Stars and Stripes

The story that follows is a fantasy, containing elements recalling my past. Nobody is under eighteen, and you shouldn't be either, if you're about to read on.

*

My story began soon after leaving sixth form college, when I had just turned eighteen. Well before that, I had offers, but resisted them until I had at least an academic grounding. The offers had been based on what I regarded as my good luck -- I was tall and slim -- too slim, in my own view - and had a pretty face, framed by long, thick, shiny, honey-blond hair, which I kept straight, with a centre parting. When I looked at myself in my bedroom mirror, I was always disappointed in my breasts, which were very small, though firm and pointed -- they had just never seemed to grow.

Anyway, when I had finally left college, there was nothing to stop me from accepting a lucrative offer to train as a fashion model, despite my mother's protests -- she wanted me to become 'something decent' like a secretary, where I would 'meet a nice young man.'

Bags packed, I said a tearful farewell to my disapproving mother and silently proud father, and took the train to London and my new life.

Sharing a grotty flat near Westbourne Grove was the best I could do -- my flatmate was Irina, an Estonian model who was working for the agency I had joined, and whose English was minimal.

I soon found that being a fashion model was a tough call -- there was a year of working training, the hours could be long, and the competition fierce, and, at times, bitchy. I loved some of the clothes I got to wear, and the nervously triumphant feelings you got on the catwalk, where you always dreaded tripping in your staggeringly high heels. Sometimes I felt decidedly sexy, and became aroused, knowing that all these people were watching me, my nipples sometimes visible through diaphanous gowns, under which I often went naked, so as to avoid panty-lines etc. But the life wasn't nearly as glamorous as I had believed, explaining why most of the girls I got to know were hankering after 'getting into the movies.' I thought this a distant ambition, until one evening, when I had just finished modelling filmy evening dresses for a store-chain, at a run-of-the-mill salon, a tall, dark middle-aged guy, going grey, dressed in a good suit, approached me in the coffee bar.

'Been watching you,' he announced, without preamble, and with a faint accent I couldn't place. His eyes were wandering between my face and my breasts, which were only covered by a thin layer of green silk -- the last dress, a halter-neck number. It was chilly, and I knew that my nipples poked at the material visibly.

'You are Lisa?' he asked rhetorically, and I nodded.

'I have a proposition for you,' he said.

I gave him THE LOOK. Like, I'd heard this one before.

He laughed, 'Yes, I know. But this is real. I've been watching the way you move, and I like your face too.' Where was this leading, I wondered? I was almost ready to walk out.

He went on: 'Ever thought of getting into films?'

'If this is a chat-up line, I've heard more original ones.'

'I don't blame you for being cautious,' he smiled, and flipped out a card, which he handed to me:-

SINTON PRODUCTIONS

Martin J. Van de Bergh, Director

There was a phone number and website, too. I waited for him to continue. I certainly should like to get into films, I thought, but lacked any sort of Drama School preparation, and had a good idea what sort of films that might leave open to me. I told him I had a good job, and was reluctant to risk it by getting into something that couldn't last. He looked me in the eye, a half-smile playing on his lips, and I realised for the first time that he was a good-looking guy. A bit on the old side, maybe, but definitely dishy. Fit-looking, well dressed and smelling of a good cologne -- Monsieur Rochas? Probably.

'If it's not a rude question, what do you make?' he asked. I told him.

He made a show of taking out a pocket calculator and fiddling with the keys. 'I believe you would be taking home four times that amount, assuming, of course, that we find you suitable,' he said, slipping the calculator back into his pocket.

I wondered about walking out there and then, but there was something hypnotic about the man's gaze. 'Just what sort of films are we talking about?' I asked, then added, 'Porno, for sure.'

He didn't answer, but took a little folder from his jacket pocket, extracted a small stack of postcard size photos, and fanning them out, showed them to me. All were of pretty girls, in evening dress, and every one was a stunner.

'All these girls work for us,' he said, 'do you see any scrubbers?'

I had to admit they were impressive, but I was very suspicious. He went on, 'Look, Lisa, I don't expect instant decisions. Come and have dinner with me tonight, and we'll see if we can come to some arrangement. I expect we can let you carry on with your current employment while you give it a try, eh?'

Perhaps I should have walked, I thought, but I found myself nodding and agreeing to meet him for dinner in a posh West End bistro. I had a definite feeling that I had nothing much to lose. I told him not to come and pick me up, as I had somewhere to go first. I told myself it was for security, but in truth, I didn't want him to see the dump I lived in.

I put on a short black dress which clung nicely to me, I thought. Then, looking at myself in the mirror, I saw it -- the dreaded panty-line. I reached up under the dress and pulled down the silk panties, stepped out of them. Being naked under a dress wasn't exactly a novelty nowadays, after all. I wondered about putting my hair up, and decided against it, brushing it out until it shone. I had got used to wearing heels, on the catwalk, so slipped on a pair of stiletto-heeled slingbacks.

'You look good,' said Irina, 'where you go?'

'I'm going out to dinner,' I supplied.

'Oh,' she said, 'then fucky-fucky?' She giggled.

'No fucky-fucky,' I replied, but wondered if that just might be on the cards -- I'd heard all about the 'casting-couch.' If that's what it took, I thought, I could do worse.

When I got to the restaurant, he was sat at a corner table, what looked like a gin and tonic in front of him.

'Hello, Mr Van de Bergh,' I said, as I took the seat opposite.

'Marty,' he said, 'everyone calls me Marty. And you look great.'

'Thank you Marty,' I said, sheepishly -- I wasn't used to such comments on my appearance. We ate an excellent dinner and only talked generalities until we relaxed with a coffee. Then he looked at me with a slight smile on his lips. Whether it was the effect of the half-bottle of Burgundy I had drunk, I can't say, but I found myself moistening as I looked at those eyes, and actually started to wonder what his body would be like under the trendy leather jacket and chinos he wore.

'Have you thought any more about what I said?' he was saying.

'I think I need to know a little more, Marty. It all sounds too good to be true.'

'Why don't I show you the studio, then we can talk some more?' He was summoning the waiter as he spoke, making the universal 'writing in the air' sign.

'Now?' I asked, but it's nearly ten o'clock.'

'It's just around the corner,' he said, and then he was flipping out a credit card -- Gold American Express, I noticed -- to pay for the meal. Meekly I followed him out, then he held the door open for me. Treating me like a lady, I thought.

He was as good as his word. The studio was no more than a couple of minutes' walk away from the bistro, and he unlocked the door using a key from a huge bunch. When he ushered me in, down a corridor, and through a heavy door, requiring another key, I found that I was stood at the entrance to a large, luxurious room, with heavy drapes all around, and two plush sofas, in front of which were ornate coffee tables. It was warm and pleasant, with a nice aroma hanging in the air, thick carpeting underfoot. The only signs of its purpose were a big camera sat on a tripod in one corner, and a big reflector of some sort in the opposite corner.

'Sit down, and I'll get you a drink,' he said, 'cognac OK?' I nodded, and sat down, my skirt riding up a little more than I had expected, so that a fair length of naked thigh was exposed.

'This is the studio?' I enquired.

'A small part of it,' he said, as he fetched two balloons of cognac from a trolley I hadn't noticed, 'there are several other stages.'

He sat down beside me, his maleness starting to impose itself on me. I took a glass from him, and sipped. It warmed me right through.

'I suppose this is the casting couch?' I asked, smiling.

'If you want it to be,' he replied, putting the ball firmly in my court. But his hand was on my knee as he spoke. If there's one thing I can't resist, it's having my knees fondled.

I looked him in the eyes, and, something inside me controlling my actions, parted my lips a fraction and pushed the very tip of my tongue out between my teeth. His hand moved up my leg, stroking slowly, while his other arm went around my neck, pulling me in so that he could kiss me. I let him, and couldn't prevent a little moan of anticipation escaping my lips when they parted from his, as his hand went up under the hem of my dress. My own hand found its way to a hard bulge in his chinos, as he kissed me again, this time letting me take his tongue deep into my mouth. I found his zipper, and dragged it down. He wore nothing under his trousers, and a huge erection sprang into my hand.

'Mmmm,' I murmured, 'you want me, Marty, don't you?'

'Yes, Lisa, I do.'

I pulled away from him, stood in front of the sofa, then pulled up the hem of my dress, up to my waist. I straddled him then, knees either side of his legs, and slowly lowered myself onto him, impaling myself on his pulsing, hard cock, until his entire prodigious length was embedded deep, deep in my hot wet cunt. Then I eased the straps of my dress off my shoulders, baring my breasts, so that I could cup them, tweaking my hard, extended nipples between thumb and forefinger, as I started to ride him, slowly at first, raising my body so that just the very tip of his glans was inside me, then lowering myself again, gripping him with my cunt-muscles, then releasing him as I lifted up again. His breath was coming in short gasps and I knew he couldn't last long, so I increased the pace, and drove frantically up and down.

'Fuck me, you bastard!' I yelled, and that did it. He stiffened, rose to meet me, and I felt him cum, a hot stream of spunk, deep inside me. Simultaneously, I almost blacked out as a great climax overtook me. He collapsed, spent, beneath me.

'Oh fuck,' he said, finally.

'Again?' I asked, mischievously.

'No, my dear,' he said, 'I think I'm getting old.'

After we had cleaned up, he looked at me and said, 'Well, Lisa, you'll pass.'

'Pass what?' I wanted to know.

'Anything you want to pass, I think,' he replied, 'but, for now we should talk about your new job.'

'Just hang on a minute,' I said, 'I haven't agreed to anything yet.'

'But you're going to, aren't you?'

I nodded dumbly -- I thought I'd do most anything for Marty, who'd just fucked me like I'd never been fucked before. My old boyfriend from college had taken me a few times, it's true, but never like this -- I thought it was the first time I'd had an orgasm without using my fingers on myself. But he had stood up, and was already over by a door opposite to where we had come in, pushing a button.

'I'm going to introduce you to someone,' he said. It was news to me that there was anyone else in the building. He explained, 'There's a flat upstairs, and a couple of our girls live there.'

Someone answered, and he spoke into the grille under the button -- I didn't understand a word, but it sounded like Russian.'

He turned to me. 'Nadia will be down in a minute.'

In less than that, the door swung open, and in strutted a girl whose photo I had seen when he showed me his selection. She was a platinum blonde, looking amazingly natural, with eyebrows and complexion to match the pure white of her fine, long, straight hair. Tall and slim, she would have far outshone any of the models I worked with. She wore a long black silky negligee, which parted as she walked to reveal a short black slip of similar material underneath, and endlessly long, slender legs, perched on stiletto-heeled mules. Marty introduced us and Nadia kissed me on both cheeks, wafting a flowery perfume across me. I worked with some beautiful girls every day, many of them truly gorgeous, but none could compare to this creature, I thought -- I was intoxicated by her presence.

'I told you we had some pretty girls working here,' said Marty, 'and Nadia is just one of them. When you go home tonight, I want you to think: why do they work for us here? Girls like Nadia could easily find work modelling, or doing promotional work, I think, don't you?'

I nodded, just a little concerned when I realised that Nadia, standing there smiling, hadn't understood a word of what Marty said. When he had patted her bum and spoken a word or two of Russian to her, she clicked off through the door in her heels, leaving a strong breath of her fragrance behind.

'But she can't be much use for acting?' I asked, naively.

'Come on, Lisa,' said Marty, 'I'm not making scientific documentaries here.'

I blushed. 'S'pose not.'

'Look,' he said, 'give it some thought. You're one hell of a pretty girl, you look good in clothes -- and out of them -- and you sure can fuck. If you're interested, come see me after work tomorrow -- I'll be here all afternoon -- OK?'

As I made my way home, I thought about it, then thought some more when I ought to have been sleeping -- and again on the way to work. A porn actress? Shit, was that what I wanted? I had never seen my career going that way! I had virtually decided to turn Marty's offer down flat by the time I got changed for the catwalk. Today's gear was swimwear, and I thought I looked good in a bikini, but Helen called me 'tarty' when I modelled a leopard-skin effect, very skimpy outfit, and it was all I could do not to tell her the bikini was at fault, not me. Then I got into a silly argument with Sandra, one of the more experienced girls, about smiling when I apparently shouldn't have, and the girls seemed to be ganging up on me at that point.

'What the hell?' I thought, as I slung on my coat at finishing time, and turned towards Soho, and Marty.

'Thought you'd come,' he said, when he came to the door, and waved me inside. 'We've just done shooting for today,' he said.

The room was much bigger than it had been the night before, and I realised that a long partition had been slid open. In the space behind it was a king-size four-poster bed, surrounded by red velvet drapes, and made up with black satin sheets. Lounging on a couch beside the bed were two girls. One was Nadia, again wearing the black negligee she had worn the night before, and the other was an olive-skinned brunette, her long jet-black hair caught up in a pony-tail, wearing a white corset and white stockings, and nothing else. She was every bit as gorgeous as Nadia, and showed no trace of embarrassment when I was introduced to her, even though her shaven pussy was quite naked.

'This is Monica,' said Marty, 'Monica, this is Lisa, who is about to join us.'

While I was trying to frame a protest -- I still hadn't agreed to join them -- Monica was looking me up and down, lovely dark, nearly black, eyes appraising me carefully. She smiled, showing the glint of a diamond embedded, fascinatingly, in one of her front teeth. 'You're very pretty,' she said, her voice rather deep, with a trace of an accent. Spanish? She was, I thought, amazingly attractive, and it was hard to take my eyes off her. After a few moments, in wandered a tall, hunky guy, blond and muscular, who was introduced to me as Jack. I learned that Nadia and Monica lived upstairs, while Jack went home to his pregnant wife in Clapham every night. 'And you've missed the others -- tonight's an early night,' said Marty, 'so we'll get started tomorrow, if that's OK with you, Lisa -- Monica will show you the ropes.'

'I'll look forward to that,' said the brunette, and I could have sworn she licked her lips as she said it.

We sorted out a few details, like what time I could make it each evening, and I went home with a written agreement to pay me a substantial sum for three week's trial period. If, at the end of that, we were mutually suited, I should start full-time.

And be a pornstar -- I said to myself as I sat on the tube train. Shit, what had I done? At least, I reasoned, I could get out after the three weeks, and nothing lost.

I was a bag of nerves as I knocked on the door the next evening, and was let in by a harrassed-looking, balding guy.

'Art,' he introduced himself, over his shoulder, 'cameraman. You'll be Lisa?' Then, without waiting for my reply, 'Monica'll get you ready for your screen-test.'

Screen-test? I knew nothing about it, or just what to expect, but before I had time to ask, or even think about it, Monica, in a towelling robe, had appeared, and was propelling me into a small dressing room, lined with mirror-doored wardrobes.

'Get undressed,' she said, then noticing that I was trembling, 'Don't worry, you might just enjoy it.'

'Wh...what......?' I started to ask, but Monica was laughing, a deep, throaty chuckle, and didn't enlighten me further as she had me strip naked, then put on a narrow blue satin garter-belt, to which she cinched the long black stockings she had me put on. Then she produced a pair of the highest stilettos I'd ever seen, needle-heeled with platform soles. It was like walking on stilts as I tried them out.

'Don't worry,' she said again, 'you'll not be doing any walking, darling. And, by the way, you look great -- I could fuck you myself.' She chuckled on as she brushed my hair, and I thought: I could get used to this! Monica's nearness was by no means unpleasant, but when she had finished with my hair, and helped me touch up my make-up, she led me back into the studio, and indicated that I should totter on my heels over to the bed. Obediently I sat down on the smooth satin sheet. I had to admit to myself that I felt aroused, not only by the sex-laden atmosphere of the place, but especially by Monica, who I thought was lovely.

Marty, who had been nowhere to be seen, appeared, and said, 'Hi Lisa, welcome! We're going to see how you look on screen -- you won't mind being fucked, will you?'

I was aghast -- I'd not expected this. I knew what sort of films Marty made, but talk about a baptism of fire!

Then I saw Jack, in nothing but a pair of boxers, and thought: hmmm, may not be bad after all! But Jack had merely come to collect a pair of trousers hung over the back of a chair, and smiling sort of shyly in my direction, he went. A couple of minutes passed, and it was a touch chilly in the studio, but suddenly a shadow loomed over me and there was a huge, hairy, overweight guy, naked as the day he was born, leering at me from the foot of the bed. My eyes fell inexorably to his belly, and there sprouted an enormous, thick cock, not fully erect, but headed that way, as he supported it with a big, hairy hand.

'This is Carl,' said Marty, then, turning aside, 'Ready, Art?' A grunt signified that he was, and Carl knelt down beside me on the bed, thrusting his dick towards my face.

'Well, blow him then!' yelled Marty, and I took the offered weapon in both hands, feeling it leap into life. I looked up at Carl's face, and he was grinning evilly as his mighty dick grew and stiffened in my grasp. Taken completely by surprise, I hadn't had the benefit of any sort of foreplay, but was still feeling aroused from my contact and preparation with Monica. I brought the crown of his dick to my lips and licked the very tip with my tongue, then took an inch or two into my lips, looking up at him as I did so, and seeing desire written on his craggy features. Encouraged, I took him deeper into my mouth, and as I did so, he manoeuvred with more agility than I would have thought possible, until he was into a '69' position, his face between my legs. I felt the sheer joy of his tongue probing between my pussy-lips, then it was flicking at my clitoris in a way that only my fingers had ever done. I moaned with pleasure as his tongue now slid into my damp cunt, and took his rampant cock deep, deep into my throat, until I had to fight not to gag. Releasing him slightly, I sucked hard on his wonderful shaft, as he lapped my cunt expertly. Then, before I knew it, he was kneeling between my legs, and I lifted my buttocks off the bed to meet him as his huge, thick cock speared me, bringing involuntary tears to my eyes as his huge size stretched me beyond belief.