I felt a sharp intake of breath, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought the boom mic would pick it up. A hundred thousand dollars.

The realization hit me like a physical blow—shooting ten scenes had netted me a fortune I hadn't even dared to dream of. The system used to drip-feed me ten-thousand-dollar increments for hitting attribute milestones, but this? This was a game-changer. This was "fuck you" money.

​I caught myself just before a triumphant shout could escape my lips. With a practiced flick of my wrist, I swiped the shimmering blue interface into oblivion, my face smoothing into a mask of professional calm.

I couldn't let Holmes or Lana see the gold mine I was sitting on; leverage was only useful if you kept your cards close to your chest.

​But inside, I was soaring. Level 2 wasn't just a number; it was a new bracket of power. And the new quest—MILFs Only—sent a different kind of surge through my veins. The thought of systematically dismantling the poise of high-status, older women like Yolanda made my pulse quicken.

​Yolanda finally found her voice, her breathing still coming in shallow, ragged hitches. "That was... fantastic, Mr. Hart," she murmured, her eyes glazed with a mixture of exhaustion and awe. "I can honestly say I have never been handled like that in my life."

​I snapped back to the moment, a predator's grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Is that so? A woman of your stature, and you've never been properly satisfied?"

​She leaned back on her elbows, the silk of the bed bunching beneath her. "Never."

​"Not even by Kevin Lust?" I challenged, bringing up the industry's reigning king.

​She let out a soft, dismissive laugh. "Kevin has the size, sure. But he's mechanical. When it comes to the raw hunger, the way you just... took what you wanted? He's got nothing on you."

​"Scale of one to ten," I pressed, leaning over her, my shadow looming large. "How do you rate the experience?"

​She looked down at the crumpled sheets for a second, then locked her eyes onto mine with an intensity that felt far too real for a film set. "A nine," she whispered.

​I raised an eyebrow, shifting my weight. "A nine? I'm hurt, Yolanda. What's that missing point? What keeps me from being a perfect ten?"

​She hesitated, her professional armor completely stripped away, revealing a vulnerability that the perk was clearly amplifying. "You have to be my man to be a perfect ten," she said, her voice dropping to a low, possessive register.

​The air in the room turned heavy. She wasn't just talking about the scene anymore; she was catching feelings, and she was catching them hard.

​Before I could navigate that minefield, the heavy velvet curtains of the set were pushed aside. Holmes and Lana Grande burst into the light, their faces flushed with the kind of excitement that only comes from seeing dollar signs in high definition.

Holmes was practically vibrating with greed, while Lana stepped into my personal space, the scent of her expensive perfume mingling with the musky heat of the set.

​"Druski, darling," Lana purred, her eyes tracing the sweat still glistening on my abs. "The way you handled her... the control, the stamina... it was more than skill. It was art. I've never seen a man command a frame like that." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made it clear she wasn't just talking as a director.

​"I'm moving on to a new level," I said, my voice projecting a confidence that made Holmes nod instantly. "My next scenes. I want them with MILFs. Mature women, high status. I want the best of the best."

​"Consider it done," Holmes barked, already scrolling through a mental Rolodex of the industry's elite veterans. "After today, they'll be lining up at the door. You've just become the most sought-after specialist in the city."

​Lana's hand found my forearm, her fingers trailing down to my wrist. She angled her body toward me, shifting her shoulders so that her massive, surgically perfected breasts were pushed upward, luring my eyes to the deep, shadowed canyon of her cleavage.

​"You know," she whispered, her eyes locked onto mine with a predatory spark, "the brownstone is great, but my private home has much better lighting for a... private screening. Why don't you come over tonight? We can discuss the 'artistic direction' of your new scenes over a bottle of something very expensive."

​I looked down at her—at the invitation in her eyes and the blatant display of her body. My heart gave a heavy, rhythmic thud. One down, four to go.

​"I'll be there," I said, my voice steady. "But Lana? Make sure you're ready for the 'Multiple cum' version of me. I don't play by the old rules anymore."

Lana's smirk widened, a dangerous, knowing look in her eyes as she stepped even closer, her chest nearly brushing against me. She didn't look like a director anymore; she looked like a veteran general returning to the battlefield.

​"Don't get too cocky just because you conquered Yolanda Adams, Druski," she whispered, her voice like velvet-wrapped steel. "You're looking at the woman who was once dubbed the Queen of Porn. I didn't get this success by just sitting behind a desk."

​She leaned in, her lips inches from my ear, her breath hot. "I have 567 scenes under my belt. I've handled 432 men and women, and not one of them has ever been able to make me lose my cool. I've seen every trick, every size, and every 'icon' that's come through this city."

​She pulled back just enough to rake her eyes over my body one more time, her gaze lingering on my waist. "You might be a star with a fancy new engine, but I'm the Final Boss of this industry. If you're coming to my house tonight, you'd better bring more than just money and a smile. I expect a performance that lives up to the legend."

​She turned on her heel, her hips swaying with a practiced, hypnotic rhythm as she walked toward the exit. "Don't be late," she called back over her shoulder. "I hate being kept waiting."

I watched the way her hips moved as she walked away—a deliberate, hypnotic sway that screamed decades of confidence.

​432 bodies. The number echoed in my head. That wasn't just a high body count; it was a library of experience. She had seen every move, felt every rhythm, and heard every line.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.