She had certainly had her share of lovers. From costars to the ubiquitous pool boy, she’d had her pick of them all.
Why, then, did this one guy make her feel so much? It was like he was in her head, even deeper than his fingers had been in her pussy. He taunted, he teased, he tormented, and her fascination with him only grew deeper. It was shocking to her that they’d only met just barely over a day ago, yet she was totally into him.
It was totally fucked up, really.
Then again, being Alexa Winston was fucked up. Sometimes she wondered what her life would look like if Allie Williams hadn’t served steamed clams to Barnett Allen when the famed producer had come to Portsmouth to scout locations for his next movie. Of course, she’d had no idea who he was, but he was taken with her. She’d thought it was a come-on, until she had discovered that his attraction for her was not sexual–his boyfriend showed up late for dinner and the two had billed and cooed at one another for the rest of the meal. He’d left her a generous tip, and his cell phone number scrawled on a napkin. Instructions to call him ASAP were underlined. And so she did, and now here she was, Allie Williams a memory, Alexa Winston in her place. Six movies, strings of sycophants, an agent, and an empty, lonely house in the hills. Sometimes she wondered which of them was emptier, her or her house.
Her cell, sitting on the table, rang. He’d left to go to the bathroom, Jeff the Cop, left her here alone. There must’ve been some sort of “keep away” mojo because no one had approached her here, sitting in the chair across from his vacant one, and waiting. She picked up the phone.
“Don’t talk, just follow directions. Nod if you understand. Good girl. Spread your legs. No, wider. Good girl.”
She wasn’t sure why those last two words gave her a little thrill.
“Lift your skirt just a bit.”
She scanned the room looking for where he was hiding.
“Do it, Alexa, or I’ll just go home.”
Her fingers curled up the hem of her skirt. A small bit of her swollen pussy was revealed.
“That’s a good girl.”
She was so fucking humiliated. She was desperately aroused.
“Put your fingers against your pussy. NOT in your hole, just against those swollen lips. Good. Press upwards…yes, your clit loves that, doesn’t it? Answer…nodding your head only. Yes. Good girl. Rub it. Rub your pussy for me. Just a little. I don’t want to have to perform cpr on anyone who happens to see you jerking off there in the corner…”
She flushed in the dusky light, but her fingers were busy. She was so close–her eyes were half closed, her breath came in hard little pants, and she wanted to close her legs tight against the hand rubbing her pussy so hard.
His voice came from her phone, and from right behind her. His hand took her phone, disconnected it.
Her fingers were wet, and she held them out with a question on her face. He took her hand, lifting it to his nose, sniffing deeply, which made her blush, before pressing the digits against her own mouth.
“Clean them up, now.”
While it was not the first time she’d ever tasted pussy, it was the first time she’d been watched…no–scrutinized–so intently. It was annoying that he could embarrass her this much. It had been years since anyone had.
She’d followed him back to her house. She’d expected him to come in, but he’d merely told her to park her car, and come back out to his.
Sliding into the seat beside him, nerves kicked in once more. Where was he taking her? What would he do to her? She could hardly wait to find out.