It was the bustling, unatmospheric quality of the place that filially cooled Melissa's fires enough that they could just talk. They caught each other up on a year and a half's worth of separation, and discussed briefly the next hour's interview for the other network bigwigs.
It was not until they were riding to the studio building that she began to feel truly nervous.
"Oh, shit, Darren, what the hell am I going to do on TV? I hold my interviews in people's bedrooms, and I'm afraid that just won't work in front of the cameras."
"Is that the only way you can get your information?" he chuckled.
"No… but it sure helps. Without it my material would be like everyone else's."
"Well, then keep it up."
"Oh, sure! When did you start running an X-rated news show?"
"No, dum-dum. Just do a pre-interview. Warm them up privately, get your information, and then bring it out on camera. You'll be the same brilliant Melissa the people love, to read."
"You think it could work?"
"Well, you're going to have to do a screen test. Find someone big and test it out. I suspect you'll do just fine."
Melissa's mind suddenly clicked. "Darren, who's Larry Roland?" She began searching her purse for the card.
"Ooooh, you know him?"
"Soft of."
"Great choice. He's a big soap-opera actor, the public loves him. An interview with him will carry a lot of weight with the bosses, too. He's on our network."
"Well, what the hell," she sighed, suddenly grateful for the tiny card clutched hopefully in her hand. "It's worth a try!"
Larry Roland's bedroom was a lavishly decorated affair, only a small part of his Riverside Drive penthouse suite. But Melissa was hardly in a position to notice as the two naked bodies rolled playfully around the huge wall-to-wall bed.
For several minutes now the groans of mounting passion had been the only sounds in the room. It was not until Larry's head lifted from its mouth-probing kiss that human speech reoccupied the space.
"I wonder if you'd be up for something a little out of the ordinary?" he asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "I was kind of hoping that your actions on the plane shows a lack of inhibition. Are you interested in something a little different?"
"What'd you have in mind?"
Quickly he rose, pulling her by the hand, and leading her into one of the apartment's high ceilinged rooms. Melissa stopped short at the sight that greeted her. It was a large room, the left and right side of which contained nothing but costumes. The walls were covered with object littered shelves, pennants, swords, shields, and hangings of every conceivable type and period. The center of the room was dominated by a large oak table with a throne-like chair at its head.
"I keep a significant momento from each play I've done," he said, his hand sweeping the array of artifacts. "And here, I have every costume I've ever worn on stage."
She ran her hand down the long rack, marveling at the various fabrics and styles, finally stopping at one long, velvet robe, richly trimmed in fur.
"I wore that one as Henry the Eighth," he said fondly, putting it on over his naked body. He grabbed a crown from one of the numerous shelves, and seated himself in the throne, his voice raised high as the full Shakespearean lines flowed from his throat.
Melissa was captivated by his manner and delivery, and thrilled at the private performance he was giving. It was not until a few seconds later that she realized the other wall contained nothing but women's clothes. Momentarily she was confused. They could not be his. Did he have a wife? Whose were they?
Then suddenly she understood why they were there. These clothes were for his women. His acting extended even into his sex life. If that was it, Melissa was all for it, and while he chanted on, she ran to the rack and quickly slipped into a long, flowing, empire-waisted gown.
She now turned and spoke, cutting into his speech in the hope she was right.
"I am here, my lord."
He paused to look at her, the high-waisted gown cupping the perfect mounds of her tits. "And who might ye be, fair lady?"
"I am Anne Boleyn, here to do my lord's bidding."
She was pleased with the look that came over his face. She had guessed right. The sight of this woman so beautiful, so willing to play his game, so quick to understand his needs, lit a fire of passion in his eyes that almost seemed to bum her in its lusting gaze.
He now rose, crossing to her, circling her, devouring her form under the soft folds of her dress.
"Are you worthy? The king must have a worthy servant."
He now grasped the top of the gown, pulling it down to her waist in one slow, continuing move. His smile widened as her tits slowly bobbed from beneath the satiny top, her firmly erect nipples staring at him in open invitation.
"Yes, you are worthy indeed," he whispered.
Melissa could see he was completely caught up in his role. He was no longer Larry Roland eyeing the luscious tits of Melissa Dansin; he was Henry, staring at Anne, his subject.
His hands now came up and cupped the gently swaying melons, his fingers and thumbs coming together to squeeze her taut nipples in their firm pinching grasp.
"You have much to offer your king. Are you a willing subject?" His hands crushed the giant jugs in a slow circular motion.
"Whatever my lord wants, is his," she moaned, her head bowed humbly, her eyes locked on the tip of his straining cock as it jumped between the open flaps of his robe. "I am here to serve." And her tongue came out to travel the full circumference of her open lips.
At the sight of her obvious gesture, he was lost in his game. Sure of her, cooperation, his voice began barking its kingly orders, his commands echoing their hoarse passion throughout the large room.
"On your knees. Humble yourself before your king."
"I am your slave!" she cried, dropping quickly to her knees, her face now poised before his throbbing cock.
"Kiss it!" he cried, throwing open his robe. "Kiss the royal staff. It is the divine symbol of my power."
His hard-on thrust out hungrily from his aching crotch. She stared at the swollen, red shaft quivering before her. She brought her lips up to it, her tongue coming out to circle slowly around the bare, smooth crown of his cock. Her head moved forward slightly, her moist lips closing around his prick-head. Her tongue flicked lightly across the very tip to scoop and swallow the tiny trickle of sperm that ran from his burning balls.
"Harder. You must surrender to it. Give it all your devotion."
While he spoke, he began pressing his hips forward, sinking his cock deeper and deeper into her hot, wet mouth. His body began shaking in uncontrolled passion as he felt the warmth of her tightly circling lips climb steadily back onto his huge cock.
Her tongue worked feverishly across the soft underside of his prick as the tip ran farther and farther back into her throat, until finally her lips and nose were nestled in the wiry patch of his pubic hair.
"Oh, good God," he groaned. "No one's ever taken so much. God, suck it. Suck my cock. Swallow my royal meat."
His hips began churning, grinding the length of his cock in and out of her wonderful, sucking mouth. She pulled her anus free from the lowered dress top, and brought her hands up. With one hand she grabbed his rapidly swaying balls, massaging them gently. With the other she grasped the base of his fuck-stick.
Melissa could feel the extreme pleasure of her act filling her body. Their groans mingled as she guided each violent lunge with expert skill, spiraling their shared passions to even greater heights.
On and on he stroked, her burning mouth sucking with a fury that threatened to draw his balls out through the narrow tube of his cock. His hips swayed violently, burying his giant prick deep into her throat.