Chapter 8
Charlene sat in Mr. Rotheimer's spacious outer office. An actor's agent sat across the room with a nervous young girl who appeared to be about Charlene's age. Trying for the same part, Charlene wondered. Seated near the reception desk on the other side of the room, Charlene recognized an old-time actress perched on the edge of her chair, obviously concerned.
It was so exciting all these things she dreamed about so long were actually happening to her! She remembered the first time she had been interviewed by Rotheimer, the feared King of Astro Studios. With a quick phone call and quicker questions he discovered she had won the hair commercial job. There had been only two others in contention also with long, silky blonde hair framing lovely faces but happily for Charlene, one spoke in a high squeaky voice and the other hammed up her gestures. The job was Charlene's, hands down, and as she had told her mother, she hadn't even had to go down on anyone. Sonja had replied that it was only a fluke and would never happen again. "Believe me, I know."
When Rotheimer found out about the hair commercial he immediately decided to see the rushes since the commercial was being filmed on his own studio lot. These rushes were to serve as a minor screen test. Had to cut corners nowadays this was modern, corporate-minded Hollywood, not the old money-flinging film-center it had once been.
The atmosphere, now, in Rotheimer's outer office, was the same as it had been that day when Charlene waited for her first interview with him tense, auspicious, a sense of majestic things in the offing. She had felt nearly panic-stricken that first time everyone conversing in hushed tones, those same hushed tones reverberating as if the room were a cathedral, and each person present acting properly sycophantic, as if to say that Mr. Rotheimer deservedly strode a cloud one level higher than God's own.
She had found him both brusque and courteous that first interview not at all as she had expected. Stories of the "ogre Rotheimer" were well-known, just as were similar tales about all the other producers in Crazy-Town.
His eagle eyes had linked into her own and stayed there. No roving at all. No non-business hints. Just those eyes. And, more than once, she had to turn away and break the link.
Thank God, she had thought, that Sonja was working and couldn't accompany her. What Hershey had said earlier was more than correct, and Sonja would have taken over and babbled on and given an entirely wrong impression of Charlene, the girl, the model, the aspiring actress.
Rotheimer had pressed her. "You're pretty young to be out working on your own, aren't you? I presume you're through school?"
"Yes, Mr. Rotheimer. I was skipped a half a grade when I was in elementary school, then, a couple of years ago, all the L.A. schools were put on a year basis. All the mid-year students had to go either forward or backward. I couldn't see going backward, so I purposely gained another half-year."
"Smart girl," he had said, drilling her again with his laser eyes. "You know, you're really going to have to be good. Because if I hire you, we'll have to have a welfare worker on the set and they're a pain in the ass. It'd be a lot easier to get a young-looking eighteen-year-old."
Charlene only nodded.
And it turned out that nod had been the right thing; Hershey phoned her long-distance to find out how the interview had gone, and told her then that Rotheimer detested anyone, broads in particular, commenting on anything but a direct question. Again, thank God Sonja hadn't been there she would have carried on about this and that, about how it would be "worth it" to him. Sonja might have even hinted at a "threesome."
Too, Rotheimer had liked her portfolio of pictures.
Getting those done in time for the hair commercial interview had been a story in itself. Saturday, after leaving Hershey at the airport, she had returned home to find a party again either the old one renewed, or a new one with many old faces.
"Come and join us, Charly," Sonja implored.
Looking past her mother, Charlene could see Jon and Lola on the living room floor performing a sixty-nine, and she felt a sudden pang of jealousy she hadn't even remotely imagined Jon with anyone but Sonja or herself.
And then Nicky walked up to her, stark naked, and squeezed her curved buttocks. "Come on, cutie, I've just been aching to fuck you."
Ignoring Nicky, turning to her mother, she said, "I can't, Mom. Don't you remember? I've got to get pictures taken, and you know how hard it is to get an appointment with a decent photographer on a Saturday."
"Who are you going to?" Sonja asked, but Charlene barely heard her. Sonja's hair was hanging stringlike around her colorless face. She had excessively dark shadows under her eyes, and Charlene thought that she did indeed look fucked out. She couldn't help thinking that Sonja had better cut down on the booze and get more sleep. Otherwise there was no way for her to keep looking ten years younger than her true age.
"Who is the photographer, Charlene?" Sonja repeated.
"Oh, sorry. Jerome Carey."
"Good. He's superb." And then, apparently aware that Charlene would not be joining them, Sonja drifted back to her party.
Charlene gathered up half her wardrobe so she would have changes to make her look sweet, sexy, outdoorsy, sophisticated, bitchy, whatever. Then, after she had arrived at the studio with armloads of apparel, Jerome Carey had taken the majority of the photos either in a bikini or nothing.
No wonder he was famous for achieving such sensuous photographic expressions. She never would forget how the lanky even gawky bespectacled young man had sexually stimulated her by tying a brief scarf around her pubis for a front view shot. He said he wanted something even briefer than a bikini bottom, just enough to cover the hair. Then, very innocently, he said, "I don't know what to do with the corners."
Before Charlene could say or do anything, she felt him poking the ends into her vagina. She had felt a breathtaking thrill, but before anything else could happen, he quickly finished posing her, smoothed the scarf and snapped the photo. Then he kept rearranging her in different poses, each time straightening the scarf poking the little corners in tightly. By the time he was on the fifth photo she had a wanton expression that clearly said, "Fuck me. Please." (That, understandably, had been the photo that caught Rotheimer's eye during the first interview.) After the last of the photos had been taken, Jerome Carey said, "Okay, Charlene. That'll about wrap it up." She collapsed against the fur-covered cushions.
He came to her and removed the scarf, being careful not to touch the soppy corners, and tossed it into the dirty wash container. Charlene remained as she was, nude, supine, as he began putting his equipment away. Finally, she asked, "Doesn't any of this ever turn you on?"
"All in a day's work," he answered. Charlene couldn't determine just how serious he was. But she would find out.
"How about now?" Her voice was husky.
He peered at her over his glasses. "You mean you'd let me ball you?" His tone was unbelieving.
"If you don't get that big cock in me right now, I'm going to scream," she replied hoarsely.
Jerome Carey may have been a typically preoccupied artist, but it hadn't taken him long to get down to business with Charlene. Almost as if in a trance, the rangy bespectacled photographer moved toward Charlene. It was almost as if he was being drawn tropistically as a moth into a flame toward something he did not really understand or believe. Charlene, also beyond understanding this peculiar situation, wasn't sure now she wanted to accept this young man, but was herself somewhat beyond control. Both of them were by now victors who felt akin to victims. There was no way to avoid what was about to happen, despite the new reluctances.
"Are you sure you want to?" His voice seemed to rasp.
"I... I don't know. Don't you?"
"It's all so hard to believe... I don't know what I... " Suddenly, Charlene's mind cleared and all she knew for sure was that she was turned on, on, on. "Come here, Goddamnit," she commanded, "and let me get those tight jeans off you."
He moved to her, much as if she were a mother to be obeyed. When he was within arm's length she reached up impatiently and tugged him the rest of the way, at the same time wresting the jean buttons from the eyelets, pulling open the fly completely in a few wrist motions, exposing one of the most imposing staffs she had ever seen. Soft, it resembled a length of heavy-duty fire hose, and it wasn't staying soft.
"My God," Charlene moaned to herself. "What am I supposed to do with this thing?"
Answering herself, she leaned forward and pulled the mammoth penis toward her mouth, tilting her chin upward to meet it. But as it was pulled closer to her lips, she realized that there was no possibility of her actually encompassing the head of it with her little-girl-sized mouth. Sonja, herself, wouldn't have been able to do more than snuggle up to it as one might a cushion, and perhaps love it with a laving of the tongue...
Which was also Charlene's solution. Tilting her head at a severe angle and pulling Jerome Carey's equipment upward, she was able to apply some delicate tongue-strokes to his balls, which strokes she shortly projected outward toward the tip of the cock, on the underside.
"Oh, Jesus... sweet Jesus," Carey breathed.
Why the hell am I doing this?
Charlene thought to herself as she licked more and more. I'll certainly never get it in my mouth. Why the hell don't I just jack him off and hurry home? Maybe Jon will be there.
And then a funny thing happened. The hitherto diffident and retreating Jerome Carey came alive sure of himself.
"Lie back down, Charlene," he said, a new note of command in his voice. "Oh, honey, I don't know if... "
"You told me to get my cock in you. Well, I intend to do just that."
And then, before she was able to think, reply or resist, she found herself on her back with the insistent body of the photographer prying between her legs. Next she felt the imposing log certainly not a cushion insinuating itself into her vulva. And then she felt force actual force near-hurtful force, as the hot and rigid penis began making its way into her oily channel. The lubrication helped a little but... And then she was aware that she had been effectively entered. Not to the hilt, perhaps for the girth seemed too great that but enough so that she could feel a heavy pressure exerting itself far into her abdomen. It was painful, but it was also very heady stuff, and Charlene soon found herself throwing aside the pain sensations, accepting the idea of pure bull-like sex.
And then, soon after Charlene had accepted the idea of such a physical assaulting of her youngish newly sexual body, it ended. There was a shuddering tremor which rumbled through Carey's whole body, and she experienced a hot gushing torrent which washed her insides for a second before re-cascading in the opposite direction, syringing out between his plunger and her tight vaginal lips and onto the cushions.
Charlene didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
She wondered now how he had ever managed to fuck her with that oversized cock of his, and now in retrospect could only recall his saying over and over, "I can't believe I could get so lucky as to ball you."
As she drove home afterward, she hoped no one would be there, because, for the first time since her sex life had begun, her vagina was really sore. However, she was anything but unhappy. In fact, she felt marvelous. Jerome had said they might be able to work out something that he was sure he could sell some of her photos. So she'd probably end up with a model's wage besides all the free photos. How lucky since he charged a fortune for his work. So again she had become a double beneficiary. If, that is, she could ever learn to handle that massive cock!
"Miss Kane, you may go in now," Rotheimer's secretary repeated, her first words having failed to raise Charlene from her reverie.
"Oh! Sorry. I guess I was daydreaming." Charlene rose to walk into the inner sanctum and could not help but notice the pure resentfulness on the faces of the agent, the client, and the older actress, all of whom had been waiting longer than she.
Please God, be good to me, she prayed as she entered the King's private office. This time she wore a short blue pinafore, very big in the early fall fashions and perfect for the proposed part. Besides, she had worn a long dress the first time, so now it seemed fitting for Rotheimer to have a better view of her long, sexy legs.
"Well, miss," he said as she entered, "you come across very nicely on the big screen. If you can read the part the way you look the part, you're in." He handed her a script. "Go over in the corner and look at this."
Charlene was speechless, which was quite all rightshe was expected to say nothing. With an aplomb which completely concealed her nervousness, she accepted the script and curled up in a chair in the far corner to read it. Quickly absorbed in the storywhich was good she was nevertheless vaguely aware of other people coming in, sitting down, chatting a bit, and then being dismissed.
"All right, Charlene," Rotheimer said at length, "bring the script here."
He found the place he wanted and told her to read. She read one line.
"No! No! Charlene, see this photo?"
He had her portfolio in front of him and was pointing to sensuous picture that had said, "Fuck me. Please."
"This girl is wanton. She wants to be fucked. I know you can do it because it's written all over your face in this photo. Maybe you're a method actress. We'll try. Come here. No, over on my side of the desk." He pulled her down on his lap, an act which startled her. He had earlier seemed so businesslike. Even when he said, "Fucked," it had a "board report" tone to it.
"You're a pretty little thing," he said, sliding his hand up under her skirt to the edge of her panties.
This situation electrified Charlene. Although this "King" hardly appealed to her, she became creamy with expectation. She was apprehensive of reacting the wrong way, so she just sat there quietly letting his finger poke inside her panty leg, through her tendrilly wisps of pubic hair, over her excited clitoris and into her wet vagina. She was near to reaching a shattering orgasm when he stopped abruptly and sat her on the floor between his legs. Deftly he pulled down his zipper and took out his not-quite-hard cock.
Charlene was on the floor, under Rotheimer's large desk, face to face with this very important, very regal, semi-hard penis. She knew what she must do the studio head expected some head. There was no doubt about that. And it had better be good. She took his penis carefully between her fingers and let her tongue slowly lick the tip and all the sides, then she gradually covered it with her warm mouth and swirled her tongue.
"No, no, Charlene! Not like that!"
The surprised girl raised her head, nearly hitting it on the underside of the heavy oak desk-framing. "No?" she repeated, surprise evident in her voice.
"My dear, if I may be so bold, how long have you been doing that?"
"Why, not long at all, Mr. Rotheimer."
"And may I inquire where you learned your technique?"
Charlene recalled how Hershey had reacted when she had told him the truth. This time she would be more convincing. "Well, you may not believe this, Mr. Rotheimer, but my mother taught me the fundamentals. I practice on her boyfriend a lot."
Rotheimer seemed unshaken by this information. "Well, if that's the case, I'd say your mother wasn't nearly the expert she thinks she is. You've got a lot of the ideas down okay, but you don't have any well-developed sense of touch or response."
"I don't?" she inquired incredulously.
"No... but I think you could, if you tried. And, of course, if you had a good teacher."
"Oh, yes, Mr. Rotheimer. I do want to be good and everyone knows how hard I'm willing to work to learn something."
Again, Rotheimer proved himself to be a man of decision. He looked at his watch, much as if to say they might be tied up for quite some time. Charlene could tell that he was about to expound at length about this act which was apparently important to him. She rearranged herself on the floor under the desk so that she would be more comfortable, but would still be essentially in the same position he had placed her just in case he turned out to be sensitive about such things.
Rotheimer first spoke into the intercom. "Miss Stern, I don't want to be disturbed for now. I'll let you know."
The secretary acknowledged this, and then Rotheimer turned to Charlene.
"Charlene, you seem to have overcome the first hurdle that is, you accept fellatio as a fact of life. You apparently realize that there's nothing new about it, nothing bad about it. You've got the hardest part of it licked." He paused to smile at himself, then went on, "So now it shouldn't be any problem for you to go on into the mechanics of the thing."
"Sure, go ahead. I'm game."
"All right, Charlene, but I hate to ever waste my breath... so if I'm going to give it my all, you must promise to do the same thing. You must listen hard."
"Agreed," she answered quickly.
"Okay. Now first let me tell you that sucking a cock seems like a simple enough thing on the surface you take a cock, pop it into your mouth and start sucking on it as if it were a peppermint stick. Which isn't too far off-base, unless you happen to believe, as I hope you do, that anything worth doing at all is worth doing well. As a matter of fact, plain old fucking would profit a lot from the same kind of thinking. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've heard a woman complain about something like, 'He sticks it in and rattles it around just as if he were stirring soup with a wooden spoon.' Now isn't that a hell of a way for someone to think about something as beautiful as fucking?"
"That's terrible."
"Good. We're of a mind. Now, on to cocksucking. It's my belief that before you can do a good job on one, you have to first understand what a cock really is physiologically, that is."
"I think I know what a cock is."
"We'll see about that. Do you know what an 'accordion' cock is?
"A what?"
"That's what I thought. So you'd better let me start at the beginning." Rotheimer paused to pour a glass of water from his desk carafe, and then began. "The size, Charlene, and particularly the shape of a man's cock has a great deal to do with the way a girl should fellate it. For example, if it curves up like a cutlass when hard, the only lady who would be able to accommodate it frontally would be one who was afflicted with a cleft palate. By frontally I mean the classic sucker-kneeling, suckee-standing position. So obviously this type of instrument has to be approached in a prone position so that the curvature of the penis matches the natural curvature of the soft palate leading to the esophagus that's the throat; and this will result in a mutual meeting in the standard 'sixty-nine' position."
"Oh! I know what that is, Mr. Rotheimer."
"I'll bet you do. Anyway, let me go on. The average prick curves neither up, down, nor markedly sideways, and these straight ones are really the joy of the ladies I know who suck a lot of cock and thus are discriminating. The size should be moderate and the shape consistent, and the glans should be neither bulbous nor too small, and, as an optimum, let's stipulate that the shaft should be uniformly cylindrical with just about the same diameter from tip to root."
"My goodness, Mr. Rotheimer, you're starting to sound like a college professor."
"No harm in that, my dear, provided I don't lose you. That isn't happening, is it?"
"Oh, no, I understand you. Go on."
"Yes, yes... where was I? Oh, yes. I was about to tell you something about the consistency of men's pricks. Remember, I asked you if you knew what an accordion cock was, and you didn't know?"
"Yes."
"Now, we're down to that. Charlene, there are two basic types of cocks, and each gives a misleading appearance. There is, first, the 'half-hard' or 'hanging' penis which makes a striking appearance when in its natural state and leads the fellatrice to believe she's in for quite a battle with it. The hidden flaw in this machinery is that it doesn't get much larger it might increase in size, say, from five inches to six nor does it get appreciably harder. It retains a kind of India-rubber consistency, even at its hardest."
"I don't think I've ever seen one of those."
"You will as you start to circulate a bit. Now let me tell you about the other much more common type of cock. It is the 'accordion cock' I was mentioning earlier sometimes it's referred to as the surprise package. It looks quite small when the bearer is unexcited, sometimes appearing to be little more than a swelling on the groin. It is, when fully flaccid, literally withdrawn. It would appear this is not the most desired type of prick for a man to have, yet this insufficient member often erupts upon excitement into a rather formidable instrument of many times its original size and a much greater hardness than the 'half-hard' type. Sometimes these cocks can provide a mouthful like you wouldn't believe."
"That's the kind I'm used to, I guess," put in Charlene, who was now beginning to wonder if the whole day would be devoted to this sort of thing. She was dying of curiosity to find out what Rotheimer had to say about the script and the part, and exactly what it was that sexy photograph of her had to do with it all, but she knew better than to interrupt the "King." She thought for a moment to say or ask something that might be more pertinent to the business at hand, but quickly discarded the idea.
"You must understand, then, Charlene, that appearances deceive and that a girl cannot really predict what nature of work she has at hand until she actually assumes the project."
"All right, Mr. Rotheimer. I promise I won't make any premature judgments I'll make up my mind only after I'm into the thing."
"Good girl. Now then, I think I should tell you that the best or ideal cock for purposes of sucking is one that is just less than fully hard. To be expertly treated, it should have some resiliency and give. Recall, the mouth is not like a vagina; it has three surfaces which must be kept out of contact with the penis or, at least, extended contact. These are the teeth, the palate, and the under jaw structure since they are all hard surfaces. The sought-for contact, of course, requires manipulation and know-how, and it can really be gained only from a lot of experience."
"Really, Mr. Rotheimer! I know that much. I've never been accused of biting or scraping. Mom isn't exactly stupid in that department, you know." And then realizing she might have been too forceful in her outburst, she added, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt."
"I don't blame you, if you think you're correct. But, to be perfectly honest with you, Charlene, I'm certain that I felt your teeth scraping around the head of my cock when you were starting on me."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. That's one reason why I'm going into all of this. Now, may I go on?"
"Certainly." Charlene resumed her sitting position.
"The idea is for the fellatrice to capture in the cavity of her mouth bounded only by lips, inner cheeks and upper throat a certain vacuum. This is done by controlling the breath. When the cock enters, this trapped pressure acts as a pump, as the penis moves back and forth. The cheeks now must maintain a certain flexible consistency so that an exciting pressure is sustained. The fellatrice must also sustain a certain amount of resistance to both the pushing forward of the penis and the moving backward so that, for example, were it to be withdrawn unexpectedly, there would be a kind of soft, wet pop. It's precisely the kind of sliding with-and-against pressure that one experiences when he tries to free the cork from a bottle of champagne. One can twist this way and that, pull it, push it, all within a small area and fairly easily, but it becomes more difficult as you reach the mouth of the bottle. Then all of a sudden, pop!
"That, essentially, is the proper method of fellating a cock. There are variations, of course, and I have devoted very little time to the topic of preparation. For one thing, preparation seems to be quite variable for that matter, it really should not require any discussion. It is a sad commentary on human sexuality for us to need to spell it out. And yet, the world seems heavily populated with people who understand little, if anything about the 'warm up.' "
"You mean like when a guy feels me up and works his finger up there?"
"Well, yes, but you've got to understand that it works two ways."
"The guys I know all seem super-ready all the time."
"It's not that simple, Charlene. Just as low speech, tenderness, whispering, touches and caresses are all part of the preparations for fucking, so are touches and tickles and kissing and licking part of the preparation for fellatio. First of all, kissing and licking lubricates the shaft with spittle, excites the person about to be sucked off principally since it gives him a nice hardon, and, believe it or not, it produces a corresponding excitement in the lady about to do the sucking."
"Oh, yes, I know that. The minute I start licking around a guy's balls, even, I start to get wet."
"Certainly you do. That's because the fellatrice, quite beyond her conscious knowledge, prepares herself by means of this type of reflex excitement to mentally accept the length of the cock deep into her throat without discomfort or nausea. It is a matter of continuing surprise to me that such dainty mouth, narrow throats, and thin, tight lips can provide such pleasure and can be pumped so forcefully and penetratingly by the extremely large cocks which are exactly what such girls seem to always seek out. Not only that, these delicate little flowers of girls seem to get great satisfaction even ecstasy out of tackling these whoppers. But, really, when you stop to think about it, the whole thing's simple. The girls were prepared for it. They prepared themselves. The whole act was destined for success, from the outset."
"I understand what you're saying, Mr. Rotheimer, but that makes it only that much more difficult to understand something else."
"What's that, my dear?"
"There wasn't any warm up involved when you just threw me under the desk and asked for a blow-job.
Why did you do that?"
"Well, Charlene, sometimes my schedule... "
"In other words, don't do as you do, do as you say."
Rotheimer permitted a small laugh. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. But I promise you one thing, young lady it won't happen again like that."
"Oh, I didn't mind I just thought I'd mention it because I didn't understand it."
"Fair enough. Anyway, right in line with what we're talking about, let me emphasize that it's just no good taking someone on cold and that goes for both parties, and for all sexual practices. Both parties have to be properly warmed up, properly aroused, in order to extract the maximum of pleasure from whatever it is one chooses to do. Preliminaries are worth the time they take, because sexual activity is not a matter for one person only, but for two, and the difficulties, the gasping, the gagging, the premature ejaculations, the pre-orgasmic fumbling and the post-orgasmic shame are all the result of improper preparation. In one sense, all sexual acts are the same in that you must really want to do them before you can ever really do them well. The only acceptable 'high' identification with the act must be so great that at the height of pleasure the act must be a kind of Zen self-induced automatic response you really shouldn't be able to tell where the edges of your body leave off and your partner's begin."
"Oh, yes, that's the way I want it to be with me, every time," Charlene sighed. "That would be so beautiful."
Now it seemed that Rotheimer was himself caught up in the spirit of what he was saying. Even as he finished this last, his hand strayed downward and began a light feathery massage of his penis, which was still less than erect, but growing.
"Now, then, do you think you can perform a more thoughtful and attentive job this time?"
"Well, I'm sure willing to try, Mr. Rotheimer."
"Go ahead, then, but try to remember all that I've told you, and try very hard to put your whole being into the act. Think of my cock as a precious flower that is just beginning to bloom, and you are going to caress each petal until it is strong and ready."
This time it was a transformed Charlene who addressed herself to Rotheimer's penis. First she decided she wasn't content to just have his cock peeking through the fly of his pants. She lifted his buttocks a bit with the palms of her hands and then urged his trousers down until she had a workable freedom. His heavy scrotal sac was now fully visible, and his half-hard penis lay atop the two balls, lazily but proudly.
Charlene placed the upturned palm of each hand under a thigh and gently forced the legs apart and a bit upward, exposing the buttocks and the area beneath the balls. Slowly she showed her affection for Rotheimer's equipment by gently nuzzling her nose into the curling, patchy, wispy hairs that bushed about his genitals. Then she started a light blowing of warm breath into those same hairs, while at the same time making an effort to spread apart the legs even farther, her hands on his inner thighs, working their way upward toward the balls. Her touches now were delicate, flicking caresses feathery, tapping feels ten teasing fingers on those sensitive balls. Her breath was coming and going more insistently. She enjoyed exploring all the way to the bridge of the anus with lightly drawn sharp fingernails across the rigid puckering and all the while the cock was unattended, waiting, supreme.
"Oh, yes, baby, the asshole... strum it like a guitar."
She smiled to herself, but was not distracted.
Next she began to hook her elbows beneath his knees so as to completely spread-eagle him and gain total freedom of access, but at this point Rotheimer interrupted her. She heard him speak into the intercom and instruct his secretary to come into the office, and even as he spoke his eyes peered down upon her and said, Don't you stop for one second.
My, God, Charlene thought, suppose the secretary sees me! But she kept sucking as she thought. Of course, there's a large chair in front of the desk which should serve to hide me, but even so my God! She heard the secretary enter the office and quietly close the door even as she continued sucking on the now-hard cock. Won't she wonder, Charlene considered, where I've disappeared to?
"Sit down, Miss Stern." she heard Rotheimer say. A rustle of skirts told her that Miss Stern had indeed placed herself in a chair at the side of the desk, but Charlene refused to allow herself to be distracted from this highly important man who obviously considered cocksucking to be a highly important art form. She kept on with her work.
Rotheimer, by the sound of things up topside, was leafing through some papers, and after some preliminary instructions to Miss Stern very slowly dictated a letter. Charlene could feel a gradual growth in Rotheimer's cock as it gained new degrees of hardness as if ready to burst.
With what seemed deliberate timing, he finished the last words of the letter with a sigh which signaled the first spurt of semen which became a torrent into her mouth. She tried to swallow it quietly, since Miss Stern was now reading the letter back to her employer.
He, in turn, kept orgasming with lesser and lesser spurts all the while the letter was being read, and managed to emit a last few drops even as Miss Stern was repeating the address. It seemed, without exaggeration, that he had extended his active orgasm for a full two minutes to Charlene an unbelievable performance. Then, as the secretary left the office, Charlene continued busying herself as she licked the softening sixty-year-old manhood clean. If Miss Stern had noticed anything she did not let on.
"You can come up now," Rotheimer said, reaching far down and grabbing Charlene by the crotch to help her. As he stuck his finger into her wetness, he said, "You're not a journeyman cocksucker yet, little girl. But you're certainly coming along fine. Let's hope your acting does as well." Then he chose a page from the script and said, "Now, read this."
Suddenly Charlene found herself trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear. But she managed to read the line.
"That was just fine, young lady! Just fine." He was exuberant. As he stood to pull his pants up, he added, "I'm going to make an actress out of you mark my word."
Watching him fumble with his trousers, Charlene jumped forward saying, "Let me!" She knelt before him and pulled his trousers back into place, but not before taking the now-flaccid penis gently in her hands and placing a full kiss on its tip.
Rotheimer continued, "Take the script home and get into the part. You'll receive your contract in the mail. It'll give the dates of your commitment. You'll get a call next week for wardrobe fittings. Do you have an agent?"
Charlene was flabbergasted at the speed with which everything was happening. "No," she answered.
"On the way out, ask Miss Stern for a list of reputable agents. You'll eventually need one for negotiations. But, for God's sake, don't hand that contract over to a relative of friend to handle for you. I won't tolerate amateurs."
"Oh, yes I mean no, Mr. Rotheimer. I just don't know how to thank you for the part."
"I'll let you know how. And when. Goodbye for now."
"Goodbye," she said. "And thanks again."
Then Charlene floated out the door, right past Miss Stern, not even really aware there was such a person. Only when she was nearly out of the office did she remember about obtaining a list of agents from the secretary. She reversed her field just long enough to get the information, somehow managing to avoid Miss Stern's eyes.
Charlene had mixed emotions: elation over getting the part and depression over being sexually frustrated. As she walked to her car, which was parked in the "special permission" lot, she passed attractive young men dressed in Army uniforms returning from lunch. She felt the recent lack of sexual fulfillment surge through her. She felt the walls of her vagina harden and the sopping wet lubrication slopping against the crotch of her panties. Talk about men getting nut aches, she thought. It can't be worse than the ache I feel. Oh, to get one of those uniformed sex symbols behind a flat for ten minutes!
Think about the part! Think about the part!
At home, Sonja was waiting anxiously for news, wishing fervently that her daughter had the part more fervently, it seemed, than she had ever wished on her own behalf. She had just walked to the window for the twentieth time when she saw the familiar sports care drive up. She watched carefully for telltale signs as Charlene got out of the car, smoothed her skirt, and began walking toward the house. My God! Her daughter didn't even seem to be elated, much less bursting with song, as Sonja would have expected. Oh, God, didn't she get it? She had planned on running to the door upon seeing the happy child and throwing her arms around her, and then they would laugh and hug each other and marvel at how great her future would be. Charlene the bright star Sonja should have been... Sonja, finally at the top through Charlene... Sonja and Charlene one.
She stood frozen as Charlene entered the house.
"Mother," she heard Charlene call.
"Here I am, dear," Sonja heard herself say. Her voice was even, steady, without emotion.
Charlene stood at the living room archway, her face impassive.
"Charlene, there'll be other parts... " Sonja began.
Charlene laughed. "Mother, I got the part!" A smile broke on her face.
Sonja rushed to hug her daughter. Relief made her voice crack. "Baby, how could you torture me like this?"
"I didn't mean to mislead you, Mom. I guess my mind was just somewhere else."
"Well, you sure looked like death warmed over, walking from your car."
"Actually, I was thinking about the part."
"I knew you'd get that part, baby nothing can stop you now. So for Christ's sake, loosen up and be happy. You should be singing from the clouds."
Charlene shrugged and flopped on the green velvet couch. "I am happy, Mom, about the part. But I'm confused about something else."
In a few minutes, Sonja had the story from start to finish of Charlene's experience in Rotheimer's office. At the conclusion, Sonja said, "Unless you've left something out, I still don't know what the confusion could be. You're sitting on top of the world, baby."
"Oh, Mom, can't you understand? I felt so funny. After all that instruction, and then going down on him, and then him sticking his finger up my panties again, I thought he was going to make love to me. But no. He sent me away so hot I could have fucked the doorknob on the way out."
Sonja burst out into a hearty laugh. "Oh, baby! Now, tell me, do you really want that old man to put his cock into you? Or maybe go down on you? What did you expect him to do?
"Oh, I don't know. Even Hershey took care of me in return."
"Not the first night. I remember how you came home and practically tore Jon from my bed."
Charlene acknowledged the memory. "Yes, but he made an attempt. He just wasn't any good. You don't understand. I feel... " She broke off. Then indignantly she added, "Imagine having his secretary in there the entire time I was sucking him off!"
Sonja laughed. "People have all kinds of strange hang-ups. That's probably the only way he can get his jollies."
"Mother, there's only one way I can put it. I felt degraded."
Sonja wasn't laughing now. She became very serious and very firm. "Charlene, I'm not going to see you blow this whole, new, beautiful career why, everything's laid out before you, just for the taking. Stop this romantic bit of nonsense. You weren't degraded. You were playing the game. And if you want to win the game you have to be smarter than the next guy. It's not all luck. You have to plan your moves well and know when to play them."
"But is it all really just a game, Mom?"
Sonja stared at her daughter. Then she quietly said, "Somebody once said, 'All's fair in love and war.'" Still Charlene didn't seem to snap out of it. Finally Sonja said, "It's all happened too fast. And you've probably gotten everything too easily. I suppose there is something to the old saying that no sensation is worth much unless you've known its opposite."
"Opposite?"
"Yes, dear. You know peace only means something to someone who's known war; freedom has real meaning only after one has lost it. Well, success doesn't mean much to you right now simply because you don't know anything about failure."
Charlene eyed her mother curiously. "Mom, that's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard you say. You're really concerned about me, aren't you?"
Sonja was forced to swallow to keep her voice from cracking. Then she smiled. "Don't be so serious, darling."
Charlene studied her mother. Then she answered, "Okay, Mom."
The older woman savored the moment, and then, as quickly as she had softened, she reverted to her old self.
"Go have a nice swim. Jon will be home from his tennis match soon. After a couple of hours with him, the world will look rosy again."