Chapter 6
With her new job, Angela, as Harry expected, worked quite late in the evening. More like early in the morning, until past two. And Harry, who liked to get up early -- about nine, to get in some surfing before the sun's rays became unbearable -- found him-self, more and more, doing his surfing solo.
There was plenty of stray pussy catting around the beach, and Harry, with his taste in teenyboppers, could have had his pick, if not his fill. Yet, he felt funny without Angela for the first few days, and didn't bother to avail himself of the available stuff.
One fine, sunny morning, at about noon, he had just finished catching a near-perfect wave, several hundred yards out, and rode it right to the shore, successfully navigating his surfboard right into the sand and still standing up at the end.
As he climbed off the board and prepared to paddle out to sea again for another try, he heard the syrupy tones of what sounded like a Top-40 radio commercial announcer comment, "A very good ride, Harry, I must say. You have evidently been putting in plenty of practice since our last meeting, it seems."
Harry knew exactly who it was before he turned around.
Big Bill.
Big Bill was one of the best surfers in and around L.A., a tall, extremely handsome guy with lank blond hair bleached almost straw-white from the California sun. His expressive, oval face was lean, his features aristocratic, his blue eyes almost the same shade as the Pacific Ocean itself, cool yet indicating great depths of warmth. He was built like the former college footballer he once was, with broad, sloping shoulders and long, tapered legs. It was no surprise that he was one of the most successful cocksmen in all the counties around Southern California. Any-thing he spotted that looked as if he could fuck it, he did, no questions asked and no quarters given.
He was usually at the beach every clay, being a most excellent surfer. His family was wealthy. Unlike Harry, he didn't work because he didn't have to. And, also unlike Harry, he was usually surrounded by a retinue of chicks.
As he was today.
However, he had broken away from them temporarily to talk to Harry. As Harry mumbled a "Hi, Bill, yeah, I get a lot of practice at a lot of things," he wondered if he should make a play for one of Big Bill's chicks, not wanting the big blond to monopolize all the stuff, even though his balls belonged, still, to Angela's most musical cunt.
"How is Angela, Harry? It has been a long time since I was able to admire her exquisite beauty in person." He paused, showing gleaming white teeth as he smiled and added, "From a safe distance, of course."
The girls tittered; even Harry had to laugh. Big Bill was so warm and friendly, so cool and sophisticated, a real right guy. Should he really tell him, Harry wondered? Should he?
"Uh ... Big Bill, can I talk to you ... in private?"
Big Bill turned his 100-watt smile on the girls, and said, "If you lovely ladies will please excuse me, I shall return shortly. Please do not leave the beach without my signed seal of approval."
Then, he and Harry walked over to one of the concession stands, where he bought Harry an orange drink. Harry, keeping his voice low, told him about Angela's new career.
Big Bill nodded, saying, "Well, Harry, I am not saying that stripping is the most artistic occupation around. On the other hand, it could easily lead to more lucrative offers. Perhaps movies, or television, if she were lucky enough to attract the right parties who might take an interest in her career."
Harry seemed to nod, as he sipped the cool orange drink.
Big Bill looked skyward, as if thinking profound thoughts. Then, looking at Harry again, he said, "I would like to see Angela perform. That is, if you have no objection to taking me as your guest to this place where she works. Is that all right with you, Harry? Would you mind terribly?"
Harry, both startled and flattered, mumbled, "Why ... yeah, sure ... if you really want to . like, tonight, I guess ... if you can tear yourself away from all the stray snatch you've collected."
"For you and Angela, Harry, it will be my plea-sure."
And thus, Harry and Big Bill, that same evening, found themselves traveling companions. In Big Bill's plush white Cadillac convertible, instead of a stinking, scummy bus. A double pleasure for Harry, too, for Big Bill had promised to pick up the entire tab for their night out.
After they arrived, they stayed through the complete show. Big Bill seemed suitably impressed that Angela was, in effect, the star of the show, though her billing did not so indicate. Her stage name was billed as Raunchy Rita. Hardly a title Harry would have chosen; yet; considering the additional refinements she now had, most appropriate.
For Angela was doing her strip-tease act as the roughest, bluest, most suggestive put-on and take-off Harry had ever seen before, and he'd seen plenty of strippers during his short, though active, life. Her act was so strong that not only did Harry get a hardon and keep it throughout the show, but also Big Bill really had trouble keeping the knife-edged crease in his suit pants from being destroyed by his dick.
After the show, they went backstage.
They had to wait around while Angela signed autographs, accepted gifts, and in general played the role of show business celebrity to the hilt. But, when the last fan, had finally been accommodated, Angela shooed everyone out of her dressing room, except for Harry and Big Bill.
She seemed to give her full attention especially to Big Bill.
As Harry introduced them, Angela indicated that, yes, she certainly remembered Big Bill and his escapades upon the big board, who didn't? Big Bill turned on his toothpaste smile at that one, and Angela giggled girlishly as he looked her up and down and sideways with growing, glowing admiration in his deep blue orbs.
Harry didn't exactly feel too happy about that.
He still remembered, with subdued anger and frustration, that she had let Jack Johnson get into her that night she'd auditioned for the job. When he'd called her on it, she had glacially informed him that it had "just happened," and assured him such a situation would certainly never occur again. She had taken great pains to inform him that her relationship with Johnson was strictly employee-employer, and nothing more. Strictly business.
Sure -- strictly show business.
But, that hadn't really consoled Harry all that much. He was now at the point where he really didn't trust her; a dangerous situation for him, since Angela was still sharing his mattress. Harry thought, I'm going to have to get some advice from Big Bill, he should know what to do, he's an older guy with maybe more experience. -
Big Bill was over 30.
While Harry was letting these ruminations rummage through his mind, there was a knock at the door and a delivery boy entered with a bottle of champagne, a bucket of ice, and three glasses. After he left, Big Bill stated that the champagne was his gift, his "toast to a great artist on stage," and added, "Drink up and enjoy yourselves. This treat is on me.
They did.
As they lounged around the tiny, cramped dressing room -- they couldn't go anywhere else; Angela's second show was due to begin in less than an hour Harry noticed that Big Bill was putting away very tiny portions of the bubbly, while Angela was swigging the stuff down as if it was ice water. She's got a show to do, Harry thought, she shouldn't be guzzling the stuff like she's doing, what the hell's the matter with her.
Still, he was matching his boozing chick, glass for glass.
Since alcohol often makes its inbibers talkative, among other things, it wasn't very long before Harry and Angela were yakking effusively, with Big Bill serving as a kind of "moderator" between them. Yet, at the same time, it seemed that he was subtlely sending Angela a few messages of his own, one of the most obvious being the erection he wasn't even bothering to conceal. And Angela, judging by the feelings her nipples, her clit, and her cunt were expressing -- warm, wet, and wonderful -- whenever Big Bill's burning blue eyes focused on one of her better physical attributes, was decoding his messages most properly.
"Well, Angela," Big Bill said, casually. "What is going to be your next move?"
Angela, finishing a glassful, smiled coquettishly at him as she replied, "Well, I really don't know. I mean, I'm making good money here, and I'm certainly a popular attraction, judging by the crowds we're getting for each show. I guess I'll hit the boss for a raise in a few more months, and see what happens after that."
"That is not what I mean, Angela," Big Bill emphasized, leaning forward so that his eyes were but inches away from Angela's slotted orbs. "I'm speaking of your future career, of which this is merely a stepping stone to bigger and better endeavors. For example . . ." He paused, refilling his champagne class. He noticed Harry's hardon, even more extended and probably more suffering than his own, but made no motion, said no words, to indicate that observation, and continued, "Have you even considered moving on into acting?"
Angela's eyes lit up like a green light indicating "Go."
"Well ... I mean, I certainly enjoy performing for people. I really like being in front of an audience, if that's what you mean."
Harry cursed silently to himself. He didn't like this movie angle at all. He thought, if that shit starts going down, I'll never see her again, she'll become a world famous actress, and I'll be but one of millions of ex-boyfriends ... and what a fucking mess that'll be...
Big Bill said, firmly, "I didn't mean right now, naturally. But, perhaps later, maybe a few months from now, when you have really made your name and reputation, as a cult figure around Hollywood ..." He paused to sip his champagne, noticing Angela's lovely breasts heaving, her cleavage showing through, as if she was hanging on his every word; and, she was. He amplified, "No pornographic pictures, of course. But, a solid, substantial second or third part, one where you can become noticed, and no telling how far you could go from such a role. Think about that, Angela. Just think about it, if you would."
Angela, her eyes now gleaming like polished jade, replied with great intensity, "I really hadn't thought about it quite that way ... but, from now on, I certainly will. You're really a very smart man, Big Bill. That's a marvelous suggestion!" She winked at him, licking her lips slightly, as she slurred slightly, due to the effects of the champagne, "I just might ... take you up . on that ... one day ... soon ..."
Harry, his erection ready to tear through his shorts and rip open his fly with it's sheer strength, knew, desparingly, exactly what she meant. That she wanted to take Big Bill down, not up; down into her fucking bed, nowhere else.
As for Big Bill, his prick was rigid like a snake stretching itself, as he felt it pressing eagerly against the tightness, the confines of his pants. He mentally ordered it to go back to sleep, for Angela had the message, and Big Bill was basically a decent sort of fellow. He hated to cuckold his friends, especially right in front of them. But, Angela had accomplished a rare feat, really turning him on so strongly and so effectively that he now knew, despite his intellectual disclaimers, that he had to get that beautiful body of hers into the sack sometime, and the sooner, the better.
"And you too, Harry," Big Bill quickly added.
"Huh?" Harry sputtered into his champagne.
"I mean it," Big Bill emphasized. "You have a good body and excellent physical coordination. Why, I have seen you surfing hundreds of times. You and Angela make a well-matched couple. You might consider going into show business yourself. Perhaps as a Master of Ceremonies, if you enjoy being out front. Or, if not, you could always become her business manager. That way, you could stay together, no matter what happens to Angela and her career. Think about that, Harry. Just think about it."
Harry did.
His eyes narrowed, as he felt more bubbling, refreshing champagne slide down his throat. What Big Bill had just said made a lot of sense. He'd always thought Big Bill was a right guy, and here he was, doing Harry a badly-needed favor. Yeah ... business manager ... get his hands on Angela's money ... that sounded just great ...
What he did not know, nor did Angela, was that Big Bill had planned things exactly the way they were going.
Despite his obvious erection, he had wanted both Angela's and Harry's suspicions concerning his interests to be dulled and diverted. He was, at the moment, simply marking time, waiting for both Harry and Angela to get good and soused on the champagne.
Harry, who could really hold it, was still fairly sober. However, Angela, whose capacity was considerably less, was now feeling the effervescence of the champagne coursing throughout her veins, and it seemed to stimulate her into doing an informal "rehearsal" for her next show.
That is, she started to dance.
Holding the champagne glass in one hand, she stood up, and began to shimmy and shake as if she was giving both men a private audition. Big Bill started clapping his hands in time to her movements, spurring her on like a drummer, and Angela began to remove her blouse with her free hand, allowing her big breasts to spill out into full view. Those dusky breasts, the pinkish nipples, the symmetrical surface of her enormous boobs -- all this could not help but turn Harry on. His prick was lurching beneath his pants as if it was a separate, living thing.
Harry, also holding his champagne glass, got up, and started to dance along with her.
He also started to strip, hastily pulling off his shirt, slapping Angela's ass a few times with it. She barely noticed, not even looking at him, as, slightly stoned from the champagne, she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, waving it like a flag in front of her.
Big Bill kept on clapping, his mind relaying to his prick the message: Not now, baby, later. Don't arouse any of their suspicions. Slip it to her when she least expects it, but not now.
Big Bill couldn't help but lick his lips, feeling himself breathing harder and his body becoming warmer, as a few drops of perspiration trickled from underneath his arms. His eyes were riveted on Angela. Her body was like a corkscrew come to life, and he could hardly believe that the way she was twisting and turning her body she wasn't breaking bones or- pulling muscles. The show she was putting on was really something else. As, of course, was Angela her-self.
She had kicked off her shoes, and was pulling down her panties. Harry got his hands on them, and ripped them off right at her midsection, as if they were made of tissue paper.
Her pubic hairs, damp with exertion and stimulation, popped into view. Her clit was projecting out-ward like a beckoning finger. Her cunt lips were chattering to each other, as if engaged in private conversation.
A conversation that Harry immediately interrupted, as he dropped to his knees and started to stab her cunt with his tongue, lapping at her drip-ping pussy as if it was a drinking fountain gushing forth cool water.
Angela could feel his tongue penetrating the entrance to her vagina, but she didn't seem to care all that much, becoming much more involved in auto-eroticism, stimulating herself by her dancing. After a few licks by her guy, she danced away, still shaking her ass like a spinning top. Harry moved after her, like some Great Dane dog, on all fours and with his tongue hanging out like a thirsty animal.
Big Bill noticed what appeared to be Harry's slavishness, and he had to suppress almost-instant laughter. A very good sign, he thought; a fine sign for his future ambitions concerning Angela.
Now, Harry, tired of prancing around, got up again, on his feet, and lunged toward Angela.
She was engaged in what looked like self-electrocution. That is, her body was vibrating so severely, as she was almost standing still in one spot, that it seemed as if she'd plugged herself into 10,000 volts. Her tits were shaking so hard it seemed as if they might fall off, her ass was a blur of lunging motion, and the pussy juice was pouring out like a waterfall, right down her legs. She was into her own self-induced orgasm, and the way her lovely long hair was swirling about her shoulders and her mouth was gulping air, she was into herself, knew it, and loved every second of it.
Until Harry, upon reaching his woman, lurched right into her, cock in hand. And, as he made con-tact with Angela, it was cock into cunt.
He'd grabbed her by her hair, pulling her head forward. Her body naturally followed, and Harry, though not exactly seeing all too clearly, had aimed correctly, for his cock was now slamming itself in-side Angela's cunt with an upward, sword-like thrust, so strong that there was no resistance possible. Angela gasped as the full impact of his rod connected with her nervous system. He had also hit her clit a glancing blow on his way inside, and she began to shudder like a tuning fork. Harry's jolting prick gave her the message, loud and clear, that she had, even in her auto-erotocism, been waiting for.
Big Bill, his face contorted into a grimace etched by worry lines, was still sitting, his hands now in his lap, one fist inside his fly, attempting to get his erection under control. He could not go after Angela yet; but, his cock still didn't seem to understand that simple fact. He cursed himself for sticking around so long; he should have left at least half-an-hour ago, for his purpose would have been just as easily accomplished then. Now, as he fought his own steadily-stiffening member, he knew that he was in for a rough fucking time, one way or the other.
Angela, still feeling the driving presence of Harry's prick, the pressure of his hands on her hair, struggled to free herself, as if, like Big Bill, there was a contradiction between her mind's advice and her body's desires.
But Harry would have none of that.
Moving quickly, he backed her into a corner of the miniscule dressing room, pressing her still-gyrating body against the wall, feeling her heaving boobies crushed against his sweating chest. His mouth met hers, his lips clamping solidly on hers. She tried to bite his tongue, but his teeth were quicker, as he chomped down on her lower lips first, then her upper. She jerked in pain, but her body had no place to go. Harry forced his tongue between her teeth and started massaging her mouth membranes, his Frenching technique quite good enough to cause her to respond in kind.
Angela could feel Harry's stomach grinding against her clit, and the wild, sexual tremors that movement was sending was almost enough to drive her right out of her skull. In a reverse of her previous actions, she was now pushing her crotch into Harry's, grinding her pelvis so that his cock was even more firmly entrenched inside her dripping, orgasmic cunt. Her vaginal muscles were moving, expanding and contracting, so violently that they seemed to have motor control of their own, and Harry's cock was being buffeted like a sailboat in a hurricane.
He was almost ready to blast loose. But, as was his custom, he wanted to hit her just right, right in the middle of her most expressive, explosive orgasm, riding the crest as his surfboard might ride the top of a wave. So, struggling mightily, he waited, his balls ready to burst loose, his prick a red-hot poker ready to pour forth its juice upon his woman's inner fires.
While Big Bill, in severe pain and suffering, decided that he must relieve himself in some way.
Glancing about the room, his eyes fastened on Angela's shredded panties. Yes, he thought, why not?
He didn't dare get off his chair, he had to reach out with one foot and try to nudge the strips toward his chair. Carefully, he did so, until he could reach them with his hand. Picking up two of them, and holding them to his nose, he was pleased to smell the familiar aroma of pussy juice. Yes ... these were the pieces ... that she had worn ... right over her cunt ...
He sniffed, inhaling deeply, as if the tattered pieces of panties had been dipped in incense.
Slowly, his tongue touched the sheer fabric. He licked, slowly at first, then more vigorously, hying to lick off whatever pussy juice residue was still there.
Gulping several times, he then reached down and unzipped his fly, letting his prick escape from its confinement, as he wrapped the two pieces of fabric right around it. The slightest pressure of his hand, he knew, would set him off. He had to time this just right. He glanced at Angela, noticing her orgasmic exertions. Yes, he wanted to come, just like Harry, right at the crest of her most exultant orgasm. Would he? Could he? Well, he would sure as hell make one fine fucking attempt, at the very least.
He watched the two of them.
As Harry came.
And, Harry had timed it well. He caught Angela as she was arching her back so severely she could feel the muscles strain at their breaking point. Harry's eruption was that steady, stabbing series of short bursts that she had come to know and love. Eagerly, her quivering pussy membranes grasped his exploding member, squeezing even more fiery sperm from it, catching each outburst as if wrapped in foam rubber, eagerly clutching his cock and calling for more. She cried, her passions pouring forth as fast and eagerly as her pussy juice. Harry moaned in sheer relief, feeling his steadily-spurting sperm striking home. He held her more closely, their bodies jammed like glue against each other. He would not let go of her, not until he had pumped her cunt full of his love potion, not until her chattering cunt had drained him dry, desert-dry, of his life-giving, love-affirming fluid. As he pumped, she humped; as he humped, she pumped.
They came together, and Harry's nervous system surged with power, power of his prick, controlling Angela's pussy, as it should be. He was, again, happy, joyous for the first time that day. He didn't even care that Big Bill was watching them. So what? He was flicking his woman, and that was that.
He didn't even notice the gleam of triumph in Big Bill's eyes as, timing his own spewing to the split second, he came. Just a few seconds before Harry, his prick fired off a steady, spurting stream of his joy juice. His hand was a substitution for Angela's cunt, his movements careful and erotic. Big Bill moaned softly, pleased he started first, and, as his instrument still kept on pouring out its stuff, he was proud to notice that his staying power lasted longer than Harry's by almost half a minute. And, he thought, I saw Angela glance at me, with lust for me in her eyes. Yes, I am sure of it, and soon, I shall know what it is like to have my cock inside her cunt. She was probably the only female within miles of Los Angeles that had not yet felt the ecstasy of Big Bill in her.
Knock ... knock ... knock ...
None of them seemed to hear a fist rapping on the door. None of them seemed to notice when the door was shoved open, a stagehand stuck his head inside, checking out the scene. The intruder didn't seem to care one way or the other, as far as the situation went. All he wanted to do was to deliver the message he'd been told to deliver.
And, he did, as he barked out, "All right, let's get with it, the next show starts in five minutes!"