For Whom the Bell Tolls

by Carnage Jackson

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Celebrity, .

Desc: Sex Story: My final story. A thank you to the celeb sex story community, featuring all new characters from my previous work. Celebs include Kristen Bell, Christina Hendricks, Alison Brie and January Jones. Enjoy it and thank you for all the reads through the years!

Forgive me, for this is the first fiction I've written in almost 6 years. If it's rusty, I apologize. I wanted to give one final goodbye to the celeb sex fiction community that I love. Something to remember me by, but also to pass the torch to the many, many talented writers who are yet to come after I put down the pen. This is for you.

Being the sibling of a rising, hot Hollywood starlet is not the glamorous role that it seems. Well, alright, the parties and freebies and constant spotlight on your family does have its perks. Not to mention all the access to every hedonistic desire you could want, practically whenever you want it. But there is a downside to it as well: the stepping out of the shot for photo calls, the 3rd tier seating at awards shows, the neglect by your parents ... but I digress.

For the sake of my all access pass and the privileges afforded to me by people in the Hollywood system, I'll leave my sister's name out of it. An intrepid reader may be able to piece together my identity from the tale that I am about to tell, but even if you can't then that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the story, on whatever level. Even as we love our celebrities, here in the US and the world, we also are jealous and despise them too. We pay $10.50 to see their films, or pay for cable for their shows, buying autographs and used clothing they wore for this or that off eBay, but deep down we all know that we are the first to buy the newest issue of Us Weekly, People or OK! Magazine when they slip up. It's that pedestal that we place fame and beauty that always gets us - seeing those beautiful women up high where we put them, relishing every step they take till they fall down.

Bitter? No, I'm not bitter. I grew up around this world, it is the only thing I know. From my earliest memories, my sister was always the magnetic one. As a young child, the one who people, total strangers mind you, would come up to in the store to say hello or try to get the attention of. Anyone with that much spotlight would of course grow to love it, and it wasn't long before my parents began to seek talent agents and auditions. I would go along, too young to say otherwise, and watch as the oohs and ahhhs grew louder for her. As we grew up, my parents became more adapted to the lifestyle. Normal kids had soccer practice, or ballet. For us, it was rushing down the freeway at five in the morning in order to make a photo shoot for the newest cookie on the market. As both my sister and I grew older, we began to see less and less of our parents. Not because they didn't love us, only because they were too busy lining up her next role to be bothered by driving us here or there, or making it home for bedtime. Some kids were latch key kids - we, were chauffeur children. I think I grew to know the personal histories of our nannies, drivers and life coaches more than I did my own parents background. Ask me today and I still can't tell you what my mother's maiden name was.

After my sister's role on that one hit TV show morphed into a few key supporting roles in large summer blockbusters, I knew we were set. Ever since that TV show gig, I have always tagged along to make sure that my sister was ok and not harassed (beyond what she wanted of course - more on that later), but also just because I didn't have anything else to do. Being 22 when she turned 18, it made it easy for me to say to hell with college and just keep riding her coattails to the most glamorous events in the world. When her roles became more of a femme fatale sort of style though, I started to feel a little uncomfortable. She is my sister after all, and standing next to her while she vamps it up for hundreds of cameras, a giant poster of her nearly naked (heavily photoshopped) body right behind me, was ... well, a little weird.

Thankfully, we always have the rest of the cast. The co-stars, the aging-adult-who-used-to-be-the-hottest-there, the comedians who are genuinely funny but always trying just a little too hard to be liked. It's these people who make the experience worth it, these people who keep you from going crazy on the seat from boredom, these people who will suck your dick if you can convince them you'll put in a good word to the director.

That is the situation I find myself in right now, actually. It's fashion week in New York and we are out here to watch the parade of eating disorders showcase the weirdest, wildest pieces of material you will ever see on a human body. I love these corporate events, because even the event staff is hot.

"So you really think you can get me a walk-on spot?" said the gorgeous redhead who was on her knees in front of me, between licks of my cock. She had a pretty face, freckles in all the right places and the bluest eyes you'd ever see. But her nose was just a little too large and her shape just didn't work for the current Hollywood obsession with no ass girls.

"Yeah, I'll try. I mean, we used to eat dinner at the director's house on holidays, so he knows me and my sister really well. Oh yeah, that's it ... god you're good at that," I said. It was true - if she didn't get a job as an actress, she certainly could make it in porn. She looked at me with sultry eyes and continued flicking her tongue around the tip of my prick.

I leaned my back against the door and continued to hold the door knob with my hand. We were in a small, compact little storage closet that just hours before held folding chairs, and there were still a few in here. I didn't want someone to come barging in because some socialite couldn't find a seat. I ran my fingers through her wavy red hair and enjoyed the feeling. I'm not super endowed, but from what I hear, the size works for most girls, and I apparently could find work in porn myself, what with a staying power that increased from years of masturbating out of boredom somewhere quiet on the set of some Bruckheimer movie.

I moaned softly as the redhead started licking my balls - I needed to finish up quickly and get back out there, or else I would be the one without a seat. Holding onto her head gently but firmly, I started to fuck her mouth back and forth, moving her lips up and down my cock. She started getting into it and began to go faster, which was all I needed. Two minutes later, I was keeping her face firmly pressed against my stomach as I shot my load into her waiting mouth. Relaxing my hands on her head, I leaned my head against the back of the door and exhaled. Hoping I wouldn't notice, I saw her discretely spit my cum into a table napkin that was nearby. Obviously she had done this sort of blow-for-work thing before.

I zipped myself up, helped her to her feet, and then quietly opened the door, letting her out first.

"Thanks for that Andrea, I'll be sure to mention you," I said.

"It's Amy. Not Andrea," she replied, a glint of anger in her eye - she had had this sort of thing happen before too, apparently.

"Sorry, I knew that. It's just, you were so good I," and then intentionally trailed off, suddenly fascinated with the top button on my button-up shirt.

"Yeah, right," she said as she slipped out of the door and looked back at me, her voice now more accepting. "Just do what you can,"

I shut the door softly behind her and started my countdown. I normally wait about 2 minutes before exiting in situations like this - it makes it less likely that I will stumble into someone I know and have to awkwardly try to explain "Oh, so that's NOT the bathroom..."

The rest of the event went as you would expect, applause at all of the newest styles and a standing ovation for the fashion designer at the end, who strutted the runway like his models, donned in black jeggings and a blouse that probably would have best fit a woman half his size (and weight). People were gathering their things, cell phones in hand as they talked to their agents, contacts, coke dealers, whomever, and I stealthily made my through this throng of beauty and towards the exit.

My sister was all over her newest boyfriend, a hockey player who had won a huge contract two years ago but was now on the downward slope of his career. Five years from now, he'd probably be on some minor league team in Peoria, trying to relive his former glory. But right now, he was with one of the hottest young actresses out there, mingling with the who's who and enjoying every minute of it. Can't fault him for seizing the opportunity.

As I passed by my sister, we locked eyes for a moment. I smiled and made a drinking gesture with my hand, our secret code to let her know "Hey, enjoy your night, I'm getting the fuck out of here and going to find something better to do,". She nodded, tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and resumed her conversation.

I walked outside and into the New York City night, the chorus of horns and kaleidoscope of taxi cabs and limos zooming by. The steps to the building were starting to fill in with more people as everyone headed off to their after parties or after after after parties. I casually scanned the crowd, mentally checking off whom I had slept with, who I wanted to sleep with and who was way too far down the list to even warrant a mention. I had ridden with my sister and her friends to this event and since I was ducking out early, that meant I was on my own for transportation. I walked away from the building and down the block a bit, getting out of the spotlight (literally and figuratively), debating about whether or not to hail a cab or just walk, maybe to a bar or back to the hotel.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Fa/Fa / Consensual / Celebrity /