Chapter 10
Selma Masters closed the small, fat, green book in which she had been jotting notes, lifted the tray of her private sewing caddy, and tucked the book in the bottom compartment. She got the tray replaced just in time. Morton Benedict's second knock jarred open the small door inset in the wardrobe van's larger unloading door, and he looked directly in on the sewing-table area where she was standing.
"Sorry, Morton. I guess I was concentrating too hard," she said, gesturing with the cotton plaid shirt she had grabbed up in a hurry.
"For a moment, I thought you didn't love me any more, Sel," he said smilingly. He advanced toward her worktable and pulled up a folding chair where he could sit near her and watch her sew the old bone button on the authentic period garment.
"Silly. Pour us some coffee, why don't you?" she said, nodding toward the electric percolator on the back corner of the table. He filled two of the mugs, put powdered cream in one and stirred it, then handed it to Selma. He took the black coffee for himself and sipped at it as he sat down again.
Morton had been visiting Selma on and off for years, whenever he was working at her studio or on location with her. Originally, he had been curious about the art of costume fabrication, for he had always been interested in the odd garments of past eras. He had gained admittance to Selma's sanctum on the lot, introduced himself, and asked if he could browse and study her domain.
Selma had liked his honest, unassuming manner, and when he had insisted she call him by his first name instead of the usual formal address she used for all the actors and actresses, they had established a lasting friendship.
Morton was one of the few Selma always tried to watch at work on the set, and she admired his sincere, believable acting craftsmanship just as much as he admired her vast knowledge and artistry in the costume field.
"Do you mean to tell me," she teased him, "I might have not had the pleasure of your company if I'd been in my apartment at the back of the van and not heard your knock?"
"Hell, Sel," he protested. "I know you always tell me to walk in after knocking; that any actress dressing inside will be behind drapes if she observes the rules. But this is your private shop. On location it's even your private living quarters, too. And I do respect your privacy, Selma; you know that. I can't barge in like a teen-ager on his first messenger run or something."
"I know, Mort. I gave up long ago really trying to get you to relax and be more casual, less worried about the routines of propriety. I'll bet June has, too, hasn't she?"
"Yeah, I guess she has, at that. But I do have logic on my side, you know. Supposing you had been undressing and had a sweater over your head when I knocked. It could have muffled sounds and I could have walked in and seen you in your birthday suit, or part of it."
"So? Who knows? It might have led to an exciting affair that could have been good for us both!" she teased, although she had long wondered how it would be to have the gentle, manly Mort make love to her.
Morton's eyes gleamed for a few seconds as he did some visualizing of his own. More than once he had forced himself to pass up what seemed like a golden opportunity to become more familiar with Selma's physical attributes. But he didn't want to risk their very pleasant friendship. Some women in her position would think he was taking advantage of his fairly solid standing on the lot to make passes at the non-acting employees.
"It might have, at that," he admitted. She thought there was more than jesting in his tone. "You are a very desirable female, Sel, and you know it." He sighed, and this time she was sure his words had the ring of truth. "It's not easy behaving around you all the time like a Fauntleroy."
"Tell you what, Mort," she dared. "Next time you get the urge, don't fight it. If I can't defend my honor, I deserve to lose it to you." She sipped her coffee, observing over the rim of the cup his reaction to her challenge. She liked the sudden gleam in his eyes. It caused her to snuggle her thighs together under the smock she wore. When she put down her cup, her hand shook a little.
"I dropped by to tell you, Sel, that it looks as if you'll get to whip out that wardrobe for our favorite period. Chadwick says our pirate saga is going to be shot before long."
"Great! I'm glad for you, Mort. I'm glad for us both. How about a little brandy in your coffee to celebrate?" She reached under the worktable and pulled a bottle from a carton of miscellaneous fabrics.
"I'm game," he agreed. She doled out a generous slug in each cup and they lifted their mugs ceremoniously. "To wooden ships, iron men, and the woman who'll dress 'em-the men, I mean," Mort said. He started to clank mugs, but Selma was not ready; she had a toast of her own.
"To the gentleman pirate, and the crew he'll lead to stardom, and the wenches he'll undress on the way!" She socked her mug solidly against his and they drank the heavily laced coffee with pleasure. When she set her mug on the table, the front of her smock gaped a little and Mort saw the entire side of a naked, satin breast and a turgid pink nipple.
His cock suddenly stiffened in his pants and he had an almost uncontrollable urge to throw himself on her and suck the warm tip of the saucy little tit. He remembered her invitation, wondering how much of it was sincere and how much a friendly just.
"Did you tell me... not to fight the urge?" he asked, looking into her blue eyes searchingly. She met his gaze, then dropped her own to search elsewhere. His arousal was visible at a glance.
"Let's go," she said simply, getting to her feet and going toward the door that locked off her living quarters from the rest of the van. Morton followed her, his heart beating faster than normal. The pert wiggle of her rounded buttocks beneath the smock seemed to make his erection double in size and hardness She locked the door behind them with one hand and flicked open her smock with the other. Mort drank in the sight of her proud, ripe breasts jutting out toward him, nipples darkening and swelling with anticipation. Her smooth, convex belly was quivering slightly, and he watched the ripples travel to the waistband of her thin white silk panties. Beneath the filmy material he could see the dark curls of her womanly bush.
"I do want you very much, Sel," he told her, placing his hands on her trembling shoulders. "I think it's because I like you so terribly much that I want to have you like this, also." He kissed her on the forehead, the nose, the eyes, and the lips. Her mouth opened to him and their tongues caressed each other tenderly.
They explored the range of kissing maneuvers for a while, and their breathing grew heavier and heavier. He had seen her bed from the corner of his eye and he now guided her to it and eased her to a seat on its edge. His hands peeled the open smock from her golden tan shoulders.
"Oh, Mort!" her voice was full of tremolo qualities. "I want to be good for you! I want you to be pleased with me!" Her words grew shakier as his lips found her tits and kissed a trail up the side of each golden mound to its swollen tip. He took a nipple in his lips and sucked it lovingly, rolling the morsel in caressing motion from side to side and tonguing its tip.
His hands were caressing her body, massaging her firmness at back, hips, and buttocks. He peeled her panties down as he continued to suck both her nipples hungrily. She was quivering under his caresses and kisses, letting small whimpers escape her moist, parted lips.
"Morty... oh, Morty... take me, Morty!" she said as tingles raced over her entire body.
He let her nipple slip from his lips and kissed downward over her sleek belly and into the faintly Chanel-scented forest of brown hair at her high-rounded mound. He was surprised to detect the expensive fragrance on her pussy pelt, but it came to him that Coco herself had once wielded a needle for a living.
But the commercial scent was soon unnoticeable as her personal female odor rose on steamy tendrils into his distended nostrils. He groaned at the compelling flavor of the scent and pressed his face into her bush, hurriedly parting the hairs with his nose and lips. Then he lashed out a greedy tongue and dipped it into the moist flesh of her cunt.
"Mort!" she cried, her voice quivering as tingles rippled through her flesh. He lapped at the swollen inner sides of her labia and her thighs drew apart to give him complete access.
He found her clit jutting excitedly out of its nook and firm with her desire. He sucked it, flicked its tip, sucked it again, and thrilled to her tiny cries of joy. He thrust his tongue into her eager vagina and felt it contract slightly on his fleshy tongue as he pumped it in and out of her passage.
He sucked at the cave hungrily and felt her shudder beneath his hands where he now held her by the quaking buttocks. Her responses were so purely natural and so unreserved that he became even more impassioned than he was. His fingers stroked the crease of her ass and tickled the winking rubbery iris of her anus.
"Screw me with it, Morty!" she shrieked, "I'm coming!" He felt her asshole open to him and his finger thrust inside her as a giant tremor shook her body. He screwed his digit deeply in and out of her ass as he sucked the pulsing nubbin of her clitoris.
"Arghhh!" she moaned as her whole body stiffened briefly and went limp. Mort was not certain if her cry had been partly pain or entirely pleasure. But he pulled his finger out of her ass and merely licked and sucked on her vulva until she moaned her inability to stand any more. He blew lightly on her pulsing cunt, then withdrew to let her relax.
He studied the open wound of her pussy, fascinated by its dark pinkness, its extremely well-groomed brown bush that curled over its borders and formed an attractive frame for the moist mouth.
His prick pulsed warningly, reminding him that he had just begun to make love to her. And the vulnerability of her split magnetized him to action.
He stripped, tossing his clothes in a heap, and mounted her. He shoved his purple cockhead against the heated, sloppy petals of her cunt and shoved slowly into her palpitating passage.
"Oohhh! You're in me, Morty!" she cried happily. "Push deep, lover! Swell my cunny with it!"
Mort's prick throbbed at her words, making her sheath expand with its swelling. He could almost taste more clearly the flavors she had exuded and which now excited his palate.
He plowed into her welcoming grasping, groaning at the way her clutching tissues sucked at his cock as if eager to drink his last drop of fluid before he started to come.
Selma could feel his taut sac slap her ass each time he sank his cock into her depths, and she wanted him to flail her with that hairy package until it hurt. She wanted every sensation from him that he could give her.
"Harder, Mort!" she gasped. Deeper! Stuff your eggs way inside... my cunt!" Her buttocks squirmed in his grasp like a pair of twin baby elephants, and he had to press hard, nailing her ass to the bed as he sought her innermost capacity.
He felt her coming even as her joyful moan started to leave her lips.' It triggered his own cauldron of molten seed, making it simmer tinglingly as it rose up inside him.
"Squirt it... Morty! Fill me with it!" she gasped, then her throes claimed her attentions and robbed her of words. There were only grunts, groans and gasps from them both as his semen gushed out of him and drenched her cunt depths hotly. They clung to each other desperately as their fluids gurgled inside her, mixing and frothing with the force of their orgasms.
They had fallen quiet and lay there for a few minutes before Morton stroked her back affectionately with his hand. She was bathed in perspiration, and as he noted it he realized that his own body was a dripping blanket of sweat.
"Wow!" he whispered. "You're something else!" She made contented hummings for a bit, patting his shoulder. Then she buried her face against his chest.
"You're a wild, exciting hunk of man, Mort," she told him. "I'm glad you didn't fight that urge!"
"So am I," he said fervently. "Your cunny is just as sweet and warm as your personality."
"That's a lovely thing to say, Mort," she said, squeezing his arm as she rolled back under his weight. "But you might just mash them both beyond repair pretty soon."
He chuckled and lifted his weight from her, rolling off onto the bed, his limp cock trailing raggedly across her belly until it plunked on his own, splattering juices on all sides.
"Can't let that happen," he said. "I've guarded our friendship up to now; and here I've found something else to protect and cherish."
"Our relationship... can't help but be... somewhat different... after this, can it?" she said wonderingly.
"Different, certainly," he agreed. "More meaningful, I'm sure, but none the less for the difference, as far as I'm concerned. I respect you and like you, Selma. Nothing can change that for me."
"I guess it's the same with me." she said. "I'm glad it's like that with us. I couldn't stand to lose our gabfests and all."
"Perish the thought. Now we just have more to talk about. It opens new doors to discussion." He looked slyly at her and grinned.
"Sure!" she replied. "And how long can we talk about that subject before we have to do something about it?"
"Well... any objections to that?" he wanted to know.
"Oh, Mort! If you ever hear a single one, stuff up my mouth so I can't talk." She appeared to think about what she had said, then raised herself up on the bed. "And that seems like a perfectly scrumptious idea right now!"
She seized his dormant pecker and put its malleable tip in her mouth. Morton felt himself swell rigidly into shape within her lips as she teased his glans with her agile tongue and sucked on the spongy mass excitingly.
"Keep that up," he cautioned, "and I'll not be responsible for any damage to your tonsils!"
He thought he could feel her laughing around the mouthful she held, but she was so expertly busy that he soon thought only of what was to come. And come it did, rapidly and gushingly, filling her mouth and throat almost faster than she could swallow.
But as the great surges pumped through him and erupted into her mouth, he was one huge, tingling ball or orgasm, feeling the fluids drain from him as if drawn from all over his being. She took the very last drop with a sucking smack as the head flipped free of her lips.
Morton groaned loudly and Selma laughed merrily at his obvious emptiness. His groan indeed had been wrung out of him by the way she had drained him. But he was thinking about his tentative engagement with Sandy. He had forgotten until now that they had agreed to meet again in the woods today.
"Helluva pirate I'll make," he complained. "I have a busy day ahead and I'm scuttled before I can get out of port!"
"You'll recuperate," she told him. "Anyone who could deliver that much 'gallonage' on the second round... " she gulped dramatically, "... will be loaded for action in no time!"
Mort got up and began to dress. He was surprised at the vitality he still felt after unloading twice in so short a time. Maybe... just maybe... he could still...