She's Gonna Be A Star Ch. 09

"Bye, pet," said Elmo.

And then the rock star was gone. I couldn't believe how lucky I'd been, to spend so much time with someone really, really famous.

Max was standing in front of me, smiling down at my nude, cum-covered body.

"I guess I should clean that off," I said, indicating the body-shaped sheen of cum on the glass.

Max shook his head serenely. "Naw, leave it up. I'm gonna telleverybody how it got there. Nobody will believe me. Elmo's cum." He laughed suddenly. "They'll want to try you out, too. I'm okay with that. We can make a whole line of cum-bodies on the windows."

His good mood was infectious. I felt my energy returning, so I grabbed my jacket and hurried down the hall to the shared bathroom. A few of the doors to the other businesses on the floor were open, but I knew them all. I could explain later, if they really cared.

In five minutes I was back at the studio, freshened up and wearing my business jacket. Max was on the phone, telling somebody about Elmo's visit.

I smiled fondly at him, and started straightening up the studio. We had a nature documentary sound-track to record, and the musicians would be here in just a few minutes. I wondered if they'd ask for blow-jobs too. They didn't, but then Max offered it to them. He wasthat confident in me.

My days aren'talways so exciting, but theyoften are. When my band showed up for practice, a part of me was exhausted. But this was what it was all for. This was why I did everything else. To make music. So, a part of me was exhausted, and another part of me was just getting ready to go.

As the guys set up their instruments, I checked the microphone and then changed into my "practice outfit." It was a half shirt and some white lace hot-pants. My last outfit of the day! After this, Tyler would walk me back to his place to fuck, and then we'd either go out or he'd send me back to Harvey's apartment. Either way, I'd be naked most of the time. And tomorrow it would all start again. Fatiguing. By the weekends, I was ready for the relaxation of performing, if you can believe that. And I was always primed to get crazy drunk and blow off some steam.

The band enjoyed my quick change. I told them, so what. They'd seen me naked that one night after the Club Trash gig, and I couldn't be bothered to run behind some door to change.

The whole day was leading up to this. The first chords of "Broken Fuck Machine" rang out, and I felt wholly alive. By the time the music started, I was great.

After a few songs, I heard the door open.

"Ali, remember to grind into the mic stand during the refrain. And lift your hands above your head sometimes, so the bottom of your tits show. That's the whole point of the half-shirt."

"Tyler!" I squealed. My boyfriend looked handsome, in his business suit. He opened his arms and I jumped over to hug him. My heart beat faster every time I saw him.

Tyler hugged me back, and then spun me around so I was facing the band. His hands slid comfortably up my waist and rested on my breasts, pushing the shirt up. Lots of guys feel me that way, but Tyler is the only one that can really turn me on when he does it. I smiled apologetically at the guys (we were making a scene), but didn't move Tyler's hands. Tyler had told me once that they spent all night staring at my ass as they played, and it helped sometimes to remind them who "owned" me. I liked that word, "owned." He didn't often show his possessive side.

"Ali," he said, spinning me around, "this is Sam, a friend from my work."

He indicated a tall, dark-haired guy behind him.

"Give Sam a big kiss," he told me.

I was glad to. See, sometimes it gets tiring, having to think what to do all the time. Since I started becoming a star, under Tyler's tutelage, lots of men talk to me, andall of them come on to me. It's draining to have to think of what's appropriate and inappropriate, and compare it to whether I'm supposed to act appropriately or inappropriately.

A part of me wishes I could always say "no" to these men. Or always say "yes." It doesn't matter to me. I just wish I had easy answers. That might be one reason why I decided on the "humiliation" approach to life. Not just to please Tyler. But to also make things a whole damn lot easier.

I said, "Hello, Sam!"

I leaned forward in Tyler's grasp and pulled Sam's face to me. He was a little surprised, but like most guys Tyler introduced me to, he opened his mouth readily enough. I gave him a quick french, liking how soft his lips were. All day I'd had nothing but cock against my own lips, and this was a nice change.

"Everybody, Sam is going to invest in the band. He is going to give us the money we need for printing the posters." Tyler pinched my nipples, making them stand up. "Ali, I need you to take Sam to Max's office and fuck him, okay?"

I felt a thrill run through me. Unlike most people, who never justsaid what they wanted, Tyler was very clear. Still, this was the first time he'd justtold me to do someone, point blank and in front of everybody. I said "Okay!" quickly and cheerfully, to show how much I approved.

"I'll run through some of the songs with the band." He patted my ass. "Hurry back."

I gave a dimply smile at Sam, and grabbed his hand. He followed me willingly as I brought him to Max's office. I knew where Max kept the condoms he used on me, and luckly there were three entire rolls left. Enough for several months.

"Um, Tyler told me I should call you whenever I want. So, I'll need your phone number." That was the first thing he said to me.

"Sure," I shrugged. I was working his cock free from his pants. "Tyler's the manager."

"And, I should give you fifty dollars for each fuck," he said, turning red.

"Sounds fair," I said noncommitally. I massaged his cock with my hand, making it hard. I turned my face up to his, and let him explore my mouth with long, lingering kisses. Inside, I was pleased. Tyler was increasingly involving me on the financial side of the business. If he thought I could handle it, I wouldn't let him down.

I came twice as Sam fucked me, and let him know. When I cum, my knees weaken, my head rolls on my neck, my muscles go all soft, my mouth waters a lot. I had my ass on the desk as he drilled into me, and kept my mouth on his, and produced a lot of saliva each time his cock sent me off. He commented that I was the wetest girl he'd ever known. It made me giggle.

Lots of guys fuck me from behind. This means (to me) that they are "in" their cocks. It's not about me but rather about themselves, it was about the guys using me to bring themselves off. That's fine, but with Sam it was different -- he kept me facing him, and seemed to want to own my whole body as he fucked me. It was nice, and I wondered how Tyler knew Sam would be such an interesting man for me. Usually the guys he sets me up with are selfish, nasty, even angry at me. But every now and then he puts in a variation.

After Sam shot off in is condom, I pulled it off his cock. Just to show him what he could ask for, I put it to my lips and emptied it in my mouth. He watched me unblinkingly as I drank it down.

"You're fucking amazing," Sam told me.

I dropped the condom into the waste-basket. I swear, if I could eat and swallow them, I would. "Thanks, Sam."

"I can give your number to my friends, if you want. They can each pay you fifty."

"Really?" I asked. "You'd do that for me?"

"Just think of all the promotional material you could afford."

"I am!" Of course, I had fifteen thousand in the bank by now, but Tyler didn't like me using my own money for band stuff. He said the band should earn its own way, and I agreed. The more money the band made, the more viable the band was. I had told Tyler I was willing to suck alot of dick to get the band to the stage where it didn't have to rely on me. He'd just smiled quizically.

"I'll call you soon," said Sam.

I led him back to the recording room, where the band greeted me happily. I didn't find out until later, that they'd pressured Tyler. They'd bitched and moaned that I had to put out at each practice. They'd said it was too hard to see me all night, and, having been intimate at one point, have me out of reach. Tyler had finally wavered, and agreed I could blow one band-mate per night. With my permission.

They looked at me hopefully. I said, "I just want everybody to be happy. What's one more cock?"

We rehearsed some more, and generally wowed Sam, who stayed around to listen. I heard him telling Tyler, "This is some fucking amazing music. She has a voice on her!"

"She's one in a million," Tyler agreed.

I was going through the refrain of the song. It was low on vocals, so we had worked out some stage-moves for me. My hot-pants were made of widely-spaced lace, so that my dark skin made a reverse-pattern in the fabric. It looked less trashy than it probably sounds. But, if you looked close enough, you could see many of the "details" of my body. The guys thought it would be cool if I writhed around, bent at the waist, and generally went crazy during the refrains.

"No, I'm serious," said Sam. He watched me wrap a leg around the microphone stand, and grind it against my vagina as I humped it. The guys had their instruments turned down, and were shouting out instructions to me. "If I'd known she was this good, I would not have been able to fuck her. I would've been too nervous. What's she doing, fucking for money anyway?"

I smiled to myself. Nowthat's respect. I wished again that some other men in my life were more respectful, the kitchen staff at the diner, for instance.

Tyler answered him, "Call it seasoning. She's a great singer, but it's also about image. Every day, she gives 150%, and she might need to give more."

"She can make it," said Sam, staring at my ass. "She is going to make so much money off of me and my friends."

Tyler smiled at me and winked.

After practice, the guys did Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who I'd blow. Raff won, after a highly argued run-off. He pulled me out into the lounge, where I sat on the sofa and blew him as he stood in front of me. Tyler, Sam and Max stood nearby, talking about printing the promotional items.

After Raff shot in my mouth, I stood and went to get my backpack.

I heard Sam saying softly that it would be fun to take me out for a drink. "Get Ali in a bar. See what we can make her do."

"Another time," said Tyler. "She's great fun to party with, for sure! Maybe this weekend, huh? But I miss her -- tonight, she's all mine."

I melted inside. My boyfriend missed me! Well, it was mutual. I'd been half-interested in going to a bar, and tossing back shot after shot. Half in celebration of the day (meeting Elmo, for instance), and half to forget what I'd done (sucking off the mean guys in the kitchen).

Max was saying, "There's simply not enough of her to go around, is there? She's like a drug. No matter how far she goes, we always want more."

"That's my girl," said Tyler, sounding proud.

I rejoined them with my backpack on. I hadn't been kidding about not changing again that day -- I was done with switching outfits. I had my elevated clogs on, my hotpants, and my halfshirt. If the world didn't like it, it could go hang itself.

We all squeezed into the elevator together, and they got their last surreptitious feels of the day. I'm almost sure two of the hands belonged to Tyler. The rest of the time, I was getting brushed on the thighs, light palms on my ass, fingers brushing my nipples. After my long day, it was relaxing. I just stood in the middle of the elevator and closed my eyes.

Then Tyler took my hand and we hit the streets. I was telling him all about my day, and mentioned that I wanted a drink.

He took me to a dive bar. I swear, I was the only female in there. I didn't have to pay for any drinks, and was soon sloshed. With some urging from the men around us, Tyler agreed that I should try out my stage moves on a live crowd. He pulled me out of a group of men who were pouring shots down my throat, and got his new friends to propel me onto the bar with hands on my ass. Tyler had been right, so long ago, when he said I'd always have to be "on." Everybody expected a performance out of me.

I stood up there on the bar, shimmying and twisting, shaking my ass, trying to keep my balance as I stretched the half-shirt around. I was completely drunk, and I don't knowwhat I looked like. Below me was a sea of upturned, half-deranged faces. Men smiling at me, men yelling at me, men grabbing at me with their hands, men half-successfully pulling the hot-pants down my hips, men wanting toown me. I eventually just closed my eyes, and thought sexy thoughts of being alone with my boyfriend. This wasn't what I'd meant when I said, "Let's get drinks." But I always had to be "on."

We eventually got back to Tyler's apartment. I had several new hickies, which he wanted the world to see. He was a little sloshed himself. Our foreplay was me getting naked and walking down four flights of stairs to collect his mail from the box. (No one saw me.) By the time I got back, we were both ready to go.

I'm not going to write about my private time with my boyfriend.

So by the end of the day, I'd: Sucked eleven cocks (Harvey, Subram, dishwasher, cook, Elmo!, 2 body guards, 2 violinists, Raf, and Tyler) I'd fucked Max, 2 bodyguards, Sam and Tyler. I'd changed clothes three times. I'd had my ass grabbed twenty times, by street-, subway- and diner guys. I'd had my tits squeezed ten times. I'd had my hand pressed on the cocks of the kitchen guys. I'd had the dishwasher's fingers in my cunt.

And that, Tyler, is a pretty average day. I really hope the thought of all this turns you on when I'm not around.

* * * * * Tyler's perspective

I woke late, but didn't care. The night before, I had come to an understanding with my boss, Sam. I could arrive late at work, when I needed to.

I'd fallen asleep with Ali, and when I woke she was already gone. She'd wokenhours before me, and written out her diary of the day before. On the top was a note saying she had to get to the window at her apartment before Harvey left. She was a dedicated woman, that was for sure.

Her diary... More misspellings than you could ever imagine. The whole thing was one long paragraph. She had a vocabulary of maybe 200 words when she wrote. It was strange, because though she tried to be dumb sometimes, her intelligence would seep through. The girl was smart, deep down, but she was good at hiding it. Half the diary was a rant about how mean the kitchen staff was. A full quarter was about that pervert, Elmo, and what he made her do.

If I'd known Elmo would be passing around her number, I wouldn't have encouraged Sam to do the same thing. I hadn't been able to resist telling that to Sam. There's just something so hot, for a guy, about being able to call up a Sure Thing on the phone, and make a date, andknow you're going to get some action. Now that I had the chance, I wanted to give another Sure Thing to the world.

I flipped through some pictures from an envelope. These were from Alexi, they'd arrived yesterday and Ali had carried them up the night before. They were possibilities for our promotional stuff. Flyers, business cards, posters, banners. They were black and white photographs from Ali's photo shoot.

Ali's theme for her stage persona was, "Giving myself to the world." In every sense. The pictures had to reflect it.

I separated one photo from the rest.

In it, Ali was standing in a crowd at a street corner, waiting for the light to change. Alexi had shot it from across the street. Ali was in her tube-top and overalls-cum-miniskirt outfit, looking dark and sleek compared to the men around her. They were checking her out, faces turned towards her, peering at her face or down into the open shadows of her clothing. One man's eyeline led directly to her chest, down the cleft between her breasts.

In this photo, there was a short hispanic man standing next to her. He was half-turned towards her, his hand reaching into her overalls as she turned her face in profile, wind brushing her hair across her features, and tried to play it cool. His hand from his wrist on down was out of view, he was copping an egregious feel of her, inside her clothes. She looked so small and beautiful, surrounded by men. She looked like she was afraid to raise a ruckus. She was just enduring it.

I wanted that picture blown up to poster size. I'd hang it opposite the door to the apartment, where it would meet the gaze of everybody walking in. I didn't want to actually do it myself -- too embarassing, to carry it in to the photo studio. Too many questions. If Ali was so into this "humiliation" thing, I'd ask her to do it. And she would. And then she'd take it to get it framed, and wave off my cash.

The picture that would probably work best for our promotions was a band picture. On a mostly empty street, the band was ranged around Ali. She was naked, and they were holding her back from running into the traffic. It had taken forever to set up -- all her private parts were strategically covered by the restraining hands of her band mates -- but it looked candid.

I remembered that picture. We'd tried to stage it outside, but kept drawing a crowd. So we took it into an apartment building foyer and got everybody familiar with the pose. It took forever. Poor Andrew had to hold her crotch for ten minutes, without playing around with her.

Everyboy else was fully clothed except Ali. I remembered how at ease she had been, how indifferent to the hands getting shifted all over her body. Boy, she could sure focus. There was no trace of embarassment left in her soul. Anything we proposed, she just did. She was completely without shame.

For the photo, when we were finally ready, we had returned to the sidewalk and got into the pose in just under two minutes. Alexi clicked away, getting several great shots before a crowd started forming. The picture in my hand was really exceptional.

Really, this one would be better as a poster. If I hung it in my apartment, I'd be able to explain to visitors that it was an extra promotional poster of Ali -- I wouldn't have to suffer the knowing, cynical looks of my friends when they first saw it.

In fact -- fuck it. I'd have Ali fill my entire apartment with pictures of her. In every situation. Nothing triple-X, but nothing demure either. By the time any man spent five minutes in my apartment, they'd feel entitled to pin her on the couch and fuck her. In fact -- I'd throw a party, someday. I'd buy Ali a nice little dress, and get her drunk, and let an apartment full of men leer at her and her pictures. And I'd have Alexi there to capture each man's internal war with their libido as Ali -- belle of the ball -- went from man to man and dripped off them.

By the time I was done imagining this, I was hard again.