Dating a Po*nstar is 17: After Care

I shudder as Morgan lifts herself off , the sudden absence of her warmth leaving

trembling in the studio’s cool air. My chest heaves with exertion, sweat trickling down my neck beneath the leather mask. The restraints dig into my wrists as I slump forward, physically and emotionally drained.

“That was incredible,” Morgan purrs, her voice no longer carrying the theatrical edge from monts ago. Her fingers work at the back of my head, loosening the straps of the mask.

The leather peels away from my face, and I blink rapidly as studio lights assault my eyes after the prolonged darkness. As my vision adjusts, I take in my surroundings for the first ti.

This isn’t the professional, sleek studio I’d imagined. Instead, the set is designed like so dieval torture chamber, with clearly fake stone walls, iron chains hanging from the ceiling, and what looks disturbingly like a rack in the corner. The chair I’m bound to sits in the center of it all, looking more like an execution device than furniture.

“Wow, Adam, you were perfect,” Morgan exclaims, her face flushed with genuine happiness. She looks almost giddy, like a child who’s just received an unexpected gift. “Absolutely perfect.”

My stomach churns as I rember the things I said during the scene, the words that ca out of my mouth. Throughout the shoot, Morgan had whispered to , gentle, reassuring words telling

to play along, that Lana knew about the script, that none of it was real. Those whispers had been my lifeline as I said terrible things to placate Morgan’s demands, claiming her body was better than Lana’s, that I didn’t need my girlfriend anymore.

But looking at Lana now, standing silently at the edge of the set, her face a careful mask of neutrality, I feel sick. Did she really know what was coming? Did she understand how humiliating those words would be?

“Can soone untie ?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

A crew mber approaches from behind, quickly working to free my wrists. The restraints fall away, leaving angry red marks that I know will bruise by tomorrow. I rub them gingerly, wincing at the tenderness.

Through the small crowd of technicians and cara operators, I see Lana making her way toward . She’s holding a plush black robe, her expression unreadable as she approaches. The studio lights catch the wetness on her cheeks. Has she been crying?

“Here,” she says quietly, holding out the robe. Her voice is tight, controlled in a way that makes my chest constrict with guilt.

“Thanks,” I mumble, standing on shaky legs to slip into the offered covering. The soft fabric feels impossibly good against my skin after being so exposed, but it does nothing to ease the nakedness I feel inside.

Lana’s fingers brush against mine as I take the robe, our eyes eting briefly before she looks away.

“We should get you back to the dressing room.”

I nod mutely, cinching the robe tightly around my waist as I follow her through the maze of equipnt and crew mbers. Morgan appears at my side, her arm snaking around my waist possessively.

“That was truly magnificent,” she purrs, still riding the high of the performance. She hasn’t bothered changing out of her dominatrix outfit, the leather creaking subtly with each step.

The walk back to the dressing room feels like a march to execution, my bare feet cold against the concrete floor. My mind races, replaying every mont, every word that ca out of my mouth during the scene.

When we finally reach the dressing room, Lana closes the door behind us with a soft click that sohow sounds final. The three of us stand in uncomfortable silence for a mont, the small space suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

Morgan breaks the tension first, practically bouncing on her heels with excitent. “Lana, that was the best cuckquean performance I’ve ever seen in my life,” she gushes, her green eyes gleaming. “Those tears felt real. The way you looked so devastated when he said my pussy was better? Absolute gold.”

My heart seizes in my chest. “Lana,” I blurt out, panic rising like bile in my throat. “Are you okay? I didn’t an any of that. You know that, right?”

Lana turns to , and to my surprise, her lips curve into a warm smile. The controlled mask slips away, revealing sothing much softer beneath. “Yeah, of course,” she says with a light shrug. “I’m an actress, after all. It’s what I do.”

I stare at her, searching her face for any sign that she’s lying, that I’ve wounded her beyond repair, but she just keeps smiling that gentle, reassuring smile.

Morgan claps her hands together, drawing our attention. “I feel like the two of you being on the sa set was simply wonderful,” she says, perching on the edge of the makeup counter. Her eyes flick between us, calculating sothing I can’t quite decipher. “Lana, you should try bringing him on one of your sets soti.”

The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, as Morgan’s suggestion hangs in the air between us. Her smile seems genuine, almost motherly as she looks at

with those piercing green eyes.

“What do you think, Adam?” she asks, her voice soft and encouraging. “Now that you’ve gotten through your first ti on cara, it might be easier to understand what Lana experiences.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure…” I begin, but Lana cuts

off.

“Actually, maybe it’d be nice to have you on set for my shoot with Leo,” she says, her voice oddly bright. “That way, you could see you have nothing to worry about.”

My stomach drops like an elevator with snapped cables. The script I saw on her iPad flashes through my mind, the husband nad Adam, Lana telling Leo she regrets choosing , the wedding ring coming off before they fuck on our marital bed.

“I... uh...” My mouth goes dry as I try to formulate a response that won’t reveal I snooped through her emails.

“It’s this Friday,” Lana continues, stepping closer to . Her fingers find mine, intertwining them with a gentle squeeze. “Morgan’s right. Seeing it firsthand might help you understand how chanical it really is.”

Morgan claps her hands together again. “That’s settled then! I’ll make all the arrangents.” She slides off the counter with fluid grace, her leather outfit creaking. “Adam, you were magnificent today. I’m so glad we got to share this experience.”

As she leaves the room, I can’t shake the feeling that sothing is terribly wrong. The script I saw wasn’t “chanical” at all, it was intimate, personal, designed to cut

to the core.

I take a deep, shuddering breath, my mind racing with conflicting emotions. The thought of watching Lana with Leo, seeing them act out that script I wasn’t supposed to know about, makes my stomach twist into knots. Part of

thinks I would enjoy it. When I’m a little too horny and ho alone I love watching Lana get filled up. Honestly the more dicks the better. But an Ex boyfriend, it feels a lot more real.

“Lana, I’m not sure I can stomach watching you with an Ex,” I finally admit/

Lana’s expression softens imdiately. She steps closer, reaching up to cup my face in her hands. Her blue eyes search mine, filled with gentle understanding that makes my chest ache.

“Adam,” she says softly, her thumbs stroking my cheeks. “I know it’s asking a lot. There’s nothing real between Leo and . It’s just work.” Her voice is tender, almost pleading. “Please? For us?”

There’s sothing in her eyes I can’t quite read, vulnerability, perhaps, or determination. Maybe both. Her hands are warm against my skin, grounding

even as my thoughts spiral.

“I...” My resistance crumbles under her gaze. “Okay. I’ll go.”

Relief washes over her face, and she rises on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to my lips. “Thank you,” she whispers against my mouth. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

As she pulls back, I catch a flicker of sothing in her expression, a shadow that passes so quickly I almost think I imagined it. But before I can analyze it further, she’s already turning away, reaching for my clothes folded neatly on the counter.

“Let’s go ho, you need to shower that woman’s scent off you ASAP.”