Undead L.A. 2

by Sagliani, Devan

  But she couldn't even stand, a dismal fact she discovered when she leaped to her feet to give it one more go. The pain was overwhelming; she might as well have been running on shards of broken glass. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, ignoring the shrill jolt of fresh agony that shot through her cold body. The earth beneath her had turned to saturated gravel, and it felt like she was crawling over a pit of wet razor blades with each movement she made. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as a cold chill ran through her. The desire to turn and look back overwhelmed her, and she gave in to the primal instinct. Dylan and his family were within feet of her now. She rolled onto her back feeling like needles were sinking deep into her body, rigidly holding her in place. Dylan reached her first, his terrible face now clearly revealed by a fresh flash of lightning tearing through the clouds overhead. He was missing most of his bottom lip. She could see the horrible, cracked lower teeth jutting through. He moved with preternatural speed, lunging at her mouth first like a wild cat, teeth out and dripping with dark blood.

  “DYLAN, NO!!!”

  She awoke with a stifled scream, thrashing in clean hotel linens, and not having a clue where she was. A harsh male voice argued with someone in a foreign language from behind a closed bathroom door. For a minute she didn't know how she had gotten there. Her heart pounded from the intensity of the dream. It was so graphic. It seemed almost... real?

  She rolled over and took the bottle of water from the nightstand, removing the tag and throwing it next to the iPod alarm clock. It flipped over with the writing facing her: JW MARRIOTT LA LIVE.

  Of course, she thought. I'm still on the clock, getting paid for an overnighter.

  She'd gotten a call late the night before from Kevin and Donna about doing a private with a rich businessman just in town for the night from Dubai.

  “It's super easy,” Donna had said a little too casually. “We've already cleared him. He's a gentleman with a sterling reputation and an almost bottomless bank account. He's going to sample most of our client roster, but he wants the best first so he asked for you.”

  “I told you I'm not doing side work anymore,” she weakly protested. “Anyway I was just getting ready to go out with my girls for the night. We're meeting Lil Ice and The Game at Supperclub in Hollywood.”

  By the time she got into the business, it was already well known that the vast majority of porn stars were available for purchase to rich men who knew where and how to find them. By the end of her very first week she'd been approached by one of the production assistants about whether she'd be interested in making some 'extra cash' on her days off. Valentina, a former porn star turned make up artist on set that day, had waited until the assistant left the room before slipping her the number for Donna and Kevin.

  “Don't go with Piper,” she warned Samantha, forcing the folded paper into her hand. “She's vindictive and most of her customers are low rent. Trust me. It's only slightly better than working the cheap motels at the top of Sepulveda. Donna and Kevin are the best. They're the ones that Benjamin sends his girls to, well at least since Nikki got busted anyway. Ask him yourself.”

  Benjamin was the biggest agent in porn, a ruthless and cold-hearted pimp with an English accent and a no-nonsense attitude that rubbed most people the wrong way. Sam had met with him at his offices on Ventura Boulevard her first week in Hollywood, after figuring out she wasn't going to be able to make rent by waiting tables at Gaucho Grill. She'd gone to the trouble of visiting several local strip clubs, from Crazy Girls to the Seventh Veil, but they hadn't impressed her much. She'd even checked out Jumbo's Clown Room, a dive bar slash strip club in south Hollywood where Courtney Love had once famously worked, which turned out to be the worst of them all. She was on her way to sign up at Spearmint Rhino when she met her first real live porn star—Bobbie Sox—in the parking lot, and followed her to a local bar instead. Three hours and six margaritas later she was ready to sign away rights to her firstborn son to be the next Jenna Jameson. She'd even come up with her new name: Cherry Haze. Benjamin signed her on the spot to a three-year contract as her exclusive agent, and sent her to United Testing Services to get her screened for HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases. They drew her blood and watched her pee in a cup. When it was time to leave, they let her know that her agent had agreed to pay for her first test so she could start working and earn money right away.

  Three days later a driver picked her up and took her to a house in Reseda where she shot her first scene with a muscle-bound guy with slick oily hair and a perfect smile, named Mickey. He took her into the spare bedroom and smoked her out before the scene started, leaving her giddy for most of the shoot.

  “Can't start work without a safety meeting,” Mickey laughed, passing the bubbler to her. She took a big hit and coughed so hard she thought she might throw up on the carpet.

  “Sorry,” she said, eyes watering as she handed it back to him. “I just started smoking weed last week. I'm not even sure I'm doing it right.”

  “Don't worry. You're doing it right,” he assured her. “If you don't cough, you don't get off. That's what I always say!”

  The director had her undress slowly down to her bra and panties while the photographer took “pretty girl” pictures before going fully nude. She had shaved her pubes the night before into an exclamation mark, which got a great laugh from the crew guys and soon put her mind at ease. The sex itself was easier than she thought. Bright lights had been set up in a cramped bedroom space in the house, with a frilly pink bedspread and a pile of stuffed animals. The director had her pose on the bed and play with herself for a while before Mickey joined her. The director called out commands while he hovered over her with a handheld video recorder. She learned quickly not to answer back or look directly into the camera, otherwise she'd be yelled at. She went down on Mickey, then he went down on her. The director made a big deal about getting a good shot of Mickey entering her, but once that was over they just took their time fucking in several different positions. Despite being terrifyingly well endowed, Mickey was an amazing lover and he took total control during the scene—which meant she could relax and enjoy it. For a while, she forgot the camera was even there and allowed herself to get into it, moaning and bucking her hips to take him deeper. When he put his hand gently around her throat and kissed her she felt a burst of wetness shoot out of her and drool down her crack onto the bed.

  “We've got a squirter!” the director squealed with delight. “I think she likes it, Mickey. Keep doing whatever you just did. I'm getting beautiful shit here.”

  Mickey leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  “Do you like it rough?”

  “Yes,” she answered breathlessly.

  “Let me know if it's too much,” he replied, kissing her neck as he drove hard into her. “Tap your hand on me or the bed if you want me to let up.”

  “I can handle it, baby,” she assured him.

  The rest of the scene was a blur as Mickey let himself go, flipping her around like a sex doll as he put her through the paces. Samantha didn't have time to tap out as he pulled her hair and slapped her face and even spit in her mouth. The bed was a wet mess by the time the director was calling for the pop shot. He ordered Samantha to get on her knees at the foot of the bed while Mickey stood in front of her, his erection waving angrily in her face. She licked at it over and over until finally he erupted. This was by far the worst part of the shoot. In real life she'd never been a big fan of tasting sperm, and preferred to have her lovers cum on her belly or tits rather than her face. She fought back the urge to gag as he coated her face with his pearly seed, closing her eyes and holding her breath.

  “Lick my fuck!” he growled comically. Samantha was so caught off guard that she devolved into a fit of giggles. Mickey laughed too, and the director yelled cut. He brought her a wad of paper towels to wipe the gooey mess off of her face and told her there were fresh towels in the bathroom if she wanted to shower.

  “I'm sorry ab
out laughing at the end,” she apologized, cleaning her face.

  “Don't worry about it,” the director’s response was quick. “You were amazing. You've got real talent.”

  “You really think so? I mean it was only my first scene. I can do better next time.”

  “Baby, you're one of the best I've ever seen,” he assured her. “And I've been doing this for twelve years now. You're going to be a huge star if you stick around. Trust me.”

  She'd beamed with pride at his compliment as she scrubbed up in the shower afterward. Mickey had joined her and they fooled around more before toweling off. By the time she got out, her driver was back and was pacing in the front hallway waiting for her. Mickey gave her a kiss goodbye, along with his cellphone number, and told her to call him any time. When she got in the car the driver called Benjamin and handed her the phone.

  “How did it go love?”

  “It was fun,” she admitted. “It was easier than I thought.”

  “How was Mickey? He can be a little rough.”

  “Great, actually. He just took control and walked me through it.”

  “Good. You just made two thousand dollars,” Benjamin replied.

  “How soon can I work again?”

  “Tomorrow,” he replied. “And the day after as well. I sent out the pictures we took of you in the office this morning. We've been getting calls all day. You keep this up and you'll be able to buy a small island and retire by the end of your contract. We both will. Didn't I tell you I'd make you a star?”

  Benjamin had no idea how right he was. Within a month Cherry was fielding offers from Vivid Video and Wicked Pictures to be a contract star. Benjamin advised her against it so early in her career, explaining that she could make significantly better money as a free agent. He was right. By the end of the first year she was one of the most sought after performers in the adult industry, raking in nearly a quarter of a million dollars between her scenes, toy product deals, and her website, which featured weekly web cam shows with her and other girls from Benjamin's agency. She discovered fans would give her nearly anything she asked for on social media, so she bought a private mailbox where they could gift her items off her Amazon wish list; tokens ranging from sexy lingerie to electronics. While other new girls struggled to keep the work going, Samantha had to beg Benjamin to give her a day off. Other girls at the agency didn't bother holding back their jealousy over the preferential treatment she got from Benjamin either, not that it bothered her in the least. She'd been told how awful Benjamin was since day one, with a list of enemies so long it would take detectives years to figure out who killed him when the time finally came—but he'd never been that way to her. Growing up sheltered she'd learned to be comfortable with being alone. She didn't bother making friends with many of the other girls. When it was time to head to Vegas for the annual porn awards at the Hard Rock Hotel, she breezed past them easily to win the coveted award of the night, Best New Starlet.

  Nothing felt like standing on that stage holding that trophy, she thought. She'd missed out on her high school prom, but she imagined that this was far better than even being crowned prom queen. Seeing all those other girls stare at me with hatred in their eyes was like drinking fire and loving the way it burned as it went down.

  With her overwhelming popularity, and her swollen bank account, she never really needed to turn towards escorting the way most of the other girls did. Instead she did it because she found it exciting. The rush of walking into a stranger's hotel room and being paid thousands of dollars to give them pleasure far outweighed the risk of being hauled off to jail and charged with prostitution. Besides, Donna and Kevin screened their clients well, so incidents like that were few and far between. Their private roster included athletes, congressmen, and even movie stars. Samantha almost lost her mind the first time she showed up at a swanky hotel in Beverly Hills and Harley Richards opened the door in a bathrobe. She was even more surprised to learn that he not only knew who she was, but had seen several of her movies. He paid her extra to cancel her scene the next day and go sailing with him, a decision she had to run past Benjamin first, but which he ultimately approved once she'd offered to double the scene cancellation rate laid out in her contract. Harley eventually gave her keys to a condo he owned across from the Fox Studios on Pico, so he could plan trysts with her between taping episodes of his hit television show.

  He was so sweet back then, she thought. He'd get so high on blow he couldn't even get hard anymore, then he’d beg me to run off and marry him in Cabo.

  She'd pulled back from doing regular escorting work in the last few months because of her special new celebrity friend. She'd even made them move her to the secret VIP only section so only high rollers could see her, but turned down several offers from wealthy businessmen: a Saudi Prince, and a Silicon Valley billionaire. She'd even turned down a very lucrative trip to Dubai to do a private tour that would have easily netted her $50,000 to entertain a handful of well-connected men. So when Donna called again with an offer she rattled off her standard reply without giving it much thought.

  “I understand,” Donna coolly replied, “he is a very special client who is used to getting what he wants. He came across your profile and immediately let us know you were what he was looking for.”

  “Like I said, I was just getting ready to go out for the night with my girls,” she lied. “I've gotta go.”

  She hung up without giving it a second thought. Moments later Benjamin was on her phone.

  “I want you to do this private tonight,” he impatiently stated, not bothering with any pleasantries.

  “I told you I'm not interested in seeing new clients right now,” she sighed. “Besides, what's so special about him?”

  “For starters, he's willing to pay one hundred thousand dollars for you to spend the night,” Benjamin said, pausing to let it sink in. “I think you should consider making an exception in his case.”

  “That's a lot of money for one night. There won't be any weird stuff?”

  Samantha wasn't into water sports or grown men dressed like babies or guys that wanted to be kicked in the balls and screamed at. If it was a freak show they were looking for she was the wrong girl to give it to them. She preferred dates where she was pampered and showered with gifts, taken out to expensive dinners at fancy restaurants in designer couture specifically bought for her. She'd mastered the art of stretching the anticipation of sex to near breaking point, flirting and teasing her lovers the entire date right up to the moment they entered her. Most of them didn't last five minutes, even with a condom. She'd elevated the entire affair to an art form, as far as she was concerned.

  “I assure you there will not be any weird stuff,” Benjamin cajoled, his voice straining slightly as he did his best to hide his annoyance. He wasn't the kind of man used to having to ask twice, and Samantha took pleasure in his obvious frustration. She knew Benjamin secretly wanted to join her long list of lovers, but she'd never given him the satisfaction, insisting they keep things professional instead. She made him so much money he had no choice but to accept things on her terms, and she used that to her advantage every single chance she got.

  “Fine,” she finally agreed. “Where do I go and what should I wear?”

  “I'll have a driver come pick you up,” Benjamin offered, sounding more than a little relieved.

  “No,” she countered. “I want to drive myself, in case something goes wrong. I'm not waiting for an Uber in the freezing cold at three in the morning if this guy decides he wants me to bottle feed him with a dildo up his ass. Besides, I just got a new Benz and I wanna take it out.”

  A short argument ensued, but Benjamin quickly relented when he realized he couldn't win. An hour later she'd met her mystery man with no name at his suite. There was very little talking and absolutely no weird stuff, just as she was promised. Samantha was relieved to discover her lover for the night was simply a huge fan with the wealth and means to live out his greatest fantasy. On top of all that he
was a better than average lover, bringing her to climax twice with his mouth and once with his lovemaking. She'd fallen asleep around three in the morning, not a dildo or a pacifier in sight, feeling more content than she had in years.

  Now if I can just get my things and sneak out, she thought. She hated spending the night because no matter how well things went she always found it awkward saying goodbye in the light of the next day. By then all the fantasies had been played out and there was a level of familiarity between her and her clients that usually made her skin crawl, even with the famous ones.

  Especially with the famous ones, she thought. Guess I'm just no good at the walk of shame.

  She heard the shower start. She knew she'd have a minute before her Middle Eastern friend came back out. She climbed out of the bed and made a quick sweep of the room. There was nothing she could take, not without him noticing. She threw open the curtains and stared down at the pool, hoping her nakedness would shock someone. A jumbo jet flew overhead towards LAX. Down by the pool several people relaxed in the warm sun of the early day. None of them looked up at her. Her phone vibrated incessantly in the sheets. She picked it up and flipped it over to see who it was, but discovered the number had been blocked. She answered it anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh God baby, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” a man gushed.

  “Who is this?” It came out harsher than she meant it to sound.

  “That's what you have to say to me? I've been locked up for months in this shit hole, my whole life is hanging by a thread right now, and the one woman I love asks me who I am when I go through the trouble of sneaking a cellphone into prison? Nice, Sam.”

  “Joshua? How are you calling me?”

  “I told you,” he said, sounding more confident now that she knew who he was. “I had a guard smuggle a burner cellphone to me hidden inside a burrito. Well actually, the gang I joined did, but same difference. Do you miss me, baby?”