Strikes A Chord

Aidra Fox hauls her guitar case down a crowded street. She hits the corner and spots Lee, her manager. Six bucks and some change land in his palm. Two hours wasted. Before he can blow up, a crumpled phone number catches his eye—DJ Gamble’s digits, hottest name in the game. Gold if real. They dial immediately. Cruella swings open a polished door. Inside waits the man himself, headphones on, eyes already locked on Aidra. He says nothing, just strips her with a look, then mutters to Cruella. She slips Aidra’s coat off, palms her ass, tells her the price of admission. Aidra bolts to the hallway, furious. Lee calms her, steers her back. Cruella’s fingers glide up Aidra’s arm. They cut a deal—without her. When Cruella orders Aidra to strip, the room goes still. Gamble spins his chair, voice low: clothes off, or walk away from everything. Aidra peels her top. His hand slips between her legs, Cruella’s tongue circles a nipple, teeth scrape skin. Bra gone. Pants gone. Naked now. Aidra drops to her knees, lips stretched around Gamble’s cock, Cruella gripping her hair, guiding her deeper. Stardom always costs something raw, and Aidra’s paying up front.