Star Slave (3 page)

‘Shhh, my angel. You'll love it, I promise. Just lie still.

Leave it all to me.' Those full breasts, the large areolae and erect nipples darkened by the cosmetic, standing out against the creamy paleness, hung over her until she could feel their soft warmth brushing against her own, lesser, rising rounds. The fingers slid beneath the elastic at Felicity's hips, slowly pulled down the black satin briefs, determinedly easing them past the restriction of hips and buttocks against the cushions. Felicity was aware as never before of her nudity when those hands slipped the tiny garment down and off her feet. Even though she closed her eyes, she could see vividly the dramatically highlighted slopes and angles of her frame, the carefully trimmed triangle of her pubis, shadowed against the pallid hollow of belly and thighs, bathed in the warmth of the light spilling over them.

Stella's moist lips covered hers again and held her mouth softly, possessively, until Felicity was ready to fight for her breath. She gulped as the mouth moved, fastened instead on her right nipple, suckling it into the warm wetness, the rolling tongue, and her shoulders lifted, arched upwards as she lost the control she had been fighting to cling onto through these last endless minutes. ‘Jesus, Stella,' she cried urgently, squirming under the pinning weight. ‘Christ, I can't... don't...' Her cry rose sharply as a hand touched the inside of her knee, swept up over the smoothness of her thigh to its confluence with her belly and the moist centre of her desire. The fingers touched the folds of damp tissue and her hips jerked, lifted, shocked and roused beyond measure.

‘And cut!' Ally's voice rang out crisply, just as Felicity's thighs and scrabbling hand clamped over Stella's wrist. The fingers fluttered, caressed her again, and again Felicity yelped. She suddenly found herself sobbing, unable to stop herself, and her naked partner leaned over her tenderly, holding her.

Felicity tried to wriggle free. She was agonisingly aware again of the lights and the crew, and that all seeing lens. ‘You - you touched me up!' she gasped, in genuine horror. ‘You assaulted me!'

She managed to sit up at last and drew her legs up to her chest, her shoulders bent forward as she crossed her arms over her breasts. She was trapped by Stella, still sitting by her side on the edge of the couch. She squinted up against the bright lamps, the tears channelling through the thick make-up. ‘Can I have my robe, please?'

She felt as though she was burning up, striving to cling to the shattered threads of her dignity. Viv came forward swiftly and handed her the towelling robe. ‘Do you mind?' she fumed at Stella, who smiled easily and, at last, moved so that Felicity could swing her feet down to the floor and pull the robe on. Stella was standing over her, superbly unselfconscious about her nudity. The sandy fleece of her pubis was inches from Felicity's hot face, and she averted her eyes hastily. Stella's dresser appeared and held a robe out while the blonde shrugged into it with a casual ease of movement.

‘That was magnificent, ladies!' Ally crowed, reaching out to pat them simultaneously on their shoulders. ‘We'll break there. Have an early lunch. You've earned it.'

Felicity made a great effort to stop her tears. She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. ‘You can't print that,' she said, hating the shocked, adolescent squeak she could not keep from her voice.

‘We might have to edit a little,' the director said breezily. ‘But it was superb. Exactly what I wanted. Bless you, my children.'

‘She - she practically raped me! She actually...' her choked words faded away. Felicity felt the tears spring to life again, felt both ridiculous and degraded by the whole business. ‘I didn't realise we were making a porno movie!'

‘
Baby
...!' Ally's cry was a drawn out protest. ‘It was beautiful. It was sheer magic. You wait till you see it. It was art, darling. Poetry. There won't be a dry eye in the house.'

‘Or a dry crotch!' one of the crew called, to guffaws from the outer darkness. Ally shuddered dramatically and rolled his eyes heavenwards in that characteristic gesture which denounced them all as Philistines.

Felicity walked off to her dressing room, trying hard not to flounce. Her mind was a whirl of conflict. What a jerk they would all think her, losing it like that. Like some bloody little Julie Andrews getting her wimple in a twist. But really! Stella had no right to feel her up like that. Right there, on set, in full view of... God, it could be sixteen million viewers. Not that they would ever let it go out like that. Of course not. It wasn't a hard core blue, after all. But she still did it. It was there, in the can for plenty of people to lech over, even if it did end up on the cutting room floor. And that bunch of pervs that called themselves a crew. They'd never stop talking about it now. She'd heard them before, going on and on.

She sat in front of the long mirror and smeared cream thickly over her face. Viv came in and pulled a sympathetically rueful face. ‘Did I make a fool of myself?' Felicity asked abruptly, and Viv shook her head at once.

‘Not at all. It was all highly charged stuff out there. I don't know how you do it, honest to God. Not even for a fortune.'

‘I'm not making all that much,' Felicity quipped gamely.

The door opened with no preceding knock, and Stella stood there, looking contrite. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't tell you before.'

‘What? That you were going to grope me for real for the benefit of the ratings? You realise you blew the whole thing? My lines, the rehearsal- the whole thing just went out of my head! The lot! We'll have to do it all again.'

‘No, sugar, we won't. Ally says it was great. It was just what he wanted. He says we can dub out the odd word, if need be.'

A deep suspicion entered Felicity's mind. She wiped her face with a tissue, turned, and stared at the blonde woman with dawning accusation. ‘Did you... you knew, didn't you? And so did Ally. You planned it! Touching me up like that! Didn't you?'

The question came out as a harsh screech. Stella gazed coolly back at her. ‘Viv, would you get me a sandwich, please? One of those chicken salad things. There's a good girt'

Viv knew she was being dismissed, and hurried out. Felicity felt that childish surge of petulant anger again. ‘I didn't know Viv was your dresser.'

‘Oh, for Christ's sake, Felicity. Come on, let's cut the crap. We can't go on like this. Pussyfooting around, pretending to have the hots in front of the cameras. You're gorgeous, baby, and you know it. Let's give it a real try, eh? You can be Kathy. You
are
Kathy. And I'm Stella.' She laughed softly. ‘It's neat how they picked my real name, eh, Kath? Give it a go, kiddo. I swear you'll love every minute.'

As she spoke she came close, caught Felicity by the lapels of her gown and pulled her to her feet. The hands moved, pushed the cloth aside, baring Felicity's shoulders and breasts. She pulled the cord at Felicity's waist and the robe fell open to reveal the nakedness beneath. Felicity was suddenly incapable of movement. The hands moved again, pushed the robe free altogether, and it fell to curl about Felicity's feet.

Stella was smiling, tenderly, triumphantly, as she put her arms around the slender figure and drew her closer. Felicity felt the rough material of Stella's gown against her flesh. Tardily, she began to struggle, half-heartedly, not even turning her head to avoid the kiss Stella planted on her mouth. Their tongues wound together. Stella held her until Felicity thought she would faint. Her entire body shook and her insides felt hollow. She was panting and quivering when Stella finally released her, and she gulped in great sobbing draughts of air. She stared at the smiling figure, her dark eyes brilliant with tears, helpless in their naked appeal.

‘See?' Stella purred triumphantly. ‘You'll love it, sweety. You know you will!' She turned, with that deep chuckle, and walked out, leaving the naked and trembling girl still standing there, unable to move.

 

‘I tell you, John, she's a raging dyke! She's done nothing but try to get me into bed since we started. Though God knows why! She's ravishing me all over the set, with the whole fucking crew cheering her on!'

John stretched out on the luxurious sofa, watching her move agitatedly about the living room, drink in hand. She looked even more appetising in the simple outfit of dark brown tank-top and slacks of the same colour. They fitted skintight over her slim flanks and John could discern no trace of a panty line. But then, he knew from recent experience that she generally wore G-string briefs, the rear thong nestled invisibly in the crack of her cute little behind.

‘I don't know what Michael will do when he finds out,' she went on, coming over to sit beside him, half turned towards him with one leg tucked underneath her. ‘Probably tell me to get lost on the spot. You'll never guess what Stella and Ally's latest idea is.' Her eyes were huge as they regarded him over the rim of her glass. She paused a little for effect. ‘They only want me to come - to have a real orgasm for them, on camera!'

A grin spread over his face. ‘How?'

‘What do you mean, how?'

‘I mean how,' he insisted, laughing aloud. ‘How are they proposing to blow your top? Is it to be self-induced, or what?'

‘No. Stella will actually do it. Get me all worked up, then they'll move in and film the last bit - the critical bit.' In spite of her shock, she could not help a small snigger herself. ‘Just Ally and the cameraman, they say. As if that makes any difference.' The snigger was replaced by a frown. ‘She's absolutely determined to have me. If she can't get me on her own, she'll do it in front of the camera. I'd no idea she was such ales.'

‘Oh, come on. You must have had an inkling.'

‘No. Honestly, I swear.' She leaned forward and punched his arm. ‘And stop laughing!' she pouted. ‘It isn't funny! Just because you're a swinger—'

He caught hold of her wrist and held her. ‘Hey. Watch it. Don't jump to conclusions, coz. Shouldn't you be telling all this to your beloved? He'll have to know sooner or later. He's the one you should be baring your heart to.'

‘I can't face him these days. I haven't seen him at all since Wednesday. And he's away again all next week. Thank goodness. That shows you how bad I feel at the moment.' She stopped twisting to escape his grip and let herself droop towards him, so that their brows met. ‘Anyway, be nice to me, John. You're the only one I can talk to. I need comforting, old chum. Don't be nasty to me, eh?' She purred, moving her face against his, her lips nuzzling in tiny kisses about his mouth and chin.

‘Why don't you try it?' he grinned, squinting at her. ‘You know what they say - don't knock a thing until you've tried it.'

She lifted her head, momentarily diverted. ‘What? With Stella? Get lost. I'm not lest'

‘How do you know? You might love it. Have you ever tried it?'

She blushed a little, remembering certain childhood experiences with school mates she'd never divulged to him. She shook her head vigorously. ‘Tell you what,' he continued, in that same teasing tone, ‘just imagine I'm Stella, right? Or any other girl who takes your fancy.'

She snorted in laughing protest, but he pushed her down on the sofa and began plucking at her slacks. He found the zip and opened her flies, revealing the little triangle of black silk which just covered her mound. He moved, leaning over her, beginning to nibble gently at her, and let his hand slide down inside the briefs, stretching them as his fingers stroked the wiry curls adorning her lower belly, then found the damp flesh beneath.

She felt the spark of excitement kindling at once and shivered, stretching her feet out, slipping off the light sandals, her toes digging against the pile of the carpet. She could feel the tight silk cutting her as his hand worked more vigorously, and her labia swelled and parted a little. Crazily, her mind reran the scene on set once more, then switched as her imagination got to work. She was shocked at herself to find that the figure she visualised was an older woman, the crisply attractive Yvonne Lightman, her agent.

‘Don't,' she moaned, closing her eyes, sinking back into the cushions, her feet stirring in helpless little kicking movements. His hand was dragging the pants down off her pubis, which was on view now. His curling fingers were working, inside her, and she was growing ever more wet and roused at this powerful stimulation. She could feel her trousers scratching at her hips, and she lifted her buttocks slightly when he tugged at them, aiding him as he slipped them clear of her flanks. He left them dragging like bonds midway down her thighs, and she whimpered, ashamed at her melting hunger, the wetness, and the squelching of his fingers inside her. She felt helpless and humiliated by this undignified sprawl, lying back, her pants down at her knees, her knickers at half-mast.

‘Undress me properly,' she gasped, and impotently hated his mockingly victorious laugh.

‘I'm going to gobble you all up, little chicken,' he murmured.

She felt him pushing her thighs open until her legs were straining against the slacks, which did indeed cling like restraints, so that she imagined herself to be in bondage to the mystical figure consuming her. The fingers moved with wicked knowledge, seeking the most intimate responses of her secret flesh. Then he slid to the floor and his head dipped. His tongue glided over the pale flesh of her thighs, and then lapped at the salty fissure into which his fingers delved.