Celeb Interviews with Multiple Celebrities

[TheLW]

Celeb Interviews #1
With Katie Cassidy
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

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It wasn’t that long ago, that I was hired by a company, that started publishing a new adult celeb magazine called CSS Magazine, which was owned by a billionaire named Trevor P. Goodridge. As for me, I rather enjoyed the work, as I got to travel the world, interviewing celebrities, finding out just what they were into, discussing whatever sexual encounters they've had, their favourite positions, and what kind of kinky stuff they are into, that sorta shit.

On this day, I was handed my newest assignment, where I was supposed to fly out to Vancouver, British Columbia, to interview an actress named Katie Cassidy, who happened to be the daughter of actor David Cassidy. A few hours later, I found myself boarding a WestJet plane heading to Vancouver, where they were currently filming the sixth season of Arrow, which airs on the CW.

Once I landed at Vancouver International Airport, I grabbed a quick bite to eat, before making my way to the hotel and unpacking my luggage. A short time later, I caught a cab and made my way to the address I was given, where I would be conducting my interview with the thirty-year-old television star.

Having arrived at my destination, I quickly head up the steps and knock on the door, a moment passes by, before Katie dressed in a sexy little black zip-up mini dress (that leaves very little to the imagination) and six-inch stiletto heels, answers the door.

"You must be Mr. Thompson."

"Please call me Lee."

With quick introductions out of the way, the starlet flashes me a sexy smile, before inviting me inside, as Katie leads the way to her living room, I can't help but check out her amazing ass. Once we've reached the main room of the house, the young woman takes a seat on the couch, well I sit down across from her, in the matching chair, before firing off the first of many questions.

Lee Thompson: Now I’m sure you were expecting this, but I gotta ask Katie, who was the man in the leaked photos, that you were giving a blowjob too?

Katie Cassidy: I probably shouldn’t mention it, given he’s married with a kid and all, but it was my Arrow co-star Stephen Amell.

Lee Thompson: Oh really? So do you have a thing for married men, or is he the exception?

Katie Cassidy: Well there is Mike.

Lee Thompson: Mike?

Katie Cassidy: Mike Comrie, we've fucked a few times, while he was still married to Hilary Duff.

Lee Thompson: Interesting, so it's definitely a thing for married guys then.

Katie Cassidy: What can I say, it makes the conquest all the more hotter.

Lee Thompson: Backing up a bit, other than Stephen Amell, have you ever hooked up with any other co-stars?

Katie Cassidy: Oh definitely, last year after filming the big crossover event, that took place with all of the DC shows, Candice Patton and I went out to celebrate with Melissa Benoist, sort of a girls night out kind of thing. Anyways let's just say after quite a few drinks, both Candice and I welcomed Melissa to the Arrowverse in our own special way.

Lee Thompson: If you could expand upon that, for our readers, that would be great.

Katie Cassidy: Of course, after celebrating the three of us made our way back to Candice's place, where we both ended up double teaming a drunk Melissa with a pair of strap-on's.

Lee Thompson: Wait what, did you guys plan this in advance? I mean, you would have had too, to have a pair of strap-ons on hand right?

Katie Cassidy: Well not quite, the "cocks" were there from a previous encounter.

Lee Thompson: A previous encounter?

Katie Cassidy: All I'll say is Melissa isn't the first woman, to get spit roasted by Candice and myself.

Lee Thompson: I gotta say, from the sounds of it, the two of you know how to have a good time.

Katie Cassidy: For sure.

Lee Thompson: Moving on, besides the whole thing with married men, is there anything else you are really into?

Katie Cassidy: Well as I'm sure you can tell by the leaked photos, I really love sucking cock... plus, I've been told quite a few times that I give a wicked blowjob.

Lee Thompson: I bet.

Katie Cassidy: It probably helps that I'm capable of deep-throating, without gagging on a man's cock, guy's love it when their balls smack against my chin.

Lee Thompson: Oh my, it sounds like you have some impressive oral skills.

Katie Cassidy: I've never had any complaints.

Lee Thompson: No, I guess you wouldn't... having said that, are you a spitter, or a swallower?

Katie Cassidy: A swallower for sure, no point in letting all that cum go to waste.

Lee Thompson: You sound like my kinda woman.

Katie Cassidy: Why thank you.

Lee Thompson: Anyways, I think that just about wraps up this interview, unless you have anything to add, Katie?

Instead of answering, however, the Los Angeles born actress moves with a quickness that would even make The Flash impressed, as she moves from the couch, across the room to where I was sitting. The TV starlet known for her role as Laurel Lance, reaches for my belt buckle, as she unfastens it, before tugging the belt through the loops on my jeans.

With my belt removed, the Arrow star then grabs the zipper, pulling it down and fishing out my dick, through the opening of my boxers, which has gotten hard due to all the sexual talk between the two of us. Cock in hand, Katie starts stroking my meat stick, working her palm back and forth, before leaning over and spitting on my shaft, as a moan escapes between my lips.

"Ughhh!" I groan.

The daughter of David Cassidy slides her tongue up and down the underside of my pecker, leaving a trail of saliva in her wake. As she reaches the top, Katie Cassidy swirls her tongue around the tip of my candle wick, before engulfing it into her cock hungry mouth. Katie moves her head side to side, as she expertly works over my boomstick, proving that she can indeed deep-throat a pole shaft, as she takes every inch of my sausage.

"Fucking hell, you weren't kidding about giving wicked blowjobs."

I grab a fistful of the famous actresses hair and start to face fuck the TV star, thrusting into her oral hole as she lets out a muffled moan. With a firm grip on her hair, I persistently attack her mouth, slamming into her, ramming my cock into Katie's kisser, until I can't take any more. "Gonna cum," I hiss, knowing she'll happily swallow every last drop of my jizz, as I shoot rope after rope of my gooey spunk down the back of Katie Cassidy's throat.

The End

[TheLW]

Celeb Interviews #2
With Emilia Clarke
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Anal, Blowjob, Mdom, Spank, Toys
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

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A couple of weeks had passed since I interviewed Katie Cassidy for CSS Magazine, and I couldn’t get the image of her down on her knees, giving me one of, if not the best blowjob of my life, out of my head. If I was being honest though, I got caught up in the moment and regretted not fucking the Arrow actress, as well that night, when I had the chance, so I told myself that the next time I got an opportunity like that again, I wouldn’t pass it up.

As luck would have it, I would soon find myself being handed my next assignment, as my boss Trevor called me up on my cell, informing me that I needed to book a flight to jolly old England to interview Game of Thrones star Emilia Clarke. Having never been to the U.K. before, I decided I would book a flight out to London, a few days early to get some sightseeing done, before my scheduled meeting with the English actress.

I spent the first two days of my trip, seeing all the tourist attractions, that caught my interest, before heading out to the Hampstead Village, which was Northwest of Charing Cross, in the London Borough of Camden, on the third evening. Once the cab had pulled up to the location, I had given the driver, I paid the cabbie my fare, I then got out of the yellow vehicle and watched it speed away, before heading up the front steps where I noticed an intercom system.

BUZZZ~!!!!

Having pressed the button on the intercom, I only had to wait a couple of seconds, until I heard a woman's voice over the speaker.

"Who is it?"

"It's Lee... Lee Thompson, I uh, I have an interview scheduled with Miss Clarke."

"Just a minute," the female voice said.

Moments later, Emilia Clarke answered the door, wearing a white dress, that left my jaw dropping to the ground, as she leaned in, greeting me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, before inviting me into her home.

"I take it your flight out here was pleasant, Mr. Thompson?"

"It was, thanks for asking," I answer her, "...but please, Lee is fine... after all, Mr. Thompson is my father."

"Sorry," the London born actress responds back, "...Lee, it is then."

Once we reached the living room arena and taken our seats, I wasted little time getting the interview process underway.

Lee Thompson: First off before we get started, I just want to say, you look absolutely stunning today, Emilia.

Emilia Clarke: Why thank you.

Lee Thompson: Anyways, for the last several years, you've been playing Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, on HBO's Game of Thrones, what has that been like for you?

Emilia Clarke: It's been amazing, I've loved every second of it, and have the privilege of working with some truly wonderful people.

Lee Thompson: Now throughout the seven seasons that have aired so far, your character Daenerys has had some risque scenes, from walking through fire and coming out on the other end completely nude, to having sex scenes with both Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa) and Jon Snow (Kit Harington), I assume it was your stand-in that filmed those scenes?

Emilia Clarke: Oh no, I actually filmed those scenes myself.

Lee Thompson: Interesting, so I imagine, you've probably received a lot of fan mail over the years, due in part to those very scenes, I just mentioned?

(Emilia let's out a laugh, before once again speaking)

Emilia Clarke: Yeah, you could say that.

Lee Thompson: Hopefully nothing too creepy.

Emilia Clarke: I suppose a lot of woman in my position, would find it creepy, but if I'm speaking honestly, I actually get off on it.

Lee Thompson: Oh really? What do you mean by that?

Emilia Clarke: Like you know, when I read their letters describing all the things they want to do to me, from wanting to cum down my throat, to making me their own personal fuck toy. I dunno, I just can't help but rub one out, be it with my hand, or my vibe, when I get those kind of letters, just fantasizing about them having their way with me, really gets the juices flowing down there for me.

Lee Thompson: So you're a submissive when it comes to having sex?

Emilia Clarke: Definitely, I love being dominated in the bedroom... or just about anywhere else for that matter.

Lee Thompson: Or anywhere else? Well, now I gotta ask, where is the craziest place you've been fucked?

Emilia Clarke: The craziest place? Oh god, that was probably before I was really famous, outside of some night club, that I can't even remember the name of. Anyways, I met this really hot guy inside of the club and we hit it off, one thing led to another and the next thing I know, we're out back behind the club, with my legs wrapped around his waist, while my back is pressed up against the dumpster, and I'm getting fucked.

Lee Thompson: That sounds dirty, both literally and figuratively speaking, of course.

Emilia Clarke: Indeed it was.

Lee Thompson: Let's back up a bit, you mentioned using a vibe on yourself, do you own any other sex toys?

Emilia Clarke: I do actually, besides the pink vibe, I also have a 10-inch black dildo that I occasionally use, as well as a riding crop, that I find guys really like to spank my ass with, not that I'm complaining mind you, as like I said, when it comes to sex I'm a submissive that likes to be dominated.

Lee Thompson: To be fair, I couldn't help but notice how well that dress hugs your ass, so I can see why men would get enjoyment out of spanking your rear end with a riding crop.

Emilia Clarke: Aww shucks, you like the way my ass looks in this dress?

Lee Thompson: Of course, anyways I just have to say, it's been a pleasure meeting you.

Emilia Clarke: Likewise.

With that, both Emilia and I make our way to the front door, as the 'Mother of Dragons' leads the way, however before we reach the entrance, I decide to make a bold move, as I lean in whispering into the ear of the actress who played Sarah Connor in Terminator Genisys.

"Is that what you really want Emilia, someone to come along and make you their fuck toy?"

"Yes!"

"How about me? Do you want me to dominate you?"

"God yes! The whole time you were interviewing me, I was getting so wet, just thinking about you using me, turning me into your own personal little submissive slut."

"Well then, what are you waiting for?" I tell her, "...be a good little slut, drop to your knees and start sucking my cock."

Doing as she is told, Emilia Clarke does just that, as I pull my dick out, offering it to the TV star, who grabs the base of my candle wick and starts pumping her hand up and down, while at the same time, licking the crown of my cock. For the next couple of minutes, the thirty-year-old actress would continue to tease me, as she ran tongue all along my shaft, before eventually parting her lips and taking me into her awaiting mouth.

"Good girl, such a good girl."

With my schlong inside the English actresses mouth, she shows some rather impressive skills, as Emilia works over my cock with her oral hole, bobbing her head in a back and forth motion, taking as much of my meat stick, as she possibly can. Having decided, I wasn't content with just getting a blowjob from the actress, I wrap my hand around her hair, and quickly pick up the pace, as I start sliding my pecker in and out of her mouth, throat fucking the back of her oral hole.

"Ughhh!" I groan.

I continue to thrust my boomstick into her throat, slowly pushing her head further down my shaft, forcing the star of HBO's Game of Thrones to take more and more of my rock hard cock, until she can't take any more of it. With her lips clamped around my one-eyed monster, I reach down and pinch her nose, cutting off any air getting to her, before releasing my fingers a good thirty seconds later, when the actress starts to gag on my prick.

Once I pull out of Emilia's mouth, she instantly starts gasping for breath while saliva runs down her chin, as I grab my cock and smack it across her cheek's several times, before inserting my pole shaft back into her mouth. The two of us would continue this process quite a few more times, each time I fed her my dick, I would thrust into her mouth a couple of times, pinch her nose until she started choking, and then pull out, allowing the famous babe to inhale some air.

"Which way to the bedroom?" I ask, as Emilia points towards an area, just off of the living room.

With Emilia down on her knees and a fistful of her hair, still gripped around my hand, I essentially use it as a makeshift leash, walking the actress over to the bedroom, on her hands and knees, as a way to show her that I was still in charge. As we enter the bedroom, both of us get undressed, before I order the London born actress to get on top of the bed, which she does so.

"So these toys, where do you keep them?" I ask the submissive slut that is Emilia Clarke.

The starlet reaches over to the nightstand next to the bed, opening the top door and showing me her toys. I head over to the stand pulling out both her pink vibrator and the crop, before handing the vibe over to the TV star, and telling her to use it on her clit. Emilia Clarke gets into the doggy style position, before turning the sex toy on and bringing it down underneath her, as she starts rubbing the vibe against her clit, at the same time I walk around the bed so I'm standing behind the actress known for her role of Daenerys.

"Somebody has been a bad girl," I hiss, as I bring the crop down across Emilia's ass cheeks.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Gaahhh!"

"Bad girls need to be punished don't they?"

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Ahhhh!"

"I'll make sure my submissive little slut gets the punishment she deserves."

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

"Ughhhh!"

While I was spanking Emilia's ass with the riding crop, turning her cheeks a beat red, not once did she let up, when it came to probing her cunt with the vibrator, no doubt due to finding herself in similar situations in the past.

I toss the crop on the bed next to the TV/Movie star, before making my way to the dresser across the bedroom, and start rummaging through the makeup, she had set up on top of the stand, until I settled on a dark shade of red lipstick, before heading back to the TV starlet, who was still smashing her love mound, with her sex toy. Once I reach Emilia, I uncap the lipstick and write down 'anal slut' across her lower back, before drawing an arrow that pointed towards the Game of Thrones star’s bunghole.

Climbing onto the bed, I get in position behind the English actress, lining my pole shaft up with her wet lips, before sliding my cock into her snatch as she drops the vibe onto the mattress. I move my hips side to side, repeatedly jamming it into Emilia Clarke's sex hole, long enough to get my dick covered in her pussy juices, before pulling out and plunging into her asshole.

"Ugh fuck!" the starlet cries out.

With my schlong inside of her buttocks, I continue to rock my body back and forth, attacking her backside with one hard thrust after another, working the English star over. It's while I was relentlessly slamming into Emilia's anal hole, that I noticed that she had brought her hand up to her love mound and was rubbing one out.

"God, you've got such a tight ass, " I stated, as I continued to ravage Emilia Clarke's flawless naked body with my sex organ.

As the starlet persistently fondled herself, it didn't take long as her body started to tremble, and she brought herself to an orgasm, before bringing her fingers up to her lips, licking them clean.

Once Emilia came down from her intense high, I instructed her to flip over, so she was lying back first on the bed, I then took her legs, placing them onto my shoulders and entered her twat, however before fucking her, I grabbed the lipstick from earlier and wrote 'whore' across her chest, then told her to turn her head side to side so I could write 'fuck' on one cheek, and 'toy' on the other side.

Already inside of her, I started hammering away, pulling in and out, as I pumped my cock into her neatly trimmed sex hole, giving the Game of Thrones star exactly what she wanted. I grabbed Emilia's legs, folding her up like an accordion, steadily pounding into her well-fucked snatch, for another five minutes, but I knew I was about to cum, when my cock started to pulsate, and seconds later I emptied a load of baby batter inside of Emilia Clarke's womb.

After the two of us got dressed, Emilia walked me to the door, however before leaving I pulled a business card out of my wallet, telling her that if she was ever in New York to give me a call.

The End

[Shane81uk]

Great concept!!!!

Hope you continue it, please feature Maisie Williams, Sophie Turner and Emma Watson in future interviews.

[TheLW]

Celeb Interviews #3
With Kate Beckinsale and Lily Sheen
Written by TheLW
Codes: MFF, Blowjob, Fingering, Incest, Oral, Squirting
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Lily Sheen is 18 in this story, she turned 18 on January 31st, 2017, and this story takes place in September of that year.

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Lee Thompson sat slouched at his desk, one hand on the mouse, the other nursing a lukewarm cup of whatever was left in the breakroom Keurig. The glow of the screen lit up the otherwise dim corner of the CSS Magazine office, dim by design, dim by mood. He wasn’t on a deadline. He was digging through archive footage, chasing nostalgia, or maybe just trying to feel something again.

CSS, a celebrity magazine for adults who didn’t need perfume ads and vacation spreads. It was honest. It was filthy in the best way possible. Lee had been with it since the mid 2010s, back when print still mattered and interviews could go viral on their own weight. He made a name for himself sitting across from actors, musicians, influencers, pulling confessions out of them like teeth. Positions, preferences, taboos, no question off-limits, no answer too explicit. That was the brand.

As he clicked through old files, skipping past half a dozen thumbnails, some wild-eyed rocker licking her mic stand, a swimsuit model laughing during a mid-orgasm story, a B-list actress proudly holding up her handcuff collection, he landed on one.

And stopped.

"Kate Beckinsale and Lily Sheen - CSS Interview, September 11th, 2017."

The title alone brought a smirk to his face. That one had been a fucking ride.

Lee Thompson sat there, reminiscing about that day, how he stepped out onto the wet curb just outside Emilia Clarke’s brownstone flat, the London drizzle painting the pavement in silver. The air smelled of rain, cigarettes, and barely-concealed regret. His digital recorder was still warm in his coat pocket, two hours of surprising, brutally honest material. Emilia was sharper than he’d expected, funnier too. Vulnerable in ways most weren’t when the camera wasn’t rolling.

“Best interview I’ve done all year,” he muttered to himself, lighting a cigarette as he squinted down the fog-draped street.

His phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocket. The screen lit up: TREVOR P. GOODRIDGE.

Editor-in-Chief. King of chaos. Bastard. Also the only man who ever really believed Lee could turn filth into art.

Lee sighed and answered.

“Still in London?” Trevor’s voice crackled with static and caffeine.

“Just wrapped up with Clarke,” Lee said, exhaling smoke into the mist. “She’s a riot. Got her talking about the strangest place she’s ever…”

“Save it for the article,” Trevor cut in. “I’ve got another one for you. Something… juicy. You in?”

Lee looked down the street, then up at the bruised gray sky.

“I’m listening.”

Trevor paused, and when he spoke again, there was that tone in his voice. The this is gold, don’t fuck it up tone.

“Kate Beckinsale.”

Lee blinked. “That’s not juicy, Trev. That’s a goddamn steak dinner.”

“She’s in town,” Trevor said. “Staying at the Savoy. She wants something classy. Her words.”

Lee’s eyebrow ticked. “She knows what we do, right? This isn’t Vogue.”

“She requested you, Lee.”

That part stuck.

Lee didn’t get requested. He got assigned. People either wanted his edge or avoided him entirely. But Kate had picked him.

A short while later, Lee had arrived at The Savory, making his way up to Kate Beckinsale’s suite. Once he got there, introductions were made including a surprise, that being Lily Sheen, Kate’s daughter who he wasn’t expecting to be there, for this interview.

Once everyone took their seats, Kate and Lily on the couch, Lee Thompson sitting across from them in a chair, the interview got underway.

Lee: Before we get underway, I just have to ask, Kate… why did you personally request me?

Kate: Oh, that’s simple actually, the truth is, I just so happen to be a fan of your work.

Lily: I especially enjoyed the interview you did with Katie Cassidy.

Kate: Oh yes, that was a really fun one to read.

Lee: Trust me, that one was even more fun, in person. But anyways, we’re not here to talk about Katie Cassidy, we’re here to talk about you. What exactly gets you off? What kinks are you into?

Kate: Well that’s rather easy, and actually has to do with Lilly being here.

Lee: Oh?

Lily: Let's just say, ever since turning eighteen earlier in the year, my mom has helped me embrace my sexual side in more ways than one.

Lee: Well that sounds intriguing, especially since Kate, you mentioned that it involves Lily.

Kate: Oh it absolutely does, ever since my Lily turned eighteen, we’ve definitely had some fun together.

Lee: Like just the two of you, or?

Lily: Oh my mom and I have shared quite a few guys over the past several months.

Lee: That actually sounds pretty hot, controversial for sure, but definitely hot.

Kate: It definitely is, or at least we’ve never had a guy, turn down a threesome with the two of us.

Lily: And I have definitely learned a lot from my mom.

Kate: Like I always say, practice makes perfect, and your blowjob skills have definitely improved quite a bit.

Lee: Well I mean, it’s always important to give some great head.

Kate: I couldn’t agree more with you.

Lee: Now backing up a bit, Lily you mentioned sharing your mom with and I’ll quote you as saying “quite a few guys”, if you don’t mind me asking, how much is a few?

Lily starts counting on her fingers, trying to do the math.

Lily: I would say roughly a dozen or so threesomes,

Kate: And that’s not counting the orgy we had that one time.

Lee: An orgy?

Kate: Oh yes, the two of us, and a half dozen well hung men, I thought it was a great way to celebrate my birthday.

Lee: Well I mean, that’s one way to celebrate. 

Lily: I think I can speak for my mom, when I say sucking off multiple cocks is definitely preferred by us, over blowing out candles.

Kate: I concur.

Lee: I’ll uh have to take your word for it, as I don’t want to partake in a blow bang… unless of course, I’m the one getting head.

The mother-daughter pairing of Kate and Lily let out a laugh.

Lily: I mean, I wouldn’t mind giving you a blowjob, and other things, while we’re at it.

Kate: I’m definitely proud of the little slut, that Lily has become.

Lily: As they say, like mother, like daughter.

Lee: Yea, I’m starting to see that.

A few moments later, Lee Thompson was now sitting on the couch that Kate, and her daughter were previously sitting on. His pants were now around his ankles, meanwhile the two women he was interviewing were on their knees in front of him.

“You know, I always thought journalists were supposed to ask the hard questions, not have one,” she joked. Her lips then closed around the head of my cock with practiced, almost insolent ease.

Kate rolled her eyes affectionately, brushing Lily’s hair aside. “Don’t mind her. She likes to start fast and fizzle out. Let the grown-up show you how it’s done,” and then she leaned in, her mouth warm and plush as it engulfed me next, her tongue tracing hair-raising circles around the ridge.

Lily snorted. “Says the woman who almost gagged on the investment banker last summer.” Her left hand ventured lower, cupping the curve of my balls, rolling them with the same absentminded confidence as a seasoned poker player.

Kate, never one to be outmaneuvered, shot back, “Please. He was all talk. This…”…her index finger trailed lightly along the shaft, admiring the veined topography… “is worth savoring.”

“You weren’t kidding about Lily’s technique,” Lee said.

Kate grinned, showing that impossibly sharp smile of hers. “Genes and guidance,” she said, and then her mouth was on me too, right beside Lily’s. Their mouths met at my shaft, passing it back and forth. Kate went a little deeper, taking me just past her lips, tongue swirling under the crown. Lily matched her.

They worked in perfect harmony, a mother-daughter relay, each flick of tongue and brush of hair more coordinated than any orchestral duet Lee had ever seen. They were competitive, these two, but not desperate, no, there was an easy confidence, a practiced teamwork that felt neither rehearsed nor forced.

Kate had more finesse, Lily more hunger. The two of them were a study in contrasts, their approaches on display along the length of his cock. Lily bobbed with an eager, reckless rhythm. Kate lingered and tasted, tongue working in slow strokes, lips sealing around the head with perfection that made him shiver.

“If you’re going to show off, darling,” Kate said, “at least keep your hair out of your mouth.” She tucked a dark lock behind Lily’s ear, then dove back in, her throat relaxing, taking him deeper.

Lee’s hand drifted to the back of Lily’s head, fingers sliding into her hair. She moaned, whether for his benefit or her own, he couldn’t tell, and took him deeper.

Beside her, Kate pressed in, breathing her daughter’s scent as she sucked on his balls, then moved up to meet Lily’s mouth at the tip. Their lips brushed, trading spit, trading him, neither willing to cede ground. For a moment, the two women made out over it, their tongues tangling wetly, before returning to their shared task.

Lily slid her mouth off his cock with a wet pop, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. “I want to see you fuck her, Lee,” she said. “Like… really rail her. She deserves it.”

Kate cocked her head, face smeared with spit. “Careful what you wish for, little one,” she purred, kneeling up. Kate dropped back onto the couch, and Lee, not missing a cue, seized her by the ankles and hoisted her legs up, knees hooked over his forearms. Her smirk was that of a woman equal parts invitation and dare.

He ran the tip of his cock up her slit, slow, letting her feel the heat of it. He knew she wanted to squirm, to arch into him, but she only held his gaze and rested her head back, lips barely parted. That perfect English composure, until he pressed in, stretching her open, and her jaw slackened with a sound just north of decorum.

Lee had to clench his teeth not to blow it inside of three thrusts. He steadied himself, driving in all the way, pinning her to the couch, their bodies flush. He hammered at a quickened pace, hard and deep, her legs trembling against his arms. Kate braced herself against the cushions, nails digging into the fabric.

“Christ,” Lily whispered, her hand sliding along Kate’s thigh, fingertips tracing goosebumps on English porcelain skin. “You take it so fucking well, Mom.”

He saw the heat between her legs, the pink and flush of her pussy clinging to him with every thrust, and it sent a pulse up his own spine. She was tight, but greedy, every time he hit bottom, her hips tilted to milk another half-millimeter out of him.

Lily kept up a running commentary, filthy and low, practically purring in his ear. “God, Lee, look at her, she’s losing it. You’re going to wreck her for her yoga instructor.”

Lee slammed into Kate, harder, and the couch shifted under their weight. Lily was beside him now, pressing her chest into Kate’s, not content to be a sideline voyeur. She cooed encouragement, then dropped between them, tongue flicking from Kate’s nipple to Lee’s chest, tasting their combined sweat. Kate grinned fiercely at her daughter, then arched into the next stroke, legs tightening around Lee’s waist.

Lily, emboldened, turned and straddled the cushion next to her mother’s head. She spread her legs, and started fingering herself in earnest, two fingers curled up inside her, the rest of her palm grinding her clit.

Lily let her knees fall wide, knuckles buried and glistening, her face bright with mischief as she hovered above her mother’s face. Lee watched as Kate, still taking him deep, reached up and guided her daughter lower, her mouth open and waiting. Lily’s wetness shone, casting a sweet musk, and Kate’s tongue darted out, licking at the air before catching her daughter’s clit.

Her fingers didn’t stop, if anything, she doubled her effort, blurring with each desperate circle, and her spine arched tight as a bow. Lily’s pussy trembled just an inch above her mother’s mouth, her hand working furiously. Kate’s tongue didn’t hesitate, lapping greedily at her daughter’s slickness and letting the taste coat her lips and tongue.

Lee felt his balls tighten at the sight, it was absurd, impossibly filthy, no one in their right mind would believe this, but the impromptu arrangement worked on a level that unspooled all the leftover tension in his body. Lee slammed into Kate with a pace that sent a chorus of wet, bracing slaps around the room.

“So fucking good.”

Each time he bottomed out, Kate moaned into Lily’s cunt, a muffled, feral sound. Lily’s thighs clamped tighter, chest heaving, and Lee could see the pulse in her neck as she pushed her hips down, smothering her mother’s mouth with her dripping snatch. Kate took it as a challenge, arms locked around her daughter’s ass, eating her out with abandon as Lee drove deeper, their bodies slick and knotted together. He caught a look from Lily, and in that moment she looked every bit her mother’s daughter.

Lily’s breath hitched. The muscles in her abdomen tensed and she let out a strangled gasp, shuddered, and then Lily went off like a bottle rocket, squirting all over her mother’s mouth, and chin. Kate seized the opportunity, mouth and tongue working up the length of her daughter’s slit, lapping up the slick mess with a hunger Lee would have called unmotherly in any other context. She looked up at Lily, face glazed, wearing it like a trophy.

“Full marks,” Kate gasped, voice ruined with pride and lust. “You’re a fucking prodigy.”

Lily slid off and collapsed onto the cushions. “Mom, that was… holy shit.” She looked at Lee, eyes wild and greedy, her lips curled in a satisfied little half-smile.

He kept working inside Kate, pace ragged and animal like now, the visual of what had just happened burned indelibly in his mind. Kate reached up, grabbed his ass, and pulled him in, begging with her eyes for more, harder, now.

“Your turn,” Kate said, voice thick and ruined, the words vibrating up the column of his cock.

Lee wanted to last, to hold the moment, for much longer, but his body was betraying him, and Kate knew it. She locked her ankles behind his back, her gaze boring into him, her breath coming in soft, rapid moans. He felt the first spasm rack his gut, the prickle of heat curling tight around his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to flood her, to watch her take it all.

“Go on,” Kate whispered, more command than plea.

He let go, thrusting deep and staying buried, hands fisting in the cushions for anchor. Kate arched her back, head thrown, and he could feel her clench around him, drawing him in greedily. He came inside her, the sensation so raw it left him gasping. She rode out the last of it with a satisfied sigh and a feline smirk. Even Lily, splayed and breathless, managed a little round of applause, punctuated by a slow, lewd wink. Lee caught his breath, collapsed backward on the couch, not caring that his pants were still bunched at his ankles.

“Most guys,” Lily said, voice raspy with the effort of coming so violently, “don’t last that long.È

A few moments later, Lee pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. The room was calm now, a faint breeze stirred the curtains, sunlight spilling in through the window and painting warm streaks across the floor. He double-checked his phone for the time, then slid it into his pocket. His suitcase clicked shut with a soft snap. No words were exchanged, none were needed. He knew it was time.

Outside, on the street a cab waited at the curb, engine idling. Lee climbed in, set his bag beside him, and gave the driver the terminal number. The car pulled off, weaving into traffic.

As the city slipped past the windows, Lee didn’t look back.

The End

[TheLW]

Celeb Interviews #4
With Madelaine Petsch
Written by TheLW
Codes: BDSM/Bondage, Fingering, Rough Play
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Lee Thompson snapped his bag shut and gave it a light pat, like a coach checking gear before game time. Recorder, check. Notepad, check. Backup batteries, God help him if he ever forgot those again. Everything he needed was packed and ready.

The morning heat had already started creeping through the cracked office window. Out in the distance, Los Angeles shimmered like a mirage. Traffic buzzed, tires screeched, and somewhere below, a car alarm whined before dying off in defeat. Business as usual.

This one wasn’t just another assignment. Madelaine Petsch. He’d interviewed rising stars, indie darlings, even a couple of legends clinging to relevance, but she was different. Redhead. Razor-sharp. With that mix of Hollywood polish and something just a bit too real for the cameras to tame.

Lee stepped outside, the sun hitting him like a spotlight the second the door shut behind him. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he slipped on his shades, tightened the strap on his bag, and headed to the rental.

Up in the hills, behind coded gates and million-dollar views, she was waiting.

And he was ready.

Once Lee had arrived, the gates opened with a slow mechanical groan, revealing a long driveway flanked by manicured hedges and just enough shade to keep the L.A. sun from melting the pavement. Lee guided the rental up the incline, parked near the stone steps, and killed the engine.

Madelaine was already waiting at the door.

She wore a loose white blouse and black slacks, barefoot, with her signature hair pulled into a twist. Effortless. Intentional. Her smile was warm, but not wide, just enough to register. Lee climbed the steps, his bag slung over his shoulder, and the second she opened the door, they hugged like old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while. Not quite intimate, but familiar. He kissed her cheek, quick, polite, nothing lingering, and stepped inside.

“Come on in,” she said, already turning toward the interior.

The house was clean and modern, filled with that kind of air-conditioned stillness that came from money and space. Polished floors. Neutral tones. A subtle scent of something citrus and expensive in the air.

She led him into the living room, a wide, open space with sunlight pouring through tall glass windows. There were plants everywhere, alive and thriving, like props from a lifestyle shoot that somehow never ended.

They sat down, she on the long cream-colored sectional, he across from her, pulling out his recorder and notepad, setting them carefully on the coffee table between them.

There was a brief pause, neither awkward nor rushed. Just the stillness before the match starts. Lee clicked the recorder on.

“All set?” she asked, crossing one leg over the other, eyebrows slightly raised.

He gave a small grin. “Always.”

And just like that, the interview began.

Lee: First and foremost, I just wanted to say thank you, for agreeing to a sit-down interview with CSS Magazine. But also, for inviting me into your beautiful home, to conduct said interview.

Madelaine: Of course, Mr. Thompson.

Lee: You don’t have to call me that, Lee is fine.

Madelaine: If that’s what you prefer Lee, then that’s what I’ll go with.

Lee: With that said, let’s get down to business and get this interview underway. I would like to start by asking about rumors that were circulating around the internet a few years ago.

Madelaine: And what might those rumors be?

Lee: I don’t recall all of the details from this rumor, but from what I do remember, apparently you liked being tied up, are into rough sex, that sort of thing.

Madelaine lets out a laugh.

Madelaine: Oh, those rumors.

Lee: So are they true, did the producers have to talk to you about that? To ask you, not to do that stuff during filming of Riverdale?

Madelaine: Something like that.

Lee: So they are true then?

Madelaine: Those rumors are absolutely true. The guy I was seeing at the time, loved tying my wrists up. Anyways whenever we would fuck, it would leave rope burns on my delicate skin.

Lee: I do have to ask, since you just confirmed those rumors, and I do appreciate that. Is that all there is to those rumors, you being restrained during sex, or is there more that you happen to be into.

Madelaine: Oh definitely more, that relationship was truthfully just the start. It woke something up in me, a kinky wild side.

Lee: Well I’m intrigued.

Madelaine: Let’s just say, I’m definitely into BDSM.

Lee: BDSM? If you could Madelaine, can you explain what BDSM is for our readers?

Madelaine: Of course, Lee, it would be my pleasure. BDSM stands for bondage and discipline (BD), dominance and submission (DS), sadomasochism (SM).

Lee: Well from what you’ve told me so far, you’re definitely into bondage, and it seems like you're pretty submissive as well.

Madelaine: Yes, yes I am.

Lee: I know when I interviewed Emilia Clarke a few years ago, she liked it rough, but it sounds like you take it to the next level.

Madelaine: Well I don’t know about Emilia, however, my basement has been converted to a sex dungeon.

Lee: Are you serious?

Madelaine: Oh, I would never lie about that, I take great pride in how I have it set up.

Lee: Oh my.

Madelaine: I knew you would love the sound of that.

Lee: Would it be possible to see this sex dungeon?

Madelaine: I mean if you want to wrap this interview up, I can definitely take you for a tour of my dungeon.

The recorder clicked off with a soft beep, signaling the end of the interview. A few final notes scratched into the pad, then Lee set the pen down and leaned back, exhaling through his nose.

She stood, smooth and unhurried, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stretched slightly, arms overhead.

“Come on,” she said, glancing back at him.

She didn’t wait for a response, just turned and started walking, barefoot across the hardwood. Lee followed, one step behind, watching her hips move like they had their own rhythm. Mesmerizing. Intentional.

He didn’t bother pretending not to look.

She led him through a hallway, past clean-lined furniture and shadowy corners, to a door at the far end. It looked like a storage room at first glance, plain white, flush against the wall, but when she opened it, cool air drifted out. Steps led down into darkness, lit only by a soft red glow at the bottom. Subtle. Controlled.

Lee hesitated at the threshold for half a second.

Madelaine glanced over her shoulder, her voice low, amused. “Coming?”

There was something in her tone, playful, sure, but under it, a challenge. Like she already knew he’d follow. Like this was part of the plan all along.

He descended behind  her, the wood stairs creaking softly under his weight. With each step, the red light grew stronger. Warmer. Thicker. And by the time they reached the basement floor, the energy in the air had shifted entirely.

What waited down there wasn’t just another room.

The back wall was a visual punch, a black, velvet-lined display that showcased everything with unapologetic precision. Coiled whips hung beside riding crops and floggers, all arranged in a clean, almost clinical order. A collar and leash set, deep crimson leather with polished silver hardware, hung like a crown jewel in the center, waiting. A pair of strap-ons were mounted beside them, one of which Madelaine glanced at briefly, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Those got a workout,” she said offhandedly. “Lili and Camila can tell you all about it.”

Lee didn’t respond.

In the center of the room stood a heavy bench, the kind designed with intent, curved, padded, built for restraint. Thick leather straps were bolted into the sides, worn smooth from use. At the base, a metal bar spreader jutted out.

To one side, a bed, black sheets, low to the ground, the headboard threaded with handcuffs built into the frame. No frills. No romance. Just raw function. Nearby, chains hung from ceiling hooks, their twin counterparts anchored to the floor beneath. Their purpose wasn’t vague. You could practically hear the echoes of skin and sound in the room.

In the corner, a sleek black shelf lined the wall, stocked with… everything. Nipple clamps, ball gags, plugs in varying sizes, glass toys, a paddle carved with the word SLUT so deep the letters looked branded.

Lee stood still, eyes moving slowly, deliberately. This wasn’t a novelty. It wasn’t a set piece. It was lived in. Practiced. Perfected.

Madelaine turned back to him, arms loosely folded, watching him absorb it all, not with shame, but with pride.

“This is where the masks come off,” she said. “Everything else is just performance.”

And damn if he didn’t believe her.

Lee didn’t speak right away.

His eyes scanned the room again, slower this time.

He looked back at her.

Madelaine hadn’t moved. She leaned against the bench casually, like it was just another piece of furniture in her house. Her arms were still crossed, one eyebrow slightly raised, waiting, but not pushing. She didn’t need to. The silence was working for her.

“You bring all your interviewers down here?” Lee asked.

Her smirk deepened, barely.

“Only the ones who ask the right questions,” she said, stepping forward now.

She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could feel the energy shifting again, hotter this time, even in the cool basement air.

“Well,” she added, tilting her head slightly, “this is the realest part of me. The part no magazine ever prints.

Madelaine reached past him, slowly, and picked up the crimson collar from the wall. She held it loosely in one hand, letting the leash unspool to the floor with a soft clink of metal on tile.

“This intimidates some people,” she said, tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Others… lean in.”

She held it out, not pushing it on him, not demanding, just offering.

Lee’s eyes dropped to the collar, then back to hers.

He reached out and took it from her.

Lee turned the collar over in his hands. The leather was soft, but sturdy, well-used but immaculately cared for. The leash was cold where it brushed his knuckles. And yet, all of that felt like background noise compared to the look in her eyes.

Then, slowly, Lee looked her dead in the eye.

“Take off your clothes.”

The words weren’t barked or whispered. They came out low and firm, measured. A statement, not a question. A test.

Madelaine didn’t flinch.

Her smirk didn’t return, either. Something else surfaced instead, something quieter. She held his gaze for a heartbeat longer... then lifted the hem of her blouse. No theatrics, no showy tease. Just calm, practiced removal. Fabric peeled away from skin, exposing smooth shoulders, her bare chest, her breath steady and controlled. Her slacks followed, unbuttoned and slipped down in one clean motion, then stepped out of with ease.

Now fully naked, she stood before him, unashamed, unguarded, defiant in her stillness.

Lee stepped closer.

He lifted the collar again, slower this time, brushing a thumb across the inside as if confirming it was real. And when he reached out and wrapped it around her neck, his hands were steady. The click of the buckle echoed faintly off the concrete walls.

The leash trailed loosely from his fingers.

“There,” he said. “That’s better.”

Madelaine didn’t say a word.

But her eyes, sharp and alive, told him everything he needed to know.

She’d given him the reins.

He gave the leash a slight tug, not forceful, just enough to say move.

“Bench,” he said.

Madelaine turned without hesitation, walking slowly toward the padded structure in the center of the room. Her movements were unhurried, but precise. She knew exactly where this was going.

Lee led the way, taking in every motion, the tension in her shoulders, the soft sway of her hips, the rhythmic sound of her bare feet against the floor.

When she reached the bench, she positioned herself without prompting, placing her knees on the padded surface and leaning forward, bracing her arms along the upper rest. Her back arched, exposing her fully, willingly.

The leather straps hung loose at the sides like waiting hands.

Lee moved deliberately.

He started with her wrists, buckling each one in, testing the tension with a careful tug. Then he worked his way to her thighs, securing the heavy restraints so she couldn’t shift without permission. Finally, he reached for the bar spreader beneath and nudged her legs into place. The cold metal clicked into its lock with a sound that echoed.

Her body was completely restrained now, kneeling, arms bound, legs spread and locked open. Vulnerable. Displayed.

Lee took a step back, leash still in hand, and looked at the sight before him. Madelaine, actress, icon, control freak to the outside world, was caged in stillness, breathing slowly and even, waiting for whatever came next.

Lee circled her slowly, his footsteps against the cool floor. The leash hung in his hand, trailing behind him like a live wire waiting to be grounded. Madelaine didn’t move, couldn’t, and wouldn’t, even if she could. Her breathing was steady. Not nervous. Not excited. Focused. This wasn’t new to her.

He stopped beside her, fingers brushing over the curve of her lower back, lightly, barely there. The contact was nothing, but the message was clear, He decided when things touched her. He dictated what came next. Then he took a step to the racks, his back to her but his attention still wrapped tight around the center of the room, the energy hanging between them.

He ran his hand along the selection of impact toys, letting the leather fringe of a flogger tickle his palm, then chose the paddle with the deep, bold engraving.

He held it up, let her see it. Let her remember the word carved there.

“Slut,” he announced, because names and labels meant power.

He brought the paddle down in a clean, diagonally arc, so the first strike landed right at the center of her ass. Not hard enough to draw a yelp, but more than enough to print the text in red relief across her skin.

Madelaine exhaled, the only allowance she gave herself.

Lee traced the faint, mirrored S with his thumb, admiring his handiwork. She was silent, but her entire body was a study in animal tension, the flexed fingers, the taut muscles, the subtle clench of her jaw as sensation rippled outward. He struck her again, then again, watching the welts bloom, the color deepening with methodical precision. With each blow, the room seemed to shrink, the world outside the bunker less basement receding until there was nothing but her restraint and his will.

He gave it a moment, then another, letting her ride the sting. The second swing fell lower, across the tops of her thighs, leaving a matching pink band that would rise and bloom. He had an artist’s eye for balance, alternating sides, never repeating the same spot until a gradient of red deepened, a map of pain and worship. The word SLUT started to imprint itself on her skin, as if daring her to look later and regret nothing.

He stopped not when her skin changed hue, but when her breathing did, a short, shuddered inhalation, like a swimmer surfacing from long submersion. He placed the paddle on the bench beside her, careful, ceremonial, then leaned in, mouth near her ear.

“You’re doing well,” he said.

He reached for her hair, he wanted her to feel that move coming, wanted her to anticipate it, and gathered the twist into one fist, tugging just enough to arch her neck. Her voice didn’t break. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, not with the meekness of a supplicant, but the crystalline clarity of a declaration. Lee heard something else in her voice, relief.

He released her hair and let his palm drift over the bright welts. Warmth radiated from her skin, but her breath remained steady, not wanting or pleading, but braced for what might come next. Lee’s own pulse hummed, amplified by her composure.

Lee let the leash dangle to the floor and moved towards one of the shelves, and selected a glass plug, a clear, weighty, teardrop-shaped thing. He grabbed a bottle of lube, uncapped it one-handed, and poured some of the substance onto the plug.

He said nothing as he stepped behind her, one hand parting the curve of her ass with confidence. He pressed the cool bulb to her asshole, holding it there, giving her time to feel the chill, to dread or savor it as she chose. Madelaine arched back, presenting herself, and he pressed harder, slow and unstopping until it breached her and the flare settled home. She gasped, a small sound, but not a protest.

She clenched, adjusting to the fullness, the pressure, the ownership of it. He trailed a thumb over the base, a silent affirmation, before stepping sideways and selecting the pair of clover clamps from the shelf. They gleamed in the saturated red of the overhead bulbs, their mechanics simple but merciless. Lee crouched beside her, his hand firm on her shoulder as he pinched her left nipple, rolling it to a peak with practiced fingers. Her breath hitched. He attached the clamp, then its mate, one after the other, and let the weighted chain fall.

Madelaine made no sound, but her pale skin flushed where the chain dragged between her breasts. He gave the chain a gentle lift, watching the clamps tighten, reading every micro-flinch in her face, and smiled. She was luminous with restraint. For a moment, he said nothing. Just watched the tremor of her body, the subtle fight between pain and anticipation. Lee knew how to read the difference, in people, in moments like this. That was why he always won.

He reached under the bench, retrieving a thin black cane. Carbon, not wood, flexible and precise. He let it whistle through the air once, a warning note, before tapping it to the inside of her left thigh. Her muscles tensed, ready, but she didn’t utter a word. The discipline of her silence was exquisite.

When the first strike landed, it was a sharp, elegant sound, almost musical in the acoustics of the dungeon. Madelaine jerked, her hands gripping the leather bench, but she did not flinch away. The next tap was slower, a warning, then the third stroke bit deeper, raising a line of red across her skin. Each strike was measured. He watched her ride up on the pain, watched the edges of her composure fray and then mend as she found her footing in the sensations. Lee set a rhythm, tap, swish, snap, and the body responded in kind, climbing higher, then trembling at the edge.

Her hair had fallen forward, red curtain over her face, but he saw her jaw tight, her lips parted, breathing through every new line etched into her flesh. Lee didn’t ask if it was too much. He read her limits in the way her knuckles whitened in the cuffs, in her mounting, almost defiant, refusal to break. He continued until the marks glowed, and only then did he stop, letting the anticipation bloom.

He could have kept on until she broke. He knew exactly how many more strokes it would take. But instead, he stopped, resting the tip of the cane against the back of her knee while his other hand traced the rising welts on Madelaine’s body. Lee put the cane away, pointing it like a conductor’s baton toward the array of implements and toys, as if considering where this night ought to go.

Madelaine could not see his face, but expected his next move, she always did, or tried to, it was in her nature to outguess and outmaneuver, but Lee surprised her by letting the moment hang, stretching the silence into its own kind of torment. In that pause, the last trembling echoes of pain retreated, replaced with the low, molten burn of being truly seen.

“Still with me?” His voice was a low rumble.

“Yes, Sir,” she said. It was not a gasp or a whimper. It was clear, bright, the vowel stretched out like a gift.

He leaned in, removed the leash from her collar, and replaced it with his hand around her neck, not squeezing, just resting a possessive palm there as his other hand traced the outlines of the word branded above her ass. She felt him catalog the marks, assessing with the patience of someone who could distinguish, in the most minute gradations, every increment of hurt and hunger.

Lee lifted the chain connecting the clamps with his free hand, giving it a playful tug that drew a sharp gasp and a reflexive clench from Madelaine’s whole body. Then he left it swaying, weights gently tapping her breastbone, a silent metronome for the pain. With his other hand, he lifted her chin until she was forced to look straight forward, eyes unfocused but burning.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. The air pulsed between them, thick with surrender and intent. Then Lee bent down, his mouth at the shell of her ear. “I want to see your eyes when you come,” he said. He didn’t say if, he said when, and Madelaine believed him.

He reached under the bench, fingers slipping between her legs, parting swollen lips with practiced, impersonal precision. She was radiantly wet, he expected nothing less, but the confirmation pleased him all the same. His first contact was light, then he pressed harder, thumb circling around her clit but never square on, always adjacent, always just enough to tease the nerves into frenzy without granting relief.

“You’re perfect,” he said, and then, almost gently, “Let yourself go.”

Madelaine’s breath caught, and the words landed deeper than any blow. She nodded once, a tiny, involuntary twitch, as Lee’s thumb pressed against her, while two others teased the rim of the butt plug. Madelaine braced herself, pretense and posture stripped bare, reduced to breath and will. The rasp of her own panting, the sting amplifying along her limbs, cold and heat warring over her skin.

Yet what thrilled Madelaine most, what had hooked her from the first time she’d surrendered control, was not the pain. It was the clarity. The hyper-focused now, where everything else, her career, her reputation, the antennae of public perception, fell off like an old skin. Here, she was nothing except what Lee made her.

She began to rock, barely perceptible at first, just enough for the plug to shift and the clamps to bite sharper. Lee noted every micro-movement, adjusted his rhythm, his thumb working small infernal circles that never lingered at the dead center, always orbiting, taunting, holding her at a desperate pitch. In the trap of her own restraint, Madelaine’s logic scrambled and reassembled itself around the imperative of sensation.

Lee maintained the pressure with one hand, the other kneading at her hip. She wanted to speak, to defy him, to say his name not as a plea but as a demand. But every time the urge welled up, Lee dialed her back into obedience with a tweak of the clamps or a slap of the paddle’s memory on her ass. Madelaine’s vocabulary condensed to grunts, sharp exhalations, and the strained music of the chain bouncing against her chest.

He worked her like a symphony, the overture of pain giving way to an aria of raw pleasure. The plug filled her, the clamps burned, and her clit pulsed under the relentless orbit of his thumb.

Lee started this to expose her realness for the article. He was learning something new about himself instead.

He watched, unhurried, as Madelaine’s composure stripped away. The first tremor arrived quietly, a shudder traveling up her back, a gasp that barely escaped her lips. Lee didn't grant satisfaction so easily, he’d edge her for as long as it pleased him, turning her insides to molten syrup before pouring her over into the next torture.

Madelaine realized with cold shock that she wanted to break. She wanted to sob, to scream, to spit out ugly truths and let them stain the floor. It made her feel filthy, weak, glorious. The need ratcheted up, a hot ache banded by the cool burn of glass and the icepick bites of the clamps and the steady, inescapable orbit of Lee’s thumb. She started to tremble in the straps, breath tearing out of her like she’d been underwater for months. The clamps bit. The plug pressed. His thumb pressed down with implacable pressure onto the trembling bundle of nerves, and the bench shuddered as Madelaine snapped, spasmed, really, hips bucking against her bonds, vision whiting out as the orgasm ripped through her.

Lee watched her ride it, watched the control evaporate from her limbs. Her hands fought the restraints; her thighs clenched unconsciously around the spreader bar. The chain sang against her sternum, high and bright. Only when the wave had wrung her entirely, when she looked spent, drooling onto the leather below her, did Lee allow himself a faint, private smile.

He reached forward to unclip the clamps, slow but unsparing. The rush of blood back into her nipples made her sob a little and then laugh a little, breathless and deranged, her whole body still quaking. Lee stroked her hair, only once, but there was a kind of benediction to it. He unbuckled her wrists, slow and careful, and Madelaine let her arms hang limp, chin pressed to the bench, wet cheek glued to the leather with a mix of drool and tears.

He stepped away but didn’t leave, crouched at eye level, appraising, as if the benchmark of his handiwork was not just in the aftermath but the way a subject recomposed herself.

“You good?” he asked, his voice back to low and gentle, not in mockery but as a real question. Lee did not deal in false aftercare.

Madelaine nodded, tongue thick in her mouth, voice milky. “Yeah. Really fucking good.” Then she tried to laugh again, and it came out as a hiccup, a strangled glissando. “That was brutal.”

Lee’s phone vibrated in his pocket as he helped Madelaine sit upright. He let the screen flash and fade without checking it, moving instead to offer her a bottle of water from a mini fridge tucked beneath the racks. The chill from the condensation seemed to wake her fully, and she chugged half the bottle in one go, the last of her shakes subsiding as the liquid hit her system.

She grinned, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and waited as Lee gathered up the implements with the same fluid, orderly movements he’d shown all morning. Even now, he was cataloging details, mentally writing the opening lines of what would be his most read, most discussed, maybe most controversial feature.

The End