Bromfield's Temptations Ch. 07bysealawyer©
Chapter 7: In For a Penny
Our second night at the studio was much like the first, except that nobody had to disrobe since none of us had dressed. We gathered again in the room furnished with tumbling mats and soft furniture, and watched another tableau. I suppose it was a variation on an old theme -- the family that plays together stays together. In this case, the family consisted of mother and son.
Blair led his mother out on the stage and showed the audience how rewarding it could be for mothers who raised their sons properly. Unlike the audience, both mother and son were clothed when they stepped on the stage, and I must say, after a day of recreational nudity, a skirt and a pair of pants looked almost erotic. They sat on the cot, embraced, and were soon locked in a passionate love kiss. Blair began unbuttoning his mother's blouse.
The audience watched raptly. It wasn't so much what the actors were doing that claimed our attention; it was the people who were doing it. It isn't every day you get to watch a boy have sex with his mother.
He soon had her blouse unbuttoned, and reaching inside, played with her soft breasts while he kissed her mouth, her ears, the hollow in her neck. She pretended innocence, and made a great show of attempting to push him away. This, of course, only excited him, and in the mock tussle, her blouse was discarded. Her flimsy bra soon followed it.
Her billowy, matronly breasts quivered. He sucked on the nearest breast, while he pinched and mauled her other nipple. I thought he was a bit rough, but I realized that he probably knew better than anyone what mom really liked.
She quickly became genuinely excited, and her mock efforts to save her chastity ended. Instead, she began groping the front of his pants, and eventually, succeeded in undoing his belt and opening his fly.
Her hands disappeared inside his pants as he lifted her skirt above her knees, further up her thighs to where her stockings ended, and eventually, to her waist. She was wearing garters and hose, but no panties.
He continued chewing on her nipple, while his left hand slid into the juncture between her thighs. She opened her legs for his probing fingers. Then she said something to him.
Obediently, he stood up and pulled his polo shirt off over his head, while she let his pants fall around his ankles and lovingly released his erection by tenderly lifting his brief's waistband up and over his young cock. He was stiff as a post. His young sword stuck up at an impressive 45 degree angle. You could have hung a flag on it.
The audience let out a collective sigh. Every man there, including me, envied that boy his juvenile tumescence. I can only guess what the women were thinking, but the audience seemed suddenly very restless, with much leg crossing and shifting about.
Mama never missed a beat. She took him in her mouth, but only for a minute. Then she stood and stepped out of her skirt. She lay down on the cot on her back, her legs toward the audience. The boy knew exactly what to do. He wedged himself between those maternal thighs and shoved himself deep into his mother on the first stroke.
Jane reached up and caught the backs of her knees in her hands and pulled herself open even wider. I think everyone in the audience who saw that young tool sliding in and out of his own mother's cunt was stirred by Jane's exhortations. "Go, boy! Faster! Harder! You know how I like it!"
By the time Jane announced her first orgasm of the night, half the audience was fondling someone else; the other half was fondling themselves. I was lucky. Barb Adam was within reach.
As I watched the action on the stage, out of the corner of my eye, I had noticed her crawling on hands and knees from the back of the room toward the stage. She paused next to me. I was engrossed by the action on the stage, but a blur of motion caught my eye. Her legs were open, and her fingers were dancing openly around her clit and plunging into her cunt.
I slid toward her, and started to ask if I could help, when I saw the look of intense concentration on her flushed face, and realized she was doing just fine all by herself. I hadn't often seen a woman masturbate, and the action on the stage was forgotten as I watched Barb finger herself to a rousing orgasm.
She uttered a soft, whimpering cry. Her stomach muscles rippled, and her toes pointed straight down. Gradually, she relaxed against a bean bag. Her eyes were closed, and the orgasmic flush slowly faded from her face, neck and chest.
I was struck again by her unusually shaped conical breasts. They looked as if they were made for those metal bras female opera stars seem to favor. Suddenly I wanted very much to take one in my mouth.
"Knock, knock," I said softly, "anyone home?"
Barb opened an eye. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Not now," I replied. "I didn't interrupt you before."
"Yeh, thanks. What do you want?"
"Well, nothing, really. I was just feeling lonely."
"I'm sorry," she said, instantly contrite, "especially since you're sort of a new boss . . ."
"I'm not sure about that." I said. Then, remembering our conversation the night before, I quickly added, "and even if I were, it wouldn't make any difference."
She stared at me for a few moments, her face expressionless; her black eyes digging deep inside. "No, I guess it wouldn't," she said. "Come here, give a girl a kiss."
I hunched my way over to her and gathered her in my arms. Her pointed little breasts dug into my chest as I lightly fastened my mouth on hers, and began nibbling and sucking her lips. She nibbled and sucked right back, and the next thing I knew, we were stretched full length on a tumbling mat. Her head rested on my left arm. My right hand gently plucked at her soft nipples. Then I began teasing them by lightly touching the palm of my hand to their tips.
"That tickles. Stop it."
"OK," I said, as I sucked almost an entire breast into my mouth. I don't know what that may have felt like, but I didn't get any more complaints. Instead, I felt her hand exploring my crotch.
"Oh," she said, "this feels interesting."
"Ummm, ummm," was the best I could manage.
"Do that again," she said.
"Like that. Make that sound again. You can't imagine how that vibration feels in my nipple."
"Ummm, ummmm, ummm. Ummm umm?"
"God," she said, "it makes my whole tit tingle like it's getting tiny electric shocks."
"Ummmm umm ummmmm."
I patted her hand, encouraging her not to forget what she had been doing before I started playing her breast like a musical instrument. She took the hint, and began rubbing, pulling, explor ing, with increased vigor.
"Hey," she exclaimed, "what's this?" She tugged on my foreskin with her thumb and forefinger. "The last time I saw one of these was on my baby boy. The mohel made quick work of it!" She looked at me. "That's what you need; a mohel who does emergency circumcisions!"
"No thanks," I said, "but tell me: Are you afraid of cocks that aren't kosher?"
"Are you ever serious?"
"Well, sort of. I don't know."
"Then the serious answer is `no'." She paused, lifting my foreskin with her thumb and forefinger. "Any Jewish girl would be interested in one of these because we see so few of them after they have grown up."
By this time, I had a full erection. She pulled my foreskin all the way back. "Now you look like a nice Jewish boy," she said. "I'm going to give it a kiss, just for that."
She bent forward, her black hair falling like a veil around her face. I felt rather than saw her take me into her warm, loving mouth. I lay back and closed my eyes, letting the waves of sensation centered in my groin ripple through my body.
"Hey, don't go to sleep on me again!"
I opened my eyes. Bridget was standing over me, her labia winking through the thin covering of reddish down that protected her mons. She looked good enough to eat.
I stuck my tongue out. "Come here, and sit on this," I said. "I'll show you who's asleep."
Her soft thighs instantly bracketed my head, and her mysterious slit was poised just above my mouth. I touched it with the tip of my tongue. She jerked. "I've been sensitized," she wailed. "Take it easy!"
This time, I pulled her back a couple of inches. Then, I carefully inserted the tip of my tongue at the top of her vagina and touched her clit. This time, she really jumped.
She stood. "I'm sorry, bucko," she said. "I really am too sensitive. Guess I'd better have a drink."
She struggled to her feet and wandered off toward the kitchen.
While I was talking to Bridget, someone else had begun stroking Barb's tight little bottom. Damn! That was what I had been working up to.
"Barb, swing around and sit on my face," I said.
Never missing a stroke, she abandoned her latest suitor, and in a moment was all but resting her neat little delta on my chin. I began exploring the folds and hollows of her womanhood with my tongue. She responded by mashing her pelvis hard against my face. This girl wanted no teasing; she was serious. I thrust my tongue as deep into her as I could, and she began revolving around it. Then she slid back so my tongue was resting on her clit. I took her clit between my lips and began to suck on it.
Suddenly, she dropped me, and bracing herself on her arms, sagged forward and began to quiver and gasp. I lay under her in wonder as she trembled and shook. Then she quickly scooted herself ahead so she was able to impale herself on my manhood while she was still fluttering.
It felt as if I had stuck my cock into a live electrical socket. I exploded just as suddenly, and as strongly as she. She fell forward and gripped my lower legs tightly until her trembling subsided.
Like battlefield survivors, we helped each other to our feet, and arms around each other, we staggered into the kitchen for refresh- ments. I looked neither to the right nor to the left, although I knew we were in the middle of an orgy that would have cost Steve a million dollars to duplicate for his cameras.
I mixed a pair of drinks and handed the bourbon and water to Barb. "God," I said.
"My sentiment exactly," she said.
"How long is this going to continue?" I asked.
"It's just about over," she said. "A few die-hards will hang on until tomorrow afternoon, but most people will clear out in the morning. I know we will. We've got to reclaim our boy."
We were both quiet for a time. Then Barb sighed, and looked at her wrist. "It's a little hard to tell the time without a watch, but I better see if I can find George. If he's still awake, I'd better get him to bed, so he can drive in the morning."
She put her arms around my neck and standing on her tiptoes, pulled my head down for a last, sweet kiss. "It's been fun," she whispered. "I'm really glad we met." She turned and disappeared into the jungle.
Her parting comment started a line of thinking I wasn't sure I wanted to pursue. Nevertheless, I sat in a chair conveniently near the bar, sipping a drink while I seriously began to consider Steve's offer. Assuming he had told the truth, and barring unpleasant surprises in his books, I realized it was generous and had exciting potential, especially when I added in the potential offered by the Internet market.
But why kid myself? I knew I was interested in Steve's proposition mainly because of the hedonistic excitement it promised. Yet I couldn't ignore the considerable risk involved. If things went wrong, I could easily face disbarment. Dull as it was, estate planning and probate work had much to recommend it over the uncertain life of a pornographer. I knew I was leading dangerously with my chin, but Bette was right. If I said `no', I would always regret not trying. If I turned this down, I'd be drafting wills and interpreting testamentary intent for the rest of my life.
My mind made up, I went in search of Steve. I didn't have far to go. He was in the kitchen mixing a drink for Jane Harper. Steve saw me, and raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"OK," I said, spreading my hands, "count me in."
A huge grin split his face. "I knew it," he cried. "Welcome, partner! My instincts were right all along!"
Jane Harper looked intently at me, seeing me for the first time when she heard the word "partner." Steve seized my hand. "Let me find Carol," he said. "She'll be delighted!"
Steve rushed into the other room. I looked at Jane. "Where's Blair?" I asked.
"Oh, he wanted to try some young stuff," she said. "I'm not sure who she is. Maybe it was your, er, Babs, is it?"
"Bette," I said.
"You're in with Steve?"
"I guess so," I said.
"Well, in that case, I wonder if we could get together some afternoon while Blair is at school. I have a video in mind that could make us a lot of money."
"You'd better talk to Steve about that," I said. "That's his department."
"Well, give me a call, anyway. I'm in the phone book."
"I will if I can, but I can't promise anything."
"I understand," she said, and she followed Steve into the rumpus room.
"There you are!"
I turned around. Steve was behind me, coming in from outside, Carol close behind. "I had to drag her from under some guy," Steve grinned, "but I wanted her to hear you say it."
Feeling silly, I repeated what I had said to Steve.
"Oh, Jim," she said, throwing her body against me, and wrapping her arms around my neck, "I'm so glad! You won't be sorry; I can promise you that!" She wriggled like a puppy. "God, it feels almost like I'm coming again!"
I felt warmth against my thigh. She backed away and pointed to a little puddle on the linoleum. "Look at that. I'm so excited, I just wet my pants! Was that your first golden shower, Jim?"
I saw a glistening drop in her bush, and my leg now felt wet. By God, she had pissed on me!
Carol went to the bar and handed me a paper towel so I could wipe myself off, poured herself a stiff drink and leaned back against the sink, staring at me with speculative eyes.
"I'm the corporation secretary," she said. "Let's go in the office and take care of the details."
I followed Carol through the house, admiring the way her naked hips tilted as she walked.
She closed the door to the office behind me, and invited me to take a seat. She sat behind the desk.
There is something wickedly erotic about a woman wearing nothing but horn-rimmed reading glasses, sitting behind a desk thumbing through a file folder. I felt myself beginning to respond, but she interrupted me.
"Here are the articles of incorporation," she said, "and our stock register." She handed the folder to me.
I quickly examined the documents, and discovered that of the 100,000 shares of authorized common stock (par value 1¢), 50,000 shares were held in joint tenancy by Carol and Steve. Twenty thousand shares were held by people whose names I didn't recognize, and the remaining 30,000 shares being retained as treasury stock.
"We're having a board meeting next week," Carol said. "I'll get the board to authorize the issuance of 25,000 shares to you."
"Now, it's your turn," she said.
"My turn?" I asked politely.
"Steve probably won't want you to hear this so soon, but I think you should know right from the git-go that we have a sort of sexual Ponzi game going, only the way we play the game, there's nothing illegal about it. Just good clean fun between consenting adults. I'm talking about the endless sexual excitement and variety that drives the system on both ends of the camera."
She paused, then continued, "We're little fish in a very big puddle. The big boys have developed a star system based on a handful of well known actors and actresses. We can't compete on that basis, so we emphasize new faces, new bodies -- in other words, variety."
"In other words, we need a constant stream of new talent to keep our backers happy. We need people like you and Bette to recruit them." She smiled. "Think of it as the sexual equivelant to the Amway program."
For the first time, I was beginning to have serious second thoughts about my impulsive decision and my new business partners. "What exactly will we be expected to do?"
"First, you must know some attractive swingers who would enjoy our parties; see if you can't find a couple who'd like to attend." It wasn't a question.
Bette came into the office at that moment. "Oh, there you are," she cried when she saw me. She threw her arms around my neck nuzzling her warm, upper torso against my chest.
"I'm pooped; I've got to find a place to lay these weary bones," I said.
Bette was suddenly solicitous. "Here, let me tuck you in," she said. "Carol, where's there an empty bed?"
"Just look down the hall, honey. You'll find one."
Bette and I started down the hall, quietly opening one door after the other until we came to room with an empty bed. Bette turned it down. I gratefully stretched out, while she went into the bathroom. When she came out, she left the night light on.
"I'll come to bed in a little while," Bette said, as she pulled the sheet up. "I sort promised someone I would be back after I went to the kitchen. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"
Although the words were gently spoken, I knew this was a huge turning point in our relationship. Bette was announcing her indepen- dence.
"Sure, that's OK with me," I said. "I just want to sleep. Have fun."
I rolled over and closed my eyes.
Bette and I left the studio shortly after breakfast the next morning. As she had said she would, she had returned to our room, but it was 8:00 in the morning before she showed up. I had already showered and gulped two cups of coffee.
I saw shadows under her eyes. She looked tired. "Have a good time?" I asked casually.
"Feeling a pang this morning, are we?" she said sharply.
"Not really," I said. "It's just that . . ."
She interrupted me. "It's just `who has Bette been fucking all night?' Right?" she asked harshly.
I was surprised. I would have expected that reaction from Louise, but not Bette. "Well, if you want to put it that way," I said.
Her mood abruptly changed. "I'm sorry," she said. "You didn't deserve that. I guess I'm just tired and cranky. Forgive me?"
I ignored her proffered olive branch.
"OK," she said with a sigh, "if you must know, I was in a threesome with Alex Sofer and George McLaran. I didn't want to tell you because you and George got off on the wrong foot, and I thought it might upset you."
"I was just curious, Bette. I do think George is a bum, but what the hell? To each his own."
"He may be a bum to you," Bette said, "but he's a damn good lover as far as I'm concerned."
"Fair enough," I said. "Now, when do you think we ought to go home?"
"Soon as I shower and get dressed," she said. "Can we have a bite to eat before we leave? I'm famished."
"Sure," I said.
Neither of our hosts was on deck as I rummaged around in the kitchen making a large omelet while Bette showered. Then I found our overnight bag with its undisturbed contents where we had left it when we arrived, and I laid out clean clothes.
Only a handful of scattered cars remained in the yard when we retrieved the Buick and headed home. Bette was very quiet. "What's on your mind?" I asked over the soft tones coming from the CD player.
"Oh, I was just thinking how different our lives are going to be," she said. "In a way, it's exciting, but in another way it's scary as hell."
"Amen to that," I said piously. "What did you think of Carol wanting us to recruit another couple?"
"Well, as long as nobody gets hurt, and we don't get involved in anything illegal; frankly, I don't see anything wrong with it. Does it trouble you?"
Trust a woman to get to the heart of the matter. I nodded silently.
"Doesn't it seem unethical to use people who trust us for personal gain?"