LimeWire Girl

"Yes!" she gasped, wanting more. "Fuck me! Now!" She writhed on her back, waving her pink cunt in the air. As if the whole thing was choreographed, a new guy dropped down between her legs and stuck his dick inside her. She reveled in the feeling of being impaled, helpless, totally at the mercy of the sex-crazed crowd.

This went on for a good half hour. There must've been at least ten or fifteen people involved. She lost track. At one point there was a heavy-set hippie chick with a gargantuan pussy riding her face, dripping her free-love juice into her mouth. At another point she was sucking off a midget, with her pinky finger up his butt. All she knew was that she needed to keep cumming, and however it happened, it was meant to be.

And through it all, every orgasm, every drop of jizz, it was all for Slag. It was like all these strangers who were fucking her were his surrogates, and she was his vessel, his lover, his bitch, cumming for him like she'd never cum in her life.

Finally, when the production staff had run out of volunteers, the clipboard guy showed up, grabbed her by the elbow and led her out of the room. She could barely walk, she was so exhausted. Her pussy ached, her asshole was burning, and her body was plastered with cum. She had it everywhere, in her hair, up her nose, on her tits, in her bellybutton, and totally coating the crack of her ass and her pussy. As they padded down the hall, she was vaguely aware of that sticky sound you hear when you get bubble gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe in the movie theater.

"Where are we going?" she mumbled, suddenly feeling all naked and exposed again.

"Slag's ready for you," clipboard said in a bored monotone.

Relieved that it was over, anxious to be with Slag, the fact that she was still naked didn't seem to matter anymore, although she was a little concerned about her outfit. "Where are my clothes?"

"My boss has your stuff," the clipboard guy said, as he lead her down the hall and out a back door into a huge garage. As soon as she saw the tour bus, her heart jumped into her throat. With renewed energy, she picked up the pace, almost running to get to the bus before it took off. She waited at the door, panting like a dog, till the clipboard guy caught up with her. The door opened.

"Is this Becka?" the security guy asked. The clipboard guy nodded, handing him a DVD of the audition footage. The security guy took her arm and jerked her up the stairs. As soon as the door closed, the bus started rolling.

"Where are we going?" Becka asked breathlessly. The security guy didn't answer. He just continued leading her down the aisle, which was littered with crushed beer cans, clothes, and magazines. She recognized the lead guitar player, sitting on a couch, with a naked girl giving him head. The bass player was in a bunk, in a sixty-nine with a lithe little Hispanic chick. The drummer was down on the floor, fucking some big-assed bitch from behind. Becka and the security guy had to step around them to get by, and when they did, the drummer looked up at Becka's naked body and grinned.

At the back of the bus, there was a door with another star on it, this one much smaller than the one at the concert venue. The security guy knocked, and a voice came from within.

"Yeah?"

"It's Becka," the security guy said.

"Becka?" There was a pause. "Whatever. It's open."

The security guy ushered her in, and her heart sank when she saw Slag laying on a king-sized bed, one naked woman sucking lazily on his fat cock, another girl trailing her fingers around his smooth chest.

"Becka?" he asked, looking annoyed.

"LimeWire girl," the security guy said.

"Oh," Slag smiled. "LimeWire girl." He looked her up and down. "You look like shit, darlin'."

"It was the video shoot," she mumbled, gazing down at her cum-coated body.

"Yeah," he sneered. "I hear you did great."

She folded her arms over her sticky breasts, feeling awkward and stupid. "Can I have my clothes back now?" she asked.

"Tell you what, sweetheart. When you go out and actually buy all ten of my CDs, instead of stealing them off the internet, and send me the receipts, I'll give you your damn clothes back."

"What?" she gasped, trying to make sense out of what he had just said.

"Don't you think that's fair, darlin',?" he said, as the girl in his lap spit out his half-hard dick and started munching on his balls. "You steal my music, I steal your clothes."

"But...but..."

"And if you want to see your sex video, just google 'LimeWire Girls' and enter the name you signed on the model release form. It's a pay site, but they'll post some free snippets of you, and eventually your video will be pirated all over the internet, so you'll be able to download it for free."

"You're putting my audition video on the internet? At a sex site? Oh my God! You can't. What about my future? What about when I try to get a job and they Google me?

"What about my future?" he countered. "Thanks to downloading, five years from now I'll be flipping burgers for a living."

"Oh Slag! Please? Can't we work something out? I just fucked fifteen people for you!"

"Let her out." Slag said, turning his attention to the naked women on his bed.

The security guy grabbed her by the arm, said something into his headset, and suddenly she was cowering at the back door of the bus as it lurched to a stop. The door wheezed opened and he shoved her down the steps out onto the sidewalk.

"Noooo!" she bawled, as she watched the bus pull away. She looked around and realized she was downtown, across the street from the Chase Bank building. The boulevard was crowded with late-night partiers, the street lights casting an eerie blue hue across her cum-coated body. She stood there, sobbing softly, trying to cover her sticky nakedness as the cars cruised past, some of them playing Slag's illegally-downloaded songs on their iPod-jacked stereos.

She stumbled down the sidewalk, desperate to find some cover; a doorway to hide in, a stairwell, anything. She ducked under the entrance to a CD City. At least it was dark there, since the store had just recently gone out of business.

She huddled in the shadows, feeling suddenly cold. She heard footsteps. A group of gangbangers strutted by, so wrapped up in their conversation, they didn't even see her. She buried her head in her hands, but it didn't help. She was still naked, on a downtown sidewalk.

The cars paraded past, but she could no longer hear the music. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. Suddenly, a black SUV pulled up and double-parked in front of her hiding place. She jumped up, ready to run. But to where?

"Becka!"

She froze, her back against the boarded up doorway, her trembling hands trying to cover her nakedness.

"Becka? It's the door-guy. From the venue? The one who let you backstage? I've got your clothes!"

Her knees buckled. She slumped to the sidewalk. A moment later he was by her side, throwing a jacket over her shoulders.

"Becka! Listen to me," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "Slag called from the bus. He says he just saw your dancing in the video. He wants to hire you! You're in the show!"

"Oh my God!" she sobbed, leaning into him. "Tell me I'm not being pranked. Tell me it's real?"

"It's real, Becka, but . . . ," he stopped to look at the note in his hand, "it says here you'll have to pay for your CDs out of your first check. Does that make sense?"

"Yes!" she sobbed, laughing through her tears. "It makes perfect sense."