Chapter 11

More than one person among the location company would have been surprised to see the letter Selma Masters wrote after Mort left the van. The name of the addressee would have puzzled them, for they would have been at a loss to account for her acquaintance with the party she was writing.

If they had glimpsed just occasional bits of the letter, they would have found all sorts of thoughts racing through their minds: "... seem like a lot of money, but only I know how much it is in relation to what I've been able to save over the years... " her ballpoint raced over the paper.

"... my instructions to the letter! Everything will be better for all concerned that way. You can take my word that is the only thing of this sort I've ever gotten into, and I assure you it will be the last. If you do as I say, I'll never bother you from that moment on."

She wound up the letter quickly, signed it, put it into its ready envelope, and sealed it. She tucked it into her purse and looked at herself in the mirror, checking the chic summer suit that flattered her already svelte figure. Then she went out of the van, got into her little Triumph convertible, and wound it up, heading across the compound toward the road that led to town.

Morton had drunk an emergency brunch-an ounce of bourbon, three ounces of milk, and five eggs with a little sugar. When he appeared at the hillside rendezvous, he was glad that Sandy was not there waiting for him. He needed all the time he could get to recover his potency.

He could have found an excuse to get off, one that would convince her of his earnest interests but get him off the hook. Yet he considered it only briefly. Now that his sexual powers seemed to have adjusted so well to the altitude, he was eager to see if they were up to this demanding schedule. The challenge was too much for him to reject.

While he was wondering how it would turn out, he heard the soft sounds of footsteps on the leaves and pine needles at the crest of the hill above him.

Cara Lisa had told her husband that she was going to lie down for a "beauty rest" for a few minutes, but actually she had isolated herself in the bedroom to satisfy her curiosity about herself. She had to know if she could control her sex drive, at least better than she had the previous night.

Curled up on the bed in her filmiest gown and nothing else, the volume of Beardsley she had sneaked in with her by her side, she was not too worried. If she got desperate, she could call for Burt to come drive his delicious prick into her and stop the wild longings before she got into real trouble again.

She opened the book carefully, and when she came to the drawings from Lysistrata, she quickly leafed past the ones which had stirred her so greatly before. She was not sure she was ready for those, yet. Instead, she looked at the last of the series.

Entitled The Lacedemonian Ambassadors, it portrayed three men of widely varying age, height, weight, and physical beauty, but all boasting disproportionately mammoth erections. Their nude figures seemed even more ludicrous at first, because the very smallest of the three, a veritable midget, was burdened with the most gigantic phallus of all. It would have had to weigh more than the rest of his body.

Yet, as she viewed it, she saw in its strange lines the unique curvature of Gurney's wolflike penis. This one was shown as much more thick for its length, but the arc of that curving shaft made her gasp with the remembrance of Gurney's eccentric tool as it invaded the very doorstep of her innermost sanctum and squirted its hot liquid into her being!

"Ohhh!" she gasped, eyes fixed upon the symbolic burden with which the little man was cursed or blessed. Her fingers, betraying her intentions as she concentrated on the imagery, stole to her crotch and began to massage the slight itch that had developed in her cuntlips.

"Gur! I wish you were here with that thing of yours!" she breathed softly. "Could I stand to have it in me again, the way you had it in me before? It frightened me, but yet... " Her two fingers now worked feverishly in the ready soup at, her vaginal entrance. Her gown was up to her hips and her legs threshed about on the bed as her tongue licked wildly at her lips.

Her eyes were still staring at the misshapen little man, but it was Gurney she wanted-Gurney's misshapen cock, stirring up her juices as her fingers now stirred them.

"No! Oh, no!" she cried, realizing too late that she had been drawn into the web of her own demanding lust through a different but equally potent route.

"Help me! Hurt! Please!" she yelled, dying to have him rush in and relieve her of this overpowering hunger that was consuming her. She could not hear his footsteps, but he had to be coming; he could not have failed to hear her cry for help.

She cried louder, but there was no sound from the outer rooms. Desperate, she crawled out of bed, her two fingers still dipping into her as she walked, bow-legged, to the door and flung it open.

The note that had been slipped into the crack of the door now fluttered to the floor. Horrified, she grabbed it up, tried to read it with emotion-fogged eyes. When she grasped its import, she sobbed loudly.

Burt had gone to make a personal check on some statistics concerning one of Gurney's stunts. He was not sure how long it would take. She should take care of herself until he returned.

"Take care of myself!" she shrieked. "Burt, that's what I can not do! Please! Oh, PLEASE! BURT!" she fell to the floor sobbing and thrusting into herself with spastic fingers...

June opened the Special Delivery letter, puzzled as to why Selma had mailed in her Ready Report instead of handing it to her or to Chadwick as usual. Selma had a sense of humor, but there was little point in having driven into town and mailed the damn thing. The man who delivered it had looked at her curiously, and she saw why. There was no return address, but obviously it had been mailed at the Running Springs Post Office, since it bore that mark of origin. And June would know Selma's writing anywhere.

She glanced once more at the simple address on the envelope: Just "Burton Chadwick, B.C. Productions." The post office people knew where Chadwick was, of course, since he received mail there under General Delivery, and a Special Delivery demanded their best efforts to get it to the location site pronto.

She pulled out the folded papers, started to drop what she thought was the Ready Report into the stack of paperwork she would turn over to Burton later, then brought the letter slowly back to where she could read it.

Obviously, Selma had put the thing into the wrong envelope. June knew she should not read the letter; it was private. But she was naturally curious as to why Selma would be writing to...

I'll be damned! She actually... Selma Masters!... quiet, efficient Selma... to have put herself in that kind of a spot! June sat there, dumfounded, re-read the letter, then put it bark in its incorrect envelope. She thought about what she ought to do. If she remailed the letter to its intended addressee, it would-No! Selma would discover sooner or later that she had used the wrong envelope. Better to take it to Selma, now.

June remembered that she had heard Selma's little car being run up beside the van and parked only an hour ago. She had to be nearby. June went out and crossed the compound, checked the van and found it unoccupied.

None of the lot men had seen her, and June was about to give up when one of the electricians heard who she was looking for. He told her he had seen Selma heading over the hill into the woods.

June decided that she would have to follow the surprising wardrobe mistress and present the letter in person. She started up the steep incline, wishing her miniskirt were longer, but glad she was wearing flats...

Gurney started for his appointment with Chadwick long in advance of the time he was due. He wanted to go through the bit in his mind again, trying to think of any angles the wily director might come up with that Gurney could have overlooked. Besides, he had nothing else to do; Sandy had gone for a walk in the woods. Who knew, maybe he would bump into her. He hoped she wouldn't tag along on the meeting with Burt, though. He could think and talk better without her by his side, for some reason.

He crested the hill, stopped and looked at the dense scrub, and whimsically decided to see if he was the same old stalker he once was. He put his boots down carefully, barely disturbing the needles and leaves as he made his way over the terrain. He was so good at it yet that he decided he might just go hunting this fall, after all, if his schedule allowed it.

When he came upon the couple in the little hillside clearing, it was so sudden that he did not recognize them at first. Then he felt a strange hollow in the pit of his stomach as he saw Mort Benedict shove a wet, rigid cock in the welcoming pussy of Sandra Stone-Mrs. Gurney Adams!

He stood there, unable to move for a length of time. Then he felt the hard insistence of his own cock fighting at the confinement of his shorts and pants. It dawned on him that he was not upset, not angry; just shocked and surprised. And above all, damned excited at the thought of his wife being screwed by another man.

He had hoped she could unlimber like this. It was bound to do her a world of good. And she was really giving it all she had! He watched as long as he could stand it, then peeled off his pants and shorts and stepped up to the hotly exercising couple.

Morton was on the bottom, and Sandy was bare-assed above him, pushing down on his impaling cock as he thrust up into her. Gurney simply stepped over Mort's supine body, straddling it, and held his curved rod out to Sandy's mouth.

Her eyes grew large as she saw her husband appear before her, but his grinning face told her all was well. She took his cock in her lips and let him screw into her mouth.

For a fraction of a second, Mort thought he would lose the best and wildest hard on he ever had. But as he saw what Gur was up to, he drew on all his will power and concentrated on his erection. It's okay. Everything's great! Gur's joining the fun. Think of the juicy cunt you're dipping up into. Screw it good, Mort!

And he had it under control. Sandy started to have the time of her life. She only wished that Gur was shoving that wicked thing up her ass. She'd like to be pronged at both ends that way, just to see what it was like.

They were so caught up in the heated novelty of their surprise threesome that they did not know they were almost joined by a fourth.

Burton Chadwick started early so he could hike leisurely to the spot where he would have to give his decision on the stunt bit. He missed the hikes he used to take before he got so damn busy. Now he had to exercise in a gym, usually.

Of course, he had gotten his share of exercise below the belt on location. He frowned, knowing it was not always the best policy to be screwing with the cast and staff. But he was sure that this group were okay. They would not let it interfere with the job to be done.

Thinking about his adventures with June and Sandy, he wondered what Mort and Gur would think if they walked in on something like that. Mort was pretty level headed, though, and seemed to be the broadminded sort. Gur was another bloody thing! Gur was often a quandary to him. Not as openly friendly, though warm enough at times. Now Gur just might get rather difficult if he-Burton pulled up short and watched the activity before him. He was not surprised he had not been heard as he approached. The three people were going at it noisily, moaning, grunting, gasping and panting. Even the liquid sounds of their genital movements seemed loud in this setting.

Well, that settles the question of Gur's temperament! God! Wouldn't I love to vault in there and stab that redhead in the ass!

But he got a grip on himself. Two men were enough to handle one female. And he could not be sure of his welcome, even if they were getting along famously thus far. The camel might bite when the last straw was loaded.

He moved away silently, edging out of their hearing before he even drew a ragged breath. His cock ached mightily in the crotch of his fawn slacks. He made his way down the steep incline, catching a glimpse of water through some trees as he descended. Maybe a cool dip would temper the pain of that shamefully wasted erection.

God! If only I had the kind of luck that would turn up two females for me, instead of one female and two males! He eased onto the flat ground and looked around him, lining up the landmark he had memorized so he could find the water he had seen. As he started toward it, he heard a woman's voice. Then another in reply.

He moved silently but swiftly toward the sounds. He wanted to be careful around here; hard to tell what a guy could run into...

June watched Selma's trim figure poise beside the pond, bend at the knees, then knife into the water. The brown tresses floated on the surface then clung to the pretty face. Selma stroked across the small pool in nothing flat and climbed out to stand on the bank. She poised one foot on a rock and let the water run off her as she rested there.

June looked at the bright gems that glistened and ran over the lovely body, catching the sunlight and magnifying it on the tan skin. Selma suddenly half-squatted as she stood, obeying a natural impulse to relieve herself. Her pelvis thrust out before her as a golden amber stream flowed from her brown bushy crotch.

June's breath caught in her throat as she observed the act. She would not have believed that such a common functional performance could be so beautifully breathtaking. Here in this setting, there was a primeval wonder to it. It almost made the woman's body become that of a goddess.

Entranced, June walked out of the bush and approached the figure from the front, but Selma was looking out across the pond and did not see her visitor right away. When she looked around, June was standing within a few feet of her.

Selma's first reaction was embarrassment. Then she saw that June had not been offended; in fact there seemed to be a world of respect or something in her eyes.

"I... I'm sorry to barge in on your privacy like this, Sel," June faltered. "Especially since it's such a lovely place to enjoy yourself in peace. But I had to sec you."

"Take your things off and come in for a refresher," Selma invited. "The water and the air both feel great on your skin."

June complied as if she had only awaited the urging. She was quickly nude, her clothes on the ground near where Selma's lay and then she was in the water, splashing in the clean purity of it.

As she paddled around she wondered how to tell Selma what she had to say. There seemed no way to begin properly. The water was too cold to stay in long, so she climbed out and stood beside the brownette on the bank. Selma still stood unabashed in the same position, her skin drying in the sun and her piss soaking into the ground beneath her.

June put a hand on Selma's shoulder, felt the strange shudder that it caused, and removed it self-consciously.

"Sel, I just opened an envelope that was delivered to Mr. C. It seems to have been mailed in error. The envelope was the one... or the v type... you use to send in your Ready Report. But the letter was... intended for someone else."

Selma's face paled. Her entire body seemed to pale, and she shuddered this time all over. June helped her to sit down on the bank and took a seat beside her.

"I couldn't help but read it, Sel. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry into your personal affairs, but... well... "

"It... it's all right, Junie," Selma replied softly. "Is it too much to ask, though, that you not tell anyone else?"

"I don't know. I'll try to keep it to myself, Sel. -But you know it just might be that Mr. C. asks me a question during the course of my work. I've never held out on him or lied to him yet. But, if you went to him and told him... which might be a good thing to do... I believe he'll keep your secret."

"Oh, Junie!" Selma flung herself into the blonde's arms. "I so wanted to bring it off without anyone knowing... until I was proven correct... until everything was wrapped up... " She was crying dry sobs and June patted her, attempting to comfort her.

Hal wanted me to tell Burton, too. But I've been a wardrobe mistress too long... a damn good one, but still... not the sort you would expect to be an angel... "

"All kinds of people are angels, Sel," June told her. "And if you believe in something, back it up the way you did this."

"I g-guess you're right. I just wanted to do my gambling in private. But I do believe in it, Junie! And I believe in Mort. He'll pull it off. And if anyone can fit all the pieces together... the script, the people, everything... Burt can do it."

"So what are you fussing about? You've backed Buccaneer Wench with half of your life's savings and investments because you wanted to. I think you'll be glad. But your friends would like to know, too. They'd work even harder to be sure you made a profit."

"D-do you think so, Junie? Should they know, really?" Selma was clinging to June, wanting reassurance of some kind. June hugged the satin body to her and felt the warmth rising up under the cool skin. Their breasts rubbed together and nipples erected in sudden reaction to the touch.

"Oohh!" Selma gasped, grabbing June tighter in reflex.

"Oohh!" June moaned, hugging Selma closer. Their mouths met as if preordained in a warm, affectionate kiss. They melted their bodies together, legs began to intertwine, and soon they were on the road too far to stop, both caught up in emotions and sensations too powerful for them to analyze.

"My God!" Burton whispered, watching the two gorgeous bodies locked in writhing passion by the side of the pond. "I ask for two females, and damn if they aren't bloody well there! Prayer works like mad out here in God's country!"

He moved toward them, taking off his clothes as he went...