White: King’s Knight f3xe5

Sympathy for the Diva

Brittany Jennings liked traveling glamorously but hated being mobbed by hordes of her adoring fans, who always saw themselves in her lyrics and had nothing but compliments about the work that she already got acclaim, fame, and riches for. What made it worse was that, though she was credited with writing all the original songs that she performed, she had only written her early work which came out before she made it big – the work fans would never compliment and didn’t esteem. That isn’t to say that she had nothing to do with the success of her hits, she did coach herself on how she should vocalize the lyrics and all agreed that her voice made the lyrics feel more impactful, but that contribution couldn’t erase the guilt she felt over the stolen credit and she had come to resent her success. Each word of praise for the songwriting felt like a dagger.

“Stolen credit” is an imprecise way of describing it, but Ms. Jennings felt it to be true. In truth, she never wanted to get attribution for songs she didn’t write, but her producer had been working with a songwriter who had none of the talent to perform but all the experience and skill that one could ever want for the songwriting. The producer negotiated a deal with the songwriter where she would voluntarily waive songwriting credit in exchange for a share of the profits in perpetuity for each of the songs his talents would get credited with writing. It thus became in the songwriter’s interest to keep the charade going. The idea that Brittany Jennings was a singular talent filled with vision made for good album sales and good album sales made everyone richer and made everyone but Brittany happier.

The guilt became intolerable and Brittany threatened to breach her contract and work for a rival record company that would give her creative freedom. She made it very clear that she does not care in the slightest about if her current record dumps every bit of dirt they have on her. The producer tried to argue with her that if she were to handle the songwriting, what would result would be work with none of the relatability that made her famous. Even if she did have a gift for songwriting that went unrecognized, at this stage in her career, it would take an expert lyricist to make the experiences of a multi-millionaire celebrity seem relatable to anybody. Thus, was born the idea of her trip to Santolina.

To experience life as a normal person, she had to get away, and it couldn’t be a typical tropical resort destination vacation – nobody relates to that. It had to be the kind of place that normal people would be limited to if ever they could scrimp and save enough to afford a vacation abroad. It had to be somewhere obscure, where she wouldn’t be instantly recognizable. It had to be somewhere like Santolina, where anyone could afford what passes for luxury. And to get the experience to write good songs, she needed to throw herself into situations where she would deal with and relate to ordinary people. She needed trysts, excitement, adventure, and danger - the things that could seize the interest of those who don’t need to relate. It’s only then that she can succeed with her gamble.

The album itself will be called “Regret” and feature on it a cover that is a picture of her in tight jeans and a loose top facing away from the camera on a sandy, tropical beach in front of a bonfire at sunset. In the foreground, in her hand, and facing the camera will be a polaroid-type photo of the iconic picture of herself that’s on her first true hit album, the first one that is entirely ghostwritten. The photo is to be half-burnt in an ongoing fire in the corner away from her hand and the cover is to be desaturated save for the fire and possibly the sunset. The whole publicity arc for it is that she is going to be perceived as having a public meltdown. She’ll end her fairy-tale romance with the handsome blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and stubble-bearded celebrity athlete she’s pretending to date; she’ll cause a scene at an awards show by making a controversial and unsolicited statement; and she’ll arrange to have one of her cars wrecked before checking into a fake rehab center. The media will be alight with stories giving free advertising to her album. If her stardom ends here, it’ll go out in a glorious blaze. With these promises, Brittany had her producer relent and allow her to develop the album.

Bad Fauxmance

Thus, Brittany was sitting in what, to her, passed as a disguise in the corner of a British coffeeshop sipping on a perfectly ordinary latte that she bought at full price. She would be flying out shortly to Santolina, but before she got there, she wanted a taste of the ordinary London experience. She was shocked to see that for a blonde local girl, it apparently involved letting a black man duck under the table and crawl toward her skirt. She saw the girl lean over the table and grab some papers that were atop the black man’s side of the table, then stretch triumphantly upward as the man’s black head reached between her white thighs. She looked giddy as he set about publicly eating her out. A raven-haired woman entered from outside and made a beeline for their table, grabbing the papers from the blonde without resistance then exited the shop wordlessly and without being noticed by the black man.

Once her raven-haired friend was gone, the British blonde became more impassioned, slinking down in her chair, caressing the back of the black man’s head, and holding her forearm over her mouth to avoid making noise showing her appreciation for his efforts. Her free hand even began rubbing the outside of her blouse around her breasts. As profoundly as the spectacle surprised Brittany, there was no reaction to it from anyone in the shop. It seemed everyone else was too engrossed in what they were doing to notice the jubilant blonde and her lover.

After a few minutes of enjoying the efforts, the blonde jerked her chair back, tucked her skirt down, got on her feet and fled the shop, leaving the black man to look confusedly at the table, which was now empty of anything save for their coffee cups. The black man groaned in frustration when he realized that the papers had disappeared. Brittany stood up and approached the black man’s table in a semi-guarded position, her left arm reaching across her abdomen and loosely gripping her right arm, which she kept limply hanging on her side. “Looks like she really got one over on you,” Brittany observed wryly. “I’m Br… Brianna. And you are?”

Brittany had never approached a man before with sex on her mind, but she heard all kinds of rumors about black men and seeing that the girl who fled was quite attractive, she felt more justified in choosing this one to accompany her tonight. She needed the experience of casual sex, which was a pleasure she long felt denied because of her fame. The black man’s frustration was set aside and replaced with awe. The platinum blonde in the suspicious get-up was the person who he least expected to interact with. He responded, “I… uh… I’m Carlo.”

“Carlo, then. Would you care to accompany me… Carlo?” Brittany asked.

Carlo didn’t need to be asked twice. He got on his feet and wrapped a hand across her waist and let her lead the way. Brittany hailed a cab and had them bring them to a luxury hotel. Minutes later in her penthouse room, Brittany sprang on Carlo by pulling him in and locking her lips with his. Carlo’s experience in the streets made him keenly aware of the possibility that this was all some sort of a trap.

“Hold on a second,” Carlo interrupted. “I’d really love to get back to it, believe me, but I have ta know. You don’t got a man waitin’ for ya lookin’ to whoop my black ass, do ya?”

Brittany giggled. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Carlo might think this is a setup. “No, I came here alone. I was just feeling lonely and it seemed to me like after that fight with your girlfriend you must be as well.”

“She ain’t my girlfriend.” Carlo said, bitterly.

“Oh?” Brittany asked, with the raise of an eyebrow. “Well, if you would feel safer, we can take care of this at your place.”

Carlo cursed his suspicious mind. There was nothing at the moment that he wanted more than to be in Brittany’s bed thrilling her like no man had ever before, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “Gimme one second to think this thing over.” Carlo said as he peaked inside the room’s bathroom. On the counter, he saw a passport laying unguarded. He took a peep inside and found an ID matching that of the woman she was with identifying her as a “Brittany Jennings.”

Carlo backed away from the wallet as one would back off of a hot stovetop he unwittingly touched. His head started to spin. He wasn’t much of one to keep up with celebrities and he had never gone out of his way to hear Jennings’ music in his life, but news about her was so ubiquitous that it hadn’t escaped his notice. He knew she was with a pro athlete and that she was one of the most famous living people. “Nah, it’s a coincidence. It’s gotta be a coincidence,” he reassured himself. He didn’t want any of the infamy he’d get if anyone found out that she was about to cheat with her boyfriend with him. Considering who she is dating, there was a real possibility that the guy could **** him in cold blood and get a good enough lawyer to go free. If this was to go down, and Carlo wanted nothing more than to fill Brittany’s tight white pop-star pussy with every inch of his ebony rod, it had to be somewhere safer. It had to be his place.

Carlo nabbed the passport, exited the bathroom, and tried to pretend he saw nothing. He told Brittany, “Girl, now that I give it some thought, I want to take ya back to my place.”

Carlo could tell by the singer’s body language that she was not pleased by his cold feet, but Brittany realized she suggested the possibility of going back to his place, so it wasn’t right for her to hold his decision against him. Maybe these kinds of complications are just the kind of thing ordinary women, who aren’t famous or looked after by professional bodyguards, just have to deal with. This might add authenticity to the song she’ll end up making. “Alright, we’ll do that then,” she said, trying to sound as neutral as possible about the delay.

The Main Attraction

The ride to Carlo’s place is remarkably short, Brittany finds herself reflecting on how close the poor live to where the rich stay, if only on a temporary basis. Maybe there’s a Romeo-and-Juliet type story to it that she can base a song around. The things that have her seeking the arms of this poor Santolinan man over her famous boyfriend can surely be distilled down into something with more relatability.

Brittany was jarred from her creative thoughts when she and Carlo reached their destination, a run-down tenement building where Carlo resides. Carlo grabbed her waist and pulled her tight to him as possessive of her as it was protective. Brittany gasped at the grab and felt herself getting appreciably more aroused. She wiggled in his grasp and reveled in the feeling of his pent-up erection rubbing at her hips. He walked her down a dingy hall which was thankfully unoccupied and almost pushed her into his room. As proud as Carlo was of the fact that he was on the path to fuck Brittany, he did not want to chance his neighbors fucking it up for him.

Brittany hurriedly stripped off her expensive jacket, revealing the slinky red dress she had on underneath and her D-cup breasts, inches away from exposure. She was not wearing a bra and it showed. Carlo’s hands hungrily gripped Brittany’s body jostling her boobs and then he turned his focus on reaching up the platinum blonde popstar’s dress. Brittany kissed him passionately all the while. Carlo broke off from the kiss and whispered in her ear, “I know who ya really are.” Brittany froze up and her eyes widened.

“I got this, girlie.” Carlo continued, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out her passport. “and if ya know what’s good for you, you’ll do everyting I say tonight. First things first, I want ya to meet a friend a mine.” Carlo said as he dropped his pants and yanked down his underwear. Brittany’s jaw dropped as his size absolutely stunned her.

Brittany instinctively reached out for the feel if the shaft was real, when her hand wrapped around it, she felt satisfied that what she was dealing with was real flesh. “Ya just couldn’t wait, eh, girl.” Carlo said with a cocky smirk. “What I want is for you ta take off those silly sunglasses, pop them titties out, and to go on an’ give it a kiss.”

Brittany did as she was commanded, placing her sunglasses in her purse, dropping the straps that were holding up her dress, and slowly and deliberately bringing her lips to the head of the man’s cock, while trying to make eye contact with him. Carlo flipped open her passport with one hand and held it out next to the scene. With his other hand, he snapped a photo of the popstar, his cock, and her passport before she could object. Brittany’s bright blue eyes, the eyes that made her into a media darling, were wide with terror.

“Relax, girl. If ya behave, this photo stays wit’ me.” Carlo told her in a reassuring voice. “Now show your new friend a good time.” With that, he sat her passport and his phone together on a table,

The sight of Brittany lowering her head to take his cock’s tip into her mouth was the most beautiful thing Carlo had ever seen. Her fair skin, youthful face, extremely light-hued hair, and deep blue eyes contrasted incredibly with his massive melanated member and reminded him of how above him she seemed just minutes ago. Now she knelt, horny with her breasts bared for his enjoyment, wanting nothing more to satisfy him. The fact that it was under threat of exposure did not matter to Carlo, his ego was pumped more than ever at just having Brittany suck his cock without the need to invoke Charles’ operation or any of their powerful business contacts.

Brittany was pissed off, but did her best not to let it show, and she was well-practiced at the art of acting sincere. She did find Carlo’s assertiveness sexy to some extent, which eased the task of acting like she was enjoying giving him a blowjob. She rubbed her tongue all along his member and took it as deep as her inexperienced throat would allow, which turned out to be approximately half its length. She kept trying to pleasure him to completion in hopes that would end the encounter, but Carlo grabbed a fistful of her wavy, luscious hair and yanked her head back, off his cock.

“Girl, ya got some skill, but if I don’t get to blow my load into ya, the deal is as good as off.” Carlo said, firmly.

Brittany’s blue eyes locked onto his brown eyes and she said, “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Wait, I’ve got an idea that will make this a night to remember. Do you have any rope or handcuffs.”

“You into the freaky shit, girl. Well, I guess I am a bit too, but I don’t keep anyting like dat.” Carlo said with a chuckle.

“No worries, I always travel with a backup plan.” Brittany announced as she stood up and began to roll down her stockings down her smooth legs and took them off one at a time. She then unceremoniously slid her panties to the floor, still wearing her dress, albeit with her tits fully exposed. “Lie down on your bed,” Brittany ordered.

“Normally I like callin’ da shots…” Carlo started with an indignant tone, “but just this once I’ll do as ya say.” He scurried up his bed and laid down on his back, his ebony tower pointed straight at the ceiling.

Brittany demanded that Carlo reach his hands up to the opposite corners of his bed posts, which he eagerly complied with. The bed was flush with the wall, so while Brittany was able to tie his first hand by standing by the bed, she had to straddle his chest to tie his second hand. When Brittany straddled Carlo’s chest, he felt the dampness of Brittany’s aroused pussy and smelled her willingness to fuck. He couldn’t stop himself from removing his free hand from the post and using it to pull her toward his face, a feat of great strength that appeared casual. Brittany’s legs spread in surprise and attempted resistance, which made it all the easier for Carlo to begin his **** on her pussy. His tongue lapped at its outside and he used his free hand to start playing with her pussy lips and to fiddle with her clit. Brittany tried to resist, but quickly gave in to his efforts, changing her approach from wrestling for control of his hand to playing with her nipples. She moaned and squirmed until she achieved an orgasm.

After a while past that, Carlo ceased his resistance to Brittany’s effort to tie him up, and so he was bound. The position passively strained Carlo’s muscles, which Brittany was counting on. Her stockings definitely could not hold back him at full strength, but by engaging in enough foreplay, she can get him too tired out to break free.

Brittany deliberately lowered herself so that his cock was in front of her body and she pulled up her dress, so as to demonstrate how deep his cock would reach into her once she fucks him. She had never had a man near as deep in her and she wished she paid more attention in health class to know if it would even be possible for her to take this dick. As a consequence of positioning herself like this, she rested some of her weight on Carlo’s ballsack, which made him groan in pain and strain his arms against the restraints. Brittany feigned sincerity when she apologized and began stroking his dick again.

Having tested the restraints, Brittany abandoned the effort and started collecting her clothes (sans the stockings) and redressing. Carlo angrily demanded an explanation but would never receive one. All Brittany told him was that nobody would ever believe him. Brittany grabbed the passport, grabbed his phone, and started running water in the bathtub. Once it was about six inches full, she turned off the water, threw the phone in the bath with its power on, and exited the apartment the way she had come with the door wide open.

Afterglow

Carlo cursed, yelled, and attempted to break free until he had exhausted himself. He would eventually wake up the following day and break free, but he was terrified that his attempt to keep the popstar to himself would become known to his associates and that he would get his ass beaten or worse. While he was tied up, he may have failed to do any number of duties and he couldn’t rectify the situation without getting a new phone, which he did not have money for. Because he could not possibly explain the circumstances of his disappearance, he decided it was best to lay low and so his participation in the **** Caribbean scheme came to an end.

Brittany’s return to the hotel went smoothly. She ran to a more tourist-friendly part of town, an easy feat for someone conditioned to energetic dance routines like Brittany, and called a cab. Rather than return directly to the hotel, she made a detour to an adult entertainment store, at which she bought a dildo that had a skin tone that matched Carlo’s, which got good use later that night as she thought of him and what could have happened if he hadn’t tried to get one over on her. She had a couple further orgasms and found herself subconsciously uttering his name as she came.

(Link to board: https://lichess.org/editor/rnb1kbnr/pp1p2pp/2pq4/P3Np2/3P1B2/2N1P3/1P3PPP/R2QKB1R_bKQkq-_0_1?color=white))