Crystal Clear Ch. 07byRomantic1©
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 one. Although real places and celebrity names are used for realism, this story is fiction. Please 'read, enjoy, vote, and comment.'
Synopsis of This Story So Far: After a cross-country road trip laced with grief, love, incest, and sex, Jim moved in with country music star Crystal Lee and her sister in Nashville. Thanks to Crystal, Jim also became a top country music sensation. Crystal posed for Playboy in a sex-filled weekend photo shoot. Jim, his sister, sister-in-law, and friends enjoyed a New Years holiday orgy on a Caribbean isle. Crystal and Jim head in different directions to make two movies. On the west coast for his movie, Jim reconnects with a love interest from his road trip, participates in an orgy with his leading lady, and finds a new love interest.
Nicaragua, movie making, kidnapping, rescue, and sex
A machine gun fired at us from an overhead helicopter. Along the ground, the pock marks each bullet made exploded in line closely parallel to where we were running in a zig-zap pattern. I thought of all the training I'd had when I joined the Special Forces, much of it training for just a situation such as this.
Barry Peters and I had just grabbed Jill Dane's hands and raced for cover in a dilapidated adobe hut. Just as we neared the building, the front door disintegrated in an explosive hail of bullets from the gunship as it made another sweep towards us. We veered away from the hut.
I turned away from Jill and Barry and let them keep running; I raised the automatic weapon I had slung over my body, took careful aim, and fired round after round at the helicopter -- defying death as their bullets rained down around me. I could see the long tongues of flame sprouting from the muzzle of my weapon as I fired.
Almost immediately a burst of smoke started to emerge from the aircraft's engine compartment, and the flight path got erratic. I kept firing as the bird turned and fled away from us. Just over the tree line, the helicopter sank out of sight into the trees. Seconds later a huge fireball rose into the sky, indicative of a fiery crash from which no one on the helicopter could survive.
I lowered the rifle just as Jill flowed into my arms and passionately kissed me. We had one of our little make out sessions that we loved so much. Jill was really getting into it, driving her tongue deep into my mouth, and for that matter I enjoyed her expression of joy too much because I could feel the quickening in my fatigues. Finally, Jill pulled away, and looked at me with tears in her eyes -- tears of joy at being saved from death. We held the position for several seconds.
Mark Ang came racing across the clearing to Barry, Jill, and me with a smile on his face from ear to ear. "That was some of the best acting I've ever seen. I think we got perfect shots on every camera." He turned to a telephoto camera hidden in a palm tree that had been focused on my face and my defensive fire at the helicopter. The cameraman gave Mark a thumbs-up and a big smile. So did the cameraman on an elevated hoist just off the edge of the clearing.
Mark grabbed a walkie-talkie off his belt and spoke into it; "That's it, Ronaldo. We're through with the helicopter for today. I think our footage is superb."
In the distance, where the helicopter supposedly crashed, we could hear the whap-whap-whap of the rotors as the bird started to rise, like the Phoenix, into the skies again. After achieving a safe altitude over the trees, the aircraft did a low pass over our clearing. We could see the 'gun men' in the open door merrily waving at us. The rented helicopter turned and headed north to the Agusto Cesar Sandino International Airport -- the airport serving Managua, Masaya, and Granada in Nicaragua. The cast, film crew, extras, and equipment vans were all parked nearby but out of site, including the luxurious motorhomes some of us used as our temporary homes at the remote film location. We were in a field surrounded by trees on a set the crew had built a month earlier near the small Nicaraguan town of Los Campos -- a picturesque village with fruit orchards nearby. In the background in every direction lay the remnants of volcanos, a staple of the Nicaraguan landscape.
Our movie, Pressure Limit, had entered its fourth month of shooting under the direction of Mark Ang, one of Sony Studios up and coming directors. We were ahead of plan and below budget, something that would score big points for us, particularly Ang.
Jill flowed into my arms and kissed me again, a habit she'd adopted several months ago; "My hero. You saved me from all those nasty men in that whirlybird machine." She used her falsetto and innocent woman voice more likely heard in an 1880's play than in our movie; she played the role well. We all laughed, and I waved my rifle in the air; a rifle rigged to only shoot blanks -- it couldn't even be loaded with real ammunition.
Mark looked around and said, "The sun's getting a little low in the sky. We could shoot some of the interior shots in the hut where you discover the drugs, but our outdoor shots are done for the day."
I shrugged and said, "OK, let's do it." Jill and Barry looked ready too. We liked to be busy doing filming instead of standing around rehearsing lines, doing makeup, or anything else. Our 'Let's work' attitude contributed to our ahead of schedule and budget status. For the next two hours, we did various shots inside the fake adobe building; part of each side of the building could be folded away for camera access.
In one scene inside the hut, I happen to kick a chair out of the way in frustration at not finding 'the goods.' Beneath the chair, I spotted a metal ring that when pulled opened to a burial pit full of bales of cocaine. Of course, the bales were actually flour carefully bricked in clear wrap by the stage crew to look like what everyone now assumed a kilo of uncut cocaine would look like. I would use a knife to stab one of the bales, dampen a finger, and put a slight taste of the white powder to my tongue, thereby confirming to my colleagues that we had found the mother load of cocaine and had closed off a major drug highway out of South America to North America. The crash of the helicopter had sealed the deal. Good guys win; bad guys lose.
Mark got about twenty separate sequences from us; we only had to re-shoot three of them. We had the script down really well, and knew each other well enough to anticipate lines and reactions from one another as we improvised through part of the dialogue.
"That's it for today," Mark advised. "We're out of good outside light entirely, even light coming in the windows. We'll pick up tomorrow on those shots we skipped earlier where you're following the foot trails through the trees."
An entire work crew moved in and clustered around us. Several people dabbed at our faces to remove some of the makeup we wore. As that happened, Barry, Jill, and I passed our outer clothing off to three staff members from wardrobe. We'd each learned to wear a bathing suit under our clothing anyway because the heat and humidity were so oppressive in the afternoons. Jill's shapely body emerged from the tight shorts that showed off her sexy legs, and two different vests. Under the khaki shirt that had been unbuttoned almost to her navel, she wore nothing. Everyday, the entire cast eagerly awaited this time of day when she passed over all of her clothes, ending in only the monokini. For a few brief seconds, everyone got to view her splendid orbs and their magnificent areolas and nips. I always got hard, and she knew it. This time I got a wink from her, and she jiggled her breasts for my benefit.
A stage hand gave her a large towel that she draped around her shoulders. With her long blond hair, both hung down her front and loosely covered her breasts. I wondered if we'd have another sex-filled night. Even with Claire and Ellen working on the set and available at night, I seldom minded a good fuckfest with Jill and a few others; Claire and Ellen always enjoyed themselves too. We were an oversexed bunch of movie stars and assistants.
Jill rejoined Barry and me; "Tonight, after dinner, my trailer. I am horny and need just what you guys have hanging around." She reached down with one hand and rubbed the lump in Barry's pants, still evident from the gawk he'd enjoyed when seeing her exposed tits.
"We'll be there," I stated with a smile.
When we were staying at a shoot location as remote as this Mark arranged meals to be catered to us. Tonight, with the temperatures hovering in the high eighties, a buffet table had been spread out with salads, a roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth, and a slew of vegetables and desserts. I worried about gaining weight. A well-stocked free bar also opened up after shooting had been completed. We got ourselves drinks, and sat on new picnic benches for conversation.
Jill continued to tantalize everyone with the flashes of her breasts she allowed as she'd turn back and forth during our conversation. Barry and I sat in our Speedos, the lumps in our suits evident as usual. Nudity or partial nudity on the set apparently wasn't unusual. Even some of the female crew wore loose clothing that allowed more than occasional peaks at their bodies. The heat almost mandated a casual approach to exposure.
Claire and Ellen came to the buffet from their other duties on the set. Each got a glass of wine and joined in the discussion. They each wore the briefest of shorts, and a short-sleeved khaki shirt with the Sony logo embroidered on the left breast pocket. Everyday I asked one or the other of them, 'What do you call the other one?' and I always got the same groan in response. Their shirts were unbuttoned almost entirely revealing their braless cleavage and assets too. At my request each of them had gotten a shirt a size too small; with most buttons undone the shirt pulled tightly across their beautiful chests and let a lot of exciting skin show. The curve and fullness of their assets showed to those that cared to look -- and that turned out to be most of the crew and cast.
We sat around in the darkness drinking after dinner. Many of the support crew had piled into two buses for the trip back into Granada and their nighttime quarters. A dozen of us opted to stay at the site and sleep there --sleep and other things.
The site had a few armed guards that patrolled the site. This part of Nicaragua was supposed to be 'safe' from the remaining ardent Sandinistas or Ortega's vigilantes. Our guards were from out of the country and neutral to any of the local causes.
"My God, James, how do you have the stamina to keep doing that to me. Fuck! I've never had so many orgasms in my life as when you're fucking me."
Jill Danes praise for my evening's performance sat well with my ego; something I kept trying to subdue. At that moment, she lay on the edge of the couch in her trailer, mostly under me -- nude, her legs spread and pulled back near her chest, so I had maximum access, and my cock could go as deep as possible. My cock had augured into her to maximum depth several times in the past minute, each time resulting in Jill gasping for breath before pleading me to go faster and harder.
I told her, "And you, Miss Danes, have one of the most comfortable and sexy cunts in the western world." I jammed my cock into her again, and she gasped and moaned. Each time I'd slid into her I had felt the muscles on the wall of her love sheath ripple and try to hold onto me, heightening the stimulation for both of us. Jill had what many called a 'snapping pussy.'
Jill said in a soft voice, "Well, Mr. Mellon, isn't it about time you filled my little hole with a gallon of that white spunk juice you distribute so well and in such generous quantities."
"If you insist, Miss Danes." To the sound of her groans, I sped up my thrusts into her vagina until my hips became a blur to those watching. I could keep this up indefinitely, thanks to training in Tantric sex that a dear friend in Florida had taught me, or I could acknowledge my own needs for release and do exactly as Jill asked: fill her pussy with a large amount of jism.
Jill's eyes rolled up in her head as I started my staccato pounding into her cunt. "Oh fuck ... Oh ... Oh ... Oh ... Oh ... Oh ..." She went on and on, each sound rising in pitch and intensity as I brought her nearer and nearer to the 'Big O' as she called it. This cum would be especially intense for her unless she was immune to what I'd learned about her responses.
"OH, FUCK ... ME!" Jill screamed, as she grabbed at my shoulders and used her legs to wrap around me and jerk me into her body.
I had allowed my own orgasm to approach as well, so as she came my jets of cum started to surge from my body into hers. The first few shots were the most intense and carried the most fluid. I hadn't stopped pumping, but my pace had slowed. Even as I continued to cum -- as did Jill -- my fucking motions started to whip up a white froth in her well-fucked pussy.
When I maxed out on my own sensitivity, I yanked my cock out of Jill, pulling some of the cum with me. The fluids immediately started to gush from Jill's cunt in what looked like white suds --- drippy but with lots of small bubbles. My sharp withdrawal made Jill writhe and cum again, maybe at a lesser intensity.
Jill looked at me through half-closed and glazed over eyes, "My God, you fuck well. No one else can do that to me. I am your devoted slave for life so long as you do this to me a dozen times every day."
I put on my fake cowboy drawl I called on frequently, "Why ma'am, we are just a doing the best we can with what we have to work with. You give me a lot to work with." I reached up and gently twisted her left nipple -- a tit so erect I thought it might be painful for her. Jill moaned and writhed into my groin again, moving her hips to recapture the cock I'd extracted from her.
I caught my own breath, not immune to the energy I had just used to satisfy my leading lady and co-star.
Across the room of the expandable motorhome, Claire had her face buried in Ellen's cunt, her tongue working to bring yet another orgasm into the room. In her own pussy, Claire had a vibrating egg inserted; Ellen had the control to the device in her right hand and as Claire lapped at her privates she'd adjust the frequency or intensity of the egg's vibrations. Thus, both of them were writhing, twisting, and moving their hips in a highly sexual manner.
"Anyone over there want sloppy seconds," I said as I offered up Jill's sodden pussy.
Ellen looked at me through her half-eyes and nodded in the affirmative. I gestured for her to come across the small space between us and 'do' Jill. Claire let up her ministrations, and I saw Ellen turn off the control for the egg.
Both girls came over and knelt by Jill and me. Claire grabbed my cock since she was closest, and swallowed the still erect shaft. I no longer needed cleaning; she'd taken care of that with one gulp.
Ellen locked her mouth on Jill's cunt, tongue in motion, as she sucked the fluids from her cunt. After Claire had turned her attention to Jill, she tapped Ellen on the shoulder. Ellen pulled away and started a French kiss with Claire, the two of them immediately snowballing my cum and Jill's girl juice between them. Ellen moved up and repeated the process with Jill who welcomed the lewd activity.
As Ellen and Jill mixed it up, Claire smiled enigmatically and came to me, thrusting the last of the snowball she had kept into my mouth for us to share. I played the game with her to her delight, our tongues dancing back and forth into each other's mouth as the cum, Jill's juice, and the saliva from Ellen and Claire gradually disappeared.
Claire finally announced, "Oh that is so fucking hot. I love doing that. I'm not sure there's anybody I'd do it with, but you inspire me. I love you." We locked into a wild kiss again.
When we were sated and somewhat exhausted, I asked Jill, "Hey, where's Barry? I thought he wanted a piece of you tonight?"
Jill said in a dreamy voice, "He's in his motorhome fucking that cute little Spanish script girl he's taken a shine to. She may kill him before tomorrow, she looked that horny for his cock as they walked back after dinner." Our motorhomes were a short distance from the filming site so they wouldn't show up in any of the exposures.
Jill shifted around and slowly stood, putting a hand on Ellen's shoulder to steady herself. "Oh, I am so royally fucked ... and I am so smelly and cum soaked, I've got to take a shower. Do you all want to sleep over here ... no wait, I already know the answer -- the three of you like to be exclusive when you sleep together. I think that's so sweet. Go ahead, I'll tidy up here and go to bed."
Ellen and Claire stood and slid into their shorts, tucking their thongs into a pocket. The shirts went on, but left unbuttoned around their taut breasts. Boots on, and then we were out the door to go to our motorhome. I picked up my clothes, and slipped on my briefs and boots.
In the shadows, I saw one of the guards on patrol. If he saw us he didn't acknowledge. We passed Barry's motorhome, and chuckled as we heard the moaning and feminine shrieks of pleasure from the bedroom end of the home.
We went into our own motorhome, and soon both girls stripped and headed for the postage stamp-sized shower-bath combination. I had to pee, so I told Ellen, "I'm going outside to pee; back in two minutes." I tossed the rest of my clothes onto the couch, and went outside.
I didn't want to pee near the motorhomes so I walked about fifty feet to the edge of the clearing, faced the trees, and started to relieve myself. At that instant, I heard a scuffle, and groan from near Jill's trailer, and then a repeat from behind me, and then several other sounds I could tell were hand-to-hand combat.
I thought to myself, 'Fuck, here I am defenseless.' I started to head back to our motorhome, when I felt a knife at my back. "No move, Señor." I froze, slowly raising my open hands.
The activity I detected came from Jill's motorhome. I heard her scream and then silence, except for brief banging and scuffling sounds. Since I hadn't been stabbed outright, I assumed I was not the main target of whatever raid had started. Maybe the young man behind me in the dark hadn't recognized me in the darkness.
Even in the dim light coming from a few safety lights the crew left on all night, I could see two other men carrying a small body between them -- Jill. She seemed unconscious as her head sagged. The trio disappeared into the woods on the opposite side of the parking lot we were in.
The man behind me poked me with the knife, "You no move, Señor, and you live a long time. Get on ground."
I followed his instructions and lay face down with my arms outstretched. I'd been taught this submissive posture decades earlier in the Special Forces. While it took you out of the fight, it also announced to your attacker that you were no further threat and would live a day longer to even the score.
I sensed the young man move away from me. After thirty seconds, I looked around just in time to see three more young men run in the trees exactly where Jill had been taken. No one was near me.
I bolted for the door to my motorhome, jerking open the door. Claire and Ellen both stood near the bedroom drying themselves from their quick shower. I was covered in dirt; the two looked at me strangely. I blurted out, "Jill's been kidnapped by Lord knows who. I was held at knife point, but whomever they were, I wasn't their target. The guards must be gone or out of commission."