Message-ID: <24767asstr$961409408@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Anonymous <nobody@remailer.privacy.at>
Comments: This message did not originate from the Sender address above.
It was remailed automatically by anonymizing remailer software.
Please report problems or inappropriate use to the
remailer administrator at <abuse@remailer.privacy.at>.
X-Original-Message-ID: <84d96a7b47a2c318d274fe543a3eab5c@remailer.privacy.at>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW: I Beg To Differ (mc, md) by Downing Street
Date: Mon, 19 Jun 2000 06:10:08 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/24767>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw, english
DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction and any resemblance
between characters in this work and actual persons living or dead
is entirely coincidental. This work contains scenes of explicit
sex between adults and is intended for the entertainment of adults
only. If you are offended by depictions of adult intercourse or if
you are less than the age of majority in your jurisdiction please
do not read or download this file. Because this is a fantasy,
characters in this work engage in unprotected sex in a universe
where AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases do not exist.
In reality sex without protection is unwise and nothing in this
work should be taken as condoning such activity, or any of the
other activities depicted herein.
I BEG TO DIFFER
or
LUCILLE GETS THE PART
(mc, fd)
by Downing Street
(dowstreet@yahoo.com)
Thanks to MC Woodsmoke who laid out the idea for this foolish
story.
-- Downing Street
Lucille was nervous waiting for her interview. She wanted this
part. It wasn't big, but it could lead to big things. The script
called for a woman who could handle romantic comedy with an erotic
edge. She could do all that, she was sure of it. She had gotten
the interview after all, her first in months. Now if she could
just land the part, surely other parts would follow. Eventually a
major studio was bound to notice. This could be her Big Break.
Lucille tended to think in capital letters.
It seemed like eternity, although it was barely twenty minutes,
before the dazzling secretary finally called her name. "Miss
Lawton? You can go in now."
"Thank you," Lucille responded primly. She tried to ignore the
secretary. The woman was so obviously an ornament: perfect hair,
perfect face, astonishing figure, even by film industry standards.
Lucille had always been considered a very well developed young
woman, but compared with the fantasy behind the desk over there she
was positively flat. Definitely a case of Silicone Enhancement,
Lucille thought. She would never let anyone do that to her.
Besides, she didn't need any help.
The wall behind the secretary's perpetual megawatt smile announced
the name of the production company, Mesmer Films, in big gold
letters. Lucille had never heard of them. That was no big
concern, there were innumerable small outfits in this town.
She had tried to do a little background research on Mesmer Films,
to look informed for her interview, but she hadn't found much.
There had been a story in the paper a year or two earlier about a
film that had embedded subliminals in it, so powerful they provoked
all sorts of outrageous behaviour in audiences that watched it.
The name of the company was the same, but Lucille didn't believe
any of it. The story sounded like typical film industry hoopla.
It was the kind of tale a desperate promoter would concoct to draw
attention to his lousy movie.
Lucille got to her feet and inspected herself carefully. First
impressions were everything. Her thick blonde hair was worn up,
revealing her clear, symmetrical features. She wore a slim, knee-
length skirt in dark blue and a long, button-down sweater that
didn't overplay her chest too much. For once, Lucille wanted to be
hired for her acting ability, not for her headlights. She walked
over to the inner office door, knocked once, then entered.
Inside was an ordinary business office. A short, heavy-set man
with flat-topped, greying hair was sitting behind the desk,
studying Lucille's portfolio. There was no one else in the room.
Lucille was disappointed. She had hoped to meet Directors,
Producers and Casting Specialists, all clamouring to meet the girl
who sent in *that* resume.
The man got to his feet. "Lucille Lawton?" he said, extending a
hand, "Please come in. So glad you could come downtown for us.
Have a seat." He gestured toward the chairs beside the desk.
"Pleased to meet you..." Lucille began. She paused when she
realized the man had not offered his name. Well, whatever. She
took a seat. She crossed her knees and clasped her hands in front
of her.
"Well," said the interviewer, flipping pages, "I've read through
your bio Lucille, and I must say I'm impressed. You may have just
the qualities we need."
Lucille's heart leaped. Then she noticed the picture he was
looking at. Unlike her present attire, the bikini she wore in the
photograph did not play down her chest. Or anything else. The
heels were a bit much, too. Her best friend Nikki had insisted she
include a few cheesecake shots, so producers could see her whole
figure.
Lucille frowned. Was that all he had looked at? Not the varied
acting experience in her carefully padded resume? Didn't he
realize she was a Serious Actor?
Flat-top was talking again. "What we're looking for, Lucille, are
actors to cast in a new film we'll be shooting over the next few
months. I hope you read the scenario. There are several parts you
may be suited for. I have to ask you though, are you comfortable
with frank, adult roles?"
"Oh yes sir," Lucille replied. "I can handle complex parts very
well. I've even done a bit of Shakespeare. It's all laid out in
the bio." She pointed to a page on his desk.
"Hmmm, yes, I see," the man muttered. He put on a pair of heavy
black glasses with lenses like the bottoms of Coke bottles, and
scanned the page. "A lot of stage work, I see."
Most of Lucille's stage work was in workshops. Some of it was just
imaginary. "Oh, but I can work with film too," she responded
eagerly. "It's merely a matter of adjusting to the intimacy of the
camera." One of her teachers had used that line once.
The man looked up at her. "Ah, intimacy. That is just the point.
Our film is about intimacy. It's a love story. A story about
passion and desire. About men and women discovering each other, in
every sense. Do you think you can handle that?"
"Why yes, uh... I think... yes," Lucille stammered. She had been
caught off guard when the man looked at her. The thick lenses in
his spectacles magnified his eyes, making them look enormous. They
dominated his face. Each blink was like a curtain call.
The well-built blonde recovered quickly. "The scenario you gave me
was titled Each Ordinary Day Love Saves, so I figured it would be
adult fare."
"That's a misprint. The real title is Horny Beach-Babe Love
Slaves."
"What! It is? You're not serious. I couldn't --"
"Is there a problem?" He was still looking at her.
"A problem? Of course there's a problem! That title is vulgar.
It sounds like... like a smut film or something."
He studied her calmly. The glasses made his face look like an owl.
"I beg to differ," he said politely. "The title is clever and
cute. In fact it's perfectly appropriate."
Lucille wrinkled a pretty brow. She tried to avoid staring at his
google-eyes. "It... it is?" she managed.
"Of course it is. Our film is a comedy. A romantic comedy. So of
course it has to have an off-beat, amusing title. You see?"
"Why... yes. Yes, I do see that now. It's a good title." Lucille
felt better. Horny Beach-Babe Love Slaves was a terrific title for
a sweet romantic comedy. It was light-hearted and evocative
without being syrupy. She wanted this part more than ever.
Her interviewer took his heavy glasses off, much to Lucille's
relief. He said: "Because this is a romantic comedy for adults,
there will be a number of bedroom scenes. As well, there may be
romantic or purely sexual encounters in... a variety of venues. I
hope you are comfortable playing those sorts of scenes."
Lucille wasn't comfortable at all. "You mean, like, love scenes?"
she ventured.
"Sometimes. Other times the activity may be more physical. The
screenplay explores different kinds of sexual attraction."
"Would I be dressed?"
"Well, maybe. Sometimes. To a greater or lesser degree."
"What!" Lucille exploded. "You want me to do nude sex scenes?
That's all together out of the question. I'm an actor, not a porn
star! I don't do nude scenes. I guess I was right about this film
-- it is smut!" She got up to leave.
The interviewer put his heavy glasses back on. "Miss Lawton,
please. Let me explain." His voice was patient.
Lucille hesitated, looking at him. He blinked. She sat back down.
Might as well hear him out, she decided.
"Surely you aren't going to maintain categorically that all nude
scenes are smut, regardless of context or artistic merit, are you?"
"Well... not all." She supposed exceptions were possible. "But
what you are describing sounds just like public fornication. I
won't have any part of it."
"I beg to differ," the man said. "Don't you believe that sex is a
beautiful thing?"
"Well, yes, of course it is, but --"
"Then can't a cinematic depiction of sex be beautiful too, if it's
done tastefully?"
"I suppose so. If it's done tastefully."
"Ah, taste, that's the issue then," he said, rubbing his hands
together in reflection. "Wouldn't you agree that different people
have different tastes, in film and in sex, as in everything else?"
"Naturally." She could hardly argue with that. She watched his
magnified eyes blink a couple of times.
"So it follows, since different people have different tastes, that
a nude sex scene, or even a nude scene involving multiple sex acts,
or an entranced beach bunny screwing an entire team of lifeguards,
or a hypnotized waitress giving a man a blow job underneath a table
in a crowded restaurant, could be considered tasteful if it appeals
to the tastes of one part of the population. Don't you agree."
Lucille nodded, watching his eyes. "Why... yes. That would still
be tasteful to somebody, wouldn't it." Why hadn't she seen that
before?
"So you wouldn't mind appearing nude in tasteful sex scenes like
those I just described?"
She smiled. "Of course not. They're part of the film-maker's
art." That was another phrase overheard at a workshop. Lucille
wondered if she could get the part of the waitress. She licked her
lips.
"Good!" the man proclaimed. He took off his glasses again. He
turned to the computer on the side of his desk and tapped a few
keys.
"Before we go any further, I'd like to get a few personal details
for our files. Let's start with next of kin."
Lucille answered his questions as best she could. She told them
that her parents were divorced and living on the other side of the
country, that she didn't see her brother much, that she worked as
a waitress ("in between roles") and lived alone. She supposed it
was a good sign that he was taking all this information. Would
they bother if she wasn't Right For The Part? It was strange
though, that he hadn't asked her to do a reading yet.
Some of the questions were quite personal. Lucille answered them
with growing impatience. When he asked if she had a boyfriend,
Lucille balked. "What -- what does that have to do with anything?"
she demanded. "Pardon me, but I can't see how it's any of your
business!"
The interviewer was squinting at the computer screen, where he had
been typing in Lucille's answers. He put on his inch-thick glasses
and turned to face her. This guy's eyesight must be as bad as his
manners, Lucille reflected.
"I beg to differ," he said calmly. "A production company is not
like an office. We all work together very closely, especially
during filming. The success of the picture depends on everyone
doing their part, without distractions from personal problems.
We're like a big family. And like a family, we look out for each
other. To do that, we need to know what's going on in each other's
lives. You can see that, can't you?"
"I... I suppose," Lucille answered, a little uncertain. She
watched his magnified eyes blink.
"Well then, help me out here. Do you have a boyfriend? What's his
name?"
"Bradley," Lucille sighed, smiling. Ah, beautiful Brad. The best
thing that had happened to her since she had moved to this soulless
town. Quiet, gentle and sincere, Brad was possibly the first man
she had met for whom the statement "With your looks, you should be
in pictures" was not just a line to get into her pants. She'd
heard that line since high school, and after the first half dozen
times she had wised up.
Not that Brad was at all lacking in bed. In fact, they were *very*
good together. She was starting to see herself married to this
man.
Four-eyes typed something into the computer. "How long have you
been seeing him?" he asked, without looking up.
"About six months."
"Really? Are you sure?" He turned to face her. "Perhaps it has
been less than that."
Lucille was confused. Less than six months? Of course not. She
had met Brad at the restaurant and that had been Feb... or was it
March. April? Early May at the latest. She looked into the
interviewer's slowly blinking eyes. "Well...uh, maybe less, I...
I'm not sure."
"Maybe it just seems like longer because the fire has gone out of
the relationship. That happens sometimes."
"No! Of course not. I mean... well, we've grown comfortable with
each other." Lucille felt less conviction than she expected.
Things had been rather tepid lately.
"I see. Does this Bruce fellow satisfy you in bed?"
She forgot to be offended by the question. "His name isn't Bruce,
it's... uhm, Brad. Bradley. And yes, he does. Very much so."
The man peered at her. "I beg to differ," he said. "Perhaps you
have grown accustomed to Brian's earnest attempts. He isn't really
capable of satisfying the needs of a vigorous woman like yourself
though, is he?"
Now that she thought about it, Brian, or Brad or whatever, did
leave her hanging sometimes. Quite often as a matter of fact. He
was so selfish. He never gave her more than one good orgasm before
he was exhausted and ready to sleep, while she was ready and
waiting for a second and a third. She was tired of using her
fingers all the time.
"You know, you're right, he is pretty lame. I don't know why I put
up with it."
"I suspect it is because you feel sorry for him. You are aware of
his inadequacies but you're too kind-hearted to let him go. He's
manipulating you."
She rested her dainty chin in one hand, considering. "You know, I
never thought of it that way before. He's just been using me all
along."
"Perhaps its time to break it off," said the man with the heavy
glasses.
Lucille sat up straight in her chair. "You're darn right it is.
This has gone on long enough. I'll call him tonight and put an end
to it."
"I'm not sure that would be wise. The man is unpredictable. If
you assert your sexual independence by dumping him, he may see it
as a threat to his fragile manhood. There could be a scene.
Possibly even violence."
"Gosh. I... I hadn't considered that. What should I do?"
"Why don't you let us take care of it. Give me his number and
we'll see that he's contacted. It's better that way. No telling
when these insecure controlling types might lose it."
Good idea, Lucille decided. She gave him what's-his-name's home
number. Let him deal with the jerk. She had a Big Career Move in
front of her and the last thing she needed was grief from a
psychotic ex-boyfriend. How did she get involved with that creep
in the first place?
The interviewer took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a
moment. "I'm sorry this interview has touched on a sensitive
subject for you. You look a little pale. Listen, before we go on,
why don't you have a drink."
Lucille tried to hide her surprise. She said, "A drink now? No,
thank you, I'm fine."
"I beg to differ," returned the older man. He had his glasses on
again. "A stiff drink is just what you need right now."
"Now that you mention it, a small one would go down well. Thank
you."
The man rose and crossed to a small credenza along one wall. He
procured a bottle and a single glass. "Here you go," he said
cheerfully, handing her a full glass of clear liquid.
Lucille sniffed it uncertainly. "What is this?"
"Peppermint schnapps. Go ahead, try it." His chair squeaked as he
sat down.
Lucille tried it. It tasted spicy and strong. She sipped it
gingerly. "That's um... unusual," she ventured, trying to remain
polite. "I'm not sure I can --"
"That's because you're not drinking it right," said the man with
the enormous eyes. Looking at him, Lucille felt like a bug looking
up into a microscope. "Try tossing it back in one go. You get a
better effect that way."
"No, please, I don't think I'd better try that."
The man leaned forward. "I beg to differ. You want to try that.
Go ahead."
"Well, all right, why not," Lucille said. She raised the glass to
her lips and downed as much as she could. It burned her throat and
she started to cough. "Wooo, that's...ack!... Wow," she sputtered,
fanning herself. She felt a pulse of warmth spreading outward from
her chest.
The interviewer leaned forward and filled her glass again. "Have
a little more," he urged.
"Wait, no I..." Lucille began. The man was looming over her with
those eyes and she forgot what she was saying. She lifted the
glass and took another shot. It didn't sting so bad this time.
Instantly her glass was refilled. "Work on that while we continue
the interview," owl-eyes said. "Remember it's better if you drink
it quickly."
Lucille was already starting to feel a pleasant buzz from the
schnapps. "OK!" she said cheerfully, gulping down some more.
The man picked up one of her photos from his desk. He looked up at
her and back to her photo. He took off his glasses. He seemed
puzzled. "Lucille," he said, "I admit you might be good for this
movie. Frankly, you have the looks for it, and your experience is
impressive."
Lucille felt a grin spreading across her face. She was going to
get the part! This was her moment to step into the Big Time. She
wasn't clear on what experience he could possibly be referring to,
but her elation and the schnapps were making it hard to worry about
that. "Thank you," she replied, "I know I can do it well." She
crossed her knees and tried to assume a look of quiet confidence.
She was still grinning.
But he was still frowning. "There's one thing I'm uncertain about.
To be blunt, Lucille, in some of these photos you look... well, a
little fuller on top than in person. You didn't, shall we say,
enhance these shots in any way?"
Lucille was feeling too good to be offended that he was talking
about her tits. "Nope," she said, thrusting her chest out, "it's
all me."
"Well then why... Ah, I understand. You're wearing a bra now,
aren't you?"
"Of course!" What a ridiculous question. She drank more schnapps.
"Just as I thought. You normally don't wear a bra, do you.
They're very uncomfortable. They make you feel unfeminine."
Lucille regarded him woozily. What was he going on about? "Course
I wear a bra. All the time. What --" He had his glasses on
again.
"I beg to differ," he said calmly. "You hate wearing bras.
Especially drab, functional ones. They're too restrictive. They
don't let you display yourself like a real woman."
Lucille looked down at her substantial chest. She could just make
out the outline of her brassiere through her sweater. It was so
prudish; like something old women wore. Why did she insist on
stuffing herself into these things? She twitched one shoulder
uncomfortably.
"Lucille, you are proud of your gorgeous body and I know you love
to show it off," explained the man behind the desk. "That's why
you dislike hiding your melons in one of those silly contraptions.
Underwear should help you flaunt your body, not cover it up."
Lucille twitched again. This stupid boob-binder was driving her
crazy. She felt like she was wearing a strait-jacket. How could
anyone see what a sex bomb she was when she was trussed up like a
nun? She looked pleadingly at the interviewer. "I'm sorry," she
said, "but I'm terribly uncomfortable. Do you mind if I --"
He waved a hand. "Be my guest."
Lucille turned around in her chair and unbuttoned her sweater. She
wasn't about to undress right in front of him. She wasn't that
kind of girl. It took some doing, but she managed to unhook her
brassiere and slide it off through one arm of her sweater. She did
up the buttons again, a few of them anyway, then turned back to her
interviewer.
"Would you tosh this 'way for me, please?" she said coyly, holding
out the offending undergarment.
One nice thing about those silly big glasses was that when his eyes
went wide she could really see it. Lucille giggled proudly. She
looked down to admire the way her jumbo jugs spilled out of the
half-undone sweater. That felt so much better. She decided to
have another drink to celebrate.
"Well, I can see why you love to flaunt your boobies," the big man
said. "You foxy babes always know how to advertise your best
feature. Oh, here you go." He lowered the bottle over her
outstretched glass.
"Thanks," said Lucille, to both the drink and the compliment. She
tipped her glass. She decided she liked schnapps a lot.
The interviewer continued: "Draws attention away from any flaws in
your legs too, I suppose."
Lucille spilled booze down her cleavage. "What do you mean by
that? Wha's wrong with my legs?" she demanded.
"Well, nothing, as far as I can tell." He studied her knee-length
skirt thoughtfully. "It's just that skirt is so... cautious. I
expected a hottie like you to wear something shorter. A lot
shorter. Unless you aren't completely confident about your legs."
Lucille was incensed. "I am confshident of my legsh!" she shot
back. It was hard to make all the words come out right.
The man looked straight at her. "I beg to differ," he said. She
could see the coloured bands of his irises, swirling around pupils
dark as a mine shaft. "If you were really proud of your legs you
would dress to show them off as much as possible. I can't believe
you are comfortable in drab, boring skirts like that one. I think
you like to wear your skirts short enough to start a riot. I think
you like the idea of having every man in a room staring at your
thighs. You like catching men trying to see if you're wearing
panties. You like giving them a chance to find out. Isn't that
right?"
"Ooooh, yes," Lucille agreed, breathless. She felt her libido
rising just from the delightful images he brought to her mind. She
loved to wear her skirts super-short, even in the dead of winter.
She had a killer bod, so why hide it? She had a closet full of
scanty skirts and daring dresses, all in don't-bend-over lengths.
Didn't she? Well, no matter, she would have soon enough.
Why had she worn this hideous thing to an important interview? She
must have been terribly muddled this morning. How could she expect
the interviewer to know if she was Right For The Part if he
couldn't even see past her knees? (And how could she sweet-talk
him into hiring her if she couldn't flash her undies now and
again?)
"I'm so sorry," Lucille explained, "this jus' isn't like me at all.
I... I must have grabbed the wrong clothes thish morning." Four-
eyes was still regarding her, disappointment visible in his
enlarged eyes.
Inspiration came to her. "Wait a minute! I have an idea," she
pronounced. "Jus' 'scuse me for one moment." She got to her feet
quickly. Too quickly, it turned out. The room tossed to and fro
like a ship in a high sea, and she lost her balance. She lurched
forward, grabbing the edge of the man's desk for support.
"Whoopsie!" Lucille blurted, giggling. "I think mm li'l bit
drunk."
The bespectacled interviewer took advantage of the opportunity to
take a good look down Lucille's half-undone sweater. She felt her
nipples stiffening in excitement. She wondered if he could see
them.
After a deliberately long moment the curvaceous young actress got
her feet under her and stood up. She stepped behind one of the
high-backed chairs, her back to the interviewer. Quickly she
pulled up her long sweater and unzipped the side zipper on her
skirt. She could hardly wait to get out of that awful thing.
It was also a great chance for a little acting demonstration. She
turned her head to regard the interviewer over one shoulder. She
fixed him with a smouldering look. "If you thin' thish skirt is so
boring," she husked, "then I'll jus' have t' take it off." Still
staring the man in his googly eyes, she wiggled her tush and slid
the skirt down her long legs. It landed in a pool by her feet.
The man was watching avidly, but the big chair blocked his view.
Lucille tugged her sweater down as far as it would go. It was just
long enough to cover her behind, so she could wear it as a kind of
emergency micro-dress. Actually, it wasn't quite long enough to
hide the bottom of her panties unless she stretched it, but that
was even better. Even in the block-heeled slip-ons she was
wearing, her legs looked spectacular, smoothed and shaped by her
tan pantyhose.
"Mmmmm, tha' is jus' so mush better," Lucille sighed, stepping out
from around the chair. The interviewer had his heavy glasses in
one hand, and was absently rubbing the bridge of his nose with the
other. When he looked up his reaction was everything Lucille hoped
for. He looked like he couldn't decide whether to memorize her
legs or her boobs. Lucille only wished that her sweater were
tighter.
"I feel so free," she sang, taking a careful step forward.
Impulsively, she reached up and unfastened her hair. It fell down
in long, honey-blonde locks around her shoulders. Her raised arms
pulled up the violet sweater several inches. It contrasted
brightly with her simple while panties. It was some time before
the man even noticed the change in her hair.
For a moment, he even smiled. "Now this is the kind of girl we're
looking for to cast in our movie!" he chortled.
Lucille had almost forgotten about the movie. "Do you-- do you
really think I can get a part?" she asked, absently pulled down her
sweater. It sprang back up again.
His eyes were following her hands. "Baby, you could be the star!"
he exclaimed. Lucille clapped her hands in delight. "You have
everything we're looking for in a female lead," the man went on,
"great looks, natural charisma, completely uninhibited and sexy as
all hell. The best actors always have a bit of an exhibitionist
streak, don't they."
Lucille gazed back at him dreamily. He had his glasses on again.
She was an exhibitionist, she freely admitted. She loved it. She
exposed her dick-hardening body at every opportunity. She thought
about all the times she had paraded downtown in a scoop-neck
sweater and foot-long mini with no underthings, flashing beavers
and tit-shots at all the gawking men. Wait, had she really done
that? Well anyway she was sure going to this weekend.
Her interviewer was talking again. "In most scenes, you'll be
wearing a string bikini or similar beachwear with high heels. I'm
sure you'll be comfortable in that sort of wardrobe." She nodded
smugly. "The important thing to carry off that look is to get the
walk right. Can you walk for me please? Just across the office."
Lucille wasn't sure this was the best time to be demonstrating her
walk, given the amount of schnapps she had consumed, but she gave
it a try. She thrust out her chest and marched boldly across the
room, like she was striding down a Malibu beach. She only had to
grab a chair once.
"Not bad," the interviewer said, "It just needs to be sexed up a
little bit."
Lucille frowned. "Shexed up? Why? There's noshing wrong with the
way I walk."
"I beg to differ," the man said evenly. He was looking right at
her again. "You want to make your walk as dainty and provocative
as possible. It should emphasize the wiggle of your hips and the
sway of your rump. It should be a primal mating display, radiating
signals of desire and availability in all directions. That's the
sort of walk you need."
"Oh yes," Lucille sighed, gazing into his magnified eyes. "Please
show me."
"Put your feet together," he instructed. "Now imagine a clock face
on the floor. Your left foot is facing 12. When you take a step,
put your right foot at about 11:30. Then put your left foot at
12:30. Go ahead, try it."
Lucille tried a few tentative steps. She lost her balance a couple
of times, but she soon got the hang of it. She liked the way the
cross-over stride slowed her steps and exaggerated the wiggle of
her ass. It would be impossible to make any speed this way, but
what did that matter? It was soooo sexy. This was the way a Movie
Star walked.
The interviewer watched Lucille's leggy performance with approval.
"This works best of course, with high heels and something really
tight. You'll want to practice the stride. Do it constantly,
every day, until it's second nature."
"Of course," Lucille agreed. "I'll have it down pat by the time we
shtart shooting." She was already planning to practice at the
restaurant where she worked; that should bring up some big tips!
"Oh, thank you," she said, accepting the drink that he poured for
her. She remembered to drink it the right way. The room started
spinning again and she had to sit down. She forgot to pull her
sweater down.
The man pulled his big black glasses off and rubbed one temple.
"Lucille, there's one more thing. Horny Beach-Babe Love Slaves is
a sexy flick. To make the picture work, we need a star who can
make the sex look hot. We need someone whose mad enthusiasm for
carnal pleasure will light up the screen. Do you think you can do
that?"
Lucille listened to the interviewer through a deepening alcoholic
fog. She felt wonderful. She crossed her knees carelessly,
admiring the glossy shimmer of lycra pantyhose on her fine legs.
He could probably see right up to her crotch, but she didn't care.
What was the point when she was wearing panties? She giggled
inanely.
Still, something about what he was saying concerned her. She was
a hot-bodied little tease, but she hardly thought of herself as a
strumpet. "Well, like, I can (hic!) act really hot 'n' sexy," she
said, trying to sound professional, "but 'course I'm not really
like that."
The big man put his glasses back on and calmly regarded the
stunning, half-dressed, happily drunk blonde facing him. "I beg to
differ, babe," he said. You are exactly like that. You adore sex.
You're ready to go at it anywhere, anytime, with anybody. You're
a horny, hot-blooded love-doll. Isn't that right?"
"Whatever you say, honey," Lucille cooed, flicking back her long
locks. She got to her feet, pausing to deliberately smooth down
her half-open sweater. "It's not my fault that I love fucking so
much, is it? I happen to have this hot, horny li'l body that's
just made for loving." Swaying unsteadily, she stepped around the
desk to where the man was sitting. She practised The Walk that he
had taught her, to great effect. "An' when I see a man get all
excited by my firm, fuckable li'l bod, I jus' have to let him fuck
me, an' it feels so good I always wanna do it again and again."
She posed in front of him, leaning back against the edge of the
desk with her legs spread slightly. "Tha's not so bad, is it,
darling?" she finished. She toyed with the collar of her violet
sweater, pulling it apart a little more. One swollen red nipple
threatened to pop right out. She hoped desperately that he would
take her right there, on the carpet, or up on the desk.
Somehow he was still talking about the movie. "Naturally, being as
you're a shameless exhibitionist and a horny fuck-toy, I presume
you have no reservations about doing anything we ask in front of
the camera? Including blow-jobs, boob fucks, double penetration,
gang bangs and lesbian scenes?"
Up close, his outlandish eyes were almost overwhelming. For a
fleeting moment Lucille had another answer in mind (could she have
meant to object?) but the thought was gone in an instant, replaced
instead by a burning desire to do all the things he had described.
The only thing she could imagine that was better than fucking was
fucking in front of a camera. The thought of men everywhere
getting hot watching her screw on film was almost enough to make
her cum by itself.
"Oh god, that sounds so wonderful," the shapely blonde gushed.
"Can we start, like, today?" She ran her tongue around red lips.
She could feel moisture in her panties.
The interviewer was quickly succumbing to Lucille's charms. "Uhm,
why don't we, uh, draw up a contract for you right now," he said,
pulling some papers out of a file.
"A contract?" Lucille exclaimed, "For me? Oh, thank you! Thank
you so much!" She could hardly believe it. It was finally
happening: her first real movie contract! She was on her way to
Fame And Fortune now. Maybe when the signing was finished they
could fuck to celebrate.
The interviewer rose and spread out a bunch of legal papers on his
desk. He handed Lucille a fat fountain pen. It reminded her of a
nice hard cock. "Just sign this one here, and here. Date it too."
"Wha's all this?" Lucille asked without much interest. She was
already signing sloppily. Bending over to sign the papers, she put
her entire pantied behind on display, while her unbound boobs
spilled out the top of her half-buttoned sweater.
"Oh, standard contract stuff," the interviewer said, turning
slightly to admire the rear view. "This one gives us access to
your bank account -- so we can deposit your cheques of course --
and this one gives us power of attorney over your business affairs
and the like. This authorizes us to close out your lease and move
your things into a new apartment. Just in case that wacko ex-
boyfriend or somebody should try to find you."
Lucille frowned, trying to make her lust-crazed and alcohol-soaked
brain absorb all the forms. "Uhm, I'm not sure I should..." she
demurred.
The interviewer bent over beside her. Suddenly his preposterous
eyes were right in front of her again, like a double sunrise on
some spectacular distant planet. "I beg to differ," he said, calm
as ever. "You want to sign all these papers so you can be a movie
star. You trust me. You know I would only do what's in your best
interest."
"Why of course, darling," Lucille agreed immediately. She signed
the next paper without reading it. She was so glad the wonderful
man was here to take care of these mundane chores so she could
concentrate on bigger things, like fucking and making love films
and fucking and being a Big Movie Star.
"Here's the last one," he said, sliding another paper in front of
her. "If you're going to be a famous porn star, you'll need a
better name." He thought for a moment. "Hmmm, how about Luscious
Love? We'll call you Lush for short."
"Oooh, I love it," Luscious agreed eagerly. "It sounds so
romantic." It was the perfect name for a big-time Porn Star like
her. He filled in the name for her and handed her the pen.
"We like to change the name legally. It's simpler that way."
Whatever, Luscious thought, impatient to finish. She signed the
form, wondering if she should use her old name or her new one.
What was her old name, anyway? Funny, she was having trouble
remembering. Oh well, the new one was a lot better. All the big
porn stars had sexy names.
The interviewer gathered up the signed forms and put them aside.
He sat back in his chair with a grin. "There, we're all done. Are
you ready to make your first motion picture?"
"Am I ever!" Luscious gushed. She plopped boldly into his lap.
"Thank you ever so mush." She slid her arms around his neck and
kissed him deeply. "Please," she whispered, nibbling on his chin,
"don't you want to do me now?"
The man's giant eyes were growing filmy with desire. Luscious
could feel his hard-on pressing against her behind. "Man, you are
a hot one," he said, sliding one hand up her nyloned leg. "Eager
to please, too. In fact, I think you will do anything for me. I
think you want to be my little love slave."
A tiny bit of Lucille's old spirit rose up. "Love shlave? No, I'm
a porn star, not a slave!" She giggled drunkenly.
The man fixed her with those eyes like searchlights trapping an
escaping prisoner. She couldn't look away.
"I beg to differ," he said. "You want to be my love slave.
Pleasing me is everything. There is no greater pleasure than
obedience."
"Yesssss!" Luscious agreed sibilantly. "I want to obey you.
Please please please lemme be your slave, darling, oh please!"
"Very well," he conceded, "Get down on your knees and blow me like
there's no tomorrow."
My first command! Luscious thought. She shivered at the pulse of
sexual pleasure that lanced through her. Trembling, she slid to
the carpeted floor and reached for the man's zipper. "I'm a Horny
Porn Star Love Slave," she said to herself. The realization was
like a high. She felt she could come at any moment.
She unfastened his pants and drew out his hard member. Her mouth
was watering. She wanted nothing more than to please... who? She
looked up at him. "Darling, I don't even know your name," she
complained. She licked his big cock like an ice cream cone.
"Yes, good point." He considered it. "Why don't you just call me
Master. Now get busy."
"Yes. Master." Luscious replied, and she shivered through a sweet,
unexpected climax. As she slid down from her peak she leaned
forward and took his rod into her mouth as deep as she could.
"Ah, that's much better," the man said, surrendering to Lush's
artful tongue. He took off the heavy glasses and tossed them on
the desk. "Those things give me a headache. I thought with all
that booze you would be a little less work."
Luscious knew just what to do about that. In a few minutes her new
Master had forgotten his headache completely.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+