The Hinky Bearskin Rug (17 page)

The soles of
her feet tingled. Randy. Waiting for her.

Looking over
her shoulder, Jewel slipped out of her underthings. She laid them carefully on
top of her folded clothes.

Then she knelt
on the rug.

Lust hit her
so hard that she slumped onto her side. Fake bear hair tickled her nose. She
had just enough time to roll onto her back, and then she was sinking into
demonspace, her arms outstretched and clutching for the man she’d come to
rescue.

She found
herself standing in the sound booth again, looking out of the long window while
a technician beside her tweaked the console. In the studio, colored lights
played over a naked man standing center-stage.

She looked
closer at the man on the stage. Randy.

She was so
relieved, she was out the door and into the studio before it occurred to her
that she was naked and barefoot. The lighting man circled Randy, calling out
numbers. His helper aimed bright lights at him from all sides. Randy backed
away from her as she approached. Her heart thumped anxiously.

But then he
lounged back on a divan covered in a tiger-print velvet throw.

A man stepped
between her and Randy.
Hold still,
he
commanded, and, impatient, she stopped, her eyes on Randy. The man steadied her
with one hand on her shoulder and tickled her all over with a thick powdery
makeup brush: earlobes, neck, chin, cheekbones, nipples, inside her elbows, on
the tops of her thighs.

She ignored him.
She didn’t want to lose sight of Randy. She was almost ready to pull free when
the makeup man released her.

She took four
steps closer to Randy, and then a voice called out,
Stop.

She stopped.

Turn
around.

She turned.
The lights blinded her.

Men swooped in
with lights and cameras.

Chin
up. Look left. Lick your lips. Bend backward and to the right.

She did these
things, realizing that Randy hadn’t moved. In fact, he was waiting for her.

It was all
arranged.

These men with
their tickly brushes and their lights and angles and microphones were not here
to keep them apart. In fact, they planned to bring her together with Randy.

Her nipples
hardened. All over her body, her skin tightened, as if her insides were
swelling with every breath, making her sweat.

Snatches of
conversation came through the buzzing in her ears.

Nice even breasts. Watch that shadow.

Better?

Yes. More powder.

Someone
skittered the brush over her breasts. She let her eyes drift half-shut.

Lift
the left one.

She was barely
listening. A warm hand lifted her left breast.

Now
the right.

Two hands,
lifting her breasts.

Thank you. Turn?

Fingertips
turned her. She realized her eyes were closed. She opened them to see Randy
sitting up on the edge of the divan, his hands on either side of him, his gaze
on her lower body.

He said,
May we have some oil on her cunny before
penetration?

Suddenly she
realized someone else was touching her breasts. Strange eyes were watching her.
She looked around wildly, staring into the face of the makeup man behind her.

He was Randy.

She looked
from cameraman to boom operator to director.

Randy.

Randy.

Randy.

She looked at
the window of the sound booth. The sound man inside, Randy of course, put thumb
and forefinger together.

She put her
hand on her throat.

I’m
in demonspace. He can be anyone.

Randy the
director spoke.
Here is the story. You
are an actress. You have never performed in one of these films before. You will
do what you are told. You will attempt everything, however strange. At first,
you may resist, but you will do it.

Fingertips
nudged her knees apart.
Farther, please,
Randy the makeup artist said, breathing on her hipbone. She felt a cool spritz
of oil on her pussy.

Randy the
director rose from his chair and walked in a slow circle around the divan where
Randy the actor sat.
Your leading man is
experienced. You have feelings for him, but you try not to show them. You must
pretend you have never done any of these things before.
As he passed behind
her he leaned forward, his lips close to her ear.
You will love every moment of it.

Randy the
director circled to stand before her, bigger and darker than she remembered,
his long hair tied back in a ponytail and his eyes black with focus. She felt
her knees buckle.

Do you understand?

She nodded.

You may say, ‘Yes.’ That is your only
line. May we have the line?

She wet her
lips.
Yes.

Randy the
cameraman leaned over his machine, his ponytail swinging forward.

Randy the boom
operator moved the microphone until it almost touched her lips.

Yes,
she said, and after that it was easy.

Randy the
cameraman looked at Randy the director, who strode lithely to his chair and
sat.

Action,
he commanded.

Randy the
actor stepped forward and took her hand. She went with him to the divan.
You are lovelier naked than clothed,
he
said.
I think I shall always fuck you
naked.

Yes,
she said obediently.

They lay back
on the divan and he put both his hands around her throat, then stroked downward
firmly, as if squeegeeing water off her torso. Her bones turned to butter.
Tentatively, she slid her hand up his knee. He smiled. He rolled against her,
slapping her thigh with his erection. It was easily as long as Sancho’s. He
handed her a condom.

From far away,
she heard his voice say,
With your mouth,
my dear.

She opened the
condom and capped his erection with it.

Have you ever fellated a man before
witnesses?
Randy the
actor murmured.

She was going
on record. Everyone would know. She felt her skin shrink, then swell again. The
hot lights beat down.

Yes,
she said, though she hadn’t.

She bent,
using her lips and tongue to roll the condom down over him. He was huge. Never
again would she laugh when a guy said ‘ten inches.’ With her jaw stretched wide
and her tongue working over the length of him, she was conscious of the light
blazing into her eyes, his fingers twisting in her hair, the barely audible
murmur of the director talking to someone else.

Her behind
heated up under the lights, hotter and hotter and hotter. Randy tightened his
fingers in her hair, and she forgot everything except getting him hard and
teasing him.

Okay, that’s enough,
the director said.
On your back, dear.

She let Randy
the actor push her back onto the divan.

Show
pink. Smile.

She spread her
knees wide, spread her labia with her fingers. She smiled up at Randy, who was
only a dark spot with a blaze of light behind him.

That’s it. In you go, Randy.

She sighed
with relief. She was so ready. He slid inside her and immediately began
pumping. Her stomach tightened, trying to balance on the divan, then her pussy
tightened and she almost passed out with lust. The light was so hot on her skin
that her private parts warmed — at least, the bits not covered by Randy.

Relax,
he said in a soft voice, and she let
her head fall back over the other side of the divan and, daringly, put her arms
over her head, too, lying wide open, draped exposed over the divan sideways,
feeling Randy stroke in and out of her, feeling the lights burn her body.

The director
said something, but she ignored him.

Randy held her
thighs, impersonally holding her open while he drove in, in, in. Her eyelids
fluttered. She could still taste him. She licked her lips, thinking,
One million copies of this at twenty-nine
ninety-nine, one million horny men jacking off, pretending they can shoot it
over my body,
and arched her back into Randy’s thrusts.

—Do what she’s told,
the director was saying irritably.
Okay, slap her breasts.

Her eyes
opened just as Randy leaned down and slapped her breasts, left, then right,
left, right, sharp little stinging slaps that made her gasp and clench around
his cock. Her nipples were on fire. Randy pinched them, then pinched harder.
She spasmed, and would have clutched at his hands, but he spoke in that low
voice again.

Pretend
you like it. Lie back. Moan for me.

She growled
instead.

You like that,
he said aloud, roughly.
Don’t you.

She remembered
her line.
Yes!

He slapped her
breasts again, smaller slaps, but she felt them like hot brands, like ice cubes
held against her puckering nipples. She squirmed, snarled aloud, and thrashed
her dangling arms. She wished he would stop. She pretended a growl. He pinched
her nipples ever so gently, and the zing went down through her to the point
where he entered her body. She yelped.

Say yes,
Randy breathed.
Make it nice.

Yes!

Say yes.
He pumped harder.

Yes!

From far away
the director said,
What does it take to
get her to come? You two hold her wrists.

Hands circled
her wrists. The lights shone so bright in her eyes, she couldn’t see who held
her.

Randy slapped
her breasts again.

Suddenly it
wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t pretend. She had no purchase with her hands. Randy
shifted his grip to her ankles and held her legs straight, stretched wide,
never stopping that piledriver stroke. Her head hung down, her eyes blinded
half by her own hair and half by the lights, and the men on each side of her
pulled slightly, and all her muscles melted until she felt she was being pulled
slowly to pieces, like taffy.

That’s it. She’s losing control,
the director said confidently.
Plug this end.

No I’m not,
she would have said, but a cock slid
into her mouth, warm and fragrant, and stopped her throat, and still it kept
sliding in.

Suddenly Randy
thickened. Her vulva stretched. He was too thick, in a really good way.

Pink! I need pink!
the director screamed.

She was almost
there. So close.

Then Randy
pulled out.

She would have
screamed if she could have breathed.

The lights
intensified. Her pussy heated up. Her heart beat in her throat. She could feel
that cock in her mouth, bending with her throat,
now that’s impossible,
and then it started moving, in and out, in
and out, never letting her breathe,
why
don’t I pass out,
and panic filled her. She struggled against the hands
stretching her arms wide. She wanted to kill Randy for pulling out of her
pussy.

Then she felt
a finger sliding into her. She bucked.

Randy’s voice
whispered in her ear,
Say yes. You want
it. Say yes. What’s your line? Say it.

She couldn’t
breathe.

A second
finger joined the first.

Say
it. Say yes.

Her lips
worked. Her throat tightened around that cock sliding in and out of her mouth,
but never out far enough.

Three fingers.

She was
starting to throb.

Get ready,
Randy whispered in her right ear.

Okay, boys, give it to her!
yelled the director.

Get set,
Randy whispered in her left ear.

Four fingers,
stretching her.

Now suck, baby,
said Randy on her right.

Suck harder,
said Randy on her left.

The director
said,
Come on, somebody make her suck.
He was talking to her. She sucked, and the cock in her mouth slid all the way
down her throat, into her chest, and Randy put the tip of his cock against her
vulva and pushed past those four fingers to fill her tightly, and someone
slapped her breasts, left, right, pinch, pinch, and a firm thumb pressed down
on her trigger, and she burst open like a crack of lightning.

Sweating on
the bearskin rug, she screamed in the anechoic silence of the sound booth, just
to hear her own voice. That felt so good, she gave another scream.

When her voice
gave out, she stopped and lay panting against him. “That was too weird. Let’s
not do it again.”

“Very well.”
Her sex demon lay beside her, propped up on one elbow. He looked so solid and
hunky and real and familiar that her heart flipped over.

He looked into
her eyes. “You realize that was based on your prejudices, not upon reality. A
more authentic variant would be very different.”