Chapter 9: Livvy's Screams
The penthouse smelled of stale champagne and expensive cleaner. Livvy stood at the window, the city’s twilight glow doing nothing to warm the chill in her bones. An empty bottle of Dom Pérignon lay on its side by the grand piano, a golden casualty of the night before. She’d tried to celebrate the rough cut, to feel the victory. All she’d felt was the ghost of Ben’s weight and the sharper, colder memory of Jay’s hands on her hips.
The key rattled in the lock. Maya let herself in, her face pale, a tablet clutched to her chest like a shield. “We have a problem. A big one.”
“Jay wants another meeting already?” Livvy asked, not turning around. She traced the outline of a skyscraper with her fingernail on the glass.
“Worse.” Maya slapped the tablet onto the marble kitchen island. The screen was paused on a paused frame of Jay, unmistakable in his office, leaning towards a man Livvy recognized—the sleazy, slick-haired agent from Breeze Energy Drink. “This was leaked to me an hour ago. From a disgruntled assistant at the agency.”
She tapped play.
Jay’s voice, tinny but clear, filled the silent space. “—understand, Rick, she’s exclusive now. My product. Any NIL deal she had in the pipeline is a conflict. A distraction.” Jay sipped a bourbon. “You pull the offer. You cite ‘creative differences’ or some bullshit. I’ll make sure the next girl we sign does your summer campaign for half her rate.”
The other man, Rick, chuckled. “You’re a ruthless bastard, Alistair. Forging her signature on the withdrawal was a nice touch.”
“Efficiency,” Jay replied.
The video ended.
Livvy’s breath fogged the glass. She watched the reflection of her own face go still, then harden. All of it. The sportswear deal. The cosmetic line. The fucking energy drink. All the legitimate doors, the ones Maya had fought to keep open, quietly slammed shut by the same hand that now poured money into her bank account. He hadn’t just bought her; he’d burned the bridges off the island.
“He’s systematically cutting off every other revenue stream,” Maya said, her voice trembling with rage. “Making you totally dependent on his machine. This isn’t just a contract, Livvy. It’s a cage.”
Before Livvy could speak, the intercom buzzed. A doorman’s voice, crackly and deferential. “Ms. Santos? A Ms. Danger is here. She says she’s expected.”
Abella. Livvy hadn’t called her.
Maya’s eyes went wide. “What is she doing here?”
Livvy walked to the intercom, her movements precise. “Send her up.” She released the button and looked at Maya. “I don’t know.”
The elevator chimed. Abella stepped out, a vision in a tight black leather dress that ended high on her thighs. She carried a large, stylish tote bag. Her eyes, heavy with liner, swept the penthouse, taking in the opulence and the empty bottle with the same amused disdain.
“Nice birdcage,” she purred, her accent thick. “Smells like regret and bad decisions.” She nodded at Maya. “Lawyer.”
“What do you want, Abella?” Maya snapped, stepping between her and Livvy.
Abella ignored her, her gaze locking onto Livvy. “I heard a rumor. A little birdie at the studio said Jay has you on a special leash. That he’s putting you through your paces.” She set the tote bag on the sofa with a deliberate thud. “I also heard about your NIL deals vanishing. Funny timing.”
“Get to the point,” Livvy said. Her voice was quiet.
Abella unzipped the tote bag. She pulled out a sleek, black harness made of thick leather straps and polished metal buckles. Then, the dildo. It was massive, veined, and obscenely realistic, a deep bronze color. She laid it on the cream-colored upholstery like a surgeon laying out a scalpel.
“The point is, you have a choice to make, mami,” Abella said, stepping closer. The scent of her perfume, jasmine and spice, overwhelmed the stale air. “You can be Jay’s pet. His private little fuckhole he breeds for the public. You cry when he hurts you, you smile when he tells you, you go bankrupt the second he discards you.” She picked up the harness, the leather whispering. “Or.”
She let the word hang.
“Or what?” Livvy asked.
“Or you become something the system can’t digest.” Abella’s eyes were dark, knowing. “You use the machine, but you don’t let it own you. You get so filthy, so undeniable, so powerfully fucked up that you become the toxin. You poison the well he’s trying to drink from.” She gestured to the harness. “You let me remind you what real power feels like. Not his sad, transactional little fucks in an office. But the thing that made you a star. The thing that scared you and woke you up. You choose to be the revenge whore. Not his. Yours.”
Maya was shaking her head. “Livvy, don’t. This is chaos. We litigate. We use the video—”
“And what?” Livvy interrupted, her eyes still on Abella. “We sue? He’ll bury us in legal fees for a decade. He’ll leak every second of footage he has of me. He’ll own the narrative. He’ll own me, just in a courtroom instead of a bedroom.” She finally turned from the window. She looked at the leather harness, then at Maya’s shattered, hopeful face, then at the frozen image of Jay on the tablet.
She walked to the sofa. She picked up the dildo. It was heavy, cool silicone. She handed it to Abella.
“Do it.”
Maya made a choked sound and turned away, walking to the far window, her back a rigid line of defeat.
Abella smiled, a slow, triumphant curve of her lips. “Take off your clothes. All of them. And get on your knees in the middle of the room. I want to see you against all this pretty nothing.”
Livvy obeyed. The silk camisole, the shorts. They joined the emotional debris on the floor. She knelt on the cool hardwood, the city lights sprawling behind her like a fallen galaxy. She felt absurd, exposed, a ritual sacrifice in a temple of her own making.
Abella took her time. She stepped into the harness, pulling the straps tight around her hips and thighs with sharp, efficient tugs. The buckles clicked with finality. She attached the dildo, the sound of it locking into the O-ring a soft, resonant pop. She stroked the length of it, a dark, brutal parody of a cock standing thick and proud from her leather-clad pelvis.
She walked toward Livvy, her heels clicking like a ticking clock. “You remember your first time with me?” she asked, circling. “You were a scared little rabbit. Now look at you. His whore. You think you’re numb? You’re not numb. You’re full of his poison. I’m going to fuck it out of you.”
She stopped behind Livvy. A hand fisted in Livvy’s hair, yanking her head back. “Arch your back. Present that ass to me. The same ass he took. I want it.”
Livvy complied, the ache in her scalp a bright, clarifying pain. She pressed her palms flat to the floor, pushing her rear into the air. She was utterly open, utterly vulnerable.
Abella spat onto her fingers, then onto the silicone. The sound was crude, wet. She didn’t wait. She pressed the broad, flared head against Livvy’s entrance. “This is you taking back the key,” she whispered.
And she shoved.
It wasn’t like Jay’s hateful, dry invasion. This was a deliberate, stretching conquest. The silicone was unforgiving, larger than anything Livvy had taken. A gasp tore from her lungs as Abella pushed deeper, inch by relentless inch, filling her up, stretching her to a burning brink. There was no tenderness, only a brutal, encompassing fullness.
“Fuck,” Livvy hissed, her fingers clawing at the polished floor.
Abella bottomed out, her leather-clad hips pressed flush against Livvy’s ass. She held there, letting Livvy feel every ridge, every claiming inch. “His cock doesn’t own this hole anymore,” Abella declared. “Mine does. Say it.”
Livvy panted, tears of strain at the corners of her eyes. “Yours.”
“Louder.”
“It’s yours!” The shout echoed off the high ceilings.
Abella began to move. She set a punishing, rhythmic pace, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in with a solid, impactful thrust. Each one jolted Livvy forward, made her cry out. The slap of leather and skin was a violent percussion in the quiet room.
“This is you,” Abella grunted, her own breath coming faster. “Not his fantasy. This raw, nasty, hungry fucking cunt. This is what they pay for. This is your power. You feel it? You feel me rearranging his memory?”
Livvy did. The numbness was shattering. In its place was a searing, overwhelming physicality. It was pain and pressure and a shocking, unwanted coil of pleasure tightening deep in her gut. She was being unmade, not by theft, but by a more forceful possession.
Abella’s hand left her hair and snaked around her hip, fingers finding Livvy’s clit. She rubbed fast, rough circles. The dual assault was too much. Livvy’s body betrayed her, spasming around the thick silicone, a wave of forced, shocking pleasure ripping through her. She screamed, a raw, ragged sound that had nothing to do with performance.
As Livvy convulsed, Abella fucked her through it, her thrusts becoming erratic, harder. With a final, deep grind, she stilled, a low groan escaping her lips as she mimicked the climax she couldn’t physically have.
Silence, except for their ragged breaths.
Abella pulled out slowly. The sensation was a dizzying, empty ache. She unclipped the harness, letting it and the dildo fall to the floor with a heavy thud. She looked down at Livvy, who was still on her hands and knees, trembling.
“The choice is made,” Abella said, wiping her hands on a small towel from her bag. She sounded almost gentle now. “Now you act like it.”
She dressed calmly, collected her things, and walked to the elevator. She didn’t look at Maya, still frozen at the window. The doors slid shut behind her.
Livvy slowly sat back on her heels. The deep, throbbing ache inside her was an anchor. She felt bruised, owned, and terrifyingly clear. Maya finally turned around, her face a mask of grief.
“What have you done?” Maya whispered.
Livvy stood up, her legs unsteady. She walked naked to the tablet, to the image of Jay’s smug face. She picked up her phone.
“What are you doing?” Maya asked, panic rising.
Livvy dialed. She put it on speaker. It rang twice.
“Jay,” his voice came, smooth and expectant.
“My penthouse. Now,” Livvy said, her voice hoarse but steady.
A pause. “I told you, my office at seven.”
“You heard me,” Livvy said, and ended the call.
She looked at Maya. “I’m not his pet. And I’m not a revenge whore.” She walked to the window, staring out at the city he thought he controlled. “I’m the crisis he didn’t see coming.”
Forty minutes later, Jay let himself in with his own key. He was annoyed, adjusting his cufflinks. “This is a breach of our—”
He stopped. He saw Maya, silent and watchful in an armchair. He saw the empty bottle, the discarded harness on the floor. And he saw Livvy, now wearing a simple black robe, standing by the piano, holding the tablet with his face on it.
Livvy hit play. His own voice filled the room, conspiring to ruin her.
Jay’s face went still, then dangerously calm. “Where did you get that?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Livvy said. “You broke the contract, Jay. The exclusivity clause works both ways. You actively damaged my career outside the studio. That’s tortious interference. Maya has already filed a copy with our litigation team.”
He scoffed, but a vein pulsed in his temple. “You’ll never win. You can’t afford the fight.”
“I don’t need to win in court,” Livvy said, taking a step toward him. “I just need to make the fight expensive. And public. I release this clip, along with a sworn affidavit about Clause 12—your ‘personal services’ demand—to Variety, to The Hollywood Reporter, to TMZ. Your name won’t just be profiting from hires; it’ll be synonymous with coercion, sabotage, and sexual exploitation. Your investors, the ones with the real money, they hate that kind of stink.”
Jay’s eyes glinted with cold fury. “You’ll be blacklisted. You’ll never work again.”
Livvy smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing. “I’m already the girl from the Abella Danger video. Scandal is my brand. You made sure of that. But you? You’re a middleman. You’re replaceable. The factory will keep running without you.” She gestured to the harness on the floor. “I have other allies. Nastier ones. They understand the product better than you ever will.”
He stared at her, really seeing her for the first time—not as a resource, but as a threat. The calculus in his eyes shifted.
“What do you want?” he asked, his voice clipped.
“The contract stands,” Livvy said. “But Clause 12 is shredded. You don’t touch me again. Ever. You reinstate the Breeze deal, and you make the other ones happen, with a twenty percent premium for my trouble. And you get me a director’s credit on the next three projects. Creative control means creative control.”
“Impossible.”
“Then I press send.” Livvy’s thumb hovered over the tablet. “The story goes live in one hour. Your board gets the link at 9 AM.”
The silence was a taut wire. Maya watched, holding her breath.
Jay’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “Fine. The clause is void. The deals… I’ll make the calls. The director credit is a stretch.”
“It’s non-negotiable.”
He nodded, once. “Done.”
“Good. Get out.”
He stood there for a moment, as if he might say something else, but the old power had drained away. He turned and left, the door clicking shut softly behind him.
The penthouse was silent. Maya let out a long, shuddering breath.
Livvy walked to the window, the robe slipping from one shoulder. The ache between her legs was a testament. The city’s lights glittered, no longer just a promise, but a landscape. She had traded a private humiliation for a public war. The cage was still there, but she had just taken a welding torch to the bars. She looked at her reflection in the dark glass—the girl from the video, the billionaire’s almost-victim, Abella’s reclaiming project—all of them hardening into something new, something sharp and unsentimental.
“Call Abella,” Livvy said, not turning around. “Tell her I’m in. Tell her we’re going to burn his world down. And tell her… to bring the biggest strap-on she can find.”
Maya’s phone felt like a lead weight in her hand. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.” Livvy didn’t turn from the window. The phantom stretch of Abella’s silicone still burned inside her, a foundational ache. “He’ll have the paperwork drawn up by noon. He’ll try to bury poison pills in the clauses. You find them.”
“And what’s the play with her?” Maya’s voice was thin. “More revenge porn? Literally?”
“It’s not revenge.” Livvy finally turned. Her eyes were crystalline, all sentiment burned away. “It’s a merger. He owns the distribution. I’m acquiring the means of production.”
The call was brief. Abella arrived within the hour, this time with a sleek aluminum case. She set it on the grand piano with a definitive clunk. “You survived Jay.”
“He folded,” Livvy said.
“He postponed.” Abella popped the case latches. Inside, nested in black foam, was a harness of intricate straps and a silicone cock so thick and long it was almost grotesque. “He’s a shark. He smells blood in the water now. Your blood.”
Livvy approached the piano, trailed a finger over the cold, veined surface of the toy. “You said to become the toxin. How?”
“By making content he can’t control.” Abella’s gaze was assessing. “We film here. Now. No crew, just us and a camera. Raw. Uncut. The kind of thing that leaks and breaks the internet. You fucking me. Me wrecking you. No script, no safe word for the audience.” She stepped close, her breath hot on Livvy’s neck. “You let that pretty image of his star shatter completely. You give them the dirty, screaming reality. You think you can handle that?”
Livvy’s heart hammered against her ribs, not with fear, but with a terrifying anticipation. This was the plunge. “Yes.”
Maya stood by the elevator, coat on. “I can’t watch this.”
“Then leave,” Livvy said, not unkindly. “Go fight the contract war. This is my front.”
When the door shut behind Maya, the air changed. It became charged, intimate. Abella mounted her phone on a tripod, the red recording light a single, unblinking eye. “Talk to it,” she instructed, stripping off her dress. Her body was a terrain of curves and muscle. “Tell them why you’re doing this.”
Livvy faced the lens, her robe parting. The city glittered behind her. “Jay Alistair thought he could own this,” she began, her voice low and direct. “He thought my hunger was his to license.” She let the robe fall. “It’s not.”
Abella moved behind the camera, a silhouette. “Who does it belong to, mami?”
Livvy’s eyes found the lens. “To anyone who wants to watch me take it.”
That was the cue. Abella stepped into frame, already strapped into the harness, the monstrous appendage jutting from her. She didn’t kiss or caress. She grabbed a handful of Livvy’s hair and guided her to her knees. “Show them how a star sucks cock. Get it wet. Get it messy.”
Livvy opened her mouth, taking the broad, rubbery head past her lips. The taste was sterile, but the act was profoundly degrading. She hollowed her cheeks, slurping, letting saliva slick the entire length. She looked up at the camera, eyes watering, as she deep-throated it until the silicone pressed against the back of her throat. She gagged, beautifully, messily.
“Good girl,” Abella purred, fucking her face with short, rough thrusts. “Now the main event. Ass up. Where he liked it.”
Livvy crawled to the plush rug before the windows, presenting herself. The cool air on her exposed skin was a shock. Abella’s hand came down not as a caress, but as a stinging slap on her ass cheek. The sound cracked through the penthouse. Livvy yelped, a real, sharp sound.
“You wanted this,” Abella reminded her, rubbing the spit-slicked head against Livvy’s tightest hole. “You chose this. Now take it.”
The initial penetration was a white-hot violation. Livvy screamed into the rug, her body seizing. It was thicker, more unyielding than the last. Abella didn’t pause, working it in with relentless, circular pressure until the widest part stretched the ring of muscle and popped inside. Livvy sobbed, the breath knocked from her.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Abella grunted, beginning a brutal, shallow rhythm. Each inward grind was a searing lesson in surrender. “This is yours. This pain, this stretch. This is your power now. Feel it owning you.”
And Livvy did. The line between agony and ecstasy blurred into a single, overwhelming signal. Her cunt, ignored and empty, clenched on nothing, dripping onto the rug. Abella’s hand snaked under her, fingers finding her clit, rubbing with ruthless precision. The dual sensation was madness—a brutal fullness behind, a frantic friction ahead.
“Come for them,” Abella commanded, her voice guttural. “Let them see you come on a fake cock while your billionaire pimp signs away his rights.”
The orgasm ripped through Livvy like a structural failure. She shattered, her back arching violently, a wordless scream tearing from her throat as she spasmed around the invading silicone. The camera saw it all: the chaotic bliss on her face, the sweat-sheened skin, the utter defeat of her old self.
Abella rode her through it, then slowed. She pulled out, leaving Livvy gasping and hollowed on the floor. The red light still glowed.
Silence, except for their ragged breaths. Then, a buzzing. Livvy’s phone, skittering on the marble floor. Then Maya’s. Then Abella’s.
A syncopated choir of dread.
Abella, still harnessed, walked over and picked up her device. She read the screen. Her amused confidence evaporated, her face hardening into something like fear. “No.”
Livvy pushed herself up onto trembling elbows. “What?”
Abella turned the phone toward her. It was a news alert, from a major industry outlet.
The headline was stark: FALLEN STAR: BEN CARTER ARRESTED IN EARLY MORNING RAID, CHARGES INCLUDE POSSESSION WITH INTENT TO DISTRIBUTE.
The photo below showed Ben, hollow-eyed, in handcuffs, being led from his lavish apartment building. Livvy’s building. The text explicitly mentioned his recent, turbulent breakup with rising adult film star Livvy Santos, and noted the significant financial decline and “erratic behavior” that followed their split.
Her blood turned to ice. Jay’s voice echoed in her memory. You’ll be blacklisted. You’ll never work again.
This wasn’t a blacklist. This was a scorched-earth warning. He hadn’t touched her. He’d set fire to the man she once loved, and walked away clean.
The phone in her hand buzzed again. A new message, from an unknown number. Just four words.
“You should have folded.”