Copyright © 2016 by Stevie J. Cole
All rights reserved
This book is an original work of fiction. All of the names, characters, sponsors, and events are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual events, incidences, persons, deceased or living, is strictly coincidental.
Any opinions expressed in this book or solely those of the authors.
Exrated
Copyright ©2016 by Stevie J. Cole
Published in the United States of America
Ebooks are non-transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of Stevie J. Cole.
Editing: Indie Editor Jones
Proofreading: Ellen Wido and Kim Ginsberg
Cover Model: Assad
Photographer: Eric Battershell Photography
Also From Stevie J. Cole
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
A Love So Tragic
Pandemic Sorrow Series:
Jag
Rush
Roxy
Co-authored with LP Lovell:
Wrong
Wrath
Absolution
Hudson Matthews, the godfather of porn, has his face eyelevel with my cock—so close I can feel his warm breath blowing across the tip of my dick. My pulse is banging in my ears. I’m sweating bullets. What the fuck am I doing here?
I wasn’t exactly searching the classifieds for a job in the adult entertainment industry. Shit just kind of happened. I work at Dancing Dicks, an all-male strip club. You meet a lot of women at a club like that—you can fuck a lot of women at a club like that, and I may have accidentally screwed one of the girls that work here. I had no idea she was a porn star—not that it would have mattered much, but she mentioned how much she made and dropped my name to Hudson, which is how I ended up on this…whatever this is—interview, cock inspection…
His gaze narrows as he nods his head. “Okay. Good size. Good girth. You got a good looking dick, man.”
“Uh…” What the fuck do I say to that? “Thanks…”
“I think you’ll do just fine in this industry.” He walks back to his desk and sits down, the chair creaking under his weight.
“But…” I shake my head, “No guys. Ever. That’s a deal, right?”
“Sure. No guys. I’ll have Amanda type that up in your contract if we sign you.”
I start to pull my jeans back up—
“One more thing,” he says. “Go ahead and beat one out, would you? Need to see if you’re a dribbler or a shooter. That’s gonna be one of two clinchers on whether you get the job.”
I stand, holding the waist of my jeans and staring at him silently. “Like,” I shrug, “right now? Just jerk off—right here—in your office?”
“Yeah.” His face remains expressionless. “You signed the waiver. My dick’s not out. Not like I’m gonna rub one off. It’s just part of it, and if you can’t handle busting a nut in my office, well, then how the hell are you gonna bust one in front of an entire crew?” He shuffles the papers on his desk. “I mean, you’re a good looking guy.” His eyes drag over my body, and it makes my dick lose a good inch, “And a good looking guy with a cock like that—” He points at my crotch. “Well, they’re hard to come by. You could be the next big thing, so just get on with it.” He pushes the piece of paper toward me, and I stare at the figure he wrote down earlier. Shit, that’s a lot of money to let someone tape you fucking other people. This is not amateur, middle of the road porn. This is the fucking holy grail of the porn world. This man is porn himself. Walking, loaded porn.
He grabs the remote from the desk and turns on the TV hung on the far wall. The sound of fake, breathy moans immediately fills the room and my attention swings to the screen. Two girls are going at it. I swallow. Never would I have thought I would find myself in a man’s office, beating one out to two chicks fucking each other on an 80-inch plasma screen. But for the kind of money written on that piece of paper, well, you do a lot of shit you never thought you would. I mean, being a porn star…how bad can it be? It’s not like my family’s going to fess up if they stumble across one of my films.
Taking a shallow breath, I fist my cock, focusing on the TV and the amount of money on that piece of paper. “I mean…” I stop jerking myself but don’t look over at him because that would just be too fucking weird. “Where do you want me to shoot my load?”
“I don’t care just as long as it’s not on the chair, that shit stains.”
There’s a first time for everything in life, but never did I imagine Hudson Matthews would one day ask me to beat off in his office and then pull out a measuring tape to see what kind of distance my ejaculation has.
David looks pissed, well, wait. Maybe that’s not pissed. I narrow my gaze on him as he taps over the keyboard. His brow is scrunched, his eyes focused—the right one twitching a little, but he keeps chewing on his bottom lip and wiping his hand over his face like he’s sweating. Shit, that’s not pissed that’s, that’s… not a good look.
“Jemma, damn.” Shaking his head, he drops his chin to his chest. “Damn.”
“What?”
“Three years of work down the fucking drain.”
“What!” My heart’s in my throat now because he’s dragging his hands down his face and David only does that when something really terrible has happened—when he’s just lost money. “What are you talking about?”
He shoves the keyboard away, leans back in his chair, and drags his hands down his face again.
“David, what the hell is going on?” I’m in a complete panic.
I hear a giggle over the computer speakers. Then a guy groans. “Yeah, suck it. Suck my cock.” And every last muscle tenses because I know that voice. It’s my ex. And I really hope this isn’t what I think it is.
David sits up, grabs the monitor, and spins it around. I gasp. My eyes go wide, and a little piece of me dies. I’m staring at the screen, and there, on the fucking internet is a video of me shoving Stone Steele’s dick down my throat.
“Oh, my fucking God!” I
shoot out of the chair and grab the monitor with both hands, lowering my face down to it. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”
“Jemma, why?”
I’m so mortified right now; I can’t even answer him. I just stare at the computer, watching myself on screen as I look up at the camera and smile.
“Man, you’re fucking good at that,” Stone says. And I giggle—I. Giggle. Like a dirty, dirty little slut.
“Oh, Jesus.” The memory of that night is still salient in my mind, and that video is only going to get more vulgar because Stone’s a fucking rock star with a camera and I’m about to fuck him like a cheap, two-dollar hooker. “Turn it off.” I point at the screen, shaking my finger furiously. “Turn it off, David!”
David reaches for the mouse, spins the monitor back around, and the slurping and gagging sound of me choking on Stone’s dick silences.
“The producer called me about this earlier today.” Exhaling, he places his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers over his nose. “The company is not happy about this, of course.”
“That was six months ago,” I argue. “We’ve been broken up for five months!” I pace in front of his desk. “Where did that come from?” I swear to God, Stone can be a dick, but he’s not that big of an asshole.
“Hell if I know, but it’s on fucking YouTube, and about an hour ago Rush Wilder tweeted about it. I’m sure before long the entire Pandemic Sorrow community will be retweeting that shit, so those four-hundred thousand likes are about to shoot through the goddamn roof.”
“Shit.” All I can think about is how many people are going to see that. “Shit!”
“It doesn’t matter how long ago that was. That video is about to be every-fucking-where.” There’s a ding on his phone. He grabs it from the desk, reads over a text, then tosses his hands into the air. “Well, fuck. They just terminated your contract.”
“What? They can’t do that…”
“They can, and they just did.”
“Oh, my God.” I bury my hands in my face, fighting tears. For the past two years, I’ve played Elsa in some spin off sitcom series of that Frozen movie. The thing is…I work for a kid’s station, and they have this thing about morals and well, dating Stone was a big enough issue, this—this takes it to a whole new level. Image. It’s all about the image. “This cannot be happening,” I say in a groan.
“What the hell possessed you to do that?”
I shrug. “I don’t fucking know. I mean, who hasn’t made a sex tape with their boyfriend before?”
“You don’t make sex tapes with slutty rock stars.” He shakes his head. “Well…we just have to find a new market for you.” He sighs. “Maybe HBO or something, I don’t know, but until then you’re shit out of luck.”
I fall back in the chair, fighting the tears that want to break out. Not only am I embarrassed, but I’m also fucking pissed. Angry to the point of bawling. Three years of auditions, of call backs and “you’re not right for the role”. Three years of starving myself and busting my ass in a gym to look the part of the girl next door because as far as Hollywood is concerned even the girl next door looks like a fucking glamour queen. And after all that, I end up settling for some kids show. I didn’t want to do a kids show, but shit, it’s a start. I’m making money. I am—was actually a television actress. And ONE blow job to a rock star has ruined it all. I push up from the chair.
“Where are you going?”
“Home. Where else? I don’t have a fucking job anymore.”
“We’ll get you some new headshots. Go for a sluttier look. It’s fine. Hell, this may help…who knows? I mean really, why would you want to get stuck in that good girl genre anyway.”
“Thanks, David,” I say, reaching for the door.
“Jemma,” Stone says, his deep, swoon-worthy voice rattling over the phone. “I swear to fucking God, I have no idea.”
“Stone, how do you not know?”
“Fuck. It was on the cloud. I don’t know, but I’m not that big of an ass. Shit just didn’t work out with us, I have no reason to be a dick to you.”
Sighing into the phone, I stare out of the window of my apartment. “Well, Rush sharing it all over social media didn’t help at all.”
“Yeah…” He groans. “He’s a shithead. Sorry, but at least you looked hot.”
“Really? Stone, really?”
“Yeah, not gonna lie, I had to stroke one out every time I got tagged on Instagram.”
“Fuck off. I got fired over it, and you’re over there beating one out to it.”
“I’m just a dude, Jemma.” He laughs for a second, then clears his throat. “Look, want me to make a few calls? See what I can do about getting your job back?”
“No.” I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “I don’t. It won’t do any good. Thanks, I’m just… I don’t even know what I am.”
“Look, I really am sorry. I never would do something to intentionally hurt you. You meant the world to me and had the fucking tour and all that shit not been going on, well…”
“Stone, I don’t want to rehash shit with you, I just, I just…”
“Wanted to bitch me out? Rightfully so.” I hear Rush in the background shouting about pussy and beer followed by the manager, Jules, cussing at him and yelling that they have ten minutes. “Hey, I gotta go,” he says. “If you need anything, just call.”
“Thanks…”
“Bye, babe.”
“Yeah, bye.”
I hang up the phone and continue to stare out the window. David says to give it a few weeks, and I’ll probably get called for an audition, but I have this heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach about it all. This has fucked everything up. I know it has.
It’s been two weeks since I beat off in Hudson’s office, and now, here I stand, staring up at the wrought-iron double door entrance to his mansion in the middle of Beverly Hills. This house is fucking sick. Gated entrance. Lush landscaping. Huge. And I am here to officially audition to be a porn star.
I ring the doorbell and wait. My heart hammers in my chest. I’m fucking shaking. What the actual hell have I gotten myself into?
The door swings open to a middle-aged man holding a hamburger. He suspiciously looks at me then takes a bite of the greasy bun. “You here for the audition?” he says while chewing.
“Yeah…”
He jerks his head to the side, motioning me inside with the burger. I step in, follow him through a huge marble foyer and into a massive living room with cathedral windows looking out over a pool. There are at least a dozen people scattered around, fiddling with lighting and cameras.
“Tyler,” Hudson calls as he crosses the room with a shit-eating grin on his face. He reaches out to shake my hand, and I take it. “So all your tests came back clean. No HIV or syphilis, so that’s good.”
“Uh, yeah, wasn’t really worried about that.”
“Oh, and we gotta get you a new name. Tyler Westbrook is not a porn star name.”
“Yeah…uh, I’ve been thinking about that…”
I jump when his fingers snap. “Fucking Johnny Depth!” he shouts. “You are goddamn Johnny Depth!”
Jesus Christ. That’s worse than any name I’ve thought up.
“It’s fucking gold,” he says with a smile. “Shit at the ideas I just had. Pirates of the Lesbian, Who’s Eating Gilbert’s Grape, Charlie’s Chocolate Starfish…” He wriggles his eyebrows.
“Whoa, those are defiantly some names there, Hudson.”
“Right?”
I’m looking through the window at the pool and, as I turn my attention back to Hudson, my eyes land on the coffee table. There—on full display—are countless dildos and butt plugs and lubes. And this is the moment I reevaluate were I’ve come in life. At one point, I had direction. I actually had a scholarship to NYU; kept a 4.0 GPA for the first two years and then, well, let’s just say I got a little too swept up in the NYC party life. The next thing you know, my 4.0 GPA dropped—drastically, which meant I lost my scholarship
. And here I am two years later in California—debating on giving up my stripping career to make porn. Mom would be so proud…
“Alright,” Hudson says, clapping his hands. “Let’s get this shit going. Get that light replaced. I need some sterile wipes out here for between takes.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “Come on, Johnny. Walk with me.” I follow him through the doorway and down the hall. “I’m letting you audition with Vee, she’s really experienced. Just do your thing, you know, go down on her, make her suck your cock, and then fuck her—in the pussy, in the ass… I don’t care. Just make it hot.”
“What about dialogue? Don’t you guys do some script or something?”
“Make it natural. It’s just sex, you know? You’ve watched pornos before, right?”
“Well, yeah…” I fight to keep up with him as he weaves his way down the long hallway. “But, shit, watching and doing are two completely different things.”
He laughs. “It’s not that hard. Penis in hole. Pull out to come. Done.”
He yanks a door open in the hallway and grabs a black silk robe. When he turns around, he scrunches his brow and glares at me. “Why are you following me?”
“You told me to.”
“Huh.” He squints and throws the robe at me. “Okay, well come on then.”
I follow him back to the living room. A long-legged redhead is leaning against the sofa. Hudson points to her. “This is Vee Gina. Vee, this is Johnny.”
These names…
She holds her hand out, and I shake it. Her green eyes drift over my body, a smile pulling at her lips. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, and you.”
She turns back to Hudson and unties her robe. I watch as the material falls to the floor in a puddle around her feet leaving her completely butt-ass naked. “Nat shaved me,” she says, “but I think there’s still too much hair. What do you think, too much?”
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