I used the ten-minute break to smoke another cigarette, the acrid bite of the cheap tobacco a welcome sharpness against the lingering anxiety. I saw Two-bit strolling towards me, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his threadbare jacket.

​"Boss man," he greeted, jabbing me playfully—a little too hard—in the side with his elbow.

​"Stop that, man," I managed, fighting the urge to rub the sore spot.

​He finally stopped and looked around, his eyes sweeping over the massive, busy building—a former warehouse now crammed with sets, lights, and a nervous army of crew. "Damn, you really putting that extra work in," he whistled, the sound low and appreciative.

​"It's all Big Mom, not me," I said, puffing a cloud of smoke from my mouth that momentarily obscured the midday sun.

​He dropped the playful act, his face settling into a serious, unnerving stillness. "No way she did this for free, Druski. No way." He narrowed his eyes, studying me like an exhibit under glass. "Remember what I told you when we first met...?"

​I let out another stream of smoke, this time through my nose. The steam felt hot and defiant.

​"Yeah," I said, flicking the ash. "That I sold my soul to Big Mom."

​"Aye. And when a debt is settled by a soul, there will always be a catch. Have you found out what she truly wants in return...?"

​"Aside from building her a goddamn porn empire, no," I replied, tossing the butt to the concrete and grinding it out with the heel of my shoe.

​Two-bit patted my shoulder, a heavy, unsettling gesture. "There's more to it than that, Druski. There will always be more to it. You let the devil wrap her legs around your neck; there is no escape. Not in this city, not from her."

​He turned to leave. "See you later when you're done, Druski. It seems like you've got a lot of work to do today. You always do now."

​His words settled over me, heavy and cold. What more could Big Mom, the legendary Monet, possibly want? A porn empire, control of the city's underground media—wasn't that enough? No, according to Two-bit, I was sinking, and the catch was the current pulling me under.

​I temporarily pushed the terrifying thought off and pulled out the phone. My thumb hovered over the single, haunting chat thread.

​I opened Chloe's chat.

[Chloe: We need to talk]

My gut twisted. I hesitated, the ghost of the real Druski's life whispering in my ear. What did she want from me? What did she know?

[Druski: I'm listening]

I shoved the phone back into my pocket, but seconds later, the familiar chime cut through the industrial noise of the set.

[Chloe: Can we talk in person?]

My heart hammered against my ribs, an insistent drumbeat of dread and excitement. She wanted to meet. My mind raced: She probably knew the old Druski very well. What if she saw through me, found the seams of the identity I was wearing? That I was a fraud, an imposter living on borrowed time? But beneath the fear, a powerful curiosity burned. If she was as beautiful as the picture...

[Druski: I'm kinda busy]

She replied almost instantly. A subtle wave of panic hit me. This was urgent to her.

[Chloe: When are you free]

I reviewed my schedule: two more scenes today, then the gym. Same tomorrow. If I skipped the gym, I'd buy myself two hours. The insecurity was a storm, but the anticipation—the chance to see her—was a powerful, undeniable magnet.

[Druski: Tomorrow evening. I will text you an address.]

[Chloe: Can't I see you at your place]

I breathed in deep, tasting the metallic, dusty air of the set. My apartment was a fortress of secrets, a place where the real Druski's ghost still lingered.

[Druski: No]

She didn't reply instantly this time. It took a full, agonizing minute. I could picture her on the other end, considering, maybe even getting angry.

[Chloe: Okay fine...please do. It's important]

Important. The word felt heavy, loaded. Was it about the old Druski? Was it about Monet? Or was it something else entirely?

​I glanced at the time.The ten-minute break was up, and it was time to shoot the second scene. No time for mysteries now. The show had to go on.

​I tossed the phone back into my pocket and walked back into the hot lights of the office set, putting the mask of the new, powerful Druski firmly back in place.

Mr. Holmes and the crew were already prepped and ready to roll. The seamless efficiency was unnerving. Lisa, who was still fully in character as Dickslayer, was back, perched naked on the top of the mahogany desk, her pussy wet and glistening from our last encounter, a discarded towel tossed carelessly on the chair beside her. It seemed like we were diving immediately into the continuation of the first scene—an aggressive revenue push to hit that crucial 45-minute runtime target.

​I looked at the cameraman and Mr. Holmes, trying to inject some levity into the insane pressure cooker of the set.

​"Seriously, how do you guys manage not to get hard while filming this?" I said, genuinely amused by their clinical detachment.

​Holmes didn't even crack a smile, his eyes fixed intently on the monitor. "Mr. Hart, we are maximizing revenue. A boner is a distraction, and distraction costs money. Focus."

​He was a machine, a perfect, cold asset focused only on the bottom line. I walked back to the desk, and gripped Dickslayer's hips, instantly feeling the warmth of her wet skin beneath my palms.

​Holmes' voice cut through the silence. "Rolling! ACTION!"

-------------

​I immediately drove my hands down to her thighs, pulling her to the edge of the desk.

​"You like that, Dickslayer?" I growled, my voice thick with the residual dominance of the previous climax. "You think that's all you get for your little career risk?"

​She slid off the desk, her legs parting naturally. She didn't look defeated; she looked consumed. Her eyes were glazed over, and she dropped instantly to her knees, her focus moving straight to the bulge in my trousers.

​"We haven't finished, Boss," she whispered, her voice husky and ragged, delivered straight into the floor mic. "I want the stock options. I want the dividends. I want every inch of your cock until I can't walk straight."

​I unzipped my trousers, and my semi-hard length sprang free. She immediately leaned forward, her mouth already open, ready to service the machine that owned her career.

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.