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

[TheLW]

Celeb Interviews #5
With Olivia Holt
Written by TheLW
Codes: MMF, Blowjob, Exhibitionist/Voyeurism, Interracial
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Lee Thompson’s phone buzzed on the corner of his cluttered desk, rattling the stack of notebooks like a minor earthquake. He didn’t reach for it immediately; the morning sun angled through the blinds, cutting the office in sharp lines, and he liked to let the quietness linger for a moment, letting the city breathe around him.

“Lee,” came the voice, clipped but familiar, over the office intercom. “Trevor wants you.”

Trevor Goodridge, editor-in-chief of Celeb Magazine, leaned back in his chair with his usual mix of casual ease and barely contained intensity. A steaming cup of coffee balanced in one hand, and a manila folder rested neatly on Lee’s desk.

“Thought I’d save you the suspense,” Trevor said, “before you start guessing which celeb or rising star I’m sending you after next. Open it.”

Lee flipped the folder open, revealing a single sheet with the name in bold: Olivia Holt. Rising star, media-savvy, with the kind of public charm that made headlines and left fan speculation running wild.

Trevor’s eyes caught Lee’s as he leaned forward. “She’s hot property right now. She knows how to play the cameras. And yes, Lee, I know she can be a handful, but that’s exactly why you’re the man for the job.”

Lee scanned the dossier. Nothing scandalous, nothing explicit, at least not on paper, but enough hints of a private persona that could fuel Celeb Magazine’s signature coverage, the kind of erotic, behind-the-scenes interviews other outlets wouldn’t dare touch.

“L.A.?” Lee asked, already predicting the assignment’s trajectory.

Trevor nodded. “Exactly. Another chance for Celeb Magazine to get under the surface. She’s charming, and she’s going to test you. But that’s why you’re on this beat, find the angles nobody else can.”

Lee leaned back, letting the name settle. Olivia Holt. Carefully crafted public image. Private life waiting to be teased into words. And Lee Thompson, Celeb Magazine’s ace reporter, was the man to do it.

“Pack your gear,” Trevor added, tapping the folder. “You leave tomorrow. I expect this one sharp, polished, and entirely unfiltered. Make it good, make it memorable.”

As Trevor’s office door clicked shut behind him, Lee sat for a moment, letting the anticipation build. Another assignment. Another dive into a celeb’s world with all the allure, tension, and erotic intrigue that Celeb Magazine thrived on.

He reached for his notebook. Another story. Another challenge.

And Lee Thompson, as always, was ready.

The next day, Lee Thompson arrived at his destination, the house was set back, framed by manicured landscaping and shaded by tall, whispering trees. A sleek electric gate slid open at his approach, responding to a keypad code Lee didn’t even have to touch. The driveway stretched long and clean, sunlight bouncing off the pale stone.

Lee guided the car carefully, parking near the front entrance. He cut the engine, letting the faint hum of Los Angeles fade beneath the gentle wind and distant traffic. His hand lingered on the gear shift for a moment before he slung the bag over his shoulder and stepped out, the leather of his shoes clicking against the stone.

The door opened before he reached it. Olivia Holt stood there, casual but intentional, jeans and a soft knit sweater, hair pulled loosely back, a bright but measured smile.

“Lee,” she said, just enough to make the professional greeting feel almost personal.

“Olivia,” he replied, returning the smile with one of his own, firm but neutral. “Thanks for having me.”

“Come on in,” she said, stepping aside. “I hope the traffic wasn’t too bad.”

“It’s L.A.,” Lee said, shoulder shrugging. “I live for it.”

Olivia led him into the living room, where a low sectional framed a coffee table of pale wood. She gestured for him to sit, and Lee did, setting his bag beside him, already pulling out his recorder and notepad.

There was a brief pause as she settled into the opposite corner of the couch. Neither spoke immediately, the silence had weight, carrying the kind of anticipation that always came before a celeb interview.

Lee clicked the recorder on.

“All set?” Olivia asked, tilting her head slightly, eyebrows raised.

Lee offered a small grin. “Always.”

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, and let the first question roll off his tongue, the kind that would make the story more than just a standard profile.

Lee: Now before we get into this interview Olivia, I must ask, as it’s protocol, but you’re aware that this isn’t a standard celebrity sit-down interview?

Olivia: Yes I am well aware of the types of interviews that Celeb Magazine does, Lee. Also, please call me Liv, everyone else does.

Lee: Okay then, Liv…  I guess my first question is what makes you tick? What gets Olivia Holt off?

Liv lets out a little laugh, before answering.

Olivia: Well Lee, and this probably won’t come as a shock, or maybe it will, but this Southern girl loves herself some big black cock.

Lee: Oh really? I wouldn’t have guessed that.

Olivia: And what exactly were you expecting?

Lee: Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting. With that said, I have to ask, if you do remember, could you tell me, who was the first black guy you slept with?

Olivia: Oh trust me, you always remember your first black guy, after all it’s a life changing experience. For me, it was a fellow Disney star, and a really good friend of mine named Jordan Fisher.

Lee: I see, well I suppose that if you're gonna go black, it needs to be with someone you can trust.

Olivia: Oh absolutely.

Lee: My next question is, is it true what they say, once you go black and all that?

Olivia: While I can’t speak for everybody, I can say for me personally, it is definitely true. There is just something about a black dick that is beautiful, the way they look, the way they taste, the truth is, I can’t help but crave it.

Lee: From the sounds of it, Jordan isn’t the only black guy that you’ve fucked then.

Olivia: He’s not even close to being the only black guy I’ve slept with.

Lee: Interesting, now if you had to put a number on it, how many different black guys would you say you’ve hooked up with, in total?

Olivia: Oh gosh, maybe about a dozen in total. Some of them very pleasurable one night stands, some of them, like Jordan, have been regular fuck buddies.

Lee: Anyone that our readers would know?

Olivia: Well lets just say, the best part of filming Cloak and Dagger, was everything happening in-between filming.

Lee: Would you care to elaborate on that?

Olivia: Of course, my co-star on that show, Aubrey Joseph and I spent a lot of time in each other's trailers.

Lee: Where I assume it’s safe to say, the two of you were having plenty of sex.

Olivia: Lots and lots of sex, multiple times a day, for several months. Let me just say, Aubrey is an exceptional lover, and very talented in the bedroom.

Lee: So you were definitely left feeling satisfied then.

Olivia: Definitely, but then I can honestly say, when it comes to sex, I’ve never been disappointed by a black guy before.

Lee: That’s uh, well that’s good to know, for our readers out there.

Olivia: Oh, I’m sure the Celeb Magazine fan base loves knowing that I’m obsessed with big black cock.

Lee: So you’ve mentioned both Aubrey Joseph, and Jordan Fisher, have you ever slept with both of them at the same time?

Olivia: No, I haven’t had a threesome with them, but I have with two guys I met at a nightclub, who couldn’t keep their hands off of me, not that I was complaining mind you.

Lee: I see, now is that where you’ve met all of your one night stands?

Olivia: Not all of them, but I will admit, sometimes the most exciting evenings happen with one night stands. Like last year, for instance, I met a guy named Jax on St. Patrick’s Day, and got fucked against a bathroom stall door, inside of a bar.

Lee: I mean that’s one way to celebrate St Patrick’s Day.

Olivia: Trust me, it was spontaneous, and absolutely incredible.

Lee: I know earlier in the year, you had a movie come out called Heart Eyes, and given you’ve admitted to sleeping with several of your co-stars already… would I be wrong to assume that you and Mason Gooding hooked up?

Olivia: You would not be wrong to assume that.

Lee: Given everything we’ve talked about so far, I suppose that doesn’t surprise me.

Olivia lets out another cute little laugh.

Olivia: It really shouldn’t.

Lee: With that said, unless you have anything else you would like to add, I believe this just about wraps it up.

Olivia: I mean as far as the interview itself goes, I believe that is just about it. I will say though, I’ve done my research as well, and I know usually after the interviews wrap up, you tend to get a first hand experience, in regards to the subject matter.

Lee: Yes, a lot of the time that is the case, given the subject of this interview though, and me clearly not being a black guy, I assume that won’t be the case.

Olivia: That’s a fair assumption, however, I’ll let you in on a little secret Lee, that being in another room, I have a couple of well hung friends waiting for this interview to wrap up. If you would be so kind, I would approve of you staying and watching, if it’ll help the interview process, that is.

Lee: I do believe it would definitely help with writing the article.

With that said, Olivia Holt pulled out her phone and sent out a quick text message, a moment later two black men walked into the room they were in, and Liv quickly made introductions between Lee and the two men (Kameron and Trey).

“Lee, meet Kameron and Trey,” Olivia said, her voice trim and businesslike. “They’re friends. Sometimes more.”

The men nodded, sizing Lee up, Trey with an open, easy smile, Kameron with a kind of amused coolness.

Without further preamble, Liv took her place between them. Kneeling in front of the coffee table, back straight, she undid her hair, let it fall to her shoulders. Kameron and Trey moved in closer on either side of her. Liv’s hands moved with purpose, first unbuckling and lowering Kameron’s jeans. She did the same for Trey, her fingers nimble and unhurried.

Lee saw the way Trey's cock emerged, thick and heavy, a deep contrast against the pale blue fabric of his briefs. Liv dragged them down, freeing him, and then she turned to Kameron, who was already half-hard and growing in her grip. She wrapped her hands around both shafts, the brownness of Trey’s cock and the slightly darker tone of Kameron’s side by side. They dwarfed her hands.

Liv leaned forward and spat, uncaring that the strand caught on her lower lip and glistened. She smeared it up the length of Trey's black cock with the heel of her hand, then took him in her mouth, lips stretched wide. Lee felt the oddest sense of double vision, the Olivia Holt on the press tour, all perfect posture and branding, and the Liv kneeling now, eager and greedy, jaw working as she took Trey deeper.

Kameron’s cock bobbed above her free hand, a dark looming pillar of muscle, the veins crawling just beneath the skin like blue-grey lightning. Liv flicked her tongue around the tip of Trey’s cock, lips shiny and breath already short, before she shifted focus, turning her face to Kameron. She stroked him at the base, mouth hovering, then drew him toward her mouth, sucking just the head and swirling her tongue with a practiced pressure.

Lee watched Olivia’s jaw work as she bobbed between them, her hands stroking each shaft in counter-rhythm, never breaking pace even as spit dripped freely down her chin. She was like a machine, relentless and focused, tonguing along the seam of one cock before guiding it deep, then pivoting to engulf the other, lips finding the same groove, the same groove, the same groove, over and over again, as if she was keeping time for some perverse orchestra.

It hit Lee then, how much she was performing for him, or maybe just for herself. There was pride in her hunger, a ton of confidence as she worked both men, Kameron grunted, as Trey let out a sharp exhale each time her lips reached the base of his big black cock. Liv took them deeper, twisting her wrists just beneath the heads, until both men’s cocks shone with spit and pre-cum. Liv looked up at Lee, her eyes locked to his, and for a half-second, Lee wondered if any of this was for the magazine at all, or if she simply adored being watched.

Liv’s tongue darting along the ridges of their black dicks, and then with a sudden boldness, she tried both cocks, twin heads together, straining her lips to the limit. A low rumble came from one of the men, a wordless sound that vibrated the air. Lee had seen a lot in his line of work, but he found himself stunned by the artistry, the pure willpower of Liv’s performance. She didn’t turn it into a spectacle, didn’t look around for approval, her eyes stayed locked on the two cocks in front of her, sometimes closing as she guided them in and out, as if she was meditating on the shape and taste of them.

Her left hand dropped to massage the base of Kameron’s cock while she focused on Trey, breaking rhythm only to spit again, then rub the saliva around both shafts. Lee watched her throat ripple as Trey’s cock pushed in, the stretch almost too much, but Liv only pressed in harder, taking it all, nose nudging Trey’s pelvis, her face buried until she gagged. Even then, she just let the mess string out, mouth open, tongue lolling, a smear of drool wetting her chin.

Trey's hand reached down, guiding her head, careful, almost reverent, and Liv let him. She bobbed on his cock, matching the slow cadence of his guidance, and Lee could see the way her jaw flexed, how she swallowed around the shaft. Kameron wasn’t waiting his turn, he pressed his own cock against her cheek, until she had to turn and take him.

Liv’s hands were never still, always pumping, guiding, squeezing. Lee heard a wet, constant chorus of slurps and sucking, every inch of those cocks disappearing and reappearing between her lips. Every few strokes she’d pause, look up at her new audience, and let the camera in Lee’s mind capture the moment, a famous face, unfiltered, cheeks flushed, mascara barely holding in the corners of her eyes. She winked at Lee once, spit glistening on her chin, and then doubled down, stuffing Trey’s cock in again so deep she made herself cough.

The notepad in Lee’s lap was as useless as a prop. He wrote a few words anyway, "precision," "devour," "confidence."

Watching Liv in action was different from any other assignment. She was lost in it, or maybe she was exactly present, locked into the sensations and textures, living on the edge of two hungry black cocks and the expectation of more. Kameron gave a nudge, and Liv responded instantly, turning her face so both cocks could rub against her lips at once, pressing together for a moment until they nearly touched. The tips flared dark and swollen, glistening with spit, and Liv smirked as she licked across both heads, eyes squinting at the sharpness of the taste.

She choked herself on Kameron's cock, gagging so hard sound caught on the ridge of her tongue, then broke to cough, spit streaming from her lips, before she wrangled control and sucked him viciously, almost punishing herself with his thickness. Any trace of 'Disney' had long since been erased by the brutality of her hunger, the way she welcomed the punishment of those two cocks battering her lips, cheeks, and throat.

At some point clothes vanished fast. Trey's shirt was gone first, revealing a weightlifter's build, pecs tight enough to bounce a coin off, his abs slicked with a fine dew of sweat. Liv yanked her own sweater overhead, her perky pale tits bouncing loose, nipples a shade pinker than the blush across her cheeks. Her jeans, tight as a second skin, peeled down to her knees, then to her ankles, revealing powder-blue lacy panties stretched thin over a mound already damp and dark with arousal.

Liv now wore only the panties. Kameron and Trey were completely naked, cocks out and throbbing, balls hanging heavy and dark. The men crowded her, heat radiating off their bodies, an animalistic confidence in the way they loomed over her, barely leaving her space to breathe.

Kameron and Trey flanked her, twin shadows in the L.A. light, bodies taut and ready. Liv turned, pawing at Trey, guiding him to the low ottoman beside the table. He settled in, sprawling his legs wide. Liv knelt between his knees and took him back in her mouth, swallowing the shaft inch by inch. Her gaze never left him, but her palm wandered back between her own thighs, Lee caught the shudder in her arm as her hand pressed and circled at the wet spot in her blue panties.

Kameron didn’t wait, either. Liv twisted her body, offering her tits up to him, and Kameron sprawled a hand across her chest, mashing one breast against her. He pinched a nipple, hard, and she barely broke pace on the cock in her mouth. She just moaned, a muffled moan. Her hips rocked as she tried to wriggle out of her clammy panties, the fabric bunched taut across her slit.

As this was going on, Kameron reached between Olivia’s legs, fingers worming under the material, and Lee saw the triumphant glint in his eyes as he found her sopping wet. Liv pushed her hips back into his touch, desperate now, humping the hand and breaking, briefly, from Trey’s cock. Kameron’s fingers hooked the crotch of Liv’s panties, yanking them to the side so he could push two thick digits inside her.

She gasped against the base of Trey’s cock, eyes rolling, and for a moment she let the head pop from her mouth with a slick, glottal sound. Kameron’s hand was working furiously now, each clench of his fingers shoving her hips forward, jostling her so that she nearly impaled herself on Trey’s cock without even meaning to.

Liv twisted, arching her back, ass suspended in midair. Kameron slipped his fingers out long enough to briefly drag the blue lace all the way down her legs, then tossed the spent panties at Lee, who caught them out of reflex. They were warm, impossibly small, and shiny-wet. He set them on the cushion beside him, the weight of their intent undeniable.

Now naked and eager, Liv crawled into Kameron’s lap. He stood behind her, guiding his cock between her thighs in one smooth, practiced motion. She was so wet it took no effort, he slid right into the hilt, and Lee saw the way Liv stiffened, head thrown back with a low gasp.

Liv’s heels dug into the ottoman, knees splayed wide as Kameron sawed in and out of her, hips pumping with an easy athleticism. The slap of flesh against flesh was a metronome to the fevered pace, and Lee watched the way Liv’s tits bounced with every thrust, small and kinetic, capped with angry pink. She ground her ass back with each wave, greedy for more, faster, deeper. Her breath came ragged and sharp.

Lee felt himself becoming a voyeur in a different sense: not just cataloging the way Liv made herself a vessel for these men, but also noticing the subtle interplay of ego and submission, the way she took the pain, the pressure, the pleasure, of it all.

It didn’t take long for Trey to want a turn. The look that passed between the men was so quick Lee damned near missed it, a half-second handshake of supremacy and invitation. Trey moved, shifting his weight onto the ottoman, next to where Olivia writhed on Kameron’s cock, tits jouncing with every piston stroke. Kameron's hands locked tight on Liv’s hips, holding her still for his thrusts, and above her Olivia’s face was incandescent, hair wild and sweat-stuck to her neck.

Trey pressed the head of his cock to Liv’s lips, laughed low and throaty when she struggled to focus enough to lick it, every jolt from Kameron shoving her off aim. Finally she got her rhythm, clutching Trey's shaft and cradling it against her face while she sucked in as much as she could, drool and pre-cum painting messy spirals down her chin, painting his cock, painting the backs of her hands.

Kameron started fucking her harder, each snap of his hips slamming her mouth forward onto Trey’s dick. There was no pretense of eye contact now, her world had compressed to the two cocks stretching her from both ends. Lee felt his heartbeat spiking, skin tight and hot. The odour in the air changed.

Liv’s arms went slack, hands sliding off Trey’s thighs as she braced herself on the ottoman. Trey’s cock grazed her cheek, spit slicking the skin, and she opened her mouth wide, tongue straining for the head. She’d given herself over to the rhythm, a piston between need and hunger, greed and gratification.

Kameron’s hands cinched hard at her waist, holding her still as he came, one deep shudder and a flood of thick cum filling Liv from behind. She moaned, the sound guttural and raw, and Lee saw how the tremor worked its way through her, stuttering her breath. Kameron eased out, a white sheen already leaking from Liv’s ruined pussy, smearing down her thighs.

Trey wasted no time. He pulled Liv up and onto his lap, spinning her around so she straddled him, her knees planted in the leather, wet and streaked. Trey’s cock throbbed stubbornly, and unapologetically, as Liv squirmed into position, her knees spread wide to either side of Trey’s hips. The curve of her ass, still red from the last series of thrusts, eased down until Trey’s cock pressed against her, dragging slick along her pussy lips before notching at the entrance. Liv steadied herself with both hands on Trey’s shoulders, he’d knotted his fingers around her waist, almost lifting her off her feet.

Then, all at once, she sank down. The sound she made wasn’t a scream or a moan, more a fighting exhale, as if she’d force-cleared her lungs just to get every possible inch inside her. Trey’s head dropped back, his jaw clenched, the cords of his neck popping out as Liv bottomed out, her ass flattening against his lap, every muscle holding in suspension for the count of three, maybe four heartbeats.

Lee watched, reminding himself to blink, to breathe. as Liv twisted her hips, working the black cock deeper, adjusting with tiny, grinding circles. She had hair in her eyes, sweat running across her collarbones, and a smear of spit and cum shining on her lips, but she looked almost peaceful up there, a pilot with both hands on the wheel.

Trey pushed up once, twice, impaling Liv with an audible clap against her ass. She moaned again, grabbing the sides of Trey’s face and kissing him, not gently or romantically, but like she wanted to bite through him, tongue jamming and lips grinding together. Lee could hear the breathless, open-mouthed slaps of their faces colliding.

Trey grabbed her hips, locking her in a punishing rhythm. Every impact snapped Liv’s entire body forward and back, tits bouncing so hard.  Trey couldn’t look away from the way her body folded and unfurled, the power she channeled through her thighs into his lap, holding herself open for him.

Kameron moved behind Liv, he steadied himself behind her, then leaned in pulling her ass cheeks apart. He buried his face there, nose pressed against Liv’s ass, before burying his tongue into her backdoor. Liv let out a startled yelp as his tongue flicked and burrowed into the seam of her ass, her hips jolting upward reflexively. Kameron’s hands, big enough to palm a basketball, spread her wide as he went to work, tongue driving in with a slow, circular insistence. The muscles in her back tensed and relaxed, waves of pleasure rolling through Olivia, and her toes curled against the leather ottoman.

Kameron slurped and spat, his tongue wet with Liv’s leaking cum, mashing it up into her ass. Olivia’s breath hitched, then caught, and she started to whimper, like someone trying to climb inside their own scattered nerves. She pressed her face into the crook of Trey’s neck for leverage, muffling her cries so that they vibrated against his skin.

Liv’s hips rocked harder, squelching and slapping on Trey’s cock, the sound rising in tandem with the splintery whimpers she spilled into his collarbone. Kameron’s face was buried deeper in her ass, tongue working with the steady conviction of a man utterly indifferent to time. Every time she bottomed out, Kameron’s big hands clamped around her hips, palming her like she weighed nothing, spreading her wider so his tongue could tunnel in along the seam, licking the rim. Liv’s ass was streaked red and shining.

She was shaking, not just from exertion, but something feverish. Her fists dug bruises into Trey’s chest as she rode harder, driving herself back on both man and tongue, a body desperate to get fucked from every angle. It was obscene, a word Lee realized rarely had meaning in L.A., but it stuck with him anyway. The sunlight through the blinds painted striated shadows across all three bodies, twitching with every movement.

Liv bucked up and back, and sometimes when Kameron’s tongue slid out, Lee could see the white trickle of his cum leaking from between the lips of her pussy, painting the shaft of Trey’s cock and Liv’s inner thighs. Kameron spat into the valley between Liv’s cheeks, catching and stringing together as if even her holes could not get enough saturation, enough raw mess.

Olivia was unravelling, and Lee could see her body tense near breaking, shoulders hunched and trembling, hair fanning across her face and sticking to her lips when she gasped for breath. Kameron’s hands drifted from her hips to her waist, circling and lifting, and Lee understood what they were orchestrating, passing her between them like a sacred object, never letting her rest for an instant. Kameron guided her upward, just as Trey angled his cock to meet her, and the collision of their bodies sounded off in the small room, each contact ringing out louder than the one before.

Liv was clutching at Trey’s arms, nails digging small crescents into his skin, riding him now with abandon. Every upstroke stretched her open, every downstroke was a wet, answering slap. Kameron’s mouth didn’t leave her, even when she was fully impaled on Trey’s shaft. She took a hand off Trey’s muscular shoulder and reached between her legs, fingers searching for her own clit, desperate for more sensation. Olivia rubbed herself in tight, desperate little circles. Her breath hitched, then went ragged, a high pitched whine caught in the back of her throat.

Lee watched her thighs quake, the muscles in her calves knotted like cables, her toes curled and whitening. There was a sudden tension vibrating through her whole body, gathering somewhere deep and pulling Liv into herself. She didn’t cry out. Instead, her whole frame jumped, a full-body convulsion that tightened and then released, so sudden the room seemed to tip on its axis. Lee could see the orgasm tear through her, the shuddering collapse at the base of her spine, the spastic clench of her abs, the way she nearly bit through her own lip as she braced against Trey’s body.

Trey grunted, chin tucked to his chest, and snapped his hips up into her one, two, three brutal times before holding her down, impaled, shaking. Lee saw Trey's face tense, mouth open, teeth gritted like he wanted to howl. Liv's body was still locked on him, her fingernails dug in so deep Lee thought she’d draw blood. Then Trey bucked his hips once more, a full-body lurch, and Liv’s body was flooded from within.

For a second, Liv’s head hung limp, hair creating a lopsided curtain across her face, sweat and tears and saliva pooling at the back of her throat. Then, as if remembering her audience, she flicked her gaze up to Lee: those eyes found his, unguarded. She held it, even as she squirmed against the aftershocks, mouth open, chest heaving.

Kameron wiped his mouth, he’d left a wet, glossy mess on Liv’s cheeks and ass, and Lee couldn’t help but jot a rough circle in the margin of his legal pad, “Perfection, messy, eyes forward.” Then, as if the thought required exclamation, he underscored it twice, pen nearly tearing the page.

To Be Continued

[TheLW]

Celeb Interviews #6
With Vanessa Hudgens
Written by TheLW
Codes: MMF, Anal, Blowjob, Handjob
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.

Logan Fitzpatrick sat alone in his office, the buzz of the city drifting in through a cracked window as he worked through a stack of paperwork. Invoices, licensing agreements, usage rights, none of it glamorous, but it paid the bills. His laptop chimed softly as another email was sent, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes.

The walls around him told a better story.

Framed photographs lined the space, moments he’d frozen over the years. Red carpets. Film festivals. Candid shots no one else had caught. His eye drifted, as it sometimes did, to one frame in particular... Madelyn Cline at the I Know What You Did Last Summer premiere.

The office phone rang.

Logan leaned forward and picked up the receiver. “Fitzpatrick.”

“Still answering your own phone,” Lee Thompson said. “Good. Means you haven’t gone full Hollywood yet.”

Logan smirked. “Give it time. What’s up, Lee?”

Lee had been his college roommate once upon a lifetime ago. These days, he was firmly entrenched at Celeb Magazine, the kind of long-term employee who knew everyone worth knowing and just enough about everyone else to be dangerous.

“I’ve got another assignment,” Lee said.

“Oh?” Logan said, leaning back in his chair. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. No one’s better than you, Logan. You know it. I know it.”

“Well,” Logan replied dryly, “I can’t disagree.”

Lee laughed. “Here’s the deal. I’m interviewing Vanessa Hudgens.”

That got Logan’s attention. He straightened slightly. “Vanessa Hudgens.”

“The one and only,” Lee confirmed. “Hollywood royalty. And she personally requested the best photographer we could get.”

Logan glanced again at the framed premiere photos on his wall. “And you thought of me.”

“There was no thought involved,” Lee said. “It was automatic.”

A pause followed, just long enough to signal there was more.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Lee added. “Bring a video camera.”

Logan frowned. “Video?”

“Yeah,” Lee said. “From what Vanessa and I discussed, we’re going to need it. She wants the interview filmed as well."

“Alright,” he said finally. “Send me the details.”

Lee’s tone brightened immediately. “Knew you’d say yes. I’ll forward everything. Trust me, Logan, this one’s going to be memorable.”

The line went dead.

Logan set the receiver back in its cradle and exhaled slowly. He looked around his office again, at the photographs, a reminder of who he’d crossed paths with.

Vanessa Hudgens.

Another door opening.

He reached for his camera bag, already mentally inventorying lenses, gear, and everything else he would need.

Some opportunities didn’t knock twice.

A few days later, Logan found himself standing in the living room of Vanessa Hudgens’ hillside home. The space was immaculate but lived-in, modern furniture softened by personal touches, framed photos tucked onto shelves, a faint trace of incense lingering in the air.

Logan moved with practiced efficiency, setting up the tripod a few feet back from the seating area. He adjusted the legs, leveled the head, and mounted the video camera, his eye narrowing as he checked the frame through the viewfinder.

Vanessa Hudgens sat comfortably on a low sofa, legs crossed, posture relaxed but intentional. She wore something casual by Hollywood standards, loose-fitting linen pants and a fitted top, but there was nothing accidental about the look. She was camera-aware without being camera-conscious, already settled into her space.

Lee Thompson took the chair across from her, notepad in hand.

Logan fine-tuned the angle, making small, precise adjustments. The camera captured Vanessa perfectly, centered, balanced, light hitting her just right. Not flattering in an obvious way. Honest. Strong. Intimate without being invasive.

Vanessa watched him as he worked.

“You always take this much time?” she asked lightly.

“Only when it matters,” Logan replied, not looking up.

A faint smile tugged at her mouth.

Once satisfied, Logan stepped back, checked audio levels, then gave Lee a nod. “You’re good whenever you are.”

Lee cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Alright. Rolling in three... two...”

Logan hit record.

The red light blinked on.

“So,” Lee began, slipping into his interviewer voice.

Lee: Vanessa, we talked before, over the phone, discussing the subject matter for this interview.

Vanessa: Yes, of course, I thought it would be best, to be properly prepared, for this interview.

Lee: Do you care to disclose, what that subject matter is exactly?

Vanessa: Let’s just say I’m in an open marriage, or rather to be more accurate, it’s a half open marriage.

Lee: And for our viewers, who may not know, what does that mean?

Vanessa: Well Lee, it means that I’m free to fuck whoever I want, whenever I want. My husband knows about it, encourages me to do so, and I very much enjoy the freedom it allows me to have.

Lee: So what you’re saying is that your husband Cole is a cuckold, and you're what, his hotwife?

Vanessa: Yes, absolutely.

Logan hit the button on his photographer's camera. Click. Click. Click. Snapping the best shots, as Lee prepared to ask his next question.

Lee: From what research I did, on the subject, after we had our talk over the phone, feel free to correct me, if I’m wrong, but it sounds like your husband gets a thrill out of this.

Vanessa: He definitely gets turned on by it, knowing that I’m having sex with strangers. There are some things I don’t explain to him though, at least not in full detail. A few people, friends of his, that is.

Lee: Well once this is published, I’m sure he will know.

Vanessa: Fair enough.

Lee: Moving on though, I assume you and your husband are still intimate with each other?

Vanessa: Yes and no.

Lee: Meaning?

Vanessa flashes a devilish little grin, as Logan catches her at the perfect angel. Click. Click. Click.

Vanessa: Meaning, we’re intimate in that I allow Cole to have clean up duty on occasion. Other than that though, Cole and I don’t have sex with each other, in fact he has been pussy free since before we got married.

Lee: And you're not worried about him sleeping with someone else?

Vanessa: Considering he’s locked up, and wearing a pink chastity cage, no, no I’m not. Truthfully though, even if my husband wasn’t caged, I wouldn’t be worried about it, given his shrimp dick.

Both Lee and Logan let out a laugh at that comment.

Lee: Shrimp dick? Geeze, how small are we talking here?

Vanessa: Four inches fully hard, and that’s with me no doubt being generous.

Lee: I uh, I would like to double back a bit, you mentioned that Cole has been in your words “pussy free” since before you got married.

Vanessa: Yes, I did.

As Logan was taking more photos, it dawned on him where this was going.

Lee: So then, from what you’ve said, Cole isn’t the father of your kids.

Vanessa: That’s correct.

Lee: Do you know who the fathers are then?

Vanessa: Honestly, your guess is as good as mine.

Lee: Who initiated this? Was it your idea, or his?

Vanessa: Believe it or not, but it was Cole’s idea.

Lee: And how exactly did he decide to bring it up with you? I mean surely, that isn’t something one usually expects to hear from their partner.

Vanessa: Well that’s kind of a funny story, I’m a bit of a size queen, and well like I said Cole doesn’t even come close to measuring up to what I prefer. It was about four months into our relationship, before we finally had sex with each other for the first time. I hate to say it, as it’ll make me sound like a bitch, but I actually burst out laughing, the first time I saw how small he was. Admittedly, I still gave him petty sex, as I felt bad about laughing at him.

Lee: That must have been fun.

Vanessa: Not really, or if it was then it was fun for Cole only, cause I was bored out of my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I love Cole, I think he’s an amazing husband and father, but when it comes to sex, he’s incapable of actually satisfying me sexually.

Logan smirks at that.

Lee: That doesn’t explain him bringing up the whole cuckold thing.

Vanessa: I’m getting to that part, anyways, I guess Cole could tell that I didn’t enjoy it at all, and started begging me not to dump him, told me this story about an ex of his who constantly cheated on him, only for Cole to eventually realize it was something that turned him on. So like I said, he begged me not to leave him, said he would be OK with me sleeping with other men, more well endowed men, if I stayed in the relationship.

Lee: Wow, just all I can say is wow.

Vanessa: It’s while doing this, that we discovered some things about one another. It’s actually a part of the reason, I requested a video recorder for this interview.

Lee: Oh, is that so?

Vanessa: Cole likes to watch, sometimes that means, he’s there in the room, sometimes it means, I’m taking pictures and videos to send to him.

Lee: Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.

Vanessa: What can I say, Cole and I have a dynamic that really works for us.

For a moment, no one moved.

“Well,” Lee said finally, exhaling, “that was... incredibly candid.”

Vanessa smiled. “I try not to waste people’s time.”

Logan was about to break down the setup, when Vanessa walked over to him and stopped him.

“Like I said, my husband has a... personal archive,” she said. “Things that remind him where he stands. More importantly, a reminder of where I stand in this relationship.”

Logan straightened slowly, careful to keep his expression neutral.

“And occasionally,” Vanessa went on, “I add to it.”

Lee blinked. “You’re saying...”

“I’m saying,” Vanessa interrupted, “that you’re both already here.”

“This wouldn’t be for publication,” she added. “It wouldn’t leave this room. It’s simply something my husband will watch. Repeatedly.”

Lee glanced at Logan, then back to Vanessa.

With all that said, Logan quickly swapped out the tape that was used for Lee's interview, before putting in a brand new tape, and set it to start recording.

Moments later, both Logan and Lee sat on the couch that Vanessa was on, not so long ago, pants around their ankles, as Vanessa kneeled between them. Logan watched as Vanessa tilted her head and caught his eye, a look of glee in the dead-center of her patience.

Her hand, nails short, paint chipped,wrapped Logan’s cock in something closer to a chokehold than a caress, surprising him with the calibrated pressure. She jerked him once, hard, and then released, balancing on her knees between him and Lee, as if weighing which of them she’d devour first.

Vanessa shot a look to the camera’s blinking red eye, then spat, clear and perfectly aimed. The saliva drooled over Logan’s shaft and pooled at the base, slick and cold against his skin. She pumped him twice, spreading the wetness, then shifted her attention to Lee, who was already thick and hard, the skin of his length stretched taut and flushed. She spat on his cock, too, a longer arc that landed with a slap and a hiss into the already-warmed flesh.

Lee exhaled, and gripped the sofa’s cushion. Logan saw it in the periphery, Lee, always verbal, rendered wordless.

Vanessa alternated between them. She ran her tongue from Logan’s base up to the tip, slowly, digging the point of her tongue into his slit, then left him hard and glistening, already leaking. She wrapped her lips around Lee next, bobbing her head a few times, throat working. The noises she made were wet, unabashed, almost clinical in efficiency.

She let Lee slip from her mouth with a pop and pressed her fist flat to his thigh, steadying him. “Not too much,” she said, voice low. “I want to taste you both.” She turned back to Logan and took him into her mouth with a certainty that felt like a challenge. Logan managed half a breath before she bottomed out, nose pressing hard against his stomach. The wetness of her mouth and the suction around his shaft, Logan’s vision tunneled.

Vanessa worked him expertly, hands alternating between their cocks, sometimes squeezing, sometimes rolling his balls in her palm until he thought he’d either come or pass out. Lee was breathing in ragged pulls beside him, head tipped back.

Vanessa was relentless. She mashed their cocks together until the swollen heads jousted side by side, then flicked her tongue back and forth between them, eyes open, unblinking, like she wanted to provoke a reaction, not just from them, but from the camera. Logan heard the faint whir of the camcorder’s tape cycling, red light blinking in rhythm with the sharp, obscene slurps coming from Vanessa’s mouth.

She liked to make it messy. He could see that now. Her chin glistened wet, drool stretched in viscous ropes from her lips and hung down, smeared over her hand and all the way to her forearm. Each time she spit, she aimed for the base so it would ooze and drip, pooling on Lee’s thigh or slicking her own thumb as she jerked them both, alternating between tight, piston strokes and the slow-milling circles she made with her wrist.

Logan’s breath was shallow, laboring. His toes cramped, curled in his shoes. Vanessa had half her hair pinned up, the rest falling in tangled streaks. When she took Lee fully into her mouth, Logan watched her bulge and hollow her cheeks to splay the skin even tighter, making Lee’s cock look even bigger, harder. Logan’s own cock throbbed inward, and her mouth and hands didn’t let up.

Vanessa tried to take them together and fitted her lips around them, not coming close to taking both but making a show of trying, compressing the tips so the ridges bulged and paled. Her breath steamed his skin as she gagged, tongue scrabbling for purchase. Logan’s thighs shuddered. She pulled away, gasping, and spat again.

Neither he nor Lee was saying a word.

Vanessa looked up at Logan, right through him, then at the camera, and then she grinned. She turned to Lee, smoothing her palm down his shaft, and said, “Let’s see if you’re as quick as you sound.”

She swallowed Lee’s cock with a single, athletic bob, somehow relaxing her whole face to let it slide past her lips. Logan watched as she moved, fast and seamless, no break in rhythm.

Lee ot out a single choked, “Fuck,” that registered half a decibel above Vanessa’s wet slurping. She tilted her head at Lee like a predator toying with its prey, a bead of spit swinging from her chin. Logan saw her lips glisten with a milky gloss at the corner of her mouth. The camera stared, recording, a silent witness to all of it.

Pure competitiveness cut through Logan. He’d watched Lee’s face contort with pleasure, watched Lee shudder, and the old habit of one-upping each other flared. Logan locked eyes with Vanessa as she eased off Lee’s cock, licking her lips, and then reached over and gripped Logan’s shaft, jacking him with quick, insistent snaps. Her palm was slippery, Logan’s own slickness and Vanessa’s spit combining with a pleasure that had Logan twitching involuntarily, every muscle in his thigh hotwired to the pace of her fist.

“Not gonna lie,” Lee said, voice higher, “your husband is gonna cream himself watching this.” He huffed a broken laugh, face flushed.

Vanessa pulled off, licking spit from her lips. “He begged for it.” She squeezed Logan’s cock with a double pump, then grazed the underside with her tongue. “He’ll watch this a hundred times. Probably edge himself raw.”

She wanted a taste of both, but preferred to drive them past the edge first. That became Logan’s only reality as Vanessa alternated between cocks with a technician’s exactness, always twisting her wrist as she bobbed, always keeping the mess and the pressure tuned to extract the maximum pleasure, as if she was building a tape for a very specific perverted audience, her husband. Her husband who would watching her break every rule of fidelity while two men had their cocks polished by a woman who’d never apologize for wanting more than her share.

Vanessa didn’t seem to tire, not even as jaw muscles flexed and ropes of spit stretched from his leaking tip to her chest. She wasn’t pretty at it, wasn’t aiming for the camera’s standard-issue porn neatness. This was for a different kind of collector. She pressed her thumb on the underside of Logan’s cock, right beneath the head, and squeezed until his vision sparkled. Only then would she suck at the tip with little fluttering licks, each time catching the next droplet of pre-cum and showing him that she was not just enduring his need, but actively savoring it. She never let him look away, her eyes never broke, black holes pulling him in as the tape captured every flush and twitch.

Her hand slithered between Logan’s legs, nails skimming his thigh before she swung one leg over and perched in his lap, her forearms balanced on his shoulders like a gymnast bracing for the vault. She smirked and threw a glance at the blinking LED on the camera, then reached down and, with zero ceremony, popped open the buttons to her linen pants, shoving them and her underwear down her hips and then off, flinging them so they hung half off the far end of the sofa.

Vanessa’s slit pressed wet against the length of Logan’s cock where it jutted up from between the vee of his thighs, she didn’t hover, didn’t tease or stage a coy wind-up, just notched him bluntly at her entrance and, with a hand bracing the back of his neck, slid down hard until the soft slap of flesh echoed in the room. Logan jerked, the hot clutch of her body blurring the air around him. She rotated her hips, a grind that made his vision snap to static, then lifted off him until only the crown remained inside, her core squeezing so tight it almost forced him out. Then she fell again, and the friction dragged his brain back into his skull.

Logan barely had hold of her waist, the slick stretch of her ass in his palms, when she turned over her shoulder. Logan’s hands dug in reflexively, pinning her in place as she set the pace, rising, slamming, rising, slamming, each shift more punishing than the last.

Vanessa kept her eyes locked on the blinking camera, rolling her hips with efficiency, a production line of noise and sensation. Her thighs slapped Logan’s, wet and insistent, and each bounce ratcheted his cock deeper. She planted one hand to his chest, anchoring herself, then leaned back so her spine arched and her breasts thrust upward, catching the full attention of the lens.

She kept Lee in frame, too, she’d guide him in with a flex of her fingers over the cushion and work his cock with her free hand. She demanded both, refused to give either less, as she slid herself on and off Logan, she jerked Lee’s shaft with downward, twisting pressure.

Logan barely registered Lee shifting beside him until the cushion dipped and Lee’s thigh pressed against his. For a moment, Logan couldn’t make sense of the movement, then Lee was standing, pants sloughing to his ankles, shirt tugged above his waist, cock held up in his fist, glistening with Vanessa’s spit. he glow of the camera cast a red pin-dot onto Lee’s hip, the tape unspooling with its patient, endless appetite.

Vanessa rode Logan, rolling her hips in slow, save-it-for-later motions, the heat inside her making every stroke stand in perfect, brain-bombing contrast to the cool air on the rest of his skin. She let her head tip back until it nearly rested on his shoulder, hair heavy and damp against his cheek.

Lee circled until he was behind the sofa, behind Vanessa, and Logan watched the hands that appeared at her waist, one, then the other, splaying to either side of her hips in a rough possessiveness that made Logan’s own grip clamp tighter. Lee’s cock angled forward and up, smearing a wet stripe along the base of Vanessa’s spine as she arched for him, still grinding herself down on Logan’s cock.

Lee slid in close, cock gliding up along Vanessa’s ass, his balls draping slick onto the small of her back, then tapping Logan’s pubic bone on each hard bounce. The pressure of Lee’s tip grazing along Logan’s shaft sent a stuttering jolt through him, fucking with his sense of whose body belonged to whom. Vanessa, sandwiched between them, gave a low, raw moan and circled her hips so both cocks ran parallel under her, the motion and friction working in ways that felt like getting fucked from the inside out.

She was the constant, pumping herself down until Logan swore he’d bottom out, then wrenching upward just enough to offer a split-second of relief before slamming back again. Lee, uncharacteristically quiet, watched the rhythm and then eased his cock so the tip pressed against Vanessa’s asshole. There was no preamble, just a slow insistent push, and Logan could see her body tense, the tight ring stretching, skin blanching at the rim.

The ring of flesh resisted and then surrendered, suddenly, and Lee’s cock slid inside, deeper with every roll of Vanessa’s hips. Logan felt it too, the way her body tensed, then clamped down, the stroke of her inner walls fluttering against him in a starburst of sensation. She froze, impaled, both of them buried in her, stuck for a second in shock and noise and the impossibility of two bodies crowding the same burning space.

Her breath came in a stutter, and Logan’s hands tightened around her waist, an anchor as she tried to fight her own impulse to collapse. Lee’s hands clamped her hips, the motion greedy, and he pistoned his cock backward and then forward, establishing a pace of his own.

Vanessa braced herself on Logan's shoulders and set the tempo, down, grind, up, and again, each pass raking both cocks against tissue that felt like it might tear from the fullness. The burn in Logan’s thighs had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the overload of sensation, wet, and hot, Vanessa’s cunt bracing around him, ass squeezing Lee until Logan swore he could feel the other man’s pulse reverberate through her.

She grinded against Logan with every downward slam, and above him, Lee shuttled his cock deeper, the rhythm so tight Logan had no hope of counting seconds, time had spiraled down to the clatter of skin and the slick echo of bodies mangling the limits of what fit inside a single person. The red light blinked on the camera. He wondered for a split second whether anyone would ever watch this tape and not see the way Vanessa was built for excess, the way her insides seemed to want more, never less.

Vanessa started talking, a string of curses, half in English, half feral guttural, egging them both. Logan couldn’t form a reply, but Lee found his voice, muttering, “Goddamn, you fucking want it, take all of us.”

Logan’s hands, clamped at her waist, slipped lower, thumbs digging into the muscle just above her ass. He felt the movement in Lee’s hands, thumb circling her hipbone, steadying himself for another push. Logan could only imagine the view from behind, Vanessa’s back arched sharply, her ass stretched empirically around Lee’s cock, Logan’s own shaft still splitting her below, the entire obscene tableau aimed straight at the blinking camera. Everything they did was creating evidence, a record, something for her husband’s catalog.

The friction built up, each stroke dragging Logan closer to the brink. Lee kept a death grip on her waist, driving himself in with short lunges that threatened to buck her off Logan’s lap. Each time they bottomed out together, Vanessa’s cunt spasmed with a grip so tight Logan almost winced. She rolled her head back, baring her neck, face slack and shining with sweat, hair sticking in damp clumps to her flushed cheekbones. Logan felt her heartbeat against his chest, wild and syncopated, matching the hammering thuds in his own ears.

Logan tried to hold the edge. He dug his fingers into Vanessa’s hips, the give of her flesh grounding him until the thud and grind of Vanessa’s motions slammed into a perfectly tuned chaos. Sweat slicked her back, spattered onto Lee’s shirt, as his hands weren’t careful anymore, he was using her, flush to the hilt, barely pausing before slamming forward again. The sound was filthy, and relentless.

Vanessa’s moan started low, almost a gargle in her throat, and then climbed, fast, loud, no modulation. Logan felt the rush of warm liquid, sudden and total, soaking over his cock and running down the inside of his thigh, hot and wild as an oil fire. The sound she made wasn’t a movie moan, wasn’t careful, wasn’t even meant for anyone in the room. It was for her, or maybe for the camera, for her husband, who’d one day cut this moment frame by frame and eat his own heart out piece by piece.

She braced both hands on Logan’s chest and ground down so hard he thought he might break in two, her cunt pulsing around his cock in a series of hard, staccato squeezes that drew the orgasm out, kept it going. The saturation was insane, even by the lunatic standards of the night, slick wetness splattering onto the sofa and soaking Logan’s shirt through at the hem. Lee’s hands strangled the flare of her hips and he was grunting now, short syllables, guttural, just a broken rhythm in the background noise.

Vanessa’s thighs quivered against Logan’s, he could feel the muscles fire and shudder. He watched as Lee pressed flush at her back, her knees buckling, trembling as if every nerve fired in one devastating sequence. Logan’s own grip slackened, sloppy in the residue of her cum, but she forced herself through the aftershocks by clinging to his chest, a human handhold, unbreakable.

She barely finished before Lee jerked her back, his thrusts frantic, breath gusting off her damp hair in bursts of heat and cologne. The pressure of Lee’s cock inside her ass forced Logan’s cock to bend slightly, then wedge deeper, the pressurized friction grinding them together into a single, suffocating sensation.

Logan nearly lost himself in the feedback loop of Vanessa’s cunt and Lee’s thrusts, but Vanessa’s voice snapped his consciousness back. “Do it,” she hissed, not to one, but to both. “Fucking fill me. Give him a show.” Her eyes stayed on the camera, but her mouth was inches from Logan’s, spit-glossed and quivering. The challenge in her tone, the outright order, detonated something in his brain.

Logan’s orgasm unspooled out of nowhere, muscle clenching and then releasing so fast his vision nearly greyed out at the edges. The heat of his cum flooded into her, instantly, he felt the way Vanessa’s body clenched up, greedy for every drop he could muster. Hot fluid mixed with the backlash of her own climax, leaking between them.

From somewhere behind her, Lee let out a wild grunt and slammed forward, a seismic jolt that made Vanessa’s jaw snap open in a gasp. Lee’s hips hammered her ass, pinning her hard against Logan, and Logan could feel the other man’s cock twitching through the fragile membrane that separated them, hear the squelch of fluid mixing and remixing with each jolt.

The air filled with the slick, ripe funk of sweat, bodies, and the sharp whiff of semen. In his lap, Vanessa went completely slack, her forehead finding the crook of Logan’s neck, hair stuck to his jaw, her own spit and wetness streaking down his stomach.

Lee was first to uncouple, easing his hands from Vanessa’s hips and wiped his hands down the sides of Vanessa’s thighs, fingers shaking, and stepped back, cock semi-hard and shining. Logan felt the shift in her weight as she slumped into him, her body no longer tensed for impact but slack, vibrant, absolutely present.

Vanessa crouched, limp and graceful as a side-stroke, down to the plush rug. No hesitation, mouth open and ready, she guided Lee’s cock between her lips before he’d even finished blinking away the sweat. Logan couldn’t see her face at first, only the slope of her back, the subtle quiver in her arm as it braced against Lee’s thigh, but he didn’t need to.

Lee rocked once on his heels, still catching his breath. He arched back, hips rolling shallowly into Vanessa’s mouth. Logan’s chest pumped a beat, he could just make out her cheek, the way it hollowed and flexed tight to the shaft. She didn’t gag. She didn’t apologize. She took him as far as he’d go, then drew slowly back, lips cinched like a clamp. She looked up. Only then did Logan catch her expression, tongue slithering out, gathering the thick, bright smear of cum and slickness from the length, smearing it in a milky saliva gloss from tip to root. The camera’s red eye caught the glint, and a tiny, knowing smile flicked on her face.

Lee hovered, maybe dizzy from blood loss or just shock at the quick, predatory way she’d finished him. He staggered back a step and caught his balance, watching as Vanessa cradled his cock in both hands and sucked the last rag of milky residue from the tip.

She didn’t flinch from it, didn’t give any of the careful porn-star faces, just bore down for a second, like she might pull the soul out through the tip, then let go with a pop and pressed her mouth shut, swallowing hard. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand and looked up into Lee’s face, not Logan’s, and gave him a look that was so sly and personal it felt like walking in on something you weren’t supposed to see.

Vanessa crawled up onto the couch, half on top of Logan, slick thighs straddling his lap. Her entire body radiated heat. She closed her eyes and laid her forehead to his. For a second there was nothing but the sound of their breath.

Shortly thereafter, once Lee Thompson and Logan Fitzpatrick were properly dressed and had stepped outside, the door to Vanessa Hudgens’ hillside home closed behind them.

The late afternoon air felt cooler than it should have.

Logan exhaled slowly, as if he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He adjusted the strap of his camera bag on his shoulder and glanced toward the street below.

“I’m guessing you’ve got to head back to the office,” he said. “Get this article punched up, deal with editors breathing down your neck. But... maybe we grab a beer first.”

Lee let out a short laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. A beer sounds good.”

They didn’t talk much on the drive. They didn’t need to.

The bar they ended up in was dim, familiar, the kind of place where no one asked questions and no one cared who you were. Two beers arrived, cold and uncomplicated. Logan took a long pull from his bottle and felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly.

After a few minutes, Lee broke the silence.

“You know,” he said, staring into his glass, “this whole thing reminds me of Madelaine Petsch.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a comparison I expected.”

Lee smirked. “I interviewed her last year."

“And?” Logan prompted.

“And we kept talking,” Lee said. “After the interview. Then after the article ran. Turns out some people are... different.”

Logan studied him. “You’re seeing her.”

Lee nodded. “Yeah. Still am.”

Logan took another drink, considering that. “Careful. Mixing work and personal life doesn’t usually end clean.”

Lee shrugged. “Maybe. But sometimes it’s worth it.”

Logan nodded slowly. “I get that. I’ve got something... adjacent going on myself.” He paused, then added, “Dua. We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

Lee turned, surprised. “Dua Lipa?”

“The same,” Logan said evenly. “It’s not exclusive. Never pretended it was. We’re both busy, both independent, and neither of us believes in pretending otherwise. If either of us wants to see someone else, there’s no secrecy, no games.”

“That already sounds very different from what we saw earlier," Lee smiled faintly.

“It is,” Logan said, as he took another sip of his drink. Very different from what we saw today.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the noise of the bar filling the space between them. Outside, traffic rolled on, oblivious. Inside, two men quietly took stock of where they stood, professionally, personally, and somewhere in between, aware that some lines, once crossed, didn’t demand regret so much as clarity.

Logan lifted his bottle again. “To clean arrangements,” he said.

Lee clinked his against it. “And knowing which ones you can actually live with.”

The End