One of my chief regrets during my years in the theater is that I couldn't sit in the audience and watch me.
-John Barrymore, 1882-1942 American Actor
CHAPTER ONE
The Story Conference
Hal Mason sloshed water into a gold-veined glass from the carafe at his elbow. He glared at the three hapless employees watching him from chairs on the other side of the gleaming, oval desk.
Dourly he drummed nervous fingers against the desk top, then leaned forward, shifting the Cuban stogy along his meaty, wet lips with undisguised oral satisfaction. His eyes came to rest on the frail, bent shoulders of the colorless woman who sat between the two tight-lipped men.
"Shit!" Mason said. "All you ever get from amateurs is goddamned amateurism!"
He exhaled a serge-blue plume of smoke across the desk top towards them, watching them avert their heads. Then he pointed the ash-laden stub of the cigar at one of them impatiently.
Hal Mason, was sole owner of the three who watched him intently. Each was tied hopelessly to a contract that no one, including Houdini, could have escaped. And if Mason's company, Mason Motion Pictures, was headed for the rocks, then these were among the three rats that would go along with the sinking ship.
"God Dammit, you'll never work again!" he threatened them for the hundredth time that morning. "It the studio goes bankrupt, I'll fix you so that you won't even get work sweeping the streets!"
"Please, please, A.M., you have no need to lose your temper. Just let me explain...."
"Explain, hell" thundered Mason as he removed the cigar from his lips and glared at the man who had tried to placate him. "There's nothing to explain, you jerk! The figures speak for themselves!"
He practically hurled a sheaf of papers across the desk. "Those are the latest figures from the accountants! Our last five pictures have shown a loss of $500,000.00! We couldn't even pay people to sit through them, they were so godammed boring! Even I fell asleep watching your last flop, Murrey!"
Karl Murrey, thin and bespectacled producer-director, flushed. He seemed as if he were about to protest, then, resignedly, Karl shut his mouth and cracked his knuckles under cover of the table.
But of course Mason's information was precise. The studio was on its last legs. With luck, they could just about scrounge enough money together to make one final movie; a last-chance gamble that would either break them completely or give them breathing space.
And, of course, it surely didn't help Karl's battered ego to reflect that it was largely Mason's own fault that there had been such a devastating decline in the box-office takings. Their boss came from the old school of movie moguls. He wasn't content merely to hire producers, directors, stars and technicians; sitting back and letting them get on with their job while he counted the profits.
Mason, it happened, was a frustrated artist himself. And he interfered drastically with every project that came from his studio, giving generously of his "guiding spirit" from conception to world premiere. And when the finished product was badly received...well, he naturally blamed his minions-who had obviously failed to carry out his old fashioned, banal ideas to perfection!
There was nothing that would convince A.M. that his interference at the studio had ruined hundreds of otherwise promising screenplays. The self-important film mogul scoffed at critics who called his pictures "out of date, three years behind the latest trend." And since he had surrounded himself with an army of yes-men, none of his employees dared to tell Mason that if he would only leave the creativity to the people with talent, the film company might be a roaring success instead of a long-standing joke in Ward-our Street....
And in any case, at the age of 40, Karl Murrey, Mason's star producer-director, responsible for most of the studio's early box-office smashes, had grown too dispirited and cynical to make a stand against his employer. He had resigned himself to the now dwindling hope that, against all the odds, he might somehow turn out a movie that was a box-office and artistic success.
Mason had him signed to an exclusive contract-like the rest of his employees--and it would take him years to buy his way out. But if, through Karl's own efforts, the studio had a smash hit, then he might be able to dictate his own terms to the megalomaniacal Mason!
Now for the first time in his career, Karl had worked an ace into his sleeve. Perhaps he couldn't achieve artistic control of one of Mason's pictures, but he had a young man who might be able to succeed where he had failed....
"Certainly you'll agree with me, A.M., " Karl said carefully. "That this studio needs an infusion of fresh new blood. We want a young director-someone who has already proved his talent elsewhere, but hasn't yet made a full-length, big budget movie. And I think I've found just the right person for the job--. "
"Just hold on a godammed minute!" Mason snarled. "I'm running this show! I make the decisions, Murrey-and I'm the person who...."
He ran a hand through his sparse hair. He scowled. The thin black strands looked as if they had been stuck onto the pink dome of his scalp-and Mason would have been slightly less repulsive if he had opted for a Yul Brynner style rather than try vainly to retain what little hair he had left.
"Better take this down, Miss Evans!" he snapped. "I expect you'll be wasting paper, but we may as well have a record of what Mister
Murrey has to say!"
Miss Evans was thin, angular, and bird-like. Now she adjusted her spectacles and poised a pencil over her notebook.
"Let me be frank, Mr. Mason," Karl began hesitantly. "Steve here--. " He nodded towards the long-term screenwriter, author of a dozen scenarios which had been ruined by Mason's front-office blue pencil. "Steve has come up with a damn fine story, but I'm not the man to direct it!"
"Shit, you can say that again!" Mason jeered. "You couldn't direct yourself out of a pay toilet!"
as he had swallowed all the others: they went down more and more easily, Karl found, as Karl swallowed the , he went on:
he thing is, I would like to produce the script, A.M., and the man-the only
jibehe grew older -- , he went on: -- he thing is, I would like to produce the script, A.M., and the man-the only man, I would add-who can truly bring out the qualities of Steve's work, is Demis Fleur!"
"For Christ sakes, I've never even heard of him! Have you heard of him, Miss Evans?"
She glanced up nervously from her pad.
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Mason. I don't think . . , . Oh, wait a minute! Of course! Isn't he the young man who made those award-winning experimental films? An American, isn't he?" Miss Evans was getting excited as she recalled more vividly the work of Demis Fleur. "I saw a couple of them at a preview a month ago. My goodness, they were--! "
"Well, you can knock off the gushing, Miss
Evans!" Mason got up from his desk and began to pace the room-a sure sign that he was thinking profound thoughts. He finally went to the window and stood with his back to them: staring out into the narrow, busy street two stories below, his shoulders hunched and his mouth working noisily on the cigar.
From the position he was sitting in, Mason could see the display windows of three other film companies. Their big glass frames showed stills and advertising posters from current successes, but in his premises in Wardour Street, Mason was reduced to displaying scenes from long-forgotten movies...films which had once made his studio rich and successful. He didn't dare to put his more recent efforts on show: they would merely add fuel to the film-trade wits who thought he was the biggest joke in the industry.
Demis Fleur...Now that Miss Evans had jogged his memory, the name did ring a kind of bell. Mentally, Mason snapped his fingers. He spun around, jabbing his cigar accusingly at Karl Murrey.
"Wait a minute! Isn't he the guy who makes those funky pictures?" Mason's flabby face reddened in anger. "Are you suggesting that I should hire a godammed pornographer to direct one of my movies?"
A placating hand swept the air. It belonged to Steve Dane. Like Murrey, he was a veteran employee of Mason Motion Pictures-and his gentle, 35-year-old face bore deeply etched worry-lines to prove it.
"I wouldn't quite call him a blue merchant, Mr. Mason," Steve offered timidly. "Perhaps you got the wrong impression from the crusading Sunday newspapers. He's made a fortune over in the 'States, but his films are strictly art-they never got into trouble with...."
"Well, you should read the papers more. The great British press would never get a thing like that wrong!" Mason stormed. "If they say he's a pornographer, then....
"Wait a minute! You were saying he made a fortune out of his movies?"
Steve nodded. "And they were shoe-string budgets, Mr. Mason, and they've done fantastic business in the small New York art houses."
"Well, now that makes it a different matter." Mason rubbed his chin, making the big cigar wobble thoughtfully between his chubby lips. "A fortune, eh? And people don't think of them as being filthy? They're not blue movies disguised as art?"
"In my opinion," Steve assured him, "Fleur's work is regarded very highly indeed by all the respectable film critics."
Mason paced around behind them, coming to a stop between Steve and Karl, placing one pudgy hand on each of their shoulders. "In this business you have to make quick decisions," he told them. "And I've just made one! Steve here has produced a damned fine screenplay-under my guidance. Well, this is what we do: We get hold of this Fleur and give him a chance to break into the big time. We offer him the direction of our latest-and possibly our last motion picture!
"The truth is, if this young man doesn't come up with a success for us...we're finished! All of us," he emphasized. "All of us start collecting dole money!"
"I would say you've made a wise choice, Mr. Mason," Karl said enthusiastically. "If you give Fleur a free hand, I'm sure he'll produce a really tremendous film for you. Why--. "
"Who the hell mentioned anything about a free hand?" Mason demanded. His hand left Karl's shoulder and he banged his fist on the desk. "I'll be watching every move he makes! I'll be down on that studio floor every morning...."
"Just a minute, Mr. Mason!" Karl stood up emphatically and walked a few paces away from the bristling magnate. He folded his arms across his chest. "Demis Fleur is a very different type of director from the ones you've employed in the past. He simply won't tolerate interference from the front office! He will only work for you if you stay away from the studio and let him get on with his job. That's the only condition he makes: he's not worried about the size of his salary, about the material you give him to shoot. But he will not direct a film with somebody breathing down his neck!"
"Yeah, now tell me how the hell you know?" Mason asked suspiciously. "Have you met him?
Have you approached him about making a movie for us?"
"Off hand, I'd say I did better than that, Mr. Mason! He's checking-in at a London hotel at this very minute! Before our meeting, I went to the airport and welcomed him to England-on behalf of Mason Motion Pictures!"
"You better be kidding me!" Mason gargled the words, snatching the cigar out of his mouth and waving it impotently. "You went over my head? You actually brought him over from the 'States without consulting me?"
Karl braced himself. He had nothing to lose. Mason couldn't do anything to him...not any more.
"Well, I suppose I took a gamble that you'd approve of the steps I've taken, A.M., " he said quietly. "You're a farsighted, intelligent businessman. But unless you had Fleur right on your doorstep, you might have overlooked him. I invited him to England so that you could see for yourself what a talented, inspired young man he is. Once you've listened to his ideas, I'm sure you'll be convinced that he's the only director who can save the studio from complete disaster!"
Mason peered at him from close range, his face undergoing a series of lightening changes as conflicting emotions altered his expression.
"It is possible you've got a point there," he admitted grudgingly. "We certainly can't sign a well-known, successful director-none of them would work for us! But there are two things I don't like about this guy Fleur...."
Mason ticked them off on his fat fingers as he barked the objections out in his staccato voice.
"First: Steve's script is about London. How can you expect an American to capture the genuine flavor of a city he knows nothing about? Second: I've always insisted on a personal touch in my movies-that's why they're called Mason Motion Pictures. They have my stamp on them, like Hitchcock and Cecil B. De Mille have their stamp on their films!
"But, I'll listen some more. Go ahead-try to persuade me, Murrey. For the first time in ten years you may have come up with an interesting idea!"
Karl squelched his desire to tell Mason that his "personal touch," his "stamp," was what had caused his recent movies to flop so disastrously. He chose his words with care, however, knowing that Mason was already half-hooked on signing Fleur: the main bait being that the American wasn't going to insist on a huge salary....
"In the first place, A.M., I think you'll agree that we want a fresh slant on the image of London. With all due respect to yourself and to Steve, this screenplay doesn't shed any fresh light on the background of "swinging Britain." But if the script were to be interpreted by a foreigner, by a man who viewed London through unjaded eyes, I think we'd have a new slant on the background to our story.
"Do you recall Jerravasi?" Karl pressed, knowing that Mason's inspiration for the projected film had come from "Blow-Up."
"Remember how he took a story about London and made a smash hit out of it? Fleur can do the same thing for you, A.M.! I tell you, the boy's got vision, genius-and a talent for making money at the same time! What more do you want?"
"That's true," Mason muttered reflectively. "Who could have guessed that a wop would make a great movie set in London." He was deep in thought for a moment, his eyes seeing again the vast box-office returns which "Blow-Up" had earned.
"You could be right," he conceded. "But what about my other point? If I'm not allowed to watch the shooting, how do I know the film is going to have the Mason stamp on it? Tell me that, Karl!"
Karl sighed with relief, and noticed that he was being addressed by his Christian name. That could only mean one thing: Mason was feeling well-disposed towards him again.
"That can easily be taken care of, A.M., " he replied confidently. "I'll produce the movie, of course, and that means that I'll keep a very close eye on Fleur's interpretation of the script. If I feel he's not making the movie in exactly the way you'd like it...well, I'll be on hand to correct him, won't I?"
The silence was pregnant while Mason digested Karl's persuasive arguments. Then:
"Now here's the way I see it then. We want to make a sexy picture, not too sexy-just enough titivation to sell it at the box-office. That's the latest trend. Put in some realistic love-scenes, semi-nude girls and loads of erotic suspense. You know what I mean? Make the audience think they're going to see everything, but fade out discreetly at the critical moment!
"Steve has written a script that tears the lid off Swinging London once and for all! In my opinion, this movie is going to be a 1969 version of the "Pilgrim's Progress"-a young girl's journey through the sin and excitement of modern life...until she finds salvation in the last reel!
"The girl is tempted on all sides by vice and sex: with a few perversions thrown in along the way. (We'll have to skirt around these, of course-hint at 'em, keep the audience constantly titivated). But all the time we come down hard on the emptiness of the lives around her. It's a morality play, right? And we get the best out of the situation, because we're going to appeal to the sensation-hungry public and to the Moral Re-Armament people!
"So we capitalize on the fact that we've got an American director. We emphasize in the publicity-are you getting all this, Miss Evans? Good-that we're using a Yank to tear aside the veil of secrecy because no British director would dare to expose what really goes on in London today!"
Pausing for breath, Mason scratched his crotch. He invariably got carried away at moments of crisis like this. And, curiously enough, he genuinely believed that he was having original and dynamic ideas when he launched into a description of his latest projects....
Deep inside, Karl was groaning at the sheer banality of Mason's vision. As usual, he was turning a good screenplay into a travesty of its original conception. By super-imposing a wildly out-of-date expose of "swinging London" on Steve's script, Mason had reduced the whole thing to a collection of clich�s and platitudes. Their only hope was to take the production out of his hands; make the picture the way it should be made-and demonstrate to Mason that his studio could only survive if he stopped interfering with the creation of its films and confine himself to administration.
This happened to be a case where there was nothing more to be said about the "London Scene": every other British studio had long ago exhausted the subject.
Mason spent the rest of the morning elaborating what was now tacitly referred to as "his" idea. Karl let him get away with stealing the inspiration. After all, it didn't really matter at this stage if Mason got the credit for discovering Demis Fleur. When the picture had its premiere, when it turned out to be a completely different (and far more superior film) than Mason had envisioned, then Karl Murrey would reap his just reward....
After the main business of the conference had been concluded, Mason told Miss Evans to make an appointment for Fleur to dine with him that evening. "Meanwhile," he instructed the girl, "Go down to see my lawyers and get a draft contract drawn up. I'll approve it this afternoon and with luck, we can sign Fleur tonight and get things moving."
He smiled like a benevolent uncle at his producer and screen-writer.
"So there you are, see?" Mason grinned. "I've saved us from ruin once again! Let this be a lesson to both of you: Never give up hope-there's always a ray of sunshine around the corner, if you know where to look for it!"
Karl really knew his boss was feeling optimistic when Mason produced a bottle of 12-year-old Scotch from his locked bottom drawer and poured a generous measure into four tumblers. They toasted the successful outcome of Mason's interview with Fleur, and after gulping down his second glass of whisky, Al Mason began-predictably to grow nostalgic for "the good old days"....
"Wanna know something, my friends?" he began, his voice maudlin and gratingly sincere. "I've been in this business for thirty years now. And I've seen some pretty drastic changes come over the industry in that time, believe me. But I never thought the day would come when we'd see the entertainment business taken over by the sex sellers!
"Just pause a moment and take a good look at what's happening in Scandinavia-or in the 'States, too, for that matter. They're making movies that show everything! And I mean everything! Sex, sex, sex! Pandering to the lowest public taste." He shook his head sorrowfully. "Even I'm reduced to putting titivation in my pictures to try and sell 'em!"
Karl sighed deeply, his mind anticipating every word Mason uttered. This wasn't the first time they'd heard this particular lecture, and it wouldn't be the last. Mason trotted out his sermon against the decline in cinema standards at the drop of a hat. Nothing could stop him once he got wound up....
"They certainly don't make pictures the way they used to," Mason mourned. "Good, escapist entertainment; movies that were healthy and fit for all the family to see. You remember them, don't you, Karl? And you're only thirty-five, aren't you, Steve? What happened to all the talent that was around when we were kids? Remember those warm, sentimental films that made you sort of glow inside? People like Greer Garson, Walter Pidgeon? And over here in England: Margaret Lockwood, Robert Donat....?
"As far as I'm concerned, someone has got to get hold of that godamned pendulum and give it a swing back towards decency! And we're the studio that's going to do it!"
Now Mason was warming to his subject, and actually crying into his whisky: big, fat tears trickling down his cheeks as he felt the spirit of revivalism stirring within his fat frame.
"Sonofabitch! We really will, Karl! We're going to create a film that will start a whole new trend in the motion picture industry! Wholesome, decent entertainment for everybody! No nudity, no sex, no lust...."
"Pardon me A. M., but aren't you forgetting something?" Karl asked tentatively. "There is a certain amount of, well, titivation in Steve's script. You asked him to put in those scenes yourself!"
Mason checked his flow of evangelical gush.
"Hmm, that much is true," he mused. "I was forgetting. We shall need several beautiful young girls for this film! Really beautiful, Karl, no tramps, no hard-faced bitches! I want only the most voluptuous, well-rounded, sweet-faced actresses to play in this picture!" He licked his lips. "Who have we got under contract at this moment?"
Karl suppressed his amusement at the abrupt change in Mason's priorities. His boss was sincere enough in his yearning for the "good old days," but the nostalgia was easily outweighed by the profit factor.
"Off hand I'd say there are one or two girls we can use," Karl told him. "But Fleur has a couple of actresses in his "Crew" that he thinks will be ideal for parts in the film."
"Crew! What the hell is a 'Crew'? What do you mean?"
"That's merely a name for his entourage," Karl said carelessly. "You know: like Sinatra's Clan and Bogart's Wolf Pack. They're a bunch of people who go everywhere with him-act in his movies, boost his ego, work for him as cameramen...things like that. Mostly, I suppose they're flies buzzing round the honey-pot-but from all I've heard, they're a pretty talented set."
"Crew, huh!" Mason sounded dubious. "Well, I'm relying on you, Karl, to see that they don't try to take over the studio. You know what I mean? If the only way we can get Fleur to work for us is to put up with his "Crew," O.K. And I'm also willing, just this one time, to go against my better judgment and let him make the film completely on his own-without my help! But you keep a close watch on them, Karl. I'm trusting you to see that these characters don't try to pull a fast one!"
"Just rely on me, A. M. There won't be any problems I can't handle."
"That's for goddamned sure!" Mason told him darkly. "When I see the first preview of this film, I expect to be watching a masterpiece! We'll go into details later, but I want to make one thing clear right now, Karl:
"We will make certain the spiritual quality of Steve's script must be emphasized! Like I said before, this is a very moral picture-and although we depict some of the things we're criticizing about modern life, the audience must feel that we're one-hundred-percent against them! In other words, keep the dirty bits to a minimum!"
Karl nodded and stood up.
"I'll go and arrange the other details, if you'll excuse me, A. M. I expect we'll be doing a lot of the shooting on location, but the interiors can be done at Elstree.
"Well, alright then," Mason growled. "You go and take care of the minor matters, Karl. That's what I pay you for! Oh, one more thing: after you introduce me to Fleur tonight...vanish! I want to have a heart-to-heart talk with the boy-wonder-in private!"
It appeared that the crisis was under control, Mason was reverting to his old, aggressive personality. Which meant that he treated Karl, his executive producer, as if he was a mere lackey, a glorified office boy. Karl retired with Steve Dane and consoled himself by muttering under his breath:
"Each dog has his day, Mason! And I'm going to have mine! You won't be able to stop me from getting full credit for this brain-child!"
Karl Murrey was too flushed with his double success to consider the possibility that Fleur had an ulterior motive in accepting this assignment from a down-at-heel, practically bankrupt British film company. He had persuaded a rising American director to visit England on the mere chance that he would be offered a movie to direct. And, against all the odds, he had talked Al Mason into an unprecedented support of his brain-wave!
Murrey didn't stop to think that Demis Fleur might have reasons of his own for making the trip to England. Why should he? With everything tied up so smoothly and neatly, Karl simply basked in his success; content to bide his time until Fleur finished the film and he could collect the accolades.
The only hard thing was the waiting....
CHAPTER TWO
"The Arrival"
"Man oh man, oh man, oh man! Talk about creating a scene, I thought I'd crap out! I thought that hotel manager would drop a load right then and there when we trooped across the fuckin' lobby and he saw old Demis, mirror glasses and all! The whole joint just froze, man, like they couldn't believe it was happening!" The comment came from a sport-shirted, hippie type in his early twenties, with sideburns that sloped down the jawline of his square face and turned into the edges of a mustache.
"If that producer-type, what the hell was his name...Murrey, I think...if he hadn't said he was responsible for the bill...."
"You wanna cool it, baby?" The shrieks of laughter and the excited buzz of conversation from the group stilled as though my magic. The hotel room, packed with bizarrely-dressed people and a mass of newly-unpacked photographic equipment, fell silent at the sudden, high-pitched command.
The command came from a well-built young man who suddenly stood up from the center of the room. He was wearing a bright, button-down shirt, tight white pants and dark glasses with mirror lenses-so that his eyes were completely hidden from view and anybody who looked at him saw their own faces reflected and distorted. His face was pale; his thin, flat hair pure white. From all outward appearances he should have been the most insignificant man in the room; and yet there was a magnetism about his personality, a nervous, uneasy intensity which made him impossible to ignore.
Demis Fleur was his name.
"There's a couple of things I gotta do-privately! Go on back to your own rooms. I'll give you a buzz when I want you."
The group broke up rapidly. They began to shuffle through the open door as if Fleur's dismissal had deflated their egos. And one girl in particular was on the brink of tears as she moved past him, her eyes downcast. Her name was Lillian Trent. She was dark-haired, the sweeping raven tresses flowing freely over her shoulders and halfway down her back. And although she wore no make-up, her lace was naturally beautiful; its small red lips and very fine features making Lillian look like a wistful, innocent ing�nue.
Suddenly Fleur reached out a hand and stopped her, drawing her back into the room and kicking it shut behind the others.
"You wait behind, baby," he murmured. "You stay for a while!" Fleur swung her into his arms, releasing Lillian's hand and holding her against him, pressing both his hands firmly into the cushions of her buttocks.
She was wearing a tight, black leather micro-skirt. A silk blouse, its first three buttons open, covered the top half of her body-and a thin silver chain around her neck swung down into the cleavage between her breasts. She was shoeless and her legs were bare: and although Lillian was quite a tall girl, the absence of heels made her appear small and slight beside Fleur's rangy six-foot frame.
"You dig being back home, Lillian?" he asked, rocking the girl against him so that their bodies bumped sexily together. "It's been a long while, hasn't it?"
Lillian Trent had been born and educated in London, but her parents had emigrated to the United States when she was fifteen. Now twenty-four, the girl had spent her adolescence in the hothouse of American culture, Hollywood. And when Demis Fleur had invited her to join his "Crew," living a communal existence and experimenting with the new art-forms which were being evolved, she had said a swift goodbye to her middle-class background and taken the plunge.
Just as had everyone else who'd come into direct contact with the self-styled young genius, Lillian had fallen completely under Fleur's spell. He seemed to reach out and grab hold of life-trying to cram as much experience as possible into the brief span of years which had been allotted to him. At the same time, he was no dilettante. He didn't dabble in the arts; he immersed himself deeply, until he felt that he had exhausted the attraction they possessed for him. Then he would move on to something else.
Only two years ago, painting had been his chief interest. And Fleur had quickly won a reputation as the most talented of the Pop Artists: a reputation which he dismissed as carelessly as an old girl friend! Critical acclaim meant nothing to him. Fleur didn't want adulation from the squares-from the glossy magazines and the public. In fact, directly he sensed that he was becoming "fashionable" or a cult-name in a particular art movement, he abruptly dropped his interest and went on to something else.
Right now, movies were his prime concern. And the question which he refused to answer, even to people like Lillian Trent who were closest to him, was: "Why go over to England and make a film for a crummy third-class British studio?"
Not a single human being on this planet could accuse him of selling out to the commercial film industry. Over in Hollywood, Fleur could have signed a contract guaranteeing him five times as much as Mason Motion Pictures was offering. No, it wasn't a question of money....
"But for God sakes why?" Lillian asked Demis again, snuggling close to him. "Why come over here to make a film? You could--. "
Demis rubbed his hands possessively over her fine, well-fleshed buttocks.
"That's okay," Fleur whispered into Lillian's hair. "Don't worry-I'm going to tell you! That's why I called you back, so that you could be the first to know about my little plan!"
He began to giggle secretively, and Lillian-turning her face to look at him-saw her own eyes reflected in the mirror lenses of his glasses. What was going on behind those mirrors, she wondered
-for perhaps the millionth time since she had first met Demis Fleur. He worked damn hard at being enigmatic. The only time he ever took his glasses off was....
At that very moment, Fleur took one hand from her buttocks and unhooked the black plastic frames from his ears. He flipped the dark glasses off and tossed them onto a chair, blinking rapidly as the pupils winced at the sudden light.
"But before I tell you, Lillian...."
Instantly she knew what he wanted. His pale blue eyes held an expression of desire and she could feel his rod moving against her crotch. Smiling, Lillian slid down onto her knees. Her hands reached up to the wide, studded belt at Fleur's hips and she began to unfasten it.
Very slowly he unbuttoned his shirt, as though enjoying the feel of the fabric. He slipped his arms out of the sleeves as Lillian gently drew down the zipper of his pants and started to pull them over his thighs. Lillian got them as far as the patent leather boots which covered Fleur's ankles, then paused while she unlaced them and helped to pull them off.
Now he stood on one foot at a time, resting his hands on the girl's black hair, a faint smile of pleasure on his thin, aesthetic lips. When Lillian had worked the boots and the pants off, she slipped her hands up Fleur's legs and quickly pulled down the small blue underpants-jerking them swiftly over the rising bulge of his penis and making the half-erect weapon bobble violently as it came free of the under-briefs.
Stark naked now, he stood in front of her. Lillian put both her hands on the backs of his thighs, moving herself forward against him until her mouth was brushing him and her breasts pushed against his knees.
Slowly she began to kiss him, her moist, parted lips caressing Fleur's thick pendulum until the weapon grew quickly fatter and reared upwards against his belly. Lillian wasn't using her hands. She kept them on Fleur's thighs, fondling the tops of his legs and playing bob-apple with his penis: her lips chasing and kissing at the thick length, then letting it escape her for a moment or two....
After she had worked it to a fierce, stiff erection, its surface skin taut and showing the bright red underside, Lillian moved her mouth away. She surveyed the glistening wet knob for a while; watching it pulse and throb as she slowly stripped off her own clothes.
In order to remove her skirt and panties, Lillian had to get up from her kneeling position-and this meant also that the girl's body rubbed sleekly against Fleur as Lillian raised herself gradually to her feet. They kept their bodies in close proximity, the contact of their bare flesh making Lillian's nipples perk up to a proud, ripe erection-the buds pushing sveltely into Fleur's stomach and chest as she came upright.
Now the hot thickness of his manhood stuck rigidly into Lillian's loins, making a firm indent in her flesh just above the curl of her navel. She unhooked her black skirt and let it slither down her thighs and legs to the floor. The leather material fell in folds around her ankles, and Lillian stepped out of it-making the discarded skirt rustle as she kicked her feet free of it.
In only her panties, the young English girl wriggled for a moment against Fleur's naked body. She squirmed herself backwards and forwards, then from side to side; holding the American around his waist and leaning slightly back in his arms so that their loins made constant contact....
Now his hands were moving from the lush outward swelling of her half-covered hips, Fleur dipped his fingers into the waistband of her briefs. He began to tug them down over Lillian's ass, putting his hands palm-downwards against the soft, curving flesh of the cheeks.
The young and beautiful girl kept her thighs tightly pressed, helping him to lever the pants over her upper legs. And when the tiny briefs were eased past her crotch, leaving the triangle of pubic hair completely uncovered, Lillian stooped slightly and caught hold of the sides of her panties-jerking them quickly the rest of the way to her ankles.
Now she eagerly got out of them and remained in a crouching position in front of Fleur. After its stimulating friction against the warmth of her body, he had risen to a full-blooded erection: the hard muscle of his prick reared powerfully, its foreskin pulled tautly back under the pressure of its angry surging.
Lillian next dropped onto her knees. She pressed the palms of her hands prayer-like together, sandwiching Fleur's penis between her fingers. Its fat length was hot to her touch, but strangely soft despite the vigor of its stiffness. Experimentally, the girl tightened her fingers, squashing Fleur's weapon more securely in her palms. Yes, its outer skin was quite smooth and tender...still moist from her earlier kisses.
She took a hold of it firmly, bending the crown of the shaft towards her mouth. Once again it slid between Lillian's lips-her velvet-soft tongue rubbing along its base and bringing a gasp of appreciation from Fleur as he felt the girl's lips closing tightly around his weapon.
Lillian had to be the best damned head job he had ever known! Little Lillian Trent...by Christ, she knew just how he liked to be kissed and gobbled!
Now it was slowly disappearing into Lillian's mouth. The girl was panting as she took more and more of the thick flesh between her lips, its pulsing meat cramming past her teeth and now driving backwards and forwards as Fleur urged his hips in a hard, sexual rhythm.
After he was well and truly sucked, his sperm almost ready to rise, Fleur wound his fingers more tightly into Lillian's long Mack hair. He turned the locks, knotting them around his thin, white fingers and then savagely jerked the girl's head up and down-a gleam of hot excitement in his eyes as he heard the half-stifled moans which were escaping from Lillian's lips.
Lillian had learned to expect this. When Fleur grew lustful, when his passion became too intense, he couldn't restrain himself from hurting the person who was giving him his pleasure. And when, in her turn, Lillian began to use her teeth...biting down on the throbbing length of him and deliberately causing him pain...she, too, felt a strange joy spreading through her body.
Now the all encompassing intensity of their game increased. Lillian, by bearing down on Fleur's weapon with her teeth, had released a new fury in the American. He brought his knee up and started to grind it into the plumpness of her breast; jabbing with short but painful blows into the voluptuous white mound, making Lillian breathless with sharp yet pleasurable pain.
His hands felt as if they were tearing out her hair by the roots! Fleur's fingers twisted and writhed, slamming her face back and forth so that her mouth slid almost free of his staff; then came suddenly backwards along its length to swallow it to the bushy, wiry hilt!
Suddenly, fiercely, he slammed at the back of her throat; he held her steady, while his loins trembled against her face. For the space of perhaps five seconds they held the motionless tableaux.
Now, brutally, Fleur shot a thick gusher down Lillian's throat!
And then it came. It came rushing out of the tiny slit, spraying steaming cum into the girl's helpless mouth, while Lillian gagged and felt her face going red with the sudden outburst.
He roared out his passion. He was holding her rigidly in position, waiting for the last spasm to erupt before he released the pressure of his hands and allowed her to move her lips along the wet, still quivering stem and escape from its choking.
Tiny flecks of white froth clung to Lillian's mouth as she brought her face free and fought for air. He had ejaculated so much that dribbles were still escaping and clinging to the girl's soft red lips.
Cruelly, roughly, his breath coming in harsh rasps, Fleur pulled Lillian to the bed. He threw her down on the coverlet, not bothering to draw back the sheets, and bent over her-watching as the girl's nude body bounced sexily on the well-sprung mattress.
Now her perky, rose-spiked breasts shook like jelly, then quivered until they were again motionless. Her hands remained at her sides, her legs open, her eyes closed in passive surrender.
Demis began to run his hands greedily over her charms, pinching the flesh of her thighs, moving over onto her stomach and kneading roughly the firm, flat skin of her abdomen. His fingers were cruel: they raised red weals on Lillian's white body, marring the beautiful flesh of her breasts with temporary, but ugly-looking blotches....
Lillian groaned under the torment. She knew that his first climax had been only a preliminary. He wanted to ensure he didn't explode into orgasm too soon, while he was enjoying the kind of sex which he really loved!
Of course Lillian had been through this kind of scene too many times with Fleur. She had come to derive a certain amount of pleasure herself from his sadistic, rough usage of her body....
Now he was attempting to roll her upon her belly. He had discontinued fingering her pussy. Lillian turned obediently, tensing herself, then forcing her body to relax as it awaited the next stage of Fleur's perverted love-making.
He clamped his hands onto her ass, spreading the cheeks wide and positioning himself so that he could stare into the division his hands had made. The rudely stretched globes lay directly below Fleur's face: and in the center of the ripe, nude buttocks reposed Lillian's small, tightly wrinkled anus.
Her little hole was forced open by the attitude of her ass. It winked up at him, a faintly brown orifice with tender pink flesh surrounding it; the indentation itself looking moist and very vulnerable...as if it might tear very easily if pressure were brought to bear on it.
Fleur juggled her cheeks slowly, making them wobble seductively, the heavy orbs pliant beneath his hands as Lillian kept her muscles deliberately slack for him. He could see the faint marks where the edge of her panties had cut into the soft white flesh. The barely discernible lines scored into the ripe mounds a little distance from the curve of the cheeks, since Lillian wore briefs that fitted very snugly and tightly around her crotch and buttocks.
Now he raised the beautiful globes-there, just under the natural indent of her flesh crease, was a firmer, more pronounced indentation-where the reinforced silk of the panties had bit lovingly into the girl's ass, molding securely to the jutting flesh and providing it with a tight swathe of semi-protection.
Fleur began to dig the fingernails of his right hand into the resilient flesh of one buttock. With his free hand he delved deeply into the wide crease between the cheeks; spreading his fingers so that they could touch as much of the warm, intimate skin of Lillian's butt as possible.
At first he merely stroked across the sensitive bud of her anus, feeling the girl squirm involuntarily as his fingers roamed over the pouting hole of her back passage. He tickled the place, re-crossing and re-crossing it with the very tips of his fingers until the poor girl was in a state of frantic anxiety....
"My God! Please!" she moaned into the pillow, tightening her little hands into fists. "Oh, please, Demis! Don't torment me like this!"
Cruely, almost viciously, he smiled at her, savoring her pleas and having not the slightest intention of answering them.
"Hey, baby, what's the matter? Don't you like what I'm doing to you?"
Lillian gasped. "Oooh!" She tried to tighten the muscles of her ass but Fleur was holding the left cheek too tightly-and his other hand was, in any case, firmly thrust between the pouting, uptilted orbs.
"Look baby, if you don't like it...., " he warned, "I may have to tie you down! Now, you don't want me to do that, do you, darling?"
"Oh my God no! I'll-I'll keep still! Honestly I will Demis! Please don't tie me up!"
She could already hear him delving into one of the open suitcases which lay on the floor of the hotel room. His hand had left her ass, only one set of fingers remaining to press her tightly down into the coverlet. And soon she felt the harsh fiber of a rope being passed over her...as Fleur trailed it teasingly across her bare back before tightening it in a clever loop over one wrist.
There was really no point in her attempting to struggle. Lillian knew from past experience that the result would be the same whatever she did. Despite his slenderness, Fleur was a wiry and extremely strong young man. However desperately she might try to stop what he was doing to her, in the end he would prevail....
A violent trembling began throughout her entire body as Fleur went about his task of roping her wrists to the top of the bed and her ankles to the bottom-in both cases, keeping her limbs as far splayed as they would stretch. Lillian's shuddering was part-fear, part-anticipation. She had been introduced to the by-ways of normal sexual experience a long time ago-but whenever Fleur imposed his will on her and forced her to submit to whatever kinky delights might please him, she felt a suppressed excitement that was in sharp contrast to the revulsion and disgust which one part of her mind endured.
It seemed, as Fleur had philosophized so many times, merely an attempt at reviving a jaded palate. There was nothing essentially perverted in any human action-and if he chose to render his sex-partner utterly helpless on occasion...well, what harm did it really cause to either of them?
And he was just as willing, if the mood took him, to adopt the passive role himself. But this time, possibly to celebrate some private triumph of which Lillian knew nothing so far, Fleur wanted to take her while she was bound and helpless....
She began feeling his hands pulling on the ropes to make absolutely sure that she was trussed and unable to do more than squirm impotently, Lillian tingled with strange excitement. Her limbs were stretched out, her arms slightly raised so that her breasts just brushed against the silky coverlet; causing her nipples to itch with an erotic, disturbing ticklishness. She was lying face down, her long, white legs forming an inverted "vee:" the lips of her sex unavoidably drawn open by the stance her thighs had been forced to assume.
Fleur next double-checked the knots, then again passed his hands lovingly over his victim's body. This time, his fingers gloated with the lightest possible touch-barely making contact with the girl's nude flesh; running like a feather over the inside of her thighs so that Lillian writhed in sweet torment, awaiting the more intimate fondling which she knew would not be long delayed....
One more time, his hands pried open the beauty of her butt cheeks. Again, Fleur examined the tiny hole of her anus with his eyes-stretching the milky-white globes apart and letting his fingers sink deeply into their giving, pink flesh.
Now he burrowed a long forefinger into the crease and this time inserted it into Lillian. The digit described a continuous circle as it moved inwards, worming around and around, slowly separating the inner skin to make way for his inspection of the tiny hole.
The flesh yielded without fuss to his finger after it had surged in an inch or two. Fleur's face was now but a short distance away watching as the finger sunk out of sight, prodding obscenely forward into the tightness of Lillian's butt and examining the soft, moist opening.
Fleur's penis, however, was still lying limply in front of his loins; it required more stimulation before it would again resume its potency. But Fleur was in no great hurry. The first wave of his desire had been dimmed by his climax in Lillian's mouth-and he intended to prolong the exquisite tormenting of her helpless body.
Casually, he frigged his forefinger in and out of the girl's lusciously tight butt. And his other hand slid beneath her body, under the lush whiteness of her belly and, palm-upwards, to the bushy mound which flourished above her sex.
A soft, sweet piteous series of moans were being wrung from Lillian as she lay defenseless, facedown on the bed. Her body arched and vibrated with desire; the softness of her tummy moving under Fleur's fingers as he slowly groped them further down and began to fondle his way into her long, wet-lipped femininity.
Now her pubic hair parted, the strands falling back as he tickled his fingers through the heated forest and felt them touch the intimate, incredibly soft mouth of Lillian's open gash. Like a stiff and enlarged nipple, her clitoris pulsed against his probing finger. The red gristle was covered with love cream, coated in a generous layer of the girl's love-juice and itching so powerfully that she could hardly stop herself from screaming out loud....
Fleur had a particularly long nail on his index-finger. It curved out from the digit in a wicked, sharp talon, and he now used it to scratch lightly but tormentingly at Lillian's highly sensitive little organ.
Lillian thrust her face down into the pillow, stifling the urge to yell and shriek with a truly overwhelming ecstasy. The ropes chafed against her wrists and ankles as the girl thrashed with wild passion; but the tightness of her bonds was scarcely felt by Lillian now. She could feel one part of her body being teased and tickled-and this was the part where she most wanted to feel a strong, powerful touch!
Fleur was driving her slowly insane with his very deliberate and very gentle fondling of her little groove. He was judging the pressure of his fingernail with great precision: making the contact with her clitoris so that Lillian was tormented almost beyond endurance. Softly and tenderly, he roved his other fingers carefully into the actual hole of her quim-bunching them up so that the three smaller fingers were completely inserted in the small but elastic slit.
All the while, his thumb remained outside her wound, thoughtfully pressing and relaxing against Lillian's lower pubis; prodding the slight bulge with a slow, methodical tapping that was almost as hard to bear as the rest of his "treatment."
Never could you find a doctor who would have been more considerate, more gentle! Lillian squirmed and writhed in vain: he simply refused to give her the fierce, glorious frigging for which her cunt yearned!
However, his fondling of her anus was nevertheless sadistic and punishing. Fleur-s forefinger dipped in and out of the smaller orifice, thrusting down into the tiny space with brutal lust-almost as if his two hands belonged to completely different people! One was behaving with maniacal fury-frigging without mercy in and out of Lillian's sore and flushed anus-while the other was being far too kind and gentle with the girl's quim.
By now, Fleur had regained his potency. His shaft stuck up proudly once more, its thick crest pulsing against Lillian's out-flung thigh as she lay powerless as a trussed turkey...her body totally at the American's disposal!
Lillian could feel it beating and riding on her flesh; the vigorous throbbing and the concentrated heat making the prick seem to her deranged senses like a red-hot branding iron....
Fleur began breathing deeply again, fighting to control his lust and the urge to throw himself on top of the girl and lay her. A violent contest raged within him. He wanted to screw Lillian-but the sensations which her helpless body was giving him were too agreeable to be easily thwarted. He knew that despite all her efforts-and Lillian was working her entire body in frenzied abandon, pumping her butt, and the lush beauty of her hips up and down-she could never reach a complete orgasm unless he helped her.
Certainly, she might be able to revolve her loins, screw them round and round to create as much friction as possible inside her quim...but Lillian's climax would be incomplete and puny-giving her more frustration rather than the fulfillment she needed so desperately....
Now Fleur managed to sustain his tormenting of the girl for another ten minutes before his own lust compelled him to use his pole on her. Snarling, he twisted both his hands away from her and swung himself on top of her body.
Lillian gasped as she felt his weight plumping down on her back, his belly coming down hard and riding into her buttocks. But she breathed a silent prayer of thanks all the same. At last-at last! She was going to be screwed....
Fleur now grabbed his length and thrust his stiff meat down under Lillian's thighs. He rubbed it briefly along the parted slit of her slot, then strained forward so that the eager length of his sex could begin its penetration.
"My God! Aaahhhhhhh!" Lillian's body shook from head to toe with emotion as she felt the hard rod sinking quickly into her soaking snatch. It rode up and up...pushing strongly against the wet flesh and separating the walls of her slit until they stretched to their limit. She tensed her hips and pushed backwards, at the same time raising herself as much as her bonds would permit so that she could feel the cock deep in the secret depths of her quim.
Fleur now thrust upwards until Lillian's slot had accepted every inch of his dick. Then, manhandling the globes of her ass, he twisted the cheeks cruelly open so that he could feel the heat from her rear passage burning against his crotch. Pressing down hard, he kept the girl's buttocks apart with his body-freeing his hands and enabling them to reach upwards towards the ripe prize of her breasts.
As his fingers closed around her teats, Fleur started with a fierce, ramming rhythm; withdrawing his rod and urging it forward into the sticky depths again to the accompaniment of wild cries and grunts of desire.
With his stick half buried to the hilt in the satiny mounds of her breasts, both of his hands twisted and tore at the yielding tit-flesh. They mauled and groped at the beautiful orbs, pressing them tightly against one another, pulling them downwards, thrusting them up so that they creamed thrillingly towards Lillian's throat.
The erected swelled hardness of her nipples received no mercy from his nails. Fleur raked the tips of his fingers across the erect teats-punishing and tormenting them...his pincer-like grip on the red stalks making them darken and grow to an incredible length.
To any observer, neither of them were any longer human beings enjoying the ecstasy of romantic love. Both Fleur and Lillian shed the last scraps of decency and inhibition, the man giving full vent to his rape-like lust and the girl urging him on with cries of shrill, animal anguish.
As he viciously made each upward stroke, the hapless girl reared her buttocks into the air. Fleur's stiff member was making her sex a willing receptacle for his lashing, hard-thrusting assault. Wilder and wilder they screwed. The heat of their bodies soon covered the pair in moist, salty perspiration; making their naked flesh stick together and become even more tightly fused.
Now Fleur could feel his dong battering into the wetness of Lillian's slit, sinking again and again into the soft but clinging tube-and he groped one hand down the front of her body so that he could feel, for just a few minutes, the pressure of his weapon as it throbbed inside the girl's body.
With his fingers on the hard, hair-covered pubis, he pressed into the mound and was able to feel. through the layers of skin and muscle, the vigorous pushing of his charger riding up and down the inner slit. He fondled there for a while, enjoying the sensation of her soaking upper lips beneath his fingers, and then Fleur retraced his hand over the sleek, writhing flesh of her stomach and returned his fingers to her breast.
"No! My God, no! I can't go on!" she screamed suddenly. "Oh, Christ-I can't stand any more of this!"
Lillian had been worked up into a seething, scarcely conscious state of excitement. It was impossible for her to even contemplate opening her eyes; the lashes felt glued down by some enormous weight. And instead of humping her body up and down, she began to squirm her hips in a fitful, irregular surging...grinding her crotch so that it worked around and around Fleur's extension-milking it and drawing on the knob with every atom of her muscular control.
Fleur continued to ram into her, oblivious to the girl's rapidly approaching climax-practically oblivious to the girl herself in his rage of orgasm. For Fleur, too, was long past even the possibility of controlling his orgasm. He could feel the fluid gathering itself like a whirlpool in his loins: creaming rapidly into a thick froth, making his entire body pulse with a fearsome, organic beating....
Now surges of tremendous power welled through his lean, taut frame. He couldn't slam his rod into that sticky, limitless hole fast enough! In and out it drove...until Fleur teetered on the brink of a terrifying chasm-his mind stretched to a breaking point as the full culmination of his lust broke out!
Fleur's mouth opened and his teeth closed savagely on the white, warm shoulder blade of the girl he was loving. Biting without regard for the tender flesh, Fleur drew blood and sucked it vampire-like down his throat as he felt his tool jerking in the throes of climax: the long, thick organ stretching out and shaking violently inside Lillian's sheath as it finally erupted.
Throughout his coming the girl kept twisting her hips and agitating the dork which foamed up into her womb. She wrung every ounce from it, at the same time loosening the fruit of her own desire and releasing a fountain of hot, thin syrup which flowed sweetly over his ejaculating tool....
Fleur began sobbing with emotion. His dong was still being squeezed with remorseless tightness by Lillian-until it felt as if the girl was actually trying to pull it away from his body and have it forever buried in her gluey, insatiable slit!
It was still curdling with sperm, still shooting a steady stream of hot fire up into the girl!
Now his body quivered, strained, and he could hear his heart beating frantically under the strain. No more! his mind pleaded. I'll go crazy...No more!
She seemed to be draining his very life-blood out of him, hungrily sucking up the precious spunk and demanding more, more, more!
Fleur suddenly went completely limp. His body collapsed on top of Lillian's trembling flesh, the supply of juice finally exhausted. He closed his eyes, part of his mind still vaguely aware that she was still grinding beneath him; working her tight little funnel around and around...arching her spine so that her bottom squirmed deliriously against his belly, his perspiration-soaked belly....
"You gotta be putting me on. You're telling me you're going to do what?"
Lillian's disbelieving cry only made Fleur grin and nod a cheerful affirmation.
"That's it, baby, you heard me right-I'm going to make the first feature-length, all talkie, all color, wide screen sex movie."
Lillian searched his face carefully for a few moments, trying to find a hint that Fleur was kidding. When she realized that he was in deadly earnest Lillian propped herself up on one elbow and began to chuckle. He took the cigarette they were sharing out of her hand and put it between his lips. The white tube was stained pink at one end with her lipstick, and it tasted sweet in Fleur's mouth. He took a long drag and gave it back to her.
"Demis, you don't think you'll get away with it?", Lillian cried. "When they realize what kind of film you're shooting, they'll--. "
Demis Fleur laughed. "Why should they ever find out?" he said casually. He had a faraway look in his eyes, lying on his back, staring at the white ceiling with Lillian beside him on the rumpled bed. "The first thing Mason will know about it is when he sits his fat ass down in the preview theatre and watches his brain-child being unreeled!
"More accurately," he corrected himself. "My brain trust! I've waited a couple of years for this chance, baby. I've got it all worked out: he'll never know what I'm doing until the shit hits the fan!"
"What about the actors?" Lillian protested. "Surely you won't get them to perform in that kind of movie? And what about the technicians....? "
But her voice began to trail away as she followed Fleur's eyes and saw the equipment he had brought over from the 'States.
"That's the whole shooting match, baby!" Fleur commented. "I figured out everything! I've got my own cameras, my own cameramen! All I have to do is tell Mason that these are new-style lenses and baffle him with double-talk about his camera crew not being able to use my latest equipment-he'll be only too willing to save a few bucks on his own gear!
"Actors? Roxie is going to star in the movie, and I've got a couple of other people who are in on the big surprise. They'll take part in anything-for a few kicks and a couple of thousand dollars! And since Mason is obviously going to insist that I use at least some of his own stars....
"For Christ sakes, you don't think I'd have any trouble getting these cock-hungry English bitches to do some sex-scenes? They go pretty far these days in any case. All I have to do is tell them we're just getting them warmed up...that we're not really shooting-just practicing!"
Now a new kind of awe came into Lillian's eyes as she understood Demis Fleur's plan. She had always admired him, always respected him as a man of great integrity even if his eccentricities led some people to call him perverted and corrupt. When he announced that he was going to England to film for a commercial studio, she had suffered momentary doubts. It seemed as if her idol had sold out to the Establishment after all.. .
She began now to fully realize what he intended to do. Fleur was going to show up the film industry in a way that had never been done before: he was going to take a moderately sexy, "tits-and-tease" screenplay and turn it into the kind of movie everyone was afraid to make-a genuine, big-budget sexual epic!
It certainly was a large scale gesture-the first real eruption of the Underground into commercial and vested interests. All the same, Lillian mused-speaking her thoughts aloud to Fleur-it was a pity that nobody other than Mason and his underlings would actually see the film. After that first private preview (dramatic and satisfying though it might be), his film would be burnt down to the last negative and print.. .
"No it won't either!" Fleur grinned. "Because I've got a couple of other ideas for this little baby of mine! First, I'm sending a print to the Edinburgh Festival. With my name on the director credit, and with all those damned art movie awards behind me, it shouldn't be too difficult to get it entered in the main competition.
"So what we do is make it a mystery presentation, dig? This film has got to have so much advance publicity that, although no one will have seen it, everyone will be itching to buy tickets!"
Now, the first wave of Fleur's excitement at outlining his scheme to Lillian was fading. Gloomily, he went on:
"Matter of fact, that sonofabitch, Mason, will probably make a fortune out of it! If he doesn't have a heart attack at the preview we run for him, he'll get his money back on the Scandinavian screenings alone! Then, if he puts a team of cutters on it, he can trim the obscene parts and still have enough left over to show it all over the world."
Fleur sighed and reached for the cigarette again.
"What the hell!" he shrugged. "We'll have a lot of fun making it, won't we, baby? And that's what really counts-doing the thing, not wondering how it's gonna turn out!"
Viciously, he stabbed the half-smoked butt out and pulled Lillian into his arms. Thoughtfully, his hands traced the red weals which the ropes had left around both the girl's wrists.
"Baby, you'd better put some cream on your arms," he said softly. "They won't look too good in close-up like that!"
Lillian flushed. "You-you want me in the film?" she murmured. "I can't act, Demis; I wouldn't be any good...."
"Man, you'd be too much!" He let his finger remain on her wrists, lightly touching the chafe burns as if they fascinated him to the point of obsession. "I can't think of anyone who'd be better for the kinky scenes, Lillian! You inspire me....
Now, for a bad second or two, she held herself back from his embrace. Was that all she meant to Fleur, Lillian wondered? Was she just a source of perverted pleasure to him-an object rather than a person?
But now his potent magic began to work...and the girl relaxed against his nude body, her mind countering the rational objections and forgetting everything except the nearness and the excitement of her lover as he surged into her once more.
CHAPTER THREE
The Shooting
"Goddammit Murrey, you don't have to be some kind of mind reader to know I'm getting pretty uptight about this picture! Just what the merry hell is that bastard doing at the studio, anyway? You sit on your ass and tell me he hasn't shot a single foot of film in the month he's been here!"
Angrily, Mason bit down on the stub of his cigar and exhaled furiously, filling the Bentley's passenger compartment with a heavy pall of blue-gray smoke.
Mason's chauffeur gagged, feeling as though he were driving through a steadily worsening fog. He rubbed tears from the corners of each eye, narrowly missing an oncoming Rolls. Warily he eased the big Bentley around a slow moving van, then guided it uneasily into New Compton Street.
The chauffeur was taking his employer; Murrey, and Steve Dane to the rented studio at Elstree, but the man privately doubted if they would make it unless Mr. Mason permitted him to open a window and let some of the accumulated cigar smoke escape. Like most habitual smokers, Mason didn't find his constant exhalations troublesome at all. And despite the fact that it was a warm, healthful spring morning, he insisted that every window be wound up tight....
"Why not give him a chance Mr. Mason?"
Karl urged. "He needs time to settle in...he doesn't work like most directors--. "
"Shit, you can say that one more time!" Mason sneered. "Why, if I was paying him on a week-by-week basis we'd go broke before this damned movie was halfway finished!"
He scowled, then broke off the argument in order to lean forward and give the chauffeur's shoulder a fierce and authoritative poke.
"Buddy boy, you can quit coughing and concentrate on driving," he snarled. "You nearly had us through the foyer of the Casino cinema then!"
"Please forgive me, Mr. Mason," the driver wheezed. "If I could just open the side window a fraction--. "
"Well, you might remember that the window goes open when I want it open, and then I'll tell you about it! You think I want all those goddamn germs and all that goddamn dirt in the car?" Mason champed on his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke past the chauffeur's ear. "It's unhealthy! The air in London stinks, especially around this goddamn area!"
"Certainly sir." The chauffeur slowed for the round-about at Cambridge Circus, holding his breath as long as possible and dreading the moment when he would be forced to inhale again. He waited until his boss was deep in argument, then discreetly pressed his foot on the accelerator, letting the sleek black Bentley gather speed as it moved down the Tottenham Court Road and into the relatively traffic-free streets which would take them across London to the fresh air of Hertfordshire. Then, maybe, he could catch up on his breathing again....
"Fleur just has to warm up, A. M., " Karl persuaded. "He likes to get to know the people he's going to work with, establish personal relationships. You can't rush genius, but I'm sure the results will--. "
"I just can't figure out why I let you talk me into this!" Mason grumbled. "I must have been crazy-or maybe you put something in my coffee!"
Mason belched and stared at Murrey accusingly.
"You know, I wouldn't put it past you at that," he said thoughtfully. "Have you got something going with this character Fleur? Are you and him trying to screw me up over this movie?"
"Oh, my God, no!" Karl hastened to stifle Mason's half-serious suspicions. "I'm as anxious as you are for him to get started. You know that A. M."
"Well, maybe." Mason still sounded dubious but he lapsed into a moody silence. The Bentley was soon traveling through North London, past the neat rows of semi-detached suburban houses and out into the less populated urban districts. Before long they were leaving the built-up areas altogether, speeding along the dual carriageway of the Watford By-Pass.
Mason rolled his cigar pensively from one corner of his mouth to the other, staring sightlessly at the green fields and outlying farms as they whizzed past in a meaningless blur. Finally, he turned to
Murrey again.
"Now tell me one more time," he demanded. "What's he planning to shoot first? The interiors or the location scenes?"
"To the best of my understanding, it's one week in the studio," Karl repeated. "Followed by a few days-he didn't specify exactly how long-around the West End of London. Then back to the studio for another week and--. "
"Well, this is costing me money!" Mason exclaimed. "Don't forget: I have to pay for the use of the studio, whether that American jerk uses it or not! Why the hell can't he be like any other director and shoot all the location scenes in one go-and the interiors later...then match 'em up in the cutting room?"
"The boy likes to shoot in sequence," Karl explained, not quite understanding how he managed to control his rising impatience.
This was the fifth time he had given Mason a rundown on Fleur's schedule. He knew that A. M. was too astute a businessman to have forgotten the details. His employer merely wanted to hear them all over again so that he could rant and rave about the waste of time and money involved....
"Sequence, shit!" Mason spat. "When you've got a clear, spelled-out script like Steve's you don't need a goddamn schedule!"
He reached across and patted the timid scriptwriter's knee with a gesture that was almost affectionate. Almost, but not quite. Al Mason had learned not to pamper his employees with too great a show of fondness.
"Well, anyhow," he continued briskly, reverting to the old subject of Fleur's long delay in commencing work. "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind this morning, Karl! He'll start shooting today-understand? I've waited long enough!"
Karl noted the use of his Christian name, signaling to him that Mason had shifted his antagonism towards the American director. But this time he didn't feel very comforted by his "reprieve."
"I sure hope you aren't going to be too hard on him, A. M., " he began nervously. "He's a very temperamental young man, you know, and--. "
"And you better believe I'm a very temperamental old man!" Mason thundered.
The gasping, purple-faced chauffeur jumped in his seat as the words boomed almost in his ear. Trembling, he managed to correct the slight swerve and keep the Bentley on an even course. He glanced anxiously at the sign-posts which were flashing by. A quarter of a mile more; then they would turn off the by-pass and take the secondary road which would lead them to the Elstree studios. Thank God, he prayed fervently. Another ten minutes or so and he would be, temporarily, free of Mason's rasping voice and stifling cigar smoke....
"You heard what I said, and you heard it good!" Mason threatened. "I'm going to insist that he starts the cameras rolling this afternoon. And that's final!"
The costly limousine rode smoothly down the uneven surface of the secondary road-the minor bumps cushioned by suspension-and as Mason nodded vigorously (more to himself than to Murrey or Dane), Karl tried to derive a little pleasure from the fresh greenery which was beginning to grow from the hedges and nearby fields. They couldn't smell the zestful spring air, but at least Mason didn't insist on curtaining his car windows....
The renowned Elstree Studios, a long-established and world famous venue for British film, extended for many acres. Its rambling territory stretched back from the road in a collection of modern, shiny office blocks and ramshackle buildings which housed the studios themselves.
You could see enormous expanses of uncultivated ground which looked as if it had fallen into disuse but which was, in reality, a setting for many outdoor scenes in films which were made at the studio. By a clever and judicious use of back-cloths and skeleton buildings, a township could be simulated which would fool all but the most discriminating audiences.
The huge location was surrounded with a high wire fence: and it was patrolled regularly, since avid film fans frequently tried to gain entrance to the studios and catch glimpses of their celluloid idols. On the other side of the road down which the Bentley was traveling, beautiful detached houses lay among splendidly ornate gardens; rented out to visiting movie stars at truly exorbitant weekly rentals....
The chauffeur gave an audible sigh of relief and turned the car into the main entrance-way. They stopped at the check-point, and a uniformed, elderly commissionaire came out of his control box to scrutinize them.
The man's grizzled, short-sighted face peered into the cigar-clogged car and Mason elbowed Steve Dane, motioning him to wind down the window a fraction.
Now the old man beamed with pleasure as he recognized the old film mogul, sitting between the two younger men.
"I say, it's Mr. Mason!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking with age and delight. "Such a treat to see you, Sir! Why, I can remember back in the good old days when you came through every day. There was always a Mason picture shooting at Elstree then...."
Sadly he shook his head. "I always tell the new people, Mr. Mason-nowadays they've got gimmicks, bigger budgets, all sorts of different things to help 'em. But they still can't produce films like you used to, Mr. Mason. They just don't make pictures like that any more!"
With sudden snarl, Mason prodded at the driver to continue. The Bentley glided forward, leaving the aged and nostalgic gate attendant talking to himself. They swept past a collection of small outer offices, then turned right and pulled up beside the grand, double-door entrance with "Elstree Studios" emblazoned across its top in huge, curving letters.
The trio climbed out of the car and the chauffeur took a great lungful of fresh air. Mason led the way into the foyer, nodded briefly to the pretty young receptionist and stopped into the elevator with a purposeful expression on his face. A few seconds later, they were on the fourth floor where Studio 24 was situated: the studio Mason had hired for the duration of shooting.
He glared at the unlit red sign above the door, staring at it for a few moments as if he half-expected that it might light up and read:
"Positively No Admittance. Shooting in Progress."
Nothing happened, and Mason pushed the door open-making Karl catch it on his arm to prevent it from slamming in his face. Rather sheepishly, he and Steve Dane followed their employer into the towering studio.
The studio would have loomed even more impressively without the incredible array of arc-lights, cameras, camera-trolleys, chairs, tables, half-completed sets and backcloths which left scarcely any room to move about. Equipment was everywhere. Thick black cables snaked across the floor, following some crazy pattern all their own; disappearing behind walls, emerging again, trailing up walls to again lose themselves in parts of the complex film apparatus...then run suspended across the entire width of the studio before coming down again.
The complete effect gave the impression of a monstrous, insane spider's web in which the few human beings to be seen were dwarfed and held, or so it appeared, trapped in the elaborate network.
"Get me Fleur right now!" Mason snapped at Karl. "Tell him I want to see him in my office-I'll be waiting: and I don't expect to be kept waiting-you understand?"
He glowered at the scene which confronted him (and noting that none of the arc lamps were lit and that there was no sign of the usual bustle of activity in the studio), Mason stalked away to his private office in the suite of rooms which was always, by long-standing-tradition, reserved for him when he rented the studio.
Now Dane stood uneasily at the edge of the confusion, Karl hurried off in search of Demis Fleur; thinking to himself that this movie was going to cost him more ulcers than all the other pictures he had ever worked on....
The huge glass-fronted door bore no inscription. It was used by any of the producers who happened to be filming at any given time: and Mason turned the handle with a renewed feeling of indignation. The fact that he had never been quite powerful enough to own his personal studio nagged at him. He had always clung to his independence, despite several offers (in the past, that is) from the major production companies to join them. But so far total success had eluded him. And it was galling to think that he had to depend on the efforts of a hippie like Demis Fleur to raise him to the pinnacles of his profession.
Mason slammed the door behind him. And then his mouth dropped open in shock.
There in front of him, making not the slightest attempt to conceal themselves or show any sign of embarrassment, was Fleur himself-and a practically nude girl!
The clothing the girl wore amounted to nearly nothing. She might just as well have been naked. Facing towards Mason as he entered the room, she wore a gold medallion around her neck and a pair of black, hip-length tights. The tights were pulled up so securely-and were made of such a thin material-that almost nothing was concealed. He could see the very definite shape of her sex: a firm indent between two faint bulges where her cunt-lips protruded beneath the clinging garment. And although her breasts were bare, one full-blooded nipple was concealed behind the round coin of the medallion. The silver chain which held it had been twisted slightly so that the piece was draped across one particularly full and uplifted breast; uplifted, because Demis Fleur himself was supporting the large globe under the palm of one hand!
"Well, hello there!"
Fleur waved his free hand in greeting, gently and fractionally raising the girl's tit until the gold coin slipped off the orb and revealed her other, greatly enlarged nipple.
Fleur favored the breast with an affectionate squeeze, moving his hand upwards and cupping it for a moment. Then he strolled casually towards
Mason and, before the film magnate could react, shook hands with him.
The slender, white hand which Fleur offered was still warm from its contact with the girl's nude body-and Mason, whose eyes were staring hypnotically at her lightly veiled charms, returned the American's clasp without thinking.
"I imagine you know Miss Keene, of course?" Fleur smiled. "Our beautiful star! Sure, you only met for a second or two, didn't you-in your office, when you approved my using her. Well, now's your chance to see a little more of the superb and very sexy Roxie!
"By the way," Fleur remarked. "What brings you down here? I thought you were going to take care of the office while we got on with creating the biggest movie success England has ever known?"
Whatever sarcasm there was in Fleur's voice escaped Mason completely. He hardly heard what was being said to him, in any case. His mouth gaped open like a fish as he tried to comprehend the enormity of what his director was doing...seducing his leading lady in his, Mason's office!
"Goddammit, I demand an exclamation, Fleur!" he spluttered at last. "What the devil do you think you're up to? I hired you to make a movie for me-not make love to the actresses on my time!"
Fleur frowned. Mason couldn't see what expression was in his eyes (the bastard was still affecting those bloody, stupid, mirror glasses), but he knew that his own eyes were almost popping with rage.
"Come off it, come off it right now! What is this making love jazz?" Fleur said, as if the idea hadn't even crossed his mind. "Making love, did you say?"
"That's right, you bastard! What is this anyway? Some goddamned confidence trick? You and that other bastard-Murrey-plotting together to ruin me? I want you out of here, Fleur!"
Mason's voice was raised to screaming pitch, his stocky frame quivering with righteous indignation.
"The hell you're making a movie for me! You're turning my studio into a goddamned brothel! Out-and sue me if you like! I'll--. "
"You can cool it right there, baby!"
Fleur was holding up both hands in a gesture of supplication. And for the very first time in his life, Allen Mason did cool it! He stopped in mid-sentence, his jaw hanging open. He closed his mouth, blinked rapidly, and realized to his very great surprise, that he was going to listen to what Fleur had to say.
"For you I've got three points...." Fleur said crisply. He ticked them off on his long, very white fingers. "One: I promised to complete this movie by a certain date, and I fully intend to keep that promise.
"Secondly: I told you to stay away from the studio while I'm working. That was written into my contract. And that leads me straight into point number three.
"Thirdly: I am at work! As Miss Keene will be pleased to confirm, we were not making love-I was guiding her through a very delicate, very erotic scene which we are preparing to shoot this evening!"
Now he took a menacing step towards Mason, and before he could stop himself, the normally aggressive mogul backed away.
"And just for your private information, Mr. Mason, I have been very busy these past weeks shooting location scenes. Your producer is unaware of this fact-because I filmed these scenes out of working hours-on my own time, you dig?
"And for your added information, I had in my hand a camera. A hand-held camera, doing the photography with my personal cameraman, filming Roxie's first arrival and first impressions of London. I am now preparing to shoot her first seduction scene--.
"This had better be the last time I'm ever asked to give you an explanation of what I'm doing. I'll deliver the goods-you stay out of my hair! Now beat it!"
This tirade was delivered in a soft, almost gentle tone of voice. Mason gulped and turned tail; leaving the office hurriedly and going back to close the door behind him.
Mason almost bumped head-on into Karl Murrey who was coming towards him with a worried look on his face.
"Dammit, I can't find him anywhere, Mr. Mason," the producer began. "Nobody seems to-
Mason merely grabbed his arm and steered him rapidly towards the exit.
"Why is it I found him without any trouble and sorted everything out?" he snapped. "I told that young punk where to get off, Murrey-I don't think we'll have any more trouble with him. He knows I mean business...."
Karl shot his employer a curious look as they marched out of the studio. There was something very peculiar about Mason's expression, something definitely odd about his manner. He would have given a great deal to know what had really transpired between Mason and Fleur.
Karl had a hunch that in signing the American to make their movie they had grabbed a tiger by the tail! What he didn't know, was that this tiger could change his stripes!
CHAPTER FOUR
"L...C...A"
Fleur stood in the middle of the set, a well-appointed living room. "You people hear me, and hear me good!" His voice was coming through a megaphone, and boomed against the collective ears of the young men standing around the set.
"I don't expect to hear any giggles or comments of any kind while this scene is in progress. I do, and the violator is right out on his ass, hauling it back Stateside!"
The ail-American camera crew nodded in assent. The soundstage doors at the Elstree Studios were locked and guarded. A red warning light shone above them.
The hour was late, and all but a few of the guards had gone for the day. None of them would have dared enter the closed set.
Each of the British Cinematograph trade unions had tried to insist that their members must be present during all shooting. But Fleur, as always, had found a way round this dilemma.
Fleur simply used the British camera crew and technicians to film the "linking shots," the completely unobjectionable material which would form a very small part of the completed movie. And in the evenings his own, trusted fellow-conspirators would make the picture which Fleur intended to produce....
Finally, after a great deal of preparation, he was ready to start the cameras rolling on the first scene. As he had promised Mason earlier in the day, Roxie Keene's first seduction was going to be very delicate, and very erotic. Just how erotic he hadn't, of course, revealed to his employer!
There was, however, one remaining snag. Though Fleur didn't think it would prove to be a particularly hard one to overcome. Roxie herself was game for anything. She had the physique and the features of a Marilyn Monroe: but unlike the late, greatly lamented glamour queen, Roxie was totally unneurotic. She didn't care that men desired her only for her body, for her magnificent sex-appeal-and her only aspirations towards culture were comic-books and science-fiction magazines....
For a change, Roxie wasn't the problem. Rather, it was Glen Tenny who might-just possibly prove difficult when he realized what was expected of him.
Tenny was a Londoner, and had reached the age of thirty without achieving any real success in motion pictures. He played supporting roles and was usually wasted in B-films as the hero's insipid best friend. A gossip columnist had once labeled him: "the oldest juvenile in the film business" and the tag had unfortunately stuck to him.
And assuredly this was a pity. Glen had a great deal of talent and it was gradually being destroyed by bad luck and his own, rapidly growing cynicism and disregard for his future. He had received too many stabs in the back, too many flippant and unkind remarks had been thrown his way....
Nor could he be blamed for his failure-or for feeling disheartened and sick to death of the movie industry-any more than he could be blamed for his unfashionable, "glamour-boy" good looks.
But if his background had been different, Mason would never have succeeded in signing him to play in this picture. Only an actor who was descending the ladder of fame would make a film with a has-been like Mason. Success attracts success in the cinema industry. And failures are drawn together just as inexorably....
Fleur adjusted his sun glasses. His eyesight had grown so weakened by the constant use of dark lenses that he could scarcely see without them now. What had started out as an affectation had become a necessity. He presented a bizarre and commanding figure, dressed in his "working" clothes: a pair of tight black hipster pants with a deep, brilliantly white belt; an orange tee shirt and cream, open-toed moccasins.
Nor was this outfit any affectation. Fleur knew that it was important for him to be seen instantly by his actors and his camera crew when he was directing. It helped them, and it helped him, if he stood out sharply from the rest of the production team.
Privately, he had explained to Glen Tenny how he worked. He used three cameras to cover the action, which he wanted to flow in an unbroken sequence from beginning to end of the scene. In this way, there was no interruption, no breaking of the mood for the actors while new camera angles were arranged. It also enabled Fleur to film very rapidly, editing the finished material in the cutting rooms so that the completed scene was made up of close, medium and long shots.
With a stroke of genius, Fleur had invented a method of reloading the cine-cameras with fresh film that required only a few seconds delay. And this meant that two of the cameras were constantly shooting-and a single "take" could last for an indefinite period.
Fleur had also explained to Glen Tenny how the first scene should be played. They were adhering to Steve Dane's script for the opening sequences and Fleur was relying on the seductive powers of Roxie Keene to break down Glen's reserve when it came to departing from the screenplay and "improvising" the erotic details which he, Fleur, had added to the scenario.
Of course, Glen had been briefed that this was to be a "daring, Adults-Only" type of movie; whether he would go all the way-forgetting the technicians unconcerned that everything he did was being filmed-remained to be seen....
Fleur had contrived to make the studio look as intimate as possible. He had erected a barrier around the set, reducing the scale of the vast sound-stage as much as possible. And he had kept the crew to an absolute minimum: apart from the actors and himself, only three cameramen, a lighting expert and Lillian Trent were present. Lillian had agreed to act as "clapper-girl" and perform any other tasks that were required-since her part in the film wasn't due to start filming for a week or two.
Now he stepped out of the harshly lit set and turned to give a final check that everything was in place. The scene was Glen's apartment in Charing Cross: a startling, riotously decorated studio-flat which was the very epitome of decadence and corruption. Fleur had seen to it that the furnishings and objects d'art represented the character's evil personality to perfection. And the rich technicolor hues would render them even more vivid when they appeared on the screen.
The screenplay had it that Glen had picked up Roxie in a Soho coffee bar. They had shot, in montage, the sequences depicting their meeting; and now Roxie was about to enter the web and become ensnared by the fascinating but totally amoral character played by Glen.
But it had proved a tough job convincing Karl Murrey and Mason that they should use an American girl for the leading role. Dane's script specified that the character was a naive little country girl-essentially English, a girl who knew the excitement of London only at second hand: via the glossy magazines and publicity stories.
Fleur had managed, however, to persuade them that this particular angle had been exploited too many times in recent years. He suggested that they altered the focus slightly; making the girl an American who hoped to find a quieter, more "normal" life in London-since she hated the reckless pace and the increasing violence of her homeland.
In short, she was to be a girl who imagined that she was escaping from a life of immorality, sickness and perversion...little realizing that she was trading one hot-bed of corruption for another....
Fleur hoped to point up some of the parallels between the New World and the Old in his movie. He knew the plot outline was banal, but the style of a film interested him far more than its content: and in this particular case he was going to create a picture that would cause such a sensation that nobody would pay much attention to its superficial plot!
Roxie and Glen took up their positions and waited for Fleur to start the cameras rolling. She sat demurely on an antique Victorian sofa, a guileless expression on her beautiful face, her knees pressed tightly together. A pleated gray skirt covered most of her legs, and a prim white blouse-loose-fitting so as to disguise the fullness of her breasts-was tucked into the belt at her waist.
Glen stood at the cocktail cabinet, about to pour drinks. He had changed into a silk Chinese robe: patterned with red and violet dragons, three quarter length. A little uneasily, the actor had agreed not to wear anything beneath this kimono; and the flush on his cheeks was not entirely due to the heavy film make-up!
Fleur had organized one camera to zoom in on his outstretched hand directly as they began to roll.
On Glen's palm rested three tiny white tablets-which he was about to slip into Roxie's martini....
"Cool it!" Fleur called. "We're all set! Quiet everybody!"
Fleur raised both hands high in the air.
"Lights!"
The big arcs flared into maximum power. "Cameras!"
Now three cameramen switched their 700mm cameras on and kept their eyes fastened to the big viewfinders.
"Action!"
Lillian Trent held her clapper-board in front of the camera, snapped it down, counted five softly under her breath-and moved silently out of the way, off the set.
Britain's first full-length sex film was under way! And it was to launch more than an entertaining sojourn!
CHAPTER FIVE
Erotica by the Reel
Glen looked over his shoulder and saw that Roxie was smoothing her skirt. Surreptitiously he dropped three tiny tablets into one of the drinks before him, the drink reserved for Roxie. Then he stirred the Martinis and took them to the low Oriental table in front of the sofa. Upon the couch Roxie looked elegant. Her smile was confident as she leaned her head forward and allowed Glen to slip one of his hands along the back of the couch bringing it to rest lightly upon her shoulder. He allowed his hand to next trail down along the side of her upper arm. He looked at her.
"Don't be shy, baby." He said it smiling. "I'm not going to eat you up, you know! Which reminds me, do you know what a Greek luau is?"
Roxie smiled at him, the sort of smile telling him she would play his game. "No, tell me. What is a Greek luau?" she asked.
"A Greek luau is eating a pig in the back seat of the car while she has an apple in her mouth," Glen grinned.
Roxie's smile was somewhat uncertain. She leaned forward and accepted the drink he handed her.
She ignored the luau joke. "I'm a bit dazzled by...by all of this!" she said sweeping her hand around them. "This is a lot like walking into a whole new world. I feel kind of...I suppose you could say, out of my depth."
Glen kept his cool blue eyes on her while they clinked glasses and drank. Roxie sipped at her Martini, then-noticing that Glen had tossed his straight down-followed suit. She had a wry face as she replaced her glass on the table.
"In England they drink Martinis this way? Wow! These are really something else when it comes to packing punches, aren't they?"
Glen turned his profile towards the girl, a saturnine twist appearing on his lips as he waited for the resistance-lowering tablets to take effect on her. After a moment, Roxie leaned her head back, her eyes languidly closing. She relaxed slowly, gradually assuming an attitude of repose as the drug went to work.
Cautiously, Glen lowered his hand, bringing his open fingers into contact with Roxie's shoulder. He edged his palm slowly along the girl's arm. Crossing the rise of her breast and finally letting his hand settle softly in the middle of her chesthis fingers toying idly with the front buttons of her blouse.
He unfastened them with a delicate, experienced touch; Roxie stirring slightly. She began to open her eyes and move away, then evidently decided that the effort was too much for her. She slumped back against the well-padded sofa, her head slipping sideways and coming to rest on Glen's shoulder....
Glen Tenny was too good an actor to betray, the uncertainly which he felt at this point. Roxie was supposed to sit up and resist his advances! But the girl showed no sign of movement now: she lay against him with her eyes closed and her beautiful lips half-parted, the very picture of innocent acquiescence!
But something was wrong! What was he supposed to do? Stop acting and tell Fleur that he didn't know if he should continue on his own-improvising the scene or calling a halt to it?
Glen decided that it would be very unprofessional to interrupt the scene. After all, they were given only a rough outline of how the actual love-making was to proceed. And Fleur would certainly call "Cut!" if he went too far....!
Now he finished unbuttoning Roxie's blouse. He opened it and slipped his hand inside, gently caressing the white, exposed flesh of the girl's midriff. Tentatively, he brought his palm upwards and softly massaged her breast through the white cup of her bra. Still no sign from Fleur!
Mentally he shrugged, fondling Roxie's breast more firmly-working his fingers into the warmth and ripeness, making the generous flesh move obediently under his hand. It was an erotic movie, he told himself. And the British censor permitted a fair amount of petting to escape his scissors nowadays!
Roxie's blouse was now pulled back. Her breasts were revealed to be much larger than one would have expected. They bulged out of the bra cups, thrust together to form a tight, exciting cleavage which rose almost to the base of her throat. Obviously, she was wearing a bra that had been intended for a girl with much smaller attributes....
Glen's other hand moved onto her lap. He stroked her thighs through the skirt, slowly rubbing them until the loose-fitting, pleated garment began to rise over her legs. She wore golden tinted stockings, and the white tops of her thighs were soon visible as Glen hoisted the skirt higher and higher.
Now he started to move his hand over the naked skin, making his fingers travel slowly across the taut straps of her suspenders. The flesh was warm and supple to his touch, but a greater heat was emanating from the region of Roxie's crotch. Her thighs were not pressed quite so tightly together now, and his hand could easily slip between the tops of her legs and roam at will over the girl's thighs.
He could feel a hard excitement generating in him despite the knowledge that they were both only acting, and that their performances were being observed by several other people-plus three silently whirring movie cameras. He shifted as unobtrusively as possible, trying to still the rising ache in his penis. His sex had begun to stiffen under the silk kimono, and it occurred to Glen that it was very fortunate that he was seated: in a standing position it would have been impossible for him to disguise the hardness of his erection....
Glen fumbled his hand from Roxie's thighs onto her belt. Trembling a little, his fingers succeeded in unlacing the buckle and tugging it free of the loops which ran around Roxie's skirt waist. There was a zipper at the side of her skirt and he drew it down, his heart beating faster as his fingers delved inside the opening he had made, and felt the silk of the panties against his hand.
There was no reaction from either Fleur or Roxie! He swallowed noiselessly and kept himself in character with an effort. He disengaged the skirt from Roxie's hips and maneuvered it down the girl's thighs-raising her legs so that he could tug the garment from beneath her and then working it over her ankles.
Easily, he slipped her arms out of the blouse and pulled it away from her body. And, finally, Roxie stirred!
Roxie opened her big brown eyes and sighed a deep, languorous sigh; moving her head from side to side as if it weighed more than her body could support. Slowly, the girl cast her gaze downwards-reacting with delayed shock at finding herself in a state of undress.
"Hey, what exactly are you doing?" Roxie gasped. "I feel so funny...and you've been taking, my clothes off!"
Glen tilted her chin upwards and turned her face towards him.
He stared down into her startled eyes. "Relax! don't pretend you don't know what I brought you up here for! Relax-and enjoy it!"
He crushed his mouth down on hers, pressing her soft lips in a violent, passionate kiss. Roxie squirmed away from him, but her movements were heavy and ineffectual: the actress drawing on her personal experience with drugs to convey lassitude and numbed, befuddled senses.
In the manner of a person not really meaning it, she beat at his chest while Glen pressed his mouth tighter and tighter against her lips, one hand around her back, the other resting on her bare hip-just above the top of her panties.
Slowly, he broke down her resistance...but although Glen kept his ear cocked for Fleur's cry of "Cut!" it wasn't forthcoming! Ah well, he sighed. I suppose we may well go a little further....
Now Glen unhooked her brassiere and continued to kiss Roxie while his hand slid the straps, one at a time, over her beautiful, naked shoulders. The cups remained molded to her breasts, held up by the pressure of their bodies as Glen and Roxie hugged each other closely. But the girl herself eased slightly away from him, allowing the bra to drop down and leave her bosom free of any adornment save the gold medallion which Fleur had been experimenting with when Mason burst into the office earlier in the day.
Now it hung between her breasts, its large golden coin directly level with Roxie's nipples. Through the thin silk of his robe, Glen could feel the grim thrust of the actress's tits. They squashed into his chest, their hot, stiff teats standing out sharply and feeling as if they were trying to probe through the fine material which separated their flesh.
It looked as though it were by accident, but at the precise moment when Glen's excitement was making his penis bulge through the single garment he was wearing, Roxie's hand brushed across his lap!
Glen couldn't control a sudden quivering of his body at the contact of her fingers with his prick-even though the caress was momentary and Roxie passed her hand across the erect shaft quite quickly. He desired her! Oh, God, how he desired her! Glen felt frustration like a stabbing pain in the pit of his stomach.
He was aware of the people around him. They were watching and filming everything they did! Maybe he could hurry up and finish the scene-and then take Roxie away to some place where it would be quiet and dark...where they could enjoy each other to the full!
Glen was certain in his mind that the girl, too, was highly aroused. She was returning his kisses with a zeal that wasn't in the script: and even as the thought of fucking her skipped through his fevered brain, he felt the tip of her wet tongue probe against his teeth, searching for an entrance to his mouth!
Glen, his eyes tightly shut and his cock throbbing violently against the restraining silk of the kimono, opened his lips. Instantly, Roxie darted her tongue forward, her sweet breath issuing into his mouth. Now their tongues writhed and danced against one another, moving experimentally together and stroking each other in a long, lasciviously wet embrace. Roxie's lips burned against Glen's as she thrust her mouth hard and urgently to his; her tongue now performing an intricate pattern, slipping warmly and moistly around the inside of his mouth-gliding over and under his tongue until he lost all sense of being in a film studio and was aware of nothing but the girl's half-clothed body and her exciting, full-lipped mouth....
Roxie's hand returned to his crotch, this time to linger on the hard length and coax it lovingly in her firm hand, Glen thrust his arm between their bodies and closed his fingers around her nearest breast-squeezing tightly in a paroxysm of desire that could no longer be stilled.
With skill, she gathered up the folds of silk around his cock and then tightened her fingers again. She had made a sheath out of the kimono, wrapping a section of it securely around Glen's prick; the material being so thin that her fingers-rubbing and exploring up and down the length of his cock-were scarcely aware that they weren't touching the bare flesh of his sex.
Glen bore her down until she was lying on her back with his body sprawled on top of her. He retained his hold on her breast, clasping the heavy, superbly rounded globe so that his fingers almost disappeared amid the fat white flesh.
Roxie still kept her hand around his manhood though she was now jerking the tool madly-making the stiff, hard-pulsing knob throb insanely under its tight sheath of silk.
Roxie's hand was between their sexes: preventing, for the moment, any real contact between Glen's rammer and her panty-clad pussy. But Roxie's other hand soon remedied that situation!
Roxie pulled the cord of his robe until the knot came untied, then swiftly pulled the two sections open. While her mouth continued to suck and kiss at Glen's lips, Roxie shifted her fingers around to the upper surface of his prick-enabling her to push the crown downwards and wedge it comfortingly against the hot, demanding lips of her twat.
Now she rubbed it slowly up and down the slit, bearing down on the weapon and feeling it thrust inwards the taut material of her panties and stretch her sex-wound fractionally open. Then, very slowly and teasingly, the girl allowed the kimono to slide free of Glen's charger! She drew it tightly upwards...inch by inch...gradually permitting the electric silk to be pulled out of the way.
Each gasped with pleasure, a strangulated moaning into each other's open mouths, as Glen's penis burst out of its hot confinement and pressed boldly-unrestrainedly-against Roxie's scantily protected loins. Part of his prick touched the inner flesh of her thighs; then, as Roxie twisted her legs more widely open, it burned against her crotch...riding upwards under the girl's guiding fingers and throbbing fiercely on the hard mound of her pubis.
"You put something in my drink...I seem out of...control...I can't help myself now...You don't understand-you bastard! Oh, you bastard!"
Her teeth bit at the lobe of his ear angrily. Then she released the lobe. She next extended her tongue and began to slither it sexily into the ear itself: turning it round and round, licking and panting until Glen's head swam with a lust that he couldn't hope to control....
Glen was on the point of discharging, letting his cum flow out across the warm, white expanse of her belly, when Roxie stopped tonguing his ear and delved the fingers of one hand into his hair, forcing his head up and making him open his eyes and look at her. She kept her other hand tightly on his charger, moving the foreskin rhythmically up and down.
"You'll suffer first!" she threatened. "You want my box, don't you? You want to stick your fat dick into that slit of mine! Well, I'm going to torment the hell out of you before you lay me! Look--. "
The lovely girl thrust his head back, forcing Glen's body to rise slightly away from her, supported by his elbows. She let go of his rammer and took the gold medallion in her fingers. And as he stared down at her, wondering what she was going to do, the girl commenced to rub first her breast and then her nipple with the gleaming coin!
Roxie watched with a fascination equal to the man's as her nipple was mistreated and tormented by the edge of the medallion. It bumped and provoked the tender teat, changing its already flushed color to an angry scarlet.
"Now do it!" Roxie ordered. She put his hand back onto her breast, letting the coin slip into his fingers. "Make it hurt me! Press down hard! Harder!" she urged, as Glen began to stroke the medallion backwards and forwards across her nipple. "You're not hurting me enough!"
In Glen's mind there was a curious division. He was now aware that they were in a film studio, but this knowledge no longer inhibited him. It seemed as if he had been raised onto a plateau of sexual desire where only the act itself had importance to him: Roxie had excited him so intensely that he deliberately suppressed his fears at "performing" in public. Nothing mattered any more except the lust in his prick and the urge in his fingers to fondle and touch the girl....
Savagely he raked the gold coin over her breast, making the nipple flare up to an extraordinary redness and size. Backwards and forwards he thrust it; seeing how the breast itself quivered and rolled in obedience to the motion of his hand.
Now Roxie wriggled beneath his body, but it was some time before Glen realized that she was pulling down her panties! She writhed and contorted-now thrusting her belly upwards against his, now squirming down again.
At last he could feel the naked flesh of her crotch pushing in a steadily more violent rhythm as Roxie worked her loins ecstatically up and down...quelling the urgent need in her cunt by a fierce friction against his prick.
Before he could stop her, Roxie ripped the thin silver chain from her neck, breaking the link. She struggled against him, and Glen reluctantly gave way; letting her move out from beneath him and slide down the sofa until her face was level with his stomach and her hands more easily reach his flesh.
Glen was now half reclining, turning on his side towards the girl, with the Chinese robe hanging away from his otherwise naked body. Roxie caught his stiff, enormous member-and Glen winced with pain!
Roxie was starting to wind the delicate chain of her medallion around his shaft!
Roxie drew it tight, pulling until the gold coin flattened itself against the underside of his penis, then swiftly tied the broken links together-fastening it in a painfully constricting know which made him twist away from her in sudden agony.
Glen's hands went down to his sex, but Roxie grabbed both his wrists.
"No! Keep it on!" she hissed. "If you want to screw me, you've got to do it while you're wearing my gift!"
The sharp, slick, slender links were biting ruthlessly into Glen's tool. He felt sweat breaking out on his forehead and in the hollows of his armpits. But at the same time, a thrill was mounting with him as he realized that Roxie, too, would feel an agonizing pain as the silver chain tore against the tender walls of her cunt....
Excitement from the idea surged through him, and it spurred the actor to throw Roxie down on the sofa again, his lust rising like the waves of an angry, storm-tossed ocean as he stared through misted, red-rimmed eyes at the gorgeous young girl who awaited his pleasure.
She raised her legs to receive him, arching her buttocks and bringing her knees up high; one on each side of Glen's body. He bit his lower lip to stem the pain in his cock, sinking his teeth until he tasted blood. The throbbing of his prick was becoming more and more intense as the chain which was binding it partially stemmed the flow of blood and acted like a tourniquet.
It appeared that his "decoration" in no way diminished Glen's erection. His bulging shaft hung mightily from his loins, richly red below the chain and only slightly less crimson towards the crown-where the blood supply was being hampered.
Glen now attacked the open mouth of Roxie's chamber with this weirdly adorned monster: bumping the nude crest against her wet slit until he found the gaping slot for which Nature had intended it.
It sank easily into the red O...slicing through the pungent-smelling inner flesh as far as the chain. Then he stopped. Roxie was tensing herself for the pain which was surely awaiting her. Glen looked down, his vision blurred, his body shaking. The girl's eyes were closed and her lips were moving in a ceaseless, soundless quivering.
Glen could now feel the faint but very definite tug of her quim on his cock, seeming to urge his weapon to complete its penetration. And, as he continued to hesitate, she put both her hands on his shoulders and said slowly and distinctly, with her eyes still shut
"You bastard! Do it, do it, you hear! It's what you want, isn't it?"
He felt her hands tighten on his flesh, her fingernails scoring into his shoulder-blades.
"I want all of it! Give it to me! All of it!"
Glen groaned. He pressed down hard on her naked body. His rod screamed with pain, tongues of fire shooting down it and searing his testicles, his belly. Cruelly, steadily, he thrust the remaining inches of his prick into Roxie's cunt-feeling the girl shudder voluptuously beneath him as the taut links of the chain worked past the outer lips of her quim.
There was a dim recess within his mind where Glen realized that Roxie was no stranger to this particular perversion. She clutched him tightly against her, again burying her tongue in his mouth, but apart from a single cry of pain, the girl was bearing her ordeal very bravely and with a minimum of resistance.
His charger twitched spasmodically now that it was fitted snugly and fully inside her. It was smothered by the wetness and the heat of Roxie's snatch. Glen felt a sudden, unexpected urge to make her suffer!
Glen wanted her to experience the strange mixture of pain and ecstasy which was coursing through his body! He wanted to fuck her so hard, so agonizingly, that she would scream and implore him to stop....
He was dominating her, and he was totally without mercy. He rammed his rod in and out of her pussy, scouring it, tearing her soft and tender walls of sex with the chain which Roxie herself had fastened so securely around his penis....
Roxie's tongue was caressing the inside of his mouth busily, and he could hear the steady sucking noise of her lips against his own as he slowly withdrew his dork until it was only held in place by the slack, greasy outer lips of Roxie's quim.
Suddenly, Glen bore forward and upwards: driving strongly into that warm, tight passageway, keeping the muscles of his ass tense and stiff as he slammed his tool ruthlessly to its hilt once more.
Glen could feel the chain links burning against her red cunt-lining. And the gold coin itself, tied rigidly to one side of his rod, scored with even greater force...making the girl almost swoon with sheer, exquisite agony!
Roxie started to tear her mouth from Glen's, but he grabbed her hair and forced her lips to remain plastered against his: whereupon Roxie closed her teeth savagely on his lower lip, driving them into the skin and giving vent to her feelings with an alien, terrifying gurgling.
Glen released her hair and began to slap her hard across the face. Seeing that this had absolutely no effect on the crazed girl, he directed his hands to her breasts-aiming clumsy blows at the tits which were half-buried against his chest.
Then, finally, still fucking swiftly in and out of her cunt, he stretched the loose-muscled cheeks until his fingers grew tired-contented himself with frigging two of his digits into her anus. He forced the narrow hole to accept them, stretching the moist brown orifice until it widened sufficiently to take the rough, clawing fingers.....
Now it was hard to tell if the couple were trying to bring each other to an ecstatic orgasm-or to murder one another! Their goal seemed to be pain: pain in its most extreme and sadistic form-sexual pain!
Roxie felt for-and quickly found-Glen's penis, taking the shaft at the juncture where it was attached to his crotch, her sole aim appeared to be the desire to wrench it from his body!
Quickly the exciting, thrillingly beautiful actress seized his slime-coated weapon and gave it a cruel, angry shaking...yanking it up and down, so that the portion which happened to be inside her quim was dragged fiercely about-its hard, straining length joggled strenuously from the top layer of her vagina to the bottom.
Their orgasms were thundering upwards within them seemingly causing their bodies to swell to the exploding point. It would take a bolt of lightening to frustrate their climaxes now! Roxie was already spilling her love-juice, bumping her hairy crotch hard into Glen's abdomen as she writhed in the torment of climax-flecks of blood marring the otherwise milky whiteness of her sex-cream.
She was in the throes of wild, abandoned pleasure, and feverishly took the gold coin between her forefinger and thumb and pulled on it; causing the greatest pain Glen had ever experienced to shoot through his member. She tugged again and again-making the links bite deeper and deeper into his foreskin, producing a wail of anguish from Glen's lips; a cry which came up from the very soul of his being.
Glen's trembling thumper was on the brink of orgasm, but it was impossible for him to give full vent to the joy of expelling his seed while Roxie tormented him so cruelly. He shuddered with agony and frustration. And Glen might have taken Roxie's slender white throat in his fists, tightening and tightening until she died with the spunk still streaming out of her love cove.
Suddenly, the chain mercifully broke and was wrenched away from his penis!
Glen's tool was now unbound completely! It surged with its overwhelming freedom. It skewered and fucked back into Roxie's vagina and pulsed strongly again, came backwards for a brief second, then rode stiffly forward to the sanctity of her bubbling honey-closet. And on the third inward stroke, Glen felt the sperm tickling through his tool-a rapid pulse starting along the underside of his weapon...growing until it caught him up in its throbbing and caused his entire body to rock helplessly in the throes of climax.
Glen plunged his fingers wildly inside the hot depths of Roxie's butt: scratching at the plump, soft, meaty flesh as the intensity of his lust broke down all barriers of time, space and consciousness.
And out it came! The pent-up sperm jetted with a furious gushing into the girl's scratched and bleeding quim. Glen shot and shot-spending lavishly and extending the period of his orgasm for as long as he was physically able. He could feel the sperm erupting from his rod, a stream of white-hot liquid that was still a part of him even though it had now left his body.
Now the red lips of Roxie's quim were guzzling wetly around the base of the tool. They slurped (or so it seemed to his deranged mind), implanting luscious kisses that were encouraging him to give up his soul if need be in order to sustain his climax....
Soon all pain was forgotten, all the sadistic fantasies were buried again in the joy os sending his seed spurting into the girl's womb. And when it was finally over, when he collapsed in sheer exhaustion on top of Roxie's equally sated body, he felt his penis swimming in a warm sea of their combined spunk; floating lazily on the abundant love-juice which their passion had wrung from them.
Demis Fleur now surveyed the scene in silence for a moment or two, thoughtfully rubbing at his chin. He glanced at the three cameramen in turn, receiving a nod from them-indicating that there had been no technical hitches in the shooting.
Fleur spoke softly. "Cut," he said. "You can all relax, boys and girls-there's no need for a retake!"
Slowly, Glen raised himself from Roxie's limp, spent body. He blinked at the arc-lights, slowly coming back to awareness and feeling a terrible embarrassment and shock as he remembered his surroundings.
He was too depleted to do more than stare open-mouthed at the calm, insolent young American who had been filming his secret passions, and he simply wished with all his heart that the studio floor would open up and that he, Roxie, and the sofa on which they were lying would disappear forever from the eyes behind the brilliantly lit set.
And adding to his misery, Fleur now strolled over to them and clapped him nonchalantly on his shoulder!
"Baby, that was one hell of a great job," Fleur told him. "I'm sorry we had to spring this on you-but you wouldn't have agreed to do it if we'd given you advance warning, would you?"
Fleur smiled at Roxie who was climbing up into a sitting position, her eyes glazed and her mouth wet and bruised.
"Good baby, that was beautiful," he murmured, bending to kiss the girl's forehead. "You broke the ice beautifully. And now that our leading man has been initiated to the Crew, I think we all deserve a little celebration. I'll go and break open a bottle of Mason's best Scotch. Sit tight, I'll be right back...."
Now he moved away from them, and as he did so raised his hand to the men behind the cameras.
"You can print it!" he told them. "I'd like to see the rushes first thing in the morning!"
With that, he grabbed Roxie and left the set, wondering what he might get her to do for an encore....
CHAPTER SIX
"The Planned Exposure"
Demis Fleur sat in his apartment, not alone as usual. He was happy with the week's shooting. It had been a weird scene, he and his crew arriving at Elstree Studios nightly long after the other employees had gone. There, the major intimate scenes had been shot. It was a very convenient arrangement. In the daytime, he had been shooting outdoor location scene sequences in and around London's West End.
A total of three weeks had now been used in the filming. All of the film accumulated thus far was carefully stored and locked at Fleur's temporary quarters, nor was anybody allowed to view the rushes until he had collated and edited the scenes into final sequences.
He had been working at tremendous speed, and his output-even during this relatively short time-was formidable. Reel upon reel of film was piling up in his spare room: and both Karl Murrey and Al Mason were becoming apprehensive-wondering if the quantity of Fleur's work was equaled by its quality.
He had set an unshakable law and had made it stick: he was not to attend any conferences which they held. Existing on a diet of pep-pills and whisky, the American director told them that he was too absorbed in his inspiration to concern himself with administrative problems.
He reserved one day of the week for relaxation. It came, or rather drifted, in the form of marijuana. And even then, Fleur used the period under the drug to gather inspiration for forthcoming scenes in the film. He found that the mild hallucinogen, particularly if it was smoked in the company of a few very close friends, gave him the kind of sensual stimulation which brought erotic ideas crowding to the surface of his mind; and at least half of them were suitable material for use in the movie....
A cold and windy March day had not distinguished this particular Sunday morning from the ones that had passed. Fleur had turned the central heating up high and was squatting cross-legged on a rug in the middle of his bedroom. The bed itself was unmade, the sheets rumpled and strewn with the scattered pages of the Sunday newspapers. Coffee bubbled in a glass percolator, set on the floor, and the atmosphere was already rich with the spicy, rather sickly smoke of marijuana.
Just now, Fleur was completely unclothed. His body, lean and sinewy, had only a string of large colored beads to adorn it; they hung around his neck and reached down almost to his navel. He was rocking almost imperceptibly backwards and forwards, swaying and keeping time to an intricate Ravi Shankhar record which was filling the room with exotic si tar rhythms.
Nor was he alone. Facing him on the rug and sharing the same well-filled reefer-which they were passing leisurely front hand, to hand-sat Lillian Trent and Roxie Keene. Both girls were wearing blissful, contemplative expressions; their figures partially concealed in two of Fleur's psyche-delicately-patterned shirts.
Most of the buttons were undone, and since the shirts barely reached as far as the girl's thigh-tops, the effect was to make Lillian and Roxie appear more sexy than if they had been totally naked....
As yet none of them were high. And all three of them had sufficient experience with the drug to be able to control its properties: being capable, if necessary, of continuing a conversation or taking part in other activities with only a slight lessening of their faculties.
Another girl could be seen through an open door which led into the lounge. She was squeezing herself into a strange and very erotic dress. She stood in front of a chipped, antique mirror which Fleur had propped up against one wall-an item bought during one of his excursions into London's junk markets-and tugged it down with some difficulty until her body was inside the costume.
The mini-dress was a white woolen texture, and the girl's Junoesque figure, ample breasts and hips that curved out in a breathtaking sleekness, made it cling extremely tightly wherever it touched her flesh. She tried to tug the hem down, making an attempt to stretch the garment as far over her thighs as possible. But at its limit the material only came to a few inches below her crotch....
She could see the reflection of her sex in the glass due to the angle of the mirror: it presented an appealing picture, completely shaven of all pubic hair, with no panties to hide the beauty of its pink and white loveliness. It stared brazenly back at the girl, an inviting and totally naked slit-passing down under her crotch in the exact center of her thick, slightly raised sex-bulge.
There were other parts of her anatomy that were visible; places which would normally be covered by a less-bizarre garment. At certain intervals, large patterns had been cut out in the dress. There were heart-shaped, ovaloid and rectangular. They might have been socially acceptable in a dimly-lit discotheque, but here-in the daylight which was streaming through the curtains-the areas of the girl's body which they revealed were too intimate to escape censure.
One such place was at the front of her belly, exposing the small hollow of her navel. Another was scooped out just below her right breast-almost betraying the presence of her nipple, since the girl wore no brassiere. And when she turned, pivoting showily on her shoeless feet to admire the rear view, her very full, very firm young bottom was bared in a thrilling, heart-shaped expanse of flesh...only the outer swellings of the two cheeks being covered by the close-fitting wool.
The girl's name was Maria Landau. She was alleged to be Fleur's half-sister-though neither of them would confirm or deny the rumor. In any case, their total freedom from any sense of moral commitment meant that they would have slept together even if they had been siblings!
Now Maria tossed her flame-colored hair back from her shoulders and sauntered towards the bedroom, moving with a cat-like grace that certainly resembled Fleur's style of walking. Maria had designed the dress she was wearing herself: among other things, she was Fleur's clothes stylist-creating the outlandish and often kinky costumes which he used for the actors in his movies.
Demis gave her a slow inspection as she entered the bedroom, moving his eyes from her feet to her head and back again. Then Fleur nodded his approval.
"Wow, baby, that's just great. You can wear it for the crazy LSD scene," he told her. "But I'd like to have it colored. Can you daub some paint on it, get it to look more garish?"
Maria smiled and nodded absently. She reached out for the half-smoked reefer. It was hot and moist at one end where the three pairs of lips had been sucking, and she moved her mouth sensuously as she inhaled-drawing the harsh, acrid smoke deep into her lungs and savoring every moment of the first long drag.
Fleur was already rolling a second cigarette, mixing ordinary tobacco with the crumbled, brownish marijuana and holding it close to his nostrils as he skillfully taped it into the cigarette paper and fitted the tube together.
"Man, this goddamned shit is putrid when you compare it to American hash," he frowned, sniffing and then licking at the gummed edge. "Can't you get decent pot in London anymore?"
Lillian, who had found a drug contact in Chelsea for Fleur, admitted that the marijuana was inferior to the stuff she had used in California.
"There's nothing like Acapulco Gold!" Fleur murmured dreamily. "That's the greatest pot I ever smoked. Clean, pure, long-lasting...Jesus, I'm almost coming down already on this crap!"
Now Fleur lit the second reefer and inhaled angrily. The red tip flared into life, swiftly burning away as Fleur sucked deeper and deeper.
"If you ask me, only a square could stay high on this shit!" he snarled, thrusting the tube towards Lillian. "When are we going to...."
There were two apologetic-sounding rings at the front doorbell that interrupted him. Fleur looked up at Maria.
"Hey baby, go see who it is, will you? If it happens to be the law, tell them we're just burning up old mattresses!"
When Maria returned, she was accompanied by a shy-looking, obviously embarrassed Karl Murrey.
Karl Murrey entered the bedroom sheepishly, averting his eyes from the three semi-naked girls and then, upon realizing that Fleur was totally nude, blinking rapidly and swiveling his head as if he didn't know where to look!
"Well, hello there Murrey. Grab a seat-if you can find one!" Fleur told him. "I assume this is a social call? I don't work on Sundays...."
Karl perched uneasily on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand around the inside of his shirt collar and adjusted his glasses.
"Well, as a matter of...fact," he began hesitantly, "I did come to see you about the film. A.M. is getting very concerned about your refusal to show up at the conferences. And as you're doing most of your shooting in the evenings, not letting the producer see how things are coming along...."
Karl mustered his strength. Goddamn it, he cursed himself. I'm right! I am the bloody producer! Why the hell should I be scared of this bastard? He cleared his throat.
"Obviously, Fleur, neither of us are happy about the way you're carrying on! I understand that you've made very drastic changes in the character of the girl, for one thing. And she's no longer a naive, demure little virgin but a raving nymphomaniac!
"Well, for another thing, there's your expense account. It's too high, Fleur! You're spending far too much on items that aren't justified by the budget. Since you refused to talk to me at the studio, Mr. Mason suggested...I mean, I thought that I'd come down and have an informal chat with you. To see if we can work things out on a friendly basis....
"Goddamn, you are listening to me, aren't you?! "
Karl now noticed the glazed, faraway expression in Fleur's eyes. Without the dark glasses, his eyes were sunken and deeply hollowed! He was staring at a mandolin on the wall behind Karl's head, apparently taking no notice at all of what was being said to him.
"Shit man, I can hear you!" Fleur sighed. His pupils, very dark and greatly enlarged, finally moved across to Karl's face. "I don't know why, but I'm going to answer your damn-fool questions.
"For one thing, I haven't stepped outside the budget limit so far-and I don't intend to! Every cent I've spent has been on things that I consider essential.
"In the second place, the colorless bitch in Dane's script wouldn't have rated a walk-on part in a third-rate repertory production. I've injected some life into her, that's all. She's a girl who has been fighting against her erotomania (cock-lust, if you wanted it spelled out!) for years. And she's always kept it under control-until the guy played by Glen Tenny slips her a drug that releases every pent-up emotion in her body....
"That poor bitch is a lost soul; completely doomed! And that's what makes her into a marginally interesting character. Now, I'm not giving any more explanations, Murrey! Not to you, not to Mason-not to anybody! When you see the finished movie, you'll understand that all the switches I've made are for the best.
"I can guarantee you, you're due for quite a revelation!"
Karl failed to think of a suitable answer to this, so he tried another tack.
"It appears that we have to trust you, Fleur, in view of the money we've already invested in this picture. But I've got to insist on my rights! I want to watch at least one scene being shot: you owe me that much!"
Demis Fleur scratched his long, albino-white hair, seeming to chew on this possibility for awhile.
"Murrey, I'll tell you what I'll do. You can come along to the studio on Wednesday evening. I'm going to shoot the LSD party scene then-and I guess we could use another extra! How about it? You want to be a movie star? Play a part in the film yourself?"
Murrey was taken aback. He felt a glow of excitement at Fleur's idea. Why not? he thought. Why shouldn't he take a walk-on role in the picture? Hitchcock did it in all his films, didn't he?
"Okay. Okay with me," he smiled. "I'll look forward to the experience. I can keep an eye on things and contribute towards the film at the same time!" As an afterthought, he added: "Incidentally, what sort of character will I be? What clothes would you like me to wear?"
Fleur exchanged a wink with Lillian and the other girls. Karl failed to notice it in his enthusiasm.
"Don't worry, we'll fix you up with some gear!" he told the producer. "You'll be a weirdo-stoked up on LSD and flying really high. You'll love it!"
"You know, I've never really used the stuff at all," Karl frowned. "But I suppose one can easily simulate the experience-after all, I've read quite a lot about the kind of effect it has...."
"Baby, there's not a thing to worry about," Fleur smiled. "We'll make sure you give an authentic performance!" He drew on the last quarter-inch of his reefer and mashed the remains to a pulp in the ashtray at his feet. "Hey, I got another idea; why don't you try one of these-it'll give you some kind of insight into what an LSD trip is like! Not the real thing, but a fair approximation...."
As he spoke, he quickly made another marijuana cigarette. He held it out to Karl.
"Here, go ahead," he invited. "Pot won't harm you! Not this kind of pot, anyway. It's mild, man-too mild for me!"
"I really don't know if I should...." Karl flinched away from the proffered, drug-filled tube. "It's illegal, isn't it, and...."
"For Christ sakes, come on!" Fleur put it between his own lips and struck a match. He got it alight and offered it to Karl again. "Unwind a little! Enjoy life-what can happen to you!"
There was a challenging expression on the girl's faces that made Karl decide. All three of them were staring up at him, ready to sneer if he refused to take the marijuana. Conquering his misgivings, he accepted the cigarette and began, slowly at first, to puff on its loose, unevenly-packed length....
The hot smoke filled his lungs, burning the tender membranes. His head felt packed with canned heat and also with a mild apprehension for he had the puritanical indoctrination that he was doing wrong, he was committing an act frowned upon by society. But this did not prevent him from inhaling again and one more time....
CHAPTER Seven THE "TRIP"
Karl didn't know what was amusing him. Rather, he didn't know why everything was amusing him. His body felt languid, heavy, and difficult to move without using what seemed to be incredible willpower.
He continued to draw on the reefer, finding the actual taste of the stuff not as unpleasant as he had supposed it would be from its smell. But each lifting of his arm to raise the butt to his lips was a concentrated task in itself; and Karl felt glad when he had smoked it down to a tiny stub and could put it out without loss of face.
The Far Eastern music was playing softly, the only sound in the over-heated room. He had never before listened to Oriental rhythms, but now-finding his senses of hearing and appreciation suddenly heightened-Karl became gradually lost in the strange, discordant sound patterns.
Karl slowly lifted his feet up onto the bed and lay very still, listening. There seemed to be a pressure on his eyelids and a small voice inside his brain whispered to him that he would feel much more comfortable if he closed his eyes and gave himself up to the novelty of this new experience.
The hours-which were actually but minutes-passed, but Karl was no longer aware of such passages. A tremendous peace stole over him, washing away his depression and making his anxiety over the film appear trivial and absurd. He felt as t hough he was sinking deliciously into a warm, translucent...the ripples of music caressing him with their sweet, gentle fingers....
He drifted down and down...his lips parting in a blissful smile...thinking over and over again:
"This is it! Now I know what pot is like! It's wonderful, absolutely wonderful!"
Demis Fleur, by contrast, was still only slightly high-even after four of the low-quality pot cigarettes. He fidgeted restlessly, then pulled Maria against him by passing a hand around the girl's thighs-she was the only person in the room still standing-and drawing her nearer.
Maria leaned against him, her hip firm and smooth, a well-padded cushion for Fleur to rest his head on. He began to stroke up and down her bare thigh, moving his hand freely on the satin skin until his fingers reached under the high hem of her dress and started to rub leisurely over Maria's buttocks.
Fleur's hand was soon past the useful opening in her dress, exploring over the stitched vent and passing onto the girl's nude ass cheeks. She swayed her hips very, very gently as he fondled her bottom; turning a fraction of an inch at a time to face the man.
Maria now stood with her belly thrust boldly in Fleur's face, his mouth buried in the warm woolen garment, his fingers now fondling down the long exciting divide of her buttocks.
The mini-skirt was hitched up at the back, and he easily raised it at the front, too, exposing the childlike slit of her sex: so babyish without the normal growth of pubic hair which covered a woman's pubis.
Fleur stretched his legs out between her thighs, making the girl stand with her feet apart, her fully developed body towering above him. He ducked his head under the crotch-wriggling further down so that he could gaze up at the unconcealed cunt and followed, with his eyes, the deep gash which curved beneath Maria's thighs.
Fleur brought his other hand into play, lifting his fingers and crooking them in front of her loins. With his mouth only inches from the girl's quim, Fleur stared without blinking as his fingers probed into the slit and gradually opened the fleshy portals.
Maria continued to sway her hips, but as she felt two of his fingers ease their way inside her groove, Maria began to grind herself backwards and fore-wards: slowly at first, then with a more intense rhythm as his digits sank deeper and deeper-thrusting upwards and making her quim grow moist and hot with desire.
He pinched and fondled at the cheeks of her buttocks with his left hand, Fleur continued to probe with his right at the girl's cunt. He pressed his thumb firmly into the fleshy muscle where her sex folds began-prodding with it at the beautiful apex of Maria's slit, working the digit slowly downwards until it touched the rosy, trembling protuberance of her clitoris.
Maria began to moan as he caressed the spot, letting her head go back and making her long, golden hair hang down like a flowing stream over her shoulders. Fleur gave her a long, erotic fondling, moving his fingers slowly in and out of her vagina until they became hot and wet from the girl's greatly excited pussy. Then he withdrew his hand, calmly wiping his moistened fingers on her soft inner thigh!
But before Maria had time to feel frustrated at the departure of his caressing fingers, Fleur took his other hand away from her buttocks and-using both of his hands-pinched the lips of her quim and peeled them as widely apart as they would stretch.
Fleur promptly glued his lips to the gaping slit, pursing them tightly and beginning a wild, urgent tonguing which made the girl gasp loudly with pleasure.
When his mouth had practically brought her to an orgasm. Fleur pushed his tongue out and extended it...thrusting it stiffly upwards, using the muscle as if it was a quivering, lavishly-moistened penis!
Fleur could taste the rich, fishy odor of her lust, the walls of her sex palpitating strongly and creating an almost continuous stream of love-juice. His tongue explored deeper, wriggling to and fro, while his fingers pulled and agitated the pump outer folds of her pussy-making Maria's thighs quiver ecstatically in their wide open stance.
After Fleur and Maria began to make love, the sight of their intimacy aroused Roxie and made her yearn for a similar caress to be performed on her body. She could feel her nipples stiffening as she watched Fleur's lips working against the girl's sex: and her excitement was only intensified by the marijuana which had heightened her senses to a tremendous degree....
Maria glanced around and noticed that Lillian, too was showing signs of sexual interest. The English girl's thighs were rubbing discreetly together as she lay on the rug, and her cheeks were flushed. Lillian's breasts rose and fell irregularly beneath the bright silk shirt; and-above all-she was passing her tongue slowly across her parted lips-as if she were tasting, in fantasy, the slit which Fleur was tonguing so fervently!
Roxie knelt, and then moved towards the other girl. She put her arms around Lillian and raised her until they were both on their knees facing each other. Silently, her eyes as hot and heavy-lidded as Lillian's, Roxie closed the short distance between their bodies and drew the girl into a warm, hugging embrace.
Lillian, for a brief moment, resisted. Then she responded to the unspoken invitation in Roxie's face, allowing the girl to stroke her back and bring their mouths sweetly together.
Then, their two lips met, brushed temptingly, and joined in a sudden, fierce kiss: Lillian's small mouth pressing against Roxie's fuller lips, gasping as she felt the pressure of the American girl's breasts squeezing into her own.
Lillian's arms went around Roxie's back and she was soon running her hands up and down the flesh that was so like hers...holding the girl tightly, feeling Roxie's fingers passing with a more experienced touch down to her spine and sending shivers of expectation through her body.
She moved her lips more urgently against Lillian's and, thereby succeeded in exciting the girl so much that she willingly opened her mouth and permitted their tongues to touch-fleetingly at first, then with a wonderful abandon.
Roxie had found Lillian's point of least resistance; her spine base, where her back arched inwards before blossoming out in a pair of truly lovely butt-cheeks. She tenderly raised the short shirt and caressed the place with her fingertips, running them softly up and down and letting them stray gradually into the cleft of Lillian's buttocks.
Roxie's own shirt had ridden up and as she felt her bare crotch rubbing against Lillian's, she began to grind slowly backwards and forwards...making the partly concealed lips of their organs kiss excitingly together.
Now the jungle of their pubic hair intermingled, Roxie's blonde tuft merging with the English girl's black bush, until the slits themselves were pressing intimately, with increasing moistness and passion.
The girl's hands wandered inevitably down over the slopes of their bottoms-kneading at the white curves, separating the cheeks and letting their long, eager fingers slide into the crevices to fondle at the tiny hot holes which lay concealed between the globes.
Because the pot had dulled their senses, both Roxie and Lillian were making love as if they were in a dream or a trance. They caressed each other slowly and considerately, the murmurs of pleasure which moaned from their lips long-drawn out and exaggerated. It was some time before their hands actually came into contact with one another's sexes; and when they did touch the forbidden slits, their fingers played lingeringly at the sides of the wounds before seeking to penetrate them....
Now Roxie stretched her hand deeply beneath Lillian's crotch, extending her fingers under the girl's bottom and curling them until they reached the damp, sensitive bulge which was thrusting against her own. Lillian followed suit: and they commenced a lingering, exquisite exploration, their arms-from the elbow downwards-pressing snugly between the warmth of each other's bottoms.
Occasionally, their fingers would rove a little further-touching their own quims, lightly stroking the other girl's finger as it frigged so tenderly into the moist hole. And then they would slide back again, eager to renew contact with the more exciting, alien slit which opened readily to the least pressure
Karl Murrey, meanwhile, was lying on the bed with a beautiful smile on his lips, completely oblivious to the orgy which was now taking place a little distance from him. He had removed his tie and jacket, kicked off his Hush Puppies and was contemplating undressing altogether! The room was humid with the heat from the radiators-and the heady smoke of the marijuana that had been consumed lay thickly in the air.
He began to cough fitfully, coming out of his drug-induced state of tranquility. Sitting up, Karl cleared his throat sharply and finally opened his eyes.
The instant he saw what they were doing, he stared incredulously!
Karl stared first at Fleur and Maria, hearing the muffled slurp of the American's lips as they sucked greedily into the girl's sex-his face buried between her thighs, his head stretched upwards to meet the curve of her crotch.
Karl gulped, then swiveled his eyes to Lillian and Roxie. They paid no attention to him, deeply engrossed in their lesbian passion, probably unaware that they were being watched.
Karl's first thought was to make a discreet exit, but as he moved, Karl felt a wave of nausea seize him. He groaned, forgetting that a sudden action under the influence of marijuana was a powerful shock to the nervous system. And as he slumped back onto the bed, still moaning loudly, the girls stopped kissing and turned their heads in his direction.
Roxie put her lips against Lillian's ear and whispered in a low, secretive voice. The English girl smiled, still fondling her partner's cunt, her hand remaining under the cheeks of Roxie's bottom. She nodded, brushing her face against Roxie's, and then both girls climbed unsteadily to their feet.
Now their shoulders shook a little with suppressed giggling. Roxie and Lillian approached the bed where Karl lay. He forced his eyes open again, seeing before him a voluptuous and dreamy vision: With their arms twined around each other's waists, the girls stood side by side, the shirts fucked up around their bellies. Karl's face was in a direct line with their crotches; and he could see the white, nude flesh of their loins swaying gently from side to side as they posed in front of him.
Before he could summon a protest, Roxie stooped and unbuckled his belt! He tried to sit up, but Lillian promptly swung her legs over the bed and straddled her chest-pinning him down with her bottom planted firmly and her hands grabbing his wrists. The least attempt at resistance seemed to require an enormous effort. Karl knew that under normal conditions he could easily break the girl's hold; but his strength had ebbed away, he felt Lillian's grasp like fingers of iron around his wrists...and he stared up into her mocking eyes with a sensation not unlike that of a rabbit confronted with a cobra....
His legs, it seemed, were too heavy to move-and Roxie swiftly tugged his trousers, and then his underpants, over his thighs and off his ankles. The American girl then reached under her friend's buttocks-giving Lillian's open-lipped vagina another juicy fondling before she unplucked the buttons of Karl's shirt and bared his chest.
Lillian resettled her ass on his uncovered flesh.
She began to squirm the soft, plump cheeks, moving her hips up and down and making the stretched slit of her quim rub against Karl's hard, lean muscles. Her hands were holding his arms parallel to his head, keeping him in a position of powerless passivity while Roxie leaned further over his thighs and began, tantalizingly to swing her breasts backwards and forwards, letting the hard tits caress his limp penis through their thin covering of silk.
She was impatient now. She tugged the garment over her head, freeing her breasts so that they could now bob across Karl's sex with restraint: their ripe, red-peaked centers slowly bringing the tool to erection.
In order to step up his excitement, Roxie pressed her hands tightly around the outer curves of her tits. She squeezed the breasts together, forming two pillows of them and rubbing his awakening shaft in a subtle, arousing caress; the rising prick gradually pushing up from between the snowy, yielding melons....
With a glance and a touch, she judged it to be stiff enough, so Roxie copied Lillian's attitude-opening her legs and climbing on top of the recumbent man, sitting with her thighs spread across his end's back.
Now Roxie shifted a little on his lap, getting herself comfortable and insuring that Karl's penis was securely lodged in front of her crotch-sticking up rudely from her platinum blonde pubic hair and pulsing strongly against the white flesh of her belly.
Roxie then put both her hands around Lillian's waist, bringing them up slowly to encompass the girl's breasts while Karl watched with bated breath. Lillian smiled down at him, her eyes glazed from the pot and mysterious, tempting moue forming on her lips.
Roxie fondled her tits through the shirt, then unfastened the remaining buttons...gradually bringing Lillian's bosom into view. Tenderly, she drew the shirt wide open, pulling it over the girl's breasts and slipping it off her shoulders. It shivered down Lillian's upper arms, and she released Karl's hands for a moment while she shrugged the garment free of her body.
No longer embarrassed by or afraid of what they were doing, Karl didn't resist them. He had been married for ten years-and he had never, until this moment, been unfaithful to his wife. But with the inhibition-releasing quality of the marijuana in his bloodstream, the last vestiges of self-control ebbed away...He felt no particular desire to assert his maleness yet-to thrust Lillian away and assume his rightful role in their sex game-and he was content to lay back and discover what they intended to do....
Roxie was holding Lillian's nipples carefully between the forefingers and thumbs of both her hands. When the cherries were responding to the gentle pressure of her tweaking, she began to pull on them-tugging the nipples away from the girl's breasts and swinging her hand so that the luscious globes jiggled in a sexy and stimulating way before Karl's eyes.
In the meantime, Lillian stared down at him with that enigmatic, breathless expression: as if she were daring him to interrupt their lesbian pleasure!
Roxie nest let one of her hands slide back around Lillian's waist while the other continued to stroke first one breast, then the other. She took Karl's genitals and began to rub it into the tangle of her blonde bush hair-making the weapon jerk stiffly as it was pressed into the wiry, extremely hot jungle.
She raised herself a little and then held his penis around its base, feeling with it for the opening to her slit. She found the luscious little hole, guiding the crown carefully inwards, then sank down again...holding herself very stiffly as the hard length penetrated inch by thick inch into her body.
Karl responded by a rhythmic surging of his buttocks thrusting his weapon upwards, then letting it slide slowly out again-while Roxie knelt on either side of his hips, her thighs pressing warmly into Karl's.
For a little while she kept her hand tightly around the stem of his penis. Her fingers squeezed and relaxed in a thrilling alternation, holding his knob as if it were the rudder of a boat and she was steering it skillfully through the hot, oceanic waters which were starting to flow through her opened organ.
As they clutched each other, thrusting, Roxie kept up her caressing of Lillian's nipples; though her fingers were, in reality, tormenting the darling little buds very cruelly. She was using her nails to scratch insistently across them, raking the taut cherries until they grew dark crimson and were thrusting stiffly from the girl's milky titflesh.
Roxie's passion made her grow wild-and she searched for some better way to inflame her lust and bring it to completion. She fumbled for Karl's discarded belt, seized the buckle and-using both of her hands-brought the long leather strap around Lillian's chest.
While she could have guessed what was about to happen, Lillian made no effort to escape. She continued to ride her crotch on Karl's chest, working with a tenser rhythm now...bearing down on the man's body with firm strokes of her hips.
Roxie fastened the belt tightly around both her breasts, tugging at the strap until it bit deeply into the soft mounds, squashing them and making them bulge deliciously over the top and the bottom of their bondage.
Now Roxie slotted the buckle into first one hole, then another...finally satisfied when Lillian's titties were so constrained that the girl could scarcely breathe. When the belt was securely fastened, she returned her hands to the front of Lillian's body-again caressing her breasts, this time fondling the tips of her fingers into the belt, squeezing them into the space with great difficulty, and slowly working Lillian's nipples out from beneath the choking strap.
After they finally popped free, the stalks were alarmingly extended and so red that a fire seemed to burn in them! Roxie ran her cool fingers over them. She kept teasing the blood-red points while her cunt suddenly began to cream out under the fucking of Karl's prick-the thin but abundant juices flowing in a long, sustained out-pouring.
Roxie's fingers again scrabbled furiously into her extremely provoked nipples, and Lillian groaned despairingly. She wriggled quickly upwards, kneeling astride Karl's face and grabbing at his hair to make him suck the juice which was about to erupt from her own vagina!
Her warm, wet slit squashed against his mouth. Karl opened his lips to gasp air-the girl's thick sprout of pubic hair was rubbing firmly on his nostrils-and found instead that he was kissing directly into the pink, gaping vulva!
He knew that the softness of her cunt-meat was intensified a hundred degrees by the drug he had taken. Karl slurped noisily on the succulent skin, now driving his tongue up into the slot, now licking around the hot, pungent inside flesh. He could feel the pulsing of her clitoris against his upper lip, its throbbing growing fast and furious as he gobbled and sucked at Lillian's pussy, and the pounding of his prick as it skewered in and out of Roxie's wildly spending quim shook his entire body in a fierce, unquenchable drumming....
All of a sudden, as his own hands reached up and brushed aside Roxie's-taking their place at Lillian's tits-his whole being seemed to explode with a painful ecstasy.
Now Karl scrabbled maniacally at the long nipples which stuck out over the top of the belt. He pulled savagely on them, while Lillian herself bore the agony with a martyr's resistance to pain; screwing her vagina more urgently into his mouth and running her fingers through his hair with insane, fluttering gestures.
Karl felt as though he could stand no more! His sperm clamored for release. It rose thickly in his testicles and wrung out of his penis in the most violent orgasm he had ever known!
He was jetting it out as though his supply of spunk would never subside, discharging it into the soaking hole of Roxie's quim...forcing his loins upwards despite the weight of the two girls bearing down on his body. The room exploded in fragments around him; shattering his senses and jumbling them up in wild, mind-throbbing confusion
Karl was only dimly aware that his throat was gulping down Lillian's love-cream-and that Demis Fleur had also received, just a few moments previously, the fruit of Maria Landau's lust! The director was now shooting his own jazz down Maria's open lips-his excitement at the prolonged stimulation he had given the girl making Fleur reach a climax directly she changed positions with him and gobbled him into her warm, wet mouth.
Karl gradually fell away from the high point of his orgasm, a wonderful peace suffusing him in its warmth as he lost consciousness and let his mouth slide reluctantly free of Lillian's quim.
Fleur was watching him with renewed interest-a certain idea sparking in his mind as he contemplated the exhausted trio on the bed. Maybe, Fleur thought, maybe he had underestimated Karl Murrey. Possibly (though the time wasn't quite ripe to make absolutely sure) Karl might prove to be an interesting addition to his "Crew."
Fleur would see. On Wednesday, perhaps, when Karl came to the studio to watch them filming the LSD sequences. That might be an opportune moment to find out if the producer could be really uninhibited!
Fleur knew there was no sense in taking risks. He certainly couldn't take Karl into his confidence just yet. It was still possible for the whole movie to be jeopardized. But after Wednesday, with the last big scene in the can, there wouldn't be any harm in telling Karl what kind of film he was really making!
Now he chuckled to himself, making his prick (which was still held possessively in Maria's mouth) tremble against the girl's tongue. One thing was certain: Karl would certainly know that something very strange was happening on the set of his movie.
But Fleur was planning to use real LSD in the forthcoming scene-and there would be no need at all for Murrey to simulate its effects when he took part in the psychedelic orgy!
It was to be Fleur's greatest inspiration so far. To his knowledge it had never before been attempted: apart from the technicians everybody concerned with the sequence would be flying high on acid-including himself!
And now with the possible addition of Karl Murrey to add spice to his plan, Fleur could hardly wait for the next two days to pass....
Nor did Karl Murrey suspect the role of degradation being mentally penciled in for him....
CHAPTER EIGHT
Erotic Blackmail On The Set
"I'm not much of a believer in complaining, Mr. Mason, but it's time you knew what Fleur is doing!"
Steve Dane stood quivering indignantly in Allen Mason's office. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his forehead creased in deep worry lines. Behind the large desk in front of him, Mason sat with only half his attention on the screen-writer. He was running his eye over a long column of figures which had been brought in that morning by the accountants. From all reports, Fleur was keeping well within his budget and the film was probably going to finish shooting a few days ahead of schedule.
Mason was feeling unusually beneficent towards the young director. A smile hovered at the corner of his small mouth, and he had even contemplated giving Fleur a sizeable bonus for his good work. Already, in the devious working of his mind, Allen Mason had taken all the credit for discovering Fleur. He had conveniently forgotten Karl Murrey's part in bringing the director to his attention; and Karl knew that, as long as he wasn't tactless to remind A.M. that Fleur was his discovery, the mogul's good humor might well last until the picture was previewed....
"Got a problem, Steve?" he asked, glancing up from his paper-work. "Anything I can help you with?"
He was taken by surprise at Mason's unexpectedly gentle voice, as Dane peered closely at his employer before he summoned the courage to continue.
"Of course, I'm very unhappy with the way Fleur is apparently altering the script. He seems to be changing everything around...destroying the characters I put into the script and making them into entirely different people!
"What I've done has gone down the drain. Whole scenes are being written into the screenplay, and yet you told me yourself that you were very pleased with my final version. Isn't there some way you can--. "
"Come on, Steve, take it easy." Mason waved his cigar reprovingly at the timid, 35-year-old bachelor. "It was agreed from the beginning that nobody would interfere with Demis Fleur's style of working. In just a few more weeks we'll know if our gamble has paid off.
"As far as I can tell, any changes he might have made have been for the good of the picture. Karl has been keeping a close eye on the shooting." He turned to his secretary for confirmation. "Murrey's latest report indicates that everything is going well, doesn't it, Miss Evans?"
Silently, the super-efficient, but sadly unattractive, girl nodded. She passed a typewritten sheet across to Mason and commented:
"It says here, sir, that Mr. Fleur expects to film the last big scene tomorrow night. He wants the studio to be at his disposal until dawn on Thursday-and then he is allowing four weeks for editing work before the first preview."
"See, Steve?" Mason beamed. "No problems at all! Karl even tells me that he's going to play a walk-on part in this final scene himself! So, if things weren't going to his satisfaction, he'd certainly know all about it....
"Let me do the worrying, Steve. You've played your role: now let the rest of us do our damnedest to produce a fine job of your work!"
He saw that Dane's face still wore its expression of anxiety, and he went even further.
"Consider it this way, Steve. If you're still bothered about Fleur's interpretation of your script, why don't you pop down to Carnaby Street this morning! We've rented one of those godamn shops--. "
He wiggled his fingers impatiently, seeking the right name for them.
"They're called Boutiques!" Miss Evans supplied promptly.
"That's it-boutiques! He's filming some kind of montage sequence down there. You go along, Steve, and I'm sure he'll find time to have a chat with you...Yeah," Mason's voice grew absent as his mind drifted into more important problems-problems of distribution, finding a suitable West End cinema for the premiere....
"Go ahead and just do that little thing, Steve. You'll have a nice discussion with Fleur-everything will work out fine," he said vaguely. "Now, I've got a lot of work to take care of. How far did we get, Miss Evans? The letter to Warner-Pathe?"
Mason had dismissed Steve Dane completely from his thoughts now, and the scriptwriter turned away miserably. He had an intuitive feeling in his bones that something was going very wrong with the production. From hints and scraps of conversation he had overheard, Steve was vaguely aware that the entire concept of the film he had written was being drastically changed.
He couldn't guess how or exactly in what form it was being altered, but despite Mason's confidence-and despite Karl Murrey's assurances that his personal observations had shown him that all was going well-Steve couldn't quieten his doubts....
Leaving the office, he took the elevator down to the ground floor, consumed by anxiety and frustration. With the film more than half-completed, it was unlikely that anything could be done to remedy matters-even if Fleur had produced a complete fiasco. But he didn't intend to give up without making a determined effort to learn the truth: and as he came out of the building, blinking his pale eyes against the bright Tuesday morning spring sunshine, Steve decided that he would pay a visit to the Carnaby Street location.
He couldn't see where it could do any harm-and Fleur could hardly order him out of the way, not when he was filming out-of-doors. The closed-set stipulation only applied to the studio; but just in case the American proved quarrelsome, Steve slipped into a public house for a couple of stiff whiskeys before he made his way to the location....
He emerged, considerably fortified, into the gray
London street, set his shoulders and walked quickly through the narrow side roads until he came upon the lively, bustling and loudly-decorated center of London's fashion world. Situated just behind Oxford Circus, Carnaby Street was the Mecca for trendy styles in clothing and pop-art posters: at least, that was the way the British Tourist Association advertised it.
The truth of the matter was that the street had lost almost all of its glamour so far as the in-crowd was concerned and it appealed nowadays only to foreign tourists and wide-eyed visitors from the provinces. People who owned shops there (98 per cent of them boutiques) still made a great deal of money, but the place had become little more than a landmark: a slightly more fashionable monument than Nelson's Column or the Houses of Parliament....
Steve Dane showed his studio card to the men who were barring the many sightseers from ducking beneath a cordon that had been roped off around one particular shop. He gained entrance to the shop itself and was surprised to find relatively few people inside.
Fleur himself was there, a light-meter hanging from a strap around his neck, and he spotted Karl Murrey and several mini-skirted young girls-some of whom he recognized, while others were unknown to him. But there was little to indicate that a major film was being shot on the premises; no arc-lights, no cables, scarcely any confusion at all....
Steve walked toward the director, emboldened by the whisky in his veins, and stepped in front of him.
"May I have a moment of your time," he began. "About the film--. "
Fleur stared at him through his mirrored glasses obviously trying to place the newcomer. He cocked his head to one side, concentrating, then:
"So you're Dane!" he exclaimed. "Well, listen, I'd love to talk to you, but I'm trying to set up this scene. If it's not terribly important, could you wait back here for a while...you understand, don't you? I've got concealed cameras and we're right in the center of the shot--. "
Fleur took Dane's arm as he spoke, and steered him firmly but gently towards the rear of the shop, where the changing rooms were situated. And before he quite realized what was happening to him, that Fleur was-in fact-giving him an extremely expert brush-off, Steve found himself being guided into a fairly large alcove. Fleur held up a hand placatingly, then swished the curtains across in front of his face!
Steve flushed as he supposed that he could wait for a while, his discussion with Fleur wasn't urgent enough to merit interrupting the film-work. And he consoled himself with the thought that the American had at least appeared friendly; Fleur hadn't barked at him or tried to get him completely out of the way....
Steve felt a little happier on realizing this: Allen Mason had been kind to him this morning as well, on reflection. Steve looked at his reflection in the giant mirrors which covered all three walls of the cubicle, making it appear much more spacious than it actually was.
Sure, they had probably understood his value to the film! That was it! At long last he was being treated with the respect he so richly deserved!
"Hog-tail in there and keep that shit-eater quiet!" Fleur snapped. "I don't care what you do-just make sure he doesn't come out and ruin my mood. Mason's secretary just telephoned: she says he's spoiling for trouble!"
Maria Landau frowned prettily. She and Roxie were supposed to be showing Lillian some of the clothes she might like to wear for the party tonight. And the scene in which she helped the girl to try on a variety of revealing costumes was her biggest part in the picture....
"Just make sure this doesn't begin without me!" she snapped at Fleur. "You think you'll shoot the scene with just Roxie-and I'll be out in the cold as usual! Find somebody else to do your dirty work this time!"
"Oh, shit!" Fleur pleaded. "I won't even be ready to film for another half hour! All I'm asking you to do is embarrass the poor bastard so that he turns tail and gets the hell out of here! Is that too much for you to do?"
"On one condition only" Maria relented. "If Roxie comes in with me! Then I can be sure you're not going to cheat and push me out in the cold!"
She looked at Fleur, her green eyes glittering insolently at him, brooking no further argument.
Roxie shrugged and took Maria's hand.
"I don't think you need either one of us just yet, do you, Demis?" she said. "I don't mind going with Maria, it sounds as if it might be kicks to embarrass that poor square!"
Their director bowed deeply and mockingly, gesturing towards the changing room where Steve was patiently waiting.
"Do your worst girls, he's all yours!"
Grinning, they walked across the shop, passing the racks of bright, expensive clothes and drew back the curtain; surprising Steve in the act of posturing vainly in front of the full-length mirror!
He blanched, instinctively edging away from the two girls as they entered the alcove. Maria closed the curtain behind them and a nervous tic appeared at the corners of his mouth.
"Steve stammered, "I'm s-s-sorry! I was told to wait in here. If you want to use the cubicle, I'll be happy to go somewhere else. Er-excuse me, will you?"
Roxie was standing with her back to the only exit, barring his way; and Maria advanced towards him, a pretty smile on her lips, making it impossible for Steve to slip around the small space and escape.
"Why be shy?" she whispered silkily. "We only want to try on a few pairs of panties! Don't tell me a big, strong man like you is embarrassed by a couple of young girls!"
Steve beat a hasty retreat to the corner and wedged himself unhappily against it, locking his suddenly dry lips. Standing only a few inches from him, Maria calmly began to loosen her dress. She pulled at the long zipper which ran from its neck down to her stomach and lifted the opened folds over her shoulders. A second later, it was draped around her ankles, leaving the girl in nothing but her black micro-panties and a low-cut brassiere.
And behind her, Roxie was following suit: and when she, too, was clad only in her undies, she joined Maria in front of the nervous Steve....
"Pardon me," she whispered. And reached up a slender arm to the shelf just above Steve's right shoulder. Her body brushed against him, an ample breast which was almost spilling out of her bra cup, jostling his chest as she stood on tip-toe and brought down a cardboard box containing several pairs of cute, multi-colored panties.
Steve's face was hot and his body was trembling. In the confined space he could smell the erotic perfume which the girls were wearing; the languid, arousing scent combining with their brazen semi-nudity to give him a weird, palpitating excitement. He made one final attempt to leave the cubicle.
"Wouldn't you feel more comfortable if I went outside?" His voice was hoarse, the words coming out in a rasping, unnatural whisper.
"Perhaps, you would like to help us choose!" Roxie smiled. She rummaged in the box, bringing out a pair of pink, almost transparent briefs. They were so tiny that Steve found himself involuntarily glancing down at Roxie's mature hips...visualizing the panties around her crotch, knowing that they would stretch so tightly that....
Steve couldn't stop trembling at the erotic picture his mind had conjured up! But it remained a mere vision for only a second or two, because Roxie proceeded to unroll the briefs which she was wearing, and lifting one leg at a time, stepped out of them!
"Isn't it getting hot in here!" she exclaimed, tossing her lovely blonde hair. "I'm going to take my bra off as well! What about you, Maria?"
Maria nodded.
"Well, why not?" She stepped behind her girl friend and neatly unhooked the taut back strap of Roxie's brassiere. Then she turned, presenting her own bra to the blonde. "You can do me now!"
Maria turned again, but this time her bra was unfastened and hung loosely. Now the two girls stood facing each other, their profiles towards Steve. Gazing provocatively into each other's eyes, they gently shook their bodies until all four cups dropped away from their breasts.
Steve, by now was no longer in a hurry to leave the room! He watched with hungry eyes as Maria stooped down in front of Roxie and drew the girl's panties slowly over her thighs. And he felt his prod rising quickly to an erection inside his trousers as they dwelt on the completely naked female flesh-only a few inches away from him. His cock swelled upwards, thrusting fiercely against his fly, but he made no attempt to conceal its bulge.
He put out his hand and almost unconsciously adjusted his stiff member, altering its position and making it feel slightly less uncomfortable!
Maria glanced towards him, a knowing smile on her lips.
"Come on!" she urged softly. "Take your clothes off too! Nobody will come in and disturb us-I promise!"
Now Maria returned her eyes to Roxie and a silent question and answer passed between the two girls.
"Maybe you'd like us to undress you?" she purred. A brief, pregnant silence, broken only by Steve's heavy breathing....
Without warning then they jumped on him and started to claw at his trousers and jacket, getting his pants down and his jacket off before Steve quite knew what had hit him!
Steve made an attempt to thrust them away, but his hands-closing on their soft, rounded flesh--trembled with excitement. Numbly, he stood there: feeling the girls' warmth all around him as they stripped him completely and began to fondle his prong. They made appreciative murmurs at the vigorous size of his weapon; taking it in turns to touch the swollen red crest, running their fingers over every inch of his manhood until Steve closed his eyes in sheer pleasure.
Steve began to put his arms around their shoulders, feeling them moving down onto their knees, still clutching his penis, still examining it intimately with their fingers. Steve leaned back against the cool glass of the mirror. He was now aware of a softer, moister sensation on his prod: and he knew without glancing down that the girls were kissing his penis-pressing their wet, gorgeously female lips to his knob and running their mouths slowly up and down its length.
Delicate, probing fingers lifted his balls, roving tenderly along the scrotum, caressing the thick ridge of flesh and sending a jolt of excitement all along his penis. This was an agony of pleasure to Steve! He tensed his body for the next gliding caress; shuddering with ecstasy as the gentle fingers repeated the wonderful movement again and again....
The sensations that he was feeling were centered around his loins. And Steve didn't pay any attention to the fact that the girls were slipping something discreetly onto his body with their free hands.
Steve didn't open his eyes. He wasn't even sure that he could. Nor did he resist when his feet were fitted into the legs of a silky garment; and it was drawn softly upwards, stretching tautly around his thighs, the girls giggling quietly as they watched the pair of pale pink panties slowly covering the man's legs!
Now the hands petting his pud seemed to intensify their fondling, holding it between their open mouths and passing their tongues lasciviously up and down its straining, stiff-fleshed length, watching in the far mirror the progress of their work....
Steve didn't react until the wildly tight silk reached his upper thighs.
Now he could feel his legs being drawn together under some curious constraint-and he opened his eyes in shocked disbelief as the knowledge of what Maria and Roxie were doing to him finally sank home!
"My God, you shouldn't be-you...know!" he gasped brokenly, trying to pull away from them again, despite his ecstasy at their expert mouthing. "I'm not going to put those things on!"
Maria hushed him. "If you make too much noise, somebody will come in! And you wouldn't want to be seen like this, now would you?"
Steve was astounded by their kinky game. He read the lightly disguised threat in the girl's voice. What she really meant was: "If you make a scene or try to stop us, we'll make damn sure that the whole shop knows what we're doing to you!"
He felt helpless. All resistance had stopped. There seemed to be no alternative but to accept their unspoken blackmail. Steve felt more embarrassed than at any other time in his life-but he comforted himself with the thought that nobody need know about his humiliation. And a small, secret voice insisted that it wasn't altogether unpleasant to feel the tight silk against his thighs. And to know that in a few moments it would be drawn adhesively around his hips and genitals....
Maria and Roxie were kneeling on either side of his body now: each girl attending to one leg of the panties, tugging it higher and higher-until, at last, the briefs were drawn firmly over Steve's balls and prod.
Now, there was more than half of his prong protruding from the tautly-stretched waistband, and Maria studied it thoughtfully for a moment. She chewed her lower lip pensively, then caught hold of the throbbing, crimson crown, pinching it firmly between her forefinger and thumb.
"Let's just do something about this!" the girl said decisively. "It looks obscene-sticking out like that!"
Maria, with a little help from her friend, began to twist his knob sideways; forcing it into a painful horizontal position and then, while Roxie held the panties as far away from Steve's body as they would stretch, she thrust it down...squashing the tool and burying it finally and completely beneath the tiny, vee-shaped woman's briefs.
Steve's prong seemed to be a throbbing shaft of pain. Now at its full erection, the shaft felt terribly compressed under its sheath of silk-bulging fatly outwards and burning with a quick, throbbing intensity.
"Now that's more like it. You look like a real girl now!" Maria cried.
Now Maria removed her hand and planted a long kiss on the middle of Steve's weapon. Roxie ran her fingers up the back of his thigh caressing his lean buttocks through the tight silk. Slowly, the girls shuffled closer together in front of the strangely-clad man. They played with each other's breasts while he looked down at them; but their main concern was with Steve's hard doodle-the sight of it bulging so strenuously against the panties making them feel itchy and moist in the area of their cunts.
Both girls turned their faces towards him. Maria and Roxie pressed their lips to the trapped tool and tongued it through the pink gauze of the briefs.
Their cheeks brushed together, eyes half-closed, each girl taking a fair portion of the thick, pulsing bang-bang.
Steve suddenly felt their warm, soft mouths wandering backwards and forwards on his whang; soaking the thin, stretched panties and making his sex ache with a terrible longing to be free of its tight restraint. And yet, at the same time, he was aware of a fervent excitement in his odd predicament: a deep, unconscious desire to prolong the situation, suffer the humiliation of wearing the mini-briefs and admit that he was thrilled by what the girls had done to him....
Their bizarre behavior was being reflected in a huge, veined mirror. Crouching in front of the man, the two girls continued to fondle at each other's breasts and nipples-but their other hands were indulging in even more intimate caresses.
The palms of both girls had been resting on Steve's ass, but they were now, by mutual consent, striving to push upwards beneath the ridiculously abbreviated seat of the panties and gain access to the man's anus!
They squirmed and fumbled and finally managed to thrust their fingers under the tightly-molded hem and they fondled into the ass-crease-Maria's hand approaching the forbidden territory from above the waistband, Roxie's fingers pushing into the cleft from below.
"Why not just enjoy it?" Roxie suggested. She pinched his left buttock sharply, making tears rise in Steve's eyes. "Keep the muscles slack, or I'll give your prod a bite you'll never forget!"
Roxie stretched her mouth wide to accompany the threat. Her teeth closed around the entire width of his penis, sinking them slowly-but not too sharply!-into the stiff, saliva-saturated shaft.
Steve felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He fought the impulse to clench his ass tight, keeping the cheeks un-tensed while Roxie roved her forefinger quickly between them and pressed the firm pad against his bunghole!
Now they took it in turns to penetrate his butt, first Roxie and then Maria frigging deep into the orifice...tickling and making him writhe with an almost unbearable torture.
Roxie was the first to relent. Her lips had been sucking at the crown of Steve's penis for the past five minutes, drawing the tender head outwards by wrapping her lips tightly around the thick arrow. She couldn't wait any longer to feel its nude flesh on her tongue-thrilling through it was to suck his whang through the encasement of silk panties.
Now the girl took her hand from Maria's breast and tugged the waistband outwards, permitting Steve's rod to swing upwards into a vertical position. It burst free of the elastic reinforcement around the briefs and swelled proudly in the air: only an inch or two of its length still contained by the panties.
Roxie raised her face before her friend could take the initiative once more. She gobbled the naked crown between her lips, attacking the prick wildly-her blonde hair streaming down to hide what she was doing to it, one side of her face pressed tightly against Steve's belly.
Roxie's mouth sank further and further down the shaft. She used her tongue to torment the hot, moist flesh, feeling it riding against the roof of her mouth as she sucked harder; knowing that Maria was tilting her own head upwards-contenting herself with taking Steve's balls between her lips and caressing the wrinkled sack strongly in the wetness of her mouth.
Poor Steve! He had never in his life shot a load into a girl's throat! And he felt a curious reluctance to give vent to his desire even now....
But their fingers were still tickling high up into his anus: ass-frigging him with alternate gentleness and anger-until he felt so weak and giddy from their combined attentions that the mirrored room began to swirl and blur, their many reflections seeming to rush in ever-increasing circles before his half-closed eyes....
There was no longer any chance to exercise control! Steve thrust his stomach out, feeling the soft skin of Roxie's cheek rubbing on it as the girl valiantly worked her mouth hastily up and down his shaft.
Suddenly the paroxysm of climax jolted through him, taking his body and shaking it into a fury of jolting lust. He held his muscles as tense as possible, straining his extension upwards as it jetted and pulsed into the warmth of Roxie's open lips.
Steve could feel her fingers trapped in the cleft of his butt, one of them stuck high up his anal passage. His balls lolled against Maria's tongue-making the entire area of his loins ablaze with passion.
His tormented penis issued forth more and more of the rich sperm. Steve couldn't hold it back! He spent lavishly, creaming his seed until Roxie sensed that she had wrung the last spasm of juice from his manhood.
Then, as the other girl drew her lips over the soaking, trembling organ, Maria gave her a violent push in the chest, sending her sprawling away from their victim!
Now Maria knelt in front of Steve, bringing her breasts tightly together around his tool-and by rubbing them skillfully and quickly, she succeeded in producing a further outflow of spunk from the tube.
The valley between her tits was suddenly splattered with the white foam which felt hot and sticky. The foam washed over and tickled her nipples while she swiftly frigged her finger into her vee and brought herself to orgasm....
Steve's knees were sagging helplessly, and he slid slowly to the floor as the girls moved out of contact with his body. His back against the mirror, the panties still stretched tautly around his hips, the script-writer wore an expression of utter bliss-the dreamy smile remaining on his face even as he lapsed into an exhausted, sated slumber.
"Sonofabitch!" Roxie hissed. "You've got one hell of a nerve, Demis Fleur! That scene wasn't in the script-and you didn't even think of it until we went in there to deep Dane quiet!"
There was no way that she could sustain her indignation. A smile appeared on her lips, and she gave the grinning director a savage but friendly poke in the ribs.
"How in the hell could I let an opportunity like that pass by?" Fleur drawled. "Besides, you both knew damn well that a two-way mirror had been fitted in the cubicle! I had the cameras all set up for filming the scene we had planned: why not take advantage of the circumstances?"
"Well, anyhow...." She gestured towards the closed curtains of the changing room. Inside, Steve Dane was scrambling hurriedly back into his clothes; his face beet-root red and his body shaking as if possessed by fever. "We killed two birds with one stone, baby! He certainly won't bother us any more-and we've got an extra scene in the can!
"Wait'll he tries to prove that he didn't volunteer to play in our movie! His acting was very, very realistic!"
Fleur extended his hand and gave Roxie's nipple an affectionate pinch.
"Okay," he said briskly. "Let's get back to work! I want to get a lot of sleep in tonight, ready for the big, big scene on Wednesday. Incidentally...." He turned to Lillian. "Has your contact come up with some acid yet?"
Lillian nodded. "Fifty tablets-more than enough LSD for what you need. And it's top quality, too,"
Lillian added quickly. "The very best! It came in from Yugoslavia last night."
"Crazy! Okay, boys and girls!" Fleur snapped his fingers, studiously ignoring the shame-faced figure who crept quietly past him. "We're back to the scheduled shooting-let's go!"
Steve Dane loosened a sigh of relief as he tiptoed through the doorway and gained the safety of the street. He ducked under the rope cordon, darting his eyes to the left and right before he turned up his coat collar and hurried away down the crowded pavements of Carnaby Street....
As he hurried through the thickening crowds, his mind was as crowded as were the streets. Only, unlike the tangibles rubbing elbows with him along Carnaby, his thoughts were the intangibles of erotic desire and anticipation....
CHAPTER NINE The Wide Screen Freak-Out
The sedan moved cautiously through the evening drizzle wetting down the London countryside. Inside, the driving compartment of Karl's car was a sound chamber of the Beatle's latest disc, a repetitive, mournful rendering.
Karl snapped the volume control toward a more muted outgo. It was hard enough concentrating on the driving without putting up with Ringo Starr playing the drums poorly, but effectively.
A chill of elation ran the length of his hunched-over body as he thought of the night's filming ahead. He would be appearing in his first motion picture!
He began to regret not having taken his wife up on her outspoken desire to come along as a spectator. He shrugged, however, and goosed the gas pedal. He'd make the studio in another twenty minutes. Again he thought of his wife. But Jane would only get in the way: and, in any case, he wanted it to be a surprise for her-anticipating her cry of recognition when she saw him on the screen at the premiere!
Karl hummed with the record as he sped through the darkening countryside, watching as the headlights quickly ate up the miles and brought him nearer to his destination. At last Karl turned in at the studio gates. He identified himself to the guard, then drove carefully up the private road. Nearly all the buildings were without lights at this late hour.
Fleur was already in the studio, sitting on the floor, surrounded by his cronies. They were all dressed in what amounted to the hippie "uniform": untidy, shoulder-length hair; dazzling kaftans or psychedelic shirts; fringed trousers which were mostly black or as brilliantly patterned as their shirts.
Karl recognized the smell of marijuana coming from their direction, but he no longer felt apprehensive about the effects of the mild hallucinogen. Following his recent experiences with the drug, he accepted that it was far more interesting-and much less dangerous!-than alcohol or nicotine....
The set represented an expensive, palatial house in London's Mayfair. It was the home of the character played by Roxie Keene-after she had risen to the top of the social ladder by marrying a property millionaire. She had been making a final, desperate attempt to conquer her nymphomania, but a chance meeting with one of her old boy friends had proved too much for her....
In Steve's original script, the girl was to have committed suicide after realizing that she could never be cured of her insatiable desire for sex. But Fleur decided on a more off-beat ending. He had re-written the screenplay, making her hold a wild party in her respectable husband's house; inviting all the weird characters she had known in the past to an orgy of drugs, sex, and destruction....
But, instead of suffering remorse and guilt, she said goodbye to the suffocating, upper-class life and accepted her destiny as a "lost soul" without fear or regret.
Fleur took Karl aside and explained to him how the sequence was going to be shot.
"Far as I know, we're keeping the cameras right back from the action. There'll be zoom shots for the close-ups, but I want the actors to be as mobile as possible. I'm going to shoot thousands of feet of film: getting maybe a fifteen-minute sequence out of six hours' material. Now, don't worry about a thing!"
Fleur put his arms around Karl's shoulder and led the producer towards the dressing rooms.
"We've got a girl who'll fix you up with the right kind of clothes. When you're dressed, come on out and by that time we should be about ready to roll the cameras."
Within ten minutes, Karl emerged wearing a loose kaftan, cool beneath the blazing arc-lights, a pair of rumpled white jeans and sandals in place of his Hush Puppy shoes. His face had received attention from the make-up department and an impressive false beard gave him the convincing look of an aging but authentic hippie.
Karl felt quite pleased with his appearance. The superficial alterations made him feel younger, changing his character in a subtle way; so that when he looked in a mirror, he experienced a delighted surprise!
But the man who stared back at him was like a dream image to Karl-the type of person he had often thought he would like to have become. Mysterious, artistic, a compelling and world-weary magnetism about his features....
It seemed like a private fantasy! Karl stroked his beard carefully, feeling the years dropping away from him, feeling his association with Allen Mason to be a ghastly nightmare. It hadn't really happened-he hadn't devoted most of his life to making cheap, un-artistic pictures that nobody wanted to see! He was a drop-out from this lousy Western society! He, Karl Murrey, was a wild, drug-taking young hippie; a failure in business, certainly, but a success in the really important, real goals of life....
But the illusion was growing as Karl took his place among the other "extras" in the party scene and began chatting to them while waiting for Fleur's instructions. Lillian, Roxie and Maria-who had a short scene together before the rest of them "arrived"-came over, too, and Karl found that he was able to talk freely to the girls; totally unembarrassed about his intimacy with them a few days ago.
Fleur, at last, was ready to shoot. He called for silence, and addressing Karl in particular (since most of the others already knew what was required of them), announced that he wanted as much spontaneity as possible.
"Ignore the cameras," he instructed. "Forget that you're in a movie, that you're getting paid for what you're doing...Forget everything-except making this the wildest party you've ever thrown!"
Karl was surprised when Fleur gave no further advice or direction to his actors. He walked away from them, disappearing into the confusion of cameras, cables, dollies and cranes....
Moments later, Karl heard his voice shouting for silence. It came from "upstairs"-the set being a multi-story structure, designed with open-fronted rooms on two levels. Like a stage set, the rooms faced outwards-enabling the crane-mounted cameras to sweep up or down in front of them, filming wherever Fleur directed.
Fleur was starting with a brief sequence in the upper bedroom, a stormy argument between Roxie, Maria, and Lillian which would lead directly into the party scene when the two latter girls ran downstairs in disgust and came face to face with the wild party which was just warming up....
While the girls got into position, one of Fleur's American friends-also playing in the crowd scene with Karl-nudged the producer and, as Karl turned round, tipped three tablets into his palm.
"Do it now man," he advised. "Demis wants us looking real groovy when he opens up on this little scene!"
Karl stared down at the small, light blue pills. He shrugged, assuming that they were some kind of amphetamine, cupped his hand to mouth and swallowed them quickly. Probably the American was right. He felt extremely nervous now, knowing that in just a few minutes he would be the target of Fleur's cine-cameras. It wouldn't hurt to get high, and a mild euphoria might well cut out the tension he was feeling and make him more confident, more self-assured in the role he was going to play....
"Real cool man!" Fleur's friend clapped Karl on the shoulder. "They're fast-working-you'll start to feel a cool, beautiful little buzz in a couple of minutes!"
Karl smiled. But when, less than five minutes after taking the tablets, he felt a gradual swirling of his mind, a blanketing rather than a sharpening of his faculties, he went back to the American and asked him if there had been a mistake in the pills; if he hadn't been given tranquilizers rather than stimulants. The words he spoke seemed to echo unnaturally in Karl's ears, as if they were coming from a vast, hollow arena. The arena was inside his head, though-growing larger every moment, expanding until his brain felt a hundred times larger than before. He could scarcely finish his sentence, the effort of framing questions appearing at once ludicrous and futile....
The American laughed, "Pep-pills?" His mild chuckling sounded horribly harsh and grating to Karl's ears: a noise dredged up from hell itself. "That was 500 micrograms of the best acid money can buy! Who wants to take speed when you've got trip material like this?"
"LSD?" Karl fumbled around in his mind, but couldn't put a proper name to the slang expression.
"Come off it! Acid! Lysergic acid, man! L-S-D," the American spelled out slowly. "What's the matter? Are you floating so high already that you can't understand me, dad?"
The American's words struck down into Karl's disorientated mind like a hammer-blow. Fear clutched him suddenly, its icy fingers plunging deep into every part of his body. A terror of the unknown seized him-as Karl realized that at this very moment the horror-drug was coursing through his bloodstream and subtlety changing the chemistry of his brain!
Karl reeled on his feet, and if the American hadn't grabbed both his arms he would have crumpled to the floor.
"Cool it down man! You're not supposed to pass out yet! We've got a hell of a lot of fucking to do first. Look at me-am I giving up?"
He sensed Karl's inexperience with the drug, and adopted a kindly attitude and gently shook him until the producer's eyes opened again.
"Hold on to my arms" he advised. "You mustn't let the acid overwhelm you. You control it, not the other way around! Just keep one foot in touch with reality-that's all it takes. Don't worry, man, you'll be fine!"
With the American's guidance, Karl gradually learned to cope with the LSD effect. Slowly, he found that he was able to support himself without leaning on the man; and pretty soon he found that he could maintain a certain awareness of what was taking place around him.
But what was happening around him? In Karl's hallucinated eyes, it seemed to have taken on a totally different aspect: the colors of the walls and the equipment blazing and clashing far more riotously than before...the dimensions of the studio somehow greatly enlarged and alien....
But the movement of any kind-even the shifting of his weight from one foot to the other-acted as kind of temporary "antidote" to the psychedelic experience. It diverted his mind from the unique visions which had started to swim through his brain, focusing his attention on the alleged "reality" of the world about him.
Karl braced himself. He was still determined to go through with the filming, despite the cruel trick which Fleur had played on him. A stubborn streak in his nature insisted that he proved himself to the young people around him. He vowed that, whatever happened, he wouldn't let them see that he was a 40-year-old square-or that he was scared to death of the drugs which they regarded so casually.
Then as Karl straightened his shoulders, he heard Fleur's voice come thundering through the many amplifiers:
"Lights!
"Camera!
"Roll 'em!! "
The scene was now in progress. Only minutes remained before the cameras swung to cover the action on the level where Karl was standing.
And the scene was set for Karl's second great shock of the evening-the revelation that the "wild party" was going to be nothing less than a full-scale, no-holds-barred sexual orgy-now ticked steadily nearer for the still largely-unsuspecting
Murrey!
He was a living monument to the timeless clich�, ignorance is bliss.
CHAPTER TEN Close-Up of Lust
The raucous blasting music slammed against the ears of the crowd clustered together in small groups throughout the room. Some were dancing frenziedly. Others were already fondling each other sexually. And in one corner, one couple was completely nude and locked in a passionate embrace.
The spirit throughout was one of total abandon. At the edge of the patio, a girl stood in only her panties. Her arms were out-stretched as she gyrated crazily to the mad rhythm slamming forth from the stereo system.
At her side, a bearded hippie splashed garish purple and red colored paint along the lean curves of her body. He moved around the girl, dipping his brush into a variety of different-colored paint-pots-quickly daubing her breasts, belly and back with wild streaks of red, green, orange and blue. She was securely locked in her private reveries, paying almost no attention to the tickling of the brush as it moved swiftly over her flesh.
Now he stepped back, looking at the results. He frowned, somewhat displeased with the pattern which ran across her bosom. Laying his paintbrush aside, the boy spat into his hand and rubbed his palm over and under her breasts-smearing the colors into a mess of evil-looking hues until an insane rainbow seemed to be arcing across the girl's body.
She rocked her hips, swaying, oblivious to him. Even when he drew down her panties, urging the scanty briefs over her legs and ankles, she merely raised one foot so that he could pull them off, and continued her grinding.
With a flourish, he completed a fourth multicolored pattern on her thighs and buttocks: turning the brush furiously in her pubic triangle, altering the color of her sex bush until the dark hairs were stained an unnatural but eye-catching blue!
Now he jumped around the girl like a gibbering chimpanzee, tearing his own clothes completely off-revealing a pinched, white body which he thrust against the girl's, holding himself against her with his belly rubbing into the wet, discolored cheeks of her ass.
His arms grabbed her around the waist drawing and pulling her close against his own body-still holding the paint brush in one hand. When her thighs opened under the pressure of his fingers, he began to tickle the lips of her vagina with its hairs; slowly but surely inserting the soft, long strands into the opened slit, working the thin handle into her quim and frigging it gently around inside the girl's sex!
His prod was like a steel truncheon as he pressed against her. She kept her arms raised above her head, but they were not describing a series of delicate, weaving movements-her hands running through the boy's long hair as she squirmed sexily back against his body, encouraging him to Slide the brash deeper and more urgently into her pussy.
Karl turned his back to the exhibitionists, and stumbled towards a modern, black leather couch on which two girls were cavorting. He stood in front of them, swaying a little, his eyes finding difficulty in focusing.
Their hands delved greedily between the open thighs. Their short skirts were hiked up around their waists. They were fondling up and down the silk pouch which stretched across their crotches. Karl felt himself sinking down on his knees, and he reached out his hands, clutching at the girls for support.
Karl rested his palms heavily upon their thighs and they broke their kiss to glance at him, an understanding smile appearing on their faces. One of the girls, a luscious and very young-looking brunette, put her hand on top of Karl's then pulled his fingers quickly up the inside of her leg until they were touching the hot, bare flesh just beneath her panties.
Simultaneously, she pressed her other hand firmly on his head, pushing him down until his face was buried between her thighs. The warm, musky smell of her sex poured into Karl's nostrils, the faint odor of her female excitement greatly heightened by the LSD.
Karl snuggled down, resting his mouth on the panty-crotch. The girl closed her eyes blissfully, stroking Karl's hair and running her fingers down to his neck-nape in a lingering, tender caress.
The girl's other hand resumed its fondling at her girl friend's loins-now sliding beneath the tight vee of the briefs and beginning, slowly, to urge the moist lips apart....
Karl, who retained his own hand on the second girl's thigh, rubbed his palm higher up her leg. He slipped his fingers into the other side of her pants and entwined them with the lesbian's. Their combined digits now succeeded in peeling the soft labia open...their forefingers sinking into the girl's very wet quim and pressing lovingly together as they were thrillingly inserted....
Both girls kissed again, examining each other's tongues with their lips, drawing all the moisture from them and then allowing their own saliva to trickle sexily into their partner's mouth.
Karl was growing rather frustrated! His lips were tired of kissing the intimate slit through the girl's panties-and he passed his free hand beneath her buttocks, feeling for the waistband of the briefs and tugging strongly on the scanty, skin-tight silk.
He removed his head from her lap as quickly as possible, as pulled her panties down her legs. Then drawing a deep breath, he plunged his face back into the girl's open thighs-back to that nude, succulent heat which unfolded so temptingly from her pubic hair.
Karl greedily sucked the two fleshy lips hard into his mouth. They bulged in a beautiful pouting shape between his clenched teeth, and Karl worried his tongue between them until he could taste the aromatic juices seeping sexily along his tongue and down his throat.
Karl did not notice the camera, and it was completely disregarded by the others participating in the orgy-Fleur's cameras moved up and down on their cranes, busily recording every detail of the party, making use of wide-angle lenses and zoom shots to capture the scene. There was no need at all for Fleur to supervise the proceedings: he had asked for spontaneity and improvisation-and he was certainly getting it!
It appeared that about half of the "extras" were indulging in sexual activity of one kind or other by now. Some of them had even reached the advanced stages; totally naked, screwing or licking at the sexes of their partners with uninhibited zest.
Roxie was supposed to be drawn gradually into the orgy, at first hesitating before she finally succumbed to the abandoned revels which she herself had organized. And Maria and Lillian, against their will, were dragged into the spirit of the party-LSD pills being forced down their throats by a group of the more reckless hippies....
As Roxie wandered among the seething bodies, the two girls were seized, and their captors brought them struggling to the carpet-the men holding them down and pinching their nostrils, while their girl friends dropped the powerful tablets into their mouths.
Both men continued to sit on Maria and Lillian, leisurely fondling the girls through their clothing while they waited for the LSD to take effect....
Roxie, herself, meanwhile, was gradually being aroused by two particularly well-built muscle men.
She stood between them, her shoulders only reaching as far as their chests-the tall glamour-girl dwarfed by their powerful physiques.
Roxie was dressed in a pair of skin-colored tights beneath a leather micro-skirt, and listened as both men stooped and whispered in her ears. Her lips parted in surprise at their suggestion, and for a moment her face registered disapproval. But then, encouraged by the hands which were wandering around her waist and down to her buttocks, the girl offered no resistance when the men-clothed only in brief, leopard-skin trunks-walked her to the foot of the staircase.
As they climbed the stairs, their hands slipped down to cover Roxie's bottom, the muscular youths taking one cheek apiece; their fingers growing bolder with each upward step, fondling into the flesh-mounds beneath the girl's tiny dress.
Now they were at the first bedroom and one of the cameras was tracking with them. One of the men left Roxie and crossed to the spacious double-bed. He sprawled on the eider down, resting his hand behind his neck, the fat line of his penis standing out from beneath the tight leotards.
Roxie, her hips still encircled by the second man's arm, his hand under her skirt and intimately kneading the right cheek of her ass, slowly moved towards him. And while her companion unzipped her dress, she bent over the bed...her fingers working into the elastic top of the reclining boy's briefs and pulling them down over his belly, his stiff prong and his thighs!
The lovely young girl began to kiss his penis immediately, moving her lips softly up and down the limp flesh until it rose-stiffening and thickening to an erection inside her mouth, unwinding with sudden vigor as Roxie put her tongue along its thick under-vein and tenderly caressed it....
The first man was somewhat behind her. One of his hands began to slip under her thighs and, fondling her groove through the stretched gauze of her tights, the first man helped her out of the dress and enjoyed the freedom of running his other hand all over her partly-clothed charms. He teased her breasts-which had flopped nakedly into view after the removal of her dress, since Roxie wore no brassiere-and after lingering on her nipples for some time, turned his full attention to the girl's lower regions.
This man continued to caress her thighs, seeming to relish the sensation of fondling Roxie's shapely limbs through the tights...then-his own erection, throbbing stiffly beneath his trunks-the young man peeled her last remaining garment down Roxie's legs.
Now they were over her ankles, Roxie mouthing furiously on the other man's sex member. She could feel her nude ass cheeks being stretched open, and the sensation of a stiff shaft being probed between the orbs. Nothing daunted, the reckless girl merely stuck her behind more provocatively in the air, shifting her feet so that her legs were even more widely spread.
Roxie knew what to expect: he intended to ram into her butt, rather than her vagina-leaving the latter hole for his friend!
When he had found the tiny entrance, he pulled the flesh of her butt globes rudely aside, his thumbs buried in the inner walls of the girl's bottom. His weapon thrust forward-sending hot fire leaping into Roxie's body-a tearing sensation filling her anus with agonies of pain!
As though by a compulsion, she tightened her mouth on the flesh she was licking, making the boy squirm, his body tensing with his own pain as the girl's teeth sank cruelly into his tender meat!
However, the worst part of the entrance was now over. Steadily, the rod sank into Roxie's butt...it's stiff length burrowing deeply up the amazingly hot channel. Soon, she could feel his hard, muscular belly thrusting against her buttocks: preparing to drive his prong furiously in and out.....
But there was one final step to be taken. Roxie let the penis she was kissing escape from her full, sensuous lips. She braced herself, the second man's arms wound tightly around her waist, and moved slowly and carefully onto the bed; managing to climb on top of the recumbent muscle-boy without losing the purchase of the dork which was already stuck inside her buttocks!
It seemed as though they were welded together. They were linked in a trio: Roxie being raised slightly by her first lover so that his friend could work his charger into the girl's quim.
After loud grunts and groans followed by straining muscles, the task was accomplished. Roxie felt both of her vulnerable openings crammed with pulsing maleness, her body sandwiched between the two virile men, sensations of blissful, total pleasure streaming through the girl as she was screwed in a gentle, considerate manner by her powerful possessors.
They established a carefully-timed rhythm, one man thrusting upwards while the other withdrew. And Roxie herself deliciously between the naked male flesh! Her thighs spread-eagled and her knees slightly bent so that her rear lover could attack her ass more easily.
At the same time, downstairs in the lounge, Fleur's second and third were concentrating upon the "ordeal" which Maria and Lillian were suffering.. .
These two girls were now intoxicated by the LSD, their acting greatly assisted by the fact that real acid had, of course, been given to them. Stripped naked, they were being spanked and whipped by three equally nude girls-while, beneath them, lunging strongly upwards into their respective quims, lay two young men.
The men were holding Maria and Lillian around the tops of their thighs, hands pressing tightly into the white-fleshed legs, making it impossible for either girl to dodge the steady rain of blows which were falling on their asses.
The spanking had no pretense or trickery about it The imprints left by the girls' palms as they swung again and again into Maria or Lillian's bottoms left no doubt that the punishment was in earnest.
They smacked their hands downwards, vigorously making the creamy flesh quiver and contract with pain: while the boys deliberately arched their own buttocks off the floor to make the girls they were fucking present an even better target to the spankers.
But the third girl, however, was wielding a thin, springy cane. And she was obviously inflicting the most pain on Maria and Lillian-even though her strokes were relatively infrequent.
And when they did land, their impact was cruel and merciless. The long bamboo stick would thwack across both girls' buttocks at the same time-reaching out over their bodies and descending in a sharp cracking whistle onto the bare, thrust-out flesh.
The girl holding the cane was not quite naked herself. Drawn up and laced tightly around the tops of her thighs was a pair of plastic-coated boots; their thin stiletto heels raising her so that she towered over the other girls. The kinky, jet-black footwear was molded to her long, superbly curved legs, shining glossily as the innumerable network of eyelets forced the material constrictingly against the girl's thighs.
Both girls wriggled impotently. Both Maria and Lillian were torn between pleasure at the deep rhythm of the cocks as they drove in and out of their cunts, and the ceaseless, sore-making spanking-which was interrupted with the even more hurtful lash of the cane!
The girls could feel their bottoms growing hot and stinging; while the tautly-stretched skin of their vaginas became saturated with an uneven, helpless flow of love-juice-the stimulated slits foaming plentifully and lubricating the two pricks beneath them until the male organs twitched more and more furiously inside the girls' tender red holes.
It seemed that every conceivable form of sexual activity was now in progress. Straightforward boy-and-girl fucking; sodomy; two girls smothering each other's cunts with warm, wet kisses; couples adopting so many varied positions that the set closely resembled a conscious illustration of the "Marquis de Sade Primer"!
Karl had now tongued both the young lesbians he was engaged with. In turn, they had filled his mouth with their sex-fluid-returning the compliment by sucking his prick until the spunk gushed out...spattering over their lips-as the girls competed with each other to receive the tribute!
Karl discovered that his sex urge was fantastically magnified by LSD. Even though he had ejaculated an enormous amount of juice during his orgasm, Karl found this desire was as strong as ever!
Now he climbed up onto the couch and was helped by one of the girls to fit his wet, angry knob securely into her friend's slit. They let on their side, her right leg thrust out across Karl's hip, while the second girl took Karl's place on the floor: kneeling and facing them, her hands skillfully employed in guiding his shiny red staff to its goal....
As soon as the couple were linked, their bodies rocking back and forth in sexual unison, she kept her fingers stuck between their thighs-fondling Karl's charger as it rode out of the girl's quim and tickling it until the shaft re-entered the milky, gaping slot.
For posterity, the cameras were recording the flood of orgasms which had started to erupt-both upstairs and down!
Fleur himself was staring through the view-finder at Roxie and her two muscle-men. By filming the trio from their rear angle, he was able to capture the full impact of their performances: and his own member grew harder as he saw the rod lunging in and out of Roxie's butt-driving down between the girl's spread cheeks and bulging fatly as it jetted sperm high into her body.
The throbbing, jolting motion of the man's climax reverberated through the thin membrane-making the lower man lunge upwards at a furious rate, sliding his penis urgently up and down the juice-filled slot of Roxie's beautiful gap, and finally spunking his load thickly into the girl's front passageway....
Maria and Lillian's partners were spending at almost the same moment-and the girls who were spanking the two actresses increased their efforts strenuously. They slapped harder and harder into the writhing bum-globes, then made way for the formidable cane-handler.
Her arm raised, lifting her big, ripe-nippled breasts, then swung it down again, holding her wrist loosely so that the springy cane vibrated stingingly across both Maria's ass and Lillian's!
Both girls cried out in anguish and pain, but the smarting cut was soon forgotten as they felt a lumpy fluid suddenly coursing up into their quims. Grinding lustfully on top of the boys, they humped themselves like heated mares-suddenly stiffening...going completely tense as the glorious moment of climax arrived!
Karl's second orgasm of the night was building up, raging slowly through his body, making him grit his teeth and plow wildly in and out of his girl's female organ; anticipating the mind-shattering zenith of his lust and remembering how awe-inspiring it had been before.
Karl could feel the second girl raking her sharp fingernails swiftly down the underside of his tool, scratching the almost-climaxing weapon until it dug even more thickly into its female counterpart.
Karl now gave up gladly the tenuous hold on reality...plunging into the bottomless shaft that opened up in his mind, letting his whole being disintegrate in vivid, pyrotechnic light-his ego shriveling before the blinding brightness. A terrifying yet ecstatic awareness exploded through his senses, fusing them and making Karl a part of the greater cosmic reality....
As his sperm began to spray into the girl's body, he felt as if he were traveling with it-his entire body reduced to the dimensions of a single spermatozoa, flooding through the wide, wet walls into the womb: like the travelers in Fantastic Voyage.
This experience left him completely shattered. Both his body and his mind felt utterly depleted, and Karl sank almost immediately into a profound sleep, his penis still wedged tightly in the girl's pulsing, gently trickling orifice.
With a vague, nebulous awareness, he sensed a hand on his shoulder. But it wasn't until his body was shaken roughly that Karl slowly opened his eyes and came out of his trance-like slumber.
"Hey, baby, time to make it home!"
Karl sat up dazedly. His mind was almost splitting with tension. Fleur was standing over him, but the studio was deserted; the arc-lights switched off, the gray whiteness of dawn beginning to filter through the large sound-stage.
"Good Lord," Karl moaned. Memories flooded back into his brain. "What the hell happened last night? First the LSD, then a bloody orgy!" He buried his head in his hands. "Christ, I could kill you if I didn't feel so sick, Fleur! You bastard, you didn't shoot any of the scenes that were in the script-all that fornication! I must be mad to--. "
Demis Fleur shook his head sympathetically. "Hey, hold on a minute!" he said. "You must have had a really weird trip, Murrey! Nothing unusual happened here last night-you were just hallucinating, man!"
Demis whistled in disbelief. "I wish I could get visions of orgies and beautiful, naked girls when I take LSD, Murrey! You're a lucky guy!"
"Are you trying to tell me that I imagined that all this went on?" Karl asked incredulously. "It was all a dream-a goddamn vision?"
"I guess you better believe it!" Fleur said. He patted Karl's shoulder. "Don't let it throw you, Murrey! You did a great job in the movie, even if you don't remember what you were doing!"
Now, as Fleur walked away, Karl stared after him; wondering. He was still undecided about the events of the previous night when the charwomen came in and began to sweep the littered, untidy studio....
As the charwomen worked, they were oblivious to the fact that only moments earlier, a wanton orgy that would have left the Roman conquerors speechless, had taken place within the confines of these rooms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN Amazement at Edinburgh
People had surged into the small Scottish town from the four corners of the world to participate in the garish fourteen day film Festival. While it was virtually impossible to obtain lodgings anywhere, Fleur had made reservations in advance. His "Crew" were installed in an expensive suite at the Grand Hotel on Princess Street.
A crisp chill hung over the clean little city. Its well kept parks and gardens vicing with the outlying countryside in fragrance was a delight to behold during the late July days. A Northern breeze came down from the Highlands.
Fleur had already spent several months editing his film into a final version, and so far he had managed to forestall Allen Mason's insistence that he "take a look at the baby...." Behind Mason's back, he had entered the movie in a competition; persuading the organizers of the festival that it would be a great publicity stunt to have an unnamed, mysterious film advertised-about which nobody had any information!
Fleur had a notable genius for getting people to do exactly what he wanted them to do, and it worked even with the staid, reticent Scots. Well aware of Fleur's reputation, and mindful that his talent for attracting world-wide publicity would add profit to their festival, the organizers had accepted the
American's plan. His film would be billed as "the big surprise of the Festival," the utmost secrecy would be maintained about its director, its stars, even its production company! And it went without saying that the organizers themselves had only the faintest idea of the nature of Fleur's picture!
In sync with the Edinburgh premiere, Fleur had arranged to preview the film for Allen Mason and Karl Murrey in Wardour Street. By the time they recovered from the shock, it would be much too late for them to stop the Edinburgh screening.
In addition, it had taken a final precaution. It was: that no matter what happened, the picture would be shown in its entirety! He and two of his colleagues would be in the projection-booth, securely barricaded behind locked doors....
Fleur could care less what might happen after the screening. That would be an anti-climax. He would have achieved his purpose; his kicks at making the film and cocking two fingers at the commercial film industry would have been concluded.
And now-as he walked into the plush Odeon cinema with Roxie and Lillian by his side-Fleur was about to savor his two hours of triumph. In the crowded foyer he caught snatches of conversation, guesses were being made about the film which was being premiered in a few minutes, the tuxedo and tiara set out in force-giving Fleur and his companions a withering glance of disapproval as they passed by in their hippie outfits....
Fleur couldn't help laughing to himself. They were in for an almighty shock in a moment, he thought. Those stuffed-shirts with their fat, sexless wives! They'd sit in their armchair seats stunned out of their tiny lives by what he was going to show them!
The manager greeted him and showed him upstairs to the projection room. With the precious cans of film under his arm, Fleur stepped into the booth and told the resident projectionists that he didn't require their services. When they objected, he calmly thrust them outside-slamming the door in their faces and locking it. Roxie and Lillian helped him to erect a barricade, piling tables and a steel cabinet against the door until it would have taken an army of firemen to break it down!
Fleur ignored the indignant banging, fitting the first reel onto the Number One projector and checking that machine until he was confident that he could operate it as well as a professional projectionist. After telephoning down to the foyer partly to request that somebody came to remove the "noisy slobs" outside his door; partly to see if they were ready to start showing the film, he dimmed the house lights and switched the projector on....
The proud first credit line rear "Mason Motion Pictures Presents A Film by Demis Fleur...."
Fleur looked down through the small window. His eyes scanned the screen and the large auditorium: his eyes burning ecstatically in their hollow, red sockets-scars of the wearying hours he had spent cutting the film. For the next hundred and forty minutes he would enjoy the fruit of his labors.
And after that it didn't matter if they destroyed every print of the movie that was in existence.
This moment of glory was to be his, and it was something that no one could ever take away!
"That sonofabitch!" Mason screamed. "How could he do this to me? Tell me, I want to know-how could he do it?"
Tears nearly as large as horse balls streamed down his face, and the film magnate bounced up and down impotently in his chair at the preview theatre, imploring Karl Murrey to somehow justify Fleur's betrayal.
"Didn't I pay the bastard well? Well, didn't I?" Mason demanded. "I gave him his freedom, I let him do just what he wanted!" He stabbed an accusing, trembling finger at Karl. "You!" he shouted. "You were supposed to be supervising this Judas for me! What were you doing? Are you so stupid that you couldn't see what he was doing right under your goddamned nose?"
They had seen but a quarter of the film. And after the first half hour, Mason had finally found his voice and shrieked at the projectionist to stop the screening. Karl, who had half-guessed the truth before the preview had even begun, tried to slump so low in his seat that Mason might not notice him. It was, of course, a futile and doomed hope....
"My God! Think about this! A pornographic film coming out of my studio! A dirty epic of filth coming out under my name! I"
Karl interrupted in a small voice: "But didn't you think the color photography was excellent? Technically, it was quite an achievement--. "
"Screw the goddamned technicalities!" Mason screamed at the top of his voice. "Don't you realize-right at this very moment, Fleur is showing it to an audience at the Edinburgh Festival!"
Suddenly, a dangerous quiet gripped him. It was a forewarning of what might be about to happen to him, personally, and it sent adrenalin racing through Karl's veins. He tensed himself, ready for flight. But Mason's menace was concentrated on Fleur....
"Get the airport on the phone," he ordered Karl. "Tell them to get the 'plane ready for immediate takeoff. We're going to fly to Edinburgh! And when we get there-I'm going to horsewhip that goddamn Fleur all over Scotland!
"I intend to make a spectacle of that bastard: and every damned newspaper in the country is going to have a photograph of me doing it to him! Then everyone will know that I had nothing to do with the kind of picture he turned out. And more than that...." His small eyes glittered sadistically, ".... it'll give me intense personal satisfaction!"
The theatre was in an uproar. As the film's first sex scene flicked across the screen, the uproar burst into a frenzy of dismay. But to Fleur's amazement, half the audience seemed to be defending his movie-championing it against the predictable shock and outrage from the other fifty per cent.
Now the crowd's reaction was taking the form of a riot. Fleur continued to screen the film; though hardly anybody in the auditorium was able to see it! Later, after he had doggedly ran the last reel through the projector-paying no attention to the uproar outside the projection-booth-Fleur and the girls had been rescued by a stalwart band of his admirers and taken out of the theatre by a back exit. They were now being feted and wined at a small reception in Fleur's hotel suite: an excited, vociferous cluster of film people (among them five of Britain's most controversial directors and several highly important distributors and studio chiefs) asking questions, praising the movie and applauding Fleur's sheer nerve at making it....
While the party had been in progress for an uproarious hour, it was rudely interrupted by a red-faced, bristling man who waved an ebony riding crop, thrusting his way through the startled gathering towards Fleur. Behind him came a bespectacled, anxious figure, plucking at his sleeve with ineffectual tugs, making a last-minute attempt to calm his wrath!
Finally, Allen Mason was recognized-and before the enraged magnate could achieve his object, the crop was twisted out of his hand and he was grabbed firmly in a pair of strong, restraining arms.
"Let the hell go of me, you sonofabitch!" Mason screamed. "Let me get at the bastard-I'm going to
Now he looked closely at the man who was blocking his path and holding him in a bear-hug. he let his mouth fall open, goggling at the well-built, distinguished director: the man he would have given his right arm to have on the payroll.
"Will you quit making a damn fool of yourself, Allen!" the man said quietly. "Don't show yourself as the Philistine we all know you are! If you've got any sense at all, you'll go over and embrace Fleur-not strike him!"
Mason's voice sounded in a whining, wheedling tone, as he said, "Didn't you see what he did to me, Bancroft? I don't understand...why are you here, defending him? He made me a laughing stock, cost me a fortune, double-crossed me! What are you all doing-that crappy film was sheer filth, you can't be taking it seriously...it was just a trick-"
"For your information, that film of yours will come to be regarded as a masterpiece in five years from now!" he was told crisply. "Artistically, it's the most beautiful, brilliant representation of sex that I've ever seen! But it's more than that-much more! Don't you understand that it's an innovation, Mason: the first of its kind ever made? It will help to smash censorship wide open. Keep it under lock and key for a few years," Bancroft urged. "When the climate is right-as it will be!-, you'll make a fortune!
"And when you consider the screenings in Scandinavia, and their impact, you will have built a reputation that you never dreamed was possible! Make no mistake, Mason: whatever the squares, the Puritans and the authorities say-you've got a work of art on your hands! The fact that you'll also become a millionaire is beside the point....
Now the great man let go of Mason's arms. He strode across to Fleur, shook his hand almost humbly-and left the room!
Allen Mason stared speechlessly at his American Judas. But in his eyes there was a new respect. Bancroft's talk of "masterpiece" and "work of art" had made little impression on him. But the words "fortune" and "millionaire" were impressed firmly in his mind, echoing again and again....
The riding crop fell harmlessly to the floor. His pudgy hand went out slowly, and he crossed the room, halting in front of Fleur with a sickly grin on his face. He pumped the American's hand, his other arm going warmly around Fleur's waist.
"Didn't I tell you, I'd chosen the right man! Fleur, that was a fantastic job. You have my deepest esteem!
"Between the two of us, your ability and my knowledge of motion pictures, we will become kings of the motion picture realm!" he said breathlessly.
CHAPTER TWELVE Party Time
Mason's departure from the room seemed to signal the party's slipping into high gear. It was a high gear that found Karl Murrey amongst the most lewdly, uninhibited revelers in the room. A feeling of rebirth, rejuvenation, surged through him; his reaction to his employer's new attitude. He drained champagne by the bucket. Then, as though drawn toward them, he began mingling with the hippies as well as the more respectable guests. He chattered animatedly. The bubbles of the champagne bursting within his brain, and gradually he began to focus steadily upon the bevy of beautiful girls surrounding him-girls who represented the cream of Britain's drama arts....
The crowd began to thin out noticeably as the evening progressed. It appeared that most of the visitors had early calls to the studio or various other duties. When the gathering was finally reduced to half a dozen or so men and women, Fleur turned the lights down low and set an example for the others to follow by taking Lillian in his arms and slowly undressing her!
Karl was sitting in an armchair with Roxie on his knee. He took the hint. He slipped his hand into the girl's cleavage, found her nipple with fore and middle fingers and began to rub it into erection. His other hand, which had been loosely draped around her waist, now caressed Roxie's back-gliding up to her shoulders, which were bare in her strapless mini-gown, and enjoying the feel of her firm, rounded flesh.
Now Roxie leaned towards him, breathing heavily on his glasses and steaming them!
"Why you naughty boy," Roxie whispered. "Didn't you get enough at the LSD party?" Her bottom squirmed on his lap, the warm weight of her cheeks shifting nicely on Karl's penis. Taking off his glasses, she kissed his eyelids, then dipped her mouth so that their lips could meet.
Another couple, Maria Laundau and Glen Tenny danced by them as they petted. The actor's hands fastened on the pouting globes of her buttocks, fondling them as they smooched slowly around the room. Since Maria was wearing a very thin see-through dress, its filmy substance clearly revealing the outline of her bra and panties, Glen had the exciting illusion that the girl was already wearing only her under-garments!
Glen felt her lips brushing warmly against his ear as she became aroused by his persuasive caress of her bottom. Her soft, very moist mouth began to speak in a sexy whisper, breathing endearments and then sweet obscenities into his ear.
"Glen, you mad impetuous fool! You make me feel so excited when you touch me like that! Do you like my bottom? Do you? Feel it, Glen-put your fingers in the middle, where it's so warm! Oh, yes! Yes, darling.... like that!...."
His hand was caressing the surface of the crease, as he was holding his plam against one cheek and bending his fingers so that they sank beautifully inwards, pressing the seat of her panties and her dress deeply into the cleft.
"Take them off of me!" Maria pleaded. She wiggled her tongue into his ear, "Pull them away, then you can feel my little ass, can't you darling? Will you put your finger right inside, Glen? And then, and then...." Her tongue stole out again, trembling wetly as it probed Glen's ear-making him hot and stiff with desire. ".... then I want your big, sexy thing up my bottom! That's where I want you to do me, Glen: hard and deep, where your finger is going now!"
Glen had managed to work her briefs down to her thighs while she was whispering, leaving them stretched tightly around the tops of her legs and then returning his hand under her dress to Maria's bare ass. His forefinger explored between the cheeks and she gave a long sigh of pleasure as she felt it touch and then penetrate the wrinkled, pinkish-brown skin.
Now Lillian and Fleur were stark naked. But they were not making love to each other. Rather, they slowly crossed the room to where Karl sat with Roxie. The couple were too absorbed in their kissing and caressing at first, but when Lillian put her hand under Maria's thigh-holding it just above the knee and lifting the girl's leg up, their heads turned towards the intruders.
Lillian ducked her body down, squeezing between Roxie's legs and Karl's. She turned her face sideways and pressed forward into the girl's crotch: kissing Roxie's cunt as it presented an inviting target to her mouth; being bereft of panties and drawn open by the stance of her thighs!
Roxie was completely unabashed. She resumed her probing of Karl's mouth with her tongue. The star of Fleur's film didn't mind sharing her favors with two or more people-even if one of them did happen to be a member of her own sex!
As she kissed Roxie's clit, Lillian was obeying the American's instructions. He enjoyed the role of voyeur, freely admitting that all film-makers-to a greater or lesser degree-suffer from this perversion. Fleur rubbed himself unhurriedly to an erection as he watched the love-play. In a little while he would participate in it, but it was wrong to dismiss the special joy of observing others as they performed....
But Lillian did not require the use of her hands to titillate Roxie. She began to tug down the zipper of Karl's trousers, and then loosen them completely. She manipulated his exposed penis until it suddenly thrust through the slit of his underpants, then-using her sense of touch (her eyes closed as she licked deep into the oily slit of Roxie's banger)-the girl played with the shaft as if it were a cuddly toy! Her fingers massaged it. She carefully plucked up the foreskin and wiggled it outwards, stretching the supple skin and trying to make it slide a hood over the crown of Karl's member. But the weapon was already too stiff and long to permit this action; and Lillian had to content herself with pulling the foreskin right back, holding it in place while her remaining fingers stroked up and down the exposed red under-flesh and lightly caressed the glans.
While all of this was in progress, Maria and Glen had torn off their clothing and excited each other to the point where both of them could wait no longer for the ultimate thrill. Keeping her promise, Maria turned around and presented her buttocks to Glen's ramrod. She bent over a coffee table, kneeling so that she was facing down its length rather than its width, her naked breasts tingling as they squashed into the cool, highly polished mahogany.
For a moment, Glen surveyed his prey. He looked down at the seductive redhead, her bare body reminding him of a Greek Goddess...so perfectly proportioned, yet quite definitely larger and rounder than most modern girls. Her knees were well apart, her pubis just touching the edge of the table as she awaited the assault on her hind quarters.
Now he slowly pressed his body against hers, letting his stuck-up knob throb for a moment against Maria's buttocks. Glen crouched slightly, one hand holding his knob, the other resting on the base of her spine. The cheeks were already splayed and a firm twist of his hand on one of them soon made Maria's back hole gape erotically....
Carefully, Glen aimed his shaft, positioning it correctly, the thrill of expectation hot in his veins as the point of his rod touched the girl's anus. Methodically, pausing whenever he felt he was causing her too much pain, he rammed into the tight little orifice. His plunger was soon held rigidly between the plump cheeks and he released the one he was holding, letting her feel the pressure of his manhood burning against her ass-mounds.
But it appeared that she disliked this gentle treatment! As Glen pulled back and very, very slowly reinserted his doodle, Maria cried:
"Harder! Please! Harder! Aaahhhhhhh!" she writhed helplessly like a stuck pig on the end of a lance. "Bang me as if I'm a bad girl. Hurt me, bruise me, make me squeal. Make me scream. Please! Please! I really am a wicked girl-I deserve to be punished!"
A cold fury now swept him. With an oath, he seized both cheeks of her ass, separating them with angry hands. His tool rammed between the broad soft spheres-stabbing and impaling Maria on the stiff dick, gazing down with a sense of power as he watched the thick shaft charging in and out of her anus.
Savagely she pressed her crotch more tightly into the table edge. Its leveled edge bit horizontally across the upper lips of her femininity: she suffered the pain gladly, bearing down into the gleaming mahogany and rubbing her hips to make the sharp contact even more intense....
And only a few feet from them, Roxie had been so stimulated by Lillian's tongue and lips that her vagina ached for the thrill that only a man could give to her! She thrust Lillian away, squirming a-round on Karl's lap and squatting so that her open crotch hovered just above his upright poker.
The throbbing organ bulged through the slit in his pants. Its length was entirely revealed, though the sack of Karl's scrotum was still swatched by his under-briefs. He held Roxie under the girl's armpits and shifted her until the end of his doolie slipped into place between her wide open thighs. Pausing to help it thrust into Roxie's sex-lips, Lillian half-lay beneath the girl's crotch-positioning herself with her face uplifted to Roxie's stretched cheeks.
Roxie was supporting her body by placing her palms on the floor and leaning back, letting them take her weight.
And as Karl began to urge his rammer up and down, sliding it deeply in and out of Roxie's beautifully wet slit, Lillian applied her lips to the girl's anus, gluing them tightly around the orifice while her tongue slowly inched into the round, rubbery hole.
Fleur had been watching the trio thoughtfully. He realized that if he knelt between Lillian's thighs, leaning forward and using his hands to lift the girl's butt fairly high off the floor, it might be possible for him to bang Lillian while he attended to Roxie's rear at the same time....
An instant later his plan had been put into practice! Fleur was obliged to screw Lillian at a considerable angle, his plunger grinding into the girl and the palms of his hands supporting the lower half of her body. But the thrill of slicing into her raw, spunk-wet quim was worth any minor discomfort.
The tightly joined quartet appeared to be a writhing, obscene human pyramid growing more and more violently excited. Fleur rode Lillian as if his prod was a spur...goading her with faster and faster strokes to the winning-post. And the movement of Lillian's tongue between Roxie's buttocks increased to a wild quivering: her forehead and hair streaming with the juice which Roxie's bang-bang was dripping over Karl's organ....
There was an insane, passionate surging as each of them touched the fuse of orgasm. Fleur's cum poured into Lillian, and as she jerked her loins in frantic response, soaking his manhood while it was still ejaculating, Karl jetting lustfully upwards-shooting the sperm out of his body and into Roxie's!
Now as the last ounce of excitement was forced from their lax organs, an ear-splitting roar came from across the room.
It was Glen! He was screaming out his lust, accompanying the cry with a forward surge of his buttocks-the shot erupting from his member as it drove for the last time into Maria's inflamed rear!
It curdled up between the girl's thighs, deeper than her body. His seed surged into her like a burning enema: She kept sobbing hysterically, thrusting and writhing and jerking her buttocks hard against Glen.
Like a man possessed, Glen continued to drive brutally into her. The fact that he had just climaxed, seemed to have no bearing on the maniacalness with which he thrust, skewered and slammed his throbbing, still stiff organ deep between the pulsing, spasming lips of the girl's femininity.
"My God!" she screamed. "My God! Do me! Do me! All of it-All of it! More, more! Arrhhhaaaaaaa!"
The hysterical outcry from the quaking girl seemed to drive Glen into a brand new threshold of sexual insanity.
Now his turgid penis was driving in and out of her beleaguered vagina as though it were some sort of a human jack hammer! It thudded and slammed and banged brutally into her, and with each onslaught inward, the girl viciously rammed her buttocks hard into the slobbering man's crotch.
At times it seemed to her that his turgid penis was splitting her apart, delving deep into the core of her, reaching far up between her breasts and close Id her very throat! She had the feeling that neither she nor any other human being could take any more of this, and while this thought screamed into her brain, an answering shriek of "who the hell cares, there is no better way to go than this!" deafened out her fears and she began to jolt and buck her body against him, all semblance of sanity finally leaving her screaming mind.
Behind her, his body wedged between her outspread legs, Glen was like a roiling, tumultuous, frenzied sea storming over her, battering against her, plunging the awesome length of his charger again and again between the beleaguered portals of her sexuality.
"Screw, Screw, Screw, Screw!" he screamed in near hysteria. It seemed that he was no longer a human being. Rather he seemed like some frenzied, satyr bent upon screwing the hapless girl within his clutches to her very death.
The awesome truncheon rammed again and again far into the bowels of the now screaming girl. A trickle of saliva white in color, glistened along the edges of his slackened lips. His eyes were slits of passion. Brutally, he reached around, digging his fingers talon-like into the jiggling, dancing breasts. Between his fingers, the rose-spiked nipples turned purple from the pressure he exerted upon them.
"No! No! Aahhh!" the girl screamed. A shudder swept across her body. Then another. Then another. Each shudder seemed to be more violent than the first, like ripples on a quiet pond. But now the ripples had become a roiling, tumultuous lava bed.
And behind her he still plunged into her again and again maniacally. He began to scream incoherently, his voice rising in volume and being converted into a hoarse shout.
His entire body quaked and shuddered and on the other side of the room, the open-mouthed spectators saw his buttocks tense. He appeared to be on the verge of emptying another huge load of his sperm into the quivering, trembling girl bent over before him.
Suddenly, Demis Fleur leaped across the room and knotted his fingers into the sweat-soaked hair of the frenzied girl, yanking her head upward and plunging his rigid organ far into her mouth. He released her hair and grabbed her along the side of the head, capturing her ears between his fingers. He began to buck and jolt his hips forward, riding his member in and out of her opened, gasping mouth in a steady sensual cadence in time with the ramming, thumping assault upon her buttocks by the frenzied actor behind her.
"Arghh...Glubbb . . ! " The cry was unintelligible due to the fact that Fleur had his member crammed into her mouth to the very hilt. His face was a mask of sensate pleasure. As his own buttocks began to tense, his thighs quivered as the mounting tension built-up within him and then erupted forth. He spewed and jetted pulse after pulse of his frothy cream scaldingly into the girl's throat.
At the very instant Glen was to shoot the final remnants of his load deep between the girl's writhing thighs, Fleur, still holding the girl's ears, jerked her head forward. A scream of pain upon her lips, the girl lunged forward due to Fleur's savage tugging. It caused her tight, feminine sheath to come off the chunky head of Glen's banger just as he was issuing forth his final splattering offering.
Her sudden movement forward caused his organ to bob out and upward at the instant that he ejaculated. The whitish, ejaculation glistened as it shot through the air, and before Fleur could turn his head out of the way, it splattered against his forehead and began to slowly roll down his cheek.
This was enough to completely unhinge Lillian. With a sudden, animal outcry, the beautifully young girl leaped forward. She grabbed Fleur around the neck, knocking him to the floor. She was upon him in a flash, grinding her bared organ against his face-a face with a substance upon it similar to a
Max Factor cream pack. In a near-demented way she ground her crotch back and forth while Fleur tried to fight her off, gasping for breath.
His cry was a muffled shriek, and as he clamped his hands about her hips, trying to still the violent motioning of her body, he was seized and held by Karl and Roxie. Each of them took an arm, holding it down upon the floor. Lillian, unhampered now, rode him as though he were the bronco, Diablo, roaring out of Chute Number One in some Texas rodeo.
Now Glen had joined the fray, his weapon swinging in front of him like an unsheathed Sumarai sword freed from his scabbard. And the first to get stuck with it was Karl-between the buttocks!
Frantically, insanely, they writhed back and forth over the floor until their bodies had surrendered their final gasps. Then they grew still.
It was Fleur who ultimately broke the silence.
"What we have done here, just now, is to have expressed ourselves in an abandoned way. In a way, it symbolizes why I wanted to do Mason's movie the way I did it.
"I wanted to show the world that the desire and curiosity for new erotic sensation is part of the legacy of living.
"It is neither shameful nor wrong-as long as it neither harms nor injures another person. That is my creed, and I live by it."
With that he fell back against Roxie.
Later, during a television interview on a Swedish TV program, Fleur amplified his credo: ".... and freedom of expression, including sensual expression, makes living worthwhile, and in the case with movies, makes them more at peace with reality."
Several critics, mainly from the Puritanical school lost little time in a penmanship panning of this attitude in their television columns.
But back in London, a thoughtful Allen Mason stared out of his office windows at the mild summer sun creeping across the sill.
"Steve," he said, "What Fleur managed to pull off has taught me something I should have known a long time ago...."
"What, Mr. Mason, might that be?"
"That people who demand reality on the great silver screen have every bit as much right to see reality as those who want 'happy endings' have to watch the....'happy ever after routine' ".
Steve looked at his employer.
"As a matter-of-fact, A.M., isn't life made up of both?"
Allen Mason turned from the window. "Yeah, it is...especially in the new format for Mason Motion Pictures. Get me Fleur on the cable, Steve, and I mean right now! I've got a great switch for 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs'! "
