[PI] In the sleazy underbelly of Hollywood, the line between "agent" and "pimp" is often blurry. Chapters 3-4. (15k words, tags: MF, M+F, F cheating, transactional)

Continued from Chapters 1-2.

Chapter 3

Lucy was a little surprised when Diane called her. It had been almost three years since they had last spoken. After a string of "auditions" that amounted to nothing but three minor roles and two abortions, Lucy told Diane that she was calling it quits, that she was going to take more hours at the yoga studio. Lucy had always done part-time at the studio, but she was sick of getting dolled up for these auditions, going there, putting out, and then getting paid close to nothing for itsy bitsy roles. She was destined for movie stardom, but she'd settle for health insurance.

Also, Lucy had met someone. Me. We had been dating for almost a year, at that point.

"Lucy, how have you been?" Diane asked.

"Cut the shit, Diane," Lucy sniped. "What do you want?" Their last conversation had been less than cordial.

"Alright, alright," Diane said, backing off. "I've got a major client that's looking for someone exactly like you. They want mid-to-late 20s, confident, athletic types. And I figure, I'm still technically your agent ..."

"I'm engaged, Diane," Lucy said, a non-answer that really spoke volumes. "I can't run around sleeping with directors any more."

"Well, no," Diane corrected, "You wouldn't be meeting with the director. You'd be meeting with the backers. It's a bunch of finance guys from China. They're working with a major movie studio and an A-list director. I can't say the director's name, but his initials are-"

"Why the fuck are the backers doing the casting on this?" Lucy asked. "That's a producer's job."

"They're not casting, Lucy," Diane scoffed, without thinking.

The silence on the phone was palpable. It was the first time that Lucy realized that she hadn't realized what had been happening. It was the first time that Lucy realized she had been a prostitute.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy ... I thought you knew," Diane whispered.

"Are you whoring me out?" asked Lucy.

"Lucy, I-"

"WAS I A WHORE?! THIS WHOLE TIME?!" Lucy screeched.

Diane didn't answer, and that was as damning as her answering.

"I'M NOT A FUCKING WHORE!" screamed Lucy.

"You're not a whore," Diane said, firmly, in response. "You never were. And I'm not offering you a whore's salary with this job either. Think of it as ... think of it as being a spokesperson. You're there to answer their questions about American culture and customs, that's it. Anything else you want to do is up to you. Look, all these men want is to see what American women are like. And you're, like, half-Chinese-"

"I'M NOT HALF CHINESE!" yelled Lucy. She was about to hang up.

"It pays $3,000 for the evening," Diane said, quickly, before Lucy could.

"Are you kidding?"

"No."

"$3,000, and all I do is show up and answer questions about American life?"

"Yes."

"Nobody's going to get handsy with me?"

"I can't guarantee that," Diane admitted. "But my contract specifically says that I'm there to find hosts. And you won't be the only one there - there's going to be 3 others, a blonde, a brunette, and a black. I think you know one of them, Marissa Miles? You'd be the only uh ... one who looks half-Chinese."

"I'm not half-Chinese," Lucy repeated.

"I didn't say you were," Diane said, defensively. "Just saying you could play one."

"Well, I'm not half-Chinese. And I'm not a whore," Lucy repeated.

"You're not half-Chinese. And you're not a whore," Diane said, sealing the deal.

But, as it turned out, Lucy was a whore.

To her credit, I remember Lucy telling me that she was meeting some of her old acting friends, and dropping Marissa's name. Marissa was one of these C-list scream queens, portraying sluts who got murdered by chainsaw axe murderers, or whatever. She and Lucy had read together for some vampire movie, and, as I found out much later, been cajoled into fingering each other while sucking the director off. But, at the time, it was just an industry party, part of the routine of being an aspiring actress.

The party was at mansion in the hills, where these 8 Chinese billionaires were throwing money around like snowballs. All the women were given pretty detailed instructions on what to wear, and Lucy was instructed to wear a schoolgirl outfit - pigtails, tartan skirt, knee socks, the whole bit.

Except, Lucy didn't leave our apartment wearing that. She left wearing some bonnet and knee length black dress, convincing my naive ass that it was an Americana themed party and she was going as a "mildly slutty Quaker".

"You know," I pointed out. "You don't have to go as a slutty anything. You could just go as a full Amish woman."

"Yeah," she said, "But what fun is that? Besides, I'm a bit of a slut." She paused, before realizing what she had said. "I mean, I used to be a bit of a slut. Not any more, though."

"Not any more, huh," I teased.

"Okay, I'm still a bit of a slut," Lucy cooed. "But a slut for just one man."

"Me?" I asked.

"Let me show you how big of a slut I am," Lucy giggled, and slithered to her knees to suck my dick. She was really good at it.

***

She changed from her "mildly slutty Quaker" outfit to a "whorishly slutty schoolgirl" outfit at Marissa's place, and they went over to the party together. Marissa had been tasked with dressing as a nurse.

"This is it," Lucy said, pointing to a wrought iron gate at the end of a winding private road, lined with carefully manicured hedges. The house at the end was a fucking mansion, lit up with spotlights. They pulled up right up to the front door, where a valet took their keys and afforded her one last look at her reflection in the car window - tight pleated skirt, thigh-highs, a blouse unbuttoned just enough to make it obvious she wasn't actually a student. She'd gone with the classic pigtails, because men who paid for this kind of thing loved a cliche.

Lucy adjusted the strap of her purse - a tiny purse, just big enough to hold her ID, a credit card, and a bullet vibe - and walked up the slate steps. Marissa followed her, and they locked arms as the door opened. A man in a tailored suit stood there, holding two glasses of champagne. Champagne, like from France, not "sparkling wine" or whatever they're allowed to call American champagne.

The living room was all leather, with a stripper pole bolted to the hardwood in the center. A few men in similar suits lounged on the couches, sandwiching a half-dozen other women dressed in various outfits - a cowgirl, a cheerleader, a secretary, a maid, a bikini, and some kind of athlete. The men joshed in Chinese as they brazenly fondled their companions. One of them raised a glass of amber liquid, ice clinking, on seeing the last two ladies arrive.

Lucy was a little disappointed that this appeared to be a private party - the owner of the house was nowhere to be found, and as none of the women spoke any Chinese, they were at the mercy of the only man who spoke any degree of English.

"Party begin, who first dance," he said, nodding toward the pole. The music switched suddenly, bass thumping through hidden speakers. Someone had queued up a bachelor party mix. All the girls jumped to their feet and volunteered, but Lucy was a little reluctant. "Young girl, young girl," he beckoned, pointing Lucy to the makeshift stage.

Lucy didn't want to make a scene, but, she didn't want to be the first, either. She was about to decline, to let one of the other girls go first, but then she saw that the men were pulling money out of their wallets. What she was going to earn dancing was going to get added to what she had already been paid through Diane - and the men weren't the typical creeps pulling out a giant wad of $1s. They were wads of $10s. Big stacks of 100 bills - $1,000 - and they were waving them at her.

No wonder everyone wanted a turn.

She stepped toward the pole. The men didn't clap or cheer at first. They just watched, as if they were still deciding whether she was worth they money they held in their hands. One lit a cigarette. Another checked his watch. She could feel their eyes on the back of her thighs as she hooked a leg around the metal, letting the skirt ride up.

The blouse was tighter than it was thirty seconds prior, the miniskirt shorter. Lucy wondered if it might grow another inch if she willed it hard enough. She reminded herself to look at their faces, to make eye contact. The music swelled, and Lucy began swaying her hips to the music, letting the skirt swing back and forth as she danced. She stuck out her chest to show her cleavage. She stood, bending over, to show off her ass. And the money began to flow, with men waving $10 bills at her, for her to get close to them, and give them a little wiggle as if they were the only ones in the whole world.

"Take off!" one of them, yelled.

The first button popped open easier than she expected - Lucy wondered if she had broken the stitching. Everyone's eyes were on her now, really on her, not just glancing up between sips of whiskey. Lucy exhaled through her nose, feeling the cool air brush against newly exposed flesh. Her nipples tightened before she even realized she was cold. Or maybe it wasn't the temperature. Maybe it was just the way one of the men leaned backward, his fingers rubbing his cock as he was counting the seconds until the next button. The blouse fell open completely, baring her to the waist. Someone whistled, and there was a flurry of bills that were thrust at her for the taking.

Lucy had planned to be braless, and not entirely disappointed that the blouse had come off. The absence of fabric made every movement more mesmerizing - even the mundane movements, like the way her tits swayed when she turned her body, how her breath made them rise just enough to be noticeable. She arched her back slightly, letting the stage lights catch the sweat starting to gather between them.

Lucy watched a $10 bill slide into the waistband of her skirt as she stepped off the stage to walk amongst the businessmen. The wetness between her legs was undeniable as she strode around, making a a round amongst the men while the music pounded in time with her pulse, bass reverberating through the floor and up through her stilletto heels. She didn't flinch when they tucked the money into the waistband of her skirt, or reached under it with their other hand as she did.

Back on stage, Lucy turned her back to the businessmen, bending forward as the music pulsed, syncing with the deliberate sway of her hips as she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She could feel the crisp bills tucked there and resisted the urge to rip them down in one motion. Instead, she pressed her palms flat against her thighs and bent forward, letting the skirt ride up as she peeled the fabric down inch by inch. She got down to her knees berfore releasing the fabric, letting her panties drop to the ground somewhere near the base of the pole, and then stepping out of them, leaving them a crumpled afterthought.

Straightening, Lucy dragged her hands up the backs of her thighs, fingertips skating along the sensitive skin there, and gave her ass a slow, exaggerated wiggle. The motion sent a ripple through the room, a collective intake of breath that was almost louder than the music. She spun slowly, the world blurring into streaks of neon and shadow, until she was facing them again. She leaned back into the pole, and let her legs fall open just enough to be deliberate. The gasp from the audience was worth it, as was the sudden scrape of a chair pushing back. Lucy grinned, dizzy with the power of it.

The song wasn't quite done, but the one who spoke a few words of English stood up, and walked onto the stage with her. Lucy slowed, letting her arms unwind from the pole. The music kept playing. "Are you going to dance, next?" she joked.

The man's hands slid around her waist, his fingers pressing under the thin fabric of her blouse as he pulled her flush against him. Lucy could feel the heat of his hard cock pressing against the curve of her ass. He didn't ask, just moved with her, his hips rolling in time to the music, his breath warm against her neck. Everyone watched, the women silent, their drinks forgotten, and the men cheering.

"So pretty," the man murmured into her ear, his voice low enough that the others couldn't hear. His grip tightened, pulling her closer still. "So young." His lips grazed her earlobe, making just enough contact to make her shiver. Lucy didn't answer. She wasn't expected to. She let him steer her, her back arching as his hands slid lower, cupping her ass through the pleated skirt. The next song began and the music swelled, the bass thudding through the floor, and she could feel the pulse of it in her legs, resonating through the lower half of her body.

"Bedroom," he said, nodding toward the hallway. His voice was flat, devoid of negotiation. Lucy didn't hesitate. She dropped to her hands and knees, and began picking up as many bills as she could, grabbing fistfuls of $10 bills and holding it in her arms like a baby. It turned out to be $2,530 - the price of her dignity, as the laughing man picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. Lucy had been handed cash before, but never had she had a literal armful of bills. The men roared with laughter as the next woman jumped to the stage, eager for her turn to become a thousandaire.

The bedroom was all muted grays and whites, the kind of decor meant to look expensive without personality. A king-sized bed dominated the space, its duvet perfectly smoothed, as if no one had ever slept there. The man tossed Lucy onto the bed, her blouse falling open and her legs spread wide. Her naked tits flopped out, and her naked pussy parted for him. He didn't touch her right away. Instead, he grabbed fistfuls of Lucy's money, and tossed it into the air, making confetti out of $10 bills.

"Make it rain," he said.

Lucy reached down, spreading her pussy lips and rubbing her clit as the businessman just kept repeating, "make it rain, make it rain." She watched the bills flutter down all around her, falling onto her body and coating the bed with a layer of green. Outside, she heard the men cheering again - and the dull thump of the music's bass beat gave her a tempo to stroke herself.

She heard the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle as it hit the ground. The man stood naked at the side of the bed, except for his watch. His cock jutted out, thick and flushed, the head already glistening.

Lucy didn't wait for instruction. Scrambling to her hands and knees, Lucy crawled to the edge of the bed and took him into her mouth with one smooth motion, her tongue flattening against the underside as her lips sealed tight around the shaft. It was no porn-sized cock, but it filled her mouth completely and then some, the taste of salt and expensive cologne filling her mouth. He groaned, and she could feel his thighs trembling against her shoulders, the involuntary jerk of his hips as she hollowed her cheeks to suck his dick.

The man didn't rush her. He let her set the pace, his breath controlled and calm as she worked him with practiced precision. When she glanced up through her lashes, his eyes were watching her, already thinking forward to the next stage of the evening. She slowed as she read his mind, pulling off with a wet pop that echoed obscenely in the quiet room.

The mattress dipped as she laid back, her sex inviting him in, raw. Lucy realized that she didn't even know his name, much less whether he was going to give her some weird Chinese disease, but he threw up another handful of cash, and Lucy realized she didn't care. He was on the bed, pulling her waist into position, her legs wrapped around his waist before last $10 hit the mattress. Lucy arched instinctively, her hands gripping his shoulders - not to push away, but to steady him as he filled her in one smooth thrust. The stretch burned just enough to remind her she wasn't wet for him, not really, but her body yielded anyway, slick with spit and the arousal of a job well done.

She lifted her hips, in rhythm, then slowing when his hands clamped down on her waist hard enough to bruise. He didn't want her to entice him any more - he wanted her to just be his little fuck toy. The rhythm was his now, his control absolute as he fucked up into her with sharp, precise movements, each one driving the headboard into the wall with a dull thud. Lucy kept her eyes open, watching the way his pudgy body jiggled with every thrust, the way his mouth went slack as he looked down at her, both figuratively and literally.

Lucy's hands grabbed the duvet for leverage - but only got handfuls of money. Lucy looked to her left and right, and saw fields of money. Money that was hers for the taking. Money that wasn't even counted - they were just throwing handfuls at her. She held up a handful of money up for inspection, and she felt a gush inside of her. A reflex, she told herself, just biology - but her thighs trembled anyway. He noticed, of course. His smirk was all teeth as he pressed harder, and fuck, she hated that he'd guessed it so fast. She came with a choked-off sound, her fist scrunching the bills into a tight wad as her body betrayed her, pulsing around him while he watched her face with something too close to satisfaction.

He followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, his gut pressed against her, dripping sweat onto her as he panted. For a moment, they stayed like that, joined and sticky, the only sound their shared breaths. Then he pulled out with a wet sound, his cum dripping down her ass crack as he stood, wiping himself off with a warm towel from an electric box on the nightstand.

Lucy started to sit up, but the man told her to stay where she was, legs splayed.

He tossed the used towel onto the bed, gesturing for her to wipe herself off a little. Then, he with his limp cock still dangling out, he went over and opened the bedroom door, letting in the next man. They exchanged some words in Chinese, and Lucy started to sit up again, but the second man pulled out a wad of $10 bills, and Lucy laid back down.

Over the next 5 hours, Lucy ended up getting fucked 9 times, by 4 different men. Two of the men - the first, and the third - really took a liking to her, squeezing in three pops each. Despite speaking limited English, the first man made a genuine effort to get to know Lucy, asking her if she was a dancer. Lucy said no, that she was an actress, and tried to ask him about parts in whatever movie they were financing, but he really didn't understand. He was just killing time during his refractory period.

All of the women ended up the same way - fucked multiple times, but happy as fuck as they collected their money. The house was a 6 bedroom house, so six of the women had their own rooms, while one got fucked in the living room, and Marissa ended up in the bathroom, where she did some shit that she didn't even tell Lucy about when it was time to go.

The women scraped as much money as they could off the floor - it was over $5,000 each - and Lucy and Marissa waddled back to Marissa's place, where Lucy desperately tried to douche as much cum out of her pussy before changing back into the Amish outfit, and then grabbing some breakfast, before calling me to come pick her up at Marissa's place, claiming she had twisted her ankle and couldn't even walk down to catch a cab.

"It's 4:30 in the morning," I chastised. Lucy had told me she was going to be late, but not this late.

"Marissa had too much to drink," Lucy lied. "So we had to wait around for a few hours for her to sober up."

That's when she realized she wasn't just lying to herself any more. That's when she realized she was a whore.

***

When I learned about that night, there was a piece of the puzzle that I put together. The next day - while she was pretending to nurse a twisted ankle and we were sitting on the couch watching an Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon, is when Lucy claimed she had once auditioned for a vampire movie, and that she would have gotten it if she had slept with the producer.

That's when I asked her why she hadn't slept with those producers. After all, she admitted she had been "a bit of a slut" back then, and we hadn't even met at that point.

That's when she screamed, "I'M NOT A FUCKING WHORE!" at me, out of the blue. She was a little sore - physically and emotionally - from having been paid $600 per load for 9 loads the night before. She literally was a whore.

Chapter 4

"I've got another job for you," Diane stated, simply. After 10 years of working "together," she had dropped all pretense. Lucy had quit whoring for the first year or two after we had gotten married, but when The Great Recession had hit, she found herself with cut hours at the yoga studio and a lot of bills to pay.

Lucy had dropped all pretense, as well. Part of it was the acceptance of who she was and what she did. Part of it was that, as a mother and wife, she found it somewhat flattering that men would still pay money to have sex with her. "How much does it pay?"

"$1,000."

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. $1,000 was a good number. If it were higher, Lucy would be suspicious that there was going to be some fucked-up shit involved. She had once taken a $3,000 "no limits" job, only to find out the guy had a knife-play thing going on. He pulled out a knife while he was fucking her, and boasted about gutting her like a fish. He never actually hurt her, but Lucy came home from "yoga class" trembling and wouldn't tell me why.

If it were lower, well, that just attracted loser types, the nickel-and-dime types that would rather spend half of their hour together negotiating instead of fucking. Lower, and it wasn't worth risking everything else that she had built up in her life - husband, kids, house in Thousand Oaks, vacations in Vegas, summers on the California coast.

$1,000 was the sweet spot. Two of those a month gave her all the freedom she wanted. She was a whore - an escort, she assured herself - twice a month, even when she was pregnant. Especially when she was pregnant - men paid extra for that shit.

"Okay, fine," Lucy said, accepting the job without any other information. Diane had been her agent for 10 years, she and Lucy had grown to mutually respect one another, even if they didn't really get along personally. Lucy had never introduced her to me. 8 years together, and I had never so much as heard the name Diane. She knew the names of our kids, but I wouldn't have been able to pick her out of a police lineup.

"He booked an hour starting at 8:00 pm," Diane said. "I told him you have a hard stop at 9:00, so if he's late, he's just going to get shorted on time. No refunds."

"Thanks," Lucy said. Despite all their head-butting, Diane really did know Lucy. Lucy's yoga studio closed at 10:00 pm, so finishing by 9:00 gave her plenty of time to go back to the studio, shower, and then be home by 10:30.

"Alright," Diane said. "He'll text the room number when you're in the lobby. Send a selfie in front of the hotel logo, so he knows you're really there. Talk to you later. Talk to 'Eliana' later." Eliana was Lucy's working name.

"Oh - what's his name?" Lucy almost forgot to ask.

"Uh, Nicolas. Goes by Nick," said Diane, matter of factly.

Lucy had fucked five different Nicks in the in the past decade, so she didn't think anything of it.

***

The Grand Hotel's polished facade reflected the neon glow of downtown LA in the distance. Lucy parked her rattling Honda three blocks away - a necessity, she had learned over the years of close calls. She could lie to her husband about street parking - she couldn't lie about credit card charges to exit hotel parking structures. Besides, the walk would give her time to steady her breath.

She strode through the lobby with purpose, attention seemingly buried in her phone, exactly as if she were a paying customer. She had a blank keycard in her purse, one that she had kept from a previous visit. The key had been deactivated for years, but she could flash it if there were any question about whether she belonged at the hotel. She had worn a pretty standard blouse and designer jean skirt, exactly designed to blend in with the crowd.

Room 814, Nick texted her, as she sent him a selfie from the lobby. Lucy adjusted the strap of her bag where she usually kept the outfits that clients requested - schoolgirl outfits or nurse outfits or leather lingerie, stuff that she couldn't wear without screaming, "I'M A WHORE" at hotel employees. But Nick had simple tastes - blouse, jean skirt, and black lingerie underneath. So her bag was empty. She walked purposefully down the corridor and made a single knock on the door marked 814. She only had time to make a single knock - the door swung open immediately, as if Nick had been waiting by the peephole ever since she had texted from the lobby.

Nick stood there, shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a mat of chest hair that made him look like an '70s porn star. Which was perfect, because he was. "Lucy," he said, addressing her by her real name, as if they were old friends. "Come on in."

Lucy stood there, dumbfounded. The memories came flooding back - Nick and Roger, in an office building. She had gone there to shoot some porn. She didn't remember the sex - after a decade and over a hundred different cocks, it was hard to recall a specific time and place - but she remembered him. She remembered the first time she was a prostitute. She was still in denial, back then.

Lucy wondered whether she should run. Pretend that she wasn't Eliana, the escort. That she was just a stay-at-home mom who had accidentally knocked on the wrong door. But there was no way talking her out of this one. Obviously, Nick remembered her, and perhaps, he had even sought out her ad over the years, trying escort after escort in hopes of once connecting with a woman he had first fucked a decade ago.

"Call me Eliana," Lucy said, as she stepped forward. It was a psychological crutch, to help her separate her lives.

Nick motioned toward the interior with a sweep of his arm, like a magician presenting his next trick. "Make yourself comfortable." He chuckled at Lucy's frozen expression, the way her fingers clenched around the strap of her bag. "Surprised I remember you? Sweetheart, you are way too beautiful to forget."

Lucy set her bag down, forcing a laugh. It was too bright, too cheery. "I didn't realize I had fans."

"You would have had millions," Nick said, "If you had taken our offer instead of ... whatever you ended up doing."

"I don't know how good of a porn star I would have been," Lucy admitted. "I don't like being filmed."

"You may not like the camera, but the camera loves you." Nick moved to the table, hitting the button on his open laptop, which began streaming to the hotel TV. "Digital age, baby. I had it moved to digital." The screen of TV glowed to life, but it was the audio hit first.

"I'll fuck you right here, right now," a younger Lucy's voice said. Lucy's face graced the screen, young and eager to please. Roger, in the foreground and facing away from the camera, sat back in his chair and spread his legs wide, giving enough space for Lucy to kneel between. "I can't tell you what to do, Lucy," he said. The camera angle hid his face, but not hers.

Lucy's throat tightened. "You didn't tell me that was being filmed." The words came out ragged.

"It was part of the release you signed," Nick said. "The whole audition was taped." He tapped pause, freezing her mid-slurp. "Relax. I'm not here to blackmail you. Just thought you'd appreciate the ... throwback." His grin widened as he sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders as she sat there, watching her lips about to envelop Roger's dick.

Nick handed her an envelope, thick with cash. It felt like a little over a thousand. A little extra, Lucy figured. For convincing her to go through with the job, even though he'd be able to put together her stage name with her real name. He could hold this over her, he could threaten to go to her husband.

Or, maybe, he'd just be a very good customer. She peeked in the envelope - 12 bills, all $100s. She'd owe Diane $250 on the first $1,000, but the extra $200 was all hers.

Lucy sat very still. She could shove him off, walk out, pretend this wasn't happening. Or she could embrace who she was. She looked at her younger self, wide-eyed and trembling, while some faceless man's fingers reached for her hair. This is who she was. This was who she had always been.

"I need to freshen up," Lucy said. It was procedure. She had to text Diane, to verify that she had arrived safely, so there was a record of where she was. She usually did it in the bathroom, while she was changing into her whore outfit.

"You don't have to sneak around," Nick said. "Shit, put her on speakerphone and I'll say hi." He strolled to the minibar, pulling out a large bottle of tequila had stashed in there. "And you don't need to change. You've got the exact vibe everyone creams over - suburban mom by day, filthy little whore by night."

Lucy frowned and typed into her phone. Room 814. One hour, $1,000.

Nick beat her to the reply - he whipped out his phone and pressed a button. Diane picked up immediately. "Don't worry, Eliana's safe," he said, before she could even say hello. Nick offered to let Lucy say something, but Lucy shook her head, and Diane wished them a great appointment and hung up.

"See?" Nick said, sitting down with two tumblers of tequila. He handed her one and clinked their glasses together, taking a big gulp while Lucy took a cautious sip.

"Don't act like we're not both here for the same thing," Nick said, his voice taking a definite edge as he leaned over and licked her face. His tongue was warm and slick, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. The sensation was neither pleasurable nor revolting, it just was there, like the soft hum of the AC or the hardness of the glass she'd gripped tightly.

When Lucy still didn't respond, Nick reached over and unpaused the video. "Need a reminder of what you do?" The TV lit up - the screensaver dissipating and the screen flickering to life. Lucy, mid-suck, her face contorted in what the camera would read as ecstasy. Lucy was really going at Roger's cock with gusto - eager to prove herself for her first audition.

Lucy didn't even realize that her nipples were suddenly hardening. But Nick did. Nick grinned at her. "See?"

Lucy's knees hit the carpet before she'd realized what she was doing, the coarse fibers scratching her knees as she fumbled with Nick's belt. Nick exhaled sharply through his nose, his hips tilting forward in silent encouragement, as he focused on the TV screen as much as the real-life blowjob. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, the skin flushed and warm against Lucy's palm.

She worked him slowly, her fingers working up and down his shaft before she ever got her lips around his meaty cock. Her tongue flattened along the underside of his shaft in a rhythm she'd perfected through the years. Nick's thighs tensed, but he didn't thrust, didn't try to force himself into her - letting her work her magic. Instead, he began to scroll back and forth with the remote, fast-forwarding to the part where he climbed behind her and trapped her between two cocks. Then, he rewinded to the beginning of the clip, where the fresh-faced Lucy looked right at the camera and declared, "Yes, I love sucking dick. Yes, I love fucking." It had been clipped to appear more of a voluntary utterance than a reply to a question.

Lucy's fingers circled the base of his cock, her other hand sliding up his thigh. She recognized her own voice as she took him back into her mouth, hollowing her cheeks. Yes, I love sucking dick. She really did.

Yes, I love fucking. The words echoed in her mind over and over again as Nick pulled her to her feet, and then led her over to the bed. "Keep the skirt on," Nick encouraged, as Lucy laid back on the bed and kicked off her panties.

"Can you see?" Nick breathed, referring to the TV, where 19-year-old Lucy was taking a pounding from behind as a 31-year-old Lucy had her knees forced apart by the 60-year-old man. The heat of him pressed against her, insistent and already slick with her saliva. "You could have been a star." He didn't bother with foreplay, didn't pause to let her adjust - just pushed in with a grunt, the stretch burning in a way that was almost nostalgic. Lucy gasped, her fingers clawing at the bedspread.

Nick fucked her with the same rhythm he'd used in the video - mechanical, just slightly off-beat. His hands braced on either side of her head, his head following her gaze to the TV, where Lucy's attention was captured. Nick groaned as he fucked her. His rhythm fractured, his breath hot and ragged against her collarbone.

Lucy wished she could close her eyes, that she could just focus on the money she was earning. The Christian Louboutin shoes that it would buy. But she couldn't tear her eyes away from the TV as she could feel Nick swelling inside her, the pulse of it unmistakable.

Nick's younger self grinned down at Lucy's younger self, his hands gripping her ass with the same confidence he had as he plunged into her. "It's not too late, you know," he panted. "It's all moving towards amateur shit now, but that actually works out in favor of women in their 20s and 30s."

Lucy didn't answer. On-screen, her younger self arched - she must have been close - and Nick's younger self laughed, slowing his thrusts to deny her the prize. She wondered if she might have accepted their offer to become a pornstar if she had had an orgasm in that office - how her life would have been different. Nick digging his thumbs into the soft flesh behind her knees brought her back to reality. "I'm going to cum," he breathed, yanking her legs up until her heels nearly brushed her shoulders. The new angle sent a bolt of white-hot friction through her core. Lucy gasped, as Nick drove into her with a series of short, brutal thrusts. "Fuck, fuck," Nick gasped. His hips stuttered, then locked, his whole body tensing like a bowstring. Lucy felt him pulse inside her, the heat of his release spreading through her core as he groaned through clenched teeth.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Nick's weight continued to press her into the mattress, his cock slowly spasming more and more infrequently before softening. Slowly, he pulled out, the sensation making Lucy's stomach clench. He rolled off with a satisfied sigh, one arm flopping over his eyes.

"Think about it," he said. "There's a new site that people are launching - called Peek Cams. I can get you an account, if you want."

Lucy lay still, staring at the water-stained ceiling. Her thighs trembled faintly, the muscles twitching with spent adrenaline. Maybe it wasn't too late to become a pornstar.

Continued in Chapter 5.