She switched on a small bedside lamp, and by the luminous glow of it began to undress, slowly, and once again without the slightest trace of either self-consciousness or lewdness, easing her short cocktail dress to the floor, stepping out of her flowery little half-slip, stripping off her panties, her brassiere, slipping off her high-heeled shoes, her stockings.
Melanie's husband still stared at her, drinking in her loveliness, as she dropped to her knees before him, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and inserted her hotly searching hand to slowly encircle and draw out his painfully aching dick. She began teasing it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her smooth fingers back and forth along the tender underside of it, stroking and massaging it to a granite-like hardness. And then she bent her head forward, lowering it until her soft lips ovaled and warmly circled the shivering, jerking head.
CHAPTER ONE
David Carson whistled happily as he pulled his 1970 Pinto over the curb, skipped up the sidewalk to his house, turned the key in the front door and pushed it open. From the kitchen, he heard his young bride, Melanie, call out, "Is that you, darling?"
"Sure is," he called back. "Anyone else have the key to this place?" He dropped his briefcase on the table in the entrance hall, then trudged through the living room. He noted that the table in the small dining room was set for three and asked "What gives?" then added, "You've got the good dishes out, too."
Melanie, her face flushed, looked up from the veal tips she was braising as David entered the kitchen. "Aunt Millie's coming for dinner," she announced. She turned back, to stir the Burgundy wine sauce.
"And just who, may I ask, is Aunt Millie?"
"You know Aunt Millie," Melanie said.
"No," David said flatly. "I know Aunt Sally and Aunt Mae and Aunt Mozelle. But I don't know Aunt Millie. Is she your mother's sister or your father's?"
Melanie laughed charmingly. "Oh David, you silly! She isn't really my aunt, you know. Millie Peyton is just an old, old friend of mother's from U.C. L. A."
David gave his lovely wife a broad grin. "Thanks for clueing me in," he said. "In this family, you can't tell the players without a scorecard."
"And Aunt Millie is pretty special, too," Melanie said.
"And what, may I ask, is so special about Aunt Millie?"
There was a hint of sarcasm in David's voice, and it annoyed Melanie. "Well," she said, "for one thing, she knows Michael Goren. Personally!"
"I suppose Mr. Goren is another of your relatives?"
"Oh, David." Melanie stamped her foot. "Don't be tiresome. You know very well who Michael Goren is."
David shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't."
"You do, David."
"No I don't."
"Well," Melanie said haughtily, "for your information, Mr. Michael Goren is head of Goren Communications Inc., one of the biggest T. V. programming firms in the country."
"Oh, them," David said. "The ones who brought us 'The Potter Family' and 'Willie Wildcat, Frontiersman' and...."
Melanie cut him short. "They're also the ones who have filmed practically everything that Allan Pierce ever wrote for television."
"And so, after a slight nudge from Aunt Millie, Mr. Michael Goren is going to film a television series written by one Melanie Carson, is that the pitch?"
"It could happen," Melanie said loftily. "It just could, you know."
"Sure. And I might be the next President of the United States," David said. "I just might, you know."
Melanie stamped her foot again, and said, "Don't be tiresome." When she turned back to the stove, the water was boiling merrily under the sauce. She gave a little scream. "Oh, now see what you've done. You've ruined the Burgundy sauce!"
David gave her a quick kiss, and a playful slap on the bottom. "Stick to your cooking, kid," he admonished. "And forget about your television career."
He went into the bathroom, and Melanie heard the water running as he washed for dinner. His voice came to her, muffled now, saying, "I suppose we'll have to sit up half the night, listening to this old biddy." He returned to the kitchen, slicking down his hair.
"Did you have something better in mind?" Melanie asked coldly.
David stared at the sensuous moves of her firm, rounded ass cheeks, her smoothly curved hips, her long, slim legs. "Matter of fact," he said, sucking in his breath, "I did. Been thinking of it all afternoon, too." Just the thought of fucking his young wife had made his cock ache unbearably, as he sat in his office. Now the sight of the voluptuous girl made his prick jerk and lurch, set his balls to burning like an inferno.
"And what, may I ask," Melanie said, "could it be?"
"This!" David said. He grasped her by the shoulders, pulled her close against him while his hands slid down to cup the twin cheeks of her lusciously shaped ass, while his cock ground hard against the raised little puff of her cunt mound under her shorts.
With a quick movement, Melanie broke away. "Oh, no, David," she pleaded. "Not now."
"Not now," he said angrily. "Not now. And not later, because Aunt Millie will be here. And not after Aunt Millie leaves, because you'll be too tired. And not even in the morning because you'll have to get up early so you can write another episode of that damned T.V. series. Right?"
"You're not being fair," Melanie snapped. She bent over to peer in the oven, and the light cotton fabric of her shorts stretched tightly over the round quivering spheres of her buttocks, then caught between her firm, full thighs to slip tauntingly into the narrow crevice between her widely flaring ass cheeks. David stared at her, his breath tight in his throat.
"Come on," he said at last. "Can't we get rid of Aunt Millie? Call her up and say you've come down with a case of flu, or something?"
"You know we can't," Melanie said in an icy voice. "Look, David, you make drinks, will you, while I go and change my clothes? Aunt Millie will be here any minute."
She dashed off to the bedroom. "Does Aunt Millie drink Martinis?" David called after her.
"I don't know."
"Well, she's going to tonight," David said grimly, "because that's what I'm making."
His young wife's answer was drowned out by the jangling of the doorbell, followed by her anxious yelp: "There's Aunt Millie, now. Answer the door, will you, darling?"
"Okay." He took a healthy swig of the cocktail and then, as the doorbell rang again, strode to the door. A well-dressed, heavy-titted and surprisingly lovely redheaded older woman stood there. "You must be Aunt Millie," David said, guessing her to be in her late forties.
"That's right. And you must be Melanie's husband."
David sighed. "Yes," he said, "I'm Melanie's husband." He led the well-preserved woman into the living room, motioned her to a seat on the couch. "Drink?" he asked.
"Good idea," she said.
"Martini?"
"Sure."
"Coming up, one Martini." David brought the drinks from the kitchen, and poured one for Aunt Millie, one for himself. "Cheers!"
"Cheers!" Aunt Millie said. "You mix a mean Martini, young man." She sipped her drink slowly, relishing it, relaxing. "Melanie tells me you're a doctor," she said.
David shook his head. "No."
Aunt Millie looked puzzled. "I was sure that was what Melanie said." She guessed again. "Lawyer?"
"Accountant," David said.
"Oh, yes. Now I remember. Accountant. And Melanie writes for T.V., isn't that it?"
David nodded. "I guess so."
"I want to hear all about it," Aunt Millie said.
David sighed again. "You will," he said bitterly. "You will soon enough."
Aunt Millie glanced up and saw that Melanie Carson was standing in the doorway. My God! The girl had grown up. More than that, the skinny little caterpillar had turned into a ravishing butterfly. The scrawny teenager she remembered, all skinny arms and legs, had filled out, and her eye took in the voluptuous curves of her lovely thighs, the high, ripe mounds of her full young tits bouncing under her skin-hugging sweater, the provocative, sensual half moons of her rounded little assliceeks. She struggled to her feet and put her arm around her. "My dear," she said, "you certainly have changed."
Melanie's eyes were shining with excitement. "You look just the same, Aunt Millie. I would have known you anywhere."
"Would you, my dear?" She settled herself on the couch again. "But tell me about yourself. I understand you're a writer."
"I write plays," Melanie admitted modestly. "And T.V. serials, too. I've written lots of television serials."
"I'd certainly like to see some," the older woman said.
She popped up like a jack in the box, ready to get them, but David stopped her. "The veal tips are burning," he said.
Melanie gave him a look of sheer hatred, then smiled sweetly at her aunt. "Dinner must be ready," she said, in a voice of dripping honey. "But I'll show you my scripts later."
At the table, David poured the wine in silence, keeping one eye on his wife. God! It made him want to puke, the way she babbled on. Aunt Millie this ... Aunt Millie that...."Will you have more wine? Burgundy sauce? Another helping of veal tips? Oh, David, Aunt Millie wants another helping."
So Aunt Millie wanted another helping; it was obvious, from the lecherous grin that played around her lips, that Aunt Millie was a lesbian! Christ, the old girl was probably playing footsie with Melanie under the table right now. In a minute she'd have her hand on her knee, then be running it up her leg, stroking the satin-smooth skin of her inner thigh. After that-well, after that she'd be worming her fingers under the tight little cunt band of her panties, inching on until she found the soft little curls of pussy hairs nestled there along the lips of her pussy. And then ... Oh, Christ! The serving ladle fell from his shaking hand with a loud clatter, splattering morsels of food over the damask tablecloth. Melanie glared at her husband. He wiped the table clean, then sat down, scowling at his wife. What the hell was the matter with her? Couldn't she see that this old gal was on the make?
He cleared his throat, trying to get Melanie's attention, but she was engrossed in conversation with Millie. He cleared his throat again. This time the older woman looked up and gave him a mocking smile. Christ, he hated her. Why did she have to come sniffing around Melanie anyway? She was old enough to be her mother.
"David," Melanie said suddenly, "be an angel will you, and get the dessert?"
"From the kitchen?" he asked, dismayed. Oh no! He wasn't going to fall for that ploy.
"Yes, darling, from the kitchen. You'll find our coffee in the living room. We can relax there, be more comfortable." And I can keep an eye on this pervert Aunt Millie, he thought.
"Oh, of course," Melanie chirped. "Let's!"
She got up and walked over towards one of the two easy chairs, the firm round curves of her tight young ass swaying enchantingly. The older woman stared at her sensuously undulating little buttocks, and ran her tongue lasciviously over her lips. Aunt Millie, David thought, was certainly keeping her eye on Melanie.
She sat down, curling up in the chair like a pampered, sleeping kitten. "David," she said with a yawn, "be an angel and get my T.V. scripts, would you? Aunt Millie wants to see them."
Well, if Aunt Millie wanted them, that meant David would get them. That was the way things seemed to be run in this house. He got up, lumbering out of the room, calling back to his wife, "Where the hell are they?" finding them at last, dropping them on the floor, picking up the pages, desperately trying to put them in some kind of order. He came back, flustered, wiping his forehead-had he seen Melanie move quickly away from the other woman as he entered? What was she doing? What were they doing?-and handed the sheaf of papers to Melanie. "Here," he said sullenly.
Melanie, bright-eyed, turned to her mother's friend. "Here it is, Aunt Millie," she said. "My latest work." The woman took the pages and leafed through them quickly. Near the middle a passage caught her eye, and she began to read it aloud, in a sonorous, stage-like voice. "No, No," cried Penelope fighting back her tears "You mustn't; you musin't!" She looked up from the page. "I like that, Melanie," she said. "I think it's great." David moaned, and Melanie glared at him again. "Just great," the woman repeated. She turned a couple of pages, reading on, silently now. Lord! It was even worse than she'd imagined; the girl could hardly spell! Still, looking up she said, "Melanie dear, I must congratulate you. This is a masterpiece."
"Do you really think so?" she asked, starry eyed.
"I do indeed," the smiling woman told her. She turned another page, read a few more paragraphs. God damn it, Millie Peyton, she told herself. You ought to be ashamed; this is about the worst thing you've ever read, and here you are encouraging the girl.
Yes, she ought to be ashamed. But she wasn't. The script, bad as it was, could be at least printed up for very little money. And Millie Peyton was willing to pay that. All she wanted in exchange, she reflected, was to lick this kid's pussy and to lick it good. Melanie would let her, too-hell, she'd welcome it-just to see her work in printed form.
She glanced over at David Carson, squirming uncomfortably in a corner. She wondered how he would take it when he found out that his sweet young bride was willing to go to any lengths to gain fame and fortune. And he would find out; Millie would see to that. It would add to her own perverted pleasure-in her mind's eye, the older woman could see Melanie Carson's beautiful long legs spread wide, thrashing and bucking nakedly beneath her as she licked the young woman's cunt silly while her own husband sat back and watched her screaming out a pussy-bursting cum at the hands of the old family friend.
She turned back to the television script again, reading on quickly. It was obvious that Melanie hadn't the foggiest notion of what life was about. Well, she was the one to teach her, she thought. She was, indeed!
She slipped the loose pages back into the folder which Melanie had handed her, and put it down on the table before her. "Melanie," she said, staring earnestly at her, "you have a great talent. A truly great talent!" She shot an angry look at David, who had let out a peal of raucous laughter, then smiled again at his wife. "And do you know what I plan to do?"
It was David's turn to stare angrily at Millie Peyton. Sure, he thought, I know. You're going to ram that fat tongue of yours right up my wife's naive little cunt, aren't you. Aunt Millie? But the older woman was rattling on. ignoring the young man's presence. "I'm joiner to talk to Michael Goren about this script," she said. "He's an old friend of mine, you know. And I, personally, am going to see that it is printed up for a full studio reading. Now, what do you think of that?"
Melanie shook her head, speechless with delight. "I don't know what to think, Aunt Millie," she said at last. "It's so ... so, well, just marvelous. I mean, it's just what I've always dreamed of, isn't it, David?"
"That's right," her young husband snarled. But his voice was almost inaudible, and Melanie hurried on.
"I don't know how I can ever thank you," she said.
You'll find out, the redhead thought. You'll find out soon enough, my dear! But she merely said "I'm happy to help you, Melanie, in any way I can. Such an unusual talent as yours must not go unrewarded." She rose to her feet, ready to go. "But there is one thing I must ask you, Meli, before I leave. Could you come to Hollywood? I'm sure that either Mr. Goren or one of his T.V. script writers will want of work with you. They do that, you know, when they are especially interested in developing a new screen writer."
Melanie squealed in ecstasy. "Of course I can, Aunt Millie," she said. She walked with her to the door, helped her on with her coat, then threw her arms around her neck, hugging her as if she were a long lost love. "Oh Aunt Millie!" she said. "I'm so excited. So excited! You're just wonderful, Aunt Millie. And I'll come to Hollywood whenever you ask me."
Millie kissed her lightly on the cheek-wasn't she almost her real aunt, after all?-and then bade David a brusque farewell. She left the young couple standing at the door, the lovely young wife radiantly happy, the young husband tormented by pangs of jealousy.
As Melanie drifted away from the door, seeming to float on clouds, David stomped off to the bedroom. Jesus! So now she was going to Hollywood! He heard her bustling around the living room, picking up the coffee cups, taking them to the kitchen, rinsing them. Hell, she could do that in the morning. "Hey Melanie," he called. "What's keeping you?"
"I'll be there in a minute," she called back.
David undressed quickly, and pulled on his pyjamas, then began to pace the room impatiently. "Hey. Melanie," he called again. "You coming to bed?"
"In a minute."
David paced the room again, again bellowed "MELANIE!"
This time she appeared at the door, opened it half way, peeked in. "Oh, my goodness, David. What is it you want?" She noticed that he was in his pyjamas. "Why don't you go to bed? I want to work a little bit longer."
"On your script?"
"On my script," Melanie said. "Since Aunt Millie has so much interested in my work...."
"Aunt Millie," David said, "is not interested in your work, Melanie."
Stung, Melanie whirled around. "How can you say that, David? Why else would she want to help me publish it? Why else would she want me to go to Hollywood?"
"For the same reason I want you to come to bed," David said, grabbing her by the shoulder, pulling her close.
Melanie wriggled free, casting a contemptuous glance towards her husband. "Really, darling," she said. "Can't you think of anything but sex?"
"Not for the moment."
"Aunt Millie at least is interested in my mind," Melanie said haughtily.
"I might be too," David answered, "if I thought you had one."
Melanie's lip curled in scorn. " You disgust me, David Carson," she said.
So now he disgusted her! God damn it, he thought angrily, she's my wife. His eyes blazed with fury, and his sudden anger seemed to blur his senses. So he disgusted her! He was nothing more than an animal, as far as Melanie was concerned. Well, God damn it, if he was just an animal, he might as well act like one.
His hand shot out, grasped the soft wool of her sweater and with a strong, swift tug, ripped it from her body, wadding it up, hurling it across the room. "Take that off," he ordered, nodding at her bra.
"No!"
"Then, by God, I will!" The flimsy fabric yielded to his clawing fingers, and fell to the floor in shreds. Maddened with lust now, driven by rage, he stripped off her panties and tore them to bits.
Melanie stood before him, her nude flesh trembling. One glance took in the lovely mounds of her heaving, milk-white tits, the smooth swell of her gold-flecked cunt, the voluptuous curves of her hips.
He gave his wife a brutal shove that sent her reeling backwards and onto the bed. Frantically, he kicked off his pyjamas, and now his huge, rigid cock sprang out, stiff as a pole. Melanie's mouth began to move as she tried to frame the words she sought and then they came out in a wild, terrified scream: "Oh, God, David! Don't. Oh, dear God ... dear God! Please ... please!"
He moved forward, then flung himself on the bed with her, his hot, hungry mouth all over her face, his tongue flicking out now to pry between her futilely resisting lips, to thrust forward deep into her throat.
Melanie fought desperately, struggling to breathe. Oh, God, she would suffocate ... he would kill her. A muffled cry bubbled somewhere in her throat, was choked off; tears streamed from her fear-ridden eyes.
David ran his hands greedily over her luscious young body, grasping the milk-white globes of her huge, succulent tits between the harsh, straining fingers, kneading the tender white flesh cruelly. He caught the tender buttons of her tiny nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, twisted them mercilessly into tauntly throbbing erection, and then his head shot forward and he fastened his lips on the small pulsing tips, licking hungrily at the soft, resilient flesh.
Melanie, pinned down by his huge, rough hands, struggled again to free herself from her husband's lust-maddened assault on her, begging again, begging in vain, for mercy, until her words trailed off into pitiful, unheard whimpers. Ignoring her pleas, her moans of anguish, David rolled on top of her, parted her long, slim legs, and thrust his hips between her widespread thighs, then ground his pelvis hard into her defenselessly squirming pussy mound. With one hand, he grasped his huge lust-swollen cock, and guided it to the glistening pink hole of her pussy, then brutally fucked the blood-filled head between the fleshy, moist lips, while a scream of pain welled up from deep in Melanie's throat to split the oppressive air.
He fucked her in a mad frenzy, now, his mind obsessed with the one idea of just exercising his conjugal rights and shooting his load of white-hot sperm deep up inside her frigid little cunt. He felt the fires, like molten lava, raging again in his burning balls, felt again the unbearable ache, until at last, the thin, viscous liquid exploded there, and spurted the length of his throbbing cock to flood hotly into her wide-split young belly. Finally satiated, his balls emptied deep up inside her cunt, David withdrew his slowly deflating cock, and rolled over beside the cum-inundated body of his young wife.
Melanie lay, not moving, while tears of shame and anger coursed down her pale-white cheeks. How could her own husband have raped and humiliated her so! How! A sob caught in her throat as she relived, in her mind, the whole sordid episode. And how could she have married such a man? A man to whom she was nothing more than a sex object, who used her solely to satisfy his carnal, lewd lusts.
She heard David snoring softly, and slipped quietly from the bed. She needn't stay here, she thought; she needn't stay in this house at all. There were others who appreciated her as a human being, who saw her as an equal. Aunt Millie was such a person. And Michael Goren, too, would be.
She brushed aside a tear, and made her plans. She would leave the house at once. Then, in a day or so, after she had time to notify Aunt Millie, she would go to Hollywood.
She slipped back into the bedroom, opened the closet, and gathered up an armload of dresses, scooped up several pairs of shoes. She carried them into the living room, went back, found a suitcase and flung them into it. She rummaged through the bureau drawers, found bras and panties, gloves and stockings, threw those into the suitcase too, swept up the cosmetics from the dressing table and packed them.
She dressed quickly and scribbled a note for David. Then she called a taxi and asked to be driven to the city's best hotel.
Her eyes were filled with tears during the entire drive there, but they were tears of anger and humiliation rather than of sadness. It was only later when she had checked in, taken a long, hot soaking bath and was tucked safely in bed that she felt better. Her last thought before slipping off to a dead-tired sleep was: I'll show David Carson. I'm going to become the best and most successful television-series-writer in Hollywood ... and I don't care what I have to do to accomplish it.
CHAPTER TWO
It was several days later than Melanie gazed happily out the window at the sprawling city of Los Angeles below. The plane circled the airfield, spiraling down like a floating feather, then settled gently to the ground. Melanie unbuckled her seat belt, searched in the overhead rack for her coat and the copies of Variety and Box Office she had brought with her, then tucked the papers under her arm and followed the other passengers off the plane.
The sun was bright above her, and she basked for a few seconds in the heat of it, joyous and excited. Hollywood lay ahead of her at last, with all its promise of success. All she had to do was to stretch out her hand and grasp it. She gave a little, happy laugh, and raced across the tarmac.
Inside the terminal she followed the crowd to get her luggage, found her two striped suitcases and carried them to the waiting limousine. She settled into a seat there, and leaned back, waiting for the bus to leave. It did at last, and Melanie was whisked through the broad streets of an outlying suburb, then on to the freeways that would lead her, for the first time in her life, to Dreamland, U.S.A.
She was a little frightened when she reached the downtown airline terminal, found her bags once more, and hailed a cab. The city was so big! Oh, she had known it would be-but not quite this big.
The taxi drew up to the Hollywood Roosevelt where Melanie had reserved a room. She scrambled out, fumbling for her wallet, drew out a couple of five-dollar bills and handed them to the driver, then stood there wondering how much she was supposed to tip. The driver solved the problem for her by keeping the change, and Melanie, wondering if that always happened in Hollywood, followed the doorman carrying her luggage to the desk.
She registered, gasping a little at the price-Hollywood, she thought with a sigh, was so much more expensive than she had expected, then shrugged aside her worries. Wasn't she going to be a famous television writer? And didn't famous television writers earn lots and lots of money? Of course they did, and Melanie's mind drifted to the fabulous clothes she had seen in the windows of the shops they had passed. Those, too, would be hers, along with luxury hotels and winter cruises and ... the clang of the elevator door behind her brought her back to earth as she soared skyward: How much was she supposed to tip the bellboy?
She fumbled in her wallet again, as he puttered around the room, raising window shades, snapping on lights, pointing out the bathroom, as if, Melanie thought, she couldn't have found it herself. Still fumbling for change, she found with a start of panic that she had none. Well, she would have to give him a bill, too.
The boy took it and bowed out obsequiously; she had obviously over-tipped. That didn't matter, either. She was going to be famous and rich, rich, rich! She whirled around in a little dance of joy, before she collapsed on the bed, kicking her shoes across the room. Then she picked up the telephone and gave the operator the number of Goren Communications Inc. When the call was answered, she told the switchboard operator, "This is Melanie Carson" as if her name was already flashing across T.V. screens all the way across the country....
CHAPTER THREE
Tod Novak sat at his huge teak desk, staring at the papers spread across it. He had seen bad T.V. scripts in his time. He had seen damn bad scripts. He had seen scripts that were utter disasters. But he had never, he told himself, seen anything so God-awful as this one.
The woman-he glanced at the name of the author and read Melanie Carson-it had had to be a woman-couldn't spell, couldn't type, and he was expected to decipher the mess. And above all, he thought, she couldn't write! He glanced at one of the heroine's lines and read: "Unhand me, you cad. Unhand me, I beg of you! Oh, you wretch. I shall now lose that which is most sacred to me, to wit, my virginity!"
Jesus! And he was expected to read all of this damned thing. What the hell did old man Goren have in mind, giving it to a producer to read. Normally, shit like that went back home by the first mail. Sometimes, though, old Goren had his eye on something-or on someone. There had been that post on the Federal Communications Commission once; Goren, hoping to become a member of the board, had arranged a little half hour masterpiece of bad taste called "Ten Hours that Shook the Airways." And for his pains, he got a fine for bad taste slapped on him by the F.C.C., instead of the appointment he coveted. As for coveting-there was that blonde; there was also a production hailed unanimously by the T.V. critics as "one of the all time worsts." But this ... this ... Tod racked his brain for a suitable way to describe it, and decided on 'crap'; this crap made the other jobs look like "Gone With The Wind" and that was why Tod Novak held his nose.
As for why Michael Goren wanted him to read it, that was Michael Goren's problem. There was something in it for the old man, and Tod had to finagle it somehow, without committing the company to producing it on the air. And that, Tod thought morosely, was Tod Novak's problem. Just then the telephone rang. "Mrs. Carson is waiting," the secretary said.
Dear God! Mrs. Carson! A little old lady in tennis shoes. Why the hell was he wasting his talents reading stuff like this when he could be off on some South Sea Island shooting a good documentary. He shook his head, then sucked in his guts, prepared to do what Goren demanded.
The door opened, and Tod pretended to be absorbed with the papers in front of him. Without looking up, he said, "Won't you sit down?" He heard Melanie's footsteps as she crossed the room, heard the rustle of starched linen as she seated herself, heard her impatient sigh. Tod Novak look up and gasped.
Christ! Melanie Carson was gorgeous! Her long, blonde hair hung to her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face. Tod gulped and stared across the desk, into her china-blue eyes.
Melanie blinked her eyelashes, and Tod gulped again. Then his eye roved down over her huge, heavy, tilted tits, damn near popping out of the tight see-through blouse she wore. They were like peaches, ripe, juicy and plump, Tod thought, reminding himself to use that line in a T.V. series sometime. He shook his head. That wasn't quite right, he knew. But it was the best he could do off the top of his head. And her taut, budding nipples were like cherries. And her ever-so-slightly swelling belly was like the fields on which the cherries grew, and her marvelously curved ass cheeks were like ripe melons.
He heard a voice then-a voice that matched the rest of the beautiful creature. "I'm Melanie Carson," she was saying, "and I'm very glad to meet you."
She was glad to meet him! Not half so glad, honey, he thought, as I am to meet you. And they were going to get to know each other better, too, now weren't they?
But not, Tod realized, if he followed orders and turned down the beautiful little cunt's T.V. script. He puzzled again over what was on Goren's mind. It certainly wasn't fucking the girl-he'd never succeed in that if he didn't accept the trash she'd written. What then? And why? Either, he reasoned, Goren had lost every vestige of his virility, or he hadn't yet laid eyes on the lovely lady. Knowing Goren, he bet on the latter.
Of course, he might meet her sometime, and then-too bad, Goren, he thought. First come, first served.
He sensed that the gorgeous blonde was staring at him, those wide blue eyes fixed innocently on his own bloodshot ones. He passed his hand over his head, smoothing a few strands of hair over the bald spot there. Damn it, he should have put his jacket on, instead of sitting here in his shirt sleeves. Well, it was too late to do anything about it-and maybe Mrs. Carson thought he looked like a film producer-maybe she was even impressed.
She leaned forward, waiting for Tod to say something. He stalled, searching for something noncommittal. He leaned across the desk and cleared his throat. "Mrs. Carson," he said, his voice low, sincere. "I must say I've never seen anything quite like the script you've written."
Melanie chirped with pleasure. "Oh, did you like it, Mr. Novak?"
He stalled again, fumbled for his cigarettes, found them, held them out to Melanie. She shook her head, and Tod took one himself, lighting it with trembling fingers. "Call me Tod," he said.
"Tod!" Melanie breathed the word in a low seductive voice that sent little prickles crawling up his spine. "Did you really like it, Tod?"
He tried to think of an answer, settled for a question. "May I call you Melanie?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, Tod, of course." She waited for him to say something more, flashing him a dazzling smile that made the sharp, strong beam of sunlight coming through the window seem cold and feeble.
Tod dragged on his cigarette, then abruptly-snuffed it out. He caught sight of the memo on his desk, the memo from Michael Goren. "The hatchet job is up to you," it said. "Make it gentle. But make it quick and make it stick!"
He lit another cigarette. There was no mistaking what Goren wanted. And if Goren didn't get it-Tod shuddered. This would be one hell of a time to lose his job.
Still, there'd be severance pay and unemployment insurance, too. And if nothing turned up, well, the hell with it, he might really take off for the South Seas, taking Melanie with him-she'd look terrific in a bikini, he thoughts-might even shoot her in his documentary ... or shoot a real good porn film with her as star.
Melanie was still waiting for an answer to her question, a little nervous now, running her sharp little pointed tongue over her moist red lips, staring wide-eyed at the older man. 'Did you really like it, Tod?" she repeated the question again.
He leaned forward again, nervously running his own tongue over his own lips. "Melanie," he said at last, "let me say that I, personally-that I, personally, have never been quite so impressed-impressed in just such a way, that is-as I was by your work. It's different. The property is truly different, from anything Goren Communications has ever considered putting on T.V."
Melanie gave a little sigh of relief, then leaned back in her chair, relaxed and happy, as she pondered his words. "Oh, thank you, Tod," she said. And then a slight frown, a tiny wrinkle of worry, puckered her smooth, lovely brow. "Tod," she said, "you said that you, personally...."
"Yes, Melanie."
"Well, 'you personally' means that that's only your opinion, doesn't it? What I mean is, hasn't anyone else read my script? Hasn't Mr. Goren?"
Tod glanced at the memo again. "Yes," he said. "I think I can truthfully say that Mr. Goren has read your script."
Melanie's eyes danced. "What did he think of it?" she asked.
"Why," Tod said, "Mr. Goren shares my opinion of your script. He most certainly does."
"Oh, Tod!" Melanie squealed. "Isn't that wonderful?"
Tod Novak gave her a slightly sick smile. "Wonderful," he agreed.
Melanie smoothed the cheery-yellow linen of her skirt down over her lush golden thighs, while Tod stared at her huge young tits open-mouthed. "Tod," she said, looking up, "when will my script be put into studio production?"
He felt a cold, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, tried to swallow, and choked. Melanie looked up anxiously, and he wondered whether it was out of concern for him, or for her script. "When?" he repeated. "When?"
"Yes," Melanie said, a tiny trace of over-anxiety flawing her composure. "When will it be produced for T.V.?"
"I can't tell you that right now," Tod said, still smiling sickly. "You see, much as we like your script, Melanie-and we do like it:-it still does need some work. You'll have to make certain changes in it; all of us here at Goren Communications agree about that."
"What changes?" Melanie demanded.
Tod shuffled through the pages on his desk. "Well, here now," he said. "Here you've got your heroine...." He racked his brain for her name, couldn't think of it, and repeated, lamely, "your heroine...."
"Penelope Marlina Malmaison," Melanie prompted.
"Well, yes now. But you see, that's not a common name. At least not in Mississippi where you've set your story. You'll have to change the name to something simpler."
"But I like the name," Melanie protested.
"Well, yes, but ... well, there's also the problem of your setting. I think that should be changed too. You see, it all takes place in Mississippi, in a small town in the delta, actually." , "Is there anything wrong with the Mississippi?" Melanie asked. "I mean, I come from the south. Is there something wrong with me?"
"Not a thing," Tod assured her. "Not one solitary thing!"
"Well, then...?"
"It would be un-likely," he explained patiently, "that the events you describe-well, it's pretty hard to believe that you've got a runaway French countess living there in sin with a black writer, now isn't it?"
Melanie tossed her head. "Not for me."
"But it would be for our viewers," Tod said sighing. "That's the point I'm trying to make."
A sudden smile lit Melanie's face. "Oh, I see," she said. "You have to think about the viewers."
Tod groaned. "Yes, you have to think about your viewers."
"That makes everything different," Melanie said. "I guess I'd never thought about that, before." She picked up a pencil from the desk and chewed thoughtfully on the end of it. "What do you think I should do?" she asked.
"Why, that's very simple," Tod said graciously. "Let me help you revise your manuscript."
Melanie considered the idea. "Would that be fair?" she asked. "I mean, it's supposed to be my T.V. series, isn't it? It's going to have my name on it, and everything."
"Yes," Tod said. "It's going to have your name on it. I can see it now." Damn it! What the hell had she called the thing, anyway? He uttered a low, gutteral sound, hoping she wouldn't notice, then spoke up in a loud clear voice," ... by Melanie Carson."
"Well, if the credits are going to say 'By Melanie Carson' and if you help me write it...."
"Revise," Tod corrected.
"All right, 'revise' it then, isn't it really your book? And shouldn't your name be on it, and not mine?"
"Not at all," Tod explained patiently. "That's what producers are supposed to do. Guide the script writers! I"
"You mean you 'revise' other people's T.V. scripts too?" Melanie asked, incredulous.
"Of course." '
"Everyone's?"
"Well," Ted said, "not everyone's. But we help with the revision for many screen writers." He rested his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, and stared at Melanie. "Have you ever heard of Allan Pierce?" he asked.
"Allan Pierce!" Melanie thrilled out his name. "Why, he's the greatest film writer I've ever seen. Don't you think so, Tod?"
He smiled cynically. God! So she thought Allan Pierce was a writer! That hack! He should have expected it, though, from her own junk. "I think," he said cautiously, "that Allan Pierce is very good."
"Do you know him? Personally, I mean?" Melanie asked rapturously.
"Of course I do. I worked with Allan when he first came to Goren Communications. I helped him revise his first TV script, just the way I'd like to help you. And I think," he added, "that the name Melanie Carson will some day be as well known as the name Allan Pierce."
The older man grinned as Melanie hugged herself in ecstasy. You're a lewd, low bastard, he told himself. But this hot little cunt, he also told himself, was worth it. "Now," he said briskly, "down to business. Will you be staying long in Hollywood?"
"Oh, yes."
"And will you have the time to work with me-for us to work together?" Melanie nodded. "It's hard work." he warned.
"I don't mind. I don't mind at all."
"And long hours, too. Nights, Melanie? Nights and weekends?"
"I wouldn't even mind that, Tod," she assured him. A little cloud flicked across her beautiful face. "But what about you? Won't you mind?"
He ran his tongue lasciviously over his lips, glancing lewdly at her huge, rounded tits, her little nipples straining under the stretched, taut cloth of her blouse, at the wasp-like waist, the lush, voluptuous ass just made for fucking. "No," he said, licking his lips again. "I won't mind, Melanie. I won't mind at all."
He rose to his feet, and Melanie rose, too. "We'll want to get started as soon as possible," he told her, as they walked to the door. "But maybe, tonight, you'd like to go to a cocktail party with me. Goren Communications is giving it." Tod paused for greater effect. " ... Goren Communications is giving it to celebrate the syndication of Allan Pierce's last TV series."
"Ooooooooh! Tod! A party for Allan Pierce! Ooooooh, Tod!"
"Okay, Melanie. I take it you'll go with me."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she said.
"I'll pick you up at your hotel ... Where did you say you were staying?" He made a note of the room number and the telephone number there. "Around seven all right?"
Melanie nodded, and turned to go, while Tod watched the delicious way her lusciously formed ass cheeks swayed as she walked down the hall. Everything was going fine, he thought. And it wouldn't be long before he had Melanie Carson just where he wanted her.
CHAPTER FOUR
High up in the Hollywood hills, the party was in full swing when Tod Novak arrived with Melanie Carson. He stood in the doorway with her for a few moments, basking in the glory reflected from being with the most beautiful cunt in the room, gloating as he heard the gasps of admiration from the men, the jealous murmurs of the women. Then he took her by the elbow and steered her to the bar.
At Tod's question as to what she wanted, Melanie chose "one of those." It turned out to be a champagne cocktail, cool and exhilarating, and she giggled as the bubbles bounced against her nose. She munched tiny canapes, too-dabs of caviar or foie gras on toast, little pastry shells filled with spicy mixtures of crab or lobster.
Nibbling on a doll-sized sandwich, Melanie looked around her. She'd never been in a mansion before, never seen anything so plush, so luxurious. The place was dimly lit, which gave an added aura of splendor to the assembly. She noticed the paintings on the wall-queer daubs, she thought, of paint smeared across huge squares of canvas, for the most part. But there was one that seemed to be nothing but a huge picture of a can of soup. "What's that?" Melanie asked, giggling again.
"It's a Warhol," Tod whispered.
"A what?"
"A Warhol."
"It looks to me like a can of Campbell's soup," Melanie said.
The older man nibbled gently on the back of her neck. "Melanie darling," he said, "you're wonderfully refreshing!" He took her by the elbow again, and swept her over to a group of people who clustered together, chattering like magpies. "I want you to meet my friends," he said.
The men were all in dinner jackets, Melanie observed with excitement; there was something so glamorous about dinner jackets. And the women wore fabulous creations of silk and lace, and seemed swathed in mink. She glanced down at her own simple cocktail dress. It hugged her curves like a racing car, and back home, it was considered daring. David had been furious the first time he'd seen her in it, and had forbidden her to wear it. "My God!" he'd bellowed. "It isn't even decent. I'm not taking you anywhere like that, with your big tits popping out all over...." He had spun her around, seen the provocative half moons of her firm young ass cheeks almost bursting through the tightly-stretched material. "My God! You can see everything you own!"
But here, among the others, Melanie felt ill at ease, provincial. Nervously she asked Tod, "Do I look all right?"
"You look gorgeous," he said.
"Do I really?" she asked, dubious. "I picked this up on sale, you know." Her round blue eyes scanned her escort's, anxiously; as soon as she got some money, she vowed, she would buy herself a whole wardrobe of really sophisticated clothes. She wondered what her husband, David, would say when he saw them.
Novak was introducing her to the little group, now, and in her excitement she forgot about everything else. This woman was a novelist, that man a critic; another man a famous agent. "And Melanie here," she heard Tod say, "has just submitted a remarkable-a truly remarkable-screen treatment to Goren Communications."
They were discussing a new T.V. series-Melanie didn't quite catch the name of it-and the woman suddenly said, "What did you think of it, Mrs. Carson?"
Melanie had never seen it, and hadn't the courage to say so. "Why," she lied, "I thought it was wonderful. I really did!"
The woman gave a derisive hoot of laughter. "It's good to know that someone thinks so. We'd just decided it was the stinker of the century."
Melanie blushed, and felt tears of humiliation well up. And then Tod said, "Shall we go over there? I want you to meet Tippi Heather, the movie actress."
She went willingly and accepted another cocktail from a butler who glided by, and sipped it slowly. It made her feel more comfortable, here in this crowd of total strangers.
They drifted to still another group of people, and Melanie accepted still another drink. The champagne was beginning to go to her head, and the room whirled a little around her. The people she met blurred, one into another, names and faces-occupations and accomplishments-all floating in one gigantic mixture.
Occasionally Tod reached into the grabbag and pulled out a prize. The man who won this year's Emmy award, the man who would surely win next year's, the aging film actor so well known for his sexual exploits. Melanie gasped, open-mouthed in wonder at them all.
From time to time she felt that others were laughing at her, as when she heard a young actress compared to Carole Lombard and asked to be introduced to the latter. Tod had put his arm around Melanie, hugged her, asked, "Isn't she delicious?" before he explained that Carole Lombard had died "a long long time ago."
"Oh that Carole Lombard," Melanie said airily, taking another glass of champagne while everyone laughed again.
Well, if Carole Lombard wasn't at this silly party, Melanie thought, Allan Pierce was. And she wanted to meet him. Wasn't he the one the party was for, after all? Wasn't he the one she'd come to see? She nudged Tod and whispered to him. His eyes searched the room, then he nodded. "He's over there," he said. "Come on."
They pushed their way through the crowd, to a corner near the window where Allan Pierce sat, surrounded by several of the people Melanie had already met, as well as several she didn't recognize. Tod elbowed them aside, leading her directly to the famous author. "Allan," he said, "I want yon to meet Melanie Carson. She's one of your greatest admirers."
Pierce looked up and a lecherous grin spread across his coarse, bloated features. "And my most beautiful, too," he said, running his eyes lewdly over her voluptuous tits.
"Allan," Tod said, clapping him on the shoulder, "that's the only true word I've ever heard you speak!" He went on to tell him about Melanie-that she, too, was a T.V. writer, that her first script:-"It's most unusual," he said to describe it;-was being considered by Goren Communications, and that he, Tod Novak, was going to help with the revision of it. He made a point of repeating the fact:-"I'm doing the revision, Allan," and Melanie wondered why. But she was too occupied with thoughts of Allan Pierce to pay further attention to what Tod had said.
He was on his feet now, holding Melanie's own small white hand between his ham-like fists. "Let me show her around a little, Tod," he demanded. "I'll bring her back, good as new."
"Like hell you will," Tod muttered, pulling Melanie away. "Allan, my boy," he cracked, "I don't let rabbits guard my lettuce patch." He guided her off then, through the crowd once more, and seated himself beside her on a long, white sofa. "Well," he asked, "what do you think of Allan Pierce?"
Before Melanie could answer, he darted away, to bring back more champagne, and plates of hors d'oeuvres. He placed them, on the table in front of the sofa, then sat down beside her again.
She picked tip her glass and held it high. "I want to drink to Allan Pierce," she said.
Tod's mouth curled up in an expression of distaste. "Not to that son of a bitch," he said. "Jesus!"
"To Allan Pierce!" Melanie said, staunchly. She finished the drink quickly, feeling a little giddy. "Why do you call him that?" she asked.
"Look, Melanie, for Allan Pierce, that's a compliment."
Melanie reached for a curl of smoked salmon, impaled on a toothpick. "I liked him," she said. "And I think," she added slyly, "that he liked me."
"Yeah," Tod said with a sigh. "He liked you."
"Do you think I'll see him again?"
"You'll have trouble getting rid of him." He munched on a handful of salted almonds, throwing them up in the air, snapping at them, catching them in his mouth like a trained dog in a circus. He looked up. "Speak of the devil," he said.
Melanie turned to see Allan Pierce lurching unsteadily across the room, the champagine sloshing over the sides of his glass, trickling down the front of his jacket. He stumbled slightly, just in front of Melanie, and champagne flowed onto her dress. "For Christ's sake," Tod snapped, but Melanie gave Allan a bright smile, as if he could do no wrong.
He sat down beside her, inching along the couch until his knee pressed against hers, their thighs touched. Tod signaled him to move away, but she had no intention of doing so. He snapped at Pierce, "Cut it out."
"Your property, Tod?" Allan said, laughing.
"My property." Tod was deadly serious.
Pierce laughed again, and pulled a couple of crumpled cigarettes from his pocket. He offered one to Melanie, who shook her head, saying, "I don't smoke," then at once regretted her words. God, they'd think she was just a country bumpkin! How dumb could she get? She smiled again at Pierce. "I didn't smoke," she said, "but I do now."
"You still don't," Tod said angrily, snatching at it. "For Christ's sake, Allan. She's just a kid." The young blonde pulled herself up haughtily. "I am not a kid," she said, taking the cigarette, letting Pierce light it for her. It had a funny taste, a sweet taste, which surprised her; a sweet smell, too. She watched Allan Pierce as he lit the other cigarette, inhaled deeply, held the smoke in his lungs a long time before he expelled it. She had never seen anyone smoke that way before, but she followed his example, dragging deeply. She shot a defiant look at her escort, saw that his face was flushed with anger.
"Let me have it, Melanie," he ordered. He glared again at Pierce, growling, "You lousy bastard."
"Really, Tod!" Melanie said, while Allan Pierce laughed lewdly.
"Do you know what you're smoking, Melanie?" Tod asked.
She shrugged. "It's a cigarette, isn't it?"
"Yes," he said, mimicking her voice. "It's a cigarette. But it's a special kind of cigarette. It's called a joint, and what you're smoking is marijuana, and you're going to get stoned on it, and then God knows what's going to happen to you."
"Let's find out, Tod," Allan Pierce said with a leer at the young blonde. "Shall we?"
Melanie smiled back, determined to show her sophistication, and took another drag on the cigarette. It relaxed her even more then the champagne had, made her feel even happier. It gave her the strange sensation, too, that everything was beautiful-just beautiful-and she seemed to drift into a world of soft lights and sweet music and lovely colors.
She felt Allan Pierce's knee against hers again, and now it sent little chills of excitement wandering up her inner thighs, just as Tod's arm around her shoulder did to her tits. She let her eyes rove around the room, taking in everything ; the crowd had thinned out, much of the din had died down.
Over near the wall, she noticed a couple locked in a tight embrace, their arms entwined, their bodies pressed close, the soft, resilient flesh of the woman's firm, rounded breasts buried against the man's chest. They kissed, his lips mashed against hers, and Melanie watched, fascinated, as they sucked and rolled their tongues in each other's mouths, their cheeks working madly, and she thought how wicked it was to do such things right out in public.
They began to rock against one another now, their bodies gyrating lewdly, as if fucking, and then the man's hand slipped down to the woman's sensuously undulating ass, grasped one rounded cheek, while one finger worked its way into the cloth-covered crevice between them and ran teasingly up and down in it. The girl's rounded bottom began to rotate, from side to side at first, and then in a circular motion, as she ground her hot little cunt hard against his cock.
The lewd scene sent a little shock of embarrassment through Melanie. She had never seen such wantonness before. And then, moments later, she felt a strange, tiny thrill of excitement pulse through her own pussy. The obscenity she witnessed seemed to rouse an aching hunger up inside her belly, make her flesh throb and tingle. She felt a little trickle of moisture seep down between her legs from her suddenly warming, pulsating pussy, felt sensations of pleasure stir in her tits as her nipples hardened into tight, taut erections.
She seemed to hear again Tod's admonition, "God knows what's going to happen to you," and a warning voice made itself heard, even in her marijuana-fogged brain, urging her to leave now, to hurry away from her.
But that interior, imagined voice was drowned out by the reality of Allan's very real one rasping in her ear, "You're shocked at that guy almost fucking that chick right in public, aren't you?"
His mocking tone infuriated her. He was treating her like an infant! She would show him, she thought in her pot-induced bravado. "No," she announced, tossing her head haughtily. "Not at all. There's nothing much I haven't seen."
"Then perhaps you'd be interested in a real show," Allan said. He rose, took Melanie by the arm, and they crossed the room together, followed by Tod a step or two behind. They made their way down a long, carpeted corridor and Allan stopped at a door under which a narrow ribbon of moonlight spilled. He motioned to the others to be quiet, and turned the handle.
In the pale light that bathed the room, Melanie saw the figure of the voluptuous, well-known actress who had been introduced to her earlier in the evening as Tippi Heather, lying completely nude on a huge bed. Her legs were spread wide to show her openly split cunt, and a man knelt between them, running his lips and tongue moistly over her body, stopping to suck her heavily heaving tits, teasing the quivering buds of her nipples into hard little buttons, moving on to trace the narrow valley between the two firmly throbbing mounds, to flick against the soft, sensitive skin of her belly.
The naked young actress writhed ecstatically beneath his darting tongue while little moans of pleasure escaped her lips. Her face was contorted with lust, her mouth hanging slack in mindless rapture. With a sudden movement, she raised her two hands to the man's head, tangled her long, slim fingers in his hair, then pulled his mouth to hers. He covered her lips hungrily, swept his tongue forward again to press between them, to thrust it deep into her throat.
A surge of passion crashed like a monstrous breaking wave, through Melanie's own hotly quivering body, as through pot-hazed eyes she watched the obscene spectacle. She felt, rather than saw the presence of Allan Pierce beside her, knew that he was staring at her as he measured the mounting excitement in her cunt. She tried futilely to quench it, instead felt the prickling spasms of pleasure spread upward through her tits, ripple up from her now fiery loins to her belly. She knew that Pierce waited expectantly for some sign of response from her to his own lustful desire. She shuddered, afraid of him and of herself. Why was she standing there, watching this lewd, cunt-flooding scene? What kept her here, prevented her turning, running away from those nakedly writhing bodies on the bed.
She sought desperately for something to say to hide her shock, conceal her own arousal, and could only stammer lamely, "Who is that man?"
Allan bent his head to hers, and his tongue flashed out to probe caressingly her ear-she jumped at the electrifying contact-while he whispered, "Don't you recognize our famous-or is it infamous-star of 'Streets of Chicago'? That's Phillip Dresden."
Now Dresden's hands roamed the length of the nakedly stripped young T.V. actress' lovely body, grasped and kneaded the succulent mounds of her tits, slipped teasingly over the soft, smooth swell of her belly, on down to her hips. As he slid them beneath the girl's undulating ass-cheeks, Melanie felt the soft pressure of Allan's hands stroking her own firmly curved ass. He moved close to her now, pressing the length of his body into her back, and she felt the stiffness of his cock growing under his pants. His hands slid around to her belly, drawing her ass tightly back against his loins and she felt the thickness of his swelling cock grinding through her dress into the soft crevice of her buttocks, grating hotly against the sensitive little pucker of her ass-hole.
Melanie gasped with involuntary pleasure at this lewd touch, then gasped again as the famous T.V. star on the bed, his rigid, thick cock standing out straight from his body now, placed his hands on Tippi Heather's soft inner thighs, spread her legs even wider, then parted the soft, silky pelt of pussy hairs to expose the long narrow slit of her wetly gaping cunt.
He flicked his wrist and his middle finger fucked deep in between her widespread legs, deep into the moistly throbbing little cunt passage, twisting and turning there while the woman moaned again in ecstasy, squirming beneath the maddening excitement, the lascivious finger-fucking of her openly spread pussy.
She bucked and thrashed shamelessly beneath his hotly plunging finger, and then her own hand shot out to grasp the thick, rigid pole of his cock, sliding up and down the hardened fleshy staff, running one fingernail teasingly along the sensitive under side of it. Then, suddenly as she had grasped his cock she released it, once again tangling her hands in the star's hair. This time she grunted loudly and pulled his head downward, towards her now raging cunt, snapped it forward until his mouth was only inches from the nakedly spread split of her wetly glistening pussy lips.
With a flick of his wrist as quick as the first, Dresden withdrew his finger from the tight, pink little hole of her cunt, and braced his palms against her inner thighs, while he rested his thumbs on the soft, fleshy edges of her pussy. With a slow, maddening movement, he drew the soft blonde-fringed lips apart, exposing the thin, hotly pulsing slit to Melanie's unbelieving eyes.
He pressed his head eagerly forward then, burying the full length of his long, slippery tongue in the hotly throbbing walls of the woman's pussy. She gasped at the lewd inward fuck, then let out a long, deep sigh as the male star withdrew his tongue to lick her tender, throbbing clitoris, teasing the tender little bud into a tautly quivering erection. His lips closed over the miniature cock, sucking on it, drawing the soft warm folds deep inside his mouth, while she groaned in insanely mounting excitement. His tongue worked its way up and down the thin, wetly flooding slit and the woman, still groaning in her mad passion, began to grind her hips and naked ass-cheeks deep into the mattress on which she lay.
Behind Melanie, Allan Pierce pressed his own cock tight against the two half moons of her provocatively sensuous buttocks, ground the heavily bulging hardness into the narrow cloth-covered crevice up between the hotly trembling cheeks. She heard the metallic sound of his zipper opening, felt the hardened flesh spring out from his gaping fly, felt him rotate his hips tighter up against her ass. Then, sudden shudders of pure delight racked Melanie's passion-tortured body.
Her treacherous, independently moving ass-cheeks pushed back against Pierce's loins, grinding from side to side now, beginning to circle lewdly against the stiff, fleshy shaft burrowing into the tight little crevice of her buttocks. She breathed heavily, gasping out her pleasure in time to the gasps and moans of the famous Tippi Heather squirming under the equally famous Phillip Dresden's lewdly lashing tongue.
Like the woman on the bed, Melanie seemed dazed, powerless, under some evil spell. In her lust-incited trance, her drugged stupor, she increased her movements, gyrating madly against Pierce's cock, thrilling to the pressure of its cum-bloated head up between her ass-cheeks. The woman on the bed jerked and bucked and thrashed, her passion-swollen tits heaving obscenely as Dresden pushed her knees up hard back against her lewdly dancing nipples and swirled his tongue deep up into her hot, moist pussy split.
Then, as Melanie still stared at the nakedly writhing figures on the bed, a wail of raw, animal lust split the air, and Tippi Heather's legs and arms jerked out spasmodically, convulsively, like a puppet's on a string, her cunt splitting wider still as she pulled Dresden's head deeper into her hungrily throbbing little pussy-hole, her nakedly spread body quivering uncontrollably.
The nakedly churning blonde T.V. star on the bed began to moan and squeal incessantly now, while Melanie, staring wide-eyed in shocked delight, felt her breath catch in her throat. The hotly jerking woman was going to cum ... she was going to cum! She began a low, husky chant that welled up from deep in her throat, and then her hips bucked abandonedly as she tensed in her orgiastic climax, seemed suspended like a particle in space, oblivious to all but the spasms of pleasure that stabbed through her wildly grinding cunt and then, with another loud wail, she seemed to explode outward, her legs splaying out obscenely, her arms dropping to her sides as she fell back, drained and spent, against the bed.
Melanie felt Allan Pierce grinding his lust-hardened cock against her dress-covered ass-cheeks in a frenzy now, felt her own passion mount explosively, too, her body stretched to a quivering tautness, while the room and the people in it seemed to whirl around her. Then, as if there were a loud crash, a blinding streak of light that brought her back from the abyss on which she tottered, she felt Tod Novak's huge, rough hand grasp her shoulder harshly, his fingers dig into the softness of her flesh, heard his voice like a clap of thunder as he bellowed, "Pierce, you bastard! What the hell are you doing to the girl?"
His hand shot out to crack against Allan Pierce's jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Then he spun Melanie around, picked her up by the shoulders, shook her savagely. "What the Hell are you doing?" he shouted.
"I ... I...." Melanie stammered, too frightened to say more.
"You're getting out of here," Tod informed her. "With me." He curled his fingers tight around her wrist-Melanie gave a little scream of pain-and dragged her from the room and down the hall. Somewhere he found her coat, somehow draped it over her shoulders. And then Melanie found herself outside, in the cool night air of Hollywood. As they waited for a taxi, she looked up at the second floor of the mansion where she had witnessed Tippi Heather getting her pussy licked to cumming.
The lights there were still glowing and in her pot-hazed mind, she could picture other men now, their long hard cocks jutting out from their loins, crawling up between the legs of the baeutiful young T.V. star and fucking her crazy ... time after time after time....
CHAPTER FIVE
The ride down to Wilshire Boulevard from out of the Hollywood Hills was made in silence. Melanie huddled in the corner of the taxi, staring at the dark hulks of buildings lit occasionally by small points of light shining from the windows, at the bright reds and greens and blues of the neon signs that spelled out "MacDonald's" and told the time and the weather; the others that sent enormous smoke rings curling into the atmosphere. Earlier-and up in the hills-Hollywood had been smooth, sophisticated, glamorous. Now it seemed cheap, tawdry like anywhere else. And the young girl herself felt curiously depressed. The grass, which had made her float like a feather before, was wearing off now, and she felt as if she bumped along the ground while the taxi crawled through the dark, late-night streets.
As the marijuana-induced haze that had beclouded her brain lifted, a feeling of incipient panic gnawed at her. My God! Had it really happened? Had she really watched a famous young T.V. actress that played such innocent parts on the screen actually get her pussy licked to ramming? Her mind dwelt on the shocking scenes of cunt-flooding depravity she had witnessed, back there at the huge mansion. That sweet young actress, Tippi Heather, letting Phil Dresden do that-that awful, perverted thing with his tongue to her nakedly spread cunt! God! Melanie had read about women who let men-well, suck them, suck them there up between their thighs. She had known things like that happened sometimes, and yes, she'd even been glad she'd known about it because you had to know an awful lot if you wanted to be a T.V. writer.
A sudden shudder of self-loathing shot through her, and she seemed to still feel Allan Pierce's cock pressed close to her, his hands lewdly pawing her thighs, her hips, her buttocks; his huge, fleshy hardness buried in the narrow crevice between the lewdly responding cheeks of her ass. Oh, dear God! Men like Allan Pierce were evil, perverted even!
But what about her? Wasn't she just as evil, just as disgusting? Hadn't she watched the girl getting tongue-fucked silly along with Allan, no more able, no more willing to tear herself away than he was? And hadn't she let him-yes, let him-push his cock up between the cheeks of her ass? And she'd been excited by it, too. She hadn't wanted it to stop. No, not ever. Oh, God! She had wanted him to fuck her while they watched! How could she, how could she want to cheat on David?
Tears of shame and humiliation welled up in her eyes, and she quickly brushed them aside as she stifled a sob. What did all these famous people think of her? What did Tod Novak think of her shamlessly grinding her pussy back against Allan Pierce's cock that way?
She stole a glance at him, saw that his jaw was set in a hard, rigid line, that he stared straight ahead. She waited, hoping he would speak, but he said nothing, so she said nothing to him. Her fingers trembled and her heart began to race, and once again there was a cold, clammy spot somewhere in her stomach where shame mixed with her terrible sense of forboding. Nervously, she tapped her fingernails against her tiny gold wedding ring, drumming a weird, syncopated rhythm, until the older man turned to give her a furious look.
Oh, God! he must hate her! The idea gnawed at her like an aching tooth, and, as if it were an aching tooth, she worried it, prodding, probing.
Everything had been so perfectly wonderful, just a short time before. Perfectly wonderful! She was on her way to success, to fame, to fortune. She was going to be a great T.V. screen writer, one of the greatest in the whole world, and all her dreams were going to come true. She was going to show her husband that she really could do it! And it was Tod Novak who was going to make them come true. Now he was so furious, he hated her so much, he wouldn't even speak to her. She rested her head on the cool pane of the window glass, and a groan of utter misery escaped her lips.
Novak, sitting in the opposite corner, heard the groan with a twinge of sadistic pleasure. She was beginning to have her regrets about grinding that beautiful young ass of hers back against Allan Pierce's cock. And that was just the way he wanted it to be.
Wasn't she like Cinderella, going home from the ball? Her coach had turned into a pumpkin-or at least; a yellow cab-and Allan Pierce, her Prince Charming, had turned into the ugly little toad he was. All of which left him, Tod Novak, sitting beside the beautiful bitch in that yellow cab, about to offer her his strong shoulder to cry on. Lovely young Mrs. Melanie Carson, sitting beside him, chewing her fingernails off practically up to her elbows....My God! She'd look like the Venus de Milo without arms if she really did that! And worrying that pretty head of hers about whether or not he hated her.
Everything was going the way he'd known it would, the way it always did. He was pretty clever, he told himself. Pretty clever. He was sorry for only one thing. It had given him great pleasure to punch out that bastard Allan Pierce; it would have given him a hell of a lot, more pleasure if he had kicked the son-of-a-bitch in the balls.
His thoughts raced ahead to the little private party, just for him and this hot little cunt that he'd planned for later. Fucking those big bubbly tits of hers off would give him great pleasure, too. The very thought of it sent hot flames burning through his balls.
He could almost see what it would be like, see her nakedly squirming young cunt spread wide on the bed, begging for what he had to give her. God! She'd been hot as a firecracker watching that hot little Tippi Heather getting her naked pussy licked and his mouth twisted lewdly at the thought of what she would be in a little while. All he had to do was keep his cool and play his cards right. Show her tenderness, understanding, gain her confidence-above all, gain her confidence-and he'd have the kid lying flat on her back like a red-hot whore, her legs spread wide for him to fuck and diddle with as long as he wanted to. He licked his lips. Jees!
The taxi came to a halt in front of a tall, white condominium building somewhere on Wilshire Boulevard, and Novak paid the driver, then turned to Melanie. Her eyes were dry, now, and in the dark, velvety night they shone softly, little beacons leading him on. She pulled her coat up around her chin and peered at Tod over it. "Where are we?" she asked.
"My place," he said in a friendly voice. "Coming up?"
Bewildered, Melanie shook her head. "Aren't you taking me to the hotel?" she asked.
"No. Did you want me to?"
"I thought ... I didn't ... I didn't think you'd ever want to talk to me again," she said.
"And I thought," the older man said with a bluff, hearty laugh, "that you might be hungry. Do you like scrambled eggs?" She nodded and he added, "Then you'll be crazy about mine."
He led her into the lobby, winked broadly at the doorman as he greeted him with "Hi, Ned," then rang for the elevator. Upstairs, he followed Melanie down the corridor, unlocked the door to his apartment and switched on the light. "My pad," he said, ushering her in. "Seems kind of small, after that place we were in."
"Oh, no!" Melanie said. "I think it's very nice." She crossed the room, her ass swaying sensuously, to look at a drawing of a naked woman hanging on the wall. "And I like that, too," she said. "It's a lot nicer than those soup cans." She began to relax a little, her composure returning slowly.
Tod led her to the sofa and suggested, "How about a drink?"
"I guess I could use one," she said, beginning to relax.
"I could too. Now you just make yourself comfortable here, while I go out and rustle up some food. But drinks first!" He went out, and brought back Scotch and soda, glasses, ice. "From the looks of you," he said, "I'd better pour you a stiff one."
Melanie took it gratefully and he dropped to the sofa beside her, took her hand, stared into her wide blue eyes. His face assumed a look of pained surprise, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the way he'd seen Barrymore do once in-what was the name of that movie? He shrugged. It didn't matter; only the results counted here. "Melanie," he said, a quiver in his voice, "you're not afraid of me, are you?"
"Oh, no!" she said. "Why should I be?"
That was not the correct answer! Still, he went on with the lines he had rehearsed. "Oh, God!" he said, dropping his head, covering his face with his hands, just like Barrymore on the late network movie. "You are-you are! I knew you'd never forgive me for getting you mixed up with those hedonistic people!"
"But Tod...!"
"Melanie," he pleaded, peering between his fingers to make sure he wasn't overdoing the bit-no, the naive little blonde was drinking it all in, believing every word-"Melanie, I know you hate me for it. How can you help it?" His voice quivered again, his shoulders shook.
"I ... I ... don't ... hate you, Tod!" she stammered. She didn't hate him! She thought he hated her for letting Al Pierce touch her with his cock the way he had!
Tod looked up, clutching at his heart while his eyes rolled upward. "Can you say that again?" he asked. "Can you, Melanie?"
She reached out to take his hand, to reassure him. "I don't hate you," she said softly. "Really I don't."
He gave her a quick, appraising glance. Ol' producer Novak's script was working, he thought. The young naive little bitch was getting all sentimental. Maybe, though, he'd better give her hot little cunt a booster shot. He picked up the bottle and poured more Scotch into her glass.
She picked it up without a worjl, and began to sip it once more. "Melanie," he said, "you have made me the happiest of men."
Next year the Emmy, he thought, his eyes fixed on her lovely face. Her mouth was moving as she struggled to say something to him. But she couldn't find the words, and her lips quivered and the lewdly expectant man was sure she would burst into tears.
"Don't say it!" he cried, dramatically. "Don't say it, Melanie!"
She shook her head. "I wasn't going to say anything," she said. Tod's face fell. Christ! If he was going to go all out this way playing Romeo maybe, or Abelard or Tristan-God! couldn't she just try to act a little teensy, weensy bit like Juliet or Heloise or Isolde? Couldn't she? He stared at her, and his mouth curled slightly in scorn. No, he thought, she couldn't. So...."How about another drink?" he suggested.
She quickly finished what was in her glass, then held it out for more. He poured it full this time, then sat back and watched her as she drank. She was thoroughly relaxed, now, and just a little drunk. Tod noticed that she had kicked her shoes off-they were under a chair, halfway across the room-saw that her tight! black dress had ridden up her thigh, exposing the satin-soft skin above the tops of her silk stockings. She wriggled a little, and the dress inched higher, until Novak's greedily devouring eyes saw the thin nylon pussy band of her panties snuggled tight against the narrow little slit of her cunt. He leaned forward, brushing his hand casually against her knee, then ran it' teasingly up her leg to her naked thigh.
Melanie felt a stirring of the lewd pleasure that had churned her pussy to a fever pitch earlier as the older man's hand touched the sensitive flesh just below her panties. A little spurt of excitement raced up through her huge young tits, and she felt a lascivious tingle between her thighs. She pressed them close together, fighting off the growing longing there that began to gnaw at her quivering little blonde-furred pussy lips. A few drops of passion juice seeped from them, onto the fringe of soft downy pussy hairs nestled between her legs.
A little cry of warning flashed into her mind, benumbed now by alcohol as it had been before and still slightly was from the marijuana. She must stop her friend, Tod, she thought. This was wrong-as wrong as Pierce's caressing of her ass-cheeks with the tip of his cock earlier had been. She shook her head, puzzled, anxious even, and then she heard the producer's voice, soothing and comforting. This wasn't Allan Pierce, she reminded herself, relieved at the sound. This was Tod Novak. And hadn't she just told Tod she trusted him? She managed a rather crooked smile, and then impulsively accepted the glass he had refilled.
She sipped at it silently, and then, when it was empty, put it down on the table by the couch. Her head felt a little fuzzy, as if it were filled with cotton batting, and she had trouble putting her thoughts into any sequence, any logical order. But that, she admitted to herself with an insight that came only from drink, was about par for the course, as far as she was concerned.
That one clear thought seemed to slip away from her-it was like a balloon escaping a child's hand and sailing off into the sky-and then the fuzzy feelings closed in around her again. Her thoughts were muddied now, as her head whirled, and she seemed to feel the older producer's nearness and it sent little thrills through her now inwardly clenching pussyhole, and then she realized that he had slipped his arm around her neck and that his hand was sliding down into the low-cut neckline of her dress, slipping under it, under the bit of lace and the wisps of nylon of her bra.
He began slowly to stroke the huge round globes of her nakedly cupped tits, running his finger tinglingly over the sensitive surface of her milk-white skin. The young blonde flexed under the relentless assault, arched backwards as he grasped one tiny, throbbing nipple between his thumb and forefinger, massaged the little bud into throbbing hardness. He whispered something in her ear that made her start, it seemed so wicked, then went on, kneading her huge succulent tits between his strong fingers while the flood of excitement and pleasure juices that had washed through her now Unresisting young pussy walls only a few hours earlier renewed itself, mounting to new heights of passion.
Now the older man's other hand crept up her leg again, crawling with lust-provoking slowness, to dip under the hem of her dress, already edged high over her thighs, and then to snake its way under the lacy elastic cuntband of her flimsy nylon panties. With an evergrowing pressure, he parted her close-pressed thighs, and began to tease at the light sprinkling of soft blonde pussy hairs there at the base of her belly.
Melanie gasped at the wicked pleasure Tod Novak's hotly stroking fingers induced in her hungrily demanding cunt; the seep of moisture between her thighs swelled to a flood, soaking the flimsy pussyband of her panties, as she closed her eyes tightly, letting the sweep and roll of pleasure course through her firm young tits. It was so good, she thought. So good. And somehow, it wasn't really evil, because it was Tod Novak, her friend, not lecherous old Allan Pierce whose fingers were sending such deliciously wicked sensations fluttering through her tits and pussy. She leaned back, relaxed again, as the balding T.V. producer continued his maddening ministrations.
Suddenly a little gurgling moan welled from the young married blonde's throat, escaped her half-parted lips, as the heavily breathing older man's middle finger pushed aside the soft golden curls of her pussy hairs and wormed its way up between the moistly pulsing walls of her softly yielding cunt lips. She groaned breathlessly and squirmed her cunt hole down against the impaling finger, her breath coming in sharp, short gasps, as her huge billowing tits quivered and quaked beneath the lewd finger-fucking she was receiving. He began to turn and twist his probing finger teasingly around up inside, expanding her tight little pussy hole with each lewd, slick rotation. The lewd taunting of her now-finger-filled cunt sent waves of fire roaring through her trembling body, white-hot flames licking at her aching, hungry loins. The delicious agony became unbearable, and she mewled with rapture with each new inward fuck of his hotly probing finger.
She slumped back against the couch in her alcohol-marijuana daze, her eyes shut tightly, her mind closed, too, wiped bare of thought or reason. Nothing mattered at all, now, nothing but the insane pleasure emanating from the tingling, lust-driven little hole up between her limply spread thighs.
She felt the balding producer's hand leave her naked tit, twist around behind her, find the zipper of her dress, draw it down slowly, tantalizingly over the length of her body, felt his hand on her shoulder easing the rustling black fabric of her dress down over her firm, ripe tits, over the softly curving swell of her belly, to fall around her hips. His hand reached for her breasts again, wrestled at the flimsy bit of nylon of her bra, struggled to free the succlently huge mounds of flesh encased within it. Melanie struggled against her passion-filled mind, torn between her need to submit to the shattering spasm of pleasure his stroking hands induced in her, and the faint, distant knowledge that it was somehow evil to cheat on her husband this way. But he had made fun of her script, hadn't he? And she just had to show him, didn't she? And then there was the sibilant sound of ripping cloth as Novak tore the restricting garment from her, wadded it into a tiny ball and flung it to the floor.
His head flicked forward now and he fastened his mouth over the small quivering bud of her nipple. His tongue darted out, laving the little protuberance, licking it, teasing it into a stiff little erection. He began to suck on the tender bud, delicately at first, then with increasing pressure, as if it were some sweet, sun-ripened berry from which he must extract the last drop of sweetly flowing juices.
With a soft, wet, sucking sound, the older balding man withdrew his finger from the tight little hole of her wetly throbbing cunt, slipped his hand around her, slid it under her smoothly curved ass-cheeks, lifting her partially off the couch, while his other hand trailed a slow, teasing path from her tits along her soft, unresisting belly, to tug at the sheer nylon of her panties, ease under the elastic waistband, stretch it until it snapped, then slide panties and dress down over her quivering hips and thighs. She jerked back convulsively as a ripple of cold air wafted across her nakedly exposed pussy, then involuntarily relaxed her legs apart again as Novak dropped her panties to the floor.
His middle finger wormed up into the center of her nakedly spread cunt again, to tease thrillingly at the sparsely growing pussy hairs there, then suddenly curled down into the moist, ready hole between her wide-spread thighs. Gently the tip stroked the throbbing little bud of her clitoris, coaxing it into quivering erection, while the young married blonde moaned at the little electric shocks of cunt-flaring pleasure that stabbed through her. Once more he parted the pink, fur-rimmed lips of her naked little pussy and once more his finger fucked deep up into the hotly pulsating tunnel of her cunt and Melanie squirmed and bucked beneath it in wild abandon.
A last little prick of conscience and thought, that she was a married woman, caused her to cringe momentarily in shame at the lewd finger-fucking she was submitting to without a word of protest, and then that was stilled by the delicious pussy-throbbing sensation that flowed throuth her, warming it and sending it racing up through her nakedly bouncing tits.
She heard the metallic sound of a zipper as the older man opened his fly, and then felt the hard, fleshy rod of his cock burst forth, to press against the soft, cool flesh of the outside of one thigh. She moaned, and turned to stare at the hugely jutting hardness. Oh, dear God! It was enormous! He wasn't planning to ... to fuck her! "What are you going to do?" she asked, suddenly terrified.
"What do you think I'm going to do?" Novak growled in a cold calculated voice. Dear God. Was this the man she had trusted and relied on?
'Oh, god, I don't know," Melanie whispered, hotly burning chills of desire cascading up through her finger-filled cunt.
"Oh, yes you do, my dear," Tod said, his voice a sing-song taunt. "I'm going to fuck that hot little pussy of yours silly." His eyes bored into hers, hard as metal, just as impersonal. "You want me to fuck it, don't you, Melanie?" Again the sing-song taunt.
"Oh, no," she moaned, shocked as deeply by his words as she had been earlier by the sight of the couple writhing nakedly together on the bed at the party. "Oh, my God! No! I'm a married woman and I-I've ... n-never ... let anyone else f-fuck me!"
"Oh, yeah! Well you're gonna taste some new cock up in that blonde little cunt of yours now!" Tod mocked her. Then suddenly he grasped her ankles and swung her dangling legs up on the couch. In a moment he was kneeling over her, spreading her thighs wider and wider until she let out a little gasp. Now he grasped his thick cock in his hand, guiding it down towards her still hotly quivering pussy lips now spread defenselessly before him. Melanie screamed in terror. Oh, God! His cock was so big ... so big! She could never take it all inside her. He would split her tight little pussy wide open. She stared, mesmerized by the very size of his cock, then screamed again as he slowly, teasingly parted the soft, silky strands of pussy hairs with the heavily throbbing head of his cum-swollen cock, until he found the tight, elastic opening of her cunt hole. He prodded his huge prick against the soft fleshy lips, parting them as easily as he had parted the hairs of her pussy curls before, then began to buck it up into the tight slippery little tunnel. Melanie felt the tight, protective ring that guarded the open passage up between her wide-held thighs stretch unbearably. My God I He's splitting my cunt, she thought. He really is! And then it seemed that the futilely resisting little membrane suddenly gave way, and she felt the balding man's long, thick cock burrow deep up into her hotly throbbing cunt.
The young blonde groaned, and ground her ass deep into the couch beneath her, in a vain attempt to escape the heavily grunting man's cruel impalement, while his huge cock speared into her like a sword, plunged up to his balls in the soft fleshy sheath between her wide-spread thighs. Her lips began to twitch and tremble in torment, and then in tiny little spasms of lewd, unwanted pleasure. Her velvety little pussy seemed to catch fire, and the white-hot flames licked deep into her belly, subjecting her to a breathtakingly delicious torture.
Now the older man arched his ass backwards, withdrawing the rigidly throbbing pole of his cock, then fucking it back up into the nakedly squirming young woman again. He began to saw back and forth, fucking into her open cunt like a machine-driven piston. She churned and thrashed her tightly gripping cunt hotly around his cock, giving herself completely to the lewd pleasure that coursed through her nakedly jutting tits and pussy. Wicked, wicked, wicked, she told herself; yet at the same time, she knew it was wonderful, knew she never wanted him to stop fucking her like the wild, hot-assed whore she was acting like.
Her face was contorted with passion, now, and little cries of ecstasy escaped her lips. Novak ground in and out, then arched back again, and slid his two hands under the sensuously grinding mounds of her ass-cheeks, raising them at the same time as he slammed his rigid cock deep into her wide-split cunt. Another moan escaped her lips, and then she jerked back convulsively, to wind her long curvaceous legs up around his back. Her hotly throbbing pussy clasped his iron-stiff cock, squeezed and held it, as Melanie Carson, for the first time in her young life, surrendered completely to the lure of the flesh. Suddenly she felt the tantalizing slap of the older man's cum-filled balls against the nakedness of her upturned ass-cheeks. Their silky, furry softness was slapping deliciously against the rhythmically flexing little pucker of her ass hole and sending shivers of lewd delight exploding up through her cock-stuffed cunt above.
Nothing mattered now to the nakedly jerking blonde, not her husband, not the lewd adultery she was committing, nothing but the fire of lust which raged out of control in her hungrily throbbing young cunt. She twisted in wild, cunt-spiralling abandon under Tod Novak's heavily driving cock and then, suddenly, an insane cry of wildly careening ecstasy broke from her lips. "Aaaaagh! I'm cumming ... My hot little pussy's cummmmmming!" Her head rolled from side to side, her mouth hung open in her lewd, adulterous orgasm. And then the warm juices of her cum spewed forth, bursting out from her tightly gripping cunt lips to flow around and over and under Novak's still heavily fucking cock.
Above the wildly screaming little blonde, the older man groaned, fucking her faster and faster, like a lust-maddened animal, his painfully throbbing balls seeming about to burst from the pressure of their load of white, milky cum. Then suddenly, the viscous liquid surged up the full length of his burgeoning prick, squirted forth in hot, powerful streams to fill to the brim the still hotly sucking tunnel of her hungrily devouring little pussy.
Drained of all strength, Melanie collapsed back into the softness of the couch, her legs splayed obscenely to the sides as Tod Novak lifted his ass and slipped his rapidly deflating cock from the wetly glistening hole of her pussy, thin strings of his cum trickling down her naked thighs. He rolled over, then stretched out his hand to extinguish the dimly-glowing light. As it flicked off, he noticed that Melanie Carson's eyes were already tightly shut. She had fainted dead away from the wild, cunt-filling fuck he had just thrown into her.
Jesus, he thought. She may not be able to write T.V. script but by God Almighty, she could fuck when her hot little ass really got turned on!!!
CHAPTER SIX
Melanie Carson opened her eyes carefully as she woke with a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, a splitting headache and a lingering sense of shame. She looked around the dimly-lit room in which she lay in bed, not recognizing it at first, not knowing where she was. She switched on the light, and gradually the room took shape, awakening memories in her.
She was, she saw, back in her hotel room at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel where she had checked in only the morning before. Her panties and brassiere were scattered across the covers, her dress crushed and crumpled. She kicked at it with a bare foot, saw that it was ripped, too, wondered when that had happened. She wondered, too, why she was in this room; she could remember nothing but the taxi trip to Tod Novak's apartment, and his lewd fucking of her as she spread her naked legs drunkenly beneath him, her nude little pussy and huge tits thrashing and bucking on the couch. She slithered up in the bed, now, throwing off the quilt that covered her, and saw, with a little gasp of horror, that she was as naked now as she had been the night before.
Oh, God! Had she come home like this! No, no! It wasn't possible! It couldn't be! She would have been arrested, very possibly. Certainly she would have been turned away from the hotel, or worse yet, been fucked in her helpless condition by the night staff. Then, how?
She shook her head, grasping at the little wisps of memory that floated by, like clouds drifting across the face of the moon. Now and again she caught one, pried some secret from it before it dissolved. After awhile, the secrets began to switch themselves into a pattern, to tell a story, form a picture. And when the distraught young blonde could no longer blot it out, she found a way to distract her attention from it. She picked up the telephone by the bed, called room service and ordered breakfast.
She regretted it at once; the thought of food was almost unbearable. But the lewd thought of getting herself fucked bow-legged last night was worse; she would force herself to eat, she decided.
First, though, she'd better get some clothes on, wash her face, too, brush her teeth and comb her hair. She padded into the bathroom and turned on the water in the tub, then turned it off. No time for that. Hurriedly she washed, then dashed back to the bedroom to drag a sheer shortie nightgown and a matching robe from her suitcase. Just then she heard a knock. The door, she was certain, was locked, and so she called, "Come in," as she struggled to slip on her nightgown.
But the door swung wide, and she looked up through the filmy bit of nylon covering her face like a mask to see a waiter pushing in a laden cart while he stared lewdly at her naked tits. She gave a little shriek and bunched the robe in front of her, seeking desperately to hide. The waiter let out an obscene little laugh, staring at the thin triangle of silken pussy hairs at the base of her belly.
Instinctively she dropped the nightgown to cover her nakedly exposed cunt lips, and then, as the waiter laughed again, she saw he was staring at her tits, now completely bared again. She spun around, exposing her naked ass-cheeks to him before she realized what she was doing. Frantically now, her eyes combed the room, futilely searching for some place to hide. Oh, God! Where? Under the bed? And appear a bigger fool than she did now?
She fumbled again with her clothes, trying unsuccessfully to hide behind them, wishing to God the waiter had the common courtesy to avert his eyes. Instead, he continued to stare at the voluptuous young curves, grinning obscenely, until she screamed, "What do you want?"
"You rang, Madam," he said. His voice was that of the well-trained butler, but his face was a mask of evil desire to throw her on the bed and fuck her like Tod Novak had done last night.
"Get out!"
The waiter merely advanced, pushing the cart before him. "Your breakfast, Madame!" he said. He began to rearrange the dishes on the table, taking the silver covers off the plates of bacon and eggs, of toast, setting out the cup and saucer, pouring the coffee for Melanie, who still struggled to pull the nightgown over her head, to wrap the robe around her. As she smoothed the soft folds of cloth down over her thighs at last, the waiter picked up a cube of sugar with a pair of silver tongs and dangled it over the coffee cup. "One lump or two, Madame?" he mocked.
Melanie stared at him angrily. "Never mind," she said. "I can pour my own coffee."
"Oh, now, Madame," the waiter protested, bowing slightly to her. "I am here to service...." he paused, watching the girl as her face turned scarlet. " ... I beg your pardon, Madam, to serve you." His hotly glowing little eyes raked her huge young tits again, his lips twitched in an obscene grin at his lewd joke.
Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Oh, God! The world was filled with wicked people, and she seemed to be at the mercy of most of them. What had she done to deserve this? And what could she do to save herself from the waiter as well as all the others in the awful city?
Nothing, she told herself. Nothing. She would have to play their game to get her name on the screen. And she might as well begin now. "Thank you very much," she said, haughtily. "I think that will be all." She waved her hand, dismissing him.
"Very well, Madame." He backed off towards the door, moving slowly, his eyes roving over her semi-clad body. At the door he paused.
"That will be all," Melanie said again. The waiter stared at her thinly veiled pussy hairs, his hand on the doorknob. Oh, God! Wasn't she supposed to tip him, too? "Wait," she said, and then saw, too late, that he had opened the door, was edging out of the room. Now he stepped back, bowing to her.
"Was there something else, Madame?" he asked, leering expectantly.
Melanie shook her head. "No. Oh, no!"
"Perhaps there was something Madame wanted to me-" The waiter paused, licking his lips suggestively. "-to do to ... I mean, to do for her!"
A shudder of horror racked her body. How vile he was-how utterly vile and filthy. She had to get rid of him at once, before he said another word! She looked around the room, trying to remember where she had left her purse. She had just decided she had left it in the taxi, or else at Tod's place when she spotted it on the dressing table. Trembling, she picked it up, spilling the contents on the floor. She bent over, pulled a couple of bills from the heap of her belongings on the carpet, then flung them at the waiter. "Thank you," she said icily. "Thank you very much."
The waiter glanced at the bills, then pocketed them. "Thank you, Madame," he said. He backed out the door again, pulled it almost shut, then opened it to stick his head in. "If Madame wants me," he said, "for anything...." He grinned evilly again. " ... for anything at all, Madame has only to whistle."
As the door closed at last, Melanie sank, trembling, on the bed. The tears she had managed to hold back now flowed freely down her cheeks and she sobbed aloud. Oh, God! She had been fucked like a whore the night before-like a cheap, common whore. And now all the world was treating her like one. Things had been so different just a few days before. Maybe life hadn't been all excitement and glamour, back with her husband, David, but people respected her. She could hold her head up then, look others straight in the eye. But here-here in sinful Hollywood!
She wiped her eyes on the corner of the sheet, found a kleenex and blew her nose. Then she went into the bathroom and bathed her face in cold water. She felt a little better-not much, but a little-and went back to the bedroom. She glanced at the food on the table, ice-cold now, and walked past it to the window. She yanked the shade up and stared out, her nose pressed to the glass.
The sky was grey and smoggy, the streets below filled. Crowds of people scurried along the sidewalks, jostling, pushing, hurting one another. No one cared for any one but himself out here in Hollywood. People were cruel, selfish, sacrificing everything that was good and kind and decent, just to get ahead. It had seemed such a wonderful life, just the other day. Now it seemed unbearable.
Through the windows of the swank apartment building opposite the hotel, Melanie saw people moving; she was certain that for all their wealth they lived wretched lives, forever seeking diversions to fill the aching voids, the nothingness that was their true lot. Well, it wouldn't be hers, she decided, drawing the shade again. She would be happier back home and that was where she would go.
She sat down at the table, picked up the knife and fork, and took a bite. It tasted terrible and she gagged. Nevertheless, she forced herself to eat everything on the plate, along with a couple of slices of toast. She even spread the toast with marmalade to prove, to the waiter at least, that she'd been hungry. When the table looked convincing enough, she pushed it away, and went over to the easy chair. Curled up in it, her feet tucked underneath her, she was trying to decide what to do next when the telephone rang.
She hesitated a moment before picking it up-what if it were the waiter calling-then reached for it and said, "Hello!"
Tod Novak's voice came over the wire, a little tired, a little husky, and her blood went cold. Oh, God! He would want to see her, wouldn't he?
"How about tonight, kid?" she heard him ask, and then, when she remained silent, "Well?"
He, sighed impatiently. "Tomorrow night, then?" he asked.
"No," Melanie said, almost whispering. "Not tomorrow night, either."
When the T.V. producer spoke again, his voice bristled angrily. "Then when, Mrs. Carson, do you think you could see me?"
A dozen different answers flashed through Melanie's mind-and stuck in her throat. She heard the older man repeat the question, louder, more insistently. "Just when, Mrs. Carson ..?"
"I don't know," she gasped.
"Well," Tod said, "you'd better find out."
The words stung her into fury. Who was Tod Novak to talk to her like that? "Never, Mr. Novak," she said, spitting the words out like bullets from a machine gun. "Never!" She banged the telephone down.
It echoed through the room, but Melanie didn't mind. She had a feeling of relief, the sense that a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, the feeling, she thought, of a prisoner who has just made good his escape. She sighed happily. She had better get dressed, then start to pack. She rose and went to the dressing table, picked up her hair brush and saw, with a start, that her hand was shaking. She put the brush down, went to the table, and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was cold and bitter, but she drank it anyway. It seemed to steady her nerves, so she poured the last of it into her cup.
Just then the phone rang again. She settled the cup in its saucer with a loud clack. God damn! Tod Novak again! She wondered once more whether to answer, decided not to, then found herself helpless before the insistent jangling. She picked up the telephone, braced to hear the balding producer's voice, rasping disagreeably.
The voice that came over the wire, though, had a nasal twang, a lilting southern accent. It was a few seconds before Melanie recognized it as her husband's. Thank God! David!
"Where are you, darling?" she asked, the words spilling out in a torrent. "Are you out here in California? Oh...." and her voice became a breathless wail. "Oh, David!"
"That's right," he answered. "David, your long lost husband. And never mind where I am. Where the hell were you last night?"
Oh, my God! What if David knew? What if he even suspected where she'd been, that she had been fucked out of her mind by an almost complete stranger? Dear God! What should she say? She took a deep breath to steady herself, then stammered, "I ... I-was-I was right here, darling. Right here in the hotel room." Her voice brightened. "I thought you might call, David, so I stayed in, waiting for you."
"And fell asleep, I suppose," her husband said, his voice brittle with sarcasm.
"Why, yes, honey," she lied. "I fell asleep. I was awfully tired."
"So you didn't hear the phone ring?" David continued.
Tiny beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead, little chills of fear crept along her backbone. Don't be like that, darling, she pleaded with him silently. She rubbed the back of her hand across her face. "I guess not," she said. "If I fell asleep I couldn't hear the phone ring, could I?"
"Maybe," David muttered. "Maybe not. But you sure as hell couldn't hear it if you weren't there, now could you?"
"Oh, I was here," Melanie said quickly. "I was here, darling."
"Oh?"
"I swear I was."
"Then maybe you just don't feel like talking to any of us common folk," her husband said bitterly. "We're not good enough for a big T.V. series writer anymore. Not now...."
"Please, David," his almost tearful young wife begged. "Don't say things like that."
But nothing could stop David's cruel tirade. "You're the great Melanie Carson now, aren't you? The great T.V. script writer. People follow you on the street, begging for your autograph. You've got Hollywood contracts. And the money is rolling in, isn't it?"
Suddenly Melanie's temper flared. "Yes," she screamed. "Yes, it is. And for your information, I do have a Hollywood offer, and I do have a contract. And Goren Communications has given me an advance, and they're going to spend thousands of dollars on publicity, and Mr. Goren himself says my series will be next season's top show, and-and--" Melanie stopped, gasping for breath, then suddenly hungup.
She sank back on the bed exhausted. God! Her own husband had been bitchy-just plain bitchy to her-and when she'd needed him most. Well, she'd given him something to think about!
Her words echoed in her mind. Goren Communications had signed a contract-she had an advance! Oh, my God! She'd said that. She really had! She began to feel a little sick again, a little weak. What on earth was she to do?
Her mind reeled, and even now, even here, she seemed to hear her husband's mocking laughter as he learned the truth. And he would learn it, she knew. Oh, dear God! She couldn't face that! She couldn't crawl back home after the way he'd treated her, begging to be forgiven, like a whipped dog with its tail between its legs.
There must be some way out of this trap she'd dug for herself. Frantically she searched for it, her mind seizing at every possibility. But dear God, there didn't seem to be any. Unless, of course, she called Tod Novak again, apologized, even saw him again. And if she saw him-Melanie shuddered, as she thought of him lewdly pawing her tits, stripping her panties and bra off, sucking her nipples, kneading the soft, smooth flesh of her ass and pussy until she succumbed with unwanted, lascivious desire and let him fuck her like she did last night. Oh God! She couldn't spread her legs for him again! She just couldn't!
But she had to. There was no alternative. She began to cry again. She wished desperately for a drink, even thought of ordering one sent up. But she dared not face the lewdly appraising eyes of the room service waiter again. She wished, even more, that she had one of those wonderful pot cigarettes that made everything, even getting her pussy fucked by a stranger, seem so beautiful. But that was as hopeless as getting a drink.
She glanced at her watch, saw it was getting close to noon. If she didn't call soon, Tod Novak would have left the office. With a little cry of anguish, she picked up the telephone and gave the operator the Goren Communications number.
She waited for him to answer, wondering what she could say to him. She was still trying to decide when he picked up the phone. She took a deep breath, then blurted out, "This is Melanie Carson."
In his office, the balding T.V. producer grinned, then leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on his desk. So the little bitch was calling back. This, he thought, was going to be fun. "Yes? Who? I'm sorry, whom did you say was calling?"
"Melanie Carson," she said, her voice close to breaking.
"Oh, yes," he said. Then, "Could you hold on a minute, please? I've got someone on the other line." He put the phone down, lit a cigarette, smoked it almost to the end before he picked up the phone again. "Sorry," he said again. "Yes? Was there something you wanted?"
The trembling young blonde's voice was plaintive now, almost inaudible. "Oh, Tod," she whimpered, "I just wanted to say ... to say..
The lewdly grinning older man broke in once more. "Could you hold on again?" he asked. "There's someone here right now." Again she waited, staring at her watch, seeing time ticked off. Then, "Sorry, Mrs. Carson. You said...." Novak taunted, " ... you had something to say tome?"
"Sorry, Mrs. Carson? There's no reason to be sorry, just because you feel you can never see me again. I'm sorry, too, that you feel that way, but of course I understand."
"Oh, no! Tod, no I That isn't it."
"You're not sorry, Mrs. Carson?" he tormented her.
"Oh, yes Yes! I'm sorry."
"Well," he said, "I guess everything's settled, isn't it?"
He listened for a moment, knowing instinctively that the voluptuous big-titted blonde was chewing her lips in anguish. He wasn't ready to let her off the hook yet. He'd bring the little bitch to her knees! "Is that all, Mrs. Carson?" he asked. "I'm very busy right now."
Melanie went cold with fear. "Don't hang up," she pleaded. "Tod? Tod!"
"I'm really very busy," the smiling producer repeated. "Was there something important you had to say?"
Suddenly the young woman seemed to lose all control. "Oh, God, Tod!" she wailed. "I want to see you again. I have to see you again."
"Can't you just tell me what it is you want?" he asked coldly.
"No, I can't," she wailed. "I've just got to see you!"
"Mmmmmm...." Novak stalled. "That's going to be difficult."
"Please, Tod! Oh, please!"
"When did you want to see me, Mrs. Carson?"
"Right away!"
"I'm awfully busy today," he said. "I'm having lunch with Mr. Goren, and then my afternoon is taken up with the people from the network, and then I have a dinner engagement." He paused, and Melanie pictured him leafing through his engagement book. "Tomorrow's pretty bad, too. All this week is bad-"
"Tonight?" she asked, desperate now. "Would that be all right?"
It was only a few moments before the older man answered, although to Melanie it seemed forever. And then, finally, "Well, yes, I suppose that would be all right. You might come to my apartment if you want to. Just for a short while." And before she could answer, he hung up.
She was nervous as a kitten the rest of the day, going window-shopping when she couldn't stand the hotel room any longer, coming back to the hotel when she could no longer stand the crowds on the streets. She thought of going to a movie, but decided against it, went out once to buy newspapers and magazines, and even a couple of books, then found she couldn't concentrate enough to read them. In the late afternoon she went out to a cocktail lounge she had seen nearby-it seemed perfectly respectable, and she had seen other single women in it-and ordered a double Martini, hoping it would calm her nerves. It helped a little, and she drank a second one.
She had an early dinner in the hotel dining room, then went upstairs to bathe and dress. She did her hair carefully, brushing it into a cap of burnished gold, applied her make-up, even dabbed perfume on her neck, her shoulders, her ears. She was fastening a bracelet around her wrist when the telephone rang once more.
She picked it up, trembling. It was Tod Novak, she was sure, calling off their date. It turned out, though, to be Allan Pierce, and a little thrill of pleasure went through her at the thought of the famous T.V. writer remembering where she was staying. There was something unpleasant, too, that she associated with him-a vague memory of him pressing his thick, hard cock up into the crevice between her ass-cheeks, of watching with him the vile, obscene exhibition of the others at the party as they fucked in lewd abandon. But she quickly dismissed the idea from her mind. It couldn't have been Allan Pierce who had done such things. Not Allan Pierce. It must have been Tod Novak. And here she'd been planning-actually planning-to let him fuck her again, had been about to leave for his apartment. Good God! She would be at his mercy once again!
And now she needn't ever see Tod Novak again. Allan Pierce would certainly help her, if she asked. Her train of thought was interrupted by Pierce's question, repeated, Melanie thought-"I don't want to seem presumptuous, but may I help with the revision of your television script? It would give me great pleasure to do so."
It was a long time before Melanie answered; she heard the humming of the open line, the sound of her heart beating wildly, and then her voice, trembling just a little as she murmured, "Oh, Allan, oh, yes!"
The man's voice came to her then as if from a great distance, proposing that they meet. "Soon. Perhaps tomorrow evening, if it's convenient for you. And be sure to bring your manuscript," he added.
"I will," she managed to whisper before he hung up.
The relieved young blonde felt her knees melt as she sank down on the bed. Everything was going to be all right! Allan would help her with the script and she would get the contract she had boasted about and she wouldn't ever have to see Tod Novak again. Oh! Everything was going to be all right.
She glanced at her watch. It was getting late, and Tod would already be waiting for her. Well, she thought, smiling maliciously, he could wait. He could just wait!
She picked up the telephone, asked for room service, and ordered Scotch and ice and soda sent to her room.
The waiter, a different one, appeared almost at once. He entered, smiling as if he knew that Melanie Carson would be a famous writer. Melanie, in turn, smiled graciously at him, thanked him politely, and tipped him unostentatiously, waiting until he left to pick up her drink.
She sipped it slowly, feeling her spirits rise still higher, hugging herself at her great good luck. Life was going to be beautiful! She finished her drink, poured another. Going to be beautiful? Life was beautiful. She tucked her feet under her, leaning back in the easy chair, staring at the bright lights outside her window. The people scurrying along Hollywood Boulevard now seemed alive, animated, "fun" people. They were smart and sophisticated, as they rushed to theaters and nightclubs. Some were celebrities; others would merely mingle with famous people. Melanie closed her eyes, dreaming of the day when her own name would be on every tongue.
Her thoughts drifted to Allan Pierce, and to her T.V. script. What was he going to say when he read that part in the second scene where Penelope sits watching a colony of ants nibbling bread crumbs all around her, and then the ante turn into famous people and tell her what to do? There was something ... something-Melanie couldn't quite put her finger on it-but something special about that scene. It was at least unusual; she hadn't copied that scene from anybody.
She finished her drink, and took still another to give herself courage. Then she picked up the telephone again and called Tod Novak's apartment.
The phone rang for what seemed forever-she was afraid the producer might have gone up when he answered. His voice was thick and up-when he answered. His voice was thick and surly, and at first he appeared not to remember her at all. He didn't have to be so nasty, she thought. Was it her fault he'd fucked her half-conscious body and behaved so disgracefully the night before? "I just called to tell you," she explained in an arch, prim little voice, when he demanded just what the hell she wanted, "that I won't be able to come to your place tonight."
"Yeah?" the older man snarled. "Surprise, surprise!"
Melanie ignored the sarcasm. "I would, however," she went on, "like to have my television script back."
"Oh, you would, would you?"
"Yes," she said haughtily, "I would."
"Well, try and get it." There was a long pause and then Tod said, "You know what you are, Melanie Carson? You're a naive little bitch, that's what you are. You're the biggest little naive bitch in the whole, wide world." His words trailed off into incoherence.
"And do you know what you are, Tod Novak?" she shouted. "You're drunk, that's what you are."
At the other end of the line, the producer hiccuped slightly. "Yes," he admitted. "But tomorrow I'll be sober."
That's mean, Melanie thought. That's just plain mean. Well, Tod Novak could act like that if he wanted to, but she wasn't going to stoop to his level. She tossed her head, then said, "Mr. Novak, I intend to come to your office tomorrow, to get my script for my new television series."
"What's the matter with coming over to my apartment now to get it?" he asked.
"I prefer to go to your office."
"Scared, aren't you?" Novak sneered. He began to chant "Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat...." in a sing-song voice.
"Really, Tod! Must you act like an infant?"
"Really, Melanie," he mocked, "must you be such a simple little bitch?"
She ignored the question. "I'll be at your office at eleven o'clock," she said.
There was another long silence. Then Tod sang out, in the high-pitched voice of a taunting child, "I'll be waiting for that hot little cunt of yours to walk in the door tomorrow morning."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Melanie made it a point to be on time and it was just before eleven when she, wearing a tailored linen suit that matched her eyes, was shown into Novak's office. He was sitting at his desk, as he'd been the first time she'd seen him, and, like the first time, he didn't bother to look up from the film script he was studying. He did, though, growl, "Sit down," and waved airly towards a chair near him.
Melanie perched gingerly on the edge of it, waiting for the man to speak. Finally, when he went on reading, she said, "Please, Tod, I haven't got all day, you know."
He looked up. "You keep me waiting," he said, reminding her of their date the night before, "I keep you waiting. Turn-about's fair play." His eyes were bleary and blood shot, his face puffy. Melanie thought he had been a lot drunker than she had suspected the night before.
"So you want your television script back?" he said. "Yes, I do."
"Because Allan Pierce's going to help you revise it. Isn't that right?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Yes, that's right," she said. "How did you know?"
"A little-uh-fairy whispered in my ear," he said, a lewd expression on his face. "Now what do you think of that?"
Melanie shrugged. "I don't care," she said. "All right, you know. And now I want my script." She reached across the desk for the pile of paper, now neatly bound in a cardboard folder, at the other edge of the desk.
"Nnn ... nnn ... mustn't touch!" Novak said, snatching up the folder and stuffing it into a drawer. He locked it, then dropped the key into his pocket.
"But you said," Melanie protested.
Novak cut her off. "I didn't say anything," he pointed out. "You did."
She stood up, stamping her foot angrily. "I've had just about enough of you, Tod Novak!" she announced, staring at him.
The T.V. producer leaned across the desk and gave her a shove, pushing her down on the chair. "Sit down," he said. "I want to talk to you." His voice was cold and angry, and it frightened her.
"What about?" she asked in a terrified whisper.
"About Allan Pierce," he said. He moved around the desk, hovering over Melanie now. "Ever think about what's going to happen to you, if you go around playing with him?" His eyes bored into hers, and his lips twitched cruelly. "Ever think about that, kid?"
The young blonde stared at him, her eyes filled with horror, then slowly shook her head. "Well, think about it," Tod said.
She pushed her chair back, away from him, then said indignantly, "Allan Pierce is a great television writer!" She struggled to rise, but the older man pushed her back in the chair.
"Allan Pierce," he said, "is a hack. He is also, Melanie my love, a pervert. Do you know what that is?"
"Of course I know," she snapped. "I've been around a little, too."
"Around people like Allan Pierce?" Tod asked. He stared at her for a long time, and when she made no answer, he went on. "Ever had any man throw you down, pull your panties down, and then suck that sweet little pussy of yours-yes, lick your hot little cunt-while he twisted and tweaked your gorgeous tits? Ever had any man do that, Melanie?"
Her face turned white with shock. "You're a vile, filthy man, talking like that! You're evil, Tod Novak. Evil!" she felt sick, disgusted. She wouldn't listen to him any more, she thought.
And yet she sat there on the edge of the chair, mesmerized by his obscene words. "Do you know what sodomy is, Melanie? Do you?" She stared at him, her mouth agape, her very marrow frozen. "If you don't know," Tod went on, "Allan Pierce will teach you."
"Oh no!"
"Oh yes!" the lewdly grinning producer said. "And as you know Allan is one of those people who believe in what they call 'progressive education.' With him, you'll learn by doing. Ever think of getting fucked in the ass, Mrs. Carson?"
She shook her head. "Well think of it now," he admonished.
She twisted her handkerchief nervously between icy fingers, her eyes darting desperately around the room as she looked for some escape. Good God! This man was some sort of monster, some sort of ... of ... pervert, himself! Otherwise, he wouldn't be saying such awful things to her. Oh, dear God! Why ... why had she come here! And how could she get away?
She stood up, started towards the door, while Tod Novak watched, a cruel smile twisting his lips. Halfway across the room, he called out. "Where are you going, Mrs. Carson?"
"I'm not going to stay here and listen to you any more," she said through her sobs. "Not any more. I'm going home."
Tod Novak's eyes followed her until she reached the door. "And your T.V. script?" he asked, cruelly.
Oh God, how could she have forgotten that? She spun around. "Yes, my script," she pleaded. "May I have it?"
"Not now."
"When?"
"Later," he smiled teasingly. "Why not now?"
Novak shrugged. "Sit down, my dear," he ordered, pointing to the chair near the desk. She shook her head. "No!" she said, her voice cold with fear.
They stood staring at one another, the young blonde's eyes wide, terrified, the older man's breathing harsh, evil and lecherous. Suddenly he whirled, strode across the room and seized her by the shoulders, his fingers digging brutally in the soft, tender flesh.
She squirmed and twisted, trying to escape his powerful hands, but he held her tight. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked coldly. His eyes crawled over her now like little insects-lecherous, lust-filled eyes-and he licked his lips lasciviously, then lewdly slipped his hand under the top of her dress, easing it under the lace of her bra. His huge hand grasped the mound of a tenderly trembling tit, twisting and squeezing it, pinching the sensitive bud of her nipple until she screamed aloud in pain.
She struggled futilely against him, pounding on his chest with tiny clenched fists, and then began to babble hysterically. "You! You're nothing but a monster, a sex-fiend. You dare to call Allan Pierce a pervert!" she half sobbed, half gasped. The tears spilled from her eyes now. "You're as bad as you say Allan is!"
The young wife stopped, gasping for breath, and Novak pushed her away from him, holding her at arm's length. A vicious little smile flickered across his face, and his eyes narrowed evilly. When he spoke, his voice was boastful. "I'm worse!" he said proudly.
He gave her trembling body a shove that sent her reeling across the room. She stumbled and fell against a chair. In a couple of gigantic strides, Novak was beside her, clutching her shoulder again, pulling her to her feet, shaking her violently. Then he pushed her back, into the depths of a leather-covered armchair, while he stared insolently into her small frightened face. "Oh please!" Melanie moaned, her voice quivering with sheer terror. "You're not going to ... to...."
"Fuck you in the ass?" he asked scornfully. The vile expression struck the helpless woman's ears like a blow across the mouth, sending icy shudders of fear and disgust coursing through her body, turning her knees into quivering masses of jelly. She cringed as Novak grinned an amused grin. He shook his head, sneering, "Ass fucking's not my bag. I'll leave that to your friend Allan Pierce."
With a shock of renewed fear, Melanie noticed the bulge in Novak's pants. She shrank back against the chair, cowering against the high back as if she might somehow burrow deep inside it and hide herself. Her body was drained of all strength now, and her heart flailed wildly against her ribs. She closed her eyes and felt the hot tears ooze from under her lids and trickle down her cheeks. Suddenly she felt Novak's fingers tangle in her hair, as he pulled her head up with a brusque jerk, whipping it back painfully. She screamed again and opened her eyes. The producer hovered over her, breathing heavily. "Ever suck a cock, baby?" he asked.
She stared at him, her voice frozen in her throat.
"No?" He asked, shaking his head in mocking surprise. "Well live and learn, kid. Live and learn. And you won't find a better teacher than ol' Tod Novak."
With a quick, desperate motion, the heavily breathing Melanie jerked her head free of his grasping fingers. Then summoning what was left of her strength, she aimed a kick in his direction. Novak stepped aside with the agility of a bull fighter. "Now what the Hell did you do that for?" he demanded. His hand shot out swiftly, landing on first one cheek and then the other, leaving blotchy red prints on her pale flesh, as she howled in pain, then sank back again to huddle in the depths of the chair. At once, he yanked her to her feet. "I asked you a question," he said. "Ever suck cock?"
Terrified, Melanie shook her head. "No," she sobbed, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand and knowing now that she would have to do anything he asked of her-no matter how horrible. She had to have her script back so she could show David how wrong he was about her talent.
"Then take your clothes off," Novak ordered, adding, "It's better with your clothes off 'cause sometimes I like to pull it out of a woman's mouth at the last minute and cum on her naked tits. I wouldn't want to splatter your jacket."
He stepped back, running his tongue lasciviously over his lips, as the sobbing young wife slowly, reluctantly, unbuttoned the jacket of her suit, slipped it off, dropped it on the chair. Just as reluctantly, she unzipped her skirt, wriggled it down over her full, smoothly rounded hips and thighs until it fell, with a soft, swishing sound, to the floor. She stepped out of it, kicking it aside, and stood before the triumphantly grinning man in her thin nylon panties and brassiere, her stockings, her high-heeled shoes.
"Well?" Novak prompted. "Let's see your hot tits and cunt!" Sobbing, Melanie reached behind her back, struggling to unhook her brassiere with trembling fingers. "Oh, I can't," she wailed, tears flowing down her cheeks again. "I can't."
"Take it off or I'll tear it off," the balding man threatened.
Again she struggled with the hooks, her fingers numb, clumsy. Again Novak's hand shot out-Melanie recoiled instinctively-but this time he seized the fragile nylon fabric of her lacy bra, ripped it from her heavy heaving tits, and tossed it across the room. Now his head moved down, and he fastened his mouth on the soft, tender tip of a nipple, his teeth closing over it, his tongue darting to lick hungrily at the quivering little mound. At the same time, he ran his hands with lust-provoking slowness over the two firm, upthrust globes, down over the soft smooth flesh of her belly, then slid them slowly under the waistband of her panties. He began to slowly caress the voluptuously curved half moons of her softly quivering ass-cheeks, setting off unwanted sparks of pleasure that burst like miniature firecrackers in Melanie's veins and tingled through her blood. Lightly but insistently, he drew one finger down the narrow crevice between the soft twin mounds of her hesitantly yielding buttocks, parting the cheeks gently, until his fingertip teased into the tiny puckered mouth of her ass-hole, shocking her, but delighting her too, in an odd and wicked way.
She moaned faintly, struggling to free herself from the lecherously stroking fingers. But Novak slid both hands under the two warm globes, cupping her buttocks, kneading them gently, before he pressed her warmly yielding tit-flesh against his own heavy, corpulent body.
Melanie moaned again, and closed her eyes. She was dimly aware that the man was toying in some way with the clothes she still wore, and then, as she felt the thin wisp of her nylon panties drawn slowly down over her hips and thighs, and a cool breeze wafted across the puffy, blonde-fringed lips of her now-naked little pussy, she gasped.
She stood, trembling again, eyes shut tight against this horrible, yet maddeningly pleasurable debasement of her voluptuous young body, when Novak suddenly barked at her, "Over there!"
She opened her eyes, staring around the room, "Where?" she asked, bewildered.
"Over there!" he growled. "The desk."
She shook her head, wondering what on earth the man had in mind.
"The desk!" Tod said again and then, with a shrug, explained. "Only the president rates a couch here at Goren Communications. We producers have to make do with makeshift." He picked up Melanie's clothing from the floor and spread it over the teak surface of the desk, then pushed her towards it. She was stripped naked now but for her high heels and long nylon stockings. She faltered, then, prompted by a swift slap on her nakedly quivering ass-cheeks, moved towards the massive piece of furniture.
Novak's eyes narrowed scornfully, and his lips twisted in a sneer. "Don't worry," he said. "It may not be a waterbed, but it will do." He began slowly to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his shirt. "Matter of fact," he said, "I try out all my secretaries here. You know, kid, here at Goren Communications, we always say that no secretary is permanent until she's been screwed on the boss' desk." He gave a short, coarse laugh at his own joke, then suggested, "Use that in your next T.V. script, Mrs. Carson. Your writing, you know, lacks humor."
Then with a sudden movement, Novak jerked his zippered fly open and eased his trousers down over his hips, folding them to make a pillow, arranging it on the desk. Melanie stared in shock now, as the paunchy man eased his cotton undershorts off, too, and his thick, rock-hard cock sprang free, stiff as a pole, it's bulbously swollen head oozing tiny drops of whitely glistening cum. Here, by the light of day, the fleshy staff seemed even larger than she remembered it, and she uttered a half-stifled scream.
Novak gave her a look of disgust, as his hand reached down to grasp his erectly throbbing cock, to obscenely massage it, pushing the loose foreskin back and forth the length of his rod with casual unconcern. Melanie stared at the lewd sight, her eyes wide with shock.
"What the hell are you waiting, for baby?" he asked now. "I've made your bed-now you can lie in it!" He pushed her again, and she sat down heavily on the desk top. Another push, and she sprawled the length of it. "That's better," he told her. And then quickly, lightly, he sprang onto the desk top himself, crouching, straddling her huge, nakedly trembling tits, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees. Then he thrust the cum-swollen head of his cock forward, pressing it wetly against her tightly clenched lips.
"Come on," the lewdly grinning producer coaxed, "Open wide for Daddy and get a little of that luscious lipstick smeared all around it!"
An incoherent murmur issued from the helplessly trapped blonde's still tightly closed mouth, and she flailed her head from side to side, struggling helplessly to escape the heavily throbbing prick that pressed wetly against her lips. Then viciously, Tod Novak pinned her head down against the desk with one hand, while the thumb and forefinger of the other pinched her nostrils tightly together. He grinned lewdly, mockingly down at her as she struggled desperately for air. She had begun to turn a bright crimson when he finally asked, "Had enough?" and Melanie, with a great gasp, nodded, and opened her mouth, drinking in the needed oxygen in huge panting gulps.
With a forward thrust of his hips, Novak fucked his enormous, hotly pulsing cock between her now widely ovaled lips, ramming it deep inside the warm wet saliva of her mouth until the throat-fucked young blonde thought she would choke on it. Oh, God! She couldn't breathe, she thought, gagging, gasping, close to suffocating. Oh, dear God! It was too big-too big! She could never take it. She gasped and gagged again, breaking free at last, swallowing huge lungfuls of clean, pure air.
Then, grunting heavily above her cock-filled face, the producer began to fuck rhythmically in and out of the young married writer's widely ovaled mouth, and then strange, masochistic little thrills of forbidden excitement began to flutter up and down inside her naked tits and cunt. He quickened his long, regular strokes down between her cock-stretched lips, pulling her head up so he could sit back on her huge, white, billowing tits with his naked ass, and the thrills grew, increasing in intensity until her blood seemed to catch fire, and a wonderful, warm, explosive pleasure surged up through her cunt, in lewd crashing waves of obscene pleasure.
Oh, dear God, what was wrong? She was being violated, debased, being fucked in the mouth in a most obscene way, and yet she was not only powerless to fight against it, she was actually enjoying-she admitted to herself-yes, actually enjoying all the vile things to which Tod Novak was subjecting her. Dear God! What was the matter with her? What was this evil city doing to her?
She brushed aside such troubling thoughts as suddenly she felt a trickle of wet, slippery cunt-juice seep out between her now widespread legs, felt it flood her hot, moistly pulsating pussy that ached and throbbed with a desire to be fucked. It was wrong, she knew, it was obscene and perverted, and horrible to be doing it with someone other than her own husband, and yet the lewd sucking of this man's cock was a wonderful, wild, sensation she had never ever known before.
With a little moan of ecstatic joy, the young voluptuous blonde abandoned herself completely to the wanton pleasure of being fucked like a street whore in the mouth, of accepting and responding to the relentless slithering in and out between her wide-stretched lips of Tod Novak's excitedly swollen cock. With little spasms of delight, she began to run her tongue shamelessly back and forth over the now slickly glistening surface of the T.V. producer's mammoth, throbbing cock, stopping to tease at the tiny cum-slit in the smooth rubbery head, to lick and taste hungrily at the drops of warm viscous pre-cum that oozed forth and coated her tongue with a hot slippery masculine taste.
Eyes closed, mouth ovaled wide, and head thrown back in insane passionate abandon, Melanie gave herself up to the overwhelming joy and pleasure of the moment. She was sucking cock, she thought, with pussy-tingling excitement. She was actually sucking cock, sucking at it hungrily as if she had waited through all eternity for this very moment, sucking at it, too, as if she could never get enough; as if she wanted to suck it dry of its hotly waiting cum.
Her cheeks contracted, tightened around the thick, turgid prick that now fucked in and out of her tightly locked lips like a well-oiled piston. Then, above her lust-contorted face, Novak began to jerk, suddenly, in his own spasm of intense pleasure, and the white-hot cum spilled from his lust-swollen balls to spurt the length of his thrusting, pulsing rod, gushing forth in a delicious torrent into Melanie's eagerly swallowing mouth. She struggled desperately to swallow every precious drop of the whitely searing juice, her tongue spiraling and swirling around the now rapidly deflating penis as she licked wildly and voraciously at the last vestige of the older man's hotly spewing cum. Still half crazed with her insane passion, Melanie clung possessively with her lips to the now half limp organ, trying desperately to prolong the ecstasy.
At last, though, Novak withdrew his cock from her still possessively clasping mouth, trailing a thin strand of hotly glistening sperm across the white twin mounds of her snowy white tits. Finally the young married blonde sank back exhausted, her head lying limply back on the desk, and closed her eyes, while a look of utter well-fucked peace descended over her cum-spattered face. Oh Lord, she had never tasted anything as wonderful in her whole life, and though she knew she would regret it later, she wanted to enjoy it now, to the very, very end!
CHAPTER EIGHT
This time there was no confusion in her mind. Melanie knew exactly how she got back to the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel and her room. She had opened her eyes to find herself alone in Tod Novak's office. Moreover, she had also found herself lying on the desk, still stripped naked, and the warm masculine taste of male sperm still lingering hotly in her mouth. Tod Novak had disappeared; he had also taken his own clothes with him, leaving her lewdly stretched out on the large smooth surface of the desk.
A little shock of anger ruffled her. That had been a nasty thing for the producer to do! And then his other actions-the way he had lewdly forced her to perform a terrible, perverted act-the way he had bullied her, slapped her, held her nose and tried to suffocate her to make her submit to his obscene demands-all that began to penetrate through the haze of sensual pleasure that still enveloped her from the lewd mouth-fuck she had just received.
She opened her eyes to stare down in shock at the nakedly exposed billows of her nakedly heaving tits, at the smooth gentle swell of her gold-fleeced belly, at the patch of golden pussy-hair at the base of it, still wet with her own excitedly flowing cunt juices.
Oh, dear God! What had she done?
She shook her head, as the full knowledge of her depravedly shocking submission to the television producer's demand to suck his cock to ramming, swept through her mind. The enormity was too frightening even to face. She shook her head again, fleeing from cognition of the past few hours. The young housewife addressed herself now to another question. What was she to do from this point on?
That, it seemed, was obvious. She must leave here at once, somehow make her way back to the Hollywood Roosevelt. Then she remembered Allan Pierce, then remembered why she had come here. Her heart fell. What would Allan say if he ever found out she had sucked Tod Novak's cock, and gulped down his cum like a starving kitten lapping at a dish of foamy fresh cream! Oh, he would despise her! He would think her no better than a common whore. And wasn't that what she considered herself? She collapsed in a little heap, still on the desk top, sobbing quietly.
Worst of all, she admitted to herself, was that her coming here had all been in vain. Her precious T. V. script was gone. She had been tricked, lured here by the promise of its return. But the script, as far as Melanie knew, was still locked in the drawer, and the key to that drawer was in Novak's pocket. And where was he?
And what was there for her to do now?
Well, the first thing, she told herself once more, was to get away from here as quickly as possible, to get back to the hotel-she would be safe there-and then sit down and try to think things out. She looked around, saw her linen suit lying on the floor in a crumpled pile, saw her white nylon panties and stockings scattered nearby, her high-heeled shoes helter-skelter on the thick-piled carpet. She was looking around the room, searching for the bra that Tod had torn from her, when she thought she heard the doorknob turn. Oh, dear God! What if someone came in and found her like this-sitting on the top of the producers desk, as nude as September Morn? What then?
She hopped off the desk and scooped up the clothes at her feet, crouching, hiding as best she could. She looked around the room again, still searching for her bra. It didn't seem to be in the corner towards which Novak had hurled it, and it wasn't in the waste-paper basket. Melanie sighed, said, "To hell with it," and began to pull on the rest of her clothes. It suddenly oc-cured to her that the balding older man had saved it as a trophy-it would be just like him, she thought:-and she was certain he would wave it at producer's meetings or whatever it was that producers went to, to do whatever producers did. So far, she thought bitterly, she knew of only one thing they did-and it certainly had nothing to do with filming T.V. shows.
She buttoned her linen jacket over her huge naked tits, shuddering a little as she did so. It somehow seemed obscene, and yet she knew that lots of women never wore bras, and that a lot of other women-the ones who hated men and thought of themselves as liberated-even burned them. It seemed to Melanie a great idea. If she had burned her own, she thought, Tod Novak wouldn't have it now, wouldn't be able to flaunt it, as she was sure he would. She'd always thought of those bra-burners as unattractive Amazons before, but now she gave them credit. Maybe, even though it was going out of style, the next time they marched, to let the world know how they felt about those male chauvinist pigs, she would step right along with them.
She slithered into her panties, her stockings, her skirt, slipped into her shoes. Desperately, she smoothed down the fabric of her skirt, trying to iron out the creases. It didn't help much, and when it seemed she was only making matters worse, she gave up. She took a final look at herself in the mirror of her small gold compact, holding it high above her head, then shifting it over her shoulder to get a view of her back. She looked pretty crummy, she thought-that was the word for Melanie Carson, crummy-but there wasn't anything she could do about it now except to hold her head high and sail out of the place acting like a duchess.
She smoothed her skirt once again, fixed a supercilious smile on her face, and pulled on her gloves-thank God, she'd remembered to wear fresh gloves-and opened the office door. Novak's secretary was at her desk outside, bending over her shorthand notes. The young blonde crept past her, grateful that she was so absorbed in her work, and had almost reached the elevator when the girl's shrill voice assailed her ears. "Mrs. Carson," she called. "Oh, Oh! Mrs. Carson!"
Melanie spun around, her face a flaming crimson. Slowly she walked back to the girl's desk, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes boring into her. She stood before the secretary, beads of perspiration on her forehead. "Yes?" she asked.
"Oh, Mrs. Carson," the girl said, her voice snippy and mean, "Mr. Novak asked me to give you this."
Melanie waited, hand outstretched. "Yes?" she said again.
Miss Jones searched frantically through the papers on her desk, reached for a drawer, opened it, glanced inside, slammed it closed. She strewed the papers on her desk around, still searching, looked in another drawer, shook her head, then gave Melanie a knowing smirk. Was she considered "permanent" the young housewife wondered, remembering what Novak had said about fucking on the desk.
Oh God! Had Miss Jones, too, been "screwed on the desk"? The secretary's lewdly staring eyes implied just that. Melanie blushed again, said, "I'm in a terrible hurry," and rushed off down the hall.
She had just reached the elevator, had pressed the button to descend, holding her breath, wishing fervently it would come, when Miss Jones's voice split the dusty silence once more.
"Mrs. Carson! I found it! I found it!" Melanie turned and straggled back to the woman's desk. "Found what?" she asked. "This!" Miss Jones said triumphantly. She held out a large manila envelope, with Melanie's name on it, and thrust it into her hands. "Mr. Novak," she said, "asked me to give it to you personally."
Melanie took the package and tucked it under her arm, then walked slowly back to the elevator. Just as she arrived, the door swung open. She stepped inside, followed bv a middle-aged man who glanced at her admiringly. She smoothed down her skirt again, humming, in tune to the music which came over the loudspeaker in the elevator. " ... A boy for you, a girl for me ... Oh, I am sorry...." the elevator had reached the ground floor, and she jostled the man as she stepped out. He followed close behind her, and seemed about to speak when she spotted a taxi drawing up to the building. With a sudden spurt of energy, she dashed for it, jumped in, closed the door behind her. Then she sank back against the plastic-covered seat.
The driver whipped in and out of the dense Sunset Boulevard traffic, seeming to clip one fender after another. Melanie sat in the back, braced for a crash; when they stopped for a traffic light, she opened the envelope Miss Jones had handed to her. She pulled out her own manuscript, and gave a sharp, high little cry of relief. So he'd given it back, had he? Well, that was white of Novak.
She poked through the pagres, assuring herself that none was missing. Clipped to one, she found a small square of printed paper. She pulled it out and read: "The producers of Goren Communications have read with care the enclosed T.V. script. They regret that it does not fit their requirements at this particular time."
Melanie scanned the paper again, then burst into tears. So Goren Communications wasn't interested in her T.V. script after all. This was nothing but a rejection slip, the kind they sent out to all those other people who didn't even have any talent. She sobbed angrily. How, oh, how could Tod Novak have been so cruel? He had planned this. He had probably been planning it all along. He was just the type-cruel and selfish and egotistical. And she had believed him-the male chauvinist pig. Oh, dear God! How could she have believed him and let him fuck her and make her suck his cock, a married woman! How could she?
She was still sobbing, quietly now, when the taxi drew up to the Hollywood Roosevelt. She dabbed at her eyes, paid the driver, and scurried inside. The man at the desk smiled at her when she asked for her key, and she tried to smile back. But it was a crooked little smile and it seemed to puzzle him. Melanie was afraid he'd ask if anything was the matter, and she knew she couldn't talk to him-she just couldn't. She grabbed the key and hurried upstairs, not even asking if there were any messages.
Once in her room, she locked the door behind her, dropped the television script on the nearest chair, then flopped on the bed. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, brooding over her shame, her humiliation. What on earth had prompted her to go to Tod Novak's office? Was she really so innocent, so naive, that she didn't guess what was in his mind? She shook her head as fresh sobs racked her body.
When she felt a little calmer, she rose and began pacing restlessly back and forth, still wondering what to do, still trying to fathom what had made her submit to letting Novak fuck her as she had, and worse, why had she allowed her pussy to explode into a wildly flooding cum from it.
Tortured, tormented by relentless guilt, she stood now at the window, seeking to wipe the memory of the great gushing torrents of his cum spewing slipperily down her throat, from her mind. But they stuck there like a bone lodged in her throat, choking her, and the pleasure she knew she had felt frightened her too.
The jangle of the telephone was a welcome interruption, and Melanie scooted across the room to seize it gratefully. Her voice sounded a little strange as she said, "Hello!" and she wondered if whoever was calling would notice.
It turned out to be Allan Pierce, and he said at once, "Baby, whatever is the matter? You sound as if you've been crying." His voice was so warm, so sympathetic, that she at once smiled. What a silly fool she'd been to worry about Tod Novak, when she had such a good friend as Allan.
"Whatever is the matter?" Pierce asked again. "Nothing," Melanie said brightly. "Not a single, solitary thing, as of now."
"Then something was bothering you!" Allan went on.
"Oh, yes!" Melanie said, but her voice was bright and cheerful. "It wasn't anything, though. And anyway, everything's all right now."
"That's good," the T.V. screenwriter said. "In fact, it's great. And I hope you're free for dinner tonight because I'm planning to take you to my favorite restaurant."
"Oh, Mr. Pierce!" the young blonde sighed happily.
"Allan," he corrected. "What time can I pick you up?"
Melanie cast a quick glance at her rumpled clothes, ran her hand through her disheveled hair. She'd have to set it, anyway, maybe even wash it. And bathe and change-she could wear her pink shantung-and the pearls she'd planned to wear the night she met Allan Pierce, but had forgotten, or maybe the silver necklace would be better with the pink....
"Hey," Allen called out, his voice travelling along the line from somewhere across the city. "Where did you go? Outer space or something?"
Melanie came back to earth with a small laugh.
"Oh," she apologized. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking."
"Leave that to me," he said. "You just look pretty. Okay?"
"I'll try," she promised demurely.
"And do you think you can be ready for me in around an hour?" Allan asked.
"Oh, sure," she promised blithely.
"Great," the man said again. "You be ready then and I'll pick you up at your hotel."
Melanie put down the telephone, her mind racing, her fingers fumbling with her clothes.
She'd just have time to do her hair, to bathe, to change. Oh, dear God! Had she remembered to bring that bottle of French perfume David, her husband, had given her for Christmas? She searched through her suitcase for it. She couldn't find it and had decided to rush out and buy more, but when she looked at her watch she knew she wouldn't have time. She stamped her foot furiously. Couldn't anything ever go right for her? Well, there wasn't anything she could do about it now. There just wasn't time. She stripped, strewing her clothes around the room, rushed into the bathroom, turned on the water, rushed back to look for bath oil, hurried to add a few drops to her bath water, scampered around finding fresh clothes.
The sound of the rushing water sent her scurrying back to the bathroom. Oh, dear God! Had she let the tub overflow? It would be just her luck.
She dashed into the bathroom, her heart in her mouth. Just in time! She turned off the running water, dropped the robe she'd thrown around her onto the floor, and plopped herself into the steaming water.
She let out an anguished scream. Oh, dear God! It was scalding, it was almost boiling! She hopped out, surveying her bright red buttocks. Why hadn't she tested the water? Oh, Lord, why? She rubbed her smarting bottom, drained out half the water, added cold. When she stepped in again, it was almost icy.
She was just applying her make-up when the telephone rang. A Mr. Pierce was waiting for her, the reception clerk informed her. Melanie hurried down, glancing at her watch. Allan Pierce, she noted grimly, was almost an hour late.
The restaurant:-Allan's favorite-was tucked away in a corner of Beverly Hills, and the table at which the head waiter seated them was tucked away in a tiny corner of the restaurant. Allan ordered martinis, and then, without consulting Melanie, smoked salmon and a kind of boned duck in a strange sauce that he told Melanie was the specialty of the house. He ordered wine too, and Melanie stared in admiration as he reeled off varieties and vintages. "Beaujolais, Fleurie, Mouton de Rothschild...." He seemed to know them all.
He lifted his glass to hers and the crystal clinked merrily.
"Now," he said, twirling the stem, "let's drink to us, and then you can tell me what's worrying that pretty little head."
"Nothing-now" she said.
"Well, then, what was?"
Melanie shook her head, and Pierce gave her a searching look.
"It was Tod Novak, wasn't it?" he asked, shaking his head ponderously.
Melanie toyed with her smoked salmon, pushing it around her plate. "Yes," she said at last, her voice quiet, controlled. "How did you know?"
Pierce grinned. "A little-uh-fairy told me he said.
Melanie smiled. "That's what Tod said about you...." she began, then hastily clapped her hand over her mouth.
"That wasn't all Tod said," Pierce went on, waggling a finger at her. "He told you I was a pervert, didn't he?"
Melanie's face turned scarlet. "Yes," she admitted, staring doggedly at her plate.
"Did he tell you what my-,uh-specialties were?" the writer probed.
"He said ... he said...." She couldn't bring herself to repeat the vile word Tod had used, the obscene description. Oh, dear God! How could he have said such a thing!
"I know what he said," Pierce told her. "It's what he tells everyone. And did you believe it?" He looked across the table, waiting patiently, his gray eyes resting softly on Melanie's lovely face. "Did you?"
"Oh, no! No. Of course not!"
He took her hand, stretching his own across the table. "I'm glad," he said, almost reverently. "I'm really glad."
She felt herself blushing again. She was glad he was glad, and she wanted to tell him so, but she was afraid of making a fool of herself-she'd made a fool of herself so often since arriving here. She stared at her plate again, stared at the wiggly lines in the scrap of salmon still uneaten.
Pierce's voice dropped to a low whisper. "Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Oh, yes. Yes, of course I trust you, Allan." He took her hand in his stroked it gently. "I'm glad of that, too," he said. "I'm very glad."
The young blonde looked at him through a veil of tears. This man was so good, so kind, so wonderful! But now he was speaking again, asking another question. "Did Tod ... well, did he ... did he do anything to you that he shouldn't have, Melanie?"
Melanie stared at her plate again for a long while. Then, her eyes averted, she nodded. "Yes, he did."
"Do you want to tell me about it?" His eyes were frank, honest, inspiring confidence. "Or perhaps it's too difficult," Pierce said.
Melanie nodded. Yes, it was too difficult, she told him. Then suddenly, almost involuntarily, the words tumbled out, the halting descriptions of what Novak had done, the stammered admissions of her guilt, the shame, her humiliation, her muted pleas for understanding and forgiveness for letting Tod Novak fuck her. Pierce listened, saying nothing until she had finished. Then he asked, quietly, "Do you feel better now?"
Melanie gave him a quick smile. "Oh, yes." And then her clear brow wrinkled again. "And do you know what else he did?" she asked.
He nodded his assent. "And what else did he do?" he prompted.
"He sent back my T.V. script," she said angrily. "That's what he did."
"But I thought you wanted it back," Pierce murmured.
"But not with a rejection slip! A common ordinary rejection slip!"
"He sent you a rejection slip, too? Oh, dear!"
"Yes, he did." Melanie chewed on a fingernail. "Do you think," she asked at last, "that I can get my script finished for T.V.?"
She thought for a moment that Pierce was smiling, behind his hand. But when he spoke, he seemed perfectly solemn. "Oh, Pm sure of it. But it does need some work, you know."
"Much?" she asked with a worried tone.
"Quite a bit, Pm afraid from what he said."
"Oh," Melanie chewed another nail. "What shall I do?" she asked, her eyes wide as a small child's.
Pierce broke off a stalk of celery and munched on it thoughtfully. "Melanie," he said at last, "I have a place out at the beach. Would you go there to work on the script with me?"
"I would go to the ends of the earth with you," the young housewife breathed happily.
"I'm not asking you to go to the ends of the earth, my dear," Allan said. "I'm only asking you to go to Malibu."
Melanie reached for the last stalk of celery. "I'd even go there with you," she said, feeling happier now than she had since first arriving in Hollywood. Perhaps now, she wouldn't have to go back to David a complete failure. She now had this wonderful, talented screen writer to help her, and she would do anything in the world for him now ... anything.
CHAPTER NINE
Melanie Carson had never been happier as the wheels of the Rolls Royce buzzed beneath them as they put Hollywood behind them. The chauffeur-Melanie learned that he also served as butler to Allan Pierce-drove in silence. In the back seat, she pressed her face to the window, while Pierce watched her. Her eyes sparkled and a little smile played around her lips as they passed the exits for those towns which were almost legendary. Westwood, Bur-bank, Santa Monica. She had visions of huge homes and servants galore and swimming pools and dinner served by candle light. There would be cocktail parties, too ... Melanie shuddered, then redirected her train of thought. In any case, life at the beach would be more glamorous than in downtown Hollywood.
She had no idea how far they had gone when Larry, the chauffeur, swerved to the right, and followed a Jaguar off the freeway, down a long ramp, and onto a narrow country road. The Jaguar veered to the left after a mile or so. Allan's Rolls continued on through a canyon of western manzanita, some blackened by fire.
There were no cars on the road now, except for the Rolls, and Melanie, staring out the window, saw only one or two backpacking hitchhikers sitting by the road, a few children on their way home from school. Occasionally, they passed a roadside fruit stand, selling late-season peaches, oranges and out-of-season avocadoes. They were still open, their fresh, fragrant goods displayed in colorful clumps and heaps. She wondered, vaguely, who bought their wares. There seemed to be no other passers-by, and soon it seemed that the trees and bushes and wildflowers too, came closer, moved in, almost surrounded them. There were no houses here, no shops or stands or filling stations-only a long ribbon of coast highway that led to the wave-washed cliffs beyond.
The car followed the ribbon, spun to the left at last, passed through a stone archway and followed a short road that led down toward the beach. Another sharp turn into a driveway, and the car screeched to a halt before a huge California redwood-modern beach house. It seemed to Melanie that the shades were drawn everywhere, which she thought surprising, in the late afternoon. And then it seemed to her deserted, without a sign of life. Even the broad Pacific beach in front was empty of sun.
She looked quizzically at Pierce. "Is this it?"
"This is it," he said. "My little Pacific Coast hideaway."
"But there's no one here," Melanie said. "Oh, I think you'll find there is," Pierce told her. "And anyway, my dear, I rather like my privacy, don't you?"
"But just us?" the surprised blonde asked. "Just the two of us here all alone?"
The front door of the house swung open at that moment, and a grim-faced woman popped her head out. "No," he laughed. "There's Minnie."
"Who?"
"Minnie," Pierce repeated. "She's my cook and housekeeper. And Larry's here, of course-he doubles as butler." He tapped him on the shoulder. "Will you take Mrs. Carson's bags?" he asked. "And then there's Karen. She's my secretary."
Melanie looked around, expecting her to appear then, as if on cue. But Allan said, "You'll have to wait until dinner time to meet her. Karen has a habit of disappearing during the day."
He noticed Melanie's look of disappointment, and shrugged his shoulders. She'd have to get used to that sort of thing, he told himself. But he did offer to show her around the place, and she accepted at once.
They wandered together over the sloping lawn, through the garden, back past a swimming pool and finally to the foam-embroidered sands of the beach. Melanie stood there, the cool breeze blowing around her, listening to the crash of the waves that seemed to sound a strange melancholy warning. She shook her head, thinking that was silly. And yet, for all the luxury of the beach estate, she sensed something eerie in the air. Was it the loneliness, the isolation? She couldn't be sure. She only knew it as a faint premonition of danger-faint but definite.
Allan Pierce looked at her, a slight smile twinged with the slightest hint of evil playing about his mouth. "A penny for your thoughts?" he said.
Melanie shook her head. "Oh," she said, with a forced little laugh, "I was just thinking how lovely all this is."
"I'm glad you like it. And I hope you'll...." Allan paused ominously, it seemed to Melanie.
.. you'll enjoy your stay here."
They wandered back to the house in the gathering dusk. Minnie, Melanie was told, would show her to her room. It turned out to be as large, as luxurious as the house, furnished in a plastic modern that Melanie found overpowering. And yet, with its private bath adjoining, the rich fabrics of the draperies and upholstery, the glowing Danish carpet, it was beautiful.
Melanie was surprised to find her things completely installed when she reached the room. Her suitcase had been emptied, her dresses and jackets hung carefully in the closet, her panties and things arranged in the drawers. Even her brush and comb and cosmetics were arranged on the dressing table-and yes, her toothbrush was in the holder in the bathroom. The dress she was to wear that evening was laid out on the bed; it had obviously just been pressed. Melanie was grateful for that, and for Minnie's help-it must have been Minnie's, she decided-but ever so slightly annoyed about her panties being out, too. It gave her a feeling of being intimately spied upon.
She tried to put the idea out of her mind as she dressed for dinner, but it persisted, and she gave a little start of fear when she heard a knock at the door. How ghostly.
But it was no spirit knocking; rather it was the more than ample flesh of Minnie reminding her that her host was waiting in the library. Would she join him for cocktails?
Melanie zipped her dress, clasped her pearls around her throat and hurried downstairs, and entered the room without knocking. Just over the threshold, she stopped short, biting her lip in vexation. Allan Pierce was standing in front of the fireplace with a beautiful young woman-Karen, no doubt-his face only inches from hers. They might, she admitted, have been in the middle of a serious discussion. But she was almost sure it wasn't that; that, instead, she had surprised the two in a deep, tongue-entwining kiss.
The young blonde's face colored with embarrassment, but Pierce's when he looked up was cool and collected. "How lovely you look, my dear," he said. And then, "This is Karen Black, my secretary."
The two women shook hands, eyeing one another. To Melanie, Karen was a miracle of sophisticated beauty. And yet there was something strange about her, too, just as there was about the rest of the house. What, though?
Karen, for her part, was amused. So Allan was bringing home mere babes in the woods these days, she thought, wondering where he had found her. Her innocence was so great it even gave her charm. Well, she would lose the innocence, at least, up here, she thought. Allan's little girl friend was going to grow up here in this house in wicked Malibu.
Larry, acting now as butler, came gliding in then, a tray of Martinis in his hands. "I do hope you like Martinis," Pierce murmured. "Or would you rather have something else? Scotch perhaps?" He raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps tomato juice?"
Melanie turned to see a quick glance pass between the other two, the merest suggestion of a sneer flicker on Pierce's face. Tomato juice? That was an insult; he might just as well have offered her a glass of milk! She shook her head. "I'll have a Martini."
"As you wish, my dear," Again there was just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Was he laughing at her? And why? She studied his face and Karen's too, as they sipped their drinks, but found no answer there. And when Larry announced dinner, and she followed them meekly into the dining room-the long mahogany table set with gleaming silver and crystal and china, sparkling in the light of softly glowing candles-she was still puzzled.
She was ill at ease at dinner again, not exactly sure why. Perhaps it was the way Allan Pierce and his secretary bent their heads together, whispering, sharing secrets, leaving her out. Perhaps it was the little laughs, the giggles that passed between them, like some sort of private language. Or the way that Allan from time to time seemed to undress Melanie with his eyes, staring down the cleavage of her dress at her full, voluptuous tits, staring up between her legs at the cunt band of her panties, until she pressed them close together.
But she caught the youner woman looking at her in the same way. Why? She didn't know; she only knew that being here made her uncomfortable.
She ate little of the elaborate meal that Minnie had prepared, although she drank the wines with which the butler kept her glass filled until a small alcoholic cloud seemed to gather in her brain, shutting out reality. She had had too many Martinis, she realized, too late. She felt herself nodding, drifting off towards sleep, and then found herself climbing the stairs, supported by the maid, Minnie, who helped her to her room. There, alone, she undressed clumsily, and fell into bed. asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.
It was morning when Minnie awakened her with a breakfast tray. After she had eaten, and bathed, she dressed and went in search of Allan. Wasn't it time they started work revising her script? But he was nowhere to be found. He didn't appear for lunch-Melanie had hers on a tray in the library-nor during the afternoon. It was not until cocktail time that she saw them again. Once more, she felt herself an outsider, here in the room with Pierce and his secretary, shooting swift, amused glances at one another, sharing secrets she could never know. What on earth was going on?
Dinner was much the same as the night before, although Melanie managed to eat more and to stay awake all through it. But she excused herself early, and went up to bed; there was no point of sitting in the library with the other two if they had no intention of speaking to her.
The next day was dreary, too. The distraught blonde saw neither Pierce nor his secretary before cocktail time. She wandered about the big beach house disconsolately, wondering where the others had gone, and why, in fact, Allan Pierce had brought her here. From time to time she caught-or thought she did-a glimpse of Larry the valet's face or of Minnie peering at her from behind half-closed doors, a pair of eyes staring from a partially-shaded window.
Another day passed, and still another. Melanie's mind was clouded, confused. Something strange was going on. Something very strange. But what? She made up her mind she would ask Allan-ask him outright at cocktail time that night.
She dressed carefully and went downstairs as usual, opened the door to the library and went in. Once again Pierce and Karen had their heads together, like a couple of conspirators. But this time they made no effort to spring apart, to conceal what they were doing. Pierce looked up at her as she approached, appraising her lewdly. "I think she's ready, Karen," he said in a languid voice.
"Ready for what?" Melanie asked, little prickles of fear turning her flesh cold. Neither answered her, and she repeated the question, her voice rising. "Ready for what"!"
Pierce turned his back on her, bent again to whisper to his secretary. Melanie watched the pair, in a fury fueled by long days of loneliness, of frustration. "What, Allan?" she asked. "What?"
Again he ignored her, again turned to Karen. Melanie's heart sank again, and a terrible emptiness spread through her, aching painfully, throbbing through her blood. What, she asked herself, ready for what ... what ... what? And then she realized that she was almost shouting the words, standing close to Allan Pierce, facing him, pleading like a sick dog, a wounded animal. "What, Allan? What? What am I ready for? Tell me ... tell me!"
Pierce turned to Karen, speaking quietly. "I'm afraid the young woman's a little disturbed tonight," he said as though he were speaking of a naughty child. And then, still as if she were a naughty child, he added, "Do behave yourself, Melanie."
"Behave myself ... BEHAVE MYSELF!" She threw back her head, her angry, frustrated protests echoing in the high-ceilinged room, reverberating down the halls. "What do you mean, Allan Pierce? Why do you tell me that? What have I done? What am I doing?"
"You're acting disgracefully," he said coldly.
"Oh. So Ym acting disgracefully! And what about you? What about you! You brought me here, Mr. Pierce, to this God-forsaken place on the ocean. You made promises to me. You were going to help me revise my T.V. script. Remember? And you've hardly spoken to me since I got here. Why, Allan? WHY?"
She had not heard the door open, had not heard Larry enter. But now she saw Pierce look up, look beyond her, and nod faintly to the butler. "Oh, don't be so tiresome," he said to her. "Here, have a Martini. Or...." again the smirking insult, "would you rather have a glass of tomato juice?"
"Or a glass of milk?" her voice was cold, with sarcasm. "Is that what you want, Mr. Pierce?"
The older man nodded affably. "If that's what you want, Melanie."
"Well, I don't want a glass of milk. And I don't want tomato juice."
"A Martini, then?" He took one from the tray and held it out to her. She snatched it, some of the icy liquid spilling over the two of them, and gulped it down. And then she hurled the crystal against the stones of the fireplace, hearing it smash with shocked satisfaction, watching the little shards of glass-like thousands of tiny beads-sail out in all directions.
The writer stared at her, a cold expression on his face, his hard eyes glinting metal. His voice, when he spoke, matched them. "Go to your room, Melanie," he ordered. "I won't have such behavior here!"
Melanie gasped. She still trembled, but now she felt her strength-and her fury too-ebbing, draining her, leaving her nothing but desolation and despair. "Go to your room," Pierce said again. "And if you want to know what you're ready for...." His lips curled back over his teeth, like those of a cruel, hungry fox. "Well, my dear, you're ready to be fucked like the hot-cunted little bitch you are."
To be fucked! Oh dear God! Was he as bad, as sex-crazed as all the others in this Sodom on the Pacific? She shook her head, and blinding tears flooded her eyes. She brushed them away with the back of her hand, stood staring into the man's cunning little eyes, lust-filled and contemptible, then whirled and fled.
Out of the library, up the winding staircase, along the hall ... She reached her room at last and as her knees went weak beneath her, collapsed on the bed.
She had no idea how long she lay there, sobbing quietly, before the door was pushed open-oh, dear God! Had she forgotten to lock it? And had Allan Pierce followed her? He must have. And what was he going to say now? Or, worse, what was he going to do? Was he going to fuck her or make her suck his cock the way Tod Novak had done? She choked out one word-"No!"-and then the light was switched on and she saw his young secretary standing in the doorway. "Oh, Karen," she sobbed, relieved to see her and not Allan Pierce.
The girl moved swiftly to the bed, dropped to her knees, and put her arms around Melanie's shaking shoulders. "Don't cry," she soothed. "Crying won't help, now will it?"
Melanie shook her head, and then burst into louder sobs. Oh, Karen understood! She understood! Her voice was so comforting-her touch so gentle. A great feeling of relief pervaded the young blonde's distraught mind. The other girl would help. It would be all right, after all. Melanie sniffled and dried her eyes, then reached for Karen's hand. "He's evil, isn't he, Karen?"
"My dear, all men are."
"They're pigs," Melanie said. "Pigs, that's all. And Allan Pierce's as bad as any of them." Karen glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of Pierce crouching behind the half-opened door, saw his beady little eyes peering through the darkness. This stupid little southern housewife would soon find out just how vile Allan Pierce was, she thought. But now she had her job to do-one that she had to admit she relished-and so she merely smiled sympathetically in agreement.
She brushed her hand through Melanie's long, golden hair, whispered, "It's been terrible for you here, I know. But now why don't you get into bed and get some sleep?"
"Yes," the young blonde said. "Maybe I should."
"You'll feel better in the morning and then we can decide what to do." She ran her fingers through her hair again, saying softly, "Here, let me help you undress!"
Before Melanie could answer, Karen had unzipped the girl's crumpled dress, had eased it down over her hips and tossed it aside. Her slip followed. And then the young secretary unhooked her bra, stripping the restricting garment off, fully exposing her lush, firm tits.
"Mrs. Carson, dear," she crooned. "You are so right about men. They are pigs ... male chauvinist pigs. But women are different. Women are kind and warm and tender. A woman can give you something you've never had, Mrs. Carson," she said, trailing her fingers lightly over first one huge naked tit and then the other. "J can give you something. Will you let me?"
Melanie sighed contentedly; she'd been wrong about the girl, she thought. Karen wasn't like Allan Pierce, wasn't part of whatever it was he'd been plotting. Karen was another woman and she would comfort her, take care of her.
She lay back, quivering slightly, as Pierce's young secretary gently teased the tiny buds of her nipples into a taut erection, then just as gently stroked the smooth white skin of Melanie's belly, awakening tiny ripples of pleasure in her, making her little blondly curling pussy hairs begin to tingle. She fought back the tiny thrills of excitement, puzzled. Why was the girl touching her tits? It seemed to Melanie almost as if the girl, too, wanted to do dirty things to her. But women didn't do things like that to other women, did they? Some, she had heard, did fuck others' pussies with their tongue and rubber whirring things, but they were perverted creatures, and she had read about such women in books. But this girl couldn't be like that. Not Karen, who was being so kind and understanding. She was just trying to help her get control of herself, and she was grateful for it. She was even grateful for the gentle stroking of her soft fingers that went on and on, lulling her into a state of dreamy acceptance of them on the full, creamy mounds of her tits.
She closed her eyes, giving herself to the delicious little feelings that were awakened in her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the young secretary was slowly stripping naked. Why, she wondered. Maybe she just wanted to sleep here in the same room with her so that she needn't be afraid of Allan coming in and fucking her. Yes, that was it.
Now she was crawling onto the bed, lying beside her, pressing her own nude body next to Melanie's. She really shouldn't be doing such a thing, Melanie thought. Or should she? Wasn't she, after all, just showing her a little affection-like a mother caressing her own small child, being cradled in its mother's arms.
The girl's pointed breasts crushed against Melanie's soft, fully-rounded ones, and their nipples met. Then she ran her fingers over the smooth white flesh of Melanie's stomach, dipped them down to the little patch of silken curling strands that graced her pussy lips, probed ever so gently between them at the narrow split of her naked little cunt. Why was she doing thatl Oh, it was because she was so much more sophisticated that Melanie was-she knew that this was the way to comfort her. She, herself, would never have thought of touching another woman's pussy, but the warm, wonderful feeling that began to creep through the young blonde's body merely proved that the slightly older secretary truly understood what Melanie longed for.
"Oh, Mrs. Carson," Karen whispered again, "you're so beautiful naked-beautiful. And I can make you so happy. I want to, you know. I'm not like...." Her voice became harsh, venomous, as she spat the words. " ... like a man, you know. They're so selfish. They only care about their own pleasure. But I want to make you happy."
Melanie again had little qualms about Karen's finger stroking softly against her naked pussy, but now she knew that it was all right. Allan's secretary just wanted to make her happy. And didn't she have as much right to physical happiness as everyone else? Of course she did-and wasn't she lucky to have found Karen, who knew so well how to make her physically happy?
Behind the door, Allan Pierce grinned, his cock rising. Karen was right, he thought. Men only cared about fucking the hot little bitches. And wasn't that why he was standing there, his eyes glued to the crack, watching the two women rubbing their big hot naked tits together. Oh, it had been great, back at the party, watching that actor and that female actress, Tippi Heather, screwing like a couple of teenagers in heat, but this was a hell of a lot better. Nothing was more fun than seeing a young naive housewife like Melanie Carson getting finger-fucked this way, by a lesbian, for the first time in her life. Unless it was fucking the kid half silly the way he planned to do himself, a little later. He wondered if that bastard Tod Novak had mentioned his little "asshole-fucking" specialty to the naive little blonde. He probably had. Well, that particular pleasure of shooting his cum up into her innocent little rectum would have to wait for awhile. He was going to work up to that as the grand climax, but he would break the snooty little bitch in with a less shocking form of fucking for a starter. Meanwhile, though, he licked his lips in lascivious delight at the sight of his secretary locking her sensuous mouth to the young blonde's moist red lips, while her tongue flicked hotly out to part them, ease between them, search for and fuck wetly up inside.
He saw the little shock of perverted delight that shook Melanie's hugely billowing tits, saw from her face the bewilderment she felt as something seemed to warn her that, delicious though this might be, it was also wicked. He could even see her will to resist ebb as another little thrill of pleasure rippled through her, see her excitement as Karen clasped her tight. She was rubbing her own naked tits against the blonde's, curling her thighs around her voluptuous young body while she moved slowly down on her until the dark, fuzzy curls of her own pussy hairs tangled lewdly with the long, silken strands of the other's.
His secretary began, then, to stroke Melanie's nakedly curved ass cheeks with a long, gentle movement, sending a slight shudder through the girl's body, then slowly but firmly to part the sensuously quivering little globes until her fingertips teased up into the little brown pucker of her asshole. New waves of strange and wonderful delight appeared to wash over her as Karen moved her head down, licking wetly at the trembling white flesh of the blonde's thighs, while she moaned with joy at this still newer, still more exciting sensation.
Melanie's legs fell open then, slack and limp, and Karen's lips roamed toward the soft, curl-lined slit of her nakedly spread pussy. Her tongue-a small lizard-like, darting arrow-parted her soft fleshy cunt lips, found the young girl's tiny, throbbing clitoris and licked and sucked at the teeny, cock-like tit hungrily.
Melanie lay still as her passion mounted to almost unbearable heights, as new waves of ecstasy crashed through her wide-open young cunt. Somewhere, deep down inside her, way at the back of her mind perhaps, there was a brief stirring of her conscience warning her that it was wrong to let another woman kiss her pussy. But the stirring ceased and she surrendered herself completely to the maddening, marvelous tongue-fuck she was receiving up between her thighs.
Allan Pierce watched from the other side of the door. God, but the kid was hot-cunted. He'd known she could be aroused-Jesus, what else could he think after what he'd heard about her, and felt himself? But this! This was beyond his wildest expectations.
And the cum in his own balls was burning now like molten metal, his cock aching, throbbing excruciatingly. She was ready-and more than that. He looked down at the bulge-like an inflated balloon-in his pants, then jerked down the zipper. His thick, stiff cock leaped forward, like a hunting dog at the scent of the hare. Christ! He couldn't wait to fuck it to the hot little bitch! He strode forward, his prick pointing the way, to the bed on which the hotly panting blonde lay, her eyes closed, her head lolling to the side, her mouth hanging open in lewd, tit-hardening ecstasy.
In a quick movement, he whipped his twitching member down towards her moist, feverishly moaning lips, forced them open even further with his cock head, then fucked his enormously pulsating shaft deep inside. Melanie grunted at the sudden mouth-splitting inward fuck of his cock, opened her eyes and saw with surprise Allan Pierce's hulking form hovering over her, knew that it was his cock filling her widely ovaled mouth. She resisted him for the barest fraction of a second, and then the thought struck her that the other girl wanted this-it was part of her way of making her happy. And Karen knew so well how to do so. She would make Karen happy, too, by sucking Allan Pierce's thickly burgeoning cock deep inside her throat, licking it with her hungrily swirling tongue, swallowing the hotly flowing cum juices that flowed from the eye-like slit at the tip.
And then Allan arched his ass back, then lurched forward, fucking his prick deep down against her tonsils, and his secretary somehow, almost instinctively it seemed, arched back, too, then lashed out, her tongue penetrating deep into Melanie's greedily sucking pussy in a wierd rhythmic counterpoint to Allen's piston-like fucks into her throat.
The wild explosions that coursed through Melanie's blood seemed to unite now in one wildly flowing flood of the sheerest ecstasy she had ever known, suffusing her taut, quivering body with a flaming joy that mounted unbearably. Then that flood seemed to explode out deep up inside her tongue-lashed cunt as she rocked back and forth on the bed under Allan Pierce's throat-fucking cock. Then little flashes of fire appeared to light the air around her, just as they lit her blood, as she felt Allan Pierce's thick warm sperm shoot forward deep into her throat. She struggled to swallow it at the same moment that her own pungent orgasmic juices gushed forth deep up inside her dark, velvety pussyhole, then gushed out to trickle lewdly from her hotly spewing cunt lips, while Karen, below, savored and licked hungrily away at every precious drop.
At last Melanie lay back, drained of all energy-spent. She opened her eyes and met Karen's dark ones, then sighed. Why, she had made the girl happy, as happy as Karen had made her. Someday she would show her just how happy that was.
Only then did she realize, with a sudden, conscience shattering shock, what she had done!
She had taken on two people at once! A man ... and a woman ... at the same time!!! She had been fucked in the mouth by a man's cock and in the cunt by the lewdly swirling tongue of another woman ... and God! Oh God, how beautiful it had felt!!!
CHAPTER TEN
It was late in the day when Millie Peyton walked into Michael Goren's office. "For Christ's sake, Millie," he had moaned, "next time you have to see me on urgent business, at least let me have a few hours' notice, will you? Just a few?"
Now, Goren rose from his desk, rubbed the redhead familiarly on the shoulder and offered her a seat. "Cigarette?" he asked, opening his silver case and holding it out to her. "The best Turkish, you know. I stocked up on my last trip to the Middle East."
Millie Peyton grinned, lighting up. "I don't suppose you have a spot of brandy around to go with it, would you?"
"I just might have," Goren said, opening a small liquor cabinet and taking out a bottle of Remy Martin. He poured a drink for each. "Cheers!" he said. "Now, what's on your mind?"
Millie held up her glass. "Cheers," she said. "Melanie Carson is on my mind, since you've posed the question so bluntly."
"Who?"
"Melanie Carson. I sent you a television script of hers, a little while ago. It was a pilot for a series!"
Goren looked puzzled, then his face brightened. "Oh yes," he said. "I remember now. Jesus, it was awful, wasn't it?"
The redhead shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I only danced through it."
"Well, I read it," Goren said. "Dear God, I did! And I tell you frankly, Millie, it was about the worst script that's ever crossed my desk."
"That bad. eh?" she said cheerfully.
"That bad!" Goren was emphatic about it.
"But you're going to offer Melanie Carson a contract to produce it, aren't you?"
"A contract!" Goren exclaimed. "My God! Are you out of your mind?"
"Not at all," the woman smiled. "And I'm absolutely certain you're going to offer the girl a contract to put it in production. And an advance, too."
Goren shuddered, and there was anger in his voice as he said, "Now, look, Millie, I know you are one of our largest shareholders and we've had some pretty good times together, but Goren Communications is a respected old firm-one of the most distinguished television production companies in the country. We've got our reputation to consider. We can't afford to film rubbish like the Melanie Carson script."
"Who said anything about filming it?" Millie asked, innocently.
"You just said you wanted me to give this Melanie Carson person a contract:-and an advance," Goren sputtered.
"You don't have to honor the contract, though," the redhead smiled coyly.
"Well, we certainly wouldn't for rubbish like that. And we don't just throw away our money, giving advances to T.V. script writers when we have no intention of publishing their pathetic scribblings."
"That's pretty fancy language for Melanie Carson's stuff," she grinned.
"And just what, exactly, would you call it?" Goren asked.
Millie shrugged. "Crap," she said, then burst out laughing. "But look, Mike, it wouldn't hurt to give her the contract, now would it? And as for the advance, I'd be most happy to pay it myself. How's that for an arrangement."
Goren thought it over. "It sounds okay," he said. "But why? What's in it for you?"
"Bliss," the redhead said simply. "Sheer bliss, sheer joy, sheer ecstasy." She winked lewdly.
"Oh, so that's it," Goren said. He burst out laughing too. "Why Millie, you old nanny, I wouldn't have thought it of you-you're still the best piece of ass I've ever had."
"Nonsense," she said. "I'm just beginning to enjoy coming out of the closet. And you know yourself, Michael, there's nothing more fun than licking a tender young thing's pussy that's less than half your own age."
"Beautiful, too?" Goren asked.
"Gorgeous. Jesus, if you could see those huge bouncing tits of hers, that cute little ass...."
"Will I get to sample a little of it?"
"Not until I'm through with her," Millie said, then added, seriously, "It's a deal, then?"
"Okay, you lewd old biddy. It's a deal. I'll have a contract drawn up and you'll pay the advance. Anything else?"
"Well, yes," the redhead said. "I thought it might be fun to have some sort of cocktail party for Melanie. You know, make like she's a celebrity-the way you usually do for Allan Pierce."
"And you'll pay for that, too?" Goren asked.
"I'll pay for it," she agreed.
Goren drummed his fingers on the desk. "Okay," he said at last. "You can have your cocktail party. I take it that that's going to be the setting for all the little surprises you're going to spring on Mrs. Carson?"
"Melanie," Millie said.
"Melanie."
"And you are oh, so right," the woman smiled. "Wish you could be there, Mike. But I've already got the guest list drawn up for this one." She rose to go, holding out her hand to Goren. "Maybe next time, though," she said, as Goren showed her to the door.
She went out, humming. Only one more thing to arrange, she thought. And that was to call David Carson, and invite him to the party.
She had no trouble reaching Melanie's young husband, and no trouble at all in convincing him that he should come to Hollywood to celebrate the coming filming of her T.V. script. It was to be a surprise, the older woman warned David. He was not, under any circumstances, to let his wife know he would be at the party.
David made no objection to the conditions imposed by Aunt Millie. He had been unbearably lonely, the past few days, and consequently was willing to risk anything that might effect a reconciliation with his wife. He thanked Millie Peyton profusely for the invitation, and finally cradled the telephone, his spirits soaring.
Millie, for her part, was equally content. She remembered David's jealousy, his sullenness, his inexcusable rudeness when she had dined with the young couple, and she remembered her vow then to teach young Mr. Carson a lesson he would never forget....
Well, the voluptuous older woman mused, sitting in her luxurious penthouse condominium, the time for that was almost at hand. She could almost feel the voluptuous young blonde's tongue curling deep up inside her hotly waiting pussy right now. God, it was going to feel good cumming all over Melanie Carson's beautiful innocent face....
* * *
His eyes wide with wonder, David Carson stepped out of the taxi before the imposing structure of a luxurious Hollywood Hills mansion. He then glanced at the paper in his hand. This was the address, all right. This was where the party was to be. He walked proudly up to the doorman, gave the name of his host for the evening and was let in through the heavy oak front door. He waited while Allan Pierce greeted the young man, then disappeared outside again to await other guests.
David followed Allan in, gave a butler his hat and coat, then followed the man again into an enormous living room. It was full of well-dressed men and women, all with glasses in their hands. Butlers moved among them, passing trays of tiny sandwiches, refilling drinks. Someone offered David a cocktail, then left him standing in a corner.
He waited for a long time, then wandered off to look at the paintings on the wall. Lord, he thought, studying them closely, even he could do better than that. Jesus, he could have done better than that when he was a kid. Still, from the looks of the mansion, they must be worth a fortune, and in spite of his jealousy, he had a little thrill of pleasure at the thought that his own wife, Melanie, was introducing him to this world of celebrities, of jet-setters, of beautiful people.
He studied the women carefully, too. They were beautiful, he admitted. Yet Melanie would shine even among them. And his wife was more than beautiful. She was talented. Why else would Goren Communications be producing her television script, be giving this cocktail party just for her? Why else, indeed?
And where was she? Obviously, not here. David saw Allan Pierce standing alone and went over to him. "Where's Melanie?" he asked.
"Oh, dear!" Allan said. "She isn't here yet. You see, the guest of honor never appears at a cocktail party-a Hollywood cocktail party-till rather late, I'm afraid."
"Oh!"
"She'll be here, though," Pierce promised. "Meanwhile, let me get you another drink."
"Sure," David said.
The older man brought it back, and David noticed that he had refilled his own glass, too. He handed one to David, then clutched his arm and led him over to a corner. "We can talk a little here," he said, "and I've been wanting to talk to you, Mr. Carson."
"What about?" David asked.
"About you. And about Melanie."
"What about Melanie?"
"I think she's a wonderful girl. And immensely talented, too," Pierce said, thinking of her hot young lips milking his cock dry. "Immensely."
"That's good of you to say so, Mr. Pierce," David said.
"Please call me Allan. And may I call you David?"
"Sure," the younger man said.
"Well, then, David." Pierce gave him a hearty slap on the back, making his drink slosh over, spill down his newly pressed suit. "Well, David, I got the impression-oh, don't ask me how-that there might have been a few differences between you and Melanie recently."
"She tell you that?"
"Oh, no, no," Pierce said, shaking his head, smiling affably. "Not really. But you know...." He raised his eyebrows knowingly. "One somehow senses these things, when they concern those one is fond of."
"That so?" David said.
"Oh, yes. Yes indeed."
"Well," the younger man said, "what of it?"
"Nothing," Pierce said hurriedly. "Nothing.
But you know, David, I am awfully fond of Melanie."
"Yeah?" the young husband said, bristling.
"... Oh, in an avuncular, if not a paternal, way," Pierce assured him, thinking of her tight little asshole gripping his cock.
"Well, you keep it that way," David said. "Then maybe we'll get along all right."
Allan bit his lip. "I merely brought this up," he said, "because I thought I might be of some help."-
"How?"
"Well, isn't this ... well ... trouble ... between you and Melanie somehow connected with Millie Peyton?"
"It sure as hell is," David said. "That gal comes into my house, gives my wife a lot of baloney about how she's some Goddamned television script writing genius or something, and then, you know what? My wife won't even sleep with me!"
"She won't?"
The young man shook his head. "She wants to go off and work on her T.V. series, she says. Can you imagine?"
Pierce thought of Melanie's wild abandon as she had sucked his cock and hungrily drained the cum completely out of him, only a few nights before, and found it hard to do so. "No," he said, "I really can't."
"Yeah? Well, that's what she did."
"And naturally," Pierce said, "you feel somewhat resentful towards your wife because of that?"
"Yeah," David said. "And to her Aunt Millie, too."
"But you've spoken to Millie Peyton since then, surely?" Pierce asked. "You don't harbor any bad feelings towards her do you?"
"Well, it's like this," David said. "She asked me to come here to this cocktail party, to kind of surprise her. But Melanie isn't even here. Now what kind of surprise is that?" He scratched his head. "And Aunt Millie isn't around either," he added.
"Oh, I think Millie's here," Pierce said quickly. "I saw her just a few minutes ago, and she asked me if Pd seen you!"
"She did?"
"Yes. Would you like to see her now?" Without waiting for an answer, Pierce went off to find her, David tagging along.
Millie was in the library, alone, leafing through a book there, when the two entered. She looked up, smiled sweetly at them, and said, "Oh, David, I'm glad Allan found you."
"Where's Melanie?" the young man said.
"She'll be here soon."
"She knows I'm coming?" David demanded. Millie shook her head. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because that was our little plan," the older woman said, smiling inscrutably. "You remember our little plan? I'm sure I told you."
"You only said I was supposed to surprise Melanie by being here," David said sullenly.
"Well, of course," the redhead smiled. "But we thought it might be more of a surprise, you see, if Melanie didn't see you right at first. You've been to parties before, haven't you, David? Parties where the surprise was kept for a long, long time?"
David scratched his head. "Just kid parties," he said. "This isn't a kid party, is it?"
Millie Peyton's eyes gleamed wickedly, and she hid an amused smile behind her hand. "No," she said, "I don't think you'll find it a kid's party. In fact, I think you may find it the most 'adult' party you've ever been to."
David looked puzzled. "Yeah?"
The older woman kissed him on the cheek. "Yes, David. Yes. And to make it that way-and to be sure you give Melanie a real surprise, I want you to stay here in the library for a while."
"All alone, Aunt Millie?"
The woman shook her head. "No, of course not. There will be others in here, to keep you-uh-company," she said. "And shall I send the butler in with drinks? Or would you prefer to help yourself? There's a liquor cabinet over there." She pointed to an elaborate bar. "I think you'll find it well stocked-whiskies, brandies, champagne if you prefer that. Mixers and ice, too, of course."
She started for the door, turned the handle, stopped, turned around again. "Oh, dear," she said. "I almost forgot cigarettes. I don't think I've left any for you. But here, take some of mine."
She found a small silver tray, placed a half dozen or so of the thin brown cigarettes-like those Allan Pierce had given to Melanie Carson to smoke a few days earlier-on it. "Think that will be enough?" she asked.
"Yeah," the young man said. "I'm not a very heavy smoker." He picked up one of the joints and twirled it between his fingers. "What brand is it?" he asked.
"It's one I have made up specially," the woman smiled. "Why don't you try one?"
"Sure." He accepted a light from Millie Peyton, and puffed gingerly on the marijuana.
"I think you'll enjoy it more," the redhead said, "if you inhale deeply, then hold it in your lungs as long as possible. Like this." She lit a cigarette herself, demonstrating. "That's right," she said as Melanie's husband copied her. "Like it?"
"Tastes funny," he said.
"Well, it might at first, but I'm sure you'll soon get used to them. In fact, I'm sure that pretty soon you'll want to smoke these all the time." She smiled again. "I have to get back to the other guests," she said. "But I'll send some of them in to see you. Meanwhile-" She pointed to the books she had been leafing through when David entered. "Meanwhile, you might want to look through those."
She went out, leaving the young man alone. The marijuana of the cigarette he was smoking began to have a blissful, calming effect on him. He'd been nervous before, apprehensive. What would Melanie say when she saw him here? It had even crossed his mind that she wouldn't want to see him at all, that she would still be mad at him for the way he'd fucked her so harshly before she left for Hollywood. He was sorry about that, and had even planned to tell her so, but he wasn't sure she'd accept his apology. And he certainly wasn't going to apologize to her twice. It was just as much her fault as his, wasn't it? It had been weeks since she'd given him any pussy.
But now nothing seemed to matter. The world around him was beautiful, and in some mysterious way, everything had become much influence of the pot it seemed to match the wall were brighter and the slap-dash blobs of paint seemed to take on forms, to become objects, rather than mere brush strokes. It was strange, he thought. Very strange, but exciting, too.
And it seemed that time had stopped, although the loud ticking of the clock-under the influence of the pot seemed to match the rhythm of his beating heart-was proof that time was passing. He wondered how much time had already gone by, then dismissed the thought. Did it matter?
His eyes roamed around the room, and he saw the books Millie had pointed out before, lying on the desk. They-or at least this one-was a book of pictures, of photographs, and the young husband saw them first as mere blobs, mere blurs of color. He strained to focus his eyes, thinking it strange that the paintings had taken on form, while these photos had lost theirs. Gradually, though, he made out the subject, and a little shock ran through him. The book was a collection of what he'd heard other men talk about, but had never seen himself-a collection of "hot pictures"-of nakedly stripped men and women fucking in all sorts of positions, taken, it seemed from a dozen different angles.
He put the book down, staring at the page at which it fell open. On it he saw the photo of a woman lying completely nude on a bed. Her legs were spread wide, and the full slit of her crotch was visible to the camera. Under the little hairy brush line of silk that lined her widely spread cunt, he saw the tender flesh of the coral lips, the pinkly glistening little hole of her pussy.
David swallowed hard, feeling a sudden surge of excitement sweep through his cock. Christ, that picture was so darned true to life it made his prick stiffen, his balls ache. He licked his lips, wishing to hell that Melanie were here. Jeez, he'd throw her down and screw her hot little cunt right here in the library.
He turned the page. The fire in his balls was spreading, sending little flames leaping through his blood. There was another picture there and he bent forward to study it. Boy! This was something, too! It looked like the same woman, but now there was a hungrily grinning man, poised just a few inches from her wetly glistening cunt. His tongue was fucking out towards it, a little fork of flesh, ready to worm and burrow its way deep inside her hot, moist little cunt-hole.
Melanie's husband tore himself away from the lewd photo reluctantly, turned another page. The photo here showed a woman, her eyes glazed with lust, her face contorted with passion, as her widely ovaled mouth devoured a man's thick turgid cock. The short, stiff hairs of his pubis were so near to her lips, as she sucked hungrily on his heavily swollen prick, that David looked for little scratches.
He sucked in his breath, then whistled. He'd never fucked Melanie in the mouth, but he sure would like to. He wondered if she would let him cum down her throat. Nah, she was too sweet!
He started as he heard the click of the door being opened, the slight slam as it closed behind someone. Guiltily, he snapped the book shut, embarrassed to be caught perusing it. He spun around, expecting to see his wife. "Melanie?" he asked, then saw it wasn't Melanie but a woman he'd never met.
He didn't mind making her acquaintance though, he thought, taking her in with one glance. Jesus! He'd always believed he would never see anyone as beautiful as Melanie-and here was this other luscious creature, every bit as lovely, coming towards him, moving with a grace that his wife, marvelous as she was, lacked, giving off a aura of sensuality he'd never in his life seen before. He caught his breath, swallowing hard again. By God, if he weren't a happily married man, he told himself, he'd sure as Hell be tempted to throw her down and fuck her big hot tits off.
"No," the woman said with a laugh that was like the sound of silver bells, "I'm not Melanie. I'm Kim, Kim Murril." She caught sight of the book that David still held in his hand. "I see that you're a bookworm," she said, her eyes, lit by an amused twinkle, meeting his. Hastily, David replaced the book on the desk. "Oh don't," she said. "That's one of my favorites. Do you like it, too?"
Melanie's husband stared at the girl in amazement. Did she know there were fuck pictures between the covers? She shrugged her lovely shoulders, gave him an utterly enchanting grin, while her nose wrinkled adorably. Oh, she knew. She knew exactly! He shook his head, bewildered. There was nothing, nothing whatsoever coarse or vulgar about the girl-and yet she knew, and accepted with the utmost charm these things his own wife would find so perverted.
"Which one were you looking at?" she asked, picking up the book. Her voice showed not the slightest trace of self-consciousness. Or embarrassment, although David's face, to his chagrin, had turned scarlet. He shook his head, tongue-tied, unable to speak.
"Please, pretty please?" she teased. When he shook his head again she picked up the book herself, found the page that had held him so enraptured, and held it out at arm's length. "Is that it?" she asked, her eyes twinkling again.
She moved closer to him, let her eyes fall to his pants, smiled, again to David's chagrin, at the large swell of his halferect prick beneath them. She laughed again, then helped herself to a marijuana cigarette from the small, silver tray, bent to let David light it, puffed on it and gave it to him. She took another for herself, lit that one too.
As David dragged on the thin brown cylinder, he felt again the marvelous lightness he had felt earlier, the floating, feathery feeling he had had before. He looked down at Kim, still standing beside him, and nothing else existed in the world. His life with Melanie lay behind him-his future, if there was one, seemed so far off as to be dismissed without thought. Only Kim Murrill was real, and Kim was poring over the obscene picture of the girl sucking the man's cock in the book. Kim was looking at him, Kim was asking, "Is this what you like, David?" She looked up at him, her moist red lips parted, as she waited for his answer.
He stood before her, dumb once more.
"Haven't you ever been sucked off by a woman?" Kim asked.
He shook his head.
"Why not?"
Again he was mute.
"Your wife wouldn't suck your cock like that?" she asked seriously.
David nodded. "No." he said, his face blushing at her lewd words.
"Have you ever fucked another woman, David?" she wanted to know.
"Oh sure," he boasted, his cock hardening at her use of the word. But when Kim gave him a quizzical look, he added, "There was a girl I went with in college, before I met Melanie. No one else."
"Has your wife-Melanie-ever let another man fuck her?" Kim asked.
David shook his head vigorously. "Of course not!"
"You sure?" the girl asked, her eyes serious now, staring full into the embarrassed young man's.
He shook his head, trying to imagine such a thing. But that, too, was beyond him, in his marvelously happy state of mind. And then it occurred to him that Melanie might actually have let another guy fuck her-not back home, he was certain of that:-but here, since she'd come to Hollywood. And if she had gotten herself fucked, well, wasn't turn about fair play?
He stared again at Kim Murrill, the marvelous curves of her full, slimly shaped thighs, at the twin globes of her huge young tits, the nipples pointed and taut under the tight-stretched fabric of her expensive dress, at the softly undulating ass-cheeks that swayed so enchantingly as she moved. Had Melanie gotten her young pussy fucked by another guy in Hollywood, he asked himself. And then-did it matter?
He dropped the still-smoldering joint onto an ashtray. Lee, too, ground hers out. Then his hand shot out, although in his befogged state it seemed to move as slowly, as torturously as a film in slow motion, and he seized her by her exquisitely carved shoulders, drew her close to him until his body pressed against hers, his cock grinding into the soft flesh of her warm little cunt. "Jesus," he moaned, lifting her face to his, fastening his lips over her moistly pouting mouth. His tongue darted out, slid between her lips, tangled with her tongue, then shot deep into her throat. "Jesus!" he moaned again, as his cock began to churn and throb and burn beneath his pants with an unquenchable desire.
He had no idea how long he held the girl in the close embrace that sent such exquisite tingles of desire through his cock and balls; thanks to the marijuana it seemed forever, and yet, at the same time it seemed only an instant. He merely knew that his heart pounded madly, his boiling blood raced through his veins, his heavily-filled balls began to ache and swell almost to bursting. And then Kim gently extricated herself from his arms, and whispered, "Follow me." He pattered after her, across the library and through the door she opened, and through another doorway to a large, dimly lit bedroom.
She switched on a small bedside lamp, and by the luminous glow of it began to undress, slowly, and once again without the slightest trace of either self-consciousness or lewdness, easing her short cocktail dress to the floor, stepping out of her flowery little half-slip, stripping off her panties, her brassiere, slipping off her high-heeled shoes, her stockings.
Melanie's husband still stared at her, drinking in her loveliness, as she dropped to her knees before him, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and inserted her hotly searching hand to slowly encircle and draw out his painfully aching dick. She began teasing it, forcing the foreskin back, then running her smooth white fingers back and forth along the tender underside of it, stroking and massaging it to a granite-like hardness. And then she bent her head forward, lowering it until her soft lips ovaled and warmly circle the shivering, jerking head.
David fucked forward, thrusting the lust-excited cock-head deep into the warm wet moistness of her mouth, groaned as her tongue lashed out to work against the heavy-veined hard flesh, licking at the little drops of sticky white fluid that eased from the tip of it, teasing, titillating, until he thought his balls would explode from the sheer delight.
"Oh my God!" It was so good-his mind whirled and then he felt the woman's hands pulling him, urging him towards the bed. Frantically he stripped his own clothes off, felt the smoothness of her touch as she crushed his body to her own, outstretched, now, on the mattress, and then he straddled her chest, his aching, cum-swollen balls slapping down against her hugely heaving young tits, his desire-hardened cock-head brushing her pouting lips, grazing them, teasing them in turn, until with a passion-driven little moan she parted them, opening them wide and making a round, hairless, little cunt-mouth-like circle for him to fuck into.
He arched back, then slid forward, stopped once more to brush her lips excitedly with the smooth rubbery head, then fucked his steel-like cock deep into the back of her throat. The girl moaned again and began to suck with passionate abandon on the thick white prick slithering in and out of her widely ovaled mouth, clasping it tightly in her cunt-formed lips, while her tongue circled and licked and laved it.
It was David's turn now to moan with ecstasy, and he felt his prick swell unbearably, felt the white-hot liquid of his cum boiling in the heavy sacs of his passion-bloated balls. Oh God! He couldn't wait-and then, with a sudden movement, Kim twisted away from him, moving up on the bed beneath his straddling body and bringing her thighs up to his crotch while she ran her hands up and down his lean flesh, sending little quivers of delight through his receptive body. Now his cock pressed almost savagely down against her naked belly, and she began to whisper in his ear, little lewd words of fucking and cumming, and then, making him lift his knees, her legs moved out wider to both sides of his hips as she opened the fullness of her naked, slippery cunt to him.
She seized his hand, guided it beneath her now to the narrow crevice between the smooth white cheeks of her ass. "There," she gasped. "There! In my ass! Stick your ringer up in my asshole while you fuck my pussy with your cock."
The lewd request sent a new excitement;-salacious, lustful-hammering through his blood. He continued to fuck deep into the warm, slipping softness of her wetly pulsating pussy, but at the same time his forefinger searched the smooth, tight crevice, found the tiny puckered circle of her asshole, damp now from the moisture seeping from the young woman's hotly seething cunt, played with it teasingly, probing with the gentlest of motions, then at last pressed hard against the elastic fleshy ring of its perimeter. The tiny hole resisted momentarily and then popped suddenly open, and David's finger wormed relentlessly in, all the way to the first knuckle joint.
The girl gasped and lurched beneath him, stunned by the suddeness of the inward fuck, by the quick sharp shock of pain that swept through her tightly clenched asshole. Her half-muffled cry rang out...."Oooohh, it hurts, it hurts!" and then as the pain vanished, to be replaced by a thrilling, throbbing pleasure, she sighed rapturously.
David thrust again, and at the same moment his huge prick ploughed deep into the moist, velvet-like tunnel of her hungrily clasping young pussy, his finger slid in all the way up in her spongily yielding rectum to the palm of his hand.
She cried out again in a weird little sound of pleasure-pain that resounded like a song in David's ears, and she sauirmed her desire-racked cunt around his cock in wild abandon.
She opened her legs still further as he continued his dual ravishment of her cunt and asshole, the pressure mounting unbearably in his hotly aching balls. Jesus Christ! He was going to explode! His balls slapped heavily against her nakedly unturned ass-cheeks as his rigid cock skewered in and out of her hungrily devouring cunt-hole. Jesus! This was good! He'd never known anything like it, and he fucked again and again into the warm moist channel as the girl wailed and cried out beneath his heavily driving cock.
Her eyes were closed tightly, her face contorted with passionate rapture, even more intense than that of the woman in the hot fuck-pictures they had seen. And now she began an unearthly little chant that sent even wilder thrills shooting through David's tense slaving body. "Fuck me ... fuck me crazy!" Then suddenly her legs arched back, then clamped inward as she worked them around his hips, clasping him tight, digging her heels deep into the hard-driving flesh of his ass.
Her whole cock-filled cunt and finger-filled asshole were presented up to him, her hungrily sucking pussy vacuuming his heavily arching rod deep into her belly, sending it crashing hard up against the smooth flesh of the bottom of her belly inside, while she continued to moan, "Oh, fuck 'em ... fuck 'em ... fuck 'em both ... fuck 'em both!!!"
She screwed back and forth on his belly-impaling cock, and her eyes glazed and her mouth fell open and for a long moment the two of them seemed to be beyond all earthly being, and then she wailed, "Oooooh! Ooooh! I'm ramming ... I'm cuuummming!" and convulsed spasmodically beneath him.
At the same time, the sudden spasms of David's own orgasm began and the wild fire in his heavy, sperm-filled balls sent his own white-hot ram shooting like boiling lava the length of his wildly jerking prick, sent it gushing and spewing into the young woman's wildly quivering belly with a cataclymic force, and both their bodies were racked with a final, violent shudder, and then the shattering forces ebbed away and with a loud sigh, the cum-drained young husband slowly withdrew his now limp cock from her sperm-flooded cunt and rolled over beside her still heavily gasping young nakedness.
Jesus Christ, he thought, that was the best fucking piece of ass he had ever had in his whole life, and man, could this gal ever suck cock. That, he promised himself, was the first thing his frigid young wife was going to learn. How to make delicious, tight-to-fuck little cunts with her mouth, the next time he got her all stripped naked and hot for cock!!!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Melanie jerked her legs wide as she felt the hotly gushing cum of the third or fourth room service waiter spew deep up inside her insanely bursting cunt. God, she was so filled with it now from him and the other two that had fucked her earlier she could almost feel it sloshing like warm, slippery olive oil around up inside her belly. God, that was good and she was glad now that after Aunt Millie had left, she hadn't screamed out and protested too much when the dark waiter that had brought her breakfast, driven mad by her nakedly exposed tits and pussy beneath the diaphanous little nightie she wore, had pushed her down on the bed, unceremoniously unzipped his pants, and fucked his thickly throbbing cock deep up into her wide-spread cunt. She remembered vaguely protesting as he had wormed his finger up into her tight little asshole as she was screaming out her cum the first time, but the very wickedness of the act, and the lewd grip this sinful city now had on her, had quickly stilled her objections. After he had finished, he had left and obviously spread the word that some hot-cunted little bitch was all alone and stripped naked up in room 605 and was ready to fuck anything that walked, because there had been a steady stream of them knocking on her door after that:-and she had whorishly let them in. How many times they had cum in her hotly grinding cunt and eagerly devouring mouth, she didn't really remember, but it didn't matter. Each one of them had fucked her in one way or another to her own pussy-flaring cum, and that was all she cared about at the moment.
The boy above her had collapsed down against her nakedly billowing tits now, his tender young balls milked dry by the tight hungry little milking motions of her inner cunt walls, and she suddenly remembered that it must be getting late.
God, she had that cocktail party that was being held in her honor to go to! She quickly pushed his limp, almost lifeless young body from between her legs, made him leave the room, and leaped into the shower to wash away the lewd, wetly shining evidence of her afternoon of wild, tit-throbbing pleasure and began to hum a lilting little song of happiness. Today was the most important and memorable day of her life. Today was the day a new star would be arising on the horizon of Hollywood ... and she, little Melanie Carson, was to be that star!
* * *
Melanie, after her afternoon orgy, arrived at the cocktail party fashionably late, and a little breathless, to be greeted at the door by Aunt Millie, who kissed her lightly on both cheeks and said, "Melanie dear, you never looked lovelier."
Melanie caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror, saw the excitement shining in her eye, the faint flush her rapturous anticipation had stroked across her cheeks, the aura of expectancy that added a rare and wonderful piquancy to her already lovely features. She wouldn't have said it for the world, of course, but she secretly agreed with Aunt Millie. She had never looked lovelier. Was it the wild fuckings she had received from room service? God! What a whore she had become! But never mind. She returned Aunt Millie's kisses, her young mouth quivering a little, then whispered ecstatically, "Oh, Aunt Millie, I'm so excited-so excited. You just can't imagine-"
"Oh, yes I can," the voluptuous older redhead chided her. "I certainly can. And I know everyone is just dying to meet the rising young star of the television firmament."
"Me?" the young blonde interrupted, thrilled more than she imagined she would ever be to hear herself described in such glowing terms.
"You, my dear," Millie Peyton said, putting her arm around her shoulder, and drawing her close enough to her so that her ripe young tits, straining against the flesh-covered lace of her skin-tight bodice, brushed against her own tits deliciously, yet discreetly enough so that Melanie was not alarmed.
Melanie gave her a hug, innocent as that of a small child embracing grandmother on a summer visit to the farm. "Are you happy?" the older woman asked, smiling.
"Oh, Aunt Millie. I'm just so happy ... so happy ... I just don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything, my dear," she said, squeezing her just a little tighter.
Melanie heard her, but she didn't heed her. "Oh, Aunt Millie," she said, the words tumbling from her lips. "I just want to go in there and meet everyone and talk to them all ... and hear what they're saying too. I just can hardly-wait!"
The redhead looked down into her radiant face, a solemn expression on her own. "Melanie," she said gently, "would you do something for me?"
"Oh, sure, Aunt Millie," the young blonde said. She had her by the hand now and was tugging her towards the door of the living room, where the muted murmur of half a hundred voices could be heard. "What is it, Aunt Millie?"
The woman drew her back, glancing into her flower-like face again. "I'm a selfish old woman," she began.
"Oh, no, Aunt Millie," Melanie said, pulling her in the direction of the living room once more.
"Oh, yes," the woman said sadly. "And because I'm so selfish, Melanie, I'd like-oh, very much-to spend a few minutes alone with you, talking. Just a few minutes before I'm forced to relinquish you to all those others."
Melanie looked up at her, puzzled. She wasn't sure exactly what she was saying. Still, she was her Aunt Millie-not her real aunt, she admitted, but an old friend of her mother's, and that was good enough for her-and she had gone to see Michael Goren, and she had brought back the contract for her-she wasn't sure why she wanted to talk to her, but she was certainly willing to do anything she wanted. She pursed her lovely lips, raised her eyebrows and blinked. "Sure," she whispered huskily.
The redhead beamed at her. "Then let's go in here where we can talk," she said.
Millie Peyton opened the door to a room that was in semi-darkness and went in, pulling Melanie after her, and closing the door behind them. It seemed like a bedroom-at least there was a sort of studio couch at one end of it:-but it must also have been used as a kind of study, because there was a large desk, too, and a couple of easy chairs drawn up before the fireplace, where the reasonable facsimile of a log gave off reasonable facsimiles of little sparks.
Aunt Millie motioned Melanie to one of the chairs, sat down beside her and reached into her purse for her cigarette case. She snapped it open and held it out. Melanie started to shake her head, then remembered that she smoked now-wasn't she a sophisticated television script writer, and almost a celebrity, too?-and took one, letting the older woman light it for her.
Like the cigarette Allan Pierce had offered her that night that now seemed eternities ago, it had a strange, sweet taste. It made her a little apprehensive; she had let Allan Pierce do awful, awful things to her after she had smoked these cigarettes at the other party. And she had smoked them, too, at Pierce's place in Malibu. But surely, surely, nothing would happen to her here with Aunt Millie. She could certainly trust her.
She remembered then that she had trusted Tod Novak and Allan Pierce, too, and found them-well-unworthy. But they were different. Aunt Millie was almost one of the family. And if you couldn't trust someone in your own family, then who could you trust?
She took a deep drag on the home-rolled cigarette, just the way Allan had taught her to. The aromatic wisps of smoke filled her lungs, as they had before, and she held them there a long time. As she exhaled, she began to feel' again the lifting of alLher troubles, the serenity, the joy, the peace and simple happiness she had felt the first time. And, like the first time, she felt a strange sharpening of her senses. She saw everything around her far more clearly than ever before, as if the whole world in front of her was held up to a magnifying glass. She heard more acutely, too; the beating of her heart became the pounding of jungle drums, the distant sound of a lonely singer filled the room like a symphony. Above them rose a strange, weird incantation that Melanie could not recognize. Moans, magnified and distorted, little shrieks of pulsing pleasure, cries that swelled and reverberated and rebounded against the walls of the room itself. What on earth was going on?
Melanie twisted in her chair, stared at the older woman. "What was that?" she asked.
She shook her head, inhaled the smoke from the cigarette she had taken. "What was what?" she asked, then shook her head again. "Would you like a drink, dear?" She got up and magically, like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, she produced a bottle of champagne. She opened it-the pop of the cork was like thunder of a cannon-and poured a glass for each of them. "To your success," she proposed, as they drained their glasses.
Melanie sank back in her chair as the older woman poured a second drink, her eyes closed, still listening to the strange sounds-the chanted words, loud but incoherent, the wails that swept through the room like a whistling wind. What was it? She drank a second glass, leaned back, asked dreamily, "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what, my dear?"
"That sound!" Melanie said, sitting bolt upright. "That funny sound. What on earth is it?"
"It seems to be coming from over there," the woman replied, indicating a door the young housewife had hardly noticed before. "Shall we have a look?"
Melanie went willingly, following Aunt Millie to the door, peering through the narrow crack when she opened it. The strange sounds increased then, swelling to a cacophony that seemed to split Melanie's pot-sensitive ear. Gradually her eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness and she made out the figures of a man and woman inside. It was hard to tell just what they were doing, at first. It seemed to Melanie, although she thought it hardly likely, that the woman was stripped naked, her lovely body completely nude-her huge young tits opened to the world-and that she was kneeling on the floor before another person, a young man, wasn't it?
She looked again. Yes, it was certainly a young man, and although she couldn't see his face, she saw that he was lean and lithe, with the strong, sinewy body of a bronzed Greek god. Melanie blinked, narrowing her eyes, squinting to see more clearly. Yes, the woman was nude, she saw that now, and she was kneeling-and she had stretched out her hand to the young Greek god. But what was he doing?
Why-the young blonde blinked again, this time in surprise mingled with shock-why, he was fumbling with the zipper on his trousers, finally giving up and letting the woman on her knees draw it down, then reach inside and draw out his thick, rigid cock. Melanie's eyes widened again.
Good Lord! It was enormous. She hadn't remembered ever seeing one so huge, so pul-singly hard. Was he really going to fuck it into the tight little cunt of the woman kneeling before him?
No, he couldn't, Melanie thought. And yet, she reasoned, if not, why was he standing there before her like that with it so naked and hard?
Oh! She sucked in her breath. Oh, so that was it. The woman was opening her mouth now, leaning forward, running her tongue over the heavily straining head of it, swirling it around it, licking it and teasing it and tasting it as if it were some delicious morsel, some mouthful that she wished to savor before she devoured it completely.
The lewd sight sent little ripples quivering in Melanie's pot-heated blood, awakened vague, half-suppressed memories, and with them, longings. She seemed to see herself with her own little mouth stretched wide to receive Tod Novak's and the others' erectly throbbing cocks, thrilled again to that wicked, wondrous pleasure. She remembered Tod's lewd question, felt again the shock at the sound of it. "Ever suck cock, Melanie?"
Well, now she had, she thought, watching the nakedly stripped young woman in the bedroom as she took the huge, cum-swollen head between her moist warm lips, clasping it, drew it in, then threw her head back as the young man seemed to come to life, arch his ass back and fuck his pelvis forward, sending his huge, pulsating hardness burrowing deep into her throat. Now that she had sucked Tod's, Allan's, and the room-service waiters' cocks, the memory of her excitement at the taste of the masculine, warm tasting cum surged through her as the last of her inhibitions melted like snow in the warm sun of the pleasure-giving marijuana, still smoldering in the cigarette between her fingers. She took another puff of it, felt herself soaring, her huge young tits light and free and willowy as the puffs of clouds that billow across the sky on a balmy summer day.
She darted a quick glance at Aunt Millie, and caught the quick, covert glance Millie darted her way. A little ping of pleasure popped inside her breast. Aunt Millie wanted to have fun, too, didn't she? If not, why was she lifting her dress, pulling her panties down, to expose the gently curling copper of her pussy-hairs, like Karen Black had done at Allan's beach house? Why was she pushing Melanie to her knees, pulling her-head forward, pressing the desire-puffed little lips of her pussy against her pursed, pouting mouth, just like Karen had done to her?
"Oh, Aunt Millie," she murmured, puckering her lipstick-rimmed mouth for a pussy kiss. Maybe this would be fun, too, just like sucking cock. Karen had really enjoyed licking her pussy and she had enjoyed it too. She watched excitedly as the tiny, hotly throbbing little cock of Aunt Millie's ditty pulsed forward through the luxuriant softness of waving cunt hairs. She stuck out her tongue and looked down over her nose at it. It looked, Melanie thought, as she blinked her pot-dimmed eyes and tried to focus, like a small, wet, pink snake crawling for its hole. She giggled slightly, and pretending that it was, stuck it out further still and wormed it upward between the naked thighs before her toward the slippery glistening little hole of its lair. It playfully flicked aside the soft red foliage barring its way and squiggled deep up inside the hotly gripping walls waiting impatiently there for it. There was a soft, wet, inward-sucking sound surrounding her ears as she felt her tongue being vacuumed deep up inside.
She whipped her tongue around the hot little cunt-titty, licked at the glistening surface of it, teased the slightly seeping little opening at the tip. Madly, insanely now, she sucked on, her cheeks contracting and expanding as she moved up and down and along the wet, flooding slit of her cunt. Suddenly she slipped her small hands beneath Aunt Millie, cupped the salaciously grinding cheeks of her ass, massaged them tenderly, until a long low groan escaped her, a groan that kindled an answering spark in Melanie's own now passion-tortured little pussy-hole below.
A little feather-like spasm of joy spun through her. Melanie felt a warm slipping moistness begin to seep down between her legs, suddenly drenching her hotly pulsating pussy and pussy hairs, alive now with the ache and throb of desire. She began to moan with pleasure and Aunt Millie ground her naked cunt forward, fucking the lips deeper into her widely ovaled mouth, dwelling deep inside the saliva-filled cavern, withdrawing and plunging back into the dark, velvety moistness again. Then suddenly her body contracted in a violent spasm of sensual excitement, and she jerked her cunt lips and clitty out of her hungrily sucking mouth, and then the tiny pink little pussy nipple fucked back through her open mouth again, spearing in hotter than ever. The redhead's lust-swollen cunt lips and hot little clitty-cock jerked abruptly, and then began to spew a great gush of hot slippery cum deep back into her wide-open throat. She swallowed greedily as Aunt Millie's hotly pulsing cunt emptied its last remaining spurts of liquid far back into her desperately working gullet. She sucked the last drop of the precious liquid from the ecstatically flowing little hole, until at last the beautiful older woman pulled away from her voraciously working tongue and lips, to trail thin strings of her glistening pussy juices down the front of her revealing dress, and across the snow-white mounds of her heavily heaving tits, and then she collapsed slowly on the thick carpet beneath her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Later, Melanie realized that she was stripped completely naked and was lying on the bed in the same room, and now, she saw, Tod Novak had reappeared. His grin, as he approached her, was as lewd as ever, his words as insulting. "Spread your legs wide, kid. I'm gonna fuck you like I promised before!"
Melanie gasped and sat bolt upright. Tod pushed her back down. "Hear me?" he asked. "Hear what I said?" Melanie nodded. "You said...."
"Don't tell me. Just spread your hot little cunt wide!"
"Ooooh!" Melanie moaned, and her marijuana-dazed mind searched back in time and she remembered that something like this had happened before, and she remembered, too, that when they had fucked her she had floated off in space, moved into a world that was new to her and marvelous and exciting and that she had never wanted to quit. She lay back, now, and did as she was told-opened her thighs, spread her legs wide. Novak saw beneath the blondely curling pussy hairs, with the unbelievable pleasure he had felt before, the slim long line of her narrow-slitted little pussy hole, the pink, full lips of her hotly quivering cunt. The sight stiffened his jerking prick, made it hard as iron. "Ready?" he asked suddenly, leering above the nakedly spread blonde like a laughing hyena. "Ready for a fuck?"
A faint flicker of reality crossed Melanie's sodden, pot-deadened brain. "No," she whimpered. "Please don't fuck me here. Someone might come in and watch us."
Novak threw back his head and howled with laughter.
"Well, here I come, ready or not," he grunted, and crawled over her, his body crouched above hers. He flicked his head forward, clamped his teeth harshly into the tender bud of one nakedly trembling nipple, making her scream with sudden pain. "Like it?" he grinned.
"Oh, no, no, Tod! Please don't fuck me here!"
"You know you love it," he said as he had so long before. He nipped her other nipple, and then his tongue trailed across her hugely quivering tits, down between them, along the flat white plane of her belly, back up again, and then his head was above hers, his eyes, cruel and gleaming, mocking her. "You may not be so hot as a script writer," he said, his words stinging like a lash, "but when it comes to fucking, you couldn't be hotter."
Tears sprang to Melanie's eyes at his humiliating words, and she turned her head, blinking them away. As she did, she caught sight of the shadowy figures in the room, realized that her nakedly displayed tits and pussy were being watched now, had been watched before like that T.V. actress she had seen at the first party she attended. Tod Novak most certainly had seen her lewd, obscene licking of Aunt Millie's pussy, she thought with a shudder of horror and a fresh burst of tears. Oh, dear God! Was there no end to the shame these men-these women she had trusted like her own family-would heap upon her? She jerked away, resisting Novak, and then his heavy body dropped between her legs, pinning her naked young ass down against the mattress, smashing her hugely billowing tits flat back against her chest.
She screamed in pain, and then begged pitifully. "Oh, don't Tod. Don't fuck me in front of all these other people!"
"You're not going to pretend you don't like getting fucked at this late date, are you baby?" he asked lewdly.
She answered with a sob and he uttered a coarse laugh.
"Truth is, though, you've never been fucked properly at home. Not like you're getting it here." And he plunged into her.
"Ever been fucked like this?" he grunted.
"Oooh, no! No!" the cock-impaled blonde groaned.
"It's good, isn't it, kid?"
"No," Melanie whimpered. "Oooooh God, no!" But the thick rod filling her belly sent waves of involuntary pleasure through her taut, excited body, and she ground her burning little cunt beneath him as his cock began skewering slipperily into her in a slow, steady rhythm. He fucked her deep now, his iron-stiff rod ploughing in to the hilt, his heavy balls smacking against the nakedly upturned cheeks of her ass, brushing against the tiny puckered ring of her asshole. He quickened his thrusts as she thrashed her body beneath him, and her head rolled wildly to the side in lewd, wanton abandon. He slaved above her, fucking in and out, and Melanie responded, her wetly pulsating pussy clasping it, releasing it again. And then it seemed that little fingers of fire began to lick more hotly through her hungrily quivering belly, to spread through every fiber of her being, and once again she felt the thick, warm fluid begin to flow out of her traitorously responding cuntwalls and surround his slickly pistoning cock in her wide-stretched young cuntal channel. Now, all control shattered by the winds of wildly blowing desire to be fucked, she gasped involuntarily, "Oh, God! Fuck my hot pussy, too! Fuck harder! Fuck it harder!" She jerked and lurched wildly beneath him, knowing deep in her bones as she did so that what he had said was true! She really had never let herself get properly fucked before she had come to Hollywood. And now, before she knew what hit her, she began to chant, "I'm cumming ... I'm cumming ... Tod, fuck me, darling! Ooooh fuck me, aaaah!"
Melanie was aware of very little that happened for the next few minutes. The door opened and closed once or twice, she thought, and people came and others, possibly, went, although there seemed to be more watching her than before, crowding around the bed now, leering evilly at her cum-glistening pussy. She lay, breathing heavily, her mind, in her exhaustion, blissfully blank. And then a familiar voice penetrated the vacuum, and she heard another voice, just as familiar, and the words whirled around in the emptiness of her mind as she tried desperately to pin them down, ascertain their meaning. "Specialty," she heard repeated. "Specialty," and her mind at last dipped back and she connected the word with Tod Novak in some way-he had said it, certainly-and Allan Pierce, too. "Specialty?" What specialty? Why, Allan Pierce's specialty-and Allan Pierce's specialty, she remembered, opening her eyes wide with sudden shock ... Allan Pierce's specialty was sodomy. "Ever been fucked in the ass, Melanie?" Tod had asked her, so long, long ago.
No, she hadn't been. And now, she knew without a shadow of doubt, she was about to be, and right before the burning eyes of others! Her glazed eyes somehow focused on the figure of a man, striding towards the bed on which she lay, and she knew that it was Allan Pierce, and then she felt his cruel, strong hands on her hips, her shoulders, as with a quick, deft movement he turned her over onto her stomach. He began to caress the small hairless hole of her tiny cringing anus, while she writhed and twisted, trying to escape his intimately probing finger. "Oh. my God! No!" Melanie wailed. "Oh, Allan! For God's sake!" She squirmed again, scrambling up on her knees in her effort to get away.
Allan's hand shot out, was clamping against her neck, and her head was forced forward, down, until her nose was pressed down hard against the mattress. Her kneeling body was arched up backwards in the air now, and the lovely rounded curves of her nakedly trembling ass-cheeks were presented fully to the T.V. writer's lust-perverted view.
She felt his hands spreading her ass-cheeks outwards, pulling the fleshy white moons slowly, deliberately, apart, and she sucked in her breath as the cool rush of air teased across the now fully exposed little pucker of her visibly clenching: asshole. She gritted her teeth and tears filled her eyes as she waited for a further assault on her defensively auiverine rectal tunnel. Then she heard Pierce's harsh voice rasping, "Spread your legs wider, Melanie my dear. You're going to get the treat of your life now."
"Oh, no," she gasped. "I can't."
"Oh, but you can!" Pierce growled, grasping her by the ankles, forcing her legs farther and farther and farther apart until she felt she would split down the middle. She screamed in agony, but the lecherously leering man was oblivious to the searing burning pain that she whimperingly endured.
"Wider!" he demanded, and then he thrust his own knees between hers, levering them to a fully opened position.
Melanie grunted, then grunted again, as Allan's finger wormed up inside the warm, rubbery flesh of her asshole, prodding and probing there, lewdly expanding the tight little anus, widening it, preparing it for the greater entrance of his already excitedly swollen prick. The initial shock, the flash of pain had mysteriously subsided now, and gave way to a delightful, pleasurable throb that made her gasp for breath. She wiggled her hips against his flexing finger, then abruptly strained her inwardly-sucking little asshole back onto it and remained there for a moment, while he inserted a second finger into the soft rubbery walls of her anal passage, fucking the two in deeper and deeper, bringing an involuntary moan of rapture to her lips.
"Oh, dear God!" Had she ever thought she would submit to such a vile degradation, such unnatural ravishment? Worse, had she ever thought his perverted finger fucking of her virginal little ass-hole would send such sheer joy soaring through her? Her shame, her humiliation at the thought of others watching were almost unbearable, and yet, at the same time, she reveled in the exquisite pleasure imparted to her fiery tits and pussy below.
Above her, Pierce grinned lewdly, his evil little eyes gleeful at the fulfillment of his long-laid plans. There was nothing he liked better than fucking a voluptuous young married creature like Melanie Carson in the ass, he thought, nothing more wonderful than introducing an innocent married woman to the most depraved of all debaucheries. Then, with a final little cry of triumph, he thrust a third finger into the small elastic opening, stretching her slightly again.
Melanie groaned, but Pierce persisted, his three fingers worming deep inside the rubbery little passage, working back and forth, stretching the tight little walls almost to the limit. Again the young helplessly kneeling blonde felt the horrible humiliation of the moment, felt it turn into an oddly exciting cunt-flooding stimulation.
The older man was breathing hard above her nakedly kneeling body now, his fingers skewering in and out of her slightly loosened asshole, in a insanely maddening rhythm, his prick stiff as a poker, aching excruciatingly. He was almost ready, he thought, almost ready for the final act of subjugation of this dumb, desirable little bitch. Well, he'd give it to her good, too. Give her something to write home about, or to write a porn flick about, if she ever got ambitious again. With a wierd sucking little sound, he withdrew his plunging fingers, and clutched his raging, rampaging cock between them, then guided it forward toward the tight rubbery little circle they had just abandoned. He placed the stiff blunt tip against the tiny opening, and then with a heavy, lust-inspired grunt, fucked it gleefully forward. The elastic little nether ring of her anus gave way before the relentless pressure, and Allan popped the blood-filled head of his cock just up inside the tightly cringing little tunnel of her ass, then inched in deeper and deeper.
"Oh, God!" Melanie screamed. "Don't! You're killing me. You're killing me!" as the excruciating pain sliced through her flesh like a cutting knife. But Allan, his eyes gleaming hotly, fucked further, forcing his cock in to the hilt, sinking it far up into the soft velvety depths of her warm, tight asshole before him. His pelvis crashed hard against her nakedly split ass-cheeks and his heavy, cum-laden balls smacked flatly against the blonde-fringed lips of her wetly flooding pussy below.
He held still for a moment to allow her wide-stretched anal passage to adjust, then began to fuck mercilessly in and out, and the slight pain and pressure Melanie had felt as he had first fucked his cock up into her began to subside, to blend with a lewd, masochistically rising ecstasy. All resistance had ebbed, all control of her own body, her own emotions had disappeared, and she felt nothing but the whirling, wonderful sensation of this lewd perverted act of being fucked like a whore in the ass. She arched backwards in an involuntary contraction, beginning to rotate her cock-split ass-hole in teasing little circles back against the older man's thrusts into her now eagerly welcoming rectum, meeting his forward movements with tiny, hungrily driven backward grinds of her own.
Pierce looked up, and saw from the corner of his lust-filled eye the figure of a nude man watching the scene with rapt attention, his thick prick sticking out before him in tantalizing excitement. In a flash he realized it was David Carson, too drunk and pot-dazed to recognize his own wife, or was he too zonked out to care, kneeling on the bed before him, her cock-impaled young ass back against another man's cock, as he fucked into her warm, rubbery ass. Great, he thought. Just great. If there was anything better than screwing this kid solo, it would be doing it tandem with that hick-town husband of hers.
He caught Tod Novak's eye as he, too, watched with lascivious pleasure, and nodded. The producer shot back a knowing glance, and, smirking evilly, stepped over to the young man, placed his hand on his shoulder, and half-led, half-shoved him forward to the bed, where Melanie rocked back and forth, her face contorted in wild passion, her eyes tightly closed, her mouth slackly open Quickly, expertly, Novak seized the husband's hardened young cock, swept it out towards his helplessly impaled young wife's open mouth, and swiftly, deftly, threaded it between her hungrily gaping lips.
David wracked his befuddled brain for an answer, and at last one came to him. Why, this was Kim-wonderful Kim who had been sucking his cock a little while before and who had seen how much fun he'd had and who had wanted to please him and who knew that he wanted Melanie, his own wife, to suck his cock, too-why Kim, just to make him happy, had somehow managed to make up her face so that she looked just like Melanie, and now she was sucking his cock again.
Wonderful, wonderful Kim, he thought again, drawing back, then plunging his thickly aching cock deep into his own wife's mouth. Melanie opened her eyes as she felt this new intrusion, felt the hard rigid shaft brush deep against the back of her throat. She twisted her head, wondering in turn who this was, and then it dawned on her that it was the young Greek god she had seen in the other bedroom where a young woman, whose name she didn't know, either, was sucking his cock. And now he wanted her to do it, and so Melanie closed her moist little lips tightly around the hard, plunging staff, and ran her tongue over it and clasped and unclasped it hungrily while behind her Allan Pierce fucked in and out in long smooth strokes, ramming his prick deep into her openly accepting bowels.
Pierce groaned now, his rod pumping in and out. He arched back in a convulsive jerk, and the white-hot cum that seethed like lava in his heavy cunt-slapping balls erupted, shooting their load the full length of his near-to-bursting cock and spewing it forth into the depths of young Melanie Carson's hotly absorbing belly. A great gush of pleasure filled her, just as his thickly flowing seminal fluids did, and she bucked back in a spasm of her own intense pleasre, still sucking madly on her husband's cock, fucking deep up into her mouth from the front. And then he, too, began to jerk in the beginning of his orgasm, his boiling, white-hot cock-juice, too, shot forth, and Melanie, still impaled from behind by Allan's now-deflating cock, felt the milky juices with which he had filled her splash back out down the length of her now wide-stretched rectal passage to run down the crevice of her wide-split ass-cheeks. At the same moment her own husband's searing cum shot forth to fill her mouth and throat with his own gushing orgasm.
And then the three seemed to collapse together, David to kneel on the floor by the bed, Melanie spread-eagled now against the mattress and the T.V. writer in a heap at her feet. Later-much later-when Melanie aroused herself, Allan Pierce was gone and a total stranger was crawling on top of her. She raised her head and peered over the edge of the bed, at the satiated figure of the young Greek god. And then she screamed silently. Oh my God! Oh, my God! It's David!
He opened his eyes and stared into her shock-contorted face, but all he did was look dazedly over at her and give her an appreciative smile for the beautiful sucking she had just given his cum-drained young cock.
My God, she thought, and then groaned aloud as her husband's long thick cock speared deep up into her again hungrily gripping cunt. He doesn't even recognize me at all!! He doesn't even know it was his own wife that just sucked his cock dry while another guy fucked her in the ass right in front of him!!!
* * *
It was late the next afternoon and the plane roaring down the runway lifted slowly, breathlessly, and then soard skyward and homeward. Next to Melanie, David unfastened his seat belt, pushed his seat back, leaned against it, eyes closed. The stewardess came down the aisle.
"Letter for you," she said and handed it to her. "It was given to the purser before takeoff." It was in Aunt Millie's handwriting, and she took it with trembling fingers.
"Dear Melanie," she read, "I think there is something you ought to know. It may hurt a little at first, but I'm sure you'll know I'm only telling you this for your own good, because, in spite of what you might think of me, I really hope you'll be happy.
"About your T.V. script. The reason Michael Goren tore up your contract was not because of the way David disgraced himself at the party, but because it was, if you'll forgive me, a lousy idea for a series. It was, in fact, one of the worst T.V. scripts anyone at Goren Communications had ever read, and I'm sure the opinion of other television producers would be about the same. So don't blame David for ruining your career. At least, not as a television screen writer, because you never were, and never will be one.
"I'm sure you think of me as a dirty old lesbian. Well, Melanie, my dear, I am. And should you ever want the services of a dirty old woman, you can reach me at my apartment in Hollywood."
The letter was signed, "Love, Aunt Millie."
Melanie read it over, thinking about it. Then she tore up the letter.
She didn't have the courage, though, to speak to David until they were picking up their luggage at the airport back home. Then she said in a small wistful voice, "You know, David, I'm not mad at you anymore. About my career and your behavior before I arrived at the party, I mean. I mean, I know you didn't mean it...."
He dropped the suitcase in his hand and stared at Melanie, his mouth open, his lips trembling. At last he said, in a voice choked with emotion, "Gee, Melanie, that's decent of you. I mean, it's really decent, honey."
She smiled, nodding. "It's just the way I feel, David."
He picked up the suitcase again. "Do you, honey, are you sure?"
"Yes."
They started towards the door where the limousine waited. "You know, Melanie," David said suddenly. "I'm not mad at you either. For what you did, I mean. I mean running off to Hollywood to-become famous and leaving me all alone in Jackson."
"You're not, David?"
"No, I'm not."
"Oh darling, I'm so glad!"
He grinned and watched as she moved slightly ahead of him along the narrow corridors of the airline terminal. Her little bouncing ass swayed from side to side enchantingly, and he felt shivers of desire to fuck it the way the T.V. writer had fucked that girl named Kim, while she sucked the cum out of his cock. Jeez, he could hardly wait to get her home. Everything was going to be just fine now that he knew how to treat women.
He thought of the way Kim had sucked his cock, the way she had let Allan Pierce fuck her in the ass. And he remembered how he had cum like a bull from the excitement of the whole thing.
He stared at his wife's beautifully swaying ass again. Jeez, he could hardly wait. He'd get her clothes off, get her on her belly on the bed, part those little whitely rounded cheeks of her ass the way he'd seen the T.V. writer do to Kim, and fuck her crazy!
It wasn't going to be at all the way it had been before.
He let out a low, lewd whistle. Man, what a twosome they were going to make now! And maybe even a threesome or foursome if he could ever trick Melanie into it. It would be hard because she was awfully smart, and would have probably been rich and famous if he hadn't lost his head at that party. But he knew if he could ever get her started with some other guys around and they started feeling her pussy and tits and got her all hot while he was fucking her, she might really turn on to letting them fuck her too. Well, he thought, as they walked out into the brilliant Mississippi sunshine, that was for later ... First he would try to break her in to Allan Pierce-style ass fucking and whatever came after that would just be icing on the cake!!!
