tagGroup SexCrystal Clear Ch. 14

Crystal Clear Ch. 14

byRomantic1©

This story is part of a continuation of my Road Trip series (see the end of 'Road Trip – California' for a list of the chapters of that series, in order to be read). You need not read that series to enjoy this series. Although real places and celebrity names are used for realism, this story is fiction. Please 'read, enjoy, vote, and comment.'

Synopsis of This Story Up to This Point: After a motorcycle road trip laced with grief, love, incest, and sex (read the Road Trip series), Jim, girlfriend country singer Crystal Lee and her sister Ellen, a love interest named Claire, and a nymphomaniac housekeeper Nadia live together. Jim finished his first movie, enjoyed several orgies with his leading lady and rescued her when she got kidnapped in Nicaragua to great media acclaim. Later, the press discovered that Jim fathered a child in Ohio during the road trip, but Crystal and Jim managed the news, revealed the truth, and the story faded away quickly. In the course of the baby story, the pair met Edie, the sexy reporter that deduced Jim's parenthood, and they bring her back to Nashville for further loving romps before they leave on a concert tour. Billy, their bandleader, and Dan, their publicist, joined the group more often. Claire finally revealed her mysterious past, admitting to doing porn films and being a high-end escort. Later, Claire shares a memorable story with her lovers, and Crystal and Jim get Grammys for their great music.


Crystal Clear – Ch 14

European tour, old and new friends, threats, and deception


The envelope had a wax seal across the flap embossed with the script letters 'NR'. On the front, written in bold letters, were the words, "To be opened only by Jim Mellon." An usher brought it to me at intermission time. I thanked him and went to tip him, but he said, "Oh, no, the young lady handsomely tipped me to deliver this to you personally." I figured it was some not-so-subtle fan mail.

The green room door opened and a stage hand yelled into the room to Crystal and me, "On stage in sixty seconds."

We were at Wembley Stadium outside London singing for a record crowd of 90,000 fans. This was the first stop on our European Tour that Terry Ross, our agent had put together. It was May, and the English weather was unseasonably warm. In the coming weeks, Crystal and I were to do concerts in a dozen major cities, and while in each city we were also to do local premieres of our two movies: Pressure Limit, and The Naked Truth. All told we'd be in Europe six weeks; this would also allow Crystal and me some time to sightsee if we could disguise ourselves sufficiently to avoid the cut-throat European paparazzi.

After a second encore, Crystal and I ran back through the aisle secuity guards had provided for us to exit the raised stage in the middle of the arena. We'd worked the crowd into a country frenzie of joy and happiness. They'd leave feeling good and feeling the love of the universe. Crystal spoke articulately about our relationship while I stood there and blushed; all I could do when my turn to speak came was to suggest to the huge audience that they spread the love that Crystal felt and that all of us had in us. The crowd cheered and applauded wildly.

We ran back through some doors on the side of the soccer pitch, down a couple of corridors, and back into the safety of the green room. Several security guards hovered outside the door to be sure we weren't disturbed by the uninvited.

The sounds of the crowd were finally muffled by the walls and ceiling. I turned to Crystal and pulled her into my arms, "You were specctacular tonight. How can you have so much love inside you? Everyone here tonight felt it."

She pecked at my lips, "Because you're in my life, that's why." I got a big hug and kiss.

Terry burst in the door. "Wonderful. Fabulous. There aren't enough great adjectives to describe your performance tonight. I'm going to take you out of the country more often. This was a peak for the two of you. I'm glad we video taped it. Sony might make something of this one – you know, something like an album entitled 'Live from London.'"

Billy and a couple of the band members appeared soon, and we stood around congratulating each other and listening to Terry's raves. Cindy and the Hobo Palace band members joined us; I'd never heard them perform better than they did that night. We were all at a peak.

I'd heard people talk about vortices of goodness and spirituality around the world – places where the spiritual energy peaked within each of us. I recalled that Sedona, Arizona was supposed to have four of them. The vortices there are so strong the trees near each vortex grow in a twisted way, unlike those a few hundred yards away. There were others. Maybe Wembley Stadium had turned into a vortex of goodness and spirituality and love that night.

We packed up our gear, changed our clothes to more mundane and less sparkley outfits, and started for the limousines that would take us back to our downtown hotels. Just before we left, I saw the envelope that had been delivered during our break. I tossed it into my duffle bag, and we left.

Most of our entourage stayed at the Intercontinental Hotel on Park Lane in London, right on the edge of Mayfair – an exclusive neighborhood and shopping area. We'd checked in earlier, so we just rolled into the hotel and went up to our suite.

I tossed the duffle bag on the bed. Crystal said to me, "I'm not sleepy yet. Can we just hang out and talk for a bit. I'm still keyed up from the concert; I put out a lot of energy tonight."

I nodded and unzipped my bag. There on top was the mysterious envelope. I picked it up and turned back to Crystal. "This came during intermission."

I tore into the envelope. There was one printed page inside – a photograph and some text.

The photograph showed a group of mostly naked people in some kind of orgy, bodies side by side with a lot of fucking going on. In the middle lay a very pretty young woman in whose pussy I had my cock buried. The photo must have been taken during my stopover in Oklahoma. I'd gone to a debutantes ball, been the guest of honor, and afterwards had attended the party-after-the-party, an event that turned out to be an orgy of all orgies. I hadn't been aware of anyone taking photos; however, many there had cell phones with that capability.

I read the text beneath the photo.

"Wouldn't the press like to know that you had sex with an under age girl? Think of the scandal and the damage to your reputation. Would Crystal break up with you? For the small sum of $5,000,000 this memory and photo can go away forever. Think about it. A Swiss bank account awaits your payment to AB Swissbanc, Account 007762-31-8319. Don't wait more that fourteen days to complete your deposit. I've been nice and given you extra time because I know international money transfers for this amount take a while. Don't waste it. Don't involve the police or you know what will happen."

My brow must have furrowed as I read the page. Crystal saw my look and said in a concerned voice, "What's that?"

I tossed the paper to her and mumbled something about Oklahoma She scanned the photo and read the brief message. She firmly spoke, "Babe, you are being blackmailed. I think in most countries that's a felony."

"You're not concerned that I might have had sex with an underage girl?"

Crystal stood and came to me, embracing me in a hug; "I know you. You wouldn't do that intentionally, plus you told me all about Oklahoma. It sounded like fun, and the kind of party you know I'd like to go to once in a while. I can imagine how some underage babe slipped into the mix as you jumped from pussy to pussy."

I vaguely remembered the woman that had taken me to the debutante's party, Heather, telling me that you had to be eighteen to be a debutante.

* * * * *


In the morning, I caucased with Crystal, Terry – our agent, and Dan – our publicist. I showed them the letter. They both shook their head in dismay.

Dan said, "This is not good news, but if it does break it would die out after a few weeks at the rate scandals of celebrities go. After a few months it would be all but forgotten."

Terry said, "But it's illegal in about every state in the union. He could be arrested, tried, and jailed for years. It's considered statutory rape."

Crystal said, "You have no idea who sent this to you?"

I shook my head, "I barely remember the event let alone the names of the various girls that were there. They were all debutantes, so their names would have been in the paper."

Dan said, "You need more information – like knowing who sent this and why? Money may not be the primary motive. Maybe they're just out for your blood, or to break up you and Crystal."

"I know someone that could get some of this information – a detective friend I met on my road trip who lives in Kansas City."

"Call him."

"It's a her, and I will in another three hours when she'd be up and about. It's six in the morning where she is. Her name is Mils."

After our caucas, Crystal and I went for a run – three times around Hyde Park, down past Buckingham Palace, out to Picadilly Square, up Regent Street to Oxford Street, and then back to the hotel. We then spent an hour in the hotel gym, followed by showers. Life didn't look any better after the exercise than it did beforehand.

Just after lunch, I called Mils Cartright, private detective. I'd met Mils in the black hills of South Dakota. She fallen, broken her leg, and might have died of exposure if I hadn't found her marooned on a high ledge. We hit it off, and I hung around with her, and later her best friend Connie. The sex with Mils and Connie was amazing.

I had taken a photograph of the letter with my cell phone and emailed it to Mils along with my knowledge of the event in the photo. When I got her on the phone, I asked her to open up the email attachment. After a minute, she said, "Wow! That's too bad. Did you know she was underage?"

"No, of course, not. I guess she got slipped into the mix."

"Looks like fun from the photo. Wish I'd been there. Heck, I wish I were with you now; I'd fuck your brains out." After a pause, she went on, "Oh, well. I suppose you want me to find out the who, what, why, where, when, and how about this – and real fast based of the time scale this person gave you. Do you think this came from the underage girl or someone else?"

"Good question. I have no idea. The envelope had a wax seal with the initials 'NR' on it, but I bet that's on purpose to mislead me." I'd also immediately assumed it had come from my 'victim'; however, it could have come from any of about fifty people."

"Well that narrows things down considerably to only most of the state of Oklahoma," Mils said sarcastically. "Give me some more information, like how it arrived into your hands."

I described for Mils the concert setting, the purpose of our trip, our itinerary, and so forth. I could hear the click of computer keys as she made notes from our call. She even asked me to describe the courier, as well as how I connected with all the debutantes in Oklahome two years or so earlier. I gave her Heather's name and phone number. In the end, I felt questioned about every aspect of the orgy, as well all the circumstances either of us could think of around the letter.

Mils said, "I'll be in touch. I might have one of my associates in London get in touch with you too." We rang off, as the British say.

* * * * *


The England premiere of Pressure Limit took place at the Odeon Theater on Leicester Squsre in downtown London. The star studded event drew royalty – Prince William and Kate, the first people of nobility I think I'd ever met. Apparently, the movie had been touted as the most exciting action movie of the decade, so no one wanted to miss getting an early viewing. The man who recently played James Bond, Daniel Craig, also came up and greeted me warmly.

Crystal looked like the star she was as she allowed me to escort her to the crowded showing and the gala party at the Savoy after the screening. We danced and danced into the night.

Every time I scanned the crowd, either attending the surrounding events or the sidewalk spectators watching us arrive or leave, I searched for a familiar face – a face that might be intent on blackmail; a face that wanted to either embarrass me or get five million dollars of my wealth.

I wouldn't miss five million dollars. In the two years since I'd met Crystal the money had rolled in, and now between the movie and the five Grammys, I knew that this year my earnings would top any others in my life. I'd also picked up some advertising endorsements, some pro bono for non-profits, and some paid for products I deemed socially acceptable and that didn't hurt the environment. I guess once you start making money, the universe keeps the ball rolling. I learned this was the Law of Attraction.

Instead of a call from Mils, I had a visitor just after lunch the following day. Margaret St. James presented her business card to me with great aplomb as she stood at the door to our suite. She wore a masculine yet highly tailor three-piece suit that I guessed came from Saville Row, and spoke meticulous English with a beautiful British accent. She asked me to call her Margo.

Margo sat and explained her presence; "Miss Mils Cartwright and I are of the same profession. I have worked with the lovely lady before on both sides of the pond" – a British term for the Atlantic Ocean. "She asked me to be your contact in Europe since so many of the leads we're following are in Europe."

I asked, "How's that?"

She went on, "Mils is in the process of checking out the twenty-eight young ladies that were the debutantes at your ... party, that's well known and had been in the papers around the time of the event. We are also tying down the names of their escorts for the evening, and that's less public so we're struggling with that."

"Go on."

"She wanted to test an assumption with you, specifically, that at least one of the young women at your org ... err, you party after the party came from the United Kingdom or from elsewhere in Europe."

I smiled, "You can call it an orgy if you wish. I should probably have been more circumspect in my attendance."

Margo didn't offer any value judgement about the orgy; she just asked, "Do you recall any person at the event speaking with a British accent ... or Irish or Welsh or anything else from Europe?"

I tried to remember the event, even picturing the nude young women, many wearing sexy white thigh high stockings and spike heel shoes as we sexually cavorted. One goal of the evening had been for every guy, me included, to fuck every girl there and vice versa. Various cluster fucks had been arranged with a half-dozen or so girls lying back with their pussies exposed, as the guys rotated past them spending a minute or two pumping their cocks in and out of the wide variety of cunts. I got a visible bulge in my blue jeans as the past scenes played against the screen of my mind.

I closed my eyes and visualized the event again. Heather, a girlfriend of Mark the ex-Army guy I was visiting, had been my escort to the ball and the orgy. We'd hit it off, had mindblowing sex, and then she wanted to share me with all the new debs. Heather enjoyed her status as a nymphomaniac by fucking my brains out the entire visit, except when I was with some of her friends or with the debs. She had a personal goal to fuck all the young male escorts of the debs at the event; I think she did.

Finally, I locked onto the first girl, so young but so desirous of my cock in her pussy. Many of the girls that night wanted to get fucked by a country music star. I had been up for the challenge.

I blurted out, "YES! I think there were two. I can't remember their names or what they looked like, but I have a memory of a couple of youthful British girls with their formal and interesting sounding voices. As I recall they were much hornier than the others in the room. I couldn't tell you what part of your country they were from; I don't distinguish the dialects."

Margo took some notes, and asked, "What about the young men?"

I remembed doing high-fives with some of the guys when we'd finish a particular cluster and move on to the next group of women.

I told Margo, "As near as I can remember, all the guys seemed to be American; I don't remember any male accents other than mid-west or Oklahoman."

Margo asked to see the letter, and I gave it to her. She carefully put it in a paper evidence bag after studying the letter and envelope, amazingly using a large magnifying glass she pulled from her oversize purse.

Margo asked if I'd recalled anything else about the orgy, the note, the delivery, or anything else that might be relevant to our case. I couldn't, so I rehashed some of the things I'd already told Mils over the telephone the day before. Margo took more notes.

After Margo left, Crystal and I tried to disguise ourselves as ugly American tourists. We walked around London hitting many of the tourist spots and taking photographs. For dinner, we found a small Turkish restaurant near the Maida Vale tube stop that the concierge at our hotel had recommended.

* * * * *


A day later, our entourage took the Chunnel Train from London to Paris, a three hour journey with a forty kilometer section of rail under the English Channel. By lunch time, we were in another city in another country, and by one o'clock we were rehearsing for a concert that evening in a studio a few blocks off the Champs d'Elysee. We'd sightsee another day.

When one thinks of sports in France, they might cite soccer, skiing in the Alps, bicycling – the Tour de France, and maybe rugby. They had no baseball or other national sport that got world attention except for soccer or football. Thus, it was with some surprise when I saw immense size of the enclosed stadium for our concert venue. Just to the north outside the ring road or Périphérique stood the immense stadium. We were told it would house the 80,000 fans that wanted to hear us. The concert went off without a hitch, and demanded two encores again as the fans stomped and screamed.

I recalled the last two times I had been in a foreign country where English was not the primary language. There was Nicaragua just a few months earlier, and my rescue of Jill Danes. Before that, years earlier, my platoon of Green Berets had been deployed by parachute in a night time HALO jump to resolve an unpublicized hostage situation in a North African country. Four hours later, and without a casualty on our team or with the hostages, we had been successful, but had left behind dozens of dead soldiers and mercenaries loyal to the oppressive dictator. We vanished into the early dawn light not even leaving behind a trail that could be followed.

I cradled Crystal's tight little nude body against my own as we slept that night. Sleep didn't come easy; I fretted over the blackmail threat. There were only eleven days left to make the multi-million dollar deposit.

Crystal and I played tourist again the next day along with Terry, Billy, and Dan. We wandered around Paris, went to the Louvre, sat and had the strongest coffee in the world at a sidewalk café, and went to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We had a late afternoon snack, got into our evening gowns and tuxedos, and went to the premiere of Pressure Limit.

Jill Danes had flown over to meet us in Paris to attend the premier. Terry had been in touch with her, orchestrating us into the same hotel and even onto the same floor. Our first contact with her occurred when we heard a knock on the door. We expected Terry, but got Terry and Jill. Jill threw herself into my arms, and even ground her pelvis against mine as we kissed. "Oh, I have missed you so much. You are so sexy. I hope you have some room in your schedule to fit me in ... or to let me fit you in – so to speak." She laughed at her lewd humor.

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