A Fix

Carlos was the man you turned to when you needed a fix. Whether it was pills, blow or anything else you needed, Carlos was the man.

He was sitting now in his Mercedes C Class outside the fitness center. He'd received a text message about twenty minutes ago from one of his better clients.

Estelle Garner was a model. She was tall and lean and had the face of an angel. Although slender she had larger than average boobs, at least larger than your average model. Who knew what her original hair color had been but she was now a platinum blond. It was cut into a stylish bob that hung to her shoulders. It fell naturally straight and framed her picture perfect facial features; big blue eyes, pert nose and full lips.

She came out of the gym and looked quickly up and down the street. Then she saw Carlos' car and walked briskly toward it. Without asking she opened the passenger side door and climbed in.

"You got them?" she asked hurriedly.

"Of course I got them!" Carlos said smoothly, "You know me! And my rep!"

"Good," she said as she dug into her gym bag, "Give them to me!"

Carlos raised one eyebrow in irritation and sighed. He looked her over and a smirk formed on his lips.

"You know," he said slyly, "There's other ways you could pay."

Estelle froze as she was pulling a wad of cash out of her bag. She looked him in the eye sternly and her lips formed a straight line across her face.

"There aren't enough pills in the world," she hissed.

Carlos snickered and dropped a small baggie with white pills into her lap.

"Don't sweat it Sweetheart!" he said, "A man's got to ask!"

She handed over a folded wad of bills and sniffed arrogantly.

"No!" she said, "He doesn't!"

"Whatever," Carlos said with a shrug, "One day you might take me up on that offer."

"No," she said, "I won't!"

He shrugged again and smiled lazily.

"How come these look different than last time?" she said as she scrutinized the contents of the baggie.

"Different supplier," he said dismissively.

"Are they the same?" she asked in a worried voice.

"I told you!" he said with irritation, "Don't sweat it!"

"They better be the same!" she said with a pout.

"Don't worry about it!" he said angrily, "They're the same!"

She regarded him dubiously and sniffed once again. Then she got out of the car without another word.

"I could give you a ride," Carlos called out through the open window.

"In your dreams Creep!" she snapped as she walked away.

Carlos pulled away laughing and Estelle watched him go with her lip curled in disgust. He was a truly horrid human being but he was the best connection in Hollywood. If her were to suddenly disappear a lot of models, actresses and singers would stop showing up for work. The film and TV industry would grind to a halt. They'd all be too busy searching for a new supplier or they'd be going through withdrawal and throwing up at home. Her included.

She grimaced at the thought but quickly pushed it out of her head. She had a shoot to get to and those pills were going to get her through the next four hours.

Walter Kline was a photographer. He was working on the layout for his next session when he heard the outer door chime ring. He glanced idly at the inner doorway to the studio in time to see Estelle. He nodded a greeting but she was fixated on the door to the makeup room to the side. She didn't even acknowledge him. He sighed and shook his head and then went back to work.

Estelle was edgy as she sat in the chair. The makeup artist had been working on her hair and face for the past hour and was touching up around her eyes.

"Are you about done?" she asked tersely.

Jill was used to these outbursts from Estelle. Truthfully from all the models she worked on. They were all so strung out on whatever diet pills or cocaine they used, they were always bitchy.

"Another few minutes," she said.

Estelle sighed impatiently and shifted in her chair.

"Don't move please," Jill said with practised serenity, "Or I might have to start all over. You wouldn't want that would you?"

Estelle's eyes burned with rage but she stopped moving.

A few minutes later Jill straightened up and studied her work. She nodded and then stepped to the side.

"You're done," she said.

Estelle stood, ripped the bib from around her neck and tossed it onto the floor.

"Get out of my way!" she said and stormed out of the small room.

Jill sighed and stooped to pick up the bib. She dropped it into a laundry hamper and then cleaned up her work station.

In the wardrobe trailer Estelle threw her workout clothes onto the floor and stood naked. She held her arms out to the sides and waited while the dresser fitted a loose fitting gown onto her.

The dresser studied her nude body disinterestedly. She had seen lots of naked girls over the years, most of them famous. By now, they all looked alike in her eyes.

She was a woman in her fifties who always had a cigarette dangling from her lips. The smoke drifted lazily to the ceiling of the trailer as she meticulously fastened the snaps down the back. She grabbed a few pins and pulled the sides together to fit more snugly over Estelle's waif-like body. When she was done she gripped the model's hips and spun her around to face her.

Estelle frowned at being manhandled like this but she knew better than to snap at Eileen. Eileen had worked with every model and actress in Hollywood for thirty years and no one talked back to her.

When the fitting was done Eileen left the trailer with a farewell mumble and Estelle sighed with relief. She sat in the only chair and rummaged through her gym bag quickly. She pulled out the baggie and popped one of the pills into her mouth. She dry swallowed it and then stood. With another sigh she stepped out of the trailer and strode regally onto the studio set.

Walter glanced in her direction and nodded silently as he checked the lighting levels.

One thing he knew when working with Estelle was that she was always on time, unlike some other models. You didn't want to talk to her but you could count on her showing up in plenty of time to get to work.

When he was set he gestured to a lavish looking throne and told her to sit. She settled into it and gazed as only she could at the camera. Walter studied the image and nodded to himself. He stepped over to her, adjusted her arms and one leg and then went back to the camera. He looked at the display once more and smiled.

"Good!" he said loudly, "Hold still!"

He knew that last bit was totally unnecessary. Estelle was a pro and she knew that once the pose had been set, she was to stay as still as a marble statue.

There were three other cameras set up, all pointed at her from different angles. He went to each of them to verify the image quality and then took a deep breath.

He used a remote switch to take the images. All four cameras snapped their pics simultaneously. He went to Estelle and adjusted her limbs slightly then stepped back. He snapped another image in each camera.

This routine went on for another twenty minutes. This session was scheduled to go on for two hours. After that another two hours was set for a different sponsor.

That was the way Walter liked to work. He would line up as many consecutive sessions as he could using the same model then go through them one at a time. Today there were two.

When he took the latest image he looked at the still and frowned.

"No, no, no!" he shouted, "Estelle! You squinted! What's wrong with you? You know better than that!"

Estelle blinked several times and looked down at the floor. She was suddenly not feeling herself.

"Estelle!" Walter screamed, "You moved! Now we'll have to start over!"

She was beyond caring at this point. She was feeling something very strange. Although she could see and hear her surroundings quite clearly she couldn't really focus. She looked up at Walter and opened her eyes wide.

Walter was a plain looking man in his forties. He too had been around the industry for several years and was trusted by agencies far and wide to do justice to the girls in their stables.

What he was not was handsome.

His physique was that of a typical couch potato. He had a bit of a paunch and his muscles were not toned at all. His face was unshaven but it wouldn't be right to call his facial hair a beard. It was a scruffy collection of straggly hairs growing out of his face.

What Estelle felt right at that moment was anything but professional. Despite his plain features and flabby body she wanted him. She wanted him badly!

She stood awkwardly from the pimped up chair and walked toward him with a hungry look in her eyes.

"Estelle!" Walter shouted, "Get back in the chair! I need to finish this!"

She paid no attention. She simply strode up to him on her three inch spike heels and fell to her knees at his feet.

"What are you doing?" he said loudly, "Didn't you hear me? We have to finish this shoot!"

She didn't even hear him. She grabbed the belt at his waist roughly and hurriedly opened it. As he protested she unsnapped his slacks and pushed them to his knees. Then she thrust his boxer shorts down and immediately gulped the full length of his cock into her mouth.

"Oh my God!" he stammered, "Stop! What are you doing?"

She swirled her tongue around his flaccid member and puffed her cheeks in and out until it started to grow. When it was fully hard she hummed happily and suckled his cock like a loved one. Just the taste of it was turning her on.

With both her hands cupping his buttocks she was unable to remove her dress. She really needed to get out of this dress!

She looked up at him intently as she sucked. His eyes were wide as saucers and he looked like he might have a heart attack.

She removed her mouth from his cock and smirked. She stood suddenly and guided him by the hips to the gilded throne. She pushed him into it and hiked up the bottom of her gown. Then she crawled into his lap.

"Fuck me Walter!" she gasped, "You have to fuck me!"

With her hands on his shoulders she lowered her sopping wet pussy onto his cock. Walter gagged as she captured his penis and then he could do nothing but hang on.

Her hips started to move and then she picked up speed. She brought her knees up onto the chair at his thighs and held him down firmly with her hands against his chest.

She ceased her movements for a moment and then threw the fine gown she wore to the floor behind her.

"Touch my tits!" she groaned, "Suck them! Touch them! Touch my tits!"

Walter didn't even try to touch her. He was too busy gripping the arms of the throne as she rode him.

She resumed her motions and was going faster than she did before. She was a machine! Her hips slipped back and forth and the juices from her cunt were splashing all over him and the chair.

When he thought he could handle no more she suddenly screamed and gripped him like a vice with her arms and legs. She shuddered and gasped as she clung to him. After a half a minute she leaned back and Walter could see her eyes fluttering.

Then she fell back uncontrollably and lay splayed on the floor with her arms and legs outstretched. Her eyes were closed and her chest was heaving.

Walter looked down at her, unsure if she was about to ravish him again.

He stood and pulled his slacks into place. He blinked in panic once or twice and then rushed to grab his phone. He called 911 and tried to think about how he was going to explain this to the cops when they arrived.

Rosetta was on the top of the charts. The precocious Latina was gracing the screens of computers and cell phones all across the world with her dance-centric music videos. At just over five feet tall but with a figure that was all woman, her belly dance moves combined with her rap lyrics in both Spanish and English, and sometimes Spanglish, had adolescents everywhere swooning for her. Boys and girls just couldn't get enough of her!

And that was just the way Roselita Espinoza liked it.

She had come a long way from her Mexican roots. Born into a poor family in Guadalajara, she had jumped the border at fourteen. The man accompanying her into California told border patrol she was his daughter. She had smiled and agreed both in English and Spanish. Although suspicious, the agents had let her and the man enter the country where they promptly got lost in the streets of LA.

The man had then taken seven thousand US dollars for her from a man with a white linen suit, a Panama hat and black string tie. He took her to a small brothel where she was told she had to work off the debt.

Two years into her captivity she had run away and gone north to San Francisco. There she had fallen in with some missionaries devoted to getting runaway teens off the streets. She was easily able to manipulate the supposedly pious husband into giving her whatever she wanted. A few blowjobs here and there and one or two quickies in the rectory was all it took.

Those days were now far behind her.

After being discovered by the missionary's wife with her thighs wrapped around her husband's naked waist she had left the mission with a smirk.

Later that same year she had run across a man claiming to be looking for street talent. Although dubious and expecting him at any time to demand payment with her body, she had danced while she made up a litany of words in English and Spanish; mostly gibberish. The man's eyes had gone wide and he smiled with glee. He recorded her impromptu performance on a hand-held video cam. Within two weeks her dance number had gone viral with over two million hits.

And so it began.

There were recording contracts, live performance tours and TV guest spots. A year after meeting the man she had a single in the top fifty. Six months after that her latest single went to the top ten. Now she was a staple on radio, Instagram and YouTube. Record sales were booming and she was a citizen of the world.

The man with the white silk suit paid her a visit about six months after she shot to fame demanding repayment of her debt. She laughed and threw a wad of bills at him in the lobby of the Los Angeles Hilton. His greasy looking bodyguards scrambled to retrieve the money from the marble floor while the man in the suit seethed. His expression calmed immediately when her personal bodyguards stepped between him and Rosetta.

They were ex -Navy Seals hiring themselves out to security contractors. She paid them more in a week than the Navy had paid them for a year.

The man in the suit had become downright penitent as he looked up into their steely eyes.

The memory still made Rosetta smile.

As for the man who discovered her, he had never once made a move on her or acted inappropriately. It irritated her sometimes. Every man she had ever met could be manipulated with a few flirtatious looks or even a sex act or two. Not so Wilfred Tanner. He had become her manager and now took care of all her needs, whether it was what she wanted or not.

If Wilfred ever found out about her liaisons with Carlos she knew he would put a stop to it right away. She knew also that she would find herself checked into some rehab center far from the paparazzi. No one would ever know about it.

She grimaced as she thought about that. She began to wonder if it was time to cut Wilfred loose. She was almost twenty now and she could make her own damn decisions!

Carlos pulled up to the curb in his Mercedes. She was standing outside the spa where she told Wilfred she would be for the next two hours.

"Hop in Chava!" he said with a grin.

"I'm not your girlfriend," she said coldly as she sat in the passenger seat, "Get that straight maldito cretino!"

"Ooh!" Carlos said with false pain, "You wound me Chica!"

"I'm not your Chica either!" she snapped, "Got the pills?"

Carlos chuckled softly and fished a small baggie out of his suit jacket.

"What you take me for?" he said, "Of course I got them!"

She grabbed the bag and studied the contents with a frown.

"They look different," she said suspiciously.

"Different supplier," he replied with a shrug.

Rosetta grimaced and looked Carlos over. She bent to look at the pills again and shook her head. She tossed the baggie into his lap and crossed her arms across her chest in a huff.

"I don't want them!" she pouted, "I want the usual ones."

"Look here Princesa," Carlos said impatiently, "I came a long way to bring these to you. If you don't' want them, fine. But you pay me anyway!"

"What?" she said loudly, "I ain't paying you!"

Carlos grinned and pursed his lips. He looked her in the eye and squinted dangerously.

"You don't want to pay?" he said, "Fine. I got other ways of collecting. You can give me a blowjob. That'll cover it for now."

"You are fucking dreaming!" she said with outrage.

Suddenly there was a switchblade in his hand. He held the tip close to her throat and looked at her calmly.

"Like I said," he hissed, "There's lots of ways of paying. My way is a lot more pleasant. Less messy too."

"My boys are going to fuck you up good Culo!" she said angrily.

Carlos made a show of looking around. He grinned again and tapped Rosetta on the shoulder with the knife blade.

"Your boys?" he said with a snicker, "I don't see them. Are they here?"

She curled her lip angrily and seethed.

"Take a look behind you," he said smugly.

Rosetta turned in her seat and sucked in a sharp breath. Standing right at her door were two large men wearing cheap suits. They were glaring down at her with their arms folded across their chests.

"You see, you didn't bring your boys," he said, "But I always bring mine."

Rosetta's heart sank in her chest. She was beaten and she knew it. Not since her days in that LA brothel had she felt so helpless.

Carlos was right. She didn't bring her bodyguards. If she had Wilfred would have found about her meeting with Carlos.

"Fine," she mumbled quietly, "I'll take your damned pills! But I'm taking one right now, before you take off! I want to make sure they're the same."

She fished in her pocket and handed him a wad of bills. Then she took one of the pills out of the baggie and popped it in her mouth.

"Fine Chica," he said with a sneer, "You do what you gotta do!"

He put the car in gear and started to pull away from the curb.

"Hey!" she shouted, "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere quiet," he said, "We can't sit here while you get high."

"Where are we going?" she asked angrily.

"I know a place," he said serenely.

Ten minutes into their drive Rosetta looked at Carlos and her eyes softened. Throughout the drive she had sat with her arms folded across her chest and with a sullen look on her face. Now as she looked him over she decided that maybe Carlos wasn't such a bad dude after all. In fact you might even call him handsome.

She settled back into her seat with a smirk and imagined what she was going to do when they got to where they were going.

Five minutes after that they pulled up to a large garage door on a non-descript street somewhere on the south side.

The door opened and Rosetta blinked in surprise.

In a neighborhood run down from poverty and on a street with boarded up windows, the garage door opened onto a nicely appointed apartment with deep plush carpeting, leather sofas and chairs and fine wooden furniture.

"Mi casa tu casa Chava!" Carlos said with a toothy grin.

The door rolled closed behind them and Rosetta looked at Carlos hungrily.

"About time Guapo!" she said playfully.

Before he could register his surprise she placed her lips against his and kissed him. Her tongue darted into his mouth and he grinned.

"That's more like it Chica!" he hissed.

Carlos gasped with amazement as Rosetta fumbled with his slacks. She was like a woman possessed! After two or three violent tugs his pants finally came loose and she pushed them to his knees.