by Young, M. L.
“Ooh,” he moaned out, expelling all of the air out of his lungs, as he began to penetrate me.
“Fuck,” I said faintly.
Every quarter inch of his rock hard erection sent a shockwave through my petite body. I gripped the sheets, twisting them in pleasure, but it only turned him on even more. He slid in and out of me, my body starting to stretch and accommodate him, as he thrust his pelvis into mine quickly.
Just as quickly as he pushed into me, his piece fell out, and he ordered me to get on my hands and knees. I wanted to tell him not to speak to me that way, but in this situation, I couldn’t help but burn with even more desire for him.
I got on my hands and knees and he quickly mounted me from behind, as if time was of the essence. I felt his girth push into me as he pushed my back down, pushing my face against the sheets. I closed my eyes, my bottom lip being bit in pleasure, as the new position felt like an entirely new experience. He was pressing all new buttons, and I wanted him to keep slamming them harder and faster.
“Fuck me,” I said as I felt my lips sliding against his shaft.
My words were met with a slap across my ass, which I was sure left a red handprint. I put my forearms under myself and looked back at him, my hair flying in all directions, as each powerful thrust from his body seemed to resonate through mine. He looked at me, locked eye contact, and sent a message of dominance and lust that was well received. He was treating me like his plaything, and I think I liked it.
I toyed with him as I looked at him, moaning lusciously as I felt him throbbing inside of me. I wanted to tease him the way he teased me with that whip, and I wanted to make him spray his sweet nectar in every which direction. I had never experienced a man’s juice before, but after everything I was already doing, there was a first time for everything.
“Shit,” he said as he began to breathe heavier.
“Are you going to give it to me?” I asked unexpectedly and to my surprise.
Kurt moaned, my words having a profound effect on him, as his eyes almost rolled back into his head. He pulled out of me and stroked it quickly as his sweet nectar began to flow out of his dick like the Trevi Fountain.
“Fuck,” he moaned as his legs quivered.
I felt some of it spray on me as the rest shot in every which direction, from past me to over my head. It was like D-Day, and I was dodging the bullets as they screamed through the air. The flow began to die down, and Kurt, who was breathing heavier than a marathon runner, placed his hand on my ass, which was still stuck up in the air as he needed support.
He grabbed two towels, hidden on the side of his bed, and tossed one to me as he used the other to wipe his face down as the glistening sweat soaked up the towel.
“You’re a really good time,” he said as his breathing began to go back to normal.
I put the towel on the bed and rolled over onto it, as his nectar began to leave my ass and stick to the crisp white towel.
As I stood up, my dress, which was still on all this time, fell down and I picked up my panties from the floor and put them back on quickly, as if I was trying to get out as fast as I could.
“Let’s go hit the sack. That was almost too much,” he said as he put his boxers back on and slung his pants over his shoulder.
I smiled, grabbed his hand, and walked out of this dungeon and to his bedroom, which was very different from the room I was just deflowered in. Was this really happening? Did this mean Kurt and I were going to be more than a one-night stand? After all, I didn’t think he’d invite anyone to come and sleep in his house. You were the most vulnerable sleeping, and with all of his money and possessions, I didn’t think he wanted to take that chance.
As we got in bed and Kurt wrapped his arms around me from behind, I realized that maybe I had him all wrong. The tabloids must’ve been all rumors, and there was a chance that he was a good guy tainted with the title of playboy. Maybe things were truly starting to look up.
Chapter Four
A few weeks had passed since my encounter with Kurt, and I hadn’t heard a word from him. I was slightly pissed, but I guess I had an inkling that something like this could happen. I had thought he was different when he asked me to stay the night, but it just turned into what everybody else in the media had said. He was a playboy and womanizer, and I was just another pawn in his proverbial sexual chessboard.
He did ask for my number and said he’d call, but when I asked for his, he said he couldn’t give it out because his agent or something would get pissed at him because of this whole fiasco that happened a year ago. I thought that was bullshit, since he had no problem sticking his unwrapped meat inside of me, but I digress. Maybe it was just a night of fun and nothing else.
Morgan, and of course some friends she had told, didn’t stop hounding me that first week. I was asked what we did, where we went, if we had sex, and everything else in between. Even though we did hook up, I didn’t tell any of them that, not even Morgan. There was a certain amount of shame that went with it, almost like you were admitting you were being a slut.
I still kept up my cam responsibilities, if you want to call them that, and luckily for me my normal clients kept coming, and even some more. The only truly good thing that came from sleeping with Kurt was that it reignited a flame in me that had begun to dwindle. I went out, invested some of my webcam money into some toys, and my viewership went up because of it, which meant more coins. The increase wasn’t huge, and I was definitely not dropping out of school anytime soon, but something was better than nothing.
My last class of the day, Leadership in Societies, was filled with a monotonic and drill professor that made cat claws scratching on a blackboard sound like the New York Philharmonic. The class was in a lecture hall, which was nice, because there were about two hundred other students that shielded me from dozing off or daydreaming about a life far away from here where I’d win the lottery and live on some remote beach in the middle of the South Pacific. Yeah, that was the life, and I was praying that one day I would get to live it.
As I sat there, dreaming about my new life far, far away, my phone—which was tucked neatly in the front pocket of my hoodie—went off and buzzed inside the soft cotton interior. The buzz wasn’t loud, for my phone was about four years old, but it definitely gave me a little jolt and made me sit up in my seat. Nobody ever texted me, especially while I was in class. My parents and Morgan knew my schedule, and I only really talked to friends back home on holidays and special occasions. There must be some kind of emergency or problem if I was getting a text during the middle of class.
As Ms. Burman wrote on the large whiteboard and shuffled around her notes, I slyly pulled out my phone, holding it tightly in my hand, and peered down at the backlit screen to see a number I didn’t recognize. I sighed, for the only real texts I got were always for the wrong number. My number was one digit off I found out from a popular guy on campus that always threw raging parties. Since it was Wednesday, I figured it was just another lost and sorry person asking if any big parties were happening tomorrow night.
I opened the message anyway, and was shocked as I began to read what the message said.
"It’s Kurt. I’m sorry I haven’t been around to talk much, but I’ve been really busy on the set of a new movie. I haven’t forgotten about you, not that I ever could, and I’d like to see you if you’re available. I have free time tomorrow, so think about coming down to the set and spending a little time with me in my trailer. I’ll have my assistant get you the information."
My heart began beating, my stomach filled with nerves, and I was pretty sure I began to drip sweat from my shallow pores as I tapped my foot incessantly. Was this really Kurt? I mean, I guess it had to be, considering I didn’t know the number and nobody knew that I wasn’t in contact with him. In fact, I told everybody that I had his number and we chatted a little bit, so as far as some people knew, they couldn’t prank text me and trick me. This had to be Kurt, and the fact that he wanted to see me again just made me th
ink that maybe I was still in this.
As Ms. Burman kept going on about what it meant to volunteer and be a leader and role model in your community, I diverted my attention back and forth between the droning on of her lesson and the pixels on my screen that formed those few perfect sentences. Could I skip school tomorrow and go to see him? I knew it was a bad idea, and I never skipped any classes, but the offer was almost too much to pass up. Who knew the next time I could see him, and with his crazy and ridiculous schedule I should try and take what I could get. It wasn’t every day that an award-winning actor asked to spend time with you.
•••
“Well, I’m going to see him tomorrow,” I said to Morgan as I walked into the apartment and saw her awkwardly measuring her boobs.
“Who?” she asked as she looked down at the number on the tape.
“Kurt. We’re going to hang out.”
“Oh my God! Are you serious, Chlo? Where are you guys going? Can I come?” she asked as she dropped the tape measure and came over to me.
“His movie set, and no, he said only I could come,” I said, which was a lie since he never said I couldn’t bring somebody, although I knew his ulterior motive for having me there.
“Damn. Does he have any hot celebrity friends he could hook me up with? Oo, like Ron Harold or something!”
“I don’t think so Morgan,” I said with a chuckle.
“So are you going after class then?”
“Not exactly. The only time he can is during the afternoon, so I’m going then.”
“Wait, are you telling me the one girl on this campus who never skips any class even for a single solitary minute is going to bail out on her responsibilities to see a guy?”
“Yes, and he’s not just any guy you know. Besides, I can be a little bad too you know,” I said, trying to convince her I wasn’t some Good Two-shoes.
“You, bad? Ha! Give me a break! You’re the sweetest and most straightlaced girl I’ve ever known. If you’re a bad girl then I’m secretly growing a tentacle out of my belly button.”
Little did Morgan know that she must have been growing that tentacle because the Kurt Simmons bent me over his bed and spanked me hard. A good girl wouldn’t do anything like that. It was too bad she couldn’t know the truth.
“Just be careful. I know how hard you can fall for guys, and this guy is probably just being nice to you. Not saying you aren’t pretty, cause you are, but you never hear of celebrities dating everyday people. It doesn’t happen, and I don’t want you to think it will now. Besides, you don’t want to end up on the front cover of some tabloid hanging out with him. It’ll only end badly.”
“I’ll be safe, Morgan, you know that. Besides, I’m a good girl, remember?”
•••
I woke up promptly at seven in the morning on Thursday. Kurt said the car would pick me up around one, but I couldn’t help myself. I was beaming with excitement, and the very thought of sleeping in and missing my meeting with him was a possibility, albeit a rare one, I couldn’t chance happening. I pumped myself up with coffee and sugary sticks, which I was sure would keep me awake and there was no way my body could fail me and crawl back into bed to get the much-needed sleep I felt I was missing.
Morgan was gone when I woke up, for Thursdays meant she had a seven fifteen class, and I was left pacing around the apartment and trying to think of what was going to occur today. Was he going to try and seduce me inside of his trailer? Maybe he had some whips and chains hidden underneath his makeup counter and his unassuming trailer would be turned into some sex-themed amusement park. He was a big star there, and I knew he could close the doors for ten minutes to slide his hard and meaty pole deep inside of me. If he couldn’t, I knew I could at least tease him enough to want to contact me again really soon.
As one o’clock came near, I looked in the mirror about thirty times to make sure every part of my outfit was perfect. Black skirt, black tights, and a white polka-dotted shirt were all wrapped and draped over my body, with not even a single piece of lint or dust anywhere in sight. If I was going to do this, then I was going to do it right.
I heard a car horn honking a few times over the course of two minutes before I finally looked out of the peephole and saw a taxi sitting right outside our door.
“That’s weird,” I said.
I opened the door, and the driver, a bald and dark older man, yelled to ask if I was Chloe. I said I was, and he told me he was here to take me to the set. I was a bit shocked, for I was certain that Kurt was sending a car service, and not some off-yellow taxi. I grabbed my bag, locked the door, and nervously walked to the cab, before getting in and having the driver take off like a rocket before I could even buckle myself in. I hated riding in taxis, with the drivers acting as if we were kamikaze pilots in the middle of a dogfight in the Pacific Ocean. They had to make sure they drove fast, dodged pedestrians, and didn’t crash into the back of the car in front of them. This was usually accompanied by texting, tuning the radio endlessly, and screaming in a foreign language. To say I was terrified was an understatement.
•••
“Okay, we’re here,” the man said as we turned in Humble Studios, which was the studio that did all of the big movies in town.
I looked out the window, as he seemed to slow down, as if the presence of this huge place was enough to make him think sensibly and calm when it came to driving. He turned from a Formula One racer to a student driver trying to pass his license test. He rolled up to a guard gate, which looked somewhat familiar to the one at the premiere, and unlocked the doors.
“Okay, you get out here. Nice men have already paid your fare, so have a good day okay,” he said as he motioned his hand in the air.
“Oh, okay, thank you,” I said, as I was just glad that Kurt or somebody else at least paid the fare for the taxi.
I got out of the taxi, closed the door, and walked up to the gate as the driver screeched off as if he couldn’t wait to get out of here. You’d think we were driving up to Immigration Services or something.
“Can I help you?” a man behind the gate asked.
“Yes, I’m here to see Kurt Simmons,” I said, which he had most likely heard a million times before.
“Name?” he asked in an almost drone like voice.
“Chloe Steiner,” I said confidently, as to not give him any indication I was lying, which I obviously wasn’t.
He scrolled through the stack of papers on his clipboard and finally stopped at my name, which was bolded out, as if to either say to watch out for me or that I was some kind of important person.
“I see you right here, Ms. Steiner. If you’d like to come through the gate, I’ll call somebody to come and drive you over to the set,” he said before handing me a special lanyard, like the one I got at the premiere.
I put the lanyard on, walked through the gate, and stood in a waiting area among a dozen golf carts, which I had seen tons of people driving around the set. The buildings were huge, like airline hangars, and there were signs from a bunch of television shows I had seen before. It was almost weird to see them being shot here, because they always portrayed it as happening in the street or a real house on TV. Thinking they had a mock-up of half a living room in there where the whole show took place just seemed like such a foreign concept to me.
“Are you here to see Kurt?” a woman asked as I stood there in awe of the soundstages.
“Oh, yes, I am,” I said with a smile, as if I were so happy and proud to admit to that.
“My name is Savannah, and I’m going to take you over to his set. From there you’ll meet other people who will coordinate the meeting,” she said with a shy smile.
She must’ve been somewhere around my age, likely an intern, and she actually reminded me a lot of Morgan. We got into a golf cart, she fired it up, and onward we went toward Kurt’s set, which I was hoping wasn’t too far away.
I saw everything on the way there, from men in gladiator costumes to a bunch of cars from upcomi
ng movies I saw trailers for. I smiled, looked on in awe, and likely looked like the biggest and dorkiest tourist there ever was. I wanted to point out everything to Savannah, but I knew I’d just seem like an idiot. She saw this stuff all day every day, and I knew she’d just smile and think to herself that I was some crazed fangirl here to lock Kurt up to a bed and break his knees or something.
•••
I was checked in once we arrived, and told to wait in his trailer for him. The spiel was that they were running late on set and that they personally didn’t know when he’d arrive, but that he would and we’d get to hang out for a bit. I happily agreed, knowing he would likely be a little busy, and that this thing happened. What I didn’t know, however, was just how long I would have to wait. There was nothing in his trailer to do. It was bare bones and twenty years old, with no TV, no radio, and the only entertainment was looking out the window at the men and women in costume going to their respective soundstages.
I took out my phone after what seemed like forever to see I had already been there for an hour and a half. Nobody had come back, not even to see if I wanted anything to drink or eat, and there was certainly no sign of Kurt. No text messages, no phone calls, and not even a shady note slipped under the door by a stalker fan. I was left in complete silence, and it was this silence that killed me.
Was Kurt really this busy, or was this some elaborate ruse to make me want him more?
•••
Two hours and twenty-seven minutes had passed by before I finally had enough. Kurt wasn’t coming, and I was a fool to think he was. There wasn’t even a sign in this trailer that it belonged to him. No special treats laid out, no clothes, and no electronics or other easy to see clues. I was just in some stupid shell of a trailer, and the fact that he wasn’t here just made me mad. I knew I wasn’t in the wrong trailer, because he definitely would’ve called or texted me. He didn’t waste time, judging from how fast he got my panties off, and I knew if he really wanted to get laid that he would’ve contacted me and sent the National Guard to come and get me if his boner needed servicing. Even though I was livid, though, I still couldn’t stop thinking of him.