I sighed softly as my heroine wandered off into the shady recesses of the courtyard, the aptly named Chihuahua trotting along behind her. Once upon a time, I too had been a big boob model, dancer and porn star, plying my trade under various aliases including Betsi Bouncee and Titty Boomboom.
"Are you all right, Colonel Shagfast?"
It looked as if the randy old goat had finally met his match in Sadie Brown. He still slumped against the impassive frontage of Tut, a glazed look in his eyes and a small damp patch on his baggy shorts. I was just about to suggest that perhaps we should give up the game and go find a nice reviving rum punch, when there was the crunching of gravel and a vehicle could be overhead, approaching up the rough track to the house.
"Quick! We'd better hide!"
Briskly, I maneuvered the Colonel and the moped into the deep shade of the surrounding trees. In just a matter of seconds a large white mini-van came to a halt in front of the ornate gates, which slowly swung open. At that moment, I made a reckless decision. I knew what was happening at Casa Melvin. It was not unusual for the owners of large and ostentatious houses in exotic locations to rent their property out to adult movie producers. A quick appraisal of the van's passengers only added fuel to my fire. I would just have to bluff it and mingle with the bounteously boobed. I gave the Colonel a swift peck on the cheek and slipped between the gates, shielded from the courtyard by the van.
"Lotta Dumplinz! Haven't seen you since Hamburg!"
"Sadie, you vixen. You keep a low profile for someone in this business. How heff you been, darlinck?"
I lurked behind a fake Corinthian column, watching, with growing amazement, an incredible scene unfolding before my eyes. It was like a Who's Who of the cream of the adult movie business. Lotta Dumplinz was a legend, a tall, sharp-featured impresario from Berlin, whose arty black and white BDSM films had won many awards. She was wearing her trademark Louise Brooks style wig, a thick, heavy coal black bob. Her lips and talons were a glossy blood red and she was obviously tightly laced into a stringent corset, despite the heat. I wondered just what kind of movie was in the pipeline. Lotta was no lightweight. The subsequent appearance of a grinning Dirk Dastardly confirmed my suspicions. Sadie was moving into the darker side of adult films. Dirk was a master with the flogger, whip and cane.
"Come along – get yourself naked, girl. We haven't got all day."
I was startled by the harsh voice immediately behind me. A tiny, rather disgruntled looking man sporting a camp sun visor and carrying a clipboard, prodded me in the ribs. Without pausing to draw breath, he continued:
"You must be Iota, the whipping girl. Lose your clothes and stand by the column with the rope."
"Yes, sir."
I wondered where the real Iota was and how severe a whipping she was scheduled to take. Well, I'd come that far… I slipped out of my skimpy top and wraparound skirt, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on my naked body. Maybe this was my last chance to make a comeback, and what a comeback, with a cameo part in a Lotta D. production. The dwarfish little man stomped off to harass a bevy of buxom beauties, who were switching their beachwear for mini-togas. Casa Melvin was to be the backdrop for a cruel Roman orgy. But no thigh-length toga for the whipping girl. Respectfully, I approached the column with the rope. Fortunately, it was shaded from the intense heat of the mid day sun. A lengthy flogging session followed by a bad case of sunburn would be just a bit much.
"Iota! There you are, darlink. Give Auntie Lottie a nice big kiss!"
Damn. It was too much to expect my ruse to work so easily. I surreptitiously stepped behind the column as a small, dark, rather wiry girl rushed up to embrace Lotta Dumplinz. I would just have to switch to Plan B. Behind me, a maid was preparing a buffet lunch in a large, well-appointed kitchen. Scanning the room for a makeshift toga, I spotted an apron hanging on a hook by what appeared to be a door onto a terrace. The maid opened an enormous stainless steel refrigerator, almost disappearing into its cavernous depths. I seized the moment and scuttled across the kitchen. The apron was mainly white but for a heart motif on the pocket which bore the legend "Kiss the Cook". I snatched it from the hook and was just about to repeat my silent sprint across the room when the maid emerged from the 'fridge with an armful of salad stuff. Quick as a flash, I slipped through the door and out onto the terrace.
"Hel-lo!"
A woman in a tiny white bikini was artfully arranged on a sun-bed just outside the kitchen door. Every detail of her presentation appeared to have been contrived by a stylist, as if she was posing for a photo spread in a glossy home and garden magazine. Her microscopic bathing costume matched the navy and white cushions of the chair she reclined upon, her long acrylic French manicured fingernails looked dazzling against her dark oiled thighs. Her hair was bleached and curled, Marilyn Monroe style, and her pert breasts, which threatened to escape from the confines of the translucent bikini top, were augmented.
What to do? What to do? I surmised it was the lady of the house and she seemed quite pleased to see me, so I approached the perfectly color coordinated vision with a friendly demeanor. On closer inspection, the woman looked to be forty-ish but well preserved by regular maintenance and the occasional comprehensive refit job. Marilyn stretched out a be-taloned hand and smiled broadly. I noticed that she hadn't added cosmetic dentistry to her overhaul and had a gap on one side.
"Baba."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name is Baba. I'm Melvin's wife."
I took the proffered hand and squeezed it politely. It felt divinely cool and as smooth as silk. I gazed down at Baba's smiling face, then my eyes wandered off into the firm, uplifting land of pumped-up cleavage. I fingered the stolen apron sheepishly.
"I forgot my toga."
The languid sunbather appeared to come to life.
"Ah! But I can help you with that. Come with me. What did you say your name was?"
I swiftly racked my brain for a suitable nom de guerre.
"It's Bo. Bo Delicious. You have a toga?"
Baba laughed and led me by the hand along the beautiful terrace. I paused to admire the stunning vista of the distant bright blue ocean, then let my new friend guide me through a vast pair of sliding doors and into an opulent master bedroom. She disappeared into an ensuite walk-in closet and I sat on the edge of the enormous bed to await my toga. The bed sloshed and moved beneath my thighs. A waterbed.
"What about this?"
A slender brown arm appeared round the closet door, waving a filmy white baby doll nightdress. More Valley Of The Dolls than Roman Empire. I bit my lip, not wishing to offend my generous hostess.
"Um…"
"Or what about this?"
The other arm dangled a skimpy Spandex mini-dress. Very sexy but not in a way that Caligula would recognize.
"I know! I will model for you, then you can decide."
Before I could protest, Baba had vanished into the capacious closet. I began to grow a little suspicious of her motives. The spoiled wife of a wealthy man with endless time on her immaculately manicured hands… I was her afternoon plaything. What was worse, I could use a shower…
"What do you think, Bo?"
"Mmm…"
Baba reemerged in the diaphanous nylon baby doll, which she had paired with the tiniest G-string I'd ever seen. The clingy see-through fabric revealed a fully shaven pussy and my mouth began to water for a suck on Mrs. Melvin's juicy peach. Her breasts were full, golden brown and almost perfectly round, with perky upturned nipples. She advanced towards me until she stood by the bed, the sweet musky scent of her moist pink cleft drifting in the warm atmosphere of the boudoir. Her voice was husky, full of pent-up lust.