by Sky Corgan
Strife
SKY CORGAN
Text copyright 2015 by Sky Corgan.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
PEPPER
Life isn't beautiful. Sometimes, it's as ugly as our worst nightmares. This is one of those times.
I kneel before him. He's attractive enough, with short dark hair gelled forward and big green eyes. The suit he's wearing gives the illusion that he's a decent businessman. No one in this business could possibly be decent though.
My heart aches as I realize that this probably won't be enough. It never is with these types of guys who like to take advantage of the vulnerable and desperate. I refuse to be vulnerable, but I'm definitely desperate. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. Otherwise, he would be out of business.
“That's a good girl,” James spreads his legs for me. The lusty sound of his voice makes me want to vomit. I can remember my adopted father saying the same thing to me with the same connotation. It brings back bad memories. Memories that I need therapy for. Therapy that I might never be able to afford.
I reach for his zipper, keeping my hand steady. I've done this dozens of times before, but this time it feels different. If I do a good job, I'll gain employment. The chance to suck a different cock every day of the week. Oh goody.
I bite back the urge to roll my eyes at my internal thoughts. I shouldn't feel so bitter. After all, I'm the one who called him. I'm the one who came here for this. I'm the one who asked for this interview.
I slide the zipper down, and my eyes bore into him. He might take it as a look of seduction, but it's really determination. Determination to do this so that I can earn the money it's going to take to keep a roof over my head and pay for college. Coming out to Hollywood to pursue my dream of being a movie star was a crap shoot. I knew that from the beginning. That's why it's important that I start working on Plan B right away before I end up on the streets.
I won't have to do this forever, I tell myself. Just long enough to get through four years of college. Long enough to destroy me emotionally completely.
Of course, that's what I suspect will happen. I've been through way worse than this though, and I've managed to come through it sane enough to carry on. Then again, I'm doing this voluntarily, so maybe I'm not so sane after all. I don't think it really matters right now. Just do what I have to do to get to my end game, and then worry about fixing myself afterward.
I half expect James' cock to spring forward the second his zipper is down. He doesn't strike me as the type of guy to wear underwear. Despite the very apparent outline of his erection though, I quickly realize that he is wearing underwear and I'll have to reach in there and wrangle out his trouser snake on my own. It feels like a chore. This whole thing feels like a chore—is a chore—but dawdling about won't get it done any faster.
I slick my tongue across my lips. It's meant to look sexy, but my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. I should have drunk more water before I came here. I hadn't expected this. To be honest, I'm not sure what I had expected. The naive part of me had hoped I would just fill out an application, answer some questions, and be on my way. Of course, it's not that easy. It rarely is when you apply somewhere so seedy.
His skin is hot to the touch, his cock thick and ready. I give it a few teasing strokes beneath the thin material of his boxers before I extract it, eying it like a predator does prey. The thought that I'm about to suck off a complete stranger makes me sick, but I had better start getting used to this feeling. I'll experience it a lot in the beginning before my emotions become desensitized to the act. It's merciful the way the body can adapt like that. I'm convinced that anything can become second nature if you do it enough, even the most dastardly of deeds.
James threads his fingers through my long blonde hair, and I wait for the anticipated bite of pain that will come when he tightens his grip and forces me forward. Even though I'm trying my best not to hesitate, the apprehension is there while my mind and heart try to process what this will do to me. Every second is a choice. Keep going and potentially secure my future, make a better life through the sacrifice of my body. Or go back, pull away, ruin this chance, and take the slow path.
I could always get a job at a diner or grocery store or something. Maybe I could make enough money to cover my rent. My education would have to be put on the back burner though, likely for years. Perhaps I'd be stuck working at a crappy minimum wage job for the rest of my life. The odds of me magically getting into show business are few and far between. It could happen but realistically probably won't. No, that won't do. I have to take the plunge.
And so I do.
The salt of his flesh dances on my taste buds as I close my eyes. James hisses in approval as I apply every dick sucking technique I learned throughout high school. My only two goals are to impress him and to keep my emotional barrier intact.
James does what all men do, wanting more, maneuvering my head by my hair. The pain brings tears to my eyes, and I look up at him so that he can see them, knowing that he'll like it. Men love it when they think their dick is too big for you to handle. I'm of the mindset that it's a pretty natural response for your eyes to water when something larger than the back of your throat is being shoved down it.
I fake a muffled moan, trying to show him that I enjoy this. It's so far from the truth, but hopefully he won't be able to tell. The four years of theater arts I took in high school are not going to waste.
My mouth makes crude sounds as I bob up and down on James' cock, lapping at the veiny underside whenever he's not trying to choke me. When he pulls me all the way off of him, I flick out my tongue to make circles around his slit, causing him to groan.
“So fucking good,” he tells me before forcing me down again. “Now suck like you mean it.”
I do mean it. I mean this blowjob to get me a job that will hopefully take me away from the poverty stricken life I so recently fell into. Thinking about it now, it's funny that I grew up rich. Who would have guessed this would be how I ended up? I suppose the joke was on me from the beginning.
I think about sticking my hand back into James' pants to play with his balls. Men seem to like that, especially when they're about to come. That would be too much of a hassle though, and if he ends up not hiring me—if he ends up just being a fraud—I would be mega ticked off for putting in the extra effort.
Instead, I wrap both hands around the base of his shaft, jacking him off while I slurp on his glans. His back presses against the office chair he's sitting in, and he cranes his neck, his Adam's apple protruding. If he was a normal guy, it might be sexy. I learned a long time ago though that the most attractive guys are usually the ugliest inside. James is a perfect example of that.
I'm not sure how long he expects this blowjob to last, but I'm already growing tired. I've sucked and licked and teased until my jaw has gotten sore. Now, I just want it to be over.
Come, you bastard.
I dive down, taking him to the back of my throat and picking up the pace. He places a hand on the back of my head, pushing me down farther than I want to go. I tolerate it, making tiny, high-pitched moaning noises. The more aroused I can sound, the quicker it will get his rocks off.
Of course, he doesn't warn me when his climax hits, but I've sucked enough cocks to know when it's time to get out of the way. His hand is like stone, holding me down, but I maneuver sideways, allowing his dick to pop out of my mouth and for him to shoot his load straight up toward the heavens.
He frowns at me between panting breaths, his palm finding a new purpose around his cock to coa
x out the rest of his orgasm. For a moment, I worry that I displeased him by pulling away. Hell, it's apparent that I displeased him.
Still, even I have my limits. Taking a shot of baby batter from a guy I met less than an hour ago is one of them. If he doesn't like that, then I suppose there's nothing I can do. It's not like I can turn back time and correct my mistake.
I resist the urge to wipe my mouth with the back of my arm, deciding to gaze up at him and lick the glistening sheen of saliva and pre-come from my lips instead, hoping it will inspire some sense of longing, making him forget that I just disrespected him by rejecting his seed.
“You taste amazing, sir.” I make tiny circles on his knee with my fingernail, pursing my lips and trying my best to look both sexy and innocent at the same time.
The discontent fades from his eyes as he catches his breath. For several seconds, he just stares at me, saying nothing. Then he reaches across his desk to pull some tissues from a box on the corner before using them to clean himself off.
I sit back on my heels, watching him, wondering if everything I just did was for nothing. I'm not sure what I'm going to do if it was. I need this job badly.
“You can stand,” he tells me, tossing the come soaked tissues into the trash.
I pull myself up shakily, realizing that the cold tile did a number on my knees. It's funny how you don't notice the pain that you're in when your mind is preoccupied with other things. Or maybe that's just me—how my brain works. I've been in some pretty painful situations and have always tried to look for distractions. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it just happens on its own, like now.
“Thank you for the opportunity to interview with your company, Mister Sumner.” I cross my hands in front of me.
“What did you say your name was again?” He arches an eyebrow.
The fact that he forgot my name is insulting. The fact that he's too lazy to even lean forward and look at my application, even more so. This guy is a piece of work. He really is. And I just realized that he screwed me over.
“Pepper. Pepper Kimbrough.” I hold my head up high, letting my disdain shine through.
This is the part where he tells me that I'm not what he's looking for. The part where I walk out of his office like the fool I am, used like so many girls before me. This is the part where I get to spend the rest of the night thinking about how much of a naive fuck up I am.
“Pepper. I hate that name. It's not sexy at all.” He shakes his head, finally pulling his worthless ass forward to glance at my resume again.
Anger is building inside of me. I ball my fists to keep it at bay. He thinks my name is ugly, well I think that he's ugly. An ugly, horrible, despicable, little man.
“We'll have to come up with something sexier to tell the clients,” he continues.
My mouth falls agape for a moment. “Does that mean I'm hired?”
“Yes. You can start work as soon as you complete your blood test.”
DMITRI
“Prostitutes? Really, John?” I instantly wish we would have taken a taxi instead of the limo.
“They're not prostitutes, Dmitri. They're call girls,” his gravelly voice is a whisper as if he thinks someone else might hear us talking. They won't. Because we're alone. Inside a limo. Heading to a...brothel?
“It's the same thing, John. Google it.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying not to look too pissed off.
This was supposed to be a surprise for my first night in Hollywood. Since John spent a lot of time in Hollywood before making my acquaintance, I figured he knew all of the hot spots. When he told me he'd be taking me out tonight, I thought we'd be going to some swanky club where the big name stars hang out. Never in a million years did I think we'd be doing...this.
“I've never had to pay for sex before, and I'm not going to start now.” I stare towards the driver's window, wondering how insulted John would be if I asked the driver to just drop him off and take me back to my hotel. The last thing I want is for the paparazzi to snap a picture of me walking into a proverbial whorehouse on my first night in town. The press would eat that alive.
“We can't all be Dmitri Strife.” John shrugs before leaning forward to grab an olive from the snack tray in front of us and shove it in his mouth, washing it down with a swig of his martini.
“I suppose that's true,” I let out a little laugh, glancing over at him. Portly, balding, and about fifteen years my senior, John isn't exactly the type of guy who can land a woman on the fly. Most of his hookups have involved bragging about knowing me and about all of the money he makes. I've been his golden ticket into a woman's pants more than a few times.
“Well, this looks like the place.” John leans towards the window as the limo begins to slow down.
Dread instantly floods me. “John, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this really isn't my thing. Maybe you should go on without me.” I put my hand on his shoulder, sounding as sincere as possible.
“Nonsense.” He sets his drink down, anxiously waiting for the limo to stop.
“What if someone sees us?”
“No one is going to see us. This place is private. Stop worrying, Dmitri,” his voice fills with agitation.
I sigh, trying to come up with a better argument. I could always just say no, but it's obvious that this means a lot to him. I suppose the least I can do is tag along though I have absolutely no intentions of sleeping with anyone tonight.
The door to the limo opens, and I file out behind John, looking around in paranoia. Thankfully, this party is taking place at a residence instead of a business. That makes me feel a lot more comfortable with the idea of being here.
I stare up at the lavish beach house as we approach. Every light in the place seems to be on, casting a glow over the driveway. The house is three stories and looks to have more windows than walls. So this is how pimps live? Not bad at all.
We climb the sloped driveway to the front door and then I stand behind John as he rings the doorbell, trying not to seem as nervous as I feel inside. Even though I'm certain these girls all have to sign confidentiality agreements, I'm still worried that someone will blab. It feels like my career in film is on the line. That's a dumb thing to worry about though. Hundreds of movie stars have hired prostitutes and never been caught. What are the odds that I will be?
A gentleman opens the door and beams at us. He and John greet each other like old friends, hugging for several seconds before John introduces me.
“James, this is Dmitri Strife.” John steps aside so that James and I can shake hands.
“Dmitri, big rock star, so happy to have you.” James shakes my hand a bit too vigorously. It seems like he has started the party without us. I can smell bourbon on his breath. He's dressed in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a half button-downed Hawaiian shirt. Black chest hair pokes out from beneath.
“I'm happy to be here,” I lie.
“Come in. Come in. The girls are waiting.” James ushers us inside.
The house is decorated in expensive paintings and sculptures. It's far nicer than I thought a pimp could ever afford. I don't doubt that James' offerings will be absolutely gorgeous. Tempting. No man amasses this kind of wealth unless he has a good product. I just hope I don't get too enticed.
The girls are waiting in the living room, each wearing a stunning dress and made up to the nines, each holding a flute of champagne and smiling brilliantly. They stand to greet us, circling John and I like a pride of lionesses coming in for the kill. If I wasn't so used to multiple girls crawling all over me at once, I might be overwhelmed. They press delicate fingers against my chest, fighting a prim battle to get my attention, complimenting me and doing all the things I've gotten sick of over the years.
There are a lot of them, five for each of us, including James. He has really outdone himself. I don't even want to know how much this is costing John.
“So we can do anything, right?” John asks, obviously ready for the formalities to be over so that we ca
n get down to business.
“Of course, good sir. Everything is on the menu.” James smiles at us.
I feel my blood rushing as a pretty blonde purses her lips at me. My thoughts instantly go to sex, and my resolve begins to wane. Two girls grab my hands and start pulling me to, what I can only assume is, the place where we're all supposed to have this mass orgy. The old me is in the back of my mind, telling me to go for it. No one will ever find out. Besides, it's been a while since I've had this many gorgeous girls at once.
Groupies are like a random draw. They'll all do what you want, but they come in a variety of shapes and sizes. This is different. The physical cream of the crop. All modelesque women that have been paid to make me come again and again and again. That's the problem though and the thing that drags me back to reality. These women have all been paid to sleep with me. Whether they're attracted to me or not, I'll never know, because all of them are probably every bit as good at acting as I am, if not more so. I can't tell if they actually want to do this or not, and that bothers me. That's why I won't go through with it.
Being as gentle as possible, I pull out of their grasp, standing my ground. “I'm a bit too tired for this tonight.”
“Are you saying my girls aren't good enough for you?” James asks, suddenly sounding hostile.
“No.” I hold my hands up and shake my head. “They're all lovely. I just had a long flight, and I don't think I'm really up for this.”
He hooks his arm around my neck, dragging me towards the orgy room. “No worries. You don't have to do anything. All you have to do is lay there and let my beauties take care of you.”
I slip from under his arm, worried that I'll tick him off, but at the same time not really caring. “No, thanks. I'm fine. Let John have my share. I just want to drink and relax tonight.”
Both men look at me, obviously displeased. Then John says, “Are you sure, dude? I mean, I did this for you.” He motions around the room with his hand. The girls that were clutching onto me are pouting, making me feel even more guilty.
