"C'est La Vie" with Jessica Alba and Lindsay Lohan

C'est La Vie
Author's Name: MissFyt
Content Codes: MF, FF, Cons, Oral, Anal, Drugs (alcohol), mast.
Celebs: Jessica Alba and Lindsay Lohan


Author's Note: Another old one, the discerning reader may notice the recurring presence of the character 'Sophie'. You know how some directors have an actor they always use in the lead role, kinda like a representation of themselves? Well, Sophie is my character - an anti-hero and a relatively harmless dealer in controlled substances amongst Hollywood's elite. Sophie was around before I wrote this, and she'll probably continue to be around afterward. She's just a part of the little fictional world I like to create for these stories. I like her, and I hope you will, too.

Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction intended for those that are either over eighteen or of a sufficient age and mentality where they can grasp the difference between fantasy and reality. Please pay attention to the codes and don't waste your time e-mailing me to say you didn't like something when you were warned beforehand it would be in the story. Any resemblance between the people in this story and real people living or dead is a miraculous coincidence.

Also...I thought I might give a quick explanation regarding the format of this particular tale before you read. It weighs in at what I think is a reasonably hefty seven thousand words or so, more than half of which are exposition and character development. The reasoning behind this is twofold: firstly, I don't like to take celebrity images at face value and just assume they'd be a certain way because a magazine says they are. In this story, I've tried to give the three principal celebrities more than just assumed characters. This requires action, reaction, and dialogue. Shocking, I know.


It all started a few weekends ago, when I somehow ended up near Santa Clarita, attending the birthday party of someone Lindsay had assured me on the phone was "that Girls Gone Wild guy".

"Lindsay," I'd said. "You know what Girls Gone Wild is, right?"

"Sure, it's college girls, right? Partying and whatever."

"If 'whatever' is flashing their tits, yeah. C'mon, Linds, this is bullshit. You get a bad enough rep as it is."

"Hey, it's not like it's just me," she replied, sounding every inch her age. "There's loads of other Hollywood people going, I swear. You can network or whatever. It'll be fun."

I couldn't help but smile. "If 'network' is slipping slowly into a coma, yeah. If 'fun' is watching sleazebags hit on Paris 'cause they think she's easy, yeah."

"Aw, come on, Sophie, I've got to go do a bunch of promotional stuff the rest of this week, this is the last time I'll be able to catch you."

"Alright, alright." I said. "Where are we meeting?"

"Um…Magic Mountain."

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Some five hours later I was climbing a small fence away from the main entrance while a burly security guard by the name of Lenny alternated between making sure the coast was clear and trying to look up my dress. Expecting a Hollywood crowd and not wanting to look too out of place, I'd gone for a black Roberto Cavalli number that was tight enough to prevent him seeing too much while simultaneously making it damn near impossible for me to get over the top of the fence.

"Why can't you just use the red carpet like everyone else?"

I looked down and found Cash Warren looking up at me, grinning like an idiot. As if that wasn't bad enough, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

"You could lend a fucking hand," I said. Lenny had apparently made himself scarce.

"Do I get anything in return?" he asked.

"How about you help me get down from here, and I make sure 115lbs of pissed off girl doesn't swoop down from here and ruin your day?"

"Jump, Sophie. I've got you," he said.

"I hope so." I managed to swing one leg over the fence, then half-fell, half-jumped into his waiting arms.

"Your hero" he said, setting me down on my feet.

"Asshole. What are you doing here, anyway?" I pushed my hair out of my face, wiped away sweat with the back of my hand. Somehow, I always manage to end up looking like shit.

"I'm with Jessica," he said, smiling.

"Jessica?"

"Alba."

"With?"

"With," he said, smile widening.

"You mean you're like her booty call or something?"

"Nope. It's for real. Jesus, don't you read the tabloids?"

"I don't read anything you might be in."

Cash rolled his eyes. "You get nicer every time we meet. What are you all dolled up for?"

I looked down at myself. "The party," I said.

He pursed his lips, a hint of a smile appearing at the corners of his mouth.

"Nobody tells me anything," I sighed, looking to the heavens. "This is what happens when Lindsay fucking Lohan invites you out."

Cash stared at me. "Lindsay's here?"

"Apparently."

"Shit."

"What?"

"Nothing. Look, why don't you walk with me? Nobody's going to notice how you're dressed. I'll say you're my publicist or something."

"Alright." I looked at him. "Thanks."

We fell into step, apparently making our way to where multi-colored rides of all descriptions twisted and spun towards the sky. I could hear music and the distant screams of the terrified and excited. I glanced across at Cash. He was studying his feet as we walked, deep in thought. I found myself thinking I should give him a break. I'm always giving him shit, but we're alike in more ways than you'd think, the pair of us hanging on to Hollywood's underbelly, lurking on the flipside of all those tabloid headlines. Cash did some modelling, got gigs assisting directors and producers on movie sets. I got the impression that 'assisting', in this case, might mean more than fetching cups of coffee. So maybe it was good for him that he'd hooked up with an upwardly mobile starlet like Alba. I'd never actually spoken to her, so who was I to say that she was taking some time to enjoy Cash's buff body and classic good looks before dumping him for somebody with a little more celebrity? Nobody. Your friendly neighborhood drug dealer, nasty as hell and twice as cynical. What a bitch.

"How are you, anyway?" I asked Cash, softening my tone.

He glanced at me, eyebrows raised. "I'm alright, same as always, I guess."

"Jessica Alba, huh?" I punched him lightly on the arm. "You dog."

He shrugged. "You know me."

I smiled. "I know you're a whore. Does this mean you don't agree with the tabloids?"

"About it being serious? I don't know. How long do you think a girl like that stays with a guy like me? Besides, I'm not sure I can deal with the fact that every time she goes off to shoot something, all these rumours come out about which actor she's fucking. I trust her, but when everyone's speculating, it gets into your head."

"Does she know that?"

"She's used to it, says she can't complain about her life. Oh...uh...on the subject, I was looking to track you down anyway."

"Needing something?"

"For Jessica. She needs to lose a little weight, but quickly, you know?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. You know how these bastards are. If you're five pounds above anorexic, you're too fat. Jessica stresses about it, and she's shooting from next week."

"I've got nothing on me. Page me an address and I'll swing by Monday morning."

"No Speed," he said.

I grinned. "You really think I'm evil, don't you?"

"I know it."

"Cash?"

We both looked up to find the girl in question standing with her arms folded across her chest, a frown creasing her brow. She looked better than the last time I'd seen her, most of that awful blonde gone from her hair, a little more flesh on her delectable bones. Like Cash, she was dressed casually, managing to look stunning even in a dark blue sweater, tight jeans, and what looked like motorcycle boots.

"Oh, Jessica," Cash said. "This...this is Sophie. She's the one I was telling you about."

"Great. Look, they want us to go on this fucking roller coaster so they can take some pictures. We can do that, say goodnight to Joe, then get out of here. This party sucks."

"Nice to meet you," I deadpanned. She glared at me.

"I'd better go," Cash said. "I'll page you that address. See you Monday?"

"I'll bring the speed balls," I muttered.

He coughed to hide a laugh then kissed me on the cheek and turned away. Jessica continued staring until he took her arm and they headed for the screams. I followed at a discreet distance, dropping further back as we cut between rides and began to mingle with the guests. We ended up close to the main entrance, and while Cash and Jessica made their way towards what looked like a giant photo op, I decided to find Lindsay and then get out as quickly as possible. I was inappropriately dressed, pissed at myself for being such a bitch to Cash, pissed at Jessica for being such a bitch to me, and no longer in the mood for a theme park party.

It took me almost half an hour to track down the infamous Ms. Lohan, which was surprising considering how much attention she was attracting. She was standing outside a building where they were putting on a club night of some kind, the bass so heavy I could feel it in my feet. Lindsay was dressed in jeans and a cardigan, the latter hanging open on a top that clung so tightly to her torso it was hardly worth wearing at all. She was surrounded by, well, the kinds of sleazebags who hit on Paris because they think she's easy.

"Sophie!" she screamed as I approached. She let go of the guy whose neck her arms had been around and stumbled towards me, laughing loudly. "I was waiting for you!"

"Looks like you started without me," I said.

"Just a couple of drinks," she said, grinning as she threw her arms around me and planted a sloppy kiss on my mouth. I tasted cigarettes and brandy.

"You're wasted," I said. "C'mon, I'll get you a ride home."

"No, no, no. Steve said he'd give me a ride home." She turned back to the guy, who'd I'd been watching making snide comments to his friends while Lindsay's back was turned. "Didn't you, Steve?"

"Your friend, too, if she wants," said Steve. He smiled.

"I don't think so," I said. "This one's had enough for one night."

"Why don't you ask her if she's had enough?" he said, taking a step forward.

"Why don't you ask this?" I took a step out of Lindsay's embrace, holding her up with one arm around her waist while I hiked the hem of my dress up high enough to show him the .22 tucked into my left stocking-top.

Steve considered this a moment. He glanced back at his buddies and found no support. "Whore," he said.

"And yet I wouldn't even let a scumbag like you sniff my panties," I replied.

He gave me the finger and then winked at Lindsay. "I'll be seeing you again, honey," he said.

She waved as they turned and headed back inside, then swayed back towards me. "What was all that about? He seemed nice."

"How many have you had?"

Lindsay held up her hand and started counting fingers. Her eyelids fluttered and she slumped against me. "Oops," she mumbled.

"Alright." I hoisted her up so that she was standing as straight as possible, tightening my grip around her waist and throwing her arm around mine. "We're going to walk out of here like a couple of very sober friends. How does that sound?"

"Did you bring my shit?"

"Never mind that. Walk with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere a little quieter."

Lindsay smiled. "I didn't know you swung that way," she said. Her head fell forward and she jerked it back upright again. "I think I'm going to pass out."

"Walk," I said.

Somehow, we made it back to the main entrance and out to the parking lot without being stopped. The vast majority of the photographers appeared to have gone elsewhere, and the way Lindsay's hair had fallen about her face made it pretty tough to identify her. Problem was, I didn't have a car, I didn't know where she was staying, and she didn't appear to be in a fit state to tell me.

I sat her down on a wall and climbed on it to take a look around. I'd imagine it's pretty difficult to find a cab outside Magic Mountain at the best of times, let alone on a Saturday night when the park's closed for a private function.

"We're fucked," I murmured, and that was when I spied Cash and Jessica making their way across the parking lot with a phalanx of paparazzi in tow. "Unless..." I remembered Cash driving a black 4x4, but couldn't for the life of me recall the make and model. I did another quick scan of the parking lot. It wasn't a sure thing, but there was a black jeep parked in roughly the direction they were walking. It was worth a shot.

"Where we going?" Lindsay mumbled, as I once again grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to her feet.

"Do me a favor, Linds. Shut the fuck up."

Keeping Lindsay moving and out of sight meant we made slow progress. Luckily for us, Jessica's mood seemed to have improved. She was chatting to the photographers and stopping to smile for the cameras. By the time she and Cash made it to the jeep, I had Lindsay sitting on the ground on its blind side, where she wouldn't accidentally show up in any pictures.

"When are you two getting married?" a paparazzo asked Jessica as she rounded the hood and saw us.

"I..."

"Help," I mouthed, lifting Lindsay's hair so Jessica could see who it was.

"You'll be the first to know," she said, to whoever had asked the question.

"Probably before I do," I heard Cash say.

Amidst laughter, Jessica opened the rear door and threw her bag in. She stopped and patted her pockets as though she'd lost something, then reached in and picked it up again. She glanced down at me, signaled frantically with her eyes, then started rooting through it. I grabbed Lindsay under the armpits and hauled her onto the back seat as quickly and quietly as I could. As soon as we were inside, Jessica shrugged and threw her bag in behind us before slamming the door. Cash climbed in the driver's side and got as far as "What the f..." before Jessica jumped in.

"Drive," she said.

Camera flashes strobed the inside of the car as we pulled away. It wasn't until long after they'd faded, after I'd felt the car accelerate out onto the freeway, that the silence was broken.

"She a client?" Jessica asked. Her eyes stared an accusation at me in the rear-view mirror.

I sat up. "Yeah, but this wasn't me. She's drunk."

"That's a first," said Cash.

"Where's she staying?" Jessica asked.

"I don't know."

She sighed and looked out of the window. "Alright. She can stay with us tonight. Where are you going?"

"Orange County," I said. "You can drop me wherever. I can get a cab."

"It's late," Cash said. "We can put you up, too."

"No we can't," Jessica said. "I'm not having a drug dealer in my house."

"Wait a second..." Cash began.

"No arguments."

"Forget it, Cash. Just drop me wherever," I said. "Some people make their own justifications."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Jessica turned around in her seat, frowning.

"It's supposed to mean I deal mostly in harmless drugs. It's supposed to mean I'm always sure to educate my clients in their use and potential misuse. It's supposed to mean, Jessica, that I don't take kindly to being labeled."

"Ever been to East LA?" Jessica asked. "Out to Compton and Inglewood?"

"I'm guessing I get out that way more often than someone like you would."

"So you've seen the little economy your kind keep so healthy."

"My kind? I'm not a street dealer. You're talking like I'm selling heroin to kids."

"Same thing."

"Jess..." Cash began.

"No, Cash, there's no justification for what she does." She turned back to me. "You're trash."

I sat back in my seat, glancing down at Lindsay, who appeared to be sleeping. "Why do you think a girl like this one gets into so much trouble?" I asked.

"What?"

"Why do you think she's had all the eating disorders and the drug problems? Do you think she's just stupid? Neglected? A drama queen? What?"

"I..."

"Let me finish. I deal drugs, yeah, but I'm really only a step removed from a pharmacist, and in a lot of ways, you're better off going with me because there's no corporate influence on what I do. I don't sell anything hard, I don't sell anything addictive, and I sure as hell don't sell to kids. I sell to people who know what they want and how to use it safely. Anybody who has a problem with that should be out fucking firebombing Albertson's. Your arguments are knee-jerk bullshit. For sure, Jessica, Lindsay isn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but in the end she's just a girl with a problem too many girls have, especially in America. She wants to be beautiful, and beautiful in this culture is thin. That's what leads to coke habits and eating disorders and a whole world of shit. Surely you're not so fucking stupid that you don't know what it is that leads girls into behavior like that. Surely you see how hypocritical it is for you, one of the beautiful people, to call me trash when you're out there getting paid millions of dollars for showing off your perfect body in an inexcusable piece of shit like Into The Blue and contributing to the induction of a whole new generation of girls into the same desires and insecurities that lead you, Jessica fucking Alba, to ask your boyfriend to ask his drug dealer friend for diet pills. I'm trash? Look in the mirror, doll. Look past how beautiful you are, 'cause you're rotten inside."

"Holy shit," Cash murmured.

Jessica stared at me for a long moment, then turned and looked out of the window.

The silence lasted all the way to Malibu, where Cash got off the freeway and drove us up into the hills and through the gate of a private community. He pulled up in the driveway of a beautiful little house that looked so clean and perfect the builders and landscapers might have left five minutes beforehand. Jessica immediately jumped out of the car and hurried up to the front door, where we watched her angrily punch in an alarm code and then disappear into the house.

"Oops," I said.

"Understatement," Cash replied.

"I went too far."

"No, she was out of line."

"All the same," I said. I held up Jessica's bag. "Let me go and apologize. I'm sick of hauling Lindsay around anyway. I was almost wishing she was still stick-thin."

Cash laughed, but he seemed uneasy. "Alright. You know Jessica didn't really mean anything by what she said. She's anti-drugs is all."

I nodded and got out of the jeep, still marveling at the house. Jessica had left the front door open, and I entered a hall that was conspicuous in its lack of character. There were no pictures or ornaments, no personal touches. It made sense. They almost certainly hadn't lived here long, and Hollywood people are never home much. It could be years before the place looked lived in.

"Jessica?"

Silence. The upstairs lights were on, and there hadn't been time for her to go up and come back down. I crept up the stairs and found myself on a landing with short hallways to each side. One was in darkness, the other illuminated by light spilling from an open door.

"Hey, Jessica?"

I made my way towards the light and found myself looking into a large, luxurious bathroom, the decor all white and gold and as brand new as everything else. There was a shower, a whirlpool tub, and Jessica Alba standing over a sink in nothing but white lacy lingerie, her clothes in an untidy pile at her feet. She'd tied her hair back and was washing her face.

"You left your bag in the car," I said softly, staring at her skin, at her curves. How could I not?

She grabbed a towel and patted her face dry. "Thanks," she said, looking at herself in the mirror. "You can just leave it there."

"Look," I said, "I'm sorry for what I said back there. I was angry. I went too far."

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Shoot."

"Did you have an eating disorder growing up?"

I smiled. "I had a crystal meth problem, but the reasons ended up being the same. You do enough meth, your tolerance gets so high it doesn't do much for you anyway. But it shoots your metabolism into orbit and you rarely feel like eating. The ultimate diet drug."

"You have a lot of anger," she said, still looking at the mirror.

"I'm not the only one." I sighed. "It's just...I kind of see myself as an anti-hero, you know? Yeah, when you get right down to it, I'm a criminal, but I'm still better than the drug companies and the dealers on the street. I don't kill people, I don't encourage crime, and I don't push shitty brand-name drugs on people who don't need them. Nobody's perfect, but I do what I do and I still sleep pretty well at night."

"I don't think there's a person in the world who can say they're one hundred percent comfortable with everything they've ever done and every decision they've ever made, Sophie. Are they all rotten inside, too?"

"No, but I reserve the right to tell them if they make shitty movies."

She smiled at that, finally turning to look at me. "You look terrible," she said.

"I climbed a fence, walked for miles in a really tight and uncomfortable dress, then dragged Lindsay Lohan around for what seemed like forever," I said. "I stink."

"Get out of those clothes," she said. "I'll lend you something for tonight." She gestured behind her. "Bath or shower?"

"I need to try that bath."

She laughed, walking towards me. "It does whirlpool or Jacuzzi. Give it a shot, I'll be right back. I'm sure I can find some sweats and a t-shirt."

I let her leave and then closed the door. Alone in the bathroom, I wriggled out of the Cavalli dress and held it up for inspection. It wasn't designed for the kind of exertions I'd put it through, but I was pretty sure I hadn't damaged it. I folded it over a rail and took a look at myself in the mirror. It wasn't half as bad as I'd feared. My hair was a mess and my make-up had taken a beating, but I wasn't the panda-faced sweat-fest I'd been expecting. I took a step back, the memory of Jessica's pretty-much-perfect little body still fresh in my mind. Nobody would pick me over her unless they were really into punkier looking girls, but I didn't look too bad, especially all wrapped up in black silk underwear complete with stockings and suspenders. The .22 was just a final touch, the little pistol tucked neatly into one stocking-top, making me look like the front cover of some old pulp novel. I smiled and blew myself a kiss, then slipped the gun into my purse. No need for anyone to go finding it, especially as I was almost certainly on probation with Jessica.

It took a while to fill the bath, but I occupied myself slipping out of my underwear and then playing with the controls until I had some idea how they worked. Once it was brimming with water, I sat on the edge and lowered myself in, closing my eyes at the heat on my skin and how good it felt. I submerged myself completely for as long as I could, holding my breath until my lungs protested and I surfaced, lying back against the side of the bath so that only my head was above the water, then reaching to touch a button marked 'pulse' on the control panel.

I let my head fall back, smiling at the little jets of water tickling and teasing my skin. The Magic Mountain parking lot felt like something that had happened a long time ago. It seemed insane that I'd gone from being a mess out in the middle of nowhere to luxuriating in Jessica Alba's Jacuzzi, but somehow I had. Jessica Alba. I could see her inside my head, the way she'd turned from the mirror with that little smile on her face, all big brown eyes and that famous, full-lipped mouth, her skin the color of milky coffee. I could imagine how soft and warm she'd be to the touch, how she'd taste, how it might have been to unclasp her bra and cup her breasts, her nipples hard against my palms.

My right hand lay across my breasts, working the left insistently, pinching and twisting the nipple. My left had slid down over my belly and between my spread thighs, where its fingers caressed my clit with a steady, circular rhythm that had me breathing hard, almost panting. I didn't hear the door open, had no idea there was somebody else in the room until she - and there was no question it was a girl - touched my shoulders and kissed the side of my face. I started, but remained still, keeping my eyes closed. The scent I was inhaling was Jessica's perfume. Of course, she'd come back with clothes, walked in without knocking, caught the girl she'd already called trash playing with herself in the tub.

Decided to help.

I was already close to climax. The girl I was masturbating over suddenly making the jump into reality to kiss me and play with my tits was more than enough for a sprint finish. I leaned even further back, crying out as I came, my body rigid against the side of the tub as Jessica kissed my open mouth and pinched my nipples so hard it hurt.

"Jesus," I murmured, when my orgasm subsided. I opened my eyes to find her looking at me, her expression unreadable. "I…"

Jessica raised a finger to her lips and smiled. She straightened up and threw me a towel. "Come with me," she said.

I stood up, wanting to ask what the hell was going on. At the same time, though, I was curious as to where she might want to take me, especially considering what had just happened. Still dressed in that white underwear, Jessica led me out of the bathroom and down the hall to a door that opened on a large bedroom lit only by a single covered lamp. There was a painting on the wall I didn't recognize and a poster for the play Wicked. In the center of the room, a double bed with plush white sheets, bedside tables on each side. As sparse as it was, the bedroom had more personality than the rest of the house put together. It actually looked like someone might sleep there.

"What were you thinking about?" Jessica asked me, pushing the door closed.

"What?" But I felt my face growing warm, giving me away.

"Me?" she asked. "It's okay, Sophie. I just wanna know."

"Sure, you," I said, looking away.

"You like girls?"

"Sometimes girls, sometimes boys," I said, recovering some of my composure. "Is this your bedroom?"

"Me too," she said, "and yeah."

"Where's Cash?"

"Downstairs," Jessica said. She sat down at the foot of the bed. "With Lindsay. They have history."

"And you don't care?"

"Why would I? I'm up here. With you."

I blinked. "Did you just make a pass at me?"

"Do I need to?"

I shook my head. "I guess not. I just…I used to watch Dark Angel, you know? This is weird for me."

She laughed. "Come over here. I'll help you relax."

I smiled, walked over so that I was standing before her. She reached up and untucked the towel so that it dropped to the floor around my feet. She held my hips, began kissing my belly and crotch while I reached down behind her and unhooked the clasp of her bra. She shrugged the straps from her shoulders, exposing her breasts to me, nipples already erect. I straddled her on the bed and she turned her face up to mine, meeting my open mouth with her own, kissing me passionately, her tongue poking rudely between my lips, almost fighting mine. I leaned forward, pushing her down until she was on her back with me on top, kissing her jaw and then her neck, working my way down to her tits, squeezing them hard, taking each nipple in turn into my mouth, sucking at their tips, grazing them with my teeth so that she gasped. Her hands were all over my back and my ass, occasionally creeping between my thighs. I was already wet again, already ready for her to touch me.

"Under the bed," she said. I was kissing her belly, working my fingers into the waistband of her panties. She was breathing rapidly, sweat standing out on her face and between her breasts.

"What is?"

"A brown paper bag, a big one," she said.

Frowning, I leaned over the side of the bed and reached underneath, fumbling blindly until my fingers touched something that could only have been the bag in question. I pulled it out by the handles and sat up to look inside. "You dirty bitch," I said, laughing. "I had no idea you were anything like this."

"Neither does Cash," she said. "We keep it pretty open. He goes off and does his thing when he feels the need, and so do I. But he thinks I always go with guys."

Somehow I kept my face neutral. What I knew of Cash's past was only speculation, but it was educated speculation. That these two could be in a relationship so serious they were talking about marriage, while each remained oblivious to the other's bisexual tendencies was not, given that we were in Hollywood, all that surprising. But it did make me wonder just what kind of parties might be going on at the Alba/Warren residence if they ever figured it out.

"You know," I said, reaching into the bag, coming out with a strap-on, the flesh-colored dildo a good eight inches, "you could just tell him. He's a guy, you're Jessica Alba. Where's the problem?"

"Maybe," said Jessica, watching me put it on, buckle it tight. "It's just not...what's on my mind right now."

"No?" I said, smiling. "Maybe you should take those panties off."

Jessica lifted her ass off the bed, rolled her panties over her hips and down, kicked them off and spread her legs for me. Her pussy was a dusky pink, already glistening with arousal, her crotch adorned with a well-trimmed patch of dark pubic hair. I spat in my hand, stroked the dildo the way a man strokes his cock when he's jerking off, lubricating it. I knelt between Jessica's thighs and teased her pussy lips with its head, sliding it upward to just touch her clit, then downward, increasing the pressure until it was sliding slowly into her. I watched her face as she closed her eyes and bit her lip, breathing deeply as the dildo stretched and filled her.

"God, that's big," she whispered.

"I'm just getting started," I said. I was lying flat on top of her, the dildo buried deep as it would go, our breasts pressed together. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard."

"Please," she breathed.

I kissed her softly on the mouth, taking my time, pulling my hips back slowly and then pushing into her again, feeling her body tense against mine, her sigh cool on my wet lips. I grabbed her hands and pulled them up above her head, pinning them to the bed. I pushed into her again, harder this time. She moaned, looking into my eyes, nothing on her face but lust. Again, this time hard enough that her moan was almost a yelp. Again, again, again. I held her down and fucked her as hard as I could, until she was crying out, her body spasming beneath me, skin glistening with sweat.

It didn't take long. When I sensed she was close to orgasm, I pulled out. Jessica stared at me, breathless, her eyes wide. "Turn over," I said.

She did as I asked, getting onto all fours, lifting her ass like an invitation. I reached into the bag. Jessica looked over her shoulder when I put the vibrator into her hand, a question in her eyes. I smiled. "You don't know what to do with it?" I said.

She switched it on, reached down beneath her belly to press it against her pussy. I watched her stiffen as she penetrated herself with it, already moaning again, seeking out her lost climax. I moved up behind her and slid the dildo down between her buttocks. She was close, her hips moving so that she was almost riding the vibrator, her cries of pleasure so loud that I was sure Cash and Lindsay, wherever they were, would hear them. As slick as it was with Jessica's juices, I thought the dildo might just be too big for her ass. I was working it back and forth, getting maybe half an inch further each time, and she was just hitting her climax, suddenly pushing back hard, taking it all the way in, her body going completely tense and still except for the trembling I could feel where she was pressed against me.

"Fuck," Jessica said, falling bonelessly onto her front. "Jesus, Sophie..."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. That was...wow." She rolled onto her back, pushing wet hair out of her face. Her cheeks were red, her body covered in a thin film of sweat. "Thank you."

I laughed, unbuckling the strap-on. "You don't have to thank me. Really."

"Then maybe there's something I can do for you," she said.

"You already did. The Jacuzzi, remember? Plus you helped Lindsay out."

"I was awful to you."

I dropped the toys back in the bag and kicked it off the bed. I lay down beside her. "Honestly," I said, "It's okay."

Jessica smiled. "Okay," she said. "Maybe tomorrow." She shifted on the bed, laying her head on my shoulder and closing her eyes.

"Maybe," I said.

I swear she was asleep in seconds, her breathing deep and regular, expression calm and content. I found myself wishing I could sleep so quickly and easily, thinking about the last two words she'd said to me. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe what? I closed my eyes, found myself thinking about the contents of that bag, picturing Jessica writhing beneath me, well on her way to orgasm. I was still aroused, but I was more exhausted than anything else, and as I lay there thinking about what we'd done and speculating about what we might do, I fell asleep.

In my dream, Cash carried Lindsay into the house, her head resting against his chest, body limp in his arms. He brought her into the kitchen and sat her down, where he tilted her head back and pushed her hair out of her face, looking into half-lidded eyes.

"You with us?" he asked her.

Lindsay blinked. "Yeah," she said. "Pretty out of it." And then, frowning: "Cash?"

"Yeah." Cash smiled. "Sophie bought you here."

"To you?" Lindsay asked. She covered her eyes with the heels of her hands, exhaled slowly.

Cash caught himself looking down to where her full breasts were outlined in the thin material of her top. He clenched his jaw, forced his eyes back up to her face. "Not specifically. I heard she was a dealer, not a pimp."

Lindsay dropped her hands and smiled lazily. The look she gave Cash was tired and unfocussed, but at least one part of his body still reacted. Even in the state she was in, the girl was still beautiful.

"Shame," Lindsay said.

"You're drunk," Cash replied. "Come on. I'll put you in the spare room and get you a glass of water or something. You're gonna feel like hell in the morning."

Lindsay grinned. "Why don't you take advantage of me, Cash? I probably won't even remember. It'll be just like old times."

"Because I'm engaged and you're off your head. Come on, get up." He took hold of her wrist and Lindsay, catching him by surprise, pulled him down towards her.

"You never used to be so serious," she said, covering his hand with hers, guiding it to her breast.

"You never used to smell like a distillery," Cash said, pushing her hand aside. "Knock this shit off. I'm trying to do you a favor."

"Not the favor I want."

"Your loss."

"Is it?"

"Christ. Tell me this is just the drink."

Lindsay seemed to relax a little. "It's just the drink," she said.

"Alright," Cash said. He leaned forwards again. This time she grabbed at the front of his jeans.

"Lindsay…"

"You're hard," she said, unzipping his fly, forcing her hand inside.

"Alright, that's it." Cash forced her back hard into the chair, grabbing both her arms and pinning them to her sides. "You're really starting to piss me off." Lindsay was staring at him wide-eyed, chest heaving. "Don't fucking move, okay?" he said.

"Okay," Lindsay replied. "Okay."

Cash let her go and she stayed where she was, looking small and afraid and excited in the chair, the color high in her cheeks, nipples hard against her top. He blinked rapidly, sweating, somewhere between anger and an arousal he wasn't sure he could control.

Lindsay opened her mouth to speak and Cash raised his finger to his lips, shook his head. He unbuckled his belt and opened up his jeans, pulled the waistband of his boxer shorts down to free his swollen cock. He took a step towards her, reaching down to caress her face, running his thumb over her lips and then pushing it into the wet warmth of her mouth. She sucked it gently.

"I've got something for you to suck on," Cash said, his voice barely a whisper. His hand moved to her long hair, wrapping it around his fingers and then pulling so that she gasped, forced to sit forwards in the chair, her face inches from his cock. Cash took another half-step forwards and she opened her mouth for him, closing her eyes as he inched between her lips, drawing her face closer to his crotch until her lips were almost touching his pubic hair and she was gagging.

"You want me to take advantage of you? Treat you like a whore?" Cash asked, withdrawing.

Lindsay coughed and spat, her chin already glistening with saliva, strings of it hanging between her lips and the tip of his cock. She nodded.

"Keep your mouth open," he said.

She did as she was asked, and Cash cupped her chin with his free hand, the other still grasping her hair. It wasn't so much Lindsay giving him a blow job as it was Cash fucking her mouth, holding her head in place while he thrust repeatedly between her lips and she squeezed her eyes closed, controlling her gag reflex and pushing saliva out of her mouth so that it dripped onto her top and into her lap.

Cash stopped suddenly, stepping back and gripping his cock just below the head, closing his eyes for a few moments, breathing hard. "Not yet," he said, "not yet." He looked at Lindsay, all red-faced and slightly shocked, wiping at her mouth and chin with the back of one hand. "You okay?" he asked.

Again, she nodded.

"Good girl," he said.

Apparently satisfied he'd averted his orgasm, Cash pulled Lindsay up out of the chair and immediately pushed her back onto the table, where he pulled the front of her jeans open so hard that the button was torn free, bouncing off the table and falling to the floor as he pulled both her jeans and the black thong she wore beneath down to her ankles and then off. He pulled her to him so that he was standing between her thighs. He took hold of his cock and entered her in one easy motion, groaning as she gasped, the muscles inside her gripping him tightly. Cash grabbed the collar of her top and tore it open, exposing her large breasts, leaving her naked except for the few ragged strips of material that remained and a single pink shoe that hung miraculously on to one foot.

"Touch yourself," he told her.

Lindsay reached down to where he was buried inside her, fingers seeking out her clit as Cash began to fuck her with quick, firm movements of his hips, his rhythm accelerating until the table creaked and cracked, its complaints lost beneath Lindsay's rising cries. Her head was back, her mouth open, her breasts bouncing, and her hand moving desperately between her legs. Cash watched her, his top damp with perspiration, his face red with exertion and excitement. He pulled out just as she came, arching her back and saying his name, her body rigid on the table. Cash stroked himself to his own orgasm in seconds, painting Lindsay's crotch and belly with thick strings of come, his cock pulsing with the force of his orgasm until it was all he could do to lean on the table, fighting to regain his breath.

I opened my eyes, sure for a few moments that my dream had actually happened. Then I remembered where I was, the events of the previous night coming back ot me in a rush. Jessica was gone, her side of the bed empty save for a note with a phone number and a single 'x'.

My dress and underwear were hanging on the back of the door, and after a quick shower, I slipped into them and headed downstairs.

"Lindsay?' I called.

"Here," she replied.

I followed the sound of her voice to a kitchen that looked so different to the one in my dream that I breathed a silent sigh of relief. Lindsay was sitting at the table with a glass of orange juice in front of her. She looked like death.

"Rough night?" I said.

She looked sheepish. "I'm really sorry, Sophie. I can't believe I brought that down on you."

"I've had worse nights," I said. "Did Jessica and Cash leave?"

Lindsay nodded. "Cash said his car's in the garage if we need it. He can have it picked up."

"He's not a bad guy, huh?" I said.

"He's great."

I smiled at her. "Did you and him…?"

"Last night? I doubt it. I was out of my head."

"Before?"

She offered a weak smile. "Ancient history," she said. "Sometimes you just have these one night things you already know aren't going to go anywhere, you know? You just have to shrug your shoulders. C'est la vie."

"C'est la vie," I repeated, thoughtfully. "Come on, Lindsay. I'll drop you home."