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Winner “Pure Filth” Competition.

Lost Enough

I felt weightless. Beautiful. A hushed silence had fallen over the audience at the 90th Academy Awards as the nominations for Best Actress in a Leading Role were announced. I knew I would win. Everybody knew I would win. The critics had been raving about my performance since the star-studded premiere of Desiccated Coconut.

I glanced to my left at my date and co-star Daniel Carlton. Daniel fucking Carlton. Actor, writer, director, not to mention the prettiest face in Tinseltown. His hand covered mine. He winked at me. Daniel Carlton winked at me. I’d have pinched myself if not for the knowledge that a HD camera was focused directly towards us.

Everything felt clean and flawless. Perfume and perfect skin. I pinned on a smile as veteran actors Pascal Knight and Lily Hampton fussed over the envelope on stage.

Lily tossed back her mane of silver-blonde hair. The diamonds at her throat glittered.

“And the Oscar goes to…” she paused for dramatic effect, “… Elle Ronan for Desiccated Coconut!”

The applause swelled, warm and rapturous like a hot summer’s night. Daniel’s arms went around me before I’d even stood up. He held me so tight I feared he’d crease my dress. I went to kiss him but was pulled away by our director and then a producer. I made my way towards the stage, determined not to trip over the hem of my Chanel dress as I manoeuvred the stairs.

Pascal kissed me on either cheek. Lily bestowed me with an air-kiss. I expected them to let me move towards the microphone but Pascal held up a hand, still holding tight to the golden statuette.

“Before your speech, we have a question. General knowledge. Against the clock, of course. Is that okay?”

I laughed nervously, scanning the audience for my manager. This wasn’t protocol, was it? Still, maybe the night had been moving too fast and they were killing time. Did it matter? It’d just be a silly question.

“Okay,” I said.

Pascal handed the award to Lily. He cleared his throat, extracted a cue card and timer from his pocket and read in a clear voice:

“What are the five stages in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs?”

The timer started counting down from thirty, each second punctuated by a harsh bleep.

Everyone looked at me expectantly. My mouth felt suddenly dry. I knew the answer. I’d read about it in my textbook just before the ceremony. Maslow. Motivation, was it? I glanced at the crowd. People began turning to one another judgementally. Hundreds of whispered conversations buzzed. I didn’t know where to look. Think, for fuck’s sake. I stared desperately down at my Dior high heels and then at the crowd.

“Elle?” Pascal raised an eyebrow.

Our eyes met.

“I thought you said general knowledge,” I stalled.

He had a small smile on his artificial, Hollywood-aged face.

“This is general knowledge. C’mon. It’s easy.”

I tried to think. I couldn’t.

“I don’t – can’t,” I was sweating. “I – don’t remember.”

Pascal turned to the audience.

“She doesn’t remember!”

The auditorium shook with hysterical laughter. Lily smirked haughtily at me. The timer bleeped manically, getting louder and louder. I couldn’t think.

“God, you really are stupid, aren’t you?” Pascal laughed.

I stared wordlessly at him. Pascal Knight was a gentleman! He was the industry’s quintessential silver fox. And he couldn’t stop laughing at me. This could not be real. My business paper was in three days. But it didn’t make any sense. Three days. Business was a backup plan if I didn’t make it in Hollywood. But hadn’t I made it? Wasn’t I the best actress? Wasn’t Daniel Carlton my date?

I looked into the drowning sea of faces, my vision blurred. They just would not stop laughing. Even Daniel was laughing. I had to get out. I moved towards the wings but Lily’s stiletto had caught the hem of my dress. I heard a rip and then I was falling. I was falling on the stage of the Oscars and as the floor came up to meet me, the raucous laughter faded and all I could hear was the incessant beep of Pascal’s timer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The stage didn’t hit me in the face but reality did.

I woke with a start.

The glossy pages of my Business Management textbook felt smooth against my face. Lying on the single mattress, I heard my alarm ringing for the fourth time in one day.

I was soaked in sweat but immensely relieved. It was a dream. Thank God. My hand reached out and scrabbled blindly through my bedside table. Keys, coins, pens and scraps of paper fell onto the threadbare carpet. The alarm persisted furiously.

I propped myself up on an elbow and pushed back tousled hair. I looked down at the open textbook I’d passed out on. I still wasn’t even halfway through, and the endless blocks of 8 pt. Arial made me want to cry. On the opposite side of the dark room, my phone buzzed and glowed ominously.

I dragged myself up and switched it off, thankful for my own sadistic foresight. Had I left the phone by my pillow, silencing it would have been beautifully simple and I’d have fallen back asleep within seconds. As it stood, I was now half-awake and alert enough to note that I still hadn’t changed out of my waitressing outfit from the shift at Cali’s Diner.

Outside the window, the traffic was loud and fumes drifted through the crack in the glass. 21:47. I headed for the bathroom on autopilot, stood under the shower for half a minute, touched up waterproof makeup and hunted for my Gray’s bartending shirt.

Through the thin wall separating our bedrooms, I could hear my roommate Alexandra going at it ferociously with her latest boyfriend. Some Scandinavian guy. Was he called Alex too? Or was it Magnus? Or perhaps Sven? Sven. He was decent-looking, I mused as I shook out my hair and retied it hurriedly.

I pulled on my shirt. A pair of black jeans and old Nikes later, I slammed the apartment door shut behind me, hoping the noise would make Alex and Sven pause their fucking. It wasn’t nice but I wasn’t in a nice mood. Gray’s was a dirty bar to work at and Alex still hadn’t forked out her share of the last month’s rent. My bank balance ran lower than what most people carried in their wallets and it was forever teetering on the verge of running out altogether.

I checked my phone for messages that didn’t exist. No call-backs. How many auditions was that now? My mind flicked back to the dream. I shivered at my own foolishness. Horns honked furiously as I darted across the busy street. I told myself Daniel Carlton was probably an asshole anyway.

***

I fell back through the apartment door five hours later, smelling like alcohol, smoke and cheap cologne but armed with sixty-three dollars worth of tips. Alex was sitting up, doing the double Jerry - watching Tom and Jerry cartoons on the small television and eating Ben and Jerry’s.

“Hey!” Her face brightened when she saw me and I decided not to mention how lavishly she was living despite her outstanding rent arrears.

“Hi,” I said. I hated her a little. Alex went up and down like a yo-yo and I was always too wary of her next tantrum to get happy with her.

“I have great news,” she said, eyeing me. Distractedly, I checked my phone whilst simultaneously wondering why anyone would text me at three in the morning.

“Elle?” Alex prompted, “I said, I have great news.”

I looked at her.

“What news?” I asked lightly.

“There’s a VIP party in Brentwood tomorrow night. Well, I mean, tonight. Like, Saturday night.”

I shrugged, nonplussed. Alex always had a party to go to and she usually staggered home at midday, riding progressively worse hangovers.

“And?” I looked at her.

“And we’re going!” She did her best to dance whilst sitting on the couch.

You’re going,” I corrected flatly. “Have fun.”

Alex stared, wide-eyed.

“Elle! What if we meet someone who knows someone?”

“What are the chances?” I scoffed. “Steven Spielberg’s going to see us and immediately cast us in his next project? Dream on.”

I remembered my own dream and felt my face heat. The lights were thankfully dim enough to protect me from questions about untimely blushing. Maslow. Fuck. Hierarchy of needs. I knew the answer. I just had to remember it.

“For God’s sake, Elle!” Alex’s voice whined, “You need to live! You can’t just work all the time.”

I had to physically bite my tongue to stop myself telling her that work directly correlated with the ability to pay one’s rent.

“I don’t buy it anyway,” I said. “How would we get into an A-list party?”

Alex smiled smugly.

Because, Magnus is Rico’s personal trainer.”

So it was Magnus after all. I felt a stab of disappointment. Sven was a far superior name. Wait, did she say Rico? I frowned.

“Rico who?”

Alex smiled. She ate more ice-cream, watching me the whole time.

I groaned.

“Rico who, Alex? Rico Hamilton? It can’t be Rico Hamilton. He’s a fucking billionaire.”

My roommate of two years licked the edge of her spoon and scooped more ice-cream from the tub. She was so smug I could hardly look at her.

“If it is, you’ll come, right?” she said. “I heard he’s funding an indie movie starring Joshua Levison.”

I folded my arms across my chest and tried not to look excited.

“Didn’t Hamilton make his money as an arms dealer? Selling to the Saudis? His money is way dirty.”

Alex looked blank.

“Is there such a thing as clean money?”

“I’m just saying,” I said, examining my un-manicured fingernails. “If you think about it. Like, everything he has comes from the suffering of others. The alcohol will be like drinking the blood of dead children. The music will sound like orphans crying.”

Alex levelled me with a stare.

“You are so fucking weird sometimes. Are you coming or not?”

***

I got home late on Saturday and found Alex already dressed for the party. She paced around our apartment with furious impatience while a tuxedoed Magnus tried to pacify her with endless compliments. His European accent made everything sound wonderfully dirty but I had to agree that in her glittery dress and stilettoes, Alex did look incredible

I showered hastily and put on my one pretty dress; a short black Valentino piece I’d foolishly bought after booking my first commercial. It was the nicest thing I owned and wearing it in our small, overheated apartment with broken windows and ripped furnishings felt as fake as Hollywood could.

I did my makeup in record time, playing it safe with extra eyeliner and lip-gloss. I brushed out my hair and found my fake black Manolos. Throwing on perfume and cheap silver jewellery, I followed Alex and Magnus down the concrete stairs of our block.

It took us an hour to get to the party. It wasn’t in Brentwood after all but at an opulent Santa Monica mansion. The atmosphere buzzed and the taxi couldn’t get past the first gate. Climbing out, we walked up the endless drive. Fairy lights were strung between trees and perfectly manicured lawns were punctuated by glowing fountains. Refrigerator trucks were parked to one side and the doors of one were open, revealing endless cases of champagne.

Past the enormous entry doors was a hall and off it, a huge room which seemed to have been created solely for parties. To one side was a sparkling glass bar. A DJ played on a mezzanine floor above. A huge shark tank was embedded into the far wall beside the dance floor. Nobody seemed particularly interested in the pair of soullessly drifting sharks.

Alex clutched my arm.

“Elle, I swear I just saw Annabel Rexel,” Her nails dug harder. “Fuck, that can’t be Harry Carter. Oh my god. I’m gonna talk to him. Do you think he’ll talk to me?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Tossing her hair back, she strode towards one of the hottest new actors in Hollywood. I couldn’t believe her nerve. Magnus headed for the bar leaving me unaccompanied. Awkwardly, I pretended to check my phone. A young waiter offered me champagne. I took two glasses, pretending one was for a friend and then drank them both. I wandered around, overhearing snippets of conversations.

“…his dad gave him a yacht. A yacht.”

“…it’s not great but that girl who did the Superbowl is singing later.”

Another waiter. More champagne. I had to admit that the champagne tasted excellent.

“…he’s a real nice guy. He let me use his jet when...”

Everyone was dressed impeccably. Huge glass doors led out into the private rear gardens. Everything looked like money. I found myself wishing I’d stayed home, or taken an overtime shift at the diner. I felt more out of place than I would have in the goddamn shark tank.

Magnus approached and handed me some champagne just as a breathless but very excited Alex hurried through the glass doors.

“It’s like fifteen acres or something,” she gushed, taking the champagne Magnus proffered. “Tennis courts.Huge pool. It’s like a lake. Even some kind of race track. There’s a bunch of guys going NFS with Rico’s supercar collection. Listen.”

We listened. Over the pounding music, I heard the faint rev of engines. Magnus’s blue eyes lit up.

“I used to drive on the Nürburgring at college.”

Alex and I looked at each other as he disappeared through the crowd.

“Don’t ask,” she sighed, downing her entire flute of champagne. “I never have a clue what he’s talking about.” She took my champagne and sipped it. “He’s nice though.” She frowned over my shoulder. “Why’s that guy coming over? D’you know him?”

I glanced in the direction she was looking and by then, a man had approached us. I didn’t have time to take in more than the obvious. Tall. Dark eyes. His shirt was open at the collar. A tumbler of what must have been scotch in his hand. He seemed familiar and yet I couldn’t place him.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Neil.”

He was looking right at me. I blinked.

“Uh – hi. I’m Elle. This is Alex.”

“Hey,” His voice was warm. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Neil?” Alex looked at him carefully. “You’re Neil Hamilton?” Her eyes widened. “Rico’s brother?”

“That’s right,” he said. He didn’t look at her once. He sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Isn’t Nat Swann your girlfriend?” Alex asked.

Neil ignored her. He finished his drink and a waiter appeared to take his glass.

“Did you come with Nat?” Alex pressed. “I saw her earlier. She’s there. At the bar.”

I looked towards the bar but Neil caught my hand, distracting me.

“You wanna dance?”

He’d pulled me through the crowd and across the room before I could protest. The music thumped, easing into me seductively. I hadn’t planned to dance but we were dancing and the brother of an egotistical arms-dealer had his hand on the small of my back. It slid down a little. I reached back and pushed it back up.

“Wouldn’t you rather dance with your girlfriend?” I asked.

He frowned at me, half-smiling.

“Nat? I’m avoiding her.”

It was my turn to frown.

“I broke up with her,” he clarified.

I eyed him. “You broke up with Nat Swann? But she’s like – gorgeous.”

He gave me another easy smile.

“You’re more gorgeous.”

“But really,” I could hardly catch my own thoughts he was spinning me around so fast. Every time I turned towards the bar, I’d see Nat eyeing us furiously. It made me very nervous.

“But really what?” he asked.

“Why’re you avoiding her?”

“’Cause I have nothing to say to her. Also, it’s a party. I came out to have a good time.”

“So you decided to dance with me to make your ex jealous?”

His smile was so perfect and warming it made me feel weak. I felt like I could look at him forever.

“I decided to dance with you because I wanted to dance with you, Elle. You looked like I felt.” The way he said my name made me swallow hard. His tongue hit the ‘l’ like he wanted to lick it.

“What did I look like?” I stalled.

He didn’t entertain me with a reply. He smiled again.

“So what’s your day job, Elle? Lemme guess. Singer slash actress?”

I narrowed my eyes at him but he only smiled wider.

“Actress slash waitress slash bartender actually,” I corrected. “You?”

He smirked.

“Well. I’ve written a screenplay. Actually, one of my characters looks just like you.”

I laughed. “Oh? Do you kill her off? Should I be worried?”

“Nah. You know something, Elle?”

I looked up at him and wished I hadn’t. He really was devastatingly handsome.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Uh – thanks?”

He laughed. It made my insides clench.

“For real,” he said. “I was standing there watching you and I just had to talk to you. You ever feel alone in a crowd?”

“I – I guess.”

“And then I see you and it doesn’t seem fake.”

I looked at him hard.

“Are you high?”

Neil laughed and let go of me even though the song hadn’t finished. Then he kissed me. For a second, I felt lost. I didn’t kiss him back. He pulled away and I wiped my mouth.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked.

He looked at me.

“’Cause I wanted to.”

He kissed me again and somebody bumped into me from behind, pushing me against him. My mouth opened against his and his tongue swept confidently against mine. His fingers sank into my hair. It felt drugging. I kissed him back without consciously deciding to, my body arching up to press against his. He kissed me harder and I reciprocated like we were competing.

“You wanna get out of here?”

His mouth dragged down to my neck, warm and damp against my skin. His hands slipped down to my ass and he groped it as though he didn’t care who saw.

“What do you mean?” I asked breathlessly.

“Let’s go to a real party. Somewhere more fun.”

I frowned even as he bit and sucked on my neck. More fun? I’d never seen so much of what I assumed to be fun in my entire life. Celebrities were flirting, getting drunk on champagne and racing Lamborghinis. How much more fun could a party be? Everyone was dancing and laughing and beautiful. Everyone except Nat Swann. I inadvertently caught her eye across the room and felt eternally grateful for the fact that looks couldn’t kill.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

***

The Bentley swept through the iconic gates onto Bel Air road, the tree flanked street dark and moody. Neil walked his fingers from my knee up to the hem of my dress and then walked them back down. He kept doing it. I don’t know if he realised or if he was lost in thought. But I felt so aware of it.

My mind flicked back to lazy summer high school days back in Nevada. I’d had a boyfriend. A distant memory now, someone young, warm and easy to get along with. We’d sit on the hood of his car, silver paintwork warm against the backs of my legs as we made out. It ended the way a heat wave does; sudden but natural. Almost overnight. I went to LA to work deadend jobs. He went to college to study computer science.

The thought of him hurt a little, as I sat in the back of a chauffer-driven car with an offensively rich man’s hand under my skirt. Why is it that we let ourselves fall for appearances? The little I knew about Neil didn’t bode well but one involuntary smile and I felt like I’d do anything for him.

He reached under the seat unexpectedly and handed me something.

“You should put this on,”

Tentatively, I examined what appeared to be an intricately crafted black mask.

“A mask?”

I looked at his shadowed face.

He shifted. “It’s kind of– a masquerade.”

He had a mask too, with some kind of ridiculous beak on it. I guessed it was Venetian-style. Still, he wore it well.

“We’re here,” he said a short while later, and we were. The car eased through a huge pair of gates. In the distance, a palatial house loomed. A circus of supercars had been abandoned on the sweeping drive and were being whisked away by identical-looking valets.

“Leave your purse here,” Neil murmured. “No phones.”

I frowned. “What? Why not?”

“No cameras,” he said, as though it was obvious. “Hey, put your mask on.”

No cameras? I fumbled with the mask as he slipped out of the car and came around to open my door. He held out his hand and I took it unthinkingly as we walked up towards the French limestone mansion.

No phones? Masks? I looked back towards the car but it had disappeared. Neil’s hand felt reassuringly warm but unease filtered through me.

A guy in a tux and a woman in a cocktail dress worked the door. Neil seemed to know them and we walked in unhindered. The swell of music welcomed us. My mask wasn’t sitting right and I had half a mind to take it off but as I reached up to touch it, my hand froze. Immediately in front of me, two girls wearing bunny ears and nothing else were making out and fingering one another urgently.

“What the fuck?”

I seemed to be the only one shocked by the display. People watched interestedly.My eyes darted around the room. Almost everyone had a mask on and the level of nudity was shocking. Women wandered around in lingerie.I felt thoroughly overdressed. Everyone was indecently attractive.

Everything suddenly made sense. More fun. Masks. No phones.

We were at a sex party.

I elbowed Neil hard.

“Why the hell would you bring me here?”

He looked down at me, one side of his mouth lifting.

“Just – relax. Nobody knows who we are. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

It seemed like a trap of some sort. I’d always thought there’d be an underlying seediness to sex parties; something off-putting and a little too barefaced to be pretty. But there wasn’t. It seemed classy. People who weren’t fucking were drinking champagne and watching other people like they were at an art exhibition.

I could have walked out but wandering around L.A. in the dark didn’t seem intelligent, especially since my purse was still in the back of Neil’s elusive Bentley.

A girl with a waterfall of glitter-strewn black hair approached us. She wore an elaborate mask studded with diamantes. Two realistic cat’s ears sat atop her head and a fluffy black tail hung behind her.

“I like your mask,” she purred.

I adjusted it self-consciously.

“Well – thanks, I guess.”

Green eyes studied me.

“First time, huh?”

I nodded awkwardly, unable to stop looking at her tits. How could someone with such a tiny waist have such huge tits? It did not make sense. She laughed and wandered off, leaving me staring at her swaying tail. Again, it did not make any sense. Neil was still holding my hand and even though he was the one who’d brought me into the lion’s den, I felt like he was a safety net. A portal back to reality.

“C’mon,” he said, “Let’s get a drink.”

We walked past what I thought was two guys having anal sex but then realised the guy taking it was also giving it to a third guy who was then giving it to a fourth. The synchronisation was admirable and might have seemed rehearsed if it wasn’t for the obvious grunts of pleasure. The guy at the front was being sucked off by a girl with vibrant flamingo feathers in her hair.

“Do you come here often?” I asked. We’d reached the bar and its immaculate cleanliness comforted me a little.

Neil blew out a sigh.

“Would it disgust you if I said yes?”

He looked at me. I looked at him.

“I don’t know,” I said, and I didn’t.

Neil ordered whisky. I had rum and coke which I drank too fast. Not that it mattered since my glass had barely touched the bar before it was refilled. I sipped the second slowly, not wanting to lose myself in such sketchy surroundings.

We watched as a ridiculously hot blonde woman in black lingerie and stiletto boots walked past. In one hand she held a flogger. In the other she had a leash which was attached to the silver collar of a man who hurried after her on all fours.

“Fuck,” Neil muttered.

“Does she turn you on?” I asked, wide-eyed.

“She looks like a total bitch,” he quipped, and we laughed.

A bunch of girls who looked about my age were parading down a catwalk in the middle of the room. They wore nothing but identical leather collars.

“Slave auction,” Neil explained. “It’s boring. C’mon.”

It didn’t seem boring to me. A lithe redhead got auctioned off for $4,000 and seemed very excited. I hoped she got to keep the money. The guy who won her seemed nice enough but he wore a goddamn horse mask. I trailed Neil across the room and up a flight of stairs occupied by more than one amorous couple.

Upstairs, a sweeping corridor led to numerous open bedrooms. We paused at the first one and peered inside.

On the king-sized bed, a trio of girls were having oral sex in a triangle. They each had varying shades of blonde hair. One was still wearing a lacy bra. I wondered hazily about rumpled sheets, maids and laundry bills. On the far side of the bed, a straight couple were 69ing while a guy watched. His pants were unzipped and he stroked himself furiously before ejaculating on the woman’s ass. She seemed remarkably unperturbed; not even looking up from her partner’s cock.

“You think that’s hot?” Neil murmured. His hand was on my ass. It couldn’t have been more welcome.

“No!” I tried to laugh. “Of course not!”

But I was shamefully turned on. I couldn’t look away. Noises from the other bedrooms echoed and spilled. It felt decadently lewd. The combined smells of sex, sweat and smoke seeped into me. Everything, everyone was buzzing. It felt surreal, wandering voyeuristically around with a stranger but I didn’t want to leave.

We went from bedroom to bedroom like we were browsing porn videos. People were spanking one another, fucking, licking, biting, pegging, fisting and it was utterly obscene but not a soul complained. I felt like I was witnessing the depths of depravity and yet every inch of me pulsed with need. My palms were damp with sweat and when Neil stopped to kiss me, I kissed him back so hungrily that I bit his lip.

He pushed his mask up for better access and we fell through the door of another bedroom.Thankfully, the only occupant was one young woman who lay on the floor talking to herself, clearly high. The words pretty whore were written on her forehead.

Neil’s mouth found mine again, his tongue darting in as his hand slipped under my skirt. I swallowed hard and he must have felt it because he pulled back and looked at me. He’d bumped up against the bed and he sat down, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You wanna fuck? Here?”

Oh. My. God. Over his shoulder, I could see a couple already in the doorway watching us with interest. I knew the kind of person I was. I knew the morals I had, the things I did and didn’t do. And yet, Neil’s fingers were pushing past my lacy underwear and it was all I could do not to moan. Our eyes connected. My mouth was hanging open. His was smiling.

“C’mon, Elle. Don’t you wanna play with me?”

I clenched a little desperately as his finger eased inside me. All I could follow was the progress of his fingertip as it slid out and went to push against my clit.

“I don’t – I don’t do things like this,” I gasped, holding onto his shoulders.

“I can see that. That’s what makes it so much dirtier.”

I wondered if anyone could hear us. I hoped not. There was something so very personal about talking to him while he fingered me. His eyes were still holding mine. How long had it been since I’d just let go? Every day had become a blur of menial service jobs interspersed by failed auditions. Life was nothing but work. I’d been chasing dreams so long thatmy legs had almost given out. Did it matter? Did anything matter when a guy like Neil wanted to fuck me?

A man in a tux walked in and started sketching the girl on the floor. He gave her instructions on how to arrange herself. I hoped she’d tell him to fuck off but she complied placidly, happy that someone was listening to her monologue on unicorns and Skittles.

My hands pressed against the bulge in Neil’s pants. I could feel the heat even through all the layers of clothing. My fingers fumbled urgently with his belt. It didn’t take long to free his cock and I touched it without caution, making his breath catch.

Our eyes met.

“Suck it.”

I was too far gone to refuse. My knees sank automatically to the floor and I leaned forward, taking him eagerly into my mouth. He was unbelievably hard and his hands fisted in my hair, clutching at it desperately. I tightened my lips and went further, my tongue dancing along the underside of his erection.

“It’s like a – dirty kind of beautiful,” he growled and he pushed hard into my mouth, forcing in more inches.

He didn’t go easy and I didn’t care. I was hazily aware of more people entering the room. Two women fell onto the bed, moaning. The pretty whore girl was getting collared by the artist. But it still felt like only the two of us were in our moment. That is, until I felt my dress being pushed up.

I tried to look over my shoulder but Neil didn’t loosen his grip on my hair. Our eyes met. He held my gaze almost challengingly as someone else’s hand went between my legs and groped extravagantly. I moaned around Neil’s cock and ground back. It felt too good. Far too good. My panties were dragged down and then it was skin on skin, rough fingers massaging my snatch and dragging back over my asshole.

My legs were indecently wide apart. Whoever it was could see everything. The thought made my stomach clench and my snatch surge with fresh warmth. My heart thumped. A finger teased the entrance to my asshole. I tried to look over my shoulder again but Neil held fast to my hair.

I looked up at him, my eyes watering.

“I know you want it. Let him.”

I pulled back, breathing hard.

“What?”

“You want him to fuck your ass, don’t you?” He looked at me like he knew every secret I had. “Want him to shove his nasty cock in there while everyone watches? You wanna take it while you gag on my cock?”

“You’re sick,” I whispered, like I’d only just realised. “Fucking sick.”

He smiled and touched my cheek, his thumb pushing into my mouth.

“Maybe. But you’re not saying no. Maybe we’re both sick.”

And maybe we were, at least for that night. I felt the spill of some kind of lube against my lower back, the cool trickle as it slipped down over my exposed asshole. I didn’t even know what the guy looked like; all I knew was his rigid cock as it pushed against my resistant hole before gaining entry. My mouth fell open and Neil’s cock pushed inside again.

I got it then. Understood. Everything felt glaringly filthy but there was something addictive about the attention. The desire. About the spectators. I didn’t know them, couldn’t even look at anyone but they looked at me and it made me push back against the stranger behind me.

Everything was heat. My eyes watered and dripped as Neil’s cock hit the back of my throat. He held it there, his face contorted. The stranger nudged deeper into my ass. I didn’t know how much I could take but he pushed until I could feel his balls against my snatch. Connection. The heat throbbed between us as he began to pull back. The three of us were moaning. I felt eternally grateful for the lube. It eased the friction, made the hurt ebb away until the slick slide was all I wanted.

Hands grasped my hips and dug in hard enough to leave bruises. Neil’s fingers were in my hair again,controlling my movements and making me take him deeper as saliva ran down my chin. Wet. Dirty. Nasty. My hand moved unconsciously, delving beneath my dress and finding my throbbing clit.

“Fucking feel it,” Neil growled. “Feel it all, Elle.”

Our eyes met again and I winced as the guy behind me pulled almost all the way out before pushing in hard.

“You gonna come?” Neil’s voice taunted. “With his cock in your ass and mine down your pretty little throat?”

He gripped my hair and plundered in and out of my mouth. My fingers slicked against my dripping snatch. Pushing my fingers inside my entrance, I could feel the surreal slide of the stranger’s cock in my ass. He must’ve felt my touch because I heard him groan and then he went harder, fucking me without restraint.

Neil came first, his mouth twisting into a snarl as he jerked deep in my mouth. I swallowed instinctively but he jerked again and by that time, I’d gone too far and was coming too hard to pay attention. His spunk dripped copiously out of my mouth and as I clenched ecstatically, the stranger cried out and jerked deep inside my ass.

I never found out what he looked like.

***

I woke at eleven the next morning. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, hurting my eyes. I blinked and looked down to discover I was still wearing my party dress. Everything hurt. Rolling over, I groaned into the pillow.

Enough.

My business exam was in under twenty-four hours. I had to nail it. It was time to move on from dreams, time to do something safe and substantial. I sat up and looked for my textbook. My purse lay on the bedside table, atop a large white envelope. Frowning, I examined it. Neil had brought me home. I could vaguely remember the ride back in his car.

Flipping over the heavy envelope, I tore it open, sliding out a sheaf of papers.

DESSICATED COCONUT

by Neil Hamilton

It was a screenplay. Neil’s screenplay. A note was scribbled on the top corner of the title page.

Auditions. Monday 11a.m. 31B Lloyd Park Centre.

It was only then that I realised why Neil had seemed familiar when we’d met.

I’d seen him before.

Not in real life, but as a fleeting figure in my dream.

The dream where I’d won an Oscar for a film.

A film with the same title as the screenplay in my hands.

I blinked and looked across the room at my abandoned textbook.

Heart thumping, I turned the first page of the script and began to read.

 

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