Copyright © 2008 by Crystal Barela
The three things my mistress Juliette loved above all others were my dirty knees, my best behavior and her precious pearls. That night she had insisted upon all three.
It had been my first visit to Mother, a Goth club in the meat packing district where the dress code was black except on special nights like this one. Absence of color was the theme, which was why I found myself wrapped in cellophane and little else. It was winter, but even so, condensation was beginning to build on the inside of my fragile costume.
The taxi driver kept trying to catch my eyes in the rearview mirror, but I kept mine lowered. Any “flirtation” not approved of by my mistress would inspire corporal punishment later.
Juliette sat beside me, my hand in hers.
Before she opened the car door she said, “Do as you’re told at all times.”
As if I would do anything else. The diamond studded riding crop in her other hand was the perfect deterrent.
Mother was not what I expected. The man, who greeted us at the entrance and took our cover fee in his left hand and stamped our hands with skull and crossbones on the right, had filed down his eye teeth to look like vampire fangs. The pale pancake framing his dark goatee and butting the black eyeliner on his lids, added to the illusion.
The club was an odd place for a lady like my Juliette to be. Not old money, like she was born with or the society ladies like she had tea with. Mother was just about as far from Central Park West as we could get.
The simple black velvet curtain in front of us opened into a foyer of black and white tile, similar in shape and size to the tiles in the condo uptown. Unlike our floor, these were covered in hundreds of footprints and spilt drinks. House music was pumping through the doorway on the other side of the room in a beat that made my feet itchy and my stomach quake.
The crowd was diverse only in hair and skin color, the dress code filling the space with black and transparent clothing.
“On your knees, Kitten.”
That’s me, I’m Kitten. Sometimes, if I am good, I am Cat. Kittens are naughty, they spill their milk and track it across the floor. They scratch the furniture and miss the litter box. I had only been in training with Juliette for two months.
I dropped on all fours and Juliette slipped a leash of pearls around my neck. This single strand was eight feet in length, not including the collar. I know because it was my job to polish the pearls after use. Sometimes lick them clean. A sexual rosary to my Goddess.
The room was lined with antique furniture, Goth in look, with rich velvet cushions, and gold filigree accents. French impressionistic portraits of men and women in period costumes lined the walls in heavy thick frames. The walls were papered in black and wine colored stripes. Mother was blown up and overdone.
Juliette stood near six feet in her stocking feet, so in her five inch platforms she towered over most people in the club. Her black corset was tightened so that her waist measured a perfect twenty-four inches around, not a millimeter more or less. I had sucked her in inch by inch, tightening the laces until her spine was a straight like a ruler.
A razor had been applied to her beautiful legs, by my practiced hand, removing every hair so that her skin was smooth as supple as the rich fabrics she wore. Juliette preferred a nude seamed stocking, and they skimmed her legs in a swath of silk.
“Elegance, is civility, dear kitten,” she has said on numerous occasions.
Nevertheless, here I crawled at her side, my knees and palms becoming sticky from tonight’s party mis-haps, in no way elegant. Beside me she stood in contrast; a statuesque Victorian ideal, golden blond hair pulled up off her shoulders in a perfect chignon. Diamonds winking from her ears, and make-up applied with flattering sweeps of a brush in pinks and lavenders.
“Darling, Juliette!” This from a tall beautiful black man near Juliette in height, only his silver top hat making him taller. His eyelids sparkled in the dim light, his full thick lips like plums. Between his brows, the number eight in white glitter. He kissed my mistress on one cheek then the next.
“Thank heavens you came!”
“Not yet darling,” Juliette replied and their heads bent together. They erupted in laughter.
Annoyed, I looked away. I seemed to remember a rather lengthy application of tongue to pussy earlier this evening. Just before leaving, my mistress had come in a series of staccato yips inciting the neighbor’s poodle to join her in duet.
The tug of the leash squeezed my wind pipe. “Head up, kitten.”
“She’s perfect, Juliette,” the man said, crouching down to eye level. “I’m Damon and I can’t wait to be better acquainted, Kitten.” He held his hand out to me, and I nuzzled his palm with my cheek as I had been taught. I caught a whiff of something exotic…leather and linseed oil.
“I knew she would be just great for the show. Is it to be held in here?” she asked. The pirouetted in a slow circle as if looking for a stage.
A passer-by ran a cool hand along my bare ass, sending a wave of heat to my pussy. I jumped hissing, looking for the stranger, and felt the leash tighten around my throat in a sharp reprimand.
“Ignore them, Kitten.”
“No, there are two other rooms in the club,” Damon said, taking Juliette’s elbow. “Much bigger than the old space.”
My mistress followed after him, and I stayed the required three feet behind her. No more, no less.
The sway of her ass was a sight to behold. Juliette’s back view was definitely my favorite. My cheeks and hands had caressed, and my lips had licked and nipped, but I was not allowed to gain
entrance.
Anal play was reserved for her pet. She liked to bend me over the footboard of her mahogany bed and grab hold of my ass cheeks, spreading them wide for target practice. Juliette would ply me with oil, whip me with vengeance and stick me with butt plugs. But her favorite toy was her
precious pearls.
Distracted by my thoughts, I was nearly trampled when we entered the room with the house music. Lights were flashing, catching half naked dancers in the sudden glare. Tits and asses were like sculpture, frozen for a second before the lights flickered, taking in a different part of the gyrating bodies.
The music was deafening, and I shied toward my mistress afraid that my fingers would be stepped on. Her manicured hand dropped to my head, petting my dark hair.
“Stand, Kitten.”
Damon led us down a steep narrow staircase with purple walls. There was barely room for the width of his shoulders and I was glad that Juliette had allowed me to walk. I had not mastered stairs on my hands and knees. I caught sight of my palms, black with dirt and had to force myself not to wipe them on something.
“Kneel.”
The floor at the bottom of the stairs was covered in shiny black astro-turf. I clasped my hands behind my back and kept my head high, my breasts and chin at attention.
We were in a long narrow room, purple like the stairwell. In front of us was a red velvet rope that my mistress’s friend moved so that we could enter. At one end was a small bar, but this space had obviously been made as a lounge and performance area. A tiny stage, only differentiated by the seats encircling the space and the white padded square that had been built into the floor, sat at the center of the room.
“Juliette, we are so pleased you will be entertaining this evening,” said a woman dressed entirely in red patent leather from neck to ankle. Obviously, she was a rule breaker amongst this monochromatic crowd. She was slim and willowy with nearly no breasts and long blonde hair hanging past her shoulders. “It’s been close to a year since you last honored us.”
“No, it is I who am honored,” Juliette said, running a finger down the side of my jaw and clasping my chin and turning my face up for inspection. “I am thrilled to introduce you to my new protégé, Kitten.”
“May I?” Mindy asked, and Juliette nodded.
Mindy bent at the waist, bringing her pale face down to mine, her eyes blurring into one with her closeness. She caressed my cheek with her own, her lips touching mine with cinnamon spice and a wet tongue. I gasped, my mouth parting and my eyes widening with her gentle touch.
“A virgin,” Mindy said, straightening. She licked her lips and stared down at me with limpid blue eyes, lashes caked in thick black mascara. “Can’t wait to try her out.”
My confusion heightened. A virgin I was not.
I had not been told that there would be a performance, or that we would be a part of the act, but from the conversations I had overheard that seemed to be the case. I dropped to my hands and Juliette led me across the hard floor, my knees protesting at the hardness. The smooth tile upstairs had been more to my liking. She led me in-between the chairs and couches to the white square. She put me at its center.
“Sit, Kitten.”
My ass found my calves and I widened my knees. Juliette took hold of a curtain I hadn’t noticed before. It was attached to a pole framing the perimeter of the square, and she pulled it around us so that we were enclosed in a fabric cocoon.
Juliette crouched down behind me, her silk clad knees squeezing my shoulders, her breasts flush with my back. My pussy tightened. With her breath at my ear, she slid her hands down over the saran wrap binding my breasts, stomach and hips, and pulled the plastic membrane up. Her fingers tested my silken cleft, pinching my clit between her thumb and forefinger. She milked the little nubbin, drawing juice from my center and onto her fingers. My mistress brought her fingertips to my lips and painted them with my sticky desire.
“Do not lick your lips,” she whispered. “They will shine under the lights.”
Juliette stood and walked in front of me. She was sure to catch my eyes before licking my wetness from her fingers, making my tongue salivate. I wanted to lick my nectar from my lips.
“Now sit and do as you’re told.” Juliette kissed me on the forehead, then removed the leash from around my neck, and left me behind the curtain.
From behind the fabric I could hear muffled voices. I could tell that the room was filling with people and I wondered what was in store. My mistress had never involved others in our sessions, but I was not shy.
My knees were beginning to ache and I was afraid that my calves were falling asleep when the lights went out. Whispering voices surrounded me from every direction. Cat-calls echoed from near the door and bar, making me nervous. What had Juliette gotten me in to? What sadistic pleasure would we gain from this night?
Mindy spoke from the left side of the sqare. “Thank you my naughty friends for joining us at my club on this very special evening.”
More yelling.
“You are the select few willing to put yourselves on public display, and play with our little kitten,” she said from the right side of the curtain. “I promise you, this pussy is well worth the wait!” This was said from behind me. Mindy was circling my enclosure, strange aquatic music filling the air. “I present to you Mistress Juliette and her aching pussy!”
The curtain flew around the square and it took all the training I had not flinch or look away as Juliette took a spot in front of me and the spotlight stuck us. Her ass was my focal point and keeping me from seeing our audience.
The crowd cheered.
Juliette was striking; her long legs and full breasts a banquet for the eyes. Her riding crop in hand.
“My pussy has never been on stage before.”
This was met by more applause. Juliette walked behind me and my eyes came to rest on the couple in front of me. A redhead in a clear plastic bra and white cowboy hat with the number four painted on the front sat with her partner in silver chaps. His cock rose from his lap like the
Chrysler building, tagged with the number five and covered in silver paint and the redhead’s
silver glitter finger nails.
“But if you want to play with my virgin kitty,”
The knot of hair at the back of my head was yanked from behind and I fell backward, my head between my mistress’ widened legs. Juliette fluttered her fingers, which I knew was a cue to rise. Slowly, I pulled myself up, my abs tightening until my nose was bumping her manicured bush. My pulse raced. The familiar smell made my nostrils tremble.
Juliette took hold of the front of her black panties and pushed the lace to the side of her pussy lips. “All you have to know are three words. Lick, suck and fuck!” She swiveled her hips, the curly blonde hair of her bush nudging my lips.
“Lick, Kitten!” She said, her riding crop slapping my ass in a rapid beat.
My tongue shot out of my mouth like a little piston, jabbing her clit like a punching bag.
The movement of the riding crop slowed, easing into sensual circles around my ass. I widened my tongue so that I catch the width of her pussy, dragging my tongue from her asshole to the line of her muff, and back. The crowd approved of this technique.
“Suck!”
My lips latched onto her hard little clit and she moaned, the audience seeming to moan with her. She pulled away, attached her precious pearls to my collar and walked away from where I knelt.
Then turned to face me, and gestured that I drop on all fours.
“Eight! Fuck!”
Behind me there was movement and large hands took hold of my hips. Instinctively I struggled, but the leash tightened, stilling my movements. The person nudged my legs apart and pushed his well lubed dick into my pussy from behind. His huge prick filled my slick channel as his hands forced me to sit back on his thick prong. The pearls pulled at my throat and I was still, meeting
Juliette’s eyes.
The man groaned and I recognized the deep vibration as Damon.
“Fuck.”
The crowd was quiet, except for the moans and sounds of wet orifices being filled. I used my thighs to pull myself up and began to move on his thick length, his dick hitting every nerve.
“Four,” Juliette called out.
The woman in the cowboy hat came forward and stood in front of us as I fucked Damon. The redhead lifted her tiny plastic skirt.
“Lick!”
My tongue swam in her wet pussy, clean shaven, a bar through her clit. I felt Damon pulse, his dick growing, his come shot into my cunt, and ran down my legs. He got up from beneath me and I lay back on the padded square, the red-head falling on her knees above my head, her cowboy hat shadowing her face.
Cowgirl smelt of licorice and candy, not at all like my lady who was like dark rich truffles. She moaned in long sensuous waves, her body undulating over my face, her hands cupping and tweaking her nipples.
I blinked rapidly as come flew out over the stage, her partner having spent his load at the sight of the two of us on the floor. Cowgirl rubbed the hot jism over her breasts and stomach, sliding her hand to her crotch to tutor me in her likings. Within moments I had her spot and she came in a great wave, her quads tightening around my shoulders.
“Kitten.” My Mistress helped Cowgirl off of me and she took a seat on the couch next to her man, kissing him passionately.
“Kneel,” she ordered.
I returned to my first position and Juliette took hold of the plastic wrap just above my breasts. She had a pair of scissors in hand and she slid the metal blades against my skin, slicing through the plastic, in smooth, precise cuts. The audience held their breath and gasped in unison when my breasts swung free.
Released from their confinement, my breasts seem to have grown in size, nipples hard and needy. Juliette cut across my abdomen, all the way to the smooth skin of my clean shaven mound.
My mistress pushed my shoulder, so I dropped on all fours. She unhooked my leash and began to walk around me in a slow circle. The white of the crowd’s perverted eyes meeting mine in the half light. Everywhere I turned were the hungry stares of strangers.
With a dramatic pause my mistress waited, heightening the tension. With a catch in her voice she started calling out numbers at random.
“Six!”
“Twenty!”
“Nine!”
One after another they approached me.
All of them came on me, in me, or near me that evening.
Short, fat, young, old, black, white, straight, gay.
I had become their catalyst, there forbidden pleasure to be fucked and prodded. A willing participant in a game thought up by my Juliette.
An orgy of flesh and desire accompanied by the moans of the participants, and the confident call of my mistress.
“Seventeen!”
“Twenty-six!”
“One!”
When we had finished, they lay about us in a pleasantly exhausted pile, chairs and sofas kissing bare ass and wet pussy. Juliette stopped behind me and knelt at my rear. She held up her precious pearls in the light and laughed, a sound like the tinkle of crystal chiming.
Juliette began to pop one pearl at a time into my receptive ass, the crowd counting with every pearl inserted. My insides felt heavy and full, like stones gathered at the bottom of a fishbowl. Four feet of pearls hung from my ass like a tail when she was done, resting in the light clasp of her palm.
“Who would like to walk my pet?” she asked.
They took turns, leading me in-between chairs, and every time a pearl slipped from between my tight rosebud, my clit would vibrate like my favorite toy. I was on the edge, holding on by will
power alone.
Juliette had not given me permission to come.
My mistress led me back over to the white cushion at the center of the room and had me lie down on my back. She knelt between my legs and took a firm grasp on the pearls and pulled. Her precious pearls flew from my ass in a serious of pops, like kernels in a bag of popcorn.
“Come!” she commanded.
My hot juices flew from my pussy, shooting across the space between us in a wet spray, hitting Juliette in the face. She laughed, her tongue stealing out to swipe her pout as our audience cheered and applauded.
It was in the early hours of morning and I was sitting on the lip of Juliette’s claw foot tub while she was gently washing my dirty scraped up knees. My reward for being a good kitty was a thorough scrubbing, by my Mistress’s hand. She left no spot unwashed, reclaiming her well behaved pussycat as her own.
After, I crawled into the curve of Juliette’s arms, my body snuggling into a ball, and my mistres ran her hand from my head to the curve of my ass, stroking my sensitive skin with her knowing fingers.
“Good girl, Cat.”
My heart trembled in my chest.
“Don’t forget to wash my pearls in the morning.”
Juliette’s precious pearls were very dirty.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Stella
Copyright ©2007 by Crystal Barela
My nose was pressed to the window like a child’s at a pet store, eager to touch and hold. I had the same desire for the smooth gleam of patent leather and the pussy wetting stilettos.
Did I need another pair? My obsession with heels was getting expensive.
The sign on the shop door answered for me.
CLOSED.
I had taken two steps uptown when bells tinkled behind me. The woman who worked in the boutique waved me in with a flip of her cinnamon colored hair.
"Stella," her nametag read. She went directly to the pair I was lusting after.
Stiletto heel, five inches, in blood red with leg wrap.
I took a seat in one of the wingback chairs scattered about the shop.
Stella knelt at my feet.
The tissue paper crinkled.
My breath quickened.
A warm hand held my ankle lightly, while the other wriggled the shoe from my foot. Stella ran her fingers under my heel and arch, her thumb falling over the top of my foot.
“Beautiful color,” she said, warm breath tickling my desire.
The stiletto flashed as she slipped it onto my foot, the open toe framing my coral nails like a piece of art. Stella cris-crossed the long laces around my ankle. Her fingers skimmed my calf as she wrapped the length around my leg again and again.
My breath caught with every pass.
Stella tied the laces off in a bow just below my knee.
The shop worker’s palm slid down the back of my calf.
Satin to flesh, flesh to satin.
“Amazing legs,” she said.
Our eyes met.
Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it glossy, like a clit ripe with desire.
The ache between my legs grew.
Without breaking our gaze, Stella slipped the shoe from my other foot.
“Wear stockings?”
I shook my head.
Stella pulled a nude stocking from her pocket.
My leg lengthened as she pushed the silk over my toes and heel, spreading the sheer fabric from
calf to knee and knee to thigh, moving over my skin with dancing fingers.
Our eyes met.
My legs spread.
Stella rolled my white skirt to my waist. Her strong hands massaged my inner thighs.
Fingers touched panty. She pressed the fabric into me and it lingered in my juices.
My hungry kitty nudged her hand.
She pushed the silk aside and took the other stiletto from the box.
The toe of the shoe pressed against my mound in slow circles. I moaned, the heel teasing my hole.
With a twist of Stella’s wrist the heel wiggled into me. Hard and foreign.
I gasped, closing my eyes tightly.
Stella sucked my clit between her lips.
My wet walls embraced the unyielding heel.
Leather flavored juices wet Stella’s tongue as she fucked me with the heel.
My teeth sank into my lower lip and I twisted my nipple, arching.
Heat tightened my limbs.
I was still.
“Buy one pair, get the second half off,” Stella whispered.
“Sold.”
My nose was pressed to the window like a child’s at a pet store, eager to touch and hold. I had the same desire for the smooth gleam of patent leather and the pussy wetting stilettos.
Did I need another pair? My obsession with heels was getting expensive.
The sign on the shop door answered for me.
CLOSED.
I had taken two steps uptown when bells tinkled behind me. The woman who worked in the boutique waved me in with a flip of her cinnamon colored hair.
"Stella," her nametag read. She went directly to the pair I was lusting after.
Stiletto heel, five inches, in blood red with leg wrap.
I took a seat in one of the wingback chairs scattered about the shop.
Stella knelt at my feet.
The tissue paper crinkled.
My breath quickened.
A warm hand held my ankle lightly, while the other wriggled the shoe from my foot. Stella ran her fingers under my heel and arch, her thumb falling over the top of my foot.
“Beautiful color,” she said, warm breath tickling my desire.
The stiletto flashed as she slipped it onto my foot, the open toe framing my coral nails like a piece of art. Stella cris-crossed the long laces around my ankle. Her fingers skimmed my calf as she wrapped the length around my leg again and again.
My breath caught with every pass.
Stella tied the laces off in a bow just below my knee.
The shop worker’s palm slid down the back of my calf.
Satin to flesh, flesh to satin.
“Amazing legs,” she said.
Our eyes met.
Her tongue wet her lower lip, leaving it glossy, like a clit ripe with desire.
The ache between my legs grew.
Without breaking our gaze, Stella slipped the shoe from my other foot.
“Wear stockings?”
I shook my head.
Stella pulled a nude stocking from her pocket.
My leg lengthened as she pushed the silk over my toes and heel, spreading the sheer fabric from
calf to knee and knee to thigh, moving over my skin with dancing fingers.
Our eyes met.
My legs spread.
Stella rolled my white skirt to my waist. Her strong hands massaged my inner thighs.
Fingers touched panty. She pressed the fabric into me and it lingered in my juices.
My hungry kitty nudged her hand.
She pushed the silk aside and took the other stiletto from the box.
The toe of the shoe pressed against my mound in slow circles. I moaned, the heel teasing my hole.
With a twist of Stella’s wrist the heel wiggled into me. Hard and foreign.
I gasped, closing my eyes tightly.
Stella sucked my clit between her lips.
My wet walls embraced the unyielding heel.
Leather flavored juices wet Stella’s tongue as she fucked me with the heel.
My teeth sank into my lower lip and I twisted my nipple, arching.
Heat tightened my limbs.
I was still.
“Buy one pair, get the second half off,” Stella whispered.
“Sold.”
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Fame, Fortune and Hayden
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela
Daisy stood at the top of the curved staircase that led into the marble foyer of John’s Malibu mansion waiting for Hayden Nickels to arrive. Daisy did not know how this had happened. How she had agreed to do and be all that John wanted of her. She wanted him in a way that had nothing to do with logical thought.
John was upstairs waiting. He was naked, his long lean rocker’s body hard with anticipation. He wasn’t alone. There were two cameramen, provided by the United States government, to film John’s wet dream.
Her lover wouldn’t tell her what he held over the president’s head. What bit of information he had used to extort the ten million dollar bank account, or the rock stardom that seemed to overtake their lives overnight, but it must be world changing for the white house to have arranged this life. Fame, fortune and Hayden.
The doorbell rang and Daisy cursed. She pushed her dark shoulder length hair behind her ears and hurried downstairs. Daisy pulled open the door.
Hayden was shorter than Daisy, but the blonde made up for that oversight with five inch patent leather stiletto heels. Daisy was curious at to what Hayden wore Johneath her black trench coat, but would not have allowed anyone to know her innermost thoughts. Waves of thick golden hair framed Hayden’s cheeks. Her blue eyes were like ice and her red lips turned in a tempting smile. Bitch.
“You are not to say one fucking word, Daisy, unless I ask you to,” were the first words out of Hayden’s mouth. “If you do, I will tell your sister what a cum slut you are.”
Hayden’s watched Daisy’s tan cheeks drain of color, causing the mole on her chin to appear black in contrast. The girl was pretty in a dramatic sort of way. Broad shoulders and slim with breasts roughly the size of cantaloupes. The simple white dress she was wearing added nothing to her figure. It skimmed her flat stomach and the curve of her hips letting her admirers anticipate what they would find Johneath. Hayden’s pussy was wet with immediate desire at the thought.
“Where is he, cunt?”
“Upstairs.”
“Let’s not dawdle then, shall we? I want to fuck your boyfriend.”
Daisy’s brown eyes darkened black with emotion, narrowing into angry slits. The girl said nothing though and turned to walk up the stairs. Hayden couldn’t help but notice how smooth Daisy’s caramel colored skin was, and the soft dark hairs on her forearms.
Hayden pushed past Daisy and burst into the bedroom, unbelting her coat as she went.
John gasped her name from the bed. Hayden raised her eyebrows. The fucker was naked, his huge prick waving at her from across the distance.
Not one to mince words or actions Hayden approached the bed. Daisy hovered in the doorway.
One of the cameramen woke from his shocked stupor and bounded forward. He knelt at her feet, as Hayden thought all men should, and aimed the camera up the length of her barely clothed body.
Hayden grabbed the end of the camera lens and brought it to her face. “Did I tell you to move boy?” she asked, tossing the cameraman from her. The short broad-shouldered man landed on his ass. “You shoot what I tell you to, when I say!”
“Yes mam!” he said, his camera captured the silky smooth length of leg in black stockings. The bare flesh of her slim thighs, lead to a neatly trimmed bush of blonde hair.
A natural blonde. John swallowed hard.
“I’ll call you Max,” she said. “I had a bulldog named Max I was quite fond of. And you will be Red, my freckled friend.” The other cameraman nodded.
The half corset accentuating her tiny waist and Max’s vantage point on the floor, he could see the wet lips of her glistening pussy.
“It will be worth your while to do what I say, boys.”
“Yes mam!” they said in unison.
“Red, you will be on Daisy,” Hayden said. She walked over to the taller woman and circled her. She eyed her from head to toe, a smile toying with her lips.
“Max, you will shoot everything I tell you to.”
“Yes mam.”
“Let’s start with this pervert’s huge cock.” Hayden refocused her attention to the reason she was in this hotel room. “Rock hard and ready for me,” she said, her eyes on the John’s erection. Her tongue swept her lower lip in anticipation.
“Have a seat,” she pushed Daisy onto the silk covered chaise against the wall. “Watch and learn whore.”
Daisy opened her mouth to protest, buy the look in Hayden’s eyes quelled what she had to say. Daisy twisted her long slender fingers in her lap.
“Now, Johnathon,” Hayden said. She climbed onto the bed with him. “Sisters aren’t enough for you big boy?” She took hold of John’s cock between her nimble fingers. “Now you’re collecting actresses?”
“Only you,” John gritted out. This was unbelievable.
“That’s right, handsome,” Hayden said. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
He groaned as she stroked his hard-on. His dick on fire.
“How do I know you won’t be fucking Scarlett Johansson next weekend?”
“Never!”
Hayden swung her leg over John’s waist and rocked back and forth. She gave the tip of his huge hard-on a bath with her dripping wet pussy lips. He groaned, his hands taking hold of her hips.
“I’ve been thinking about your boyfriend’s fat cock ever since the agent rang my house.”
“Max get a close-up of my snatch taking John’s dick.” Hayden slid down John’s length enveloping his hard-on in hot tight heat. The slick sound of Hayden’s juices were clearly audible from where Daisy sat. She crossed her legs to relive the ache growing in her sex.
“Feel how wet my cunt is?” Hayden began to ride. “Look at his face, Daisy. Your man like’s it when I squeeze his cock with my tight pussy.” Hayden moved her hips faster, her juices slurping. “Come close Daisy.” She beckoned, and Daisy walked over to the bed, Ray following close behind her.
“Christina fucked you like this, didn’t she?” Hayden said.
“Yes,” John gasped.
“But you were thinking of her baby sister, weren’t you?” Hayden said. “Fucking her sweet little sister with the innocent eyes and the sexy mole on her chin. Wondering what her hot fuck hole would feel like.”
“Yes.”
Hayden laughed and ground her hips into John’s.
“On the bed whore!” Hayden ordered.
Daisy climbed up on the bed and knelt beside Hayden.
“Kiss me.”
Daisy hesitated.
“Don’t think about it. Kiss me!”
Their lips met, not in a soft kiss, but mouths open. Tongues and teeth clashed. For a moment John thought he was going to blow too soon. The velvet vice on his cock and Daisy and Hayden making out on top of him was nearly too much. Hayden pulled away from Daisy and pressed the girl’s head between her breasts. “Suck me.”
Daisy kissed her way to Hayden’s nipple and sucked it thought the black lace that caressed the tender flesh.
“Harder!”
She bit and tugged, the nipple a hard nubbin in her mouth. Hayden moaned and pumped John’s cock. His hot cum moved closer and closer to the surface.
“You wanted them both, didn’t you John?” Hayden gasped, grinding her hips into his. “Wanted to fuck them together?”
“Yes.” His eyes were open and on Daisy as her lips slid down Hayden’s stomach, the back of her dark hair in contrast with Hayden’s smooth pale skin.
“Lick me slut!”
Daisy’s tongue circled the blonde’s naval and slipped lower. Hayden’s hand went to the back of Daisy’s neck and forced her face against her pussy.
“Suck my clit!”
Daisy sucked and John’s prick exploded, his hips lifting Hayden off the bed. She cried out as her orgasm tore through her. Her cunt squeezed his sensitive dick over and over.
“You’re a dirty girl Daisy,” Hayden said, climbing off of John and facing Daisy. “Nastier than your sister.” Hayden took Daisy’s head between her palms and leaned in lick Daisy’s lips wet with her cunt juice and John’s spunk. “Christina wouldn’t let another woman fuck her boyfriend,” she said. “Let a girl come on her face. What if I tell you sister?”
John could see the fear in Daisy’s trembling lips. The secret excitement in her up-turned eyes.
Hayden took Daisy’s wrist and lifted the taller girl’s arm so that her elbow was level to Hayden’s luscious lips.
“Red,” Hayden said, gesturing with her free arm for him to focus on Daisy’s elbow. The hair was long and soft at the Johnd of her arm. Hayden nuzzled the hair.
John groaned behind them.
“This sure is pretty,” Hayden said. She met John’s eyes over Daisy’s arm as her tongue combed the hair against the grain, catching in the soft strands. “I could fuck your arm.” Hayden sucked the hair between her lips. “I’d like to feel these hairs against my pussy.” She tugged the strands between her teeth. Her free hand to the zipper at the back of Daisy’s white dress.
“Your sister wouldn’t let a complete stranger undress her for her boyfriend’s sick amusement.” Hayden pulled the zipper down slowly revealing a triangle of smooth tanned skin that narrowed to a point below Daisy’s waist. “You’re sister would not be…” Hayden peeled back the neck and the dress fell from Daisy’s shoulders and caught at her elbows. “…as wet as you are now.”
“Smell that John?” Hayden asked. “That’s Daisy’s cunt.”
John sniffed. The scent of Daisy’s pussy made his dick twitch.
Hayden ordered Daisy to pull the dress over her shoulders and Daisy tossed it to the floor. Daisy turned to face John. She wore a white lace demi bra. Her breasts trembled in the cups from her excited breathing, daring to spill over the bits of lace.
“Get that camera in Daisy’s snatch.” Max dropped down on one knee between the two women. The heat from their wet pussies fogged the lens and he gestured for the other cameraman to take his place.
Hayden set her hand flat against Daisy’s stomach. She pushed the delicate waistband of her panties aside and revealed Daisy’s dark bush. Hayden slid her slender fingers between the wet folds of Daisy’s pussy lips.
“You’re a hot little whore.” Hayden said and brought her wet fingertips to Daisy’s lips and painted them with her juices.
Hayden brushed her lips against Daisy’s. Soft, the opposite of all that had happened in the room since she walked through the door. She licked and savored the tender flavor of her new lover’s juices. She pressed herself against Daisy. Tongue to tongue, breast to breast, and thigh to thigh. Her hands ran the length of Daisy’s back and unhooked her bra with a practiced twist of her wrist.
“Feed me your tits, slut,” she breathed. Daisy cupped her breasts in her hands and lifted them for Hayden’s attention. Hayden drew Daisy’s hard nipple between her lips and the girl moaned, swaying toward Hayden. The blonde circled the nipple with her tongue and said, “are your sister’s breasts this perfect?”
There was no answer.
“I asked a question.” Hayden said, licking a trail down Daisy’s flat stomach and around her belly button.
“No.”
Hayden laughed. “Egotistical cunt.”
Hayden pushed Daisy’s back onto the bed so that her head landed between John’s knees.
John watched, entranced, his hand on his cock, pumping.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Hayden reprimanded setting her hand over John’s. “Let Daisy help with that. Stoke his dick bitch!”
Daisy’s knelt between John’s legs and took hold of his engorged prick.
“Red, keep that camera on Daisy’s face. You!” Hayden said getting off the mattress and gesturing to the other cameraman. “Take off your pants.”
“Yes mam!” Max said.
Hayden turned back to the couple on the bed. “Tell John you’re a cum slut!”
Daisy’s pulled her hand up John’s length. “I’m…I’…”
“Say you’re a fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a cum slut!”
“A fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a fucking cum slut!”
“Ask him if you’re as good as your sister.”
“Am I as good as Christina?” Daisy whispered, finding a rhythm to her stroke.
“We can’t hear you whore!” Hayden said, kneeling in front of Max, who now had his camera up and rolling again.
“Do I stroke you better than my sister?”
John’s hips followed Daisy’s hand in answer.
“Give him you’re free arm, slut.” Hayden’s mouth enveloped Max’s cock.
Daisy offered her arm to John. He sucked her fingers one by one, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her wrists. His lips and tongue lapped at her forearm, the soft strands seeming to tangle on his taste buds. He drew the skin deep in his mouth, sucking like a man drugged, bruising her tender flesh as Daisy whacked him off, his cock was huge, larger than he had ever been.
“Fuck him, cum slut!”
Daisy did not need further urging to spread her knees and straddle boyfriend. John’s hips burst forward, his hard cock not waiting for Daisy to get settled. Her sopping wet love tunnel left no resistance.
“Is her pussy tighter than Christina’s?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Daisy humped John’s cock in fast motion, squeezing his dick with each pass of her pussy. She wanted to come.
Her large breasts bounce beautifully. John reached up and massaged them.
“Red, you’re next,” Hayden gasped around Max’s prick. Red didn’t need to be told to drop his trousers.
Hayden came back over to the bed, Max following behind her. She hopped onto the bed behind Daisy and pressed close, slipping her hand along the crack of Daisy’s ass.
“No!” Daisy said, but her pussy squeezed John’s dick in a vice.
“No?” Hayden said wiggling a digit against the hole while the other reached around to tug her nipples in turn. “All sluts like it in the ass.” She twisted another finger in and Daisy moaned. “Nasty girl. I wish I’d brought my strap-on.” Hayden pumped her fingers. “I’d fuck that sweet little ass raw.” She pushed harder. “You’d beg me for it.”
Daisy’s cunt milked John as she was nearing her peak. They cried out in unison, about to cum.
Hayden laughed and pushed Daisy away from her boyfriend. All Daisy could do was watch as the actress took John’s dick between her lips.
“Your big cock tastes so good,” Hayden said between licks. “Covered in Daisy’s pussy juice.” With each flick of Hayden’s tongue, John moaned.
Hayden took the throbbing hardness in her palm and squeezed. John groaned as she aimed the turgid flesh at Daisy and hot cum exploded from the bulbous head. The sticky cream caught in Daisy’s eyelashes and hair. Landed in her gasping mouth.
Hayden reached a hand to Daisy’s face. She wiped the cum from the girl’s cheek and brought her dirty finger to her mouth. The cameramen zoomed in her slender fingers as she licked their length before placing them in her mouth to suck off John’s spunk in super slow motion.
Daisy lifted the sheet to wipe her face.
“Don’t touch it whore!” Hayden said. She got off the bed, pulling Daisy with her and forced the girl to her knees beside the bed.
“Give me the camera.” Max handed the camera to Hayden and she aimed the lens at Daisy’s face. Tears of frustration trembled on the girl’s lashes. Her breathing was ragged. She hadn’t cum yet.
“What is the definition of Cum slut?” Hayden asked. She circling Daisy as a tear rolled down her cheek. Daisy’s eyes were desperate.
“Do you know boys?” Hayden handed the camera to John.
“Yes mam,” the cameramen said together. “Daisy!”
Hayden clapped her hands together happily. “You boys deserve a treat.”
The cameramen’s erections were tremendous.
“I think you two deserve some relief. Don’t you Daisy?” Hayden knelt on the carpet next to the bed, her knees touching Daisy’s. “Give me your dicks boys.”
Red set his camera on the dresser and they stepped to either side of Hayden, dicks hard and ready.
For the first time all night, John moved from where he sat on the bed and aimed the camera at the scene below him.
Hayden took Max and Red’s cocks in her hands and began to jerk them off in unison. A talent John is impressed with.
“Ask me if you can touch your cunt.”
“Can I touch myself?” Daisy gasped.
“My cunt!”
“Can I touch my cunt?”
“Fuck yourself,” Hayden said.
Daisy twisted her fingers into her pussy and circled her clit. She closed her eyes, so close. So close.
“Open your eyes!”
Daisy did and Red’s cum hit her in the face.
“Mouth open, bitch!”
Max’s cum hit target, splashing Daisy’s tongue and lips.
“Swallow!”
The bitter mix of seed slipped down Daisy’s throat as she orgasms, her juices squirting her thighs.
The room was silent but for the heavy breathing of all involved.
“Perverts,” Hayden said taking the camera from John and removing the video tape. She walked over to the camera on the dresser and did the same.
“Those are mine,” John said from the bed.
“They need to be edited,” Hayden said. She picked up her trench from the floor and secured the belt around her waist. “Give me a couple days and I’ll send you a copy.
“I’m flying out to tour Europe tomorrow.”
“I’ll find you.” Hayden lowered her lips John’s in farewell. “Make me happy.”
“Yes.”
“Make Daisy, happy.”
“Yes.”
“Happier than you made her sister.”
John nodded and watched Hayden walk to the door with a sway of her hips. She turned back to them and said:
“I’ll send your copy to your sister, Daisy.” Daisy gasped and fell back on her calves as if slapped. “Maybe she’ll join us next time.”
Hayden shut the door behind her.
John grinned. Fame, fortune and Hayden. And Christina. And her baby sister Daisy.
Daisy stood at the top of the curved staircase that led into the marble foyer of John’s Malibu mansion waiting for Hayden Nickels to arrive. Daisy did not know how this had happened. How she had agreed to do and be all that John wanted of her. She wanted him in a way that had nothing to do with logical thought.
John was upstairs waiting. He was naked, his long lean rocker’s body hard with anticipation. He wasn’t alone. There were two cameramen, provided by the United States government, to film John’s wet dream.
Her lover wouldn’t tell her what he held over the president’s head. What bit of information he had used to extort the ten million dollar bank account, or the rock stardom that seemed to overtake their lives overnight, but it must be world changing for the white house to have arranged this life. Fame, fortune and Hayden.
The doorbell rang and Daisy cursed. She pushed her dark shoulder length hair behind her ears and hurried downstairs. Daisy pulled open the door.
Hayden was shorter than Daisy, but the blonde made up for that oversight with five inch patent leather stiletto heels. Daisy was curious at to what Hayden wore Johneath her black trench coat, but would not have allowed anyone to know her innermost thoughts. Waves of thick golden hair framed Hayden’s cheeks. Her blue eyes were like ice and her red lips turned in a tempting smile. Bitch.
“You are not to say one fucking word, Daisy, unless I ask you to,” were the first words out of Hayden’s mouth. “If you do, I will tell your sister what a cum slut you are.”
Hayden’s watched Daisy’s tan cheeks drain of color, causing the mole on her chin to appear black in contrast. The girl was pretty in a dramatic sort of way. Broad shoulders and slim with breasts roughly the size of cantaloupes. The simple white dress she was wearing added nothing to her figure. It skimmed her flat stomach and the curve of her hips letting her admirers anticipate what they would find Johneath. Hayden’s pussy was wet with immediate desire at the thought.
“Where is he, cunt?”
“Upstairs.”
“Let’s not dawdle then, shall we? I want to fuck your boyfriend.”
Daisy’s brown eyes darkened black with emotion, narrowing into angry slits. The girl said nothing though and turned to walk up the stairs. Hayden couldn’t help but notice how smooth Daisy’s caramel colored skin was, and the soft dark hairs on her forearms.
Hayden pushed past Daisy and burst into the bedroom, unbelting her coat as she went.
John gasped her name from the bed. Hayden raised her eyebrows. The fucker was naked, his huge prick waving at her from across the distance.
Not one to mince words or actions Hayden approached the bed. Daisy hovered in the doorway.
One of the cameramen woke from his shocked stupor and bounded forward. He knelt at her feet, as Hayden thought all men should, and aimed the camera up the length of her barely clothed body.
Hayden grabbed the end of the camera lens and brought it to her face. “Did I tell you to move boy?” she asked, tossing the cameraman from her. The short broad-shouldered man landed on his ass. “You shoot what I tell you to, when I say!”
“Yes mam!” he said, his camera captured the silky smooth length of leg in black stockings. The bare flesh of her slim thighs, lead to a neatly trimmed bush of blonde hair.
A natural blonde. John swallowed hard.
“I’ll call you Max,” she said. “I had a bulldog named Max I was quite fond of. And you will be Red, my freckled friend.” The other cameraman nodded.
The half corset accentuating her tiny waist and Max’s vantage point on the floor, he could see the wet lips of her glistening pussy.
“It will be worth your while to do what I say, boys.”
“Yes mam!” they said in unison.
“Red, you will be on Daisy,” Hayden said. She walked over to the taller woman and circled her. She eyed her from head to toe, a smile toying with her lips.
“Max, you will shoot everything I tell you to.”
“Yes mam.”
“Let’s start with this pervert’s huge cock.” Hayden refocused her attention to the reason she was in this hotel room. “Rock hard and ready for me,” she said, her eyes on the John’s erection. Her tongue swept her lower lip in anticipation.
“Have a seat,” she pushed Daisy onto the silk covered chaise against the wall. “Watch and learn whore.”
Daisy opened her mouth to protest, buy the look in Hayden’s eyes quelled what she had to say. Daisy twisted her long slender fingers in her lap.
“Now, Johnathon,” Hayden said. She climbed onto the bed with him. “Sisters aren’t enough for you big boy?” She took hold of John’s cock between her nimble fingers. “Now you’re collecting actresses?”
“Only you,” John gritted out. This was unbelievable.
“That’s right, handsome,” Hayden said. “Tell me what I want to hear.”
He groaned as she stroked his hard-on. His dick on fire.
“How do I know you won’t be fucking Scarlett Johansson next weekend?”
“Never!”
Hayden swung her leg over John’s waist and rocked back and forth. She gave the tip of his huge hard-on a bath with her dripping wet pussy lips. He groaned, his hands taking hold of her hips.
“I’ve been thinking about your boyfriend’s fat cock ever since the agent rang my house.”
“Max get a close-up of my snatch taking John’s dick.” Hayden slid down John’s length enveloping his hard-on in hot tight heat. The slick sound of Hayden’s juices were clearly audible from where Daisy sat. She crossed her legs to relive the ache growing in her sex.
“Feel how wet my cunt is?” Hayden began to ride. “Look at his face, Daisy. Your man like’s it when I squeeze his cock with my tight pussy.” Hayden moved her hips faster, her juices slurping. “Come close Daisy.” She beckoned, and Daisy walked over to the bed, Ray following close behind her.
“Christina fucked you like this, didn’t she?” Hayden said.
“Yes,” John gasped.
“But you were thinking of her baby sister, weren’t you?” Hayden said. “Fucking her sweet little sister with the innocent eyes and the sexy mole on her chin. Wondering what her hot fuck hole would feel like.”
“Yes.”
Hayden laughed and ground her hips into John’s.
“On the bed whore!” Hayden ordered.
Daisy climbed up on the bed and knelt beside Hayden.
“Kiss me.”
Daisy hesitated.
“Don’t think about it. Kiss me!”
Their lips met, not in a soft kiss, but mouths open. Tongues and teeth clashed. For a moment John thought he was going to blow too soon. The velvet vice on his cock and Daisy and Hayden making out on top of him was nearly too much. Hayden pulled away from Daisy and pressed the girl’s head between her breasts. “Suck me.”
Daisy kissed her way to Hayden’s nipple and sucked it thought the black lace that caressed the tender flesh.
“Harder!”
She bit and tugged, the nipple a hard nubbin in her mouth. Hayden moaned and pumped John’s cock. His hot cum moved closer and closer to the surface.
“You wanted them both, didn’t you John?” Hayden gasped, grinding her hips into his. “Wanted to fuck them together?”
“Yes.” His eyes were open and on Daisy as her lips slid down Hayden’s stomach, the back of her dark hair in contrast with Hayden’s smooth pale skin.
“Lick me slut!”
Daisy’s tongue circled the blonde’s naval and slipped lower. Hayden’s hand went to the back of Daisy’s neck and forced her face against her pussy.
“Suck my clit!”
Daisy sucked and John’s prick exploded, his hips lifting Hayden off the bed. She cried out as her orgasm tore through her. Her cunt squeezed his sensitive dick over and over.
“You’re a dirty girl Daisy,” Hayden said, climbing off of John and facing Daisy. “Nastier than your sister.” Hayden took Daisy’s head between her palms and leaned in lick Daisy’s lips wet with her cunt juice and John’s spunk. “Christina wouldn’t let another woman fuck her boyfriend,” she said. “Let a girl come on her face. What if I tell you sister?”
John could see the fear in Daisy’s trembling lips. The secret excitement in her up-turned eyes.
Hayden took Daisy’s wrist and lifted the taller girl’s arm so that her elbow was level to Hayden’s luscious lips.
“Red,” Hayden said, gesturing with her free arm for him to focus on Daisy’s elbow. The hair was long and soft at the Johnd of her arm. Hayden nuzzled the hair.
John groaned behind them.
“This sure is pretty,” Hayden said. She met John’s eyes over Daisy’s arm as her tongue combed the hair against the grain, catching in the soft strands. “I could fuck your arm.” Hayden sucked the hair between her lips. “I’d like to feel these hairs against my pussy.” She tugged the strands between her teeth. Her free hand to the zipper at the back of Daisy’s white dress.
“Your sister wouldn’t let a complete stranger undress her for her boyfriend’s sick amusement.” Hayden pulled the zipper down slowly revealing a triangle of smooth tanned skin that narrowed to a point below Daisy’s waist. “You’re sister would not be…” Hayden peeled back the neck and the dress fell from Daisy’s shoulders and caught at her elbows. “…as wet as you are now.”
“Smell that John?” Hayden asked. “That’s Daisy’s cunt.”
John sniffed. The scent of Daisy’s pussy made his dick twitch.
Hayden ordered Daisy to pull the dress over her shoulders and Daisy tossed it to the floor. Daisy turned to face John. She wore a white lace demi bra. Her breasts trembled in the cups from her excited breathing, daring to spill over the bits of lace.
“Get that camera in Daisy’s snatch.” Max dropped down on one knee between the two women. The heat from their wet pussies fogged the lens and he gestured for the other cameraman to take his place.
Hayden set her hand flat against Daisy’s stomach. She pushed the delicate waistband of her panties aside and revealed Daisy’s dark bush. Hayden slid her slender fingers between the wet folds of Daisy’s pussy lips.
“You’re a hot little whore.” Hayden said and brought her wet fingertips to Daisy’s lips and painted them with her juices.
Hayden brushed her lips against Daisy’s. Soft, the opposite of all that had happened in the room since she walked through the door. She licked and savored the tender flavor of her new lover’s juices. She pressed herself against Daisy. Tongue to tongue, breast to breast, and thigh to thigh. Her hands ran the length of Daisy’s back and unhooked her bra with a practiced twist of her wrist.
“Feed me your tits, slut,” she breathed. Daisy cupped her breasts in her hands and lifted them for Hayden’s attention. Hayden drew Daisy’s hard nipple between her lips and the girl moaned, swaying toward Hayden. The blonde circled the nipple with her tongue and said, “are your sister’s breasts this perfect?”
There was no answer.
“I asked a question.” Hayden said, licking a trail down Daisy’s flat stomach and around her belly button.
“No.”
Hayden laughed. “Egotistical cunt.”
Hayden pushed Daisy’s back onto the bed so that her head landed between John’s knees.
John watched, entranced, his hand on his cock, pumping.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Hayden reprimanded setting her hand over John’s. “Let Daisy help with that. Stoke his dick bitch!”
Daisy’s knelt between John’s legs and took hold of his engorged prick.
“Red, keep that camera on Daisy’s face. You!” Hayden said getting off the mattress and gesturing to the other cameraman. “Take off your pants.”
“Yes mam!” Max said.
Hayden turned back to the couple on the bed. “Tell John you’re a cum slut!”
Daisy’s pulled her hand up John’s length. “I’m…I’…”
“Say you’re a fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a cum slut!”
“A fucking cum slut!”
“I’m a fucking cum slut!”
“Ask him if you’re as good as your sister.”
“Am I as good as Christina?” Daisy whispered, finding a rhythm to her stroke.
“We can’t hear you whore!” Hayden said, kneeling in front of Max, who now had his camera up and rolling again.
“Do I stroke you better than my sister?”
John’s hips followed Daisy’s hand in answer.
“Give him you’re free arm, slut.” Hayden’s mouth enveloped Max’s cock.
Daisy offered her arm to John. He sucked her fingers one by one, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along her wrists. His lips and tongue lapped at her forearm, the soft strands seeming to tangle on his taste buds. He drew the skin deep in his mouth, sucking like a man drugged, bruising her tender flesh as Daisy whacked him off, his cock was huge, larger than he had ever been.
“Fuck him, cum slut!”
Daisy did not need further urging to spread her knees and straddle boyfriend. John’s hips burst forward, his hard cock not waiting for Daisy to get settled. Her sopping wet love tunnel left no resistance.
“Is her pussy tighter than Christina’s?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Daisy humped John’s cock in fast motion, squeezing his dick with each pass of her pussy. She wanted to come.
Her large breasts bounce beautifully. John reached up and massaged them.
“Red, you’re next,” Hayden gasped around Max’s prick. Red didn’t need to be told to drop his trousers.
Hayden came back over to the bed, Max following behind her. She hopped onto the bed behind Daisy and pressed close, slipping her hand along the crack of Daisy’s ass.
“No!” Daisy said, but her pussy squeezed John’s dick in a vice.
“No?” Hayden said wiggling a digit against the hole while the other reached around to tug her nipples in turn. “All sluts like it in the ass.” She twisted another finger in and Daisy moaned. “Nasty girl. I wish I’d brought my strap-on.” Hayden pumped her fingers. “I’d fuck that sweet little ass raw.” She pushed harder. “You’d beg me for it.”
Daisy’s cunt milked John as she was nearing her peak. They cried out in unison, about to cum.
Hayden laughed and pushed Daisy away from her boyfriend. All Daisy could do was watch as the actress took John’s dick between her lips.
“Your big cock tastes so good,” Hayden said between licks. “Covered in Daisy’s pussy juice.” With each flick of Hayden’s tongue, John moaned.
Hayden took the throbbing hardness in her palm and squeezed. John groaned as she aimed the turgid flesh at Daisy and hot cum exploded from the bulbous head. The sticky cream caught in Daisy’s eyelashes and hair. Landed in her gasping mouth.
Hayden reached a hand to Daisy’s face. She wiped the cum from the girl’s cheek and brought her dirty finger to her mouth. The cameramen zoomed in her slender fingers as she licked their length before placing them in her mouth to suck off John’s spunk in super slow motion.
Daisy lifted the sheet to wipe her face.
“Don’t touch it whore!” Hayden said. She got off the bed, pulling Daisy with her and forced the girl to her knees beside the bed.
“Give me the camera.” Max handed the camera to Hayden and she aimed the lens at Daisy’s face. Tears of frustration trembled on the girl’s lashes. Her breathing was ragged. She hadn’t cum yet.
“What is the definition of Cum slut?” Hayden asked. She circling Daisy as a tear rolled down her cheek. Daisy’s eyes were desperate.
“Do you know boys?” Hayden handed the camera to John.
“Yes mam,” the cameramen said together. “Daisy!”
Hayden clapped her hands together happily. “You boys deserve a treat.”
The cameramen’s erections were tremendous.
“I think you two deserve some relief. Don’t you Daisy?” Hayden knelt on the carpet next to the bed, her knees touching Daisy’s. “Give me your dicks boys.”
Red set his camera on the dresser and they stepped to either side of Hayden, dicks hard and ready.
For the first time all night, John moved from where he sat on the bed and aimed the camera at the scene below him.
Hayden took Max and Red’s cocks in her hands and began to jerk them off in unison. A talent John is impressed with.
“Ask me if you can touch your cunt.”
“Can I touch myself?” Daisy gasped.
“My cunt!”
“Can I touch my cunt?”
“Fuck yourself,” Hayden said.
Daisy twisted her fingers into her pussy and circled her clit. She closed her eyes, so close. So close.
“Open your eyes!”
Daisy did and Red’s cum hit her in the face.
“Mouth open, bitch!”
Max’s cum hit target, splashing Daisy’s tongue and lips.
“Swallow!”
The bitter mix of seed slipped down Daisy’s throat as she orgasms, her juices squirting her thighs.
The room was silent but for the heavy breathing of all involved.
“Perverts,” Hayden said taking the camera from John and removing the video tape. She walked over to the camera on the dresser and did the same.
“Those are mine,” John said from the bed.
“They need to be edited,” Hayden said. She picked up her trench from the floor and secured the belt around her waist. “Give me a couple days and I’ll send you a copy.
“I’m flying out to tour Europe tomorrow.”
“I’ll find you.” Hayden lowered her lips John’s in farewell. “Make me happy.”
“Yes.”
“Make Daisy, happy.”
“Yes.”
“Happier than you made her sister.”
John nodded and watched Hayden walk to the door with a sway of her hips. She turned back to them and said:
“I’ll send your copy to your sister, Daisy.” Daisy gasped and fell back on her calves as if slapped. “Maybe she’ll join us next time.”
Hayden shut the door behind her.
John grinned. Fame, fortune and Hayden. And Christina. And her baby sister Daisy.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
The Water In the Bowl
Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela
I was standing in the water. Standing in the bowl. An oval shaped full-length mirror trimmed in delicately carved mahogany reflected the length of my nude body. My ankles and feet could not be seen. They were blocked from view by the rim of the white porcelain bowl. The diameter of the basin was just wide enough for the length of my feet from heel to toes.
Earlier, Mistress had taken off her jacket and hung it from a gold hook on the back of the door. She removed her studded cufflinks and put them in her vest pocket, then folded the sleeves of her pressed white blouse to her elbows. The crisp line of my Mistress’s black trousers broke when she squatted behind me, a steaming jug of hot water in her hands.
Now, she tipped the pitcher of water and the wet heat spread around the seam of my feet. The liquid squeezed between my toes and swam over the arch of my foot. It pooled around my ankles and rose up my lower calves with a soft swish. All skin below the water bloomed to a delicate pink.
Mistress took the sea sponge next to the basin and dipped into the water. She pressed the sponge against the back of my knee and the hot water warmed its way back to the bowl. The drip of the water was the only sound in the room. Sponge to thigh and stomach. Sponge to back and ass. Water lingered on the fine hairs that trailed from my navel and lower.
I would have closed my eyes to focus on the sensations, but Mistress would not be pleased. She liked my eyes open, watching her hands on my body, the dark red of her nails in contrast with my pale skin. Seeing the rivulets of water caress my body held me in a mental prison, unable to express my desire, but literally bathed in it.
With one hand, Mistress took the length of my long black hair and pulled the soft strands to one shoulder. She pressed the wet sponge to my collar bone and the warm water spread in tiny streams down my torso. The wetness caught in the puckered wrinkle of one dark nipple, before traveling to the hollow of my navel. She brought the sponge up again and the water rushed between my small breasts and down across my belly into the dark hairs covering her sacred treasure.
The sponge was an extension of Mistress’s hand and she ran it over every inch of my body, my breath quickening as I fought not to move or tip the bowl. She stood behind me, the darkness of her pants and vest strengthening my silhouette. The gentle curve of my hip made more womanly by the sharp lines of her dress.
Mistress brought her arm around my waist and pressed the sponge between my legs, against the moist heat gathered there, and lingered at my center. She watched my eye color change from soft gray to blue with my rising desire.
She slid the sponge along my slit until it pressed against my aching hole. Mistress twisted her hand back and forth, her thumb rubbing my clit as the soft buffer was forced inside me.
My mistress took a step back to admire her work. The ochre spotted thing sprouting from my bush like an exotic mushroom.
Mistress stepped behind me, close enough to ruin the careful ironing of her suit. She reached between my thighs and drove the sponge further inside me. Not two fingers, but all of them, thrust against my pussy.
My control snapped. I humped her hand uncontrollably.
“Filthy cunt,” my Mistress whispered. The sound of her voice was a tonic.
I ground my fuckhole on her fist. Wanting her in me. Mistress twisted her knuckles until the sponge and her hand took up all room in my body. I was crying. Emotion overwhelmed me. She pressed into me again and again, my wet box pulling her deep inside.
My Mistress pulled the sponge free. I came hard and desperate. My weak knees wobbled the bowl.
“Take hold of the mirror.” There was no emotion in her voice.
My fingers gripped the wooden frame, careful not to spill the water from the bowl. The sound of her fly being unzipped nearly made me press back against her.
Mistress always took me from behind.
The silky length of my black hair was wrapped around her fingers. She yanked my head back and pressed the sponge in my mouth. My thick scent clogged my nostrils and coated my tongue.
It was hard to breathe.
Mistress rubbed the length of her strap-on dick along the crack of my ass. I cooled my cheek against the glass in front of me, eyes wide open. Her cock was big but I was wet—more than wet and she had no trouble sliding into the back of my womb. Mistress was still, her breath hot on my neck. She pushed her hand between us. Her thumb pressed my anus and I nearly came again. She wiggled the digit into the hole. Never had she touched me there. Even though I wanted Mistress in there, fear clenched my ass cheeks tight.
The water in the bowl sloshed in danger of wetting the floor.
The sound of Mistress’s hand coming down on my hip was like a door slamming in the room.
I bit down on the sponge hard, my juices dribbling down my throat and chin.
The water in the bowl settled.
Mistress pulled her big rubber dick from cunt. The thick knob pressed against my back door. Instinct said no. But my body always wanted my mistress in me. Her tool hurt, the pain ripping the nerve endings around my sphincter. Tears wet my cheeks but still my ass pressed back against her. Mistress’s cock thrust through.
My body felt backward, like my insides were outside and the layers of my skin were on fire. I looked over my shoulder and Mistress met my eyes. I nodded.
She slammed into my ass with a swift stroke.
I stumbled, the water in the bowl sloshing onto the floor.
My heart fell into my stomach and my eyes shot to my Mistress’s. I couldn’t help it, my eyes pleaded!
Mistress punished me, fucking me like I took it from behind every day, every hour, every minute.
The bowl wobbled and tipped, water spreading across the shiny bamboo in all directions.
The mirror shook and I held on for dear life. My body pulsed and my clit was a hard pearl of aching need.
Mistress pulled free.
I dropped to my knees.
The sound of the bowl rolling across the floor echoed in the room; the circular waves of the porcelain came to a stop. It was the only sound I could hear over the pounding of my heart.
“Turn around!” she said. Mistress was angrier than I had ever seen her.
Even though I never faced her, only saw her reflection in the mirror in front of me, I turned slowly on my hands and knees. Mistress had her cock in her hand and she was stroking the black rubber. With every pass of her hand the swollen head of the hard dick passed through her fingers.
I wanted her swollen flesh. Her hard desire to press the back of my throat. My tongue ached.
My lips trembled. But she didn’t give me what I wanted, she didn’t come closer. I rose to my knees, mouth watering.
With a twist of her wrist, Mistress unsnapped the harness and came in a wet stream. The heat of her wet juices slapped me in the face and made my pussy cream. I was shocked. Mistress made a mess in front of me. She liked her space, her fucking to be clean and orderly. Controlled.
Mistress returned her clothing to their previous order. Her fingers trembled slightly when she helped me rise.
“Fill the bowl.”
Eyes down, I did what I was bid and returned the soapy hot water to its home in front of the mirror. I stepped inside the liquid and looked at my reflection.
My normally smooth hair was matted with my Mistress’s come and my eyeliner in black streams beneath my eyes. The sponge poked obscenely from between my lips.
Mistress gently removed the sponge and walked over to the sink. She rinsed it several time before returning. Mistress bent and soaked the sponge.
“Close your eyes.”
I did. Mistress gently wiped my eyes and cheeks clean. With careful strokes she bathed my soul. She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and left me standing in the water. Standing in the bowl.
I was standing in the water. Standing in the bowl. An oval shaped full-length mirror trimmed in delicately carved mahogany reflected the length of my nude body. My ankles and feet could not be seen. They were blocked from view by the rim of the white porcelain bowl. The diameter of the basin was just wide enough for the length of my feet from heel to toes.
Earlier, Mistress had taken off her jacket and hung it from a gold hook on the back of the door. She removed her studded cufflinks and put them in her vest pocket, then folded the sleeves of her pressed white blouse to her elbows. The crisp line of my Mistress’s black trousers broke when she squatted behind me, a steaming jug of hot water in her hands.
Now, she tipped the pitcher of water and the wet heat spread around the seam of my feet. The liquid squeezed between my toes and swam over the arch of my foot. It pooled around my ankles and rose up my lower calves with a soft swish. All skin below the water bloomed to a delicate pink.
Mistress took the sea sponge next to the basin and dipped into the water. She pressed the sponge against the back of my knee and the hot water warmed its way back to the bowl. The drip of the water was the only sound in the room. Sponge to thigh and stomach. Sponge to back and ass. Water lingered on the fine hairs that trailed from my navel and lower.
I would have closed my eyes to focus on the sensations, but Mistress would not be pleased. She liked my eyes open, watching her hands on my body, the dark red of her nails in contrast with my pale skin. Seeing the rivulets of water caress my body held me in a mental prison, unable to express my desire, but literally bathed in it.
With one hand, Mistress took the length of my long black hair and pulled the soft strands to one shoulder. She pressed the wet sponge to my collar bone and the warm water spread in tiny streams down my torso. The wetness caught in the puckered wrinkle of one dark nipple, before traveling to the hollow of my navel. She brought the sponge up again and the water rushed between my small breasts and down across my belly into the dark hairs covering her sacred treasure.
The sponge was an extension of Mistress’s hand and she ran it over every inch of my body, my breath quickening as I fought not to move or tip the bowl. She stood behind me, the darkness of her pants and vest strengthening my silhouette. The gentle curve of my hip made more womanly by the sharp lines of her dress.
Mistress brought her arm around my waist and pressed the sponge between my legs, against the moist heat gathered there, and lingered at my center. She watched my eye color change from soft gray to blue with my rising desire.
She slid the sponge along my slit until it pressed against my aching hole. Mistress twisted her hand back and forth, her thumb rubbing my clit as the soft buffer was forced inside me.
My mistress took a step back to admire her work. The ochre spotted thing sprouting from my bush like an exotic mushroom.
Mistress stepped behind me, close enough to ruin the careful ironing of her suit. She reached between my thighs and drove the sponge further inside me. Not two fingers, but all of them, thrust against my pussy.
My control snapped. I humped her hand uncontrollably.
“Filthy cunt,” my Mistress whispered. The sound of her voice was a tonic.
I ground my fuckhole on her fist. Wanting her in me. Mistress twisted her knuckles until the sponge and her hand took up all room in my body. I was crying. Emotion overwhelmed me. She pressed into me again and again, my wet box pulling her deep inside.
My Mistress pulled the sponge free. I came hard and desperate. My weak knees wobbled the bowl.
“Take hold of the mirror.” There was no emotion in her voice.
My fingers gripped the wooden frame, careful not to spill the water from the bowl. The sound of her fly being unzipped nearly made me press back against her.
Mistress always took me from behind.
The silky length of my black hair was wrapped around her fingers. She yanked my head back and pressed the sponge in my mouth. My thick scent clogged my nostrils and coated my tongue.
It was hard to breathe.
Mistress rubbed the length of her strap-on dick along the crack of my ass. I cooled my cheek against the glass in front of me, eyes wide open. Her cock was big but I was wet—more than wet and she had no trouble sliding into the back of my womb. Mistress was still, her breath hot on my neck. She pushed her hand between us. Her thumb pressed my anus and I nearly came again. She wiggled the digit into the hole. Never had she touched me there. Even though I wanted Mistress in there, fear clenched my ass cheeks tight.
The water in the bowl sloshed in danger of wetting the floor.
The sound of Mistress’s hand coming down on my hip was like a door slamming in the room.
I bit down on the sponge hard, my juices dribbling down my throat and chin.
The water in the bowl settled.
Mistress pulled her big rubber dick from cunt. The thick knob pressed against my back door. Instinct said no. But my body always wanted my mistress in me. Her tool hurt, the pain ripping the nerve endings around my sphincter. Tears wet my cheeks but still my ass pressed back against her. Mistress’s cock thrust through.
My body felt backward, like my insides were outside and the layers of my skin were on fire. I looked over my shoulder and Mistress met my eyes. I nodded.
She slammed into my ass with a swift stroke.
I stumbled, the water in the bowl sloshing onto the floor.
My heart fell into my stomach and my eyes shot to my Mistress’s. I couldn’t help it, my eyes pleaded!
Mistress punished me, fucking me like I took it from behind every day, every hour, every minute.
The bowl wobbled and tipped, water spreading across the shiny bamboo in all directions.
The mirror shook and I held on for dear life. My body pulsed and my clit was a hard pearl of aching need.
Mistress pulled free.
I dropped to my knees.
The sound of the bowl rolling across the floor echoed in the room; the circular waves of the porcelain came to a stop. It was the only sound I could hear over the pounding of my heart.
“Turn around!” she said. Mistress was angrier than I had ever seen her.
Even though I never faced her, only saw her reflection in the mirror in front of me, I turned slowly on my hands and knees. Mistress had her cock in her hand and she was stroking the black rubber. With every pass of her hand the swollen head of the hard dick passed through her fingers.
I wanted her swollen flesh. Her hard desire to press the back of my throat. My tongue ached.
My lips trembled. But she didn’t give me what I wanted, she didn’t come closer. I rose to my knees, mouth watering.
With a twist of her wrist, Mistress unsnapped the harness and came in a wet stream. The heat of her wet juices slapped me in the face and made my pussy cream. I was shocked. Mistress made a mess in front of me. She liked her space, her fucking to be clean and orderly. Controlled.
Mistress returned her clothing to their previous order. Her fingers trembled slightly when she helped me rise.
“Fill the bowl.”
Eyes down, I did what I was bid and returned the soapy hot water to its home in front of the mirror. I stepped inside the liquid and looked at my reflection.
My normally smooth hair was matted with my Mistress’s come and my eyeliner in black streams beneath my eyes. The sponge poked obscenely from between my lips.
Mistress gently removed the sponge and walked over to the sink. She rinsed it several time before returning. Mistress bent and soaked the sponge.
“Close your eyes.”
I did. Mistress gently wiped my eyes and cheeks clean. With careful strokes she bathed my soul. She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and left me standing in the water. Standing in the bowl.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Dressing A Diva
Copyright © 2006 by Crystal Barela
“She’s late.” Christina was not one to wait around for ego inflated divas. Even if she was Tatiana Marci.
“Please Ms. Reynolds,” the producer said, on his feet and clutching at my arm as I loaded my sewing box. “I am sure she will be here any moment. Ms. Marci is a very important…”
“Save it, Dillon,” Christina said. “I have designed and fit more than one hundred costumes for this production and every one of the other actors has managed to show up for fittings.” She shrugged the strap of her sewing box over her shoulder and pulled her tweed newsboy cap low over her eyes. “There are only two weeks until opening night and she has more than a dozen costume changes.”
“Yes, but…”
“No amount of talent is worth dealing with this bullshit.” Christina hadn’t slept in more than three days. The glasses perched on her nose couldn’t disguise her red rimmed eyes or the slump of her shoulders.
“Please her assistant said…”
“Tell her assistant that Ms. Marci better get down on her knees if she wants me to finish her costumes.” Christina walked out of the fitting room and down the dark hall backstage, pulling on her gloves as she went. She’d never even met Tatiana, and quite frankly, after the past eight weeks of pre-production, she had no desire to.
Every last ounce of admiration for that angel’s voice had evaporated after months of fittings and sewing without her showing up. Apparently, everything but looking fabulous on stage was important to Ms. Marci. Christina tightened her scarf around her neck and she picked up her pace.
Time Square was busy, the theater crowd having just been wowed by Broadway’s stage talent. The billboards stared down at her selling underwear and booze, while taxi’s whizzed by, splashing slush on her boots. Still, in the bitter cold, card tables decorated the corners selling “I Love NY” t-shirts and socks by the dozen. Christina was stopped half a dozen times by guys selling Rolex knock-offs, pirated DVDs, Rayban sunglasses, Yves St. Laurent bags, and designer perfumes.
Christina only lived three blocks from the theater district, in a forth floor walk up. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at the steps with a sigh, and began to climb. This was getting old, real old and she just did not feel like putting up with this anymore. The stairs, the stage, the pace. Go, go, go!
It’s true what they say, with success comes a fucking headache. Christina took the last few stairs, rounded the corner, when someone stepped from the shadows of the hall.
“Mr. Dillon, said you’d be here.”
“Christ! Fuck!” Christina said, stumbling against the stair rail.
There she was, the stage diva herself--dressed entirely in white. The woman was definitely mad. White and New York winters did not go well together.
“What do you want?” Christina walked past her and put her key in the lock.
“My fitting.”
Christina snorted and shouldered her way through the door, attempting to shut it behind her, but Ms. Marci wedged her Gucci clutch purse in the door jam.
“The fitting was an hour ago.”
“I was tied up…”
“And held for ransom?”
Tatiana’s mouth hung open.
“Because that is the only way I’m going to work with you on this project.”
“Miss Reynolds, you are being…”
“A tired annoyed bitch?” She tossed her sewing box onto the small red loveseat in the living room and pulled off her hat.
“But there are only two weeks…”
“You should have thought of that before you wasted hours of my time.” Christina threw her coat on the couch and then bent over to remove her wet boots. “We have made more than a dozen appointments, all to your specifications, and you have not managed to show up for one of them.”
She stood and unzipped her jeans. “Nor have you felt in necessary to call and reschedule after numerous phone calls.”
“I’ve been…”
“Yeah, busy…I get it.” Christina pulled her turtleneck over her head. “I’m busy too and you don’t give a fuck.”
“Christina…”
“You know the way out.” Christina turned and walked down the hall, shimmying out of her jeans as she went.
“You can’t do this!” Tatiana cried, her voice muffled by the black turtleneck being pulled over
Christina’s head. The actress grabbed Christina’s arm as she whipped the sweater across the space of her bedroom.
“Check my contract!” Christina said shrugging off her hand.
Tatiana was breathing heavy, the stole hugging her shoulders sliding to one side. Her eyes were ice blue and staring. The expression on the actresses face would have been exciting under different circumstances.
Lust. The bloom of color in the actress’s cheeks, the swipe of her tongue on her full pout.
Christina laughed, looking down at her non-existent breasts, long john covered legs and wool toe socks. She removed the scrunchy from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders in a cascade of rich chocolate.
The actress removed her stole and began to undo the line of tiny pearl buttons running down the front of her shirt, revealing a white lace camisole.
“I promise to make it worth your while,” Tatiana breathed.
Confident. Beautiful.
The actress took the two steps separating them, close enough for Christina to smell White Diamonds on the other woman’s skin and the cocktail on her breath.
“Fuck off!” Christina turned and slammed the bedroom door behind her.
***
When Christina walked into the theatre dressing room the next day she was greeted by the largest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen.
“Who’d you fuck?” her assistant Jackie asked, accompanied by the whiz of the sewing machine.
“As if I have time for a sex life,” Christina said, setting her sewing kit on the vanity table and searching for the card amongst the dozens of blooms. She loved flowers. Even when she had been broke she would manage to scrape together enough money to purchase a bouquet once a week.
Beauty before food had been her motto in college.
“I’d be your fuck buddy if you let me,” Jackie said, batting her eyes. She came up behind Christina and wrapped her arms around the costumer’s waist. “That’s my favorite kind of sex.”
Jackie’s hands slid up Christina’s rib cage and gave her breasts a soft massage.
“Hmmmm, and you could teach me a thing or two,” Christina said her nipples hardening into tight little knots as she pulled the card from the envelope.
“It’s the least I could do,” Jackie said, pushing aside Christina’s pony-tail to nibble on her neck.
“After all you’ve taught me about sewing.”
“Fuck!”
“With pleasure,” Jackie said, one of her hands sliding down to the waistband of Christina’s pants.
“No,” Christina laughed pulling away. “The flowers are from Tatiana.” She took a seat at the
vanity and put her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. She could feel a migraine coming on.
“ ‘Let me make up for last night. Dinner at six. T.,’” Jackie read. “What happened last night?”
“I told the star of the show to fuck herself.”
Jackie snorted. “Let me guess. You have no measurements for me?”
“Just go with the numbers her manager gave us,” Christina said. “I’ve already made the patterns. Cut, sew, and we’ll pin her up as she heads out onto stage. Screw perfection!”
“You called?” Tatiana said from the doorway, her white ensemble replaced by an equally rich fire engine red faux fur and ass hugging slacks. Jean Paul Guatier had a hand in this look. Straight from the pages of the December issue of Vogue on newsstands now. “You had your chance last night, but I’m flexible Ms. Reynolds.” Tatiana winked. “Champagne and strawberries can be arranged.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Christina wanted to scream, to hit something.
“I’m here darling,” Tatina said removing her fur reveal a matching sheer blouse and no bra. She picked up a yellow measuring tape from the sewing table. “Measure me.”
“I’ll do that!” Jackie said taking the tape from the actress’s hand. “Why don’t you run down and get some coffee, Christina.”
***
The coffee burned its way down Christina’s throat and gurgled in her stomach. Christina chased the hot liquid with a couple of Tums. The frigid air whipped around the corner of the theater, but she refused to return to the dressing room. It was childish, she knew, but that damn woman was driving her mad. She took another strengthening sip.
“I really am sorry,” Tatiana said from behind Christina.
The brunette cursed and dropped her cup onto the pavement. “Will you stop fucking doing that!”
“You like that word don’t you?” Tatiana picked up the cup and walked to the corner, depositing in the waste basket. She would be short if it weren’t for her heels.
“Fits most situations.”
“Look, Christina,” Tatiana said, taking hold of the bill of Christina’s cap and lifting it so their eyes could meet. “Measurements are taken and I promise to be at the fitting Tuesday next.” She really was beautiful, her brows arching over her eyes like graceful wings above her sunglasses.
“Please let me apologize with dinner.”
Christina shook her head. “I really have too much to do with the opening only…”
“You have to eat right?”
“Really, I…”
“Any place you want to go.” Tatiana took her lipstick from her clutch and applied the color
without a mirror, the bottom lip blooming under the gloss.
“I don’t like to go out.”
“Well then, I’ll cook.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, darling. I can do more than act and sing.” She leaned in close, rubbing her hands together
briskly. “Once upon a time, even I was just like anyone else.”
“Okay, why not.” Christina had to admit she was curious.
“Fabulous!” Tatiana said, the dimpled smile she was famous for climbing to her eyes.
A limo pulled up to the curb beside them. “I’ll have the car come round your place at 5:30 then?”
Tatiana hopped into the back seat and her driver shut the door behind her before Christina could answer.
Christina wondered if she had lost her mind. She hated the woman. But Christina was pretty sure she could hate and fuck at the same time.
***
Prior to this project, Christina had spent more than one occasion riding her vibrator with thoughts of Tatiana in her head and that was why she ran home to shower and dressed carefully for the evening. She was nothing if not practical.
The car arrived promptly at 5:30 and even with uptown rush hour traffic, she was deposited at the curb of Tatiana’s building within half an hour.
“Good evening Ms. Reynolds,” said the doorman with a tip of his rust colored top hat. “We were expecting you.” He opened the door with a gloved hand and Christina was led into a marble foyer and over to the elevator on the right. Once inside she saw that this car bypassed floors one through forty, taking the rider straight to the pent house. The cedar interior invaded her nostrils reminding her of her last visit home to northern California.
The reminder didn’t end here. When Tatiana opened the door to her condo Christina was shocked. Not just by the food spattered apron her hostess was wearing, but the condo. It was not what she had expected. Exposed wood beams stretched across the ceiling and rustic furniture, seemingly made for a cabin in the Cascades, was placed about the living room in casual invitation.
“You can close your mouth,” Tatiana said with a grin, pulling Christina’s immobile form into her home.
“Fuck. This is totally unexpected.”
“Usually is.”
“Where’s the chrome? The glass?” Christina asked, removing her coat. Her plans for a quick fuck evaporating.
“I was raised in Oregon and inherited my father’s taste in decorating,” Tatiana said, taking Christina’s jacket.
“And born with a name like Tatiana Marci?”
“Stage name, darling.”
They followed the aroma of food cooking to the kitchen. Tatiana walked through to a closet around the corner, while Christina went over to the stove and pulled back the range door.
“Hey!” Tatiana said, bumping Christina’s hip with her own. “No peeking!”
“Is that meatloaf?”
“My grandmother’s recipe."
Christina fought the urge to laugh. She would have sworn Tatiana was playing the role of down to earth temptress if it weren’t for the décor. The warm earth colors were as inviting as the home cooked aroma wafting from the oven. And nearly as enticing as the women behind the apron.
“Is wine alright?” Tatiana asked, pouring a glass of red before Christina could respond. “This is a favorite of mine. Bold and strong.” Their eyes met. “From a California vineyard I visited last summer.”
Christina brought the cup to her nose and sniffed. She really wasn’t a wine drinker and when she did imbibe the brew normally came from a box. The liquid was rich and flavorful.
Tatiana smiled. “I knew you would like it. ‘Screaming Eagle’ fits your personality.” She turned to the oven and pulled a large pot to the front burner.
“My personality?”
Tatiana added butter, milk and sour cream then went at it with the hand masher.
“Focused, to the point.”
Christina couldn’t disagree with that. “Potatoes too?”
“And green beans,” Tatiana said. “I’m no gourmet, darling. Just know what my mother taught me.”
“You say your parents live out West?”
“Portland. Dad’s a park ranger and mom runs a little flower shop.”
“How’d you end up in show business?” Christina asked taking a seat on one of the wooden stools butting up to the island at the center of the kitchen.
“We’re theatre people.”
The timer went off and Tataina bent to remove the meatloaf, denim hugging her ass in ways that
had made teenage boys discover puberty. Christina shifted on her stool with an itch of her own.
“Mom and Dad love being on stage, so I caught the bug early.” Tatiana set the meatloaf on the island.
“I hate to be rude, but can we do this after?” Christina asked.
“What was that?”
“Eat. After.”
“After?”
“We fuck.”
Christina didn’t think she could have shocked the actress more. The look on Tatiana’s face was comical.
“Last night you were eager enough,” Christina said. “I just prefer to work up an appetite.”
Not waiting for an answer, Christina stood and walked in the direction she assumed the bedroom
was in, kicking off her loafers as she went.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Tatiana said.
Christina turned to face the actress walking backward, her hand at the fly of her slacks. “I should hope not.”
Tatiana laughed as her guest backed into the hallway.
“Let me get that for you,” the actress said, catching up with Christina and pressing her against the wall. She breathed against Christina’s lips, her hand taking hold of the zipper and opening the fly in one deft motion. Long tapered fingers slid into the slit white cotton boxer briefs and tangled in the thick hair of the brunette’s muff.
“You’ve been anticipating your visit.” Tatiana brought her hand up to her lips and licked her wet fingers in slow motion.
“Not as much as you have,” Christina said watching her tongue play. “I could smell your cunt from the moment I walked through the door.”
“Nasty bitch!”
“On your knees!” Christina demanded and Tatiana dropped with a graceful sway. The cashmere sweater came over her head and landed next to the slacks at Christina’s feet. Tatiana’s glacier blue eyes peered up at Christina, wet and wanting.
“Say you’re sorry,” Christina whispered.
Tatiana’s hands found the elastic at her waist and pulled the cotton down over hips and thigh. Her face disappeared into Christina’s aching pussy, nose and lips butting against her hairy mound with passionate hunger. Tatiana’s shoulders widened Christina’s legs, a small sharp tongue circling her little hard-on with rapid strokes.
Christina’s clit was on over-drive and her hand twisted into the actress’s neat chignon, causing Tatiana’s hair to fall around her shoulders in a hypnotic wave. The silky strands rubbed her inner thighs as Tatiana ate her honey.
Down the hall Christina could see the kitchen, steam rising from the meatloaf sitting on the island. She could smell garlic and herbs, her own hot pussy and Tatiana’s begging to be fucked. The fresh flowers on the dining table mingled with her new lover’s perfume. The loud slurping sounds of Tatiana’s lips sucking her labia made her knees weak. The long aquiline nose pressing her clit made her moan.
“Apologize!”
And Tatiana’s tempo quickened, her fingers squeezing Christina’s inner thighs. Christina’s legs began to tremble and she pushed Tatiana away, pulling the other woman to her feet. Tatiana’s face was flushed, her lips and cheeks sticky.
Christina took her through first open door she found, and pushed the actress across the foot of the bed, her hand diving beneath the denim skirt and panties. She lay over Tatiana’s back, her fingers sliding into her wet cunt with a satisfied grunt.
The blonde was soft and needy, her ass pressing against her mound as Christina fucked her from behind. Christina sucked on her neck, feeling her own pussy tremble as the soft skin of Tatiana’s ass pulled at her short hairs, pushing them against her clit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tatiana was gasping under her breath. Her pussy lips locked onto
Christina’s fingers when she came, tossing Christina over the edge with her.
They lay in silence; a half undressed pile of skin and clothing, and caught their breath.
“Fuck,” Christina said, enjoying the slowing of her heart and the warmth of Tatiana’s body pressed beside her. The ceiling came into focus above them as Tatiana hooked her foot around the edge of the blanket that had slid toward the foot of the bed during their mad tumble into the room.
Tatiana brought her arm across Christina’s torso and settled her palm on her turgid nipple. She looked down at her with that dimpled smile and Christina felt something soften.
“You hungry yet?” Tatiana purred.
“For pussy or dinner?”
“Either.” Tatiana leaned over and pulled the other nipple into her mouth, her eyes never leaving Christina’s. She rolled the puckered flesh under her tongue and sucked it deep into her mouth, sending waves of desire swimming from nipple to Christina’s hot center.
“Dessert would be nice,” Christina said, rolling Tatiana onto her back.
“I made apple pie.”
“With your busy schedule?” Christina feathered kissed over the actress’s torso and crawled
down her golden skinned body. Tatiana’s pussy was smooth, the skin wet with her juices, hot like a pie just from the oven. The spicy scent teased Christina’s nostrils as she breathed against the ripe flesh.
Tongue wide and flat, she licked from taint to clit in slow motion.
Tatiana cried out, her hands flying to Christina’s hair.
The blonde was sweet and tart, like a granny smith.
Another swipe of tongue and Christina’s hair was yanked. The pain shot straight to the costume designer’s cunt.
The folds of Tatiana’s pussy pulled Christina’s tongue close. Slow, languid drags of flesh on flesh. Christina slurped the tiny ball of desire between her lips and sucked. She nursed the excited nubbin until the heat of the actress’s thighs grabbed hold of her ears and her name was an echo in the room.
***
Before Christina left, she assembled a meatloaf sandwich to eat in the ride down the elevator. A new doorman was on duty, but he greeted her by name and hailed her a taxi.
This was fucked up. She was screwing a woman who she didn’t particularly like, but made phenomenal meatloaf. A woman whose face was plastered on billboards, but missed her family enough to make her home a reflection of her roots. Whose public image was the opposite of her private one. Christina was sure her fans would be shocked that their diva could eat pussy and eat it well.
The taxi stopped in front of the theatre and Christina got out, key at the ready as she approached the stage door. The hall was dark and silent as she made her way toward the dressing room. She was familiar with the route, easily walking around boxes and props until she was in her haven.
Christina flipped the switch and was embraced in the familiar cacophony of color. Bolts of fabric, racks of costumes, sewing machines and rolled patterns. She shrugged off her jacket.
It looked like Jackie had already cut the design for Tatiana’s formal number. She cursed, wishing she had noticed the true color of Tatiana’s eyes before tonight. The ice-blue shantung would be better than the green. The dress, in this color and with proper make-up, would have the audience in the back row catching a glimpse of Tatiana’s eyes.
The cutting table was cleared in moments and Christina laid out the fabric, smoothing it across the flat expanse. She pinned the pattern pieces to the material, time passing in slow motion as the familiar beat of sewing matched the cadence of her heart.
The sound of scissors cutting through fabric held a particular fondness for Christina, reminding her of the summer dresses and Halloween costumes of her childhood. Her mother had been a wonderful seamstress, and up until Christina was in junior high, had made most of her daughter’s clothes. Then Christina took over.
Soon the whirr of the sewing machine accompanied the sound of the fabric sliding beneath the needle. The dress came together in tandem with her yawns.
“You’re crazy.”
Chistina snapped awake, her neck stiff from sleeping on her arm scrunched up on a sofa too short for her body.
“Crazy.” Jackie was squatting beside Christina, her face inches away.
With a groan, Christina sat up, her hand trying to rub out the kinks. “What time is it?”
“Close to noon,” Jackie said taking a seat beside her on the couch. “As always, we’re the first one’s here.” Her assistant walked over to the gown hanging on Tatiana’s rack and examined it closely, taking in the fine stitching. “Good date I take it?”
An experimental sniff had Chistina smiling.
Meatloaf and a slice of pie.
“She’s late.” Christina was not one to wait around for ego inflated divas. Even if she was Tatiana Marci.
“Please Ms. Reynolds,” the producer said, on his feet and clutching at my arm as I loaded my sewing box. “I am sure she will be here any moment. Ms. Marci is a very important…”
“Save it, Dillon,” Christina said. “I have designed and fit more than one hundred costumes for this production and every one of the other actors has managed to show up for fittings.” She shrugged the strap of her sewing box over her shoulder and pulled her tweed newsboy cap low over her eyes. “There are only two weeks until opening night and she has more than a dozen costume changes.”
“Yes, but…”
“No amount of talent is worth dealing with this bullshit.” Christina hadn’t slept in more than three days. The glasses perched on her nose couldn’t disguise her red rimmed eyes or the slump of her shoulders.
“Please her assistant said…”
“Tell her assistant that Ms. Marci better get down on her knees if she wants me to finish her costumes.” Christina walked out of the fitting room and down the dark hall backstage, pulling on her gloves as she went. She’d never even met Tatiana, and quite frankly, after the past eight weeks of pre-production, she had no desire to.
Every last ounce of admiration for that angel’s voice had evaporated after months of fittings and sewing without her showing up. Apparently, everything but looking fabulous on stage was important to Ms. Marci. Christina tightened her scarf around her neck and she picked up her pace.
Time Square was busy, the theater crowd having just been wowed by Broadway’s stage talent. The billboards stared down at her selling underwear and booze, while taxi’s whizzed by, splashing slush on her boots. Still, in the bitter cold, card tables decorated the corners selling “I Love NY” t-shirts and socks by the dozen. Christina was stopped half a dozen times by guys selling Rolex knock-offs, pirated DVDs, Rayban sunglasses, Yves St. Laurent bags, and designer perfumes.
Christina only lived three blocks from the theater district, in a forth floor walk up. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at the steps with a sigh, and began to climb. This was getting old, real old and she just did not feel like putting up with this anymore. The stairs, the stage, the pace. Go, go, go!
It’s true what they say, with success comes a fucking headache. Christina took the last few stairs, rounded the corner, when someone stepped from the shadows of the hall.
“Mr. Dillon, said you’d be here.”
“Christ! Fuck!” Christina said, stumbling against the stair rail.
There she was, the stage diva herself--dressed entirely in white. The woman was definitely mad. White and New York winters did not go well together.
“What do you want?” Christina walked past her and put her key in the lock.
“My fitting.”
Christina snorted and shouldered her way through the door, attempting to shut it behind her, but Ms. Marci wedged her Gucci clutch purse in the door jam.
“The fitting was an hour ago.”
“I was tied up…”
“And held for ransom?”
Tatiana’s mouth hung open.
“Because that is the only way I’m going to work with you on this project.”
“Miss Reynolds, you are being…”
“A tired annoyed bitch?” She tossed her sewing box onto the small red loveseat in the living room and pulled off her hat.
“But there are only two weeks…”
“You should have thought of that before you wasted hours of my time.” Christina threw her coat on the couch and then bent over to remove her wet boots. “We have made more than a dozen appointments, all to your specifications, and you have not managed to show up for one of them.”
She stood and unzipped her jeans. “Nor have you felt in necessary to call and reschedule after numerous phone calls.”
“I’ve been…”
“Yeah, busy…I get it.” Christina pulled her turtleneck over her head. “I’m busy too and you don’t give a fuck.”
“Christina…”
“You know the way out.” Christina turned and walked down the hall, shimmying out of her jeans as she went.
“You can’t do this!” Tatiana cried, her voice muffled by the black turtleneck being pulled over
Christina’s head. The actress grabbed Christina’s arm as she whipped the sweater across the space of her bedroom.
“Check my contract!” Christina said shrugging off her hand.
Tatiana was breathing heavy, the stole hugging her shoulders sliding to one side. Her eyes were ice blue and staring. The expression on the actresses face would have been exciting under different circumstances.
Lust. The bloom of color in the actress’s cheeks, the swipe of her tongue on her full pout.
Christina laughed, looking down at her non-existent breasts, long john covered legs and wool toe socks. She removed the scrunchy from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders in a cascade of rich chocolate.
The actress removed her stole and began to undo the line of tiny pearl buttons running down the front of her shirt, revealing a white lace camisole.
“I promise to make it worth your while,” Tatiana breathed.
Confident. Beautiful.
The actress took the two steps separating them, close enough for Christina to smell White Diamonds on the other woman’s skin and the cocktail on her breath.
“Fuck off!” Christina turned and slammed the bedroom door behind her.
***
When Christina walked into the theatre dressing room the next day she was greeted by the largest bouquet of red roses she had ever seen.
“Who’d you fuck?” her assistant Jackie asked, accompanied by the whiz of the sewing machine.
“As if I have time for a sex life,” Christina said, setting her sewing kit on the vanity table and searching for the card amongst the dozens of blooms. She loved flowers. Even when she had been broke she would manage to scrape together enough money to purchase a bouquet once a week.
Beauty before food had been her motto in college.
“I’d be your fuck buddy if you let me,” Jackie said, batting her eyes. She came up behind Christina and wrapped her arms around the costumer’s waist. “That’s my favorite kind of sex.”
Jackie’s hands slid up Christina’s rib cage and gave her breasts a soft massage.
“Hmmmm, and you could teach me a thing or two,” Christina said her nipples hardening into tight little knots as she pulled the card from the envelope.
“It’s the least I could do,” Jackie said, pushing aside Christina’s pony-tail to nibble on her neck.
“After all you’ve taught me about sewing.”
“Fuck!”
“With pleasure,” Jackie said, one of her hands sliding down to the waistband of Christina’s pants.
“No,” Christina laughed pulling away. “The flowers are from Tatiana.” She took a seat at the
vanity and put her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands. She could feel a migraine coming on.
“ ‘Let me make up for last night. Dinner at six. T.,’” Jackie read. “What happened last night?”
“I told the star of the show to fuck herself.”
Jackie snorted. “Let me guess. You have no measurements for me?”
“Just go with the numbers her manager gave us,” Christina said. “I’ve already made the patterns. Cut, sew, and we’ll pin her up as she heads out onto stage. Screw perfection!”
“You called?” Tatiana said from the doorway, her white ensemble replaced by an equally rich fire engine red faux fur and ass hugging slacks. Jean Paul Guatier had a hand in this look. Straight from the pages of the December issue of Vogue on newsstands now. “You had your chance last night, but I’m flexible Ms. Reynolds.” Tatiana winked. “Champagne and strawberries can be arranged.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Christina wanted to scream, to hit something.
“I’m here darling,” Tatina said removing her fur reveal a matching sheer blouse and no bra. She picked up a yellow measuring tape from the sewing table. “Measure me.”
“I’ll do that!” Jackie said taking the tape from the actress’s hand. “Why don’t you run down and get some coffee, Christina.”
***
The coffee burned its way down Christina’s throat and gurgled in her stomach. Christina chased the hot liquid with a couple of Tums. The frigid air whipped around the corner of the theater, but she refused to return to the dressing room. It was childish, she knew, but that damn woman was driving her mad. She took another strengthening sip.
“I really am sorry,” Tatiana said from behind Christina.
The brunette cursed and dropped her cup onto the pavement. “Will you stop fucking doing that!”
“You like that word don’t you?” Tatiana picked up the cup and walked to the corner, depositing in the waste basket. She would be short if it weren’t for her heels.
“Fits most situations.”
“Look, Christina,” Tatiana said, taking hold of the bill of Christina’s cap and lifting it so their eyes could meet. “Measurements are taken and I promise to be at the fitting Tuesday next.” She really was beautiful, her brows arching over her eyes like graceful wings above her sunglasses.
“Please let me apologize with dinner.”
Christina shook her head. “I really have too much to do with the opening only…”
“You have to eat right?”
“Really, I…”
“Any place you want to go.” Tatiana took her lipstick from her clutch and applied the color
without a mirror, the bottom lip blooming under the gloss.
“I don’t like to go out.”
“Well then, I’ll cook.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, darling. I can do more than act and sing.” She leaned in close, rubbing her hands together
briskly. “Once upon a time, even I was just like anyone else.”
“Okay, why not.” Christina had to admit she was curious.
“Fabulous!” Tatiana said, the dimpled smile she was famous for climbing to her eyes.
A limo pulled up to the curb beside them. “I’ll have the car come round your place at 5:30 then?”
Tatiana hopped into the back seat and her driver shut the door behind her before Christina could answer.
Christina wondered if she had lost her mind. She hated the woman. But Christina was pretty sure she could hate and fuck at the same time.
***
Prior to this project, Christina had spent more than one occasion riding her vibrator with thoughts of Tatiana in her head and that was why she ran home to shower and dressed carefully for the evening. She was nothing if not practical.
The car arrived promptly at 5:30 and even with uptown rush hour traffic, she was deposited at the curb of Tatiana’s building within half an hour.
“Good evening Ms. Reynolds,” said the doorman with a tip of his rust colored top hat. “We were expecting you.” He opened the door with a gloved hand and Christina was led into a marble foyer and over to the elevator on the right. Once inside she saw that this car bypassed floors one through forty, taking the rider straight to the pent house. The cedar interior invaded her nostrils reminding her of her last visit home to northern California.
The reminder didn’t end here. When Tatiana opened the door to her condo Christina was shocked. Not just by the food spattered apron her hostess was wearing, but the condo. It was not what she had expected. Exposed wood beams stretched across the ceiling and rustic furniture, seemingly made for a cabin in the Cascades, was placed about the living room in casual invitation.
“You can close your mouth,” Tatiana said with a grin, pulling Christina’s immobile form into her home.
“Fuck. This is totally unexpected.”
“Usually is.”
“Where’s the chrome? The glass?” Christina asked, removing her coat. Her plans for a quick fuck evaporating.
“I was raised in Oregon and inherited my father’s taste in decorating,” Tatiana said, taking Christina’s jacket.
“And born with a name like Tatiana Marci?”
“Stage name, darling.”
They followed the aroma of food cooking to the kitchen. Tatiana walked through to a closet around the corner, while Christina went over to the stove and pulled back the range door.
“Hey!” Tatiana said, bumping Christina’s hip with her own. “No peeking!”
“Is that meatloaf?”
“My grandmother’s recipe."
Christina fought the urge to laugh. She would have sworn Tatiana was playing the role of down to earth temptress if it weren’t for the décor. The warm earth colors were as inviting as the home cooked aroma wafting from the oven. And nearly as enticing as the women behind the apron.
“Is wine alright?” Tatiana asked, pouring a glass of red before Christina could respond. “This is a favorite of mine. Bold and strong.” Their eyes met. “From a California vineyard I visited last summer.”
Christina brought the cup to her nose and sniffed. She really wasn’t a wine drinker and when she did imbibe the brew normally came from a box. The liquid was rich and flavorful.
Tatiana smiled. “I knew you would like it. ‘Screaming Eagle’ fits your personality.” She turned to the oven and pulled a large pot to the front burner.
“My personality?”
Tatiana added butter, milk and sour cream then went at it with the hand masher.
“Focused, to the point.”
Christina couldn’t disagree with that. “Potatoes too?”
“And green beans,” Tatiana said. “I’m no gourmet, darling. Just know what my mother taught me.”
“You say your parents live out West?”
“Portland. Dad’s a park ranger and mom runs a little flower shop.”
“How’d you end up in show business?” Christina asked taking a seat on one of the wooden stools butting up to the island at the center of the kitchen.
“We’re theatre people.”
The timer went off and Tataina bent to remove the meatloaf, denim hugging her ass in ways that
had made teenage boys discover puberty. Christina shifted on her stool with an itch of her own.
“Mom and Dad love being on stage, so I caught the bug early.” Tatiana set the meatloaf on the island.
“I hate to be rude, but can we do this after?” Christina asked.
“What was that?”
“Eat. After.”
“After?”
“We fuck.”
Christina didn’t think she could have shocked the actress more. The look on Tatiana’s face was comical.
“Last night you were eager enough,” Christina said. “I just prefer to work up an appetite.”
Not waiting for an answer, Christina stood and walked in the direction she assumed the bedroom
was in, kicking off her loafers as she went.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Tatiana said.
Christina turned to face the actress walking backward, her hand at the fly of her slacks. “I should hope not.”
Tatiana laughed as her guest backed into the hallway.
“Let me get that for you,” the actress said, catching up with Christina and pressing her against the wall. She breathed against Christina’s lips, her hand taking hold of the zipper and opening the fly in one deft motion. Long tapered fingers slid into the slit white cotton boxer briefs and tangled in the thick hair of the brunette’s muff.
“You’ve been anticipating your visit.” Tatiana brought her hand up to her lips and licked her wet fingers in slow motion.
“Not as much as you have,” Christina said watching her tongue play. “I could smell your cunt from the moment I walked through the door.”
“Nasty bitch!”
“On your knees!” Christina demanded and Tatiana dropped with a graceful sway. The cashmere sweater came over her head and landed next to the slacks at Christina’s feet. Tatiana’s glacier blue eyes peered up at Christina, wet and wanting.
“Say you’re sorry,” Christina whispered.
Tatiana’s hands found the elastic at her waist and pulled the cotton down over hips and thigh. Her face disappeared into Christina’s aching pussy, nose and lips butting against her hairy mound with passionate hunger. Tatiana’s shoulders widened Christina’s legs, a small sharp tongue circling her little hard-on with rapid strokes.
Christina’s clit was on over-drive and her hand twisted into the actress’s neat chignon, causing Tatiana’s hair to fall around her shoulders in a hypnotic wave. The silky strands rubbed her inner thighs as Tatiana ate her honey.
Down the hall Christina could see the kitchen, steam rising from the meatloaf sitting on the island. She could smell garlic and herbs, her own hot pussy and Tatiana’s begging to be fucked. The fresh flowers on the dining table mingled with her new lover’s perfume. The loud slurping sounds of Tatiana’s lips sucking her labia made her knees weak. The long aquiline nose pressing her clit made her moan.
“Apologize!”
And Tatiana’s tempo quickened, her fingers squeezing Christina’s inner thighs. Christina’s legs began to tremble and she pushed Tatiana away, pulling the other woman to her feet. Tatiana’s face was flushed, her lips and cheeks sticky.
Christina took her through first open door she found, and pushed the actress across the foot of the bed, her hand diving beneath the denim skirt and panties. She lay over Tatiana’s back, her fingers sliding into her wet cunt with a satisfied grunt.
The blonde was soft and needy, her ass pressing against her mound as Christina fucked her from behind. Christina sucked on her neck, feeling her own pussy tremble as the soft skin of Tatiana’s ass pulled at her short hairs, pushing them against her clit.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Tatiana was gasping under her breath. Her pussy lips locked onto
Christina’s fingers when she came, tossing Christina over the edge with her.
They lay in silence; a half undressed pile of skin and clothing, and caught their breath.
“Fuck,” Christina said, enjoying the slowing of her heart and the warmth of Tatiana’s body pressed beside her. The ceiling came into focus above them as Tatiana hooked her foot around the edge of the blanket that had slid toward the foot of the bed during their mad tumble into the room.
Tatiana brought her arm across Christina’s torso and settled her palm on her turgid nipple. She looked down at her with that dimpled smile and Christina felt something soften.
“You hungry yet?” Tatiana purred.
“For pussy or dinner?”
“Either.” Tatiana leaned over and pulled the other nipple into her mouth, her eyes never leaving Christina’s. She rolled the puckered flesh under her tongue and sucked it deep into her mouth, sending waves of desire swimming from nipple to Christina’s hot center.
“Dessert would be nice,” Christina said, rolling Tatiana onto her back.
“I made apple pie.”
“With your busy schedule?” Christina feathered kissed over the actress’s torso and crawled
down her golden skinned body. Tatiana’s pussy was smooth, the skin wet with her juices, hot like a pie just from the oven. The spicy scent teased Christina’s nostrils as she breathed against the ripe flesh.
Tongue wide and flat, she licked from taint to clit in slow motion.
Tatiana cried out, her hands flying to Christina’s hair.
The blonde was sweet and tart, like a granny smith.
Another swipe of tongue and Christina’s hair was yanked. The pain shot straight to the costume designer’s cunt.
The folds of Tatiana’s pussy pulled Christina’s tongue close. Slow, languid drags of flesh on flesh. Christina slurped the tiny ball of desire between her lips and sucked. She nursed the excited nubbin until the heat of the actress’s thighs grabbed hold of her ears and her name was an echo in the room.
***
Before Christina left, she assembled a meatloaf sandwich to eat in the ride down the elevator. A new doorman was on duty, but he greeted her by name and hailed her a taxi.
This was fucked up. She was screwing a woman who she didn’t particularly like, but made phenomenal meatloaf. A woman whose face was plastered on billboards, but missed her family enough to make her home a reflection of her roots. Whose public image was the opposite of her private one. Christina was sure her fans would be shocked that their diva could eat pussy and eat it well.
The taxi stopped in front of the theatre and Christina got out, key at the ready as she approached the stage door. The hall was dark and silent as she made her way toward the dressing room. She was familiar with the route, easily walking around boxes and props until she was in her haven.
Christina flipped the switch and was embraced in the familiar cacophony of color. Bolts of fabric, racks of costumes, sewing machines and rolled patterns. She shrugged off her jacket.
It looked like Jackie had already cut the design for Tatiana’s formal number. She cursed, wishing she had noticed the true color of Tatiana’s eyes before tonight. The ice-blue shantung would be better than the green. The dress, in this color and with proper make-up, would have the audience in the back row catching a glimpse of Tatiana’s eyes.
The cutting table was cleared in moments and Christina laid out the fabric, smoothing it across the flat expanse. She pinned the pattern pieces to the material, time passing in slow motion as the familiar beat of sewing matched the cadence of her heart.
The sound of scissors cutting through fabric held a particular fondness for Christina, reminding her of the summer dresses and Halloween costumes of her childhood. Her mother had been a wonderful seamstress, and up until Christina was in junior high, had made most of her daughter’s clothes. Then Christina took over.
Soon the whirr of the sewing machine accompanied the sound of the fabric sliding beneath the needle. The dress came together in tandem with her yawns.
“You’re crazy.”
Chistina snapped awake, her neck stiff from sleeping on her arm scrunched up on a sofa too short for her body.
“Crazy.” Jackie was squatting beside Christina, her face inches away.
With a groan, Christina sat up, her hand trying to rub out the kinks. “What time is it?”
“Close to noon,” Jackie said taking a seat beside her on the couch. “As always, we’re the first one’s here.” Her assistant walked over to the gown hanging on Tatiana’s rack and examined it closely, taking in the fine stitching. “Good date I take it?”
An experimental sniff had Chistina smiling.
Meatloaf and a slice of pie.
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