[M4F] The Popstar’s Fixer

I’d picked up the phone when the text sound had pinged in the middle of the night.

You up? The dumb bitch is at some private party, go pull her out before she ODs and kills everyone’s meal ticket.

Getting out of bed and going to work was about the last thing I wanted to do at this hour, but when a client was so regular her manager paid a retainer on top of my fee, it was worth it to keep them happy.

Where?

313 Milagro. She’ll be in the upstairs.

My job was, in short, to fix problems for celebrities. Baby mama who won’t go away? Unfortunate nudes in the possession of a ex? Puke all over yourself in front of the club’s security camera? Whatever it was, I could take care of it.

I had a client list full of big names, but the one that was paying the mortgage on my million dollar condo right now was a washed-up pop star who went by Cyan. She’d been the biggest name in the business—hell, the world—when she started.

But eight years later she wasn’t the next hot thing anymore. Her tours weren’t drawing what they used to, her albums weren’t as hot, and she wasn’t going on magazine covers anymore. Which had only made the drinking and the drugs worse, which was where I came in.

Be there in thirty.

Time to show why I was the best in the biz…

---

Now, I was cruising down the highway at 2:45 in the morning, windows down. Partly to enjoy the cool night air—partly to keep the stench of liquor and sex down from the backseat.

The club’s private area had been playing host to the kind of party where your shoes didn’t leave the ground without a nice gooey squelch. I was glad I hadn’t worn anything nice, because I suspected I’d need to burn these clothes.

Cyan was half-dressed in the back—when I’d arrived, she’d been high out of her mind on fuck-knows-what, and completely naked with a couple guys. They hadn’t appreciated me interrupting their fun, and hadn’t found it persuasive when I said I was with her staff.

They’d found the gun more persuasive. We’d beat a quick retreat after I’d checked their phones for photo and video evidence to my satisfaction, and now we were on the way back to her house in Malibu.

I could hear mumbling from the back, which I suspected meant my client was waking up. Fuck. A drunken attempt at conversation was not what I wanted right now. I glanced at the GPS as I could hear her sit up. Twenty five minutes to destination.

Shit…

---

Hello all! Had an idea tonight for an idea about a washed-up pop star and her fixer. Things are mostly laid out in the prompt, but I left things pretty open ended so that we can take it in any direction we’d like. I have a few ideas.

My kinklist is very long, so I don’t have a full chart. In terms of limits as long as it isn't incest or something with significantly older/ugly men (this one is important), I'm probably down for it (or at least willing to try!) I was thinking that the popstar wouldn’t be white, as I’m big on interracial!

Anyway, if this sounds like fun, and especially if you have ideas of your own, shoot me a message, and I'd love to hammer out the details and make this happen!

Hope to hear from you!