I woke up the next morning feeling like I'd been run over by a truck. Every muscle fiber from my chest down to my hamstrings screamed in protest. I realized I'd pushed my completely untrained body far past its limit, trying to compensate for a lifetime of neglect in a single session.
However, the System recognized the investment:
[ATTRIBUTE GAIN: STAMINA]
The rigorous, foundational training with Jess had initiated muscle development.
[STAMINA: +1 Point Applied (Current: 3/10)]
My Stamina had increased a little, but the price was physical immobility. I tried to roll off the bed, but the blinding pain in my biceps and quads was a harsh reminder that I absolutely could not go to the gym today. Any heavy lifting would result in a serious injury, completely derailing the next scene.
Since I couldn't physically train, my focus shifted entirely to the production setup. I had the new equipment, and I was going to use it.
I spent the morning—moving slowly, wincing with every stretch, setting up the finalized studio configuration. I used the new boom arm for the main camera, placing it for a perfect overhead shot that would capture the action clearly.
Then, I installed two auxiliary cameras at strategic angles.
I set Camera 2 at the foot of the Bed.It was low for close-up shots of Sasha's face and torso, which would emphase the raw emotion and her amazing body.
Camera 3 was set on the side angle. It stood on a tripod across the room, providing a wider, cinematic angle that showcased the new lighting and the atmosphere of the room.
I synchronized the three professional cameras, ensuring they would all start recording simultaneously with a voice command. The multi-camera setup was complete, giving me the kind of dynamic editing options that would dramatically boost the perceived quality of the video and justify the x1.5 Scene Quality Multiplier.
Five Hours to Showtime
I looked at the clock. It was late afternoon. Sasha was scheduled for 9 PM.
My body was a wreck. I could barely lift my arms. While my Stamina had technically increased by a point, the residual soreness completely negated it. I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing the heels of my hands into my throbbing thighs.
How the hell am I going to perform for ten minutes tonight?
Sasha had promised a thirty-minute sex lesson, but that would use up my remaining energy before the cameras even started rolling. I was paying $600 for a high-quality, high-stamina performance to silence the critics, and I could barely walk. I couldn't afford to fail this, not after the viral debut.
My brain clicked into pure performance mode. I needed immediate, temporary relief.
I chose to prioritize pain management. I walked to the pharmacy to pick up the strongest legal, over-the-counter anti-inflammatories I could find, along with muscle relaxant cream.
Back in my room, I took two pills, hoping they would dull the acute soreness within the hour. While the medication kicked in, I decided to tackle the second half of the problem—the mental threat.
I ran a scalding hot bath, hoping the heat would loosen the stiffness, and took the phone in with me. I submerged myself up to my neck, wincing as the heat initially hit the inflammation, then relaxing as the tension slowly eased.
With the anti-inflammatories starting to work and the water easing the pain, I focused on the cryptic messages.
The messages were uselessly short: "Big Mom wants to see you," "Red Eye: Meet me at the spot in 6 days."
I launched a browser, trying to connect "Red Eye" or "Big Mom" with any known local gangs, organizations, or even just local nicknames. The System seemed to have wiped Druski's memory clean, leaving only these digital breadcrumbs.
My search yielded nothing concrete. The terms were too generic. Red Eye could be anything from a late-night flight to a local crime boss. Big Mom could be a real matriarch or a reference to a headquarters.
The only thing I knew was that in four days, Druski Hart was scheduled to walk into a potentially hostile situation that the old, weak Druski had created.
I exited the bath, feeling about 60% recovered—enough, perhaps, to survive the shoot, but definitely not enough to relax about the future.
I pulled on a fresh shirt. The stage was set, the cameras were ready, and the pills were kicking in. I was ready for Sasha, but now, I also had a new, cold determination to figure out what kind of trouble I was inheriting.
Sasha showed up at 9:01 PM, precisely one minute late, dressed in a sleek brown coat. My exhausted body—fueled by steak and dulled by pills—was ready, thanks to the mental prep I'd forced myself through.
"You're late,"I said.
"You mean a minute late?" Sasha smiled, dropping her bag inside the door. Her eyes immediately scanned the room, landing on the three professional cameras and the perfectly positioned ring light. "Wow, this is a major upgrade. You really mean business, Druski."
"I don't take business lightly," I told her, my voice low and firm, letting the Swagger attribute handle the delivery.
"Good. Because what you need now isn't business savvy, it's technique." She hung her coat. This time she wore a fishnet dress, a daring, transparent sheath that left nothing to the imagination. My breath caught, my heart pumping fast, and my cock hardened instantly.
The coarse net did little to hide the smooth white curves of her body; instead, it framed the lush fullness of her breasts, with her pink nipples visible as distinct, hardening points behind the mesh. She wore a deep red lipstick that made her lips look wet and juicy, drawing all focus. She looked more stunning than the previous day.
"Thirty minutes. Get your ass over here, Druski. Tonight, we fix your movement and pacing." She moved to the bed, sitting on the edge and facing me, parting her legs slightly. She wore no panties beneath the net. The dark, dense curls of her pussy peaked through the diamonds of the fishnet, wet and ready. The sight was a jolt of pure, professional eroticism, overriding the last of my physical pain.
"I hope you won't disappoint since you went to the gym?" she purred, the question a clear challenge.
"Actually... I have some muscle pains," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. The pain hadn't entirely disappeared.
"I figured. That's why I brought this." She stood up, her curves swaying beautifully, and pulled a small bottle of oil from her coat pocket. "Then we will start with a massage."
"A... massage?" I asked, completely surprised.
"You ever heard of a Nuru massage, Druski?" she purred, her eyes glittering with genuine amusement.
I nodded. Nuru massage videos were favorites in my former life as Jack Morris. I had never had one in real life. The idea of the slippery, skin-on-skin intimacy as a warm-up made my heart pump faster—the perfect blend of pain relief and professional preparation.