Emma Ch. 27

Amna dreaded the day, but it finally came, when she was to have her first day working on the set ofHot Asian Lovers. She arranged to meet Susan at her flat, so, for Amna, she got up quite early and took the bus across town to the block of apartments opposite her parents’ shop. She prayed while waiting for a prompt reply on the intercom to give no time for her family would see her standing there, and fortunately nobody did. She was dressed in just the underwear she usually wore around Aunt Salim’s home, highly conscious that whatever she should do she mustn’t unbutton the overcoat she wore from fear of revealing her pubic hair or the breasts that only with effort she’d managed to keep hidden. Taking Susan’s advice she’d plied plenty of red lipstick onto her nipples, but couldn’t see the point of doing a similar job with flesh-coloured lipstick around the opening of her vagina. Nobody would be able to see anything through the thick mass of her pubic glory.

When she reached the flat, she found the door had been left thoughtfully ajar and was greeted by the girl whom she’d spoken to on the intercom. It was Maisie wearing just a pair of cut-off denim shorts and a large dildo strapped around her buttocks which protruded rather prominently through the unbuttoned flies. Amna didn’t know it, but Maisie had been rather taken by an interview she and Emma had had with a community of women who proudly termed themselves Dildo Dykes. These were girls who practised the fashion of wearing dildos wherever they went. This was meant as a statement of their rejection of the male ethos of feminine modesty, and also as an unambiguous statement of their dyke-hood. It was also a statement, as the very chatty crop-headed interviewee had made clear, that as Dildo Dykes they were “always ready to fuck!” This was a sentiment that particularly attracted her, although it offended Emma’s own views as to the impurity of wearing even as few clothes as that.

Amna had no views or understanding of women who wore dildos. She thought it rather ugly and disgusting. She’d often seen girls on the underground and in record shops with dildos sticking provocatively through the flies of their shorts, trousers or skirts. Or even without any clothes at all to otherwise disguise their lower regions. She had a vague idea that it might have some meaning or significance, but it was the femininity of women that she found attractive, and this seemed to rather negate that.

“You’re here to see Susan, aren’t you?” smiled the girl, stroking her chest.

“It’s my first day at work,” Amna admitted.

“Your first day ever?” Amna nodded. “I remember my first day of fucking on the screen. It was heavenly! It was gorgeous. The men are so good! They just keep fucking and fucking. I don’t know where they get their energy from! You’ll like it for sure. Here,” she smiled wickedly, “let’s see your body.”

Amna nervously complied, feeling that she could scarcely refuse in front of a girl who was so accustomed to seeing naked women. She unbuttoned her overcoat and parted it revealing her nylon underwear.

“Golly! You’re very hairy aren’t you! But you’ve got nice tits.” She leaned up to squeeze one. “It’s so lovely and firm. I’d love to fuck you whenever you want.”

Amna didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the sort of thing she’d ever hope to hear from her younger sisters, but she assumed that for sex actresses there was a totally different moral and ethical order. If she wanted to get to know Susan better she’d have to get to know and understand it however much it contradicted all that her parents had ever inculcated in her.

“Let’s see Susan,” announced Maisie, pushing open the door to a bedroom which disclosed Susan and Josephine making love to each other. Susan’s mouth was joined with Josephine’s and both had their fingers probing deep inside the other’s vagina. Susan looked up at Amna and Maisie, sweat pouring off her face and down over her shoulders. Amna shuddered with passion and guilt as she looked at the girl’s smooth white body and her tiny nipples while the taller Josephine obscured the sight of Susan’s crotch by her wobbling buttocks.

“Why hello... Amna... dearest!” gasped Susan in the throes of passion. Amna smiled shyly, not at all sure what to say.

“Do you want to join in?” asked Maisie sweetly putting one of her small thin arms around Amna’s upper thighs.

“Won’t they mind?”

“Fuck no!” said Maisie laughing. “Fuck no!” She looked at Amna quizzically to ascertain whether she would actually take up the offer. Amna stood frozen in uncertainty: torn between her desires and her shyness.

“Well, if you won’t, I will!” announced Maisie, undoing her denim shorts and pulling them down over her slender thighs and pulling her tiny feet through them. She then approached Susan with the dildo sticking out prominently in front of her, its strap secured around the top of her buttocks and secured by a tiny buckle just between their two small round orbs. She stroked Susan’s crotch with her hands, while Josephine arched her neck round and pushed her tongue into Maisie’s mouth.

It was then that Amna stood, petrified by her inhibitions, watching Maisie insert the length of the dildo (longer than most men’s penises, Amna was sure) deeper and deeper inside Susan’s cunt while the girl released gasps of pleasure and ecstasy with each thrust. It was a very unsettling sight to see a girl so young having such total possession of the woman who was the constant companion of all Amna’s private sexual fantasies and longings. She scarcely noticed as Josephine discreetly disengaged herself from the couple, stood up and put her long naked arms around Amna’s overcoat-covered shoulders. She made no effort to entice Amna to indulge in any sex herself, perhaps realising the true centre of the young girl’s gaze. This was Susan’s cunt into which Maisie thrust her dildo backwards and forwards in imitation of the men she watched so avidly on the set.

Amna didn’t know how long her ordeal lasted. She was feeling both aroused by seeing the object of her desires indulging in the sort of activities she’d fantasised about (and which got her so hot, sweaty and sticky) and frustrated by the fact it wasn’t she who was giving the oriental so much pleasure.

“Maisie’s always like this,” sighed Josephine in what seemed like the far distance of Amna’s awareness of the world. “I’m sure it’s because she’s so young and that sex is such a novel thing for her. All she ever thinks about is the physical act. She never concerns herself about the emotional side.”

Amna was aware that these comments were meant to comfort her, but her feelings towards Maisie at that moment were not of the most charitable kind. She was relieved when, with an effort, Susan persuaded Maisie that they should bring this to a halt as she had to go off to work. Amna’s greatest desire then leaped out of bed, gave her only too brief a kiss (but so very reassuring!) and then in a matter of seconds pulled on a sweater and a pair of very skimpy white shorts.

“Underwear, darling!” exclaimed Susan, noticing how Amna was dressed. “Not perhaps the most sexy or expensive. But don’t worry appropriate clothes will be provided on the set. Come on, or we’ll be late!”

Today was also the first opportunity that Amna had got to read the script forHot Asian Lovers, which she hurriedly skimmed through, searching with a pounding heart for a scene in which she was cited as having sex with Susan. There was no scene which mentioned that explicitly, although there were a few where she was expected to have sex with several men and girls. The story seemed to focus on a male lead who was apparently quite a famous sex actor (not, Amna was pleased to note, for the size of his penis, which however was still big enough as far as she could see). He wasn’t remotely Asian, although almost everyone else in the film was. His part was as a visitor to some unspecified Asian country as a visitor where by chance he came to have sex with almost everyone he met. And, also by chance, almost all these people were women with a curious indisposition relating to keeping their clothes on and their knees closed. This Asian country wasn’t one that Amna had ever heard of (seeming to be an amalgamation of countries like Thailand, China, India and Afghanistan). There were no shortages of Hindu temples, deserts, mountains or sex bars. Susan had one of the more substantial rôles of any of the women, presumably in recognition of her track record as a sex actress. She was playing a Japanese tourist (although Amna was sure that her origins were very probably not Japan) who wore the standard cliché dress of such a person: baggy shorts, striped singlet and a camera strapped around her shoulders and not at all hindered by any protuberances on her flat chest. As a tourist, Susan got rather a few opportunities for sex, including several without the male star.

Amna’s rôle was rather more modest, as a native of this curious Asian country, where she was to wear a rather revealing sari and a red tear-drop painted on her forehead. She wasn’t inclined to tell anyone of her ignorance of the Hindu religion, having been brought up as a Muslim, as she was sure that she wasn’t really expected to bring any specialist knowledge to her rôle. As Susan unsubtly informed her, she was chosen for her sexual potential, not her acting one.

Even though it was the first day, the director didn’t want to waste any time. He handed the cast a timetable of shoots in which certain scenes were to be filmed and advised the starlets that their presence was expected even when they weren’t scripted to perform. He explained, waving his large hands about when they weren’t stroking his beard, that he had a philosophy of allowing the filming to take its own course, even when it diverged greatly from the script and that he might want to improvise with the delectations offered by the assorted cast whenever it seemed appropriate.

Amna was slightly horrified that she was one of those due to be filmed on this very first day, as she was cast as one of the male star’s first encounters on arriving in the country. Her scene was to be played in the mocked-up interior of a curious temple which mixed Hindu, Buddhist and Muslim iconography where she was supposed to play a temple regular. In this scene the star was meant to start masturbating for reasons that were not really well explained: despite the obvious incongruity and indeed inappropriateness of the surroundings. While masturbating, Amna’s character was meant to feel aroused and then to entice the star into full sex while other temple-goers would look on in great delight and approval. Amna knew that if even a small part of this occurred in the mosque where her parents sometimes took her there would be uproar and would probably lead to something being written in the local newspaper.

However, the part required learning virtually no lines, and those few that there were, she was told, were intended merely as a guide. Amna allowed herself to be taken away to the dressing room which she shared with everyone else except the male star. Susan comforted her with advice, as did another girl, a Pakistani with somewhat paler skin than hers and with quite short hair. She was told not to worry. They weren’t expecting great acting. Just apparent enthusiasm and willingness. Susan cuddled her and kissed her frequently on the lips and face, which was really all the comforting she needed, while the Pakistani adjusted the sari and learnt fairly early on that Amna knew no Punjabi at all. Or any other language other than English, except for a few words in Arabic. Amna dared to reciprocate Susan’s affection with a few kisses of her own, the veins of her neck beating so hard from her daringness and her fear of rejection that she feared that it might choke her.

“Come along! Come along! What’s keeping you?” demanded one of the technical assistants poking his head into a room full of naked or near-naked women. “We haven’t got all day, you know!”

Amna was hurried along with various other unhelpful epithets such as that time was money, the technicians were on an hourly rate and that more footage would be filmed than would ever need to be used, so she shouldn’t play the prima donna. Amna was distressed to see Susan stay behind in the dressing room with the Pakistani with whom she seemed to be developing a closer friendship.

She took her place on the set, standing by a papier-mâché statue of an elephant god dancing in a Krishna pose, while the male star was filmed wandering along the linoleum covered floor of the supposed temple admiring what were in fact just the top of the scenery’s cardboard walls. He paused by a mural of some women making love according to the dictates of the Karma Sutra that must have been a blown-up photograph of the real thing. He then pretended to get aroused by the contorted poses and the plethora of penises and vaginas. He pulled down the shorts he was wearing to reveal a semi-erect penis and started stroking it with skill. Amna watched with dread and fascination, her hands down by her side and the sari threatening to flop off to reveal her left breast. She felt very exposed with just her navel and waist showing, aware that soon, according to the script, everything was to come off.

“Psssttt!” came a voice from behind her as one of the assistants gestured her on. Amna sighed. She now knew what stage-fright was, although her only audience was the silhouetted figures of the technicians and some of the cast that she could glimpse beyond the arc-lights. “Psssttt!” repeated the voice more urgently.

Amna wandered onto the set, feeling the throbbing nerves of her neck echoed by the thump of her heart and the sweat pouring down her forehead, as she uttered the first words of her film career. “Oooh! You’ve got quite a thing there!”

“Would you like to touch it?” asked the star kindly, looking up at her with a not unsympathetic expression.

“Can I?” she asked with all the eagerness she could muster for the requirements of the script.

“Of course,” smiled the star taking her hand in his own hairy firm hand and guiding it to his now erect penis.

“It’s so warm!” commented Amna, departing from the script, as she observed her own first impressions of holding an aroused penis in her hand.

“It’s hot for you!” improvised the actor.

In actual fact, Amna’s first performance was not at all the failure she feared. The male star was actually very helpful, perhaps sensing her inexperience and shyness, and took her totally in control. She soon found that she was losing sight of the cameras trained on her, and, more worryingly, the censorious gaze of the director. She couldn’t say that she actually enjoyed putting his penis in her mouth and drawing it in and out, while uttering appreciative moans. She certainly didn’t enjoy his penetration of her, although he had taken great care to moisten her cunt as much as possible with his fingers and tongue. “You’ve got so much hair!” he commented smiling, with strands of pubic hair caught between his teeth. The fucking was something that went on rather too long for Amna’s taste. Surely it must finish soon, she speculated while trying to remember to make her gasps of pain sound a little more like ones of pleasure. She felt the top of her cunt bruise with each of the star’s deep thrusts and she felt sure that such a painful ordeal was totally removing any of the last of what maidenhead she’d still left untorn.

Her speculation was confirmed when he pulled his penis out from her battered naked body and with a few gestures released a torrent of warm semen over her. There were small droplets of blood gathered around the glans and the smooth shine of the juices on it had a distinct reddish tinge.

“Very good! Very good!” said the director afterwards, congratulating the male star, while Amna lay naked feeling helpless and humiliated on the cool linoleum temple floor, her sari lying over one of her thighs and her eyes focusing on a plaster-cast model of a crescent moon. “And you too, dear,” added the director unconvincingly, looking at her with a not too sincere smile.