"Encino Girl" with Elisha Cuthbert
Codes: MF, FF, oral, anal, mast.
Celebs: Elisha Cuthbert
Disclaimer: This one was written pretty quickly by my standards, taking less than a week of short sessions to complete. It started with a couple of ideas, one being buying a second-hand phone and discovering the previous owner's stuff still on it (which really happened to me recently), and the other being...well....you'll see. Usual disclaimers apply. This is a work of fiction and fantasy, written in a spirit of fun and definitely not intended to upset or offend. If you're not of an age to read graphic depictions of kinky sex and think such things might trouble your fragile little little mind, feel free to stop reading now.
Encino, California. Sometime after midnight. I'm in the bedroom of an apartment rented under an assumed name by Elisha Cuthbert, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed starlet famous mainly for her roles in the TV show 24 and the movie The Girl Next Door. The latter - a teen comedy about a guy who discovers his young and beautiful neighbor is a porn star - is a large part of the reason I'm here. It's certainly the reason Elisha and her 'friends' are here. As for your friendly neighborhood drug dealer, I ended up in this bedroom through an insane collision of coincidence and curiosity. None of these people are clients, and none of them knew me before tonight. Yet here I am.
"I got a surprise for you," says the guy I know only as Freddie, the guy I'm beginning to suspect may be better known under another name. "A big surprise. Close your eyes and open your legs."
For the record, I'm dolled up to the nines, all black satin push-up bra, stockings and suspenders, and knee-length boots. For the record, I'm flat on my back with Freddie standing over me, huge and black and handsome, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, grinning at me as he reaches for his fly. Because it's too late to do anything else, because I'm a firm believer that rides like these should always be seen through to whatever crazy conclusion, and because Freddie's tongue has already worked me into a state far beyond saying no, I do exactly what he tells me. I open my legs.
I close my eyes.
It all started when I lost my phone. Not such a big deal, you might think, but as mentioned above, I'm a drug dealer. Not the kind that stands on street corners selling shitty product to addicts, I hasten to add. I'm a drug dealer with standards. I sell to smart folk with needs the system doesn't cater to, who need uppers or downers to get through the day, whose careers occasionally require them to lose a lot of weight in a short space of time. And yeah, I sell recreational drugs, too, but nothing that can kill an educated user. Those that aren't educated, I don't deal with. Ditto the addicts. I provide a service, and I provide it in the cleanest, safest manner possible.
All of which meant that losing my phone meant I lost an LA/OC client list that included a lot of names you know. Violating their privacy wasn't an issue - I have almost as much experience keeping secrets and using codenames in my contacts as I have keeping what I do private. What bothered me was that the same secrecy that started protecting my clients the instant that wannabe gangster fuck stole my phone left me pretty much back at square one. I don't compromise on confidentiality, so I don't keep backups. I'd lost everything. All I could do was get a new phone, get my number back, and wait for them to call me. From a business point of view, it was more than just an inconvenience. It was a chink in my armor, a sign that I was fallible. I never lie to my clients, and I wasn't planning on starting. They'd all know my phone had been stolen, and I knew that for a few of them, it would plant the seed of doubt that would eventually lead to them looking elsewhere for those convenient, non-prescription needs.
I was pissed.
"How the fuck did you manage to lose your phone, anyway?" Erin asked. We were in my apartment, and I'd just finished an overly dramatic rant about how I was finished in this town.
"I was out jogging," I told her. "I had that pouch thing. You know, the holster. My gym shorts don't have any pockets, so I just clipped it to my hip."
"And you dropped it?"
"No, this fucking kid stole it. I couldn't finish my run. I was out last night, pretty fucked up. I was hoping to run it off, but I only got about a mile down the street. I walked home. I'm, like, halfway back when I catch up to this group of preppy black kids. Wannabe gangsters. Dressed like Snoop but you know their dads are more like fucking Bill Cosby. They're taking up the whole sidewalk."
Erin raised her eyebrows and smiled. "You couldn't say excuse me?"
"Fuck that. Why should I? Anyway, I did say excuse me. They ignored me."
"And I decided to just push on through."
"And one of them took your phone."
"Well, I'm not going to talk to you about blame, Sophie..."
"Good, 'cause I know what you're gonna say."
"Alright. Here's my advice. A brand new phone is going to cost you more than you want to pay if you have no income for a few weeks. I'd jump on eBay, find a cheap one, and activate your old number. You deactivated the old one, right?"
"Just 'cause I'm cute, doesn't mean I'm stupid," I said.
She laughed at that. "So get on it. Get a phone, get your people back, reassure them that everything's okay, and get back in business. Sitting around whining about it isn't helping anyone, least of all you."
"You're right, as usual"
"I'm always right. And cute. Amazing, really," she said.
"You're average at best," I replied.
"And guys only like you because you put out."
I gave her the finger and reached for my (non-cellular) phone. Fuck eBay, I had quicker solutions.
Long story short, I ran some errands that afternoon and returned home with a brand new iPhone that was probably stolen and definitely untraceable. I called Verizon and had it activated, then lay down on my bed to figure the thing out. It quickly became apparent that the phone almost certainly was stolen. The previous owner's contacts were all still there, and so was everything else they'd saved, including some pretty racy text messages exchanged with some guy called Cliff.
lets meet on sat, Cliff's most recent text suggested. usual place.
I scrolled down to his previous message. got your pussy in my head girl. cant wait to be in you again.
I laughed in the silence of my apartment. "Cliff, you dog," I murmured.
eleven inches, the previous text read.
"Yeah, right," I said, and found my way out of her inbox and into her sent messages.
yr cock is so big. i dreamed you were inside me last night, went the corresponding message. Then: im gonna swallow yr cum. tell me how big it is.
"Eleven inches. Sounds like someone's having fun," I said.
I scrolled up to the previous owner's final message and there it was, an Encino address where she and her eleven-inch lover were apparently going to meet up and - according to the dates - fuck tonight.
I deleted the messages and navigated my way to her saved pictures, where I found an assortment of meaningless shots of scenery and strangers. The last couple of pictures, though, were clearly related to the text messages. A black guy, shot from waist to thighs, was stroking his erect cock. Eleven inches was debatable, but he was certainly hung.
I deleted the photos, dismissing the idle speculation in my head, and found my way to the saved videos.
There were three. The first was of a beautiful and familiar-looking girl delivering a personal message to somebody called Jonathon, saying she'd be home soon and not to worry. The second was of that same erection, this time being stroked as I watched. It was about twenty seconds long, and ended with a groan and a stream of come running down his thick, black shaft. About twenty seconds into the third, I clicked out of the video section and started searching through the screens, looking for a name.
That third video was as grainy as the other two, which was why I didn't recognize her right away. It was the girl who had left the message for Jonathon, presumably the girl who was fucking the hung black guy. Blonde hair and blue eyes and something so familiar that I knew it was more than her merely looking like someone. She was someone.
"Hi, baby," she said. "This is for you until the next time we get together. I want you to take off all your clothes and...well...you know what to do."
The girl tilted the phone down, showing off her large, bare breasts and her belly and the patch of dark hair between her legs. She focused the camera on the pink flesh of her pussy, and as I watched, her fingers moved down between her labia, stroking and caressing, rubbing gently until she moaned. I could see her getting wet, see her fingers paying increasing attention to her clit as she became more aroused. Clearly, this was going to go on until she came. Clearly, this was the video that had led to the black guy sending the clip of him jerking off.
Why did I know her? Who was she? I clicked through the iPhone's unfamiliar menus, looking for something like the electronic business card on my old phone, something that would tell me why her face was familiar. When I finally found it, I sighed and let my head fall back on the pillow.
"Let it go, Sophie," I said to the empty room. "Do not get involved in this."
On the screen, Elisha Cuthbert's contact details dared me otherwise.
On the drive to Encino, I told myself that I was going to explain what had happened, give Elisha her phone back, and then go on my merry way. Even as those images played in my head - the black guy stroking himself to an orgasm, Elisha giving those teasing glimpses of her naked body - I told myself that this was entirely innocent, that I was being a good Samaritan, that it could have been a hell of a lot worse for her if somebody else had seen what I'd seen. My intentions were pure.
It was a nice part of town, an apartment block set way back from the street, the parking lot all Mercs and Beamers and bright lights. I caught a group of young, preppy kids coming out, so I didn't have to buzz anybody to get to the elevator that took me up to the third floor and number 314. The lights were on, but the blinds were drawn. Whatever was going on inside, I was going to have to knock on the door to find out.
The black guy answered. He was tall and well-built, wearing a robe that was half open on a muscular chest. Good-looking, too, and somehow familiar in that way Elisha had been. I had a nagging feeling that I knew him.
"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, surprised and curious but not exactly angry.
"I...I'm Sophie." I tried not to picture his massive erection. Eleven inches.
"Should that mean something to me?"
I swallowed. He was checking me out, his eyes appreciative. "No," I said. "I bought a phone. Stolen, I guess. It's Elisha's. All her shit's on it."
"All her shit, huh?" he said. "Stolen? No wonder she's been so quiet."
"I wanted to tell her, I guess. Give it back."
He held out his hand. "I can make sure she gets it."
"Right." I fumbled in my jacket pocket, took out the phone and handed it to him. "She'll have to deactivate it again," I said. "I mean, I didn't know...that stuff..."
He held the phone up, and I watched his thumb moving over the screen. Then I heard the groans and murmured dirty talk of his masturbation video.
"That stuff," he said. "What was your name again?"
"You watch all of this, Sophie?"
I felt the heat in my face. "I didn't know."
"Well," he said, and for a moment it was almost there, I almost remembered who he was, "since it don't look like Elisha's coming tonight, you'll have to do."
"Come on in," he said. He took my elbow and guided me into the apartment.
"Just a second..." I stammered. "I was just..."
"Where you from?" he asked.
"So you drove, what, fifty miles to give Elisha her phone back?" He closed the door.
"I wanted her to know it was okay. I just lost my phone. I know how it is. That's all. She's probably worried about it."
"No. I'm just telling you what happened, what I was trying to do. Why would I be nervous?"
"Take your jacket off, Sophie," he said. "Let me get a look at you."
"I'm not staying."
"You keep telling yourself that."
"Elisha isn't coming?"
"I doubt it. She'd be here by now."
"This is her place?"
"A place she uses, yeah. But she's not coming here tonight. It's just you and me. So why don't you take off that jacket?"
"You are. Take it off."
He stared at me, and for a moment or two, I stared right back. This was a man used to getting his way, a man whose confidence was magnetic. I shrugged off my jacket and hung it on the door handle.
"Was that so hard?" he said. His eyes were moving over my body, over my black silk blouse and a skirt that suddenly felt very short. He smiled. "Just a little girl, but very cute. Love your skin. Always had a thing for pale girls. You work out?"
I shrugged. "A little."
"Keep that body tight, I bet," he said. "Turn around for me. Let me take a look at that ass."
I opened my mouth and closed it again. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I turned around.
"Atta girl," he said. "Damn," He sucked air through his teeth and lifted the hem of my skirt like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You wore these to return a phone? My kinda girl."
I realized he was talking about my panties, sheer red lace and definitely not the kind of thing a gal wore to run errands. I wasn't here to return the phone, and Cliff knew it. I made a decision then, and as he stepped in closer, I put my hands against the wall, stepped my legs apart, lifted my ass a little.
"That's good," he said, lowering his voice. "That's nice.." He still had the hem of my skirt in one hand. The other brushed the backs of my thighs and then he squeezed my ass through my panties, working the lace against my skin, pulling it tight against my pussy. "Look at that," he murmured. "We're gonna have to get a little friendlier, Sophie. C'mon over here with me."
Cliff took my hand and I let him lead me down the hall. I had time to get a look at a sparsely-furnished living room - a couch, a lamp, a TV - and then we were in a candle-lit bedroom and he was sitting down at the foot of a king-sized bed covered with expensive silk sheets in black and red, the kind of bed for which sleeping is a secondary purpose.
"Skirt first," he said. "Then the blouse."
I did as I was asked, watching him watching me as I unbuckled my belt, undid my skirt, and let it fall around my feet. Then I began to unbutton my blouse, enjoying his stare as I worked my way slowly from hem to collar, exposing my torso and a bra that matched my panties. By the time I shrugged it off to stand there in my underwear, Cliff was rubbing himself through his robe and smiling.
"Now turn around and bend your sweet self over," he said.
I turned away from him, planting my booted feet apart the same way I had in the hallway. Then I bent over, and instead of placing my hands on a wall, I laid them flat against the floor. Cliff's hands stroked the insides of my thighs, his knuckles brushing against me through the lace of my panties. I felt my breath quickening, blood rushing to my face. When he pulled the lace aside and touched me, I was wet and ready, my pussy hot and slick beneath his fingers.
"you're gonna get fucked, girl," he told me. "You want that? You want to get fucked?"
"Yes," I breathed, swallowing hard as his fingertips skimmed over and between my labia, seeking out my clit.
"I want to get fucked," I said.
"Came here in your little red panties," he said. "Told yourself it was nothing, I bet. Told yourself you were doing someone a favor. You gonna do me a favor." He pushed a finger into me, then a second, started working them back and forth.
"Please," I heard myself say. My voice was low, excited.
"You want some cock?" he asked me. "You begging me for a big dick, little Sophie?" Fingering me harder, faster, the liquid sounds of his caresses loud in the empty room.
"Let me see what that mouth can do."
He withdrew his fingers, span me around to face him. The robe was open on his muscular body, on the huge erection that jutted from his crotch, easily the biggest cock I'd ever seen in person. Cliff grinned, apparently at my reaction, then reached up and wrapped one big hand around the back of my head, pulling me down to my knees before him. I grabbed hold of his shaft, started jerking him off as I lowered my mouth to the swollen head of his cock, taking him between my lips and then as far back as I dared, all the way to my gag reflex. It was still barely half of his length. I reached down with my free hand and cupped his balls, squeezed them hard enough that he groaned.
"That's it, yeah. That's it." Cliff reached over me, unhooked the clasp of my bra, pulled it away and threw it aside. I felt his hand between us, grabbing at one breast, pinching the nipple between forefinger and thumb.
From the way he was groaning, the way the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensed and relaxed, I knew he was close to orgasm. I sucked at the head of his cock, stroked his shaft and kneaded his balls, knowing that any second he was going to come in my mouth, wanting it.
"Come on up here," he said. He grabbed me under the armpits, lifted me like a child until I was on the bed, standing over him. He pulled down my panties in one swift motion and I stepped out of them, going back down to my knees, naked except for my boots, this time straddling him, his hands on my hips. I felt his cock against me and then pushing into me as I lowered myself into his lap.
"Fuck," I whispered. "Oh my fucking god."
I understood, in that moment, the whole size thing. Not for every day, but as a fantasy. His erection felt huge penetrating me, opening me up and stretching me so much that it hurt, the muscles inside me spasming in protest, sending delicious little ripples of pleasure and pain up through my belly. I kept going, lowering myself until I was sat astride him, till it felt like I was impaled on his massive cock. I braced my hands against his chest, pushed with my hips, hearing a helpless little yelp of pleasure come out of me as his hardness touched me in places I'd never been touched, stealing my breath and rolling my eyes back into my head. I was all his, a slave to his cock, completely at his mercy as I came as hard as I ever have, gasping and trembling, feeling tears in my eyes.
Cliff had me on my back before I even realized what was happening. I was limp and exhausted, a sweat-soaked mess. Even as my body registered him withdrawing with a mix of relief and disappointment, he slammed back into me and I cried out. He had one hand on my stomach and the other on my hip, and he began to fuck me hard, his chest glistening with sweat, his brow creased in concentration, watching my body move each time he pushed into me. I could have come again, but he beat me to it, pulling his cock free and jerking himself off until he groaned one final time and fired a series of thick streams of come onto my belly and crotch.
Finally he stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow and laughing. "I need a fucking drink," he said. "Join me?"
"Wait, so you fucked this guy?"
I'd held off for all of two days before giving in to the need to tell somebody about my experience at Elisha's apartment. As usual, that somebody was Erin.
"I pour out my heart about one of the sexiest experiences I've ever had, and you ask the most obvious question in the world. Yes, I fucked him."
"Just like that." She stares at me over the rim of her wine glass. "You're crazy. you're a crazy whore." She paused to take a sip. "So...he was really that big?"
I laughed at that. "I didn't get the tape measure out or anything. Big enough. My lord."
"I couldn't be you," Erin said, shaking her head. "Truly I couldn't. You think he'll call?"
When I'd woken up the next morning, alone in the apartment, I'd found the phone lying beside me, an invitation if ever there was one. Since then, nothing.
"I really don't know. I don't know if I want him to. This is so crazy. Every time anybody calls or texts, I'm on edge. I have like four numbers saved, everybody else could be him. It's driving me nuts."
"Well, maybe it's for the best. Maybe a one off thing is the best way to go, you know?"
"Yeah," I said, and drained my own glass in several quick swallows. "You're probably right."
I couldn't just forget about Cliff, but the next few weeks kept me busy enough that I didn't dwell on it. Sure, it popped into my head, usually when I was alone in the shower or in bed trying to sleep, but rebuilding my reputation and my client list kept it out of my head most of the time.
Until she called.
"Hello?" It was a Saturday morning, and the phone buzzing on the nightstand woke me from a deep sleep.
"Is this Sophie?" she asked.
"You know who it is."
And I did. Suddenly, I was wide awake. "Oh...hi."
"Come to the apartment tonight," she said. "Midnight."
The line went dead.
No excuses on my second drive to Encino. I was wearing my sexiest little black dress, lingerie my mother would never forgive me for, and what Erin always referred to as my Fuck-Me boots. I had an idea what would be waiting for me at the apartment, and this time I was ready.
Nobody conveniently appeared to let me in, so I pushed the button for 314 and held my breath, ready to announce myself. Whoever responded saved me the trouble, buzzed me in without speaking.
The elevator ride seemed to take forever, and when I got out on the third floor, all was darkness and silence. There was the faintest of lights coming through the closed blinds of the apartment, and the door was ajar. I took a deep breath and let myself in, closing it behind me.
The lights in the hallway and the living room were off, but the flickering glow of candles was enough to guide me to the bedroom. I felt aroused just approaching it, highlights of the scene I'd played out with Cliff playing on a screen inside my head, anticipation of what was to come sending a delicious little trickle of excitement and fear through my body, teasing my nipples erect and setting butterflies loose in my belly.
Everything was just the way I remembered, the barely-decorated bedroom dominated by that huge bed with its suggestive silk sheets, what surfaces there were - a dresser, side tables - covered by the candles that gave the room all the light needed for the things that happened here. I registered Cliff standing in the shadows of one corner, and another man - also black, shorter and stockier - standing exactly opposite him, like sentries, and then all I saw was her.
There are probably more theories about what makes a woman sexy than there are sexy women in the world. The one that always bothered me was that thing about a woman's sexual prime coming at the age of forty. This, presumably, because that's the age when a lot of women experience a certain discontent with their lives and go out looking to find or rediscover their youth. That isn't to say that an older woman cannot be a beautiful or erotic thing, and it isn't to say that experience counts for nothing, but it isn't a theory that could possibly hold up before the vision that lay before me.
Elisha lay among the silk sheets, staring up at me with a slight smile turning the corners of her generous mouth, perfect blue eyes holding mine, all speculation and invitation. Her legs and feet were bare, her hips and crotch hugged by sheer panties that dragged the eye helplessly down between her slightly-parted thighs, where black lace creased and clung to the darker flesh of her pussy. I knew she was aroused, that if I was to touch that material it would be damp, that I would feel the heat beneath in my fingertips. For a man, she was young enough to be tight down there, old enough to know the tricks of muscle and movement the inexperienced hadn't yet learned. For a woman, for me, it was the simple beauty of her sex, the desire to touch her and taste her and pleasure her, to discover if she was really as ripe as she looked.
Above the waistband of her panties, her smooth belly was bare beneath the open hem of the baby doll nightie she wore, her skin unblemished. I could see where her full hips curved inward to her waist, and then the nightie - as sheer as her panties - turned it into a peep show where the main attraction was her tits, large and round and pushing that material up into twin mounds capped by the darker circles of nipples that were as swollen and excited as her pussy, their erect tips visible even through her nightie, even from the other side of the room.
I was breathing hard, my face hot with my own arousal. My hands shook as I reached back and unzipped my dress. I shrugged the straps from my shoulders and let it drop to the floor around my ankles, watching Elisha's eyes widen a little when she saw the satin underwear, the stockings and suspenders, the boots. As I stepped out of my dress and walked towards her, I was aware of movement from Cliff, and I realized without looking over that he had his cock in his hand and was jerking off. In my peripheral vision, the other man was motionless, watching.
I climbed onto the bed, felt the cool, slippery silk beneath me as I crawled up between her legs until my hands were to each side of her hips. Then I lowered my head and kissed her stomach, opening my mouth to her warm skin, pushing out my tongue to taste her. She breathed out through her nose and I felt her moving beneath me, writhing at my attentions as I left a trail of kisses over her soft belly, reaching for the ribbons that held the front of her nightie together, pulling the loose knots open one by one and touching my mouth to every inch of exposed skin until my tongue was climbing the underside of her right breast even as my fingers brushed the flimsy material away to reveal a nipple as round and pink and perfect as I'd imagined. I took it between my lips, sucked at it, brought its tip up for my tongue to flick and tease. My right hand claimed her other breast, seized its nipple between forefinger and thumb and squeezed.
Elisha sighed deeply. Her hands grasped my waist, moved down over my hips and my ass and the backs of my thighs. I raised my head from her chest and moved my face to hers, devouring her open mouth, her tongue fat and lively between my lips. She tasted of mint with a faint undercurrent of cigarettes and something else, wine maybe. One hand slid back upward and she grabbed a handful of my hair. The other moved between us, flat against my stomach and then pushing downward over the crotch of my panties and down between my thighs, fingers exploring the shape of my pussy through my underwear. I moaned at her touch, freed my mouth from hers so I could kiss her jaw and her neck, my teeth grazing her skin as I made my way back down to her breasts, this time kissing between them and down, reluctantly wriggling away from her fingers. I wanted her touch, but there was something else I wanted more.
Movement from the sentries again, this time both men. They came towards the bed from either side as I pulled Elisha's panties down. I was too excited to kiss my way back up, and I placed my hands to the insides of her knees, pushing her legs apart, spreading the pink, glistening flesh of her exposed pussy. I lay on my front between her thighs, knees beneath me with my ass in the air. Whatever the intentions of the two men, I wanted it. I wanted it all.
I kissed Elisha's pussy, open-mouthed, tasting her arousal, running my tongue over her heat, all the way up her labia to the tight little bud at their junction. I felt her tense and heard her moan. I spread her lips with my fingers, teased the soft hood that covered her clit with the tip of my tongue before flattening it to pleasure her, lapping the way a cat laps at a plate of milk, pressing hard, wanting to hear her come.
Cliff climbed onto the bed beside her, naked and erect, all eleven inches jutting out from his crotch. She took hold of his cock and lifted her head to take him into her mouth, taking enough of his length that she gagged. When he pulled back, a stream of saliva dripped down her chin. When she swallowed him again, she was less daring, and she began work her mouth back and forth over his head, fingers curled around his shaft, stroking him.
I felt the other man's weight on the mattress behind me, the proximity of his body to mine. He pulled the gusset of my panties to one side and his mouth covered my pussy, tongue flat against me, poking insistently at my clit, making me gasp. I was going to come. I could feel it in my belly, all the heat inside me shrinking to a hard little ball in the pit of my stomach that shivered and trembled. Elisha's hips were off the bed and she was grinding her pussy into my face, her rising moans muted by Cliff's thick cock. He was groaning, murmuring words I couldn't hear, thrusting into her mouth so that further strings of saliva joined the first, until her chin and jaw and throat shone with it.
If it was a race, Elisha won. My cresting excitement, the urgent movement of my tongue on her clit, pushed her over the edge. She cried out, and when she opened her mouth, I could hear Cliff's cock hitting the back of her throat, each thrust producing a choked gargle. Her back was arched, her body caught in the throes of orgasm, and when Cliff gave a final groan and held himself as far inside her mouth as he dared, I knew it was no longer saliva that spilled from her lips.
It was that image that finally caused my climax to explode inside me. My cry was even louder than Elisha's had been, and I closed my eyes, feeling incredible heat rush through my body, powerful pulses that started between my legs and reached out to every inch of me. The second sentry, the man behind me, wrapped an arm around my waist and held me almost tenderly while I came, my trembling body small and helpless in his embrace.
Breathless silence for seconds and then minutes. I fell onto my front, my head resting on Elisha's stomach, recovering my breath, feeling the sweat dry on my skin, waiting for my hands to stop shaking. The man behind me stroked my hair, massaged my shoulders and back. After a while, I rolled over onto my back and looked up at him.
"Sophie," I said.
He nodded. "Freddie," he replied, and grinned, his teeth white against his dark skin and the dark room.
He was as familiar as Cliff, though not quite as recognizable as Elisha. I knew him, though from where I couldn't say. Certainly not well enough for the way I returned his smile, the way I lifted my ass up off the bed so he could pull down my panties. He threw them casually aside and stood staring down at me, his hand covering the bulging front of his jeans.
"I got a surprise for you," he said. "A big surprise."
Which is about where we came in, I think.
"Close your eyes and open your legs," Freddie says.
As with Cliff, I do as he tells me. I close my eyes and draw my feet up onto the bed, spreading my legs wide, exposing myself to him. I feel Elisha moving beneath me and then she's gone, leaving my head to fall back onto the sheets. She's up to something, adopting some new position with Cliff, perhaps. I keep my eyes closed, anticipation stealing my breath all over again. I can hear Freddie undoing his belt and unzipping his fly. I can hear him pushing his jeans down. He places one huge, warm hand on the inside of my right thigh, and then I feel his cock against me.
The breath goes out of me in a rush. Impossible that he could be so big, bigger even than Cliff. With my legs spread almost painfully wide, my pussy slick with my arousal and his saliva, my body protests, the muscles inside me twitching and jumping as his engorged head forces itself beyond my labia and into me. The friction of my body clinging tightly to something so thick is excruciating, pitched perfectly between pleasure and pain. I can hear myself moaning, the sensation of his length sliding slowly into me seeming to push those sounds from my body. There's no way I can take all of it, and he stops before I feel his body meet mine, withdraws and then pushes forward again, stretching me, working me, those muscles adjusting the way the muscles in my thighs and calves adjusted when I first started running. I know now that I will ache tomorrow.
More movement on the bed, pressing down to each side of my head. I open my eyes and see Elisha's belly and pussy in close-up. She is naked and straddling me, her head down where Freddie's cock is making me moan. Her hand covers my crotch, fingertips finding my clit and rubbing quickly back and forth. I wrap my arm around her, flattening one hand against the small of her back, the other going to her pussy, where my middle and index fingers slide easily into her. Behind her, Cliff moves awkwardly on his knees until he is close enough to press his cock, already erect again, against her ass.
"Fuck," I hear her say. "Oh, fuck," Cliff entering her slowly and gently, the way Freddie had entered me, taking his time, penetrating and retreating, penetrating and retreating, letting her tightest of openings get used to the presence of his cock.
When Freddie withdraws again, his cock pops out of my pussy with a wet smack. Relief and disappointment. I hear the liquid sound of Elisha sucking on it as Cliff's crotch finally meets her ass and I finger her harder, feeling wet warmth trickle down over the back of my hand. Freddie turns his attention back to me, sliding in more easily this time, that gentleness giving way before an excitement I can feel in his harder, faster thrusts.
Infectious, this arousal, this letting go of inhibition and etiquette. As Freddie fucks me harder, I finger Elisha harder. As her cries grow in volume and frequency, Cliff's rhythm accelerates until he's pounding against her, his skin meeting hers with a slap each time he buries his cock in her ass. Again, she comes first, her whole body going taut and tense. Cliff grabs her by the hair and jerks her head back and she must be staring right into Freddie's eyes, her beautiful face twisted in ecstasy, because he makes a guttural, animal sound and then pulls out of me even as Cliff pulls out of Elisha, who falls limp and breathless to one side as the two men kneel over me, stroking themselves with equal desperation. And as Freddie groans and squeezes his cock just below the head as if to stem the flow of his climax before releasing a thick stream of white come onto my crotch and belly, as Cliff says my name and then releases several smaller streaks of warmth onto my face and chest, I realize where I've seen them before.
Porn. They're porn stars.
Later, clean and warm and cuddled up in Erin's bed, a bed nothing like the one in Elisha's apartment, I sip my hot chocolate and laugh at the look on her face.
"Porn stars?" she says again, staring at me.
"Lexington Steele and Mandingo," I say, knowing from the way she colors that she knows who they are. Not household names like Elisha Cuthbert, but certainly famous enough, if you visit the right kind of websites and see enough of the right DVDs. "She met them doing research for the movie. I guess she was curious. Any girl would be."
"And somehow that ends up being a regular thing in a cozy little apartment, huh?"
"And somehow I wander right into the middle of it. Your friendly neighborhood drug dealer."
"The girl next door," she says, shaking her head. "You're an unbelievable whore."
"And you're jealous. I've got the address, you know. If you want it. We could go together."
Erin goes even redder. I know she'll never say yes just as I know she'll never sleep with me. It's enough to know that she'll think about it, maybe get off on it, to make me feel as okay about this experience as I do about the others. LA's a crazy city, and I'm in a crazy profession. Sometimes you initiate things, sometimes you walk into things, and sometimes some kid steals your phone. But like I said before, I'm a firm believer that rides like these should always be seen through to whatever crazy conclusion.
I put my hot chocolate down on the bedside table, snuggle up to Erin and lay my head on her shoulder.
I close my eyes.
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