ANIMAL LUST
By The Author


Foreword

The young blonde spread her legs. Her pussy was ripe, wet and yearning for abuse.
First, she rubbed her fingers over her clit. Then she stuck two inside. They slipped past
the outer pussy lips and vanished inside her all the way up to her knuckles. She started
to work them in and out of her. She pulled the skin apart, scraped her fingernails over
her clitoris until her hips were writhing in the motions of orgasm.
Then, the great dane appeared. First his head, then his massive body filled the screen.
The camera zoomed in for a close-up. That huge sloppy pink tongue began to slurp
through her cunt, lapping up her juices. She pulled her cunt lips wide open and the
huge mouth began to nibble on her clit. Then, he moved up on her and with the bright
red head of his dick sticking out from beneath him, she raised her hips. The animal
cock slid in easily. The fucking was fast and violent. It shook her body unmercifully.
Her breasts flopped to either side of her and as the dog plunged into her cunt, she
grabbed each nipple and began to pinch herself hard. Soon she was writhing and
screaming and coming in a flood.
They stared, aghast. These sedate, conservative men had never witnessed this. They
could never have imagined it. But here it was, before their very eyes. Their star, Lynn
Carroway, fucking her eyes out with a great dane. It was too much. Instant overload.
Still, they watched, fascinated. She really seemed to be enjoying it. Of course, they
couldn't let her continue. Not now. She would have to be dealt with. Decisions were
going to be made. But first, maybe they'd put on another reel...


Chapter 1

All was silence and sweat under the hot lights. She stood by the fence, a look of
indecision on her face. Should she go in? A step more, a quick release of the latch to
the small white picket gate, and then several pensive steps up the stepping stone
walkway neatly lined with border grass. Somewhere above her, birds were singing.
She approached the front steps and stopped short as the front door opened. They stood
there, watching each other with faces devoid of expression save for the eyes. Between
their eyes, whole volumes of emotion passed back and forth. She waited, counting
slowly to seven. missed you." She said it simply, allowing the calm understatement in
her voice to carry the weight of her feelings.
He fumbled in the pockets of his terrycloth bathrobe and produced a cigarette. From
somewhere behind him a small voice called.
"Daddy, it's time for breakfast. We're going to be late for school."
"Just a moment Johnny," the man responded. "We have company."
He looked like he might cry. Holding his arms out, whatever flickers of anger might
have lurked beneath the features of his face gave way to an onrush of joy and relief.
"We missed you too."
A small head poked between the man's legs. It was a small boy. When he looked at her,
his eyes got wide and his face was lit with an instant smile.
"Mommy, mommy," he cried and ran to her. "We missed you so much!"
The man walked down the steps.
"We all missed her Johnny. Even Prince."
A moment's hesitation. Nothing happened.
Fuck, she thought, where is that mutt?
"So how is Prince anyway?" she adlibbed, but it was already too late.
"All right, all right, where the fuck's Prince?" asked the man with a very annoyed edge
to his voice.
Suddenly from off to the side of the small group, a large great dane bounded up to
them and with a simple careless motion knocked the man flat on his back and began
licking him broadly about the face.
"Mmmph grumph phtt!!" the man tried to scream from beneath the tongue.
He finally managed to push die monster away.
"Get this fucking horse off me!!" He was not in a mood for humor. For that reason,
most of the crew managed to stifle their impulses to collapse into hysterical laughter.
One or two failed however, and as the stray giggle floated over the set, the man
struggled to his feet. His face was a bright red. Prince, still firmly convinced despite his
size that he was a soft cuddly puppy merely assumed this to be part of a grand game
and promptly knocked him down again. Course laughter began popping up from all
directions.
"CUT! CUT!" the director finally yelled. "Ralph, what's the fucking problem? I thought
he had his cues down?"
Ralph came hustling around from behind the house front "Sorry, T.J." he said, contrite
and quite fearful of losing his job.
"Look," said the man in the terrycloth bathrobe, becoming quite belligerent. "I don't
have to put up with these amateurish shenanigans."
He stood up as straight as he possibly could, pulled the robe tightly around his scrawny
body and attempted an imperial air. He failed, but no one dared to tell him.
"I am NOT accustomed to this type of snafu. Do you hear me? What do you think this
is? I am Avril Wellington. I am a star. I have worked with the greats. Do you think I
need this?." T.J. was by his side so fast, no one could quite say they'd actually seen him
move across the set.
"Avril, Avril, hey, hey, look. Now it'll be all right. I promise. Ralph, you see me in my
office in five minutes. Hey, now look Avril, let's not throw a tantrum-"
"I do NOT throw TANTRUMS!!! I merely expect that simple scenes like this can be
shot with a minimum of trouble. Is that too much to ask?"
"Not at all, not at all. We'll iron everything out and maybe we'll try it again this
afternoon. What do you say? Hey, Ok everybody? We'll take a break for lunch and be
back on the set at one thirty. Everybody hear that? Ok, now look Avril..."
They wandered off to the side of the set. One or two lights were doused. Thank God,
she thought.
"Um, T.J., I'll be in my dressing room. Just call if you need me."
"Whazzat... oh, yeah Lynn, sure, sure."
He came trotting over to her. He had a 'what can I do?' kind of helpless look on his
face.
"Look, I'm sorry about all this, you know. What can I say, we knew he was
temperamental."
"But childish?" She continued, mimicking him, "I am the great Avril Wellington. I once
was a bad 'B' movie actor who's now so far over the hill I can only get parts in kid's
movies about dogs." She looked back at T.J. Well fuck it, T.J. I'm the nearly great Lynn
Carroway and I don't like having to put up with a fool like that."
T.J. looked pained. He obviously needed one of his cigars, and she was surprised that
he was without one. It was like seeing someone without glasses for the first time, or
after they'd just shaved a beard you'd always known them with. She couldn't remember
ever seeing him without a cigar before.
"Lynn, baby, please, I know how it is. We got to finish this on schedule. Ok? So we'll
do it, if I have to have him killed and stuffed and we'll let the animation department
move him around for us. Ok? Now be a sweetie and don't make my headache as bad as
my stomach ache, all right?"
He gave her a friendly peck on the cheek.
"Right. Be a dear and keep my mouth shut. Ok, T.J., my mouth's shut. See?"
She gave him a sardonic grin through thin, clenched lips and walked towards her
dressing room. Prince, who somehow had been overlooked in the commotion sat off to
the side, his tongue lolling lazily from his mouth. She looked at him and his ears
perked up. Hot damn, he seemed to be thinking. Let's play fetch!
No thank you, you dumb fucking mutt, she thought as she walked back to her dressing
room. What a piece of dreck I've got myself into.
When she got to her dressing room, she immediately picked up the phone.
"Simon," she said, when a voice answered. "This is Lynn. Look, is there any way out of
this contract? What? Because I'm sick of it that's why! I'm stuck between an over the
hill child, a real child who's too damn old and a horse disguised as a dog who's smarter
than the two of them put together. And I'm reading lines written by a chimpanzee who
went to Bible school. Simon, I want out. What? No, don't tell me that. I don't CARE if
it's a big audience. I know these movies are instant hits. I thought I'd get to act, for
chrissake!" There was a knock at the door.
"Hang on a minute, Simon," she said putting the phone down and going to the door. It
was a messenger boy from the front office.
"For you Ms. Carroway." He handed her a folded, sealed piece of yellow paper. She
opened it as she picked up the phone.
"Simon, I just got a notice that they want to see me in the board room. Now what do
you suppose this is all about? No, T.J. never said anything. I just talked to him. Yeah,
ok, but look, I don't like this place. Can't you at least get me more money? Well work
on it, will you? I never contracted for this clown's tantrums. Yeah, all right," and she
hung up.
Now what, she wondered, looking at the slip of paper. People out on the set never got
calls to the 'Big room' as it was dubbed. Even a 'star' like herself. Ah, fuck it. She'd
collar T.J. (initials for some obscure pair of names he'd never divulged to the public)
and see what it was all about. Shit, she needed a drink. She poured herself a healthy
double shot of gin, gulped it down and poured another. Fucking stupid picture. She'd
had misgivings about doing this picture, but they certainly never included the
possibility that the whole operation would come off like a high school cinema-class
project. Nobody knew what they were doing. True, it'd been a long time since she'd
actually seen a movie out of the Belitt Studios, not since she'd been a child. Of course,
when Simon had offered her the part, her first reaction was 'Christ, what'll I do in a
kid's movie? I play international sophisticates. I play gangster's molls. I play smart
women in an adult world. What'll I do in a Belitt movie about a dog?"
"You'll get paid well, and you'll expand your audience. Oh, and did I mention that
you'll get paid well? Also, just as a little icing on the cake, you'll get paid well."
She knew better than to argue with Simon. And he was right. The money had been
good. And... to be perfectly honest, offers hadn't been coming in as fast as she'd have
liked. Not since her last picture which flopped at the box office and then couldn't even
pick up a cable TV contract. Not good, Lynn baby, not fucking good at all. So, maybe a
little healthy image enhancement from a good family picture could be just what was
needed..."
It hadn't been working out that way, she thought, looking in the mirror and studying
the lines of her face. This job was going to make her old. She immediately responded to
the flash of panic shooting through her by sticking her face even closer to the mirror.
She gave it a really close going over. Were those really wrinkles under her eyes, or was
her make up just cracking? Or maybe she was cracking. One more day of that broken
down 'B' movie/TV star and she'd go homicidal. She was sure of that. Every fucking
day, another tantrum. First his dressing room had been too small. Then, they'd had to
be on the set too early. Then, they'd had to work too late. Then, he'd started showing
up crocked to the gills.
And then there was the dog. That little bit of irony was lost to all but herself. And she
certainly wasn't telling. She thought back a moment, over the years. Wonder what
Sidney's doing now, she wondered. Probably still the same thing, probably coming up
with the same excuses, probably telling himself still that he'd go legit one of these days.
Well, maybe, Sidney. But if you do, I hope I don't have to run into you. Not good
memories. Certainly not. And bad for the career. Real bad.
Another knock at her door.
"Lynn honey, listen I just spoke to Bob Grant up front. They want to see us right
away."
"I know, T.J., I got this message, hand delivered. What's the story?"
"Ya got me. So what do you say we go now?"
"Give me a minute, will you? I want to get some of this make up off me."
"All right, ten minutes."
She studied herself again, as she removed the layer of gooey make-up that covered her
face and neck and as much of her cleavage as they'd allow her to show in a movie like
this. Which wasn't much, but that didn't fool her. There were any number of pure
virtuous little pieces of fluff in this town who'd gladly have done this movie. Even if
they wrapped her in a burlap bag, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was
Lynn Carroway, and that Lynn Carroway was a hot number with big tits. So maybe the
Belitt boys didn't go for big boobs, or at least not big boobs that hung outside of open
shirts. That didn't fool her. The people they were counting on her to bring into the
theaters liked big boobs, and more to the point, they liked her big boobs. And they'd
gotten ample opportunity in the past to see them. She'd never been one to turn down a
part just because it called for a little nudity now and then. And it sure boosted ticket
sales.
She undressed, turned to examine herself from a side angle in the mirror, and calmly
decided that, no, she was not getting old, and yes, she still looked damn good. Her
breasts were nice and plump, with not the faintest hint of sag, her waist was still as
tight and slim as it had been ten years ago when at the age of seventeen, she burst upon
the movie scene, an unknown who walked away with an Oscar nomination in her first
major role.
It had been a great role, one that fashioned from the start her image of innocence
blended with knowing sensuality. It had also caused a minor stink for it's rather explicit
(well, explicit for mainstream cinema) sex scenes, most of which involved her. But, it
had all been done with the utmost taste and artistry, and really had been a great
opportunity for her to show off her acting skills... talented and sexy too. Not a bad
combination, if they were put to good use. That let this job out, she muttered to herself.
Pure drivel. God, she wished she could get out of her contract. Or at least make more
money out of it.
"Lynn sweetie," came T.J.'s voice from outside her dressing room. "Let's go. I have to
meet someone for lunch in half an hour."
"Coming, T.J." she said, opening the door. She'd pulled on a tight sweater and could
feel T.J.'s eyes burning into her breasts. The slit skirt she was wearing, was no less
distracting.
"T.J." she began. He might not have heard her, kept staring at her as they walked.
"Uh, T.J., are you there?"
"Whazzat, oh, yeah. Sorry 'bout that honey. Hey, what can I say, you're such a vision,
you take my breath away."
"Save it, T.J., how about it. Look, I'm getting real sick of Wellington's antics. Can't you
do something?"
"What can I do? I'm just the director. You know how this place is set up. Every
decision comes from up front. They won't trust anyone who might soil the pure lily
white Belitt image, you know?"
"Which is such bullshit; Mort Belitt was a real hell-raiser, from what I understand."
"Hell raiser? Christ, the man used to take LSD on weekends. How else do you think he
thought up those cartoons. I mean think about it. No body was doing cartoons, and all
of a sudden he comes along and starts turning out two hour stories. Now, you don't
pick up an idea like that in your cup of morning coffee."
"You're not serious?"
"Sure I'm serious. You ever done LSD?"
"No. Is it anything like coke?"
"Ha! It makes everything look like one of his fucking cartoons, that's what it does. Hell,
all that fantasy crap, and enchanted realms and magic land stuff, you know, those
amusement parks and shit? He believed all that crap. The man was cracked. Didn't
have the faintest idea what the real world was about. He just did drugs and spun out
cartoons and movies about animals that talked. Heh, I'll tell you what, it's one of the
most closely guarded secrets in this company. Can you imagine what the mothers of
America would tell their children? 'Well gee Ma, Uncle Mort did it.' No way."
"T.J., are you really serious? Mort Belitt was an acid head?"
"Yeah, and he threw orgies too. But NO one talks about that."
He looked around, suddenly paranoid. "Which should include me. Pardon me while I
shut up. The 'Image', you understand."
They walked through the alleys and streets of the Belitt studios, one of the largest
independent studios in the country. Every aspect of production originated from within
the organization and was very tightly watched after by the men they were on their way
to see at this very moment. Actors in large animal costumes, actresses in hoop dresses
with flowers in their hair, a couple of pirates, a turn-of-the-century barber stood
beneath a large oak, apparently trying to pick up a sweet young thing dressed like a
roman empress. A platoon of union cavalry marched past. It was a bit bizarre, but Lynn
was quite used to the surface absurdity of her business. What she'd never gotten used
to, in her ten year career, was the fact that no matter how deeply you ventured beneath
the surface, the absurdity remained at the same, unrelenting level. Nothing, finally, ever
seemed to really fit.
"They're expecting you," an anonymous secretary informed them when they'd finally
reached the inner sanctum of Belitt Enterprises. All the various interests of the far-flung
empire converged here in this office complex; Television productions, giant amusement
parks, books, movies. And all of it stamped with the mindless face of a widely grinning
mouse. A mouse, of all things, thought Lynn. I'm fucking working for a goddam
mouse.
Five men waited for them. Later, Lynn would have been unable to describe the facial
features of any of them. Nor remember their names. Perfect executives, bland, faceless,
nameless.
"T.J.," said one of them, rising and shaking his hand. Then, nodding towards Lynn,
"Miss Carroway."
He gave Lynn's hand a disinterested little squeeze and motioned them into a couple of
empty chairs. As if on cue, all five folded their hands in front of them.
"So, T.J., are we moving along on schedule?" The question was ridiculous. If anyone
knew how far behind they'd fallen, the men in this room had to have been most acutely
aware of it.
"Well Mr. Grant," T.J. began, clearing his throat. He produced a cigar and spent a long
time lighting it while he pondered his answer. One of the men in front of them
frowned and tried to wave the smoke away from him.
"You know we've had a few problems, of course. It's hard to move these things along
exactly on schedule, as I'm sure you understand only too well..."
"We know, T.J., we know. This project seems to have been plagued from the start
though, wouldn't you say?"
"Bob, it's that fucking moron you forced on me. Christ, he can't ever remember his
lines, he complains about everything, we're always having to stop production while he
gets in the mood... he's fucking worthless, that's what he is, he's fucking worthless."
"Yes, but he has a certain valuable persona about him. He's good for the image. That's
what's important. Your job, as director, is to make sure all the elements are combined
into a decent whole. So far, we wonder if you're up to it." T.J. squirmed and explained,
while Lynn wondered what she was here for. It didn't seem fair to T.J. to have to
endure such a dressing down in front of his leading lady.
"Well, T.J.," Bob Grant was saying now, "We know you're doing your best. We just
hope, and I can't stress how much we hope, that nothing else will mar this picture.
We're counting on this to be a big money draw for the company. We don't want any
more problems." He looked at Lynn suddenly, while T.J. stammered through more
explanations. Bob Grant waved him silent.
"Miss Carroway, I want you to know that it's a great honor for us here at Belitt Studios
to have an actress of your... stature working on one of our pictures. Quite an honor
indeed." He paused a moment, choosing his words carefully.
"I'm sure you realize the kind of obligation that Belitt studios has to its public. I speak
of the image we try to put forth. It's a wholesome image, Miss Carroway. An image
that goes to the foundation of what made this country great."
He thumped his desk.
"Are you saying that I don't conform with that image, Mr. Grant?"
"No, no, not at all. Well, as a matter-of-fact, there was some concern when your name
first came up in conjunction with this project. But we felt that... the Belitt image could
tolerate a little healthy modernization, as it were, without compromising our essential
approach." What you mean is, you old fart, you wanted to get some cheap tits and ass
and needed someone who had the look down cold.
"As I recall, Miss Carroway, you're first major role was in... what' was it, 'Paradise
Delayed', isn't that correct?"
"Yes sir." She thought, you know that, you fool.
"You've had quite a successful career since then. Quite successful."
"I'm fairly satisfied," answered Lynn, content to play along until he was ready to get to
the point.
"Never did any film work before that?"
"No sir, just some theater in high school." She started to get a little nervous.
"Yes, yes," he said with a wave of his hand, as if to dismiss all. that. "I've read your
professional biography. I know what it says. Never did any film work, of any kind
before then?
She was getting quite nervous now.
"I said no. What is this all about?"
"Now, now, calm down, Miss Carroway. We just need to be absolutely certain that
nothing could tarnish our image. We have to be careful. Very careful indeed. I'm sure
you can appreciate that."
"So what does that have to do with me? You know damn well you hired me precisely
because I was something your precious image never knew how to deal with before. It's
common knowledge. So what are you getting at?"
"Miss Carroway, have you ever known or met a gentleman by the name of Sidney
Dumont?"
Lynn hoped she'd managed to keep her face utterly blank as she replied that she'd
never even heard of anyone by that name. She didn't hold out much hope that she'd
succeeded. Not now, she thought. Not now. Sidney, why didn't you stay buried in your
slime and leave me alone.
"You're absolutely certain the name rings no bells?" Bob Grant was deathly precise in
his manner now. She felt that she was spinning on one of his amusement park rides,
out of control, with no way to get off.
"I told you no, Mr. Grant. Who is this man and what does he have to do with me?" A
little calmer now. More in control. If only she could keep it up till she got out of here.
"Yeah, what's this all about Bob?" T.J. was as confused as she hoped she looked.
"Well, it's probably nothing. We're looking into it. He claims to have some information
concerning you that might damage this picture. I'm sure you can appreciate that we'd
want to verify from the outset that there was no substance to the charges."
"What charges? How can I answer charges when I don't even know what they are?"
Lynn's genuine fear gave her voice an edge that seemed to subdue them for the
moment "Well, that's all we wanted to know. I'm sure this will be a very successful
picture. Let me just say how glad we are to have you with us, Miss Carroway..." he
continued to babble in executive newspeak, saying nothing that gave a clue to what he
was really thinking. Lynn's mind was racing. How much did Sidney have. God, what
would this do to her career. She had to find him. She had to get to him. And fast.
"What the fuck was that all about Lynn," asked T.J. when they were on their way back
to the set.
"I'm damned if I know, T.J. But I'll be honest with you. I don't like the way they
sounded. Whatever this person Dumont's been saying about me, they must think
there's some truth to it, or why would they have called me up here?"
"Good question. Say Lynn, you never really did any other kind of film work, did you?
You know, stuff you maybe wouldn't want anyone to know about?"
She gave him her warmest smile, along with a big kiss.
"T.J., would I lie to you?" She rubbed her breasts across his chest as she asked him the
question.
He was stopped cold. His open lust for her breasts had him fully by the balls now.
She'd never even touched him before.
"Huh? Oh, uh, no, well hell, how should I know?" Back to her breasts again. "Why
don't you come to my office after we quit shooting today and we'll talk about it."
Sure we will, thought Lynn.
"T.J., you dirty old man. I'll bet I know what you've got on your mind."
"Yeah, I'll bet you do. Look, don't worry about this. We'll take Care of you, hear?"
He gave a last longing look at her breasts.
"I've got this lunch date, so I gotta go. Hey listen, maybe we could get together for
lunch sometime soon, huh?" He was nearly slobbering as he stared at her.
"Sure, T.J., why not. Bye." She gave him a cute knowing smile and walked off, making
sure to emphasize her hip movement as she did so. His eyes left two broad scars on her
buttocks.
When she walked into her dressing room, she was still thinking about Sidney, and the
revelations hinted at by Bob Grant. So the voice shocked her at first.
"Hey gorgeous."
She jumped three feet.
"Steven! What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York!"
"I came back early. I couldn't stay away from you for long."
She knew what that meant.
"Look, Steven, I have a lot on my mind right now. Can we get together for dinner
maybe..." but he was already on her, his hands gripping her breasts, his lips seeking out
hers.
She tried to push him away, but with little success. It was no use, she told herself.
When he was homey, there was no getting rid of him.
"Steven, please, not now..." but he had his hand inside the slit in her skirt and was
deftly pressing through her panty hose right above her clitoris.
"Steven..." she whimpered, but his fingers knew her too well. He kept one hand inside
her skirt and with the other he started to unbutton her blouse.
"You know how I hate surprises..." she said, reflecting on the nasty one Bob Grant had
just thrown her way. No matter. He had two fingers around one of her nipples and try
as she would, she couldn't escape the fact that it felt damn good. Real good, as a matter
of-fact. She felt the continuing pressure on her clit, felt her breasts respond with a
growing trickle of sensation that filtered back down through her body until her tits and
cunt seemed to be extensions of the same instrument, an instrument designed purely
for her pleasure. And an instrument these hands knew intimately.
"All right," she said, as her blouse fell to her shoulders. "But make it quick. I'm
supposed to be in front of the cameras at one thirty."
"Umm hmmm," fie responded, locking his lips around a huge nipple. As he sucked on
her, she pressed herself into him and watched as her breast spread around his face. She
was glad she had big tits. She liked to smother men with them.
He slipped a finger underneath the elastic band that circled her waist.
"Wait a minute, you'll tear them," she said and as she kicked off her shoes, she rolled
her panty hose down her smooth ass and long slender legs. As she knelt down to ease
them past her ankles, he moved around behind her, raised her skirt and jabbed at her
cunt with his fingers. She was already wet and could feel herself growing wetter by the
second. His fingers felt like they were slipping through melted butter. Slipping through
her. Up and down through her pink wet slit. She stepped out of her panty hose, but
remained in a bent over position. Steven kept his fingers moving smoothly through the
lips of her pussy, every so often reaching through her legs to play with her clit and send
shivers of feeling all through her body. She started a slow rolling motion with her hips
and small sounds began to spill from her throat. She was getting hot, and wanted more.
She wanted to feel him fucking her, wanted to feel his cock push its way past her parted
lips and dig down through her body until he had filled her.
But he kept her waiting. This is what she'd meant when she told him to make it quick.
He was able, when the mood was right and time was available, to keep her at a fever
pitch, poised right at the line before spilling over into incontrollable orgasm, keep her
there for hours. He seemed willing to do so now.
In spite of herself, she couldn't hurry him. It felt too good.
"Damn you Steven, I hate how you know exactly what I want. I can never refuse you."
"I know," he chuckled, and began to play with her asshole.
"You like this too much, don't you?" he asked. Her moans answered him.
He rubbed his hand up and down through the crack in her ass, then let it slide all the
way down between her legs until the flat of his palm was pushing directly up against
the pink meat of her pussy, its lips flared, her juices flowing over him.
He worked three fingers into her, and as he spread them wide in her cunt hole, he
started to rotate his hand back and forth inside her. She started to come, felt the rising
pressure in her muscles, felt her cunt starting to contract wildly, felt her whole
abdomen fill with the fire of his touch.
Then, still with his hand up her cunt, he raised her upright again and reached a hand
around to her tits. Both nipples were hard as small pebbles now and his fingers expertly
worked on them till she felt the combination of sensation in her tits and cunt melt into
a smooth fine orgasm. Her body quivered softly as she leaned against his chest. He
brought her to one orgasm, then another and another before turning her around to face
him.
"I thought of you the whole time I was gone," he said, dropping his pants.
"You thought of getting your cock back into my cunt, that's what you thought about."
"And you didn't?" he asked, knowing damn well she did.
"Well, it crossed my mind once or twice," she said with a grin, taking his hard prick in
her hands and stroking it gently. She needn't have worried about making him any more
erect. He was already hard as a rock and ready to fuck. So was she.
She led him to the large comfortable couch along one wall of her dressing room, fell on
it and he in turn fell on her. His cock was at her cunt now, its head was pushing past
her wet lips and she felt him move straight into her on the first thrust. AD the way to
the hilt. He must be homey, she thought. He usually took up to three or four minutes
to just get all the way in her. Not this time though. No sooner had he buried himself in
her than he pulled nearly all the way back out, held his dick motionless with its head
just inside her lips, and plunged with a mighty thrust back into her. She gasped and
groaned, so forceful was his movement.
Then he was fucking her in earnest, as if it was to be his last fuck on earth. His balls
slapped against the outer skin of her pussy, his pubic hair mingled with hers, his chest
rubbed against her breasts and she again felt herself getting ready to come. When it hit
her, she nearly blacked out for a moment, so overwhelming were the spasms that tore
through her. His cock beat a rhythm through her that brought her up to a peak and
kept her there, coming in a blizzard of muscle contractions and muffled moans, while
the friction of her cunt walls slowly brought him higher. Then she heard him gasping,
moaning, felt his hot jism ripping through her and knew she'd once again given him
what he wanted. A cunt to fuck. A tit to suck. It was all he asked of her, and all she was
willing to give. It was enough.
He pumped his load into her, then rolled over to catch his breath.
"You're good any time of the day, you know that?" she asked, running her fingers
through his hair.
"Yeah, I know." he said.
She slapped him, lightly but hard enough to give him the message.
"You're a bastard. Come on, tell me. I'm the best fuck you've ever had or ever will
have."
"You're... ok."
She slapped him again.
"Come on, say it."
"You're... pretty good. Yeah, you're pretty good."
"Steven, if you ever want to look at this sweet slit between my legs again, you'll tell me
what we both know is the truth. I'm the best you've ever had, right?"
"You're... not bad."
"Bastard," she said, slapping him again, harder this time.
"Bitch," he answered, pinching a nipple.
"Ow, that hurt," she said and was going to really hit him, but he grabbed her hands.
"Yeah, but you're the best fuck in the world and you really like it when I hurt you,
don't you." He was grinning obscenely at her.
"Bastard," she said again, and then he was kissing her and rubbing her tits again. She
felt his cock and it was just as hard as when he first dropped his pants. She'd consider
Sidney and the awful load' of baggage he represented later. Right now, she had a hot
pussy, and a hard cock to stick in it. Which, with only a little coaxing, Steven was only
too willing to let her do. And she did.


Chapter 2

Lynn was exhausted when she finally got home that night. Avril flubbed his lines in
several scenes that afternoon, causing more delays, arguments and frustration. She was
sick of it, sick of him, sick of the movie, sick of what was becoming a bad grind, and
most importantly, she was sick with worry.
Why, she wondered, after ten years, had Sidney finally crawled back out of the
woodwork? Why now? What did he want from her? She knew exactly what Bob Grant
had been talking about. She wondered, did he really know what he'd been talking
about? Did he know how much he'd really been talking about? Or was he still just
dealing with rumor and suggestion? That alone would be enough to finish her.
How many had there been? Thirty? Fifty? Seventy? She'd lost count. She looked
different then, much different. Her breasts hadn't developed, she was bleaching her hair
and it was very long. But most importantly, she'd literally looked different. It had been
her mouth. Her teeth were all screwed up when she was a child. Braces and corrective
surgery had corrected the badly misshapen line of her mouth, her lips, her smile, and
had in the process given her a new face. Dear Simon, she thought. Somehow, he'd
known gold when he saw it, even in its crude ore state.
She thought back to those horrible months after she'd left Sidney, or, rather, after
Sidney had gone so far over the edge, she'd fled him and he hadn't even noticed. Six
months in California, odd jobs, hooking, drugs... the usual sixteen year old runaway
routine. No home, no family, living off of whatever instincts could sustain her.
And then Simon. Her surrogate father, older brother, kindly uncle, mentor, slave driver;
all of these to be sure, and also the man responsible for creating her. Seamy past? No
problem. Well invent one. He'd known Whose palms to grease, how to deflect the right
questions, how to use the technique of misinformation with the skill of an intelligence
agency. A blend of truth, half-truth and outright lies, so skillfully interwoven that the
remaining questions simply became part of the myth, all the more so for remaining
unanswered. He done that for her and in the process, allowed her a rebirth, a Phoenix
like rise from the ashes of what Sidney had done to her. And with her.
And now he was back, most likely with every damn film she'd made for him, the
bastard. How long had he kept them preserved, waiting for just this moment, when he
could really damage her badly? And why hadn't he struck before now? Why not back
when she was the child sensation of Hollywood? Why wait till she was in the midst of a
semi-comeback? It made no sense. Neither, she realized, did anything she'd done with
him.
Even now, after so many years, she kept that whole two year phase out of her conscious
thoughts. It had been too bizarre, too unreal to be set against the reality of her life as it
had since evolved. Yet also, she could not deny in moments like this when she was
forced to confront the issue head on, too much a part of her. Too much an expression
of her deepest urges, her most fundamental drives. Sidney had read that in her and
tapped it for his own purposes. She'd perhaps been too young to have any hope of
countering his influence, could only follow what her instincts told her to do. It was
those instincts she feared most. Ten years would dim their memory. It would not
change their character.
She looked at her wall, saw instead of the original art-work by a rising young artist of
local fame and repute, a tiny screen, a bright, overexposed film flickering inside a small
dark booth. She saw countless lonely men staring, cocks in hand, staring at the young
bleached blonde with her widely spread legs. She saw endless cocks entering that young
cunt, saw countless long hard objects violating it, fucking it, raping it... she saw the
dark form hovering, approaching, closer, tongue out, licking the wet pink skin,
nibbling, straddling her, entering her-!
NO! It was a silent cry from within her. No, she was not ready for this, could not
tolerate a replay of memories so long smothered. No, she again cried within her. But
she must. She must revive them, must relive them, must recall exactly and precisely
what it was that lurked in the shadows of past deeds and present realities. How had she
met him? She couldn't really remember, only that all of a sudden, it seemed he was the
focal point of her entire life. She had been so young, so easily molded...
* * *
"You're kidding?" That had been his first response. "You really got off on that?"
"Now Sidney, you said you wouldn't make fun of me. I was a little girl."
"How little?"
"I don't remember. It was a while ago."
"And so what did you do. I mean, how did you get him to give you head."
"Well, I remember I was just laying in the living room one night watching TV, and I
had a bathrobe on, with nothing on underneath, when he started to sniff me all over.
You know how dogs are, always curious and everything. So I'm just watching TV and
he starts to nuzzle down around between my legs. And I felt real uncomfortable about
it, but every time I pushed him away, he'd just go right back. He was real curious."
"And this was the German Shepherd?"
"Yeah, Max was his name. And anyway, so after a while, I thought, well shit, if he's so
curious, I ought to just show him that there wasn't much down there to interest him.
So I just spread my legs, and he started to sniff all around my pussy, you know, sticking
his nose inside the lips, and sniffing all around my hair and down along my legs and
everything. Well it surprised me, because it felt kind of good and I liked. You know,
we'd always had animals around the house and we just treated them like they were one
of the family, and if one of them died we all cried and had a funeral and it was like a
brother or sister had died or something, so it wasn't like I was letting this DOG, you
know, go sniffing around my cunt, it was more like, well, like a person, I guess."
"I get .it," laughed Sidney. "As long as it seemed like you were just committing incest
with a member of your family, it was all right, right?"
"Well, that sounds a little weird too, but yeah, I guess that was it."
Sidney watched her with intense interest. "But it really felt good, huh?" He kept
pressing her on that issue.
"Yeah, it did, sort of, and then he started to lick my cunt. Just started working me over
with his big sloppy tongue, really getting in there too, between the lips and spreading
them apart each time he scraped his tongue through me. And he was hitting my clitoris
a lot too, and I'd masturbated a lot so I knew all about the clitoris, but I hadn't had a
guy eat me out or anything yet, so it was a real new experience to feel this tongue
slurping over my clit. It really got me off too. Whew! I remember coming on the living
room rug like a demon. And I guess I must have gotten a lot of juices flowing and that
must have been what I Max liked, because the more I came, the more he just kept on
licking me."
"And so what, that was the first time you'd gotten it on with this dog?"
"Well, we didn't actually get it on or anything. I mean, I didn't get fucked by the dog."
"Not then?"
"Right.-"
"But that came later?"
"Well... yeah."
Sidney looked at her with a look of disbelief mixed with respect.
"Well I'm impressed."
"About what?"
"Well, that's pretty fucking daring, don't you think? I mean to lay on your living room
floor with your parents in the next room, getting head from a damn German Shepherd
for God's sakes, I'd say that was daring as hell."
"I didn't really think about it at the time. Ii just sort of felt natural and good. I guess I
was a little weird..."
"Nonsense! It was bold. It was daring. What happened next?"
"Well, once Max got a taste of my pussy, he wanted more. It got real embarrassing. I
mean, we'd be having dinner, and he'd crawl under the dinner table and start trying to
lick my cunt. And he used to try to do it with other females. I remember once my
mother had some friends over to play bridge, and he really broke up the party. He went
right up to this one lady and stuck his snout right up her dress and started chewing on
her underwear. God! You should have heard her shriek. We almost got rid of Max after
that one."
"So when did you first fuck him?"
"It was in my room one night. I was just sort of playing with him, and I wondered what
dogs' cocks looked like. So I rolled him over and started to feel around and all of a
sudden it just seemed to poke out from that little furry nub. It was bright red and was
real long and hard, and I don't know why really, but I'd already gotten used to having
him lick my cunt and so I was curious is all. I just spread my legs and tried to guide
him into me, but he got scared and jumped off the bed. So I followed him down on the
floor. One thing Max always liked was to have his ears scratched real hard. So the first
thing I did was to start scratching real hard behind his ears. He'd stand still for days if
you scratched his ears the whole time, so while I was scratching, I slowly eased my legs
down between his two front legs, and then as my feet approached his hind legs, I
spread them apart so they'd go to the outside of them. I was keeping up this scratching
rhythm the whole time, and he was loving it, and I noticed that maybe that's what got
dogs aroused, because his dick was still poking out pink and hard underneath him. So,
I just raised my pussy up to it, let it rub against the head of his cock, and tried to get
him to stick it in me. He was afraid though, and bolted away. I gave up for that night,
but pretty soon he was real used to straddling me while I scratched his ears, and after a
while, he just sort of naturally started to ride me with his haunches, the way dogs will
do a lot. So one time when he started, I just stuck my twat up in front of it, and before
he knew what was going on, it was inside me and he was going crazy. God, could he
fuck. Real fast. I had never been fucked that hard from a guy before, and the way his
body stretched across me, his belly kept scraping over my clit while he dug into my
cunt with his hairy prick. I couldn't believe it but I came five times from that first fuck.
He was fast, but real hard when he was getting into it.
I felt weird that first time, but no more weird than I'd felt after he'd licked me to
orgasm the first time on my living room rug.
I went in to take a shower, and felt kind of weird for a couple of days after that, but
pretty soon, I wanted to do it again. It was this secret thing I was able to do, and no
one knew about it, like when you play with dolls and talk to them and play like they
talk back. But this wasn't play. It was real and the toy was really doing it to you. That
was exciting. Pretty soon, I was fucking him every night."
"Every night?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
Sidney was amazed.
"I just told my parents that I'd heard noises outside my window a couple times and
they thought it was a great idea to have Max in the room with me every night. So, it
just sort of naturally developed."
"You're something, Lynn baby. Really something."
"You act like you mean something else when you say that."
"No, no. I just mean that you don't find a lot of people like you. So, did you ever do it
with any other dogs?"
"Yeah, when I went to visit my aunt and uncle one summer, they had this Irish Setter
that I seduced, sort of. It was the same way as with Max, only I'd take him for long
runs in the country, and when I was sure I was far away from anyone who could see
me, I started to teach him about my cunt too. He learned a lot faster than Max did, and
was fucking me by the second time I'd taken him for a run."
"Was he as good as Max?"
"No, he wasn't as big."
Sidney thought about this for a moment. He sure hadn't realized just what he was
picking up when he'd brought this girl home with him a couple of nights earlier. She'd
fucked his eyes out, then started telling this bizarre story about fucking dogs. And she
was serious. She really dug on it. The possibilities were staggering.
"So, do you still do it with dogs?"
"I don't know. I kind of got out of the habit. It's not the sort of thing you want to
advertise and be open about. It's hard to get an opportunity to do it."
"But you might still get into it if you had the opportunity?"
"Maybe."
That had been the start of it. Sidney said nothing more on the subject for a couple of
weeks, and then one morning, she woke up and found a great dane sleeping in the
living room.
"Where did you find this beautiful dog," Lynn asked him. "I can't believe how gorgeous
he is."
"A friend, uh, asked me to baby sit for him while he's out of town."
"Sidney, what do you have in mind for this dog?"
"Well, I'll admit, he is kind of trained."
She felt a thrill, of sorts.
'Trained, how?"
"Well, he's sort of a movie dog."
"What kind of movies?"
"Movies that might remind you a lot of good old Max."
"Oh, those kind of movies."
Then she though about it.
"Him?" she asked, pointing to the Great Dane.
"Yep."
"What's his name?"
"Brutus."
"Of course. What else are you going to name a Great Dane?"
"Well," joked Sidney "You could name him Leif Erikson, or Thor or something Norse
like that."
"I like Brutus."
"I think Brutus likes you too. Look at how he's sniffing around you."
It was true. Brutus' big nose was already seeking out her crotch, even beneath her
clothes.
"Hey," said Sidney. "I have an idea. Why don't you take off your clothes and let me
take some pictures of you. I think Brutus' owner would get a real kick out of that."
"I don't know," said Lynn, a little hesitantly. "I mean, it's not really like doing it with
Max..." but she was fascinated by the cold wet nose rummaging around her thighs and
crotch, and so she slipped out of her shorts. Brutus immediately went to work. Out
came that broad pink tongue and it instantly sought out her wet slit between her legs.
The touch was really thrilling to Lynn's young body. The tongue pressed over her pussy
lips like a rolling pin over fresh dough. It lapped continuously at her clit, and before
she even knew what was happening, she was coming.
"Hey, hang on a second," said Sidney, fumbling with his light meter.
"Tell Brutus," she said, starting to laugh but having it cut short by a gasp of pleasure.
He wasn't very imaginative. But then he didn't need to be. That massive tongue did
everything that was called for, and gave her pussy a working over like she hadn't had
since she left Max behind. It felt wonderful.
Sidney stood above her spread legs, focusing tightly on her open cunt with the tongue
lapping all around it. He went through nearly an entire roll of film, and then told her to
put her hands underneath her ass, and to prop her pelvis up with them.
"That's the signal for Brutus to start fucking," he said.
She did as she was told, and sure enough, no sooner were her hands grasping her soft
buttocks and her hips raising up, than Brutus straddled her and stuck his canine cock
right into the center of her pussy.
"This dog's damn well trained," she told Sidney.
"Told you."
She let the dog fuck her for awhile, and even came once, but she really didn't know
enough about dogs to know if they came or not. She guessed they did, but she had no
way of knowing. Only that after a little while, Brutus seemed to get tired and pulled his
cock out of her still steaming pussy. He trotted over to the center of the room, turned
around in a circle three or four times and lay down with a heavy thud. His tongue was
hanging out of his mouth as he watched them, panting. He seemed to look like he
thought he'd done a good job and was more than willing for them to toss him a bone,
or even a biscuit.
"I think he likes you," said Sidney.
"I think I like him," said Lynn.
"Well, maybe we can put this to good use."
"What do you mean by that," Lynn asked, not too sure if she should trust Sidney or
not.
"Well, here's what I have in mind..."

* * *

That was the memory that haunted her now. It was a memory she'd kept out of her
mind for ten years, ever since she'd split from Sidney. It was a memory of a time she'd
hoped was buried forever, yet had always feared would come back somehow. And now
it had. She needed to talk to someone. Not Stephen. They had no common basis for
dealing with this sort of crisis. Simon. That's who she needed right now, Simon's calm
guidance, his careful decisions his well laid plans.
"Simon, I'm in trouble," she blurted out as soon as he answered.
"Who is this?" He sounded like he'd just woken from a twenty year sleep.
"Simon, it's Lynn. I've got a real problem."
"What time is it?"
"Simon, will you please wake up! I need you!"
Simon had learned to recognize that edge in her voice, that brittle quality that all at
once suggested that here was a fragile being, one who was close to shattering. Always
he'd managed to soothe her, calm her, bring her back. He did so now.
"Hey, hey sweetie, what's the problem. Ok, I'm listening. I'm awake. Tell old Uncle
Simon what's up."
"Simon, remember that guy I told you about. The one I used to live with back before
you found me?"
"Yeah, the film maker."
"He's back."
"You're kidding."
"I'm not."
"Fuck."
A long silence. "What's he want?"
"I don't know, but he's been to see Bob Grant. I don't know how much he let out, but
it couldn't have been much or else I'm sure Grant would have let me go right on the
spot I mean, isn't that part of the contract? That I won't do anything to tarnish The
Image'?"
"Um hmmm..." she could hear Simon's brain shifting gears as he tried to come to terms
with this unwelcome development.
"Look Lynn, you've got to get to this guy yourself. We have to smoke him out. If he's
gonna spill the beans, we need to be able to have some kind of control over events
when they pop. Shit, this would have to happen now. I was lining you up a real ripe
part in Romanski's next picture. What did Grant say?"
"He just asked me if I'd ever done anything that might interfere with the kind of image
they wanted to project, and he asked me if I knew a Sidney Dumont. What could I say?
I told him I'd never heard of him."
"Well good. That's the first rule in this business. A lie repeated often enough becomes
the truth. Don't ever forget it."
"Yeah, I know, I've heard that before. Didn't Goebbels say that."
"Probably. He was in the wrong field. If he'd have been born in America he could have
sold shit to a sewage plant. Look, we gotta get to this guy. How are we going to do it."
"Simon, I really don't have any idea. I just have to wait for his next move."
"That's bad. I hate waiting for someone else's move. Look, can we simply go all out and
say the whole thing's bullshit. I mean, can we take a hard line. You yourself said that
you looked a lot different back then."
"I don't know. Maybe. Oh God, Simon, I'm scared."
"Me too. Bob Grant would get real pissed at this if it ever hit big. I hate to say it, but he
has clout. I mean Belitt Studios are not heavy Weight in my book, but believe me, he
has clout."
"So advise me! You're my fucking manager. What'll I do."
"Wait. And trust me. I'll see what I can dig up. Now look, you have to tell me
everything you can possibly remember about this chump... what's his name? Dumont?
Sidney Dumont?"
"Yes."
"All right, try to remember everything. Who he knew, what he did, who he worked for,
and where he's been for ten years."
"Well..." she hated this, raking through coals she'd thought to be long since cold and
finding them still glowing red. They talked for more than an hour, she coming up with
more and more details, Simon calmly taking notes, commenting once or twice and
plotting strategy.
"You did WHAT?!!" he burst out at one point.
"Come on Simon, I told you long ago it wasn't a very pretty situation."
"How many did you say?"
"I don't know, a lot. We were working all the time."
"No, I mean with the Great Dane."
"I don't know!! I said a lot."
"Ok, Ok, calm down. I just gotta know all the details. Even if it makes me wanna cry."
"I'm sorry Simon. I really am."
"Cool it. You were a kid. Just try telling that to the entertainment editor of the Times
though. We gotta move fast. I'll get back in touch."
And then the phone was dead and she was alone again. Alone with her thoughts, her
fears, her memories...
That night, she slept fitfully. Several times she woke up with a violent start, and still
had visions of heavy pink tongues dancing before her eyes, heard the soft padding of
canine steps down long corridors, felt the strangely sensuous touch against her cunt...
Oh god, she thought. Why? Why did that memory, even now, even after trying so hard
for so long to extinguish it, why did it still excite her, leave her cunt tingling with
anticipation. Why did she... want it? But she did, there was no denying that. It was a
deep twisted streak, the kind most people spend their whole lives never even becoming
aware of, a dark side of her that she'd not only brought to the surface, but actually
lived. She was homey; And it was not Stephen's cock that was making her that way. It
was a large lazy panting tongue, a cold wet snout, the bright red head of an alien cock...
She finally could take it no longer. Around four in the morning, after waking from a
particularly vivid dream, she attacked her clitoris with a vengeance. Her fingers fell
upon the tiny erect mass of tissue and enflamed nerve endings. She had no interest now
in delicacy or finesse. She had the hots, bad and wanted to feel violated. Lacking
someone (or something) to violate her, she did it to herself working her clit with a
vicious movement of fingertips and fingernails that nearly pulled the tiny bud of flesh
right out of its nest within her wet cunt lips. Again and again she dug at it, hurting it
yet flooding her body with the rising swirls of orgasmic spasms.
She came. When she did, the world momentarily ceased to exist. Her mind went blank,
her muscles went rigid, she cried out to the empty room. And when it was through
with her, she was no closer to any resolution of her predicament than before. But the
pressure in her thighs and cunt was eased, for a little while.
Beyond that lay the shadows, the dark side of her soul, the Pandora's Box she'd
completely forgotten, only to stumble upon it one day and find it already broken open,
the demons within already wrecking havoc with the fragile fabric of her life. Somehow,
somewhere deep inside her, she knew that try as she might, they would never again be
returned to their prison. Her life was set on an irreversible course. It remained for her
to discover just what that course would turn out to be.


Chapter 3

"Ok, now Avril, this is supposed to be a really funny scene. You got that? I don't seem
to be getting the sense of humor out of you that I'd like to see."
"I'm sorry, it just doesn't strike me as funny. I think we need to rewrite the entire scene
from the ground up."
T.J. looked at him like he'd just suggested gang raping Mammie Eisenhower.
"Avril my man, you speak utter nonsense. The scene is beautiful just as it is. FUCK!
What more do you want? You've just spent three weeks sketching an ad layout, you're
an hour away from the biggest presentation of your entire career, and Prince decides to
have the whole series for lunch. It's a natural. Believe me, it'll work. One thing, you
might try to go easy on the mugging. It really doesn't fit. There's a natural humor here
that we don't want to fuck up with a lot of overstatement. Ok? All right everybody, let's
try it again."
T.J. clapped his hands with an enthusiasm neither he nor anyone else felt. His star was
unmoved.
"T.J., I'm sorry, but I have to follow my instincts on this. There comes a time when you
simply have to say, 'This is not right for me'. I'm sorry, but this is that time."
T.J. looked at him with a totally blank expression.
"I want you to think about something for me, would you?" He began after what he felt
to be a suitable pause. "I want you to consider what you're making the artistic stand of
your career over. This is a movie that will, should it ever through the grace of God get
finished and into theatres somewhere in the world, be seen by bored parents who want
to keep their kids still and in one place for an hour and a half out of what would
otherwise be a normal afternoon of American family lunacy. The parents will hate it,
and the kids won't care. This is a movie about a fucking dog, for the love of God!!!
YOU, are in this movie because you couldn't find work selling toilet bowl cleaner if you
paid them to let you do it. You do not have any prestige here. You are here to read
your rotten lines in whatever style you can dredge up, try to make it look halfway
convincing and then take your check, which your are most decidedly not worth, and go
back to whatever you call home, at which point we will all hopefully forget that we ever
had to work with you, you lousy rotten..."
T.J. was getting carried away with himself. Crew members exchanged nervous glances.
The rest of the cast looked at their feet, at the lights, at each other, anything to avoid
becoming a part of the unbelievable drama playing itself out right before their eyes.
"Hey, T.J., take it easy," suggested the assistant director.
"Fuck you!!" yelled T.J. And then suddenly, he was still, nearly frozen in his pose as he
realized what he'd been saying.
Wellington was white as a sheet. Lynn thought she could see smoke shooting out of his
ears. At the very least, his eyes were spinning dizzily out of control. His head began to
waver, he groped around with his hands for support. He stared at T.J. like he was
watching Martians having sex.
"You'll regret this," he said in a choked voice and turned to stalk off.
T.J. stared back at him and then broke into a run to catch up with him.
"Hey, Avril, I'm sorry, listen we're all under tension, hey look I just sort of got carried
away, listen you know I didn't mean any of it goddam my mouth, hey you know how it
is you say things you don't mean..." but Avril wasn't having any of it.
"You'll talk to my manager," he thundered, not breaking stride for a second.
T.J. stopped, his jaws working but no sound coming out.
"What manager?" he yelled after him. "He's more over the hill than you are for
Chrissakes!!!"
Lynn walked up to him.
"T.J., are you all right. It's not like you to get so upset."
"Ahhh, that asshole!" Then he looked at her. "Yeah, look, I need to talk to you. What
do you say we go back to your dressing room."
He wasted no time when they were there.
"Look, I want to know what's going on. Bob Grant's making noises like maybe you're
going to be dropped from the picture. Do you have any idea how that would fuck us
up? Do you know who gets the full load of shit in the face? Me, that's who. What the
hell's going on?"
"T.J., I swear I don't know. You were there the other day. You know as much as I do."
"Yeah; I wonder."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Ok, look, I got a phone call last night." Lynn's heart skipped several beats.
"What kind of phone call?"
"It was a real weird kind of call. It was just a voice, didn't identify himself or anything.
All he said was 'This isn't the first dog picture your leading lady's been in', and then he
hung up. Now what do you suppose that was all about."
"I don't know, but it sounds a lot like the kind of thing Bob Grant was hinting at. T.J.,
I'm scared. Someone's trying to smear my name. They want to ruin my career. Why?
Why?"
She began to cry, congratulating herself on her ability to produce tears at will. T.J. was
at once sympathetic.
"Aw, I'm sorry honey," he said soothingly, putting an arm around her shoulder. "Look,
I hate myself for doubting you, but I had to hear it from your own lips. I had to see
that you're innocent of whatever these scum are trying to push over on you."
He pulled her a little closer to him. She allowed herself to rest against the side of his
body and she leaned her head on his shoulder, still crying softly into his shirt.
"Oh T.J., I'm so scared. What do they want from me?"
"Aw, don't worry about it. If you're innocent, there's nothing you have to worry about.
Look, what's Simon say about all this? Have you talked to him?"
"Well... yes... yes... (sniff) after that talk... talk with... (sniff). Bob Grant, I was worried.
You know? I mean, it's so easy to get your name fucked up in this town... and he said
he'd look into it."
"Well look, it's time you me and Simon had it out with Bob Grant and found out just
what's going on. I need to know. I can't keep getting all these fucking surprises. Christ,
it's driving me crazy. You saw how I was on the set a few minutes ago. I'm getting real
edgy, you know what I mean? I just want to finish this picture and get the fuck out of
Belitt Studios in one piece."
"Will you help me, T.J.? I need to know I can count on you."
"Well... sure, I mean, if you're getting a bad deal here..."
"Not if. I'm getting a bad deal and I want you to be on my side."
"Look Lynn, you know how this town is. You gotta look after your own ass. I mean,
hey, it's a bitch but numero uno and all that..." but her eyes caught his and held them.
His voice trailed off. Her look was too intense, too serious for him to override her. She
moved closer to him, brushed against him again, this time with her breasts.
"T.J., I need you on my side." She whispered it softly. She left no doubt in his mind just
exactly what she was willing to pay for his loyalty.
"Umm..." suddenly he looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, yeah, Lynn. Hey look, I'm
on your side, you know what I mean. I mean like, anything I can do, you just ask, you
know?"
"I hope so, T.J. I hope so."
He eyed her up and down. "You know how long I've wanted to get to you," he asked
bluntly.
"I'd bet a long time."
"Ever since I saw you in 'Paradise Delayed'. I said to myself, you gotta direct that girl in
a picture of yours, and you gotta get her into your bed."
His sudden bluntness startled her.
"Well," she said with a little laugh to cover her surprised, "I'm flattered, T.J. Real
flattered."
"Yeah? Well don't be. And I'll tell you why. You know what I think? I think this
Dumont creep Grant's been talking about really does know you. You know what else I
think? I think he's got something that'll make it impossible for anyone in this town to
ever take you seriously again, if he can make it stick. You know why I think he might
not make it stick? Because you're still around. He'd have gone for broke right off, if he
had the genuine article. So I don't really know what's going on. But whatever it is,
you're gonna need some friends, especially in this company. So I got my own ideas
about how you can reward friendship. So don't be flattered. You're cute, but so are a
dozen hundred other girls and a lot of them are a damn sight younger than you are.
Lynn grew closer and closer to tears as he spoke. What was this all about? My god, why
was he talking to her like this? What had caused such a transformation?
"T.J., what are you saying?"
He lit a cigar and filled her dressing room with a sickening smelling smoke.
"Look, I'm pissed off, because I need this movie. I need this thing to come out OK.
Maybe you haven't noticed, but I haven't had any Academy Award Nominations in a
decade or two. People don't remember me that well. If I can keep myself comfortable
turning out crap for the Belitt Boys, I don't need anyone fucking it up for me. And I
have a real bad feeling that I might be getting fucked up by you. And it pisses me off,
'cause I don't like to be used that way. And if anyone thinks they can, I usually like to
either get rid of them or use them back. So cut the crap. What was it you did with this
clown. Dirty movies? Hell! That's no problem. There's lots of clowns walking around
this town who made one or two in their time. Shit, everyone's got to pay the rent.
People survive that sort of shit. That what it is?"
"T.J., honest, I don't know what you're talking about."
"That right? I see." He reached out his hand and ripped her blouse open. Buttons
snapped and flew in all directions. So violent was his tug on her that she was nearly
knocked off balance.
"T.J.!!!" she screamed. "What are you doing?"
"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm getting ready to fuck you."
She tried to struggle, but to her surprise he easily overpowered her, had his hand inside
her pants and had them undone and halfway down her legs before she could even
gather her wits.
He was quite practiced at this, she could tell. "T.J., dammit, this isn't necessary!!"
"Sure it is. I'm homey."
"That's not what I meant, you old fool. I was ready to go to bed with you anyway!"
She slapped him.
"You're such a fool.".
"No, Lynn baby, you're the fool. You think this is a game we're playing. Well it's not. It
never is. People survive by how well they finally figure out that the bottom line is
always that it's no game we're playing out here. It may not be particularly real, but it's
never a game."
He had her by both hands, was struggling mightily, when all of a sudden, there was a
knock at the door.
"Lynn honey, you there."
"Steve!" She nearly screamed the name and bounded to the door.
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
"No, I was just leaving." T.J. pushed past Steve, who regarded Lynn's open shirt with
equally open skepticism.
"What the hell's going on?" He tried to sound indignant, but ease up fast when Lynn
collapsed into hysterics.
"Hey, what's the problem honey? Hey, that's all right," he said, stroking her hair. "Take
it easy, take it easy. Everything will be Ok." He kept stroking her hair, brushed away
her tears.
"He tried to rape me, Steve."
"I'll kill the bastard," he said in the same tone of voice he'd used to calm her down.
"I mean it Steve, he tried to rape me."
"Shhh," he went, not really hearing her.
"You don't believe me?" She was aghast. "Sure I do. But what are you going to do? You
can't walk off the picture. Now take it easy. He'll get exactly what's coming to him you
can rest assured of that, but right now, you just need to calm down. Don't worry about
T.J., he's already set himself on the wrong path."
"You promise," she sniffed, feeling like a little child.
"Sure do."
"Oh Steve, I'm so scared!"
"Of what?" He dried the last of her tears with his shirt. "T.J.? He got you spooked?"
"Steve, someone's trying to ruin my career. They're spreading awful rumors about me."
"Yeah?" He got a little more serious upon hearing this. "What kind of rumors?"
"I don't know, exactly. But someone who calls himself Sidney Dumont has been
phoning Bob Grant with stories about me and Grant believes him. At least, that's what
T.J. hinted. He asked me about it the other day and I didn't really think too much of it.
She wondered if she sounded innocent and frightened, or just plain frightened.
"Well, what are they talking about? What's being said that's so terrible? Hey look
sweetie, you're a hot property. You've got a big name. It stands to reason that a lot of
punks are gonna want to take pot shots at you every now and again. You're an easy
target. Don't let it get you down."
"Well, I'm tired of it. T.J. told me just before he tried to rape me that he thinks there's
probably some truth to the stories. What am I going to do?"
She was near hysterics. Steve kept on stroking her hair, kissing her lightly on the cheek.
"What exactly is being said?"
"I don't know... someone's suggesting that I made... well, T.J. says that someone called
him last night and said this wasn't the first 'dog picture' I'd made. And Bob Grant
asked me the same thing the other day. Something about if I'd done any other kind of
film work before I came out here. Oh, I can't stand this! Everything takes place behind
your back, and no one will tell you anything until it's too late and then they never want
to hear your side of it..."
She started to cry. Steve led her over to the couch and sat next to her.
"Now listen to me Lynn, you gotta get hold of yourself. Nothing's going to be solved by
crying. Get yourself under control. I'll tell you what. I'll see if I can find out anything
about this character Grant mentioned, what's his name?"
"Dumont. Sidney Dumont, I think."
"Ok, I have a few friends who might know something. You just calm down and I'll get
back to you, all right?"
She sniffled.
"Hold me, Steve."
He did so, and she leaned into him.
"Make love to me."
He looked down at her face, still streaked with tears.
"Are you sure you're in the mood?"
"Please, now. Fuck me."
He slipped the ripped blouse down around her shoulders, unfastened her skirt and as
he stood up to remove his trousers, a quizzical expression on his face, she lay back and
opened her legs to him. Her panties were wet and dark with the stain of her cunt juices.
Strong emotion, she'd learned long ago, whether arousal or fear, always made her wet.
And hot. She needed release from the mounting pressures in her life, and the hard cock
hanging down between Steve's legs was just what she had in mind.
He fell on her, pulling her panties down around her legs, slipping them off her feet and
pressing his hand tightly against the wet folds of her cunt lips. He started to massage
her clitoris very hard and fast and she at once came with a jerking spasm through her
body.
Then his lips were on her breasts rolling the big nipples around between them, and his
cock was sliding into her. She arched her pelvis to give him easier entry, kicked her legs
up and wrapped them around his neck and shoulders and began to push violently
against his pelvis with her own, ramming her cunt up onto his cock that split through
her like a spike.
He was good, he always was good, but more and more in the last week or so, the
reawakened past had seeped more and more into her conscious thoughts, and as she felt
his fingers on her clitoris, she thought of something far different, something darker, still
unaccepted. She came, but her fantasies that accompanied her orgasm had little to do
with Stephen. Almost without her realizing it, she was substituting the masculine body
on top of her with a different body, a four legged body, covered with hair, propelled by
no feelings or emotions she'd be able to recognize. She scarcely recognized her own
urges, was hardly able to acknowledge that this fantasy was indeed hers. But it was
becoming too real, as it once before had become too real to ignore. She was growing
hungrier, and Stephen's cock, trained and practiced as it was, didn't quite make the
grade. Would she have the courage, or even the ability to seek her true satisfaction?
Could she admit to herself, that the storm gathering around her was no fluke, no myth,
but actually the embodiment of what was most fundamental and real in her desires? She
didn't know, but she knew she would have to do something. Later, after getting word
that there would be no more filming for the day, she left her dressing room, walked
across the nearly deserted set and made for the door of the soundstage. She heard
footsteps padding up behind her, turned and gasped in spite of herself. It was Prince,
loping lazily around the set before being taking back to the kennel. He nuzzled against
her hand. She jerked back, almost afraid to touch him, but she did, scratched his ears,
gave his lean ribs a firm pat. She couldn't keep her eyes off him. So big. Bigger than
Max. Bigger than Brutus...
She turned and fled. The Great Dane remained behind, but the images he conjured up
in her tormented brain followed her. She would not be rid of them that easily.


Chapter 4

"Sidney Dumont," Simon was saying in T.J.'s office, "arrested August 19, 1969 for
possession of heroin, released on a technicality, arrested January 27, 1970 for cocaine
sale, released on bail, arrested before coming to trial on the cocaine charges for
contributing to the delinquency of a minor, to wit, using a fifteen year old in the
making of pornographic films. Spent nearly ten years in prison, was released on parole
three months ago." He closed the file and looked at Lynn and T.J. "Nothing more's
been heard of him until Bob Grant mentioned his name the other day to you Lynn. He
just vanished from New York after he got out. Looks like he didn't waste too much
time tracking you down. I've got three detectives working on digging up his trail out
here. Don't worry, if he's left any tracks at all, we'll find them, and we can handle it our
way, without going to the police."
"So what are you going to do, put out a contract on him?" asked T.J.
"There are ways to be persuasive. As I'm sure you know."
T.J. gave Lynn a quick hard glance as Simon shot off this remark.
"Yeah, maybe I see what you mean. So what do we do? I say go to Bob Grant right now
and get this whole thing out in the open."
"Me too," agreed Lynn.
"Why?" asked Simon. "What's that going to do? If Grant had anything decisive he'd
have already hit you with it. No, I don't think he knows anything more than he's
already indicated. He's probably hoping the whole thing blows away, and if we go
storming up there now, it'll just make him worry more. We don't want to make Bob
Grant worry any more than he has to, do we?"
"No fucking way," said T.J. emphatically.
"Where are your detectives looking?" asked Lynn.
"In the scummiest alleys and flop houses they can find.
"T.J. thinks he's really got something on me, Simon. He doesn't believe me."
Simon arched his eyebrows.
"Why not, T.J."
"Aw, Lynn, I'm really sorry about the other day. Honest to God, if I had it to do over, I
would. I was really upset, you know. There's been a lot of pressure on me lately. Look,
just forget what I said, will you?"
"Gladly, T.J." said Lynn.
"Seriously, T.J., if you have any doubts, I'd like to hear them."
"Nah! Seriously, I was in a foul mood. I said some stupid things and I said I was sorry
for them. Now let's forget it."
A knock came at the door. Simon stood up to leave as T.J. yelled for whoever it was to
come in.
"I'll be in touch with you, Lynn, now don't worry. Just do a good job here for T.J."
Avril Wellington walked past Simon on his way out.
"I guess I'd best be going too, T.J." said Lynn.
"No, no, don't leave just on my account my dear," said Avril primly. "What I have to
say won't take a second." He turned to T.J. "T.J., I want an apology from you. I want it
in front of the whole company. I will not go back before a single camera until I have it.
Sorry, that's my last word."
T.J. stared at him, again with the blank expression that he seemed to reserve solely for
Wellington.
"All right, Avril." T.J.'s voice was calm. Too calm. "I think that sounds reasonable." He
lit a cigar. "Anything else? Maybe I could shine your shoes? Make your bed? Lick your
ass maybe?" Still in the same friendly tone.
"T.J., I don't think you understand that I'm quite serious on this point. I will not-"
"SHADDUP!!!" T.J.'s fury silenced Wellington, and startled Lynn. T.J. gave him a look,
then went on calmly lighting his cigar which seemed to go out if he left it untended for
more than thirty seconds.
"Now, let me make this clear to you Avril... I hinted at this sort of thing the other day,
but as you've so clearly and, I might add, correctly pointed out, I was feeling out of
sorts, and perhaps there was a little too much venom in my voice for the true meaning
of my words to make itself heard. So. I'll repeat what I said, this time" Avril started to
interrupt but T.J. held up a hand and rolled right over him, "Uh uh, I'm not finished,
this time I'll speak very slowly and very carefully, and I hope you'll listen to what I have
to say in the spirit in which I say it."
He puffed on his cigar. Wellington looked like he was just barely able to tolerate this
patronizing attitude from an obvious inferior, but that his patience was wearing thin.
"T.J., I think I should go." Lynn got up to leave.
"No, I want you to stick around. You two are my stars, and I need to have some kind of
consensus of opinion on this from both of you."
He puffed on his cigar a little more, then looked directly at Wellington.
"Avril, you're a bag of shit."
Wellington's face started to get red.
"No, seriously, I mean it. I said this the other day. You couldn't get a job selling toilet
bowl cleaner if you paid them to hire you. You're over the hill. You're through. You're
washed up. You've bombed in everything you've done. You made some shitty movies,
done some rotten things on TV, you're a pain in the ass to work for and no one wants
you around. This movie is your last chance. You can hang around here turning out
Belitt flicks about animals, because most of the time people don't want to do them."
Lynn squirmed uncomfortably in her seat as T.J. talked down about what could be her
last chance too.
"But you're a mess. You don't say shit to me. You hear. Now, if you want to stage your
own strike, go right ahead. I'm not only going to not apologize, but I'm going to go out
there this afternoon and repeat verbatim what I've just told you. I don't give a shit what
you think. You want to quit? Quit. You want to walk off the set? So go. You want to
ever work again? Then keep your mouth shut. In any event, get the fuck out of my
office. Now."
He was furious.
Surprisingly, Wellington made no move to leave, and didn't seem too perturbed at T.J.'s
outburst. He turned to look at Lynn.
"So how do you feel about making Dog Pictures for Belitt Studios, Lynn?"
He said the words 'dog pictures' with a half sneer that gave Lynn a chill.
"What do you mean by that crack," shot back T.J.
"Crack? What crack? I just asked her a question. I wondered how she liked playing
opposite a dog, is all." He leered at her. T.J. stood up behind his desk.
"Look you soft-headed cretin, you spit it out if you've got something to say. Otherwise,
get the fuck out of here. I'll make sure you never work in this town again if you give
me one more ounce of trouble."
"All right, all right, T.J. I'll leave." He smirked back at Lynn. "Heads up, Lynn doll.
Who knows, you may find that you actually like dogs." He chuckled and walked out of
T.J.'s office.
"My God, what was he saying all that for?" she asked.
"Fuck if I know. I sure hope Simon finds that creep soon."

* * *

They finished up early that afternoon. Despite Wellington's outburst in T.J.'s office
earlier in the day, things went smoothly, for the first time in awhile. Lynn had to do
several scenes with Prince. One involved a garden party they were throwing in honor of
Wellington's promotion. Prince managed to jump up onto the long table the caterer
had spent three hours preparing. Of course, all the guests thought it was divine, such a
cute puppy and all that. A stupid scene, thought Lynn, but no more so than the rest of
the picture. They also did one of the pivotal scenes of the movie as far as the plot (such
as it was) was concerned, where Prince carries off a small thin box containing a
priceless diamond necklace and buries it. But the event that Lynn remembered from the
afternoon's labor was not caught on camera and indeed went unnoticed by the crew. It
took only ten seconds. A quick break in the filming while T.J. and his cinematographer
shifted a couple of camera angles found Lynn off to the side of the set where the party
was supposed to take place. Prince trotted up to her and began to nuzzle her hand, as if
saying 'come on, scratch my head, scratch my ears, come on scratch me scratch me'.
Then, he suddenly started to sniff around her crotch. She was turned away from the
others, quickly pushed his head from between her legs but he was insistent and stuck
his nose right back at her again. Memories flooded her brain, impulses shorted out the
circuits of her thought processes, and unbidden, a warmth and tingling crept up her
spine and down her legs. Then she pushed Prince away once more and walked back to
where a group of extras were chatting animatedly about an upcoming party. She tried to
sound breezy and carefree, but knew she must look shaken. It had taken her by
surprise, the dog, her reaction. That was when she saw him. Off beneath a large tree
prop, nearly hidden in shadows, Avril Wellington slouched against a post, arms crossed
in front of him, a mean smirk on his face, his eyes boring into her own. They held each
other's stare for a moment. She was too frightened to look away first. Finally he
shrugged, grinned even wider and walked off.
Altogether, perhaps fifteen seconds out of an afternoon. They stayed with her the rest of
the day.

* * *

"Ok, here's what I've got so far." Simon's eyebrows worked furiously as he studied the
report. "Seems he's got a crummy room down on Mission St."
Lynn shuddered. The neighborhood fit. When she lived with Sidney, they'd had no
better a place. Very bad. High crime. Leaky apartment. Rotten neighborhood. He was
with his own kind.
"He look familiar?" She looked at the photograph he tossed across his desk.
"That's Sidney. He looks older. Hair's a little longer. They were wearing it short back
then. At least he was. But that's Sidney."
She shivered. Seeing him, knowing he was here, that he'd followed her to California,
that he was working to destroy her and that he stood a good chance of succeeding... she
could hardly believe it was really happening "Ok, from the way it looks, he doesn't do
too much during the day. Wanders around, eats lunch at a hamburger shack down the
street. Doesn't seem to know anybody in town. What we have to do, is bring him out.
Get him to make a move on you, catch him trying to extort you or something on tape.
That'd finish him. It wouldn't matter what he had on you."
He paused for a moment and looked at her hard.
"Lynn, what was on those films you used to make for him?"
She looked away. This was embarrassing. "Stuff that'd finish me at Belitt Studios, that's
for sure."
"Like what. Give me a for instance."
"Simon, you've never asked me about any of this in detail. Why now. Does it matter?"
"What do you think? It's only your career. I need to know what I might have to try and
explain away. You'd better prepare me. I'd hate to find out you were fucking a horse or
something for the first time in Bob Grant's private screening room."
She said nothing, simply stared at him.
"You didn't fuck a horse, did you?" He sounded really worried.
"No."
"That's a relief. I mean some things you just can't explain away."
"It was a great dane."
His mouth fell open.
"Really?"
"Really."
"How many films show you fucking a dog?"
"... a lot..."
"Hmmmm..." His eyebrows danced into a deep frown. "This could be a problem.
Except that it probably doesn't look like you, right? I remember you from the old days.
You had real fucked up teeth, didn't look a thing like you do now. Hell, Marilyn
Monroe survived it. There were rumors about her for years. He thought a moment
more.
"Well fight this thing, and we'll win." He said it so decisively, she couldn't help take
heart.
"Simon, you don't think I'm weird or anything, do you?"
"What, for fucking a dog? What do you think?"
She looked like she might start to cry.
"Hey, hey, I was kidding. Look, you were a kid, you were out on your own, a runaway,
some creep with a lot of influence over you got a hold of you and fucked you up. It
happens all the time. It might be a little hard to patch up the damage if it breaks, but,
no, I don't think you're weird. Now, if they catch you fucking that stupid mutt over at
Belitt Studios some night after the set shuts down, that I'll think is weird."
Her smile looked genuine. Her stomach felt like an empty pit.

* * *

"All right" Stephen was saying, "I'll stay with you, if you really want me to."
"I do, I do. Simon's located that creep. He's got to try to smoke him out, which means
he'll come to see me. He has to eventually. How else is he going to get any profit from
blackmailing me?"
"So what do you want me to do?"
"Just be there with me. I'm scared."
They were having dinner at her apartment. She needed his company, and she needed to
take him more into her confidence. She didn't know how, nor had she decided how
much to tell him.
"Steve," she said after a long silence. "I have to tell you something."
"What's that?" he asked stuffing his mouth with the spaghetti she'd prepared.
"This creep who's after me..."
"Yeah, what about him?"
"I did know him."
He stopped eating, a large clump of spaghetti hanging out of his mouth. He stared at
he "Please don't be angry with me."
He said nothing. But he did slowly suck the strands of spaghetti into his mouth.
"Stephen, say something to me."
"Well, I'm not surprised. If that's what you're worrying about."
"You're not?"
"No, I suspected you might have known him. I mean, face it, you're good and you're
pretty, but you've had a little slump lately, and if he was just after some extortion
money, there were better targets. No, it sounded to me like there was something going
on. I talked to T.J. about it. He thought so too."
"You talked to T.J.? When?"
"That day you told me he raped you. I went to him and checked out his story. I
thought about roughing him up, but figured it might make things hard on you. So we
just talked and got along really well, actually. That's when he told me he thought this
guy might have something on you."
"What did he say?"
"Aw come on. You just said he was right, didn't you? You figure out what he said.
Everybody's entitled to a mistake. Christ, how old were you? Sixteen, Fifteen? That's
what you were doing with this guy, right, making dirty movies She nodded.
"Pretty hardcore stuff?"
She nodded again.
"How hardcore?"
"How hardcore do you want it?"
He watched her as he lit a cigarette.
"Ok, so what's Simon got up his sleeve?"
"He wants to get evidence of Sidney trying to blackmail me. He thinks with his record,
we might be able to get rid of him and pack him off before he can do any real damage."
"How many films can he still have? He was in prison for ten years?"
"I don't know. It could be that none of them would do him any good. I looked a lot
different back then."
He nodded, slowly smoked his cigarette. "Look Lynn, I'll stay here a while, but I don't
want anything getting too permanent a feel to it, if you know what I mean."
She got a disgusted look on her face.
"Christ, I just wanted you to help me out, do me a fucking favor. You don't have to get
all worried. Look, if it's too much trouble, maybe you should forget about it."
"No, no, listen, I don't mind helping you out, I just don't want any kind of live-in
attitude taking shape."
"Oh, fuck you anyway."
"Well, that's a nice attitude."
"Maybe you should go."
"Look, Lynn, you're being silly."
"Am I?" She was getting mad.
"Yes, I think you are. I said I'd help you out."
She sat in silence. The trouble was, she was getting too far away from the attitude she
was trying to carry off with everyone. She was being pummeled with images of Great
Danes, overwhelmed with the thought of pink tongues at her cunt, licking her clitoris.
She was going crazy, that's what she thought. How could she possibly relate to
someone like Steve? What was happening to her?
"Steve, I'm sorry, I really am. I'm just real upset anymore. I-I don't know what to say.
Maybe you'd better go tonight. I didn't mean to make a scene."
"Well, that's ok, I understand. At least I try to. Like I said, I'm willing to help you out
if you need it."
"I appreciate that. I really do."
They finished their dinner in silence. He declined her offer of a couple after-dinner
drinks.
"I guess I'm just not in the mood."
She lowered her eyes.
"It's all my fault, isn't it? I ruin everything."
"Now come on, don't be silly. Look, I'll call you tomorrow. All right?"
She nodded, he kissed her good bye and left. She was alone. Alone with the thoughts
that had haunted her all day. Alone with her fantasies. She thought back to the scene
this afternoon, saw the cameras, the lights, the vast array of equipment. So different
from the meager budget Sidney had operated on. Most of his movies were filmed in the
living room of his apartment, or a friend of his. But they'd filled the bill. Sometimes
there'd be only her. Sometimes another girl or maybe two, sometimes she and a guy,
and often, all too often, the leading actor would be Brutus...
She saw scenes begin to play across the screen of her mind. A room, plants hanging
from the walls, their plastic sheen not evident in the harsh light and overexposed film...
she's lying on the couch. She is wearing a flimsy night shirt, thin sheer see-through
material with full round breasts pushing out from beneath. She raises one leg over the
back of the couch, pulling the material up to her stomach. Her cunt is wide open. The
camera zooms in for a close up, she sees lips spreading, pink and red flesh, shiny
glistening flesh, her body split and oozing its thick juice. She plays around her clit with
her finger, moves it down the crack, slips it up inside her. Two fingers. Three. She
works in and out furiously now, feeling herself getting hot, getting ready to come. She
looks around for something to insert into her gaping pussy, settles on a hair brush lying
on the carpet beside her. The handle is long, thick, it goes in with ease, so primed and
lubricated are the walls of her cunt. She moves it in and out, twists it around, presses it
to either side, works it around and around, growing wetter and wetter by the second.
Finally she takes the handle out and presses the end against her erect clitoris. Holding
the brush with one hand, she starts to press it against her clit real hard, releasing the
pressure then pressing again as hard as she can. Quickly, quicker still. With her other
hand she begins to press and roll her breasts around, pinching her nipples, twisting
them. She comes and her orgasm is genuine, the contortions of her face recorded
faithfully on the thin strip of film clicking through the camera in Sidney's hands.
That had been the method of her solo efforts. As she plays through the forgotten scenes
again, she remembers other versions. Coke bottles in her cunt. Large hose nozzles.
Bananas.
Bananas. Cucumbers. Spiked heels. She remembers a scene where she's standing in the
kitchen, dressed in a pretty little maid's outfit. She's mopping the floor, looks outside
the window and sees a couple, obviously in love, walking hand in hand, kissing. She
becomes aroused, there is a flashback of her screwing some stud with a thick dick, and
when the scene returns to her in the kitchen, she already has her blouse opened and is
massaging her tits, working the nipples between her fingers like small balls of clay.
Then she hops up on the counter and raises her frilly skirt. She wears nothing
underneath. The pink slit of her cunt grins clearly through her hair. Taking the mop
handle in her hands, she slowly begins to feed it between her legs, up to the opening of
her pussy and then past her wet lips, right into the dark cave of passion that squirms in
frustrated emptiness. She fills it, pushing as much of the handle in her as she can
manage. She begins to writhe on the counter, moaning and groaning (this must be
surmised from her facial contortions; usually Sidney couldn't afford sound equipment)
until she is caught by surprise when the man of the house walks into the kitchen
wearing a bathrobe. She continues on for a few seconds, unaware that he's watching
her, and it is only when he walks up to her and pulls the mop out of her cunt that she
looks up with a start, her eyes growing wide with fear. But he stares only at her ripe
breasts, reaches out to them and gives them a firm squeeze. He opens his bathrobe and
she reaches for his swollen cock which she pulls toward her pussy the same way that
she pulled the mop handle towards her. He enters her. His cock slides in and out of her
lips, her long wet canal, she remembers the feeling of her cunt walls being stretched...
She sees herself by a fireplace. The room looks like it was lavishly furnished, although
she remembers that only certain portions were decorated. Someone who was actually in
the room would have noticed long stretches of blank walls, bare floors, and furniture
that on close inspection would reveal itself to be quite shabby.
But Sidney knew his camera angles. On screen, the slightly out of focus scene could
easily have been shot in a mansion, a plush East-side apartment, a country home in
Connecticut...
She is lying on the rug, wearing only panties and bra. She slowly unhooks her bra,
allowing the camera to record in faithful close-ups the jiggling motion each breast
makes as she lets it spill out of the cloth cup. They sway with each movement, the
surface ripples at each shake of her torso. Then she is slipping her fingers beneath her
panties, working several into her pussy. She pulls them off, spreads her naked legs for
the camera and continues to play with her pussy. And then the dark shape moves in
from the left side of the screen. Even now, ten years, twelve years (how long really?
She'd lost her ability to measure linear time) later, she could remember exactly the
shape of the head, the two ears pointing straight up, the huge snout with its perpetually
cold, moist nose continually sniffing at all parts of her body. Brutus. Even now she
thought it was a silly name for a dog, especially one who was so mild mannered. Great
Danes only looked fierce, she'd decided. Brutus, at least, was a pussycat. She can still
feel the gentle warmth of his breath on her thighs, feel that curious, probing tongue,
those insistent licking thrusts along the surface of her pussy. As if an audience to
herself, she watches the fabric of memory unravel, sees herself in a multitude of
variations on a single theme, the only theme, after a while.
"It's hard to get people who look so natural doing this kind of thing," Sidney had told
her. At the time, she had felt natural about it. It was fun, actually, and certainly didn't
feel like the awesome taboo being broken that she knew others would view it as. She
enjoyed it. Liked having this dog's tongue at her pussy, having his utterly strange, yet
strangely thrilling cock entering her, feeling those alien haunches quivering with their
own brand of passion and lust, feeling a dog fuck her. Feeling herself fuck a dog. And
liking it. Loving it. Wanting it. After twelve years, wanting it still. Wanting to feel
herself violated in a way unlike any rape could ever hope to accomplish, violated in a
manner that went beyond abuse, mistreatment. Not violated so much as invaded.
Literally invaded. And asking for it. How long had she hidden that truth from herself?
Years. It was something she'd locked away, she thought for good, and yet, here she was
replaying the images in her mind, and getting turned on. Hot. Wet. Wanting to be
fucked. Fucked doggy style for real, she thought with a grim chuckle. Wan ting... yes,
that was the image that more and more was becoming superimposed over her
fantasies... wanting that dumb mutt she'd been working with, wanting him to slurp up
her pussy juice with a playful swipe of his massive tongue, wanting him to attack her
body and leave it satiated... she wanted Prince to fuck her. My God, she thought, what
am I saying? What am I thinking? Can this be happening to me? Am I really
wandering down this dark shadowed road?
Yes, she was. No doubt about it. There was a growing itch in her cunt, and though she
knew that soon, very soon, within the next minute, as a matter-of-fact, she would tear
off her clothes and start to gouge her clit until she came like a fiend, she knew that it
was not the release she wanted. She'd done at an early age what some never do. She
lived the dark side of her soul, felt it wash over her in a sticky bath, and found the
sensation pleasant, desirable. She could not more ignore the urges that had been
released in those years than she could stop breathing. Perhaps she could hold her
breath. Perhaps even for twelve years. But eventually...
Her fingers were at her cunt now, her fingernails were scraping over her hard clitoris
like it was a mosquito bite that only itched more intensely, the more you scratched it.
She hurt, so badly pent up were her emotions, her feelings, her need to come. She dug
her hands into her pussy with the reckless abandon of the porn queen she once was, an
animal, a mad animal craving another animal and knowing, finally, without any doubt,
that she was going to have to fulfill her desires. She didn't know how. She had no idea
how to deal with Simon, Stephen, T.J. and least of all, Sidney. But her needs would not
remain ignored. She would find her release.


Chapter 5

As she knew it eventually must, the phone finally rang with Sidney's voice waiting for
her in the receiver when she answered it.
"Hello doll," said the voice she'd hoped she would never hear again.
"Sidney. You've been causing me a lot of problems. But then, I guess you already knew
that, didn't you."
"Well, to tell you the truth, I was going to cause you a lot more, but then I changed my
mind."
"How sweet. Always were a softie, Sidney."
"Cut the crap. You're buying me lunch."
"Am I?"
He chuckled.
"Well," he said, "I know you've been having me followed, so I assume you must know
that I certainly can't afford to buy you lunch. At least not the kind of lunch you're used
to. It just makes sense for you to treat. That's all." Lynn checked to make sure the tape
machine was running. Simon had given it to her the day after he'd located Sidney. She
always flicked it on before picking up the phone. Until now, she'd simply re-wound the
tape when the conversation was finished. This, however, was a conversation she would
keep. She hoped he would say something to incriminate himself.
"Ok, Sidney, I'll buy you lunch. What do you want to talk about?"
"What else," he asked innocently. "Old times, of course. It's been quite a while. We've
got a lot of catching up to do."
"I've got news for you, Sidney, if you tried for the rest of your life, you couldn't catch
up with me. You see, I left the world you tried to put me in. I left, but you won't
because you can't. It's your world, after all."
"Touching. Real touching. I see you really are an actress. But then, I always suspected
as much. Too bad we couldn't have given you more speaking roles, huh?"
"Sidney, why are you here? Why are you trying to worm your way back into my life?
Why don't you just tell me what it is you want, get it over with so I can decide whether
or not to give it to you, and then you can be on your way.
"Sure, sure, that sounds peachy as shit. First of all, I will decide when to tell you what I
want. Got that? So let's go to lunch. Some nice restaurant in an out of the way place.
Somewhere we can talk and not have to keep lowering our voices."
She was stumped. He obviously wanted a swank freebee. She knew she didn't dare
provoke his anger. Unstable as he was, she knew that he could always be driven further
into madness. She was convince, of course that he was mad. Why else would he pursue
someone all the way across the country... revenge? Probably. Unrequited love? Not a
chance. Business? Of course. The business of taking her money in exchange for her
career. Very simple Sidney. Very neat. Very efficient. And, unlike most of what she
remembered of him, it made sense. When you see a chance, take it, he'd always told
her, but she knew that the real chances usually flew past him like the wind. Well, good
for you Sidney, she thought. You finally grabbed onto a passing car and maybe you'll
ride this to the end of the line. Ride her.
"I don't want to go anywhere where I might be recognized," she told him.
"What's the matter, you worried that I might not be good for your image. Or maybe
that the goody two shoes Bellit Boys might not like you hanging out with an ex-con?"
"Sidney, I want to keep this simple. Can we just do that? Why don't you just tell me
what it is you want from me?" Please, please, tell me what you want. And tell me now
so I can get your scum-ridden voice on tape and hang your ass.
"I told you, Lynn darling, I just want to talk over old times."
"Like you did with Bob Grant? Like you did when you called my director? How'd you
find out who to get in touch with?"
"Hey, I apologized for that, didn't I? I told you, I changed my mind."
"Like hell you did. You just wanted to scare me and let me sweat till you got around to
putting the touch on me personally."
"Lynn, Lynn, let's keep this friendly, shall we? Now, tell me where I should meet you..."

* * *

As she drove through the maze of freeways, she thought at one point, how easy it
would be to keep going. Roads such as this surely went on forever. There was no place
she could not escape to, if she was willing to simply plot the correct path, take the
proper exit, floor the accelerator...
Cars were on all sides of her. Large cars, foreign cars, gaudy cars, beat up and broken
cars. But for the infinite variations in their mode of transportation, all the faces she
noticed wore the same partially numbed partially frightened stare. She remembered the
first time she'd looked out over the valley, seen in it's entirety the sprawling
urbanopolis that she now called home. A thousand small isolated villages, melted and
fused by the force of economics and growth, into a single entity without borders, edges,
lines of division...
That's what characterized the place, she thought, the lack of individuality, the total lack
of differentiation. As if there were no places, so much as there were places to go to. And
the ever present automobile to get you there. But no places in themselves, separate,
possessing identities of their own that depended on nothing so much as the fact that
this place, this unique place was simply, what it was. No character. No identity, save for
whatever image was grafted on top of the dry soil. An empire built on sand. And an
identity that depended solely on someone calling it that. Like her. What was she, other
than an image in other people's eyes. How different was her true self. How vast a gulf
separated the truth of her past, which was also the sad truth of her present, and the
image she was speeding through traffic this moment to somehow protect? Was it worth
it? Wasn't she too built on sand? Was there substance worth preserving? Beneath the
tinsel and celluloid of her present life, lay simply more celluloid. Less tinsel, perhaps,
but an overabundance of celluloid. The stuff of her life. The energy that propelled her.
The flickering light, the click of film winding through spools, the whirring of teeth
pulling sprocket holes... these were the substance of her reality, such as it was. How
simple she thought again, to simply go. Turn off any exit and go. Drive till the gas was
gone. Drive till she'd possibly outrun her image. Find a place where she was truly a
blank slate, where she could fashion a structure of her life that wasn't supported by
sand and tinsel and celluloid...
Ironically, the first large exit sign that caught her attention and broke her from her
musings read
BELITT PARK: 10 MILES No, she thought. That's not the place for me. Never. That
foolish dream world where life and fantasy blended with history to refashion our own
self image to such an extent that the never-to-be became possible, and the never was
became our only memories. The foundation of the Belitt Empire, that vast amusement
park that sprang from the gently twisted mind of Mort Belitt himself, and forever
insured him a financial base from which to conduct his singular enjoyments in
visionary animation. A fantasy factory to end all fantasy factories, that was undeniable.
She suspected that it would be one fuck of a long time before she found the fantasies
racing through her brain just now. No, Mort Belitt had been ahead of his time, but he
hadn't quite caught up with the likes of Lynn Carroway.

* * *

She walked into the restaurant. The hostess approached with a sunny grin.
"Yes, how many?"
"I'll be joined by another party soon. A table that's out of the way. Private, if possible."
"Well..." the hostess looked around. The place was crowded, of course, and it was the
lunch hour rush.
"Please, I'd appreciate it."
She took off her sunglasses. The hostess gave a double take.
"Aren't you Lynn Carroway?"
"Yes, I am," said Lynn greatly relieved. She'd feared the girl wouldn't recognize her.
"Honestly, it means a lot to me. Would you please see if you can't locate something
rather private?"
Usually a producer, director or actor hot to get in her pants would be taking care of
these formalities, but Lynn was coldly aware of being on her own. She calmly produced
a $20 bill, handed it openly to the girl.
"Please?"
"Oh... yes, um, certainly Miss Carroway..." she said, a little flustered, but not so much
that she didn't quickly stuff the bill into her skirt pocket. "Just one moment, I'll see
what I can scare up." She turned to walk away, thought of something and turned back.
"You know, I loved you in "Last Memory".
Lynn allowed a sardonic grin to play at her lips.
"Well, that makes you and me then?"
It had been widely assumed that she would win an Oscar for her role as an amnesia
victim caught in a world of high politics and finance which she had no recollection of.
Her failure to gain even a nomination had been the start of her slide , the bursting of
the child wonder bubble.
The hostess disappeared around the corner. Lynn looked at her surroundings. Heavy
wooden beams, all with a rough-hewn texture seemed almost carelessly tossed together,
like a house of massive pick-up sticks. She walked up to one wall and examined the
material. Just as she'd suspected. Not only was the near random element obviously
carefully planned, the beams weren't even wooden at all. She rapped against one with
her bare knuckles. No heavy thunk of real wood. Only a hollow clunk. Plastic. The stuff
of celluloid. The stuff of her life.
She waited for the hostess to return, kept watching the turn in the corridor where the
girl had vanished, and so intent was she that she didn't hear the footsteps approaching
on the soft carpet behind her. Suddenly a pair of hands covered her eyes.
"Don't tell me, let me guess."
She immediately recoiled in revulsion from his touch.
"Don't you ever do that again," she hissed, turning on him with a venom that surprised
even her.
Sidney stepped back, put up his hands in a palms outward defensive gesture.
"Whoa now honey, let's not get all uproarious about things. She's just trying to be a
little casual."
"Don't bother. I want to get this over with as soon as possible."
She looked at her watch.
"Well, I like that. Nice way to treat a friend. Nice fucking way to treat an old friend, I'll
tell you that."
"Sidney, get this through you're skull. We are not friends. You are a dangerous
monster, as far as I'm concerned, and you want to ruin my career, and for all I know,
you may even be able to pull it off."
He started to laugh.
"Don't laugh at me," Lynn said, her anger rising. "Now, I know you, and I know that if
you have that capability, it's worthless to you, if you actually go ahead and ruin my
career. For one thing, you can't threaten to do what's' already been done.
"So I just kind of figure you'll wait for a while. Barter. That's why I'm here. To barter. I
want to hear your terms and make a decision as to whether or not I can afford what
you're asking to give me back my career."
He looked at her intently.
"You tell anyone else you were meeting me here."
"No," she lied, grateful for her acting ability.
"I don't believe that, but we'll let it slide."
"She knew if he was truly worried he'd have wanted to move the place of meeting
immediately. Of course, perhaps he suspected that she would simply refuse. That was a
possibility. She'd been right. His only leverage over her represented his threat. Once he
carried it out, whether she'd paid him off or not, he no longer had her in his grasp.
Between the rock and the hard place. She knew she had to maintain the tension,
maintain the pressure.
The hostess returned.
"Follow me Ms. Carroway," she said, remembering the Ms. this time instead of the
Miss. Lynn had often made a point in interviews of noting the distinction and noting
that it meant something to her. The girl was apparently a fan. She also looked at Sidney
with open surprise. Lynn noticed him for the first time almost. He was scruffy looking,
quite scruffy. He looked like he was either growing a beard or else going to seed. She
suspected the latter, judging from his faded clothes that were fairly dirty, and the glazed
vacant look in his eyes. What's a classy act like you doing with a dirt ball like this, the
hostesses' eyes seemed to be asking.
They followed the hostess to their table. She'd managed to locate them a spot that
unquestionably was out of the way. Large potted palms and ferns dotted the interior,
but now three were arranged specially around their table in such a way that no one else
in the place could really get a good view of her and her companion.
They ordered drinks. When they arrived, Lynn stirred hers a little while still unable to
find words to talk to Sidney. He carried with him such a flood of emotions, it was like
stepping into a room you'd kept locked for years. Despite the cobwebs, the dust, the
overall sense of decay, there was still this sense of familiarity, of the past coming alive,
of coming home...
"Sidney, why are you in California?"
"I wanted to see you, sweetheart."
"I don't believe that. Why did you call Bob Grant?"
"I was being a nasty bastard."
Well, she couldn't argue with that and so he effectively diffused her for the moment.
"What do you want from me?"
"Oh," he grinned a nasty grin, "just a little tender loving care."
"Sidney," she responded, giving as sweet a grin as she could in return, "Go fuck
yourself."
"Aw Lynn, can't you take a little kidding?"
"It's not funny. Do you realize the damage you could have done to me? What am I
saying? Of course you realize the damage!! That's why you did it."
"You jump to conclusions."
"Sidney, cut the bullshit. What's your price?"
"What price? What are you talking about?"
"I said cut the bullshit. What are you threatening, and what's your price to remove the
threat?"
Sidney eyed her for a moment before answering.
"Boy Lynn, you've gotten to be, a regular bitch with success."
She said nothing, simply stared at him, her eyes never wavering.
"Suppose you give me one single reason why I should even continue this conversation.
You know, I could have you arrested for bothering me."
"What bother? We used to know each other. Intimately. I can prove that. What's so
much bother about trying to see an old friend after getting out of the slammer?"
"Tell me about that. I understand you got busted for doing the same thing you were
doing with me. Too bad I couldn't have stuck around, huh. Maybe I'd still be bumming
around the back alley ways of New York City. Maybe I'd be strung out on smack and
hooking for rent money. Maybe I'd be a real star."
"Maybe."
"But I got out, didn't I Sidney? I beat the game, which is more than you could ever do.
You didn't even know it was a game that could be beaten. You just accepted it. You got
what you deserved, and so did I. Now you want revenge because I did what you
couldn't. Well you're not going to take it away from me. Do you hear? I've fought too
hard and long for what I have. I'm keeping it, and I'll get rid of you if you don't go on
your own."
She had to bring him out. She had to make him play his cards, show his hand, so she'd
at last know what she was up against. She prayed she wasn't showing how much of an
effect he was having on her, simply sitting at the same table with him. Simply hearing
the same voice. She remembered the voice saying different things, remembered phrases
like 'Spread your legs a little more sweetie,' and 'Hey, why don't you stick this up you'
and 'Ok, now the rest of you guys climb aboard'. Those phrases echoed in her memory,
even as she put up such a brave front. But she was frightened. Frightened of the past
he'd brought back to life. Frightened of how that past could slay her present.
Frightened most of all by the fact that seedy as he was, there remained in her
something of that scared runaway he'd taken under his wing. She'd loved him, long
before she was mature enough to have any concept of true love, yet, no less powerful
had the feeling been at the time for it, and no less powerful was the recollection. She
was aware of her breathing, it seemed to grow more and more labored. Sweat was
breaking out on her forehead, she was starting to feel dizzy. What was going on.
"Lynn," Sidney asked, actually sounding concerned. "Are you all right."
"Yes," she said, feeling suddenly weak. "I... I just need some fresh air."
"Do you want to leave?"
"I want you to leave me alone." She started to cry. All at once, she'd been transformed
into a helpless child again, unable to comprehend the forces swirling around her.
""Sidney, please leave me alone. I have nothing to give you. Do you want money? What
is it you want? Stop bullshitting me. Just tell me what you want and leave me alone."
His words stunned her, so unexpected were they.
"I want you, Lynn."
She simply stared at him.
"You're crazy," she said after a moment. The room was spinning.
"Yes. I know. When you left, I didn't even realize you'd gone, didn't realize what I'd
lost. For ten years in prison, I only thought about you. It was your memory that kept
me alive. Lynn, I want you. I want to be with you. I need you."
"Sidney, I feel sorry for you. I think you're sick. You need help. Do what you want, but
if you ever try to get in touch with me again, I think I can prosecute. I think I can put
you behind bars again, and this time they'll never let you out."
His eyes grew wild.
"You stupid slut," he said softly. He didn't see the waitress coming up behind them to
take their order.
"You goddam ignorant slut."
The waitress's eyes grew wide. She halted her approach, standing behind Sidney a few
feet out of his line of vision.
"You don't understand," Sidney was continuing. "You really don't understand. You
think you're a famous Hollywood actress. You're just a slut. You don't belong here. You
belong with me. I can prove it. I can prove it to the whole world. You stupid slut, when
I'm finished with you, you won't have anywhere to go but back to me." He was starting
to shout now. "Big famous star, gets rich on her tits and ass, thinks she a great actress.
Fuck that shit, honey, I know what you've got going for you. I'll bet I know why you're
doing that fucking dog movie. I'll just bet I know."
"Sidney, shut up." She was panic stricken. She noticed everyone within earshot was
craning their necks trying to see who was making the racket.
"Fuck you, shut up!"
Lynn saw the manager and two waiters racing to the table, the young hostess in the
lead.
"Miss Carroway, are you all right?" asked the manager.
"No, please get rid of this gentleman. Call the police. Anything!"
"Let's go, clown," said the manager and the waiters grabbed him around the arms, lifted
him from his chair and started dragging him towards the back.
"You'll be sorry Lynn. Hey everybody, the great Lynn Carroway used to FUCK
DOGS!!! YOU HEAR THAT – SHE USED TO FUCK" One of the waiters sunk his
fist into Sidney's solar plexus. His eyes went completely out of focus, his cheeks puffed
out and his head, after jerking upright, fell limply to the side, bobbing around like a
balloon on a string.
"Miss Carroway, I'm terribly sorry about this," said the manager when he returned,
indicating by his tone that he was well aware that HE hadn't been responsible for
bringing such a scum into his establishment. Perhaps, it would be best if she left. Lynn
got the message, gathered her things, paid for their drinks and fled. She was in a state
of utter panic when she turned her car back out onto the freeway once more. This time
however, she had no conscious associations to occupy her time as she drove. She merely
kept her car in the correct lane and floored the accelerator. Anywhere. Drive anywhere.
Leave. Run. She was flooded with a rush of panic, with a burst of long dormant fears,
fears about her life and about herself. God help her, she thought, but if Sidney hadn't
startled her by giving voice to the thought, she'd have kept reminiscing about him,
would have continued to find herself desiring him. Him! Sidney Dumont, who'd used
her like a pimp uses a whore. She'd been his whore, really. And now he was back with
the proof and was willing to use it and she could do no more than to feel her thighs
getting wet. What was wrong with her?!
She drove for hours. She passed an exit with a large shopping center, saw a theatre sign
listing one of her movies, and saw instead the huge dark head of Brutus filling her
crotch. She saw herself up on the silver screen in full color, legs spread wide, saw the
dog straddling her, saw him position his cock over the target of her cunt, saw her raise
her hips, saw him wiggle his hind quarters as his cock entered her, saw her explode
with motion as she began to fuck the beast, wildly, hips grinding up and at him. She
could even feel it, remember it, remember the sensation of that great dane cock plowing
through her, opening her, licking her. She saw herself roll over, and saw him move his
cock up to her asshole, aim it for her arched cheeks, and again plunge into her. She was
seized by the vision, paralyzed by it, so much so that she had to pull off the road. She
buried her face in the steering wheel.
Her body was one large knot of tension, her mind a blank sheet of fear. Still she could
not shake the image, could even feel it as if it were happening to her right now right
here in her car. She saw it all with crystal clarity, so many time had the drama been
played out in her former life. Saw the dog at her, nibbling at her clit, her tits. What had
it been that they'd used? Gravy. That was it. They'd spread gravy all over her nipples.
Saw the dog at her, nibbling at her clit, her tits. What had it been that they'd used;
Gravy. That was it. They'd smeared the stuff all over her nipples and then she'd lie
beneath him while he licked her tits clean with that big sloppy tongue of his. She
remembered stuffing raw liver up her cunt, and as she thought of it she actually could
feel the slippery meat inside her, feel the hungry mouth with its sharp teeth digging
into her pussy to chew it out of her, and she'd come a thousand times it seemed before
he'd cleaned her out. She came now. With nothing at her cunt, no fingers, no tongue,
no cock, she came. She came from the sheer power of recollection, came from the
energy unleashed from her past, came from her desire to repeat it. Her body quaked
and she let her mind flow with it. She was beyond conscious control, was sucked up
into a stream of energy that had her in a vise-like grip, energy that sprang from the
coiled bundle of nerves in her clit, energy that flowed from the mad desires in her
mind. Now she was at her cunt, bringing on a second orgasm, and as she came into her
panties and felt them growing wetter and wetter, she thought of Sidney, thought of all
the things that he'd had her do, thought of Brutus, thought of Prince. Not in coherent
images. More like the jumbled chaos she'd associated earlier with Sidney's mind. She
was scared, but worse, she was in heat. She needed something. She needed an animal
strength, a warped mind to fill her warped desires. God help her, she needed Sidney.


Chapter 6

She drove to Simon's office later that day. She knew she'd find him in. He was always
in. He never seemed to leave his office. She imagined him ceasing to exist away from
his secretary and telephone. They were extensions of him and his life.
"Simon, I talked to Sidney Dumont today." He looked up, shocked.
"Lynn, that was unwise. Very unwise.
How'd you get hold of him?"
"He got hold of me. He called me up. We had lunch."
"How'd it go."
She said nothing, found she could say nothing. Then she broke. Her body was shaken
by convulsing sobs, tears flowed like rain down her cheeks and she let her face collapse
into her lap.
Simon simply let her cry it all out. There were times, he knew when you needed to
understand that there was nothing you could do.
When she seemed to have some of her composure back, he walked around his desk and
put an arm around her. "Ok, ok. Tell me about it."
She briefly sketched the mad conversation she'd had with him, softened up the content
of his outburst somewhat but not the venom.
"Simon, I'm really frightened now. I think he's dangerous. I really think he wants to... I
don't know, it's like he thinks he can get me back. It's like for ten years, he's been
sitting in prison, probably jacking off to images of me he remembered from the pictures
we made. I've become some sort of life goal for him or something, and if He can't have
me, he's going to take me down. He wants to destroy me."
"Um hmm. All right. First, you shouldn't have met him for lunch without calling me.
Second, you should have called me as soon as you left the restaurant. Third, what have
you been doing for the last four hours?"
"I was scared, I was confused... I just got in my car and drove. I don't even know where
I went. Oh, Simon help me!"
"There, there, now don't start crying again. It won't help anything."
He patted her on the shoulder. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew his
eyebrows were working furiously as he tried to piece this mess together.
"Lynn, be honest with me. This guy isn't anything to you still, is he? Because if he is,
it's going to have a real bad effect on your ability to deal with all this."
She thought a long time before she answered.
"I was young when I lived with him. You know that. He had a powerful influence over
me. He probably saved my life. I felt indebted to him. I was wild and crazy, and he
appealed to that element in me. He just focused the same energies you did, Simon, only
he put them to destructive ends."
She shivered a little before going on.
"When I was sitting across the table from him, it was weird, like I was living in two
separate worlds at the same time, and neither one had anything at all to do with the
other. Does that sound like I'm crazy?"
"Yeah, a little, but don't worry about it. Everyone's crazy, usually we just don't get a
chance to show it. You have."
She didn't know if she liked that appraisal or not. Simon could always be counted on to
be straight with her though. "All right, I'm calling the police, and I'm hiring a
bodyguard for you."
"That's not necessary, Simon, really it isn't."
"Fuck you! You're worth a lot of money to me. I'm damned if I'll let some psychopathic
pervert fuck you up. He's already done a good job of it. You say people at the
restaurant were witnesses to this scene?"
"Everybody."
"Good, now tell me exactly what he said. Word for word, and don't bother leaving
anything out like you did before, because I'll just find out sooner or later." She recited
what she could from memory, although when she got to his line about her fucking
dogs, her voice began to quiver and she started to cry again.
"Come on, Lynn. Cut that shit out. It's not going to do you any good."
"But Simon, he yelled it all over the restaurant. Everybody heard him."
"Well, that might be good. It sounds like he's a crazy man, and anyone who would do
something like that sure is crazy in my book. But what it might do to your image is
another question. I tell you, you shouldn't have gone to lunch with him. You should
have waited for me."
"I'm sorry. I had to confront him. I wanted to find out if he had anything on me. I
don't think he does. He may just be trying to scare me, or get revenge or something."
"All right, look, you go home and get some rest. I'll call the studios for you and tell
them you won't be in for a few days. You need the break. Just take it easy, disconnect
your phone and if there's anything you really need to know, people can get in touch
with me. If they don't know to get in touch with me, they don't really need to talk to
you in the first place. Right?"
He patted her on the ass as she left. He mood was remarkably better as she left his
office than when she'd first gotten there. She went back to her apartment, fixed herself a
large drink and took all her clothes off, poured herself a very hot bath and spent a
couple of hours letting herself shrivel up like a prune in the steaming water. She of
course, had followed Simon's advice and had disconnected her phone, so she had no
way of knowing that the police had come to the restaurant, taken Sidney back to the
station house, held him for a few hours, but after they'd been unable to get in touch
with Lynn, they had to let him go. By the time Simon called them, he had already been
turned back on the street.
Thus, when a knock came at her door, she was in such a relaxed and somewhat drunk
condition, she simply wrapped a towel around her shapely body and opened the door.
He was on her in an instant. His hand clamped around her mouth like a cork. She
could only scream in tortured muffled bursts, which she knew would go no further than
the inside of her apartment walls. Her apartment was soundly constructed. Primarily
because the tenants were the type who liked to party, but not necessarily together or at
the same times. There'd been a conscious effort to make them as soundproof as
possible. To a large extent, the contractors and architects had succeeded. None of which
made Lynn feel any better about her situation.
He immediately ripped the towel from her body.. His eyes grew wide as he stared at
her.
"Sidney, go. This is stupid. You don't have to do this."
He slapped her. A hard vicious slap. She screamed out, hard as she could but another
slap, even stronger than the first cut her scream short. She didn't like getting hurt.
"You need to be taught a lesson, Lynn honey." He stared at her tits with demented lust.
Suddenly she realized that there was a very good chance that he was gazing upon a
naked woman's body in the flesh for the first time in ten years. The thought chilled her
blood.
"You sure need to be taught a lesson. Yes, you sure do," he kept repeating over and
over, coming closer all the while.
Lynn tried to step back but he was on her again, clawing at her breasts, digging his
hand into her pussy. It hurt. Bad. She cried out again.
"Oh God that hurts," she cried.
"Shut up!" he replied, slapping her again.
"Sidney please, why are you doing this?"
He stared at her as if it was the stupidest question she could possibly have asked him.
"Because I want to fuck that famous little cunt of yours, honey, I want to fuck it like I
used to. I want you to remember what it was like to be fucked by someone who knew
how to treat you."
He slapped her again, and drew blood. She could taste it streaming from her lip. He
slapped her again, more with his fist this time and she wondered if she'd have a black
eye. This sure was gonna fuck up T.J.'s shooting schedule, she thought.
Then he had her by the wrist, was dragging her through her apartment looking for her
bedroom.
He threw her on the bed.
"How many famous studs have you fucked on these satin sheets," he asked with a sneer
as he pulled the covers down.
She was trembling now, with fear, but also with desire. The madness of it all, she
thought. Was he right? Was this what she was meant for? His finger jabbed at her cunt.
He missed the opening and just scraped along the slit, grinding over her clitoris,
ripping at her tender cunt lips, biting like the maniac he was on her nipples and
clawing at her breasts. Pain shot through her body from all directions. He was all over
her, brutally mauling her body, punching her tits like they were bags of sand, pulling
her pubic hair, ripping apart her cunt.
When he finally entered her, he came almost as soon as his head touched her cunt
meat. She looked down and saw the head of his cock turn a deep purplish color and
watched in fascination as his thick white jism squirted all over her crotch. She was
right. He hadn't had a woman in a long time. Had it been a full decade? It must have
been. She felt sorry for him all at once, although no less afraid of his attack, his
capability to harm her.
He seemed a little embarrassed by his instant orgasm. She knew she could gain some
leverage if she were to taunt him and make fun of him, but realized it would probably
just force him to retaliate in an even stronger fashion. No, she didn't need that, thank
you.
But he was still hard. His balls must have just been practicing, she thought. He said
nothing, just lay on top of her, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other mashing
her tits. Then his cock was making its second approach and this time she felt it enter
her all the way. Somehow, it was a familiar feeling cock.
She felt like a little girl again, trapped in his power. But now, she could see that his
power was the result not so much of any strength in him, but instead of a weakness in
her. A weakness that even now, as she was savaged by him, made her like it, silently,
deeply, unacknowledged.
"Now I'm fucking you, you slut, you whore," he hissed in her ear.
"Sidney, please stop this."
He hit her. She began to cry. He hit her again. She cried harder. He hit her again. She
became hysterical. He was going to hit her again when a knock came at the door.
"Lynn. Lynn. Are you all right." It was Simon.
"SIMON!!!!!!" she screamed it with all her strength. Sidney jumped up, his eyes shot
around the room looking for an escape. There was none.
Lynn heard the door open and remembered that Sidney had fallen on her so quickly
that it had remained unlocked from when she had opened it to let him in.
She heard running feet, yells, the sounds of a struggle, several voices, all of it as if in a
dream. Slowly she opened her eyes. There was Simon standing at the foot of her bed,
already drawing a blanket up to cover her naked body. And there were three policemen
in the room. Sidney was in handcuffs.
"He raped me," was all Lynn could say.
"BULLSHIT!!!" yelled Sidney. "She loved it. She wanted it. Didn't you, you foul slut?!
Go on, tell them. TELL THEM!!!!!" He was clearly over the edge, and the police began
to lead him out. "LYNN, DON'T LET THEM DO THIS TO ME!"
She couldn't deny that she was affected by his cries. But her mouth and face were
hurting bad now, her breasts were on fire and her mind felt numb.
"We'll need you to come down and make a statement ma'am-"
"Yeah, yeah, don't worry, she'll be down there, can't you see she's hurt? I want to get
her to a doctor first, ok? If you clowns had done your job and locked this maniac up
when you first had him this wouldn't have happened." Simon was livid. Dear Simon,
thought Lynn, feeling an urge to sleep. She wanted to turn it all off.
"Lynn, Lynn, are you all right?"
Simon was shaking her shoulder. She realized she had nodded off in the brief instant
that he'd walked out to the living room with the police. She guessed he was already
laying the groundwork for keeping this out of the papers, although at this point, she
didn't care. She was weary, exhausted, drained. Spiritually, physically, emotionally.
Thoroughly used and abused.
"Lynn," Simon said again, concerned. "Lynn, are you all right."
"Yes," she said slowly, sleepily. "I think I just want to sleep for awhile."
"No, don't do that. That's the worst thing you could do. You have to stay awake. Lynn,
LYNN, do you hear me?"
"Relax, Simon," she finally answered, still in a dreamy voice. "I'm not stuck in the
snow. That's when I shouldn't go to sleep. All I want to do now is rest. Just leave me
alone for a little while. I'll be all right."
"Uh-huh, you're in shock, that's what you're in. I'm calling a doctor. And I'll make
damn sure he makes a house call. Fucking cheap bastards..." he was muttering as he
walked hastily from the room.
She felt herself drift off again. Sounds became blurred, images mixed and blended
together, till time became a single fragmented tapestry with her entire life weaving in
and out of its separate phases simultaneously. Slowly, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world, the room expanded, the walls stretched up and away at crazily tilted
angles, the light, though seemingly brighter, at the same time cast much more complex
shadow patterns over her field of vision, a haze, a distortion that made everything real
and possible yet utterly fantastic at the same time. She was caught in that half sleep
when the eyes are closed, yet the mind still retains the image of the surrounding space,
slowly allowing it to merge with the deeper dreams and visions of sleep, of unconscious
experience.
Her mother was in the room. Right there at the foot of the bed.
"Lynn," she was saying as she looked about. "Lynn, where are you?"
She was calling, loudly, yet it was as if she were standing right beside the bed... it was
like... my God, thought Lynn, it was like Auntie Em calling out of the crystal ball in
The Wizard of Oz. "Lynn, Lynn, come home.
We miss you..." The voice faded, the image blurred, shifted, as if water were poured
over a camera lens.
She was on a street, she couldn't remember what street, but people were all around. It
was a park. There was a statue, a grand archway, she was in awe of the scene,' the
magic of the crowd. Jugglers and dancers, poets and minstrels, magicians and dealers
and through it all the glue of ordinary people wandering in and out of focus, giving the
scene purpose, shape. She was sitting with several strangers, all strangers to each other.
A large joint was being passed, a guitar was being strummed.
"We must learn to be at peace with ourselves," a long haired boy was telling her, "and
that means becoming comfortable with our bodies. The physical is but one element of
full being, yet to ignore it is to ignore ourselves, at least as we are manifested in the
temporal..."
She understood little of it. She loved it. So much awareness. So much she'd never
comprehended. She was alive, for the first time, it seemed, growing new nerve endings
daily, learning that people were as infinite and varied as they were numerous.
The guitar chords gathered themselves into a song, a familiar one to all. A Beatles tune,
perhaps, or maybe a ballad... she couldn't tell, and they all lent themselves to the same
response. Others joined in the singing, a juggler wandered by and circled four brightly
colored balls around Lynn's head. She watched enthralled as a gymnast circumnavigated
the wall around a fountain on his hands. Nearby, a man opened his woman's blouse,
began to kiss her breasts and they made love, cocooned in their special isolation
fashioned from a level of communication others could only guess at. It was a fantasy, a
fair, a circus. It was a young girl's first taste of the world. And it was alive, now, here in
her bedroom, replaying itself again for her in her dream sleep.
But the crowds faded. It was winter. She saw tramps in the snow, barren trees, thinning
crowds. And she was cold. Freezing. A night spent on the streets. Another. Riding the
subways for hours just to stay warm. Panhandling the busier streets. Scrounging.
Surviving, somehow.
And eventually, there was Sidney entering the stage, Sidney with his soothing style, his
calming words, his warmth, his food, his bed. Sidney with his queer breed of salvation.
Sidney with his growing control, turning to overwhelming influence. Sidney.
It was a time for aging five years in a month. For spending ten months in the same
room and recalling them later as if they were two days. It was a slow steady descent
into madness. It was a lunatic fringe experienced from the inside, on its own terms and
thus seen as, well, if not normal, at least as accepted. That little confused girl was there
now, in the room with Lynn, trying somehow to explain her motives, her desires, her
pleasure at what Sidney made her do. But it was too removed. The drama had unfolded
too wholly in isolation, a world apart from the street life throbbing and pulsing right
outside the dingy apartment where they lived, similar in appearance, mimicking the
lifestyle yet so utterly removed as to make any permanent connection a futile dream.
They were alone in their world, alone with others like them who were equally alone, for
no one could truly find communion with another soul in that warped environment.
And yet she'd sought it, convinced herself for a time that she'd found it.
"You want me Lynn," Sidney was saying to her now. "Admit it. You loved it. You want
to go back."
"No," she murmured and an agonized whisper out of her sleep. "Leave me. I've
escaped."
"Come back, Lynn. Come back."
"Go away!!"
"Lynn?"
"GO AWAY!!!" She shouted it as she shot upright in her bed. Simon was watching her
in open fear.
"Lynn, what's happening?"
"I don't know, Simon. I think I went into a dream... what time is it?"
"What time is it? What do you mean what time is it? I just went in to call a doctor.
He'll be here in half an hour." He peered at her more closely. "How do you feel?"
"I told you, exhausted."
She reached across her bed to her night, desk, fumbled around in the drawer for a
cigarette. She seldom smoked, but just now she needed one. Badly. Her hand trembled
as she lit it.
Simon simply stood by her bed and watched her. As she reached for her cigarettes, her
blanket fell from her body, revealing her breasts. She didn't even notice. Simon looked
a little uncomfortable, finally turned away and walked to the window and stared out.
"What's the matter Simon? You've seen enough of my movies to know what I look like
without clothes, haven't you?"
"Fuck no! I have a rule about never seeing any of my client's pictures. It fucks up the
objectivity."
"Oh, Simon, you're such a dear. I really love you, you know that?"
"Don't get me all excited. Besides, you just got raped. You're not supposed to love
anyone."
He turned back to her. She watched him a moment, then adjusted her blanket to cover
her body.
"Lynn, why do I get the feeling that something's been going on in your head lately?"
Her mouth fell open.
"You ask me that? You really have to ask me that? Hasn't something been going on in
my life lately. Huh?"
"Yeah, yeah. Look, I know this creep has to have brought back a lot of unpleasant
memories for you. Along with giving you quite a few unpleasant memories for future
reference. I just wonder how you're taking it."
"I don't know Simon. I guess I won't know till I either crack up, or... or else I keep on
going long enough to believe I won't crack up.
She lit another cigarette.
"Do me a favor. If you never do anything else for me, keep this out of the papers. All of
it. If you have to bribe people, fine. I'll put up the money if I have to, but I don't want
this in the papers."
"Lynn," said Simon slowly. "That's going to be hard. Real hard."


Chapter 7

The doctor's examination was brief, but thorough.
"I don't think we'll need to check you into a hospital," he told her, reassuringly.
"Thank God," responded Lynn.
"However," he cautioned. "I would recommend a few days of rest, at the very least."
"At least," echoed Simon.
"What about the picture?" she asked. "What about T.J. and Bob Grant?"
"I'll take care of the studio," said Simon firmly. That's what I'm here for, right?"
Lynn smiled. She liked being pampered. "Dear Simon," she said with genuine affection.
"You take such good care of me."
"Don't congratulate me too much. You're still my best meal ticket."
She threw a pillow at him as the doctor chuckled and packed up his instruments.
"So, doctor," Simon said, leading him by the arm out into the living room to discuss
what Lynn had no doubt would be a very lucrative arrangement. For the doctor, that is.
When he had left, Simon came back into her room.
"So Lynn, you're going to take it easy, and I think you're going to do it somewhere out
of town. It might be best to keep a low profile for a couple of weeks. I want to see if I
can plug up any leaks in this mess. So far, I feel like we might really be on top of
things. But I don't know. There's been a lot of shit hitting the fan in a real short time."
As if to punctuate his remark, the phone rang. Lynn was going to answer it but Simon
waved her back.
"You're already out of town as far as anyone else is concerned."
"But it might be Stephen."
"So? He can always dig up a piece of ass somewhere else."
That hurt. She hadn't expected it from Simon, yet she realized that his openness was
what made him so valuable to her. She needed his blunt appraisals of her life. He gave
her the perspective she obviously lacked on her own situation. The fact that he was so
clearly .motivated by profit made him all the more trustworthy in her eyes. It was the
one thing he truly took seriously. Money.
"Hello," he said in a crisp business-like tone. "Who is?" he asked, a frown suddenly
crossing his face. "Fuck" he said after a moment of listening. "Yeah, yeah, O.K. look
thanks for calling. Yeah, tell her I'll get back in touch with her."
He hung up and looked worried.
"Who was that?" asked Lynn.
"June," Simon said, referring to his secretary. "Stella Parrish has been burning up the
lines trying to get in touch with me. Shit. That can only mean one thing. She's heard
something."
Stella Parrish was the leading gossip columnist in town, with tentacles everywhere.
Informants ran rampant. It was rumored that she was glad to repay favored information
with anything the bearer might desire, including herself, although that had surely been
a much greater enticement a decade or two back when she was indeed a ravishing
beauty. She still maintained an elegant, youthful appearance, but when you got dose up
to her, it was painfully easy to see that it all had an air of being glued together. That
hadn't diminished her contacts around town however, many of whom were able to
procure the payments that made tongues wag. Cocaine, sex, money... you name it,
Stella could produce it, so long as you had something to tell her that she maybe hadn't
heard before, or at least not in quite the same way.
"What do you think she wants?"
"I'd say it was most likely about that scene in the restaurant today. Something like that
is a little hard to keep under wraps, especially if as many people heard you as you say.
Waiters and waitress are the most valuable soldiers in that shriveled up old bitch's
army."
"Simon," Lynn said. He looked at her, recognizing from her tone that she was about to
hit him with something important.
"Go on," he said after a silence.
"Well, today, after I left Sidney at the restaurant, I was really confused, I felt... I almost
just left. I wanted to run. Never come back. I have enough money, I could have gotten
by for a while. I still feel like that. I don't want to face this town if this starts to unravel.
I can't" He patted her shoulder.
"Leave everything to me. Now Why don't you get some sleep? I'm going back to my
office and make about three hundred dozen phone calls."
Then he gave her a very serious look.
"You keep in very close touch with me, Lynn. You hear? Promise me."
"I promise."
"I mean it. I don't want you charging off into the desert or something without letting
me know what you're up to. You got that. You owe me that much."
"I know Simon, I won't."
"All right. That's my girl." He kissed her on the cheek and left.
Lynn slept late the next morning and so didn't read the newspaper till long after the
rest of the town. The item that would have caught her interest was, of course, Stella
Parrish's column. BIZARRE TALES AND SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET DEPT. We
can't help wondering just what was behind the utterly fascinating argument that sprang
up in a posh Beverly Hills restaurant yesterday between an unknown gentleman of
dubious station, and a rather well known actress who's lately been polishing up her
image and cleaning up her act with a noted studio famous for it's clean image and
family oriented fare. We wonder also just what those image-minded studio heads would
think of the accusations (which, we regret, are unprintable here) which had the entire
place absolutely ablaze with speculation. Could it be true. Did she really? All
Hollywood wonders and waits. Stay tuned.
The method by which Lynn learned of this ominous turn of events was perhaps less
pleasant than if she had stumbled on the column by herself. She was awakened by the
phone ringing. It was Bob Grant.
"Miss Carroway, I hope I didn't wake you up."
"Oh, no, not at all... uh, Mr. Grant. Not at-(yawn) all..."
"Miss Carroway, I hate to say this, but I'm sure under the circumstances, you'll
understand. We feel that a conference is called for. Could you be at the studio in an
hour?"
"Conference?" she asked, suddenly alert. "What for?"
"Surely you... oh. Miss Carroway, I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but there
have been rumors circulating about you of a most unsavory nature. We feel that the
Belitt image itself is in danger of becoming compromised. Quite frankly, we feel that...
it might be in everyone's interests... if we could, well, talk things out." He was obviously
uncomfortable.
"Talk... things, out." She paused. "What things?"
"Miss Carroway, what was Stella Parrish referring to this morning in her column?"
Lynn's heart skipped several beats. Her blood pounded in her ears.
"I haven't read the paper yet. I just woke up," she added, purposely letting an annoyed
tone to slip into her words.
"Yes, well I'm sorry about that, but this is a very serious matter. We must have a
meeting face to face. I've discussed this with the board and they are in full agreement.
The director and your manager should also be present. We're in the process of
contacting them right now. Shall we say in about an hour?"
"No, we shall say no such thing. It'll take me that long to just drive there. I'm not ready
to even step out of the house. Why not later on, maybe early this evening?"

* * *

"Miss Carroway, this is a crisis. Crises seldom wait for the pleasantries of the good life,
such as showers and breakfast. I quite frankly don't know if this situation will even
remain stable for that long. We have to make decisions, plot a course of action. Do try
to be as prompt as possible. However, we shall not expect an overly strenuous effort.
We shall, in any event, be waiting."
He clicked off. It sounded like a bomb, which is just about what he'd dropped on her.
Stella Parrish. Fuck it! She had to get a paper. No, first she had to call Simon. He'd
probably read it. And if not, he'd need to get a paper too. Fast.
She dialed his number, but got only his answering service.
"Honey, I'm sorry but we are not expected to know where everybody we serve is every
minute of the day. We take messages and pass them on."
No amount of pleading would prevail upon her to make any effort to locate him, even
though she knew Simon always left an emergency number. The worthless bitch. This
was an emergency, if anything was. Where was he? Why hadn't he called her?
She ran to the bathroom, threw water in her face and eyes, brushed the taste of sleep off
her teeth, threw some old clothes on, pulled a scarf around her hair and wearing
sunglasses she hoped would deflect the curious, she ventured out into the sunlight to
seek a paper. She didn't have to go far. A paper stand was at the corner of the block she
lived on. As she handed the man a quarter, she thought she saw him studying her.
Could he know? Know what? She had no idea still Just what it was that was so
frightening to Bob Grant, but she had a pretty clear hunch.
As she walked back to her apartment, it was the same. Everyone she passed seemed to
be staring at her. They all know, she thought. They all act like they played an hour long
special of my films with Sidney on TV last night. It never occurred to her that even if
they had been able to recognize her, few people on the street bothered to read Stella
Parrish. She was a support industry for the 'Industry' itself. Almost an in-house organ
that gave an aura of myth to people who above all, needed to be myths to survive. She
crept back to her apartment, turned furiously to the entertainment section and read the
column (actually just part of her column, others also got skewered, though Lynn
doubted for as genuine a reason) and then immediately tried to call Simon again. To
her surprise, he answered.
"Simon, where have you been. Why didn't you call me?"
"What do you mean?" He sounded tired. And worse, evasive. No, she thought, not
Simon.
"Simon, what's going on? Have you read the paper?"
"What about it?"
"Stella Parrish has some cute things to say."
"I know..." he seemed like he was going to say more and she waited, but there was only
silence.
"What's this all about Simon? I got woken up by Bob Grant calling telling me he
wanted to haul me before the board, something about the famous image becoming
compromised or some such shit, and then he says there's an interesting article in the
paper, had I read it."
"Lynn, I know all about the article. I was responsible for it."
"What?" Her world went blurry.
"Damn straight. I take full credit. You should have seen what she wanted to print. For
one thing, I don't remember seeing your name mentioned once."
"So? No one's going to be fooled."
"The point is, Stella Parrish has been in the business and this town long enough to
know what you have to do to avoid a libel suit. The original version got real explicit
about you, my dear. Real explicit. It even went so far as to hint what it was that scum
was screaming at you as they dragged him away. Oh yeah, her sources were real
accurate. I managed to get her to tone it down, but you see what I'm saying? Stella
Parrish doesn't name names if she's just dealing with gossip.
You got that? If she names someone, you can be Goddamned sure that if she is ever
accused of libel, she is also quite ready to get up and to court and prove she's a
responsible journalist who only prints what are substantiated facts. You got that? Now
don't get on my back because I've been up all night talking to her, kissing her ass and a
lot of other things I can't even think about without wanting to throw up. But she toned
it down. Considerably."
Lynn now felt sick. A net was closing in on her. She had no way to turn.
"Simon, I'm sorry. Please, forgive me. I don't know what to say. I've become so much
trouble for you..."
Her voice trailed off, and she waited for the obligatory soothing disclaimer. For the first
time in memory, none was forthcoming. In his silence, he agreed with her. She was
rapidly approaching the point where she was no longer a valuable meal ticket. She
realized that the balance sheet was something everyone had to come to terms with
eventually, if they dealt with Simon. She'd never quite believed it before. She was ready
to believe anything now. "Simon, what will I do?"
"I don't know Lynn, but it's not looking good. If that hag is so sure of herself, so are
other people. If I know her, most likely lots of people. Maybe you'd better get out of
town real fast. Just vanish for awhile. One thing I'll say for show business, it has a real
short memory. Mostly because everyone who's involved with it is close to retarded.
Actors and actresses in particular."
"Simon, forgive me, but stick it up your ass."
"Yeah, well same to you sweetheart. This is getting out of hand and I'm getting tired of
picking up your shit. You know what I mean." Lynn started to cry.
"Aw... come on honey, take it easy. I'm just real short right now because I didn't get
any sleep."
She stopped sniffling long enough to consider the implications of that remark.
"Simon, what did you have to do to convince her to change her article?"
"Don't ask. Let's just say, someone like her doesn't get as much attention, in certain
areas as she used to. Ten years ago, she wouldn't have looked twice at me. Ten years
ago, she wouldn't have had to. It's been a long decade for all of us."
"Simon, call Bob Grant and get that meeting postponed. Tell him you don't know
where I am, tell him anything. I have to get away from here. You have to tell him."
"Yeah, I agree you have to get away from here. Maybe it might be best if I don't even
know. No, I take that back. You'll lose out on the Belitt contract completely if you just
vanish without cause or anything. As far as they're concerned, whatever suspicions they
might have would simply be confirmed by you vanishing. But go. Get the fuck out of
town. Go. This afternoon. I don't care where, just go. I won't have you getting cornered
by a bunch of asshole reporters and breaking down, or even worse, slipping up and
saying something we'd just have to go back and 'explain' later. No thank you."
"I'm already packing," she said, actually feeling a twinge of elation at the prospect.
'Take care Lynn. Call me as soon as you get to where ever you're going, and if you
don't want to tell me where you are, fine. But dammit, leave me a phone number where
you can be reached at all times. Do you hear? That's an order. Do we understand each
other?"
"Perfectly," she said, and they hung up. Poor Simon, she thought, once again. He
always has to run interference. Well, fuck it. That's what his commission was for, for
the love of God.
She packed in one old suitcase, selected a wardrobe that would have been more
appropriate when she was loose on the streets of New York and took off. Her small
black sports car was known. She'd been featured in a recent edition of, 'People &
Places' and on the off chance someone might remember the pictures of her breezing
along the freeway with her hair whipping in the breeze, she went to the nearest rental
agency, rented a conservative sedan under an assumed name, (she paid in cash and so
few questions were called for) and once again lit out on the freeway. This time, her
dream of taking the first road to nowhere was a reality.
She turned east, literally floored the accelerator and like a lumbering jet, she rolled over
the dry barren land passing scrub oak and cactus sentinels, her gaze lost in the vast
open expanse of sky like a seamless curtain of blue satin. She knew only that she was
racing, not against a deadline, but for reasons already proven futile at the outset. She
ran because there was no place left for her. She ran alone because there was no one left
for her to turn to. She was, or so it seemed to her, at the low ebb. Low.
Towns rolled past, each merely a different pattern of hieroglyphics in a green square
box that flashed past with the same indifference as the rocks and sagebrush. Then, one
name took shape, assumed meaning.
BAKERSFIELD. Next exit.
She turned off. Why, she couldn't say, but it felt like it was time to cause something to
happen. She was sick of simply bouncing around. Sure, a town like Bakersfield would
certain seem to be a rather inauspicious place to effect a turn around in the direction
one's life seemed to be taking... she wasn't thinking. Obviously. She was reacting,
moving according to invisible strings fastened not to her arms and legs, but to her
mind. Her thoughts. She thought only of the past, and how she might shut it off. She
sought release from what was most her. She sought to escape herself.
Come On In.
The sign was beneath a large neon outlined cowboy, his hat waving over his head on a
large arm slowly moving up and down on a shoulder pivot. He had a poorly drawn grin
on his face and a large scarf with red polka-dots. The imaginative name Western Motel
was formed from his lasso.
Why not, thought Lynn. I'll never be found here.
The clerk was a leathery woman somewhere between 45 and old age. With women like
her, old age was a negotiable concept. She could be at either end of the scale and you'd
never know it. She stood there and gave Lynn a dirty look that said, "You look every bit
as boring as the last asshole who came in here, and you're probably a damn sight worse
than the next asshole. So what do you want, asshole?" Anyway, those were her words
that played through Lynn's mind as she signed in, asked the standard questions about
ice machines, wake up calls, restaurants, places for entertainment... well, bars...
She unpacked her few clothes, wished she'd brought along something a little dressier
after all, but settled on a pair of jeans, fairly new, with the name still stitched clearly on
her back hip, and a blue work shirt that was a size too big for her. She buttoned only
one button, the one that fell closest to the exact middle of her cleavage, then tied the
material taut by pulling it around in front of her and tying it into a tight square knot.
The sandals with heels that were sort of medium height. Not spiked stiletto or
anything, but certainly not flats either. She looked good, and it was nice to just look
good. Not because of your name, or what was expected of you, or the implications if
your picture was ever taken and you didn't look good; just to look good. She watched
herself move in the mirror. Her body fascinated her. It was why she loved acting. She
loved anything that required her to become aware of her body. To be able to feel it all
over, because she was forced to be so aware of the effect its shape, its posture, its
motion was creating. It was good to be simply, a pleasing body with no name. No
identity.
She drove down unfamiliar roads, past houses that somehow were all too familiar I
lived in these houses, she thought. I ran from these houses. Then I ran from where I'd
run to. And now she was running again. Fitting, that the anonymity of her earliest
years should provide her anonymity now.
The bar was a small affair. She should have felt reservations about pulling in. But she
felt nothing. She could have felt nothing. The frequencies her nerve endings had been
sensitized to, were at the other end of the spectrum. There were absolutely no
receptions of any sort. The place was simply a white wooden building with a blinking
BUDWISER sign in the window. Several cars were in the parking lot. Three or four
pick-up trucks, some older cars of late sixties vintage, a large camper and a jeep. Looked
like a well thought out set, she thought.
Inside, all was darkness and soft shadows, with a background of mumbled conversation,
clinking glasses and the twang of country guitars. A song burbled out of cheap
speakers: Poppa got drunk and started a fight They threw him in jail, momma Cried all
night; She was unsure of what she should do. So she just stood there. One by one, the
occupants looked her way. There were no women to be seen,, all except a cute little
waitress. The men wore, generally, cowboy hats. And they held mugs of beer in their
hands. Talk dwindled, turned to whispers, then gave way to silence. She found her way
to a table.
The waitress walked over to her.
"Watcha want?" She was chewing gum with an exaggerated movement of her bottom
jaw.
"Um... do you have a good steak?" Lynn would go first class, no matter where she was.
"Yeah... it usually ain't too tough." The waitress scribbled in her notepad. "How ya
want it cooked."
"Medium rare, I think."
"Pink," said the waitress.
"You want a beer?"
"Do you sell liquor?"
"It's a bar and grill, ain't it?"
"Well then, I'll have a gin and tonic."
"You got it," said the waitress, giving Lynn a look that wondered which planet she'd
come from.
Lynn settled back. She felt numb. She was simply relieved to be out. Away. Somewhere,
in comfortably air-conditioned board rooms, decisions were being made that would
directly affect her life. Men who knew nothing about her were planning and plotting
the course of her future. Some even derived keen pleasure from their awareness of the
direct relationship, and of the ultimate power it gave them over others. She could
scarcely comprehend it herself. It hadn't been that long since the awful spectre of
Sidney and Brutus had surfaced in her life. Nothing would ever be the same, none the
less. She was changed, had been changed by it, both internally and externally. She was
somehow more in touch with her essential being, the raw stuff of her nature. The
experience filled her with dismay.
A form loomed beside her. She looked up to face a cliff wearing a cowboy hat and a
stupid grin. All he needs is a yellow scarf with red polka-dots, thought Lynn.
"Howdy do, darling," grinned the bumpkin. But then again, why not? Lynn realized, all
at once, that she needed, as much as anything, human contact. Of a physical nature.
With a masculine human. A phenomenon she'd noticed the first time she'd fled to the
freeway, tension and fear produced a reaction in Bullshit, they made her hot, that's
what they did. Like it or not, the grinning fool who'd invited himself over was doing
exactly what she'd had in mind for someone to do at some point in the evening. Might
as well kick things off right.
She smiled.
"Hi."
She kept smiling.
The bumpkin suddenly wasn't so sure of what to say. Lynn kept smiling. She looked
him up and down. The bumpkin lost a little of the edge to his grin.
"You sure look pretty, darling."
"I know." She kept smiling. "I meant to."
She saw the cowboy's tongue moving against the side of his cheek as he pondered this
altogether strange phenomenon. Wonder if he'd bit off more than he could chew?
Lynn's steak came.
"I hope you don't mind if I eat," she said.
"Oh no, no. Uh, not at all."
Lynn noticed that the cowboy's friends were getting a big kick out of the whole
situation. They all grinned the same silly grins. All except the man over in the corner
who, now that she'd thought about it, hadn't stopped watching her since she'd come
into the bar. But unlike the rest, who'd also kept their eyes glued to her, he'd not really
shown interest. More like the detached observation of a scientist peering through a
microscope.
"I'll have another gin and tonic," she told the waitress. She looked over at the cowboy.
"What'll you drink?"
"Tequila," he said, without reservation. "Bring me three shots of tequila and three slices
of lemon."
Lynn's eyebrows arched at that, "You live dangerously, don't you."
"Sure thing darling. 'Round here, you have to."
There wasn't an actor in Hollywood who could have used that line and made it work.
No other line could have possibly fit the man across from her as well. This would be a
strange evening, for sure. "I'm... Julie," Lynn said.
"Sam," he answered, extending a big hairy hand with thick veins on the back side of it.
"Sam McBride."
Why did she feel like she'd wandered onto a western back lot from the 40's? Any
moment, Humphrey Bogart, or Spencer Tracy was going to stalk in with Walter
Brennon blabbering at their side.
Two other cowboys made their way to the table. Both carried mugs of beer and one
carried a full pitcher.
"Hi, sweetheart," said the man with the pitcher. "Old Sam here wanted to introduce us
to you. Didn't you Sam? Sure you did. I'm Jim Carouthers, this here's Miles Tayler."
Miles tipped his hat. Of course, thought Lynn.
"We couldn't help noticing that you was here all alone and didn't seem to be expecting
anyone, but like I told Miles and Sam here, that don't necessarily mean you wasn't
looking for someone, ain't that what I said boys."
Sam and Miles grunted in acknowledgment. They all looked at her and grinned.
Lynn eyed them coolly, each in their turn, not facing them down till they broke eye
contact, but leaving no doubt that she probably could have. She lifted her gin and tonic
to her lips and took a sip. She set the glass back down on the table, settled back in her
chair and moved once again quickly from eye to eye.
"No," she said at last, her own grin overwhelming them with it's exact understatement.
"I guess it doesn't."
Get ready girl, she thought to herself as they settled in, called the waitress (who, it
turned out was named Rosey. Of course) back for another round of tequila for
everyone, and began finding everything anyone said uproariously funny. It's going to be
a weird night.

* * *

Lynn downed her fifteenth shot of tequila. Her brain had long ago shot through the
back of her skull and was now somewhere between the moon and venus. Sam, Miles
and Jim (or Larry Moe and Curly Joe), (or Groucho, Chico and Harpo... no, these three
didn't have enough raw integrity, to say nothing of class for that comparison to work.)
were becoming a single entity with interchangeable features, like having three 'Mr.
Potatoe Head' sets to play with. She had long ago given up trying to remember who
was who, and she doubted they remembered either. Things, actually, were getting quite
out of hand. They were freely giving her tits playful little squeezes, that were not so
playful and went far beyond squeeze. As a matter-of-fact, these boys were getting
downright rowdy. Maybe, well, just maybe, she'd forego the human contact after all.
Just sort of ease out of her "Whoa now sweetie, where you think you're goin.?" asked
Tom Dick or Harry.
"I-I'm just going to pay my b-bill and..." she fell against a table.
"Yeah sure you are. Get your sweet ass back here." She felt a hand on her pants, pulling
her backwards. Her balance was worthless and she fell over Sam. She lay on her back
staring right up into his grinning face. She felt his hard cock sticking into her back.
"Well hello darling," he laughed. "So nice of you to drop in."
He pinched her tits and stuck his hand into her crotch. Lynn screamed a little. He stuck
his hands inside her loose shirt, and was starting to fumble with the knot when a voice
cracked out.
"That's enough!" It was a command. No one argued.
Lynn sat up and saw the strange face from the back of the room who had been half
hidden in shadows earlier in the evening. He was looking at her with a strong,
confident Gary Cooper look.
"You need any help, ma'am?"
She slipped off Sam's lap.
"Well, as a matter-of-fact, you could see me to my car. And assist me in paying my bill,
as I don't believe I could figure out how to do it on my own."
She broke into a smothered laugh then, and the three cowboys started laughing also.
Lynn surveyed them.
"I think I'd surely prefer your company to that of these uncouth ruffians."
"Well, I just sort of thought you might need some help, ma'am."
She marveled at his conversational touch. Perhaps he'd vary the phrase a third time.
She extended her arm for him to take. The three cowboys were just catching on that
after plying her with liquor the whole evening long, their sure-bet snatch was slipping
the hook. They got mean and surly real fast.
"Hold on there, mother fucker-!"
He caught a foot in his lower jaw as soon as his hand touched the stranger's shoulder.
Lynn wasn't even sure how he turned around so fast. The cowboy crumpled like an
empty sack. His friends backed off.
When they were outside, Lynn turned to thank him.
"I'm glad you came to my rescue."
"Well, ma'am, I'm glad I could be of help. Would you like to come on inside?"
He indicated the large camper van she'd seen when she first drove up. Why not, she
thought. Then she had another idea.
"I'm staying at a hotel down the road. Why don't you follow me there?" She slipped
next to him.
"There's a nice bed."
He pondered that a moment.
"Well, that'd be real fine. Yessir, it sure would."
His headlights stayed glued to hers the entire way back. In the parking lot of her motel,
she got out and walked back to his camper. It was really almost a small bus. When he
got out, she asked if she could see the inside.
"Oh, sure. It's real nice for traveling around in. I been just going all over for about a
year now. It's fine."
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
"Oh, I was a marine, ma'am."
Of course, thought Lynn.
She stepped up. That's when she froze. Don't tell me, she thought. Was she having a
viscous Deja-vu, or was that fire whine and bark of a dog. A big dog. No doubt about it.
It was a dog and from the sound of him, an extremely big dog.
"Shut up, Caesar!!" He turned to Lynn. "It's a damn good way to discourage burglars."
They went into the back part of the cabin. As she knew it would be, a massive great
dane strained at a moderately long leash fastened to one wall. As with all the great
danes in her life, this one seemed only to want to jump up on you and knock you
down.
"Caesar still thinks he's a puppy. Dumb fucking mutt."
He walked over to the dog, unhooked his leash and tensed himself for what he was sure
would be an exuberant leap onto his chest from the monster. It was not forthcoming.
Instead, the brute trotted over to Lynn and began sniffing her hand.
"Well I'll be damned, he really likes you don't he?"
"Yes..." said Lynn feeling quite uncomfortable at this unexpected turn of events.
"By the way," said the stranger. "My name's Mike. Michael Shane."
Lynn looked up at him.
"Shane?"
He nodded.
Of course, thought Lynn.
"My names... uh, Judy. Julie!" she corrected quickly.
Caesar was now sniffing madly at her crotch. What was it with great danes, she
wondered. They couldn't all be this way, could they.
Well, Caesar sure was.
"Now, dammit boy, get down. DOWN!"
Caesar sulked away into a corner.
"He's certainly a friendly dog," said Lynn.
"Yeah... well, I ought to warn you. He used to belong to someone who used him in...
well, in... pictures, sort of."
Lynn was too drunk to contain the surge of electricity that ripped through her thighs at
those words.
"You're not serious?"
"Yeah... he's trained, I guess you could say."
"How well trained?"
Shane looked at her oddly.
"You know something, ma'am," he said after studying her a moment. "I ain't never met
a girl who reacted quite like you when I tell them that."
Lynn just looked at him.
Shane looked at Caesar. Caesar's ears perked up.
"You interested?" asked Shane.
"Yeah," she said, softly.
Shane gave a low whistle. He shook his head, then looked back at Caesar and snapped
his fingers. The huge animal was at his side in an instant.
"Well, I'll tell you ma'am, you just do whatever you feel like, and I assure you, old
Caesar there'll follow along without any prompting. He's a natural."
Lynn wasted no time in taking her clothes off. Caesar watched with rapt attention, and
at the first sight of her black patch of hair, he started to whine and quiver. Shane shook
his head in disbelief.
"Go get 'em boy."
The dog was at her at once. He buried his snout in between her legs and she spread
them to give more room. She felt his tongue slide up along her crack and the tingles
rushing out from her pussy flowed through her entire body, filling it with lust. She was
hot, hot for this dog, of all things, but undeniably hot. She backed over to the couch
and sat down next to Shane. As she spread her legs wide, Caesar plunged forward. He
was really going to it now, lapping at her parted pussy lips like he was sucking up a
saucer of milk. She was secreting ample quantities of juice to sate his thirst, of that she
had no doubt.
Then she felt hands, human hands on her breasts. Shane obviously wasn't going to be
outdone by his dog. Not fucking hardly. Caesar worked her cunt, Shane worked on her
tits and she came in a dazzling spasm. And then she came again. Shane put his mouth
to her nipples and sucked hard on them. Caesar began chewing at her cunt. She
marveled at how thoroughly trained he really was. He'd been taught to go for the clit,
and he homed in on the target with deadly accuracy. She felt the pang of canine
incisors scrape over the bud of nerve endings and once again felt her brain blast
through the back of her head. Over it again and again he chewed, bit, nibbled. Shane's
teeth at her nipples were no less intense. She was in heaven. Orgasmic heaven and felt
like she was just about to get her wings.
Then, Shane prompted Caesar to stand up on his haunches and prop his front legs
against the back of the couch, one to either side of Lynn's shoulders. She tensed herself
for the final attack and opened her legs as far as they would stretch.
She felt the piece of meat fumble around the slit between her legs, then locate the hole
and push in. The animal was fast and rough. She was amazed at the speed with which
the cock was propelled in and out of her juicy pussy. She felt her entire body being
shaken by his plunging thrusts, felt her breasts jiggling in time with his rhythm, felt her
cunt quiver and quake. The dog fucked her forever. Unceasing orgasms poured out of
her, thick as the juice of her pussy that flowed out onto Shane's couch and left a big
stain. She came and came and then came some more. She felt the animal's hairy ribs
crushing into her own, felt his hot breath on her face, listened with fascination as he
breathed hard and fast into her ear.
At last, he finished, and Shane coaxed him off her. She lay. against the back of the
couch, wholly spent. Her eyes were closed. Her thoughts drifted gently through the soft
cottonish bed of post orgasmic contentment. She realized how much she'd wanted that.
It had been twelve years. It would not be twelve years before it happened again.
"Well, ma'am, I'll tell you. That was quite a show, but if you're still up for it, I've got
this here hard thing in my jeans that sure could use some attention.
She turned a bleary eye towards his crotch, gasped at the sheer enormity of the swelling
there, unzipped him, pulled out the hardened cock and wrapped her mouth around it
and sucked for all she was worth. As she soon found out, she was worth quite a lot.


Chapter 8

The secretary made certain the coffee pot was full. In the outer office, the muted chime
of the telephone sounded its indistinct call. Typewriters clacked. She pulled the blinds
and let in the sunlight. The clock on the wall said it was five minutes till two. (Yes,
Musketeers, the clock on the clubhouse wall says it's time... ). They would file in within
five minutes. She made one last check of the projector, made certain the .film was
properly loaded, the cans stacked in the proper order. All was in readiness.
Outside, two cars converged on the parking lot at the same time. One, a small sports
car convertible, the other a large Rolls. T.J. stepped out of the first, Simon emerged
from tire second. They nodded at each other.
"You have any idea what this is about?" asked T.J.
"I'm afraid I might," answered Simon wearily. "He told me there was something I
needed to see. Actually, he didn't say see, he said view. Something I might be interested
in viewing, was how he put it."
T.J. nodded.
"Doesn't sound too good."
"No, it doesn't."
"Have you heard from her?"
"Not since she left four days ago."
"Well," said T.J., "I'm sorry to hear that. She had a great future in this town."
"Had," added Simon.

* * *

"Gentlemen," started Bob Grant. All eyes were turned to him. There were eight men in
the room. In addition to T.J. and Simon, the ranking members of the Board of
Directors of Belitt Enterprises were all in attendance. All wore solemn faces.
"I'm sure by now, you all have a fairly good idea of the circumstances that have brought
us all together. We are involved in what I might describe as a panic situation. Belitt
Studios is about to sustain a major loss, not only of money, but in prestige. In short,
gentlemen, we are, even as I speak, being made into laughing stocks. We are the subject
of locker room jokes. Never has the sacred name of Mort Belitt been dragged so
relentless through the slime. I thank God he isn't alive to witness this. It would kill him
if he was."
A few faces frowned at this. Bob never was much for solemn oratory, they thought.
Probably in unison.
"What we are about to witness will make us sick. I state this without fear of
contradiction. But gentlemen, I ask you to witness the spectacle about to unfold so that
each of us can grasp fully, just what it is that we face here. It is not a pretty sight.
The subject matter of these films can only be call reprehensible. Most distressing,
however, is the star of these films. Simon, perhaps you'd care to comment on this."
He sat down. Simon looked uncomfortable. His eyebrows worked up and down rapidly.
"Yes... well, uh, you have to... uh, understand that I'm not really prepared to go into
detail on these-"
"Just tell them what they're going to see, Simon." Bob Grant said it patiently.
Insistently.
"Right. Well, much as it pains me to do so, these are films made by Lynn Carroway,
twelve years ago remember, before she had a chance to prove what she was capable of
doing. Everyone makes mistakes. She made hers, and spent twelve years trying to make
up for it."
He looked hard at every man in the room.
"I regret that she was unable to do so. Those of us here must share the blame for her
failure. It was this boardroom and the men who work here who finally refused to allow
her to make up for it."
"That will do, Simon," interrupted Bob Grant. "Just explain what's coming up. Prepare
us."
"Why don't you just roll the film, Bob," suggested Simon.
"Roll 'em," said Grant.
The lights went out. The projector was turned on. Figures appeared on the screen.
Every eye in the room was riveted to the activities unfolding before them.
The light was bright, the colors washed, the film overexposed and poorly edited. But the
focus was clear, clear enough to show in graphic detail the gaping pussy that filled the
screen. A few of the men in the room squirmed uncomfortably. They'd been prepared,
but still, this was something they were not quite ready for.
Fingers appeared, and began to play at the lips of the cunt. Two slid inside and the
camera moved in even closer to catch the slick sheen that coated them when they were
withdrawn.
A quick jerky edit and the face of a young girl with blonde hair was in view.
"Gentlemen, our star."
Agitated murmurs filled the room.
The camera pulled back and revealed the girl to be naked. Totally. Her breasts were
pink, large and floppy. Her nipples were two moon-like brown ovals at the center. Her
nipples were hard points, bull's eyes for a waiting mouth. She took one in each hand
and began to massage it. More murmurs filled the room.
Then, it appeared. A great dane. He approached her pussy and began to lick at it,
plunging his tongue deeply inside. Her lips flared apart with each slushy lapping
movement. It was a powerful tongue. Her hips began to roll lewdly beneath its attack.
Another crude edit and the dog was fucking her. His hips shook as he dug his bright
red tipped cock in and out of her cunt.
They were all quite perturbed now, murmuring and commenting among themselves.
"Impossible..." ... "hard to believe..." ... "don't know what to say..." ... "would you look
at that form..."
This last came from T.J. All faces turned towards him.
"From a purely professional standpoint, gentlemen. Purely professional."
Cold expressions surrounded him.
"Well gentlemen, face it, a certain degree of acting ability is required to pull of a scene
like this with any degree of believability..."
They weren't buying it.
"T.J., perhaps we should have a discussion concerning this. In private. Immediately
after this meeting." Bob Grant's voice was incredulous. And outraged.
The girl on the screen was now getting it in the ass, a position that the dog seemed
much more comfortable with. Close-ups left no doubt as to the authenticity of the
scene. All eyes were back on the screen.
When the film ended, there was a sort of stunned silence throughout the room. Throats
were cleared. Options pondered.
"Was this the only example of this... genre?" one faceless board member finally
ventured. "No, I'm sorry to say it's not. We have several more here. I felt that one
would be enough." Bob Grant's voice sounded tired and weary.
"Well," offered another voice, "Perhaps it would be a good idea if we were to see some
of the others. I mean, we want to know exactly what it is that we're dealing with here."
Murmurs of approval came from around the table.
"True, Mr. Grant. After all, it was a little hard to actually recognize the, shall we say,
leading lady in this last one. I mean, if we can't tell who it is, maybe no one else can
either."
"All right," said Bob Grant, reluctantly. "This is a short titled "Roommates." I'm happy
to say there seems to be no dog, at least, in this one."
More murmurs of approval.
The lights dimmed, again the washed out colors filled the screen. It was the same
blonde haired girl. This time, she was with a red head. Both were naked. The red head
slid her fingers up to the blonde's pussy and started to stroke it. Both girls wore smiles
of intense pleasure. The blonde began to suck the red head's tits as her clitoris was
being massaged. Her legs were spread wide. Her cunt was fully revealed. Close-ups of
the red head's tongue licking the wet cunt followed. A groan came from one of the
board members. The blonde shifted positions and began to lick the red head's cunt.
Another groan. They finger fucked each other to orgasm. Several deep exhalations of
breath followed around the room. The screen went blank.
"Bob," said a man with silver hair. "This is a serious matter. We have a major decision
to arrive at. I'd hate to think we reached it without a total understanding of the full
extent of the problem."
"I agree, Mr. Grant," piped up another silver haired man who looked remarkably like
the first. "I feel that this is such a provocative situation that we should examine all the
evidence. "Absolutely," chimed in a third. "I say we see what else you've got there."
Many murmurs of approval ensued.
Bob Grant stared an icy stare. The room slowly went silent.
"Gentlemen, you astound me. If Mori Belitt were here, what would he say?"
"He'd say run the film."
"Damn straight."
"Let's see it."
"Roll 'em."
"Come on, Bob, don't be such a tight ass." Things were really getting out of hand.
However, there were several more reels...
Anyway, they finally decided that, yes, the young girl in the films most definitely was
Lynn Carroway, and yes, the discovery of these films would unquestionably damage the
Belitt image irreparably. But, well, wasn't there some redeeming social value to be
gleaned from them?
"She's fucking a dog, for Christ's sake!" Bob Grant was incredulous.
"Yeah, but that form!" responded T.J. enthusiastically.
"No kidding; boy, did you see that hip , action...?"
"GENTLEMEN!" Grant's voice thundered through the pandemonium. "Let's not lose
sight of our mission here. Now, it seems to me, there's no way we can continue with
Ms. Carroway on contract to us. Do I hear any dissent?"
More mumbling and grumbling, but no one spoke up.
"Fine. Simon, I'm sorry about all this, but I'm sure you understand. Our legal staff will
be glad to arrange an equitable solution for you and your client. However, I'd be
surprised if she ever found work in this town again."
Simon looked resigned to his fate.
"To be honest, well, I'd be surprised if she ever looked for work in this town again."
"You know," ventured another board member, "We've been looking for ways to
diversify. Now, I'm not saying that stuff is art. But, hell, you can't deny the raw
emotional impact. Now, if there was some way to, I don't know, clean it up without
robbing it of it's basic force..."
Simon excused himself. T.J. followed him out.
"What's the story Simon. Is she really gone?"
"I'm afraid so," he said sadly.
"You liked her, didn't you?"
"Huh? Oh, no, not at all. She was a spoiled brat. But I sure made a lot of money off
her."
"Yeah, they'll do it every time." He thought for a moment. "Had a great pair of tits,
though."
Lynn, had she been able to hear their conversation, would probably not have been too
surprised. But she was not interested. At that moment, a large camper van with a
cowboy renegade from a forties western, a large great dane and a one time famous
actress was barreling out of the sunset. Let them keep their fantasy machine, she
thought, playing with Caesar while Shane drove and sang country songs off key with
the radio. Caesar licked at her clit and she felt herself beginning to come for the fiftieth
time that night. Yeah, fuck 'em all. She had her own fantasy machine, and she didn't
need a silver screen to make it work. Only in America, she thought, until the waves of
orgasm washed all thoughts from her mind.
And now her mind was clear.
No thoughts.
Nothing.
All clear.


Epilogue

Two years later.

Somehow, she knew who was driving the small foreign sports car, even before she
could see his face. For some reason, she'd been looking out the window and saw the car
drive slowly past the house. It drove all the way to the end of the street, did a slow 
Uturn and came back, pausing in front of their driveway, as if the driver was pondering
whether or not he actually wanted to drive up. That's when it struck her. She'd never
seen the car before, but there was something about it.
Yes, something. Maybe it was a certain style. A certain message that it seemed to be
projecting to the world. When she saw the car back up and pull into the driveway, she
knew.
The white-haired figure with the cigar looked familiar to her. He hadn't changed all
that much. But then, it hadn't really been that long. It only seemed like it was another
lifetime.
"T.J.," she said as she opened the door and offered her former director her hand. "It's
been a long time. I never thought I'd see you again." j "Lynn, you're looking good." He
took her hand and held it warmly. "May I come in?"
"Sure. I was just cleaning up. We had a little party here last night and I got up late."
T.J. walked into the middle American suburban home. He looked around, a look that
expressed both approval and confusion on his face.
"Well, from the looks of things, I'd say you must be happy. But to be honest, I never
thought I'd see you in a place like this."
"Well T.J., if I remember, there were a lot of places you never thought you'd see me in."
He smiled grimly at the memory.
"That's not too far from the truth."
He sat down on a comfortable sofa and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
"By the way," she said. "I'm Linda now. Linda Carradine."
"Really? Where'd that come from?"
"Well, the Carradine came from my husband, and Linda was just my way of hiding my
past without completely letting go. But I didn't want anyone making the connection."
"Well, you dyed your hair, and you're wearing it different. But I'd have recognized you
anywhere."
"Well, people have commented that I look a lot like that famous star that disappeared.
At least they did. But I haven't had any problems. It's easy to vanish. A lot easier than
you'd think."
"I guess so. We looked all over for you for a long time."
"Why?"
"You were a hot property. I don't know if you realize that. But your name would have
been an instant sell. There were a lot of people who wanted to sign you up."
"I'm through with all that, T.J. It wasn't for me. I thought it was, but I couldn't take it.
I am what I am, and I couldn't be that and make it in your world at the same time. I
got tired of being afraid of what I was."
T.J. nodded at that, seeming to consider whether or not to go on.
"Can I get you a drink?"
"Sure."
"Bourbon, right?"
"Scotch. I drink scotch now."
She went into the kitchen and fixed them both a strong drink. She had no idea what
had brought him here, how he'd found her, what he wanted of her, but whatever it was,
she felt like she'd do a lot better if she had a little nerve steadier under her belt. His
sudden appearance caught her off guard. She found her hands shaking as she cracked
the ice into the glasses and sloshed the liquor over the cubes.
She went back into the living room, handed T.J. his drink and took a chair across from
him. He stared at her with a mixture of simple fascination and simple lust. Poor T.J.,
she thought. He always did want to get into my pants.
"So, T.J., I know you didn't track me down and come all the way out here just to drink
my scotch. Why don't you get to the point?"
"All right, I will. I want you to come back." She shook her head emphatically.
He held up a hand.
"Now wait, hear me out."
"No. That's it. I'm through with it. I told you. I don't know how you found me, and I
really don't care. But so help me God, I'll try to kill you if you give me away. I'm happy
now T.J. I like what I'm doing. I like my life. Let me live it my own way."
"Lynn..." he started.
"Linda. Please."... "OK, Linda, I wish you'd think about it. It's a great script. The stink
died down pretty quick you know. The Belitt Studios decided to just sit on the films
they had."
"You mean there really were some of those things floating around?"
"Yeah, good old Sidney managed to squirrel some away, it seems."
"T.J., if those were around, how long do you think it would take before some goombah
uncovered some others? Do you really think I can ever go back there?"
"Absolutely! You don't understand. You're a myth. A fucking myth. You could be
another Garbo, except you'd come back. You'd be a killer."
"And how do I answer questions about how I spent my teen years? Face it, I wasn't
your average cheerleader type in high school. No! I'm sorry, I won't even consider it.
There's no way I'd ever go back to that. I like being just a person. Can you understand
that? I'm just a person, like anyone else. I have a husband, and we have a dog and a
house and I go shopping for groceries and I have a library card and we play tennis on
weekends and throw parties and get a little kinky and there's no one around who wants
to destroy me. I'm safe. Do you understand that? I'm safe here. If I went back and
started it up again, I be such an easy target."
"No, you wouldn't. That's what I'm trying to tell you. That whole crises; it never
materialized. It passed. The films stayed under wraps, the gossip mills lost interest and
after a while, the public actually remembered you and missed you. It's true. You had a
lot of fans out there."
She shrugged.
"Yeah, well why didn't they come to more of my pictures."
"Come back and make a picture with me and I promise you, they'll have to keep them
back with fire hoses there'll be so many."
"Bull."
"It's the truth! Swear to God."
"T.J., I don't care. Don't you see? I just don't care. I don't want that anymore."
"I refuse to believe that Lynn."
"Linda."
"Bullshit. You're Lynn Carroway, and you're a fine actress and you're beautiful and
sexy to boot and as if that wasn't enough, you've got a mystique, a persona. All that
shit's past, but it left it's mark and you can turn it to your advantage."
"But I don't want to."
"Sure you do. You're a public animal. I know you. You crave it."
"T.J., you don't know me. We only worked on half a picture."
"You forget, I was one of your biggest fans. I always wanted to do a picture with you. I
still want to. I think they burned the crap we did just before the storm hit."
"Well, at least there's that. God, I hated that picture."
"I've got a good part for you."
"What is it."
"Well, there's this CIA agent, see, and one day he comes back to his office after going
out for sandwiches, and everyone's been shot. So he runs for his life, and the first thing
he does is to kidnap you and force you to take him to your apartment, right? And he
tells you his story and after a while, you believe him and agree to help him. Lots of
action, lots of good sex and a lot of scenes with you on screen. I promise you, it'll be
the kind of thing that'll enhance your image. All that crap from the past will be blown
away when they see what you can do with this part."
"T.J. Let me try to put this in a very clear form. I want to make sure I'm understood.
No. Wait, let me phrase that differently. Absolutely no. Nyet. Nicht. Nein. Do I make
myself clear? Am I getting through to you?"
"At least read the script!"
"T.J., I can't. That's it."
"Why not?"
"Because dammit, those films aren't all I have to hide. Not anymore. Now don't ask me
anymore because I'm not telling."
That stopped him. For a moment anyway. "What are you talking about?"
"Look, T.J., these are the fucking 80's, times change and out here in suburbia, people
get bored. So they have parties. Kinky parties. Real kinky. Am I registering? I go back
and make a picture, it's all over this town the next day and all over California the day
after that. Then we're back to square one, except that this life style of mine goes out the
window. And I don't have any more to replace it with. I don't want to do it."
"What kind of kinks are you talking about? Orgies? That's standard. Hey, don't tell me
you're still into dogs?"
"T.J., just leave me alone."
He looked at her with renewed interest.
"You know, I always regretted never getting my hands on you."
"Really? If I let you fuck me will you leave me alone?"
"Aw Lynn, why must you put it in such cold terms? Yes, if you let me fuck you, I'll
forget I ever found you."
"Well, let's go."
She stood up, walked over to him, unbuttoning her shorts as she did so. By the time
she stood in front of him, her bush was wide open and mere inches from his nose. He
seemed stunned. But ever up to the task, he reached around and clasped her firm buns
in his hands and pulled her towards him. She felt his tongue plunge between her cunt
lips and rake itself over her hardening clit. He licked her, hard. His tongue dug hard
into her cunt hole.
"My, my, T.J., I never knew you had so much enthusiasm."
"The hell you didn't. I slobbered after you every chance I had. You always left me high
and dry."
"Well," she said slipping out of her shirt, "Now's your chance. Fuck away."
She lay down on the carpet and spread her legs. He dropped his pants, whipped out his
prick and fell on top of her. He had a little trouble locating her slimy passage, but with
a gentle, assist from her, he shoved it in. He was big, a lot bigger than she'd have
expected.
His cock ripped into her wet pussy. His hips jerked spasmodically as he fucked her. He
began to grunt and groan.
"Oh, that's real nice, T.J. I like that."
"Well, here comes some more."
He fucked her harder. Her juice was slopping all over his balls now, and she felt herself
begin to come. Her writhing seemed to set T.J. off and she felt his hot jism pour into
her cunt. "Now, you promised."
"I know Lynn, but dammit, I can't. I just have to have you in a picture."
"T.J., you're getting on my nerves."
"Look, Lynn, here's my offer. You leave here for two months. Tell them your mother's
sick. We'll change you back to the way you used to look, make the picture and then
you come back here. Only after you're back will we release the film. We'll even keep
the filming secret. How's that sound?"
"T.J., do you want to fuck again?"
"You're telling me to shut up, right?"
"I'm saying that if you want to fuck me, fuck me. But quit trying to get me back to
Hollywood. I don't belong there."
"Yes you do."
She spread her legs.
"Stick it in me, T.J. Come on, I know you can get it up again. Why don't you fuck me
some more."
"You're just trying to take my mind off business."
"And I'm doing it too, aren't I?"
She could see how hard he was getting. "Lynn, you have no mercy."
"True, but I do have a cunt. Why don't you do something with it."
"OK, you win. I'll quit trying to drag you back. But you have to invite me to your next
party."
"Oh really? Well, we don't just let anyone come. You have to pass the audition."
"Oh yeah. Well when's the audition?"
"T.J. darling, the clock's already running. And so far, you're losing points."
She really left him no choice.
Later, Lynn didn't know how much later, only that time had passed, a car could be
heard easing to a stop in the driveway.
"Quick," she said, sitting up with a jolt. "We'd better be dressed when my husband
comes in. We're a little loose, but not that loose."
"Wha-?" said T.J.
"Hurry!"
"Come on... you gotta be kidding?"
"T.J.!"
Lynn was up and frantically pulling her blouse around her shoulders and fumbling for
the buttons. T.J. realized she was serious and so he looked around for his pants.
"Christ! I'm scattered all over the place."
He struggled into his pants, stuffed his feet into his shoes and gave Lynn a little look of
amazement.
"I've been in the business too long," he said wearily. "I'd forgotten that people Jive this
way."
"Oh, be quiet. It's not a bad life."
He wrenched his belt through the buckle .buttoned his cuffs, stuffed his tie into his coat
jacket which he then slipped into and fell exhausted into a chair, his breath coming in
deep gasps.
"Yeah, but you have be able to think on your feet. I don't like that."
Footsteps grew louder, a steady rising click of hard soles against concrete stepping
stones. A shadow appeared in the window curtain. The doorknob turned. In walked a
tall lanky fellow that reminded T.J. of... who was it? Gary Cooper? A young Jimmy
Stewart?
"T.J., meet my husband Shane."
Alan Ladd! That's who he reminded T.J. of.

* * *

"Huh? Whazzat?" stammered T.J., realizing they'd just been introduced. He stuck out
his hand in a comradely gesture of good will. "T.J., glad to meet you."
Shane studies him coolly, noting his still somewhat labored breathing. "Lynn's told me
about you. I'm just a little surprised to meet you though."
"Uh... yeah. Right! Well, I'll tell you..."
"Excuse me a second, you two, I'm going to go fix drinks." Lynn headed towards the
door.
"Why don't you just refill these," suggested Shane, nodding towards Lynn and T.J.'s
empty glasses.
"Right..." Lynn was at a loss for words. Shane said nothing.
"Aaaa... say look, Shane, you're acting like something was going on..."
"Oh nonsense, T.J., what could have been going on," interrupted Lynn.
"Cut it out." Shane's voice was hard.
T.J.'s jaw worked, but no sound came out. Lynn walked up to Shane.
"Dear, T.J.'s an old friend. From a different world."
"I'll say," interjected T.J.
"I've told you about that world. I was another person then. Trying to be something I
wasn't."
"You betrayed me."
"Shane, that's not so. I love you. You showed me my true self." she ran her fingers
through his hair. "You taught me to be me." Shane gave her a boyish grin.
"Me and Caesar, huh?"
"That's right darling, you and Caesar."
"Who's this Caesar fellow," asked T.J.
Shane turned to him with a frown. Oh yeah, his face seemed to say, you're still here.
T.J. took the hint.
"Say Lynn, if you change your mind, let me know." Lynn kissed Shane. "Shut the door
on your way out, will you T.J." She looked at Shane. "Let's go look for Caesar."


THE END
