Out of Work and in My Pants at The Donavan House
by Bryce Denison Copyright February 2008

Clara, an out of work television star resorts to unscrupulous measures in
order to survive the Hollywood writer's strike. While reaping the benefits 
of The Donavan House's charity outreach program her caregiver fucks her hard 
against a tree.

************************************

Audience recognition is an actor's prerogative. Yet in this case the
person I am performing for has no idea I am acting.  I want to keep it 
that way. 

"Be kind. Be kind, be patient, be kind," I chirp for the tenth time that
morning. 

I am an out of work TV actor playing my first paying role since the
Hollywood writer's strike began. I am not being paid in cash and flashy 
promo items; rather in room, three square meals and a caring 
environment three full days a week. Something I desperately need. I am 
on my last nickel and there is no end to the strike in sight. If I have 
to play the part of a 'special needs' person in order to survive so be 
it. After all I didn't choose to be an actor, I was born this way. 

"Be kind." I sputter again, then decide my tirade on kindness is over
for the moment. I turn to look at my caregiver and give him a big 
toothy grin. I stick my chin out and tilt my head up to the sky for 
added effect. 

"Yes Esther kindness is what makes the world go around," PJ nods his
head and smiles encouragingly at me. 

PJ is the name of the kid that is looking after me today.  He is my
favorite out of those who 'care' for me every Monday, Tuesday and 
Friday. PJ is a kind-hearted, gentle guy and to top it all off he is 
sexy as hell.   He is his early twenties, tall, with a charming smile, 
open honest eyes and big hands. He is studying hard in pre med and 
still makes time to volunteer here at Donavan House. 

Standing on the path I look back up at the house, a mansion overlooking
a leafy canyon. If you need a 'location' for a nut house for rich 
folks, The Donavan House is it.  I am not here through family 
connections. I got access through their charity outreach program.  I 
was chosen out of a dozen special needs applicants as the poor person 
most suited for their care. Basically through my superior acting 
talents, I nailed the 'audition.' 

PJ walks beside me slowly as I continue down the path to the creek. It
is a fifteen minute walk to the canyon floor. Every now and then I swat 
at imaginary flies in front of me. 

"Flies ain't kind, flies ain't kind, boys ain't kind neither." I snort
loudly, giggle like a spaz, then slap PJ on the back and walk a little 
faster. Damn I am good! This is some of the best acting I have done, 
ever. Finally I have broken free from being typecasted and no one but 
me to appreciate it. Ah such is life. 

As a child I played the cute yet untrustworhty kid.  In my teens I was
casted as a sexually precocious corruptor of baby faced leads. My fate 
was sealed in my early twenties when I starred for four years on 
"Avalon High". I was Cynthia the trouble making slut who cascaded 
misery upon the heads of the 'in' girls, generally through seducing 
their pecker headed boyfriends.  What a relief to be here at The 
Donavan House where I can really push the limits of my acting talents 
without any judgement. 

"PJ how big is your DJ? How big is your DJ PJ?" I chortle aloud then
turn and face him. "I like DJs PJ. I saw a DJ once. He was really good. 
He was BIG. He played 16 songs and I drank eight cokes. That is a soda 
every two songs PJ.  I like big DJs PJ." 

My hair is always combed forward in long bangs but I felt it was the
appropriate moment to push it back so he good see my eyes. "Is your DJ 
big PJ?" I turn quickly and resume trundling down the path. 

I look down toward the creek then turn quickly to look at PJ as he
approaches. "Actually Esther my DJ is big, it is very big. It is about 
10 songs long and one soda can wide." He replies. His caring demeanour 
changing to a leering smile before my blinking eyes. While playing 
Esther I tend to lapse into blinking fits for added effect. 

PJ? His words shock me.  This is my third week with him and he has
always rebuffed any of my suggestive outburst with a gentle nod and a 
calm reassuring voice. He has never said anything remotely naughty nor 
had he ever looked at me in this way. 

"I like music, music PJ, I like music." I say with stupid looking
eagerness.  He is giving me the horny vibe and it is weirding me out. I 
need to put this performance back on track. I am concerned. If acting 
like an idiot savant with Tourrette's syndrome is making him horny, so 
help his hormones if he knew what was under my poncho. 

One of the perks of this role is that I can dress like a total moron.
Imagine how easy life is when you all you need to do each morning is 
throw on rugby pants, light halter top and a large shawl that looks 
like a poncho; then comb your hair forward and head out the door 
wearing woolly socks and comfortable cork soled sandals. Today I had 
wrapped a blue and pink gossamer scarf nicked from the set, over my 
head and secured it with a fat knot under my chin. 

The only down side to this type of get up is that my body work goes to
waste. I say body work as my craft requires that I go to the gym 
everyday, that along with my 'incredible' pair of tits that cost nearly 
ten thousand dollars. An investment I consider worthwhile. My agent 
told me that my figure was the deciding factor in locking down my 
current job.  I play the role of Cassy, a cockteasing bitch on a cable 
TV series "Mitchum 92".  That was up until the writer's strike started. 


Mitchum 92 has over a million five weekly viewers but the staff here at
Donavan House would not know me.They are far too well rounded, hard 
working and caring to have time to watch such meaningless crap.  Albeit 
that crap supported my carefree LA lifestyle quite nicely. If my body 
needs to be toned and my tits big so I can make ten grand every two 
weeks, so be it. But during the writer's strike I had stopped going to 
the gym. I am happy to wear this heavy poncho with Burgundy coloured 
rugby pants 'get up' since my body is going to the dogs. 

PJ is looking around to make sure that no one is watching us. Then he
grabs my wrist and pulls me toward a tree. 

"PJ ain't nice. Like white rice he ain't nice." I squawk. At times I
imagine Esther to be a parrot with Tourette's syndrome. And at times I 
have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cracking up. "You 
ain't nice PJ, like white rice you sure ain't nice." I stammer again. 

He is gripping my upper arm hard enough to bruise me. He spins me around
and holds my wrist high up against the tree trunk with one strong hand 
while the other feels under my poncho for my rugby pants. I had pulled 
the string waist band tight above my hips, so his attempts to wiggle in 
and grope my ass are stifled. Then PJ find the string and unties my 
waist with ease. I should have triple knotted it like any other self 
respecting mentally retarded person would have. I make a mental note of 
that, even in distress I am always looking at ways to improve the 
authenticity of my character. 

PJ's hand is now aggressively groping my bare ass. He holds and squeezes
my buns then probes for my pussy. 'Bingo' two of his digits found their 
mark in the folds of my moist quim. 

You may find it appalling that I accept PJ sexual assault on me without
resistance. But the TV roles I play generally cause some type of sexual 
strife. If not for my character then for those around me.  Frankly if I 
am not being groped or sexually harassed on the set or vice versa, I am 
not doing my job. 

"Wet as rain PJ. Wet as rain feel no pain. No pain wet as rain."  I
stick my ass back against his fingers. PJ doesn't waste time with 
gentle fingering. He has made his digits rigid and slides into my pussy 
right to the knuckles - feels like three fingers, though probably only 
two. Yummy. I haven't had much sex since the writer's strike begun. My 
freeloading boyfriend split when my finances dried up.  That was over 
four weeks ago. I just stick my ass back more to enjoy PJ's finger 
bang. Though PJ is being a little to forceful for my liking. 

"Be kind, be kind," I fall back on my tried and true mantra, "be
patient, be KIND."  I say clearly with just enough of a slobbering lisp 
to remain in character. 

But to no avail. My words simple spur him on and his fingers slam into
my cunt mercilessly.  No clitoral rub, just pounding.  If I let myself 
slip out of my character I start to feel a bit panicky.  I am having a 
hard time grasping that my gentle caregiver, PJ, is finger fucking the 
bejesus out of me via the backside. It is so entirely out of his 
character. 

"Must be gentle with the temple, PJ GENTLE with my temple." I hope he
listens to Esther's pleas as my pussy is starting to hurt. In fact my 
eyes are watering, but I am not sure if they are my tears or from my 
character Esther. 

He is breathing hard. Sweat is on his brow and I can feel my sweat
trickling down my back. The morning is heating up. Despite this 
entirely unexpected nature of my finger fuck, I am becoming completely 
turned on. Like I said PJ is handsome and normally caring, the epitome 
of the hunky lovable intern from a hospital TV series.  Now his chest 
is pushed up against my back, he is moaning against me, fingering me 
without any finesses like some c grade porn star. 

Satisfied that I won't move my wrists, which are now outstretched above
me against the tree trunk, PJ reaches around my front and under my 
poncho with his other hand, slipping crotchside into my pants. He 
slides his strong hand over my hairless mound.  His fingers tap and 
probe me. First seeking in their touch, then moving more frantically 
groping about in shock, searching.  He was expecting a hairy bush no 
doubt, but my poo-nani is completely bare.  When you have been waxed 
enough to become a honorary citizen of Brazil, there comes a point 
where the hair just doesn't bother growing back.  I haven't seen a pube 
down there in over five years. 

Staying in character I blurt out, "my eagle is bald, some eagle have
feathers, but mine is bald. The President loves Bald Eagles." Satisfied 
that my words are nutty enough, I move my attention back to my finger 
bang. 

PJ has a finger on either side of my stiff clit. With each thrust of his
fingers from behind with his right hand, he rubs and flicks my berry 
with his left.  For a molester he sure seems motivated to get me off. 
Woa he is positively speed bagging my clit and pussy!  While the 
fingertips of his other hand are pushing from behind stroking my soft g 
spot deep inside and to the top.  It is time. I so need this! 

"Screw it, sounds like do it, PJ."  I stammer. "Screw it sounds like do
it. Do it. Screw it. Do IT." 

On cue PJ pulls down my pants and starts unbuckling his. I keep staring
straight head at the tree trunk.  If I act to knowledgeable about sex, 
or to 'into' it, my cover could be blown.  I think to myself what would 
Esther do?  Study the tree bark. I become aware of its texture and hue, 
its woody smell.  The tinge of dry moss on its ridges. My arbor reverie 
is broken by the feeling of warm, fleshy and positively huge pressing 
into my pussy, my lips spread wide around it. 

Donavan House - a one stop shop for mooching sex deprived actors. Thank
you to the staff and a very special thanks to PJ. Now stuff your juicy 
cock inside me. PJ is hung like a horse!  Good thing he isn't wasting 
his fat rod on a retard. I realize this is a completely crass comment, 
but to be offended is to know me. 

With these thoughts swirling around my head. PJ pushes into to me.  He
spreads me wide. I push my ass back and try and spread my legs but the 
rugby pants are bunched around my ankles. Since I can't move my legs 
apart it is harder for me to accommodate his straining rod.  I feel 
like I am being skewered. He has stuffed his enormous cock to the hilt 
inside me. His fat cockhead pushed against my cervix I feel so frigging 
full, it is bordering on nuts.  And that is exactly what I feel mushed 
against my quim. PJ fat full nut sack, tense and rubbery against my 
vulva, my stiff clit must be leaving a dent in them. 

"Aggh, arrggg," I moan staying in character.  But the drool that is
dripping from the side of my mouth is not staged. It is real.  I am 
being fucked against this tree, long and hard, to the point of 
drooling. I can't think straight. It feels so fucking good. I feel that 
at this very moment I am closest in mindset to the true Esther.  My 
mental brain is on hold so that my physical one can process the amazing 
sensations of PJ cock and his relentless hammering of my cunt. 

After one hard thrust he pulls completely out of me with a wet suction
sound.  I feel the head of his cock being rubbed up down my crack. The 
ridges of his helmet smear and slide up and down my slick ass.  He then 
pushes against bung hole. Yikes! I want cock in cunt. I do no want that 
apple sized cockhead anywhere near my ass hole. 

"In the round makes it brown. The round makes it brown. Round. Brown!" I
shake and stammer sandwiched between the tree trunk and PJ's poking 
member.  I repeat this line again several times, hoping to persuade my 
rutting caregiver to reason. There is no way his cock will fit in my 
tight ass. And if he tries it I won't be able to stop from screaming 
holy murder. 

This caregiving fucker is not listening to his charge.  The plum of his
cock is poking directly in my ass, my sphincter is rubber-tight just on 
his tip. Imagine if his entire hammer of a cock is slammed all the way 
in! Without any lube?! 

"White rice,"  I scream, "PJ ain't nice. Like white rice, PJ sure ain't
nice, white rice ain't nice oh boy oh boy." I blabber on. 

He pushes his chin into my neck and slams me against the tree. 
Thankfully PJ's dick is now pushed downward away from my ass.  
Breathing heavily, he says menacingly into my ear, "spit on it Esther, 
spit on it no shit on it, got it? Spit on it, no shit on IT, do you 
know what I am saying girl?" 

Talk about Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, this is not the PJ from Donavan
House that I know.  Evidently he is wanting me to lube him up. An idiot 
can figure that one out. No way. 

"Be a slink use my pink." I plead, my juicy cunt wants more of his rod.
"Use my pink, the pink, please PJ pleeeaaase." I wail adjusting my 
voice to minor tone and fuzzy, just like Esther would. 

"Shut the fuck up and take my cock in your ass Clara." PJ says in a
clear crisp voice.  His words stop me cold. He just used my real name. 
I am stunned. The jig is up he knows who I really am. 

"My name is Esssther." I say meekly still clinging vainly to the vestige
of my character's vocal form of expression. 

As PJ cock is grinding against my backside and while breathing against
the back of my neck, he explains to me,  "you tipped me off last 
Wednesday you idiot.  While we on the field trip to the mall, you 
couldn't help but blurt out 'people screw on Mitchum 92'. As soon as 
you said it I put it all together." 

Yes he was right.  Last week while we were walking the aisles in
Zeller's, me decked out in a fluorescent green and yellow safety vest, 
I had indeed blurted out repeatedly 'people screw on Mitchum 92' during 
a nostalgic pique for my postpone TV show. I didn't think he was 
listening. 

"You still don't get it do you?" PJ asks me rudely. "Incredible. So you
don't have a clue who I am?" 

I turn my head back to look at him, my tits press against the tree. From
the angle I am looking at I don't recognize anyone but PJ. I shake my 
head, "nooooo," I bleat. 

"For Chrissakes Clara drop the retard act.  I am not surprised though.
It is so typical of you to recognize only yourself. It is me, Pith 
Jensen" He says sounding annoyed. 

I am completely floored.  All along PJ, the hunky pre med volunteer, has
been none other than the twenty three year old high school principal on 
the hit series 'Hospital High.' The networks crown jewel about a group 
of teenage doctors forced to go back to high school. I can't believe 
it, he has been scamming me all along. 

"What the hell?" I ask wide eyed in shock. 

"Don't act so surprised Clara.  Three square meals a day three times a
week in return for volunteering at Donavan House? You kiddin' me?," 
PJ's voice was no longer harsh and aggressive. "An actor needs to eat 
Clara," he commiserates softly in my ear, resting his hands 
sympathetically on my shoulders. 

I am speechless. I can't believe how stupid I have been. For nearly a
month I had been in reverence of PJ. He was my dedicated youthful 
caregiver, a veritable Doogie Howzer MD, when in fact he is just 
another schmo like me. A desperate thespian in starvation mode due to 
the clogged cogs of the entertainment industry.  All this time I 
thought I was passing my time doing 'special needs' flirting with an 
earnest altruist. Not with Pith Jensen, one of the most arrogant boy 
toy trouble makers Hollywood has spawned.  I feel totally chipped. 
Objectively thinking though he should get an Emmy for his acting. 

I start to move, to wrest myself out from between Pith and the tree. But
he presses himself harder against me. 

"You still don't get it do you, you free loading bitch? I am a
legitimate volunteer here. Unlike you I am not here under false 
pretenses I came through the front door. PJ after all are my initials. 
Do you know how much Hollywood shit you are going to be in if word gets 
out you have been passing yourself off as a retard in order to steal 
from the system? The tabloids would have a field day. You are money in 
the bank to them. Nothing riles the masses like stealing from a 
charity. It is the thresh hold no actor can make a comeback from. You 
are toast baby."  Pith Jensen maps it all out for me clearly, calmly 
succinctly. "Toast." 

It is obvious to me only one thing will get me out of my predicament.
"Okay I will do as you say. You can fuck my ass, use me as your fuck 
toy. I will suck you off, give you hand jobs, you can face fuck me, 
finger me, tongue fuck me, cum deep inside me, on my tits or on my firm 
buns; I will eat your cum or smear it on my face, basically do whatever 
you want. In return you say nothing, deal?" I plead huskily, my face 
turned back to him, one cheek pressed against the tree. 

With those words he lets up his weight against me and steps back from
the tree. "Yes I can live with that." He nods  eyebrows raised, a faint 
smile on his lips. I see now that his cock is back in full boner mode. 
Looking down I get my first peek at the penis that had been ravaging 
me. It is more beautiful and virile looking than I had imagined.  
Shrugging my shoulders I sigh then breath in, a technique I use that 
helps get me back in to character. 

I drop to my knees and say in Esther's gentle yet goofy voice, "lube the
rod, so it can do its job PJ, lube the rod, do the job" then I commence 
to suck on his cock. 

At The Donavan House I will bide my time, three days a week waiting for
the writer's strike to end - three square meals, outings, friendly 
faces and a good hard fucking against a tree every Monday Tuesday and 
Friday afternoons. When it is over I promise to seek out a role as a 
special needs character and donate my earnings to this wonderful place. 


"Be kind, be kind, be patient, be kind..." I say precum smeared all over
my lips and chin. 

"Yes Esther, kindness makes the world go around," PJ comments softly
back in character. 

THE END 

"Out of Work And In My Pants at The Donavan House" Copyright February
2008 Bryce Denison 
Any comments just email me: my_time259@yahoo.ca


