She's Gonna Be A Star Ch. 09

"You should care," I said coldly, "because I'm better than you."

"Oh, nice," laughed the cook. "Subram's whore is better than us."

Subram had been standing off to the side, smiling at the exchange. At the mention of his name, he stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders. He walked me backwards to beside the door, where a little chair was placed against the wall.

I sat in the chair, pushed by his hands. I looked up at him, confused. Looking up at him from a chair was normal for me, by now, but we usually went to his office. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.

"Subram's whore," crowed the cook. Everybody was laughing at me, their eyes unblinkingly on me, their skin shiney with sweat. The dishwasher was miming a blowjob with his hand to his mouth.

"I think we take our work-breaks here, from now on," said Subram.

He had the nastiest grin on his face, almost angry. Why was he mad atme? I couldn't understand it. I had to remind myself that Subram hadnever been a nice guy, and that, deep down, he was just a nasty man and always had been. When I go down on someone, I often start to feel tender towards them. But this doesn't necessarily work both ways. (Take high school, for instance.) I told myself I had to remember: Sucking a guy's cock doesn't mean he has to be nice to me. If I remembered that, I wouldn't be confused.

I reached up automatically to grasp his cock as it came out. Everybody cheered when they saw me reach for it.

"Whore! Whore! Whore!" they chanted, in time with my head bobbing on his cock, until Subram told them to knock it off.

Subram is not a fit man, but I was used to working around a big gut. Most of the men I hang out with are older and fat, and I manage. I had one hand on his ass, to pull him into my mouth, and another on his belly, to hold it up. My forehead rested against his blubber, giving me access to his penis.

He was also not a clean man, but the trick with that is to clean off the cock quickly, so you don't have to think about it. As the kitchen staff snickered, I pulled back his foreskin and licked his shaft clean, and then leaned in to clean off his ball sack. It smelled like the kitchen.

When he was ready, I went back to sucking on him. He liked me to look at him every now and then, but I found when I did, I always glanced at the cooks too. I couldn't help it. I stewed inside, thinking of nasty things I could say to them when I was done with Subram. As soon as my mouth was empty, I'd tell them!

I had learned enough about Subram's cock to hit all the right combinations. In less than five minutes, his ass started clenching. I pulled back a little and started milking his cock with my hand. He liked to watch himself shoot into my open mouth.

I gave long, hard pulls as he spurted, holding his cock over my bottom lip. His warm goo filled my mouth with strong jets.

He also liked seeing the cum in my mouth. I sat there, looking up into his eyes, with my mouth open. I moved my tongue in the cum, so he could see my coated taste buds.

The other guys in the kitchen were cheering and laughing at me. Subram jerked his head towards them. I turned my head and opened my mouth wider, so they could see. It seemed like forever, but he finally gave a satisfied nod, and I closed my mouth and swallowed a few times.

"You're going to suck one of them next," he told me.

I glanced around. "The fuck I am. They think they're better than me."

"We are," snickered the dishwasher.

"Remember, you were promoted to two work-breaks a day," Subram said, a knowing smirk on his face. "You don't want to lose your promotion, do you?"

"No," I said quietly, my eyes down. I really wanted the promotion. I felt like I deserved it, for my big improvement at work.

"For your second work-break today..." he glanced around the kitchen. "Him. You, come over here. You get a treat today."

The dishwasher had a suprised and pleased smile.

"You know what you can do with that smile," I snapped at him.

"Hurry up with him," said Subram, all business again. He stepped through the door, calling back, "We need you out there."

The dishwasher had a victorious sneer on his face, as he unzipped his fly and pulled out his dark little cock. I gave an angry snort, and then reached out to massage his member, making it grow hard in my hand. The rest of the kitchen staff had stopped what they were doing, and were watching with nasty smiles.

"Someday," I told them, "I'm going to be a star!"

They laughed at me, as I put my mouth over the dishwasher's cock and drew it in. I worked it for a while, sinking my mouth deep over his cock until I could feel its head in my throat. My nose was buried in his pubic hair. I built up a rhythmn that wouldn't make him cum too quickly. I don't know why -- something in me won't let me give fast blow-jobs. Rule number one: don't go too fast. They have to be just right, I guess it's a pride thing.

After a moment, I pulled back. "I'm better than all of you," I muttered.

The dishwasher gave an impaitent sigh. "Fuck, woman, just shut the fuck up and suck my cock, will you?"

I bobbed my head over his shaft, pulling him into my face with my hands on his ass, until he started moving by himself. He pumped his pelvis in my face, long, slow strokes that steadily gained momentum. Finally, he was spurting in my mouth. Long, hot streams of cum coated my tongue. Droplets seeped out around the seal of my lips, running down my chin and landing on my chest.

When I sat back, I kept his foul spunk in my mouth, taking deep breaths. The kitchen staff was all watching me with expectant smiles on their faces. Even the dishwasher, zipping up his fly, had that damn superior smile on his face. It took an effort of will for me to swallow it. They all laughed again.

I licked away the cum on my lips, but there was no way in hell I was going to touch the droplets on my chest. That little fuck's spunk on my hands? I shuddered at the thought. I just left it there for the rest of the day, to dry on its own.

At the door, I turned back to them. "You better start treating me better."

"Or else what?" asked a cook. "You'll eat our cum?"

"We'll treat you like what you are, whore," said the dishwasher. "So just shut up and suck our cocks."

I stared, unable to think of any come-back. I was wet between my legs, a little excited even after all that, but I wasn't about to let them know. It was something from my past. Usually when guys were mean to me, it meant I'd be doing something sexual soon. I still have the built-in reactions. But on the whole, I was more upset than excited.

"See you tomorrow," said the cook. "Maybe you'll suckme."

I gritted my teeth with anger, and just shook my head at them. "Fine! Maybe I will!" I raised my finger, finally thinking of a come-back. "Just don't jack off first, and make me sit there blowing you for forty minutes. Looosers."

They were laughing at me as I left the kitchen. Since my two work-breaks were now over, I hurried back into the diner. Some of the customers were still there, and they had knowing twinkles in their eyes. So why did they ask me where I had been? I don't know. I was too frustrated and angry to think up reasonable lies, so I just told them the truth, that I got a promotion and that I went on break with the kitchen staff.

(When I told Tyler later about this horrible episode, and my angry helpless feeling as I sucked the dishwasher's cock in front of everybody, he was immediately horney. Amazingly. He asked me to re-enact my blowjob on the dishwasher guy. I'd accidentally found another way to turn my boyfriend on. Or maybe it was still part of that humiliation thing. I still didn't like my kitchen breaks, but I knew I'd tell Tyler about them every day.)

As part of my promotion, there were more responsibilities. For half an hour each shift, I have to stand out on the sidewalk giving menus to people passing by. I don't mind this so much, because it lets me practice my social skills. There are always a few guys who stop and chat for a while. When I hold out a menu, guys usually take it... so I usually only hold out the menu to men.

And, since then, Subram takes his break with me during the first part of the shift. Then, for the second break, I try to get back to the kitchen when I can, after the lunch rush. Let those fucking cooks wait formy convenience. Subram says that if I keep at it, I can expect another promotion every few months, which means more breaks. Crossing my fingers.

By the end of the day in the diner, I was soaked with sweat. My muscle shirt was sticking to me, and I had to constantly peel it off so it would dry faster. I guess I should have been glad it was sticky, because it was so stretched out from people pulling on it, and I'm always afraid of getting kicked out of the diner if the shirt doesn't mostly stay over my nipples.

If that wasn't enough, the top button on my shorts had popped off as I leaned over. The shorts were just too tight, and now the fly was open three buttons down, to the top of the pelvic ridge over my sex. They were my favorite shorts, and if one more button came off I'd have to throw them out. (Harvey later said I wouldn't -- I could just get a tailor to put the top button of the fly back on, and leave the others off. He said this would make a nice hole in my fly whenever I bent over. If Harvey thinks something is a good idea, it probably is.)

By the time I hit the streets again, I welcomed the hot outside air on my body. I dried off pretty quickly. Nowadays, I don't really notice people staring at me. But I knew that I could get through the crowded sidewalks faster without people rubbing up against me if my shirt was dry.

I got to the studio. I was tired from the diner, sure, but I always got a burst of energy around music.This was my real career. A band was rocking in the recording room, and Max was in the sound booth. He motioned me in.

"You look good enough to eat," he said, eyeing me.

"Thanks," I said. That was another change. Max was so nice, especially compared to the nasty guys in the diner kitchen.

"Put your backpack down," he said. He reached out and pulled open the fly on my shorts, easing them down my legs.

I pulled a condom out of the drawer and tore it open with my teeth as he pulled his cock out. In a few moments, I was braced against the console and he was digging into my cunt with his cock. It was our daily routine. People rarely noticed it (Max cared about that sort of thing), because the glass was reflective when the lights were on. Theydid usually comment how I went in wearing one outfit, and came out wearing my professional clothes. But that was it.

I still remember how it started with Max. I was complaining to Tyler about getting into Max's pants. Max clearly wanted me, though he said he didn't like getting blow-jobs, and I was concerned that so many musicians were frustrated at not being able to cum in my mouth. But how could I do the musicians, and leave Max out? Tyler told me what to do. First, he said he was proud of me, for thinking so rationally about the music business. Musicians get sucked by women, and he said it was wise of me to understand that. Then he gave me the cold, cynical strategy for getting Max into my "world", as he called it.

One day when the studio was quiet, I simply walked into his office. He was sitting behind his desk, and he stared at me wordlessly as I walked up. I was wearing a special dress for the occasion, a light, frilly little thing that was low on my chest and high on my legs. It had about three and a half feet of coverage, top to bottom, about as long as a bath towel.

I moved around behind his desk, holding his eyes with my own, and stood in front of him. He rolled back to let me in, confused but not about to yell at me. Then I simply turned around, and bent over the desk. The skirt raised over my ass in the back. My elbows were on his papers, my tits were brushing the computer keyboard. I put a wrapped condom in my mouth, so it hung out cutely, and then turned and looked at him over my shoulder. Tyler was right again. It wasthat easy.

When Max finished in my pussy, he gave me his used condom. What is it about older men!? As he watched, I rolled it up like a tube of toothpaste and ate the cum out of it. Then I kissed his forehead, and changed.

My outfit today was a favorite of mine. A men's business jacket, buttoned once in front, and a (somewhat) matching mini-skirt. That was it -- even if I still wore underthings, a bra would show under the jacket, and (as Harvey liked to say), the skirt was too short for panties. Thelast thing you want is for your panties to show to everybody as you're walking around. People said this outfit lookedvery professional, and very trendy too. Just the thing you'd want for an up-and-coming music studio.

As Max cleaned himself up, I stripped off my shirt and pulled on the jacket and skirt.

"How do I look?" I asked, spreading my arms and spinning.

He always liked this one, but today he looked worried. He had me spin again, and said, "I think you should do the bottom button, not the top one, so it's open more up top."

"Okay," I said, switching the buttons.

"And, um, that skirt. Can it be shorter?"

I looked down at it. "I guess so. I mean, if it's important. I can use a stapler. But I hate to staple it for no good reason."

"Today we have Elmo coming in. You know, the singer?"

Elmo!? He was a rock star. I mean, he was famous. Why did Zound Studios have someone like Elmo visiting? "Wow! How did you get him?"

"I didn't," said Max drily. "He's laying down background vocals for a friend of his. I want everything to be perfect. How short can the skirt go?"

I shrugged. "All the way."

He nodded decisively. "Then do it. And, I want you on him like glue. Anything he wants, get it. He's theonly person you have to worry about today. Get me?"

"Sure." I turned to go.

"I mean," said Max, with slow emphasis, "give himeverything. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," I said. I wondered what he was getting at. "Star treatment."

I went to Max's office and pulled off my skirt. I didn't know how short "short" was, but the hem already reached the top of my thighs. I went by what Tyler would suggest, and if I knew him, he would suggest... um... three inches.

I winced as I stapled in the new hem... and when I held it up, the staples looked horrendous. Oh, well. Good-bye, nice skirt! I'd have to dig through the used-clothing boutiques to find another skirt that matched this jacket so well.

I removed the staples again, pulled out Max's scissors, and cut the bottom three inches off the skirt. It was a heavy, tweedy fabric, and the ragged new hemline didn't look too bad. A little punky. I saw that the seams up the sides were starting to split already, and hoped that they would last the day. If not, I'd have a slit all the way up to the belt line!

I was pulling the skirt on as I heard people in the waiting room. I guess Elmo had arrived. I had never seen a big,big star, but I still wasn't nervous. All I had to do was act professional.

I looked down, and my heart sank. The skirt wastoo short... half an inch or moreabove my crotch. Even I could see my privates, looking from above.

"Ali! Where are you!" bellowed Max.

Oh, shit. I pulled the skirt down my hips, wiggling them to get the beltline low on my hips. I checked again -- better. But now the beltline was four or five inches below my belly button, and I could see the V-shaped muscles leading to my crotch if I held the jacket up. The skirt still felt waaay too short, but then, I only had about six inches to work with.

I took a step to the door, and grimaced as I heard the seams split up the sides. I was hell on clothes. Bursting buttons on my shorts, stretching out thin old muscle-shirts... and now my skirt was coming apart with each step.

But what choice did I have? I was a professional.

I strode out into the waiting area, a big professional smile on my face. Max turned, scanned my body, froze, and then smiled. I was relieved he liked the change.

"Ali, this is Elmo," he said, indicating the singer. He was a handsome guy, I recognized him immediately, though he was much shorter than I expected. He was wearing some sort of nasty faux-fur coat, where the fur was colored in the form of a Nike logo. He was with two other men, huge, bodyguards by the look of them.

"Elmo, this is Ali. She's my executive assistant. She'll be making you comfortable during your stay with us. Anything you need, just ask her."

"That has to be the shortest skirt I've ever seen," said one of the huge men.

Elmo gave a thin smile at that. I smiled back at the body guard, saying, "Thank you. Elmo, let me take your jacket."

He turned towards me, but didn't turn around. After a moment, I wrestled it off his shoulders with him facing me. He had a hard, unchanging expression on his face as he studied me up close.

Max backed away, saying, "I'll just go to the sound booth and get things lined up. We'll get you back on the road in no time."

I crossed the room and hung the jacket. As I reached up, I felt the jacket slide up my ass. Yeah -- I'd been smart not to just take the skirt off, as I'd almost done. The jacket was okay by itself, sure, but it was just too short.

"Fuck the singing," said Elmo quietly, "I want the poon."

His bodyguards laughed.

One of them asked me, "You want to hang your jacket too?"

I just smiled and shook my head. "What, and ruin my ensemble?"

He answered, "I figure it's gonna come off soon anyway."

Elmo rolled his eyes. "Guys, check out the floor. I don't want any goddamn fans running around."

"You got it, boss." They turned and exited, sending long glances over their shoulders at me.

I... Ali... was alone with Elmo. I glanced over, and dimly saw Max fiddling in the darkened sound booth. He was sending a few glances my way. I clasped my hands behind my back and rocked on the balls of my feet, something I do when I'm nervous. Of course, today it had the effect of splitting my sports-coat down the front, to below my belly button.

"Can I get you a drink? Some water? Some lemon?"

"I'm nice," said Elmo suddenly. "Don't let the bodyguards fool you."

"What?"

"I'm a nice guy," he said. He strode over to me, and put his hands on my shoulders. "You didn't have to, you know, dress up like this for me."

I gave him a surprised look. "Honestly, I didn't know you were coming today. We treat everybody the same at Zound Studios."

"You didn't just cut your skirt in half?" he said.

"Well, that, yeah. But my boss wanted me too."

He nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "It looks horrible."

I nodded, a little downcast. I knew it looked horrible, but to haveElmo tell me, of all the people in the world, made me feel pretty low. "I know."

"Why don't you just take it off?" he said, releasing my shoulders and stepping back. He had me turn around for him. "Yeah. Your jacket is long enough."

"Okay," I sighed. I unzipped the back and let it fall to the floor. I was glad to be rid of it. When it was pulled down like I had it, it was uncomfortably tight. I picked it up and looked it over, the seams had split almost to the beltline. I'd made it a horrible mess.

I tossed the ruined skirt in the trash, and then glanced over at the sound booth. Through the reflective glass, I could dimly make out Max giving me a thumbs up.

And now, here I was, down to a single article of clothing for my "professional outfit." A child-size men's sports coat, with two buttons in the front, only one buttoned.

Elmo was watching me with kind, friendly eyes. "Spin around again, so I can check."