Chapter 3
Marsha Billings sat in her bedroom that night and wondered where her son, Jeff, was.
She did not wonder about Kristy. She was used to that girl staying out late and she did not even want to think about what Kristy was doing on nights like this one. She did not want to face the truth that she knew in her heart. Her teen-aged daughter was a little whore.
But Jeff was different. He usually went to the library and then came straight home; He was a good boy, lonely but good and dependable. She wished that Jeff would make some friends, would maybe get a girlfriend, but she knew that it was unlikely that her son would ever do that. She was sorry that Jeff stammered and she was sorry that that stammer ruined his life. She had taken him to some very good doctors and they all said the same thing, that Jeff stammered because of a psychological problem, that there was nothing physically wrong with him. She had even put him into therapy when he was just a boy, but it had done no good. In fact, she thought, it had made the stammering worse, as if Jeff felt even more nervous when he thought that he was going to a doctor and talking to him about things that no boy wants to talk about.
As she often did, Marsha wished that there was a way that she could help her boy. But she could think of nothing. She had surrendered to the fates, to the world and then she had retreated. She could think of nothing that she could do to help anyone, not even herself.
It had not always been that way with her. There was a time, when she was a new star in Hollywood, that she thought that she could conquer the world and make everything fit her fine little fantasy about what life should be.
But she had grown older and things had happened to prove to her that life could never be as good as it was in the movies.
And, Marsha finally thought, she had retreated to her own little world, to her own little room in her house in Massachusetts. She was sitting in that room now, the room that was always locked when the children were at home. She had told Jeff and Kristy that it was just a storage room and they had not questioned her. They never questioned her. They allowed her to have her little secrets.
And this room was the greatest secret of her life.
She had had the room especially made for the house before she moved in and she had paid the builder a lot of money to keep this room quiet. She knew that the builder thought that she was strange to want such a thing, but money will buy off anyone, even someone who thinks that you are very weird.
At that moment, she sat in her little room and smelled the leather that surrounded her. That was what she really loved in the world. Leather. She walls were covered with expensive, black leather and the floor was covered in leather too. And she was wearing leather, black leather panties and a black leather bra. She liked the feel of the leather on her body. It made her feel all warm and slick and loving. She especially like the way that her clit seemed to bounce against the leather with a warm, lustful excitement as she moved across the leather floor.
Marsha had discovered her feeling for leather when she had made her first movie.
In that film about the Vikings, the director had outfitted her in black leather because he wanted her to look sexy and hard and domineering. She was supposed to lead the Viking women into battle when all of the men were gone from the camp and she needed to look domineering in order to do that, the director said.
She had thought that it was silly. She had thought that the whole film was silly. She had been discovered by a movie producer a few weeks before and put into that movie after her screen test. She did not think that she had any right to criticize anything about that movie because she was new, so she went to the wardrobe department of the studio and stood there while the lady who worked with her outfitted her in a black leather bra and black leather shorts.
And, when she had felt that cool leather against her body, when she had smelled that fresh aroma, she knew that she was going to be love with leather for the rest of her life. Suddenly, the film took on new meaning to her and she sensed that the leather-which, of course, the Vikings never wore-made her stronger, made her a leader among women. She was strong because she had been given passion by the black material that seemed to be so soft and so hard at the same time, so warm and yet so cold and so loving and yet so harsh.
She had been embarrassed by the way that her body reacted to the leather that morning that she was fitted with the garments but the wardrobe mistress had just smiled.
"Like it, honey?" the woman had asked.
"Uh, yes," Marsha stammered. "It feels strange, but-"
"But sexy, right?"
"Yes."
"Yea. Lot of girls like leather. Lot of guys too."
"Really?"
"One of our leading male stars wears nothing but leather underpants all the time."
"Really?"
"Yea. He says that it makes him feel like a real stud."
"I can imagine."
"Yea. Something about leather that does it. Don't know what exactly. The smell and the feel and stuff like that all sort of runs together and makes a person feel sexy."
Marsha had been glad to hear what the wardrobe women told her. She did not like to think that she was sick or perverted because sire had suddenly fallen in love with leather.
The blonde star made that movie and loved every minute of it. When it was released a few months later, the audiences clamored for more of Marsha Billings. They wanted to know everything about her and they wanted to see her on the screen in more sexy movies. She had died in the Viking movie. Audiences said that they had cried when she had offered herself to the enemy as a sacrifice for her people. The enemy warriors had taken her and had killed her before the Viking men, who had returned from the sea, could get to her and save her. But then tire Viking men had destroyed the enemy and spoke of her as if she were now a goddess.
And Marsha remembered her last words in the film, the words that she uttered to the enemy warriors just before they plunged a knife into her bare stomach and sent fake movie blood flowing over her leather outfit.
"I die for my people," she said. "I love my people."
In her later movies, she often died at the end. Marsha was told by the producers that audiences liked to see her die. They said that her death in films seemed like the ultimate tragedy because she was so sexy and so beautiful and so vulnerable and yet so strong at the same time. She was every tiling that a man could ask for in a woman, one producer had told her and that made her too perfect to live.
Marsha had played all the roles as well as she could and she had been praised for her acting, especially in death scenes. She had a fine career and then everything had fallen apart. That was when she retreated to the leather. She was wealthy enough to be sure that she would have money for the rest of her life, even if she did not make another movie. So she decided not to worry about it. She would just let the leather protect her.
And the leather did protect her. It gave her a sexy feeling when nothing else did. She loved her leather and she especially loved moments such as this one, when she was surrounded by leather, by the smell and the feel and the caress of leather.
The sexy, blonde woman lay on the leather floor and rolled onto her stomach. She began to move her pussy against the floor and feel the leather of her panties and the leather of the floor work together to add a sexy pressure to her throbbing clit. She closed her eyes and moaned and sighed.
"I die for my people," she murmured, "I love my people."
At first, she was moving her pussy slowly around the floor, but then she began to move more quickly, as if she were fucking the leather that surrounded her. It was so much better than fucking a man. A man did not surround Marsha as leather did.
And the aroma filled her nostrils and made her light-headed and lusty. That aroma was part of the appeal of leather. It seemed to invite fucking. She had other leather instruments in the room, but Marsha knew that she would not need them on this night. She was very hot. She needed this orgasm a great deal. So she just churned her pussy against the floor and moaned and purred with soft passion as the clit in her leather panties fought the leather in a battle that it would never win.
As she fucked the leather, she remembered the leather parties that she had had in Hollywood, the ones in which she would invite several of her close friends over on the weekends when her children were at the ranch. She wondered now if they were really close friends, but it did not matter to her at the time. She had only wanted them around so that she could show them how good she looked in leather.
One weekend, she had walked around her big bedroom in her Hollywood mansion while three of the biggest stars of the movies-two men and one woman-had watched her. She had carried her leather riding crop and she had sniffed her own aroma mixing with the aroma of the leather and she had talked to the people who watched her in a coarse way.
"You all are fuckers," she said with a snarl. "No good fuckers. You all just want to fuck me, but you will never understand that leather is the only thing that can really fuck me, that can really make me feel like a woman. You are all just fuckers and you will never understand that at all."
Her friends had applauded her words and her sexy looks and one of them told her later that weekend that he thought that had been her greatest performance.
"You were just like a Nazi bitch of a concentration camp or something like that," he said. "You can really act, Marsha. You can turn on a man and put him down at the same time. That is a great talent."
She had not told him the truth. She had not told him that she had not been acting when she delivered that little speech to him and the others. She had been telling the truth then, had been telling them the greatest truth of her life. She fucked men, certainly. She fucked her husband and she fucked that friend too and when she fucked men, she moaned to each of them that he was the greatest lover that she had ever had. But that was the acting. That was the real performance. Men did not turn her on at all. Only leather turned her on. Not even her husband made her have an orgasm when they fucked and she had loved her husband more than any of the other men that she fucked.
She had had those leather parties while her husband had been in Vietnam, fighting and becoming a hero for the fourth or fifth time in his life.
Then her husband had come home and things had changed. Finally, they were so bad that she had had to leave Hollywood and get away from all of those prying eyes. By the time she left, she had too many secrets, secrets as strong and as sweet and as horrible as leather.
Marsha continued to move over that floor as the thoughts of her past died away in her head to be replaced by thoughts of nothing, just leather. That is all that she cared about at that moment. She cared only for leather and she fucked only leather. She needed the leather so much.
She rolled onto her back and pressed her hands against her leather panties and forced her cunt up into the air and fucked the feel of leather and she moaned and twisted on the floor with passion.
And then Marsha came. She came with a sigh, a groan, then a cry of ecstasy. She came with the leather tightening around her pussy and not giving into her at all. The leather was so strong, so sexy. It was better than any man.
After her orgasm, Marsha lay there on the floor and tried to catch her breath. The feelings that she had in her body were fantastic, better than any feelings that she had ever had with a man. She sighed and rolled over again and almost feel asleep now that the leather had given her peace. But she roused out of her slumber quickly. She could not sleep here. She did not want either of her children coming home and finding her in this room, dressed in this way.
Marsha slowly got to her feet and smelled the wonderful, strong aroma of leather as she took off her leather garments. She wondered again as she had often wondered before just which male star it was who wore leather underwear all the time. She wished that she knew. If that male star was still around, she thought, he would be a perfect lover for her.
But then she remembered that Hollywood was far behind her, part of her past, her distant and public past. She could never return there. In Hollywood, too many people wanted to know a woman's secrets, especially a sexy woman like Marsha.
And she would not be able to stand it if her secrets were revealed.
The woman took off her leather garb and when she was naked, she lifted the leather panties to her nose and sniffed them, smelling the aroma of her cunt mixing with the aroma of the leather. That special smell gave her deep and peaceful pleasure.
Then she dropped the panties on the leather floor and walked naked out of the leather room.
She carefully locked the door to the little room and picked up the robe that hung on the knob of the door and put it on. She closed the robe around her body and looked at the clock on the wall in the hallway. It was nearly midnight and her son was not home yet.
She was beginning to get worried about Jeff. She considered calling the police, but, before she could decide whether that would be necessary, she heard the front door open. She walked into the living room and saw Jeff standing there. He looked tired but happy. And she smelled something on him. It did not take Marsha long to figure out that smell. She had just smelled something similar on her leather panties.
Jeff smelled like a wet pussy.
And his mother knew that he had just been fucked.
She watched him move through the living room and she was silently happy. She wondered what girl had fucked him, but she knew that Jeff would probably not tell her even if she asked. And she, did not want to spoil his pleasure by embarrassing him at this moment.
She moved into the living room and Jeff finally saw her.
"Hi, Jeff," she said.
The boy just nodded and smiled at his mother.
"I was beginning to get a little worried about you," she said.
The boy shrugged his shoulders.
Marsha walked over to her son and put her arm around him and held him close to her with motherly affection in her heart.
"You are my favorite man," she said softly. "I would not want you to get lost or anything like that, Jeff. I love you more than I can ever say."
Jeff felt warm when he heard that. He liked the idea of being his mother's favorite man. He hugged her close and felt for a second that he was going to cry with happiness. He remembered how much his mother looked like the blonde woman that he had just fucked.
And then he remembered the promise that he had made to that woman, that he would ask his mother to grant her an interview. He considered doing it right then, but then thought that it would be better to wait. His mother might be angry if he asked her now and he did not want his sexy mother angry. He wanted her soft and sexy and loving next to him, just as she was at that moment.
Marsha kissed Jeff's forehead and then pulled away from him and looked at her son. He was a very handsome young man. She had often wondered if Jeff could make it in the movies. He was handsome enough to make it, she thought, but that stutter would keep him off the screen.
The woman pulled her son to her again and held him close to her as she kissed his hair. She wanted to protect this boy from all the evil in the world, but she doubted that she would be able to do that. She had already surrendered so much. It was just a matter of time until she surrendered Jeff too.
"I am sorry, Jeff," she said softly, almost crying. "I am very sorry."
She knew that her words probably did not make a lot of sense to the boy, that he was probably wondering why she was sorry and what she was sorry about. She could not explain it to him. She was not even sure herself what she was sorry about. She only knew that she had failed her children-and especially this loving, blond, handsome boy-in some special way. She was sorry that he stuttered and she was sorry that he was so lonely and she was sorry that she had brought him with her to this little town instead of letting him grow up as the son of a movie star in Hollywood. And she was sorry about his father.
But it could not be helped, she thought finally. Nothing could be helped.
And then she smelled that fucked-woman aroma on her son and she was happy for him, although she would never be able to tell him that. She would never be able to put that into words without embarrassing him.
Perhaps, she thought, Jeff's life would work for him after all. Perhaps he would find a girl who would give him all the things that his movie star mother had failed to give him. She hoped that he would and she felt a little better when she sniffed that smell on him.
Jeff held his mother and wished that he could something for her that would keep her from feeling sorry, that would make her happy in a special way.
He only wanted his mother to be happy and he wondered if he would ever be man enough to make her truly happy in this world. He wondered if anyone would be able to do that.
He hoped that he could make his mother happy some day, because she deserved happiness. She had given so much to so many people in dark theaters all over the world. She deserved to be happy at least for a while.
Marsha let go of her son and moved away from him.
"Tomorrow is Saturday," she said. "Why don't you sleep late? You look tired, Jeff."
Then she moved out of the room quickly, wondering if she had said too much to her son, if she had let too much of her feelings for him show.
And Jeff moved into his own bedroom and lay down on his bed and thought about blondes in leather who worshipped him as if he were a god.
And he determined to ask his mother about doing the interview the next day. He owed it to that other blonde. He had promised.
And he also sensed that he owed it to his beautiful mother too.