He's a Wh0re

VIII

Emmie arrived at her apartment, pushing open the heavy door, which creaked loudly before slamming shut as she kicked the leaf to close it. She had considered asking the landlady to fix the door, but she liked the advantage it gave her—no one could slip inside unnoticed.

She carried her groceries into her small kitchen, tossing her keys onto the table before walking back to close and lock the door properly. As she made her way to her bedroom, she shed her clothes, leaving only her underwear on. Without air conditioning, the summer heat made her room stifling. She slipped into a pair of short shorts and returned to the kitchen to arrange her groceries.

Today was set for a general cleaning, and she had plans to rearrange her room. Just yesterday, her peel-and-stick wallpaper from sss had arrived, and she was eager to see it on her walls.

A smile spread across her face as she thought about not starving again, allowing her to continue pursuing her passion. Emmie had no intention of staying with Quro; she was set on Hollywood and had been working hard to get there. Besides it is Ruth's.

She had started revamping her application, revising it multiple times. After being rejected a few times two years ago, she hoped for better luck this time.

Working with Quro had been a blessing in disguise, and she was grateful for a job that met her needs. While some might look down on her once they learned about her current work, she had been desperate, fueled by big dreams. It felt like she was navigating a winding road toward her vision.

"And someday, I will tell myself, 'You did a good job, Emmie!'" She patted her shoulder, pride swelling within her.

The past few days had been marked by an unusual excitement. Pamela missed the only man who could satisfy her—Abe. He was the only one who made her feel this way. While she enjoyed serving other men, especially those who could fulfill her physical needs, Abe was different. He was her Adam, and she was his Eve. And today, he would be the one to fulfill her desires.

Just the thought of it sent a wave of arousal through her, and she felt herself growing wet. Dressed in her newest orange lingerie, which accentuated her figure, along with black stilettos that added six inches to her 5'6" height, she danced in front of the large mirror, the camera capturing her sultry "come f*ck me" moves. The sheer lace lingerie barely covered her swollen n*****s and offered only a hint of her mound, teasing her every time she moved.

Bending down, she ground her ample backside in the air, imagining how thousands of lonely men would fantasize about her as they watched from their phones and computers. The thought excited her further. Knowing that Abe would be the one to fulfill her needs today sent her heart racing.

With excitement coursing through her, she looked directly at the camera, leaning against the wall as her hand glided south. Her fingers began to caress her covered c**t while her other hand squeezed her thirty-six DD breasts. Pulling aside the thin fabric, she pinched her sensitive n****e as her fingers slowly entered her craving core. A moan escaped her lips when she found her sweet spot, heightened by her sensitivity.

"Oh f*ck, I'm so wet!" Her eyes scanned the room for her f*ck partner, and she spotted him in the corner, head bent over his phone.

His mere presence made her smile. He was still a stallion when it came to pleasure, and he would be with her in just a moment.

She continued to tease herself for a few more minutes until the producer signaled, "Okay, cut! That was f*cking hot, Pamela!"

By seven in the evening, Emmie was still working the camera, capturing the best angles of the two professional porn stars' scenes.

She managed to keep her mind blank while Abe's eyes occasionally drifted toward her, even as his manhood was buried deep within Pamela's welcoming folds. Despite her focus, she couldn’t shake the funny feeling stirring between her legs.

They had been working for an hour, and yet she already felt lightheaded and foolish. Exhaustion tugged at her, yet her legs felt like jelly.

She wanted to cover her ears against Pamela's squirms and moans. Although she couldn't hear Abe's reactions, she was acutely aware of their movements; after all, she was holding the camera and following them around.

But why was she primarily focused on Pamela? That nagging question loomed in her mind. Why did porn videos seem to showcase ninety percent of women’s performances and only ten percent of men’s? It wasn’t that the male actors didn’t give it their all, but their faces often showed little expression. Was it just Abe, or was it a trend?

“What the f*ck is happening to you, Abe?!” Pamela yelled, frustration spilling over as she dressed. "Why the hell was your c**k not getting hard for f*cking thirty minutes?" She licked her fingers, still slick from her earlier activities, while the crew ignored her outbursts.

The producer approached, asking Pamela to step aside.

"What the f*ck happened, dude? You’ve been slacking lately. I didn’t make you use Viagra because you never needed it before. What’s going on?" Mr. Ferrer’s forehead creased in concern.

The crew shared Pamela's curiosity.

They had been retaking several scenes multiple times, something they had never encountered with Abe before.

Emmie had witnessed it with other actors but never with him.

She mentally slapped herself. She needed to leave.

She didn't want to hear any more of it. It was getting late, and that familiar sense of anxiety gripped her again. She preferred to go home while it was still early, feeling safer that way. Everyone she had met thus far seemed decent and professional, but trust was hard-earned in her line of work. It is dangerous.

And she is a woman, for Christ's sake.

Emmie mentally chastised herself again as she thought of Ruth, her friend who would be undergoing surgery tomorrow.

Ruth was her only friend in Los Angeles, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Every time she looked at Ruth, a sense of care washed over her; she wanted to make the woman happy for as long as she could.

Emmie often wondered about Ruth’s son, as she rarely spoke of him. She knew that Ruth was suffering not just from illness but also from heartache.

Successfully disassembling her equipment, Emmie prepares to leave after handing the chip over to the editor. As she stepped outside, she walked down the street in search of a cab when a blue Aston Martin pulled up beside her. She cursed under her breath, “Bastos!” (Rude.)

The door opened, and she hesitated, waiting for the driver to emerge. When he didn’t, she turned to walk away.

“Hey, nerd!” a familiar voice called. She stopped, thinking she must be mistaken. She wasn’t a nerd at all. The feeling of someone following her sent her heart racing with panic.

“What now? Run or go back? It’s not the time to panic,” she muttered to herself.

“Hey! Hey!” The voice continued, and she slowed, considering how to shake off the man pursuing her.

“Stop, weird woman!” That did it. She turned on her heel, scowling at her pursuer. To her surprise, it was Abe—not a stalker after all. He had been following her in his car. Wow, he could afford a nice ride.

“I’m not weird!” she shot back before turning to walk away again, desperate to find a cab, but his car blocked her path.

“Then come inside and don’t make me chase you to the intersection,” he said, standing by his car’s hood, arms crossed.

“It’s not payday yet,” she replied, confusion written across her face. Abe saw something else—was she scared of him?

“A spar at the gym for a hundred fifty,” he suggested, raising an eyebrow and grinning cockily.

The offer was tempting but dangerous. She didn’t know what he was thinking, but a hundred fifty would lighten her financial load by two hundred fifty if she went with him today.

“It’s already eight!” she protested. She didn’t want to go with him; danger was evident in his demeanor. He remained silent, simply staring blankly at her.

“Why? Are you at that age for andropause? Is that why you couldn’t perform well today?” she kept to herself, but he seemed to read her mind and let out a laugh.

Emmie felt the heat rise in her cheeks, aware of how handsome and sexy he was. She masked her embarrassment with annoyance, avoiding his gaze by looking at the passing cars.

“You know… usually, women would beg for my attention…” Abe stepped closer, and she wanted to step back.

“Of course, there are many lined up!” she retorted, emphasizing her point with exaggerated arm gestures, trying to sound confident despite feeling foolish.

“Yes… but you’re different.”

“Oh no! I’m not!” Are you watching me?

“You’re weird. And I like that. I want to be your friend.” He spoke earnestly, as though he were a robot.

Emmie stared at him in confusion as he reached out his hand for a handshake. She hesitated, reluctant to take it.

“Okay, friends. But can we do it tomorrow? I’m so tired. I can’t fight when I’m sleepy.” Her tone was serious, and Abe sensed her determination, though he felt disappointed when she didn’t accept his hand.

“I saw that hand strumming a p*ssy just an hour ago.”

"You're not wearing your braces anymore." She hears him say, and she smiles and nods.

"See you tomorrow!" She giddily walked away in a hurry.