Videos And Sex, Sex, Sex Ch. 01

"Remember the game? What was it called?" I teased. "Oh, I remember – something along the lines 'You show me yours, I'll show you mine'. That's it, you show me yours, I'll show you mine."

"My what?" he said, in an almost blustering tone which may have worked well in his fucking studio office but cut no ice with me.

"Your fucking videotape, Zee," I snapped.

I saw the awful realisation flood across his face, but then I again gave him the silent "Shush" and pressed the play button. The upstairs window on the side of his home came into view. I'd fast forwarded to a relevant point. Up on the screen came a giant image of his cock, his fingers sliding up and down the shaft, pre-cum oozing from his helmet, gleaming down his erection.

"It's what they call in Hollywood a 'sneak' preview, isn't it, Zee?" I asked him. Then I hit the pause button, revealing a frozen picture of his cock, a little glob of pre-cum falling from his hood.

"Now, before we play the rest, you go back home, fetch the videotape you made of me and get back here, pronto, Zee," I snapped, my voice brooking no defiance.

I'll give him his due. He made absolutely no pretence, no "I don't know what you're talking about" nonsense, but he wasn't giving in lightly.

"OK, it's blackmail, is it Sharon?" he smiled. "Well, I'll have you run out of this fucking town."

Nice try, but, as they say, no cigar.

"For starters, my dear Zee, it's not blackmail," I informed him. "And for seconds, if you dare think you're going to 'run me out of this fucking town' as you so quaintly put it, I've got so many high-powered lawyer friends your ass won't hit the ground if I decide to play rough.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do. On Monday, you're taking me to lunch in that swanky restaurant up in the Valley that's been getting the rave reviews, I'm sure you know it.

"After lunch we're going to a motel room I've already booked up there and we're going find better things to do with that piece of meat than standing at a bedroom window and stroking it while perving on your next door neighbour.

"Now get thatfuckingtape."

Suddenly he caved in. He nodded his head, glanced at the freeze framed shot of his massive cock on the screen, then almost sprinted from the house.

I went to the drinks cabinet and poured him a big balloon of brandy and waited. It was true about the restaurant – I'd already booked lunch for 12.30 on Monday afternoon, but I was going to have to check out the available motels in the area.

ZeeZee came back, panting, holding a cassette in his hand. He handed it silently to me, then spotted the balloon of brandy and walked firmly to it, and drained it in one gulp.

"There's a good boy," I said, reassuringly. "Now, let's watch the first tape – the one I took of you. Oh, and Zee?"

He looked at me from his position in the center of the couch. "Yes, Sharon?" he replied, his voice soft and low, almost cowed.

"I think it would be nice if you stripped off and masturbated to what we're going to watch. You can stroke yourself while watching yourself stroke yourself, if you get my drift," I laughed.

He looked hesitant, so I went for his jugular. "Out of your fucking clothes," I almost screamed, "and start stroking!"

He nodded, pulled off his Polo shirt, then stepped out of his shorts and kicked off his boat shoes. His cock was jutting hard against the material of his thong.

"Thong off," I snapped, "a thong is clothing in this house."

The thong came off and his cock stood up to attention. The pervert was getting off, bowing to my authority. Great – I simplyadoresubmissives!

"Feet apart, wider," I snapped, stepping from my chair and moving behind him. I traced a palm across his bunched buttocks, they felt fine.

"Very spankable buttocks, Zee," I said, quietly. "You know I'd love to get a paddle to work on them, bring a little red to that delightfully brown tan. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His reply was husky. "Yes, Sharon, I would."

I grinned. "Thought so," I said, reaching between his thighs and cupping his heavy balls. "Shit, these are heavy, Zee, you got a lot of spunk sitting in there?"

He gulped: "Yes, Sharon, it's because of you. You're so lovely."

I kissed him softly on his left shoulder blade. "Course I am," I said, "and don't you forget it. Now, get wanking."

And as his hand started to work on his stiff shaft, I pressed the pause button to reactivate the tape. It was all there, his masturbating, his filming me as he did so, then putting the camera down and trapping his spunk in his foreskin when he climaxed.

"I've never seen that before, Zee," I told him. "Do you always come like that? Holding the spunk in your foreskin, I mean?"

ZeeZee's body gave a slight shudder as if he was ashamed at the way he came. "No, Sharon," he said in a low voice, "I only did it because I didn't want to mess up in Stazee's bedroom."

My hand fell from his ball sac. "That's disgusting, you perve on me from your own daughter's bedroom?" I said.

"It's got the best view over your pool area," he confessed, in a hushed voice.

I re-wound the tape, then ejected it and picked up his cassette. "Keep stroking!" I commanded, as I pushed his film efforts into the machine.

The video started with me, legs wide apart, stroking myself on the tiny little strip that covered my sex. The camera roamed over my body and I have to admit that, yes, I looked fucking superb!

"Shit, I look good, don't I?" I said, more a comment to myself than to my masturbating next door neighbour.

"You look wonderful, Sharon," said the 55-year-old, in a deep, low voice, his eyes glued to the screen, as the camera roved over my sex trench, my thighs, my breasts.

Then came the bit where I took off the "bra". Again the camera concentrated on my breasts, the nipples thick and engorged.

ZeeZee started to groan – fuck, he was near climax!

"Halt!" I shouted, pressing the "pause" button on the remote controller, and his hand fell from his shaft.

Now to turn the screws. "Right, Monday we'll meet at the restaurant, nice lunch, you're paying. Then to the motel. I've put down a deposit, but you're paying. You will owe me $150. Make sure you've got cash on you, I know you fucking Hollywood types."

I looked at him, cock still waving stiffly in proud erection. "Right, fun's over for tonight," I announced. "Get dressed, get home and don't you dare masturbate between now and Monday afternoon."

He nodded, almost mournfully, I thought. "My tape?" he asked.

"Correction, you perverted old voyeur, Zee," I laughed. "It'smytape now. OK, off you go – and remember, no wanking!"

I walked him to the door, opened it, leaned against him so he could feel the firmness of my breasts against his upper torso and gave him a fleeting kiss full on the mouth. Then he was gone.

Sunday, I had a leisurely breakfast, then drove up into the Valley and entered the restaurant car park. I then drove out, seeking a suitable motel. I came across one a 10-minute drive from the swanky eatery. It had high trees alongside the road, and double parking places beside each unit.

I rang the bell on reception and an oily looking old bastard looked me over, saw money written all over me and smiled, revealing disgusting nicotine-stained teeth.

"I want to look at one of your units," I told him, "the far one. I might want to rent it tomorrow."

He leered as if to say "I know what you're up to, lady" and handed me a key. "Have a good look around," he said, "it's vacant."

It was vacant, it was clean and tidy, and it was the most secluded of the cabins at the motel. It was, therefore, perfect for both my and ZeeZee's needs.

I tossed the key back on the motel's reception desk, told Mr Disgusting Teeth I'd take it, and plumped down $50 to hold it for Monday. "I'll be in an out on Monday morning and afternoon, checking out late on Monday afternoon," I told him.

"You can come and go like a yo-yo, ma'am," he said, "your money is good with me."

I checked in, calling myself Mrs June Smith and giving a fictional address in Carson City.

He barely glanced at the entry, but looked long enough to add, slyly, "Thanks a million, MrsSmith," he leered, and I left.

Back home in the Hills, I called a man who did – make that still does – a lot of work for my ex, Mr Shithead. "Julio," I told him, "I want to borrow one of your video cameras that can do a good job in a curtained motel room. Can do?"

The eavesdropping expert said "Sure can" and I arranged to meet him at the motel unit at 10 o'clock Monday morning. Things were coming along nicely.

Monday morning, I called ZeeZee at home, just around breakfast. "It's all organised," I told him, "see you at the restaurant at midday. Table's booked in your name. Don't be late, I hate to be kept waiting."

I could almost see his tongue hanging out when he said he had no intention of being late.

I dressed in a gleaming lime green dress, which clung to my figure like a second skin. Beneath it, I wore the same green creation I had when the Hollywood big shot had perved on me. On my feet I slipped a pair of black Manolo Blahnik high heels. I looked worth a million bucks, and fair enough, because I was worth a lot more than that!

Up in the valley, I parked beside the unit I'd chosen, walked to the office where an ugly slattern had replaced Mr Disgusting Teeth – different sex, same teeth. She handed me the key, I handed her the balance of the money.

Soon, Julio arrived in his Dodge Viper, got out carrying a large hat box and we entered the room. Removing the lid of the box he showed me a smart-looking little recording camera. A small hole had been cut in the side of the box to take the lens.

"This'll do the job," said Julio, who had been working on undercover and surveillance equipment for as long as I had been married to Mr Shithead. He replaced the lid, put the box up on a ledge some five feet above the floor, checked the recorder was pointing into the bedroom, then showed me how to operate it.

"See this here tassel leading from the top of the box?" he said. "Inside is a button. Get here before the 'trick', press the button and it'll record everything that goes on in her for three hours."

"Will it make any noise?" I asked, impressed at how simple it was to operate.

"Not a peep," said Julio. "You can play the radio, but not loud, and we'll get every precious word of it as clear as a bell."

"And the picture quality?" I asked, as he fiddled around with the camera.

"You'll have the curtains drawn, I take it?" Julio asked.

"I hadn't planned on displaying myself to half the San Bernardino Valley," I told him.

"Sure," he grinned, "but leave the two lamps going on the bedside tables, that'll give us plenty of light to work with. I can tweak it, if you like, when you've finished shooting."

And then he was gone. I removed my dress, slipped off the thong, then lay back on the bed, gave myself a quick finger fuck, then freshened up for my lunch appointment.

I arrived at the restaurant and the lady carrying menus big enough to print the downtown Los Angeles phone book in, took me to a table against the wall where my lunch date was almost drooling.

"Great outfit," he said, rising as I settled in my seat. I placed my shoulder bag on the table. "Great bag," he said, spotting the Prada insignia.

"There's something inside for you," I said. "Take a peek, but don't remove it unless you want to be embarrassed in front of the rest of the room."

ZeeZee peeked inside the bag and saw my leather paddle. "Oh shit," he said, "that looks great."

"You'll think it's even greater when I lay it across your ass," I promised.

We lunched. He ordered two dry martinis and cracked an old joke. "You know that martinis are like breasts?" he asked.

"How's that?" I asked, allowing him to come out with the old chestnut.

"One's not enough, but three is too many," he smirked.

"That's new," I said, coolly, "never heard that before."

I chose the wine – although I know fuck all about it, as you know, but I looked for the most expensive thing on the menu, a vintage Krug champagne, and picked that. Not because I wanted to, but because Icould. ZeeZee didn't turn a hair.

After he'd flashed his black Amex card, I told him to follow well behind me on the way to the motel, gave him the cabin number and said: "Knock on the door five minutes after you get there." I needed time to get undressed and start the videotape – and not in that order.

I got into the room, drew the curtains across, put the bedside lights on, pressed the button hidden in the tassel's handle, then hung my dress in the wardrobe, took the paddle from my bag and waited for him. One minute later, he knocked on the door and I let him in.

"Strip, clothes in the wardrobe, then kneel up on the bed, I want to spank your ass," I told him, going into the "boss bitch" role immediately.

ZeeZee hardly took his eyes off my little green creation as he stripped and when he finally stood nude before me, his eight-inch cock was thick and hard, pointing in the direction of my chin.

"Fuck, Sharon, you look great," he said, with a sort of parched voice.

"Kneel on the bed, facing the wall," I snapped, and the swaying-cocked mogul climbed up on it and pushed his buttocks out to greet my paddling implement.

I kicked off my Manolo Blahniks and knelt alongside him, my breasts facing his side. I took his erection in my right hand and with the paddle in my left hand laid it on his buttocks.

"Now beg me for it, Zee!" I ordered.

"Please spank me, Sharon, I need it," he pleaded.

I started to stroke his cock as I brought the paddle down across both his cheeks with a satisfying "Whommmp".

"That nice, darl?" I inquired, giving him another "Whommmp".

"It's fantastic," he breathed, as my palm rubbed across the helmet of his hard-on, getting a fair amount of pre-cum on it. I pressed it against his mouth and he licked the creamy substance from me.

"Stella do this to you, baby?" I asked, after giving him another "Whommmp" – shit, I loved the sound it made.

"Hell no," panted ZeeZee, "no fuckin' way. I have to pay for this."

How true, I thought, delivering another cut of the paddle, how true.

"You go to a professional dominatrix?" I asked, waiting with eager anticipation in the quiet of the room.

"Yep," he said, "I go to a big-busted black girl."

"Oh, the old black bitch syndrome," I laughed, giving him another smack. "She sit on your face, Zee?"

"She sure does," he said, "big smelly ass, lush pussy lips, I love it."

This was going so well!

"Ilovesitting on a man's face," I told him. "But first he must be spanked!"

"Yeah," said the now-perspiring movie mogul, "give it to me, baby, give it to me."

I did, another dozen or so blows, then I decided to give the camera something else to focus on. Throwing the paddle down on the mattress, I pulled him round until he was facing me.

Taking the "cups", which in reality were just little wisps of material, at my big boobs I pulled them away, revealing my erect nipples to the gaze of his big brown eyes. "Suck 'em, baby, suck 'em," I hissed, and he went to work, his mouth hungrily sucking and licking at the hardness, his hands roaming over my bare buttocks.

As ZeeZee lapped at my breasts, I pulled off the thong, grabbed his cock and placed it against my shaved snatch. "Now fuck me, baby, fuck me," I cried, pushing him onto his back.

ZeeZee's erection was thick and inviting and I turned my back on him, squatted over his cock and positioned myself carefully before sliding down and covering his manhood.

The movie man sat up, cupping my breasts in his hands as I slid up and down on his eight-inch penis. "Fuck this is a great cock," I said, "I bet you use this on the casting couch all the fuckin' time."

He nuzzled his lips against my throat and gave away even more of himself to the sound recorder. "I have to beat 'em off with a stick," he panted, one hand now moving over my mons to tweak my clitoris.

"Yeah, I know," I panted, getting aroused despite myself, "an eight-inch stick, eh Zee?"

"Hey, babe," he said, as if I was accusing him of murder, "can't help it if I'm a babe magnet."

I pulled off him, then and saw the his foreskin had been dragged down to the ring by the tightness of my cunt over his shaft.

I knelt, lowered my breasts and let them flick across his erection, then took him in my mouth – not all of him, just the top half of the shaft. It wasn't too bad, I love the taste of my pussy on a man's cock.

His hand held me down. "That's it baby, suck me, you know what I want," he sighed, laying back and stroking my hair as I worked on his stiffness.

Enough fellatio, I thought, then climbed back on him, this time in the dominant position, so I could kiss him hungrily on the mouth in mock lust. Actually, he wasn't a bad kisser.

Then I raised my breasts so he could suck my nipples as I thrust and bounced to an orgasm. It was OK, I've had better, but I sure as hell have had worse.

When I calmed down – it didn't take too long – I lay beside him, stroking his still rigid cock.

"And how does Mr Movie Mogul enjoy his climax?" I asked, and I fluttered my eyelashes at him, honest to goodness, I swear that's the truth.

"I've got a thing about tit fucks," he said.

Well, surprise, surprise. You'd be amazed – well, perhaps you wouldn't – at the number of men who, when they've seen your superstructure, just drool at the thought of a tit fuck.

I deliberately lay across the bed, so the camera could film his profile as he laid his body onto my upper chest, his cock sliding smoothly between my twin mounds, then started to stroke slickly up and down in the valley.

Soon there was a slick trail of pre-cum smeared between my breasts, then he started to grunt and groan. Next, he levered himself up on his hands and placed his eight-inch ramrod against my lips.

Reluctantly, I opened wide and I'd hardly closed my lips against his throbbing shaft than he'd pumped a glob of spunk into my mouth and down my throat, then another, much smaller shot. Then he was done.

He rolled from me, panting and perspiring. "Shit, Sharon," he gasped, "you're one superb fuck. Thank-you so much."

I swallowed his come down, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks, stud," I said, still playing my part – shit, I deserved a fuckin' Oscar. "You're not so bad yourself.

"Now, you gonna apologise for that blackmail crack on Saturday night?"

"Hell yes," he grinned, "you know I am."

"Good," I said, "now you can give me $200 for this room, take a quick shower and I'll see you later. I'll check us out, OK?"

He nodded and far too quickly, I thought, showered, dressed, pecked me on the cheek, whispered "Same time, same place, next Monday?" and walked to the door.

"Let's not push things, Zee," I warned him. "We'll see how it pans out. You can call me, see how I'm placed."

"Don't keep me in suspense, babe," he almost pleaded. "They way you wield the spanking paddle is so fuckin' brilliant, my buttocks can't wait for more."

"Down, tiger, down," I grinned, pushing him on his chest, "or I'll want to do it to you all over again." Perish the thought.

ZeeZee nodded, then walked out into the blazing sunshine, fired up his sporty little Maserati, and was gone.

I walked into the bathroom, took a mouthwash from my bag and swallowed some down with a glass of water. His semen hadn't been that bad, I'd tasted worse, but it wasn't quite on a par with the Krug, to tell the truth.

Then I looked at myself in the mirror. Fuck, I looked sexy, no wonder he fancied me! Back in the bedroom, I drew the curtains, switched off the bedside lights and walked to the hat box, with its long tassel.

I pressed the button to halt the recording.