Meanwhile, the sandy-haired girl was still fucking furiously, her eyes closed in concentration. The blonde girl poured more wine on her breasts and gave them to her girlfriend, who proved that she could still appreciate a female body even when she was being fucked by as large – as impressive – a tool as the man possessed.
Somehow Pam found herself a little disappointed. The presence of the man had upset her mental rhythm. It was too bad the producers hadn't kept the film strictly girl-on-girl. She'd found herself really digging that scene, because of its beauty and novelty and erotic appeal, and now, with a man brought in, it was just like any other fuck film. She kept moving her finger in her cunt, but more from duty than desire. Most of her attention was being given to Mr. Ford now.
Oh, shit, Pam told herself. It doesn't matter what turns you on! You're just an afternoon whore. Your job is to keep the customer satisfied. So it's just as good the movie isn't turning you on any more. You can keep your mind on the job you've already been paid for, and you can do it right.
The sandy-haired girl withdrew quickly from the slick black cock. It glistened like polished leather in the sunlight and it jiggled about in lurching circles as she raised her cunt off it. The blonde girl was on her belly, head aimed into the man's crotch, and her small pale hand immediately seized the dick, firming it, holding it upright. She slid closer and opened her mouth wider than seemed possible, widely enough to suck in the man's testicles. And they weren't small nuts, either. Big, heavy-looking stones, encased in a large dangling scrotum, but they fit into her mouth with no trouble, it appeared, and she sucked them, hand closing and relaxing around the barrel of the cock.
But she didn't look particularly interested in what she was doing, or so it appeared to Pam. Oh, Christ, the woman reminded herself, you're reading your own attitudes into that stupid fuck-film girl. And she probably is stupid. For a whole afternoon of fucking and sucking and lesbian sex, she couldn't be getting more than maybe a hundred dollars cash. It probably took two or three hours to make the movie, and people all over America can buy it, watch it any time they please. She's a permanent fantasy fuck-object now, thanks to the miracle of film. While I'm getting a hundred dollars for fifty minutes of my time and when it's over, the client takes away nothing except his memories. Maybe, she thought, maybe I'm a fantasy fuck-object, too, but I'm smart enough to do it my way.
The sandy-haired girl came into frame above and her hand replaced the blonde's on the man's pecker. She opened her mouth and started swallowing and, incredibly enough, her mouth descended almost to the balls her friend was still sucking. And it was a long, thick cock, too, a real challenge for throat artists.
Pam watched another minute, while the girls continued in their oral manipulation of the man's cock and balls, and then, with care and expertise, she removed her mouth from Mr. Ford's dick. She kept her lips upon him, moving up and down, so that the rhythm wasn't broken for even a second, and she looked up at the projector. Not much film left. She'd have to hurry, if she wanted to do it the way her client preferred.
Mr. Ford didn't seem to notice that he was no longer shafting his way into Pam's mouth. His loin's still bucked upward as her tongue and lips moved up and down his tool, and his balls quivered where she held them in one cupping hand. His cock was dripping from her saliva and, when she ran her tongue across the fat swollen knob, she could taste a preliminary leakage of cum from deep in his nuts. He was on hair trigger right now, and she could pull him off just about any time, but it was most important to do it his way.
Pam looked at the screen again. The sandy haired girl was still sucking up and down, her cheeks drawn in tightly, her face reddening from effort. Suddenly, without any warning, she pulled the dick out of her mouth. Uh-oh, Pam thought. She was afraid she'd misjudged. If the screen stud was about to come, Mr. Ford wasn't. Not quite.
The blonde raised her pale pretty face and she had a champagne glass in her hand, probably the same one she'd given the man a drink from. She lifted the glass and the sandy-haired girl angled the black cock downward, until the big knob was aimed into the glass and, as the two girls watched smirking at one another, the man began to squirt.
His cum shot in big, thick lashings into the glass, coating the inside wails, and he shot another gout of his stuff each time the sandy-haired girl stroked him with her hand. Pam sighed, for she'd blown it again, so to speak, and she hurriedly fed Mr. Ford's rod back into her mouth, sucking him in a frenzy.
But wait – it wasn't quite the end of the movie. Mr. Ford had his hand on her head, guiding her down upon his tool, and he thrust up, thrust more eagerly, and she could almost sense that he was waiting for something, something else, something that turned him on enough to wait for.
The sandy-haired girl watched as the cock finished spurting its gummy white sperm, and she looked at her blonde girlfriend. The blonde took the glass, tilted it from side to side, then raised it to her mouth. And drank. She turned the glass almost upside down, pouring all the man's cum into her mouth as if it were fine champagne. Her cheeks puffed out as she drank it, but Pam couldn't see the gulping that indicated she was swallowing the semen. Was there something else?
There was.
"Aaaagggghhhh…" Mr. Ford groaned. It was a deep, soulful groan, and he almost rose bodily from the edge of the bed, ramming his cock into Pam's throat cavity. She pulled back, letting his dong slip free, and she pressed his cock to her face, hand fisting around him. The cum was rising through his shaft. She could feel it. Everything seemed to be happening in milliseconds right now, time slowed to turtle's crawl, but that only made it more exciting.
She looked at the screen. The blonde moved her face toward the other girl, and mouths met just above the man's midsection. As the girls' lips touched, the blonde opened her mouth and spewed out a full helping of the cum she'd drunk from the glass. It ran across the sandy-haired girl's skin, some of it going into her mouth, some of it sliding down her chin, and there were white drippings on the man's belly where the sperm fell upon him.
And then there were white drippings on Pamela Wilson's face too, as Mr. Ford's cock literally exploded against her cheek. He came in a hot fury of semen that splattered her flesh and clogged at the entrance of her nostrils and seeped into her open mouth, and she caressed him and kissed him and licked away his cum while more flowed down the stiff, jerking barrel of his cock to take the place of what she'd already drunk, and on the movie screen the two girls were still sharing a cum-flavored kiss.
Of course he was putting himself into the movie, pretending that he was the stud up there on the screen. Pam was just a pussy and a mouth to get him off. But what the hell? Somebody had to do it, and the money and the pleasure did as much for her as they would for any other woman. She jerked him until her entire face was sprayed sticky with his cum, and she sucked his cock until it went soft in her mouth and he had nothing more to give.
Well, she had to be going soon. She was due to meet Mr. Webber, an she'd have to clean herself up before joining him at his motel. She'd also have to change clothes. For him, she wore a low halter top and star-spangled hot pants. He liked to make the most of her resemblance to TV's Wonder Woman, and she was happy to indulge. As Mr. Ford's limp dick fell out of her mouth, Pam found herself thinking only of the trick that lay ahead. The one just finished was history.