Victoria's current state

Victoria was a mess when I found her. She was asleep on the stairs. Her makeup was ruined and there was dried drool on her face, her dress was hiked up to her stomach and pulled down below her breasts, and one of her hands still had fingers in her vagina. She looked less like a rich celebrity and more like a washed-up street walker.

"Victoria." I tried to wake her up by shaking her shoulder. "Victoria, wake up."

"Wah, wah??!" She jolted upright, flailing her arms. "Oh, oh Master!" She looked at me with fear. She dived her hand back to her crotch and started rubbing her breast with the other. "I'm so sorry. I'm wet, just look." She took a hand off her breast and wiped some drool off her cheek with it. "Just give me a sec. Sorry, they kicked me out. Please don't leave me."

"What?"

"I tried to hide in the bathroom and it worked until I fell asleep and the cleaning crew kicked me out in the morning. But I stayed on the property. That has to count for something, right?" You waved your hands in front of her.

"Wait, rewind, please. What did I tell you to do?"

"You told me to stay here wet and horny for you until you came back and if I didn't you'd drop me forever and try to get me blacklisted from not just Hollywood but any job that didn't require fucking for money." Victoria started to tear up. In her mind, her life was over.

"No, no no, don't cry. I—" You pause. You look at this disheveled, tired woman you once considered a goddess among women. You were obsessed with her because she was so unobtainable and so out incredibly out of your league. Now though? You said jump and she'd ask how high. She was still hot but she was a free cow and just today you fucked girls just as hot, if not hotter than her. You could always have her back if you changed your mind, and you don't want to be needlessly cruel, but you should probably push these powers in a controlled environment, and Victoria seemed to be most **** of the celebrities you bagged...

"9,700, 9,800, 9,900, 10,000." You counted your money. You trusted the teller counted it correctly but you just couldn't believe it. You had Victoria pull as much out of the bank as she could manage and she just did it. You look over to Victoria.

The actress was topless and face down on the Tattoo artist's table. She had a solemn look on her face as she stared up at you. She begged you not to make her get tattoos until you said begging isn't sexy. That shut her up for the rest of the day. Now, in big blocky letters was the text "FUCK ME UNTIL I CAN'T WALK" on her back. Right below it was a photo of you slamming the hell out of Victoria as she moaned her heart out. Getting that reference photo was fun.

"Alright, I'm going to head out now," you say as you got up from your seat and pocketed your cash. You grabbed the pink tube top Victoria took off to get the tattoo and stuffed it into the nice leather bag she bought you.

"Wait!" Victoria cried out. "Are you not going to stay for the rest?" You laughed in her face.

"Why would I? You know the rest of your appointments, right?" You stroked her head. "After this call your agent about the name change, don't forget your bleaching appointment tomorrow, and you need to find a hotel to stay in for the next two weeks." Victoria pouted and you responded by kissing her on those beautiful lips. Next Tuesday she'll have to fill them with enough plastic to triple their size. You don't even love the look but you could tell when you suggested it she hated it so you had to arrange the appointment.

"Can't I just go home and get the work done there?"

"But then you'd need to reschedule so much."

Thanks to you, Victoria's stay in Europe would be much longer. She was supposed to have a first-class ticket home for tomorrow (now your ticket) but instead, she'll have a lip filler appointment, breast augmentation surgery, a tanning appointment, and a nude photoshoot. Meanwhile, all the pink bimbo clothes you had her buy will make their way to her closet before she even gets to the airport.

"I'm okay with that, honestly," Victoria said. She leaned up a bit but then Diamond, the tattoo artist, pushed her back down by her neck.

"Stop moving." She said in her gruff voice.

"Look, Victoria, your new look needs to come in soon or you'll be yesterday's news." You say not even looking at her, on your phone. "Just finish up here with all your tattoos so you can post them on Instagram to show your fans."

"Uh, I don't know how many I can post on my account." Victoria laughed nervously, clearly worried. You did. None of them.

This was just the third tattoo of many for the day. Diamond had already done a rose on each of Victoria's collarbones with messages spelled in the branches ("use me" on the left and "I don't deserve love" on the right) and the words DUMB and CUNT with each letter on one of her fingers. After this one Diamond's going to tattoo the word WHORE in soft pink across Victoria's face with her mouth making the O in the middle, a sleeve of slutty nude pin-ups of Victoria on her left arm (each one a pose you had Victoria model in public) and finally, large and across her stomach, the phrase "the only thing I'm good for" in bold Gothic font with a stylized arrow point directly to her vagina. Gone would be the sexy and confident girl next door Victoria Justice, you had created the trashy and shameless blonde bimbo Vicki Just-a-Cunt.

You step out of the tattoo pallor into the chilly evening air. You've eaten, slept, and been hydrated. Your hangover is still pulsing a bit but it's a nuisance instead of melting your brain. Time to try those weird celebrity powers again. You close your eyes, concentrate for a second, and feel a wave as you are pulled into your own mind. Like ice water washing over you, the last bits of your headache disappear and you feel more awake than you have for days. You feel yourself float in the middle of a green haze. Lines crisscross this new world you're in, zipping and zapping to lights in the distance. You turn to face one that stretches out right behind you and through the doors you just walked out of. The trail ends a couple yards away, in the small of Victoria's back, frozen on the Diamond the tattoo artist's chair. You turn your head in the direction of the hotel where you started today's adventure. As you focus your eyes the already semi-transparent buildings melt away to leave a clear beeline to the still-sleeping Sydney Sweeney. You squint even harder and her **** form melts away too. The entire city melts away as you narrow your sights past the harbor and over the horizon. Lights sparkle throughout the city and the greater metro area. To the west though you see the faintest of lights far out. Celebrities moving on ships and planes and across the pond. What is your range? Could you get yourself all the way over there? Can you even get to celebrities you haven't met? You turn back to Sydney. Where do you go next? Back to her? To another celebrity you've met in the last few days? Or do you try your luck jumping into the night?