A Series of Erotic Events

The Interview (Part 1)

Hannah is tired of her mundane world and chooses to enter the risk of much shadier business. She is not prepared for what waits in store. (This is an exploration of fantasy.)

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Hannah did not actually want to become a porn star. Her life had been riddled by pain and disappointment, and she needed something to remove her from it. Something stronger than the smut in her secret library. Something tangible and real. A new reality. So when an ad from one specific man caught her eye, she replied immediately before she could think better of it.
The tight mini dress smoothed over her body like a second skin as she walked. Eyes ogled her as they passed, men and women alike. Though the street was long and offered plenty the opportunity for a peek, his address was surprisingly close and didn't require a ton of walking to reach the house.
It looked like an ordinary, lived-in suburban home. A car in the curving driveway, neatly trimmed bushes hiding the windows, trees towering overhead. Something scuttled past her feet and Hannah turned to see a small black cat disappear through the hedge. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.
The door creaked open, revealing a pair of suspicious gray eyes. Hannah flushed.
"Er—hi, I'm here for, for an interview?"
She turned her body toward him suggestively, nerves in a tangled mess. Sweat appeared on her trembling palms and she brushed them against the fabric. The man looked her up and down, darted his gaze around the street, then opened the door wider. Hannah stepped through.
The house was surprisingly clean. Based on the description of what the man does, she'd expected a less hygienic interior. Wood floor shone against the artificial light, shoes lined neatly along the wall. The hallway led out to a spacious living room, fully furnished with chairs, a coffee table, ottomans, and a full length couch. The floor cut off into soft beige carpet. It smelled like summer air.
"Wait here," the man gestured to a high-backed chair and left.
Hannah clenched her fists in her lap. Her heart was pounding loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Had this been such a good idea? Before she could answer herself, someone strode in. A much bigger man than the first. His hair was dark and curly, eyes of the same color sparkling from behind a very smug expression. Muscles bulged from his arms, but everything else was fat. Pillows of it. Hands large and capable. He eyed her like a hungry wolf.
Hannah gulped.
"So you don't want to become a porn star, eh?"
She struggled to speak.
"N-no. I-I just need an escape."
"Don't they all," he sighed and ran a hand through his curls. "You are not to take me lightly, Hannah. I break girls like you. Girls who want a name for themselves and be used as a fuck toy, a whore. I train them. I own them. They don't come here for escapes; they come here for their death."
Sweat broke out on her forehead. He grinned.
"But I can make an exception.
First of all, you'll need a better name. I always rename my toys."
Toys.
     Hannah wiped her palms down her thighs.
     "O-okay. What did you have in mind?"
     He assessed her critically, eyes scrutinizing every inch, squinting in thought. He pressed one finger against his mouth. With a smack of lips the name popped out.
     "Aurora."
     She was taken aback, expecting a much smuttier name, like Cherry or Pussycat.
     "Like the princess?"
     His smile was wry.
     "Like a fucked princess. Woken by a much more carnal love."
     Hannah swallowed. The next question blurted forth without much forethought.
     "A-and what shall I call you?"
     His gray gaze leveled with hers.
     "I am your Master."
     He leaned forward, fat rolling, arms bulging as one hand reached for her trembling jaw.
     "And by the time I am finished with you, princess, you will be nothing more than a filthy little slut."
     She couldn't breathe. He sat back and cracked his thick neck.
     "Are we understood?"
     "Y-yes sir," she stuttered. "Er—Master."
     He smiled thinly.
     "Good girl. Now, first things first."
     He heaved himself off the chair and disappeared around the corner, returning with a handful of papers. Smacking them onto the coffee table, he declared,
     "Signatures."
     Hannah blanched at the papers. Enough ink covered their entirety to last a week for her college classes. Headers, articles, bullet points. And of course, the ominous straight line waiting at the bottom. Numbly her fingers grasped the pen, scanning eyes unseeing.
     "You might want to read it before you sign over your soul," the man chuckled, bemused.
     She blushed and picked up the first of the stack. Most of it spouted incomprehensible jargon, though a few familiar words and phrases jumped out. Contract, treatment, accept the risk, I hereby consent. Lists of differing method and circumstance. Check boxes of what she was comfortable with.
     Silently squirming, she placed marks beside what she recognized and even a few she didn't. There were several even she in her quest for total fantasy refused to allow. Some things were better off separated from reality. Every bit of this was real, but Hannah was sure pills would be provided.
     After what felt like hours the pen glided over the line.
     Hannah glanced up nervously into the satisfied expression of the man. As he leaned close to take the binding sheets, a rough whisper sent shivers down her spine.
     "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, Aurora. Your Master is very pleased."
     He planted a soft, lingering kiss to her temple; her first contact.