"Play with me, Bo. Melvin won't let me watch the movie making. I have to sit outside. It's not fair."
Her pretty pink lips pouted petulantly. I placed the palms of my hands on her long toned thighs and my mouth over her Mound of Venus. The fabric of the G-string was so fine that it almost seemed to melt on my tongue as I explored the satiny contours of her plump, smooth quim. Baba panted and uttered a stream of little moans and shrieks. Her hands felt much warmer as they grasped my head. My mouth left her pussy and licked and kissed its way north to caress her beautiful boobs. Hungrily, she pushed me down onto the bed, swiftly maneuvering me into a sixty-nine position. I reached up to tug down her panties as a hot, wet cunt descended upon my face. She was delicious. Not a trace of prickly stubble marred the velvety cushions of her labia. I ran the flat of my tongue up and down, round and around, savoring the divine sensations of her silky perfumed haven. She had a long swollen clit and I nibbled at it, teasing the miniature member to come out to play. Then I felt sharp nails trace the insides of my thighs and a moist mouth sought out my own rampant den of iniquity. Baba proved to have the most incredible talent for oral stimulation, swiftly sucking and licking my dripping pussy to an intense climax. I came loudly, screaming obscenities into her wanton snatch, then redoubled my efforts to ensure that my gracious hostess wasn't far behind. The slut ground her trim little hips against my face, coating my warm cheeks with the sweet nectar of her love juice. I felt her clit swell between my lips, then she convulsed, electrified by her own massive orgasm.
"Oh yes! Yes! Oh, thank God!"
The waterbed beneath us rippled softly as our sated passion slowly ebbed. Baba moaned quietly, her baby doll nightdress prettily askew.
"Oh, thank you, Bo! You don't know what this means to me. I haven't been able to gain any relief since Melvin had his heart trouble last year and this island is so quiet, I just don't know what to do with myself. Bless you, darling."
Poor old Baba. All dressed up and nowhere to go. I wondered if I could steal a large strap-on dildo from the production crew and give Mrs. Melvin the damn good seeing-to she so richly deserved. I reluctantly eased myself up from the bed and collected the Spandex mini-dress and the apron, both of which lay recklessly discarded on a thick sheepskin rug. My partner looked as if she might drop off for an afternoon nap. Probably more excitement than she had seen for a long, long time, poor dear. I tiptoed out of the bedroom and along the lovely terrace, which was bright with splashes of sunshine and deep pink bougainvillea plants in terracotta pots. As I passed what seemed to be a formal dining room, I glanced in to see the two hombres seated at a long table, on which sat a laptop computer and various open files and sheets of paper. A third man had joined them, older, taller and heavier, his corpulent stomach bulging over the waistband of his linen pants. He paced up and down, looking angry and impatient. Beyond the trio, I could glimpse the sunny courtyard and the turquoise water of the pool, in which a selection of topless girls in soaking wet mini-togas were kissing and fondling one another's glistening breasts as the camera rolled.
"I want my full cut, Melvin. Or else."
My gaze returned to the outsize pacer in the tight white pants. He stopped wearing a track in the marble flooring and addressed the man in black. So, Melvin was the quieter hombre. His accomplice still chattered frantically into the mouthpiece of his high-tech phone as if his life depended on it. Hmm, maybe it did… Melvin stared impassively at Mr. Grumpy, then replied in perfect English.
"Or else what, Crapper? You'll play one of your unpleasant little back stabbing tricks? Face it, Crapper, your name is dirt in these islands."
Beyond the scowling Crapper, a parasol wielding Lotta Dumplinz directed a whip brandishing Dirk Dastardly. My eyes slid from one exciting scene to the other. The real Iota was naked, bound and wriggling against the tall stone column, her pert little buttocks veritably dancing at the prospect of the lash. I watched Dirk deliver his trademark sneer for the camera then there was a loud crack and a piercing squeal.
"The deal stinks, Crapper. Musical toilets indeed! 'Lift the lid and listen to a melody of your choice!' My ass! Five hundred dollars for a john that plays hits from the Seventies. A jukebox john! I must have been drunk when I let you talk me into that scam. Or worse. What was I smoking? Anyway, the deal is off. You can take your tinkling toilets and stick 'em."
My eyes slid from the snaking whip and rhythmically jolting buns back to Mr. Grumpy aka Crapper. He had bared his (rather unpleasant) teeth at Melvin and now strongly resembled a hippo with gas. A menacing undertone entered his voice as he meaningfully patted the breast pocket of his shirt.
"You're going to regret this, Melvin. I have photographic evidence of the little XXX sideshow currently playing in your back yard. I'm sure the local newspaper would be most interested in the colorful domestic life of the island's favorite son. Not to mention your priest and your dear old mother."
At that, Melvin lunged across the table to grasp Crapper by the shirt collar but the large man only smiled malevolently.
"Too late, Mel-boy. I've already downloaded and e-mailed a set to a secret address. My personal favorite is the one of you helping Busti Noutalova to apply her sunscreen. Very nice."
Busti Noutalova! The Russian porn star was reputed to sleep with her seriously enhanced, gravity defying assets in a patented sling. I squinted into the dazzling sunlight of the courtyard. Yes, there she was. I had mistaken her pneumatic chest for a set of pink water wings. Meanwhile, Dirk was doggedly thrashing a shrieking Iota up to a shrill soprano climax, his powerful suntanned arms effortlessly wielding a fearsome bullwhip. Her dark hair cascaded in a wild tangle over her shoulders, her slim hips ground against the stone column as if it was an enormous phallus. My fingers strayed to my pussy.
"Blackmail, Crapper, is a serious offense."
Melvin appeared to be standing his ground. Good for him. I wrenched my gaze from Dirk and Iota to judge the state of play in the dining room. Would it be Sir Dastardly in the courtyard with the bullwhip or Colonel Crapper in the dining room with the digital camera? The tension was palpable.
Meanwhile, it was Melvin's turn to smile a sinister Godfather-ish smirk.
"And you are forgetting one simple little fact, Crapola. You are my guest here at Casa Melvin. As the popular song goes – 'you can sign in any time you want but you can never leave'. Or at least, not without my assistance. This house is very secure. Maria – will you come here, please?"
The Hispanic maid left her lunch preparing duties in the kitchen and approached the long polished table expectantly. Melvin nodded at Crapper and murmured something in Spanish. The maid grinned and cracked her knuckles.
"So sorry, Senor."
I watched in amazement as Maria circled Crapper, who looked to be about a foot taller and a good one hundred pounds heavier than his dainty assailant. Crapper threw his head back and laughed heartily.
"You've got to be joking! What's this? 'Attack of the Killer Munchkin'?!"
Just at that moment, all hell broke out in the courtyard.
"Aaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Iota had reached the point of no return.
"Aaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!"
The diminutive Spanish maid launched herself into the air, Jackie Chan style.
"Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!"
Crapper hit the marble floor of the dining room.
Melvin smiled indulgently.