Chapter 7: The Studio's Seduction
The penthouse felt suffocating after the feed went dark. Frank paced the length of the chrome-and-concrete studio, the memory of Roy’s earnest, clumsy movements like a itch under his skin. His cock, semi-hard and heavy, pressed uncomfortably against his zipper. The sterile air, usually a comfort, now felt charged and stale.
He stopped before a floor-to-ceindow overlooking the city’s grid of lights. His reflection was a giant blurred in the glass. All that muscle, all that control, and he was sitting in the dark jerking off to some cuckold’s bedtime routine. A cold fury settled in his gut.
The hydraulic sigh of the studio door broke his reverie. Mia and Jade slipped in, heels clicking on polished concrete. They’d just wrapped a scene; their makeup was smudged, their bodies glistening with a fine sheen of sweat and baby oil. They wore matching silk robes, loose and untied.
“Boss?” Mia’s voice was husky. “We saw the light. Everything cool?”
Frank didn’t turn. “Peachy.”
They exchanged a glance, a whole conversation in the lift of an eyebrow. They knew his moods, his tells. The tense set of his shoulders, the way his jaw worked. Jade let her robe slide off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She was all tan lines and sharp angles.
“You look like you could use a distraction,” she said, moving to stand beside him at the window. Her scent, cheap perfume and sex, cut through the cologne.
Mia came up on his other side, her hand drifting to his lower back. “That little live feed got you all worked up, huh? Watching the wifey?”
He flinched. It was too perceptive. His rule—never fuck the talent—was a wall he’d built to keep the operation clean, a line between business and the messy shit. But the wall felt paper-thin tonight, melting under the heat of his contempt for Roy and his need to obliterate the man’s phantom presence from his mind.
“Maybe,” he grunted.
Mia’s fingers found his belt buckle. The click was obscenely loud in the quiet room. “Rules are for suckers, Frank. Let us take the edge off.”
His hand came up, caught her wrist. For a moment, he held it, conflict rigid in his muscles. Then he released her. A permission. A surrender.
Jade dropped to her knees in front of him, not breaking eye contact in the dark glass as she worked his button and zipper down. Mia knelt beside her, her hands on his hips, pulling the denim and his boxers down over his ass in one rough motion.
His cock sprung free, already fully erect, a thick, monstrous weight that curved up towards his navel. The veins stood out in the pulsing LED light.
“Fucking hell,” Jade breathed, her professional cool slipping for a second. She’d seen big, but this was different. This was personal. She leaned in, her tongue darting out to lick a broad stripe from the base to the flared, leaking head. She tasted pre-cum and salt.
Mia nuzzled into his balls, taking one heavy sac into her mouth, sucking gently before releasing it with a pop. “All worked up for nothing,” she murmured against his skin, her breath hot. “Let us be something.”
Frank braced a hand against the cold window, his head dropping forward. The city blurred. He watched their shadows move against the floor. Jade took the head into her mouth, her lips stretching into a tight, pink ring. She could only get the first few inches before she gagged, saliva slicking the shaft. She worked what she could, her head bobbing, one hand fisting the lower half he could feel her trying to deepthroat him, the effort vibrating through him.
Mia attended to his balls, licking and sucking, then trailed her tongue up the thick underside of his cock, meeting Jade’s mouth. They traded places without a word, Mia taking over the head, sucking hard, while Jade lavished attention on his shaft, her hands joining her mouth, stroking what her lips couldn’t cover.
“Yeah,” Frank growled, the word torn from him. His other hand fisted in Mia’s blonde hair, not guiding, just holding, claiming. “Fuck, just like that. Take it.”
They were a perfect, filthy machine. The slick, rhythmic sounds of their mouths filled the silent studio. The LED lights pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Frank’s hips began to move in tiny, involuntary thrusts, fucking into the wet, warm pressure of Mia’s mouth. He was losing himself in the sensation, the pure physical dominance of it. This was nothing like the distant, voyeuristic climax in his penthouse. This was present, demanding, and brutal.
“Switch,” he commanded, his voice thick.
They obeyed instantly. Jade took him back, deeper this time, her throat fluttering around the tip. Mia stood, shedding her own robe, and pressed her bare back against the window in front of him. She reached between her own legs, fingers working her clit, her eyes locked on his. “Want to see you use her, Frank,” she panted. “Fuck her face. Make a mess.”
The permission, the depraved encouragement, shattered his last restraint. He pulled Jade’s head forward by her dark hair, his grip tight, and began to thrust in earnest. He fucked her mouth with shallow, brutal strokes, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat each time. Gagging sounds mixed with wet, choked moans. Spit dripped from her stretched lips, coating his balls and thighs.
“You fucking love it, don’t you?” he grunted, not expecting an answer. “Love being used. Just a fucking hole.”
Jade’s eyes watered, but she nodded, her hands gripping his muscular thighs for balance. The submission, the complete acceptance, drove him higher. Mia’s moans as she fingered herself provided a obscene soundtrack. The studio, his place of business, was now just a scene in his own private film.
The climax built not as a wave but as a detonation, starting deep in his balls and exploding up his spine. He jerked Jade’s head hard against him, holding her there as he came. Thick, hot pulses shot directly down her throat. He felt her swallow convulsively, felt the choke, felt the last few spurts coat her tongue as he pulled back. She gasped for air, cum and saliva glistening on her chin.
She gasped for air, cum and saliva glistening on her chin. Frank looked down at her, his breath still ragged, but the furious energy hadn’t left him. It had just coiled tighter, a spring loaded by the sight of her used face.
Mia traced a finger through the mess on Jade’s lips, then sucked it clean. “Still so fucking hard, boss,” she observed, her other hand wrapping around the base of his cock, which hadn’t softened in the slightest. It twitched in her grip, a fat, violent pulse.
The observation was a challenge. He was still here, in this body, and the image of Roy falling asleep next to Liz—innocent, trusting, stupid—was a cancer in his blood. He needed it gone. He needed to burn it out.
HE STAYED HARD AS HE TOOK HIS SHIRT OFF.
The fabric was a constraint. He grabbed the hem of his black t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one rough motion, muscles in his shoulders and arms corded and defined under the sterile light. His chest was a landscape of sculpted power, skin sheened with a light sweat, a stark contrast to the vulnerable fatigue he’d seen on Roy’s sleeping face through the camera. He dropped the shirt to the floor, a flag of surrender to a different kind of battle.
He dropped the shirt to the floor, a flag of surrender to a different kind of battle.
HE FLEXED HIS WHOLE BODY AS THE WOMEN CAME TO HIS SIDES STILL STROKING HIS COCK. Every muscle from his abdomen to his neck corded and swelled under his skin, a testament to sheer physical control, a living sculpture of power that made the air itself feel smaller. Mia’s and Jade’s hands on him seemed almost delicate by comparison, their strokes becoming worshipful against the rigid landscape of his flexed torso and the throbbing, unforgiving weight in their grip.
“Jesus, Frank,” Mia whispered, her other hand skimming over the concrete slab of his pectoral.
He released the flex with a slow exhale,
but the granite density of his physique didn’t soften. It remained, a permanent, engorged testament to the chemicals and will that had rebuilt him. The sight of his own body, perpetually hard and defined even at rest, usually satisfied him. Now it felt like a cage.
“They don’t ever go down,” Jade said, her voice raspy from her throat’s ordeal. She wiped her chin with the back of her hand, her eyes fixed on the severe cut of his abs. “It’s like you’re always ready.”
“I am always ready,” Frank corrected, his tone flat. His cock, wet and shining in her hand, twitched again as if to prove the point. The post-orgasm calm that should have hollowed him out hadn’t come. The memory of the bedroom feed was a splinter in his brain. Roy’s gentle, oblivious sighs. Liz’s calculated moans.
Liz’s calculated moans, still looping in his skull, were a taunt. The memory of her lying beneath that oblivious man was a fuel he didn’t want but couldn’t extinguish. His cock, thick and purpled, jerked against Jade’s stroking palm as if it had its own furious memory.
“Still thinking about her,” Mia observed, her mouth close to his ear. It wasn’t a question. She let her hand trail down the dense, ropey line of his abdomen. “Your little wife.”
Frank’s eyes snapped to hers, a challenge in their flat, dark stare. “She’s not my wife.”
“But you want her to be,” Jade said from her knees, her voice still rough. She leaned forward and dragged her tongue from his balls up the straining underside of his shaft, collecting the fresh bead of pre-cum that welled at the tip. “You want her to be yours when she’s in his bed. We can see it.”
He didn’t deny it. The admission thickened the air. Mia’s fingers dug into the hard wedge of his hip. “So use us like you want to use her. We’re here. We’re willing. And we don’t love you, so you can’t break us.”
The permission was an absolution. Frank’s hand, large enough to span the side of her head, cupped her jaw. His thumb pressed against her lower lip, and she opened for him, her tongue touching the pad. A low, animal sound rumbled in his chest.
“Turn around,” he told her, his voice gravel. “Bend over the console. Now.”
Mia moved with a dancer’s quick grace, presenting herself against the black metal of the sound board. Her back arched, the cheeks of her ass parting. Jade stayed on her knees, watching, one hand slowly working between her own legs, her gaze fixed on Frank’s face.
He spat into his palm, slicking his length once, twice, the sound wet and crude. He didn’t need more; Jade’s mouth had left him glistening. He positioned the bloated head of his cock at Mia’s entrance, which was already slick from her own excitement. He pushed, but didn’t enter. He just pressed, a massive, insistent pressure.
“Tell me what you are,” he demanded.
“I’m a hole for you, Frank,” Mia gasped, pushing back against him fruitlessly. “Just a fucking hole.”
He drove into her with a single, uncompromising thrust, burying every impossible inch in a brutal claim. Her scream was sharp, swallowed by the room’s acoustics. Her knuckles turned white where they gripped the console’s edge. He didn’t let her adjust. He pulled back and slammed home again, setting a punishing rhythm that shook her entire body with each impact.
The slapping of his flesh against hers was a rapid, wet counterpoint to his ragged breathing. Jade watched, mesmerized, her fingers moving faster on her clit. “Fuck, look at her take it,” Jade moaned, her head lolling back. “She can’t even get half of it and you’re wrecking her.”
“She’ll take all of it,” Frank grunted, his fingers digging bruises into Mia’s hips. He was a piston, a machine of pure anatomic conquest. Each thrust was an erasure, a physical overwriting of the ghostly image of Roy’s gentle, loving strokes. This was not love. This was ownership. Mia’s cries fractured into sobs, a mixture of pain and overwhelming stimulation that seemed to vibrate through the console.
“You like that?” he snarled, leaning over her, his sweat dripping onto her spine. “You like being split open thinking about another woman?”
“Yes!” she shrieked, the word breaking. “God, yes, Frank!”
Jade couldn’t take it anymore. She scrambled up and shoved her face between Mia’s and the console, kissing her deeply, swallowing her screams. The three of them were a tangled, sweating circuit of frantic energy. Frank felt the telltale tightening in his balls again, a deeper, more urgent draw. This orgasm wasn’t about release. It was a purge.
He pulled out of Mia abruptly, making her whimper at the sudden, hollow emptiness. He turned to Jade, his expression feral. “You. On your back. I want to see your face when I fill you up.”
Jade fell onto the cold concrete, legs spread, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and raw hunger. Frank dropped to his knees between them, his cock slapping against his stomach, glistening with Mia’s wetness. He guided himself into Jade, sinking into her tight heat with a more controlled but no less dominant thrust. He pinned her wrists above her head, his full weight on her, and fucked her with deep, grinding rolls of his hips designed to touch the very deepest part of her.
“You see her?” he panted down at Jade, his face inches from hers. “You see your wife with him?”
He wasn’t talking to Jade anymore. He was exorcising. Jade, understanding, wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper. “I see her,” she choked out, her body jolting with each drive of his hips. “She’s thinking of you, Frank. She’s thinking of this cock when he’s fucking her. She’s pretending it’s you.”
Her words were the final trigger. A snarl ripped from his throat. He buried himself to the hilt and came, a violent, protracted eruption that pulsed inside her in thick, ceaseless waves. His entire body locked, a monument of tense muscle shuddering through its climax. Jade cried out, her own climax triggered by the feel of him pumping into her, her inner muscles fluttering wildly around his still-throbbing length.
He collapsed onto her, then rolled off immediately, staring at the exposed pipes on the ceiling. His heart hammered against his ribs. The studio smelled of sex, sweat, and spent ambition. He was drained, but the horniness, the restless, burning need, wasn’t gone.
It was worse.
It had rooted deeper, fed by their compliance, by their words, by the absolute power to use their bodies as a blunt instrument against a ghost. Mia and Jade lay beside him on the floor, breathing heavily, spent and used. He looked at them, at their well-paid, professional acceptance of this new role.
The women would always help him from now on. They were tools, warm and willing, to stoke this fire whenever the image of Liz in that thrift-store bedroom threatened to consume him. He got more horny, not from satisfaction, but from the limitless, dark potential of it. The next time the feed went live, he wouldn’t be alone in his penthouse with his hand. He’d be here, on the floor, with them, getting harder, planning his move.
He’d be here, on the floor, with them, getting harder, planning his move. The silence after his climax was a physical weight, broken only by their ragged breathing and the hum of the lights. His mind, treacherously, began to drift back to the flicker of the bedroom feed, to the domestic quiet he had invaded.
“Penny for them,” Mia mumbled into the concrete, her face turned away.
“Don’t waste your money,” Frank said, his voice flat. He sat up, the motion causing Jade to stir beside him. He looked at his own hands, then at the subtle, trembling ache in Mia’s thighs. The phantom of Liz’s satisfied sigh in Roy’s ear was a taunt his body had answered, but his mind wouldn’t release.
Jade propped herself up on an elbow. Her makeup was a smudged wreck. “She’s just some girl, Frank.”
“She’s not,” he started, but the protest died.
Mia rolled over, wincing slightly. She crawled the short distance to him, her movements fluid despite the punishment. She didn’t touch his face; she laid her head on his thigh, her cheek against his cooling skin. “So what if she is? We’re here. We’re real.” Her hand came up, her fingers tracing the intricate web of veins on his softening cock, a biologist examining a fascinating, dormant specimen. “This is real. This need you’ve got… it doesn’t have a name. It doesn’t need one.”
Her words bypassed his brain and spoke directly to the raw nerve. The ‘need’ wasn’t for Liz. It was for obliteration. Jade saw him listening. She sat up, cross-legged, and pulled a bottle of water from a nearby crate. She took a sip, then let a slow trickle fall from her lips onto his stomach, watching the water slide through the grooves of his abdomen.
“Remember last quarter,” Jade said casually, as if discussing a sales report. “That investor. The one who wanted me to cry.” She wiped her mouth. “You told him the only tears on this set were from laughter or getting fucked senseless. You protected the product.” She leaned in, her breath cool. “You’re the product now, boss. And she’s a distraction from the bottom line.”
It was the coldest, most transactional logic, and it resonated. Liz was a sentiment. A variable. Frank looked from Jade’s pragmatic gaze to Mia’s lips, which were now gently kissing the base of his cock, coaxing it back to attention with a patience he never possessed.
“Forget her name,” Mia whispered against his skin, her tongue darting out. “Just remember this feeling.”
He let his head fall back. The ceiling was a grid of darkness and light. He concentrated on the wet, insistent point of contact between her mouth and his flesh. The neural pathway that fired at the thought of Liz—her laugh, the specific curve of her hip under those floral sheets—began to blur, overloaded by a more immediate signal.
It wasn’t an absence of thought, but a replacement. Each lick was a new command. Here. Now. This.
Frank’s hand moved to Mia’s hair, not guiding, just resting. His earlier violence was spent. This was something else. Jade shifted, moving behind Mia, her hands running up Mia’s spine. She kissed the back of Mia’s neck, then looked over her shoulder at Frank. “Let us show you what you’re really hooked on.”
Jade’s hands slid around to cup Mia’s breasts, pinching her nipples hard. Mia moaned, the vibration traveling straight up Frank’s shaft. He was hardening again, a relentless, biological response to the staged, yet utterly genuine, tableau before him. Jade rocked against Mia’s backside, her own need obvious, a feedback loop of sensation.
“See?” Jade hissed, her eyes locked on Frank’s. “It’s not her. It’s this. The control. The look on someone’s face when they’re completely owned by what you are.” She ground herself against Mia. “You own this. All of this. Why are you fantasizing about renting?”
The vulgar analogy hit its mark. A low groan escaped him. His cock was fully rigid again, jutting up from his body, a demand. Mia took him in, deeper this time, her throat relaxing in a practiced, willing surrender. She took him all the way, her nose pressing into the tight curls at his base, and held there until her body shook with the need for air.
When she pulled back, gasping, strands of saliva webbing her lips to his crown, she smiled a broken, beautiful smile. “His name is Roy, right? The husband.” She said it like she’d just recalled a minor detail from a memo.
Frank flinched.
Jade laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Roy. Fucking Roy.” She said the name like it was a joke, a bland, one-syllable punchline. “You’re letting a guy named Roy live in your head rent-free? While this,” she slapped Mia’s ass, a sharp crack, “is on its knees for you?”
The absurdity of it, framed in Jade’s crude professionalism, shattered the last brittle shell of his obsession. Roy wasn’t a rival. He was a placeholder. A symptom of Frank’s own boredom. Liz was the ghost of a simpler itch, but these women, this studio, this was the scratch that drew blood.
A new, cleaner fury ignited in him. Not jealousy. Impatience.
“Get on the platform,” he said, his voice different. Empty of its earlier conflicted heat. It was pure directive.
They moved. The circular podium with its LED halo was for filmed performances. He followed, his stride purposeful. Mia assumed a position on her hands and knees at the center, the lights painting her skin in alternating strips of white and shadow. Jade stood beside the platform, watching, a co-conspirator.
Frank climbed up. He stood over Mia, his shadow enveloping her. He didn’t think of Liz’s bedroom. He thought of camera angles. Of leverage. He pushed two fingers into Mia’s mouth, then brought them down, wet, to circle her other entrance. She gasped, pushing back against the pressure.
“You want this?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. It was a formality.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fuck my ass, Frank.” The words were clear, rehearsed and sincere. “I want you to wreck me with it so I can’t sit down tomorrow without remembering you don’t think about her anymore.”
He positioned the broad, leaking head against her. He applied steady, inexorable pressure. Her body resisted, then yielded in a slow, breathtaking surrender as the tip penetrated. A choked cry tore from her, part agony, part ecstasy. He pushed forward, millimeter by millimeter, feeling the tight, hot ring of muscle stretch and burn around him until he was fully sheathed in a clenching, impossible heat.
He held there, buried. Mia shook, her arms trembling. Jade’s hand was between her own legs, her breathing shallow. Frank looked out at the empty room, at the black lenses pointed at them. This was being recorded. This was a fact. This was a asset.
He began to move. A slow, withdrawn drag followed by a deep, penetrating return. The sensation was tighter, hotter, more demanding than anything before. It required his complete focus. Every nerve ending fired on this single, brutal connection. Liz’s face fractured, dissolved, washed away in the sweat beading on Mia’s back.
“Who do you belong to?” he grunted, his rhythm increasing, his balls slapping against her.
“You!” she screamed, her voice echoing. “Only you!”
“And who the fuck is Liz?” Jade called out from the darkness, her voice a provocateur’s dart.
Mia, sobbing with each driving thrust, laughed—a wild, unhinged sound. “Who?”
Frank felt the climax this time as a pure, systemic release, a total neurological event with no past and no future. He slammed into her, locked, and poured himself out in deep, pumping waves. His vision whited out at the edges. There was no imagery. No fantasy. Just a blinding, silent void of sensation.
When he came back to himself, he was slumped over her, both of them slick and spent on the cool platform. The LED lights pulsed like a steady, silent heart.
He slid out. Mia collapsed. Jade handed him a towel.
He wiped his face, then looked down at the two women, a tangle of used limbs and satisfaction. The static of the hidden feed, the memory of floral curtains, the very name ‘Liz’—it all felt distant. Insignificant. Like someone else’s boring dream.
He felt clear. He felt hungry, but it was a different hunger. One they had defined, and could now fulfill on demand.
“Clean this up,” he said, his tone devoid of affection, but also of haunting. It was just an instruction. “I’ve got calls to make in the morning.”
He stepped off the platform, walking toward the shower, not looking back. The women didn’t make him care about Liz. They made her cease to matter. The space she occupied in his mind was now just another empty room, ready for better, more useful things.