The Perfect Stormy: On Set with Stormy Daniels

“Do you want to be in a scene with Asa Akira?” Stormy Daniels asked me on the set of her latest pair of feature films for Wicked: “Getting Cozy” and “Girls’ Night.”

I’d been preparing for this moment my entire life with marathon masturbation sessions and endless hours of tweezing my man-bush into a camera-ready, bonsai-style shrubbery. Stormy obviously had an eye for talent, even if that talent happened to be tucked snuggly beneath my skinny jeans.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”  

“Good,” she said, “Don’t make me regret this.”

*   *   *

When I stepped inside the shoot-house earlier that day, sex noises resonated off the marble floors and white walls of the rented mansion’s many rooms. I felt like I was trying to watch porn through the eyes of a blind man, pairing sounds with actions. I recognized Asa’s moans from listening to the audiobook version of her autobiography, and I pegged the other performer as Stormy based on the way she stopped the action to direct the crew. I tried to sit quietly in the living room and wait for Stormy to finish, but I quickly felt something hard trying to penetrate me. Of all the places to sit, my ass landed on three dildos lurking beneath a throw pillow.

The scene soon wrapped and Stormy strolled out of the sex room answering a slew of questions from her crew concerning the next sequence. I reached to shake her hand. She stared at me as if she’d just discovered that I had tested out her three favorite dildos.  

“We don’t shake hands here,” Stormy said. “My fingers were just in Asa’s ass and I haven’t washed them.”  

We bumped elbows, which is the secret porn-set handshake.

From the start Stormy didn’t have a good feeling about me. I know this because it was one of the first things she told me. I couldn’t blame her. I kept accidentally eye fucking her tits during our introduction. This wasn’t entirely my fault—her breasts are the size of weather balloons and they kept floating up into our conversation.

Stormy introduced me to Asa, who in turn warned me that her fingers had just been in Stormy’s ass. Asa held her pointer finger up as if to say, “I’m number one!”—which, in a way, was true. Asa was the first person to probe Stormy’s backdoor on camera. She was a true ass-traunaut.  

“I had to make it up to Asa for what I did to her on my last shoot,” Stormy said. “I rewarded her by letting her have my butt.”  

“It was so worth it.” Asa said. “That’s how Stormy wins you over. She brainwashes you by fucking you.”  

The film in question was “Pretty Dangerous.” Stormy almost made Asa cry twice on that shoot, which seemed to be par for the course in their relationship. In one scene Stormy strung Asa up in a harness that Asa assumed was a sex swing. Stormy then surprised Asa by lowering her over a ledge to film a break-in sequence. Between takes Asa hung curled in the fetal position, trying not to freak out.  

“You have to understand I’m a total pussy,” Asa said. “Unless there’s a penis involved, I’m scared of everything.”  

“I should have just put a butt plug in her, and she’d have been fine with anything,” Stormy added.  

The two contracts stars carried on like a comedy duo, or a couple that knew each other entirely too well.  

“Say something nice about me for his article,” Stormy told Asa.  

“You have pretty blonde hair.”  

“It’s not even my real hair.”  

“Stormy has the most perfect asshole ever,” Asa said. “Color. Clarity. It’s beautiful.”  

Stormy shook her head.

“You know she cast herself as God,” Asa told me, tempting Stormy’s wrath.  

“What kind of god were you?” I asked. “Like a Morgan Freeman god? I picture you more like an Old Testament god, or like Zeus shooting down lightning bolts.”  

“I was a good god,” Stormy said. She waved over former porn queen turned set designer, Kylie Ireland. “Kylie, say something nice about me for his article.”  

“I appreciate working for Stormy,” Ireland told me. “She knows what she wants and how to get it done. She doesn’t fuck around.”  

Stormy pressed Asa to follow Kylie’s lead.  

“Stormy is definitely the meanest director,” Asa said, “or at least the scariest. But she is a good human being.”  

“What Asa meant to say, is that I’m the most intense director,” Stormy said, scrutinizing me as I scribbled all this down.

“Why don’t I just write your article for you?”  

“You basically are.”

*   *   *

Stormy is the undisputed boss bitch on her sets. It’s her party and she’ll make Asa cry if she wants to. Her hands are in everything—and everyone. She writes, directs, and stars in the majority of her projects. “Girls’ Night” was her 100th script, and her 76th movie as a director.  

When Stormy flies to LA from her home in Texas, she hits the west coast like a pornographic hurricane, cramming as much filming into as few days as possible. She’s in the habit of writing two scripts at once, which she then films simultaneously on shared locations. By comparison, most directors only film two sex scenes per day when they rent a location. On the set for “Getting Cozy,” and “Girls’ Night,” Stormy averaged four sex scenes a day along with scripted segments.  

Her directing style is the perfect storm of efficiency. While she has autonomous control, she doesn’t micromanage. She surrounds herself with proven professionals who she trusts to do their job. In some ways they are like weathermen—experts at reading which direction she intends to take a scene.  

Those who clash with Stormy’s style don’t last long in her circle. That morning she fired a performer who refused to wake up before 10 AM. By plowing through flaky stars and crewmembers, she has assembled a loyal team of people who respect her as much as she has faith in their skills. Take Allie Haze, for instance. The night before the shoot she was stuck in New York because of a canceled flight. Instead of missing the scene, Allie drove to another airport.  

If Stormy’s directing style is like a hurricane, the calm center of that storm is Jack Vegas. The fellow performer serves as a Jack-of-all-trades on set. If there’s a fire, Jack extinguishes it.  

“I’m most excited about blowing shit up,” Stormy said when describing the favorite part of her job. “It’s a special day when I get to blow something up, or punch someone, but they don’t let me do that all the time, so I do comedies.”  

I asked if she ever used a scene as an excuse to punch a costar. She smiled. Jack, who also doubles as her fight choreographer, grinned and shook his head.

*   *   *

“Cue the snow,” Stormy yelled.  

When Stormy calls for snow, it fucking snows. Flurries fluttered passed the bedroom’s exterior window. This snow helped set the stage for a sex scene in “Getting Cozy”—a romance themed film for Wicked Passions. Stormy has a large following of couples and women whom appreciate that she manages every aspect of production. Her complete control eases some people’s fears that women are exploited in porn. If anything, the reverse might be true on a Stormy Daniels set. I once overheard Stormy joke about how she forced her partner, Brendon Miller, into porn so he could never hold her profession against her.  

Stormy reminded AJ Applegate and Daniel Hunter that their sex scene needed to be slow and passionate no matter how much AJ wanted to get pounded. She also warned Daniel that if he made AJ squirt, he would be buying a new mattress.  

As if rattled by this pre-game speech, Daniel went missing right before the scene.  

“If someone doesn’t get in there and fuck that girl soon I’m going to get my dick out and do it myself,” Stormy said.  

Daniel ran into the room and started getting himself hard. I sat behind Stormy in the hallway as she watched two monitors showing the live feed from the cameramen waiting in the sex room.  

“1, 2, 3 fuck,” Stormy said. “How hard is this?”  

Unlike Daniel, I doubt I could rise to the occasion—even if that occasion involved fucking AJ Applegate for several hundred dollars—if I knew Stormy was monitoring my performance in the next room. When the scene started, Stormy pantomimed like a diehard football fan. She threw up her hands, muttered curses, and cheered when things went well.

*   *   *

Having had a taste of Stormy’s directing style, it was with a certain amount of apprehension that I accepted her invitation to be in a scene. Asa and I would appear in the background as AJ and Daniel’s characters got engaged. Stormy needed extras to make the scene feel like a party, and I looked like a mobile party unit.  

Instead of assigning me to be Asa’s pretend boyfriend, which was the clear choice, Stormy paired Asa with Jack. I soon realized I was the only person at the pretend party without a fictitious lover. I wrestled with my motivation. Why was my character at this engagement party alone? Was I AJ’s gay friend? Was I simply there as eye candy?  

To wash down my rejection, Kylie Ireland handed me a cup filled with fake ice cubes. This presented another acting crisis. How was I to applaud the engagement while holding a glass? How did I clap when holding a solo cup at a real party? Asa and I flirted with the idea of being “clap buddies” and slapping our free hands together, but we abandoned this notion when we considered the wrath it would incur from Stormy. Then it hit me. I wasn’t supposed to clap. My character wasn’t happy about this proposal. I was AJ’s secret lover—and Asa’s backdoor boy-toy—and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the shenanigans going down at this party.  

My silent performance textured the scene with a subtle rumbling of sexual tension. I knew that when Stormy reviewed the raw footage, she’d beg me to shoot a new ending to her film, which would likely involve a three-way between AJ, Asa’s ass, and me—though obviously a romantic threesome as this was for Wicked Passions.  

As soon as the scene wrapped, I was bum rushed by crewmen wanting to take pictures of my ID and have me autograph various model release forms. They needed me to list my stage name. I needed a monumental last name, something that hinted at the electricity radiating off my lightning rod of a penis. I also wanted my name to pay homage to Stormy for giving birth to my career as a porn star. And so, Alfie Thundercock was born.

*   *   *

Police circled the block, suspicious of all the cars parked at the end of the street (and possibly the violent rumblings of a certain thunder-cock). Jack shut the blinds and locked the doors. I felt like I had finally infiltrated one of the keggers I got locked out of in high school. Except instead of cheerleaders this party was filled with porn stars. Stormy Daniels, Chanel Preston, Lexi Belle, Allie Haze, and Dana DeArmond bounced on a California King bed while wearing only their candy-colored underwear. Thousands of tiny feathers floated around the women as they peppered each other with pillows. While the scene perfectly matched my fantasy of what happens at slumber parties, it in no way coincided with my experiences in the royal-rumble-style pillow fights of my youth.  

“You ever been in a real pillow fight?” I asked Jack. “That shit is no a joke.”  

“Yeah,” Jack said with a grin. “I almost killed a guy in a pillow fight once.”  

This fluffy scene would be the cover shot for Stormy’s first all-girl feature in years, “Girls’ Night.”

After a long evening of filming scripted segments, the women ended up lounging on a patchwork of sleeping bags while dressed in adult-sized onesies. Things began to get serious, and weird, when Dana stood up, slid out of her onesie, and announced, “I’m going to put my dick on.”

The strap-on featured pink bows and a glittery dildo, as if to soften the aggressive connotations of the device. Dana tucked her dick in her pajamas, zipped up the onesie, and waited for Stormy to yell, “Action!”  

The five-woman orgy was planned as a dream sequence, but the reality was as surreal as any nighttime reverie. To start, all of the onesies were animal themed, making the beginning of the scene feel like a perverted petting zoo, or a furry fuck fest.

Dana quickly unzipped her zebra onesie, popped out her glittery dick, and shoved it in Chanel’s mouth. Chanel chomped on the rubber bit while Dana stroked the striped ears on her hoodie. When the pair began to climb into the 69 position, Allie interfered.  

“You 69 fucks!” Allie said, breaking apart the couple to make them share with the group. “There are three other people trying to get in on this.”  

As a compromise, Stormy, Chanel, and Dana formed a triangle linked by their various lips. Was this the origins of the lesbian community’s triangle symbol?  

“Whoever is doing that, it feels awesome,” said an unknown participant buried in the pile.  

“Now that must be Lexi,” another said, “because she’s biting my ass.”  

Chanel ripped the dildo loose from Dana’s harness, put the base in her mouth, and fucked the other women with the disembodied penis. Stormy fingered Dana so aggressively that her ring almost slipped off inside.  

“Why am I crying?” Chanel asked jokingly, as she stared down at Dana fingering her ass and attempting to swallow her foot.  

“We took Dana’s dick away and she’s still weird,” Stormy said, making Allie laugh so hard she snorted.  

Before I could fully process what I was seeing, the scene ended. The women lay around, laughing, reassembling their wardrobes from the twist of sleeping bags, and trying to piece together what had just happened. If Stormy’s directing style was like a hurricane, then her orgies were like tornadoes, leaving a trail of toppled furniture and limp bodies in their wake.

*   *   *

The best anecdote for summing up Stormy as a director, and a person, came from my photographer friend, who Stormy nicknamed, “Nighthawk.” He told me how Stormy had given him his start in the adult industry and how she still hired him every time she filmed in Florida. She had even cast him in a number of vital onscreen roles, things like “Sexy Jogger.” Nighthawk said that Stormy would do anything for you, as long as you never let her down. Of course, Nighthawk also mentioned that Stormy may or may not have tried to stick a toothbrush in his ass after some tequila shots in Mexico, but I suppose that comes with the territory.  

Stormy had given me plenty of opportunities that day. She had shown me the secret porn-set handshake, she had invited me to witness a handful of the hottest women on Earth engage in a five-way, and she gave me my start as a porn star. It seemed inevitable then that she would eventually try to shove something in my ass. I could only hope it wouldn’t be her foot in retribution for this story.  

View the hardcore trailers and order “Getting Cozy” (2/15/2015) and “Girls’ Night” (3/18/2015) at Wicked.com.

See Stormy Daniels’ complete body of work at stormydaniels.com.  

Contact Alfie Thundercock through his website, shawnalff.com.