The Idol’s Mommy Kink - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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My body went rigid. What the hell was Adrian Roland implying?
Did this Hollywood god actually think I was some kind of... paid companion?
Let's be real - I wasn't some starstruck fool believing in fairy-tale insta-love. A-list actors like Adrian had groupies throwing themselves at his feet 24/7. The man probably had women's phone numbers falling out of his Armani pockets.
So why was a global superstar ordering me to shower and wait in his bedroom like some... courtesan?
Though if I'm being completely honest... the idea of private time with my ultimate celebrity crush wasn't exactly repulsive...
I was still mentally debating when a uniformed maid materialized beside me.
"Miss Fairsprene," she said with a knowing smile that made my stomach flip, "Mr. Roland is expecting you in his suite."
My pulse went into overdrive as I stood. "Y-yes, of course."
The lavish bedroom we entered looked straight out of Architectural Digest. Gold trim everywhere, silk sheets you could drown in...
"The master has... particular requirements about cleanliness," the maid explained delicately. "He'd prefer you freshen up first."
"A shower? Now?" My voice cracked. Was this really happening? Were we about to...?
Then again, celebrities had their quirks. Maybe this was just another eccentricity, like those actors who only eat purple foods or whatever.
The bathroom door locked with an ominous click. My trembling fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers.
There's something profoundly weird about showering in a stranger's home. Every splash of water made me paranoid about hidden cameras, though part of me wondered if I'd mind being watched by...
Let's just say my college "relationship" left much to be desired. My ex's... performance anxiety meant we never crossed certain boundaries. To spare his ego, I'd pretended not to care about my... unmet needs.
But alone at night? My body remembered what it was missing.
The steam fogged the mirror as I took stock. Not bad for twenty-four. My hands drifted over curves that had never gotten proper appreciation...
BAM BAM BAM!
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Who's there?" I yelped, clutching a towel to my dripping body.
The door didn't budge against my frantic push.
"Adrian." That voice - like melted dark chocolate - vibrated through the wood straight into my bones.
Holy shit. He came himself!
Even muffled by the door, hearing that famous baritone so close made my knees weak.
"Y-yes?" I squeaked.
"We need to talk. Open up."
Now? When I'm naked and dripping wet?
"G-give me a second!"
I became a whirlwind of towels and hastily grabbed clothes, finally cracking the door with my dignity barely intact.
Adrian stood there like a GQ cover come to life, his Tom Ford suit probably costing more than my car. "My apologies for the interruption."
Sweet baby Jesus, that voice should be illegal.
"N-no worries!" I stammered, stepping back. "Did you, um, need to use the..."
"No." Then - plot twist - he produced a pair of sheer black stockings. "Put these on."
My face went nuclear. I'm a licensed Emotional Release Therapist, for God's sake - what kind of twisted fantasy was this?
Did this Hollywood god actually think I was some kind of... paid companion?
Let's be real - I wasn't some starstruck fool believing in fairy-tale insta-love. A-list actors like Adrian had groupies throwing themselves at his feet 24/7. The man probably had women's phone numbers falling out of his Armani pockets.
So why was a global superstar ordering me to shower and wait in his bedroom like some... courtesan?
Though if I'm being completely honest... the idea of private time with my ultimate celebrity crush wasn't exactly repulsive...
I was still mentally debating when a uniformed maid materialized beside me.
"Miss Fairsprene," she said with a knowing smile that made my stomach flip, "Mr. Roland is expecting you in his suite."
My pulse went into overdrive as I stood. "Y-yes, of course."
The lavish bedroom we entered looked straight out of Architectural Digest. Gold trim everywhere, silk sheets you could drown in...
"The master has... particular requirements about cleanliness," the maid explained delicately. "He'd prefer you freshen up first."
"A shower? Now?" My voice cracked. Was this really happening? Were we about to...?
Then again, celebrities had their quirks. Maybe this was just another eccentricity, like those actors who only eat purple foods or whatever.
The bathroom door locked with an ominous click. My trembling fingers fumbled with buttons and zippers.
There's something profoundly weird about showering in a stranger's home. Every splash of water made me paranoid about hidden cameras, though part of me wondered if I'd mind being watched by...
Let's just say my college "relationship" left much to be desired. My ex's... performance anxiety meant we never crossed certain boundaries. To spare his ego, I'd pretended not to care about my... unmet needs.
But alone at night? My body remembered what it was missing.
The steam fogged the mirror as I took stock. Not bad for twenty-four. My hands drifted over curves that had never gotten proper appreciation...
BAM BAM BAM!
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Who's there?" I yelped, clutching a towel to my dripping body.
The door didn't budge against my frantic push.
"Adrian." That voice - like melted dark chocolate - vibrated through the wood straight into my bones.
Holy shit. He came himself!
Even muffled by the door, hearing that famous baritone so close made my knees weak.
"Y-yes?" I squeaked.
"We need to talk. Open up."
Now? When I'm naked and dripping wet?
"G-give me a second!"
I became a whirlwind of towels and hastily grabbed clothes, finally cracking the door with my dignity barely intact.
Adrian stood there like a GQ cover come to life, his Tom Ford suit probably costing more than my car. "My apologies for the interruption."
Sweet baby Jesus, that voice should be illegal.
"N-no worries!" I stammered, stepping back. "Did you, um, need to use the..."
"No." Then - plot twist - he produced a pair of sheer black stockings. "Put these on."
My face went nuclear. I'm a licensed Emotional Release Therapist, for God's sake - what kind of twisted fantasy was this?
End of The Idol’s Mommy Kink Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Idol’s Mommy Kink book page.