It was not a question. It was a statement of fact. Although her sexual experience was extremely limited, she knew what it felt like when a man shot her full of his sperm. Her pussy was flooded with thick, hot, whitish cum. His cock got bigger and harder and twitched and she could actually feel the jets of his semen inside her. And this time there had been none of that! One instant he had been long and throbbing and fucking inside her-and then nothing!
"It happens sometimes," Lee said miserably. "I fuck great just so long, and then my prick quits. I can get it up again in a few minutes, maybe… if you help."
"Ooooooh, how?" the torturously-aroused girl moaned. She could still feel her vitals churning, on the very edge of giving her a real orgasm for the first time. She would do anything, if only he would get hard and go back into her just a few minutes should do it. No matter what the price, she was now so aroused she would do anything! She mumbled, "What do you want me to do?" "Suck it a little," Lee said.
"Not that… I never have!" the shocked girl protested.
"Candy, it's the only way." He rose above her, fingering the shortening, wet softness of himself. "Just take it in your mouth for a minute and we'll finish. Once it gets up again, it'll be a lot better than before."
"No," Candy Mullender protested weakly. She could see the obscene, shrunken mass of his cock, and it seemed incredible that just minutes before, it had been so hard and hot and thick and vital in her urgently-pulsing pussy… her love-starved pussy that needed it for just a little longer. It glistened wetly now with her own sweet-scented womanhood. "I never have."
"Candy, there's no other way," the lewdly-grinning actor said as he rose over her, peeling the loose, wet foreskin back. "Just seeing your lips tight around it will get me so horny that it'll be like a baseball bat!" Then, a compassionate tone coming into his voice, he said, "I feel like a shit, leaving you hung up this way-but you don't cum easy. Look, if you really don't want to, I'll go down, give you some head, get you off with my tongue. It won't be the same, but that's the best I can do."
"Ooooooh, my God…" the aroused girl moaned. She didn't want his tongue, even though she'd never had one. She wanted his cock, big and hard and thick and long, buried deep inside her hotly excited pussy, ripping her apart. She knew he was as upset as she was. She reached out to cup his balls and felt them heavy with his cum, sperm that he wanted to shoot into her as urgently as she wanted it. Her violet eyes managed to focus on the shrunken cock, and she found herself wondering what it would taste like. Every girl she knew sucked, so it couldn't be too bad… and she'd read several books written by marriage counselors and doctors who said it was performing normally when you indulged in oral sex. She felt her natural defenses crumbling, and whispered, "I'll try."
"And you'll dig it, Candy," he said confidently as he moved up the sofa until his cock was poised less than two inches above her partly-open lips. "Use the tip of your tongue and lick around a little… then open your mouth wide. Don't suck too hard."
"You won't cum in my mouth," she pleaded. "No… just get me hard again. Keep your lips over your teeth and play with it with your tongue."
Abjectly, unable to control herself, Candy Mullender took his soft cock into her fingers and stroked it teasingly, trying to urge an erection upon Lee before she actually had to suck, but nothing happened. He was crouched above her lust-tortured face, and she trembled as she brought the glistening tip to her lips. The heady man-scent filled her nostrils, causing them to flare. She steeled herself for what was to come. This was totally repulsive to her, yet if she was going to put out the raging fires in her loins, it was something she would have to do. She was willing to make the sacrifice. Her eyes could only see the curly-haired thatch of his pelvis and the still-swollen balls as he moved sinuously and the wet, slick head of his cock slid across her lips that were still open only a fraction of an inch. Candy had the thought that if he was hard and urgent, it might be easier for her to accept him into her mouth. But this wet softness was not at all arousing to her. Yet she had to do it. She tried and then shook her head and said, "I can't… You'll have to… to put it in my mouth."
"Okay… lick," he ordered.
Obediently, she extended her tongue, tasting a man's cock for the first time. Strangely, it wasn't unpleasant, and she had the vagrant thought, wondering how much of what she was tasting was him and how much was from her own hotly aroused pussy. She felt the soft, velvety cock-head slide across her wetly parted lips and steeled herself for the moment it would actually penetrate her mouth. She let her eyes close and surrendered herself to the teasing of his cock. She sensed that he needed every bit of sensuality in order to regain his erection. Relaxing, allowing him to do whatever he wanted with her trembling lips, she began to caress his naked ass-cheeks and his muscular legs and arms. She felt his cock twitch as he rubbed it over her cheeks, and she knew he had told the truth-if she helped him with her mouth, he would be able to finish what he started, give her what she so desperately needed between her legs.
"Ummmmm… " Candy whispered, sending her tongue on a new exploration down the length of his penis, licking the fragrant juices from it. Unconsciously, her hands began to trail over him, feeling his young, hard muscle structure. He was sweating, and the odor of him was acrid in her flaring nostrils. She opened her passion-blurred eyes to look at him as her fingers kneaded his biceps. Right now-kneeling above her-he could do anything he wanted with her. And then her horrified gaze fixed on the long line of scars on the inside of his elbows, and without consciously thinking of what she was doing, she violently thrust the naked actor away, clawing at him, slapping as she screamed, "Get away from me!"
"What in hell?" Lee Ashley blurted, trying to figure out what had suddenly come over this black-haired actress he had been trying to fuck for so long. Damn, she was hot for it-and now she'd freaked! "How come you flip?"
"You rotten son of a bitch!" she hissed, her full lips curling in distaste as her sharp nails clawed her arms. "I know why you lost it… went soft! You're shooting dope! What is it? Horse? Coke? Meth? Oh, you dirty, lousy rat!"
"Candy, it's not all that bad," he countered, rising above her, trying to get away from her savagely slashing nails. "I'm not hooked, or like that. Just enough to get a lift!"
"Get out!" she screamed wildly, flailing at him. "Smoking pot is bad enough! But you're on HARD STUFF! How long? How many fixes do you need every day? How much does the habit cost, Lee? No-don't tell me-I don't want to know! Just get out! Out! Out you idiot!" Her voice fell as she began to sob. She turned away from him, curling into a ball on the sofa and the tears streamed while he awkwardly dressed. As he was going out the door, she raised her head, and said, "I feel sorry for you… really! Try to kick it. If I can help… I will. But don't come near me again until your body is clean. And I mean clean! Hit the street, junkie!"
For a long time, Candy Mullender lay immobile, the fire in her lust-heated pussy banked and forgotten. It sickened her to think of a healthy young, handsome man like Lee Ashley with a monkey on his back. She had seen too much of that sort of thing. Her fury abating, she vowed she would try to help him if he wanted help. Meanwhile, she would clean up again and go home. Maybe even have one more drink than she should, making a grand total of two.
Taking her second shower within two hours, Candy Mullender examined herself as best she could in the light of the trauma which she had experienced, and she faced certain facts.
She decided definitely she had repressed herself too much. She certainly didn't have to turn into a wanton slut, but she was a healthy, passionate woman of twenty-five who looked almost ten years younger and was extremely attractive to men. And she enjoyed performing on stage, she enjoyed having dinner in a good restaurant, going to the beach and all kinds of things. She did not like to be pawed and mauled yet urgently wanted and needed physical contact with males. And, she told herself with what she thought was honesty, she was not a cocktease or a show-biz whore. She had never played games with any of the agency people just to get ahead.
She had confidence in her talent and ability, and if these things led her to make a lot of money, and public adulation, that would be nice. If they didn't, she could always join some repertory company and really do some acting. She was well known for her acting talents.
Candy was not happy with the way the agency, personified by the ebullient Jason Wells, set about exploiting her talent and looks, but realized that any star who made it big had to give a bit, allow promotions which might be personally distasteful in order to reach millions of people instead of a few hundred.
Jason Wells had put the whole scheme together. He had invented the person of Candy Mullender by promoting her face and body and made her one of the hottest young stars in the business. Candy had wanted to build her career on her own talent and gift for acting, but the agent knew better, and she had gone along with his judgment. Financially, he had been right-she made five or six times what she could make as a single. She was being developed. She was on TV regularly, which helped keep her in the public eye, putting her in every decent movie she was offered. It was understood that in time she would be able to do movies of her own choice, ones that give her a chance to really act. From a business point of view, it was beautiful. To live in it was hell. But no more hell than is involved in carrying trays in a pancake house, or being a cocktail girl or a telephone operator, and the work certainly paid much better. And it was nice, when she was promoting a movie, not to even have to sign credit cards for anything, to know everything was handled in advance by Jason Wells.
"Count your blessings, dum-dum," Candy Mullender muttered to herself as she dried off and dressed in a short, baby blue dress and matching calf-high leather boots which matched her eyes. She left the studio building and found her Mercedes SL-220 sports coupe in its shaded parking stall. It was painted a soft baby blue. She was supposed to be conspicuous. The car would do almost a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and if she didn't collect ten speeding tickets a month, he wanted to know why.
Candy Mullender had refused flatly to live anywhere close to the city. She had found a ranch style house of modest dimensions high in the woodland hills, where she lived alone. Set among eucalyptus and oak trees, it gave her the privacy she needed when she could afford the time. She had a part-time maid who saw to it that the place was clean and stocked with food.
She let the powerful car have its head, spending the frustrations in her young and eager body. The aerodynamic design glued it to the road, aided by the hydraulic suspension system. She was cruising at a hundred and thirty miles an hour when she passed the California Highway Patrol car, that was doing a comfortable eighty. Far back in her rearview mirror, she saw the red lights begin to flash. There was no oncoming traffic and she punched the hot machine hard, staying well ahead until she came to a sharp turn where there was enough space to pull over. She lighted one of her rare cigarettes and watched them go roaring by, their car going at full speed. She was still there five minutes later when they had managed to shut off and return. They did not look happy, but the one with sergeant's stripes had himself under control. They parked their car in front of the Mercedes as if afraid it would flee and bent down to talk to her through the window. He was polite in a strained way as he inquired whether she had any idea how fast she had been going.
Glancing at the stop-needle on the speedometer, Candy Mullender said, "Roughly 137.5802 miles an hour. Start writing."
He had his citation book out, but slipped it back into his pocket. He stepped back to admire the sleek car, which came only up to his hips, and said, "What is it?"
She told him. She told him what it could do, and he didn't believe. He was tall and lean, maybe in his mid-thirties, and handsome in a rugged sort of way. He looked like he might have had to deal with a few bum violators a few times-there were scars. She knew he had eyes for her. She saw he wasn't wearing any rings. And she was hungry for a man. Candy Mullender climbed out of the cool German car, with a flash of golden thighs, and said, "There's ten miles of good road ahead. Take it for a spin. I was blowing dust, and you can write me. You look like a man who knows wheels. Roll it!"
The challenge was too much for the cop. He wormed his way info the bucket seat, took a moment to figure out the gearshift and said to his partner, "Clock me… I'm invited."
He took off in a cloud of dust, with the other cop in the passenger side. Candy Mullender watched her car disappear, thinking that all cops weren't necessarily pigs. And these two had left their car behind.
Well, that could be fun too. She had never been in one of the California Highway Patrol cars. She got into the driver's seat. She knew how police cars worked, but it took her a minute to find the switches for the red lights and siren. And then she was after them, hitting the accelerator hard, the wind tearing at her hair as she sat crouched behind the wheel.
The sergeant was feeling out the sleek Mercedes, or she knew she would never have caught them. Candy brought it alongside on the eight-lane divided road, and laughed at their looks of astonishment. They waved her down at the next turnout.
"I hope nobody saw you in that can of iron," the sergeant said.
"Would anybody believe?" she countered. "I doubt that… I don't believe." "You like my car?"
"Quite a set of wheels," he conceded.
Candy Mullender fished her wallet out and handed him her license.
"You can't think I'll write you after this," the sergeant said.
"You can write down my address."
He did. With a grin and a wink, she dropped into the bucket seat of the Mercedes again and took off in a cloud of dust. She was only mildly piqued when she realized that he hadn't recognized her name. But then, he'd been looking mostly at her legs. And his car… it could move.
Maybe a man like the sergeant, a lean, mature man who knew his business could bring her to the release she needed so much. She hoped he would find some reason to call by her house.
Once home, Candy Mullender put the fast car away and restlessly prowled the house, wondering what to do with herself. She was restless as a cat in a strange garret. She felt the unsatisfied yearning in her sleek body, wanted desperately to finish what had been started. She turned on the color TV console and found nothing at all to interest her on any of the channels. The maid had come and gone hours before. There were no nearby neighbors, and if there had been, she probably wouldn't have been on intimate terms with them anyway. She often wondered what the other people who lived in the hickly-wooded hills of the area were like. Did they have regular families, go to workaday jobs and the PTA and Safeway and things like that? Undoubtedly they did-but they lived in another world.
Candy often thought she really needed a lover. Not simply for the sex, but for someone to come home to, someone with whom she could put her feet up on the coffee table and have a drink and relax and talk. Of course, it would be nice to have the sex which would go with it, but more than the sex, she was sure she needed human companionship above all.
That, of course, she could have with the crooking of her little finger, and a smile. Men would come flocking, men who would use her, make a fool of her, hurt her as Lee Ashley had just done. And that sort of thing she could surely live without. The loneliness was preferable.
The trouble was, it brought on a temptation to retreat even deeper inside herself. She knew that if she yielded, started to drink alone to dull the emptiness, enter a world of alcoholic fantasy, soon she would be seeing the world through a bottle.
Candy thought it would be wise to fix herself something to eat, yet she hated to eat alone. She considered driving to one of the dim, quiet restaurants in the area, and decided that would be even worse, to be by herself and surrounded by families or lovers out on a date. Restlessly she put a long-playing tape on the big stereo tape deck. She set the volume low and rummaged through a stack of paperback books, which she bought by the dozen, in futile search for something that looked interesting. She tried a couple and could not get into them. She wanted a drink, but would not let herself have one. Long ago, she had set a rule for herself-when she really wanted liquor, that was the time not to have any. Finally, she lit another cigarette.
Then, in the gathering dusk, she saw headlights turning into the drive. Her heart thumped as she wondered if the Highway Patrol sergeant had picked up on her blatant invitation, but on going to the picture window, she saw it was one of the studio cars.
Oh, no! Candy whispered. The last thing she wanted was to be invaded by studio people who, after their long session on the sound stage, were quite likely stoned on pot, or half drunk, or both. But even so, it would mean she was no longer alone, and she knew she could handle them. So, almost happily, she went to the heavy oak front door and opened it. She was surprised to discover it was Rick Benton, the young midwestern boy, and he was alone.
The slender, handsome blonde-haired teenager was carrying an attachй case, and she found it incongruous. The case belonged in the hands of a big studio executive or an industrialist or possibly a diplomat and looked very much out of place conveyed by a boy who barely had to shave, one who wore an open-neck sports shirt and faded jeans and cowboy boots. Equally startling was his appearance at her house. He had never been here before-she had not been aware he even knew where she lived-and she sensed he might be uncomfortable to find himself in this enclave of the wealthy. She knew he came from the barren prairies of the midwest, and was trying to escape to a more exciting life, despite the basic lack of education. Candy flashed her best welcoming smile at him.
"Why, Rick!" she said, tossing her gleaming mane of black hair back. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"Miss Candy, after you left the studio, a messenger came from NBC with the tape of your appearance on that talk show. There was a note saying you were to approve, and that it is necessary it be done tonight. I was asked to bring the tape, so I brought it to you."
"Oh, thank you!" the raven-haired actress said. "Really, it was too much-making you drive a hundred miles just for this. It could have waited until I went to the studio in the morning."
"I was told it was important," the slender fair-skinned youth said with a shy grin. "And it is nice to have a reason to come away from the city to this beautiful town. Also, I have just now gotten my driving license, and I like to drive."
"Of course," Candy replied, realizing that for this handsome boy actually having both a license and access to a car was a major event in his young life. Through her mind flashed the question of how long he would remain so sweet and innocent. Would the jungle of the movie business in Los Angeles swallow him up, or would he survive, go on to a better life than that of his counterparts? In the few months he had been with the film crew, he had impressed her with his earnest desire to work. No matter what hour of day or night, he was always there, unobtrusively on the fringes, ready to perform the most menial task with a quick, white-toothed smile. "Well, you can't just turn around and go back. I was just going to fix some dinner, and you're going to help me eat it!"
She could instantly sense the unexpected invitation took him by surprise, and perhaps frightened him. He, Rick Benton, the errand boy, being invited to eat in this luxurious home… and a meal which the lovely Candy Mullender, the rising star, would prepare with her own beautiful hands! Smiling, she tried to put him at ease as she took his hands and drew him into the house and swung the heavy door shut behind him. And Candy thought to herself, if only he could stay this way, kind and helpful and respectful and-and innocent. Yet she knew the jungle that lay glittering in the myriad lights of Los Angeles-and all the other big cities. She knew of the temptations of girls and liquor and narcotics, and how susceptible the innocent young country boys and girls were to these things.
Although she herself had not been culturally deprived, and had come from a comfortable-well-off family which even today did not quite approve of her career, she had seen enough to realize why so many youngsters revolted, became anti-social, indulging themselves in dope and God knows what else. It was to break the deadly monotony of their drab, apparently hopeless existence.
In her own way, Candy realized her choice of career was a mild revolt.' When she had firmly set her mind on an entertainment career, her family had tried in vain to persuade her to strive to be a school teacher. But Candy had never been able to picture herself done up with a bun at the back of her head and a highcut long conservative dress on teaching a bunch of screaming kids. This was not to say she didn't like kids, she just didn't want to teach them.
Candy Mullender had an innate dislike of hypocrisy. And there were times, lying alone in her big bed in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep, that she wondered if perhaps she was not as big a hypocrite as any other. Because she denied herself.
She steadfastly denied herself the right to be a woman, to enjoy her voluptuous woman's body and take a man wantonly, as she deeply wanted to do, and instead finding only superficial, physical, false release through masturbation. Candy was only too aware of the feral animal that lurked just below the smooth golden surface of her skirt. Although she routinely protested the revealing dresses and skin-tight costumes the agency insisted she wear, in moments of true honesty, the dark-haired actress had to admit that she was subconsciously saying, Hey, look at me! as she wore the tight dresses the studio gave her and grinding her hips as she walked, the short skirt flaring up to show sheer bikini panties and the shadowy triangle of her softly-curling pussy hair.
Candy tried to tell herself she didn't want things like the fast, baby blue car which had cost over twenty-five thousand dollars (and was paid for by the agency) and the adulation of millions of young, teenage fans, and the constant exposure on television talk shows and specials where she was sometimes called "the new Farrah," a phrase invented by some flack.
If she didn't want it, why did she work so hard to have it? she sometimes asked herself in moments of torturing honesty. You want it-shut up and go get it! an inner voice replied. It's your thing, so do it the best you can, and maybe the rest of it will all settle itself in time.
"I can't stay that long, if I am to get back to the city tonight," Rick said, pulling her away from her personal thoughts. "I can stop at a drive-in for a hamburger, Miss Candy."
"Nonsense!" she snapped, immediately regretting the curt tone of her voice, and trying to soften her next words as she smiled at the flustered teenage youth. "Rick, I've had a trying day. I don't want to be alone-to eat alone. I was thinking of going out to a restaurant, but just by myself would be worse than staying here in this big house. Now, I have to view this tape, and I would really like to know what you think of it, because you're a young man, close to the age of most of my fans, and I think your opinion would be very valuable to me-you know if you think something should be cut out. It's a late-night show and they make some sort of blue remarks and it'll be important to me to find out if any of the talk turns you off." Candy smiled again, winsomely as she added, "I can't judge myself… maybe I say some things that are all wrong for what the agency calls 'my image' and you could help me pick those things out."
"Miss Candy, I bet you never said a dirty word in your life!"
"Oh, I have," she assured him. "But I try to keep them under my breath, Rick." She brightened suddenly. "Now that I'm not alone, I might allow myself the drink I've been thinking about for hours. I don't suppose you drink."
"My family always has wine at meals," he said shyly. "And I like beer-when I could swipe one from my old man's six-pack."
"And I used to smoke Bill Durham back of the barn too," the vivacious actress said with a hearty laugh. "A beer you get."
With an unintentionally saucy roll of her smooth well-turned ass-cheeks, the same movement she used when on the set with a particularly sexy role, Candy strode to the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. Three six-packs of beer, long-untouched, were there thoroughly chilled. In a cabinet were bottles of bourbon, Scotch, vodka and gin, all covered with dust. She uncapped a bottle of imported beer and, after some deliberation, decided to make a bourbon and soda for herself. She could not remember when she had last had a drink at home. Weeks certainly, maybe months. She kept the liquor only because from time to time agency or studio people came on business and it was expected she would offer some refreshment. But now, thinking of the virile young teenager in the high-vaulted living room, and with her pussy still churning from the abortive sex she'd attempted with Lee Ashley, she needed something to calm her nerves.
Oh my God! NO! she suddenly said to herself realizing that she had been thinking in fantasy of young Rick Benton as a sex partner-and the kid was barely half her age!