Chapter 1
Toni Davan wished she was home in bed with Rory. Her mind kept itself busy thinking of Rory, his warm masculine flesh against her own, the rhythm of sensual motion between their bodies, the filling of her senses with the erotic heat of lovemaking. His soft lips on hers, her legs spread wide for his entry, then slow, velvety withdrawal.
The lovely, long-legged blonde model cuddled these thoughts as an escape from what was going on around her. The short skirt of her summer cocktail dress flared wide, showing the smoothly rounded asscheeks barely covered by gossamer, lace-edged black panties while her unfettered breasts danced and jiggled. The manufacturer said he was sure the dress would be the top seller in his fall line. Who cared? She was so bored. Outside the studio the frantic streets of Las Vegas were exploding with action, but in here, only the camera lights exploded with publicity shot after publicity shot. Toni flashed her smile at the heavy-set, balding New Yorker. The smile showed perfect white teeth framed by sensuous lips. The smile was automatic, part of the business, while the brilliant master strobe and slave-light battered her aching brain with their flashes.
"That's ... it, honey ... let's see lots of ass-flesh," the manufacturer said. "Swing your tail like you were being thrilled out of your gourd! Aaah! Beautiful!"
Toni had a great urge to throw something- preferably at the obvious erection in the old goat's pants. Well, after all, she thought, the fat man didn't know he was being crude. He was from the garment district, probably the most kill-or-get-killed business area in New York. And she was sure he had no interest in her as a woman. Every time they broke the modeling session for a costume change or a cooling lemonade, he was quickly hanging tight to the slender, doe-eyed young man who was head designer for the line, who wore pink velvet flare slacks, platform shoes and a mauve shirt. Plus his hair hung down his back and he had false eyelashes.
So much for the garment business, the high-breasted, tiny-waisted model thought as she struck a series of poses and the motor-driven Canon F-l clicked away, while the man who handled it crouched and, with the grace of a tiger, jumped up on chairs, dropped to his knees, lay on the floor, his eye never leaving the view-finder of the camera. He was tall, with dark hair and a skin deeply tanned by the hot sun of Southern California and the Nevada desert.
"Break!" he said curtly. "Got to change cameras and lenses."
Toni's ripe bosom rose and fell as gratefully she stepped down from the posing stage and managed a smile for the young man, who was already unslinging the 35mm Canon and checking the settings on a Hasselblad. She smiled her thanks as the account executive from the small but energetic ad agency handed her a frosty glass.
Sometimes it could be hell ... a dozen costume changes, being touched up with makeup, which she would scrub off as soon as possible to show her clear, pale golden skin. Hour after hour under the relentless glassy stare of the ever-present lenses. But at least she had a man, a talented young husband who worked just as hard as she did, if not harder. Rory Davon, the one with the cameras. Oh, the first few months had been anything but easy, being married just after he ended near the top of his class in the prestigious photo college at Santa Barbara and decided to set out on his own.
Sipping the refreshing soft drink, Toni Davon reflected that all new marriages must have their problems. But of late she found herself becoming jealous of the blasted cameras. While she and Rory ate spaghetti or beans, unless the agency or clients wanted to take them out for a decent meal and a couple of drinks, the ambitious young photographer had over twenty thousand dollars invested in cameras, lenses, lights, filters, tripods and God only could guess what else. The amount, when she saw it on their joint income tax return, staggered her.
And they were living in a one-room studio apartment and driving a junker car a dozen years old! It didn't seem fair! True, both were paid for the modeling sessions, and were beginning to get known as hard, competent, and dependable free-lancers.
There was only one real advantage from Toni's weary point of view. Once a shooting session was complete, she got to keep the clothes either for nothing or a very nominal price-there was one handmade dress of white lace with thousands of hand-sewn sequins, which sold in the fancy stores for over a thousand dollars, and she had gotten it for twenty. She had a wardrobe which would make the wife of a multimillionaire turn green with envy. But not, she knew, because of the generosity of the manufacturers. Garments which had been pinned, pulled, twisted and perspired heavily in couldn't be shown to buyers.
The rag game was highly selective.
Oh, the tired young beauty knew that someday they'd make it together, that Rory would be successful. Yet there was a nagging worry beginning to form in her young mind.
She was afraid he was on the road to impotence.
Perching on a stool and praying for the day to end soon, Toni reflected that although she'd successfully remained a virgin until her marriage less than a year before, she really liked being in bed with Rory. Having his hands caress her trembling young body, his skilled lips enclosing the hardening nipples of her firmly upthrust breasts as his tongue danced and teased ... his fingers sliding sometimes feather-light, sometimes iron-hard between her eagerly parting thighs and then finding the quickly lubricious, tight, pale tufted furrow of her expanding cunt lips ... these things delighted her.
But she drew the line at any deviation from what she considered normal. She would go so far as to fondle his soft penis with her lewdly groping fingers and weight his semen-heavy balls in her smooth hand ... but no farther.
"Toni, honey," he would whisper, his tongue slithering in an erotically thrilling way into her ear, "Take me in your mouth, just for a few minutes. I'll be hard before you know it ... and you know all the girls suck now!"
"Well, I guess I'm not one of the girls," she said, or words to that effect, every time. And then, frustrated, aroused and wantonly yearning but refusing to surrender her beliefs for a few minutes of carnal sex, she would roll over in their lumpy bed and silently cry herself to sleep.
And then it was back to work again, more poses, a change into a black nightie that was flimsy as smoke, viewing her lush young body in the three-way mirror, seeing the thrusting of her breasts and the rich curve of her buttocks.
"You expect me to pose in something like this?" Toni demanded in both incredulity and anger. "I'd rather pose naked-and there's fat chance of that."
"Talk to her, fellow," the garment man said to Rory as if he were a servant. "You can do some airbrushing later."
Two cameras slung around his neck, the lean young photographer drew his smoldering wife aside and said, "Honey, you've got to do it. Look, I know he's a slob, but he's got money he hasn't begun to count and interests in a lot of other things, like package food, home furnishings, stuff for young mothers, and I don't know what else, but it's plenty." Nervously, he got a cigarette going and continued, "I'll shoot it so it's sexy but doesn't show any more than you do at the pool in a bikini. This could be the key to the door of success. No more spaghetti and beans. Now, for chrissakes, don't get him pissed off! Do it!"
Tears were ready to burst from her eyes, but if she cried, that would wipe out her makeup and force her into another hour of this humiliation. And so the taffy-haired girl surrendered.
"All right-but I'm going to look like a different woman. What would my friends-our friends-say if I let myself be photographed in this? It'll only take a minute."
Rory Davon knew his wife's hard-headed ways and could only shrug and turn back toward the others. "She'll do it, but she wants to change a few things ... and she's not happy."
"If she isn't, there are plenty of others who will be," the New Yorker said ominously, and Rory could see future commissions sprouting wings and flying. "Let's rest and have a drink. These things rip me open a little, too."
Ice tinkled and liquor splashed and they waited until the fat man's eyes widened and he said, "Ummmmm ... eyeful! It's okay. In fact it's fine!"
Hesitantly, a different Toni was coming toward them from the dressing room, the gossamer garment swirling its lacy hem barely below the juncture of her thighs, her firm, proud breasts swaying. Only now her hair was a deep glossy brown. Her delicate facial features were somehow fuller, her mouth a different shade to harmonize with the wig she wore over her own pale-hued curls. "I hope this will be all right," she said.
"Christ, you look like a different woman," the garment merchant said. "You even talk different."
"I put some cotton in my cheeks. I feel like a chipmunk, so can we make this fast, please?"
In half an hour they were packing up the mass of equipment and Toni had changed back to a street dress. Now that it was over, she felt much better and wondered if she'd made a mountain out of a molehill. After all, she knew what some girls had to go through to get in front of a camera. One day when they didn't have the price of coffee between them, Rory had reluctantly agreed to handle a big Arriflex movie camera for a quickie blue film. It had happened at a time when he'd been absolutely unable to get his penis hard for almost a week. She was well aware of what was going to go on, and Toni was afraid, seeing all those pretty young girls casually doing all the things she refused him, that one of them might get what she yearned for.
Eyes popping, she had watched, for the first time, two other people having sex. The girl was licking and kissing her partner's long thick penis, her tantalizing lips ovalled tightly around the mushroom-capped staff until he began to screw deep into her cavernous mouth, pulling her straining face obscenely down to his jerking loins until his cock swelled and spurted and thick silvery-white streams of cum gushed in an endless stream between the widely parted lips as she licked and sucked his cockhead.
Toni had wanted to be sick but was too fascinated. Then there had been a hiatus while the camera was reloaded and drinks were had. After which the couple was on the bed again, this time with the man licking the girl's trembling body, every inch of it, before kneeling between her widely splayed long legs as his deft tongue lewdly plumbed the depths of her wide-open pulsing cunt, until with a cry of carnal delight the smooth thighs locked around his burrowing face and his cheeks glistened with her vaginal juices.
As if nothing at all had happened, the actors, production crew, and several hangers-on went out to a leisurely lunch in a nearby restaurant.
Later, the stars put in a long time fucking, but by then Toni had become so inured to what was going on that it was anti-climatic. "That," the aroused young blonde had said later when they were in their tiny apartment, "was an education, I'll admit! How could they, well, do all those things with so many people around?"
"After a couple of F & S films, they forget their inhibitions." He grinned. "We're all alone ... want to try it?"
"Not on your life!" Toni had retorted, but not angrily, as she looked down at the front of his pants and saw the pole-like outline of his penis. Boldly she rubbed against him, kissing him with softly parted wet lips. "You know how I want it ... NOW!"
Although physically tired by his chore of handling the heavy camera under hot lights all day, Rory had been aroused as he hadn't been in weeks! He almost ripped his clothes off, freeing the long, rigid length of ready male-flesh that jutted out obscenely from his tight-muscled young belly. He hadn't even given the startled young bride time to undress, just thrown her down on the bed and shoved a lewdly searching hand hard up between her thighs to find the flimsy cloth of her panties.
It parted with a harsh ripping and his groping fingers were probing carnally into the seething depths of her long-denied pussy. Her hair flailing, Toni Davon squirmed and, even as she grasped for his thrusting penis to guide it into her wetly flexing flesh, tried to plead with Rory to at least give her time to get as naked as he was.
But the aroused photographer failed to heed her whimpers-if in fact he even heard them. Grasping her shapely calves, he jackknifed her spasming legs up until her smooth knees were pushing down hard on the soft resilient mounds of her breasts.
"Aaaaauuuugggghhhh!!!!" the impaled girl cried out as she felt the length and girth of his cock splitting her tight little cunt, sending surges of rolling pink flesh ahead of the massive head until it slammed hard into the hot depths of her jerking belly and his heavy balls smacked wetly into the jiggling cheeks of her tightly squeezing ass.
This is rape, she thought. But oooooooooohhhhh-how I need him in me! With abandoned carnality she ground her writhing young body against the mattress, jerking her aroused genitals up to absorb every bite of the plundering phallus.
Feeling her juices boiling far up in her grasping vaginal passage, she had, with fingers suddenly clumsy, pulled the top of her thin dress down, baring the rich globes of her tingling breasts against the heavily panting chest of Rory. Her eyes widened in surprise and joy and her lovely full lips contorted, drawn back tight over her fine white teeth in pure animal passion until, at last, she heard a strange voice that had to be her own repeatedly scream, as her tight cuntlips grasped the thick wet piston that was relentlessly splitting them.
"I'm cummmmiiiinnnngggg!!! Aaaaa-hhhhh!!! Yessssssss!!!! MORE-HARDER!!! Oh, Roryyy! C U M M M M IN MEEEEEEEEE!!!
As she felt the thickening of his wetly slamming cock, the hot thick fire of his cum flooded her humping loins, mingling with the exotic scents of her own juices of passion. The aroused blonde wasn't sure, but she thought she must have fainted.
It had been good, but never as good again ...
Now, in this burning-hot Las Vegas afternoon, the group stood in the deep-carpeted lobby of the luxury casino, with the muted whirr-click-click-thump of the garish banks of slots and the muted chant of the dice dealers, while a couple of husky bellhops carried out the heavy camera cases and other equipment. The New York big spender was trying to get the boy in the pink flare slacks out of what even comparatively innocent Toni Davon could see was a mood which would lead to a lovers' quarrel. The agency guy, a hardened Las Vegan, watched their departure.
"Why do assholes like that wind up with all the money and we work our asses off for shells without peanuts in them?" he grumbled.
He was a tall, thin, ordinary-appearing man who had been unable to stand the Madison Avenue scramble and so had come west to start his own small advertising and public relations agency, bringing with him little but a lot of big money contacts from New York. His name was Ken Kellogg, and he was universally known as "Cornflakes." He grinned and said, "Well, that wouldn't have been even a warm-up on Mad Ave. You guys must be dying of thirst. Come on, I scrounged an expense account, and he expects me to pad the bill anyway. Let's get something for the throat and some solid chow."
"Wish we could now, Ken," Rory Davon said. "But we could meet you after we've got our stuff back in the pad and got cleaned up."
"That sounds better. I'll go do likewise and we'll have a night on the town on Fat Fairy Godmother, and may his wand always wave."
Laughingly they parted and Toni and her husband collected their well-traveled Pontiac station wagon and drove the few blocks to the second-rate hotel where they had a studio. Actually it was not bad, the best thing about it being that it was free, as Ken Kellogg had taken a liking to them and arranged a few things to the mutual benefit of his agency, the hotel, and the young Davons. The hotel liked the idea of having a professional resident photographer around, because the established local photogs wouldn't walk through the door for less than a hundred bucks-if you could get one. From a practical point of view, for allowing them the apartment, a couple of dinners a week and a few drinks-plus Rory's usual fees-they had a camera-in-residence. With all the new multi-million-dollar carpet joints, this one had to cut corners. And they had an arrangement with a commercial film-processing lab too.
"Rory, it's a rip-off -- you can do better," Toni had objected.
"Sure honey, and we will," her ambitious husband had assured his tawny-haired young wife. "But this way we have living quarters that would run us about two-fifty a month. Some meals and drinks. A telephone and business address ... and a chance to make contacts. In a year or so, when I've got more equipment and cold cash for our nonexistent bank account, we'll move up. Right now, kiddo, it's survival. And this is the worst town in the country to be broke in. Plus, all the big names come here. Sooner or later, we'll meet some. Believe me, it's better than me having to work back of the bar with my head in the ice and my ass in the air while you hustle drinks in the casino."
"Oh, you're right, Rory," Toni had said. And then, pouting, "If only all our money didn't have to go for those damn cameras!"
"Toni, I need them to work with." He had said it patiently but in a way that wouldn't allow any argument, and she knew it was the truth. Rory was good, and sharp enough to always be on the lookout for more work. Things were bound to improve. ...
Now, at their hotel, they rode up in the automatic elevator almost hip-deep in camera equipment and the boxes containing Toni's newest additions to her wardrobe Seemingly without effort, Rory with the ease of long practice grabbed two huge camera and equipment cases and slung a bulging gadget bag over each shoulder while she carried the light clothing boxes. For a slender man, he seemed to have amazing strength. Toni knew he was carrying more than two hundred pounds, most of it hanging from his hands. As he locked his professional gear away, the young flaxen-haired wife undressed and scurried into the shower, hoping he'd join her. The nearly carnal poses she'd gone through had excited her.
But he didn't. Frowning, the big-busted blonde turned the spray on cold, stood under it until she felt goose-bumps, and, drying herself with a fluffy towel, went out to their combination bed, living, and dining room. Rory lay naked on the day bed, a bottle of beer in one hand, a copy of Popular Photography in the other. He didn't look up.
She thought the damn magazines cost almost as much on their combined salaries as the cameras, and he was always buying either a new box or lens or some other gadget. There must have been a ton of magazines. Playboy and Penthouse and OUI and all the women's publications.. .Toni thought the people who put out the fashion books didn't spend as much time reading them as Rory did. He said he had to see what they wanted if he was going to work his way into five-thousand-dollar assignments, and ruefully she guessed he was right.
"It's all yours," Toni said, with a double meaning. Yet even as she looked down at him, she was appraising his flaccid penis. At the moment Rory had no interest in his young, yearning wife and she knew it as she wryly added, "The shower."
"Yeah ... thanks, babe," he said.
Well, she told herself, he must be exhausted from the shooting session, too. At least I didn't have twenty pounds of cameras hung around my neck all day! Her flaxen hair brushed to glimmering perfection, she selected a mini-sheath that was almost fluorescent and high-heeled boots to match, wriggling into bikini panties. By the time the young bride was finished, Rory was out of the shower, freshly shaved, and getting dressed in a dark suit that had been cut along mod lines, knotting a string tie and looking very handsome. The phone rang. Ken Kellogg was waiting for them in the lobby, and he had his car parked in front.
It was a current-model Mercedes convertible, which he explained with a grin was part of the image you had to maintain if you were just getting started in Vegas in public relations and advertising. Even if you couldn't buy a beer, you found money for a flashy car. Waiting in it was an almost tiny, elfin, dark-haired girl, so slender she looked almost like a boy- certainly undernourished compared to the voluptuous dimensions of Toni Davon, the latter thought. She was introduced as Mike, and Toni had a moment of wondering if maybe she was a boy in girl's clothes. Her chest was almost flat, although the bright streetlights showed good legs under a brief dress. Her last name was one of those unpronounceable things from Poland or Yugoslavia or someplace in Eastern Europe.
She had immense dark eyes, tilted in a Slavic way at the outer edges. High cheekbones. Feeling no sense of challenge, Toni could admit that she had the most beautiful mouth she'd ever seen. Rich, soft, wet, glistening lips. The balance of Mike's face was heart-shaped, angelic. The poor little skinny thing had to have something. It turned out that she was working part-time for Ken Kellogg's agency as a typist and interpreter, speaking five languages, and Ken was working on getting some accounts from behind the Iron Curtain now that trade was increasing and various shades of Communist governments were trying to tap the American market. What Mike really wanted to be was a model.
Toni wanted to reply that with her figure, only the highest fashion places would glance at her, unless she could just do head shots for a cosmetics outfit. She sure was working the wrong side of the street in Vegas, where tits and ass and long legs were what put money in the bank. Toni said only that she was breaking in also.
There was a steak house a few miles out of Vegas where the prices were outrageous, but they didn't have slot machines and there was no pressure to drink more than you wanted. Ken had arranged a secluded booth where in due time a multi-course meal, which would have drawn raves in Paris, arrived, along with wine. It was all Toni Davon could do to keep from jumping up and shouting out her pleasure after all the months of things that came in cans. She found the petite brunette appealing and seemingly glad to have any job at all, and particularly one which put her at least on the fringe of the advertising business. Toni sensed a sexual hunger that no man, with the choice female flesh of Vegas, would glance at, and found herself feeling sorry for Mike.
The men were talking business in a low key. Over liqueurs, Ken said, "There's a small group of professional photographers here. They're so good they don't look for work-it looks for them. From what I've seen of your talent, Rory, you'd fit right in. It's a good way to pick up assignments. One photog is asked to do a job that's not his specialty, and he passes it on to a guy inside who will do it right. Some work all over the world. They don't even have a name but I know the one who more or less got it together. Guy named Chris Gael."
"I've heard of him-who hasn't?" Rory replied, suddenly excited. "One of the best industrial photogs in the country! Sure, my tongue's already hanging out."
"He's out of town but his wife Shawna said he'll be back within a week. Be happy to arrange it," the thin man said. "Oh, and how soon can you process the stuff you shot today? Fat Fairy Godmother will want to look at it before he goes East with lover boy."
"Darn, you know, I forgot it," said Rory. "Let me call and see if I can get an early time at the lab. Be right back."
He wandered around until he found a phone booth. The light didn't work and he misdialed twice before getting the all-night number, and when he did Rory became unhappy and started arguing. He wanted the lab and he wanted it locked in tight, and wasn't quite in a mood to sit on his ass while some bunch of amateurs got in there and fucked up every tank of soup and fixer in the place, and he wasn't about to be shut out by any two-buck-an-hour phone chick.
"What's wrong? You've been gone over fifteen minutes!"
The husky voice startled him. He hadn't even noticed the door open But suddenly beside him was the skinny little Mike, and he didn't need an interruption because it was hard enough for him to get his message across to the stupid girl on the other end. About half of what she said wasn't even in English!
"Listen to this shit!" he said, turning the phone so Mike could hear. It drew her against him and he was surprised to feel her curves as she pressed her beautiful face to his cheek.
And suddenly she exploded into a furious torrent of some strange language. He didn't understand a word, but knew it wasn't polite. After several minutes she slammed the phone down and with a triumphant smile on her sensuous mouth, Mike said, "I had to talk to her in Czech, but you've got your lab from eight in the morning on."
"I'll be fucked ... " he mumbled in awe.
"Maybe," Mike said with a wicked grin. "We should go back to the table, or your lovely wife will think that is what's happening."
The elfin girl had been wearing some sort of perfume that was so subtle Rory Davon had hardly been aware of it until they were shut up in the close confines of the phone booth. Somebody should teach her how to dress, he thought. She's got no tits, but when she was pressed up to me so tight, that round little ass and those legs that look thin until you feel them against you ... He felt himself hardening, his cock rising and swelling against his trousers.
After saying goodnight to Ken Kellogg and
Mike, he set the alarm for six a.m. before stripping naked and falling into bed. Despite the gourmet meal, his head ached. It had been a long goddam day, and tomorrow promised to be longer, locked up in a darkroom with roll after roll of film to process and print out for that fat bastard. Toni was in the tiny dressing room, carefully hanging up her dress. She switched off the lamps, leaving the tiny apartment illuminated by only a pale night-light. He couldn't get the perverse image of that Mike out of his mind, even when Toni came in, all glowing golden in the amber light, and slithered languorously under the thin sheet which was the only cover they used on hot nights like this.
Toni was yearning so hard it was difficult to remember how many days had passed since Rory had spread her legs and rammed his hot thick penis into her seething little pussy. Well, the job he'd been sweating for, for a week was done, except for the film processing, so maybe now he'd fill the yearning in her quaking belly.
Lewdly searching between her husband's legs, her trembling fingers found the rigid shaft of his penis. She slowly rolled the thick fleshy foreskin down over the rubbery mushroom-shaped head and grasped the hotly pulsing staff of flesh. Panting with wanton desire she grasped his semen-heavy scrotum with her other hand.
Drops of hot pre-seminal fluid were already oozing from the tiny slit in the reddish-purple tip! Thank God! He was ready and able tonight! Moaning with desire and crawling over his trembling body, her eager hand slowly stroking her husband's cock, Toni tried to bring it to the flowering portals of her blonde-fringed cunt furrow as her mouth, full lips parted and tongue reaching for his, kissed his throat and ears ...
"Oh ... NOOOOOOO ... " she cried out.
For suddenly his whole body jerked, his penis fucking into her tightly grasping little fist, and then her fingers were dripping stickily with his hot spurting cum! How could he! And even as the last globules of his semen soiled her palm and seeped downward to the rumpled sheet she began to cry as she never had before. She crawled off him and rolled into a ball, smelling the strong male scent of him in the small room. He reached for her, mumbling an apology, and she kicked and struck at him in frustration.
"What's happened to you?" the lovely tawny-haired girl cried.
"Darn it, I've been working my ass off all day!" he shot back. "Seeing you in all those sexy outfits, so that all you had to do was touch me ... and I shot, Toni! I'm sorry ... I couldn't help it."
"I'm sorry you couldn't too," she said bitterly. "The first time in almost two weeks- and what happens!"
"Look, babe, let me eat you," he pleaded. "Open those long beautiful legs and let me get my tongue into you ... you'll love it!"
"I want you the right way!" she wept. "Oh, it was so good in the beginning! Now you want to lick between my legs because that's all you can do! Or you want me to suck-SUCK YOUR COCK!"
"You show me a girl who won't go down on her own husband and I'll show you a freak," he said angrily.
"Then you're in bed with one!" She kicked at him when he touched her trembling thighs. "If we had two beds in this miserable place, I wouldn't be in yours! Touch me one more time and I swear I'll hit you with a camera!"
"Oh, fuck you, you puritan bitch!" he snarled. He rolled away, turning his back on the sobbing young blonde.
Shivering as if caught in an Arctic blizzard, the brokenhearted young bride lay immobile for nearly an hour. Yet she still felt the urgent demands of her ripe female body. Slowly her fingers slid between the sensitive soft flesh of her thighs, seeking her still-wet cunt with its fringe of light golden hair. Repressing a sigh, she began to stroke herself between the blood-engorged vaginal lips. She was so wet ... so wide open! She couldn't help spreading her legs wide and driving her lewdly searching fingers sinfully up into the writhing depths of her body. Panting, as with her other hand she began to caress the denied mounds of her jiggling breasts, Toni's thumb began to rub her clitoris and almost immediately she felt the gushing of her passion juices erupt deep in her aroused young body.
"Aaaaauuuugggghhh!!!" she panted, writhing, her head rolling so her swinging hair sprayed over the cum-soaked sheet. " Uuuuooooooo!!!"
"Hey, wha's goin' on?" the sleep-drugged Rory mumbled, waking to the writhing and sluicing sounds and heavy panting and the way the bed was shaking.
"It looks like there are some things I have to do for myself," Toni whispered venomously. "Don't worry about it, Rory. What you need is a woman like that little Mike. She's so small and lean you wouldn't have to worry. No place to put anything, if you had anything left to put."
Enraged, he made a grab for her but she scrambled out of the bed and grabbed for the phone, backing away from him as her fumbling, terrified fingers spun the dial.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rory demanded.
"I'm getting another room for the night, that's what I'm doing," Toni retorted. The desk clerk came on and assured her one was available. Toni thanked him, hung up, and dressed faster than she ever had before. She went out the door, slamming it behind her, carrying only a big shoulder bag, trying not to cry.
In the hallway, she was intercepted by a gray-suited young man, very neat. He showed her a security badge and handed her a key, "DeCosta," he said. "Desk said maybe trouble up here, so I was sent with the key. Would you like me to have a talk with him or get anything from the room for you?"
Insanely through the disturbed young woman's mind flashed the thought, Yes, but what I need isn't in that crummy studio. It's in your pants! Come with me and get into me and stay there screwing me until I'm really out of it!
That's what Toni Davon wanted to say. But she knew it would be a cheap shot. In order to live with herself, she would have to fight her own battles with Rory, no matter how she yearned for a long, rigidly reaming penis splitting her tender pussy.
"Thanks, but it'll blow over ... he had a hard day." She tried to grin, her face tear-streaked. "And he's looking at another one in the morning."
"I'm on until eight. The night crew will keep an eye on the situation, and I'll check by, Mrs. Davon," he said.
"I'm sure it will be cool by then, Mister DeCosta," Toni said as they arrived at a door two floors down. He took the key from her, opened it and ushered her in, turning on lights. It was a very nice room with two double beds and bath. Certainly more than she'd need for a few hours.
Putting the key on the night table, the security man smiled as he said, "I'm sure it will too. These things happen. And I suggest you put the chain on the door."
With a reassuring smile, the soft-spoken, polite man was gone.
Toni was happy to find the room had a bathtub. She filled it with warm water and soaked for a long time, then went to bed.
Naked and alone.
She wondered what Rory might be thinking, if he was still awake. It had been their first real quarrel.
It was nearly three in the morning when the phone jarred Rory Davon awake. His head hurt, and he was suddenly aware that Toni wasn't in bed beside him. Then he remembered the argument, muttered, "Shit!" and grabbed the phone, growling. He expected it was a case of blood on the highway with an insurance adjuster needing some pix before the evidence vanished. He hated that kind of work but was in no position to turn anything down, no matter what the hour. He blinked with bleary eyes when he heard a sultry feminine voice.
"Rory! This is Mike. Problem."
"Goddamn it!" he snarled.
"I agree. They woke me up too," the elfin girl said. "Here's the story. Fat Fairy God-mother has an emergency back in New York and he has to be on the first available plane. He just has to have a look at the stuff you shot before he goes. Ken called. He says rough prints will do."
"You tell that pansy to blow his nose on anything else he can find," the irritated photographer shot back. "I don't have the lab until eight in the morning, and it's at least four hours of work." He reached for a cigarette and got it lighted. "And I'd need a lab tech to process that fast. He can't have them before five in the afternoon."
"You have the lab now. Cornflakes fixed it. And you have a tech."
"Who?"
"Me. I know how to crop and print and copy. So how soon do I meet you and Toni?"
"Toni's not here," he snapped, reaching for his pants. "This is going to cost that far-out fairy son-of-a-bitch. Meet you at the lab in twenty minutes."
Shit! he thought as he hurriedly pulled on his clothes. Every time you get your head out of the water, somebody hits it with an oar! And where the hell has Toni gone? Well, there's no time to sweat that now. He grabbed the spools of film and slammed out the door, completely unaware of the unobtrusive security officer who followed him until he got the ancient station wagon running and left with a squeal of tires. He had to go clear across town, and his eyes hurt and he had fur in his mouth, and he was thoroughly pissed at the glittering night world of Las Vegas. ...