She fucked herself on his cock. She rode him like a cowgirl – bounding and pumping and flexing her muscles. She reached down and grabbed his balls and pulled on them, squeezing them till Ron almost cried out in pain, then ran her hands over his thighs and finally pressed on his abdomen, around the base of his cock, till she was reaching her orgasm and lifted her hands into the air.
"Fuck me! Fuck me!" She screamed and panted as she bounced her cunt up and down his thick hard dick. Ron gave no sign of excitement – except that his cock was ready to explode and his hands were clenched at his sides.
"I'm fucking your dick, you sadistic bastard! I'm fucking you! I'm commmmmiiiiiiiingggggggggggg!!" She slammed down hard on his cock and shook all over. She grabbed her hair and pulled and then screamed, "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"
She came. She reached a tremendous orgasm and her cunt twitched and hugged Ron's cock like it never had before. He felt the hot rush along his dick and he knew that he was close to shooting himself. He waited another minute, till Julie had quieted down some, till her head stopped spinning and his cock was resting deep within her cunt, and then he suddenly opened his eyes and looked up at her.
"Ron…" Julie whispered.
But before she could say anything, she was taken by surprise. She was going to ask him if she could suck him off, but instead he shot up – he sat up, pressing his face to her breasts and pumped his hips wildly. His cock shot off into her pussy with each move.
"Oh, Julieeeeeeeeeee," Ron groaned, as a sweet orgasm pumped from his cockhead. He felt the cream rushing along the walls of her cunt, dribbling down over his balls, filling her insides till there was no more room. He jerked his hips easily on the floor and she pushed down to meet him, feeling his load being pumped into her aching cunt. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly to her, and then, when he had finished, let him fall back to the floor.
Julie knelt there, with his softening dick still up her cunt, as Ron unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. He looked up into her eyes. "Love me?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, pulling up till his cock fell out of her dripping cunt. She put her head between his legs and started licking the juices from his cock, and balls, slurping up the cum and feminine fluids that had mixed in her pussy.
"You're right," Ron said.
Julie lifted her head from his balls. "What?"
"You're right about her voice. Better than her mother's."
"She'll be a star," Julie said, giving Ron a peck on the cheek.
"So will Terry," Ron added.
"He will. Ron, I think we've got the two biggest finds in show business in our hands," Julie said as she lit a cigarette, still sitting on the floor next to him.
"Only in our hands, Julie?"
Julie broke into giggles.
CHAPTER TWO
Ron and Julie Feldman had become, in seven years of hard work, two of the hardest working press agents in the business – and show business wasn't an easy business to hack. While they had achieved some success, it was not spectacular. Their clients worked, well and hard, and attained a certain amount of fame and standing in the business.
But they were after bigger gains – they needed a star, an idol or two. They wanted a boy and a girl. Their plans were to make the boy into the new David Cassidy, a teen idol adored by millions – which would make them million. They needed to touch the Hollywood industry as well as the New York-Chicago-Miami-Las Vegas scene that they were already very much a part of.
Their clients were mostly singers, nightclub stars, New York actors and actresses, and a few local TV personalities – soap opera types. They wanted the David Cassidy type to break into network television and films, which would open up anew area to them. They were doing well in the small time, but they weren't satisfied – they wanted to be in the big time.
And they wanted to be in the big time in another area also – the Las Vegas clubs. They wanted to handle a star of one of the finest showrooms – they wanted a headliner! They'd had enough of lounge acts and fillers for the real stars. They wanted their own.
Linda Travis was a "budding talent", destined to follow in her famous mother's footsteps. So said one critic after she had appeared at a small New York club. Shortly before her mother's death, she had joined the adored woman onstage during a concert, and together they had sung a medley of songs about love and friendship, stressing the theme that they were pals. But the truth was something else again.
Susan Travis had been a pill-popping, raving bitch who had no time for her daughter except to pose for publicity stills and when she was in the hospital either drying out or recovering from "food poisoning" – meaning another suicide attempt. Linda was perhaps destined to step into her mother's shoes, but she wasn't ready to be like the lady.
Her career had been going nowhere. She was riding along on her mother's fame. She'd tried a Broadway show which flopped – the critics said she was a triumph, the play a disaster – and now had found Ron and Julie to guide her career. They aimed for Vegas. Full time, main show, top money. She was the "totally new" Lindy Travis, who indeed was walking in her mother's footsteps and, as Ron hoped the critics would say, would walk beyond what her famous and talented mother had done.
She was a gentle girl, pretty, slim, with dark eyes and a heavy smile that she used only when sincere. There was nothing dishonest about her. She was a workhorse, a glutton for punishment when it came to her career, and lately she had been spending her days doing nothing but rehearsing her act for the Vegas opening. Ron had worked fast, hustling his ass all over Vegas, Miami and New York, cashing in on the emotional image of the girl's dead-but-still-loved mother. The money had come. The director was hired, the dancers ready, the songs selected, the date get. Rehearsal to perfection was the word now.
Lindy came home to her small apartment, fed her cat, turned on the TV and curled up on the couch with a sandwich she'd picked up at the deli. It had been a rough day, and she hadn't had much sleep the night before – she was addicted to old movies, and she'd often take a pill to keep her up, but then would have trouble falling asleep. Now and then she took a Valium, which relaxed her, or a Nembutal, to make her sleep – but not too many. She remembered her mother well. She remembered her mother overdosed on Seconal.
She ate her sandwich as she watched a re-run of I Love Lucy. Lucy was in Hollywood with Ricky and Fred and Ethel – and they were hysterically funny. Just as the show ended, the phone rang.
"Hello," she said, still chewing on her pastrami-on-rye.
"Lindy, this is Gerry. You took my script by mistake – can you check?"
Lindy looked at the script she had carried home. Sure enough, a chorus script, not hers. "Gerry, yeah, it's yours. I'm sorry. I grabbed the last one on the table."
"My fault, I had grabbed yours. Can I bring it over and switch?"
"Sure, great, I'm just watching TV."
"Ten minutes. 'Bye." Click.
Gerry was one of the dancers in the show, who also had a few lines in a skit with Lindy about Women's Liberation. She had grown to like the boy in the week they had been working together, although they weren't close by any means. Most of the kids were afraid to approach her – because of her famous mother, she seemed like something not quite real. They had grown up reading about her and now they were working, with her – or was it for her? – and it was a strange position to be in.
But Gerry was different – warm, outgoing, as if the "star's daughter" complex hadn't hit him or didn't faze him. And Lindy liked that.
Just as Casablanca started, Gerry arrived. Lindy let him in and immediately said, "You must remember this…"
Gerry looked at her strangely. "What?"