Sara Goddell wondered if she really needed all those pills. Lord, sometimes she became compulsive about taking those monsters religiously! She squinted her sleepy blue eyes into the steam-dripping bathroom mirror, feeling the cold porcelain on the sink shocking the naked, ivory skin between her bra and bikini panties, as she leaned closer to admire her perfect rosy complexion that wanted no rouge to highlight her high, elegant cheekbones. Then, with ritualistic delight, she perused her eyes for crow's feet, knowing she would find none. With a vain, broad smirk, she threw her head back, tossed the bogus vitamins into her mouth and washed them down with a glass of tepid tap water. What the heck ... they couldn't hurt....
Today she would need the energy. Today she was starting work at her first legitimate job toward a career in film. Film! Imagine, Sara Goddell, Director. She could see it printed on the back of her chair now.
Well ... it wasn't exactly directing, and it wasn't exactly producing the film. But it wasn't acting either ... She would be filling one of those unique in-between positions where versatility and smattering of talents were combined in one attractive package. More of the "middle woman" position, as her boss described her position with Ford Films, Ltd.
If only her husband Jeff shared her enthusiasm. But the poor defeated man, she thought with a sigh. He's the one who should have gotten the job with the film company. So handsome, so talented, and yet he's stuck down at the Emporium fitting paunchy old men who are trying to hide their fat bellies with five hundred dollar suits. What a drag for him! And with a journalism degree, too. She could have cried for him, after their marriage when he'd taken such pride in finding them an apartment, expecting to get a job with one of the publishing houses. But it hadn't worked out ... one of those quirks of fate, and she could tell it was deflating his masculine pride to have his wife get a better paying, more interesting job than his!
Sara couldn't let herself think about anything negative now. It would be an understatement to say that she was excited and nervous about her new job. Her first real paying job ever was with Sherwood, "call-me-Woody" for short, Jones, who was Director of Ford Films, Ltd. The big man of the company!
Today would be an orientation day, requiring that she be there at nine o'clock sharp because he had told her rather mysteriously that he was going to orient her in her job. Introduce her to the folks at Ford, show her the ropes.
Sara had told herself, on the way home after the interview during which he had decided she was the woman for the job and he had stressed woman that she could handle the job. After all, she was bright, adapted to situations easily, did not sneer at authority, and was tactful. The one thing she might not be able to handle was the director himself. All during his interview, his eyes had bored into her, as if trying to read her soul, and she had the disquieting feeling that he wanted to peek under her knit sheath. After the first few minutes of conversation, she might just as well have been sitting there naked before him. She remembered how she had shivered slightly, her nipples coming up to taut erection inside her skimpy lace bra. In fact, he'd gotten her so unnerved, she'd forgotten to ask what kind of films they produced. Guessing from the secretive nature of Sherwood's reply, she assumed it was some kind of subversive documentaries dealing with assassination attempts ... something deep and mysterious that only those who worked for the film company knew about.
But that mystery hadn't preceded all thoughts on Sara's part. There was an uncomfortable feeling of congestion down there between her white curving thighs as Woody stared at her with naked eyes. The throbbing warmth had been unwanted. Worse, it had been unbidden, for during these last few months, she had worked terrible hard to sublimate those very sensations. Spiky and hard, her clitoris had throbbed with her great need, and she had felt the seeping dampness as it had lubricated the inner lips of her pussy. It had caused her to press her thighs hard together, and she had tried to concentrate on what Woody was saying, while at the same time trying to disregard his lascivious stare.
Over and over, she repeated to herself: It's just my imagination! It's got to be! And, even if he is ... I don't have to give in to it. Besides, I need this fob too bad to let something like that bother me. If something happens-if things get out of hand, later on-then I can quit, or move to a different department of the company. But I want this job! I want it more than anything!
To be honest with herself, Sara couldn't take full responsibility for getting the job. It had been a kiss from heaven. Sara had been turned down by an ad agency, Time magazine who told her portfolio of photography was not strong enough yet, a modeling agency who said her nose cast too many shadows, and an art museum that had no openings for a woman with dubious untried talents with a liberal arts degree in her hand. She'd been offered a job as head cocktail waitress at one of the swankier New York restaurants, but Jeff wanted her home at night, not parading around in low-cut dress for another man's nickels. She couldn't see that it made much difference when she worked. There wasn't much percentage in being home nights these days. Nothing was going on-nothing! But, Jeff had insisted and as a dutiful wife, she complied...
She made a mad dash for the bedroom to dress, choosing a calf-length split skirt worn with a cowl-collar sweater, and lifted her posture another three inches with her platform leather boots. Her most fashionable and expensive outfit for the fall, she knew it would make a knock-out impression on Woody. Make up came next-sparsely applied and tasteful. A shoulder bag thrown over her shoulder and she was ready for the subways.
A kiss for Jeff, struggling with his cuff links, and she would be out the door on her way to a new career. Hastily, she brushed his cheek with a sisterly sort of kiss and told him excitedly, "I've got to run or I'll be late. Maybe tomorrow we can leave for work together. Okay, baby?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Jeff rasped out sourly, swearing at his cuff links and groaning over rushing to a job he hated.
Sara hesitated a moment. Somehow, she expected him to say something more positive, like "I'm really proud of you for getting that job," or "Good luck!" But, there was only a sneer and an off-handed comment about her chosen wardrobe for the day! "Jesus, you'd think you were going out on a date!" .
Sara ignored the snide comment, knowing it was his ego speaking, not the warm-hearted man she loved. As she picked up her shawl, she saw his handsome profile with the muscles of his jaw ridged and tense, and she knew that he was torn up inside ... that he was unable to look at her or say anything because of his deep humiliation. Jeff was a proud man. Too proud sometimes. But she couldn't let his bad mood affect her ... not today! "Good bye darling. See you tonight!"
"Yeah. Okay." He glanced up then to see her petitely voluptuous figure disappearing through the door.
Viciously, Jeff yanked his gray flannel suit pants off the hanger, sending the wooden instrument slamming angrily against the wall and he ground out, "I'll be a son of a bitch!"
Never had he expected to see the day when his wife would get a better paying and more exciting job than he! Damn! He felt no hostility towards the women's liberation movement and was all for getting women out of the house and behind the desk, but this was ridiculous! That was fine for single women who hated children and men, but this was his Sara moving up in the professional world in a big city. That put her up there, and him down in the dumps ... defeated and embarrassed. Well, maybe he'd get his break and one of the newspapers or publishing houses would see his flair for writing and snatch him up. That would even things out of the household!
Jeff yanked at his zipper, and turned toward the bedroom mirror to inspect his image. Manners and good looks, that's what earned him money. Not using his creative bent, not using his education. Superficial image, that's all he presented to the world for appraisal. Christ, no wonder he couldn't get it up anymore! Shit, when he and Sara had married, he'd been hopeful, on top of the world, carefree, planning for a family ... and now all those allusions were slapped back in his face. And slapping down that useless hunk of meat between his legs with a punishing sting, too. like a child surreptitiously sneaking his hand in a cookie jar, Jeff's cock would inch guiltily toward his wife's fertile parts ... and wither, knowing it had no business taking something it didn't deserve. And if she couldn't be proud of him ... which she certainly couldn't be, assessing their financial situation-he had no right expecting her treasures. Who really knows how closely related is a man's life work and his sexuality? It sometimes takes a lot of digging by a competent psychiatrist to unravel problems of his kind. A man is happy, getting a regular amount of nookie ... and BAM! All of a sudden it happens. Something in his life changes, one or more illnesses strike people psychosomatically, and Jeff's illness was impotence. Down and out dead cock.
How does a man accept a fate like that? Jeff Goddell didn't know. Christ, he might as well be ninety-two years old, for all the good his youth was doing him! Twenty four years old, and he couldn't fuck his wife! What the hell kind of karma was that? He must have raped the Virgin Mary in a past lifetime....
Sighing, he straightened his collar, hating the toady affect of the wide-striped tie and stiff shirt that made him look like something out of a Bank of America credit card ad.
Hell, what was this rotten sex life doing to Sara?
Jeff wondered if his wife might be thinking that very same thought right now as she rode on the suffocating subway. No doubt the men were ogling her! Would she be tempted to slip off her wedding band and play single for a couple of hours?
* * *
Sara slipped through the turnstile of the subway exit, headed for the Ford Film's building, her mind dwelling on what her life had been since Jeff's graduation from Harvard. She couldn't help the rising pink flush to her clear-skinned cheeks as she remembered that last night had been like so many other nights experienced since then: lonely and fruitlessly frustrating.
The first night, the next night after Jeff's first day at the Emporium men's department, was when it started. Dejected, realizing the car payment was due, and that last month's rent was still unpaid, he'd accepted the job, reluctantly. He'd come home almost in tears of frustration, stoically struggling to conceal his downheartedness. Sara had gone to bed with Jeff, fully expecting that he would need some sexual consolation, but she had not been prepared at all for it. Jeff had kissed her, their tongues intertwining in a deep soul-kiss, her nipples taut and hard, tenderly needful against his muscular chest, while his hands had roamed over the luscious curves of her body, dipping into the moist wellspring of her already prepared pussy, his finger stroking and stroking the fires of her passion as he had manipulated the key to her sexual arousal in the entity of her spikily hardened clitoris.
Her hands had been busy. She held the limp tube of her husband's penis in her hand and massaged it slowly and carefully, letting her hand drift down every now and then to his balls, where she scratched lightly with her nails. Usually, long before this-except when Jeff was really beat his cock would have been a veritable monster in her petite hand, its bloated head an angry red, slick with his preparatory juices seeping from its slitted head into her working fist, and he would have been raring to go, demanding his male prerogatives and turning her on her back to ram his eager cock flesh deep up into her own palpitant and demanding cunt.
But, not that night! His penis remained soft and flabby in her now desperate hand; desperate because she was all worked up, turned on and ready to receive the delights she had worked to expect from her husband during the five months of marriage.
Breaking the kiss, Sara murmured, "Darling, I'm ready for you. I've got to get it in me, now ... so I can cum!"
"In a little bit, baby. It's just slow in coming up tonight. Tired, I guess...."
"Well, stop thinking about being tired and satisfy me, will you?" she had begged of him. "God! I'm so hot for you ... and you've got to put your cock in me, honey ... way up inside my cunt ... fucking me the way I like it!" Deliberately, Sara used those words: Cock, cunt, and fucking. She used them because she thought they'd help Jeff to rise to her need. He had told her often that he liked to hear her say obscene words while they made love, explaining that it really turned him on...
It was no use. Nothing seemed would make his beautiful cock respond to her. It lay useless in her hand, and desperately she pumped it, hoping against hope that she could flail it to its former erect alertness.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, two hours, three, perhaps even four hours later, Jeff, ready to burst out sobbing, admitted that there was no sensation in his cock.
"The damned thing just won't come up!' he wailed, glaring down at the useless meat dangling between his legs.
"B ... but, what about me?" returned Sara. "I'm ready to cum! I've got have your cock! I want you to fuck me, darling-God, I've been worked up for ... for hours ... and I can't cum either unless you do something!"
"like what?" Jeff had glowered.
"Anything! But do something! Do something!" Sara was on the verge of tears.
The only thing Jeff could think of doing for her was to rub her irritated pussy, his hard finger slipping into her copiously lubricated furrow of her cunt to stroke her clitoris until she came explosively.
"Agggghhhh!" she moaned. "That's it! I'm cummming! I'm cummmming!"
Self-manipulation had been her only kind of sexual release ever since. At first, she had tried to avoid it. The idea was repugnant to her, unnatural and somehow perverted. With an effort of will, she had tried to sublimate her need for sex, but it hadn't worked.
They had tried several more times before giving up on it! Sara had suggested as tactfully as she could, "Jeff, darling, maybe you ought to see a doctor. It might help you...."
"No, goddamn it! There's nothing wrong with me! All I need is to find a job I like ... something I can feel like a whole person at!" he had roared back at her.
But, there were no jobs for a young man fresh out of college with no experience to speak of, despite his talents. It was a blow to his masculine ego ... pure and simple. He'd been forced to accept a loan from his father who, long ago, had warned his idealistic son that the only way to make a decent living in this country, was in banking. The money was like a childhood allowance to the proud son, and it made him feel all the more helpless and frustrated. Deeper and deeper he became mired in his despair-and soon he wasn't even trying. "It's dead ... it's no use!" he finally admitted to Sara.
However, Sara was not dead, and try as she might, she couldn't help those overpowering sensations of sexual need. So, she fingered herself, but only when she couldn't stand it any longer. It always made her feel guilty, which had something to do with her early childhood when all those taboos took birth. Meanwhile, Sara and Jeff had settled into a routine of living almost like brother and sister. Sex became a taboo subject, and Sara found herself cultivating a mode of dress, speech, and thinking devoid of any sexuality. She was even afraid to look at her own naked body, for fear that it would dredge up those forbidden feelings that made her need to do it.
Lately though, she had been dreaming the most outrageously sexy dreams, dreams so real she awakened from them sure in her own mind that they had really happened. These dreams left her in a state of arousal that could only be relieved by her hand. The disturbing part of it was that they were so frequent-and becoming more frequent-and she worried whether or not she was crying out in her sleep, as she dreamed, perhaps saying things that would lead her husband to know the nature of them.
She couldn't tell her husband the true nature of her dreams, because in those dreams it was not her husband who mounted her, ramming a rock hard cock into her and fucking her into orgiastic oblivion. They were strange men, men she had never met but who were uniformly handsome, each of whom carried between his legs such a length and hardness of penile flesh as to make her gasp every time they were exposed to her avariciously lustful gaze.
like most sex-dreams-and Sara's were no exception-there was no completion. This was the reason she awakened aroused and unsatisfied, leading to her need for relief through her own fingers....
Watching the "walk" light flash in her favor, Sara pulled her shoulder bag up high on her shoulder, holding it close to her body with her hand for safety's sake, and crossed the street with the morning throng of sleepy-eyed plebeians, scowling at honking horns. She was only three blocks from Ford Films, Ltd. now, and her heart beat faster. Yet her mind was riveted on her dissatisfied body....
Last night, she mused, her sleep had been serene and untroubled, because she had done it to herself in the bathroom before she went to sleep. Standing in the bathroom, she dared for the first time in weeks, to look at her nakedness in the full-length mirror. Critically, she had examined the full ripeness of her body, her hands smoothing over the pear-like mounds of her breasts, the nipples coming up to cones of vibrantly alive flesh above their crinkled aureoles. Then, she remembered how Woody had looked at her. his eyes undressing her lewdly, as she had sat there in his plush office overlooking the Statue of Liberty. Again, her body reacted, as below the viscous juices of her cunt made their presence known. Caressingly, her hand had gone down to her pussy; cupping the mound tightly in her hand, its warmth surprising her, she had massaged herself, a finger going into the hair-covered crease to titillate her already erect clitoris. Several minutes later, as she had watched her own body convulse in orgasm, she found herself wondering: What would it be like ... to ... to do it with another man? What if ... if Jeff can't ever get it up again? Oh, no!
No sooner had the forbidden and immoral thought flashed across her mind than she attempted to erase it, deny to herself that she could ever have thought it. God! What am I thinking? I've only been married for five months, and I'm thinking of cheating on Jeff! Never! Her mind rejected the idea.
But Sara was a healthy, warm, loving woman, who liked to give and receive ... and that didn't mean platonic hellos.
Somehow, she was finding it more and difficult to cope with Jeff's sour attitude and his impotence. Oh, Lord, it couldn't go on forever. At least now, she'd be able to indulge her energies in work and temporarily forget about her frustrations.
CHAPTER TWO
Sherwood Jones, one of the chief directors at Ford Films, Ltd. was sipping an ungodly concoction-tomato juice, Worcestershire, Tabasco, and a wedge of lemon ... plus a few sprinkles of vodka-trying to get over a bad case of the bloodies-in America, known as the omnipresent hangover. Coffee had only upset his stomach, and Alka-Seltzer made him gag. A hell of a way to greet his new assistant on her first day! Woody popped an Excedrin into his mouth and washed it down with his juice, swearing that tomorrow he would start on a health kick ... jog, play tennis, take vitamins.
The intercom on his mahogany desk buzzed mercilessly, and he grated at his secretary: "What the hell is it?" The noise made his head pound like a squeeze box.
"It's Sara, Mr. Jones. May I send her in?"
Woody answered with a monosyllable, followed by a barrage of four letter words once his finger had lifted from the "speak" button. The door of his plush office opened and Sara Goddell, beaming, stepped in.
"Hello, Sara," he smiled, leaning over his desk, too slow to rise from his seat and offer her one. "Please ... make yourself comfortable."
Sara sat primly on the edge of the leather seat. "How are you, Mr. Jones?" she greeted too cheerily to be real.
"Woody ... Please, call me Woody ... Sara..." Woody sat back in his chair, feeling the morning sunshine warm the back of his neck, and blessing the elements for small favors. It helped ease his pounding head. "Today I want to introduce you to your job, Sara. And it's important that you and I get to know each other well ... we'll be working closely, very closely," he added almost cautiously, enunciating the words with care. "This is a tight-knit organization you're being paid by." His heavily boned and muscular body seemed to relax then, his boyish grin disarming her.
His eyes were busy on her again, boring through the light-knit sweater, almost as though he had x-ray vision. Beautiful! She's a ravishing little piece! Just perfect ... and she's so damned innocent! His salacious thoughts were projected into the not-so-distant future, when he'd take his pleasure with her. He didn't have a single doubt about it's happening. It would happen, and his only question was when. Today? Tomorrow? He had supreme confidence in his own sexual prowess. Lord knows, in his business you had to be!
His lewd eyes made Sara uncomfortable, as she felt her clothing stripped from her by his mind's imaginings. Again, as yesterday, she was standing naked before him while still fully clothed.
Sitting opposite from the leering employer, the pretty, blonde woman felt a little more protected. And thank god she'd worn a long skirt! She tried to be business-like. "You said something about orientation, Woody...? " she began, then quickly realized she was being pushy. Professional men abhorred pushy women; it was just one step from a nagging wife, and no man wanted that. "You had mentioned that earlier...."
"Yes. So I did." Woody sat easily in the chair, his hands raised with fingertips touching. A concentrative pose behind a calculating grin. "Sara, you're very lucky to be hired by Ford Films ... I think you realize that." He paused, studying her calm features. "But one thing you're going to have to understand ... something I neglected to mention earlier, is that you're going to see and hear things of a very intimate nature. I trust you are a tolerant, worldly woman." Woody gestured offhandedly with one strong manicured finger.
"What do you mean? Sex?" she queried, before giving herself a chance to restate, more tactfully, her suspicions. She sat bolt upright and more upright still, when Woody nodded.
"That's right," he smiled. He relaxed deep into his chair. He smiled at her quick look of horror that masked her pretty face for a fleeting moment.
"But I thought you did documentaries, or something like that ... Just what kind of films do you produce, Mr. Jones?"
"SEX ... sex films, my love. And you're going to see all kinds of sex ... people fucking in every conceivable position ... and it's your job to help me keep track of this organized, filmed orgies! This studio works on at least four films simultaneously. That means there's a lot to keep track of. We have at least thirty people a day knocking on our doors wanting to be sex stars. Of those, we screen the likelies and dismiss the perverts from the serious actors. But the alarming thing is..." Woody sat up in his chair and reached for a cigarette to occupy his idle hands-hands that would give anything to be roaming the valleys of the curvaceous woman sitting across from him ... you can never tell which of those men are going to be the one to get it up and keep it up the longest. Faces don't matter much. Who the hell looks at faces in fuck films? It's what's down there that counts," he enunciated, pointing down with his index finger. "Isn't that right, Mrs. Goddell...?"
Sara's face was a kaleidoscope of emotional responses. His grin broadened as he watched, then the director went on disarmingly, watching Sara squirm on her chair. " You are mature enough to handle such a job, aren't you?"
Sex? Watch other people do it? No! God! I couldn't ... and then go home to Jeff? Not the way he is now! That's be torture, watching other people do it ... and not be able to do it myself ... except to myself, and where's that at? Nowhere!
She remembered how only this morning she was on top of the world, planning on an enviable career in film, and now her prudish behavior was separating her from that dream. In every job position you had to give up something, and Puritanical upbringing was a small sacrifice in view of the money they were offering her to fill this "unique" position.
"Well, do you think you can handle it? If not.. . " he leafed through a stack of resumes on his desk, "Well ... these are hungry times, and all these people are begging for your job."
Gathering her thoughts together to answer him was an effort. "Yes, I think I can handle it ... No," she said after brief consideration, "I know I can."
"Good!" The word came from his explosively.
The director bounced to his feet with cat-like grace and came around the desk toward her. His face crinkled in a mysteriously lewd smile. "So, let's get started with your introduction to Ford Films! I'll give you a tour of the studios first."
Tremblingly aware that she had just made a momentous decision, Sara Goddell followed the director as he proudly showed her around the suite of studios.
They walked through heavy doors with Studio One painted in heavy white letters. The room was a perfect replica of a bedroom, only far more sumptuous. In the middle of the purple draped stage was a round bed covered with a pale blue satin coverlet, far too luxurious for Sara's modest taste. Cameras, sitting idley by like silent spectators, cluttered the studio. This is where they ... thought Sara, swallowing hard.
"So this is where they film the scenes?"
His salacious smile swept over her, his eyes undressing her again. "Yes, this is where they film the fuck scenes."
Shrinking back instinctively, her face flushing hotly, Sara poised like a bird ready for flight.
Casually, Woody walked toward the bed and sprawled out on the smooth coverlet. "Come here and see what it feels like to be on set!" Woody ordered.
Sara hesitated. Never had she been in a bedroom alone with anyone except her husband, Jeff. Somehow, she didn't trust this man. Or was it that she didn't trust herself to be alone in a bedroom with him? God! He might try to ... to make love to me! Her imagination ran riot for a long moment. Swiftly, she turned and headed for the heavy doors.
"Sara!" a voice called after her. He saw the agonized fright in her deep blue eyes. Soothingly, then, his voice modulated from its deep commanding roar, he asked. "What's wrong?
"Nothing ... I just don't feel comfortable..." she said helplessly, casting her eyes downward because she was unable to articulate her fear, unable to say that she didn't trust him or herself.
"Come here. I want to show you something!" Cautiously, she headed for the bed and sat down on the sleek edge of it. "Did you ever wonder how these actors get it up and keep it up? Here's the answer," he said, reaching down to flick on a switch that immediately activated a hidden projector somewhere in the back of him. This wall screen lit up and a movie flickered on the screen.
Sara steeled herself for what was coming. Just one time, she had consented to going to a stag film with Jeff and another couple. She had been highly insulted, her sensibilities shattered by what she had seen. Jeff hadn't wanted to leave, and neither had the other couple, so she suffered herself to sit through two hours of sucking and fucking. She was sure this film would fit into the same sordid category as " Young Pussies."
The movie was in full color. A dark-haired woman writhed on a bed. Obviously, she was sexually aroused. The camera moved from her face downward, zooming in for a close up of her dark genital hair, curling crisply around the woman's tiny hand that massaged her pussy. Now, Sara could see her middle finger sliding up and down frantically along the short, turgid length of her hardened clitoris.
Woman. Masturbating ... it might have been me! thought Sara with a flush.
"We give the actors something to look at ... something to keep them excited. See how it works?"
"I ... think ... so," muttered Sara, transfixed, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Fascinated, she watched as the woman's extended middle finger slid deep into the glistening mouth of her vagina and her lips gyrated around it while the slim, well manicured finger moved in and out with a regular beat.
Now, as the camera moved back to the brunette's face, contorted with passion, her eyes glazing and rolling around uncontrolled in their sockets, Sara became conscious of her own body's reaction. There was that turgid warmth down there between her thighs, along with the ready moisture seeping down to wet her sensitive inner lips, and there was a tension in her belly, which she recognized as her own sex need. And, inside her bra, she could feel the hard cones of her nipples fighting the cloth prison that bound them. Suddenly, she knew that tonight would be just like last night. She would hide in the bathroom after Jeff fell asleep and do the very same thing to herself that the woman on the screen was doing to her body. Oh, no! It might be something she'd have to do for the rest of her life ... if she had to watch things like this all during her working day. It wouldn't be so bad, though, if Jeff could ... could do it to me every night-almost-the way he used to ... Wryly, she thought about how pleased he would have been three months ago by having a turned-on wife every night. One time she had accused him of being insatiable.
The camera was panning gain down over the urgently swaying body of the dark-haired woman, stopping for a moment for a loving look at the sweat-glistening mounds of her melon-like breasts; then it concentrated on her hair-lined cunt. Sara almost gasped aloud, for now she was seeing something she had never seen before. The woman's thumb, it's nail glistening with red lacquer stroked up and down the spiky hardness of her clitoris. Her finger was moving in and out of her clasping vagina.
But Sara leaned close, now, alertly. What was she doing with her middle finger? My God! She's put her finger in her ... her backside! She watched in horror as all three fingers moved together in concerted rhythm. She couldn't believe it! Why would she want to do that?
Angrily, Woody Jones' new assistant glared across at him and hissed, "Do I have to watch this?? "
"You do, if you're going to work for me! It's common around here. I'm not asking you to masturbate in front of me, so don't get so defensive, okay!"
Her gaze was drawn back to the screen; the movie had cut to a man. He, too, was sexually aroused, and, against her will, she watched intently as his hand pumped up and down the rock-hard length of his throbbing cock. It made her remember how she had handled Jeff's long, hard man-flesh, remembered how warm and soft it had been in her hand. But ... the head was so soft ... and silky! God, how she missed that!
Below, she desperately pressed her legs together. She could almost feel how it had been to have her husband's slamming cock fucked deep in her palpitating pussy.
Mercifully, the movie cut again to another scene, one filled with cock and cunt in close-up. A woman lay on her back, her knees pressed back hard and tight against her softly rounded breasts, while the man above her drove absolutely the longest and thickest penis she could have ever imagined deep into the wide-open vagina beneath him. It was unreal! How can she ... take that much ... up inside her?
Then, the next shot was down over the muscular shoulder of the man, revealing the woman's ecstatic face. There was no doubt about it. The dark-haired woman, taking that monster cock up to its full length in her clasping cunt was having her pleasure! Her mouth worked, and Sara could tell that she was mouthing obscenities, even though there was no sound track. "Fuck me!" her lips demanded. "Fuck me! Hard! Deep!" the brunette was screaming, then, her orgasm shuddered through her explosively, leaving her semi-conscious and moaning with delight.
"Beautiful!" Wood murmured; then, aloud to his assistant he explaining, "Turns you on, doesn't it?"
Sara offered no answer. Hands in lap, she sat stoically, bearing up as best she could.
Another man came on the screen now. Somewhat portly, his thick but short cock swollen and erect jutting from his hairy loins, he lay on the bed, his back supported by a couple of pillows against the headboard, so that the upper part of his heavy torso was raised higher than his hips. The woman was writhing on her belly, snake-like, as she crawled up between his widespread legs. The smile on her face was reflecting her lust, and her eyes concentrated on the short thick length of throbbing maleness standing upright from the thicket of dark hair surrounding it.
Then, as Sara watched in shocked fascination, the dark-haired woman's hand reached out to caress its rock-hard length. Raising herself up on her elbows, then, her breasts hanging free like ripe pears ready for picking and her rounded lips ovaling downward toward the fiercely pulsing head of her lover's penis, the woman on the screen looked up to say something. At her lover's answer, she immediately took the bulbous head into her mouth. Sara could see her lips contracting and relaxing obscenely around the throbbing stalk, and she was sure that inside her mouth the woman's tongue must have been swirling around and around that bloated head. Then, slowly it was being absorbed almost wholly into the woman's mouth, only to re-appear and be absorbed again as she bobbed her head up and down in the rhythm of sex.
The camera panned briefly up to the man's face. He had such a look of satisfaction, that Sara knew he was loving it! Every perverted minute of it!
Rushing in on her, memories flooded her mind. Time after time Jeff had wanted her to do that to him. One time he had been particularly persuasive and against her best sensibilities she had put her mouth around just the swelling blood-bloated head of his penis. She had gagged almost instantly. That ended it.
She had become so adamant, becoming almost hysterical in her rejection of it, that Jeff had reluctantly agreed to drop the subject ... or try to force her (as she put it) to do something so vile.
How could she work with such filth? This was an outrage! Sara's eyes flashed her annoyance and she stomped her booted feet heavily to the floor and stood up.
"No, I can't take this," she told Woody, her voice high in indignation; then, with determined steps, she whirled and marched toward the doors. "Give the job to somebody else!"
Woody's voice stopped her with: "What's the matter, are you so sexually frustrated you can't stand to watch somebody else getting it on?"
"What ... what is that supposed to mean?" She turned, to face him, her hand on the doorknob.
"You can't let yourself watch because you aren't getting enough yourself. Am I right?" The director countered as he walked up close to her, his eyes burning deep into her own disturbed ones.
"Who are you to talk to me like that?" her voice trailed off as she became aware of his closeness ... of his maleness, for she saw the bulge in the front of his pants, a bulge that meant only one thing! God, no! Desperately, she twisted at the doorknob. I've got to get out of here!
"You just don't want to admit that those films turned you on," the director calmly said. "I've seen a lot of women come through here, and I can pick out those that need sex. You're one of those women, Sara, only you're afraid to admit it."
Below, his rock-hard cock, confined by the cloth of his trousers, ground hard against her own heated loins, the warmth of it doing things to her in a most unexpected way, as she felt the gathering heat lightning's flashing down there warning her of her body's desire. "Let me go," she gasped.
"Actually, you wouldn't really mind sucking a cock! You've just never given yourself a chance at it! Right?"
Woody's muscular arms held her in close and tight to him, plastering her loins to his, and she was helpless to resist. Futilely, she struggled against his bear-like hug. "How do you know?" she hissed. "I tried it ... once!"
"You didn't like it?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And what about him? Do you like for him to suck you?"
Sara's shoulders squared defiantly. "I would never let my husband do such a perverted thing to me! Never!" she screamed aghast, her face blanching. "No ... G-God, no!" she was remembering how Jeff had tried to talk her into that, too, but with no luck.
"You do get a straight fuck every now and then, don't you? You do let your husband make love to you?" the director intoned, grinding his hips hard against her now writhing loins.
He hadn't tried to kiss her yet; now, he lowered his mouth down to hers and crushed his lips hard against the softness of her suddenly yielding mouth, his tongue snaking out to rotate sinuously around just inside the sensitive oval of her lips. Sara shrank away from him, trying desperately to avoid his lips, at first; then, after he had captured them, crushingly, the hot fires banked in her flared to blazing furnace heat, and she found herself kissing him back, against her will.
At that instant, Woody Jones rejoiced in the clear knowledge that it was going to happen that morning. Damn! She's really all right! He grinned jubilantly to himself as he felt the slow, steady undulation of her hips grinding up against the throbbing bulge of his fully erect penis inside his trousers. Maybe to ready ... and too fast! Swiftly, his mind calculated the possibilities and came up with the logical answer.
Breaking the kiss, he looked down into her pretty, lust-contorted face and breathed, "You need a fuck ... I know you haven't had one for a long time. Isn't that right, Sara?"
Her eyes were closed. Opening them, she murmured. "How can you tell?"
"You're jittery, not relaxed with yourself or with your body. I can tell."
"It's been a long time." Slowly, Sara licked her lips, wondering whether she should confide in this man. Instantly, she knew the answer. "He can't find a good job and he's ... he's frustrated ... he just can't ... do it...."
"Hmmm, common syndrome." He studied her face. "That must make it hard on you. . . ?
Reality broke upon her like a wind-driven wave, drenching her with the meaning of what was happening to her with chilling clarity. How had she allowed him to go this far, far enough to be suggesting that he, the director, could help her by ramming his own lust-filled cock into her ... and . . ? God! He really means it! He w-wants to m-make love to me!
It had felt so good to Sara to be held close in the comforting circle of the director's strong arms, and his kiss had lulled her into a fantasizing reverie in which she had allowed her own scintillating sensations of need to play recklessly in her body, the suffusing warmth of it seeming like a breath of spring after a cold and barren winter.
Suddenly, she was struggling in his arms, attempting to escape the trap into which she had unwittingly and blindly run, not realizing that the snare was partially of her own making.
"Let me go!" hissed Sara. "Let me go! I'm not going to cheat on my husband ... no matter what!"
Sherwood Jones held her tight to him. "Forget about him. Thinking won't help his problems. Think about yourself. Just a moment ago ... if I'd laid you down on a bed, you'd have been spreading your legs for me right now, begging me to fuck you!"
"Hell no!" she exploded.
Unperturbed, he went on, "You see, that's the trouble. You're confusing your head with your body. Sometimes for sanity's sake it's necessary to separate the two." His thick, strong-fingered hands moved down now to cup the round moons of her buttocks and haul her loins in tighter against his suggestively grinding hips, while at the same time he began to move her toward the soft satin coverlet of the round bed that was part of the bedroom movie set. He reveled in the soft fullness of her ass cheeks working in his caressing palms, while below he felt the heat of her aroused loins, where her pussy was plastered hard against the bulge of his hardened penis.
Of course, dimly, Sara knew that the director was right. She should let go and let come what may, but she couldn't do that. It wouldn't be fair to Jeff. No matter how she rationalized now-or later-it just wasn't fair to her husband.
She said it. But the director ignored it.
Woody had maneuvered her within reach of the bed. Deftly, using one hand, he eased her back to the bed until she was supine, and Woody had lowered his weight down on top of her pinning her there, his hands beginning to run over the length of her torso and down over the long swelling line of her hips, reversing then to travel upwards to capture the softness of a bra-confined breast.
As he kneaded the ripe-melon softness of her trembling breast through her clothing, barely able to wait until he had the silky skin of it naked in his hand, he went on smoothly, giving her an argument she couldn't refuse.
"How about reversing things," the director suggested. "What if you were the one who couldn't ... or wouldn't fuck? Do you think your husband would be playing fair?"
Sara's nipples arched with taut erection. The salacious sensations rippling there streaked with electric swiftness to her churning belly to set off even more nerve-tingling desires, desires she had so carefully tramped down, purging them from her consciousness so that they couldn't plague her so-vulnerable flesh. Now, he was saying something that was absolutely monstrous.
She couldn't answer for a moment or two, but there was an element of truth in what the director was saying. She knew Jeff only too well ... knew how horny he was before, how well he liked to fuck and remembered the veiled threat he had once made on their honeymoon. He had said if she wasn't a good fuck, he'd go find another woman he could fuck ... any time he wanted to! On reflection, she realized it wasn't so veiled after all. Her husband had made it pretty plain to her that he was becoming dissatisfied. That was when she'd decided to stop making those stupid excuses about headaches and not feeling well.
"Well?" the director reminded her, as he rolled to his side from the top of her and turned her to face him, while his hand went unerringly to the zipper of her culottes and tugged the tab down to where it ended at the base of her spine.
Sara felt the cooling rush of air over her exposed back and shivered slightly. Somehow she knew that she should be objecting to it ... but she didn't. And, she still didn't voice her protest when she realized that his blunt but nimble fingers were already releasing the hooks at the back of her black lacey, French bra.
"I ... I don't know..." she finally answered, finding it hard to concentrate on anything as she felt Woody Jone's hands pulling the front of her sweater up and over her head; this followed by her bra strap, the lacy cup falling away to expose the lushly soft roundness of a full white breast with its hardened cone of nipple yearning to be fondled and kissed, brought an uncontrolled sigh of heightened expectation from her agonized lips. Oh god! I just don't know ... but he's a man! And, he might do it ... no! He probably would do it! He would find another woman.
Just before the director's wet lips encircled the aching nipple, sucking it up along with its darker coral-hued areola, she heard him murmur, "Why don't you face the truth? You know damned well he'd be banging somebody else!"
High voltage electrical sensations sizzled along her nerve-endings and plunged like a lightning bolt in between her desperately pressed together thighs to ground itself in the moist cavern of her pussy. Sara closed her eyes in an effort to blot it all out. For a fleeting moment she imagined that it was Jeff, her dearly beloved husband, who was sucking on her nipple and causing all her internal agitation. Ohhh! It feels sooo good! Then, she was shrugging her shoulders, helping as the director turned her full on her back and slid the sweater over her head and removed the bra; his hand came back to her other naked breast. He cupped the silky warm flesh, his fingers kneading deep into the rounded softness of it, while his thumb and forefinger teased at the hard upstanding nipple.
Then, Woody Jones' mouth left the pap he was sucking on and trailed wetly down into the valley between her alabaster white breast only to scale the other mound and capture its twin. She opened her eyes then and looked down to see his lewdly sucking lips, felt the swirling of his tongue around the turgid, sensitive nipple and heard the wet slavering of his mouth. His hair was graying, his complexion swarthy ... and it was not her husband after all. It was her employer! And, it was all impossible! Why was she here allowing him to do this to her? "Noooo!" she moaned helplessly. "I ... I can't let you do it! I can't...."
Suddenly, he stopped. The director raised his head, his lust-filled blue eyes striking sparks as they bored into her now wide-opened and startled eyes. He looked so fierce to her, and she had a moment of fear, the thought crossing her mind that now she was going to be raped. His voice was commanding now, a steel edge in it she hadn't heard before.
"Damn it, Sara ... why don't you admit you won't let yourself feel good? You wanted to be screwed. You want a big hard cock in you. Let yourself go and enjoy it!"
"God, I can't! If Jeff ever...."
"How's he going to find out? Unless you'd be stupid enough to tell him."
Raising up her hips, the director grasped her culottes and pulled them down and off. He flung them to the floor to join her bra and looked down at the writhing of her hips, her loins covered now by only the wispiest suggestion of white nylon panties. He definitely liked what he saw. Her hips were full and softly curved, blending into long svelte thighs, slightly dimpled knees and nicely rounded calves, which ended in slim ankles. Her feet were still encased in sensible boots, while her shapely legs were still covered by flesh-colored stockings. As his eyes swept on up to the melon-like mounds of her breasts, the nipples still glisteningly damp from his sucking of them, the director absently removed her boots and let them drop to the floor with a full, finalizing thud.
Sara's commitment was voiced.
"Sin and guilt ... those are as old-fashioned as lace curtains. If you're going to make it in the film business, my dear, you're going to have to become a little more liberal."
While he was talking, his eyes never left her face, while at the same time he was rapidly divesting himself of his own clothes.
It was happening so fast that when he stood there naked before her, his long thick hard cock jutting out from his dark-haired loins, Sara couldn't help her gasp of surprise, her eyes drawn irresistibly to the pulsing rod of flesh, which he now held in his hand. She gasped again as he retracted the heavy foreskin to reveal the fiery redness of its pulsing head. God! ft was really going to happen!
Try as she might, she couldn't concentrate on what he was telling her. She got the drift of it only, but how does a person change a lifetime of attitudes and habits of thought on such short notice? How could she not feel that she was about to commit a mortal sin? How could she take that which was forbidden and not feel guilt? One final time, Sara Goddell tried to wrest herself back to reality-back to sanity-for this was surely insane! Her mind fought against his ideas, refused to accept them. She struggled to sit up.
Flaringly, she hissed, "Macho pig!" Then, she was reaching for her clothing. "I refuse to sell my body for a career! It's cheap and it's dirty"
"It's too late."
He pushed her back down on the bed and crawled up beside her. "We're all cheap, then, huh? Is sex cheap too? Is it dirty?"
"Not with the right person!"
"Then what makes one person right and another wrong? Are you so high and mighty that you can sit on your throne and decree who should have sex with who?"
"B ... But I didn't.. . " She couldn't talk any more. Woody was kissing her, his tongue thrusting in between her lips and teeth to probe deep in her mouth.
At first, she resisted him, jousting with her tongue against his invading tongue, while one of his hands roamed at will over the trembling, sex-hungry mound of her golden-haired pussy, his middle finger slipping down easily into the furrow between the turgid lips search lewdly for the short hard length of her clitoris. The director grunted his satisfaction as he found it, rubbed caressingly along its pulsating length and felt her hips rise up to it rhythmically; then, he began to match his titillating caress of her sex-bud with a carefully measured in-and-out thrusting of his tongue at her now accepting mouth.
Again he was jubilant, for now he felt her lips contracting around his probing tongue as he shoved it ever more deeply into her mouth. She won't be hard to teach! He could hardly wait for that part of her introduction to Ford Films, Ltd. First, though, he had to get her ready ... and the wily director, summoning up his years of experience in the dirty films business, knew just where to start.
CHAPTER THREE
Slowly, Sara opened her eyes, disappointed when the director stopped kissing her. She had wanted it to go on and on. The marvelous sensations that had been streaking through her body ... especially when the director had touched her down there between her legs, were really something. It was one thing she had found out on her own. Her clitoris was a veritable treasure house of sensations. After the first few times she had fingered herself-after Jeff had told her it was no use trying because his cock was temporarily out of commission-Sara had discovered the joys of her little sex button (as she called it) and had concentrated on it almost exclusively. She had not been surprised when her hips had undulated up against his salaciously teasing hand so shamelessly, but it was strange to her that she had liked his tongue, too, hard and pointed, sliding obscenely in and out of her ovaled lips.
Her mind was no longer in control. It was her body that had taken over the helm so recklessly, for now she wasn't even thinking ... only reacting, as she felt Sherwood Jones' mouth first on one breast, then on the other. It felt so good to the sex-starved wife. But what was he doing now?
Desperately, she wanted to tell him to stop. She wanted to shout it, while at the same time, she wanted to get up off the director's bed and run away; however, she could only watch in wide-eyed fascination, her vocal cords seemingly paralyzed and her body, unable to move, was rooted to the soft, satin coverlet. At the same time, her heart pounded up into her throat chokingly. It was fear. She knew it was fear ... but there was something else, too. It was anticipation!
Not daring to breathe, Sara raised her head, eyes staring down at the lewd thing happening to her, and she clenched her tiny fists in helplessness. Then, it happened. The director had firmly forced her trembling legs apart, while his face hung directly over her cringing yet hungering cuntal furrow.
Helplessly, she looked down through the narrow defile between her tingling breasts and across the plain of her over-heated and churning belly to see the director's tongue lick rotatingly around his lips in lewd foretaste of what he was about to do. His face dropped down suddenly then, and his tongue stabbed out wetly to make electrifying contact with the young housewife's palpitating cuntal flesh.
"Ohhhhh!" she moaned, her painfully held breath exploding from her lips in one gust. "Noooo!"
Below, Woody Jones clamped his lips tight to the coral opening of her cunt, his tongue lashing deep into the moistly heated depths, and he grinned in triumph as he heard her moan of wanton pleasure. Regardless of the fact that she was saying no, he knew that it was a groan of abject submission, for at that moment he felt the undulating squirm of the loins beneath his slavering, thrusting tongue.
Yet, Sara tried to deny it ... deny her body the pleasure she was feeling. "Please, Woody ... don't...! Don't do it to me ... like that!"
Even as she said it, his tongue came out of her moistly contracting cuntal canal and pressured upward to glide back and forth along the pulsing hardened length of her clitoris.
She was lost at that moment. All of her denials were to no avail, for the powerful damning sensations he generated in her blotted out everything ... all she had ever learned of morals, of married fidelity and of arbitrary definitions of right and wrong went spinning away on the gusty winds of her passion. Mewling her pleasure, Sara's clenched fists relaxed, her tremblingly curvaceous thighs opened wide voluntarily as her hips rotated salaciously beneath his sensually stimulating licking of her most secret sex bud.
Then, conscious only of her own lewd desires, her hands reached down to either side of Woody's graying head, her fingers caressing the bristly brush of his hair at the temples as she attempted awkwardly to guide him. Ooohhhh! I never thought I would like this! Then, her hips were moving her loins flexing as she raised her pussy in offering to his cunt-licking tongue. "Oh! Ohhhhh! Yessss! Oh God! Yes! Do it! like that! Lick me! Suck my cunt!"
On and on, she babbled, while all the while her rising passion brought her closer to the brink of orgasm. Below, the director used his tongue in infinite ways, now beating a rapid tattoo directly on .the expanded head of her throbbing clitoris, now returning to her cunt's mouth to lash inside the wetly heated channel and move around and around in the pulsating opening only to move downward and flick into the sensitive ring of her anus. Every new thing brought forth response in her, and she was moaning and mewling constantly in ecstatic sensuousness, as her nerve endings threatened to burn out from the overload of sex sensations.
And, she wanted it to go on and on, never stopping, as now she clenched her eyes tightly shut and allowed it all to happen to her, reveling in the tidal wave of sensuality surging over her lovely, sex-starved body.
Suddenly, her hips were coming up off the soft coverlet of the round bed, moving in instinctive up-and-down motions against her employer's stimulating tongue and mashing the sparsely golden-haired fringe of her cunt lips up hard against his lewdly working mouth and tongue.
And then, shatteringly, her orgasm exploded in on her. Her body stiffened momentarily, and she was screaming with welcome release, a release such as she had never before experienced. Her lust-contorted mouth formed the words, "Oh, My God! I'mmmmm cumiinngg! Aaahhhggg!" Her hands found a strength she never knew they had, as she forced the director's mouth tighter against her jubiliant pussy.
Then, wave after wave of euphoric well-being swept through her, and her body sagged down against the bed, her hips still moving in involuntary circles under her. Eyesight and hearing were dimmed, as she felt herself almost on the verge of consciousness, while her white, softly curving thighs relaxed and splayed even wider.
She couldn't understand it. She had climaxed in soaring orgiastic release ... but still the voracious mouth was there working on the now satiated flesh of her cunt. Weakly, her hands fell away from his head, her eyes opened to look down, as she murmured, "Woody ... isn't that enough?"
The shadowy specter of sin made itself known in the dim recesses of her mind. "Haven't you d-done enough to me already. . . ?
His head came up and she looked into his lust-filled eyes, seeing also the glistening wetness around his mouth and knowing that it was a mixture of his saliva and the viscous lubricating moisture from the interior of her cuntal passage.
"Hardly!" he told her. "We're just getting started at your orientation, my dear!"
Again, his mouth obscenely kissed her nether mouth, his tongue stimulating her quickly to yet another rising passion. In what seemed like only seconds, Sara was moaning and begging him to keep on going.
"Oh, yesss, Woody! Keep sucking my c-cunt! Make me cum again ... and again ... and again!"
Now, the director knew that she was ready. Really ready! He smiled inwardly, knowing that now he was ready to have his way completely with her. She's an easy lay! Man, she's going to pan out just fine for this job!
Raising his head he told her, "All right, baby ... now it's your turn!"
The sexually stimulated housewife felt abandoned, suddenly fearful that she was going to be left high and dry, frustrated ... after being so powerfully goaded to full arousal. She was confused. "Wh ... what...?" she moaned, then added. "D ... Don't stop ... now! I'm sooo hot! OH, God, keep on doing it ... or I'll lose my mind!"
"Don't you worry, honey. You'll get what you need from ol' Woody!" Spreading his legs, the director bridged her trembling body and with a knee on either side of her hitched himself up over her until his buttocks rested lightly on the swelling mounds of her tingling breasts. One of his stubby-fingered fists massaged the thick turgid length of his achingly throbbing penis.
Then, suddenly, she was staring aghast at the bulbous head of his cock, it's slitted opening spilling a few drops of clear viscous liquid, which ran down its underside. She could see its throbbing heartbeat the red silkiness of the heated mushroom-snapped head ... and as it came to within an inch of her fear-contorted mouth, she knew that he intended to thrust it deep into her mouth and throat ... to use her mouth as a substitute cunt.
"Noooooo!" the director's assistant quivered wailingly. "No, not that!"
"Yes! That. I sucked and licked that luscious pussy of yours ... until you came! Now, it's your turn, just like I told you! So, open your mouth, baby! You're going to learn to suck cock! Now!"
With determination, Sara Goddell turned her head to the side and pressed her cheek against the soft, satin coverlet and flashed, "No I won't!"
"Okay! We'll call it quits then. If you want to cum again, you're going to have to do it yourself! God knows, there's a drawer full of dildoes around here somewhere ... let me get you one. You'll be no good at work in your state."
Below, her loins gyrated yearningly in their lewd desire for sexual satisfaction ... and she found that there was no way she could reach around his solid body to touch her stimulated cunt with her own hands. Sara groaned with frustration. It was a hard choice to make.
"Which is it?" the director prodded. "Suck my cock while I lick your cunt ... or play with yourself with a dildo?"
It's a trick ... a dirty trick he played on me ... just to get me to use my mouth on him ... suck his cock! But there was something else he'd said, too? "You mean b-both of us at the same time...? " she asked, turning her eyes side long to look up into the determined face of her boss, while keeping her own cheek turned aside to avoid the one-eyed stare of his pulsing rod of maleness.
"Yes, that's the classic sixty-nine position!"
Could she do it? Sara wasn't sure, but she had to have something ... had to have his tongue, or his cock doing something to her down there! After the wild sensations he had given her with his tongue, bringing her to unimaginable heights of ecstasy and exploding into an orgasm for such delight as she had never known existed, using her hand would be pale in comparison. But the bartered exchange the director was offering was something else again. God! How could I take it in my mouth without gagging ... like I did that time with Jeff. . . ? It was the first time she had thought of her husband.
Jeff! Oh God! What am I thinking about? Me, a married woman ... doing all these things with a man I don't even know!
"Well...?" Woody asked proddingly.
"N ... no! I can't do it! Let me up! I quit. Give the job to some cheap whore who needs to cheat on her husband to feel sexy!" Sara flashed, her voice rising toward hysteria.
"Okay ... it's your choice..." he said calmly, knowing that he still held the winning hand. Crawling from on top of her? She sat on the edge of the round bed. "Is that going to help your husband get it up? By you quitting your job?"
No! Desperately, one of her grasping hands reached down to her searingly aroused pussy, her extended middle finger sliding into the moist groove to find the sensuous hardness of her own clitoris. "No..." Her defeated voice echoed her dismal thought.
"No is right ... so why don't you play the new hand I'm offering you? You don't really want to settle for this!" Woody reached over to place his own hand on top of hers where it moved rhythmically against her steaming cuntal flesh.
"How-how?" Sara murmured, surprised that she had asked it.
"How ... can I learn to ... s-suck?" She couldn't finish the half-formed query.
"Easy. All you have to do is relax and let it happen!"
Quickly, he stretched out on the round bed beside her on his back, as he went on coaxingly," Get up on top of me with your legs straddling my head, so I can get at that hot little cunt of yours. Then, try to think that you'll be giving me just as much pleasure as I'm going to be giving you. Curl your lips down over your teeth and take my cock in your mouth."
Sara scrambled up on her knees. "But what if I gag?"
"You won't. Just take as much of it as you can without feeling that way."
She wasn't sure what it was that had changed her mind. There must be something evil and wanton within her that would make her want to taste all the pleasure of forbidden sex; at least, that was one conclusion she reached, as she positioned herself over him, her palpitating and unsatisfied pussy hanging just over the director's lust-twisted face. And, she was excited, trembling with a new anticipation at being a party to it, now.
Her employer smiled to himself, then reaching up with both hands, he slowly drew apart the sparsely hair-lined lips of her golden cunt to expose the pink pulsing opening. He liked it this way. It was far better to make them want to do it themselves rather than force them to it. Hell! My approach never fails! Then, with a lustful groan, he raised his head slightly, opened his mouth and lashed his tongue up into the coral-like depths of his new assistant's clasping pussy.
She moaned mewlingly, and her loins undulated down against her slavering mouth. "Ohhhh, my Godddd!"
On her elbows then, supporting her torso slightly, the ripe pear-like spheres of her breasts hanging down prettily against his heavily muscled abdomen, Sara Goddell regarded the lancing, upstanding rod of his throbbing, fully erect penis. Tentatively, she reached out to grasp it with her trembling hand and felt it warm and pulsing with his strong heartbeat.
Below, she felt the director's tongue, now, on her sensation packed clitoris. "Ooohhhh!" she groaned, her lips ovaling.
Just at that moment, Woody Jones drove his cock upward toward her mouth with a powerful flexing of his hips. The velvet skinned cock head brushed her lips, and without thinking about it, Sara opened her mouth to take the bulbous tip of it between her rounded lips. Experimentally, she tasted him with her tongue finding it musky and slightly tart as she lapped the exuded viscous moisture from its tiny slit.
Back behind her between her legs, she heard the gasp of pleasure that came from the director's lips. Somehow, the little moan from him encouraged her, and she opened her jaws wider to allow a little more of his hot pulsing flesh to slide into her mouth. She was rewarded by her employer's redoubling effort. His tongue fairly danced up and down the palpitating furrow of her pussy, and now he was concentrating on the sensitive head of her sex bud.
Ohhhh! That feels so good! Unconsciously, her lips slid down farther over the director's cock head, the whole of its' corona now inside her mouth, and she didn't gag, as his hips began to flex sawing more and more of his rock-hard length up into her mouth. Now, she suddenly understood what he wanted ... what she must do.
Goaded by the plethora of sensations in her own sex-fired genitals, Sara began to bob her head slowly up and down, countering the upward thrusts of her employer's hips.
The rhythm was established, and soon, she was taking more than half of his huge cock into her mouth. What surprised her was that she could do it at all.
Faster and faster, his hips flexed, and she could fell the thrilling, expanding throb of his burgeoning cock. Wallowing in the deliciously exhilarating morass of her own sexual arousal and knowing that in moments she would burst into another orgasm, like the explosion of a balloon which has soared too high into the air, Sara was conscious of nothing else, as now she was absorbing the whole of his cock-flesh deep into her mouth and throat.
And then with powerful jackhammer thrusts, the director's hips were ramming upward driving his lust-filled rod all the way down her throat, his pelvis buffeting her tender lips, and she could barely hold her head in position over him to allow him the use of her mouth almost like a substitute cunt.
Vaguely, Sara realized what was happening ... what would happen within seconds, and she was not really prepared for it. Suddenly, the turgid cock was expanding to spew his lewd cum deep down into the back of her throat, as with a final upward surge he slammed his huge cock up into her mouth and tensed with the ultimate sensation of his ejaculative orgasm.
She could only swallow as the viscid stream flooded her mouth. There was no way she could escape it; but, swallow she did and she reveled in the long moan of exquisite pleasure that ripped from his lips still tightly plastered up against her pussy flesh.
For a desperate instant, Sara thought he was going to desert her inflamed cunt. He was talking, telling her something, and his tongue was no longer driving her toward the welcome brink of her impending orgasm.
"That's it ... baby!" she heard the director's muffled voice say. "That's it! Now ... lick it clean! Lick all around the head of my cock ... until you've got every last drop!"
Raising her head, now, as his hips sand back against the soft bed, Sara wailed in desperation, "Yes! God! Yes! Anything you say Woody! Make me cum! Suck my pussy until I cum ... now!"
Then, his hands tightened on her buttocks and his mouth was back on her sensually sex-fired flesh, his tongue fucking in and out of her pulsing cuntal passage, and she moaned aloud with relieved pleasure.
Greedily, she dropped her mouth down to his slowly deflating penis. With great care, she followed his instructions, using her tongue to lick all around the exposed glans, while his own stimulating mouth boosted her into orgasmic orbit.
Almost without warning, she was there. She was cumming. Raising her head now and allowing the limp tube of his cock to slide from her mouth, Sara Goddell howled out her pleasure. "Ohhhhhh! Mmmmmmyyy Gooddd! I'mmmm cummmingg! Aahhggg!! ! "
The overwhelming sensations of her second orgasm were almost to much for her. She slumped down to the bed insensate and was not aware that the director rolled her over to her side and now sat looking down at her serenely composed, sexually satiated face.
CHAPTER FOUR
Weak and dizzy, Sara combed her hair and dressed, then hastily reapplied a swoop of mascara to her dark eyelashes and lined up her lips with a fresh layer of burgundy. Superficially she was unruffled, but inwardly she seethed as memories of what had happened with Sherwood Jones surged back and forth in her brain.
The more liberal part of her was wanton in savoring every salaciously lewd and exciting detail of how she had been seduced and brought to two unreal orgasms, while another part of her, her wifely, Puritanical conscience, tried to take center stage and wag the finger of guilt at her. It's wrong, Sara! You shouldn't stay here and sell your body for the sake of a job. What kind of a career warrants that?
Realistically, however, she needed the money; but more than that, the forbidden, the exciting beckoned to her, and knew that if she stayed there would be more-much more-to come. It was as though a door had been opened the tiniest crack allowing her to peek in on the splendors of a room she had not yet entered.
Her appetite for sex had been whetted just enough to make an illicit affair with Woody Jones alluring. He was a natty dresser, a sharp, wily man, and he was an in to a career; the man with the contacts, and that's how striving people like herself got their breaks in the business. After all, Jeff doesn't have to know ... and besides ... he can't do it anyhow! He can't get it up anymore!
But Sara found it difficult to look at Woody, for her feeling of shame had risen, flushing her cheeks and causing her to cast her eyes downward.
"Okay, Sara. Now we've got work to do," started Woody, tidying up the round bed, then straightening his tie. "The cast for "Three Little Women" is out on location, so this studio is vacant for the day. Next door in Studio Two they're filming "Head Waiter," and in the last room they're just finishing up with "The Horny Guru" ... that is if that little bitch Wanda gets rid of her Herpes," he added, scratching his head as if trying to think out loud to organize his thoughts. "Now what I want you to do is help me keep track of these actors. You know, make the rounds every once in a while to make sure everybody is taken care of ... their costumes are ironed, their makeup fresh. And don't let any strangers in, you hear?" Woody inspected his image in the tripartite wall of mirrors leaning uselessly against the wall in back of the cameras. "We're always fighting a battle to keep out strangers."
"Yes," she said absently, waiting for him to tell her the orientation was over. And she'd failed.
A buzzer sounded. "Okay," snapped Woody, "that means they're ready to start filming in Studio Two." Woody shoved a clip board in her hand and flicked a ball point pen from his coat breast pocket. "Here, take this roster with the actors names on it, and check to make sure that nobody's lingering around the set."
"But ... but how will I know who's supposed to be there?" whined Sara, confused and flushing.
Responsibility seemed to be flooded unexpectedly down on her.
"Be aggressive, introduce yourself," came the simple answer.
Scowling, Sara took the clip board from Woody's thrusting hands and noticed her hands were shaking. No wonder! Woody expected her to be a female version of Superman ... be here, make love, run there, do this, do that ... Whew, she'd have to make a habit of taking her vitamins every morning!
Her boots clomping a rhythm down the uncarpeted hallway adjoining the studios Sara, incognizant of her flustered movements bumped into a tall, athletic looking man who was leaning against the hallway wall not far from Studio Two.
"May I help you...?" Sara asked, pausing, her clipboard hugged tight to her chest.
She was favored by a dazzling smile which crinkled his good-looking face. His eyes swept over her with interest, eyes she couldn't help but notice that were tawny and flecked with gold, complementing his healthy tan and sun bleached hair.
"Maybe you can..." the stranger grinned. "I'm Dirk ... and you must be Woody's new assistant."
"Hmmm," tutted Sara, her eyes scanning the roster, searching out the name of Dirk. She ran her finger down the lengthy list, then held that slender finger to her burgundy lips in an expression of puzzlement. "I ... I don't seem to find your name here, Dirk. Are you in either of the films?" Sara said in a most business-like manner while trying to ignore his frankly lustful gaze.
"Yeah, I work here," he offered nonchalantly, the flecks of gold in his eyes twinkling richly. Dirk saw that she was confused and didn't know how much he should tell her. Woody's assistants had a turn-over rate that put New York City's unemployment lines to shame.
"Well, I guess as long as you work here, it's okay," blurted Sara with a shrug. Briefly, as she hurried down the hallway, a tiny spark of an idea crossed her mind as to the mysterious nature of Dirk's employment. Do you suppose ... he's one of the ... no, he couldn't be. He's so sexy looking, but far too healthy looking to be one of those degenerate sex stars. She scurried on down the hall and let herself into Studio Two.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the flooding strobe lights that surrounded the set where a woman, wearing a French maid's apron and nothing else, was perched on a kitchen table. Around her the cameramen, cinematographers, director, and lighting experts worked the cameras, all eyes and lenses on the strikingly beautiful blonde girl whose white full-mooned buttocks were raised high as she knelt in a subservient position waiting for a man to lumber up on his knees behind her, his obscenely fat belly hanging in rippling folds over his abdomen and almost concealing the short thick length of his erect cock. Greedily, his stubby-fingered hands went out to caress the soft flesh of the young girl's ass cheeks, as his chef's hat-the only clothing he wore-flopped lifelessly to the side.
Then, the actor was hitching his bulk up behind her and flexing his loins to stab blindly with a heavily throbbing shaft of his short, fat penis into the soft hair-lined crease of the blonde maid's pussy. It was obvious that he was missing the mark, and the director, standing with his hands on his hips in a show of dissatisfaction, roared from the side: "Cut, cut!" He shook his head and wiped the beaded sweat from his forehead. "Dammit, Snyder ... hit it this time! Get that cock of yours in her cunt, not her ass, for Chrissakes!"
The director lumbered over to his directors chair and threw himself in it. "Okay, let's try it again, and this time, you, Debbie, put it in for him. Help out the poor bastard or you'll get bruised knees from that damned kitchen table!"
The scene was re-shot. The cameras rolled again as Debbie's slim hand reached back between the columns of her curvingly svelte thighs and gripped the thick shaft of Synder's futilely flailing cock. Deftly, she placed the monstrous head between the peeping lips of her cunt's mouth and screamed back the script: "Now! Push hard! Shove your cock in me and fuck me hard!"
"Aaaggghhh!" Synder groaned, as sweat stood out on his ruddy, now lust-contorted face, and the cameras zoomed in for a close up.
Suddenly, it was up inside, as with a mighty effort the fat man slammed his hips up hard and resoundingly against the blonde's lusciously rounded buttocks flattening them and causing her to jerk forward to escape the cruel entry.
"Oooohhhhh! You're big! Bigger than I thought!" the girl's face twisted around to look over her shoulder at the fat man. "But it's nice! Go ahead, Cedar, and fuck me ... fuck me before the Madame Bouille comes in the kitchen.
"Okay, I will!"
Mindlessly, Snyder began to saw back and forth, kneeling behind the young blonde and grasping her hips to pull her back against him, as his own fat hips thrust short, fast and hard to drive his throbbing cock deep into her wide-stretched cuntal mouth. Below, the ripe full breasts of the girl, hanging like melons ready for the plucking, swayed lasciviously to the rhythm of the buffeting cock from behind while at least a dozen people watched.
Sara watched and listened with horrified understanding. How can they have sex in front of other people? My god, how lewd! And with no love ... no need, just pure sex. I could never do that! Making love to Woody was bad enough, but in front of other people!
Without checking the roster-the reason she'd come into the studio-she tutted in disgust, turned out on her heel and pounded through the doors, a dozen eyes on the intruder. Amongst them were the accusing eyes of the director himself who growled under his breath. Nothing was right.
Aghast with a commingling of embarrassment and excitement, Sara made for the second studio, pausing in the hall a moment to collect her composure.
Maybe they'll be shooting something a bit less disgusting in the next studio, thought Sara, not certain if she could take much more of these lewd displays of sex. Gurus are celibates. God, let them-be sipping tea or meditating, she prayed, leaning against the door and pushing through the heavy doors of Studio Three where the cast for the "Horny Guru" was in session, the room flooded with lights.
Sara sucked in her breath as timidly she inched toward the set, her eyes round with awe as a naked woman with a slim, willowy figure reclined on a straw mat in the corpse asana of the true Yogic tradition, her eyes focused on the far, seemingly blank wall of the set, while her own hands ran caressingly, self-indulgently, and stimulatingly over her own slowly writhing body. Her lips chanted a mantra, exotic and slow, in words no one could understand. But ... the set was otherwise empty.
Suddenly, a man, obviously the Guru of the film, dressed in a simple loincloth stepped into the room.
"You are close to enlightenment, my dear," he said with solemn eyes and a even more stoic face.
"Yes, my master. I am ready to receive..." said the student, still in the corpse asana, eyes unblinking.
Sara stayed there watching only long enough to see his loincloth drop to the floor revealing the long hardened lance of his penis jutting out and up at an acute angle from the black bush of his pubic hair. Ooof! He's long and hard...! Why ... it almost reaches up to his navel.
Sara's eyes, too, were riveted on the pulsing length of his giant cock. "My God, I don't believe it!" muttered the stricken assistant to herself.
But what was real to her was the gathering fires in her own belly. Below, she could feel the warm moisture exude from her pussy lips, and unconsciously she pressed her thighs together and suppressed her own moan of quick need.
With an effort of will, Sara tore her eyes from the lewd spectacle in the studio, telling herself that she must get on with her job and denying the jarring thought that she could possibly ever want to take that woman's place on the set.
Turning her back on the set to blot out the scene, Sara's mind raged: No! no! What's happening to me? This is only a job! I don't want that to happen to me! I didn't want what Woody did to me, either! All I want is Jeff ... well so he can f-fuck me!
Somehow, Sara made it through the day, seeing and hearing more things having to do with sex than she had ever been exposed to before. New things, strange things, lewd and obscene, attitudes and callousness ... all paraded through her mind in succession, and she was sure that she couldn't contain them. How could she explain her new job to Jeff ... without also somehow revealing her own base involvement with Sherwood Jones?
Shame flooded through her, and she knew it would be almost impossible for her to return to work the following day.
At four-thirty she left the office, avoiding the smiling invitation of Woody to discuss any problems she might have encountered on the first day. She didn't trust herself at all. She was so aroused, so ready, that she knew it would have been only a matter of touching her-or making a suggestion-and she would have jumped into bed with him ... almost willingly.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jeff was peeling off his Brooks Brothers shirt, the typically predictable five-thirty I-hate-my-job scowl on his face when Sara slipped through the bedroom door. She threw her shawl and shoulder bag on the queen-sized bed and collapsed on it herself with a squeak of the springs that might have been a sigh. She stared at the ceiling blankly, drinking in the purity and whiteness of its smooth, uncomplicated surface, wondering why life couldn't be like that....
"How was it?" Jeff asked her with a somewhat forced smile, his voice muffled as he yanked a Coors Beer tee-shirt, a symbol of his more carefree days, over his broad shoulders and manly chest.
"Work ... just work," she offered blithely, then raised up to unzip her boots, trying to delay the time when she would have to start telling him her false version of the company she was working for. "Sell many suits today?"
"Hell no! Rotten day!" he sourly told her.
But she'd heard those same words for enough days running that their meaning had been diluted somewhere in those groans.
"Don't ask me about my work. Makes my stomach churn," he grated, scratching through his jewel box amongst the broken tie tacs and mismatched cufflinks for a strayed Rolaid. "Shit, what happened to them all.. . ? "
Knowing the nature of his complaint, Sara grunted to pull off her boot, nothing with dismay that she'd put a run in her stocking and said, "Try some baking soda. Does the same thing. . . " She avoided her husband's eyes.
"Tell me about your job. You make a good impression on the big dudes down there?" A hint of resentment clouded his otherwise forced mellifluence.
"Yeah. Okay," she said offhandedly, throwing her boots in a corner of their shared closet and padding in her stocking feet toward the kitchen, talking over her shoulder. "I'll get you some."
"What kind of films do they produce? Political ones like you thought? What?"
Oh, all kinds, I guess," she said, opening the kitchen cabinet and standing on her tiptoes to scan the shelves for the yellow box with the antiquated arm and hammer. "Hmmm, maybe we're all out.. . .
Jeff ambled closer and surveyed the shelves with her. "What's your boss like?"
"Gosh, maybe we're all out, darling. I'll put it down on the grocery list right now so I don't forget...."
"Your boss, honey. What's he like? Young? Old? Is he sexy?"
"Umm, no..." She was turning on her heel, rushing toward the small blackboard next to the telephone on the kitchen wall, and in big letters she wrote "Baking Soda.. . "
"Don't know how I could let us run out of it ... you can use it for so many things you know.. . . "
She was unbuttoning the waistband of her culottes and working the zipper as she whirled for the bathroom, Jeff on her heels. "Is he a big man in business?" he demanded to know.
"I don't really know, hon..." Her voice was cut off as she closed the bathroom door behind her.
It wasn't important anyway. Good news would only upset him and more of the bad he didn't need. "Shit!" the word exploded from his lips as he was overwhelmed for the thousandth time with his own sense of shame and helplessness. It was more than self-pity, he assured himself; after all, he was working for pennies at a job he despised. Morosely, he wandered toward the refrigerator, took out a can of beer opened it. Drinking from the can, leaning against the refrigerator, Jeff Goddell reflected on it.
He remembered how on their honeymoon in Hawaii he and Sara had sat on the beach of Kaui, his fingers entwined in hers, as he exploded with future plans. In retrospect, it must have looked really corny. The two of them staring at the setting sun and rising moon, letting the waves lap at their feet. like one of those "freedom" posters that flooded the market a few years back and that still hang in doctor's office ... A sentimental fool ... I'm just an old fashioned husband who wants to support his wife ... and fuck the shit out of her when she isn't cooking my meals.
Sara was glad that her husband had not pursued his questioning about her boss and her job. She had carried off her" lies smoothly, and she hoped he wouldn't bring it up again. More than that, though, she hoped he couldn't, through some occult or mystic power, read her thoughts. Her brain seethed still with the images of-what she had seen, heard ... and done during the first day's work at Ford Films, Ltd.
Desperately, she tried to shoo them out of her mind, but they persisted like a bad dream which insists upon invading a peaceful sleep. The one thing she couldn't purge from her memory was that horrible-but pleasurable-scene with the director. God, she might as well have been one of those lewd actors who don't care how many people watch them in the throes of sex. Against her will, the memory whirled around in her brain, dervish-like ... and the memory brought with it the feelings and sensations she had experienced.
Again, she saw herself lying on the round bed while his agile, tantalizing tongue danced over the tingling flesh of her genitals.
Suddenly, she realized what was happening to her. Her nipples inside her bra had become hard and taut, scraping against the cloth encasing them and demanding their release while below there was the warm glow of sexual arousal in her belly. And she was all moist down there again as the most secret flesh of her being exuded clear drops of viscid fluid which wet her sensitive cunt-mouth, causing her to press her thighs tightly together to stifle the unwanted sensations, sensations of rising passion she knew could not be satisfied in her ... by her husband!
A gnawing fear in her belly of approaching bedtime sent Sara to the bedroom to do her nails. It was not a fear of something happening, but a fear of nothing happening. It'll be one of those horrible nights when I have to do it to myself?
But, there was the other part of what had happened with Woody this morning. Not only had she received unequivocal delight as the director had licked and sucked her to two mind-blowing climaxes, but she had, in return, used her own mouth to give him the pleasure he wanted. Her face burned with memory, and she was thankful for the seclusion of the bedroom.
The recollection was so real she could almost feel the long hard thick shaft of Woody's lust-filled penis filling her mouth and throat again, and she remembered how he had enjoyed it, his loins thrusting up at her, his body stiffening as he had reached his ejaculation, and the flood of his cum filling her mouth and his groan of satisfaction muffled down there between her own trembling satiated thighs. He liked it! I made him cum with my mouth ... and he loved it! I didn't gag at all.
The revelation was like a shaft of brilliant sunlight flooding a dismal grotto ... And ... And I liked it too! It was revealing self-knowledge, painful in the extreme, for she remembered also that as she was leaving the Ford Films business office, she had had to keep a tight rein on her feelings; otherwise, had he touched her then, she would have not been responsible. A visionary image crossed her mind of how it might have been. She would have melted in his arms and ended up on his office floor with a good man pounding hot cock into her needful pussy. God! I was so close to it!
Knowing that she had liked it ... loved every delicious moment of the director's sucking of her cunt, liked the erotic feeling of his spewing cock deep in her throat ... and knowing how close she had come to throwing herself at her employer didn't do much for her self esteem. Why ... it'd be just like I was a little tramp ... nothing but a round-heeled whore!
Maybe she shouldn't accept the job. Though it was common practice in film, she resolved she would not give up her married body for the sake of her career. It wouldn't happen again. She wouldn't let it!
Sara almost gasped aloud as she remembered seeing the turban-headed man approaching the woman on the floor. The huge cock that stood upright so proudly from his loins, its bulbous head almost reaching up to his navel was the most awe-inspiring thing she had ever seen, and she tried to shrink away from her own memory of the moment she had seen it. No! God! No! I really think that it would have been nice to be that woman for awhile ... and know that his cock would satisfy me!
But it was hard to deny the thrill she felt again with the memory of it because now her loins were becoming a raging inferno of sex-need. She had to have it ... had to have sex ... a cock, a tongue ... anything to put out the fire.
An even more revealing idea came plummeting into her brain and ricocheted around and around until she caught it long enough to examine it.
It's really only Jeff I want! If. . . I could make him want to do it ... make his penis come hard and long, again; he could do it! He could fuck me again. And she knew just how she was going to do just that!
Getting up from the bed, she put away her manicure set and polish, then sprayed her neck with perfume, and replaced her dowdy bathrobe with one of her finest nighties.
"Jeff, darling," she cooed from the bedroom door. "It's getting quite late, and we do have to get up early tomorrow. Let's go to bed, okay, baby?" Then she lay posed on the bed, waiting for her husband to come through the door.
"Baby, what are you trying to do to me?" wailed Jeff, pulling at his clothes, his back to her, after moments before walking into the bedroom and finding his wife all but spread-eagle for him.
Sara watched him quietly with mounting disappointment. Just before he began to put on his pajama bottoms, she said, "I thought ... maybe we could try again.. . . "
"Why? WHY? I can't even jerk it off anymore?" his voice bitter.
"Let me try something..." she suggested. "Lie down on the bed beside me and I'll show you.. . . "
He lay down on his back, and his wife bounced up on her knees. "First," she told him, "we've got to take those silly pajamas off!" Nervously, she was untying the string and attempting to pull his bottoms off down over his thighs.
"What the hell.. . ? "
She leaned over him and pulled the pajama-fly apart to reveal the relaxed shaft of his penis lying soft and useless between his legs.
"No ... you're not going to suck me off!"
Sara grinned. "That's it, baby. I ... I thought you'd like it? You used to try to coax me to do it ... and I thought maybe it would help ... your ... condition." Her lips ovaled and came down over the flabby head of his penis.
Suddenly he was angry. Even he could not account for this extreme reaction to her tenderness. "No! Damn it! I don't want you to do that to me! When I'm ready it's gonna be because I got me ready ... and if you want to suck me off, then fine."
Sara stopped. " But ... I ... I thought...."
" I don't give a damn what you thought."
"I'm just trying to help, darling.. . " Sara was thoroughly confused ... and hurt. His rebuff was so unexpected, so explosive, and she had been sincere in wanting to help. God knows her attempts had done nothing to alleviate her condition.
"Fuck off!" Jeff was off the bed and gathering up his pillow and tearing a blanket from the bed. "Sleep by yourself then, dammit!"
"Oh, Jeff, come on.. . . "
"I said to fuck off and leave me alone! I'm sick and tired of people picking at me and telling me how to act...."
She knew there was nothing more to say. It would only make things worse. Choking back a sob, she watched him stomp out of the bedroom. And, she knew as she lay back on the big lonely bed that there was only one way now she could quench the burning sex need in her belly. Her hand smoothed down over the flat plane of her belly, reached down and pulled the hem of her nightgown up until the golden hair-covered mound of her aroused pussy was exposed. There was going to be for tonight only, she told herself. Tomorrow would be another exciting day-the second day-of her employ at Ford Films, Ltd. And tomorrow she just might no say no!
CHAPTER SIX
The wind swept through Sara's long, golden hair, sending tingles of vitality through her well-rested body, as she stood at the bust stop waiting for the number 23. Her foot tapped impatiently on the sidewalk. A hum of excitement singing in her, a singular sense of daring adventure ... sexual adventure. Oh, she knew it was wrong, but she had convinced herself that there were limits to her platonic relationship with Jeff. She had to break out of that trap, even at the expense of ruining her marriage, if Jeff were to find out. Besides, she remembered with a defiant raise of the chin, he'd told her to "fuck off." Now what kind of a way was that for a husband to talk to his wife?
But he won't find out! I'll make sure he doesn't! Anyway, it's only temporary. ... until Jeff gets back to normal and ready to start chasing me around the bedroom with a big hard-on!
It had to be soon! One thing she was sure of. she'd most certainly be the cooperative wife all men wanted. Until that time, Sara was not going to let her sexuality dry up and wither on the vine. Woody Jones would nurture her sex needs. Yesterday had only been the beginning, a beginning that had allowed her to peep through a barely cracked open door. Today, she was going to throw that door wide and step through the forbidden portal!
Jeff had left this morning before she'd had a chance to say goodbye. He had a right to feel embarrassed and shamed, the creep!
* * *
Trembling and nervous with excited anticipation, Sara arrived at Ford Films, Ltd. producers of hard core pornography, humming her way through the receptionist's office, and nodding to the smirking woman who sat filing her nails, a bored, tired expression on her face. Without introduction, she ambled with an assured gait toward Woody Jones office and burst in unannounced. "I hope I'm on time...."
"On the button," Woody told her, getting up from his desk and coming around it to her. He noted her excited agitation. "You look ready..." She knew he was reading her mind.
Sara had decided to confide in her boss; he was the only man who would listen to her marital problems and not intrude on her privacy, as in-laws were wont to do. "It's my marriage ... you know ... I told you it's been a while...."
"I sniffed that out yesterday....
"Well, I tried to satisfy him ... by ... doing for him what I did for you yesterday ... but.. . . "
"He didn't dig it, right?" filled in Woody, now leaning against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, and with a very human look of concern on his face. "Sara, I think you forgot one thing."
"Huh?"
"You're not as worried about your husband as you are about yourself. Right?"
Momentarily, Sara cast her eyes downward, afraid to make the admittance, but since she had told the truth-this far, she knew it was cowardly to shrink from it, now. Gathering herself together, she raised her eyes back to him, searching his face for his reaction, as she murmured, "No ... Woody ... It's really me I'm worried about. I love him, but I can't go on like this. I'm in the prime of my life and I feel like I passed menopause ten years ago! ... all jittery and ... and ... Look!" she held out her hand in front of his face. It shook and trembled against her will.
"What you're trying to say is that you want me to fuck you," the director told her with brutal frankness.
Sara gasped involuntarily, but gamely she answered, "Yes ... y-you're right!" It was the most difficult thing she had ever voiced in her life, but she was desperate.
"So, why don't you go ahead and ask me?"
"A ... ask you? you mean. . . ?
Below, Woody's blood-bloated and lust-filled penis had leaped to alert erection. "Sure!" All you have to do is ask. Be aggressive, Sara ... it's necessary in this business." He reached out for her and she practically slumped into the circling warmth of his muscular arms. Instantly, her pelvis ground into the huge bulge that was his pants-confined cock.
"I ... I want it..." she whispered chokingly.
"Want what, baby?"
"You!"
"My cock?"
"Y ... yes..."
Then don't be afraid to say it, Sara."
I w-want your cock ...! I want you to f-fuck me," she strangled.
"Good! Let's lock the door, then," he smiled gloatingly.
She leaned against the director's shoulder weakly, not sure that she was really doing the right thing, as momentary doubt rose in her to replace the sense of humiliated shame she had felt saying those awful words ... practically begging him to take her to bed. She had never expected that! God! Forgive me!
God might forgive her, but would Jeff her husband forgive her for the trespass she was about to commit ... if he ever found out? She didn't think about it, as she allowed Woody Jones to lead her unresistingly toward the leather couch.
Only then did she begin to have second thoughts as to her willful actions. The full enormity of what she had set in motion dawned upon her as her chortling boss took her into his arms, again, and kissed her with open-mouthed fervor, his tongue si ding smoothly between her lips to probe the sweet moisture of her mouth, while his hands stroked caressingly up and down her back and down over the swelling moons of her buttocks only to reverse again until his fingers found the zipper tab at the back of her knit sheath. With a deft movement, he lowered the zipper, the metallic sigh of it loud in the quiet office.
That did it! The sound of the zipper brought her back to some semblance of sanity and made her face the reality of what she was doing.
"N ... no!" she gasped, freeing her lips from his. "No! Don't! I changed my mind!"
"No way,"
Sara struggled to free herself from his embrace. I must have been out of my mind!
"Please..." she begged. "I can't. . . "
Woody's voice edged with steel. "Don't be a cock-tease. There's nothing that turns a man off more than a goddamned cock-tease! That's high school stuff." He reached down then and whipped her white knit sheath dress up over her hips. "Get your arms up so I can get this dress off!"
Dumbly, Sara obeyed him, and he removed the garment in one quick movement. Tossing the dress aside, he went around behind her and undid the snaps of her bra. Not wanting to do it, she shrugged the straps down over her shoulders and caught the frilly bra as it fell away from her full, white softly mounding spheres of her breasts, realizing as they were released to his lustful gaze that they ached painfully, their pink nipples distended tautly erect and begging for his attentions to them.
His rough, brow-beating words had cowed her, and even though she had momentarily changed her mind in an attempt to worm out of her commitment to it by saying to him only moments ago, "I w-want your ... c-cock! I want you to f-fuck me!" She could not now understand why she was not resisting his stripping her naked. Perhaps, she was not really sure of what she did want ... or was it that something perverse in her made her want to be coaxed ... or forced? Coaxing her-as Jeff had had to do quite often-placed her in a position of power over him, deciding whether or not to dispense her favors. But Woody was not coaxing her; he was compelling her to his will, and the forcing of her took it out of her hands, made her not responsible for what might happen.
Then, as she felt his hands gripping the waist band of her wispy nylon panties, she gasped. They were all she had left between decency and naked immorality, but before she could gurgle out her objection, the director had pulled them down to her ankles. Docilely she stepped out of them.
As he circled her to stand in front of her once again, she said uncertainly, "You wouldn't try to make me do anything I don't want to do, would you?"
"If it'll make you feel any better about it."
"What do you mean by that?" She was uncomfortable, as the man's eyes devoured every luscious curve of her body.
"That you want to make me feel guilty."
Sara was nonplussed. Somehow, his words sounded so ambiguous ... yet there was a ring of truth in them, a truth she couldn't yet fully grasp.
"That's not true!" she flared.
"I don't have time to explain it. We only have half an hour. I'll explain later. . . " He pointed to the couch. "Now get your ass down there. Call it rape if you have to ... but it's going to be plain fucking ... and one hell of a lot of fun for both of us!"
She wanted to be pushed ... forced. "No, I won't!" Woody made real her fantasies. He grabbed her fiercely by the upper arm and pushed her backward to the sofa and onto it. "Okay, I'm forcing you ... I'm raping you!"
Stepping back, he looked down at her, and a boyish grin split his face, unaccountably. "Now, you came in here ready to fuck me.. . . "
While he was talking, he stripped off his own clothing and lay down beside her. Without thinking about it, Sara crept into the protective circle of his arms. "You're right, Woody," she confessed. "I did ... I was..."
Then, he was kissing her with passion, his hands roaming at will over the soft, curves of her body, cupping the white velvet of one of her breasts, his thumb and forefinger tweaking the erect nipple and inciting it to even harder distention. The elongated hardness of his fully erect cock ground into her belly, and she could feel the moist readiness of it smearing against the churning skin of her belly. God! This was what she really wanted ... a man who could love her properly.
It felt so good to have his strong hands caress her, to feel the hard muscles of his body next to hers, to accept his probing tongue deep into her mouth, all of it stoking the furnace of her passion, and she used her own tongue to joust with his intertwiningly, while at the same time her hand went down between them to grasp the huge stem of his maleness.
On impulse she threw her uppermost leg up over his hip, and guided the pulsing head of his cock to the palpitatingly yearning furrow of her cunt, where she rubbed the silky cock-head up and down against the portal of her cunt. He thrust his hips slightly and the very tip entered her, the bulbous head stretching her cunt lips. God! That feels good! It seemed to her that it must have been ages ago when she had last felt Jeff's penis in her. Now, her own loins flexed, and her pussy began to absorb the director's thick length. "Ohhhh!" she breathed into his mouth, partly in pain, but mostly with ecstatic delight. "Ohhhh!" He's bigger than I thought!
In the next instant, the director had withdrawn his lips from hers, wrapped his arms around her and rolled to his back to place her on top of him. As she found herself straddling him. her hips sank down instinctively and, with one quick lunge, the long hard length of his blood-filled cock was lodged to the hilt up inside the clasping channel of her vagina.
"Ohhhh," she groaned again. "Oh, that's ... so nice ... and big. Almost too big!"
Then, involuntarily, Sara felt the interior muscles of her cuntal sheath caressing and squeezing tight around the expanding shaft of his cunt-filling cock. Her eyes were closed, and she mewled her pleasure into the hollow of his neck, all thoughts of right or wrong, of morality or immorality banished from her mind. Ohhhhf It's been so long! Such a long time!
Below, instinctively, her hips began to grind in circles around the maypole of his deeply invading penis, while the director held himself rigid and unmoving, allowing her completely free movement. It was a new experience for her. With Jeff it had always been one way-at her insistence-she lying passively on her back, legs spread slightly while her husband slaved away in the topmost position.
"Come on Sara," the man's voice rumbled in her ear, "start moving that ass of yours!" His command was punctuated and enforced by his hands on the full moons of her buttocks, his finger digging cruelly into the softly pliant flesh as he began to guide her in slow, powerful strokes that moved her loins up and down over him and forcing the thick length of his blood-inflated cock in and out of her cruelly stretched pussy.
It hurt her. She moaned pleadingly, "T ... take it easy, Woody! You're hurting me...!
"You'll get used to it, baby!" he assured her as he began to thrust up into her with countering short hard jabbing strokes.
Sara could feel the entire length and breadth of his hot, slippery rod of hardened flesh moving in her expandingly, every fleshy ridge titillating and inciting waves of sensation, ecstatic in the extreme, within the confines of her cunt ... and suddenly there was no discomfort or pain. It was all sexual sensation full of sensual awareness, as her hips churned above him, in total disregard of his guiding and compelling hands on the soft fullness of her ass cheeks.
A freedom she had never experienced overwhelmed her, and she was suddenly struggling into an upright position above her boss, a mask of sheer lust contorting her pretty features. She could do it! She could do the fucking! What had the director told her? Start moving that ass of yours!" She'd show him!
Looking down into his face with passion-dimmed eyes, the married woman saw that he was grinning back at her encouragingly, as his hands left her grinding buttocks and came up to grasp a swaying globular breast in each sweaty palm, his fingers digging into the silky softness of them. He thoroughly enjoyed the feel of her nipples, hard and distended against his palms, and he told her, "That's it, Sara, baby! That's the way to go after it! Fuck hard!"
She straddled him on her knees, her body bent slightly forward with her hands on his shoulders, and with all the strength of her legs, she pumped her loins up and down over him, her hips slamming down hard against his up-thrusting, flexing loins to drive the rock-hard length of his throbbing penis deep up into her quivering lust-driven cunt.
"I am!" she gasped.
"You're what?" he taunted.
"I'm fucking!" There was no stutter no hesitation, the obscenity ripping from her open, lust-contorted lips with ease. "Fucking you! Hard!"
Somehow she had never felt such exhilaration before, for she had never had the chance to do what she chose, free to take as much or as little of his hardness as she wanted into her yearning cunt and free to set the pace at a tempo that suited her. It was a wonderful feeling, and to increase the sensuality of it all, she began to twist her torso to rub her tingling breasts hard against the caressing palms of the director's hands.
It was also exciting ... so marvelously lascivious, and now, lying beneath her, Woody Jones stopped his upward countering thrusts into her desperately pumping cleft and began to roll his hips from side to side, slowly and deliberately, carefully matching his movements to her.
Sara had never felt anything like that. The pressure of his hard, blood-filled cock against alternate sides of her cunt titillated nerve endings she never knew she had, sending her into a veritable paroxysm of ecstasy. She stopped her own churning movement, holding herself above him, while she concentrated on feeling his cock whip back and forth inside her, her lips forming mewling sighs of pleasure.
"Oh, God, that feels good ... Woody!"
"You've never fucked like this before...? "
"No ... Never!"
"Before we're through, Sara," the director assured her, "you're going to get it every way possible!"
"Really...?"
"Really," he grunted, stopping his hip-rolling movement and stabbing his cock deep up into her suddenly, shoving it all the way to the hilt, the monster head of it nudging against his back wall of her cunt deep inside her belly. "Now, put your ass in gear and start fucking for real!"
He held himself rigid, his buttocks lifted slightly off the couch, as he skewered her deeply. And Sara didn't need his urging. Wave after wave of exquisitely warming sensations urged through her body goading her to furious assault of his ever-expanding cock. Poised above him, she pumped her hips up and down with a feeling of abandon and power, knowing that within a very few moments, she would come to explosive climax. Plummeting downward, she drove his hardened cudgel deep up into her quivering expectant cuntal sheath, only to rise again on flexed knees until only the bulbous head remained in her pussy's mouth. Then, down again to absorb him, she slammed her loins, until her clitoris was crushed between their pubic bones, his wiry hair intermingling with her own golden down.
On and on, she rode, sliding her palpitating cunt up and down the pole of his jack staff cock and feeling that her whole being was there in her genitals ... that there was nothing else in the whole world for her but cock and cunt.
Then, as from a distance, her own voice was chanting, "Oh God! Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I'm going ... to ... cum!"
Beneath her, Woody Jones matched her, his hips jack-hammering his hardness up into her now wide-open cunt, thrusting upward on her down-coming loins and pulling his hips back down into the softness of the sofa as she bounced upward. Now, his hands abandoned her swaying breasts and reached back to her ass cheeks. Grasping the softness of their working flesh in either hand, his fingers digging in until ridges of smooth skin came bulging up between them, he guided and controlled her out-of-sync gyrations, slamming her down against him and helping to lift her lithe body upward for the next bone-smashing, cunt-filling downward thrust of her loins over his rigid and upstanding cock.
Explosively then, she came. Her body slumped down over him, and she was screaming. Aaaggghhh! Oh! Ohhh! Oooohhh! I'm cummiinng!
The director's rock hard cock was buried deep up inside her. He stopped when she came and held himself still, enjoying the singularly lascivious sensations of her involuntarily contracting cunt milking at his vibrating cock shaft. He allowed it to go on for a minute or two as she mewled and gulped her pleasure, fighting for breath, her face nestled down against his broad shoulder.
Finally, he roused her, grating in her ear, "Okay, Sara, baby! You've had yours. Now it's my turn!"
She understood him but dimly. "You mean ... you didn't...? "
That's right! I haven't cum yet!" he told her. "So let's get you off of me!"
Languorously, she rolled to her side, still aware of the subsiding waves of her orgasm rippling deliciously through her body. She didn't want to move ... didn't want to spoil the euphoric spell of wanton satisfaction that held her in its grip ... yet he was telling her that he hadn't cum yet. It wasn't over. There was more. She closed her eyes.
Woody Jones scrambled to his knees beside and looking down at her relaxed form on the sofa, grated, "You can't go to sleep yet! Not until it's finished!"
She stirred, her shapely legs still spread slightly, and the director feeling impatience and urgency reached down and rolled her to her stomach.
Then, he was grasping her at the waist and pulling her up until she was on her knees with her chest still on the sofa and her back at an acute sloping angle. "Wh-what?" She mumbled, looking back at him in surprise.
"I'm going to fuck you dog-fashion!" he told her.
"Oh, no!" gasped Sara. This was getting to be a marathon.
Knee walking in behind her, his throbbing penis jutting out like a lance, the director grasped her silky soft buttocks and spread them wide as he nudged his yearning cock toward the glistening pink slit of her pussy.
Half-heartedly, she tried to pull away from him, but he held her tight. Then, as the bulbous head of his penis touched her, she was excited all over again. He slid his aching cock into her cunt's mouth and watched with satisfaction as her pussy seemed to gobble him up. And, as he watched, he was not at all surprised to feel her hips push back against him.
Sara had had a slight misgiving when he had told her what he was going to do. Somehow, the position in which he had placed her seemed ludicrous and obscene; besides, she was so thoroughly satisfied it seemed silly for her to have to go on. But, after all, Woody hadn't cum yet. She'd have to do it, she supposed. It's only fair! Her heart wasn't in it at all.
Then, the head of his prick was there again, the length of his hot, hardness going deep into her, and a full magazine of sensations went off in her like a fireworks display. Before she knew what she was doing, her hips pushed back against him, absorbing his cock to the fullest, and she was gurgling, "Oh, yessss! Go ahead and do it! Fuck me like this!"
Woody smiled his delight. He couldn't have put it more aptly himself. With his hands now grasping her waist, he kneeled there behind her and began to pound his demanding cock in and out of her in feral abandon!
Kneeling before him in abject submission, Sara's barely diminished passion leaped back up to its former high plateau, and she was soaring again toward another orgasm. Under the expert guidance of the director's firm grip on her waist, she was moving her hips back and forth, countering his thrusting deep into her pulsating pussy, while moaning mewls of heightening sensuality came from deep in her chest, the sounds almost animal-like in their intensity.
Behind her, her employer watched with satisfaction as his throbbing rod cleaved her. Ik-could see her cunt's mouth, stretched tightly around the gigantic circumference of his cock, enveloping him like a well-fitting glove, and as it came out of her pussy, he saw little ridges of glistening pink flesh clinging to the side of his vibrating rod of maleness. Flesh, he determined, that came from the interior of her pussy. Then, it was all stuffed back in again, as he slammed his length home into her tightly clinging cuntal sheath. Just above his deeply buried rod, he saw the tiny crinkled brown ring of her virginal anus.
It was all he could do to resist the temptation.
Hell! There'll be plenty of time for that later! The way she's going, it'll be no time at all before she's broken into everything, including that!
He could afford to wait. With a hot one like his new assistant, everything was going to work out just right. Sara Goddell was going to be a very valuable asset to his business. So, he contented himself with what he was doing, as a matter-of-fact, he was enjoying it immensely, and he began to redouble his effort. He had to! His cock was demanding its spewingly explosive release.
Sara rose to his quickened pace, reveling in the wonderful sensations she experienced as Woody fucked her from behind with buttocks-flattening power, driving his huge pulsating penis deep into her claspingly demanding pussy.
Suddenly, she knew that she could cum again, and it seemed so easy now ... so much easier than it had been-at-times-with her husband. Jeff! Jeff! She had almost forgotten about him in her frenzy of sexual excitement. I love him! He's my husband! ... But ... She had already been over that ground ... and she refused to worry further about the consequences of what she was doing!
Her sail was set, the helm put over on course and come hell or high water, she was going to go on doing it until Jeff was well and potent again, able to take care of her sex needs himself! And what he doesn't know won't hurt him!
Thoughts of her husband were blotted out of her mind by the shimmeringly lewd sensation that thrilled through her body and brought her to a final ecstatic release. She was on all fours now, thrusting back against the inciting invasion of his cunt-filling cock, thrilling to its every deep jab. and she raised her head to scream like a female panther.
"Aaaggrrgh! Fuck me! Fuck me hard! Ooooohhhh!"
At that instant, behind her, Woody Jones' aching cock spewed out his white hot cum, and he flattened her ass cheeks as he slammed into her for a final brutal jab, holding himself rigid as his penis hosed its load into her, while his strong hands held her tight to him.
"Aarrgghhh!" he grunted with satisfaction. "What a luscious little cunt!"
Sara sagged down prone on the soft sofa, the director collapsing down on top of her, his still pumping cock held in the grip of her cuntal sheath.
Slowly, then, as his once rampant penis softened and pulled from her semen-flooded pussy, the director rolled from on top of her and settled down on his side next to her.
"It was good. Sara!" he murmured. "And, you and I are going to have a lot of fun together ... beginning now!"
"Oh, I hope so Woody! But only until---"
"Until what?" He turned her to face him, and she crept into the circle of his strong arms, her breasts nestled against the hard muscles of his
"Until Jeff ... is well ... and able to...."
"Fair enough!" agreed the director. "Enough of this, we've got work to do. They'll start shooting down in Studio Two in fifteen minutes ... so you've got to stir your ass and get yourself put together," he told her with authority, giving her a playful slap full on the naked buttocks.
The rest of the day sped by for Sara, every hour bringing new introduction to the actors and actresses, most of whom she was surprised to find intelligent, sensitive people who, failing to find other acting jobs, resorted to porno for obvious reasons ... money. One of the lighting men phoned in with a phony excuse for not coming to work that day, and Sara assisted with the task of setting up the floodlights.
More at ease now with the work assigned her, the sex became secondary, and the assisting primary, as the aspirant cinematographers. Slowly, she realized why Woody had warned her it took a versatile woman to fill the bill of assistant to Sherwood Jones.
One thing she had witnessed accidentally gave her a start, followed by a twinge of what could only be jealousy. Entering his office by mistake, she saw Woody with the receptionist-a very lovely redhead. She was in the throes of orgasm, the director above her with his monster cock racing in and out of her moist cunt, and he was obviously on the brink of his own climax. He's a sex fiend! But, somehow, she recognized her reaction for what it was. She was being possessive of him. But, I don't have any right to be! He's only my boss, he's not my husband.
At the end of the day she was tired but exhilarated, and Sara was definitely sexually stimulated. Since she understood now that sexual stimulation need not be frustrating, and she knew how that heavy congested feeling in her genitals could be gotten rid of, Sara felt no inhibition about letting Woody Jones know that she was hot and ready for him ... at any time.
"Hey, hot pants, we do work around here you know!" he grouched back at her.
"Why, I thought you were insatiable," she challenged.
"What the hell gave you that idea?"
I saw you with the receptionist.. . " Sara told him, looking her boss straight in the eye with her accusing ones.
"And?"
"You didn't bother to lock the door when you were making love to her, but you did when you were making love to me..." said Sara, cocking her head. "Are you afraid to let her know you're making it with me, too? Am I intruding on your private affairs, Mr. Jones?"
"What's it to you?"
"Well, I just want to make sure I get my piece of the action." Sensually, she began to remove her clothes, and when he made no move toward her, she used her new found knowledge.
Dropping to her knees, she boldly zipped open his fly, thrust in her hand and brought forth his well-used cock. Of course, it was only a few moments before she was getting what she wanted ... and it had been gotten easier than she thought possible. At least I won't have to do it to myself tonight!
Woody Jones sent her home completely satisfied.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sara Goddell never thought married life could be so simple. The soap-opera episodes in bed with Jeff were over until he was whole again. They still slept together, chastely, in the queen-sized bed, and the subject of sex was never brought up at all ... with Jeff.
At home in their apartment, she was a Betty Crocker of efficiency, cooking, cleaning, and shopping, always with a smile on her face and a hum on her lips. There seemed to be an enormous wellspring of energy driving her on. Occasionally, twinges of guilt invaded her sense of well-being, but she was able to rationalize it, make herself comfortable with it by telling herself that she deserved what she was getting with Woody Jones, because it was necessary for her own mental and physical health. The routine of regular sex with her employer would stop, she told herself, the instant her husband could get it up again.
She was, of course, still somewhat evasive about the nature of her job, telling her husband only as much as absolutely necessary to satisfy his curiosity. A few times she had met him for lunch, rendezvousing at the pink and white d'cored mezzanine salad bar, in the Emporium surrounded by lavender-scented women, cackling over their low-cal luncheon, and complaining of tired feet. That innocuously bland setting appealed to Sara's sense of rationale. Without fail, her husband's discontentment took center stage in conversation, sending her back to Ford Films well-armed with the assurance that Jeff was still as impotent as those old women. That left her the peace of mind to never say no....
Until there came that afternoon in the middle of the third week of work at Ford Films, Ltd. when Wanda phoned from the doctor's office in tears. Her Herpes had worsened, and her gynecologist declared no work. "No work!" screamed Woody, before slamming the receiver down on the telephone's cradle. "The fucking picture is under contract! We can't quit in the middle because some dumb chick picked up a case of VD!" Then his eyes fell on Sara. Why not?
"Why not?" she'd screamed back at him, a perfect picture of defiance. "I won't do it, Woody. Think of my husband, for goddsakes ... think of my mother! What would she think if she saw him stretched out in full color on a movie screen with the general public counting my pubic hairs? No!" She stomped her foot.
"You have to do it, Sara. Besides, nobody is even going to know it's you. Put a wig on your head, and with the makeup you won't even recognize yourself." He took her by the elbow, half dragging her down the hall the cosmologist. Sara knew her job was on the line.
"But I'm a married woman ... and you're practically telling me I have to play the part of a whore! That's what those girls are ... aren't they? Whores?"
"Half of 'em are divorcees trying to take care of their kids.. . . "
"I don't believe it!" she sniffed.
"Of course you don't. You came from a well-to-do family who spoiled you rotten, sent you to college to find a husband. You don't even know what life is about yet!"
Sara couldn't help saying it. She saw the chance and hurled the vicious barb at him. "Maybe if you'd gotten a better education, you wouldn't have to force women into showing off their bodies for men to get their rocks off!"
The director's face froze into towering rage. "That's none of your goddamned business! And who told you about my background, anyway?"
She had hit a raw nerve in him. "Your precious little receptionist, that's who!"
"Listen, Sara," Woody grabbed her arm, tightening his grip. It hurt. "Listen to me!" He shook her by the shoulders. "I'm boss around here, and since you like to be forced into situations, let's just say I'm forcing you into doing me a favor. If we don't get this film completed by the end of the week, I'm going to lose a lot of money, and it'll be the end of your job, little one." He shoved her towards the door. "Now get in there and let Alfred paint your face real pretty ... okay?"
Woody opened the door and a slim-hipped man, put down the magazine he'd been reading and sashayed toward Sara. The closer he got, the more clearly she saw the make up the sweet young man wore-like an English rock n' roll unisex star. Taking her long, golden hair in both hands, he smiled. "Now what are we going to do with you?" he lisped, and winked up at Woody.
Woody turned on her. "You're going to start using all the sex knowledge I've been cramming into your pretty little head, Sara. You're going to go into Studio Three and fuck the balls off that dude. Understand?"
Sara nodded dumbly. I'll have to! I'll have to do it! She hated to think about the consequences if she didn't do what Woody ordered. Her whole house of cards could come tumbling down around her.
"Good girl!" exclaimed Woody. "I knew you wouldn't fail me!"
Then, the director was pulling her into his arms, his lips seeking hers.
Sara stood there passively, allowing him to kiss and caress her. Ordinarily, she would have been vibrant with expectation, eager for him, wanting him to take her to the nearest bed, but the situation was different now. She had to go to another man, a man she didn't even know, and she had to make love to him, allow him to do anything with her he wanted. Ugh!
Suddenly, she saw her employer not as a kind of lover but as some sort of horrible monster, and she found herself wondering, thankful that she had caught herself in time: I could have fallen in love with him! She saw the cold reality of it in a blinding flash of insight. But I really fell in love with love ... with sex! Plain raw sex!
She had been a mere sex object for the director! Well, the other side of the coin, she decided, was that she had used him, too, as a sex object. They were even ... and she was just going to go on this way ... getting all the sex she could while the getting was good! So maybe using herself in the most pornographic way possible would help to end the cycle. Maybe by being as lewd as she had learned to be through watching other sex stars in the studios, she could burn herself out, so to speak.
Somehow, as she stood back and listened to herself objectively, while Alfred guided her to a chair and eased her head back to rest on the cushiony headrest, assessing fine features, she could hardly believe what she was thinking was really going on in her mind. It was some other person, not Sara Goddell she knew. This Sara cynical, suddenly bitter, a grasping opportunist....
She heard the door close in back of her and knew Woody had left. She wondered what he thought of her now. Was he laughing behind her back...?
Moments later, the golden-haired goddess, freshly made up in thick theatrical cremes, a red wig fluffed and curled atop her head, pulled the tie of her robe tighter around her nervously trembling body and swung through the heavy doors to the studio where the director and his crew met her with gasps of relief. Delay had cost money. They were ready to roll....
Okay, Sara, let me fill you in on the scene here. It's too late for you to learn the script, but there isn't much to it anyway. Remember to groan a lot-and sound sexy. Make your voice low and throaty..." called out the director sternly as he neared the fill-in.
"But ... I...?" Sara swallowed dryly, then shrugged her shoulders in honest distress. Temperaments ran thin around the studios, especially during shooting time, and for the sake of her career she had to keep it together this time. No balking, no hesitation.
The director was distracted for a moment as he called out: "Dirk, get your ass over here!"
Dirk!? Sara's lips trembled. Dirk? So that's what he was doing hanging out in the hallways. He's an actor! God, this is going to be one helluva lay!
The blonde-haired man sauntered over to the set, then punched out his cigarette in the ashtray sitting atop the camera.
His right hand on Sara's shoulder and his left hand stretching toward Dirk, the producer slapped the two together like halves of a sandwich and said, "Sara ... Dirk. Now let's get rolling.
The two actors exchanged a smirk of anticipatory glee, then wiped their faces clean of the evidence before the randy-tempered producer caught sight of their flippancy.
"Okay, now quit acting like a couple of teenagers in the back seat of a car and let's get rolling here! Undress each other for starters ... You, Sara, suggest that. Remember to keep your voice low and seductive..." He plopped himself down in his low, initialed canvas chair and struck a match to his cigarette. "You're the aggressor in this scene, Sara. Play with yourself, pinch your titties, I don't care ... just get in the mood to take Dirk here along with you....-V
"You'll have to relax, " Dirk soothed, seeing the terror in the young woman's eyes. "Once we get going, you won't even remember there are cameras out there ... I know it's hard at first...."
"Hard?" she whimpered, her eyes like cat-eye marbles surveying the fifteen or so men would serve as witness to her shattered marriage vows-to say nothing of her ego.
Dirk touched her arm gently. "That's right. I'll do the best I can..." He whispered in her ear. "Don't worry, I'll get you off."
There was no time to back out now. The cameras were being adjusted. A half dozen stage crew members charged the set, arranging furniture and setting up the bedroom scene amidst a flourish of camera men and make-up artists.
Seconds, so it seemed, passed before the producer's yell broke Sara's concentrated horror.
"Okay ... shoot!"
Sara's blood shot red hot through her veins, as somewhere out there in the sea of lights she spied Woody's face, arms crossed over his chest, a big smirk on his knowing face. I can't let him down, I can't let him think I'm just a whimpering little girl. I have to do it, and I have to be good!
Then Dirk was walking towards her, fully clothed, a look of expectancy on his handsome face that told her to loosen up and be natural. Taking her cue, Sara came close, reaching out to take off his tie. "How would you like it if we undressed each other?" she suggested, remembering to make her voice low and seductive.
"I'd like that just fine, Susie...."
Nobody told me my name was supposed to be Susie! Sara inwardly flared, feeling like a schizophrenic rag doll. The face was not hers, nor was the name ... but she was being played with, squeezed and molded. And in a few minutes, fucked. And she wasn't all that sure she didn't like it.
In a few moments, as garment after garment came off Sara stood before Dirk totally naked. Dirk gulped his appreciation on her figure, his eyes running avidly over the svelte, lusciously turned thighs and legs, but especially, he couldn't keep his eyes from going back again and again to the twin, rising mounds of her milky-white breasts with their distended pink nipples.
"Do you like me?" Sara heard herself say.
"God! You're beautiful!" breathed Dirk, sucking in his breath. Sara wasn't all that certain he was acting, and his enthusiasm spurred her on to more daring adventures of the flesh.
"Then, why don't you touch me ... here ... and here ... and, and here...? " She ran her hands caressingly over her breasts and down over the flat plane of her belly to the golden mound of hair at her pubes, chuckling to herself noticing that Ernie had forgotten to die her pussy hair. Too late now ... Her middle finger slipped into the central grove of her pussy to find the tiny hard clitoris bud. She glanced apprehensively toward the cameras, wondering whether Woody was still there watching. Actually, she was quite sure he was. Woody missed not Dirk, dressed and made-up as a fifty-ish year old man, had not taken off his shorts yet, and as she melted into his arms, allowing him the freedom of her breasts, she ground her loins hard against him. There was no hardness there, yet, and for a stricken moment, she thought she failed. Then, as he began to kiss her, his hands roaming more freely over her body, investigating the round firmness of her buttocks, his fingers squeezing the velvety flesh into ridges, she allowed her own tiny hand to drop down between them. Going down into the top of his shorts, her hand stretching the elastic waistband, she found the soft tube of his penis. It was cool in her hand and she suddenly felt very sorry for both of them. The similarity between real life and this crumby low-budget film was too striking to be laughable.
Suddenly, the relaxed penis in her hand throbbed. There was life in it! It was going to get hard, and she was going to help it.
With swift determination, she brought her other hand down, and hooking her thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, tugged them down over his hips. Writhing from his arms, she slid down to her knees before his naked loins, as she finished pulling his shorts down around his ankles. Her eyes were on level with his hairy middle, and even before her tiny hand went out to cup his balls, she saw the throbbing warmth of his heartbeat as hot blood was pumped in to the flaccid tube of his penis.
Dirk sighed with delight above her. "Damn! Woman, use it! Use that mouth!" His hand grasped the expanding shaft of his cock and worked back the foreskin to reveal the glistening head. "Suck it! Suck it!"
It was all so easy now. There were so many things that were easy to do. Under Woody Jones' expert tutelage almost all of her inhibitions had been stripped away; any and all sex acts were second nature to her. When she thought about it, she was amazed, because she certainly wasn't the same woman who'd come for her interview some weeks ago. That Sara Goddell would rather have died than do what she was about to do now: Suck a strange man's cock in front of a whole crew of strangers ... to say nothing of what movie houses would see her in bigger than life nakedness. But she was forced to do it, wasn't she? Yes, she was being forced, but that had only nudged her over the brink. She was too excited, too willing! Yes! I want to do it! I want to fuck Dirk!
Sara's pink tongue flicked out to taste him.
Above her, he gasped with pleasure, "Aaah ...! That's it! Suck me ... good!"
Slowly, she leaned toward him, her lips ovaled, her hand cupping his ball-filled scrotum clenching and unclenching as she toyed with his testicles. Her lips encircled and absorbed the still-growing head of his cock, her tongue licking all around it corona, and she was aware of its expanding warmth in her mouth, engendering a feeling of exultation in her as she felt it come to blood-bloated full erection.
He was still holding the shaft of his now fully erect cock, and she brought up her other hand and wormed it inside his, finally displacing his fist completely. Then, as she began to move her head back and forth, slowly, allowing more and more of his length to enter her mouth with each stroke she heard his rhythmic gasps of pleasure, gasps that told her plainly of his arousal.
Below, the moisture seeped from her pussy, wetting the peeping inner lips of her cuntal groove, and she felt the building fire of her own arousal deep in her belly. Closing her eyes, she bobbed her head back and forth, allowing her lips to hold him tightly, while inside her tongue circled wildly, and his moans of pleasure incited her to greater effort. Now, his hips were moving with her. She had done it! She had gotten him ready! Completely ready!
She should have stopped then. She knew that, but something perverse in her urged her on. She sucked all the harder!
"Stop!" the strangled voice of Dirk came down to her when she knelt nakedly before him, her mouth working desperately as bobbingly her head moved back and forth on the throbbing shaft of his cock. "Stop it, damn it ... before I cum!"
With a hand on either side of her head, he wrenched her head back and away, the glistening, saliva-wetted length of his penis pulling from between her tightly clamped lips.
"Oh!" Sara squealed with disappointment.
He tilted her head up and glared down at her. "I want to fuck you the right way it! Don't suck me off! What were you thinking about?" Dirk hissed down at her, an ironic smile on his face, his lips barely moving, telling her she was getting too carried away. Be aggressive, but don't guide me, his expression snarled.
"Now get your ass up there on the bed and get those pretty legs of yours spread wide open ... because I'm going to fuck you until you can't stand up!"
There was no doubt about it. He was ready and raring to go, and she had almost spoiled the whole scene. On quick reflection, she realized that he had a right to be angry with her. She moved quickly to obey him, for he was now completely in command. He pulled her none to gently to her feet and gave her a shove toward the soft bed, as she started to get off her knees in obedience to his scripted orders. The satin coverlet of the bed felt sunshine warm from the hot camera lights that would soon record forever her debauchery.
The Redheaded, honey-patched and pussy-haired woman sprawled onto the bed, quickly recovered to lie on her back, and she automatically allowed her legs to splay wide to receive him. The mechanical sounds of coasting wheels and a squeak of one struggling over an extension cord told her she was the center of attention now.
Dirk was over her in an instant, grasping her knees and pulling them up and back, until her thighs pressed down mashingly against the soft white gloves of her aching breasts. The whole plane of her pussy was exposed to him and to what she knew was going to be brutal assault, as with no further adieu he guided the pulsing purplish-red head of his rampant cock to her moistly heated cunt's mouth and rammed it deep up into her with one mighty thrust.
"Oh! she gasped involuntarily. "Ohhh! You really m-mean it, don't you?"
"Now move your ass, baby! Move that beautiful ass of yours, because Daddy's coming home!"
His still sweet-smelling, though sweaty body, began moving and rocking above her with urgent movements, driving his thick throbbing length in and out of her. As she looked up into his face, seeing it distorted with pure lust, she knew that he was thinking only of himself, of his own enjoyment ... and she was only the vehicle for his pleasure.
But, she was not going to be denied, left in the lurch by his selfish haste. Desperately, within the small range of movement allowed her by his body pressing down against her, she began desperately to buck back against him. raising her hips high to take him more deeply into her moistly demanding cunt, then arching back to shove her buttocks down hard into the soft mattress on his quick stroke.
"Come on!" she teased, hoping Woody would hear her. "Fuck it all into me! Give me your cock! Hard."
Dirk couldn't be faulted on his efforts. He strove valiantly above her, calling on all of his energy resources, as he increased the depth and speed of his jackhammering cock deep into her clasping cuntal channel.
"like that?" he grunted breathlessly, feeling the heat of the cameras melting his flesh.
"Yes, oh harder! Deeper!" she was in an agony, hoping against hope that he would not cum too soon. "Make me cum, too!" she wailed pleadingly, as she undulated her loins up to him, fucking back for all she was worth.
It was sheer frenzy. She had to have more! More! Suddenly she knew what it was: Something Woody had taught her.
"Put your finger in me, too!" she choked out.
"My finger?"
"Yes! In my ass!" she groaned. "Make me hurt, make me cum!"
He did it ! His hand moved down over her soft, smoothly flexing buttocks, his extended middle finger searching for the nether ring of her anus. Tentatively, he probed at the brownish opening.
"OH, God! Do it! Shove your finger in my ass!" Sara wailed. She was really desperate now.
His finger went into her then, and he shoved it all the way to the palm. "like ... that...?"
It hurt like fury, and she recoiled from it momentarily, as she gasped, "Ohhhh! Yesss! like that!"
Manfully, he pounded his ready-to-explode cock deep into her writhing loins, while at the same time he drove his probing finger deep into the soft sponginess of her backside, feeling her accept the double ravishment with eagerness, and, he also became aware that his working finger resulted in an extra bulge of tissue that stimulated the under side of his once again sensitive penis.
The heightened sensation of it drove him instantly to the brink. It may have been too soon, but he came almost at once! "Aarrgghhh!" he groaned above her.
The man drove deep for the last time and his body stiffened involuntarily as he felt the ecstatic eruption of his cock buried deep up inside her still moving loins. He ripped his finger from her anus and hugged her close, but her hips still fucked up at him with frenzied desperation. Oh! I can't cum! I won't cum and that will ruin everything! she thought turbulently.
But she did! She came, the wonderfully charged climax surging through her welcoming body and leaving her faint from sheer pleasure. "Aaaggghhh Goddd! I made it! I'mmmm cummming!" she exulted as she clasped Dirk close to her.
Later when the lights were turned off, standing like witnessing vultures, their dark eyes turned inward, Sara left the set and entered the dimly lighted dressing room. Just as she'd expected, Woody was there waiting for her.
"Good girl," he grinned. "I knew you'd come through."
Not intended the pun, Sara retorted, "But I almost didn't cum."
"Yeah, I noticed."
"It was scary!"
"Won't be next time. Just give yourself more time from now on!"
"I sucked him too long, didn't I?"
"Probably..." Woody observed. "And you could have used your hand to stimulate yourself ... while you were sucking on his cock. But for a first time, you were great. Just great!"
It was a weird conversation, she realized, somewhat like a seminar on computer hardware ... pull that switch, push that button ... wait ten seconds for the light ... It was clinical, sterile of emotion, and she wasn't sure she liked it that way.
"But I did alright?"
"Fine." he told her. "You did just fine ... and he got off, too! Most of the time that doesn't happen. Usually we end up using tubes of K-Y jelly before we get a shot."
In the back of her mind she was unconsciously fishing for something from him, a something she didn't know.
"And did you enjoy watching it, Woody?"
"Well, yes, I did, come to think of it. But then I always get off on..." He stopped seeing the childish search for approval in her baby blue eyes. "Yes, Sara ... I certainly did." He drew her into the circle of his strong arms. "Yes, Sara." He kissed her hair, and in that second, breathing in the sweet smell of her essence, so feminine and fine, he recognized the awesome changes that had overtaken the reticent, modest girl who'd walked through his door looking for a job some weeks back. A Hell of a woman, he thought appreciatively. She'll make it in this business yet.
Sara drew back. "You know ... I should have been angry at you for forcing me into it ... but somehow it doesn't matter now."
Woody answered by kissing her on the forehead.
Then a tug at her elbow told her how he would express that appreciation, as he slipped through the back door of his office that opened onto the hallway and evidentially to the studio doors.
"Oh, Woody," Sara giggled, still feeling somewhat heady from the morning's experience. But she didn't resist, knowing what was coming. Resistance was a word she'd been leaving out of her vocabulary of late.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jeff Goddell wasn't sure how he felt about spending thirty-five bucks, twenty-five minutes, and all afternoon recovering from a bout with a whore. But, hell, it had worked and he'd desperately hoped it would. For the first time in a wasteland of weeks, he'd been able to get it up and keep it up. Oh, she'd helped, the little bitch, sucking him off and looking up at him with those chocolate Puerto Rican eyes, that stared up at him with titillating accusations.
Now he'd saved his marriage! And in the nick of time, too, if his intuition served him well. It had been a coon's age since Sara had asked him to try again, begging him at her own emotional expense to see "if maybe this time it will wake up?! " Hell, what a wife ... what a hell of a woman to put up with his stupid ego problems. Now, if his luck would follow through and get him a decent job, his life would be back together again.
Jeff glanced at his Digital wrist watch. Hmmmm ... four o'clock. Sara should be just about ready to get off work by now. Luckily his afternoon odyssey had brought him halfway between the subway station and Sara's office building. With the confidence of a freshly-laid man, Jeff straightened his tie, feeling the smirk tighten on his satiated face, and plunged his hands in his pockets, whistling to him as he zigzagged through the four o'clock sidewalk congestion of New York City's streets.
Once inside the Ford Films, Ltd. building, he walked around the ground floor, searching for the directory to the offices, hoping to find Sara's name listed. From the uncalled for exuberance she'd been demonstrating as of late, she must be high-rollin' it up there, mused Jeff, scratching his five o'clock shadow thoughtfully. Only one way to find out.
He waited for the elevator door to gape open before him, stepped in, and brushed shouldes with a young woman with long auburn hair and very thick makeup.
"You work here in this building?" he asked, realizing for the first time in weeks that Sara had never specified just what kind of films her company produced. Somehow she'd managed to dodge the question artfully enough for him to not ask twice. But this girl, with her false eyelashes and India oils that reeked of blatant sexuality, had to be an actress. Suddenly, he had to know. Her nod of the head hadn't been enough.
"What kind of work do you do? Actress?"
The girl fluttered her eyelashes, assessed his Brooks' Brothers suit as if he were wearing a clown's outfit offered "yeah..."
"My wife works up there. Maybe you know her?" he tried, following on the girl's platform heels as she pounded with a strut through the portals of the elevator shaft to the soundless expanse of the carpeted hall, then paused before the double doors of Ford Films, Ltd.
"Yeah? What's her name?"
"Sara...? "
"I'm Wanda ... Is your wife expecting you?" Wanda paused, resting her hand on her hip. She'd seen this show before: husband doesn't know his wife is working in a porno studio, goes in unexpectedly, gives the chick a black eye and puts everybody out of work for a day while the producer finds a substitute. Then there were others like herself who spread her leg in society one to many times and ended up in the VD clinic, scratching and infested. But this dude, this fine looking young man, wouldn't be the type. Hell, he was straight alright, but he must have been here before.
"Mind if I go in with you ...."
"No, come on in."
Wanda rang the buzzer. Jeff used the pause to look her over, liking everything he saw from braless full-rounded breasts under a thin see-through blouse to the long curve of her levied thigh, her legs streamlined by three-inch platform shoes.
"Sara's expecting me. Know where I might find her?" he lied, gazing down the front of her blouse to see close-set white globes of soft breasts that made his hands itch with desire.
Wanda noticed, snickered, and hurried inside. Jeff followed and closed the door behind him, relieved to find no one at the receptionist's desk.
Tagging along behind Wanda, Jeff walked down the carpeted, dimly lighted corridor along which were several doors marked Studio one, two, three ... She ducked into a dressing room, leaving her follower out in the cold.
Jeff let her go, although he did have an urge to see more of her. Given other circumstances, he would have tried to parlay the short acquaintance into something more, for one thing he had decided; if he could get it up with a whore, he wasn't going to deny himself that pleasure any more. Christ it was medicine for a sick man. Certainly Sara would understand that!
He pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket, a habit he'd only recently taken up, and leaned against the wall, busying himself with the memos, rosters of actors names ... schedule dates for completion of films ... He strolled on, moving out of the way for the stage crew who were wheeling in barber's chair, a wooden Indian, and a collapsible mirror that opened like a triptych. Jeff apologized for his inconvenient loitering, and moved on down the hall, where he lingered momentarily until he spied someone with an official looking frown on his face stare him in the eye.
Jeff sped quickly down the hallway now, his curiosity piqued by the sexy woman Wanda, the air of secrecy and closed doors, behind which, he wanted to know what was happening.
At Studio Two, he paused, tested the doors, found them unbolted and crept inside. The studio was dark, and he could see distinctly into the circle of activity. His cigarette dropped from his mouth when he saw Wanda on her back, a raw-boned man with balding head straddling her torso. What the hell?! Jeff's penis, below, leaped to quick erection as he watched, unable to suppress his gasp of surprise. "Damn!" he choked. What the hell kind of movies do they film here? This looks like a fucking cat house! He inched closer.
The very same crevice between Wanda's soft white breasts-the same one Jeff had gazed down into, wishing that he could get them into his itching palms-was now filled by a man's hard cock. He was sawing his cock back and forth between the two luscious mounds, while Wanda's hand on either side pushed her velvety breasts up and together around his thick length of cock to form a substitute channel. Jesus Christ! This ... this had to be a fuck film! like ... like the one he'd taken Sara to with Art and Elayne ... and Sara had almost freaked out, wanted to go home. And now ... now she was working for a pornographer!? Jeff's mind clicked, putting together the pieces of Sara's suspiciously awkward contentment as of late. Obviously if she's not getting it from me, she's bound to get it elsewhere, and I wouldn't put it past that little bitch to spread her legs for that boss of hers, either. I saw the way she gets distracted every time I ask her about her work! Shit! Come to think of it, never once had she asked me to come meet her at work, it's always, "Oh, Jeff, don't be silly. There's nothing to see there, anyway!" Nothing to see!
Hell! Wanda was using her tits for a cunt and there was nothing to see down there? Oh, wait till I get my hands on that fucking Sara! For all he knew, his wife was probably giving some dude a blow job in front of the cameras. No wonder she hasn't asked for my cock in awhile! She's got enough here to last her the rest of her life, because for every cunt, there had to be a matching cock.. . .
Jeff slipped out as fast as he'd slipped into the studio, more determined than ever to find his wife now. Down the hall, he faked his way into another studio, covering his nervousness with a fake cough, sliding past a couple of men wearing coveralls, their foreheads sweaty from working near the cameras. The faint odor of male closeness filled the room, along with the distinguishable aroma of musky sex.
One glance told him it wasn't his Sara. This woman was slim and willowy with black hair, her pretty face contorted with passion as she lay on her back, her legs splayed while the man drove his rampant cock rhythmically into her writhing loins, as he spouted some silly lines. Jeff could see the glistening thick hard length of it cleaving the darkly hair lined pink flesh of her pussy. Her mouth was working desperately saying something to the handsome young man, trying to make him understand something. Jeff stepped closer, and the woman's voice came clearly: "I've got to have it the other way."
"Which way?"
"In my ass! Stop and let me turn over...! "
"In your ... ass-hole?" the young man gaped in feigned shock. He rared back, and the rock hard pulsing shaft of his cock came out of her.
Jeff watched them from the circle of cameras, his own hardened penis throbbing achingly, and his hand clutching at it, under his breath, "Goddamn!" not believing what he had heard or what he was now seeing.
Mavis-as the actor had called her-scrambled up to her knees, her softly rounded ass cheeks presented to him and the crew members as well. With excitedly trembling hands, as she rested on her shoulders, she reached back to spread her quivering buttocks wide, hissing, "Put it in ... now!"
With obvious relish, the young man spat on his hand and rubbed the saliva around the expanding head of his vibrating cock, then guiding the huge rod of maleness with his hand, he nestled the head of it against the tiny brown ring of her anus.
"Push ... Hard!" Mavis demanded.
Jeff watched hypnotically, as the young man strained, sweat popping out on his brow. Suddenly, the giant cockhead popped through, and Mavis was undulating back against him with obviously mixed pain and pleasure. "Ohhhhhh! That's it!" Then, all of it was absorbed deep inside her rectum. The camera zoomed in for a close-up.
The young husband couldn't watch any more of it! Christ! He had to get to Sara! His cock ached from excitement, and his brain reeled with a new idea. That'd fix her! If I find her doing anything with anybody ... that's it! Jeff stalked off, amidst a chorus of hushes from the sound men, and walked boldly to the next studio, suspicions rising high in his jealously fevered brain. If Sara wasn't in the next studio, he'd start asking around for her, but not until he'd scoured as much territory as he could cover before somebody threw him out. Besides, he didn't want to give her anytime to cover her act.
Sara was in the next studio. Jeff's wife was on the bed, naked as was the man with her, who was just crawling up onto the bed. He wasn't certain at first if it was his wife; her hair, usually worn long and wavy, looked matted to her head, as she'd been sweating profusely. It was then he spied the discarded red wig at the foot of the round bed. That's got to be her boss! What's his name? Yeah, Woody Jones! That's it ... and it looks like he's going after her!
There was no mistake of course. The director's long hardened cock lanced out thickly from his loins, and Jeff's wife was lying on her back, shapely legs spread, her hips grinding under him. She was saying something to the director.
He had been quiet enough to not raise suspicions; then, too, frustrated actors and stage hands were often running off to quiet corners to satisfy their needs between scenes. And so the couple had given it no thought when they'd seen the sliver of light widen with the opening of the studio door. Just another person looking for privacy ... or to find a lost shoe. Those things happened in a crazy business such as this.
Jeff's wife voice was urgent. "Oh, Woody, darling ... I'm so glad you let me do that fill-in today. Maybe some time you'll give me a part ... a real part. I think I'd like that..." Sara reached down to direct Woody's cock straight into the mouth of her yearning, flowered-open cunt. "I need a man ... with a cock to match!" she gasped as the director's long, hardened cock went into her in a sudden rush, their pubic bones slapping together resoundingly. She's going to get a real man in a couple of minutes! Jeff promised it to himself. The bitch!
Bitter jealousy choked him as he watched the other man's penis drive deep into his blonde-haired wife's receptive cunt, and her obvious pleasure reflected on her face along with her gasping words. "like that!" galvanized him into action. He walked toward the bed, stood there at the side of the bed while methodically undressing and watched his adulterous wife fuck with her boss. Her eyes were closed, an expression of beatific delight wreathing her beautiful face. He waited, restraining his angry desire to pull the bastard off his wife and finish the job himself. He waited, because he wanted to see the expression on her face when she opened her eyes and saw her own husband standing beside the bed-with a hard cock all ready for her! He was completely naked now. He reached down and held his thick length in his fist reassuringly, and as he watched his rage increased. Christ! She never fucked me like that!
"Sara!" he rasped out chokingly.
Two pairs of eyes on the bed swiveled toward him.
"What the hell!" Woody ejaculated.
"Jeff!" His wife gasped. "Wh ... what?" The two voices blended together in shock.
Woody stopped in mid-thrust. "Y-your husband?"
"Oh God! Y-yes!" Sara's eyes were riveted on his loins where his jutting erection speared the air before him. "And ... he's ... he's..." She was almost happy, but she didn't know why.
"Cured ... Jeff! You're cured!"
"Yeah! How do you like it, Sara, darling?" Jeff asked caustically. "Am I a real man ... again, with a cock to match?"
"Oh, baby ... I'm so glad!" Momentarily, she had forgotten the situation in which her husband had discovered her. That is, she had forgotten, until deep up inside her cock-filled cunt, she felt the expanding reminder of Woody's pulsatingly thick length. Oh God! Her face flushed with shame.
Her husband reached out and grasped the directors muscular shoulders. "All right, big boy! The game's over! Get the hell out of my wife! I'm taking over!" His voice was brittle, menacing.
Sara's hips arched up undulantly against Woody's grinding pelvis: unaccountably she was reluctant to give up what she had. "Oh, please, Jeff, no! Not right now! I'm so hot! Almost ready to cum ... a-and..."
"You fucking bitch!" he ground out behind clenched teeth, as he knelt on the bed beside them. "I'm your husband ... and I'm going to fuck you any time I want to!"
But, she wouldn't stop! Neither would she give in to any feelings of guilt about being caught with Woody. All of that was behind her. "Come on, Woody!" she said evenly. "Keep fucking! Fuck me ... hard!" Her hips bucked up against her lover with desperation. She knew it was perverse, but she couldn't help herself.
Rage contorted Jeff Goddell's face. He was on the verge of doing something violent, when the director spoke up in conciliatory tones, as his hips began flexing again to match the tempo set by the younger man's wife beneath him. "Look, Jeff ... she's hot as a pistol, and she doesn't know what she wants. So, why not both of us fuck her at the same time?"
Sara heard him and moaned. "No! Please, no!"
"Shut up!" Jeff said. "You don't have a say in this."
"B ... but ... but both of you?" At the same time?" She knew-or guessed-how it would have to be.
"Shut up!" both men chorused.
Then the director asked Jeff, "What'll it be, Jeff? Her mouth ... of her ass?"
"I wanna fuck her in the ass!"
"No! No! Nooooo!" his wife screamed.
It was useless. Woody wrapped his arms around her tightly and rolled over to his back to place her on top of him. "okay. Go to it!"
Jeff's rage, his desire for a sweet revenge on his blonde-haired wife and his aroused sexual excitement overwhelmed him as he gazed down on
Sara's shapely back where she lay on top of the director, her quivering cunt still filled with his hard cock.
Moving around to straddle their legs, the young dark-haired husband watched as his wife's softly rounded buttocks began to flex, again, in the inexorable rhythm of sexual congress, while beneath her Woody's muscular body drove his throbbing cock deep up into her clasping cuntal hole. He could see the thick moist shaft going into her wide-stretched cunt, deep into that secret place that he once thought was his own private domain, a domain protected by the sanctity of marriage, and he couldn't help thinking that it was she who had violated that sacred thrust ... first.
Almost blind with revengeful lust, he reached with both hands to grasp each of her working ass cheeks and pried them apart. There it was, the tiny brown ring of her anus winking in the smooth hairless crease as she satisfied her own lust with another man! Christ! His cock lurched painfully, and making only one concession to her comfort he spat saliva on his hand and smeared it on the blood-filled head of his demanding cock.
"Now, you little bitch!" he muttered. "This'll teach you a lesson!"
Still holding her quivering buttocks widespread, he nudged the vibrant head of his angry cock into the heated crevice against his wife's cringing rear passage. Involuntarily, she jerked her loins downward away from him; the next instant she was driven back against his mushroom-shaped cock head forcefully as the director, below, drove his lust-hardened rod deep up into her pussy. The force of her backward lunge caused the blood-filled tip of his rampant penis to go up into her, the tight band of her anal muscles giving a little. He pushed them hard, and the whole of the expanding cockhead popped inside her fear-filled rectum, stretching her terribly.
"Ohhhhh! Noooooo! God no!" Sara screamed. "You're splitting me apart!"
Somehow, it was what he wanted to hear; the little sadistic streak in him, which demanded this perverted revenge on his wife, was being satisfied by her moaning protest.
Grinningly, he shoved all the harder, and inch by delightfully painful inch, he watched the turgid shaft of his glistening cock disappear deep up into her moistly heated rectal passage. God! She's tight! It felt as though he was being strangled, but there was the other overriding sensation of absolute ecstasy, as he went deep into the soft sponginess of the unnatural sex passage. She was being buffeted from below by Woody, every slamming pile-driver thrust pushing her back against the fiercely invading cock rammed deep up in her buttocks.
Between the two virile men, Sara was moaning constantly, but gradually her groaning protestations changed to mewls of delight as the constricting muscles of her tortured anus relaxed to accept her husband's thick pounding length buried deep up inside her rear passage. It hurt terribly ... but now, almost hysterically, she wanted it, wanted to be dominated by them ... wanted the lewd ravishment being performed on her by Jeff.
She babbled, "Yes! OH, yesss! Do it! Fuck me ... there, Jeff. Fuck my ass!"
Up until then, Jeff had moved very little in the soft, constricting confines of Sara's rectum. He hadn't needed to move; the ecstatic sensations surging through his penis were caused by that same tightness and the movements of the couple beneath him. Now, he felt her relax around his cock shaft, and her vocal invitation spurred him onward. With short strokes, at first, he tried to match the heaving rhythm, then as in a concert of motion he was with them, his demanding rod moving smoothly in and out of his wife's warmly clasping anus.
He couldn't believe the overwhelming desire that goaded him on. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
Beneath him, his wife was wild and wanton in absolute abandonment of all inhibitions, as she was filled as never before in both pelvic holes. She had been aroused already by Woody's fat cock. Now, she rose rocket like to orgasm. Suddenly, she was cumming!
"Aaarrrgghgh! Ohhhhh. God! I'm going to cum mm mm!"
Her body stiffened momentarily then relaxed between the two deeply driving men, her vision dimming, hearing diminished and her head swimming dizzily, as she balanced precariously between consciousness and unconsciousness. She knew that it was the most devastatingly delightful orgasm she had ever experienced. It was a high, a natural high higher than any she could ever imagine ... except perhaps the spiritual sense of well-being reported by some holy persons, who obtain it by means of mediation. Her body sagged, and wave after wave of heavenly euphoria swept through her.
Beneath her. Woody rammed and bucked up against her in the throes of his own completion.
"Aaaarrgghhhh!" he grunted, as his spewing stream of white semen exploded from the tip of his cock deep up inside, her milking cuntal sheath. He held himself in an arched position as he came, and he was wholly aware of the movement of Sara's dark-haired husband's cock gliding smoothly in and out of her rectum, he could feel it jackhammering through the thin separating tissues between the two channels.
Suddenly, Jeff couldn't hold out any longer. He, too, was dimming. It felt to him like a volcano was blowing its top right out through the top of his cock, as his hot cum hosed through his pulsating penis and splashed far up into the forever-stretched anal passage of his darling wife.
"I ... love you ... Sara!" he gasped out through a dry raspy throat.
He meant it. He really meant it ... even though only minutes before he had wanted to hurt her, make her scream for mercy as he wrecked perverted revenge on her for her unfaithfulness to their marriage vows. But she had loved it. She had enjoyed every minute of his lewd ravishment of her rectum. She had even fucked back and urged him on with her obscene words. He didn't understand it; neither did he understand himself ... or his wife. It was enough for him to know that she still loved him ... that he loved her and that they loved each other!
"Oh, Jeff ... darling!" she sighed. "I ... I love you ... too!"
Beneath them both, Woody said nothing. He was rapidly going over the situation in his head. And as it looked, the deck was stacked against him.
"Mind if I take my wife home now, Mr. Jones?" asked the still jealous husband with a tinge of resentment. "I think the Mrs. and I have a few things we have to discuss."
"But ... it's only a little after four ... or?" Sara waited for a response from her employer, hoping he would realize the urgency of the situation and dismiss her early. After all, she certainly had put herself out for Ford Films, Ltd., today, to make a silly pun.
Woody pulled his leg out from under Sara, struggling to get to his feet. "I have a feeling my new assistant is going to be an old one," he grunted to himself, watching his golden-haired partner cling to her husband like a dying vine.
Jeff had been watching with rapt delight the expression on his wife's face as her employer stalked toward the door, a sour look on his face, knowing his intuition was serving him with his just rewards.
"Christ," Woody scratched his head, pausing to adjust his tie and straighten out his thoughts. "I swear I will never, never again get involved with an assistant. Shit, another two weeks of training down the fucking drain. Hell ... just when she was beginning to warm up, too."
"Ah, Woody?! " Sara was sitting up straight now, a note of urgency in her soft voice. "Woody, does this mean ... I'm ... I'm fired."
"Fired? Hell, no!"
"Hell yes!" piped in Jeff. "Quit is a better word. I'm not letting my wife come to work everyday to spread her legs" for every goddamned horny janitor and camera men in the whole goddamned building. What the hell kind of husband would I be...?"
"An understanding one, darling. A loving one," pouted Sara, knowing how to get her way with Jeff. Softness and warmth never failed to melt his anger. Turning, she took his head in her hands. "Honey, when you were going through your ... your problems, I didn't turn on you, did I? I tried my best to keep you happy. And that was because of your work. Now what about my work? How about you applying a little understanding to my situation."
Jeff's dark eyebrows knitted. "But how the hell could I be sure of you?"
"Silly! You'd never have to worry about that! I've never stopped loving you for one minute. Ask Woody if you don't believe me. God, if it hadn't been for him, I might have left you long ago. He's the one who listened to my problems." She looked her husband straight in the eye; and the more she considered her defensive statement, the more clearly she realized it was no exaggeration. Woody had saved her marriage. Those frustrating mornings and nights had been hell, and it was Woody who soothed over the rough edges.
"But that man..."
"Sex, pure and simple."
"What about me? Would you mind if I?" he broke off, remembering the chocolate-eyed little Puerto Rican nymphet that had brought him over the horizon from impotency.
" ... If you fuck other women? No, as long as you still love me. And I want you, darling." She pecked him on the cheek. "Come on. I have to get dressed and tell Woody I want to keep my job...." But Jeff grabbed her naked arm, pulling her down to the bed.
"Just one thing, Mrs. Goddell. Just one more hard thing..." He guided per petite hand to his cock. "Here ... see what you can do with this."
