Chapter 3: The Embrace
The ten hundred-dollar bills felt like a strip of acid burning a hole in her cheap purse. Daisy walked, not knowing where she was going, the afternoon sun in the Valley bleaching the sidewalk a painful white. Every step sent a subtle throb through her ravaged body, a reminder of what was now leaking, slowly drying on her thighs under the cotton dress.
She found a payphone, its plastic yellowed and cracked. The slip of paper with Lola Sparks’ number, given to her by a makeup girl who’d just whispered, “You’ll need this,” felt like a secret dispatch from a hidden war. She dialed, coins clattering.
The voice that answered was gravel wrapped in smoke. “Yeah?”
“Is this… Lola? I’m Daisy. Daisy Mae. I just… I worked for Rex today. The makeup artist, Chloe, she said I should call you.”
A long pause. A deep drag on a cigarette. “Studio Four? On Vineland?” Another exhale. “Get in a cab. I’ll give you the address. Don’t talk to anybody.”
The apartment was in a stucco complex the color of old teeth. The door was opened by a woman who looked like a warning made flesh. Lola Sparks was all sharp angles and softened edges, her black hair shaved on one side and falling in a wave over the other. Tattoos climbed her arms and neck—roses with thorns that looked real enough to draw blood, a snarling panther, cryptic script. Silver rings glinted in her eyebrows, her nose, her lip. Her eyes were the color of faded denim and held nothing at all.
“You look like you just got chewed up and shit out,” Lola said, stepping back to let her in. “Welcome to Hollywood, kid.”
The apartment was a cave of curated chaos. Neon beer signs buzzed on the walls, their light glinting off empty bottles of Jim Beam and Malibu. The air was thick with the smell of sandalwood incense, trying and failing to cover the underlying scent of weed and stale smoke. Posters of Bettie Page and The Cramps were tacked up next to a bullet-riddled shooting range target. The couch, a sunken plaid monstrosity, dominated the room.
“Sit,” Lola commanded, already pouring two glasses of amber liquor from a bottle with no label. She handed one to Daisy. “Drink. It’ll kill the taste of Rex.”
Daisy flinched. She took the glass and swallowed. The whiskey was a fire that scalded the memory of a different, saltier bitterness from her throat. She coughed, eyes watering.
“He made you swallow,” Lola stated, watching her. It wasn't a question. She lit a fresh cigarette. “Of course he did. That’s his signing bonus. The money’s in your bag?”
Daisy nodded, clutching the glass.
“How much for the scene?”
“A thousand.”
Lola barked a laugh, a short, ugly sound. “An anal creampie with Marcus Steele? And a face-fuck from Rex? You got fleeced, darling. You should’ve gotten two for the scene, at least. Another five for his… personal attention.” She took a long drag. “Let me guess. He already booked you again. For something bigger.”
“Thursday,” Daisy whispered. “A… gangbang. Five guys. Triple the pay.”
Lola’s expression didn’t change. She just nodded slowly, as if confirming a dark theory. “Three grand. Sounds like a fortune when you’re counting tips from a diner. It’s pennies. And it’ll cost you everything in here.” She tapped a finger against her own temple, then let it drift down to her chest. “And in here.”
Daisy said nothing. The whiskey was a warm numbness spreading through her cold core.
“Why’d you do it?” Lola asked, her gaze unflinching.
“I want to be a star,” Daisy said, the words automatic, hollow.
Lola laughed again, softer this time. “There are no stars. There’s just meat that shines for a little while under hot lights before it goes bad.” She finished her drink. “But you’re in it now. So you gotta learn how to survive the grinding.” She stood up and walked to a closet, rifling through it. “You gotta find a piece of yourself they can’t touch. A little corner that’s just yours. Or you’ll disappear.”
She returned to the couch holding a sleek black harness of thick straps and buckles. From it hung a thick, veined dildo, the color of dark flesh, glistening under the neon. It was larger than anything Daisy had seen. “This,” Lola said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial rasp, “is how you build a wall. You let them have the outside. But you keep the inside for yourself. You find the switch that turns you off while they think they’re turning you on.”
Daisy stared at the prosthetic, her mind flashing to the violating fullness of Marcus, the choking pressure of Rex. This was different. It was a tool, not a weapon. The distinction felt thin but vital.
“I can help you find it,” Lola said, her faded eyes locking onto Daisy’s. “That place inside. Where you’re gone.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Setting the harness aside, she lay back on the sunken plaid sofa, her spine curving into the cushions. The move was practiced, devoid of seduction. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt, a frayed black thing, and shimmied it down over her hips along with her underwear—simple black cotton briefs.
She let them both rest just above her knees, a deliberate barrier and exposure. The thatch of hair between her legs was dark, trimmed short. Her labia, pierced with a tiny silver ring, lay parted slightly. “Come here,” she said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that brooked no hesitation. “Start licking. Don’t think. Just do what feels good to you. Find the rhythm that’s yours.”
Daisy’s mouth went dry. The whiskey churned in her stomach. This wasn’t a film set with its fake noises and blinding lights. This was quiet, intimate, and somehow more terrifying. She slid off her chair and onto the gritty carpet, the fibers scratching her knees—the same position from hours before, but the context had shifted into something she couldn’t name.
She leaned forward, the scent of Lola filling her head—musky, clean sweat, a hint of soap beneath the perfume. She extended her tongue, tentatively touching the outer lips. The skin was warm, soft. Lola made a sound, a low hum from her chest, and shifted her hips minutely. “Just like that. Now get in there. Eat my fucking pussy, Daisy. Make it wet for me.”
The crude words, delivered in that flat, instructional tone, broke a final dam inside Daisy. She pushed her face in, her tongue delving into the fold, finding a different heat, a different taste—tangy, sharp, alive. It wasn’t the brutal salt of Rex; it was complex, human. She licked upwards, finding the hard nub of Lola’s clit beneath its hood.
Lola’s breath hitched. “Yeah. Circle it. Use the flat of your tongue.” Daisy obeyed, her world narrowing to the geometry of this body, the feedback of twitches and soft gasps. She fucked Lola with her tongue, driving it inside her, then swirling back to the clit. Her jaw ached. Saliva dripped from her chin, mixing with Lola’s wetness, creating a slick, messy sound.
“You like that, you hungry little bitch?” Loya grunted, her voice losing its detached cool, gaining a ragged edge. Her hand came down and tangled in Daisy’s hair, not to force her, but to guide her, to hold her in place. “Suck on it. Now. Suck my clit into your mouth.”
Daisy closed her lips around the swollen bud, sucking gently, then harder as Lola’s thighs tightened around her ears. She could feel the muscle tension coiling in Lola’s stomach, the tremble in the hands gripping her hair. The power was an illusion, but in that moment, kneeling in the buzzing neon dim, giving this jaded woman pleasure on her own terms, it felt real.
Lola came with a choked-off curse, her body buckling upwards, pressing hard against Daisy’s mouth. The contractions pulsed against Daisy’s tongue, a frantic, rhythmic clenching. Daisy kept sucking, gently, until Lola pushed her head away, chest heaving.
Lola’s breathing evened out, the only sound the buzz of neon and the wet shine on Daisy’s chin. She looked down at Daisy with an expression that wasn't gratitude, but appraisal. “Not bad. You’re a quick study.” She pushed herself up on her elbows, the silver ring glinting. “Alright. Up. Get naked.”
Daisy hesitated, the command echoing Rex’s from the office. But Lola’s eyes held no hungry malice, only a flat practicality. She stood on unsteady legs and peeled the cotton dress over her head. The air in the apartment felt cool on her skin, raising goosebumps over the faint bruises Marcus had left on her hips.
Meanwhile, Lola stood and stepped out of her skirt and underwear entirely. She picked up the harness, the straps dangling like a strange instrument of battle. She stepped into it with the efficiency of a soldier putting on armor, pulling the web of black nylon up over her thighs, securing the buckles around her waist and hips with sharp, precise clicks. The dark, gleaming dildo hung heavy and prominent from the O-ring, a false appendage that somehow looked more real than anything in Studio Four.
“Come here,” Lola said, her voice low. She guided Daisy back to the space in front of the couch, a hand firm on her bare shoulder. “On your knees.” The carpet grit bit Daisy’s skin. This submission felt different, a choice within a cage.
Lola stood before her, the harness a stark frame around her hips, the silicone cock level with Daisy’s face. It smelled faintly of chemical cleaner. Lola reached down and took hold of it, giving it a few slow, deliberate pumps in her fist. “Open up, kid. Let’s see that famous mouth.”
Daisy parted her lips, her mind flashing to the choking, bitter fullness of hours before. She leaned forward and took the head of the dildo into her mouth. It was smooth, unyielding, tasteless.
“That’s it,” Lola murmured, watching her. She pushed forward gently, feeding more of the thick length past Daisy’s lips. “Use your tongue. Pretend it’s the real thing. Make it look good.” Daisy hollowed her cheeks, mimicking the motions she’d just been forced to perform, but here the rhythm was hers to set. She bobbed her head, letting saliva coat the shaft.
Lola’s hand came to rest on the back of her head, not forcing, just resting. “Look up at me.” Daisy did, her eyes watering slightly as the fake cock pressed toward her throat. “Fuck, look at you,” Lola breathed, a strange, almost tender note in her gravelly voice. “You look so pretty with a giant cock in your mouth. Just a perfect, sweet little face built for it. No wonder Rex likes you so much. He knows a perfect fuckhole when he sees one.”
The words were obscene, but the delivery was observational, stripping them of Rex’s violent possession. Lola was stating a market fact. She slowly fucked Daisy’s mouth, watching the strain in her jaw, the slick mess of spit webbing the silicone. “This is the part you give them,” Lola said. “The picture. The pretty girl doing the dirty thing. The inside of your head right now, that’s yours. Where are you?”
Daisy, her mouth occupied, let her mind drift. She was not in this cluttered apartment. She was back on the porch swing at home, the wood creaking, the sound of crickets a thick blanket in the summer dark. The pressure in her mouth became the taste of sweet tea, the hand on her head became the gentle push of a breeze.
“Good,” Lola said, as if she could see the shift behind Daisy’s eyes. She pulled the wet dildo from her mouth with a soft pop. “You’re learning. Now get on the couch. On your back.”
Daisy complied, the plaid fabric scratching her shoulders. She looked up at Lola, who stood between her splayed knees, a silhouette against the buzzing signs. Lola spat into her own palm, then slicked the spit along the length of the strap-on until it shone. “This won’t feel like him,” she said. “It’s not alive. It’s just a tool. I’m going to put it in your pussy. You’re going to take it, and you’re going to find that place again. The porch swing. The crickets. Whatever the fuck it is.”
She guided the broad, blunt head to Daisy’s entrance, still tender and swollen from the day’s brutality. There was a moment of pressure, a stretching burn that made Daisy gasp. Lola pushed steadily, unemotionally, until the entire fake thickness was buried inside her, a filling presence that stretched without the violent pulse of a real cock.
“See?” Lola said, her hands bracing on the couch by Daisy’s head. She began to move, a steady, rhythmic in-and-out. The harness straps creaked with each thrust. “It’s just friction. Just mechanics. You let your body move with it.” She leaned down, her voice a hot whisper in Daisy’s ear. “But your mind is somewhere else. Your mind is untouchable. Your mind is free.”
Daisy closed her eyes. The physical sensation was there, a deep, full ache. But Lola was right. It was an object, not a person. She could picture the swing, the stars, the smell of cut grass. She could separate the feeling in her cunt from the feeling in her soul. Lola’s thrusts were measured, purposeful, building a mechanical rhythm that began to generate a different, purely physical heat.
“That’s it,” Lola grunted, her own breath coming faster now, the performance sparking something real in her. “Fuck yourself on it. Use me. Use this plastic cock to make your own body feel something.” Daisy lifted her hips, meeting each thrust, the slap of Lola’s hips against her thighs a crisp counter-rhythm. The pleasure was a surprise, a selfish curl low in her belly, divorced from any feeling for the person above her.
Lola’s movements became harder, more driving. “You’re just a hole for this thing, aren’t you?” she hissed, her cynical mask slipping into something darker, more engaged. “A perfect, tight little sheath. Take it. Take all of it.” She slammed home, holding deep, the base of the harness grinding against Daisy’s clit.
The combination of that pressure and the deep, full intrusion tipped Daisy over an edge she didn’t know she was near. A sharp, shocking orgasm ripped through her, her back arching off the couch, a raw cry tearing from her throat that was equal parts pain and release. Her cunt clenched rhythmically around the unyielding silicone.
The contractions subsided, leaving her trembling and hollowed out on the stained plaid. Lola watched the waves of aftershock cross Daisy’s face, her own expression unreadable. She slowly withdrew the slick, fake cock with a sound like a wet plug being pulled.
“Good girl,” Lola said, the words flat yet oddly sincere. She unbuckled the harness with quick, efficient movements, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. “Now switch it up. You need to learn to work for it, to find the angle that makes your own body sing.” She sat on the middle cushion of the deep sofa, her back against the armrest, and patted her leather-clad thighs. “Come here. Ride it. This one’s for you.”
Daisy’s legs felt boneless as she moved, obeying the instruction that felt both like a command and an offer. She straddled Lola’s lap, facing her. The older woman lifted the harness, guiding the thick dildo between Daisy’s thighs. The cool, slick tip pressed against her swollen entrance, still pulsing from her last climax. Daisy sank down slowly, a sharp gasp escaping her lips as she impaled herself on the rigid silicone, taking the entire length inside her aching cunt.
She began to move, a tentative rocking of her hips. The position was different, granting her control over the depth and speed. Lola’s hands came to rest on Daisy’s waist, calloused thumbs stroking her hip bones. “That’s it. Find your rhythm. Fuck yourself on it.” The detached guidance was gone from Lola’s voice, replaced by a low, focused intensity. “Use my fake cock like a toy. Milk it.”
Daisy closed her eyes, her hips finding a faster cadence. The base of the harness ground against Lola’s clit through her leather pants, and Lola’s breath hitched, a soft curse escaping her. This mutual usage, this transactional friction, began to spark a different fire. Daisy’s earlier detachment frayed, replaced by a rising, purely animal heat coiling in her core. Her muscles, trained from a childhood of athletics, worked smoothly, driving her down onto the shaft with increasing force. The slapping sound of her ass against Lola’s thighs filled the room, syncopated with their ragged breathing.
“Fuck, you’re getting good at this,” Lola grunted, her head tilting back, eyes slitted. “Look at you, fucking bouncing on a strap-on like a born cocksleeve. Your pretty little pussy is sucking it right in.”
The filthy praise, so different from Rex’s degrading barks, lit a fuse in Daisy’s stomach. She rode harder, chasing that sharp edge again, her own wetness making the glide obscenely smooth. She was getting more and more turned on, the line between performance and sensation blurring into a haze of sweat and need.
The apartment door clicked open.
A man walked in, shrugging off a motorcycle jacket. He was maybe forty, with a shaved head and a gaunt, weathered face etched with deep lines. He smelled of exhaust and stale cigarettes. He stopped, taking in the scene: his girlfriend on the couch, a blonde stranger impaled on the strap-on buckled to her hips, both of them slick with sweat and moving.
Lola didn’t stop. She didn’t even startle. She just opened her eyes and looked at him, a slow smile spreading across her pierced lips. “Jax. You’re just in time.”
Jax tossed his jacket onto a chair. His eyes, dark and devoid of surprise, scanned Daisy’s body, the curve of her spine, the bounce of her breasts. “New recruit?”
“Something like that,” Lola said, her hands tightening on Daisy’s hips, holding her still for a moment. “She’s prepping for a gangbang. Needs to get used to being full.” Her gaze locked onto Daisy’s, who was frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. “You wanna be full, Daisy? You wanna feel what it’s really like?”
Daisy, suspended on the silicone, her cunt stretched and throbbing, could only nod. The promise of three thousand dollars was a ghost in the room. The need to understand, to master this before Thursday, was a sharper demand.
Jax was already undoing his belt, his movements economical. His cock, half-hard, was thick and uncut, springing free from his jeans. He walked over, his boots heavy on the floor. Lola guided Daisy forward by the hips, bending her over so her hands braced against the back of the couch, her ass presented high in the air, the strap-on still buried deep in her from behind.
“Keep moving,” Lola instructed, and Daisy resumed a shallow, rocking motion, the dildo moving inside her as Jax stepped close.
She felt the broad, blunt head of his cock, hot and real, nudge against her other hole. It was still tender from Marcus, a raw memory of violation. Jax spat into his palm, wiped it over himself, and pressed forward without ceremony. The burn was immediate, a white-hot tearing that made Daisy cry out, her body instinctively trying to clench against the invasion.
“Relax that shithole,” Jax muttered, his voice a gravelly monotone. He pushed harder, his hands gripping the crests of her ass, spreading her wider. The pressure was immense, a brutal, stretching fullness that threatened to split her open. He sank in an inch, then two, the stretch agonizing and complete.
Then he was all the way inside, his pelvis flush against her, his real cock buried in her ass while the fake one filled her pussy. The sensation was overwhelming, a total colonization of her body. She was pinned between them, a conduit for their use.
“Fuck her,” Lola said, her own voice strained as she began to thrust upwards with the strap-on, matching the rhythm. "Feel that? She's got a cock in both holes now. A proper little double-stuffed slut."
Jax began to move, a slow, deep withdraw and a harsh, grinding re-entry. The friction in her ass was a raw, brutal scrape, a world away from the smoother violation of the silicone in her cunt. Each of Jax’s thrusts drove the dildo deeper, and each of Lola’s upward drives forced her body back onto Jax’s cock. She was trapped in their rhythm, a puppet between two manipulating forces.
“Jesus, she’s tight,” Jax grunted, his pace increasing. The slapping of flesh grew louder, a chaotic rhythm of his balls against her, the harness base against Lola, Daisy’s choked whimpers against the couch fabric. The pain in her ass began to transmute, blurred by the relentless stimulation in her pussy, melting into a confusing, overwhelming overload of sensation.
Lola leaned forward, her breath hot on Daisy’s ear. “This is it, kid. This is the machine. You’re just a part in it. Let it happen. Go back to your porch swing.”