The Idol’s Mommy Kink - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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The villa pulsed with electric tension, the air heavy with unspoken desire.
Occasional moans drifted from the bedrooms, making my cheeks flush with heat. I ducked my head, wishing the marble floor would swallow me whole.
Then—heart stopping—the idol I'd secretly worshipped for years pointed straight at me.
"Her. Tonight. Tell her to get ready and wait in my room."
"Could you... go easy on me?"
I clutched my full curves, shamefully exposed as I lay on the examination table. My pink lips were bitten nearly white.
I'd come to the talent agency applying for an Emotional Release Therapist position, but they'd immediately ordered me to strip for evaluation. The process was more invasive than model casting calls or flight attendant screenings.
Tucking my long legs beneath me, I blinked back discomfort tears, looking every bit the trembling virgin bride. I knew exactly how tempting this pose made me.
At least the two evaluators were women—small mercies.
"Legs straight. Stand up, turn around," one directed, amusement coloring her voice.
Biting my lip, I thought of the six-figure salary and obeyed.
Whap! A stinging slap landed on my backside. "Nice bounce," the woman approved.
Facing the mirror, I couldn't deny my reflection was knockout gorgeous. Sometimes home alone, even I couldn't resist touching... What a waste on my impotent boyfriend.
After grueling rounds, I got the assignment: Adrian Roland's pool party. The idol himself.
But stepping into that villa froze me in my tracks.
Bikini-clad women—some wearing less than that—floated in the pool, draped over laughing men. It looked like a high-budget porn set.
Just then, a towel-wrapped girl came sprinting out, face streaked with tears. Angry red welts crisscrossed her skin beneath the terrycloth, some still oozing blood.
Someone got violent here?
My hand flew to my phone—until I remembered security had confiscated all devices at the door.
Fine. New girl protocol: see nothing, survive the night.
Besides, this was Adrian Roland's event. The nation's golden boy, whose face launched a thousand fanclubs within weeks of debut. No way would he allow actual abuse at his own party.
Must be method acting. Had to be.
I almost convinced myself—until he appeared.
Adrian stood like an ice sculpture amidst the debauchery, his tailored suit absurdly formal. Those famous features showed no emotion as he stopped before me.
Then the command came, cold and clear:
"Tonight, she's mine. Clean her up and bring her to my suite."
Occasional moans drifted from the bedrooms, making my cheeks flush with heat. I ducked my head, wishing the marble floor would swallow me whole.
Then—heart stopping—the idol I'd secretly worshipped for years pointed straight at me.
"Her. Tonight. Tell her to get ready and wait in my room."
"Could you... go easy on me?"
I clutched my full curves, shamefully exposed as I lay on the examination table. My pink lips were bitten nearly white.
I'd come to the talent agency applying for an Emotional Release Therapist position, but they'd immediately ordered me to strip for evaluation. The process was more invasive than model casting calls or flight attendant screenings.
Tucking my long legs beneath me, I blinked back discomfort tears, looking every bit the trembling virgin bride. I knew exactly how tempting this pose made me.
At least the two evaluators were women—small mercies.
"Legs straight. Stand up, turn around," one directed, amusement coloring her voice.
Biting my lip, I thought of the six-figure salary and obeyed.
Whap! A stinging slap landed on my backside. "Nice bounce," the woman approved.
Facing the mirror, I couldn't deny my reflection was knockout gorgeous. Sometimes home alone, even I couldn't resist touching... What a waste on my impotent boyfriend.
After grueling rounds, I got the assignment: Adrian Roland's pool party. The idol himself.
But stepping into that villa froze me in my tracks.
Bikini-clad women—some wearing less than that—floated in the pool, draped over laughing men. It looked like a high-budget porn set.
Just then, a towel-wrapped girl came sprinting out, face streaked with tears. Angry red welts crisscrossed her skin beneath the terrycloth, some still oozing blood.
Someone got violent here?
My hand flew to my phone—until I remembered security had confiscated all devices at the door.
Fine. New girl protocol: see nothing, survive the night.
Besides, this was Adrian Roland's event. The nation's golden boy, whose face launched a thousand fanclubs within weeks of debut. No way would he allow actual abuse at his own party.
Must be method acting. Had to be.
I almost convinced myself—until he appeared.
Adrian stood like an ice sculpture amidst the debauchery, his tailored suit absurdly formal. Those famous features showed no emotion as he stopped before me.
Then the command came, cold and clear:
"Tonight, she's mine. Clean her up and bring her to my suite."
End of The Idol’s Mommy Kink Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to The Idol’s Mommy Kink book page.