She wanted to be my star

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction written by a woman from a male perspective. I do not condone the actions of the main character. This story contains rape, dubious consent and extreme violence. Read at your own risk.

“You’ve always wanted to be a star, haven’t you?” I asked her. Although a bit older, perhaps in her mid to late 20s, she had a youthful appearance. She was so unsure of herself until she met me, but I noticed something special inside of her. A sparkle in her eye that would burn out eventually, once I was finished with her. But most importantly, a complete willingness to submit to me. We have a brief conversation. I tell her to come back the next day, and to wear something more revealing.

She comes back to my office. We begin writing together, exchanging ideas. She’s always wanted to be a musician. Probing her mind, I find out her favorite novel is Lolita, and she loves the films equally. She loves all things childish and innocent, and all things reminiscent of a bygone era. Her favorite film star is Marilyn Monroe. She has a dark past. A father who abandoned her at a young age. Perhaps maybe a few older men that were too friendly with her as she was growing up. Struggles with addiction throughout her life, alcohol and cocaine.

I tell her we can use these things, to bring her everything she’s ever wanted. Fame, glamour. Money and power. All the attention her father never gave her. She seems hesitant at first, almost on the verge of tears. I embrace her gently, holding her face in my hands. So beautiful, almost aching for destruction. “You want this, don’t you baby?”, I ask her. Again, she hesitates. This angers me, and I strike her across the face, leaving a red mark on it. The way she responds I can tell this isn’t the first time a man has treated her this way. She collects herself and goes to leave. I tell her to meet me again tomorrow.

She arrives early, hair and makeup done, a light and demure look. Makeup covering the mark I left on her face last night. She notices a gift addressed to her. A new outfit. A diamond necklace. She clings to me, thanking me, asking me how she can ever repay me. I think to myself, “well, my wife hasn’t fucked me in years. I can’t even remember the last time she sucked me off.” I unzip myself and tell her to kneel at my feet. Without hesitation she gets to work. At first I’m gentle with her, just enjoying the feel of a warm mouth on my cock. Then I want more.

I feel anger and frustration within me, all the years of pent up aggression with my wife, with all women. Without holding back I release those urges on this poor young soul, eager to please, kneeling at my feet. I begin using her violently, then pulling out and spilling all over her beautiful face. She cleans me, says “thank you, daddy”, collects herself and leaves my office. The next day we begin to discuss her future career with me. Ideas for songs. A persona to lure in the right audience. Very young vulnerable women such as herself. Corrupt powerful perverted older men. Over the days and weeks, everything comes together and she performs at her first venue, a dive bar in a small town. A sold out show, the crowd loves her. The audience made up of mostly men, many of them in their 50s and 60s. Some of them love her so much they want to meet her after the show.

Eager to please as usual, she leaves the bar with makeup running down her face, covered in cum. I take her back to my place, clean her and dress her in a pink nightgown, gently applying makeup to her bruised face. Then I use her violently. No matter how many men take advantage of her body I want her to know she belongs to me, to mark my territory. As the months pass, her fame skyrockets. We collaborate on ideas for music videos, brief vignettes of her favorite films, her songs playing over them. An undiscovered starlet made famous overnight. After each one of our sessions I subject her to more violent and degrading acts, many of them involving other men. Eventually these become themes in her songs as well.

It becomes tiresome for her, keeping up the persona and meeting my needs. Knowing she’s struggled with it in the past I offer her cocaine, ensuring she’ll always need me. She ends up spiraling, yet still holding together under my guidance. Show after show, the fans love her. Both older men and girls alike. Her sweetness and vulnerability drawing them in. She poses in photographs, signs autographs. In every image it’s almost as though a part of her soul disappears.

Eventually she performs what will be her final show. Behind the scenes, trying desperately to prepare. Hair and makeup done, party dress on. Sitting at the vanity backstage. I come behind her, embrace her. I help her cover the marks on her face, signs of my love, wiping the blood away from her nose. A few moments later she tells me she can’t keep doing this. She hates what she’s become, she can’t keep seeing me. She wants out of her contract, out of the life she thought she wanted. “It’s okay baby. I know. You just need to get through tonight, and then I’ll let you go.”

We agree, a final show, a parting gift to her fans. I ask one last request of her. To bring them backstage for a special session. The young ones. She agrees, not knowing the idea I’ve come with. A contest to see who can become the next big star I arranged months in advance. As expected, the entries flow in almost overnight.

I make sure there will be a few winners to choose from to make sure I find the perfect victim. So many girls enter, copying her hair, her makeup, her songs, recording them. I stroke myself to the videos, savoring every minute. Before the first video ends I feel precum spilling out of my cock, then after a few moments, release. I clean myself and leave the office, bringing the rest of the videos with me for later.

The final performance is a success. A sold out show, the audience filled with girls, reluctant parents, and a few older men. The winners are announced, young girls and their parents lined up across the backstage. I tell the parents they must wait outside, that this won’t take long. I’ve set out a table with top shelf liquor and snacks. They oblige. My little starlet greets each girl by name, signing her autograph for them, smiling in the photographs. Beautiful but decaying inside.

My need for her dissipated, I tell the audience of eager girls she has to go. She waves goodbye, holding the gifts her fans have given her in her arms, stepping into the Uber I called for her. She ends up at a hotel. Nothing glamorous, but decent. I’ve arranged one last special night just for her. When she gets to her room, there’s a man waiting for her. Balding, overweight, two or three times her age. Before she can open her mouth he backhands her. She slumps into the corner, seeing stars.

He picks up her limp body, tosses it on the bed and violently rapes her. He pulls out, emptying on her face and tits, then he throws a few small bills on her face and leaves. The cycle continues for what feels like hours. One man after another entering the room, violating her and leaving. The final one leaves a white bag on the vanity for her. A gift especially for her. Later that night she ends up overdosing. Perhaps the cocaine was mixed with heroin. No one will know.

A few hours later a housekeeping attendant finds her body slumped over at the vanity. She tries to get someone to help but it’s too late. My little starlet has gone away. Later when I’m alone I touch myself to her memory, knowing her last hours were spent trying to please me. In the present moment, so many girls surrounding me. I ask which one of them wants most to become a star. The rest, as they say, is history.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/orju2k/she_wanted_to_be_my_star