Continued from the previous chapter
Pamela stood at the edge of the crowd, nervously pushing her hair back over her ear, her face pretty but anxious. She looked down at herself, checking her clothes one last time as the noise of the crowd, mostly college boys, grew. She stood on her toes, stretching up to see above the sea of heads. A few boys giggled nearby, watching the curve of her shapely bottom against the outline of her skirt. The butterflies in her stomach went berserk as the speaker stepped out of the office building and began to mingle with the crowd of adoring fans.
It wasn’t often that a director could be recognized on the street but this director was. He was English but he had made a string of big budget films in the US revolving around drugs and murder but he also making a name for himself banging big stars, starlets, super models, and cheerleaders all across the US.
Dickie Crookbeck swam into the swarm of fans with his trademark grin, chatting away, signing autographs and cracking jokes. She stared hard at his face, a face she'd seen in gossip magazines so many times. Boyish, impish. Rude was the best word she knew to describe it. Pamela stepped forward awkwardly, not sure how to get his attention. Fratboys nudged her out of the way, eager to get to their hero. She stared, mouth half open, hoping if she stood long enough he'd notice her. Suddenly, he looked up and did.
She held her breath as he smiled at her momentarily, not daring to move. He was approaching his car as she stood there goggling. An elbow to her ribs and a stamp on her foot from the frat boy crowd were the kicks she needed to get back to reality. Barging through the sea of college boys she got to his car just as he opened the door.
He looked her up and down, smiling slightly, eyebrows raised.
"Could you sign?" she stuttered, blushing uncontrollably.
Dickie took the pen, and paused. He read what was already written on the page and he arched his brow. Pamela stood as tall as her bodaciously petite body allowed, her head back, her pinup model posture directing his eyes to the exposed creamy tan skin above her breast. She smiled at him and waited. He grinned mischievously, leaning forward.
His hand felt warm and strong as it rested on her skin. He leaned close, glancing down her top at her cleavage, breathing over her chest, a hot heavy breath. He rested the pad she handed him against her breasts so he could write. Pamela sighed a little too loudly, as his fingers probed her fleshy skin gently, his breath rolling over the long curve, brushing her nipple inside her bra. He wrote slowly and when done, stood back, smiling at her. She ached with pleasure to be so close to him, her body suddenly cold without his touch. He looked even sexier than she would've imagined, his face small and round, his head shaved. His eyes seemed to twinkle as he looked at her, full of mischief and naughtiness. She could easily picture him as a boy, his features had no doubt little changed. Take away the stubble and the well-defined body and the child would be staring back at you.
"Call me." He winked as he spoke.
Pamela made sense of the words only after he got into his car, a silver Mercedes. She stood back as he reversed slowly, beeping his horn, negotiating the crowd of kids still shouting and dancing. She watched them chase after him, running her fingers over her neck and chest forlornly, a sense of loneliness returning. She looked down at herself, struggled to read the words that were upside. She herself had written in her childish but neat scrawl. “I’m the girl Mr H told you about xxxooo.” He had replied, "You are well hot! Dickie..." He wrote the number of an office with instructions to call in an hour. Pamela began to laugh then covered her mouth with her hand, remembering she was still standing in a car park, surrounded by kids.
“I just know he’ll introduce me to Al Pacino,” she said out loud to herself.
Thirty minutes later, after finding a bathroom, re-arranging her clothes, and taking down the number several times, Pamela took a deep breathe, found a phone booth and dialed. She held her breathe as the other end purred and clicked.
"You’re early, babe. Guess you’re excited to get it going. Alright babe.” He was almost brusque in his urgency; he gave her an address. “Meet me at the back of the building, ten minutes, yeah?"
"Ok", she whispered. The line went dead.
She knew exactly what was going to happen. She knew they weren't going to a romantic restaurant at 11:30AM of a Wednesday. She knew the only thing this day might have in common with a brief encounter was the brevity of it, but she went anyway. This was Dickie Crookbeck. Cinema superstar and famed lover, (if you believed the tabloids). Dickie Crookbeck. You didn't just walk away from a "Crookbeck" invitation! And she had serious business with him. She was going to be a cinema super star too: A Pamela Zinzser Production, Written by Pamela Zinzser, and Starring Playboy’s Playmate of the Month, Miss March, 1974, (and here the music would get really dramatic) Pamela Zinzser!! Also starring Al Pacino.
His car pulled up with its engines roaring sexily. He had arrived a little late, but she didn’t mind. He opened the door, let her get in without a word. She leaned back in the soft leather, relaxing as he pulled back onto the road. Pamela glanced across at him nervously, half expecting something surreal - a giant rabbit or her Aunt Sybil - something to reveal this was just a dream. But it wasn't. Dickie was sitting there, smiling, his eyes moving up over her legs, up over the short skirt she'd purposefully worn. He let his eyes travel over her bust for a while, just occasionally glancing at the road. Pamela pushed her tits out for him a little, enjoying and struggling to believe she was the center of his world. It wasn't that she lacked confidence, she knew she was a playmate after all. She knew loads of guys wanted to shag her; she smiled to herself for using the word ‘shag’ in her thoughts. The how-to-write-a-script book said to use words to build character and she knew Dickie must use that word. Shag, shag, shag. Sure a lot of guys…no, she meant blocks…no blokes…blokes wanted to shag her. But Dickie Crookbeck?
She grinned helplessly as his eyes finally moved level with her own.
"Where are we going, Dickie?" she asked, adding his name hesitantly.
"You'll see babe, you'll see."
She glanced out of the window at all the familiar streets whizzing by. Old women shopping. Mothers pushing carriages. Teenagers on the corner, smoking. All the things she could forget about once she got her movie made. “Did Mr. H tell you about my script?” she asked coyly.
“Everybody has a script, babe,” he chuckled, “At the end of the day we’re all stars in our own movie, right?”
Pamela gulped. Wow! How did he know?
“My movie has a lot of love scenes in it,” she said, her voice excited with the prospects of her film being produced.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the director agreed.
Pamela was about to say more but he was leaping out of the car and tossing the keys to a valet. He rushed to her side and pulled her out like she was a precious prize to be protected or maybe he pulled her out like a ravenous man grabbing a tasty treat from a buffet.
The guy at the hotel desk hardly noticed her, paid her no attention.
"Your usual room Mr. Crookbeck?"
Dickie took the key, and ushered her towards the elevators, his hand placed onto the small of her back. She leaned into him, excitement growing. The doors had hardly closed before his hand had slid down over her ass.
Pamela groaned with delight as his tongue flicked over her neck, his hand kneading her bottom aggressively. “Can I tell you about my movie now,” she chirped.
“The movie is life and life is a movie,” he growled and impaled her mouth with his tongue. Gee, he’s so profound, she thought as she pressed her breasts against him.
The elevator opened and he led her authoritatively by the hand, he located his room, unlocking the door quickly, dragging her inside, slamming the door shut behind.
Pinning her against the door in an instant, he returned to her neck, sucking noisily. His hand travelled up her body, squeezing her pert, fleshy breasts. Her nipples grew hard but her hands felt limp. She wanted this, but she wanted to talk about her script more. Dickie, misreading her hesitation, moved back a little, smiled at her.
She nodded. She let him lead her to the bed. He picked up the phone, his eyes on her constantly. She sat down, watched him dial, order champagne. His dirty smile was irresistible, she smiled back helplessly. He came around the bed, lay down behind her.
"Won't be long. Get comfortable babe. Nice room, innit?"
She nodded her agreement, two words tumbling through her mind like clothes in a washing machine made speech difficult. Dickie Crookbeck, Dickie Crookbeck... Should she bring up the script now?
"See, at the end of the day, if you got money you gotta spend it, ain't you?" he philosophized.
"At the end of the day, yeah." she replied, letting her tongue roll over the words, a nice phrase. She would put in the script. She mouthed the words to test them out. “See, at the end of the day, if you have sex appeal, you have to use it. We should fuck right now don’t you think, Mr. Pacino. It’s the end of the day.”
He gave her a look. “Did ya just call me Mr. Pacino?”
“Oh, no sir,” she said frantically. Golly! “At the end of the day if…um…you should…” She frowned, “But it’s not the end of the day,” she pondered in confusion. It’s not even dinner time.”
He pulled her gently by the arm, she laid down next to him, facing him. His fingers ran down over her chest, etching his name above her breast. His fingers trailed down, tickling her sensitive skin between her tits. He tapped a tiny mole affectionately.
"You got a boyfriend then?" he asked, smirking.
"It's ok if you have," he said brightly, "I like that."
His fingers trailed in a circle, crawling under her bra, inches from her nipple. She sighed, and slowly he rolled over, half covering her, his tongue searching out her mouth. She let it slither inside, felt the wetness of his mouth against her own, the heaviness of his body on hers. His hand ran down over her thighs, coming back up under her skirt, squeezing her pure, slender thigh. She pulled at his t-shirt, helping him drag it over his shoulders, he did the same with her top.
His chest was firm and toned, smooth and tanned. Her pussy began to twitch uncontrollably at the sight of it. He pulled her up, kissing her, unlocking her bra with his right hand, his left hand rubbing against her panties, long, slow hard strokes. The bra fell away, and Pamela edged forward, presenting her gorgeous breasts to him, eager for him to take them. He licked and sucked at her nipple greedily, sucking her breast into his mouth, listening to her moans with pleasure.
The knock at the door startled her. He moved back without a word, just that terrible, amazing, charismatic grin. Pamela just had time to cover her breasts with her arm as he opened the door.
"Put it on the table"
The bellboy walked into the room warily, the champagne in one hand, two glasses in the other. He glanced furtively at Pamela as he placed them down on the table next to her. She smiled at him weakly, looking over at Dickie. She could see the enjoyment on his face, pleasure taken from the bellboy's - and her - embarrassment. Had she been older than her eighteen years she might have left then, but she couldn't resist that smile. She'd suspected he was naughty, she now knew he was cruel, and she liked him all the more for it. If she'd been tempted to feel angry, the simple delight on his face smoothed it all away.
The bellboy left, and Dickie ducked the thrown pillow, laughing at his fresh-faced young babe. He opened the champagne slowly, casually. Why rush when he knew he'd have her? He enjoyed these moments best of all. Looking down at them lying there, half undressed, waiting for him. He poured the champagne and handed her a glass, marveling once again over how easy it was. He could never get bored of this, despite what a few of the lads had told him.
Pamela rolled over onto her stomach, champagne in hand, as Dickie straddled her.
"Lets see what's under this little skirt shall we?" he asked, teasing her.
Pamela felt his hands at her side, tugging at her skirt. She wiggled her bottom for him, raised it off the bed a little, helping him take it off. She giggled, looking back over her shoulder as she heard his low groan. He was staring down at her perfectly defined bottom, nothing but flimsy panties hiding it from her hero. Dickie ran his fingers over it, grinning, blissfully happy.
Pushing her long brown hair back over her ear, Pamela knocked back champagne happily. Dickie was leaning down, kissing her cheeks, rubbing his face into her ass, his exaggerated moans sending her giggling once more. He ran his fingers over her panties, up and down from her ass to her pussy and back again. Pamela put down her glass, rested her head on the pillow, listened to the outlandish compliments the director paid her.
"You're fucking amazing, such a fucking peach of an ass. You got me so fucking rock hard babe."
Dickie smiled between noisy kisses. Other blokes had to go to restaurants, buy presents, he thought. At the very least they had to spend hours eating pussy if they wanted some of the good stuff. He knew for him, this was all it took. All he needed to do to make them feel special, to make them grateful. Dickie Crookbeck is kissing my ass, every bird would think, and once she did, she'd do anything to repay the favor.
Pulling her panties down sharply, he took his first look at her juicy little pussy. Nice and tight he thought to himself, admiring the puffy little lips, it's dampness already glistening.
She knew the moment she felt his kisses climbing up her back what he expected of her. She knew when he lay back on the bed loosening his trousers, when he retrieved the champagne bottle and took a slug. She rolled over to him, let his arm wrap around her, kissed him on the lips and with a smile began to slowly descend his body.
Dickie watched her move down him. This, he thought, is THE fucking life, as long brown hair trailed slowly over his chest, his stomach. She tore off his remaining clothes quickly and knelt between his legs.
"Can I suck your cock Dickie?" she asked, as much for her own pleasure as for his. The director groaned, shifted his body a little and closed his eyes tightly. When he opened them, her face was only half visible, nestled behind his balls.
She went there first, pushed her face deep into his heavy sacks, nuzzled them, tickled them with her tongue, lapped at them gratefully. Pamela made all the noises he wanted to hear, but not for that reason. She made them because she felt them, deeply, passionately. She sucked in his ball with delight, she took hold of his shaft with relish. She knew people might label her a slut if they saw her now, but she didn't care. The truth was she was gaining experience for her movie; the book said to use real life experiences so while she was gleefully pleasuring him orally that yellow legal pad in her brain was busily filling up with notes for her script. She'd never done anything she didn't want to do before and she wasn’t going to start now. She was sucking his cock because 1) it was fun, 2) it would be in her movie. She was an artist.
She rose a little, began to kiss and lick the base of his cock, her fingers caring for his balls in the absence of her tongue. She held his shaft in her hand as best she could, hugged it to her cheek. She sat up on her knees, back straight, jerking off her lover, loving the sight of his throbbing dick. She waited to catch his eyes, and when she did, she led them to her other hand slowly travelling down her stomach.
Dickie watched her body rise a little, and raised his head from the pillow. He watched her hand creep down, slither between her legs. Her mouth opened and a soft moan emitted at the same moment. She glared at him almost accusingly, holding his cock in one hand, fucking herself with the other.
Pamela knew he wanted to fuck her right then, but she teased him, leaned forward once more. His head hit the pillow again as her hot breathe covered his shaft. Her tongue played with him, wrapping itself around his head and releasing, like a cat’s cruel game with a mouse, attack and release, attack and release.
She licked the tip of his cock tentatively, like she was trying a new kind of ice-cream. Dickie watched her face closely. The moment she tasted him, the split second she pondered the taste, and the hint of a smile as she realized she liked it seemed to spread out over time. He closed his eyes and played the three phases over in his mind as Pamela began to suck. She teased his foreskin down his shaft with her lips. She trailed her teeth across his head gently, carefully. She pulled back momentarily letting him appreciate the cold air of the room, the next moment she pounced, a single slow movement devouring him whole.
Dickie let his gaze wander across her body, the soft shapely legs bent under her body, the curve of her back, the smoothness of her arms. He felt the heat of her mouth desperately covering his length, smelt the sweetness of her pussy as her fingers, those which had been inside herself, travelled up his chest and over his chin.
Pamela made love to his cock with her mouth, breathless and impatient, longing to have his juices inside her. She ran her fingers over his body in delight, so firm, so perfect, so wonderful it would be to be fucked by this man. When forced to breathe, she let out his shaft for no more than a few seconds, breathing heavily, rolling his cock in her fist, staring with maddened eyes at her lover.
Her long, elegant rolls across his cock were too much. He tried to sit up, he tried vainly to pull her off, but he was too close and she was too strong. Something had changed in her, she knew this was her chance. Like a dog with a bone she refused to let go, sucking him furiously, her moans almost eclipsing his. Dickie looked deep into her eyes, felt the heaviness of her breast on his thigh, the heat that consumed his prick, let his seed rise up from his balls.
Pamela closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his juice splatter across her face. She held her mouth open wide, and caught some on her tongue, a new taste for her taste buds to judge. She leaned back with pride, one finger on her finely coated chin, her tits soaked in sweat, nipples shiny and hard.
They lay there for a moment, panting, grinning, waiting for the other to make a move.
"I'm going to take a bath, and I think you should join me," she said playfully, swinging her body off the bed.
Dickie lay dumbstruck on the bed, motionless save for the rise and fall of his glimmering sweat-stained chest. His cock lay between his tree-like thighs, shrunken and satisfied, at odds with himself. Pamela turned at the bathroom door, and he groaned at the sight of her wet, still unfucked pussy.
"Oh my God, this is so nice!" she said, losing herself for a moment. She disappeared around the door, her head re-appearing in a flash.
"You know," she began slowly, a grin like Dickie's on her face, "I really like fucking in the shower."
She floated into the bathroom as he worked to wrap his head around exactly what she was saying, and moments the shower gurgled and sputtered, and burst to life.
"Coming?" her sweet voice called.
Dickie could not remember moving so fast, springing from the bed and vaulting into first the bathroom and then the shower. It seemed she was ready for him, too, for he was barely past the shower door when she pulled him to her and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was long and passionate, and when it was through, she sighed and pulled away.
"Wash me, baby," she cooed as she turned, giving him an unparalleled view of the voluptuous profile of her body, a national treasure and one of the dominant images in American male’s many and varied fantasies.
He soaped up his hands and reached for her supple flesh, working a copious lather onto her shoulder blades and back, his fingers tender and tough by turns. He switched to the front, sweeping around from the small of her back to the flat of her stomach.
She moaned as his hands roamed over her pliant breasts, cupping and lifting and squeezing, exploring. They were incredible, simply incredible, fantastic to see in a bikini and fan-fucking-tastic to see and touch when bared, warm and delicious. He spent several long and lovely minutes fondling her breasts, not knowing when they would present themselves for him again, kneading them, caressing them, rolling the nipples in his fingers and across the flat of his palms.
“Um, Dickie,” she purred like a kitten, “Will you read my script now?”
“Don’t want the pages to get wet do we?”
Pamela nodded earnestly. He was so knowledgeable! She let her body surrender entirely to his caresses. Gee, his hands were busy.
His hands dropped suddenly, crawling over the opulent curve of her buttocks. His fingers spread out and dug into the taut flesh, tugging the cheeks apart this way and that, opening to his greedy eyes how profoundly fuckable her bottom could be.
"Bloody glorious," he breathed, and a sudden surge of inspiration came over him.
She sighed as his fingers kneaded the firm cheeks of her bottom, though her sigh slipped into a gasp when he dropped to a squat behind her and those fingers dug roughly into her flesh, pulling her backwards. Her palms flattened against the wall in front of her to keep her steady.
She expected him to nibble her rounded bottom, or perhaps give her a spanking or two, or even maybe taste between her legs, all of which were exciting possibilities in her mind. Not in a million years, however, would she have expected what actually happened.
He spread the cheeks of her ass as far apart as they would go, dove forward, and pressed his hand down upon her asshole, offering her a languorous caress with the tip of his middle finger.
"Nasty boy!" the buxom young woman shrieked as her bottom was teased.
Dickie did not stop, nor even did he pause. His hands held wide the cheeks of her rump as his finger danced around her puckered hole, teasing every crack and crevice, alternating between slow and fast speeds and long and short strokes; he touched her in every conceivable way.
She was not unaccustomed to anal play, and enjoyed it immensely with the right person, but, golly, he was a genius, and the pleasure of the sensations were staggering. Her hips wavered, then bucked back into his hand, drawing him deeper. His hands lost their hold for a moment and he groaned as his finger embedded deep in the cleavage of her bottom, and she screamed as in tandem his hands rediscovered their grip and another figure speared into her tightness, and wiggled around.
"FUCK!" she wailed, loving the nastiness of the whole scene.
He tortured her bottom for a long time; he finger fucked her repeatedly, never getting very far, but far enough to cause her considerable pleasure. Finally, after many minutes, he withdrew his hands from the juicy rear before him.
Grinning, he rose and saw that she was breathing heavily, slumped forward against the wall, but with a fire in her eyes as she looked at him that seemed totally at odds with the weary body that went with it. She was clearly not through with him yet.
"Fuck me, baby," she ordered, voice like a dagger. "Fuck me right now as hard as you can!"
And so Dickie Crookbeck stepped forward and once again spread the cheeks of the bottom of Pamela Zinzser, playmate extraordinaire, only this time to guide the purple head of his swollen manhood up to her luscious pink folds.
And then he pushed himself inside.
"YES!" the young woman moaned as his thickness stretched her pink lips apart.
Dickie let go of her bottom as he bottomed out in her sex, his pelvis pressed into the soft cheeks, and his left hand went to her shoulder as the other snaked around her midsection to clutch at her round right breast.
"FUCK ME!" she demanded, and so he did.
It was animalistic and raw, and there was little tenderness to it; it was also, he realized, exactly what she wanted. He was fucking her, plain and simple, shoving his cock in and out of her pink pussy with reckless abandon and merciless force. His hips slapped up against her ass; lewd little ripples reverberated over her supple flesh.
Pamela whimpered with each powerful thrust, a mixture of pleasure and pain as the pressure of his cock battered her snug depths, but when his hand slipped from her breast and angled down into the groove between her legs, and over the swollen mound of her clitoris, her whimpers escalated to screams.
"OH FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! OH MY GOD! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!"
The wailing continued as he attacked her pussy vigorously with his fingers in time with the rhythm of his cock. The splash of the water against the tiles of the shower and the flesh of their bodies could barely be heard above his grunts of exertion and her ascendant squeals of pleasure.
"OH MY GOD! OH MY FUCKING GOD! OH MY GOD OH MY GOD FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME HARDER HARDER HARDER FUCK FUCK FFFUUUCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!"
And then the wails went silent as Pamela's sex exploded, her mouth frozen open in a soundless scream as the breath left her body, her existence shattered utterly by the work of his fingers on her clitoris, her folds quivering and contracting around the thick, invasive cock at the crest of her climax, and her knees nearly buckled.
Dickie recognized her weakness and held her aright with his hands on her hips even as he continued to pummel her, sinking his unflagging erection deep inside the playmate again and again and again as she climaxed, twitching, quaking, jiggling, and shaking. At last, she slumped forward against the wall, water from the shower head still raining down upon her, and his cock, still hard, slipped from her wrecked pussy.
It was rare for women to truly surprise him, but in the moment following her epic orgasm, Pamela shocked Dickie completely when her hand lashed out and wrapped around his rock-hard penis. She soaped it and lovingly stroked it.
She was exhausted and pleasure-fatigued, that much was clear, her face and limbs and body still trembling, but still there was life in her eyes, fiery life that defied all conceivable possibility.
"I want more," she whispered hoarsely, jutting her bottom out, eyes smoldering as she glanced back over her shoulder. "I want to feel your orgasm inside me. Again and again"
His eyes traveled down to her puffy pink folds. "I think it might hurt," he told her as his fingers slid up her thigh and tenderly touched her rubbery labia.
The next instant Dickie would take with him all the rest of his days; surprisingly, she wiggled away from his touch and frowned at him disapprovingly. "Not there," she pouted. She reached back and pulled one of her butt cheeks to the side. Her voice was very firm, and very feminine as she said, "Here."
His jaw dropped and he looked up . . . to find her eyes flashing and a wicked smile curving the corners of her mouth.
"Fuck my ass," she purred, and Dickie nearly came right then and there.
He reached down and pulled aside her other cheek with one hand, guiding the purple head of his cock towards the tiny hole set in the center of her ass. He watched with amazement as the slick head pressed in against the pulsing plot of her bottom.
"Oh, yes!" Pamela breathed exuberantly as she felt the head of his cock touch the portal that served as her rear entrance. She leaned forward, wanting it, wanting more, and pushed her hips back at him. Her milk and cream breasts squished up against the glass and slid down as she contorted her body, trying desperately to get him inside her.
It worked, of course.
Dickie pushed forward as Pamela pushed back, and the mushroom head popped past the indescribably tight ring of her sphincter, stretching wide the little pink hole, and into her ass.
"FFFFUUUCCCCCCCKKKAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Pamela cried as her asshole enveloped him, and her cries settled swiftly into whimpers as two solitary tears rolled down her cheeks.
He moaned as the heat and snugness of her ass enveloped him. He paused, letting her adjust to his girth, which also helped him regain his control; her oven-hot tightness almost overwhelmed him.
"Fuck me," the young woman whispered suddenly, and that was enough for Dickie.
Ask and you shall receive, Dickie thought, and with a grunt he pushed forward, sinking the length of himself deep inside her bottom. He moaned and she shrieked for the umpteenth time, and much of it as they thrashed around the cramped confines of the shower. The glass door rattled ominously and for a moment, Dickie wondered if it would break . . . at which point, of course, he remembered that his cock was stuffed into the luscious ass of this gorgeous playmate, and that currently he did not give one iota about anything other than that.
And so he pumped his cock into her butt, groaning as he fucked the beautiful girl's ass with hard strokes, simply one of the tightest, hottest, and most intensely pleasurable things he had ever experienced in his whole life.
Her pain was intense, too, but after several minutes of brutal anal intercourse, there was nothing but incandescent pleasure; the muscles of her bottom, fiercely opposed before, now succumbed and relented, and his cock speared easily into the depths of her bowels.
"UUNNHHH!" she whimpered as waves of pleasure coursed through her body; all of it originated in her ass.
She felt like she was going to explode . . . and she gave in to the feeling. Her legs trembled dangerously and her body quaked as climax once more barreled towards her.
And so Dickie initiated his final assault, reaching under to grab hold of her supple breasts again as he fucked her hard and fast, thrusting all of himself into her, ramming roughly into her succulent ass.
Pamela squealed and whimpered and groaned, shivering violently. She froze suddenly, face once more locked in that torturous, wordless scream, before her limbs contorted and quaked as the climax struck. Spinning in whirlpools of pleasure, sucked down into bliss, she was lost.
It was an unmatched accomplishment, he thought, to have held himself off in the face of such sensations and sights, but the intensity of her orgasm and the way the muscles of her sphincter milked his cock as she shuddered sent him hurtling over the edge, too. He exploded, filling her insides with his seed, hammering her still and rippling the flesh of her rounded backside as every last drop of his orgasm was pumped and deposited into her ass.
"UGH!" Dickie grunted as his balls tightened and forced his load into her convulsing ass.
It was several long moments before they ended, and the air was once more heavy with the sound of ragged breathing and running water. They slumped together, each supporting the other's weight with the wall's help, each gasping for air. Dickie tenderly pulled his cock from the ass of his beautiful playmate and sighed. The water from the nozzle splattered down upon them in an unending stream.
"Wow," she murmured, pressing her wet body to his strong chest. "Hard and fast and good, just like I like it."
Dickie chuckled. "I've learned that," he said as he reached around and grabbed a firm hold of her fleshy breast.
“Wait,” she giggled, “Let’s fuck in bed.”
In seconds they were patted dry and the nubile playmate was leading him to the next scene. She was making careful notes on her mental yellow legal pad.
Pamela took charge and shoved Dickie back to fall in a heap on the bed, sprawled out on his back. She stood over him with her hands on her hips, a fiery dark-haired goddess with beautiful smooth skin and wild sparkling eyes, breasts swaying as she sucked in ragged breaths, the slickness between her legs catching the small bit of light in the dim room to shine invitingly.
She moved over him, but Dickie had different ideas: his hands lashed out and grabbed her, and flipped her over in one quick motion so that she was pinned on her back beneath him, struggling against his embrace.
"Hey!" the gorgeous girl cried, but her cry was muffled by his lips as they set about devouring her.
She responded by enthusiastically trying to baste the inside of his mouth with her tongue and the frenzied session of kissing that resulted nearly took what remained of his breath.
Which ended only when he was able to tear himself away, dropping his head lower to feast upon her breasts, suckling the nipples as his fingers kneaded the swollen flesh. She moaned as he worshipped them, alternating between the two, crushing them, sucking them, teasing them, nibbling them.
And then he went lower still, across the flat span of her stomach and over the silken swath of strawberry gold to the saturated pink beneath. His tongue lapped up the juices he found there even as he sank one of his fingers to the second knuckle inside the oven-hot tunnel of her pussy.
Pamela moaned and her back arched sharply, thrusting those wonderful breasts into the air, as his tongue went to work on her, assaulting her sex. The girl was not shy, once rid of her inhibitions; her moans turned to whispers as she begged for him to make her come.
"Right there," she cooed, "oh yes, oh yes, don't stop, oh please, don't stop, right there, make me come, make me come, please oh please oh please ohhhhh ppllllleeeeeeeaaaassseeee!"
The best thing about a vocal lover is the knowledge, apart from trembling limbs, that climax has come, and as the low-pitched moans and fierce whispers transformed into a high-volume squeal, Dickie knew beyond the twitching of her slick pink folds and the quaking of her legs that the woman was cresting into wicked orgasm. And then her sweet sex nectar gushed forth and into his mouth and he knew she had ascended the very heights of pleasure.
Of course, he still wanted to give her more.
He kept his lips affixed to her puffy labia and suckled her even as his tongue continued to bathe her folds and clit through the heart of her climax, and his ministrations ensured that instead of coming down from the heights, he sent her quivering body hurtling towards another plane of pleasure, this one even higher than the one before.
And as the tingling that had never fully receded from her first orgasm built again, the sounds Pamela made became less and less coherent. Her shrieks of encouragement lost all semblance to the English language and devolved into manic whimpering and high-pitched squeals.
"Ahhh! Aiiiieee! Ooohhhhh! Ahhhh! Ahhh! Aii! Aiii! Ooaaahhhh! Aiii! Ahhh! Aiiiieeee!"
And when her body was trembling more violently than it had at any previous point, such that the soft hairs above the region he was attacking began to tickle his nose from all the movement, Dickie decided it was time to finish her.
Even as his tongue strummed against her clitoris, his lips wrapped around the swollen nub and suckled feverishly that spot like a babe at its mother's breast, bearing down upon her erogenous zone in a way quite unlike any she had ever experienced before. Her mind was an untenable mess: she could not think enough to speak or move, her body acting and responding purely at its basest instinctual level, a true pleasure-induced hysteria.
And then she came again and the wailing began.
It began in the depths of her, that purest place of the female body where pleasure is first recognized as pleasure and the message is sent to all nerve endings. Only in this instance, instead of a little flurry of gunfire as with normal orgasm, it was like a grenade had been detonated within her. Every nerve and conductor and receptacle sang in unison with the unbridled intensity of inescapable climax and her body, overloaded, almost ceased to function properly.
Pamela screamed and the world heard it.
Dickie, however, did not.
As her pleasure crested and the climax exploded within her, the lovely and supple thighs of the buxom playmate constricted and clamped down like a vice on either side of his head, closing off his ears to much of the sound she began making shortly thereafter. He felt her hands lash out and grip the back of his head as her hips bucked upwards, taking his head, still attached to her between the legs, with them again and again as wave after wave of glorious orgasm crashed over her. It seemed as if she was pouring bucket loads of her juice over his face; he could feel it smearing his cheeks and trickling down his chin.
It took a long while for her to come down from the heights she reached with her second orgasm, during which time Dickie finally raised his head and surveyed his handiwork. Her face was contorted in a grimace which gave the appearance of being in significant pain, although he knew differently. She was whimpering and panting heavily, and her legs were still moving as she curled up somewhat into a fetal position. The pink lips of her pussy were still twitching and contracting, still shooting little bursts of pleasure through her. There were tears on her cheeks.
And then her eyes popped open and turned slowly to meet his own, and Dickie saw more fire and flashing emotion in them then he had even seen in them before; there was a ferocity in her eyes that was startling, and even frightening.
And then Pamela vaulted up to a sitting position and slapped him full across the face.
"You've ruined me," she hissed.
And in an incredible display of strength and athleticism, while Dickie was still wrapping his head around her words, the dark-haired vixen grabbed him and flipped him over onto his back, straddled him as her hands yanked at his erection, and impaled herself to the hilt on his several inches of steel, despite the competing qualities of his thickness and her tightness.
"FFFUUUUCCCKKKK YYYEEESSSSS!" she cried.
Pamela was a woman deranged as she rode him for all she was worth: her blue eyes were wild and flashing; her head was thrashing, her hair whipping around her like she was standing in hundred-mile winds; her exquisite breasts were bouncing and jiggling, her ass slapping down hard against him and rebounding like his legs were a trampoline; and her hands were pounding against his chest, punishing him for the ridiculous pleasure he had given her.
It was a full-on fuck frenzy.
Dickie's head was spinning and his lungs did their best, despite the pounding, to gasp for precious bits of air. But her pussy was creating havoc upon him, the ferocious inner muscles of her sex squeezing and gripping as he slid in and out; his cock was on absolute fire.
And then Pamela began to gyrate her ass without slowing and Dickie knew he would not make it long; the breakneck pace was nearly ending him already.
"FUCK" the beautiful blonde screamed. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"
Pamela rocked and rolled her hips as she fucked hard up and down, burying him again and again within her but from different angles, carving out new ground with his cock on every penetration. It was like she wanted to feel his meat against every nook and cranny of her insides and would not be satisfied unless it happened.
Dickie reached around and took hold of the luscious cheeks of her ass and held on for dear life; there would be time to explore her other physical assets later. He was just looking to survive.
And survive he did . . . to Pamela's growing dismay.
She was closing in on her third orgasm as her clit ground down against his thick and invasive cock, while he had not yet found his first. She was unaccustomed to receiving so much pleasure in exchange for so little and fought it desperately, but there was nothing she could do; she was a slave to her body and the cock that was wrecking it.
Her back arched again and orgasm pulverized her, and another incredible scream tore from her throat, and this one Dickie heard. It was one of the most amazingly sexual sounds he had ever been privy to and it finished him completely.
The pressure that had been building steady through his feast at her pussy and the subsequent fuck session erupted in a geyser so powerful that he was worried she would be thrown from him. Pamela's eyes did open wide as she felt the torrential onslaught of his orgasm coating and filling her insides, but her reaction was quite unexpected: for the first time in a long time, she giggled.
And so they came together in that moment, Pamela descending from her third passing Dickie at the crest of his first, and after much in the way of trembling and quivering and quaking and jiggling and grunting, she collapsed upon him, his cock still half-embedded within her, her breasts squished into his chest, her bounty of chestnut brown, honeysuckle-smelling hair just beneath his nose.
And it was in this position that the two newly minted lovers would remain for some time, their bodies slick with sweat and sexual juice, the both of them exhilarated and exhausted by ridiculous orgasm.
“Oh, wow,” she groaned slowly recovering her senses. A cartoon light bulb went off in her pretty head and she scampered out of bed. Pamela, naked and still glowing with the flush of sex, looked lovely scampering out of bed. She looked more lovely bending down and rummaging in her bag. She popped up with a mega-watt grin on her face and a stack of yellow legal pad pages in her hand. “My script!”
It was Dickie’s turn to groan as she pranced victoriously to the bed and bounced back in.
“My script!” she sang out again, offering it like a gift.
He took it with hesitation and weighed it in his hand. “I have to tell you, luv, at the end of the day, I ain’t much of a one for reading. I have some birds in the office do it.”
“You have parrots that can read!” she gasped wide-eyed.
He didn’t try to explain; his dick was getting hard just being near her. “Well, the thing is, I just don’t think I’m gonna read this.”
Pamela’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You promised.”
Dickie couldn’t recall making any promises. Suddenly a sliver of the phone chat with the publisher came back to him. “Well, luv, what I told my mate was that I’d see about giving you a leg up in the business.”
“But my script…” she wailed.
“Tell you what, who’d you like to meet? At the end of the day it’s all about the names in the rolodex.”
“Al Pacino,” she said emphatically.
“Well, he’s in New York right now. How ‘bout the bloke who played his brother?”
“Really, could you?” Pamela was overjoyed. Not knowing what to do she began to stroke his cock.
“Consider it done.” His chuckled turned into a groan as her sweet mouth engulfed his shaft.
Her thank yous came out in muffled squeals as she gave him the blow job of a life time.
“Can you introduce me to Al Pacino? I mean he’s your brother and all.”
“Um, I played his brother in the Godfather.”
She nodded. “He’s a really good actor.” She quickly added, “And you are too. But I wrote the part for him.”
“You wrote a script?”
“Didn’t Mr. Crookbeck tell you?” She proudly extended her arms, proffering the script as if it were a holy relic.
“The Playmate Who Cured Something.” He raised a brow.
“That’s just temporary. I’ll figure out what I cure later. It’s about a playmate. Played by me. And how, even though she’s all sexy and stuff, she still has a lot to offer.”
“I mean, golly, we don’t want to just be sex symbols.”
“No of course not.” He flipped through the pages. “You didn’t type it.”
“No, not yet. This is like a draft.”
He weighed it in the flat of his palm as if considering. “Are there any sex scenes in it?”
“Oh gee, of course,” she said proudly. “Why have a playmate in your movie if you’re not gonna show her naked.”
“I mean…sex. You know. Balling.”
She frowned. “Of course, silly. Once Al Pacino takes my clothes off he’s going to want to do me and all. I mean, golly, who doesn’t want to do Miss March?”
“Tell me about one of those scenes.”
“Well, there’s a scene where Pamela, I mean me in the movie, not the real me. I’m the real me. I mean the girl whose me in the movie, I mean me, I play me, but like a made up me for the story?”
“Just tell me about the scene.”
“Well, Pamela, me…the me in the story…”
“I get it.”
“Pamela, me, I. I get a phone call where I find out I won like a big science prize? And Al Pacino he’s so proud of me that he takes off all my clothes and does me.”
“On a bed.”
“Of course on a bed silly.” She paused. “Should I change the location? Make it more…” Her brain reached into its files and conjured up the how-to-write-a-script book. She visualized the page on setting and found the word she was looking for. “More offbeat.”
“No, I think the bed’s a good location. You say he takes off your clothes?”
“Yeah, you want me to show you the scene?” She reached for her script.
“I have another idea,” he said. We could improvise a bit. See how the scene plays.”
“Yeah, act out the scenario, try to find the truth in the spontaneity.”
“Oh, you mean, you take off my clothes and stuff and ball me and I get ideas for the story.”
“Something like that.”
“OK.” She paused and considered for a moment, her face a picture of concentration. “Will you be playing Al Pacino?”
“How ‘bout I play me.”
“OK.” She hesitated again. “It’s OK if you really want to go all the way. I want to be a good writer.”
He moved closer and began to unbutton her blouse. Pamela began to sway and gyrate melodramatically; she pressed the back of her hand against her forehead and dropped her entire head back. “Oh, Al Pacino, I can’t resist you! You’re so big and strong and handsome.”
The man stopped. “First of all Pacino is a little guy. OK? I tower over him. And I’m supposed to be me, remember” Call me Jimmy.”
“OK, Jimmy.” She pulled his hands onto her breasts, sliding them into her half open blouse so he could feel the creamy flesh under the lacy bra. “Mmmm, this feels nice.”
Jimmy leaned in to kiss her and her mouth was eager and sweet. Suddenly she pushed him away. “But what’s the….” The gears of her brain spun again searching her memory of the movie book. “What’s our motivating?”
“Motivation,” Jimmy said wearily. “What’s the motivation.” The motivation was he wanted to bone this cute voluptuous babe but she wouldn’t shut up. “How ‘bout our motivation is I want to steal you away from Al. I’m putting my dick to you to make you mine.”
Pamela frowned yet again. “But I could never leave Al Pacino.”
“Yeah, OK.” He took her by the shoulders and spun her around. He pulled the shirt down her back, ripping away the few still closed buttons.
“Hey,” Pamela protested, trying to turn around. But Jimmy held her with one hand and with his other he was spinning the blouse into an elongated shape.
He lifted her hair and put the rolled up blouse across her mouth.
“So here’s the motivation. I gotta ball you to show Al Pacino that I want you real bad ‘cause you’re sexy and smart.”
She pulled the gag away before he could secure it. “You mean like a rape?” she asked gleefully.
“Yeah, like a rape,” he agreed. “I need to rape you real bad.
She nodded happily as he finally got the gag tied.
He swept her up and headed for the bed. Pamela squirmed with excitement and couldn’t help pulling the gag off her mouth for a minute. “Jimmy, I think you should fuck me real hard, ‘cause we want to make Al Pacino really really jealous. OK?”
“Sure, doll, sure,” he agreed, trying to work the gag back into her mouth while he hoisted her to the bed.
She pulled the gag out one more time. “Oh and fuck me a lot too, OK? I really want to be a good writer.” She popped the gag back in herself.
“Sure thing, doll,” he agreed, dropping her onto the bed and pulling off her skirt at the same time. “Anything for art.”
Golly, Pamela gushed inside her brain, “I’m really an artist now!” She squealed a muffled squeal of delight as his cock entered her. “I love the movies,” she sighed in her overactive mind.