Chapter 10
Charlene, so tired she was numb, dragged herself into her car for the journey home. At least, the heavy traffic had by now diminished, she thought, but that was poor compensation for the killing hours she lately found herself working.
Driving through the gate, she waved goodbye to the policeman a different one from the morning, of course. They, at least, worked sensible eight-hour shifts. There was, in fact, an orderliness in their lives that Charlene now missed in her own. Everything was topsy-turvy, it seemed, and everyone working on the picture seemed to be affected.
For instance, consider the old established actor, William Elders, who played the part of Charlene's father in the film. William Elders was used to having the shooting schedule worked around him. And now he had a minor for competition. The production man must have had a lot of fun working out the shooting schedule, Charlene thought frivolously. Usually, Elders wouldn't accept a make-up call before eight A.M. and wouldn't shoot after six P.M. And there was never an argument, for he had it writ-ten in his contract. Now, of course, there was no argument, either, but for utterly different reasons.
They hadn't yet "wrapped" when she and Elders left the set. They were still shooting scenes without either of them. Charlene thought they must all be wacky with fatigue by now. Particularly the crew, who arrived before anybody in the morning to set up.
They had all been very nice to her. In fact, everyone treated her like a princess. Elaine, her stand-in old enough to be her mother even managed to embarrass Charlene by waiting on her hand and foot, forever bringing coffee or milk, volunteering to run errands and so on. Charlene smiled as she recalled Elaine's shock when once Charlene had brought her coffee, as she was standing under the hot lights.
Stand-ins really have to work hard, Charlene thought. How luck I am. It seems they spend half their lives under the blistering bulbs waiting for cameras to be set up at just the precise angle and with exactly the correct lighting. At least I'm getting the money to compensate for the hard work.
The cameraman had told Charlene that it would be much easier as soon as she learned the ropes. She had never before realized, when watching movies, just how much technical expertise there was to it. For instance, she had to concentrate on not moving a fraction out of her key light else a shadow would be thrown on her face. At the same time she had to remember her lines and really throw herself into the part. And then, just when she was truly feeling it, the director would yell "Cut!" Many times when she thought it was perfect, he would call for another take because there had been some technical difficulty. The golden words were, "It's a print!"
Her little car virtually drove itself up and over Laurel Canyon. It was almost six the clock had gone all the way around since that morning. All she could think about now was a nice hot bath, and a quiet dinner with Sonja and Jon. By that time, hopefully, she would be rested enough to answer all their bubbly questions.
She was especially thankful that Sonja hadn't tried to stay long after lunch. She had just caught one of Charlene's scenes, told her she was great, and then taken off a million things to do, she said.
Home at last! Charlene drove the little car into its resting spot. She didn't immediately notice that cars were parked all up and down the street.
She limped up the steps and opened the front door to a crashing sound. "Surprise!"
There was a blur of smiling, drunken faces some she recognized, most not.
She stood at the doorway, stunned.
"Charlene, baby," Sonja slurred, taking her by the waist. "Are you surprised, honey?"
"I sure am." She was still motionless. "Come on, baby, I want to introduce you around. Hey, everybody, quiet! The star is here." Charlene flinched.
She saw Jon, Nicky and Lola, and even Mr. M. All else blended into bleached hair, long dresses, silk shirts, and flowing booze.
Charlene loosened herself from her mother and started for the stairs.
"Hey! Where you going, baby? You haven't met everybody let me get you a drink."
"You can bring it to me in the tub, Mom."
"The tub! This is your big celebration. First day in the movie!"
"But it's not my last, Mother, and I have to get up at six again tomorrow. And I'm starving. Is there any dinner?"
"Oh, there's lots to eat. Bring that tray over here, Paul." Sonja motioned to a tall Negro in white. Charlene sampled a couple of hors d'oeuvres, which were predictably unsatisfying.
"Have you met my daughter?" Sonja asked a swilled couple, before Charlene had a chance to flee. "She's going to be a big star someday."
The couple could have cared less, being only interested in the tray of tinkling drinks which floated by. Charlene ducked out while she had the chance.
The privacy of her bedroom had never seemed so appealing, Charlene thought as she entered. But no sooner was she inside that she encountered the unmistakable grunts and moans of a laboring couple.
She traced the sounds directly to her own bed, where she saw the couple high in the throes of sexual rapture. They didn't even have the decency to take down the bedspread, she thought irritably. Well, fuck them! Then she spontaneously giggled, thinking they were already doing a pretty good job of that. Or perhaps really not so good, on second thought, as they were both so loaded they seemed to be functioning only with difficulty. Completely unnoticed, she grabbed a change of clothes from her closet and made for the bathroom.
She opened the door to find a woman passed out in the commode. There was a terrible stench of vomit.
Charlene gagged, flushed the toilet, then dragged the woman out to the bedroom where she unceremoniously deposited her on the floor near the moaning couple who still noticed nothing.
My God, how long has this party been going on?
Again in the bathroom, she opened the window to air it out and ran water and bubble bath into her tub. What a nightmare, she thought. How could Mom be so stupid as to think I would want to have a party after my first day on the picture?
She should have known better. After all, she had done a couple of parts. Of course, that was ten years ago, but still, could she have forgotten how demanding the picture business is? Maybe that's why she never got anywhere always too busy living it up to work on her part. Well, I'm not going to do that! I've had to put out too much to flub it. But wouldn't you think Jon would know better. After all, he's still in the business. Of course, he just works a few days here and there. It's not the same as carrying a large part like she was doing.
Wearily she removed her clothes and cleaned her face. She had just pinned her hair up and stepped into the tub when a distinguished-looking older man walked into the bathroom. Or swayed, rather.
"My, God, didn't I lock the door?" Charlene blurted out angrily.
"Sure you did, honey, but you can't keep Norry the Cat out of a room he wants to get into." He waved a credit card at her. "These cards will open any inside door if you just slide them in the crack the right way."
"Well, hooray!" Charlene said furiously. "Don't you have any respect for other people's privacy?" But, obviously, there would be no answer forthcoming. Charlene's heated anger turned to rage. "Why don't you just get the hell out of here!" she screamed.
Instead of retreating, the man quietly and calmly began to take his clothes off. "Now just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Charlene spat, barely in control of herself.
"I'm going to take a nice bubble bath with you, baby."
"You do, and it may be your last," she answered, acid in her voice, but just the same she washed quickly so she could be leaving as he entered.
She was by now livid. She had counted on a hot relaxing bath and now she had to jump out as fast as she had jumped in. She gazed, with loathing, at the loose hanging flesh that exchanged places with her. "Hey," the man complained as he slipped around trying to get out while Charlene speedily patted herself dry. Sensing that he might not be able to make it out by himself at all, she applied her after-bath lotion, permitting the man to look on hungrily at her lithe body.
"The soap's in the dish," she said sarcastically. "You may as well get clean while you're there."
"You aren't being very nice to me," he hiccoughed. "An up-and-coming star should shine down kindly upon the dead suns of Hollywood." Charlene looked more closely at her bathroom companion. My, God, she said silently to herself, it's Norris Templeton. He was once a big star. Now, he's come to this a bathtub masher? A penniless lush? God, Mom must have dug up all her old comrades from her movie days. What was she trying to prove? Renewing old acquaintances of long gone years to flaunt her daughter? How pathetic. Her fury melted into something near compassion.
When she was dressed, ready to leave her bath-mate to his own devices, she went to the tub and pulled the plug. "Just so you won't drown," she said. She'd have to find Jon or someone else to help Norris Templeton out of the tub.
With glazed eyes, he was smiling angelically as she left the room. The couple on the bed had finally petered out and were snoring, as was the woman on the floor. God, Charlene thought, what did Mom do, slip everybody a mickey?
When she finally located Jon among the weaving bodies, she found that he, too, was in a bad way probably unable to wrest old Templeton safely out of the tub.
Maybe Nicky could help. She caught sight of him across the living room, but he was molesting a young actress, and she decided he would be no better. The only ones strong and sober enough to help were the waiters, so she relieved Paul of a tray of goodies and directed him toward the bathroom.
After eating a few of the delicacies, she passed the tray around.
"Serving at your own party, Charlene?"
She turned to face Mr. M.
"My God, Mr. M., it's good to see you. You're the only sober one at this party outside of the help and me. How come everybody's so potted?"
"Your mother started this wing ding at four o'clock, and since most of the guests are 'in between' jobs, they arrived promptly."
Charlene simply shook her head disgustedly.
A short, thirtyish man who had played kid parts until his lined, puffy face had caught up with him bumped into Charlene, at the same time purposely arranging for his mouth to meet her bust. "Being a little guy's not all bad," he wisecracked. A few bystanders laughed drunkenly at the tired joke.
After he had gone on his way, Charlene turned to Sid Morris. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Mr. M. I'm bushed, I'm starving, and I'm supposed to be up at six looking young, rested and beautiful. I couldn't even relax in a hot tub because some old actor wanted to join me. My bed's occupied by a couple of passed-out drunks and so's my floor. And I'll bet this party goes on till the wee hours."
"I have the perfect solution, Charlene. I also find it wearing to be around a lot of drunks, so why don't you do an old man the honor of going out to dinner with him? Also, pack a bag and you can spend the night at my house. There's plenty of room."
"Oh, Mr. M., you're a doll. A genius, too. But isn't that an inconvenience?"
"Not at all. Just think, someday my wife will be able to brag about having a big star under our roof. Get your things and meet me at my car. It's down the road. You can follow me in your car. I'll watch for you."
On the way back up to her bedroom, Charlene had a problem getting through the throngs of people. She tried to chat amicably with each as they stopped her with bits of senseless conversation and gushing "Little Charlenes." She thought she would puke if she heard "Just think, our little Charlene has grown up to be a big movie star" one more time.
She pinned a note to her mother's bedspread not that Sonja would be sober enough to read it and managed to slip out of the house.
They sat opposite each other, Charlene happily devouring a shrimp cocktail.
"You're a life saver, Mr. M. I would have died a terrible death if you hadn't saved me."
"It's my pleasure, Charlene. Believe me. I would have been flattered to have escorted Charlene, the model of my humble wholesale house, to dinner. But to escort Charlene, the movie star that is a real honor!"
Charlene blushed. She knew that although Mr. M. was saying it jokingly, he meant it he really liked her. Suddenly she thought about the day in his office when he went down on her and just as suddenly she felt the heat surge through her, down to her groin. He was nice, she thought, really nice. And a very attractive man for his age, at least.
"Don't you ever take your wife to parties, Mr. M.?"
Mr. M. laughed. "Oh, my, no. She wouldn't know what to say to anybody at a wild Hollywood party. She's a quiet woman. Shy. Doesn't drink. No, she's much happier playing cards with her friends."
"Oh, then she's out, too. You're not keeping her waiting." It was a statement rather than a question. The waiter replaced the empty shrimp cocktail bowls with steaming clam chowder. "I've never been here before," Charlene said. "Their food sure is scrumptious."
"It's pretty new, but has taken over as one of the top seafood restaurants in town."
They savored their food in silence for a few moments. Then Charlene said, "Mr. M., I want to ask you something."
"Shoot."
"Well, I could understand if my mother had a party with a bunch of top directors and producers and columnists. That would be her choice of 'right people' for me to meet to get ahead. But how come, after my first day of work, when she knows I'm dead tired, she has to throw a big wing ding inviting all her old thespian friends and broken-down playmates?"
"Just showing off, Charlene. Believe me, if she could have gotten a lot of prominent people to come, she would have. I think she feels that when the picture's released and a smash hit, they'll be glad to come to parties in your honor, but right now the best she can do is show off in front of her old cronies."
"But she's had her own success."
"It was all very third-rate, Charlene. You're her real hope. She believes you'll become one of the top stars, and so she has transplanted all her dreams to you. Don't be too harsh with her."
"Oh, I'm not Mr. M., but... it's just that sometimes I feel that I'm the parent and my parents are the children. You should have heard them battling on the phone the other day."
The lobster arrived, and Charlene continued, "My father called. He'd apparently been reading my publicity. He started blasting my mother, saying, 'I hope you're happy now that you've turned our daughter into an expensive Hollywood whore!' Mom retorted, and I quote, 'That's better than your fucking lady friends! What're they? Cheap whores because they sleep with you and you're the cheapest bastard in the world!' Then she crashed the phone down. He rang again and she wouldn't answer it, or even let me answer it."
Mr. M. listened gravely to Charlene's pathetic story. He couldn't help thinking that she had turned out at seventeen more of a person than his own two sheltered daughters were at thirty. Not only were his Becky and Ruth sheltered, but they were spoiled rotten. Reared mainly by their mother, they had been raised to believe a woman's function was to keep house for her husband, bear his children and spend his money. Her duties occasionally included giving the old man a little poontang. But never repeat, never could the lady-wife be expected to participate in any sexual endeavors other than the "wholesomely" normal. Those other little diversions were left to whores.
"Charlene," he said, breaking away from his private thoughts, "I once said it takes more than beauty to make it. Besides the second quality, brains, there is one more quality needed to make it to the top. That quality is integrity. And you have it. You know when to work and when to play. A very important thing to know. Many girls in your position would say, 'What the hell there's a party I'm going to have fun.' But not you. You know you have to be rested for tomorrow and must also know your lines. You're a responsible person. You're going to get the work done, and do your best.
"I sure miss you at the plant. It's not just that the new girl can't hold a candle to you in looks it's also that eager quality of yours I miss. You throw yourself into your work, whatever it may be. Of course, I'm delighted about your success. But, understand, that doesn't prevent me from missing you."
Charlene felt proud. She knew that Mr. M.'s compliments were not just vacuous words. She treasured his opinion.
"If it hadn't been for you, Mr. M., I wouldn't have gone out with Hershey and I wouldn't be where I am today."
"I've told myself the same thing, Charlene. But I don't believe it any more."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I think you'd make it one way or another, sooner or later. You've got what it takes."
"Well, anyway, Mr. M., I still feel I owe you a lot. And I hope I'll be able to make it up to you leaving you as suddenly as I did."
"Oh?" His face lit up.
She continued, "Mr. Rotheimer intends to make a TV series from the film if it's a success. I've been thinking about this. I think I can promote a deal between Hollywood Sunwear and the series. You know, you supply me with the wardrobe and Hollywood Sunwear gets named in the credits." Charlene thought about how Mr. Rotheimer couldn't consider that doing her a favor since it would save him a fortune in production costs. Both Mr. Rotheimer and Mr. M. would gain from such an arrangement.
"Charlene, I always did say you have brains! That's a great idea! And for arranging the deal, I would give you the wardrobe."
Well, we'd all gain, thought Charlene. Aloud, she said, "Keep it strictly to yourself, though, so no other manufacturer gets wind of it and approaches him first."
"Don't worry, I'm used to keeping secrets." Charlene smiled.
"The dinner was delicious, Mr. M. Thanks."
"My pleasure. Would you like some dessert?"
"No thanks. The camera adds an automatic ten pounds, they say, so I mustn't add even an ounce."
"And I just plain old have to watch my waistline," he answered with a twinkle. "Shall we go, then?"
"Your house is lovely," Charlene said after they had parked their cars. It was a prepossessing Mediterranean style with an abundance of foliage, a well-trimmed lawn. "It's a far cry from the streets of New York."
"Oh, were you brought up in New York?"
"Until I was fourteen. Then my father got a job offer and moved out here. Of course, not here," he said, indicating the immediate neighborhood, "but L.A. However, it was like leaving the snarl of the jungle for the purr of a sunny cove. At the age of fourteen, I decided to never go back." They had arrived at the top of the walkway. He stopped talking and struggled with the lock.
"Welcome to Morris Manor," he offered, with a sweep of the palm.
"It really is like a manor," Charlene said, glancing around the large entrance hall. "Your wife isn't in yet?"
"Hell, no don't expect her for another hour, at least. Come on, I'll show you to your room, give you an alarm clock and point you in the direction of the phone so you can instruct your service."
Charlene followed him up the winding staircase, down the hall and into a large, comfortable bedroom.
"There's a bathroom right here," he said, opening the door to a spacious tiled area. "There are clean towels on the rack. You may want to continue your rudely interrupted bath. In any case, I'll look in on you in a half-hour and see if you need anything before you turn in."
Charlene had just slipped between the crisp sheets when the knock came. Sid Morris entered, clad in silk pajamas and a silk robe. He was carrying a glass of sherry. "Thought you'd like to have this. Helps you sleep," he said.
"Oh, Mr. M., you're so thoughtful."
He handed her the glass. "You look just like a little girl with that scrubbed face and that fluffy baby-blue nightie." He sat on the edge of the bed as she sipped from the glass.
She giggled. "I feel like a little girl waiting to hear a bedtime story from her daddy."
"Well, actually," Sid said as he scratched his chin, "I thought you might tell me one."
"That's a twist," she laughed.
"That was such a nice story you told me about Hershey and you after the first time you went out with him.
And since I haven't seen you for a while, I thought you might have some new material. What about the producer or director of your movie? There must be a nice sexy story hidden there somewhere." Charlene looked downcast. "Oh, I don't think so, Mr. M."
"Oh, come on, now." He took her chin and brought her face up and saw a sadness in her eyes. "What's wrong? Tell Daddy M."
"It's just that... well, Mr. Rotheimer, the producer, is really a sort of evil man."
"Oh, really?" he asked excitedly. "Why don't you tell Daddy all about it?"
After he dragged the stories of Mr. Rotheimer's sexual appetites from her reluctant lips, he said, "Well, Charlene, you shouldn't really think of him as evil. After all, there are many perfectly nice men who like to have their cocks sucked under a desk." He felt a bit self-conscious.
"It isn't that, Mr. M., but you know, having his secretary come in while it's going on and all... "
"Hmm, hadn't thought of that one."
"But what it really is, is his attitude. He is just plain unkind. Then forcing me into the lesbian thing with his secretary, knowing it disgusted me... and then, to make it worse I kept having orgasm after orgasm... unwillingly, of course... "
"Yes, yes, of course," Mr. M. said, salivating. "You poor baby. Of course, the really unforgivable thing was sending you away those other times without making you come first. That's a real example of unkindness. He must have known how hot you were."
"Oh, yes, he felt me. Down there, you know. He reveled in the knowledge he had me all worked up."
"You poor baby," he said, taking her in his arms to comfort her.
"Oh, Mr. M., you're such a nice man," she sighed, enjoying the comfort of his arms. "I wish I'd had a daddy as kind and gentle as you."
"And I wish I'd had a little girl as sweet and delicious as you."
When Mr. M. said "delicious" a bell rang in the back of Charlene's mind. Again she recalled the day when he had gone down on her. She began to tingle at the thought.
He stroked her hair and kissed her on the cheek. "Do you think you can sleep now that you've told me my bedtime story and had your glass of sherry?"
She looked up at him, her wide blue eyes still innocent despite all they'd seen. She hesitated, then stuttered, "I... I usually have something else to put me to sleep."
"What, my dear?" When she didn't respond, he said, "Tell Daddy. What else do you need to put you to sleep?"
She looked down, her long lashes casting a shadow on her cheeks as she said, "Jon fucks me every night."
"Oh, that's sweet," he cooed in her ear, then kissed her on the neck and moved her nightie off her shoulder so he could cup a pink-tipped breast in his hand. "But Daddy isn't too good a fuck any more. However... "
"Oh, he sucks me too... sometimes, instead," she added hurriedly. "You little doll. You want Daddy to sue baby, so baby can sleep?" She nodded.
He took her breast in his mouth, then slipped his hand up under her fluffy nightie. "Oh, what a wet little pussy," he exclaimed, delightedly. "Just a minute." He jumped up. "I have to close the door."
"Don't forget to lock it."
"It doesn't have a lock."
"But suppose your wife comes home?"
"I'll hear her car. She brings it by this side of the house. I'll just turn off the light and open the shutters, so she won't see a light from this room."
The moonlight poured in as he opened the shutters.
Charlene threw back the bed covers. "Daddy M., why don't you take your things off and lie down with me? We can suck each other at the same time."
Sid Morris's highest expectations were exceeded. "You sweet little doll. You mean you're going to put those precious lips over my old, large cock? You don't have to, you know. Daddy's going to give his baby a good cum anyway."
"I know, Daddy M., that's why I want to because you're such a good, kind daddy."
In a flash, Sid Morris had shed his clothes, and before Charlene could have any second thoughts on the matter his very rigid, silk-skinned old cock was poking at her mouth. He had arranged himself in the classic sixty-nine position, side to side.
As she felt his tongue flick at her clitoris, she moaned and opened her mouth and let her own tongue swirl and flick at her new daddy's penis. Together the man and his newfound daughter sucked lovingly on each other's center of sexuality.
After a momentary exploration, Sid Morris stopped long enough to say, "You have the sweetest-tasting little pussy in the world the taste of honey."
"And my Daddy has a big beautiful, delectable cock," Charlene responded. They both continued to suck greedily.
After another busy interlude, during which each participant was brought agonizingly close to the edge of passion's explosion, Charlene stopped to say, "Wouldn't Daddy like to fuck baby a little bit?"
Sid relinquished his mouth from Charlene's lower lips and managed to huff and puff his way atop the young girl. Only after considerable juxtapositioning during which it seemed his stomach just would not get out of the way, Sid Morris finally felt his penis encased in the warmish, wettish vagina. It was almost too much. He was so consumed with the passion of refound youth he could not restrain himself, or even slow the furious stroking long enough to get a deep breath.
Charlene knew the desperation of his need, and simply hugged his waist closer with her thighs, her long legs hooked by the ankles high up at his neck. "Oh, God, you feel good, Daddy," she sighed. She continued meeting his thrusts, pump for pump.
"Easy," he managed to gasp, "I don't want to come." He stroked in and out much more slowly now.
"Better stop," he panted at length, rolling off. "Oh, God, I forgot how good it can be. Haven't fucked anybody but my wife in years."
"You still fuck her, then?" Charlene asked, while re-arranging herself back into the soixante-neuf position.
"About once a month she decides she had better perform her wifely duty and puts on a black lace nightie. That's the signal."
They put their mouths to each other's genitals again and carried on where they had only moments before left off.
Soon Charlene felt overwhelmed by sensual heat. She was gushy-hot and utterly sexual through and through. Then, overcome by a sweeping rush of heat, culminating with a stiffening of her back, the sweet release of multiple orgasms shook through her.
Her partner, feeling her grand reaction, simultaneously experienced a newer, higher, exploding passion than any he had known since youth, a passion which he immediately spilled into her mouth. Charlene could barely gulp fast enough to keep up with the heavy blasts of semen.
They sucked on, licked each other slowly until the last spasm quieted into mutual satisfaction. Then they rested quietly face to crotch crotch to face.
Suddenly Sid Morris jumped up.
"My God! I didn't hear the car drive in!"
He grabbed for his robe, shoved Charlene under the bedcovers, and kicked his pajamas under the bed. He just managed to tie on the robe in a crooked fashion when the door opened and the light flashed on. "I thought I heard noises in here," a voice announced from the doorway.
"Yes, my dear, it's me. I have a little guest here... Charlene. I'm sure you recall my mentioning my ex-model Charlene who is now Charlene the movie star?"
"Oh, yes, I do!" Mrs. Morris Adelle twittered with delight.
"Poor thing couldn't get any rest at her house wild party there so I knew you'd be happy to have her stay here with us."
"Oh, yes, I'm delighted," Adelle trebled.
"Charlene, I want you to meet my wife."
"How do you do, Mrs. Morris."
"Glad to meet you, Charlene. I hope you'll be comfortable. What time would you like to have the maid bring your breakfast?
"Oh, please, Mrs. Morris. I have to get up too early to bother anybody else. I'll get something to eat at the studio."
"Nonsense. What time do you get up?"
"Six."
"Oh!"
"Just leave some orange juice in the fridge, Mommy. And leave out an instant breakfast Charlene can mix with milk." Sid Morris, now fully recovered from his shock, was keenly aware that the maid could easily be put into a temper tantrum.
"Yes, that would be wonderful," Charlene agreed.
"Very well," Adelle said with relief. "And since you have to get up so early, I'll say good night now. Rest well. And I do hope you'll come back sometime when we can chat."
"Thank you, Mrs. Morris. Good night."
Sid Morris took a deep, grateful breath of relief as Adelle closed the door after her. "Oh, Daddy M., I'm a nervous wreck," Charlene said, hugging her face with her hands. "Not half as nervous as she is."
"She? Nervous? Why on earth should she be nervous?"
"She doesn't meet a glamorous movie star every day."
"My God!" Charlene reached out and rubbed her hand up and down over Sid's hairy leg. "Do you think she saw your bare legs?"
"Not a chance. She's so nearsighted she wouldn't have noticed if I'd been bare."
"Sure. That's why you grabbed your robe as if the house was on fire."
"Well, there's no use pushing luck. Is there?"
Charlene smiled. "I love you, Daddy M."
"And I love you, sweet baby."
"But now I'm so nervous I don't think I can sleep."
"Oh, poor baby. You want Daddy to kiss you again?" He patted her proud wet-haired muff as he asked.
She looked up at him, seductively wide-eyed. "Uh huh."
Sid Morris made a move to position himself between the sculptured legs.
"But your wife? Do you think she might come back in here?"
"Not a chance."
"Are you sure? How do you know?"
"I know her. She's in there now, removing her clothes, cleaning her face, taking her bath. It'd be an hour before she'd even miss me."
He pulled the covers off Charlene and spread her legs open. Then he pulled her fur-covered lips apart and applied his warmish tongue against her excited clitoris. Again he licked and sucked her into a joyful release.
"Thank you, Daddy M. Nightie night."
"Nightie night, little girl." He bent over and kissed her on the mouth. "My little adopted girl. Remember, you've always got a home with Daddy M."
"Mmmm." She was already curled on her side, almost overtaken by the halcyon incubus of post-sex sleep.