Chapter 1

"Hey, here's a hefty promise!" Carlyle Henderson, well-known director and occasional actor smiled as he tossed a half-read letter onto the low redwood table in front of him. His deeply tanned, ruggedly handsome face expressed extreme amusement as he stared down at the expanse of the Pacific Ocean that fanned out five hundred feet below the terrace of his isolated home on a cliff above Santa Barbara, California.

"She says she'd do anything in the world to be able to do a photographic article on me at home," he went on morosely, jamming his hands down into the faded old blue jeans he was wearing. "Anything in the world, including fuck, of course."

"Now, now, Carl," his exotic-looking, blonde-haired wife, a world renowned film actress, smilingly soothed him. "You can't be sure of that just from glancing at the poor girl's letter."

"The hell I can't," Valerie's husband grunted. His thick bushy brows, which were light blond in sharp contrast to his shaggy thatch of iron-gray hair, furrowed in an irascible scowl. "How many millions of these silly goddamn letters do you think I've gotten from young reporters and photographers in the last fifteen years and how many thousands of these dreamy-eyed, bird-brained cunts with their little ink-stained fingers do you think I've actually fucked in my life?"

"Hundreds? Thousands?" his wife queried maliciously. "Remember, darling, you're only thirty-nine."

"Thirty-eight," the actor-cum-director corrected her, leaning forward to take a tall iced drink from the table and downing what was left of it in one long swig.

"Thirty-eight is the figure we release to the admiring public," the third person on the terrace concurred in a drawling, slightly affected voice. "Close to fifty is the actual figure."

Guido DiStefano, the man speaking, was an immensely hairy man. Curly black hairs burst out between the buttons of his pearl white shirt, swarmed over his burly forearms and covered the tendons on the backs of his blunt muscular hands. His cheekbones were high and broad, his liquid black eyes slightly slanted, suggesting a mixture of many races, and in general his facial expression was stolid and impassive. In short, he looked more like a New York dock worker than what he actually was-the bodyguard and all-round general companion to one of the world's most renowned and popular film directors.

"Horseshit about being fifty!" Carlyle Henderson snorted. "A man is as young as he feels." He reached out for the letter again, his deep virile voice rising to a high imitative falsetto as he read from it.

"Oh, Mr. Henderson! I think your films are the most divinely directed things I've ever seen. They've really changed my whole concept of even still photography and have helped me get where I am today. You've been a real inspiration to me, and thousands of other young photographers, and that is why I would love to do a photographic article for my magazine on the way you live and work. I'm certain all your other admirers would love it as much as I do your work."

"Love!" he sneered, shifting back to his normal voice. "If I pinched one of her little titties, she'd probably squeal so loud at first you could hear her in Tokyo. Fix me another drink, will you, baby?" he added, holding his empty glass out to his wife. "That letter tickles the shit out of me. It makes me wish that innocent little bitch would come out, and I could fuck the shit out of her."

"You're drinking too much," Valerie admonished him in her low contralto voice as she stood to take his glass. She was a tall, deceptively slender-looking woman of thirty-one, who moved with the feline grace of a panther. Covered only by the scantiest of bikinis, her shapely curved ass cheeks were strikingly emphasized by the smallness of her waist and her long slim legs which tapered smoothly into dainty ankles. Although Henderson had been married to her for over three years, both he and DiStefano double-fucked her often. His and his bodyguard's eyes automatically shifted to follow the alluring sway of her hips as she walked to the nearby bar on wheels. Every step she took suggested the vibrant sexual power sleeping in the cunt up between her full, sinuous thighs. When she turned in profile, their eyes focused on her hugely thrusting tits which swelled out above and below the ridiculous little wisp of bikini bra she was wearing, rather than on the pure classical beauty of her delicately sculpted face.

"And," the silken-haired blonde went on, "the reason you're drinking too much is that you're not working. I think you need inspiration to get back in the middle of things. What's this girl's name?" she asked as she sloshed a healthy shot of scotch into Henderson's glass, adding ice and a brief squirt of soda.

"Jennifer Post," her husband answered gloomily. A stubborn look came over his craggy face and he began to absent-mindedly tap the pockets of his faded blue jeans for a pack of cigarettes. Then he remembered that he'd stopped smoking again.

"She sounds sweet and innocently sexy," Valerie pursued with inscrutable feminine logic. "I bet she fingerfucks her little pussy every night with one of your sexy movies on T.V. I bet her T.V. tube is all stained with her cunt juices."

"Oh, shaddap!" Henderson's deep-set flint-gray eyes glinted with amusement as he took his fresh drink from the smiling blonde-haired woman who had been sharing his bed for three years. One of the things he liked most about Valerie was that there wasn't a jealous bone in her body. She didn't mind him occasionally fucking a different pussy. On the contrary, she joined wholeheartedly in the fun and games.

"Well, I can tell you a few things," Guido DiStefano interposed sarcastically.

"Basically," Guido continued unhurriedly in his educated drawl, "she is open, warmhearted and sensual, but she has had an unhappy affair which has soured her on the physical aspects of love. She is not a virgin, but she wishes she were."

"You see! You see!" Valerie chimed in triumphantly. "I told you she was sexy."

"Oh, for Chrissake, Guido," Henderson growled. "I know you're not a goddamn genius, so would you mind telling me how you came up with that last little detail just by looking at her handwriting."

"Very simple, my dear maestro, handwriting's my hobby," the swarthy man replied blandly, passing the letter to his employer. "Look at all the letters that have rounded parts to them ... the b's, g's, d's and so forth. What do you see?"

"They're all round," Henderson observed. "Except the o's."

"Exactly," the huge bodyguard agreed. "One would expect the o's to be the roundest of all, but as they are symbolic of her violated cunt, they are all squashed together. She wishes she had never been fucked."

"But she is basically sensual," Valerie put in gleefully. "Which is why she fingerfucks her little pussy every night with one of your films on television."

"I wish you'd stop using that word fingerfuck," Henderson told her testily. "It happens to be one of my least favorite words in the whole English language."

"Very interesting," Guido remarked with a sly wink at Valerie. "Two Well-rounded fs...."

"And don't start analyzing me, you bastard," Henderson scowled at the younger man. "I can still out-fuck you any day."

"Come ... come, boys. You're both great in the sack. But you've both been good boys for too long."

Valerie smiled impishly at the huge bodyguard. "To get the great man functioning properly again, we've got to get him laid by one of these magazine pussycats. Right?"

"Right." Guido smiled. "And me, too!"

"Fuck you both," Henderson growled. He gazed pensively in the direction of the Pacific. The great redwood trees alongside his home were already casting long shadows toward the terrace. It was getting late, and now the distant ocean was glittering like a sheet of blue metal in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Sometimes he regretted moving so far north of Hollywood that he could no longer go out in the evening and pick up his own cunts along Sunset Boulevard, but there were just too goddamn many people down there in tinsel town....

Most of the time he was perfectly content. Valerie was more than enough woman for any man, and when life grew a little monotonous, there were neighbors living in private hidden valleys, two, three, five miles away, and they exchanged informal parties where more or less anything went. Wives and mistresses were freely swapped when there was a mutual urge, so a change of cunt now and then was no problem. It was just that month in and month out, the cunts fucked and tasted were more or less the same.

Maybe Valerie had a point. A bright new pussy around the house for a while might be just what he needed to get him in the mood to direct again. It was true that he had been in the doldrums for over a year. He had all kinds of offers from the studio but just couldn't work up the initiative he'd always had before, and now, without it, he would just make a bad picture. Yes ... what he needed was a shot of youth and he wondered what Jennifer Post would look like.

"Yeeeaaahh," he drawled finally. "Well, just how do you propose getting me laid by one of these magazine pussycats?"

"You're the film director," Guido pointed out. "Now that I've pin-pointed the problem for you, dear sir, you ought to be able to figure something out."

"Well, he hasn't so far," Valerie remarked tartly. "This Jennefer says she'll do anything just to shoot some photographs, so why don't we just get her up here, and play it by ear?"

"Actually, she doesn't use the expression 'do anything,' " Guido said, tapping the letter. "That was just a bit of poetic license on Carly's part. What she really says is that she needs the work, and he would be an excellent subject because she admires his film work very much."

"Oh shit!" Valerie exclaimed indignantly. "That doesn't sound like love. She just wants to make a name for herself."

"Wait a second," Henderson said slowly, a look of intense concentration coming over his granite-like features. "Love doesn't have to enter into it. Obviously she likes my films in some corny way and thinks I'm an important member of the human race. So if she thought I was in danger, or being cheated on, her natural reaction would be to try to help me, right? Unless she's completely full of shit, which she probably is," he added with a grimace of distaste.

"I see," Valerie sniggered sarcastically.

"When Jennifer arrives, you could be out on the terrace with a gun, ready to shoot yourself and Guido, and I will be down here wringing my hands, but we can't reason with you in your suicidal despair. So Jennifer will call up to you and say, 'Oh, Carlyle, Carlyle, please don't shoot!' And you will beat your chest and shout, 'Yes, yes. Everybody hates me. I'm going to shoot.' And she will cry, 'Carlyle, Carlyle, everybody doesn't hate you. I love you!' You're teetering on the very edge of pulling the trigger now, and you peer down at her with tears in your eyes and say in a broken voice, 'Will you let me fuck you?' 'Oh Carlyle, yesss!' she wails. So you retire to the bedroom for a pleasant half-hour in her pussy. How's that for a scenario?"

"Not bad." Carlyle grinned at her. "But it has one basic defect. It's selfish. It leaves out Guido. I'm the only one who gets to fuck her."

"That's right," Valerie admitted ruefully. "It leaves me out, too, for that matter. I might want a taste of her pussy if she's as beautiful and sexy as my intuition tells me she is."

"Sure," Carlyle leered at her. It was no secret to him that Valerie liked a taste of pussy herself every once in a while, and he certainly didn't hold that against her. In fact, he highly approved. Being with another woman seemed to switch on some extra sexual circuit in her brain, and for about a week after she had sucked cunt she would be so hot to fuck and so inventive with him he had all he could do to handle her. The memory of some of the things she had done to him made his thick cock lurch yearningly against the faded fabric of his blue jeans, but he forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"So if this Jennifer isn't a real dog," he summed up, "we would all like to-ah-plow her hot little cunt, right?"

"Right!" His wife and bodyguard chorused enthusiastically.

"Well," Henderson said slowly, "the solution is simple. When Jennifer Post arrives, Carlyle Henderson will be mysteriously absent. In fact, unless she's a very good girl, Carlyle Henderson won't show up at all during her visit."

"If you're not here, you're gonna have a hard time fucking her." Valerie giggled.

"Oh, I'll be here!" Henderson exclaimed, "but I'll be somebody else. I'll be Carlyle Henderson's agent ... and his brother, which will explain the physical resemblance. She probably carries a picture of me around in a locket between her hot little tits."

"Yeah ... So?" Valery prompted. "Explain the rest to me, you egotistical bastard."

"Aaaah, would that be the old evil scheming brother trick?" Guido asked, sudden comprehension lighting up his swarthy countenance. "The evil scheming brother who is stealing Carlyle's money? Fucking his wife on the side, and who will stop at nothing? Not even murder?"

"Right on!" Henderson shouted boisterously. "I knew there was some reason I hired you as a bodyguard, you sneaky son of a bitch. Nobody could put anything over on you."

"And, uh...." All sign of intelligence abruptly left Guido's face. He scruffed his thick black hair down over his forehead and slumped his burly shoulders. "And, besides his evil brother, there'll just be the half-wit bodyguard and handyman who can't hardly speak English ... a Mafia type...."

"Well, maybe, not too stupid, just boring," Henderson corrected. "You'll have to meet Jennifer at the airport, and drive her here. But you don't know where Henderson is."

"Naw, I ain't see the boss in, uh, lemme uh...." Guido stammered dully.

Valerie leaped suddenly to her feet with a wicked gleam in her dark blue eyes.

"Oh, how do you do, Miss Post," she trilled in an artificially stilted voice, extending a slender drooping hand to an imaginary visitor. "I'm Valerie Henderson, Mr. Henderson's wife ... I hope you had a pleasant journey ... No, I'm sorry, Mr. Henderson isn't home right now. That is, Mr. Carlyle Henderson isn't home, but his brother, who acts as his general agent is-Mr. ... uh ... Larry Henderson."

"Fine, fine," Henderson encouraged her. Larry Henderson it is."

"No, we don't know exactly when Mr. Henderson will be back. He has this way of just disappearing, for days at a time...." Valerie let her voice trail off ambiguously, then asked, "How am I as the ding-dong wife?"

"Perfect, baby!" Henderson enthused. "As soon as she hears that she's gonna know something's fishy. Because if anyone does not look like a ding-dong, it's you."

"So Jennifer is gonna get suspicious and worried," Valerie continued, her dark eyes sparkling mischievously as the full implications of the plot unfolded in her mind. Maybe she'll accidentally overhear something that will make her think that her beloved Carlyle is really in danger."

"That's right! That's right!" Carlyle applauded. "And she'll do anything to help him."

"Yeah ... Maybe she'll even fuck the dumb guy that drives the car, and plays bodyguard." Guido sniggered. "Where shall we say that poor Henderson has disappeared to, anyway?"

"Oh, we'll work it out, we'll work it out," Henderson assured them expansively. "We've got plenty of time. She's flying in next week? Write her a letter and ask her to come out Saturday after next. I'll give Martino and Maria the weekend off, so there'll just be the three of us here."

"I hope it works," Valerie said with mock wistfulness. "Sometimes I get awfully lonesome being the only woman around here. I can't really confide in Maria. She's too old."

"And fat," Henderson added knowingly. Out of the blue, another detail of the plot flashed into his mind. Christ, if things worked out right he could be lying in the bed next to his own wife when she went to work on the young photographer's cunt. The idea suddenly made him feel horny as hell. He yawned and stretched elaborately.

"All this brain work has me worn out," he said casually with a lewd little glance at his wife's bikini-encased ass cheeks. "I think I'll take a little nap before dinner."

Both Guido and Valerie broke out laughing simultaneously. "Brother," Valerie groaned. "If you can't act any better than that, our little scenario is gonna fall flat as a pancake." She got up and ruffled his wiry iron-gray hair affectionately. "Come on, my brainy boy, let's go take a little nappy together, huh?"