Saoirse Ronan's Celebrity Harem

DISCLAIMER - This is a work of erotic parody/fan fiction. Though many characters in this story are based on real people, their portrayal and actions are fictional and should be treated only as fantasy for entertainment purposes. No money is gained from writing or sharing this story. This story contains adult content not to be read by anyone under the age of 18. It depicts some supernatural elements which imply dubious sexual consent, and this behavior is included only for the purposes of fiction and fetishism and is in no way an endorsement of questionable sexual consent in the real world.

---

NOTE - This is a branching-path version of this story I've published on my own site. I wanted to open it up to the public to add chapters and use the opportunity to detail celebrities they would like to see ensnared in the Mistress's web. Feel free to request celebrities, or add short chapters with people you'd like to see, and with enough feedback, I might add chapters with folks you'd like to see.

---

Saoirse Ronan lay in a graceful repose on her plush, emerald green chaise. Motes of dust wafted gently across the sunlight peeking through the blinds. She found her eyes drifting over a portrait on the wall. It was a piece a lover had made for her back in Ireland, a boy enamored with the soft curves of the female form who was thus awed by the total control with which Saoirse mastered the objects of his lust.

It was a nearly-life-sized painting of the young woman herself, her radiant eyes staring alluringly at the viewer with a quizzical expression. Her lips were slightly parted, with the subtlest hints of a smile in her cheeks. The likeness was astounding. But what she was admiring most at this moment was what the painting portrayed below the neck. The painted Saoirse was lying in a field of soft grass, and was, as far as the viewer could tell, completely nude.

What struck her now, what almost always struck her when she took the time to examine this piece, was the way the artist had chosen to obstruct her modest bosom and her delicate womanhood: In lieu of clothes, she was instead draped with the heads and hair of three unidentifiable women. Her right breast was being suckled by a dark-skinned beauty with flowing black curls. At her left breast was a pale woman with shining red hair down her freckled back. And between her legs was someone whose hair matched Saoirse’s own, a strawberry blonde mane cascading across the mystery woman’s shoulders.

In the portrait, Saoirse’s hands rested gently on the heads of those women worshipping her breasts, while her thin legs wrapped around the woman devouring her sex. The sensual being in the painting was at once luxuriating in her womanly powers, immodestly preserving her modesty, and beckoning the viewer to join these anonymous women in lavishing praise on her elegant body.

The artist had been an excellent painter and a devoted boyfriend. But he was a terribly dull lover, and his attempts to keep up with Saoirse’s nigh-insatiable desires left him haggard, manic, and pitiful. She’d meant to leave him sooner than she had. But the painting was just too good. She’d tried to make things work for a few months after he unveiled it for her at a private birthday orgy for her most beloved partners, before things fizzled, and he faded away from her life.

The painting, though. That had stayed. So in a way, he would always be with her, watching from the wall. Just as well, she thought. He was always better at watching anyway.

As her eyes traced the lines of her painted worshippers’ half-figures, her fingers wrapped tightly around golden tresses of the very real worshipper working diligently between her thighs.

“Ooooh,” Saoirse cooed lovingly. “You’re much better at that than you think, you know. Give yourself some credit. You eat pussy like a natural.”

Her kind words inspired a renewed vigor in the woman’s tongue, working tight circles around her pearl. Saoirse moaned. Her voice squeaked a little, and she couldn’t help but laugh. The slurping sounds grew louder as her juices soaked her lover’s soft lips. She could also hear the telltale sounds of slick rubbing which told her hers was not the only slit being played with.

With her free hand, she pinched hard on a nipple and sighed. It was a lovely autumn afternoon in her beautiful secluded home, in her warmly decorated lounge, being eaten out with purpose while the goddess rendering of herself in paint watched approvingly. The perfection of the moment was too precious to overcome. And the passion with which she was being licked gave her such a rush.

Saoirse’s eyes rolled back in her head as she came. “Oh gods in heaven, yes!” she cried. Her thighs briefly clamped onto the head that was so wonderfully giving her head as she lost all control of her limbs, her muscles contracted, her whole body seemed to throb with lustful joy.

In the quiet but heavy breathing that followed, the young woman gave a gentle tug at the hair she’d been gripping and brought the other woman’s face to her own.

Lightly disheveled, glistening, eyes half-lidded with desire, Brie Larson crashed her lips hungrily against those of her Mistress.

Their mouths collided, with Saoirse pleasantly noting, as she had so many times before, the taste of herself on another beautiful woman’s tongue. She reached down and grabbed a handful of Brie’s round bottom, kneading it. With her other hand she pulled harder on Brie’s hair, deeping their kiss. The other blonde actress groaned with need. She still hadn’t stopped fingering herself. If anything, she was digging even harder into her slit. Lavishing the source of her greatest desire with love and having that love returned with a hot tongue down her throat was making Brie weak.

Of course, next to Saoirse, Brie always felt weak. From the moment they’d met, something about the Irish beauty had been imprinted on her mind. Saoirse’s presence in her thoughts was like a tattoo; no matter what happened to the skin beneath, the top layer always belonged to her. On her last film shoot, Brie had been so for them to reunite that she spent hours on end in her trailer, pretty much every minute she wasn’t filming, pleasuring herself to images of Saoirse. Her other relationships had become murky, secondary things. And just as she’d promised her Mistress, Brie never let anyone know about her love for the other actress, doing her best to maintain a public persona and lifestyle that revealed no hint of the tempest raging inside of her.

But the longer they were apart, the harder it was to lie to the world. She’d long since given up lying to herself. This was the truth: She loved Saoirse Ronan more than she’d ever loved anyone, and she would do absolutely anything Saoirse wished for her to do. If that meant pretending that love wasn’t real whenever they were apart, she’d do it. If that meant luring other people in for her Mistress to fuck, she’d do it. She was devoted, in the strongest sense of the word, to Saoirse, and nothing else in her life mattered nearly as much.

For her part, Saoirse enjoyed Brie’s affection. Her obsessive crush was cute and flattering, even if it wasn’t entirely natural. But she’d rationalized that part of her life so many times over by now that it never spoiled the fun. Sure, Saoirse could have anyone she wanted, and did, but everyone involved enjoyed it at least as much as she did. Usually more. Always more, in fact. They came back again and again because being with her brought them joy. Who could say that joy wasn’t genuine?

She finally pulled Brie’s head back, breaking the kiss.

“I love you, Mistress,” Brie said breathlessly.

“I love you too, ,” Saoirse replied with a mischievous grin. “Now what say we get a few more friends over and make this a little party?”

Brie nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course, that would be amazing!”

“Ah, but first,” Saoirse said, “you’ve been a very good girl, and I think you deserve a reward. Why don’t you stretch that tongue up my asshole for a bit, and then I’ll let you cum?”

Brie’s smile could have lit the room. “Thank you, Mistress!”

As she dove to put her mouth to good use on her Mistress’s rosebud, Brie was giddy. She’d been a good girl, and now she’d get to taste Mistress’s ass AND she’d get to orgasm? Why couldn’t she spend every day this happy?

Saoirse, meanwhile, reached to the side table and picked up her phone. She had a few folks she’d like to invite over, and she knew that if they could get there, they would race to answer her call; worshippers summoned by their goddess.

---

Florence Pugh picked up and set down tomato after tomato, feeling for one that would have just the right ratio of juice to flesh for a rich salsa. Cooking had become one of those things during the pandemic, those skills you convince yourself you’re trying to master, when really your brain is so frazzled by the depressing weight of the world that “mastering” couldn’t go much beyond “reading the same recipe a dozen times until some of it sinks in.” She’d forgotten a shopping list before she left for the store, of course, and now she was dividing her attention between a half-hearted attempt to divine the quality of produce through her nimble fingers and scrolling through her phone to find the blog she’d been reading when she’d decided to make this damned meal in the first place.

She might have already passed it in her search history. She just couldn’t focus. She thought about her boyfriend. He was nice. He was funny. He gave her space when she needed it and support when she needed it. He wasn’t amazing. He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t the best lover she’d ever-

Her scrolling halted instantly. Her mouth dropped open when she saw the name of the contact that had just texted her. And now her divided focus was wholly aimed at one single message:

“Hey sissy, it’s S! I’m having some friends over and would love it if you came. Bring a friend or a toy and get here ASAP.”

Saoirse Ronan was inviting her over. Florence hadn’t seen her in over a year, not since press and awards season had died down for Little Women. Her heart was fluttering. And she was supposed to bring someone? Her boyfriend was dismissed from her thoughts almost immediately. He was sweet, but this called for something much more special than sweetness. She searched her brain for alternatives. But it was like her shopping list all over again, she searched and searched and when the time came to put a list together, it came up blank.

She was so caught up in her thoughts she didn’t realize that she’d been involuntarily continuing to fondle the fruits and vegetables with her free hand. Until she picked something up. Something hard and thick and long. Florence looked in her hand and saw a picture-perfect cucumber.

She snorted. Fuck it, bringing another person just meant less Saoirse for her. Why not bring some produce to this party? She couldn’t help but laugh. She hoped Saoirse would laugh. She probably would. ‘Oh god,’ she thought, ‘that girl’s laugh could make anyone melt.’

Florence took a chance. She practically ran to the register, exemplary cucumber in hand. She didn’t bother to text her boyfriend to let him know she wouldn’t be home for dinner. She only sent one message, and it was to Saoirse: “On my way!”

---

“Babe, slow down! Where are we even going?”

Samara Weaving smirked. Her latest boyfriend, Jonathan, was always so anxious when she drove. She got it, of course. She knew she wasn’t the world’s best driver, and she knew he was always terrified about the worst case scenario. Still, she had insisted on getting behind the wheel this time, no arguments, and he had to come along.

“I told you,” she said. “It’s a surprise!”

He shook his head and gave a nervous laugh. “I mean, I love surprises, but you kind of have to be alive to appreciate them.”

She shrugged. “Not if the surprise is good enough.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Like a ghost’s birthday party or something.”

“Wait-”

“A spooky surprise party.”

“Would he be a ghost before or after the surprise?”

“Weird that you’d assume the ghost is a ‘he.’ Girls die too, you know.”

“If they drive like you, they do.”

She laughed so hard they nearly swerved into a ditch.

Jonathan was bright and funny, which was almost unfair, because he was also distractingly hot. His model-perfect teeth shone through his rich black skin. His tightly cropped hair and the faint stubble on his chiseled jaw made him look just unbothered enough to accentuate that from the neck down, he was built like a champion swimmer, tall, lean, perfectly built for flexibility and endurance. And what he was carrying in his pants…

“Whoa, are you-?” he said.

Samara blushed. He’d caught her rubbing her fingers along the crotch of her leggings. She hadn’t put much thought into her outfit. She’d gotten the text just as she was getting out of the shower. She hurried to get herself dried off and looking sexy enough to be presentable. But she knew clothing would not be the focus of this evening’s events. She’d tossed on a tight white sleeveless t-shirt and some athletic leggings that molded to her lithe lower half, grabbed Jonathan from the couch where he’d been playing some video game, and practically dragged him out the door.

She giggled. “Heh, sorry, I was just...thinking about you.”

It was at least partly true. Sure, she’d been thinking about him in the context of how much she hoped Mistress Saoirse would like him, like he was an offering in exchange for the Irish woman’s affection, but he was at least a part of what was turning her on through this interminable drive.

He was properly mollified, smirking with macho pride. “Aw shucks. I mean, I’d reach over and do it for you, but I’m afraid if I made you cum you’d crash us into a tree.”

She put both hands back on the wheel. “Sorry. I’m just so excited for you to see where we’re going!”

“How much further is it?”

She sighed with a not-insignificant amount of genuine sorrow. “Like, another twenty minutes. Sorry, I swear it will be worth it.”

A car honked as she drifted into their lane. Jonathan jumped like he’d been shot.

“Okay! I mean, hah, it’s okay,” he said. “We’ll get there when we get there. Just, please be careful.”

Samara knew he was right. Still, she stayed as far above the speed limit as she could the whole rest of the ride.

---

The doorbell rang, and Brie, dressed in a skimpy black-and-white maid costume from an old lingerie boutique, shuffled in her high heels to answer. Flinging the door open with a flourish and a wide smile, she bowed.

“Welcome, Ms. Stone! And to you as well, Ms. Kravitz! The Mistress has been expecting you.”

Emma Stone struggled to keep a straight face. “Uh, hi Brie. She’s got you on door duty, huh?”

Brie laughed daintily. “I offered to help with the party in any way she wanted, and she said I’d make a good servant. So once everyone’s here, I’ll be available to bring you snacks or drinks or lube or anything you might need. And I’ve been ordered-” (she shuddered) “-to act as an object for everyone’s use as you desire. I literally cannot say no!”

Zoe Kravitz reared back her arm and slapped Brie hard on the ass. The blonde yelped, moaned, and kept smiling. “Thank you, Ms. Kravitz!”

Zoe bit her lip. “Oh my god, this is going to be so much fucking fun.”

“That’s the idea!”

All three snapped their attention down the hallway where Saoirse, dressed in a long, elegant green gown with deep crevasses of pale skin down the front and back, made her entrance, a glass of whiskey in one hand. As she approached them, Emma’s eyes watered like she was on the verge of tears, while Zoe’s sharpened with hunger and desire.

Saoirse didn’t say anything, she just grabbed the back of Emma’s head and pulled her in for a lingering kiss. Emma seemed to inhale her Mistress’s lips like they were the first food she’d eaten in days. What had appeared to be just misty-eyed excitement had turned into full-on crying, tears running down her cheeks as she tasted Saoirse’s tongue.

When she pulled back, Saoirse gave Emma a warm smile. “I’m happy to see you again, .”

“I missed you so much, Mistress,” Emma said shakily.

“I know. Run along to the kitchen. Greta’s making drinks for everyone. And you-” (she pointed at Zoe) “-did you bring your bag o’ goodies?”

Zoe hefted a simple black duffel bag up by way of an answer.

Saoirse squealed with glee. “Perfect! I cannot wait to watch you use them.”

“Just watch?” Zoe asked.

“Oh, you know what I mean. It’s just so much fun to see you use them on girls for the first time.”

She turned to Brie, and looked her up and down. “My goodness, , you fill that dress out beautifully! It will be a shame to peel it off you later.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Brie practically panting from just the compliment alone. Zoe gave her ass another fierce swat as she followed Emma to the kitchen.

---

Greta Gerwig mixed up a gin and tonic for Emma. The director and actress was probably the most casual attendee of this little event, besides the Mistress herself. She and Saoirse had gotten so close that they practically lived together. So this little impromptu shindig was far from the first get-together like this Greta had been around for. Not that she wasn’t excited. Not that she wasn’t already taking advantage.

“Would you like a garnish?” Greta asked.

Emma nodded.

Greta reached down and tapped on something Emma couldn’t see under the counter. Moments later, a cucumber appeared from below, glistening and fresh. Greta took a knife and cut at what appeared to be the wet end of the vegetable, taking off two slices and placing them on the glass’s rim.

She pushed the drink across the marble-top counter to Emma. “Enjoy.”

Emma cocked her head curiously. Now that she was listening for it, she could distinctly hear something going on from where Greta was standing. And a strong smell wafted even over the . Emma looked down at the cucumber, then glanced at her drink. She picked it up, and sniffed the slices. On top of the crisp scent of cucumber and the pine of the gin, she got a hint of something much more...distinct.

As she watched, Greta picked the cucumber up, and a hand snaked up from somewhere beneath her to pull it back down. She smiled devilishly. Emma took a slice of cucumber and ate it loudly.

From the other side of the counter, she heard a little voice go “Ooh!”

---

It was hard to find “remote” real estate near Los Angeles, but there were, of course, places where the gaps between homes and the fullness of the foliage could make even a house in one of the largest metropolitan areas on Earth seem secluded.

Samara grabbed Jonathan’s hand and tugged him up the steep drive towards the well-maintained, old green mansion. He couldn’t help but admire the trellises covered in vines that made up the privacy fencing surrounding the estate, the full shrubs and thick-trunked trees which shaded the grounds. If he ignored the inescapable sounds of traffic, he could imagine this was a solitary home tucked inside a vast empty forest.

Dating a famous actress had gotten him into a lot of nice places, but none of them felt quite so...singular.

“Whose house is this?” he asked.

“You’ll see, come on!” She couldn’t keep the giddiness out of her voice. She’d been waiting for this invitation for so long she couldn’t even keep track, and she didn’t want to miss a second of the fun.

She raced to the door and rang the bell. She turned to him and said, “Please don’t embarrass me in there.”

Before he could get offended, the door swung open, and Jonathan’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, welcome Ms. Weaving! And who is your guest?”

It was...it was Brie Larson. Brie Larson was answering the door. This was...she was...a superhero was answering the door like a desk greeter. And she was dressed like she was in an old-fashioned porno. This woman had an Oscar. And she was-

“Hi Brie!” Samara chirped. “This is Jonathan. I hope it’s alright that I brought a boy along.”

“Absolutely! You know the Mistress loves all kinds. Welcome, Jonathan!” Brie beamed at him with genuine warmth.

“Uh, thank you, Br-uh, Ms. Larson,” he stammered. “I, uh, wow, I’m a HUGE fan. Is this your house?”

Samara snorted. Brie giggled. “No, no, I mean, I have a nice place, but this belongs to someone much more important than me.” Her eyes lost focus for a second. “I’m just a servant to her. I’m her property. She owns me as much as she owns this place.” She snapped back to reality. “Heh, oh yeah, Ms. Weaving, Jonathan, I’m supposed to let you know that I have been ordered to be available tonight to fulfill any task you might ask of me. Nothing too big or too small. I’m here to please.”

Jonathan was struggling to find words to even articulate what he was thinking as Brie finished her rambling little speech, but he was interrupted by a bright voice calling out, “Samara!”

Jonathan turned, and his eyes bugged out of his head. It was Saoirse Ronan. And she was...gorgeous.

Samara ran to Saoirse and wrapped her in a big hug. “Oh my god I’m so happy to see you!” she spat breathlessly.

“You too, darling,” Saoirse said. “So glad you could make it. And you’ve brought company!”

Samara cleared her throat and stepped back next to her boyfriend, looking at the ground as she introduced him. “Ahem, yes. Saoirse Ronan, this is Jonathan. He’s, uh-”

“Quite a handsome thing, isn’t he?” Saoirse said.

Every note of her voice was ringing through his head, louder and louder the closer she stepped to him. The words burrowed into his brain. He was awe-struck. Her eyes...he didn’t want to look anywhere but those perfect, shimmering eyes. For a moment, it was like there was nothing else in the world that he even could look at. Those eyes were the totality of existence, the beginning and the end, all-encompassing. And they were perfect. Life in the reality of those eyes was bliss. And when she blinked, and the rest of the world rushed back into being, he desperately wanted to be back alone with those eyes, in a world where nothing else mattered, including him.

“Hello Jonathan,” she said. He inhaled her scent and was instantly enraptured by it. How did a being this perfect exist? How had he seen her all those times before on the screen and not realized what she truly was: An angel? A being of pure light?

She reached out and ran her hand along the considerable bulge in his jeans. He was hard as a rock, and it should have hurt, it should have been straining his groin just to be so aroused in such constrictive pants, but he couldn’t feel anything other than pleasure when her fingers deigned to caress him even through his clothes. He leaned down to her, to bring his face as close to hers as possible. She smiled, and he was blessed. She reached up, grabbed a hold of his face, and kissed him.

In all his life, he’d never felt such pure serenity in a single moment as when her lips touched his. He didn’t question it, didn’t want to, this was too pristine a thing to sully by wondering why it was happening. She kissed him, and the story of his life would forever be delineated as the time before and the time after this moment.

When she finally stepped back, a part of his soul seemed to be tethered to her. He was chained to her, now, by some invisible made entirely out of his love for the mere existence of her.

Samara was thrilled to see her boyfriend had been accepted so well. But she was already trying to regain her Mistress’s attention. “Sorry it took so long to get here. We’re probably the last ones to arrive, as usual.”

“Not quite,” came a voice behind them.

Walking up the drive, in a tight black strapless dress, was Jennifer Lawrence. The beloved star was walking with purpose, smiling all the way to the door. “I hope it’s okay,” she said, “I didn’t bring a friend. I actually brought two.”

She gestured behind her. Following in her wake, glowing with anticipation and a little bit of confusion, were Michael Fassbender and Alicia Vikander. The married couple were holding hands.

“Yes, uh, Jenn said we’d been invited to a party?” Michael said with a wave.

Jonathan looked back at Saoirse.

“You most definitely belong on the guest list,” she said.

---

She remembered the first time she was aware of what she could do.

She wasn’t sure it was the first time she’d done it. Thinking back on it, young Saoirse Ronan had always been a center of attention to her peers, and, in some uncomfortable cases, adults. She learned to like it. The attention was never negative, after all, people seemed to genuinely love watching her, following her, listening to her. The love of the spotlight led her into acting, which she got very good at from a very young age.

It wasn’t until she was 13, on the set of the film that would be her breakout role, and her first award nomination: Atonement. She’d known what sex was. She understood it as well as someone her age, with a purely academic knowledge, could have. And she knew that the sex the other actors were performing was fake.

But something in the air, maybe, or perhaps it was that thing they called “movie magic,” made the scenes of her older co-stars making love so evocative. They unlocked something in Saoirse. For the first time, she felt pangs of desire.

Late in filming, she was shooting a scene with some other kids her age. And there was this boy in an old school uniform costume. He was tall for his age, and broad-shouldered in his dark sweater. And his khaki shorts were just a little too small. He was a background character, though, so Wardrobe clearly just made do with what they had. When he faced away from her, she couldn’t help but think of the older actors, James and Keira. She couldn’t help but think about how she would only see James from behind, and hear Keira writhe in ecstasy just on the other side of him. She knew what was supposed to be happening between them, of course. On paper she understood. But what captivated her desire was his back, and her arms wrapped around him.

She was admiring the school boy from behind, between takes, in a bit of downtime, when suddenly he turned around. And he looked at her. And his eyes went wide. And stayed wide. They looked shiny, glazed, but hyper-focused on her. She found herself walking to him. And he stayed perfectly still, staring at her with a look of what seemed to be awe. She got close enough that she saw his nostrils flare and she realized he could smell her. And his mouth opened, like he wanted desperately to say something, but he couldn’t form the words.

“Hello,” she said. “My name’s Saoirse. What’s yours?”

His eyes fluttered, as though they were catching up on all the blinking he hadn’t been doing since he saw her. Finally, he nodded slightly, and then he grinned like he’d been given the best present he’d ever received. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Colin.”

Later that day, they found a place to hide, and for the first time in her life, Saoirse kissed a boy. Just a kiss. For her, it was a pleasant moment, a milestone in her life as a young woman. But to see him as she pulled away, it was as though he’d won a fortune. Something seemed off about him.

The more time they spent together, though it was only a couple days for shooting, the more she realized that he wasn’t just enamored of her. He was completely obedient to her.

She started asking him for favors. Little things. Getting her some water. Tying her shoes. Then she tested stranger things. Eating a bug, though he said it looked disgusting. He admitted that he was afraid of heights. She told him to climb up a tall tree near the set. And he didn’t hesitate. It took a lot of effort, for he’d never climbed a tree before, but he was determined to do exactly as she asked.

After Colin, she’d tried to get other people to do her bidding. But it never amounted to anything. A few people even suggested she was a brat for asking them to do things they didn’t want to do. Until she met a girl named Susie. Susie was an Asian girl who’d grown up in France. And she was radiant. She was so full of energy and joy, and her accent was sumptuous to Saoirse’s ears. Her hair was soft and fine as silk. Her rich fawn skin glowed when she smiled.

Before Saoirse could internalize that she was attracted to this girl, however, it happened again. She found herself staring at Susie from across the auditorium of their school during a play rehearsal. And then Susie turned. And their eyes met…

...After years of trial and error, mistakes and surprises, Saoirse still didn’t know why she had this power over people. But as she got older, and her sexual appetite became insatiable, she stopped worrying about why. She just wanted to enjoy herself. She’d figured out a few things: It only worked on people when she was actively thinking about them in a romantic or sexual way. It required eye contact and seemingly some component of smell.

And there seemed to be absolutely no limit to who she could ensnare.

Unexpectedly, she’d also learned that, though the process was the same every time, the results weren’t totally predictable. People reacted to their feelings for her in different ways. Some became completely submissive to her every desire. Brie was probably the most example she’d come across, but she was far from the only one. Emma Stone was another.

Others became more aggressive, even attempting to dominate her. She usually let them play out their fantasies on her. She knew that, if she ever wanted it to stop, she was the one who was really in control. Zoe was like that. Zoe had confessed to Saoirse once that she wasn’t even much of a dom in her usual sexual encounters. But being with Saoirse brought out something she didn’t know she was capable of. Saoirse liked that. It made her feel almost benevolent, to help people discover themselves.

Still others became giddy and, mean as it might be to say, a little stupid. It was like being around her made their brains leak into their loins. Samara was like that. In the rest of her life, incredibly smart. With Saoirse, a total bimbo.

There were mindless drones (this seemed to be more common in men, for some reason), hopeless romantics, masochists, a few financial submissives (whose resources had helped her purchase her lovely home), and many others. And people could shift and change, adopt her influence on a spectrum. The permutations seemed endless.

Thankfully, whether it was an innate part of her ability or simply because she didn’t want them to, none of the people under her thrall were ever possessive or jealous. And being with Saoirse seemed to open them up to everyone else who’d felt her power. Many were the couples in Hollywood who freely swapped their partners after finding out they too were lovers of the Mistress.

Ah yes, they all called her Mistress. Even the doms. She maintained her status, not out of a sense of vanity, but simply because it was easier for people to follow someone who everyone agreed was in charge. There was never any disagreement among her lovers, and she could come and go from their lives with little disruption. Whatever else was going on in their worlds, “an unquestioning love of Saoirse Ronan” just got added to their list of defining traits.

She prided herself that this wasn’t her whole identity, either. She could be the Mistress and also be an actress, an artist, who worked on her craft and cared about getting better in every way that she could. She never used her power to gain an advantage professionally. At least, she didn’t mean to.

She hadn’t meant to make Greta one of her flock. But one night, while they were working on Lady Bird, it just...happened. And to her surprise, Greta did something almost no one else ever had: She remained unchanged. She loved Saoirse, but even when they were together, she was the same Greta she was when they were apart. Since then, Greta had become her best friend, and her dearest lover.

But really, she loved them all. All the people who’d ever looked into her eyes and found themselves overpowered by her extraordinary lust.

Someone had told her once, “Love is an unlimited resource. Give it all away, and you’ll never run out.”

She gave her love to anyone she wanted. It just so happened that, with her abilities, they would always give their love right back.

---

Florence crawled like a happy pet behind a bottomless Greta as the latter padded her way from the kitchen down the hall to the lounge where Saoirse had gathered tonight’s guests. Greta was pushing a cart loaded with drinks and food, and Florence was doing her best to keep her face as close as possible to Greta’s pert bottom, in the hopes of getting a taste of her favorite director’s puckered backdoor as she walked.

By the time they rounded the corner and entered the room, Saoirse was raising a glass, an act which everyone automatically followed.

“Great timing!” she said when she saw her friends walk in. “Perfect, now that everyone’s here, I want to make a toast. Thank you all for making me feel so special. I love you all, from the bottom of my heart, even those of you I’ve just met. Things are going to get pretty wild tonight.” Everyone laughed and glanced around at their fellow attendees. “But I wanted to start us off by remembering the most important thing: To love me is to love each other. And to love each other is to love me. That’s what this is all about. I want you all to enjoy yourselves tonight. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” everyone cried, and took a large gulp of whatever they were drinking.

Greta fired up the stereo. By the time she turned back, the festivities had begun.

Emma Stone was already on her knees, kissing Saoirse’s bare toes. The Irish actress laughed and rubbed at her breast through her gown. Samara was kissing her neck from behind, her shirt and leggings already gone, as expected. The athletic blonde wrapped her toned arms around her Mistress’s waist and nibbled at her nape.

Zoe Kravitz had sensed something in Alicia Vikander from the moment Alicia had fallen under Saoirse’s spell, and immediately Zoe dove for the Swedish starlet, seated next to her husband on the plush green couch. Zoe grabbed roughly at her chest and clamped their mouths together in an animalistic kiss that made Alicia squeak with shock. From the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head, though, Zoe knew she had been right: Alicia liked it rough.

Jennifer Lawrence had already pulled her dress down to reveal her ripe breasts to a delighted Michael Fassbender. The co-star of the X-Men films had been eying Jennifer’s soft body for years, and he suspected she was doing the same with him. He was in peak physical condition, and the rumors of his impressive manhood couldn’t have escaped her gossip-loving ears.

In fact, Jennifer had invited Michael to this party for that exact reason. She suspected that a male presence would be at a premium among this party’s invites. Not that there really needed to be one, but for variety’s sake, having the sexy, well-hung movie star and his stunningly attractive wife along for the ride was definitely a good idea. As she straddled him on the sofa and felt his hardness against her thigh, she knew she’d made the right decision.

Greta spotted Jonathan, Samara’s boyfriend, sitting alone in a high-backed armchair watching his girlfriend suckle at their Mistress’s elegant neck, watching as she reached up and untied the straps holding Saoirse’s dress, watching the green drapery fall to the carpet, watching as she used those same nimble fingers to caress and tease Saoirse’s pink nipples. He was smiling in satisfaction, casually rubbing the front of his jeans, which were tenting impressively.

“Mix me a rum and diet,” Greta said to Brie, who was quivering gleefully in the corner. The maid jumped to obey with a polite, “Yes, Ms. Gerwig.”

Greta walked out from behind the cart. Florence Pugh still trailed behind happily. She stepped up to Jonathan. “Hi there. You look like you’ve got something you’d like to set free.”

He looked up at her and nodded silently.

‘Ah,’ Greta thought. ‘One of those.’

“Lose the shirt,” she said. He immediately peeled his henley up and over his head. Greta’s eyes bulged at the sight of his firm, muscled torso.

She turned around. “Hey Samara,” she called. Samara looked up with a goofy grin. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

Samara laughed. “Totally! And his dick is, like, oh my god, just wait.”

Greta unbuttoned the black top she was wearing slowly. She scanned down to the aforementioned prize in Jonathan’s pants. Behind her, Florence had wedged her tongue far up her asshole and was swizzling it around. The older woman threw her head back and groaned. She looked back at the man who gazed upon her beauty.

“Well then. Time to bring your little friend out to play.”

He unzipped his jeans, sighing with a relief he hadn’t realized he’d needed. In one move, he hooked his thumbs through his boxers and his pants and pulled them down, kicking them away.

‘Little’ turned out to be the wrong word for what Jonathan was bringing out. Greta threw her shirt aside, shedding the last of her clothing, and sank to her knees. She ran one hand lovingly along Jonathan’s prodigious length. She’d held a lot of dicks in her life, but none had felt so…’grand’ was the word that sprang to mind. Not just long, but thick, with a slight upward curve near the top.

“Jesus,” she breathed, admiring him from his striking face to his sculpted physique to this magnificent member. “Were you built in a lab?”

Brie rushed over with Greta’s drink. “Here you are, Ms. Gerwig.”

“Thank you,” Greta said, taking the glass. She started Jonathan in his eyes as she took a swig, swishing the sweet alcoholic mixture in her mouth, before leaning forward and carefully opening her mouth enough to envelop the head of his shaft. She swished the drink around some more, mixing it while rubbing her tongue along his girth.

Jonathan gasped. He’d never felt anything quite like it. Greta was an expert at manipulating manhood, and he’d been straining in his pants for so long. The sensation was intense, the cool fizzy liquid splashing around his throbbing cockhead. And when she finally swallowed the drink, the pressure on the tip of his manhood was extraordinary.

She still had not broken eye contact, and with all of her concentration on his eyes and the phallus in front of her, she did her best to suck him in, deeper and deeper, having to take it in stages. She went down as far as she could, opening her throat, before slurping back up until just his fat end remained between her lips, and then she dove further.

From behind her, Florence finally peeked her head up to see the man Greta was blowing. “Good evening. I’m Florence.”

He nodded slightly, still not looking away from Greta. Florence leaned around and gave Greta a kiss on the cheek before she crawled away, her plump ass swaying over to kneel next to Emma, whose tongue was buried deep in Saoirse’s pussy. Florence kissed the back of Emma’s neck, and the freckled actress turned and pulled her in for a warm, sensual embrace.

Saoirse smiled. She used their distraction to turn Samara around and guide her gently to her hands and knees atop the chaise. Crawling aboard behind her, Saoirse leaned in and lapped up at Samara’s dripping folds. Samara immediately cried out in ecstasy, cumming just from the knowledge that her Mistress was blessing her by kissing her womanhood. Saoirse, meanwhile, was loving the tangy taste of her lover’s sex, the feel of her juices running down her cheeks, to her chin, and to the upholstery below. She loved having her nose buried in Samara’s tight ass. And when Emma and Florence emitted muffled moans behind her revealing that they’d arranged into a 69, she loved knowing that the fun was just beginning.

Jennifer hadn’t been able to wait. All foreplay and pretense was out the window; she wanted Michael’s cock inside of her, and she wanted it now. Her dress was on the floor, as were his pants, as his hands grasped her pale buttocks and he slammed himself home in her quim.

“Oh fuck yes!” she cried out with joy.

Below her, he gave a toothy grin, then leaned in and sucked a swollen nipple hard. She went wild, bouncing on top of him with abandon, barely keeping a rhythm, just lost in the feeling of his hardness being driven in and out and in and out, faster, slower, harder, harder still, it all felt incredible. His was easily the biggest cock she’d ever taken, and after years of dreaming about it, it was finally buried inside her.

It didn’t take long for her to find her climax.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, oh my goooooood!” she screamed, and collapsed on top of him, momentarily blacking out from the excitement she was feeling.

Michael wasn’t finished, though. Not even close. As he felt her lose control of her limbs, Michael grabbed hold of her with both arms, lifted her slightly, and began slamming his hips up into her exposed, gushing honeypot. As quickly as the screaming stopped, it started again. He muffled her by pressing his lips to hers and thrusting his tongue as far down her throat as he could. Focused on making out with the man who was making her cum, Jennifer stopped screaming. But she didn’t stop cumming.

Next to them, Zoe was forcing Alicia into a very similar position. She’d fished her first toy from what Saoirse lovingly called her “bag ‘o goodies”: A thick black vibrating strap-on. Firmly affixed to the harness, she’d shoved Alicia face-first to the floor, taken her place on the sofa, reached down, and grabbed Alicia by her tanned hips, yanking her up and, without warning, impaling her onto the fat appendage. Alicia was so startled she could hardly process the rush of sensations, the erotic pain and unbearable pleasure. Thankfully, from Zoe’s rough fondling she was already soaking wet, so the dildo slid right into place.

Zoe reached down, switched on the vibrator, slammed a sharp palm on Alicia’s toned ass, and began thrusting into her in powerful strokes. Quickly, Alicia’s screams matched Jennifer’s, the two young stars being pummeled from below, filled to their absolute limits with girthy hard shafts. Zoe held on tight to Alicia’s hip with one hand, and reached around to pinch and twist one of Alicia’s exquisite nipples with the other.

Zoe glanced over at Michael. He glanced back. And they grinned with wicked delight. Above them, Alicia sat upright, reached over, and grabbed Jen’s face as best she could in her addled state, meeting the woman who was being pounded by her husband with a sloppy but adoring kiss. Their tongues danced, spit running down their chins. Zoe sat still with her hips thrust forward, and Alicia rocked back and forth, using Jennifer as an anchor to keep from falling forward. MIchael was holding tight to Jen’s arms so she wouldn’t tip backwards, and he too stopped mid-thrust for the blonde superstar to grind herself as hard as she could on his cock, buried to its hilt within her.

Zoe leaned over to Michael, and the two of them began making out. The foursome, a married couple and two loving admirers, all highly respected performers, embraced in a tangled tower of lust, hungrily mashing their faces together. In one moment, all four were sent over the edge, and came, Michael flooding Jennifer with his seed, Zoe erupting into spasmic thrusts of uncontrolled ecstasy as the vibrating phallus she’d slammed into Alicia made quick work on her clit. Their lovers joined them in bliss. Finally, they collapsed in a heap of sweaty flesh on the sofa, momentarily spent, but by no means satiated for the night.

Greta had Jonathan on the floor, legs in the air, locked in an amazon position. She loved the feeling of having this perfectly sculpted masculine figure in front of her and still being in total control. Plus, he was the first man she’d been with who was both flexible enough and hung enough to make this position work perfectly, and she was excited to take advantage. She pounded herself onto him, grunting with every mighty push of his huge erection into her stretched hole. She set the pace. She determined the depth. And for all his muscles, for his manly musk and protruding jawline, Jonathan was the one receiving. She was demolishing his cock with her pussy, and she loved every second of it.

Brie was patient, fingering herself in the corner, approaching when called with beverages, snacks, and supplements for energy and endurance. But finally, her time to shine came when Emma, recovering from a tremendous orgasm courtesy of Florence, beckoned her with a curled finger. She traipsed over in her clicking heels, eager to be of service. She leaned down to better hear Emma’s request, but to her delight the redhead grabbed the back of her head and licked the side of her face.

“I hate to see a fellow left out,” she said. “Lose the panties, but leave the rest. You look so cute in that outfit.”

Brie eagerly complied, kicking the underwear away. Emma pulled her down so the blonde straddled her fellow Oscar-winner’s face, and with aplomb, Emma devoured Brie’s pussy, sucking her clitoris, then lapping away thirstily at her flushed folds. Brie had been dialed-up all day, and it took almost nothing to set her over the edge, cumming so hard she even squirted a little. Emma didn’t mind. In fact, it just encouraged her to go even harder. She dipped two fingers deep in Brie’s twat until they were thoroughly lubricated, then reached around, spreading Brie’s famous bubble butt and thrusting her digits deep in her rear hole. Tongue still probing the depths of her pussy, Emma wriggled her fingers inside Brie’s ass.

“Jesus, oh yes, yes, yes!” Brie cried. She played with her delectable tits and ground herself on Emma’s face. At first she feared drowning the other woman in her juices, but she lost the ability to fear the more she humped herself against her, absorbed in the waves of electric joy racing up her spine.

Emma wasn’t worried. She knew what she was doing. And she knew that if she ordered Brie to stop, she’d happily obey. Brie was an obedient fuckdoll. Just like her. The thought of her Mistress ordering them both to worship at her feet made Emma surge with lust. And above her, Brie rode her to her heart’s content.

---

Saoirse observed her party from the chaise where Samara was eating her out and rapidly slipping three fingers in and out of her womanhood.

Florence and Zoe were kneeling before Michael, trapping his cock between their mouths in a messy tandem blowjob. He rested his hands on their heads and watched them gaze up into his eyes while they serviced him.

Greta had dipped into Zoe’s bag and adorned Alicia with some trinkets she found inside: Fearsome nipple clamps connected by a chain, a tight collar and leash, a black vinyl mask with bunny ears, and a large jeweled buttplug which was already firmly wedged in its intended place. She cackled with glee as the Swedish actress was plowed from behind by Jonathan, while Greta guided his hips from behind, effectively fucking them both at once. She tugged on the leash and Alicia began to with Jonathan buried deep inside of her. And with her air cut off, Alicia’s eyes rolled back, and she came.

Jennifer had also picked through Zoe’s bag, and was holding the center of a clear rubber double-headed dildo between Emma and Brie, encouraging them to plunge the toy deep enough in their asses to meet in the center. They were giving it a good try, and in short order, Saoirse saw them succeed, while Jennifer, fingering herself at the sight, cheered and laughed.

Jennifer caught her Mistress looking. She bit her lip. She stood, and motioned for Emma and Brie to follow, walking seductively to where Saoirse was casually being pleasured. Greta caught this out of the corner of her eye, and had a wicked thought. It seemed to line up with what the other ladies were already thinking.

“Mistress,” Jennifer purred, “I love that painting of you on the wall.”

Saoirse smiled. “Thank you. I love it too.”

Jennifer smiled back. “I wonder, would you like to recreate it? After all, I know the Academy has been very unfair to you, and you’ve got three Oscar winners here ready to celebrate you on their behalf.”

“Four,” Greta said. Alicia crawled behind her obediently. “This one took one before you as well.”

Saoirse rolled her eyes and laughed. “You know I don’t really care about that,” she said.

Emma nodded. “Of course, Mistress. Still, the fact that we’ve all been showered with praise when you’re so much…” (she struggled with the words) “...MORE than us. I bet it would feel nice to have us all worshiping you together.”

Saoirse actually blushed. In truth, she didn’t care about awards. And these women were all amazing actors in their own right, she admired their work so much. She just enjoyed the work, the skill, the challenge of acting, so much more than any trophy could convey.

Still, she had to admit...some part of her did enjoy seeing these women at her feet for more reasons than just their beauty and their affection. Seeing their elevated status brought low before her was a thrill.

“Come on,” Greta said. “Just to say you did it, at least. For the novelty.”

Saoirse shook her head but grinned and chuckled. “Fuck it, fine! You prissy bitches get over here.”

She rose to her feet and spread her legs apart. There was a scramble among the four of them to get into position. Four women who’d received such acclaim at the biggest award show in the world, and they were fighting over who would get to kneel in front of her. The power trip was already a bit more exhilarating than she expected.

Jennifer latched her lips to Saoirse’s labia possessively. Alicia didn’t feel worthy of her Mistress’s perfect pussy, so while the others were bickering playfully in front, she slipped behind and pressed her face against Saoirse’s ass.

Emma and Brie pretended to be disappointed, but truly they were happy to be here at all, with the woman they loved most in all the world, making her feel special, important, honored. They took positions over Saoirse’s petite nipples. The feeling of their hot breath on her sensitive chest made her shiver with anticipation.

“Just relax, Mistress,” Emma said gently.

“We’ve got you,” Brie added.

They wrapped their arms around her and held her. When she simply couldn’t wait any longer, Saoirse relaxed her muscles, falling back into their arms and resting her bottom on Alicia’s waiting face. Jennifer immediately grabbed hold of her legs and got to work with her mouth. Emma and Brie sucked on her pink nubs and Alicia reached deep into her ass with her tongue.

And just like that, Saoirse Ronan was being worshiped by four of the most respected, highly-awarded actresses of their age. Four women with status, success, and acclaim, were devoting themselves to her pleasure with the explicit wish to let her know she was superior, that no matter what the world outside might say, she would always be their better.

It was ridiculous. And, at first, all she could do was giggle. But then she looked down, and saw the looks in Emma’s, Brie’s, and Jennifer’s eyes. This wasn’t just a lark for them. This moment symbolized something they felt deep within themselves for her. And they looked overjoyed to be expressing it together.

For Saoirse, her power was always just a means to an end, a convenient way to share her endless supply of love and lust with as many people as possible. It was never about, well, power, in the traditional sense. She was their Mistress, but it was just a title, something for them to know who was and who wasn’t in the club.

Now, for the first time, she allowed herself to feel truly powerful.

Emma and Brie traced circles around her nipples in time (though they couldn’t know it) with the circles Jennifer was making around her pearl below, while Alicia swirled saliva around inside her rosebud. She’d felt such combined sensations before, many times in fact, but with this heightened awareness she suddenly had, under these impossibly special circumstances, everything was elevated to a new level.

She let out a low, involuntary moan. Her lovers worked faster. She sighed contentedly, and they smiled with their eyes. Every sharp inhale of breath, every gasp, every coo, it rang out for these four women like a guiding gospel, shaping their actions, blessing them for doing well.

As far as she knew, she was the only woman in the world who could do what she did.

She was more than just a woman in this way. She was superhuman. A goddess. This moment proved it, proved that the world could belong to her if she wished for it, that everyone on Earth would gladly kiss her feet if she commanded them to. Her power was unparalleled. No one was greater. And she deserved all of it.

She gazed up at her portrait. Under the dewey eyes of her apotheosis, she reached the point of climax and bellowed out a groan of lust so deep and intense that everyone in the room immediately came with her, so attuned were they with her desires. Legs quaking, Emma and Brie barely managed to hold her aloft as every other man and woman fell to their knees around them.

There was a long silence.

As she came to, Saoirse Ronan remembered who she was. She remembered what she was. She remembered what mattered to her. And she smiled.

She stood, looking down at her friends, her followers, her lovers, her conquests, her partners.

Tears formed in her eyes.

“I love you all so much,” she said, and gathered them all in a great, beautiful group hug.

---

The party lasted through the night, and when the guests were finally exhausted, they slept it off in the many rooms of their Mistress’s mansion. They left invigorated with the fluttering giddiness of true love in their stomachs.

Saoirse kissed them each goodbye with a wistful satisfaction. When she was alone, she rested knowing her desire for more would come soon enough. For now, though, she could relax.

Power was a thrill. But love was all she truly needed to be happy.