The Love House

"I know, Boss, it's fucked up."

"What If we can't?" Her voice wobbles with his vigorous towelling." God I wish it was you. I always come with you."

"Thanks Boss."

"Would you take over from Deshawn? If I asked you?"

"In a blink and with great pleasure."

"They want me to suck him off, Ted. And swallow... I mean his semen... his cum."

It's like she's testing the words in her mouth in preparation for the real thing. Ted considers replying, "Then I'll definitely take his place." But clamps his mouth shut. Interesting. I investigate inside him and find that he struggles with bitterness that she never sucks him, at all, let alone all the way. He handles it by reminding himself it's a professional relationship. She's his client and entitled to just what she wants and nothing else. It still stings him though. Why? Does he love her? I can find no trace of that. A crush maybe, and golly she's crushable material, I've tumbled into her big, dark eyes too. But it's not love or a crush. No. Poor sweetie. It's worse. He's a beaten up realist who needs love, not a blowjob, and he doesn't even know it.

So he makes no comment on needing someone to suck him, or rather, someone who wants to suck him. Instead, he growls. "You should walk from this job, Boss. The director's an ass hat."

Yoon titters, but drifts into silence. She doesn't even seem aware of him fluffing her mound. "I thought I'd never have to suck another dick for my career."

I tippytoe around her shitpit of memories, suddenly flung open. I don't need to visit those scenes. We all have them, all us wide-eyed starlets. The agents and directors and simple charlatans we've serviced to get into Hollywood heaven.

"You don't have to do it."

She doesn't say, "I do if I want to keep you. I'm thirty-five. In Hollywood years I'm a crone and crones don't get the roles." She sells it another way. "But if I do this, my agent says I'll go stratospheric. Redefine the depiction of sex on screen. Move something they call the Overton window--the range of acceptable discourse--toward freedom of expression, forever. Not to mention how it'll expand my marketable range. Deshawn's too."

Ted kneels at Yoon's feet again, this time to vigorously dry her legs, one by one, like she's a racehorse. "So let your agent come three times, and suck Mr Troy dry."

"Don't be cynical. Think about it. I mean, how is it we can show a person torn to bits in hate but have to hide how we express love? No erections, no juices, no cum? If Troy and I were to disembowel and eat each other that'd be OK, it'd be teen horror, but if we enjoy each other's love, every drip and squirt of it, even simulated, that's taboo? Porn? If we do this we could normalise the depiction of sex. Open the floodgates. Imagine a future where sex is shown as casually and joyously as violence is today!"

Ted stands, wraps her in the towel and gives her one last hug. "You sound like the director pleading to the certification board."

She huffs a laugh, and wedges his erection between her bottom cheeks. She hopes this might persuade him to dip under, slide in. He doesn't. She likes his masculine heat there anyway, and keeps him nestled as long as she can while he flexes against her. Usually at times like this, as a joke, she'll ask him to marry her. She doesn't today. Today she kisses the back of his hand. He holds her tighter.

But she sighs, and pats his cheek. She steps out of his drying embrace and his reassuring aura. She stretches, points out fingers and toes. Ted hides a sigh. Yoon always looks so sprung, like she might bounce off the ceiling any moment. He tugs sodden seams and grimaces.

"Oh Ted." She shakes her head. "Idiot"

He shrugs. "I laid your costume out for you, Boss. The studio sent it over earlier."

She picks up the kaftan. "This? Nothing else?"

"Just that gold chain belt thing."

"I mean, no bra, no panties?"

"That's all they sent."

"You think they meant that? They want me naked under it?" She grabs her script and flaps through it one way, then back again.

When she looks up again she blinks like she doesn't recognise him. "We're done."

He tries to slide past her toward the bathroom to fetch his trousers and shorts. His cock brushes her buttock. Yoon spins, scowling. "GO!" She stamps her foot, but isn't nearly as fearsome as she thinks she is with her bare bottom and boobs wobbling.

Deshawn and Kate

=================

Meanwhile, Kate's worried she hasn't heard from Mr Troy, so takes a plate to his room, heaped with exotic fruit. Noone knows she's been feeding him pineapple for days to improve the taste of his semen for Yoon Ji-Lim. It was his idea, based on something Kanye told him. That's what was so demeaning about his comment in the car. He's fretted about coming in Ms Ji-Lim's mouth since he agreed to the script, so Kate offered to taste him and let him know if the fruit diet worked. Which it kind of does. But she's not the cum slut he painted her out to be. OK, she didn't need to offer to taste him. And it's true she did secretly come once or twice under the table, but that's her peccadillo, it's not for general discussion is it? It wasn't (just) his cum that made her come anyway. How many women get to pleasure their ultimate fantasy?

All this is going through Kate's gloriously unfettered mind as she approaches Mr Troy's door. Even now, as she considers it, her lips tingle and her fingers tremble and she hopes he's at least in the mood to rehearse for her.

"Knock knock," she says at his door, and walks in without waiting for an answer.

She finds him upside down in the middle of the room, doing handstand pushups. He's naked, facing her, his cock and balls bobbing with each, apparently effortless, lift. He grins, all the veins sticking out on his neck and jaw.

Not what she'd hoped to find veiny if she was honest.

"Looking good, Mr Troy." She plonks the plate on his bedside table.

"Hey babe." He flips onto his feet, and shakes out his bulging pecs, biceps and... whatever those muscles are between his shoulders and neck. He's told her a hundred times but it's not the names that interest her. He skips about the room in his Muhammed Ali impersonation, throwing punches. "I'm gonna smash this. I don't think I've ever been in better shape."

Seriously? He looks like he's going to KO Ms Ji-Lim. With one swing of his big flaccid cock. Kate closes the door behind her and leans against it, smirking. "Goodness, look at you. I'm the luckiest private chef in the world."

He guffaws, slaps a rock hard buttock. "Weep for it, girl. This ass is Yoon's today."

She can't let him loose on Ms Ji-Lim in this state, he's too excited, he'll embarrass himself. And her. Again. She needs to calm him down a tad. He poses in the mirror, murmuring his script. He looks made of bowling balls stuffed into buffed leather. She wasn't bullshitting when she said she was the luckiest private chef in the world. She might even be the luckiest woman. The luckiest person. How many people even knew who their absolute sexual fantasy was, let alone got to work with them? Or ogle them naked. Or feast on them. She kicks off her sandals, unfastens her shorts, and slides a hand down the front of her knickers, surprised to find herself a little wet already. Mr Troy likes to rehearse with her like this, while he struts before his number one fan, his horse cock bucking as she expresses her appreciation.

He glances over at her. "Aw, come on Kate, I ain't rehearsing with you today. We all know what I got to do."

"So tell me." She slides her feet apart, digs fingers deeper, stirs. Her cheeks flush and she hopes it looks sexy. It does. She's a fresh and pretty girl, as kissy-lipped and curvaceous as I was in my prime, doing the naughtiest thing a girl can do in front of a man. I decide to hang out inside Kate alone for a while, and enjoy this man with her--as her. So I stay out of Deshawn's head. You'll have to indulge an aged sex symbol I'm afraid, and see what happens next from just Kate's point of view.

Mr Troy speaks to the hidden digits gavorting in Kate's khaki shorts. "I have to make Yoon come three times."

"Lucky cow." She moves more vigorously, enjoying his eyes. "How do you plan to do that?"

He grabs his balls and half mast penis in a rough fist. "The biblical way."

Kate drills her gaze at her favourite part of her favourite man. His phallus lifts its head toward her and she feels like a snake charmer. His cock adores her at least. "So you'll fuck her?"

He blinks slowly. He loves her swearing in her English accent. He nods. At both ends. Rigid. Good. But she needs to get to the nub, because Mr Troy has to get to Ms Ji-Lim's nub if he wants her to come more than once. The trouble is, he hates oral sex. Giving it at least. "I hear she likes a tongue."

Mr Troy gulps.

Kate hooks her thumbs in her shorts and panties and wriggles them down to her thighs. "We should rehearse that."

Inside Kate's screaming "Pleeeeease!" She props her hands on her hips and savours the lick of his eyes under her neat triangle of tawny fur. Boy-oh-boy how tired I was of that hungry look when I was alive, and how I miss it now.

He clears his throat. "We should, huh?"

She nods briskly, biting on the urge to grin.

He steps over to her. Over her. He smells of soap and cologne, a little musky with sweat. She feels entirely liquid and exquisitely vulnerable with her panties down. She presses her small pale fingers into his big dark chest, digs her nails in like a cat with a cushion. He pops his pec and she flinches and squeaks. He smirks and, yipee, sinks to his knees.

I giggle inside Kate, effervescent with the need to feel that man's fat tongue on a clittoris as plumped and ready as this lovely girl's. Sure enough, my swallow fans rank along the window ledge ready to shoot up on my orgasm. Not yet little junkies. Not yet!

Deshawn has never done this for Kate. She doesn't know what to do with her hands. She wants to stroke his bare scalp, encourage him, but is frightened she might startle him, prick the perfect moment's bubble. So she wrings her hands behind her bum and watches him regard her throbbing pussy. His shoulders are mountainous. He takes hold of her hips and his massive dry grip threatens to toss her (us!) into orgasm there and then. She's waited so long for this. Two years of sucking him off, of masturbating him, and masturbating for him, on her knees, or lying beneath him or on her front, fiddling her clit, coming while he comes in her mouth. Years of feeling like a grateful sex toy.

He pulls her hips to his lips and kisses her sex. Her clittoris buzzes like a phone. So do I. Her stomach flip-flops. Swallows loop.

He kneels back, her juices stringing to his lips. He wipes his wrist across his mouth. "You're very wet."

"Every woman's wet around you, Mr Troy."

He snorts, but his levity doesn't reach his eyes. He nods to the bed and she hops onto it, quickly kicking off her shorts and knickers. She wants to spread wide, pull her lips apart, but she gathers herself and, feet to buttocks, presses her knees together. She knows, like any woman, the cheeky view this presents of her puckered pussy lips. Her labia are thicker than most, and her inner lips stuck out like a mocking tongue.

Mr Troy takes her knees and spreads them. "Damn, you're fleshy, girl."

"You got me all puffy, Mr Troy. I can't help it. My cunt's slavering for you."

Again, the slow blink. But he doesn't go down. He gawps. What's taking him so long? Now Kate delicately slips her outer lips open. "It's tingling for you. Make me come."

Holy smokes, I would! But a sting of irritation in her belly piques my curiosity. So while Deshawn stares at Kate's pretty vulva, at a drop of honey emerging from the pink dim and rolling between her buttocks, I peer into her soul, just like I did for Ted. I want to find out what irks her. As Carl Jung said, one should pay great attention to what irks. (Imagine, dumb blondes read Jung!) Sure enough, just like Ted, what Kate really wants is intimacy with, and the unequivocal acceptance of, another human. Love, not head.

Actually, Kate wants both.

"Please Mr Troy." She takes the backs of her knees and pulls them apart and back. She waves her feet impatiently. "Eat my cunt."

This time Mr Troy doesn't give another lascivious blink at Kate's posh foul language. This time he stares into her eyes. And a tear rolls down his cheek.

I dart into him. I've been selfish and missed something important, but now I rummage about in there. Boy-oh-boy what a life this man had had. He wasn't bright at school and nobody expected him to be. Big for his age, and born in the wrong part of town, he was expected to be a soldier, protecting the boys on the corners. When he walked into a shop, even as a child, the owner would follow him, or reach for a weapon under the counter. Then one day, he heard about the poor Korean girl Yoon Ji-Lim growing up in Japan. She was treated like scum, but thrived through Martial arts. He couldn't believe someone so small and demure could fight back the way this girl had. Become a star. He devoured her movies, and started cage fighting, and whenever he lost a fight, or was put down, he would think of little Yoon and bounce right back. The more powerless he felt, the more he worked out.

So, remember Yoon's shit pit? The place where she, and all us starlets, keep our shameful history? To my surprise I found one in the giant Deshawn Troy. Because once he got into the movie industry he found he wasn't the only driven muscleman hungry to make it. And the only way to swing the odds in his favour, to win the big roles, was to go the extra, dark, mile. His agent hooked him up with a studio boss who liked to watch his wife fuck big, black cock. But the wife was a lawyer used to getting her own way. And she wanted big, black head too. Beautiful head, strictly in private, and strictly for her own pleasure, not her husband's. She called Deshawn at her leisure, any time of day or night, so she could squat on his mouth while he wanked for her. If he objected, or even lost his erection, she threatened to tell her husband he tried to rape her. Classy. The roles came in, then the blockbuster series, and Deshawn's fame, and his body, grew. But the harder he worked out, the weaker he felt. Deshawn hasn't seen the woman or producer in months, they divorced and she moved to New York, but every time the phone rings in the middle of the night, he feels like an ashamed little boy.

I can't help myself, I take a little of this shitpit and show it to Kate. She reads it as her own feminine insight. She jumps to her feet, still on the bed, and throws her arms around her boss. "Oh Mr Troy!" She hugs him with all her strength.

A light knock sounds at the door. "Deshawn?" Yoon's voice. "I think I'm ready? If you are?"

Kate and Ted and Yoon and Deshawn

=================================

Ted waits until Yoon has left her room before retrieving his clothes and shoes from her shower. He can't bear putting them on, so is still half dressed when he arrives at the pool house where he and Kate are staying.

He doesn't expect to find Kate there already. He doesn't expect to find her as he does either, standing on my monumental marble coffee table so she can see out the high slot windows overlooking the poolside. And he really doesn't expect to find her dressed in her collarless shirt, and nothing else.

Maybe it's Kate's flagrant display of her rear, or Ted's flagrant display of his own, but the pool house has an inflamed vibe about it. Like it's purring. He can't put his finger on it. Maybe it's the playful way the light slants in through palm leaves rustled by gathering birds, or the underlying scent of Chanel No.5, or the electric crackle to the air, like the space between lips on a first kiss. He shakes his head, bedazzled by it.

(This is the closest anyone has ever come to seeing me since 1962!)

He shuts the door behind him and Kate waves, but doesn't cover herself. The girl carries her weight in the small of her back, like a dancer, turning her near-nakedness prim, almost polite. Like swearing in an English accent. "Sorry." She ties up her hair. "Still working." She tips her chin at his bare legs. "Yoon likes you to watch her rehearse too?"

Ted realises he's pointlessly covering himself with his wet clothes. He tosses them, letting his semi-erect penis bob free. He grimaces and unfastens his tie and soggy shirt. Kate frowns and grins at the same time. "Why are you so wet?"

He shrugs.

Kate shamelessly watches him remove his shirt, her eyes wide. He's no Mr Troy, but the bloke's in good shape. His nose is broken, his cheek (dashingly) scarred and he sports a dotted line of healed holes across his bullish, furry torso. Old tattoos blur together on his ham hock forearms, likewise his stocky legs. True, his cock isn't as long as Mr Troy's, but it's just as thick and muscular looking. In fact muscle thickens him all over, it doesn't roll under his skin like Mr Troy. But, fuck, she'd watch his movie. Over and over. "Marlon Brando," she declares. "That's who I'd cast in a movie of your life."

That makes Ted laugh, but she seems serious. He slowly hardens under her benevolent scrutiny. She doesn't even blink until he's rigid, like she's casting a spell on his dick. He can't remember ever feeling so at ease with a stranger.

"Hmm." She turns back to the window. "Mr Troy says Jennifer Lawrence will play me in the movie about his life. What do you think?"

"I don't watch too many movies, Ma'am. But I'd rather see your movie than his. No offence."

Ma'am! Kate laughs and slaps her thigh. "Good answer. Ah-ha, here's Mr Troy. The stage is set. Come see."

Ted steps onto the cold marble table. Outside, Deshawn Troy strides along the poolside in a pair of aquamarine silk shorts. He drops and performs effortless pushups in the evening sun's honeyed light. His bobbing blue shadow stretches all across the stone terrace.

"I promised Mr Troy I'd watch." She twists her hips so Ted can see her petting her mound.

Ted clears his throat. "You're not shy are you?"

Kate giggles huskily. "Hippy parents. And grandparents. Life's too short for inhibitions." She shoulder-shoves him. "And, I totally trust you."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I guess. Marilyn, by the way. That's who could play you." (He's right, too.)

"Oh fuck right off." She slaps his arm, but tucks hair behind her ear and glows. Her slap leaves a wet patch on his skin.

They watch Deshawn dip up and down, up and down. Kate resumes "supporting" her boss. She enjoys Ted sneaking peeks at her rude work. She licks her fingers. "I won't be offended if you want to join me? I mean for our bosses sake and all?"

"How will they know?"

"The universe will know. And Mr Troy needs all the help he can get. I really like your penis by the way."

"Thank you, again, but I think the universe is gonna be more charmed by your support than mine. What's wrong with Troy?"

"It doesn't help that he worships Ms Ji-Lim. But more importantly, he hates going down, and the script is kind of an all-you-can-eat-buffet."

"Huh. My boss is the same. She never goes down, either."

"Really? Oh no. Poor Mr Troy." She glances at Ted's straining erection. "Poor you."

Then Yoon appears at the far end of the pool, fabulous in the short white kaftan and gold belt. The flowing, irregular hem accentuates her muscular thighs as she struts toward Deshawn with catwalk bravado. Only I can tell she's holding her breath and trembling. Deshawn looks up, mid pushup, his muscles popping and rippling in the sun. She bites back a smile, as if held back for fear of unleashing the full glory of her happiness. With a fluid sweep, she unfastens her belt and tosses her chain into the pool. Unleashed.

Troy bounces to his feet.