Famous Singer Blackmailed: 1/2 – Scandal Unfolds!

Zephyr Luna strides through the dim corridor beneath the stadium, his shimmering outfit clinging to his muscular frame, showcasing his sculpted chest, slick with sweat and glitter. His damp hair, plastered to his head, does nothing to diminish the fact that he’s been rightfully named one of the ten most stunning men on the planet by People magazine.

The stadium roars on, the vibrations seeping through the walls and floors as fans, especially the women, scream for his return. The concert had been an electrifying success—like always. Zephyr is at the top of his game, he’s got it all.

In the hallway leading to his massive dressing room, he brushes past hulking bodyguards in suits, muttering urgently into their earpieces. Every now and then, a young fan—a girl lucky enough to have charmed her way past his team—crosses his path, starry-eyed and breathless.

“Hey, Zep,” one of them, a very young brunette, pulled up her shirt from his merch and showed him her beautiful, perky boobs. Her dark nipples were totally hard, besides it certainly wasn’t even fifteen degrees Celsius in the hallway. Smiling at her, one of the bodyguards grabbed the girl by the waist so Zephyr could pass.

At that moment, Zephyr’s manager, Leo, caught up with him. Leo was considerably older, having managed some of the biggest names in the industry. Not only was he damn good at his job, but he also had the knack for dealing with the diva tantrums of spoilt stars.

“Zep,” Leo called out as he cautiously approached, stopping just within reach, fully aware of how much Zephyr hated anyone stepping into his personal space. In Leo’s hand was a clipboard filled with printed charts and tables, all messily scrawled over in a rainbow of illegible scribbles.

“Not now, Leo,” the singer said firmly. Although Leo clearly wasn’t thrilled about it, he stopped in his tracks, and Zephyr kept striding on alone. Just ahead were three fans, looking utterly adorable. Two of them lifted their tops, flashing him their breasts. One had small but lovely ones, while the other had a pair so massive yet firm they could easily knock someone out. With a cheeky grin, Zephyr paused and eyed the third girl. She nervously smiled, crossing her arms over her chest, keeping her T-shirt with his name on it firmly down.

“Oh, come on now,” Zephyr teased. Her two friends started nudging her and coaxing her along, and eventually, the third girl shyly lifted her shirt. Her breasts were nice too, but the way she hunched over in embarrassment made her look more comical than sexy. Zephyr chuckled, amused, and continued walking. After a few steps, he turned back, gave a quick nod to the girl with the huge rack, and like an eager puppy, she dashed over and began walking right behind him.

In the dressing room, Zephyr’s personal assistant Lee was already waiting for him—a tall, slim blonde with a striking face, free of makeup, and short, neat hair. She was dressed in a sharp black men’s suit paired with a white T-shirt boldly emblazoned with the words Proud Dyke in red. The moment her eyes landed on the petite brunette with the generous cleavage trailing behind Zephyr, she rolled her eyes. Putting aside the phone she had been holding, she expertly fished out a mirror and a small vial from her Dolce & Gabbana cosmetics bag.

By now, the concert hall had fallen silent, and the murmurs of the crowd, swaying towards the exits in varying degrees of drunkenness, had faded to the point where they could no longer be heard in the inner sanctum of the stadium.

The blonde shook some of the powder onto the mirror and with a thin gold razor blade split it into two lines. Then she handed a small, narrow gold tube to Zephyr, who sucked it into his nose with two practiced breaths. He cocked his head, laughed hysterically, and sang a snatch of his greatest hit in a sonorous voice.

“Love sing, love fuck, don’t want to lie to me,” the famous voice carried through the dressing room. His assistant ignored it, but the female fans clapped enthusiastically. He looked at her as if he had forgotten she was there.

With his foot, the singer slid a shabby, odd-looking kneeler over to a massive chair, which he then sat in himself. He motioned to the black-haired woman, who immediately perceived. She excitedly knelt down and reached out her hands to his zipper.

“Boobs,” the singer said in a matter of fact manner, and the girl immediately removed her shirt. He leaned down for a moment, kneading those giant breasts in his hands. They were silky and soft, the stiff nipples sliding between his fingers.

“Your mom called,” the blonde lesbian said as the singer leaned back comfortably in the arm of the chair and let the brunette unzip his pants and pull his supple cock out. She immediately popped it into her mouth and began working it with her mouth.

“She said she had a credit card problem,” Lee continued, but the singer interrupted her.

“My mother has had credit card problems for the last twenty-five years that I can remember. What else?”

For a moment Lee hesitated, and the only sound in the room was a munching sound as the brunette competently did, giving Zephyr a not too shabby head. The singer’s dick was hard and big now, the end of it completely disappearing between the black-haired groupie’s sensual lips.

“Another anonymous mail came in,” Lee admitted. “I really think we should turn them over to the police.”

“Screw that,” the singer growled, grabbing the brunette by the hair and pulling her closer to his lap. The girl started to choke as the celebrity’s cock cut off the oxygen supply in her throat, but he ignored it and continued to talk to his assistant. The girl managed to loosen his grip, she could breathe now and continued sucking on the dick. “Where’s the fucking letter?”

Without a word, the blonde handed over the paper with the words printed in block letters. She started to say something then, but he stopped her with a gesture. He roughly pushed the brunette away until she fell on her back.

“Get out,” he growled. He stood up, his pink cock still sticking out of his pants as his assistant led the crying girl away. Despite the layer of makeup, Zephyr’s face was pale, his lips trembling. He glanced at his watch, the time stated in the letter was less than an hour away. He made up his mind quickly. He dressed in plain clothes, quickly wiped his face with a damp napkin. He thought for a moment, then he reached into the bottom drawer, pulled out his pistol, made sure it was loaded, and slipped it into the belt on his hip.

He walked out into the hallway where his bodyguards were now just standing around. He said he wouldn’t need them anymore and headed for his car. He jumped behind the wheel, revved up the speed, then stomped on the gas and took off hard.

Zephyr, dressed in black jeans and a dark hoodie, his face partially hidden by oversized shades, made his way towards the shadowy figure waiting at the end of a creaky staircase in a run-down building slated for demolition somewhere in LA. Dust hung in the air, though he could barely see it, what with the streetlamps long shattered and the sole remaining one barely lighting the space.

He tried to make out the figure in the dim light. Was it someone he knew?

When he got within five metres, he stopped dead in his tracks. The shadowy figure didn’t budge. Zephyr pulled out a bundle, wrapped in an old newspaper, and tossed it at the person’s feet with a dull thud.

“Hundred grand,” he said, his voice low and firm. “That’s all you’re getting. Not now, not ever.”

Still, no movement. Zephyr shifted impatiently, a low growl escaping him.

“Look, I haven’t a clue who you are. But I know you’re dumb enough to meet me here, in some forgotten ruin, after accusing me of murder. Two mistakes that nearly cost you. So, take the money and forget I exist.”

A soft, melodic woman’s voice replied from the shadows. “That might be tricky, man. Your face is plastered everywhere. I half-expect to see it on my beans tin.”

Zephyr blinked, trying to hide his surprise. “What about yours, love? Why don’t you come out and show me?”

A light laugh filled the air before the glow from a phone illuminated her face. She was stunning—classical features, feline eyes, full lips. And from the glimpse he caught of her figure, it was clear she was breathtaking.

“You can keep your money,” she said. “I don’t need it. What I want… is you.”

He smirked, pulling off his shades and lowering his hood. In the glow of her phone, his clean-shaven head, square jaw, and the finely groomed beard were perceptible, along with the tiny red tattoo on his right cheek—the one that had set social media on fire, and even made it into debates in serious newspapers about what it could possibly mean.

“That’s easy, babe,” he growled, unbuckling his belt. “You didn’t have to send that ridiculous letter full of lies for this.”

“We both know it wasn’t a lie.”

“You’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“I’m offering you a deal. I’ll give you what you want. I saw an old couch downstairs; we could…”

“Oh, you’re a joke,” she snapped. “I’m not some dumb groupie. I don’t want a quick sweaty romp. What I want is simple. I want a baby. Your baby. I want you to impregnate me.”

His eyes widened.

“You’re a crazy bitch if you think I’m touching you without a rubbers.”

“Not just without a condom, I want a full night of passion. I want it until some piss-stained plastic shows I’m pregnant. Then, you’re off the hook.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” he shot back. “Sorry, love, impregnation fantasies aren’t really my thing. But hey, here’s a thought for you. I should call the cops and report you for stalking.”

“Then I’d have to tell them…”

“You wouldn’t tell them shit,” he stepped closer, so near now he could smell her shampoo. “It’s not happening. Forget it. Take the cash and try your luck with someone else.”

He turned to leave. The last thing he heard was her voice, calm and deadly serious.

“You’ll regret it. And when you’re deep in that regret, you’ll change your mind. I’ll be waiting.”

Stick around for the next and final episode—where things really heat up! You won’t want to miss it!

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