“We’re going to push the envelope on everything in this new music video. You wanted to have a sexier image? Well, let’s take it to extremes. I’m thinking you, on your hands and knees, naked...”
“Naked!? Even Youtube won’t let that slide,” Candy told her manager even knowing that the fires of creation in his eyes meant his mind was made up. She thought she was game for anything if it helped her gain a more mature fanbase but already had cold feet.
“Nicki Minaj did it already. Just pasties on your nipples and those big melons of yours will still leave plenty to show. Anyway, so we have a guy plowing you from behind, right? Like this huge, hung pornstar guy.”
“Jesus…”
“It’s OK, you don’t see his junk because we’re shooting you from the front. And I’m not talking about fake-ass sex, alright? No offense, but you’re not that good of an actress; it would never work. Real-ass ass-fucking.”
“My ass? Come on, man. Why can’t it be, like, normal sex?” Candy asked, pit in her stomach, bracing herself for the answer.
Candy’s manager sighed. “Because, if you let me finish, the whole video is about your journey as a female icon. We start with humiliation; that’s you naked on all fours with a dog collar. Did I mention you’d be wearing a collar? Then, pain; butt sex, no lube so that it’s more raw and animalistic. Then, you have an orgasm on screen while getting choked. Then… you die.”
“Isn’t that fake as fuck? I thought you wanted real.”
“Yah, I want real. That’s why you will literally die. We’ll revive you at the last possible moment and your death will be part of the music video. How hardcore is that? It’s fucking hardcore, you gotta admit.”
“I dunno, the idea is cool but… what if you botch it can’ bring me back?”
“You think I don’t care about my little superstar? We’ll have the best medical team on Earth. It will be a cinch?”
Day 1, Take 65
Candy looked up at the camera through slivers of her blue eyes and started mumbling to the song that played in the studio. Everyone, even the dumb pornstars running a raw-dogging train on her bouncy ass knew the lyrics by heart after hearing it so many times. But, somehow, the songwriter’s own words kept escaping her deep-fried brain. The five-time Grammy Award-winning prodigy’s heavy tits with areolas barely covered by minuscule pink stickers sprang and swayed between her skinny tensed arms in a wavy veil of pink hair for the world to eventually see.
The manager was at his wits’ end with his client’s performance. Even the perfect expression of agony he got on camera when her virgin rectum was used as a mortar for a fat 12-inch pestle was now that of punch-drunk whore with dry mascara on the cheeks. After 8 hours straight, her little, pink, puckered star, once so tight, would never fully heal. Even her pussy was puffing up from getting constantly slapped by ballsacks.
When a lucid thought crossed Candy’s mind, it was usually I have to get this one right… but she could never quite remember what it was that she screwed up in the previous take or all the ones before.
“OK, choke her hard.”
The links of Candy’s chain collar tightened around her neck. Air was first to stop flowing, then blood, then cognition. Her face turned beat red and her eyes bulged. Candy wasn’t scared of death after experiencing it 64 times. Being able to let go, to embrace her inevitable demise sent her body into a frenzy of hormone overproduction. The adrenaline acted like gasoline on a shameful flame of indignity. She hung on to life for as long as she could, every second feeling like an entire day. A day of happiness.
Dark silhouettes under the bright studio lights pulled aside as Candy’s eyes strenuously opened. Blurs and noise slowly came into focus and it was her manager’s face and voice that her brain deciphered first.
“You fucking airhead! How many times do I have to tell you to cum as you get choked?”
It took a while for Candy to understand the question and even when she pieced together the words and their meaning, she was still confused: “I did cum...” she slurred. She had in fact cum a million times harder than ever in her life with every single take so far.
“This again… When girls cum, their eyes cross and their tongue sticks out. That’s what a real orgasm looks like. Ugh, let’s just call it a day.”
“We just got here, do we go too?” There was a new batch of world-class male pornstars with cocks as thick as Coke cans who were brought in to help Candy remember the face of painal.
“No way,” Candy’s manager told them, “cameras or no cameras, I already paid you to fuck, so fuck. And practice your choking skills. If you kill her, use those paddles over there. 1-2-3 clear; it’s not rocket science.”
Day 9, take 835.
“Cut.”
Candy was never conscious to hear those words before. Was it finally over? She remembered to cross
her eyes and stick out her tongue, but she was pretty sure she didn’t die yet.
Her manager was kicking chairs and slamming any phone within reach to the floor. “I just got a reply from those idiots at the FCC. Apparently, a naked 18-year-old girl is fine and dandy but a naked guy behind her is not. How fucking fucked up is that? I won’t let them fuck over my vision and Candy’s career. I need a loophole. Ideas?”
A few assistants dared to speak up:
“We give strap-on dildos to her fans and set them loose? It would be like a metaphor, like…”
“What about a sex robot that represents the machine of the record industry fucking over the artists…” “I can just put clothes on and fuck her through the zipper, it’s no big deal,” said one of the pornstars waiting his turn.
“No, you’re all fired.”
…
“You think I’m joking? Leave. Now.”
A few hours later, with everyone just waiting around and Candy’s butthole fountain growing a cum-lake under her passed out self, Candy’s manager had a eureka moment; a revolutionary idea even better than the original vision.
Day 24, take 2899
Candy’s loud moans as she was mounted by a fresh wolf-size husky would have to pass for lip-synching. Although now, she was not even facing the camera, her cheek dipped in a puddle of her own drool on the floor. This was not going to be a usable take, but you couldn’t get the dogs out of that plump, soft, white ass once they started doing their thing.
To better fit the new theme, the pasties had been replaced by live, hungry puppies gnawing at her teats, desperately sucking the beads of sweat from the red, chaffed nipples. It wasn’t her cue but Candy started cumming the moment that large knot popped inside her dogmilk-drenched back hole. With fresh tears rolling down her face, the bitch in heat begged for her choking.
Candy’s manager’ had his face in his hand, frustrated as always by her incompetence. The talent wanting to die threw his whole brilliant concept out the window. “Can someone kill her real quick so we can take it from the top. We have the studio for 6 months; guess we’ll get our money’s worth”
