Chapter 4
The loud ringing of my phone woke me from a sound sleep. I glanced at the electric clock, then, still half asleep, reached over and picked up the receiver. "It's your dime," I mumbled.
"Prentiss, this is Mr. Oxman," the voice said in a businesslike but enthusiastic tone. "I know it's early, but I've great news for you!" He hesitated, as if waiting for a reaction.
I laid my head back on the pillow, the receiver against my ear, and almost dozed off.
Not discouraged, he went on. "I just got a call from the personal secretary of a very famous screen personality. He wouldn't reveal the name of his employer, but he did let me know that she was once the reigning sex goddess of the thirties."
"The thirties, for Christ's sake!" I sneered.
Ignoring my protest, Mr. Oxman babbled on. "I've been racking my brain, but I'm still not sure who he's working for. Anyway, he did mention that his employer had seen the movie you made for Mr. King at a private showing and that she's insisted on having your number. It seems she sees a great future ahead for you."
"Oh, really?" I exclaimed, sitting up, and glancing with admiration at the solid evidence of my great future-my huge cock, rigid with its usual morning hard-on, throbbing under the tented bed sheet.
"Remember, I told you, 'Everybody loves to look at young, beautiful bodies'-even this old bag-I mean, great star. Anyway, could you be ready to be picked up by her chauffeur and spend today at her baronial mansion-in view of what it could do for your future?" Mr. Oxman chuckled. "Apparently, she wants an answer right away."
"Are you serious?" I asked, throwing the sheet off my nude body and looking down with approval at the long, white shaft of my penis lying straight over my abdomen, straining toward my navel. "I'm ready and willing right now!"
Mr. Oxman laughed nervously. "I'll just bet you are! Okay, I'll call them and give the secretary your address. He'll send the chauffeur. Now don't forget, Prentiss, to mention the academy and your director-me! If she offers you any contracts or theatrical opportunities, you'll need legal advice and management, and that's what I'm here for-to protect your future and mine! So good luck! The whole school will be waiting on pins and needles to hear about the outcome of your big break. In fact, Mona, Jodi, and I were just talking yesterday about what a great guy you are! We're thinking of throwing a party for you-our most promising student. What do you think about that?"
"I'm speechless!" I shrugged. Reaching down and grabbing hold of my heavily-veined prick, I ran my hand over its cool, satiny-smooth surface, the pleasant sensation filling my body. "Call the old fart and tell her I've got a nice fat hard-on waiting to be auditioned," I teased.
"Lucky her," Mr. Oxman replied, his envy showing in his tone. "Better get ready right away, because she's probably crawling up the walls waiting to see your stupendous talent in action." He laughed nervously. "Call me as soon as you're free, and don't forest to give her my regards, whoever she is! Who knows, she might want to come down to the academy and sponsor one of our shows. I'm always free to do business with any great star-especially if she's loaded."
"Yeah, sure, I'll do that," I muttered, spreading my muscular legs wide apart and watching with fascination as my hairy arm pumped up and down over the full length of my stiff member.
"Okay, kid, I'll be calling them back right away. Happy success now, and don't forget to call. You know who your real friends are." Mr. Oxman sounded plaintive as he hung up.
"Wahoo!" I shouted with glee. I jumped up and ran into the tiny bathroom, my prick swaying heavily in front of me. I turned on the water and stepped into the shower, my brain whirling with thoughts of impending stardom. Who could this aging sex queen be? Did she think I was a professional gigolo or a male prostitute? What did her secretary mean, "She sees a great future for you?" Where in hell had she seen my stag film?
Twenty minutes later, after showering and shaving, I walked back into my cluttered room, still naked. I had just pulled open the dresser drawer and was pawing through the rumpled clothes, looking for a clean T-shirt, when the door buzzer sounded. Knowing it must be the chauffeur, I deliberately threw the door open, making no effort to hide my nudity.
A tall, well-built, good-looking young man stood there, impeccably dressed in a black chauffeur's uniform, his cap set slightly to one side on his neatly-cut mod hair. He stared wide-eyed at the unexpected sight, looking up and down my body, his eyes pausing when they reached my heavy cock dangling loosely between my legs. He seemed completely off guard, and for a time he remained speechless.
"Hi, I'm Prentiss, the giant orgasm," I bragged, gesturing for him to come in.
"My name is Millard," were his first words. He stepped into the room and looked around curiously.
I closed the door behind him. "You sure got here fast," I said to make conversation while pulling the T-shirt over my head. "What's this deal about anyway?"
"Madame wants to 'make use' of your 'talent' for the day. However, I'm not permitted to mention her name until you meet her yourself," he replied. "Mr. King recommended you."
"Mr. King?" I exclaimed, the light finally dawning. I pulled my tight khakis up, making sure the handsome young chauffeur didn't miss the way I stuffed my lengthy penis and hairy balls down one side next to the fly. Then I buttoned the fly slowly one button at a time.
"She'll tell you all about it," he went on nervously; his eyes riveted on the large swell in my pants. "You're due for lunch in one half hour, so we better be on our way."
"Great, because I'm starved." I pulled on my boots and opened the door. "Okay, partner, lead on!" I smiled.
Frowning, he took a final look around the room, then walked stiffly ahead of me down the dim hallway. I put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing as I closed the door behind me.
As we reached the street outside the main entrance of the apartment building, I was amazed to see a crowd of old pensioners, and shouting children standing beside an exotically long and shiny Rolls Royce limousine-the kind where the chauffeur sits in an open seat in front. They were peering into the dark tinted windows, and they looked over astounded as the chauffeur and I approached. When he opened the back door and I climbed in nonchalantly, I could hear the excited chatter of disbelief clear through the closed door. A feeling of pride and exhilaration welled up inside me.
Leaning back in the expensive-looking, heavily-upholstered seat, I sighed in contentment as I put my boots up on the thickly-padded footrest. I was surprised to see Millard climb in on the right-hand side of the car and take over the wheel, just like in an English movie. Almost noiselessly, we drove away from the prying eyes of my astonished neighbors. Millard was busy talking into a white telephone as we zoomed away from the shabby neighborhood where I lived.
Thrilled as a little kid, I stared with open curiosity at the fancy interior decor, running my hand over the slick back seat. I grabbed the speaking tube and shouted into it, my other hand scratching my crotch in excitement, "Millard, old boy, what year model is this anyway?"
"This is a custom-built Rolls Royce limousine purchased for Madame by her former movie studio as a prop for her academy-award picture, It Takes Two to Tangle" he boasted, his eyes nervously trying to watch the road and my moving hand through the rear-view mirror at the same time.
"What's this crap all around me?" I asked, glancing closer at the three ornate silver-plated initials reading "VLF" that were repeated on all sides.
Trying to sound blase, Millard rattled off, "The door handles are made of sterling silver ; the cabinet work in front of you is hand-rubbed walnut; there's a pull-down desk and bar, a color TV set, your speaking tube, a built-in tape recorder with a varied choice of musical tapes, a miniature dressing table and mirror."
"No kidding?" I exclaimed, looking closer. "And what's this weird upholstery on the seat?"
"Well, this year, it's Burmese-python," he replied, trying to keep a straight face.
"Python?" I sat upright, flabbergasted.
"That's nothing! Last year, it was cheetah. And the year before, vicuna, but that didn't take the wear and tear, especially in the back seat," he went on snidely. "Someday, knowing Madame's inclinations, I expect to find the upholstery redone entirely with her lovers' foreskins."
I laughed nervously. "Call me when we get there, huh?" I said, dropping the speaking tube, leaning back in the seat and closing my eyes.
Minutes later the car came to a smooth halt and Millard's voice interrupted my reveries. "Sir, we are home."
Rubbing my eyes, I sat up. Outside, an electrically-controlled wrought-iron gate opened, and we took off again past a large carved sign reading PRIVATE affixed to a marble column flanking the brick-topped driveway. I stared through the window, entranced, as we drove past tall cypresses, firs and palm trees outlining the narrow, twisting road that gradually lead up to the hill-top estate. It was almost like a movie set as we finally stopped abruptly under an ornamental canopy that shaded the entranceway. I was still gawking open-mouthed at the elaborately carved front door of the impressive Spanish-style, two-story mansion, when Millard opened the car door without warning, almost pitching me out onto the driveway on my face.
Frowning, I regained my balance, stepped out and walked toward the door, aware of Millard's sarcastic face smirking behind me. The huge front door creaked open and I was greeted by a slim, flamboyantly-dressed young man. His over-prominent, large brown eyes scrutinized me critically through long, thick, curly eyelashes. His forehead and nose wrinkled in disapproval at what he saw. He obviously hated my clothes, but in spite of it, he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the big bulge in the crotch of my tight khakis.
As I walked through the open door, I could hear Millard already gunning the Rolls down the driveway. Then the door slammed hard behind me.
"I hate to admit it, but you look even better than your pictures-motion pictures, that is," the haughty voice remarked dryly. "Poor thing-you're almost too beautiful! Well, it's your own decision, I presume." He sighed.
I smiled and hesitantly moved farther into the room, then stopped short as I looked around. I couldn't help but be impressed by the size of this vast entrance hall. Not expecting me to stop, my guide walked right into me and grabbed both my knotty shoulders for support with long, bony fingers.
"Oooops, my dear," he apologized. He seemed to let go very reluctantly as he pointed with one hand toward a tiny, round backless stool, surrounded by potted ferns.
Clumsily, I tried to sit down, straddling the uncomfortable seat, which creaked and groaned under my weight. I pushed the tickling long green leaves away from the back of my neck with annoyance.
He shook his head. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr. Blowtower, and I am the confidential secretary to the one and only Miss Violette La Fleur-the most glamorous sex symbol from the greatest era of the stage and screen!" He stood staring, obviously waiting for a reaction.
I shifted my position and looked blankly straight ahead.
"You must be kidding," he murmured, half to himself and half to me.
"What's so funny?" J asked puzzled.
"Oh, my God! Well, for your information, Prentiss, Miss La Fleur happens to be a living part of the legend of the movies," he explained as if he was talking to a child.
He motioned for me to follow him through another doorway, down some polished steps, into an immense living room. I left the creaky stool gratefully and tiptoed behind him over the deep, thick Oriental rugs. I goggled wide-eyed at the stone fireplace (taller than me), two crystal chandeliers, the lavish drapes and furniture. We finally stopped in front of a large oak table crowded with dozens of elaborately-framed photos. They were all of the same person-Violette La Fleur.
"She sure keeps a lot of pictures of herself around," I commented, looking closely at the different ones.
"Yes, Miss La Fleur can trace her career back to , when she made her stage debut in The Open Split and then-"
"In ?" I interrupted, then caught myself short.
Mr. Blowtower looked at me coldly and continued. "Following twenty years of triumphs on Broadway, madame finally began her movie career in as the star of that unforgettable smash hit film It Happened Twice a Night!" he went on dramatically.
"Hey, does she really look that good now?" I questioned, picking up a silver-framed photograph that looked newer than the rest.
Mr. Blowtower winced as he grabbed it from my hand, rubbed vigorously over my fingerprints with the arm of his suit, and gently put it back in place. "Please! That's the latest photo taken of her. That was the year she made There's Always Time for One More-let's see, it must have been ."
"Christ almighty! This is !" I exclaimed.
Mr. Blowtower looked at me silently, one eyebrow raised and his lips pursed in irritation.
Just then, a loud buzzer sounded, and he about-faced quickly, disappearing through another doorway. As I watched him leave, I was summed to see Millard enter through the same door. He had taken off his chauffeur outfit and was now dressed as a butler in white tie and tailcoat.
"You sure get around, pal," I laughed.
He frowned, looked right through me, and announced, "Madame will receive you in the upstairs sitting room. This way, please." He gestured toward an open elevator at the other end Of the room.
"Aw, come on! This is really getting heavy!" I shook my head as I walked past him, first taking another look around the big room before stepping into the little elevator. Millard followed close behind me, pulled the intricate wrought iron sliding door shut, and pushed the number two button. As we rose smoothly upward, he looked out of the corner of his eye at the lumpy bulge between my legs.
The elevator came to a halt, and Millard pulled back the door and waited for me to step out. I couldn't believe my eyes as I walked out onto the thick white wall-to-wall carpeting. I was in another immense room. At one side stood a round glass-topped table, surrounded by overstuffed chairs. A tall vase of pink roses, several dozen more framed portraits of Miss La Fleur, two or three books, and many plaques and awards (all echoes of past glories) almost covered the table top.
Directly across the room, a real wood-burning fireplace towered over us, and above it hung a gigantic oil portrait of Violette La Fleur. By now, I was really getting curious to see the real thing!
Then I saw the bed-a really way-out job-a king-size round bed smack in the far corner of the room and flanked on both sides by full-length mirrors. The ceiling above it was mirrored too! Now I dig that, I thought. The bed was covered with a fancy-looking fur spread, dyed pink, which draped onto the carpet on all sides. I suddenly realized what was going to be on the menu for lunch-me!
Without warning, soft music flooded the room from invisible speakers and a sexy perfume filled my nostrils.
"You must be Prentiss-I presume," a low, seductive voice greeted me from behind.
I turned around, trying to look unimpressed, but the first sight of Violette made me gasp. She stood before me in all her glory-the last of the great sex goddesses!
She had silvery-blonde hair piled high on her head, with long curls at the sides touching her shoulders. Her face was covered with an awful lot of makeup and her shiny, ruby-red lips were parted slightly to reveal a gleaming set of choppers. Extra thick, dark eyelashes and lots of heavy, green eye shadow framed her china blue eyes. I noticed she blinked a lot, too. Her thin penciled eyebrows gave her a surprised look.
She was wearing long-sleeved, pink satin hostess pajamas with the V-neck and sleeves t-rimmed in pink ostrich feathers. Between her diamond earrings and necklace, and all her rings and bracelets, she looked like a walking Tiffany display case.
She stood still and posed just long enough to dazzle me; then she sashayed across the room with mincing little steps and held out her hand to me.
"Are you really the madame?" I blurted nervously, shaking the extended jeweled fingers hard.
She winced. "I'm sure." She withdrew her hand and turned stiffly toward the table surrounded by chairs and stood waiting, her eyes glancing down approvingly at my "talent."
After a few seconds of silence, it dawned on me that I should pull a chair out for her to sit down. "Oh!" I apologized, leaping over to get behind her. Unluckily, Millard had picked this exact moment to approach us from behind with a tray holding two drinks in giant goblets. We collided with full force, sending the tray, goblets, and liquor flying through the air and soaking the three of us.
"You blundering prick!" Miss La Fleur shouted angrily at Millard as she surveyed the dripping-wet splotches on her satin pajamas. "I've heard of clumsy sons of bitches in my time, but you take the cake, you big, stupid cow!"
"It wasn't my fault, Violette, for heaven's sake-really!" Millard whined, as he knelt and picked up pieces of broken glass.
Without further warning, Miss La Fleur walked over, and with one satin-pajama-clad leg, gave the kneeling Millard a good swift kick right in the butt with her ostrich-feathered, highheeled slipper. "Beat it, punk!" she ordered.
Whimpering softly and rubbing; his ass, Millard gave me a look of open hostility and rushed out of the room with the tray and broken goblets.
"Honestly, the help one must put up with these days," she sighed, regaining her poise and placing one hand on her hip. "Why can't the agency send me a man with muscles and brains!"
"Yeah, I think I know what you mean," I commented, running my hand over the soggy spot covering my fat prick. The soaked khakis showed the form of my penis in all its glory-shaft, head, and all.
"It's getting past my lunchtime, handsome, and I'm starved." Violette blinked her thick eyelashes and gestured toward the bed with her thumb. "How about hopping over there and let's see what we have for meat."
I laughed, a little embarrassed, as I walked over and began to pull back the pink, furry cover.
"Honey, don't ever disturb the vicuna!" she warned, sashaying over.
"Oh, excuse me," I said, beginning to unbutton my tight khakis.
"Let me! That's what your mother is here for," she cooed, pushing my T-shirt up to get a better look at my thickly-matted, hairy chest and tight belly muscles. "My mother always told me to use a washboard the best I could," she went on, running her well-manicured, red nails up and down my abdomen.
"Do you like movies, dearie?" she questioned as she took her time unbuttoning my fly, gazing hungrily at the bush of blond hair gradually appearing in the opening.
"I don't mind anything, especially if I'm getting paid for it," I answered, my hands on my hips.
Ignoring my flip answer, she went on patiently pushing the fly wider apart, her fingers running through my soft pubic hair, twisting and yanking sensuously.
I flinched. Oh, swell, don't tell me I've got another Dodie on my hands, I thought, trying not to show my discomfort.
With a satisfied grunt, Violette yanked down hard on my khakis. My half-swollen organ and big balls bounced out freely as the pants fell around my ankles.
"Thank God! My long search for a cock that matches the muscles has ended!" Violette intoned enthusiastically. "I was beginning to think they don't make 'em that way any more," she remarked as she eagerly grabbed hold of my slowly-hardening shaft and pulled it out as far as it would stretch.
I gasped. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Intimate friends call me Violette," she said, motioning for me to get on the bed.
Bending down and pulling off my boots, I stepped completely out of the khakis and leaped onto the center of the bed, lying flat on my back, my enormous member swinging freely. I looked toward Violette, expectantly, as I snuggled back into the soft, luxurious spread.
"Before I chew the fat, I want you to see why you were granted this special much-sought-after invitation," she winked, sashaying over behind a curtain and pressing a button. I watched as the window drapes closed automatically, leaving the room in semi-darkness. She pushed another button, and the mirror above the bed parted and revealed a full-sized movie screen.
"Cool!" I laughed like a kid.
She pushed a third button. The mirrors behind parted and I looked back in time to see a projector poke through and immediately turn on, focusing on the screen above me.
"Neat-o!" I exclaimed, folding my muscular arms behind my head and spreading my legs wide apart. I gazed in disbelief as the main title appeared on the screen: "All Starr Productions Corporation proudly presents A Giant Orgasm, starring Miss Dodie and Mr. Prentiss, written and directed by Mr. Jason King."
I barely felt the bed yield at the other end as I lay hypnotized by the color film now showing Dodie's grinning visage as she entered the tacky bedroom setting. Somehow, her highly teased hairdo covered every view of my face, though I did get occasional glimpses of my tall, muscular body and one of my hands clutching hers.
I muffled a gasp as Violette's warm, moist mouth swallowed my hardening rod all the way down to the base. Then in reverse, her lips pressed tightly in little bites and moved slowly back upward to the round, spongy cockhead. A real pro, I thought to myself as I eagerly awaited a full view of my face in the flickering movie above me. Really annoyed by now, I watched as that damn Dodie moved so deliberately that her bushy head kept my features out of camera range.
I grimaced as I felt Violette run her fingernails down the sides of my hairy thighs. My skin smarted with the pain. Not wanting to take my eyes away from the screen above for one second, I made no complaint. I could just see the outline of my body as Dodie pressed against me, her shapely figure beautifully photographed from the rear. At least I did see my arms around Dodie's rump and my fingers spreading her fleshy cheeks apart and digging hungrily into her pink anus.
I groaned in pleasure as I felt the flat of Violette's tongue snuggle flush against the bottom of my palpitating member, the juices from her sucking mouth sending rapturous thrills up and down my quivering legs. Her hands grasped the wide base and pumped fiercely upward to meet her bobbing head. I squirmed in anguish as her sharp fingernails dug into the sensitive flesh on my slippery tool.
Overhead, Dodie's face continued to hide my features as her cheek rested against mine, her long, sinuous tongue wiggling inside my ear. Even now, I winced as I remembered the sharp pain I had experienced when Dodie viciously jerked my head down between her legs, her hands still filling the screen in Mr. King's zooming close-up. Her shuddering pelvis managed to take all the attention away from my busy tongue fervently eating away at her delicious pussy and then around to savor the tasty flavors from inside her plump buttocks.
Between my trembling legs, Violette, using both hands, roughly kneaded and caressed my testicles as her hot, slurping tongue moved wildly around and over my throbbing cock, sending flashes of pleasure through my writhing groin. As her mouth completely devoured me, her teeth bit down at the thick base, and she waggled her head from side to side passionately. I moaned in delirious bliss.
Forcing myself to keep watching the movie up above, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lower half of my body jumping up to a standing position, the camera closing in again as my filmed hands feverishly unbuttoned my fly, the enormous hard-on springing out with a jolt. Where the hell is my face? I wondered as my screen body leaped up on the bed and Dodie swallowed the pale, pulsing prick all the way down to the bushy hairs on my belly.
Between viewing Dodie's bobbing head up above, and feeling Violette's devouring mouth run over my rigid shaft below, almost intolerable shivers of intense rapture passed from my head clear down to my wiggling toes. With abandon, I automatically tightened my strong legs in a vise-like grip around Violette's moving head. I pushed at the back of her flowing hair with my hands and forced her farther down into my crotch, turning my body violently from side to side. Her choked gagging and heavy breathing showed I had made a real impression.
"Oh, that's so good!" I exclaimed, looking up at the close-up of my massive cock exploding gobs of white come into Dodie's smiling open lips.
In a mad frenzy of lust, trying to hold back the inevitable hot climax, I struggled to roll over onto my stomach, still gripping Violette's head tightly between my legs. "All the way, all the way!" I ordered, screwing downward avidly and viciously. I felt Violette's nails dig deeper into my behind. "Swallow that joint, honey!" I cried, completely ignoring the film still going on above us, as I pressed my driving, stiff prick hard into her gurgling jaws. "Oh, man, yes," I sighed in total bliss.
Oblivious now to everything but the oncoming flood of thick sperm wildly rising through my long, slippery, jabbing pole, I plunged ahead to that last moment of unbearable orgasm. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes tightly as my strong legs stiffened their grasp around Violette's neck. "Come, come, come!" I shouted as spasms of gushing jizz poured freely and abundantly in spectacular spurts, over and over again. The thick come seemed to gush endlessly into Violette's welcoming mouth.
Ak long time later, I lay still, panting breathlessly as my sex machine sporadically dripped yet another glob of love juice.
Suddenly conscious again of the flash and whir of the projector and screen above me, I opened my eyes, turned my head, and looked up, just in time to see two words-"The End"-projected. Then the machine went off automatically.
"Shit!"
Relaxing the pressure of my legs around Violette's squashed head, I struggled to pull my hands out from under her matted, damp hairdo. To my surprise, a large section of her coiffure came off in my grip. Aghast, I rolled over onto my side and looked down with curiosity at the detached piece of hair. Violette moaned and let go reluctantly as my wet stiffness slid noisily out of her mouth, her lips making one last desperate attempt not to miss even a drop of my still oozing sperm.
Blearily looking up at me, her eyes widened in shock as they focused on the straggly mass of curls I held out for her to see. She grabbed them from me abruptly and used them to wipe her drooling mouth. "Well, dearie, you're the first man I ever lost my head over."
When I realized she wasn't angry, but just cynical about the whole thing, I roared. Not only at her snappy ad-lib, but also her "sexy vamp of the thirties" face, now almost unrecognizable with her thickly applied makeup and ruby-red lipstick all smeared together into one sticky mess. And on top of that was her own tousled, shoulder-length hair, which stuck out comically in every direction.
Suddenly, Violette's eyes went down to something caught between my wet, hairy thighs. Following her glance, I saw two black spiky shapes tangled in my crotch hair.
I jumped in mock fright. "Tarantulas!" I yelped jokingly. Violette ignored my humor and nonchalantly but daintily detached her false eyelashes from my wetness.
Christ, what next, you old fossil, I thought, watching in amusement and biting my lips to keep from laughing again.
Then Violette stood up, threw the hairpiece and lashes toward the pile of jewelry she had discarded earlier on the carpet, and sashayed over to the drapes. She looked at me and smiled mischievously. I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as she pressed more buttons.
I stared goggled-eyed as the mirrors on the ceiling closed over the silver screen and those behind me shut out the projector. Soft red lights gently filtered in from above and crisscrossed sexily over my athletic form. I laughed with self-satisfaction as I viewed my muscular torso mirrored three ways. . I rubbed my anxious privates intently.
With mincing steps, Violette approached the massive bed, one hand on her hips, and feasted her lash-less eyes on my stretched-out nudity. "Okay, lover boy, help your mother doff her duds," she said, gesturing with a toss of her frowsy head.
"Yes, ma'am-I mean, madame-er-Violette," I answered, obediently leaping up, my thickly veined cock swinging freely. Standing behind her as she posed gracefully, I fumbled nervously for the zipper on the back of her wrinkled hostess-pajama top.
"Wow, man, am I lucky Mr. King came the night of my school performance!" I was trying to make conversation, and sound excited and privileged.
"That's part of his job-scouting 'talent', Violette commented, pulling the pajama top off and tossing it over on the pile with the lashes and hair. Her eyes glanced over at the mirrored reflections and intensely watched every movement I made.
"Oh, yeah?" I replied uncertainly as I now faced a bewildering black corset-type garment from which her heavy shoulders and bust bulged. "Dodie said Mr. King made the best dirty movies in the nudie field and that he was very enthused about the future of my 'talent,'" I went on as I haltingly tried to unhook the complicated girdle.
"That's why I hired Jason King," Violette went on in an businesslike tone, kicking her ostrich slippers into space. "He's one of the most creative directors in the flesh racket. He gives the nudie patrons their money's worth, and he's gotten great notices in the photo reviews for his erotic camerawork in our skin flicks. You wouldn't believe the healthy profit I've raked in from our catalog of good, solid, entertaining sex films." She sighed deeply as she held onto the unhooked long-waisted bra.
"You've raked in?" I replied, befuddled, as I gazed at her white, fleshy back, the soft, flawless surface streaked with the red markings left by the tight lacings of the bra.
"Prentiss, I am All Starr Productions Corporation!" she proclaimed.
"No kidding?" I exclaimed, feeling for the zipper at the back of her pink pajama pants.
"Honey, that's just one of my many business enterprises," Violette bragged. "It might surprise you to know that there are now over one thousand theatres across the country that take in more than fifty million dollars a year from nudie pictures."
"Fifty million bucks!" I shouted, amazed, as I pulled down on the zipper and was greeted by still more pieces of clothing to take off-a black panty girdle and garters and a pair of hose. "Man, I'm really hipped on how lucky I am to be here with you today, Violette." I tried to sound sincere and impressed.
"You know, I still don't think it's sinking in, kid," Violette remarked, a little irritated, as she stepped out of the pants, observing our actions in the three-way mirrors. "You're it, darling! You're my number one, top-flight, male nudie star for All Starr Productions-as far as I'm concerned!" She stood waiting for an impressed reaction. Instead, she got complete silence as I busily tried to roll the clinging girdle down past her plump ass.
She went on anyway. "You haven't really seen A Giant Orgasm yet, but lover, you exuded enough raw animal sex appeal in that flick to prove you're without a doubt one of the top marketable commodities in our business! In fact, I guarantee I can make you the biggest name in the erotic cinema-a real superstar!"
"Hey, that's heavy, man!" I grinned happily as I tugged the twisted clothing off her well-pedicured feet. I groaned silently as I was confronted by still another tiny, black bikini-like undergarment yet to be removed.
"Wait'll Dodie hears about this!" I smiled, pulling down on this final flimsy piece of lace. "You know, Violette, that broad is really stacked like a brick shithouse, and can she fuck!"
Violette's body stiffened, and she turned her flushed face to one side, mouthing angrily, "It's a pity, but that cheap little bleached trollop is no longer employed by my organization!"
"Oh," I mumbled, not hiding my disappointment, as I looked over into the mirrors reflecting our mutual nudity.
Dramatically, Violette threw the corset she had held in front of her to one side, revealing two very large melon-like breasts. They were almost too round and firm-looking, with big pink nipples. I suspected silicone.
Violette turned slowly around to face me, one flabby arm resting on her fat hip and one thick, lily-white leg bent slightly. "Forget that nothing nudie starlet, sweetheart. We're a team now! I've been waiting a long time for someone like you. Dodie's type are a dime a dozen, believe me. Don't worry. I'll pick the right fleshy actresses to complement your star status."
"Star!" I exclaimed in appreciation. I ran my eyes over her full figure now facing me head-on, from the trembling, blue-veined mounds of her bosom down to the widespread triangular, silky, platinum-blonde patch of her twat.
"After today's audition, I have an exclusive contract waiting to be signed by you that will make you the fastest-rising, highest-paid superstar in any skinflick operation! Does that make my baby happy?" she cooed, taking hold of my dangling pride and joy and guiding the round cockhead between the warm lips of her box, rubbing it in tantalizing circles into the moist flesh.
I sighed deeply and, grasping her heavy tits, I moved the fat, pink buttons sensuously across the thick growth of blond hair on my chest.
Violette gasped and tried to continue in a matter-of-fact tone. "The critics will undoubtedly hail you as one of the freshest, youngest, and most 'talented' performers in years. I predict a real future in legit and even in the living theater, too," she said teasingly, watching intently as my palpitating, glistening cockhead dipped in and out of her juicy haven.
"Stop it, Violette! I'm tripping out!" I laughed crazily, grabbing the ends of her round nipples, stretching them forward roughly, and massaging the hard buttons with my hands.
She moaned with pleasure, "And you're all mine!" she smiled, still probing and circling her hot box with just the sensitive, tender head of my hard-on. I gulped uncontrollably as I stared down at her huge, white bosom squashed against my pressing body. Violette turned her face from the mirrors and stuck her long, red tongue out toward me suggestively. I leaned forward and swallowed the sinuous piece of flesh to the root, sucking hard and avidly. We both groaned deliriously as we caressed and played with each other's privates.
"Let's make it, huh?" I breathed, moving my hands over her cushioned ass, pulling her closer, my hard cock easily tunneling through her wide passageway.
Violette sighed happily. "Relax, stud. We've got all day," she cooed, looking at our grinding bodies in the mirror and running her fingers up and down my strong arms. "Do anything you want, but don't come!"
"Yeah, let's each do our own thing," I whispered, kissing and gently biting around the edge of her pink ear. Violette clamped her legs down on my slippery prick. I twisted my body from left to right so violently that we trembled against one another, victims of our mounting emotions.
All of a sudden, I heard the bedroom door open. Glancing into the mirror, I saw Millard entering the room. To my surprise, he was completely nude, his overmuscular physique oiled and rippling. He tiptoed toward us, carrying a heavy silver tray holding two crystal goblets, a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket, and a plate filled with finger sandwiches. I looked at Violette questioningly, but she was still entranced, watching her reflection as she continued to pump rhythmically.
My eye caught Millard's fat dick swinging freely in front of him as he held the enormous tray out toward me. He seemed hypnotized by the sight of our joined, driving groins. He went through the motions of serving us, the tray trembled uncertainly in his jittering hands.
"Thank you," Violette smiled, as she reached for a filled goblet and sipped daintily, her movements down below not changing their pace. "I just adore Dom Perignon, don't you?"
"Who's he?" I asked, grabbing the other glass and noisily sipping the ice-cold fizzy stuff.
"'He' is the name of the champagne," Millard smirked, his eyes rolling upward in derision.
"No shit!" I frowned and deliberately plunked the glass back on the tray so hard that a good part of the chilled drink spilled over the edge and down Millard's naked chest. He gasped with surprise, jumped back, and glared at me.
Pretending not to notice, I nonchalantly reached over, picked up several of the little sandwiches, and crammed them into my mouth all at once. "Hmmm, good!" I smacked my lips and licked my fingers off. "Kinda salty, though."
"Yes, Beluga caviar is salty!" Millard chimed in.
"Aren't they simply delectable?" Violette cooed. "My chef serves them every day, and always with champagne."
"And how's our meat doing?" I teased, plunging in and out steadily.
"Medium rare," she laughed. Taking one more sip from her glass, she put it back on the tray and draped her heavy arms languidly over my knotty shoulders. Then she turned coquettishly toward the edge of the bed, so that he could really get a good look at my massive endowment pushing in and out of the silken pussy. Deliberately, I pulled my long, hard, glistening pole from Violette's squeezing pinkness, so he couldn't miss the open pulsing end of my cockhead drooling with shiny fluid. His eyes widened in disbelief at the palpitating monstrosity, and losing his cool completely, he dropped the tray onto the carpet with a loud crash.
"Ohhh, my foot!" Violette screamed in agony as she yanked her toes from under the edge of the tray. "You dumb bastard! What the hell are you trying to do-kill me?"
"I'm sorry, Violette-honest!" Millard pleaded, bending down and hurriedly gathering up the mess. I could feel his vengeful eyes burning into my naked calves just in front of him as he knelt there, wiping and swabbing the rug.
"You feebleminded musclehead! Do me a favor, huh? Get the shit out of here!" Violette shouted, hobbling to the edge of the bed, plopping down, and rubbing her sore toes.
Millard finally gathered everything in his beefy arms and flew out of the room on the double, his peter and testicles bobbing in front of him.
"Can you see now what I've been trying to explain to you?" Violette whined unhappily. "Beautiful musclemen I can buy by the bushel, but the combination of brains and being hung-one in a million!"
"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" I smiled. Kneeling down, I picked uo the injured foot and gently spread loving kisses all over it.
"Ohhh, lover, I knew you were the dude for me," Violette purred sexily. She lay back on the luxurious vicuna, folded her hands behind her head, and looked up into the ceiling mirror intently.
First, I playfully caressed and kissed the soreness, talking to her as if she were a little injured child. "Poor baby, her teeny footsie got all hurtsy." Then I licked sensually upward over the heavy, smooth leg, nipping lightly with my teeth on the inner surface of her tender white thighs. Violette grabbed my hands and pressed them onto the mounds of her full breasts. Inhaling deeply, I pushed my nose into the curly, soft, blonde triangle that enclosed the musky-scented vagina. Her groin twitched uncontrollably as my darting tongue swirled up and down teasingly on the protruding, wet lips.
"Ohhh, you're too good, kid," Violette murmured, spreading her legs wider.
Greedily, lapping up the mixture of delicious flavors (my cock dribblings and her own juices), I rolled my eyes upward to watch my busy fingers pulling and yanking on her voluptuous orbs. At the same time, Violette's hands rubbed up and down my hairy arms passionately.
Feverishly, I swallowed the hanging, hot clitoris and sucked hard and wildly. Violette's hands pushed against the back of my pumping head, and obediently, I jabbed my stiff tongue deeper into her huge, pulsing hole. Violette's gyrating pelvis countered my lusty thrusts automatically. Growling deep in my throat, I plunged into the squirming hotness with gusto.
"Do you like to be -rimmed?" T questioned, lifting Violette's trembling legs high into the air so that I faced her round, pink asshole.
"Ohhh, do I ever!" She exclaimed, as I pushed my twirling tongue into the tight entrance. Taking a deep breath, I covered the throbbing canal opening with lavish kisses and sucked far into the interior.
"Sweetheart, you sure know what you're doing," Violette sighed, her hands reaching down and spreading her wobbling cheeks wider apart.
"Thanks," I panted, coming up for air. "I know a good ass when I see one." Filling my lungs with air, I rammed my tongue back into her rosy rectum and penetrated even beyond my previous high-water mark.
Finally, I dropped her quaking legs over my square shoulders, and once again plunging my muscular member in between the heavy lips of her box, I screwed Violette savagely and mercilessly for a long while until my stomach muscles ached. My fiery cannon was ready to blast off. The massive bed shook violently as we bounced up and down on the edge of the mattress. My hairy balls bounced numbly against Violette's battered pelvis, over and over.
Grabbing her wide rear end firmly, I let out a loud grunt as I pulled it forcibly upward, holding her body steady in midair and stabbing into the slushy channel with all my strength. The whole king-size bed seemed to rock as I noisily twisted, churned, and tunneled deeper into that delicious, fleshy pocket. My vibrating tool almost felt numb as the spitting, oncoming seed began its upward surge from my scrotum.
Violette gasped in fear as I bent low, then leaped high into the air, and landed on the bed, pulling her body abruptly straight upward so that her knees were locked under my arms around my slim hips. Steadying my hold for a second, I looked at her bosom hanging back into her flushed red face. I drove my colossal slippery organ downward with hammering blows. Violette's contorted face swayed back and forth in a frenzy as my blasting fluid bulleted into her with rocket speed.
"Get it, get it, get it!" I cried in ecstasy as ample globs of thick sperm crammed her gorged passageway. "Yeah, baby, go!" I choked uncontrollably as I burrowed brutally in a delirium of barbarous madness. Completely without restraint, my body rocked back and forth in spasms of lustful pleasure. I gritted my teeth and shook my head violently as the erotic sensations from my spitting lance saturated Violette's flowing twat with mutual sexual gratification.
She purred with happiness as I shakily released her quivering, wet legs. We both laughed weakly. I rolled my eyes upward and, in mock exhaustion, sighed deeply and fell onto the damp spread alongside Violette's limp form. We both lay there unmoving, still breathing loudly and heavily.
At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and in walked Millard with Mr. Blowtower. They were both nude, one carrying a bed table and the other a silver tray loaded with food and drink.
Feeding time at the zoo, I thought, peeking over at Mr. Blowtower's slender figure, boyish and hairless except for the generous bush at his groin. His long, pencil-like dick swayed back and forth with every step he took toward us. His thickly-lashed eyes blinked nervously as he gazed with admiration at my plump pride and joy still drenched with Violette's juices, resting lengthily across one wet thigh. The bulky bed table seemed almost too heavy for his thin, underdeveloped arms. Millard was close behind him, his burly arms straining under the weight of the silver tray stacked with covered serving plates and beer steins. His eyes bulged with disbelief as he took in the sight of Violette's disheveled hair and smudged makeup.
"Why, Mister Blowtower-how groovy!" I laughed as he set the table down beside Violette on the bed. He grimaced when he spotted the stream of gleaming come still trickling down from Violette's cunt.
With his eyes riveted on my wet and steamy crotch, Millard didn't notice that the edge of the silver tray was headed straight for Mr. Blowtower's protruding ass, and, with a loud fleshy thump, he smacked hard into the soft roundness.
Mr. Blowtower let out a surprised shriek, and Millard gasped and nearly dumped the loaded tray onto Violette's sprawled-out carcass. Just in time, the two nude clowns managed to balance the lunch and the tray and, at last, lowered it safely to the top of the table. We all sighed in relief.
"Shades of Laurel and Hardy, can't you two morons do anything right?" Violette moaned in exasperation. Regaining her composure, she turned toward me and asked sweetly, "Do you like Carta Blanca?"
"No kidding-Mexican beer?" I cried out enthusiastically I was on familiar ground at last. "Ole!" I snapped my fingers above me like castanets.
Mr. Blowtower , gave Millard a knowing look as he handed Violette a frosty stein brimming over with the dark brown liquid.
"You're a dear, Homer," Violette said.
"Homer?" I doubled up in laughter. "Homer Blowtower? Oh, wow!"
Homer pretended to ignore my needling, and with great ceremony, he uncovered a plate piled high with bulky, stuffed, white tortillas.
"Anyone for burritos?" Violette cooed, grabbing a folded tortilla off the plate and hungrily biting off a large mouthful.
"Man, I'm starved,' I said, anxiously waiting while Homer took his sweet time walking around the gigantic bed to my side, his eyes meanwhile feasting on the view between my legs. I casually opened them wider for him.
"Our chef flatters himself that he can al ways serve a dish perfectly suitable to a guest's taste and character," Homer remarked smugly as he shoved a beer and a plate of burritos in my face.
"Tell your hash slinger, muchas gracias," I sputtered, wolfing huge hunks of the spicyhot taco, then washing them down with gulps of the icy brew.
Homer backed away, his fastidiousness offended by the enthusiasm of my feeding habits. "Pig!" he muttered under his breath.
I countered his antagonism with a loud belch! "Sorry about that," I apologized, "but you know in Arabia, that's considered good manners."
"In Arabia, they fuck sheep, too-slob!" Homer remarked under his breath.
"Okay, you guys, knock off the bullshit and let's get down to business," Violette ordered impatiently. She laid her tousled head back into the welter of pillows, and while she continued munching burritos with cheeks bulging like a chimpmunk, those lashless, blank eyes kept shifting from one mirror to the other expectantly.
I slowed down chewing my food, fascinated by the sight of Millard and Homer both climbing onto the bed. Millard's muscular nudeness flexed sexily as he lay down on his stomach between Violette's legs, his head centered directly over her widespread groin.
I propped myself on my elbows, the better to watch his face as he burrowed deeply into the pink dampness.
Imitating Violette's nonchalance about the whole scene, I finished off the beer, dropped the stein over the edge of the bed, jammed the last of the burrito into my open mouth, and laid my head back, taking in the mirrored sex orgy intently.
I turned to Violette with abandon and covered one warm bulging breast with my hot mouth, my tongue titillating the rose-colored rigid nipple. I screwed and dug my fingers into the flesh lustfully. I couldn't seem to get enough mouthfuls of her soft, full, womanly voluptuousness.
Busy feasting on Violette's delicious tits, I barely noticed that Millard had moved from Violette's crotch and was kneeling on the bed beside her, his groin smack in her face. She bent over and, crooning with delight, swallowed his pulsing erection with one gulp. Leaning forward on his arms for support, Millard awkwardly shoved in and out of Violette's smeary drooling lips. Loud sounds of sucking filled the room.
Pulling away from Millard, she grabbed my face and. with a crushing kiss, thrust her tongue deep into my mouth. It didn't taste like Violette. It tasted like Millard's cock, fleshy and salty, and I didn't dig it! I gagged and pushed her roughly away, gasping for air. and wiped my drooling mouth with my bulky arm.
Straddling my hairy form, Violette slid her furry pussy down my tight belly until it effortlessly slipped into my generous "talent." As she whimpered in total bliss, she enveloped my spread-eagled body, her tremendous, soft breasts covering my heavily-thatched chest like giant marshmallows. I wrapped my muscular legs around her smooth ones and pumped into her groin, matching blow for blow in erotic gratification.
"Finish me off, babe," I begged, as my cramming monstrosity neared its final moments of pleasure. Violette tightened her legs so that her mushy channel closed more snugly on my swelling hotness. "Let me have it-now!" I panted, as I tried to hold off the inevitable for a few more passionate minutes.
Suddenly, Violette seemed a lot heavier. We both grunted simultaneously, and I opened my eyes to stare with surprise into Millard's sweating face. He had hopped onto Violette's back and with teeth clenched determinedly, was pumping wildly up and down into her fat behind.
"Get the fuck off!" I groaned unhappily, as the double weight almost crushed my palpitating prick.
Ignoring me, Millard whispered to Violette. "Spread those cheeks, Violette-wider, wider!"
"You son of a bitch, didn't you hear what I just said?" I shouted, unable to gather up enough strength to push them both off my squashed torso. "Oh. Christ, no, I'm going to shoot!" I wailed, laughing and crying all at once. I closed my eyes in complete surrender and let my mammoth pillar bullet endless spurts of hot, searing liquid into Violette's fleshy canal. On and on, it seemed to spew, sending spasms of pleasure through my body from head to toe.
"Keep together, boys, together!" Violette puffed, her sweating bosom still pushing against me as a terrific orgasm overwhelmed her. "Heaven, darling, pure heaven!" Violette breathed.
"I'm-coming home, baby-hot and heavy!" Millard cried feverishly, sobbing and whimpering as his flexing body, still sandwiched between Violette and me, trembled uncontrollably. "Jesus Christ-too much!" he wailed, his fists beating hard on the damp spread.
As if in unspoken agreement, Violette, Millard, and Homer tumbled to one side, falling in a tangled hodgepodge, panting and gasping.
I sighed in relief myself, completely wiped out, as if in a drunken stupor. Almost immediately, I slipped into a delicious sleep. Sometime later-I don't know long long-I felt two hands roughly shaking my shoulders. Waking from a deep slumber, I slowly opened my eyes to face Millard. He was once again dressed impeccably in his black chauffeur's uniform.
"Okay, 'giant orgasm,' it's time to split," he grinned, his eyes sweeping over my outstretched body, still damp with perspiration and all the evidence of our orgy.
"Huh?" I blinked, sleepily rubbing my eyes. I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around the bedroom. Everybody was gone and the entire place was in its former tidy order. My clothes were piled beside me, along with a thickly-brocaded towel. "I guess I must have dozed off," I said sheepishly, grabbing the towel and standing up with difficulty.
"Tell me!" Millard laughed, not taking his eyes off me as I vigorously rubbed away the streaks of wetness from my messy crotch.
I was a little surprised at his relaxed, friendly attitude, so different from before.
"Where's Violette?" I asked, handing him the soggy towel.
"After her workout, madame had to hurry off to her beauty farm for a quick rejuvenation treatment. In a day or two, she'll be good as new," he smiled, stepping into the dressing room, the sticky towel held out in front of him as if it were going to bite him.
"I'm the one who should be rejuvenated, for Christ's sake!" I called out, stooping over and picking up my T-shirt. "Didn't she say anything about my ... uh ... 'talent?' "
"Don't worry, stud-you're in!" Millard answered enviously, as he returned. "The old fool completely tripped out over you! In fact, she left this-quote, with love, unquote." He reached inside his jacket, produced a large white envelope and handed it to me.
"You're kidding!" I exclaimed, pulling up my tight khakis and carefully arranging my thick cock and hairy balls down inside my right trouser leg.
"You don't know how lucky you are!" Millard shook his head, hypnotized by my whopper of a sex tool that made such an enormous lump in my pants.
Anxiously, I grabbed the envelope out of his hand, ripped the top open, and pulled out several stapled typewritten sheets, both happy and perplexed by all the legal wording.
"Now, by the look of it, that's what I'd call an exclusive superstar contract-benefits and all!" Millard remarked, a little reminiscent. "Take it home, read it carefully. But, before you sign on the dotted line, listen to some healthy advice from a loser-me!"
"Loser?" I echoed him, puzzled, as I bent over and pulled on my boots.
Millard looked around the bedroom suspiciously, and in a conspiratorial tone, whispered, "I could really get roughed up for this! I once had the same opportunity you're now being offered, but I was so crazy for instant stardom that I neglected to really study all the conditions of the contract. So in a way, I really turned the key that locked my own steel trap by signing my life over to the madame."
"'Steel trap?'" I quizzed. "What the hell do you mean by that?" I looked again at the complicated papers.
Millard glanced at his watch. "I'll be off schedule if I don't get you home. Prentiss, for your own sake, don't ever cross Violette. I know-I tried once, and she broke me down to this," he sighed, pointing to his uniform dramatically. "Did you know Dodie used to work for Violette here, too?"
"Dodie?" I cried, stepping past him toward the elevator, clutching the contract tightly in one hand.
Millard pushed the intricate wrought iron sliding door shut and pressed the number one button.
"See what I mean?" He shrugged. "Remember, pal-your own steel trap!"