He Made Me Ch. 11

Mart 30, 2024 Yazar admin 0



Jeri is 18 and wants to become a famous porn star, she wants to be the erotic fantasy of thousands of people and she’s willing to do anything to achieve her goals. However, she soon realizes that she needs help and when it comes in the form of Michelangelo, “Mikey”, a much older, unattractive and yet well endowed man, who claims that he can mold her into a star, she accepts it against all reason, embarking herself on a quest to transform into a (erotic) dream version of herself, Jules Sperme, a girl whose passion for anal made her get a tattoo of a giant octopus spreading its tentacles from her asshole, where its mouth is depicted, to her buttocks, lower back and thighs.

Can dreams coexist with reality though?

In this chapter:

The aftermath of being discovered by everybody at home hits Jules really hard, sending her into a dangerous path. Multiple forces pull her in different directions: friends, mentors and, most importantly what has started it all: her craft. Is there more to porn than just money?

Fetishes and WARNING:

Anal sex, ass-to-mouth, tattoos, piercings, cigarette and pot smoking, piss drinking, puke, fake boobs, drugs, alcohol, old man/young girl, exhibitionism, silly shenanigans

This story is not meant to give a realistic or accurate portrait of the internal workings of the sex industry, it’s just a fantasy.


He made me

11. A day in the life.


Turkey day. I so hated the recurring joke that my dad used to make every single year, and now I found myself missing it.

Damn it! No sad thoughts, Jules!

And yet, all I could do was staring blankly at myself in the mirror. My appearance had changed a bit since the day my ex-friend outed my to everyone in my hometown as a porn actress and stripper. Just to keep up with stereotypes, after this shock in my life I changed my hairdo: my wavy curls were shorter than I was used to and now blue streaked with purple. There was also a new addition to my piercings: a “medusa”, a little stud placed in the central grove of the upper lip. It enhanced the symmetry of my face, exactly at the center of the septum ring and just above the vertical labret of my lower lip and, when I smiled, the captive bead of my smiley piercing. A symmetry broken by the ring on my nostril in a gorgeous way.

My reflection betrayed the internal struggle inside me: I loved how I looked and yet I hated it for what it meant. To be honest, it was a miracle that I was in front of a mirror, dressed, made up and ready to go out. There were days, especially lately, when I would come out of bed only because Mikey made me. Or my bestie Lotus came to visit me. Or, like today, when Barbie Baby, the hottest porn star around, summoned me.

I missed Mikey in the house, but of course he had plans for Thanksgiving. He had been my rock in the previous months, going way beyond his duties as agent, as promised. Even though I would have definitely pegged him for the “tough love” kind of guy, he had been surprisingly nice. Whenever I felt too depressed for going to work at the strip club, he would let me sleep with him, like a big, cuddly teddy bear. Well, a teddy bear who usually fucked me anally just before the aforementioned cuddling, sure, but still soothing and warm.

My daydreaming or perhaps day-nightmaring was interrupted by the doorbell. With a sigh, mustering all the little desire I had for going out, I ran to open the door, finding a vision of surgically perfect beauty wrapped in a pearl dress and a long cream coat: Barbie Baby.

“Hi Jules!” she exclaimed, just before hugging me. As I felt her huge fake boobs press on my chest and her platinum blonde curls brush against my own, her long-nailed hands slid on my back and between my buttocks, where she tapped the bejeweled butt-plug I was wearing.

“Mmmh, someone’s being naughty!”

“I wanna look good for my goddess’ parents!” I replied with a smirk, biting my tongue before I asked for the umpteenth time “Are you sure I’m not intruding?”

A hidden butt plug always helped when I was nervous: it gave me something else to think about!

“Great! Pick your stuff and let’s go, mom’s already been stressing me out without me delaying dinner!”

So I followed her with my night bag. It was hard to believe that she had invited me for Thanksgiving! Truth to be told, though, after meeting me for her birthday Barbie had been obsessing over me almost as much as I had obsessed over her as her fangirl, which was awesome and unbelievably flattering.

At first she had just been curious about my career, then she had started inviting me to parties held by people in the sex industry, where she would always find a way to get me drunk or high on some unknown substance. I mean, how could I possibly avoid it when she put a pill on her tongue and dared me to scoop it away with mine? After I swallowed it and showed my empty mouth to her, she would always Gaziantep Yabancı Escort whisper “good girl” and give my clit a good time in the bathroom. I had no chance of resisting that!

Then, when I was properly high, she somehow always managed to fling me into some producer’s bed. The morning after was always incredibly embarrassing. Not that I was ashamed of having had sex with a guy sometimes older than my father, because I basically did it almost every day with Mikey, but rather because I honestly had no idea why I had done it, which had never been an issue with my agent. A drunken Jules was apparently easily to manipulate when you were Barbie Baby. TO their credit, these types were completely used to this and very chill. Mikey, on his part, was very happy whenever I came home after a walk of shame, which he insisted would be a walk of fame if I fucked the right people.

During those parties I had met several of Barbie’s friends and soon she had started to call me to hang out with her and them. With Mikey’s nudges I would force myself out of my shell and usually I came home feeling actually better.

Those nights I learned several things about my hero. First of all, she didn’t really have friends, not in her mind at least. It’s hard to explain, but Barbie could be friendly and nice, but she didn’t really care about those she surrounded herself with, not the way they cared about her at least. They were there to entertain her, that was it. This was transparent when we were alone and she made fun of them in a way that betrayed a surprising detachment. I was sure that, even if I weren’t there, the same words would echo in her mind for her own amusement.

In this sense I was special and I don’t say it as a deluded fan, because even Mikey had noticed it. She was different with me, more honest and uncharacteristically caring, in her own way, as she layed mentor with me. Still, it was more like I was her pet than her friend, which perhaps explained her behavior. Nevertheless, this honor meant the world to me. Her photos with me in her Instagram and Twitter accounts had boosted my popularity on the web and had gone a long way to make my name known in a very crowded industry.

Lotus didn’t exactly share my enthusiasm for the woman. The day after the one time she had come with us, she had told me that she found Barbie’s friends boring.

“Of course they are, compared to you! They are ordinary, perfectly sane people, but you can still have fun!” I had replied, rolling my eyes.

“You do only because you get high. I’d personally rather get high by myself,” she had shrugged, lighting up a joint to stress her point. “Besides, I’m pretty sure that Barbie hates me.”

I later had had to admit to both her points. Barbie was jealous. After meeting with my bestie, she had immediately started to try to drive a wedge between us, by making snide remarks about her and insinuating ulterior motives behind her actions. And it wasn’t just Lotus: I was sure that she would have done this with everybody close to me if… Well, I had anyone else. She wanted to be the only thing in my life, my goddess.

“Barbie’s toxic, isn’t she?” I had once asked my bestie, as we cuddled in her bed.

“Like, literally. Whenever you are around her you smoke like a fiend, you drink too much and you do heavy drugs,” she had confirmed, impassive.

Thinking about it, I had examined the cigarette I had been smoking and replied: “You know? She’s like this cigarette: I know it’s toxic and bad for me, but I still love it. It’s what I need now… Does this make any sense?”

Lotus had shrugged: people made very little sense to her anyway, after all.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on you: if you go too far, I’ll stop you like this,” Lotus had replied, flicking my nose.

“Ouch! Don’t do that!”

And she hadn’t done it yet, so I guessed that my flirting with self-destruction hadn’t reached the point of being dangerous, which in turn explained why I was in Barbie’s passenger seat taking a drag from the half-smoked joint she had put in my mouth while she was driving me to her gorgeous house.

“So that you don’t get anxious of making a good impression with my folks,” she was explaining, “even though you are cute when you get antsy!”

I took a deep drag and kept the smoke inside as long as I could, as my mind wandered home. Had I ruined Thanksgiving forever? Or it was them who did it? After all, I was ready to come home whenever they started respecting my choices. I spent the trip in a trance-like state mulling over this, while Barbie blabbed about buying groceries with her mom, until we reached her place.

“Hi, you must be Barbara’s friend! I’m Darla”

Oh, yeah, Barbie’s real name is Barbara, I forgot to tell. These words were uttered by her mom, a fifty-something woman with the same intense blue eyes and blonde hair, whom we met in Barbie’s kitchen as soon as we entered her place.

“Hi, I’m Jules!” I said, shaking her hand.

It felt like she was studying me for a second, but she seemed otherwise friendly. And hot. It ran in the family, I guessed.

“Where’s Sam?” Barbie asked.

“He’s convinced he can fix your dripping faucet!”

Barbie rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand to introduce me to…

“You call your dad by name?” I whispered.

“Well technically he’s not my dad,” Barbie explained. “Honestly, I’m not even sure that my mom knows who’s my dad!” she added, winking.

“Oh, sorry!”

“It’s ok, you weren’t that much off: he’s been with my mom for more than a decade, he’s basically my dad.”

Sam was indeed tinkering in Barbie’s bathroom, whispering to it in a rather threatening way. He was older than Darla, well-dressed, fit, tanned and kind of hot. Moreover he had this reliable, seasoned look about him that made me like him instinctively.

“Hey Barb!” he greeted his step-daughter, getting up to hug her.

“This is Jules!”

Again hands were shaken and again I felt inspected. Perhaps it was my peculiar looks, with my brightly colored hair, the neck tattoos and the piercings. Anyhow, after Barbie had convinced her dad that he wasn’t a plumber, we went downstairs and everything went exactly as one would expect: I offered to help making the table, Darla refused, still I did it anyway, while we chitchatted about the dinner.

“So, you work in porn too?” Sam asked out of the blue.

Awkwardness with distant relatives and guests is one of the main dishes of any holiday, but I had kind of assumed that Barbie’s job would be some sort of taboo. Sure, her mom supported her, but I figured she did it silently!

“Well, yeah, I’m trying…” I mumbled.

“And I’m helping!” Barbie added proudly.

Darla raised an eyebrow a fraction of a millimeter and immediately tried to hide it.

“You’re producing scenes now, like you told me?” she asked politely to her daughter.

She didn’t take it well.

“No, I told you that I’ve got years before I have to stop performing!” she replied annoyed.

“She’s more of a mentor,” I chimed in.

“That’s nice, I remember that it took some time for you to figure it out, with that agent of yours,” added Sam, with a warm smile.

They knew about Mikey? Clearly Darla had a strong opinion about him, which she didn’t even have to voice, because Barbie immediately added: “Don’t even start! I’m not dropping him, mom.”

Ok, this escalation made it clear what was happening: Darla supported Barbie, but she’d rather have her daughter do something else and she didn’t like that Mikey had fucked her at the beginning of her career.

It turned out I was wrong.

“Fine, I don’t want to fight, I just want you to believe in yourself the way I believe in you. You are perfectly capable of finding gigs by yourself and cut the middle man. Aren’t you helping Jules here do exactly the same?”

Darla’s tone was very pragmatic, almost as if she was her daughter’s agent too. Anyhow, my goddess needed a hand, so I added: “I’m with Mikey too, Barbara’s just giving me advices, that’s all.”

Clearly both women had more to say, but Sam had the good sense of changing subject to the next time Barbie would pass by Las Vegas, where he and Darla apparently lived. After I said that I had never been there, the whole family began giving me tips on which clubs were best for stripping, since there was more money than in the L.A. area. It was the oddest scene ever, but it confirmed the idyllic picture Barbie had given me of her accepting family. It was hard to say whether it felt great or terrible to be seen and understood like that.

Another surprise came when Darla served dinner. The menu was way simpler than I was used to, basically just turkey and mashed potatoes, but when my dish appeared in front of my nose, it was even more disappointing: my portion was less than a third of Sam’s or Darla’s!

“For the working girls…” Darla muttered with a sort of warm pride, presenting a similarly scant meal to her daughter.

Damn! One thing I didn’t like about my job was how much it was important to stay in perfect shape, even when you were sad and all you wanted was an embarrassing amount of pumpkin pie!

The dinner might have not worked for my stomach, but it did for my head. Darla reminisced about a young Barbie, who had grown from a very cheeky and mischievous little girl to a cheerleader at the heart of her school’s social life. The fangirl in me was drooling over these anecdotes!

“Apparently Jules used to be a bit of a nerd in high school!” Barbie teased me, a little uninhibited by the wine we had drunk, as she twirled my hair on her couch, where we were sipping an alcoholic eggnog. “But now she can use her inner nerd to shoot schoolgirl scenes!”

“I wasn’t a nerd!” I protested.

“Have you worked together yet?” Darla asked instead.

“Sort of,” I replied.

We had just shot a video of us having sex in Barbie’s jacuzzi, which she had posted on her Onlyfans, flooding mine with new subscribers. Barbie seemed bothered by the question and she immediately changed subject by asking her mom about her dress. Only after dinner, when her parents had left, she revealed to me the reason behind her reaction, as she served me more eggnog spiked with a generous amount of cognac.

“You know, me inviting you to Thanksgiving dinner had mom probably worried that we are lovers, even though I told her countless times that we are just friends.”

I had worried about that too, but all signs pointed to Barbie having no love life at all, for some reason. Was I finally to discover why?

“Mom thinks that I’m bi,” she went on, “and since in her mind I can choose, she thinks it’s best that I go with men. ‘Girls are just for fun’, she says, ‘but in life you need someone who’s got your back and can really protect you!’ Ugh!”

Huh! That was a new spin for homophobia, or rather homo-skepticism.

“Well, perhaps…”

“I mean, she’s all girl power and all, but she’s never been able to believe in herself, always looking for a man to feel safe and shit. You should’ve seen her boyfriends when I was growing up! What a bunch of losers! Her favorite pastime was criticizing them, and yet she only left one when she was sure there would be another! And I’m the one who doesn’t believe in herself!”

Knowing that she just needed to vent, I mostly listened, while we worked our way through the bottle of cognac, the eggnog now forgotten on the table, while she smoked a cigarette after another and I struggled to keep her pace.

“You know, it’s one of the reasons I decided to do porn. To get to fuck girls like you and still make my mom proud!” she revealed, when we were both now quite drunk.

I laughed, coughing a bit.

“She does have qualities, then!”

“You have no idea! She brags about me!”

“What’s not to brag?” I said, hypnotized by her body and absentmindedly lowering the zip of her dress.

“I love it when you look at me in awe like this, when you worship me…” she whispered, getting up and letting her dress fall.

“You are my goddess…” I whispered, falling on my knees to lower her panties too, filling my lungs with her smell. As I kissed her pussy, I added: “A generous one…”

It was happening.

My heart was beating faster, while I licked her labia.

There was no stopping it now: I was in autopilot, following a script rehearsed countless times, whenever I was drunk around her.

“Beg me,” she commanded.

I moaned and caressed her firm buttocks, longing for what was to come and dreading it at the same time.

“Please, my goddess, please can you reward me with your golden juice?”

Why was I doing it? What was wrong with me?

Satisfied, she spread her legs a little, while I sealed my lips around her pee hole, tickling her clit from time to time, waiting for her piss to come.

Perhaps it was seeing how much she loved it, perhaps the utter debauchery of the act… Or a part of me just liked being disgusting…

Still nothing: she liked to make me wait, to see my pleading eyes. I whined, hoping for her pity.

There! The acrid liquid invaded my mouth, but I moaned and did my best to look ecstatic, as I gulped it all. Did I like it or hate it? There had to be a reason why I was always so convincing!

“Thank you!” I gasped, gasping for air, somehow meaning it and not meaning it at the same time.

Barbie took my face between her hands and pulled me up.

“What are you?” she whispered with a warm smile.

“I’m my goddess’ favorite urinal!” I replied as always, just before receiving a big kiss.

This completed the scene. I had found myself on my knees in shitty toilet booths of nightclubs repeating the same words, in her house, in her friends’ houses, doing the very same, always fearing that she wouldn’t pace herself and piss all over me, where it was impossible to hide how dirty I really was.

Well, hide is a strong word for one who was proudly bragging about this on her twitter profile, where I described myself as “Barbie Baby’s favorite urinal,” a badge that I had formally attained in our only shared video, where we pissed on each other just before entering the Jacuzzi.

Was she training me to like it by rewarding me after, like you do with dogs? The suspect came to me when I found myself in her heart-shaped bed, naked, carefree and happy. My goddess’ lips were pressed on their own lipstick print recently tattooed on my hip, just above the script “Barbie’s doll”. I’d like to stress that I wasn’t drunk when I got that and I’m rather proud of this tattoo.

Now she was kissing my nipple, tugging gently the ring it sported, as she slowly approached my own lips.

Toxic. As I kissed her, my mouth tasted like cigarettes, liquor and piss. She was toxic, but I wanted to be intoxicated.

Her fingers’ caress on my labia…

“Such a good girl,” I heard her say as I gasped.

As alcohol really hit me, everything became so confused… When had she dived between my legs?