Career Boost

Title: Career Boost
Author: Liquidator
Celebs: Rachel Stevens
Codes: MF, cons, reluc, oral, anal, ws
Disclaimer: This story is absolutely, decidedly, unequivocally, indubitably 100% not true. More or less.

Rachel Steven’s career had not been going as well as she’d hoped. Her last solo album had been released in 2005 to decent reviews, but a low chart position, and very poor sales. After this her music career stalled, so like many a washed up popstar, she went off to America to ‘make it big’ in Hollywood – as if being able to sing was the same discipline as being able to act. Needless to say, she didn’t make it big. The best she could manage was landing a blink-and-you’ve-missed-it role in Deuce Bigalow 2 opposite Rob ‘Carrot’ Schneider. Nothing you’d want to put on your CV.

With no roles being offered in LA, Rachel had no choice but to return to the UK, to secure bit-parts in television shows; a Comic Relief spoof here, a Scottish children’s claymation cartoon there (I’m not joking). She was going nowhere fast. Rachel knew her film and television career was over when her agent advised her to accept a role on Strictly Come Dancing, when previously she wouldn’t have given such offers the time of day. She had entered the world of reality television. After Strictly (in which she only came second), and with all her acting opportunities dried up, she made the ultimate decision to restart – or at least attempt to restart – her singing career. It wasn’t going to be easy.

Rachel had been singed with Polydor before she eschewed the music business. It would be impossible to simply walk back into their headquarters and ask if she could make another album. The heads would require a lot of persuasion if they were to grant her an opportunity to make music again. It was time to come crawling back…

My name is John and I work for Polydor. I have no musical ability whatsoever – I’m a numbers man. My job is to sign artists based on how much money they can bring in. I don’t care what type of music an artist makes, I don’t care how good a singer they are (not that it matters with autotune); I just want them to sell units. I don’t even care how good the reviews are. Better a terrible song that sells well than a good song that charts badly.

A few weeks back my secretary told me that she’d got a call from the representatives of Ms Rachel Stevens (I vaguely remembered her as the fit one out of S Club, and I knew that she’d embarked on a so-so solo career, but she hadn’t done anything of note for a few years). She told me that Rachel’s attempt to break Hollywood as an actress had died on its arse (not in so many words), and that she was back home and looking to give the popstar thing another crack. Her agent was wondering if I’d have a meeting with her to see what we could do.

To be honest I didn’t fancy her chances. A quick bit of research showed that her last single didn’t even make the top ten, and that her last album only reached 28. The reviews had been good, but like I said that means nothing to me. I wasn’t sure there’d be much demand for new material from a 32-year-old mother of one (she’d given birth just a few months previously). Still, you never know. Look how many times Kylie came back after people wrote her off, and her music is shite. I was in a good mood that day, so I told my secretary to call Rachel’s people back, and let them know I’d see her in a week’s time – but not to keep her hopes up.

That night I Googled Rachel, having forgotten just how hot she was. And without wanting to be crude, I had quite a wank looking at her pictures. I was looking forward to meeting her in the flesh, to see just how well her body had held up post-childbirth, and just how badly she wanted to get back into the music business.

Over the next few days I formulated a plan; I was going to do the Good Cop / Bad Cop routine, where I’d be playing both parts. First I’d lay on the negativity over how badly her last album had sold, how she didn’t have a big enough fanbase for the label to sign her up again, that there were younger, more attractive girls we could sign instead, that kind of thing. I was going to beak her down, and make it look like the situation was hopeless, before changing tack and telling her how I’d ‘like to help her’. If she relented she’d get another record deal, and if not she’d be back to TV bit parts and voice acting. I wouldn’t take much to convince her what to do.

The day approached when Rachel was due to see me. She was supposed to meet me at 2 o’clock. She was already fifteen minutes late. This didn’t help her chances of securing a new deal, but it only helped my chances of having my way with her. At twenty past, my secretary buzzed me that Rachel was finally here. I asked to send her in. Rachel fumbled with the door and came through.

“So sorry I’m late,” she said, noticeably out of breath.

“That’s okay,” I replied. “Sit down.”

Rachel walked over to my desk. She looked amazing. Her blonde hair was just about shoulder-length. I much preferred it to the brown dye job she’d had recently. She was wearing a little black leather jacket, a white shirt with the top few buttons opened – giving me a nice view of her ample cleavage, and some very tight blue jeans that went just past her knees – which showed off her lovely legs. She had beige leather, high-heeled stiletto shoes. It was a wonderful ensemble; very very sexy, but without looking completely desperate. She had played her wardrobe just right.

She slipped her jacket off, put it over the back of the seat, and sat down.

“So”, I began. “My name’s John. Pleased to meet you. I’ve been in contact with your people, and it seems that you want to get back into the music biz.”

She nodded nervously.

“The problem is,” I continued “you haven’t had a hit in years, and what’s more, you’ve been out of the public eye for quite a while now…”

“Well,” she interrupted. “I’ve had other commitments. Erm, television work, film roles…”

“But nothing notable,” I said bluntly. “You need to be high profile to sell records these days. It’s not about the music, it’s about you. X-Factor appearances, red-carpet photos, magazine shoots, stories in the tabloids. It all stokes the flames that keep you in the limelight and gets your CD on and off the shelves.”

“But I can do all that,” she protested, a quiver in her voice. “I’ll go on all the shows, do the all publicity… I’m always popular in lads mags.”

“You were popular in lads mags. What age are you now?”

“32”, came her reluctant reply.

“Now why would they shoot a 32 year old mum when they can get in some 19 year old firecracker? It’s all about sex appeal.”

“I’ve still got sex appeal”, she protested.

“Prove it.”

Without wanting to seem to obvious, she pushed her chest forward a little, and crossed one leg over the other. Of course, it was going to take much more than that to convince me.

“You’re obviously still a good looking woman, but so are dozens of other pop singers. What are you willing to do in order to stand out from the crowd?”

“Listen”, she said, “I know all the stories about impressionable girls who want to break into the biz, and who let themselved get taken advantage of by shady record industry execs. But I’m too old to fall for that sort of thing… anymore. So you can forget about that sort of thing right away.”

“I’d say you had to spend a fair amount of time on your knees to get into S Club,” I probed.

“Of course I did. So did the other girls, ” Rachel admitted. “It was the only way Simon Fuller would let us in the group. But like I said, I’m past that. And if you expect me to blow you right here in this office then you’ve got another thing coming. I’m not going to degrade myself for the sake of your poxy label.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but if you’re not willing to go the extra mile, then I’m afraid your comeback will be dead in the water before it even gets going.”

With that, Rachel rose from her chair and stormed to the door. She opened it halfway, then stopped and looked back at me. She was desperate to get signed up again, but she knew I wasn’t bluffing about ‘going the extra mile’. It was beginning to dawn on her that her options were limited. No other labels had expressed any interest. Was she going to ‘degrade’ herself – as she put it – for another shot at the big time, or go back to a lifetime of shitty TV shows and relative obscurity? From my point of view it was an easy decision, but evidently not for her. While she thought about it, I admired her wonderful arse, perfectly outlined by those tight jeans. You could see every curve. And those long legs – wow.

Then, after what seemed like an age, she said “I’m sorry… I just can’t do it,” and walked out of my office. I was shocked. I was sure she was going to break. Oh well, no record deal for her I guess. I was hugely disappointed, but some women just don’t have the necessary ambition to make it in this game. Looking at her fine body had made me quite hard, so it was a shame that she turned down my offer.Seeing as I had no more meetings for the rest of the day, and with a certain need to be fulfilled, I went online for some material to wank off to. Naturally the first thing I Googled was Rachel Stevens. Even though there are tons of sexy pics of her on the net, none of them reallt did justice to her in the flesh. After finding a decent enough photoshoot (where she was wearing only a skimpy bikini) I unzipped my flies, took out my erect prick and started stroking.

Fifteen minutes later and nothing was happening. Earlier I was sure I was going to have her for real, and mastrubation just felt like a poor alternative. My erection was subsiding, and I was resigned to give up. Then there was a gentle knock on my door, at which point I hurriedly put my cock back in my pants and zipped up. Who could this be? I didn’t have any appointments.

“Er, come right in.”

Well, who should step in only Rachel. My semi jumped back into action. I noted her attire was slightly different; the jeans were replaced by a short black skirt, and dark brown tights.

“Look, I was thinking…” she said as she walked over to my desk. “I was being unfair earlier… (She started to unbutton her blouse). I’m no position to just waltz in here and demand you sign me up… (She opened her blouse and exposed her black lacy bra). After all, you need your reassurance that I’ve… (Her gorgeous breasts, clearly visible through the material, heaved up and down as she spoke)… still got it.”

Rachel slid her arms out of the sleeves, and dropped her blouse to the floor. She unclipped the side of her skirt, and let it fall away too. She was wearing black lacy panties that matched the bra, and hold-up stockings. I looked her up and down, and it was only then I noticed she was wearing different shoes from before – these were black patent leather stilettos, at least five inches tall – if not six. The panties were noticeably wet. “Well, let’s get down to business then…”

Rachel crawled up onto the desk on all fours, leant forward, placed her hands on my cheeks, and snogged me… very deeply. Her tongue lashed around in my mouth, and made me all the more eager. I’ve always felt that being a good kisser is just as important a skill for a woman to know as giving a blowjob. While I’ve had a lot of girls go down on me in my professional capacity, very few of them are up for a good old game of tonsil tennis. After an age, I felt like my cock was ready to explode. Rachel broke off the kiss and looked down at my lap.

“Oh…we’d better get this sorted.”

She got down off the table, went on her knees, and unzipped my flies and let my prick stand tall.

“Mmm… this looks nice,” she giggled, her gentle hand running up and down my shaft. It was throbbing uncontrollably. I clenched my fists. Looking straight in my eyes, Rachel licked the tip, waited a moment, teasing me, and kissed the end. Then, she took a deep breath, and took it in her mouth. She started some more of that wonderful tongue action, still working the base with her hand, never breaking eye contact, her long hair brushing my thinghs. She cupped my balls with her other hand, and worked them deftly. Rachel was clearly very experienced. I reckon a lot of record label bigwigs had received this special treatment. It certainly wasn’t her signing ability which got her a contract the first time round, and neither was it this time. She leant back, kept stroking me and said “Will just a blowjob do?”

“I’m not sure,” I gasped, desperately trying to play it cool. “I don’t sign up just anyone you know. I think you might need to, er, do a little more.”

“I thought as much” she replied with a smile.

Rachel stopped wanking me off, and got to her feet. She undid her bra, and slowly pulled the straps down, revealing her amazing round breasts. They were lovely and perky. Her pink nipples were clearly hard, and Rachel stroked her fingers around them to illustate this. My eyes were ready to pop out of my head. “You like them?” she asked. I nodded speechlessly. She giggled. Then, Rachel pulled down her panties, revealing a smartly trimmed bush. Most girls are bald these days, but variety is the spice of life. Rachel Stevens was standing in my office, naked only for her sexy stockings, and those killer heels.

“Well, lets get to it,” she said.

I stood up, kicked off my trousers, and undid my shirt. Rachel put her arms around me, raised her right leg, and let me ease my cock into her pussy. It didn’t take much doing, because she was soaking wet. “Ooooh…” she moaned as I stuck it in. Then she wrapped her other leg around me, crossing her heels behind my back. I grabbed her arse with both hands to hold her, and we went at it as hard as we could. Rachel bounced up and down on my cock, her moans becoming louder and louder. “Aah, aaah, aaaah, AAAAAH! Oh yes, oooh YES!” She kissed me deeply for a few seconds, then back to the moaning.

It was hard work having sex standing up with Rachel hanging off my cock, so I walked a few steps forward, and leaned her back over the desk. I took her legs and put them over my shoulders, and ploughed on.

“Oh that’s it baby, that’s it.”

“Oh John…!”

“Oh Rachel..!”

“Oh John…!”

With that she let out a moan that couldn’t mean anything but an orgasm.

Knowing I couldn’t hold on any longer, I pulled out, and let rip. Chords of spunk splashed up her chest, between her tits, and onto her face. Rachel lay back on the desk, panting, and looked down her front.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much cum!” she gasped. “I’m fucking drenched!”

After I’d regained my composure, I handed Rachel some tissues to wipe herself off. We got dressed, and went back to our seats. Still getting her breath back, Rachel asked “So, have I proved I’ve still got it?”

“Almost,” I said with a devilish grin.

“What do you mean?” came her worried reply.

“Well, you proven that you’ve still got it, but you haven’t proven your loyalty. How do I know you’re not going to give up your music career again and give acting another go?”

“Er, I- I- I won’t! I want this for good, I swear. I’ll devote myself full time to the music biz… I…”

“Bend over.” I interrupted. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“No please!” she begged. “I’ve done enough for you. Please, just let me sign the contract.”

“Oh I will,” I reassured her. “I just want you to do one last thing.”

I opened the drawer of my desk, and produced a microphone. I gave it to potential singers when I got them to audition for me. I didn’t have any sound system to connect it to, it was just to make them feel less self conscious, and to get an idea how they would look performing on stage.

“Bend over Rachel. You’re almost there…”

Knowing that she was very close to getting her contract, Rachel obliged. She got up, turned around, grabbed onto the handles of her seat and bent over, showing off her delicious arse. Then, without warning, I took the microphone and started pressing it into her arsehole.

“OH GOD, that fucking hurts!” she squealed.

“Easy now Rachel.” I said, as I pushed a little harder.

The end of the mic slowly but surely disappeared into her hole, and the rest of it soon followed. Rachel started to cry. I slid it up and down, up and down. Then I pushed it in as far as I could, until the whole thing had disappeared up her, with only the chord hanging out of her arse. I waited a few moments, letting Rachel tremble for a while, then I sharply pulled on the chord, the mic creating an audible it came back out.

“Argh you bastard!” she yelped, collapsed on the ground, and rolled on her back.

Then, in a final humiliation, I unzipped my flies, pulled out my cock, said “Let’s wipe away those tears”, and pissed all over Rachel’s face. I wouldn’t have done it if she’s just offered herself up at the start wihout a fuss — this was revenge on her storming off like that. She whimpered, and I dropped the box of tissues beside her.

“Congratulations Rachel, you’ve got your contract” I said as I threw her the pen and paper.

Between sobs she cleaned herself up, and scrawled her name on the dotted line. She pulled her skirt and blouse back on in a hurry, bundled her bra, panties and stockings up into a ball, took her shoes in her hands and hobbled out the door without a word. She may have felt like shit, but I’d just done her the greatest favour; I’d given her the chance to get her career back. It would probably crash and burn like before, but I didn’t care.

I had my fun, and that’s all that matters.

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