Soft! You'd better toughen up, Morton Benedict, or soon you won't be playing even second leads. That limp flab has to be hard, if Chadwick is to cast you in the lumberjack thing.
There was hunger in the gray eyes that looked back from the mirror. At thirty-three, there were few chances left to him. He rubbed the slight bulge around his middle, then scratched the brown thatch below.
"That's not the limp flab that needs hardening," he grunted as the flaccid tube of his penis swelled under the mild stimulation. But he felt the pleasured tingle as the organ became filled with hot blood.
"Speak for yourself, lover," cooed a soft voice. from the doorway. Morton whirled, his rampant cock-freed from his grasp-slapping solidly against his thigh. It sprang out like a vibrating arrow, pointing at the lovely blonde.
"Now why would you want that thing hard?" he teased. "Didn't you tell me we'd have to curtail our fun a little until we got adjusted to this six-thousand-foot altitude?"
"A little, Morty," she replied, her moist, full lips pouting enticingly. "But not altogether." She moved into the motel bedroom from the bathroom where she had been readying herself for a much-needed night's sleep. She knelt quickly on the carpet and slipped her hands behind his hairy buttocks, making them tense and harden under her gentle fingers. Her lips touched his belly.
"June, baby!" he gasped as her kiss moistened the hard length of cock from base to purple head. Then her tongue flicked at the tight opening and she sucked the fat head into her mouth. Morton groaned appreciatively and his hands caressed her soft blonde tresses. His fingers traced the delicate outlines of her ears and her soft warm throat.
June sucked voraciously, swirling her hot tongue around the quivering shank, nibbling the swollen crown, and rolling and squeezing the tightly drawn scrotum.
Mort's breathing was much too labored for the early stages of arousal, he realized. He pulled her head firmly but gently away from his groin.
"I'm puffing... already, baby," he panted. "We'd better lie down and... approach this slowly if you... want it to last."
"Oh, yes, let's make it last," she agreed, pulling herself to her feet by tugging on his legs, buttocks and hips. They moved the few steps to the queen-size bed and Morton sank down on it.
"No, not on the spread, Morty," she cried.
"What's wrong with the spread?"
"We don't know when it was washed last," she told him. "The sheets will be clean, hopefully. Come on, get up, Morty." He gave a reluctant grunt and struggled to his feet, massaging his erection to maintain its rigidity while she peeled back the covers and exposed the white sheets. Then he plopped across the expanse of percale and waved his cock at her.
June shrieked playfully and launched herself in an arc over him. Morton grinned and rolled toward the headboard, and she landed beside him with a" giggly bounce. He was up and on his knees before she recovered. He grasped her legs and forced them apart. His hand slithered to her crotch and fingered through the blonde bush into the wet slit.
"No fair!" she squealed. "It's not your turn yet!" She shook her quivering buttocks at him and tried to turn over, but he held her tightly to the bed.
When he had two fingers deep in her slippery vagina, he vibrated them teasingly, working them in little circles until she moaned and gasped with pleasure. He rolled her on her back and buried his face in her glistening golden bush, nibbling and tonguing the puffy labia. He licked upward until he found the rigid little fingerling of her clitoris. She gasped as he pressed his hps around it and milked it tenderly.
"Morty! Oh, Morty!" June's arms flailed the bed as he feasted on the pungent juices that flowed generously from her. His hands stroked her buttocks and he fingered the warm cleft that separated them, titillating the sensitive nerves and starting a shivering tremor that rippled her alabaster skin.
"Oh, it's so good!" she cried. "Don't stop, Morty!" He tried to note the exact pressure and rhythm at the moment she spoke so he could keep her climbing the exciting path at the same rate of ascent.
He felt the tension build in her thigh muscles and buttocks and knew she was almost over the top. When her back arched, lifting her off the bed, he squeezed her ass and glued his mouth to the flowing goodness of her cunt.
She began to writhe and rotate her hips as the full impact of orgasm burst upon her. Morton rode out the storm and, when her buttocks again touched the bed, he was still licking and sucking the tender flesh.
"Enough!" she cried out, bunching up the bedclothes in her desperate grasp until both her hands were full of wrinkled fabric. Morton gave the swollen bud of her fully exposed clitoris another quick, gentle lick, then blew on it.
He sat crosslegged on the bed beside her and watched the joyful sight of her contentment and the always amazing phenomenon of the afterglow that suffused her flesh after she had reached her goal.
Her skin seemed to have an inner illumination as the thousands of tiny capillaries filled with the warmth of swiftly circulating blood. Her thighs were still squeezing together as if they yet held his head trapped between them. He wanted to see her cunt as it pulsed to a gradual rest, so he parted her legs and spread the swollen lips with his thumbs.
The dark orange-pink hole quivered at him, winking as it spasmed in slowly clutching action as if seeking to grasp his missing cock. The pulsations became ever slower and further apart in time as he watched. When it seemed that no more action would occur, he made a wild cry and crawled between her thighs.
"Morty, you come back here," she said querulously. "You took my lollipop away before I finished it!"
But he was hypnotized by the weird beauty of her clutching vulva. Few men enjoyed having their cocks mouthed to the final point of ejaculation like Morton. But now he could not be deterred from his goal, even by the thought of June's lovingly expert technique as an artist of fellatio.
He grabbed one of the pillows and stuffed it under her ass while holding her buttocks off the bed by lifting her knees. When her pelvis was tilted upward, he pulled her legs apart once more and pressed toward her.
With her thighs so widely spread and her pubic mound canted enticingly toward him, the blonde bush glistened even more wetly in the light of the bedside lamp. It was moistened with her womanly juices and Morton's saliva in a slow-drying varnish that made bright diamond highlights in the woven-gold hairs.
Morton's erection pulsed achingly as it poised over the gleaming golden forest and the glistening gash. He grabbed the shaft and guided it to aim the purpling head at the purple-orange flesh of her cave, then pressed it between the soft, oiled petals and shoved forward.
"Ooohh!" June breathed happily. "Bury it in me, Morty!"
He slowed his initial thrust and began a spiral movement that made the head of his cock nose against as much of her soft vaginal walls as possible. He loved to "taste" the tender depths of her cunt when they were flooded with love oils, imagining the delicious female flavor of the areas his tongue could not reach.
"Wh-what are you... doing, Morty?" she asked, knowing full well his voluptuous technique, loving it because it felt exciting. But she also enjoyed hearing him tell her about it.
"I'm tasting the... sweetness of your... wonderful cunny, doll," he panted. "God! it's so... so unbelievably delicious!" He continued to corkscrew into her with the winding, wiping head of his prick, smearing the swollen tip over every millimeter of the slippery tissue that lined her passage.
"Oh, Morty, I'm... so glad I taste good to you... 'cause your cock feels so... sweet when it... kisses me all over... inside like that!" Her cunt muscles clasped him tightly as she uttered her last phrase. The clutching action added to the already mounting stimulus of the joyful contact and the goading excitement of her words.
"Junie! Oh, God!" He fought to control himself, panic rising as he realized he had not yet even struck bottom. He thrust home desperately and felt the tip of his cock press against the fleshy little donut of her cervix. The suddenness of his final shove and the stimulation of that deep touch started June up the crazy escalator toward her peak. The little port of her womb gave a convulsive tightening and loosening that created a sucking kiss on the end of his cock. It was more than he could withstand.
"Quick, Junie!" he cried in his desperation. "Come with me!" She was well on her way up the spiraling ramp of climax, but she knew she could not climb fast enough to catch him. It caused her to feel a momentary disappointment in the midst of her mounting joy, but as Morton screwed swiftly and desperately in and out of her now spasming vagina, he set off other triggering mechanisms that speeded her flight.
"Yes! I'm... coming, darling!... com-m-m-MING!" Her hips had taken up a counter-movement that met his thrusts hungrily; now she drove shudderingly, erratically upward and stayed there, arching her back as she was torn by the first throes of her orgasm.
Her position tilted her cunt to receive his outpouring as he spewed his hot fluid seed into her depths. Each pulsing spurt brought a clamping reaction from the juicy glove of her passage and its folds closed and opened around his cock, milking him voraciously as he achingly spit his final drops against the soaked velvet surrounding his gratified prick.
They cried out their victory in a duet of glory, then sighed as total exhaustion claimed them. Morton rolled off and fell away from her, his syrupy cock trailing a sticky smear over her thigh and hip, then splatting limply against his own thighs and leaking its ooze on his skin and the sheets below.
"Mmm-m-m," June hummed her contentment as she stretched and yawned healthily as she relaxed every muscle of her body. A faint pulsing still showed around her neck and temples, and the swelling of passion had not yet completely disappeared from around her eyes and mouth. But she was at that pinnacle of well-being which makes j a woman complete.
Their breathing was still heavy and panting, though June's had returned nearer to normal than Morton's. He felt the greatest exhaustion he had ever experienced, and wanted only to sleep. The intensity of the sensation frightened him and he wondered if a man could get a heart attack having this much sexual exercise at an altitude so much higher than he was used to.
"That was beautiful, Morty," June sighed. "I'll have another order of the same in the morning, if you don't mind." She lay with her eyes closed and a beatific smile on her face. Morton watched the rise and fall of her creamy breasts, appreciating the slight quivers that shook the orange-pink buttons of her nipples. There was a silence as he contemplated these lovelies, regretting the haste that had caused him to omit them from the foreplay. He knew it would be fun to start with them in the morning and work into things more slowly. But again he thought about the altitude and his extreme fatigue.
"Do you think too much sex could cause a heart attack?" he asked.
"As you've often said: 'What a way to go!' " June replied without opening her eyes. Her peaceful smile had become an elfin grin.
"No, I'm serious," he protested. "I'm damn near tired enough to pass out!" June's eyes opened and her head turned to give her a better look at his face. He wore a worried expression. "Let's not tempt fate, then," she told him. "We just had a lovely helping; we'll make it last for a while. After all, we're going to be on location here for quite a long time, and we're bound to get acclimated after a bit."
"I hope so. By the way, has Burt mentioned the pirate script lately?" Morton had held his eagerness in check for a long time, but now he could not contain his anxiety. If Burton Chadwick still intended to give him the lead in that colorful sea-dog epic, there was hope for his career yet, despite his lengthy series of second leads these past two years. And if a guy couldn't ask his own wife for information she picked up as secretary-aide to a top director-especially when it could mean her husband's career-well...
"No, darling. Not since that thing last week. But that in itself shows he intends to shoot. The producer wouldn't have sent a memo advising Burt of the availability of those ships if there were any doubts."
"Sure. But what bothers me is that he hasn't said anything to me about it for so long. And he acted rather funny when he told me he wanted me for that north woods thing, too. I got the impression he really didn't need me all that bad to play a lumberjack. It was as if he might be tossing me a bone here and there because he's already decided against me for the lead in the sea story."
"Oh, no, Morty. He's not like that. I wish you could take my word for it when I keep telling you that you can count on the part. He's never gone back on a promise in the three years I've worked with him."
"You're probably right, Junie. But I can't help being edgy about something so important to my career when I've been waiting this long for some official news direct from him."
"He does have a lot on his mind, Morton," June defended, as if she had heard enough of her husband's petulant impatience and wanted to cool him off. He thought about it for a few minutes, and it reminded him of two other things.
"I do remember his one bit of official news lately. He suggested I peel off a few pounds and inches for the lumberjack role coming up next. And it wouldn't hurt to let him see me pretty trim and wiry around here while we're on location. It might make him think more positively about me as a pirate leader."
"I'll help you with that, Morty. It's partly my fault you put on those two inches you lost earlier in the year. I'll stop giving you such big servings when we eat at home, and I'll cut down on the starches and stuff."
"I'd appreciate it, doll," he said. "But that's not why I brought up the subject. I really had in mind something that relates more to your temptations than mine."
"What do you mean?" June had a truly puzzled expression in her eyes and her moist lips opened as if in surprise.
"Well... you remember what we were discussing night before last?"
"Night before last? We talked about a lot of things while we were getting ready to head up here. Which do you mean?"
"About our sex life. I mean the part about variety making it better for some couples. We talked about how seldom we both made it really great at the same time because one of us was too tired or something. And how maybe we ought to go along with Nature... like if the urge and the opportunity coincide, but we're with other people, well... "
"The swapping thing, you mean. I don't know, Morty. Like I told you that night, I won't deny that on rare occasions I've had a wet pussy watching some other man do something or dancing with a particularly virile type. Just as you get a hard on because of some other female. But I don't know about deliberately having sex in cases like that. And anyway, what's it got to do with your diet?"
"I was thinking about using all the time and energy I have up here to get in shape, because that's pretty important. And after the way this one session has knocked me out, I don't think I'd better plan on many more while I'm trying to shrink my waistline. But I know you'll have plenty of opportunities, and I hate to see you tense and unsatisfied just because I'm not up to it."
"Oh, Morty. I'm not all that horny, am I? Really?"
"You're not abnormal, if that's what you're asking me. But you are a healthy gal with healthy female appetites. And I'm only saying that I don't expect to have a lot of excess energy up here. By the time I work out to lose weight, do what's required of me for the day's shooting, and study my lines for the next day, I won't be worth a hoot in bed."
"I don't want a hoot in bed," June kidded, rolling over to put her arms around him. She kissed him tenderly. "I want you, and you're no owl, Morton Benedict."
"Maybe not," he admitted, and kissed her on the eyes, neck and ears. "But I'm wise enough to know that a little sex play in someone else's sack won't damage our love, and it might keep you in a much better frame of mind until I'm up to taking care of you the way I should. So promise me that if the situation arises, you won't be the long-suffering martyr. If you need it, take it."
"All right, darling. If I need it, I'll take it. Now will you shut up about it and snuggle me a little closer? It gets cool all of a sudden up here in the mountains."
"Had you thought of getting under the covers?" Morton asked laughingly. June giggled and the two of them tried to maneuver their legs under the partially turned-down bedclothes without getting up. By the time they made it, Morton was huffing and puffing again in an effort to suck in oxygen. They cuddled up and lay still, but each was occupied with too many thoughts to sleep immediately.
Morton was thinking about the altitude as he puffed his way back to normal breathing. He had always lived by the seaside, both in his boyhood in New England and his last twelve years in California. And he knew that he should have taken all or part of the many opportunities he had passed up to weekend or vacation in the mountains. He had read someplace that the older you get the harder it is to adjust to changes in atmospheric pressure. The astronauts had to be exceptionally flexible in this respect. So did the Olympic athletes, particularly those who competed in high places like the 1968 contenders. Mexico City was almost as high as Running Springs, where Morton now tried to breathe normally after one piece of ass. What would he do if he were a few pounds heavier, a few years older, under these conditions?
He decided that he would begin training first thing in the morning. Once the decision was made and he knew he was serious about it, he felt relaxed. Suddenly he realized the effort he had been expending just to breathe had become unnecessary. He wondered, as sleep claimed him, if part of his problem was psychological. It seemed to him that he had read somewhere that...
June felt cozy, nestled against her husband's body and inhaling the freshness of the cool mountain air that streamed in the window and across the bed. She always felt cozy when she was freshly completed sexually. But tonight she felt a strange confidence in her situation that made her feel cozier than ever.
Was it the knowledge that her husband loved her so much he was more concerned with her well being than with his own legal rights of possession as her spouse? Or was it the unfettered freedom she now felt subconsciously? Morton had removed any fetters she may have worn to restrain her sexual impulses around others.
She began to think about the members of the company that were to share the coming weeks with them in the San Bernardino Mountains.
There was Gurney Adams, first of all. And for most women that would be enough. Unlike Morton, who had several years of stage experience before he had hit the Hollywood trail, Gurney had done a few bits on television, then hit it lucky in two series of his own. The lanky, likable star made two pictures a year and commanded a salary higher than many capable, hardworking actors who had come up the tough way.
But June could not begrudge Gurney Adams anything. Gurney was the type of. guy few women could deny. She was not sure but what she would...
She forced herself to stop thinking about him when she felt the dampness between her thighs increase. It would be better if she turned her mind to less exciting men. Like Burton Chadwick, the British director she had worked for and with these last three years.
Of course Burt had made a pass at her once. And when she had parried his initial thrust, he had closed the door on that part of their relationship. Closed it but not locked it.
"June," he had said to her from behind his desk where he had retreated after her rebuff, "I won't ever make another pass at you. I want you on the staff, need you. I refuse to endanger your efficiency or your value to me as a staff member by being a nuisance as a lecherous old man. But one thing you should know about me; If I make a pass, it's because a woman means something to me, and the passage of time never alters that. So if you ever feel differently, try to let me know. But you'll have to be the one who opens the door after this. Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes, the accommodations for the Lisbon trip. Sorry you won't be sharing them with me. Guess I'll have to be the tourist over there; I can't stand any of the females in my cast."
June turned slightly in the bed and felt Morton's arm slip off to flop beside them. She rearranged her pillow and inhaled a last deep breath of the clean air that filled the room.
Why was it that up here where there were no impurities like the smog-filled atmosphere of the Los Angeles area, it was more difficult to breathe than where the lungs were asked to filter all of that junk? She was still puzzling over this paradox when she thought she heard herself start to snore...
CHAPTER TWO
Burton Chadwick was a good driver, and Highway 30 was a good road, but he was slightly more tense behind the wheel now than on all the other occasions which required him to drive in the mountains.
For one thing, although he was familiar and at ease with the smooth control of the big Mercury Marquis station wagon, this was the first time he had demanded so much of it. The mobile home behind the hitch was quite large and offered considerable air resistance. His mountain driving had been confined to sports cars or town sedans with no additional loads attached.
But even though he concentrated more than usual on the road and the traffic, he had time for other thoughts. Especially when he had to pull off the road on one of the turnouts to let swifter traffic pass. As an old racing buff, Chadwick usually drove the fastest cars, and he always felt a slight twinge of humiliation when he had to extend this road courtesy.
Yet he would not have it otherwise on this particular trip. For having this mobile home with them meant that the Chadwicks would live a little more luxuriously on location than those who were assigned to studio portables. And Burton Chadwick had retained enough of his British background to appreciate the privacy and convenience of bringing his own environment with him.
Besides, he rather enjoyed the extra freedoms it gave him. He was "on his own property" the minute he stepped inside his quarters, and could do whatever he wished. Like the barbecues he had thrown for the casts on the previous two pictures.
And then there was Lisa. If he had accepted a studio portable, no matter how much more elaborately furnished than the others-and it would have been quite lavish for Lisa's sake, if not for his own-he would have felt that he was living with the star of the picture. In his own caravan he was master, and even if his wife was Cara Lisa, darling import find of the decade, it would be she who lived with him.
He saw the Running Springs sign and took the ramp into the town, slowing to twenty miles per hour and throwing the transmission into normal driving range. The reduced speed of the engine made the air conditioning seem louder and he realized that the wind coming in the aperture of the slightly open vent was now quite pleasant. He switched off the conditioner and listened to the healthy hum of the motor as he pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road.
Across the road a sign in Nordic script spelled out Lloyd's. This was the restaurant he had been told would surprise him. In this mountain community of a few hundred permanent residents, it did not seem likely that there would be enough patronage to support an eating establishment of the quality promised. But he would soon find out.
"Lisa?" he spoke her name softly, then kissed her forehead. She came awake easily, simply, with no dramatics and no fuss. One moment she had been sleeping the healthy sleep of youth; the next she was wide awake, bright-eyed and smiling. It never ceased to amaze him.
"Are we here already?" she asked, looking around her like a child who wonders where the Christmas tree might be.
"Yes, and just in time," he told her. "I could eat a bloody elephant right now." He got out of the car and went around to open her door.
They had to wait for four cars, a pickup camper and a highway patrol cruiser before the road was clear. Then they crossed the highway and started into a doorway. Lisa tugged on his arm as he stepped inside.
"Wait. This is a coffee shop," she told him. "There's another door." He let her maneuver him down the walk and into another doorway which led into a short foyer. To the right was a well appointed bar area, tastefully decorated. Ahead of them was a dining room.
"Good-oh!" he said. "Let's have a libation to relax us." He took her elbow and guided her into the bar area where they found a cozy spot not too far from the enclosure where a young man was just beginning to do things at the keyboard of an organ.
A waitress took their orders, and soon Lisa was sipping a daiquiri while Burton tasted a Scotch and soda. They asked the waitress about a table in the dining room and were told there was a fifteen minute wait, so they reserved a table and relaxed to the lilting organ music.
While they started their second drinks Burton realized that the selection being played was Mono Lisa, and that it was the third piece in a row with an Italian flavor.
"Either the organist is a paisan or he's one of your fans," he told Lisa. She turned her head and met the organist's smiling gaze. When he dipped his head in a token of dedication, Lisa smiled and bowed her own head to him, then blew him a kiss.
The waitress arrived to tell them their table was ready, and they took their drinks into the dining room. When they were seated and picking up their menus, Burton saw Bob Samuels at a table across the room. Samuels was Gurney Adams' manager and an inveterate table hopper. Burton groaned when he saw that Samuels had spotted them and was rising from his own table to cross over to theirs.
"Hi, Chadwicks," he greeted them as he neared their corner table.
"And I thought we were arriving early," Burton told him.
"Arriving? I'm about ready to leave. Just having a final meal. Had to scout around and locate a few things for Gurney. Got 'em all set, so I'll be on my way down in a little while. Say, you people ought to try the northern catfish they serve here. It's out of this world. Well, take care. I have to get a move on."
He tossed a salute to Lisa and headed for the cashier. The Chadwicks watched him exit and heaved a pair of relieved sighs. Neither of them disliked Samuels, but he could bore anyone to tears with his usually idle chatter.
Samuels was right about the catfish, though. They decided to try it and were ecstatic over its flavor and moist texture. And the salad and baked potato were perfect. Burton decided that he had not been the victim of exaggeration. Lloyd's had quality food. But they were eager to get settled for the night, so they ate more hurriedly than usual and soon were driving out of town toward the big camp where they were to do most of their shooting and where living quarters would be set up for the company.
The advance people were there and the facilities were all set up, but the portable housing units would not arrive until the next day. The studio roustabouts helped park and level the Chadwick unit and open the awning which created a shady patio. Several of them then put up a canvas shelter for the station wagon while the rest hooked up electrical and plumbing connections.
By the time all was quiet and the Chadwicks found themselves alone in their mobile mountain home, both were quite exhausted. But they managed to shower and get ready for bed, and Burton built them a pair of drinks. They sat on the edge of the bed sipping at their icy brandy crustas and smiling happily at each other.
They had not counted on the increased potency of alcohol at high altitudes. Earlier, they had been up-tight and had followed their drinks with food. But now, relaxed, primed by the earlier drinks and reinforced by a generous double portion of brandy, they began to mellow and forget their tiredness.
"We have tonight all to ourselves," Lisa said suddenly. Her tone implied she had just discovered a monumental surprise. Her moist eyes and pouting lips told him how she wanted to make use of their night together.
Burton had doubts about his lasting power at that moment. But he was encouraged by the false confidence the brandy had infused into his blood. And few men could have resisted the charms of Cara Lisa under almost any conditions.
The soft silk of her glistening brunette coiffure surrounded a perfect complexion of faintly tanned olive cream. Her patrician nose and full, ripe lips were charms unto themselves, as were her liquid, expressive brown eyes.
Sitting on the bed, her none-too-concealing negligee pulled carelessly up into her lap to reveal thighs of the same color and texture as her face, she made Burton fall in love with her all over again.
When he had met her, courted her and married her, she was Lisa Maria Donati, a budding actress in Rome. He had groomed her, chosen her screen test material, coached her, and signed her up with his own manager and agent. She had burst on the public as Cara Lisa, Italian sex kitten of the silver screen, and her first three films had made her a box office hit.
It was her childlike genuineness that appealed to almost everyone. And for those who were interested only in sexual beauty, she presented a female perfection that stopped just short of fantasy. Her earthiness was so natural, so untouched by phoniness and hypocrisy, that she could have done or said almost anything without offending. It was this quality that had recommended her so strongly to audiences in an era when most bars had been let down on screen censorship.
Burton Chadwick knew how fortunate he was to have her for his own. But he was not possessive by nature, and he took joy in seeing her marvelous qualities bring excitement to others.
"Well?" she whispered. The front of her negligee opened as she leaned forward to peer into his face and the beauteous fullness of one olive cream breast thrust proudly into view. He could see the pinkness of the tiny marsh mallow shape that was her nipple. He groaned and reached for her.
"Oh, Burt!" she breathed as his hands closed over her shoulders and slid the negligee downward. She still pronounced his name "Boort" after all this time; it was one of the few English inaccuracies she had never conquered, but it had an exotic sound that he liked.
His mouth found a nipple and sucked it in. His tongue and lips toyed with it lovingly, hungrily, making her breath come in little gasps as she uttered his name endearingly over and over.
He avidly sucked the other nipple, and when he had both erected to alarming proportions, he lip-nibbled his way down over her smooth belly and into the dark feathers that covered her mound. He had long since pulled the folds of her negligee aside and now he grasped her thighs and moved them tenderly apart to expose his goal.
He knew her meticulous cleanliness and he had seen her come out of the shower only minutes before. Yet, as he saw the black silk of her pubic hair part to reveal the swelling lips it hid, he noted the unbelievable wetness of her. She was creaming like mad and he had barely started to make love to her.
"Oh, Lisa!" he groaned, overcome with the lusty power of his desire for her. "Cara mia, I hunger for you so!" his voice was husky to the point of hoarseness as his throat tightened with passion.
His head moved into her crotch and his lips caressed the moist warmth of her desire-thickened labia. The muskiness of her female juices filled his nostrils and he groaned again, joyful with the scent and taste of her. His tongue flicked out and caressed down the inner side of one vertical lip and up the other, gathering the juice of her excitement.
"Burt! Oh, you eat me so nice!" she cried out.
Then, remembering how he had praised her juiciness at other times, telling her how much he enjoyed consuming it, she gasped out more words as he licked and sucked at her cunt.
"I'm making more... love cream for you... Daddy Burt... Drink all you want... Oh-h-h!" He had found her clitoris with his eager tongue and now he flicked it rapidly, vibrating its firm little tip until she squealed with glee. Her passion quickly reached a point where she would remain for quite a while before climbing toward her orgasm.
"Oh, Burt!... give me your cock... please!... You make-a me so... hungry to taste-a your cock-a!" In her excitement she fell into more careless pronunciation of typical Italian accents.
Burton did not want to risk what might happen if she began to suck him now, for he knew he could not make it more than once the way he felt. But she was pulling at his shoulders almost frantically, moaning her anxiety and hungers. He could not deny her.
Slowly, trying not to lose his contact with the juicy tender pussy, he swivelled and writhed, working his way around to reverse his position. He barely got his legs on either side of her arms when she grabbed his rigid cock and put it between her lips.
Burton groaned again as her mouth created voluptuous sensations in his balls and belly, and he dived back deeply into her flowing cunt, lapping and licking voraciously at the never-ending pool of her lubricant as it oozed over her quivering flesh. He switched frequently to her hard little clit and greedily sucked its cloaked shaft. But no more greedily than she was sucking him.
She had one hand cupped lovingly around his balls, tickling the taut sac slowly. The other hand encircled his shaft at the base and her mouth moved constantly, engulfing the length up to her tiny fist at each stroke. He knew she was climbing, finally, when her hips drove upward to meet his hungry eating motions, and he could tell she was moaning around the fleshy cylinder in her mouth.
He moved his own hips, screwing into her fist and mouth with frantic but gentle strokes. Then she tightened her thighs around his head as she began to climax, and he felt his own loins start to tingle.
He sucked in her juices rapidly and thrust his cock deep into her mouth as his semen burst loose. She gulped and sucked as his fluid spewed heavily, swallowing as rapidly as he could spurt. His spasms ceased, and he was ready to flop over and collapse. But Lisa's orgasmic pulses continued, and she-reacted by sucking and tightening her lips around his cock at every shuddering convulsion of her vagina and uterus.
"Lisa!" he cried, lifting his mouth from its feast. "Please!"
She relaxed her grip on him and he rolled off to lie beside her. He barely had the strength to move, but he managed to kiss her nearest foot in gratitude.
"My husband... makes love... very beautifully," she gasped.
"And my wife's... lovemaking... like everything... else about her... is also very beautiful," Burton panted.
She kissed his knee as she turned to move herself nearer to one side of the bed. Then she patted his leg affectionately.
"Turn around, Burt. Come up here and lie close to me."
He groaned, exaggerating only slightly the exhaustion he felt, and crawled into his proper sleeping position. His panting was all quite real, and as he lay there hip-to-hip with Lisa, holding her hand in his, he was reminded of his huffing and puffing on a memorable day in the Italian Alps. Lisa's hand had been in his then, also, and he had made love to her on his trenchcoat with only pine needles for a mattress. What a wild piece that had been!
He recalled that, strangely enough, as he screwed into the delightful juiciness of Lisa's cunt, he had thought about June Bough ton, his secretary-aide, who had affected him so much before she rejected his advances. Now he was thinking again of June, and wondering if ever she would open the door to him. He still had a healthy curiosity about what it would be like to screw her.
Lisa would not be angry if he were to take advantage of such an opportunity; she was no more possessive than he. Nothing could destroy what they had between them.
He often wondered if ever she had screwed another man since their marriage. In these days of the Pill, a genuinely warm and uncomplicated animal like Lisa might be expected to do so. He felt surprise as his cock hardened slightly when he thought of her being plumbed by another man's plunging prick.
Well, if there ever would be opportunities for extramarital sex for either of them, this mountain location should provide them! Not only were there any number of swingers in the company, but from what he had seen and heard in Lloyd's, the local citizens were far from being bucolic rurals.
He let his thoughts turn to June, again. He really would like to get into her blonde nest! And he was pretty certain that she was a swinger at heart...
Lisa was having her own fantasies as she lay quietly relaxed and held her husband's hand. She was aware that Burton's recuperative powers were at least temporarily diminished, and she suspected that it might take quite a while for him to overcome the effects of the drastic change in altitude.
She was susceptible to the thin atmosphere, too. But she was sure that it would not affect her sexual drive and capabilities as much as if she were a man.
In fact, if she had not known Burton was completely drained, she would have spurred him to further performances after the magnificent experience they had just had.
She wondered if Gurney Adams would be coming up in the morning. It was probable? Gurney usually was not far behind his manager in reaching a shooting location, she knew. And Gurney just might give her what she knew she would be needing soon.
After a few days adjustment to the new environment, she would be getting hotter than ever for a wild session of unlimited sex, the no-holds-barred kind of sex she had shared with Burton on those occasions when he had been fresh and virile, unhampered by the responsibilities of his work. That was the thing she craved even now.
Once before she had been stirred by Gurney Adams. It had been accidental, impulsive, and wonderful. Yet, she had not hungered for Gurney as an individual at any time since... until now. Her smoldering appetite made her relive that evening when she and Gurney were rehearsing some tricky bits under Burton's direction. It was at the Chadwick home, and when one of his stars-due to be on the set the following day-was booked for drunk driving and suspicion of narcotic addiction, the star's agent had frantically summoned the director, who told Gurney and Lisa to "keep at it until I get back," then raced to the jail.
One of the things they were trying to perfect for the difficult scene was a clinch which moved from the vertical, standing position to a torrid couch session. It had to be accomplished smoothly and naturally without revealing too much of Lisa's inner thighs. But every time they tried it her skirt hiked up too far.
In Burton's absence, they continued to work in the mockup of the confined set they would be using. After the third attempt, it happened that Gurney's hand slipped over one of Lisa's breasts as he tried to keep her from falling when she tripped on the rug.
His hand froze there. Welded was more like it, for both of them felt a spreading heat from the contact. Lisa had simply put her own hand on the back of Gurney's neck and pulled his lips to hers as if it were still a part of the rehearsal. But both of them knew better. From that moment on, they wrote their own script.
She could still remember the feel of his lips and tongue on her-all over her. But most of all she could see, feel and taste the amazingly shaped cock Gurney had used on every orifice of her quivering, steaming body. It was seemingly a little longer than normal for its thickness. But its most unusual feature was the slight curve that turned upward at the tip, making the head seem like the barbed point of a primitive spear.
Gurney had managed to get that pointed tip wedged snugly in the mouth of her uterus, and when he had come inside her it felt as if she were flooded with scalding syrup in great gushes. She had passed out before he was finished ejaculating.
If Gurney and she had the opportunity to renew their familiarities up here, she knew that she would not hesitate for a moment. But right now, she was so tired...
CHAPTER THREE
"Looks like Mort and June are here," Gurney Adams said to his wife as he pulled the wheel of the Thunderbird hard over and sent the vehicle skimming into the drive of the motel. "Shall we roust them for a drink, Sandy?"
"We'd better not, Gur. I still want to spend every spare moment getting those new lines down pat. Have you ever wondered why they always come up with changes at the last damn minute?" Sandra Stone sounded miffed, but Gurney could tell by the grin on her lips that she considered the imposition a challenge.
He was rather glad she had vetoed his suggestion. As the more sociable member of the family, he always felt it his duty to make the first move toward any socializing. If it were left to Sandy, they'd never go anyplace or do anything. She was a natural stay-at-home, because she loved redecorating everything she could get her hands on.
There were times, though, that Gurney suspected she might have another reason for preferring to avoid social engagements. Sandy liked people, he knew, and when he attempted to analyze her motives for isolating herself, he could think of only one answer. Especially after he had watched her in three different love scenes on the set.
Gurney was almost certain that his wife was afraid of her susceptibility to male stimulus. She even seemed to hold herself back with him, much of the time. Oh, she enjoyed sex and made no attempt to hide the fact. But their lovemaking always left him with the feeling that if she could just pull out one more plug somewhere inside her subconscious, she'd have the time of her life.
And when he had seen her approach a studio love scene coolly, then become so passionate, so clinging and hotly wild that the director would get a hard on watching, Gurney was sure that Sandy received some special excitement from close contact with a male that she was not legally supposed to be playing with.
Thinking about Sandy pressing her body close to other men gave Gurney an erection as he parked beside the motel office. He got out and stood beside the car, looking in at her creamy thighs below her micro-miniskirt.
"I'll book us in, Sandy, and we can shower and roll in the hay. That wasn't a bad meal, but I'm anxious to have dessert. Do you have anything I can nibble on?"
"Gur! Someone might hear you!" Sandy blushed.
"So? What's wrong with a guy wanting to eat a little pussy?" he asked. "Especially a tasty one like yours?" He closed the car door quickly as she pretended to swing her handbag at him. He laughed as he went into the office and registered.
Later, watching Sandy towel herself as she stood on the bathroom rug, Gurney wondered if there were something radically wrong with him. Most guys he knew were fascinated by tits. He could stare at Sandy's full, round hemispheres and their orange nipples with no excitement whatsoever. Her ass, yes; she had the most exciting buttocks and cleft he had ever seen. And that creamy white love mound with its red-gold feathers... He could get a stiff just visualizing it in his memory.
Right now he was ready to play with himself, so cute and desirable was her little snatch as she toweled one foot on the edge of the tub. He was ready to eat it until his mouth grew numb.
He stopped thinking about why he just wasn't a breast man as he felt the aching engorgement of his penis with grasping fingers. If she didn't hurry out of there, he'd bring himself off by hand. Damn, she was a juicy sight!
"Sandy! Hurry out here before I come on the rug!" he cried.
She dropped the towel suddenly and let it fall in a heap on the bathmat, then walked slowly out to him. She was blushing in a way that always added to her charm, in Gurney's eyes. A rosy orange flush spread over her, almost covering her entire body.
"God! Bring that marvelous body here before I starve!" he husked. She moved obediently to sit on the edge of the bed and Gurney's hands clutched her feet. He tipped them up, forcing her back onto the bed, then spread them apart.
The reddish gold filaments of hair at her crotch parted to reveal the deep orange flesh of her vulva and Gurney licked bis lips as he stared at its moistly welcome mouth.
Usually he planted hot, wet kisses along her thighs before he approached the main feast. But tonight he was too eager. He buried his face in her, licking deeply into the warm folds of flesh and sucking hungrily at the moist surfaces.
"Oh, wait, Gu r!" she begged, struggling under his mouth and trying to wave the legs he held imprisoned in his hands. "I'm not wet enough yet; it's so tender!"
Gurney was almost too entranced to be aware of her problem, but he heard her and remembered that he had not shaved all day. With his heavy, coarse stubble, he could be torturing her tender flesh, especially if she had not started to lubricate properly. He relaxed his pressure against her vulva and licked at the warm creases where her thighs joined her torso, then he rolled her over and licked into the cleft of her buttocks.
"Ooh-h-h!" she squealed. "That'll drive me crazy, Gur!" But when he slid his tongue along the crease to the tightly closed ring of her anus and prodded its fastness wetly, she moaned and tried to relax the taut muscle that locked it shut.
Gurney's tongue probed inward a short distance, then dipped in and out, screwing her in the ass teasingly. Her gasps and soft moans told him she loved it, and he knew it would trigger the flow of her cunt juices, so he kept it up until she began to wiggle her ass so wildly he Could not keep his tongue in place.
"Oh, Gur! My cunt's so... hot now... and wet! It's sloppy wet, Gur! Suck me off, honey!"
He needed no coaxing. She found herself once again on her back before she could finish her plea.
Her legs were pulled apart and the rough sandpaper of his whiskers rubbed against her inner thighs.
But she did not mind, now. All she wanted was to feel his mouth on her, licking, sucking, nibbling at the increasingly tingling flesh of her swelling vulva.
His eagerness to consume her every drop of juice made him almost frantic as he licked all around the vessel of her widely open cunt, then sucked milkingly at the throbbing bud of her clitoris. Her ass bucked wildly under him.
"I'm coming, Gur! Oh, how I'm com-m-ming!" she cried. And her cunt mashed his mouth as she tried to screw his tongue. Then she went limp and he gathered the last drops of her dew with his tongue and lips.
He sat up in the bed and smilingly licked his chops like a sated wolf. His penis curved up into the air, hard and thin and pulsing, a drop of precoital lubricant oozing from the eye at its tip like a pearly tear from an eyeless socket.
"Let me... suck you off, Gur," she pleaded. "Let me make you feel... wonderful like you... did me."
"No," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. "I want to stick this cock of mine in that delicious cunt!" He was on his knees between her thighs in a split-second, guiding the stubbornly upcurved lance of his cock, planting its pointed tip in the entrance of her vagina. Then he leaned toward her and eased the head past her entrance. It slid inside her like a finger into a greased glove. And it traced a trail against the upper wall of her passage, its tip furrowing along warmly until she felt it touch the sensitive mouth of her uterus.
"Gur!" she cried. "Not in there again!... We'll get... hung up like we... did in Rosarita!'" Gurney hesitated, as if debating with himself, then the plowing tip slid past the crucial point and hit the curving upper wall of her vagina.
"Yes! Oh, yes! Screw me hard!" she moaned. And Gurney pumped in and out of the velvet chamber steadily, rotating his ass to make additional contact between them. He had been hot to trot so long that he could feel the juices gathering inside him, readying for the sudden release.
"Oh-h-h-h!" Sandy cried as she arched up to meet a deep thrust. "Coming!... I'm coming again!... ohh!" And Gurney lost his last measure of control. He plunged to the balls and spurted hotly as he made short, careful strokes, rubbing the tip of his spewing cock across the entrance to her womb.
He felt the last gush leave him, then his strength seemed to drain from every muscle as he let himself go limp on top of her. He forced himself to move, getting off the tender mattress of her body and trailing his sperm across her belly and thigh before he slid to the sheets face up, his raglike cock bent under him.
Kee-riste! Have I stayed away from the mountains so long I've become a damned flatlander? Hell, I've spent half my life at this altitude or higher.
Then he recalled that he had been away for over two years. And he had done a lot of drinking and carousing during that time. He rolled over onto his back and lay there panting.
"I'll be a sonovabitch!" he said.
"What's the matter?" Sandy wanted to know.
"Nothing, honey," he said. He shook his head wonderingly from side to side. "I guess I'm just flabbergasted."
"Well, it serves you right," Sandy teased. "You certainly gasted my flabber, so we're even."
Gurney chuckled. "You nut. You lovely, sexy nut. Just don't be too damned proud of yourself. I think the altitude, of all things, has done a bit of gasting, too. My flabber may never work again."
"You mean you're just worn out?" she asked. "Or did you hurt something?"
"I mean I feel like I've finished the last of ninety days at hard labor. I'm pooped!"
"Oh. Well that's nothing. I mean nothing to fret about. At this altitude anyone can get pooped."
"Not if you've spent as much time at this altitude as I have. I've been up and down most of my life, and just because I've been away from the mountains for a couple of years I'm puffing like a flatlander on his first trip up."
"That makes all the difference in the world, Gur," she said, sitting up in bed.
"What does?"
"The years you were away. All that time at sea level. It's just like anything else... athletics, for instance. The best in the world can drop to the bottom after being out of training long enough. You're just going to have to be patient. After you're up here a while, your system should adjust so you're just as much at ease up here as you ever were."
"Thanks a lot, Doctor Stone. And just how long is a while in your dictionary?"
"Well... I don't know. But if you've been at this altitude a lot during your life, and were well adjusted to it, it shouldn't take long to readjust."
"I repeat, Doc: How long?"
"Gur, honey, I don't know. But you shouldn't worry about it. Think of the others in the company, especially the older ones. And all of the grips and carpenters and everyone who has to do hard work on location."
"Hey, you think falling off a moving horse and climbing up a canyon wall isn't hard work?"
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Besides, if you didn't have that thing about doing your own stunts you could be resting in the shade while some stunt man made a few bucks."
"Okay; I take it back. Anyhow, you'll have as tough a job as I will. How far do you women have to hike down that dusty trail?"
"I'm not sure. Like the man says, 'Until it comes out right in the rushes,' I guess. They want us to look genuinely pooped, as if we really had to walk those thirty miles from where the wagon train was attacked. Anyway, it's not a dusty trail, thank God. It's a mountain trail, with lots of greenery and stuff."
"Well, I wish your agent could get you better roles. It's a damn shame you're stuck with these matronly parts... a dish like you. I still wish you'd hold out for leads; hell, I make enough for us to live on."
"I know, hon, but we've been through this all before. Gur, we both want that place in Twenty-Nine Palms, and the sooner we get it the happier we'll be. So I can take any roles that pay well if they help us get where we want to go. Okay?"
"Okay, okay. So you play old broads. And if I don't shape up better, I'll be playing the old faithful derelict buddy instead of the money lead. Guess we'd better get some sleep."
"You're right, Gur. I'll turn out the light. I have to pee anyhow."
Gurney closed his eyes and listened to her padding across the room. There was the tinkling dribble of her urination, more padding sounds, then the click of the light switch. He relaxed the muscles of his eyelids and felt the relaxation travel over his entire body. But his mind remained alert.
He wondered if Bob Samuels had found everything for him and made all necessary arrangements. There should be a letter at the General Delivery window of the postoffice in the morning, giving him the rundown. He must remember to stop there before heading out to the location site.
Which reminded him of the fact that he wanted to scout the terrain thoroughly for several days before the shooting of his first scene. He wanted to make sure just what kind of geography he was going to have to bounce on from the moving horse. This was not the right time of his career to be breaking anything important.
Sandy moved against him, sliding her buttocks on his thigh. The action rubbed his retired cock and he was surprised to feel it swell slightly at her touch.
Maybe it won't take as long as I thought to get acclimated. I really don't feel as tired now as I did. A little sleepy, perhaps, but not exhausted.
He rubbed the head of his prick into the warm cleft of Sandy's buttocks and felt it swell more, hardening as it stiffened. He could also feel sleep trying to claim him in the midst of this rediscovered virility, and fought it weakly.
If I can just get the head of it wedged into her ass, it would feel cozy as hell. I might even bring it off just rubbing it in that soft crease. Or even if I fall asleep, maybe I'll come in my dreams. Boy, Adams! You must be getting adjusted already. You're half asleep and still your as randy as ever!
"Sandy?" he called softly. But her only response was a light snoring sound. She must have taken one of her instant sleeping pills, or else she had been more exhausted than she let on.
Oh, well. I'll still try to shove it in her behind. It'll feel good to... go... to... sleep... like...
CHAPTER FOUR
Cara Lisa crossed the ground between the costume van and the Chadwick unit in a little-girl run, half-skipping and half-hopping as she ran. Her Italian hiking boots kicked up pine needles and little puffs of dust. She ran under the big awning and up the steps, opened the door and yelled out excitedly.
"Burt, I'm going to take a walk with Selma. I'll be back by tea time." She stood there until her husband's voice replied from the bathroom.
"All right, cara mia. But be careful. Remember everything you were taught about the woods."
"Yes, darling. Don't work too hard while I'm gone. It's quite hot outside." She was out the door and across the patio before Burton could reach the entrance. He watched as she skipped and ran to the costume van. Selma Masters, the wardrobe mistress, came out and joined her, and the two figures moved into the trees and out of sight.
Burton felt a little old after watching her youthful exuberance, but he was refreshed by his morning shave and shower, and gaining additional refreshment from the huge glass of iced orange juice and vodka he carried with him.
He walked to the stereo set and turned on some quiet music, then sat to relax a bit before going in to his shooting notes. He slowly sipped the bittersweet drink and let his mind organize itself for the day.
Someone rang the door chime and he got up reluctantly to see who it was. When he opened the door, June Boughton stood there. No, Benedict.
June Benedict. He ought to remember that by this time. She looked very appealing in her brief shorts and halter of peacock blue; the matching ribbon in her hair accented the blue of her eyes. She seemed a little embarrassed.
"Are you... terribly busy, Mr. C? Can you spare a few minutes?" She wet her lips rather nervously, he thought.
"June, you know I'm never too busy to spare a few minutes for you. Come in." She stepped inside hesitantly, waited until he closed the door, then followed him over to the stereo as he started to turn it off.
"No, don't, please. It's very soothing music, and I'm a little nervous this morning." Burton smiled at her understandingly.
"I'll get you something for that," he told her. Before she could protest he had disappeared. In what seemed seconds he returned holding out a tinkling glass of tomato-colored liquid. "Here. Bloody Mary. Guaranteed to help a little; intended to help a lot. Now, sit down and relax, June."
"I... I know you'll think I'm not... playing cricket, Mr. C, but... "
"Now, just a moment, June," he interrupted. "You're in my home, not at the office. There are no other studio personnel here, so we'll dispense with the formality, please. Tell Burt about it; he's a good sort and he'll do all he can for you." He grinned at her disarmingly, and she got his point.
After years of working together, they had a mutual respect for each other, recognizing capabilities and efficiencies. And they always played the employer-employee roles around other studio people. But at moments when they were discussing the fine points of some decision, they were more like a team. At those times it was "June" and "Burt" instead of "Miss Boughton" and "Mr. Chadwick," or "Mr. C," more commonly.
"Burt, I know it's not good form to do what I came here to do. But... well, I'm just not constructed like the actors who play the silly game of pseudo-nonchalance with you directors and producers."
Burton decided to forego the comment that came to mind when she compared her construction with that of actors. Instead, he continued to smile and nod his head encouragingly.
"What I wanted to find out, if it doesn't betray any confidences, is the status of Buccaneer Wench."
"Oh, yes. Our little sea saga. One thing I'm sure of is that the damn title has to go. We surely can do better than that. But I imagine Mort is getting a little testy about scheduling after the long, loud silence, huh?" June nodded with her glass to her mouth, then realized she had practically drained it.
"I haven't let myself think about it for the past few months because it looked as if there would be some litigation over our rights to the script. The author's first wife-or do you call her his first widow?-claims that the book was part of the settlement which gives her all rights to the manuscript. But after Hal's memo last week, I realized that he knew nothing of the sword over our head and was proceeding with the groundwork, spending his money right and left.
"So I got in touch with my solicitors in Nassau and they've turned up positive proof that the book was originally copyrighted after Clarke's divorce. So we're in the clear."
"Then we'll be shooting it before long?" she asked, still showing signs of nervousness. "And Mort's still considered for the part of... "
"Of course Mort has the part!" he interrupted. "Didn't I tell him that ages ago? But of course, after no word for so long, even I would have begun to doubt. I should have said something to him." Here Burton got up and began to pace slowly around the room.
"I'm such a bloody hybrid, June, that you'll have to forgive some of my incongruities. I have to play the silly damn Hollywood game with most actors and all agents, yet my instinct in dealing with friends always reverts to my earlier British ways. I took it for granted that Mort knew he had the part once I'd given him my word. But of course he... " Chadwick looked piercingly at her and took a deep pull on his drink.
"Are we letting our hair down good and proper, June?" he asked.
"I guess we should have no sparring between us, Burt," she agreed. "You did imply that you considered Mort a friend, for which I'm grateful."
"Of course. How could I feel otherwise about a damned good actor who has the same appreciation of female beauty as myself? Look, June girl, Mort hasn't been getting the kind of parts he deserves; we all know that. But those are some of the breaks of the profession. Yet I think he has the guts to ride it out, and eventually he'll get a damn sight farther up the bloody ladder.
"I think the half-breed bit he's doing in the lumberjack thing could well get him some decent scripts. And I'm sure they'll all sit up and take notice of what he does with the pirate thing, too. But he's fairly high-strung, our Mort, and if he isn't busy enough he's too liable to introspection. Maybe knowing the sea story will probably be in production before the year's out will help him calm down a bit."
"Oh, yes, Burt! I'm sure it will. But could you... "
"Could I tell him about it without letting him know you had to prime the old pump for him? Of course. A man like Mort is too proud to accept his wife's going to bat for him. Which is ridiculous, of course; he should be proud that he has a wife who cares that much about him. But that's an actor for you. Now, just relax and leave it to Burtie. I'll make a point of bumping into him today and giving him the 'by the way, old chap' bit."
"Burt, you're an absolute darling!" June cried, jumping to her feet and embracing him impulsively. She meant it sincerely. After the years she had worked with him, she should have known what a doll he really was. But that one pass he had made at her, so long ago, had caused her to wear suspicion-colored glasses when looking at him as anything but an employer.
Burton automatically returned her embrace. And the moment her blonde hair brushed his neck, swirling its scent around his head, he felt an emptiness in his guts. And it was not by any means made better by the ripenesses of her breasts- completely bra-less under the thin material of her halter-pressing through his filmy silk shirt into his chest.
He couldn't for the life of him think of anything clever to say, and his hands seemed to move of their own accord, slipping caressingly down her back to cup her buttocks appreciatively.
She was having involuntary reactions of her own, too. The impact of suddenly changing her opinion of him as a man had weakened her automatic defenses. No longer was he the typical film executive who made passes at his office girls. He was now not only a respected employer but a friend with sensitivity and integrity.
June found herself pressing her pelvis snugly against him and was shocked at her actions even as she accepted the naturalness of them. After all, Burton was a real man, and she was a real woman, free and unfettered by Morton's statement of last night.
"June... lovely, desirable June!" Burton was whispering in her ear as his hands caressed her buttocks adoringly. "Are you opening the door to me after all this time?"
"Yes! Oh, yes, Burt. I want you!"
"It's not just... gratitude?" he asked fearfully, hating himself for putting the suspicion into words. But he was too proud to take her on any terms but those he considered right: she had to want him as a man.
"Oh, no!" she husked, too needful of him now to feel anger at the implication of his question, for she knew his pride had dictated his speech. "I'm just realizing that I've wanted you to take me all these years." Her hands slid lower on his back as she spoke. Now one of them slipped between their bellies and found the hard cylinder that had been pressing into her.
She massaged the rigid outline of his cock through his slacks until he groaned. Their lips met and smeared wetly together as his hands started to undo her shorts. She was glad she had only one other string to pull in order to be nude for him. She wanted to feel him against her, all over her. right away!
Burton led her in slow steps, moving to the soft waltz music from the stereo speakers, until they were at the big sofa. He sat her down and seated himself beside her. His hands finished slipping off her shorts over her ankles, then he unfastened her bra-like halter.
"You're even more beautiful to look at than I've imagined all these years," he told her. Then his lips were on her breasts, and she was breathing with difficulty as the tingling sensations crept over her, downward and outward, to center in her female organs somewhere and heat her whole body like a furnace.
"Oh kiss them, Burt... suck them!" His lips and tongue were scalding her sensitive nipples, erecting them to full ripeness. Her hands were fumbling with his fly, trying to reach his cock.
"Junie, Junie," he mumbled as his lips glided downward from her breasts, kissing softly over her belly, moving inevitably into the lush blonde forest that cushioned her pubic mound.
He slid to his knees on the carpet and his slacks fell around them, announcing that June had managed to unzip his fly and unbutton the flap on his beltless pants. Her thighs opened to him as she brought her knees up onto the sofa. She was dying to have him touch her cunt, to bring relief for the indescribable itch that had begun to tingle there.
"My God! How lovely!" he cried, watching as the pale strands of her hair became a darker canyon of swelling, moistening flesh. He uttered a hoarse cry and plunged his mouth into the sweet chasm of her cunt.
"Burt! Oh, Burtie!" June moaned. His tongue was stroking the inner surfaces of her vulva, easing the itch but creating an even more maddening sensation deep inside her. He plunged his tongue into her vagina and stroked it in and out, then sucked at the entrance powerfully.
She gasped as the sensations tore through her. Just as she thought he had stirred her to the utmost, he seized the slippery clitoris and sucked at it hungrily.
"Eat it! Oh, lover, eat it up!" she cried, moaning and gasping as he shifted and changed the technique constantly, until she was sure he would drive her out of her mind.
She could feel the cream flowing around his tongue, mixing with the saliva of his greed, and then she was lifted onto a cloud as her orgasmic climb rocketed. The whole world pivoted around her as she spiraled upward. Then it all exploded as she was drawn into a giant knot, her back arched, her pelvis thrust into the consuming mouth that ate of her tingling, pulsing vulva.
"Oh-h-h!" she cried, and went limp.
She felt Burton's kisses on her thighs and belly. Then his hands were stroking her calmingly and she let the convulsions inside her gradually fade until they stopped.
She felt the weight of his pelvis as he pressed his body to hers, and knew he had removed his clothes. She felt the hard tip of his cock as it pushed into the tender petals of her ravished pussy.
"Push it in, Burt!" she cheered, "Oh, I want it in me!"
He pushed, and she felt the fullness of him as it spread her passage, opening the elastic tunnel to accommodate its shape, plowing slowly but relentlessly onward. The wet, heated poultice of her vagina was a soothing balm to the aching rigidity of his cock, and he savored every second of the initial penetration.
"It's a bit of heaven, that," he told her reverently as he thrilled to the feel of her passage clasping snugly around him. In fact, as her vaginal muscles clasped him milkingly, he feared he could not last much longer.
"Oh, do it, Burt!" she cried. "Screw it into me!" Her ass was working against the sofa in a rotating movement, then she drove upward to meet his plunges. She was frantic, for she felt herself coming again and wanted desperately to milk the seed from him before she lost track of reality.
"Burtie! Pour it out! Squirt it into me!" she pleaded as she started up the spiral path once more. And as she reached the very top, just before the bottom fell from under her, she felt the hot gush of his first spurt and knew a great gladness.
He held her tightly and kept the head of his cock buried in one spot as it ejaculated his fluid into her pulsing, convulsing depths. His cry of victory mingled with hers as she gave a final arched-back pressure to aid him in sealing himself to her.
The glue of their union stuck them together for several minutes after both were limp and spent. Then they stirred slowly and their gazes met as their eyes opened and focused at close range.
"For the first time in all the years I've been near you, I really know you," he told her.
"This is the only way a man and woman can know the final truth about each other, they say."
"Whatever they say," Burton replied, "I think I like you better than ever, now that I know how much a woman you truly are."
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I always believed that if this happened between a woman and the man she worked for, there would be something lost between them... I mean as far as their respect for each other is concerned. But I find myself feeling a kind of added respect for you now."
"Perhaps it depends on the parties involved, and how lucky they are," he suggested.
"Perhaps you're right," she said. "Do you suppose you could take a little of your weight off "Oh. Sorry," he lifted himself off her. Too late he remembered their connection. The sucking plop as it was broken had a visual accompaniment. The syrupy fluids of their completions splattered over them, the sofa and the carpet.
"Oohh!" June breathed. "We'd better clean that up quickly before it dries."
"You go on into the shower," he told her. "I'll take care of that. It's largely my own output, I should imagine."
"Don't be too sure," she countered. "I was juicing up a storm, myself."
"You know, I believe you?" he laughed. "And it's a tasty kind of juice you rain when you're storming like that."
"I think I'd better go shower with that kind compliment on my mind. It almost makes me want to start all over again."
"I'll join you in the shower, if you really mean that," he threatened, wondering if he could recuperate soon enough to make good his threat.
"Let's just enjoy this much for now," she said wisely. "We can have more to look forward to that way."
"I've been telling people for years that I have the smartest secretary alive. Now I know I'm right. Chase along, then."
She found her way to the shower while Burton got a cloth and water and worked on the stains that darkened the fabric of the sofa and carpeting. lie could hear the shower as the stream fell alternately on the walls and on her soft flesh. It was all he could do to restrain his impulse to join her. There was so much he wanted to do with her, so many joys he had imagined initiating her into over the years.
But he found that he had acquired a new patience as far as June was concerned. The pure, natural joy of their completion was a promise in itself.
After all, with two reasoning people who liked enjoyment, was it not a foregone conclusion that what they had found to be so very enjoyable they would repeat at another time?
Burton whistled as he wound up his cleaning task, then he went out and mixed June another Bloody Mary and himself another screwdriver. When she came out of the shower, her briefs and halter were draped on the guest-towel rack. And when she joined Burton, he was dressed again. He gestured toward her drink.
"Shall we have a final libation before you start your official duties of the day?" he asked.
"Thank you. Schedule still as planned?"
"Yes. Just pass out the copies you ran off Thursday, then take the rest of the day off. And make sure Selma gets her copy direct. She's out walking with Lisa. You know how she is about overlooking pieces of paper that appear in her van." He chuckled merrily.
"Yes," June laughed with him. "I'll present her copy to her personally when she gets back."
"Oh, there's something else you can do, after all," he remembered. "Tell Gurney when he comes onto the location area that I have had to accept a stunt man as standby. Now, wait a minute." He held up a restraining hand. "I know he'll raise hell. But the studio insisted. If everything goes according to plan, Gurney can do all of his own bits. But if we can't find the safe spots to shoot the falls and climbs, he'll have to go along with my decision on using the pro."
"Oh, boy! Thanks for the soft assignment," she said, grinning wryly. "Now, Junie, you can handle Gurney like no one I know."
"Thanks also for the vote of confidence. Well... " She drained her glass and got to her feet. "And thanks for the beautiful experience, Burt."
"Thank you, June, darling. I'll treasure today's memory like few others in my life. Take it easy now. We don't start shooting for two more days, and we all need time to get used to this altitude."
"Don't I know it," she agreed, going to the door.
"And June," he added, coming up to kiss her hand as she left. "Play it cool around Mort for an hour or so, and I'll set his mind at ease about the star role."
"Great, Burt. Thanks again. See you later."
She left, and before he closed the door on the view of her departing figure, Burton drank in the beauty of her liquid movements. Lisa was a wonderful wife and a great lay, but June was something special all her own...
CHAPTER FIVE
Cara Lisa and Selma Masters found the stream only after they had walked for half an hour or more. When they came upon it, they were tired and hot. The sun had been on them most of the time, for the woods were sparse on that side of the camp, and the thin atmosphere filtered little of the burning rays.
The water was hidden from view, but as she paused in the shade of an old oak Selma heard the faint wet sounds of its rippling and followed her ears through a screen of small bushes to the rocks over which the stream trickled before it filled a small pool several feet below.
It was in a tiny clearing, obscured from all but a bird's-eye view, making it a kind of sylvan private bath. Lisa, who had followed Selma's lead, saw the wardrobe mistress kneel over the upper flow and bend her head to the water.
"Selma! No!" she cried, rushing forward and taking the arm of the older woman to prevent her drinking. "Wait until we're absolutely certain this isn't some kind of drainage from someplace. It could be coming from a campground or residential area higher up."
Selma got up from her kneeling position and helped Lisa look around at the distant hills on the mountain. After a long study of the terrain, the brunette's face lost its perturbed expression.
"It's all right, Selma. Anything that could drain from any of the high points around here would be filtered by all the sand and stuff before it reached here."
"Good. I'm spitting cotton," Selma said as she knelt again to drink. This time Lisa knelt beside her and both sucked in tasty swallows of the clear water. Lisa finished first and began to walk around the sunlit pool below the spring.
"I have to pee so bad I can taste it," she announced, and began pulling down her slacks and panties. She squatted several feet from the pool and, holding her garments safely up with one hand and balancing herself with the other hand on a rock, she lowered her bottom and began to urinate.
Selma arrived on the scene at that moment, walking up the short incline of the small ravine that separated the spring from the pool. She found herself looking at the lovely olive-hued thighs and buttocks that hung below Lisa's gathered garments. The eye-level position of Lisa's glorious dark bush revealed its moist, fleshy canyon to Selma, who was fascinated by the pale amber stream that spouted in a short arc from the exposed slit. Selma realized that she had never seen another woman pee before, but she could not understand why the sight excited her so much.
"Not even a leaf to wipe myself dry," complained Lisa as the stream died to jerky squirts and dribbles.
Selma found herself moving toward the brunette slowly, as if in a hypnotic trance. She knew what she was going to do, but not why she was going to do it or how she would explain herself. But by the time she reached down and put her hands on Lisa's shoulders, the words came out.
"It's my fault. As wardrobe mistress, I should have had the foresight to bring along at least some tissues when I'm looking after my favorite actress. But I'll make up for it."
Lisa was surprised at this unwarranted acceptance of responsibility by Selma, as much as she was by the clasping of her shoulders in Selma's shaking hands. And when she found herself tipped back onto the ground, her boots flying up as her buttocks touched the soft earth, she was even more surprised.
When she felt her friend's tongue licking at the wet surface of her vulva, gathering up the few amber drops that clung there and to the glistening black hair around it, her amazement knew no bounds.
Lisa knew that some women liked this sort of thing, but in all the time she had known Selma Masters, there had been no indication that the wardrobe mistress had such tendencies. In fact, Lisa had inadvertently barged into the sewing room at the studio once and observed Selma being screwed by one of the young electricians.
But as thoughts of protest came into her mind now, Lisa felt the licking continue as Selma extended her ministrations to the entire vulva, caressing the labia with her tongue and nibbling at them with her quivering lips. When her tongue plunged into the entrance of Lisa's vagina, the actress knew she could not resist this deliciously exciting stimulation.
"Selma! Oh, my God! How wonderful that feels." Lisa was too honest and unpretentious to withhold her praise of what the brownette was doing for her.
Selma, caught up in the compelling force that had triggered her into the act, had already begun to cream her panties with passion as she tasted the strange, forbidden flavors of this dark, musky gorge. When Lisa's praise fell on her ears, Selma felt as if her own cunt were melting, and she sucked and licked all the more intensely.
Both of them became so involved that they had no awareness of the figure that stood nearby and watched them for several minutes. Gurney Adams, scouting the edge of the territory he would be working in soon, had come upon the strange scene and was entranced by it. Not only was he intellectually intrigued, but his pants bulged with the evidence of his sexual arousal.
Suddenly he grunted and walked quietly up behind Selma. He slipped his hands under the short Western skirt she wore and found the waistband of her panties. He tugged them down her thighs as she gasped in surprise.
But Selma was so involved with the feast she had begun that she did not stop or protest. In truth, she felt an added thrill as the strange fingers caressed her thighs while pulling down her panties. She even moved first one knee, then the other, allowing Gurney to slip the wispy garment to her ankles. He worked off her Western boots and then removed the briefs and tossed them aside.
He took off his own clothes, stopping between each garment removal to stroke and pat the sleek thighs of the wardrobe mistress. When he was nude, he knelt behind the brownette and flipped her short skirt up over her back. The creamy tan cheeks of her ass, beautifully rounded mounds of femininity, gleamed in the filtered sunlight that poured through the screening oak leaves above.
Gurney studied the shadowed cleft of her ass and then kissed the area all over each warm cheek. He watched as her anus tightened its dark little rosette in reaction to the sensations he had caused, and his prick jerked in anticipation.
He glanced lower, studying the brown curls that bushed out in the spreading arch of her crotch, and saw a diamondlike drop of passion dew slip from one curly tendril to another as gravity claimed it. More drops appeared, glistening in the mystery of her plentiful bush, and then he saw the swelling flesh of her labia jut out and downward through her brush.
He lowered his head and tried to get at the source of the dewdrops, but it required too much twisting of the neck. He got onto his back between her feet and scooted himself along until he could look up at the dripping canyon above him.
He reached up and encircled her hips with his arms, pulling her crotch down to his face and burying his mouth in the steamy muff. Selma's ass wiggled excitedly and she pressed her cunt into his questing lips and tongue. He licked and sucked at the plentiful juices, reveling in the hot, woman taste of her flesh.
Lisa was moaning her delight as Selma increased the intensity of her thirsty kissing, but her eyes were closed and she had no idea that their illegal duet had become a threesome. All she knew was that Selma seemed to be as excited as she.
Gurney drank all the juices Selma could provide, and sucked at her clitoris until she was moving wildly above him, almost biting the tender flesh of Lisa's vulva in her excitement.
But Gurney was ready for a change. He crawled out from under the moist, heated cave and knelt behind Selma. He guided his curved wolf's prick into the suspended bush of her crotch and dug into the steamy canyon until he located her vaginal entrance.
When he shoved the pointed tip into her passage, Selma grunted into Lisa's pussy and gasped. She felt the shaft push into her depths quickly, then withdraw a short distance. The massage was exquisite. At that moment, Lisa came, bouncing in ecstasy.
"Good! Oh, good, good, good!" she cried.
Lisa's outburst and Gurney's invading cock stirred Selma so that she came suddenly, claspingly, orgasming in convulsions that gripped Gurney's prick in milking grasps that undid his control. He plunged deep into her and spewed out his gushing load in hot spurts.
"Selma!" Lisa cried out, suddenly hotter than before as she finished her climax and felt the inner heat of a consuming hunger. "Give me your pussy, Selma! I have to taste you, too!" Her eyes were still closed with passion, and she was still unaware of Gurney's presence.
Gurney pulled his slippery limpness out of Selma, patted her on the buttocks and, as she looked around, motioned for her to comply with Lisa's request. She nodded and her eyes gleamed with renewed lust. She reversed herself, placing her dripping bush on Lisa's mouth while Gurney took her place between the brunette's abducted thighs and began to lick at the remnants of the feast.
Selma tugged on his hair and he looked up. She waved to show him that he was denying her a share of the activity, so he changed his position, lying on his side as he nuzzled into Lisa's crotch. Selma leaned over and seized his limp penis in her hand, then put her lips over it.
Lisa was moaning her hunger and lust into Selma's cunt as she tasted the familiar flavor of male sperm mixed with the novel taste of Selma's female juices. She could feel the occasional texture of semen as her suction drew in a string or drop of the fluid, and wondered whose it was. But she was too hot to care.
Selma was working eagerly on Gurney's gradually hardening shaft, and as Lisa's mouth speeded its nibblings, Selma was inspired to speed her movements, which in turn aroused Gurney to gobble more rapidly in Lisa's now flowing cunt.
Both women reached their completion at almost the same time, moaning and gurgling around their mouthfuls of flesh. But Gurney held back, refusing to let Selma have his second load. He got up and knelt between Lisa's legs, tucking a bundle of his clothes under her buttocks to make her more available to him.
This made Lisa open her eyes just as Gurney laid the head of his prick in her slippery opening. The surprise and embarrassment made her gasp even more than she was already. But the fullness of the flesh that was filling her took her embarrassment away quickly.
"Hi, Gurney," she said with a foolish grin. "Looks as if you came just in time for the fun."
"Hi, Lisa. You're a little mixed up. It was you that just came... in my mouth. Now it's my turn to come!"
He prodded into her slowly, making little jerking motions to tease the walls of her vagina with his pointed tip. Her gasping reactions at each little movement told him she felt every motion perfectly.
When he felt the puckery mouth of her uterus, he stopped, began to probe differently, rotating carefully and angling his curved shaft in an attempt to enter the opening.
"Gurney! Oh, God... you're getting into my womb again!" she cried. And indeed he had managed to repeat his earlier invasion of her sanctum. He could feel the tightening donut of the entrance around the very tip of his cock, pulsing as he pressed harder to enter it farther.
The little ring of flesh nibbled him, and he knew he had but a little time to go before it would bring him off. He was determined to keep it buried there so he could squirt himself off deep into her womb. He embraced her tightly, holding himself snugly against her so her possible movements would not disturb the rare connection.
He had locked himself to her just in time, for the exotic sensation of his invading cock peeking into her womb had triggered Lisa's orgasm quickly.
She tried to squirm under him, but he held fast until he felt his fluids boiling up in his loins, then charging through his cock to erupt inside her innermost temple.
"Eeee!" she shrieked as the nozzle sprayed jets of semen which splashed warmly on the sensitive tissue of her uterus.
As with her previous experience, she lost consciousness before the final jet pulsed into her, so intense were the waves of pleasure. Gurney knew she had passed out, so he pumped his shaft in and out of her passage during his final spasms, just to feel the convulsing glove of her walls on his dying erection.
"God!" Selma said, her eyes round and large from what she had been watching. "Did you really get the point of that thing inside her womb?"
"Not really. Just wedged inside the outer rim of the opening. At a kind of angle. But it's the greatest sensation when that thing winks around the head of my cock."
"Holy Toledo! No wonder she passed out. I wish you'd screw me like that! It must be the greatest thing since the Pill."
"Be glad to, Selma... another time. I've about had it for now."
"Let me just taste it again," she begged, kneeling in front of him and taking the limp tip in her lips. She tongued the ultrasensitive head gently, sucked at it to gather the tiny residue in its core, and hummed softly to herself as she milked it for a while.
"Enough!" Gurney yelled. "I have to save enough to take care of Sandy tonight."
"Boy, if I had that taking care of me every night, I'd give up everything else... even smoking!" Selma vowed.
"Well, I can't make it a daily habit, honey," Gurney chided her. "But when you get as hard up as you were today, let me know, and I'll be glad to climb into that juicy little pussy of yours."
"You know, that still puzzles me," Selma said, blushing as she realized anew that in Gurney's eyes she was a Lesbian. "When I started on this walk with Lisa, I had never had a homo urge in my life before. I can't understand what happened to me."
"Don't let it bug you, kid," Gurney advised. "If the urge gets to be a habit, then you have to decide what to do. You had fun; Lisa had fun; I had fun; we all had fun. That's what the Good Lord intended when he put these things between our legs."
"Yeah, I suppose so. But, Gurney... don't you wait for me to cry 'help' if you get the urge to put your thing between my legs... anytime whatsoever!"
"I won't, Selma," he laughed. "Right now, I've got to get busy checking the landscape on the other side of this little valley. Sandy said she might wander over here and join me when she finishes homework on her script."
"Take care. And, Gurney... thanks."
'Thanks to you, baby. And thank Lisa for me when she comes out of it." He turned and started off, then whirled around as he heard Selma's laugh. He realized what she had laughed at just as she spoke.
"You'd better get your clothes on. They say the bugs can bite pretty bad in these woods." Gurney grinned sheepishly and got into his clothes, then wandered off into the trees.
Selma watched the quiet Lisa for a moment, then bent down and licked avidly at the unconscious brunette's cunt. It's Gur's juice I'm after; not Lisa's, she told herself.
Sandy had mastered her lines sooner than she'd thought, so she rushed into the woods without getting into her roughing-it garb. She had to detour a lot to keep from scratching herself on bushes, for her miniskirt provided little protection.
She knew the general direction Gurney had taken, so she kept walking until she heard sounds somewhere ahead of her. As she got near she knew it was not Gurney's voice she had heard, but a woman's voice... or several women. The woods were full today!
She slowed her pace and came up beside a tree, where she stopped for a few deep breaths. She had walked so fast she had not noticed how winded she had become. Then she looked below her into the tiny clearing ahead and gasped more air than she had been sucking in by necessity.
She heard Lisa Chadwick cry out to Selma Masters as Selma ate Lisa's pussy! Then Gurney stepped into view from behind a big bush and took off Selma's panties. He soon took off his own clothes and started to kiss Selma on the ass! No, maybe he was just getting into her pussy from behind.
Sandy watched with mounting excitement as her husband got under Selma and started to eat her. After a few minutes Sandy's own cunt felt as if it were consumed by an itching heat, and she slid her hand under her panties and massaged the wetness she found there.
As the scene below her changed, Sandy's hand worked harder to console her for what she was missing. She got two fingers in her vagina and worked them steadily around in her passage, then in and out, thumbing her clitoris all the while and moaning softly to herself.
When she saw Gurney screwing Selma, she grew more excited than ever and wished that she had the courage to join them. But even if she were not secretly ashamed of her powerful sexuality, she would not want Gurney to think she had followed him just to spy. Of course she had implied that she might join him, but...
"Oh, I wish I were being screwed like that!" she cried out suddenly. Her voice did not carry as far as the threesome below, but someone heard it.
For a man's voice nearby to answer her plea was startling to say the least. But then his hands touched her from behind, feeling her trim, rounded ass beneath the thin miniskirt, then slipping down and under the hem to sneak caressingly up her.
"I'd love to screw you like that!" he had said hoarsely. And as his hands slipped around in front and trapped her own hand in the midst of her self-gratification, she was ready to give him the opportunity.
CHAPTER SIX
June had gone somewhere on staff business soon after they were established in their portable living unit on the location site, and Morton went through his script, checking himself on his lines.
That palled after a while, especially since he seemed to have his lines down pat. He made a drink, consumed about half of it, then grew restless again.
He knew what was bugging him. He had reached a point where he just had to know about that pirate role. It wasn't done in the best acting circles, but he decided to go ask Chadwick the direct question instead of waiting any longer.
He crossed the compound and reached the area of the Chadwick mobile home, went around it to the awning-covered patio that was just off the only entrance. Facing toward the woods, it provided the most privacy of any unit on the site.
With the woods tight up to the awning, it was dark on the patio, at least compared to the sunlit compound, for the canvas fell down around the sides as well as overhead. Morton had to get accustomed to the dimness before he could see the door.
And when he raised his hand to knock or press whatever button might be there, he just held the hand still, poised in the air, and looked at the scene inside, as a strange feeling passed over him. The screen door was slid back and he had a perfect view through the sliding glass door of the Chadwicks' mobile living room.
Burton Chadwick sat on his sofa beside Morton's wife, and June was entirely naked. Burton was kissing her breasts and June had her hands at the front of Burton's slacks, unfastening them. As Morton watched, Burton went to his knees on the carpet, pants falling down around his legs, and started eating June's pussy!
Mort's legs felt trembly as he took it in, and his hand slowly came down to his side. He would never announce his presence at a time like this. He heard his wife cry out her lust as Burton licked at her, until finally she climaxed.
Then Burton started screwing her. Seeing June spread her legs and accept another man's cock inside her stirred Mort so much that he could feel his own penis achingly bulging in his pants. Their grunts, gasps and moans made him almost want to tear inside and help form some kind of a threesome. But he knew he should just clear out and let the affair burn itself to a conclusion.
Well, she took me at my word. She had an opportunity to get laid and she took it. I'm glad for her. But damn! I wish I had a piece, myself, now. I must be getting used to the altitude.
He left quietly, moving from the darkness of the shaded patio to the sunlit compound. He walked aimlessly for a while, his rigid cock reminding him of what he had witnessed. Soon he found himself in a heavily wooded section on a hillside. He could hear the faint sounds of distant voices.
He parted the brush in front of him and saw what was going on in the small clearing below and to the right of him. His cock gained hardness as he observed Selma Masters sucking Lisa Chadwick's pussy while being screwed dog-fashion by Gurney Adams.
He heard another sound nearby and moved cautiously to his right along the hillside. The moaning, gasping sounds were coming from Sandy Adams. She was squatting behind a bush and watching her husband screw the wardrobe mistress. Her hand seemed to be busy under her miniskirt, and he thought he could guess what she was doing.
Looks like I'm not the only one who gets hot watching his mate being screwed. Hey, what the hell? If she's hot to trot and I'm rarin' to go, why am I standing here squeezing my cock through my pants?
He eased closer to Sandy and just as he got behind her she cried out her desire to be screwed. He could not restrain himself, so he answered her, then grabbed her gently by the checks of her miniskirted ass. Her bottom felt so quivery and warm that he slid his fingers under the material and onto the exciting softness of her pale skin.
His hands moved around front to check out his suspicions, and sure enough, she had her own fingers buried in her cunt. He took her panties by the waistband and worked them down and off her legs to the ankles. She suddenly moaned and lay on her back amidst the pine needles and oak leaves, and he pulled her panties off over her soft shoes. She looked up at him for the first time.
"Mort! Oh, God, Mort... you came just when I needed you most. Screw me! Eat me! Do something to me! I'm burning up!"
"Me, too, Sandy," he assured her, eyeing the fantastically compelling sight of her red-haired twat. He hadn't thought about redheads having differently colored cunts, too, but Sandy's swollen, pouting labia were orange-hued, rather than the deep pink of June's blonde-feathered snatch. He tried to remember brunettes he had screwed, but in those days he had been too hurried to look that closely.
"Your cunny is absolutely beautiful!" he told her as he went down on it. He could smell the tangy scent of her juices as he neared her, for she had been working them up almost into a lather. "Mm-m-m!" he hummed as he nosed into the hot moisture of her vulva. He licked out and tasted the female musk of her cream; it was similar to June's, yet different.
He licked his way around the opened petals of her fleshy blossom, then seized her clitoris with his lips and sucked it hard. She moaned loudly and he ate all the more greedily. He could see, looking obliquely up across her belly, that she had opened her blouse and was cupping her tits with her hand. One pink nipple was visible and... no it was orange-pink, too, like her cunt!
Sandy's hands left her breasts and seized Mort's head, pulling it into her muff more tightly. Her ass rose and fell as she tried to screw his face frantically. Then she yelled hoarsely and sank back, her hands releasing his head.
Mort knew by the way her vaginal entrance was spasming around his inserted tongue that she had climaxed. And she was making cooing little gasps with each spasm.
Mort decided that he needed release, too. He rose from his banquet, dropped his slacks and shorts, and reversed himself so that he was eating from the other side of the table. As he resumed his licking, Sandy moaned, for her vulva was hypersensitive by now.
But Mort shifted his hips and knees, placing his cock before her face. He lowered his hips and trailed the tip across her lips until she recognized it for what it was.
She took it in her hands and fed it into her mouth as if it would provide the nourishment that could keep her alive. Mort felt the wet heat of her mouth surround him and groaned his contentment into her tender flesh.
She moved her head slowly up and down, milking the length of his rigid cylinder. It made ripples of electricity travel up his spine, and he repaid her by gentle caresses of his tongue and lips that were considerate of her oversensitized pussy, yet effective in stirring her deeply.
He visualized how it might be if their positions were reversed-he on the ground and she on top. It made him think that her neck would get awfully tired soon, so he attempted to save her the tiring up-and-down movements. He thrust with his hips, pushing his cock into her mouth, then withdrew it for another thrust.
It felt just as good, so he continued the action, screwing her mouth while he tenderly ate her cunt. There were moments when he felt as if it were the opposite. He could be just as well mouth-to-mouth with her and screwing her in the good old-fashion way.
Whether it was the stimulus of having his cock in her mouth or havings him eat her cunt so caressingly, Sandy did not know. But suddenly she gulped tighter on his prick as he shoved it into her mouth, grabbed his buttocks with her hands and squeezed them for dear life, then farted and arched her back as she came powerfully, trapping Morton's tongue in the act of probing her vagina.
The activity stirred Mort to the very foundation of his lust. He felt himself go off, flooding her mouth and throat in gushes of his fluid. Her swallowing made her cheeks and throat constrict more, draining him that much faster.
He felt his last spurt finish, then his legs weakened and he rolled off onto the ground beside her. There was a gentle ground breeze moving, but it was neither cool nor warm. It was just enough to dry the excess liquids from the skin.
Mort lay there, relaxed and pleased with the turn of events. Both he and June had enjoyed variety today. He thought about Chadwick eating and screwing June and the way it had affected him to watch them.
The mental review, plus the body-temperature breeze that felt like some woman might be blowing on him, gave him a new erection. It so surprised him that he did not at first think of anything to do with it.
Then Sandy leaned over him. An orange-pink nipple dangled enticingly near his face, so he raised his head and took it in his lips, sucking at it and flicking it with his tongue while he kneaded the pale mound around it with his fingers.
"Yesss! Suck it, Morty! Oh, it hasn't been sucked for so long!" Sandy was getting hot all over again. She loved to have her breasts played with and sucked, but Gurney seldom got around to it, because he was not all that fond of breast play.
"The other one! Suck the other one!" she pleaded as Morton got her nipple erect and hard and extracted a little juice from it. He switched as she moved to place the other tit over his face, giving it the same treatment and making her coo with delight.
She was soon so hot that she could not hold still, yet she hated to put an end to the delightful sensations Mort was giving her. It wasn't every day she got her tits sucked like this. She compromised by swinging herself over him and pressing her crotch against his belly.
Feeling the renewed wetness of her vulva against his skin, Mort slipped his fingers up into her cunt and worked them around while he sucked her tits. Sandy was soon bouncing her ass in the air and impaling herself on his fingers, moaning and gasping all the while.
She was creaming heavily, and soon Mort's fingers and palm were soaked, then his wrist tickled as a drop ran down it. The copious flow of her juices excited him again and he grabbed her hips and forced her downward, pulling her tit out of his mouth. But when she felt the head of his cock prying at the center of her slippery vulva, she wanted it quickly.
The second he had it wedged in her opening she sat down on it, spearing herself on it until she could feel the taut sac of his balls against the cheeks of her ass. She could also feel the pulsing fullness of his cock deep inside her, and it seemed even larger within her each time her vaginal muscles tightened on him.
"Just hold it in me for a while, Mort," she asked. "God! It feels so good just lodged there!"
He lay still, letting his cock soak in her juices and running the tip of one finger around through the red hair on her lower belly. She was breathing heavily and making a kind of humming sound for quite a while. Then she leaned forward and he grabbed her by the cheeks of her ass and started to pump up into her steadily.
The action worked out a lot of her juices and he gathered it all on his fingers and smeared them into the crack of her ass and onto her anus. As he screwed her, he worked the tip of one digit into the tight ring and popped it past her taut muscle into her rectum.
She grunted, but did not cry out, so he goosed her deeply. It made her gasp, but she was thrusting herself so energetically on his cock that he knew she was too hot to slow down for anything. He pumped his finger in and out, wiggling the tip to add more stimulation.
It made her impale herself even more enthusiastically on his cock. He enjoyed the sensation of feeling both her openings tight around him, both being ravished by him at the same time.
She stopped meeting his thrusts suddenly. Her cunt ground against him as she moved in a rotating motion, rubbing her clitoris on him firmly, reaching for the climax that was so near. He sensed her imminent orgasm and started to let his control decay slowly. But she was not making it as fast as she had hoped, and he began to gain on her.
"I'm gonna come!" he warned her.
"No! Morty, wait... not now... not yet... just... yes, now!" And she cried wildly as she found her summit and plunged into the colorful fantasyland of her completion. Morton released his load explosively. Every spurt gushed achingly out of his overworked cock, making him grunt in time to the tempo of his jetting spasms.
When they both lay limply quiet, he pulled his finger out of her ass and let his hand fall to the ground. It was difficult for him to breathe and he started to panic, worrying about a heart attack.
But it was not the altitude that interfered with his breathing; it was Sandy's pulchritude. She rolled away and fell beside him, and the weight disappeared from his chest. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh mountain air more than ever.
"Ohhh!" Sandy groaned. Mort thought something had happened to her and sat up quickly.
"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.
"I just remembered I have to rehearse that long trek tomorrow; Chadwick wants to get the timing set."
"And the way you feel right now, you don't think you can make it?" Morton grinned, lying down again.
"I can tell I've been screwed, Morty. Boy, you worked me over!"
"You've taken a little piss and vinegar out of me, too," he said.
"The vinegar I can use," she joked. "The way my pussy feels at the moment, I should pickle it. It might spoil before I can ever use it again."
"God, Sandy! Don't ever let that juicy thing spoil. It's so fresh and tasty and exciting, it would be a crime for anything to happen to it."
"You're sweet, Mort. And there's nothing more exciting than that cock of yours, either. Take care of it; I'd like to have a return engagement some time."
"As Baby told Bogey, 'Just whistle.' "
"I might whistle before you're ready. Gurney says he expects to be real busy working off excess pounds and inches up here, so I may end up a health program widow."
"Well, he was getting quite a workout the last time I saw him," Mort quipped. "And I wouldn't be surprised if he dropped a few ounces in the process."
"Smartass! So you saw them. Some group he exercises with, huh?"
"You'd better believe it. I was ready to go down and register for the class myself until I saw you. To tell you the truth, I rather like small groups for that sort of exercise."
"I'm not much for large gatherings, myself," she admitted. "At least I wasn't before now. Somehow I feel as if maybe I could hold my own in social activities now." She thought that this wild abandonment with Mort might have given her a better perspective of her sexual drives, thus freeing her from her fear of public contact.
"When in doubt, lead them to the bedroom," Mort offered. "You certainly can hold your own there!"
"But if I whistled, you'd come hold it for me?" she teased.
"Sandy, unless you're really horny, don't even purse your lips like you were going to whistle."
They chuckled at the visual image of Sandy blowing out a match or something and being raped before she could cry "accident".
"You know, we'd better get presentable," Sandy said, realizing that they could be interrupted by some of the others below. "We could be caught in the traffic when the exercise class lets out."
"You have a point. We wouldn't want to embarrass those health faddists."
They got their clothes on, combed their disarranged hair with Mort's pocket comb, and stood looking at each other. They felt a bit awkward for a moment, but when they both grinned, the ice was broken for all time. Especially for Sandy, who thought she could lick her weight in social lions, now that she knew she wasn't all that afraid of sexual promiscuity.
They went into a mutually initiated embrace, kissed tenderly, and then separated smilingly.
"May I walk you back to civilization?" Morton asked.
"I'd be delighted. Should we take a last look at the class before we desert them?" They crept up to the edge of the bushes and peered down. Gurney was gone, but Selma was licking at Lisa's crotch.
"Bound to be eager beavers in every class," Mort observed. "Or did someone have to stay after class until she gets the technique down right?"
"Maybe so; but who is the teacher, pray tell, and who the pupil?"
"These days," Mort reminded her, "I hear that the teacher learns in class, also. There's a lot of discussion and stuff."
"I don't know about that class," said Sandy, thoughtfully. "But I learned a lot today."
"So did I. Here and elsewhere. Let's be smart and practice the things that we learned before we forget how. What do you say to a practice session here tomorrow?"
Sandy thought about that for a minute, then set her jaw in a determined line and smiled at him.
"Agreed. But right now, I think I'd better hurry on back to the house and get ready to do my homework."
They left the hillside hand in hand, and not until they were in sight of the compound did they let go and head their separate ways.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gurney and Sandy were among the early returnees from Lloyd's where almost everyone dined. As soon as he saw the Benedicts' car parked by their portable, he picked up his script and the notes he had made during the day and kissed Sandy warmly.
"If you get tired before I get back, hon, don't wait up. You need to be rested tomorrow if Burton's going to run you women over that trail... I got a look at it today while I was checking my own geography."
"Okay, I will... if you promise to wake me up when you come to bed."
"It's a deal. I won't say just what method I might use to get you awake, though."
"Anything but icewater."
"I was considering something warmer than that, really."
"Promises, promises!"
"Yeah. Well, see you later, hon." He went out and strode the few hundred feet to the Benedicts'. Mort, who answered the door, looked startled for a moment when he saw Gurney, then recovered quickly and invited him in.
"That's right, I forgot you have to plan your own stunts for this one. June's just making some after-dinner drinks." Mort closed the door and called out to the kitchenette. "Make three, Junie; Gur's here to see you."
"I am, dear; I heard him come in. Hi, Gur. With you in a sec," she called back loudly. In little more than the second, she came in carrying three brandy crustas and three coasters, getting them all placed properly without spilling a drop.
She was wearing a colorful paisley silk cheongsam that accented her high, proud breasts, trim waist and patrician neck. Gurney swallowed as her movements parted the side slit and revealed more than a little of her creamy thigh. She took a chair at the small table in the living-dining area and gestured Gurney to take the chair to her left. He saw that she had the master script and an abstract from his contract in front of her.
He tossed his papers on the table beside hers and sat down. They both took an initial sip of their drinks and Gurney hoisted his glass in an exaggerated salute.
"You're quite, a mixmaster, Junie. This is delicious."
"One of the few I can mix properly; I happen to love the damn things, especially after dinner. Well, what have you figured out for us. Can you swing all the bits safely yourself? I mean, good enough to sell Mr. C?"
"I think so. I'm sure of all but one, and I believe I can sell him on letting me do that, too, if he'll agree to a slight change in timing. Look at this a minute." He unfolded a penciled map of part of the shooting area, showing solid, dashed, and dotted lines going in various directions. He put a pencil point on the dotted line as he spoke.
"Your location man had the stagecoach at this point... " Gurney made a small "x" by what looked like the sketch of a tree. "Our hero has to jump out of this tree and land on top. But I was studying that curved line of the coach route, wondering why he had it swerve right there... "
"Just a minute," June said, thumbing through her master script until she came to a larger sketch similar to Gurney's. This one was from an office copying machine. "Yes, I see. Why does it make that curve just when you're supposed to jump on it?"
"Well, what he didn't mark on the location master is a small cluster of boulders right here... " He indicated a group of rocks sketched on his own penciled map. "The coach has to turn to keep from hitting those rocks with its right wheels; they'd flip the damn thing over like a pancake.
"Now, the bit's sound in theory, but I disagree with the guy who says the coach can make that turn sharply enough to avoid the rocks at the speed it has to use at that point, coming down the grade up there as it will. I say it'll turn over anyway if they try it. And I don't intend to be on top of it when it does."
"I don't know," June sighed at this discrepancy. "You know Mr. C. accepts what the stunt people tell him they can do. And if they say they can do it without changes and you say you can't, it looks to me as if he'll insist on them doing it."
"It'll cost him the coach if he does," said Gurney stubbornly. "You see, when the location man for the stunt boys figured out the moves, he planned them for one of our standard studio coach models. But that big, beautiful custom coach Burt spotted near Snow Valley is a different beast.
Granted, he leased it for the film cheaper than he could get a studio coach all the way up here. But this gem has one hangup: Its turning radius is a hell of a lot wider than our standard hoked-up coaches. Use this one for that sharp a turn and you'll not only crack up the coach, you'll have to shoot a horse or two and maybe some people will be hurt."
"That's a different story," June said. "You checked out the coach yourself, then?" Gurney nodded. "Then I'll tell Mr. C. I recommend the stunt men check the coach as you did before we decide that one. Now, how about that 'slight change in timing' you mentioned? What alternative do you offer?" She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, and Gurney got a generous view of her shapely thighs again.
Morton, sitting in a comfortable chair several feet away, saw the look on Gurney's face and the way his hand moved to grip his cock under the table. That cheongsam's showing him her thighs, and he's ready to screw her right now. if she still needs taking care of after what Burt gave her today, he's welcome to try!
"I'm going to take a walk," he announced, getting up and going to the door. "This sitting around after a big dinner is what makes me so flabby. Don't wait up, Junie. See you tomorrow, Gur." He went out before anyone could respond to his sudden departure.
There was a bright moon, and the air was cool and clean. He strode masterfully along over the compound, not heading anywhere in particular, but realized that he was retracing his steps of that morning.
His first impulse was to change his course. But he thought he might feel a little strange around Burton after the two times he had seen him today. When Chadwick hailed him earlier-as he was heading home after parting Sandy's company-the director had told him about the status of the pirate epic. At the time, Morton had been gratified, but after thinking it over for a few hours, he wondered if the status had been altered in his favor by what had gone on between Burton and June.
Thinking it over again, and recalling all that he knew of Chadwick, he was sure that Burton was not the sort to "pay off" a man for pleasures shared with the man's wife. As he repented his doubts of Chadwick's character, he felt duty bound to continue his course toward the director's mobile unit and mention an idea he had been thinking about... an idea for that pirate film that could save the company from shooting costs.
He turned in by the sleekly designed trailer and rounded it to the patio, forcing himself to relax and prepare for a congenial chat. He noticed that the big station wagon was not parked under its car cover, but angled in back near the patio. The bright moon was reflected in the glass of the tinted windshield and windows.
As he stepped under the awning of the patio he saw Cara Lisa lying back on a redwood chaise longue, bathed in the moonlight reflected by the car windows. But he had a hard time convincing himself that he was not having hallucinations. Could Cara Lisa, the screen darling of millions, be doing what he thought he saw her doing?
Burton Chadwick had indulged in one of his favorite acquired Americanisms tonight: Barbecuing steaks on his own outdoor grill had been especially gratifying in the sweet mountain air, with almost no one else in the whole compound, since Lloyd's magnetized them all at dinnertime.
When the company all started to trickle back from town, Burton decided to go do something he had been thinking about for several hours. If he didn't he might postpone it again as he had for several days.
Sandra Stone was a damn fine actress, and Burton wished he had more scripts calling for her fair, red-haired elfin type of beauty. He hated to see her wasted in character parts, even though she handled them beautifully. And he had thought of an opportunity for her in the current filming.
"Lisa, I'm going to go over to the Adams' and offer Sandra the second lead. If she'll take it, I'll turn down the replacements Central offered after Kate went into surgery." Burton was watching his wife open his treasured volume of Aubrey Beardsley prints as she sat on the sofa amidst a pile of colorful pillows.
"Sandy?" Lisa looked up, puzzled. "But then who will play Mrs. Elkins?"
"Sandy," said Burton. "She can handle both roles. After all, they never appear in any of the same scenes."
"That's right, Good idea. I think she's better for the part than Kate would have been, anyway. I hope she'll take it."
"Well, I think I can sell her on the idea. Especially if I promise her double billing."
"All right, darling. Don't get to playing poker with Gurney, though. You two don't know when to stop when you get started."
"I promise," he said, and left the coolness of the air conditioned dwelling for the pleasant balminess of the night air. Lisa thumbed slowly through the book, and soon found herself fascinated with those drawings which portrayed exaggerated penises.
When she came to the Adoration of the Penis from Lysistrata, she licked her lips and stared at the obvious foreplay of an impossible act of fellatio.
"My God!" she said aloud. "What enormous balls! One could make a meal of each." And as she continued to stare at the huge, abnormal penis and testicles and the kneeling woman embracing them as she kissed the scrotum, Lisa suddenly hungered for a penis to play with. Notwithstanding her erotic exercises of the day, she had been wined and dined in the relaxed coziness of her own domicile, and she was rested and refreshed. The pornographic value of the drawing was at its highest for her at that moment.
The longer she looked, the hotter she got. Her left hand slowly strayed from the book, crept under her negligee, and slipped between her thighs to the moistening slit of her cunt. Her middle finger toyed in the damp heat of her fleshy gorge until she began to gasp and moan.
She tried to tear her gaze from the symbolic drawing, even forcing herself to look at the one on the opposite page as an antidote. It was also from Lysistrata, depicting the defense of the Acropolis.
She saw the farting ass of one woman and the tits and snatch of another, and they reminded her of her Lesbian session in the woods. Remembering the tastes, textures and tinglings of her bout with Selma made her cream heavily, flooding her fingers and palm.
Then she recalled Gurney's participation, and the magical power of his weirdly curved penis as it entered her inner sanctum and rendered her unconscious. Her eyes strayed back to the phallic drawing, and the gigantic organs enthralled her more than ever.
"Oohhhh!" she moaned, fingering herself furiously. "Burt, hurry home! I need your cock! I want to be filled with it!" Her ass bounced rhythmically on the sofa as she fingered deep into her vagina and rubbed her clitoris against her hand excitedly.
I have to stop this. I'll lose my mind, playing with myself like this and no one to satisfy me!
In an abrupt burst of will power, she tore her fingers out of her pussy, got up, ran to the door and outside into the night air. There was only a faint breeze, and it did little to cool her off. Instead, it fanned the filmy material of her negligee, making the delicate fabric caress her skin all over. She moaned and sank down onto the thickly padded redwood of the chaise longue that was near the barbecue grill.
The breeze continued to whip her negligee against her, tickling the sensitive tips of her nipples and making them erect pulsingly. The constantly moving folds of the garment caressed her legs and thighs, as if she were being titillated by a many-fingered lover.
"Oh, I want to be screwed!" she cried softly, throwing her hands out to her sides desperately and tightening her thighs in an effort to assuage the sensations that were tearing through her.
Her right hand touched something hard, cylindrical, slightly warm. She gasped and closed her fingers around it. She knew what it was: The handle of one of Burt's barbecue utensils, warm from the nearness of the still-hot coals. It was of hardwood, quite smooth the full length of its fat, cylindrical shape, and having a knob at the end, a knob not too unlike the head on a male phallus.
She moaned, pulled her hand toward her, still clasping the symbolic shape, and pressed it to her crotch through the fabric of the negligee. The touch made her whimper. She opened her tight thighs and pulled up the negligee, then inserted the phallic handle in her vaginal entrance.
"Ughhh!" she grunted as it entered her slippery passage. "Oh, yes! That's good... good!" She worked it into her cunt until it touched her inner depths, the hard knob resting against the swollen donut of her uterine door.
Grunting and gasping with every stroke, she screwed herself with the hardwood dildo, hanging onto it by the malletlike saltshaker mounted at its business end. How lucky I didn't grab up the one that's a knife! she thought. They're all alike at the handle.
She was working herself into a frenzy, when she heard a sound and looked up to see Morton Benedict standing nearby and staring at her with unbelieving eyes.
It was not in Cara Lisa's nature to feel true guilt of a type that would have embarrassed another sort of woman beyond description. The battle inside her was not between schizoid ego-halves disagreeing over the morality or propriety of what she was driven to do. Rather, it was between her tremendously powerful sexuality and her native intellect. The one demanded fulfillment of a burning desire; the other insisted that this route would not get the job done completely. In Morton, then, she saw not a shocked invader of her privacy, who could ruin her name; she saw a man and knew that he could be her salvation.
"Mort! Help me!" She moaned, continuing the stroking action as her eyes pleaded with him.
"Wh-what's the matter, Lisa? Is it stuck inside you?" Mort thought only that she had asked his help to remove whatever she had in her.
"Take it out and... stick your cock... in its place," she begged. Her gasping was partly from the effects of passion and partly from physical exertion.
Morton's first reaction, other than the erection she had caused by her display and now emphasized by her invitation, was to wonder where Burton was. But obviously he was not at home if Lisa was reduced to this. Then he wondered what would happen if Burton returned while Morton was accepting Lisa's offer.
What the hell! He was screwing June this morning; he'd better not have any objection to my screwing his wife tonight! He unfastened his slacks, peeled off them and his shorts and tossed them onto the redwood chair nearby. Then he placed his hands over Lisa's and tried to slow down her tempo so he could disengage the object, if indeed it were caught somehow. But she was almost hysterically committed to the mechanical movements, and he could not control her.
"Lisa!" he said loudly, almost into her ear. "Let go! I can't get my cock into you until I take this out!" For a moment he had the feeling she had not heard him. Her eyes had started to glass over and saliva was beginning to appear at the corners of her mouth. But she slowed her tempo a little and he thought she had gotten control of herself.
Then she started to speed up again. Morton released the grip he had on one of her hands and slapped her smartly on the cheek. Immediately her eyes started to show signs of focusing and her hands went limp around the saltshaker. Morton seized the dildo and slowly removed it from her, his eyes trained on the length of the slippery, wet hardwood shaft as it appeared.
When the nob slipped out, he stared at it, shook his head, and let it drop to the ground. I can't match it for "hard" but I'll beat the hell out of it for "anxious".
He stared now at the gaping vulnerability of Lisa's cunt. It was drawn widely open by the exaggerated angle of her thighs. Her knees were hanging over the padded edge of the chaise, her feet planted on the ground.
The dark glossiness of her bush was a primitive pelt that formed a huge, furry donut with a blossoming center of dark, purplish pink with maroon overtones. The center of the blossom was a dark throat, gleaming with the flow of her honey. It seemed to pulse, swallowing as if in need of nourishment.
Morton groaned at the savage beauty of her beckoning exhibition. He scooped his clothes off the ground and stuffed them in a wad under her buttocks, getting them tangled with her negligee and then rearranging them to clear the area for action.
He grabbed his cock, exulted at its rigidity, and knelt on the pad between her thighs. When he placed the hypersensitized head in the center of her fleshy flower, he was shocked at the coolness of the moist surface where the air had evaporated much of her excess lubricant.
But as he shoved into the quivering sheath of her vagina, he felt the sudden rise in temperature. It was glorious coming in from the cold. Her pulsating tunnel wrapped him in the steamy warmth of marinated velvet. It surrounded the seeking cylinder which was the extension of his being and coaxed it caressingly deeper into the mystery of her cave, massaging it hypnotically to the tempo of her inner convulsions.
"Lisa!" he whispered, thrilling to the very physical confirmation of her spoken need for him. "Lisa, I'm... in you now! God! it feels maddeningly... voluptuous!"
"Tighter, Morty!" she cried. "Press deeper and push against me... hard!" She wanted the pressure of his pubis against the upper portion of her vulva. She wanted every sensation of contact she could get. "Screw me, Morty... screw me good!"
Her lightweight bottom scooted around on the chaise pad, contorting the shape of her lovely buttocks as they rotated in eager search for the best position to capture and keep the ultimate sensation she sought.
Morty's studied thrusts plumbed her passage steadily, squeegeeing her juices to the end of the tunnel on the instroke and carrying them back on the outstroke behind the swollen swab of his coronal ridge. His hands had slipped under her to cup against her back above her hips. He pulled down on her hips hard, aiding her tempoed efforts to tilt her pelvis upward at each instroke, socking the head of his cock into the limits of her accommodation.
Lisa started to whimper as her release appeared on the foggy horizon of her awareness, as if she feared it might be a mirage that would dance ahead of her interminably.
But the golden glow of warmth began to envelop her as she passed the center of the colorful rainbow which was her roller coaster. Then she slid slowly down the arc into the treasured source of the warmth.
"Morty!" she gasped. "I'm almost... there!"
He plowed into her frantically, feeling his own surge develop into gigantic proportions as his seed boiled up in him, ready to carry his ego by proxy where he could not go, cementing them for a brief moment into one burst of energy.
Her final throes were so violent that he had to hold to her as he erupted in hot gushes. The lava splashed into her crater and surged up her walls, past the piston of his cock, pressuring toward the only escape outlet.
It oozed swiftly around between them and dribbled down to pool on the canvas pad and on Morton's clothes and Lisa's negligee, now a tangled, sodden mass beneath her perspiring ass.
The last few spurts of his ejaculation drew quivering gasps from her as her own major convulsions subsided and she felt the swelling of his spasms and the warmth of the fluid he expelled. When he had spent himself, he sighed loudly and allowed his chest to rest briefly against the twin cushions of her bountiful tits.
"Oh, Morty... you got me there!" she panted. "I knew you could. What I was doing... could not!"
"But what got you so... worked up that you... stuck that thing... inside your pussy?" he had to know.
"I'll show you when... I catch my breath," she promised.
"Me, too." Morty lifted himself up to take the pressure off both their diaphragms and chests. He felt the sucking severance of their connection and the wet smack of his limber penis against his thigh. Then he was somehow on his feet, wobbling a little on unsteady legs.
Lisa put up her hand and he helped her up. Like the blind leading the blind, they staggered hand-in-hand into the living room, and Lisa found the Beardsley volume where it had fallen to the floor by the sofa as she dashed outside in her panic.
When she found the pages that had stirred her, Morton looked at them and shook his head dubiously. It seemed pornographic, all right, but he could not imagine it shaking up a woman of Lisa's intellect so badly that she had gotten herself as lathered up as he had seen her.
"I'm not complaining, Lisa," he explained. "After all, if you hadn't gotten so worked up I would have missed one of the most deliciously exciting adventures of my life. But this drawing is so exaggerated... I mean, does a freaky thing like that excite a woman so much... that disproportionate size? You know it can't be realistic. The guy would fall on his face carrying such a load of cock and balls."
"Mort, it's not the realism of the drawing; it's the symbolism. I just wanted a cock in me so bad, and I thought I had to wait until Burt came back. Then it seemed just like because I had to wait for it, I wanted it all the more. The feeling built up so fast in me that I wasn't prepared to fight it or anything. Can you understand that?"
"Well... maybe I can... sort of." Mort was remembering the "comic books" he had seen as a boy. The grossly exaggerated cartoons had moved him pretty effectively, as he recalled. Enough to give him such a hard on he had to jack off immediately.
"But you came alone, thank God!" Lisa said.
"Yes, thank God I did!" Morton divided his gratitude between two causes. He was glad Lisa had been spared an even worse or more extended period of frustration, and he was grateful that he had experienced the delight of her overheated sexuality. He didn't kid himself which one got the greater credit for his thankfulness.
"Say, I'd better get my clothes on!" he said, and hurried out to the chaise and reclaimed the sodden bundle. Lisa came out as he finished fastening his slacks and stood there looking at him.
"I think you can't wear those into town like that," she said laughingly. Mort grinned at her foolishly.
"They're wash-and-wear, luckily. And I don't think I have the energy to go back to town tonight, anyhow. I'd better get back to June. Thank you, Lisa, for a beautiful evening."
"Thank you, Morton," she said, waving to him as he moved out of the patio. And as he disappeared from sight, she whispered it again to the ghost of his presence. The night breeze swirled her negligee high above her hips. Before she could push it down and go back inside the stillness of the mobile home, she felt the coolness of evaporating moisture in her crotch and on her thighs.
There had been a few long minutes earlier when she did not expect ever again to feel cool there. It was good to know that one could be so near the brink and yet be rescued. It was good to know that there were those who could take such a rescue and its temporary commitments in stride.
She had never had very strong feelings about Morton Benedict, one way or another. From now on, she knew, he would be more than another good actor who was in her husband's favored lists.
Yes, her husband. Wonderful Burt! What was keeping him, anyhow? He should be home very soon...
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sandra Stone's hands were a little unsteady as she poured Scotch over the ice cubes in two glasses, then added cold water from the refrigerator carafe. She looked beyond the end of the kitchenette table to study Burton Chadwick's face. He sat in a comfortable chair in the Adams' living room.
"You really think I can take care of both those roles without either of them suffering for the divided attention?" she asked as she picked up the drinks and went in to join her director.
"Of course I think so, or I wouldn't have asked you to do it. Look here, Sandra, you're a quick study and you won't have to even think of the Nellie Harkness role until we're all through shooting your scenes on location. By the time we're ready to roll at the studio, you'll have the bloody thing down so well they'll think you damn well are Nellie, the barmaid who couldn't say 'No'."
"Well... I guess I'd be foolish to pass up the chance in that case," she admitted. "Oh! I forgot. You didn't know."
"I didn't know what?" Burton asked, looking at her curiously.
"You offered me the part because you needed a redhead; right?"
"Not exactly, but let's say I did. What's wrong? You'll not convince me that your hair's dyed."
"No. I wish that were all it was. You see, this isn't really my hair. I mean... it is, but it really isn't. Oh, damn!"
"Now, come here and sit down and relax, Sandra. What are you trying to tell me?" She took a heavy sip of her drink and sat in the chair facing Chadwick.
"There was an accident at the studio. One of the hairdressers goofed and all my hair came out. Mr. Gordon came by when it happened and he took over. The best they could do was save the hair that came out."
"What a bloody damn shame!" Chadwick cried. "And just what have they done about it?"
"Well, they're doing all they can with treatments to speed up the growth of new hair. And they made this wig. Of course, if I do lose any roles because of it, there's insurance that covers it."
"Insurance be damned!" Chadwick was frowning his irritation. "That's small compensation... just money... if you lose a role in something that might further your career. But I just can not believe that's a wig."
"There really wasn't enough to do a wig properly," she said. "What they salvaged at the time was partly damaged by the chemical before they got it rinsed out. But I had one stroke of luck... two, really.
"When I was a lot younger, I had scarlet fever and lost all my hair. Mother kept it, and when Mr. Gordon told me they were going to have trouble making the wig full enough, I had her send it to me. The other stroke of luck was that apparently the color hasn't changed noticeably over the years, so they were able to do a pretty good job."
Chadwick got up and went over to Sandra's chair to examine her coiffure more closely. He walked all around her trying to detect a hint of falseness about the way it looked on her head. He had to give up.
"Damned if I can tell it even after you've told me," he said wonderingly.
"You can tell by the feel, a little," she told him. "At least I can. Put your fingers on this swirl here by my ear." Chadwick felt the hair at the spot she indicated, but he could feel nothing unusual about its texture, except that it might have been a bit more dry to the touch than he expected, as if it lacked some of its natural oils.
"Still no reason why you can't have it styled for the role of Nellie, is there?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. They made me decide exactly how I wanted it before they completed it, because they said some of the hair is likely to break if it's restyled too much."
"Doesn't matter," insisted Chadwick, now determined that she should have the role, no matter what. "I say have it restyled and do the part, then see what problems arise... if any. As long as you have the comeback on the insurance, you have some compensation, and I'll do everything I can to promote other parts for you. So, come on, Sandy; jump into it with both feet. We'll face what comes afterward when it's time to face it. Agreed?" He put his hand on her head affectionately, encouragingly, let it slide back to the nape of her neck, then gave her neck a little squeeze.
Unwittingly, he had stimulated one of her more erogenous areas, and she uttered a faint sound, a barely audible moan, as his fingers slipped away to trail over her shoulder casually before he reclaimed his hand entirely.
The added stimulus of his lightly caressing fingers made her gasp. A tingling shudder shook her from buttocks to shoulders and caused her to throw back her shoulders in reflex. This made her breasts thrust out more proudly than ever, straining against the thin blouse she wore.
The contact with her neck and shoulder had excited Chadwick a little, and the sight of her straining mounds triggered his lust quickly. He restrained himself only because he did not want her to think he was taking liberties as a director who had just offered to help her career. He hated that ad's approach to sex which seemed to be the only way many of his contemporaries could score.
But his hand reached out again to pat her arm affectionately. Certainly that would not be misconstrued. At that moment, however, Sandra chose to turn in her chair, intending to look up at him and smile her appreciation of his warm concern.
His reaching hand patted not her arm but the side of her firm breast. This time she moaned a little louder as he made contact with her second most powerfully erogenous zone. And in reflexive response, she thrust the whole heaping handful of her tit snugly into his palm and gasped excitedly.
He felt the springy firmness fill his grasp and his fingers automatically kneaded the enticing flesh through her lightweight bra and blouse. The spongy button of her nipple tried to erect, but the bra was too much resistance. Yet Burton could feel its valiant struggle and it brought a muffled groan from his lips.
"Ohh!" Sandra breathed. "Squeeze it harder!" She could not contain her mounting excitement. Burton needed no more elaborate invitation. He sank to his knees beside her chair and kissed the accessible flesh of her thighs just below the hem of her miniskirt. His hand reached up again to cup her breast and squeeze it in spasmic pulses.
A sigh of pleasure came from her and her knees parted to him. He slipped his face into her lap and breathed the feminine fragrance that rose warmly from her crotch. His lips nibbled at her inner thighs and his nose nuzzled at the springy mattress her hair formed under her panties.
She drew her feet up into the chair, pulling her heels against her buttocks tightly, and moaned happily as he slipped his hands down to her waistband and pulled off her panties swiftly, slipping them up her thighs to her bent knees, then down to her ankles in a single move.
When the garment was out of the way, he feasted his grateful eyes on the sight of her red-gold forest and the colorful pout of her parted labia. But he withheld his urgency to attack the lovely mouth of her cunt. Instead, he took off her blouse and bra, tossed them onto the floor, and took the now erected nipple in his lips.
Sandra whimpered with delight as he nibbled and sucked the bouncy morsel eagerly. His fingers worked its twin to full erection at the same time, and kneaded the entire mound lovingly.
He sucked and kneaded and nibbled, changing tits every few minutes, until he brought tiny tastes of pseudo-milk from the watery supply in her glands. She was gasping steadily, uttering little moans at short intervals.
Then he gave her tits a final kiss and dropped down to eye the entree again. Her excitement was evident, for the swelling lips had parted her bright hairs, even more, and juices were visibly flowing on the lower surfaces of her vulva.
"Burton! Oh, golly, Burt!" she whispered as he pressed his avid mouth to the fountain of flesh and began to drink. "Yesss! Oh, God yes!" she moaned when his tongue started to trace the ellipse of her inner labial circumference. Then he flicked the lump of her hooded clitoris and she cried out happily, thrusting her hips forward, sliding her buttocks toward him on the chair seat.
He slid his tongue into her vagina and thrust it as deeply as its length would allow, testing the texture and trying the taste of her steamy passage. The gasp he caused seemed to last for a long time; then she sighed, exhaling all the air she had sucked in.
"Oohhh! Do it more... it's getting me off!" she cried. And he knew her excitement was peaking rapidly by the complementary in-and-out movement of her pelvis as he licked into her cave of delight. He seized her clit once more and worked it with his lips steadily until she gave a glad shriek and straightened her body stiffly in the initial rigor of orgasm.
He milked the little bud a few more times until she cried out again, then he thrust his tongue back into the honeypot and sucked out the final drops of her dew. When he lifted his face from her crotch, she was a limp doll, raggedly collapsed in the chair, and her breath was a series of harsh, whimpering gasps that made her exposed breasts jump and jiggle in alternate quakes.
Burton took off his pants and shorts without taking his eyes from their steady regard of her beauty. Once more, he knelt on the carpet between her legs. Exhaustion had made her feet slip to the floor. He put them back up in the chair, pressing her heels to her buttocks, then leaned in toward her with his pelvis.
His ready cock was rigidly extended and swinging before him. He guided it into the open maw of her still-convulsing flesh and pressed it past the portals of her entrance. She moaned as he penetrated her, enjoying the fullness of him inside her.
He could feel the gentle spasms of her dying orgasm as her sheath enclosed him milkingly, caressingly, drawing him into her welcomingly. He began to pump himself into her in slow strokes, screwing the heated softness of her clasping cunt with studied deliberation, trying to feel every small part of her with the sensitive tip of his cock.
His mouth found hers and she responded to his kiss wetly, hotly, with enthusiasm. Their tongue traced searching trails, each exploring voluptuously the other's mouth; then as she again began to reach her peak, she whimpered into his kiss and he thrust his tongue into her mouth in deep strokes, simulating the strokes he was continuing as he screwed into her clasping pussy.
Her hips quivered up under him and her cry of completion was muffled by their mouths, but he felt the contracting flesh spasm around his swollen prick tightly as she climaxed. It drew his fluids out of him magnetically, spurting and pumping achingly out of him to flush the depths of her hot, thirsty love-throat.
Their mouths separated as they both gulped in air, and they panted loudly as they finished their convulsive releases. It was not until they released each other from their mutually frantic embrace that they realized how wet they were.
Perspiration lay on their bodies like drops of mineral oil, little hemispheres of bright wetness that decorated them in almost every visible area of their skins.
Burton started to move away but Sandy grabbed him and held him by the shoulders.
"Don't, please! Keep it in me for a while."
He poised on his knees, which were getting tired, and thought about it. He knew that a slight additional movement would disconnect them, but he was extremely uncomfortable. He knew that he had to change position soon.
"Wouldn't it be more exciting to pull it out, then put it back in later?" he asked her.
"Oh! I suppose it would. But how long does it... I mean, will we have to wait very long?"
"That depends," Burton laughed. "But I have to get off my knees before I become paralyzed." He cupped his hand under her cunt and pulled himself out with a wet smacking sound. She put her own hand over the vacated area to minimize leakage and he carefully kept his limber prick in the saucer of his hand until he was on his feet. He went into the tiny bathroom and cleaned himself off so he could rest comfortably without fear of staining anything.
When he returned to her, Sandy got up and followed his example. When she came back, he saw that she had discarded the miniskirt. They rested quietly in their chairs like two fighters waiting in their corners for the next round to begin. They studied each other with open interest, but it was Sandy who weakened first.
She got up without a word and crossed to Burton's chair, where she fell on her knees. Her hand seized the flaccid shaft of his cock and held its limpness upright until she could get her mouth on it.
Burton- was surprised at the quickness with which he responded. Her lips had moved but a few strokes when their soft ring had to expand to accommodate the swelling turgidity of his aroused cock. From that moment on, he just sat there and enjoyed it. And the way Sandy was working on him, it looked as if she was enjoying it, also.
He watched the orange-pink flesh of her lips being pulled into her mouth as her head moved down toward his belly, then being drawn out as they were stretched open by the friction of his glans when her head raised again. He had an urge to screw up into her mouth, to speed up her maneuvers with his own impatient action.
But he closed his eyes and relaxed. His legs moved apart more to give his balls some room and she immediately slipped one hand under them and teased the back of his bag with her nails. A tingling started to grow in his groin as she titillated his nuts and sucked greedily on his aching prick.
It was not destined to last long, he knew. And he had implied that he would stick that renewed shaft back inside her. If he waited much longer, it would be too late. Once he had shot his second load he doubted whether she could harden it enough again.
"You'd... better quit... now, Sandy!" he groaned, feeling the deadline approaching. But she did not slow her actions in the least. "Sandy?... I'm going to... come off... soon!"
"Mmmmmm!" was all she could manage as she worked faster to match the tempo she knew he now would prefer as his moment neared. He saw the handwriting on the wall and gave in. She was caught up in the challenge of bringing him off this way and nothing would stop her outside of pulling away from it. That was more than he could bring himself to do.
"Eat it, Sandy!" he husked, letting himself go completely. "Suck it out, baby... Ahhhh!" His cock throbbed and ejected a jet into her mouth. She sputtered and swallowed and sucked all the harder as the succeeding spurts were pumped out into her gulping throat.
His balls seemed to churn with the force of his come and he groaned at each spasm as his fluid was squeezed out of him. She kept sucking and swallowing even after his final gush, until he had to move her head away with his hands.
"Wow! You really took that by storm!" he told her as he fell back in his chair and panted. She looked up at him with an elfin grin that was mostly pink-orange but included a streak of white at one corner. Her hand grabbed at the hairy thatch around his genitals.
"I got one of those in my mouth, and it tickles," she said.
"Better go gargle and get rid of it," he told her. "The bloody things can drive you crackers if they stay there and tickle."
She went into the bathroom and he heard her trying to find the right spot. She hacked several times before he heard the faucet flowing. Then she came back and took her own chair again.
"I don't quite know how I can keep my promise, now," he said.
Sandy's eyes questioned him. At first she thought he meant his promise to help her career. For some reason, though, it did not seem to upset her in the least.
"I don't think I could insert this limp thing anywhere at the moment," he explained. "And I did intend to put it back where it was so delighted a while ago."
"Neither of us is leaving the area right away, as far as I know," Sandy said, smiling. "There'll be other times, won't there?"
"Oh, I do hope so!" said Burton enthusiastically. "You are a smashing bit of joy, you know."
"You provide quite a share of delight, yourself," she replied. "So you've made me happy in two wonderful ways by coming tonight. I do want you to know I'm grateful for your kind interest in my work."
"I'm always interested in talented craftsmen who take pride in their acting as you do. Even if they aren't lovely and desirable, like you. I did come here tonight, you know, because I wanted you for Nellie, and I'm grateful you're going to take the role. You are, are you not?"
"I certainly am! And if that saloon-floozy hairdo damages my wig, then I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
"We'll cross it, Sandy. I have a little bit of weight at the studio. Not much, but I'll wager we can find ways."
"Gurney will be ticked to know how nice you are to me," she said in a sudden burst of girlish pleasure.
"He will?" Burton asked, visualizing the look on Gurney's face when Sandy described some of the ways he had been "nice" to her.
"Yes. He's felt sorry for me a lot lately because he thinks I can handle better roles than I've been getting. And I'm not sure it's healthy to have too much pity in a marriage. What do you think?"
"I think you're quite right, Sandy. But Gurney loves you a lot also, I'm sure. And he is a helluva fine man and a good craftsman. Most of his public don't realize just how good an actor he is. You see, he's been getting the money parts, but he hasn't had much of the real meaty bits yet. One nice thing, he can soon afford to hold out for exactly what he wants."
"Yes. But that'll happen sooner if I get some good breaks, too. So we both thank you for your interest. And you know what? I'm going to make you a damn good Nellie. I just might make a few people sit up and take notice!"
"By George, I think you damn well will!" Burton agreed sincerely as he looked into her face. "Well, I shall have to leave." He got to his feet and put on his clothes. When he was at the door, Sandy kissed him on the lips.
"Good night, and thanks," she said. He looked at her still nude loveliness, at the cleverly realistic wig on her proud head, and smiled.
"Thank you, my someday award-winner. June will give you that other script in the morning."
She left the door open just a crack after he had gone, watching him disappear into the moonlit trees near his own temporary residence. Then she latched it and went over to pick up her blouse, panties and bra from the floor.
When she had taken them into the bedroom, she retrieved the tepid drink she had abandoned earlier, added ice and whisky to it, and carried it with her as she chose a dressing gown.
Then she decided to take a fast shower. Maybe Gur would be in the mood for play when he returned. She was a little tired, but she always wanted to be ready for him, just in case.
As she showered, she wondered how he had made out with June. Gur really wanted to do his own stunts, but he had anticipated a bit of a fight, over one of them. Well, he ought to be able to sway June; Gur could sell most anything to a female...
CHAPTER NINE
Gurney was wishing he had worn something a little less snug than the mod jeans he always kicked around in on location. The tightness of the heavy material added to the already sufficient support provided by his athletic briefs to choke the hell out of his swelling cock.
Every time June recrossed her legs, the whisper of the silk-on-silk movement drew his gaze to the source of the intriguing sound. Through the glass top of the small table, he could view the exciting shift of position.
Her cheongsam was split quite high, and the peacock blue of the background was an electrifying color for Gurney, especially in contrast to the creamy tan of June's thighs and calves. The paisley design contained a color that seemed to be an exact match for the exposed skin, and the most prominent accent color was the same as her lipstick and nail polish. The overall effect was smart, striking, and very erotic.
Gurney's hand clutched the aching bulge in his jeans for the third time since Mort's departure as June moved her thighs sinuously under the exotic fabric. He saw the healthy glow of her skin at the smooth outer contours of her thigh for perhaps the dozenth time in an hour.
When he looked up he also saw the smile on her face and realized far too late that if he could see through the glass tabletop, so could his hostess. As their gazes met, Gurney felt that this would be one of those protracted silences that accompanied an awkward social faux pas. But he reckoned without June's savoir-vivre.
"Gur, I don't know how you can relax enough to think while you have those tight things on; why don't you peel 'em and be comfortable? If you're sensitive about sitting there in your shorts, go slip into one of Mort's cooler robes."
"I've never been one for robes, Junie," he replied, quick on the uptake as always. "But if you wouldn't be sensitive about my sitting here in my shorts, I wouldn't. Of course Mort might think it a little odd when he comes back."
"Be my guest," June laughed. "And Mort won't be back for at least another two hours, if that thought makes you uneasy. When he tells me not to wait up, he's going to be gone past our usual bedtime."
"So be it," said Gurney, getting up and removing his jeans. June watched the bronzed, lean limbs come into view and she felt a few tingles race through her. This guy always had looked very good to her, even on the TV screen.
When she saw that his "shorts" were the extremely brief type, the late model with the built-in cache-sexe, the tingle spread to additional areas of her quite-warm body. The reinforced cotton of his support was fighting a losing battle with its contents. June wondered how all that had been contained in those slim, tight pants.
"Even I feel more relaxed, now," she told him, surprised that her breath seemed to be coming in short, labored gasps. "It's a shame to restrain yourself so tightly. I don't see how you could breath before."
"I don't exactly breathe from the point where most of the restraint existed," Gurney chuckled. "Now you're a kitten of another color; the way that dress binds you around the ribs, I would think it would be difficult to draw a breath."
By this time, neither of them was fooling anyone. It was progressing smoothly enough, but both knew there could be but one goal at the end of the road they now traveled. The only issue in doubt was which of them would have to end the game first as fewer and fewer ploys remained to them.
"If you can see my ribs, it must be tight," teased June. "And I was flattering myself that I had other topographical features more noticeable than my ribs."
Here it goes again, thought Gurney. Why do women make such a production of their tits? I suppose she expects me to get all excited over their size. Hell, Sandy's are every bit as large, and undoubtedly just as perfectly shaped. Well, I might as well head her off at the pass.
"You -do; oh, indeed you do, Junie," he told her, setting her up magnificently. "But your dress isn't tight in those places. As a matter of fact, it sometimes isn't there at all." He gave her bared thigh another long, appreciative glance for emphasis.
"I take it you're not exactly hung-up on breasts," June said, blushing a little as she conceded him a round.
"Oh, I can appreciate their conformation, as far as esthetics are concerned, and I'm all in favor of their natural function, for those in need of nourishment. But I prefer to feast on other, more exotic flavors, myself."
"In that case, I needn't be self-conscious about relaxing a little." she said, getting to her feet. "You're right; it is a little tight around my ribs." She unfastened the cheongsam and removed it. Gurney's throat tightened a little as he saw the perfection of her creamy skin uncovered from neck to waist. She had worn no bra under the form-fitting dress!
"I wish I could say that I was more relaxed with your restraining garment removed," Gurney admitted, eyeing the snugness of her brief panties and the cleft puffiness of her crotch mattress.
"I'm sorry," she said in what sounded like a truly apologetic tone. "Have I made you uncomfortable?" She walked up to stand beside his chair and looked down through the glass into his lap. The front of his cotton briefs had become more swollen than ever. "Would another drink help?" Her hand moved toward his empty glass.
"Yes, but not from anything in your bar," he said, reaching out and cupping her buttocks in his hands. She gasped, but her pelvis tipped upward invitingly, and he caught a faint scent of her woman smell at the same instant he saw the moisture-darkened spot in the reinforcement of her panties.
He nuzzled into the warmth of her crotch, inhaling deeply to learn the individual flavor of her. His fingers toyed around the fabric-covered cleft between her buttocks, then traced the curves under the cheeks where they joined the thighs. June whimpered a little as his tongue pressed against the padded hiding place directly over her clitoris.
Her scent was not as pronounced as Sandy's or Lisa's, but it had a compelling element of its own that made him eager to get to its source. His fingers slid upward and caught the waistband of her briefs, then pulled them down past his face, over her thighs down to the knees.
They fell the rest of the way, and she flipped them off her feet in two motions. His hands had not left her body, but had slipped back to her buttocks until she was again motionless. Then his fingers went through the same tracings as before, but delving deeper into the creases and making June gasp with the tingling messages her nerves carried to her brain.
If she had been wearing flats; she would have been inaccessible to him. But her heels were long and her pussy was high enough that Gurney could lick into the topmost part of her furry cleft, touching the very hood of flesh that covered her pulsing clit.
"Gur!" she cried excitedly. "That makes me too weak to... stand on my feet!" She panted so loudly that he knew it was now time to find another arena. His face came up as he looked into her flushed countenance.
"Then let's find a place for you to lie down, Junie."
"Yes! Let's! Over here!" she took his hand as it left her ass and pulled him with her to the sofa.
She sat on it as if she were collapsing, and attempted to pull him down beside her.
"No," he told her. "We need that spot for your right foot and leg."
"Where are you taking my other one?" she asked teasingly. He had already placed her right heel on the sofa and was kneeling on the carpet below.
"For a piggy-back ride," he said as he tossed her left leg over his shoulder. He began to kiss the damp inner surfaces of her thighs, licking and nibbling as he moved back and forth, bracketing in closer and closer to his goal. Then his thumbs parted the gold feathers of her mound, opening wide the gleaming wetness of her darkened pink slit. His mouth closed over the succulent half-melon of her cunt with a hungry, suctioning sound.
"Oohhh! Gurrr!" she moaned, tilting her pelvis upward as she had earlier, making herself as vulnerable to his mouth as she could. He sucked and licked at the outer labia, then traced his tongue around the contours of the warm flesh that led to the very center of her cunt.
"God! I'm creaming so I can't stop!" she cried, feeling the juices flowing within her. But she sensed Gurney would not have it any other way, for he was sucking and licking her everywhere within the confines of her vulva. She was starting to reach her peak already, so voraciously but tenderly did her guest feast.
"Eat me, Gur! Oh, eat me up!" she moaned.
He relocated her clitoris and his lips fastened on it. He began to milk it within its little cloak, titillating it so excitingly that she knew she was almost over the crest she was climbing. He flicked the tip of it with his tongue and she shrieked loudly.
"Now! Oh, nail it, Gur!" she cried.
He thrust his tongue into her vagina and plunged it as far as he could while she bucked under his face, caught in the throes of her uncontrollable flailing. Her hands pounded the sofa and her ass wiggled like a dying python as she came mightily.
"Ohh... ohh... ohhh!" she moaned softly as she tried to go limp and recuperate from her experience. But Gurney's tongue was still screwing her as he tasted the final yield of her cream and thrilled to the sweet velvet of her passage entrance.
"Stop!... Oh, Gur... enough!" she whispered hoarsely. He pulled his tongue out of her and planted his lips over the vacated spot. He sucked powerfully at her cave, making her shriek again, then lifted his lips from her, licking them greedily as he got to his feet. He looked down on her, enjoying the sight of her complete flaccidity as she sprawled there, tits heaving wildly with the struggle of her breathing.
Like most men, he could not help but enjoy the beauty of a woman's sexual completion, and the afterglow is always more beautiful to the man who has been a part of its creation, just as a musician knows when he has managed to bring from an instrument a particularly lovely chord and will enjoy it more than any audience.
But Gurney took double pleasure in June's limp, melted form, for he had just sat through a business session with her and she had represented authority-authority to accept or deny his claims concerning the stunt work he wanted very much to do.
True, she had agreed that his points were valid, and he knew she would represent him fairly to Chadwick on the subject. But he had been forced by circumstances to appeal to her, plead his case before her, and she had been given the power to judge him. Even though she had ruled in his favor, there had been a subconscious resentment on his part that she had judged at all.
Now his masculine pride was renewed, his erstwhile ordeal of submissiveness avenged by the oldest psychotherapy known to man. And as with most discerning men, the moment he knew he had gained some sort of renewal through a woman's completion, he felt warmth for her part in his enjoyment. Unlike many, he was not hesitant about showing that warmth.
He took only enough time to peel off his brief shorts, then he knelt again beside her and kissed the rosy nipples of her breasts. It was not a great sacrifice on his part, for he was not in the least repulsed by female breasts; he just was not intrigued by tits, and only toyed with them to further other interests. He often played with Sandy's because he knew she liked it. Now he wanted to please June, so he did his utmost to give her pleasure.
He tongue-flipped the erected sponges rapidly, nibbled them with his lips, then rolled them back and forth between lips and teeth. She whimpered pleasurably all the while, and when he again sucked them, they were hypersensitive and tingled maddeningly with the implosive action of the suction.
"Oh, Gur... you're making me cream again!" she cried, tightening the cheeks of her ass with the tension of reflex and causing her pubic area to rise and tilt like a floating island.
Gurney slipped a hand between her magnificent thighs and she spread them for him. His fingers slipped into the swollen labial folds and slithered through the pudding of flesh and juices he found there, reveling in the silken texture of her vulva and remembering with little effort the scents and flavors that filled that magnetic pussy, for they were still fresh on his palate, tongue and nostrils.
She was moaning low and softly but steadily as he suckled her ripe, heaving tits and probed her vagina with his fingers, flicking her clitoris occasionally with a lubricated thumb. When she began to display signs of escalating her excitement, he kissed her titties good-bye and moved into position between her legs.
"I'm going to screw that delicious juicy cunt of yours until one or both of us yells for help," he promised, his cock throbbing with his need until he feared it would explode. He got the pointed head speared into the slushy portals of her vagina and held it there, enjoying the steamy warmth.
"Oh, yes! Screw it, Gur! Push it all the way... balls deep!" June's voice was a whisky tenor as her passion tightened parts of her larynx as well as muscles all over her body.
Gurney shoved, but slowly, exercising his need to know every wrinkle and fold of the velvet draperies that closed over his cock. They clung wetly, caressing the pointed tip of his wolflike penis as if she needed to feel with her every inner tissue the shape and texture of the creature that invaded her passage.
She had wanted to cry out her disappointment when he ceased to suck her tits and pulled his fingers from her cunt. She had been on the verge of starting her upward climb, and the change in tactics had lost ground for her. But now she was on the way again.
"I'm starting... up the ramp, Gur! Pump it into me... quick!"
Her ass rose and fell beneath him, screwing the curved shaft of his prick before he had a chance to plunge in and out on his own. He simply met her strokes and matched them, feeling the vault of her entrance almost lose his cock on the outstroke and the tightness of her innermost cavern at the instroke limit.
"Gur! I'm... almost... there!" she warned him, shuddering as she spiraled up the length of his shaft to bury him inside her. He could feel the gentle quivers in her depths, like the first tremors before the main shock of an earthquake.
He grabbed her wildly driving ass, clutching her tightly by the buttocks, and probed with his sensitive cocksnout for the tiny donut of her uterus door. He found it, then lost it, then found it again. Just as he was about to wedge the wicked tip into the miniature mouth, she writhed with the first pangs of her orgasm.
"Damn!" he cried, almost sobbing with frustration, so much did he want to jam his cocktip in that difficult spot. But as he felt his disappointment, she squirmed again and placed it right in the doorway. He gave a grunt of joy, pressed the head snugly into the spongy ring and felt his balls erupt.
"Gur! What are you... doing for... God's sake!" she gasped as his fluid spurted hotly into the quivering lips of her womb. "I'm dying!" she shrieked, and passed out as his fourth jet of come squirted through the tightly constricted donut.
He felt her go limp, repositioned his cock to plunge it to the end of her passage, and gushed his final jets of semen into her unconscious body. He felt he was close to passing out, also.
The backpressure of coming through such a tightly closed aperture had drawn heavily on his involuntary musculature and nerves. The effects on his circulation were immediate and at the high altitude more pronounced than at sea level. He felt as if he had a severe case of vertigo.
But he fought the tendency to black out and managed to withdraw his spent penis from her lightly spasming cunt. As the tip slipped out of her, she started to regain consciousness. Her hand went down to recover something she thought she was losing, though she knew not what. Her fingers encountered only the sauce-covered trifle of her cunt and the strange tactile feeling made her open her eyes.
"Gur?" June's voice was a husky sob as she looked into his face. "What happened? We... you were... oh, Gur!... what did you do inside me?"
"I came inside you, baby. We both came. I thought you were enjoying it."
"I did! Oh, you can believe me, I did... but... something frightened me... I don't know-"
"Can you remember the first orgasm you ever had'.""' he interrupted. "How it felt? What your reaction was?" He looked into her eyes and saw them retreat as she searched into her past.
"I... think... yes... in my bed... using my fingers... and when it started I was scared... but I... I couldn't stop... it felt so damn good! And then... when I really came... I thought I was being punished for what I was doing... I thought I... was... dying... yes!"
"Yes. Well, you felt something a little different M hen you came this time. And again, the added sensation scared you. Am I right on that much?"
"I... guess so. But what was it I felt? What did you do? Gur, you didn't use some... some kind of gimmick on me... did you?"
"Only the one God gave me," he answered. "It's how I used it that made it different. I managed to get it sort of shoved in the little door of your baby carriage, that's all."
"In m-my... uterus? You couldn't. A cock isn't made that... way... " She became quiet as she saw what Gurney was holding in front of her eyes. Even though somewhat limp, it retained the unique curve that turned up its pointed tip. She studied it for a moment and then looked into his face with something like fear.
"God! That thing could curve up enough to... whew!" she exhaled air through her awe-pursed lips and fell back on the sofa. "For a second there, I was thinking that... no. I was just scared by something thai startled me. Squirting into my womb couldn't accomplish anything more than if you came just in my vagina. I should have known that right away. Either the Pill works or it doesn't. And for me it works, thank God."
"Right. What I did has only given you a new sensation and scared the hell out of you... apparently. For that part, I apologize."
"No. You owe me no apology, Gur. You've done me no harm and you have given me a new experience. My only regret is that I had to faint like a silly schoolgirl and miss the entire finale. I... don't suppose you'd try it again for me... if I promised to be a big girl and stayed right in there to the end?"
"It's just a little demanding on my recuperative powers at this altitude, it seems," Gurney said, grinning wryly. "We'll have to tackle something a little easier for now. But if I get to shoot on the same location again... " He left the sentence unfinished for her.
"This location is certainly hoping you'll be shooting here again," she said, blushing a little as she admitted her desire. "Could I... would you... bring that tricky thing of yours up where I can see it better?"
Gurney chuckled and turned himself so he was sitting on the sofa near her head. His wolfprick lay soft on his thigh near her chin. She turned on her belly, ignoring the juices that were draining from her onto the washable sofa cover.
Her head hovered over the unique penis, then her hand took it gently and lifted it up to her lips. She touched the slitted tip with a tentative tongue, then slithered her tongue around the oddly shaped head, teasing the tender rim of the coronal ridge.
"Phew-w-w!" Gurney's breath whistled. "You know how to harden a guy, don't you?" June had slipped the head on into her mouth and was stroking the shaft's length with her lips, hardening it as if her saliva were some magic elixir turning it to stone.
He let her work it over for quite a while, then felt the deep stirrings of alarm in his groin. He pulled away, making it plop out of her lips loudly.
"You've rebuilt it almost as good as new," he told her. "Now how about my kindling your fires a little?"
"I'm still pretty much a bed of glowing coals," she replied. "You don't need much of a bellows to make 'em flame."
"But you wouldn't object if I got 'em really roaring, would you?" He questioned with his words, but dared her with his eyes.
"Not as long as you know how to bank the fire when it's time," she said. She saw the accusing look in his eyes. "And you do know how to do that, I have to admit."
"Then come down with me on the floor," he said, getting to his knees on the carpet. She wasted no time in joining him and he positioned her on her knees, then had her put the weight of her upper torso on her forearms on the carpet.
Her creamy tan buttocks were parted excitingly, showing the shadowed cleft to its full depth and the rosebud of her tan little anus snuggled in the deepest spot. Her blonde bush and its parted slit gleamed below, still dripping and oozing their combined juices.
Gurney kissed and licked the cheeks of her ass, then the edge of the cleft. Shudders ran over her and she wiggled her ass in excitement as she wondered what he would do.
He ran his tongue the length of the crease and teased the snug wrinkles of her rosette wetly, toying and thrusting at it until she gasped loudly. It made her tighten the sphincter, but she could not keep it tight, so he thrust a little deeper into the resisting folds with his tongue.
"Gur! God, but that's maddening!" she cried. Her asshole winked convulsively with the reaction, and he wedged his tongue into the spasming ring until she moaned her enjoyment.
Then he stopped, scooted up behind her, shoved his fully hardened cock into the ooze of her cunt, lubricating it well. He pulled it out, placed the tip against her pulsing rosebud, and wiggled it through the winking ring in tempo with her gasps and whimpers of discomfort.
"Relax, baby," he told her. "The more you relax, the more fun it is and the less uncomfortable you'll be. Just let Uncle Gur show you how good it can be." He gradually worked it deeper as she tried to help by relaxing. Soon he had it in all the way and his balls were slapping the wet fur of her cunt.
"Let me have that juicy package in my hand," he said, slipping his fingers into the hairy pudding of her crotch and plunging two of them deep up her vagina. His thumb and palm massaged her hard little clit as he began to pump his cock into her ass.
"Ooh-h!... Gur... it's so full... my ass is so... full of you!"
"Never fear... little dear... Gur is here... and heaven's near!" He panted with the effort to keep himself fully inserted as he screwed into her ass while working her pussy steadily with his happy, searching fingers.
"Wow! What a sen... sation!" she gasped, beginning to shove back at him with her hips as he drove into her. She was soon carried away with the dual tinglings that centered in her groin and sent shivers all through her body. Her ass tried to weave from side to side and rotate, all at the same time. Gurney had all he could do to keep his balance on his knees and pump into her without losing connection either in front or behind.
"Baby! What a tight little... ass you have!" he panted. "It feels so damn good I may not last... very much longer!"
"You won't... have to last... very long," she moaned as her head began to grow fuzzy as if it were drifting away from her body.
Gurney felt the waves of shuddering orgasm travel through her. His fingers were being massaged by her clasping pussy and her rectal muscles were starting to spasm around his painfully hard cock. He could feel his own meager supply of juices boiling up fast.
"I'm gonna fill your sweet belly... quick!" he yelled.
"Yes! Now! Fill me, Gur!" she screamed as her orgasm became a blossoming explosion within her.
Gurney's cock erupted in her bowels, jetting its hot fluid in painful spurts as his fingers grasped her cunt tightly in reflex. Her spasms choked him somewhat, but his guts churned hard and his eruptions continued as she moaned the powerful reaction to her dual completion.
When he was empty and aching so much that he was almost at the point of nausea, Gurney pulled out his cock and sank back on his heels. His fingers had fallen from her crotch seconds before, and now they lay wetly on his thigh beside his stained, limp penis.
June simply fell over sideways and lay curled up in a tight ball on the carpet. Her legs gradually straightened out and she relaxed, uttering little humming sounds between gasps for air.
After a time, she spoke without opening her eyes.
"Gur, would you go ahead and wash up while I lie here, please?"
"Okay." He forced himself to his feet and went into the bathroom, washed himself quickly, then came out and slipped into his clothes. She was still in the same position.
"Junie? Shall I help you up?"
"No. Thanks, Gur. Just let me lie here. I'll get up after the glow leaves. You'd better go, now. I'll be all right."
"Are you sure, kid? I hate to leave you like this."
"You couldn't leave me happier, Gur. Unless, maybe... "
"Maybe what? What can I do for you?"
"Nothing now. I was thinking about... next time... "
"Oh. I'll be thinking about it, too." They both laughed joyfully, softly, as if they shared a great secret.
"And, Gur, don't worry about that stagecoach thing. I'm sure Burt... Mr. C. will see it your way."
"I hope so. But don't worry about that for me, now. Just relax and enjoy that glow you mentioned... if it's still there."
"It's still there, all right. Good night, Gur."
"Good night, Junie. Sweet dreams." He went slowly to the door and opened it, taking one last look at her curled up there under the soft light of the single lamp. Then he went out and closed the door silently.
I hope she gets up and organized before Mort comes back from his walk. Boy! That guy takes a doozy of a walk for a man who has a package like that at home!
CHAPTER TEN
Selma Masters closed the small, fat, green book in which she had been jotting notes, lifted the tray of her private sewing caddy, and tucked the book in the bottom compartment. She got the tray replaced just in time. Morton Benedict's second knock jarred open the small door inset in the wardrobe van's larger unloading door, and he looked directly in on the sewing-table area where she was standing.
"Sorry, Morton. I guess I was concentrating too hard," she said, gesturing with the cotton plaid shirt she had grabbed up in a hurry.
"For a moment, I thought you didn't love me any more, Sel," he said smilingly. He advanced toward her worktable and pulled up a folding chair where he could sit near her and watch her sew the old bone button on the authentic period garment.
"Silly. Pour us some coffee, why don't you?" she said, nodding toward the electric percolator on the back corner of the table. He filled two of the mugs, put powdered cream in one and stirred it, then handed it to Selma. He took the black coffee for himself and sipped at it as he sat down again.
Morton had been visiting Selma on and off for years, whenever he was working at her studio or on location with her. Originally, he had been curious about the art of costume fabrication, for he had always been interested in the odd garments of past eras. He had gained admittance to Selma's sanctum on the lot, introduced himself, and asked if he could browse and study her domain.
Selma had liked his honest, unassuming manner, and when he had insisted she call him by his first name instead of the usual formal address she used for all the actors and actresses, they had established a lasting friendship.
Morton was one of the few Selma always tried to watch at work on the set, and she admired his sincere, believable acting craftsmanship just as much as he admired her vast knowledge and artistry in the costume field.
"Do you mean to tell me," she teased him, "I might have not had the pleasure of your company if I'd been in my apartment at the back of the van and not heard your knock?"
"Hell, Sel," he protested. "I know you always tell me to walk in after knocking; that any actress dressing inside will be behind drapes if she observes the rules. But this is your private shop. On location it's even your private living quarters, too. And I do respect your privacy, Selma; you know that. I can't barge in like a teen-ager on his first messenger run or something."
"I know, Mort. I gave up long ago really trying to get you to relax and be more casual, less worried about the routines of propriety. I'll bet June has, too, hasn't she?"
"Yeah, I guess she has, at that. But I do have logic on my side, you know. Supposing you had been undressing and had a sweater over your head when I knocked. It could have muffled sounds and I could have walked in and seen you in your birthday suit, or part of it."
"So? Who knows? It might have led to an exciting affair that could have been good for us both!" she teased, although she had long wondered how it would be to have the gentle, manly Mort make love to her.
Morton's eyes gleamed for a few seconds as he did some visualizing of his own. More than once he had forced himself to pass up what seemed like a golden opportunity to become more familiar with Selma's physical attributes. But he didn't want to risk their very pleasant friendship. Some women in her position would think he was taking advantage of his fairly solid standing on the lot to make passes at the non-acting employees.
"It might have, at that," he admitted. She thought there was more than jesting in his tone. "You are a very desirable female, Sel, and you know it." He sighed, and this time she was sure his words had the ring of truth. "It's not easy behaving around you all the time like a Fauntleroy."
"Tell you what, Mort," she dared. "Next time you get the urge, don't fight it. If I can't defend my honor, I deserve to lose it to you." She sipped her coffee, observing over the rim of the cup his reaction to her challenge. She liked the sudden gleam in his eyes. It caused her to snuggle her thighs together under the smock she wore. When she put down her cup, her hand shook a little.
"I dropped by to tell you, Sel, that it looks as if you'll get to whip out that wardrobe for our favorite period. Chadwick says our pirate saga is going to be shot before long."
"Great! I'm glad for you, Mort. I'm glad for us both. How about a little brandy in your coffee to celebrate?" She reached under the worktable and pulled a bottle from a carton of miscellaneous fabrics.
"I'm game," he agreed. She doled out a generous slug in each cup and they lifted their mugs ceremoniously. "To wooden ships, iron men, and the woman who'll dress 'em-the men, I mean," Mort said. He started to clank mugs, but Selma was not ready; she had a toast of her own.
"To the gentleman pirate, and the crew he'll lead to stardom, and the wenches he'll undress on the way!" She socked her mug solidly against his and they drank the heavily laced coffee with pleasure. When she set her mug on the table, the front of her smock gaped a little and Mort saw the entire side of a naked, satin breast and a turgid pink nipple.
His cock suddenly stiffened in his pants and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to throw himself on her and suck the warm tip of the saucy little tit. He remembered her invitation, wondering how much of it was sincere and how much a friendly just.
"Did you tell me... not to fight the urge?" he asked, looking into her blue eyes searchingly. She met his gaze, then dropped her own to search elsewhere. His arousal was visible at a glance.
"Let's go," she said simply, getting to her feet and going toward the door that locked off her living quarters from the rest of the van. Morton followed her, his heart beating faster than normal. The pert wiggle of her rounded buttocks beneath the smock seemed to make his erection double in size and hardness She locked the door behind them with one hand and flicked open her smock with the other. Mort drank in the sight of her proud, ripe breasts jutting out toward him, nipples darkening and swelling with anticipation. Her smooth, convex belly was quivering slightly, and he watched the ripples travel to the waistband of her thin white silk panties. Beneath the filmy material he could see the dark curls of her womanly bush.
"I do want you very much, Sel," he told her, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "I think it's because I like you so terribly much that I want to have you like this, also." He kissed her on the forehead, the nose, the eyes, and the lips. Her mouth opened to him and their tongues caressed each other tenderly.
They explored the range of kissing maneuvers for a while, and their breathing grew heavier and heavier. He had seen her bed from the corner of his eye and he now guided her to it and eased her to a seat on its edge. His hands peeled the open smock from her golden tan shoulders.
"Oh, Mort!" her voice was full of tremolo qualities. "I want to be good for you! I want you to be pleased with me!" Her words grew shakier as his lips found her tits and kissed a trail up the side of each golden mound to its swollen tip. He took a nipple in his lips and sucked it lovingly, rolling the morsel in caressing motion from side to side and tonguing its tip.
His hands were caressing her body, massaging her firmness at back, hips, and buttocks. He peeled her panties down as he continued to suck both her nipples hungrily. She was quivering under his caresses and kisses, letting small whimpers escape her moist, parted lips.
"Morty... oh, Morty... take me, Morty!" she said as tingles raced over her entire body.
He let her nipple slip from his lips and kissed downward over her sleek belly and into the faintly Chanel-scented forest of brown hair at her high-rounded mound. He was surprised to detect the expensive fragrance on her pussy pelt, but it came to him that Coco herself had once wielded a needle for a living.
But the commercial scent was soon unnoticeable as her personal female odor rose on steamy tendrils into his distended nostrils. He groaned at the compelling flavor of the scent and pressed his face into her bush, hurriedly parting the hairs with his nose and lips. Then he lashed out a greedy tongue and dipped it into the moist flesh of her cunt.
"Mort!" she cried, her voice quivering as tingles rippled through her flesh. He lapped at the swollen inner sides of her labia and her thighs drew apart to give him complete access.
He found her clit jutting excitedly out of its nook and firm with her desire. He sucked it, flicked its tip, sucked it again, and thrilled to her tiny cries of joy. He thrust his tongue into her eager vagina and felt it contract slightly on his fleshy tongue as he pumped it in and out of her passage.
He sucked at the cave hungrily and felt her shudder beneath his hands where he now held her by the quaking buttocks. Her responses were so purely natural and so unreserved that he became even more impassioned than he was. His fingers stroked the crease of her ass and tickled the winking rubbery iris of her anus.
"Screw me with it, Morty!" she shrieked, "I'm coming!" He felt her asshole open to him and his finger thrust inside her as a giant tremor shook her body. He screwed his digit deeply in and out of her ass as he sucked the pulsing nubbin of her clitoris.
"Arghhh!" she moaned as her whole body stiffened briefly and went limp. Mort was not certain if her cry had been partly pain or entirely pleasure. But he pulled his finger out of her ass and merely licked and sucked on her vulva until she moaned her inability to stand any more. He blew lightly on her pulsing cunt, then withdrew to let her relax.
He studied the open wound of her pussy, fascinated by its dark pinkness, its extremely well-groomed brown bush that curled over its borders and formed an attractive frame for the moist mouth.
His prick pulsed warningly, reminding him that he had just begun to make love to her. And the vulnerability of her split magnetized him to action.
He stripped, tossing his clothes in a heap, and mounted her. He shoved his purple cockhead against the heated, sloppy petals of her cunt and shoved slowly into her palpitating passage.
"Oohhh! You're in me, Morty!" she cried happily. "Push deep, lover! Swell my cunny with it!"
Mort's prick throbbed at her words, making her sheath expand with its swelling. He could almost taste more clearly the flavors she had exuded and which now excited his palate.
He plowed into her welcoming grasping, groaning at the way her clutching tissues sucked at his cock as if eager to drink his last drop of fluid before he started to come.
Selma could feel his taut sac slap her ass each time he sank his cock into her depths, and she wanted him to flail her with that hairy package until it hurt. She wanted every sensation from him that he could give her.
"Harder, Mort!" she gasped. Deeper! Stuff your eggs way inside... my cunt!" Her buttocks squirmed in his grasp like a pair of twin baby elephants, and he had to press hard, nailing her ass to the bed as he sought her innermost capacity.
He felt her coming even as her joyful moan started to leave her lips.' It triggered his own cauldron of molten seed, making it simmer tinglingly as it rose up inside him.
"Squirt it... Morty! Fill me with it!" she gasped, then her throes claimed her attentions and robbed her of words. There were only grunts, groans and gasps from them both as his semen gushed out of him and drenched her cunt depths hotly. They clung to each other desperately as their fluids gurgled inside her, mixing and frothing with the force of their orgasms.
They had fallen quiet and lay there for a few minutes before Morton stroked her back affectionately with his hand. She was bathed in perspiration, and as he noted it he realized that his own body was a dripping blanket of sweat.
"Wow!" he whispered. "You're something else!" She made contented hummings for a bit, patting his shoulder. Then she buried her face against his chest.
"You're a wild, exciting hunk of man, Mort," she told him. "I'm glad you didn't fight that urge!"
"So am I," he said fervently. "Your cunny is just as sweet and warm as your personality."
"That's a lovely thing to say, Mort," she said, squeezing his arm as she rolled back under his weight. "But you might just mash them both beyond repair pretty soon."
He chuckled and lifted his weight from her, rolling off onto the bed, his limp cock trailing raggedly across her belly until it plunked on his own, splattering juices on all sides.
"Can't let that happen," he said. "I've guarded our friendship up to now; and here I've found something else to protect and cherish."
"Our relationship... can't help but be... somewhat different... after this, can it?" she said wonderingly.
"Different, certainly," he agreed. "More meaningful, I'm sure, but none the less for the difference, as far as I'm concerned. I respect you and like you, Selma. Nothing can change that for me."
"I guess it's the same with me." she said. "I'm glad it's like that with us. I couldn't stand to lose our gabfests and all."
"Perish the thought. Now we just have more to talk about. It opens new doors to discussion." He looked slyly at her and grinned.
"Sure!" she replied. "And how long can we talk about that subject before we have to do something about it?"
"Well... any objections to that?" he wanted to know.
"Oh, Mort! If you ever hear a single one, stuff up my mouth so I can't talk." She appeared to think about what she had said, then raised herself up on the bed. "And that seems like a perfectly scrumptious idea right now!"
She seized his dormant pecker and put its malleable tip in her mouth. Morton felt himself swell rigidly into shape within her lips as she teased his glans with her agile tongue and sucked on the spongy mass excitingly.
"Keep that up," he cautioned, "and I'll not be responsible for any damage to your tonsils!"
He thought he could feel her laughing around the mouthful she held, but she was so expertly busy that he soon thought only of what was to come. And come it did, rapidly and gushingly, filling her mouth and throat almost faster than she could swallow.
But as the great surges pumped through him and erupted into her mouth, he was one huge, tingling ball or orgasm, feeling the fluids drain from him as if drawn from all over his being. She took the very last drop with a sucking smack as the head flipped free of her lips.
Morton groaned loudly and Selma laughed merrily at his obvious emptiness. His groan indeed had been wrung out of him by the way she had drained him. But he was thinking about his tentative engagement with Sandy. He had forgotten until now that they had agreed to meet again in the woods today.
"Helluva pirate I'll make," he complained. "I have a busy day ahead and I'm scuttled before I can get out of port!"
"You'll recuperate," she told him. "Anyone who could deliver that much 'gallonage' on the second round... " she gulped dramatically, "... will be loaded for action in no time!"
Mort got up and began to dress. He was surprised at the vitality he still felt after unloading twice in so short a time. Maybe... just maybe... he could still...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
More than one person among the location company would have been surprised to see the letter Selma Masters wrote after Mort left the van. The name of the addressee would have puzzled them, for they would have been at a loss to account for her acquaintance with the party she was writing.
If they had glimpsed just occasional bits of the letter, they would have found all sorts of thoughts racing through their minds: "... seem like a lot of money, but only I know how much it is in relation to what I've been able to save over the years... " her ballpoint raced over the paper.
"... my instructions to the letter! Everything will be better for all concerned that way. You can take my word that is the only thing of this sort I've ever gotten into, and I assure you it will be the last. If you do as I say, I'll never bother you from that moment on."
She wound up the letter quickly, signed it, put it into its ready envelope, and sealed it. She tucked it into her purse and looked at herself in the mirror, checking the chic summer suit that flattered her already svelte figure. Then she went out of the van, got into her little Triumph convertible, and wound it up, heading across the compound toward the road that led to town.
Morton had drunk an emergency brunch-an ounce of bourbon, three ounces of milk, and five eggs with a little sugar. When he appeared at the hillside rendezvous, he was glad that Sandy was not there waiting for him. He needed all the time he could get to recover his potency.
He could have found an excuse to get off, one that would convince her of his earnest interests but get him off the hook. Yet he considered it only briefly. Now that his sexual powers seemed to have adjusted so well to the altitude, he was eager to see if they were up to this demanding schedule. The challenge was too much for him to reject.
While he was wondering how it would turn out, he heard the soft sounds of footsteps on the leaves and pine needles at the crest of the hill above him.
Cara Lisa had told her husband that she was going to lie down for a "beauty rest" for a few minutes, but actually she had isolated herself in the bedroom to satisfy her curiosity about herself. She had to know if she could control her sex drive, at least better than she had the previous night.
Curled up on the bed in her filmiest gown and nothing else, the volume of Beardsley she had sneaked in with her by her side, she was not too worried. If she got desperate, she could call for Burt to come drive his delicious prick into her and stop the wild longings before she got into real trouble again.
She opened the book carefully, and when she came to the drawings from Lysistrata, she quickly leafed past the ones which had stirred her so greatly before. She was not sure she was ready for those, yet. Instead, she looked at the last of the series.
Entitled The Lacedemonian Ambassadors, it portrayed three men of widely varying age, height, weight, and physical beauty, but all boasting disproportionately mammoth erections. Their nude figures seemed even more ludicrous at first, because the very smallest of the three, a veritable midget, was burdened with the most gigantic phallus of all. It would have had to weigh more than the rest of his body.
Yet, as she viewed it, she saw in its strange lines the unique curvature of Gurney's wolflike penis. This one was shown as much more thick for its length, but the arc of that curving shaft made her gasp with the remembrance of Gurney's eccentric tool as it invaded the very doorstep of her innermost sanctum and squirted its hot liquid into her being!
"Ohhh!" she gasped, eyes fixed upon the symbolic burden with which the little man was cursed or blessed. Her fingers, betraying her intentions as she concentrated on the imagery, stole to her crotch and began to massage the slight itch that had developed in her cuntlips.
"Gur! I wish you were here with that thing of yours!" she breathed softly. "Could I stand to have it in me again, the way you had it in me before? It frightened me, but yet... " Her two fingers now worked feverishly in the ready soup at, her vaginal entrance. Her gown was up to her hips and her legs threshed about on the bed as her tongue licked wildly at her lips.
Her eyes were still staring at the misshapen little man, but it was Gurney she wanted-Gurney's misshapen cock, stirring up her juices as her fingers now stirred them.
"No! Oh, no!" she cried, realizing too late that she had been drawn into the web of her own demanding lust through a different but equally potent route.
"Help me! Hurt! Please!" she yelled, dying to have him rush in and relieve her of this overpowering hunger that was consuming her. She could not hear his footsteps, but he had to be coming; he could not have failed to hear her cry for help.
She cried louder, but there was no sound from the outer rooms. Desperate, she crawled out of bed, her two fingers still dipping into her as she walked, bow-legged, to the door and flung it open.
The note that had been slipped into the crack of the door now fluttered to the floor. Horrified, she grabbed it up, tried to read it with emotion-fogged eyes. When she grasped its import, she sobbed loudly.
Burt had gone to make a personal check on some statistics concerning one of Gurney's stunts. He was not sure how long it would take. She should take care of herself until he returned.
"Take care of myself!" she shrieked. "Burt, that's what I can not do! Please! Oh, PLEASE! BURT!" she fell to the floor sobbing and thrusting into herself with spastic fingers...
June opened the Special Delivery letter, puzzled as to why Selma had mailed in her Ready Report instead of handing it to her or to Chadwick as usual. Selma had a sense of humor, but there was little point in having driven into town and mailed the damn thing. The man who delivered it had looked at her curiously, and she saw why. There was no return address, but obviously it had been mailed at the Running Springs Post Office, since it bore that mark of origin. And June would know Selma's writing anywhere.
She glanced once more at the simple address on the envelope: Just "Burton Chadwick, B.C. Productions." The post office people knew where Chadwick was, of course, since he received mail there under General Delivery, and a Special Delivery demanded their best efforts to get it to the location site pronto.
She pulled out the folded papers, started to drop what she thought was the Ready Report into the stack of paperwork she would turn over to Burton later, then brought the letter slowly back to where she could read it.
Obviously, Selma had put the thing into the wrong envelope. June knew she should not read the letter; it was private. But she was naturally curious as to why Selma would be writing to...
I'll be damned! She actually... Selma Masters!... quiet, efficient Selma... to have put herself in that kind of a spot! June sat there, dumfounded, re-read the letter, then put it bark in its incorrect envelope. She thought about what she ought to do. If she remailed the letter to its intended addressee, it would-No! Selma would discover sooner or later that she had used the wrong envelope. Better to take it to Selma, now.
June remembered that she had heard Selma's little car being run up beside the van and parked only an hour ago. She had to be nearby. June went out and crossed the compound, checked the van and found it unoccupied.
None of the lot men had seen her, and June was about to give up when one of the electricians heard who she was looking for. He told her he had seen Selma heading over the hill into the woods.
June decided that she would have to follow the surprising wardrobe mistress and present the letter in person. She started up the steep incline, wishing her miniskirt were longer, but glad she was wearing flats...
Gurney started for his appointment with Chadwick long in advance of the time he was due. He wanted to go through the bit in his mind again, trying to think of any angles the wily director might come up with that Gurney could have overlooked. Besides, he had nothing else to do; Sandy had gone for a walk in the woods. Who knew, maybe he would bump into her. He hoped she wouldn't tag along on the meeting with Burt, though. He could think and talk better without her by his side, for some reason.
He crested the hill, stopped and looked at the dense scrub, and whimsically decided to see if he was the same old stalker he once was. He put his boots down carefully, barely disturbing the needles and leaves as he made his way over the terrain. He was so good at it yet that he decided he might just go hunting this fall, after all, if his schedule allowed it.
When he came upon the couple in the little hillside clearing, it was so sudden that he did not recognize them at first. Then he felt a strange hollow in the pit of his stomach as he saw Mort Benedict shove a wet, rigid cock in the welcoming pussy of Sandra Stone-Mrs. Gurney Adams!
He stood there, unable to move for a length of time. Then he felt the hard insistence of his own cock fighting at the confinement of his shorts and pants. It dawned on him that he was not upset, not angry; just shocked and surprised. And above all, damned excited at the thought of his wife being screwed by another man.
He had hoped she could unlimber like this. It was bound to do her a world of good. And she was really giving it all she had! He watched as long as he could stand it, then peeled off his pants and shorts and stepped up to the hotly exercising couple.
Morton was on the bottom, and Sandy was bare-assed above him, pushing down on his impaling cock as he thrust up into her. Gurney simply stepped over Mort's supine body, straddling it, and held his curved rod out to Sandy's mouth.
Her eyes grew large as she saw her husband appear before her, but his grinning face told her all was well. She took his cock in her lips and let him screw into her mouth.
For a fraction of a second, Mort thought he would lose the best and wildest hard on he ever had. But as he saw what Gur was up to, he drew on all his will power and concentrated on his erection. It's okay. Everything's great! Gur's joining the fun. Think of the juicy cunt you're dipping up into. Screw it good, Mort!
And he had it under control. Sandy started to have the time of her life. She only wished that Gur was shoving that wicked thing up her ass. She'd like to be pronged at both ends that way, just to see what it was like.
They were so caught up in the heated novelty of their surprise threesome that they did not know they were almost joined by a fourth.
Burton Chadwick started early so he could hike leisurely to the spot where he would have to give his decision on the stunt bit. He missed the hikes he used to take before he got so damn busy. Now he had to exercise in a gym, usually.
Of course, he had gotten his share of exercise below the belt on location. He frowned, knowing it was not always the best policy to be screwing with the cast and staff. But he was sure that this group were okay. They would not let it interfere with the job to be done.
Thinking about his adventures with June and Sandy, he wondered what Mort and Gur would think if they walked in on something like that. Mort was pretty level headed, though, and seemed to be the broadminded sort. Gur was another bloody thing! Gur was often a quandary to him. Not as openly friendly, though warm enough at times. Now Gur just might get rather difficult if he-Burton pulled up short and watched the activity before him. He was not surprised he had not been heard as he approached. The three people were going at it noisily, moaning, grunting, gasping and panting. Even the liquid sounds of their genital movements seemed loud in this setting.
Well, that settles the question of Gur's temperament! God! Wouldn't I love to vault in there and stab that redhead in the ass!
But he got a grip on himself. Two men were enough to handle one female. And he could not be sure of his welcome, even if they were getting along famously thus far. The camel might bite when the last straw was loaded.
He moved away silently, edging out of their hearing before he even drew a ragged breath. His cock ached mightily in the crotch of his fawn slacks. He made his way down the steep incline, catching a glimpse of water through some trees as he descended. Maybe a cool dip would temper the pain of that shamefully wasted erection.
God! If only I had the kind of luck that would turn up two females for me, instead of one female and two males! He eased onto the flat ground and looked around him, lining up the landmark he had memorized so he could find the water he had seen. As he started toward it, he heard a woman's voice. Then another in reply.
He moved silently but swiftly toward the sounds. He wanted to be careful around here; hard to tell what a guy could run into...
June watched Selma's trim figure poise beside the pond, bend at the knees, then knife into the water. The brown tresses floated on the surface then clung to the pretty face. Selma stroked across the small pool in nothing flat and climbed out to stand on the bank. She poised one foot on a rock and let the water run off her as she rested there.
June looked at the bright gems that glistened and ran over the lovely body, catching the sunlight and magnifying it on the tan skin. Selma suddenly half-squatted as she stood, obeying a natural impulse to relieve herself. Her pelvis thrust out before her as a golden amber stream flowed from her brown bushy crotch.
June's breath caught in her throat as she observed the act. She would not have believed that such a common functional performance could be so beautifully breathtaking. Here in this setting, there was a primeval wonder to it. It almost made the woman's body become that of a goddess.
Entranced, June walked out of the bush and approached the figure from the front, but Selma was looking out across the pond and did not see her visitor right away. When she looked around, June was standing within a few feet of her.
Selma's first reaction was embarrassment. Then she saw that June had not been offended; in fact there seemed to be a world of respect or something in her eyes.
"I... I'm sorry to barge in on your privacy like this, Sel," June faltered. "Especially since it's such a lovely place to enjoy yourself in peace. But I had to sec you."
"Take your things off and come in for a refresher," Selma invited. "The water and the air both feel great on your skin."
June complied as if she had only awaited the urging. She was quickly nude, her clothes on the ground near where Selma's lay and then she was in the water, splashing in the clean purity of it.
As she paddled around she wondered how to tell Selma what she had to say. There seemed no way to begin properly. The water was too cold to stay in long, so she climbed out and stood beside the brownette on the bank. Selma still stood unabashed in the same position, her skin drying in the sun and her piss soaking into the ground beneath her.
June put a hand on Selma's shoulder, felt the strange shudder that it caused, and removed it self-consciously.
"Sel, I just opened an envelope that was delivered to Mr. C. It seems to have been mailed in error. The envelope was the one... or the v type... you use to send in your Ready Report. But the letter was... intended for someone else."
Selma's face paled. Her entire body seemed to pale, and she shuddered this time all over. June helped her to sit down on the bank and took a seat beside her.
"I couldn't help but read it, Sel. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into your personal affairs, but... well... "
"It... it's all right, Junie," Selma replied softly. "Is it too much to ask, though, that you not tell anyone else?"
"I don't know. I'll try to keep it to myself, Sel. -But you know it just might be that Mr. C. asks me a question during the course of my work. I've never held out on him or lied to him yet. But, if you went to him and told him... which might be a good thing to do... I believe he'll keep your secret."
"Oh, Junie!" Selma flung herself into the blonde's arms. "I so wanted to bring it off without anyone knowing... until I was proven correct... until everything was wrapped up... " She was crying dry sobs and June patted her, attempting to comfort her.
Hal wanted me to tell Burton, too. But I've been a wardrobe mistress too long... a damn good one, but still... not the sort you would expect to be an angel... "
"All kinds of people are angels, Sel," June told her. "And if you believe in something, back it up the way you did this."
"I g-guess you're right. I just wanted to do my gambling in private. But I do believe in it, Junie! And I believe in Mort. He'll pull it off. And if anyone can fit all the pieces together... the script, the people, everything... Burt can do it."
"So what are you fussing about? You've backed Buccaneer Wench with half of your life's savings and investments because you wanted to. I think you'll be glad. But your friends would like to know, too. They'd work even harder to be sure you made a profit."
"D-do you think so, Junie? Should they know, really?" Selma was clinging to June, wanting reassurance of some kind. June hugged the satin body to her and felt the warmth rising up under the cool skin. Their breasts rubbed together and nipples erected in sudden reaction to the touch.
"Oohh!" Selma gasped, grabbing June tighter in reflex.
"Oohh!" June moaned, hugging Selma closer. Their mouths met as if preordained in a warm, affectionate kiss. They melted their bodies together, legs began to intertwine, and soon they were on the road too far to stop, both caught up in emotions and sensations too powerful for them to analyze.
"My God!" Burton whispered, watching the two gorgeous bodies locked in writhing passion by the side of the pond. "I ask for two females, and damn if they aren't bloody well there! Prayer works like mad out here in God's country!"
He moved toward them, taking off his clothes as he went...
