Chapter 13
I found myself getting a very excited, wet cunny myself as Once Upon a Honeymoon continued showing more and more ingenious first night screw sessions. The actors ranged from boy and girl types to mature couples. I found myself panting, ass and twat grinding, right along with the hot fucking on the screen. Now I was beginning to dig what had given Jack Beauchamp his M. F. -master of fucking.
He put on several more features and this time when the lights went on, I applauded him. I could see his chest swell at the evident admiration in my eyes.
"Jack, those were real cool. I must admit that they sent me, especially, "Once Upon a Honeymoon" -"simply terrific," I said wriggling my rump.
"That was a real brainstorm I had during my French realist period," he said proudly. "The reason it all seems so natural is that it actually was. Those were scenes of real honeymooners frigging away on their first night, spliced together. They were photographed by hidden cameras in some of our best hotels. You've no idea how many hotel managers' palms I had to grease."
"Golly," I said, "you mean each and every one of those two dozen of young girls was a real virgin being, ah cunt rammed on her wedding night?"
"Right." He chuckled. "Imagine how shook up they would have been if they'd ever guess that every shy, fumbling fuck-moment they and their new husbands made was being recorded on infrared-sensitive movie film. For other people to snicker and leer at." He chuckled.
"They'd have just died," I said, chuckling along with him. I sighed. "When I get rich Fm going to buy myself a hotel and install a big one-way mirror in the bridal suite, facing right into my living room. It'd be heaps more fun than television."
Jack nodded. "Though if you owned the ho tel," he suggested, "it might be a better plan to install a concealed TV camera in every bedroom -that way you could just turn the dial on your TV set and see all the 57 different varieties of humping going on in dozens of bedrooms. Uh, which of my other films did you particularly like?"
"Well," J said, "I liked that one called Dreams of a Housekeeper -where all those big, muscular men ran around shoving their dongs up each other's assholes."
Jack shook his head sadly. "That proved an artistic and financial dead-end, unfortunately. I'd planned it as the first of a new series -doe movies."
"Doe movies?"
"Yes -stag movies designed for women. Since men like to look at nude, lusty twat, I naturally figured there'd be a big female audience for movies about nude, lusty cock. And I must say, the one time I was able to show the movie to a large female audience -a women's club in Long Beach which booked it under the delusion that Dreams of a Housekeeper must be the title of a domestic science movie -I must say that the audience reaction was very favorable, if a trifle hysterical. However, I eventually abandoned the whole doe movie project. What other films did you like?"
I thought. "That Arab type one. The one called Sully Home or something like that. Where there's this Sultan sitting around finger-fucking his harem, and then goes off on a business trip leaving them all alone, and as soon as he's out of the palace they open the dungeon doors and let all those lusty men slaves with those fabulous big friggers out and the lusty male slaves rape all the harem girls and dancing girls and -"
Jack held up a hand. "Please, I'm quite familiar with my own original plots."
"Well," I said, "I liked the orgy scenes of coc sucking in that a whole lot. But what I liked b was the end, where the Sultan comes back une pected like and is so bugged at the screwing tha been going on behind his back that he has his soldiers slaughter all the slaves and the harem girls right in the middle of their humping. I like that part where the soldier's saber cuts the slave's cock right off while its in the girl's cunny." *
Jack frowned. "A lot of people did. It was, in fact, the success of those slaughter scenes that led me to make my first films exploring the subtle psychological ramifications of human sadism and masochism."
"Show me," I begged.
Very well," said Jack, and he got up and began fussing with his projector again. Then he snapped out the lights and a title came on the screen, along with a burst of creepy music. The Tortured, said the title. Then more creepy music and another title, the credits: The TORTURED -herself . . . HER DREAM TORMENTOR -Jack Beauchamp.
"You're acting in this one, huh?" I asked.
"Yes," said Jack.
"I guess Jack Beauchamp isn't your real name, huh?"
"No," said Jack. "Now shut up and watch the credits."
I watched the screen. PRODUCED BY Jack Beauchamp ... DIRECTED BY -Jack Beauchamp . . . SCREENPLAY BY -Jack Beauchamp . . . ADDITIONAL DIALOGUE BY -Jack Beauchamp. The credits went on and on like that, through Narration and Make-up and Scenery and Costumes and Camera and Sound and Musical Score and Choreography and Technical Advisor and a whole lot of other things. All by Jack Beau champ.
"How incredibly versatile I am," murmured Jack. "A veritable Michaelangelo of dir -the erotic cinema. I might mention," he said, turning to me, "that if the plot seems rather thin, it is because this version is only ten minutes long. The original version ran three hours and twenty minutes and traced in painstaking detail, the birth, early childhood and youthful psychological traumas of the leading character. However, the syndicate which distributes my films forced me to cut almost everything but, as they put it, the bare essentials."
"How wise of them," I murmured. "I mean, what a shame."
The movie started. Not very promisingly, it seemed to me. In fact, the start was kind of like the movie he'd called Nude Interlude. Once again the camera was focused on a bed in which lay a young, voluptuous girl wearing a nightgown. A brunette this time. She was lying with her head on the pillow moaning in a restless kind of way.
"She can't sleep, huh?" I said.
"Shhh!" said Jack."
I can't sleep! moaned the girl, opening her eyes. And I must sleep. But no, I dare not sleep! For in that sleep, what dreams may come . . .
"One of my greatest lines," murmured Jack.
On the screen the girl turned her head and stared at the wall. Hanging on the wall right next to her head was a big oil painting of just about the spookiest castle I'd ever seen -right out of an Italian horror movie or something like that.
I said, "No wonder she can't sleep with a spooky picture like that on the wall. A picture like that would give me the cold ass shakes."
"Shh!" said Jack.
That awful picture! moaned the girl. It makes me shake inside with cold! She reached out and turned the picture over. It didn't do any good. On the flip side was a painting of an even spookier castle. The girl moaned and closed her eyes again. Sleep, murmured the girl, / dare not sleep . . .
Then the screen began to sort of ripple and then get foggy -and all at once we were inside a spooky old castle. The castle torture chamber, it looked like. The camera pulled back. Yes, it was a torture chamber, all right. All sorts of torturingtype instruments were lying around, and standing in the, middle of them was Jack -wearing a black mask and funny, tight-fitting black outfit of the kind torturers always wear in horror movies. He was cackling up a storm. Cringe, girl, he cackled. Cringe and struggle in vain! Because you must die for your sin -your sin of being young, and virgin-twatted and helpless! Heh, heh, heh!
A shot of the girl now, cringing like all get out. She was stark naked, her hands were tied behind her back, a noose was around her neck and she was standing on a gallows. I didn't blame her for cringing.
The camera moved in closer. She was not only cringing but shaking all over with fear. In fact, she was shaking so hard you could see her buttocks and thighs quivering and jiggling -and her breasts were shivering like a couple of milk-white balloons filled with jelly. Even her bush hair was shaking.
"Hey," I said, "she's really shaking, huh?"
"Special effects," whispered Jack. "She's standing on a vibrating table."
On the screen the torturer in the black mask was cackling and tugging at a wooden lever. Any moment now the trap would drop out from under the girl's feet and -thud! There it went.
"Good grief!" I yelled. "She really is hanging.
Look at her feet kicking and flailing, her body twisting and writhing -how, how horrible!"
"Special effects," whispered Jack. "She's not actually hanging by her neck, but by two invisible nylon cords under her armpits."
"She is so hanging," I said. "Look, her face is turning purple."
"Special effects, hissed Jack. "A purple spotlight."
"Oh," I said. On the screen the girl was twisting and writhing less and less, her face getting more and more purple. Suddenly she shuddered and went limp.
All at once the screen dissolved and we were back in the girl's bedroom. The girl was lying, panting with fear, her eyes wide open. What a horrible, horrible dream! she gasped. / dare not go to sleep again. Yet -how can I keep awake?
"Why doesn't she drink some black coffee?" I asked Jack.
"Shhh!" said Jack.
On the screen the girl was looking more and more drowsy. Sure enough, in another moment her, eyes were closed, the screen had started to ripple and dissolve -and zip! We were back in the torture chamber.
And there was the girl, stark pussy-naked again and with her hands once more tied behind her back. Her feet weren't tied this time, however, and she was backing slowly away from the camera, her face contorted with panic.
Small wonder. Advancing on her, cackling with sadistic glee, was the black-masked torturer. He was holding what looked like a big pitchfork in front of him. The camera moved in on the pitchfork. The prongs were white hot!
Cringe, young maiden! cackled the torturer played by Jack. Cringe all you wish! It won't stop me from plunging these white-hot prongs into your soft, quivering ass! He licked his lips in horrible glee. Into which portion of your ass should I plunge these cruel, white-hot prongs? he mused. "Up your asshole?"
The camera, evidently representing the torturer's eyes, moved slowly up and down the girl's quivering white behind -now on her softly-downed cunny -now on her proud, high bulbous breasts.
The girl, her eyes rolling with the panic, backed up some more. Thud! She's backed herself into a corner of the stone dungeon. She was really trapped now.
Heh, heh, heh! crowed the torturer. Ready or not here it comes -take this! He lunged.
"Good griefV I yelled, sliding down into the seat, "that horrible sadistic monster -played by you -really did sink those white-hot prongs deep in her asshole. How awfull"
"Special effects," whispered Jack. "In that last close-up it was really white foam rubber the prongs were plunging into. And that hissing, sizzling sound was dubbed in later. As was the girl's blood-curdling scream."
"Well, I hope so," I gasped.
On the screen the girl was once more back in her bed, tossing and turning and telling herself she mustn't go to sleep again. She went to sleep and, almost instantly she was dreaming she was back in the torture chamber. This time dangling by her thumbs over a vat of acid.
You could tell it was acid from the way it bubbled and foamed and fumed. Also from the big label on the side of the glass vat which read, Acid -80 Proof.
And still the girl, naked, twisting and scream ing dangled over the bubbling acid. But not for long. The ropes she dangled from were parting strand by strand. Only two more strands. One more. Snap! Snap! Splash!
"Yipe!" I yelled, covering my eyes* with my hands. I peeked between my fingers. The girl was still thrashing around inside the glass vat -but already she was one^juarter dissolved up to her bushy cunt. I ctosed my eyes again. When I opened them once more the girl was back lying on her bed, tossing and turning and telling herself she mustn't fall asleep again.
I swallowed hard and said, "She's dreaming all this, huh?"
"Yes," ®aid Jack. "She has extraordinarily depraved masochistic tendencies."
"You mean she has rocks in her head," I said. "Listen, if she has dreams like that, how come she doesn't go to a psychiatrist or get straightened out by the insertion of a big stiff dick?"
"Shhh!" said Jack. "In the earlier, longer version she did. I played the psychiatrist, and pronged her with a big stiff dildo too.
"In that case," I said, "she was wasting her money." But I didn't say this aloud.
Back on the screen the girl had dreamed her way back into the torture chamber. Or had she? All I could see was the fiendish torturer in the black mask roasting something over glowing coals. What was he roasting? Oh, yes, now I could see who he was roasting. I closed my eyes again.
"My," I said, keeping my eyes closed, "that girl can scream loud. And so realistically."
"Actually," said Jack, "she didn't scream very well. The screams you hear are by another girl. I dubbed them in later."
"Oh," I said. "What did you do to the other girl to make her scream like -never mind-Don't tell me.
Back on the screen, i the girl had made the mistake of falling asleep again. Now she was dangling over another vat of acid. No, it was boiling oil this time. But this time she had a chance! This time she had somehow freed her hands and was trying to climb up the rope, trying to clutch it even with her naked twat. Would she make it? No. Scream. Splash. Bubble-bubble.
I mopped some sweat off my brow. "Uh, you don't happen to have a drink on you, do you?" I asked.
"Shhh!" said Jack, his eyes glued on the screen. "Here -take my hip flask."
I took it, unscrewed the lid and drank half of it down. It was brandy or something awful like that, but it sure tasted good to me right then. Like, I needed a drink.
Back on the screen, the masked torturer was cheerfully tying the naked girl to a wooden post. Now he was cradling and painting concentric circles on her naked flesh. Now what? He backed off, picked Up a crossbow and began to laugh maniacally. A little -target practice! He raised the crossbow. Swish! Thwock!
"Ouch!" I gasped involuntarily, clutching my stomach. Swish, Thwock. I clutched my right nipple involuntarily. Swish! Thwock! I clutched my left nipple. "I'm finished!" I gasped, "and so's that poor arrow-riddled girl."
"Special effects," muttered Jack. "Good, huh? Looks just like she's been skewered by arrows."
"I'll say," I gasped, clutching myself here and there to make sure no arrows were sticking into me.
Meanwhile, back on the screen, the stupid, voluptuous brunette was once more dreaming herself back into trouble. This time she was tied spread out in front of a big, old fashioned cannon -the kind that fires big old-fashioned cannonballs. It was aimed straight at her spread apart cunt. What a mess. Special effects, no doubt.
Back in bed. More resolutions not to go to sleep. Back to sleep. And back in the torture chamber. This time she was tied lengthways to a big plank. Closer and closer to the spinning circular saw blade moved the plank. Would she be rescued -or would she be split right between her legs. Her screams were blood-curdling as the whirling blade touched her naked nooky. Nobody rescued her. What a horrible mess. I finished the rest of Jack's flask.
"Special effects," murmured' Jack. "I used up fifteen gallons of ketchup making this movie -five gallons in that scene alone."
"I believe it," I said, licking the last remaining drops of brandy from the hip flask.
Back on the screen -a relatively mild dream. The girl was merely dangling nakedly from a rope tied to her wrists while the masked torturer fingered a whip. He reached out and began to feel and pinch her naked, quivering, helpless ass. He pinched her plump, shivering breasts; her trembling, rounded buttocks; the curving softness of her juicy pussy; the fully rounded curves of her shivering thighs.
Which part of your soft, helpless body shall feel the caress of my whip first? he crooned. He pondered. Then, apparently, he made up his mind. He swung back his arm. Thwack! The girl screamed and writhed as a vivid scarlet line appeared across her buttocks. The torturer cackled sadistically and drew back his arm again. Thwak!
"Oh that poor girl!" I gasped. "Look at her writhe and twist in horrible pain -look at that cruel red line that's just appeared across her naked and helpless breasts where that brute whipped her." Thwack; "Oh that poor girl's stomach," I moaned. "Look at that awful red line of blood left by that fiend's whip. No wonder she's writhing and screaming.
"Shhh!" snarled Jack. "Special effects. What you take to be a leather whip is actually a long strand of soft foam rubber -soaked in red dye. Look now as I -I mean the fiendish torturer -lashes his 'whip' across the ripest part of her gleaming white thighs."
I watched. Thwack. The whip left a red line. "It left a red line right across the back of her gleaming white thighs," I said.
"True," snarled Jack. "But you didn't see her flesh dent in more than a trifle, did you? If that 'whip' had had the weight of even a thick piece of string, you'd have seen her tender flesh yield to it. But you didn't did you? Watch now as I -that is, the masked torturer -lashes the helpless girl across her already apparently bleeding breasts."
I watched. Thwack! A new red line -but sure enough, her breasts didn't so much as tremble as the 'whip' lashed across them.
"Fake! Fake!" I yelled. "Boo, hiss!"
"Shut up!" yelled Jack. I shut up. The brandy had really gone to my head -more than I'd realized.
All the same, it was hard to keep from yawning as I watched the masked torturer lash the naked brunette's body into a gory, welt-slashed mess. Like, I knew it was only red dye on her flesh -that she wasn't really screaming and writhing in horrible agony. It was a real effort not to yell iake, fake again. Even as he realistically shoved the whip handle right up her asshole and left it dangling there while she yowled.
The stupid voluptuous brunette had one more "dream" on the screen. This last time she fell headlong into a big pit full of snarhng lions. The lions leaped on her struggling naked body and began to tear her to pieces and eat her. I stifled a yawn as I watched a lion swallowing titty a la carte.
Then the title The End came on the screen and Jack snapped on the lights.
"Well," he said frowning, "what did you think?"
"Not bad," I said. "However, now that I realize that it was all special effects -well, I must admit the whole thing struck me as kind of a bore." I yawned. "The special effects in that last scene where the lions devoured a foam rubber dummy looking just like that voluptuous brunette -those special effects weren't bad, I must admit. If I hadn't known it was all phoneyed up. I'd have sworn that she was really being devoured alive by starving lions. But for the most part -"I yawned. "Uh, how come you didn't end the movie with her back on her ass wide awake?"
Jack stared off in the distance. "I meant to. It was all her fault, that stupid if incredibly voluptuous young cunt. I warned her not to keep leaning over that pit where I kept the lions. I told her she might slip and fall in. But no, she wouldn't listen. No, she kept leaning farther and farther over, shaking those big tits of hers at the snarling carnivores, laughing like the stupid if voluptuous young girl she was. Farther and farther she leaned, completely oblivious to the fact that -leaning as far over as she was -all I had to do was administer a slight shove to her gleaming, rounded ass and -" He broke off. Shuddering. "It wasn't my fault," he whispered, staring at nothing and wiping sweat from his brow. "She tripped. She really did. Thank heaven
I had the camera already set up and running, though, and that the cameras didn't pick up my hands shoving against her plump buttocks to make her fall into -" He stopped suddenly and pulled himself together.
"Good grief!" I said. "Don't tell me that last scene, where those lions sank their sharp teeth into various tender portions of her anatomy, tore off said tender titties, chewed and swallowed them don't tell me those scenes were real?"
Jack mopped his brow, looked at me, averted his eyes, mopped his brow again and said, "Of course not. They were just, uh, special effects."
I suddenly felt quite sleepy and seemed to become part of a movie myself as Jack sort of faded away and I found myself lying in a huge double bed. I was still in my skirt and next to me was resting a stocky, tuxedo clad male.
"I've become a star," I murmured to the man lying with his back to me. "We're doing more scenes for Once Upon a Honeymoon, so let's make it good."
As the man turned to me with grinning approval, I recognized my old friend, Victor Vellick. He stripped off his bridegroom's tuxedo, revealing his big stiff bull prick ready for hump action. I wriggled out of my skirt and he started kissing my nipples hungrily. They jutted between his nibbling lips, dark pink and stiffly erect as I fondled his throbbing, oversized circumsized cock-head. His powerful frame decked me and he thrust his whole enormous shaft into my juicy jazzbox abruptly as I raised a knee and wound my legs around him. Again and again I felt the full thrill of his prick ramming up with his big balls slapping against my wet cunt lips.
My twat frigged away like fury meeting Vellick's tremendous thrusts. Suddenly my whole be ing felt as if I were on the crest of a huge wave and then I yelled with joy as the wave broke against the walls of my vagina and the surging bliss of his hot seminal spurts drenched my cunny. Vellick's whole cock had arched in a final lunge which I thought would break me in two, as he grunted happily into coming along with me.
We rested for a moment, his shaft still in me and then I felt Vellick's powerhouse prick stiffening again, sliding in my satiny soft vulva. I screwed again this wild bull's maleness, and as my cunny fondled its hugeness -I awoke.