You wanted to be famous, so that's what you were. All it took was one day, making yourself a presence online, and demanding attention by using the Crowd Mindset theory. You'd always dreamed of being a singer, an artist, something preserved in history as numbers instead of words. At first, it started out slow. Eighteen likes, two hundred views, eight reposts. But it rapidly grew as you incessantly posted, developing a fanbase within days.
It was now late spring early summer, and you'd gotten your first few shows set up at arenas across the country, as you'd become a national sensation. Your image captivated people, and with that, haters. It was a statistic to you, you'd get one hater for every seventy or so fans, but that was okay; because if you had seven million fans, you only had one million haters, out of a couple hundred million in the country. And among those haters, was Sukuna Ryomen.
He hated what you stood for, a place for women to just be themselves without being controlled or monitored, a place for an oppressed body of people to be safe and loved by the people around them. After several days of making bitter statements on social media about you, he had secretly purchased VIP tickets. He wanted to see the shit show for himself, just so that he could throw tomatoes at you when you, in his mind, inevitably failed.
By the time he makes it to the VIP lounge within the stadium your nearest show was at, he was almost gagging over all the shimmery pink "feminist" trash you called merchandise. Which was funny, considering it was all selling like hot cakes, and the few items you'd personally autographed had been sold out within mere seconds of crazed fans entering the stadium and ambushing the merchandise stands. After making his way into the lounge, he was shocked to see how generic it looked. That's when you stepped into the room, in all your beauty.
He was stunned. He didn't expect you to be so beautiful in person, he was expecting some generic Barbie girl to appear. When he looks at you, he realizes why all your fans were so crazed. As you address him as your biggest hater, he scoffs and looks away, "Of course I don't like your music. It sounds bland, like unseasoned chicken. That feminist trash won't get you anywhere in today's world, not to mention your horrible carbon footprint from all your travelling." It was all the same excuses you'd heard before, which you simply ignored. "All PR is good PR." You respond to him, lips curling into a smug smile, "Besides, you're the one who bought the tickets. No one held you at gunpoint to be here. But I'm the problem, aren't I?" You snap, causing Sukuna to roll his eyes.
You would be lying if you said he wasn't hot. He was inhumanly tall, extremely buff, and appeared to have four eyes, but it was concealed to seem like makeup at a distance. All of that, all of the drama, it all melted away as the two of you practically jumped on each other. You'd already gotten your show makeup and dress settled, but it was about to be ruined. His large hands easily dwarfed the entirety of your being, holding you as if you were nothing more than a ragdoll to him. "You're a horrible influence." You mumble between heated kisses, his tongue running and swirling over your own, messing up any hopes of your makeup remaining intact long enough for the show.
Sukuna's hands snake under your dress, hiking up the fabric, his deft fingers finding their way into your panties. His thumb finds its way over your clit, rubbing in tight circles, as his middle and index fingers slip into your tight hole. His red irises zero-in on your facial expressions, the way your jaw slackens, the way your mouth forms the correct positions for moans and whimpers as he roughly finger-fucks you, working you into an effortless orgasm, "Good fucking girl, cummin' on my fingers like that." He whispers into your ear.
Without any time to process in your post-orgasmic haze, he'd already tugged his pants down enough to slot his dick into your cunt, watching the way you spasm and try to fit around his large cock. As you get adjusted to it, you bounce yourself on his cock, your hands pressed against his chest, his hands resting on your hips to guide your uneasy movements. After only a few moments, he cums hard, spilling his semen into your pussy, your cunt clenching down on him as you cum at the sametime, your juices mixing together at the base of his thick cock. "Fucking hell," he sighs, easing you off of him. "Thirty seconds to showtime." The voice of your assistant rings in your earpiece. "I have to... get going..." You sigh through gasps, still twitching and trembling from the aftershocks of such an intense experience. "Wait... for me..." You huff, trying to steady your racing heart as you manage to make it to the backstage room despite your jelly-like legs and leaking pussy.
Sukuna invites himself in once you get on stage, observing your every move. His hands slide into his pants, watching as you perform, despite your shaky voice, knowing your cunt was stuffed with his babies and no one knew but him. His right hand jerks quickly, meanwhile his left hand holds his phone, watching a livestream of your performance on stage. His pace is relentless, and even after the two hours your show went on for, he still wasn't satisfied - He needed to feel your tight wetness around him one more time.
When you get into the backstage room after the show ends, covered in sweat and breathing heavy from the physical exertion required of you, Sukuna simply watches you slip into comfy clothes as you beckon for him to follow you to your private car, "Been needing some good dick for a while, thanks." You mumble tiredly. As soon as he touches the leather seat of your limousine, he's on top of you like a wild animal, kissing at your neck. "Needing some good dick, is that right? Good dick's what you're gonna get then, Princess." He quickly double checks to make sure the window separating the back of the limo from the driver's seat was fully up, but he didn't care, even if it wasn't, because he would still fuck you either way.
Without a beat of hesitation, his dick is slotted inside of you once more, bouncing you up and down on his length, eyes locking onto the way your own eyes roll back into your head, heavenly moans falling from your lips. "Fuck, just like that-" He praises, slamming you down onto his dick, holding you in place as he releases into you, watching how you slightly bloat with his cum, the outline of his dick visible against your sweat-slickened stomach, your eyes rolling back, head lolling back in his grasp as you orgasm, seeing stars with the force at which it hit you.
By the time you reach your hotel, Sukuna walks you in, relishing in the sadistic joy that seeing you forced to walk with your full cunt brought him. He steers you into your hotel room, using your hazy state to persuade you into getting into swimwear for the pool. Despite the pool being closed, he sneaks the both of you into the cool, dark room, guiding you into the water. He leads you to the deep end, where you couldn't reach the bottom with your feet, but the water only came up to his upper chest. He holds you and twists you to let the water jet hit your pussy, "Gotta clean my princess up, don't I? How fucking pathetic, can't even clean up after yourself, stupid whore." He whispers against your neck, pressing you flat against the pool wall, getting insanely gleeful at the sight of you, already overstimulated, having an orgasm purely because of a water jet.
After watching you have three orgasms without letting you move, he finally lets up, carrying you out of the pool and towards the nearby shower area, standing you under a soothing warm stream of water, washing the chlorine and sweat from your body, peppering kisses along your face and neck. "What about the pool-?" You whisper hazily, referring to the fact that the pool had been contaminated with your orgasmic fluid, "Just leave it. A nice little surprise for the janitor, don't you think?" Sukuna teases, drying you off, knowing he was likely about to fuck you one last time before finally letting you sleep, just to fuck you again in the morning.