Mia had only been in Los Angeles two days when she got turned around on the winding roads above Sunset. Her phone died right as the sun dipped behind the hills, leaving her in a beat-up rental with no signal and no clue where the fuck she was. She pulled over at a gated driveway that looked like it belonged to someone with money, killed the engine, and stepped out to stretch. That’s when the big guy in the black T-shirt appeared from the shadows.
“You lost, girl?” he asked, voice low and direct.
“Yeah. Trying to get back to the strip.”
He looked her over—short skirt, tight tank, no bra, nipples already tight from the evening chill. “Party up the hill. Come on up. Phone charger inside.”
She should have said no. Instead she followed him through the gate and up the long drive to a sprawling modern house with glass walls and a view of the whole city. Inside, the place smelled like weed, whiskey, and sex. A few people lounged naked around a pool in the back, bodies slick and moving slow. The guy handed her a charger and a drink, then nodded toward a hallway.
“Boss wants to meet the lost girl.”
The boss turned out to be a producer in his forties, lean, salt-and-pepper, already shirtless. He didn’t waste time with names. He just looked at her and said, “Strip. Let’s see what Hollywood’s getting tonight.”
Mia’s pulse jumped, but she peeled the tank off first, then the skirt. No panties. She stood there bare, cunt already wet from the sheer nerve of it. He circled her, fingers brushing her tits, then sliding between her legs to feel how slick she was.
“Fuck, you’re ready,” he muttered. “On your knees.”
She dropped. He unzipped and fed her his cock—thick, heavy, already half-hard. She took it deep, gagging when he pushed the back of her head, saliva dripping down her chin onto her tits. He fucked her mouth in steady strokes, using her like a toy while the guy from the gate watched from the doorway, stroking himself.
When the producer pulled out, he hauled her up and bent her over the wide glass table. One hard thrust and he was inside her, stretching her pussy wide. He didn’t go slow. He slammed into her, balls slapping, the wet sound of her cunt filling the room. Mia moaned loud, pushing back to take every inch. The second guy stepped up, fed his cock into her mouth, and they used her from both ends—producer pounding her cunt, the other guy fucking her throat until tears ran down her face.
They switched. The gate guy took her pussy while the producer sat on the couch and made her ride him reverse. She bounced on that thick cock, ass cheeks spreading, juices running down his shaft. Someone else wandered in, another man, and she ended up on all fours again, sucking one while getting fucked by the second, then the third. They took turns, filling her holes, calling her a lost little Hollywood slut, a cumdump for the hills.
Hours blurred. She came hard on the producer’s cock while the gate guy fucked her ass, the stretch burning sweet. They painted her face and tits and cunt with thick loads, then made her lick them clean. When the sun came up she was still naked on the couch, sore, sticky, used, the producer’s phone number written on her thigh in marker.
“Call when you want another story,” he said.
Mia smiled, legs still spread, cunt still leaking. She wasn’t lost anymore. She’d found exactly the Hollywood she came for.
