More advice

Bobby rises, circles the desk, and stops inches from you—close enough that his cologne and heat choke the air.

“You’re a good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with approval. “You’re going to go far.”

His fingers graze your temple, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. The touch is soft, but it burns—a shiver races down your spine, pooling hot between your thighs.

Degradation, terror, hunger—they crash together in your chest. You swallow them all, force a smile.

“Thank you, Bobby,” you whisper, voice trembling like your knees. “I’ll do anything.”

He leans in, breath hot on your lips. “That’s what I like to hear, Melissa.” His eyes strip you bare. “But stars need extra. You got it in you?”

He perches on the desk’s edge, wood creaking under his weight. His gaze drills into you, hungry.

“Of course, sir,” you breathe, pulse hammering. “I just need a chance.”

Bobby’s smile is slow, predatory. “I can give you that chance.” His voice drops to a growl. “But first—show me how bad you want it.”

He stands, steps closer. The clink of his belt buckle slices the silence. The zipper rasps down—slow, deliberate. He reaches in and frees himself: thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. His cock twitches in the air between you, demanding.

Your heart slams against your ribs. Your mouth waters. Your cunt clenches—wet, aching, traitorous.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The question hangs in the scent of his precum and the weight of your future.