Portmanteau: Gone Hollywood

Cecelina showed the bottle of meds. Jackson looked at her, impressed.

"Clever girl," he said.

"Lucky girl. It was a bartender who saved me. It would have happened without her catching it."

"You tell Tommy?"

Cecelina shook her head no.

"Good."

She looked at Jackson, confused.

"I don't like keeping secrets from people I trust."

"Plausible deniability," he whispered.

"I'm confused," she replied.

"I'm going to hold on to these pills for a while," Jackson said. You see Donnett; you be your perky self. You do your best to stay strong. Can you do that for me?"

"Because?"

"Because whatever happens after I leave -- plausible deniability," he repeated, then stood up, straightened off his uniform, tipped his cover like an officer and a gentleman, and walked off.

Cecelina watched Jackson go, somehow feeling oddly reassured that someone cared.

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Five men sat around a table at the Ivy restaurant, drinking martinis and smoking cigars despite the strict no-smoking rules. Only two types could get away with this behavior: Mafia guys or Studio Chiefs. This Ivy League bunch was the latter.

"That fucking Jackson Tibbetts asked, no, he demanded, to be Superman. I looked right at him and told him to suck my left nut and make my right one jealous. The nerve of that cocky shit," Josh Donnett said with a sneer.

"I heard Paramount wants him for that Formula One movie," another exec added.

"As far as I'm concerned, he can go to Paramount. These actors, they're like cattle. Just go where there's more feed on the ground."

As Josh continued, a waiter came by with a drink. Without acknowledging the waiter's presence, Josh took the glass of wine and continued to tell his story while kicking it back.

The waiter walked toward the kitchen, put down his tray, and walked out the door to the alley, into a van driven by Jackson's navy seal tech advisor Curt Jeske, and was gone.

Josh Donnett was found passed out in the bushes outside the restaurant two hours later. Paparazzi, who had been tipped off that Megan Markle might be dining at the restaurant, were rewarded with photos of a blacked-out studio chief.

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The breakfast crowds at Hugo's on Sunset always had a celebrity or two, so no one paid too much attention to Scarlett Johansson as she sat across from Josh, who looked ragged. The waiter delivered his coffee, placing it before the studio chief, then walked away.

"Wait, is this my half-caff, ristretto, 4-Pump, sugar-free, cinnamon, dolce soy latte?"

"I assure you no one else ordered that," the tall, chiseled waiter replied.

"Josh took a sip. Well, it could be hotter. But fine."

"You want me to get you another one?" the waiter asked.

"I want you to leave," Donnett sneered.

Respectfully the waiter left.

Josh looked at Scarlett, "There's a reason these people are waiters and will never make it on the screen. Am I right?"

A half-hour later, Scarlett stormed out of Hugo's with a staggering Josh yelling behind her.

"You fuckin' bitch, you'll never work in this town again," he bellowed as the paparazzi took endless photos and patrons videotaped his shit show.

Standing across the street from the melee, the waiter entered Jeske's van and drove off.

Josh's outburst continued as LAPD rolled up in response to a public disturbance call. After lunging at a cop, he spent the next few hours locked in a holding cell until studio lawyers arrived to bail him out.

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Xandria D'ellai walked out of the bathroom in Josh's Beverly Hills hotel room wearing the luxurious, totally sheer minidress of paramour crystals. Her fake, firm, full breasts were barely hidden behind the body chain dress.

Josh sat on the bed nude, his very average cock semi-erect as Xandria paraded around the room. They had left the cocktail party at William Morris after Josh sent his wife home in the limo.

Xandria's husband, Garrett, was the Studio's Chairman of the Board. Fucking his boss's wife was half the reason he enjoyed his rendezvous with Xandria. Her blender of a pussy was the other half.

Josh didn't need those "special pills" to get this woman in bed. She was his equal when it came to moral bankruptcy. When she wasn't riding him, she collected the cum of other Hollywood powerbrokers she slept with. Literally. After each conquest, she surreptitiously collected their spent semen in small vials. This DNA collection was her planned golden parachute to blackmail everyone in Hollywood in a single day. But that's a story for another time.

A knock at the door got their attention, and Xandria opened it. A room service waiter dropped off two dirty martinis. The waiter was a pro, never once ogling the sexy woman's almost naked body.

Despite this, Josh looked to the man and told him to "Get the fuck out."

Xandria returned with the drinks, carefully holding both as she crawled across the bed and deftly straddled his torso.

"Be nice to room service. You don't want them spitting in our drinks," she said with the empathy of Marie Antoinette.

Josh pulled his knees up, creating a backrest for her to lean on.

Xandria leaned back and scooched her open thighs toward his face until her pussy spread above his mouth. Josh looked up at the woman and relished that while her husband could fire him, he was about to fuck her relentlessly.

Xandria remained reclined as she sipped the martini, then poured the cocktail down the top of her pussy so it would cascade through her folds and dribble out over the posterior fourchette of her vulva and into Josh's mouth just below. She was nimble, and the move would make a gymnast jealous.

After catching most of one martini in his mouth, Josh began to lick her perineum seeking out any remaining alcohol. Xandria cooed at his tongue work while she sipped the other martini.

"It's time for the fucking, baby," she said seductively and rolled off the bed, feeding him more of the martini.

Josh's cock got instantly more erect at the mention of the word 'fucking' and he sat up to stroke it. Xandria reached into her bag and pulled out a thick seven-inch strap-on dildo, then secured it to herself.

Josh looked at her silicon cock with anticipation. Xandria approached him. She dipped the thick fake cock into the martini drink and then fed it to Josh, who sucked the coating of vodka and vermouth off the huge dildo obediently. After a few more dips and sips, Josh turned around on all fours and spread his ass cheeks in anticipation. Xandria took the remaining drops of the cocktail, poured it down his ass crack, and massaged the liquid into the receptive tissue and around his anus.

His mucous membranes absorbed the alcohol at double speed, and he felt the room spin slightly. Taking a breath, he relaxed in anticipation.

Xandria's slurred her words slightly as she squeezed lube on her faux cock and then pressed it against Josh's furl.

"Beg me not to," she growled.

This was their game. Josh pretending to be reluctant. He knew there was irony somewhere in this escapade, but literary devices were not his thing. Sex devices were.

"Please don't," he said with fake fear.

Xandria didn't slowly push the fat faux fucker into his rectum; she rammed it in. Nine inches widened his dark with an element of pain.

"Fuck!" Josh yelled in pain as Xandria's rubber cock filled him.

He wanted to tell her to stop and pull it out, but he also wanted to ride the aching pleasure. After several short breaths, he accommodated the girth and length. The strength of his erection reflected the carnality of this plowing.

Xandria pulled out slowly, then in again. Then darkness began to develop in their peripheral visions. Were the lights dimming?

Tunnel vision set in. Josh felt Xandria slump against him. Then felt his legs give out. The last thing he felt was his ejaculation as he spewed cum on the pillow below him and then darkness.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and the room service waiter returned. He picked up the two martini glasses, careful not to disturb the two unconscious lovers who had fallen asleep while she was pegging him with a huge rubber cock.

The waiter took several photos and left.

It was three in the afternoon the next day when the hotel staff found a movie studio president unconscious in bed with a woman wearing a strap-on penis buried deep up his ass.

Calls were made to appropriate parties, but this was hardly the most extreme thing they had encountered in the Beverly Hills Hotel.

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The Board of Directors sat around the oval table in the studio board room. There were no smiles in the room as Josh was seated at the end of the table.

Garrett D'ellai took his seat as he received a text message with photos. Scrolling through his phone, he remained calm as he viewed images of his unconscious wife slumped over an unconscious Josh, connected by several inches of silicone rubber.

An assistant came in with a tray of coffees calling out the order and handing them one at a time.

"Half-caff, ristretto, four-pump, sugar-free, cinnamon, dolce soy skinny latte?"

Josh raised his hand and received the drink. The meeting came to order as Chairman D'ellai began to speak.

Twenty minutes later, security came to the board room and escorted a semi-conscious, slurring Josh out of the meeting and into a limo as he threatened everyone and anyone with career ruin.

As the car left the lot, Cecelina watched from her office window. Her assistant informed her that the Board of Directors would like to see her immediately.

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Saturday was quiet on the studio lot as Cecelina and Tommy entered her office with some boxes and began to clear her items off her shelves.

"Did you even see this coming?" Tommy asked.

"No, not really, but things change all the time in Hollywood, and I've learned to expect the unexpected," she replied, looking one last time out her window.

With boxes filled with personal items, Cecelina and Tommy went down the hall, finally coming to a huge corner office with a spectacular view of the back lot and the mountains behind the studio.

"The newspaper said you are the youngest president in the history of this studio," Tommy said with pride.

"Am I?" she replied.

"Well, you're just a major-league distraction to me," he said.

"Am I? Still?" she again replied with a laugh.

Cecelina sat on the enormous Parnian desk and pressed two buttons. The door to the office swung silently shut and locked. The curtains on the windows slowly dropped.

"This desk cost one hundred thousand dollars," she said, stroking the detailed surface.

"They should have fired him for that alone," Tommy added.

I like it, and look, when I sit on it, my pussy is right at the level of your cock.

With that, Cecelina spread her legs open to reveal nothing under her sundress but her dark lightly, haired pussy. Pulling the fabric away, she ran a finger down her slit, parting her darkness and revealing the pinkness of her insides.

Tommy approached. She unbuckled his belt and, in seconds, freed his cock. Without hesitation, he slid himself inside her.

Cecelina raised her legs, and Tommy marveled at her perfect body and wanting pussy. Her clit rode the top of his cock as it entered and exited. Overstimulated by the excitement, her wetness pooled on the desk. Tommy's thrusting turned the clear fluids viscous and creamy, and their bodies heated up.

Putting a leg down on the ground and keeping the other hiked up, Cecelina felt his penetration go deeper and fill her every space.

Tommy pulled his cock free to look at the delicate ebony beauty before him. Cecelina took that beat to slide off the desk onto her knees and take Tommy's cock in hand. Her tongue was long, and she used it with expert skill as she began with a slow lick from his balls to the tip, then around the wet shaft and back down.

When his cock was glistening from her saliva and pussy nectar, she stood up to join her man in a kiss.

"You won the game for me in Denver," she whispered.

"I did. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to pitch with a hard-on?"

"Poor baby, I wish I was there to relieve it."

"I had to jerk off between innings," he said.

Tommy pulled Cecelina's sundress entirely off, revealing her petite latte body. He dropped to her belly and began to lick down her pubic treasure trail until he hit her clit.

Cecelina played with his hair as he probed her vulva.

"You were such a good boy for me, baby. Now wet my ass."

Cecelina lifted her left leg with the strength and grace of a ballerina revealing the dark skin surrounding her tight starfish. Tommy obeyed by licking all around the knot and even poking the tip inside, testing the tightness of her muscle.

"Mmmmm, that's nice," she purred, then crawled on the desk and lay back and pulled her legs up, giving Tommy a full view of her dark pussy and puckered back entry.

Cecelina looked up at Tommy with a pouty face as he slipped his cock inside her pussy, his torso banging against her perfect ass. With each thrust, she let out a small gasp.

Then, withdrawing himself, he pressed his rock hardness against her backdoor. His heartbeat pounded through his cock, causing it to tap gently against her sealed entry as if politely asking for permission to enter.

As before, Cecelina's ability to control all aspects of her tight body shone as her sphincter widened to a respectable gape and held.

Tommy pushed his mushroom-capped cock inside the muscular doorway, widening it slightly. His cock slid forward and was met with the passage barrier, the one that only opened via stimulation. That pressure alone caused Cecelina to moan loudly.

Cecelina was plenty stimulated as Tommy's cock pushed against her inner door.

Deep inside her empty pussy, the walls were distending as Tommy's cock increased pressure on her ass. That extension caused Cecelina's G spot to compress, sending waves of pre-orgasmic pleasure through her body.

Those waves signaled the second seal to relax. Tommy's cock felt the interior gate relent, and he slid effortlessly into her smooth dark channel.

For Cecelina, the feeling of a cock in her ass was always unique. The pressure made her feel like she had to pee. But she knew to ride it. She counted to ten but got to five before the pressure subsided, and she felt warm and full.

She began Kegeling her pussy which caused the muscles in her rectum to ripple.

For Tommy, it felt like a vacuum had gripped his cock, and the gentle suction was building.

"I won't last," Tommy said with a strained wheeze.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Cecelina said with pride.

Tommy pushed and pulled slightly, then felt the semen flowing deep within him. He could feel it cascading through his balls, splashing forward, looking for an escape.

Cecelina felt similar sensations as the walls of her pussy compressed together by the thickness of Tommy's cock in her ass. The inevitable was happening as the nerves in her posterior began to fire.

Tommy's semen found its exit, and he gushed white thickness filling Cecelina's dark cavern. The added stimulation of the thick batter sent Cecelina's orgasm over the top. Her muscles clenched as she went taut in pleasure.

The tightening of Cecelina's knot enhanced Tommy's orgasm as she bucked and writhed. Just when he thought he could cum no more, her spectacular ass milked more drops of his love.

The two lay in silence. Cecelina's skin glistened with the translucent sheen, and sweat trickled from under her arms. Tommy buried his face against her, inhaling the pheromone rich sent she emitted.

"So," she asked, "you're pitching against the Yankees tomorrow. Can I come to the game? Or am I still a major league distraction."

"You are still a distraction. Major League. But if I can't let the girl I'm falling in love with watch me work, I should quit."

"Falling in love?" Cecelina asked with a smile.

"Correction. In love," Tommy added.

Cecelina smiled and embraced Tommy for a deep kiss, their nude bodies pressed against each other.

"I'll sit in the outfield bleachers. Far out of your eyesight," she whispered.

"I love you," she added as they held their lover's embrace.

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At a posh rehab clinic overlooking the Pacific, Josh sat in a group meeting as each patient shared the story of their crash and burn. He wasn't here because he wanted to. It was required of him by the studio if he wanted to keep his severance package.

His life in Hollywood was over. His wife had left him. His world was crashing, but his contract buyout required treatment, so he agreed.

Fuck them, he thought as he took a water bottle from the attendant and kicked it back. And fuck that bitch, Cecelina. She would never make it as a studio president.

Josh finished the water bottle and made eye contact with the attendant as he left the room. The guy looked familiar and, hey wasn't he the same guy who...

Darkness enveloped Josh's field of view as he passed out just before it was his turn to explain his plan to get over addiction.

These Boots are Made for Walkin'

You keep playin' where you shouldn't be playin'

And you keep thinkin' that you'll never get burnt (ha)

I just found me a brand new box of matches, yeah

And what he knows you ain't had time to learn

These boots are made for walkin'

And that's just what they'll do

One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you

Are you ready, boots? Start walkin'

These Boots Are Made for Walkin' lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

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HOLLYWOOD NIGHTS

The two-story compound looked ominous as Jackson Tibbetts entered wearing night camo and strapped for action. Behind him, his Navy Seal team provided cover as they penetrated the inner sanctum of the warlord, Hamza Fatir.

Entering an ornate room, he saw a colossal goon of a man on a couch with a delicate beauty next to him.

The scene was reminiscent of Jabba the Hut holding Princess Leia on a chain. In this case, the terrorist had a gun to the woman's head.

Jackson approached with the cool of a man who had done things you don't share in a confessional because there is no Heaven for his kind.

Bringing out his handgun, he aimed at Hamza Fatir.

"You kill a man; you make sure he's dead," Jackson growled and pulled the trigger.

The gun went click. Fatir's head went back and...

"Cut! Wonderful job. That was money, Jackson. We got it," the director shouted.

As the crew began to prep for another scene, Jackson Tibbetts, the movie's star, walked toward his trailer along with Curt Jeske, an ex-Navy seal and the tech advisor for the film.

"You need to carry the weapon a little higher, closer to your body, when you sense a threat," Jeske coached him.

"Hey, I never thanked you about that stalker guy. He hasn't parked outside my house in weeks," Jackson said quietly.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Jeske replied.

"Right, plausible deniability," Jackson said. "Please tell me you didn't kill him."

"He's fine; his car is not. He woke up in Pensacola, where he had some warrants, so he'll be gone for two to five years," Jeske replied. And that's all I'll say about that because-"

"Plausible deniability, right. Got it," Jackson said high, fiving his friend and Hollywood fixer.

Ainsley, the set armorer, came to take Jackson's weapons.

"One of these days, I'm going to get off this set with one of these guns," he said with his signature Hollywood flirtatious smile.