance the same afternoon to the account he named. Yesterday I sent a reminder that said nothing except the hour, and this morning he answered with one word. He has the codes because I sent them at six, and the cap because I asked for it. Everything else is his body doing the work I hired it to do. I’m forty-four. He’s thirty-one, and better at this than anyone I’ve paid before.

I’d been on this couch for twenty minutes before the pane moved, the film running and my cock hard in my trousers from the waiting alone. The phone lay face down on the cushion. When the door opened I didn’t stand, because that was the point of the arrangement. He comes to the couch. I stay on it.

I built the house on a ridge above Los Angeles so the glass would face the canyon and the road would not. The money bought the silence and the cameras. It also bought the habit of sitting here after eleven with a glass I barely touch and a film I’ve seen often enough to know exactly where the actor’s mouth goes. I run a small fund out of a building in Century City and fly when I have to, but most nights I come home to this couch, take my shoes off and put the same film on, because the fantasy needs a picture already running when the door opens.

The fantasy is older than the house. I first played it out in a rented place in Los Feliz, back when I still thought I’d outgrow it. The men I used then laughed when I said the word police, and the laugh killed it before it could start. I didn’t outgrow it. I built a room that could hold it and found a man who wouldn’t laugh. Knox has been through this door twice before. The first time I almost called it off when he put his hand on the frame and looked at me as if he were waiting for a different line. The second time I shot with his cock still in me and the alarm unset. Tonight I wanted the camera inside the bargain. I wanted the file, and I wanted him to know it existed while he was still in the room.

I spent the afternoon making sure of it. I walked the service corridor twice with the phone in my hand, checking the angle from the kitchen to the couch until a man standing where Knox would stand was whole in the frame. I tested the overlap so the porn and the feed could share the screen, and I put my own voice on the same system. I left the side door on the latch at six and sat down at eleven with the film already going, because that is how the script starts: me on this couch, him coming in as if I didn’t ask.

I found him through a man I use for other work. I said what I wanted in one sentence and he sent back Knox’s name. We met in a car park in Silver Lake, where I looked at his hands and his mouth and told him the house rules: he comes in, he takes the line I give him, he leaves with nothing. He said he could do that, and he did. He came back when I asked.

Now he walks the length of the kitchen without hurrying. On the feed his shoulders fill the doorway. In the room he’s taller than the actor on the screen and broader through the chest. He stops at the edge of the rug and looks at the big picture first, then at me.

“You left it unlocked,” he says.

“I left it for you.”

He takes the cap off and drops it on the side table. His hair is flattened where the band sat. He doesn’t smile. His eyes go to the remote in my hand, then to the little pane in the corner.

“You’re on camera,” I say.

“I know.”

“If you don’t do what I tell you, I call the police from this couch.”

He glances at the feed as if he’s checking that his own back is in the shot. It is. The lens catches him from the kitchen doorway to the middle of the room.

“Say it again,” he says.

“Bend over and get fucked or I call them.”

He breathes once through his nose. His cock is already a line in his jeans. He came in hard, as he always does, and that’s part of what I paid for: a man who shows up ready and doesn’t ask to sit first.

I mute the porn and the actor keeps moving without sound. Knox steps onto the rug and waits there, because I haven’t told him to come closer. The wait is part of what I bought too. I let it run until he shifts his weight once.

“Hands on the back of the couch,” I say.

He does it, stepping round behind the couch and setting his palms on the leather behind my shoulders, which puts his crotch level with my face if I turn. I don’t turn yet. I watch him on the small pane first, the line of his spine and the pull of his shirt as he leans, then I watch the same lean in the room from a foot away.

“Closer.”

He comes around the end of the couch. I catch his belt with two fingers and pull him in until the denim hits my mouth, then open the button with my teeth and my thumb. The zip goes. He’s thick and already leaking. I take him in as far as the angle allows and hold him there so the camera gets my jaw and his hip.

He makes a sound in his throat. His hand finds the back of my head and rests there without pushing.

I work him with my mouth until spit runs down to my fist, then pull off and look up.

“If I stand up,” I say, “the phone is right here.”

“You’re not standing up.”

“You don’t decide that.”

He looks at the camera over my shoulder, then back at my mouth. “All right.”

I get his jeans down to mid-thigh and his cock slaps up against his shirt. I shove the shirt up so his stomach is in the shot and take him again, slower this time, letting him feel teeth once so he remembers who’s running it. He tastes clean, with a trace of the night air he brought in with him. I keep going until his thighs start to shake. Then I let him go and take my own cock out so he can see it, and I put his hand on it. His palm is dry, then it isn’t. I let him stroke me twice before I stop him.

“On your knees.”

He goes down between my legs with his jeans still open. I hold the remote in one hand and the back of his head in the other, watching the small pane while his mouth takes me. The feed has the top of his head and my fist in his hair. I let him work until I’m wet enough to fuck him, then pull him off by the hair and point at the far arm of the couch.

“Over.”

He goes. He plants his forearms on the leather and drops his head between them. I stand behind him and look at the feed first, his ass in the frame and my hands coming into it, before I look at him in the room. I drag his jeans the rest of the way down and leave them at his ankles so he has to keep his feet close. His hole is tight when I put two wet fingers on it. He pushes back onto them without being told.

“You break into my house,” I say, “you take what I give you.”

“Yes.”

I spit on my fingers and work him until he opens for a third. He’s loud enough that the system will have it, which is what I want. I want the file to have his voice saying yes while I’m still dressed and he’s bent over with his jeans at his feet.

My cock has been hard since the pane slid over the film. I spit in my palm and stroke once, then set the head against him and wait.

“Look at the camera.”

He turns his face towards the kitchen. The lens has his mouth and one eye.

I push in.

He takes the first third with a sound that isn’t a word. I hold there and let him feel the stretch, then give him the rest in two more pushes until my hips are on his ass. He’s hot and tight around me, and he keeps his eyes on the lens as I told him to.

I fuck him like that, long strokes so the feed can see me leave him and go back in. His hands twist in the leather. On the big screen the porn runs on in silence, the actor’s mouth open, nobody watching it now.

“Harder,” Knox says.

“You don’t get to ask.”

I give it to him harder anyway. The couch takes his weight as I hold his hip with one hand and the back of his neck with the other and drive into him. His hole clings when I pull back. Spit and precum start to shine on his skin, and I watch it on him and on the small pane at once.

When I want a different angle I pull out and turn him towards the glass. The canyon is dark, but our reflection is enough. I put his hands on the glass above his head and enter him again from behind, shorter strokes now that the stance is tighter. He drops his forehead to the glass and leaves a mark. I reach around and find his cock leaking against the pane, and I stroke him only enough to keep him there.

“If someone on the ridge had a lens,” I say, “they’d have this.”

“They don’t.”

“I do.”

I keep him on the glass until his arms shake. I spit down the crack of his ass and push it in with my thumb alongside my cock so he feels the extra stretch. He swears once, so I take the thumb out and give him my cock alone again.

I pull out before either of us gets close and haul him upright by the shirt. I sit back down on the couch and pull him into my lap facing the camera. He has to straddle me with the jeans still trapping one ankle. I line up and he sits down on my cock in one drop that knocks the air out of both of us.

“Stay,” I say.

He stays. I hold his waist and fuck up into him. His cock bounces in front of him, untouched, leaking onto my knee. The feed has his chest and my hands and the place where I disappear into him.

“If I tell you to get off and walk out, you walk out,” I say.

“I know.”

“If I tell you to stay on it, you stay on it.”

He nods, his mouth open. I wrap a hand around his cock and stroke him in time with the lift of my hips. When he tries to set the pace I stop my hand until he lets me have it again.

The actor on the big screen finishes and the film loops to a different scene. I don’t look. Knox’s breath is in my ear. I bite the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder and feel him clamp down on me.

“On your back.”

He climbs off, clumsy with the jeans. I shove him down on the couch and work the jeans off one foot so I can fold him open, pressing his knees towards his chest before I push back in. From here I can see his face, and the camera still has us side on, my ass working and his calf in the air.

I fuck him deep and stay deep. He reaches for his cock and I let him. His fist is tight, and I watch the head punch through his grip.

“You came into my house,” I say.

“I did.”

“You’re going to cum on my couch.”

He nods once, hard.

I change nothing except the depth. I give him the last inch and hold it there while he strokes. His hole flutters. He cums across his own stomach and up onto his chest in three thick pulses, the last one running into the hollow of his throat. He keeps his eyes on me through it, and the camera has his stomach shining.

I shove his knees wider and fuck him to finish. It takes less than a minute. I bury myself in him and cum with my mouth on his collarbone, thrusting through it until there’s nothing left to give. Then I stay inside him while my cock softens a fraction and his hole keeps working around what I left. I put my forehead on his chest and breathe there. His heart is going under my ear, and his cum is cooling on his stomach between us. I keep my hips where they are and let him hold the last of it.

The feed is still running, and it still has us side on.

I pull out. Cum follows my cock and sits on his hole. I put two fingers there and push some of it back in. He lets me, breathing through his mouth.

“Phone,” he says.

I pick it up from the cushion and show him the screen. No call. The pane is still live.

“Good,” he says.

I sit on the edge of the couch. He stays on his back with one foot on the floor. I put my hand on his thigh because that’s where it lands.

“Same arrangement as last time,” I say. “You leave by the side door. You don’t take anything. The file stays on my system.”

“And if I want the file?”

“You don’t get the file.”

He almost smiles then. He sits up and uses my shirt to wipe his stomach, and I let him. His knuckles drag over my ribs as he does it. I’ll burn the shirt. I watch him bunch the wet cloth in his fist.

He stands and pulls his jeans up. His cock is wet against the denim as he tucks it away. He finds the cap on the side table and puts it on like a man finishing a shift.

At the kitchen doorway he looks back at the camera, then at me.

“Lock it behind me,” he says.

“I will.”

He nods once, the same nod he gave when I told him to stay on my cock, and then he goes. I stay on the couch until the feed shows him at the side door. He doesn’t look back at the lens. He pulls the cap lower and steps out, and the door closes on an empty hall. I listen for the latch.

I unmute the film without watching it. I sit with my cock out and his cum on my fingers, and the house is silent again, just as I paid for it to be.

I save the file under the date and his name and watch the first minute of it: the door, the cap, the line about the police. His voice is steady on the recording. So is mine. I stop it before I put my mouth on him, because I don’t need the rest tonight. I have the rest in my body, the stretch of him and the mark he left on the glass. I close the file and leave it where only I can open it.

I lock the side door from the phone, wash my hands in the kitchen and drop the shirt in the bin. Then I sit back down with my cock put away and the feed still open on the empty hall. My hole has gone unused tonight. His hasn’t. That was the bargain I wrote and the one he walked into. I can still feel the last clench of him around me, but I don’t chase it. The film runs and the actor starts the same scene again. I leave both pictures up, the empty hall and the looping mouth, until the sky over the canyon starts to change.

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© 2026 Harlan Maddox-Powell. All rights reserved. This story is the intellectual property of the author. No part of it may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews or other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This and all stories are works of fantasy. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. All characters depicted are consenting adults. Some works may be inspired by other creators, but all work is entirely original and written by Harlan Maddox-Powell. All characters are adults and have fully consented to the depicted roleplay scenario. In real life, always practise safe sex and enthusiastic consent.