Taylor Swift pushes my face out from between her legs. She flashes me a cat-that-got-the-cream smile and steps out from behind her desk.
“Thanks, Man Whore. I needed that. Goddamn haters are hating extra hard these days.”
I shuffle out from beneath the desk, massaging my aching jaw. Out of all my clients, she’s the most demanding on my well-trained tongue. I’ve sprained my masseter muscle three times in the last month alone, courtesy of Taylor’s oral needs.
As I rise to my feet, she throws a wad of hundreds at my face. I wince as it bounces off my nose. “Buy some spicy sausages, Kent—I know you love ’em, you cheap piece of he-slut fuckbait.”
“Yes Taylor,” I reply meekly. It doesn’t pay to diss Tadolf.
As I walk out, I allow myself a grin. This isn’t a bad gig, servicing celebrity vajeen with my upcurved wiener and machine-gun tongue. I—
“Hey!” someone screams as I exit Taylor’s Beverly Hills Mansion. “I hired you as my personal fuck-slut! You signed an exclusivity contract, motherfucker!”
Oh SHIT! It’s Megan Fox!
I break into a panicked sprint, arms and legs pumping like pistons. Others join her, screaming for my head on a pike. Christina, Britney, Beyonce…
I hurdle a fence and turn a corner, only to be confronted by Rihanna, Angelina, and Sofia Vergara. Boogersnatch! I turn around, readyto run the other way, when Ariana, Kim, and Giada De Laurentiis box me in.
“Gonna cut your nuts off, cockpig,” Giada crows, slapping a ginsu against her palm. “Roast ’em in extra olive oil, then serve ’em up with a light dusting of Himalayan sea salt! Due to their size, there’ll be plenty for all!”
They break out into raucous laughter.
Fuck it. No options left. I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A throbbing, henna-threaded portal opens before me. From its wondrous center, a lone figure slowly emerges:
Martha Fucking Stewart.
Her eyes narrow with prison-forged anger. “You hairy axe-wounds need to back the hell off. This donkey-cock is mine.”
They all exchange a nervous look—it doesn’t pay to fuck with Martha. But they’re too pissed to let it go. “That’s a giant negative, food-bitch!” Ariana spits. “Kent’s broken his contract—he deserves to suffer!” A chorus of affirmations rises from the mob.
Beneath her trademark bob, Martha’s eyes narrow a little further, into badass glints of eat-yer-face rage. She sinks into a modified horse-stance, blading up against the mob. Her left fist is down and out, her right fist is up and close, like an eighties martial arts star.
“Psionic armor,” she rasps. “Altruan variant.”
All around her, burning lines of glowing light trace outward at different angles, connecting together into a psychomagical suit of armor. Ripples of color wash through the transparent plates, defining each one with a fantastic sheen of graduated brilliance. Last but not least, a see-through visor made of light-woven tech clanks down across her eyes.
Her lips draw back in a terrifying grimace. “Come and get some, you low-down dick-rustlers.”
“RUAAAAAAHHH!!!” They charge forward.
Martha snarls and meets their charge, beating ass like there’s no tomorrow. I slip away in the ensuing chaos, crying and blubbering like the man-bitch I am. This ain’t no place for a fuckpig He-Whore!
Are you an honorable hooker, caught in the evil machinations of horny celebrities? Never fear! Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition Musings, Volume 1 is available here: Musings, Volume 1 If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization! 🙂 🙂 😀
Kent Wayne 
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