The numbers made Valentino's cock harder than any performance ever could.
He sprawled across the crimson velvet chaise in his penthouse office, all four hands occupied with various tasks—one scrolling through revenue reports on his phone, another tapping ash from his cigarette holder, the third and fourth adjusting the growing bulge straining against his white pants. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the heart-shaped windows cast pink shadows across the fresh prints scattered across his desk, and every time his eyes landed on them, a fresh wave of possessive satisfaction rolled through his chest.
Luna.
His newest acquisition had exceeded every fucking expectation.
The subscription numbers from her debut content had shattered records—matching Yoruichi's consistent popularity but with an entirely new audience. Everyone was desperate for another glimpse of that ethereal blonde with the disconnected silver eyes and that dreamy, innocent expression even while three cocks filled her holes. They wanted more and and Valentino made sure that they didn't have to edge long.
Valentino reached for one of the prints with his upper right hand, bringing it closer to examine for the hundredth time that afternoon. The glossy paper felt smooth against his gloved fingers as he studied the image with the critical eye of someone who knew exactly what sold and why.
Pure. White. Lingerie.
It complemented her so fucking well.
Luna stood against a backdrop of soft white fabric, the lighting diffused and gentle—nothing harsh, nothing aggressive. Just soft, dreamy illumination that made her pale skin seem to glow from within. Her dirty blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in those characteristic wild waves, and her enormous silver eyes stared directly at the camera with that signature unfocused quality that made viewers feel like she was looking through them at something far more interesting beyond.
The lingerie itself was a masterpiece of suggestion rather than revelation. A white lace bra that cupped tightly her small breasts, the delicate fabric so sheer he could see the shadow of her pink nipples beneath. Matching panties sat low on her narrow hips, the waistband adorned with tiny satin bows that screamed innocence even as the cut of the fabric—high on the thighs, dipping low in front—suggested something far more carnal.
White thigh-high stockings completed the ensemble, held up by garter straps that disappeared beneath the panties. But it was her pose that made the image transcend from merely pretty into something that would haunt every demon's wet dreams.
She'd been positioned kneeling on what looked like clouds—actually just carefully arranged white fabric and strategic lighting, but the effect made her appear angelic, untouched, floating in some celestial space that existed outside Hell's sulfuric reality. One hand rested delicately on her thigh, the other raised to press a single finger against her lips in a gesture of shy secrecy. Her head tilted slightly, that dreamy smile playing at the corners of her mouth like she knew something wonderful that she wasn't quite ready to share.
The tagline printed across the bottom in elegant script read: "Wonderland's Secret."
Fucking genius.
Valentino set that print down and reached for another. This one showed Luna from behind—on her hands and knees on that same cloud-like surface, looking back over her shoulder at the camera with those huge silver eyes. The white lace panties stretched across her ass, the fabric pulled tight enough to outline the cleft between her cheeks. The garter straps framed her pale flesh perfectly, and the arch of her spine suggested both flexibility and submission.
Another showed her lying on her side, one leg bent at the knee while the other stretched out long and elegant. The bra had shifted slightly in this shot—whether by accident or design, he couldn't remember—so that one pale nipple peeked out from beneath the lace edge. Her expression remained that same disconnected serenity, completely unaware or unconcerned with her partial exposure.
The fourth print featured her standing, arms raised above her head in a stretch that made her small breasts lift and the flat plane of her stomach become even more pronounced. The panties sat dangerously low on her hips, threatening to slip down with any sudden movement. Her eyes were half-closed in this one, her lips parted slightly as though caught mid-sigh.
Every single image walked that razor's edge between innocent and obscene. Angelic and debauched. Untouched and desperately fuckable.
The marketing campaign had launched three days ago, and the response had been immediate and overwhelming. Posters plastered across Pentagram City showing Luna in her white lingerie, looking dreamy and distant and absolutely corruptible. Digital billboards cycling through the images on every major street corner. Social media exploding with shares and comments and desperate inquiries about where to access her content.
Velvet had reported that "Wonderland's Secret" was trending across every platform in Hell. Demons were creating fan art, writing fantasies, begging for more content featuring the mysterious blonde who looked like she'd wandered out of some celestial realm and gotten deliciously lost in depravity.
His phone buzzed with another notification. He glanced at the screen, his grin stretching wider as he read Vox's message: "Luna merch presales just hit six figures. Six. FIGURES. For fucking POSTERS. Whatever dimension you found this bitch in, go back and get more."
Valentino's laugh echoed through the penthouse, Vox didn't need to worry his pretty little screen.
HE PLAN TO!
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ah Japan… So many great kinks were porn here.
Ha Ha Ha.
Fuck he was funny.
Valentino materialized on a Tokyo rooftop, the grimoire's residual magic still crackling along his skin like static electricity. The afternoon sun beat down with intensity that made him squint behind his heart-shaped sunglasses, his wings folding tight against his back as he surveyed the sprawling urban landscape below. Modern skyscrapers stretched toward the sky in every direction, their glass surfaces reflecting the light in ways that made his eyes water.
His antennae twitched as he moved across the rooftop, his heels clicking against concrete. The city hummed with life below—cars honking, voices chattering, the distant wail of sirens. All so fucking mundane. All so ripe with potential.
Valentino's gaze swept across the street below, cataloging the humans moving along the sidewalks. Too old. Too plain. Wrong aesthetic. He needed something specific—young enough to read as innocent, beautiful enough to photograph well, desperate enough to—
His breath caught.
She walked alone down the sidewalk across the street, her slender frame moving with careful, measured steps. Dark hair fell past her shoulders in a sleek curtain that caught the afternoon light, and even from this distance he could see the delicate structure of her face—high cheekbones, large expressive eyes, lips that formed a soft, contemplative line as she stared at the phone in her hands.
Valentino's cock twitched with immediate interest. The girl possessed that quality he'd been searching for—ethereal beauty combined with an air of vulnerability that made his predatory instincts sing. She wore casual clothes, jeans and a simple top, but he could already imagine how she'd look in costumes. How those large eyes would stare at the camera. How that slender body would move.
He watched her pause at a crosswalk, still focused on her phone. Her expression carried weight—stress, maybe, or sadness. Something troubled lurked behind those eyes, and fuck, troubled girls made the best performers. They needed escape. They needed validation. They needed someone to tell them they were special.
Valentino moved.
He dropped from the rooftop in one smooth motion, his wings catching the air just enough to control his descent. He landed in the alley beside the building, already pulling his coat tighter and adjusting his appearance. The humans couldn't see his true form—the grimoire's magic took care of that, projecting an illusion of normalcy that made him look like just another eccentric businessman in expensive clothes.
He emerged onto the sidewalk and began walking, tracking the girl's movement with predatory focus. She'd crossed the street and turned down a quieter side road, her attention still fixed on whatever occupied her phone screen. Perfect. Fewer witnesses.
The girl turned down an even narrower street—practically empty except for a few parked cars and closed storefronts. Valentino's grin stretched wider. It was almost too easy.
Valentino inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with air that he transformed into something far more potent. The pink smoke began curling from between his sharp teeth, sweet-smelling and thick, rolling out in a concentrated stream that moved with purpose rather than random diffusion.
The girl's head started to turn—some instinct warning her of danger behind—but the smoke reached her first.
It wrapped around her face like a lover's caress, seeping into her nostrils and parted lips with invasive intimacy. Valentino watched her body go rigid, watched those large expressive eyes widen in shock and confusion as the hypnotic properties flooded her system. She tried to step back, tried to pull away, but her movements already grew sluggish and uncoordinated.
"Shh, shh, hermosa," Valentino purred, stepping closer as more smoke poured from his mouth. His voice took on that layered quality, the command woven into every syllable. "Don't fight it. Just breathe deep and listen to my voice. That's it. Good girl."
The resistance drained from her frame like water from a broken vessel. Her phone slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering against the pavement, but she didn't seem to notice. Those beautiful eyes went glassy and unfocused, her lips parting further as she inhaled more of the pink smoke with each breath.
"Don't worry chica." Val smiled down at her. "I am going to make you a star."
Akane Kurokawa just gave a week smile up to him as Valentino pulled her close. Then they were gone.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
It weird. Velvet's eyes actually lit up when he explained the rush job, her usual caustic demeanor replaced with something almost like enthusiasm. Strange to see her face without that look of having just sucked a lemon… Valentino wondered if he could use that for something. But later.
Velvet had assembled an entire team in record time—makeup artists, costume designers, set decorators, all moving with the kind of frenzied efficiency that only came from working under the threat of Valentino's displeasure. The studio floor buzzed with activity.
"Alright get ready BITCHES!" Val got to his rhinestone bedazzled directors chair. With a wave of his hand sinners franticly moved. As the camera starts rolling.
"Light!"
"Camera!"
"FUCK!"
Akane moved through the narrow alley, her heels clicking against wet pavement that reflected neon signs from the street ahead. The tan trench coat hung heavy on her shoulders, the fabric scratching against her skin with each step. She pulled it tighter around herself, though the night air wasn't particularly cold.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, her voice carrying that particular tone of professional complaint—annoyed but resigned. "A lead role, they said. A challenging part that will really showcase your range, they said."
Her fingers clutched the edges of her trench coat tighter as she moved deeper into the set. The fabric felt heavy against her skin, providing a barrier between what she wore underneath and the world beyond.
Akane's voice rising slightly with frustration. "I'm a method actor, so of course I have to fully embody the character. I have to live it, breathe it, become it." A bitter laugh escaped her throat. "But did they have to cast me as this?"
She stopped just shy of the alley's mouth, still shrouded in shadow but close enough to see the street beyond. Neon signs blazed in garish reds and purples, advertising clubs and services with names that left nothing to imagination. Women lined the sidewalk—some leaning against buildings, others strutting back and forth in impossibly high heels. Their clothes left nothing to imagination, all exposed flesh and tight fabric designed to advertise what they offered.
Akane stopped at the threshold where alley met street. Her turquoise-blue eyes stared out at the fabricated world beyond, her jaw tight with the kind of determination that came from swallowing pride and doing what needed to be done anyway.
"Fine," she whispered to herself. "If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it right. Commit completely. That's what separates good actors from great ones."
Her fingers moved to the belt of her trench coat. She took a breath—deep, steadying—then pulled the knot free.
The coat fell open, and she shrugged it from her shoulders in one fluid motion. The heavy fabric pooled at her feet, and Akane stood revealed under the garish neon lights.
The outfit barely qualified as clothing.
A red vinyl bra cupped her breasts, the material so tight and shiny it looked like it had been painted onto her skin. The cups pushed her tits up and together, creating cleavage that threatened to spill over the top edge with each breath. The straps dug into her shoulders—thin strips of matching red that looked like they might snap under the weight.
Below, a matching red vinyl skirt wrapped around her hips. The word "skirt" was generous—the hem barely reached the tops of her thighs, so short that the slightest movement would expose everything beneath. The material clung to her curves with obscene tightness, highlighting the flare of her hips and the round curve of her ass.
Fishnet stockings covered her long legs, the pattern creating a web of shadows against her skin. They attached to a garter belt hidden beneath the vinyl skirt—black straps that ran down her thighs, visible through the gaps in the fishnet. The stockings disappeared into platform heels so high they forced her spine into an exaggerated arch, pushing her ass out and making her legs look impossibly long.
Loose waves of navy blue hair fell down her back, the teal tips shimmering under the neon lights of the club signs as they brushed just below her shoulder blades. She had styled it to look deliberately messy—tousled and wild, as though hands had already run through it repeatedly.
The makeup was equally deliberate in its excess. Dark smoky eyeshadow made her turquoise eyes look huge and hungry, rimmed with thick black liner that extended past the outer corners in dramatic wings. Her lips were painted a deep crimson that matched the vinyl, glossy and wet-looking, parted slightly as though perpetually inviting.
A black choker wrapped around her throat—cheap pleather with a small silver ring dangling from the center. It sat tight against her skin, emphasizing the slender column of her neck and the vulnerability of her exposed throat.
Akane stood there in the garish light, her body on full display, every curve and line highlighted by clothing designed specifically to advertise what she was selling. The cold air hit her exposed skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and thighs. She fought the urge to cover herself, to grab the coat and wrap it back around her body like armor.
She looked exactly like what she was pretending to be—a cheap street prostitute, the kind men picked up for quick transactions in cars or dirty hotel rooms. The kind who stood on corners and offered their bodies for whatever price they could get.
"Method acting." She reminded herself quietly. "Commit to the role."
She stepped forward onto the street proper, leaving the trench coat behind in the alley. Her platform heels clicked against the pavement with each step—loud, deliberate, announcing her presence to anyone within earshot.
She walked towards an entire block of red light district storefronts. Neon signs advertised establishments in garish colors—pink hearts, blue lips, green silhouettes of dancing figures. Windows glowed with red light that spilled onto the street, creating pools of crimson that she walked through like someone wading into blood.
Akane moved to the edge of the curb, positioning herself beneath a flickering pink neon sign. The light washed over her skin, turning her pale flesh rosy, making the red vinyl of her outfit glow like fresh wounds.
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, testing the posture. The movement made her hips sway, made the vinyl skirt ride up dangerously high on her thighs. Her hand came up to rest on her hip—fingers splayed against the curve, thumb hooked over the waistband of the skirt.
"This is what they do." Akane said, as she spied thought other girls standing on nearby street corners on and tried force herself to embody the character fully. "This is how they stand, how they move, how they present themselves."
She stood there in the neon-soaked darkness, dressed like a whore, waiting to see what would happen next.
Traffic moved past her—cars cruising slowly, headlights cutting through the neon haze. Some drivers turned their heads as they passed, eyes tracking her body from the safety of their vehicles before accelerating away. A group of young men walked by on the opposite sidewalk, their voices carrying across the street in sharp bursts of laughter. One pointed in her direction, said something to his companions that made them all turn to look. They stared for several seconds, then kept walking, their laughter fading into the distance.
An older woman approached on the same side of the street, her face twisting into an expression of disgust as she took in Akane's outfit. Her lips moved—words too quiet to hear from this distance—and she made a deliberate detour around Akane, giving her wide berth as though whatever she had might be contagious.
Two businessmen in suits stopped a few meters away, their eyes traveling up and down Akane's body with undisguised interest. One elbowed the other, said something behind his hand. They both laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. One made a gesture—hip thrusting motions accompanied by more laughter. Then they walked away, shoulders shaking with amusement.
A car slowed as it approached, the driver's window rolling down partway. The man inside looked to be in his forties, his face shadowed but his eyes visible as they fixed on Akane's exposed cleavage. The car idled there for perhaps ten seconds, engine rumbling. Then the window rolled back up and the vehicle accelerated away, taillights disappearing around a corner.
More people passed. More stares. A younger man called out from across the street—"Nice tits!"—his voice carrying over the sound of traffic. His friend pulled him away, both of them laughing as they continued down the sidewalk.
But no one stopped. No one approached. No one reached for their wallet or asked her price.
Akane shifted her weight again, the platform heels making her ankles wobble slightly. She looked up and down the street, watching the other women who lined the curbs. Some called out to passing men, their voices carrying promises and prices. Others posed more aggressively—bending forward to show cleavage, turning to display their asses, running hands over their own bodies in invitation.
Akane's hand moved from her hip to her thigh, fingers trailing along the fishnet pattern. She took a step forward, closer to the edge of the curb where the streetlight illuminated her more fully. Her other hand came up to her hair, fingers combing through the navy blue strands before letting them fall back against her shoulders.
"Hey!" Her voice came out louder than expected, cutting through the ambient noise of the street. "Looking for a good time?"
A man walking past glanced at her but didn't slow his pace.
Akane turned slightly, angling her body so the curve of her hip became more pronounced. "I'm available! Best prices on this block!"
Another car drove by without stopping.
She stepped further into the light, positioning herself directly under the pink neon glow. Her hands moved to her breasts, palms pressing against the vinyl cups and pushing them together to create even more cleavage. "Look what you're missing! These tits feel amazing! Soft, perfect, all yours for the right price!"
A couple walking on the opposite sidewalk turned to stare. The woman pulled her partner's arm, urging him to look away and keep moving.
Akane's hands slid down her body, over the curve of her waist to her hips. She turned in a slow circle, letting anyone watching see every angle. When her back faced the street, she bent forward at the waist, hands braced on her knees. The vinyl skirt rode up, exposing the lower curves of her ass cheeks and the straps of her garter belt stretched across pale skin.
"This ass!" She called over her shoulder. "Tight, round, ready to be grabbed! Cheap too! Won't find better for the price!"
She straightened and turned back around, one hand moving between her breasts while the other gripped her thigh. "I'll do anything! Whatever you want! No limits! Just name it and I'm yours!"
More cars passed. More pedestrians averted their eyes or stared briefly before continuing on their way.
Akane's hands moved constantly now—touching her hair, her neck, her breasts, her thighs. She swayed her hips with each small movement, making the vinyl skirt shimmer under the lights. "Best mouth on the street! I'll suck your cock so good you'll forget your own name! Deep throat, no gagging, swallow every drop!"
A group of teenagers on the opposite side laughed and pointed, phones coming up to record. Their voices carried across the street in mocking tones, but they made no move to approach.
"Tight pussy too!" Akane's voice grew more desperate, louder. "Virgin-tight but experienced enough to know what I'm doing! Wet and ready and all yours for the night!"
he turned again, bent forward again, this time reaching back to grip her own ass cheeks through the vinyl. She spread them slightly, the movement making the skirt ride up even higher. "This ass has never been fucked! You could be the first! Break me in! Stretch me open!"
The sound of heavy footsteps approached from her left. Akane straightened quickly, turning toward the sound.
The man was large—over six feet tall with broad shoulders that strained against his jacket. His face carried the weathered look of someone who spent time outdoors, deep lines etched around his mouth and eyes. He walked directly toward her, his gaze fixed on her body with undisguised hunger.
He stopped less than a foot away, close enough that Akane had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. His eyes traveled slowly down her body—lingering on lingering on her breasts pushed up in the vinyl bra, dropping to the exposed thighs above her fishnet stockings, then back up to her face.
"How much?" His voice carried a rough edge, like gravel scraped across concrete.
Akane's hands moved to her hips, fingers splaying against the red vinyl as she shifted her weight, making her hips sway slightly. "Ten for a blowjob, twenty for pussy and anal for 23."
The man's eyebrows rose. He looked her up and down again, more slowly this time. "Ten? That's it? You're selling yourself cheap, sweetheart."
"Those are my prices." Akane's chin lifted slightly.
"Desperate, huh?" He stepped closer, invading her space. "Or just not worth more than that?"
Akane's jaw tightened but she held her position. "You interested or not?"
The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a wallet. He extracted several bills, holding them between two fingers. "I'll take that mouth of yours. Ten, you said?"
"Yeah." The word came out steady despite the way her hands clenched at her sides.
"Good." He stuffed the money back in his wallet, then his hand shot out and grabbed her ass through the vinyl skirt. His fingers dug into the flesh hard enough that Akane's body jerked forward. "Let's go somewhere more private, slut."
He kept his grip on her ass as he turned, pulling her along with him toward the alley she'd emerged from earlier. Akane stumbled in the platform heels, her hands coming up to steady herself against his arm. Her face remained composed, lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes darted to the side—scanning the street, the storefronts, the other women still standing on their corners.
"Where—" she started.
"Shut up." He yanked her harder, making her feet tangle. "I paid for your mouth, not your conversation."
They reached the alley entrance. The man dragged her into the shadows, away from the neon glow of the street. The pink light faded behind them as they moved deeper, replaced by the dim yellow of a single security light mounted high on one wall.
He released her ass and spun her around to face him. Akane caught her balance, one hand reaching out to touch the brick wall beside her. She straightened slowly, shoulders pulling back, spine arching to push her chest forward.
"You want me to—" She started to move her hands toward him in what might have been a seductive gesture.
"I said shut the fuck up." The man's voice cut across hers. "Stop trying to act sexy. You're a cheap whore who charges ten bucks to suck cock.
Akane's hands froze mid-movement. Her lips parted as though to respond, then closed again.
"Yeah, that's right. Keep that mouth closed until I put something in it." He looked her up and down with an expression that suggested he was examining a particularly unimpressive piece of merchandise. "You probably suck at this too. Bet you can't even deepthroat properly."
Her fingers curled against her palms. The muscles in her jaw flexed.
"Well?" The man spread his arms slightly. "What are you waiting for? Get down there and earn your money, slut."
Akane moved. She lowered herself slowly, knees bending as she crouched down in front of him. The platform heels made the position awkward—she had to spread her legs wide to maintain balance, the vinyl skirt riding up until the curve of her ass pressed against the backs of her calves. Her knees touched the dirty alley pavement, fishnet stockings providing minimal protection against the grit and moisture.
She reached up, hands moving to his belt buckle. Her fingers worked the metal clasp, pulled the leather strap free from the loops. The button of his pants came next, then the zipper—the sound of metal teeth separating echoed in the confined space.
Akane's hands pushed the fabric aside, fingers hooking into the waistband of his underwear. She tugged downward, and his cock emerged—thick and already half-hard, the shaft darkening as blood rushed to fill it. The head pushed free from the fabric, and she pulled his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh.
The cock bobbed in front of her face, close enough that she could see every vein running along the shaft, the slight curve to the left, the way the head flared wider than the base.
"Looks bigger than what you're used to, doesn't it?" The man's voice came from above her. "Probably gonna choke on it. But that's what I paid for—watching a cheap slut struggle."
Akane's right hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, fingers not quite meeting around the circumference. Her left hand braced against his thigh for balance. She leaned forward, lips parting, and her tongue extended to make contact with the underside of his cock.
The first lick traveled from base to tip—a long, slow drag that left a trail of saliva glistening on his skin. Her tongue circled the head, tracing the ridge where it flared out from the shaft. Then she opened her mouth wider and took him inside.
The head pushed past her lips, stretching them around the girth. Her jaw opened further to accommodate the width as she slid down the shaft. Inch by inch, his cock disappeared into her mouth—filling the space, pressing against her tongue, pushing toward the back of her throat.
"That's it. Take it deeper." The man's hand came down on top of her head, fingers tangling in her navy blue hair. The grip tightened, controlling the angle of her head as he pushed his hips forward.
The cock drove deeper, hitting the back of her throat. Akane's body jerked, shoulders hunching forward as gagging sounds escaped around the shaft stretching her lips. Her fingers dug into his thigh, nails pressing crescents through the fabric of his pants.
"Pathetic." The man's voice carried contempt. "Can't even take half without choking. What kind of whore can't deepthroat?"
Her throat convulsed around the intrusion, shoulders shaking as her body tried to reject what was buried inside. Muffled sounds emerged from around the cock filling her mouth—wet, choking noises that had nowhere to go.
"There it is." The man held her head in place, his hips grinding forward. "Not so hard when you stop fighting it."
"Faster." The man's hand griped her head tighter, fingers tangling in her hair again. "You think I paid for this gentle bullshit?"
He forced her head forward, driving his cock deep. Then pulled her back. Then forward again, establishing a brutal rhythm that had her gagging with each thrust. The wet sounds grew louder, mixing with Akane's muffled protests and the slap of his balls against her chin.
Saliva ran freely down her chin, dripping onto her chest and the red vinyl covering her breasts. Her eye makeup began to run, black streaks trailing down her cheeks as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. The navy blue hair tangled in his grip, pulled at odd angles.
He pulled her head back by the hair, his cock sliding free from her mouth with a wet pop. Strings of saliva connected her lips to the glistening head, stretching thin before breaking. Akane's chest heaved as she gasped for air, her lipstick smeared across her chin.
The man's free hand grabbed his cock, angling it down. He slapped the wet shaft across her right cheek—a sharp crack that echoed in the alley. Then the left cheek. Then back to the right, harder this time.
"You like that?" His voice was flat, almost bored.
Akane's head tilted up, turquoise eyes meeting his gaze. Her lips parted, the words emerging hoarse and breathless. "Yes." She said needily as she nodded up at him.
"Of course you do." He slapped his cock across her face again, the wet flesh leaving trails of saliva and precum on her skin. "Cheap sluts always do."
He shoved his cock back into her mouth without warning, the head pushing past her lips and driving straight toward her throat. Akane's eyes widened, hands flying up to grip his hips, but he didn't stop. The shaft disappeared between her stretched lips, inch after inch vanishing until her nose pressed against his pelvis.
The man yanked her head back again, his cock emerging with an obscene wet sound. He slapped it across her face—right cheek, left cheek, forehead, lips. Each impact left glistening trails on her skin.
"Still like it?" His voice held a mocking edge.
Akane's lips moved, forming words between gasping breaths. "Yes... I like it."
"I know you do." He shoved his cock back between her lips, driving it deep in one thrust. "That's why you're down here on your knees in a dirty alley, dressed like a two-dollar whore."
He fucked her face with increasing brutality, using her hair as a handle to control the pace and depth. Each thrust drove his cock to the base, her nose pressing against his pelvis while her throat convulsed around the intrusion. When he pulled back, only to slam forward again, the wet choking sounds grew louder, more desperate.
"Look at you." The man's voice remained steady despite his increasing pace. "Makeup running down your face, drool all over those fake tits, gagging on my cock like you've never sucked dick before."
Akane's hands gripped his thighs tighter, nails digging through the fabric. Her platform heels scraped against the pavement as her knees shifted, trying to find a more stable position. The vinyl skirt had ridden up completely, exposing the curve of her ass and the garter straps stretched across pale skin.
He pulled out again, his cock emerging coated in thick saliva. He slapped it across her face repeatedly—alternating cheeks, then dragging the wet shaft across her lips, leaving trails that glistened under the dim security light.
"You like being treated like this?" The question came out as a statement. "Like the cheap whore you are?"
"Yes." Akane's voice was hoarse, barely audible. "I like it."
"Of course you do. Which is why you are going to love this." He pushed his cock back into her mouth, this time holding her head still while he began thrusting again, his hips driving forward with renewed aggression. The shaft pushed deeper with each stroke, his balls slapping against her chin in a steady rhythm that made wet, meaty sounds echo through the alley.
"Fucking take it," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening until her scalp pulled taut. "Gonna fill this slutty mouth with cum."
His thrusts grew erratic, less controlled. The cock swelled thicker between her stretched lips, the head pulsing against the back of her throat. His breathing came faster, harsh pants that filled the space between the wet sounds of her gagging.
"That's right, slut. Gonna pump your throat full." His hips jerked forward, burying himself completely. "Swallow it all, you cheap whore."
The cock pulsed, and thick ropes of cum shot directly down her throat. Akane's body went rigid, her hands clawing at his thighs as he held her head in place. Her throat worked frantically, swallowing around the shaft still buried deep.
"Every fucking drop," he snarled, his hips grinding forward as more cum pumped from his cock. "Don't you dare let any spill."
Her throat convulsed with each swallow, the muscles contracting around the shaft as she struggled to take everything he gave her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the ruined makeup and saliva coating her face. Her fingers dug harder into his thighs, but he didn't release her.
"Swallow it." His voice was rough, commanding. "All of it."
The pulsing slowed, then stopped. He held his cock buried in her throat for several more seconds, feeling her swallow one final time before he finally pulled back. The shaft emerged slowly, inch by inch, until just the head remained between her lips.
He yanked her head back by her hair, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. Before she could catch her breath, he pressed the cum and saliva-covered shaft against her right cheek, dragging it across her skin. He moved to her left cheek, then across her forehead, her nose, her lips—smearing the mixture of fluids across her face like he was painting with a brush.
"There. Now you look the part." He released her hair, letting her head drop slightly.
Akane remained on her knees, chest heaving, face glistening with the mess he'd spread across her features. Her hands fell to her sides, fingers trembling.
The man grabbed her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She stumbled in the platform heels, her legs unsteady after kneeling on the hard pavement. He steadied her with one hand while the other reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.
He extracted a bill, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her fishnet stockings at her hip, stretching the material away from her skin. He slid the money inside, the paper crinkling as it settled against her thigh. His hand lingered there, then moved to her ass, delivering a sharp slap that made the vinyl skirt ride up higher.
"Good mouth." He tucked his wallet away, his cock still hanging out of his pants, beginning to harden again. "How much for that pussy?"
Akane's lips parted, her voice hoarse. "Twenty."
The man pulled out his wallet again, extracting two bills. He stuffed them into the waistband of her fishnets alongside the first payment, his fingers lingering against her skin before withdrawing.
"Twenty. Let's go." He grabbed her arm and spun her around, shoving her toward the side of the alley where a large dumpster sat against the brick wall.
Akane's heels scraped against the pavement as she stumbled forward. Her hands reached out, palms slamming against the metal side of the dumpster to catch herself. The man pressed against her back immediately, his body pinning her between the cold metal and his bulk.
His hands grabbed her hips, yanking them backward. The vinyl skirt rode up completely, bunching around her waist. He kicked her feet apart with his boot, spreading her legs wider until she had to brace harder against the dumpster to maintain balance in the platform heels.
"Wait—" Akane started to turn her head.
"Shut up." His hand shoved her face forward, pressing her cheek against the metal. "I didn't pay to hear you talk."
The sound of foil tearing echoed in the confined space. He stepped back slightly, and there were rustling movements behind her. Akane remained pressed against the dumpster, her breathing visible in the way her shoulders rose and fell.
"Fucking whore like you probably has every disease in the book," the man said. "Not putting my dick in that dirty cunt without protection."
The head of his cock pressed against her entrance—covered now by latex, the texture different, more clinical. He didn't wait, didn't give any warning. His hips drove forward, burying himself inside her in one brutal thrust.
Akane's body jerked forward, her palms slapping harder against the metal. A sound escaped her throat—half gasp, half moan—that echoed off the alley walls.
"That's it," she breathed, her voice taking on a breathy quality. "Oh god, yes, fuck me just like that—"
"Jesus Christ." The man's voice cut across hers, flat and disgusted. "Don't even try that fake porn star bullshit. You're a cheap street whore getting fucked against a dumpster. Act like it."
His hands gripped her hips bruisingly tight as he established a punishing rhythm, each thrust slamming her body against the metal with hollow clanging sounds. The platform heels made her wobble with each impact, her legs spreading wider to maintain balance.
"Oh! Oh yes!" Akane tried again, her voice rising. "You're so big, you feel so good inside me—"
"I said shut the fuck up with that fake shit." He delivered a sharp slap to her ass that cracked through the alley. "You sound like a bad actress reading lines."
Akane's head dropped forward, her forehead pressing against the cold metal. Her fingers curled against the dumpster's side, nails scraping uselessly against the surface.
The man's pace increased, his pelvis slapping against her ass with wet sounds. One hand released her hip to tangle in her navy blue hair, yanking her head back at a sharp angle. Her spine arched, pushing her ass out further.
"This is what you are," he growled near her ear. "A piece of meat getting used in an alley. That's all. Nothing more."
"Yes," Akane gasped out, her voice strained. "Yes, I'm—I'm just—"
"Just a cheap whore who charges twenty bucks." He released her hair, letting her head drop forward again. Both hands returned to her hips, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks. "Say it."
"I'm a cheap whore." The words came out breathless, punctuated by the impacts of his thrusts.
"Louder."
"I'm a cheap whore!" Her voice rose, cracking slightly. "I'm a cheap whore who charges twenty bucks!"
"That's right." His rhythm grew more erratic, less controlled. The slapping sounds intensified, mixing with Akane's gasping breaths and the scrape of her heels against pavement.
Her legs began to shake, the platform heels wobbling dangerously. One hand slipped down the metal surface, and she had to shift her weight to avoid falling. The movement changed the angle, and a sound escaped her throat—higher, more genuine than her earlier attempts.
"There it is." The man's breathing came harder, faster. "That's a real sound. None of that fake bullshit."
His grip tightened on her hips as his thrusts became brutal, driving her body against the dumpster with enough force to make the metal boom with each impact. Akane's hands scrabbled for purchase, her nails leaving faint scratches on the surface.
The man's movements grew jerky, uncoordinated. His fingers dug deeper into her flesh, probably leaving bruises beneath the skin. A guttural sound emerged from his throat as his hips slammed forward one final time, grinding against her ass as his body went rigid.
He stayed buried inside her for several seconds, his chest heaving against her back. Then he pulled out abruptly, the wet sound of separation loud in the confined space.
Akane remained pressed against the dumpster, her legs trembling, her breathing ragged. The vinyl skirt was still bunched around her waist, exposing her lower half completely.
The man's hand shot out and grabbed Akane's face, his fingers digging into her cheeks as he forced her head to turn toward him. Her face was a mess—black streaks of mascara ran down both cheeks, mixing with the remnants of his cum that he'd smeared across her skin earlier. Her lipstick was completely destroyed, smudged around her mouth and chin. Saliva glistened on her jaw. Her turquoise eyes were glassy, unfocused, the pupils dilated.
"You got one more hole I can buy," the man said, his voice rough. "But I need to be convinced it's worth the money."
He released her face abruptly. Akane stumbled slightly, then moved away from the dumpster. Her platform heels clicked against the pavement as she walked toward the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley. She placed both palms flat against the rough surface, arms extended straight. Then she bent forward at the waist, creating a perfect ninety-degree angle with her body.
Her ass jutted out obscenely, the vinyl skirt still bunched around her waist. She began to shake her hips—side to side, then in small circles, making the flesh of her ass cheeks jiggle and bounce. The fishnet stockings stretched across her skin, the garter straps creating lines that framed the movement.
"This ass," Akane said, her voice still hoarse. "Never been fucked. Tight. You could be the first." She continued the lewd display, her hips rolling in exaggerated motions. "Twenty-three dollars. Best deal you'll get."
The man approached, pulling out his wallet. He extracted more bills, then hooked his fingers into the waistband of her fishnets on the opposite hip from where he'd placed the previous money. He stuffed the cash inside, the paper crinkling against her skin.
His hands moved to his cock, gripping the base of the condom. He peeled it off slowly, the latex making wet sounds as it separated from his flesh. The used condom hung from his fingers—stretched out, the reservoir tip heavy with cum.
He grabbed Akane's hair and yanked her head back. Her mouth opened automatically, and he shoved the tied-off end of the condom between her lips. The latex settled against her tongue, the filled portion dangling outside her mouth like an obscene tongue.
The man released her hair and tore open another foil packet. He rolled the fresh condom down his shaft, which had remained hard throughout. When it was secure, he stepped up behind Akane's bent form.
He leaned forward and spat. The saliva landed directly on her asshole, the wet sound loud in the quiet alley. He used his cock head to spread the moisture, rubbing the latex-covered tip against the tight ring of muscle. The pressure increased gradually, testing the resistance, teasing the entrance without penetrating.
"Gonna ruin this tight little hole," the man said.
He thrust forward.
Akane's hands pressed harder against the brick wall, her fingers splaying wide. The condom in her mouth muffled any sounds she might have made.
The man's hands gripped her hips again, his fingers finding the same spots he'd bruised earlier. He pushed forward slowly, the head of his cock pressing insistently against her asshole. The muscle resisted at first, then began to yield, stretching around the intrusion.
The head popped inside. Akane's entire body went rigid, her back arching sharply. The muffled sound that escaped around the condom in her mouth echoed off the brick walls.
"Fuck, that's tight," the man grunted. He didn't stop. His hips continued their forward motion, driving inch after inch into her ass. The tight ring of muscle stretched wider, accommodating the girth of his cock as it disappeared inside her. Her legs began to shake in the platform heels, the fishnet stockings trembling.
When he was fully seated, his pelvis pressed against her ass cheeks, he paused. Then he pulled back slowly, the shaft emerging partway before he drove forward again. The rhythm started measured, deliberate, each thrust making Akane's body jerk forward. Her palms scraped against the brick, trying to maintain her position.
"There we go," he said. "All the way in that virgin ass."
The man's pace increased. His hips slapped against her ass with sharp sounds that echoed through the alley. The condom in Akane's mouth bobbed with each impact, the cum-filled portion swinging back and forth. Drool began leaking from the corners of her lips, running down her chin to drip onto the pavement below.
"Fucking tight," the man grunted, his fingers digging deeper into her hips. "Worth every penny."
His thrusts grew brutal, slamming into her with enough force to make her platform heels scrape across the ground. Her legs spread wider, trying to stabilize, but the position made her ass angle up higher, allowing him to penetrate deeper. His hand cracked against her exposed ass, the sharp sound of the slap reverberating between the brick walls that enclosed them.
The navy blue hair with its teal tips swung wildly with each impact. Her small breasts bounced beneath the red vinyl bra, the material straining with the movement. The garter straps stretched and relaxed rhythmically as his pelvis connected with her flesh.
Akane's hands began to slip down the brick wall, her body unable to maintain the position under the assault. She caught herself, readjusted, only to start sliding again moments later. Her nails scraped uselessly against the rough surface, leaving faint marks.
The man's breathing grew ragged, harsh pants that filled the space between the wet slapping sounds. His rhythm became erratic, losing the steady pace as his hips jerked forward in shorter, faster thrusts. The grip on her hips tightened until his knuckles went white.
He buried himself completely one final time, his body going rigid as he came. The condom filled inside her ass, the latex expanding with each pulse. He stayed locked in place, grinding against her, his chest heaving.
After several seconds, he started to pull back, his hips separating from her ass. His cock emerged slowly, the shaft sliding free—but the condom didn't follow. The latex remained lodged inside her, the stretched material clinging to her inner walls while his bare cock pulled away from it.
"Shit," the man muttered, looking down at his exposed shaft. He reached between her ass cheeks with one hand, fingers probing at the rim of latex visible at her entrance. He tugged once, twice, but the condom stayed firmly in place, too deep to extract easily as its empty ring hanging uselessly on to her stretched pussy.
He released her hip with his other hand and stepped back. "Your problem now."
Akane's legs gave out. She slid down the brick wall, her palms dragging across the rough surface as her knees buckled. The platform heels twisted beneath her, and she collapsed onto the dirty pavement in a graceless heap. Her legs splayed to the sides, the fishnet stockings torn in several places now. The red vinyl skirt remained bunched around her waist.
The man tucked his bare cock back into his pants, zipping up without bothering to fasten the belt properly. He pulled out his wallet one more time and extracted a single bill, letting it flutter down to land on Akane's thigh.
"You should charge more," he said, his voice flat. "Even worthless whores know their value."
His footsteps echoed as he walked away, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely. The sound of traffic from the street beyond filtered into the alley, distant and muffled.
Akane remained on the ground, her chest rising and falling with labored breaths. The condom in her mouth had slipped partially out, hanging from her lips by the tied end. Drool and saliva coated her chin and neck, soaking into the choker. Her makeup was completely destroyed—black streaks covered both cheeks, her lipstick smeared across her jaw, the carefully applied eyeshadow now just dark smudges around her glassy eyes.
Her hair stuck to her face in sweaty strands, the navy blue turned almost black where it clung to her skin. The teal tips were matted and tangled. The red vinyl bra had shifted during the assault, one breast nearly spilling out from the stretched cup.
The bills stuffed into her fishnets were visible—crumpled paper pressing against her pale skin through the holes in the stockings. Her thighs bore red marks from where his fingers had gripped, the impressions already beginning to darken into bruises. Between her spread legs, the used condom protruded from her ass, the white latex stark against her skin, the reservoir heavy with cum.
She remained motionless for several long seconds, her body slumped against the brick wall. Then her hand moved slowly, reaching up to pull the condom from her mouth. She let it drop to the pavement beside her, the latex landing with a wet sound.
Akane turned her head, shifting her position until she faced forward, her back pressed against the wall. Her legs remained spread, her body on full display in the dim light. Her turquoise eyes stared straight ahead at nothing in particular, unfocused and distant.
Her lips moved, forming words that emerged hoarse and barely audible.
Her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The best performances," she whispered to no one, "really are the ones where you forget it's all pretend."
"CUT!!"
Valentino surged out of his director's chair, all four arms spreading wide in a gesture of pure self-congratulation. His wings unfurled behind him like a cape of victory as he strode onto the set, his heels clicking against the studio floor with sharp, triumphant strikes.
"Perfection!" His voice boomed through the studio, echoing off the walls. "Absolute fucking perfection! Did you see that? Did everyone see what I just captured?" He spun in a circle, addressing the crew who were already beginning to break down equipment. "That's what separates genius from mediocrity, amigos! That's what happens when you have vision!"
His upper hands gestured wildly while his lower ones adjusted his coat, smoothing the fabric with satisfied strokes. The footage played behind his eyes—every degrading moment, every perfectly captured angle of Akane's destruction. The way her makeup had run. The condom hanging from her mouth. That final shot of her slumped against the wall with cum-filled latex protruding from her ass.
"I am so fucking good at this," Valentino continued, his voice pitching higher with manic energy. "No—I'm better than good. I'm a goddamn artist! A maestro! A visionary who sees potential where others see nothing!"
He approached where Akane still sat on the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion, her eyes glazed and distant. The hypnotic smoke kept her compliant, kept her docile, kept her exactly where he needed her. Perfect little puppet.
Valentino snapped his fingers at a nearby assistant—some imp demon who'd been hovering uncertainly at the edge of the set. "You! Get over here!"
The imp scurried forward, nearly tripping over lighting cables in his haste.
"Take this one," Valentino gestured at Akane with one hand while the other pulled his cigarette holder to his lips, "and put her to work. She's already dressed for it, might as well make some extra money tonight."
The imp's eyes widened. "Sir?"
"Did I fucking stutter?" Smoke curled from Valentino's mouth as he spoke. "Look at her—perfect street corner material. Send her out to one of the corners near the Pink Kitty. Let her earn her keep the old-fashioned way."
"But sir, she's—"
"She's hypnotized and obedient and will do whatever the fuck she's told." Valentino's grin stretched wider, showing every sharp tooth. "Which makes her ideal for customer service. Now get her cleaned up enough to be presentable and get her out there. I want her working before midnight."
The imp hesitated only a moment longer before nodding frantically. He moved toward Akane, reaching down to help her to her feet. She rose unsteadily, her platform heels wobbling on the studio floor. The used condom still protruded from her ass, and the bills stuffed into to her fishnets.
Valentino took another hit of his opera length. "I am so fucking good at my job." He declared crimson tendrils of smoke coiling around his form like a possessive serpent.